Writers and Rulers: Perspectives on Their Relationship from Abbasid to Safavid Times

Rulers arabisch - persisch - tiirkisch

Perspectives on Their Relationship from Abbasid to Safavid Times Beatrice Gruendler and Louise Marlow (eds.)

Priska Furrer, Verena Klemm, Angelika Neuwirth, Friederike Pannewick, Rotraud Wiclandt, Renate Wllrsch (cds.)

Vol. 16: Writers and Rulers Beatrice Gruendler and Louise Marlow (eds.)

Reichert Verlag Wiesbaden 2004

Reichert Verlag Wiesbaden 2004

In the pre-modem Islamic Near East, a substantial share of literary activity was devoted to rulers, identified by name, with a utilitarian purpose in the writer's mind. Far from being limited to the single instance, such literary offerings might constitute part of a lifelong, if asymmetrical, relationship between authors and their addressees. The aim of this volume, which originated in the colloquium "Literature and Rulership in Medieval Islam" held at Yale University's Center for International and Area Studies in April 1999, is to explore one particular kind of such writing, namely works directed to political and religious leaders in which literary speech is used as leverage for didactic, ethical, and ideological concerns. 1 It needs to be emphasized that such a demonstrated interestedness on the part of the author did not constitute per se a stain on the literature he produced, nor a reason to strip it of its label, as the modem reader might fathom. Quite to the contrary, service to members of Islamic Near Eastern elites in exchange for favors, employment, and protection was a legitimate raison d' etre for literature, and it produced some of its greatest classics, such as al-Bul:Itur"i's panegyrics or Ni~am al-Mulk's Conduct [or Lives} of Kings (Siyar aZ-muZuk), better known as the Book of Government (Siyasatnama). Much of this writing, it is true, was produced at courts and for their consumption, but this was not exclusively the case; mastery in literature also became the very means by which to gain access to the upper classes, and conversely the impact of a work at court might benefit from its renown outside it.

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© 2004 Dr. Ludwig Reichert Verlag Wiesbaden ISBN: 3-89500-376-X www.reichert-verlag.de Das Werk einschlieGlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschutzt. Jede Verwertung auEerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urhebergesetzes ist ohne Zustimmung des Verlages unzulassig und strafbar. Das gilt insbesondere fur Vervie1faltigungen, Dbersetzungen, Mikroverfilmungen und die Speicherung und Verarbeitung in e1ektronischen Systemen. Satz: Thomas Breier Druck: Memminger MedienCentrum AG Printed in Germany

The numerous functions rulers and writers fulfilled for each other speak for themselves. First, rulers gained from writers models for the practice of government, whether this was imparted in the form of oral akhbar about past kings or newly composed manuals, and whether it was destined for a holder of high office, the head of the state, or his successor. These portrayals of perfect rulership differed of course among historians, litterateurs, and poets, who might also be called upon to bolster a dynasty's claim to power or promote its system of beliefs. Second, the very display of Arabic, and later Persian, literary culture as well as its patronage became an emblem of good governance. This development began with the literary education given to heirs to the throne, and it culminated in the famous literary courts of the early Abbasids and their officials in Baghdad and Samarra, the caliph 'Abd al-Ral:Iman III in Cordoba, the Umayyad chief minister al-Man~fu in Seville, the J:Iamdanid sovereign Sayf al-Dawla in Aleppo, the Biiyid vizier al-$al:Iib b. 'Abbad in Rayy (all Arabic literature), the Samanid amir Na~r II b. Al:Imad in Bukhara (Arabic and Persian literature), the Ghaznavid sultan Mal:Imiid b. Sabuktigln in Ghazna (Persian literature), and the Tlmfuid sultan J:Iusayn Bayqara in Herat (Persian and Turkish literature). At various times, intellectual life at court encompassed not only literature but also

The papers given by Abbas Amanat, "A Message on the Wall: Rulers and Subjects in Sa'di's Political Perspective," and Beatrice Forbes Manz, "The Political Program of Timiirid Local Histories," were not available for inclusion. Devin Stewart graciously contributed his article after the completion of the colloquium.

VI music, art and architecture, theology, philosophy, the translation of foreign, mainly Greek and Middle Persian works into or later Arabic classics into New Persian. The dedication of works, and most poetry, moreover an occasion for the public demonstration of largesse, a prominent virtue of rulership. Finally, by fostering writers in his milieu, a ruler secured for himself a place in future memory. Indeed the periods that have come to be regarded as "golden ages" by subsequent generations often owe their luster to the support and stimulation of literary talent as much as to political and military success. Conversely, writers depended on rulers to an even higher degree. To serve a ruler or high official guaranteed one's subsistence and protection - even if at some risk. It could also earn the unknown newcomer status and fame faster than any other path. The courts of rulers and leading dignitaries attracted multiple talents and many thinkers; here expertise was recognized, competition flourished, and reputations were made. In the same vein a theologian, historian, poet, or adib devoting his work to a sovereign took an active role in reformulating concepts of religious and political rulership over time. Even if his advice were not heeded in his own lifetime, it might provide the standard for subsequent eras. 2 A writer also required a patron of potentially historical stature to perpetuate his own name. Thus he eternalized himself along with his august subject. At the same time his writings, in whichever genre he had selected, might become a further link in the chain of famous texts within the literary tradition. In all these pursuits, the writer's impact rested on the authority with which he was able to invest himself, and to this end he deployed his finest art. An excellent example of someone who drafted an all but flawless contract of mutual duties between himself and his patron was the poet Ibn aI-RumI (d. 283/896), when he composed his panegyrics to the polymath and intermittent prefect of Baghdad,
2 The gender of the pronouns is not accidental; all the writers treated in the present volume -- and the great majority of those engaged in historical and didactic prose in general - were men. Exceptions can be found in poetry, where some madi~ was composed by women, even if on a small scale and subject to imperfect transmission. For the Abbasid East, see J. E. Bencheikh (1975), "Les musiciens et la poesie: les ecoles d'IsJ:taq al-Maw~ilI (m. 225 H.) et d'Ibrahim Ibn al-Mahdi (m. 224 H.)," Arabica 22: 114-52 esp. 140-52. For an elegy by the poetess Faql, see p. 12 below. For al-Andalus, see T. Garulo (1986), Diwiin de las poetisas de al-Andalus, Madrid and (1985), "Una poctisa oriental en el-Andalus: Sara al-I:Ialabiyya," Al-Qantara 4:153-77, L. di Giacomo (1949), Une poetesse grenadine au temps des Almohades: ljafta bint al-ljiijj, Paris, and B. Gruendler (2001), "Lightning and Memory in Poetic Fragments from the Muslim West: I:Iaf~a bt. al-I:Iajj (d. 1191) and Sarah al-I:Ialabiyya," in: A. Neuwirth & A. Pflitsch (eds.), Crisis and Memory in Islamic Societies, Beirut-Wfuzburg, 435-52. 3 B. Gruendler (2003), Medieval Arabic Praise Poetry: Ibn al-Rumi and the Patron's Redemption, London, 227-62.

VII the present volume offers the reader a panorama of choices made by writers with the difficulties that they faced. Naturally the circumstances for such literary activity varied in a geographical area covering Western Asia, Northern Africa and, at different times, the Eastern and Western fringes of Europe and during an interval spanning the rise ofIslam to the onset of Western colonialism. It cannot therefore be the editors' aspiration to present an even or exhaustive treatment of the subject.4 Instead we offer instances of writers and rulers situated within their socio-historical contexts in a series of articles that cover the Abbasid to the ~afavid period (from the ninth to the seventeenth century CE) and treat the disciplines of literature, political thought, history, and religion in Arabic and Persian. 5 The authors of the articles consider formal genres addressed to, or speaking about, a ruler with ethical, didactic, and ideological intent - such as panegyric poetry, epistles, mirrors for princes, manuals of statecraft, theological treatises, and dynastic histories. Also included are informal genres, such as the rubili and the shadow play, which openly antagonize or subvert some of the ideals of the former group. The topic of each individual essay is the local interplay between literature and rulership. Works dedicated to political and religious leaders raise the larger question of how one is 4 For a general background, see I. Lapidus (1988), A History of Islamic Societies, Cambridge, 82, 8993, 120-5, 141, 153-8, 184-7, and 378-86. For studies on poetry, see the previous note and J. E. Bencheikh (1998), Poetique arabe, Paris, 27-38, J. S. Meisami (1987), Medieval Persian Court Poetry, Princeton, 3-39, and Adam Mez (1937), The Renaissance of Islam, trans. S. Kh. Bukhsh and D. S. Margoliouth, London, first publ. Heidelberg, 1922,89-106, 132-46,254-74. For advice literature, see Ch.-H. de Fouchecour (1986), Moralia: les notions morales dans la litterature persane du 3e/ge au 7el13e siecle, Paris, esp. 357-440, D. Gutas (1990), "Ethische Schriften im Islam," in: W. Heinrichs (ed.), Orientalisches Mittelalter, Wiesbaden, 346-65, and L. Marlow (1997), Hierarchy and Egalitarianism in Islamic Thought, Cambridge, 117-42. For Arabic prose, see Julia Ashtiany et al. (eds.) (1990), 'Abbasid Belles-Lettres, Cambridge, chapters 3-5 by J. D. Latham and Ch. Pellat, and J. L. Kraemer (1986), Humanism in the Renaissance of Islam: The Cultural Revival during the Buyid Age, Leiden, 207-33, 241-72. For artistic prose and maqiimiit, see Heribert Horst (1987), "Kunstprosa," in H. Gatje (ed.) Grundriss der arabischen Philologie II: Literaturwissenschaft, Wiesbaden, 221-7 and Sh. Guthrie (1995), Arab Social Life in the Middle Ages, London, 55-87. For the shadow play, see J. M. Landau (1970), Shadow Plays in the Near East, Jerusalem, Sh. Moreh (1987), "The Shadow Play ("Khayiil al-,?ilf') in the Light of Arabic Literature," Journal of Arabic Literature 28: 46-61 and idem (1992), Live Theatre and Dramatic Literature in the Medieval Islamic World, Edinburgh. For the Persian epic, see J. Ch. Bfugel (1990), "Die persische Epik," in: W. Heinrichs (ed.), Orientalisches Mittelalter, Wiesbaden, 301-18. For historiography, see F. Rosenthal (1968), A History of Islamic Historiography, 2nd rev. ed., and J. S. Meisami (1999), Persian Historiography to the End of the Twelfth Century, Edinburgh. Political philosophy, though concerned with the concept of the ideal ruler, has not been included, as it is not usually addressed or dedicated to rulers. Festivities as occasions for literary compositions are treated by M. M. Ahsan (1979), Social Life under the Abbasids 170-289 AH1786-902 AD, London and New York, 286-96, and the settings for their performance by D. P. Brookshaw (2003), "Palaces, Pavilions and Pleasure-Gardens: The Context and Setting of the Medieval Majiilis," Middle Eastern Literatures 6: 199-223. 5 Ottoman Turkish, the third Near Eastern lingua franca since the 16th century, overlaps only with the last two centuries of the period under consideration here and has therefore not been included. Note, however, among the earliest Turkish writings an eleventh-century Chagatay Turkish mirror produced at the Qarakhilnid court; see R. Dankoff (trans.) (1983), Yusuf Kha~~ ljiijib: Wisdom of Royal Glory (J>.utadgu Bilig): A Turko-Islamic Mirror for Princes, Chicago.

VIII

to understand the meaning of these literary acts in society and the types of commitments they establish between the two parties with all underlying assumptions. Such writings exhibit criticism, didactic intention, persuasiveness, and an iconology of ideal ruiership, and they require, at times quite explicitly, from the recipient such actions and commitments as are consonant with the described ideal behavior. Not only open and direct addresses of a leadership figure are thematized, but also parodies or counterpositions of this stance. Looking at the surrounding situation, it appears that the literary offerings may be part of a long-term relationship between author and addressee, which involves some sort of audience witnessing the delivery of the work(s) and acknowledging the recipient's conformity with the conveyed type of rulership. The identity of the author may be defined by origin, rank, position, discipline, and political and religious affiliation. The level of literary discourse ranges from elevated to popular, and the venture may be practical or theoretical in nature. The selected critical approaches shed light on textual devices and conventions of performance, interplay with the historical background, the planned impact of a literary work, and its historical reception. Here the choice of genre is significant not only for the specific presentation of common themes and strategies, but for its inherent social prestige, generic precedents, subtext, targeted present and subsequent audiences, and avenues of dissemination. These were not immutable, and authors creatively manipulated them. As a further factor, a dedicated work answered the recipient's need for a favorable public image. The selected examples then illustrate various ways in which a particular genre was fitted to an historical occasion and the values inscribed in it were made incumbent upon the ruler before a broader, simultaneous or ulterior, audience. The examination of these parameters leads up to the core question, that of what may be labelled the "contract" between writer and recipient. What is the nature of this unspoken contract and what are the mutual expectations between the parties, at all levels, ranging from the etiquette of behavior at the moment of performance to long-term, far-reaching mutual services, commitments, and duties? What is the specific way in which the literary word elicits a reaction from the ruler, questions his inaction, or chastises his misdeeds? What importance can be attributed to the literary word? And which higher authority or framework is invoked so as to make the ruler comply? These and other questions are pursued in various genres and historical settings in the following nine articles (arranged in chronological order for the reader's convenience), which collectively broaden our knowledge ofthe power ofliterary speech in pre-modern Islamic societies. The examples, chosen to convey a broad spectrum, derive from the ages of the Abbasids (Ali), Buyids (Stewart, Hanne), Saljuqs (Meisami, Simidchieva, Davidson), Bal).ri Mamluks (Buturovi6), llkhans (Marlow), and ~afavids (Losensky). While some confine themselves to Arabic (Ali, Stewart, Hanne, Buturovi6) or Persian literature (Simidchieva, Davidson, Losensky), Saljuq historiography and llkhanid advice literature draw on a common tradition and require a combined treatment of both literatures (Meisami, Marlow).

IX

The initiative for a work might come from the ruler himself, such as when Buyid, Ghaznavid, or ~afavid sovereigns commissioned dynastic histories with the expectation that the historian would provide the ruling house with a genealogical, doctrinal, or ideological rationale (Meisami, Losensky). The two eleventh-century treatises on the statutes of government (al-a~kiim al-sul!iiniyya), Eric Hanne argues, complied with a strategy of the late Abbasid caliph al-Q~Fim to enlist the orthodox intelligentsia of Baghdad and thus to widen his power base against the Buyid warlords. The Saljuq vizier Ni~am al-Mulk was commissioned by Sultan Malikshah to compose a book of advice for kings. Its first installment was favorably received, although the vizier had used the ideal examples of earlier kings subtly to criticize the policies of his Saljuq lord. In a second, unsolicited installment of the book, the vizier administered harsher, direct criticism, but his own death and that of the sultan prevented the delivery of the work, and delayed its reception until years later (Simidchieva). Before or while Ibn Daniyal served the early Mamluk court as official panegyrist and jester, the erudite ophthalmologist composed three shadow plays (khayiil al-~ill) and passed them off as low-brow entertainment, all the while jocularly deriding Sultan Baybars's strict moral policies (Buturovi6). More commonly the impetus to composition came from the writer. The poet al-Bul).tur'i, having previously cursed the early Abbasid caliph al-Munta~ir, chose an opportune moment to recognize him as legitimate, and by his declaration of allegiance helped resolve the dilemma of succession to the slain al-Mutawakkil (Ali). Other authors' aspirations were confined to their own livelihood or advancement, exemplified by the itinerant secretary al-Hamadhani (Stewart), or the countless authors of advice literature for dignitaries of the llkhanid state (Marlow). In availing themselves of literary speech, some authors - notably those interested in securing for themselves a place in the power structure - carefully heeded the conventions of a chosen genre. They presented in their works precisely those literary credentials that they hoped would gain them entry. AI-Hamadhani brought to perfection the rhymed and parallel prose (sa}) that had by Buyid times become the hallmark of the chancellery style (Stewart). The same observation can be made of authors of contemporary dynastic histories and of the much later llkhanid mirrors for princes. The latter group of writings moreover adhered to a standard catalogue of topics and a ten-chapter format that had earned general acceptance (Marlow). Individuals who had already gained status within a court hierarchy took greater liberty with literary customs. By famously recounting his experience of the Muslim pilgrimage in a qa.Jida, the poet laureate of six caliphs, al-Bul).turi, arrogated to himself a ritual authority long lost to poets and pronounced the verdict of legitimacy over a disputed caliphal succession (Ali). Though acting on the demand to produce a book of advice for kings, Ni~am al-Mulk created with his Siyiisatniima a highly individual work. Certain situations called for the alteration of an existing genre or spurred the creation of a new one. Thus the two Statutes of Government, penned nearly simultaneously by a Shafici and a I:Ianafi jurisconsult for the caliph al-QaJim, were sui generis, as this caliph and his predecessor aI-Qadir had designed an entirely new bond with the city's religious

x

XI

establishment (Hanne). A less clear case, for lack of comparative evidence, is the literary form of the MamlUk shadow play; though most plays were certainly performed the author of the only three extant which are in orally in colloquial Middle Arabic, claims for them an unprecedented literary status (Buturovic). Despite this generic pliancy, a few genres resisted instrumentalization for patronage. The earthy, irreverent rubaT (whether or not its authorship may be attributed to (Umar Khayyam) represented one such example (Davidson). The same applied to the later Persian ghazal in the hands of ~a)ib Tabrizl. This illustrious poet eternalized the cosmic qualities of the I:Iasanabad bridge and his own poetic authorship, but omitted any mention of the ~afavid royal builder, (Abbas II (Losensky). In sum, the power and versatility of the literary word depended equally on the required or selected genre and the official or popular empowerment of those who used it. To face up to his sovereign's greater might, a writer needed to bolster his stance by investing himself with a higher authority. The two Statutes of Government present a rare example of a near balance of power obtained between a much reduced caliph and the assembled jurisconsults of his capital. The written theological endorsement of the caliphal office acted de facto as a literary contTact, for it strengthened both parties against outside military threat by appealing to a shared sacred concept of government. Herein ideal theoretical stipulations were more important than any reflection of the actual chaotic circumstances (Hanne). Appeals to lofty values mattered particularly in those writings that imparted criticism. In his lament (ritha for al-Mutawakkil, al-Bu1).turi spoke in the name of divine justice, when he cursed the deceased caliph's murderer and successor and called for revenge (which would have involved the impossibility of taking the life of a sitting caliph). Then, to retract his pronouncements without losing face, the poet provided himself with the ritual purification and religious status of a pilgrim (baii). The new caliph acknowledged the reversal and ratified by high public reward the idealized image of himself that al-Bul).turi offered him in a praise qa~ida (Ali). Ni?am al-Mulk drew on the model character of history, notably the shining image of Mal).mud of Ghazna, literally to teach lessons to his own master Malikshah. He freely edited historical facts into accounts that cast justice, peace, civic order, and the protection of social hierarchy as proofs of divine legitimation; if Malikshah were not to promote these, he would expose himself as an unworthy usurper. In the first part of the Siyasatniima, the Saljiiq sultan still received at least a partial endorsement; in the second part, the vizier saw him fail on many accounts, and the contract between them lapsed both personally and politically (Simidchieva). Saljiiq rulers tended to be less concerned with their role in history than monarchs of preceding dynasties had been, and their officials largely took over the role of commissioning or receiving dynastic histories. Historians, taking pains to inculcate in these viziers the importance of their own discipline, reflected this challenge to their relevance and their dire need for self-validation (Meisami). Mutatis mutandis this held true also for the authors of advice literature under the Ilkhanids (Marlow). J

)

Moral ambitions were much curtailed in al-Hamadhani's mendicant epistles, in which he half proffered the excuse of (indeed) unstable times and half parodied his very quest. the greater part of his message, Nonetheless the artistry of sal namely his exceptional skill as an epistolographer (Stewart). Rather than openly attempting to move the status quo closer to any preconceived ideal, the shadow plays administered their criticism through distorting and inverting reality. The scurrilous, estranged characters inhabiting Ibn Daniyal's panorama of Mamliik Cairo were typified enough to remain recognizable, while the burlesque immorality and prurient outcome of the plays protected the author's criticism of an enforced public morality (Buturovic). Whatever the writer's choice of genre, it harbored certain values that, depending on his creative skills and authorial stature, he might exploit. His success ultimately rested, however, with the culture and interests of his recipient. To make up for the absence of these elements, a writer's energies were spent in asserting his virtual authority and amplifying his voice through historical example, religious ritual and law, and verbal artifice. The panacea of ethical and didactic literature illustrates that written communication retained its appeal and currency for those in power through most of the pre-modem Near East. In times of instability, when this was no longer the case, authors lost their voices, and their silence imparted its own powerful condemnation.

