That individual philosophical concepts are not something arbitrary, something growing up autonomously, but on the contrary grow up connected and related to one another; that, however suddenly and arbitrarily they appear to emerge in the history of thought, they none the less belong just as much to a system as do the members of the fauna of a continent: that fact is in the end also shown in the fact that the most diverse philosophers unfailingly fill out again and again a certain basic scheme of possible philosophies… Their thinking is in fact not so much a discovering as a recognising, a remembering, a return and home-coming to a faroff, primordial total household of the soul out of which these concepts once emerged— philosophising is to that extent a species of atavism of the first rank.
History does not exist without a theoretical perspective that allows it to be recognised as being edifying. The important point is not whether the history presented here is ‘true’ or ‘not’, whether it is subject to scientific and methodical verification or not, whether it is ‘myth’ or ‘fact’. Rather, history here is to be seen as containing a series of ‘moments’, whether mythical or actual, that have an impact upon the Muslim psyche—the Nietzschean soul—that directly affect the social, moral and political Islam of today. The philosophy of history has thrown forward a number of competing and conflicting ideas on the relationship between history and the present. For Hans-Georg Gadamer, the present and the past were able to function as a partnership in a process of negotiation that leads to a relocation of both from the paradigmatic confinements of their ‘moments’. However, Martin Heidegger held that the present can be of interest only to the degree that it can act as a tool to measure the distance that has been crossed away from the past. In this sense, the interest in history is motivated by the desire to settle contemporary accounts, rather than a concern for an essential truth. For Georg Lukacs, a concern with history is evidence that the contemporary world has ceased to appear meaningful. History becomes a battleground of ideas; a collection of raw materials that are regrouped and reorganised to present a story that acts as a weapon for interpreting the present.
In much of this work, history is to be viewed in the same way as Gadamer. Here, moments in history are revisited in order to find causal connections between those moments and the events and ideologies of Islam in our contemporary world. Further, the concern with moments in history is not, as already stated, a concern as to whether or not they are subject to verification and, even if they were, whether they have been shown to be ‘true’ or ‘false’ but, rather, the phenomenological imprints that they leave. The extent to which these moments in history were deliberate acts, that is, intentional acts, to make their mark on the future is one question that is less easy to answer. Events have a habit of taking on a momentum of their own which causes one to hesitate before declaring any kind of intentionality at work. The birth of Islam, as it will be shown, was not a birth of a fully-formed self-aware adult, but a weak and struggling baby that was brought up within an already established set of cultural, moral and political norms. The extent to which that ‘baby’ came to assert its own identity suggests, on the one hand, a degree of ‘free will’ (and all the philosophical problems that raises) and, on the other hand, the intentionality of this self-assertion. One ignores the influence of surrounding forces at one's peril here. However, again, we must be cautious not to confuse the actuality of the assertion of Islam as a pure and uncorrupted force and the historical accuracy of such a view. Ultimately, what is important is the view of the Islamic paradigm in the soul of the Muslim. However, having said that, a clear understanding of the cultural context of the beginnings of Islam should help us to understand the relative importance of it for contemporary discourse.
In this chapter, the study will examine in greater detail the nature of authority that existed in the Arabic world prior to the coming of Muhammad. It should be stressed that no study of Islamic authority is complete without reference to the period known as Jahiliyya (and, more specifically, the geographical area of Arabia), as this would be to ignore the crucial influence of the environment upon what became known as Islam. As an historical-critical approach is being adopted in this study, it must be added that it is asserted that environment does actually have an influence upon the development of Islam as a belief system.
The term ‘Jahiliyya’ usually, although not exclusively, refers to the time prior to the advent of Muhammad. Geographically, it is a specific reference to Arabia and, more specifically, to the people of that region, perceived at that time as ‘ignorant’: ‘ignorance’, therefore, of the message of Islam, but also often implying an inherent barbarity of the people resulting from such ignorance. Without Islam there is no unity, without Islam there is no coherent belief, without Islam there is illiteracy, and so on. Although a specific reference to pre-Muhammad Arabia, it was extended by such reformists as Sayyid Qutb who said: ‘If we look at the sources and foundations of modern modes of living, it becomes clear that the whole world is steeped in Jahiliyya, and all the marvellous material comforts and advanced inventions do not diminish its ignorance.’2 Here, therefore, Jahiliyya is a reference to the modern world in general that has turned its back on the message of God by engaging in such things as the pursuance of excessive wealth, and the exploitation of the weak. The term is used in the Qur'an to refer to a psychological state:
And while bigotry—the bigotry of ignorance—was holding its reign in the hearts of the unbelievers, God sent down His tranquillity on His apostle and on the faithful and made the word of piety binding on them, for they were most worthy and deserving of it.3
Thus, the concept of ‘tranquillity’ can be interpreted as bringing forth a change in mental makeup; from an age of turbulence and chaos to one of spiritual, religious and moral identity. However, the suggestion—so often evident in texts—that the period before Muhammad was in any way ‘barbaric’ and chaotic seems both simplistic and untenable. As history is being rewritten, evidence points to a much more complex society than originally supposed. Furthermore, Arabic society would hardly function if it did not have a degree of complexity and a structure of authority within its system. To suppose, also, that Islam, with its central concept of the umma and the paradigm of Muhammad and Medina as its guiding force, simply replaced wholesale the existing structure is also very hard to swallow, and would not be suggested by any modern, serious scholar.
Although, over a period of time (the length of which is very debatable), the Islamic Weltanschauung did transform Arabic authority, obvious continuities also exist with the past. While Islam as a world religion is moulded by the authority of the Golden Age Narrative, this in itself is directly related to the cultural template of pre-Muhammad, Arabic society. This ‘cultural template’, in turn, is what can be correlated with the Nietzschean concept of the soul as a matter of physio-psychology. Islam is, in its essence, an Arabic religion and its formative years were centred in Arabia and, more broadly, the Middle East. Bearing this in mind, Islam in, for example, Indonesia is also subject to the authority of the ‘cultural template’ of Arabia.
