CHAPTER FIVE

The Road to Civil War

Issues and Boundaries

PRELUDES TO CONFLICT: THE ARGUMENT FOR AUTHORITY

Ṭabarī begins to lay the groundwork for describing the causes and conditions that eventually led to the challenges to ‘Uthmān under the year A.H. 33/A.D. 653. Although these events, which will take place in Iraq and Syria and will involve the governors of ‘Uthmān (Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ and Mu‘āwiya b. Abī Sufyān), do not yet involve ‘Uthmān or ‘Alī, they do introduce some of the controversial political and moral themes that will be magnified in subsequent years. The absence of ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān from the beginning scenes of conflict probably had a double purpose. On one level this allowed the Sunnī reader to maintain his view of the leaders as well-intentioned individuals caught in a situation that others were shaping in an ignorant or selfish fashion. On another, deeper, level, the narratives kept the two figures in the background while their supporters articulated the two leaders’ positions vividly and revived the standoff over succession rights and divergent perspectives of government.

The initial setting for this sideshow of sedition is the residence of ‘Uthmān’s governor in Kufa, Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ, during the course of a social gathering. We are told that Sa‘īd’s guests on these occasions generally tended to be “those who settled Kufa, witnessed al-Qādisiyya, and joined in previous raids of the Jāhiliyya [ahl al-ayyām], the qurrā’ of al-Baṣra and the stubborn folk [nāzilat ahl al-Kūfa wa wujūh ahl al-ayyām wa ahl al-Qādisiyya, wa qurrā’ ahl al-Baṣra wa’l-mutasammitūn].”¹ These were his guests during private sessions (majlis al-khāṣṣa). However, in public sessions, a diverse group of guests would join in. It was on one of these occasions, when Sa‘īd was hosting the above-mentioned Qādisiyya veterans (later “Kufan extremists” or ahl al-‘Irāq), that a minor protégé of the governor, Khunays b. Ḥubaysh (possibly without official role), made the random observation that Ṭalḥa b. ‘Ubaydallāh was a truly generous figure. Sa‘īd responded to this cynically, saying that it is not extraordinary for one who owns so much property to be a generous giver.² “If only I owned as much as he did, by God, I would have made you live in luxury,”³ he remarked, to which Khunays’ son, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān, responded by saying, “Would that you owned this stretch of land al-milṭāṭ” [referring to the farm domains on the western bank of the river, adjoining Kufa, that were owned by the Sasanid family before the conquest]. Hearing this, the Qādisiyya crowd grew angry and said, “Shut up, you moron, before we deal you a beating.” Sa‘īd here tried to explain that Khunays’ son was just a simple-minded youth to whom they should not pay attention, but the Kufan guests were not convinced. “How dare he wish you owned this property of our own Sawād [i.e., which we conquered] personally,” they added. Sa‘īd responded, “He probably just as well wishes that you yourselves owned this domain.” “Let him not wish it either for you or for us,” they said.⁴ Sa‘īd here grew impatient with them, and said, “This is none of your business anyway [mā hādhā bi-kum],” which caused the Kufans to become suspicious that the conversation was a setup at the behest of the governor to introduce the idea of a possible takeover of the Sawād land. So they said, “It seems you ordered him to say this.”⁵ Then this group of Kufans, which included Mālik b. al-Ḥārith al-Ashtar, Ka‘b b. ‘Abda b. Sa‘d al-Nahdī (the so-called Ibn dhī’l-Ḥabaka), Jundub b. Zuhayr al-Azdī, Ṣa‘ṣa‘a b. Ṣūḥān al-‘Abdī, Ibn al-Kawwā’, Kumayl b. Ziyād, and ‘Umayr b. Ḍābi’, joined to attack ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. Khunays and started beating him. Sa‘īd pleaded with them to stop but they would not, and when Khu-nays tried to intervene, they beat him, too.⁶

By now word of what was going on at the governor’s residence had spread in the streets of Kufa, and a whole bunch of tribes, including Banū Asad, led by Ṭulayḥa, came to the governor’s residence and surrounded it. Sa‘īd was now anxious to defuse the situation from deteriorating further, so he asked all parties to be quiet about what had happened. The two beaten men, however, complained to Sa‘īd about the uncouth elements he continued to entertain in his sessions, so Sa‘īd promised not to let them visit him again. “Do not entice people to rise against me with your rumors and talk [iḥfaẓā ‘alayya lisānikumā wa lā tujarri’ā ‘alayya alnās],” he told the two men.⁷

As events showed, however, it was the seditious “Qādisiyya extremists” who set about fomenting rumors against the governor. The people of Kufa advised the governor that it would be better if he did something about them. Sa‘īd, trying to be as noncontroversial as possible, since he had taken over the governorship after the controversial al-Walīd b. ‘Uqba was dismissed for his drinking bouts, told the Kufans that he had orders not to stir things up. If they chose to write the caliph, however, on the matter, he told them, they were free to do so. Thus the “ashrāf ahl al-Kūfa wa ṣulaḥā’uhum” reportedly wrote to ‘Uthmān, asking him to deport this rowdy bunch of Qādisiyya veterans.⁸ Uthmān then wrote back to them, ordering this group to go to Mu‘āwiya; he simultaneously wrote to Mu‘āwiya, warning him about the imminent arrival of a “seditious group” (“The Kufans have expelled and sent to you certain innately rebellious individuals. Deal with them caringly when they arrive. If you observe right conduct in them, then reconcile with them. But if they are burdensome to you, then send them back (to the Kufans) [inna ahl al-Kūfa qad akhrajū ilayka nafaran khuliqū li-fitna fa-ru‘hum wa qum ‘alay-him fa-in ānasta minhum rashadan fa-iqbal minhum wa in a‘yūka fa-irdudhum ‘alayhim]”).⁹

Although seemingly marginal to the affairs of ‘Uthmān, this episode involving Sa‘īd and his guests is significant because it provides a miniature of the type of political challenge that ‘Uthmān would later face on a greater level in Medina. The guests of Sa‘īd question the governor’s liberty in using, or even contemplating using, the booty of the Persian conquests (frequently called in the sources “mā afā’ allāh ‘alaynā”) for his own political purposes, irrespective of how noble his dispensation of wealth might turn out to be.

The story encapsulates on a local level some of the well-known questions that surround the legitimacy of ‘Uthmān’s dispensation of wealth among his kinsmen and their appointment to key political posts. Also, like ‘Uthmān’s, Sa‘īd’s personality appears malleable during these sessions. His openness and hospitality toward different elements made it impossible to have a cooperative assembly. And Sa‘īd, like ‘Uthmān later, did not have the charismatic strength to keep conflicting leaders at bay. During arguments in his assembly, he quickly is ignored, and contenders argue over his head in a manner a reader would have found unthinkable earlier under ‘Umar’s rule. Meanwhile, rumors start flying across the land, and the tribes and political elite begin to question the efficacy of the system of government.

In this initial scene of debate and discord in Kufa, we examine some of the long-term questions around which the fitna would develop: Can the status of the conquered lands change down the generations? How do different tribal and social groups (Quraysh, non-Quraysh, settled elite/non-elite) relate to one another in light of Islamic equality versus the discrepancy in their military achievements? How much freedom does a ruler/governor have in deciding these questions, and whose opinion (among these groups) should official policy follow?¹⁰ And, the final question: Is the caliphate an institution built on kin-ties and elite status (‘Uthmān and the Banū Umayya), or is it based on religious criteria and tribal precedence according to contributions for Islam (conquests, settlement, etc.)? Although nowhere in this session do the different speakers address the question of caliphal succession and right to rule, it is clear that such a question lies at the dead end of these lines of inquiry, since the controversy leads to a total discrediting of caliphal rule.

This propensity to quick dismissal of the right to political leadership gets even more accentuated in light of the way different contenders refer to the reigns of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar as measures for judging the circumstances of their own times.¹¹ ‘Alī is nowhere mentioned as a favorite by the contenders, but the controversy in Kufa creates a vacuum in which later, with further developments, they will try to seek an alternative. Ṭabarī leaves it to the reader to connect the dots between the memory of ‘Alī’s loss of succession to the caliphate before, the grievances of the Kufans at present, and Sa‘īd’s (‘Uthmān’s) mismanagement of an evolving political program, and the imminent religious calls from other corners (Abū Dharr, ‘Abdallāh b. Mas‘ūd, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. ‘Awf).

It is also worth noting that, although the narratives make it clear why the Qādisiyya veterans became angry when someone suggested the transfer of conquered lands to the governorship’s ownership, the text forces the reader to look with disdain on this opposition crowd and view its motives suspiciously. The group may have had a justifiable cause for a moment but they exaggerated the threat and transgressed on the prerogative of the governor—not to mention abused his hospitality—when they attacked his guests and spread rumors to undermine his government. Thus the “group of ten”—symmetrically opposed to the ten most righteous companions in Sunnī Islam—is portrayed as a mostly seditious faction that was prone to challenge any sort of organized government. To what extent this would have happened anyway, even if ‘Uthmān or his kinsmen were not ruling Kufa is probably made clear in the characterization of this group as “members of ahl al-ayyām” who were still accustomed to a lifestyle of raids, tribal negotiation, and resistance to singular leadership from the days before Islam. The Islamic conquests originally gave this group a further advantage by offering them a more official equality with Quraysh and a sharing of conquests, but they themselves kept operating within a particular framework of the Jāhiliyya.¹²

THE VISIT TO MU‘ĀWIYA

When the Kufan group arrived in Syria, Mu‘āwiya reportedly showed them great kindness. He kept them in comfortable quarters at a monastery, continued to pay their stipends, and kept a schedule of having both lunch and dinner with them, until one day he initiated a debate with them.

“You are a community among the Arabs who have both strength and argument [lakum asnān wa alsina],” he said. “And Islam has further allowed you honor and made you victors over nations whose inheritance you have coveted. I have been told, however, that you are angry with Quraysh. But were it not for Quraysh, you would have returned to being lowly, like you were before. [The community leaders] are a shield for you [al-a’imma junna], so don’t break with your a’imma, for they bear burden of providing for you. By God, you must end [your dissidence] or God will most assuredly put you to the test with [rulers] who impose heavy demands on you and then do not praise you for enduring [them]. Then you will be their accomplices in (the evils) that you have brought upon the subjects [ra‘iyya] both during your lifetime and after your death [thumma takūnuna shurkā’ lahum fīmā jarartum ‘alā al-ra‘iyya fī ḥayātikum wa ba‘da mamātikum].”¹³

Mu‘āwiya’s statement was elaborate and contemplative, but the response of one unidentified speaker, who appears to have spoken on behalf of the group, came fast and rude: “Quraysh was never the strongest among the Arabs during the Jāhiliyya so that they can frighten us [now], and as for what you say about the shield, it can be penetrated, which puts us in danger.”¹⁴

With this reply Mu‘āwiya’s mood and tone changed drastically, as he declared:

“Now I know you! I now recognize that what has encouraged you to do this is lack of reason [qillat al-‘uqūl]. You speak as the orator of your people, and yet you have no reason. I remind you of the grand role of Islam, and you remind me of the Jāhiliyya…. Don’t you understand that Quraysh was grand before and after Islam because God willed it to be so? Quraysh was not the greatest in number among the Arabs, nor the strongest among them, but it was the most noble among them, and the most perfect in chivalry [murū’a]…. Quraysh was protected by God when nations all around it were preying on each other and becoming victims to loss [pestilence] [yutakhaṭṭafu al-nās min ḥawlihim].

“Have you ever heard of a nation among the Arabs, ‘Ajam, Black, or Red, that has endured in time without loss [illā qad aṣābahu al-dahr fī baladihi wa ḥurmatihi bi-dawla] except for the situation of Quraysh? For whenever anyone laid a plot against [Quraysh] God abased him. Until finally God sought to redeem those who would follow his religion, to save them from the hardship of life and the punishment of the hereafter; thus he chose for them the best of mankind [i.e., Muḥammad]. Quraysh were thus his select people. He invested them with dominion [thumma banā hādhā al-mulka ‘alayhim] and gave them the caliphate… God had already protected them in the Jāhiliyya. Do you not think he will protect them under Islam? Truly, how ignorant you are.”

This second phase of encounter between the Kufan opposition and Mu‘āwiya shows the heightened level of confrontation with a more senior member of ‘Uthmān’s government. The occasion provides that flattering direction for representing Mu‘āwiya’s personality. From the very outset, Mu‘āwiya is shown extending great hospitality to this group, despite the warnings he receives from ‘Uthmān about them. Mu‘āwiya is portrayed as showing his natural, graceful style of rule, fulfilling his duty of providing a tribal welcome, and engaging his guests in debate, and he only changes his tone when they fail to act within the limits of class and reason. This section of their encounter is significant in the narratives for the way it allows Mu‘āwiya to express his views on politics and history. Interestingly, Mu‘āwiya is shown emphasizing the divine selection of Quraysh before Islam as well as after, and he is shown as placing the most emphasis on Quraysh’s virtues, their honorable social rank, and their virility. His statement sets the parameters for how the fitna would be portrayed partly as a moral/class conflict.

This whole section is essentially an occasion for a speech by Mu‘āwiya and barely is interrupted by a brief response from his anonymous interlocutor. The style and tone of Mu‘āwiya’s statements closely resemble the countless similar speeches and declarations that ‘Alī will eventually make during the fitnas to his rivals and followers. Mu‘āwiya weaves ethical concerns with Sunnī defenses of authority, and in another version he includes references to Qur’ānic verses in a style highly unlike the way he would later be represented as speaking during his confrontation with ‘Alī. Ṭabarī and his narrators clearly wanted to lend a dimension of respectability to Mu‘āwiya here by allowing him to weave together strands of (Sunnī) religious and secular wisdom in his discourse. It is equally important that this is the only time Mu‘āwiya speaks with such religious wisdom. Later, when ‘Alī’s role in the story becomes central and he assumes the position of religious wisdom, Mu‘āwiya’s moral profile greatly deteriorates, and his discourse becomes bereft of any religious elements.