Beatrice Gruendler

Louise Marlow

Acknow ledgements

It is our pleasure to thank all those who participated in the original colloquium, first of all the contributors themselves, as well as Dimitri Gutas, Ahmad Dallal, and Abbas Amanat who chaired panels and stimulated the discussion. We also thank Maureen Draicchio, Barbara Papacoda, and Felizitas Opwis for ensuring the smooth organization of the event and Ioanna Gutas for giving it a festive tone. Generous financial support was provided by the Edward J. and Dorothy Clarke Kempf Fund, the Council on Middle East Studies, and the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations of Yale University.

We are grateful to Angelika Neuwirth et al. for accepting the volume into the series Literaturen im Kontext: Arabisch - Persisch - Turkisch, published under the auspices of the Dr. Ludwig Reichert Verlag. Furthermore we wish to acknowle~ge the assistance of Wellesley College and the Whitney Humanities Center of Yale University with the costs of the book's production. We are indebted to Thomas Breier for the final layout, compiled with care and patience, transatlantic efficiency, and multilingual expertise and to Tara Zend for valuable stylistic revisions at all stages. Notwithstanding all the help received, we remain solely responsible for any remaining errors.

Beatrice Gruendler

Louise Marlow

Contents

Preface Acknow ledgements

v XIII

Samer M. Ali (University o/Texas at Austin) Praise for Murder? Two Odes by al-Bul;turi Surrounding an Abbasid Patricide

Devin J Stewart (Emory University) Professional Literary Mendicancy in the Letters and Maqiimiit ofBadr aI-Zaman al-Hamadhani

39

Eric J Hanne (Florida Atlantic University) Abbasid Politics and "The Classical Theory of the Caliphate"

49

Julie S. Meisami (University o/Ox/ord) Rulers and the Writing of History

73

Marta Simidchieva (University o/Toronto) Kingship and Legitimacy as Reflected in Ni~am al-Mulk's Siyiisatniima, Fifth/Eleventh Century

97

Olga M. Davidson (Brandeis University) Genre and Occasion in the Rubii(iyyiit ofcUmar Khayyam: The Rubii(i, Literary History, and Courtly Literature

133

Amila Buturovic (York University) "Truly, This Land is Triumphant and Its Accomplishments Evident!" Baybars's Cairo in Ibn Daniyal' s Shadow Play

149

Louise Marlow (Wellesley College) The Way o/Viziers and the Lamp o/Commanders (Minhiij al-wuzarii) wa-siriij al-umarii} of Al).mad al-I~fahbadhi and the Literary and Political Culture of Early Fourteenth-Century Iran

169

Paul E. Losensky (Indiana University) "The Equal of Heaven's Vault": The Design, Ceremony, and Poetry of the I:Iasanabad Bridge

195

Notes on Contributors

217

Index of Names, Places, and Works

221

Index of Subjects and Terms

231

Two Odes

-.:" ....... "..-.rl11n.o-

Samer Mahdy Ali (University

an Abbasid at

The caliph al-Mutawakkil cala llah reigned for fourteen years (232-47/847-61) as head of the Abbasid state.} In the winter of 247/861, he unexpectedly withdrew his approval from the heir apparent, al-Munta~ir billah (d. 248/862), in favor of his youngest son, al-MuCtazz billah (r. 252· 5/866-9).2 Shortly thereafter, al-Mutawakkil was murdered in his palace by his personal guards in a plot that implicated al-Munta~ir. AI-Mutawakkil's court poet, Abu cDbada al-Walid b. CUbayd al-Bu~turl (d. 284/897), rose to the occasion to voice his outrage and loyalty. In a vehement elegy (rithi:?), al-Bu~turl extolled his late patron, accused his son of patricide, cursed him, and vowed vengeance - according to one version of the historical events.3 The poet not only stigmatized al-Munta~ir, he urged members of the court to support a more worthy candidate for the caliphate (vv. 32-3). The poet's political guidance was not followed, but the fact remained that the new caliph was stigmatized and damaged. Abbasid literary sources indicate that al-Bu~turi left Samarra for the ~ajj, and two months later, returned to praise none other than al-Munta~ir.4 The poet in his panegyric now salutes al-Munta~ir as the hero who thwarted disaster and renewed the majesty of the caliphate. 5 The two poems have elicited admiration from medieval scholars in both literary and historical sources,6 but the odes stand in puzzling contradiction. In the first

2

3 4 5 6

This paper is a revised version of chapter 4 of the author's dissertation, "Ardor for Memory: Mythicizing the Patricide of al-Mutawakkil in Court Poetry" (Ali 2002). I would like to thank my advisor, Suzanne Stetkevych, for her constructive criticism and encouragement on earlier drafts. Research was supported by a Fulbright-Hays Training Grant, part of the Doctoral Dissertation Research Program of the U.S. Department of Education. I am indebted to the Fulbright commissions of Egypt, Germany, and Spain for their assistance during 1998-9. An earlier version of this paper was delivered to the Departamento de Estudios Arabes (Instituto de Filologia) at the Consejo Superior de Investigaci6nes Cientificas, Madrid, Spain, where I benefited from the comments of Heather Ecker, Howard Miller, and Manuela Marin. Sections of this paper were discussed at the Working Group on Modernity and Islam at the Institute for Advanced Studies, Berlin, 2000-1, and I acknowledge my productive exchanges with Angelika Neuwirth, Renate Jacobi, Hilary Kilpatrick, and Friederike Pannewick. I also express my gratitude to the co-editors of this volume, Beatrice Gruendler and Louise Marlow. Unless stated otherwise, all translations are the author's. EI-Hibri 1999, 192-3; cf. al-Tabari (d. 314/923), Ta'rlkh, 9: 225; al-Mascudi (d. ca. 345/956), Muruj, 4: 115-22. See also Gordon (2001, 82), who contends, based on numismatic analysis by Michael Bates, that al-Mutawakkil genuinely favored al-MuCtazz as heir. El-Hibri, however, following alTabari's material, reaches the conclusion that the caliph supported al-Munta~ir, but shifted under pressure. al-BuI:tturi, Dlwan, 2: 1047. For an alternate account, see below p. 20. al-Macarri (d. 449/1058), al-Luzumiyyat, 610; al-~uE (d. 946), Akhbar al-Bul:zturl, 101. al-Bul;tturI, Diwan, 2: 849-50. al-Masciidi, Muruj, 4: 122, 135; al-I-.Iu~ri (d. 413/1022), Zahr al-adab, 215-16; al-Thaciilibi (d. 429/ 1038), Thimaral-qulub, 191; al-~uli,Akhbaral-Bul:zturl, 101.

Samer Mahdy Ali

Praise for Murder?

poem, the poet stigmatizes the heir; in the second, he valorizes him. The poet at first withholds his support, but later found it possible to reverse his stance.

ror ," even a preliminary reading of the text shows the absence of any formal features of apology or self-redemption. 14 To the contrary, al-Munta~ir treats the poem as a favor. He reciprocates with an sum, which was uncharacteristic of Whatever function the praise might have served, it did more than tum a profit or appease an angry patron. However, the most problematic aspect ofpayfs approach is his assumption that court poets are, in effect, weaklings. This assumption underestimates the pride with which many medieval scholars and litterateurs viewed the verbal, and thus political, power of al-Bul,1turl.

2

the and abundance of panegyric in the medieval era, this genre seems to pose special problems for modern scholars, whether because the praise is offered as a commodity or because of the asymmetry in power between patron and poet. Both conditions seem unconducive to a romantic image of heart-felt admiration. 7 Scholars have, thus, turned their attention to social functions. Major endeavors have proposed to reframe the issue of sincerity, to posit practical functions for praise within the context of the court and society. Julie Meisami, for example, has identified how the praise poem can instruct and guide the patron;8 Beatrice Gruendler has argued that the poet can shape the very terms of patronage;9 Stefan Sperl has discussed praise as a liturgical expression to the king, lO and Suzanne Stetkevych has examined panegyric as a kind of rite of passage, entailing a change in social condition ratified by a ritual exchange. I 1 These attempts are critical to understanding the panegyric as more than an expression of feelings. And very fortunately, these methods have had their own performative effect in making the polemic over sincerity seem naIve and superficial at best.

3

The "poet's greed" theory also falls short of explaining the appeal of these poems, as evidenced by their impact and reception. Less than a generation after the event, al-~un: registers the poet's effect in restoring al-Munta~ir's battered public image. 16 Likewise, a tenth-century historian, al-Mascudi, takes note of al-Bul,1turi's cleansing of al-Munta~ir's reputation. 17 AI-BuJ:tturI's poems are in fact transmitted for eleven centuries, so that ten of fifteen extant Diwiin manuscripts record them. Despite the instabilities of court patronage, the more persistent question is one of poetic function and appeal, which invites a thoroughgoing engagement with these odes. This article will address both the political and mythic effects of his words. It will focus on how al-BuJ:tturI moves and inspires others in a moment of state crisis and for generations thereafter.

AI-BuJ:tturi's two odes remain a puzzle, however, because they stand in complete contradiction. Putting aside the question of sincerity, if al-BuJ:tturi is effective in the first case, how can he be effective in the second? Recent critics have attempted to address this question with disappointing results, because their analyses disregard the poet's pair of odes by attributing them to frantic opportunism. 12 According to Shawqi payf, the poet created a problem for himself by criticizing al-Munta~ir and needed to excuse himself.I3 Attitudes that dismiss poetry and poets bring scholars to a dead end, for they fail to explain the appeal of these poems as art at the time and for generations, because the issue of appeal rests on the emotional and aesthetic effect of these odes. If one presumes that al-BuJ:tturi presented the panegyric to al-Munta~ir solely to compensate for an "er-

I will argue that the two odes function on both the political and mythic level, thus having short- and long-term effects. At the moment of crisis, in the short-term, the dyad serves as a memorable ritual for the "transfer of allegiance" between patrons. I8 Initially, the poet's elegy for al-Mutawakkil denies al-Munta~ir endorsement, but his panegyric to al-Munta~ir conveys it, thus emphasizing the prerogative of the poet to unmake and make authority. However, the poet's choice of Mecca as the goal of his journey, and ~ajj as the ritual of atonement, suggests a mythic redemptive effect that resonated far beyond the moment in cultural memory.

7

Verbal Art and the Power of the Poet

8 9 lO 11

12 13

On the problem of sincerity, see Meisami 1987,41-3, and S. Stetkevych 1996a, 35. On the rejection of the qa~ida in the West, see Sells 1987. Sells's article, though well-documented, paints an overly bleak picture and should be read in the context of J. Stetkevych's 1979 article, which argues that German Orientalism enthusiastically engaged and assimilated the qa~lda, including panegyric, particularly in adaptations and translations, but then in the mid-nineteenth century, enthusiasm was replaced by a stale technical approach, in which philologists sought to compile perfect editions. Stetkevych points out that over the past hundred years, this obsession with banalities has suspended a serious engagement with the ode. For more on the rejection of the traditional ode by modern Arab poets and critics, see Jayyusi 1977, 1994, 1996. One can fmd a paramount example of a Nasseristsocialist condemnation of the panegyric profession in payf (1990). AI-Bul,lturI's success as a poet is attributed to his "greed" (1990, 278, 279, 281) and his willingness to praise anyone for reward (ibid., 280). We are also told that the poet's cupidity had no limits (ibid., 282, 283). Cf. Wahb Rtlmiyya who, critical of rejectionists, posits specific functions for the courtly ode, and deems it reasonable that poets would seek favors, money, and other material benefits from their patrons (1997, 53-67). Meisami 1987,43-6. Gruendler 1996, 106; and 2003, 75. Sperl 1977, 33. S. Stetkevych 1996a, 1: 36-40; 1994,4-5. payf 1990, 278; al-Bul,lturI, Diwiin, 5: 2792. payf 1990, 278.

This interpretation may seem far-fetched, for it assumes that the poet possesses a high degree of verbal influence. Indeed this approach is predicated on the critical proposition that artistic communication both creates and expresses the authority of the speaker. Performers of verbal art are both admired and feared for their capacity to stimulate the emotional participation of their audiences and thereby influence the emergence of new relations of power and privilege. 19 In addition to literary theory, Abbasid sources themselves confirm the power of the poet to move his audience publicly and demonstrate his influence in the face of royal authority. AI-BuJ:tturI, in particular, plays a special role for 14 15 16 17 18 19

Cf. S. Stetkevych 1994, 1996b, 1997a. al-~tln, Akhbiir al-Bubturi, 101. Ibid. al-MasctldI, Muruj, 4: 135. Cf. S. Stetkevych 1994, 1996a. Bauman 1977,43-4.

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the Abbasid dynasty. More than any other contemporary, he uses his personal stature as a poet-hero simultaneously to vent discontent and to uphold the public image of the Abbasids as sacred, legitimate, and generous rulers. In the Samarran era, he endures as caliphs are made and unmade. He serves a total of six rulers: al-Mutawakkil, al-Munta~ir (r. 247-8/861-2), al-MustaCin (r. 248-52/862-6), al-MuCtazz, al-Muhtadi (r. 255-6/86970), and al-MuCtamid (r. 256-79/870-92), in addition to their vassals and subordinates. Even the pious al-Muhtadi, known for his dislike of poets, had to concede al-Bul).turl's role in promoting the Abbasid line, calling him "the orator of our family and the poet of our dynasty."20 Moreover, the fact that such an honor is transmitted in Ibn aVImranl's historical work, some seven centuries after al-Bul).turi, attests to the readiness of later authors to concur in retrospect with this assessment.

Crotty notes that in the Homeric epic, supplication scenes gain dramatic force precisely because the supplicant exhibits the capacity to shame the benefactor into showing mercy.24 By appealing to a verbal ritual and a time-honored code of heroism, the seemingly weak possess and exercise the power to give or deny society's approva1. 25 In short, Crotty's formulations and al-Bul}turi's phrasing indicate that there is surprising potential for a poet to gain power in the rituals of supplication before an assembly. For al-Bul).turi, the proof of influence is that his requests are not denied and that his verbal productions function as symbolic commodities in an exchange of "gifts for the needy and ransom for the captives." According to al-Bul:J.turi, the stature that the poet gains from the exercise of influence inevitably enhances the artistic reach of his panegyric as it circulates. In a marvelously self-reflexive line, he explains,

4

wa-I-madbu laysa yajuzu qii~iyata l-madii baltii yakuna l-majdu majda l-shii cirj26

In the autumn of his life, al-Bul).turi has reason to boast of his verbal prowess: in abqa aw ahlik fa-qad niltu llati malaJat ~udura aqiiribiwa-Cudiiti wa-ghanitu nadmiina l-khaliiVi niibihan dhikri wa-niiCimatan bi-him nashawiiti wa-shafaCtufi l-amri l-jalili ilayhimu bacda l-jalili fa-anjabu talabiiti

And panegyric cannot spread far and wide unless the glory is the glory of the poet. H is important to stress that the poet's display of power is to some extent competitive. According to Ibn Rash'iq, a poet's plea is most alluring when he inspires his patron to make a concession. This, he argues, makes poets more noble than state secretaries: Some object that poets perennially serve secretaries, but that we never find state secretaries serving poets. They [the critics] are, however, unaware of certain facts (anbiil It happens to be this way only because the poet relies on his own devices. With what he wields, he can overpower the secretary and even the king. He [the poet] demands what they possess! And he can take it! As for the secretary, with what instrument (iila) does he appeal (yaq~udu) to the poet and ask (yarju) him for what he possesses?27

wa-~anaCtufi l-carabi 1-~aniiYa cindahum min rifdi tulliibin wa-fakki cuniitj21

Whether I live on or die, I have supplied words that have filled the hearts of my relatives and foes. I remained a companion of caliphs, celebrating my glory, and, because of them, my reveries were sweet! I interceded in one mighty matter after another, and they met my requests. I performed for the Arabs good works: gifts for the needy and ransom for the captives. In part, al-Bul).tur'i's pride in his accomplishment rests on his ability to intercede or petition, and thereby obtain concessions. Moreover, supplication in the form of panegyric verse is made memorable, transmittable, and performable, thus immortalizing an encounter between supplicant and benefactor for generations of audiences. In apparent irony, the poet's need and deprivation are transformed into power when he displays his vulnerability. As S. Stetkevych proposed,22 Kevin Crotty's observations on the Homeric epic equally apply to supplication scenes at the Abbasid court. Because supplication calls upon parallel situations in group memory, whose characters and roles are familiar, supplication "enables the participants to experience victory, shame, memory, and pity in an especially compelling way and to apprehend and configure them anew."23

20 21 22 23

Ibn al-'ImranI (d. 95011543), al-InbiP, 136. Ibn Rashlq (d. 45611063), al-cUmda, 1: 81 and al-BulfturI, Diwiin, 1: 365. s. Stetkevych 1997a. Crotty 1994, 19.

5

Implicit in these comments is a vision of supplication that views the patron's sacrifice as a prize or a trophy. The poet's stature is in essence measured by his ability to extract favors. The favor may entail a direct gift to the poet, but Ibn Rash'iq is careful to give several examples of poets who approach their patron on behalf of others. 28 That is, he shows the poet playing a mythic role as an intercessor or redeemer (shafi) before a fearsome authority.29 Based on the way al-Bul).tur'i presents himself to his audiences, his reception, and modem theoretical formulations, this study recognizes the poet's role as not only politically influential, but mythic by virtue of his capacity to assume convincingly the role of supplicant or redeemer in the face of awesome authority. In doing so,

24 25 26 27 28 29

Ibid., 5, 18-19. Ibid. al-BulfturI, Diwiin, 2: 1018. Ibn Rashiq, cUmda, 1: 12. Ibid., 1: 73-88. One such example is the role that 'A1qama b. 'Abada played in redeeming his brother (or nephew) held prisoner by the Ghassiinid king al-I:Iarith. In this case, the praise poem serves as an offering in a ritual gift exchange, namely as a ransom bid, which the king will value more than a languishing prisoner (S. Stetkevych 1994,3). Alternatively, the case of the fugitive Ka'b b. Zuhayr illustrates that the poet can present a gift of praise in order to redeem himself and essentially buy back his (renewed) life (ibid., 36).

6

Samer Mahdy Ali

he invokes time-honored beliefs and attitudes about the vulnerability of hfe, the prospects of renewal, and the need for cosmic order. Following Crotty's approach to Homeric supplication, one might find it useful to view caliphal panegyric as a show of verbal prowess in the face of royal authority. While thc caliphal patron has an interest in preserving a public image of munificence, the poet safeguards his privilege of verbal effectiveness as measured by favors granted. Within this rapport, the poet can be expected to employ wisely strategies that help achieve his interests, which categorically benefit society at large by providing a model of how subordinates can gain surprising leverage through oratory in the face of authority. Most importantly, poets serve as models of tenacity, One should not presume, however, that resistance inevitably leads to victory or revolution. There are no clear winners or losers, and in an Arab courtly context, neither poets nor their patrons would benefit from dominating the other. Michel Foucault offers a useful theoretical formulation on the exercise of power, which stresses its dialectical and interactional dimensions. He notes that power relations are characterized by "a perpetual battle rather than a contract regulating a transaction or the conquest of territory."30 If we read panegyric as an AraboIslamic discourse on power and patronage, the exchange between poet and patron can be viewed, following Foucault, as an exchange of messages. These messages are not an end in themselves, but a means of defining and adjusting a relationship, and therefore they can be "a hindrance, a stumbling-block, a point of resistance and a starting point for an opposing strategy."31 In short, the discourse between poets and patrons demonstrates that interaction is possible between these two interested groups, despite the layers of intimidation employed by monarchs. In tandem with a discursive approach, there is a need to expand our conception of artistic communication to encompass verbal as well as non-verbal art (such as the material culture) in a community, and to realize the dialectal relationships among diverse art forms. 32 In the present case, the poet communicates most notably in verse, but his artistic expressions respond to the symbols used by the king, most visibly here in the monumental symbolism of the palace. This approach follows Richard Bauman and Charles Briggs's contention that artistic expressions act as modes of persuasion, enabling interested parties in a cultural setting to communicate and compete for privilege and recognition. 33 The poet's role herein stands in a dialectical tension with the king's. Vis-a.-vis the poet, the monarch uses architectural symbolism to evoke and claim the mythic role of sacral king. In the face of the caliph's absolute power, embodied in the palace, the poet has the task - daunting as it may be - of convincing his audience of his own verbal prowess.

