THE DEATH OF THE PROPHET
The death of the Prophet in A.D. 632 did not come about suddenly. It followed a gradual fever that grew for days after Muḥammad had moved into the house of ‘Āisha, where he decided to spend his last days. He was brought there leaning on ‘Alī and al-‘Abbās, the two chiefs of what would one day be viewed as the main branches of the Hāshimite family, the ‘Alid and the ‘Abbāsid. However, there are few reports about any interaction between him and members of his family once he was settled in ‘Āisha’s house: ‘Alī, al-‘Abbās, ‘Abdallāh b. al-‘Abbās, or even Fāṭima, his daughter. Here the historian quickly notes that the story being reported in the chronicles is heavily structured to foster interaction between Muḥammad and the companions who would one day become the points of reference of Jamā‘ī-Sunnī Islam: Abū Bakr, ‘Umar, and ‘Āisha. The physical distance between the Prophet and his kinsmen, the Hāshimites—the family viewed as the gravity center of Shī‘ī sympathies—helped to legitimize three ideological messages in one image: that Muḥammad (or more correctly, memory of him) was becoming the sacred trust of the community and not just his family, that the ḥadīths of ‘Āisha were now trustworthy by her proximity to him,1 and that the rule of the first Rāshidūn was legitimate because it emerged from such a setting. The location of Muḥammad’s death was thus a tool of political and religious legitimacy that formed both the reference point of an official history and a foundation for the ḥadīth -linked principles of Islamic law.
The only direct interaction and blessing given by Muḥammad in his final hours to a companion was to Usāma b. Zayd, son of his former adopted son, Zayd b. Ḥāritha, who was preparing to depart leading the first Islamic army of conquest against the Byzantines in Syria.2 The sources describe the Prophet, weakened by illness, giving gestures of blessing only to the eighteen-year-old commander. Death had been drawing closer for days, and Muḥammad had prepared himself for it, instructing the community on some last points of ritual and, in a unique request, demanding an unusual final ablution to be performed whereby the companions were asked to pour water on him from seven different wells.3 These were unusual rites for what was clearly an extraordinary death. Later Islamic memory, entwined with contemporary idealizations of Muḥammad, looked back on this event and saw hints that this was a signal closure of a messianic career, not only marking the completion of a paradigm of prophecy but encompassing a path of victory that carried cosmic overtones. Muḥammad had already proclaimed this in his final pilgrimage speech when he said: “Time has completed its cycle [and is] as it was on the day that God created the heavens and the earth [inna alzamān qad istadāra ka-hay’atihi yawma khalaqa allāhu al-samāwāt wa’l-arḍ].”4 This speech, made at the pilgrimage known as “ḥijjat al-wadā ‘” (the Farewell Pilgrimage), provides a high point in his preachings, symmetrical perhaps with Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and invites the historian of religion to examine how Muslims in the seventh century represented Muḥammad with a parallel messianic reverence, albeit in contrary fortune. Whereas one (Jesus) had resigned himself to being conquered, another had now become a conqueror.
The Islamic conquest of Mecca, a city with an ancient and central religious status among various cults in Arabia, must have led many to exaggerate the significance of Muḥammad’s conquests, especially of Mecca, as a prelude to the conquest of the world.5 Others projected Muḥammad’s success into the future, seeing him to be potentially immortal,6 with some cautioning that the deceased prophet should not be buried because he might come back to life.7 Possibly in deference to such hopes, the community did in fact wait until Muḥammad’s fingers began to turn blue before beginning preparations for the funeral rites.8
This aggrandizing view of Muḥammad as a messianic leader has been preserved in fragments of evidence in the sources, most notably in the words of ‘Umar, who famously declared that Muḥammad had not died but merely departed (in spirit) to encounter the Divine, as Moses had done, and that he would return in forty days. ‘Umar threatened to kill anyone who claimed Muḥammad had died.9 Abū Bakr, as is well known, is remembered for chastising ‘Umar for expressing this view. Yet Abū Bakr himself uttered a no less messianic and esoteric view of Muḥammad at that juncture as well. As the first companion allowed to lift the veil from the deceased Prophet’s face and bid him farewell, Abū Bakr declared cryptically, “With my father may you be ransomed, and with my mother! Indeed, you have tasted the death which God had decreed for you. No [other] death will ever overtake you.”10
This remark by Abū Bakr has not traditionally attracted much attention, but if words in Ṭabarī’s work were meant to be parsed with a cyclical view of history, and with the legacies of previous monotheistic prophets in mind, then Abū Bakr’s words can be seen as forming a surreal comment on the Prophet’s biography and its place in history. Always a keen interpreter of dreams and the abstractions of reality, as we shall see below, Abū Bakr in a sense implied that Muḥammad was the final incarnation of prophecy, as he both embodied and finally triumphed over all the tribulations that biblical prophets, patriarchs, seers, and kings had endured before. Consonant with this view, the final prophet was considered to have no remaining links of an earthly nature after his death, either with his family—which was forced to surrender all claim to his material inheritance—or his companions, including Abū Bakr, whose proximity to Muḥammad is heightened in the historical tradition only to be limited in a ḥadīth at the end, “Were I to choose a companion [khalīl], it would be Abū Bakr.”11 Abraham had been dubbed “khalīl al-Raḥmān” before, but in the terrestrial domain Muḥammad allowed no room for such proximity.
THE AMBIGUOUS SUCCESSION
The death of the Prophet put in place one of the greatest dilemmas and mysteries in Islamic history: why did the founder of a religion with a clear past of political experience, evidenced best in letters of summons sent to foreign leaders exhorting them to embrace Islam, not name a successor? With the abundance of ḥadīth literature on a variety of topics, it is surprising that Muḥammad would not have considered this to be an important issue worthy of commentary. The key sources of Islamic history contain lengthy accounts about the conquests, delegations, and interactions in Muḥammad’s lifetime but no clear word, or even contested word, on the succession. This silence was most likely not one of deletion or omission, as Shī‘ī Muslims believe happened, but one deliberately crafted in the historical-ḥadīth accounts that dealt with the final days of the Sīra so that there remained a gaping field for the community to disagree—for trial (fitna)—after its master had passed away. Silence on this issue probably indicated equality among the companions on one level, but it also held other critical meanings, such as the complexity of comparing a group with diverse attributes of religious merit; it also opened the way for the inexplicable path of Hāshimite tragedy that began with ‘Alī’s loss of the first succession. The ambiguity of whom Muḥammad wanted to lead the community was therefore left in part as an exercise to be deciphered. It was left for the believer to read political statements in signs, extrapolate from certain episodes, and sometimes even resign himself to the fact that the Hāshimite family, in its ‘Alid branch, was not destined to rule.12
Traditional Muslim readings of Abū Bakr’s succession preserve faint signs of this original scheme of parabolic complexity by admitting the absence of Muḥammad’s clear designation and seeking to adapt political meaning through shadow actions. The story of how Abū Bakr was designated by the Prophet to lead the community in its congregational prayers in the final days of the Sīra represents a prime example of how one type of religious duty would get interpreted as a sign of political favor for succession to the office of first caliph as well. The Sunnī perception of Abū Bakr’s political precedence over other companions was not based only on this event, however. There were other components, such as pious memory of Abū Bakr as the first convert and his companionship with the Prophet during the Hijra.13 And later, the Saqīfa event would add another dimension, relating to secular aspects of political skill used to enhance the image of the political worthiness of the Muhājirūn in general and Abū Bakr in particular.
The Issue of Leading the Prayer
The Sunnī view of history has long held that it was Muḥammad’s action of designating Abū Bakr to lead the prayer that provided a sign of the Prophet’s desire to see him succeed to the caliphate. This view, however, draws only on a partial reading of one version of the events that took place. Ṭabarī’s chronicle includes four versions of what the Prophet was going to do, as evidenced in the following reports.
1. The first version declares that when the Prophet’s illness grew severe, he asked his companions, “Give me [pen and paper] so that I may write a document for you and you will never go astray after me [i’tūnī aktubu kitāban lā taḍillū ba‘dī abadan].”14 The companions wrangled over what he had said, as some started saying to others: “What is the matter with him? Is he starting to hallucinate [mā sha’nuhu, a-hajar]?” When they asked him to repeat, he gave up on them and reportedly muttered three wishes, which were, first, that they expel the polytheists from Arabia, and second that they give presents to the [Arab] delegations as he used to; the narrator claims to have forgotten the third! (This is taken by some as an omission of the order to have ‘Alī succeed him.)
This version already evokes for the reader the range of meanings to which such accounts are open. When we see the companions suspecting infirmity in the Prophet, it is not clear if this is because he was simply asking to write (when he is traditionally viewed as illiterate), or whether he was trying to add to the Qur’ān (which Muslims were urged to consider already complete), or whether he just wished to name a successor (which could not have been allowed to be revealed in so straightforward a manner).15 It is also worth noting that in this version Ṭabarī sets the dialogue between the Prophet and the collectivity of the community, thus making them question together the Prophet’s desire to put something in writing. The word used to reflect their challenge, “qālū” (they said), can quickly slide by as being part of the normal course of narration, when in fact it greatly reflects Ṭabarī’s choice to tone down the responsibility for this questioning. If an error was being committed in this exercise, then Ṭabarī was clearly trying to make it seem somewhat forgivable by virtue of the fact that it was the whole group that got the wrong impression (if indeed it was a “wrong” action). In texts other than those given by Ṭabarī, the responsibility for the challenging statement is more specifically attributed to ‘Umar, which seems to fit an original context for the story.
Other versions of this account, given in ḥadīth literature, can open up meanings that are even more suggestive about the context of composition of this text and the connection between historical and ḥadīth literature. In Bukhārī’s version of the event, for example, we read that it was ‘Umar who started the rumor about the Prophet’s infirmity, saying: “‘The Prophet has been weakened by his illness. You should all now abide by the Qur’ān. The Book of God shall suffice us’ [inna al-nabiyya qad ghalaba alayhi al-waja‘ wa ‘indakum al-qur’ān, ḥasbunā kitāb allāh] … Those who were at the Prophet’s house [at the time] then got into a dispute, and argued with one another [fa-ikhtalafa ahlu al-bayt, fa-ikhtaṣamū].”16 Since ‘Umar was the main architect of Abū Bakr’s succession at the Saqīfa and was generally held responsible in Shī‘ī Islam for steering the succession away from ‘Alī, this account indicates ‘Umar’s role in setting the boundary on what Muslims are supposed to listen to from the Prophet. In essence, according to ‘Umar (the Sunnī view), the Prophet begins to hallucinate when he is about to set the succession in favor of ‘Alī. This designation of ‘Alī is not explicit, but it comes across in the clarification often given on the “matter forgotten” by the narrator, and it must have been well known as an aside in medieval times.17
While ‘Umar is not mentioned in Ṭabarī’s account as the one who initiated the hallucination rumor (the rumor being assigned collectively to the companions),18 the reader can read ‘Umar’s manipulation of the situation as the first step in a growing literary drama that would build up a story of emergent discord among the successors. If there is a kernel of fact in these accounts, it is about ‘Umar’s bias against the ‘Alids (since ‘Umar did not designate ‘Alī later for the third succession), which is worked now in this earlier scene as evidence of ‘Umar’s earlier aversion to having ‘Alī succeed. In earlier times, during the Sīra, ‘Umar was famous for his questioning of the Prophet, an exercise that often brought forth divine concurrence (muwāfaqāt; see chapter 3) through explicit mention by the Prophet. The more controversial nature of such an early bias by ‘Umar against ‘Alī on the matter of succession (see chapter 7), however, made it necessary to reduce ‘Umar’s personal responsibility for this “muwāfaqa” and let the record of future Rāshidūn history prove his judgment right.
Thus the story of the Prophet’s aborted will kept the story of succession open, but it also provided the context for fulfilling later ninth-century Islamic expectations, some of which were pro-‘Umar and Sunnī. This happened in two different ways. In a secular way, ‘Umar’s declaration, “ḥasbunā kitāb allāh [the book of God shall suffice us],” made it permissible for a Sunnī mind to ignore commands from the Prophet on secular matters such as succession if it appeared that he was taking an unwise step, such as placing ‘Alī above other, more skilled companions in the office of leadership. And, in a religious way, ‘Umar’s declaration resonated with importance as the wisdom of a caliph best known in the Sharī‘a for the cases of muwāfaqāt. Closely related to this latter point is, for example, the Prophet’s purported command to expel polytheists (especially Christians and Jews) from the Arabian Peninsula. This command, like much of the detailed ordinances of Islamic law, clearly reflects a projection from the mid ninth-century when traditionists living in an age of a weakened ‘Abbāsid caliphate made up for that politically fragmented institution with bravado claims against Christians and Jews that were back-projected to the time of the Sīra and the Rāshidūn. ‘Umar’s purported toughness against Christians and Jews was here also attributed in ḥadīth to the Prophet, in order to serve a later polemical purpose on behalf of Sunnī ideology that focused on what ‘Umar was imagined to have favored.