Also note that the term ‘Arab’ was originally used by the Bedouin to refer to themselves (and, in fact, is still used by them in this way); it only later became a designation for the whole Arab-speaking world. It is interesting to consider why the term became much more widely used. It is reasonable to suggest that the term ‘Arab’ could hardly be considered in a negative sense if it was so readily appropriated by Arab nationalists in the last century. Rather, it was associated with positive qualities such as pride and self-esteem; which is in sharp contrast to, say, the Greek and Roman attitude to ‘barbarians’. Therefore, the ethos of the Bedouin has a much higher regard amongst the Arabs and, by extension, Muslims, than is often supposed. To speak of the ‘Bedouin ethos’ is to speak, at least in part, of the ‘Muslim etho’.4 As Lindholm notes:
Bedouin values are important in the Middle East because of the disproportionate part they played in Middle Eastern and Muslim history…it was in great measure through the aid of the Bedouin that Muhammad came to power in his own society.
To understand how authority was perceived in the Bedouin context, the Muslim philosopher Ibn Khaldun (1332–1406) is important here. He says of the Bedouin: ‘The leader is obeyed, but he has no power to force others to accept his rulings… There is scarcely one among them who would cede his power to another, even to his father, his brother, or the eldest member of his family.’5 Born in Tunis, Ibn Khaldun served as tutor to the heir apparent of the Muslim state of Granada. After defeat in battle, which he led, he was forced to spend three years as a refugee among mountain tribesman. He finished his life as a well-respected Grand Qadi of the Malikite School of law in Cairo. His time among tribesmen, his experience in royal courts, and his background in Greek philosophy, adds up to an insightful view of Arabic authority.
What is so radical—for its time—about Ibn Khaldun's work is his application of philosophical science to the study of history. At this time, much greater emphasis by philosophers was placed on the metaphysical; the world as it is regarded as largely irrelevant. Ibn Khaldun believed scientific method could be applied to historical processes as a way of understanding how communities order their lives. Through this process, he hoped to build a framework for understanding the rise and fall of dynasties in the Middle East. In his Muqaddimah he starts with the sensible premise that ‘the differences of condition among people are the result of the different ways in which they make their living’.6 He then goes on to contrast two ways of ‘making a living’ in Arabic society: that of the Bedouin and that of the city-dweller. Not, it should be emphasised, the traditional distinction between the nomad and the pastoralist (in the sense of shepherd or farmer) because, as Ibn Khaldun rightly points out, many Bedouin were also farmers.
The more significant distinction is that the Bedouin exists in a markedly crude and instinctive world compared with the relative luxury and decadence of the city. Due to the relatively impoverished environment of the Bedouin, the accumulation of wealth and power is, at best, a very temporary condition and can just as easily be lost. Therefore, what distinctions exist between one individual and another rest largely upon personal characteristics; respect generated by merit. As a result there is a much greater degree of egalitarianism amongst the Bedouin coupled with a strong sense of individualism and independence. However, the city life, built on the development of commerce and a sedentary existence, results in the need for greater cooperation and division of labour: the need is greater to have a hierarchical system for a people who are still largely aggressive and individualist. This distinction needs to be considered in more detail a little later in this chapter. However, for now, it is important to recognise that such a difference in how social systems function could have an important impact upon the essence of Islamic authority. This view of Bedouin society as largely egalitarian and cohesive would have a political impact in that it would not require or, for that matter, allow for the hierarchical system of authority or for the need of a leader that was both religious and political. However, it must also be remembered that Islam has its origins in an urban setting. Therefore, there is possibility of tension between the social structure of the Bedouin and that of the city-dweller.
Like Rousseau, Ibn Khaldun traces the Bedouin fall from purity and egalitarianism to the exposure of the city. However, Rousseau regarded this deterioration as an irreversible process whereas, for Ibn Khaldun, the Bedouin and city-dweller exist simultaneously although, inevitably, many are drawn to the comforts of the city and succumb to the authority of royal rule, losing their sense of individuality. A cycle occurs; the new migrants to the cities soften over time and are subsequently invaded by the aggressive neighbouring tribes, and so on. The only way this cycle can be broken is through an ethically compelling system of religion which, of course, can also be forgotten in time unless there is also a cycle of prophecy.
An important element in the Golden Age Narrative is the concept of the state—dawla in Arabic. Until modern times, the term dawla denoted a particular kind of patrimony, the ownership of command and authority within a specific line. The term was used by Ibn Khaldun to refer to government (or the regime in power); not a territorial structure as such. Thus, we have the dawla of the Abbasids, and the dawla of Harun al-Rashid. This abstract dawla is constituted of a body politic in the sense of having a ruler, troops and bureaucrats. What may be termed ‘civil society’ as we understand the term today is absent from this construct. Power is exclusive to the sovereign and the ‘citizens’ are merely a body that acts upon the will of the sovereign; they have no political status as such; apart from, perhaps, token references within Islamic law.
Not unlike medieval Europe, therefore, the sovereign was associated in terms of power with that of the divine, the 'state’ in this sense being little more than the incarnation of the power to command and coerce. In this construct, the ulama assumes a subsidiary position; dealing essentially with worship and personal or family law. This form of authority is what Ibn Khaldun calls ‘mulk’ (a linguistic derivation of malik —king—and mulk—possession); a style of rule based primarily on power and coercion. In Islamic history it is the al-wazi al-sultani: the ‘sultanic deterrent’. The sultan is the sole political subject, whose action upon society is univocal.