30 31 32 33

Foucault 1995,26. Foucault 1990, 1Ol. Bauman and Briggs Ibid., 61.

1990,60.

Praise for Murder?

7

Spatial Symbolism and the Power The (r. 218-27/833-42) is credited with moving the from Baghdad to Samarra within a year of his ascension to the throne. 34 His intention was to end the persistent friction between his Turkish troops and Baghdad's civilian population.3 5 The city remained the capital until al-MuCtamid decreed a return to Baghdad in 279/892. 36

Literary and architectural remains document that Abbasid caliphs commissioned palaces, which projected their cosmic centrality and, simultaneously, their putative control over the cosmos. Of the scores of palaces that were erected in Samarra, a few have been excavated, and some plans have been drawn and studied at least partially. The common theme of Samarran palaces appears to have been titanic size,37 which obliquely but forcefully implied the mythic stature of their owners.38 AI-Mutawakkil, for example, built a residence called al-Jawsaq al-Khaqan1 (2211836), which covered 432 acres, an area that took researchers twenty years to excavate.3 9 Planners designed the palace complex with enormous courtyards, wide gardens and parks, open air fountains, canals, game preserves, and polo grounds. There are several reflections in classical literary sources of the belief that al-Mutawakkil intended to evoke a cosmos with his palaces, as if he possessed and controlled a mythic realm. This idea crystallized in anecdotes and the very naming of some of his structures. In reference to al-Jawsaq al-Khaqan1, the Kitiib al-Diyiiriit reports that al-Mutawakkil asked Abu VAyna J - a courtier famous for his quick wit and sharp tongue - "What do you think of my residence here?" He replied, "I see people building homes in the world, but you build the world in your home."40 Thus, in its size and complexity, the creation of al-Mutawakkil "contains" the creation of God. Other anecdotes reveal a perception that the caliph projected his own centrality in architecture. When Jacfar al-Mutawakkil completed a new palace city just north of Samarra, he identified the city explicitly with himself: he named it al-Jacfariyya, called its chief palace al-Ja cfar1 (245-7/859-61), and requested that upon his death the edifice be his sepulcher.41 According to the Abbasid historian YaCqubi (d. 284/897), he held audience and said, "Now I know that I am indeed a king, for I have built myself a city and live in it."42 In a double overlay of meaning, the palace was an extension of the caliph's person and a thumbprint of the cosmos.

34 35 36 37

Gordon 2001,50; Northedge 1995. Northedge 1995. Gordon 2001, 141. Ettinghausen and Grabar 1987, 83-6; Creswell

1989, 337; Bloom and Blair 1997, 52; Hillenbrand 1994, 398-406. 38 Hillenbrand 1994,339. 39 Ibid. and Northedge 1993. 40 al-Shiibushti (d. 39911008 or earlier), Kitab al-Diyarat, 9. 41 Ibn (Abdrabbih (d. 328/940), (Iqd, 5: 344 and Northedge 1991, 78. 42 Creswell 1989, 367.

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The king's centrality was further embodied in the throne room of his palaces. In all of Balkuwara (235-45/849-59), I~tabulat 232-5/847-50), and
of daily prayer, proper burial, and pilgrimage. At least three Samarran palaces, Qa~r alIt?tabulat, and Qa~r al-CAshiq (ca. 264-8/877-82), are oriented with the processional axis pointing north-east. The use of the anti-qibla-axis enabled the caliph to face the Kaaba as God's sole vicar on earth. At the same time, this plan must have created a problem for visitors of the Muslim nobility.

8

To gain access to this central figure, a visitor to the Samarran palaces (usually a member of the nobility) had to traverse interminably long corridors of procession. To endure adversity implied deference to the king, and was thus inscribed in bodily practices. In Balkuwara, the corridor measured some 575 meters,45 that of I~tabulat 1,000 meters,46 while the earliest and longest was al-Jawsaq al-Khaqani: with a procession of 1,400 meters, or nearly one mile. 47 In addition, the axes of procession were often designed with built-in stages that suggested a drama of self-transformation resembling cultic initiation rites. Samarran architects contrasted vast open courtyards (sensory overload) with tightly-knit warrens (sensory deprivation), which enabled them sufficiently to awe visitors by physically and psychologically shocking them with the extreme contrasts of space usage, lighting, and, in the summer, temperature. Since in every palace the main axis was also processional, one might associate the protracted discomfort of traversing the sun-baked courtyard (fina )48 with the rite of passage reflected in many ceremonial poems. The rite of passage in the ode has been well documented as a formula of composition and as an artistic transformation. 49 The parataxis of triumphant arches and vast courtyards offered the visitor a walk, sure to remind him of his smallness as he pondered the majesty of his host and to produce the proper frame of mind - fear of the caliph's wrath and hope for his beneficence. J

Caliphs were not only convinced of their own power and centrality but were also jealous of competing localities that might be recognized as empowering and central to others. Of the palaces that have been excavated and studied, three at Samarra were oriented in opposition to the holiest site in Islam, the Kaaba, which indicated the direction (qibla)

43 44 45 46 47 48 49

See plans in Hillenbrand 1994, 575-7; Northedge 1991, 78; 1992,81; and 1993. Hillenbrand 1994,406-7. For an earlier dating, see Creswell 1989,339-42 and Northedge 1992,68. Hillenbrand 1994, 575. Ibid. Ibid.; Creswell 1989, 337; and Bloom and Blair 1997, 52. Lane 1984, s.v. "f-n-y." Note the paronomasia (jinas) betweenjina' (courtyard) andfana' (death). S. Stetkevych 1994,3; 1996a, 44; 1993, 7. Balkuwara embodied the symbolism through elevation. The axis of procession traversed three planes (Hillenbrand 1994, 398-406), so that a visitor proceeded upward through the symbolic rite of passage.

9

If a visitor were to tum his back to the caliph, this would constitute a vulgar gesture to the court. 50 When the visitor departed, propriety demanded that he exit the throne room by walking backwards. 5 I In the case of three known palaces, the anti-qibla processional axis forced the visitor to honor the caliph ceremonially with his front and desecrate the qihla with his back as he moved, bowed, and prostrated in fulfillment of court protocol. As the qibla is, for pious Muslims, the most symbolic of bodily orientations, the medieval subject had figuratively to offend either God or the caliph, creating a hierarchical conflict between God and his first executive. In Baghdad, orientation and architecture were used even more explicitly to entrap subjects. The city's palace abutted on the mosque so that, in the palace, subordinates had to tum their backs on the Holy Shrine - the pious center - and in the mosque, they did the same to the throne chamber - the caliph's center. 52 Marshall Hodgson notes that the ruler's appetite for conspicuous displays of submission provoked the anger of pious men of religion and true believers in general. 53 From their perspective, the caliph did not have the right to create any ceremony that resembled divine worship. In what was surely an affront to pious sensibilities, palace architecture was designed to draw the subordinate into a space beyond his control and force him to recognize royal authority as a goal of bodily ceremony, at the expense of Mecca. This is not to suggest that the subject was barred from the mosque space; instead the tension was meant to be tacit and covert. By sanctioning this pitting in opposition, caliphs fostered a conflict of loyalties in order subtly to deflate potentially legitimate pious rivals and critics among the cAlids, Qarmatians, Kharijites, and men of religion. In the Abbasid realm, Mecca thus represented an opposite center of power, the symbols of which caliphs sought to manipulate and mitigate. It is poetically significant that al-Bul).turi: had to venture to the palace's counter-center to acquire the power of redemption.

The Poet-Hero as Redeemer Owing to the imposed centrality of the king figure, his demise posed a catastrophe, which was potentially cathartic in both Semitic and Iranian culture. In ancient Persia the king was the personification of law that guided and protected subjects. Calvin McEwan explains that when the king died law ceased for five days.54 He further notes, "The king 50 Note how bodily orientation and choreography express the claims of authority on the performer (Connerton 1994, 71). 51 Pseudo-Jiil).i?, Kitab al-Taj, 8. 52 Hillenbrand 1994,395,574. 53 Hodgson 1974,283. 54 McEwan 1934, 18.

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was the state and its animate constitution."55 But the death of the king, to be sure, was not simply a tragedy for the court; it was a catastrophe that affected the commonwealth. Sperl observes that "when the king, as secular and religious of society, is killed or harmed the whole world order may collapse; diseases and destruction may afflict the land."56

A literary parallel can be found in the tragedy of Orestes' vengeance. Abbasid sources provide only fragments of poetry and narrative that structure the pathos of the court, but these coincide with Ancient Greek literary patterns of trauma, blood sacrifice, and redemption. The Orestes tragedy illustrates this emotional double bind, for it presents a clash between a son's duties to his unavenged father and those to his guilty mother. His father, Agamemnon, is away at war as the tragedy opens. His mother, Clytaemnestra, plots the murder of her husband upon his homecoming, in order to conceal her affair with Aegisthus. 63 Once Agamemnon is killed, the adulterers celebrate their new reign over the House of Atreus and their rule over Argos. The boy Orestes is sent away, and no hero remains to right the wrongs.

10

In lower ancient Mesopotamia, the death of the king was also deemed a woeful omen for the fertility of the land, causing drought and low crop yields. 57 In the same vein, though employing pastoral imagery, al-Nabigha al-Dhubyani (sixth century) warns in one poem, fa-in yahlik Abu Qabusa yahlik rab~u I-nasi wa-l-shahru l-baramu 58

If King Abu Qiibus 59 perishes, the vernal camps of all people and their sacred month perish with him.

In Bedouin life, "vernal camps" denoted the mildest season at a place where water and pasturage were sufficient to sustain a gathering of kin, which was a festive event among Bedouins.60 As a topos, however, it connoted an idyllic habitation, one that was cosmologically "primal."61 The loss of vernal camps, and the accompanying sacred months (for pilgrimage, slaughter, and feasting),62 represented a collapse of tribal joys and customs.

11

Lesser members of the House of Atreus live in fear, but cannot forget the unavenged blood of Agamemnon. Orestes' sisters, Electra and Chrysothemis, are powerless to avenge their father's blood themselves, but they decry their culpable mother and her lover by castigating them in public and frequenting their father's grave. 64 In The Libation Bearers, Electra visits the grave of "godlike Agamemnon" and unleashes her grievances: I ... call upon my father: Pity me; pity your own Orestes. How shall we be lords in our house? We have been sold, and go as wanderers because our mother bought herself, for us, a man, Aegisthus, he who helped her hand to cut you down. Now I am what a slave is, and Orestes lives outcast from his great properties, while they go proud in the high style and luxury of what you worked to win. By some good fortune let Orestes come back home. Such is my prayer, my father. Hear me; hear. 65

The death of al-Mutawakkil posed graver problems still because the king did not quietly pass away; he was assassinated in his own dwelling. As a patricide, this death threw the court into a moral and political conflict due to a clash of imperatives. Courtiers who felt loyalty to the Abbasid caliphate - presumably all but a small faction - found themselves in a double bind. On the one hand, they had the duty to avenge or at least grieve thc dead king, and on the other, they had to greet the successor. Under the circumstances, the one deserving welcome also deserved wrath. Fulfilling both duties was impossible, and failing to do so dishonorable. A general feeling of shame thus prevailed at the court for not being able - out of fear - to act honorably. The court needed a redeemer.

The supplication not only reveals Electra's anguish after the regicide, or patricide, but her vision of a hero to rid the House of Atreus of wrongdoing and infamy, namely, Orestes.

55 56 57 58 59 60 61

While away, Orestes is haunted by spirits to avenge Agamemnon's blood and warned by Apollo and Zeus that, if he fails, he will suffer the fate of an outcast, debarred from temple and sacrifice and afflicted with leprosy.66 To fulfill this imperative, however, Orestes risks angering the furies, for avenging his father means matricide. The boy who once drew milk from his mother's bosom must, as a man, now draw blood. 67 Aegisthus, in the meantime, lives in fear of Clytaemnestra's son, but when drunk becomes contemptuous. On one occasion, he dances on Agamemnon's grave and pelts the headstone with rocks, singing, "Come Orestes, come and defend your own!"68 The villain is tempting fate, and the hero is burning to oblige him.

Ibid. Sperl 1977, 23. al-Nu aymI1995,92. Ibid. The Lakhmid king of al-~Ilra, al-Nucman III b. Mundhir (r. 580-602). Cole 1975,47. J. Stetkevych 1994, 66. The psychological and semiotic richness of rabr can perhaps be captured in a scene of both subjective space and time. It is therefore useful to link it with M. M. Bakhtin's idea of chronotope: "Time, as it were, thickens, takes on flesh, becomes artistically visible; likewise, space becomes charged and responsive to the movements of time" (Bakhtin 1981, 84). Similarly, Theodor Gaster expresses a space-time image with his term topocosm. With it, he indicates anxiety and joy as the earth dies and comes back to life with the seasonal waning and waxing of daylight (1961,24). See also J. Stetkevych 1994, particularly the section on rab( (Vernal Encampment). 62 Four months were considered non-combat periods, the first three being consecutive: Dhii l-Qacda, Dhii I-I:J:ijja, al-MuJ:;J.aITam, and Rajab (Ibn Man?Ur (d. 71111311), Lisan, s.v. "l).-r-m"). C

63 64 65 66 67 68

Graves 1955,415. Ibid., 420. Aeschylus (d. 455 Be), The Libation Bearers, ll. 129-39. Graves 1955, 420. Ibid. Ibid., 419.

12

Praise for Murder?

Samer Mahdy Ali

Though different in detail, the situation at the Abbasid court is roughly analogous, for the narrative of the regicide is highly stylized to suit convention. Regicide narratives, such as in Oedipus, Julius Caesar, Hamlet, Macbeth, and the slaying of I:Jujr the father ofImru! al-Qays, share the motif of treachery at the hands of kin or allies, whence they derive their "primordial horror."69 Along with the horror, treachery evokes shame in those who are helpless to thwart or redress it. For example, Electra complains that she and her brother "have been sold, and go as wanderers because our mother bought herself, for us, a man." The mother's woeful "sale" brings about a new, vulnerable condition for her children. Electra says, "Now I am what a slave is, and Orestes lives outcast from his great properties."70 From pride and status, she and her brother are cast out because of their lack of power to prevent or remedy the situation. A similar sense of shame can be found at the Abbasid court. We read in the Kitiib alAghiinf about a poetess named Fa41 (d. ca. 257/871), who composed an elegy for a1Mutawakkil which virtually echoes Electra and the chorus. Conflicting imperatives immobilize her; she is conscious of the demands upon her, but tragically tom. Fa<;ll is asked on the morning after the murder, "What befell you yesterday?" and she sings through tears: inn a I-zamana bi-dha~/in kana ya!/ubuna ma kana aghfalana (anhu wa-ashana ma II wa-li/-dahri qad a~ba~tu hirnmatahu rna II wa-li/-dahri ma lil-dahri la kana71

Time has demanded revenge from us But how unmindful we were, how heedless! What does Fate want from me, that I have become its aim? What does Fate want from me? Would that Fate existed not. The poet Dicbil al-Khuzaci (d. 246/860) also sensed that courtiers could not fully grieve the father, nor salute the accession of the son. They were trapped: khalifatun mata lam ya}saf lahu a~adun wa-qama akharu lam yafra~ biM a~adu72

A caliph died for whom no one grieves, and another rose for whom no one rejoices. CAll b. al-Jahm (d. 249/863), furthermore, exacerbated the collective shame by voicing his disbelief: a-yuqtalu fi dari I-khilafati Jayarun (ala furqatin ~abran wa-antum shuhuduha fa-Ia talibun lil-tha}ri min ba(di mawtihi wa-Ia dajtun (an nafsihi man yuriduha73

69 S. Stetkevych 1993,244. 70 Aeschylus, The Libation Bearers, 11. 129-39. 71 al-I~fahanl (d. 356/967), al-Aghiinl, 19: 310. 72 aJ-Maqdisl (fl. 355/966), al-Bad), 6: 123. 73 CAn b. aJ-Jahm, Dlwiin, 116, vv. 30-1.

13

Was Jacfar killed treacherously in the caliphate's residence, while away from allies, and you all stood by? And is there no one to avenge him, upon his death, nor anyone to defend his life from those who want it? AI-Masciidl's narrative stresses the cowardice of those present when the crime occurred. Except for al-Fat}:l b. Khaqan, the caliph's familiar and vizier, all attendees failed to stand and fight. AI-Masciidi reports that the Turkish guards stormed the chamber; then "when the slave-boys and those present among the familiars (julasii)) and boon companions (nudamii)) saw them, they ran away helter-skelter Calii wujiihihim )."74 The caliph's courtiers are stjIl ridiculed seven centuries after the murder: the sixtecnthcentury historian Ibn al- cImrani reports that the lion-hearted al-Fat}:l threw himself before the caliph to shield him and cried, "There is no life without you, 0 Commander of the Faithful." In contrast, an effete courtier ran for the door, screaming, "A thousand lives without you, 0 Commander of the Faithful."75 Narratives close to the event, however, convey no humor. Honor required the son to slay the murderers, but they were his co-conspirators. Who then could rise up against him and remedy such a loathsome situation? Marwan b. Ahi I-Janiib (the Younger) (d. after 247/861) in particular invoked the pulpit as an emblem of caliphal authority, proclaiming that if the son does not avenge his father, the pulpit "will never cease to weep for him [the father]."76 In effect, Ibn Abi I:Iaf~a issued a reminder to the heir that the pulpit will testifY against him. In the wake of the son's inaction, another person was to redress the crisis.

Mandate for Sacrifice The pre-Islamic elegy (rithii)) calling for vengeance (tha)r) follows a ritual pattern, namely that of the rite of sacrifice. 77 In poems and anecdotes, blood vengeance functions as a sacrifice for the deceased and evinces a particular tripartite structure.7 8 In this respect, al-Bu1).turi's elegy evokes a pre-Islamic tradition of poetic vengeance and proposes a renewal by shifting from "the profane to the sacred and from the sacred back to the profane."79 It has also been observed that this structure brings about a new status for the poet in that the tripartite form of the rite of sacrifice coincides with Arnold van Gennep's rite of passage. In this regard, blood vengeance is a religious act that modifies the moral and social condition of the avenger when he offers up a victim and shoulders the burden of avenging his slain kinsman. 80 In the case of al-Bu1).turl's blood vengeance, the dynamics hark back to ancient Arab tribal precedents. However, the poet's 74 aJ-Mas(udl, Muruj, 4: 120; for 'alii wujuhihim, see Hava 1970, s.v. "w-j-h," and Lane 1984, s.v. "w-j-h." 75 Ibn al-cImriinl, al-Inbii}, 120. 76 Ibn Kathrr (d. ca. 77411373), al-Bidiiya, 10: 804. 77 S. Stetkevych 1993, 55. 78 Ibid., 57. 79 Ibid., 56, 75. 80 Ibid.

..-.

~'--'~.~

14

..

...= ........

-~.~~-;.,..-~~"

~

Praise for Murder?