2. The second version, related by ‘Abdallāh b. Ka‘b b. Mālik, claims that Ibn ‘Abbās advised ‘Alī to ask the Prophet whom he would appoint as successor. However, ‘Alī, fearing that the Prophet might not offer him the succession, refused to do this.19 “It seems to me that the Messenger of God will die from this illness,” al-‘Abbās told ‘Alī, “for I know the look on the faces of ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib’s sons when they approach death. So return to the Messenger of God, and ask him who will get this authority. If it is to be with us, we shall know that, if it is to be with others, he will command accordingly and entrust [that person] with us.” In answer, ‘Alī said: “By God, if we asked the Messenger of God and he denied it to us, the people will never give it to us. By God, I will never ask the Messenger of God […lā as’alahā rasūl allāh abadan].”20
This version, focusing exclusively on debate within the Hāshimite household and alluding to the future ‘Abbāsid inheritance of the caliphate after a long history of defeat for ‘Alid pretenders to the throne, shows a missed opportunity at the hour of Muḥammad’s death to solve the matter with a declaration. The burden of failure is directly attributed to ‘Alī in this account. Continuing to live out the unlucky, beleaguered fortune that he often brought on himself by faulty inaction, pride, or wrong counsel as well as by damage inflicted by others, ‘Alī is shown as somewhat too prideful to ask the Prophet to make him a clear successor. The whole issue branches from a complex representation of ‘Alī in the sources as an unwitting counterpart to Muḥammad, living through experiences parallel to his cousin’s as well as those of the biblical prophets, except ‘Alī continuously faces failure.21 The exchange between al-‘Abbās and ‘Alī is also open to other interpretations, such as that here the progenitor of the ‘Abbāsid branch of the Hāshimite family was daring the ‘Alid patriarch to see in which branch the Prophet would designate the succession and showed that ‘Alī feared he would lose to the ‘Abbāsids. In spite of the difficulty of comparing the merits of different branches of the Hāshimite family, the ‘Abbāsid voice in the sources never wasted an opportunity to show that its attitude toward politics was wiser than the ‘Alids’, and to stake out an anachronistic position in the early controversies over succession to rule.22
3. According to a third version, related by ‘Āisha, the Prophet asks that Abū Bakr be told to lead the prayer. In this version of events, widely popular for the way it casts an implicit commentary on women’s role in politics, ‘Āisha is portrayed as trying to discourage the Prophet from his wish by describing her father as “a tender-hearted man [innahu rajulun raqīq].” “I fear,” she tells Muḥammad, “that if he stood in your place, he might not be able to bear [the idea of taking your place].” When the Prophet repeats his order, ‘Āisha again resists, repeating the same reason, until finally the Prophet grows agitated and declares: “You [i.e., ‘Āisha, but referring to women in general] are like Joseph’s women companions [ṣawāḥibāt Yūsuf];23 order Abū Bakr to lead the prayer!”24 Abū Bakr thus came to lead the prayer temporarily. Then, when the Prophet felt well enough on his last day to perform the prayer and entered the mosque, Abū Bakr, who happened to be leading the prayer, tried to yield his position to the Prophet, but the latter motioned him (ashāra, awma’) to stay where he was. The Prophet then sat next to him, and Abū Bakr continued to lead the prayer (kāna Abū Bakr yuṣallī bi-ṣalāti al-nabiyy).25
This version is widespread in the sources and has gained the most popularity in later histories not only because it shows the Prophet repeating his demand to have Abū Bakr lead the prayer, in a strong signal of entrusting him with the most important task in community life, but also because this version shows ‘Āisha in her best mode of intrusive behavior, resisting the wisdom of even a Prophet to have her will dominant in the household. The account provides rich hints of what signs Sunnīs upheld as proof of Muḥammad’s preference for the political succession, and it puts in place a stereotype about the detrimental effects of female intrusion in the political sphere.
‘Āisha’s desire to relieve her father of the task of leading the prayer may well have been grounded in her knowledge of Abū Bakr’s “tenderheartedness” or even weakness when it came to protecting the memory of Muḥammad, as the account overtly suggests. If Abū Bakr were to begin weeping upon remembering the Prophet’s absence, ‘Āisha argued, he could well cast a shadow of grief over the whole congregation, leading it to falter in performing the ritual and thus (implicitly) invalidating its prayer (iftitān). As ‘Āisha was a well-known purveyor of ḥadīth and an arbiter of proper Islamic habits from her years of association with Muḥammad, the account can therefore sensibly depict ‘Āisha as anxious about the religious welfare of the community. However, ‘Āisha’s alternately feisty, goofy, and wily personas in the sources make it possible that her suggestions to the Prophet involve more underlying meanings than simple piety. Ṭabarī’s accounts, often bearing a range of messages on morality, political strategy, and wisdom, may here be telling us something different, perhaps about ‘Āisha’s wish to unseat Abū Bakr. For elsewhere we are told that ‘Āisha also feared that the congregation, accustomed to the Prophet leading the prayer, would not tolerate another person replacing him and might turn on this person with negative sentiments.26 Characterizing Abū Bakr as “tender-hearted,” therefore, although easy to corroborate from other images of Abū Bakr’s personality, would have also served to show ‘Āisha’s own guileful way of saving her father from the negative sentiment of the crowd. The moral of the story would still confirm the impression that women can act in a way that is oblivious to sound political strategy, but it also adds an element suggesting their deviousness in approach.27
4. Among the various versions given about how Abū Bakr came to lead the prayer, one in particular deserves closer attention, for it runs counter to the other accounts and throws considerable uncertainty on the directness of the prayer designation. This version, related by Ibn ‘Abbās, runs as follows:28
The narrator (al-Arqam b. Shuraḥbīl) asked Ibn ‘Abbās: “Did the Messenger of God make a will?” “No,” he replied. I asked, “How was that?” He replied: The Messenger of God asked for ‘Alī, but ‘Āisha said, “[I wish] you had asked Abū Bakr!” Ḥafṣa said, “[I wish] you had asked for ‘Umar!” So all of them gathered before the Messenger of God. He asked them to disperse, for he would call them if there should be any need, and they went away. [At another time] the Messenger of God asked whether the time for prayer had drawn close. They said, “Yes.” When he ordered that Abū Bakr should lead the people in prayer, ‘Āisha said, “He is a delicate man, so order ‘Umar.” He did that, but ‘Umar replied, “I will not lead while Abū Bakr is present.” So Abū Bakr led [them in prayer]. The Messenger of God got some relief [from the pain], so he went out [to the mosque]. When Abū Bakr heard his movement, he stepped backward, so the Messenger of God pulled at his [Abū Bakr’s] clothes [jadhaba thawbahu], asking him to stand in his place. He sat down [near Abū Bakr] and recited from where Abū Bakr had left off.29
The sequence of events here deserves close scrutiny. Contrary to versions that make Abū Bakr the designated imām of prayer from the start, the Prophet here begins by asking for ‘Alī to undertake this action. ‘Āisha, renowned for her animosity toward ‘Alī, objects and enters in a duet of opposition with another notoriously selfish wife of the Prophet, Ḥafṣa, ‘Umar’s daughter, who wishes to have her father take that honor.30 With two women fighting over his head to have their candidates lead, the Prophet is here shown yielding in exasperation, abandoning his original wish and allowing ‘Umar to lead the prayer. Then, however, it is ‘Umar who concedes the leadership of the prayer to Abū Bakr. Muḥammad does not know that this change has happened until he shows up at the mosque on a day when he feels healthy and sees Abū Bakr. The account concludes in the same way as the others, with Muḥammad signaling that Abū Bakr (even more strongly, jadhaba) should stay in his position.
Among all of Ṭabarī’s narratives on the Prophet’s last days, this account brings us closest to a designation of ‘Alī as successor. The accidental motion of events in this account is typical of the stylized stories of early Islam, which drew on similar patterns from the biblical tradition. The important first message here is that the Prophet actually preferred ‘Alī, but because of either the machinations of his wives or the pressure of the community, Muḥammad gave in and left the matter to the community. In the end, even Abū Bakr is shown as having been designated not by the Prophet but by ‘Umar, who in general dominates the scene of the Saqīfa and Abū Bakr’s designation to the caliphate afterward. These tussles between Abū Bakr and ‘Umar over prayer leadership are themselves full of purpose and must not be ignored. When ‘Umar refuses to lead the prayer in place of Abū Bakr, the reader notes the way the narrator foreshadows ‘Umar’s later deference to Abū Bakr at the Saqīfa of Banū Sā‘ida, when once again ‘Umar refuses to stand ahead of Abū Bakr in leadership. Nothing in the account of the Saqīfa, as we shall see below, refers to Abū Bakr having been designated to lead the prayer. However, the two episodes mirror one another closely in centering on a deferent exchange between the two Meccan chiefs.
The lack of commentary by Ṭabarī on the accounts he presents leaves the mention of ‘Alī lost among the various reports. The focus shifts further when other sources, such as Ibn Sa‘d, make the Abū Bakr–‘Umar exchange the real center of further discussion and embellishment. Ibn Sa‘d gives two versions of the story that make ‘Umar lead the prayer, versions that are based on entirely different chains of narration than those Ṭabarī used, although both go back to Ibn ‘Abbās. In the first of Ibn Sa‘d’s versions, Abū Bakr starts to lead the prayer when suddenly he falters from grief. Here, the muezzin goes over to the Prophet’s house with a request for another imām . “Tell the Prophet, peace be upon him,” the man says to the Prophet’s wife, “to designate another man to lead the prayer, for Abū Bakr has proven weak [qad iftutin].” Ḥafṣa responds to this urgent matter on her own with the command: “Let ‘Umar lead the prayer until the Prophet passes away.” The congregation obeys the command, not knowing its origin. However, when ‘Umar sounds the call to prayer, the Prophet hears it and asks: “Whose voice is this making the takbīr?” “‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭab,” his wives say, and they explain to him what happened to Abū Bakr. The Prophet answers: “You are verily the companions to Joseph’s women. Order Abū Bakr to lead the prayer, for [I am certain] had he [Abū Bakr] not designated him, the crowd would not have obeyed [‘Umar].”31
This account confirms the standard themes about the scheming women, the delicate manner of Abū Bakr, and the overall importance of the prayer leader as a symbol of community leadership. However, the Prophet’s concluding remark that the people would not have obeyed ‘Umar had he not been designated by Abū Bakr, regardless of how much stronger a personality ‘Umar has, anticipates ‘Umar’s succession to Abū Bakr as second caliph and shows the Prophet approving both the first succession of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar’s later succession. Muḥammad’s statements here reflect a later Sunnī ideology in full bloom, as they essentially articulate support for ‘Umar’s succession and on the whole stress the precedence of al-shaykhān (Abū Bakr and ‘Umar) above ‘Alī, especially the more controversial precedence of ‘Umar over ‘Alī.
The second related account given by Ibn Sa‘d stresses the Sunnī argument from another angle. Here we are told that the Prophet ordered a certain ‘Abdallāh b. Zam‘a b. al-Aswad to order the congregation to hold the prayers but did not tell him who should lead the prayer. Ibn al-Aswad says: “So I went forward, and then I ran into a group of people with whom I don’t speak. When I came across ‘Umar, I didn’t think it useful to seek anyone beyond him, while at the same time Abū Bakr was absent. So I said to him [‘Umar]: ‘Lead the people in the prayer.’ Now, ‘Umar was a man of a sonorous voice [mujhiran], so when he took his place and made the takbīr, the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, heard his voice and sticking his head out of the window of his room said: ‘No! No! No! Let the son of Ibn Abī Quḥāfa [Abū Bakr] lead the prayer!’ He was saying all this with anger. ‘Umar then came forth and said to ‘Abdallāh b. Zam‘a [sic]32 ‘Did the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, order you to command me [to lead the prayer]?’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘Umar answered: ‘I had believed that when you commanded me, you were ordered to do so by the Messenger of God. And had I believed differently, I wouldn’t have led the people in prayer.’ Ibn Zam‘a then said: ‘When I didn’t run into Abū Bakr I thought you were more worthy of leading the prayer than others.’”33
This version, unlike the previous one, does not include Abū Bakr as a designated imām from the start, and the account’s reference to a group of people with whom the narrator does not speak may be an oblique reference to the Hāshimites, the ‘Alid partisans, or the Anṣār. The account is no doubt steered to Sunnī advantage, as it stresses the importance of ‘Umar. However, it is clearly in dialogue with the original account of Ṭabarī cited above. The Prophet’s angry interruption of the prayer to ensure that Abū Bakr was leading it pushes the Sunnī bias in favor of Abū Bakr to its ninth-century heights, when numerous polemical debates on the relative merits of the first four caliphs, and the comparison between ‘Alī and the other companions in particular, stressed the superiority of Abū Bakr (tafḍīl) over the other companions. The overtly Sunnī thrust of this account argues that the Prophet would go as far as invalidating a prayer rite not presided over by Abū Bakr if he was present but ignored.
The Sunnī bias in these latter anecdotes is to be expected from Ibn Sa‘d, whose work reflects redactions and additions that make the stories seem intended to praise Abū Bakr and ‘Umar over the other companions (especially ‘Alī). Ṭabarī did not share this binary view of early Islamic history, however, and his version reflects this when he includes narratives that stress the plight of ‘Alī. And later the chronicler will develop this theme further when he recounts extensively stories about the ‘Alid tragedies, reflecting thereby a measure of sympathy for their dilemma. In spite of this sympathy, however, Ṭabarī was ultimately a Jamā‘ī-Sunnī, and therefore could not overlook the enduring success of the community around the memory of the companions and the emerging caliphate of the Rāshidūn. He probably was not alone in harboring such a mixed historical attitude, and found commonalities with other writers of universal chronicles, such as Ya‘qūbī, who had a stronger Shī‘ī-centered focus but accepted the importance of the first two caliphs and balanced it with the merits of the Hāshimite imāms.
The ambiguity in Abū Bakr’s grounds for succession is clearer therefore in Ṭabarī. According to Ṭabarī, the Prophet’s intentions may have been inclined toward Abū Bakr in some accounts but toward ‘Alī in others, but at any rate they never went beyond the trope of prayer imamate to reach official investiture for caliphal succession.34 And the whole question of Abū Bakr’s primacy came down in the end to a single gesture: whether the Prophet beckoned, pushed, or pulled his companion to remain in his place in order to complete the prayer ritual. Ḥadīth texts that borrowed this story—in part to provide some closing scenes for the Sīra—tended on the whole to position it within a ritualistic context, giving it a sedate meaning related to what one can or cannot do in prayer: for example, that the congregation, surprised at an event (such as the sudden appearance of the Prophet) should merely say, “subḥān allāh,” or that a leader of a prayer is allowed to step back, as Abū Bakr did. Like Ibn Sa‘d, however, later ḥadīth scholars sometimes did not know what the stories they were transmitting were truly about, and in their effort to build a legalistic frame, they redacted from anecdotes and ended up losing the moral meanings of these stories.
We can explore this further by examining the issue of gestures. The account of Abū Bakr’s stepping back when the Prophet showed up may seem a simple ritualistic matter, as we mentioned above, but if the Arabic wording used to describe this scene is examined closely, the reader can find some unusual potentials for alternative meaning. The adjectives used in Bukhārī’s version to describe Abū Bakr’s retreat (raji‘a alqahqarā)35 are vivid in describing the physical scene. In another version, the wording is even stronger “nakaṣa Abū Bakr ‘alā ‘aqibayhi,”36 an expression used in the Qur’ān to describe how Satan reneges on false promises he gives to the unbelievers.37 The latter phrasing in particular gives the account an unsavory religious baggage that could have been easily avoided with a less stylized phrasing.
