Heresy and the Formation of Medieval Islamic

Orthodoxy

Between the eighth and eleventh centuries, many defining features of

classical Sunni Islam began to take shape. Among these was the forma-
tion of medieval Sunnism around the belief in the unimpeachable
orthodoxy of four eponymous founders and their schools of law. In this
original study, Ahmad Khan explores the history and cultural memory of
one of these eponymous founders, Abū Hanı̄ fa. Showing how Abū Hanı̄ fa
evolved from being the object of intense˙ religious exclusion to a pillar
˙ of
Sunni orthodoxy, Khan examines the concepts of orthodoxy and heresy,
and outlines their changing meanings over the course of four centuries.
He demonstrates that orthodoxy and heresy were neither fixed theological
categories nor pious fictions, but instead were impacted by everything
from law and politics to society and culture. This book illuminates the
significant yet often neglected transformations in Islamic social, political,
and religious thought during this vibrant period.

Ahmad Khan is Assistant Professor of Islamic Studies at the American

University in Cairo. He previously held positions at Oxford and
Hamburg Universities and was the Arcapita Visiting Professor at
Columbia University in New York. His publications include
Reclaiming Islamic Tradition: Modern Interpretations of the Classical
Heritage (2016). His research focuses on Islamic thought and history
in the pre-modern and modern periods.
Heresy and the Formation
of Medieval Islamic Orthodoxy
The Making of Sunnism, from the Eighth
to the Eleventh Centuries

Ahmad Khan
American University in Cairo
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DOI: 10.1017/9781009093033
© Ahmad Khan 2023
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions
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place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press & Assessment.
First published 2023
A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Khan, Ahmad (Lecturer in Islamic studies), author.
Title: Heresy and the formation of medieval Islamic orthodoxy : the making of
Sunnism, from the Eighth to the Eleventh Century / Ahmad Khan.
Description: 1. | New York : Cambridge University Press, 2022. | Includes
bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2022026169 | ISBN 9781009098373 (hardback) | ISBN
9781009096249 (paperback) | ISBN 9781009093033 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Hanafites – History. | Sunna – History – To 1500. | Islamic
heresies – History – To 1500. | Islam – History – To 1500.
Classification: LCC BP166.14.H2 K435 2022 | DDC 297.09/02–dc23/eng/
20220622
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022026169
ISBN 978-1-009-09837-3 Hardback
Cambridge University Press & Assessment has no responsibility for the persistence
or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this
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remain, accurate or appropriate.
Fā ’idat al-tā rı̄ kh . . . fa minhā anna al-ʿā qil al-labı̄ b idhā tafakkara fı̄ hā wa ra’ā
taqallub al-dunyā bi ahā lı̄ hā wa tatā baʿ nakabā tihā ilā aʿyā n qā tinı̄ hā wa
annahā salabat nufū sahum wa dhakhā ’irahum wa aʿdamat asā ghirahum ˙ wa
˙
akā birahum fa lam tubqi ʿalā jalı̄ l wa lā al-haqı̄ r wa lam yaslam min nakdihā
ghanı̄ wa lā faqı̄ r zahida fı̄ hā wa aʿrada ʿanhā ˙ wa aqbala ʿalā al-tazawwud li
˙
al-ā khira minhā wa raghiba fı̄ dā r tanazzahat ʿan hā dhihi al-khasā ’is wa
salima ahluhā min hā dhihi al-naqā ’is wa laʿalla qā ’il yaqū l mā narā ˙ ˙nā zir
fı̄ hā zahida fı̄ al-dunyā wa aqbala ʿalā al-ā khira wa raghiba fı̄ darajā tihā ˙al-
˙
ʿulyā al-fā khira fa yā layta shaʿrı̄ kam ra’ā hā dhā al-qā ’il qā ri’ al-Qur’ā n al-
ʿAzı̄ z alladhı̄ huwa sayyid al-mawā ’iz wa afsah al-kalā m yatlub bihi al-yası̄ r
min hā dhā al-hutā m fa inna al-qulū b˙mū laʿ bi ˙ h˙ ubb al-ʿā jil. ˙
˙ ˙ ˙
al-Sakhā wı̄ , al-Iʿlā n bi al-tawbı̄ kh li-man
dhamma ahl al-tā rı̄ kh.