Samer Mahdy Ali

I cannot forget the gloom of the palace when its herds were frightened, and its fawns and calves were terrified,

ambit of influence, as a redeemer, will be to reflect the changes he effects for an imperial, not a tribal, community. It is also the aim of this discussion to emphasize ..... c"H.n.""u the poet relies on and these verbal are neither hackneyed nor invariably convincing. From a performance perspective, it will be necessary to illustrate how the poet sustains the emotional involvement of his audience. If he can do so, the poet ascends to new heights in his profession. The historian al-Tabarl suggests that pressure mounted on the court to take swift action to fend off a state crisis. He reports that some 20,000 horsemen offered to avenge alMutawakkil, among them even vagabonds and gangsters. S! The narrative implies that even lowly men know the duty to avenge a slain leader. The poet's solution was neither to deny the tragedy nor to take up the sword himself, but to attempt to galvanize court opinion to avenge al-Mutawakkil and to install a suitable heir. AI-Bul)turl first uses his elegy to move from the profane to the sacred, consistent with the rites of blood vengeance. 82 In the elegy, the poet affirms the anguish of the court, shoulders the brunt of that burden and vows to draw blood. The opening of an elegy does not usually include a nasib with its bittersweet themes of lost love, people, and places. Rather, Ibn Rashiq explains that the poet in a state of shock and mourning preoccupies himself with the heavy business of conveying sad news. 83 He further elaborates that an excellent elegy "evinces distress and conveys sorrow, mingling grief, sadness, and the magnitude [of the moment]."S4 In other words, the specific losses of the day are framed in an elegiac idiom used to express distress and sorrow universally. In the opening of al-Bu1.Ituri's elegy, the specifics of the moment are lifted to the level of the universal. The ode then escalates in intensity as the poet faults those present and absent, then, dramatically, himself. At this point (v. 25), he forswears wine until blood vengeance is achieved: 85 A halting place on the Qatf!l, its fading [traces] have worn away; like an army, the calamities of fate attacked it repeatedly, As if the east wind is fulfilling its pledges, when it unfurls, lagging gusts blow evening and morning.

and when departure was announced, and covers and curtains were hastily torn down, nor its desolation, as if no kind soul ever lived there and no scene ever delighted the eye. 10 As if the caliphate never slumbered there with its carefree mien nor did kingship ever rise with a bright complexion. [And as if] the world had not gathered there its splendor and radiance, nor were [the twigs of] life, when broken, sappy and tender within. Where are the forbidding curtain, the doors and chambers that were impregnable? And where is the pillar of the people when disaster strikes? Where is the man among them who forbids and commands fate? His assassins lay in wait for him covertlyit would have been more worthy for his assassin to come openly! 15 His guards did not fight back death, nor did his wealth and stores defend him. The one hoped for failed to help the" Mighty" (al-MuCtazz); the truly mighty among his tribe is he whose helper is mighty.86 Death appeared to his Fatl,1 (Help), and his Tahir (Pure) was away in Khurasan. 87 If the dead one had lived or the distant one been near, the cycles of fortune would have turned away from disaster. If CUbaydallah [b. Yal,1ya b. Khaqan] had had support against them, coming [out] would have been difficult for those going [in]to the affair. 88 20 Passion misled reason; an age came to an end; death was urged on by the fates. The clan of the victim violated by murder was not to be feared; no shame protects its pegs and ropes.

Many a gentle era, over here; the selvages of those years were delicate and their foliage was budding.

He is a slain man from whom swords sought the last breath of life, which he bestowed generously while death's talons turned red.

The beauty of the Jacfari palace turned and so its pleasant company; The Jacfari collapsed both within and without. 5

81 82 83 84 85

I was trying to defend him with my two hands, but one man cannot deter the many enemies at night without arms and armor.

Those who dwelt there left abruptly; its abodes and graves became alike. When we visit it, our grief is renewed, while before this day, the visitor would delight. al-TabarI, Ta)rlkh, 9: 229. S. Stetkevych 1993, 57. Ibn Rashlq, al-'Umda, 2: 839. Ibid., 2: 831. I have relied on the text of al-~ayrafi's edition (1977, 2: 1045). The ode is composed in the !awl! meter with the rhyme -ruh. The complete Arabic text is included in the appendix.

IS

If my sword had been in my hand at the time of fighting, the swift murderer would have learned how I attack. 25 Forbidden to me is wine after [your murder], until I see blood for [your] blood streaming on the ground. 86 87 88

AI-MuCtazz b. al-Mutawakkil would have been the rightful heir to the throne; see Bosworth 1993. AI-Fatl,l b. Khaqan, the caliph's confidant, died shielding him with his own body; see Pinto 1965. Tahir b. 'Abdallah was the Abbasid governor of Khurasan in 230-48/844-62; see Bosworth 2000. 'UbaydaUah b. Yal:lYa b. Khaqan (d. 263/877) served al-Mutawakkil and later al-Mu'tamid as vizier; see Sourdel 1971.

16

Samer Mahdy Ali

Shall I hope that an avenger will seek blood vengeance ever, while [your] avenger is the slayer himself? Did the heir apparent harbor betrayal? Then how strange that his betrayer was appointed heir! May the survivor never enjoy the legacy of him who died; may his mosque pulpits not bear benedictions for him. May the suspect never find refuge; may he who drew the sword in treason not escape from the sword, nor he who pointed it. 30 How excellent is the blood you shed on Ja
The qa.Jida can be divided into four sections: opening lament (vv. 1-11), accusation of the court (vv. 12-25) and the successor (vv. 26-9), and denial of allegiance (vv. 30-3). The first line, however subtly, conveys the announcement of death (nay). As it circulates, it artfully sends a warning and serves as a message within the elegy.89 AI-Bu1;tturl announces the death only by insinuating it. The caliph is neither named nor mentioned. His official dwelling is alluded to as "a halting place" (mal:lall) located on the Qatu1 channel (v. 1). The poet plies a partial pun (jinas) between the name of the waterway (Qatul) and "murderer" (qatul), thereby piquing the listener's curiosity and prefiguring the news to corne. A suggestion of betrayal is contained in his reference to calamities attacking the traces "like an army," since Turkish troops were a hallmark of the palace. The lack of literalism places greater emphasis on the symbolic, archetypal significance of losing a leader. AI-Bu1;ttud not only conveys news in the first line, he uses the lyrical idiom of the nasib to transfigure a temporal, localized crisis into a cataclysm of mythic proportions. Though he comments on actual events outside the artistic frame of the ode, they are expressed through the symbolic, evocative, and universal world of the nasib. 90 The opening of the ode employs lexically charged words typical of the naslb: the place is dathir (v. 1), wearing or fading away like traces of human habitation in the sand; fate (dahr) shows itself as an enemy of organized social life (v. 1); the gentle east wind (al-~aba) ends abruptly (v. 2). There is a pervasive elegiac mood as the poet expresses the omi-

89 S. Stetkevych 1993, 82.
90

means of broadcasting the news of al-Mutawakkil' s death, when he says, atatna l-qawafi ~arikhatin li-faqdihl mu~allamatan arjazuha wa-qa~iduha (Diwan, 117, v. 39). Verses came to us screaming his loss; their folk and courtly meters were self-mutilated [out of grief]. Cf. J. Stetkevych 1993,62.

Praise for Murder?

17

nous deprivation felt in the present, in contrast to the glorious past cultivated by alMutawakkil (vv. 3-11). The lament concludes with acutely lyrical phrasing in the inventive (bad'i') which characterized much of the Abbasid with its "intentional, conscious encoding of abstract meaning into metaphor."91 In line 3, the mood is constructed with a borrowing from Abu Tammam, "the selvages (bawashi) of those years."92 Here, sweet memories are metaphorically depicted as a garment, whose selvages are soft and delicate. AI-Bu1;tturl also heightens the loss of life (and innocence) using the metaphor of broken twigs (makasir) that are filled with sap (v. 11). This metaphor, likewise taken from Abll Tammam, paints al-Mutawakkil's reign in ideal terms as fresh, pliant, moist,93 and thus by extension young and full of life. The use of makiisir metaphorically suggests a life cut down in its prime. By way of reception, one can note that centuries after al-Bu1;tturi this elegy impressed the poet-warrior Usama b. Munqidh (d. 58411188) who recalled it as a touchstone for the loss of idyllic places. 94 In the second section of the ode (vv. 12-25), the poet hints at al-Fat1;t's heroism, but denounces all other members of the court for their criminal actions or omissions as he works toward his own assumption of responsibility. After nine lines that lament the end of a golden era, the weight of al-Bu1;tturi' s censure falls heavily on those who actively or passively contributed to the late caliph's demise. The list is extensive and includes chamberlains (v. 12), army personnel (v. 13), the assassins themselves (v. 14), personal guards (v. 15), the caliph's "good" son al-Mu
A group that is unable to fight off aggression has little hope of security. The murder lays open the bitter reality that the dynasty has waned in might and grandeur. The poet admits that the Abbasids and their entourage have suffered a decline followed by a new, more vulnerable status. AI-Bu1;tturl's sentiment echoes Electra's admission at Agamemnon's grave. 95 As the list of recriminations grows, the poet claims the ultimate burden as one of the men closest to the deceased caliph both in terms of proximity and rapport. The assumption of responsibility, it would seem, is critical to the persuasive effectiveness of his atonement procedure. Robertson Smith notes that a pre-condition of sin-offering in Semitic culture is that the "priest" represents the sinner "or bears his sin."96 In lines 23 and 24, the poet's admission of fault enables him to shoulder the court's burdens, in91 92 93 94 95 96

S. Stetkevych 1991,8. Ibid., 69. Lane 1984, s.v. "gh-<;l-<;l"; cf. S. Stetkevych 1991, 114, 124. Usama b. Munqidh, a I-Man azil, 200-1. AI-MaqqarI (d. 104111632) in Nafo. al-!fb also considers it proverbial (2: 47). Aeschylus, The Libation Bearers, 11. 129-39. Smith 1894,344,349.

Samer Mahdy Ali

Praise for Murder?

eluding those of the heir, to perform the ritual sacrifice. He marks his resolve with a graphic vow:

The panegyric ode conventionally ends with a benediction for the patron. These wellwishes often invoke God or other concepts that are sacred and serve the function of endorsing the social order. 10 I Al-Bu1)turi accomplishes the opposite with his curses. In particular he profanes the successor al-Munta~ir, denying him even the slightest legitimacy:

18

Forbidden to me is wine after [your murder], until I see blood for [your] blood streaming on the ground (v. 25).

In the arena of politics, al-Bu1)turI's hope in this elegy was to delegitimize al-Munta~ir so that courtiers would then support the official heir, al-MuCtazz. His oath and call to vengeance thus underscore the crime's horror and the heir's guilt. In this vein, the remainder of the poem, particularly the rebuke (vv. 27-9), serves the public function of denying allegiance to a false caliph. Generations later, however, the political exigencies of the crisis became secondary to the ritual pattern formed by the juxtaposition of the two odes with the intervening ~ajj journey. At the mythic level, the end of the elegy would be recognized as a preparatory phase for a communal ritual of atonement. The convention of forswearing women, meat, ointment, wine, and the joys of communal life until blood has been spilt "amounts to excommunication or anathema and entry into the liminal or sacrificial phase."97 Almost paradoxically, the poet must exit the community to redress its traumas. The sacred or taboo phase of his rite ends only when he slaughters the sacrificial victim, i.e., fulfills the obligation to take blood vengeance. 98

May the survivor never enjoy the legacy of him who died; may his mosque pulpits not bear benedictions for him. May the suspect never find refuge; may he who drew the sword in treason not escape from the sword, nor he who pointed it (vv. 28-9).*

'Nhereas panegyric typically expresses or confirms allegiance and corroborates the caliph's claims to authority,102 invective (hijeP) amounts to "the substitution of an act of sedition for an act of ... submission."103 The Abbasid poet draws on well-established cultural precedents in pre-Islamic Arabia, in a manner that might be termed shamanistic, using curses and invective as a form of magic. The poet's curses are made all the more frightening by these links to the world of jinn and satans. 104 Not only does al-Bu1)turi publicly refuse to pledge his allegiance, but he also invites others to rebel against the man now labeled a traitor. 105 In the last four lines, he recaps the principal message and calls for a revolt: How excellent is the blood you shed on la'far's night, during a part of the night as black as pitch. *

In the third component of the elegy (vv. 26-9), the poet directs accusations partiCUlarly to the ousted heir apparent and inflicts a series of shocking curses (vv. 28-9). These are probably the biting verses that prompted al-Marzubani to label this poem as invective (hijiP).99 However, within the poetics of this elegy, the poet by his vow assumes a sacred and highly symbolic state. Moreover, he is ritually at this point a representative of the group. His first words are consistent with his liminal condition:

[You act] as if you do not know, under the whetted blades, who is his heir, his mourner, and avenger. I surely hope that the rule over you reverts to a scion of his character who does not betray him. To one who ponders ideas, whose equanimity is dreaded, when the hasty fool is dreaded for his whims (vv. 30-3).

Shall I hope that an avenger will seek blood vengeance ever, while [your] avenger is the slayer himself? Did the heir apparent harbor betrayal? Then how strange that his betrayer was appointed heir (vv. 26-7).100*

Lines 26 and 27 each express a pair of antitheses (fibiiq), the lines between which have been blurred producing an abomination. In the first instance, the poet concedes that the distinction between murderer (wiitir) and avenger (mawturun bi-l-dami) has faded. In the second instance, the distinction is lost between trust and betrayal, since the heir apparent (waliyyu l-Cahdi: lit. entrusted with the covenant [of succession]) concealed betrayal (ghadra). The moral structure of the community relies on clear categories of membership and exclusion as reflected in these dyads. When these distinctions break down, so too does the social order.

97 98 99 100

S. Stetkevych 1993, 72. Ibid. al-MarzubiinI (d. ca. 384/994), al-Muwashsha~, 418. For a discussion of the textual history ofvv. 27, 28, and 30 (marked with asterisk) see p. 20 below.

19

In these lines, al-Bu1)turI, who has so far been speaking in the first person, addresses the second person plural, thereby directing his message collectively to those who aided the false heir. This audience is accused of failing to recognize which scion could genuinely serve as heir, mourner, and avenger to al-Mutawakkil. Moreover, he admonishes them (and the umma as a whole) not to let the community be ruled by a renegade (vv. 32-3). Naturally, for al-Bu1)turi, the only advisable alternative is the ascension of another heir, namely al-MuCtazz. But al-Munta~ir persists as caliph. Nevertheless, the ritual value of these verses also persists. His political troubles exacerbate his battered image and enhance the verbal prowess of the poet. A poet in performance is faced with the demands of attracting and holding the attention of an unstable audience. 106 Simultaneously, he bears the responsibility of ensuring the 101 102 103 104 105 106

Monroe 1971, 13. S. Stetkevych 1996a, 43. Ibid., 59. al-Nu'aymi1995, 69-70. Cf. S. Stetkevych 1996a, 59. Lord 1960, 16; Bauman 1977,39-40; Nagy 1996, 19.

20

Praise for Murder?

Samer Mahdy Ali

long-term artistic appeal of his creations, which may call for further textual changes in order to protect the continuity of his endeavor. 107 One anecdote in particular indicates that some litterateurs (udabiP) held that the elegy had a dynamic compositional history. To wit, the anecdote suggests that the socio-political pressures of the court put the shortand long-term appeal of the ode into mutual conflict. The compromise, it is believed, was a succession of textual adjustments in different performance settings. Al-~ul1 reports that lines 27, 28, and 30 - three of the eight lines of rebuke - were added later by the poet during the reign of al-Mu'tazz in order to curry favor with him. Al-~ul1 says, "I asked 'Abdallah b. al-Mu'tazz, 'Did al-Bul:tturl [really] dare to say, when al-Mutawakkil was killed on the day of al-Munta~ir, 'How excellent is the blood ... May his mosque pulpits not bear benedictions for him' [al-~ayrafi's vv. 30, 27, 28 (in this order)]."108 Ibn al-Mu'tazz replied, "He composed the lines only during the reign of al-MuCtazz to ingratiate himself to him thereby (yataqarrabu bihii ilayhi)." According to the anecdote, al-Bu~tur1 responded to the diverging expectations of two audiences. At the time of the murder, he issued a slightly milder rebuke of al-Munta~ir, because the outcome of the succession struggle was still uncertain. For al-Munta~ir's sibling and successor, alMu'tazz, the poet later amplified the onus upon al-Munta~ir, giving subsequent generations further dramatic tension in the atonement rite. This anecdote not only suggests the poet's capacity and willingness to adjust the texts in response to changing conditions, but the readiness of audiences to rate an ode not by historical veracity, but by artistic impact and, ultimately, persuasiveness. AI-Bul:tturI's intensified rebuke of al-Munta~ir won circulation in several historical and literary sources. AI-MascudI, in narrating the story of the murder, recalled lines 27 and 28, both full of condemnation. 109 Similarly, al-I:Iu~rI (d. 413/1022) in his Zahr al-iidiib cited eleven lines of the poem, including lines 26 and 28. 110 He quotes Abu }-CAbbiis Thaclab as commenting, "No better Hiishimite [ode] was ever said. [AI-Bu~turI] spoke in it the truth like someone whom misfortune has distracted from fearing the consequences." These indications suggest that the elegy's textual adjustments sustained audiences' attention over nearly two centuries and maintained its appeal as an ode confirming the burden of those involved. One might also speculate that the adjustments were not the invention of the poet, but that of later generations of performers who sought to sharpen the poem for maximum rhetorical effect. In either case, al-Bul:tturI or his performers shouldered the responsibility of communication to an audience.

21

The Court's Redeemer After composing the shocking elegy, al-Bul:tturl is said to havc performed the ~ajj.lll The Syrian poet and writer Abu l-CAlii) al-Macarri (d. 44911058) sensed al-Bul:tturl's artifice when he characterized his pilgrimage as the proverbial ~ajj for reasons other than religious piety: ~ajja min ghayri tuqan .'jii~ibunii ka-akhi Bu~tura (lima I-Munta.'jir 112

Our friend performed pilgrimage without piety as did my brother from Bu1)tur the year of al-Munta~ir. Al-~uli gives the impression that a mood of anticipation prevailed until al-Bul:tturi's return. AI-Munta~ir initiated a series ofpro-cAlid policies, but no poet dared celebrate this development. l13 AI-Bu~turl had created a ritual tension and he was to be the sole bearer of dispensation, which would come in the form of a praise qa~'ida, dedicated to al-Munta~ir upon the poet's return. This panegyric follows the pattern of nas'ib-ra~'il-mad'i~, elegiac prelude (vv. 1-10), journey transition (vv. 12-13), and triumphant praise (vv. 1436). The tripartite form mimics the real experience of the rite of passage. Like the ritual of passage, the ode brings about new social conditions. 114 The ode and the rite of passage both begin with themes of detachment from the community, followed by a transitional liminal state outside the community, and they conclude with reaggregation into the community. The rite of passage effectively "modifies the condition of the moral person who accomplishes it."115 The poet, as group representative, brings about an atonement, but he undergoes a passage as poet as well. If successful, the panegyric enables him to prove his verbal prowess in playing the role of redeemer.

His bid is most prominently insinuated in the ~ajj-rab'il section, which stands as a rejoinder to the spatial strategies of the Abbasid caliphs. One can recall at this point that courtiers were essentially forced to desecrate the Kaaba as they turned their backs on the Holy Shrine in order to face and bow toward the throne. Bodily orientation was consciously prescribed and circumscribed within these grandiose palaces. No doubt, these hubristic designs were sanctioned by caliphs in their bid for control over their subjects. AI-Bu~turl was able to tap covertly resentment toward the caliph by not only journeying beyond the court, but to its "opposing" center, as it were. This proves to be more than a ritual creation of a new order for the court. The poet successfully challenges authority by giving voice to the audience's sentiments. According to the poem's literary lore, al-Munta~ir wanted al-Bul:ttud to broadcast his new policies. He began his reign with goodwill gestures toward the cAlids, whom his father had persecuted. 116 In contrast, al-Munta~ir appointed cAlids to important and

107 Blachere 1952,1: 89-92; Nagy 1996,34,36. 108 al-~ulI, Akhbar al-Bu~turi, 102. 109 al-Mas'udI, Muruj, 4: 122. 11 0 al-I:Iu~rI, Zahr al-adab, 1: 215-16. The verses 4-5, 7-8, 6, 13-14, 22, 25-6, and 28 are cited in this order and with several textual variations.

111 a1-Ma'arrI, al-Luzumiyyat, 610. 112 Ibid.; a1-BuJ:.!.turI, Diwan, 2: 849. 113

a1-~iiII,

Akhbar al-Bu~turi, 100.