Narrators did more than give artful flourish in how they phrased accounts. They indulged in various types of innuendo that subverted the surface meanings of the text. In this case, the alternative meanings could include that Abū Bakr was retreating on an abstract level from something—perhaps from his loyalty to the Hāshimite family—and that the Prophet was prodding Abū Bakr to stay committed to the covenant that the early community had made. This message is corroborated in Bukhārī’s other ḥadīth, which uses the phrasing “raji‘a al-qahqarā .” The wording is meant to evoke a more straightforward ḥadīth given elsewhere by Bukhārī, which contains a sad characterization of how the community has fallen behind on its commitment. When the Prophet reportedly asks God to grant favor to the companions on judgment day, the answer comes that Muḥammad cannot have this. “You do not know what they have done after you passed away,” the answer comes, “they have retreated [raji‘ū al-qahqarā].”38 Both accounts of Abū Bakr’s retreating during the prayer and this latter account were undoubtedly crafted by the same voice and intended to carry a intertextual link that meshed the physical with the abstract. Abū Bakr’s action in prayer had a meaning beyond simple surprise at the Prophet’s appearance. It meant that he was about to renege on his original loyalty by giving away the rights of ‘Alī for succession. And while collective responsibility is given to the companions for regression during the fitna, the primary cause behind this can be traced to the dispossession of ‘Alī, which the prayer scene was alluding to. All of this nuance in literary form and dramatic character, however, gets lost when the account becomes ḥadīth, and what would have been a story with multilayered meaning defying quick interpretation becomes by the time of the later ninth century a binding indication of Abū Bakr’s succession.
Calming the Crowds
Perhaps the strength of the depiction of Abū Bakr as the natural candidate for succession derives more from his famous actions in calming the crowds at the tumultuous moment of Muḥammad’s death than from any official designation. Here a whole new set of narratives follows in Ṭabarī, describing how Abū Bakr handled the anger and chaos in the community. ‘Umar had declared, as mentioned above, that the Prophet did not die but had sojourned on a spiritual retreat, like Moses did for forty days, and he accused all those who denied Muḥammad’s death of being hypocrites.39 At that critical juncture, in order to head off further chaos, Abū Bakr made his famous public announcement in the mosque. After saying his farewell words to Muḥammad, Abū Bakr entered the mosque amid the conflicting voices and declared from the pulpit: “Whoever worships God, God is alive and immortal; whoever worships Muḥammad, Muḥammad is dead.” Abū Bakr then recited the verse: “Muḥammad is only a messenger; and many a messenger has gone before him. So if he dies or is killed, will you turn back on your heels? He who turns back on his heels will do no harm to God; and God will reward the grateful.” 40,41 This declaration dampened all the frustration and silenced ‘Umar, who said along with other believers: “It is as if we had never heard this āya before.”42
At that perilous hour, Abū Bakr showed himself not only as a wise elder of a tribal society, an attribute for which he had been known since before the rise of Islam, but also as a responsible religious leader who now sought to calm the religious anxiety of the crowd rather than fan the flames of division as al-Sāmirī had done after the temporary departure of Moses. In a context where Abū Bakr could have used the Qur’ān to foster anxiety or sectarianism to his advantage, he opts to use a verse of the Qur’ān for reconciliation by equalizing all those present. Here it was undoubtedly the intended message of the narrator to show how Abū Bakr used his knowledge of the Qur’ān (as a qāri’) in a way that strongly contrasts with the future use of the Qur’ān by ‘Alī, and even more the Qurrā’ and the Khārijites (as well as those calling for al-amr bi’l-ma‘rūf wa’l-nahy ‘ an al-munkar, such as the Saba’iyya), in a zealous and divisive way. Indeed, it is interesting that ‘Alī, the only potentially serious rival voice to Abū Bakr, is conveniently distanced from this scene by the narrators, as if to prevent him from spoiling the occasion with a gaff about prophetic waṣiyya or other formal religious right for inheriting the Prophet’s leadership. ‘Alī’s whereabouts are thus unconvincingly contrived when narrators say that ‘Alī was absent from the emerging scene of succession planning because he was busy, along with the Hāshimite family, preparing the Prophet’s body for burial. If Abū Bakr had just bid farewell to the Prophet, and we accept that this scene of calming the crowds and the succession deliberations at the Saqīfa all happened sequentially on the same day, then surely the Prophet’s body could not have been so far away from where Abū Bakr was, and the funeral preparations could not have happened so quickly. In fact, ‘Alī is deliberately effaced not just at this scene when Abū Bakr announces the death of the Prophet, and in the subsequent scene of the Saqīfa, but is equally absent all the way until the beginning of discord in ‘Uthmān’s reign (with the exception of the Shūrā scene) in both word and deed. This serves not only to keep the spotlight on Abū Bakr and ‘Umar as anchors of the community’s attention and to show their leadership merits, but also to link ‘Alī’s emergence with political trouble more generally.43
This scene of transition, describing the calming of the crowds, is generally overshadowed by the attention of historians to the Saqīfa episode, which follows, but the transition moment is just as critical with its political and religious allusions: allusions about what did not happen, not just what did happen. Thus we should note that in the aftermath of ‘Umar’s famous declaration of denial of the Prophet’s death, Abū Bakr’s public remarks were directed as much toward ‘Umar as to any future zealous or factional movement. After all, it was ‘Umar who had declared in the last days of the Prophet that the community should not press him for an answer about caliphal succession, interrupting visits to the Prophet at the critical moment, and saying “The Book of God shall suffice us [ḥasbunā kitāb allāh].” This was in a way a foreshadowing of the future Khārijite attachment to the Qur’ān at the Taḥkīm, and may explain the reasons for the Khārijite affinity to ‘Umar of which Ṭabarī later speaks. In light of this, Abū Bakr’s stance just before the Saqīfa was a lesson for ‘Umar about the shaping of a jamā‘a now led by the collectivity of the companions, at the head of which stood Abū Bakr.44 Anyone who was going to oppose the jamā‘a, as will later happen (from the Anṣār to the Khārijites), was thus reenacting the type of sedition that occurred in Jewish and Christian history, and thus stood outside the pale of orthodoxy.
The Saqīfa Incident
Barely had Abū Bakr brought calm to the mosque in Medina when a herald came rushing in to tell the leading Muhājirūn what was happening at the other end of town. The Anṣār had reportedly gathered under the leadership of Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda to name one of their own as successor to the Prophet. This was the beginning of the so-called Saqīfa of Banū Sā‘ida incident (ḥadīth al-Saqīfa), which was to bring about a confrontation between the Anṣār, represented by Sa‘d, and an emerging triumvirate of the Muhājirūn, represented by Abū Bakr, ‘Umar, and Abū ‘Ubayda b. al-Jarrāḥ, and which would split the Sunnī and Shī‘ī factions down the centuries. Conventional views on the incident do not hide the discord and bitterness evident in the rivalry between the two camps but generally settle for showing Abū Bakr gaining the backing of the Muhājirūn and eventually the entire community on account of his position as the eldest among the earliest companions.
However, much as the circumstances surrounding Abū Bakr’s leadership of the prayer are murky, the events that led to his accession to the caliphate at the Saqīfa are ambiguous and laden with allusive messages. A rich variety of accounts exists, and these differ on what happened in the episode: who said what, what pressures were used, and how ‘Umar and the opposition differed from each other. It is not clear, for instance, if the division that occurred was between the Anṣār and the Muhājirūn, between the Anṣār and the Quraysh in general (i.e., the Meccan elite predating Islam), or between a nascent pro-‘Alī party (backed by the Anṣār) and a pro-Meccan (anti-Hāshimite) party. Some accounts frame the demands of the Anṣār in the famous slogan, “A commander from us and a commander from you [minnā amīr wa min quraysh amīr],” while others show them backing Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda, the chief of the Khazraj faction among the Anṣār. Still a third version states that they wanted ‘Alī to become leader. We will examine the range of these opinions below.
Whatever the circumstances, all accounts concur in showing the key role that Abū Bakr played in healing the rift between the factions and reuniting the jamā‘a with sober counsel and kind words. Acting in a manner reminiscent of Muḥammad, Abū Bakr is shown defusing political ambitions and stressing the legacy of shared experience between the Muhājirūn and Anṣār in supporting the Prophet. When the Anṣār contend that they are more deserving of the caliphate because they had been the ones who first defended Islam when it was persecuted by the Meccans, Abū Bakr gives a conciliatory answer, recounting the fine qualities of the Anṣār and the Prophet’s praise of them, before proposing that Quraysh be allowed to lead.45
The actual words of Abū Bakr are not preserved in the account, but the reader needs little prodding to recognize that this scene is a virtual repeat of the Prophet’s famous speech after the Battle of Ḥunayn, when the Anṣār clamored (also at a physical distance from the leader’s headquarters) over the division of the booty, arguing that the Prophet had treated them unfairly by favoring the Meccan converts with better shares. At the time, we are told, Muḥammad went over to the Anṣār and delivered a famous speech that justified his actions as a goodwill gesture to late converts (al-mu’alafatu qulūbuhum) while admitting his everlasting indebtedness to the Anṣār’s help in defending the faith.46 The similarity of the events underlying the different plots between the Anṣār camp and the Meccans (Quraysh), between events in the mosque and in the palace, as it were, becomes a running topos in the depiction of several episodes of rivalry between the pro-‘Alid vs. the pro-Meccan parties (compare with the later conflict between ‘Aqīl b. Abī Ṭālib and ‘Ubaydallāh b. Ziyād in Kufa). This device of depiction may well have once contained a theatrical element, as the situation suggests that these events were probably meant to be staged as acting pieces and not just recited.
In all events, Abū Bakr also assumes at the Saqīfa a posture of wisdom and religious abnegation that connects him with Muḥammad’s leadership qualities rather than revealing him displaying an independent strategy as a new caliph. Abū Bakr in one sense legitimizes the rule of Quraysh and articulates ninth-century views on the caliphate more than he defends his rights or those of any of the companions to rule. Whether centering on the Anṣār or ‘Alid claims for the caliphate, the debate at the Saqīfa is ultimately more a polemical piece than actual history, reflecting ninth-century debates on whether non-Arabs (represented by the Medinan party), Persian converts in general, have the right to partake in ruling the Islamic state or whether the merits of Quraysh established its continuous political primacy.47 The ‘Alid cause in early Islam, while possibly true, becomes more the instrument of later debates and an object of Sunnī and Shī‘ī memory rather than actual history.
To appreciate the range of meanings that this incident evokes, it is essential to survey all its possible versions.
1. Ṭabarī provides five versions of this event. Two directly connect with the emergence of the verse about Muḥammad’s death and relate how Abū Bakr dampened potential sedition. In the first, we are told, Abū Bakr, after saying farewell to the Prophet, stepped out to the crowd and affirmed the eternity of the faith and the mortality of the Prophet and recited the verse: “Muḥammad is only a messenger; and many a messenger has gone before him. So if he dies or is killed, will you turn back on your heels? He who turns back on his heels will do no harm to God; and God will reward the grateful.”48 With this he answered religious skepticism about the prophet’s mortality and quieted ‘Umar, who had till that moment denied Muḥammad’s death. The same narrative says that the Anṣār had meanwhile gathered at the Saqīfa to pledge the bay‘a for Sa‘d. When Abū Bakr heard of this, Ṭabarī relates, he went to that location, accompanied by ‘Umar and Abū ‘Ubayda, and inquired what the Anṣār were doing. “What is this [mā hādhā]?” he inquired. “Let’s have a ruler from us and a ruler from you [minnā amīr wa minkum amīr],” they said. Abū Bakr answered, “Commanders shall come from our ranks, and vizirs from yours.”49 Then, with the gracious bestowal from a prophet, he nominated his companions, saying: “It makes me content to present you [as a leader] one of these two men: ‘Umar or Abū ‘Ubayda [innī qad raḍiyutu lakum aḥada hādhayn al-rajulayn].” He followed up with the assertion that the Prophet had once referred to Abū ‘Ubayda as “amīn al-ḥaqq.” ‘Umar here interrupted and pushed for Abū Bakr’s leadership, telling the Anṣār: “Who among you would be agreeable to leave Abū Bakr, whom the Prophet gave precedence?” and he gave him the oath of allegiance. The same account adds that “the Anṣār, or some of them, then said, ‘We will not give the oath of allegiance [to anyone] except ‘Alī [lā nubāyi‘u illā ‘Aliyyan].’”50
An appended report from another authority (stating clearly that this happened after the Saqīfa bay‘a) says that ‘Umar came to the house of ‘Alī, where Ṭalḥa, al-Zubayr, and men of the Muhājirūn had gathered and held back from giving the bay‘a to Abū Bakr, and shouted to them to come out and pledge allegiance. “By God, either you come out to render the oath of allegiance [to Abū Bakr], or I will set the house on fire,” ‘Umar said.51 Zubayr, acting within the well-known chivalrous and heroic parameters of his personality, stepped out, sword in hand, but then he stumbled on something and the sword fell, allowing others to take it away!
This account summarizes the main picture of division between the Muhājirūn and the Anṣār and shows Abū Bakr towering over other voices with his prophet-like decree. His phrasing (qad raḍiytu lakum) derives from divine language mediated earlier in similar expressions by Muḥammad and is clearly meant to associate both prophet and successor in religious discourse and posture. The reference to ‘Alī later seems more like an afterthought to the account at the end. The segment professing pro-‘Alid support is meant to discredit the Hāshimite/‘Alid claim for the caliphate, not only because it was the Anṣār that were professing support for him, but even more because al-Zubayr’s withholding of the bay‘a for Abū Bakr and the call for ‘Alī are timed to come after the nomination and the first steps to Abū Bakr’s bay‘a had been taken. Ultimately, this made al-Zubayr’s actions subversive to the collectivity of the community rather than simply an offense to the triumvirate of Abū Bakr, ‘Umar, and Abū ‘Ubayda.
