Theocratic Secularism: Religion and Government in Shi'i Thought 0197606792, 9780197606797

Table of contents :
Cover
Series
Theocratic Secularism
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Formative Centuries of Shīʿism
An Unattainable Theocracy
The Iranian Revolution and Ecclesial Transformation?
The Necessity and Importance of Theocratic Secularism
An Attenuated Notion of Political Secularism
Separation of Religious and Political Authority
Some Caveats
Part I. The Formative Period of Shīʿism
1. The Sorrowful Age of Presence
Political Leadership and Salvation
Claims to the Caliphate
Eschewing Politics
Scholarly Pursuits
Organizational Development
A Symbolic Role
Little Information and Even Less Political Involvement
2. The Minor Occultation: Collaboration and Survival
The Political Aura of the Minor Occultation
Infallible Imāms and Collaboration with Caliphs
Shīʿī Families in the Caliphate Apparatus
The Four Deputies (Nawāb Arbaʿa)
The Representative Organization (Wikāla)
“Othering” Rivals: The Case of Jaʿfar’s Claim to the Imāmate
Non-​messianic Notion of the Savior
Discourse of Pragmatism and Survival
Elimination of Rivals
3. The Age of Perplexity: From Moderate Shīʿism to Twelver Shīʿism
Epistemic Transformation
Transformed Premises
ʿUlamāʾ in the Early Centuries
Dominance of Ḥadīth
Formation of Shīʿī Ḥadīth Collections
Discourse Formation through Ḥadīth Compilation
Appropriating from Competing Sects
Modifications to the Imāmate‌
4. The Major Occultation: The ʿUlamāʾ and Interaction with the Usurper
The Authority of the ʿUlamāʾ
Limited and Decentralized Authority
Just and Legitimate Ruler
Cooperation with a Usurper
Baghdad and Qum Schools of Thought
Būyids and Shīʿī Leaders
Rebellion against the Usurper
Shīʿism: A Religion of Resistance?
Part II. The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism
5. The Political Germination of a Religious Doctrine
The Doctrine of Wilāyat-​i Faqīh: A Clean Break
Rational Kernel of a Religious Doctrine
The Sociopolitical Aspects of the Sharīʿa
The Populist Approach of Khomeini
Reception in the Seminary
6. Wilāyat-​i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room
Religion during the Revolutionary Struggle
The Interviews of Khomeini
“Islamic Republic”: An Empty Signifier
The Draft Constitution
7. The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-​i Faqīh
Referendum or Constituent Assembly?
The Creeping Entrance
The Faqīh at the Head of the State Apparatus
The Silence of Prominent Clerical Islamist Leaders
Complete Absence of the Doctrine of Wilāyat-​i Faqīh
Lack of Cohesion and Coordination among Islamists
8. The Genie Is Out of the Bottle
The Islamists’ Conquest of the Assembly of Experts
The Mystical Character of Khomeini
Khomeini and the Assembly of Experts Election
Fear That the Nightmare of Constitutionalism Would Recur
Underestimation of the Clerical Islamists
The Assembly of Experts and the Tyranny of the Majority
The Great Absentees from the Assembly of Experts
Avoidance of Theological Debate
Disunity of Opponents and Cohesion of Supporters
Conclusion
Secularism Embedded in Theology
Governmental Shīʿism
The Cold War against Shīʿī Orthodoxy
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

Theocratic Secularism

R E L IG IO N A N D G L O BA L P O L I T IC S SERIES EDITOR John L. Esposito University Professor and Director Prince Alwaleed Bin Talal Center for Muslim-​Christian Understanding Georgetown University ISLAMIC LEVIATHAN Islam and the Making of State Power Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr RACHID GHANNOUCHI A Democrat within Islamism Azzam S. Tamimi BALKAN IDOLS Religion and Nationalism in Yugoslav States Vjekoslav Perica ISLAMIC POLITICAL IDENTITY IN TURKEY M. Hakan Yavuz RELIGION AND POLITICS IN POST-​COMMUNIST ROMANIA Lavinia Stan and Lucian Turcescu PIETY AND POLITICS Islamism in Contemporary Malaysia Joseph Chinyong Liow TERROR IN THE LAND OF THE HOLY SPIRIT Guatemala under General Efrain Rios Montt, 1982–​1983 Virginia Garrard-​Burnett IN THE HOUSE OF WAR Dutch Islam Observed Sam Cherribi BEING YOUNG AND MUSLIM New Cultural Politics in the Global South and North Asef Bayat and Linda Herrera CHURCH, STATE, AND DEMOCRACY IN EXPANDING EUROPE Lavinia Stan and Lucian Turcescu THE HEADSCARF CONTROVERSY Secularism and Freedom of Religion Hilal Elver THE HOUSE OF SERVICE The Gülen Movement and Islam’s Third Way David Tittensor ANSWERING THE CALL Popular Islamic Activism in Sadat’s Egypt Abdullah Al-​Arian MAPPING THE LEGAL BOUNDARIES OF BELONGING Religion and Multiculturalism from Israel to Canada Edited by René Provost RELIGIOUS SECULARITY A Theological Challenge to the Islamic State Naser Ghobadzadeh

THE MIDDLE PATH OF MODERATION IN ISLAM The Qurʾānic Principle of Wasaṭiyyah Mohammad Hashim Kamali ONE ISLAM, MANY MUSLIM WORLDS Spirituality, Identity, and Resistance across Islamic Lands Raymond William Baker CONTAINING BALKAN NATIONALISM Imperial Russia and Ottoman Christians (1856–​1914) Denis Vovchenko INSIDE THE MUSLIM BROTHERHOOD Religion, Identity, and Politics Khalil al-​Anani POLITICIZING ISLAM The Islamic Revival in France and India Z. Fareen Parvez SOVIET AND MUSLIM The Institutionalization of Islam in Central Asia Eren Tasar ISLAM IN MALAYSIA An Entwined History Khairudin Aljunied SALAFISM GOES GLOBAL From the Gulf to the French Banlieues Mohamed-​Ali Adraoui JIHADISM IN EUROPE European Youth and the New Caliphate Farhad Khosrokhavar ISLAM AND NATIONHOOD IN MODERN GREECE Stefanos Katsikas WAHHABISM AND THE WORLD Understanding Saudi Arabia’s Global Influence on Islam Peter Mandaville POLITICIZING ISLAM The Islamic Revival in France and India Z. Fareen Parvez THEOCRATIC SECULARISM Religion and Government in Shīʿi Thought Naser Ghobadzadeh

Theocratic Secularism Religion and Government in Shīʿi Thought NA SE R G HO BA D Z A D E H

Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2023 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, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Qubādzādah, Nāṣir, author. Title: Theocratic Secularism: Religion and Government in Shīʿi Thought / Naser Ghobadzadeh. Description: 1. | New York City : Oxford University Press, 2023. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022027444 (print) | LCCN 2022027445 (ebook) | ISBN 9780197606797 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197606810 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Shīʻah—Political aspects. | Shīʻah—History. | Islam and politics—History. Classification: LCC BP194.185 .Q834 2022 (print) | LCC BP194.185 (ebook) | DDC 297.2/72—dc23/eng/20220622 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022027444 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022027445 DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

For Bita

Contents Acknowledgments 

xi

Introduction  Formative Centuries of Shīʿism  An Unattainable Theocracy  The Iranian Revolution and Ecclesial Transformation?  The Necessity and Importance of Theocratic Secularism  An Attenuated Notion of Political Secularism  Separation of Religious and Political Authority  Some Caveats 

1 2 7 10 15 19 22 27

PA RT I .   T H E F O R M AT I V E P E R IO D O F SH Ī ʿ I SM 1. The Sorrowful Age of Presence  Political Leadership and Salvation  Claims to the Caliphate  Eschewing Politics  Scholarly Pursuits  Organizational Development  A Symbolic Role  Little Information and Even Less Political Involvement 

33 36 38 42 43 45 46 48

2. The Minor Occultation: Collaboration and Survival  The Political Aura of the Minor Occultation  Infallible Imāms and Collaboration with Caliphs  Shīʿī Families in the Caliphate Apparatus  The Four Deputies (Nawāb Arbaʿa)  The Representative Organization (Wikāla)  “Othering” Rivals: The Case of Jaʿfar’s Claim to the Imāmate  Non-​messianic Notion of the Savior  Discourse of Pragmatism and Survival  Elimination of Rivals 

53 55 59 61 63 65 69 74 77 78

3. The Age of Perplexity: From Moderate Shīʿism to Twelver Shīʿism  Epistemic Transformation  Transformed Premises  ʿUlamāʾ in the Early Centuries  D  ominance of Ḥadīth 

87 88 91 94 96



viii Contents

 ormation of Shīʿī Ḥadīth Collections  F Discourse Formation through Ḥadīth Compilation  Appropriating from Competing Sects  Modifications to the Imāmate‌

4. The Major Occultation: The ʿUlamāʾ and Interaction with the Usurper  The Authority of the ʿUlamāʾ  Limited and Decentralized Authority  Just and Legitimate Ruler  Cooperation with a Usurper  Baghdad and Qum Schools of Thought  Būyids and Shīʿī Leaders  Rebellion against the Usurper  Shīʿism: A Religion of Resistance? 

98 101 104 106

117 118 122 125 128 129 134 138 141

PA RT I I .   T H E C O N T I N G E N T R I SE O F G OV E R N M E N TA L SH Ī ʿ I SM 5. The Political Germination of a Religious Doctrine  The Doctrine of Wilāyat-​i Faqīh: A Clean Break  Rational Kernel of a Religious Doctrine  The Sociopolitical Aspects of the Sharīʿa  The Populist Approach of Khomeini  Reception in the Seminary 

149 150 153 156 164 166

6. Wilāyat-​i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  Religion during the Revolutionary Struggle  The Interviews of Khomeini  “Islamic Republic”: An Empty Signifier  The Draft Constitution 

171 172 179 181 186

7. The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-​i Faqīh  Referendum or Constituent Assembly?  The Creeping Entrance  The Faqīh at the Head of the State Apparatus  The Silence of Prominent Clerical Islamist Leaders  Complete Absence of the Doctrine of Wilāyat-​i Faqīh  Lack of Cohesion and Coordination among Islamists 

193 194 198 202 204 206 211

8. The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  The Islamists’ Conquest of the Assembly of Experts  The Mystical Character of Khomeini  Khomeini and the Assembly of Experts Election  Fear That the Nightmare of Constitutionalism Would Recur 

215 216 217 219 221

Contents  ix

 nderestimation of the Clerical Islamists  U The Assembly of Experts and the Tyranny of the Majority  The Great Absentees from the Assembly of Experts  Avoidance of Theological Debate  Disunity of Opponents and Cohesion of Supporters 

225 228 231 233 238

Conclusion  Secularism Embedded in Theology  G  overnmental Shīʿism  The Cold War against Shīʿī Orthodoxy 

245 246 248 249

Bibliography  Index 

255 295

Acknowledgments The idea for this book came to me when I was working at the Australian Catholic University’s Institute for Social Justice. Specifically, I was inspired by one of Rajeev Bhargava’s lectures there about the concept of “principled distance,” and it was this notion that led me to formulate a concept to describe the political approach of the traditional Shīʿī orthodoxy. Rajeev also provided me with constructive feedback on the original book proposal during several extended personal conversations, for which I am immensely grateful. I would also like to express my appreciation for the parts that all my colleagues at ISJ played, in one way or another, in the initial formation of this project. Fortunately, the Institute was small, and I can name them all here: Nikolas Kompridis, Emilian Kavalski, Allison Weir, Kiran Grewal, Ali Mamouri, Mahmoud Pargoo, Morteza Bahrani, Magdalena Zolkos, Paula Gleeson, Romand Coles, Lia Haro, and Lisa Tarantino. In addition to the permanent members of the Institute, every year a number of professorial fellows came to spend some time at ISJ. They also contributed to shaping the first book proposal, and I am especially thankful to Akeel Bilgrami, Joseph Carens, Jennifer Nedelsky, and Linda Martín Alcoff. I also thank my many colleagues at ACU for their collegial and intellectual support, including Mark Chuo, Rachel Busbridge, Wayne McKenna, Tim McKenry, Noah Risman, Lorinda Cramer, Jack Barbalet, Xiaoying Qi, Paul Chalkley, Ellen Warne, Jan Seruga, James McLaren, Cara Taber, Yvonne Hajduk, Joanne Ling, and Kely Kirwan. Thank you also to my former supervisors Lily Rahim and John Keane, as well as Shahram Akbarzadeh, who have helped me in various ways over the years and have always been generous with their time whenever I have sought guidance and advice. I am deeply indebted to the editor of the Religion and Global Politics series at Oxford University Press, John Esposito, whose support and trust in my work have played a significant role in creating academic opportunities for me. Thanks also to the anonymous reviewers for their constructive comments and to all at Oxford University Press for their professionalism in ensuring that this project reached completion. Over the past few years in which I have been writing this book, I have also benefited from the opinions of friends expressed in informal settings. It is difficult to remember the names of all the people I have spoken to about this project, but those whose names come to mind now are Nasim Janfada, Farzaneh Arabi, Judith Betts, Steve Curran, Heydar Shadi, Alam Saleh, Yaser Mirdamadi, Minoo Mirshahvalad, Salman Panahi, Araz Aminnaseri, Zoheir Mirkarimi, Larbi

xii Acknowledgments Sadiki, Benjamin Goldsmith, Nicolas Pirsoul, Ali Akbar, James Barry, and Arash Ghassemi. I am fortunate to have dear friends whose presence in my life has always enriched my thinking as well as my mental health. Although I have not spoken to all my friends about this book and its arguments directly, my discussions with these individuals about things that really matter and the dialogue I have shared with them have not only enriched my thoughts and ideas but also taught me a lot on a personal level. There is a long list of friends in this group, but if am only to mention some of them, these names come to mind: Khosraw Milani, Fereshteh Milani, Babak Ghazanfri, Samaneh Kalayeh, Ehsan Tabatabaei, Amir Hadji, Arman Tajbakhsh, Arezoo Houshmand, Sina Hassanli, Sarah Khosrwnejad, Amir Hakimian, Amiraslam Fila, Naghme Yousefi, Mehdi Taheri, Hossein Zamani, Neda Yousefi, Atousa Montaseri, M. Reza Alinaghizadeh, Mahmoud Karimi Azar Daryany, Mahsa Shahidi, Ayat Tadjalli, Abolfazl Masoumi, Ramona Salehi, Negar Asaidan, Saviz Gharavi, Arash Hajilou, Haydar Kasravi, Sahar Paydavousi, Hamid Ashouri, Hoda Barazandeh, Nima Emami, Amir Hossein Kaveh, Flor Sedighi, Mehdi Nejitehrani, Behzad Nasirpour, Saloumeh Farahani, Fatemeh Sarafraz, Sam Barnett, Mohammad Aghazadeh, Samaneh Khedmatloo and Stephen Mills. I must also thank my family and my wife’s family separately here. Every one of them has been beside me and played a determining role, not only in the writing of this book but in every achievement of my life. I would mention in particular my late father, Ja’afar, whose memory is always with me; my mother, Azizah Aghamalizadeh, to whose efforts I am perpetually indebted; my brothers, especially Fazel, Mehdi, and Siavash; and Nafiseh Mosayebi and Behnaz Ekhtiari, who made direct contributions to the preparation of this manuscript. English is not my mother tongue, and I have benefited from the assistance of others to finalize this work in the English language. Some of those who have edited and proofread parts of this book include Estelle Dryland, Henno Kotze, Melissa Seelye, and Janice Webster. Janice’s role extended beyond help with language; she generously offered many constructive suggestions, not only about the writing but also about the content of the book, for which I am very grateful. Without Janice’s help, the final manuscript would not have reached the same standard. I would like to mention my closest friend, Mohammad Fayyazi, and thank him individually. Mohammad has accompanied me throughout my adult life in all my academic and non-​academic endeavors. Time and time again, when I was stuck developing an argument for this book, despite the time difference, Mohammad generously made time to speak with me and offer constructive suggestions that illuminated the way forward. The Arabic texts I have used in this book were translated with Mohammad’s help. In addition, Mohammad

Acknowledgments  xiii consistently provided valuable assistance in this project, such as by obtaining non-​English resources, among other contributions. Last but not least, I thank my wife, Bita Ekhtiari, who has for nearly twenty-​ five years accompanied me in my life and work. She has tolerated my many shortcomings and drawn on her many strengths to assist me in all my endeavors. Much of the manuscript was written during Melbourne’s long pandemic lockdown period, during which Bita was the only person by my side, with me almost constantly. Her presence is embedded in the pages of this book. By dedicating this book to Bita, I express my appreciation for her presence beside me.

Introduction By coining the notion of theocratic secularism, this book suggests that Twelver Shīʿism embodies a religious rationale for political secularism. It establishes that belief in a pure and unattainable theocracy is the cornerstone of Twelver Shīʿī Islam.1 The divine right to both political and religious sovereignty is bestowed exclusively upon Prophet Mohammad and the twelve infallible Imāms, the last of whom went into hiding in the third/​ninth century and is believed to be still alive today. The position of rulership is preserved for him; thus, whoever assumes the position of rulership is considered a usurper, that is, one who violates the exclusive right of the hidden Imām. Accordingly, Shīʿī religious authorities are religiously prohibited from seizing the state apparatus. This claim will appear controversial considering that forty-​three years ago, Ayatollah Khomeini, who held the highest rank in the Shīʿī religious hierarchy of marjaʿiyyat, led a revolution against the Pahlavi government and established a faqīh-​headed political system purporting to be the representative of the twelfth Imām. Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh2 holds that the authority that the Prophet and the infallible Imāms held in government affairs extends to the jurisprudent.3 Thus, one may contend that Shīʿī Islam gave birth to one of the most theocratic states of the contemporary world, the Islamic Republic of Iran, which is the only typical state4 in which the conflation of religion with the state is comprehensive. In line with Rajeev Bhargava’s conception,5 one could suggest that in Iran, state and religion are fused at all three levels: (1) the ruling clergy claims that the state is a tool to achieve the end goals of religion, (2) all legislation and

1 There are other branches of Shīʿī Islam, but the discussion in this book centers only on Twelver Shīʿa. The simplified form Shīʿa, and associated words including Shīʿism and Shīʿī, will be used throughout this book. Whenever there is reference to another branch of Shīʿī Islam, the branch name will be used. 2 The concept of wilāyat-​i faqīh has been used to mean different things and elaborated in various ways by Shīʿī scholars throughout history. In this book, I use the term “doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh” to refer specifically to the particular elaboration put forward by Khomeini. 3 Khomeini 1984, 467. 4 Technically speaking, Vatican City, Athonite State, and the Central Tibetan Administration (in exile) are three independent theocratic states. But apropos of structure, it might be problematic to categorize them as typical nation-​states. The Islamic Republic of Iran governs a population of more than 80 million people and outwardly possesses all the prerequisites of a typical nation-​state. 5 Bhargava 2009. Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0001

2 Introduction public policies must comply with religious teachings,6 and (3) at the personal/​ institutional levels, not only is the head of state a jurist, but clerics are extensively engaged in the affairs of governance. I deem it of little importance to elaborate on why this Shīʿī stream, labeled “governmental Shīʿism” in this book, has received disproportionate attention not only in the media but also in academic circles. What is important here is that this attention has highlighted the degree to which a long-​lasting Shīʿī tradition, labeled in this book “Shīʿī orthodoxy,” has been neglected and misunderstood. In order to fill this gap in the relevant literature, this book probes into the formative period of Shīʿism and shows the evolution and consolidation of theocratic secularism in the heart of Shīʿī political theology. At the same time, it is argued that the formation of a faqīh-​headed state in Iran after the 1979 Revolution was the product of neither a transformation of this political theology nor a change in the Shīʿī belief system.

Formative Centuries of Shīʿism The period spanning from the death of Prophet Mohammad to the fifth/​eleventh century constituted Shīʿism’s formative period. Available sources reveal that at the end of this period, defining features of Shīʿism included (a) a limitation on the number of infallible Imāms to twelve, (b) a belief in the infallibility and sacredness of the Imāms’ politico-​religious authority, and (c), perhaps most important, the messianic exegesis of the twelfth Imām, which was articulated, crystallized, and agreed upon by community leaders and the masses alike. Shīʿism emerged as an independent entity based on an amalgamation of a retrospective reading of Islamic history, the configuration of a distinctive jurisprudential school of thought, and the combining of a set of rituals and spaces (holy sites). In Shīʿī thinking, this formative period is depicted as the unfolding of a prophecy, or divine will. Retrospectively, Shīʿī sources claim that the Shīʿī belief system had definite perimeters and features from the start, even when the Prophet was alive. For example, while the available evidence clearly shows that the number of infallible Imāms was agreed upon later and there is no mention of the number twelve until the fourth/​tenth century,7 some Shīʿī sources claim that the Prophet himself mentioned the names of the twelve infallible Imāms.8 Despite their extremely controversial nature, these types of claims not only are 6 It should be noted that in practice, the ruling clergy has proven rather flexible in complying with religious teachings. At times, they have sacrificed Islamic principles in favor of political considerations. For detailed discussion, see Ghobadzadeh 2015, 73–​84; Tamadonfar 2001. 7 Kohlberg 1976; Kohlberg 2000; Modarressi 1993, 100–​105; Halm 2004, 38–​44. 8 There are many Shīʿī ḥadīths in this regard. One example is known as the ḥadīth of al-​Lawh (tablet), which is detailed here in n. 42 of c­ hapter 3.

Introduction  3 a part of the written tradition of Shīʿism but also play a decisive role in how the masses conceive of their own heritage. These assertions are grounded in a belief in transcendental authority. In adopting methodological agnosticism in this book as my philosophical and epistemological platform from which to approach this study, the existence of supernatural phenomena is not necessarily denied. However, investigation on a naturalistic basis is required. The chosen approach aims to remain neutral regarding metaphysical and supernatural claims and to investigate religious beliefs, concepts, and institutions as human and social constructs.9 Thus, I do not ascribe any weight to either divine will or authority, which are powerful factors in intra-​religious explanations. I investigate Twelver Shīʿism as a discourse that was born out of the lived experience of the Shīʿī community over the early centuries of Islamic history. More specifically, Foucauldian discourse analysis is employed to scrutinize the formative period of Shīʿism in the first part of this book. R. Diaz-​Bone et al. argue that discourses should be theorized not as a continuous unfolding of an a priori existing entity but rather as processes characterized by discontinuity and rupture.10 It is suggested here that the theological foundation of Twelver Shīʿism did not exist in a predetermined form, and members of the early Shīʿī community did not pursue the implementation of a predesigned blueprint. Rather, the defining features of Twelver Shīʿism, such as the fixing of the number of infallible Imāms at twelve and the messianic character of the twelfth Imām, were missing from the first four centuries of Shīʿī history and were only developed and conceptualized later. It is also important to mention that messianic Shīʿī political theology did not emerge at a certain moment in history, and therefore, it cannot be attributed to a single consciousness or to any specific intention or event. Rather, it matured over time through a process of discourse formation, that is, through dialectical engagement with the mainstream Muslim community (later to become known as the Sunnī)11 and its proximate contemporaries at that time.12 Scrutinizing Christianity as a discursive entity, William Arnal asserts that the

9 Berger 1969, 69; Blum 2011; Bell and Taylor 2014; Porpora 2006. 10 Diaz-​Bone et al. 2008, 13. 11 The Sunnī, as an autonomous and identifiable community, was a later phenomenon that, according to Lucas, formed in the third–​fourth/​ninth–​tenth centuries. Initially, it included all of those who refused to form separatist communities. For a detailed discussion, see Lucas 2008; Crone 2005, 28–​29. 12 There were many Shīʿī groups during the formative period, but only a few survived, and the majority came to be extinguished over time. The former united and became known as Imāmī Shīʿa. Twelver Shīʿism, which emerged as the triumphant sect, managed not only to survive but also to become the mainstream Shīʿī denomination. Among the more important of the other sects were the Gh̲ulāt, Kaysāniyya, Zaydī, Ismāʿīliyya, Afṭaḥiyya, Wāqifiyya, and Qatʿiyya, to name but a few. Newman asserts that contemporary heresiographic works imply the existence of between fourteen and twenty different Shīʿī groups in the early fourth/​tenth century (Newman 2000, 14–​15).

4 Introduction creation of Christianity occurred throughout the second century. This creation, he maintains, “represents an invention of the tradition and identity itself, through, among other techniques, the confiscation of characters, events, and writings, that previously had not been thought of either as a unity or in terms of the identity with which they came to be associated.”13 A similar approach to the study of Shīʿism reveals the retrospective creation of meaning in histories culled over centuries and the ways in which collectively recovered memories are reconstructed and interpreted by different actors. This “regime of truth.” to use the Foucault term, was marked by considerable political upheaval and defensive maneuvering carried out by the Shīʿī leadership circle. Deconstructing Shīʿism as a “regime of truth” will require genealogical inquiry into early Islamic history, a period during which a variety of identity formation discourses were engaged in existential struggles. The interrogation of the Shīʿī discourse formation process in its historical context will invite questions such as how exactly the discourse was constructed and what processes shaped its construction. How, when, by which agent(s), and within what interplay of power relations did its various aspects evolve? Furthermore, the questions of which logic and systems of knowledge were employed in its creation, what exigencies and/​or strategic goals were at play, and what sets of terminology and notions were established or rearticulated during the discursive construction of Shīʿism will be explored. Probing alternative discourses that were either eliminated or concealed is also an essential component of Foucauldian discourse analysis. As Michel Foucault asserts: We have to dig deeply to show how things have been historically contingent, for such and such a reason intelligible but not necessary. We must make the intelligible appear against a background of emptiness, and deny its necessity. We must think that what exists is far from filling all possible spaces.14

Accordingly, it is also imperative to pose another set of questions: Which interests were mobilized and served by this discourse formation in Shīʿī history, and which interests were sidelined? How and why were certain categories of thinking and lines of argument generally accepted as truth, while others were rejected? What evidence was used in the process of discourse formation, and what was omitted? Finally, which elements were excluded, and which were combined to construct the manifestation of Shīʿī doctrine and identity known as Twelver Shīʿism?



13 14

Arnal 2011, 212. Foucault 1994b, 139.

Introduction  5 A major factor contributing to the triumph of the discourse of the Twelver Shīʿism was its unerring practice of “othering.” From the Foucauldian perspective of discourse analysis, discourses are not seen as innocent and impartial explanations of the world and its history.15 Instead, a purposeful process of “othering” is part of the identity formation of the pertinent discourse. Regarding Twelver Shīʿī discourse formation, othering occurred constantly and extensively, alienating and antagonizing influential individuals and sizable segments of the community. For this reason, in the early centuries of Islamic history, proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿism was constantly diminished, a phenomenon that urges one to ponder the reasons for its later widespread acceptance and triumph over other discourses. In their writings, Shīʿī scholars16 frequently contend that the political modi operandi of the infallible Imāms were guided by the principle of maintaining the purity of the right path. The tactics they employed, including drawing up boundaries to differentiate themselves from allegedly deviated sects and outlining the perimeters of the authentic Shīʿī pathway, have been quoted repeatedly by those defending the infallible Imāms’ political inaction.17 This narration of the political conduct of the infallible Imāms was developed retrospectively and proficiently, the aim being to exclude many of the individuals, groups, and events that, at that time, were considered part of the mainstream Shīʿī community. At times, non-​Twelver Shīʿī groups were stronger and considerably more influential than the branch that later coalesced as Twelver Shīʿism. Expelling “others,” Twelver Shīʿism mapped out a narrow orbit and trajectory as the only true and authentic religion and declared the others external to authentic Shīʿism. In this process, as will be discussed in ­chapter 3, they appropriated important elements from other sects. In particular, the messianic conception of the twelfth Imām incorporated key elements of earlier messianic conceptualizations that were formulated within the Shīʿī tradition throughout the first centuries of Islamic history. The moderate Shīʿism18 that later took up 15 Diaz-​Bone et al. 2008. 16 In this book, I use the terms “scholars,” “thinkers,” “ʿulamāʿ,” and sometimes “jurists” interchangeably to refer to a specific group of people who are responsible for Shīʿī scholarly and research activities but have been and are in practice the leaders of the Shīʿī community. Theologians and narrators (muḥaddith) are other titles used to describe people in the same group of scholar-​leaders of the Shīʿī community, but I use these titles only when I intend to emphasize their tendency to use reason and rational argument (in the case of theologians) or their insistence on relying on text (in the case of narrators). 17 Hosseinian 2011, 43–​194; Rostamian 2002, 231–​328; Mohaddesi 1998; Torbatinejad 2016. 18 I borrow this term from Sachedina (1981), which he uses to describe the branch of Shīʿī Islam that in the first centuries of Islam was known as the Imāmiyya and was later conceptualized as Twelver Shīʿism. The word “moderate” is a relatively good description of this branch because it always maintained distance from the ideas of the Ghālī Shīʿa, who were known to exaggerate religious tenets, especially in relation to the characteristics of the Imāms (although some Ghālī ideas entered Twelver Shīʿism later, when the latter’s theological tenets were nearing completion). In addition, the description “moderate” can well explain the political position of this school, which after the events of Karbalāʾ in 61/​680 never revolted against the ruling caliph. This moderate position was especially

6 Introduction the title of Twelver Shīʿism constantly repudiated the designation of messiahship to infallible Imāms. It was a recurring phenomenon that after the demise of an infallible Imām, some of his followers claimed that he was alive and would rise up again to form the promised just government. Sabaʾīyya,19 Kaysāniyya,20 Bāqiriyya,21 Nāwūsiyya,22 and Wāqifiyya23 were among the important Shīʿī messianic sects. At the time, proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿism repudiated all of these messianic conceptualizations of the Imāmate but later appropriated the notion of messianism, assigning it to its twelfth Imām, and reconstructed its theology based on this notion. During this process, previously dismissed messianic articulations significantly contributed to the evolution and consolidation of the peculiar messianism of Twelver Shīʿism. The question that arises in this regard important in defining the political identity of this school and distinguishing it from other ʿAlīd Shīʿī sects that carried out multiple uprisings. Throughout this book, I will use this term as an alternative to Twelver Shīʿī, because the name “Twelver Imāmī” did not exist until the fourth/​tenth century, and its use to describe this community during the Age of Presence is not very accurate. 19 The idea of messianism in the Shīʿī tradition was first introduced by ʿAbd Allāh ibn Sabaʾ. He claimed that the first infallible Imām, ʿAlī, was not dead and would return to shower righteousness upon the earth (Hodgson 1976). His claim ushered in the formation of a short-​lived sect, members of which became known as the Sabaʾīyya. Abd Allāh ibn Sabaʾ is one of the most controversial figures of early Islamic history, to the extent that many Sunnī accounts claim that he was a Jew and forged Shīʿism to obliterate Islam. Yet other narrations, both Shīʿī and Sunnī, raise doubts about whether he ever even existed. For further discussion, see Anthony 2012; Tucker 2008, 9–​33; ʿAskari 2008; Anthony 2011; Halm and Mousavi-​Khalkhali 2005, 39–​48. 20 The martyrdom of Imām Ḥusayn in Karbalāʿ triggered a leadership crisis for the Imāmī Shīʿa, and at this time, divisions began to emerge in the Shīʿī community. Imām Zayn al-​ʿĀbidīn, the only male member of Imām Ḥusayn’s family to survive the massacre at Karbalāʿ, stood adamantly by his decision to distance himself from not only the government but any form of political activity (Jafari 1979, 203–​213). However, many Shīʿa thought that they should seek revenge, and they revolted against the caliph. Mukhtār’s uprising, which was known as Kaysāniyya (less often known as the Mukhtāriyya), was a movement associated with Muḥammad b. al-​Ḥanafiyya, the stepbrother of the martyred Imām Ḥusayn. Thus, although Mukhtār was a founding politico-​military leader of the Kaysāniyya, Muḥammad b. al-​Ḥanafiyya became the spiritual founding father of the movement. Muḥammad b. al-​Ḥanafiyya died in 700; however, numerous Kaysāniyya sect members disseminated the belief that he was still alive and would return as their victorious leader (Buhl 2007; Halm and Mousavi-​Khalkhali 2005, 49–​83; Al-​Nawbakhtī and Kadhim 2007, 76–​79). 21 The title Bāqiriyya was given to those who denied the death of the fifth Imām, Imām Muḥammad al-​Bāqir, and claimed that he was the promised savior (Shahrastani, Kazi, and Flynn 1984, 142–​143; Salimian 2008, 125–​126). 22 Nāwūsiyya refers to the sect of the Shīʿī community that repudiated the death of the sixth Imām and claimed him as the messiah. The Nāwūsiyya sect neither lasted very long nor left behind much of a legacy. 23 The demise of the seventh Imām, Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim, gave birth to the Wāqifiyya (literally, “those who came to a standstill”), which lasted for one and a half centuries. Until the entrenchment of the messiahship of the twelfth Imām, the messiahship of the seventh Imām presented a formidable challenge for Twelver Shīʿism. Perhaps more important than its perseverance was the Wāqifiyya’s conceptual contribution to the notion of occultation. The group’s membership included not only people with considerable financial assets who played leadership roles in the community but also influential Shīʿī scholars as well. Hence, unlike other Shīʿī messianic sects, the Wāqifiyya produced voluminous and sophisticated literature in support of messianism in the Shīʿī tradition (Madelung 1986, 1236; Amir-​Moezzi 1994, 101–​103). Ironically, the Wāqifiyya made significant contributions to the conceptual consolidation of Twelver Shīʿism.

Introduction  7 is how did it happen that the moderate Shīʿa, who had consistently over several generations opposed any messianic formulation of the concept of the Imāmate, not only accepted this formulation but made it the cornerstone of their identity? The answer to this question must be sought in the reality of the early centuries of Islamic history, when the Shīʿa’s attempts to realize their politico-​religious ideal, the formation of a theocratic government24—​to use the vocabulary of modern political concepts—​failed. As a result of these failures, the suffering wrought upon the Shīʿa leaders and community by the Sunnī rulers, and also because the position of the Shīʿa only weakened further as time passed, the Shīʿa came to the conclusion that there was no chance of realizing their politico-​religious ideal. As a result, by attributing messianic characteristics to their twelfth Imām, the Shīʿa accepted that their ideal theocracy would be unattainable until some unknown future time.

An Unattainable Theocracy In c­ hapter 1, it will be illustrated that the legacies of the eleven Shīʿī infallible Imāms revealed a range of divergent political behaviors from which it would be almost impossible to discern a specific prescriptive political modus operandi. These behaviors included ruling as caliph (Imām ʿAlī), submitting to the authority of a caliph (Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā), and revolting against the sitting caliph (Imām Ḥusayn). The remaining infallible Imāms followed a pattern of maintaining a “principled distance,” to use Bhargava’s term,25 from governing institutions with the exception of Imām ʿAlī al-​Riḍā, who accepted the position of crown prince, albeit on the condition that he would be excused from all governing responsibilities.26 In fact, after the tragedy of Karbalāʾ in 680/​61, the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle in practice avoided any attempt to realize its politico-​religious ideal. Even when the conditions seemed conducive, such as in the time of the sixth Imām,

24 In describing their ideal form of government, Shīʿa generally refer to just and fair governance, an allusion to the promised government of the twelfth Imām. Although the word “theocracy” often carries negative connotations today, its use in this book is not to imply a necessarily negative response to the Shīʿa’s ideal form of government. The word “theocracy” simply refers to the form and type of this government. By using the word “theocracy,” I am saying that in accordance with the ideal government of the Shīʿa, the political leader is appointed by God and has the duty to implement religious laws, and the ultimate goal of the government is a religious one, meaning to lead people toward salvation. 25 Bhargava 2013. 26 Amir-​Moezzi divides the political life of Shīʿī Imāms into four categories: (1) those who were directly and positively involved in politics, (2) those to whom no political activity has been attributed, (3) the particular case of the third Imām, Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī, and (4) the particular case of the twelfth Imām, Imām al-​Mahdī (Amir-​Moezzi 1994, 62).

8 Introduction Imām Ṣādiq, Shīʿī leaders resisted the pleas of their followers and refrained from taking action. It can be said that theocratic secularism was formed not as an alternative to the Shīʿī politico-​religious ideal but from the sect’s politico-​religious modus operandi in the post-​Karbalāʾ era. But this pattern of behavior was fundamentally different from the Shīʿī framework that would develop in the fourth and fifth/​tenth and eleventh centuries. In the age of the infallible Imāms’ presence, hope and expectation that the ideal Shīʿī theocracy would be realized was a worldly and immediate concern. It was a worldly concern in the sense that it was seen as a phenomenon likely to come to pass through earthly mechanisms and in the form of political revolt. It was an immediate issue insofar as it did not refer to the unspecified future; rather, every generation expected the Imām of its age to rise up, overthrow the rule of the unwanted usurper, and install a just and fair government. During the Minor Occultation (260–​329/​874–​941),27 the expectation and hope for the realization of the Shīʿī politico-​religious ideal continued unchanged. As will be discussed in c­ hapter 2, the claim of the twelfth Imām’s absence was not initially framed as a messianic assertion or an extraordinary phenomenon. Rather, at the outset, the absence of the twelfth Imām meant that he was hiding somewhere and would soon re-​emerge, revolt against the illegitimate caliph, and form a just government. As the period of his absence extended beyond the natural course of a normal human life, a messianic conception of his character was formed, and the expectation and hope of overthrowing the unjust ruler and installing a just government in the here and now were consigned to an unknown future time. From this point, that is, from the early decades of the Major Occultation, the expectation of the formation of the ideal Shīʿī theocracy became an unworldly phenomenon whose implementation and timing depended on God’s will. This messianic formulation levied no expectation upon believers and religious leaders to rebel against the ruling usurper and form an ideal Shīʿī government. As a result, the model of political behavior consistent with theocratic secularism transformed into an eternal pattern for the Shīʿa. In sum, it will be argued that it was the persistently sorrowful experience endured by the infallible Imāms, which corresponded with the long formative period of Shīʿī identity, that resulted in the prevalence of a negative attitude toward governing institutions among Shīʿa and their association of governance and political power with evil, corruption, and oppression. This powerful 27 The Age of Occultation is divided into the following two epochs: Minor (Ghaybat-​i ṣughrā) and Major (Ghaybat-​i kubrā). The Minor Occultation refers to a period of approximately seventy years when the twelfth Imām disappeared from the physical plane but remained in communication with his followers through four deputies. Upon the death of the fourth deputy in 941 CE, no successor was named. This omission marked the commencement of the Major Occultation, which continues to this day. The last deputy, ʿAlī b. Muḥammad Samarī, presented a letter from the hidden Imām in which the Imām made clear that henceforth no one would be able to see him or be in touch with him (Aghajari 2002, 61). This will be discussed further in c­ hapter 2.

Introduction  9 negative sentiment placed the proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿa in a self-​contradictory situation due to the fact that their very identity clearly originated from a claim to rulership. While on the one hand, politics played a central role in the fundamental identity of the proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿa, on the other, most of the infallible Imāms shunned practical politics and did not pursue the position of caliph. Over the course of time, this paradox was resolved through the formation of a transcendental polity that not only rescued proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿism from extinction but also increased its power and prestige. This transcendental polity evolved from the formulation of a theological dogma that attributed an eternal aspect to the last infallible Imām, fixing the number of infallible Imāms at twelve. At the same time, the vitality of the divine element in Shīʿī politics trapped proto-​ Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿism in an indefinite interregnum. This, in turn, manifested in a form of political dormancy, Shīʿa living in the hope that one day a savior endowed with transcendental power would fill the world with justice and equity. While many religious and/​or ideological traditions share this messianic worldview, for the Shīʿa, it has become a living part of their politics, resulting in an ironic form of polity, which is conceptualized in this book as theocratic secularism. In the period prior to the Major Occultation, the identity of the savior was unknown, and for this reason, a number of different individuals were considered to be the promised savior during the first few centuries of Islam. But the proto-​ Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿa agreed during the time of the Major Occultation that the twelfth Imām was the promised savior. He was the only person with the legitimate right to rule, and anyone purporting to lead a government was in fact the usurper of the right of the twelfth Imām. The illegitimacy of the rulers, or usurpers—​if we are to adopt the terms used by the Shīʿa themselves—​during the Major Occultation did stemmed not from the rulers’ actions or religious orientation but from the simple fact that they had usurped the right of the Imām of the age. Shīʿī religious leaders were no exception to this rule, as they are neither obligated nor allowed by sharīʿa to be at the helm of government. In c­ hapter 4, we will see that the issue of overthrowing the established government and forming a religiously legitimate and just administration had no place in the discussions of Shīʿī theologians and muḥaddīth during the development and consolidation of Shīʿī theology. Instead, such discussions were centered on how to attune Shīʿī relations with usurper rulers. Another aspect of the articulation of politics during the Major Occultation was that the formation of an Islamic government was not considered possible until the re-​emergence of the twelfth Imām and that such a government was outside the authority of the Shīʿī clerics. It was the logic and commitment of the religious leaders to theocratic secularism that, while they believed in theocracy (the formation of the ideal state under the leadership of the twelfth Imām), they

10 Introduction saw established governments as outside the realm of religion. This conceptualization was instituted by the founding scholars of Shīʿism in the fourth and fifth/​ tenth and eleventh centuries as the foundation of Shīʿī political theology and has determined the political behavior of Shīʿī leaders during the centuries since. In this book, I do not discuss the Ṣafawid period or the Constitutional Revolution in Iran, which make up two significant chapters of Shīʿism’s political history, but I believe that the thought and behavior of Shīʿī religious leaders in these periods followed the model of theocratic secularism. Of course, it would require extensive research, which falls outside the scope of the current work, to prove this claim. Instead, in part II of the book, I consider contemporary history and argue that the formation of a political system based on the idea of w ​ ilāyat-​i faqīh in Iran was not the product of a transformation in Shīʿī political theology, of which theocratic secularism was and remains the defining element. The 1979 Revolution and the formation of a faqīh-​headed state were the fruits of the revolutionary conditions of the 1960s and ’70s, combined with the balance of power relations in the political arena.

The Iranian Revolution and Ecclesial Transformation? A glance at the developments of the last half century in Iran, the most significant Shīʿī base in the world,28 offers a completely different picture from the theocratic secularism described above. It is not unreasonable to say that Iran’s clerical Islamists29 can be counted among the most successful Islamist movements in the Islamic world given their demonstrated capacity to overthrow the secular Pahlavi regime and establish a political structure headed by a jurist. Islamists in Iran were considerably different from Islamists in other Muslim countries.

28 More than 90 percent of Iran’s population is Shīʿa. Iraq and Bahrain have the largest numbers of Shīʿa after Iran, with Shīʿa accounting for an estimated 60 and 70 percent, respectively, of the two Arab nations’ populations. 29 I use the term “clerical Islamism” to describe the clerical and non-​clerical figures revolving around the personality of Khomeini. These Islamists emphasize the dominance of the clergy in government positions, as well as the government’s implementation of Islamic jurisprudential rules. After the adoption of the constitution in 1979, wilāyat-​i faqīh became the central symbol of the discourse of clerical Islamism. The term “juridical Islam” has also been used to describe this type of Islamism (Hoseinizadeh 2010; Mirahmadi and Shiri 2009; Isaniya 2019; Lolaki 2020; Bazargan 1984, 127; Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi 2020, 202–​207). In addition to the clerical Islamists, there were and still are other groups that can be included under the general umbrella of Islamism. Due to their different tendencies, I use certain labels to demonstrate the differences between them. To describe groups and figures who emphasize democratic values—​such as the Freedom Movement of Iran and the Movement of Militant Muslims—​I use the term “liberal Islamists,” and to describe groups and figures with leftist leanings—​such as the Movement of God-​Fearing Socialists and the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran—​I use the term “leftist Islamists.”

Introduction  11 Prominent Islamist leaders such as Sayyid Qutb in Egypt and Sayyid Abul Aʿla Maududi in the Indian subcontinent were not trained jurists or theologians. For this reason, one may claim that their versions of Islamism lacked jurisprudential and theological richness. But Shīʿī Islamism in Iran was led by Khomeini, who had spent his entire life in the seminary and had reached the highest rank—​marjaʿ-​i taqlīd—​of the semi-​structured seminary system. In January–​ February 1970, Khomeini formulated his doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. The doctrine was presented at the highest level of the seminary education system, that is, to students in the final stage of jurisprudential training called dars-​i khārij, and its language, content, sources, and method give the impression that it has been formulated at the standard of a coherent theory of political theology. According to this doctrine, during the absence of the twelfth Imām, jurists inherit his religious and political authority and have both the religious right and duty to rebel against the usurper government and form a righteous government. Khomeini believed that all jurists should consider themselves obliged to form such a government, and in the case that one jurist succeeds in doing so, all believers—​both other jurists and lay citizens—​have a religious duty to follow that jurist in matters of governance. This doctrine not only outlined a plan for the establishment of a Shīʿī state during the twelfth Imām’s absence, but it also set out the recommended methods of struggle and rebellion against the usurper—​the Pahlavi government. One might speculate at first glance that this doctrine, which both outlined the manner in which the established political system was to be overthrown and specified the key features of the system to be instigated in its place, was a blueprint for Shīʿī Islamists during the 1979 Revolution. The fact that a faqīh-​headed state was formed after the victory of the Revolution in Iran may seem to further such conjecture. However, part II of this book seeks to dissect and interrogate this proposition. The central question guiding this part of the book is to what extent Khomeini’s doctrine played a role in the victory of the 1979 Revolution and the establishment of the Islamic Republic, in which a jurist is the head of state. The aforementioned speculation is framed on the basis of two different lines of argument and thus takes two forms. One line of argument holds that Khomeini’s doctrine brought about a fundamental transformation of Shīʿī political theology and emerged as a new school of thought in the Shīʿī seminary. Khomeini convinced some clerics that the orthodox Shīʿī understanding of the relationship between religion and government was wrong and that the jurists had inherited the political authority of the twelfth Imām and the duty to form an Islamic government. Subsequently, according to this rationale, this intellectual transformation mobilized some of the clergy to teach the new reading of Shīʿī political theology to the masses and to make the faqīh-​headed state a part of the believers’ religious convictions. As a result, the religious masses, believing that the jurists were the representatives of the twelfth Imām, supported the Revolution and

12 Introduction the establishment of the Islamic Republic. In c­ hapter 5, I challenge the above assumptions. It has been widely acknowledged that Khomeini’s doctrine was far removed from the Shīʿī tradition, was in fact a novel theory proposed for the first time by Khomeini, and that wilāyat-​i faqīh, in the sense of a jurist being the head of state, had never been spoken about in Shīʿī tradition before. While confirming these propositions, in c­hapter 5, I will evaluate the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh from a new perspective. We will see that although this doctrine was introduced at the highest level of seminary education, it did not meet the academic standards of the seminary. Khomeini belonged to the Uṣūlī school, a school of thought in which the use of reason and rationality is permitted and in fact recommended to supplement the sacred texts. However, Khomeini’s use of reason extended far beyond the accepted boundaries of the seminary’s intellectual tradition. Because the existing Shīʿī literature as well as the centuries-​old orthodox Shīʿī tradition did not provide Khomeini with sources to support his proposal, he avoided engaging with this literature or the prevailing Shīʿī tradition, instead making extensive use of argument alone. Albeit without naming names, his doctrine also attacked the attitudes and actions of the most significant and respected Shīʿī leaders of the past as well as Khomeini’s own contemporaries, insultingly accusing them of having deviated from the fundamental principles of religion. To coin a phrase, I will explain that Khomeini was the illegitimate child of the Qum seminary and that his doctrine was a clumsy and ill-​fitting patch in both the scholastic and social domains of Shīʿī seminary life. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that when Khomeini presented his doctrine, it did not find any acceptance in the seminary. None of Khomeini’s marjaʿ-​i taqlīd contemporaries reacted to his doctrine, much less positively—​but not even negatively—​and there is no indication that the doctrine was discussed or analyzed in the seminaries of Iran or Iraq at the time beyond in Khomeini’s own classes. Therefore, it would be highly problematic to suggest that Khomeini’s doctrine brought about a theoretical transformation in the seminary and that certain religious leaders, after accepting the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, mobilized religious people to support Khomeini’s struggle to establish a faqīh-​headed state. Another basis for explaining the role of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh during the 1979 Revolution is that the doctrine was used as a blueprint by Islamists in the political arena, without any associated current in the Shīʿī seminary, in the name of a new school of thought. The vast majority of clerical Islamists were middle-​ranking clerics, and high-​ranking Shīʿī leaders, namely, the marjaʿ-​ i taqlīd, were not involved in the 1979 Revolution.30 One might speculate that 30 In this regard, Mohsen Kadivar has written very valuable works examining the thoughts and actions of many high-​ranking religious leaders who opposed the 1979 Revolution and the involvement of the clergy in governance. See, for example, Kadivar 2015a; 2014d; 2020; 2018b; 2019; M. Kadivar 2017. See also S. H. Tabatabaei 2017; Mirzaei 2011; Hashemianfar 2011; Forati 2016.

Introduction  13 the middle-​ranked clerics, without the support of their high-​ranking seminary leaders, transmitted the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh directly to the religious masses and, through their political struggles, convinced them that a system based on wilāyat-​i faqīh was a legitimate alternative to the Pahlavi monarchy. Given the mobilization of the masses in less than a decade and the formation of the government of the Islamic Republic headed by a jurist (Khomeini himself), one may infer that even if wilāyat-​i faqīh was not a part of the religious convictions of the people, it was accepted by them as a political doctrine and mobilized them in support of the Revolution and the establishment of a faqīh-​headed state. Charles Kurzman argues that the involvement of more than 1 percent of a country’s population in a revolution is a rare phenomenon and that part of the significance of the French Revolution of 1789 and the Russian Revolution of 1917 was that more than 1 percent of each country’s population participated in them. Kurzman believes that more than 10 percent of the Iranian population participated in the Iranian Revolution.31 In fact, it was the clerics who, drawing on their extensive connections with the masses and access to an efficient religious network, were able to mobilize the religious masses against the Pahlavi government. However, the question that arises in relation to the aforementioned speculation is what was the place of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the messages and demands that the clerics conveyed to the people? The examination of various sources—​including slogans used during the Revolution; the messages, statements, and speeches of Khomeini; and the memoirs of some key clerical Islamist leaders—​reveals that the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was the great absentee from all of the Revolution’s developments. Between Khomeini’s introduction of wilāyat-​i faqīh in Najaf in 1970 and seven months after the victory of the 1979 Revolution—​that is, September 1979—​he spoke not once of this doctrine. Further, as I will discuss extensively, Khomeini repeatedly emphasized that neither he in particular nor the clerics as a class would occupy any position in the government of the post-​Pahlavi state. Rather, he said that he would play a supervisory and guiding role outside the government structure. Much evidence will be presented in the last two chapters of this book to show that even after the victory of the Revolution, Khomeini did not intend to occupy an official government post. He and the other clerical Islamists endorsed the original draft constitution, which made no reference to the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Likewise, the title “Islamic Republic” approved in the referendum determining the name of the new political system did not convey the meaning a faqīh-​headed state, neither to the voters nor to the political groups who voted for it. In ­chapter 8, I will show that the astonishing victory of the Islamists in the election of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution changed the course of events and that it was during

31

Kurzman 2004, 121.

14 Introduction the debates of this assembly that the constitution was drafted with a focus on the idea of w ​ ilāyat-​i faqīh. But it is interesting that even during the drafting of the constitution based on wilāyat-​i faqīh by the Assembly of Experts, Khomeini’s doctrine did not play any role. Relying on the balance of power, as well as using broad and vague religious concepts and beliefs such as the claim that “there is a concept of an Islamic government,” the Islamists were able to configure the new political system around the concept of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Overall, in part II of the book, my aim is to show that the formation of the political system centered on wilāyat-​i faqīh was not the product of any change in the religious beliefs of religious scholars or the masses. Rather, political developments and changes in the balance of power, especially the masses’ entrance into the competitive political arena in favor of the clerical Islamists, provided an opportunity for them to present the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh to the Assembly of Experts and draft a constitution that guaranteed clerics’ dominance over the country’s future political structure. There is a further analysis of the events after the 1979 Revolution, which claims that Khomeini and his entourages had intended to establish a faqīh-​headed state from the start but deceptively concealed their true desires until favorable conditions arose. There is much evidence to refute this analysis and show that Khomeini was genuine in his initial claim that he was not seeking to seize power. This claim may seem to contradict the fact that Khomeini proposed the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh around ten years before the Revolution. But an examination of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, as well as the statements of Khomeini and other Islamists, shows that they viewed this doctrine as an ideal for the distant future and that they neither contemplated nor intended implementing it themselves. Contrary to the interpretation that Khomeini deliberately engaged in deception, this understanding of the behavior of Khomeini and the clerical Islamists confirms the key argument of this book. The dominance of theocratic secularism over the Shīʿī intellectual atmosphere at that time meant that the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was not taken seriously by the clerical Islamists themselves. There is ample evidence that the Islamists did not see the proposal as feasible, and Khomeini himself said at the time that “no sane person expects our propaganda and teachings to lead to the formation of an Islamic government any time soon.”32 Foucault’s report on the Iranian Revolution alludes to a similar point, stating that no one in Iran used the term “Islamic government” to refer to a clerical government but that the ideal they had in mind was both very old and at the same time a reference to the distant future.33 Thus, it was not the masses’ belief in the ideal of the faqīh-​headed state that mobilized them to support the clerical

32 33

Khomeini 1981, 132. Foucault quoted in Afary, Anderson, and Foucault 2005, 206.

Introduction  15 Islamists. Drawing on Charles Taylor’s notion of “social imaginary,”34 the ways in which the ordinary people imagined their sociopolitical surroundings will be explored, and it will be suggested that the continued role of extant religious motifs and symbols in people’s social imaginaries provoked them to support the clerical Islamists, not any doctrinal shift. The support of the masses and their absolute numerical superiority at the ballot box put the clerical Islamists in a much more privileged position than any other group, and they took advantage of this opportunity and wrote the constitution of the new system in such a way as to guarantee their continued domination of Iranian politics. The story of wilāyat-​i faqīh after the adoption of the constitution and its institutionalization in the new political system is an important issue that must be addressed separately. Rather, in the concluding chapter of this book, I briefly discuss the efforts of the clerical Islamists, after seizing the government apparatus, to launch a large-​scale mobilization in both the seminary and the public arena to make belief in wilāyat-​i faqīh part of the people’s religious convictions. But there is ample evidence to question their claim to success in this endeavor. A change in religious belief tends to be a time-​consuming process, and one might argue that the Islamic Republic is educating a generation of believers for whom faith in wilāyat-​i faqīh is part of their belief system. Future events will reveal the accuracy or otherwise of such speculation, but the possibility should not be ruled out, because orthodox Shīʿī theology also evolved and consolidated in response to political developments at a particular point in time. Perhaps the idea of w ​ ilāyat-​i faqīh will, after a long period of time, mature and become established at the core of a religious sect emerging from Twelver Shīʿism. But in today’s context, it is safe to say that this has not yet happened and that orthodox Shīʿī political theology remains the mainstay of Shīʿī religious belief. For this reason, it is important and necessary that it be packaged as a conceptual framework and promoted as a cohesive politico-​religious discourse both within the seminary and in the political sphere. This conceptualization can help mobilize the religious masses and orthodox Shīʿī clerics to fight against the authoritarian system of the Islamic Republic.

The Necessity and Importance of Theocratic Secularism Following the 1979 Revolution, a new form of Shīʿism emerged, which in this book is referred to as governmental Shīʿism. This form of Shīʿism, by dominating the state apparatus and gaining access to its resources, soon became the most powerful Shīʿī discourse in the politico-​religious space of Iran. The rise of

34

Taylor 2004.

16 Introduction Shīʿī clerics in Iran has also led to widespread interest in the Shīʿī sect. Andrew Newman rightly characterizes the years after the 1979 Revolution as the years of the expansion of Shīʿī studies.35 Perhaps a more accurate description would be achieved if we said that there has been an explosion of studies about governmental Shīʿism, not all Shīʿī schools of thought. The boisterous and controversial emergence of governmental Shīʿism has caused it to attract the exclusive attention of both the media and academic scholars. At the same time, the disproportionate attention paid to governmental Shīʿism has been accompanied by indifference to Shīʿī orthodoxy. For this reason, despite the expansion of Shīʿī studies, the relevant literature does not provide an accurate and comprehensive picture of the different Shīʿī discourses. Of course, neither does this book claim to provide a comprehensive picture of all the numerous schools of thought and practice in the Shīʿī world. Three major discourses can be identified in the Shīʿī/​ Iranian world: Shīʿī orthodoxy, governmental Shīʿism, and reformist Shīʿism.36 My main focus in this book is on conceptualizing the relationship between religion and government in Shīʿī orthodoxy, as well as the relationship between Shīʿī orthodoxy and governmental Shīʿism. My previous book, Religious Secularity, was about Shīʿī reformism, and I will not focus on this discourse in the present work. However, it may not be misplaced to explain briefly that reformist Shīʿism took shape in the mid-​1980s following the disappointment of some religious intellectuals with governmental Shīʿism. In fact, reformist Shīʿism was a backlash against the authoritarian process of governmental Shīʿism. A group of religious scholars and political activists who were in the clerical Islamist camp during the Revolution and helped institutionalize the faqīh-​headed state in the first decade after its establishment reconsidered their views, especially on the relationship between religion and government. In fact, the lessons they learned from the experience of the convergence of religion and government in the first decade of the Islamic Republic proved to them that such a fusion is to the detriment of both the state and religion. For this reason, they seek to re-​evaluate the foundations of the Islamic state’s political legitimacy and religious authority.37 Occupied by the desire to rescue religion from the ills of the state, religious reformers promote the separation of religion and government. These religious reformers use sources such as the Qurʾān, ḥadīths, and history of Islam in their efforts, but their intellectual origins can be traced to modern political thought. Their proposals and ideals are epistemologically rooted in the modern and Western traditions, and in fact, they deploy, adapt, and recast “the

35 Newman 2013. 36 In addition, further intellectual trends and political groupings within the Shīʿī world may also be identified. See, for example, Tabatabaeifar 2015. 37 Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi 2020.

Introduction  17 theories and critical methods of various Euro-​American philosophies in their efforts to debunk and challenge clerical political supremacy during the second and third decades of the Islamic Republic’s existence.”38 As Eskandar Sadeghi-​ Boroujerdi demonstrates in detail in his groundbreaking book, a close relationship between religious reformers and political reformers was created in the decades of the 1990s and 2000s, and this discourse was able to gain political power in Iran. But the movement failed in its attempt to bring about structural reform to and the democratization of the political system of the Islamic Republic. Today this movement has lost much of its influence in the Iranian political space, and there is no prospect of it challenging governmental Shīʿism. Nonetheless, reformist Shīʿism has attracted much attention in the academic and media spheres in recent decades.39 It is the other two Shīʿī discourses, Shīʿī orthodoxy and governmental Shīʿism, and the relationship between them that are the focus of this book. As mentioned earlier, governmental Shīʿism has been researched extensively over the last four decades. For this reason, the focus of this book is on Shīʿī orthodoxy, and I will examine governmental Shīʿism in relation to its distance and divergence from Shīʿī orthodoxy. Among the three Shīʿī discourses, Shīʿī orthodoxy is the least studied, and when referred to in the relevant literature, its approach to politics is characterized using terms such as “apolitical” and “quietist.” This conceptualization is influenced to some extent by the inaccurate conceptualization of Khomeini’s discourse, portraying him as the person who politicized the Shīʿa. In this book, using the phrase “governmental Shīʿism,” I argue that Khomeini did not politicize the Shīʿa but governmentalized Shīʿī Islam. The Shīʿa were political from the beginning, and this is evident not only throughout history and in the actions of Shīʿī leaders but also in the Shīʿī theological framework, which clearly shows that politics is a significant element of Shīʿī theology. Shīʿī leaders were never apolitical or quietist, but rather, maintaining distance from the state apparatus has been the Shīʿī authorities’ guiding principle in their political engagement throughout history. Another important point about the conceptualization of orthodox Shīʿī political behavior is that this conceptualization has not yet been outlined in the academic literature related to the study of Shīʿism, political Islam, or Iran. Even more

38 Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi 2020, 11. 39 Countless books and articles have been written on the various dimensions of the religious reform movement in Iran, and it is not possible to list them all here. To give only a few examples, see Mohammadi 2018; Tazmini 2009; Ansari 2006; Parsa 2016; Brumberg 2001; Mirsepassi 2010; Rivetti 2019; Schwerin 2015; Shakibi 2010; Tezcür 2010; Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi 2016; Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi 2020; Ghamari-​Tabrizi 2008; Boroujerdi 1996; Soroush, Sadri, and Sadri 2000; Jahanbakhsh 2001; Eshkevari, Mir-​Hosseini, and Tapper 2006; Vahdat 2002; Nabavi 2012; Siavoshi 2017; Ghobadzadeh 2015; Kamrava 2008; Shahibzadeh 2016; Bayat 2007.

18 Introduction significantly, this conceptualization has not been articulated within the seminary by Shīʿī religious authorities. Shīʿī religious authorities have never sought to theorize their political thought and action. As will be discussed in c­ hapter 5, prior to the present period, the issue of government was briefly discussed under the category of “social interactions” (muāmilāt) in jurisprudential books. There are two exceptions to this pattern in Shīʿī history. One is the book The Awakening of the Community and Refinement of Nation, which was written during the Iranian constitutional period in defense of constitutionalism by Mirza Mohammad Hossein Naeini (1860–​1936), a constitutionalist scholar,40 and the other is Khomeini’s wilāyat-​i faqīh. But after seizing power in Iran, the clerical Islamists have made extensive use of their resources to generate literature in support of their particular reading of Shīʿī politics. For this reason, countless works have been produced in the last decades in support of governmental Shīʿism. Orthodox Shīʿa, meanwhile, remain loyal to their established traditions and refrain from writing and conceptualizing their political behavior and thought. A clear example in this regard is Ayatollah Sistani, the trustee of the Najaf seminary, who has played a determining role in Iraqi politics, especially over the past two decades, and has entered the political scene directly several times. However, Sistani has never held an official government position and has insisted on retaining his distance from the Iraqi government. Given the decisive role of Sistani in Iraqi politics, it would be very problematic to claim that he is apolitical. However, Sistani has not written any book or treatise in which he has formulated the basis of his political thought. It is this task that the present work addresses to elucidate the framework of political thought and action of orthodox Shīʿī leaders such as Sistani through an examination of Shīʿism’s theological foundations. In addition to being an analytical-​descriptive concept, theocratic secularism is normative-​prescriptive as well. As a normative-​prescriptive claim, theocratic secularism develops an attenuated notion of political secularism arguing for the de-​governmentalization of religion in Iran, albeit not its privatization. Theocratic secularism advocates a political role for religion within the context of civil society rather than in the state apparatus or on political platforms.

40 This work is considered the most important conceptual legacy of the pro-​constitutionalist ʿulamāʿ. It is also widely known as the most important Shīʿī treaty in the contemporary age promoting democratic polity. Naeini supported the parliamentary system not because he viewed it as the ideal system for the Shīʿa but because it was a feasible option deemed superior to an absolute monarchy. For a detailed explanation of Naeini’s political thought and his contribution to the Constitutional Revolution, see Nouraie 1975; Hairi 1977, 109–​234; Naeini 2003; Najafi 1994; Boozari 2011, 99–​152; Feirahi 2016; Derakhsheh 2001: 199).

Introduction  19

An Attenuated Notion of Political Secularism The conceptual framework for this book has its nascency in the literature addressing the topics of secularism and religion–​state relations. However, rather than testing any specific theory in the Iranian/​Shīʿī context, a range of ideas and notions are modified and reformulated in a bid to develop a precise notion of political secularism. In addition, my utilization of this conception of secularism, which is both descriptive and normative, does not suggest that I aim to offer a comprehensive solution to all the questions surrounding state–​religion relations in Iran. The recurring question of where to draw a line between religion and politics is both complex and multifaceted; it invites neither a definitive nor a consensual answer. The problem of where to draw this line continues to be widely debated in mature, secular democracies. Thus, it could appear immature to either expect or claim that a single theory or framework could be developed that would solve the problem permanently. As Abdullahi Ahmed An-​Na’im maintains, all societies are constantly “negotiating the relationship between religion and the state over many issues at different times.”41 Implicit in the notion of negotiation is the suggestion that one should adopt a step-​by-​step strategy. A pressing and immediate concern in Iranian/​Shīʿī state–​religion relations is the clerical Islamists’ claim that they have the religious responsibility and right to be in charge of the state’s institutions. In response, this book articulates a religious rationale for political secularism, arguing that the political theology of Twelver Shīʿism is based on belief in an unattainable theocracy and leaves Shīʿī authorities with the religious responsibility to maintain distance from the state apparatus. There is a widespread understanding of the notion of secularism according to which it not only is a phenomenon external to religion but has an antithetical relationship with religion. William Connolly finds the source of this understanding of secularism in the work of Immanuel Kant, whose “objective [was] to curtail the authority of the faculty of ecclesiastical theology.” To this end, he elevated a “universal philosophy, also known as ‘rational religion,’ to the authoritative position previously reserved for Christian theology.”42 Connolly suggests that the Kantian approach, while attributing the simplicity and singularity to public life, fails to identify the complex and multifaceted character of the extant issues. Matthew Scherer reframes this articulation of secularism as “Kantian secularism,” which he claims stands in contrast to “Hegelian secularism.” Hegelian secularism opens up a space in which to negotiate religious traditions: “Where Kantian secularists emphasize the detachment of secular reason from religious tradition, Hegelian secularists emphasize the work done by a specifically

41 42

An-​Na’im 2008, 30. Connolly 2007, 30.

20 Introduction Christian religious tradition in preparing secular reason, and thus the continuity between this tradition and modern secularism.”43 The Hegelian approach to secularism marks the point of departure for this book, in which I argue that rather than confronting political secularism, Shīʿī tradition advocates a form of political secularism. To this end, a religious rationale can be constructed with the dual purpose of promoting political secularism and making a case against the clerical Islamists’ construction of a faqīh-​headed state. Discussions about Kantian and Hegelian conceptions of secularism are to some degree retrospective in the sense that they reread the evolutionary process of the notion of secularism from a Western Christian perspective. In this book, I stress the lack of secularism in the contemporary Iranian context, so there is no retrospective scrutiny of the roots of any practiced form of secularism. Rather, the book highlights the relationship between a foundational theological component of the Shīʿī orthodoxy and a centuries-​old mode of living, that is, an ingrained and prescriptive guide to political secularism. This book is both descriptive and prescriptive; it identifies and describes a secular quality in Shīʿī orthodoxy and prescribes it as a normative framework for religion–​state relations. Providing a religious rationale for political secularism could also prove advantageous inasmuch as it may dilute the negative connotations associated with the notion of secularism. Throughout the Muslim world, the ideal of secularism is perceived as a Western colonial ideology aimed at abolishing religion and weakening local cultures. As in other parts of the Muslim world,44 from the early 1930s until the end of the 1970s, an authoritarian and top-​down secularization policy was implemented in Iran. Rightly or wrongly, the secular-​oriented Pahlavi administration was considered representative of a vision prescribed by colonial powers that were considered hostile to the Iranian/​Shīʿī worldview and way of life. As Nikki Keddie writes, religious revivalism was a backlash to alien and state-​imposed secularism.45 Thus, articulating a conception of secularism that is rooted in the Shīʿī theology will help to overcome the negative connotations surrounding secularism. This book also draws from a specific line of scholarship that acknowledges the existence of multiple forms and experiences of secularism. At the philosophical and macro-​historical levels, Taylor’s book A Secular Age is the most telling case. Taylor’s allusion to “one age” implies that other ages and traditions have fostered other forms of secularity. Many other works have elaborated on the various forms of secularism both normatively and descriptively.46 What I refer to in this 43 Scherer 2011, 624. 44 Esposito 2000. 45 Keddie 2003. 46 See, for example, Beaufort 2008; Davie 2000, 15; Brown and Snape 2010; An-​Na’im 2008; Modood 2010; Kuru 2009; Taylor 2007; Maclure and Taylor 2011; Esposito 2010; Burchardt and Wohlrab-​Sahr 2013; Hashemi 2010; Stepan 2011.

Introduction  21 book is another “secular age” (using Taylor’s terminology freely). As will become evident, the notion of secularism in this book is far narrower than that which Taylor traces and attributes to the lived experience of the Anglo-​Saxon world. Before detailing this attenuated conception of political secularism, I feel obliged to mention that John Rawls’s notion of “overlapping consensus” also inspired the conceptual foundation of this study. According to overlapping consensus, varying comprehensive normative doctrines may endorse similar sets of principles for reasons internal to their own doctrines and perspectives. While for Rawls the notion of justice in the liberal tradition is central,47 in this book the necessity to divorce the religious authorities from the institution of the state is a major concern. In Iran, the convergence of state and religion has proven detrimental for both religion and politics. The end goal of separating the state from religion is similar to that of the well-​known secularization thesis, the genesis of which is found in the Western Christian world. However, different reasoning and logic are needed to promote a vision of political secularism in the Iranian/​Shīʿī context. The leading discussions centering on secularism in the Western context were initiated by political philosophers, political scientists, and sociologists for whom the primary concern was the emancipation of politics from religion. However, my focus here is the emancipation of religion from the state, a proposal supported by reasoning internal to the Shīʿī theology. The separation of state from religion will be articulated as a part of the religious conviction of the Shīʿī believers and on the basis of a rationale that is purely religious. It is also timely to reflect briefly here on the secularization thesis. As Bhargava and José Casanova suggest, despite all the critiques of the secularization thesis, its core—​the notion of institutional differentiation—​remains a tenable and desirable ideal.48 The secularization thesis enjoyed paradigmatic status within the modern social sciences for most of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In its simple format, the thesis assumed a causal relationship between modernization and secularization: the more modern a society becomes, the more secular it will become. During this period, the term “secular” and its derivatives were understood in sharp contrast to religion. Due to its hegemonic dominance, it was not considered necessary to test this thesis, nor was it ever “rigorously examined or even formulated explicitly and systematically.”49 Without any supporting data or solid evidence, the thesis incorporated and propounded profound claims, including the decline of religious beliefs, privatization of religion, and decline in religion’s social and political importance, as well as institutional differentiation



47 48 49

Rawls 1993, 133–​172. Bhargava 2011; Casanova 1994. Casanova 1994, 17.

22 Introduction including separation of the state from the church. Jeffrey Hadden terms it “a hodgepodge of loosely employed ideas rather than a systematic theory.”50 From the 1960s onward, questions were raised regarding the secularization thesis and its fundamental claims. An influx of data and evidence proved a formidable challenge to the thesis, with some scholars demanding erasure of the term “secularization” from the sociological lexicon.51 However, as one might expect, their demands did not signal the demise of the secularization thesis. Rather, their questioning of the thesis provoked widespread scrutiny of the various claims and assumptions embedded within it. Some of its claims were adamantly refuted, including its proposals that religion would decline and eventually disappear and that religion’s influence in public life would diminish. Conversely, however, notions of institutional differentiation, in particular separation of the state from religion, have largely survived. Although the question of how well the ideal of separation can be implemented is considered relatively in the context of different countries, from a normative viewpoint the ideal is not often refuted. Having said that, it is widely agreed that in the real world, there is no such a thing as “perfect separation,” an outcome once envisioned by James Madison, one of the founding fathers of American secularism.52 Nonetheless, it is still a consensually agreed ideal that separation of state institutions from the religious establishment will signal a favorable outcome for both religion and politics.

Separation of Religious and Political Authority In opposition to the overall trend, some scholars do scrutinize the core ideal of separation in the secularization thesis, prising it open for questioning. Bhargava’s work, which is particularly important in this regard, distinguishes various forms of separation, including strict neutrality, one-​sided exclusion (typified by the French and Turkish models), and two-​sided exclusion (the American notion of the “wall of separation”). Bhargava, voicing his objections to these models of separation, emphasizes the problems they encounter in terms of managing religion’s role in the public sphere. Offering an alternative, he articulates a model of separation now celebrated as the “Indian model of secularism.” Bhargava maintains that the following three levels of connection/​disconnection between religion and state can be investigated: (1) the level of ends, (2) the level of institutions/​personnel, and (3) the level of law and public policy. In effect, he states that disconnection at the first two levels demarcates the boundaries between secular and

50 51 52

Hadden 1987, 598. Shiner 1967; Stark and Iannaccone 1994; Martin 1969, 22; Stark 1999, 270. Madison 2006, 307.

Introduction  23 nonsecular states. Apropos of the third level, public policy and law, Bhargava offers a more complicated and nuanced prescription. He utilizes the term “principled distance,” according to which a flexible approach should be adopted when considering the issues of inclusion/​exclusion of religion in/​from public policy and the engagement/​disengagement of the state in/​from religious matters. Decisions pertinent to the inclusion/​exclusion of religion and engagement/​disengagement of the state will “depend on the context, nature or current state of relevant religions.”53 With reference to fundamental values, in particular peace, freedom, and equality, Bhargava argues that inclusion and engagement ought to be governed by specific values: [R]‌eligion may intervene in the affairs of the state if such intervention promotes freedom, equality, or any other value integral to secularism. For example, citizens may support a coercive law of the state grounded purely in a religious rationale if this law is compatible with freedom or equality. The state may engage with religion or disengage from it, may engage positively or negatively, but which it does will depend on whether these values are promoted or undermined.54

Bhargava’s work on political secularism is guided by concern regarding the management of difficulties attributable to religious differences and diversity. While this concern persists in Iran today, it is not the fundamental dilemma impacting the country’s religious and state relations. As suggested earlier, the major problem in Iran’s current polity is the clergy’s claim to rulership. A modified version of Bhargava’s conceptualization of the three levels of connection/​ disconnection and his notion of “principled distance” prove helpful to this study. Bhargava maintains that disconnection at the two first levels, that is, ends and personnel, is a precondition for a state to be considered secular. The religious rationale articulated here also envisages disconnection at these levels. It is suggested that according to Shīʿī orthodoxy, not only the claims of Shīʿī authorities to rulership but all existing states during the Age of Occultation are religiously illegitimate. Hence, no religious mission is attributable to the state. This does not imply that within this framework there is no expectation that the state should comply with religious teachings. Throughout history, Shīʿī authorities have employed different methods to persuade and compel the state to observe religious teachings. On more than one occasion, they have succeeded. However, given that the Shīʿī authorities have never considered the state to be their property or affiliate, their expectations of the state have been generally limited and occasional.

53 54

Bhargava 2006, 649. Bhargava 2006, 649.

24 Introduction Their somewhat ironic relationship with the state provided the Shīʿī authorities with an opportunity to justify their inaction upon realizing that their power failed to match the power of the state. The conviction that all states—​with the exception of the state ruled by the hidden Imām—​are religiously illegitimate makes it possible to strike a compromise. In other words, due to its religious illegitimacy, the state is not expected to fulfill the end goals of religion. Bhargava’s notion of “principled distance” also will be subject to some modification. He grants the state the authority to make decisions regarding when and how to engage with and include religion. In the Shīʿī context, the religious authorities55 are designated the agents of principled distance. Instead of being guided by the values of peace, freedom, and equality, religious authorities are guided by Shīʿī teaching that dictates whether they should engage with—​or disengage from—​political issues. I am not suggesting that as a normative framework the notion of principled distance is capable of establishing a solid and well-​defined role for the Shīʿī authorities in sociopolitical matters. The religious authorities’ engagement in political issues has always been a source of controversy and tension; for this reason, it will be an ongoing process of negotiation. Further to their potential to set state and religious authorities on a collision course, issues relating to the scope and scale of clerical involvement in politics have always been and will continue to be a source of polemic debate within the religious spectrum and among different religious authorities. The usefulness of the notion of principled distance lies in its proclivity to demonstrate two corresponding claims: (1) from a religious standpoint, Shīʿī authorities should engage in politics, and (2) at the same time, they are religiously obligated to maintain distance from governing positions. As such, their engagement should be occasional and context-​based. Religious establishments are not political entities; they should neither act as political parties nor aspire to governing positions. In order to further clarify the distinction between the engagement of religious authorities

55 In the Shīʿī context, the term “religious authorities” does not encompass any person independent of religious scholars and jurists. From the outset, the term “Shīʿa” alluded to a community within a community. In their attempts to avoid confrontation with the larger community, in particular with the political authorities, leaders sought to establish self-​governing mechanisms suited to the management of their community affairs. In the early centuries of Shīʿism, due to the significance of the transmission of the ḥadīths and jurisprudential rulings, disciples of the infallible Imāms commenced acting as their representatives within the community. The roles of the disciples evolved over time: Liyakat Takim describes eight major roles that disciples (or rijal, later jurists) played. As well as acting as spiritual/​religious leaders, scholars, and judges, jurists acted as community leaders addressing a wide range of socioeconomic issues. Although the Shīʿa have not always been a minority group, the idea of preserving religious and communal independence from the political structure has remained a defining feature of Shīʿism. This is why, throughout Shīʿī history, religious scholars have continued to act as community authorities as well as jurists and religious/​spiritual authorities. For further discussion of the issue of authority in Shīʿim, see Takim 2006; Newman 2014; Sachedina 1998; Mavani 2013.

Introduction  25 in political matters and the function of a political party, exploration of another conceptual framework is in order. Casanova’s notions of “public religion” and “deprivatization” of religion offer useful frameworks for the systematic articulation of a prospective role for Shīʿī Islam within the realm of Iranian civil society. Casanova explores religion by problematizing a key component of the conventional secularization paradigm, namely, that religion ought to be relegated to the private sphere. Demonstrating that the prophecy of the privatization of religion has proven false, Casanova argues convincingly that such privatization is neither viable nor desirable. Thus, Casanova’s articulation of the deprivatization of religion, as both a descriptive and a prescriptive notion, challenges the militant secularization paradigm. Casanova compares varying religious traditions, some of which are compelled by their “tradition, principle, and historical circumstances to remain basically private religions of individual salvation.” He maintains that due to “certain cultural traditions, religious doctrinal principles, and historical circumstances,” some religions have acquired public and communal identities that have enabled them not only to assume public roles but to resist all pressure to privatize.56 Urging his readers to acknowledge the public presence of many religions, Casanova adopts a normative position, suggesting that religion can play a positive and constructive role in the public sphere. Casanova endeavors to identify a distinctive space for religion in the public sphere, in the process challenging the liberal and civic republic models of distinction between the private and public spheres. As an alternative, he advocates tripartite division of the modern democratic polity into state, political society, and civil society and develops a new typology of public religions. He discusses the different forms and platforms utilized for the engagement of religion in political issues and argues cogently that civil society is the only platform via which religions can play positive and constructive sociopolitical roles. With some modifications, Casanova’s notions of deprivatization and public religion will prove useful analytical tools for contemplating a constructive role for Shīʿī religion in Iran’s political milieu. Casanova’s notion of deprivatization has inspired me to contemplate the de-​governmentalization of religion in the Iranian/​Shīʿī context, which could facilitate the emancipation of religion from the detrimental influence of the state. One may suggest that Casanova’s notion of deprivatization is a response to the zealous craving of the secularization paradigm to jettison religion from the public sphere. Here I use the notion of de-​governmentalization as a normative response to the ruling clergy’s fervent campaign to take control of all of the country’s religious institutions, rituals, and dictums. When in power, clerical Islamists launched a systematic and politically

56

Casanova 1994, 224.

26 Introduction calculated campaign to bring all aspects of religion under their control. While on the one hand, governmentalized Shīʿism has had a detrimental impact on the country’s political sphere, on the other, the clerical Islamists’ abuse of religion for political purposes has severely damaged the reputation of religion itself. Therefore, the emancipation of the religion from the Iranian state is necessary. But also important is the contemplation of a sociopolitical role of religion in a prospective post–​Islamic Republic context. Contemporary discussion of religion–​state relations in the country is understandably centered on the urgency of the former issue. However, this has resulted in the negligence of an important question: when religion is separated from the state apparatus, how and in which sphere should it play its sociopolitical role? Addressing this question will have a twofold benefit: such exploration may (1) generate a constructive vision of state–​religion–​society relations and also (2) comfort religious people in a country in which a bitter history of anti-​ religious secularization remains a constant source of anxiety. Casanova’s notion of public religion could be employed to retrospectively suggest that Shīʿī orthodoxy has played a public role for centuries in the realm of civil society. While its usage may sound anachronistic, as Tanvir Anjum and Hasan Hanafi suggest, the concept of civil society can apply to the Muslim world.57 Throughout history, there have been occasions during which Shīʿī authorities have engaged with the political sphere in the form of a political movement. The Tobacco Protest (1891) and the Constitutional Revolution (1905–​1911) are outstanding examples of times during which the religious authorities played a leading role in the political sphere. Somewhat interestingly, on both occasions, religion played a constructive role: (a) in support of the local merchants during the first incident and (b) in support of the introduction of parliamentarianism during the second. That said, it may be unwise to advocate the incorporation of religion into the political sphere based on two positive historical experiences. There have been other occasions, such as the Land Reform program and abolishing feudalism (1962–​1971) and the extension of the right to vote to women (1962), during which the entrance of religion into the political sphere proved destructive. As is frequently observed, the occasional engagement of religious authorities with the political sphere became an ongoing pattern, eventually consolidating in the clerical Islamists’ occupation of the state apparatus. Thus, consonant with Casanova’s proposal, its positioning within civil society may prove the most desirable space for the public role of religion in a prospective post–​Islamic Republic Iran. However, one must concede that there is no clear-​cut border between civil society and the political sphere. Religion’s engagement might take the form of a pattern of moving between two spaces: civil society and the political sphere. One anticipates that this

57

Anjum 2012; Hanafi 2002.

Introduction  27 will become part of ongoing negotiations vis-​à-​vis the matter of religion–​politics relations.