The sultanic construct seems dominant in culturally, ethnically diverse societies. In fact, there seems to be a pattern to the Sunni control of governments in ethnically diverse Arab countries. Whereas the Sunni Arabs control the bureaucracy and public services, other ethnicities control the military or security forces. For example, in Morocco, the Arab Sunni dominate the bureaucracy and public services, whereas the Berbers control the military and security forces.7 Also, in North Yemen, the Shawafi Sunni dominate the bureaucracy, the Shi'a Zaidis the military.8
Why this situation should exist can be inferred from the writings of, notably, Deffontaines (1948) and Fischer (1956), who conclude that Islam is essentially an urban faith. It is the product of the city; hence the assignation of Medina as an ‘Islamic state’ although, in actual fact, it is really a city and, compared with contemporary cities, a small one at that. Nonetheless, the point is valid. Sunni Islam has always been centralised in cities, whether it be Medina, Cairo, Damascus, Baghdad, Fez, Haifa, and so on. Bureaucratic control has always rested in the cities, whereas rural communities maintain tribal links and, as it happens, military arms:
The Bedouins…are alone in the country and remote from militias. They have no walls or gates…they provide their own defence and do not entrust it to…others… They always carry weapons… Fortitude has become a character of them, and courage their nature.9
In such a circumstance the city-based ruler must ‘rule them [the rural dweller] kindly and avoid antagonising them’.10 The rural dwellers have their own form of control; what Ibn Khaldun referred to as ‘asabiyah’ (derived from ‘asab’, meaning nerve). In the arid zones, where rainfall is sparse, pastoralism must remain the predominant form of agriculture. Pastoralists, unlike peasants, are usually organised along tribal lines and are relatively independent of central government. They cannot be taxed or brought under the control of feudal lords who will appropriate a part of their produce. Asabiyah signifies internal cohesion, often brought about by unity of blood or faith. In a state setting, unity is brought about by the use of force. In an asabiyah setting, however, unity arises voluntarily through the sharing of moral bonds: blood, descent, marriage, ethnic origin, tribal affinity, faith or a mix of all or some of these features. According to Ibn Khaldun, the asabiyah structure reaches its zenith when it blends with religion, leading to conquest (as happened with the emergence of Islam). Also, a group is at the ‘asabiyah stage’ when the internal mechanisms of control are strong. When they weaken, the group reaches the mulk stage, the nadir of power, and the beginning of eventual decline; the boundaries between kinship groups weaken, their moral framework is diluted, and the groups merge with more dominant forces. In the cities—which lacked a nomadic lifestyle, austerity and equality, and instead possessed luxury, social stratification and used force and coercion— asabiyah was weak, though statehood was strong. Therefore, the rise of statehood leads to the decline of asabiyah.
An example that may well be classed as belonging to the Transhistorical is the Khaldunian ‘Caliphate model’; a state based on the application of religion and divine sharia. In this construct, the ulama—in consultation (shura)—controls government: the ‘politics of sharia’ (siyasa sharia): a society based on ‘Shar, the Islamic nomos, the dharma of the Muslims’.11 Power, in this case, is re-routed into primarily legal discourse: a discourse that is regarded as divine in origin. That is, it emanates mainly from the commands of the Qur'an and hadith of the Prophet. This utopic vision of the state, therefore, derives from the Golden Age Narrative in its mythical form. Power, in this case, is not so much diluted as ‘re-directed’. In theory at least, power rests with the Golden Age Narrative and not with a living individual.12 However, this, it must be emphasised, is a utopic vision. It may well help to explain how it impinges upon the Muslim collective memory, but it may also result in causing Islam to become stagnant by pursuing an unobtainable vision.
In terms of Sunni Islam, the head of state no longer had religious authority. However, in principle at least, the positive Utopian vision—and historical reality—of the Imam as both spiritual and political head remained with the non-Sunni Muslims. It is interesting that Shi'a Islam prefers the title that was given to Uthman, thus making direct reference to the view of sacred history as now belonging to the caliphate; although they preferred the title of ‘imam’ to that of ‘caliph’. This choice of title is not accidental: the imam sets forth the ‘perfect’ religious model to be followed, interpreted and imitated by the community of the faithful. According to Shi'a, Druze and Alawi doctrines, the imam is a visible illustration of that which perfects or completes religion; the only way to salvation. Among the Ibadis and Zaidis, the imam sets the standard for a free and sovereign society. As a model, an exempla, the imam is to be followed and imitated. By contrast, however, the caliph is a successor who—in theory at least—is perceived historically as ruling in accordance with already formulated governance. He is the executor of already-ordained law. Interestingly, Ibn Khaldun calls the leader ‘imam’ when only one person leads the community, and ‘emir’ or 'sultan’ if there are more than one. According to Ibn Khaldun, the imam must be a man of deep religious knowledge, physically fit and capable of establishing justice. More importantly, he must also be an object of consensus and therefore cannot be ousted from office. Whereas Ibn Khaldun legitimises rebellion against a sultan or an emir, he forbids it against the imam.
In this sense, consensus becomes almost indistinguishable from asabiyah. This is why Ibn Khaldun sees the imamate as a kind of leadership that combines both the asabiyah form of power (consensus) and the caliphate-like authority, where religious knowledge prevails. Ibn Khaldun's theory of asabiyah applied to the North African milieu, which he understood best. However, it can be modified to suit the conditions of the more sophisticated societies of Egypt and the Ottoman Empire, where the pattern was institutionalised. However, for Ibn Khaldun, it was abstract power, not society, which is the primary substance of his discourse.13
Siyasa denotes absolutist management, the direction by reason of unreason. It is used in relation to animal husbandry. It is the management of natural disorder by the order of culture, and regal power is the ultimate state of culture in a natural world of men marked by a bellum omnium contra omnes which necessitates the establishment of power.14
Siyasa, therefore, is not the field where power is contested and arrived at: siyasa presupposes the power of which it is a modus operandi. Though not unique to Islam, the pattern of politics that existed in Egypt and the Ottoman Empire was the asabiyah model. In Egypt the Mamluks, who ruled from the thirteenth to the eighteenth century, maintained themselves against the disintegration of asabiyah by constantly replenishing their stock with new warriors, bought as young boys from Central Asia, whom they trained in their own households. The Ottomans maintained a form of ‘artificial asabiyah’ by recruiting from the Christian Balkan provinces janissaries, whom they trained for war and administration.15
In Sunni Islam, the Golden Age Narrative—the image of Islam as pristine—would be a rallying point around which tribal forces would unify and invade the cities. When the tribes decide to unite, their superior cohesion, mobility and fighting skills put the city— the seat of government—at their mercy. In the cities, the ulama—guardians of the legal and scholarly traditions—would attempt to defend the orthodoxy by exercising the paradigm of the Golden Age Narrative. This exempla acts as mediator between the conflict of city and countryside; converting the pastoralists to the guardians of the orthodox tradition. In Gellner's metaphor, the wolves become sheepdogs.16
This Khaldunian pattern can be perceived in most of the central Islamic lands, from Morocco to Chinese Turkestan, until the present century. What has changed is that improved communications has allowed greater control over marginal regions. Even today, however, kinship remains the main form of social solidarity in the absence of corporate institutions. In the Middle East, for example, tribal and family asabiyah have kept their importance as political factors despite modern technology. In fact, technology can be utilised to reinforce asabiyah values.17 Asabiyah represents the political reality, and it is understandable that such sayings as the following are credited to the Prophet: ‘He is not one of us who proclaims the cause of asabiyah; and he is not one of us who fights in the cause of asabiyah; and he is not one of us who dies in the cause of asabiyah’.18 Therefore, despite the qualities that asabiyah possesses in terms of social cohesion; it might also be seen as a threat to orthodox Islam in favour of more ‘extremist’ elements. Islam is geared more to breaking down asabiyah, to be replaced by the 'super- tribe’; the umma. Just as Islam was aimed at eroding the old tribalism that had caused so much conflict, it also encouraged the pastoralists into settling in the cities. It must be remembered that Islam was an urban religion, but that it was generally conceived within a pastoral milieu. Thus, the Golden Age Narrative centres itself within the city—that of Medina—and is, therefore, supreme over that of countryside and its inherent values. At the same time, should the city deviate from the 'straight path’ and cease to be perceived as ‘Islamic’, then its renewal and reform—tajdid and islah—is sanctioned and has its roots within asabiyah. This follows according to the Golden Age Narrative: the decline in the values of Mecca and the subsequent warning by Muhammad, to be followed by its spiritual renewal from ‘outside’. Although Medina, of course, is the Islamic city par excellence, it was—at the time of the hijra—little more than a collection of disparate tribes who, therefore, possessed the qualities of asabiyah, even if they were unable to exercise it until the Constitution of Medina (see Chapter 6) was fully established and formally adhered to.