L’histoire est anecdotique.

Paul Veyne, Comment écrit l’histoire.

Lā siyyamā madhhab al-Imā m al-Aʿzam Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa . . . wujū h istinbā tihi min
al-Kitā b wa al-sunna tadiqqu ʿan ghā˙lib al-ʿuqū˙ l fa lā yakā du yattaliʿu˙ʿalayhā
illā ashā b al-kashf. ˙˙
˙˙
al-Shaʿrā nı̄ , Muqaddima fı̄ dhamm al-ra’y wa bayā n
tabarrı̄ al-a’imma al-mujtahidı̄ n minhu.
 Contents

List of Figures and Tables page viii

Preface ix
Acknowledgements xii
Notes on the Text xv

Part I History of Orthodoxy 1

1 Introduction 3
2 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850) 20
3 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950) 38

Part II Heresy and Society 113

4 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy 117
5 Ethnogenesis and Heresy 153
6 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy 184
7 Religion and Society 206

Part III Unmaking Heresy: Orthodoxy as History Writing 261

8 Manā qib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I 263
9 Masā nı̄ d: Narratives of Orthodoxy II 313

Part IV The Formation of Classical Sunnism 327

10 Consensus and Heresy 329
11 Conclusion 349

Bibliography 365
Index 413

vii
 Figures and Tables

Figures
3.1 Discourses of heresy in Kitā b al-Sunna page 97

Tables
1.1 Evolving terminology of Sunnism 16
8.1 Overview of tabaqā t section within Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m
˙ ā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa
al-Saʿdı̄ ’s Fad 281
˙ ˙
8.2 The occurrence of tabaqā t sections within Ibn Abı̄
˙
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa 282
˙ ˙

viii
 Preface

This monograph tells the story of how orthodoxy and heresy evolved
alongside one another in a rich medieval religious tradition. It explores
how discourses of heresy shaped in fundamental ways the development of
orthodoxy in medieval Islamicate societies. In the following pages
I examine this religious tradition during what may be considered its
most diverse and unpredictable age, the eighth–eleventh centuries. It
was during these exciting centuries that many defining features of clas-
sical Sunni Islam began to take shape. Among these, the formation of
medieval Sunnism around a conviction concerning the unimpeachable
orthodoxy of four eponymous founders and their subsequent schools of
law must be regarded as one of the lasting achievements and legacies of
Sunnism.
By the eleventh century, Abū Hanı̄ fa, Mā lik b. Anas, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , and
˙
Ahmad b. Hanbal were regarded as representatives par excellence of
˙ ˙
medieval Sunni orthodoxy. The legal schools that coalesced around
them became markers of medieval Sunni orthodoxy, and they spawned
a religious tradition that is paralleled in its relevance and longevity
throughout Islamic history perhaps only by Sufism. The consensus that
classical Sunni Islam was synonymous with the orthodox character of
these four eponyms and schools of law was the cornerstone of medieval
Sunnism’s homeostatic structure that came to define and regulate inter-
actions between diverse groups and movements in the post-formative
period of Islamic history. This catholic character of medieval Sunnism
was remarkable for its ability to have endured earlier periods of schism,
factionalism, anathematisation, and deep communal fissures. We will see
that orthodoxy and heresy in the eighth–eleventh centuries are best
understood as processes; that is, shifting strategies of denunciation and
approval which can elucidate how centuries of conflict and hostility
evolved into a stable regime of consensus and negotiation.
Precisely how medieval Sunnism reached this accommodation is no
simple story. Its very success demands that as historians we not only
acknowledge its formation but seek to explain it and study its aetiology,