Some Caveats I need to clarify a few points here before commencing the main discussion of this book. First, the study of the political theology of Shīʿī orthodoxy and governmental Shīʿism can be centered on numerous different subjects. Matters including, but not limited to, democracy, human rights, women’s rights, and pluralism can all be interesting topics for comparative studies of the thought and action of Shīʿī orthodoxy and governmental Shīʿism. The Shīʿī government’s record on the aforementioned issues is clear enough and clearly negative. However, it would not be unreasonable to argue that as a result of its interaction with governance matters, Shīʿī jurisprudence has demonstrated some capacity for reform and flexibility, which has enabled it to survive in and adapt to the needs of the modern world. The developments of “dynamic ijtihād” and “expediency jurisprudence,” which will be discussed in ­chapter 5, are demonstrative in this regard. We can also point to the taking shape of progressive ideas in religious reformism as one of the indirect and unintended achievements of the experience of governmental Shīʿism. Not only have widespread debates about democracy, pluralism, tolerance, and other modern concepts entered the discourse of religious reformists in response to governmental Shīʿism, but these issues have also penetrated Shīʿī jurisprudence. An illustrative example in this regard is the discourse of human rights, which has found an important place in religious reformism, particularly in the work of people such as Ayatollah Montazeri and Mohsen Kadivar. But an important consideration here in terms of issues such as human rights is that the practical and intellectual frameworks of orthodox Shīʿism have remained largely intact over the centuries and conflict significantly with the accepted standards of today. For example, the concept of human equality has no place in the orthodox Shīʿī framework. In orthodox Shīʿī jurisprudence, there are strong and intact bases for discrimination between men and women and between Muslims and non-​Muslims. The proposal to de-​governmentalize religion will not automatically solve these issues. Therefore, we can also talk about the need for reform within orthodox Shīʿism. In addition, there is also scope to discuss the responsibility of the government to protect the basic rights of citizens. The de-​ governmentalization of religion would mean that the state would no longer be in charge of religious affairs, but this should not allow the state to eschew responsibility for discrimination that may occur on religious grounds. The extent to and mechanisms through which the government could play a role in this regard are

28 Introduction an important issue. Perhaps Bhargava’s concept of principled distance, discussed above, could be useful in this regard. In accordance with this concept, the government could support the positive aspects of religious traditions and take a stand against the negative ones in a way that “attends simultaneously to issues of intra-​religious oppression and inter-​religious domination.”58 This issue naturally involves multiple dimensions and requires the development of a comprehensive strategy that is beyond the scope of this book. The reason I am clarifying the need to address issues such as human rights in orthodox Shīʿism here is that while the concept of theocratic secularism has a positive connotation, this should not be taken to imply that orthodox Shīʿism is necessarily positioned in favor of democracy or human rights, nor am I endorsing it as an all-​encompassing solution for the political landscape of Iran. The experience of governmental Shīʿism has demonstrated that religious leaders holding the coercive power of the state can lead to widespread human rights abuses as well as the formation of an authoritarian government. For this reason, the proposal of theocratic secularism to preclude religious leaders from seizing power could limit the power of the religious establishment and the extent of the damage they inflict in areas such as human rights. But the elimination of such a possibility is a matter that should be discussed separately, alongside the mechanisms necessary to achieve such a goal. Further, I think it has been made clear from the very beginning of this introductory chapter that the scope of this book is limited to the Iranian experience. Twelver Shīʿism, like many religions, is transnational in nature, and not only have seminaries historically not acted in accordance with the logic of national borders, but the influence and authority of Shīʿī religious authorities have never been limited to the geographical framework of the modern nation-​state. Therefore, the discussion in this book about the political theology of the Twelver Shīʿa, including the concept of theocratic secularism, may well be applied to Shīʿa in other countries, such as Iraq, Bahrain, and Lebanon. But the case of my research in this book is limited to Iran. A further matter relates to the nature of the sources used in this work. Many of my sources have not been translated into English; a significant number only exist in Persian and/​or Arabic. There are some cases in which an English translation exists, but I generally prefer to use original sources where possible. In reference lists that include titles of books and articles in other languages, it is customary to present such titles using the Latin alphabet exclusively. Instead, I have taken a new and somewhat unorthodox approach in the sense that I present the original Persian and Arabic versions of titles alongside their English translations. In my opinion, readers who are not familiar with Persian and Arabic derive little benefit from Latin transliterations of titles, while titles in Persian and Arabic will be

58

Bhargava 2010, 69.

Introduction  29 very useful for readers who are familiar with these languages. Transliterations are produced in different ways and are rarely free from error, but the method I have used in my bibliographies will enable the reader to easily and accurately identify the titles of all cited sources in his or her own language. Where I do use transliterations in the text of this book, I make use of the guidelines proposed in the third edition of Brill’s Encyclopaedia of Islam, which provides a more systematic and comprehensive system than other systems used in the field of Islamic studies. That being said, I must explain that in part II of the book, I generally refrain from using transliterated versions of names and concepts. This decision is due to the fact that many Iranian names as well as the Persian and Arabic words used in part II of the book have been used frequently and are well established in the English literature in their simple forms. For this reason, the use of transliteration in such cases is more likely to confuse than help the reader seeking to understand the name correctly. For example, a reader may well recognize the common and accepted spelling of the name “Khomeini” but find it strange and perplexing if this name were transcribed in the standard Brill style as “K̲h̲umaynī.” The word “Ayatollah” is another example of a term that when presented in conformance with the Brill guidelines as “Āyatullāh,” is unlikely to make the text any easier to read. Therefore, in part II of the book, in which names and concepts are more embedded in the English literature, transliteration has been used sparingly.

PART I

THE F OR MAT IVE PE R IOD OF SH ĪʿI SM

1

The Sorrowful Age of Presence Unlike in Christianity, political power was an integral part of Islam from its inception. When Prophet Mohammad died in 632, he left behind a political entity that had conquered and unified much of Arabia, a solid political entity that had been established under the charismatic rulership of one man. Thus, it comes as little surprise that when Prophet Mohammad died, a power struggle ensued. An overwhelming majority of the community was of the opinion that the Prophet had not appointed a successor.1 Furthermore, there was no clear provision for succession in the newly established umma,2 an omission underpinning the different arguments voiced by those laying claim to the throne. Given the likely implications of such ambiguity, one could reasonably expect that a momentous power struggle would ensue. However, this was not the case. In a brief meeting convened immediately following the demise of the Prophet,3 Muslim elites pledged their allegiance to Abū Bakr (the father-​in-​law and a close companion of Prophet Mohammad). Thus, the companions of the Prophet should be praised for their capacity to reach agreement in such a short time, that is, at one meeting. During this meeting and subsequently, some objections to the appointment of Abū Bakr were raised. However, solid historical records show no evidence of a rift occurring within the newly established community of Muslims at this time. That said, there is evidence of a series of revolts. Various Arabian Peninsula tribes, who saw a window of opportunity to free themselves from the domination of the post-​Prophet Islamic state, laid claim to the prophethood. Abū Bakr’s short caliphate, which ended with his death in 13/​634, was mostly occupied with 1 Today, Shīʿī groups—​including Twelver Shīʿa—​believe that from the time of the death of the Prophet, Imām ʿAlī and his followers laid claim to the caliphate. The aforesaid groups believe that the Prophet appointed Imām ʿAlī his successor, an edict from which a majority of Muslims deviate. 2 At the time, there was not even a specific title for the position. As Yücesoy asserts, Abū Bakr (the first caliph) rejected the title “God’s caliph” (khalīfat Allāh) as too pretentious but agreed to adopt “Prophet’s caliph” (khalīfat rasūl Allāh). Umar, the second caliph, “later abbreviated [it] to khalīfa to avoid the clumsiness of the expression khalīfat rasūl Allāh” (Yücesoy 2016). 3 This meeting was known as the assembly of Saqīfa because it took place in a building with a roof (saqf) in Medina used for gatherings by the Banī Sāʿdah clan. For a detailed discussion of the conversations and events that took place during this assembly, see Madelung 1997, 28–​56. At the time of the meeting, Imām ʿAlī was occupied with the burial of the Prophet; for this reason, he did not attend the meeting. In Shīʿī lexicon, this gathering is generally referred to as (a) a betrayal of the Prophet’s wish and (b) the result of a conspiracy hatched by three specific individuals: Abū Bakr, ʿUmar, and Abū ʿUbayda. For the Shīʿī narration of this gathering, see, for example, Solaim Ibn Qays al-​Helali 1996; Jafri 1990. Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0002

34  The Formative Period of Shīʿism battles4 to quell uprisings and reclaim Muslims’ undisputed sovereignty over the Arabian Peninsula. The power transition from Abū Bakr to the second caliph ʿUmar b. al-​Khaṭṭāb occurred free of dispute or conflict. Abū Bakr, who was highly respected, appointed ʿUmar as the next caliph. His selection of ‘Umar was widely approved by both the Muslim elite and the masses, and the appointment was implemented almost free of objection. However, the election of the third caliph, ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān, did not proceed as smoothly as that of the second. The second caliph had appointed a six-​member caliphate council to choose who among them would be caliph. ʿAlī b. ʾAbī Ṭālib (Imām ʿAlī) and ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān were the two main candidates. However, as Imām ʿAlī would not agree to adhere to the traditions of the two preceding caliphs, ʿUthmān proved successful. While ʿUthmān’s competence was a source of dispute from the outset and remained so throughout his rule, his elevation to the position of caliph did not result in any rift in the Muslim community. Despite this perceived stability, his relatively long term in office (23–​ 35/​644–​656) ended with a major spilt. In short, the election and appointment of the first three caliphs during the years 11–​35/​632–​656 occurred free of leadership challenges and, by extension, free of rifts among Muslims. This changed when Imām ʿAlī was elected caliph, in a manner that would now be referred to as direct democracy. When ʿUthmān was murdered during a riot sparked by his oligarchic rulership, protesters reached out to Imām ʿAlī and persuaded him to accept the position of caliph. Although several key figures pledged their allegiance to Imām ʿAlī, many others chose to eschew such commitment. More important (and ultimately destructive), some accused Imām ʿAlī of conspiring to murder his predecessor. This accusation, besides triggering the first civil wars in the Muslim world, culminated in a leadership split, a phenomenon that has evolved and continues today in its matured form of religious denominations. At the time, the leadership split led to the first separate groupings within the Muslim community, the ʿUthmāniyyas in opposition to the ʿAlīds. The ʿUthmāniyyas held firm to their conviction that ʿUthmān had remained a legitimate ruler until the end and that it had been wrong to kill him. Not only did they call for his murderers to be brought to justice, but they also asked for the new caliph to be elected by consultation (shūrā), since from their point of view, Imām ʿAlī was the rebels’ choice. The ʿUthmāniyyas, who held Imām ʿAlī responsible for ʿUthmān’s death, refused to pledge allegiance to him, claiming that he was an illegitimate ruler. In contrast, the ʿAlīds were supporters of Imām ʿAlī. The first Muslim civil wars in the Islamic community—​the Battle of 4 This series of wars is generally known as the Ridda Wars (Wars of Apostasy). The uprisings that occurred posed no serious risk to the Muslims. One could even suggest that they were helpful given their role in unifying the Muslim leaders. For further discussion of these wars, see Landau-​Tasseron 1984; Kister 2002.

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  35 the Camel (656) and the Battle of Ṣiffīn (657)—​occurred within the framework of ʿUthmāniyyas versus ʿAlīds.5 Both civil wars, or, to be more precise, armed rebellions against the incumbent caliph, were triggered by the ʿUthmāniyyas’ fervent desire to seek revenge for the murdered caliph. Neither war led to the removal of Imām ʿAlī. During the Battle of Ṣiffīn, a group of Imām ʿAlī’s followers expressed their disappointment when their leader negotiated a truce with the insurgent Muʿāwiyah I (41–​60/​661–​680). The latter, who was ruler of the Levant, had rebelled against the new caliph. This group exited Imām ʿAlī’s camp after denouncing both parties to the war as “apostates.” Members of this group were known as Khārijīs (those who went out) and later identified as the antecedents of radical Islamism. In today’s lexicon, they are known as Takfīrī (excommunicators), because they consider mainstream Muslims to be apostates. Members of the Khārijī became important actors in Islam’s politico-​religious landscape. However, after only three centuries, they lost their significance in the Islamic world.6 The ʿAlīds-​versus-​ ʿUthmāniyyas grouping also gave way to various divisions. None of the first three divisions that were formed within the Muslim world survived. However, the seeds of all the sects and denominations that were sown in subsequent centuries can be traced back to this chapter of Muslim history. At this early stage, the key and only rift that occurred involved political leadership of the community. There were no meaningful differences in terms of solely religious issues. For example, questions about the nature of God, resurrection, or the content of religious rituals or worship-​related matters such as praying, fasting, and pilgrimage were never part of the disputes that occurred among the aforementioned groups. This is why, as has been understandably argued, the roots of all religious denominations and divisions in Islam appear to trace back to the political rivalry of the first few decades of Islamic history. Speculation may persist that other theological and jurisprudential disagreements and differences in religious rituals later exacerbated what was initially simply a political rift. At first glance, this argument sounds reasonable; however, closer examination of the significance of political leadership and its connection to religion may reveal a more complicated picture of the political rift in the initial century of Muslim history.

5 For further discussion of the first civil wars and sect formation in Islamic history, see Crone 2005, 17–​32. 6 There are some Khārijīs in Yemen even today. However, from the fourth/​tenth century onward, they have never been influential or active players in the politico-​religious developments of the Muslim world. For further discussion of how their ideology has become part of contemporary Takfīrī group ideology, see Salem 1956; Kenney 1991; Ghobadzadeh and Akbarzadeh 2015.

36  The Formative Period of Shīʿism

Political Leadership and Salvation Karl Popper charged Plato with misleading political theory by proposing the flawed foundational question “Who should rule?” Compelled to advance an alternative question, Popper maintained that the focus of political theory should instead be “How can we so organize political institutions that bad or incompetent rulers can be prevented from doing too much damage?”7 There is no evidence to suggest that in the seventh century, Muslims were familiar with Plato’s thought or that their polity was otherwise influenced by his seemingly misleading question. Nonetheless, at the time, Muslims’ political thought and practices were dominated by the same question that Plato proposed. The reach of this question in what was then the newly established Islamic community extended beyond politics, salvation being closely associated with the issue of leadership. For this reason, leadership disputes in early Islamic history were not solely political; rather, they were intertwined with questions of faith and religion. As Patricia Crone suggests, the leader’s role was not confined to bestowing legitimacy on the umma. In effect, he was charged with guiding the community in what he perceived to be the right direction toward salvation. Using an analogy to highlight the profundity of early Islamic leaders, Crone refers to a caravan that, devoid of leadership, could at best be considered a group of scattered travelers. At the time, the very existence of the caravan depended on the presence of a leader who could bring all the travelers together under one caliph. Life was similarly perceived as a journey for which one needed a leader who “was comparable to way-​marks, lodestars, the sun and the moon for his ability to show the direction in which one should travel.”8 Christian Décobert makes a similar assertion by referring to the praising of poets at the ʿUmāyyad court, such as al-​Farazdaq, who “spoke of the caliph as the being who made the existence of the community possible, the link between God and humans.” He concludes that “this link gives the religious its meaning, a highly significant symbol of the mediating role played by the political power.”9 The association of leadership with faith is also clearly delineated in the following saying of Prophet Mohammad: “The one who dies without (recognizing and accepting) the Imām of the time, dies in ignorance.”10 This was applicable to all Muslims until the end of the rightful caliphs’ era, 40/​661, when the union of politics and religion came to an end for the majority of Muslims. Failure to appreciate the subtlety of this turning point has been the source of a widely held misunderstanding that Islam in its essence contradicts with the separation of religion and state. There are two problems with this

7

Popper 2002, 132. Crone 2005, 22. 9 Décobert 2004, 4. 10 Ibn Ḥanbal 2013, 96. 8

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  37 assertion. First, the equating of the lived reality of the early Muslim community with “Islam” is problematic. Over the course of time, Muslim scholars have argued that the unification of political and religious jurisdiction in early Islamic history was a historical phenomenon and did not denote a sacred/​eternal aspect of Islam.11 Second, this line of argument ignores the fact that combined religious and political authority was short-​lived within the Muslim community. It is true that the position and notion of caliphate continued to exist until the second decade of the twentieth century;12 however, in practice and for most of Islamic history,13 the caliph held a symbolic position. Neither political nor religious authority was laid in the hands of caliphs. This point is well investigated and explained by Ira M. Lapidus: In the development of Islamic institutions we have come from an early identification of politics and religion to a differentiation of political and religious life into organized and partly autonomous entities. In the early polity led by Muhammad and in the early decades of the Caliphate, membership in the Muslim community entailed participation in a state order, with one person, the Caliph, representing both the religious and the political aspects. . . . In later centuries, as we have indicated, the Caliph lost his de facto political power to secular military and administrative regimes, albeit to regimes nominally loyal to Islam. At the same time, the several religious communities, Sunni and Shi’ite, developed religiously organized forms of socioreligious life independent from that of states and empires. Eventually, Muslims everywhere came to be identified as subjects of a regime on the one hand, and adherents of one or another religious body—​a Sunni school of law, Shi’ite sect, or Sufi tariqa.14

It is important to clarify here that this statement depicts the lived history of the Muslim community. Thorough evaluation of the enormous number of theoretical conceptualizations of state–​religion relations by Islamic schools of thought is an impossible feat for one piece of writing and, of course, falls beyond the scope of this book. The point that I want to make here is that in terms of practical politics in the Muslim world, the separation of political and religious sovereignty

11 Abd al-​Raziq, Filali-​Ansary, and Loutfi 2012; Mojtahed-​Shabestari 2005, 512; Eshkevari 2009. 12 The caliphate was dissolved in 1924 by the Young Turks in Turkey. Although a tiny, marginal group in Iraq claimed the revival of caliphate system in 2014, it had no appeal for the mainstream of the Muslim world. 13 There have been cases in which the caliphs were stronger and managed to play more influential roles, at least in the political realm, but this was not the dominant pattern. From time to time, parts of the Muslim world were ruled by different rulers who would submit to the caliphate system in order to claim legitimacy, but in practice, it was the secular regional rulers who held the power in their territories. 14 Lapidus 1975, 384.

38  The Formative Period of Shīʿism started just a few decades after the demise of Prophet Muhammad. The majority of Muslims were subjects of and participants in this politico-​religious history, and their views about the dissociation of religious devotion and political allegiance were constructed along this lived reality. This majority was later identified as Sunnī. In contrast, the amalgamation of religious salvation with political allegiance not only remained intact for Shīʿa but was later solidified as the backbone of Shīʿī theology. In theory, the union of political and religious authority did not end for Shīʿa at the end of the era that the majority consider the era of the rightful caliphs. Over the course of time, specific leaders, Imām ʿAlī and eleven of his descendants, were sanctified, and exclusive divine right to both political and religious leadership was reserved for them. In the process, their sayings and deeds became part of the Shīʿī sacred-​authoritative tradition. In addition to shaping the day-​to-​day politics of the Shīʿī community during its formative period, the question of leadership determined the foundation of Shīʿī political and theological doctrine that endures to the present day.

Claims to the Caliphate Observing “principled distance” from governing institutions and positions remained an enduring convention of Twelver Shīʿism for centuries. With two exceptions of governance by the infallible Imāms—​five years by Imām ʿAlī, the first infallible Imām, and seven months by Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā, the second infallible Imām—​the Shīʿī world had never seen a government ruled by a Twelver Shīʿī jurist before the period of Ayatollah Khomeini’s rule (1979–​1989). The varied political behavior of the infallible Imāms established neither a specific pattern for doing politics nor a cohesive political philosophy. While the first Shīʿī infallible Imām, ʿAlī b. ʾAbī Ṭālib (599–​661), claimed to be the rightful successor to Prophet Mohammad, he never revolted against the three caliphs who ruled the Muslim world for the twenty-​five years following the Prophet’s death in 632. When the Prophet’s close companions gathered immediately following his death and chose Abū Bakr (ruled 11–​13/​632–​634) as his successor, Imām ʿAlī initially expressed his intention to renounce his rival’s legitimacy; however, he soon pledged his allegiance to Abū Bakr. Similarly, Imām ʿAlī chose not to contest the leadership of the two subsequent caliphs, ʿUmar b. al-​Khaṭṭāb (ruled 13–​23/​634–​ 644) and ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān (ruled 23–​35/​644–​656). Rather, he cooperated with them and even assumed the role of a consultant. Only following a popular revolt in 35/​656, during which ʿUthmān was assassinated, did people beseech Imām ʿAlī to lead the caliphate. Imām ʿAlī was appointed as caliph “not because of any designation, nor because of any hereditary principle—​which did not, in any case, exist—​rather, he was appointed as the

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  39 candidate of those Muslims who wanted the original Islamic religious aristocracy to regain the upper hand against the growing influence of the Meccan aristocracy and its Syrian interests.”15 Imām ʿAlī at first refused to become caliph, but faced with the insistence of the people, he ultimately accepted the position. In a sermon attributed to Imām ʿAlī on the subject, he is quoted as saying: Behold, by Him who split the grain (to grow) and created living beings, if people had not come to me and supporters had not exhausted the argument and if there had been no pledge of Allah to the learned to the effect that they should not acquiesce to the gluttony of the oppressor and the hunger of the oppressed, I would have cast the rope of the caliphate on its own shoulders and given the last one the same treatment as the first one. Then you would have seen that in my view this world of yours is no better than the sneezing of a goat.16

Neither in this statement nor at any other point did Imām ʿAlī claim that he had a divine right to assume political leadership. His consent to lead the caliphate—​at the people’s insistence—​is therefore considered evidence that the people are the source of state authority. As Mehdi Bazargan asserts: It is very meaningful that when the people . . . requested Imām ʿAlī to accept their allegiance and caliphate, he first refused but then he said that had you (the people) not gathered and insisted, I would never have accepted this. . . . In other words, he explicitly believed that sovereignty and the right to choose their ruler belonged to the umma.17

Following the assassination of Imām ʿAlī in 40/​661, his son Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā (15–​50/​624–​670) laid claim to the caliphate. However, he soon realized that he was no match for Muʿāwiyah b. ʿAbī Sufyān (15–​60/​602–​680), who had already established an autonomous kingdom in Sham (what is today Syria). Acknowledging the inevitability of Muʿāwiyah’s rise to greater power, Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā signed a peace treaty with his rival and submitted to the latter’s caliphate. The third Shīʿī Imām, Imām Ḥusayn (4–​61/​626–​680), charted a very different political course, which, somewhat ironically, is treated as the norm and the ideal model in governmental Shīʿism, which emerged in the closing decades of the twentieth century. As part of the peace treaty with Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā, Muʿāwiyah had agreed that he did “not have [the] right to nominate anyone after him. The rule would be handed back to Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā

15

Halm 2004, 8.

17

Bazargan quoted in Esmaeili 2007, 349.

16 Imām ʿAlī b. Abī Tālib and Al-​Jibouri 2009 [1009], 316.

40  The Formative Period of Shīʿism [a.s.] after him, or according to some narrations, it would be left to a consultative body [shūrā] of Muslims.”18 Yet Muʿāwiyah outlived Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā and, violating the conditions of the above-​mentioned agreement, appointed his son Yazīd as his successor in 60/​680. Imām Ḥusayn refused to pledge allegiance to Yazīd. Encouraged by Kūfan19 opponents of Yazīd, Imām Ḥusayn and fewer than one hundred family members and followers set out for Kūfa in September 680, signaling the start of the first and only full-​scale conflict between an infallible Shīʿī Imām and a sitting caliph. It is important to note that in contrast to the Shīʿī doctrine that was later developed, Imām Ḥusayn’s claim to the caliphate was not based on a divine order. At the time, Imām Ḥusayn’s motivation for the uprising was to resist the oppression and corruption that were rife in the Umayyad court (during both Muʿāwiyah’s and Yazīd’s reigns). Furthermore, the fact that the people of Kūfa supported him played an important role in his decision to revolt, although the Kūfan people ultimately abandoned him. When he arrived in Karbalāʾ, which is near Kūfa, his convoy was intercepted by Yazīd’s army. After surviving a ten-​day blockade, Imām Ḥusayn—​along with his companions and almost all male members of his family—​was killed on October 10, 680.20 This tragic massacre and Imām Ḥusayn’s heroic martyrdom in particular were events that have combined over time to shape the formation of Shīʿī identity. For centuries, the battle has been celebrated every year throughout the Shīʿī world, and a significant number of Shīʿī rites are based on the Karbalāʾ massacre.21 A relevant point to make here is that despite its strong political nature (specifically, its obvious messages encouraging rebellion against oppression and efforts to form a just government), Imām Ḥusayn’s uprising did not 18 Qurrat-​ul-​Ain Abidiy and Davadani 2006, 112. 19 Kūfa is a city in Iraq about 170 kilometers south of Baghdad. It was founded in 17/​638 by Saʿd b. ʿAbī Waḳḳāṣ, the victor of the al-​Ḳādisiyya War, after the capture of Madāʾin-​Ctesiphon (16/​637), whose climate the Arabs could not endure. Kūfa was the capital during Imām ʿAlī’s rule and subsequently built a reputation for being a center of Shīʿī devotion. Significant episodes of Shīʿī history were experienced in Kūfa, some of which include the participation of the Kūfans in the revolt against ʿUt̲h̲mān (34–​35/​654–​655), the support given to Imām ʿAlī for the two great internecine Battles of Camel (36/​656) and Ṣiffīn (37/​657), the massacre at Karbalāʾ (61/​680), and the revolts of the Tawwābūn (65/​684), al-​Muk̲h̲tār (66–​67/​685–​686) and Zayd b. ʿAlī (122/​739). It was also Kūfa that was the directing force behind the ʿAbbāsid uprising, in which the ʿAlīds played an active role. 20 In the Shīʿī lexicon, this day is known as ʿĀshūrāʾ, the tenth of Muḥarram, the first month of the Islamic calendar. For the Shīʿa, ʿĀshūrāʾ symbolizes the dichotomy between worldly corruption and injustice on the one hand and piety, sacrifice, and justice on the other. Yazīd, the caliph of the time, is considered the embodiment of corruption and injustice, while Imām Ḥusayn represents the struggle against evil worldly powers. For centuries, Shīʿī believers have commemorated Imām Ḥusayn’s martyrdom annually on the day of ʿĀshūrāʾ. Preachers deliver sermons, and the life and virtues of Imām Ḥusayn are recounted, depicting him as a role model. In addition, the tragic history of the Karbalāʾ massacre is described in detail. Passion plays and processions are staged during ʿĀshūrāʾ, and many believers practice self-​flagellation. For a detailed discussion of the commemoration of ʿĀshūrāʾ, see Nakash 1993; Ayoub 1978; Aghaie 2004; Korom 2003. 21 For detailed discussion of the Battle of Karbalāʾ, see, for example, Shams al-​Din 2015; Abu Mikhnaf 2012; Jafariyan 2020, 91–​202.

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  41 become a model for Shīʿī political conduct. It was only in the twentieth century that the exceptional political conduct of one infallible Imām was explicated by the pioneers of governmental Shīʿism, Ayatollah Khomeini and Ali Shariati, and recommended as a role model to be followed. One may argue that due to his tragic martyrdom, Imām Ḥusayn plays a very pivotal role in the collective identity of Shīʿism. Today in the Shīʿī world, many of the traditionally celebrated religious rituals and public events are based on Imām Ḥusayn’s martyrdom. The suffering that he and his companions endured has become a symbol of both the oppression by the caliphs and the Shīʿī victims’ position. The latter need a victim narration given that they have always been relegated to a peripheral minority. It is true that from the Ṣafawid era (1501–​ 1722) onward, the Shīʿa became a majority sect, for example, in Iran. However, they have proven committed to preserving their discourse of being a suppressed minority. In addition, they feel the necessity to resist those who hold power given that resistance is an important element of Shīʿī identity. Apropos of resistance, Imām Ḥusayn both resisted and opted not to pledge allegiance to the caliphs. However, he paid a high price for his commitment. Although there is still debate in scholarly circles regarding Imām Ḥusayn’s intention to revolt,22 the uprising is perceived among the masses purely as the result of his attempt to reclaim his divine right to political leadership over the Muslims. However, most of the resources, including Imām Ḥusayn’s own statements, offer little evidence to suggest that he believed his right to political leadership was God-​given. He revolted mainly in response to the invitation he received from the people of Kūfa, and his actions were mainly based on political calculations. Although in the past Imām Ḥusayn’s actions were considered exceptional, on many occasions in recent decades his uprising has been depicted as the norm, that is, as a model to be followed. As I suggested earlier, this is not only because the tragic memory of 22 A controversial case that I consider worth mentioning is Salehi-​Najafabadi’s book The Eternal Martyr (Shahīd-​i javīd), which was published in 1966 and offered an unorthodox reading of Imām Ḥusayn’s uprising. Shīʿa believe that the infallible Imāms enjoyed “divinely inspired knowledge” (īlm-​i ladūnī) according to which Imām Ḥusayn had foreknowledge of his fate and knew that he did not have any chance of success. He took action solely to send a message through his martyrdom and to leave a legacy of resistance against the oppressor. However, Salehi-​Najafabadi argues that Imām Ḥusayn had not gone to Karbalāʾ simply to be martyred. He rose up, intending to overthrow an unjust government and, if possible, establish a just government. This implies that he made a miscalculation, which, more important, questions a key component of the Shīʿī belief system: the infallibility of Imāms. Salehi-​Najafabadi's book prompted heated debate within the Shīʿī seminary and beyond, and many books were written by clergy in response to Salehi-​Najafabadi’s argument. The clergy usually creates a shield to prevent these sorts of debates from reaching the masses. Notwithstanding many discussions along these lines, one may convincingly argue that the belief system of the masses about the main tenets of Shīʿism, such as the infallibility of the Imāms and their divinely inspired knowledge, has remained intact for centuries. For Salehi-​Najafabadi’s argument and commentary on it, see, for example, Siegel 2001; Salehi-​Najafabadi 1999 [1966]. In 2019, another controversial book, A Trans-​religious Observation about Karbala, was published online in which similar argument is made (al-​Asr 2019).

42  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Karbalāʾ is reinforced in a significant portion of Shīʿī rituals but also because his uprising is presented as proof of the divine right of the infallible Imāms to political leadership.

Eschewing Politics The Karbalāʾ massacre generated numerous uprisings by various groups23 whose members were, in one way or another, associates of Imām Ḥusayn and the Household of the Prophet (Ahl al-​Bayt).24 However, the specific line of the Prophet’s male descendants through his daughter Fāṭima, that is, nine descendants of Imām Ḥusayn, eschewed practical politics. Eventually, their spiritual and scholarly reputations eclipsed their family’s earlier political position. Following the death of Imām Ḥusayn, his son Zayn al-​ʿābidīn ʿAlī b. al-​Ḥusayn (also known as al-​Sajjād, 38–​95/​659–​713) came to be recognized by most of the Shīʿī community as the head of the Household of the Prophet. Although Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn’s leadership coincided with severe political turmoil, he remained determined to eschew confrontation with the Umayyads. Six caliphs ruled during the period of his leadership, which also witnessed several significant uprisings against the Umayyads. Two of these uprisings were specifically instigated as means to take revenge for Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn’s father’s martyrdom: the Tawwābūn movement (65/​684) and al-​Muk̲htār’s movement (66–​67/​685–​687). From this time on, various Shīʿī/​ʿAlīd sects emerged, many of which revolted against the caliphs of their times. However, the moderate Shīʿa did not take any practical steps to seize the caliphate, despite maintaining their claim to the right to rule. Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn lived in Medina, the scene of another uprising known as the Battle of al-​Ḥarra (63/​683). During this confrontation, the rebels took control of the city and drove the Umayyad rulers out. Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn successfully maintained a prudent distance from all the political turmoil of his time.25 Today his reputation centers mainly on his piety, and one may suggest that his most important legacy stems from his teaching of prayer and worship. Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn’s collection of prayers, known as al-​Ṣaḥīfa al-​Sajjādiyya, is his main contribution to Shīʿī scriptures. His political modus operandi marked a radical shift in Shīʿī history in only one generation. Whereas his father, Imām 23 Immediate uprisings after the Karbalāʾ massacre were the Battle of al-​Ḥarra (63/​683), the Tawwābūn uprising (65/​684), and the uprising of al-​Muk̲ht̲ ār (66–​7/​685–​6). 24 For a detailed discussion of this notion, see Sharon 1986; Haider 2014, 35–​38; Hegland 2009. 25 Various reasons are offered to explain why Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn completely eschewed taking action against the Umayyads. Among others, a prevailing explanation is that he intended to safeguard the Shīʿī denomination from annihilation and also to dissociate the genuine Shīʿī belief system from competing ideologies. This explanation is also offered about the other infallible Imāms. For some examples of these explanations, see Vasaie and Shariati 2014, 271–​328; Vasei 2015; Jafariyan 2011.

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  43 Ḥusayn, revolted against the ruler, Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn avoided any form of confrontation with the ruling elite. This marked a fundamental transition in the Shīʿī theory of Imāmate. One may suggest that the notion of Imāmate began to divest itself of its political connotations and to assume a more spiritual, religious, and scholarly form of leadership at least during the remaining years of the Age of Presence (during the lives of the infallible Imāms).

Scholarly Pursuits Following Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn, his son Muḥammad al-​Bāqir and Muḥammad’s son Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq each in turn enjoyed wide public recognition as head of the Household of the Prophet. Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq’s scholarly works in particular constitute the main source of Shīʿī ḥadīths. The number of traditions attributable to the fifth and sixth infallible Imāms exceeds that of all of the ḥadīths recorded by the Prophet and the other ten Imāms combined.26 Approximately 70 percent of Shīʿī ḥadīths can be traced to the fifth and sixth Imāms, and approximately 50 percent are traceable to the sixth Imām only.27 The significance of Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣadīq is manifest in the fact that Twelver Shīʿism is also known as the Jaʿafarī school of thought. In effect, the jurisprudential backbone of the denomination was constituted by him. The Shīʿī community’s disillusionment with the political developments of the first century offers an explanation for the fact that the infallible Imāms started distancing themselves from political activity and devoting their lives to scholarly work. However, this shift was not confined to the Shīʿī community. It was the time when “the science of tradition (ḥadīth) came into being.”28 Many ʿulamāʾ withdrew from politics and focused on the collection, classification, and evaluation of the ḥadīths.29 For the Shīʿī community, this started with the fifth Imām, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-​Bāqir (57–​114/​677–​733). His epithet “al-​Bāqir,” which is an abbreviation of bāqir al-​ʿilm (the one who opens knowledge), reflects his status as a distinguished religious scholar.30 He was the first Shīʿī Imām to formulate some of the key tenets of proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿism, specifically those relating to the doctrine of the Imāmate. As Arzina Lalani maintains: “al-​Bāqir contributed to the theological doctrine concerning īmān, taqiyya, qadāʿ wa qadar, the unity of god, as well as a host of other topics that were discussed and hotly debated in his time.”31 Not only did he adopt a quietist attitude toward the

26 27 28 29 30 31

Modarressi 1977, 180. Tabatabaei 2009, 196. Lalani 2000, 8. Jafariyan 2011, 340. Buckley 2020. Lalani 2000, 13.

44  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Umayyads, but he urged his followers to avoid any association with the ruling institutions.32 While Imām Bāqir’s stepbrother Zayd b. ʿAlī b. al-​Ḥusayn’s (75–​ 121/​694–​740) armed revolt happened a few years after the demise of Imām Bāqir, Zayd had begun his political activity during the time of the fifth Imām. Historical records show that Imām Bāqir did not support Zayd’s aggressive political approach to the Umayyads; moreover, some reports show that he tried to dissuade Zayd from revolting. The Imām warned him about the consequences of a premature uprising against the Umayyads.33 When Zayd revolted in 122/​740, Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq, the sixth infallible Imām, was head of the Shīʿī community. Some Shīʿī sources claim that Imām Ṣādiq approved of Zayd’s uprising;34 however, in truth, he neither joined the uprising nor openly supported it. Zayd’s uprising was not the only significant political event of Imām Ṣādiq’s time. He lived throughout one of the most turbulent periods of Islamic history, during which the ʿAbbāsids toppled the Umayyads; notwithstanding, he left a telling political legacy by maintaining distance from governing institutions and political developments. He witnessed numerous uprisings against both the Umayyads and the ʿAbbāsids, and despite being urged to join, he refused to involve himself in any of them.35 Instead, he spent most of his thirty-​four years as leader formulating Shīʿī jurisprudence. Hossein Modarressi suggests that his political conduct marked a transformation of the notion of Imāmate within the Shīʿī community: Imām Ja’far al-​Sadiq’s failure to assume an active political role resulted in a major reconsideration of the institution of Imāmate. The Imām was no longer the long-​awaited saviour; at least, this was no longer considered to be his major role. Now, for them like the others, the Imām was the head of religion. In this manner, the community changed the emphasis of the institution of Imamate from political to religious authority. Hisham b. al-​Hakam’s theory of the Imām’s divine protection against sin and error (ʿiṣma) was a major contribution to further accommodate the shift.36

32 In Rijal al-​Kashi, one of the most reliable Shīʿī sources, it is reported that one of Imām Bāqir’s followers, Uqba b. Bashīr al-​Asadī, sought his permission to join the Umayyad court as a tribe liaison, but Imām Bāqir dissuaded him, arguing that he would become an accomplice in the oppressive acts of the rulers (cited from Rijāl al-​Kashshī in Jafariyan 2011, 383–​384). 33 Kohlberg 2012; Lalani 2000, 46–​47; Gleave 2018; al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 507–​508; Khiyabani 2007, 12. 34 Razavi-​Ardakni 1982, 173; Shaykh al-​Sadūq 2004 [976], 516–​517. 35 Several ḥadīths from Imām Ṣādiq show that he was constantly under pressure to rise up in revolt against the Umayyads and later the ʿAbbāsids. For example, a saying attributed to Imām Ṣādiq reads: “Dust always falls upon him who raises it.” And another: “any revolt from one among us will be no more than more suffering for us and our believers” (Imām Ṣādiq quoted in Cancian 2020, 139). 36 Modarressi 1993, 9.

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  45 In their uprising against the Umayyads, the ʿAbbāsids made use of their kinship with the Prophet Mohammad. The title of Hās̲h̲imiyya was key to denouncing the Umayyads as usurpers and demanding that the throne should be returned to the Prophet’s family. Hās̲h̲imiyya is an overarching title marking the difference between the Umayyads and those who claimed closer kinship to Prophet Mohammad. The appellation was understood to identify the descendants of Hās̲h̲im b. ʿAbd Manāf, the common ancestor of the Prophet, Imām ʿAlī (the Prophet’s cousin), and ʿAbbās b. ʿAbd al-​Muṭṭalib (d. 32/​653, the Prophet’s uncle). In effect, the ʿAbbāsids made claim to the caliphate based on their blood connection to ʿAbbās b. ʿAbd al-​Muṭṭalib. Although members of the specific line later known as Twelver Shīʿism did not join the ʿAbbāsids in their revolt against the Umayyads, many others of Imām ʿAlī’s progeny—​the ʿAlīds—​ initially allied with the ʿAbbāsids. However, when in power, the ʿAbbāsids alienated the ʿAlīds, resulting in the emergence of a new antagonism between the two branches of the Hāshimiyya. During the ʿAbbāsid era, the ʿAlīds’ insurgences against the ʿAbbāsid caliphs developed into an ongoing political conflict. The ʿAlīds’ progeny, who were later identified as adherents of Twelver Shīʿism, did not take part in any of these insurgencies. However, due to their double kinship links to Prophet Mohammad—​via both Imām ʿAlī and the Prophet’s daughter Fāṭima—​the leaders of this line were considered a threat by the ʿAbbāsid caliphs. This may explain why the Shīʿī infallible Imāms who lived during the ʿAbbāsid era and were considered leaders of the Household of the Prophet were constantly persecuted.

Organizational Development As suggested earlier, the power was transferred from the Umayyads to the ʿAbbāsids during the Imāmate of Imām Ṣadīq, the last infallible Imām who died and is buried in Medina. According to Shīʿī sources, the seventh Imām, Mūsā al-​Kāẓim, was taken to Baghdad—​the ʿAbbāsids’ capital city at the time—​by Hārūn al-​Ras̲h̲īd (149–​193/​766–​809), the fifth ʿAbbāsid caliph. According to Shīʿī sources, during one of his many terms of imprisonment, he was poisoned and subsequently died. Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim emulated his three predecessors’ political agendas, eschewing any form of confrontation or engagement with the caliphs of his time. Instead, he played an important role in both creating and expanding a financial and representative (wikāla) organization for the Shīʿī community.37 His imprisonment was attributable to the claims of some regarding his financial capacity which was—​in the main—​due to khums and gifts he received

37

Jabbari 2003.

46  The Formative Period of Shīʿism from his followers. From the time of the fifth and sixth Imāms, khums was conceptualized as a source of income for the community’s leaders, that is, the infallible Imāms, and later jurists. It seems that Imām Ṣadīq was the first Imām to collect khums;38 however, it was Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim who established a system institutionalizing its collection. This empowered the Imāms financially, and as a result, the caliphs felt increasingly threatened by them. In addition to the Shīʿī Imāms’ effective income generation, the formation of a representative organization known as the wikāla intimidated the caliphs as well. The representative organization also emerged during the time of the sixth Imām, Imām Ṣadīq;39 it became more organized and expanded during the Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim era.40 On occasion, the Imām dispatched his most trusted individuals to different parts of the Islamic world to collect khums and gifts from Shīʿī believers on the Imām’s behalf. The representatives were also in charge of responding to the religious inquiries of followers and frequently acted as liaison officers, strengthening the links between the Imāms and members of the Shīʿī communities across the Islamic world. The sum of these factors signaled the evolution of a system that could function independently of the ruling authority, equipping a minority community, that is, the Shīʿa, with the ability to challenge the legitimacy and authority of the regnant caliph. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim never utilized this system to confront the ʿAbbāsids. Although there are contradictory reports41 regarding his approval or disapproval of an ʿAlīd uprising against the ʿAbbāsids, the Fak̲h̲k̲h̲ revolt (169/​786),42 it is a historical fact that he neither participated in nor openly supported this uprising.

A Symbolic Role One might argue that the next infallible Imām, ʿAlī b. Mūsā al-​Riḍā (766–​818), abandoned the tradition of maintaining a cautious distance from the ruling institutions. In time, he submitted to pressure from al-​Maʿmūn, the seventh ʿAbbāsid caliph (r. 813–​833), and joined the court as crown prince. There are different interpretations of what motivated al-​Maʿmūn to appoint Imām Riḍā

38 Modarressi 1993, 12–​13. 39 Jabbari 2003, 47. 40 Jabbari 2013. 41 Al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 501; Sharifi 2006, 87–​90. 42 The revolt of Fak̲h̲k̲h̲ was an uprising in Medina in which the ʿAlīds challenged the ʿAbbāsids, the former under the leadership of al-​Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī, Ṣāḥib Fak̲h̲k̲h̲, a progeny of Imām Ḥasan al-​ Mujtabā (the second Shīʿī infallible Imām). This uprising led to the martyrdom of Ṣāḥib Fak̲h̲k̲h̲ and his companions in an area called Fak̲h̲k̲h̲ near Mecca. For a detailed discussion of this uprising, see Haider 2008; Veccia Vaglieri 2012; Taheri Kol-​Keshvandi and Barani 2014; Elahizadeh 2006, 109–​209.

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  47 as his crown prince.43 That notwithstanding, apropos of Imām Riḍā, even when he became crown prince, he continued to distance himself from governing responsibilities. In truth, he only agreed to join the court on the following conditions: “I shall not command, and shall neither prohibit nor give legal opinions, nor judge nor appoint, and I shall not remove [people] from office nor alter any of the existing [arrangements], and you will excuse me from all these.”44 During the Imāmate of Imām Riḍā, there were many revolts against the ʿAbbāsids, some of which were ʿAlīd revolts in which close relatives of Imām Riḍā took part. Listed among the well-​documented ʿAlīd uprisings are those led by Muḥammad al-​Dībāj, Imām Riḍā’s uncle (199/​815) and the B. Ṭabāṭabā or Abu’l Sarāyā uprising in 199/​815, in which Imām Riḍā’s brother Mūsā b.-​Jaʿfar (known as Zayd al-​Nār) played a decisive role. It is widely suggested in Shīʿī writings that al-​Maʿmūn appointed Imām Riḍā his crown prince in order to undermine the effect of the ʿAlīds’ uprisings. It is argued that by bringing one of the ʿAlīds’ most influential figures into the court, al-​Maʿmūn intended to disrupt these uprisings. As one may reasonably speculate, Imām Riḍā neither supported nor approved any of the uprisings of his time. There are reports that he reproached his brother for the latter’s riotous actions, irrespective of the fact that he later pleaded that Zayd al-​Nār be pardoned for his actions.45 In sum, an infallible Imām joining the ʿAbbāsid court was an extremely rare occurrence. Furthermore, Imām Riḍā married the caliph’s daughter,46 and his son, Imām Jawād, married another daughter of the caliph. Despite all of this, the perception reflected in Shīʿī writings and held by the masses is the firm idea that Imām Riḍā was forced to accept the position of crown prince or face the possibility of being martyred. Thus, the track record of Imām Riḍā is by no means read by Shīʿa as constituting collaboration with the ruler. What I am trying to say here is that, according to Shīʿī thinking, the political conduct of Imām Riḍā was no different from his predecessors’ in terms of maintaining distance from state apparatus.

43 Al-​Maʿmūn’s motivations have been the subject of much inconclusive discussion. The diverging interpretations offered to explain the impetus for his decision range from the suggestion that Imām Riḍā’s appointment was a cynical political act calculated to conciliate the two camps of the Prophet’s family (i.e., the ʿAbbāsids and the ʿAlīds) to the allegation that al-​Maʿmūn held certain apocalyptic beliefs that spurred his decision. For a detailed account of the debate surrounding this ʿAbbāsid caliph’s decision, one considered unique in Islamic history, see Tor 2001; Bayhom-​Daou 2008; Buyukkara 2002; Madelun 1981; Demichelis 2012; Jafariyan 2011, 525–​541. 44 Imām Riḍá quoted in Tor 2001, 121. 45 Safari-​Forooshani 2009. 46 There is disagreement regarding whether the bride was the caliph’s daughter or his sister, but more sources attest that she was the caliph’s daughter.

48  The Formative Period of Shīʿism

Little Information and Even Less Political Involvement Imām Riḍā was killed47 when his only son, Imām Jawād (195–​220/​811–​835), was eight years old. For the first time in Shai history, his death sparked controversy about the eligibility of a minor to be Imām.48 The problem was soon resolved, and the proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿī community agreed on his Imāmate. Imām Jawād spent most of his life in Medina. In the last year of his life, he was called to Baghdad by the reigning ʿAbbāsid caliph, al-​Muʿtaṣim Bi’llāh (r. 218–​ 227/​833–​842). According to some Shīʿī sources, it was during this time that he was martyred by the caliph.49 Compared with the other infallible Imāms, there is little information available about Imām Jawād and the two infallible Imāms who followed him, the tenth and eleventh Imāms. However, the evidence suggests that Imām Jawād at no time laid claim to the caliphate. He neither initiated a political movement nor supported any contemporaneous ʿAlīd uprisings. In terms of the most prominent of these, one may allude to the uprisings led by ʿAbdul

47 As Pierce asserts, martyrdom is a central component not only of Shīʿī literature but also of Shīʿī cultural memory of the infallible Imāms (Pierce 2016, 43). Different authentic and highly respected Shīʿī sources express diverging views in relation to the martyrdom of many of the infallible Imāms. For example, Ibn Bābawayhi (known as Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, 329–​381/​941–​991) and Shaykh Mufīd (336–​413/​948–​1022), two of the most respected pioneers of Shīʿī scholarship—​both of whom played decisive roles in the formation of the Shīʿī belief system—​strongly disagreed over this matter. Providing details of the martyrdom of Prophet Mohammad and of all the infallible Imāms, Ibn Bābawayhi contended that whoever rejected the idea of the martyrdom of the infallible Imāms was not a true believer (Ibn Bābawayhi and Hasani 1992, 120–​123). In contrast, Shaikh Mufīd wrote: “A part of this subject [martyrdom of the infallible Imāms] is proven and another part is not. It is certain that Imām ʿAlī and Ḥasanein (Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā and Imām Ḥusayn) were killed. The [other] one who was killed due to being poisoned was Imām Mūsā ibn Jaʿafar (PBUH). It is also likely that Imām Riḍā was poisoned, however, there is doubt about it. Thus, there is no evidence to suggest that the rest of the infallible Imāms were poisoned, martyred, or executed. Such claims are unsubstantiated and there is no way to prove their certitude” (Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1984, 110). Despite the diverging views expressed by key Shīʿī thinkers, particularly in the early centuries of Shīʿī history, “the notion that all imams but the twelfth were killed came to be accepted as a given. Such assumptions about the imams helped constitute the interdependent narratives around which Shiʿa constructions of sacred history were built. Treatment of the imams became typologies, and thus the stories told about one imam influenced what kinds of stories could be told about other imams” (Pierce 2016, 45). Such narration has also significantly contributed to the depiction of Sunnī rulers as oppressors and to the portrayal of Shīʿī Imāms as victims of unjust rulers. 48 Controversy and perplexity arose because the heredity logic had already been accepted by the Shīʿī community. However, Imām Riḍā had only one son, and he was a minor. Al-​Kulaynī alludes to some ḥadiths by Imām Riḍā in which he legitimizes the Imāmate of a minor (al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 542–​545). After the demise of Imām Riḍā, some followers reached out to ʿAbd Allāh b. Mūsā b. Jaʿfar, Imām Riḍā’s brother. However, according to Shīʿī sources, they did not find him sufficiently knowledgeable to be an Imām. Others joined the Wāqifīs who believed in Mahdism and in the occultation of the seventh infallible Imām, Mūsā al-​Kāẓim (Al-​Nawbakhtī and Kadhim 2007, 145–​148; Jafariyan 2011, 583–​587). 49 There is relatively more controversy about the claim that Imām Jawād was martyred compared with the accounts of the deaths of the other infallible Imāms. For further discussion of this controversy, see Sadeqi 2016.

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  49 Raḥmān b. Aḥmad ʿAlawī in 207/​82350 and Muḥammad ibn Qasīm in 219/​834.51 There is no evidence to suggest that Imām Jawād either approved of or opposed these uprisings.52 Imām ʿAlī al-​Hādī, also known as al-​Naqī (212–​254/​828–​868), the next infallible, enjoyed a long Imāmate comparable with those of Imāms Sajjād, Ṣādiq, and Kāẓim. It spanned thirty-​four years, from 220/​835 until his demise in 254/​ 868. During this time, his political modus operandi differed little from those of his father and grandfather. As suggested earlier, there is a paucity of detailed information about his life and political conduct. In a manner similar to those that took place during the lifetimes of his predecessors, there were a few ʿAlīd uprisings during Imām Hādī’s Imāmate. Among the important ʿAlīd uprisings of the period, those worthy of mention include those led by Yahyā b. Umar b. Yahya b. Ḥusayn b. Zayd,53 al-​Ḥasan b. Zayd b. Muḥammad, popularly known as al-​ Dāʿī al-​Kabīr (the great summoner to the true faith),54 Ḥusayn b. Muḥammad b. Ḥamza in Kūfa in 251/​845,55 and Ismaiʿil b. Yūsuf b. ʾIbrāhīm.56 Although

50 ʿAbdul Raḥmān ibn Aḥmad ʿAlawī revolted in ʿAkk (Yemen) because the tax officials in the region were behaving in an oppressive manner. He summoned the people in the name of “the one well-​pleasing [to God] from the House of Mohammad,” a slogan widely used by the ʿAlīds of the time. However, when caliph al-​Maʿmūn sent in his army, ibn Aḥmad ʿAlawī did not fight. Rather, he accepted the caliph’s pardon and surrendered (Ṭabarī and Bosworth 1987, 130–​131). 51 The rebellion led by Muḥammad ibn Qasīm started in Tāleqān (Iran). Ibn Qasīm prevailed in two battles against troops sent by the caliph al-​Muʿtaṣim Biʾllā but lost the third and was arrested and imprisoned in Sāmarrā. There are reports that he managed to escape from the jail, but in any case, he disappeared and was not heard from again (Ṭabarī and Bosworth 1991, 5–​7). 52 Sharifi 2017. 53 Yahyā b. ʿUmar b. Yahyā b. Ḥusayn b. Zayd b. ʿAlī b. Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī b. ʿAbī Ṭālib marched from Kūfa and led an abortive uprising in 250/​864. His army was quickly defeated by the ʿAbbāsid forces. He was beheaded on the battlefield, and his head was sent to Sāmarrā for display. For further details about this uprising, see Ṭabarī and Saliba 1987, 15. 54 Al-​ Ḥasan b. Zayd was living in Ray, Iran, in 250/​864 when he was invited by pro-​ʿAlīds in the neighboring province of Ṭabaristān to join them in an uprising against the ʿAbbāsid caliph. He managed to seize Ṭabaristān and became the founder of an ʿAlīd dynasty in the area. However, for twenty years, he was constantly fighting, losing and regaining land. He died in 270/​884 while in possession of his territory. His brother Muḥammad b. Zayd al-​Dāʿī al-​Ṣag̲h̲īr succeeded him, and his family continued to rule the area until 316/​928. For a detailed account of this purportedly successful ʿAlīd uprising, see Madelung 1975, 206–​208; Bosworth 1975, 103–​117. 55 Ḥusayn b. Muḥammad b. Hamzah revolted in Kūfa in 251/​845, but he was soon defeated. Ṭabarī reports that since the people of Kūfa supported his uprising, Muzahīm b. Khāqān Urtūj, the commander of the troops sent by the caliph, hurled “fire on both sides of al-​Kufah, burning seven marketplaces, until the fire reached al-​Sabi, a district of al-​Kufah, named after the tribe Sabi” (Ṭabarī and Saliba 1987, 87–​88). 56 Ismaiʿil b. Yūsuf b. ʾIbrāhīm rebelled in Mecca in 251/​845, forcing Jaʿfar b. al-​Faḍl b. ʿIsa b. Musa, the governor, to flee. He also seized Medina, where ʿAlī b. al-​Ḥusayn b. Ismaʿil, its governor, had gone into hiding. Later the governor of Medina re-​emerged and “laid siege to Mecca until its population began to die from starvation and thirst” (Ṭabarī and Saliba 1987, 108–​110). I could not find any report that described what happened to Ismaiʿil b. Yūsuf b. ʾIbrāhīm. However, there are reports about a conflict during the hajj in which eleven hundred pilgrims were killed (Ṭabarī and Saliba 1987, 108–​110).

50  The Formative Period of Shīʿism historians have recorded details of these uprisings, none has reported Imām Hādī’s participation in or support for any of them. Apropos of the eleventh Imām and his political modus operandi, little difference is noted between his actions and those of his two predecessors. Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī (232–​260/​846–​874) was Imām for a brief six years, during which he was constantly under surveillance.57 During this time, letters played an important role in his interactions with his followers, not only those located some distance from him but on occasion those dwelling within the reachable perimeters of his residence. Written communication was necessary due to the restrictions to which he was subject and the likely persecution that would befall any followers who visited him.58 This explains the fact that he tended mainly to use agents and letters when communicating with Shīʿī believers.59 Throughout his lifetime, ʿAlīd uprisings against the ʿAbbāsid caliphs continued. Among those worthy of mention include those led by ʿAlī b. Zayd al-​Ṭālibī60 and ʾIbrāhīm b. Muḥammad b. Sūfī,61 as well as the most famous ʿAlīd uprising, led by Ṣāḥib al-​Zanj (Chief of the Zanj) in 256/​869, which lasted for fifteen years.62 As suggested earlier, harsh surveillance and restrictions were imposed upon the eleventh Imām’s activities, to the extent that he even took care to be discreet with regard to exchanging greetings with his followers in public areas.63 Thus, it is not difficult to explicate his position regarding the political developments of his time and the ʿAlīds’ 57 In Shīʿī writings, it is contended that for most of his life, Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī was under house arrest in Sāmarrā. 58 Sachedina 2012, 29; Baharloei 2007; Jafariyan 2011, 678–​686; Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 167–​168. 59 Momen 1985, 44. 60 ʿAlī b. Zayd al-​Ṭālibī rebelled in Kūfa in 256/​870. In the first stage of the rebellion, he defeated the army sent by the caliph and commanded by al-​Shah b. Mikal. Later, however, al-​Ṭālibī was defeated by a second legion of the caliph’s soldiers. While he succeeded in evading capture for a period, he was killed in 257/​871 (Ṭabarī and Whines 1992, 115; Ibn al-​ʾAthīr and Rouhani 2004 [1231]). 61 ʾIbrāhīm b. Muḥammad b. Sūfī rebelled in Ṣaʿīd Miṣr (Upper Egypt) twice, the first time in 256/​870 and the second in 259/​873. On both occasions, he defeated the first army sent by Aḥmad b. Tulūn, the governor of Egypt, but lost to the second. Following his defeat in 256/​870, he hid in a palm grove. He revolted again in 259/​873. On this occasion, when he was defeated, he fled to Mecca, where he was arrested, taken into custody, and returned to Egypt. After a few years of imprisonment, he was released. He traveled to Medina and lived there for the rest of his life (Ibn al-​ʾAthīr and Azhir 2003a [1231], 4299–​4300, 4323). 62 ʿAlī b. Muḥammad al-​Zanjī (d. 270/​883), known as Ṣāḥib al-​Zanj, “Chief of the Zanj,” revolted in Basra (Iraq), mainly backed by Black slaves. This uprising, which lasted from 255/​868 until 270/​ 883, destabilized the ʿAbbāsids’ control over Mesopotamia. Finally, he was defeated, captured, and beheaded by the army commanded by ʿAbū Aḥmad al-​Muwaffaq, Caliph al-​Muʿtamid’s brother. This uprising is particularly important due to the role played in it by slaves. For further discussion of this uprising, which is also known as “The Uprising of Slaves,” see Ṭabarī and Whines 1992; Beygi 2007; Faramarzi 1968; Talhami 1977; Furlonge 1999; Popovic and Gates 1999. Inconsistent views are expressed in Shīʿī sources about Ṣāḥib al-​Zanj’s claim to be an ʿAlīd. Some Shīʿī sources, e.g., Ibn Shahrāshub’s Manaqīb, report a ḥadīth by Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī in which the Imām contends that Ṣāḥib al-​Zanj is not a member of the Household of the Prophet. For an account of other and diverging assertions in Shīʿī sources, see Behniafar 2012. 63 Jafariyan 1992, 18.

The Sorrowful Age of Presence  51 uprisings alluded to earlier. Neither Shīʿī nor non-​Shīʿī sources record any evidence of the eleventh Imām either approving or supporting any uprisings. And at no time did he make a claim to the caliphate or initiate political action. In sum, three centuries of Islamic history are depicted as the age of victimhood and despair in both Shīʿī collective memory and its written history. From the Shīʿī perspective, the umma deviated from the right path regarding its political administration from the day Prophet Mohammad died in the year 10/​632. This deviation corrupted the Muslim community to the extent that even Imām ʿAlī’s leadership was unable to redeem it. Two serious consequences of this deflection of political management were that (1) the faith of a majority of Muslims strayed from the right path and (2) members of the Shīʿī community experienced a great degree of suffering. According to Shīʿī conviction, solid proof of this suffering is evident in the narratives describing the lives of the infallible Imāms. According to Shīʿī writings detailing events that occurred in the first three centuries, the infallible Imāms were persecuted and tortured by adherents to the oppressive and unjust political order of the day. After reading Shīʿa’s descriptions of this episode of Islamic history, one could understandably conclude that at the time of the demise of the eleventh Imām in 260/​874, proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿism was powerless and totally ill equipped to contemplate seizing political leadership of the Muslim world, which had already attained the status of a world empire. Rather, this minority community—​in the process of developing a despairing and disillusioned view of political institutions—​equated the state with corruption and evil. It was during this time of dire uncertainty that the eleventh Imām died and the twelfth Imām emerged more as an abstract notion than as a reality. For this reason, the story of the twelfth Imām differs markedly from those of the other infallible Imāms. However, there is considerable controversy and doubt regarding the existence of a flesh-​and-​blood person who, according to Shīʿī belief, was the twelfth infallible Imām. As a matter of fact, the majority of Muslims do not countenance any suggestion of the existence of the twelfth Imām. But according to Shīʿī conviction, Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had a five-​year-​old son64 when he died at the age of twenty-​eight in 260/​874. Shīʿī sources mention only a few individuals who claimed to have seen him before he went into hiding, fearful of being persecuted by the government. Even if one accepts this Shīʿī conviction, speaking of the twelfth Imām’s political practice in any practical sense is meaningless given that he disappeared immediately following the demise of his father. Put differently, in Shīʿī writings, there is no allusion to the twelfth Imām’s political conduct. 64 There are disagreements regarding the age of the twelfth Imām at the time of the demise of his father. Some Shīʿī sources even suggest that he was yet to be born when his father was killed. Modarressi has listed the sources that provide different birth dates for the twelfth Imām (Modarressi 1993, 77).

52  The Formative Period of Shīʿism However, despite his absent/​present mode of authority, the proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿī community continued to operate in terms of its administrative function. More important, the absent/​present authority of the twelfth Imām paved the way for the evolution and consolidation of the key tenets of Shīʿī theology. In effect, the century following the departure of the eleventh Imām proved a decisive period in Shīʿī history. Not only were the foundational tenets of Shīʿism developed more fully during this time, but also—​albeit in an anachronistic manner—​earlier Shīʿī history was revamped to fit a later-​articulated theological framework. Thus, in a somewhat ironic way, the twelfth infallible Imām played a profound role in the consolidation of Shīʿism irrespective of his elusiveness and present/​absent mode of existence.

2

The Minor Occultation Collaboration and Survival

In ­chapter 1, it was suggested that the legacies of the eleven Shīʿī infallible Imāms reveal a range of divergent political behaviors from which it would be almost impossible to discern a specific prescriptive political modus operandi. These behaviors included ruling as caliph (Imām ʿAlī), submitting to the authority of a caliph (Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā), and revolting against the sitting caliph (Imām Ḥusayn). The remaining infallible Imāms followed a pattern of maintaining distance from governing institutions, with the exception of Imām ʿAlī al-​Riḍā, who accepted the position of crown prince, albeit on the condition that he would be excused from any governing responsibilities.1 Perhaps it was the persistently sorrowful experiences of the infallible Imāms, which corresponded with the long formative period of Shīʿī identity, that resulted in the prevalence of a negative attitude toward governing institutions among the Shīʿa and their association of governance and political power with evil, corruption, and oppression. This powerful negative sentiment placed the proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿa in a self-​ contradictory situation due to the fact that their very identity clearly originated from a claim to rulership. While on the one hand politics played a central role in the fundamental identity of the proto-​Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿa, on the other most of the infallible Imāms shunned practical politics and did not pursue the position of caliph. In response, the idea of waiting for an Imām to rise up as the savior and form a just government became a key feature of Shīʿī groups. Correspondingly, the Age of Presence witnessed the emergence of various messianic sects. However, moderate Shīʿism opposed all messianic conceptions of the notion of the Imāmate. Instead, this sect insisted on the continuation of the succession of Imāms until one of them emerged as the savior. To some extent, it can be speculated that this insistence was due to the continued presence of individuals who possessed characteristics appropriate for an Imām from the perspective of the moderate Shīʿa.

1 Amir-​Moezzi divides the political life of Shīʿī Imāms into four categories: (1) those who were directly and actively involved in politics; (2) those to whom no political activity has been attributed; (3) the particular case of the third Imām Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī; and (4) the particular case of the twelfth Imām, Imām al-​Mahdī (Amir-​Moezzi 1994, 62). Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0003

54  The Formative Period of Shīʿism With the demise of the eleventh Imām, Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, the moderate Shīʿa were faced with more complex situation. Apparently, Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī did not have a son to succeed him. What I mean by “apparently” is that regardless of whether Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī in fact had a son, in practice and unlike in the past, there was no flesh-​and-​blood person present to assume the leadership of the Shīʿī community. The absence of the Imām’s physical presence marked the beginning of a unique period in the history of moderate Shīʿism, during which the seeds of the most fundamental element of theocratic secularism were planted. This period extended from 260/​874 until 329/​941, which in the Shīʿī literature is referred to as the Minor Occultation (Ghaybat-​i ṣughrā). The turmoil and transformations that took place in relation to religious and political authority in this period paved the way for moderate Shīʿa to accept a messianic conception of the Imāmate. In the Age of Presence, the infallible Imāms possessed both religious and executive authority. But when the Imām was no longer physically present, a particular group assumed the leadership of the Shīʿī community, consisting of individuals who were not necessarily counted among the ʿulamāʾ and who did not possess religious authority. In this chapter, this class will be referred to as the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle. This chapter discusses the political situation, the balance of power, and the challenges faced by the Shīʿī community, as well as the decisions and actions of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle in response to these challenges, which not only ensured the survival of the moderate Shīʿī community but also sowed the seeds of a messianic conception of the twelfth Imām. One of the main factors affecting the decisions and actions of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle was their awareness of and actions based on the fact that the moderate Shīʿa had become so weak that they could not pursue what they considered their fundamental and rightful claim to the caliphate. Given this balance of power, the Shīʿī leadership of the time followed a theocratic model of secularism and, while maintaining their claim to political leadership, not only avoided any confrontation with the reigning caliphate but also moved closer to the government apparatus. This chapter will begin by painting a broad picture of the political atmosphere of the period of the Minor Occultation, particularly in connection with the evolution of the position and the role of the caliph. I will then turn to the various and sometimes contradictory positions of the Imāms regarding cooperation with the caliphate apparatus and argue that it was the period of the Minor Occultation that witnessed the greatest level of cooperation and the closest proximity between the Shīʿa and the caliphate. This part will also address the role of influential Shīʿī families and particular individuals who held official positions in the government. Next, an explanation of the organization of the deputy system as well as the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle in the era of the Minor Occultation will be

The Minor Occultation  55 presented and their decisive role in the survival of the moderate Shīʿa examined. How the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle addressed the claim of the brother of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, Jaʿfar b. ʿAlī al-​Hādī, to the Imāmate will be explained in the next part of the chapter. Of course, the moderate Shīʿa were competing against several sects throughout this period; the case of Jaʿfar has been chosen as an example to demonstrate how the moderate Shīʿī leadership dealt with the challenges of their time. In the last part of the chapter, by referring to the forms of power conceptualized by Michel Foucault, I will examine the political modus operandi of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle and argue that it used disciplinary and pastoral power against its rivals.

The Political Aura of the Minor Occultation Due to the importance of the Minor Occultation era in Shīʿī history, much has been written about it already, so to provide yet another descriptive reading of this period would be of little value. Instead, my focus here is on the structure of power and power relations at this historical juncture. Not only did this period witness the fundamental change of the Shīʿī community, but the political and scholarly atmosphere of the Islamic world also underwent significant change at the same time, the effects of which persist to this day, among not only the Shīʿa but also the Sunnī majority as well as various other sects within the Islamic world. The weakness of the ʿAbbāsid caliphs, the rise of independent political-​military powers, and, at the same time, the nature of the Shīʿī community’s relationship with these independent political-​military powers played significant roles in the epistemic transformation of Shīʿism. The weakness of the ʿAbbāsid caliphs was the product of several developments over a long period that can be said to have begun at the very outset of the establishment of the ʿAbbāsid caliphate. As discussed in ­chapter 1, the structure of the caliphate, which was formed upon the demise of the Prophet, initially incorporated both religious and political authority. Not only was Muslim political leadership not separate from religious leadership at the time, but allegiance to an illegitimate leader would forfeit one’s chance of salvation.2 Thus, the scope of the caliph’s authority was comprehensive, encompassing individual piety, religious rites, and commercial, political, and military affairs.3 But this fusion of religious and political power makes up only a short chapter in the history of Islam. From the first century of Islam, the rule of the Umayyad and later the ʿAbbāsid caliphs



2 3

Crone and Hinds 1986; Crone 2005. Lapidus 1996, 9.

56  The Formative Period of Shīʿism incorporated monarchical features, and although the title of caliph remained,4 the entity they ruled over was for all practical purposes an empire. Perhaps one of the most obvious signs of this shift was the succession of the caliphate taking on a hereditary form. While Imām Ḥasan laid claim to the caliphate after the martyrdom of his father, Imām ʿAlī, his alleged caliphate lasted only seven months before he signed a treaty with Muʿāwiyah I, recognizing the latter as caliph. In practice, Muʿāwiyah I was the first to implement hereditary succession, appointing his son Yazīd I as his heir, which led to the formation of the Umayyad dynasty.5 The same general approach continued to inform the fundamental logic of succession throughout the ʿAbbāsid and Ottoman dynasties.6 Another important evolution of relevance to the caliphate was that while the caliph retained his claim to religious supremacy, in practice, independent religious authority under the leadership of the ʿulamāʾ began to take shape very early on. This transformation is well explained by Lapidus: The transformation of caliphal authority was a part of a larger process of the differentiation of the Arabian Islamic complex of the tribal-​religious community and state into separate components. Just as the caliphate evolved from a religious to a monarchical identity, so the tribal nation in arms was displaced by professional forces and by a fiscal bureaucracy. At the same time, the post-​ conquest Arabian Muslim population began to generate socio-​ religious institutions of their own. . . . Muslim scholars and holy men, the companions and descendants of the companions of the Prophet (without office or sacerdotal status), Qur’an-​reciters, scholars and ascetics became in daily practice the custodians and teachers of Islam. They came to embody the personal, moral and devotional teachings, and the social and communal counselling and leadership roles, that were part of the prophetic legacy.7

Many scholars believe that the caliph’s religious role and authority, at the latest by the time of the miḥnah8 during the reign of al-​Maʿmūn and onward, was lost completely.9 Despite its loss of religious authority, the institution of 4 The concept of the caliphate and its various theoretical definitions, as well as the position and role of the caliph in the history of Islam, has undergone many evolutions and represents a separate area of investigation outside the scope of the present book. For further information, see, for instance, Jafariyan 2003; Yücesoy 2016; Pay 2015; Ghaderi 2018. 5 Hawting 2000. 6 Pay 2015. 7 Lapidus 1996, 10. 8 The word miḥnah refers to a test or trial. The miḥnah was a period of inquisition that began during the reign of the ʿAbbāsid caliph al-​Maʿmūn in 833, during which ʿulamāʾ and scholars who did not accept the Qurʿān as being created were imprisoned or killed. This policy lasted for fifteen years, finally ending in 234/​848 during the reign of al-​Mutawakkil (206–​247/​822–​861). For further information, see Cooperson 2000, 34–​40; Melchert 2006, 8–​16; Nawas 1994; Nawas 1996. 9 (Lapidus 1975; Crone and Hinds 1986; Crone 1980; Lapidus 1973; Hinds 2012)

The Minor Occultation  57 the caliphate retained its political and military authority for a prolonged period. Gradually, however, each of these spheres of authority collapsed under the pressure of change, and the caliph came to hold only a symbolic position, or what Décobert terms “passive authority,”10 the occupant a “mere puppet,” in Sachedina’s words.11 These obvious changes and evolutions form the basis on which ʿAbbāsid rule is divided into two or three periods.12 The beginning of the ʿAbbāsids’ loss of political and military authority can be traced from the caliphate of al-​Maʿmūn (198–​218/​813–​833) and his successor al-​Muʿtaṣim (217–​ 228/​833–​843). Iranian forces, especially the Khurāsāniya, had played a decisive role in the rise of the ʿAbbāsids. In his comprehensive study of the military forces under the command of the caliph, Hugh Kennedy argues that in the post-​civil-​ war period that followed the reign of Hārūn al-​Rashīd (r. 170–​193/​786–​809), there was an urgent need to recruit troops loyal to the caliph. The armies of Khurāsāniya and Abnāʿ, which had previously been the main supporters of the ʿAbbāsid caliphs, had been weakened significantly, and their allegiance to the caliph had become unreliable. For this reason, al-​Maʿmūn and later al-​Muʿtaṣim engaged Turk fighters, and thus Turk power gradually increased in the ʿAbbāsid court.13 This empowerment gradually progressed to the point where the Turks would remove and install caliphs at will. By the time of the commencement of the age of the Minor Occultation, the caliph had lost almost all of his independence, and the ʿAbbāsids were in their weakest-​ever position, and this trend was only to continue. It can be said that the final stages of the development of Twelver Ahīʿī theological thought coincided with the time at which the weakness of the ʿAbbāsid caliphate reached its peak (in the fifth/​eleventh century). I am clearly referring here to the coming to power of the Būyid dynasty, as an independent emirate which captured Baghdad in 335/​945 and reduced the role of the caliph to a solely symbolic one. The formation of independent emirates in the ʿAbbāsid period began in the late second/​eighth century. Idrīs I (172/​788) in Morocco and part of Algeria; the Aghlabids or Banu l-​Aghlab (184/​800) in Tunisia, Algeria, and Sicily; and the Ṭāhirids (205/​821) in Iran were the first independent emirates to be established. The formation of these emirates—​and, of course, that of several others after them—​weakened the power of the ʿAbbāsid caliphs in the relevant territories, which tended to be located in the far-​flung corners of the caliphate. But after consolidating their power over a considerable segment of Iranian territory, the Būyid army invaded Baghdad in 335/​945, and the city came under Būyid rule.



10

Décobert 2004. Sachedina 1981, 26. 12 Kennedy 2004, 123–​197; Kennedy 2016. 13 Kennedy 2001, 118–​124. 11

58  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Although the Būyids did not abolish the caliphate or claim it for themselves, their domination of Baghdad marked a new era in ʿAbbāsid history. From this point, the ʿAbbāsid caliphs had almost no power;14 the Būyid rulers took over virtually all state affairs and played the most decisive role in the removal and appointment of the caliph.15 The Būyids were Zayidī Shīʿa, and because of the closeness of their beliefs to those of the Twelver Shīʿa, their presence in Baghdad and their support for the ʿAlīds created a favorable atmosphere for the Shīʿa, especially the Shīʿī ʿulamāʾ, to determine and formulate the theological framework of Twelver Shīʿism. I will address this issue further later. But another important point in relation to the political atmosphere of the age of the Minor Occultation is that the ʿAbbāsids’ clashes with various insurgents, including the ʿAlīd rebels—​such as those from the various Ismāʿīlī and Zayidī branches of Shīʿism—​created space that allowed the Imāmī Shīʿa to maneuver. To some extent, this maneuvering was made possible by the Shīʿa becoming closer to the government apparatus and accepting positions within it. One of the dominant historical narratives presented by the Twelver Shīʿa today is that the Shīʿa never cooperated with either the Umayyad or the ʿAbbāsid rulers and were not only perpetually distant from the court but also subject to constant persecution by the authorities. This narrative is part of the persistent Shīʿī effort to portray theirs as an eternally victimized group, a tale that has little congruence with historical reality. During the formative period of Shīʿism, there were some points at which the possibility and opportunity arose for a number of Shīʿa to approach the government apparatus and use it to try to help strengthen the position of the Shīʿī community in the political mosaic of the Islamic world. In the age of the Minor Occultation, Shīʿī rapprochement with the government played an important role in the survival and domination of the Shīʿa, especially in relation to the administration’s other rivals. To reiterate, it can be said that the caliphate apparatus had become so weak and meaningless at that time that one may well speculate that there was little temptation for the Shīʿa to try to seize it. But what requires no speculation, and in contrast is clearly indicated by the situation of the moderate Shīʿa at this point, is that this group was far weaker than would be necessary even to consider putting the seizure of the caliphate on their agenda. Perhaps it was for this reason that the caliphs did not feel any serious threat from the moderate Shīʿa and granted them positions in the court.

14 Albeit there are scholars who are critical of this view and hold that the ʿAbbāsid caliphs continued to play significant roles during the Būyid and later Saljūq dynasties. See, for example, Hanne 2007; Scharfe 2014. 15 Khezri 1999.

The Minor Occultation  59

Infallible Imāms and Collaboration with Caliphs One of the key concepts of Foucault’s argument in the field of genealogy is discontinuity. This concept explains how a society, in a given period of time and space, abandons its previous perceptions and patterns of conduct and begins to think and act in a different way.16 A significant discontinuity can be identified in the analysis of the developments of the age of the Minor Occultation. This discontinuity indicates a decisive change of attitude toward the relationship between the leaders of the Shīʿī community and the caliphate apparatus. The analysis of the political thought and conduct of the Shīʿī Imāms in ­chapter 1 showed that the Imāms’ relationships with the caliphate apparatus had a checkered history and that the relationships observed are inconsistent with the claims of continuity and consistency embedded in the Shīʿī belief system. Following the attempts of the first three Imāms to gain control of the caliphate, the remaining Imāms did not make any effort in this direction, and with the exception of the eighth Imām, none accepted any post within the government apparatus. However, the issue of cooperation with the caliphs and the acceptance of positions in the government by the Shīʿa was one of the enduring questions of the Shīʿī community during the Age of Presence.17 The positions of the Imāms in this regard were not identical, and they gave different and sometimes contradictory explanations to their followers, although, as Wilferd Madelung points out, most of the Imāms were categorically opposed to the acceptance of any government post in the ruling system. According to Madelung, this opposition can be ascribed to the position that any cooperation with the ruler could contribute to the injustice he perpetrated and the strengthening of the government. He quotes a narration attributed to Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq: “Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq is quoted as saying: ‘If the Umayyads had not found someone who would write for them, collect the land tax for them, fight on their behalf, and witness their communal prayer, they would not have deprived us of our right.’ ”18 There are other ḥadīths in which Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq is quoted as prohibiting any form of cooperation with the ruler: “Do not help the oppressors even in building a mosque,” and “No servant approached the oppressive king unless he had turned away from God.”19 In addition, a ḥadīth attributed to Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim forbids one of his followers even from renting his camels to Hārūn al-​Ras̲h̲īd: 16 Foucault 1989, 56. 17 This question was raised not only during the time of the Imāms; rather, it is one of the critical issues that the majority of the Shīʿī ʿulamāʾ throughout history have contemplated and written about. For further discussion, see, for example, Gowahi and Abdulrahman-​Sawari 2019; Madelung 1980; Mazinani 2002, chap. 8; Mirali 2016. 18 Madelung 1980, 19. 19 Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq quoted in Mirali 2016, 132.

60  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Safwan ibne Mahran, was one of the close friends and companions of Imam Musa ibne Ja’far al-​Kadhim (peace be upon him) who owned many camels. One day the Imam (peace be upon him) reproached him by saying that, “All of your deeds are good except one of them and that is that you rent out your camels to Harun al-​Rashid, the Oppressor.” The companion said to the Imam, “I swear by Allah! I never rent him my camels for vain or prohibited acts. Rather, at the time of the Hajj, I give him my camels so that he is able to visit the House of Allah. I do not even go with him on this journey; rather, I send those who work with me to accompany him.” The Imam replied, “When you give Harun the camels, do you request him to pay you in full before he takes them or does he give you an amount and then the rest is paid to you (when he returns)?” Safwan replied, “He pays me an amount before he goes and then the rest when he returns from his trip.” The Imam then asked Safwan, “Do you wish that Harun returns back from his trip alive so that he can pay you back the rest of the money that he owes you?” The companion replied, “Yes.” The Imam (peace be upon him) then said, “Whoever is happy or wishes that an oppressor is given a long life is considered as an oppressor himself and his eventual outcome will be the hell-​fire.20

In another case, Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim gave a completely contradictory recommendation to his earlier advice, forbidding a Shīʿī man who wanted to step down from his government position from doing so. ʿAlī b. Yaqṭīn was a companion of Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim but at the same time held a ministry post in Hārūn al-​ Ras̲hī̲ d’s court. As Madelung explains, Ibn Yaqṭīn used his political position as well as financial capacity to provide various assistance to Shīʿa, including Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim himself.21 When he informed Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim of his intention to resign from his position at the court of Hārūn al-​Ras̲hī̲ d, the Imām forbade him to do so, saying: “Don’t do it, your presence brings us close [to the court] and is an honor for your brothers. Through you, may God recompense [us for our] setback, and extinguish the fire of sedition of the opponents. O Ali! The atonement for your cooperation with them is the [good] feeling of your brothers.”22 In practice, a progression can be identified during the Age of Presence in which the Shīʿa came to approach the caliphate and occupy positions in government. More specifically, Hasan Husaynzadeh Shanehchi argues that from the time of the seventh Imām, Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim, some Shīʿa began to accept positions in the government apparatus and that this practice gradually became more prevalent, reaching its peak during the Minor Occultation of the twelfth Imām.23

20

Subhani 2003, 103–​104. Madelung 1980, 19–​20. 22 Imām Mūsā al-​Kāzim quoted in Tabasi 2000, 50. 23 Husaynzadeh Shanehchi 2007, 102. 21

The Minor Occultation  61

Shīʿī Families in the Caliphate Apparatus The central claim in moderate Shīʿī discourse about the reasons for the occultation of the twelfth Imām was that his life was endangered by the caliph.24 Contrary to this claim, historical analysis suggests that at this time, the ʿAbbāsid caliphs did not consider the moderate Shīʿa a serious danger. It would not be wrong even to claim that at this point in time, moderate Shīʿa were more secure than other Shīʿī/​ʿAlīd sects. Historical evidence for this claim can also be found in the proximity of many Shīʿī families to the court and the numerous positions held by prominent Shīʿī figures in the court. The names of certain individuals and families feature prominently in historical sources. In addition to their financial capacity, such persons also had close relationships with the court and held government positions at various levels. These individuals and families often influenced the ʿAbbāsids’ policies toward the Shīʿa and prevented violence and extreme measures against them. In addition, they provided material and spiritual support to the Shīʿī community. The names of many families are mentioned in the sources, but the most famous and influential include the ʿAshʿarī family in Qum, the line of Aʿyan in Kūfa, the line of Bābūwiyya in Rey and Baghdad, the line of Nahīk in Kūfa and Basra, the line of ʾAbī Samāl in Kūfa, the line of Shādhān in Neyshabur, the Barīdī family in Ahvaz, the Yaqṭīnī family in Baghdad, the Farāt family in Egypt and Baghdad, and, most famous of all, the Iranian Nawbakhtī family,25 a member of which was also appointed the third deputy of the twelfth Imām.26

24 Shīʿī sources rightly refer to the searching of the house of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī after his death in order to find his child, and even to the possibility of one of his maids being pregnant, in order to ascertain whether such a child existed. But these steps were mostly taken due to the inheritance claim of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s brother, Jaʿfar b. ʿAlī b. Muhammad, who is known among the Twelver Shīʿa as Jaʿfar Kadhāb (Jaʿfar the Liar). Shīʿī sources offer another reason to show that the threat to the life of the twelfth Imām was greater than that to the lives of the other Imāms. The argument is that the ʿAbbāsid caliphs knew that the son of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī was the promised Qāʿim and therefore sought to kill him. For this reason, even mentioning the name of the twelfth Imām was forbidden for a long time among the Shīʿa, a measure undertaken to ensure that his whereabouts would not become known. Of course, one might argue that if it were God’s will for him to have such a long life span and be the promised Qāʿim, the preservation of his life by the caliph must inevitably have been part of God’s predetermined and unchangeable plan. 25 The Nawbakhtī family was one of the most influential families in the Islamic world for a long period and played a determining role in developments related to Shīʿism from the mid-​second/​ eighth century to the early fifth/​eleventh century. This is why many books and articles have been written about the role of the Nawbakhtīs, not only in the survival of and gaining of power by the Twelver Shīʿa but also in the evolution of the Shīʿī faith. See, for example, Anthony 2000; Ashtiani 1978; Farahmandpoor and Doostkam 2009; Gilani, Kajbaf, and Mahmoudabadi 2016; Huseinian-​ Moqadam 2005; Maleki 2018; Husaynzadeh Khezarabad 2016; Maleki 2019. 26 Of course, there were many more Shīʿī families that played scholarly, political, or social roles in the survival and spread of the Shīʿa across the various territories of the Islamic world. For further

62  The Formative Period of Shīʿism These families usually took responsibility for the leadership of the Shīʿa in the territories under their influence, and in addition to providing all kinds of support to the Shīʿī community, they also played a role in attracting new members. During the ʿAbbāsid period, Shīʿa were present at all levels of government (except, of course, the position of caliph) and on various occasions occupied the most senior government positions, including at the level of minister. The post of minister was established after the ʿAbbāsids came to power and was second only to the caliph in terms of seniority.27 During the age of the Minor Occultation, at least three Shīʿa were appointed ministers. Among the three, Abuʿl-​Ḥasan ʿAlī b. Muḥammad b. al-​Furāt (231–​312/​846–​924) was the most important and influential, serving for three terms as a minister and in the end, for the crime of communicating with the Qarmaṭī,28 being executed by order of the caliph of the time. During his ministry, al-​Furāt helped the Shīʿa significantly, assigned them government positions, and, according to Abbas Iqbal Ashtiani, had a very close relationship with the third deputy of the twelfth Imām, Ḥusayn b. Ruḥ; his multifaceted support for the Shīʿa led to an increase in their number in Baghdad.29 Abū al-​Faṭaḥ Faḍl b. Jaʿfar (d. 327/​939), nephew of ʿAlī b. al-​Furāt, was another Shīʿa who served as a minister, in his case twice. He was a skilled minister but was appointed to the position during chaotic periods. Therefore, the support he could provide to the Shīʿa was not as great as that of ʿAlī b. al-​Furāt, although his terms as minister were effective in making the general atmosphere safe for the Shīʿa.30 Barīdī (d. 332/​944), like Faḍl b. Jaʿfar, also held the position of minister on two occasions. Husaynzadeh Shanehchi states that Barīdī was largely occupied with war and struggles with political rivals, and there is no report of his association with either Shīʿī ʿulamāʾ or leaders. Therefore, it does not seem that his political influence had any impact on the situation of the Shīʿī community.31 Aside from ministerial posts, many Shīʿa held lower-​level government positions during this period, although there is insufficient space here to list and review them all. One important position holder was Ḥusayn b. Ruḥ al-​Nawbakhtī, who was the third deputy of the twelfth Imām. His very close relationship with the

discussion about these families, see Dadash-​Nezhad 2006; Husaynzadeh Shanehchi 2007, 180–​184; Ja’farnia 2005. 27 Ibn Taqtaqā and Golpayegani 1981, 206. 28 The Qarmaṭī was a branch of the Ismāʿīlīs that waged an armed struggle against the ʿAbbāsid caliphs and from the end of the third/​ninth century posed a significant threat to the ʿAbbāsid caliphs which lasted for more than two centuries. 29 Ashtiani 1978, 97–​98. 30 Husaynzadeh Shanehchi 2007, 128–​130. 31 Husaynzadeh Shanehchi 2007, 130–​131.