114 S. Stetkevych 1993, 7. 115 Hubert and Mauss 1981, 13. 116 al-~ulI, Akhbar al-Bu~turi, 100.

Samer Mahdy Ali

22

ceremonial positions and initiated a policy of distributing charity to them, which confirmed their bonds of kinship to the Abbasids and their status as protected subjects. He wanted to publicize his new policy toward the (Alids and implicitly contrast the cruelty of his predecessor with his more compassionate stance. AI-Bul;turi, upon his return from the ~ajj, as the story goes, sensed the caliph's hopes and seized the opportunity. Using an eerie nasib opening, al-Bul;turi stepped into the caliph's audience hall and said: 117 She smiles with white, filed [teeth] and gazes with dark languid eyes. She sways like the bough of an Arak-tree swept from the side by gusts of cool wind. (Among the scenes that stir the heart of a staid man are a graceful figure and a languid gaze.) Whatever I forget, I will not forget the years of youth and (Alwa when old age rebuked me. 5

Stars of gray adhered to [the black locks of] youth and diminished its beauty that once was plentiful. And I have found - do not deny it the black of passion in locks of gray. One must renounce, no doubt, one of two things: youth or long life. Have you ever seen how lightning unfurls? And how the phantom of an ungenerous beloved flashes by? Her apparition drew near us from Siwa, while we were praying by night at Batn Marf.

10 What does she want with pilgrims (al-mu~rimun), dragging at midnight their too wide garbs? They hastened by night to run at al-~afii, stone the Herms [at Mina], and touch the Stone. We performed the ~ajj to the House out of gratitude to God for what He gave us in al-Munta~ir: Forbearance when forbearance waned, and resolve when resolution crumbled. He bestows justice when he judges. He lavishes pardon when he decrees. 15 He remains constant in character: sufficient unto himself, of majestic rank. He does not endeavor to rule as a man who begins with good but follows it with evil. 118 117 See al-~ayrafi's edition (1977,2: 838). The ode is composed in the mutaqiirib meter with the rhyme -r, which features together echo the meter and rhyme of the elegy to al-Mutawakkil. The complete Arabic text is included in the appendix. 118 I have preferred the alternate reading by IJannii' al-Fiikhiirt (1995; 2: 420, v. 16): wa-thannii bi-shar. Here al-~ayrafi's edition has a corrupt meter and is inconsistent with the idea of one moral character elaborated in vv. 15-18.

Praise for Murder?

Nor is he fickle, conferring benefits in the evening and doing harm in the morning. Rather, he is as pure as the waters of storm clouds; their first drops are as sweet as the last. Re restored his subjects from a civil strife whose black night cast them into gloom. 20 And when its darkness reached its blackest, he shone in it and became the moon. With a resolve that lifts darkness and blindness, and with a purpose that sets straight pouting and smirking [faces]. By right, you twisted on that day the rope of the caliphate until it was firm. By might, you established yourself atop the shoulders of the realm until it was steady. Had it been another man, he would not have risen to this tasknor would he have been able. 25 You redressed injustices and your hands restored the rights of the oppressed: The family of Abu Talib [the (Alids] - after their herd was seized and scattered, And the closest of kin received treatment so cruel that the sky well-nigh cracked open because of it! You joined the bonds of their kinship, when the rope was nearly severed. For you put their share, once far, within reach, and made their drinking water, once murky, pure. 30 How lofty are you [Abbasids] compared to them [(Alids]? Though their rank is neither distant nor remote. [They are] your kin, no, rather full brothers and clansmen, to the exclusion of all humankind. Though, who are they, when yours are the two hands of victory, two edges of a sword, gleaming of old. Your precedence is chanted in the Book and your virtues are recited in suras. No doubt, (Ali is more worthy and free of sin in your eyes than (Vmar. 35 Every [steed] has its merits, when vying in excellence, while anklets are beneath blazes on foreheads. May you live on, Imam of guidance, for guidance'S sake to renew its path that has faded away.

23

Samer Mahdy Ali

Praise for Murder?

The nasib, in general, serves the critical purpose of gaining the sympathetic attention of audiences as would an exordium. 119 This nasib in particular (vv. 1-10) constitutes the first words to al-Munta~ir since the murder and their estrangement, and thus carries the added burden of attaining the sympathy of the desired patron. He achieves this aim with three motifs, the first of which is the shapely, delicate beloved likened to a doe. Following nasib conventions, the beloved exhibits teeth filed to perfection, a gentle gaze (v. 1), a swaying bough-like stature (v. 2), images traditionally deployed to stir passion and yearning for ideal love. These emotions are confirmed, when al-Bu}:ltud conveys the perspective of an otherwise collected man whose heart is moved (v. 3).

The phantom's visit to the pilgrims makes the transition to the rabil. In the following couplet, the poet now reinterprets the rites of bajj as a service performed specifically for the new caliph. His activities at pilgrimage will gradually increase the pressure on the patTon to show gratitude for this service.

24

The second motif is al-shakwii min al-,shayh, the lament of gray hair (vv. 4-7), which offers the poet the opportunity to draw attention to himself as a victim of fate's afflictions. Having gained his audience's attention with the opening motif, he can now solicit empathy, particularly from the patron he courts. The lament of gray hair motif touches a sensitive chord, for it expresses fears of mortality and the finality of life. In verse 4, rebukes are now directed against him as old age forces him to part with youth and a former beloved, (Alwa. He now suffers the stigma of graying locks that are slowly diminishing his handsome appearance (v. 5). In verse 6, however, the poet admits his reluctance to forgo youth and passion completely. However, the only means of holding on to youth is to forsake a full and long life (v. 7). The third and last motif of the nasib depicts the phantom of the beloved who appears unexpectedly (v. 8) and, in formal terms, very late in the nasib section. Here it would seem that the phantom represents a former attachment, which suggests it might be an allusion to his former patron, al-Mutawakkil. In al-Mutanabbi's first ode to Kafur, the poet abrogates his allegiance to Sayf al-Dawla by poetically substituting him with a former beloved in the nasfb. 120 In detaching himself from the beloved and reattaching himself to the patron, the poet simultaneously declares his commitment to this new patron. AI-Bu}:lturI similarly seizes the opportunity to dispel any lingering doubts about where his new loyalties reside. When the beloved's phantom approaches him, he does not reciprocate: Her apparition drew near us from Siwa, while we were praying by night at Batn Marr. What does she want with pilgrims (al-rnubrirnun), dragging at midnight their too wide garbs (vv. 9-10).

The poet is preoccupied with a ritual: holy acts performed in special garb at appointed times in sacred places. At this point in the ode, it is not clear whether he fulfills these obligations in the name of the new patron, but certainly he does not do so out of longing for a bygone era. In short, he makes it clear that he does not welcome this particular bond, but new ties are yet undetermined. AI-Bu}:lturI's hesitation is not merely a matter of political exigency. In this nasfb, the most subjective section of the ode, he acknowledges the erstwhile value of past allegiances, yet signals his readiness to move forward. 119 J. Stetkevych 1993,9. 120 S. Stetkeyych, 1996a, 46.

25

Rites and Restoration after Crisis The rabil conventionally involves physical movement on a vehicle such as a camel mare, horse, or ship, but here al-Bu}:lturi adapts the paradigm to the social and my thopoeic context that surrounds the poem (vv. 12-13). The journey is the physical and psychological transition of the bajI Motion is philologically indicated by the verb sariilyasri (v. 11), meaning to journey or travel by night. 121 AI-Bu}:lturi: alludes to three common bajj rites as the point of transition from a former allegiance (to al-Mutawakkil) to a new one (to al-Munta~ir). Verse 11 constitutes the pivot for the panegyric, as an expression of allegiance, and, on the mythic level, for the rite of atonement. The mythic and political drama revolves around three verbal nouns and their direct objects (rna/iii bihf): li-sayi l-!jafii, rarnyi l-jirniiri, wa-masbi l-bajar, "to lUn at al-$afa, stone the Herms [at Mina] , and touch the Stone." In the first rite, al-Bu}:lturi: refers topographically to the $afa hill in the vicinity of the Kaaba. Traditionally, pilgrims run along the mas'ii (course) between the two hills a1$afii and al-Marwa. l22 In addition to running, the verb sa'iilyas'ii also conveys the idea of striving, or applying oneself assiduously, 123 which of course hints at the poet's troubles for his new patron. The second rite demands of pilgrims that they collect seven pebbles for stoning (rajm) each of the three herms (jimiir or jamariit) that represent devils.124 Finally, the poet relies on the rite of touching the Black Stone, built on the northeast comer of the Kaaba. 125 According to legend the Stone was completely white in ancient times and over the generations became black because pilgrims would wipe it with their hands to remove the blood of their sin-offering. 126 One can also note that the verb masabalyamsabu is used idiomatically to convey atonement as in masaba lliihu 'anka ma bika (may God wipe away your sins).127 AI-Bu}:lturi thus integrates three rites, evocative of atonement and renewal in Muslim communal life. The need for legitimacy was most urgent for al-Munta~ir. He was haunted by the burden of complicity in al-Mutawakkil's murder. In conversations, the twenty-four-year-old caliph would become vexed at any mention of the regicide. 128 He was also tormented by anxiety dreams, guilt, and the taunts of hecklers. 129 In verse 12, the poet redresses 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129

Lane 1984, s.y. "s-r-y." yon Grunebaum 1951,30. Lane 1984, s.y. "s-'-y." yon Grunebaum 1951,33. Ibid., 23, 29. Ibid., 19; Ibn 'Abclrabbih, 'Iqd, 7: 249. Lane 1984, S,Y. "m-s-l,l." al-I~fahani, al-Aghani, 20: 291; al-Tabari, Ta)rikh, 9: 253. aI-Tabar!, Ta)rikh, 9: 252-5.

Samer Mahdy Ali

Praise for Murder?

the traumas of the caliph and the community. The object of his new allegiance and the purpose of his bajj-rabil become evident. He says:

honor of the groom commits the young tribesman to an image of himself desirable to the community .134 Using George Mead's model of the self, Caton notes that the self emerges in society through communication and interaction with others. The self responds to affirmations of speech and gesture. Formal praise in honor of the groom, then, reminds the young man of "who he must become." The mirror of manhood is held up to the young tribesman precisely before marriage obligations. For the Abbasid panegyric, Julie Meisami makes a similar observation: "The poet does not merely record the noble deeds of his patron, but creates the motivation for them."135 Moreover, in addition to the ideal patron, the poet can portray ideal patronage. In her study of Ibn al-Rumi, Beatrice Gruendler argues that the poet is able to shape the conduct of (Ubaydallah b. (Abdallah b. Tahir as a patron by depicting an ideal vision. The poet "spells out how it [his panegyric] should be received, accepted, rewarded, and remembered - leaving nothing to chance (or to the patron's imagination). In sum, the poet advocates a whole model of patronage down to every detail."136

26

We performed the bajj to the House out of gratitude to God for what He gave us in al-Munta~ir: Forbearance when forbearance waned and resolve when resolution crumbled (vv. 12-13). In this brief phrasing, the poet celebrates a restoration of order after jitna, a moment of crisis for the community, surely to be associated with the internecine wars of early Islamic history. 130 On a personal level, though,jitna denotes a trial of faith or loyalty, a temptation to defect. James Garrison observes that one of the principal functions of panegyric in pre-modem societies is to herald a national reconciliation after a period of instability.131 In particular, the seventeenth-century panegyric of John Dryden addresses the needs of two audiences: it reminds the ruler of his duty to respect societal values, and it exhorts the subjects to offer the ruler obedience and 10yalty.132 The poet thus effects a restoration of order.

In al-Munta~ir's case, al-BuJ:tturi sees the opportunity publicly to commit the caliph to an image of himself that includes consistency. He holds to the caliph a mirror of manhood that society can sanction:

In line 12, the poet's gratitude gives credence to a theme of collective renewal. He casts his performance of the bajj as an act of thanksgiving for a state of well-being. Indirectly, one learns that God now sanctions al-Munta~ir, though implicit in this sanction is a balance of obligations. The community can expect their leader to be firm and forbearing; the leader can expect the community to accept his virtues as a divine "gift" that implies thereafter the duty to repay God's gift with submission to His deputy. 133 On the mythic level, the poet who had stigmatized the "false" heir now returns from the bajj with deliverance. The poet's invocation of gift exchange rituals heralds the return of life's normal rhythms.

He docs not endeavor to rule as a man who begins with good but follows it with evil. Nor is he fickle, conferring benefits in the evening and doing harm in the morning. Rather, he is as pure as the waters of storm clouds; their first drops arc as sweet as the last (vv. 16-18). The adjective mu~ajJan produces a few semantic associations. The verb ~affa can mean "to clear, settle" ( of debts), or " to clarifY, filter" (of water: sediment).l37 Moreover, the adjective mu~affan can serve as the passive participle (ism al-malit!), place noun (ism al-makan), and time period noun (ism al-zaman).138 Thus, referring to al-Munta~ir, the verse can read, "He is [a debt] cleared" or "He is pure," and in reference to the court or the era, "Its [debts] are cleared" or "It is pure."

The brief bajj-rabil syntactically connects to the following madib. In verse 14, the poet draws on the invocative dimensions of panegyric to coax his patron to virtuous behavior. The speaker protects himself by the broadcast potential of his text. He valorizes pardon and justice as two tokens of al-Munta~ir's powers, committing him to clemency as a means to glory: He bestows justice when he judges. He lavishes pardon when he decrees (v. 14). Moreover, al-BuJ:tturi solicits his own security by addressing in verse 15 the theme of moral consistency. Using his new patron's thirst for power, the poet lures him into an unwavering course of action: He remains constant in character: sufficient unto himself, of majestic rank (v. 15). Praise can sometimes prove to be surprisingly critical to shaping human conduct. Steven Caton in his study of Yemeni tribal poetry argues that praise poetry at weddings in 130 131 132 133

Gardet 1965. Garrison 1975, 7-8. Ibid., 141-2. S. Stetkevych 1996a, 43.

27

ff

One might object to the "[debt] cleared" reading on the grounds that it does not seem to suit the rest of verse 18. However, the heaviest debt is the duty to avenge the blood of fallen kin, and the rain imagery is consistent with themes of blood vengeance. The motifs of bloodshed and rainfall are both rejuvenating and common in elegies (ritha} 139 One might consider also that the particle "ka-" in Arabic can govern a noun or a manner of action, meaning "as" or "like." Then, one might read the line, referring to alMunta~ir: "He has cleared [debts] like the waters of storm clouds [i.e., he has avenged

134 135 136 137 138 139

Caton 1990,95. Meisami 1987,46. Gruendler 2003, 75. Hava 1970, s.v. "s-f-w." Bayyiimi, I:Iasan et al. 1989, 310. S. Stetkevych 1993, 180.

28

Samer Mahdy Ali

Praise for Murder?

spilt blood]. Their first drops are as sweet as the last." Symbolically, upon returning from the ~ajj, the poet pronounces the ritual to be effective.

The caliph as champion of his people prevents cataclysm. His kind policies toward the cAlids enact one of his mythic duties, namely to preserve order and stay fate's destructiveness. 145

The next six verses, 19-24, valorize al-Munta~ir as the victor who restores order and saves the community from factionalism. The crisis is depicted as a full-fledgedfitna that plunged the umma into darkness and fear (v. 19). The poet celebrates the caliph's power to dispel the gloom (vv. 20-1), restore calm (v. 20), and discipline his critics (v. 21). There is an aclmowledgement of the extreme measures that the caliph took to accomplish his purpose (vv. 22-3), but the poet also emphasizes the caliph's individual agency by turning to the second person singular. Caliphal panegyric commonly reflects the Islamic tenet that God appoints only one caliph over the umma, and divine sanction is proven with executive power. The poet, thus, attests that no other would have the sanction or the power to act. 140 Verses 25-35 commemorate al-Munta~ir's new policy of showing mercy toward the cAlids. 141 This policy, in contrast to al-Mutawakkil's earlier harshness, was meant to demonstrate the new caliph's legitimacy.142 It betrays the caliph's need to defuse the criticism of his challengers. AI-BuJ:lturI memorialized this policy in the midst of his panegyric. In a manner that is consistent with his theme of reconciliation, the poet recognizes the wrongs that the cAlids have suffered under the former caliph: You redressed injustices and your hands restored the rights of the oppressed: The family of Abu Talib [the CAlids] - after their herd was seized and scattered, And the closest of kin received treatment so cruel that the sky well-nigh cracked open because of it! You joined the bonds of their kinship, when the rope was nearly severed (vv. 25-8). The cracking open of the sky, as found in the QurJan, is a sign of the final fitna in Islamic eschatology, the apocalypse, and connotes its sense of upheaval. 143 The QurJanic text describes a cataclysmic rupture: When skies are cracked open When stars are scattered When seas are vented When graves are disgorged Every soul will realize what it has done and not done. 144

140 Cf. S. Stetkevych 1991,206. 141 al-~ulI, Akhbar al-Bu~turi, 101; al-Mas cudI, Muruj, 4: 135; SaCI (d. 674/1276), Ta}rikh al-khulafiF, 84. 142 Hodgson 1974, 486; aI-I~fahanI, al-Aghani, 143 Gardet 1965. 144 Quran 82: 1-5.

al-I~fahanI,

al-Aghanl, 23: 206; Ibn al-

23: 206; aI-TabarI, Ta}rikh, 9: 185.

29

The cAlids, however, are assigned a delicate position in the new hierarchy. The poet makes rank an issue with his apostrophe concerning the loftiness of the Abbasids in relation to the cAlids, though he is sure to mention that the latter do not lag far behind (vv. 30-1). The two Hashimite lines, once competitors, now complement one another like two sword blades and two hands for the sake of victory (v. 32). Verses 33-5 clarify, however, the Abbasids' precedence in the new order. AI-BuJ:lturi concludes his panegyric with a benediction that asks for divine wisdom and guidance at the hands of the new caliph: May you live on, Imam of guidance, for guidance'S sake to renew its path that has faded away (v. 36). Sperl notes that "imam of guidance" (imam al-huda) is one of the epithets of divine grace and power.146 Yet, al-BuJ:lturI adds a degree: "May you live on, Imam of guidance, for guidance's sake." The young caliph must now take up the honor of being imam as well as the protector of guidance. In Garrison's terms, the poet here intervenes between the king and society. 147 AI-BuJ:lturl's use of the title reminds the caliph of his duties and exhorts the umma to obey his lead. The caliph is further advised, after a period of crisis, actively to "renew the path" of guidance. The use of the verb dathara resonates with the first line of al-BuJ:lturi's elegy of al-Mutawakkil. There, he had employed the word dathiruh, "its fading [traces]," referring to the era's bygone glory. AlBuJ:ltur'i's present closure thus salutes al-Munta~ir as one who renews a legacy. The parallel between the first line of one poem and the last line of the second also links them to one whole cycle: the first stigmatizes the court, the second redeems it. The poet demonstrates his capacity to restore the community after trauma. At the end of the ceremony, al-$iill signals the weight of al-BuJ:lturI's service to the caliphate. To be sure, he figuratively indicates that the poem was received not as an apology, or a peace offering as payf contends,148 but as a favor. The text lacks the typical indications of an apology as established in odes such as those by al-Nabigha al-Dhubyanl and Ka(b b. Zuhayr, which require the poet to note the charges, deny their veracity, then redirect blame to foes and calumniators (aCda), wushah ),149 The praise then serves as a peace offering to assuage residual anger. Though al-Bul).turl hints at caliphal justice and mercy, his panegyric offers no self-defense, because no defense is warranted. In the eyes of society, the poet acted within his traditional role. The patron, by contrast, is a patricide in the public eye, and no poet yet dared lift the stigma cast upon him by al-BuJ:ltur1. All things considered, al-Munta~ir was fortunate to receive al-BuJ:lturl's defense.

145 146 147 148 149

Cf. Sperl 1977, 32-3. Ibid., 23. Garrison 1975, 141. J;)ayf 1990,278. See S. Stetkevych 2001,1-79.

Samer Mahdy Ali

Praise for Murder?

AI-Siili says of the caliph, "He gave him [the poet] a lavish reward, though he usually rewarded poets poorly [fa-wa~alahu wa-ajzala, wa-lam yakun ya~ilu l-shu(arii)a ilIii qalilan]."lS0 The extraordinary award recognizes the perfect redemption, and to highlight this, aI-Stili shows another poet capitalizing on al-Bul).turi's success. As if breaking a ritual fast, Yazid al-Muhallab'i for the first time composes verse celebrating alMunta~ir's pro-cAlid policies. AI-Bul).turi's ritual effect thereby becomes a public reality that others could celebrate.