2. An even longer version of these events also appends the Saqīfa incident to the recitation of the Qur’ānic verse about the Prophet’s death and also stresses that the companions had not heard that verse before. Then, with a loaded turn of phrase (idh jā’a rajulun yas‘ā),52 the narrative describes how a messenger came with news of what the Anṣār were getting set to do at the Saqīfa (i.e., elect one of their own as caliph), but then oddly adds a remark for the messenger that may contradict their apparent aim. “They are saying, ‘A commander from us and a commander for Quraysh.’”53 Abū Bakr and ‘Umar then set out (Abū ‘Ubayda is omitted) to deal with them. When they arrived, ‘Umar tried to start talking but, as in the prayer scene, ‘Abū Bakr overshadows him. The narrator says:
Abū Bakr spoke and did not leave out anything that was either revealed about the Anṣār or was said by the Messenger of God with regard to their fine qualities. He said: “You know that the Messenger of God said, ‘If the people took one way and the Anṣār another, I would take the Anṣār’s path.’ O Sa‘d [b. ‘Ubāda], you know that the Messenger of God said, while you were sitting [wa anta qā‘idun], that the Quraysh were the masters of this authority. The righteous follow their kind, and the wicked follow theirs.” Sa‘d replied, “You have spoken the truth [ṣadaqta]. We are the viziers and you are the rulers.” ‘Umar said, “Stretch out your hand, O Abū Bakr, so that I may give you the oath of allegiance.” Abū Bakr replied, “Nay, rather you, O ‘Umar. You are stronger than I [to bear the responsibility].” ‘Umar was indeed the stronger of the two. Each of them wanted the other to stretch his hand so that he could strike the bargain with him. ‘Umar stretched Abū Bakr’s hand, saying, “My power is for you with your power,” and the people gave their oath of allegiance. They demanded confirmation of the oath, but ‘Alī and al-Zubayr stayed away. Al-Zubayr drew his sword [from the scabbard], saying, “I will not put it back until the oath of allegiance is rendered to ‘Alī [lā yubāya‘ illā ‘aliyy].” [When] this news reached Abū Bakr and ‘Umar, the latter said, “Seize the sword of al-Zubayr and strike it on a stone!” It is stated that ‘Umar rushed [to the scene], brought them forcibly [while] telling them that they must give their oath of allegiance willingly or unwillingly [la-tubāyi‘ān wa antumā ṭā’i‘ān aw la-tubāyi‘ān wa antumā kārihān]. So they rendered their oath of allegiance.54
This account best represents the objective of showing Abū Bakr bridging the different points of view with minimum tension and casts ‘Alī and al-Zubayr as the odd dissidents in the affair, rather than Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda. We also see here a clear division of roles and attitudes between the sensitive, lenient style of Abū Bakr, as he reminds the Anṣār, who are shown either to have forgotten the importance of Quraysh or to have become misguided, and the coercive approach of ‘Umar, as he attempts to suppress dissident opinions by vehemently pursuing ‘Alī and al-Zubayr for their defiance. ‘Umar’s retort, “la-tubayi‘ān,” not only contrasts with Abū Bakr’s language and mildness, but gives a flash forward to the future Umayyad use of pressure to extract political allegiance from the Hāshimite family. ‘Umar’s future appointment of Mu‘āwiya as governor of Syria, an action that in itself will be cited by the Umayyads as a sign of the second caliph’s confidence in them (see chapter 5), becomes the link that bridges two characters (‘Umar and Mu‘āwiya) in their view that coercion is a permissible tool to maintain cohesion in the jamā‘a.
To maintain a measure of decorous rivalry among the leading companions, especially the caliphs (Abū Bakr, ‘Umar, and ‘Alī), ‘Umar is not allowed to display as great a hostility toward ‘Alī as he does towards al-Zubayr. Throughout, the latter bears the brunt of the reaction that responds in kind to his tempestuous nature, often referred to as “kāfir al-ghaḍab,” and to his tendency to resort to arms at the smallest sign of dispute. This clearer hostility toward al-Zubayr is further facilitated by the frequent doubt cast on his political motives. Readers familiar with al-Zubayr’s later biography would recognize his image as one who frequently switched sides in the first civil war, depending on who gave him greater honor, allying himself at one point with ‘Alī in the hope that the latter would assign him important political rank, and then abandoning him when this did not materialize.55 This version of the Saqīfa, therefore, shows how closely narrators related events and interactions here with the later images and positions of companions (both on ‘Umar’s side and on al-Zubayr’s). One must be familiar with developments during the civil war to see how the behavior of the actors here confirms or exacerbates issues and attitudes from one period to another.
This version in Ṭabarī deserves close scrutiny for the way it taps into a Jamā‘ī-Sunnī sensibility, best reflected in ḥadīth, and into other historical narratives. The roles that Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda and al-Zubayr assumed in this account bore some unique connections to some orthodox messages, even as al-Zubayr was reprimanded and ‘Umar was broadsided for his coercive behavior in politics in general. In contrast to traditional accounts favored in ḥadīth compendia that show ‘Umar’s fight to be mainly with Sa‘d b. ‘Ubada rather than with the more well-known Muhājirūn companions such as al-Zubayr and ‘Alī, Sa‘d’s image here seems considerably tamed as the burden of opposition shifts to al-Zubayr. Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda is shown telling Abū Bakr “ṣadaqta,” in confirmation of the caliph’s name “al-ṣiddīq,” and the Anṣār seem hardly to be an obstacle. There is a reason behind this painting of Sa‘d as open to reconciliation in this account. In a small detail, we see Abū Bakr tell Sa‘d that he was “sitting” when the Prophet spoke of the leadership of Quraysh (qāla wa anta qā‘idun). This detail makes no sense except in reference to the ḥadīth “al-qā‘idu fī alfitna khayrun min al-qā’imi bihā .” In fact, with the mention at the outset of the account, “idh jā’a rajulun yas‘ā,” we can see how both of these phrases referred to the famous ḥadīth about fitan (civil wars) that would be frequently invoked later on. The ḥadīth in question stated: “He who is sleeping in the fitna is better than one who is seated [al-qā‘id], and the one seated in it is better than the one standing in fitna [al-qā’im fīhā], and the one standing superior to the one riding with it [al-sā‘ī bihā].”56 The ḥadīth surveys a range of actions (nawm [sleeping], qu‘ūd [sitting], qiyām [standing], and sa‘iy [running or riding]), which are utilized in shaping this story and others to send important messages. The Saqīfa account here invokes two types of action in times of fitna (qu‘ūd and sa‘iy), and this version shows how the words and actions (appearance) of Sa‘d b. ‘Ubada were consistent: namely, he is conciliatory while seated.
The use of the ḥadīth in question, however, did not end with the depiction of Sa‘d, but spilled over into the depiction of al-Zubayr’s final loss to ‘Umar. When ‘Umar ordered people at the end to “seize the sword of al-Zubayr and strike it on a stone,” ‘Umar was being made to fulfill the final command in the above-mentioned ḥadīth. According to a well-known version preserved by Muslim and others, the Prophet orders that when the times of the fitna arrive, a believer should abandon the scene of conflict and tend to his camels, sheep, or land. When someone asks the Prophet, “And what if a man did not have camels, sheep, or land?” the answer was: “Then he should take hold of his sword and strike till it is blunt on a stone.”57 The linkage between the Prophet’s advice and what ‘Umar was doing becomes clear as we see a narrator trying to bring a jamā‘ī closure to al-Zubayr’s performance during the Saqīfa, even though he was undergoing this communion involuntarily. The relation between this ḥadīth and the Saqīfa account also points to the way such historical akhbār sometimes developed in response to ḥadīths and Qur’ānic formulas, and how in this instance the narrator’s characterization of the Saqīfa episode as a fitna was communicated through a careful arrangement of the behavior of Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda and al-Zubayr.
3. For readers who may still be skeptical of Abū Bakr’s primacy for succession and the consensus on his bay‘a, Ṭabarī adds a third narrative from the renowned transmitter Sayf b. ‘Umar that gives a compact and direct Sunnī characterization of what the bay‘a and its opposition meant. Sayf here has a certain ‘Amr b. al-Ḥurayth ask Sa‘īd b. Zayd: “Did you witness the event of the death of the Messenger of God, peace be upon him?” “Yes,” the man answers, and the first adds: “When was Abū Bakr given the bay‘a?” “The day the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, died,” he adds. “They feared that the day might pass without them being in agreement [karihū an yabqū ba‘ḍa yawmin wa laysū fī jamā‘a].”58 “Did anyone oppose him [Abū Bakr]?,” ‘Amr then asks. “No. Only apostates or those about to apostize. Verily, what a day that was when God saved them from the Anṣār.” Finally the questioner asks: “Did any of the Muhājirūn hold back on giving the bay‘a?” “No, the Muhājirūn came in succession to offer their bay‘a .”59
Brief as it may be, this account summarizes more bluntly what the preceding two versions try to put more delicately: shying away from the bay‘a of Abū Bakr was tantamount to Ridda, and the Anṣār were on the verge of causing a huge sedition. However, this implication raises a problem. For if Ridda is equated with not giving loyalty to Abū Bakr, where does Sayf place the actions of Fāṭima and ‘Alī, neither of whom agreed to the bay‘a? It may be that Sayf’s Jamā‘ī-Sunnī voice, originating in the later environment of the ninth century, did not consider the bay‘a of women as mandatory, and in any event Fāṭima’s death soon after these events defused her leverage in backing ‘Alī. However, Sayf, while hostile to those withholding the bay‘a, seems to accommodate ‘Alī’s delay in coming on board by describing the procession of the Muhājirūn to give the bay‘a in a slow pace as a natural event (tatāba‘ū). That ‘Alī gave in six months later to Abū Bakr therefore could sound as acceptable within this frame of delay as those who gave bay‘a on the day of the Saqīfa. Once ‘Alī consented to Abū Bakr, moreover, anyone who continued championing his cause was viewed as performing an action of subversion against the community as well as something that broke with ‘Alī’s wishes, such as the faction known as al-Saba’iyya would do with excessive reverence for ‘Alī but without his consent.
It is important to note here that, even though the previous versions do not draw the link with the Ridda explicitly, they do so implicitly in terms of style. When we hear the narrator, for example, say that the call of the Anṣār was for “minnā amīr wa min quraysh amīr” (a commander from us and a commander from you), the reader would have noted the echo in this statement of the Ridda apostates of the Banū Ḥanīfa, whose slogan would have rung harmonious here: “minnā nabiyy wa minkum nabiyy” (a prophet from us and a prophet from you).60
If the first two accounts serve mostly to legitimize Abū Bakr’s declaration of a Qur’ānic verse, to downplay the visible opposition of the Anṣār and to quickly heal potential rifts, a fourth narrative furnishes a far more detailed account titled: “ḥadīth al-Saqīfa.” This account (along with another lengthy version by Abū Mikhnaf [see appendix 1]) provides a centerpiece that is more extensive and wide-ranging than the preceding versions. No details are spared in these accounts to honor Abū Bakr and ‘Umar and no holds are barred to bring down the Anṣār and other opponents. They are perfect examples of the raw stories that Ṭabarī did not flinch from telling, but which others such as Ibn Sa‘d withheld.
4. ‘Abdallāh b. ‘Abbās is the narrator here, but he mainly reports a subsidiary version told by ‘Umar, who describes the story of the Saqīfa as a follow up on how he came to remind the community of the penalty for adultery verse and how its ordinance became official. Ibn ‘Abbās begins by saying how he was on the pilgrimage at Minā when ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. ‘Awf dropped by to tell him of a small event that had occurred that day. “I was with the Commander of the Faithful today,” said Ibn ‘Awf, at a time well into the reign of ‘Umar, “when I heard someone say, ‘When the Commander of the Faithful dies, I will give bay‘a to so and so.’ ‘Umar then said to us, ‘Tonight I shall speak to the public and warn them of this crowd [ha’ulā’al-rahṭ] who want to seize matters into their hands [the ‘Alids].” He goes on:
I [i.e., Ibn ‘Awf] then said, “O Commander of the Faithful, the pilgrimage brings together the riffraff and the rabble [ru‘ā‘ al-nās wa ghawghā’uhum]; they are the ones who will dominate over your assembly. I am afraid lest you should say something today which they might neither heed, nor remember, nor put in its context and spread everywhere; so wait until you come to Medina, [which is] the place of refuge [dār al-hijra] and a seat of the sunna. [There] you can confer privately with the Messenger of God’s companions, both the emigrants and the Anṣār.61 You can say what you will with firmness [mutamakkinan]; they will retain your words and interpret them properly.” He [i.e., ‘Umar] replied, “By God, I will do it at the first opportunity I get in Medina.”
When the crowd arrived in Medina and Friday prayer time came, the narrator describes how he confided to Sa‘īd b. Zayd that “the Commander of the Faithful will say something today from this pulpit which he has not said before.” … ‘Umar [then] stood up. He praised God, extolled Him and said, “Now then: I want to say something which has been decreed that I should say. He who takes heed of it, will understand it and remember it. Let him relate it wherever he goes … God sent Muḥammad with truth and revealed the book to him. The verse concerning the stoning [of adulterers] was among [the verses] which were revealed to him. The Messenger of God stoned [adulterers], and we stoned them after him. I am afraid that as time passes some people might say that they do not find stoning in God’s book, and [thereby] they might go astray by forsaking an obligatory act [farīḍa] revealed by God. We used to say: ‘Do not detest your ancestors [lā targhabū ‘an ābā’ikum], for it is infidelity to do so.’”62
“It has reached me that some one of you said, ‘If the Commander of the Faithful is dead, I will give the oath of allegiance to so-and-so.’63 Let a man not deceive himself by saying that the oath of allegiance given to Abū Bakr was an event that happened without consideration [falta]. Admittedly it was so, but God averted its evil. There is none among you like Abū Bakr to whom people would have submitted. It is our information that when God took His prophet, ‘Alī, al-Zubayr, and those who were with them stayed away from us in the house of Fatima; the Anṣār, all of them stayed away from us; and the Muhājirūn gathered round Abū Bakr. I told him that we should go to our brethern the Anṣār, so we rushed off, making for them. Two pious fellows who had been present at Badr met us, asking where we were going. When we told them that we were going to our brothers the Anṣār, they asked us to go back and to decide the affair among ourselves. We replied, ‘By God, we will go to them.’ We came to them as they had gathered in the hall of the Banū Sā‘ida. In their midst was a man enwrapped in a cloak. When I asked who he was and what was his position, they said that he was Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda and that he was ill. Then a man from them stood up. After he had praised God he said, ‘We are the Helpers [al-Anṣār] and the squadron of Islam, while you, O men of Quraysh, are a family of our Prophet who have come to us journeying leisurely in search of herbage and sustenance.’ [‘Umar] said: ‘When I saw that they wanted to cut us off from our root and wrest authority from us, I wanted to make a speech I had composed in my mind. As I used to treat Abū Bakr with gentle courtesy to some extent, [and considered] him more sober and gentler than me, I conferred with him about [the speech]. When I wanted to speak, he said, ‘Gently!’ so I did not like to disobey him. He stood up, praised God, extolled Him and did not leave anything [from his speech], which I myself had composed in my [own] mind if I had spoken, but that he expressed, or [expressed it] in a better way [than I would have done].”