The Minor Occultation  63 court has been the subject of much research. A particularly interesting point is that at some stage, al-​Nawbakhtī had responsibility for the caliphate’s (government) property assets.32 In other words, there was a time when the leader of the Shīʿī community held an official position in the ʿAbbāsid court. This fact contradicts the Shīʿī tradition and doctrine in relation to maintaining distance from the government apparatus.

The Four Deputies (Nawāb Arbaʿa) In established Twelver Shīʿī discourse, it is narrated that for a period of sixty-​nine years following the demise of the eleventh Imām (260/​874–​329/​941), the Shīʿī community had four specific leaders. However, this reading is part of a discourse constructed subsequently, and it was some time later that the Twelver Shīʿa agreed to formally recognize these four individuals as having been appointed by the twelfth Imām himself.33 In my analysis, I will try to demonstrate that the formation of this idea was the result of power relations and was chosen from among other possibilities as the official and accepted Twelver Shīʿī tradition. But before that, it is necessary to review the leadership structure of the Shīʿī community at this point in time, as was constructed by the Shīʿa themselves. The Shīʿa believe that four specific people, known as the four deputies (nawāb arbaʿa), were appointed by the twelfth Imām himself and were in direct contact with him. Given that access to the twelfth Imām was restricted to just four people, this period is known as the Minor Occultation; in contrast, during the Major Occultation, the absence of the Imām is complete, and no one has access to him.34 The Shīʿa hold the belief that the commands of the twelfth Imām vis-​à-​vis matters relating to the leadership of the Shīʿī community as well as sharīʿa rulings were communicated orally or via letters35 through these deputies. In Twelver Shīʿī thought, the actions and decisions of the deputies were either 32 Al-​Jahshiyari 1987, 300. 33 Sachedina 1981, 66–​68. 34 Notwithstanding, throughout history, many individuals have claimed to have seen the twelfth Imām and have said that he has issued them orders or requests. Of course, even those who claim to have seen him have never implied that they are in permanent continuous contact with the twelfth Imām; their claims relate to seeing him on occasion(s). In some cases, individuals have claimed to have seen the twelfth Imām in a dream. Ghaemmaghami presents a comprehensive study of the phenomenon of visions of the twelfth Imām throughout Shīʿī history (Ghaemmaghami 2020). For further discussion, see also Abtahi 1995; Amir-​Moezzi 2011, 431–​460; Safie-​Sarvestani 2006; Samadi-​arazgani 2007. 35 The letters of the twelfth Imām are known as the Tawqeāt (Epistles) of the Imām al-​Mahdī and constitute a set of important Shīʿī sources that played a decisive role in the developments of the period of the Minor Occultation. Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq and Ṭūsī gathered collections of these letters in their

64  The Formative Period of Shīʿism ordered or approved by the twelfth Imām. For this reason, the four deputies are bestowed with great respect. Although they are not considered to share the characteristics of the twelve Imāms, such as infallibility and divine knowledge, they have been assigned some special abilities in Shīʿī literature because they were in communication with the twelfth Imām. For example, it is claimed that they could detect the amount and source of the religious funds their representatives brought to them. In a similar manner, Shīʿī sources also report that the deputies could foretell births and deaths; for example, they could anticipate the birth of a child who would later become an important person, and it is claimed that the fourth deputy foretold his own death a few days prior to its occurrence.36 An interesting point about nawāb arbaʿa is that according to the Shīʿa’s own writings, only two of them, the second and third deputies, were from the ʿulamāʾ, and the other two, the first and fourth deputies, occupied the highest position of leadership in the Shīʿī community without religious authority or scholarly credibility. Further, the two deputies who were from the ʿulamāʾ by no means enjoyed high status in terms of their knowledge of religious issues and religious sciences. This is an important matter because in the school of Twelver Shīʿism, advanced religious knowledge is considered a key element of an individual’s right to lead the Shīʿī community. As mentioned earlier, the Imāms had religious authority, meaning that their understanding and knowledge of religion were the absolute truth because it was believed that the divine knowledge of the Prophet had been transmitted to them. In the period after the consolidation of Shīʿī theology in fifth/​eleventh century, the religious knowledge of an individual became a prerequisite to holding a position of leadership in the Shīʿī community, a component that remains important to this day; scholars are still apportioned a share of the leadership of the Shīʿī community in proportion to their religious knowledge. But in this respect, the period of the Minor Occultation was an exception. The deputy, despite his position at the head of the Shīʿī community, was not necessarily its most learned member. It is also important to note that none of the deputies belonged to the ʿAlīd families, but they were members of the most influential Shīʿī families. Each deputy’s connections to an influential family, especially in the case of the third deputy, Ḥusayn b. Ruḥ al-​Nawbakhtī, were crucial because, as will be discussed later, this influence played a decisive role in the successful construction of Twelver Shīʿī discourse. Of course, this does not mean that the survival of the moderate Shīʿa after the death of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī can be

books Perfection of Faith and Completion of Divine Favor and The Book of Occultation, respectively, which together extend to around eighty letters. For further information, see Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Rizvi 2011, 143–​170; Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 647–​686.

36

Rasekhi-​Najafi 1987, 343–​366; Majlisī 1983c [1694].

The Minor Occultation  65 attributed solely to these four individuals and their influential families. These deputies came from the very heart of the representative network and, together with many others who were active in the same network, can be identified as part of a special class in the Shīʿī society of the time. Once Shīʿī political theology was completed, this class was destroyed—​or perhaps, to be more precise, it committed suicide.

The Representative Organization (Wikāla) It was explained earlier that the representative organization was initially founded and shaped in the course of the Imāmate of the sixth Imām and was later expanded and institutionalized during the life of the seventh Imām. The organization provided an independent financial system to the Shīʿī community as well as a system of communication between the Imāms and their followers, facilitating the transmission of Shīʿī teachings to the followers of the Imāms in different parts of the Islamic world. Needless to say, this system did not rely solely on the person of the infallible Imām, and not only did various other individuals serve the Imām in different cities and regions, but over the course of time, many were employed by the office of the Imām—​to use modern terminology—​to manage the system alongside the infallible Imām. For example, throughout the Imāmates of the last few infallibles, both because of the volume of work and due to the restrictions imposed on the Imāms’ communication by the caliphs of their time, there were individuals mediating the Imām’s relationships with his representatives across the Islamic world. In other words, the Imām himself was not in direct contact with these representatives, and the Imām’s relations with them were managed by a chosen few around him. There are reports that particular individuals were responsible for communicating with specific regions of the Islamic world. For example, Jassim Hussain explains that during the time of Imām al-​Hādī (the tenth Imām), the representative organization was managed in four regions: The agents of the Imam gradually gained a great deal of experience in organizing their partisans into separate units. Several reports suggest that the agents divided their followers into four separate groups according to area. The first included Baghdad, Mada’in, Sawad and Kufa, the second Basra and al‑Ahwaz, the third Qumm and Hamadan, and the fourth the Hijaz, Yemen and Egypt. Each area was entrusted to an independent agent, beneath whom many local agents were appointed. The workings of this system can be observed in letters of instruction attributed to al‑Hadi concerning the organization’s administration. It is reported that he sent a letter in 232/​847 to his local agent, ‘Ali b. Bilal, saying: “I have substituted Abu ‘Ali b. Rashid for ‘Ali b. al-​Husayn b. Abd Rabba.

66  The Formative Period of Shīʿism I have entrusted him with this post since he is sufficiently qualified so that no one can take precedence over him. He has been informed that you are the chief (shaykh) of your own area, since I wished to invest you with that area. However, you have to follow him and hand all the revenues to collect over to him.”37

According to Hussain’s analysis, the number of areas had increased to six by the beginning of the Minor Occultation.38 Although many of the Imāms’ deputies were ḥadīth narrators and members of the ʿulamāʾ who in a sense occupied parallel roles as Shīʿī scholars, at the same time, there were also those who only had executive duties and were not known for their awareness of religious matters. In other words, among the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle, religious and political-​executive authority were relatively separate. Of course, this division existed in the second layer of the leadership of the Shīʿī community; the Imām at its head had ultimate authority in both religious and political-​executive affairs. By the eve of the Minor Occultation, the portion of the leadership group that had a solely executive-​political character had gained significant power and influence and with the demise of the eleventh Imām, became in practice the highest source of authority in the moderate Shīʿī community. In The Genealogy of Knowledge, Foucault questions prevalent methodologies in historical analysis that seek to identify causal relationships between events. He states that his own concern in discourse analysis is not to identify a causal relationship between events or thinking subjects but rather a collection of discontinuities that can be identified among scattered events and multiple actors. In addition, Foucault invites us to value the chance element as one of the factors leading to the emergence of processes and events. Naturally, he adds that there is no theory that can hypothesize about the element of chance.39 The untimely demise of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī at the age of twenty-​eight, apparently before he had a son, can be considered one of the misfortunes of the Shīʿa. But ironically, it can also be said that this event was a stroke of good fortune for the moderate Shīʿa. The duration of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s Imāmate was shorter than that of any other Imām; he held the position for a little less than six years, while his father had served as Imām for thirty-​three years. Most of the individuals in the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle during the time of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī were in reality people who, before his Imāmate, had worked and gained credibility in the Imāmate apparatus of the tenth Imām. This generation was still alive and well and, drawing on its credibility accumulated over the decades, was able to present a narrative of the continuation of the Imāmate at a crucial historical juncture,

37 38 39

Hussain 1982, 87. Hussain 1982, 94–​98. Foucault 1972, 231.

The Minor Occultation  67 thus preventing the dissolution of the moderate Shīʿa—​at least for a period until other factors aiding their survival took shape. A large number of individuals and families had gained significant prestige and power during the decades before the Imāmate of the eleventh Imām and they used their prestige and influence to maintain the vitality of moderate Shīʿism. The good fortune of the moderate Shīʿī community was that a considerable number of these people were still alive when Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī died. If they had died before then, the moderate Shīʿa’s ability to function would have been much more limited and the sect’s chance of survival much slimmer. An analysis of the background and position of these individuals and families is beyond the scope of this book, but it would be remiss not to mention, for example, the first deputy of the twelfth Imām and his role. ʿUthmān b. Saʿīd ʿAmrī (dates of birth and death unknown), according to some reports, had served Imām Jawād, the ninth Imām, since he was eleven years old40 and during the time of the tenth Imām reached the position of deputy. He is identified in various Shīʿī sources as one of the individuals trusted by the tenth Imām. For example, in his book Al-​Ghaybah, Shaykh Ṭūsī quotes Aḥmad b. Isḥāq al-​Qumī as saying that one day he asked Imām al-​Hādī whose words he should accept in the event of not having access to him (the Imām). Imām al-​Hādī replied: “It is Abū ʿAmrī who is trustworthy and honest, and what he says, he says on my behalf, and what he conveys to you, he has conveyed on my behalf.” He goes on to say that after the demise of Imām al-​Hādī, he asked the next Imām, Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī a similar question and heard a similar response: “This is Abū ʿAmrī who is trustworthy and honest, [considered so] by both the Imām before me and by me, and in my life and my death is trusted by me, therefore what he says to you, he says on my behalf, and what he conveys to you, he has conveyed on my behalf.”41 It is clear from this narration that he held a high position from the time of the tenth Imām and that his role became even more prominent during the time of the eleventh Imām. According to a report by Mohammad Bāqir Majlisī, Imām Ḥasan al-​ ʿAskarī had introduced ʿAmrī as the head of the deputies.42 He was responsible for all the financial affairs of the Imāmate office of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, and he received the entirety of the funds sent by the Shīʿa through the representatives, which he either transferred to the Imām or personally managed the expenditure of.43 It is not surprising that after the demise of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, ʿAmrī performed the latter’s burial ceremony.44 Given the background and reputation 40 Ali 1938, cited in Hussain 1982, 90. 41 Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 615–​616. 42 Majlisī 1983b [1694], 323. 43 Modarressi 1993, 67. 44 Another common narration put forward by the Shīʿa is that the twelfth Imām, who was then a five-​year-​old child, prayed over his father’s body. Ahmad al-​Katib considers the primary source of this narration to be the book of Kamāl al-​Dīn Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq (al-​Katib 2007, 243). This matter is

68  The Formative Period of Shīʿism that ʿUthmān b. Saʿīd ʿAmrī enjoyed, the assertion and narration about the continuation of the Imāmate that he presented was naturally acceptable to at least some of the Shīʿa. As mentioned above, in addition to that of the first deputy, the names of other individuals and families have also been identified with the monopolization of the representative organization. They had long-​term influence and credibility in the Imāmate apparatus of the moderate Shīʿa45 and cooperated with the first deputy in using their power and credibility to keep the moderate Shīʿī discourse alive. Among them were ʾIbrāhīm b. Mahzīār Aḥmad b. Isḥāq Qumī (d. 263/​ 876), Muḥammad b. Aḥmad b. Jaʿfar Qaṭān Qumī,46 ʾIbrāhīm b. Muḥammad Ḥamadānī, Dāwūd b. Qāsim b. Isḥāq (d. 261/​874), Aḥmad b. Muḥammad b. Muṭahir (d. 261/​874), and Abū Sahl ʼIsmāʻīl b. Isḥāq al-​Nawbakhtī (d. 311/​ 923).47 Each of these individuals, along with many other Shīʿī muḥaddiths, including Sūsan (the mother of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, also known as Ḥadīth) and Ḥakīma Khātūn (the sister of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī), were successful in securing the acceptance of the narrative of the existence of Imām Ḥasan Al-​ ʿAskarī’s son by some of the Shīʿī community, thus protecting the moderate Shīʿa from dissolution. These individuals were also ḥadīth narrators, meaning that they recited the statements of previous Imāms, especially Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, which confirmed the assertion of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s child’s existence, while concurrently playing executive roles in the management of the representative organization and the affairs of the Shīʿī community. Alongside such people, there were also other individuals who were merely muḥaddiths, which meant that in collaboration with those holding executive power, they carried out solely scholarly work to provide the necessary evidence to strengthen the claim of the existence of the twelfth Imām and to document this assertion. If sufficient historical source material were available, especially in relation to the dialogue and contemplations that took shape inside the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle, we could consider from various aspects the decision-​making process and ruminations of this cohort to understand how and why they came to

important because the next Imām usually performed the ceremonies and rituals related to the burial of the previous Imām. This issue had previously been used by the Waqifites to question the Imāmate of Imām Riḍā on the basis that the latter was not present at his father’s funeral. 45 Hussain 1982, 87. 46 For some individuals, no birth and death dates are listed; this indicates that such details are unknown. 47 It should also be pointed out that some of the close companions of the previous Imām did not follow the first deputy and, for example, claimed to be deputies of the twelfth Imām themselves. Among them were Aḥmad b. Hilāl Karkhī (d. 267/​880), Muhammad b. Nuṣayr al-​Numayrī, and Abū Muhammad Ḥasan Sharīʿī.

The Minor Occultation  69 the decisions they made. In particular, one of the pertinent questions that could be examined in more detail would be to what extent the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle contemplated a long-​term vision in their discussions and planning and to what extent their decisions were made in response to extant circumstances. Due to the lack of information and source material, this question cannot be answered conclusively. However, given the nature of the arguments and statements made about Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī having a son, it can be speculated that among all the “others,” the eleventh Imām’s brother Jaʿfar played the supreme role in shaping the decisions of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle.48 The remaining “others,” including the Sunnī majority, the Ismāʿīlīs, and the Zaydīs, and even the Wāqifiyya and Faṭaḥiyya, were much farther below the level of the threat of Jaʿfar’s Imāmate. In employing the modern terminology of the discourse of political Islam today, we can describe Jaʿfar as the near enemy and the other sects as the far enemy.49 In the next section, I will describe the confrontation of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle with Jaʿfar, but it is necessary to emphasize from the outset that Jaʿfar was only one of many rivals of the moderate Shīʿa. The analysis of Jaʿfar here serves as an example that could also be extended to their other rivals.

“Othering” Rivals: The Case of Jaʿfar’s Claim to the Imāmate The circumstances of the coming to power of the eleventh Imām echoed those of the seventh Imām in that Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s older brother, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī al-​Hādī (228–​252/​842–​866), who appeared to be the one anticipated to succeed his father, died three years before him.50 Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī was the next-​eldest son and thus the natural successor of his father. However, there were serious doubts raised about his eligibility for the Imāmate from the very beginning. Modarressi details several reports of doubt about his knowledge, as well as his authority among the Shīʿī deputies and followers, writing in one account: “Hasan al-​ʿAskarī is quoted as complaining that none of his forefathers had been as much doubted by the Imāmites as he was.”51 Modarressi also enumerates several other cases showing that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s 48 Hussain proposes a similar theory, suggesting that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s circle of supporters was embroiled in controversy by two sects. These two sects included supporters of the Imāmate of Jaʿfar b. ʿAlī al-​Hādī and followers of Muhammad b. ʿAlī al-​Hādī (another brother of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, who had died) (Hussain 1982, 70). 49 This is a concept that ʾAbū Muṣʿab al-​Zarqāwī, the leader of al-​Qaeda in Iraq, forefather of ISIS, used in a letter to Osama bin Laden and ʾAyman al-​Ẓawāhirī, urging them to prioritize attacks on the Shīʿa as the near enemy. For further details, see Ghobadzadeh and Akbarzadeh 2015. 50 Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 364–​368. 51 Modarressi 1993, 65.

70  The Formative Period of Shīʿism actions and behavior were different from those of the other Imāms. Instances he collected from various sources include the frequent visits of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī to the court, the manner in which he dealt with criticism, his sharp tongue, and his colloquial manner in responding to the religious questions of his followers. It is even mentioned that when he was asked to compile a code of conduct on religious issues, the book he gave his followers was later revealed to be a copy of someone else’s work. Another important point about Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī is that in practice, he did not enjoy complete control over the Imāmate apparatus. There are reports of doubt about the authenticity of the letters and orders he issued, and in some cases his followers asked him to confirm that he had actually issued a letter or order himself.52 Shaykh al-​Kulaynī reports that Aḥmad b. Jaʿfar Qaṭān Qumī, the Imām’s deputy in Qum, asked him for a sample of his writing so that he could identify it in case he received a letter or order from the office of the Imāmate.53 This matter illustrates the degree of the power and influence of those around Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, which is understandable given these individuals’ long history of service, as mentioned earlier. Although the power of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s entourage led to serious doubts about his authority during his Imāmate, it can be said that after his demise, this cohort became critical to the moderate Shīʿa’s survival. Jaʿfar’s claim to the Imāmate, in combination with preexisting doubts about the capacities and competence of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, posed a much more serious challenge. Some claims were made that the tenth Imām himself had appointed Jaʿfar as the next Imām. Ḥusayn b. Ḥamadān al-​Khaṣībī reports that the issue of Jaʿfar’s Imāmate had been raised from the time of Imām al-​Hādī.54 The claim to the Imāmate made by Jaʿfar intensified particularly due to one of the internal disputes of the Shīʿī community. In a disagreement that arose between two of Imām al-​Hādī’s representatives, the Imām sided with one and dismissed the other. The deputy who was discharged was a man named Fāris bin Ḥātim Qazwīnī, who enjoyed considerable influence. He openly opposed Imām al-​ Hādī and refused to cease gathering funds from the Shīʿī community. Imām al-​ Hādī issued an order for his assassination, which was carried out by one of the Shīʿa, albeit during the Imāmate of the next Imām. But in the meantime, Fāris bin Ḥātim supported Jaʿfar for as long as he lived, and after his death, his family and supporters took up Jaʿfar’s cause55 in order to take advantage of the internal disputes in the inner circle of the moderate Shīʿa. These issues led the rivalry and enmity between the two brothers to continue for nearly six years during the



52

Modarressi 1993, 67–​70. Al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 27. 54 Khasībī 1999 [945], 320. 55 Hussain 1982, 67. 53

The Minor Occultation  71 Imāmate of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, so much so that according to reliable Shīʿī sources, the two brothers did not speak to each other.56 It is natural that the demise of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, who apparently did not leave any child to succeed him, strengthened the position of Jaʿfar. This was particularly the case because the legal system considered him at least one of the Imām’s heirs. Jaʿfar refuted the claim that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had a son and lodged a complaint with the caliphate apparatus to get hold of his brother’s inheritance. There are many and various reports in Shīʿī sources about the search for the twelfth Imām after the demise of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī. These reports—​ which appear historically correct—​have often been cited to prove the intention of the ʿAbbāsid caliphate to arrest and even kill the twelfth Imām, while the search for the twelfth Imām can be considered arguably more relevant to the legal dispute between Jaʿfar and Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s mother in the matter of his inheritance. Because the search for a child of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī yielded no result, the verdict was finally issued on this basis, with the judge finding that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had no children. The eleventh Imām’s inheritance was thus divided between his mother57 and Jaʿfar.58 Another significant point that must be raised here is that the claim of Jaʿfar to the Imāmate had both a doctrinal basis and a precedent in Shīʿī history. Among the moderate Shīʿa, it is believed that the Imāmate was passed from brother to brother only in the case of the second and third Imāms and in the case of all others could only be passed from father to son. There are several ḥadīths in this regard, of which the ḥadīth quoted by Shaykh al-​Kulaynī from Imām al-​Ṣādiq is an example: Imamat (Leadership with Divine Authority) will never go to two brothers after al-​Hassan and al-​Husayn (a.s.). It has continued from Ali ibn al-​Husayn (a.s.) as Allah, the Most Holy, the Most High has said, “The relatives are closer to each other, according to the Book of God . . .” (33:6). After Imam Ali ibn al-​Husayn (a.s.) will only be found in the descendants one after the other.59

There were always people who questioned the authenticity of ḥadīths that were inconsistent with their own beliefs. For example, the Faṭaḥiyya sect believed that before Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim (the seventh Imām), his brother ʿAbdullāh was 56 Modarressi 1993, 74–​75; al-​Nawbakhtī and Kadhim 2007, 155. 57 Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had appointed his mother, Sūsan, as his executor. This was one of the reasons the authenticity of the claim that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had a child was doubted. It was common that the eldest son of an Imām became his executor and successor. In Shīʿī sources, the appointment by Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī of his mother as his executor has been lauded as the insightful perception of the Imām regarding the need to mislead the caliphate in order to save his son’s life. 58 Al-​Ashʿarī al-​Qummī and Mashkour 1979, 180. 59 Al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 413 (H 752, Ch. 63, h 1).

72  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Imām. Members of this sect believed that the Imāmate was transferred from brother to brother, an idea that had not yet disappeared at the time of the death of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī; some Shīʿa still considered ʿAbdullāh one of the infallible Imāms. For this reason, a number of people applied this logic in turning to Jaʿfar as Imām.60 Others had considered the Imāmate of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī a mistake from the very beginning and claimed that the Imāmate should have been passed to Jaʿfar from the start.61 Their argument was that God, who is omniscient, would never appoint a person who had no children to the Imāmate. Therefore, the Imāmate of Jaʿfar had been God’s will from the beginning, and the Shīʿī community had mistakenly accepted Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī as Imām. Naturally, this argument was strengthened by the doubts that existed about the conduct of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī. For this reason, it is not surprising that a significant proportion of the Shīʿa approached Jaʿfar first and accepted him as Imām. This report of Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq is an example: Abul Adyan says: . . . We were sitting when some residents of Qom arrived and asked about the condition of Imam Hasan al-​Askari (a.s.). When they were informed about his demise, they inquired about the Imam after him. People guided them towards Ja’far Ibn Ali. They saluted him and offered their condolences. They wanted to know from him about the money that they had brought along with themselves, to whom did it belong and how much? Ja’far stood up from his place, and while gathering his clothes, he said, ‘They expect me to know the unseen.’ Afterwards, a servant emerged from the house of Imam Hasan al-​Askari (a.s.) and announced, ‘The letters of so and so are in your possession. You also have a bag containing a thousand dinars. Of which, only ten dinars are pure. They gave the letters and money to this servant saying, “The one who has sent you must be an Imam.”62

Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq’s report continues that it was after this incident that Jaʿfar lodged a complaint with the caliph in order to gain official recognition as Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s heir. This is just one example of many narrations about the uncertainty of the moderate Shīʿī followers at this point in time. Hussain explains another example in detail, in which the twelfth Imām apparently communicated in secret with Ḥasan b. Naḍr, one of the most influential representatives, so he would be convinced of the existence of the twelfth Imām. Hussain provides a compelling interpretation of this incident:



60

61

62

Al-​Ashʿarī al-​Qummī and Mashkour 1979, 192. Al-​Nawbakhtī and Kadhim 2007, 153–​166; al-​Ashʿarī al-​Qummī and Mashkour 1979, 193–​194. Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Rizvi 2011, 127–​128.

The Minor Occultation  73 If one studies carefully the circumstances surrounding al‑Hasan b. al‑Nadr from the time of his decision to investigate the activities of the agents until his death, one can surmise that the agents arranged them so as to remove his doubts. They would have done so because al‑Hasan b. al‑Nadr was prominent amongst the Imamites of Qumm, and his doubts might have affected the Imamites of his area. So perhaps the agents of Qumm informed the Saf ’ir in Baghdad about his arrival there. . . . One can discover from this example and many others not quoted here the means used by the Saf ’ir to remove the doubts and confusion of the Imamites brought about by the concealment of their Imam, and to make them obey his instructions.63

These types of reports indicate the readiness and planning of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s companions. It can be said that their main fear was the potential loss of moderate Shīʿī followers to Jaʿfar. Even the claim that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had a child can be seen as more relevant to this issue than the legal dispute over the inheritance of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī. All the reports in the Shīʿī sources indicate that the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle tried to conceal the existence of the twelfth Imām from the agents of the caliph. As mentioned above, even Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī himself had made his mother his executor—​according to Shīʿī sources—​in order to mislead the caliph’s agents about his son’s existence.64 On the other hand, if the declaration of the existence of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s son had been motivated by a desire for his inheritance, it would have been more logical to pursue the opposite strategy and devote more effort toward proving that he had indeed left a child. For example, the leadership could have presented another boy as the Imām’s son. Of course, it should be noted that the hypothesis that a child of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī did exist does not invalidate this analysis. Even if there was a child, the fact is that the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle made no attempt to present him to the caliph’s agents in the dispute over Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s inheritance. Therefore, it can be said that the target audience of the declaration that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had a son could only have been the Shīʿī followers, in order to maintain their loyalty to the moderate Shīʿī Imāmate apparatus. The existence of the Imām, who henceforth functioned more in the form of an idea and a concept rather than a human being of flesh and blood, was crucially important in keeping the representative organization alive. In this regard, it can be imagined that financial incentives were also important because the representative organization operated completely independently of the caliphate and was, in fact, the main artery of moderate Shīʿī financial and political power.

63 64

Hussain 1982, 92. Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 243.

74  The Formative Period of Shīʿism

Non-​messianic Notion of the Savior All historical sources about this period indicate that the declaration of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s child’s existence did not take a messianic form. In fact, the declaration made at that point in time emphasized that the child, who was like other previous Imāms (especially in terms of his anticipated life span), was in hiding in order to guarantee his safety in view of the danger posed to him by the caliph. There is no documentary evidence to show that the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle of the time claimed that the twelfth Imām would live any longer than a normal human being. On the contrary, one of the most influential Shīʿī scholars, Abū Sahl al-​Nawbakhtī, rejected the Wāqifīs’ claim that the seventh Imām, Mūsā al-​Kāẓim, was the Qāʿim specifically because his age at that time would have exceeded one hundred fifty years and defended the moderate Shīʿī view of the Imām as an ordinary human being. Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq quotes the following text from the book al-​Tanbiyyah fi Al-​Imāmah65 by Abū Sahl: Our belief and tenets of faith today, regarding the occultation of the Imam, does not in any way resemble the Waqifiya sect that believes in the occultation of Imam Musa bin Ja’far (a.s.), because the matter of his death is a well-​known fact. His death and burial were witnessed by a multitude of people and more than 150 years have passed after that, but during this period no one has reported seeing him or having correspondence with him. . . . And in this claim of ours the Imam’s occultation is neither a refutation of a sighting or feeling nor is it an impossible claim. It is also not a claim that reason may deny and something that is opposed to normality. Regarding him there are still present some among his reliable and secret Shias who claim that only they are the means to reach him and a channel through which the Imam’s verdicts are conveyed to his Shias.66

For many years, it was also forbidden to speak the name of the twelfth Imām, as it was suggested that if his name were mentioned, he would be at risk of arrest by the caliph’s agents.67 Shaykh al-​Kulaynī mentions at least four ḥadīths in his compilation al-​Kāfī that forbade followers to mention the name of the twelfth Imām in order to protect the Imām’s life.68 Taken together, this shows that during the Minor Occultation, the assertion was that the twelfth Imām was like the other Imāms, a human being who could be arrested, imprisoned, or even killed.

65 This book has been destroyed, and no copy of it remains, but parts of it remain in the form of quotations in Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq’s book. 66 Abu Sahl quoted in Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Rizvi 2011, 100. 67 Hussain 1982, 79–​80. 68 Al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 479.

The Minor Occultation  75 It was also thought that he would soon come out of hiding and assume direct leadership of the moderate Shīʿī community.69 The declaration that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had a son had the result of disarming Jaʿfar in the sense that the child had a stronger basis than Jaʿfar from which to lay claim to the Imāmate. This declaration was more consistent with the accepted conceptualizations of the moderate Shīʿa, according to which the Imāmate should be continued vertically and not horizontally, that is, transferred from father to son, not brother to brother. The declaration of the existence of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s child did not initially offer a new formulation of the concept of the Imāmate and was proposed only to fill the void of a human being for a specific appointment within an acceptable framework. In other words, the declaration of the existence of the twelfth Imām was in response to the need to maintain the status quo of the time and was commensurate with the challenges of the day and therefore did not yet have the key elements that were added to it later. In fact, it was almost a century later that this declaration both gained a messianic conceptualization and ushered in a new epistemic system for the moderate Shīʿa. Toward the end of the period of the Minor Occultation, when the life of the twelfth Imām was beginning to exceed the normal life span of a human being, the moderate Shīʿī community again faced a critical challenge, and in response to that challenge, the messianic conceptualization of the twelfth Imām gradually took shape. From the very first pages of this book, one point has been expressed in various ways, and that is that the Shīʿī denomination was formed as a person-​centered faith, will be eternally person-​centered, and, more specifically, has continued to be based on a certain number of people. But after the demise of Imām Ḥasan al-​ ʿAskarī, this person transformed from a person of flesh and blood to a name or a concept that had not only the same function as a person but also the potential for continuity and sustainability for longer than a single human lifetime. And this potential was realized in the most effective way possible and showed its efficiency in doing so, maintaining its effectiveness to this day. Of course, contrary to the Shīʿī claim, this potential was not necessarily anticipated from the beginning and was not the product of any prearranged plan. Rather, the totality of events caused this potential to be gradually assembled and realized. According to Foucault’s discourse analysis, the consideration of unrealized possibilities also helps us understand the genealogy of a discourse. Moderate Shīʿism and its evolution into Twelver Shīʿism from the middle of the third century to the middle of the fifth century were the possibility realized, but one can speculate about other possibilities that at that time could have been transformed into the religion’s regime of truth. Of course, power relations and the sum of the events alongside the

69

Modarressi 1993, 86–​87; al-​Katib 2007, 408; Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 323.

76  The Formative Period of Shīʿism decisions of various actors made the realization of those possibilities impossible. Even those in the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle seem to have considered other possibilities at times. According to the extant circumstances, one such possibility would have been Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s companions’ cooperation with Jaʿfar. Some reports speculate that such a scenario may have been considered by both sides. Numerous reports in Shīʿī sources indicate that some of Imām Ḥasan al-​ ʿAskarī’s representatives initially went to Jaʿfar to give him their donated funds and, in fact, accepted his Imāmate. Al-​Kātib also quotes Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq in his report that after the demise of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, people went to offer their condolences to Jaʿfar, and ʿUthmān b. Saʿīd al-​ʿAmrī, who was the most prominent figure in the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle after Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, was also present at the meeting.70 However, these reports emphasize that due to Jaʿfar’s lack of authority, especially his lack of divine knowledge, they turned away from him. These reports indicate that an agreement with Jaʿfar and his acceptance of the position of Imām was at least considered by some in the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle. But it is likely that this possibility remained unrealized due to the history of the deep rift between the two camps. If the circle of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s companions had come together and accepted Jaʿfar as the next Imām, then Shīʿī history would have taken a different path, and the Shīʿī denomination would certainly have found a completely different conceptualization from that with which we are familiar today. Likewise, in the power struggle between Jaʿfar and the circle of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s companions, if Jaʿfar had been better at recruiting the key figures of the representative system to his side, and the Jaʿfar faction had won and the circle of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s companions had collapsed, then at the very least, it can be said with certainty that the Twelver Shīʿa as we know them today would not have existed.71 Some reports may even give rise to speculation that the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle itself, during the Minor Occultation, considered options other than what later became Twelver Shīʿism. For example, one may cite the opinion of one of the most important and influential Shīʿī scholars of the time, Abū Sahl al-​ Nawbakhtī. b. al-​Nadīm, who writes in Kitāb al-​Fihrist:

70 Al-​Katib 2007, 184. 71 It seems that Jaʿfar and those who came after him were not able to last for long. Modarressi states that it is not known exactly how long Jaʿfar’s supporters survived as an independent sect, but in 373/​ 983, Shaykh al-​Mufīd stated that he did not know of any (Modarressi 1993, 84). In his other significant book, al-​Fuṣūl al-​ʿAshara fī al-​Ghayba, written in 411/​1020, Shaykh al-​Mufīd wrote that this sect had been merged into that of the Twelvers: “Insofar as I have paid attention to and read about this period, I have never seen any offspring of Jaʿfar who in relation to this issue [the Imāmate] hold a belief contrary to the Imāmi, rather, all of them believe that the Mahdī (may God hasten his return) is ‘alive’ and are waiting for his reappearance, and the requirements of human and Islamic morality are such that I not wound their hearts by mentioning their past” (Shaykh al-​Mufīd and Khalesi 1998, 26).

The Minor Occultation  77 Abū Sahl Ismāʿīl ibn ʿAli al-​Nawbakht, one of the great Shīʿa . . . had theories about the Qāʿim of the family of Mohammad (peace be upon them) that no one has surpassed. He used to say: I believe that Muhammad ibn Ḥasan was the Imām who passed away in absence, and his successor to the Imāmate during the same absence was his son. And the other sons after him in the same way, until the command of God willing their appearance is executed.72

Modarressi also wrote that a number of Shīʿa in the Age of Occultation held the same belief.73 At that time, there was no mention of twelve as the number of Imāms, and the Shīʿa generally believed that the line of Imāms would continue until one of them rose up as Qāʿim to form the promised just government. Therefore, this belief was also one of the possibilities that may have come to pass if favorable conditions for its realization had arisen. The sources necessary to establish exactly why the Shīʿī leadership of that time did not pursue such an idea are not available. But reports from the lived history of the moderate Shīʿa show us that the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle pursued pragmatic policies, including responding to its immediate challenges and avoiding confrontation with the caliph of the time. These policies not only facilitated the survival of the moderate Shīʿa in the face of myriad challenges and threats but also sowed the seeds of a messianic understanding of the twelfth Imām.

Discourse of Pragmatism and Survival In the age of the Minor Occultation, the decisions and behaviors of the moderate Shīʿī community were concentrated not on the basis of political ambition but on the question of survival. This matter not only led to the perpetuation of the policy of avoiding confrontation with the government apparatus but also advanced moderate Shīʿī political thought one step closer to theocratic secularism. The declaration of the existence of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī’s child did not work in a vacuum; a combination of political conditions as well as the behavior and decisions of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle made it effective. The moderate Shīʿa maintained their claim to political leadership as a defining component of their identity. This de facto theocratic model of secularism—​retaining the claim that the caliphate was rightfully theirs, while taking no practical action to achieve it—​was not a new phenomenon and, as discussed in detail in ­chapter 1, from the time of the fourth Imām, Imām al-​Sajjād, was the pattern of moderate Shīʿī political behavior. In the same way as during the Age of Presence, in the era

72 73

Al-​Nadīm and Tajaddod 2002, 330. Modarressi 1993, 95.

78  The Formative Period of Shīʿism of the Minor Occultation, Shīʿī leaders also avoided supporting or cooperating with any kind of rebellion against the caliph. In addition to the continuation of the policies of the Age of Presence in this period, another characteristic of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle made the caliphate apparatus more confident that the moderate Shīʿa posed no threat: none of the four deputies or influential Shīʿī individuals and families at the time was ʿAlid. Thus, in accordance with Shīʿī political theology itself, no one in the leadership circle could possibly claim the legitimacy to take over the caliphate. This reduced the threat of the moderate Shīʿa in the eyes of the caliph, provided a margin of safety for the activities of its leaders, and also allowed the Shīʿa to become closer to the caliphate. Perhaps evidence for this claim can be found in the statement made by the caliph about Ibn Rūḥ, the third deputy of the twelfth Imām during the caliphate of al-​Rādī (r. 322–​328/​934–​940). Sūlī reports that when the caliph was told that Ibn Rūḥ was collecting religious funds from the Shīʿa, he replied: “What’s wrong with that? I wish there were a thousand people like Ḥusayn ibn Rūḥ and the Imāmis would give them their property and in this manner God would impoverish that tribe. I don’t mind that Ḥusayn ibn Rūḥ became rich by taking the property of the Imāmis.”74 It is stated in Shīʿī sources that the caliph’s confidence was obtained because Ibn Rūḥ shielded himself by keeping his religion secret (taḳiyya). This explanation seems correct to an extent, but at the same time, it should be noted that this report itself shows that Ibn Rūḥ’s position in the Shīʿī community was not a secret and that there was awareness of it in the court. But the words of al-​Rādī show that the caliph did not consider Ibn Rūḥ a threat to himself. Not surprisingly, in the era of the Minor Occultation, more than in any other period, the Shīʿa became close to the court and the caliphate and, as explained earlier, obtained government positions at various ranks.

Elimination of Rivals Proximity to the caliphate apparatus not only provided Shīʿī figures with opportunities to support the Shīʿī community and strengthen their social and financial situation but also helped them to counter their rivals and enemies.75 Proximity to the caliphate was not the only source of power the moderate Shīʿa used to confront their rivals, who mainly consisted of members of other Shīʿī groups, rather than the majority Sunnī. The moderate Shīʿī leadership circle exercised disciplinary and pastoral power, to use a Foucauldian term, to

74 75

As-​Suli and Heyworth-​Dunne 1935, 87. Hussain 1982, 114–​118.

The Minor Occultation  79 eliminate its rivals. One of Foucault’s most important analytical insights is his problematization of a simple and unitary understanding of power. Foucault states that he rarely uses the word “power,” and if were to use it, he would only do so as a shortened form of “power relations.”76 By focusing on power relations, Foucault seeks to distance himself from the conventional view that power is held by an individual, a group, or an institution. The following quote from Foucault illuminates this point: Power must, I think, be analyzed as something that circulates, or rather as something that functions only when it is part of a chain. It is never localized here or there, it is never in the hands of some, and it is never appropriated in the way that wealth or a commodity can be appropriated.77

He distinguishes four different forms of power: sovereign power, disciplinary power, pastoral power, and biopower.78 The first form of power, Foucault holds, is power that relies on acts of violence and the right to kill, usually exercised by taking something away from someone. The second form of power is primarily based on control rather than the use of force. According to Foucault, the three primary techniques of control are hierarchical observation, normalizing judgment, and examination.79 Pastoral power, Foucault states, “is the idea of a power exercised on a multiplicity rather than on a territory.”80 He maintains that pastoral power has four characteristics: it is a form of power whose ultimate goal is to ensure individual and group salvation in the afterlife; it is not only a commanding form of power, but it must also be willing to sacrifice itself; it is a form of power that looks after not only the entire community but each individual in particular throughout his life; and this kind of power cannot be wielded without first knowing what is on people’s minds, probing their souls, and making them reveal their deepest secrets.81 And finally, the fourth form, “biopower,” is defined by Foucault as “a power that exerts a positive influence on life, that endeavors to administer, optimize, and multiply it, subjecting it to precise controls and comprehensive regulations.”82 I think it would be highly problematic to apply the fourth form of power that Foucault contemplates to the Shīʿī community in the initial centuries of the Islamic history. This form of power is fundamentally at odds with the structure



76 77 78 79 80 81 82

Foucault 1994a, 11). Foucault 2003, 29. Foucault 1995; Foucault 1978; Lynch 2011; Lilja and Vinthagen 2014. Hoffman 2011. Foucault 2009, 174. Foucault 2001, 333. Foucault 1978, 137. For further discussion of this form of power, see Taylor 2011.

80  The Formative Period of Shīʿism of Shīʿī society at that time. As for the first form of power, since the moderate Shīʿa did not have a government at their disposal during the Minor Occultation, at first glance, one might claim that they had no possibility of exercising power in this sense. This statement is true to some extent, but there are exceptions. As I explained, a number of Shīʿī families were influential in the caliphate apparatus and on occasion held high-​ranking positions in the ʿAbbāsid courts. When the opportunity arose, they used the power of the ʿAbbāsid caliphates to eliminate their rivals. One may also retrospectively apply the concepts of disciplinary and pastoral power to explain some of the power relations playing out in the moderate Shīʿī community during the Minor Occultation. In fact, disciplinary and pastoral power played a paramount role in normalizing and shaping the beliefs of the members of the moderate Shīʿī community. For example, the letters issued in the name of the twelfth Imām during this period played a role in validating and empowering some and, in the same manner, “othering” and eliminating others. The way the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle confronted al-​Shalmaghānī and al-​Ḥallāj are clear examples in this respect. Abū al-​Mughīth ʿAbdullāh b. Aḥmad b. ʿAbī Ṭāhir, known as Ḥusayn bin Manṣūr al-​Ḥallāj (244–​309/​858–​922), was one of the well-​known Sufis of the Islamic world. His statement “Ana al-​Ḥaq [I am the truth]”83 is very famous. Al-​ Ḥallāj had controversial ideas and is one of the Sufis whose thought is widely disputed by scholars,84 to the extent that completely opposing positions have been taken about him by great Shīʿī figures throughout history. Some, such as Nasīr al-​Dīn al-​Ṭūsī, Mullā Ṣadrā Shīrāzī, and ʿAlāma Ṭabāṭabāʾī, have praised him, while others, such as Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, Shaykh Ṭūsī, and ʿAlāma Hilī, have excommunicated him.85 Al-​Ḥallāj was a contemporary of the third deputy of the twelfth Imām, Ibn Rūḥ, and engaged in discussions with him to try to attract him to al-​Ḥallāj’s own beliefs.86 He also wrote letters to some other moderate Shīʿī leaders, including Abū Sahl al-​Nawbakhtī and, in seeking to attract the Shīʿa, claimed to represent the twelfth Imām.87 Moderate Shīʿī leaders including the influential Nawbakhtī family used their connections in the court as well as capacity to persuade Abū Bakr Muḥammad b. Dāwūd al-​Zāhirī (255–​297/​868–​910) to condemn al-​Ḥallāj for apostasy and have him executed.88 A factor that made 83 It is said that after returning from hajj in 282/​986, when he went to see his master and knocked on his door. His master said, “Who is knocking on the door?” Al-​Ḥallāj replied, “I am the truth.” For further discussion of this statement, see, for example, Schimmel 1989; Tadayon and Younesi 2018. 84 Mohseni-​Nia 2004, 147. 85 Jalali-​Sheyhani and Delshad-​Nadaf 2015. 86 Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 694–​698. 87 Al-​Armawi al-​Muhaddith 2006, 479–​486. 88 Momen 1985, 163; Ashtiani 1978, 113–​114; Mashkoor 1989, 162–​163. Al-​Ḥallāj’s execution is considered a turning point in the history of Sufism in Islam. For a comprehensive discussion of al-​Ḥallāj’s life, beliefs, and death, as well as different opinions about him, refer

The Minor Occultation  81 the issue of al-​Ḥallāj more controversial among the Shīʿa is the claim that he was cursed in a letter attributed to the twelfth Imām, although given that the text of the letter referred to in this regard does not explicitly identify al-​Ḥallāj, there are different opinions about the matter.89 Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. ʾAbī al-​ʿAzāqir, known as al-​Shalmaghānī (d. 323/​ 934), was one of the companions of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī and wrote several authoritative books in the field of Shīʿī jurisprudence. Despite his being cursed and excommunicated later, some of his books are counted among the authentic Shīʿī sources. Al-​Shalmaghānī was one of the Shīʿa who worked as a scribe in the ʿAbbāsid court. In the early decades of the Minor Occultation, he was part of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle. At the beginning of the term of the third deputy, he gained more influence and authority and, according to reports in Shīʿī sources, was responsible for the Shīʿī community in Baghdad and Kūfa—​two key regions of moderate Shīʿī populations—​and for managing communications with several deputies.90 When Ibn Rūḥ was forced to live in secret for a while,91 al-​ Shalmaghānī played a liaison role between Ibn Rūḥ and the Shīʿī community. Similarly, when Ibn Rūḥ was imprisoned between 306/​918 and 311/​923,92 the opportunity arose for al-​Shalmaghānī to effectively occupy the position of leader of the moderate Shīʿī community. However, probably around 312/​924, his personal beliefs led to distance between himself and the moderate Shīʿa, and he became embroiled in a serious conflict with Ibn Rūḥ. According to Shīʿī sources, al-​Shalmaghānī first claimed to be the deputy of the twelfth Imām and gradually came to believe that God was incarnate in the bodies of selected human beings to the four-​volume work of Louis Massignon (Massignon 2019); see also Mason 2007; Mason 1979; Farid Qarib and Razani 2013; Arab Yousef Abadi 2018; Tadayon and Younesi 2018. 89 Ja’fari 2010. 90 Hussain 1982, 129–​130. 91 During this period, there was a great power struggle in the ʿAbbāsid court, and many figures were dismissed and many others installed. For example, during the twenty-​five-​year caliphate of al-​ Muqtadir (295–​320/​908–​932), there were twelve ministerial appointments, with some individuals being appointed, dismissed, and reappointed two or three times each (Azimzadeh-​Tehrani 2003, 71). Naturally, when a minister or official in the court was dismissed, those close to him would also face difficulties. At this time, Ḥamīd b. ʿAbbās replaced Ibn Farāt Shīʿa in the post of minister and began to harass and confiscate the property of the Shīʿa. It seems that Ibn Rūḥ had to live in secret during this period. For details about this particular case of the transfer of power in the ʿAbbāsid court, see Ibn al-​ʾAthīr and Azhir 2003b [1231], 4687–​4690. 92 The years mentioned here cannot be considered entirely certain. Different sources have given different dates, but all of them are close to these years. There have also been two reasons cited for Ibn Rūḥ’s imprisonment: his failure to surrender property demanded of him by the government and the accusation that he collaborated with the Qarāmiṭans, who at that time had launched an armed revolt against the caliph. Azimzadeh-​Tehrani rejects both these theories and argues that, in fact, it was al-​Shalmaghānī, with the cooperation of his supporters in the ʿAbbāsid court, who led to Ibn Rūḥ’s imprisonment (Azimzadeh-​Tehrani 2003). If this hypothesis is correct, then the power struggle

82  The Formative Period of Shīʿism such as Adam and Mohammad. He claimed at this point that he himself was such a person.93 In Shīʿī sources, the reasons for al-​Shalmaghānī’s deviation are cited as his coveting the property that the Shīʿī donated as the Imām’s share, as well as political ambition and jealousy of Ibn Rūḥ’s position.94 To confront al-​Shalmaghānī, Ibn Rūḥ first took action by asking the representatives to cease sending him funds and working with him. However, it seems that due to the significant influence of al-​Shalmaghānī, some, such as the prominent Banī Basṭām family, ignored Ibn Rūḥ’s request. Ibn Rūḥ then distributed a letter from the twelfth Imām in which al-​Shalmaghānī was cursed unambiguously. Despite its length, the quotation of part of the letter here is worthwhile in providing an example of how explicit, purposeful, and comprehensive the letters attributed to the twelfth Imām were: . . . Muhammad b. ‘Ali, known as al‑Shalmaghani, is one of those upon whom Allah has hastened His judgement and to whom He has granted no respite. He has deviated from Islam and separated himself from it. He has become an apostate from the religion of Allah, making claims which indicate the denial of Allah, the Most Glorious and High, fabricating lies and falsehoods, and pronouncing untruths and great transgressions. . . . [W]‌e declare ourselves free (of any relationship with al‑Shalmaghani) before Allah, . . . while we curse him (i.e. al‑Shalmaghani), may the curses of Allah be showered successively (upon him) externally and internally, secretly and publicly, at every time and in every circumstance. And (may the curse of Allah be) upon those who agree with him and follow him, and also upon those who, having heard our announcement, continue to pay allegiance to him. So inform them (the Imamite agents) that we shall guard and take precautions against him, as was the case with those who preceded him and held similar views, like al‑Shari’i, al-​Numayri, al‑Hilali, al‑Bilali and so forth.95

This letter was, in fact, an instrument to discredit al-​Shalmaghānī among the moderate Shīʿa, who believed in the existence of the twelfth Imām and considered it their religious duty to adhere to any position expressed by him. To use Foucault’s words, it can be said that this was an exercise of disciplinary and pastoral power within the moderate Shīʿī community, which exercised power through the normalization and definition of the self and the “other,” as between al-​Shalmaghānī and Ibn Rūḥ most probably broke out before the year 312/​924, which is cited in most sources.

93 94 95

Zakeri 2014. Ibn al-​ʾAthīr and Azhir 2003b [1231], 4850; Azimzadeh-​Tehrani 2003, 75–​76. Hussain 1982, 132–​133.

The Minor Occultation  83 well as the communication network in the heart of the representative organization. However, the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle did not limit itself to the use of disciplinary and pastoral power in this case and exercised its influence in the ʿAbbāsid court to physically remove al-​Shalmaghānī. More specifically, Ibn Rūḥ cooperated with the ʿAbbāsid court to expose and condemn him. Al-​ Shalmaghānī’s fate was no different from that of al-​Ḥallāj, and after fatwas were issued by several jurists in relation to his heresy, he was tortured and executed. Hussain points out that after such cooperation, Ibn Rūḥ became closer to the caliphate and was even more trusted by the caliph.96 Al-​Ḥallāj and al-​Shalmaghānī were not the only ones cursed in letters attributed to the twelfth Imām. These letters were repeatedly utilized as important levers of consolidating moderate Shīʿī disciplinary and pastoral power and played a significant role in stabilizing the positions of the four deputies and their gaining and maintaining of authority.97 There was a considerable number of people who were part of the representative organization and leadership circle of the Shīʿī community. However, in the case that their behaviors, practices, or thoughts became distanced from those of the moderate Shīʿa or they became embroiled in power struggles with the central leadership circle, especially the deputy of the twelfth Imām, a campaign would be launched to alienate them. Among the instruments of such campaigns, their cursing in a letter from the twelfth Imām was a particularly efficient lever. In addition to al-​Ḥallāj and al-​Shalmaghānī, others who were cursed in such a way included Abū Muḥammad (known as Sharīʿī), Muḥammad b. Nasīr al-​Numayrī, Aḥmad b. Ḥilāl al-​Karkhī, and Abū Ṭāhir Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. Bilāl.98 Needless to say, in other cases, letters were issued in support of certain individuals, strengthening their position. In addition to the deputy, who received repeated support in the letters of the twelfth Imām, there were also other addressees who were cited in letters as people the twelfth Imām trusted. For example, letters were issued from the twelfth Imām in support of Abū al-​Ḥusayn Muḥammad b. Jaʿfar Asadī, Aḥmad b. Isḥāq, ʾIbrāhīm b. Muḥammad Ḥamadānī, and Aḥmad b. Ḥamza b. Yasaʿ al-​ʾAshʿarī Qumī. 99 Undoubtedly, many questions can be raised in relation to the letters of the twelfth Imām, including whether all such letters were prepared in the same handwriting and to what extent their style of writing and tone were the same. In examining such questions, Aḥmad Kātib raises the issue that the deputies of the twelfth Imām claimed they were forbidden to reveal the handwriting of the 96 Hussain 1982, 133. 97 Jabbari 2002. 98 For a discussion of the backgrounds of these people and how they became separated from the moderate Shīʿa and were cursed in letters from the twelfth Imām, see Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 677–​721. 99 The text of the letters of the twelfth Imām is provided in different forms and narrations throughout Shīʿī sources. For some examples of these letters, see Tabarsi and J’afari 2002, 601–​657.

84  The Formative Period of Shīʿism twelfth Imām; the letters they showed to the followers were transcripts of the original letters. He considers this issue a factor refuting the claim of the existence of the twelfth Imām. Given that I do not intend to take a position on the existence or otherwise of the twelfth Imām, I will not engage with this discussion, but in following the research method of this book based on the exclusion of supernatural factors, I can speculate that the approach of the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle to the letters reflected yet another example of their calculated policy formulation and coordination. Due to the considerable length of the period of the Minor Occultation (around seventy years), the handwriting of these letters could have caused doubts among the followers, but the tactic of providing only copies of letters, while precluding doubts about the existence of the twelfth Imām, also made it possible to use this lever over a long period. An important point in relation to the concept of theocratic secularism discussed in this book is that these letters lacked any instruction for how to deal with the government apparatus. In particular, as Muḥammad Ṣadr points out, the letters did not call on the Shīʿa to seek power or revolt against the ʿAbbāsids. According to Muḥammad Ṣadr, this was to maintain the security of the Shīʿa so they could continue their activities free from political trouble and government harassment.100 Overall, it can be said that the group that led the moderate Shīʿī community in the era of the Minor Occultation was made up of capable political actors able to maintain this community for several decades in spite of various challenges and difficulties. But perhaps one of the most astonishing questions, to which we will never be able to find a definitive answer, is why this class eventually turned its hand to suicide. It has previously been suggested that the four deputies and some of the others in the representative organization did not have religious authority and that it was mostly executives who were responsible for leading the moderate Shīʿī community. As a result of their collection of donated funds, these individuals had a strong financial basis, and due to their asserted connection with the twelfth Imām, they enjoyed enviable reputations and influence among their followers. However, the fourth deputy announced the end of the age of the system of deputyship by presenting a letter from the twelfth Imām that explicitly ruled out the possibility that anyone after him could claim to be the deputy of the twelfth Imām. In this letter, which is one of the documents accepted by all Shīʿa, it is stated: In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful; ‘Alî b. Muhammad al-​ Simarrî, may God increase, through you, the reward of your brothers in religion [that is, the Shî’ites]; yes, your death will take place in six days. Prepare yourself, and name no one as your successor [as “representative”] after your death.

100

Sadr 1972, 377–​380.

The Minor Occultation  85 Here is the advent of the second Occultation [var. the complete Occultation] in which there will be no more manifestation, except if it be with divine permission, and that will not take place but after a long time, when hearts will be hardened and the earth filled with violence. Among my partisans, some will claim to having seen [me] with their eyes [as was the case with the “representatives”]. Beware! He who claims to have seen [me] with his eyes before the raising of al-​Sufyânî and [the sounding of] the Cry [two signs, precursors to the End of Time and the Return of the Mahdî; cf. later discussion] is a liar and an impostor. Greatness and Power belong to God alone.101

From the point of view of Shīʿī thought, the demise of the fourth deputy was the beginning of the Major Occultation. Little is known about why the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle came to this decision at this point in time. The fourth deputy was ʿAlī b. Muḥammad Samarī, one of the companions of the eleventh Imām, who at this point (329/​941) must have been one of the last people left from the time of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī. There is little information available about his character and actions,102 which makes any speculation about the reasons for his decision difficult. However, Dwight Donaldson raises some interesting possibilities: The fourth agent of the Hidden Imam, therefore, had come upon evil times. He may have felt that the years that had passed since the time of the last Imams had been so filled with oppression, bloodshed and iniquity that the Imam himself must certainly appear. Or he may have been thoroughly disillusioned and have felt the insignificance and unreality of his position as the accredited agent of the supposed Imam. In any event, at the time of his death, when he was urged to name his successor, he gave an answer that has come down in history, “The matter is now with God.”103

Again, if we contemplate the issue through the lens of Foucault’s discourse analysis, we should also consider the sterile possibility of the deputyship and representative organization having been continued. If the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle had continued this system for any reason, the Shīʿī community would most likely have ended up with a virtually independent class responsible for its management, which functioned separately from the religious scholars. However, the suicide of this class left the religious and political leadership of the moderate Shīʿa in the hands of the ʿulamāʾ, and the separation between religious and

101 102 103

Quoted in Amir-​Moezzi 1994, 113. Jabbari 2003, 480. Donaldson 1933, 257.

86  The Formative Period of Shīʿism political authority that had arisen during the period of the Minor Occultation ended. The removal of the deputy of the twelfth Imām and the dissolution of the power of the representative organization led to a power vacuum that was filled by religious scholars. Once again, religious authority and political authority were united, but this time, not only were there serious restrictions placed on both forms of authority, but both lost any resemblance to a hierarchical formation. But this transition did not happen easily, and this time, the greatest challenge facing the moderate Shīʿī community was its lack of a theological theory and framework that would explain the prevailing state of affairs and be sufficiently internally cohesive to be accepted by the Shīʿī followers. It was at this point that the ʿulamāʾ introduced a new interpretation of Shīʿī theology. The arguments they employed to do so and the conceptualization of the Shīʿī political theology that they presented will be discussed in c­ hapter 3.

3

The Age of Perplexity From Moderate Shīʿism to Twelver Shīʿism

When, how, and why the Islamic world came to be divided into Sunnī and Shīʿī are recurring questions in the literature addressing Shīʿism and the history of Islam. On the matter of the identity of the creator of Shīʿism, two names are raised in completely different contexts. Some hostile Sunnī sources propose that ʿAbdullah ibn Sabāʾ, a Jew, carried out a calculated attack on Islam through his creation of Shīʿism.1 On the contrary, due to the key role of the sixth Imām, Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq, in establishing an independent system of jurisprudence for the Shīʿa, his name features more prominently than those of the other Imāms, so much so that—​as mentioned earlier—​Twelver Shīʿism is also known as Jaʿfarī Shīʿism. In addition, many studies on the formation of Twelver Shīʿism have sought to identify specific events and particular individuals whom they identify as architects of key elements of Shīʿī theology. Modarressi, for example, introduces Ibn Qiba Rāzī as the person who formulated a refined, straightforward, and defensible Shīʿī theory of the Imāmate. Elsewhere, Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm b. Jaʿfar al-​Nuʿmānī is described as the originator of the idea of t​ he two periods of occultation and the first person to identify twelve as the number of Imāms. I do not intend to identify any individual instigator, for several reasons. First, such suggestions are highly controversial, and any claim in this area must be supported by extensive research that extends beyond the scope of this book. Second, in following Foucauldian discourse analysis, there is no need to search for the source and creator of an idea. Finally, in the discussion I present in this chapter, it does not make much difference who formulated which part of Twelver Shīʿī political theology. What is important is that in a period of around a century after the beginning of the Major Occultation, through the contribution of a number of religious scholars, including both theologians and muḥaddiths, the key elements of theocratic secularism were formed and that the supportive political atmosphere that had developed under the shadow of the Būyids assisted the Twelver Shīʿa and accelerated the formation process.

1 A detailed description of ʿAbdullah ibn Sabāʾ can be found in note 10 in the introduction of this book. Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0004

88  The Formative Period of Shīʿism In this chapter, a specific period is identified, and the contributions of multiple actors and a series of developments and events are scrutinized to offer an account of the consolidation of the Shīʿī political theology. These individuals, events, and changes were all part of the Age of Perplexity (al-​ḥayra) which refers to the time when the twelfth infallible Imām disappeared until the mid-​fifth century, when a messianic understanding of the twelfth Imām finally took shape and was accepted by the Imāmī Shīʿī community. It became known as the Age of Perplexity because many of those who identified themselves as Imāmī Shīʿa came to doubt their beliefs due to the leadership crisis following the disappearance of the twelfth Imām. This crisis reached its peak when the promised figure, the twelfth Imām, failed to appear within the life span attributed to a normal person. As a result, many started to doubt the existence of the twelfth Imām. They grew confused about the foundational tenet of moderate Shīʿism. The notion of ḥayra (perplexity) was widely used by Shīʿī scholars of the time when faced with skeptical questioning by devoted moderate Shīʿī followers. It was in response to this universal perplexity that important works were produced to rearticulate the notions of occultation and the Imāmate. Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, who wrote the pioneering work Kamāl al-​dīn wa-​tamām al-​niʻmah (Perfection of Faith and Completion of Divine Favor), aimed specifically to discuss and justify the occultation of the twelfth Imām. He was motivated to write this book not only because “most of the Shīʿī people who visited [him] were confused” but also in view of the fact that a “learned and virtuous scholar from Bukhara” expressed confusion and perplexity “with regard to the Holy Imām (a.s.) due to the prolongation of his occultation and due to [the] cutting off of news regarding him.”2 The universality and profundity of this perplexity were evident in the proliferation of books that included references to ḥayra in their titles.3 This Age of Perplexity, during which an epistemic transformation occurred, is the focus of my discussions in this chapter and in c­ hapter 4.

Epistemic Transformation One might suggest Thomas Kuhn’s paradigm shift as a suitable concept for describing the transformations that took place during the Age of Perplexity of Shīʿī history. In putting forward this concept, Kuhn (1962) seeks to provide an alternative method of historical analysis. He distances himself from the dominant methodologies in which history simply describes the achievements and actions of particular individuals and focuses instead on the fractures that result from the

2 3

Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Rizvi 2011, 14–​15. (Modarressi 1993, 98).

The Age of Perplexity  89 accumulation of paradoxes and contradictions in the dominant way of thinking. In fact, for Kuhn, it is these fractures that ultimately lead to a paradigm shift. However, the concept of the paradigm shift can only explain part—​not all—​of what took place during the Age of Perplexity. There are two considerations that problematize the application of this concept to describe this period in Shīʿī history. The first is that the term “paradigm” is usually used within the confines of scientific disciplines, for example, the intellectual paradigm in the field of jurisprudence. In contrast, what happened to the Shīʿa during this period was comprehensive rather than limited to any specific field or discipline. Second, the belief system that emerged from the events of this period has remained stable for more than a millennium, while paradigms usually only persist for a short time before they are replaced by new and stronger ones. As an alternative to the paradigm, the concept of the episteme, as proposed by Foucault in The Order of Things, is a powerful analytical framework with better capacity to demonstrate the scope and scale of the transformations that occurred in Shīʿism during this historical epoch. In fact, what took place in this period of Shīʿī history was an epistemological transformation, and the regime of truth that we know today as Twelver Shīʿism is largely the creation of this epistemic transformation. Unlike the paradigm, the concept of the episteme is relevant to a wide range of disciplines of which the various branches of science form only one part.4 An analysis of the epistemic regime of a given historical period is, in fact, an analysis of the rules within which the thinking and worldview of the people of a society are formed. In this way, the episteme forms the backdrop of the discourses that are produced in a society. From Foucault’s point of view, historical analysis can reveal the positive unconscious which, although not a discourse in the orbit of the actors’ consciousness, is nonetheless a determining part of the discourse.5 This form of analysis can be applied to identify epistemic transformations in different epochs, as Foucault did himself in analyzing Western culture. My goal in conceptualizing the developments that took place over a period of a century of Shīʿī history as an “epistemic transformation” is to propose an explanation for the transition from moderate Shīʿism to Twelver Shīʿism. As Foucault points out, the episteme determines the condition of possibility of discourse in every age, an a priori set of rules that in one period permits certain topics and attitudes to be contemplated and discussed, although naturally in another period, the same topics may be located outside the realm of possible thought and discussion. By comparing the epistemes of the two different eras, we can arrive at a descriptive explanation of epistemic transformations among a people. A comparison of this nature will require the identification of the changes that have modified the

4 5

(Foucault 1972, 191). (Foucault 1989).

90  The Formative Period of Shīʿism episteme’s fundamental arrangements. The use of this lens to examine the age of perplexity reveals the emergence of changes to the fundamental arrangements of Shīʿism. The most vital concept in Shīʿī Islam is the Imāmate, and this historical period—​as will be discussed—​brought about fundamental revisions to this concept. Another important point about Foucault’s conception of this epistemic transformation is the role of power and power dynamics in every age that shape these transformations and the manner in which they occur. According to Foucault, every society has its own regime of truth that defines the boundary between right and wrong. He writes: Truth is a thing of this world: it is produced only by virtue of multiple forms of constraint. And it induces regular effects of power. Each society has its regime of truth, its “general politics” of truth: that is, the types of discourse which it accepts and makes function as true; the mechanisms and instances which enable one to distinguish true and false statements, the means by which each is sanctioned; the techniques and procedures accorded value in the acquisition of truth; the status of those who are charged with saying what counts as true.6

For Foucault, regimes of truth are historical and wholly influenced by power relations. The regime of truth that defined the Shīʿī community in the aftermath of the Age of Perplexity was the product of the power relations experienced during this period. Foucault’s complex conceptualization of power, which was discussed in c­ hapter 2, is very helpful in examining this historical epoch of Shīʿism. In conducting a Foucauldian analysis of this period in Shīʿī history, we will not look for power possessed by any particular individual, group, or institution, turning our attention instead to relations of power. In fact, as explained in ­chapter 2, the transformations that took place in the moderate Shīʿī community during this period were inherently due to the power relations between various actors—​both within the moderate Shīʿī community and between the latter and others, including the Sunnī majority and other Shīʿī sects—​at different times. This matter is also related to the concepts of author and subject, which have significant importance in Foucault’s intellectual project. Foucault complicates the singular relationship between the creator figure and the text or phenomenon. In his well-​known article “What Is an Author?” Foucault argues that the author is not an individual but a function or figure that emerges in relation to the relevant literature.7 Not surprisingly, Foucault also challenges the role of the subject and creator of discourses. He does not contend that his concern in analyzing

6 7

Foucault 1980, 131. Foucault 2012.

The Age of Perplexity  91 discourse is to identify a causal relationship between events or thinking subjects but rather holds that it is the discontinuities that can be identified in the scattering of events and multiple subjects that are significant. It is not unreasonable that Foucault sees the search for the founding subject of a discourse as the denial of the reality of the discourse.8 Ian Parker makes the same point in concurring with Foucault that discourses are trans-​individual and that in seeking to understand a discourse, it is necessary to investigate beyond individual intentions.9 Of course, it should be noted that the role of certain people will be discussed in greater detail. These people—​for example, a number of Shīʿī thinkers of the period—​will be analyzed not as creators of the epistemic transformation but rather as subjects who played more prominent roles. In this regard, I am inclined to agree with Edward Said, who admits that he is indebted to Foucault in writing the book Orientalism. However, he criticizes Foucault for not recognizing a role for specific texts and writers, arguing that in the discourse about the East in the Western world, a certain number of writers and orientalists played determining roles.10 I think that addressing the importance of certain people and specific events does not necessarily contradict what Foucault put forward, as long as we do not position any single person or event as the creator of a discourse.

Transformed Premises At the time of the demise of the eleventh Imām in 260/​874, a significant part of Shīʿī identity had been formed, and perhaps it can be said that the skeleton of theocratic secularism had also taken shape. But a number of distinctive and crucial changes were to occur before it would come to fruition in the form we know it in today. A hallmark of theocratic secularism—​as the term implies—​is belief in a form of theocracy that dictates life as secular in the realm of political action. The integration of religious and political leadership into one person and the claim that this person is the Shīʿī Imām were one element never subject to compromise and its continuity never broken by the Shīʿa. But in terms of practical politics, the political modus operandi that has manifested as a result of this belief has changed in different eras. In ­chapter 1, the political character of each of the Imāms was examined, and it was argued that no single model of behavior could be derived from the political activities of the twelve Imāms. At the macro level, we can distinguish two distinct periods of the Imāms’ political praxis. The first period can be considered that in which a practical claim to the caliphate was

8 9

10

Foucault 1971. Parker 2014. Said 2003, 23.

92  The Formative Period of Shīʿism made; throughout it, the first three Imāms (ʿAlī, Ḥasan, and Ḥusayn) claimed the right to the caliphate and took practical steps to assert it. The second period, which began during the time of the fourth Imām, Imām al-​Sajjād, and continued until the end of the Age of Presence, was a period in which no practical action was taken by the Imāms to take control of the caliphate. None of the moderate Shīʿī Imāms led an uprising against the caliph of his time, nor did any of them support the uprisings of various ʿAlīd groups. On the contrary, they always avoided any form of confrontation with the government or open challenge to the authority and legitimacy of the caliph. Instead of practical action, the concept of deferment may be a better term to explain moderate Shīʿī politics in this period. Throughout this time, the concept of the Qāʿim (one who rises up) and the idea of awaiting the revolt and formation of a just government by one of the Imāms found a central place in the political discourse of the moderate Shīʿa. During this period, the prevailing notion of the Qāʿim and the concept of awaiting were at their core bound to temporal proximity; every generation of Shīʿa expected the uprising posthaste. In other words, awaiting did not necessarily take a messianic form or relate to the distant future. All the Shīʿa agreed that the Qāʿim would be a person from the family of the Prophet and a descendant of the ʿAlī-​Fāṭimid line, but there was a great difference of opinion about who precisely this person would be, and no specific person was ever confirmed definitively by all Shīʿa as being the Qāʿim. Not only was a different individual recognized as the Qāʿim in each generation, but it was possible that more than one person at a time could be identified as fulfilling the role. For this reason, as discussed in detail in c­ hapter 2, the demise of each Imām was usually followed by the separation of one or more sects, each holding a different view regarding the identity of the Qāʿim, from the moderate Shīʿī branch. Another important point about the political theology of the moderate Shīʿī branch was that there was no figure specified in terms of the number of Imāms. It can be stated that the line of Imāms was expected to continue until one of them rose up and seized control of the government. In short, on the eve of the Age of Perplexity, the main structure of Shīʿī political theology was based on the premise that political and religious leadership belonged to one individual and that this individual was from the family of the Prophet, specifically one of the descendants of Imām ʿAlī and Fāṭima. This politico-​religious leader had the divine right to rule and would rise up in the not-​ too-​distant future to form a just government. If we compare these accepted foundations from the fourth/​tenth century to those of the fifth/​eleventh century, we will be better placed to understand the changes that took place in the Age of Perplexity. By the fifth/​eleventh century, the framework of Twelver Shīʿī political theology had been consolidated, and many of the sects that had broken off from moderate Shīʿism during the first period (e.g., the Bāqiriyya, the Nāwawiyya, the Wāqfiyya, and the Faṭḥiyya) had either

The Age of Perplexity  93 completely disappeared or were in the process of disappearing. The number of Imāms was determined as twelve, and a specific person, the twelfth Imām, became known as Qāʿim; additional supernatural characteristics were attributed to him, in particular the capacity for his life span to exceed a natural length. In parallel to the twelfth Imām becoming a messianic figure, he was no longer expected to rise immediately and could be awaited indefinitely, and the concept of the Qāʿim became an apocalyptic concept. Another important change that took place was in relation to religious and political authority. The belief that the infallible Imām possessed ultimate authority in both spheres continued to define Shīʿī identity. However, coming to terms with the fact that the twelfth Imām was not present, and was not going to be present anytime soon, led in practice to the delegating of both political and religious authority, albeit in a modified form, to religious scholars. The ʿulamāʾ were thus assigned political authority outside the sphere of the governmental apparatus in a manner limited to the execution of certain public affairs (specifically ḥisba matters),11 as well as specified religious authority to answer questions about the sharī’a obligations of believers and responsibility for the performance of religious rites. The important point, especially in relation to the sphere of religious authority, was that henceforth no one could be considered to have a perfect understanding of religion, and therefore no single person could claim to be the representative of it. This situation was in contrast to that in the Age of Presence, during which the Imāms were thought to be individuals with divine knowledge and whose understanding of religion was considered complete and perfect with respect to all principles. At the end of the Age of Perplexity, the Shīʿa came to believe that a complete and faultless understanding of religion was possible only for the absent Imām, who was not present and with whom no one had any contact, and therefore no one could claim to be his representative. The unavoidable consequence

11 Among the traditional Shīʿa, the prevailing thinking is that many sharīʿa rulings related to the public sphere should be performed only under the supervision of an infallible Imām, and no fallible person is authorized to carry them out alone. Therefore, the implementation of this part of the sharīʿa has in practice been suspended until the coming of the twelfth Imām and his formation of a just government. For the majority of the Shīʿī ʿulamāʾ, the formation of government, the administering of Islamic punishments, and even the holding of Friday prayers are among the matters covered under such rulings. In this context, there are some other matters that, according to Shīʿī belief, God has not permitted to be suspended under any circumstances. These matters, referred to as ḥisba matters, include managing the finances of those unable to protect their own interests (such as minors, orphans, and the mentally infirm), as well as religious endowments. These affairs are among the collective obligations all believers may be potentially obliged to perform until such time that another person takes over (Khalaji 2006, 14; Maʾrifat 1998, 179; Kadivar 2000, 101–​105). There is much debate about whether such tasks are the responsibility of the ʿulamāʾ or general believers. In the same way, one of the most highly debatable aspects of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh and the extent of the authority of the ʿulamāʾ in this regard is that according to governmental Shīʿism, the responsibilities of the government include ḥisba matters. This will be discussed in further detail in c­ hapter 4, in the section on the authority of the ʿulamāʾ.

94  The Formative Period of Shīʿism of this view was that neither religious nor political authority could be centralized and concentrated any longer; instead, the new arrangements in the Shīʿī community inherently dictated a form of pluralism. Therefore, different individuals could hold separate political and religious authority at the same time, and in accordance with the theology formulated and accepted by the ʿulamāʾ, any religious understanding could potentially be contaminated by human error. Comparing Shīʿī political theology in these two historical periods, the question arises of what process led the Shīʿī community to move from the first stage (moderate Shīʿism in the fourth/​tenth century) to the second stage (Twelver Shīʿism in the fifth/​eleventh century). And what happened in this period that resulted in these new transformations of the foundations of Imāmī/​Twelver Shīʿism? Obviously, the answers to these questions must be sought in a historical examination of the events and changes that occurred in these centuries, during which the main actors were those responsible for producing and organizing Shīʿī scholarly literature, those commonly known as the ʿulamāʾ.

ʿUlamāʾ in the Early Centuries Those known as rūḥānīs12 today are very different in terms of organization, function, and position from the individuals who were engaged in scholarly work on religious issues in the early centuries of Islamic history under the appellations of narrator, theologian, or jurist. Part of the clerical organization today is the product of developments that took place during the Ṣafawid period and the proximity of some ʿulamāʾ to the Ṣafawid kings. Another turning point in the history of the clergy was its relative centralization in the nineteenth century, a development driven by the emergence of the institution of the marjaʿiyyat (model for emulation).13 Today, as a result of these developments, the clerical class is more organized, hierarchical, and uniform, even down to the type of clothing worn by the rūḥānīs. The history of all the issues relevant to the evolution of the clergy falls outside the scope of this book; the important point here is that we cannot equate today’s clergy and the modern institution of marjaʿiyyat with early Islamic scholars. 12 A variety of names may be used to describe a person who has studied in the seminary and who wears a robe and turban. Rūḥānī, ākhūnd, mullā, shaykh, and ʿālam (the last mostly in the plural form, ʿulamāʾ) are titles that are commonly used. Some of these titles, such as ākhūnd and mullā, are considered derogatory terms, while rūḥānī and ʿālam, which mean “spiritual” and “knowledgeable,” respectively, have positive connotations. The clergy also have an unstructured hierarchy composed of five levels: (1) Thiqat al-​Islām, (2) Ḥujjat al-​Islām, (3) Ḥujjat al-​Islām wa al-​Muslimīn, (4) Āyatullah, (5) Āyatullah al-​ʿUẓmā. A rūḥānī who reaches the rank of Āyatullah al-​ʿUẓmā (Grand Ayatollah) becomes a marjaʿ-​i taqlīd. 13 Moussavi 1985; Amanat 1988; Sabouri 2019.

The Age of Perplexity  95 Another matter that should be mentioned here is the difference between the religious scholarly work of the Shīʿa and the Sunnīs. Part of the reason for this difference relates, of course, to historical developments, especially the divergent political evolutions of Shīʿism and Sunnism, but a dominant and decisive part of this difference dates back to the formative era of Shīʿism and its different intellectual foundations from those of the Sunnīs. The Shīʿa’s reading of the Qurʾān and the history of the early centuries of Islam, the sources they used, and disparities in relation to their use of rational and analogical reasoning were among the factors that shaped the Shīʿa’s scholarly endeavors. For the Sunnīs, only the person of the Prophet and his words and deeds are sacred. Of course, the righteous caliphs and the companions of the Prophet are also highly respected, but their words and behavior are not considered part of that which is sacred. In contrast, in Shīʿism, sanctity has a much wider scope. In addition to Prophet Mohammad, the Shīʿa also consider his daughter Fāṭima and the twelve Imāms as sacred beings. Today belief in the infallibility of the Prophet, his daughter Fāṭima, and the twelve Imāms is one of the fundamental principles of Shīʿism; in other words, if one does not believe in the infallibility of these fourteen persons, one is not considered a Shīʿa. This was not part of the Shīʿī faith in the early centuries of Islam.14 Nevertheless, the Imāms were held in particularly high regard, and this factor was a decisive element in both the Shīʿa scholars’ methodological approaches and the sources they used. In terms of the Shīʿī methodological approach, the existence of the Imāms determined the limits of the use of rationality and reasoning, especially during the Age of Presence.15 In relation to sources, in addition to the Qurʾān, a great portion of the words and deeds of the Imāms were considered sacred texts. It is necessary to note the differences among the three forms of scholarly work in which the ʿulamāʾ were engaged in the first centuries of Islamic history. The first was the practical work of collecting and recording ḥadīths carried out by the muḥaddiths. While collecting ḥadīths, the muḥaddiths examined their authenticity and validity, as well as the sources and narrators of each ḥadīth. Another form of scholarly work was ʿilm al-​kalām,16 in which the rational arguments of Shīʿī doctrine were explicated using threads of reasoning. In addition, fiqh (jurisprudence) can be considered an independent scholarly pursuit consisting of the issuance of sharīʿa rulings by the ʿulamāʾ.17 14 Kadivar 2006a, 29–​37; Modarressi 1993. 15 Shariatmadari and Mohammadi 2014, 32–​34. 16 The Britannica dictionary defines it as “speculative theology,” but in the most texts, kalām is simply translated as “theology.” 17 The founder of Shīʿī jurisprudence is considered the sixth Imām, Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq, but it should be noted that during his lifetime, neither were his observations considered fatwas nor was he considered a person with access to divinely inspired knowledge (ʿilm ladunnī) and thus sacred. During the lifetimes of the Imāms, there were people who explained the views of the Imām and sharīʿa rulings to the people. For example, some sources claim that the four hundred books (known as al-​Uṣūl

96  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Due to the presence of the Imāms until the early decades of the third/​ninth century, what is known as scripturalism was the dominant form of religious scholarship, while ʿilm al-​kalām had no chance to flourish.18

Dominance of Ḥadīth The initial development of Shīʿī theology, especially in its structured and systematic form, is generally attributed to the works of Shaykh al-​Mufīd and his student Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā.19 As Bayhom-​Daou states: “Before Mufid, Imami scholars tended to argue for the necessity of the imamate almost entirely from the Qur’an and the traditions of the Prophet and the imams [ḥadīths].”20 Of course, this is not to claim that Shīʿī theology did not exist at all before Shaykh al-​Mufīd. A significant number of the Imāms’ disciples and followers engaged in theological discussions. Among them, the names Zurāra b. Aʿyan, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. Nuʿmān (known as Ṣāḥib al-​Ṭāq), Hishām b. al-​Ḥakam, Hishām b. Sālim al-​ Jawālīqī, and Ḍaḥḥāk Abū Mālik al-​Ḥaḍramī are often mentioned as the earliest Shīʿī theologians.21 Despite the beginnings of theological inquiry—​meaning the use of rationality and reasoning—​in the work of the above-​mentioned scholars, the presence of the Imāms meant that Shīʿī scholarly efforts in the first three centuries were usually limited to quoting and explaining the sayings of the infallible Imāms. Shīʿī sources of the time are replete with testimonies asserting that the Imāms’ knowledge was ʿilm ladunnī (divinely inspired knowledge) and unlimited in scope.22 The Imāms’ words and opinions were considered completely authoritative, which in practice precluded the application of any form of rational argument to their statements. In addition, there are several narrations from the al-​arbaʿamiʾa) were prepared by the disciples of the Imāms and that it is these books that can be taken to signify the inauguration of Shīʿī jurisprudence. Of course, there is much debate about the authenticity of the existence of these four hundred books (Kohlberg 1987). The names of those involved in jurisprudential work during the Age of Presence of the Imāms include Hishām b. al-​Ḥakam, Hishām b. Sālim, Hisham Ibn Salem, Zurāra b. Aʿyan, Muʿmin al-​Ṭāq’, Yūnis b. ʿAbd al-​Raḥman, Maʿrūf b. Kharrabūdh, Abū Baṣīr Asadī, Faḍīl b. Yasār, Muḥammad b. Muslim Ṭāʾifī, and Faḍl b. Shādhān (Kalantari 2000; Modarressi and Fekrat 1989). Notwithstanding, jurisprudential work until the fifth century was predominantly composed of narrating the ḥadīths and explaining the views of the Imāms. Shaykh Tūsī, in particular by writing the book al-​Mabsūṭ, issued the first fatwa in his own words as an expert mujtahid, in doing so, as Sadr puts it, compiling the first book of Shīʿī jurisprudence (Sadr 1983). The general history of jurisprudence in Islam is a separate discussion and will not be evaluated in this book. For analysis of this matter, see Hallaq 2005; Motzki and Katz 2002; Schacht 1979; Shahabi 2008; Gorji 2019.