ix
x Preface

without resorting to whiggish tendencies that lead us to describe such

consequential developments in the history of medieval Sunni orthodoxy
and heresy as inevitable. This book examines the evolution of discourses
of heresy and orthodoxy between the late eighth and eleventh centuries to
explain how, when, and why classical Sunnism formed around this
diverse conception of orthodoxy. It contends that the evolution of heresy
and orthodoxy in medieval Islamic history is a complex phenomenon, but
that its epochal stages can be made intelligible through a combination of
new methodological approaches and by working with a diverse range of
primary sources.
This study argues that discourses of orthodoxy and heresy surrounding
Abū Hanı̄ fa (d. 150/767) provide us with original and important insights into
˙
the fluid formation of medieval Sunnism between the eighth and eleventh
centuries, thereby furnishing considerable documentation for the complex
evolution of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam. Contestations over the
orthodoxy of Abū Hanı̄ fa provide the basis for a new account of medieval
˙
Sunnism’s formation. The primary objective of this work is to document
these two processes – the construction of discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa and his rehabilitation and subsequent apotheosis as an unrivalled
˙
representative of medieval Sunni orthodoxy – during the late eighth and
eleventh centuries. This investigation of discourses of orthodoxy and heresy,
I argue, provides a new window onto the fluid formation of proto-Sunni
orthodoxy. We learn how medieval scholars and textual communities were
engaged in constant and rapid efforts to develop an indigenous apparatus
through which consensuses could be reached about orthodoxy and heresy;
how orthodoxy was not a later ‘communal fiction’ but entailed stages and
processes that can be identified and were identified by medieval Muslims.
Above all, we gain an insight into how a formidable medieval society and
religion negotiated conflict and disagreement without giving birth to
a widespread culture of imperial councils, inquisitors, and persecutions.
This book is divided into four parts. Part I provides an introduction to
the categories of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam. Here, I outline
a new approach in the field of Islamic studies and history towards under-
standing the role of discourses of heresy in the formation of medieval
Sunnism. In the same section I write the mnemohistory of discourses of
heresy around Abū Hanı̄ fa, which aims to identify the central agents of
˙
proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy. Part II contains a detailed analysis
of how the discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa was framed in the
˙
context of religion, society, and politics in the late eighth and ninth
centuries. Part III explains the processes through which Abū Hanı̄ fa was
˙
defended against various charges of heresy, focusing on the functions of
historical writing and memory towards rehabilitating him. Here,
 Preface xi

I contend that the late ninth–tenth centuries marked a turning point in the
history of Sunnism with the rise of new forms of writing dedicated to
establishing Sunni orthodoxy. Part IV explains how the rehabilitation of
Abū Hanı̄ fa was a crucial factor in the great convergence in the eleventh
˙
century that, despite dissenting views, consolidated medieval Sunnism’s
ecumenical character. The final chapter summarises the main conclu-
sions of this study and places them in the context of broader discussions
about heresy and orthodoxy in the Islamic world and beyond.
 Acknowledgements