Then Mu‘āwiya’s speech turns to an attack on the background of the Kufan group. Mu‘āwiya here describes them as an evil group drawn from a marginal region of the Persian lands who engage in lowly professions. He doles out individual insults to the various tribesmen present that reflect on their whole tribes and regions. In one such representative attack, Mu‘āwiya tells a man named Ṣa‘ṣa‘a:

“As for you, Ṣa‘ṣa‘a, your town [qarya] is surely the worst of Arab towns—the one whose vegetation is the most malodorous, whose riverbed is deepest, whose evildoing is most notorious, and whose pro-tégés [jīrān] are the vilest. No one of noble or humble birth has ever dwelt there without being insulted on that account and without [that fact] being a defect in him. Moreover, they had the ugliest nicknames among the Arabs, the basest marriage ties, and were the outcasts of the nations. You [yourselves] were protégés in al-Khaṭṭ and lackeys of Persia until the Prophet’s call befell you. His summons touched you [sing.] while you were an outcast isolated in ‘Umān rather than a resident of Baḥrayn, so that you might share with them in the Prophet’s call. You are the worst of your people, to such a degree that when Islam brought you out [of isolation], mingled you with the people, and lifted you up over the nations that heretofore had dominated you, you begin desiring crookedness in God’s religion and inclining towards wickedness and baseness. But that does not derogate from Quraysh, it will neither harm them nor prevent them from fulfilling their obligations. Verily, Satan is not heedless of you [pl.]. He has recognized you by the evildoing within your community. Thus, he has aroused the people against you while he casts you down. He knows that he cannot oppose through you any judgment that God has decreed nor any command that God has willed [lā yastaṭī‘u an yarudda bi-kum qaḍā’ qaḍāhu allāh]. [He knows also] that you never cause evil in any affair unless God has disgraced [you] by imbuing you with evil from him.”¹⁵

The narrator then reports that Mu‘āwiya continued, “I give you leave to go where you want. No one shall benefit or be harmed by your presence… If you want to be saved, you should stick to the jamā‘a and not grow vain [lā yubṭirannakum al-in ‘ām].” As they were about to leave, Mu‘āwiya reportedly called them back and told them, “I am repeating to you and I want you to remember that I was first employed by the Messenger of God—and remember that he was infallible. Then Abū Bakr became caliph and he appointed me, and so did ‘Umar and ‘Uthmān. All of them were satisfied with me. The Messenger of God sought for office only men fully capable of acting on behalf of the Muslims, and did not appoint those who were ignorant, weak, or who improvised according to circumstances [ṭalaba li’l-a‘māl ahl al-jazā’ ‘an al-muslimīn, wa lam yaṭlublahā ahl al-ijtihād wa’l-jahl bihā wa’l-ḍa‘f ‘anhā]. Verily God holds the power and exacts retribution, deceiving those who have deceived him. Do not champion a cause about which you know you are not sincere [fa lā ta‘ruḍūli-amrin wa antum ta‘lamūn min anfusikum ghayra mā tuẓhirūn], for God will not leave you without examining you and revealing your secrets to the people. Almighty God has said: ‘Alif, Lām, Mīm, Do the people reckon that they will be left to say, “We believe” and will not be tried?’¹⁶”¹⁷

After the session concluded, Mu‘āwiya reportedly wrote to ‘Uthmān, telling him that he had found this group to be a mindless one, prone to fitna and shaghab. “They have neither reason nor faith [aqwāmun laysa la-hum‘uqūlun wa lā adyān],” he wrote. “Islam to them is a burden, and justice is annoying to them. In nothing do they seek God, nor do they speak with proof. Their only aim is dissidence and the wealth of the non-Muslim subjects. God will be the One to test and examine them, then reveal and humiliate them. They are not men who can injure anyone unless they are allied with others. Therefore, keep Sa‘īd [b. al-‘Āṣ] and his followers away from them, for they are no more than trouble-makers and slanderous gossipers.”¹⁸

In this second session, we notice that the narratives merely continue the earlier speech of Mu‘āwiya with little interruption. The Kufan group is given little chance to state a substantial answer before Mu‘āwiya escalates his attack on them. Having asserted the primacy of Quraysh, Mu‘āwiya turns his attention to describing the opposition’s background and denigrating their motives and goals on the basis of their social standing. The Kufan group is thus portrayed as ungrateful and seditious by nature. And this attack is resumed in the letter that Mu‘āwiya wrote to ‘Uthmān assessing the Kufan opposition. One should note here that on the whole, Mu‘āwiya’s statements were crafted to address the reader of later times and to flatter the Umayyad clan for its skill at governance rather than to help ‘Uthmān sort things out in the debacle at hand.

The third and final segment of Mu‘āwiya’s speech, in which Mu‘āwiya defends his governorship, may seem odd and out of place, since up until now the argument has had nothing to do with Mu‘āwiya’s credentials or how he came to office. However, given that the Kufan group will eventually go on to become a key opponent at Ṣiffin and will lead the opposition to the Umayyads later on, this early debate becomes a platform for Mu‘āwiya to describe the grounds of his political legitimacy (to the caliphate more than the governorate) as something rooted both in the precedent of his designation to office since early times and in his merits, talents, and skills. Between his implicit claim to inheriting the authority of ‘Uthmān and his glorification of the Quraysh, particularly the memory of its leadership in the example of Abū Sufyān, Mu‘āwiya succeeds in turning the occasion of Kufan grievances into an advertisement for his unique political qualities. What Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ originally complained about and wrote ‘Uthmān about had become entirely marginalized in the sweep of narratives that focus increasingly on the chief protagonists in the coming fitna.

In another version in Ṭabarī, recounted on the authority of Muḥammad b. ‘Umar (al-Wāqidī), the same events that led to a conference between Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ and the Kufans are recounted in a more pointed way. This time we are told that the Kufans became angry when Sa‘īd, during the course of a session, declared (without context) that the Sawād belonged to Quraysh (innamā hādhā al-Sawād bustān Quraysh). Al-Ashtar here angrily retorted, “Are you now claiming that the Sawād, which God has bestowed on us as fay ’ by our swords to be the personal property of your family [a-taz‘amu anna al-sawād alladhī afā’hu allāhu alaynā bi-asyāfinā bustānun laka wa li-qawmika]?! By God, your share in it should be no greater than the share of any of us.”¹⁹ Here a certain associate of Sa‘īd, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān (who was head of al-shurṭa), intervened and zealously told al-Ashtar, “Do you dare answer back when the prince says something?” and added some rough words. Al-Ashtar, we are told, called on the other Kufans to attack this man (lā yafūtannakum al-rajul),²⁰ which they did until he fainted. Sa‘īd had proven too weak to hold back the crowd, and after the Kufans departed, he promised not to entertain them again and wrote to ‘Uthmān about this group of “ten,” saying these men were active in inciting against the caliph (yu’allibūna wa yajtami‘ūna ‘alā ‘aybika wa ‘aybī wa’l-ṭa‘ni fī dīninā).²¹

This second version, by Wāqidī, not only is briefer than Sayf b. ‘Umar’s account, but it also addresses the thematic aspects of the story directly and with little theatrical flourish. Whereas, in the earlier version, it was left unclear whether Sa‘īd encouraged his associate to insinuate that the governor could claim the former crown lands of the Sasanids, here Sa‘īd himself declares all the Sawād as the property of Quraysh. Al-Ashtar, in response, directly explains his position on this issue: that the governor and Quraysh have no greater rights with respect to the Sawād, a conquered land, than the others. In the end, Sa‘īd is shown, as in the previous version, too weak to hold back the attackers, in a manner that echoes the famous representation of ‘Uthmān as a weak caliph.

The continuation of the Kufan debate with Mu‘āwiya in the version based on the authority of Wāqidī also differs from Sayf b. ‘Umar’s version in important details.²² Here Mu‘āwiya talks about the merits of his family in more open terms, and the Kufans challenge his religious qualifications and right to “rule” in terms that become the official argument against the Umayyads. Mu‘āwiya declares, “By God, I do not order you to do anything unless I, my household, and my personal retinue [khāṣṣatī] have started [doing] it. The Quraysh recognized that Abū Sufyān was the noblest among them and the son of the noblest, save for what God did for His prophet, the prophet of mercy. For indeed, God elected him and showed him honor. God did not create upright qualities in anyone without singling out [the prophet] for the noblest and finest of them. Nor did He create evil qualities in anyone without ennobling him beyond [such things] and keeping him utterly free of them. I believe that if the people were sons of Abū Sufyān, they would all be prudent and resolute men [wa innī la-aẓunnu ana abā Sufyāna law walada al-nāsa lam yalid illā ḥāziman].”²³

Ṭabarī’s description of the assembly then continues:

Ṣa‘ṣa‘a replied, “You lie! They are sons of a better man than Abū Sufyān—one whom God created by His own hand, ‘into whom he breathed His spirit,’²⁴ before whom He commanded the angels to bow down. Among [the people] are the pious and the sinner, the stupid and the clever.”

That night [Mu‘āwiya] departed from them. Then he came to them the following night and spoke at length among them. He said: “O band of men [qawm], answer me properly or be still. Reflect and consider what will bring benefit to you, your households, your tribes, and the whole community [jamā‘a] of Muslims. If you seek this, you will prosper and we shall prosper with you.” Ṣa‘ṣa‘a replied, “You are not worthy of that, nor is your noble rank such that you should be obeyed in defiance of God.” [Mu‘āwiya] said, “Did I not begin by commanding you to fear God and obey Him and His prophet, ‘to hold fast to his bond, together, and do not scatter?’”²⁵ “On the contrary,” they answered, “you have commanded schism and opposition to what the Prophet has brought.”

[Mu‘āwiya] said, “Well, then, I command you now. If I have done [what you say], I turn to God and His prophet, and I command you to fear Him and obey Him and His Prophet, to adhere to the community and to abhor schism, to revere your imāms and to direct them so far as you are able to every good thing, and to admonish them gently and graciously concerning anything that comes from them.”

Ṣa‘ṣa‘a replied, “And we then command you to resign your office [‘amal], for among the Muslims there is one who has a better right to it than you.” [Mu‘āwiya] asked, “Who is that?” [Ṣa‘ṣa‘a] answered, “Someone whose father had a higher standing in Islam than did yours, and who himself has a higher standing than you.” [Mu‘āwiya] said, “By God, I have some standing in Islam. There were others whose standing surpassed mine, but in my time, there is no one better able to do my job than I. ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭāb was of this opinion, and had there been a man more capable than I, ‘Umar would not have been indulgent with regard to me or anyone else. Nor have I instituted any innovation that would require me to resign my office. Had the Commander of the Faithful and of the Community of Muslims thought so, he would have written to me by his own hand, and I would have stepped down from office. Should God decree that He do this, I hope that he would not decide on someone for this [position] unless [that person] were better. Go easy, or Satan will find what he hopes for and commands in this [situation] and others like it. By my life, if affairs were decided according to your opinion and wishes, things would not go well for the people of Islam by day or by night. But affairs are determined and directed by God, and ‘He attains His purpose.’²⁶ So come back to what is They responded, “You are not fit for that.” He said, “By God, in truth it is God’s right to attack and take vengeance. I fear for you, lest you become so entangled in submission to Satan and rebellion against the Merciful one that God’s vengeance will cause you to reside in the abode of humiliation in the present and [in the abode of] everlasting abasement in the future.”

Then they jumped on him and seized his head and beard. He said, “Hey, this is not the province of Kufa! By God, if the Syrians saw what you have done to me, their imām, I could not restrain them from killing you. By my life, you always act the same way.” Then he arose from among them and said, “By God, I shall never enter your presence again as long as I live.” Then he wrote to ‘Uthmān [as follows]: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. To the servant of God, ‘Uthmān, Commander of the Faithful, from Mu‘āwiya b. Abī Sufyān. To proceed: O Commander of the Faithful, you sent to me certain bands of men speaking with the tongue of devils, saying things which [the latter] were dictating to them. They come to the people, so they allege, for the sake of the Qur’ān, but they render [it] obscure and ambiguous. Not all the people understand what they mean to do, for they only desire schism, and they bring discord [fitna] nearer. Islam has been a burden to them and has vexed them. The spells of Satan have become fixed in their hearts, and they corrupted many of the Kufans around them. If they remain in the midst of the Syrians, I worry that they may delude them with their sorcery and depravity. Send them back to their garrison town [Kufa] and let them reside there, where their dissembling first appeared. Peace.”²⁷

This second version of the debate differs in the way most of the arguments center on issues of legitimacy and involve Mu‘āwiya more than the earlier dispute with the governor did. Here Mu‘āwiya does not appeal to reason or diplomacy, nor does he attack the Kufans on the grounds of class. His flattery of Quraysh is meant more as a way to flatter the Umayyad family and its political leadership in the past. Mu‘āwiya pays lip service to the primacy of the Prophet but is interested more in announcing the Jahilī virtues of Abū Sufyān. When Mu‘āwiya reminds the Kufans of how he rose to office, it is significant that he omits the mention preserved in the early version that the Prophet had first set the precedent by employing him. He only refers to the patronage that ‘Umar extended to him and appeals to the argument of power and political skill over the argument for precedence in conversion. Pointing to ‘Umar’s judgment served also as an aside against ‘Alī’s readiness for caliphal leadership, since ‘Umar did not designate him for succession.

The emphasis of the Kufans on precedence in conversion in this second version is also different from Sayf b. ‘Umar’s version, since they seem to imply their desire to see ‘Alī assume political leadership. The issue of whether ‘Alī should rule, and who is more qualified between the two, ‘Alī or Mu‘āwiya, clearly takes this narrative far from its original goal, namely reprimanding the Kufans for their bickering with Sa‘īd over the Sawād. Mu‘āwiya’s statement (law kānat al-umūr tuqḍā ‘alā ra’ yikum wa amānīkum mā istaqāmat yawman wa lā laylatan) is meant to justify the grounds for his future rivalry with ‘Alī. Mu‘āwiya here articulates his own merits to rule the community effectively and casts a preview of his challenge to ‘Alī at Ṣiffin. The debate has wider polemical uses that reach into future events and relate to a wide range of personalities, and so does not merely address Sa‘īd’s day-to-day troubles with the Kufans.