Appendix

30

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Caton, S. C. (1990), "Peaks of Yemen I Summon": Poetry as Cultural Practice in a North Yemeni Tribe, Berkeley. Cole, D. P. (1975), Nomads of the Nomads: The Al Murrah Bedouins of the Empty Quarter, Arlington Connerton, P. (1994), How Societies Remember, Cambridge. Creswell, K. A. C. (1989), A Short Account of Early Muslim Architecture, revised and supplemented by James W. Allan, Cairo. Crotty, K. (1994), The Poetics ofSupplication, Ithaca. payf, Sh. (1990), al-cA.Jr al-cabbasi al-thani, 7th ed., Cairo. El-Hibri, T. (1999), Reinterpreting Islamic Historiography: Hiirun aI-Rashid and the Narratives of the

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Bauman, R. (1977), Verbal Art as Performance, Rowley, Mass .

Heights, Ill.

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Devin J. Stewart (Emory University)

BadI' aI-Zaman al-Hamadhani: (358-98/968-1008) described his famous Maqiimiit, a collection of episodes portraying an eloquent trickster who time and again succeeds in relieving a gullible narrator of his surplus cash, as treating the topic of kudya "mendicancy." Critics of the work, most notably Clifford E. Bosworth in The Mediaeval Islamic Underworld: The Banii Siisiin in Arabic Society and Literature, have drawn attention to this topic, analyzing the Maqiimiit as a commentary on the modus operandi of the Banu Sasan, professional sham beggars. There is certainly ample justification for such an analysis in the Maqiimiit, including uses of the terms kudya (p. 15) and mukaddi "(sham) beggar" (p. 6) and the direct indication of the Maqiima Siisiiniyya (pp. 30-1). Nevertheless, it is argued here, drawing on al-Hamadhanl's Letters, that the Maqiimiit also refer to another kind of begging, the literary mendicancy practiced by the members of the secretarial class. Abu I-Fat}:t al-Iskandari:, the eloquent trickster of the Maqiimiit, is thus not merely a representative of the Banu Sasan but also a caricature of the secretary-for-hire, crafting verbal art in myriad ways in order to fill his coffers with funds from less-than-discerning patrons. Already during his short lifetime, al-Hamadhani: was famous for his Maqiimiit. His rival Abu Bakr al-Khwarazmi (d. 383/993) is reported to have quipped that he lacked talent for anything else besides that work. AI-Hamadhani's Maqiimiit, unlike al-I:Iarirl's, include no introduction or original frame, so that crucial information about the context of the work is lacking. Questions such as the size of the corpus, titles of episodes, earlier models, sources of inspiration, and the immediate occasion for the work have to be reconstructed from other texts. This makes his Letters, one of the few contemporary sources we can access to find reliable information about the Maqiimiit, all the more important. In them, al-Hamadhani mentions the Maqiimiit by two titles: Maqiimiit alkudya and Maqiimiit al-Iskandari (pp. 169, 227).1 These labels tell us a number of things. The fact that the work is called Maqiimiit al-Iskandari implies that the episodes form a unified collection, held together by the character of al-Iskandari in particular; that is, they fonn a corpus, and not a collection of disparate pieces that were later bound together. The title Maqiimiit al-kudya uses the Arabic term kudya, "beggary," which

* An earlier version of this essay was delivered as "Professional Literary Mendicancy and the Writings of Badi' aI-Zaman al-Hamadhani" to the American Oriental Society, Toronto, March, 2001. The edition ofal-HamadhanI's RasiiJi/ consulted here was published along with the Maqiimiit in Istanbul, 1881. References to the Letters will be given in the text. According to Ibn Khallikan, alHamadhanI's epistles were collected by Abu Sa'd 'Abd al-Ral).man b. Dust (d. 43111040), a J:Ianafi litterateur in Nishapur. Cf. Rowson 1987,663, n. 58.

40

Devin 1. Stewart

Professional Literary Mendicancy

may derive from Persian gada, "beggar," or gadaJi; "begging." This title similarly implies that the work is an internally connected text, with beggary serving as its major theme, if not its driving principle. We may cite these descriptions against those who would see a lack of coherence or regularity in al-HamadhanI's Maqiimiit as opposed to those of al-I:IarIri (d. 51611122).2 Although some texts in the modem, published collections do not fit thc mold found in al-I:IarIrI's collection, enough of them do follow it to show that the structure originated with al-Hamadhani, and these statements show that al-Hamadhani himself conceived of the work as a unified corpus. In addition, the way the term maqiimat is used here, in construct both with aI-IskandarI and with kudya, further suggests the meaning "feats, exploits." On one level, the titles applied to the work reflect a series of episodes presenting "The Exploits of al-Iskandarl" or "Great Feats of Beggary." I have argued elsewhere that Maqiimiit is an ironic inversion of majiilis referring parodically to the badith-Iectures of the time, but this would be one among many examples of multiple layers of meaning in the text. 3

AI-Hamadhani seems to represent a different, perhaps new, type of professional writer, the free-lance secretary, or secretary-for-hire. We do not know that he ever held a regular position in the chancery of any ruler. Certainly, rulers such as Khalaf b. A}:lmad (r. 352-93/963-1003), the ~afIarid ruler of Sistan, (Adnan b. Mu}:lammad, the mayor of Herat, and other influential officials numbered among his patrons. When al-Hamadhani appeared in Rayy before al-~a}:lib b. (Abbad, the famous vizier of the Buyid Fakhr alDawla (r. 366-87/977-97), and when he subsequently abandoned Rayy and went to Jurjan, he was seeking some sort of official post. On occasion, he appears to be asking to serve as a deputy for another professional secretary, and he certainly saw himself as practicing that same "trade" or "craft" ($anca, birfa) (p. 73). Nevertheless, there is no evidence that he held a regular position as a secretary. Rather, it appears from alHamadhani's Letters that he was more of an opportunist, depending not on a steady stipend but rather on the generosity which his letters were able to inspire in a wide array of occasional patrons. 6 One might go so far as to say that al-Hamadhani in effect adopted the methods of the great panegyrists of the preceding centuries, who traveled from one court to another in search of purses in exchange for their poems. Like the panegyric poets, these secretaries were engaged in an exchange of words for wealth. The main difference between them and the classical poets, however, was that their words were couched not in poetry but almost invariably in sal, rhymed and rhythmical prose. 7 Thus al-Hamadhani engaged in al-takassub bi-I-sa/, "acquiring wealth through rhymed and rhythmic prose," his favored medium and the favored medium of the secretarial class as a whole, rather than al-takassub bi-I-shicr, "acquiring wealth through poetry," a phenomenon so well known that it became a standard literary critical and literary historical issue.

Is "Great Feats of Beggary" about just that, clever ways to beg? Certainly the text draws on a particular historical phenomenon of which al-Hamadhani was well aware, the underground guild of professional sham beggars known as the Banii Sasan. Bosworth has taken up this aspect of the text, using the Maqiimiit in conjunction with other literary texts such as the Qa$ida Siisiiniyya, "The Beggars' Ode" of Abu Dulaf al-Khazraji (fl. 4thll0th c.), to explore the medieval Islamic underworld. 4 One can argue, though, that the beggary described by al-Hamadhani refers also to something else, the literary beggary of free-lance secretaries. The exploits of aI-IskandarI may be interpreted as a type of reflexive parody, poking fun at the clever, yet persistent nagging of the secretaries, who are continually plying their pens for personal gain, attempting to squeeze cash, gifts, and other emoluments out of patrons. During the era of Buyid rule in Iran and Iraq (320-447/932-1055), the decentralization of political rule and the proliferation of capitals - the Buyids had courts at Rayy, Isfahan, and Shiraz; other dynasties in Syria, northern Iraq, and Iran provided half a dozen more - produced an intellectual flowering not unlike that in the Andalus in the time of the "Party Kings" and Italy during the Renaissance. Competition between dynasties and decentralization fed the patronage system, in which professional men of the pen, the secretarial class, operated with considerable flexibility, since disgruntled secretaries were no longer beholden to one source of income, as had been the case at the imperial courts of the Umayyad or Abbasid caliphs. 5 During this period, sal became the standard medium of expression among the secretarial class. Nearly all diplomatic correspondence and most other epistles came to be written in this distinct form. The word used to describe the agent of this type of writing was baligh, "eloquent one," a term which came to designate primarily writers of sal as opposed to poets.

2 Beeston 1971. 3 Stewart, forthcoming, "Maqiimah." 4 C. E. Bosworth 1976 5 Mottahedeh 1980.

41

Upon reading through al-HamadhanI's Letters, one is struck first by their difficulty. This is less a result of recherche vocabulary and rhetorical flourishes - though these are abundantly present - than of persistent ellipsis: one is continually having to guess at attendant circumstances, completely omitted or alluded to indirectly or vaguely. Next, one is struck by the frequent mention of money. A large proportion of the letters are pleas for material assistance in some form: cash, gifts, tax refunds, tax amnesties, jobs for proteges, supplies, a cow, even firewood for the winter. The reader becomes aware that al-Hamadhani is operating within a system of patronage, the conventions of which he not only follows but also reveals in a mocking manner. A number of key terms in the letters draw our attention to these conventions. The patron is generally addressed as al-Shaykh, al-Sayyid, or al-Qa<;lI, depending on his family and position. He is addressed with a blessing (duCii}) which, we know from Abu Bakr al-~uli's (d. 335/946-7) Adab al-kiitib, was a key component of the letter in that it carefully negotiated the rank of the patron relative to that of the writer and others. 8 Such blessings include the most frequent, a/ala lliihu baqa}a I-shaykh, "May God prolong the remaining life of the Shaykh" 6

On a1-Hamadhani's life and career, see Rowson 1987, al-Qfl<;li 1993.

7 On the use of saj' by writers of al-Hamadhani' s period, see Mubarak 1931, 1934. On the structure of sa)', see Stewart 1990, and idem, forthcoming, "Rhymed Prose." 8 al-~iiU, Adab al-kuttiib, 155-60, 180-6.

42

Devin 1. Stewart

(pp. 49, 52, 53, 55), ayyada lliihu l-qii¢iya, "May God support the Judge" (p. 104), a(azzahu lliihu, "May God render him mighty" (p. 101), and others. General terms employed for the patron include mawlii, "Master" and makhdiim, "one who is served." The client, usually al-Hamadhani himself, is most often termed khiidim, "servant" or (abd, "slave." The action he performs is termed khidma, "service" or (ubiidiyya, "servitude." This service involves concrete rules and regulations that must be followed: al-Hamadhani refers to something as biib min abwiib adab al-khidma, "one category of the rules of service" (p. 119). The instrument of service is the letter, termed kitiib or ruq(a (pI. riqii). The essential function of the letter is the presentation ((ar¢) of the client's current problem or need (qi$$a or bii}a). The client does not demand the favor directly, for that would be out of place within the confines of the patron-client relationship. He merely sets forth the problem before the patron, then invokes the patTon's "exalted discernment" or "exalted consideration" (ai-ray al-(iill) or his "good ministration" (tadbir) regarding the situation at hand. The hope is that he will see fit to rectify the situation. Elegant style is the key to persuading the patron to action. The letters present throughout eloquent passages (fa$l, JU$ul) of rhyming and rhythmical prose (sa}). Here lies a key point of comparison between the Maqiimiit and the Letters: the sal, which is so characteristic of the former, is also a standard feature of the latter, to such an extent that many similar turns of phrase and indeed entire passages occur in both. Other critics have pointed out that sal is associated with the khu!ba or sermon,9 but it is also associated very strongly, during al-Hamadhani's time and later, with the epistolary art. By the mid-tenth century, well-crafted sal had become a valued good, a commodity which al-Hamadhani and others in his profession could exchange for cash gifts, tax indemnities, forgiven debts, land grants, government positions, and other forms of patronage and protection. Nevertheless, al-Hamadhani realized that words were indeed not directly fungible dirhams and dinars. However cleverly he crafted his epistles, he was engaged in a type of begging (we would probably call it fundraising), and he admits as much. AI-Hamadhani's Letters are often quite openly self-conscious, adhering to, but at the same time revealing and mocking, the conventions and rhetorical strategies of the genre. A number of passages admit, after a fashion, that the client's "service," like the performance of the professional sham beggar, boils down to a rather brazen and presumptuous exchange of elegant discourse, particularly sal, for cash. We thus have a literary, aesthetic, and ethical issue parallel to that of al-takassub bi-l-shtr, only the medium has shifted; it is now al-takassub bi-I-sa/. AI-Hamadhani recognizes, at least in jest, that this exchange may be seen as a complete sham - for words are empty and do not naturally or immediately translate into material wealth. In his Letters, al-Hamadhani draws attention to the difficulties involved in equating words with goods, or exchanging one for the other. In one passage, for example, he sets up a contrast between actual goods and mere words:

Professional Literary Mendicancy

43

qalilun ji l-jayb * khayrun min kathirin fi l-ghayb * wa-bimiirun huwa * khayrun min farasin lays a * wa-kukhun fi l-Ciyiin * khayrun min qa$rin fi l-wahm * wa-zayt * khayrun min lay! * wa-ma kan * ajwadu min law kan. A little in the pocket is better than a lot outside it. A donkey which exists is better than a mare which does not. A hut right before one's eyes is better than a palace in one's imagination. Oil is better than "I wish." What is there is worth more than "if there were" (pp. 43-4).

The folly of seeking to transfer words directly into goods is stressed by the pairs zaytl layt, "oil"!"I wish," and mii kiinllaw kan, "what is there"/"ifthere were," which occur in the rhyme position. Rhyme creates the impression of a basic equivalence between the two, but this is immediately undermined by the juxtaposition of what is concrete and valuable with what is abstract, hypothetical, and thus of little immediate value. In addition, these pairs reveal one of the writer's chief tricks, rhyme, exposing the methods of verbal subterfuge to which he regularly resorts. In a more developed passage, alHamadhani presents a parable of a young man who goes off with a large part of his father's fortune and returns with nothing but learning. When asked what he has to show for himself, the son replies: '0 father, I have brought you power over time, the glory of the everlasting, and the life of the hereafter. I have brought you the Qur)an and its exegesis, badith with its chains of authority, law with its spices, theology in all its sub-types, poetry with its rarities, grammar with its forms, and lexicography with its examples. So pick knowledge blossom by blossom, and harvest learning on high plains and in low valleys.' So his father brought him to the market and presented him to the money-changer, the cloth merchant, the druggist, the baker, and the butcher, ending up with the grocer. He bargained with him over a bunch of greens, telling him, 'Take as payment the tafsir of any sura you wish.' The grocer declined, saying, 'We only sell for broken shavings of coins, not for commented suras.' The father took dirt in his hand, put it on the head of his son, and lamented, '0 son of an ill-fated woman, you left with hundred-weights, and have returned with useless tales, for which a man of sound mind wouldn't sell even a bunch of greens!' (p. 172)

Here, too, the difficulty of converting from one medium, words and learning, to the other, material commodities, is stressed. But emphasized as well is the conflict between the two points of view. In the son's view, the learning he has acquired is extremely valuable, while his father, focused on immediate, physical, and material items, thinks otherwise. For him, his son's confidence in the value of learning is mere fantasy and presumption.

Sal, however, is valuable because it is persuasive, and can serve to turn mere words into cash. In a number of passages, al-Hamadhani refers explicitly to the language of letters and to sal in particular. One concludes that, in his own view and those of his contemporaries, sal has immense influence over people. In part this is because of the importance attributed to the sense of hearing: This is something well known, attested by notebooks and by corroborated reports. Poems speak of it, and badiths differ over it. The eye is the least perceptive of the sensory organs, and the ears are more adept at grasping (p. 104). Rhyme stands out as a distinctive feature of epistolary style, and it is rhyme that persuades the patron or audience. AI-Hamadhani addresses one patron as follows:

9 Beeston 1971.

44

Devin J. Stewart

mustashftan bi-kitiibi ilii l-khulqi l-(a?im shayJin (alii l-mim * ji biibi l-tajkhim *

* wa-l-(alqi I-karim * wa-I-fa(ili l-jasim * wa-kulli

Seeking by this letter to gain intervention with one of magnificent disposition, valuable possessions, prodigious bounty, and everything else ending in -m that has to do with showing tremendous respect (p. 104). This passage reveals important conventions and strategies involved in the craft. AI-Hamadhani is seeking the favor of a patron through flattery, and effective flattery involves a long series of rhyming, laudatory epithets. This is actually a standard feature of sal style as used in epistles, introductions to books, and other texts from this period. Elegant style favors sal units (series of cola sharing a common rhyme and accentual meter) of two or three cola, and departures from this, in the form of sal units of five, six, or more cola, occur only for particular purposes. One of the most common purposes is flattery of this sort. AI-Hamadhani cuts his series of cola short, in effect, feigning that he is either too lazy to continue or, more likely, too confident in his own ability to trouble himself with something so commonplace. In any case, it is clear that sal rhymes succeed in loosing the patron's purse strings, or are generally perceived as doing so.

Sal is thus a commodity. AI-Hamadhani, like other writers since the time of
o Abu Fac;ll! This is not your era, nor is this is your abode, nor is this market the market for

Professional Literary Mendicancy

45

ters?" (pp. 102-3). This passage stresses through rhyme the unexpected transformation that the secretary repeatedly attempts. When he feels hunger (ja(a), the secretary remedies it through end rhymes (asja) and acquires beer (juqa) through letters (riqa). Of course, in this letter al-Hamadhani is not seriously denouncing the practice. If anything, he goes on to ask in his petition for a supply of firewood to last through an especially cold winter. Here again, al-Hamadhani responds to a putative accusation of begging, which he returns in kind: For a man to be called an adulterer and a bugger is more desirable for him than to be called a beggar and a mendicant. I do not doubt that you are telling the truth, but you are the fastest courser in that field, and the most experienced hand at that profession. By your life, you are thc most bcggarly and the most effective in mendicancy, while I am newly acquainted with the craft, and but a recent arrival come to drink from this stream, with a clumsy hand in this epistle .... (p. 25) Here the terms "profession" and "craft" appear in addition to the references to mendicancy, and it is equally clear that the begging referred to is the literary mendicancy of professional secretaries. Another passage stresses the presumption of the secretarial beggar in contrast to the regular variety. mathali ~ ayyada lliihu l-qii(iiya ~ mathalu rajulin min a.~biibi l-jiriibi wa-I-mibriib * taqaddama l-qa~<;$iib * yas)aluhu faldhata kabidin fa-sadda bi-I-yusrii fiih * wa-awjaCa bi-I-ukhrii qafiih * fa-lammii raja(a itii maskanihi kataba ilayhi tawq'fii * ya!lubu bamlan ra(i'fii *

May God support you, 0 Judge! I am like one of those with nothing but a cloth sack and the mibriib of the mosque, who approaches the butcher, begging him for a slice of liver. The butcher, with' his left hand, stops up the beggar's mouth, and with the other inflicts intense pain on the back of his neck. Then, upon returning to his dwelling, the beggar pens him a royal edict demanding a suckling lamb (pp. 104-5). A direct statement equating the profession of secretary with that of kudya is the following:

your goods. How miserable are letters and what they contain, pens and what they write, inkwells and what they moisten, and end rhymes when they fall in order! Misery itself is preferable to these forms ofleaming! (p. 54)

ana ~ a!iila lliihu baqii)a l-Shaykhi l-(Amidi ~ mara aJ:triiri Naysiiburaji $an(atin liijihii u(iin * wa-lii (anhii u$iin * wa-shimatin laysat bi tuna! * wa-lii (anni tumii! * wa-birfatin Iii jihii udiil * wa-lii (anni tuziil * wa-hiya l-kudyatu llati (alayya tabi(atuhii * wa-laysat Ii manfclatuhii *

Again we see the important place assigned to the end rhymes of sal composition (asja) in al-Hamadhanl's list of the tools of his trade; they appear in parallel with letters or books, pens, and inkwells. The secretaries ply a craft, with varying degrees of success, in exchange for material wealth, and sal is one of their main implements, or even wares.