I should like to record my academic debt to Christopher Melchert. His

supervision, unwavering support, and guidance have been instrumental
to my training and career as an academic. Nicolai Sinai and Rob Gleave
deserve special mention, too, for reading and commenting on an earlier
draft of the entire manuscript. Their suggestions and criticisms were
invaluable. The following friends and colleagues read or discussed vari-
ous parts of this work with me, and I thank them all for their time and
support: Talal Al-Azem, Jack Brown, Peter Brown, Michael Cook,
Patricia Crone, Maribel Fierro, Andreas Görke, Wael Hallaq, Stefan
Heidemann, Robert Hoyland, Christian Lange, Wilferd Madelung,
Andrew Marsham, Hossein Modarresi, Harry Munt, Andrew Newman,
Jürgen Paul, Judith Pfeiffer, Wadad Al-Qadi, Chase Robinson, Ahmed El
Shamsy, Mathieu Tillier, Luke Treadwell, and Walter Young. Two
anonymous reviewers provided exacting and detailed comments on an
earlier version of this monograph, and I thank them for their gracious time
and expertise. Wa mā kā na min khata’ wa tahrı̄ f fa huwa minnı̄ .
˙ ˙
I revisited some of the primary source material upon which this book is
based during a graduate seminar on heresy and orthodoxy at the
American University in Cairo. I should like to thank my exceptional
graduate students at AUC for their contributions during these insightful
seminars: Luke Barber, Mariam Ghorab, Yussif Khalifa, Menna Rashad,
and Yasmin al-Wardany.
My own teacher, Christopher Melchert, has always impressed upon me
the awareness that as scholars we are steeped in a long scholarly tradition,
and that very often we owe more to our predecessors and contemporary
peers than we sometimes care to admit. I should like to emphasise my
debt and gratitude to scholars, past and present, whose writings I engage
with throughout this monograph. Finally, I should like to record my debt
to scholars and philologists who have been engaged in the thankless task
of discovering, collecting, and editing manuscripts. From nineteenth-
and twentieth-century Orientalists in Europe and America to editors in
the Middle East, Iran, and the Indian subcontinent, our craft would be
xii
 Acknowledgements xiii

much impoverished were it not for their painstaking editorial efforts.

I need not say anything further about them here since some time ago
I decided that the best way to show my gratitude to them was to devote
a scholarly study to their craft. Work on this has already begun, and I hope
to return to it in the future.
My graduate study was made possible through the financial support of
a number of institutions. First and foremost, I must thank the University
of Oxford, Faculty of Oriental Studies for awarding me the three-year
Sheikh Zayed graduate scholarship. Without this I might not have
returned to an academic career. The British Institute of Persian Studies
(BIPS) and the British Institute in Amman (BIA) provided additional
funding for research abroad. Pembroke College supported me with
a number of scholarships and prizes over the five years I was a member
there. I am grateful to them for their constant support during my studies
at Oxford, particularly to Josie Cobb and Alison Franklin. I should also
like to thank the staff of the Oriental Institute, particularly Gemma
Forster and Priscilla Lange, for being so very understanding and helpful.
The librarians of the Oriental Institute (Oxford), Pembroke College
(Oxford), Bodleian (Oxford), Firestone Library (Princeton), British
Library (London), Chester Beatty (Dublin, Dr Frances Narkiewicz),
Staatsbibliothek (Berlin), Dā r al-Kutub (Cairo), National Library
(Tehran), Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif-i Buzurg-i Islā mı̄ (Tehran), and the
Staatsbibliothek and Asien Afrika Institut libraries (Hamburg) were all
exemplary in their professionalism and kindness. This book would have
looked very bare were it not for the generosity and knowledge of these
librarians. I am particularly grateful to James Weinberger who guided my
research at the Firestone Library in Princeton. Time and time again,
I found everything I needed (and much more) at the Firestone Library.
Additionally, I am indebted to those editors of pre-modern texts who
ensured that their indices were comprehensive and reliable.
I should like to single out the invaluable technical assistance I received
from my friend Kevin. Just as I was ready to submit my manuscript, my
computer and the software I used to write this study failed me. I lost
a substantial amount of my data and was unable to access the program
with which I wrote this book. Kevin, a man with the patience of Job,
intervened and spent hours upon hours trying to rectify the situation. I do
not know what I would have done without his generous help and
expertise.
I thank the Gang for having taken me under their gracious (and bois-
terous) wings: yā lahu min ka’sin wa yā lahā min khamratin.
I will never be able to record on paper my gratitude to my parents. They
have done everything and more for my siblings and me. Both my mother
xiv Acknowledgements