Although Mu‘āwiya does not attack the Kufans’ class background as he overarchingly does in the first version, he does reiterate in various ways throughout the narrative that the Kufans are a threat to the cohesion and harmony of the community, not just to the possibility of establishing effective government. The Kufans are still represented as a seditious element that seeks to divide (yurīdūna al-firqa wa yuqarribūna alfitna; qad athqalahum al-Islām wa aḍjarahum).²⁸ In a way, they are portrayed as a group harkening to the Ridda. This association is highlighted in a side-story to the first version of the narrative about the debate between the Kufans and Mu‘āwiya (recounted by Sayf b. ‘Umar). In this digression, we are told that, after the failure of the meeting between Mu‘āwiya and the Kufans, a member of the dissident party said to his companions that they should go to Jazīra. “Let’s not return to Kufa at once,” this man said, “for they shall mock us. Let’s instead make a detour to the Jazīra [province].” This random decision provides the occasion for a follow-up to Mu‘āwiya’s earlier attack on the Kufans. The story says that when the Kufans arrived in Jazīra, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. Khālid, governor of Ḥimṣ, heard of them and summoned them over. He had prepared a few harsh words. “O instruments of Satan, you are not welcome here,” he said. “Satan has come back exhausted, while you are still full of energy. I do not know whether you people are Arabs or non-Arabs. But may God ruin ‘Abd al-Raḥmān if he does not chastise you until he wears you out, lest you speak to me as I heard you have spoken to Mu‘āwiya. I am the son of Khālid b. al-Walīd—the son of a man tested by long experience, a man who gouged out the eye of the Secession [al-ridda]. By God, O Ṣa‘ṣa‘a, son of shame, if I learn that anyone among my followers has smashed your nose and then called you a filthy sucker, I will send you offon a very long flight.”²⁹

The decision by the Kufans to set out to Jazīra seems completely random at first glance, and intended by a narrator no more than as another opportunity for a speech. The very strong tone of ‘Abd al-Raḥmān’s speech, however, suggests that narrators intended here something special, namely to add another voice to those expressed so far and to mark the transition from a mild governor to a harsh one. While Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ represented the pacifist governor and Mu‘āwiya the more reasoned yet firm governor, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān represented the voice of violence. This was meant to foreshadow the future transition from the mild and sober government of someone such as al-Mughīra b. Shu‘ba in Mu‘āwiya’s reign to more ruthless governors such as Ziyād b. Abīhi and al-Ḥajjāj b. Yūsuf. ‘Abd al-Raḥmān’s evocation of the name of his father, Khālid b. al-Walīd, and that commander’s critical role in fighting the armies of the Ridda, was meant to align the stars of coercive commanders and evoke those individuals as final arbiters for such situations of chaos. It is here worth stressing not only the way Mu‘āwiya is elevated in depiction (through his mannerism of speech and action) to the rank of caliphal behavior long before he becomes caliph, but that narrators also meant to establish a pairing of interactions of leaders and governors: ‘Uthmān and Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ, and Mu‘āwiya and ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. Khālid. The text’s transition in describing debates from one pair to another represented the gradual transition from Rāshidūn style of politics to that of the Umayyads.³⁰

The Kufan threat is portrayed here as small but having the possibility of growing to reach the caliph himself. When the argument between Mu‘āwiya and the Kufans escalates, we are told that they became so bold as to attack Mu‘āwiya physically, seizing his head and beard. Mu‘āwiya’s rebuking statement to them, “inna hādhihi laysat bi-arḍi al-Kūfa; inna la-ṣanī‘ikum yushbihu ba‘ḍahu ba‘ḍan,” is a clear allusion to how the attackers of ‘Uthmān will later behave in Medina, with Muḥammad b. Abī Bakr grabbing ‘Uthmān’s beard before the assassination. Events on the margin of the caliphate are therefore shown as foreshadowing a similar tendency in the center against the caliph later on, and Mu‘āwiya alludes to this recurrent tendency by saying, “You always act the same way [inna ṣanī‘ikum la-yushbihu ba‘ḍahu ba’ḍan].” Mu‘āwiya thus steps out of his role as an actor to become a critical narrator of events both past and current.

‘UTHMĀN’S PREDICAMENT: THE THEME OF IRRECONCILABLE MORAL DEMANDS

Under the year A.H. 34/A.D. 654 Ṭabarī recounts how the opponents of ‘Uthmān began to increase their demands against the caliph. After detailing what seemed like a local dispute between Sa‘īd and the Kufan personalities, suddenly the accounts turn to describing how Sa‘īd had to abandon Kufa, which became a field for conspiracies and disorder (khalat al-Kūfa min al-ru’asā’ illā manzū‘an aw maftūnan),³¹ and sallied forth to Medina to confer with the caliph about the “demands” of the opposition. In Medina, ‘Uthmān inquired about what was going on in the province, and Sa‘īd described how the Kufans were now exploiting the vacuum to spread rumors and inciting the people against the caliph “aẓharū anna-hum yurīdūna al-badl.”³² When asked about whom they want as governor instead, Sa‘īd said, “Abū Mūsā [al-Ash‘arī].” So ‘Uthmān concluded, “Let them have him then. By God, we shall not give them an excuse or leave them an option they would claim they have not tried. And let’s be patient with them.”³³ Soon afterward the caliph reportedly convened a council of his governors from the provinces to discuss his next move with them.

In this account, the way that events deteriorate so quickly and severely to the disadvantage of the caliph seems very unrealistic. How did such a small band of marginal dissidents—who were presumably brought to thorough submission after they met with Mu‘āwiya and ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. Khālid b. al-Walīd—come to be such a serious threat to the caliph? This is never convincingly explained. Suddenly we find the caliph summoning his key governors (including Mu‘āwiya, ‘Amr b. al-‘Āṣ, Ibn Abī al-Sarḥ, and ‘Abdallāh b. ‘Āmir) to consult them about the political threat.³⁴

It seems unlikely that events actually happened this way. Instead of being historically accurate, the narratives in this year had two primary purposes. The first was to give the reader the opportunity to see how unruly and fickle the Kufan opposition was, especially when they chose Abū Mūsā, thereby foreshadowing the same type of ignorant and stubborn demand they would force ‘Alī to accept at the Taḥkīm. Throughout these events, ‘Uthmān is shown giving the Kufans the benefit of the doubt and caving in to their demands to avoid conflict. This lends some ambiguity to the image of ‘Uthmān, since it seems unclear whether his conciliatory gesture reflected weakness, as the quality generally ascribed to him, or a willingness to find a compromise that would avert a conflict in the community. The latter interpretation would also run counter to other standard voices in the tradition that represent ‘Uthmān as stubborn and willing to concede neither his personal authority nor that of his kinsmen in the provinces. We may detect faint signals here of a type of behavior that ‘Alī would later be forced to adopt in the face of similar types of sedition. ‘Alī, like ‘Uthmān, will also be forced to compromise with seditious groups, all the while knowing that his decision is not the ideal one, but will be a step to avert the fragmentation of the community. In both cases, ‘Uthmān and ‘Alī prove wrong, although the price they pay for their compromise differs.

The second purpose of the narratives of this year was to allow the reader to sample the different portraits of ‘Uthmān’s senior advisors at that juncture. Each governor’s statement was meant to shed light on his personality and to show how he was exploiting ‘Uthmān’s predicament to his advantage. This is especially so in the part pertaining to ‘Amr, where he takes a position and makes a declaration that shows his foresight about how the public will react to news about their conference. Indeed, it may not be an exaggeration to say that the whole narrative of the assembly debating the situation was crafted solely to show ‘Amr’s motives and political style within the context of that problem and among that group of leaders.³⁵

After that debate is concluded, ‘Alī makes an individual appearance to counsel ‘Uthmān. ‘Alī’s appearance here is totally unexpected and lacks even a proper introduction or context. Throughout the previous events, he was absent from the picture, and the story of ‘Uthmān’s conflict with the provincial opposition seemed unrelated to the question of ‘Uthmān’s original legitimacy in respect to the succession. However, in the simultaneous timing of ‘Alī’s appearance at that particular moment, and the Kufan opposition’s ongoing clash with the caliph, one reads an implication that draws a connection between legitimacy to succession, the ‘Alid right to rule, and the question of righteous governance. For his part, ‘Alī does not declare any affinity to the Kufan opposition’s claims, and maintains a neutral voice of criticism throughout. This representation of events kept ‘Alī’s portrayal consistent with the Jamā‘ī-Sunnī reading of history, which extricated the companions from responsibility for initiating discord. Within this frame of belief, the reader is led to see how difficult it was to remain neutral during the fitna, and how even without taking sides, ‘Alī’s words (weightier than other people’s talk), like any speech made in that environment of tension, were likely to be misinterpreted or exaggerated by the Kufans or a sub-branch of them (the Saba’iyya), leading to a worsening of the situation.

The interview of ‘Alī with ‘Uthmān is the first time that the narrators cast the two talking directly to one another. On previous occasions, such as the shūrā for ‘Umar’s succession and the trial of ‘Ubaydallāh b. ‘Umar, they had expressed opposite views but without addressing one another directly. This now changes as they set out to settle some old scores. Probing deeper into their encounter, one sees how ‘Alī uses the occasion of Kufan troubles to imply that things would never have deteriorated to this point of chaos had he been caliph, thereby alluding to his higher religious grounds to rule (as a Hāshimite, an imām, and the one directly favored by the Prophet). And, for his part, ‘Uthmān uses his own legitimacy of succession and the religious exhortation for obeying authority to cover his own style of promoting his clan to power.

‘Alī’s speech to ‘Uthmān starts out in a conciliatory tone, with a nod to the caliph’s religious knowledge and merit as a companion. ‘Alī appears magnanimous, ignoring his passing over for succession in the past, although he refers to this by using ‘Uthmān’s case in comparison with the first two caliphs. Trying to make ‘Uthmān a parallel victim to the first two caliphs, as he is, ‘Alī states, “You were one of his [i.e., the Prophet’s] companions and became a son-in-law to him. [Abū Bakr] b. Abī Quḥāfa was not better suited than you to act rightly, nor did [‘Umar]b. al-Khaṭṭāb enjoy greater merit in any way, and indeed you had a closer blood relationship to the messenger of God [than either of them]. You obtained a marriage tie to the Messenger of God such as they never did, nor did they have any precedence over you” (full text below). The Arabic of these words is indeed strong (innaka aqrab… wa qad nilta mā lam yanālā… wa lā sabaqākq ilā shay’), especially when we consider them in light of the fact that Abū Bakr was not only the first convert but the man who introduced ‘Uthmān—along with the five other key companions at the shūrā—to the Prophet. Clearly, however, ‘Alī’s words were being used to allude to his own situation rather than to ‘Uthmān, albeit for the present context they served the purpose of deferential respect for ‘Uthmān and praise for the companions as a whole. Be that as it may, these were events of the past, ‘Alī is made to imply, and bygones were forgiven.

The debate of ‘Uthmān and ‘Alī now had a new beginning—the people’s grievances and proper governance. ‘Alī’s advice to ‘Uthmān in a lengthy declaration takes the form of general religious wisdom and does not suggest a specific solution to the challenge in the provinces. Unlike ‘Uthmān’s governors, ‘Alī’s parameters of cautioning advice for the caliph are religious, using words such as “ḍalāl” (ignorance), “bida‘” (innovation), and “jūr” (oppression). ‘Alī ominously warns about the spectre of war and the prediction of a certain “imām” who, it is said, will be assassinated. Alī’s full declaration goes as follows:

“[The people are in the background (i.e., to this opposition)], and they have spoken to me about you. By God, I do not know what to say to you…. We have not perceived something before you have, so that we must inform you of it. Nor have we gained sole knowledge of anything so that we must bring it to your attention. In no affair have we been assigned greater distinction than you. You have seen and heard the Messenger of God; you were one of his Companions and became a son-in-law to him. [Abū Bakr] b. Abī Quḥāfa was not better suited than you to act rightly, nor did [‘Umar] b. al-Khaṭṭāb enjoy greater merit in any way, and indeed you have a closer blood relation to the Messenger of God than they ever did, nor did they have any precedence over you [wa innaka aqrabu ilā rasūl allāh raḥiman wa laqad nilta min ṣihri rasūl allāh mā lam yanālā wa lā sabaqāka ilā shay’in]… Verily the path is manifest and clear, and the signposts of true religion are standing up right. Know, ‘Uthmān, that the best of God’s servants in His eyes is a just imām [imām ‘ādil], one who has been guided aright and who himself gives right guidance, for he upholds accepted prescriptions and destroys rejected innovations [fa-aqāma sunnatan ma‘lūma wa amāta bid‘atan matrūka]. By God, everything is clear. Sound prescriptions stand clearly marked, as do blameworthy innovations. The worst of men in God’s sight is a tyrannical imām, one who has gone astray himself and who leads others astray, for he destroys an accepted prescription and revives a rejected innovation. Verily, I heard the Messenger of God say, ‘The tyrannical imām will be brought on the Day of Resurrection; he will have no helper and no advocate; he will be cast into Hell, turning about in Hell, as the mill turns; and then he will be plunged into the fiery flood of Hell.’³⁶ I tell you to beware of God and His sudden assault and His vengeance, for His punishment is harsh and painful indeed. I tell you to beware lest you be the murdered imām of this Community [uḥ adhdhiruka an takūna imām al-ummati al-maqtūl]. For it is said that an imām will be killed in this Community, and that bloody strife will be loosed upon it until the Day of Resurrection, and its affairs will become hopelessly entangled. [God] will leave them as sects [shiya‘], and they will not see the truth due to the great height of falsehood. They will toss about like waves and wander in confusion.”³⁷

‘Alī’s words of gloom and doom were not the reviving words ‘Uthmān was looking for. The quick movement of ‘Alī from discussing a repair of an incidental situation of public dispute to talking about a caliph’s/imām’s imminent assassination left the caliph more despondent and defensive. Although the companions, as Wāqidī states earlier in the narrative, had given signs of animosity to the third caliph by letting the public vent their anger on ‘Uthmān and shunning him, it was ‘Alī’s words here that now played the decisive role. ‘Alī may have been an exception to the other companions in coming over to the caliph’s house to have a frank discussion with him—and frankness is no doubt shown to be the bane of ‘Alī in putting himself in the crossfire—but ‘Uthmān had now come to know what the scene in Medina really looked liked and who his friends and enemies were. Scrambling for defense, ‘Uthmān told ‘Alī, “By God, if you were in my place, I would not have berated you nor left you in the lurch nor shamed you nor behaved foully [law kunta makānī mā ‘annaftuka wa lā aslamtuka wa lā ‘ibtu ‘alayka].”³⁸ Implicit in these words, which ironically hint of ‘Uthmān’s blaming ‘Alī for the coming assassination, is what will be emphasized more later, namely that ‘Alī commands huge leverage in the community at large and especially with the opposition, and that he could have averted the tragedy about to befall ‘Uthmān. ‘Uthmān’s statement reflects the greater Sunnī affinity to him as compared with ‘Alī, and provides an indirect Sunnī rebuke for ‘Alī as well.