“He said: ‘Now then: O men of the Anṣār, you deserve all the fine qualities that you have mentioned about yourselves, but the Arabs will not recognize this authority except in this clan of Quraysh, for they represent the best in lineage and standing. It makes me content to offer you one of these two men; render your oath of allegiance to any one of them you like.’ [Thus saying], he took hold of my hand and that of Abū ‘Ubayda b. al-Jarrāḥ. By God, I liked everything he said except the last words. I would have preferred myself to be sent forward and my head struck off—if it were not considered a sin—rather than be appointed a ruler over a people of whom Abū Bakr was one.
“After Abū Bakr had finished his speech, a man of the Anṣār stood up, saying, ‘I am their much rubbed little rubbing post and their little palm tree loaded with fruit. Let us have a ruler from us and another from you, O men of Quraysh.’ [‘Umar] said, ‘Voices rose and clamorous speech waxed hotter. I feared [total] disagreement, so I said to Abū Bakr, ‘Stretch out your hand [so that] I may give you the oath of allegiance.’ He did so and I gave [him] the oath of allegiance; the Muhājirūn followed and then the Anṣār. [In so doing] we jumped on Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda so someone said that we had killed him. I said, ‘[May] God kill him!’ By God, nothing was mightier than rendering the oath of allegiance, no agreement would be hammered out later. It was either to follow the Anṣār in what we did not like, or else to oppose them, which would have led to disorder [fasād].”64
This account is typical of a master khabar told on the authority of an ‘Abbāsid. It begins with one issue, meanders on to several others, and then finally ends in a different place. Ibn ‘Abbās here uses ‘Umar to convey the Sunnī view and establishes several ideological or legal points. Whereas in the previous versions we have examined how the discussion of succession arose as a follow up to the account of Abū Bakr’s declaration of the Qur’ānic verse concerning Muḥammad’s death, this account assumes a parallel scheme when ‘Umar begins with the declaration of the adultery verse before moving on to describe the succession story.65 Clearly, the story of Abū Bakr’s reciting of the verse before moving on to settle the succession dispute at the Saqīfa became a classic story form that inspired this version, since here ‘Umar commands obedience to the lost adultery verse before talking about the succession. The action proposed by ‘Umar became most binding when it got bracketed by two events: the immediate passing of the Prophet and the emerging idea of a consensus in the community about giving bay‘a to Abū Bakr.
Whereas Abū Bakr’s speech when he calmed the crowds used a Qur’ānic verse for the purpose of unifying the community behind one prophetic leadership, ‘Umar is represented attempting a similar exercise of unification, however, on a point of law. To overcome the problem of a missing verse and underscore a prophetic link, ‘Umar positions himself as an elder of the community implicitly capable of issuing binding religious injunctions comparable to the more formal Qur’ānic laws (hence ‘Umar’s assertion: lā targhabū ‘an ābā’ikum fa-innahu kufr). To make his new injunction synonymous with religious ordinances based on the consensus of the community rather than with ḥadīth or the Qur’ān and to lend it historic authenticity, ‘Umar sets about recounting the Saqīfa story, thus highlighting how Sunnī consensus was forged on that occasion and that he and Abū Bakr had religious primacy in the community. The Ibn ‘Abbās version of the Saqīfa thus made it impossible to accept the injunction against adultery without accepting the Sunnī view of Abū Bakr’s greater merit for the first succession.
This message is underscored by ‘Umar’s indirect rebuke of those who wish that ‘Alī would become caliph after the Prophet or that he could still succeed immediately after ‘Umar. As always, the disenfranchisement of ‘Alī is never addressed to ‘Alī directly. ‘Umar targets instead the potential followers of ‘Alī (lā yaghurrana aḥadakum an yaqūla inna bay‘ata Abī Bakr kānat falta), stressing in his speech that no one present in the congregation of the mosque where ‘Umar was speaking (including ‘Alī) was superior in religious merit to Abū Bakr. ‘Umar enhances this assertion by declaring himself unworthy of leading a crowd of which Abū Bakr was a member. The statement is richly self-deprecating, as we saw earlier in ‘Umar’s attitude regarding prayer leadership, but it is also self-serving in that it lends legitimacy to Abū Bakr’s designation of ‘Umar as second caliph. Having put Abū Bakr at the top of the religious hierarchy, ‘Umar made his rule and partriarchal legal tradition (such as the penalty for adultery, āyat al-rajm) as binding as the rule of Muḥammad himself. Those who opposed ‘Umar’s legal rulings would be categorized as infidels by the mere fact that they opposed the ancestors.66
We see therefore the complex and interdependent legitimation taking place in ‘Umar’s proclamations, which encompass legal as well as political issues. The account also demonstrates tangentially ‘Umar’s effectiveness as a strategist, one who accepts the counsel of his advisors and waits to be among his supporters before taking a risky step. ‘Umar is careful not to announce his declaration before going to Medina, and he heeds the advice of Ibn ‘Awf about the danger of the rabble (ru‘ā‘). To the general reader, Ibn ‘Awf’s caution here seems out of context, but it will be remembered later how similar “ru‘ā ‘” (i.e., ‘Alid loyalists) were accused of having stirred up trouble in Kufa for ‘Uthmān’s governor, Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ, and how a part of that opposition came in response to ‘Uthmān’s alleged attempt to modify the religious ritual. The same parameters of the caliph and the jamā‘a confronting dogmatic, Hāshimite-centered opponents were to be used in describing two different contexts of opposition, one of a sedition that failed and another that brought civil war (see chapter 5).
More central to the account was the attempt to undermine the authority of the Anṣār and their leader and to extol the Muhājirūn (i.e., the Meccans). This was done by pinning ‘Umar’s wrath in this account on Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda rather than ‘Alī. Sa‘d, as we saw, remains unreconciled to Abū Bakr, unlike in the previous version, despite Abū Bakr’s admonishment. In ‘Umar’s version of the events, there may even be some parody applied in the description of Sa‘d when we see him depicted as wrapped up (muzzamil) and lying down sick. The original image of “muzzamil” emerged, as would have been well known, in reference to Muḥammad, who used to undergo convulsions and fevers associated with moments of occultic revelation and thus used to be wrapped up by his family in the earlier days of Qur’ānic revelation. This image was coined and preserved in a Qur’ānic verse (sūrat al-muzzamil), and while it has a serious value in the Sīra, it lacks a parallel meaning when applied to Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda and shows there an ironic twist meant to critique the pretensions of the Anṣār leader, or worse, to put him on par with some of the Ridda prophets who met death while in that situation.67 The parallel cited earlier between the slogan of the Anṣār and the slogan of the Ridda folk (minnā nabiyy wa minkum nabiyy) corroborates the existence of a linkage behind these narratives, even if the narrators seem widely different.
‘Umar gives full rein to his combative instincts in this account and shows no qualms about suppressing dissidents from the Qurashī position, whether the Anṣār or others are behind it. Indeed, ‘Umar’s angry gestures and statements here were meant as deterrents not only to Sa‘d and the Anṣār, who are not present in this account, but also to ‘Alī and the ‘Alids. Sa‘d bears the brunt of the attack because he is traditionally portrayed as having an attitude of snobbery (zahw) and had already been rebuked by the Prophet on the day of the conquest of Mecca for wanting to exact punishment on the Meccan people (with the famous slogan “Today shall be an epic day [al-yawma yawmu al-malḥama]”).68 The situation of the Saqīfa placed each character within an assigned role and produced an outcome that was a mix of design and accident. This is the version given by Ṭabarī, which is by far the most vivid and explicit of all the Saqīfa scenes. Ibn Sa‘d and other, more ḥadīth-minded writers, however, generally avoid describing the severe discord among the companions (first here, then at the shūrā for ‘Uthmān’s succession), especially when it concerns a conflict between ‘Umar and ‘Alī or the story of the attack on Fāṭima’s house. These stories get heavily sanitized in ḥadīth compendia, ending up as descriptions of a virtual agreement on Abū Bakr. Yet even a staunch Sunnī such as Bukhārī cannot help but tip his cards and show that he drew on Abū Mikhnaf (by referring to al-Ḥubāb b. al-Mundhir’s opposition) in including an abridged account of the Saqīfa in his work.69
5. Abū Mikhnaf’s version of the Saqīfa resembles the one attributed to Ibn ‘Abbās, but, unlike the latter’s, it does not use the narrative to convey a legal injunction (‘Umar’s ordinance on the penalty for adultery). Rather, the text is mainly about a historical episode and the way events (through poor judgment or fate) turned against the Anṣār after an initially promising beginning. Unlike the previously examined versions, Abū Mikhnaf’s version is disconnected from the episode of the Prophet’s death, the denial and chaos that surrounded it, and the announcement of the verse “wa mā Muḥammad illā rasūl …”—all events that tend to be described as coinciding in occurence in order to show the resolve of Abū Bakr’s leadership in defusing several aspects of a crisis that could have ended Islam’s political future. This fifth version is separated from all these issues and placed by Ṭabarī after the close of the Sīra with the mention of various dates given for the Prophet’s death. The major difference between this version and the others, however, lies in its beginning, where Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda is quoted as giving a fairly lengthy declaration of why he thought the Anṣār should inherit the caliphate. The declaration is then followed by the near unanimous agreement of the Anṣār on making a bid for the caliphate (with the important message here about the involvement of the Aws even in making this claim), and the somewhat sudden and fatal expression of doubt on what was clearly a matter of sound strategy (al-ra’y) devised by Sa‘d.
Sa‘d’s opening speech is worth examining in full for the unique, and blunt, message it delivers on why he views the Anṣār as more worthy of the succession. In broad terms it gives a commentary not just on how the Anṣār viewed themselves but on how historians viewed their fluctuating fortune both during the Sīra and afterward through the reign of ‘Alī. And, the speech includes a frank message of displeasure about how they were sidelined in history. This was not new to the Anṣār, who had earlier conveyed the same message after the Battle of Ḥunayn. Whereas in earlier times, however, it seemed that the Prophet had brought this sentiment under control, on the occasion of the Saqīfa the statement comes out in the open again, rebellious now not just for the possibility of leadership by Muhājirūn such as Abū Bakr and ‘Umar, but for their lot of submission during the Sīra as well. Hence we find how the declaration neglects to use a deferential language that would have remembered the gift of the Islamic message or the recognition that Islam’s victory was first and foremost a result of divine help and favor. Instead, Sa‘d highlights the political and earthly role of the Anṣār as something that decided the future of Islam, and hints with little equivocation that the Prophet, not to mention Quraysh, owed them (i.e., the Anṣār, and probably more specifically the Khazraj) something. Missing from this picture of imminent conflict among the companions is any spirit of equality or religious self-abnegation that would have been typical during the ghazwas, and indeed would briefly resurface under ‘Umar’s reign at the battles of Qādisiyya, Yarmūk, and Nihāwand. The account therefore appears as highly practical and political rather than religious or hagiographic.
Sa‘d’s speech goes as follows:
Company of the Anṣār! You have precedence in religion and merit [lakum sābiqa fī’l-dīn wa faḍīla] in Islam that no [other] tribe of the Arabs can claim. Muḥammad remained ten-odd years in his tribe, calling them to worship the Merciful and to cast off idols and graven images, but only a few men of his tribe believed in Him, and they were able neither to protect the Apostle of God, nor to render His religion strong, nor to divert from themselves the oppression that befell them all; until, when He intended excellence for you, He sent nobility to you and distinguished you with grace [sāqa ilaykum al-karāma wa khaṣṣakum bi’l-ni‘ma]. Thus God bestowed upon you faith in Him and in His Apostle, and protection for him and his companions, and strength for him and his faith, and battle [jihād] for his enemies. You were the most severe people against his enemies who were among you, and the most troublesome to his enemies who were not from among you, so that the Arabs became upright in God’s cause, willingly or unwillingly, and the distant one submitted in abject humiliation, until through you God made great slaughter in the earth for His Apostle [athkhan … li-rasūlihi bikum al-arḍ], and by your swords the Arabs were abased for him. When God took (the Prophet to Himself), he was pleased with you, consoled by you. [So] keep [control of] this matter to yourselves, to the exclusion of others, for it is yours and yours alone.70
They answered him all together, “Your opinion is right, and you have spoken correctly. We will not diverge from your opinion, and we shall put you in charge of this issue [qad wuffiqta fī’l-ra’y wa aṣabta fī’l-qawl wa lan na‘dū mā ra’ayta wa nuwallīka hādhā al-amr]. For indeed, you are sufficient for us and satisfactory to whoever is righteous among the believers.” But then they began to debate among themselves [thumma innahum tarāddū al-kalām baynahum], and [some] said, “What if the Muhājirūn and the first companions of the Apostle of God resist and say, ‘We are his kinsmen, protectors, and are the Muhājirūn and the first companions of the Messenger of God. So why do you dispute this matter with us after him?’ [Another] group of (the Anṣār) said, “Then we should say, ‘Let us have a leader from among ourselves, and you a leader from among yourselves,’ for we should never be satisfied with less than this leadership.” When Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda heard this, he said, “This is the beginning of weakness [hādhā awwal al-wahn].”