and father have influenced me in ways I cannot possibly describe, but I am

forever grateful to them for encouraging me to study history and not law,
though I now recognise I am doing both. I would like to thank my paternal
grandparents, for both of whom Islamic history was a very dear subject.
I regard them as my first teachers. I should like to thank the Orchards, my
maternal grandmother, and my three siblings and their families, espe-
cially Adam, for their cheerful company. I owe my elder brother an
important debt, both metaphorically and literally. Somehow, I got him
to agree to bring me back multi-volume editions of medieval texts from
his work trips to Cairo and Amman, and all the whilst he refused to let me
reimburse him. Finally, I cannot begin to express my gratitude to my wife
and children. I shall be thanking them for the rest of my life.
 Notes on the Text

This monograph adopts the Library of Congress’s transliteration system

for Arabic and Persian, though specialists should note that there are
occasional deviations. For example, I do not distinguish between the alif
and alif maqsū ra. The tā ’ al-marbū ta is not indicated except in idā fa
˙ ˙ ˙
constructions, where it is indicated with a t. The affixed masculine pro-
noun, which is lengthened in pronunciation if it follows a short vowel,
shortened if it follows a long vowel, and marked in modern prints of the
Quran by a small wā w, is not transliterated: so, rasū luhu and not rasū luhū ;
fı̄ hi and not fı̄ hı̄ . The hamzat al-wasl is not distinguished by an apostrophe.
˙
Arabic, Persian, and Urdu are transliterated according to similar rules,
save that wā w is represented by w in Arabic and v in Persian (and Urdu).
In transliterating Arabic, I use hyphens only for the definite article (al-)
and not for conjunctions or prepositions (wa, li, bi). Were I now to rewrite
this entire study, my transliteration style would show greater respect to
Classical Arabic pronunciation: in particular, ah and not a for tā ’ al-
marbū ta; and distinguishing assimilated sun letters.
˙
Major place names are not transliterated and are given in their
Anglicised forms (e.g., Medina for Madina). They are transliterated
when they appear in Arabic or Persian passages. Lesser-known towns
and places are transliterated. All dynastic names are transliterated too.
Transliterated words are italicised, except for proper nouns and words
that appear in good English dictionaries (e.g., hadı̄ th not hadı̄ th; qadi not
qā dı̄ , except when it appears with a name or in ˙ a primary˙ source; Sunni
˙
and not Sunnı̄ , etc.). For pointing names, I have usually relied on the
expertise of Ibn Hajar and Ibn Mā kū lā and, failing them, Fuat Sezgin.
˙
Where there are serious disputes I have tried to indicate them in the
footnotes.
In passages that I have translated from Arabic and Persian, I have
endeavoured to provide (as and when I have deemed it necessary and
feasible) the corresponding original passages in the main text or in the
footnotes. I consider this important because it allows the reader to under-
stand and determine for him/herself the nature of my reasoning and
interpretation. It also preserves, in my view, the integrity of the original

xv
xvi Notes on the Text

text. Readers can see what the author of these passages was attempting to
convey as well as my claims to understand their words. It is also on
account of the text’s integrity that I have translated all aspects of the
passages I quote. Any and all invocations, salutations, honorific phrases,
or curses have been rendered into English, as and when they occur in
a given passage. I must confess my dissatisfaction with my translations of
invocations and salutations, which are challenging to convey in English.
This monograph is the product of research and writing conducted in
Princeton, Germany, Oxford, the British Library, Tehran, and Cairo. At
different institutions I had access to particular editions of medieval texts.
I have endeavoured to use scholarly editions of primary sources, but
I have also checked these against other editions. This may strike some
readers as pedantic. However, different editions of one text often rely on
different manuscripts. Checking editions against one another goes a very
small way towards dealing with the fluidity that marked the pre-modern
manuscript tradition. Furthermore, I have checked editions against the
original manuscripts where I have had access to them. I have provided
corresponding references in alternative editions of the same work to
which I had access for the facility of readers. Not all scholars have access
to the kinds of resources provided by the Firestone Library, the Bodleian,
and the British Library. I hope this convention will make it easier for
scholars to study my references for themselves.
In writing this book, I have observed the stylistic conventions set out in
The Chicago Manual of Style (16th edn.). All dates are given first according to
the Hijri calendar, then according to the Gregorian; however, centuries are
given only in the Common Era (e.g., the ninth century). Quranic citations
are to the 1924 Egyptian edition based on the recension of Hafs from ʿĀ sim.
˙ ˙ ˙
In citing works in the footnotes, certain journal titles and reference
works have been abbreviated. These are as follows:

BSOAS Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies =

EI2 and EI3 Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd and 3rd editions
GAL Brockelmann, Geschichte der Arabischen Litteratur
GAS Sezgin, Geschichte des Arabischen Schrifttums
IJMES International Journal of Middle East Studies
ILS Islamic Law and Society
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society
JESHO Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JRAS Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society
JSAI Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam
ZDMG Zeitschriften der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft
Part I

History of Orthodoxy
1 Introduction

This monograph tells the story of how orthodoxy and heresy evolved
alongside one another in a rich medieval religious tradition. It explores
how discourses of heresy shaped in fundamental ways the development of
orthodoxy in medieval Islamicate societies. In the following pages
I examine this religious tradition during what to this historian must be
considered its most diverse and unpredictable age, the eighth–eleventh
centuries. It was during these exciting centuries that many defining
features of classical Sunni Islam began to take shape. Among these, the
formation of medieval Sunnism around a conviction concerning the
unimpeachable orthodoxy of four eponymous founders and their subse-
quent schools of law must be regarded as one of the lasting achievements
and legacies of Sunnism. By the eleventh century, Abū Hanı̄ fa, Mā lik
˙
b. Anas, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , and Ahmad b. Hanbal were regarded as representa-
˙ ˙
tives par excellence of medieval Sunni orthodoxy. The legal schools that
coalesced around them became markers of medieval Sunni orthodoxy,
and they spawned a religious tradition that is paralleled in its relevance
and longevity throughout Islamic history perhaps only by Sufism, Islam’s
mystical tradition. The consensus that classical Sunni Islam was syn-
onymous with the orthodox character of these four eponyms and schools
of law was the cornerstone of medieval Sunnism’s homeostatic structure
that came to define and regulate interactions between diverse groups and
movements in the post-formative period of Islamic history. This catholic
character of medieval Sunnism was remarkable for its ability to have
endured earlier periods of schism, factionalism, anathematisation, and
deep communal fissures. We will see that orthodoxy and heresy in the
eighth–eleventh centuries are best understood as processes, which can
elucidate how centuries of conflict and hostility evolved into a stable
regime of consensus and negotiation.
Some scholars of Islam have tended to take for granted the extent of
medieval Sunnism’s accomplishment in regulating orthodoxy and heresy.
As detailed portraits of the social, religious, and political milieu of the
regions of the medieval Islamic world begin to emerge, Islamicists are