Like ‘Alī, ‘Uthmān here gives a lengthy rebuttal that stands as a cogent speech and anticipates events soon to happen, especially his loss of ‘Alī’s support. In a key juncture in his conversation with ‘Alī, ‘Uthmān draws the latter to specifics by asking why there is such particular disapproval when he (i.e., ‘Uthmān) is doing no more than what his predecessor ‘Umar had done (as in appointing al-Mughīra b. Shu‘ba and Mu‘āwiya to political offices).³⁹ ‘Alī’s response to this is essentially that ‘Uthmān is simply no match for ‘Umar. ‘Uthmān lacks the charismatic strength that ‘Umar commanded and made governors work within the bounds of integrity and impartiality. ‘Umar, ‘Alī elaborates, used to punish his governors for the slightest criticism he heard about, “but you,” ‘Alī says, “do not do [that]. You have been weak and easygoing with your relatives [wa anta lā taf‘al, ḍa‘ifta wa rafiqta ‘alā aqribā’ika].”⁴⁰ ‘Uthmān moves on to defend his actions toward his relatives/governors (such as his dispensation of wealth among them) by saying that some were worthy of it and others in need of it, but most importantly that this decision was the caliph’s alone to make, not something to be shaped by divergent public whims.⁴¹ ‘Uthmān felt that he also had a moral obligation to his kinsmen (on the basis of qarāba or ṣilatal-raḥim) that coincided here with his role as caliph. The harmony between his role as caliph and as patriarch of his family in his giving of wealth to his governors should have been easily understood as far as he was concerned, but the conversation between ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān puts the reader in direct contact with the crux of the matter: How can a caliph separate his moral duty toward kin, family, and tribe (an individual’s religious duty) from his political obligation (collective religious duty) to the community as a neutral religious leader? From another, more practical angle, ‘Uthmān was essentially asking, How can caliphal authority be effective and act as a magnet for the jamā‘a if minor criticisms⁴² are elevated to become challenges to caliphal legitimacy?

One must wonder whether ‘Alī’s comments to ‘Uthmān about ‘Umar’s strength (and how governors dared not say anything to challenge him) have an ironic tinge, since ‘Alī’s open criticism of ‘Uthmān, in a style unevident during the time of ‘Umar, is itself evidence of the leniency with which ‘Uthmān indulged his subjects. On the whole, however, the narrative gives ‘Uthmān some key moments in which he provides a response to ‘Alī that rises well above the stereotype of this third caliph as submissive, carefree, unreasoned, and passive. ‘Uthmān explains all his actions and concludes with a tragic reflective reaction to what everyone is saying:

“For everything there is some bane and in every situation there is some defect. The bane of this Community [umma] and the defect in this [divinely bestowed] beneficence are the maligners and slanderers who let you see what is pleasing to you and conceal what is hateful to you. They talk and talk to you. Men who resemble ostriches follow the first one to make a noise. Their favorite watering place is the one far away; they fail to quench their thirst, and they get only the sediment. No leader arises, affairs have worn them out, and they possess no means of gain. By God, you have surely blamed me for things like those you accepted from Ibn al-Khaṭṭāb. But he trampled you underfoot, smote you with his hand, and subdued you by his tongue, and so you submitted to him, whether you liked it or not. I have been lenient with you. I let you tread on my shoulders while I restrained my hand and tongue, and therefore you have been insolent toward me [ammā ba‘d fa-inna li-kulli shay’in āfa wa inna āfata hādhihi al-umma ‘ayyābūn ta‘‘ānūn… ‘ibtum ‘alayya bi-mā athartu li-ibn al-khaṭṭāb bi-mithlihi wa lakkinahu waṭ a’akum bi-rijlihi wa lintu lakum bi-yadī wa lisanī ‘ankum fa-ijtra’tum ‘alayy].”⁴³

‘Alī’s vision—“By God, the best of the servants of God is one who is an ‘imām ‘ādil’” (where “‘ādil” is understood as balancing the moral and political obligations between family and state considerations)—is a lofty, even messianic dream.⁴⁴ But one wonders whether anyone but a prophet at that hour could have possessed the direction and binding authority to save the community.

Ṭabarī essentially leads the reader to the final question, which will endure and cause even more turbulence in ‘Alī’s reign, namely, Where does one find this “just imām,” and how does he make decisions in the gray area that ‘Uthmān was facing? The answers to this question would vary according to the split in the Islamic community. To the Shī‘a, the imām (legatee of the Prophet) was the answer, while to Sunnīs, the search for the ideal imām was viewed as unattainable after ‘Umar, and the whole question needed to be dropped or at least made secondary to the collective welfare of the jamā‘a. Ṭabarī’s answer to this dilemma meanders between the two sides as his narratives engage the rich polemical dialogue between the two camps. At that particular juncture after ‘Alī’s debate with ‘Uthmān, the story gives its own answer in a new set of narratives.

THE CONFLICT IN MEDINA

The aforementioned encounter between ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān represented the official moment of polarization between the two, and a staking of war positions that will be repeated and fine-tuned but not radically altered. The next phase of narration in Ṭabarī is a long one. It covers the slow progress toward the overthrow of ‘Uthmān in an extensive set of narratives, which sometimes overlap but more often vary on important secondary details. It was clearly not an easy story for Ṭabarī to tell—about the companions abandoning ‘Uthmān to certain death while he was in their midst—and so in an effort to dilute the effect of what would otherwise have been a scandalous biblical tale, he deployed a variety of stories that gave a wide range of viewpoints and explanations. There were those that exculpated ‘Alī from responsibility for the attack on ‘Uthmān, those that defended ‘Uthmān as repentant caliph or contrite companion, and still others that placed on him the responsibility for political failure through his relying on mischievous advisors, resorting to guile or treachery, or simply acting stubbornly. All manner of nuance and variation are assigned to the motives of the caliph, his circle of supporters, and the opposition and the critics of the caliph, so that the complete story addresses a range of viewpoints but defies a single interpretation. This plethora of accounts about the interactions between ‘Uthmān and the various actors, and the numerous dialogues at every stage along the way to conflict, is far richer than anything else for the Rāshidūn period. This was not, for example, the style of the second caliph’s biography, which, although connected by a set of underlying themes, was ultimately cohesive and progressed in a linear manner and unequivocally. In ‘Uthmān’s case, while the focus of issues is narrow, the range of descriptions offered is varied and extensive, and the pace of progress toward the end seems glacial.

The complete picture of the original accounts of ‘Uthmān’s story has not survived in full in Ṭabarī’s, Balādhurī’s, or Ibn Sa‘d’s works. Ṭabarī frequently points out that he omitted portions of the original texts that sounded offensive or unsuitable, but he does not elaborate on this criterion. Nevertheless a lot survived in Ṭabarī’s chronicle that can inform us not only about the original texts, but about the preferences of ninth-century redactors in selecting material that could coexist with Jamā‘ī-Sunnī views. The main sources of these accounts are Sayf b. ‘Umar and Muḥammad b. ‘Umar al-Wāqidī as well as a substantial few from Ja‘far b. ‘Abdallāh al-Muḥammadī, with some occasional inserts from Abū Mikhnaf, Ya‘qūb b. Ibrāhīm, and Muḥammad b. al-Sā’ib al-Kalbī. These texts share a similar style of narration and connect in a flowing sequence in the chronicle. They also do not exclusively side with one party or another. However, a close reading of these texts shows that al-Wāqidī’s version includes dimensions apologetic for ‘Uthmān that are not found elsewhere (hagiography, companion closeness), while Sayf b. ‘Umar’s version has fewer of these features; and Abū Mikhnaf’s version shows a more politically minded caliph, unwilling to compromise and eager to hold on to power.

In the end, the divergences among the narratives are less significant in and of themselves than they are for the way they mesh together to build a complete tragic portrait of the caliph and the companion society at the time. The ability of the chronicler to combine a vast body of accounts indirectly shows his criteria for selecting narratives, which had their own crucial, self-contained meanings or took on a different sense when read in relation to other texts in pre-Islamic and Islamic history. In the next section, we will examine the steps that made up the final obstacles for ‘Uthmān, and how he and the opposition reacted to developments.

‘Abdallāh b. Saba’ as a Catalyst to Civil War

This phase of background to the conflict represents in Ṭabarī’s sequenced narratives a kind of new point of departure to be added to the disputes in Kufa, and the arguments between ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān. There is no variation in the narratives here, and so the story provides what seems be a key polemical and religious tool for apologetic innuendo regarding the conflict.

Right about the time that these arguments over government were brewing, Ṭabarī tells us, a certain ‘Abdallāh ibn Saba’, a Yemenite convert from Judaism,⁴⁵ began to disseminate the idea of prophetic return, preaching that the Prophet Muḥammad would one day return, just as the Qur’ān promised that Jesus would. This notion of “al-raj‘a” was reportedly being spread along with another idea of Ibn Saba’ ’s, namely that historically every prophet had a legatee (waṣiyy), and that Muḥammad’s legatee was ‘Alī.⁴⁶ Whether it is here implied that Ibn Saba’ meant that ‘Alī represented a prophetic continuum or else a representative for Muḥammad is not explicitly stated by Ṭabarī. However, it seems obvious from the overarching religious profile that we get of ‘Alī as a spiritual master with a great cache of wisdom sayings, somber assessments of history and human behavior, and from the timing of Ibn Saba’ ’s preachings that the narratives are describing a growing social current that finds ‘Alī more than worthy of the caliphate because he was both competent and unfairly passed over before. The call of Ibn Saba’ reportedly declared that Muḥammad was the seal of the prophets and ‘Alī the seal of the legatees, and asserted that ‘Uthmān had wrongfully seized the caliphate.

Ibn Saba’ then reportedly sent out his propagandists (baththa du‘ātihi) and wrote to the corrupted elements in different locales (kātaba man istafsada min al-amṣār), instructing his followers to begin a campaign of feigning piety (wa aẓhirū al-amr bi’l-ma‘rūf) and criticism of the caliph all the while they worked for a different purpose (ibda’ū bi’l-ṭa‘ni ‘alā umarā’ikum wa aẓhirū al-amr bi’l-ma‘rūf wa’l-nahy ‘an al-munkar).⁴⁷ Ibn Saba’ himself traveled to Ḥijāz, Basra, Kufa, and Syria to disseminate his ideas—or, as Ṭabarī puts it, “seeking to misguide people [yurīdu iḍlāla al-nās]”—but found little welcome. Most notably, in Syria he seemed to face his biggest obstacle when the population rebuffed him more strongly than elsewhere (fa-lam yaqdir ‘alā mā yurīdu ‘inda aḥadin min ahli al-shām).⁴⁸ This detail may easily slip by in the thick of the narrative, but it seems crucial in that it signals empathy in Ṭabarī’s narratives to the Jamā‘ī-Sunnī current of Syria, as well as to how the community in that region rebuffed the messianic (Hāshimite) da‘was. However fleeting and ordinary the description of the reaction of ahl al-Shām in this narrative may seem, in all likelihood it accommodates the positive image assigned to this community, particularly in the days of fitan, in ḥadīth literature.⁴⁹

The insertion of the Ibn Saba’ story at this tense juncture of disagreement in ‘Uthmān’s reign was meant to discredit the position that emphasized the superiority of ‘Alī on religious grounds and to show that the emerging threat to the unity of the jamā‘a was both political and religious.⁵⁰ While ‘Alī’s historic religious prestige on grounds of ṣābiqa and kinship as well as his individual wisdom is widely attested by Ṭabarī, this allusion to a sectarian movement championing a religious cause on behalf of ‘Alī shows Ṭabarī detracting from ‘Alī’s cause in another way. Whereas Mu‘āwiya could draw on the memory of Abū Sufyān’s leadership in the Jāhiliyya to prop up his political legitimacy, ‘Alī is cast as the candidate of the former enemies of Islam (the Jews), sectarians, and anarchists in general. The line “ibda’ū bi’l-ṭa‘ni ‘alā umarā’ikum” is as close as Ṭabarī gets to giving his own historical commentary. The turn of phrase itself, put in direct speech, mocks the very essence of the egalitarian-pietistic platform of ‘Alī’s supporters in general.⁵¹

The Kufan demand for equality in booty revenues and their contention with Mu‘āwiya was discredited even earlier, as we saw, on grounds of class and morality. And it would have remained an empty and minor threat, as Ṭabarī implies, were it not for the religious threat that Ibn Saba’ developed. Ibn Saba’, according to Ṭabarī, had initiated a false call for “instituting the good” into a political ploy for undermining the government (hādhā al-amr) (fa-inhadū fī hādhā al-amr fa-ḥarrikūh wa ibda’ū bi’l-ṭa‘ni ‘alā umrā’ikum wa aẓhirū al-amra bi’l-ma‘rūf).⁵² Next he sent out du‘āt to the various provinces and wrote to the “rotting elements” (kātaba man kāna istafsada min al-amṣār) (wa ja‘alū yaktubūna ilā al-amṣār bi-kutubin yaḍa‘ūnahā fī ‘uyūbi wulātihim). One gets the impression of a concerted underground conspiracy that targeted the provinces, with different activists reaching various locales and purporting a religious veneer different from what they claimed to believe. Because they are effective in their preaching to the point of having a hypnotizing effect on the community, the da‘wa of Ibn Saba’ takes on a plague-like quality, making different communities fear that they will soon be affected and pray that they will not have to come to hear it (yaqūl ahl kull miṣr: innā lafī ‘āfiya mimmā ibtuliya fīhi hā’ulā ’). Individual cases of temptation by the spreading rumors are cited. ‘Ammār, who was initially sent to Egypt to investigate the situation, is said to have lingered longer than he should have there and become tempted by the propaganda (inna ‘Ammār qad istamālahu qawmun bi-miṣr).⁵³

‘Uthmān’s Consultations with Governors

‘Uthmān’s first reaction to the emerging crisis is represented in the narratives in pious terms reminiscent of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar. Sayf reports that the caliph summoned his governors to Medina to evaluate the situation, and that he was eager to provide justice for all who had grievances and to abide by the call for “al-amr bi’l-ma‘rūf wa’l-nahy ‘an al-munkar.” The caliph appears personally without a genuine fault, and his declaration to the public at times sums up the image of a self-deprecating caliph that will reappear frequently in the evolving story of crisis. “Neither I, nor my household,” ‘Uthmān declared, “claim any priority in rights over the subjects [ra‘iyya], save the rights bequeathed to them [laysa lī wa li-‘iyālī ḥaqqun qabla al-ra‘iyyati illā matrūkun lahum].”⁵⁴ This position was reportedly deeply appreciated in the provinces.