Consequently, Sunni Islam can be perceived as conservative and creating its own myth: that of a negative utopic vision of the Medinan state that is now unobtainable. Khaldunian asabiyah is alive and well but is perceived by Sunni Islam as a threat to Sunni ascendancy. When one refers to the ‘true and pristine Islam’, it is a fiction to look towards the Golden Age Narrative. Rather one should refer to, for example, leadership amongst Ismailis or Shi'ites. Maintaining the Golden Age myth is a way of institutionalising Islam and keeping it 'safe’; whereas Islam, in its essence, is rebellious, revolutionary, and concerned with reform and renewal. By focussing reform on an unrealistic ideal, Sunni Islam prevents renewal from actually being realised. Further, by increasing the status of Muhammad from a prophet with a small ‘p’ to that of a large ‘P’ it is also causing a parallel decrease in the status of the caliph. In Nietzschean terms, we have created idols from our will to truth, yet the essence of Islam is, in fact, to shatter these idols.
It is not, unfortunately, within the realms of this work to consider authority within Shi'a Islam. Very broadly speaking (and this is very broad, as the different forms of Shi'a are extremely complex and diverse) Shi'a Islam, centred within the office of the imam, struggles to put the Utopic Vision of religion and state as indelibly linked into practice far more diligently than Sunni Islam has ever done. Yet, according to Ibn Khaldun's theory, Sunni Islam finds it to its advantage to present the Utopic Vision as an archetype as a way of protecting itself against the calls for change and renewal. Shi'a Islam believes that the Platonic Ideal State is achievable, whereas Sunni Islam uses the Platonic State as a model, knowing full well it can never be achieved.
The words of Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil once again spring to mind here. According to Nietzsche, although Plato did also face the question of the value of truth, he concluded that truth is too dangerous to make it public and that the truth seeker should lie willingly and knowingly. For Nietzsche there is a clear distinction between what Plato thought and what he desired for others to believe, and it is this which was called ‘Platonism’.19 In the same way, what Sunni Islam thought and what it wants others to believe likewise differ, and for the same reasons. For to admit that the Utopic Vision is unobtainable is to put its very survival in jeopardy. Although Nietzsche was referring specifically to Platonism, Christianity (his ‘Platonism for the masses’), and Kant's noumena, parallels can be made with Sunni Islam as a historical phenomenon. For example, Nietzsche argues that Christianity uses its moral power (its will to power) to ensure its survival: anyone who attempts to assert his or her own will to power by questioning this morality is declared immoral and, as a result, that individual feels a sense of guilt and sin. By imposing ‘the Good’ as an ideal and as the truth, society is able to dispel any attempts at questioning the laws, traditions and morals of that society. However, Nietzsche sees this as ultimately disastrous because in time that society will stagnate unless it allows for fresh blood. The state may 'survive’ in a static atrophic form but it will not prosper or progress. In Khaldunian terms, the Islamic state must allow for asabiyah to assert itself from time to time, yet Sunni Islam in the modern world has often attempted to undermine this force.
Nietzsche wonders at the human capacity for simplification and falsification, not so much as a criticism for he accepts that this is a reflection of the love of life; misguided though it is! In this respect, then, philosophy can come across as ‘anti-life’ because it jeopardises this ‘holy simplicity’ that the love of life generates. Nietzsche often talks of the risk the philosopher takes in seeking knowledge when humanity has a natural ‘will to ignorance’. Not unlike Plato, Nietzsche sees ignorance as an important aspect of the human condition.20
It is hardly surprising that Mecca, with its mulk mentality, should declare Muhammad a ‘criminal’, for he represents that which questions the status quo. Muhammad also represents a form of asabiyah; as someone who brought in what was best of the Bedouin ethos. However, this ethos would be short-lasting as the mulk mentality reasserted itself soon after the death of Muhammad and the return to power of the Quraysh. However, the point remains a strong one: Islam in its essence is a religion of renewal and reform; it is not accepting of the status quo if this proves to be life-denouncing.