3
4 Introduction

becoming more aware of the cacophonous nature of competing religious

movements and trends prior to the eleventh century. The religious, legal,
political, theological, and cultural traditions of the Nile–Oxus region
were marked by a sharp heterogeneity, and each province harboured its
unique medley of religious ideas and practices.1 By the beginning
of the eleventh century the twenty-fifth ʿAbbā sid caliph, al-Qā dir
(r. 381–422/991–1031), had come to recognise that medieval Sunnism
had arrived at some degree of consensus as to what constituted Sunni
orthodoxy: the recognition of four schools of legal orthodoxy, represented
by four eponyms of impeccable Sunni pedigree, was a defining feature of
the religious policies of al-Qā dir’s reign.2 The imperial recognition that
religious orthodoxy was to be anchored in four schools of law marked not
the inception of a new chapter in the formation of medieval Sunnism but
rather an acknowledgement of the success of those religious communities
and scholars who had made critical contributions towards the completion
of this chapter. The state was in the business of following religious trends,
not inaugurating them.3
1
Some sense of the diverse ideas and practices against which medieval Sunnism developed
can be gleaned from the following works: Sadighi, Les mouvements religieux iraniens =
Sadighi, Junbishhā -yi dı̄ nı̄ -yi ı̄ rā nı̄ ; Rekaya, ‘Le Khurram-dı̄ n et les mouvements khurra-
mites sous les ʿAbbā sides’; Tucker, Mahdis and Millenarians; Haider, The Origins of the
Shı̄ ʿa, esp. 189–284; Macuch, ‘Die sasanidische Stiftung “für die Seele”: Vorbild für den
islamischen waqf?’; Macuch, ‘Die sasanidische fromme Stiftung und der islamische waqf:
Eine Gegenuberstellung’; János, ‘The Four Sources of Law in Zoroastrian and Islamic
Jurisprudence’; Jokisch, Islamic Imperial Law; Crone, Roman, Provincial and Islamic Law;
Crone, The Nativist Prophets, 191–371; Cook, ‘Early Muslim Dietary Law’.
2
See Makdisi, Ibn ʿAqı̄ l: Religion and Culture in Classical Islam, 299 ff.; Makdisi, Ibn ʿAqı̄ l et la
résurgence; Makdisi, ‘The Significance of the Sunni Schools of Law’. On the emerging
Sunnism under al-Qā dir see also Glassen, Der mittlere Weg; Makdisi, ‘The Sunni Revival’;
Hanne, Putting the Caliph in his Place, 71–2. It was during the reign of al-Qā dir that
scholars explicitly identified the consolidation of Sunnism with the establishment of four
legal schools of orthodoxy: Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Muʿjam al-udabā ’: Irshā d al-arı̄ b ilā
maʿrifat al-adı̄ b, ed. Ihsā n ʿAbbā s (Beirut: ˙ Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 1993), 5: 1955; see
˙ kā m al-sultā niyya wa al-wilā yā t al-dı̄ niyya, ed. Ahmad Mubā rak al-
both al-Mā wardı̄ , al-Ah
˙
Baghdā dı̄ (Kuwait: Maktaba Dā r ˙Ibn Qutayba, 1989), 132; and al-Mā wardı̄ ˙ , Adab al-qā dı̄ ,
ed. Muhyı̄ Hilā l al-Sarhā n (Baghdad: Matbaʿat al-Irshā d, 1971), 1: 184–88, where ˙
Hanafism ˙ is normalised˙ and interchangeable ˙ with Shā fiʿism. For later declarations of
˙
Sunni orthodoxy corresponding to the four schools of law and their eponymous founders
see Ibn Hubayra, Ikhtilā f al-a’imma wa al-umam, ed. al-Sayyid Yū suf Ahmad (Beirut: Dā r
al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 2002), 2: 395; Ibn Rajab al-Hanbalı̄ , ‘al-Radd˙ ʿalā man ittabaʿa
ghayr al-madhā hib al-arbaʿa’, in Talʿat Fu’ā d al-Hulwa ˙ ̄ nı̄ (ed.), Majmū ʿ rasā ’il al-hā fiz Ibn
Rajab al-Hanbalı̄ (Cairo: al-Fā rū q˙ al-Hadı̄ tha, 2002),
˙ 2: 626; Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , al-Muntaz ˙ ˙am fı̄
˙
tā rı̄ kh al-mulū k wa al-umam, ed. Muh˙ammad ʿAbd al-Qā dir ʿAtā ’ and Mustafā ʿAbd ˙ al-
˙
Qā dir ʿAtā ’ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1992), 18: 31–2.˙ ˙˙
3
This is not ˙ to undermine the impact that imperial measures such as al-Qā dir’s support
for traditionalism and his specific measures for promoting four schools of law would
have had on the social, religious, and political landscape of late ʿAbbā sid society. On
caliphs supporting prevailing religious trends see Melchert, ‘Religious Policies of the
Caliphs’, 342.
 Introduction 5