18

Azizi 2005, 317–​321; Modarressi and Fekrat 1989, 39. McDermott 1978; Hosseinzadeh Khezrabad 2017; Jabra’ili 2005, 100–​109. 20 Bayhom-​Daou 2005, 57. 21 Modarressi and Fekrat 1989, 31; Jabra’ili 2014, 61–​84; Amir-​Moezzi 2018, 83. 22 Bayhom-​Daou 2005, 60. 19

The Age of Perplexity  97 infallible Imāms that advise against the use of rational and analogical reasoning. For example, Imām al-​Ṣādiq, in response to someone who asked about the use of rational and analogical reasoning, replied: “Imām ʿAlī (a.s.) refused to let his rʾaī [opinion] penetrate the religion of God, and did not issue any fatwa based on opinion or analogical reasoning.”23 In the case of analogy, one may also cite this narration from Shaykh al-​Kulaynī’s Kitāb al-​kāfī as an example: It is narrated from him from Mohammad from Yunus from Aban from abu Shaybah who has said the following. “I heard (Imām) abu ‘Abdallah (a.s.) saying, ‘Ibn Shabrama’s knowledge is lost and void before al-​Jami‘ah. It is a large book that was dictated by the holy Prophet to Imām Ali (a.s.) who wrote it with his own hands. Al-​Jami‘ah has left nothing for any one to say. In it is the knowledge of all lawful and unlawful matters. The people of analogy sought knowledge through analogy and it increased to their knowledge but taking them away from knowledge. The religion of Allah is not of matters to learn through analogy.”24

As such, the Shīʿa were not willing to commit fully to the use of rational or analogical argument. The account of Hishām b. al-​Ḥakam’s (d. 179/​795) debate with Abū al-​Hudhayl al-​ʿAllāf illustrates this well. Hishām b. al-​Ḥakam is known as the first Shīʿī theologian, perhaps because he used more rationality and reasoning than the other companions of the Imāms. However, during the planning of a debate, he clearly stated that he would not follow rational reasoning until its final conclusion, and that rather, for him, the final determination on any given subject was the opinion of the Imām. Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq’s narration of this incident is worth quoting directly: Abuʿl-​Hudhayl al-​Allaf said to Hisham bin al-​Hakam: I wish to have a controversy with you on the condition that if you overcome me, I shall adopt your faith; and if I overcome you, you must accept mine. Hisham said: you have not dealt justly with me. Nay, I will have a controversy with you on the condition that if I overcome you, you will accept my faith; but if you overcome me, I shall refer it to my Imām (for a proper answer).25

Nevertheless, it should be noted that in contrast with this view, other commentators have spoken of the high status of rationality and reasoning among all Shīʿī scholars. In such writings, even Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, who is commonly

23 24 25

Qumī 1991 [1924], 142. Al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 109–​110 (H 169, Ch. 19, h 14). Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Fyzee 1982, 43.

98  The Formative Period of Shīʿism known as the instigator of scripturalism, is introduced as a scholar who benefited from rational reasoning.26 Without becoming embroiled in this dispute here, it can be said that at least initially, when Shīʿī scholarly work was begun, clear primacy was given to text-​reliant methodologies (the texts being the Qurʾān and the ḥadīths). The earliest Shīʿī scholarly heritage that was written down and survives until today consists of collections of ḥadīths. It is not surprising that the key features of Shīʿī political theology were first documented in ḥadīth collections or that these collections strengthened the Shīʿī system of thought. In the process of compiling and codifying the ḥadīth collections, the strategy of inclusion and exclusion (to use the language of Foucault’s discourse analysis) was certainly employed. Shīʿī muḥaddiths, using the method of inclusion and exclusion when confronted by an ocean of ḥadīths, formed collections of ḥadīths in the names of authoritative texts that confirmed their own belief system.

Formation of Shīʿī Ḥadīth Collections In Shīʿī literature, the word ḥadīth27 is described as referring to a word, action, or position taken by the Prophet and/​or infallible Imāms.28 Among the Sunnīs, the concept of ḥadīth does not extend to the words and deeds of the Shīʿī Imāms; thus, the Prophet is the only source of ḥadīths. If the authenticity of a ḥadīth is agreed upon, a ruling based on it will have authority; this means that followers must adhere to rulings articulated based on authentic ḥadīths as part of their religious duty. There are no writings attributed to the persons of the Prophet or the infallible Imāms, so what are known as ḥadīths consist of quotes from people who lived during their lifetimes. Given this lack of directly authored sources, every ḥadīth has at least one narrator who has quoted its contents from the Prophet or an infallible Imām. Another point about ḥadīths is that, unlike the Qurʾān,29 26 See, for example, Al-​e Qafour 2019. 27 For a detailed discussion of the concept and history of ḥadīths in the Shīʿī tradition, see Kazemi-​ Moussavi 2003; Kohlberg 1983. 28 Ghorbani 1994, 20. 29 Since the time of the Prophet, there have been people known as the “scribes of revelation,” who recorded the text of the revelations in writing, some of them also memorizing the material. For the first time, during the reign of ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān, the third caliph issued an order that Qurʾānic verses be collected and compiled into one cohesive volume. For this reason, the resultant version of the Qurʾān is known as the muṣḥaf of ʿUthmān. So that there would be no more than one single text of the Qurʾān and to avoid disagreement about it, ʿUthmān ordered that all other versions be burned (al-​Bukhari 1997a). The history of the Qurʾān has been subject to extensive scholarship. See, for example, Aʻẓamī 2003; Tabatabaei 1987; Nöldeke et al. 2013; Sonn 2005; Mattson 2013. Notwithstanding, the theory that the Qurʾān was written at the time and by the order of ʿUthmān has also been challenged. John Burton, for example, argues that the Qurʾān was compiled at the time of the Prophet and approved by the Prophet himself (Burton 1977).

The Age of Perplexity  99 no ḥadīth text remains from the first century of Islamic history. One of the main reasons for this is that quoting and reporting ḥadīths were prohibited during the first and second caliphates, a ban that remained in place until the time of ʿUmar b. ʿAbd al-​ʿAzīz, the eighth Umayyad caliph (r. 99–​101/​718–​720).30 It is even said that the second caliph, ʿUmar b. al-​Khaṭṭāb, forbade some of the companions of the Prophet to leave Medina so that they would not spread quotations of the Prophet, and he imprisoned some of them, including Ibn Masʿūd, Abū Dardāʿ, and Abū Masʿūd al-​Ansārī, based on the charge of narrating a ḥadīth of the Prophet.31 Many suggestions have been raised in relation to the reasons and motivations for this policy, including the fear of the possibility that invalid ḥadīths would be disseminated, alarm that ḥadīths might become intermingled with the Qurʾān, concern about the creation of any book in addition to the Qurʾān, the worry that people would become occupied with something other than the Qurʾān, the desire to prevent the worsening and spreading of disputes among Muslims, and doubt about the muḥaddiths’ writing abilities.32 Each ḥadīth has an associated series of isnād (literally, support) showing the chain of transmitters who narrated that ḥadīth. The ḥadīths that have the lowest number of narrators between the collector of the ḥadīth and the first narrator are called ʿālī ḥadīths, and the ḥadīths that have the highest number of people in the isnād chain are called nāzil ḥadīths. From the very beginning, the ḥadīth scholars, in addition to collecting and writing ḥadīths, also assumed the responsibility for identifying true and false ḥadīths. In comparison to Sunnī ḥadīth collections, Shīʿī collections are more controversial. Part of the problem stems from the fact that for the Shīʿa, instead of one person (the Prophet) being the sole source of ḥadīths, their sources encompass the words and deeds of thirteen individuals who lived during the first three centuries of Islamic history. No explanation is necessary regarding the impact of the sheer number of people involved in an interval of three centuries, as well as the transformations that took place during this period of history, on the complexity and controversy of the ḥadīths. The collection and compilation of the ḥadīths took place systematically and comprehensively among the Shīʿa later than it did among the Sunnīs.33 The first comprehensive and systematic collections of Shīʿī ḥadīths were compiled in the period after the Age of Presence, that is, after the twelfth Imām went into occultation. The first book of Shīʿī ḥadīths was Kitāb 30 Shahrestani 2011; ʿAskari 1984, 16–​22. 31 Nasiri 2013, 85; S. M. K. Tabatabaei 2017, 10–​13. 32 (A. Nasiri 2013, 85; S.M.K. Tabatabaei 2017a, 10–​13) 33 Al-​Mūṭā was the first comprehensive collection of Sunnī ḥadīths, composed by the founder of the Mālikī school, Mālik b. Anas (93–​179/​711–​795) in the second/​eighth century. Musnad Imām Aḥmad b. Hanbal, collected by Aḥmad b. Hanbal (164–​241/​780–​855), and Ṣaḥīḥ al-​Bukhārī, by Muḥammad Bukhārī (194–​265/​810–​870), are also among the earliest comprehensive ḥadīth collections compiled by the Sunnīs.

100  The Formative Period of Shīʿism al-​kāfī (The sufficient book), by Shaykh al-​Kulaynī (258–​329/​864–​941), and after that, three other books of ḥadīths were compiled before the middle of the fifth/​ eleventh century. These four compilations are collectively known as the Kutub arbaʿa (four books) and form the fundamental repository of Shīʿī ḥadīths. The other three books are Man lā yahḍuruhū al-​faqīh (For those not in the presence of a jurist), compiled by Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq (310–​380/​923–​991), and two books, Tahdhīb al-​aḥkām (Refinement of the rulings) and al-​Istībṣār fīmā ikhtalafa min al-​akhbār (Insight into the differences in the reports), by Shaykh Tūsī (385–​460/​ 995–​1067). These books are, in fact, the main source of all the ḥadīths referred to in later books and writings of Shīʿī scholars. Shaykh al-​Kulaynī’s book includes 15,339 ḥadīths, more than 9,000 are listed in Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq’s collection, and Shaykh Tūsī’s two works include 13,590 and 5,511 ḥadīths, respectively.34 The Sunnīs have two collections of ḥadīths in which all the ḥadīths listed are considered authentic, and for this reason, the word “ṣaḥīḥ” (correct) appears in their titles. These two ḥadīth collections are Ṣaḥīḥ al-​Bukhārī and Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim. But among the ḥadīth collections of the Shīʿa, there is no book in which all the ḥadīths are held to be correct. Almost all Shīʿa agree that none of their ḥadīth collections is free of potentially fabricated and defective ḥadīths. For example, Ayatollah Khūʿi cites Shaykh al-​Kulaynī’s introduction to the Kitāb al-​kāfī and Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq’s views on it in reaching the conclusion that the author never claimed that all the ḥadīths he had collected were authentic.35 The complexities of the ḥadīths, as well as the reasons for the problems associated with them, provide ample material for a lengthy discussion that falls outside our remit here. But it would be remiss not to mention that political motives were among the main causes of such problems. The formation of different sects during the first three centuries of Shīʿī history has already been briefly discussed. These sects were founded by people who separated from the main group of the moderate Shīʿa, the former often quoting narrations from the Prophet or Imāms to strengthen their own positions. The extent of the fabrication of ḥadīths was such that in some cases, it is probable that a considerable part or even the entirety of certain ḥadīth collections was forged, or even that their authors never existed. An example of this is the book of Salīm b. Qays Hilālī,36 also known as the Kitāb al-​Saqīfa (Book of the Saqīfa).37 In some cases, it is also argued that characters were invented and 34 Ma’arif 2018, 329–​364. 35 Al-​Khūʿi 1993, 25–​26. 36 Salīm b. Qays Hilālī was one of Imam ʿAlī’s companions, and he wrote the first Shīʿī book during the first century of Islamic history. The contents of this book mainly consist of the virtues of the Ahl al-​Bayt and the events after the death of the Prophet, as well as the subject of Imāmate, and has been widely used and referred to by the Shīʿa throughout the centuries. As mentioned, there are doubts about its authenticity. For further discussion about this book and its contents, see Amir-​Moezzi 2015, 13–​43; Bayhom-​Daou 2015; Gleave 2015; Sobhani 1996. 37 Jalali 2003; ibn Dāwūd al-​Hillī 1972, 460; Jawadi 2005; Babaie-​ariaie and Fakhlaie 2006.

The Age of Perplexity  101 ḥadīths fabricated in their names. For example, the extensive study conducted by Alāma Askarī suggests that one hundred fifty companions of the Prophet were fabricated personalities and that ḥadīths were attributed to them despite their never having actually existed.38

Discourse Formation through Ḥadīth Compilation Setting aside all the problems arising in connection with ḥadīths, the phenomenon of collecting and compiling ḥadīths as a kind of vetting process has been common since the early fourth century, during which a large number of ḥadīths were sifted through systematically for the purpose of selection and ordered placement in collections to establish a particular intellectual system. These collections were not gathered for purely scholarly or impartial purposes. The compilers themselves often acknowledge at the beginning of these works that their goal is to provide a collection that helps strengthen the faith of Shīʿī followers. For example, Shaykh al-​Kulaynī’s book describes his motivation for compiling the Kitāb al-​kāfī as arising from a request from a religious brother: You have mentioned that you are confused in the issues of the verification of ḥadīth due to the difference in variously narrated texts and that you know the reason for variation but you do not find reliable people to discuss with. You have said that you wish you had a book sufficient (Kafi) that would contain all issues of the religion. A book that would provide a student all the material that he would need is urgently needed. A book is needed that would help people to have proper guidance in the matters of religion to follow the correct instructions of the truthful people (Divine Supreme Covenant Body) and the prevailing Sunnah, the basis of practices. . . . You have said, that you hope such a book would, Allah willing, help our brothers in faith to find the right guidance. . . . Allah, . . . has made the compilation of the book that you had wished for possible. I hope it will prove to be up to your expectations.39

Similarly, the motivation for the compilation of another of the four books, Shaykh Tūsī’s Tahdhīb, is related as follows: The book Tahdhīb, although better known today as a jāmʿi ḥadīth [ḥadīth collection], was not only written for the purpose of collecting ḥadīths, but due to the Shaykh’s intention to strengthen the foundations of Shīʿism and resolve

38 39

Askarī and Sardarnia 2012. See also Rahnema 2015, 91–​107. Al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 27.

102  The Formative Period of Shīʿism differences between ḥadīths in order to eliminate the reasons for dissenters’ taunts and fault-​finding; therefore, some consider Shaykh Tūsī as the first scholar who stood up in defense of Shīʿism through ḥadīth criticism and the analysis of conflicting narrations.40 Hassan Ansari proposes a similar argument, suggesting that one factor that has received less attention in historical studies on the compilation of ḥadīth collections is the impact of the changing and fluid nature of the Shīʿī community on the compilation of ḥadīth collections. He argues that the demarcation of new boundaries between different Shīʿī sects fragmented some of the previous ḥadīth sources, removing some and adding others, and this was the main reason for the compilation of ḥadīth collections; to a greater extent than [gathering] all previous books of ḥadīth in a ḥadīth collection, they functioned in an adjudicatory position, removing a number of sources and considering or proposing a number of ḥadīths in response to doctrinal developments.41

In addition to the four ḥadīth collections of this period, which became the main repository and reference of Shīʿī scholarly works throughout the ages, writings of this epoch specifically focused on the issue of occultation. A considerable number of these books were written specifically in response to the age of perplexity. In addition to including ḥadīths related to the issue of the Imāmate and occultation, these books employed rational argument (albeit within a religious framework) to prove the existence of the twelfth Imām, his status as the savior, and his being in occultation. Among the most important of these books, the following should be mentioned: • Al-​Imāma wa al-​tabṣira min al-​ḥayra (The Imāmate and insight into the perplexity), by ʿAlī b. al-​Ḥusayn b. Bābawiyyah al-​Qumī. • Kitāb al-​ghayba (The book of the occultation), by Muḥammad b. ʾIbrāhīm b. Jaʿfar Nuʿmānī. • Kamāl al-​dīn wa-​tamām al-​niʻmah (Perfection of faith and completion of divine favor), by Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq. • Ārbʿa resālāt fi al-​ghayba (Four treatises on the occultation) and Al-​fuṣūl al-​ ʾashara fi al-​ghayba (Ten chapters on the occultation), by Shaykh al-​Mufīd. • Al-​Burhān ʿalā ṣaḥa ṭūl al-​Imām ṣāḥib al-​zamān (Proof of the authority of the Imām of the ages), by Muḥammad b. ʿAlī Karājuki. • Al-​Muqnaʿ fi al-​ghayba (The mystery of the occultation) and Masʾala wijīza fi al-​ghayba (A brief review of the question of the occultation), by Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā.

40 41

Hujjati 2015, 10. Ansari 2017, 137–​138.

The Age of Perplexity  103 • Al-​ghayba (The occultation), by Shaykh Tūsī. • Muqtaḍib al-​ʾathar fi al-​naṣ ʿalā al-​Imāma al-​ithnā ʿashar (Brief impact of text on the twelve Imāms), by Ibn ʿAyāsh Juharī. • Kitāb kifāya al-​ʾathar fi al-​naṣ ʿalā al-​Imāma al-​ithnā ʿashar (The book of the sufficiency of the impact of text on the twelve Imāms), by ʿAlī b. Muḥammad Khazāz Qumī. These were not the first books written about the occultation, but they are the oldest surviving works on the matter, and the Shīʿī scholarly work that took place in the following centuries in relation to the twelfth Imām and occultation was based mainly on the narrative and arguments proposed in these books. One may ask whether these works were discourse makers because they are the oldest surviving books or because the richness of their content led them to play a decisive role in shaping Twelver Shīʿī discourse. There is no doubt about the richness of the content of these books or that the arguments they developed proved convincing for the believers. For this reason, even after the passing of a millennium, these books remain prominent in the Twelver Shīʿī intellectual system. But the first part of the question, relating to the books that existed before these works but have since been destroyed, cannot be answered definitively. Those books are not available, and we do not know the extent to which their content was sufficiently rich for discourse construction. However, references made to them in the books that do remain indicate that they provided valuable raw material and played an influential role in the process of discourse construction that took place during this period. Among the many books mentioned in the surviving works, the names of several important ones include the two books Malāḥim (Epics) and al-​Qāʿim (The one who rises up), by ʿAlī b. Mahziyār al-​Ahwāzī; al-​Ghayba (The occultation), by Faḍl b. Shadhan al-​Nīshābūrī; al-​Ghayba wa al-​ḥayra (The occultation and the perplexity), by ʿAbdullāh b. Jaʾfar Ḥumayrī; al-​Ghayba (The occultation), by Abū Isḥāq ʿIbrāhīm b. Isḥāq Nahāwandī; Kitāb al-​inṣāf (The book of fairness), by Ibn Quba Rāzī; and al-​Tanbīa (The book of awakening), written by Abū Sahl Nubakhtī.42 In addition to the above books written by moderate Shīʿī scholars/​Twelver Imāmī Shīʿa, sources produced by scholars of other sects were also widely used by the aforementioned discourse makers of the Twelver Shīʿa.

42 I have tried to list here only books that were written during the period of occultation. The list of books written by Shīʿī scholars in the early centuries of Islam is very extensive, and naturally, discussions of the Imāmate and the messiah are also covered in the content of these books. For further information about Shīʿī writings in the early centuries of Islam, see Mudarrisi 2003.

104  The Formative Period of Shīʿism

Appropriating from Competing Sects The introduction of this book considered briefly the various messianic sects that emerged from moderate Shīʿism during the first three centuries of Islamic history. Each sect had its own sources of ḥadīth and used its own sources to document its claim that the person they considered the savior indeed merited that status. These sources can be divided into two groups based on content. First, there was a series of ḥadīths that announced that a Qāʿim and savior would come and that this Qāʿim would be from the Household of the Prophet. In the second category were other ḥadīths that each sect used to attribute the concept of the Qāʿim to its desired person. For example, the Nāwūsiyya had ḥadīths that confirmed that Imām al-​Ṣādiq (the sixth Imām) was the messiah, and similarly, the Wāqifiyya sect quoted many ḥadīths that proved that the seventh Imām, Mūsā al-​Kāẓim, was the promised savior. Moderate Shīʿī ḥadīth collections made great use of the first category of ḥadīths. They used these ḥadīths to prove the existence of a savior in Islam, as well as to claim that the savior would be from the Household of the Prophet.43 Those ḥadīths quoted in the works of other sects that confirmed their own desired Imām as the savior were ignored or questioned. As will be discussed later, this kind of attitude led to important aspects of Twelver Shīʿism, such as the two periods of occultation and the number of Imāms being limited to twelve, being taken from others and being consolidated as part of Shīʿī political theology during the process of epistemic transformation from moderate Shīʿism to Twelver Shīʿism. The strategy of elimination and inclusion was widely used, to the extent that according to a study of the four books, ninety-​five Wāqifiyya narrators are mentioned in these books, and 19,854 ḥadīths are narrated in them.44 Of course, this number is related only to the use of the works of Wāqifiyya scholars; unfortunately, I could not locate numerical details about the use of works by scholars of other sects in the four books. Such a pursuit falls outside the scope of the present book, but the Kitāb al-​ghayba by Muḥammad b. ʾIbrāhīm b. Jaʿfar Nuʿmānī can be mentioned as just one example. Nuʿmānī, who is said to have been the originator of some of the key features of Twelver Shīʿism, such as the belief that the occultation consisted of two distinct periods, draws upon the works of earlier authors and sources for most of his information and arguments, without considering the beliefs of their writers. Those not affiliated with moderate Shīʿism whose works Nuʿmānī used include Ḥasan b. Samāʿa (Wāqifiyya), ʿAlī b. Ḥasan Ṭāʾī (known as Ṭāhirī; Wāqifiyya), ʿIbrāhīm b. Isḥāq Nahāwandī (Ghālī), and Ibn ʾAqda Faqīh (Zaydī). Amir Moezzi, in his analysis of the sources

43 44

Gholamali 2015. Gholamali 2015, 54.

The Age of Perplexity  105 used by moderate Shīʿī scholars to explain the concepts of the Imāmate and occultation in this period, reaches the same conclusion: An examination of the isnād of the great compilations from the time after the Occultation turns out to be a fruitful endeavor. For example, we are able to see that fragments, sometimes even entire treatises, have been collected and inserted into systematic compilations. Such is the case, for example, of the Kitāb al-​nusra by the Wāqifite ʿAlī b. Ahmad al-​ʿAlawī (d. circa 200/​815), incorporated into al-​shaykh al-​Tūsī’s Kitāb al-​ghayba; the author includes some forty “messianic” traditions in which the number of imams stops at seven, as would be expected for one of Mūsā’s Wāqifites. There is also the Kitāb al-​hujja fī ibtā al-​qāʿim by Md b. Bahr al-​Ruhnī al-​Shaybānī (second half of third/​ninth century to the beginning of the following century, thus after 260/​874), inserted by Ibn Bābūye into his Kamāl al-​dīn, and by al-​Tūsī into his Kitāb al-​ghayba.45

It is necessary to mention another matter here, that obtaining ideas and sources from others was both a necessity and a religiously justified pursuit for the moderate Shīʿa. The necessity was due to the fact that a considerable part of the Shīʿī scholarly heritage was produced by those who had become separated from the moderate Shīʿa. The Shīʿī thinkers were able to skillfully discredit the beliefs of these scholars, while at the same time authenticating and making use of their scholarly heritage. The exclusion of the works of all those who had become separated from the moderate Shīʿa during different periods could have greatly limited and weakened their own scholarly heritage. The sources of the Shīʿī thinkers were quoted narrations of the infallible Imāms. There were many influential people who became separated from the moderate Shīʿī leadership circle during the Age of Presence and subsequently due either to their belief that one of the Imāms preceding the twelfth was the Qāʿim or to internal rivalries and conflicts. The influence and reliability of these individuals were largely due to their closeness to one or more of the previous Imāms, and this proximity led to them being the sources of many quotations from the infallible Imāms. Not all of what they quoted necessarily contradicted moderate Shīʿī beliefs. A considerable number of the ḥadīths they quoted strengthened the moderate Shīʿī belief system, and given that these ḥadīths were so large in number, their preservation and confirmation were essential for the survival of moderate Shīʿism. The justification and method for this approach were also made possible by reference to several ḥadīths. According to these ḥadīths, the Shīʿa were allowed to use the scholarly heritage of individuals from other sects to the extent that it



45

Amir-​Moezzi 1994, 102–​103.

106  The Formative Period of Shīʿism corresponded with the moderate Shīʿī belief system and to oppose it in areas that were at odds with these beliefs. In general, the ḥadīth collections and books that were written specifically on the subject of the occultation formed a relatively cohesive system of thought that provided the most plausible and convincing answers to most of the questions of the doubtful believers. But what was this system of thought? What does it have to do with the concept of theocratic secularism? The answers to these questions can be found in an examination of the key elements of the system of thought that formed around the axis of the twelfth Imām.

Modifications to the Imāmate In all the above-​ mentioned writings, the first element that the authors considered necessary to discuss and verify was that Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī had a son named Muḥammad b. Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī.46 To prove this matter, scholars collected ḥadīths—​in particular those of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī—​as well as the testimonies of those who had claimed to have seen his son. In addition, an argumentative logic was formed by juxtaposing a ḥadīth and a doctrinal principle. The narration in question states that at no time can the earth lack a proof (ḥujja) of God.47 Another conviction that was prevalent among moderate Shīʿa at that time was that the transfer of the Imāmate is vertical, that is, it is transferred from the father to the eldest son.48 The argument was constructed in such a way that since a proof of God (meaning an Imām) cannot be absent from the earth, an Imām must exist. Also, since Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī was the eleventh Imām and only his son could be the next Imām, then he must have had a child. There is another ḥadīth supporting this argument, which states: “Whoever dies without knowing the Imām of their time, has died a death of ignorance.”49 Therefore, 46 Many narrations forbade the name of the twelfth Imām being uttered. Shīʿī sources give various reasons for this prohibition, including the need to ensure the twelfth Imām’s safety. For further discussion, see Mīr Dāmād Astarābādī 1988; al-​Hurr al-​ʿĀmilī and Mirzaie-​Tabrizi 2007; Mirdamadi 2004. 47 This ḥadīth is attributed to the Prophet, and there are several narrations of it in Shīʿī sources, so it is generally considered a mutawātir ḥadīth. However, there have also been challenges to its validity. For example, Kadivar states that the ḥadīth about the proof of God has been mentioned in a total of eighteen narrations in two chapters of Kitāb al-​kāfī. Kadivar’s own analysis concluded that only one of these eighteen narrations is reliable, and it thus must be considered a khabar wāhid (i.e., not meeting the criteria of a mutawātir report), and “a doctrinal principle cannot be based on a khabar wāhid” (Kadivar 2014b). 48 It has already been mentioned that this doctrine was very effective in countering the claim of Jaʿfar, the brother of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, to the Imāmate. Modarressi argues that Ibn Quba al-​ Rāzī in particular played a significant role in establishing the theory of naṣ (divine designation) in the Shīʿī school (Modarressi 1993, 122–​125). 49 Ibn Shahrāshūb 1959, 246.

The Age of Perplexity  107 in the case that the twelfth Imām did not exist, God would have practically condemned human beings to death as infidels. It is true that from an external point of view and by applying pure reasoning, all the propositions that form this argument can be questioned, but this is an intra-​religious argument based on the premise that its initial propositions were authoritative rulings accepted by believers. In other words, at the time that this argument was made, its constituent propositions were part of the Shīʿī regime of truth and not subject to debate by believers. Another argument, developed by theologians such as Shaykh al-​Mufīd and al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā to prove the existence of the twelfth Imām, was based on the “principle of luṭf ” (God’s favor or grace). The principle of luṭf is a factor that motivates or makes it easy for humankind to choose obedience. The principle of luṭf was first formulated by the Muʿtazilites, and the Shīʿa adopted it from them. Martin McDermott, in showing the connection between the principle of luṭf and the issue of justice in theological debates, argues that according to the Muʿtazilites, God is duty-​bound to send prophets and codify laws to guide his servants to the right path. McDermott quotes Qāḍī ‘Abd al-​Jabbā, one of the leaders of the Muʿtazilites, as saying: ‘Abd al-​Jabbā says: the connection of this [luṭf] with the general heading of Justice is that God knows our welfare (Ṣalāh) is connected with certain legal prescriptions. Then He must make them known to us or He would be derelict in His duty. And it belongs to justice not to be derelict in one’s duty.50

In applying this principle, Shīʿī scholars argued that the presence of the Imām to guide and help the believers confirms the luṭf of God to his servants and that as God does not deprive believers of his luṭf, there must always be an extant Imām to direct them toward the right path.51 Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā (355–​466/​965–​ 1044), a student of Shaykh al-​Mufīd and one of the most influential theologians in the development of Shīʿī theology, believed that the existence of the Imām demonstrates the luṭf of God in bringing about a situation in which, through the direction of an Imām, God’s servants will be encouraged to turn toward obedience and away from evil: Any rational person who is familiar with rational purpose and method clearly acknowledges that whenever there is a competent and skillful leader of society who prevents oppression and transgression and defends justice and virtue, the social conditions for the spread of virtues and goodness are better provided and

50 51

McDermott 1978, 77. Yousefiyan 2016; Latifi 2002; Rabani-​Golpayegani 2003.

108  The Formative Period of Shīʿism the people will avoid oppression and evil. Or [that this situation] in comparison with a situation in which there is no such leadership, provides more appropriate conditions for avoiding evil and transgression. This can only be the luṭf of God, because luṭf is something that when it emerges, makes the obligated turn to obedience and virtue and avoid evil and ruin, or places them in more suitable circumstances to do so. Thus, the Imāmate and leadership are the luṭf of God to the obligated, because they lead them to perform their rational duties and abandon evil, and the requirement of divine wisdom is that the obligated not be deprived of it [luṭf].52

Shaykh al-​Mufīd made an argument based on a similar premise, stating that God has afforded this luṭf to his servants and has done what was necessary by establishing the Imāmate; however, it was the shortcomings of the servants who failed to follow him that led to the Imām’s absence: In all ages. It was said: What is this disguised face? The answer: He showed a disguised face because of the large number of the enemy and the lack of victory. It is permissible that hidden interests are accounted for in God Almighty’s knowledge. It was said: It has been stated that the Imāmate is luṭf and luṭf is a duty of God Almighty. The answer: The luṭf requisite of God Almighty was the establishment of the Imām and designation of the Imāmate to him, and God Almighty did that, and it was not a breach of His duty. As stated before, (1) the people are obliged to follow him, (2) they must act according to his orders and prohibitions. Where they did not do that, they were in breach of duty, and their destruction was their own fault. It is said: What is the way to know when he—​ peace be upon him—​has appeared after being hidden? The answer: Through the appearance of a miracle by his hand.53

Later, Ibn Muṭahhar Hilī linked the theory of God’s luṭf to the infallibility of the Imāms, cultivating their high position while at the same time distinguishing it from the position of the Prophet. Ann Lambton reports Hilī’s opinion in this regard as follows: Ibn al-​Mutḥahhar states that the Imāmiyya believed that the designation of the imām was an obligatory grace (lutf wājib) which imposed itself on God in the same way as the sending of prophets. God had in effect created men in their own interest, while making them, however, incapable, as long as they were left to themselves, of raising themselves to happiness and health. Having closed the

52 53

Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā 1990, 409. Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1993a, 45.

The Age of Perplexity  109 succession of the prophets with Muhammad, God had therefore to appoint certain holy personages (awliyā’) destined to guide the world toward the good and to protect it from error, negligence and mistakes. He bases the obligation upon God to provide for the perpetuity of the imamate upon the same reasons which he uses to establish the need for prophethood, namely the necessity for social cohesion and the revelation of what is good and just. Though he refuses the imām the special prerogative of prophethood, which was that he should serve as an intermediary (wāsita) between God and man, there was no real distinction between the imām and the prophet: the function which the prophet derived from revelation, the imām obtained through his infallibility, which made him not only the guardian (hāfiz) but also the interpreter of the law.54

Of course, from an extra-​religious point of view, many serious questions can be raised in connection with the principle of luṭf and its use to prove the Imāmate; perhaps doubts can even be entertained about the entire argument, but this is not the concern of my research. What is important from the point of view of discourse analysis is that the audience for these arguments accepted the principles on which they were based, and therefore such arguments were convincing and acceptable, becoming part of the Twelver Shīʿī regime of truth. In addition to new arguments that were formulated to prove the existence of the twelfth Imām, the traits attributed to the Imām in general and to the twelfth Imām in particular were substantially modified as well. These modifications responded to the challenges that were presented due to the changing situation of the age. Furthermore, transforming the thought system of Twelver Shīʿism, these modifications elevated the twelfth Imām to a messianic figure. A trait of infallible Imāms consolidated during this period included the twelve Imāms’ extraordinary knowledge (ʿilm ladunnī [divinely inspired knowledge] and ʿilm ghaybī [knowledge of the unseen]) and their infallibility. This trait had already existed before but was more commonly considered exaggerated (ghulāt) beliefs. Gradually, through the ḥadīths and arguments that were developed in the scholarly heritage of this period, these elements came to be accepted as fundamental and indisputable elements of the Shīʿī regime of truth and have remained undisputed principles of Shīʿism to this day. Of course, each of these elements was disputed during the early centuries of Islam,55 but gradually the diversity and 54 Lambton 1981, 236. 55 Even today, despite the consolidation and acceptance of the belief that the Imāms had superhuman characteristics such as infallibility and innate divine knowledge, the different opinions expressed in the early centuries are still discussed in academic literature. For example, Muḥammad Ḥusayn Vakīlī’s investigation of the history of the formation of the idea of the Shīʿī Imāms’ innate divine knowledge concluded that the prevailing tendency in the early centuries of Islam was to believe that it was impossible for Imāms to have knowledge of the unseen (Vakili 2016). For the history of the formation of beliefs about the knowledge of the Imāms, see also Ujaqi 2009. It is also important to note that there are still people who question this key element of the Shīʿī regime of truth.

110  The Formative Period of Shīʿism differences of opinion that existed in the early centuries were forgotten, and the Shīʿa accepted the superhuman characteristics of the Imāms as one of their fundamental principles of belief. The idea of concluding the line of the Imāmate was one of the other key elements formed and established during this period. Before this point in time, the prevailing belief was that the line of the Imāmate would continue until one of them rose up, overthrew the Sunnī caliphate, and established a just Shīʿī government. Among the sources from the first three centuries of moderate Shīʿism, there is none in which a specific number of Imāms is mentioned.56 In this regard, Amir-​Moezzi refers to two books that were written on the eve of this period: The two greatest compilers from before the Occultation, al-​Saffār al-​Qummī (d. 290/​903) in his Basāʿir al-​darajāt, and one of his teachers in hadith, Abū Jaʿfar Ahmad b. Md al-​Barqī (d. 274/​887 or 280/​893), in his Kitāb al-​mahāsin, have

Perhaps the most prominent case is the theory of the Abrār scholars presented by Kadivar. Based on careful examination of the early Shīʿī sources, Kadivar argues that there is no plausible proof that the Imāms had superhuman characteristics such as infallibility and innate divine knowledge, although in terms of religious knowledge and piety, they were among the foremost individuals of their time. Therefore, according to Kadivar, belief in the superhuman characteristics of the Imāms should not be a requirement for Shīʿa Kadivar 2006; Kadivar 2016b). The most controversial contemporary scholar in this respect is Sayyid Kamal Haydari, who, like Kadivar, associates the attribution of superhuman characteristics to the Imāms, including innate divine knowledge, with historical circumstances and questions its validity (Haydari 2012). 56 Of course, ḥadīths came into existence later that claimed that the number twelve was determined from the beginning. A famous example is known as the ḥadīth of al-​Lawh (tablet). This ḥadīth narrates from Abū ‘Abdullah, who said: “Once my father said to Jābir b. ‘Abdullah al-​Ansārī, ‘I need your help in certain issue. When do you think it will be convenient for you [that] we meet privately and I will ask you about it?’ He said, ‘Whenever you would like will be all right for me.’ One day when they met each other he said, ‘O Jābir, tell me about the tablet that you saw in the hand of my great-​grandmother, Fāṭima (a.s.), daughter of the Messenger of Allah. Tell me of what she said to you about the tablet and the writing on it?’ Jābir then said, ‘I ask Allah to testify (to the truth of what I experienced that day). Once I went to see your great-​grandmother Fāṭima (a.s.) in the lifetime of the Messenger of Allah. I congratulated for the birth of al-​Husayn (a.s.). I saw in her hand a green tablet that I think was made of Emerald (precious gems). I saw on it a white writing that was shining like the color of sun. I then said to her, “May Allah take my soul and the souls of my parents in service for your cause, O daughter of the Messenger of Allah, what is this tablet?” She said, “This is a tablet that Allah has given as a gift to His Messenger. In it there is the name of my father, the name of my husband, the names of my two sons, and the names of the executors of the wills of my (special) descendants. My father gave it to me as a gift and glad news.” ’ Jābir then said, ‘Your great-​grandmother (a.s.) then gave the tablet to me. I read it and made a copy of it.’ My father then said, ‘O Jābir can you show that copy (that made from the tablet) to me?’ He said, ‘Yes, I can show it to you.’ My father went with him to his house and he brought to light a tablet of parchment. He then said, ‘O Jābir, look carefully at your writing to see how I read it for you.’ Jābir then kept looking at his handwriting while my father read and his reading was exactly letter by letter the same as what Jābir had in his copy. Jābir then said, ‘I ask Allah to testify to the truth of my words that this is what I saw was written on the tablet’ ” (al-​ Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 733). For the full text of the tablet in which the names of infallible Imāms are explicitly mentioned, see al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 734–​735; Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Rizvi 2011, 309–​313. There are other Shīʿī ḥadīths making similar claims. For the collection of these ḥadīths, see Safi-​Golpaygani and Zinpouri 2014.

The Age of Perplexity  111 provided almost no information about the subject [the number of Imāms] that is our concern here.57

It was at this point in time that the number of twelve was raised in connection with the number of Imāms and quickly accepted as one of the most fundamental elements of Shīʿī belief. The proposal and fixing of twelve as the number of Imāms marked a decisive turning point in Shīʿī history. The importance of this element in the Shīʿī thought system is evident in the fact that the number twelve features in the very name of the Shīʿī sect. According to contemporary Shīʿī discourse, it is believed that the number of Imāms was already known, and, as mentioned before, there are even ḥadīths that state that the Prophet was aware of the number and names of the Imāms. But historical analyses indicate that this idea entered Shīʿī discourse later.58 Determining the exact moment this idea was devised, and by whom, is difficult, perhaps impossible. However, in accordance with the research method of this book, it is not necessary to identify such details. Rather, it is significant that this idea was formed and consolidated over a period of time and was accepted by majority of the Shīʿī community as an indisputable principle in the Shīʿī regime of truth. It is also interesting that this key element entered the Twelver Shīʿī thought system from outside its own tradition. The idea was rooted in a credible ḥadīth attributed to the Prophet, which has been presented in various forms59 in the vast majority of Sunnī and Shīʿī collections. In Ṣaḥiḥ Muslim, which, as mentioned earlier, is one of the most authoritative sources of Sunnī ḥadīths, the ḥadīth in question is narrated as follows: It has been narrated on the authority of Jabir b. Samura who said: I joined the company of the Holy Prophet (may peace be upon him) with my father and I heard him say: This caliphate will not end until there have been twelve caliphs among them. The narrator said: Then he (the Holy Prophet) said something that I could not follow. I said to my father: What did he say? He said: He has said: All of them will be from the Quraish.60

Today this ḥadīth has a significant place and application in all Shīʿī sources. But Modarressi states in his well-​researched book that until the early fourth century, the Shīʿa generally ignored or even rejected this ḥadīth. He continues that

57 Amir-​Moezzi 1994, 101. 58 Kohlberg 1976, 2000; Modarressi 1993; Newman 2013. 59 This ḥadīth is a mutawātir ḥadīth mentioned in various forms in Shīʿī and Sunnī sources. The different forms may be due to the fact that several people were present when the Prophet spoke these words, and each of them narrated it using different words and phrases, or that the Prophet mentioned this matter to various people on more than one occasion. 60 Muslim ibn al-​Ḥajjāj al-​Qushayrī and Za’i 2007, 145.

112  The Formative Period of Shīʿism prior to the fourth/​tenth century, this ḥadīth was common among the Sunnīs and that the Umayyads and ʿAbbāsids, based on different interpretations, had used it repeatedly to validate and legitimize their caliphates. But from the fourth century onward, especially with the importance granted to this ḥadīth by Nuʿmānī in his Kitāb al-​ghayba, it entered Shīʿī discourse and found a decisive place within it.61 The number twelve was attributed to the Shīʿī Imāms, and the twelfth Imām was presented as the promised savior. Of course, the idea that the twelfth Imām was the Qāʿim and savior had existed from the time of the demise of the eleventh Imām, but the nature of the expectation that the twelfth Imām would be the one to rise up and establish a just government was not significantly different from what had been expected of his predecessors. Throughout the decades after the demise of Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, the claim continued to be made that he had a son who was the hidden Imām; in this respect, the Shīʿa’s perception of him was no different from their perception of previous Imāms. The Shīʿa asseveration was that the twelfth Imām was a human being—​like the previous Imāms—​who was in hiding, where he would remain until a suitable time arose for him to emerge, launch an uprising, and form a just government. As such, the link between the twelfth Imām and the concept of the Qāʿim/​savior existed from the beginning of the Minor Occultation; it was not something that emerged for the first time after this period. For this reason, during the Minor Occultation, reports about the time of the twelfth Imām’s reappearance were common. For example, it was suggested that he would return and rise up at the age of forty, or after six days,62 and of course, with the passage of time and his lack of emergence, these narratives changed. When the period of his absence began to approach that of the life span of a natural human being, a process commenced that over time (a) fundamentally changed the Shīʿī conception of the existential characteristics of the twelfth Imām and (b) altered the Shīʿa understanding of the concepts of savior and Qāʿim in a meaningful way. The change that occurred in the case of the twelfth Imām was in attributing to him a life span beyond that of a natural human being. Although there were ḥadīths in early Shīʿī sources that ruled out the possibility of an unnatural life expectancy,63 during this period, Shīʿī scholars incorporated this idea into their thought system, crediting the twelfth Imām with a long life span. All the books written about the occultation mentioned this matter, and their authors collected ḥadīths that confirmed the superhuman life span of the twelfth Imām. For example, Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq collected six ḥadīths from the Prophet and earlier 61 The discussion of the number of Imāms is a major part of Nuʿmānī’s Kitāb al-​ghayba. He collected many ḥadīths confirming that the number of Imāms is limited to twelve. For the details of these ḥadīths and Nuʿmānī’s discussion, see al-​Nu’mani 2003 [953], 45–​97. 62 Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 734–​737. 63 Al-​Katib 2007, 387.

The Age of Perplexity  113 Imāms in which it was promised that the twelfth Imām would live a long life. One of these ḥadīths narrates the following statement attributed to Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī: After me, my son will be the Qāʿim through whose long life span and occultation the practice of the prophets will be repeated. His occultation will [be] so much prolonged that the hearts of the people will harden; no one will remain steadfast on religion except those on whose hearts Allah, the Mighty and Sublime has inscribed faith and those who would be helped by Ruhul Qudus.64

These writings also referred to historical instances in proving that such longevity was not unprecedented and that there had been others to whom God had granted longevity throughout history. For example, in addition to the names of prophets such as Noah and Jesus, Shaykh Ṭūsī’s Kitāb al-​ghayba lists the names of a large number of Arabs and non-​Arabs who, according to the Qurʾān or accepted narrations, lived as long as thirty-​five hundred years. Therefore, he concludes: We do not accept that this matter [means] the life of Imām al-​zamān (peace upon him) breaks all conventions, but in the past there were instances like this and these were many and we have only mentioned some, such as the story of Khaḍir (peace be upon him), the companions of the cave [Seven Sleepers], and others.65

Gradually, the idea that the twelfth Imām had initially been considered to have a natural life span like the other Imāms was forgotten, and although some supernatural traits such as infallibility and innate divine knowledge had been attributed to him in the same way as for the previous Imāms, a long life span had not been among them from the start. The idea of the twelfth Imām having a long life was not a moderate Shīʿī invention; the Wāqifiyya had proposed it before, laying the necessary foundations for it to be adopted in the Shīʿī tradition. In fact, Shīʿī scholars articulated a new conceptualization of a tenet that already existed, attributing it to their twelfth Imām. This period witnessed a significant change in the concept of savior and Qāʿim. As stated earlier, the concept of the savior had taken an earthly form, meaning that in the early centuries, the Shīʿa considered the uprising of an Imām to be

64 Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Rizvi 2011, 172. For the remainder of the ḥadīths collected by Shaykh al-​ Ṣadūq in this respect, as well as his discussion of others who had lived long lives, see Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Rizvi 2011, 171–​172, 200–​280. 65 Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 254.

114  The Formative Period of Shīʿism immediate and urgent and typically expected each one of their Imāms to revolt and form a just government. There were many ḥadīths indicating the Shīʿa’s anticipation in this respect and even the pressure brought to bear on each one of the infallible Imāms by their followers to rise up. This was especially the case during unstable political periods such as the time of the sixth Imām, Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq. During the Minor Occultation, the expectation that the twelfth Imām would emerge and rise up in revolt was not fundamentally different from the expectations people had had of the previous Imāms. But with the prolonging of the absence of the twelfth Imām and attributing longevity to him, the concept of savior and Qāʿim moved away from its earthly and immediate form and attained a more messianic and apocalyptic flavor. In this way, the idea of t​ he uprising transformed from a political rebellion to an uprising of an extraordinary nature. It was after this that discussion of the conditions and signs of the savior’s uprising, as well as the events to come before it, became part of Twelver Shīʿī literature.66 In other words, when the uprising of the twelfth Imām would occur became a topic of interest for the Shīʿa only after this period.67 One difference that occurred in the Age of Perplexity, in comparison with the Minor Occultation and the period before it, was that the immediacy of the savior’s uprising was forgotten. The matter of when the twelfth Imām would appear and rise up was surrendered to God, and the changed political situation and just government expected to result from the uprising lost their “here and now” character. It seems that in order to put an end to speculation about the date and time of the Imām’s reappearance, which had been customary among the Shīʿa from demise of the eleventh Imām, ḥadīths were collected that indicated that the time of the Imām’s return was a divine secret and that proposing a specific time for his reappearance was deceitful. An example is one of the many ḥadīths that Nuʿmānī collected in Kitāb al-​ghayba: Ali bin al-​ Husayn narrated from Muhammad bin Yahya al-​ Attar from Muhammad bin Hassaan ar-​Razi from Muhammad bin Ali al-​Kufi from Abdullah bin Jibilla from Ali bin Abu Hamza that Abu Baseer had said: “I said to Abu Abdullah as-​Sadiq (a.s.): ‘May I die for you! When will al-​Qa’im appear?’ He said: ‘O Abu Muhammad (Abu Baseer), we, Ahlul Bayt, do not [set a] time. Prophet Mohammad (a.s.) has said: ‘May Allah damn the diviners!’ O Abu 66 See, for example, Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 745–​780; Amir-​Moezzi 1994, 115–​124; Sharif al-​ Qarashi and Rizvi 2006, 187–​207; al-​Nu’mani 2003 [953], 249–​300. 67 Almost all the sources mentioned thus far discussed the probable time of the reappearance of the Imām and presented ḥadīths and arguments in this regard. These sources include both ḥadīths that suggest the time when the Imām will reappear and ḥadīths that forbid discussion of such a time. In addition, a number of ḥadīths claim that when the appointed time of the reappearance is revealed, God will delay it. For further discussion of the reappearance, see Sadr and Sadjadipour 2005, 33–​60; Subhaniniya 2016; Valizadeh 2012; Goodarzi 2019.

The Age of Perplexity  115 Muhammad, before this matter there will be five sings; a call (from the Heaven) in Ramadan, the rising of as-​Sufyani, the rising of al-​Khurasani, killing the pure innocent man, and a sinking in the desert. Before the appearance of al-​Qa’im there must be two plagues; the white plague and the red plague.”68

That the Imām’s absence could take the form of two separate periods was also among the ideas that were nonexistent in moderate Shīʿī discourse during the Minor Occultation but found their place in the changed Shīʿī thought system in the following period. This idea, too, had been proposed earlier, in particular by the Wāqifiyya. A group of Wāqifiyya called the imprisonment of the seventh Imām, Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim, the Minor Absence and refused to accept his death in prison or the moderate Shīʿī view that he had been martyred, claiming instead that he had escaped from prison. They called the period of his imprisonment the Minor Absence and the period after his imprisonment the Major Absence. None of the Wāqifiyyas’ works remains, but there are many references to their books in old sources. One example is Fī nuṣra al-​Wāqifiyya (In support of the Wāqifiyya), which was apparently written by a Wāqifī leader by the name of ʾAbū Muḥammad ʿAlī b. Aḥmad ʿAlavī Mūsavī. Some of the ḥadīths referred to in Shaykh Ṭūsī’s book al-​Ghayba are framed as polemical refutation of such claims. One of the ḥadīths quoted in this book asserts that the absence of Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim took place in two stages: “Hadīd Sābāṭī quotes Imām al-​Ṣādiq as saying that: ʾAbī al-​Ḥasan (al-​Kāẓim, peace be upon him) will have two absences, one will be short and the other will be long.”69 Hussain also asserts that the idea of a two-​period absence was not invented by Shīʿī scholars, arguing that the only thing Shīʿī scholars did was to adjust the ḥadīths narrated by others to fit their twelfth Imām. He suggests that Nuʿmānī, by collecting seven ḥadīths about the two stages of occultation, may have been the first Shīʿī scholar to introduce this idea into moderate Shīʿī/​Twelver Imāmī discourse.70 After presenting nine ḥadīths speaking of the two periods of absence, Nuʿmānī concludes: These traditions mention that al-​Qa’im (a.s.) disappears twice. Allah has confirmed the sayings of the infallible imams (a.s.). The first disappearance was the one, during which the deputies between Imam al-​Mahdi (aj) and the people were apparent in persons and positions. By them the obscure matters of knowledge and vague judgments were cleared. The answers to all questions and problems, which were asked about, were given by these deputies. This was the short disappearance, whose period had elapsed. In the second disappearance



68 69 70

Al-​Nu’mani 2003 [953], 303. Tūsī and Azizi 2009 [1055], 139. Hussain 1982, 142.

116  The Formative Period of Shīʿism there were no deputies or mediators. It was the will of Allah to try His people and to sift them after letting confusion spread among them.71

By conceptualizing a new stage of occultation in which no one has access to the twelfth Imām, the role and presence of the Imām almost completely disappeared from the sociopolitical life of the Shīʿa. During the period of the Minor Occultation, although the twelfth Imām was not present in flesh and blood, he remained a prominent actor in the collective life of the moderate Shīʿa. His authority was exercised in daily matters through the four deputies, playing at once a mediating and very decisive role, but with the beginning of the period of the Major Occultation, when the deputyship system ended, this role was almost completely eliminated.72 Of course, this is not to say that the twelfth Imām lost his position entirely. Only part of the authority of the twelfth Imām was ceded, while key parts were reserved exclusively for his enactment upon his reappearance. With the demise of the deputy system, there was no controversy regarding religious scholars inheriting some part of the twelfth Imam’s religious and political authority. However, there have always been varying ideas about the scope and scale of authority bestowed on religious scholars during the Major Occultation era. Exploring the details of authority claimed for religious scholars, ­chapter 4 will argue that the authority that was conceptualized for religious scholars in the Age of Perplexity did not include the ruling position. The twelfth Imām continued to maintain absolute religious and political authority, which he held in combination and exclusively. This well-​established position of the twelfth Imām is important for the concept of theocratic secularism because it makes it impossible for anyone else to form a legitimate government during the occultation and renders all rulers, regardless of their performance, illegitimate usurpers of the twelfth Imām. This also begs an important question about what sort of relations Shīʿī believers may have with illegitimate rulers. Chapter 4 will start by scrutinizing the scope and scale of authority that religious scholars inherited from the infallible Imām and will then address this question.

71 Al-​Nu’mani 2003 [953], 168. 72 I use the word “almost” intentionally, because during the Major Occultation, there were and still are people who claim to have seen the twelfth Imām. For some examples of this claim and more comprehensive discussion of this topic, see Ghaemmaghami 2020; Abtahi 1995; Amir-​Moezzi 2011, 431–​460; Safie-​Sarvestani 2006; Samadi-​arazgani 2007.

4

The Major Occultation The ʿUlamāʾ and Interaction with the Usurper

It has already been suggested that the concept of theocratic secularism can be used to describe the relationship between the leaders of the Shīʿī community and the established governments in the second part of the Age of Presence, as well as in the period of the Minor Occultation. Nonetheless, unsustainability was a key feature of theocratic secularism in these periods, as it was anticipated—​and possible—​that this relationship could change at any time. Each of the infallible Imāms was expected to rise up to overthrow the established political system and form the promised ideal Shīʿī government. But during the Major Occultation and with the fixation of a messianic conception of the twelfth Imām, the Shīʿī community had to base its intellectual and practical activities on the premise that the infallible Imām was not present and that no revolt to overthrow the established government and replace it with the ideal Shīʿī government was imminent. During the Major Occultation, the ʿulamāʾ inherited the authority of the infallible Imām and took over the leadership of the Shīʿī community, and in fact, the limits of their authority determined the type of policy that the Shīʿī community could pursue. If, in the process of shaping the theological frameworks of Shīʿism, it had been defined that the ʿulamāʾ had inherited the infallible Imām’s duty and authority to overthrow the usurper government and form the ideal Shīʿī government, then theocratic secularism would probably have remained unstable. But, as will be explained in this chapter, the literature of Shīʿism’s founding ʿulamāʾ shows that they agreed that they had not inherited this part of the authority of the infallible Imām. In these works, there is wide-​ranging discussion about the limits of the authority of the ʿulamāʾ, and it is not surprising that different opinions were expressed on the matter. In spite of this diversity, however, neither the formation of a government nor the leadership of such a government by the ʿulamāʾ was proposed by any of Shīʿism’s founding ʿulamāʾ. In the second part of this chapter, the issue of relations with rulers during the Major Occultation will be examined, and it will be shown once more that despite the differing opinions of the ʿulamāʾ about the extent of proximity to and cooperation with usurpers, none of them, even those who promoted extensive cooperation with the non-​ infallible rulers, went so far as to suggest that such rulers were legitimate. All of the arguments about the nature of the relationship that the Shīʿa should have Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0005

118  The Formative Period of Shīʿism with the incumbent ruler were based on the assumption that each and every one of them was illegitimate. In fact, the illegitimacy of the non-​infallible rulers was so well established and accepted that in Shīʿī literature, the words “sultan” and “ruler” were generally associated with the adjective jāʾir. The essential preconditions for the formation of an ideal government are revolt against and the overthrow of the established government. The final part of this chapter will address the issue of rebellion against the ruler and show that the elements of justice and resistance against the oppressor have an important place in Shīʿī beliefs. However, because the formation of the ideal Shīʿī government was not a viable option, rebellion against the ruler was not one of the actions recommended by the founding scholars. More specifically, rebellion for the purpose of overthrowing the established political system and installing the desired government was not considered in the ʿulamāʾ’s theoretical discussions. In practice, prior to Ayatollah Khomeini’s emergence as Iran’s revolutionary leader in 1979, no Shīʿī leader had ever led an uprising to unseat a government. The central line of argument in this chapter is that according to the Shīʿī political theology that was established at the end of Shīʿism’s formative period, the authority of the ʿulamāʾ and the nature of their relationships with usurper-​led governments were described in such a way that both Shīʿī leaders taking over the government apparatus and the legitimacy of the established governments were disavowed.

The Authority of the ʿUlamāʾ The authority of the ʿulamāʾ is a wide-​ranging issue that has been subject to extensive analysis, especially since the advent of Khomeini and his doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Naturally, I do not intend to discuss this matter in detail here. What I do want to discuss is how in the Age of Perplexity, scholars inherited the religious and political authority of the infallible Imām, both in theory and in practice. But the scope of authority that Shīʿī scholars of this period defined for themselves as leaders of the Shīʿī community, as Lambton points out, did not in any way include the management of the caliphate or acting as the head of state: Since that time [the disappearance of the last Imām] political authority is held by the Shī‘a to be usurped, whether it is exercised by Sunnīs or by Shī‘īs. Two problems in particular faced them. Legal and just government would not, they believed, be re-​established until imāma and walāya were united in one person, but meanwhile upon whom did the authority of the imām devolve during the concealment and what was the duty of the believer vis-​à-​vis political authority which was usurped? So far as general principles were concerned the fact that the imām was in concealment did not, perhaps, constitute a problem, but for the

The Major Occultation  119 practical application of certain of these general principles some more tangible authority was required. This was provided by the fuqahā’, who were believed to act collectively as the nā’ib ‘āmm of the imām in shar‘ī affairs. Temporal affairs, which required the coercive power of the government, on the other hand were held to have passed under the control of usurpers.1

Of course, this is not to say that the scope of scholars’ authority was limited to religious matters; it included the management of several of the Shīʿī community’s civic affairs, which will be addressed in this section. One might suggest that the transfer of the leadership of the Shīʿī community into the hands of religious scholars as the heirs of the infallible Imāms was an organic transition. However, it was at a particular historical conjunction that several important factors came together to consolidate and complete this transition. Without the intersection of these factors, this organic transition might have taken a different form or might not have taken place at all. It has been said before that the authority of the infallible Imāms was rooted in their knowledge of religion, and that the Shīʿa believed the Imāms’ religious knowledge to be perfect and complete. While it is true that the issues of lineage and blood formed a basic principle of the Imāmate, the transfer of knowledge plays a pivotal role at the heart of this very principle. It is believed that the Imāms are the inheritors of divine knowledge (ʿilm ladunnī). Therefore, religious knowledge was a decisive factor in terms of the Imāmate and leadership in the Shīʿī community. For this reason, it is not unreasonable to expect that during the absence of the infallible Imām, the person(s) in charge of religious scholarly work would be in a strong position to lead the society. But the period of the Minor Occultation offers proof that a different process could have taken place and that the transfer of leadership from the infallible Imām to the scholars was not a direct process or foregone conclusion. As mentioned earlier, during the period of the Minor Occultation, four people were in charge of the Shīʿī community as the special deputies of the twelfth Imām, and these four people were not necessarily among the leaders of the Shīʿī community in terms of religious knowledge. These executives played leadership roles in the Shīʿī community under the framework of the deputyship system. One may speculate that this situation could well have continued, and the Shīʿī community could well have developed a class serving as its executive-​political leaders that was separate from its scholars. But at the end of the period of the Minor Occultation and, for some reason, its juxtaposition with the political suicide of the aforementioned class, several events occurred almost simultaneously to establish Shīʿī scholars as the undisputed religious and political leaders of the Shīʿī



1

Lambton 1981, 241.

120  The Formative Period of Shīʿism community. The possibility that these events were the result of a grand master plan is excluded here. Perhaps the notion of contingency, of which Foucault speaks in his discourse analysis, can explain the synchronicity of these events and their role in consolidating the leadership of Shīʿī scholars. But what were these events? It has already been explained that the caliph had gradually lost his religious authority and played more of a political role. His political authority also diminished over time, and it so happened that at the time in question, that is, at the beginning of the Major Occultation, the Būyids invaded Baghdad, and the caliphate lost its political-​military authority and became a wholly symbolic post. As such, religious authority in the Sunnī community had been transferred from the caliph to the religious scholars before any comparable transfer between the Imāms and the ʿulamāʾ took shape in the Shīʿī community; the Sunnī ʿulamāʾ’s religious authority was a functioning model to which the Shīʿa were exposed. In addition, the coming to power of the Būyids provided space for the Shīʿa and their activities. The Būyid rulers had relations with the Shīʿī religious scholars, and Būyid support not only facilitated the prosperity of the Shīʿa in general but also helped to establish the position, influence, and authority of the religious scholars at the heart of the Shīʿī community. A further, perhaps even more significant event was the emergence of the theologians and the formation of the Baghdad school, which took place at the same time as the beginning of the Major Occultation and the coming to power of the Būyids. The first prominent Shīʿī theologian, known as the founder of Shīʿī theology, was Shaykh al-​Mufīd (336–​413/​948–​1022), who was born only a few years after the end of the Minor Occultation and whose works greatly influenced the scholarly atmosphere in the early decades of the Major Occultation. The methodologies of rational argument and reason, in contrast with textualism, put religious scholars in a better position to respond to changing circumstances. Examining the formation of ijtihād and the position of mujtahids in the early period of the Minor Occultation, Davood Feirahi‬ writes: “The mujtahids of the fourth and fifth centuries, the trustees of society and religion, were considered as messengers of Islam who were exclusively qualified to convey the messages of the infallibles (as) in the absence of the 12th Imām (may God hasten his appearance), and had [a]‌lower-​level [version] of the Imām’s authority. For the shīʿa of the Middle Ages, the science of ijtihād was considered as a substitute for the knowledge of the Imām (as) during the period of occultation and for the management of society.”2‬



2

(Feirahi 2013, 305–​306.)

The Major Occultation  121 The formation of the discipline of theology coincided with the emergence of scholars who not only wielded great influence in their own lifetimes but whose writings consolidated and completed the intellectual foundations of Shīʿism. The great Shīʿī scholars who can be considered the founders of Shīʿī theology—​ Shaykh al-​Kulaynī, Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, Shaykh al-​Mufīd, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā, and Shaykh al-​Tūsī—​lived over a period of around one hundred fifty years. The fact that a number of prominent scholars emerged at similar points in time can be considered a product of the favorable conditions of the Būyid period and the Shīʿa’s good fortune; these scholars were successful not only in taking over the leadership of the Shīʿī community of their time but also in formulating a coherent and convincing intellectual framework for the Shīʿa that has been effective until the present day. As a result of the circumstances of the time, Shīʿī thought began to offer conceptualizations of the existing reality, and the position of scholars as the religious and political leaders of the community was institutionalized in the Shīʿī thought system. The scholars’ inheritance of religious and political authority was, of course, supported by a number of ḥadīths.3 A clear example in this regard is the ḥadīth of ʿUmar b. Ḥanẓala, related from Imām al-​Ṣādiq, which was quoted by Shaykh al-​Kulaynī as follows: ‘Umar ibn Hanzala who has said the following: “I asked Imam abu ‘Abdallah (a.s.) about the two people with a dispute between them on the issue of debts or inheritance and they go to the king or the judges for a decision is it permissible to seek such decisions?” The Imam replied, “Whoever would go to them for a judgment in a right or wrongful matter it is like seeking the judgment of the devil. Anything received through such judgment would be like consuming filth even if it would be one’s established right. It is because of receiving through the judgment of the devil and Allah has commanded to reject the devil, yet choose to take their affairs to Satan for judgment even though they are commanded to deny him. Satan wants to lead them far away from the right path (4:60).” I said, “What should then they do?” The Imam replied, “They must look for one among you who have narrated our Hadith and have studied what is lawful and unlawful in our teachings and have learned our laws, they must agree to settle their dispute according to his judgment because I have made him over you a ruler. When he may judge according to our commands and then it is not accepted from him the dissenting, this judgment has ignored the commands of Allah and it is rejection of us. Rejecting us is rejecting Allah, and that is up to the level of paganism and considering things equal to Allah.”4 3 Shaykh al-​Kulaynī dedicated a chapter of Kitāb al-​kāfī to the subject of the status of scholarship as well as scholars, their characteristics, and the necessity of obedience to them (al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 74–​169). 4 Al-​Kulaynī and Sarwar 1999, 163.

122  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Another important and often-​cited text is known as “Referral to Jurists in the Age of Occultation.” This dispensation or letter was issued in response to a question from a believer named ʾIsḥāq b. Yaʿqūb during the period of the second deputy of the twelfth Imām. Al-​Ṭabarisī reports the subject of this letter as follows: ʾIsḥāq b. Yaʿqūb said: I asked Muḥammad ibn ʿUthmān (the second deputy of the Imām) to deliver my letter to the Imām. In that letter, I had raised some issues and asked the Imām for an answer to them. One of my questions to the Imām in this letter was, to whom should I refer about occurrences during the period of the Major Occultation? The Imām had stated in response to this question: “But regarding the events that take place, refer to our ḥadīth narrators who are the hujja [proof] of me for you and I am the hujja [proof] of God for them.”5

It should be clarified here that the authority that was established for the scholars, although it encompassed both the religious and political-​executive authority of the infallible Imāms, was in each sphere at once significantly limited and decentralized.

Limited and Decentralized Authority Shīʿa believe that unlike the infallible Imāms, the ʿulamāʾ can neither fully nor perfectly understand the religion. The possibility of error always exists in scholars’ understandings and knowledge, and in the period of the Major Occultation, no scholar, nor any other believer, had access to the twelfth Imām so as to claim that his or her understanding of religion was confirmed by the twelfth Imām. The consequence of these consensus and entrenched beliefs in Shīʿī theology was the creation of a form of pluralism in the field of Shīʿī religious leadership. From a theological perspective, no single scholar can claim to represent the religion and construct a centralized system in which all believers, as well as other scholars, are obliged to follow his or her religious views. Of course, during later centuries, a loose and unstructured hierarchy emerged among religious scholars. This hierarchy has gained a relatively more fixed structure, especially since the nineteenth century, but can by no means be considered a rigid hierarchy.6 Therefore, the 5 Al-​Tabrisī 1979, 270–​271. 6 For example, in the first half of the twentieth century, Ayatollah Borujerdi was acknowledged as an eminent marjaʿ-​i taqlīd. However, by no means does this suggest that other clerics were denied the opportunity to adopt an independent path. One outstanding example was Nawāb-​Ṣafawī, a young cleric with no religious credentials who undermined Ayatollah Borujerdi’s authority through his militant-​political actions. Nawāb-​Ṣafawī and his comrades confronted Ayatollah Borujerdi overtly

The Major Occultation  123 religious authority of the scholars is very different in scope from the religious authority of the infallible Imāms, in which the authority of a single person (the infallible Imām) is absolute. The authority of scholars has a very limited scope in the executive-​political sphere, too, and perhaps the most important authority held by the infallible Imāms and not transferred to the ʿulamāʾ was the right to form a government. There is a lot of discussion about the scope of the powers and authority of the ʿulamāʾ across various issues such as collecting and spending khums and zakāt, holding Friday prayers, enjoining good and forbidding evil (al-​amr bi ʾl-​maʿrūf wa ʾl-​nahy ʿan al-​munkar), enforcing prescribed punishments (ḥudūd) in the period of occultation, and related matters. A general overview of the thinking of Shīʿī scholars in the Age of Perplexity confirms that much has been discussed and written about each one of these issues,7 which are usually raised in the context of debate on the role and responsibilities of scholars in relation to them. A glance at the works of these thinkers indicates that there is no uniform interpretation shared by all scholars. For example, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā emphasizes the role of scholars during the occultation. He writes about zakāt: “It is better to pay zakāt to the Imām and his successors, and if that is not possible, it is narrated that it should be paid to trustworthy jurists so that they can spend zakāt in their place.”8 Shaykh al-​Mufīd also believes that prescribed punishments should be implemented by scholars during the Major Occultation: The implementation of ḥudūd is the responsibility of the sulṭān[s]‌of Islam, who have been appointed by God Almighty, the infallible Imāms from the family of Prophet Mohammad, and the emirs and rulers they have appointed for this purpose; the infallible Imāms (a.s.) have entrusted the matter to Shīʿī jurists if it is possible for them to implement it.9

On the contrary, in his book al-​Nahaya, Shaykh al-​Tūsī10 does not permit the implementation of prescribed punishments by anyone except those appointed by God:

through their activities in the Qum seminary, interrupting routine education processes. For further information, see Montazeri 2000, 134–​146; Forati 2004. 7 See, for example, Calder 1981; Calder 1982; Sachedina 1980. 8 Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā 1967, 130. 9 Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1991, 810. 10 This discussion did not stop in the Age of Perplexity. Rather, Shīʿī thinkers throughout history have offered different views on the necessity of enforcing prescribed punishments during the occultation and the role and responsibilities of scholars in this regard. For a more precise and detailed account of these discussions, see Kadivar 2014c, 151–​166; Masjed-​Saraie and Mo’meni 2009; Hadji-​ Dehabadi 2008; Elihiyan 2010.

124  The Formative Period of Shīʿism However, it is not permissible for anyone to implement ḥudūd except for the sulṭān appointed by Almighty God or the person appointed by the Imām to establish ḥudūd, who is to enforce ḥudūd. At a time when the oppressors have prevailed and the hands of the righteous leaders are tied, it is permitted that a person exercise ḥudūd in relation to his wife and child and property, of course, when he is safe from the harm of the oppressors.11

In his examination of Shaykh al-​Kulaynī’s views on the aforementioned issues, Newman shows that in general, Shaykh al-​Kulaynī, who was a textualist, identified a lesser and more limited role for scholars in all these matters than that recognized by his theologian counterparts. Even in Shaykh al-​Kulaynī’s rulings that identified some of the above duties as compulsory, he quoted ḥadīths from the Imāms to promote the idea that these duties do not necessarily have to be performed by scholars and that any believer can take charge of them. For example, regarding the collection and distribution of khums, Newman writes: In al-​Kāfī’s traditions on al-​khums the Imams cited fewer items on which al-​khums was to be levied than would later Usulīs, [and] accorded no role, let alone an exclusive role, to the jurists in the collection or distribution of al-​ khums as would later Usulīs. Similarly al-​Kāfī’s traditions on al-​zakāt provided much less information on the obligations concerning this tax than would be provided by later generations of Usulī scholars, including few details as to the definition of the categories of alms recipients, and not specifying any single acceptable means by which these revenues were to be collected and distributed in the period of the Imams’ presence within the community, let alone the occultation, and not requiring the involvement of the jurisprudent (faqīh) in the collection and distribution of alms or listing qualities the absence of which would disqualify a recipient from receiving the alms, as would later Usulīs.12

Newman explains that Shaykh al-​Kulaynī emphasizes the necessity of holding Friday prayers but does not consider it necessary for a qualified jurist to perform them and states instead that “a wide range of individuals was permitted to be designated as prayer leader.”13 According to Newman, the thinkers of the Qum school were more cautious about the role of scholars in these matters because they opposed the efforts of the thinkers of the Baghdad school to establish a form of hierarchical authority in which the latter had the upper hand.14 It is also worth mentioning that not all theologians necessarily agreed on this point,

11

Tūsī 1979, 300–​301. Newman 2000, 165–​166. 13 Newman 2000, 168. 14 Newman 2000, 148–​192. 12

The Major Occultation  125 and it cannot be said that such disagreement was derived from the difference between ḥadīth-​based and reason-​based methodology. For example, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā, who for the most part gave order and structure to the theology of Shaykh al-​Mufīd, was opposed to holding Friday prayers during the period of occultation. According to him, Friday prayers can only be held in the presence of the infallible Imām.15 Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā writes: “Friday prayer is two rakʿats [units of prayer], and it is not held in congregation unless there is a just Imām. Or someone appointed by a just Imām. If there is no such person, the noon prayer will be said instead.”16 The saying of Īd al-​Fiṭr and Īd al-​ʾAḍḥā prayers is subject to same ruling in al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā thought, that is, beyond the authority of Shīʿī scholars. As Mahmoud Shafiei points out, according to al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā, the conditions necessary for holding prayers that have a political and social dimension are not met during the occultation because the infallible Imām is not present.17 The important point to note about these disagreements is that the scope of such conflicts among the thinkers of the Age of Perplexity at no point extended to a discussion about the formation of government by the ʿulamāʾ. More precisely, in the writings of none of the thinkers who identified a wide scope of authority for scholars is it proposed that such authority includes forming a government and serving as its head. This pattern of thought continued throughout Shīʿī history, despite thinkers of later centuries such as Nūr al-​dīn ʿAlī b. al-​ Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī b. Muḥammad b. ʿAbd al-​ʿĀlī al-​Karakī al-​ʿĀmilī (d. 940/​1534) and Aḥmad b. Muḥammad Mahdi b. Abī Dhar al-​Narāqī (1185–​1245/​1771–​ 1829) greatly expanding the sphere of the authority and role of the ʿulamāʾ in political affairs. However, the formation of government remained outside the scope of these powers until, in a radical departure from established practice, Ayatollah Khomeini conceptualized the formation of government as one of the key duties and responsibilities of the ʿulamāʾ. The most striking aspect of his doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was his assertion about the jurisprudent ruler’s legitimacy. For the first time in Shīʿī history, Khomeini suggested that non-​infallible persons could be religiously legitimate rulers.

Just and Legitimate Ruler In ­chapter 8, the details of the deliberations that took place in the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution will be discussed. It will be demonstrated that

15 16 17

Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā 1967, 76. Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā 1984, 272. Shafiei 2011, 60–​61.

126  The Formative Period of Shīʿism extensive and unprecedented authority was granted to the walī-​yi faqīh in the political configuration of the Islamic Republic. Correspondingly, the members of the Assembly of Experts specified numerous qualifications that would be required in order to hold this post. The debate over the characteristics and qualifications required for political leadership was unprecedented in Shīʿī history. Reviewing the writings of the founding scholars of Shīʿism, one sees that discussing the characteristics of a legitimate and just ruler was not on their scholarly agenda. An explanation for this is that for them, the only person who could be a just and legitimate ruler was the twelfth Imām, and as al-​Sharīf al-​ Murtaḍā (355–​436/​967–​1044) puts it, no one can replace him: “It is true that no one can take the place of Imām Mahdī, because he is the last Imām and the interests of the obligated can only be served by him.”18 At the beginning of his treatise on working with the monarch, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā states that rulers can be divided into two kinds and that cooperation with a just and legitimate ruler is permissible and even necessary. He uses the two terms “just” and “legitimate” (rightful) but does not provide a clear definition of a just and legitimate ruler. In fact, throughout the treatise, only these first few sentences refer to a just and legitimate ruler, and the rest of the text is devoted to addressing issues arising from the presence of a usurper. Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā explains in detail the various situations in which and on what basis the obligated can decide whether or not to cooperate with a jāʾir ruler: Know that the ruler may be of two kinds: legitimate (muḥiqq) and just, or illegitimate (mubtil), unjust and usurpatory. There is no question in regard to holding office on behalf of the legitimate, just ruler since it is permissible and may even be obligatory, if the ruler commands it as a duty and makes its acceptance incumbent. The discussion thus concerns only the tenure of office on behalf of the usurper. This may be of several kinds: obligatory (and it may exceed obligatoriness toward compulsion), licit, and evil and forbidden.19

Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā is not alone in avoiding any meaningful discussion of the qualities of the just and legitimate ruler; the Shīʿī scholarly heritage produced in the first century of the Major Occultation includes very little deliberation of the characteristics of a favorable Shīʿī government or a just and legitimate ruler. It is not surprising that this lack of discussion about a just and legitimate ruler led to the possibility of different interpretations. The prevailing view, established in practice by the majority throughout Shīʿī history, has been that the qualities of “just” and “legitimate” are inseparable, and that is why the twelfth Imām is the

18 19

Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā 1991, 147. Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā and Madelung 1980, 24.

The Major Occultation  127 only one considered a just and legitimate ruler. But there is also a second view, that just and legitimate can indeed be separated and that a non-​infallible person can also be just and may have the right to assume political leadership, although such a person will lack divine legitimacy. This interpretation functions as a double-​edged sword. For example, at the historical juncture of the Constitutional Revolution in Iran (1905–​1911), Shaykh Muḥammad Kāẓim Khurāsānī, known as Akhūnd Khurāsānī (1838–​1911), used the latter interpretation to support parliamentarism and constitutionalism against absolute monarchy. According to Akhūnd Khurāsānī, although the system of parliamentarism, like other political systems, lacks religious legitimacy, it may be closer to justice than absolute monarchy.20 Further, at another historical turning point in contemporary Iranian history, this lack of explicitness by earlier Shīʿī thinkers was used to justify an authoritarian political-​religious structure. I am referring specifically to the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh and the establishment of the Islamic Republic after the 1979 Revolution. Proponents of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh have been able to produce extensive literature claiming that thinkers in the first century of the Major Occultation as well as later Shīʿī scholars believed in the formation of government by jurists because jurists could be just rulers.21 This reading is fundamentally different from that presented in support of parliamentarism by Akhūnd Khurāsānī, because in the latter’s view, there is no association between the quality of justness and any particular individual, whether jurist or non-​jurist; his argument was about a system of governance. According to Akhūnd Khurāsānī, the parliamentary system could have prevented tyranny and come closer to justice; in the political system associated with the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, the justness of the person of the walī-​yi faqīh, alongside his other characteristics, justifies a government under his leadership and even makes his rule religiously necessary. As will be discussed in ­chapter 5, contrary to the entire scholarly heritage of the Shīʿa and their historical practice, and without feeling the need to engage with this heritage, Khomeini claimed to be not only just but also religiously legitimate as walī-​yi faqīh. Of course, this reading is not only new but also anachronistic. In fact, this reading, given the prevailing situation and the need to justify a political system established under a jurist, entails a deliberately skewed rereading of the heritage of the past. On the other hand, a more logical conclusion that can be drawn from the silence of the the founding fathers of Twelver Shīʿism in relation to defining a just and legitimate ruler is that in the writers’ view, the reference to a just and legitimate ruler was clear and needed no explanation: that person could only be 20 Ghobadzadeh 2018, 66–​77. 21 See, for example, Khaleghi 2011, 17–​73; Borji 2002; Jahanbozorgi 1997; Ja’farpisheh 2013; Khaleghi 2004; Abutalebi 2012; Rasekh 2016.

128  The Formative Period of Shīʿism the twelfth Imām. The characteristics of the twelfth Imām were discussed in various books throughout the Shīʿī scholarly heritage, and for this reason, one may speculate, scholars did not see the need to add an independent and separate chapter on the conditions of a just and legitimate ruler to their writings. Another point that strengthens this interpretation of Shīʿī scholarly heritage is that if the writers believed in the possibility of governance by a just individual without religious legitimacy, they would probably have included a section discussing this matter in their works. Such a section would have been devoted to determining the circumstances under which an individual without religious legitimacy could form a just government. But there is no such discussion in the works of the Shīʿī scholars of the formative period of Shīʿī history. This is significant when we consider the fact that the writings of these Shīʿī thinkers examined much more minor and less significant issues in great detail, and if scholars had contemplated the issue of a just but illegitimate ruler, they would surely have analyzed it at length. Instead of any determination of a just and legitimate ruler, two related issues have been addressed extensively in the literature. The comprehensive nature of these discussions is further confirmation of the claim that no one other than the twelfth Imām has the authority to form a just government. The two issues are how to cooperate with a usurper and rebellion against the usurper.

Cooperation with a Usurper As set out previously, the issue of how the Shīʿa should interact with the Sunnī caliphs—​whom they considered violators of their own Imāms’ right to rule—​was a concern of the Shīʿī community during the Age of Presence, and for this reason, the Imāms made several statements on the matter. The contemporary Shīʿī discourse holds that during the Age of Presence, the Imāms always maintained distance from the caliph’s court and were staunchly and unbendingly opposed to any form of cooperation, working for, dealing with, and referring to judgments made by the Sunnī caliphate apparatus. However, an investigation of the lived history of the Shīʿa during the Age of Presence provides a more complex, occasionally flexible narration of the position of the Imāms. In accordance with this lived history, the textual heritage of reports of the Imāms’ words does not imply the emphatic rejection of any interaction with the caliphate; as illustrated in ­chapter 2, there are even instances in which cooperation with the caliphate was recommended. The history of the period of the Minor Occultation also challenges today’s official Shīʿī stance. Today the Shīʿa believe that the four deputies were in direct contact with the twelfth Imām and that their decisions and behavior were approved by the infallible Imām. For this reason, although the actions and decisions of the four deputies are not considered sacred Shīʿī texts, they are nevertheless highly

The Major Occultation  129 respected and rarely questioned. But none of the four deputies of the twelfth Imām necessarily pursued a policy of complete withdrawal from the caliphate. Not only were famous families and personalities present in the caliphate apparatus during the time of the four deputies, some reaching the highest rank (the post of court minister), but the third deputy, Ḥusayn b. Rūḥ al-​Nawbakhtī, occupied an official post in the caliphate. It is not surprising that the checkered history of the Age of Presence and the period of the Minor Occultation is reflected in the conceptualization of relations with the jāʾir sultan that took shape in the first century of the period of the Major Occultation. Considerable differences of opinion can be seen in the written legacy that remains from this discourse-​creation period; some thinkers considered cooperation with the caliphs permissible and even obligatory, while others considered it impermissible. Of course, it should be noted that such differences of opinion never went so far as to cause the general ruling about the illegitimate nature of the non-​infallible ruler to be reconsidered, and therefore the illegitimacy of any ruler other than the twelfth Imām remained one of the key elements of the Shīʿī regime of truth. In addition to the legacy of the Age of Presence and the period of the Minor Occultation, the political conditions of the first century of the Major Occultation also had the effect of diversifying the views of Shīʿī thinkers regarding relations with a usurper. This century, during which Shīʿī political theology took its final form, coincided with the period of Būyid domination over the Islamic world. The Būyids invaded Baghdad in 333/​945, and although they did not destroy the ʿAbbāsid caliphate, they effectively rendered it a powerless command post. The Būyids ruled over much of the Islamic world until 447/​1055, when Baghdad fell to the Selčuḳs. In other words, only a few years after the beginning of the Major Occultation, the Būyids came to power in Baghdad, and all the Shīʿī thinkers discussed in this chapter lived and published their ideas under their shadow. The importance of the Būyids’ support for Shīʿism and the Shīʿī thinkers who lived in this period is so great that Heinz Halm describes the situation as follows: “The century of the Buyids is the era of the Twelver shiʿa ‘church fathers.’ ”22

Baghdad and Qum Schools of Thought The two Shīʿī scholarly and intellectual centers in this period were Baghdad and Qum. Their geographical locations as well as the balance of power in these two cities caused differences in the type of thinking that took shape in each one to the extent that in analyzing the Shīʿī thought system of this time, the schools of

22

Halm 2004, 48.