Important though Ibn Khaldun is, his view of the Bedouin ethos requires more modern research if it is to be more than just a theory. Can it be shown that the Bedouin ethos is essentially independent and egalitarian? If this is the case, then it adds greater support to the thesis that Islam inherited these essential qualities and would point towards a religion that does not rule ‘from above’ or intends to be all-encompassing. A number of scholars, notably William Irons, have pointed out that the lack of large-scale economic production or distribution methods, together with a low population density and the high mobility of the camel nomad, makes the development of any kind of institutionalised hierarchy unlikely: ‘hierarchical political institutions are generated only by external political relations with state societies, and never develop purely as a result of the internal dynamics of such societies’.21 The image of the independent, noble nomad warrior should not be seen as merely a romantic, Orientalist notion. Accepting the perfectly credible thesis that values are, at least in some measure, the product of one's environment, it is not difficult to extrapolate conditions in sixth century Arabia by considering Bedouin cultures of today in similar environments. Donald Cole's study of the al-Murrah Bedouin, for example, present an image of highly mobile, independent tribes people who are resistant to hierarchy and stratification.22 Having said that, it must also be remembered that tribal existence is frequently poor, simple and violent; yet this is the culture from which Islam developed. Further, the tribes were the ‘wolves’ (using Gellner's term) compared with sheep-like existence in the city, and thus the tribes served as 'sheepdogs’ to Mecca and Medina.23
There are, of course, other non-urban types of people to be found in the Middle East. Charles Lindholm has outlined three such groupings: the already referred to camel nomad, the shepherd, and the mountain farmer. The shepherds, for example, differ from the camel nomad in that they are more structured and orderly;24 they have to be as it requires the movement of extremely large herds at specific times, in specific places, and often through unfriendly territory. As a result of this:
a prerequisite for the development of a land use pattern such as this is a political form that ensures the disciplined and co-ordinated migration of large populations by regular routes and schedules. This requires the development of strong and effective co-ordinating authorities.25
These ‘coordinating authorities’, however, are not ‘kingly’ in character, but act more as arbitrators in disputes with confederations of tribes. Tribes gather together in a loose confederation under a central leadership that is often recruited from outside the tribal structure. Such a classic example of this system, as we shall see, is the appointment of Muhammad as arbitrator for the tribes of Medina.
As Lindholm notes, ‘Like their camel-herding cousins, they still claimed to be all equals, in spite of the existence of objective hierarchies.’26 Lindholm points out that this state of affairs has caused some consternation among Marxist anthropologists, who prefer to refer to it as a ‘political chimera’.27 However, the structure of master-subject relationship does not usually appear to follow a Marxist model. Work that the Marxist might regard as ‘oppression’ could be perceived by the subject as an honourable position, bearing in mind the attitude that the rich of today could be the poor of tomorrow, as so often happens in such an unstable environment. From this point of view, the wealthy man is simply someone who, up to now, has succeeded in a path that the subject himself wishes to follow. Lois Beck has observed that even amongst the most hierarchical pastoral confederacy, the Qashqai of Iran, ‘tribespeople often viewed tribal leaders as necessary (although sometimes unwelcome) mediators against what they perceived as the illegitimate, exploitative rule of the state’.28
Authority, then, is perceived as a contractual arrangement between equals; one by which a party to the agreement might well sever ties if such authority becomes oppressive or ceases to be in their interest. Note the abandonment of many tribes from the umma after the death of Muhammad. Here is an example, so typically Middle Eastern in character, of a community kept together by the capacity of the leader to mobilise men into a workable unit. Authority was respected, but not deified and nor, as a rule, was the leader able to exploit or interfere in the general day-to-day affairs of the individual tribes.
Finally, mention should be made of the third group referred to by Lindholm: the independent mountain farmers.29 These differ from the other two groupings in that they are not nomadic. However, although they are settled, they produce considerable surplus, and are densely populated by comparison with the other two groups. They also possess the qualities of egalitarianism and antipathy towards state authority. The best reason for this seems to lie with a type of egalitarian competitive social ethic where there is a struggle for scarce resources.30 Whatever the reason, the picture presented of the Arab world outside of the city is of a people who ‘unanimously maintain ideologies of egalitarianism and personal independence’.31
The image so far portrayed, therefore, is a system of authority that, not surprisingly, is a product of its environment: an environment of 'shifting sands’ whereby population is mobile and structures, such as they are, fragile. In such a circumstance, hierarchy is difficult to maintain and the populace hard to exploit. What authority is established maintains legitimacy by mutual contract and respect rather than through deification or force. It is hoped that this portrayal gives some idea as to the position of Muhammad, the archetypal Islamic leader, and his relation to the ‘citizens’: a tenuous legitimacy at best dependent upon his charisma, ability to mobilise the people, adapt to ever-changing circumstances, and to respect the essential egalitarian nature of the culture.
What of the cities themselves? Lapidus points out that they ‘were simply the geographical locus of groups whose membership and activities were either larger or smaller than themselves’.32 The city was in reality little different from the periphery, lacking, it seems, a civic identity in the sense of a mayor or town council, for example. How, then, was authority structured in the city? According to Lapidus, tribal loyalties did not entirely vanish with urbanisation, although they intermingled with various occupational groups, youth clubs, and the like. Muhammad was a trader by profession and Mecca was founded on trade which, in turn, resulted in the development of craft guilds. These guilds, however, remained ideologically egalitarian in nature:
differences of rank were blurred as artisans and masters laboured side by side in the same modest establishment, where usually members of the same guild and religious sect, lived in the same neighbourhoods, and often had fictive (or real) kinship relationships.33
In the same way as the shepherd, the worker-master relationship was based on mutual contract that either could declare void. As will be shown later, although Lapidus is right to point out that trade guilds were important in Mecca, the view that these were largely egalitarian in nature seems to conflict with one of the main concerns expressed by Muhammad about Mecca: that it was lacking in egalitarianism, and had lost its Bedouin ethos.
Muhammad's war against property inequality presents us with one feature of the Golden Age Narrative. Coupled with this is the concern for the decline in Mecca of tribal solidarity, of asabiyah. Students of Islam often perceive Muhammad's ‘conquest’ of Mecca as merely an extension of the practice of nomadic ghazw, yet Muhammad did not end up plundering the city (contrary, it seems, from the wishes of many of his companions) and incorporating the wealth into his own tribe; rather he saw wealth, that is the accumulation of it, as essentially a cause of the breakdown of asabiyah, evident from his act of sanctifying and Islamicising Mecca. The wealth was retained by its owners, a practice that was evident throughout Arabian conquests, provided the conquered agreed to a system of taxation that, in theory at least, provided for a better distribution of wealth.34
Nomadic (badawah) and sedentary (hadarah) lifestyles constitute the two dominant forms of social organisation before and after Jahiliyya. Ibn Khaldun held that the badawah lifestyle comes historically before the hadarah because the formation of a sedentary lifestyle can only occur once the nomadic has accumulated sufficient wealth to consider settling. Other historians, such as al-Mas'udi, also assert the chronological precedence of badawah. However, there are also accounts35 that suggest a more dynamic scenario by which efforts at sedentarisation are continuously frustrated by the scarcity of water and fertile land, as well as the frequency of droughts. Therefore, the sedentary lifestyle is rather a seasonal, or temporal, affair interspersed with a nomadic existence of pastoralism, raids (ghazw) and a limited degree of hunting. This seemingly closed and cyclical existence can only be broken out of through commerce; not just trade amongst fellow nomadic tribes, but the need for trade with wealthy neighbours, such as the Romans and the Sassanians. Arabia had little of its own to export, and so acted more as an intermediary between the rich civilisations. A city like Mecca, for example, originally survived as a way station for the north-bound caravans from southern Arabia. As this trade grew and other intermediaries, such as Yemen, collapsed, so Mecca was able to grow in wealth and to establish its own markets. Mecca developed from a simple caravan station with an uncertain future, to a relatively complex centre of long-distance trade.