This opening segment of the Saqīfa incident is generally omitted by ḥadīth-minded historians who favor viewing the Anṣār’s claim as an accidental event that occurred in a temporary vacuum of the Quraysh from the political scene. Sa‘d’s actions, according to such a redacted version, involved no speech and there was no well-rationalized and competitive bid to seize the caliphate. Abū Mikhnaf’s account shows, however, that the episode of a caliphal bid was part of an elaborate narrative that connected across time (involving both the Quraysh and the Anṣār), and that only in later times did ḥadīth collectors make use of the isnād tool to parcel out portions of the narrative that could have served an orthodox purpose while ignoring other messages and purposes of the original master text. The above segment depicts the Anṣār at a moment when they were on the verge of bouncing back into historical prominence. The unified pledge that they give to Sa‘d b. ‘Ubāda is a moralizing lesson of the need for quick and unified political action if a goal is to be achieved. This is a message that a later historian such as Miskawayh would have appreciated as a lesson in tadbīr (political planning). However, no sooner is this snapshot of unity taken than someone utters a word of doubt and worry, and then all the energy that the Anṣār had garnered in the introductory preparation for their political bid slowly begins to dissipate. Sa‘d points to this, as if he is a commentator on the account when he says, “This is the beginning of weakness” (hādhā awwal al-wahn). Because of their old jealousies, the Aws and the Khazraj were unable to go forward and make a unified claim for a state.
Muḥammad’s experiment of uniting the Aws and the Khazraj at the moment they converted and gave him the bay‘a thus remained a unique moment in history. And, for all their pains in saving the Quraysh in earlier times, Abū ‘Ubayda would reprimand the Anṣār for their claim to leadership by telling them, “O company of the Anṣār, you were the first who helped and strengthened, so do not be the first to substitute and change for the worse [innakum awwala man naṣara wa āzar fa-lā takūnū awwala man baddala wa ghayyar].” The statement was meant to set in motion a perception of the Anṣār as the paradigm of the transforming nation, who are about to experiment with seditious bids—implicitly among these is the backing of ‘Alī’s cause, and bring about the ominous disputes that the Prophet had warned might happen to the community one day. Meanwhile, Islam’s true future was to remain with the tribe of Quraysh, which, as later narratives would show (see Mu‘āwiya’s speeches later), was divinely selected to be in a position of political leadership and the unchallenged guardian of the faith.
THE INHERITANCE OF THE PROPHET
The debate over the succession to Muḥammad casts several allusive threads in the narratives of Ṭabarī. We have seen the leadership of the prayer and Abū Bakr’s calming of the crowds as two different means by which the first caliph’s legitimacy as successor was constructed. The Saqīfa incident was the final episode in a string of events meant to confirm Abū Bakr’s precedence above other Muhājirūn and the Anṣār. With the different kinds of merit that the Rāshidūn caliphs commanded in the Islamic view, the argument for Abū Bakr’s precedence ultimately rested, if the Saqīfa is to be believed, on the historical accident of ‘Alī’s absence from the scene. While Sunnism could draw at times on direct statements from the Prophet that position Abū Bakr above other companions, this was by no means a favorite approach since it could exact a heavy moral and methodological price. Aside from putting down other Rāshidūn companions (especially ‘Alī) on an arbitrary basis, it demanded isnād preferences that could undermine the edifice of ḥadīth transmission more broadly. Thus, on the whole, the issue of succession priority remained tied to the elaborate story of the Saqīfa, and the focus was placed on who was at the Saqīfa rather than who was not. Within this frame, ‘Alī is then viewed as simply having been at the wrong place at the wrong time when deliberations over the succession were happening.71 And, having missed that political auction, ‘Alī had no right to reopen the debate, an action that would have been read as a revocation of a binding agreement reached by the community, even if the procedure of caliphal selection was imperfect (a “falta,” in the famous word used by ‘Umar). To put Abū Bakr’s bay‘a in doubt therefore could undermine the jamā‘a and be viewed as an invitation for sedition. So Abū Bakr’s leadership became synonymous with the birth of a unified community in Medina, where all challengers, whether Anṣār or others, were viewed by the established system as embittered rivals.
And yet, despite of the overtness of pro- jamā‘ī sentiments in these texts, Ṭabarī does not entirely silence the wrong done to ‘Alī. The chronicler includes, for example, narratives that broach the issue of succession from an ‘Alid/Hāshimite-sympathizing angle. In one instance, Fāṭima sets about advocating the right of ‘Alī and does this in a somewhat elliptical way when she demands her right to inherit a famous piece of property from her father, namely the famous estate of Fadak in the former Jewish colony of Khaybar, which was Muḥammad’s share of the booty after the conquest of that oasis. As a concrete question of inheritance, the Fadak issue has a very real-life feel to it and may sound like a purely legal issue set within a historical frame.72 However, in reality the Fadak issue was a symbolic device used by narrators to allude to Fāṭima’s (and the Hāshimites’) claim to inheriting the Prophet’s legacy and leadership (both political and religious). In placing her demand, Fāṭima does not argue her need for income from that estate, but merely demands her rightful share from the inheritance of the deceased. “Is it right that you should inherit your father, Abū Quḥāfa, but I do not inherit mine?” she embarrassingly asks Abū Bakr. In Ṭabarī’s version of this exchange, Abū Bakr maintains a straight face and simply answers: “I have heard the Messenger of God say, ‘Our [i.e., the prophets’] property cannot be inherited, and whatever we leave behind is alms [i.e., to be given in charity]’ [mā tarknā fa-huwa ṣadaqa];”73 thus settling the issue with a ḥadīth .However, in Ya‘qūbī’s account of the same episode, Fatima repeats the same question several times, until Abū Bakr begins weeping.74 In a different version, Ṭabarī shifts the demand for Fadak from Fāṭima to ‘Alī and makes Abū Bakr weep in response to ‘Alī, who invokes the argument of qaraba (kinship) instead of focusing on Fadak. Ṭabarī describes how ‘Alī, seeking reconciliation with Abū Bakr, invited the latter to confer with him. Ready to accept compromise, and over all the objections of ‘Umar, Abū Bakr went to ‘Alī while the latter was gathered with the Banū Hāshim. ‘Alī then told Abū Bakr: “It is neither denial of your good qualities nor an attempt to detract from the bounty which God has given you that prevented us from giving you the oath of allegiance, but the fact we considered was that we have a right in this authority which you have monopolized.” ‘Alī then mentioned his relationship with the Messenger of God and the rights of Banū Hāshim. He continued speaking until Abū Bakr wept.75
Whether it was Abū Bakr’s accession to the caliphate or his refusal to yield the estate of Fadak to Fāṭima that pushed ‘Alī and his wife to withhold bay‘a from the first caliph is not clear. But the sources agree that Fāṭima held very strong feelings on this issue, stopped talking to Abū Bakr, and even shunned him (hajarathu). When she died six months later, she still had not given the caliph the bay‘a, and Abū Bakr left it for ‘Alī to lead the funeral prayer over her at an odd hour of the night and did not announce the event (lam yu’dhin bihā).76 All this bitterness could not have been over just a piece of real estate. Fadak was clearly a metaphor for the lands of the caliphate. The Prophet had declared, “He who inherits the wealth, inherits allegiance as well [yarith al-walā’man yarith al-māl],”77 and narrators were cognizant of this when they crafted the feud between Abū Bakr and Fāṭima.78 Sunnī tradition could not let this dispute derail Abū Bakr’s political legitimacy, even if it meant inheritance laws had to be changed to the extent that a sole surviving daughter of a deceased man would not be allowed to gain the majority share of inheritance from her father as her kin. Shī‘ī law by contrast opts for the opposite. This division between Sunnī and Shī‘ī practice has persisted in laws of civil status into the modern period.79
The story of conflict between Abū Bakr and Fāṭima is interesting for the way it came to represent a case of legal example on inheritance even though it originally emerged as a historical trope. What makes the incident especially remarkable is that it overthrew the paradigm of female silence that Sunnism tried to establish on other fronts. In contrast to the demure and withdrawn piety with which tradition paints Fāṭima’s image in order to counterbalance the much-criticized political assertiveness of ‘Āisha during the civil war, Fāṭima suddenly comes across as a political challenger. Her uncharacteristically blunt confrontation with Abū Bakr complicated a story generally focusing on rivalry among companions with comparable credentials. Fāṭima’s direct descent from the Prophet made the clash an embarrassment to companions who stood to later Muslim society like an antecedent collectivity of the ‘ulamā’, who respected the honor of the prophetic family (particularly in its ‘Alid branch) even if they didn’t recognize them as political and religious imāms. As a result narrators tapped into Sunnī rationalization of this matter in later times by devising both a legal and a social/tribal response to Fāṭima’s argument. The first they achieved by discrediting Fāṭima’s assertions on a technicality—that the testimony of a woman needed another one to make it valid—and the second they achieved by arguing that the tribal inheritance of leadership does not pass from father to daughter, but through the uncle (thus the ‘Abbāsid claim of inheriting the Hāshimite leadership was viewed as more credible than inheritance through the line of Fāṭima). The ‘Abbāsids were more than willing to join in this conspiracy later on, since it strengthened their claims to Hāshimite leadership and their position as regards the religious views of the Sunnī scholars.
By couching his rejection on the grounds of ḥadīth (mā tarknā fa-huwa ṣadaqa), Abū Bakr, or more accurately Sunnī Islam, accomplished several aims. The ḥadīth showed that the word of a companion (Abū Bakr in this case) was more authoritative than the demand of Fāṭima, and in the dialogue of the two the narrative undermined the idea of the authority of the Hāshimite imām (prophetic authority) and its corollary, that the imām ’s/Hāshimite’s authority was binding and transferable in the Prophet’s line.80 Instead, the legacy of the Prophet had become collective and tied to his statements. Who is speaking these ḥadīths is important, but only so long as those speakers are companions who are the focus of Jamā‘ī-Sunnī Islam.81 The “Fadak ḥadīth,” almost as much as the Qur’ānic verse recited by Abū Bakr upon the death of the Prophet, helped declare the finality of Muḥammad’s prophethood, undermined Shī‘ī ideas about the authority of esoteric knowledge harbored by the descendants of the Prophet, and declared in effect a separation between religious and political authority.
THE NEW CALIPH
Whatever the circumstances of his succession to the Prophet, Abū Bakr’s hold on power quickly grew. In spite of a variety of wars with other tribes around the peninsula in Yemen, Najd, and Oman, Abū Bakr succeeded in extending his power. In this he was helped by several factors, most notably the fact that to most Arab tribes, despite gripes and rivalries with Islam, Abū Bakr’s regime was essentially the rule of the old Meccan elite, which had always commanded prestige in Arabia, although it had never sought to assert political hegemony prior to Islam. Abū Bakr was also helped in his enterprise by the fact that he had a number of talented commanders and offspring of former Meccan chiefs implementing his program of conquest and control. Khālid b. al-Walīd, al-Muhājir b. Abī Umayya al-Makhzūmī, ‘Ikrima b. Abī Jahl, ‘Amr b. al-‘Āṣ, Yazīd b. Abī Sufyān, and Khālid b. Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ, as well as the companions, provided a rotating leadership that reinforced the old Meccan authority with new Medinan circles of supporters.82
Unfortunately, we have little reliable information on how Abū Bakr charted his policies, envisaged the conquests, or handled Muslim and Arabian oppositions. The sources mainly depict his political resolve as an extension both of the firmness of his religious faith, and of his desire to preserve the last commands of the Prophet. Several instances are marshalled to illustrate this attitude, including the caliph’s refusal to negotiate or make truce with the apostates (especially those who refused to pay the zakāt), his decisiveness in going ahead with sending the army the Prophet had prepared for an expedition against Syria even when those troops were becoming necessary for the Ridda war, and, finally, his refusal to replace the young leader of the Syrian campaign, Usāma b. Zayd, with a more experienced or senior leader. In all this, Abū Bakr is shown to have been steadfast in keeping the last actions of the Prophet in place, even if they were superseded by events, and in defending the unity of the religious mission without compromise. Thus, even if the caliph himself did not show physical strength, his resolve was a sufficient reason to his followers for confidence (as the later tradition famously describes him: “weak as regards himself, but strong in matters of faith [ḍa‘īfun fī nafsihi, qawiyyun fī amri allāh]”).83 The third caliph, ‘Uthmān, could have learned an important lesson from this type of leadership.
That an Arab campaign was launched against Syria at that time is probably a historical fact. It is the context of the casting of this event’s story and the exaggeration of the expedition’s centrality, however, that are open to question. In the way narrators emphasize the beginning of this wave of conquest, and in their portrayal of Abū Bakr’s attentive preparation of that campaign, it seems as though there was something significantly different at the time between invading Syria and invading Iraq. That Abū Bakr was being portrayed as keeping faithful to the will of the Prophet has already been noted, but it is also likely that this story may reflect a layer of ninth-century orthodox affinity to Syria. Taking into account the staunch resistance of that province to the Miḥna, and its growing role in pushing out ‘Alid and Shī‘ī influences from the caliphal center at Baghdad, it is very likely that the narrative of the Syrian conquest was meant to show the early selection of the new province as the seed for a future emergence of political authority for the community outside Arabia (see chapter 7).