130  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Baghdad and Qum are referred to as different schools of thought.23 The most fundamental difference between the two schools is related to methodological approach, with rationalism prominent in Baghdad and textualism in Qum. The Qum school had a strong tendency to act according to the text of the ḥadīths and to eschew the encroachment of reason and ijtihād upon the process of understanding and criticizing the meanings of the ḥadīths. The Qum school also took a hard line against ghulū and the Ghulāt; when Shīʿa were the dominant force in the city, they banished people such as Ḥusayn b. ʾUbaydullāh Qumī, Sahl b. Ziyād al-​Ādami al-​Razī, and Abū Samīna on the indictment of quoting ghulū ḥadīths. Among the other important differences between the Qum school and the Baghdad school was that the narrators of the Qum school believed in sahw al-​ nabī, that is, the possibility that the Prophet could make inadvertent oversights in everyday affairs. A full discussion of all the differences and controversies that arose between the Qum and Baghdad schools would fill several volumes. However, for our purposes here, it is the differences between each school’s conceptualization of relations with the usurper that is most relevant. The thinkers of the Baghdad rationalist school left a more flexible legacy with respect to relations with an oppressor. In contrast, those from the Qum school viewed the preservation of distance from the usurper and the impermissibility of interaction with the ruling apparatus—​except in exceptional and desperate circumstances—​as a key axiom. Here I briefly refer to the views of Shaykh al-​Kulaynī24 and Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, prominent thinkers of the Qum school, and subsequently Shaykh al-​ Mufīd and al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā of the Baghdad school. In his study of the ḥadīths quoted in Shaykh al-​Kulaynī’s book Kitāb al-​kāfī, Newman states that these ḥadīths, especially those reported from Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq, reflect strong opposition to believers becoming embroiled in relations with the governing body. Newman goes on to say that in the first chapter of one of the books contained in al-​Kāfī, “Kitāb al-​aʿīsha” (Book on Livelihood), entitled “Working for the sultan and their gifts,” al-​Kulaynī quotes fifteen ḥadīths in which the Imāms asked believers to avoid accepting work from the rulers. One of the narrations reported from Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq states: [W]‌hoever humbled himself to a sāḥib sultan or to someone opposed to his own faith “to seek after what is in his hand of the world, Allah will silence him.” 23 For a discussion of the Baghdad and Qum schools and their differences and disagreements, see Rezadad 2016; Hosseinzadeh Khezrabad 2017. 24 Shaykh al-​Kulaynī spent a period of his life in Baghdad but is known as a representative of the Qum school, not only because a considerable proportion of his thought took shape when he lived in Qum and Raʾy but also because his ḥadīth sources were mostly Qum narrators. Further, his scholarly method was textualism rather than rationalism (Hamadi and Husseini 2004; Newman 2000, 160).

The Major Occultation  131 If he did acquire something of the world, the Imam stated, “Allah almighty will take it from him and he will not be recompensed on the basis of anything he spent on the pilgrimage, manumission [of slaves] or piety.”25

In another narration, Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq expressed his dissatisfaction with the fact that one of the believers worked as a scribe for the Umayyads and said that if the Umayyads had not found people who would “write for them, collect the tax for them, fight on their behalf, and witness their communal prayer, they would not have deprived us of our right.”26 Narrations are also quoted in al-​ Kāfī that indicate that the Imāms considered referring to judges appointed by the caliph for litigation as ṭāghūt and illegitimate; therefore, according to these narrations, even if a caliph-​appointed judge rightly rules in favor of the believer, it is forbidden to benefit from the outcome of the ruling. Citing another narration, Shaykh al-​Kulaynī warned believers to stay away from any jurist they saw working inside the ruling apparatus.27 Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, another prominent scholar of the Qum school, did not see a particular need to address the issue of cooperation with an oppressive ruler separately because, it can be speculated, his view was that the ruling was clear and simple: any kind of cooperation with the usurper must be avoided. Perhaps his most obvious stance is set out in the book al-​Muqnʿa, in which he cautions believers against dealing with a usurper, while nevertheless adding the caveat: “In the case of entry [into government affairs], if the form of interaction with people is good and in a way that meets the needs of the people, [then] cooperation is not a bad thing.”28 In his books, Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq quotes narrations from the Imāms that stress that wrongful rulers should be avoided. In Khaṣāl, Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq quotes Imām Ali: “Those who oppress, those who facilitate oppression, and those who applaud oppression, are three partners.”29 Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq also reported ḥadīths that advise against appealing to government judges. For example, he quotes Imām al-​Ṣādiq as saying: Do not let one of you Shīʿa bring someone to the ruler for litigation, but look among yourselves for he who is familiar with the rules and manner of our government and choose him to resolve the hostility and to arbitrate, so bring the matter to him, and accept his arbitration and judgment, and I will also appoint him as your judge and arbiter.30



25 26 27 28 29 30

Quoted in Newman 2000, 174. Quoted in Newman 2000, 175. Gahramannezhad et al. 2014, 107. Shaykh al-​Sadūq 1998, 122. Shaykh al-​Sadūq and Kamarei 1998, 126. Shaykh al-​Sadūq 1988, 3.

132  The Formative Period of Shīʿism Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq also quotes a ḥadīth attributed to Prophet Mohammad according to which “No servant of God approaches an oppressive sultan unless he has turned away from God.”31 Unlike the Qum school thinkers, their counterparts in the Baghdad school were relatively less strict in terms of prohibiting interaction with the ruler; not only did they not forbid all forms of cooperation with the ruling apparatus, but in some cases they even considered such cooperation necessary. Shaykh al-​Mufīd, a pioneer in the use of rationality and reasoning, was among many Baghdad thinkers who “changed the customary norm about the impermissibility of cooperation with the jāʾir sultan and made it permissible and even obligatory in certain circumstances.”32 Like other Shīʿī thinkers in the Age of Perplexity of Shīʿī theology, the most desirable political system for Shaykh al-​Mufīd was a system based on the leadership of someone appointed by God who fully implements divine commandments and rulings.33 But under the extant circumstances in which the believers were living under the rule of an oppressor, Shaykh al-​Mufīd identifies and discusses different types of relations with such usurpers, including helping the wicked, working for them, following them, gaining from them, and using their wealth.34 Shaykh al-​Mufīd generally considers cooperation with the usurper in matters of justice permissible and even obligatory in certain circumstances, but at the same time, he prohibits helping the ruler carry out oppression and evil (albeit when there is a choice—​rather than force—​involved). He puts forward two basic conditions for the legitimacy of interacting with a usurper, first that such interaction does not harm the believers and second that most of a person’s deeds in collaboration with the usurper are not sinful and lead primarily to good outcomes.35 It was a generally accepted principle among Shīʿī scholars of the time that believers should not refer to a judge working under the auspices of the caliphate apparatus. However, Shaykh al-​Mufīd had progressive views in this regard, suggesting that referring to the judicial apparatus of a usurper, especially in terms of government functions, is among the duties of the Shīʿa. For example, he suggests that if a man is absent for a long time, his wife can go to the oppressive ruler to solve her problems.36 Shaykh al-​Mufīd goes further than simply approving referral to government judges, even permitting a Shīʿī scholar to hold the position of judge in the usurper’s apparatus. Nonetheless, he points out that the scholar should judge according to the rules of jurisprudence issued

31 32 33 34 35 36

Quoted in Mirali 2016, 133. Gahramannezhad et al. 2014, 104. Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1993b, 65. McDermott 1978, 282. Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1993b, 120–​121. Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1991, 537.

The Major Occultation  133 by the Ahl al-​Bayt (i.e., Shīʿī jurisprudence), unless there is a risk of financial or mortal harm, in which case the scholar may issue a verdict based on taḳiyya (dissimulation). This being said, Shaykh al-​Mufīd only considers taḳiyya permissible in cases where there is a risk of bloodshed (someone being killed).37 Shaykh al-​Mufīd’s general view is that Shīʿī believers should not engage with caliphate affairs during the occultation, except with the intention of helping Shīʿa and protecting them from harm. Another important and influential thinker who should be mentioned here is ʿAlī b. al-​Ḥusayn b. Mūsā (355–​436/​965–​1044), who is known as al-​Sharīf al-​ Murtaḍā or Sayyid Murtaḍā. Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā was a student of Shaykh al-​ Mufīd who further developed and expanded the latter’s rationalist approach. According to al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā, anything that is against reason is considered invalid. Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā’s thoughts on relations with the usurper are important in two respects. One is that he, like his father and brother, worked closely with the Būyids and the caliphate and accepted official positions in service of the ʿAbbāsid caliphs. Second, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā was the only thinker of the Age of Perplexity who wrote an independent treatise on relations with a usurper.38 Like Shaykh al-​Mufīd, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā rejected the general prohibition on any cooperation with a usurper, outlining several possible situations in which cooperation may occur: This [tenure of office on behalf of the usurper] may be of several kinds: obligatory (and it may exceed obligatoriness toward compulsion), licit, and evil and forbidden. It is obligatory if the one accepting office knows, or considers it likely on the basis of clear indications, that he will through the tenure of the office be enabled to support a right and to reject a false claim or to order what is proper and to forbid what is reprehensible, and if it were not for this tenure, nothing of this would be accomplished. . . . It reaches the level of compulsion when he is forced with the sword to accept the office or when he considers it likely that, if he does not accept it, his blood will be shed. . . . It is licit when he fears for some property of his or is afraid of some harm befalling him the like of which can be borne.39

Later in the treatise, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā rejects the suggestion that accepting a position from a usurper is improper prima facie, considering it different from, for example, the impropriety of lying, which is by its very nature a misdemeanor:



37 38 39

Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1991, 811–​812. Nasr 2000. Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā and Madelung 1980, 24–​25.

134  The Formative Period of Shīʿism When the aspect of evil is stable in an act, the act remains evil even if some aspects of goodness come about. Do you not see that lying does not become good even if there be some religious benefits in it because of some incentives in the presence of which faith and many acts of obedience toward God occur? We say: It is contestable that the aspect of evil in the tenure of office for the unjust ruler is its being an office on his behalf. How could this be the case while if someone is forced with the sword to accept the office it is not evil on his part, and likewise if thereby one arrives at the establishment of right and the rejection of falsehood it ceases to be evil? This is unlike what occurs in lying which does not remove it from being evil.40

In addition to rational arguments, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā also refers to the first Imām, who accepted council membership from ʿUmar b. al-​Khaṭṭāb, as well as the action of Prophet Yusef (Joseph) in accepting a post from ʿAzīz of Egypt—​a usurper—​to give historical context and precedent to his argument. In sum, not only did the thinkers of the Baghdad school have close relations with the Būyid rulers and the ʿAbbāsid caliphate themselves, but they also conceptualized this kind of behavior in their writings which, as has been mentioned, formed the basis of all Shīʿī scholarly work and action in later centuries.

Būyids and Shīʿī Leaders One may speculate that the differences between Qum and Baghdad scholars’ conceptualizations of relations with the usurper could have arisen for two reasons. First, ḥadīth sources are less supportive of the idea of ​collaboration with the oppressive ruler. The number of ḥadīths quoted from the infallible Imāms that permit cooperation with a usurper is much lower than the number forbidding it. It is not unreasonable to suggest that ḥadīths that authorize cooperation with the usurper are the exception rather than the rule. Given that textualism prevailed in Qum, it is not surprising that the multitude of proscriptions against interaction with the usurper in the ḥadīths is reflected in the opinions of the thinkers of this school regarding relations with the ruler. The second explanation can be found in the different political conditions of Qum and Baghdad. As mentioned earlier, many of the conceptualizations that took shape during this period were the product of the conditions of the time, and that concerning relations with the usurper was no exception. In Baghdad, the Būyids, who were Zaydī Shīʿa, had a friendly and supportive attitude toward the Twelver Shīʿa.



40

Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā and Madelung 1980, 25.

The Major Occultation  135 While the Būyids were ideologically close to the Shīʿa, their policy toward them was not driven by pure benevolence; strengthening the Shīʿa was a useful political lever in their interactions with the ʿAbbāsids. The Twelver Shīʿa benefited greatly from this situation, to the extent that it can be said that the coinciding of the consolidation of the Twelver Shīʿism with Būyid rule was serendipitous for the Shīʿa, a situation that may be explained using the notion of contingency in Foucauldian discourse analysis. The Būyids’ friendly approach to the Shīʿa led to the formation of close relations between Shīʿī leaders and the government apparatus. It was with the support of the Būyids that the Shīʿa enjoyed the opportunity to hold mourning ceremonies on ʿĀshūrāʾ and celebrations for the event of Ghadīr Khumm.41 The shrines of the Imāms were also rebuilt during this period, and the Shīʿa were able to visit them on pilgrimages. The call to prayer in the Shīʿī style was also permitted during this period.42 Notable advancements for Shīʿī scholarship included the establishment of numerous libraries and the presence of the Shīʿī ʿulamāʾ in scholarly discussions and debates convened by Būyid rulers. This support extended even to ʿAḍud al-​Dawla (r. 338–​372/​949–​983) ordering ten mann43 of bread and five mann of meat to be sent to the discussion sessions convened by Shaykh al-​Mufīd. It is further reported that ʿAḍud al-​Dawla was so close to Shaykh al-​Mufīd that he visited him personally.44 During this period, the proximity of Shīʿī scholars to the government apparatus was not limited to close relations with the Būyid rulers; they were also close to the caliphate apparatus. A clear example is found in al-​ Sharīf al-​Raḍī and al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā holding official government positions. The two brothers, who were Shīʿī leaders at the time, accepted ʿAbbāsid caliphate appointments, including supervising the niqābat45 of the ʿAlids, the court of maẓālim (a court of appeal that also heard complaints against government officials), and pilgrims and the leadership of two cities of Mecca and Medina.46 Upon the death of Caliph al-​Ḳādir, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā was one of the first to 41 Ghadīr Khumm is the name of a pond in a place called Khumm, between Mecca and Medina. According to Shīʿī belief, it was here that the Prophet announced Imām ʿAlī as his successor. This is known as the event of Ghadīr Khumm. For discussion of this event and its significance in the schism between Sunnī and Shīʿī Islam, see Amir-​Moezzi 2014. 42 Khosrobagi and Jalilian 2013; Elhami 2000; Kraemer 1986. 43 At the time, mann was a measure used for weighing food, such as bread. Hessa Aljabr states that for the Hanafiah school of thought, a mann weighs 812.5 grams, but according to the other three schools of thought of religious jurisprudence within Sunnī Islam, a mann weighs 773.5 grams (Aljabr 2020, 1419). 44 Faqihi 1994, 136. 45 Niqābat was an official post created by the ʿAbbāsids in the second half of the third/​ninth century to deal with the affairs of the ʿAlīd family. The main duties of the niqābat included recording the births, deaths, marriages, lineage, and employment of the sādāt. For more details on this post and the history of its formation and eventual abolition, see Modarressi 1979; al-​Māwardī 2000, 144–​149; Elahizadeh and Sirusi 2010. 46 Shahsavan and Nasiri 2016; Nasr 2000.

136  The Formative Period of Shīʿism pledge allegiance to his successor, al-​Ḳāʾim bi-​amr-​Allāh, composing a poem praising both leaders: “Although a great mountain was lost [Caliph al-​Ḳādir], another mountain will rise with you [Caliph al-​Ḳāʾim bi-​amr-​Allāh], and although we lost a full moon, the sun has risen and we are happy in our sorrow.”47 In fact, the political situation and balance of power in Baghdad were such that the Shīʿa were able to achieve this kind of proximity and reap the rewards arising therefrom. Shīʿī scholars not only took advantage of this opportunity to enjoy the benefits of interacting with the government apparatus but also justified their political behavior in their writings, proposing a less hostile conceptualization of relations with the ruler. Qum, on the other hand, had relatively unique political conditions. From the first century of Islamic history, a semiautonomous city-​state emerged in Qum due to the influence and power of the Ashʿariyya. The Ashʿariyya were a tribe from Yemen who had accepted Islam in the early years of its emergence. Initially, most of them were based in Kūfa, but with the hardships arising from the anti-​Shīʿa stance of al-​Ḥajjāj b. Yūsuf b. al-​Ḥakam b. ʿAqīl al-​Thaqafī (40–​95/​ 661–​714), ruler of Iraq and the Ḥijāz, they migrated to Qum and were dominant there until the fourth/​tenth century.48 Many members of the Ashʿariyya family were companions of the infallible Imāms and had close ties with them. This meant that the Ashʿariyya played a substantial role in narrating the ḥadīths and an equally prominent one in shaping Shīʿī religious scholarship.49 Ahmad Reza Khezri speaks of eighty-​three Ashʿariyya scholars and companions, stating: The contribution of the Ashʿariyya to the ḥadīths collected in the four books of the Imāmiyya is a prominent one, and in many places throughout these books, we come across their narrations. This point indicates the prominent role of the Ashʿariyya in the compilation and development of Imāmi jurisprudence and their high position in preserving and disseminating the scholarship of the Ahl al-​Bayt (a.s.).50

In addition to their impact on religious scholarship, the influence and power of the Ashʿariyya in terms of political equations in Qum were also decisive. It was the influence of the Ashʿariyya family that made Qum a Shīʿī base, and for this reason, the city always had problematic relations with the central government ruled by the ʿAbbāsid caliph. During the ʿAbbāsid period, several uprisings took place in Qum, and at other times, the Ashʿariyya were so influential in the city that the rulers sent by the ʿAbbāsid caliphs to Qum were relegated

47

Al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā quoted in al-​Jawzī 1995, 218. Qumī 1982 [988], 266–​305. 49 Davtalab 2010; Farshchian 2005; Hajji-​Taqi 1997. 50 Khezri 2013, 176. 48

The Major Occultation  137 to acting as intermediaries between the Ashʿariyya and the central government rather than exercising any real power.51 The semi-​independent situation of Qum caused the thinkers of the Qum school, unlike their counterparts in Baghdad, to be supported more by the influential Ashʿariyya family than by the central government. As Newman points out, this situation influenced the writings of the Qum scholars. Especially in relation to issues of government and relations with the usurper ruler, the thinkers of the Qum school generally prescribed keeping distance from the usurper. Of course, as mentioned earlier, the numerous ḥadīths quoted from the Imāms also confirmed and strengthened this prescription. In sum, the lack of discussion about a legitimate and just ruler and the diversity of the views of the scholars of this period about how to deal with a usurper forever affected—​or, to be more precise, determined—​the Shīʿī intellectual atmosphere and realm of action. Since then, no ruler has been recognized as legitimate, a matter entirely unrelated to the good or bad performance of the ruler, or even his or her religion: a Shīʿī ruler is considered to lack legitimacy for the same reason as all other rulers throughout history, that is, because from a religious perspective, only the twelfth Imām has been given the right to rule by God. But in terms of interaction with a usurper, not only have Shīʿī scholars throughout history put forward different views, but in practice, leaders of the Shīʿī community have at different times—​and sometimes at the same time—​taken different behavioral approaches toward rulers. However, of course, as Lambton rightly points out, the Shīʿī ʿulamāʾ’s interaction with usurpers has never implied any recognition of the legitimacy of the latter: The Imāmī fuqahā’ by their recourse to taqiyya were able to co-​operate for specific purposes with the holders of power while refusing to accept any responsibility for the existence of an unjust government. They were not concerned with the valid delegation of power. Their acceptance of public office at the hands of unjust rulers in no way legitimised the power of the latter; practising taqiyya, they saw themselves acting as the deputies of the imām, not of the ruler, who thus became in their theory, in a sense, irrelevant.52

A study of the Ṣafawid period, during which some Shīʿī scholars became very close to the government, would be enlightening in this regard but requires extensive independent inquiry outside the scope of the present book. The important point about the Ṣafawid period here is that the ʿulamāʾ’s proximity to the Ṣafawid kings continued within the framework of discussions about the propriety of Shīʿa relations with the usurper; such closeness cannot be interpreted as an epistemic

51 52

Haidar-​Sarlak and Mehrizi 2012; Newman 2000, 32–​49. Lambton 1981, 263.

138  The Formative Period of Shīʿism transformation in Shīʿī thought. In other words, this proximity did not mean that Shīʿī scholars had abandoned the idea that the twelfth Imām was the sole legitimate ruler. In the same way that during the formative period, people such as Shaykh al-​Mufīd and al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā became close to the Būyid rulers and even the caliphate apparatus, scholars such as ʿAlāma Majlesī, al-​Ḥurr al-​ ʿĀmilī, Shaykh Bahāʿī, and al-​Muḥaḳḳiḳ al-​Karakī attended the Ṣafawid court in the context of discussions about how to deal with a usurper. Hence, throughout the centuries, Shīʿī scholars’ approaching or distancing themselves from the government apparatus had nothing to do with their belief or lack of belief in the legitimacy of any particular ruler but was related rather to their views about the scope of authority and responsibilities of the ʿulamāʾ. The key questions in this regard were to what extent the ʿulamāʾ were responsible for implementing Islamic rulings and what tools and facilities they could use to do so. None of the scholars of the period of the consolidation and completion of Shīʿism suggested that taking over the government was a tool that Shīʿī scholars could use or had the religious duty to use to gain power and implement Islamic rulings from the position of sovereign. This was something that happened much later, in both theory and practice; it occurred for the first time in the second half of the twentieth century through the thought and actions of Ayatollah Khomeini.

Rebellion against the Usurper There is other evidence in the writings of the thinkers of the Age of Perplexity demonstrating their mindset toward the matter of who was authorized to form an Islamic government. As there was a political system in place at the time in question, any thinking about establishing a Shīʿī ideal political order would have had to include a strategy for the disruption of that political order and its replacement with the Shīʿī political order. If Shīʿī thinkers had intended to establish a government, they would have needed to overthrow and revolt against the ʿAbbāsid caliphate. However, in the writings of the thinkers of this period, any form of rebellion against the government apparatus is usually forbidden. As discussed in detail in ­chapter 1, none of the infallible Imāms except Imām Ḥusayn launched a revolt against the Sunnī caliph. Moreover, during the lifetimes of all the infallible Imāms after Imām Ḥusayn, many revolts broke out—​including revolts instigated by relatives of the infallible Imām of the time—​but the Imāms did not support and in most cases actively opposed them. In the era of Shīʿism’s consolidation, as in the period of the Minor Occultation, Twelver Shīʿī leaders made no move to disrupt the established political order. Their writings also generally reflected the thinking that overthrowing the political system was not an option.

The Major Occultation  139 In Shīʿī political thought, the subject of revolt has been discussed under the heading of “baghy and insurgency,” an expression with largely negative connotations used to describe a rebellion against an infallible Imām.53 The short reign of the first Imām was witness to several revolts against Imām ʿAlī, and these rebellions provided a great deal of raw material that shaped the infallible Imāms and their jurist followers’ criticisms of the insurgents into a rich legacy. The divisions that took place in several periods of moderate Shīʿism’s history added to the complexity of the debate. In contemporary history, some of the measures taken by Iranian leaders against their opponents are justified from a jurisprudential point of view in the context of the right to counter an insurgency against the legitimate government.54 As such, the concepts of “baghy and insurgency” have had negative and criminal connotations throughout Shīʿī history. This is despite the fact that it is generally stated in Shīʿī writings that in contrast with the Sunnīs, Shīʿa believe in the right to revolt against the usurper. This statement is more of meta-​theoretical claim than a call to action, and as I will discuss further below, it has not led to any recommendation that Shīʿa rebel against the usurper, neither in the sphere of action nor in political thought; Shīʿī thinkers generally do not permit rebellion at all. Of course, Shīʿī thinkers are not alone in this view, and while it may seem strange in the context of contemporary political sensibilities, the prohibition of rebellion against the ruler has a long history, not only in Islam but also in Christian Western history.55 A ḥadīth from Prophet Mohammad has been widely used among the Sunnīs in this regard: Narrated Ibn ‘Abbas: The Prophet said, “Whoever disapproves of something done by his (Muslim) ruler then he should be patient, for whoever disobeys, (disunites and goes away from his) Muslim ruler even for a span will die as those who died in the Pre-​Islamic Period of Ignorance (i.e., as rebellious sinners).”56

53 Rahiminezhad and Safarkhani 2014. 54 For a discussion of these complexities, as well as how Imām ʿAlī and other Imāms dealt with those who opposed them, see Purhussein 2012; Ayati 2009; Hasanzadeh 2013. In 2013, for the first time in the Iranian legal system, baghy was listed as a criminal offense in the Islamic penal code. On the use of this concept by Iranian leaders to confront their opponents, see Mohammadi and Alipour 2012; Mirkhalili, Kalantari-​Khaliliabadi, and Nazari-​Nadoushan 2016; Aghababaei 2016; Khazaeli 2019. 55 In Western history, there are also people such as Jean Bodin (1529/​30–​1596) and Jacques-​ Bénigne Bossuet (1627–​1704) who considered rebellion against the king unacceptable. For example, Bodin writes: “But if the prince is an absolute sovereign, as are the true kings of France, Spain, England, Scotland, Ethiopia, Turkey, Persia, and Muscovy, whose authority is unquestionably their own, and not shared with any of their subjects, then it is in no circumstances permissible either by any of their subjects in particular, or all in general, to attempt anything against the life and honour of their king, either by process of law or force of arms, even though he has committed all the evil, impious, and cruel deeds imaginable” (Bodin 2009 [1576], 67). For Bossuet’s views in this regard, see Bossuet and Riley 1990 [1709]. 56 Al-​Bukhari 1997b, 92.

140  The Formative Period of Shīʿism In addition, several other ḥadīths recommend that people learn to live with the ruler and even the usurper.57 According to these narrations, some Sunnī scholars have gone so far as to explicitly forbid opposition to the ruler, even if he is an oppressor, claiming that there is consensus among Muslim thinkers on this issue. For example, Abū Zakariyyā Yaḥyā b. Sharaf al-​Nawawī wrote the following commentary about a ḥadīth quoted from the Prophet in Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim: The meaning of the ḥadīth is that you should not argue with the governors and rulers in matters related to the government and do not protest to them unless they do something unacceptable and repute the rules of Islam, in which case condemn that action and chastise them by speaking the truth, but refusing to maintain allegiance to and fighting them is forbidden in accordance with consensus among Muslims, even if they are wicked oppressors. In this regard, there are many narrations and the Sunnīs have reached a consensus that the sulṭān will not be removed for becoming corrupt, and the reasons given by some Sunnī scholars—​the Muʿtazilites—​about the possibility of removing the ruler is a wrong view and contrary to the general consensus.58

Of course, al-​Nawawī’s claim of consensus is not correct, and there are many Sunnī thinkers who have not prohibited rebellion against the ruler. A prominent example in this regard is Abū Ḥanīfa al-​Nuʿmān b. Thābit b. Zūṭā al-​Fārisī, the eponym of the Ḥanafī law school, who not only maintained his own distance from the caliphate but also supported some uprisings, including the ʿAlid uprisings against the Umayyad and ʿAbbāsid caliphs.59 Shīʿī scholarly heritage contains sufficient material to both endorse and forbid rebellion. On the one hand, a discourse has emerged in Shīʿī literature that refers to the experience of the ʿĀshūrāʾ uprising as a pretext for presenting Shīʿism as the religion of struggle and resistance against the oppressive unjust ruler. In many Shīʿī writings on the subject of rebellion against the usurper, it is claimed that, unlike those of the Sunnīs, Shīʿī teachings do not call for compromise with a usurper.60 In such writings, the centrality and importance of justice in Shīʿism are usually mentioned. But on the other hand, contrary to the action of Imām Ḥusayn, most of the infallible Imāms did not revolt against the Umayyad and ʿAbbāsid caliphs, did not support the revolts of their times, and in most cases even considered the revolts of their times to be futile and useless.61 For a considerable part of early Shīʿī history, the matter of revolt against the Sunnī 57 Mirali 2012. 58 Al-​Nawawī 1972, 229. For more discussion on the opinions of Sunnī scholars about refusing to maintain allegiance to an oppressive or corrupt ruler, see Asefi 2011; Mirali 2012; Mirali 2017. 59 Rastegar 2007; Falah and Alikhani 2011, 53–​82; Bahramian and Taftian 2016. 60 Mirali 2014; Elham, Bahiraie, and Farajpour 2018, 16–​20. 61 Ahmadi-​Taleshian and Shirkhani 2016.

The Major Occultation  141 ruler—​who was seen as usurping the right of the infallible Imāms to rule—​was referred to as a promise to be fulfilled with the savior’s uprising. There are many ḥadīths in the literature produced in the first centuries of Shīʿī history that forbid any uprising prior to the return of the twelfth Imām. For example, in the introduction of al-​Ṣaḥīfah al-​sajjādīyah, a ḥadīth attributed to Imām al-​Ṣādiq is quoted as saying: “Before the rise of our Qa’im not one of us Folk of the House has revolted or will revolt to repel an injustice or to raise up a right, without affliction uprooting him and without his uprising increasing the adversity of us and our partisans.”62 In another ḥadīth, Imām Bāqir forbids one of his followers to join anyone carrying out an uprising before the coming of the Mahdī: Abul Jarood had said: “I said to Abu Ja’far al-​Baqir (a.s.): Please, advise me!” He said: “I advise you to fear Allah, to stay at home and to be away from these masses of people. Beware of the Kharijites because they are not on the straight path nor will they get to a pleasant end. Know that the Umayyads have a strong rule that people cannot stand against. Know that the faithful people will have a state. If that happens, Allah will entrust one of us with it. If anyone of you lives until that time, he will be with us in the highest position (of Paradise), . . . . Know that no group rising to resist oppression or to defend faith unless death is the end until a group, that has fought with the Prophet (S) in the battle of Badr and whose killed ones are not buried, whose felled ones are not lifted and whose wounded ones are not cured, rises.”63

Therefore, the infallible Imāms displayed no single pattern of conduct in relation to revolt against the ruler. While Imām Ḥusayn rebelled himself, the other Imāms after him, given the circumstances of their own times, generally opposed rebellion. In addition to inconsistencies in the practice of the infallible Imāms, Shīʿī intellectual principles also reveal an internal contradiction in relation to this issue.

Shīʿism: A Religion of Resistance? The Shīʿa claim that theirs is a religion of justice and that its followers have been invited to speak out in the face of oppression. Also, as has been emphasized

62 Imam Zain ul Abideen 1988, 40. 63 Al-​Nu’mani 2003 [953], 192. There are extensive ḥadīths and discussions related to the prohibition of carrying out an uprising before that of the twelfth Imām. For further discussion of these ḥadīths, see, for example, Nasiri 2019, 201–​228.

142  The Formative Period of Shīʿism many times, Shīʿa believe that only a divinely appointed ruler is legitimate and all others are usurpers. A rational and reasoned analysis of the combination of these two Shīʿī beliefs leads to the expectation that Shīʿī history should have been full of uprisings by Shīʿa trying to overthrow usurpers and establish legitimate governments. However, neither the lived history of the Shīʿa nor the political thought of Shīʿī scholars meets this expectation. In relation to various governments throughout history, the Shīʿī political environment has generally been peaceful and free from attempts to overthrow and replace the ruling political system. In the field of political thought, too, the logical conclusion posited above is not reflected in the writings of Shīʿī thinkers. In general, the writings of Shīʿī thinkers until the time of Khomeini do not devote any section to the need to overthrow existing governments on the basis of their being led by usurpers. As stated earlier, the topic of how to cooperate with the ruler of the day is clearly discussed in the writings of the thinkers of Shīʿīsm’s Age of Perplexity. A telling example is al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā’s independent treatise on this subject, which, like his other writings, lacks a section on overthrowing and replacing the political system of the Sunnī caliphate through insurgency or any other means. One may speculate that this contradiction in the Shīʿī modus operandi can be explained in one of two ways. The concept of taḳiyya (dissimulation) has been widely used in Shīʿī writings to justify inconsistency in the behaviors of the Imāms as well as respected Shīʿī leaders throughout history in relation to fundamental Shīʿī principles. Taḳiyya means refraining from expressing, concealing, or even acting in conflict with one’s true opinion in order to avoid the possibility of loss of life or property. With reference to the principle of taḳiyya, one may suggest that the Shīʿa have always believed in confrontation and rebellion against usurpers but avoided enacting it throughout history to prevent potential harm. This may be sufficient to explain the lack of practical action by the Shīʿa, but it does not seem to fully justify why there is no such discussion in the writings of Shīʿī thinkers. It is difficult to claim that Shīʿī thinkers have spent their well more than one thousand years of history in constant fear for their lives and property and thus have never been able to mention the issue of overthrowing political systems and replacing them with religiously legitimate ones in their writings. The second explanation, which is more convincing and supports the key argument of this book, is that despite believing in these two principles (i.e., Shīʿism is a religion of resistance against the usurpers, and all rulers are usurpers), Shīʿa have not revolted against usurpers because they have ruled out the possibility of establishing a legitimate government. In other words, they have not viewed the realization of justice in the field of governance as a component of their religious duties and authority because a legitimate government can only be brought about by the twelfth Imām. Therefore, engaging in debate about insurrection and

The Major Occultation  143 rebellion is unnecessary, as the result of such action would only be the replacement of one illegitimate system with another. Another issue related to action against the usurper is the issue of enjoining good and forbidding evil. The key question in this regard is to what extent and by what means is the believer obliged to demand that the ruler do good and reproach him for doing wrong. In this case, too, plurality can be seen in the views of Shīʿī thinkers, but none has recommended armed or any other action aimed at ousting the ruler. Shīʿī thinkers consider various stages for enjoining good and forbidding evil, the first stage relating to the heart and the second to the tongue. The higher stages of enjoining good and forbidding evil are the use of one’s hands and even weapons, which in practice allows for violence and force in the course of enjoining good and condemning evil. Most Shīʿī thinkers are very cautious about the third stage and consider it especially necessary to ensure that this stage does not lead to societal chaos. Among the thinkers of the period of Shīʿism’s consolidation and completion, Shaykh al-​Mufīd is especially cautious and even considers that the second (verbal) stage be subject to a series of conditions, including that (a) enjoinment or condemnation must be addressed to someone who cannot distinguish good from evil, and (b) there must be a high level of certainty that the making of a statement is expedient. Shaykh al-​Mufīd considers physical action to enjoin good and condemn evil as falling exclusively within the powers of the infallible Imām or someone assisting or given permission by the Imām.64 Ensuring that enjoining good and forbidding evil does not cause any loss of life or property is also an important feature of the views of Shīʿī thinkers on the issue. As Mohammad Soroush-​Mahallati puts it: “Imāmi jurisprudential opinions . . . regarding enjoining good and forbidding evil, by positing the condition of ‘no risk to life or property,’ have prevented any dangerous action against usurping sultans and oppressive rulers.”65 Soroush-​Mahallati continues that each of the three shaykhs66 of the ḥadīths quote a ḥadīth narrated by Yaḥyā al-​Ṭawīl in their books which promotes the idea that the scope of enjoining good and condemning evil does not extend to rulers. The relevant ḥadīth says: Imām al-​Ṣādiq (a.s.) said: It is no other than this that a person of faith, who is subject to being enjoined to good and condemned for evil is affected by it, or that an ignorant person becomes wise in its light, but the owner of the sword

64 Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1993b, 119. 65 Soroush-​Mahallati 2002, 96. 66 It has already been mentioned that the Shīʿa have four fundamental ḥadīth collections known as al-​Kutub al-​ʾarbaʿa. These four books were compiled by three thinkers of the formative period of Shīʿism (Shaykh al-​Kulaynī, Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, and Shaykh al-​Tūsī), who are called the three shaykhs.

144  The Formative Period of Shīʿism and the whip [the oppressive ruler] is not enjoined to good and condemned for wrong.67

In addition to the terms and conditions of enjoining good and forbidding evil, none of the founding scholars of Shīʿism said that the purpose of such action could be the establishment of a religiously legitimate government. Shaykh al-​ Tūsī, who in at least one case allows the carrying of weapons in defense against evil should it arise, makes no mention of enjoining good and condemning evil with the aim of replacing the usurper with a just and legitimate ruler.68 In sum, neither the principle of enjoining good and condemning evil nor the Shīʿī commitment to justice and the countering of tyranny and oppression led to permission or any recommendation to rebel against the usurper, overthrow the illegitimate political order, and replace it with a just and legitimate government. As mentioned earlier, it seems that a plausible explanation for this is that Shīʿī thinkers considered the formation of a just and legitimate government to be possible only in the presence of the twelfth Imām and under his leadership, as such not seeing any benefit in revolting against the usurper because no revolt aside from that of the twelfth Imām himself could lead to the formation of a religiously legitimate government. Therefore, it can be said from the point of view of Shīʿī orthodoxy that with the 1979 Revolution and formation of the Islamic Republic, one oppressive system was effectively replaced by another. The lack of theoretical conceptualization and any practical effort to overthrow an illegitimate government and found a just replacement was not limited to the period of perplexity and consolidation in the fourth and fifth/​tenth and eleventh centuries. Throughout Shīʿī history until the advent of Khomeini, there is evidence that the practical context and theoretical debates of Shīʿī thinkers and leaders lacked (a) any advice or practical steps to overthrow the established political system and (b) any portrayal of a desired political system without the presence of the twelfth Imām. Of course, I must admit that this claim requires closer analysis, at least in relation to certain chapters of Shīʿī political history, such as the Ṣafawid period (1501–​1736), the Constitutional Revolution (1905–​1911), and the Iraqi revolt of 1920, and the role and participation of Shīʿī scholars in these political developments. An examination of each of these chapters of Shīʿī history requires extensive study that falls outside the framework of this book. In another work, I discuss the experience of the Constitutional Revolution, in particular the theological logic of Shīʿī scholars in supporting the parliamentary system. The relevant chapter focuses on the thought and action of Ākhūnd Khurāsānī (1839–​ 1911) and demonstrates that by participating in the Constitutional Revolution,

67 68

Shaykh al-​Sadūq 1997, 57. Tūsī n.d., 549.

The Major Occultation  145 he did not seek the establishment of a legitimate Islamic state from the Shīʿī point of view, and in his view, “as long as the hidden Imām has yet to return to Earth, the establishment of an Islamic state is impossible.”69 The present book claims that theocratic secularism can be used as a conceptual tool to describe the Constitutional Revolution as well as other important chapters in Shīʿī history. While the scope of this book does not encompass a detailed examination of these important periods of Shīʿī history, I hope it will be possible for me or another scholar to address this lacuna in future. The goal for the remainder of this book is to prove that Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was formulated in direct contradiction to the thought system of Shīʿī theology that was consolidated and completed in the fourth and fifth/​tenth and eleventh centuries. I will argue that the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh is inconsistent with the foundations of Shīʿī political theology discussed so far in this book and at the time of its formulation in the early 1970s was an anomalous blot on Shīʿī orthodox tradition. Today, after more than forty years and widespread government support for this doctrine, it is safe to say that wilāyat-​i faqīh has not been established as part of the Shīʿī belief system. In ­chapter 5, using the metaphor of genetic mutation, I will try to show that this doctrine was the product of the revolutionary political and intellectual atmosphere of the second half of the twentieth century and that in relation to the Shīʿī orthodox tradition, it was eccentric in essence.



69

Ghobadzadeh 2018, 77.

PART II

T HE C ON T INGE NT R I SE OF GOV E R N ME N TA L SH ĪʿI SM

5

The Political Germination of a Religious Doctrine The conceptual foundation of governmental Shīʿism, that is, the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, was initially articulated in the Najaf seminary in 1970. Its architect, Ayatollah Khomeini, held the highest religious position in the unstructured Shīʿī system, a model for emulation (marjaʿ-​i taqlīd).1 He utilized his position as an instructor of advanced classes (dars-​i khārij)—​the highest Shīʿī scholarly platform—​to disseminate the substance of his doctrine, the religiosity of which was evident in its countless number of references to the Qurʾān, the ḥadīths, and the history of Islam. The birth of his doctrine can be considered analogous to that of a child who, sometime in the 1970s, was born into the most prestigious religious establishment of the Shīʿī world, sired by a father who, more than anything else, was “a man of the cloth.” While at first glance, the child looked like a normal offspring of the seminary, despite all appearances, he was eccentric in essence. One could be forgiven for suggesting that the child was the result of a genetic mutation. The specific allelomorph altered during this metaphorical mutation was the determiner of political theology. One can identify the dominant political theology allelomorph in the Shīʿī orthodox practice of maintaining distance from the state apparatus. In governmental Shīʿism, the opposing trait of the allelomorph appeared, and possession of the state apparatus became dominant. While genetic mutation occurs frequently, the phenotype’s chance of survival depends on conducive environmental conditions. To continue with this analogical analysis, one could suggest that somewhat similar mutations had occurred when Mullāh Ahmad Narāghī (1715–​1765) and Muḥammad Ḥusayn Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʾ (1877–​1954) recommended the expansion of the jurists’ authority in the late eighteenth and early twentieth centuries. However, those mutant phenotypes failed to survive due to the lack of a conducive environment in either 1 Marjaʿ-​i taqlīd refers to a person who has reached the highest-​ranking authority and also the highest scholarly level in the Twelver Shīʿī community. The decrees issued by those who have reached this level serve as a guide for the masses who are unable to exercise independent reasoning (ijtihād). In this book, I use the shorter form, marjaʿ, as it is customarily used in everyday conversation. Its plural form is marājaʿ (with an “ā” after the “r”). There is no structured institution to accommodate the authorities of the Shīʿī community, but when referring to the collective entity of marājaʿ, the notion of marjaʿiyyat is customarily used. Marjaʿiyyat refers both to the position and also to the fluid and unstructured institution. Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0006

150  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism period. Apropos of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, one may suggest that the revolutionary conditions that prevailed during the 1970s, followed by the triumph of the clerical Islamists in the 1979 Revolution, combined to create an environment conducive to enabling the mutant allelomorph not only to survive but also to reproduce rapidly and thrive. Buoyed by his access to political power and to the financial resources of the state, the child returned to his birthplace, the seminary, committed to transforming its internal dynamic and to converting its members. In support of its aim to explicate the details of this conceptual mutation, this chapter offers a critical reading of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. I argue that despite its components and its appearance, the substance of this doctrine was a clumsy and ill-​fitting patch on its fountainhead, that is, centuries-​old Shīʿī tradition and its theological foundation. The chapter will begin by suggesting that rather than purely a theological exploration, the political conditions of the time led to the articulation of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Interrogation of the rational core of the doctrine and of the references, evidence, and nodal points that Khomeini employed to develop it will reveal that this conceptual fabrication was influenced by its lack of vital connections to (a) the Shīʿī tradition and (b) the works/​thought of Khomeini’s predecessors and contemporaneous peers. The last part of the chapter will illustrate that circulation of the doctrine failed to provoke any scholarly reaction in the Shīʿī seminary until the 1980s. During that decade, clerical Islamists used their political and financial leverage to reify the doctrine’s place in the seminary’s scholastic and public life. In light of this proposition, one may conclude that neither transformation within the Shīʿī seminary nor transformation of the masses’ belief system gave birth to governmental Shīʿism. The reality was that when the clerical Islamists seized power, they began a crusade of ecclesial transformation in an attempt to concretize state-​centered theology in the Shīʿī belief system.

The Doctrine of Wilāyat-​i Faqīh: A Clean Break Khomeini explicated the theoretical foundation of governmental Shīʿism in his book titled Islamic Governance,2 a work in which he articulated the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh (guardianship of the jurist). There is a sizable corpus of 2 Khomeini 2005 [1970]. This book, which has been reprinted under various titles, was originally published as a pamphlet in 1970 in Najaf, Iraq. It contains transcriptions of thirteen lectures that Khomeini gave between January 21 and February 9, 1970, while he was in exile in Najaf. First published in book format in Beirut, Lebanon, in 1970, it was later smuggled into Iran. In 1976, the book was published in Iran under the title “A Letter from Imām Mūsawī Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʾ.” In addition to this book, Khomeini also discussed the doctrine in detail in one of his important jurisprudential writings titled Kitāb al-​bayʿ (Khomeini 1984). The main themes of both works are similar; there is no significant difference in the arguments and overall content.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  151 literature on Khomeini and his doctrine,3 so there is little value in duplicating it here. In this section, I address the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh but not what the doctrine is and what role it plays in Iran’s political structure and practice. Rather, I approach it from a fresh perspective, my aim being to illustrate specifically (a) the context within which the doctrine was conceptualized, (b) the methodology and resources its architect employed to develop it, (c) its deviation from or conformity with the works of his predecessors and time-​honored scholarship, and (d) its reception by—​and credibility established within—​the Shīʿī scholastic circle, not only at the time of its inception in the 1970s but also in later years. These illustrations support my assessment of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, which is that it evinces significant shortcomings when assessed from a Shīʿī scholarly perspective. This explains why it did not provoke scholastic debate in the Shīʿī seminary until it became incorporated into the state apparatus in 1979. As is evident from its title, the doctrine urges leadership of the state apparatus by a Shīʿī jurist. At the time of its inception, the doctrine represented a clean theoretical break not only with centuries-​old Shīʿī tradition but also with Khomeini’s own earlier politico-​religious thought. From the 1940s onward,4 Khomeini openly expressed his support for a proactive and forceful role for clerics in the country’s political administration. However, until 1962, he remained loyal to Shīʿī orthodoxy, according to which there is strict segregation of jurist-​ship and kingship.5 In his earlier writings, he overtly conceded that jurists do not exercise a claim on kingship: “So far no jurist has said or written in a book that we [jurists] should be kings or that governance is their [jurists’] right.”6 Khomeini’s initial views may be a reflection of the socio-​historical context of the time, something Foucault discusses in his characterization of discourse. Foucault invites us not to

3 There are countless publications delineating the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Whereas some elaborate on details of the doctrine (Ghamari-​Tabrizi 2014; Mavani 2011; Mesbah-​Yazdi 1999; Kadivar 1999; Javadi-​e Amoli 2002; Salehi-​Najafabadi 1984; Pirouzmand 2013), others track the existence (or lack thereof) of the notion among the jurists of antiquity (Karbalaie 2001; Sultan-​Mohammadi 2001; Borji 2006; Kadivar 1997; Mazinani 1994; Dabashi 1989). Others focus on tracing its development and changes (Amanat 2003; Moussavi 1992; Milani 1992b; Mavani 2011). Exploration has also been undertaken of the doctrine’s role in Iran’s political system and practice (Shevlin 1998; Milani 1992b; Yasuyuki 2009; Milani 1992a); some explore its reach to other parts of the Muslim world (Mneimneh 2009). Other works compare wilāyat-​i faqīh to theories proposed by other contemporary jurists (Khoei 1998; Sistani 2005; Mazinani 1994; Gleave 2007b; Rahimi 2012). 4 There are some reports indicating Khomeini’s political sensitivity far earlier, during the reign of Reza Shah Pahlavi (r. 1925–​1941). For example, Rasul Ja’fariyan describes a letter written by Khomeini in May 1944 in which he reminds clerics of their religious responsibilities and urges them to revolt against Reza Shah (Ja’fariyan 2001). There is no report of Khomeini’s own personal political activities during Reza Shah Pahlavi’s reign, during which a rigid top-​down secularization program was implemented. 5 Ghamari-​Tabrizi 2014. 6 Khomeini 1944, 186.

152  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism mistake discourse “as a phenomenon of expression—​the verbal translation of a previously established synthesis”; rather, he proposes the study of discourses in their socio-​historical context: “discourse is not the majestically unfolding manifestation of a thinking, knowing, speaking subject, but, on the contrary, a totality, in which the dispersion of the subject and his discontinuity with himself may be determined.”7 The Foucauldian conception of discourse may explain the evolution of Khomeini’s politico-​religious thought. Khomeini neither started his political life with a theological/​jurisprudential blueprint nor evinced any intention of replacing the monarchical system with an Islamic state.8 He advocated policy change and observation of Islamic teachings by the government for almost a decade.9 Rigid suppression by the state, which eventually resulted in his arrest and exile in November 1964, dashed Khomeini’s every hope of introducing change by reforming the country’s political process. In effect, this suppression further reified his hostility toward the entire monarchical system. In other words, it was not his initial reading of religious scriptures that convinced Khomeini to reject the monarchical system. Instead, the reality of his political lived experience convinced him he should declare the monarchical system incompatible with Islam. Thus, neither theological explorations nor intellectual developments within the seminary were among the initial motivating factors that prompted the articulation of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Rather, the origins of the doctrine were rooted in the political developments that urged Khomeini to eschew Shīʿī orthodoxy, although he was the only high-​ranking jurist to respond to these developments by contemplating the notion of a faqīh-​headed state.

7 Foucault 1972, 55. 8 Mahdavi 2013; Goudarzi, Jawan, and Ahmad 2009. 9 Zibakalam 2014. Khomeini’s writings from the early 1940s show that he had strong and clear views about the political engagement of clerics. However, in the years preceding the 1960s, he virtually eschewed politics. He neither initiated any political movement in the 1940s and 1950s nor publicly sided with those clerics who were engaged in political activity. Algar suggests that Khomeini eschewed politics at the time out of respect for Ayatollah Borujerdi, who was then the patriarch of the Qum seminary and had a strong detached approach to politics. Algar argues that solidarity within the religious establishment was very important to Khomeini, and for this reason, he did not want to be seen as a dissenting voice within the religious hierarchy (Algar 1988, 279–​280). Furthermore, throughout his life, Khomeini proved to be politically shrewd, and his detached approach at this time could be viewed as a political calculation. One may speculate that he learned a lesson from the experiences of other politically active clerics who were sidelined from the mainstream of the seminary by Borujerdi. He knew that any active political discourse stood little chance of becoming effective within the religious strata as long as Borujerdi and his disengaged discourse prevailed. Both of the above-​mentioned explanations are supported by the fact that the demise of Borujerdi in 1961 marked a shift in Khomeini’s politico-​religious life (Harmon 2005, 37). While there was no single prominent religious leader within Iran’s Shīʿī strata after Borujerdi, Khomeini’s political engagement from the early 1960s onward not only made him an important political figure but also established his position as a prominent religious leader.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  153

Rational Kernel of a Religious Doctrine The doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh is articulated based on the assertion that it is incumbent on jurists to assume the executive leadership of government. Khomeini claimed that if a jurist has the capability to establish an Islamic state, it is personally incumbent on him to observe his religious duty (wājib ʿaynī)10 to do so. Otherwise, it is the collective obligation (wājib kifāʿī) of all jurists, which means that all jurists are religiously responsible. Thus, as long as the task is not fulfilled, they are all committing a sin, that is, not fulfilling their religious duty.11 In the language of discourse analysis, this is a crucial nodal point of governmental Shīʿism that stands in direct contrast with the underlying premise of Shīʿī orthodoxy, according to which the occupation of the position of rulership impinges on the right of the twelfth infallible Imām. As was discussed in detail in the first half of this book, Shīʿī political theology evolved in the early centuries of Islamic history based on the premise that rulership must be preserved exclusively for the twelfth Imām. Belief in the proposition that the twelfth Imām has the exclusive right to rulership, as well as forming the political theology of Shīʿī Islam, became a defining feature of Shīʿī identity in its totality. Thus, it should come as no surprise that this notion informed the writings and deeds of the vast majority of Shīʿī scholars and leaders throughout history until the 1970s, when Khomeini initiated his somewhat daring theoretical innovation. This is why Khomeini’s argument includes very few references to the works and/​or practices of his predecessors. For the most part, he draws on original sources and early Islamic history, such as the governance of Prophet Mohammad (622–​632/​1–​11) and Imām ʿAlī (656–​661/​35–​40), to support his articulation of the notion of Islamic governance. However, given the time-​honored tradition and theological foundation of Shīʿism, he could not make a case for the statesmanship of jurists by referring solely to the scriptures or to two exceptional cases of governance by Shīʿī sacred personages. This is why Khomeini frequently resorts to analytical reasoning in his argument in support of wilāyat-​i faqīh. To be more precise, one may argue that in the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, reasoning and rationality are the glue that binds religious scriptures with tradition or, and perhaps more effectively, with the sociopolitical and economic circumstances of the time. I use the phrase “more effectively” because Khomeini’s success in linking some religious scriptures and traditions with the extant circumstances 10 Wājib ʿaynī are those obligatory acts with which every individual Muslim is charged, for example, daily prayers and fasting during the month of Ramaḍān. But wājib kifāʿī remains a collective obligation of the general Muslim populace, that is, until it is performed by one (or a few) among them, thus relieving the remainder of the obligation. The term wājib is synonymous with farḍ (Motahhari 2010, 67; Esposito 2003, 82). 11 Khomeini 1981, 64.

154  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism on the ground was a key factor in his ability to be accepted by both the masses and the country’s elites. Khomeini adhered to a school of thought in Shīʿism known as the “rationalists” (the Uṣūlī school), which stands in direct opposition to textualism (the Akhbārī school). Akhbārīs do not consider intellect trustworthy. They maintain that whenever an act is not explicitly permitted in the scriptures, one should refrain from performing it by way of precaution (iḥtīyāṭ) to avoid the possibility of committing a sin.12 In the jurisprudential lexicon, this approach is encapsulated in the notion of iṣāla al-​ḥaẓar, that is, to vehemently deny the acceptability of any extrapolation from the canonical sources.13 In contrast, Uṣūlīs believe in iṣāla al-​ibāḥa, which maintains that whenever access to a “definite ruling” proves impossible, ruling based on conjecture (ẓann) is permissible. Thus, Uṣūlīs contend that any act should be presumed to be permissible except when there is a definite religious ruling against it. As Hamid Enayat observes, the Uṣūlī approach “allows wide scope for juridical innovations through their belief in the validity of ‘probable knowledge’ to deduce canonical rules.”14 In other words, while Akhbārīs will forbid a given act due to the possibility of committing a sin, Uṣūlīs allow intellect to make the decision when the search for a possible religious ruling in the scriptures ends in conjecture.15 This does not presume that in the Uṣūlī school there is no need to refer to the scriptures and/​or works of one’s predecessors. Rather, reasoning serves as the cement that binds the various pieces of scripture together and evaluates them in relation to the pertinent issue/​situation in an effort to extract new religious rulings. In essence, this is the underlying rationale of ijtihād, which is a defining feature of the Uṣūlī school. The Akhbārī school opposes the concept of ijtihād.16 In accordance with Uṣūlī methodology, reasoning is the underlying thread that links parts of the scriptures17 with the circumstances of the time in the articulation of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. However, as will be fleshed out in the 12 Enayat 1982, 168. 13 Motahhari quoted in Dabashi 1993. 14 Enayat 1982, 168. 15 For a detailed discussion of the Uṣūlī–​Akhbārī dispute and their differences, see Al-​e Ghafur 2007, 166–​170; Cole 1985; Enayat 1982; Gleave 2007c; Nasr, Hamid, and Nasr 1989, 281–​286; Newman 1992; Tabatabaei 2005; Gleave 2007a; Bayat and Moussavi 1989. A historiographical account of the rivalry between the proponents of the two schools can be found in Cole 2002, 31–​77; Heern 2015; Algar 2007. From the early nineteenth century, the Akhbārī school lost its position of prominence; however, it has not been completely obliterated. For example, two modern versions of the anti-​rational trend in contemporary Shīʿī thought include the Tafkīkī school and the Hujjatīya Society. For further discussion about these schools of thought, see Paya 2016; Cohen 2013; Vali and Zubaida 1985; Mousavi 2004. 16 Takim 2016; Bayat and Moussavi 1989; Gleave 2007c; Moussavi 1985. 17 Apropos of the term “scriptures” in this book, I specifically refer to the Shīʿī scriptures which, in addition to the Qurʾān and prophetic ḥadīth, also include ḥadīths from infallible Imāms. The sayings and deeds of the infallibles are considered sacred and authoritative by Shīʿa.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  155 following two sections, Khomeini went far beyond the boundaries of reasoning and rationality that had been customarily applied by both his predecessors and his contemporary peers. Succinctly depicting the present situation as deplorable, Khomeini reasoned that neglect of the teachings of Islam was the main reason for the troubled circumstances. One may, perhaps, agree with him about the dire nature of the situation and also about the negligence of Islamic teachings at the time. However, the establishment of causality between these two discrete elements was a result of articulatory relations, to use the language of discourse analysis, undertaken by Khomeini. He argued that as the perceived final religion, Islam offered comprehensive guidance for both individual and collective social life. Thus, he maintained, it was the perfect source from which to seek solutions to the problems that confronted Muslims in general. Furthermore, he claimed that given that the faithful should resort to Islamic sources, it seemed reasonable to suggest that jurists should be in charge, because they are the finest exponents of religion and thus representative of the best of Islam. Later, after assuming power, Khomeini gained a reputation for ignoring and violating religious principles. This was indisputable fact, not simply an accusation leveled at him by his opponents. In the post-​Revolution era, two key notions became popularized in the country’s politico-​religious lexicon: “dynamic ijtihād” (ijtihād-​i pūyā) and “expediency jurisprudence” (fiqh al-​maslaḥa). Both notions have played a decisive role in the country’s politico-​legislative process. According to dynamic ijtihād, the effects of time and place should be taken into consideration when contemplating jurisprudence. Dynamic ijtihād permits the departure from the rulings of one’s predecessors. This does not suggest that in the past Shīʿī jurisprudence was static and that the requirements of time and place had no role. Rather, the question is more about the scope and scale of alteration and innovation that are acceptable within the long-​established framework of jurisprudential tradition. While in control of the country, the clerics were confronted by a series of impasses which arose because of the unprecedented array of issues they had to deal with. These impasses pressed for rapid and radical change in religious rulings, justification for which was offered under the banner of dynamic ijtihād. While the latter is discussed and employed more in the religious sphere, “expediency jurisprudence” is specific to conceptualizing a practice in the political context. In effect, it was introduced in response to a political predicament. Dynamic ijtihād permits divergence from the edicts and rulings proposed by one’s predecessors; expediency jurisprudence permits the sidelining of the basic principles of religion. As Khomeini unequivocally stated: Governance demarcates a part of the absolute vice-​regency of the Prophet of God, and is one of the primary injunctions of Islam and has priority over all other secondary injunctions, even prayer, fasting, and the hajj. The ruler may

156  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism demolish a mosque or a home to build a road and compensate the owner for his house; the ruler may shut the doors of mosques if necessary, and demolish a mosque that is the source of harm; the state may unilaterally annul religiously sanctioned [shar’i] contracts with people, if it discerns that the contract threatens the interests [maslahat] of the country and Islam. The state may temporarily suspend any religious matter, of prayer or otherwise, if it deems the practice contrary to the interests of Islam; the state may temporarily prevent hajj, which is one of the most important Divine responsibilities, if it is deemed contrary to the interests of the country.18

The notion of expediency jurisprudence led to the creation of a new institution, the Expediency Discernment Council, within the political structure of the Islamic Republic. The council is authorized to endorse legislation that violates both religious principles and the constitution. Interrogation of the details of dynamic ijtihād and expediency jurisprudence—​and their usage by the ruling clergy of Iran—​falls beyond the scope of this chapter.19 That notwithstanding, the point to make here is that Khomeini’s deviation from Shīʿī orthodoxy became particularly evident when he was acting as the head of the state apparatus; however, this process had started somewhat earlier, in his initial conceptualization of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. This is not to suggest that from the outset he advocated the possibility of ignoring and/​or violating religious principles. Rather, inordinate use of rationality and loose interpretation of religious scripture—​in the interests of establishing a politically motivated religious ruling—​were key features of his doctrine which paved the way for the future conceptualization of notions including “expediency jurisprudence” and “dynamic ijtihād.” This inordinate use of rationality is particularly evident in the argument he formulated to link the sociopolitical aspects of religion to the need to establish a jurist-​headed state.

The Sociopolitical Aspects of the Sharīʿa Khomeini carefully selected scriptural sources from the Qurʾān and Shīʿī ḥadīth collections, then offered purposive interpretations of them to support his argument. A central claim of his doctrine was that the sharīʿa includes many sociopolitical and economic provisions of law that should be implemented by the state. Some examples he referred to include provisions related to jihād and defending 18 Khomeini quoted in Ghamari-​Tabrizi 2014, 236–​237. 19 A substantial corpus of scholarship has been produced either in favor of or critical of both dynamic ijtihād and expediency jurisprudence. For example, see Ghobadzadeh 2015, 78–​83; Tabatabaeifar 2017; Hajjarian 2001.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  157 the country’s borders, provisions related to treaties between Muslims and other nations, a religious tax system, atonement and blood money, and, perhaps most controversially, provisions of Islamic penal laws, for example, stoning, capital punishment, and amputation of a thief ’s hand. Khomeini claimed that had these provisions been implemented and enforced earlier, Muslims would not be experiencing the dire predicament that many found themselves facing. For example, he referred to a well-​known Qurʾānic verse in which Muslims are urged to establish the strongest defensive force possible; that is, they should always be on the alert and “at the ready.”20 Khomeini attributed the backwardness of the Muslim countries collectively to their failure to achieve independence, and he attributed Western countries’ interventions in the affairs of Muslims to the failure of the latter to implement religious ordinances. He stated that in order to preserve Islamic order and to defend both the territorial integrity and the independence of the nation, an Islamic state should be established headed by a jurist who is fully informed regarding the rules of Islam and capable of assuming the religious responsibility to ensure that said rules are implemented. Frequently referring to elements of Islamic penal law, such as amputation of a thief ’s hand, lashing, and stoning, Khomeini stipulated that these provisions should be implemented by the state apparatus. Thus, in order to ensure that the sharīʿa is fully implemented, an Islamic state should be established under the rulership of those who have expertise in the above-​mentioned laws. He further maintained that if an Islamic state was not in place, these provisions would not be implemented (as has been the case for centuries from the time of the disappearance of the twelfth Imām in the ninth century). He was critical of the dominant dictum of Shīʿī orthodoxy according to which these provisions of the sharīʿa are subject exclusively to the authority of the twelfth Imām. For this reason, according to Shīʿī orthodoxy, non-​infallible people—​including jurists—​ lack the authority to implement the provisions alluded to above. This controversy has its genesis in the authority of jurists during the Age of Occultation. As discussed in detail in ­chapter 4, there have always been divergent opinions regarding the extent to which jurists have the authority to implement the social-​ political dimensions of the sharīʿa. Apropos of these diverging interpretations, throughout Shīʿī history, no other luminary has proposed the span and concentration of authority that Khomeini granted to jurists. This may offer an explanation for why Khomeini judiciously avoided grappling with these ideas and with the prevailing conception of this topic by scholars of his time. Knowing that he would be unable to find affirmation—​neither among his predecessors nor 20 “Make ready for them all thou canst of (armed) force and of horses tethered, that thereby ye may dismay the enemy of Allah and your enemy” (Qurʿān 8:60). َّ َّ‫َاط ْال َخ ْيل ُترْ ِه ُبونَ ِب ِه عَ دُ و‬ ‫الل ِه َوعَ دُ وَّ كُ ْم‬ ِ ‫استَ َطعْ تُ ْم مِ ْن ُقوَّ ةٍ َومِ ْن ِرب‬ ْ ‫َو أ� ِعدُّ وا لَهُ ْم َما‬ ِ

158  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism among contemporary Shīʿī scholars—​Khomeini eschewed any form of engagement with the highly complicated and diverse discussion regarding the scope of jurists’ authority during the Age of Occultation. He simply reasoned that the sociopolitical precepts of the sharīʿa were not issued by Almighty God to be held in suspension until the return of the twelfth Imām, given that the timing of the latter’s return is impossible to predict. It seems prudent to mention here that Khomeini, in fact, created a false dichotomy with this reasoning. He disregarded a third option, the possibility of the implementation of sociopolitical precepts by a non-​jurist ruler. Throughout Shīʿī history, clerics have advocated for the implementation of sharīʿa law; it has long been a component of their interaction with the various rulers. Whereas on occasion they sought its introduction via close collaboration with various kings, on other occasions they simply pressured the regents to act. In actual fact, this was the process to which Khomeini initially subscribed, and he did so for almost a decade before he finally severed all ties with the monarchical system. That notwithstanding, if jurists are not in charge of implementing the sociopolitical precepts of religion, this does not conclusively imply that these precepts must be suspended. But Khomeini at no time considered this option; neither has Shīʿī orthodoxy. Rather, within the orthodox Shīʿī context, the prevailing perception was and remains that during the Age of Occultation, some aspects of the sharīʿa are to be suspended, a tradition soundly denounced by Khomeini in his doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. In part I of this book, the perceptions and practices of Shīʿī orthodoxy were discussed from various perspectives, and the focus was on different epochs of Shīʿī history. Here it will suffice to offer a brief sketch of the milieu of the particular period during which Khomeini endeavored to conceptualize a state-​centric political theology for Shīʿī Islam. A brief but effective way to discuss this particular environment is to focus on two personalities whose thoughts and deeds shaped both the thinking and the practice exercised in the seminary regarding the authority of jurists over the sociopolitical aspects of the sharīʿa. One of these was Shaykh Murtaḍā b. Muḥammad Amīn al-​Anṣārī (1214–​1281/​1799–​1864), whose work and life marked a new era in both the Shīʿī scholarly trajectory and communal leadership from the mid-​nineteenth century onward. Shaykh Anṣārī introduced new methodological approaches to the principles of jurisprudence (uṣūl al-​fiqh)21 and proposed original views on many jurisprudential subjects. His influence has been substantial, to the extent that even today, the Shīʿī seminary functions in accordance with Shaykh Anṣārī’s school of thought. The second personality was the living advocate of the Shaykh Anṣārī school of thought in 21 Inter alia, Shaykh Anṣārī’s original contribution appearing in the principles of jurisprudence was the elaboration of practical principles (uṣūl al-​ʿamalīyya) as a structured science.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  159 the 1940s and 1950s, Ayatollah Borujerdi (1875–​1961), who was also known and respected as the patriarch of the Shīʿī seminary. Both Shaykh Anṣārī and Ayatollah Borujerdi subscribed to the notion that the implementation of many of the sociopolitical aspects of the sharīʿa should be subject to the authority of the hidden Imām. Shaykh Anṣārī is often regarded as the first prominent single marjaʿ and the seal of jurists (khātam al-​fuqahā), a visionary who guided the intellectual development of the rationalist school to its maturity.22 Even today, two of his books, al-​Rasāʿil and al-​Makāsib, are among the textbooks utilized in the seminaries. Shaykh Anṣārī agreed with general Shīʿī political thought that Prophet Mohammad and the twelve infallible Imāms possessed divine authority not only in religious matters but also in all aspects of life, including sociopolitical issues. For these reasons, Shaykh Anṣārī asserted, the infallibles had authority over the lives and property of the believers. Addressing the question of whether or not this authority was transferred to jurists during the Age of Occultation, he concluded after examining the relevant ḥadīths: After investigating the derivation [of these ḥadīths] and their contexts, one is assured that there are reasons for the role of jurist in transmitting sharīʿa decrees. However, unlike Prophet Mohammad and the [infallible] Imāms, they [jurists] are not above the [lay] people in affairs related to the assets 23 of people.24

Shaykh Anṣārī maintained that there are sociopolitical aspects of the sharīʿa that require the permission of the infallible Imām. A jurists can neither be the agent of nor authorize another person to carry out these tasks, such as primary jihād and implementation of the penal code. 22 Heern 2014; Cole 1983; Amanat 2009, 150; Mottahedeh 2000, 210–​214; Madadi 2014, 151–​169. 23 In Shīʿī jurisprudence, the authority to make decisions about the assets and lives of believers is a very sensitive issue. It is linked with the discussion about governance because only the ruler whose religiosity is considered legitimate is entitled to make such decisions. With a few exceptions, most Shīʿī jurists assert that Prophet Mohammad and the infallible Imāms have the right to make decisions about the assets and lives of the believers because the former have absolute authority over them. Some Qurʾānic verses state that the Prophet has greater right over believers than their own selves, for example, “The Prophet has a greater right on the believers than their own selves” (Qurʿān 33:6). ‫ين مِ ْن أ� ْن ُف ِس ِه ْم‬ َ ‫الن َِّب ُّي أ�وْ لَى ِب ْالمُ ْؤمِ ِن‬ “It is not for any believer man or woman to have the choice in the affair when a matter is decreed by Allah and His Prophet. Whosoever disobeys Allah and His Messenger strays into clear error” (Qurʿān 33:36). ُ ‫اللهُ َور َُس‬ َّ ‫َو َما كَانَ لِمُ ْؤمِ ن َو َل مُ ْؤمِ ن ٍَة إ� َذا َق َضى‬ َّ ‫ولهُ أ�مْ رً ا أ�نْ يَ كُونَ لَهُ ُم ْال ِخ َيرَ ُة مِ ْن أ�مْ ر ِه ْم َو َم ْن يَ عْ ِص‬ ‫اللهَ َور َُسولَهُ َف َقدْ َض َّل‬ ِ ٍ َ ‫َض‬ ‫ل ًل مُ ِبينًا‬ Religious sources like these verses are used to make a case for the divinity of governance by Prophet Mohammad and, of course, for the proclamation of the divine governance right of the Shīʿī infallible Imāms. This is why in most Shīʿī writings, discussion centered on governance and the right to rule is in the context of the right to make decisions regarding the assets and lives of believers. 24 Anṣārī 1996 [1860s], 553.

160  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Proponents of governmental Shīʿism have willfully misinterpreted the complexities in Shaykh Anṣārī’s discussions regarding the span and delegation of authority to jurists, in particular the bewildering complexities appertaining to the notion of wilāyat. They have attempted to offer readings of Shaykh Anṣārī’s thought that fit their own perspectives regarding the engagement of jurists in governance.25 But, as has been emphasized by many, these purposive readings are very problematic and hardly persuasive. Furthermore, perusal of yet another discussion of the political thought of Shaykh Anṣārī leaves no doubt that in his view, assuming the position of rulership—​in the sense that governmental Shīʿism advocates—​is unequivocally illegitimate. In discussions centered on rulership in the Age of Occultation, Shaykh Anṣārī classifies kings into three categories: Shīʿī rulers, Sunnī rulers, and non-​Muslim rulers. Not only did Shaykh Anṣārī declare Sunnī and non-​Muslim rulers illegitimate, but he also stated that those rulers whose denomination was Shīʿism were religiously illegitimate as well, because (a) they had unjustly usurped the rulership right of the infallible Imām without his permission, and (b) they had unjustifiably taken believers’ assets, deceptively labeling them “levies” and “religious taxes.” This is why, according to Shaykh Anṣārī’s viewpoint, all rulers during the Age of Occultation are religiously illegitimate. According to Shaykh Anṣārī, a jurist’s collaboration with any ruler is religiously forbidden (harām).26 Here his strong denunciation blatantly contradicts the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, according to which a Shīʿī jurist can claim the position of rulership without the permission of the hidden Imām.27 It should, therefore, come as no surprise that there is not one single reference to Shaykh Anṣārī and his views on the notion of wilāyat in Khomeini’s book. The irony is that in addition to his book Islamic Governance, Khomeini discusses the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in a section of his Book of Sale (Kitāb al-​bayʿ), which was modeled on Shaykh Anṣārī’s book al-​Makāsib.28 In effect, Khomeini wrote a series of books that were little more than elaborations of Shaykh Anṣārī’s book. While in other volumes and sections of this series of books Khomeini concurs with Shaykh Anṣārī’s proposals, in the section on the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, he does not concur with Shaykh Anṣārī’s views on the notion of wilāyat, which, the latter asserted, did not have any relevance to governance.

25 See, for example, Ma’rifat 1999; Mazinani 1994; Abolhassani 2016; Fazel-​Golpayegani 2012; Azari-​Qumi 1994. 26 Anṣārī 1996 [1860s], 53. 27 An undisputed conviction among Twelver Shīʿa is that no one is in contact with or has had access to the hidden Imām during the Age of Occultation, which means no one could get his permission. 28 Shaykh Anṣārī’s al-​Makāsib is more than eight hundred pages long and includes three sections: “Makāsib al-​muḥarama,” “Kitāb al-​bayʿ,” and “Kitāb al-​khiyārāt.” Khomeini’s series of books has identical titles; his “Makāsib al-​muḥarama” appears as two volumes, and “Kitāb al-​bayʿ” and “Khiyārāt” are combined into one book of five volumes.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  161 Seyyed Hossein Borujerdi (1875–​1961) was the most authoritative figure during the period of the evolution of Khomeini’s thought. In the 1940s and 1950s, when Ayatollah Borujerdi was the patriarch of the Shīʿī seminary, he established a strong nongovernmental framework for the thinking and modus operandi in the Shīʿī seminary. Ayatollah Borujerdi was Khomeini’s master, and some believe that Khomeini eschewed politics for more than a decade out of respect for him. Ayatollah Borujerdi was unequivocal in his refutation of the claim that jurists29 had the authority to implement all of the sociopolitical aspects of the sharīʿa. He stated: Tasks such as preserving domestic order, guarding borders, ordering jihad and defense, all of which are associated with the rulership of the infallible Imām, are not devolved to jurists. In other words, they are not subject to the authority of jurists alone. However, when the governance of the infallible Imāms is not effectuated, there are tasks that God does not want neglected. These tasks include a range of important social matters, judgment, guardianship of minors [and representation of] absent individuals, and other ḥisba matters which are devolved to jurists.30

The notions of social and ḥisba matters in this statement should not be misleading, that is, should not convey the idea that governance could be located within the orbit of these matters. Ayatollah Borujerdi’s minimalist approach to the authority of jurists is evident in the fact that he even considered Friday prayer as associated with the epoch during which the rulership of the twelfth Imām will come into being. From Ayatollah Borujerdi’s perspective, jurists are not authorized to perform Friday prayer.31 He explained that the performance of Friday prayer was a legacy of the Ṣafawid kings based on political calculations and

29 Here it should be made clear that the lay religious scholar is a new phenomenon. For centuries, the term “Islamic scholars” seemed synonymous with “jurists,” “ʿulamāʾ,” and “clerics.” For much of history, the seminary has been considered the exclusive hub of knowledge appertaining to religion, and the ʿulamāʾ have been the only people considered equipped to study, research, and teach religion-​ oriented topics. Modern schools and universities, which were established between the late nineteenth century and the early twentieth century, saw the advent of a different cohort of scholars of religion who were trained outside of the seminaries, a phenomenon also evident in the Western Christian context. Until the sixteenth century, research into and writings about religion were collectively considered theology. It was only post-​Reformation that some intellectuals started to think and write about religion in broader terms, their aim being to bridge the differences between divergent religious denominations both inside and outside of Christendom. This process was started by intellectuals including Jean Bodin (1530–​1596) and Edward Herbert of Cherbury (1583–​1648), who engaged with non-​Christian theology. It continued with Bernard Fontenelle (1657–​1757) and Giambattista Vico (1668–​1744), who offered naturalist studies of religion, by extension seeking to offer more objective and scientific accounts of the origin and function of religion (Ambasciano 2019). 30 Borujerdi and Montazeri 1956, 57. 31 Borujerdi and Montazeri 1956.

162  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism rivalry with the Ottoman Empire.32 After Ayatollah Borujerdi presented these views on Friday prayer in his class, many believers stopped attending the ritual.33 Khomeini conceptualized his doctrine almost a decade after Ayatollah Borujerdi’s demise. At the time, no other eminent jurist had emerged to replace him. Instead, a few high-​ranking jurists were acting as marājaʿ simultaneously.34 Thus, his discourse continued to govern the mainstream of the Shīʿī seminary. It is interesting to note that Khomeini made no reference to Ayatollah Borujerdi at all, neither to his name nor to his legacy. But he brutally attacked clerics whom he considered passive, labeling them “negligent, lazy, idle, and apathetic people who do nothing but discuss points of law and offer their prayers, and are incapable of anything else,” and whose foolish ideas helped “the imperialists and the oppressive governments in their attempts to keep the Muslim countries in their present state and to block the progress of the Islamic movement. Such ideas are characteristic of those who are known as saintly but in reality are pseudo-​ saints, not true ones.”35 Here Khomeini was practicing “antagonistic othering,”36 32 Sobout 2010, 508. 33 Friday prayer has a political character not only due to the content of the preaching delivered during the prayer but also because participation in Friday prayer is considered a sign of allegiance to the prayer leader. From the earliest years of Islamic history, it has been a controversial issue. For example, during the time of the caliphs, dissidents did not attend Friday prayers; it was their way of expressing their objection (Majlisī 1983a [1694], 33). Apropos of the Shīʿī community, it has always been a political challenge. Friday prayer was customarily performed by Sunnī leaders. However, the Shīʿa believed that rulership was solely the right of the infallible Imāms. The most prominent jurists of the Shīʿī community, e.g., Shaykh al-​Mufīd, al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā, and Shaykh Tūsī, declared Friday prayers harām during the Age of Occultation (Agha Bozorg Tehrani 1983, 62–​80; Sobout 2010, 508–​513). This is why the Shīʿī community did not perform Friday prayer until the Ṣafawid era, during which some jurists started to collaborate with the kings. It was during the rule of Shah ʿAbbās I (r. 1588–​1629) when, for the first time, the position of prayer leader was created (Agha Bozorg Tehrani 1983, 28). From the Ṣafawid era onward, the kings were in charge of appointing Friday prayer leaders. However, after the Ṣafawid era, the mainstream ʿulamāʾ distanced themselves from the state apparatus. That notwithstanding, there were always some clerics who worked with the state. For this reason, Friday prayer remained in place, and kings continued to appoint the leaders of Friday prayer. This was the reality during the Pahlavi era as well. However, many clerics acting as Friday prayer leaders did not have high religious credentials. For this reason, they played no significant role in shaping the religious discourse of the country. 34 This is still the case, and almost six decades after Borujerdi’s demise, there is not a single marjaʿ in Qum who can be considered the most eminent and influential marjaʿ. When an eminent marjaʿ dies, it is usually a few years before another marjaʿ emerges as the eminent patriarch of the seminary. Often, it is decades before another one emerges with a level of influence and power comparable to that of his predecessor. In reality, Ayatollah Borujerdi was the last eminent marjaʿ in the Iranian context. From the time of his demise in 1961, more than a few marājaʿ have shared the leadership of the country’s religious establishment. During this time, two eminent marājaʿ have emerged in Najaf (Iraq), Abu al-​Qasim Khoei (1899–​1992) and Sayyid Ali Hosseini Sistani (b. 1930), both of whom also have many followers in Iran (Khalaji 2006). 35 Khomeini 1981, 141. 36 When in power, Khomeini proved to be pressing in antagonistic othering. With the exception of clerical Islamists, almost all of his allied political groups and companions during the Revolution were expelled from political life and became the objects of extended repression. A considerable number of them were imprisoned, exiled, or even executed under the reign of Khomeini. There is voluminous literature about his othering approach in the political context but not much written about his antagonistic othering within the seminary, an area of scholarship particularly underdeveloped in the

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  163 to use the terminology of discourse analysis, against the entire Shīʿī tradition, present and past. However, he did this othering in a very subtle way to minimize the possibility of provoking the mainstream of the seminary to oppose his discourse. Khomeini never conceded that highly respected figures, such as Ayatollah Borujerdi and Shaykh Anṣārī, were the main advocates and leaders of the approaches adopted and the traditions that he was roundly denouncing. A key question in every discourse analysis is to ask what is left out in the process of discourse formation. Thus, it is telling to note that Khomeini completely disregarded the leading figures of the Shīʿī world, in particular those whose ideas formed the scholarly and practical milieu of the time. In sum, the prevailing notion held by both Khomeini’s predecessors and his contemporary peers was to ascribe a minimal role to jurists in the sociopolitical context and to preserve the authority of governance for the hidden Imām. In doctrine, however, while this was the most dominant proposition, it was not the only one. Thus, one cannot claim that it attracted a unanimous consensus.37 However, by no means did any of the scholars who granted some authority for jurists in the sociopolitical domain extend the scope of said authority to match that proposed by Khomeini. Taking advantage of the controversies and diverging theoretical conceptions, proponents of governmental Shīʿism claim that Khomeini was not alone in conceptualizing the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Although they have some space in which to make this claim in terms of doctrine, they have little to draw on in terms of the practical record of governmental Shīʿism. The indisputable fact remains that prior to Khomeini, not one single jurist in the entirety of Shīʿī history attempted to seize the apparatus of the state in order to implement the sociopolitical aspects of the sharīʿa.38 So the lived history of the Shīʿī denomination does not offer any support or justification for governmental Shīʿism. Similar to much of the contradictory evidence that was overlooked by English language. Kadivar has written extensively in this regard in Persian, thoroughly explicating the various methods of suppression adopted by the ruling clergy to silence dissident high-​ranking clerics within the seminary. All of Kadivar’s works on this topic are accessible on his website, https://​ kadi​var.com/​. 37 Kadivar 2014c. 38 This does not mean that no cleric was ever involved in implementing these aspects of sharīʿa law. At times, for example, a cleric in a village or small city may have sentenced someone to a punishment and supervised its implementation. For example, Muḥammad ʿAlī Behbahānī (1731–​1801) was a highly influential cleric in Kermanshah—​a city in the western part of Iran—​and had a ferocious hatred of Sufis (Davani 1983, 282). When a renowned Sufi figure, Maʿṣūm-​ʿAlīshāh (1734–​1797), was visiting Kermanshah, Behbahānī ordered his arrest, held a sort of inquisition, and sentenced him to death for heresy (Tihrani 2010, 382–​384). There are also many reports documenting the direct or indirect role of clerics—​customarily in collaboration with the secular rulers—​in the persecution and massacre of Bābī and Bahāʿī communities (Vahman 2010; Mottahedeh 1998; Tavakoli-​Targhi 2008; Momen 2005). These cases have been sporadic, and their scope and extent have always been limited. There is no record of a leading Shīʿī jrist taking charge of the state apparatus so that he could implement the sociopolitical aspects of the sharīʿa.

164  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Khomeini in his articulation of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, he either failed or chose not to engage with the lived reality of Shīʿī history. Not once in his book did he discuss why highly respected jurists throughout the entirety of Shīʿī history opted not to attempt to expand their authority to encompass a broad range of issues, least of all the position of ruler. Rather, without mentioning one name, he considered it enough to claim that “Muslims” in general and jurists in particular have neglected this part of their religious responsibility, that is, implementation of the sharīʿa in its full capacity by seizing the apparatus of the state.