May God prolong the remaining life of the Shaykh and
AI-Hamadhani actually describes his own ilk, secretaries, as professional beggars, either in a straightforward manner or by way of comparison. AI-Hamadhani describes himself in one letter as follows: "I am not like one who holds his hand out to beg for generosity, or moves his foot in search of a free lunch" (p. 47). While this is a negative statement, it denies something that was clearly a suspicion of the recipient or audience of the letter. Many passages depict a secretary writing letters in order to beg for something, as in this obvious lampoon of their profession: kam /i-llahi (abdun idha ja( * ~abbara l-asja' * wa-idha shtaha l-fuqa( * kataba l-riqa( * "How many a servant does God have who, when he is hungry, composes rhymes in saje, and when he hankers after beer, writes let-

In sum, secretaries, like beggars, engage in a trade, and al-Hamadhanl's Letters equate the two trades explicitly, using the term kudya directly to refer to the secretaries' craft. AI-Hamadhani's description of secretaries as professional beggars sheds new light on the Maqamat, for it suggests the interpretation of the character of al-Iskandari as a representative of the professional secretary, in addition to the ordinary mukaddf or professional sham beggar. AI-Iskandari uses eloquence, however false his pretenses may be, for personal gain. So do the secretaries. In both cases, the money received is essentially lawful because it was not actually taken - the donor gives it of his free will. The trick is in the persuasion, and the form which this persuasion takes - sal - is a major charac-

46

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Devin J. Stewart

teristic of the Maqiimiit as well as of the elegant epistles of the secretaries. The comparison becomes even more compelling when the stylistic overlap between the Letters and the Maqiimiit is taken into account; many passages in the two works resemble each other quite closely. Similarities may also be seen in the justification of kudya in both the Maqiimiit and the Letters. AI-Iskandari generally closes the episodes of the Maqiimiit with a short envoi in verse in which he justifies his dishonest behavior. In many of these, he blames the bad economy and the uncertainties of the times for his resort to confidence games. He announces, for example, "This age is ill-fated and, as you see, oppressive" (p. 31) and "The times are at fault, not me, so reproach the passing of nights" (p. 32). Similarly, in the Letters, al-Hamadhani claims that he has been forced by circumstances to ply his dubious trade: wa-lliihi mii katabtu hiidhii l-kitiiba /:lattii ra}aytu jiiri yurhab * wa-jiiriyati tuhab yudhhab * wa-¢iyiiri tunhab * wa-akkiiri yu¢rab * wa-wakill yu{lab *

Bibliography Beeston, A. F. L. (1971), "The Genesis of the Maqamat Genre," Journal ofArabic Literature 2: 1-12. Bosworth, C. E. (1976), The Mediaeval Islamic Underworld: The Banu Sasan in Arabic Society and Lit-

erature, 2 vols., Leiden. al-HamadhanI, BadI' aI-Zaman (1881), Maqamat Abi l-Fap.l Badr ai-Zaman al-Hamadhanl, Istanbul. -

* qallamii yuniil *...

(1881), Rasa}il Abll-Fap.l Badr aI-Zaman al-Hamadhanl, Istanbul.

Mottahedeh, R. P. (1980), Loyalty and Leadership in an Early Islamic Society, Princeton. Mubarak, Z. (1931), La prose arabe au IVe siecle de l'hegire (Xe siecle), Paris. -

(1934), al-Nathr al-fannifi l-qarn al-rabi' al-hijrl, Cairo.

Al-Qa~n,

W (1993), "Badi' ai-Zaman al-Hamadhani and His Social and Political Vision," in: Mustansir

Mir (ed.), Literary Heritage of Classical Islam: Arabic and Islamic Studies in Honor of James A.

* wa-miill

Bellamy, Princeton, 197-223. Rowson, E. K. (1987), "Religion and Politics in the Career of BadI' aI-Zaman al-HamadhanI," Journal of

By God, I did not write this letter until I saw my neighbor terrified, my servant-girl given away, my wealth confiscated, my estates plundered, my plowman beaten, and my agent sought by the authorities (p. 130).

fiilat il-adhyiil * wa-kathura I-riyiil * wa-¢iiqa l-i/:ltiyiil * fa-l-/:laliil lazimtu I-tijiirata I-ma}muna * wa-l-/:lirfata I-maymuna *

47

wa-

My skirts became long, and my dependents many. My ruses ran out, for lawful income is seldom gained .... So I stuck to the reliable commerce, and the blessed craft... (p. 161).

These statements, claiming that the pressures of dependents and debilitating circumstances led to participation in "the reliable commerce and the blessed craft" - clearly ironic given the moral ambiguity attributed to it - recall similar statements voiced by the character of aI-Iskandar! in the Maqiimiit. AI-Hamadhani's statements about himself blame the corruption of the nonnal social fabric and the unstable economic circumstances for leading him to the practice of kudya, and even mirror some of the antinomian aspects of al-Iskandari's justifications, which often stress his opportunistic preying upon the gullible. Both the secretary and al-Iskandari engage in the exchange of words for wealth. The exchange is unfair at some level, because one cannot eat words; they are not directly fungible and in essence not worth what they are exchanged for. Furthennore, the exchange is carried out with a bravado that makes it all the more insolent, at least in hindsight. Nevertheless, this type of subterfuge is justified by the sorry state of the world and the supposed dire straits of the recipient. In the end it is not actually unlawful, because the donor parts with his money of free will and not by force, even though he has been manipulated. Giving the money can always be chalked up to the generosity of the donor, even if the recipient did not deserve it in the first place. This suggests that in the character of al-Iskandari and his modus operandi, al-Hamadhani is mocking the behavior of the secretarial class, himself included, who occupy a precarious, almost parasitical position in the patronage system, and are induced by circumstances and the desire to make a comfortable living to undertake brazen linguistic manipulations of their patrons.

the American Oriental Society 107: 653-73. Stewart, D. J. (1990), "Sa)' in the Qur'an: Prosody and Structure," Journal ofArabic Literature 21: 101-39. -

(forthcoming), "Maqamah," in: R. Allen and D. S. Richards (cds.), Cambridge History of Arabic Lit-

erature: The Post-Classical Period, Cambridge. -- (forthcoming), "Rhymed Prose," in: Encyclopaedia of the Quran, ed. J. D. McAuliffe, Leiden. Al-~un,

Abu Bakr Mu}:lammad b. Yal).ya (1994), Adab al-kuttab, ed. AJ:unad I:Iasan Basaj, Beirut.

Eric J. Hanne

Atlantic

The concept of rule in Islam has yet to be fully explained. From the death of the Prophet, the controversies over who should rule, how the ruler should be selected, what authority he should enjoy, and what the goals of Islamic rule should be were addressed in numerous religious treatises and works of advice throughout the medieval Islamic period. Such authors as Ibn al-Muqaffa<, Abu Yusuf, Ibn Taymiyya, and Ibn Khaldun addressed the thorny question of legitimate Islamic rule in their works, often while living through political and military chaos themselves. 1 It cannot be denied that these authors were affected by the situations around them, but how exactly did their circumstances influence their works? In addition one might ask whether these authors' writings proved useful in either answering the questions being asked or easing the conflict over Islamic rule. Such queries, however, would presuppose that the goal of these authors was to give definitive answers or to act as guides for future rulers. The present article challenges such assumptions. Could there be other reasons for the composition of these and other works on rulership in Islam beyond providing an idealized notion of the imamate, or imparting much needed advice for rulers? Should the criteria for assessing the importance of an individual work be based on what it suggests about the conceptualization of power and authority in the medieval Islamic milieu, or should the focus be on the ability of the work to provide a picture of how Islamic rule actually operated in a particular time and setting?2 While both approaches, the ideological and the pragmatic, are valid and might fruitfully be used in conjunction with one another, I have chosen to adopt here the latter approach in order to address the two identically-titled Abkiim al-sul[iiniyyas of al-MawardI (d. 45011058) and Abu Ya'la b. aI-Farra) (d. 458/1066). AI-Mawardl's book in particular is held to represent a key development in the evolution ofthe "classical theory of the caliphate."3

Ibn al-Muqaffa', 'Abdallah (d. 1391756), al-Adab al-!jaghlr; Abu Yusuf, Ya'qub b. IbrahIm (d. 798), Kitiib al-Khariij; Ibn Taymiyya, TaqI aI-DIn Al.Imad (d. 728/1328), al··Siyiisa al-shar'iyya; Ibn Khaldun, 'Abd al-Ral.Iman (d. 80811406), al-Muqaddima. These works represent a small sample of the titles available; the discussion of Islamic rule can be found in a number of genres in various time periods. For further discussion, see Black 2001, and bibliography. 2 In addition to these approaches, one may also suppose that many authors had a panegyric motive. 3 AI-MawardI, 'All b. Mul.Iammad, al-Abkiim al-sul!iiniyya; Abu Ya'la Mul.Iammad b. ai-Farra', alAbkiim al-sul!iiniyya. When mentioning the "classical theory of the caliphate," the name that comes to mind is that of al-MawardI, the famous Shafi'I scholar of the fifth/eleventh century. One does not, however, immediately think of Abu Ya'la, a contemporary of al-MawardI, and of the I~Ianbali: madhhab. In fact, Abu Ya'la's Abkiim al-sul!iiniyya has been mentioned rarely in modern scholarship on theories ofIslamic rule, and often as an afterthought. H. A. R. Gibb (1937, 1939) coined the phrase "classical theory of the caliphate" in his articles discussing al-MawardI's work. More recently, Little (1974) and Mikhail (1995) have addressed these issues; the present work constitutes a continuation of these discussions.

Eric J. I-I anne

Abbasid Politics and the Classical Theory of the Caliphate

Was it a coincidence that at the supposed nadir of caliphal - if we accept at face value the majority of the literature- the institution was lauded, extolled and sUDDorted intellectuallv? True. not all medieval "theorists" held similar views conceming either the role of the caliphate, or its relationship with the sultans, amfrs and society at large. Yet, for the most part the caliphate was seen as a necessary element within the Islamic community, one with clearly delineated rights, responsibilities, and powers. Merely to rationalize the contradiction between actual weakness and theoretical support by stating that the scholars were reacting to their political environments fails to appreciate the importance of any work on rulership. Instead, a thorough contextualization of political treatises in terms of the relationship between the Dar al-Khilaja and the (ulamiP may lead to a better understanding of them.

To suppoli these contentions regarding both the nature of the two works as well as the condition of the in the eleventh century, the lives and careers of both authors will be discussed, based on materials found in various medieval biographical dictionaries. 6 Although other works composed by al-Mawardi and Abu Yacla in addition to the aforementioned political treatises are cited, this section focuses on the relationship of both scholars with the Dar al-Khila/a. It is clear from their biographies that al-Milwardi and Abu YaCla held different views regarding their connections to the government. The former appeared to have no qualms about working as a diplomat for the Abbasids, Buyids, and Saljuqs in addition to exercising judiciary duties, whereas the latter only agreed to working with the Abbasids (alone) after repeated entreaties by caliphal officials. Their similarly titled works on the imamate, however, both strongly support the institution of the caliphate, and the authors profess all but identical views about the nature and duties of this Sunni entity. In the end, both scholars would become influential figures in the continuum of Islamic ideological history; nonetheless, al-Mawardi's fame was posthumous and lengthy, whereas Abu Yacla's celebrity manifested itself during his and his children's lifetimes, but did not extend to the modem period. 7

50

As the present article addresses the literature on rulership, the choice of treatises should come as no great surprise; but the thesis adopted for this study departs somewhat from common assumptions. Common opinion holds that from the rise of the Buyids until the sack of Baghdad by the Mongols, the Abbasid caliphate was reduced to a titular role at best, subjected to the political and military whims of various warrior dynasties. The resulting prevalent view is that in light of the reduced status of the caliphate, the works of al-Maward! and Abu Yacla were tokens of their authors' intent to support the enfeebled institution. Altematively, modem studies have also highlighted the practical attitudes of the authors, who in writing about such concepts as the "amfr of conquest" and the relation of such amirs to the caliphs, were attempting to legitimate a/ait accompli.4 The historical basis for these contextual views and the modem studies that have focused on them are not rejected here; I do, however, argue for a slightly modified pragmatic approach, namely to investigate these works in terms of whether they tell us anything about how power and authority were manifested in fifth-sixthleleventh-twelfth-century Baghdad. I contend that the importance of these works, although linked to their unparalleled nature and lofty position in the canon of Islamic political theory, lies in their very existence: the A~kam al-sul{aniyyas of al-Mawardi and Abu Yacla were written as part ofa larger program of the caliphs aI-Qadir billah (r. 381-422/991-1031) and his son a1Qa)im bi-Amr Allah (r. 422-6711030-75) to promote the newly revitalized caliphate in light of the current socio-political scene in the central Islamic lands. Beginning with aI-Qadir billah and continuing through the reign of al-Mustaqi) bi-Amr Allah (r. 5667511171-80), the caliphs were dynamic and influential figures on both the local and regional levels. Utilizing a variety of resources, they were able, at times, not only to maintain their institution's position within the larger socio-political arena, but also to expand its power and influence throughout the central Islamic lands. One way in which the caliphs accomplished this was by cultivating a strong relationship with the various (ulama) in Baghdad. 5

4 For an analysis of the modem literature, see pp. 51 and 55-7 below. 5 For a fascinating quantitative study of the scholarly classes of Baghdad in the fifth/eleventh century, and a keen analysis of how individual scholars defined themselves and related to one another, see Ephrat 2000.

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Modem scholars such as Hamilton Gibb, Henri Laoust, Donald Little, and Hanna Mikhail have provided much needed analysis of the reasoning behind the compilation of these works, as well as of their chronological order. 8 Their views are incorporated into the description below of the presentation and methods used by al-Mawardi and Abu Yacla. In combining this scholarly discussion of the works with an analysis of their authors' relationship to a newly revitalized caliphate, the focus in what follows is redirected to the works' specific role within the socio-political milieu in which they were composed. In reviewing the current understanding of the two A~kam al-sul{aniyyas, a few pertinent issues addressed therein will receive specific attention: the nature of the imamate; the selection process for the imam; some of the delegated positions; the "amir of conquest"; and the potential removal of an imam. To be sure, both works cover much more than can be addressed in this short essay, most notably the wide-ranging delegative functions of the imam, his sacred duties, taxation, and the issues surrounding crime and punishment. Although important in their own right, the areas chosen here highlight key developments in the relationship between the caliphate and the surrounding powers, and allow for a more nuanced assessment of the value of these works in terms of the above-mentioned criteria. Turning to the events of the period, this discussion of the imamate goes beyond what alMawardi' and Abu Yacla said, and centers on what happened with regard to the caliphate in and around Baghdad. In most cases the actual events do not correspond completely 6 Sources consulted include al-Dhahabi, Abu cAbdallah Mul:tammad (d. 74811348), Siyar a(lam alnubala'; Ibn Abi Yacla (d. 527/1133), Tabaqat al-ftanabila; Ibn al-clmad, Abu I-Falal,1 (d. 108911679), Shadharat; al-Subki, cAbd al-Wahhab b. CAli (d. 771/1369-70), Tabaqat al-shaji'iyya. These works add to materials found in the two main histories used for this work, Ibn al-Jawzi, Abu l-Faraj (d. 597/ 1201), al-Munta:fam; Ibn al-Athir, Abu l-I:Iasan CAll (d. 63011233), al-Kamil. 7 This may be the reason for his being ignored in most modem scholarship. 8 Gibb 1937,291-302 and 1939,401-10; Laoust 1968,11-92; Little 1974, 1-15; Mikhail 1995.

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with what is discussed in the two treatises; this alone should come as no surprise, as the authors were unable to cover every eventuality in their works. What is interesting to note, however, is the presentation by ai-Maward! of the catch-all phrase, ~ukm al-waqt ("judgment for the time"), as a means of reasoning for making decisions. 9 By allowing for decisions to be made on the basis of current circumstances, the authors show their willingness to accept the volatility of the military-political world in which they lived. The acceptance of ad hoc decision making in addition to other aspects of their discussion of the imamate shows that both authors were not intent solely upon providing an idealized portrait.

One-and-a-half centuries later, al-Dhahabi uses similarly laudatory comments to describe the life and works of al-Maward'i in his account of the circumstances surrounding al-Mawardi's death: "It was said that he [aI-Mawardi] did not see any of his works published during his lifetime. He had them collected in the house of so-and-so whom he trusted, saying that he was not sure that his intent in writing them was entirely pure."1! According to the source on this matter, al-Maward'i then instructed his confidant on how to proceed with the works following his death. When he knew death was upon him, alMawardi would stretch out his hand to his confidant; if al-Maward! grasped the hand, this meant he knew the books would not be well received and they should be thrown into the Tigris. If he did not squeeze his friend's hand, he knew the books would be accepted. The friend relates that upon al-Mawardi's death, he made the sign that the books would be well received. Although this interesting story may not be historically accurate, the account suggests that al-Maward'i suffered doubt concerning the purity of his intent in his writings, and more importantly, their reception. 12

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It will become clear, however, that neither treatise should be viewed simply as a handbook for how the caliphs and other figures should, or did, act in ruling over the central Islamic lands. Part of the reasoning for this assertion is that the Abbasids, Buyids, and Saljuqs did not limit themselves to these guidelines. Thus, if al-MawardI's and Abu Ya
AI-Mawardi Abu l-I:Iasan
The phrase ~ukm al-waqt is not used by Abu Ya'la, although he too endorses the principle of applying situational criteria in his treatment of multiple claimants to the imamate. In a case involving two acceptable claimants, one of whom was more learned and the other more courageous, Abu Ya'la states that preference should be given to the candidate whose qualities were more in keeping with the exigencies of the current circumstances. "If the more pressing need is for superior courage, owing to the extension of borders and the appearance of rebels, then the more courageous [candidate] is the more deserving. If it is superior knowledge that is needed, owing to the quiescence of the masses and the appearance of innovators, then the more knowledgeable [candidate] is the more deserving" (Abu Ya'la, al-Af:ikam, 24). 10 For Ibn al-JawzI's biographical entry on al-MawardI, see al-Munta?am 16: 41, no. 3357. Additional notices may be found in Ibn KathIr (d. 774/1373), al-Bidaya, 12: 80; Ibn al-cImad, Shadharat, 5: 219.

9

53

One of the most detailed expositions of al-Mawardi's life can be found in the Tabaqiit al-shiiji(iyya al-kubrii by al-Dhahabi's contemporary al-Subk'i.13 AI-Subki covers a variety of important issues in his biographical notice on al-Mawardi, among which one episode, regarding al-Maward'i's relationship with the Buyid leader lalal al-Dawla, deserves particular attention. As was noted, al-Maward'i served as a diplomatic liaison between the caliph and both the Buyids and Saljuqs on numerous occasions. The episode al-Subk'i discusses occurred in 42911037, when al-Qa)im conferred upon the Buyid prince, lalal al-Dawla, the honorific title (laqab) Shiihiinshiih al-A(?am Malik af.-Muluk. This title was not accepted by many of the culamiiJ , who pronounced fatwiis prohibiting its use, stating that such language was reserved for God alone. The qii¢f Abu Tayyib alTabar! disagreed, however, stating, "The application of malik al-muluk is licit, its meaning being that someone is malik al-muluk on earth." The I:Ianball scholar alTamimi agreed with al-Tabarl's view on this matter. AI-Mawardi, however, issued afatwii condemning the use of the laqab. Furthermore, as al-Subld states, " ... He was forceful in this. He belonged to the special entourage of lalal al-Dawla (min khawii$$ Jaliil alDawla), and when he gave thefatwii, he removed himself from him [lalal al-Dawla]."14 Turning to the narratives of Ibn al-lawz! and Ibn al-Athir, we obtain more information about al-Mawardi's life. In addition to discussing al-Maward'i's departure from lalal alDawla's company in 42911037,15 Ibn al-Athir describes al-Mawardi's role as a negotiator between lalal al-Dawla and his nephew, Abu Kalljar in 428/1036. 16 These negotiations, arising from the ongoing conflict among lalal al-Dawla, Abu Kalljar, and Bar11 al-DhahabI, Siyar, 18: 65: Wa innama lam u?hirha Ii-annilam ajid niyyatan khali:jatan. The entire notice, no. 29, may be found in 18: 64-8. 12 On the historicity of this account, see Madelung 1965. 13 al-SubkI, Tabaqat al-shaji'iyya, 5: 267-85, no. 509. Al-SubkI quotes a variety of sources in his biographical sketch, most notably aI-Khatib aI-Baghdadi. For the story concerning al-MawardI's death, see 5: 268. 14 Ibid., 5: 271. 15 Ibn al-Jawzi, al-Munta?am, 15: 264-6; Ibn al-AthIr, al-Kamil, 9: 459-60. 16 Ibid., 9: 455.