As Ibn Khaldun observed, a sedentary existence could be the result of an increase in the wealth of the nomad. However, this must be appended with the still fragile existence of a sedentary lifestyle, that could so easily revert back to nomadism, and ‘wealth’ must be understood more precisely in this context as a more consistent above-subsistence-level acquisition that would allow for pastoralism to take place for any observable period of time. ‘Wealth’ in this sense is not something that could be profitably invested, at least not until the sedentary community is well-established to the extent that there is evidence of property inequalities and a deterioration of cooperation and mutual aid amongst the tribes, as appears to be the case with Mecca during the time of Muhammad.36 Sedentarisation also offered a method of protecting the wealth attained from the vagaries of badawah life, as well as offering opportunities for greater wealth accumulation. Mecca, situated as it was far away from any agricultural community, had to rely upon trade for its very survival, unlike, say, Medina, which could engage in both trade and agriculture.
Following partially from Marx, Georg Simmel argued that money had the capability of establishing both a distance from an object and a link to it at one and the same time.37 That is, the object itself, whether it be a camel, spices, etc., is indifferent to the value placed upon it and also the value cannot be determined purely by the essence of the object, but only in the context of such trade laws and demand and supply. As a result, the mind seeks a basis for value that could also possess the same certitude as objective existence. The result is a monetary form of valuation that all can identify with, yet is also abstracted from the essence of the object itself. This is significant as, once a value is added to an object, the object begins to be seen more within the context of this value and not as a pure, self-enclosed object. Value determines what and how objects will be seen. Objects in the world are not valued because of any intrinsic quality, but by some abstract monetary value. The Qur'an notes this emphasis on monetary value:
Men are tempted by the lure of women and offspring, of hoarded treasures of gold and silver, of splendid horses, cattle, and plantations. These are the comforts of this life, but far better is the return to God.38
The interesting reference to ‘women and offspring’ suggests too much preoccupation with self-preservation, with the quest for immortality in this world. The recognised importance of hoarded treasure indicates a society based on a monetary economy rather than barter exchange, which is more the case with the nomadic code. For the nomad, items of value are recognised as also being very temporary, unlike the sedentary hoarding that is believed to outlive the hoarder. Those who spend their life accumulating treasures are observed to die just as those who live in poverty, as the pre-Islamic ode writer Tarafa notes.39 The camel, considered by the nomad as the highest and most stable item of value in Tarafa's odes, is not considered in terms of a means of exchange, but rather as an enabler of life that itself is on the verge of perishing. For the nomad, existence is terminated full-stop, it is ‘dahr’; a total, self-enclosed natural phenomenon, not a progression of moments that can be manipulated by some external divine agency, or a phenomenon that continues after death. Pre-Islamic belief, especially amongst the Bedouin who were not accustomed to the religions of the major powers or in dealing with abstractions, were naturally suspicious of the existence of a world beyond. Even in Mecca itself, where Hanifs (pre-Islamic monotheists) were very much a minority, materialism acted against an afterlife.
Mecca re-identified itself as a community of traders and, as a consequence, this meant that the abstraction of objects in terms of their monetary value superseded more traditional nomadic values such as blood lineage, joint land ownership and mutual cooperation. What also develops is a kind of 'second-order’ abstraction. Mecca, as a trading centre, not only placed a monetary value on objects themselves, but also on the other community that deals in those objects. By way of a more modern example, the importance economically of Japan for the Western world also resulted in a greater value placed upon Japanese culture, language and religion. Mecca, dealing as it was with the cultures of Rome and Persia, also placed a value on the beliefs of ‘Others’. The result was a variety of ideologies that intermixed in a relatively non-coercive manner, for Mecca was in no position to impose its own ideology upon another, if only for the fact that it would not have been an economically sensible tactic to adopt. Muhammad was brought up in this culture of ‘liberalism towards other beliefs’, even if such liberal generosity might have a hidden economic agenda.
The abstraction of value placed on objects, as being eternal, would also affect the religious beliefs of Meccans, evidenced by the increase in the number of Hanifs in the city. While Muhammad was being critical of the over-emphasis on placing economic value on objects and the resulting decline in asabiyah, he was also partly the very product of a monetary, sedentary society. However, although Islam is often regarded as being a product of the city, not nomadic existence, it does not get away entirely from the values of nomadic existence, but rather calls for a return to what is best about it, for example in its condemnation of such nomadic values as paganism, infanticide, etc., while praising its values of asabiyah.
In considering why Islam emerged when it did, the need for a sedentary society that was able to abstract from its environment seems to be a necessary requirement. Nomadic existence could not achieve this by its very uncertain and malleable nature. In Mecca especially, as it established itself as an important trading centre, it also developed a set of legal and religious rules that were to inform the structure of the Islamic doctrine that was to follow. One such important rule was the ashur haram (the ‘forbidden months’) which coincided with the months during which the suqs (marketplaces) of the Hijaz and over half the peninsula were held. Therefore, the connection between commercial activity and religious-legal rules is evident: some religious concepts concerning the regularity of path or time, such as pilgrimage, developed alongside the trade cycle. What is important here is that social transformation was made possible because of the ability to accumulate wealth. It is not insignificant that the name of ‘Quraysh’ can be traced to the Arabic ‘taqarrush’, which means ‘to accumulate’ or ‘to gain’. The concern was more with the accumulation and maintenance of wealth than with where one's next meal might come from or living within the limited time scope of the agricultural cycle.40
The Quraysh's concern with maintaining peace in Mecca was motivated by economics, for the very survival of Mecca relied upon trade unlike, for example Medina, which was a mix between Bedouin and agricultural communities. The problem for Mecca was enforcing such a peace, especially as the forbidden months, linked as they were to the spiritual, were not recognised as haram by all the tribes. Only with the coming of Islam were the sacred months established by Mecca to be enforced as universal for all tribes, being more closely tied to the acceptance (or, rather, submission to) of Islam as a universal belief. Traders to Mecca, in their double capacity as pilgrims, paid respect not so much to Mecca's haram, but rather their own idols contained within the Ka'ba. The hajj did not, it seems, originally mean ‘religious pilgrimage’, but rather a well-established geographical trade route. The Ka'ba was no more than a house containing the idols of the tribes who practiced their own rituals and chants within a specified geographical (not spiritual) location.41 This being the case, religion was something of a moveable force that was subject to economic negotiation. That is, should the economic needs of the trade cycle alter, then the religion alters with it.