Contrary to perspectives that depict him as passive or complicit in the authoritarianism of governors (Mu‘āwiya), ‘Uthmān is portrayed as alert to possible gubernatorial abuses and ready to correct them. When he first heard of these rumors, he reportedly convened a council of his governors and told them, “Woe to you! What is this complaining and protest? By God, I fear that you are rightly accused and that I alone will be reproached for [your misdeeds]⁵⁵ [innī la-khā’if an takūnū masdūqan ‘an-kum].” This image of ‘Uthmān chiding his governors is typical of Ṭabarī’s balance of narratives, where support for authority is always upheld but rebuke is also assigned to those in office. In contrast to ‘Uthmān, the governors suggested that wise strategy (al-ra’y) recommended some sterness (ḥusn al-adab, according to Mu‘āwiya), and even more stringent policies (al-shidda, according to ‘Amr b. al-‘Āṣ). In reply to these views, ‘Uthmān shows some understanding, but he is portrayed as more anxious about the spread of sedition and the need for coaxing and careful treatment of the public (al-līn wa’l-mu’ātāt wa’l-mutāba‘a) except in matters that touched the law (ḥudūd allāh). So, as if to show that he learned from his conversation with ‘Alī, ‘Uthmān declares, “By God, the mill of revolt [al-fitna] is turning; blessed will ‘Uthmān be if he dies without having set it in motion. Restrain the people, bestow their rights upon them, and forgive them.”⁵⁶ Thus ‘Uthmān indirectly here shows understanding of potential abuses, but it is left ambiguous whether he is too weak to control his headstrong governors or unwilling to do something that would embolden the ra‘iyya (community of subjects) to become more presumptuous in its challenge.

In another independent account (according to Sayf), Ṭabarī describes an individual conversation between Mu‘āwiya and ‘Uthmān that evaluates the situation. Here Mu‘āwiya suggests to the caliph that he quit Medina and come to Damascus. The people in Syria, Mu‘āwiya points out, are still loyal to the caliph and, implicitly, to the jamā‘a (inna ahl al-shām‘ alā al-amr lam yazālū). ‘Uthmān rejected this invitation on the grounds of his pious feelings of affinity to the sanctuary of the Prophet’s mosque. But when Mu‘āwiya offered to send the caliph additional troops to help him in the event of a crisis, ‘Uthmān also refused on the ground that such an influx of troops would make the newcomers compete with the local townspeople for scarce resources.⁵⁷ With these two options closed, Mu‘āwiya predicted that the caliph would then become vulnerable to attack and assassination. Through their brief dialogue, the two Umayyad personalities are made to appear complementing one another, albeit in different roles, within the paradigm of Sunnī politics: ‘Uthmān represents the legitimate caliph with attentiveness to the concerns of the Medinan population (ahl dār al-hijra wa’l-nuṣra) and the memory of the Prophet, and Mu‘āwiya the skilled politician willing to serve a member of the Rāshidūn caliphate.

A particularly unique message that emerges from this dialogue is the representation of Syria as the stronghold of traditional Islam. The Syrians are portrayed as continuing loyalists to the government of Medina (inna ahl al-shām ‘alā al-amr lam yazālū), and will be contrasted later with the seditious schismatics of southern Iraq, and Syria is thus presented to the caliph as a worthy haven for the caliphate of Medina.⁵⁸ In typical Ṭabarī style, the emphasis in Mu‘āwiya’s remark is on simplifying religious orthodoxy (‘alā amr lam yazālū), which is centered on Syria and the jamā‘a and is to be contrasted with the environment of fuzzy religious tendencies that flourished in southern Iraq and were later to be viewed as having brought about ‘Alī’s undoing. Whether his motives were religiously simplistic or politically misconceived, ‘Uthmān’s refusal of Mu‘āwiya’s advice, in a manner unlike what ‘Umar would have done in a similar context, will lead to the difficulties he later faces. Viewed within this frame, ‘Uthmān’s upcoming tragedy was in a sense self-inflicted, like the ‘Alid tragedies, and the lesson of Ṭabarī’s progressing story points to how the Umayyads will depart in behavior from ‘Uthmān in the future, using force instead of discussion to deal with rebels and preempting—rather than reacting to—events.

Tolerance

‘Uthmān’s tolerance of the rising voices of opposition in the provinces continues after Mu‘āwiya’s departure. When two scouts (one from the tribe of Makhzūm, another of Zuhra) whom ‘Uthmān sent out to the provinces came back with more alarming news about a group of people intent on coming to Medina to overthrow the caliph, ‘Uthmān still displayed a combination of misplaced religiosity and easygoing politics. In response to advice that he preempt the situation by quashing the rebels, following the ḥadīth (man da‘ā ilā nafsihi aw ilā aḥadin wa ‘alā al-nās imām fa-‘alayhi la‘natu allāh),⁵⁹ ‘Uthmān replied, “Let us forgive and accept them and guide them in our utmost. We will not coerce anyone until he transgresses a boundary of the law or displays infidelity [bal na‘fū wa naqbal wa nubaṣṣiruhum bi-jahdin wa lā nuḥādī aḥadan ḥattā yarkab ḥaddan aw yubdī kufra].”⁶⁰ Instead of writing to request reinforcements, ‘Uthmān wrote letters to the provinces, inviting anyone with a grievance to come to Medina and complain.⁶¹ When this letter was read, we are told, the provincial populace felt great sympathy for the caliph.

The Grievances (ḥuqūq)

What was meant by ḥuqūq in the evolving crisis of ‘Uthmān has only the faintest historical root. For although the original spark for conflict in Kufa had to do with the governor’s seeming ambition to dominate the revenues of the conquered lands, the list of grievances as the situation progressed became long and diverse, and more polemical than real: why did the caliph create private grazing reserves?, why did he appoint youths as governors?, why did he give Ibn Abī Sarḥ a huge stipend?, why did he show greater closeness to his family and bestow on them gifts?, why did he allow al-Ḥakam b. al-‘Āṣ to return to Medina?, why did he collect the Qur’ān?, why didn’t he pray like a traveler in Ṭā’if?, etc. It seems clear that the topic of grievances became a favorite polemical theme for religious dialogues and was revisited periodically with more drama and embellishment as the dilemma of ‘Uthmān advanced. Sometimes these grievances did no more than try to defame ‘Uthmān’s past (such as in the questions as to why he was absent at Badr, why he retreated at Uḥud, and why he was absent at bay‘at al-riḍwān during al-Ḥudaybiyya).⁶²

On the whole, these questions and arguments appear to have aimed more at testing ‘Uthmān’s religious purity and knowledge than at judging his political wisdom and integrity. The caliph consistently offered complete answers to the questions put to him, in a clear sign that narrators wanted to depict the caliph as having the advantage of religious response, and to show that through the whole exercise he was as a ruler living up to the model of ‘Umar, who indulged the public’s curiosity about all public and private matters relating to his household and rule. A preview of these grievances is given early on by Ṭabarī (according to Sayf b. ‘Umar’s version),⁶³ but other narrators introduce these discussions later.

‘Uthmān’s responses to several of these questions illuminate the methods of religious argumentation used to address differences with the opposition. When asked, for example, why his kinsman Ibn Abī Sarḥ had received a high stipend, ‘Uthmān pointed out that this was indeed the governor’s due fifth of the booty of conquest, and that Abū Bakr and ‘Umar had done this before. To the question about gifts and handouts to his family relations ‘Uthmān defended himself by arguing that such gifts fostered filial closeness, and that he had done this (given away even bigger sums) during the Prophet’s time, and never got criticized for it then, so why were questions being raised now. ‘Umar had chosen to express his piety through frugal asceticism, ‘Uthmān argued, while he (‘Uthmān) was doing the same through charitable support of his family. Both are valid means of getting close to God, ‘Uthmān argued. While such answers may not have always convinced the opposition movement, which viewed the entire Umayyad clan with suspicion, they do offer religious arguments that defended the action from a traditional viewpoint.

The Opposition’s Departure to Medina

Sayf then moves on to describe how three camps of opposition (from Basra, Kufa, and Egypt) began to gather for a march on Medina. The names of these rebels partly overlap with the circle of critics who earlier had arguments with Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ and Mu‘āwiya. They include famous names such as Ibn al-Sawdā’ (Ibn Saba’), al-Ashtar al-Nakha‘ī, Abū ‘Amr b. Budayl b. Warqā’, Ḥukaym b. Jabla al-‘Abdī, Ṣa‘ṣa‘a, and Zayd b. Ṣūḥān, and those later implicated in the murder of ‘Uthmān, such as Ḥurqūṣ b. Zuhayr, Sawdān b. Ḥumrān, and al-Ghāfiqī b. Ḥarb al-‘Akkī.⁶⁴ These individuals were leaders of a much larger grouping of three factions, each variably estimated between five hundred and a thousand that set out to Medina. The names mentioned by Ṭabarī, and more fully by Balādhurī, betray consistent markings of tribes that were generally looked down upon (and disliked by both the Prophet and ‘Umar), such as the Sakūn, the Banū ‘Āmir b. Ṣa‘ṣa‘a, the Nakha‘, Tamīm, and the ‘Abd al-Qays.⁶⁵ This makes it difficult to ascertain whether this pattern of inferiority was historically real or partly contrived to fit in with Ṭabarī’s general philosophy of how caliphal (monarchal) rule was being subverted. Furthermore, some names listed are suspicious for being either incomplete (Qutayra b. fulān [so and so] al-Sakūnī) or suggestive of their role in fomenting troubles (Ibn al-Muḥarrish).⁶⁶

In all, Sayf carefully distances this group from the companions (‘Alī, al-Zubayr, and Ṭalḥa), who are represented as condemning the rebels when these first arrived in Medina. Each of the factions approached the person whom they sought to make leader—the Egyptians came to ‘Alī, the Basrans to Ṭalḥa, and the Kufans to al-Zubayr—and yet they heard the same condemning refrain from all of them. ‘Alī’s situation is perhaps the more significant. When the Egyptians approached him, he reportedly was at a place called Aḥjār al-Zayt (the oil stones), and was wearing a white-stripped cloak and a turban wrapped from a strip of red Yemeni cloth. He was girt with a sword but did not have on a shirt, and had dispatched al-Ḥasan to ‘Uthmān among those who had gathered (presumably the other sons of the companions who gathered at ‘Uthmān’s house). The Egyptians then greeted ‘Alī, and as they presented their aims to him, he reportedly shouted at them and drove them away, saying, “The upright [al-ṣāliḥūn] know that the armies at Dhū al-Marwa and Dhū Khushub have been cursed by the tongue of Muḥammad, peace and blessings be upon him. Go back, and may God be no friend to you!”⁶⁷ The same reaction was reported from Ṭalḥa and al-Zubayr.

Sayf b. ‘Umar’s portrayal of ‘Alī’s and the companions’ reaction in this segment falls squarely within Sunnī expectations of companion harmony and their aversion to attacking ‘Uthmān. Additional details—about the children of the companions having already gone to defend ‘Uthmān—further enhance this image. The specific mention of al-Ḥasan was clearly calculated to connect with the Jamā‘ī-Sunnī paradigm, since he was the member of the ‘Alid family most favored by Sunnīs for his attitudes of political compromise and acquiescence. The account therefore presents a clear Islamic apologia for the companions, but it does not concur with many of the other descriptions and dialogues given by Sayf and the various narrators for these years. The same narrative, however, may contain a layer of subtle commentary in the text that subverts the overt meaning just given.

After the rebels found no support in Medina, they reportedly decided to return to their home provinces, but then suddenly they showed up again in Medina. This episode of return is the famous scene, described in more detail by Wāqidī, where the rebels reportedly intercepted a messenger of ‘Uthmān sent to the governor of Egypt with orders to have the rebels rounded up and beaten or murdered. Sayf does not here touch on the key themes of ‘Uthmān’s initial repentance and promises, which are followed by the treacherous message (essentially the core subject in this story about caliphal duplicity). However, the narrator communicates something else here. Upon the return of the Kufans, Basrans, and Egyptians, all the companions reportedly expressed surprise at the timing that brought the rebels together again. ‘Alī’s statement can be read as open to double interpretation when he says, “How, O men of Kufa and Basra, did you know what had befallen the Egyptians, for you traveled a certain number of days and then turned back toward us? By God, this is a conspiracy [amr] woven in Medina.”⁶⁸ For while ‘Alī may have been pointing to collaborators with the rebels in Medina who brought them back simultaneously, his words could also be read as referring to himself as he weaves this matter against ‘Uthmān in Medina. Ṭabarī’s narratives occasionally made specific characters pronounce judgments about themselves (e.g., the statement that the ‘Abbāsid minister al-Faḍl b. al-Rabī‘ later made in Khurāsān just before heading back to Baghdad after Hārūn al-Rashīd’s death),⁶⁹ and this may well be one of his famous hidden declarations (confessions).

‘Uthmān’s Final Plea to the Provinces

‘Uthmān’s reaction to the invading rebels was to finally write to his governors for help. The delay of this step was no doubt folly, and the story is meant to illustrate ‘Uthmān’s political ineptitude compared with more alert governors and caliphs in the future who would seize the initiative long before dissent turned into general chaos. Still, there is another side to crafting ‘Uthmān’s image of political delay—it was meant to show him as disinterested in power and perhaps ascetic in inclination like the previous companion caliphs. The letter that ‘Uthmān finally wrote to the governors offered an opportunity for expressing exactly such pious sentiments even as it underscored the contradiction of the religious impulse with political savvy.