The Populist Approach of Khomeini A further controversial issue linked with the question of the authority of jurists during the Age of Occultation took the form of religious taxes, in particular the task of collecting and distributing khums.39 Throughout Shīʿī history, there have been various and diverging viewpoints regarding (a) the obligatory or voluntary nature of paying khums, (b) who should be in charge of collecting and distributing it, and (c) whether the share of the Imām (sahm-​i Imām)40 should be spent or preserved41 for handing to the hidden Imām when he returns. Diverging views have been expressed regarding the distribution of khums, but using some portion or all of it to administer a government has at no time been mooted. Somewhat surprisingly, this is exactly what Khomeini proposed with relatively little engagement with the diverging, complex, and myriad contemplations that his peers—​both past and present—​had undertaken. Khomeini was willing to employ his populist approach within the most advanced scholastic platform of the seminary system.42 He claimed that khums was a huge source of income, much more than the amount needed to cover the religious establishment’s expenses. Without providing any specific statistics, Khomeini claimed that the 39 A form of religious taxation imposed upon believers. The latter are obliged to pay one-​fifth of their surplus income to their marjaʿ. 40 In Shīʿī Islam, khums is divided into six parts, three of which are known as the share of the Imām (sahm-​i Imām). The other three parts are designated for spending in the public interest, such as to support the poor, widows, and orphans. During the Age of Occultation, jurists are entitled to decide how to spend the share of the Imām. A significant portion is often spent on the educational and living costs of seminary students and teachers. For a detailed discussion, see Sachedina 1980; Calder 1982. 41 In the early decades after the disappearance of the twelfth Imām, the dominant notion shared by the Shīʿī jurists was to preserve the share of Imām by either burying it or entrusting it to a reliable person of the next generation so that it could be given to the Imām when he returned (Rasekh 2016, 276–​286; Qum Seminary Office of Islamic Propaganda 1993; Shaykh al-​Mufīd 1991). 42 Khomeini conceptualized his doctrine during his dars-​i khārij teaching in Najaf. The seminary education system involves three cycles: introductory (muqadamāt), intermediate (satḥ), and advanced (dars-​i khārij). The most sophisticated topics and discussions occur at the advanced level, during which the teachers’ ideas and religious rulings are enhanced by students’ contributions. For a detailed discussion of the teaching system in the Shīʿī seminary, see Kariami, Isfahani, and Ahmadi 2005; Husseini and Jafarian 2017; Nome and Vogt 2008; Soleimanieh 2013.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  165 khums collected from a single bazaar in Baghdad would be enough to finance all the expenses that khums was earmarked to cover at the time. He stated: “should we cast this huge treasury into the ocean, or bury it until the [hidden] Imām returns, or just spend it on fifty sayyids a day until they have all eaten their fill? Let us suppose we give all this money to 500,000 sayyids; they would not know what to do with it.”43 Hence, he concluded: “the provision of such a huge budget must obviously be for the purpose of forming a government and administering the Islamic lands. It was established with the aim of providing for the needs of the people, for public services relating to health, education, defense, and economic development.”44 Here he did not make reference to a specific ḥadīth or any verse from the Qurʾān to support his claim that the purpose of khums is to provide the state’s financial resources, nor did he quote any predecessor who mounted a similar argument. Without providing an accurate or at least some form of concrete example, Khomeini made a vague claim regarding the amount of money collected through khums, by extension establishing a means of attributing an unprecedented intention to a religious tax. A further clever tactic that Khomeini introduced into his doctrine of wilāyat-​ i faqīh was to transform the exception into the norm. However, it should be mentioned here that Khomeini and the clerical Islamists were not alone in this. Ali Shariati, the ideologue of a slightly different brand of Islamism, acted similarly. He misrepresented the exceptions of the Shīʿī tradition as the norm, further advocating that they should be followed without question by the believers. Here I specifically refer to the lives of the twelve infallible Imāms, of whom only three have a record of political engagement. The early history of Shīʿism was discussed in detail in part I, where the legacy of the infallible Imāms and the formation of Shīʿī identity were explicated. Here I want to emphasize that another problem with Khomeini’s doctrine is that it is built upon the exception to Shīʿī convention rather than the rule. Khomeini steadfastly claimed that had their environments been more conducive, the infallible Imāms would have taken control of the governments of their times. On one occasion, Khomeini made this argument specifically in relation to the seventh Imām, Mūsā al-​Kāẓim (d. 183/​ 799), who was more politically active than most other Imāms: “have no doubt that if he had the chance, he would indeed have rebelled and overthrown the ruling usurpers.”45 He omitted to mention the remainder of the infallible Imāms 43 Khomeini 1981, 45. Sayyid, an honorific title, is an appellation used by those persons who are accepted as descendants of Imām Ḥasan and Imām Ḥusayn, sons of Prophet Mohammad’s daughter Fāṭima and her husband Imām ʿAlī. There are two subcategories of Sayyids, Ḥasānī and Ḥusaynī Sāddāt (plural form of Sayyid). According to Shīʿī jurisprudence, poor Sāddāt are entitled to be financially supported, and a portion of khums is allocated for this purpose. Khums is also used to cover seminary expenses and the living costs of seminary students. 44 Khomeini 1981, 45. 45 Khomeini 1981, 148.

166  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism in his discussion, most of whom did not make any move toward the pursuit of executive governance roles. At least two infallible Imāms, Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq (d. 148/​765) and Imām ʿAlī al-​Riḍā (d. 203/​818), the sixth and eighth Imāms, respectively, unwaveringly refused to countenance the assumption of responsibility for governance despite being pressured and offered the opportunity to do so.46 Generally speaking, in the 1970s, the mainstream Shīʿī tradition was totally neglected, while the revolt of the third Imām, Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī (d. 61/​680), received significant attention. In effect, Khomeini and other Islamists benefited from the revolutionary conditions of the age. Exploiting the prevailing conditions, these Islamists employed populist political rhetoric to sell the exceptions to the Shīʿī tradition not only as the norm but also as religiously instructive role models. This populist approach proved to be instrumental in mobilizing the masses, as well as junior and mid-​ranking clerics. However, the leading discourse in the seminary at the time—​the bearers of which were the established marājaʿ—​proved to be insusceptible to Khomeini’s contrived reading of Shīʿism.

Reception in the Seminary Marājaʿ demonstrate the significance of a topic by either including it in or excluding it from their teachings, writings, and preaching. To what extent did the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh provoke discussion and debate in the seminary? Did other marājaʿ engage in any way with Khomeini’s doctrine? The short answer is no. There is no record of any jurist who either elaborated on the doctrine, endorsed it, or opposed it using the scholarly platforms of the seminary.47 Others have already investigated and argued that none of the marājaʿ of the time supported the quest of Khomeini and the clerical Islamists to seize the state apparatus.48 The majority of marājaʿ remained loyal to Shīʿī orthodoxy. They neither supported nor spoke against Khomeini and his companions, all of the latter of whom were mid-​ranking or junior clerics. While a few marājaʿ actively opposed Khomeini and his method of engaging with politics, the majority distanced themselves from the political developments that swept the country in the 1970s and 1980s.

46 See ­chapter 1. 47 Khomeini’s doctrine was printed and distributed in the seminaries inside Iran as well as in Najaf. His own disciples and network managed this process (Kadivar 2018a; Behboodi 2012), but there is no record of any scholarly elaboration or discussion of it even among the junior and mid-​ranking pro-​ Khomeini clerics at the time. Some claim that it was not well received in the seminary and that it was just an unimportant pamphlet read only by the pro-​Khomeini seminary students (Manototv 2019). 48 Tabatabaei 2017; Kadivar 2014a; Kadivar 2015b; Mirzaei 2011; M. Kadivar 2017.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  167 This line of argument refers to the practical political context. Perhaps one important area that has received scant attention to date is the ignorance of Khomeini’s doctrine among the scholarly circles of the Shīʿī seminary. Throughout history, governance has not emerged as a significant topic in the teachings and writings of Shīʿī jurists, in which governance was briefly discussed under the category of “social interactions” (muʿāmilāt),49 in so little detail that one could rarely find a stand-​alone treaty or book titled Islamic Governance or bearing a similar title.50 Only two jurists discussed their ideas regarding the issue of governance and wilāyat-​i faqīh somewhat extensively. Mullāh Ahmad Narāghī (1715–​1765), who emerged as the pioneering figure in this area,51 was the first jurist to discuss wilāyat-​i faqīh as a separate subject in his book ʿAwāʾid al-​ayyām.52 Another important figure was Muḥammad Ḥusayn Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʿ (1877–​1954), who discussed the topic under the heading “Enjoining Good and Forbidding Evil” (amr bi maʿrūf wa nahy ʿaz munkar).53 As mentioned in the introduction, Mirza Mohammad Hossein Naeini was the first jurist who wrote a full manuscript related to governance, for the purpose of promoting constitutionalism. As a leading jurist in the Shīʿī tradition, Khomeini was the first person to publish an independent book on the topic of Islamic governance. Although he was already an established high-​ranking figure in the seminary at the time, Khomeini’s doctrine sparked little curiosity on the scholarly platforms of the Shīʿī seminary. The marked lack of interest in the doctrine bore witness to the fact that the high-​ranking jurists of the time did not consider it worthy even of repudiation. This attitude persisted for a considerable time, even after the establishment of the Islamic Republic in 1979. The milieu inside Iran’s seminaries was significantly transformed after the consolidation of power by the clerical Islamists.54 49 Rizvi 2010, 1301. 50 It must be clarified here that I am specifically talking about the leading and influential Shīʿī jurists whose teachings, writings, and practices have shaped the scholarly and practical history of the Shīʿī seminary. One may find some works related to the issue of governance. One example is a book by Mujtabā Navāb-​Ṣafawi (1924–​1956), Society and Islamic Government, which was published in 1950. Navāb-​Ṣafawi was a twenty-​six-​year-​old cleric when he wrote this book. He “neither received any formal training beyond a high school education (and a technical one at that), except for his short stint in Najaf seminary; nor was he ever engaged in any intellectual endeavours” (Behdad 1997, 52). His writing failed to meet the minimum scholarly standard one would expect from a jurisprudential work. This is why one cannot consider him an important figure in Shīʿī scholarly circles. 51 Arjomand 1980, 153; Dabashi 1989. 52 Naraghi 1996 [1820s]. In this book, Narāghī referred to nineteen ḥadīths to suggest that qualified jurists are authorized to rule as the general agents of the hidden Imām during the Age of Occultation. For detailed discussion of his thought, see Hairi 1988, 277–​280; Borji 2006, 175–​195. 53 Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʿ did not propose an executive role for jurists. Instead, he claimed that jurists have legitimizing authority. From his point of view, a king’s rule is legitimate only if it is authorized by a jurist. He explicitly denied kings’ independent claims to legitimate rule. For detailed discussion about his thought, see Hairi 1988, 275–​277. 54 Khalaji 2008; M. A. Kadivar 2017; Shirkhani and Zareh 2005; Shariati Mazinani and Soleimanieh 2013; Mehregan 2017.

168  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism That notwithstanding, without exception, all of the jurists who were established marjaʿ in the 1970s, such as Sayyid Shihab al-​Din Marashi-​Najafi (1897–​1990), Mohammad-​ Reza Golpaygani (1899–​ 1993), and Ahmad Khonsari (1891–​ 1985), to name but a few, were united in their continued position of appearing not to take Khomeini’s doctrine seriously. Until the time of their deaths in the 1980s and 1990s, none of these marājaʿ included governance in his writings or teachings. This claim also holds in relation to the Najaf seminary in Iraq, where some factions of the clergy adopted Khomeini’s approach.55 Nonetheless, the two eminent marājaʿ who have been patriarchs of the seminary over the last five decades, Ayatollah Abu al-​Qasim Khoei and Ayatollah Sayyid Ali Hosseini Sistani, have chosen not to write about or teach the topic of governance. While the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was first articulated in the early months of 1970, it was only in the mid-​1980s that the doctrine and the topic of governance evolved to become a significant subject in the country and beyond. The first scholarly, rigorous, and meticulous elaboration of the doctrine was undertaken by Ayatollah Hussein-​Ali Montazeri, the first jurist to teach the doctrine in his advanced (dars-​i khārij) course in Qum between 1985 and 1989. In line with seminary tradition, the manuscripts of his teachings were published in Arabic as a four-​volume book between 1987 and 1991 in Qum and Beirut. This four-​volume work was subsequently translated into Persian and published as an eight-​volume book between 1987 and 2007.56 Due to the clerical Islamists’ heavy investment in the seminary, the topic of wilāyat-​i faqīh eventually became a major focus of research and teaching, to the extent that today countless books and articles detailing the doctrine have been published. The topic has also been included in the teaching curriculum of the Qum seminary.57 Since the ascendancy of Khomeini’s vision of governmental Shīʿism, Qum seminary has witnessed not only the state’s increasing involvement in teaching and curriculum planning but also an increase in the number of state-​sponsored universities and research/​teaching institutes. The state clearly aims to transform the intellectual and scholarly parameters of the Shīʿī seminary. Generating theological/​jurisprudential scholarship to sanction the fusion of state and religion has proven an especially shrewd political strategy. The ruling clergy’s intrusion into the scholastic

55 Rizvi 2010, 1300–​1306. 56 Montazeri was one of the few people responsible for the inclusion of the notion of wilāyat-​i faqīh in Iran’s new constitution after the 1979 Revolution. He was also the designated successor to Khomeini and could have served as the second walī-​yi faqīh had he not quarreled with Khomeini in 1989. However, he revised his earlier ideas about the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh and by the time his book was published, he no longer supported the idea in the way it was originally conceptualized by Khomeini (Montazeri 2009, 30). For further discussion of his revised version of the notion of wilāyat-​i faqīh and the shifts in his political thought, see Abdo 2001; Akhavi 2008; Kadivar 2011; Siavoshi 2017; Schwerin 2015; Ghobadzadeh 2015. 57 Moghtadai 2010; Irvani 2014; Tabatabaei 2015; Shirkhani and Zareh 2005.

The Political Germination of wilāyat-i faqīh  169 life of the seminaries has gone far beyond simply demanding the seminaries’ adoption of governmental Shīʿism in their curricula. In reality, the seminaries have been subject to state intervention directed toward producing generations of clerics who will promote the exclusionary version of Shīʿism propagated by the country’s ruling clergy. The presence and domination of governmental Shīʿism have become so all-​pervasive that even those who oppose it find it difficult to avoid engaging with it.58 Nonetheless, to argue that the clerical Islamists have succeeded in transforming the seminary into a docile and subservient institution would be to invite serious challenge. Not only has Shīʿī orthodoxy survived the extirpative measures employed by the ruling clergy, but over time, a new cohort of clergy has emerged in opposition to governmental Shīʿism. Disillusioned by the ruling clergy’s authoritarian excesses, some among the clerics and lay religious intellectuals—​who supported the 1979 Revolution and contributed to the institutionalization of the Islamic Republic in the 1980s—​have withdrawn their support for the ideal of a faqīh-​headed state. From the late 1980s onward, members of this cohort have espoused a reformist discourse that has constantly challenged the religious legitimacy of governmental Shīʿism.59 In addition to the seminary circle, the masses have combined to constitute another highly important interlocutor for governmental Shīʿism. However, questions surround the extent to which the masses have accepted the ideal of a faqīh-​headed state as part of their religious convictions. Did Khomeini successfully circumvent the scholarly circle of the seminary and directly communicate his message to the masses? Did some form of ecclesial transformation occur in the 1970s that reified the masses’ support for a faqīh-​headed state as a seminal part of their religious duty? In the next chapters, the focus will be on refuting the perception that a faqīh-​headed state became part of the masses’ religious belief system on the eve—​or in the wake—​ of the 1979 Revolution. The masses undisputedly demonstrated their overwhelming support for Khomeini and the clerical Islamists; however, this does not in and of itself confirm the appeal of the ideal of a faqīh-​headed state. Here it seems prudent to revisit the developments that occurred in the closing years of the 1970s which led to (a) clerical Islamists’ consolidation of power and (b) elevation of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh to the core maxim of the new political system. An investigation of these matters in the following chapters will reveal that the masses’ support for the clerical Islamists was not attributable to any belief in the ideal of a faqīh-​headed state. As I will demonstrate, the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh played no significant role in the clerical Islamists’ success. Rather, it was the clerics’ political triumph that enabled them to implement the doctrine.

58 59

Rizvi 2010, 1300. Esposito and Voll 2001.

6

Wilāyat-​i Faqīh The Elephant in the Room

The exploration of Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in ­chapter 5 showed that he generally avoided engaging in the debates and complexities related to the formation of a Twelver Shīʿī political theology that were discussed in the first four chapters. Also ignoring the established form of Shīʿī political theology that had dominated the political thought and practice of Shīʿī leaders for centuries, he articulated a doctrine that was detached from the Shīʿī tradition. That is why Ervand Abrahamian considers the use of the term “fundamentalist” to describe Khomeini’s ideas problematic, suggesting that Khomeini is better described as a populist.1 There can be no mistaking the fact that Khomeini and his disciples’ most crucial advantage during the Revolution was their ability to communicate with the masses. It was as a result of this factor that when the struggle against the Pahlavi administration reached the stage where the masses became involved and took to the streets, the clerical Islamists were far ahead of all other political groups. The largest demonstrations, in terms of both the number of participants and geographical distribution, were organized by the Islamists. Religious occasions such as Ramaḍān, ʿĪd al-​Fiṭr, Tāsūʿā, and ʿĀshūrāʾ, in addition to the seventh-​and fortieth-​day anniversaries of the killing of demonstrators by Pahlavi forces, provided the perfect excuses and conditions for the mobilization of the masses by the Islamists.2 A number of questions thus arise here. What elements of religious discourse did the clerical Islamists use to attract the masses? Was wilāyat-​i faqīh one of the elements they used in their campaign to overthrow the Pahlavi government and establish a new system? Did those who promoted and voted for the “Islamic Republic” understand it as a system based on wilāyat-​i faqīh? What role did the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh play in the drafting of the constitution? And how and during which process was the constitution written with a focus on wilāyat-​i faqīh? I will seek to answer these questions in this and the next two chapters by focusing on the years leading up to the 1979 Revolution and the first few months after its victory. To this end, I will first take a brief look at the revolutionary

1 2

Abrahamian 1993. Fischer 1980, 181–​216; Axworthy 2013, 104–​132.

Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0007

172  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism struggle to show that neither Khomeini nor the other Islamists ever raised the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh as an alternative to the monarchy and that the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was never a point of contention between the clerical Islamists and their rivals in Iran’s pre-​revolutionary political arena. I will continue by demonstrating that the actions and decisions of Khomeini after his return to Iran were also in line with his earlier statements. There is much evidence from the months between the victory of the Revolution and the approval of the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh by the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution to contradict the claim that Khomeini had a secret plan to form a government based on wilāyat-​i faqīh and acted deceptively during the revolutionary struggle and the first months after its victory. Then I will examine the referendum on the Islamic Republic and show that the name “Islamic Republic” was no referent for the system of wilāyat-​i faqīh. In the final part of the chapter, I will examine the constitution drafting process closely and show that wilāyat-​i faqīh was not included in the first draft of the constitution that was approved by Khomeini.

Religion during the Revolutionary Struggle Although the adjective “Islamic” is well established as the foremost descriptor of the 1979 Revolution today, its use has been subject to challenge by opponents of the Islamic Republic who claim that the clerical Islamists stole the Revolution.3 Emphasizing the history of the struggles of nonreligious groups, especially the decades-​long struggles of liberals, leftists, and nationalists against the Pahlavi regime, proponents of this argument hold that Khomeini and his disciples joined them only in the final stages of the Revolution and, by eliminating others from the arena, appropriated the power of the Revolution for themselves. On the contrary, of course, the leaders of the Islamic Republic have produced a purposive history of events, as Abrahamian rightly points out.4 In this regard, official historiography in Iran has identified and highlighted the political role of clerics throughout history, ancient and modern, in order to construct a long record of clerical involvement in the political arena, the clergy’s resistance to imperialism, and its role in the preservation of national unity. It is thus unsurprising 3 The explicit claim that the Revolution was stolen appears most prominently in the realms of politics and media. The view is often mentioned in passing in academic articles and books and is promoted through a focus on the role of non-​Islamic groups in historiographies of the Revolution. This claim is so widespread in the media that it was even cited once by Barack Obama’s secretary of state, Hillary Clinton, during the Arab uprisings. There are countless articles and interviews in which groups and individuals who were eliminated from power after the Revolution make such an avowal. For some of these discussions, see, for example, Keshavarzian 2009; Hoseini 2014; Ahmadi 2019; Iran-​e ma 2021; Ziaee 2019; Jerusalem Post 2011; Zubeida 1990. 4 Abrahamian 1993, 88–​110.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  173 that the phenomenon of the 1979 Revolution is depicted as having been exclusively led by the clerics in the government historiography of Iran. Without becoming embroiled in this debate, it can be said with certainty that from the 1960s onward, religious discourse was a prominent part of the struggle against the Pahlavi regime, and at least in the year leading up to the Revolution, most mass demonstrations were held on religious occasions and largely organized by Islamists. However, the crucial point that cannot be overlooked here is that the religion that was present in Iran’s political arena before the Revolution was fundamentally different from the religion that dominated the country after the Revolution. To refer to religion without considering this distinction is to neglect the complexities of the role of religion in the Iranian political arena before the Revolution. During the revolutionary struggle, there was no definite demarcation separating religious discourse from other ideological discourses. There were many combinations and interweavings of religious and other discourses, religious and other elements. The clearest demonstration of this was the fusion between Islam and Marxism. Religious concepts and ideas were often evident in the discourses of leftist groups. One example is found in Behrooz Ghamari-​Tabrizi’s quotation of the defense of Khosrow Golsorkhi, a Marxist-​Leninist journalist, which is worth quoting at length here: I begin my defense with the words of Imam Hussein, the greatest martyr of the peoples of the Middle East. As a Marxist-​Leninist, I searched for social justice for the first time in the teachings of Islam, and then I found socialism. . . . I begin my words with Islam. In Iran, the true Islam has always fulfilled its duty to the liberation movements. . . . Today also the true Islam is carrying its responsibility toward our national liberation movement. There are close similarities between what Marx says—​that in a class society, wealth is accumulated on one side and poverty, hunger, and misery on the other, and that the downtrodden is the producer of wealth—​and what Imam Ali says, that no palace is built without the misery of thousands. This is why I call Imam Ali the first socialist in world history. . . . Being tried today in this courtroom is just another example of Imam Hussein’s life. We are ready to sacrifice our lives on behalf of our country’s disinherited. Imam Hussein was in the minority, and Yazid enjoyed mansions, armies, state, and power. Hussein stood up and was martyred. Yazid occupied a small corner in history, but what has been repeated in history is the legacy of Hussein and his struggle, not the rule of Yazid. People’s history is the reenactment of Hussein’s path. As a Marxist I applaud such an Islam, the Islam of Ali, the Islam of Hussein.5

5

Golsorkhi quoted in Ghamari-​Tabrizi 2016, 78–​79.

174  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Despite their religious origins, the ideology of groups such as the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran (PMOI/​MEK) did not differ from Marxist ideology,6 as Abrahamian confirms: Although the Mujahedin was Islamic, its revolutionary interpretation of Islam produced an ideology not very different from that of the Marxist Feda’i . . . it also argued that when the regime collapsed the revolutionaries would carry out radical changes, ending the dependence on the West, building an independent economy, giving a free voice to the masses, redistributing wealth, and in general creating the classless Nezam-​i Towhid.7

The most significant intellectual work combining Islam with leftist revolutionary scholarship as well as anti-​colonial discourse was accomplished by Ali Shariati. His ideas were clearly religious in origin, and one of his intellectual projects was a challenge to Marxism and other Western ideas,8 yet the ideological reading of Islam that he offered contained key elements of Marxism and the international discourse of anti-​imperialist struggle.9 Some commentators are so struck by this combination that they use the term “Islamic Marxist” to describe Shariati’s thought.10 Of course, it should not be inferred from this exaggerated description that Shariati’s ideas can be reduced to the mere incorporation of Marxist elements into religious teachings. Alongside Khomeini, Shariati is known as one of the most important ideologues of the 1979 Revolution, and over the last half century, his ideas have had a considerable impact on the political-​religious sphere as well as having spurred political action. As Siavash Saffari points out, Shariati’s intellectual legacy “remains a source of controversy and polarization in both academic and public discussions.”11 The legacy of Shariati and the efforts of “neo-​Shariatis” unsettle the false dichotomies of “tradition/​modernity,” “Islam/​modernity,” “Islam/​West,” and “East/​West.” Saffari argues that by criticizing Eurocentric metanarratives and essentialist conceptions of Islam, these thinkers create a new space in which

6 The People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran has a tumultuous history. In 1975, some of its members renounced Islam and declared Marxism as its main ideology, while other branches adhered to Islam. For a discussion of the history, organizational structure, and ideology of this group, see Abrahamian 1982b, 489–​495; Abrahamian 1989; Cohen 2009; Political Studies and Research Institute 2006. 7 Abrahamian 1982b, 492. 8 Many of Shariati’s own writings, as well as analyses of Shariati’s thought, include these criticisms. See, for example, Shariati and Campbell 2015; Shariati and Bakhtiar 2013; Miri 2019; Miri 2017; Mohomed 2017. 9 Bayat 1990; Zeiny 2017; Dabashi 1993, 102–​146; Abrahamian 1982a. 10 Murawiec 2008. 11 Saffari 2017, 11.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  175 Islamic thought can be developed and crystallized, avoiding the traps of both orientalism and occidentalism. 12 Another important line of thought was put forward by Muslim liberals seeking to reconcile religion with liberal thought. This school of thought and politics had representatives both in the clergy, in figures such as Ayatollah Taleghani, and among nonclerical intellectuals such as Mehdi Bazargan. The borders of religion in the political world of Iran before the Revolution were so far-​reaching and open that in recognition of the situation, Foucault conceptualized the existence of religion in the political arena beyond the ideologies of the left and the right. He focused on the spiritual aspect of religion in proposing the concept of “political spirituality” to describe and praise Iran’s political environment on the eve of the Revolution.13 When the clerical Islamists consolidated their power base, eliminated their rivals, and dashed all hope of democracy, Foucault was severely criticized for having applauded the role of religion in the Revolution.14 I agree with Ghamari-​Tabrizi that regardless of the final result of the 1979 Revolution and in spite of all the criticisms leveled against him, Foucault remained steadfast in defending his reading of the moment of revolution.15 In an article titled “Is It Useless to Revolt?” Foucault argued that it was imaginary content that entered the political space after the victory of the Revolution, a space in which: the most important and the most atrocious mingle—​the extraordinary hope of remaking Islam into a great living civilization and various forms of virulent xenophobia, as well as the global stakes and the regional rivalries. And the problem of imperialisms. And the subjugation of women, and so on.16

Moreover, Foucault tells his reader that this “atrocious mingle” was a phenomenon that arose after the Revolution, something quite different from what he had identified as spirituality beforehand. Foucault expresses this beautifully in his powerful prose: The spirituality of those who were going to their deaths has no similarity whatsoever with the bloody government of a fundamentalist clergy. The Iranian clerics want to authenticate their regime through the significations that 12 Saffari 2017. Among the other important books about Shariati that have been published in English, see, for example, Miri and Byrd 2017; Rahnema 2000. 13 Mirsepassi and Ghamari-​Tabrizi suggest that Foucault was influenced by writings of Louis Massignon and Henry Corbin. Both circumvented the jurisprudential and doctrinal aspects of Shīʿī Islam, emphasizing its mystical aspects (Ghamari-​Tabrizi 2016, 56; Mirsepassi 2019, 216). 14 A number of criticisms of Foucault in this regard are detailed in Afary, Anderson, and Foucault 2005. 15 Ghamari-​Tabrizi 2016, 70–​71. 16 Foucault in Afary, Anderson, and Foucault 2005, 265.

176  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism the uprising had. It is no different to discredit the fact of the uprising on the grounds that there is today a government of mullahs.17

It is difficult to oppose Foucault in this regard. The religion that emerged in Iranian politics after the consolidation of power by the clerical Islamists was very different from the religion that existed in the revolutionary atmosphere of the late Pahlavi era. After the consolidation of clerical power, religion became confining, exclusive, and jurist-​centered, and wilāyat-​i faqīh came to be its most important political manifestation. Wilāyat-​i faqīh had no presence in religion before the Revolution, but in the post-​revolutionary period, it soon became the most important tool for eliminating rivals—​both religious and secular—​and has retained this key function to this day.18 Khomeini’s own political behavior also confirms this distinction. His own entourage was by no means limited to clerical Islamists. In what Alex Vatanka calls the Paris Circle,19 liberal and nationalist Muslims had a stronger presence than clerical Islamists. Throughout the years of struggle, demonstrating a certain intelligence, Khomeini avoided confrontation with different groups. There were even cases in which he was somehow pressured to take a stand but managed to avoid it. A very controversial case was that of Ali Shariati. While he was very effective in promoting political Islam, Shariati had a hostile attitude toward the clergy. Many clerics took issue with Shariati’s writings, including Khomeini’s closest student, Morteza Motahhari, who adopted a clear position against Shariati. But Khomeini never became entangled in the dispute himself. On one occasion, when asked to mount an objection to Shariati because of the latter’s writings criticizing the clergy, Khomeini replied: “I do not consider it appropriate to become involved in things that cause discord.”20 I have no intention of implying that the clergy never took a stand against any other groups. The core of religious doctrines, which claim exclusive right to truth and salvation, dictates exclusionary views and practices in relation to other religious and ideological schools. But religious leaders can always determine the level of openness or restraint in their relationships with others to some extent. During the revolutionary period, the clerical Islamists did not extend such openness to groups such as the Marxists and Bahāʿīs. Conflict between Islamists and Marxists was fierce, and a significant portion of Islamists’ energy was spent

17 Foucaul in Afary, Anderson, and Foucault 2005, 265. 18 The official institutions of the Islamic Republic are very hostile to any challenge to the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh. In addition, any criticism of the walī-​yi faqīh leads to serious judicial and political consequences for the critic, and in each general election period, a considerable number of candidates are disqualified on the pretext of a lack of commitment to wilāyat-​i faqīh. 19 Vatanka 2021. 20 Khomeini 1999f, 206.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  177 fighting Marxist ideas. The Islamists were very strict in relation to the Bahāʿīs and suggested that one of the reasons for their opposition to the Pahlavi government was the permissiveness of the shah toward the faith.21 They accused the shah’s government of supporting the Bahāʿīs, which is why targeting Bahāʿīs was on the Islamists’ agenda, even during the period of revolutionary struggle.22 In the post-​ revolutionary period, the Bahāʿīs were among the first minorities to be targeted. One can mention, for example, the disappearance of all the members of the first Bahāʿī Spiritual Assembly after the Revolution, whose fate remains unknown to this day.23 But there were many other groups and schools of thought and religion in relation to which this exclusionary attitude was not applied. More important, in the pre-​revolutionary period, the criteria of jurisprudence and wilāyat-​i faqīh were not among those used to mark the boundary between clerical Islamists and others. This was not only evident in the understandings of others about the presence of religion in the political arena but was also obvious in the words and actions of the clerical Islamists—​and their leader, Khomeini—​themselves. Proving that the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was not part of Khomeini’s political struggle is not a difficult task. In all the slogans chanted throughout the revolutionary struggle, not a single case can be found in which there is a reference to wilāyat-​i faqīh.24 In the speeches of Islamist clerics cited in the hundreds of documents and memoirs I have searched, there is no mention of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. For example, in the book Sharḥ-​i ism (Description of a Name), which is dedicated to the memoirs of Ayatollah Khamenei, only the publication and distribution of Khomeini’s book is discussed. In this book, Khamenei repeatedly refers to the content of his speeches in the mosques and other platforms in various cities, but in none of them does he mention the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh or the role of clerics in the structure of the future government.25 There are no statements in the memoirs published by any other clerical Islamists showing that they promoted the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in their political activities and speeches. A documentary in which a number of revolutionaries recount their memories of the book Wilāyat-​i faqīh in pre-​revolutionary Iran reveals that the work was not taken seriously by revolutionary clerics. In this documentary, Reza 21 Fischer 1980, 186–​187. 22 Numerous Bahāʿīs and their houses and businesses were subject to attack in the name of revolutionary actions. For further discussion, see Pliskin 1980; Yazdani 2012; Fischer 1980, 206; Yazdani 2017, 87–​90. 23 The repression of the Bahāʿīs has become an enduring policy of the Islamic Republic, and in addition to facing frequent physical harassment and exclusion in various parts of the country, the Bahāʿīs are systematically deprived of many of the basic rights of citizenship, including the right to study at university and the right to work in government offices. Much has been written about discrimination against Bahāʿīs in Iran, of which some examples include Kazemzadeh 2000; Affolter 2005; Afshari 2008; Sanasarian 2000, 114–​123; Zabihi-​Moghaddam 2016; Haghani 2014. 24 Panahi 2013. 25 Khamenei and Behboodi 2012.

178  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Alijani, a nationalist-​religious political activist, argues that when Khamenei saw the book Wilāyat-​i faqīh, he put it aside and said that “these are backward words.” He continues that “the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was not taken seriously among the pro-​Khomeini set, that is, the radical political seminary students opposed to the shah’s government.”26 Of course, given the political positions of the people who spoke in this documentary, as well as the network that screened it, these declarations alone are insufficient evidence to draw reliable conclusions. However, other relevant documents and reports confirm the veracity of these statements. For example, Abolhassan Banisadr stated in an interview: When Mr. Beheshti came to Paris, he said: “This book Wilāyat-​i faqīh of Mr. Khomeini is a source of embarrassment.” Yes, the very same Mr. Beheshti. He said, “because it has nothing in it.” . . . Hamid Ahmadi [interviewer]: Did he mean that same book [of Khomeini’s], Wilāyat-​i faqīh? Banisadr: Yes, yes. He also said, “We should think about it: if we say as this book does that as Muslims, we want to establish an Islamic government in the world, everyone will make fun of us.”27

We will see in ­chapter 7, about the discussions of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, that despite the strong support of Ayatollah Beheshti, who chaired the meetings, for the inclusion of the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution, he did not mention Khomeini’s book Wilāyat-​i faqīh. One can speculate that the Islamists deliberately avoided discussion about Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh because they saw it as highly problematic. A similar instance is reported by Andrew Scott Cooper, quoting Ali Kani, an official of the Pahlavi court. Kani was a friend of Imam Musa Sadr,28 the leader of the Lebanese Shīʿa. During one of Kani’s meetings with Imam Musa Sadr, the latter gave Kani a copy of Khomeini’s book Wilāyat-​i faqīh and asked him to suggest to the shah that it be published and distributed widely in Iran so that Iranian society would become acquainted with Khomeini’s thought and who he really was. Kani explains that the shah accepted the suggestion and instructed Prime Minister Amir-​Abbas Hoveyda to print and distribute five hundred thousand copies of the book. This never happened, because, according to Kani, Hoveyda opposed such a step and sought to erode the proposal.29 26 Reza Alijani interviewed in Azarmehr 2019, 22:56. 27 Banisadr 2001, 69. 28 Sayyid Musa Sadr, known as Imam Musa Sadr, was one of the most active and influential Shīʿī clerics in the 1960s and 1970s and leader of the Lebanese Shīʿa. He was the founder of the Supreme Islamic Shia Council and the Amal movement. Musa Sadr had extensive connections with Arab countries, and during a visit to Libya at the invitation of Muammar Qaddafi, he disappeared on September 1, 1979, and his exact fate remains unknown. For a discussion of the life, activities, and thought of Imam Musa Sadr, see Ajami 1986; Halawi 1992; Shapira 2020. 29 Cooper 2016, 204–​206.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  179

The Interviews of Khomeini The most important and eloquent source proving that wilāyat-​i faqīh was not part of the discourse of clerical Islamists during the Revolution is Khomeini’s own statements and interviews. As is rightly pointed out in many sources, Khomeini became widely known in the political arena from 1977, soon becoming the undisputed leader of the Revolution. The suspicious death of his son Mostafa Khomeini in October 1977 and the publication of an article in the Etelaat newspaper harshly insulting Khomeini and claiming he was of Indian origin30 played particularly important roles in this process. Both events led to widespread demonstrations in various cities, in which Khomeini was in the limelight.31 Khomeini had been continuously involved in politics since 1963 and was the leader of a group of revolutionary clerics, but he was not known widely outside clerical-​religious circles until 1977. In all of the statements, speeches, and interviews of Khomeini from 1963 until September 1979—​that is, about seven months after the victory of the Revolution—​there is no mention of wilāyat-​i faqīh.32 I will refer later to the occasion on which Khomeini, after the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution approved the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh, spoke for the first time about wilāyat-​i faqīh and defended it in its entirety in the public political arena. But prior to this juncture, he had never spoken of the formation of a faqīh-​headed state or a special role for the clergy in the political structure, neither before nor after the Revolution. Bazargan cites an exceptional case when he did, quoting excerpts from one of Khomeini’s statements in July 1978. In the statement, Khomeini claimed that the clergy had an exclusive role in the Revolution and that the uprising belonged exclusively to them. Bazargan continues that the Freedom Movement wrote a letter to Khomeini due to concern about this statement and that Khomeini replied: I explicitly declare that this paragraph [of the statement] is relevant to those who portray the original Iranian movement as a non-​ Islamic political matter . . . not to those who, during the struggle and in their writings and speeches, have proclaimed their association with Islam . . . as I have stated in most of my writings.33

30 Richard and Floor 2019, 270–​271. 31 Keddie and Richard 2003, 225–​239; Martin 2014, 147–​156; Fischer 1980, 193–​209. 32 The exception, of course, being the thirteen lectures Khomeini gave in the winter of 1970 in Najaf, during which he explained his doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh and which were later published in book form. This course was taught to seminary students at the highest level, dars-​i khārij, and its audience was by no means the general public. 33 Bazargan 1984, 117–​118.

180  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism From the time Khomeini was expelled from Najaf and settled on the outskirts of Paris, he became increasingly in the spotlight. By this point, he was vastly ahead of all other opponents of the Pahlavi regime in terms of the leadership of the Revolution. A flood of journalists from various news networks around the world flocked to Neauphle-​le-​Château. The interviews of Khomeini, in addition to appearing in the Ṣahīfa Imām collection, a selection of his messages, speeches, letters, and interviews, have been gathered in at least two separate books.34 No mention of wilāyat-​i faqīh is made in any of these interviews. Citing the research of one of his students, Abbas Milani states that in the 110 recorded interviews with Khomeini during his stay in France, “wilāyat-​i faqīh” is not cited, and “on the contrary, he said many times that a plurality of thought and ideas would be free, and said many times that we will not put chadors on women.”35 Khomeini being a cleric, with the prominent presence of clerics during the Revolution, spurred reporters to ask him about his position in particular and the position of the clergy in general in the next government. Khomeini’s clear and consistent answer to such questions was that neither he nor other clerics would occupy any positions in the future government. Here are some of the statements Khomeini made in his interviews: The people should choose competent and reliable individuals and entrust responsibility for [the country’s] affairs to them, but I personally cannot accept any special responsibility in this formation [the Islamic Republic] and at the same time, I am always alongside the people observing the situation and I [will] fulfill my duty of guidance.36 God willing, we will announce our plans as soon as possible and necessary, but this does not mean that I will take over all the affairs of the country and create a dogma every day, like during the dictatorial period of the shah, and in spite of the will of the people, impose [such dogmas] on them. . . . The clergy will have a guiding role in the future government.37 I will not personally become president, nor will I accept any government post. As in the past, I will be content to guide the people.38 Question: If the shah resigns and you are elected as the leader of the Islamic Republic of Iran, will you accept this responsibility? Answer: I personally will not accept such a position.39



34 35 36 37 38 39

Khomeini 1983; Ali Babaei 2019. Milani quoted in Hoseini 2014. Interview with Le Monde, November 28, 1978, in Khomeini 1982a, 270. Interview with The Economist, January 8, 1979, in Khomeini 1982b, 179. Interview with Le Monde, January 9, 1979, in Khomeini 1982b, 186. Interview with Tempo (Indonesia) January 13, 1979, in Khomeini 1982b, 215–​216.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  181 The other clerics and I will not occupy positions in the government. The duty of the clergy is to guide governments.40 “I don’t want to be the head of government. And the governance method is republican governance and reliance on the votes of the nation; and the law is the laws of Islam. . . .” Question: “You said before that it is jurists and [clerical] figures who have to deal with government affairs, will this principle work in the same way that you said before?” Answer: “I didn’t say that the clerics will be responsible for governance. The clergy have a different occupation.”41

Khomeini’s behavior after returning to Iran and taking power was consistent with these statements. He appointed a noncleric with liberal Islamist tendencies as prime minister of the Interim Government. While a large number of members of the Revolutionary Council were clerics, this council had no executive role and was to act as a temporary institution for lawmaking and oversight.42 More important, Khomeini stayed in Tehran for less than a month and returned to Qum on March 1, 1979. This was a symbolic move by Khomeini to show that he was not going to be at the center of political power but would return to his original residence and the center of religious power in Qum to—​in his words—​attend to his scholarly and other duties and caution the government whenever the necessity arose. Of course, his stay in Qum did not necessarily conflict with him taking on a political role; his mere departure to Qum cannot prove that he was not pursuing wilāyat-​i faqīh. But this step, alongside his other actions and speeches, gives the clear implication and indeed confirms the claim that he did not seek to establish a faqīh-​headed state at this time and did not consider himself for the position of walī-​yi faqīh in the future government.

“Islamic Republic”: An Empty Signifier Fifty days after the victory of the Islamic Revolution, the Iranian people went to the polls to vote yes or no to the form of political system proposed by Khomeini. The holding of the referendum was, in fact, the legitimation of two events that in practice had already taken place. One was the end of the monarchical political system, which had been abolished in practice on February 11, 1979, and the second was naming the new system the “Islamic Republic.” Given the widespread 40 Interview with Straits Times (Singapore), January 15, 1979, in Khomeini 2006, 472. 41 Interview with Stern, January 16, 1979, in Khomeini 2006, 482. 42 However, the Revolutionary Council was very influential in practice and, as Arjomand says, ruled the country alongside the dual power of the judicial and paramilitary arms of the clerical Islamists, while the hands of the Interim Government were tied, rendering it unable to do much about many affairs of the nation. See Arjomand 1988, 134–​146.

182  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism use of the expression “Islamic Republic” in the vast majority of demonstrations, it is not far-​fetched to say that it was already a well-​established and accepted designation. The “Islamic Republic” as a name, despite emerging relatively late in the revolutionary process, was a very familiar concept and one of the most common and significant slogans of the height of the Revolution. But despite its widespread use, the title was vague; no one knew exactly what kind of political system was going to be formed in its name.43 If we look to the terminology of discourse analysis, the most appropriate term we find to describe the concept of the Islamic Republic is “empty signifier.”44 The term, first used by Claude Lévi-​Strauss, refers to a word or concept that “represent[s]‌an undetermined quantity of signification, in itself void of meaning and thus apt to receive any meaning.”45 The meanings of these signifiers are vague and highly variable—​signified, unspecifiable signified, and nonexistent signified—​and therefore refer to different things for different people; anyone can interpret them in any sense they wish.46 The elaboration proposed by Ernesto Laclau can help to further illuminate the status of “Islamic Republic” that I am trying to explain here. According to Laclau, the empty signifier is the hegemonic representative of a collection of different and even conflicting unmet demands. A chain of these demands is created, and the longer this chain (meaning the more individuals and groups have unmet demands), the less the content of their specific demands matters; rather, it is the unmet nature of the demands that becomes important. In fact, it is “unsatisfied demands” that connect these individuals and groups, even if the content of their demands conflict with one another in a way that means that the fulfillment of the demand of one individual or group depends on the non-​fulfillment of the demand of another individual or group. The object or person who is the cause of the non-​fulfillment of these demands (i.e., the political system) becomes the common enemy, the demand for a change of political system becomes a collective demand, and individual and group demands are forgotten. The empty signifier refers to any concept that represents this general demand and is, in fact, “empty of the specific demands of individuals and groups.”47 Laclau also uses the concept of “hegemonic operation” to describe the function of an empty signifier as forming a totality that, in the true sense of the word, lacks such a capacity: 43 Martin 2014, 154–​159. 44 In using the notion of the empty signifier to describe the status of the concept of the Islamic Republic at the time of the referendum, I am inspired by the work of Mohammad Samiei. Two other concepts (“floating signifier” and “open signifier”) are used in the same sense, although Ernesto Laclau himself distinguishes between the concept of an “empty signifier” and that of a “floating signifier.” For further discussion, see Moraes 2014, 30. 45 Mehlman 1972, 23. 46 Mehlman 1972. 47 Laclau and Howarth 2015, 66–​75; Laclau 2005; Laclau 2006.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  183 It [empty signifier] signifies a totality which is literally impossible. Seen from another angle, this is a hegemonic operation (or the construction of a Master signifier in the Lacanian sense): a certain particularity transforms its own body in the representation of an incommensurable totality.48

During the Revolution, especially in the eighteen months preceding February 11, 1979, the overthrow of the Pahlavi government became the demand of a very wide cross section of groups and individuals, all drawn to this common demand because their own separate demands were not being met. The “Islamic Republic,” as an empty signifier, represented the departure of the Pahlavi government without necessarily referring to the specific demands of the individuals and groups who opposed it. Another feature necessary for understanding the status of the phrase “Islamic Republic” at that time was that its negative dimension was much more prominent than its positive dimension. That is, the phrase communicated what people did not want—​the political system they wanted eliminated was clear—​rather than specifying what they wanted to replace it. Foucault speaks of the positive aspect of this concept,49 that it was an “attempt to open a spiritual dimension in politics.”50 I agree that an albeit misleading positive dimension could be deduced from the concept of the “Islamic Republic,” the very same religious demand or “political spirituality” to which Foucault refers. However, it must be recognized that religion and spirituality were also empty signifiers, or, if I may be so bold as to add a term to the concepts of discourse analysis, I might suggest they are “empty sub-​signifiers.” A significant proportion of the opponents of the Pahlavi government saw the reason for the non-​fulfillment of their demands as the absence of the element of religion in the political arena. For this group, the “elimination of pro-​Western and anti-​religious policies” found hegemonic status as a negative demand. It can even be said that due to the strong anti-​colonial element of this “empty sub-​signifier,” it was not just various Islamist groups but also nationalist and leftist groups who sympathized with this demand. There is no misrepresentation in the statement that many people thought that a system called the “Islamic Republic” would grant the religion of Islam a

48 Laclau 2006, 107. 49 Foucault uses the expression “Islamic government” in his writings because that was the phrase used in slogans at the time, but later, especially after the 1979 ʿĀshūrāʾ demonstrations, “Islamic Republic” replaced “Islamic government.” While Khomeini was in Najaf, he never used the phrase “Islamic Republic.” But after his stay in Paris, he used this expression in all his interviews to refer to his desired alternative to imperial rule. There are various stories about who first suggested this phrase to Khomeini. According to Qufli, Banisadr claims it was he who made the suggestion to Khomeini. At the same time, Karim Sanjabi mentions Ayatollah Beheshti as having proposed the phrase, and Bazargan suggests it was Ayatollah Abolfazl Mousavi Zanjani (Qufli 2008, 108–​109). 50 Afary, Anderson, and Foucault 2005, 208.

184  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism very important place, and they had no issue with it. However, what was going to happen in practice was not clear at all. The general statements about Islam as a perfect religion, that it will solve all problems, that it is a religion of justice and righteousness, that it defends the rights of the oppressed, and many similar assertions, did not indicate what would actually take shape in reality. At the macro level, there was no conception that the word “Islam” in the name “Islamic Republic” meant juridical Islam. None of the clerical Islamists spoke on the subject; neither did the masses or other groups envisage such a thing. No one imagined at that time that the presence of religion in the political arena meant the implementation of Islamic criminal law, the imposition of compulsory hijab, systematic and widespread discrimination against women in the country’s legal system, or the flogging of a person who drank alcohol or did not fast. All of these and thousands of other policies were later put on the agenda and implemented by the government of the Islamic Republic of Iran, despite the fact that at the time of the referendum, none was considered a likely repercussion of the incorporation of Islam into the political arena. Published reports on the referendum turnout show that it included unveiled women, adherents of various religions, and people with an entirely nonreligious appearance who said they were voting for the Islamic Republic. Among political groups, many liberal and leftist religious and nonreligious groups voted for the Islamic Republic without seeing in it any demand for the implementation of juridical Islam. Such a demand was not raised by the clerical Islamists, either, since, one may suggest, this specific demand of clerical Islamists was obscured by the hegemonic “empty signifier,” that is, the demand for the overthrow of the monarchy. In the same way, the demand to implement the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was not raised at all. Some concerns were raised that “Islamic Republic” was synonymous with the rule of the clergy, but this statement was definitively rejected by the clerical Islamists. One of the most prominent ideologues of the Islamic Republic, Ayatollah Motahhari, responded to this concern in an extended televised debate just days before the referendum: When you say the rule of the clergy, it seems you are mistaking the rule of Islamic government for the rule of the clergy. I would ask, how can the word Islamic be used [to refer to] the concept of clerical rule? Is Islam the religion of the clergy? Is Islam the ideology of the clergy? Or an ideology of humanity sine qua non? Do our intellectuals, when they are confronted with the concept of “Islamic Republic” or when they hear the phrase, associate it in their minds with a clerical—​as they say—​republic, whose only difference from other republics is that the clergy occupy the [leadership] posts? Indeed, it would be surprising

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  185 if they are unaware and came to this conclusion, and if they are aware and are trying to deceive people, then a thousand regrets.51

In the same dialogue, the interviewer asks Motahhari: “Do you not think, instead of the vague principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the Islamic government, we could use a progressive principle, which says that the power of the state come from the people instead?” He replied: Wilāyat-​i faqīh does not mean that the faqīh himself is the head of state and rules in practice. The role of the jurist in an Islamic country, that is, a country in which the people accept Islam as an ideology and are committed to it, is the role of an ideologue, not the role of a ruler. The duty of the ideologue is to oversee the correct implementation of the ideology. He examines and oversees law enforcement and the person who is to be head of state [to make sure they] do things within the framework of the ideology of Islam. The people’s conception of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the days of the constitutional period and now, was not and is not that the faqīh should rule and take over the administration of the country but throughout the centuries and ages, the people’s conception of wilāyat-​i faqīh has been that when a society is an Islamic society and its people adhere to the school of Islam, the competence of any ruler, in terms of whether or not he is capable of enforcing Islamic law in the country, must be approved by a faqīh.52

This instance of a question and answer about wilāyat-​i faqīh was an exception to the rule. There were certainly serious controversies that arose between political groups over the referendum at the time, but one can state confidently that the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh had no place in these discussions. In his examination of the interviews in which Khomeini speaks about the characteristics of the Islamic Republic, Kadivar identifies seven features, including adherence to the principles of Islam, independence, justice, and freedom. Kadivar reiterates that there is no mention of the concept of a faqīh-​headed state in Khomeini’s words.53 Two main controversies arose in the political arena over the referendum. One was the proposal to use “Republic” without “Islamic” or to add “Democratic” to the name “Islamic Republic,” the latter put forward by Bazargan. Khomeini reacted sharply to these proposals and announced in a speech, “Don’t use the 51 Motahhari 1988, 86–​87. 52 Motahhari 1988, 85–​86. 53 Kadivar 1999, 171–​175. Ghodratollah Rahmani also carefully examines the concept of the Islamic Republic in Khomeini’s thought and also demonstrates its complexity. However, his article does not state that the Khomeini’s conception of an Islamic Republic included the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh, either (Rahmani 2021).

186  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Western term ‘democratic.’ Those who call for such a thing don’t know anything about Islam.”54 It was at the same time and in response to this controversy that Khomeini stated in what has become an often-​quoted phrase, “Islamic Republic, not a word less, nor a word more.”55 Another concern raised by a wide range of political forces was the fact that voters had only one option, and that option was presented in such a way that not voting for it was equivalent to voting for the survival of the monarchy. Since the voters were offered only one choice, it is not surprising that in Iranian political literature, this referendum is referred to as the “Islamic Republic referendum” rather than the referendum to determine the form of the new political system. Many people, both secular Islamists and nationalist, liberal, and leftist groups, demanded that voters be free to choose whatever system they wished. Khomeini did not show any flexibility in this regard, either, and the referendum proceeded in the way he intended. Khomeini’s power and influence far exceeded those of any other political group or personality, and it seems that the majority of the others knew that their demands were unlikely to progress given Khomeini’s opposition. With the exception of a few groups, the majority participated in the referendum in the same way as planned, resulting in 98.2 percent of people voting in favor of the Islamic Republic. Simultaneously with the referendum on the type of political system, another piece on the chessboard of the future political system was moved into place: a special commission was formed to draft the constitution. An examination of the process of drafting and approving the constitution provides further proof of the claim that the idea of ​a faqīh-​headed government was not proposed in Iran, even in the period after the establishment of the Islamic Republic as the future political system.

The Draft Constitution It is clear from well-​known political figures’ interviews and memoirs relating to the time of the eve of the 1979 Revolution that in the months before Khomeini’s return to Iran and the fall of the Pahlavi monarchy on February 11, attempts were being made to draft a constitution. One of the most important names to be mentioned in this regard is that of Hasan Habibi.56 According to Sadeq Tabatabaei, during a conversation in a Paris cafe, Habibi told him: “In my opinion 54 Khoemini quoted in Takeyh 2021, 249. 55 Khomeini 1999b, 428. 56 Hasan Habibi was a prominent member of the Freedom Movement, a member of the Islamic Republican Party, and very close to Khomeini. He ran as an Islamic Republican Party candidate in the first presidential election in 1980 but lost to Banisadr. Habibi served as first vice president for both terms of Akbar Hashemi-​Rafsanjani’s presidency and the first term of Mohammad Khatami’s.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  187 the most important thing that the Imām [Khomeini] should be thinking about now is the constitution of the government. If this process continues and the shah leaves Iran and the Imām returns, he will need to have his constitution under his arm.”57 When he raised this issue with Khomeini, the latter asked Habibi to consider the matter himself, “using his knowledge and legal expertise as well as his familiarity with the laws of free countries,” and if he needed jurisprudential advice, to ask Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad Baqir Tabatabaei Soltani for help.58 As is clear from this quote, Khomeini referred to Habibi’s legal expertise and familiarity with the laws of free countries and did not ask him to draft a constitution based on the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. In relation to the naming of Ayatollah Tabatabaei, it seems that Khomeini’s reference to “jurisprudential” matters was general rather than specifically related to the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, because Ayatollah Tabatabaei had nothing in particular to do with the doctrine that would cause one to speculate that he was familiar with or agreed with it.59 After this conversation, Habibi produced a text in the name of a draft constitution, which was brought into the country by a journalist60 on the famous flight on which Khomeini returned to Iran. A number of political activists in Tehran had prepared a text as well,61 and these two texts were later merged and used as the initial text considered by the assembly tasked with drafting the constitution. The same decree in which Khomeini appointed Bazargan as the prime minister of the Interim Government also referred to the “formation of a Constituent Assembly elected by the people for the purpose of approving the constitution of the new system.” In the next days, a delegation was formed by Yadullah Sahabi, the deputy prime minister, to draft a constitution.62 While there are differing accounts of the membership of this assembly, the names of several people have been mentioned in all reports and memoirs, including those of Hasan Habibi, Mohammad Jafar Langarudi, Abdulkarim Lahiji, Naser Minachi, Fathullah

57 Tabatabaei 2008, 131. 58 Tabatabaei 2008, 131. 59 Sayyid Mohammad Baqir Tabatabaei Soltani Borujerdi was one of the disciples of Khomeini, the father of Sadeq Tabatabaei (the narrator of the memoir referred to above), and the father-​in-​law of the eldest son of Khomeini. Khomeini had at some point introduced him, along with three other people, as his executors in religious affairs. Tabatabaei was a member of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution but never held another political position and taught in Qum until his death in 1997. It can be imagined that his name came to Khomeini’s mind because his son Sadeq Tabatabaei was one of the three participants in the conversation that night. 60 According to Sadeq Tabatabaei, since Khomeini and his entourage were likely to be arrested as soon as they arrived at the airport, they gave the text to a journalist on the flight. 61 For further discussion, see Katouzian 2003. 62 There are somewhat different narratives about the formation of this assembly, and some have stated that Khomeini asked Habibi directly to form the assembly and undertake the compilation work. In any case, in circumstances in which institutions and duties were not yet clear, it can be assumed that at the same time as Khomeini asked Habibi to form an assembly, Sahabi did so on behalf of the Interim Government.

188  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Banisadr, and Naser Katuziyan.63 The important point here is that despite some parallel operations that seemed to be taking place, there is no report that shows that the constitution drafting process led to any tension or dispute. For example, there is no report of someone leaving the assembly and announcing that he did not agree with the path it had taken or of a number of people preparing an alternative and competing version of the text. This was what happened—​as will be explained later—​after the text of the draft constitution was published; several drafts were circulated as alternatives to the draft constitution. However, there is no report of disagreement pertaining to the months from February until mid-​ June 1979, neither over the management or proceedings of the delegation nor over the draft it prepared. Similarly, there is no doubt about the composition of the delegation for the compilation of the constitution. Its members were generally lawyers; although some, such as Habibi, can be considered members of the clerical Islamist faction, the assembly was dominated by secularists and liberal Islamists. The choice of this composition shows in itself that at that time, Khomeini had no plan to draft a constitution centered on wilāyat-​i faqīh. Moreover, it has not been mentioned anywhere that Khomeini asked the delegation to determine a place in the constitution where the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in particular, or a role for clerics more generally, would be set out. It is not surprising that the text prepared by this delegation did not refer directly or indirectly to wilāyat-​i faqīh and did not envisage any particular role for the clergy in the structure of government. Although there was an institution called the Guardian Council defined in that text, it had several fundamental differences from what was later included in the constitution. According to the draft, the Guardian Council was to consist of five jurists and six lawyers—​the majority being lawyers, not jurists. The appointment of its members was to take place via a proposal by the president and the subsequent approval of the parliament. Also, the draft contemplated no role for the Guardian Council in elections. A further major difference between this Guardian Council and what was formed later on was that not all parliamentary bills were to be subject to approval by the Guardian Council. The oversight role of the Guardian Council envisaged in this draft was limited to bills in relation to which objections had been raised. Article 144 of the draft stated: “The Guardian Council shall, at the request of a well-​known marjaʿ-​i taqlīd, or the President, the Head of the Supreme Court or the Attorney General, be empowered to review laws, provided that no more than one month has elapsed since the law was signed.” This clause 63 For example, it has been suggested that Sayyid Ali Khamenei and Sayyid Reza Zavarei were also members of this assembly but after the first couple of sessions did not participate in any further meeting. Nowhere is it said that the reason for their limited participation was any disagreement with the assembly or the direction of its drafting process. It appears that in the extant revolutionary atmosphere, Khamenei and Zavarei considered their presence more important elsewhere.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  189 is very different from the current authority held by the Guardian Council; at present, all laws passed by the parliament must be approved by the Guardian Council in order to be legally recognized. Abdulkarim Lahiji, a member of the delegate for drafting the constitution, said that the Guardian Council article was included by the members of the delegation themselves: “In following the French constitution, we said that law approved by the parliament is the law. Unless within one month the president or one of the five marājaʿ-​i taqlid appeals to the Guardian Council, in which case the Guardian Council will take action; it was something like the Constitutional Court of the United States or France. . . . This was the only hint of religious Islam in that constitution.”64 As people such as Karim Sanjabi,65 Husayn Bashiriya, Husayn Sayyidi, and Ayatollah Saduqi explain, a cursory glance at the draft constitution clearly demonstrates the dominance of democratic thought and its secular and Western roots.66 It was not unreasonable that a significant part of the Islamists’ protests after the publication of this text was related to its lack of religious spirit. For example, Khatami wrote in this regard: “Unfortunately, what is not in the draft is Islam, and it is better to call this the constitution of the ‘Republic’ or the ‘Democratic Republic,’ this is the very constitution that Shapur Bakhtiyar67 wanted to implement.”68 Ayatollah Montazeri also wrote in a lengthy statement he issued in this regard: “The proposed constitution has been drafted in such a way that the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd and the just fuqahāʾ who are the heart of the Islamic government have no role in the legislation or administration of the country.”69 Mohammad Sadeq Rouhani also said in a press conference: “The draft constitution, in our opinion, is not in accordance with Islam in any way. . . . This draft is not enough. In our opinion, it is worse than the previous constitution. . . . Therefore, this draft should not be taken to the Assembly of Experts at all. The draft constitution should remain and be changed. It is useless.”70 64 Lahiji 2010. 65 Karim Sanjabi was the leader of the fourth National Front and the foreign minister of the Interim Government. He had an important meeting with Khomeini in Paris, only a few months before the 1979 Revolution, during which he and, in fact, the National Front pledged allegiance to Khomeini. After the meeting, he issued a three-​point statement in which he called for an end to the monarchy, which Khomeini had wanted for many years. The National Front was one of the first political groups to be eliminated after the Revolution. The National Front issued a statement against the implementation of the qiṣaṣ ruling, and in response, Khomeini ruled that those in the National Front were apostates. Afterward, many members of the National Front were arrested, but Sanjabi managed to escape from Iran after months of living in secret inside the country. He died in the United States in 1995. 66 Sanjabi 1989, 332; Bashiriyeh 2006, 37; Sa’edi 1979; Sadoughi 1979. 67 Shapur Bakhtiyar was a member of the National Front and the last prime minister (January 4–​ February 11, 1979) of the Pahlavi regime. For his political biography, see Shawkat and Ghanoonparvar 2019. 68 Khatami 1979, 9. 69 Montazeri 1979b, 4. 70 Rouhani 1979, 1.

190  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism The reaction of Khomeini and the Revolutionary Council to this text is very important from the point of view of this chapter. After reviewing the text of the draft, Khomeini did not object to its lack of reference to wilāyat-​i faqīh and did not ask the compilers to add this to the text.71 Neither did he object to the dominance of democratic and secular thought in the draft.72 In contrast, the amendments proposed by Khomeini in his handwriting on the text address very minor issues, changing, deleting, and adding words and clarifications. For example, in the case of the Guardian Council paragraph mentioned above, “the President” appeared before “one of the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd”: Khomeini preferred that “one of the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd” be written before “the President.”73 Therefore, even in the Guardian Council clause, which was the only clause regarding the role of the clergy in the future government, he did not make significant changes. Khomeini also called on the Interim Government to send the draft text to a number of Qum ʿulamāʾ so that their views could be taken into account before the text was put to a referendum for final approval. The suggestions put forward by the Qum ʿulamāʾ are also interesting because the two marājaʿ-​i taqlid consulted, namely, Ayatollah Shahabuddin Marashi-​ Najafi and Ayatollah Mohammad Reza Golpaygani, not only demanded a much greater emphasis on the religious elements in the constitution but also called for a broader and more decisive role for marājaʿ-​i taqlid in their proposed amendments. For example, Ayatollah Marashi-​Najafi suggested that members of the Guardian Council should only be appointed by marājaʿ-​i taqlīd, and that “the Guardian Council is essential to the constitution and cannot be in any way changed or revised.” He also suggested that some articles be added to the constitution, such as: Article 1: Wilāyat-​i faqīh by a fully qualified (jamʿi al-​sharāyaṭ) jurist is valid in every age; Article 2: In any case in which a bill proposed by the parliament deviates from the standards of sharīʿa or the national interest, grand ayatollahs should have veto rights; and Article 3: An oversight body composed of clerics is needed in all economic, educational, political, judicial and Court of Justice departments and institutions.74

He also suggested that marājaʿ-​i taqlid be consulted on the determination, appointment, and removal of the president, prime minister, and other ministers.

71 Bakhash 1990, 74. 72 Many people testified to this both at the time and afterward. See, for example, Banisadr 1979; Sahabi 2003. 73 Variei 2007, 1075. 74 Mar’ashi-​Najafi 1979, 10–​11.

Wilāyat-i Faqīh: The Elephant in the Room  191 Ayatollah Golpaygani was more involved in the constitutional debate than Ayatollah Marashi-​Najafi and issued several statements in this regard. In one of his proposals for reform of the draft, he wrote: True absolute sovereignty belongs to Almighty God, and this government and divine guardianship over it, according to the principles of Islamic beliefs and the Jaʿafarī sect, has been delegated to the holy prophet (PBUH), and after him the infallible Imāms (AS) and in the era of occultation to the fully qualified jurists; so any other person who in name or in practice appropriates this governance for himself is a tyrant and a transgressor of the authority of divine sovereignty. Therefore Muslims in every age can, with the approval and under the supervision of fully qualified fuqahāʾ, take over the reins [of government] on the basis of an Islamic system for guaranteeing the implementation of divine laws in the name of national sovereignty, and [thus] prevent the emergence of a dictatorial or one-​person government in Islamic society, and the government of the Islamic Republic will be formed through the inspiration of Islam’s superior teachings.75

This general concept of the supervision of fully qualified fuqahāʾ has appeared in the Shīʿī lexicon and been accepted by the ʿulamāʾ for centuries but not in the sense that Khomeini used it. The use of this concept by Ayatollah Golpaygani and Ayatollah Marashi-​Najafi can be understood in the role they envisaged for the ʿulamāʾ in providing governmental oversight, rather than any conception of jurists having been delegated the right and responsibility by the twelfth Imām to serve at the head of the government apparatus. It can be speculated that the suggestions of these two marājaʿ-​i taqlid and their direct references to the concept of wilāyat-​i faqīh must at the very least have drawn Khomeini’s attention to the idea of i​ncluding wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution—​even if we make the impossible assumption that at this time, Khomeini had completely forgotten about his development of a doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh or it had not occurred to him to include it in the constitution. However, the views of these two marājaʿ-​i taqlid in this regard were ignored in the final version of the draft. As far as we know, neither Khomeini nor anyone else among the clerical Islamists, who made up a majority, especially in the Revolutionary Council,76 suggested that the concept of wilāyat-​i faqīh be added to the draft or that any further privilege beyond the Guardian Council clause be granted to clerics in the forthcoming government. A number of changes 75 Golpaygani quoted in Variei 2007, 1046. 76 For further discussion about the formation and composition of the Revolutionary Council, see Maleki 2012; Bazargan 1983; Sae’li-​Kordedeh 2005.

192  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism proposed by Khomeini and other ʿulamāʾ were applied to the text of the draft, and the Revolutionary Council (which was the lawmaking institution after the Revolution and before the formation of the parliament) approved the draft constitution in the absence of any reference to wilāyat-​i faqīh. Chapter 7 will discuss that among the clerical Islamists who had the upper hand in running the country at the time, nobody envisaged wilāyat-​i faqīh or even a special place for marājaʿ-​i taqlīd collectively in the future political structure of the country.

7

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of ​ Wilāyat-​i Faqīh With the victory of the Revolution in February 1979, the transition period commenced and progressed at a great pace. In less than two months, the revolutionary leaders scheduled the first election, and the people went to the polls to determine the new political system. In addition to putting an end to the monarchy, almost all political groups agreed that the constitution should be abolished in its entirety and a new constitution written. The new draft constitution, which had been prepared before the victory of the Revolution, was drawn up in a short period of time and approved by the provisional institutions established for the immediate management of the country. As mentioned in ­chapter 6, there was no reference to the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in this draft. While there were certainly major political changes taking place at this time, there is no evidence to suggest that a transformation in Shīʿī political theology was among them. The persistent insistence of Khomeini and the clerical Islamists that the clergy was not going to occupy government positions showed that they were not yet pursuing the ideal polity that Khomeini had proposed approximately ten years before. But a wrong move by the nonclerical political forces triggered a process that put the inclusion of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution on the agenda of the clerical Islamists. Khomeini, along with his entourage who were in decision-​making positions, not only approved the draft constitution without wilāyat-​i faqīh but insisted that the same draft be put directly to a referendum. If this had happened, the draft, which, as many have testified, was democratic and secular, would most likely have become the country’s new constitution. But the insistence of people such as Bazargan, Banisadr, and Sahabi that a Constituent Assembly be formed first, ignited a process that eventually led to the drafting of a constitution centered on the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh. In the first part of this chapter, I will explain why and how the decision to form the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution was taken. I will then argue that the decision to convene the Assembly of Experts provided the opportunity for a wide range of groups and individuals to comment on the draft constitution. At the time, the lower echelons of the clerical Islamists called for a more prominent role for religion in the constitution, believing that a specific position should be reserved for the clerics in the structure of the future Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0008

194  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism political system. These demands were initially raised on the margins of the main debate, but with the formation of the Assembly of Experts, they became the main agenda item of the clerical Islamists. In this chapter, I will discuss in detail the suggestions of the lower strata of the clerical Islamists and suggest that there does not seem to have been any coordination or coherence among this group. I will also argue that although the clerical Islamists sought to identify a special role for clerics in the future political structure, they did not mention the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh.

Referendum or Constituent Assembly? After the final text of the draft was prepared and approved by the Interim Government and the Revolutionary Council, disagreement arose about what the next step in the finalization process should be. There were some who believed that the approved text should be put to a referendum directly, but others, citing the promise of the formation of a Constituent Assembly, insisted that this body be formed and the text reviewed and finalized in the Constituent Assembly before being subject to referendum. Unable to reach agreement, members of the Interim Government and the Revolutionary Council traveled to Qum on May 22 to hold a session in the presence of Khomeini and make a final decision incorporating his advice.1 As the testimony of various people present at the meeting shows, Khomeini supported the proposal made by the likes of Hashemi-​ Rafsanjani, Ayatollah Beheshti, and Mohammad Reza Mahdavi-​Kani to hold a referendum. He even said that he would publicly support the draft so that people would vote for it. Given his popularity at the time and its repeated confirmation, including by the result of the referendum to determine the type of political system in the country, it can be said that he did not speak out of place. If Khomeini’s words had been accepted at that meeting and the draft put to a referendum, it would most likely have been voted in with his support, and in this way, the most important document of the new political system could have been very different from the one that took shape later. But the bitter irony of history is that people who were not part of the clerical Islamist faction insisted in that meeting that a Constituent Assembly be convened first and that this assembly consider and finalize the draft before a referendum was held. People such as Mahdi Bazargan, Abolhassan Banisadr, and Hashim Sabbaghiyan (all outside the camp of the clerical Islamists) were among those who made the argument that a referendum should not take place before the formation of a Constituent Assembly. The reason for their insistence was clearly

1

Hashemi-​Rafsanjani and Abbas Bashiri 2004.

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  195 the promises made earlier regarding the formation of a Constituent Assembly to draft the constitution. As referred to earlier, Khomeini’s decree appointing Bazargan stated: I call upon you . . . to form an Interim Government in order to manage the affairs of the country, in particular the holding of a referendum with reference to public opinion about the change of the political system of the country to an Islamic Republic, and the formation of a Constituent Assembly elected by the people for the purpose of approving the constitution of the new system.2

On the other hand, it seems that Khomeini and his entourage were insisting upon establishing the new order as soon as possible. According to Khomeini, the formation of the Constituent Assembly, which would include several hundred people, could delay the adoption of the constitution for some months. Naser Katuziyan, one of the key members of the Assembly for the Compilation of the Constitution, said that Khomeini responded to his insistence on the formation of a Constituent Assembly by advising: “Do not do this because it will take a long time and I am in a hurry, I want this law to be passed soon so I can go and fulfill my seminary duties.”3 Finally, Ayatollah Taleghani proposed the middle-​ground solution that an Assembly of Experts4 instead of a Constituent Assembly be formed, made up of about forty members based on the calculation of one representative for every million people. This proposal was agreed upon, and subsequently, the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution was formed, although with some changes due to amendments proposed later, including a greater number of representatives (seventy-​five). This assembly set the draft text aside and drafted a new constitution based on wilāyat-​i faqīh. Ezatullah Sahabi quotes Hashemi-​Rafsanjani’s response to the insistence of Yadullah Sahabi on forming a Constituent Assembly: “Professor, do not emphasize the Constituent Assembly so much. On the basis of my experience gained over the last year, I am sure that if an assembly is formed, then about 70 to 80 percent of it will be clerics, and a parliament with this composition will give you a reactionary constitution, and you will wish you had bitten your tongue.”5 History has shown that Hashemi-​Rafsanjani was right, and those who insisted on forming a Constituent Assembly soon regretted it.

2 Khomeini 1999a, 54. 3 Katouzian 2003, 125. 4 There was disagreement over the name of this assembly. At its inaugural meeting, Bazargan called it the Assembly for the Compilation of the Constitution, but in most discussions, declarations, and newspaper reports, the title Assembly of Experts was used. 5 Hashemi-​Rafsanjani quoted in Rastegar 2021, 8. Abolhassan Banisadr also refers to these words of Hashemi-​Rafsanjani (Banisadr quoted in Milani 1992a, 96).

196  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Karim Sanjabi quotes National Front leaders and the Interim Government’s foreign minister as saying that Bazargan considered this insistence the biggest mistake of his political life.6 Banisadr also said later, “I wish we had accepted it. One should not be too greedy in politics. If we had accepted that referendum, maybe things would have been better.”7 The decision to convene the Assembly of Experts provided an opportunity for further and broader discussions on the constitution to take shape in the country’s political arena over a two-​month period. It was in these debates that Islamists spoke about the importance of religion as well as the special place of jurists and clerics in the future political structure and paved the way for the drafting of a wilāyat-​i faqīh-​centered constitution. The idea of a special position for the clergy relatively quickly and easily became the central symbol of the discourse of clerical Islamism in the sessions of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution and within a few short months became the structure of the new system as the axis of politics in the country. As will be discussed later, the balance of power in the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution played a key role in this development, as the election of its members transformed the power that clerical Islamists had in the hearts of the masses into a formal, organized, and legitimate source of power at the disposal of the clerical Islamist leaders. The Revolutionary Council and the Interim Government were the legislative and executive organs of the country at that time, respectively. There was no legal basis for their power. Both institutions were established by Khomeini at a time when there was already an established government in place which had been formed through legal mechanisms. As Ladan Boroumand emphasizes, this was the key point of dispute between Khomeini and Shapur Bakhtiyar, the last prime minister of the Pahlavi era. Khomeini called for Bakhtiyar’s resignation, but Bakhtiyar insisted that Khomeini occupied no legitimate position from which a legal mechanism could be employed to call for his resignation.8 The remaining political parties and groups, including Bakhtiyar’s allies in the National Front, had either officially or unofficially surrendered to Khomeini’s unwritten authority, and for this reason, both the decisions of the Revolutionary Council and the role of the Interim Government under the prime ministership of Bazargan were accepted; neither was challenged by political groups.9 But the important 6 Sanjabi 1989, 334. 7 Banisadr and Ahmadi 2001, 82. 8 Boroumand 2015. 9 With respect to the establishment and formation of these temporary bodies, it was not the case that, for example, the parties came together and agreed. Rather, Khomeini personally established these bodies, citing his popularity among the people. For example, Khomeini wrote in his decree appointing Bazargan: “At the suggestion of the Revolutionary Council, on the basis of sharīʿa and the legal right derived from the votes of the overwhelming majority of the Iranian people, which have been expressed during mass rallies and numerous demonstrations all over the country towards

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  197 point is that in this period, both the aforementioned institutions and their orientation around the figure of Khomeini10 were far from the uniformity of the nation’s governing bodies that emerged over the next two to three years. The clerical Islamists had a majority in the Revolutionary Council, while the liberal Islamists did in the Interim Government. In addition, a significant number of members of the Revolutionary Council were liberal Islamists and nationalists. But the point here—​which perhaps appears radical but is well supported by evidence—​is that the distribution of power in the institutions that governed the country at this point, for about nine months, was not proportionate to the relative weight of the various political forces in society. Contrary to the conclusion some may jump to here, my point is not that Khomeini and the clerical Islamists unjustly had a disproportionately large say in these institutions. In contrast, I am proposing that in actuality, the clerical Islamists had a lesser share of control in the temporary institutions of governance than the support they enjoyed in society and among the masses at the time.11 In any case, the point I wish to the leader of the movement . . . I call upon you, . . . to form an Interim Government” (Khomeini 1999a, 54). 10 At that time, Khomeini was not the head of any particular institution or organization, and he was not even the leader of any particular party. The bayt-​i rahbarī (Office of the Supreme Leader) was not yet formed. That being said, until the end of Khomeini’s life, the Office of the Supreme Leader did not take an organizational form, despite his influence and authority. It is not clear exactly how many people worked for Khomeini in this office. According to Rahimian, “in total, the members and staff of the office averaged about twenty or so” (Rahimian 2009, 85). In the period of the leadership of Ayatollah Khamenei, a large bureaucratic apparatus was formed in the name of the Office of the Supreme Leader, but there is similarly no information on the precise number of its employees. Reza Haqiqatnezhad has identified seven special offices and seven key advisers in an unauthorized organizational chart, which can be viewed at https://​bit.ly/​3pR7​PJW. Unfortunately, due to significant—​and one might say successful—​efforts at concealment, there is little information available about the Office of the Supreme Leader in general. Mahdi Khalaji’s commentary as well as an article by Boroujerdi and Rahimkhani provide some information on this subject (Khalaji 2009; Boroujerdi and Rahimkhani 2016, 150–​151). 11 A separate article could be devoted to explaining why and how this disproportionate distribution of power, relative to the actual weight of political forces at the community level, occurred. Naturally, the most significant challenge in relation to this claim is that as Khomeini enjoyed the most authority, he was the one who appointed people to their respective positions and thus controlled the distribution of power, so why did he give the clerical Islamists less weight in government than they had in society? The basis of the clerical Islamists’ power was at the level of the society and the masses, not the political or educated elite. This group was amorphous and not particularly organized at the time, while other parties and groups enjoyed some basic organizational connections to society, and some groups even had a military branch. It can be speculated that if Khomeini had made use of his community influence at street level, this might have led to armed conflict in the streets, which Khomeini had clearly never been interested in, even during the Pahlavi era. Another possibility is that Khomeini thought at the time that he could work with other groups, in particular nationalists and religious nationalists, and that they would be completely obedient to him and his demands. But when he realized that they would not comply with all his requests, he eliminated them. Another speculation could be that Khomeini was seeking a legitimate means to oust other political groups, and this is what actually happened. More than anything else, Khomeini and the clerical Islamists were helped by the ballot box to eliminate their rivals. These are only rudimentary speculations; any serious proposal about this matter requires comprehensive investigation falling outside the scope of this book.

198  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism make from the above discussion is that the draft constitution was influenced by the balance of power among a group of political elites who were present in the aforementioned bodies and played a role in the drafting process. But later events, in particular the election of the members of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, were a clear demonstration of the political weight of the clerical Islamists, and based on the new power equation, a constitution focusing on the role of the clergy and wilāyat-​i faqīh was written. In the meantime, there was a transition period in which the clerical Islamists did not directly propose the idea of ​wilāyat-​i faqīh. In the interval between the publication of the draft constitution and its review by the Assembly of Experts, some clerical Islamists advocated for a greater role for Islam and a special position for jurists and clerics in the constitution, which laid the seeds of an exclusionary Islamic discourse and facilitated the inclusion of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the text. I will now try to show how the idea of ​including wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution crept into the Iranian political discourse. This will provide further confirmation of the key argument that neither Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh nor theological issues related to the position of jurists in government played a part in this process.

The Creeping Entrance The text of the draft constitution was released on June 18, 1979, and, as might be expected, it provoked a wide variety of reactions. The positions taken by all political groups and factions in this regard are an interesting topic with the potential to inspire a separate study of some significance. But the main concern here is the idea of ​giving a special place to fuqahāʾ and clerics12 in the constitution, a proposal raised in the main13 by clerical Islamists. For this reason, I focus only on their statements and suggestions in this section. I must first state that the gathering of views set out here should not be taken to give the impression that the political atmosphere or discourse of Iran in those days in general, or in connection 12 Fuqahāʾ (jurists), rūhāniyūn (clerics), and marājaʿ-​i taqlīd (model for emulation) are used interchangeably here to refer to the classes and individuals who studied in the seminary and wore clerical robes. Rūhānī (plural form rūhāniyūn) is a general term that refers to anyone who has studied in the seminary, but a faqīh (plural form fuqahāʾ) is someone who has reached the level of ijtihād and specializes in sharīʿa law. A marjaʿ-​i taqlīd (plural form marājaʿ-​i taqlīd) is a jurist who has reached the highest level of the unstructured hierarchy of the clergy, publishes legal reference texts, and has followers who follow his jurisprudential rules. Therefore, every marjaʿ-​i taqlīd is also a faqīh and a rūhānī, every faqīh is a rūhānī, although not necessarily a marjaʿ-​i taqlīd, and finally, not every cleric is necessarily a faqīh. For example, a rūhānī’s expertise may lie in his preaching skills practiced in sermons and speeches. 13 I have used the phrase “in the main” here deliberately, as other groups such as the Toilers Party of the Iranian Nation also advocated for a special place for clerics in the constitution.

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  199 with the draft constitution in particular, was dominated by clerical Islamists. My inability here to address the positions of the dozens of parties, groups, and political figures does not mean that they were insignificant or few in number. The clerical Islamists made two types of arguments in their defense of the need to emphasize the role of Islam and the clergy in the constitution. First, they claimed that the 1979 Revolution was an Islamic revolution and that the people had revolted in order to realize Islamic ideals and principles. Therefore, the constitution of the new system must also be oriented around Islam. The second argument commonly made by clerical Islamists was that since the Iranian people are Muslim and Shīʿī, this should be reflected in the constitution; the most important document of the future government system should be based on the beliefs of the majority of its people. The statements and suggestions of the clerical Islamists were not limited to the issue of the position of the fuqahāʾ in the future power structure. Rather, almost all draft principles were criticized and explored by this group, which advocated more religious alternatives. For example, many asked that the stipulations of male and Shīʿī be added to the article related to the characteristics of the president.14 The Islamists also wanted to give the articles related to the family an Islamic hue. For example, Mohammad Ale-​Ishaq spoke of “the formation of tawḥīdī [monotheistic, the oneness of God being a key belief of Islam] families in order to enact Islamic justice in the family environment,”15 Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad Tehrani called for “the man as leader of the family,”16 and Ayatollah Safi suggested that the constitution be written on the understanding that “Inspired by the teachings of Islam, the Islamic Republic seeks to protect the family unit on the basis of Islamic guidelines from menacing agents and dangers that threaten it from within and without.”17 I have cited these examples to illustrate the extent of the proposals made by the clerical Islamists and argue that they, in fact, sought the complete domination of Islam in all articles of the constitution. But at the same time, the role of the clergy—​both as those who specialize in Islamic rulings and as the class that can guarantee the Islamic nature of the system—​was the most central issue in the statements and suggestions of some of the clerical Islamists. Nonetheless, their demand was neither uniform nor specific in form, and a review of their statements, announcements, and even draft versions of the constitution reveals no agreement or coordination between them. A significant number of these reactions referred to the collective role of the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd and did not mention a faqīh occupying the role of the head of state. I referred earlier to the response of Ayatollah Golpaygani to the initial draft constitution, which he published under

14

Alamolhoda 1979; Safi 2011 [1979], 870; Vahidi 1979; Montazeri 1979a. Ale-​Eshaq 2011 [1979], 761–​762. 16 Tehrani 1979, 10. 17 Safi 2011 [1979], 860. 15

200  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism the title “Guardianship of the Fully Qualified Jurist.” In this article, Golpaygani emphasized that governance “in the age of occultation, lies with the fully qualified fuqahāʾ” and “Muslims in every age can, with the approval and under the supervision of fully qualified fuqahāʾ, take over the reins [of government] on the basis of an Islamic system for guaranteeing the implementation of divine laws in the name of national sovereignty.”18 In the article, he talks about fuqahāʾ—​not the walī-​yi faqīh—​and even suggests that Muslims can themselves take over the affairs of the state with the approval and under the supervision of the fuqahāʾ. Ale-​Ishaq, in a pamphlet titled “Background to the Published Constitution,” speaks of “the system of majority government,” writing: The provisions of the verse “And there may spring from you a nation who invite to goodness, and enjoin right conduct and forbid indecency”19 is a divine command to a collective system. . . . We do not have an irresponsible ruler called the president or the prime minister, but a group of worthy people, based on virtue and piety (justice and knowledge), elected by the people and responsible for leadership and implementing monotheistic laws.20

Mohammad Khatami, who would serve as president for two terms many years later, suggested that “the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd with a majority of votes should provide oversight to the government . . . and the control of the army and the country’s budget be in the hands of the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd with the majority of votes.”21 Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad Husayni Shirazi also suggested that “the entire administration of government affairs should be under the supervision of marājaʿ-​i taqlīd.”22 Sayyid Abdullah Shirazi, a marjaʿ-​i taqlīd at the time, considered the approval of the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd a requirement for both government appointments and all laws. He issued a statement announcing that “all state appointments, especially to the posts of president and prime minister, as well as all the articles of the constitution, and all laws enacted in other periods, must always be subject to the opinions and approval of the fully qualified fuqahāʾ.”23 Finally, Ayatollah Marashi-​Najafi said that the validity of people’s votes was contingent on confirmation by marājaʿ-​i taqlīd, writing that “the public’s votes are not valid without the agreement of marājaʿ-​i taqlīd and the ahl hal wa ʿaqd [People Who Bind and Loose].”24 18 Golpaygani quoted in Variei 2007, 1046. 19 Pickthall’s translation of Qurʾān 3:140: ‫وف َويَ نْهَ وْ نَ عَ ِن‬ ِ ُ‫َو ْلتَ كُ ْن مِ ْنكُ ْم أ�مَّ ٌة يَ دْ عُ ونَ إ�لَى ْال َخ ْي ِر َويَ أ�مُ رُ ونَ ِب ْال َمعْ ر‬ ‫ْالمُ ْنك َ ِر‬ 20 Ale-​Eshaq 2011 [1979], 748. 21 Khatami 1979, 9. 22 Hosseini-​Shirazi quoted in Variei 2010, 78. 23 Shirazi quoted in Variei 2007, 85. 24 Mar’ashi-​Najafi 2021.