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~~ut5HaH, were of extreme importance to the present al-Qa)im. Although an accord ($ulb) was reached and sealed a marriage pact between of Jalal al-Dawla the strife among the created a chaotic in which and Abu other powers, notably the caliphate and the Saljuqs, were able to gain the upper hand. AI-Qalim sent al-Maward! on another diplomatic mission in 43511043 in an attempt to negotiate a settlement between the newly ascendant Saljuq leader Tughril Beg and the terminally ill Jalai al-Dawla. 17 AI-Miiwardl's active role as a diplomat for the various powers of the time is in direct contrast to the career of his younger contemporary Abu Yaclii b. al-Farra l.

corresponded with Abu Man~llr b. Yusuf in order to obtain Abu Yaclii as a qatjJ for the accordcaliphal barfm. Initially Abu YaCla refused the post, but upon further to his son, he relented under the circumstances: "When he could not find a way out of it, he imposed conditions upon them: He would not attend on official occasions, nor would he go out for formal receptions of dignitaries. He would not visit the sultans. Once a month he would be allowed to leave for the Mucalla River as well as Bab al-Azaj."21 When these stipulations were accepted, Abu Yacla began his service to al-Qalim in the barfm.

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Abu Yacla b. aI-Farra) Abu Yacla, Mu~ammad b. al-I:Iusayn b. Mu~ammad b. Khalafb. A~mad b. al-Farra l had quite a different career from that of his contemporary, al-Maward!. It should be noted at the outset, however, that we owe much of our knowledge about Abu Yacla to his son, Ibn Abi Yacla, who compiled the Tabaqat al-banabila, devoting the fifth !abaqa to his father, whom he called al-walid al-sa(fd.1 8 Abu Yacla was born in Baghdad in 380/990; his father, Abu cAbdallah, was a I:Ianafi shahid (professional witness) who refused the post of qa(1f when it was offered to him. Instead, Abu cAbdallah served as a professional witness in the house of Mu~arnmad al-SabIr, a qa(1f during the caliphate of al-Talic. Abu cAbdallah died in 39011000 when Abu Yacla was but ten years of age. The child was then raised and instructed in the J:Ianbali madhhab as a favored student of one Ibn alI-:Iamid. According to his son, Abu Yacla was entrusted with teaching Ibn al-I:Iamid's students when the latter went on bajj in 40211 0 11. F 0 Howing Ibn al-I:Iamid' s death in 40311012, Abu Yacla was well regarded by his followers; his knowledge and character were considered unmatched during his lifetime, earning him admirers from various madhhabs. According to Ibn AbI Yacla, "The fuqaha}, irrespective of their madhhabs and u$ul, gathered and listened to his works, obeying them and profiting by them."19 This reputation brought Abu Yacla to the attention of the Dar al-Khilafa, where he was asked to be a shiihid for the Chief Qa(1i, Ibn cAbdallah b. MakUla. Abu Yacla, like his father, wished to avoid political life and thus refused the request. Following the death of aI-Qadir, Ibn MakUla asked two shaykhs, Abu Man~ur b. Yusuf and Abu CAll b. Jarada, to entreat Abu Yacla to present himself to the court as an attending witness. Eventually, Abu YaC!a acquiesced, and served as a witness to al-Qalim's reading of the Qadir! creed in 432/1040. 20 Abu Yacla was again in attendance at the Dar al-Khilafa in 44511053. Upon the death of Ibn Maku!a in 44711055, members of the Dar al-Khilafa

17 Ibid., 9: 522; al-Munta?am, 15: 289. Ja1al al-Dawla died in the same year from a liver complaint. 18 The biographical sketch for Abu Ya'la can be found in 2: 193-230. The depiction of the father by his son cannot be said to be free of bias and should be assessed accordingly. Other biographical notices appear in Ibn al-JawzI, al-Munta?am, 16: 98-9, no. 3390; Ibn KathIr, al-Bidiiya, 12: 94. 19 Tabaqiit, 2: 193: wa-l-fuqahii)u (alii khtiliifi madhiihibihim wa-u~ulihim yajtami'una wa-li-maqiilihi yasma(una wa-yuVuna wa-bihi yantafi'una.

20 See the concluding section of the present article for a discussion of the Qadir! creed.

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Although Abu Yacla, unlike al-Maward!, shared the (ulama}'s aversion to public office, the I:Ianball scholar was well aware of the society around him. His staunch support and espousal of the I:Ianball madhhab earned him a great reputation among both his contemporaries and successors. In the list of books described by his son, one finds a number of works refuting the Ashcarls, MuCtazills and Shiites. One of his more famous works, Kitab INal al-ta}wllat li-akhbar al-$ifiit, an attack on the Ashcar!s, came to the attention of al-Qa lim.2 2 According to his son's account, Abu Yacla was known simply by his laqab, "al-QatjJ," for generations after his death; he saw the entrance of Tughril Beg into Baghdad in 44711055, and died in Rama<;ian 458/August 1066.

Modem Research on al-A~kam al-Sultaniyya As mentioned previously, our current understanding of the "classical theory of the caliphate" rests on the preeminence of al-Mawardi's Abkam al-sultaniyya. Gibb, Laoust, and Little argue convincingly that part of the reason for this focus on al-Mawardi and his work was that it was the first work to come to the attention of the West following the translation and widespread use of Edmond Fagnan's annotated French version of this work in the early twentieth century.23 Mikhail expresses a similar point of view, but at the end of his work adds an appendix, entitled "Reception of the Statutes of Government," in which he delineates the "usage" of al-MawardI' s works by both later medieval and modem Muslim scholars. 24 Abu Yacla, in contrast, has been dealt with briefly by Laoust and Little, and only in terms of his Abkam al-sul!aniyya. In the last thirty years, however, another of Abu Yacla's works, the Kitiib al-Mu(tamad fi u$ul al-dfn, has been critically edited with a helpful introduction on the scholar's life by Wadi Z. Haddad. 25 Other works by Abu Yaclii have also found their way into Western libraries over the last

21 Ibid., 2: 200. There is no explicit discussion of the importance of these locales in the biographical accounts of Abu Ya'lii. 22 This work is not extant; soon after its completion Abu Ya'lii was accused by the Ash'arls of anthropomorphism. 23 Little states that although Fagnan's version did not mark the first occasion on which the West had heard of al-MawardI's work, Fagnan's complete translation "made the work available to the world of scholarship at large." Little 1974,2. See Fagnan 1915. 24 Mikhail 1995, Appendix A: 59-60. Mikhail lists, in chronological order, those figures from 'Abd alRal,lmiin (d. 589/1193) to Rashid Ri<;lii (d. 1353/1935), all of whom viewed al-MiiwardI as a key figure in the development ofIslamic political theory. 25 Abu Ya'la b. aI-Farra', al-Mu(tamad.

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Abbasid Politics and the Classical Theory of the Caliphate

several decades; his Mu(tamad, however, was the basis for Abu Yacla's discussion of the imamate in his A~kiim al-sul!iiniyya. 26

sulJiiniyya.3 0 Another reason to question the assumption that Abu Yacla based his work on al-Mawardl's comes from a statement by Abu Yacla himself. In his prefatory reAbu YaC!a states that he has already addressed the issue of the imamate in his Mu(tamad, and that he composed his A~kiim al-sul!iiniyya in order to clarify and expand upon issues raised in the earlier work. 31 His apparent reasoning for the work was to provide more details and make corrections where necessary; no mention is made of any requests such as those described by al-Mawardi for his work. 32

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This point brings us to the questions raised by modern scholars as to which work, that of al-Mawardi or that of Abu Yacla, was written first, as well as to the reasoning behind them; the two questions have been connected in terms of the answers given thus far. The general view is that al-Mawardi, upon the request of "one to whom obedience is obligatory,"27 composed his A~kiim a l-sul!iin iyya , and that Abu Yacla, who makes no mention of being requested to write such a work, followed suit, offering the I:Ianball view of the imamate and rulership in Islam. All four modern scholars mentioned above quote the famous passage from al-Miiwardl's prefatory remarks, agreeing that the "one to whom obedience is obligatory" undoubtedly refers to the current caliph al-Qa)im. Furthermore, the general conclusion is that Abu Yacla, as the younger of the two men, and the one who refrained from being too closely attached to the government, most likely was influenced by his older contemporary (either using al-Mawardi's work as a general guide for his own books or copying verbatim certain of its sections). These conclusions are not without controversy, however, as Little demonstrates. The first difficulty that must be overcome relates to the story surrounding al-Mawardi's death. As mentioned, according to the various biographers, al-MawardI did not have his works disseminated until after his death; this may have made it less likely for Abu Yacla to have access to the A~kiim al-sul!iiniyya, especially when one takes into account both scholars' extreme age at the time of the works' composition, as well as the chaotic nature of the military-political situation in Baghdad. 28 Of course, the story surrounding alMawardi's death may be fictional, and it may reflect the later controversies surrounding al-Mawardi's work in general. This is not the place to discuss the accusations against alMawardi, or the defenses of his writings by both medieval and modem scholars; these subjects have been studied by Mikhail, whose goal was to place al-Mawardl's views on Islamic rule in their ideological context. 29 Refuting the suspicions of MuCtazilism and Ashcarism raised against al-Mawardi, Mikhail contends that the scholar was "an independent thinker"; the basis for Mikhail's arguments is the thorough study of alMawardi's views as found in many of his major works, not only the A~kiim al26 The Mu(tamad, a typical work on religious belief and dogma, has the requisite chapter on the imamate; in the 1974 edition, see 222-55. 27 The full phrasing is "I have devoted to them [the "Statutes of Government"] a book, obeying [in so doing] the command of one to whom obedience is obligatory" (afradtu laha kitaban imtathaltu fihi amra man lazimat !a(atuhu), al-Mawardi, al-Aftkam, 1. 28 It should be remembered that during this period of the mid-fifth/eleventh century (most estimates place the writing of the two works sometime after 435/1043), Baghdad and the whole central Islamic region were beset with a variety of conflicts. Within Baghdad, troop riots, confessional disputes, and internal Sunni conflicts exacerbated the plight of the city's popUlation which was already suffering from occasional flooding, plague, and food shortages. The Buyids were not helping the situation with their family rivalries, and eventually succumbed to the Saljuq advances. In addition, this period saw the conquest of the city by al-Basasirl and his pro-Fatimid troops in 450/1058. Baghdad was ransacked by him and his forces in 450-1/1058-9, the year of al-Mawardl's death, and only began to recover in the latter part of that decade. 29 Mikhail 1995.

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In the end, it is difficult to determine definitively which work preceded which. The issue is tantalizing, however, as the books bear a striking resemblance to one another in terms of the views their authors express. The fact that both scholars, barring a few notable instances, agree on the majority of issues raised, is made more striking by their following the same order in discussing the concepts as well as, in many cases, the same wording. This has led modem scholars to view the works and their provenance with circumspection. 33 I would argue, however, that determining which work was written first, although a puzzle worthy of further historiographical research, is not particularly pertinent to our understanding of the works' function in relation to the caliphate. It is pertinent, however, that there are two works, written almost simultaneously on the same topic and reaching identical conclusions, by two authors who hold diametrically opposed views concerning government service. The coincidences in the two works, in fact, heighten the need to place more emphasis on the reasoning behind their composition. In this sense, the reader's attention is called towards the actions of the caliphate in fostering a strong relationship with the (ulamii of Baghdad, most notably towards the promulgation, in alQadir'S reign, of the creed of "correct belief." J

The Two A~kiim al-Sul!iiniyyas: Topics and Contemporary Reality Before discussing both works in detail, a few comments about the presentation of the respective first sections by both authors are in order. AI-Mawardi's first chapter, entitled "Regarding the conferral of the imamate" (Fi (aqd al-imiima) is organized quite clearly. AI-Mawardi does not seem to rely as much on supportive quotations from past scholars as Abu Yacla. Rather, al-Mawardi: tends to list varied situations that may arise and to settle them in a quick and simple way, often offering a multitude of views concerning the topic. Abu Yacla, on the other hand, organizes his first chapter, entitled "Sections regarding the imamate" (Fu$ul fi l-imiima) in a less structured fashion. In quick succession, Abu Yacla offers opinions on topics ranging from the necessity of the imamate to whether or not fainting spells on the part of the imiim call for his abdication. 34 Further30 Donald Little refers to Mikhail's work (at that point an unpublished thesis), noting his views and stating the need for further work along Mikhail's lines; see Little 1974. 31 See above, n. 26 on Abu Ya'la's discussion of the imamate. 32 Abu Ya(la, al-Aftkam, 19. 33 This is most notable in Little's article, which compares the two works after trying to establish a definitive timeline for their composition.

34 They do not, as they are temporary conditions, and furthennore, the Prophet was susceptible to them. AI-Mawardl gives an identical opinion. Abu Yacla, al-Aftkiim, 20-1; al-Mawardi, al-Aftkam, 17-18.

58

Eric 1. Hanne

more, as mentioned earlier, Abu Yacla relies more on supporting culled from the actions of the Prophet and the Sala! as well as the badith transmitted by b. Both authors pursue their different methods of pH~sent2ltlcm compositions. AI-Maward! tends to provide more examples of divergent views prior to rendering his judgment, while utilizing more anecdotal evidence from the Rashidiin, Umayyad and Abbasid periods. Abu Yacla continues to provide a less structured treatment of the issues.3 5 Both, however, cover the same amount of material in delineating the parameters of caliphal power. ..L"-'..'U'-" ......

The Necessity and Nature of the Imamate With regard to the necessity of the imamate, the two authors are in agreement, stating that the imamate is essential for the community, and that this necessity derives not from reason, but from revelation. They differ, however, in the structure of their arguments, and thus in the final presentation of their views. Abu Yacla, on the one hand, begins by quoting Al).mad b. I:Janbal, "There would be strife (jitna) if there were no imam to oversee the affairs of the people."36 With regard to the grounds for this necessity, Abu Yacla is adamant in his view, "The way to its necessity is revelation, not reason."37 AIMaward!, on the other hand, poses the question, literally, and then provides the views of both camps of opinion, lending the concept a certain ambiguity.3 8 On a practical level, this debate appears to have little relevance; although the importance of the disputes between traditionalist and rationalist scholars in terms of ongoing ideological developments cannot be denied, many of the rulers of the day did not seem to care about the nature of the necessity for their rule.

Selection of the Imam According to both authors, there are two ways in which the imam could be chosen: the selection by "those who loose and bind" (ahl aI-ball wa-I-(aqd) or by the previous imam's designating his heir.3 9 As for the number of electors needed to make the selection valid, both authors present a variety of possibilities; in many cases, however, they base their statements on precedents set during the Rashidiin era. They refer specifically to Abu Bakr's appointment and acceptance by five individuals, and cUmar's selection of six individuals for the shiira, one of whom would be chosen as the imam. 40 In addition to these numbers they also allow three electors, one of whom is chosen while the other two attest to this choice, as in a marriage contract. 41 In the end both agree that the

35 Little (1974) discusses Abu Yacla's style of presentation as "quasi-interlocutory," with Abu Ya(la first posing a question and then answering it with supporting evidence; ibid., 9-10. 36 Abu Yacla, al-A~kam, 19: qala A~mad ... : al-fltna idha lam yakun imam un yaqumu bi-amri l-nas. 37 Ibid., wa-!arlqu wujubiha l-sam'u la l-'aql. 38 al-Mawardi, al-Aftkam, 5. 39 Ibid., 6; Abu Yacla, al-A~kam, 23, 40 Ibid., 23-5; al .. Mawardi, al-A~kam, 6-7. 41 Ibid.

Abbasid Politics and the Classical Theory of the Caliphate

imam could even be elected by one

like a

and the

59

al-Maward! arguing that "the selection is vahd."42

With regard to the requirements of the ahl and the ahl al-imama, both authors again agree on the basic issues. To be an "elector" one must fulfill three requirements: one must possess the capacity to act justly ((adala) , knowledge ((ilm), and the appropriate judgment (ray) and wisdom (bikma) to choose the best candidate. The candidates for the imamate, according to both authors, must possess certain qualities. Although al-Maward! lists seven and Abll YaCla only four, the overall specifics coincide. The imam must descend from the tribe of Quraysh and be gifted with character traits required for ruling over an Islamic community: knowledge and ra)y (the ability to form sound religious opinions), justice, wisdom, and courage. Donald Little argues convincingly that the difference in Abu Yacla's listing of necessary traits reflects his Ijanbalibased desire to lessen the importance of personal opinion (ray).43 The two scholars overlap on a number of other special concerns involved with selecting the caliph's successor. Both agree that it is licit to seek the officc of the caliphate, as opposed to the injunction against seeking a position as qarj.z. Furthermore, should the chosen candidate not wish to be caliph, he is not bound to accept the selection of the electors; they instead will choose another for the position, the idea being that the acceptance of the position should be based on willingness eaqd murarj.ah), not compulsion or coercion (ikrah). 44 In another situation, if the electors have two definite choices, but one is either more knowledgeable or more courageous than the other, our two authors provide the logical answer: choose the one that best fits the situation. They phrase their responses to this question similarly, and al-Maward! provides a significant term, J;.ukm al-waqt, for the "deciding factor."45 Abu Yacla and al-Maward! are also in agreement on the concepts of afdal and mafdiil when it comes to the imamate. If, after a candidate has been chosen and the bay(a (oath of loyalty) has been conferred upon him, the electors find a better individual, the first decision is binding. In a similar vein, with regard to the question of the legality of having two imams chosen though divided by a great distance or body of water, both scholars reject the notion explicitly. They are in general agreement with regard to any controversy surrounding the succession. If two candidates contest an election, both scholars offer the suggestion that the two candidates be rejected for a third one. Abu Yacla comes across as more forceful in this regard, whereas al-Mawardi: provides a variety of opin42 Ibid" wa-li-annahu ftulanu wahidin niijidhun. 43 Little 1974, l3. The requirements for candidacy to the imamate, as listed by al-Mawardi, are: justice; knowledge suitable to make independent judgments (ijtihiid); sound hearing, vision, and speech; physical soundness; prudence to make proper decisions; courage to defend the lands; and Qurashi: de .. scent; al-Aftkam, 6. Abu Ya'lii lists four requirements: Qurashi: descent; the traits required to be a qa(il (freedom, age of majority, reason, knowledge, and justice); the ability to wage war and prescribe the required punishments when needed; and highest rank (af(iaT) in terms of knowledge and religion; alA~kam, 20. Another feature of Abu Ya'lii's presentation is his complete dependence on I:Ianball authorities. 44 Ibid., 24; al-Mawardi:, al-A~kiim, 7. 4S Ibid.; Abu Yacla, al-A~kam, 24. See above, n. 9.

Eric J. Hanne

Abbasid Politics and the Classical Theory of the Caliphate

ions about the possible action; both, however, stress the need to avoid conflict within the community at all costs.46

This observation need not imply that aI-Qadir was not a suitable candidate for the caliphate; accounts abound concerning his scholarly pious and charitable duties. It has been argued elsewhere, however, that the choice of ai-Qadir was not due to these characteristics, but rather to Baha) al-Dawla's desire for a tractable caliph.50 In any case, aI-Qadir proved to be a forceful figure both in Baghdad and the surrounding region during his forty-one-year reign. An example of his desire and ability to regain some control over the caliphate's destiny was his designation of not one, but two heirs-apparent: al-Ghalib biWih in 409/1018 and al-Qa)im bi-Amr Allah in 42111030. In both cases al-Qadir's selection of his heirs was accomplished alone. Furthermore, in the second case we arc given a glimpse of the reasoning behind his choice. When al-Qa)im was designated as wall al-(ahd in a public ceremony held in the Dar alKhila!a, the current Buyid leader, Jalal al-Dawla, was not present. The Buyid amlr later sent a letter requesting an explanation from aI-Qadir, who responded, "Indeed, the Commander of the Faithful, upon considering that which God, may He be exalted, has bestowed upon him in the progeny of Abu Ja