‘Uthmān describes in this letter, sent to the provinces, how he was brought into the shūrā for the third succession without his request, and how he was selected to be caliph without his demand for office. He then followed the path of his predecessors, imitating precedents (muttabi‘an ghayru mubtadi‘, muqtadiyyan ghayru mutakallif) until certain unnamed folk began to reveal their hatred (ḍaghā’in wa ahwā’) and showed outward pretenses different from their true intentions (fa-ṭalabū amran wa a‘lanū ghayrahu).⁷⁰ The lack of a specific reference here to the rebels, and ‘Uthmān’s reference to grudges and hidden agendas, probably hinted at none other than ‘Alī. This reading is further strengthened in his next statement, “Lacking any valid proof or excuse, they have in reality sought one goal while publicly claiming another. They have blamed me for things that were previously acceptable to them, and for clearly upright conduct [ashyā’] consonant with the considered opinion of the Medinese. For years I have forced myself to be patient with them, and have restrained myself while seeing and hearing [all this]… Now they have attacked us in the very precincts of the Messenger of God… and they have been joined by the Bedouin. Verily, they are like the hostile confederates at the Battle of the Trench [ayyām al-aḥzāb] or those who attacked us at Uḥud.”⁷¹

‘Uthmān’s statement here clearly relates to the lengthy conversation he had had earlier with ‘Alī. ‘Uthmān’s emphasis on the fact that he was following precedents set by previous caliphs revives his question earlier to ‘Alī as to why people were now criticizing him for policies that others had done before, while ‘Uthmān’s reference to his patience for years (mundhu sinīn) in dealing with those who hid their feelings of animosity seems clearly to point at ‘Alī’s grudge for being passed over for succession. No better irony could have capped the caliph’s letter in the end than the way he appropriated an ‘Alid and Hāshimite metaphor by referring to the enemy as successors to those who fought “us” at Uḥud and the Trench. Considering the fact that those enemies of old were Umayyad-led, ‘Uthmān hardly qualified to label his enemies with such similitude to images from the Sīra. ‘Alī, as this study will show later, used this exercise of analogy to a great extent as he set out to motivate his supporters and find parallels between events during his reign and earlier during the Sīra. In crafting ‘Uthmān’s letter, Sayf’s narrator was therefore reversing the roles of ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān in a witty but effective style.⁷²

The Siege Against ‘Uthmān

After describing ‘Uthmān’s failed plea to the provinces, and the caliph’s declarations in the mosque in Medina, Ṭabarī’s narrative shifts from Sayf b. ‘Umar to other narrators. This break will last nearly till the scene of murder. Despite the shift, however, the new narratives smoothly complement the story of Sayf and address the topic of companion disagreement in the same multilayered way.

The new narratives begin by describing how an embassy of the Egyptians debated ‘Uthmān on various issues, and how he gave justifying answers to all their questions or agreed to repent any mistakes he may have committed (no specific admissions are made).⁷³ The crux of this description of interaction between ‘Uthmān and the opposition was to show how the caliph would later betray this delegation of rebels. After the rebels gained ‘Uthmān’s agreement to change his policies and then set out on their return journey, the famous incident occurred wherein they intercepted a messenger who was carrying orders from ‘Uthmān to the governor of Egypt to punish them upon their arrival. This contradiction of earlier promises has long stood as a shocking example of treachery.⁷⁴ Feeling justified in overthrowing the caliph upon learning this, the Egyptians headed back to Medina. Before they reached ‘Uthmān, they reportedly encountered ‘Alī and told him of what happened, and they asked him to join them in the final attack to kill the caliph. ‘Alī refused, saying, “By God, I would not head along with you.” Here the Egyptians gave the unusual answer, “Why did you write to us then?” and ‘Alī said, “I did not write anything to you.” The rebels then reportedly looked at each other, puzzled at what was going on.⁷⁵

Next the rebels headed to attack ‘Uthmān, and they questioned him about the letter they had intercepted. ‘Uthmān denied that he had written anything, and took an oath that he neither wrote, dictated, or had knowledge of the letter (mā katabtu wa lā amlaytu wa ‘alimtu), in a tripartite denial similar to ‘Alī’s denials elsewhere. Explaining his alibi further, ‘Uthmān added that these letters could have been forged using his name, and that the seal could have been duplicated as well. Unconvinced by all of this, the rebels declared, “By God, God has made your blood lawful, and you have violated the pact and covenant [which you made with us].” And so they laid siege to him.⁷⁶

This story dovetails with Sayf b. ‘Umar’s account in two ways. On the one hand it can overtly confirm the Sunnī view that both ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān were victims to unknown zealous supporters seeking to exploit the situation to throw the companions into civil war and divide the community. On the other hand, the stories show linkages on a subtle level where ‘Alī’s earlier unwitting comment about himself—“hādhā amrun ubrima bi’l-madīna (this is a conspiracy woven in Medina)”—finds confirmation now when the rebels ask him why he wrote inviting them if he was going to stay on the sidelines. Interestingly, the narrative also positions ‘Alī’s denial in a way that runs symmetrical to ‘Uthmān’s denial of having written commands to punish the rebels. The extended reading of these subtexts in these two cases can either make the reader believe that either ‘Alī or ‘Uthmān—or both—had actually performed the missteps that were being denied or leave the reader with the more basic reading that exonerates both. Nevertheless, this narrative does not put ‘Uthmān on the spot as much as al-Wāqidī does later.

The next juncture described is the rebels’ arrival at Dhū Khushub and al-Marwa. The scene here becomes unusually different from before. ‘Alī no longer appears distant from the rebels, but is more familiar with their impending plan and is the only leader capable of turning them back. For his part, ‘Uthmān seems more frightened and seems to look upon ‘Alī as the only man who can deflect the impending danger. The following report by Wāqidī is crucial for its details and the way it interacts with the warning conversation that ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān had at the outset of the conflict. Here Wāqidī relates:

When the dissidents established their camp at Dhū Khushub, the news spread that they intended to kill ‘Uthmān if he did not abdicate. At night their envoy came to ‘Alī, Ṭalḥa, and ‘Ammār b. Yāsir successively. Muḥammad b. Abī Ḥudhayfa had joined them in writing a letter to ‘Alī; they brought this to ‘Alī, but he did not examine its contents [fa-lam yaẓhar ‘alā mā fīhi]. When ‘Uthmān perceived all this [fa-lammā ra’ā ‘Uthmān mā ra’ā], he came to ‘Alī. He entered his house and said, “O cousin, all ways out have been blocked [innahu laysa lī muttarak]; and verily my kinship [with you] is close, and I have a strong claim upon your support [wa lī ḥaqqun ‘aẓīmun ‘alayka]. You see the trouble caused by this band of dissidents when they came to me today. I know that you enjoy prestige among the people and that they will listen to you. I want you to ride out to them and send them away from me. I do not wish them to come before me [lā uḥibbu an yadkhulū ‘alayy], for that would be an insolent act toward me on their part [fa-inna dhalika jur’atun minhum ‘alayy]. Let others hear of this as well.”

‘Alī said, “On what grounds shall I send them away [‘alāma arudduhum]?” [‘Uthmān] replied, “On the grounds that I shall carry out what you have counseled me to do and thought right [‘alā an aṣīra ilā mā asharta bihi ‘alayy], and that I will not deviate from your direction.” Then ‘Alī said, “In fact I have spoken to you time after time, and you and I have discussed such matters at length. All this is the doing of Marwān b. al-Ḥakam, Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ, Ibn ‘Āmir, and Mu‘āwiya. You have heeded them and defied me.” ‘Uthmān said, “Then I shall defy them and heed you.” [‘Alī] thus issued orders to the people, and both Emigrants and Helpers rode forth with him [to meet with the dissidents].⁷⁷

This narrative is remarkable for the way it shows ‘Alī deeply involved in the crisis and possessing the singular ability to shape it. The account’s description of how news spread that the rebels intended to kill ‘Uthmān if he did not abdicate is more directly communicated to ‘Alī in the Arabic(jā’a anna al-qawm yurīdūna…), and the arrival of a messenger with a letter to ‘Alī at night, in addition to showing adherence to the classic formula that favored conspiracies hatched at night (amrun ubrima bi-layl, as the saying goes), showed ‘Alī clearly controlling the traffic of the rebellion. Depicting ‘Alī as refusing to open the letter he received muffles his complicity in the conspiring, but this was no doubt transparent to the reader and even to ‘Uthmān, who—as if watching from a balcony (or in some other stealth way) ‘Alī’s action at a different part of the stage (fa-lammā ra’ā ‘Uthmān mā ra’ā)⁷⁸—now immediately held ‘Alī responsible for the developments and came to him to resolve the crisis. The conversation seems to assume a number of previous interactions between ‘Uthmān and ‘Alī, which Ṭabarī seems to have omitted, since ‘Alī expresses exasperation that he had been down that road of compromise with ‘Uthmān before and it had proved futile (innī qad kuntu kallamtuka marratan ba‘da marra) (either because ‘Uthmān delayed action on dismissing his governors or simply reneged on the agreement). Nevertheless, the dialogue’s crucial link is ultimately with the beginning scene, since ‘Uthmān hastily concedes what he had contested before.

The importance of Wāqidī’s story here lies in what will follow next, since ‘Uthmān and ‘Alī put each other to the test. ‘Uthmān proves ‘Alī’s crucial role by gaining his acceptance that he would talk to the Egyptians,⁷⁹ while ‘Alī is represented waiting for ‘Uthmān to undertake a change of policy (change his governors and make a public declaration of renouncing past abuses). Keeping to their bargains, ‘Alī convinced the Egyptians to depart (wa rakiba ‘Alī ‘alayhi al-salām ilā ahli miṣr fa-inṣrafū rāji‘īn), and ‘Uthmān set about to do his part. As events showed, however, the problem with ‘Uthmān was the same it had been all along, namely, maintaining the status quo. There never appears any concrete sign of political change (such as changing governors) in the caliph’s government in spite of the caliph’s exaggerated language of self-deprecation, expressions of contrition for any misdeeds, and rich religious vocabulary of keeping to the right path. Things tended to remain the same on ‘Uthmān’s side, Ṭabarī’s narrators imply, because of a recurrent dynamic in his household, which was that every time ‘Uthmān concluded a meeting and an agreement with ‘Alī, it happened that soon after Marwān b. al-Ḥakam would visit ‘Uthmān and influence him to keep things as they were. To no avail would ‘Uthmān’s wife, Nā’ila, try to convince the caliph that ‘Alī meant well for him, and that it was Marwān who gave flawed advice. The caliph would momentarily listen to this advice but soon afterwards shift his opinion again.

Wāqidī describes two different ways in which ‘Uthmān abandoned the promises he had made to ‘Alī.⁸⁰ In one case, Marwān reportedly urged ‘Uthmān to address the public in person. “Speak and inform the people that the Egyptians have gone back, and that what they had heard about their imām is false,” Marwān told ‘Uthmān. “Your sermon [khuṭba] will spread throughout the lands before the people can gather against you from their garrison towns [in such numbers] that you are unable to fend them off.”⁸¹ Wāqidī then describes how ‘Uthmān refused to go out but that Marwān kept after him until he went forth, took his seat upon the pulpit, and made a declaration that diluted and even revoked previous agreements. ‘Uthmān there declared, “[This band of Egyptians] had heard certain matters about their imām [‘Uthmān], but when they came to realize that this news was false, they returned to their homes [kāna qad balaghahum ‘an imāmihim amr, fa-lammā tayaqqanū annahu bāṭil mā balaghahum ‘anhu raji‘ū ilā bilādihim].” The implication of this statement was then that the withdrawal of the Egyptians happened not because of ‘Alī’s intercession on behalf of ‘Uthmān after the latter pledged change, but because the rebels themselves, having acted on hearsay, had come to recognize their error.⁸²

According to another report, Marwān’s guile in this matter took a different form. Playing on the caliph’s fears (which were the polemical argument made on behalf of monarchal and Jamā‘ī-Sunnī authority) that negotiation and concession compromised the image of the ruling authority, Marwān said, “By God, I wish that you had made this statement [before the people] while you were still strong and invincible, and fulfilling it. However, you have said these things when the girth has reached its limit and the torrent has overflowed the hilltops and when a humiliated man has submitted to humiliation. By God, to persist in an error for which you must seek God’s forgiveness is better than to repent because you are afraid. If you so will, you may seek repentance without acknowledging error. The people have piled up at the gate against you like a mountain.” Thus ‘Uthmān was influenced by another point of view, but aware of the contradiction this represented in respect to his earlier stance, ‘Uthmān told Marwān, “Go out and speak to them, for I am ashamed to do so.”⁸³ Marwān finally had his chance to position his own power. With the people crowded outside ‘Uthmān’s house, waiting to hear the caliph’s speech, Marwān came out instead and yelled at them, saying, “What’s the matter [mā sha’nukum]! Why have you gathered here like looters! Your faces are deformed, and every man is holding the ear of his confederate! Whom are you after? You have come here to snatch our power [kingship] from us [ji’tum turīdūna an tanzi‘ū mulkanā min aydīnā]! Go! By God, if you mean us [any harm], you will encounter something distasteful…”⁸⁴

This gives a preview of what a future Ziyād b. Abīhi or al-Ḥajjāj b. Yūsuf would do in a similar context, but it was too much for the people of Medina to see at that hour Marwān, the son of the Prophet’s famous enemy, suddenly in a position of political precedence, and claiming that the caliphate was the exclusive right of his clan (his phrase: “our kingship”). When ‘Alī heard what had happened, he flew into a rage and came to ‘Uthmān with final scolding words. “Do you and Marwān stop at nothing, even if it strays away from religion?” ‘Alī declared, “Where is your mind, you have become like a camel carrying a litter that is led around at will. By God, Marwān is devoid of sense in regard to his religion and his soul. I swear by God, I think he will bring you in and then not send you out again [la-arāhu sa-yūriduka thumma lā yuṣdiruka] [the reference is probably to the final judgment]. I am never returning to you again to chide you. You have destroyed your own honor and let yourself be dominated [adhhabta sharafaka wa ghulibta ‘alā amrika].”⁸⁵

‘Uthmān reaches his weakest point with this embarrassing mix of events. He no doubt did not expect Marwān to make that statement, nor did he probably intend to repudiate his agreement with ‘Alī. Preserving a semblance of dignity for the caliphal office was what he sought, but now he had come to lose it completely with this final development. For his part, ‘Alī was furious, not merely for religion’s sake, but for considerations of honor as well. He had used his influence with an angry public, and put his prestige on the line by guaranteeing that ‘Uthmān was going to make amends, only to find himself coarsely brushed aside and ignored after Marwān’s intervention. How many times could this pattern happen, ‘Alī kept asking. When he received a last plea from ‘Uthmān (again upon Nā’ila’s advice) to come back to him so that they can repair their ties, ‘Alī refused. “I have told him I am not returning!”⁸⁶ ‘Alī reportedly shouted loudly, in a manner clearly intended to be heard by ‘Uthmān.⁸⁷ Reaching the limits of his patience, ‘Alī now added, “I seek refuge with God… were I to stay at home, he [‘Uthmān] would say, ‘You have abandoned me and ignored my kinship and rights.’ But if I were to counsel him, Marwān would then come and turn him every which way he pleases… [what fate is this!] After his companionship to the Messenger of God, Peace be Upon Him, and his reaching that age.”⁸⁸