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  201 There were also some people who spoke of the president and prime minister being fuqahāʾ. For example, Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad Husayni Shirazi wrote: “Because the taking over of Muslims’ affairs by someone other than a fully qualified mujtahid is void, every president, prime minister, and speaker of the parliament must be a fully qualified mujtahid whom it is permissible to imitate.”25 Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad Tehrani also published a comment on the opinion page of the newspaper Etelaat: In this Islamic Republic, all the criteria of an Islamic government must be observed, and the name Republic must not add anything to the content of the government or the system, and the right of sovereignty must be entrusted to a just faqīh who is aware of the present conditions and knows the interests of the Muslim nation. The president who is the most prominent personality [of the state] must be the most comprehensive, accomplished, enlightened, and pious of the jurists of the umma, and it is in him that the three branches of the executive, the judiciary, and legislature are integrated, and from him that the resources of [governmental] affairs and rulings emanate. To separate the post of the jurisprudent from that of the president is in effect the separation of the clergy from politics.26

The clerical Islamists also proposed that Khomeini assume the presidency for life.27 At the opening of the “Muslim Critics of the Constitution” Congress, Ayatollah Mohammad Sadiq Tehrani stated: “The draft constitution states that the president is the highest official of the Islamic Republic, and we do not recognize anyone as superior to the Imām [Khomeini], and we do not trust anyone except the Imām, and we will elect no one else as president.”28 He suggested that in the course of the Assembly of Experts elections, people in all cities and villages take to the streets and stand on the roofs to shout, “O Imām, we will not accept anyone except you as the president of the Islamic government.”29 Ayatollah Safi proposed the idea that other people be appointed by the faqīh to run the affairs of the nation. He wrote: If the faqīh sees prudent, and there is a trustworthy person with sufficient knowledge of the Islamic teachings on governance, with the capacity to run the country and implement the rules of Islam, he should appoint that person to manage all [governmental] affairs under his supervision, and [in this way the

25

Hosseini-​Shirazi quoted in Variei 2010, 78. Tehrani 1979, 10. 27 Bakhash 1990, 79. 28 Kayhan 1979, 1. 29 Tehrani quoted in Qufli 2008, 394. 26

202  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism faqīh’s] objective will be achieved without necessitating the direct intervention of the faqīh himself.30

The Faqīh at the Head of the State Apparatus The closest approach to the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh and the view that ultimately prevailed in the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran, was that which directly proposed the instigation of one person—​more precisely, a faqīh—​ at the head of the government apparatus, who would control all the organs and officials of government. This view can be deduced from the statements of many clerical Islamists. Perhaps it can be said that many spoke about both the role of the individual leader and the role of the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd and fuqahāʾ collectively. However, there were also those who specifically proposed that leadership should be vested in just one faqīh. Sayyid Mohammad Ali Muvahid Abtahi Esfahani (d. 2002) published a booklet titled “An Examination, Critique, and Jurisprudential Analysis of the Draft Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran,” writing: “All [government] affairs should be in the hands of the just faqīh who through his guardianship over Muslims brought forth this movement and the dawn of freedom and independence to the oppressed nation of Iran.”31 Here, of course, Abtahi Esfahani is referring to Khomeini. However, his argument does not include the reasoning that since Khomeini believes in the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, the constitution should be oriented around wilāyat-​i faqīh. The Mojahedin of the Islamic Revolution Organization also published a text containing 166 articles as its proposed constitution. Article 78 of this text stated: “The principle of Islamic government during time of occultation rests on wilāyat-​i faqīh by the fully qualified jurist.”32 The Etelaat newspaper33 published a petition apparently signed by 110 Qum scholars stating that the establishment of the Islamic Republic was: only possible in the shadow of wilāyat-​i faqīh and the decisive leadership of the Shīʿī marjaʿiyyat. The sacrifice of tens of thousands of martyrs in the Islamic Revolution of Iran was not just for the purpose of overthrowing the tyrannical and usurper regime of the hated Pahlavi dynasty, but to achieve the greatest 30 Safi 2011 [1979], 857. 31 Abtahi-​Isfahani quoted in Variei 2007, 91–​92. 32 Mojahedin of the Islamic Revolution of Iran Organization quoted in Variei 2007, 91. 33 This text was published in the Jomhouri-​ye Eslami newspaper about a week later (Jomhouri-​e Eslami 1979b). It was not, of course, accompanied by the names or details of the authors. Qufli states that this message suggested nineteen optional powers for the walī-​yi faqīh. In his view, it is noteworthy that almost all of these principles were approved by the Assembly of Experts. In particular, the nineteen paragraphs were enshrined in Article 110 of the constitution (Qufli 2008, 431).

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  203 revolutionary ideal, and the revolutionary goal of the Muslim people of Iran was to establish a just Islamic government based on the Qurʿān and Shīʿī principles under the leadership of the wilāyat-​i faqīh of the fully qualified jurist.34

As mentioned earlier, Ayatollah Golpaygani was one of the marājaʿ-​i taqlīd who had seen the draft before it was approved and published and had made suggestions such as adding a role for the fuqahāʾ. After the publication of the draft, upon learning that his proposal had not been included, he issued a statement, reading in part: “I hereby declare that if the constitution is not drafted fully in accordance with Islamic law and the issue of the government’s dependence on the Imāmate system and wilāyat-​i faqīh within it are not clarified, the government based upon it [the constitution] will be tyrannical and oppressive.”35 At this time, the views of Ayatollah Montazeri were much more coherent than those of anyone else who spoke about the role of fuqahāʾ and clerics in the future government. A glance at the collection of remarks Montazeri made during this period, as well as the decisive role he played in the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, reveals that he had a close-​to-​formulated view in this regard and moved in this particular direction from the very beginning. It is not unreasonable to say that Ayatollah Montazeri was one of the most successful political leaders in the drafting of the constitution and that a majority of his demands were realized in the final version.36 In particular, Ayatollah Montazeri published a lengthy piece in the Islamic Republican Party’s Jomhouri-​ye Eslami newspaper on July 11, which was the most coherent as well as the most jurisprudentially rich proposal regarding the role of the clergy in the future government. Montazeri wrote: Rulership and judgment, determining general laws and making minor laws and regulations in the absence of his excellence the Lord of Time [the twelfth Imām]—​God hasten his appearance—​is entrusted to the just faqīh familiar with the events and issues of the day. . . . Judgment is also the right of the faqīh or someone appointed by him. So the three powers, the legislature, the executive, and the judiciary are related to and are not separate from each other, and all three lead to the just faqīh familiar with the issues of the day.37

34 Ettelaat 2021, 1. 35 Golpayegani 1979, 8. 36 Ayatollah Montazeri later changed his views significantly and became one of the key figures in opposition to wilāyat-​i faqīh. However, at the time of the events referred to in this chapter, he was one of the pioneers of the idea of ​wilāyat-​i faqīh and, along with Ayatollah Beheshti and Hasan Ayat, played a leading role in the Assembly of Experts to ensure that the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh was included in the constitution. He was also the first person to put forward a broad discussion of wilāyat-​i faqīh from a jurisprudential point of view, and he produced a four-​volume book in this regard. 37 Montazeri 1979b, 4.

204  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism He goes on to point out the different scenarios in which this idea could be implemented and suggests that if the walī-​yi faqīh were to accept the presidency, he should be the highest official in the country, and if the presidency were delegated to someone else, the walī-​yi faqīh should be the highest official, and the president should perform his duties under the faqīh’s supervision. He concludes: “Delegation of the country’s politics to a president without considering the guardianship and rule of the just faqīh is the style of Western governance and is not compatible with Islam, especially the Twelver Shīʿī religion.”38 There are two important points in Ayatollah Montazeri’s proposal. First, the types of arguments and references used are very close and similar to the logic Khomeini had employed many years earlier in his book Wilāyat-​i faqīh. Second, Ayatollah Montazeri’s writings did not just suggest the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh as an article that should be added to the constitution. Rather, his comments on the vast majority of the sections of the constitution mentioned in his statement were influenced by this idea and in a way contemplated the existence of a hierarchical structure headed by the walī-​yi faqīh.39

The Silence of Prominent Clerical Islamist Leaders Among the highest-​ranking leaders of the clerical Islamists, Ayatollah Montazeri was the only one who had a clear position on the place of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution.40 Between the publication of the draft constitution and its approval by the Assembly of Experts, Khomeini said nothing about wilāyat-​i faqīh. Every day, several articles drawn from Khomeini’s comments were published in the newspapers, and during this period, many of his comments about the constitution were printed. In his meetings and speeches, Khomeini repeatedly emphasized that the constitution must have an Islamic spirit. He also frequently urged clergy, ʿulamāʾ, and devout people to participate in constitutional debates. He invited religious scholars and experts to run for election in the Assembly of Experts several times. But in no case did he ever refer to the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in particular or to the role of fuqahāʾ and marājaʿ-​i taqlīd in the constitution more generally. Even more interestingly, there is no report that during this period he criticized the version of the draft constitution in which there was no 38 Montazeri 1979b. 39 For discussion of how other principles proposed by Ayatollah Montazeri were also influenced by the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh, see Variei 2007, 89; Qufli 2008, 423–​427. 40 Bakhash also points out that those occupying the upper ranks of clerical Islamist leadership did not mention the inclusion of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution. However, he erroneously cites Ayatollah Montazeri as one of the clerical Islamists who never raised wilāyat-​i faqīh in connection with the draft constitution; as we have seen, Ayatollah Montazeri was an exception in this regard (Bakhash 1990, 82).

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  205 reference to wilāyat-​i faqīh. Other high-​ranking leaders of the clerical Islamists,41 such as Hashemi-​Rafsanjani,42 Ali Khamenei,43 Mohammad Javad Bahonar,44 Ayatollah Mohammad Beheshti,45 Sayyid Abdul Karim Mousavi Ardebili,46 Mohammad Reza Mahdavi-​Kani,47 Mir Hossein Mousavi,48 and Hasan Habibi,49 made no mention of wilāyat-​i faqīh or its inclusion in the constitution. All of these people, because of their membership in the Revolutionary Council, most probably knew about the text of the draft constitution before it was published, and, as mentioned earlier, there is no report showing that any of them opposed it. On the contrary, they insisted that the text of the draft be put directly to a referendum and become the official constitution of the country. Interestingly, among the prominent members of the clerical Islamists, Ayatollah Montazeri was not a member of the Revolutionary Council, and he probably did not know about the text of the draft before it was made public.50 One could speculate about whether, 41 These people were generally the ones who benefited most from the formation of a constitution in which the clergy had a special position. As noted in subsequent footnotes, these individuals occupied the most important government positions in the country over the coming decades. 42 Akbar Hashemi-​Rafsanjani was the speaker of the Islamic Consultative Assembly for two terms (1980–​1989), the president for two terms (1989–​1997), the chair of the Assembly of Experts of the Leadership (2007–​2011), and the chair of the Expediency Discernment Council (1989–​2017). 43 Ali Khamenei was president from 1981 to 1989, and after the death of Khomeini, he took over the position of walī-​yi faqīh (Supreme leader of Iran), a post he continues to hold. 44 Mohammad Javad Bahonar was a member of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution. He was also minister of education (1980–​1981) and prime minister for less than a month in August 1981, until he was assassinated along with several other members of his cabinet as well as then-​president Mohammad Ali Rajai. 45 Ayatollah Mohammad Beheshti was deputy chair of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution and head of the Supreme Court of Iran from 1980 to 1981. He was assassinated on June 28, 1981. 46 Sayyid Abdul Karim Mousavi Ardebili was a member of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution and served as attorney general from 1979 to 1980 and the head of the Supreme Court from 1981 to 1989. He did not hold any official position after this time and returned to Qum, where he established the Mufid University of Qum, which he led as its president until his death in 2016. 47 Mohammad Reza Mahdavi-​ Kani was minister of the interior (1980–​ 1981), secretary of the Guardian Council (1980), prime minister (1980), and chair of the Assembly of Experts of the Leadership (2008–​2014). He was also the president of Imam Sadiq University from its foundation in 1982 until his death in 2014. 48 Mir Hossein Mousavi was minister for foreign affairs for several months in 1980 and then served as prime minister from 1980 to 1989. He was a reformist candidate in the controversial 2009 election and has been under house arrest since February 2011 following widespread protests over the election results. 49 Hasan Habibi was minister of culture and higher education in 1980 and minister of justice from 1984 to 1989. He was also a lawyer member of the Guardian Council from 1980 to 2001 and first vice president from 1989 to 2001. 50 Khomeini officially announced the establishment of the Revolutionary Council in January 1979, but it was actually established secretly in September 1978, when Ayatollah Montazeri was in prison. Bazargan said that he did not include Montazeri and Taleghani in his suggested list because they were in prison at the time (Bazargan 1983, 77). After the Revolution, Ayatollah Montazeri settled in Qum, so he could not be a member of the council, which held its meetings and was based in Tehran. Later, when Ayatollah Montazeri was elected to the Assembly of Experts of the Leadership, he returned to Tehran, at which time Khomeini asked him to attend the meetings of the Revolutionary Council. He attended some of the council’s meetings informally, but when Khomeini suggested that he become an

206  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism if he had been on the Revolutionary Council, he might have changed the drafting process. This is what he did through his presence on the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution. As will be mentioned later and during the discussion on the Assembly of Experts, Ayatollah Montazeri, along with Ayatollah Beheshti and Hasan Ayat,51 are known as the main architects of the constitution’s orientation around wilāyat-​i faqīh. Before discussing the Assembly of Experts, it is necessary to mention a few points about the discussions that took place after the publication of the draft.

Complete Absence of the Doctrine of Wilāyat-​i Faqīh None of the statements made by clerical Islamists about the role of fuqahāʾ and marājaʿ-​i taqlīd in the future government system referred to Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Even Ayatollah Montazeri’s remarks, which were very similar in content to Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, made no reference to Khomeini’s book and his views on the matter. This is an intriguing consideration, prompting many interesting questions and speculations, especially in the context of Khomeini’s very high prestige and the popularity he and the clerical Islamists had repeatedly drawn on. One may ask why, in relation to the constitution and to guarantee special privileges for the clerical class in the structure of the future government, Khomeini’s credibility and popularity were not used. Perhaps one response could be that the clerical Islamists did not see the conditions as being conducive to putting forward the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh and held out no hope of its being adopted. In other words, the anti-​authoritarian atmosphere was so strong that any proposal to give special privileges to any person or group in the future political structure risked provoking a widespread reaction, and clerical Islamists feared that even Khomeini’s popularity could not prevail over this post-​revolutionary aura. Therefore, they schemed and worked in the shadows to create conditions favorable to proposing and shaping the future system based on the idea of ​wilāyat-​i faqīh, and when the conditions were right, they moved to implement it. Continuing this line of speculation, one may also speak of the political shrewdness of the clerical Islamists. If the idea of wilāyat-​i official member of the Revolutionary Council, he rejected the offer due to physical problems and his busy schedule. For further discussion, see Kadivar 2016a. 51 Hasan Ayat was initially a member of the Toilers Party of the Iranian Nation and later a member of the central committee of the Islamic Republican Party. In addition to his membership in the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, Hasan Ayat became a member of the first Islamic Consultative Assembly. Abrahamian considers him the mastermind of the removal of Banisadr from the presidency and describes his assassination in Tehran in July 1981 by the People’s Mojahedin of Iran (Abrahamian 1989, 221).

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  207 faqīh had been put forward earlier, liberal Islamist groups such as the Freedom Movement, traditional Islamists such as Ayatollah Shariatmadari and the Muslim People’s Republic Party, and left-​wing Islamist groups such as the Revolutionary Movement of Muslim People of Iran (JAMA) and the People’s Mojahedin of Iran were likely to have sided with the nationalists and other secular forces against the clerical Islamists. This could have had a serious impact, especially on the outcome of the elections of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, precluding the clerical Islamists from gaining an absolute majority in this assembly and, as a result, the possibility of including the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution. In addition, it can be speculated that the likely reactions of the religious strata also impacted the decision-​making of the clerical Islamists. The doctrine of ​wilāyat-​i faqīh was so radical in the minds of religious people and marājaʿ-​i taqlīd that its introduction could have provoked a strong and negative reaction from these jurists. In his analysis of such speculations, Vahid Qufli suggests: During this period, he [Khomeini] only referred to discussions of general matters and Islamic content in his explanations about the future system of the Islamic Republic. . . . The existing documents in relation to the reasons for Imām Khomeini’s (PBUH) positions are not relevant, but it seems that either Imām Khomeini (PBUH) was pursuing this goal in another way, or was performing taḳiyya, or did not deem it appropriate due to possible repercussions from the Shīʿī marājaʿ, or finally, he considered its achievement in the early stages and months of the Revolution unattainable.52

Thus, the clerical Islamists, working in a planned and coordinated manner, avoided mentioning the idea of w​ilāyat-​i faqīh to avoid provoking any reaction and so they could consolidate the foundations of their power. This view, based on conspiracy theories, has several shortcomings. These include the fact that if Khomeini and his entourage had such a plan, why did they insist that the draft constitution be put to a referendum before wilāyat-​i faqīh was included? Also, Khomeini’s close associates at that time included a wide range of people with diverse political leanings—​of course, mostly religious and nationalists. The clerical Islamists would have needed a sixth sense to ascertain who would stay with them until the end, so as to share their secret with them alone. A large number of people around Khomeini were gradually removed from power, and if there had been such coordination and planning at that time, one would have expected a number of them to have talked about it later. Bazargan, who was close to Khomeini for a long time, supports the idea that the clerical Islamists did not have any plan in advance: “In fact, it cannot even be said that they had it in mind

52

Qufli 2008, 419.

208  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism to monopolize the country. They simply seized the opportunity offered by history to fill the vacuum left by us.”53 Another speculation could be that Khomeini and the clerical Islamists were not genuinely seeking the implementation of the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh or a privileged place for clerics in the official structure of the government system. This speculation is supported by several of Khomeini’s actions and statements, including his stay in Qum,54 his support for holding a referendum on a version of the draft constitution that did not mention wilāyat-​i faqīh, his repeated insistence on the eve of the Revolution and afterward that he would not occupy any post in the future government, and the fact that even after the formation of a political structure based on the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh, he continued to demand that the presence of clerics in the government be limited. It was for this reason that until almost two years after the 1979 Revolution had passed, he did not allow clerics to run for president. Bazargan writes that even after the appointment of clerics to most government positions, Khomeini maintained that “the presence of clerics in these positions is temporary and unavoidable . . . as soon as the need is resolved, the gentlemen will return to their schools and mosques.”55 This view does not necessarily contradict the position of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the government system, because it can be said that from Khomeini’s point of view, the faqīh plays a supervisory role without getting involved in the day-​to-​day issues of the executive or policymaking. All these speculations could be true in a way if we include in our analysis one of the key arguments of this book, which is that Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​ i faqīh was an unfamiliar conceptualization that fell outside the context of the thinking of that time. In fact, it can be said that even Khomeini himself did not believe that this doctrine could be proposed and fit into the political-​c um-​ religious atmosphere of Iran. From its inception in the early 1970s, he had never used the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in his political activism. As discussed in ­chapter 6, neither during the Revolution nor in the days after its victory was the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh part of the Islamists’ discourse, indicating that even its architect, although probably believing in it as an ideal, did not intend to implement it. Therefore, it can be said in relation to the first speculation above that the idea that clerical Islamists did not consider extant conditions suitable for the proposal of wilāyat-​i faqīh does not mean that they expected the situation

53 Bazargan quoted in Arjomand 1988, 138. 54 After returning from exile, Khomeini stayed in Tehran for only twenty-​eight days and then returned to Qum, where he stayed for eleven months. In his memoirs, Hashemi-​Rafsanjani attributes Khomeini’s departure from Tehran to his belief that “it is better for the clergy not to interfere in executive affairs and to monitor and guide [the executive] from afar” (Hashemi-​Rafsanjani and Abbas Bashiri 2004, 235). 55 Bazargan 1984, 123.

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  209 to change in the coming months or even years. Rather, it means that the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh was seen as an ideal that might be realized at some point in history. Khomeini himself has made this clear in his book Wilāyat-​i faqīh: No reasonable person expects our activities of propagation and instruction to lead quickly to the formation of an Islamic government. In order to succeed in establishing an Islamic government, we must have several kinds of continuous activities. Ours is a goal that will take time to achieve. Sensible people in this world lay one stone in position on the ground in the hope that someone two hundred years later will come to finish a building mounted upon it so that the goal will finally be reached.56

During his visit to Iran in 1978, Foucault talked to many people on the streets of Tehran. A part of his report from Tehran shows that this understanding about the feasibility of the Islamic government was not confined to Khomeini alone: One thing must be clear. By “Islamic government,” nobody in Iran means a political regime in which the clerics would have a role of supervision or control. To me, the phrase “Islamic government” seemed to point to two orders of things. “A utopia,” some told me without any pejorative implication. “An ideal,” most of them said to me. At any rate, it is something very old and also very far into the future, a notion of coming back to what Islam was at the time of the Prophet, but also of advancing toward a luminous and distant point where it would be possible to renew fidelity rather than maintain obedience.57

Of course, one might argue that the unexpected victory of the 1979 Revolution, in fact, provided such suitable conditions. Although this argument may seem valid, it is somewhat anachronistic in the sense of it being proposed after the implementation of ​wilāyat-​i faqīh. My suggestion is that, based on the available evidence of the period between the victory of the Islamic Revolution in February 1979 and the deliberations of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution in August 1979, Khomeini and the clerical Islamists considered wilāyat-​i faqīh an ideal theory for the distant future and for this reason did not seek to implement it in the system that was taking shape. This claim can be supported by further proof in the form of the clerical Islamists’ claim that what is set out in the constitution is a mere minimum of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. In a meeting defending the inclusion of the wilāyat-​i faqīh article in the constitution, Ayatollah Beheshti said:



56 57

Khomeini 1981, 132–​133. Foucault quoted in Afary, Anderson, and Foucault 2005, 206.

210  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism O dear nation. . . . If you want to move in the direction of the Islamic Republic and the Islamic system, you must take a good look at the perspective that is drawn out in front of you of the Islamic Republic and the Islamic system. In that perspective, in that future, your president, your prime minister, your ministers, your governors, the prominent faces in the management of your societies should be people who are in terms of awareness and action, Imāms, models, and examples for you. It is in such a society that one can hope for the survival and growth of Islam. Now, we have said in the constitution that as a starting point for the future, a bright, pure, divine, and Islamic future, the conditions for leadership, that is, from whom all tasks and responsibilities should originate, are the minimum conditions.58

After the adoption of the constitution, Khomeini also stated that the Assembly of Experts compromised to avoid the opposition of the intellectuals and that in his opinion, what is stated in the constitution “is incomplete and the clergy has more authority in Islam.” He said: “That which is in the constitution, these are some aspects of wilāyat-​i faqīh, not all aspects of wilāyat-​i faqīh. And as a result of [the implementation of] wilāyat-​i faqīh that Islam has determined, under the conditions that Islam has determined, no one will be disadvantaged.”59 In sum, it seems that Foucault’s genealogy has a greater capacity to explain this chapter of the history of the Islamic Republic than any conspiracy theory. A series of developments took place in a dispersed manner, and actions were taken by different actors in different but similar times and situations, and without clear coordination or specific leadership at the heart of power relations, the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh became the linchpin of the Islamic Republic of Iran. In other words, the idea of ​Khomeini’s wilāyat-​i faqīh proposed in 1970 had no direct or causal relationship with what was enshrined in the constitution and became the central discourse of clerical Islamism. What was stated in the constitution was formed from within the nucleus of discourse and power relations, especially in the period between the publication of the draft constitution and the debates within the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution. A similar argument is also made by Axworthy: What were Khomeini’s intentions in the first few weeks after his return to Iran? Did he expect from the beginning to establish a religious dictatorship with himself at the head of it? There is good reason to think not, and to believe instead that the eventual form of the Islamic republic came about as a result of a process of adjustment, action, reaction, struggle and consolidation over the

58 59

Beheshti quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985a, 379. Khomeini 1982c, 133.

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  211 first year or more after the revolutionary movement achieved supremacy on 11 February 1979—​and that Khomeini initially expected a more distant role for himself, relying on secular politicians that he felt he could trust to carry out the day-​to-​day business of government.60

Lack of Cohesion and Coordination among Islamists A glance at the number and plurality of the suggestions about the role of the ʿulamāʾ in the future political structure shows that there was no coordination or planning among the clerical Islamists. As Hoseinizadeh points out, from the formation of the clerical Islamists until that point, the concept of wilāyat-​i faqīh had no place,61 and from an organizational point of view, it does not seem that at this time the clerical Islamists were led in an organized manner. The Islamic Republican Party, founded on February 18, 1979, was the most important organ of the clerical Islamists,62 but its manifesto did not mention wilāyat-​i faqīh as a principle in the future government. The Jomhouri-​ye Eslami newspaper, which was the mouthpiece of this party, played the most prominent role in publishing the statements and proposals of the clerical Islamists. One of Ayatollah Montazeri’s statements, which I quoted earlier, was published in this newspaper. However, from a review of the editorials, announcements, and even letters published by ordinary citizens about the constitution in this newspaper, it cannot be concluded that its editors had any clear or purposeful agenda to promote the inclusion of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution. One move that could be seen as an effort to build harmony and cohesion among clerical Islamists was the convening of the “Muslim Critics of the Constitution” Congress, held for ten days from June 25 at the University of Tehran. Unfortunately, the full content and details of the speeches delivered at this congress were not recorded. Only newspaper reports setting out key speakers’ remarks in summary form are available. These reports show that the speakers at the congress expressed several points on the position of the clergy in the future government, but by no means can it be said that the speakers at this congress specifically sought to raise the idea of i​ncluding wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution.63 Interestingly, the most central figure at the congress, Hasan Ayat, 60 Axworthy 2013, 143. 61 Hoseinizadeh 2010, 282–​305. 62 The party was dissolved in June 1987 due to internal disputes and with the approval of Khomeini after about nine years of activity. For further information about the history and role of the Islamic Republican Party in the politics of the early years after the Revolution, see Ashrafi 2016; Esmaili 2007; Abbasi 2014. 63 For a summary of the addresses given by some of the speakers at this congress, see Qufli 2008, 392–​400.

212  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism did not mention the concept of wilāyat-​i faqīh in his speech at all,64 although he said that “in the presence of the most eminent, it is exclusively he who should rule.”65 But another speaker, Karim Kiyaie, criticized the third article of the draft constitution, which made public opinion the basis of government, and “instead, considered wilāyat-​i faqīh as the basis of government.”66 Qufli states that this was the first time that “in an entirely clear manner, wilāyat-​i faqīh was introduced in a political form and as the basis of the new government of the Islamic Republic.”67 The final resolution of this congress also mentioned wilāyat-​i faqīh. In the ninth paragraph of the twenty-​five-​article resolution, it was stated that “the powers of the president are the powers of wilāyat-​i faqīh, so the president must be a faqīh, otherwise the laws related to the powers of the Imām and wilāyat-​i faqīh must be mentioned separately.”68 This congress was formed in opposition to a seminar organized by lawyers69 in which secular groups and individuals played a role. The purpose of the congress was to create greater harmony between the religious forces, and it seems that they achieved this goal to some extent, because the convening of this congress had a notable impact on the debates of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution. Hasan Ayat not only played an instrumental role in this congress but later became a member of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution and, in close cooperation with Ayatollah Montazeri and Ayatollah Beheshti, orchestrated the inclusion of the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution. “I am a staunch supporter and defender of this article [the article of wilāyat-​i faqīh], and perhaps accepting [the role of] representation in this assembly was for the same reason, to help pass this article insofar as I am able,” he told a session of the Assembly of Experts.70 The role of Ayat in the adoption of the wilāyat-​i faqīh article was so decisive that a theory took shape claiming that Ayat took the idea of w ​ ilāyat-​i faqīh from Mozaffar Baqai, the founder and leader of the Toilers Party, and included it in the constitution. Ezatullah Sahabi says: “In general, the proposal and substitution of this theory [the theory of wilāyat-​i faqīh] in the constitution was accomplished by the Toilers Party and through the mediation of the late Ayat in line with the specific political intentions of this party.”71 This attitude largely stems from two facts. First, the issue of wilāyat-​i faqīh was completely unknown in the Iranian political arena, and for this reason,

64 Qufli 2008, 394–​396. 65 Ayat 1979, 6. 66 Kiyaie 1979, 2. 67 Qufli 2008, 394. 68 Jomhouri-​e Eslami 1979a. 69 Convened on the initiative of the Iranian Lawyers’ Association, this eight-​day seminar had forty-​eight groups participating and sixty-​five people delivering addresses. For further detail about this seminar as well as a summary of the addresses, see Ayandigan 1979, 8; Bakhash 1990, 75–​77. 70 Ayat quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985a, 1092. 71 Sahabi quoted in Variei 2007, 95.

The Creeping Entrance of the Idea of Wilāyat-i Faqīh  213 many believe that it was raised abruptly by only a few people before becoming the central symbol of the discourse of clerical Islamists. Second, as discussed in detail earlier, although this issue was raised among the clerical Islamists, these discussions were located at the margins of the political arena at the time, and the distance of well-​known leaders of the clerical Islamists (with the exception of Ayatollah Montazeri) from the matter of wilāyat-​i faqīh only provoked further marginalization. The fact that the statements and suggestions made by the clerical Islamists in this regard did not lead to debate or challenge in the political or media spheres shows that the discussions of wilāyat-​i faqīh were not taken seriously in the period after the draft was released and were not part of mainstream political currents in Iran. However, other issues, such as the inclusion of Twelver Shīʿism as the official religion of the country and the rights of minorities, alongside many other issues, did provoke serious controversy. Therefore, it is not unreasonable to suggest that the extent to which proposals were being made to include wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution was not matched by their being taken seriously by political groups. In sum, there are two opposing views on the process of drafting the constitution and its inclusion of the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh. One perspective is that wilāyat-​i faqīh was introduced abruptly, and the other is a pro-​clerical Islamist discourse that holds that the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh had always existed and that the 1979 Revolution and subsequent developments were instigated in order for it to be realized. For an example of the second point of view, we can refer to the book of Javad Variei, in which he tries hard to show that the demand for the inclusion of the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution was widespread. In this regard, Variei compiles a collection of statements totaling about twenty-​six pages of his book, using not only the opinions of marājaʿ-​i taqlīd and prominent personalities but even letters from ordinary people to newspapers to prove the widespread nature of this demand. But even in his book, there is no indication that the leaders of the clerical Islamists spoke of wilāyat-​i faqīh before the debates of the Assembly of Experts, with the exception of Ayatollah Montazeri, as already mentioned. In my opinion, none of these analyses is correct, and it is more accurate to say that there were traces of a demand to form a new political system on the basis of the idea of ​the rule of a jurist as the head of state, and this was pursued by several people in the Assembly of Experts. Due to the clerics having the absolute majority, this was easily approved. At the same time, the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh had no role in delivering the clerical Islamists their majority in the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution. Moreover, this claim does not contradict the public demand for clerics to occupy government positions and, in my opinion, was rooted in the prestige and credibility of the clergy and, of course, Khomeini himself, rather than the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh or the belief that the fuqahāʾ represent the hidden Imām.

8

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle Khomeini has been widely described as the architect and founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran. In the case of governmental Shīʿism more specifically, the use of such descriptors for Khomeini appears more legitimate. One could argue that Khomeini formulated the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the early 1970s and took less than a decade to put his plan into practice; he was personally appointed walī-​ yi faqīh of the nascent Islamic Republic in December 1979. But in Foucauldian genealogy, the use of terminology such as “founder”—​or, in Foucault’s own words, “author”—​is problematic. In part II of this book, I have employed Foucault’s genealogical method to problematize conceptualizations of Khomeini as the “architect” or “founder” of Iran’s political system, demonstrating instead that Khomeini cannot be considered the founder of governmental Shīʿism. My goal is not only to vindicate Foucault’s rejection of any attempt to uncover an author; the problematization of the claim that Khomeini is the founder of governmental Shīʿism has significant consequences for the confrontation between Shīʿī orthodoxy and governmental Shīʿism. The narrative that identifies Khomeini as the founder of governmental Shīʿism asserts that an ecclesial revolution preceded Iran’s political revolution in 1979. However, by calling into question the view of Khomeini as “founder,” we find that the political revolution took place first, and it was this political revolution that gave birth to the government plan to stage a religious revolution. In the previous three chapters, I have demonstrated that Khomeini’s doctrine did not play a role in the events of the 1979 Revolution or in the early months after the victory of the Revolution. In this chapter, I will focus specifically on the period when the idea of ​wilāyat-​i faqīh developed an institutional form and was incorporated into the constitution of the Islamic Republic. Again, I will show that even at this final stage of the formation of a wilāyat-​i-​faqīh-​centered political system, neither Khomeini nor his doctrine can be said to have played a founding role. While Khomeini’s personality and influence on the country’s politics had various effects on all the debates related to wilāyat-​i faqīh in the Assembly of Experts, he himself did not propose that wilāyat-​i faqīh be included in the constitution, and his doctrine was not used as a blueprint. In the first part of this chapter, the election of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution will be reviewed in order to show that it was political factors and the clerical Islamists’ successful coordination and planning that led to Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0009

216  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism their significant electoral victory; the Islamists’ domination of the Assembly of Experts was entirely unconnected to Khomeini’s doctrine. In the second part of the chapter, I will examine the debates about wilāyat-​i faqīh in the Assembly of Experts’ meetings to demonstrate that Khomeini’s doctrine and theological discussion were the great absentees from these proceedings. Although more than 73 percent of the members of the Assembly of Experts were clerics who had been educated at the most advanced levels of the seminary, they neither engaged in theological debates in general nor extended them to Khomeini’s doctrine in particular. Surprisingly, on the contrary, the constitutions of atheist political systems such as the Soviet Union and China were used to justify the inclusion of the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution. This chapter shows from the manner in which wilāyat-​i faqīh was included in the constitution that this occurrence was not the product of the political theology formulated by Khomeini. In fact, it was only after the inclusion of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution that the promotion of Khomeini’s doctrine and the idea of incorporating the principle of a faqīh-​headed state into the Twelver Shīʿī belief system appeared on the government’s agenda.

The Islamists’ Conquest of the Assembly of Experts The election of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution1 in August 1979 was the first time the political forces that had been united in opposition to the Pahlavi regime competed against each other, and the results determined the precise weight of each group in the country’s politics by numbers and percentages. The outcome of the election of the Assembly of Experts was unexpected, delivering the Islamists a historic victory and granting them domination over the assembly. The election was held on August 3, 1979, and some one thousand candidates competed across the country for seventy-​three seats.2 Of the seventy-​three people elected, fifty-​eight were clerics. Further, among the nonclerics elected, a significant number were affiliated with the Islamic Republican Party and can be considered allies of the clerical Islamists. Voters in the province of Tehran, who were allocated the greatest number of seats (ten representatives) and could choose from among the most famous party figures, elected all ten of their representatives from the Islamic Republican Party list. The election of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution was a legitimate mechanism that granted 1 From now on, I will use the shortened version “Assembly of Experts” to refer to the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, which was active for only eighty-​nine days and dissolved after the drafting and approval of the constitution. This assembly is different from the Assembly of Experts of the Leadership, which was established in 1983 and is responsible for selecting the leader. 2 Bakhash 1990, 80.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  217 decision-​making power over the most important document of the future political system almost exclusively to the clerical Islamists. The clerical Islamists also took full advantage of this opportunity, proving their lack of inclination to share power with others. But the question of relevance to this book is whether the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh played a role in this election and the victory of the clerical Islamists. Did the electorate vote for clerical Islamists to ensure a constitution based on the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh? Was the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh part of the clerical Islamists’ election campaign? Did the religious belief of the people in the politico-​religious doctrine of Khomeini lead to the decisive victory of the clerical Islamists? A careful examination of the election of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution does not indicate that any of these questions should be answered in the affirmative. The clerical Islamists focused their election campaign on the need to draft an “Islamic constitution,” but there was no trace of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh in their electioneering. What led to the dramatic victory of the Islamists was, first, the association of the clerical Islamists with Khomeini and, second, the authority, influence, and popularity that the clergy enjoyed at this point in history. Much has been written about the authority and influence of the clergy during the Revolution and the roots of this authority.3 To touch only on the broad themes of this literature, I could point to issues such as the clergy’s distance from power throughout history, their austere lifestyles, the idea that they are free from corruption, and their direct connections to the masses. Khomeini, as a marjaʿ-​i taqlīd, possessed all these characteristics, yet he enjoyed far more credibility and influence among the masses than any other cleric. For this reason, his role in the Assembly of Experts election, and in other stages of the Revolution, should be examined separately.

The Mystical Character of Khomeini In the next part of this chapter, I will explain that during the discussions of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, it was mentioned many times that Khomeini occupied the role of walī-​yi faqīh in practice. But at the time of the Assembly of Experts election, no one used the title walī-​yi faqīh to describe Khomeini, and the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh did not contribute in any way to his 3 This influence and popularity had many reasons, which, according to numerous scholars, were the product of an evolutionary process taking place over a long period of history, not simply the outcome of the activities of Khomeini or the Pahlavi era. For further discussion of the formation and expansion of the influence and authority of the clergy, see Samiei 2017, 658–​674; Mottahedeh 2000; Amanat 1988; Arjomand 1988; Kazemi Moussavi 2007; Amanat 2003; Dabashi 1993; Dabashi 2011; Arjomand 2009; Amanat 2017.

218  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism popularity and influence. Rather, it was the conceptual frameworks of the Shīʿī tradition that played a role in Khomeini’s authority and influence. To explain this statement, I refer to Charles Taylor’s concept of the social imaginary. Inspired by Benedict Anderson’s notion of “imaginary societies,” Taylor elaborates on this concept as a broader and deeper phenomenon than intellectual schemes and theories: There are important differences between social imaginary and social theory. I adopt the term imaginary (i) because my focus is on the way ordinary people “imagine” their social surroundings, and this is often not expressed in theoretical terms, but is carried in images, stories, and legends. It is also the case that (ii) theory is often the possession of a small minority, whereas what is interesting in the social imaginary is that it is shared by large groups of people, if not the whole society. Which leads to a third difference: (iii) the social imaginary is that common understanding that makes possible common practices and a widely shared sense of legitimacy.4

He continues that this notion enables individuals in a society to undertake collective practice both in fact and as a normative framework, meaning that “Such understanding is both factual and normative; that is, we have a sense of how things usually go, but this is interwoven with an idea of how they ought to go.”5 If I were to use this concept loosely to describe Khomeini’s position in Iran, I would say that Khomeini was seen in the social imaginary of Iranians as more like an infallible Imām than a representative of the infallible Imām (as per the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh). This is a statement also proposed by Daniel Brumberg in his attempt to understand the charismatic personality of Khomeini. Brumberg suggests that Khomeini’s personality found meaning in connection with the Shīʿī community’s expectation of the return of the hidden Imām.6 In other words, the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was not proposed at all, much less played a role in the social imaginary of Iranians or became part of the religious beliefs of the people. But instead of this doctrine, to some extent it was Khomeini himself who was associated with the infallible Imām. It was not entirely improper that the adjective “Imām” became quickly and widely attributed to Khomeini. The word “Imām” is sacred among the Iranian Shīʿa, used only to describe the twelve infallible Imāms. There was no precedent of Iranians using the word “Imām” in relation to anyone else.7 It is within this framework that one may understand how a significant 4 Taylor 2004, 23. 5 Taylor 2004, 24. 6 Brumberg 2001. 7 Of course, this particular sensitivity is unique to the Shīʿa of Iran. In addition to its popularity in the Sunnī world, where the word “Imām” has been used to describe various people, its use is also

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  219 number of Iranians believed they had seen the image of Khomeini on the moon.8 The mystical image of Khomeini extended widely and was presented in many forms, reaching even the official political platforms of the country. Fakhreddin Hejazi, a member of the first Islamic Consultative Assembly, once referred to Khomeini as “Sulaymān and Dāwūd of the present time” in front of him. Another member of parliament used Qurʾānic verses to describe Khomeini, provoking a response from the man himself: “There are some verses and narrations that are specific to the infallibles—​peace be upon them—​which cannot be ascribed to the great jurists and scholars of Islam, let alone someone like me.”9 Of course, such statements increased the standing and respect he enjoyed among Iranians, whose culture places a high value on modesty. In summary, Khomeini enjoyed a mystical position in the social imaginary of a large proportion of the Iranian population. This situation meant that the influence of his demands and policies on the process and structure of the formation of the state was as great as or even greater than that of the sum of all other personalities and political groups put together.

Khomeini and the Assembly of Experts Election As time passed, Khomeini’s influence eventually led to the marginalization of other trends of thought and the seizure of a monopoly on power. In keeping with the progression of the Revolution from its negative stage (rejecting the Pahlavi regime) to its positive stage (shaping the elements of the new political order), Khomeini increasingly acted in favor of the clerical Islamists and to eliminate other groups. We have already seen that during the constitutional referendum, Khomeini’s insistence on “Islamic Republic, not a word less, nor a word more” was in opposition to the proposals of other groups—​including that of then prime minister Mehdi Bazargan—​and created a dividing line between himself and certain others. However, due to the ambiguity of the concept of the Islamic Republic and the lack of perseverance by the other groups in relation to their own demands, the demarcation was not complete. This meant that individuals and groups opposed to the concept of the Islamic Republic, including Bazargan as well as the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran and the Muslim People’s less restricted among the Shīʿa of Arab countries. For example, Musa Sadr, the leader of the Lebanese Shīʿa, was addressed as Imām. 8 This belief was very prevalent for a period, during which many people among the masses claimed to have seen the image of Khomeini on the moon. Due to its widespread nature throughout the country, the claim has been mentioned in some works. See, for example, Gölz 2017; Pliskin 1980, 74; Katouzian 2010, 42. 9 Khomeini 1999g, 237.

220  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Republic Party, participated in the referendum. But in the Assembly of Experts election, the demarcation became deeper and clearer. Khomeini fully supported the clerical Islamists and took the most important step in limiting himself to leading a particular group and alienating others. From the day the Assembly of Experts was proposed, Khomeini repeatedly asked clerics to comment on the constitution and run for election to the Assembly of Experts to ensure that “an Islamic constitution in every sense”10 was drafted. For example, Khomeini stated in one of his speeches: This right belongs to you. It is those knowledgeable in Islam who may express an opinion on the law of Islam. The constitution of the Islamic Republic means the constitution of Islam. Don’t sit back while foreignized intellectuals, who have no faith in Islam, give their views and write the things they write. Pick up your pens and in the mosques, from the altars, in the streets and bazaars, speak of the things that in your view should be included in the constitution.11

He also called on the people to vote for “religious people, knowledgeable individuals, the great ʿulamāʾ of the country, people who deviate neither to the right nor to the left,”12 in numerous speeches and messages, suggesting that they “elect people from among the local ʿulamāʾ as members of the Assembly of Experts”13 to ensure a parliament of “people knowledgeable about the laws of Islam.”14 Another theme frequently observed in Khomeini’s remarks during this period was his call for unity and the avoidance of division: It is necessary that the most high-​ranking ʿulamāʾ from all over the country, from the center to the furthest provinces and cities, to collaborate in order to achieve the Islamic goal; to speak with one voice on the Assembly of Experts election; and all agree jointly on the candidates; and each place should not have a separate candidate, which in this division is the fear of defeat and the danger of driving back Islam and its progressive rules. . . . I am afraid that your own rights will be dispersed, and others will advance. In this vital matter, it is necessary for the interests of Islam that other goals are given up, and all ʿulamāʾ and other groups with an Islamic inclination, especially the passionate Islamic youth, unite in appointing the Experts. . . . I expect to hear and read of the joint candidates of the ʿulamāʾ of the country and those with an Islamic inclination in the media in the next few days.15

10 11 12 13 14 15

Khomeini 1999b, 303. Khomeini quoted in Bakhash 1990, 78. Khomeini 1999c, 67. Khomeini 1999c, 114. Khomeini 1999c, 246. Khomeini 1999c, 238.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  221 As numerous reports on the coordination of clerical Islamists during the election of the Assembly of Experts show, Khomeini did not limit himself to public statements and played a direct and forceful role behind the scenes to ensure that the Islamists formed a coalition. This part of Khomeini’s activity is related to another factor that led to the dramatic victory of the Islamists, being the rapid and effective organization of the Islamist forces led by the Islamic Republican Party. In this case, it seems the concern of the clergy about repeating what is called the “bitter experience of constitutionalism” played a crucial role.

Fear That the Nightmare of Constitutionalism Would Recur As Hayden White emphasizes, the narrative that historiography produces is of great importance.16 In this sense, the role and function of the clergy’s narrative about their experience during the Constitutional Revolution of 1906–​1911 are significant here. Regardless of the truth of historical events, the clergy consider themselves in particular, and religion more generally, as the principal victims of the aberration of the Constitutional Revolution. The Iranian Constitutional Revolution can be considered a successful experience in the nation’s political history insofar as it ushered parliamentarism and modern political concepts into the structure and political discourse of Iran. At the same time, it may also be considered an unsuccessful revolution because it failed to democratize Iranian politics and led instead to the emergence of the Pahlavi dictatorship.17 The forces that took part in this revolution are generally divided into religious and secular forces. In the literature, the terms “liberals,” “intellectuals,”18 and “freedom-​seekers” (āzādī-​khāhān) are used to describe the secular forces. The goals of neither the religious nor the secular forces were achieved in the constitutional period, and both groups suffered severely under the despotic Reza Shah. But the almost universally unchallenged narrative of the clergy is that the liberal/​intellectual forces betrayed the religious forces in the Constitutional 16 White 1973; White 1980. 17 Numerous books and articles have been written about the successes and failures of the Constitutional Revolution, addressing the significance of this event on the political history of Iran from various perspectives. The most important such works include Chehabi and Martin 2010; Ansari 2016; Hermann 2013; Martin 2013; Ajoudani 2003; Rahbari 2018. 18 In Iran, the term “intellectual” was originally used—​especially during the constitutional period—​to refer to those whose thought was situated outside religious frameworks, often influenced by modern and Western trends. Later, thinkers such as Ali Shariati and Mehdi Bazargan emerged who, despite their training at modern universities, engaged in religious research and became known for their work in the defense of religion. The term “religious intellectual” then gained currency as a way to describe these thinkers. When I use the word “intellectual” here, I am referring specifically to secular rather than religious intellectuals. For the history of how the designation of religious intellectual took shape, and its place in Iranian political literature, see Jahanbakhsh 2004; Soroush 2010; Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi 2020, 20–​58.

222  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Revolution and that this betrayal was the main reason for the revolution’s failure. From the perspective of the clergy, the Constitutional Revolution had deviated and failed even before the rise of Reza Shah because Western and secular thought dominated the new political order. This narrative of the Constitutional Revolution has an important place in Islamist discourse. One can find many references to it in Khomeini’s speeches.19 Irrespective of its correspondence or otherwise with the actual events of the Constitutional Revolution, this narrative is seen as a historical truth among the clergy and for this reason created considerable fear and caution among the Islamists. During the 1979 Revolution, despite the cooperation of Khomeini and his disciples with the intellectuals and liberals, the clerics always worried about being ousted by secular forces, as was their experience during the constitutional period.20 For this reason, they never fully trusted the intellectuals or liberals, and even when Khomeini handed the control of the Interim Government to the liberal Islamists, the clerical Islamists created their own government in the shadows so they could continue to hold the reins.21 In addition to the betrayal of the intellectuals, the clergy also apportion a significant part of the blame for their failure in the constitutional period to internal divisions between religious forces. The dispute between Shaykh Faḍl Allāh Nūrī, whose support for constitutionalism was conditional on its implementation of sharīʿa law, and other constitutionalist clerics divided the religious forces into two opposing factions. The rancor between them was such that Shaykh Faḍl Allāh Nūrī was hanged on the order of one of the constitutionalist clerics, Shaykh Ibrāhīm Zanjānī. As a consequence, one of the main concerns of the Islamists during the 1979 Revolution was the need to avoid internal disputes that could lead to their loss to secular forces in the political arena once again. In fact, this fear was a key motivation for the establishment of the Islamic Republican Party. The party was formed by five of the clerics closest to Khomeini just one week after the victory of the Revolution. The Islamic Republican Party’s founding charter, citing past experiences including constitutionalism, argued that the clergy had “always suffered great blows from the lack of a strong and inclusive organization” and therefore sought to “build a strong association, organize active forces, and create an iron cohesion and discipline that can appropriately continue the revolutionary movement of the nation and protect the movement from the danger of destruction and its achievements from the danger of looting by the enemy.”22 19 See, for example, Jahanbakhsh 2004; Soroush 2010; Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi 2020, 20–​58. 20 Axworthy 2013, 4. 21 Describing his own government, Bazargan called it “a knife without a blade.” For a discussion of the Interim Government’s struggles with revolutionary institutions controlled by the clerical Islamists, see Bakhash 1990; Arjomand 1988, 134–​146. 22 Quoted in Ashrafi 2018, 78.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  223 Mohammad Beheshti, the party’s secretary general, explained the impetus for the founding of the party as follows: The reason we moved to establish the Islamic Republican Party was that historical experience in the history of our nation has shown that whenever the nation has risen—​and in the uprising, often the clergy, especially the committed and knowledgeable ʿulamāʾ, has been a prominent factor in the victory of the uprising, and it has been thanks to the clergy that the battleground has been crowded—​after the victory, one group appropriated all the achievements of the struggle and the universal victory of the people and the nation, and took the struggle any direction they liked; sometimes to the east and sometimes to the west. We realized from the beginning of the struggle that the formation of this organization was necessary.23

Like the other clerics, Khomeini was seriously concerned about this risk, and despite the fact that he considered himself a nonpartisan figure and had repeatedly stated that he did not want to be a member of any party, he made an exception for the Islamic Republican Party and directly supported it. According to several reports, it seems that Khomeini intervened personally to support a unified list of clerical Islamist candidates, led by the Islamic Republican Party, during the election of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution. According to Beheshti, Khomeini called on the Combatant Clergy Association, the Society of Seminary Teachers of Qom, and the Islamic Republican Party to go to Qum and agree to a joint list in his presence. Beheshti continues: After the maghrib and ʿishāʾ prayers, we started the meeting in his [Khomeini’s] presence. We agreed on some issues, and there was consensus on a number of the candidates. But in some cases, opinions were not the same . . . it had got a bit late so we told the Imām, “It is late, you go and rest, and we will sit here and finish the work.” He said, “No, I will sit here until the work is finished!”24

A report by Ayatollah Seyyed Mohammad Hossein Hosseini Tehrani about his activities during the lead-​up to the Assembly of Experts election states that a number of clerics who had sought to contend the election had resigned on the advice of Khomeini: They said that Khomeini had given strict orders that there should be no disagreement regarding the nomination of candidates . . . let there be no

23 24

Beheshti 2011, 20–​21. Beheshti 1983, 8.

224  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism disagreement. . . . Therefore, all these gentlemen of Tehran abstained from giving their names to the Ministry of the Interior, for nominating candidates, and none of them participated in the Assembly of Experts [election]; . . . and the Islamic Republican Party put its own candidates forward.25

In his memoirs, Ayatollah Yazdi mentions Khomeini’s direct involvement even in the selection of the list for the whole country: Regarding the members of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, the Imām inquired about each and every one of the seventy or more people on the list and said that it would be better to investigate these people more, and sometimes said that it would be better if someone could take the place of someone else.26

As a result of Khomeini’s intervention and the coordination that had taken place between the Islamic Republican Party and other Islamist groups, the Islamists formed the largest coalition in the election, drawing together ten different groups.27 The coalition, which contested the election under the title “By the Order of the Imām,” presented a single list for the entire country. In addition to the coordination and coalition that emerged at the elite and group level, the Islamists’ optimal use of their vast religious network also benefited their campaign greatly. This network included mosques and ḥusayniyyas, which for centuries have served as the main gathering and communication spaces for a considerable proportion of Iranians. Religious occasions, including Muḥarram and Ramaḍān, as well as the countless rituals performed through the channels of this network, provided the best opportunity for coordination. Mosques and ḥusayniyyas had gained further prestige and influence during the Revolution. As Mohammad Samiei explains in detail, between the collapse of the old order and the establishment of the new order, the religious network played an active role in maintaining order and security, as well as providing services to the people: At that time, mosques, led by a cleric, were places both for the distribution of weapons and the distribution of essential provisions, the location from which security was established, and where the trial and sentencing of thieves and swindlers took place as well as the settlement of disputes and conflicts among the residents of the neighborhood. All the main tasks of government that remained without an executor were carried out by this network.28

25

Hoseini-​Tehrani and Sa’idian 2015, 334–​335. Yazdi quoted in Qufli 2008, 296. 27 Bakhash 1990, 81; Saffari 1993, 67. 28 Samiei 2017, 667. 26

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  225 At this point, we can refer again to the element of chance that Foucault identifies, the coincidence of the month of Ramaḍān, when the religious network experiences its busiest days, occurring at the same time as the Assembly of Experts election. Most of the clerics who were involved in providing the services mentioned above were among those affiliated with Khomeini and his political discourse. The influence and active role of these clerics not only meant that the coalition led by the Islamic Republican Party outmaneuvered other groups but also that the liberal and leftist Islamist candidates could not succeed, either. The attribution of the Islamist coalition candidates to Khomeini and the impact of this closeness were such that many groups protested after the election results were announced.29 The secretary general of the Muslim People’s Republic Party, Ahmad Alizadeh, said: “When the representative of the Imām, who has more power than anyone, even the governor, nominates himself, the fate of the others is determined.”30 The party’s protest against the Assembly of Experts election announced: “The participation of the Imām’s representatives in the election should have been forbidden by the electoral law.”31 Of course, none of these protests came to fruition, and it is not unreasonable to say that there was no legal basis on which Khomeini was obliged to have been neutral.

Underestimation of the Clerical Islamists The fragmentation of other groups also came to the aid of the clerical Islamists. Not only were the leftist parties unable to form a coalition because of their different Leninist, Maoist, and Castroist leanings,32 but their major concepts and ideas were hijacked by the Islamists. In addition to these concepts and ideas being integrated into the discourse of the clerical Islamists themselves, some leftist Islamist groups, as described earlier, had acquired part of the social base targeted by the left. Moreover, as Abrahamian points out, the leftist discourse did not have the capacity to gain currency among the villagers or the masses.33 In addition, the Tudeh Party, the most important leftist group, was so committed to following Khomeini and the clerical Islamists during this period that Noureddin Kianouri, the first secretary of the Tudeh Party’s central committee, was mockingly called Ayatollah Kianouri.34 29 Newspapers were full of protests by various individuals and groups against the election. Qufli’s extensive work mentions that a number of these protests were related to the role of Khomeini (Qufli 2008, 302–​316). 30 Alizadeh quoted in Qufli 2008, 304. 31 Alizadeh quoted in Qufli 2008, 304. 32 Samiei 2017, 671. 33 Abrahamian 1982b, 326–​382. 34 Daneshvar 1996, 193.

226  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism In contrast with Islamism and leftism, nationalism has a long history in Iranian politics. The National Front, with the support of the oil nationalization movement of the 1950s and the popularity of its leader, the late prime minister Mohammad Mossadegh, enjoyed great influence among both the middle and lower classes. But nationalist forces had lagged behind the Islamists since the pre-​revolutionary period, and when the most prominent figure of the movement, Karim Sanjabi, the leader of the Fourth National Front,35 visited Khomeini in Paris in November 1978, he effectively submitted to the leadership of the clerical Islamists. It is interesting that Khomeini said explicitly after the meeting that he had not formed a coalition with the National Front but that Sanjabi had accepted his views: I told him [Sanjabi] about the issues and positions that I had, and that it was impossible to step back from them, and that we do not have any coalition. The whole nation is with us, and we are with the whole nation, and whoever agrees with . . . the position we have is one of our group and our nation. And if someone does not agree, they have acted against the interests of Islam and the nation, and we will have nothing to do with them. And those who agree with us, we will be of one voice with them, but we have no special relationship with anyone.36

Hedayatollah Matin-​Daftari, a grandson of Mossadegh, considers Sanjabi’s decision to accept Khomeini’s leadership as the main reason for the weakening of the National Front. The formation in March 1979 of a new independent party grouping by Matin-​Daftari, known as the National Democratic Party of Iran, and the secession of the Nation Party of Iran led by Dariush Forouhar from the National Front, further damaged the nationalists’ cohesion. Referring to the damage caused by these splits, Sanjabi said: “I have tried to patch up the divisions between the different parts of the National Front and its splinter groups . . . but unfortunately, this possibility becomes less and less likely every day . . . the situation of the National Front today is in no way commensurate with its tradition and historical value.”37 Sanjabi’s astonishing statement in relation to the election

35 The National Front of Iran was formed in 1949 from a coalition of different parties under the leadership of Mohammad Mossadegh with the aim of nationalizing the oil industry. When the 1953 coup occurred, its activities ceased. Subsequently, the National Front was reformed a couple of times in periods of political openness but dissolved after a time in each instance due to government repression. On the eve of the 1979 Revolution, the Fourth National Front was formed under the leadership of Karim Sanjabi (see also note 63 in ­chapter 6). The Fifth National Front was formed in 1993 and remains active. For a discussion of the history, achievements, and failures of the National Front, see Siavoshi 1990. 36 Khomeini quoted in Ali Babaei 2019, 236. 37 Sanjabi quoted in Qufli 2008, 277.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  227 of the Assembly of Experts shows the level of confusion and inaction on the part of the National Front: I was not nominated by the National Front, because the National Front had no candidate for this task, but [I was nominated] by supporters of Ayatollah Shariatmadari in the Muslim People’s Republic Party, as the Assembly candidate from Kermanshah province. I wrote a letter to thank them and stated that I did not volunteer to serve, but if the people elect me in my absence, I will do my national duty.38

According to Sanjabi, he went to the United States for medical treatment after he wrote this letter, and although he was a candidate, he was not present in Iran during the election period. The National Front did not boycott the Assembly of Experts election but acted somewhat passively, in that, first, its leader was nominated by a party that was not a member of the National Front, and, second, he was in America during the election campaign. It is not surprising that neither the National Front in general nor Sanjabi in particular experienced any success in the election. In addition, the National Front, albeit to a lesser extent than the Islamists, has traditionally enjoyed the support of the bazaaris (merchants). But on the eve of the election of the Assembly of Experts, a number of bazaaris issued a statement declaring that they did not support the National Front,39 which also contributed to its electoral failure. In addition to the internal conflicts and divisions of various political groups, it seems that the matter of potential external coalitions and cooperation between groups was not raised at all. Interestingly, despite the extent of Khomeini’s influence and the Islamists’ highly successful performance in the months leading up to the Revolution, other groups did not come together in viewing them as a common enemy or attempt to form a coalition to counter or at least curb the Islamists’ growing power. As Keddie points out, other groups underestimated both the ability of the clergy to seize power and the probability that they would do so: Most nonclerics in the opposition underestimated both the probability of clerical rule and the ability of the clergy to rule—​this was true of Khomeini’s Islamic but nonclerical Paris advisers, of various liberal and leftist groups, and also of the oppositionists who fled Iran, all of whom thought they could come out on top as clerical incompetence was manifested.40



38

39 40

Sanjabi 1989, 334. Jomhouri-​e Eslami 1979c, 2. Keddie and Richard 2003, 240.

228  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism There are naturally a range of reasons that can be given in relation to why this possibility was not taken seriously, and we can mention the lack of discussion about the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh as one such reason. The doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh provides a relatively clear outline of the Islamists’ ideal type of political system. If this doctrine had been made known during the revolutionary struggle or in the first months after the Revolution, it is possible that it would have sounded an alarm for other groups, and coalitions and collaborations would have taken shape between these groups to counter the threat of an Islamist monopoly. But the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was not part of the political strife and controversy until it was introduced in the meetings of the Assembly of Experts. As soon as it was presented to the Assembly of Experts and became the focus of the writing of the constitution, it was subject to more conflict and controversy than any other issue or article of the constitution, but it was too late by then for almost any counteraction. Before examining these deliberations, I need to reiterate that in this section, by analyzing the plans, coalitions, and divisions of political groups in the Assembly of Experts election, I tried to show that the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh played no part in the significant victory of the Islamists and was not even proposed, much less able to play such a part. The victory of the Islamists should be attributed on the one hand to their shrewdness and political skills, drawing on their resources and capital, and on the other hand to the poor performance of other political groups.

The Assembly of Experts and the Tyranny of the Majority The shrewdness and political skills of the clerical Islamists continued within the Assembly of Experts. They were calculated and cautious while appearing at the same time to be pursuing their key constitutional demands legitimately. The clerical Islamists’ claim to legitimacy was based on their numerical majority, but not every majority decision is necessarily an acceptable decision. The pioneers of democratic theory, such as Alexis de Tocqueville and John Stuart Mill, used the concept of the “tyranny of the majority” to oppose the conception of all majority decisions as rightful. Tocqueville writes: if you accept that one man vested with omnipotence can abuse it against his adversaries, why not accept the same thing for a majority? . . . when I see the right and the ability to do everything granted to any power whatsoever, whether it is called people or king, democracy or aristocracy, whether it is exercised in a monarchy or in a republic, I say: there is the seed of tyranny, and I seek to go live under other laws.41

41

Tocqueville, Mansfield, and Winthrop 2000, 240.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  229 In the same way, Mill believes that when the majority “issues wrong mandates instead of right, or any mandates at all in things with which it ought not to meddle, it practices a social tyranny.”42 The decisions of the majority can only be considered legitimate when they are also just. But justice was absent from the decisions of the majority clerical Islamist faction in the Assembly of Experts, especially regarding the articles related to wilāyat-​i faqīh. On the contrary, injustice was the basis of all the clerical Islamists’ arguments about the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh,43 which gave jurists and clerics superiority over all other citizens. The Assembly of Experts defined the political structure of the country based on the dominance of non-​democratic institutions over electoral institutions. In addition, it made wilāyat-​i faqīh the nodal point of the clerical Islamists, quickly transforming the concept into the most important factor in the demarcation between insiders and outsiders. Ironically, the first step facilitating the invocation of the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh by the Assembly of Experts was taken by one of the most prominent opponents of the scheme. Rahmatullah Moghaddam-​ Maraghei stated in the assembly’s first session that the parliament should not be bound to abide by the “procedural rules” drafted by the Revolutionary Council. He stated that from a legal perspective, the procedural rules of the Assembly of Experts must be prepared by the assembly itself. Following his proposal, which in a way sought to increase the powers of the Assembly of Experts, Ayatollah Montazeri and Mohammad Khamenei added that the assembly, in addition to being unbound by such procedural rules, should also have the right to be uninhibited by the draft constitution prepared earlier. With this proposal, the way was opened for fundamental changes to be made to the draft and the writing of a different constitution, one centered on wilāyat-​I faqīh. The second important event, which seems to have been prearranged, was that the key positions in the Assembly of Experts, namely, the chair, the deputy chair, and the secretary, were given to the three people who were the most dedicated and effective supporters of the wilāyat-​i faqīh scheme. In particular, as we saw earlier, two of them—​Ayatollah Montazeri and Hassan Ayat44—​had stated before the

42 Mill et al. 2003, 76. 43 Here I deliberately use the word “scheme” to avoid confusing it with Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. One of the suggestions I make in this chapter is that within the Assembly of Experts, clerical Islamists were planning and coordinating with one another to include the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution, and the word “scheme” reflects this aspect of the issue of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the Assembly of Experts. 44 The third was Ayatollah Beheshti, who, although elected deputy chair, actually chaired the meetings. The names of these three people are mentioned in many sources as the main architects of the inclusion of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution. As mentioned earlier, some even believe that Hassan Ayat made this suggestion to Ayatollahs Montazeri and Beheshti. However, this seems relatively implausible because—​as discussed in detail in ­chapter 7—​it was Ayatollah Montazeri and others who came up with the idea after the draft was published.

230  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism formation of the Assembly of Experts that they sought to include wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution. Although the clerical Islamists had an absolute majority in the Assembly of Experts and it would have technically been possible for them to change the draft entirely, the ultimate form of the constitution shows that the clerical Islamists were forced to make a number of concessions. The final document, despite the incorporation of the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh, retains some of the democratic principles set out in the draft, thus rendering the structure of government a contradictory one.45 Electoral institutions such as the presidency, the parliament, and the town and village councils were enshrined in the constitution. As was repeatedly raised by the opponents of the wilāyat-​i faqīh scheme in the Assembly’s deliberations, these articles were in conflict with the articles on wilāyat-​i faqīh. For more than forty years, tension has persisted between Iran’s electoral and theocratic institutions. This contradiction is clearly seen in the relationship between the supreme leader (walī-​yi faqīh) and the president.46 Almost all the presidents of the Islamic Republic have experienced some form of tension and conflict with the supreme leader. The key feature of the constitution enshrined by the Assembly of Experts was its guarantee of the supremacy of the walī-​yi faqīh over the political system, including granting him control of the principal institutions of power such as the armed forces and the judiciary. In addition, democratic and electoral institutions also come under the authority of the theocratic institutions; there are complex mechanisms enshrined in the constitution allowing the supreme leader to nullify their power. Although the Iranian leadership claims that the walī-​yi faqīh is elected by the people through the Assembly of Experts of the Leadership, the reality is that all members of this assembly are men and clerics, and the supreme leader himself can only be chosen from among the mujtahids. Moreover, the post of walī-​yi faqīh is practically a lifetime position, and despite the claims of Iran’s clerical leaders, there is no effective mechanism to monitor his performance or remove him if necessary. Shaul Bakhash accurately describes the final product of the Assembly of Experts: The new constitution made the faqih the central figure in the political order, enshrined the dominance of the clerical community over the institutions of the state, entrenched Islamic jurisprudence as the foundation for the country’s laws and legal system, and limited individual freedoms to what was considered permissible under Islam.47 45 Shafiee 2012; Schirazi 2003; Martin 2014, 159–​166; Akbarzadeh and Barry 2018; Jahanbegloo 2013, 67–​78. 46 Milani 1993. 47 Bakhash 1990, 83.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  231 This product may appear to be a detailed and structured version of Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. But an investigation of the deliberations within the Assembly of Experts and the factors that influenced them indicates that there was no direct relationship between the doctrine of Khomeini and the outcome of the assembly’s discussions in the form of the final constitution.

The Great Absentees from the Assembly of Experts Khomeini’s doctrine was not used as a blueprint for the drafting of a wilāyat-​i-​ faqīh-​centered constitution and was also strangely absent from the Assembly of Experts’ deliberations. During the assembly’s debates of relevance to wilāyat-​i faqīh, the doctrine was mentioned only once, and in passing. Hamidullah Mir Moradzehi, a Sunnī representative of Sistan and Baluchestan, opposed the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh, citing a section of the book, “A Letter from Imām Mūsawī Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʾ,”48 that he claimed identified infallible Imāms as the sole referents of awālī al-​ʾamr49 (those charged with authority).50 The book he referred to was the very same Wilāyat-​i faqīh written by Khomeini, which, due to the repressive atmosphere of the Pahlavi era, was published under the nom de plume Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʾ. The fact that this member of the Assembly of Experts did not know that the book he was referring to was written by Khomeini, and also that he completely misinterpreted its key argument, indicates that Khomeini’s doctrine was not well known at this point. Hassan Ayat responded to Moradzehi’s objection by explaining that the author of the book was not Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʾ but Khomeini. He also highlighted Moradzehi’s failure to grasp the main argument of the book, correctly affirming that “throughout the book, it argues that after the Imāms, the jurists have authority, and anyone who read the whole book would realize this.”51 48 Jaʿfar Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʾ (1743–​1812) was a renowned Shīʿī scholar who was more involved in politics than other jurists of his day. One of the reasons for his fame is his issuance of a jihād ruling during the first Russo-​Persian War (1804–​1813), a war that led to the defeat of Iran and the loss of a considerable part of its territory. It is probably because of his involvement in politics that his name was used by Khomeini. َّ ‫آمنُوا أ� ِطيعُ وا‬ َ ‫اللهَ َو أ� ِطيعُ وا الرَّ ُس‬ 49 Awālī al-​ʾamr refers to Qurʾān 4:59, which reads: ‫ول َو أ�ولِي‬ َ ‫ين‬ َ ِ‫يَ ا أ�يُّ هَ ا َّالذ‬ ‫ْالمْ ِر مِ ْنكُ ْم‬ O ye who believe! Obey Allah and obey the Messenger and those charged with authority among you. There are differing opinions among the Sunnīs about who is charged with such authority (Sobahnifakhr and Siyavoshi 2013; Najarzadegan 2003), but all Shīʿa agree that the referents of awālī al-​ʾamr are the infallible Imāms. Khomeini referred to this verse in his book Wilāyat-​i faqīh. Those who believe in the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh also consider that the referents of awālī al-​ʾamr also encompass jurists (Sadeghi-​Tehrani 1987, 143–​145; Fadlallah 1998, 318–​329; Salemi 1999). 50 Moradzehi in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1088. 51 Ayat quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1092.

232  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism Ayat did not dwell on Khomeini’s doctrine any further, continuing instead to a discussion of Jean-​Jacques Rousseau’s theory of social contract. He explained that according to this theory, people in society give up some of their freedoms in order to improve their lives, claiming that “if the social contract has been realized [only] once in history, it is [realized through] Islam [the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh].”52 Other supporters of wilāyat-​i faqīh did not mention Khomeini’s doctrine in discussions related to the issue, either. I will explain that one may speculate that they avoided doing so intentionally. It was not Khomeini’s doctrine but his popularity and authority that played a decisive role in the Assembly of Experts meetings. In fact, the impression that the articles about wilāyat-​i faqīh were being written for Khomeini formed the backdrop of every discussion on the issue. It was not unreasonable when Bazargan, the prime minister of the Interim Government, said that wilāyat-​i faqīh was a mantle tailored exclusively to Khomeini’s stature that would not fit anyone else.53 The opponents of wilāyat-​i faqīh repeatedly raised the point that Khomeini was an exceptional case and that the constitution should not be written for one person, because no one else would have the capacity to follow in Khomeini’s footsteps. Naser Makarem Shirazi said: Those who have drafted this article are within the current atmosphere, within these four walls, and imagine that there will always be a great man like Grand Ayatollah Imām Khomeini to lead [the country as walī-​yi faqīh], but it could be several centuries before a man with his superior characteristics can be found, at the right place and at the right time, who can be granted all his authorities. This is a historical exception, we have to write the constitution for any time and place.54

Some of the members suggested that a separate, specific law be drafted to define Khomeini’s place in Iran’s political future. Moghaddam-​Maraghei suggested: “An article should be drafted that [grants authority to] Imām Khomeini to govern as the legal head of state for a specified time period or for life.”55 In addition to the popularity of Khomeini, the fact that he already played the—​albeit de facto—​role of walī-​yi faqīh at the time was also very influential in the success of the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh. To illustrate, one can mention the role of Khomeini in the area of his command of the armed forces. In the turbulent atmosphere after the collapse 52 Ayat quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1093. 53 Borghei 2002, 268–​269. 54 Makarem Shirazi quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1115. 55 Moghadam-​Maraghei quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985a, 375.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  233 of the Pahlavi regime, several uprisings had taken place, especially in the border provinces, and the risk of secession was a serious threat to the country’s territorial integrity. Khomeini was actively involved in suppressing these uprisings and in practice acted as the commander in chief. One of the tensest such occasions coincided with the Assembly of Experts’ deliberations on wilāyat-​i faqīh. The city of Paveh was almost entirely in the hands of Kurdish opposition forces when Khomeini issued an order calling on the military to end the uprising. In his message, Khomeini referred to himself explicitly as commander in chief: As Commander in Chief, I order the chief of the army to immediately send the army with full equipment to the area; and I order all the army bases and the gendarmerie, without waiting for a further order and without delay, to move toward Paveh with all equipment; and I order the government to immediately provide the means for the [Revolutionary] Guards to move.56

These conditions created the impression that it would be impossible to maintain the country’s territorial integrity without Khomeini and that he was the best person to act in the role of commander in chief. Cases such as these greatly strengthened the position of those in favor of wilāyat-​i faqīh and the granting of unlimited power to the walī-​yi faqīh, and the clerical Islamists did not fail to take advantage of such opportunities.

Avoidance of Theological Debate In the controversial debate over the transfer of command of the armed forces to the walī-​yi faqīh, those in favor also referred to the model of the behavior of Imām ʿAlī, the first Shīʿī Imām, who, in addition to religious and political leadership, also served as the military commander of the Muslim community. Of course, this was not the only link made between Khomeini and Imām ʿAlī or between Khomeini and the time of the infallible Imāms. One of the strategies of those promoting the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh was to show that they were not advocating a new scheme and that what they were proposing had a history as long as Islam itself. For this reason, in addition to their various references to the infallible Imāms, they also frequently made general statements such as “there is a concept of an Islamic government.” In response to Beheshti’s statement that a new system was taking shape in Iran, Mohammad Karami-​Hoveyzi said, “We do not accept that this is a new system because this system has a fourteen-​hundred-​ year-​old history in the Qurʾān and the tradition of the Prophet and in the actions

56

Khomeini 1999c, 285.

234  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism of the infallibles.”57 This simplified reading was far removed from the reality of the early years of Shīʿī history and the political behavior of the infallible Imāms discussed in the early chapters of this book. More important, these kinds of rhetorical statements ignored the Shīʿī political theology that took shape after the Age of Presence and was completed in the first century of the Major Occultation, which is conceptualized in this book as theocratic secularism. In fact, the Assembly of Experts did not mention the diversity of the political behavior of the infallible Imāms, nor did they name any figures such as Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq, Shaykh Mufīd, or al-​Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā, who developed the frameworks of Shīʿī political theology. Even later scholars such as Mullāh Ahmad Narāghī and Kāshif al-​ Ghiṭāʾ, who broadened the political role of the fuqahāʾ, were not referred to. Of course, none of the aforementioned scholars went so far as to recognize a faqīh as the head of the government. A number of those opposing wilāyat-​i faqīh stated that a “new innovation” was taking shape with “no precedent in Shīʿism to date”58 and that the new scheme would bring about a “fundamental change to the Shīʿī religion”59 in the future and cause a “revolution in the society” of Iran.60 There were a few exceptions to the general lack of theological debate, but these arguments were not taken seriously and cannot be said to have played any role in the decision-​making that resulted in the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh being incorporated into the constitution. In defense of wilāyat-​i faqīh, Sayyid Abd al-​Husayn Dastghayb referred to the “rule of luṭf,”61 which emphasizes the necessity of a leader and guide in every age. However, he did not mention that the founding scholars of Twelver Shīʿism adapted this rule from the Muʿtazilites to prove the existence of the twelfth Imām and his unusual longevity. Neither in the period of its formation nor throughout Shīʿī history have jurists ever been referents of this rule. Even Khomeini did not use this argument in his doctrine. However, Dastghayb considered the jurists’ status as representatives of the twelfth Imām as an example of the realization of the rule of God’s luṭf. Dastghayb’s argument also had a quasi-​democratic element, insofar as he acknowledged that no jurist had ruled throughout history, because it was necessary for the people to accept the jurist’s authority: “A just faqīh is like the Imām, when it becomes obligatory upon him to rule, the people themselves should be willing to obey, if they are not, he in turn will not exercise coercion or rule by force, as has been the case [throughout 57 Karami-​Hoveyzi quoted in Cultural and Publlic Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1096. 58 Moghaddam-​Maraghei in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1098–​1099. 59 Ahmad Nourbakhsh quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1085. 60 Sahabi quoted in Badamchi 2017, 186. 61 As discussed in ­chapter 3, this rule was used by the founding scholars of Shīʿism in the tenth and eleventh centuries to justify the existence of the twelfth Imām.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  235 history].”62 No one asked him how he derived this ruling from the behavior of the infallible Imāms or the thought of the founding scholars of Shīʿism. Passing and infrequent references were also made to some of the verses and narrations mentioned in part I of this book. Sayyid Ali Akbar Qureshi63 stated that it was necessary to include wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution on the basis of the letter written by the twelfth Imām to ʾIsḥāq b. Yaʿqūb.64 However, his discussion made no reference to the limitations that Twelver Shīʿism’s founding scholars placed on the authority of the jurists, which was discussed in detail in ­chapters 3 and 4. On one occasion, in a speech prior to the commencement of the meeting’s scheduled business, Morteza Haeri-​Yazdi set out his own reading of the concept of wilāyat-​i faqīh in a concise but precise manner using the theoretical language of the seminary. His interpretation was a significant refutation of the scheme of wilāyat-​I faqīh: “Say [we write] that the faqīh has authority to the same extent as the famous texts of Islamic jurisprudence suggest.”65 Ezatullah Sahabi spoke of the jurisprudential opinion of ʿAlāma Naeini66 in one of the first sessions of the assembly, reminding members that Naeini had used jurisprudential arguments to argue in favor of the sovereignty of the people rather than the jurist during the occultation of the twelfth Imām. Sahabi came to the conclusion that “Velayat-​e faqih does not mean that the faqih should be involved in day-​to-​ day politics, the dispenser of power and overseer of state affairs. The faqih has certain qualities which are needed, but not enough for a political leader in today’s society. This constitution has no links with velayat-​e faqih.”67 However, these sorts of theoretical and highly relevant discussions on the issue of wilāyat-​i faqīh were not taken seriously, and other representatives did not engage with them. Forty-​one members of the Assembly of Experts had studied in the seminary to the level of ijtihād and twelve at the level of dars-​i khārij, the highest level of education in the seminary. Therefore, more than 73 percent of the members of the Assembly of Experts were clerics who had been educated at the most advanced levels of the seminary. For this reason, it would not have been unreasonable to expect significant jurisprudential and theological debates to have taken place, but this did not happen.68 First, it is likely that such arguments were not raised because, as discussed in detail in ­chapter 5, the issue of wilāyat-​i faqīh

62 Dastghayb in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1158–​1160. 63 Qureshi quoted in Cultural and Publlic Relations Department of the Parliament 1985a, 73. 64 For a detailed discussion of this letter and its importance, see Chapter 4 of this book. 65 Haeri-​Yazdi quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985a, 610–​611. 66 As alluded to in the introduction, Mirza Mohammad Hossein Naeini was the only scholar to write a jurisprudential book in defense of constitutionalism. The book was published during the 1979 Revolution by Ayatollah Taleghani, who added an introduction and some annotations. 67 Sahabi quoted in Saffari 1993, 71. 68 Saffari 1993, 72.