Mecca, despite its accumulation of wealth, must also have been aware of an acute sense of fragility and vulnerability, reliant as it was entirely upon trade and the willingness of the tribes to acquiesce to a system of haram that was supported by a delicate system of religious belief. Not only did Mecca lack any agriculture, it also seemed to be absent of even simple craftsmanship.42 Bearing this in mind, it is perhaps more understandable why the Quraysh, once Islam had become a dominant force, could see the positive aspects of a religion that could be used to provide a stronger ideological base to their economic enterprises.
A picture of Mecca is, hopefully, being built up here: of a city dependent on trade for its very existence and, relative to the surrounding tribes, developing a complex social and religious structure. Further, the accumulation of wealth resulted in a distinct division of class: the wealthier Quraysh, the ‘Abateh’, lived in the neighbourhood of the haram, whereas the less fortunate Quraysh, the Zawaher, populated the rest of Mecca and the mountains surrounding it. These class differentiations also led to the concept of lending money to poorer relatives.43 This resulted in an additional recognisable feature of class distinction. Mecca, with its class distinctions, its privileged role as trade and spiritual centre, its ability to abstract itself from the temporal, material world, and its social, religious and legal structure, all caused it to perceive itself (and be perceived by others) as an oasis in a land of relative chaos and barbarism, of the world that was Jahiliyya. Not only in respect of Bedouin society, but further afield, as its competitors, such as Yemen, disintegrated and the Roman and Sassanian Empires were weakened by wars. Mecca also had to remain neutral in order to retain its economic status. However, the extent to which Mecca could maintain neutrality as it grew in economic status and became more exposed to the needs and interests of the major powers must be considered. For example, the Abyssinians, commonly in alliance with the Roman Empire, had made a number of military expeditions into Arabia, the best known being the Year of the Elephant. In this year, traditionally dated 570CE (also the year of Muhammad's birth) saw Mecca attacked by an Abyssinian army with elephants. Muhammad's grandfather, Abd’ al Muttalib44 was the protector of the Ka'ba at the time and succeeded in defeating the Abyssinians. What is also interesting about this incident is its links with Muhammad; the ‘fact’ that he was born in such a prestigious year and that he is associated with a noble and spiritual lineage. Muhammad's birth also symbolises the beginning of the divine safekeeping of Mecca.
The two centuries preceding Islam experienced a stabilisation of a sedentary society and increased sophistication in terms of trade and social structures, especially in Mecca. However, the nomadic tribes remained largely excluded from these developments and pursued their own rather unsuccessful attempts to refrain from states of anarchy and poverty. Such attempts at political experimentation were a result of an increase in the number and intensity of ghazw45 and anarchy. The reasons for such an increase in disputes are usually put down to the factors of population growth and a decline in the peninsular powers, such as Yemen, to act as mediators.
One such interesting attempt at social stability was the establishment of a ‘monarchy’ amongst the Kinda tribes in Najd during the middle of the fifth century CE. Kinda is the first record of a properly Bedouin ‘monarchy’ and is a unique attempt at a centralised nomadic society. It is interesting to consider why such a model was felt necessary and also why it ultimately failed after less than a century. Whereas Mecca engaged in economic alliances, called ilaf,46 the chief of the Kinda tribe, backed by the Yemenite monarch, formed specifically political alliances. The Kinda ‘king’, Akel al-Murar, attempted to build up a sedentary structure whereby subjugated tribes paid a tax, although the initial function of the ‘king’, or sheikh, was to act as an arbiter in disputes, maintaining relative order amongst the tribes. However, its failure can be based on a number of factors. First, although the intention of the sheikh was to act as a respected arbiter, it was evident that the fiercely independent tribes would not give respect automatically and, also, their egalitarian nature resisted what was turning from a position of arbiter into a hierarchical monarchical system. In addition, a purely political alliance was not strong enough to be maintained unless it also had a strong economic base. Undoubtedly, Muhammad's interest in conquering Mecca was not purely from a spiritual point of view, but the importance in terms of its accumulated wealth and trade network. Taxation, in itself, is not enough to maintain alliances amongst tribes that would not only resent being taxed, but in most cases, were unfamiliar with the accounting complexities of such a system.
It is significant that Akel al-Murar's successor, ‘Amru al-Maqsur, adopted the title ‘Sayyed [chief] of Kinda’, in the same way Muhammad avoided any links with monarchical systems of the time. Nonetheless, al-Maqsur did attempt to consolidate rule through marriages into the royal houses of, for example, Yemen. Under the third chief al- Harith, however, he expanded territory and continued to impose an alien kingly model upon an essentially Bedouin system, which included, amongst other things, the establishment of a standing army and further regulation of a taxation system. The collapse of the kingly system, though in some measure due to the change in political circumstances of external forces, such as the decline in power of Yemen and the withdrawal of support of Persia, must also be attributed to the imposition of an alien kingly system upon nomadic dynamics. Any attempts to maintain a monarchical system resulted in the killing of the chiefs, and the tribes returned to their old ways. This kingdom is important in terms of Islam as it indicates the fierce independence of the tribes and their reluctance to submit to any kind of hierarchal authority unless the leader has sufficient charisma to command respect, as indicated by the attempt of the tribes to also return to their old ways and rebellion—the hurub al-riddah—with the death of Muhammad.