How much of ‘Uthmān’s offense in these vacillations was a religious transgression and how much of it was just “dishonorable” in individual terms toward ‘Alī is left ambiguous in order to show the tension between offenses to religious/moral principles and personal offenses to individuals’ pride. If there is a juncture that underscores the dilemma of ‘Uthmān’s leadership, it lies in this context of tension between moral and political measures on the one hand, and the pious demands of religious perseverance on the other. The story of ‘Uthmān’s caliphate becomes the parable of a ruler borne down by age and no longer able to face challengers with the resolve and strength necessary for state affairs that ‘Umar had commanded.⁸⁹ ‘Uthmān is represented as weakened by shyness and indecisiveness, and as someone torn between a domineering advisor, Marwān (who personified the devious image of the court vizir), and a devoted wife whose advice is unheeded. With every breach of his previous commitment to ‘Alī, we are told, ‘Uthmān’s sense of personal guilt and recognition of his political inadequacy grew worse, leaving him in the end turning helplessly to Sa‘d b. Abī Waqqāṣ and urging him to convince ‘Alī to change his mind and come over to his home for a final negotiation.⁹⁰

Political aloofness in such a climate, the narratives make clear, could hardly be read as neutrality, and it is not coincidental that the murder scene is positioned after the total breakdown of relations between ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān. For a brief moment, Sa‘d seemed about to revive the contacts between ‘Alī and ‘Uthmān, when Sa‘d states that at last he had heard ‘Uthmān say things to him that were truly compunctious and that unfortunately nobody else had heard. Now it was at the behest of Marwān b. al-Ḥakam that Sa‘d had even come to ‘Alī to ask him to give ‘Uthmān one last chance, and declare his satisfaction with ‘Uthmān publicly. “You would be fulfilling your filial duty, saving his [‘Uthmān’s] blood from being shed, and life would return to the way we knew it before,”⁹¹ said Sa‘d. It was not to be. “May God hear him, O Abū Isḥāq,” ‘Alī said. “By God, I have persisted in defending him until I am filled with shame. But Marwān, Mu‘āwiya, ‘Abdallāh b. ‘Āmir, and Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ have dealt with him as you see. When I gave him sincere counsel and directed him to send them away, he became suspicious of me, until what you now see has happened.”⁹² ‘Alī’s summary of the personalities who shaped the story from beginning to end and his heartfelt frustration signaled the imminent conclusion of the story. As the two men were reviewing the past and the odds now seemed evenly divided over going back to negotiation, Muḥammad b. Abī Bakr reportedly came to ‘Alī and whispered something in his ear. ‘Alī then reportedly took Sa‘d’s hand, got up, and, walking away at the time of sunset, said to him, “And what good is his repentance now?” The narrator Abū Ḥabība then concludes, “By God, no sooner had I reached my house than I heard ‘Uthmān had been killed. And by God, we have remained in an evil state down to this day.”⁹³

This narrative brings a conclusion to the scene within the opposition in Medina at the moment just before ‘Uthmān’s death happened. The hurried pace of Sa‘d’s initiative and the acceleration of the news of ‘Uthmān’s death were no doubt intended to stress the missed moment of reconciliation among the companions. ‘Alī is shown in the end as slow to act because of a variety of possible motives. It may be that he was now working by the ethic of individual honor rather than by that of religious duty and filial cooperation. Or his motives may be entirely religious, but represented the position of ultra-righteousness and puritanism (alghuluww fī’l-dīn), which closed all doors to forgiveness, thus foreshadowing the beliefs of some of his stubborn followers later (the Khārijites).

But perhaps the most important aim of this account was to describe a moment of perfect enigma that the reader/observer was called on to decipher, all relating to the question: What did Muḥammad b. Abī Bakr whisper in ‘Alī’s ear? Did Ibn Abī Bakr warn that ‘Uthmān was about to be killed, announce that he had been killed, or merely that he was awaiting orders on what to do? Like the scene of al-Muntaṣir’s getting up and leaving al-Mutawakkil’s assembly just before the scene of al-Mutawakkil’s assassination, ‘Alī’s action is followed by the caliph’s death. Being more problematic for narrators than the case of the ‘Abbāsid caliphs, the issue of responsibility for the third caliph’s death had to be shrouded with much innuendo, subtle actions, and ambiguity.

POLITICAL QUESTIONING OF ‘UTHMĀN

In general, the accounts of the various stages leading to ‘Uthmān’s downfall are organized by Ṭabarī in a manner that preserves an apologetic voice on behalf of ‘Uthmān (although this was not the only criterion for selecting narratives). The third caliph is distanced by Ṭabarī from the more intransigent postures and vicious deeds (the mistreatment of Ibn Mas‘ūd, the treacherous letter, the stubborn dismissal of public opinion) attributed to him in accounts preserved by Balādhurī and Ya‘qūbī. This particular structuring of accounts allowed ‘Uthmān’s tragedy to fit better within the broader parabolic mythology with which Ṭabarī sought to shroud the entire history of the Rāshidūn (the decline after ‘Umar, the cessation of the conquests, and the occultic signs about transition). ‘Uthmān’s frequent admonitions to the opposition—“If you kill me, you will never again have love for one another, nor will you ever pray together again, nor will you ever be united in fighting an enemy”⁹⁴—are meant to confirm the wider trends that we examined above about the Arab failure against the Khazars, and the emergence of religious dissent within the community.

For Ṭabarī and other narrators of the ninth century, ‘Uthmān’s story was important not only for its hagiography about a companion but also for his position as caliph and how to define (or back-project) a consensus-centered faith. Taking as their focus the ‘Abbāsid caliphs in the post–civil war and post-miḥna period, who were presented as the worthy successors to the Sasanid monarchy and the guardians of sunna, these narrators saw in ‘Uthmān a forerunner to the ‘Abbāsids and their religious orthodoxy. His confrontation with dissenters, while shrouded in artful polemic with conflicting points of view, represented on a basic political and religious level the case of a caliph challenged along an ideological continuum between the examples of ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭāb and Hārūn al-Rashīd. The elaborate letter of religious explanation attributed to ‘Uthmān, which was read and reported by none other than ‘Abdallāh b. ‘Abbās in Mecca at the height of the siege against ‘Uthmān, summarizes the position of Jamā‘ī-Sunnī ideology that Ṭabarī favored and disseminated intermittently across narratives from the Sasanid to the ‘Abbāsid periods.⁹⁵ The leader as the political authority who must be obeyed even if he was unjust was a tenet that existed in Sasanid political philosophy long before it was put in Qur’ānic and ḥadīth forms. Similarly, the image of a mainstream religious culture defined by the law and a circle of scholars who uphold the law resonated as a paradigm of social organization in parallel manners for the Sasanid and Islamic periods. And dissent against the established caliphate (in ‘Uthmān’s and ‘Alī’s times) was viewed as anathema much as religious dissent was to the Zoroasterian kingship of the Sasanids.

If the voice of orthodoxy and loyalty to the caliph is widespread in Ṭabarī’s chronicle, this does not mean that Ṭabarī was intent on censoring all criticism of the caliph. The religious criticisms made against ‘Uthmān are certainly suppressed as zealous, misconceived, or exploitative. However, the political criticisms retain some credible hold even though they are pushed to the margin. We see this done in two representative cases. The first is the story of the treacherous letter sent by ‘Uthmān to the governor of Egypt ordering the punishment of the opposition. When confronted by the Egyptian opposition, questioning him about how he could write a letter in such direct contradiction to his negotiation and agreement with them earlier, ‘Uthmān, as well known, claimed that his signature must have been forged and that the seal was used without his knowledge. As for his camel, which the messenger took, it also, ‘Uthmān claimed, was used for the journey without his knowledge. ‘Uthmān’s answers defy credibility, as does the notion that a messenger would need to ride the caliph’s camel to Egypt to deliver commands or that he would loiter along the way among the Egyptian group so that they would recognize him and foil the plot! The story is a clear fiction, probably intended in origin to show the shortcomings of guile.

But not withstanding the fact that on this perfunctory anecdote rests the entire story of why ‘Uthmān got killed and who killed him, we see that narrators gave voice to some powerful political arguments in the way this episode put ‘Uthmān to questioning. As the Egyptian returnees now declared, “You are either truthful or a liar. If you are lying, you deserve to be deposed because you have unjustly ordered our blood to be shed. If you are telling the truth you deserve to be deposed because of your weakness and neglect [ghafla], as well as the wickedness of your entourage. It is not right that we allow someone whose commands are ignored due to his weakness and neglect to have authority over us.”⁹⁶

The exchange over this incident is repeated in various accounts, and it generally opens up the issue as to whether ‘Uthmān was living up to the promises he had made to ‘Alī and the provincial delegations, which entailed his dismissing disliked governors and redressing other (unidentified) grievances. In all the accounts, ‘Uthmān is shown as unable to give any better answer to the above “checkmate” comment of the opposition than to merely warn about the dire consequences of deposing (al-khal‘) or killing him and how this would break up the community. But while in light of the preceding debate deposition was established as a credible option, caliphal murder was not. Indeed, according to one account, the opposition is shown accepting ‘Uthmān’s apology that the letters were forged, and they declare, “We will not act precipitously even though we suspect you. Remove from us your sinful governors and appoint others over us who are not accused [of taking] our lives and property.”⁹⁷ To this comment, ‘Uthmān arrogantly replied, “How do I look if I name officials whom you desire and remove those hateful to you? Authority would then belong to you [al-amru idhan amrukum].”⁹⁸ This summed up the argument for monarchal authority but it failed to address the problems of duplicity and lack of responsiveness to the public. The second caliph had no doubt offered a different model when he dismissed governors in response to public pressure, but ‘Umar often did not wait for events to get out of hand, and he dismissed governors even before discontent grew significantly against them.

From this discussion, we see how by allowing conversations to flow, Ṭabarī enabled criticisms to surface as well, and did not bar depictions of ‘Uthmān’s inadequacy and incompetence. That the caliph was very generous with religious repentance and that his death was a gratuitous act did not mean that ‘Uthmān’s political crisis was all the fabrication of heretics and that it did not need a solution. An even more powerful condemnation of ‘Uthmān, on the authority of al-Wāqidī, is related by Ṭabarī in an isolated context after the story of murder had had its effect. There, when ‘Uthmān repeats his refrain to the opposition, “Do not kill me, for a man may be put to death only in three cases: when he commits adultery, when he disbelieves after accepting Islam, or when he takes another’s life except in legitimate retaliation,” the comment does not seem to command the position of a final word of a religious verdict, for the opposition then vigorously replies:

“You say that after ‘Umar, the people asked Almighty God for guidance in choosing someone to rule over them, and having sought God’s guidance, they chose you. Truly all God’s acts are the best acts [fa-inna kulla mā ṣana‘a allāhu al-khīra] but God—glory be to Him!—has made your case a test for his servants [ja‘ala amraka baliyyatan ibtalā bihā ‘ibādihi]! You refer to your longstanding ties and priority with the Messenger of God. You did indeed possess ties of long standing and precedence, and you were worthy of authority [wilāya], but since then you have changed and brought about innovations that you are well aware of [wa lakin bad-dalta ba‘da dhalika wa aḥdathta mā qad ‘alimta]. You mention the trials that will afflict us if we kill you. But it is not right to fail to uphold the truth [iqāmat al-ḥaqq] against you out of fear of discord [fitna] sometime in the future. You say that it is lawful to kill a man only in three cases. But in the Book of God, we find that other men are put to death besides the three named by you. [We find that] the man who spreads corruption in the land is put to death and likewise the oppressor who fights to continue his oppression and the man who prevents justice [al-ḥaqq] in any way and resists it, then scornfully battles against it. You have committed oppression. You have scorned justice, resisting it and preventing it from being carried out. You refuse to exact punishment against yourself for those whom you willfully wronged [ta’bā an tuqīda min nafsika man ẓalamta ‘amdan]. You have clung tenaciously to the caliphate over us, and you have been tyrannical in your legal judgments and in the allocation of booty [wa qad jurta fī ḥukmika wa qasmika]. If you allege that you were not arrogant toward us, and that those who have risen up to defend you from us are fighting without orders from you, [we say that] they fight only because you maintain your grip on the caliphate. Were you to abdicate, they would depart without fighting on your behalf.”⁹⁹

This narrative is remarkable on a number of levels: personal, political, and religious. Amid the numerous anecdotes sympathetic or apologetic to ‘Uthmān, this narrative provides the only cogent voice of the opposition that is couched in religious and political argumentation untainted by association with past succession grudges of ‘Alī or the vested interests of provincial dissenters. Here ‘Uthmān’s definition of when a caliph or a believer deserves punishment is overturned by evidence that is both Qur’ānic and moral. The three cases given in reply to ‘Uthmān (the oppressor, the man who spreads corruption, and he who resists justice) can be viewed as drawing on an evolving textual base that fostered the rich polemics used in these narratives. However, the core of the argument remains that oppression and injustice are moral defects in need of correction. The opposition clearly speaks from within the jamā‘ī perspective (rather than the ‘Alid or otherwise zealous groups) when they agree about the danger of fitna, agree that ‘Uthmān had merit and qualification for the caliphate in earlier times, but find that he had changed his ways. This not only was a real dilemma in need of remedy, but also was viewed as a providential trial (balā’) that the community recognizes to be something beyond their control in having happened. The notion of predestination (qaḍā’ and qadar) seems clearly to be the common denominator for both ‘Uthmān and the opposition, but whereas ‘Uthmān considers his rule to be permanently legitimate once he came to power, the opposition disagrees and argues a type of Sunnī view on conditions that warrant replacing the leader. Their comment, “It is not right to fail to uphold the truth against you out of fear of discord sometime in the future,” is the type of wisdom argument that will be repeated by various court ministers in Ṭabarī’s history, most notably when al-Ma’mūn consulted his advisors on whether he should allow al-Amīn to continue transgressing and placing demands on Khurāsān. While some advisors suggested that al-Ma’mūn absorb his pride since his side was weak, al-Ma’mūn rejected this view on identical grounds to what the opposition to ‘Uthmān was saying, namely that breaches should not be allowed to happen out of weakness or a fatalistic attitude to life.¹⁰⁰

But perhaps the most scathing juncture in this extended exchange that caps the story of ‘Uthmān’s downfall is the opposition’s comment that irrespective of their differing views with the caliph on various matters, the reality of the situation was that those who were fighting on behalf of the caliph were fighting only because he was stubbornly holding on to the office of leadership. Were he to choose to abdicate, they added, ‘Uthmān’s defenders would give up combat on his behalf. This meant that both the opposition and the followers of ‘Uthmān were in agreement on issues of justice, fairness, and caliphal qualification (sābiqa, salaf, ‘adl, etc.) and that it was ‘Uthmān’s attachment to power that was causing the division of the community. Viewed within this frame, the opposition was not an alien group of people set against the people of Medina, but were a part of the community itself.