THE PERSONALITY OF ABŪ BAKR
When one turns to evaluating the personality of Abū Bakr, the evidence continues to be less necessarily factual than religiously representational. In this context, such characterization is done mainly through a comparison of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar, who are diametrically opposite in temperament and style. ‘Āisha’s description of her father as “rajulun raqīq” contrasts heavily with ‘Umar, who is frequently depicted in physical fights.84 The Prophet himself enhanced this comparison when he once reportedly described them as the human parallel to the contrasting roles of the angels Michael and Gabriel: the first is described as descending with divine mercy, while the other is the bearer of divine punishment.85 On another occasion, the comparison is made with prophets who represented opposite temperaments. When asked what should be done with the prisoners of battle after the first Islamic victory at Badr, Abū Bakr advised that they be spared, while ‘Umar proposed that they be put to death, which prompted the Prophet to comment: “God softens the hearts of men [in some instances] so that they become softer than milk, and God hardens the hearts of men [at times] so that they become harder than stones. Abū Bakr, you are like Abraham, who said, ‘Whoso followeth me, he verily is of me. And whoso disobeyeth me—Still thou art Forgiving, Merciful.’86 And Abū Bakr, you are [also] like Jesus, who said, ‘If though punish them, lo! They are thy slaves, and if thou forgive them they are thy slaves. Thou, only Thou art the Mighty, the Wise.’87 You ‘Umar, are like Noah, who said, ‘My Lord! Leave not one of the disbelievers in the Land.’88 And you are like Moses, who said, ‘Our Lord! Destroy their riches and harden their hearts so that they believe not till they see the painful doom.’89”90
The images projected in these comparisons are not incidental but reflect the core bedrock out of which narrators sculpted the range of actions and temperament of these two men before and after their conversion to Islam. Character, to Ṭabarī, as to other classical writers, did not change with changing religious belief. Archaic ideas about the astrological, moral, and class-related aspects of the individual lingered on from Greek into Islamic times and coexisted with new religious beliefs in the historiography of the period. Only the will and direction of the individual were controlled by a new belief, and not the natural impulse. Thus Abū Bakr’s more sober, patient, and tolerant attitude is evident from the Sīra days, much as ‘Umar’s hotheaded anger and stubbornness in observing the old ways date back to the Jāhiliyya. ‘Umar’s staunch opposition to his sister when she converted to Islam continued into his reign, when he became a rough ruler and an ardent proponent of religious laws molded in his image.
While the depiction of an opposition to ‘Umar formed one layer of representing Abū Bakr’s personality, another was the similarity of the first caliph to the Prophet himself. The two greatly resemble one another in temperament, mood, and general style in handling debates and crises, and in passing judgments on matters. Abū Bakr’s speech is sparse and measured, just like Muḥammad’s, and his belief in Islam is depicted as a kind of epiphany followed by a trustful belief, similar to Muḥammad’s initial belief in Islam through the context of revelation.91 This is unlike, for example, ‘Umar’s more legalistic approach to religion. In matters of political planning and strategy as well, Abū Bakr displays some parallels to the consultative style of the Prophet (as do other caliphs in varying degrees), evoking in majlis-style discussions with various advisors and companions a similarity to how the Prophet himself related to his companions.
However, it is in the religious sphere that the sources enhance the nuances of Abū Bakr’s comparison with the Prophet. There are significant similarities in their temperament and manner of reflection on the religious faith, which allow for a pairing of the two in such a way that the Prophet seems to carry on a spiritual dialogue with Abū Bakr that he did not have with other companions. Woven into the wider context of the Sīra, the companionship of Abū Bakr and the Prophet becomes a journey of mutual support that is analogous to the Islamic depiction of the relation between Hārūn and Moses. Certain images show this borrowing from the Moses saga, for instance, when Abū Bakr speaks at one point in the confrontation with the Meccans in the early days of Islam like the lone believer whom the Qur’ān speaks of in Pharaoh’s family.92 However, the wider range of this comparison becomes evident when we note the high number of stories that describe Abū Bakr as an individual with a unique ability to interpret dreams,93 and with the ability to appreciate the language of prophecy more generally (muṣaddiq), much as Yūsuf was before, and is referred to in the Qur’ān as “Yūsuf al-Ṣiddīq .”94
This unusual dialogue between Muḥammad and Abū Bakr combined with the event of their hijra later invited narrators to harmonize a greater level of association between their biographies, wherein the two lived an equal number of years (63),95 and died from similar causes. One version, stating that the first caliph was poisoned by a meal offered to him by the Jews and that this poison took a full year for its effect to be fatal, has a parallel in the Sīra.96 Another, more widely accepted version, however, states that the cause of their deaths was a severe fever. In the case of Abū Bakr, the story states that he was afflicted with a fever after bathing on a very cold day and remained ill for fifteen days.97 Abū Bakr, like Muḥammad, was unable to lead the congregational prayer, and for fifteen days ‘Umar stood in his place,98 thus evoking another parallel with the Prophet, though this similarity still did not make ‘Umar the official nominee of Abū Bakr for succession. There are also parallel descriptions of a slow decline in each man’s health, occasional fainting, a scene of consultation with companions over succession, and the presence of ‘Āisha beside both men in their closing hours—all meant to draw a parallel between the Prophet and Abū Bakr. And finally, the resemblance is completed when Abū Bakr commands that all his belongings, few as they were, be given to the community rather than passing as inheritance to his children.99
SUCCESSION, DEATH, AND RETROSPECTION
We have thus far examined various scenes in Abū Bakr’s life as constructs of representation. There remains the closing chapter of Abū Bakr’s life, which equally deserves a revisionist analysis. Not surprisingly, the cluster of accounts here deals with the theme of succession, where once again there is a rich religious and literary allusion involved in its composition. To introduce the nature of the new problem of veracity, the story of Abū Bakr’s death is recounted in different contexts in Ṭabarī’s chronicle. We read about it once in the account of poisoning cited above, another in a more prolonged description tied to the succession issue, and finally in a brief interlude during vivid descriptions of the military campaigns. Here there is even a more detailed division in chronology as to whether the caliph died while the Arab army in Syria was at the gates of Damascus or while preparing for the famous battle of Yarmuk in Jordan.
The intention in the latter context was to convey the anxiety of the caliph over the future of the community engaged in war and his resolve to press ahead against the empires (as was done earlier during the Ridda) rather than to address the issue of succession. In his typical firm style at times of crisis, Abū Bakr tells ‘Umar:
Listen, O ‘Umar, to what I say to you, then act according to it. I hope to die on this day of mine, … If I die, do not by any means let the evening enter before you have summoned the men [to go] with al-Muthannā [to Irāq] … Do not let any catastrophe at all, even if it is great, keep you from the matter of your religion and your Lord’s counsel. You saw what I did on the day the Messenger of God died, and the people were never stricken with the like of it. By God, if I were to weaken in the affair of God and the affair of His Messenger, He would abandon me and punish me, so that Medina would be consumed by fire. If God grants victory to the commanders in Syria, return the troops of Khālid to Irāq, for they are its people, the governors of its affairs alone, and the people of violence and courage against the enemy.100
This speech stresses the importance of leadership continuity and gives a sense of the urgency of pressing forward. It appeals to a ninth-century Muslim sense of nostalgia for a reliable ruler who is able to combine religious commitment with political resolve to safeguard the abode of Islam. Though Abū Bakr and ‘Umar would have been known through ḥadīth literature as primarily men of religious erudition, this story in Ṭabarī is meant to show their awareness of the importance of matters of strategy as well. A line of analogy to the Prophet was included in this story as well, since Abū Bakr’s resolute command for dispatching al-Muthannā was meant to provide a parallel to the Prophet’s earlier resolve in sending Usāma’s army (his famous words: “anfidhū ba‘tha Usāma”). More importantly, we should note how in spite of the context of planning the campaign after his reign, Abū Bakr does not discuss the matter of caliphal succession either before or after this command. Rather, the discussion of this topic happens separately, in more domestic accounts—in that social and homey setting in which the Saqīfa incident and the Prophet’s final days were placed before.
The succession of the second caliph tends to be viewed by historians, and even by narrators from the medieval period, as a straightforward designation by Abū Bakr (with the range of examples being: the Prophet appointed no one, Abū Bakr appointed a successor, and ‘Umar left it for consultation among a group of six people). The event of ‘Umar’s designation is certainly favored in the traditional religious view, not only as a firm step from the first caliph but also as a sign that confirms ‘Umar’s religious knowledge and excellence, and allows the religious authority of the two leaders (Abū Bakr and ‘Umar) to be closely linked. Later, when he was installed in power, ‘Umar’s political legitimacy in Sunnī memory derives its energy less from any act of designation than from a flood of praising traditions that detail his ascetic, egalitarian, and attentive manner of rule.
With all this said, however, the circumstances of ‘Umar’s succession, or the ways narrators discuss it, are more complex than the way modern historians have tended to believe. The account of how ‘Umar was selected does not occur as a straightforward announcement from Abū Bakr to the companions but rather spans several steps and interactions that are informative in all their details. As before at the Saqīfa, this story begins with the conspicuous absence of ‘Alī from the list of nominees and those being consulted by Abū Bakr about the succession. ‘Alī’s absence from consideration (not to mention the historical delay in his becoming caliph) perhaps formed an awkward issue for narrators, but it probably gave them a welcome opportunity for devising texts that were as artfully allusive as they were apologetic for Abū Bakr. As the following reading will show, there is an implicit regret in these narratives about ‘Alī’s loss and an attempt to distance Abū Bakr from direct responsibility for the appointment of ‘Umar, and the awkward task thus of preferring one companion over another.
Ṭabarī devotes a separate section to recounting the narratives connected with this event of succession, and they stand less as linear components leading to the assured succession of ‘Umar than as pronouncements of proper caliphal (or kingly) attention to strategizing succession, which in Abū Bakr’s case culminate with a key ambiguity surrounding the final choice of a successor. These steps, along with their content can be classified as follows:
1. The intent . Ṭabarī’s account opens with a description of how Abū Bakr privately consulted with ‘Abd al-Raḥmān and ‘Uthmān about the merits of ‘Umar, on the assumption that ‘Umar was to be named caliph. The account is typical of the consultative style generally assigned to the Prophet, Abū Bakr, and ‘Umar (later, ‘Umar does the same, but more extensively).101 The gesture shows the humility of the leader as he defers to other opinions, and at the same time depicts him as an astute statesman who is feeling out the potential for opposition to a pending choice. The narrator here tells us that Abū Bakr summoned ‘Abd al-Raḥmān and asked him, “Inform me about ‘Umar,” to which Abd al-Raḥmān responded, “O successor of God’s Messenger, he is by God a better man than your opinion of him. But there is a roughness in him.” To this Abū Bakr responds, “That is because he sees me as mild (raqīqan). If I entrust him with the affair he would leave behind much of his present behavior.” Then the caliph summoned ‘Uthmān and posed the same question, which ‘Uthmān answered by saying: “My knowledge about him is that what he does in private is better than what he shows openly.” Abū Bakr accepted these answers and asked both men to keep the discussion secret.102 As a literary set piece, the account is rich in stylistic nuance, but its core thrust shows that the business of state, or making important decisions in general, is best done in stealth. It brings to mind similar pivotal decisions taken at an unknown hour of the night in other eras of Islamic history, such as Hārūn al-Rashīd’s private discussion of how to plan the overthrow of the Barmakid family. The pattern of the caliph’s questioning, argumentation, and determination is repeated across time, making the story structure the same in Rāshidūn or ‘Abbāsid times. The account does not end with the caliph’s decision to designate ‘Umar for succession, but it evokes his general intent and greatly polishes the merits of ‘Umar to show his worthiness for succession. One should also note that the gist of Abū Bakr’s praise of ‘Umar centers on secular moral criteria, not religious judgment.
2. Official designation. In the next account, Abū Bakr reportedly addresses the people from his quarters (ashrafa ‘alā al-nās min kanīfih) while standing beside Asmā’ b. ‘Umays, whose hands were said to be tattooed (mawshūmat al-yadayn).103 The caliph declares: “Will you be satisfied with whom I have left as [my] successor over you? For, by God, I do not shun the effort [to reach] the best opinion, nor have I appointed a relative (mā ālawtu min jahd al-ra’y wa la wallaytu dhā qarāba). I have designated ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭāb as my successor; therefore hear him and obey.”104 The reader is again shown that the choice of ‘Umar is a product of sound evaluation (jahd al-ra’y), while future critics of ‘Uthmān are silenced by the fact that the caliph resorted to no kin tie in making this decision. Although seemingly rhetorical, the caliph’s question to the crowd preserves a sense of tribal consultation and collective religious involvement. The account’s focus is ultimately less on Abū Bakr’s declaration than on the agreement to abide by the choice. A variant, subsidiary version of this account has ‘Umar as the one carrying his official investiture document to the public and ordering the crowd to abide by what the caliph has declared in it (Abū Bakr is absent from the scene).105
3. The ambiguous succession. The most critical scene, however, draws on the discussion Abū Bakr has in the first account with ‘Uthmān, but here the caliph falls short of declaring ‘Umar’s designation himself. The way this account is crafted is worth examining closely. The narrator relates the following:
Abū Bakr summoned ‘Uthmān in private [khāliyan] and said to him: “Write: ‘In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. This is what Abū Bakr b. Abī Quḥāfa, has enjoined on the Muslims. Now then …’” Then he [Abū Bakr] fainted, and ‘Uthmān continued writing: “Now then [ammā ba‘d], I have designated ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭāb as caliph upon you, and I have not found better than him.” Then Abū Bakr came back to consciousness and asked ‘Uthmān to read what he wrote, which he did. Abū Bakr then made the takbīr, and said: “I see that you were afraid that the people would quarrel if I died suddenly after I fainted!” [‘Uthmān] said: “Yes,” and Abū Bakr concluded: “May God reward you kindly for the sake of Islam and its people!” Abū Bakr, the narrator adds, “confirmed the designation from that occasion.”106
Reported via a chain of narrators entirely different from the first account, this third account nevertheless represents a sophisticated continuum with the first account. ‘Uthmān, in narrative 3, picks up where he and the caliph left off in narrative 1. In narrative 1, ‘Uthmān gave his favorable opinion of ‘Umar, and Abū Bakr promised that he would have chosen ‘Uthmān had he skipped ‘Umar (law taraktuhu mā ‘adawtuka), and wished that ‘Umar would not accept the succession for his own well-being. Abū Bakr’s odd remarks here (forecasting ‘Uthmān’s later succession) are usually overlooked, but they are significant for showing us the tendentious Sunnī perspective of the future, expecting the accession of ‘Uthmān as third caliph, in the crafting of this account. On the surface, this segment affirms how the first three caliphs were the prime choices for succession, now that Abū Bakr has here given his blessings not only to ‘Umar, but to ‘Uthmān as well. However, the artful dimension of the account is more important than the polemical, since the account is loosely concluded and crafted. Abū Bakr declares his preference for ‘Umar and leaves it for ‘Uthmān in narrative 3 to fill in ‘Umar’s name, even though there is no reason in this narrative to see Abū Bakr’s grounds for preferring ‘Umar, which we noted earlier. In narrative 3, ‘Umar’s hasty nomination is merely a security measure meant to thwart potential sedition (as happened at the Saqīfa) rather than a step based on a unanimous agreement on ‘Umar’s superiority. In light of this careful crafting, one could then argue that Abū Bakr was probably being distanced from the decision for succession in the third account, as he merely comes back from the realm of the unconscious (like the dead peering into the world of the living) to see who would succeed him and what potential dangers this nomination would forestall momentarily. It is ‘Uthmān who is centrally self-served by this nomination of ‘Umar for succession, and thus he is made to carry it out.