Whereas Mecca developed economically and culturally to resemble more the typical cosmopolitan cities of, for example, the Roman and Sassanian empires, the nomadic tribes deteriorated into increasing ghazwas and loss of self-identity. Reading the poetry of the period47 immediately preceding Islam provides a picture of the Bedouin resorting to idealising their lives to contrast it with the life of the Meccan. The nomad, even if suffering from greater poverty and war than before, still maintains self-respect, honour and asabiyah, as opposed to the Meccan whose only concern is with material things and who does not look after his or her relatives. Mecca, for its part, saw the nomad as in a state of Jahiliyya, of ignorance and chaos. Yet the Bedouin had a point in its reference to Meccans as lacking asabiyah, a point that Muhammad himself was only too aware of. Mecca lacked any kind of ‘finished product’ in terms of ideology, with its mixture of Hanif-ism, paganism, and the monotheistic religions. The question has often arisen as to why Mecca did not adopt one of the already existing monotheistic religious traditions and the answer is usually given that this is against the whole independent nature of the Arabs: why should they adopt the religion of a foreign culture? This may well be an important reason. However, the point should also be made that it is often assumed here that the monotheistic religions were, at this time, ‘finished products’ themselves. Given the countless studies of how religion is affected by its environment, there is every reason to suppose that the Christianity and Judaism available in Mecca would not come across as enclosed, exclusive, established ideologies existing within separate realms.
The generally accepted view is that Islam, at least as we would recognise it today, took some 200 years to get to that stage. Yet the speed at which the new religion was able to establish itself is quite remarkable, if not unique, in history. To achieve this, it must have had a relatively strong ideological base. Paganism, though widespread in Arabia, was not 'strong’ in the sense that it had a coherent set of beliefs and practices and a deep impression upon the Arabian mind that made their idols as ‘other’ as the monotheistic God. In fact, it was not unknown for ‘worshippers’ to curse their idols and ignore their guidance if they disagreed with it.48 Idols were not considered to be role models or guides for life, or even to be particularly virtuous or reliable. What was more important was ‘sunna’, the collective memories of past tradition. This intensity of the past is what also continued to exist in Mecca, and, of course, what was so strongly emphasised by Muhammad. And so, an essential element of Islam, of its 'soul’, is the fact that it incorporates the collective memory of the Arab people, of its concept of asabiyah especially.
What unity that existed amongst the Arab people rested primarily within the trade cycle, rather than any political, cultural or ideological ethos. The Bedouin, for much of the year, lived in relative isolation from each other, which only heightened the socio- political importance of Mecca as a central focus for Bedouin identity, as a stable house amongst what was otherwise an environment of flux and uncertainty. Pilgrimage, as a periodic voyage towards sacred objects, the tribal idols, was an important ritual. The result is a dialectic of local spiritual autonomy coupled with reference to a holy centre, giving Mecca a spiritual centrality. Mecca, as a spiritual centre, would do well to promote itself as a holy centre in terms of its main basis for wealth, which was trade.
For Mecca to acquire a central status it had to conceive of itself as the home of a transcendental power greater than that of the tribal idols. The Bedouin pilgrimage to the Meccan haram was not because of the haram itself, but the idols that it held. In this respect, despite Mecca's importance as a centre of stability, it acted as little more than a cosy hotel for idols. However, there are references in pre-Islamic literature to ‘Allah’, a God that traces its origins to the very early days of Mecca, even before the Quraysh.49 The Bedouin ritual and belief system should not, therefore, be seen as alien to monotheistic Islam; rather, such writers as Kister50 suggest that Islam was grounded more in Jahiliyya than in Jewish or Christian traditions.
The extent to which it can be shown that paganism played an important part in the development of Islam is beyond the scope of this book. However, the recognition that there is a monotheistic element to pagan ritual should not go without a mention. Muslim ‘apologists’ frequently make reference to Islam's Judaeo-Christian heritage in a bid to link their religion with the inherited ideals of Western belief whilst attempting to make a sharp contrast with Jahiliyya. However, this ignores features that already existed that were not Judaeo-Christian in nature. For example, Kister51 refers to the talbiyat (responses to divine calling), which were uttered during the pilgrimage to Mecca. According to Kister, there were around two dozen different talbiyat that circulated amongst the tribes. These talbiyat do stress tribal identity in their compilations, but also simultaneously affirm a belief in a supreme God. God occupied a higher realm within a henotheistic hierarchy, but was not a product of abstract modal metaphysics; rather He represented a 'supra-idol’ that held court in the kingdom of Mecca. However, such a conception of God (a conception, evidenced from the Satanic verses, that Muhammad himself was under some pressure to accept) would always be susceptible to competition from other gods, and even for tribes to house the haram in their territories under their own god. What was needed was for Allah, the God of Mecca, to be elevated to a God that was universal and to be worshipped by all, while maintaining Mecca as the holy centre.
As already noted, the increasing complexity of trade that existed in the time of Muhammad—no longer simply buying and selling, but borrowing, insuring and valuation—made the need for a high God all the more urgent, given the lack of a strong state apparatus to regulate affairs. It is not an arbitrary act that commercial agreements are, and have been since the beginning of Islam, opened with the statement ‘In your name, our Allah’, thus presenting Allah as the regulating authority. The term ‘Islam’ is conventionally translated as ‘submission’, 'surrender’ or ‘resignation’ (to Allah). However, according to one thesis,52 it can also be rendered as ‘defiance of death’. This is significant in that it suggests that Islam presented a very early eschatology that this life is not all that there is. If life is not exclusively earthly, then justice can be meted out in the next life. In this sense, being bound by the will of Allah insured that followers would abide by their commercial contracts, or suffer the consequences in the next life.
The promotion of a belief in the next life has its obvious Marxist interpretation. The Bedouin, as they entered the city of Mecca as it developed in wealth, would have grown increasingly aware of the difference in their status. Such stark contrasts in wealth and position could have had serious revolutionary consequences if a belief in divine justice had not been encouraged. The concept of resurrection allowed for recompense for those who perceived themselves as denied in comparison with the Meccans. Hence, the concept of the perfect Islamic state imposes itself upon the empirical state as that which is contrasted with the hierarchical and social view of resurrection. In this way, Islam can maintain the status quo with the promise of reward in the hereafter and would fall under the Nietzschean attack levelled against Christianity. However, this is not the true soul of Islam, but a false God.