236  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism had no place in the seminary. While the members of the Assembly of Experts had reached the highest levels of seminary study, they probably had little more than a cursory understanding of wilāyat-​i faqīh and were unfamiliar with its details and subtleties. In addition, it can be speculated that the clerical Islamists made a deliberate attempt to avoid engaging with jurisprudential and theological discussions, because these could have opened the floodgates to an arena in which there was certainly no defensible basis for the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh. A number of the opponents of the scheme rightly pointed to the need for specialized theological debate on the articles of wilāyat-​i faqīh and considered that the Assembly of Experts lacked the necessary authority to decide on the matter. Ahmad Nourbakhsh said that neither was he personally qualified to discuss the issue, nor had the members of the Assembly of Experts been granted the authority to decide on this matter by the people.69 Moghaddam-​Maraghei cited Ayatollah Shariatmadari70 in criticizing the lack of consultation of the marājaʿ-​I taqlīd on the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh, suggesting that issues related to wilāyat-​i faqīh were “issues that only religious experts should speak about.”71 Ali Golzadeh-​Ghafouri stated that “on an unprecedented matter,” a decision was to be made “of relevance to the character of the Shīʿī clergy,” which the Assembly of Experts lacked the authority to make.72 Others who realized that there was no chance of removing the scheme from the assembly’s agenda suggested instead that the article not be rushed and that “the approval of this law should be postponed until [members] had met him [Khomeini] to clarify what would happen with the article”73 or that “we should leave the approval of this article to the Imām [Khomeini], who is the perfect referent of wilāyat-​i faqīh, and he thinks better and has a greater breadth of mind and awareness than any of us.”74 Perhaps these people had interpreted Khomeini’s silence on wilāyat-​i faqīh to mean that he did not agree with its inclusion in the constitution. But Khomeini’s delayed engagement with this debate showed not only that he had no objection

69 Nourbakhsh quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1085. 70 Sayyid Mohammad Kazem Shariatmadari was one of the most prominent marājaʿ-​i taqlīd during the Revolution and had a strong presence in Iranian politics during the first three years after the Revolution. He is the best-​known religious opponent of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh and advocated a democratic political system instead. He was accused of plotting to assassinate Khomeini in 1982 and was placed under house arrest until his death in 1986. For a discussion of his life and thought, see Khalaji 2010a, 45–​48; Milani 2008, 367–​376; Rouhani 1982. 71 Moghaddam-​Maraghei quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1068. 72 Golzadeh-​Ghafouri quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1087. 73 Mohammad Javad Hojjati-​Kermani quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1124. 74 Makarem-​Shirazi quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1116.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  237 to including wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution but also that he expected its scope to be much greater than was drafted: That there is one thing in this constitution that is a bit imperfect, albeit in my opinion: in Islam, the clergy have more authority than this, and the gentlemen compromised somewhat so they would not attract too much opposition from the intellectuals—​that which is in the constitution, these are some aspects of wilāyat-​i faqīh, not all aspects of wilāyat-​i faqīh.75

The importance of Ayatollah Beheshti should also be highlighted here. Beheshti was one of the architects of the inclusion of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution, and he not only spoke in favor of the scheme in the first session on the matter but also made repeated comments in support of the scheme despite his role as chair.76 One of the effective tactics used by Ayatollah Beheshti was to halt discussions on the basis that sufficient negotiations had taken place, so that the article under debate could be voted on swiftly and without further discussion. The absence of theoretical religious debate and the lack of engagement with the theological framework that has defined Shīʿī political thought and action for centuries show that the context in which the Assembly of Experts’ discussions took place was not a religious context. In other words, despite the religious appearance of the debates and the fact that the majority of the members of the Assembly of Experts were clerics, the discussions represented a significant break from the epistemic order of Twelver Shīʿism. Instead, the primary context in which the debates took place was the political context. That the inclusion of wilāyat-​i faqīh was justified in reference to communist political systems is evidence that the discussions were unrelated to the Shīʿī epistemic order. In his long speech in defense of Article 5, Ayatollah Beheshti stated that the inclusion of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the constitution was imperative to the Iranian Revolution being an ideological movement. Dividing societies into two types of systems, those based solely on people’s votes (democratic) and ideological systems, he suggested that in the second type of system, from the moment people choose an ideology, they are, in fact, declaring that from now on, everything should take place within that ideology. In suggesting that “the Islamic Republic is an ideological system [and] different from a democratic republic,” he stated: Marxist society is also an ideological society; we ask whether in the constitution of Marxist societies like the Soviet Union, like China, like other places, do not repeatedly bind everything in conformance with the principles of Marxism

75 76

Khomeini 1999e, 464. Saffari 1993, 69.

238  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism or Marxism-​Leninism and Maoism and the like? . . . Even in the Soviet constitution, from the very beginning, it binds the government, [stating] that the government must be led by the Marxist workers’ party, that is, they cannot let anything that could happen, happen, because the society is ideological. So . . . what we have put forward here in relation to Islam from the start until now, and will put forward whenever necessary, is the same thing that every ideology-​based society in the world has to follow, because its law must be based on and fall within the framework of the school of thought and cannot leave it to public opinion without any kind of constraint.77

Ayatollah Beheshti also revealed that the constitutions of the Soviet Union, China, and Bulgaria were translated and distributed among the members as examples. It is interesting that instead of Khomeini’s book, the constitutions of the Marxist countries were translated and used to persuade the members to accept the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Nowhere did Beheshti say that Shīʿī religious beliefs dictated that they form a political structure based on the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh. He also never mentioned that the idea was conceptualized by Khomeini or that the people or the Islamist leaders had launched a revolution in order to implement it. Ayatollah Beheshti’s remarks also show that the clerical Islamists’ patterns of behavior can be understood using the concept of “One man, one vote, one time.” This phrase was coined later, in 1992, by American diplomat Edward Djerejian in relation to Islamists’ election campaigns.78 Over the years, many scholars have used this phrase as a conceptual framework to explore Islamists’ attitudes toward electoral processes in various countries.79 This concept can be used retrospectively to explain the behavior of clerical Islamists in Iran. In fact, what happened in the Assembly of Experts, illustrated well in the aforementioned speeches of Ayatollah Beheshti, confirms the prominence of this view among the clerical Islamists.

Disunity of Opponents and Cohesion of Supporters The opponents of the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the Assembly of Experts were only a few, they represented various political groups, and they did not form a minority faction in the assembly. The speeches of the opponents of the scheme show that they opposed the scheme on different bases and that there was no

77 78 79

Beheshti quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985a, 381. Djerejian 1992. Lynch 2008; Yildirim and Lancaster 2015; Blaydes and Lo 2011.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  239 coordination between them. People such as Moghaddam-​Maraghei and Sahabi were concerned about democracy and freedom, and their main problem with the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh was that it undermined the sovereignty of the people. Makarem-​Shirazi and Hojjati-​Kermani were worried about tarnishing the image of Islam. They repeatedly stated that they agreed with the idea of w ​ ilāyat-​i faqīh but objected the manner in which it had been proposed to be implemented, in particular the determination of wilāyat-​i faqīh as an institution in the government apparatus that would be granted broad powers.80 In contrast, the proponents of the plan, in addition to enjoying an absolute majority, were also unified and frequently came to each other’s aid during the debate. Fortunately, in addition to the detailed written records of the deliberations of the Assembly of Experts, most of their discussions are also available in video form. The videos of the Assembly of Experts meetings expand the explanations recorded in the minutes by providing extralinguistic and cultural cues. Many researchers recommend the use of video as a source of qualitative research.81 As Christine Feak and Julia Salehzadeh point out, film can reveal the interactions between several speakers better than audio recordings can. Speakers’ interactions are difficult to grasp from written text.82 Intragroup interactions of the Assembly of Experts can be observed clearly in the video recordings of the sessions. Although Ayatollah Beheshti was the deputy chair, he often chaired the meetings. This issue could have caused a host of legal complications, but the matter was swept aside as inconsequential, and Ayatollah Montazeri effectively handed over the position of chair of the Assembly to Beheshti. Ayatollah Beheshti frequently argued in support of the scheme and often asked colleagues from his own camp to respond to the objections of the opponents of the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh. During the meetings, it was also revealed that in addition to the official meetings of the Assembly of Experts, other meetings extending for several hours had been held with members to justify the wilāyat-​i faqīh scheme to them and clarify its ambiguities. Article 5, which was the first article related to wilāyat-​i faqīh on the agenda, was discussed and approved in the space of only one hour. Ezatullah Sahabi objected to this, stating: “do not let us decide in a rush. . . . [I]‌f you [CA members] want to finalize the decision only at this one meeting, this will be seen as problematic and unacceptable by the nation.”83 Ayatollah Beheshti replied that the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh had been discussed in private meetings for more than eleven hours.84 He also said that the official Assembly of Experts meetings had been suspended for three days so that

80

Saffari 1993, 69–​70. Erickson 2011; Sorrel 2018; Miller Scarnato 2019. 82 Feak and Salehzadeh 2001. 83 Sahabi quoted in Badamchi 2017, 186. 84 Unfortunately, there is no record of this meeting. 81

240  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism the delegates could exchange views on Article 5 in private meetings. As Bakhash explains, the controversial articles were all invariably carried by between fifty and sixty votes. This voting pattern also reflected the internal cohesion of the clerical Islamists. One of the most significant unforeseen events during this process was the sudden death of Ayatollah Taleghani85 just one day before the discussion and voting on Article 5.86 It is difficult to accept conspiracy theories about the death of Ayatollah Taleghani, but nonetheless his passing just a day before the Assembly considered Article 5 can be counted among the fortunes of the clerical Islamists. There are several reports, including in the memoirs of Ayatollah Montazeri, indicating that Ayatollah Taleghani opposed the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh.87 Given that he was the most popular political figure after Khomeini at the time, if he had been alive, his likely opposition to the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh at the assembly meeting could have complicated the work of the clerical Islamists. It is also clear from the assembly’s deliberations that the majority created a suffocating atmosphere in the meetings. Opponents to the scheme of wilāyat-​ i faqīh were not only repeatedly interrupted and interrogated but also directly and indirectly accused of rejecting Islam and being counterrevolutionary.88 It was because of these attacks that in many cases, those who opposed the scheme began their remarks by expressing allegiance to Islam and the Revolution as well as devotion to Khomeini and their recognition of his leadership. In one case, after Ayatollah Montazeri addressed the opponents of the scheme in an insulting manner, Hojjati-​Kermani stated: I called the esteemed members of this assembly, who are not little children, not ignorant, and not West-​struck, and they do not accept this form of implementation of wilāyat-​i faqīh, and a number of them are ʿulamāʾ and marājaʿ taqlīd. . . . If someone says that they do not accept the form of the

85 Ayatollah Taleghani was one of the members of the National Front and a founder of the Freedom Movement. He was also the first Friday Prayer Imām of Tehran and was very popular among the masses, as well as enjoying close ties to a wide range of political groups. In the election of the Assembly of Experts, his name appeared on many groups’ lists, and he won more votes than any other candidate over the whole country. In terms of his thought, Taleghani was not considered a member of the clerical Islamist camp but was known as a freethinking cleric and promoter of a democratic system. Politically, Taleghani was known in particular for his insistence on the council system, and the articles on village and town councils in the constitution are considered his legacy. For more detailed information on Ayatollah Taleghani’s thought and political life, see Molaei-​Tavani 2010; Bastenegar 2017. 86 According to various reports, the night Ayatollah Taleghani had a stroke, his house was subject to a power cut, making his telephone line nonoperational. Vladimir Kuzichkin, who was a KGB agent in Tehran at the time, was the first person to claim Taleghani had been killed. Mojtaba Taleghani, Taleghani’s son, and Mohammad Modirshanehchi, head of Taleghani’s office, have also made this claim. 87 Montazeri 2000, 455. 88 Bakhash 1990, 81.

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  241 implementation of wilāyat-​i faqīh [that has been proposed], this is not a reason for their being obsessed by Europe and ignorant.89

Finally, it should be noted that the clerical Islamists, despite their absolute majority in the Assembly of Experts, had some other considerations in mind. As mentioned earlier, they retained a number of democratic principles from the draft constitution in the final version. It also seems that in private meetings and in the political arena outside the Assembly of Experts, they sought to work with and justify their position to their opponents. A review of the meeting minutes shows that the clerical Islamists were concerned about the reactions of people outside the Assembly of Experts. As soon as Article 5 of the constitution was approved, Ayatollah Beheshti sought a number of volunteers who would be willing to hold a roundtable in the same building as the Assembly of Experts’ meetings to discuss the article in order to inform public opinion. He also announced his own readiness to explain this article to the people through various roundtables. Neither he nor his contemporaries among the clerical Islamists invited people to read Khomeini’s book Wilāyat-​i faqīh. It can be speculated that because of certain considerations and constraints facing the clerical Islamists, they were not able to draft their ideal constitution. This point is reflected in the earlier quote from Khomeini. The atmosphere within the Assembly of Experts itself was probably not one of their major considerations. Clerical Islamists were more concerned with the balance of power in the wider political arena, in which several political forces were actively involved. Many political figures and groups opposed the adoption of the articles relevant to wilāyat-​i faqīh.90 At the same time, the Interim Government, in which the liberal Islamists and nationalists enjoyed a majority, sought to dissolve the Assembly of Experts. The Interim Government called for the assembly’s dissolution for two reasons: (1) the deliberations of the Assembly of Experts had lasted three months instead of the specified one month, and (2) the Assembly of Experts had written a new constitution instead of re-​examining the existing draft. Contrary to the suggestion of some members of the Interim Government to release a statement dissolving the Assembly of Experts, Prime Minister Bazargan decided to seek the consent of Khomeini before making the announcement. Of course, Khomeini was strongly opposed to the proposal, and it came to naught.91

89 Hojjati-​Kermani quoted in Cultural and Public Relations Department of the Parliament 1985b, 1184. 90 Due to the importance of the issue, almost all groups took a stand on it, with the vast majority opposing the formation of a government based on the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Their opposition was born out of their concern that a new dictatorship might emerge. For some of the objections to wilāyat-​i faqīh, see Saffari 1993, 77–​80; Variei 2007, 105–​108; Schirazi 2003, 45–​61. 91 Bakhash 1990, 86.

242  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism It took the clerical Islamists two years to eliminate other groups, one by one, from the country’s political arena and to seize power for themselves. The principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh became one of the most effective tools of the Islamists in removing outsiders from the country’s political arena in the early years of the Revolution. Further, over more than forty years, wilāyat-​i faqīh has continued to be used to eliminate rivals, including many who had actively sought the article’s approval in the Assembly of Experts.92 The final matter is that of whether the advocates of the scheme in the Assembly of Experts had any contact with Khomeini. Two decades after the adoption of the constitution, Ayatollah Montazeri, who had by then fundamentally revised his views and become a major critic of the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh, stated in his memoirs that he had worked with people such as Ayatollah Beheshti, Abdulrahim Rabbani-​Shirazi, and Hassan Ayat within the Assembly of Experts on the scheme but that there had been no coordination with Khomeini: The Imām did not say anything about the constitution. I was the head of the [Assembly of] Experts, and the Imām did not even say once that you should do this, or protest about one place [in the document, asking] why did you do that. I did not hear anything from the Imām in this regard, apparently he did not want to interfere in this matter, and afterward he voted for the approved constitution.93

Four days after Article 5 was approved, Khomeini addressed a meeting of members of the Assembly of Experts, mentioning in passing that no one should give in to pressure to back away from wilāyat-​i faqīh. Two days later, he expressed strong support for the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh, stating: “I assure all the people and the military that authority now resides in the government of the jurist, which is such that Islam prescribed and the imams appointed, no harm will come to anyone and there will be no dictatorship.”94 He continued that anyone stating that they did not accept wilāyat-​i faqīh and that it would lead to the corruption of Islam meant “renunciation of the Imāms [and] renunciation of Islam.”95 This was the first time that Khomeini had spoken of wilāyat-​i faqīh after delivering his January 1970 lessons. The slogan “Down with the opponents of wilāyat-​i faqīh” was soon added to the list of revolutionary slogans,96 and wilāyat-​i faqīh quickly became the central signifier of the discourse of clerical Islamism. Wilāyat-​i faqīh also became a tool that is widely used to distinguish insiders from outsiders, even

92

Ghazi 2016. Montazeri 2000, 459. 94 Khomeini quoted in Martin 2014, 162. 95 Khomeini 1999d, 59. 96 Kadivar 1999, 188. 93

The Genie Is Out of the Bottle  243 to the extent that belief in wilāyat-​i faqīh has been proposed as one of the criteria of a person being a Muslim. As Saffari states, this “meant that opposition to the concept itself constituted a rejection of Islam”97 and is the very same tyranny that Mill warns against in his analysis of the tyranny of the majority: there needs protection also against the tyranny of the prevailing opinion and feeling; against the tendency of society to impose, by other means than civil penalties, its own ideas and practices as rules of conduct on those who dissent from them; to fetter the development, and, if possible, prevent the formation, of any individuality not in harmony with its ways, and compel all characters to fashion themselves upon the model of its own.98

Since the incorporation of wilāyat-​i faqīh into the constitution, this concept has determined the rules of conduct in the political arena. After being drafted and approved by the Assembly of Experts, the constitution was put to a referendum December 2–​3, 1979. The participation rate was 75.2 percent of eligible voters, and with Khomeini’s support for the draft, 99.5 percent of participants voted in favor. Contrary to the referendum on the Islamic Republic system, on this occasion, many figures and groups voiced their opposition to the constitution. However, due to the approval of Khomeini, the fundamental legal framework of the country was approved by the vast majority of voters. Some significant questions that may be posed here include: Which way would things have gone if the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh had been discussed in public before the meetings of the Assembly of Experts and if political figures and groups as well as ordinary people had been familiar with and discussed it from the beginning? Would the political structure of the country have still been based on wilāyat-​i faqīh? Or, as Imām Musa Sadr thought, would widespread familiarity with Khomeini’s politico-​religious ideal have damaged his image and prevented him from playing an extraordinarily decisive role in Iranian politics? Would the transmission of Khomeini’s doctrine in the public arena have mobilized some elements of the seminary to reveal its contradiction with Shīʿī theology? Any answer offered in response to these questions will be laden with speculation. However, the way history unfolded reveals the undeniable fact that the clerical Islamists, through elections and with the support of a large majority of the population, were able both to seize the centers of power and to form a political structure that would preserve their position even when they longer enjoyed the support of the majority. To sum up, a closer look at the formation of the political system centered on wilāyat-​i faqīh also shows us that despite its strong religious elements and the

97 98

Saffari 1993, 80. Mill et al. 2003, 76.

244  The Contingent Rise of Governmental Shīʿism role of the clergy in the leadership, this system has little coherence with Shīʿī political theology. Neither traditional Shīʿī theology nor Khomeini’s doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh played a role in the formation of the political system of the Islamic Republic. However, after the successful implementation of the scheme of wilāyat-​i faqīh, Khomeini’s doctrine has been widely discussed in the country’s political and religious spheres. A few years later, Ayatollah Montazeri wrote a four-​volume book explaining the theory of wilāyat-​i faqīh, a work that was much more detailed and richer than Khomeini’s original book. Today uncountable books and articles have been published in seminary, academic, and media publications about the theory of wilāyat-​i faqīh. A significant proportion of the writings seek to furnish the theory of wilāyat-​i faqīh with a long history. This is one of the significant issues that arises in disputes between religious reformists and the supporters of wilāyat-​i faqīh. Along with the long history of the doctrine constructed in the scholarly literature of the seminaries, the official historiography of the Islamic Republic presents Khomeini’s doctrine and popular belief in the theory of wilāyat-​i faqīh as one of the reasons for the 1979 Revolution, a claim proven incorrect in this chapter.

Conclusion One of the fundamental elements of Twelver Shīʿī identity is the belief in pure theocracy. In the Shīʿī belief system, a legitimate and ideal political structure is one in which political and religious leadership is granted to one person in an integrated whole, and that person’s right to rule has been bestowed not by the people but by God. However, only in the first century of Islam, and only twice, was this essential component of Shīʿī theology substantiated. Imām ʿAlī, the first Shīʿī Imām, served as caliph in 35–​40/​655–​661, and after he died, his eldest son, Imām Ḥasan, claimed the right to govern the caliphate. However, due to the stronger position of another claimant to the position, Muʿāwiyah I, Imām Ḥasan withdrew his claim after just seven months and signed an agreement handing the leadership over to Muʿāwiyah. From 40/​661 to 1979, that is, for more than thirteen hundred years, no Shīʿī religious leader served at the head of a government until marjaʿ-​i taqlīd Ayatollah Khomeini took control of the Iranian government in the name of walī-​yi faqīh after the establishment of the Islamic Republic. From these facts, two specific questions arise. Given that belief in the rightful place of a religious leader at the head of government is an essential part of Shīʿī theology, why was it that the Shīʿa were unable or unwilling to put this conviction into practice for a period of more than thirteen centuries? What happened to make Khomeini both able and willing to do so after such a long interval? The present book has been written in an attempt to answer these two questions. In response to the first question, it was argued that during the formative period of Shīʿism, a proviso was added to the Shīʿī belief in theocracy, and this proviso acted as a religious injunction against Shīʿī leaders taking action to realize the Shīʿī politico-​ religious ideal. Regarding the second question, it was shown that the formation of a faqīh-​headed state by a group of clerical Islamists in the last decades of the twentieth century cannot be considered the implementation of the promised ideal central to Shīʿī theology. The establishment of the Islamic Republic was a political phenomenon that had little meaningful connection with the Shīʿī theological framework.

Theocratic Secularism. Naser Ghobadzadeh, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197606797.003.0010

246 Conclusion

Secularism Embedded in Theology The political behavior of Shīʿī leaders before the rise of governmental Shīʿism has usually been conceptualized under the banners of apoliticism and quietism in the related literature. But a closer examination of the situation shows that this conceptualization lacks precision and accuracy. Not only is politics part of the existential identity of the Shīʿa, but Shīʿī leaders throughout history have always been involved in politics in one form or another. The most prominent examples of Shīʿī religious leaders being at the center of political transformations include the proximity of Shīʿī scholars to the Ṣafawid kings, the jihād fatwa of Kāshif al-​ Ghiṭā during the Russo-​Persian Wars (1807), the tobacco movement (1891), the Iranian Constitutional Revolution (1906–​1911), and the 1920 Iraqi revolution against Britain. Even in addition to these, there are further reports throughout history showing that religious leaders cooperated with or opposed kings in multiple ways and on various issues. For example, writing letters to kings has been one of the most common strategies used by religious leaders. Some of the statements and letters of Shīʿī leaders to the Qājār kings are collated in four volumes of the book Political and Social Writings and Statements of the Shīʿī ʿUlamāʾ.1 Part of the inaccuracy of the adjective “apolitical” in describing Shīʿī leaders is derived from an erroneous conflation between politics and the state. As An-​ Na’im points out in relation to the problem of the relationship between religion and politics in the Islamic world, the lack of separation between the state and politics has led to considerable confusion in debates about secularism in Islam.2 In fact, what Shīʿī leaders have avoided historically is taking over the institution of state, not engaging in politics. The reason Shīʿī leaders did not seize the state apparatus for more than thirteen centuries was that Shīʿī political theology did not allow them to do so, not because over the course of more than a millennium, the opportunity had never arisen and they had never had the capacity to do so. There is a feature of Shīʿī political theology that is formulated in this book as theocratic secularism. To comprehend this feature, the period of Shīʿism’s formation had to be examined, because this element took shape from the lived experience of the first few centuries of the history of Shīʿism and was embedded as the theological component of the orthodox Shīʿī belief system. In this regard, Foucauldian genealogy was employed to scrutinize four important periods in the early centuries of Shīʿī history. The bitter experience of the Age of Presence, the failure of the 1 Rajabi-​Davani 2001. Since the establishment of the Islamic Republic, the government has strongly supported publications that document the political activities of clerics, and this has led to the writing of many articles and books on the political activities of Shīʿī scholars throughout history. See, for example, Basirat-​Manesh 2007; Beheshti-​Seresht 2015; Algar 1969; Jorfadeghani 1985; Amini 2003; Rajabi 2003; al-​Hasani, Baher, and Tabarraiyan 1999. 2 An-​Na’im 2008, 1–​9.

Conclusion  247 Shīʿa to realize their politico-​religious ideal, and, more important, their lack of clear vision about when this ideal could be realized caused the Shīʿa to witness the repeated deferment of the promised manifestation of their ideal in the first three centuries of Islam. The extension of this deferment became impossible due to a discontinuity in the line of the Imāms in the fourth/​ninth century, which caused Shīʿism to face an existential crisis and pushed it to the brink of extinction. The leaders of the Shīʿī community’s struggle for survival led to a messianic conceptualization of the twelfth Imām, transforming the hope and expectation of the formation of an ideal Shīʿī government into a distant and transcendental promise. This messianic conceptualization, which excludes the possibility of the formation of an ideal state under the leadership of anyone but the twelfth Imām, accuses all governments headed by non-​infallibles of illegitimately usurping the right of the twelfth Imām. In this way, all governments during the period of the twelfth Imām’s occultation are considered illegitimate. Political leaders’ illegitimacy does not stem from their unjust actions or because they are Shīʿa or non-​ Shīʿa; they are all considered illegitimate simply because they occupy a position that belongs exclusively to the twelfth Imām. Shīʿī religious leaders are no exception to this rule, and not only do they not have a religious duty to seize government, but they are barred from doing so; from the moment of their installation at the head of government, they are considered usurpers of the twelfth Imām. Thus, according to Shīʿī theology, the institution of government is in practice outside the reach of the institution of religion and Shīʿī religious leaders. In this book, it was suggested that the oxymoron of theocratic secularism is a suitable concept for understanding orthodox Shīʿī political theology. According to this concept, despite the Shīʿī belief in theocracy, no action can be taken to achieve it; instead, religious duty requires that the institution of government remain outside the realm of religion. In addition to being an analytical-​descriptive concept, theocratic secularism is also a normative-​prescriptive concept. This conceptualization of orthodox Shīʿī political theology has the potential to play a role in the political developments of Iran as a politico-​religious discourse. On the one hand, this conceptualization can remind the religious masses of the orthodox Shīʿī religious ideal that has been eclipsed by the domineering and repressive presence of governmental Shīʿism. On the other hand, although the political behavior of orthodox Shīʿī religious leaders has been based on this concept for centuries, the ʿulamāʾ have never theorized their political behavior. It has been a lived tradition that has never been formulated as a politico-​religious discourse. The concept of apoliticism—​used in the related literature—​is misleading and probably creates the impression that despite the damage done to religion by governmental Shīʿism, orthodox Shīʿī leaders should stay out of politics. In contrast, theocratic secularism can give orthodox Shīʿī leaders a clearer view of the ultimate goal of their presence in the

248 Conclusion political arena and help mobilize them to play a more active role in the struggle against governmental Shīʿism.

Governmental Shīʿism The concept of governmental Shīʿism has been used in contrast to the concept of theocratic secularism to show the fundamental differences between orthodox Shīʿī political theology and the version of Shīʿism that emerged after the 1979 Revolution. Contrary to the expression “political Shīʿism,” the term “governmental Shīʿism” reflects the governmental nature of the clerical Islamists’ interpretation of Shīʿī theology. The roots of governmental Shīʿism date back to early 1970, when Khomeini presented the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh to Najaf seminary students over thirteen sessions. The birth of this doctrine, as suggested in ­chapter 5, can be understood using the metaphor of genetic mutation. Governmental Shīʿism, despite sharing some characteristics with the political theology of orthodox Shīʿism, differs from it fundamentally. Less than ten years after the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was drafted, the Islamic Republic was established as a faqīh-​headed system. However, no causal link exists between this doctrine and the establishment of the Islamic Republic. If one were to describe Khomeini’s doctrine in the simplest possible way, one might say that Khomeini put forward a proposal to transform Shīʿī theology. In fact, the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh called for the abandonment of the centuries-​ old tradition of theocratic secularism and the implementation of a manipulated form of the Shīʿī politico-​religious ideal. The scheme proposed by Khomeini’s doctrine was so alien to the intellectual and lived tradition of the seminary that it failed to establish any meaningful connection with Shīʿī orthodoxy. That is why this doctrine was completely forgotten after its introduction in 1970. There was no reaction, either in support or in opposition to the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh, in the seminaries of Najaf and Qum. Not only was this unorthodox view not considered in the seminary curriculum, but it did not create a stir in the informal discussion forums of the seminary. There is no indication that either Khomeini himself or his students made any attempt to introduce and promote the idea in the seminary. There is similarly undeniable evidence of the lack of promulgation of the idea of wilāyat-​i faqīh in the political arena. Khomeini and the clerical Islamists did not incorporate this doctrine into their struggles against the Pahlavi government. An analysis of the slogans, statements, and speeches of Khomeini and other clerical Islamist leaders between 1971 and the summer of 1979 shows no trace of the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh. In other words, in spite of Khomeini’s specific proposal for a transformation in Shīʿī political theology, the clerical Islamists made

Conclusion  249 no attempt to carry out such a transformation, either in the seminary’s intellectual atmosphere or in the political arena. Even among the goals of the Revolution put forward by the clerical Islamists, the implementation of such a metamorphosis was never even alluded to. Therefore, it would be highly problematic to suggest that the 1979 Revolution or the establishment of the Islamic Republic was the product of a transformation of Shīʿī political theology and that the idea of a​ faqīh-​headed state had been incorporated into the beliefs of religious people who then instigated the Revolution in order to realize it. Rather, the decisive turning point in this regard was the drafting of the constitution in the summer of 1979, when wilāyat-​i faqīh was added to the document. However, c­ hapter 8 showed that the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh was not the clerical Islamist blueprint during the process of drafting the constitution. Rather, the constitution centered on wilāyat-​i faqīh was the product of the balance of power held by the Islamists and their successes, particularly in the elections of the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution. Khomeini, who did not speak about the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh—​or, in fact, his proposal for the transformation of Shīʿī political theology—​between 1971 and September 1979, strongly defended it after its adoption in the constitution. The fact that the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh had no role during the revolutionary struggle or the first months after the establishment of the Islamic Republic was soon forgotten. A picture of the Revolution was presented in which the people had initiated a revolution because they believed in the jurist’s role in government and wanted it to be realized. This, of course, was the official discourse and slogan of the clerical leaders of the new political system, who made the most of this narrative in order to eliminate rival forces from the political arena. But it was clear, perhaps particularly so to the clerical Islamists themselves, that their innovative reading of Shīʿī political theology had no place in the intellectual-​scholarly context of the seminary or among the masses. Not surprisingly, after taking over the government, the clerical Islamists devised a number of schemes for the transformation of Shīʿī political theology.

The Cold War against Shīʿī Orthodoxy Much has been written about the actions taken by Iran’s clerical leaders in the political arena. In addition to analyzing the repression of secular forces such as nationalists, liberals, and Marxists, these writings also discuss the oppression of dissident clerics and religious intellectuals and the stalling of the religious reform project. The subject matter of this book invites attention to the actions taken by the clerical Islamists against the Shīʿī orthodoxy, a subject that has attracted relatively little attention. These measures are so extensive and significant that their

250 Conclusion full assessment deserves at least one book and likely requires more. Therefore, I can only refer to the bare bones of such issues here, which I hope will be addressed more comprehensively in the future by myself or another writer. In the introduction, I mentioned that in his book Wilāyat-​i faqīh, Khomeini—​ without mentioning any names—​attacks almost all the scholars of the previous generations of ʿulamāʾ, as well as his contemporaries, and criticizes them for not taking active steps to form a government. He states: “Look at the religious teaching centers and you will see the effects of this imperialist campaign of persuasion and propaganda. You will see negligent, lazy, idle, and apathetic people who do nothing but discuss points of law and offer their prayers, and are incapable of anything else.”3 After coming to power, Khomeini intensified his attacks on clerics who did not support his vision of a faqīh-​headed state. He addressed these clerics using terms such as “foolish reactionaries,” “sanctimonious,” “promoters of American Islam,” and “retrogressive.” Khomeini probably knew very well that maintaining distance from governance and the state apparatus was almost as old as Shīʿism itself. However, he described the extant situation in the seminaries as a product of colonial scheming and arrogance, stating: The first and most significant move [of the colonizer] is to instill the slogan of the separation of religion and politics, and unfortunately this trick has been working so well in the seminary that clerical involvement in politics is [considered to] diminish the position of the faqīh, and entering the political arena attracts the slander of [the faqīh] being dependent on foreigners. . . . When the slogan of the separation of religion and politics was accepted and the fuqahāʾ, according to the logic of the foolish, drowning in individual and worship rulings, were inexorably banned from going beyond this domain and its boundaries to interfere in politics and government, the foolish clergy, in their interactions with the people, became [were considered] virtuous. According to some individuals, the clergy were respected and honored when they were dripping with foolishness, if not, [it was thought that those] resourceful, shrewd clerics learned in politics must be hiding something.4

Throughout the life of the Islamic Republic, Khomeini’s verbal attacks have been accompanied by extensive schemes aiming to eliminate Shīʿī orthodoxy. Governmental Shīʿism has targeted Shīʿī orthodoxy in three key areas. First, after seizing political power, clerical Islamist leaders established a number of institutions and organizations to governmentalize religious

3 4

Khomeini 1981, 141. Khomeini 2016 [1988], 19–​21.

Conclusion  251 affairs. The Headquarters for Enjoining Good and Forbidding Evil, the Friday Prayers Headquarters of the Country, the Islamic Propaganda Organization, the Endowments and Charity Affairs Organization, the Headquarters for the Performance of Prayer, the Hajj and Pilgrimage Organization, and dozens of other organizations, which are too numerous to mention all of them by name, are in control of religious affairs. There are few areas of religious activity for which the government of the Islamic Republic has not established an organization. All of these organizations receive government funding and contribute to the specific agenda of promoting a governmentalized reading of Shīʿism. The governmentalization of such affairs and religious rites stands in stark contrast to their voluntary nature, which has been managed in a decentralized manner for centuries in the context of civil society by the Shīʿī orthodoxy. To the same degree that clerical Islamists have succeeded in governmentalizing the religious sphere, the Shīʿī orthodoxy has lost its role and influence. The second front against the orthodox Shīʿa is deployed in the field of discourse production. Clerical Islamists have invested government resources heavily in producing extensive literature in support of governmental Shīʿism. In this regard, in addition to establishing universities such as Baqir al-​Olum University, the University of Religions and Denominations, and the Research Institute of Imam Khomeini (S) and the Islamic Revolution, a multitude of research institutes have been established through government funding. Most of the research and teaching projects of these institutions is aimed at promoting various aspects of governmental Shīʿism. It is not unreasonable that due to the volume of this investment, the quantity of articles and books published about the doctrine of wilāyat-​i faqīh is innumerable. In the public sphere also, not only the state broadcaster but the operators of all the official platforms of the country have spent the last forty years promoting a discourse of Shīʿī theology in which the faqīh-​headed state is considered a necessity of religion. There have even been attempts to describe the walī-​yi faqīh as being at the same level as the holy personages of the Shīʿī religion. Perhaps more important than the two channels mentioned above is the targeting of the orthodox Shīʿī headquarters, the seminary. Clerical Islamists have instituted many changes in Shīʿī seminaries. The interventions of governmental Shīʿism in the seminaries have been both comprehensive, meaning that they have extended to intervention in all aspects of seminary life, and fundamental, meaning that the clerical Islamists have sought to bring about fundamental change to all seminary affairs. I have previously discussed details of the interventions of the Islamic Republic in the seminary in a co-​authored article.5 That article discussed in detail how Iran’s clerical leaders have ruthlessly

5

Ghobadzadeh and Akbarzadeh 2020.

252 Conclusion manipulated the seminary’s financial configuration, management style, education system and curriculum, and even the institution of marjaʿiyyat. As many have suggested, these interventions constitute a threat by the state to the independence of the seminary and the ʿulamāʾ,6 an independence that has been preserved throughout the long history of Shīʿism.7 The important question in this regard relates to how successful governmental Shīʿism has been in waging a cold war against Shīʿī orthodoxy. Has governmental Shīʿism gained complete control over the religious arena? And can it be said that Shīʿī orthodoxy has disappeared from Iran? An examination of these questions requires extensive research, but in short, it can be said that the clerical Islamists have achieved success in some areas, such as the manipulation of the seminary’s management and financial systems and their taking control of some religious rites. But it would be very difficult to prove the claim that the clerical Islamists have achieved their main objective of bringing about a state-​centered Shīʿī theology. Theocratic secularism is still the mainstay of the Shīʿī belief system. In the ideal set out by Khomeini, the walī-​yi faqīh inherits the same position as the Prophet and the infallible Imāms. Iran’s clerical leaders are trying to maintain this standpoint, but they themselves seem to be aware that their claim cannot be implemented. For example, current walī-​yi faqīh Ayatollah Khamenei states in his fatwas on wilāyat-​i faqīh: “Wilāyat-​i faqīh . . . is one of the pillars of the true Twelver religion,” and “in our opinion, adherence to wilāyat-​i faqīh cannot be separated from adherence to Islam and the guardianship of the Imāms (as).” However, in the same fatwas, he wrote in response to another question: “The lack of belief in wilāyat-​i faqīh . . . does not lead to apostasy or expulsion from Islam,” and “if in one’s opinion, one has reached the conclusion that it is not necessary to believe in it [wilāyat-​i faqīh] on the basis of reasoning and argument, this is excused.”8 It is true that any criticism of the current walī-​yi faqīh attracts a severe punishment, but there is still a long way to go before clerical Islamists achieve the placement of wilāyat-​i faqīh at the same level of sanctity as, for example, the Imāmate in the Shīʿī belief system. To support this statement, we can consider the slogan “Down with the principle of wilāyat-​i faqīh,” which was chanted by some protesters in Tehran during the July 2021 demonstrations.9 It is almost impossible to imagine a group of people chanting slogans against the principle of the Imāmate or one of the infallibles in the streets of Tehran.

6 Kholdi 2010; Khalaji 2006; Gieling 1997; Isaniya 2016; Roy 1999; Khalaji 2010b; Eshkevari 2000; Hajjarian 2007; Montazeri 2006, 601–​607. 7 Ghouchani 2007; Chehabi 1991; Arjomand 1981; Motahhari, Arshad, and Dabashi 2000; Shafiei 2015. 8 Khamenei 2010. 9 Radio Farda 2021.

Conclusion  253 More important than the political climate is the atmosphere of the seminary. It can be said that governmental Shīʿism, despite its endeavors over the last forty years, has not yet been able to establish state-​centered theology as a topic discussed in the seminary, much less make it part of the Shīʿī belief system. Allow me to conclude this book with a quote from Hassan Rahimpour-​Azghadi, one of the leading theorists of governmental Shīʿism in this field. In a controversial speech in August 2018, Rahimpour-​Azghadi suggested: Instead of theorizing Islamic government and civilization, advanced teachings (dars-​i kharijs) have become secular and [focused on] individual jurisprudence [which is about] worship, purity and impurity. They have nothing to say about economics, banking and international relations. This is the meaning of secularism. Everybody talks about secularism in the universities. Let me tell you that the roots of secularism are in the seminary. . . . Do you have any—​not five but just one—​advanced class in Qom, Mashhad, Najaf or Isfihan [seminaries] which is . . . engaged in issues related to governance?10

Rahimpour-​Azghadi’s statement is true. In fact, the secularism at the very core of Shīʿī theology, which this book has conceptualized as theocratic secularism, has been crystallizing for centuries. For Shīʿī religious leaders, governance is irrelevant to their religious duties and research, and therefore they have not theorized about it. At the very least, the words of Rahimpour-​Azghadi confirm the claim that this state of affairs has persisted at the highest level of the seminary in Qum, despite more than four decades of pro-​governmental-​Shīʿism propaganda. At the same time, it can also be argued that the lack of theorizing about governance and the maintenance of distance from the institution of government also dominate the Najaf seminary in Iraq. Of course, proving this claim would require the use of theocratic secularism as a conceptual framework to analyze the political behavior of the Najaf seminary ʿulamāʾ such as Ayatollah Sistani.



10

Rahimpour-​Azghadi quoted in Ghobadzadeh and Akbarzadeh 2020, 576.

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Index For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. ʿAbbās b. ʿAbd al-​Muṭṭalib, 45 ʿAbbāsid, 40n.19, 44, 44n.35, 45–​47, 47n.43, 48–​49, 49n.53, 50–​51, 50n.62, 55–​56, 56n.8, 57–​58, 61, 61n.24, 62–​63, 71, 81–​83, 84, 85–​86, 129, 133, 134–​37, 138, 140–​41 ʿAbd Allāh b. Mūsā b. Jaʿfar, 48n.48 ʿAbdul Raḥmān b. Aḥmad ʿAlawī, 48–​49, 49n.50 ʿAbdullah ibn Sabāʾ, 87 Abrahamian, Ervand, 9, 171, 171n.1, 172–​73, 172n.4, 174, 174nn.6,7, 206n.51, 225, 225n.33 Abū Bakr, 33–​34, 38, 80–​81 ʾAbū Muṣʿab al-​Zarqāwī, 69n.49 Abū ʿUbayda, 33n.3 Afṭaḥiyya, 3n.12 Age of Occultation, 8n.27, 23–​24, 77, 116, 122, 157–​58, 159, 160, 160n.27, 162n.33, 164–​65, 167n.52, 199–​200 Age of Perplexity, 87–​116, 118, 123, 123n.10, 125, 132, 133, 138, 141–​42 Age of Presence, 5–​6n.18, 33–​52, 53–​54, 59, 60, 77–​78, 91–​92, 93–​94, 95, 95–​96n.17, 99–​100, 105–​6, 117–​18, 128–​29, 233–​34, 246–​47 Agha Bozorg Tehrani, 162n.33 Aghajari, Hashem, 8n.27 agnosticism, 3 Ahl al-​Bayt, 42–​43, 45, 50n.62, 100n.36, 104–​5, 132–​33, 136 Akbarzadeh, Shahram, CPP4, 35n.6, 69n.49, 230n.45, 251n.5, 253n.10 Akhavi, Shahrough, 168n.56 Akhbārī, 154, 154n.15 Akhūnd Khurāsānī, Shaykh Muḥammad Kāẓim, 126–​28 al-​Bukhari, Muhammad, 98n.29, 139n.56 al-​Nu’mani, Muhammad bin Ibraheem, 112n.61, 114n.66, 115n.68, 116n.71, 141n.63 al-​Sharīf al-​Murtadā, ‘Alī b. al-​Husayn b. Mūsavi, 108n.52, 123n.8, 125n.15, 126n.18, 133n.39, 134n.40

Aʿla Maududi, Sayyid Abul, 10–​11 Alāma Hilī, 80–​81 al-​amr bi ʾl-​maʿrūf wa ʾl-​nahy ʿan al-​munkar, 123, 167 Ale-​Ishaq, Mohammad, 199–​200 al-​Furāt, 62–​63 Algar, Hamid, 152n.9, 154n.15, 246n.1 al-​ghayba, 67–​68, 76n.71, 103, 104–​5 al-​Ḥallāj, Ḥusayn bin Manṣūr, 79–​81, 82–​83 al-​ḥayra (Age of Perplexity), 53–​54, 102, 103 al-​Hurr al-​ʿĀmilī, Muhammad b. hasan, 106n.46 ʿAlī b. ʾAbī Ṭālib, 34, 38 ʿAlī b. Muḥammad Samarī, 8n.27, 85 ʿAlī b. Yaqṭīn, 60 Ali ibn al-​Husayn, 65–​66, 71, 110n.56, 114–​15 ʿAlīds, 34–​35, 40–​41, 40n.19, 45, 46n.41, 47, 47n.43, 49n.50, 49n.54, 50–​51, 57–​58 Alijani, Reza, 177–​78, 178n.26 al-​Katib, Ahmad, 67–​68n.44, 75n.69 al-​Kulaynī, Muhammad Ibn-​ ̣ Yaʻqub, 44n.33, 46n.41, 48n.48, 69–​70, 70n.53, 71, 71n.59, 74–​75, 96–​97, 97n.24, 99–​101, 101n.39, 110n.56, 121, 121n.4, 124–​25, 130, 131, 143n.66 al-​Lawh, 2n.8, 110n.56 al-​Makāsib, 159, 160 al-​Maʿmūn, 46–​47, 49–​50, 56–​57 al-​Muqtadir, 81n.91 al-​Muʿtaṣim Bi’llāh, 48–​49, 56–​57 al-​Nawbakht, Abū Sahl, 68, 74, 77, 80–​81, 103 al-​Qaeda, 69n.49 al-​Rasāʿil, 159 al-​Ṣaḥīfah al-​sajjādīyah, 140–​41 al-​Shalmaghānī, 79–​80, 81–​83 Amanat, Abbas, 94n.13, 151n.3, 159n.22, 217n.3 Amir-​Moezzi, Mohammad Ali, 6n.23, 7n.26, 53n.1, 63n.34, 85n.101, 96n.21, 100n.36, 105n.45, 110, 111n.57, 114n.66, 116n.72, 135n.41 Anderson, Benedict, 217–​18

296 Index Anjum, Tanvir, 26–​27 An-​Na’im, Abdullahi Ahmed, 19, 20n.46, 246n.2 Ansari, Hassan, 102 apolitical, 17–​18, 246–​47 Arab uprisings, 172n.3 Arabian Peninsula, 33–​34 Arjomand, Said Amir, 167n.51, 181n.42, 208n.53, 217n.3, 222n.21, 252n.7 Arnal, William, 3–​4 ʾAshʿarī, 82–​83 Ashʿariyya, 136–​37 Ashtiani, Abbas Iqbal, 61n.25, 62–​63, 80–​81n.88 ʿĀshūrāʾ, 40n.20, 134–​35, 140–​41, 171, 183n.49 ʿAskari, Sayyid Murtada, 6n.19, 99n.30 Assembly of Experts, 188–​89, 201, 202n.33, 204–​6, 210, 215, 216–​17, 219–​21, 223–​24, 225–​28, 231–​43 Assembly of Experts for the Constitution, 13–​14, 125–​26, 171–​72, 178, 179, 187n.59, 193–​94, 195–​98, 203, 205n.44, 206–​7, 206n.51, 209, 210, 211–​13, 215–​18, 223, 224, 248–​49 Astarābādī, Mīr Dāmād, 106n.46 authority political authorities, 24n.55 political authority, 10–​12, 22–​27, 36–​37, 53–​54, 55–​56, 85–​86, 92–​94, 116, 118–​19, 120, 121 religious authorities, 1, 17–​18, 21, 24–​25, 26–​27, 28 religious authority, 2–​3, 16, 36–​38, 44, 54, 55–​ 57, 63–​65, 84, 85–​86, 92–​94, 120, 122–​23 Ayandigan, 212n.69 Ayat, Hasan, 204–​6, 211–​13, 229–​30, 231–​32 ʾAyman al-​Ẓawāhirī, 69n.49 Azari-​Qumi, Ahmad, 160n.25   Baghdad school, 120, 124–​25, 130, 132, 134 Bahāʿī, 137–​38, 163n.38, 176–​77 Bahonar, Mohammad Javad, 204–​6 Bahrain, 10n.28, 28 Bakhash, Shaul, 190n.71, 201n.27, 204n.40, 212n.69, 216n.2, 220n.11, 222n.21, 224n.27, 230, 230n.47, 239–​40, 240n.88, 241n.91 Bakhtiyar, Shapur, 188–​89, 189n.67, 196–​98 Banisadr, Abolhassan, 177–​78, 190n.72, 193–​ 95, 195n.5, 196n.7, 206n.51 Banisadr, Fathullah, 187–​88 Baqai, Mozaffar, 211–​13 Bāqiriyya, 5–​7, 6n.21, 92–​93

Barīdī family, 61, 62–​63 Bashiriyeh, Hossein, 189n.66 Basra, 50n.62, 61, 65–​66 battle Battle of al-​Ḥarra, 42–​43 Battle of Badr, 141 Battle of Camel, 34–​35, 40n.19 Battle of Ṣiffīn, 34–​35, 40n.19 Bayat, Asef, 17n.39, 154n.15, 154n.16, 174n.9 Bazargan, Mehdi, 10n.29, 39, 39n.17, 175, 179, 179n.33, 183n.49, 185–​86, 187–​88, 191n.76, 193–​95, 195n.4, 196–​98, 196–​ 97n.9, 205–​6n.50, 207–​8, 219–​20, 221n.18, 222n.21, 232, 241 Behbahānī, Muḥammad ʿAlī, 163n.38 Beheshti, Mohammad Hosseini, 178, 183n.49, 194, 203n.36, 204–​6, 209, 210n.58, 211–​13, 222–​23, 223n.23, 223n.24, 229n.44, 233–​ 34, 237–​42, 246n.1 Berger, Peter L., 3n.9 Bhargava, Rajeev, 1–​2, 7, 21–​25, 27–​28 Bin Laden, Osama, 69n.49 Bodin, Jean, 139n.55, 161n.29 Borghei, Mohammad, 232n.53 Boroujerdi, Mehrzad, 17n.39, 197n.10 Boroumand, Ladan, 196–​98 Borujerdi, Ayatollah Sayyid Hossein, 122–​ 23n.6, 152n.9, 158–​59, 161–​63, 187n.59 Bossuet, Jacques-​Bénigne, 139n.55 Brumberg, Daniel, 17n.39, 218–​19 Bukhara, 88 Būyid, 56–​58, 87, 120–​21, 129, 133, 134–​38   Calder, Norman, 123n.7, 164n.40 caliph, 5–​6n.18 caliphate, 33–​34, 36–​37, 38–​43, 45, 48–​49, 50–​ 51, 54–​59, 60, 61–​63, 71, 71n.57, 73, 77–​80, 81n.91, 82–​83, 91–​92, 98–​99, 110, 111–​12, 118, 120, 128–​29, 132–​33, 134, 135–​36, 137–​38, 140, 141–​42, 245 Casanova, José, 21–​22, 25–​27 Chehabi, H. E., 221n.17, 252n.7 China, 215–​16, 237–​38 Christianity, 3–​4, 33–​34 civil society, 17–​18, 25–​27, 250–​51 clergy, 10n.29, 11–​12, 12n.30, 23–​24, 41n.22, 94, 156, 162–​63n.36, 168–​69, 172–​73, 175–​76, 179, 180, 181, 184–​85, 188–​89, 190, 193, 196, 198n.12, 199–​200, 201, 203, 204–​6, 208n.54, 210, 211–​13, 217, 221–​23, 227, 236–​37, 243–​44, 250 ruling clergy, 1–​2, 25–​26, 156, 163–​64, 168–​69

Index  297 clerical Islamists, 10–​11, 12–​15, 17–​20, 25–​27, 149–​50, 162–​63n.36, 165–​69, 171–​73, 175, 176–​78, 179, 181n.42, 183–​84, 191–​92, 193–​95, 196–​200, 201, 202, 204–​9, 211–​13, 215–​17, 219–​20, 221–​22, 225–​28, 229–​30, 233, 235–​36, 238, 239–​40, 241, 242, 243, 245, 248–​52 Clinton, Hillary, 172–​73 Cole, Juan R., 154n.15, 159n.22 Combatant Clergy Association, 223 Connolly, William, 19–​20 Constituent Assembly, 187–​88, 193–​98 constitution, 10n.29, 13–​14, 15, 156, 168n.56, 171–​72, 178, 186, 193–​200, 201, 202, 203, 204–​7, 209–​13, 215–​17, 219–​20, 228, 229–​ 32, 234–​35, 236–​38, 240n.85, 241, 242, 243, 248–​49 constitutionalism, 17–​18, 126–​27, 167, 221–​ 25, 235n.66 constitutionalist, 17–​18, 222–​23 draft constitution, 13–​14, 186–​92, 193–​94, 196–​200, 201, 202, 204–​6, 207–​8, 210, 211–​13, 229–​30, 241 Islamic constitution, 217, 219–​20 pro-​constitutionalist, 18n.40 Cooper, Andrew Scott, 178 corruption, 8–​9, 39–​40, 40n.20, 51, 53, 217, 242–​43 Crone, Patricia, 3n.11, 35n.5, 36, 55n.2, 56n.9   Dabashi, Hamid, 151n.3, 154n.13, 167n.51, 174n.9, 217n.3, 252n.7 dars-​i khārij, 11, 149–​50, 164n.42, 168–​69, 179n.32, 235–​36 Dastghayb, Sayyid Abd al-​Husayn, 234–​35 Décobert, Christian, 36, 56–​57 democratic polity, 18n.40, 25 democratic republic, 188–​89, 237 deprivatization, 25–​26 disciplinary power, 79 discourse analysis, 3, 4, 5, 66–​67, 75–​76, 85–​86, 87, 98, 109, 120, 153, 154–​55, 162–​63, 181–​82, 183 divine, 9, 39–​40, 44, 84–​85, 88, 101, 102, 106n.48, 107–​8, 114, 132, 155–​56, 159n.23, 191, 200, 210 appointed, 141–​42 authority, 71, 159 inspired, 41n.22, 95–​96n.17, 96–​97, 109–​10 knowledge, 63–​65, 75–​76, 93–​94, 109–​ 10n.55, 113, 119 law, 191, 199–​200 legitimacy, 126–​27

right, 1, 37–​38, 39, 41–​42, 92 sovereignty, 191 will, 2–​3 Djerejian, Edward, 238, 238n.78 Donaldson, Dwight, 85, 85n.103   East/​West, 174–​75 ecclesial, 10–​15, 150, 169, 215 Egypt, 10–​11, 50n.60, 61, 65–​66, 77 Enayat, Hamid, 154 epistemic, 55, 75, 88–​91, 137–​38, 237 Eshkevari, Hasan Yousefi, 17n.39 Esposito, John L., 20n.44, 20n.46, 153n.10, 169n.59 Etelaat, 179, 201, 202 Eurocentric, 174–​75   Fadlallah, Mohammad Hussein, 231n.49 faqīh-​headed state, 2–​3, 9–​10, 11–​15, 16, 19–​20, 152, 169, 179, 181, 185–​86, 215–​16, 245, 248–​49, 250, 251 Farāt family, 61 Fāṭima, 42–​43, 45, 92, 95, 110n.56, 165n.43 Feak, Christine, 239 Feirahi, Davood, 18n.40, 120 Filali-​Ansary, Abdou, 37n.11 fiqh al-​maslaḥa (expediency jurisprudence), 27, 155, 156 Fischer, Michael M. J., 171n.2, 177n.21, 179n.31 Fontenelle, Bernard, 161n.29 formative period, 1–​7, 37–​38, 53, 58, 118, 127–​ 28, 137–​38, 143n.66, 245 Forouhar, Dariush, 226–​27 Foucault, Michel, 4, 4n.14, 14–​15, 54–​55, 59, 66–​67, 75–​76, 78–​80, 82–​83, 85–​86, 89–​92, 98, 120, 151–​52, 175–​76, 183, 209, 210, 215, 225 Freedom Movement of Iran, 43n.29 Friday prayer, 93n.11, 123, 124–​25, 161–​62, 162n.33, 240n.85, 250–​51 fundamentalist, 171, 175–​76 fuqahāʾ, 188–​89, 191, 198–​201, 202, 203, 204–​7, 213, 233–​34, 250   Genealogy of Knowledge, 66–​67 Ghadīr Khumm, 134–​35 Ghālī, 5–​6n.18, 104–​5 Ghamari-​Tabrizi, Behrooz, 17n.39, 151n.3, 151n.4, 156n.18, 173, 175, 175n.13 Ghaybat-​i kubrā. See Major Occultation Ghaybat-​i ṣughrā. See Minor Occultation ghulāt, 109–​10, 129–​30 ghulū, 129–​30

298 Index Gleave, Robert, 44n.32, 100n.36, 151n.3, 154n.15, 154n.16 Golpaygani, Ayatollah Mohammad Reza, 167–​ 68, 190, 191, 199–​200, 203 Golsorkhi, Khosrow, 173 Golzadeh-​Ghafouri, Ali, 236–​37 Guardian Council, 188–​90, 191–​92, 205n.47   Habibi, Hasan, 186–​89, 204–​6 Hadden, Jeffrey, 22 ḥadīth ḥadīth collections, 97–​101, 102, 104–​5, 106, 143n.66, 156–​57 ḥadīth compilation, 74–​75, 99–​100, 101–​3 Shīʿī ḥadīth, 2n.8, 43, 98–​101, 104–​5, 110n.56, 156–​57 Sunnī ḥadīths, 99n.33, 111 Haeri-​Yazdi, Morteza, 235 Hairi, Abdul-​Hadi, 18n.40, 167n.52, 167n.53 Hajj, 49n.56, 60, 80n.83, 155–​56, 250–​51 Hajjarian, Saeed, 156n.19, 252n.6 Hallaq, Wael B., 95–​96n.17 Halm, Heinz, 2n.6, 6n.19, 6n.20, 39n.15, 129 Hanafi, Hasan, 26–​27 Hanafiah, 135n.43 Hārūn al-​Rash̲ ī̲d, 60 Ḥasanein, 48n.47 Hashemi, Nader, 20n.46 Hashemi-​Rafsanjani, Akbar, 186n.56, 194n.1, 195–​96, 204–​6, 208n.54 Hās̲h̲im b. ʿAbd Manāf, 45 Hāshimiyya, 45 ḥayra, 88, 102, 103 Hejazi, Fakhreddin, 218–​19 Herbert of Cherbury, Edward, 161n.29 hijab, 183–​84 Hijaz, 65–​66 ḥisba, 92–​93, 161–​62 Hodgson, Marshall, 6n.19 Hojjati-​Kermani, Mohammad Jawad, 236n.73, 238–​39, 240, 241n.89 Hoseinizadeh, Seyed Mohammad Ali, 10n.29, 211 Hosseini Tehrani, Ayatollah Seyyed Mohammad Hossein, 223 Hosseinian, Ruhollah, 5n.17 Household of the Prophet. See Ahl al-​Bayt Hoveyda, Amir-​Abbas, 178 ḥudūd, 123, 124 hujja (proof), 102n.40, 122 Hujjatīya, 154n.15 Ḥusayn b. Ruḥ al-​Nawbakhtī, 62–​65

Hussain, Jassim M., 65, 66, 67n.40, 68n.45, 69n.48, 70n.55, 72, 73n.63, 74n.67, 78n.75, 81n.90, 82–​83, 82n.95, 115   Ibn Bābawayhi. See Shaykh al-​Ṣadūq Ibn Ḥanbal, Abū ʿAbd Allāh Aḥmad b. Muḥammad, 36n.10 Ibn Quba Rāzī, 103 Ibn Shahrāshūb, Muhammad b. ʿAlī, 106n.49 Idrīs I, 57–​58 iḥtīyāṭ (precaution), 154 ijtihād, 120, 129–​30, 149n.1, 154 ijtihād-​i pūyā (dynamic ijtihād), 27, 155, 156, 198n.12, 235–​36 illegitimacy, 9, 24–​25, 117–​18, 129, 246–​47 ʿilm ghaybī, 109–​10 ʿilm ladunnī, 95–​96n.17, 96–​97, 109–​10, 119 imaginary societies, 217–​18 Imām ʿAlī al-​Hādī (al-​Naqī), 49–​50 Imām ʿAlī al-​Riḍā, 7, 53, 165–​66 Imām ʿAlī, 7, 33n.1, 34–​35, 37–​41, 45, 48n.47, 49–​50, 51, 53, 55–​56, 92, 96–​97, 135n.41, 139, 153–​54, 165–​66, 165n.43, 233–​34, 245 Imām al-​Mahdī, 7n.26, 53n.1, 63–​64n.35 Imām Ḥasan al-​ʿAskarī, 50–​52, 53–​55, 61n.24, 63–​65, 66–​74, 75–​76, 77–​78, 81–​82, 85, 106–​7, 111–​13 Imām Ḥasan al-​Mujtabā, 7, 38, 39–​40, 48n.47, 53 Imām Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī, 6n.20, 7, 39–​43, 48n.47, 53, 138, 140–​41, 165n.43 Imām Jaʿfar al-​Ṣādiq, 43, 44, 59, 87, 95–​96n.17, 113–​14, 130, 131, 165–​66 Imām Jawād, 47, 48–​49, 67–​68 Imām Muḥammad al-​Bāqir, 6n.21, 43–​44 Imām Mūsā al-​Kāẓim, 6n.23, 45–​46, 48n.48, 59, 60, 71–​72, 74, 104, 105, 165–​66 Imam Musa Sadr, 178, 218–​19, 243 Imām Sajjād, 42–​43, 49–​50, 77–​78, 91–​92 Imām Zayn al-​ʿābidīn, 6n.20, 42–​43 Imāmate, 5–​7, 11, 43–​44, 45–​50, 53–​55, 65, 66–​ 73, 75–​76, 77, 87, 88, 89–​90, 100n.36, 102, 103n.42, 104–​5, 106–​16, 119, 203, 252 Imāmī, 3–​4, 5–​7, 8–​9, 43–​44, 48–​49, 51–​52, 53, 57–​58, 88, 94, 103, 115, 137 Imāmiyya, 5–​6n.18, 108–​9, 136 inquisition, 56n.8, 163n.38 insurgency, 139, 141–​42 Interim Government, 181, 187–​88, 189n.65, 190, 194, 195–​98, 221–​22 ʾIsḥāq b. Yaʿqūb, 122, 235 ISIS, 69n.49 Islamic Governance, 150–​51, 153–​54, 160, 167

Index  299 Islamic Republic, 1–​2, 11–​14, 15, 16–​17, 25–​27, 125–​27, 144, 156, 167–​68, 169, 171–​73, 176n.18, 177n.23, 180, 181–​87, 191, 195, 199, 201, 202, 203, 206n.51, 207, 210–​13, 215, 216–​17, 219–​20, 221–​24, 225, 230, 237, 243–​44, 245, 246n.1, 248–​49, 250–​52 Islamic Republican Party, 186n.56, 199–​201, 202–​3, 206n.51, 211, 216–​17 Islamist, 11, 12–​15, 165–​66, 171–​73, 176–​78, 183, 186, 188–​89, 196, 199, 206–​7, 208–​9, 215–​17, 221–​22, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 238, 242, 248–​49 clerical islamists, 10–​11, 12–​15, 17–​18, 19–​ 20, 25–​27, 149–​50, 162–​63n.36, 165–​69, 171–​73, 175, 176–​78, 179, 181n.42, 183–​ 84, 188–​89, 191–​92, 193–​95, 196–​200, 201, 202, 204–​9, 211–​13, 216–​17, 219–​20, 221–​22, 223, 225–​28, 229–​30, 233, 235–​36, 238, 239–​42, 243, 245, 248–​52 leftist Islamists, 10n.29, 225 liberal Islamists, 10n.29, 181, 188–​89, 196–​ 98, 206–​7, 221–​22, 241 ʿiṣma, 44 Ismāʿīliyya, 57–​58, 62n.28, 68–​69, 154n.12 isnād, 99, 105   Ja’fariyan, Rasul, 151n.4 Jahanbakhsh, Forough, 17n.39, 221–​22nn.18–​19 jāʾir. See usurper Javadi-​e Amoli, Abdullah, 151n.3 jihad, 161 Jomhouri-​ye Eslami, 202n.32, 203, 211 juridical Islam, 10n.29, 183–​84 just ruler, 7–​8, 48n.48, 125–​26, 127–​28, 134, 137, 140–​41   Kadivar, Mohsen, 12–​13, 27, 93n.11, 95n.14, 106n.47, 109–​10n.55, 123n.10, 151n.3, 162–​63n.36, 163n.37, 166n.47, 167n.54, 168n.56, 185–​86, 205–​6n.50, 242n.96 Kamāl al-​Dīn, 67–​68n.44, 88, 102, 105–​6 Kamrava, Mehran, 17n.39 Kani, Ali, 178 Kant, Immanuel, 19–​20 Karami-​Hoveyzi, Mohammad, 233–​34 Karbalāʾ, 5–​6n.18, 7–​8, 40–​43, 41n.22 Kāshif al-​Ghiṭāʾ, Muḥammad Ḥusayn, 149–​50, 167, 231–​32, 233–​34, 246 Kātib, Aḥmad, 67–​68, 75–​76, 75n.69, 83–​84, 112n.63 Katouzian, Homa, 219n.8 Katouzian, Naser, 187n.61, 195n.3

Kayhan, 201n.28 Kaysāniyya, 3n.12, 5–​7 Kazemi-​Moussavi, Ahmad, 98n.27 Keddie, Nikki R, 20, 179n.31, 227 Kennedy, Hugh, 56–​57 KGB, 240n.86 Khalaji, Mahd, 93n.11, 162n.34, 167n.53, 197n.10, 236n.70, 252n.6 Khamenei, Ayatollah Ali, 177–​78, 188n.63, 197n.10, 204–​6, 252 Khamenei, Mohammad, 229–​30 Khārijī, 35, 141 Khatami, Mohammad, 186–​87, 188–​89, 200 Khoei, Abu al-​Qasim, 151n.3, 162n.34, 168–​69 Khomeini, Mostafa, 179 Khonsari, Ahmad, 167–​68 Khums, 45–​46, 123, 124, 127–​28 Khurāsānī, Shaykh Muḥammad Kāẓim, 56–​57, 114–​15, 126–​27, 144–​45 Kianouri, Noureddin, 225 Kitāb al-​aʿīsha, 130 Kitāb al-​bayʿ, 150n.2, 160 Kitāb al-​ghayba, 102, 104–​5, 111–​12, 113, 114 Kitāb al-​kāfī, 74–​75, 96–​97, 99–​101, 106n.47, 121n.3, 124, 130 Kitāb al-​khiyārāt, 160n.28 Kohlberg, Etan, 2n.7, 44n.33, 95–​96n.17, 98n.27, 111n.58 Kūfa, 39–​42, 49–​50, 50n.60, 61, 65–​66, 81–​82, 136 Kuhn, Thomas, 88–​89 Kuru, Ahmet T., 20n.46 Kurzman, Charles, 13–​14 Kuzichkin, Vladimir, 240n.86   Laclau, Ernesto, 182, 183n.48 Lahiji, Abdulkarim, 187–​89 Lalani, Arzina, 43–​44 Lambton, Ann K. S., 108, 109n.54, 118, 119n.1, 137, 137n.52 Land Reform, 26–​27 Langarudi, Mohammad Jafar, 187–​88 Lapidus, Ira M., 36–​37, 55n.3, 56n.7, 56n.8 lawmaking, 181, 191–​92 Lebanon, 28, 150n.2 leftist, 10n.29, 172–​73, 174–​75, 183, 184, 186, 225, 227 legitimacy, 16, 36, 38, 45–​46, 77–​78, 91–​92, 118, 125, 126–​28, 132–​33, 137–​38, 169, 218, 228 legitimate, 9, 12–​13, 34–​35, 55–​56, 116, 117–​18, 125–​28, 129, 131, 137–​38, 139, 141–​43, 144–​45, 159n.23, 160, 196–​98, 215, 216–​ 17, 228, 229, 245

300 Index Lévi-​Strauss, Claude, 181–​82 luṭf, 107–​9, 234–​35   Madelung, Wilferd, 6n.23, 33n.3, 49n.54, 59, 60, 126n.19, 133n.39, 134n.40 Madison, James, 22 Mahdavi, Mojtaba, 152n.8 Mahdavi-​Kani, Mohammad Reza, 194, 204–​6 Mahdism, 48n.48 Majlisī, Mohammad Bāqir, 64n.36, 67–​68 Major Occultation, 7–​8, 8n.27, 9–​10, 63–​65, 85, 87, 116, 117–​18, 120, 122–​23, 126–​27, 129, 233–​34 Makarem Shirazi, Naser, 232, 232n.54, 236n.74, 238–​39 Maoism, 237–​38 Marashi-​Najafi, Ayatollah Shahabuddin, 167–​68, 190, 191, 200 Ma’rifat, Muhammad Hadi, 93n.11, 160 Marjaʿ (pl. marājaʿ), 33n.1, 159, 162n.34, 164n.39, 167–​68 Marjaʿ-​i taqlīd, 10–​13, 94n.12, 122–​23n.6, 149–​50, 188–​89, 198n.12, 200, 217, 245 marjaʿiyyat, 1, 94, 149–​50, 202–​3, 251–​52 Marxist, 173–​75, 176–​77, 237–​38, 249–​50 Marxist-​Leninist, 173 Mashhad, 253 Massignon, Louis, 80–​81n.88, 175n.13 Matin-​Daftari, Hedayatollah, 226–​27 Maududi, Sayyid Abul Aʿla, 10–​11 Mavani, Hamid, 24n.55, 151n.3 maẓālim, 135–​36 McDermott, Martin J., 96–​97, 107, 107n.50, 132n.34 Mecca, 38–​39, 46n.42, 49n.56, 50n.61, 135–​36, 135n.41 Medina, 33–​34, 42–​43, 45–​46, 46n.42, 48–​49, 49n.56, 50n.61, 98–​99, 135–​36 Mesbah-​Yazdi, Ayatollah Mohammad-​Taqi, 151n.3 messianism, 5–​7 Middle East, 173 Milani, Abbas, 150–​51, 180, 230n.46, 236n.70 Mill, John Stuart, 228, 229 Minachi, Naser, 187–​88 Minor Occultation, 8n.27, 53–​55, 56–​59, 60, 62–​65, 66, 74–​76, 77–​78, 79–​80, 81–​82, 83–​84, 112–​14, 115, 116, 117–​18, 119–​20, 128–​29, 138 Mīr Dāmād Astarābādī, Sayyid Muhammad Bāqir, 106n.46 Mirsepassi, Ali, 17n.38, 175n.13

Modarressi, Hossein, 2n.7, 43n.26, 44, 44n.36, 46n.38, 51n.64, 67n.43, 69–​70, 71n.56, 75n.69, 76n.71, 77, 87, 88, 95n.14, 95–​ 96n.17, 96n.18, 96n.21, 105n.45, 106n.48, 111–​12 Modirshanehchi, Mohammad, 240n.86 Modood, Tariq, 20n.46 Moghaddam-​Maraghei, Rahmatullah, 232–​33, 234n.58, 236–​37, 238–​39 Mojtahed-​Shabestari, Mohammad, 37n.11 Momen, Moojan, 50n.59, 80–​81n.88, 111, 163n.38 monarchy, 12–​13, 18n.40, 126–​27, 171–​72, 184, 186–​87, 189n.65, 193, 228 Montazeri, Ayatollah Hussein-​Ali, 27, 122–​ 23n.6, 161n.30, 161n.31, 168–​69, 168n.56, 188–​89, 199n.14, 203–​7, 211–​13, 229–​30, 239–​40, 242, 242n.93, 243–​44, 252n.6 Moradzehi, Hamidullah Mir, 231–​32 Morocco, 57–​58 Mossadegh, Mohammad, 226–​27 Motahhari, Morteza, 153n.10, 154n.13, 176, 184, 185, 185n.51, 252n.7 Mottahedeh, Roy, 159n.22, 217n.3 Mousavi Ardebili, Sayyid Abdul Karim, 204–​6 Mousavi Zanjani, Abolfazl, 183n.49 Mousavi, Mir Hossein, 204–​6 Moussavi, Ahmad Kazemi, 94n.13, 98n.27, 151n.3, 154n.15, 154n.16, 217n.3 Movement of God-​Fearing Socialists, 10n.29 Movement of Militant Muslims, 10n.29 muāmilāt, 17–​18 Muʿāwiyah b. ʿAbī Sufyān, 39–​40 Muʿāwiyah I, 35, 55–​56, 245 muḥaddith, 5n.16, 68, 87, 95, 98–​99 Muḥammad al-​Dībāj, 47 Muḥammad Ṣadr Mūsā b.-​Jaʿfar (Zayd al-​Nār), 47 Muḥarram, 40n.20, 224 Mujahedin, 174 mujtahid, 95–​96n.17, 120, 201, 230 Mukhtār, 6n.20 Mukhtāriyya, 6n.20 Muslim People’s Republic Party, 206–​7, 225, 227 Muʿtazilites, 107, 129, 234–​35 Muvahid Abtahi Esfahani, Sayyid Mohammad Ali, 202   Naeini, Mirza Mohammad Hossein, 17–​18, 18n.40, 167, 235 nā’ib ‘āmm, 118–​19 Najaf seminary, 149–​50, 167n.50, 168–​69, 248, 253 Narāghī, Mullāh Ahmad, 167, 167n.52, 234–​35

Index  301 narrator, 94, 98–​99, 111, 187n.59 Nasr, Seyyed Hossein, 154n.15 National Front, 189n.65, 189n.67, 195–​98, 226–​27, 240n.85 nationalists, 172–​73, 196–​98, 206–​8, 226–​27, 241, 249–​50 Navāb-​Ṣafawi, Mujtabā, 167n.50 Nawāb arbaʿa, 63–​65 Nawbakhtī family, 61, 61n.25, 80–​81 Nāwūsiyya, 5–​7, 6n.22 Newman, Andrew, 3n.12, 15–​16, 16n.35, 24n.55, 111n.58, 124–​25, 124n.12, 130, 131n.25, 131n.26, 136–​37, 154 Neyshabur, 61 niqābat, 135n.45 non-​clerical, 10n.29 non-​democratic, 229–​30 Nourbakhsh, Ahmad, 234n.59, 236–​37 Nuʿmānī, Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm b. Jaʿfar, 87, 102, 104–​5, 111–​12, 114, 115 Nūrī, Shaykh Faḍl Allāh, 222–​23   Obama, Barack, 172n.3 orientalism, 90–​91, 174–​75 othering, 5, 69–​73, 79–​80, 162–​63   Pahlavi, 1, 10–​11, 12–​14, 20, 151n.4, 162n.33, 171, 172–​73, 176–​77, 178, 180, 186–​87, 188–​89, 196–​98, 202–​3, 216–​17, 219–​20, 221–​22, 231, 232–​33, 248–​49 paradigm, 21–​22, 25–​26, 88–​89 Paris, 176, 178, 180, 183n.49, 186–​87, 189n.65, 226, 227 Parker, Ian, 90–​91 pastoral power, 54–​55, 78–​80, 82–​83 penal code, 139n.54, 159 People’s Mojahedin Organization, 174, 201n.29, 219–​20 Plato, 36 PLURALISM, 27, 93–​94, 122–​23 political spirituality, 175, 183 Popper, Karl R., 36 populist, 164–​66, 171 Pragmatism, 77–​78 principled distance, 7, 22–​25, 27–​28, 38 privatization, 17–​18, 21–​22, 25–​26 Prophet Mohammad, 1, 2–​3, 33–​34, 36, 38, 42–​ 43, 45, 48n.47, 50n.62, 51, 55–​56, 63–​65, 91–​92, 95, 96–​97, 98–​101, 104–​5, 108–​9, 111, 112–​13, 114–​15, 123, 130, 132, 139, 140, 141, 153–​54, 155–​56, 159, 165n.43, 209, 233–​34, 252 public religion, 25

qadāʿ wa qadar, 43–​44 Qāʿim, 61n.24, 74, 77, 91–​93, 103, 104, 105–​6, 111–​12, 113–​14 Qājār, 246 Qarāmiṭans, 81–​82n.92 Qatʿiyya, 3n.12 Qufli, Vahid, 183n.49, 201n.29, 202n.33, 204n.39, 206–​7, 207n.52, 211–​13, 224n.26, 225n.29, 225n.30, 225n.31, 226n.37 quietism, 246 quietist, 17, 43–​44, 246 Qum school, 124–​25, 129–​34, 136–​37 Qurʾān, 16–​17, 95, 97–​99, 113, 149–​50, 154n.17, 156–​57, 159n.23, 164–​65, 200n.19, 218–​19, 231n.49, 233–​34 Qureshi, Sayyid Ali Akbar, 235   Rabbani-​Shirazi, Abdulrahim, 242 Rahimpour-​Azghadi, Hassan, 253 Rahnema, Ali, 101n.38, 175n.12 Rajai, Mohammad Ali, 205n.44 Ramaḍān, 114–​15, 153n.10, 171, 224, 225 Rawls, John, 21 Rebellion, 10–​11, 34–​35, 40–​41, 49n.51, 50n.60, 77–​78, 113–​14, 118, 128, 138–​41, 142–​43 referendum, 13–​14, 171–​72, 181–​82, 182n.44, 183–​84, 185–​86, 190, 193–​98, 204–​6, 207–​8, 219–​20, 243 regime of truth, 4, 75–​76, 89, 90, 106–​7, 109–​10, 111, 129 resistance, 41–​42, 118, 140–​45, 172–​73 revelation, 98n.29, 108–​9 revolution 1979 Revolution, 1–​2, 11, 12–​17, 144, 149–​ 50, 168n.56, 169, 171–​73, 174–​75, 186–​87, 189n.65, 199, 208, 209, 213, 215, 221–​23, 226n.35, 235n.66, 243–​44, 248–​49 Constitutional Revolution, 9–​10, 18n.40, 26–​27, 126–​27, 144–​45, 221–​22, 246 French Revolution, 13–​14 Islamic Revolution, 181–​82, 199, 202–​3, 209, 251 Revolutionary Council, 181–​82, 190, 191–​92, 194, 196–​98, 204–​6, 210 Reza Shah, 151n.4, 221–​22 Richard, Yann, 179n.30, 179n.31, 227n.40 Ridda Wars (Wars of Apostasy), 33–​34 Rijal al-​Kashi, 44n.32 Rouhani, Mohammad Sadeq, 188–​89 Rousseau, Jean-​Jacques, 231–​32 Roy, Olivier, 63–​65, 74n.65, 103, 129, 252n.6

302 Index Sabaʾīyya, 5–​7 Sabbaghiyan, Hashim, 194–​95 Sachedina, Abdulaziz, 5–​6n.18, 24n.55, 50n.58, 56–​57, 63n.33, 123n.7 sacred, 2–​3, 11–​12, 36–​38, 48n.47, 95, 128–​29, 153, 218–​19 Saʿd b. ʿAbī Waḳḳāṣ, 40n.19 sādāt, 135n.45 Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi, Eskandar, 10n.29, 16–​17, 16n.37, 221n.18 Sadr, Imam Musa, 178, 218–​19n.7, 243 Ṣafawid, 9–​10, 41–​42, 94, 137–​38, 144–​45, 161–​62, 246 Saffari, Siavash, 174–​75, 235n.67, 235n.68, 237n.76, 239n.80, 241n.90, 242–​43 Safi Golpaygani, Ayatollah Lotfollah, 110n.56 Sahabi, Ezatullah., 190n.72, 193–​94, 195–​96, 211–​13, 234n.60, 235, 238–​39 Shafiei, Mahmoud, 124–​25, 252n.7 Shah ʿAbbās I, 162n.33 Shahīd-​i javīd, 41n.22 Salehi-​Najafabadi, Nematollah, 41n.22, 151n.3 Shams al-​Din, Muhammad Mahdi, 40n.21 Sharīʿa, 9, 63–​65, 93n.11, 95, 156–​64, 190, 196–​ 97n.9, 198n.12, 222–​23 Shariati, Ali, 40–​41, 42n.25, 165–​66, 167n.54, 174–​75, 175n.12, 176, 221n.18 Shariatmadari, Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad, 206–​7, 227, 236–​37 Sharīf al-​Murtaḍā, ‘Alī b. al-​Husayn b. Mūsavi, 96–​97, 102, 107, 121, 123, 124–​26, 128–​29, 130, 133, 134, 135–​36, 137–​38, 158–​59, 162n.33, 233–​34 Shaykh al-​Kulaynī, Muhammad Ibn-​̣ Yaʻqub, 44n.33, 46n.41, 48n.48, 69–​70, 71, 71n.59, 74–​75, 96–​97, 97n.24, 99–​101, 110n.56, 121, 121n.4, 124–​25, 130, 131, 143n.66 Shaykh al-​Mufīd, Muhammad b. Muhammad, 48n.47, 76n.71, 96–​97, 102, 107, 108, 108n.53, 120, 121, 123, 123n.9, 124–​25, 130, 132–​33, 135–​36, 137–​38, 143, 162n.33, 164n.41 Shaykh al-​Sadūq, Alī ibn Husayn ibn., 44n.34, 48n.47, 63–​64n.35, 67–​68n.44, 71–​72, 74, 74n.66, 75–​76, 80–​81, 88, 97–​98, 99–​101, 102, 110n.56, 112–​13, 113n.64, 121, 130, 131, 132, 143n.66, 144n.67, 233–​34 Shaykh al-​Tūsī, Abū Ja’far Muhammad Ibn Hasan, 105, 121, 123, 143n.66, 144 Shirazi, Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad Husayni, 200, 201 Shirazi, Sayyid Abdullah, 200 shūrā, 34–​35, 39–​40

signifier, 181–​86, 242–​43 empty signifier, 181–​83, 184 empty sub-​signifier, 183 floating signifier, 182n.44 open signifier, 182n.44 Sistani, Sayyid Ali Hosseini, 1n.3, 17–​18, 162n.34, 168–​69, 253 social imaginary, 14–​15, 217–​19 Society of Seminary Teachers of Qom, 223 Solaim Ibn Qays al-​Helali, 33–​34 Soroush, Abdolkarim, 17n.39, 221n.18, 222n.19 Soroush-​Mahallati, Mohammad, 143 sovereign power, 79 Soviet Union, 215–​16, 237–​38 Subhani, Ja’far, 60n.20 Sufi, 37, 66n.38, 80–​81 Sulṭān, 123, 124, 140 Supreme Leader, 197n.10, 205n.43, 230   Ṭabarī, Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad ibn Jarīr ibn Yazid, 49n.50, 49nn.53–​56, 50n.60, 50n.62 Tabatabaei, Sadeq, 186–​87, 187nn.57–​60 Tabatabaei Soltani, Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad Baqir, 186–​87 Takim, Liyakat, 24n.55, 154n.16 taḳiyya, 43–​44, 78, 132–​33, 137, 142, 207 Taleghani, Ayatollah Sayyid Mahmoud, 175, 195–​96, 205–​6n.50, 235n.66, 240, 240n.85 Taleghani, Mojtaba, 240n.86 Tawqeāt (Epistles), 63–​64n.35 Taylor, Charles, 3n.9, 14–​15, 15n.34, 20–​21, 79n.82, 217–​18, 218n.4, 218n.5 Tehrani, Ayatollah Sayyid Mohammad Sadiq, 199, 201 Theologian, 5n.16, 9–​11, 87, 94, 96–​97, 107, 120, 124–​25 theory of naṣ (divine designation), 106n.48 Tobacco Protest, 26–​27 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 228 Toilers Party, 198n.13, 206n.51, 211–​13 tolerance, 27 Turkey, 37n.12, 139n.55 Turkish model, 22–​23 tyranny of the majority, 228–​31, 242–​43   ʿulamāʾ, 5n.16, 18n.40, 43–​44, 54, 55–​56, 56n.8, 57–​58, 57n.11, 59n.17, 62–​65, 66, 85–​86, 92–​96, 117–​23, 125, 131n.29, 132, 132n.33, 133, 134, 136, 137–​38, 204–​6, 211, 220, 223, 240–​41, 246, 247–​48, 250, 251–​52, 253 ʿUmar b. ʿAbd al-​ʿAzīz, 98–​99 ʿUmar b. Ḥanẓala, 121 ʿUmar, ʿUmar b. al-​Khaṭṭāb, 34, 38, 98–​99, 134

Index  303 Umayyad, 36–​37, 39–​40, 42–​44, 42n.25, 44n.32, 44n.33, 45–​46, 55–​56, 58, 59, 98–​99, 111–​12, 131, 140–​41 umma, 33–​34, 36, 39, 51, 201 United States, 188–​89, 227 University of Tehran, 211–​13 Uqba b. Bashīr al-​Asadī, 44n.32 Uṣūlī, 11–​12, 124, 154–​55, 154n.15 usurper, 1, 7–​8, 9, 10–​11, 117–​18, 125–​26, 128–​29, 130, 131, 132–​35, 136–​41, 143, 144, 202–​3 ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān, 34, 38, 98n.29 ʿUthmāniyyas, 34–​35 Utopia, 209   Vahdat, Farzin, 17n.39 Variei, Javad, 191n.75, 200n.18, 200nn.22–​23, 201n.25, 202nn.32–​33, 204n.39, 212n.71, 213, 241n.90 Vatanka, Alex, 176, 176n.19 Vico, Giambattista, 161n.29

wājib ʿaynī, 153, 153n.10 wājib kifāʿī, 153, 153n.10 wall of separation, 22–​23 Wāqifiyya, 3n.12, 6n.23, 68–​69, 104–​5, 113, 115 White, Hayden, 221–​22 wikāla, 45–​46, 65–​69   Yaqṭīnī family, 61 Yazīd, 224, 224n.26 Yemen, 35n.6, 49n.50, 65–​66, 136   zakat, 123, 124 Zanjānī, Shaykh Ibrāhīm, 222–​23 zann (conjecture), 154 Zavarei, Sayyid Reza, 188n.63 Zayd al-​Nār, 47 Zayd b. ʿAlī, 40n.19, 43–​44, 49n.53 Zayd b. ʿAlī b. al-​Ḥusayn, 43–​44 Zaydī, 3n.12, 68–​69, 104–​5, 134–​35 zealous, 25–​26 Zibakalam, Sadegh, 152n.9