Such criticism of ‘Uthmān—formulated in dispassionate, reasoned terms and directed at him not by leading companions but by average members of the community—was rare in Ṭabarī’s chronicle, and as we have seen Ṭabarī throws this account far away from the main stages of the narrative of downfall, which we examined earlier, as if hoping to minimize its effect. But that point of view, namely the appreciation of the opposition’s frustration, was not without prominent supporters. One such example can be found in a blunt statement attributed to ‘Abd al-Raḥmān b. ‘Awf, who reportedly declared, “Make haste in moving against him [‘Uthmān] before he transgresses further in his rule [‘ājilūh qabla an yatmādā fī mulkihi].”¹⁰¹ This statement, given on the authority of al-Wāqidī, is preserved by Balādhurī but not by Ṭabarī, who clearly saw the religious problem such a comment posed. Elsewhere, however—and this is much earlier in the narratives about ‘Umar—Ṭabarī allowed room for comments from ‘Umar that, although they do not mention ‘Uthmān by name, seem to address a hypothetical situation that fits the third caliph’s condition. In one of these statements, ‘Umar reportedly declared to the public one day, “O subjects, you have an obligation to us to give advice on what is unknown and to cooperate in doing good.¹⁰² There is no forebearance [ḥilm] dearer to God and more generally advantageous than that of a gentle leader [ḥilmu imām wa rifquhu]. O subjects, there is no ignorance more hateful to God and more generally evil than that of a harsh leader [jahlu imām wa khurquhu]. O subjects, he who enjoins well-being for someone in his midst, God will bring him well-being from above.”¹⁰³

Here ‘Umar’s words were no doubt intended to be read as judging the future, since ‘Umar insinuates that he is giving advice about the future (al-naṣīḥatu bi’l-ghayb), and his speech was clearly meant to draw a comparison between the merits of Mu‘āwiya and ‘Uthmān, with the former noted for his forebearance, even though left unnamed, while the latter is judged by ‘Umar to be clearly incompetent in light of the treacherous letter affair. Both leaders are labeled as imāms, although one is favored by God, while the other is not. The comment highlights Sunnī attention to political talent as something that is different from religious merit, and how God judges a leader according to action and not merely piety. ‘Uthmān’s defense to the opposition about the three conditions needed for overthrow are therefore undermined here by ‘Umar’s stress on just and wise rule.

However, if here ‘Umar merely deplored the case of the unwise ruler, in another speech he commanded that this man be finished off to forestall an even worse future. In an anecdotal report that describes how a group of people came to ‘Umar asking that he increase their stipends, the caliph reportedly immediately saw through their excess in lifestyle, and commented, “You are responsible [for your own problems]! From God’s wealth you have married fellow wives and have taken servants. Yes, indeed, I would like to be on a ship with you out at sea, traveling east and west. It would not then be difficult for those [on board] to appoint one of them as their leader. If he went straight, they would follow him. If he deviated from the right cause, they would kill him.” Ṭalḥa said, “Why did you not say, ‘If he deviated, they would dismiss him [in ta‘awwaj‘azalūh]?’” (‘Umar) replied, “No, killing is a better deterrent to those coming after him. Beware of the young man of Quraysh and the son of their nobleman who always sleeps content and who laughs when angry, dealing with those above him and those below him [in the same way].”¹⁰⁴

This passage draws the hypothetical situation of a group of believers on a ship and their interaction with the ship’s leader. The scene is reminiscent of the discord between Muḥammad b. Abī Ḥudhayfa and Ibn Abī al-Sarḥ in the expedition of Dhāt al-Ṣawārī in A.H. 31/A.D. 652,¹⁰⁵ but the main target of the account here is ‘Uthmān himself, whom ‘Umar does not name but merely alludes to through the metaphor of the ship captain (cleverly chosen, since ‘Uthmān was the first to dispatch Arab naval campaigns, which ‘Umar had strongly resisted doing in his own reign). Ṭalḥa, the companion with the highest level of complicity in ‘Uthmān’s death, is carefully positioned as the man wondering whether deposition of a ruler would not be enough, and ‘Umar bluntly says no. The story is a strongly worded one, and runs directly counter to the acquiescent ḥadīths frequently recounted about the need to obey authority even if the imām is unjust. ‘Umar’s argument, as in al-Ma’mūn’s case later, rests on an ethical view of history rather than on a religious interpretation, and thus underscores the literary logic that permeates the unfolding plot of early Islamic history. The opposing viewpoint, which rested on a traditionalist praise of ‘Uthmān, would have thus grown in response to the ethical suggestiveness the historical narrators were weaving into their stories.

THE MURDER OF ‘UTHMĀN

By the time the story of opposition to the caliph builds up toward a final confrontation in Medina, the list of ‘Uthmān’s weaknesses and offenses has become extensive: bad advisors, nepotism, stubbornness, a weak will, and duplicity are but a few. However, all these shortcomings are in the end overshadowed by the scene of the caliph’s murder, which sways the sympathy decisively toward the caliph in Islamic historical memory. As H. A. R. Gibb once remarked, “No event in Islamic history has gotten so deeply under the skin of the Muslim world, or has continued so long to be a running sore.”¹⁰⁶ The murder of the aged companion of the Prophet in the full light of Medina while the community stood by was viewed, against the backdrop of criticisms raised against him, as far too disproportionate a punishment and the main cause for the phases of political chaos and civil war that ensued.

Despite their divergence in describing the political contests leading up to ‘Uthmān’s downfall, the narratives of the various chronicles concur in providing a pitiful and sometimes hagiographic account of ‘Uthmān’s death. And the agenda shifts from blaming ‘Uthmān to investigating the culpability of different segments of the opposition (more specifically the companions) for ‘Uthmān’s assassination. Various chroniclers, most notably Ṭabarī, do not portray the attitudes of the opposition in monolithic terms toward the end, nor do they describe the caliph’s death as a foregone conclusion. There was a range of groups among the aggressors, from hard-line opponents of the caliph, such as al-Ashtar, to those who were somewhat malleable, such as Muḥammad b. Abī Bakr, and still others who were involved in the conspiracy for mere robbery.¹⁰⁷

Furthermore, Ṭabarī describes an atmosphere of considerable hesitance among the attackers against ‘Uthmān. With every attempt among the group of attackers to muster the courage to break into ‘Uthmān’s house, someone would voice a wise or religious piece of advice (maw‘iẓa, tadhkira) about the magnitude of the wrong about to be committed, and reportedly this would temporarily change their minds. Layla b. ‘Umays voiced a key exhortation to Muḥammad b. Abī Bakr and Muḥammad b. Ja‘far, saying, “Verily the lamp consumes itself as it gives light to people. Do not sin in a matter that you may bring on to someone who has not sinned against you. This matter that you are pursuing today will affect someone else tomorrow. Beware lest your deeds today should become a source of grief to you.”¹⁰⁸

‘Uthmān himself would assume the posture of a preacher, warning those besieging his house about the magnitude of their error, and reminding them of his deeds in support of Islam from its early beginnings.¹⁰⁹ Such admonishments were temporarily successful in awakening restraint among the mainstream and encouraged them to stop the siege (fa-fashā al-nahy), and Ṭabarī seems to indicate a potential turn of opinion in favor of the caliph at the final moments of the siege, when exhortation and reminders nearly turned the tide of support. Hardliners, however, often soon revived the animosity to a lethal level (as al-Ashtar would comment to the moderates, cautioning them that they were being tricked, “Perhaps [‘Uthmān] has deceived you [la‘allahu qad makara bihi wa bi-kum]”).¹¹⁰

Finally, when word reportedly reached the Egyptian besiegers that people in the provinces had begun to turn away from hostility to the caliph and that those coming on hajj from the provinces were going to add support for the caliph to their actions, the besiegers said among themselves, “The only way to extricate ourselves from the dire situation we are in is to kill this man. This way, people will be busy with this and won’t come after us.”¹¹¹ Then they tried to break down the door (of ‘Uthmān’s house), but they were prevented by al-Ḥasan, Ibn al-Zubayr, Muḥammad b. Ṭalḥa, Marwān b. al-Ḥakam, Sa‘īd b. al-‘Āṣ, and sons of the companions, who held steady. But then ‘Uthmān called out to these guards, “You are all free to go and don’t have to protect me.” Initially the guards refused, but gradually they began to vacate the scene. The spatial context of these actions is somewhat confusing, since the withdrawal of the guards seems initially to have been to outside the precincts of the caliph’s estate, but they later trickled back in to take part in some skirmishes in the grounds outside his home. The sources then describe how the Egyptians began attacking the door of ‘Uthmān’s home and then set both the door and “al-saqīfa” (probably the courtyard of a house) on fire. As the door and al-saqīfa began to burn, the roof (saqīfa) collapsed on the door. Those inside the house rose to prepare for defense, while ‘Uthmān was praying. It seems that it was again on the caliph’s orders that these guards finally agreed to withdraw entirely, possibly as a symbol of obedience to the caliph, and left him to face his fate. In reporting these developments, the sources do not seem to be implying that the caliph was becoming weak against the aggression, since he reportedly had numerous troops to fend the attackers off, but rather that he was being lenient and avoiding an armed confrontation.

The story here was probably crafted in light of biblical and early Is-lamic narrative types. When ‘Uthmān ordered his troops to leave the grounds of his house, he was being represented in a manner similar to Jesus, who also refused to fight his attackers and rebuked one of his apostles for drawing a sword and striking off the ear of a Roman sentry.¹¹² The imagery about the attack on the door of his house, however, conveyed a symbolism that was particular to Islamic political dramaturgy, regarding the opening of the gate of the fitna. The detailed description that follows of how the roof caught fire and collapsed on the door confirmed the evocation of an interrelation between the beginnings of the civil war and and the original controversy over succession from the reign of the first caliph. The collapsing roof (al-saqīfa) was supposed to symbolize the collapse of the original pact of succession at the Saqīfa of Banū Sā‘ida, which paved the way for Abū Bakr’s and ‘Umar’s succession. The overthrow of ‘Uthmān finally not only served as the subversion of this original setting for a Sunnī covenant, but signaled the coming collapse of the early Islamic state.¹¹³

‘Uthmān was left alone with his wife and servants to confront the attackers. He would soon be overwhelmed and killed as the community of companions remained away, reportedly not believing that such a blatant attack could happen. ‘Uthmān’s murder occurred just before sunset,¹¹⁴ unlike ‘Umar’s, which occurred just before dawn. When news of the assassination spread in the city and on the roads leading to Medina, there was contrition and regret among the populace. Al-Zubayr, having set out to Mecca so that he would not witness ‘Uthmān’s murder, said upon receiving the news, “Verily we belong to God and to Him we shall return. May God have mercy on ‘Uthmān and avenge him.”¹¹⁵ When told that the rebels regretted their deeds, he replied, “They planned this and brought it about. ‘And a barrier is set up between them and what they desire.’”¹¹⁶ When the news reached Ṭalḥa, he said, “May God have mercy on ‘Uthmān, and may He avenge both him and Islam.” He was told, “The rebels regret their deeds.” “May they perish!” he replied, and he recited the verse, “They will not be able to make any testament, nor will they return to their people!”¹¹⁷

Then the reaction of ‘Alī is gauged. When told of ‘Uthmān’s murder, he said, “May God have mercy on ‘Uthmān, and replace [the evil we have suffered] with good.” When he was told, “The rebels regret their deeds,” he recited the verse, “Like Satan, when he said to man, ‘Disbelieve.’”¹¹⁸ Finally, the reaction of Sa‘d b. Abī Waqqāṣ is surveyed. He had taken refuge in a garden, having said, “I will not witness his murder.” When the news reached him, he said, “We have taken refuge in something contemptible and have become contemptible thereby.” Then he recited, “Those whose striving goes astray in the present life, while they think they are working good deeds,”¹¹⁹ and said, “O God, make them regret this, and seize them.”¹²⁰

The reactions of all these companions were essentially predicting the coming civil war. The companions’ abandonment of ‘Uthmān evoked in no small measure the reaction of the twelve apostles to Jesus. The ambiguous support and duplicity that the companions showed toward ‘Uthmān just before his death were not unlike the doubt and denial that the apostles showed toward Jesus after his arrest. The Qur’ānic recitations the companions uttered after ‘Uthmān’s death provided what was effectively the guilt-ridden analogy to the apostles’ compunction after their abandonment of Jesus.

But the final word in this drama is given to none other than ‘Uthmān himself, whose quoting of the Qur’ān provided the divine verdict about the fate of the aggressors. This happens during the final scene of ‘Uthmān’s situation in his household, where he is described as sitting and reciting the Qur’ān. His recitation moved about different chapters of the Qur’ān, reportedly because he was a fast reader, but since the reading is not consecutive, it may well have been intended to suggest that his choice of readings was unpredictable but ultimately apt for his situation. Examples of this include the verse, “Ṭa Ha, We have not sent down the Qur’ān upon thee for thee to be unprosperous,”¹²¹ and “Those to whom people said, ‘The people have gathered against you, therefore fear them’; but it increased them in faith, and they said, ‘God is sufficient for us; an excellent Guardian is He.’”¹²² As ‘Uthmān then moved on to read another verse, he was stabbed by one of the assassins. The force of the thrust against the caliph caused him or the attacker¹²³ inadvertently to kick the rotating base of the muṣḥaf, which now scattered before him in loose leafs as his blood began to spill on it (fa-istadāra al-muṣḥaf wa in-tashar wa istaqarra bayna yaday ‘Uthmān wa sālat ‘alayhi al-dimā’).¹²⁴ And while this account does not mention ‘Uthmān speaking, other accounts state that as ‘Uthmān came under attack, he said, “In the name of God, I seek refuge in God [tawakkaltu ‘alā allāh], and glory be to God,” and then¹²⁵. He was still reciting from the Qur’ān as blood from his wounds covered the lines until it stopped at the verse that reads “fa-sayakfīkahumu allāh [God shall suffice you],”¹²⁶ in a clear prophesy of divine revenge for ‘Uthmān’s murder.