However, while ‘Uthmān is the companion present in both accounts (1 and 3) of the dialogue with Abū Bakr, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. ‘Awf, although absent in narrative 3, is implicitly linked to this decision process as well. Here one should digress to recall the famous story that is set after ‘Umar’s assassination, when the six companions appointed to head the shūr ā for appointing the third caliph end up dependent on ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. ‘Awf. It is well known that ‘Umar put Ibn ‘Awf at the head of this shūrā and gave him special status to tip the scale if a vote came to a tie.107 More significant was what happened at the critical final hour at the shūrā, when ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. ‘Awf privately summoned the leading candidates for succession, ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān (in the best precedent for the Taḥkīm), and asked them how they would chart their policy if they became rulers. “Will you, ‘Alī, give me your oath of office based on God’s Book, the practice of His Prophet, and the deeds of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar?” ‘Abd al-Raḥmān asked, to which (‘Alī) replied, “Indeed no, but [only] based on my own effort in all this and in accordance with my own ability.” When asked the same question by ‘Abd al-Raḥmān, ‘Uthmān answered in the affirmative, thus confirming in the best Sunnī form the status of the first two caliphs as supplementary models for prophetic Sunna.108
That crucial account is almost identical to a portion of narrative 1 in which Abū Bakr questions ‘Uthmān and Ibn ‘Awf about the merits of ‘Umar. Ibn ‘Awf’s role in that account anticipates his role as a referee rather than making him a realistic candidate to the caliphate in narrative 1, and for this reason it is ‘Uthmān who ends up drafting Abū Bakr’s charter of succession and who evokes the discussion of the possibility that ‘Umar’s name would thwart a dispute (ikhtilāf). With his retrospective knowledge of the danger of fitna, ‘Uthmān is used by the narrator (now commentator) to provide ‘Umar as a solution, based as much on his earlier discussion with Abū Bakr before as on lessons ‘Uthmān learned from his own tumultuous caliphate later on and his regret that he had not been as authoritative as ‘Umar.109 Abū Bakr’s acceptance of ‘Uthmān’s independent initiative in naming ‘Umar for succession can ultimately be read as the first caliph’s endorsement of the third caliph’s enterprising style (although limits are set on this in narrative 2, where the first caliph repudiates the role of nepotism in the process of naming a successor [i.e., that ‘Uthmān was in error to appoint kinsmen to positions of political power; Abū Bakr’s words: mā ālawtu min jahd al-ra’y wa lā wallaytu dhā qarāba]).110
4. The broad retrospection. Thus far the reader can note that much of the focus in the narrative is on discussing the succession and the merits of ‘Umar, rather than on giving a frequent and unequivocal designation of ‘Umar. Ṭabarī and other compilers, such as Ibn Sa‘d, often included a plethora of narratives repeating the same fact if it was a popular one. However, in a fourth narrative, to be examined next, Abū Bakr’s words are sparse and generally evasive. Here the image we have is of Abū Bakr lying ill in his final hours and talking to Ibn ‘Awf. The latter tries to comfort the caliph by saying, “You have indeed become purified (bāri’an).” Abū Bakr asks, “Do you think so?” “Yes,” Ibn Awf answers. Abū Bakr then makes a general statement reflecting on the succession, without naming his designee, and prophesies the dangers of the future:
I have entrusted your affairs to him who I feel is the best of you. Each of you is inflamed with anger by that, for each wants the succession to be his instead. You have seen that the world has opened up. And verily it shall open up [further] until you adopt curtains of silk and pillows of silk brocade, and come to find it [as] painful to lie on Adharī wool as anyone of you now is pained to sleep on thorns. By God, that any of you be brought forth to have his head struck off without a reason of penalty for a mortal sin would be better for him than plunging into the depths of this life. You will be the first to lead the people astray tomorrow [wa antum awwalu ḍālin bi’l-nāsi ghadan], so that you will turn them from the way to right and left. O guide of the way, it is either the light of dawn or evil [innamā huwa al-fajr aw al-bajr].111
These comments reflect a foreknowledge of the civil war that will follow the conquests that peak in the reign of ‘Uthmān, and they show Abū Bakr’s disinterest in worldly affairs and his intermingling of knowledge of present and future. To alleviate the impression that Islam totally discredits the vocation of political rule, Ibn ‘Awf is made to compensate by advising that some experiments of leadership are actually virtuous activities. He tells Abū Bakr, “Calm down, may God have mercy on you, for this will only cause a relapse in your condition… . We have not known you to desire other than the good. You have not ceased to be a righteous man and one who sets matters aright. You do not grieve for anything from this world [wa anta lā ta’sā ‘alā a-dunyā min shay’].”112 This is a consoling voice that future caliphs, most notably the ‘Abbāsids, will never hear again (instead their lot is rebukes from ascetics and ḥadīth scholars). And much as speeches of rebuke provided a hinge for confrontation, this speech by Ibn ‘Awf serves as an impetus for Abū Bakr to build an even more self-deprecating commentary that reflects on his own achievements, judging their worth in light of the future. His final words run as follows:
Indeed, I do not grieve for anything from this world, except for three [things] which I did that I wish had left aside, three that I left aside which I wish I had done, and three about which I wish I had asked God’s Messenger. As for the three that I wish I had left aside, I wish that I had not thrown open the house of Fāṭima to reveal something, even though they had locked it with hostile intent. I wish that I had not burned al-Fuja’a al-Sulamī and that I had quickly killed him or for-bearingly let him go. I wish on the day of Saqīfat Banī Sā‘ida, that I had thrown the matter upon the neck of one of the two men [meaning ‘Umar and Abū ‘Ubayda] so that one of them would have become the Commander [of the Faithful] and I would have been his minister [wazīr]. As for those I left aside, I wish that on the day I was brought al-Ash‘ath b. Qays as a prisoner I had cut off his head, for I imagine that he does not see any evil but that he helps it along. I also wish, when I sent Khālid b. al-Walīd to fight the people of apostasy, that I stayed at Dhū al-Qaṣṣa, so that if the Muslims had triumphed, they would have triumphed, but if they had been defeated, I would have been engaged or [provided] reinforcement. Furthermore, I wish when I sent Khālid b. al-Walīd to Syria, that I had sent ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭāb to Iraq; thereby, I would have stretched forth both of my hands in God’s path. [He stretched forth both his hands.] I also wish that I had asked God’s Messenger with whom the government rests, so that no one would contend about it. I wish I had asked him whether the Anṣār had a share in the government. I wish I had asked him about the inheritance of the brother’s daughter and the paternal aunt, for I have some doubts in my mind about the two of them.113
Abū Bakr’s three wishes in each category can easily be construed by the general reader as ordinary regretful comments. However, this final declaration provides a synopsis for the reader of the thorny issues that haunted the earlier succession and that would give rise to further problems. In various categories—political history, military strategy concerning the conquests in Syria and Iraq, and religious schism—the reader sees a unique perspective on what the first caliph considered to have been detrimental lapses, or more accurately, the agonized response to constructed tragic action. For here the boundaries between significant historical facts and constructed narratives with religious and political bearings become entwined in a form of reporting and commentary that assumes a high level of spiritual sophistication, drawing on complex Qur’ānic forms of parabolic allusion. Given the representation of Abū Bakr’s profile as a contemplative personality with a penetrating vision into future eventualities, his discourse is less that of a caliph than that of a religious seer. His view breaks binary boundaries of past and present to encompass the future as well and thus draws arcs of alternative chains of events that would have corrected a range of flawed actions.
This unconventional profile of behavior may well have been modeled by narrators on the Qur’ānic depiction of the famous itinerant clairvoyant companion of Moses (often referred to as al-Khiḍr), whose actions on a fateful journey defied logic and the morality of the here and now in favor of better future results. Tied to the boundaries of knowledge that was circumscribed by the present and the physical senses, Moses became incensed when his companion drilled a hole in the hull of a ship on which he was traveling, killed a boy unknown to them along the way, and wasted time building a wall in an anonymous locale. But in every instance, after his protests, Moses was told by this companion how such an action would thwart a future threat or make a future virtuous outcome possible. The ship was made defective because its owners were coming to the shores of a king who seized all perfect vessels; the child was killed because he would become a menace to his parents; and the wall was reconstructed because it hid in its foundation a treasure that belonged to two young orphans who could only survive in the future if their treasure was secure. Thus, while human knowledge of the present demanded one course of action, divine prescience demanded another. In the end, after giving these explanations to Moses, who little understood the wisdom of such actions until they were explained, al-Khiḍr broke off his companionship with Moses, saying, “This is the interpretation of that thou couldst not bear patiently.”114
The moral in the Qur’ānic story is clear: one can either live by concrete reality, acting on what seems right in the present, or opt for retrospective insight after history has unfolded. Whereas Moses and al-Khiḍr form the two poles of religious appreciation and knowledge, debating views from the present and the future, Abū Bakr carries on the dialogue with himself. Having been represented as a master dream interpreter, Abū Bakr is portrayed drawing on this knowledge to evaluate his own career as caliph, and to anticipate the more controversial future readings of his actions in light of later developments. The moments of illness and near-death had value in religious thought as occasions for epiphany, and thus the first caliph seeks forgiveness from God and offers an apology to the community (and to the Hāshimites) for having ruled and been partly responsible for what was to come. The lines of hidden insight are given to Abū Bakr not only because of his association with dreams, but through a dramatizing twist on his role of companionship to the Prophet. The picture of the traveling companions—Moses and al-Khiḍr across the sea, Muḥammad and Abū Bakr on the Hijra—allowed for the perfect parallel of two journeys of holy men, one undertaken for knowledge, and another for salvation.
The question then remains: what was Abū Bakr regretting in this bizarre statement? The caliph’s deep regret about actions he took reveals his awareness of worse outcomes to emerge out of these lapses. Fāṭima’s house should not have been violated, the reader can hypothesize, because it emboldened the future opponents of the third caliph, ‘Uthmān, to attack his house.115 One would note that the emotional reaction ascribed to Fāṭima when ‘Umar and his cohorts broke down her door is not unlike that ascribed to Nā’ila, ‘Uthmān’s wife, as she attempted to defend ‘Uthmān against the attackers later on. More critically, and consistent with the ‘Alid theme of events, Abū Bakr was regretting the fact that the attack on Fāṭima’s house set a precedent of aggression on the Hāshimite household and thus paved the way for future pressures applied by the Umayyads on the ‘Alids so the former could gain the bay‘a whether the ‘Alids liked it or not. The imperative of abiding by the jamā‘a (a frame that accommodated Umayyad and ‘Abbāsid rule as de facto caliphates and made opposition to them a form of sedition) had opened the way for a cruel and relentless war by the rulers in Damascus and Baghdad on the descendants of ‘Alī for withholding the bay‘a . Ultimately, Abū Bakr, while accepting the need for a caliphate, was indirectly criticizing the Sunnī imperative of obeying authority at any price, as he viewed the caliphate as a defective institution. Had he not believed that, he would not have wished that he had let ‘Umar or Abū ‘Ubayda succeed instead.
The regret shown by Abū Bakr over having spared al-Ash‘ath b. Qays after his capture at the end of the Ridda war possibly hints at the caliph’s foreknowledge of the detrimental role that this tribal chief would play in undermining the leadership of ‘Alī later and perhaps even a foreknowledge of the longer-lasting damage that the Ash‘ath family would bring. It is well known how al-Ash‘ath brought ruin to ‘Alī’s cause by insisting that the latter cease a military advance just prior to victory at Ṣiffīn and by declaring himself in favor of the Taḥkīm and of having the incompetent Abū Mūsā al-Ash‘arī represent ‘Alī at the Taḥkīm. This combination of events, more than anything, undermined ‘Alī’s momentum and emboldened the Khārijites to become more intransigent. Abū Bakr’s regret, therefore, is wide-ranging but still tied to the misfortunes of ‘Alī and the tragic breakup of the community. Sparing al-Ash‘ath was a lamentable event not only because of this man’s folly, but also because of the detrimental effects his posterity would have in the future. For when the time of the tragedy of Ḥusayn arrives, Ṭabarī presents a sensitive narrative that shows Muḥammad b. al-Ash‘ath’s role as a wavering supporter of Ḥusayn in Kufa, while his grandson, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. Muḥammad b. al-Ash‘ath, performs the critical gesture of betrayal that brings doom to the cause of Ḥusayn. The historical depiction in Abū Bakr’s regretful words was therefore heavily dependent on the Qur’ānic paradigm of Moses and al-Khiḍr and an exercise of historical interpretation (ta’wīl) that gave away the true meaning of the texts.
Abū Bakr and the Prophet finally part ways in their last hours. Whereas Muḥammad declared that the world had come to a new beginning at ḥijjat al-wadā‘, highlighted victory as the moment of closure in prophetic messages, and left the political future of the community uncertain, Abū Bakr took some controversial steps that set the community on an ever-widening path of division and coercive rule. Although their biographies share some points of resemblance, it is clear that narrators sought to show that the first caliphate represented something less than the Sīra. While Abū Bakr represented the example of the innately wise believer (mu’min āl fir‘awn), and his companionship to the Prophet was an improvement on that of Hārūn toward Moses, with the first caliph’s suppression of the Ridda and early devotion to the security of the community, Abū Bakr’s conflict with the Hāshimites over the issue of succession established that the history of tribulation was to begin anew after the Prophet.