Precisely how medieval Sunnism reached this accommodation is no

simple story. Its very success demands that as historians we not only
acknowledge its formation but that we seek to explain it and study its
aetiology, without resorting to Whiggish tendencies that lead us to
describe such consequential developments in the history of medieval
Sunni orthodoxy and heresy as inevitable.4 It is against such essentialising
tendencies that this book proposes to write a history of orthodoxy and
heresy in medieval Islam.
This book examines the evolution of discourses of heresy and ortho-
doxy between the late eighth and eleventh centuries to explain how,
when, and why classical Sunnism formed around this diverse conception
of orthodoxy. It contends that the construction and evolution of heresy
and orthodoxy in medieval Islamic history is a complex phenomenon, but
that its epochal stages can be made intelligible through a combination of
new methodological approaches and by working with a diverse range of
primary sources. This study argues that discourses of heresy surrounding
Abū Hanı̄ fa (d. 150/767) provide us with original and important insights
˙
into the fluid formation of medieval Sunnism between the eighth and
tenth centuries, thereby furnishing considerable documentation for
the complex evolution of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam.
Contestations over the orthodoxy of Abū Hanı̄ fa provide the basis for
˙
a new account of medieval Sunnism’s formation.
I draw on the approach of mnemohistory (Gedächtnisgeschichte), a key
historiographical technique developed by Jan Assmann, which reveals
the processes of making Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic among proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalists in the eighth and ninth centuries and unmaking Abū
Hanı̄ fa as a heretic among a more diverse coalition of proto-Sunnis
˙
from the tenth century onwards. Mnemohistory’s central preoccupation
is not with reconstructing the facts, beliefs, and details of historical
persons. Instead, it investigates how the past is remembered.5 In this
sense, this study is not concerned with what Abū Hanı̄ fa and his contem-
˙
poraries in the eighth century did or did not believe. It explores the
mnemohistory of Abū Hanı̄ fa to yield valuable insights into the
˙

4
Examples of studies that gloss over these developments are Watt, The Formative Period of
Islamic Thought, 142–3; Waines, An Introduction to Islam, 66; Brown, A New Introduction to
Islam, 136–7; Weiss, The Spirit of Islamic Law, 9; Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law, 3;
Rippin, Muslims: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices, 91; Bulliet, The Patricians of Nishapur,
35–8. This is in no way to suggest that these studies are incompetent. Scholarship is
constantly evolving, and it is in this spirit that I draw attention to the need for more
comprehensive research on medieval Sunni orthodoxy and heresy.
5
Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 8–17. For more perspectives on mnemohistory see Tamm
(ed.), Afterlife of Events, 1–23, 115–33.
6 Introduction

mechanisms by which the formation of Sunnism was contested and,

gradually, consolidated.
The primary objective of this work is to document these two processes –
the construction of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙
rehabilitation and subsequent apotheosis as an unrivalled representative
of medieval Sunni orthodoxy – during the late eighth and eleventh cen-
turies. This investigation of discourses of heresy, I argue, provides a new
window onto the fluid formation of proto-Sunni orthodoxy. We learn
how medieval scholars and textual communities were engaged in constant
and rapid efforts to develop an indigenous apparatus through which
consensuses could be reached about orthodoxy and heresy; how old
orthodoxies were transformed into new heresies and vice versa. Above
all, we gain an insight into how a formidable medieval society and religion
negotiated conflict and disagreement without giving birth to a widespread
culture of imperial councils, inquisitors, and persecutions.
There is no escaping the fact that this book is preoccupied with some
central concepts in the study of medieval societies and religious history. It
is tempting to set forth a theoretical framework that guides the precise
empirical routes navigated throughout this work, but doing so risks
reducing the study of complicated and unpredictable historical trajector-
ies to the dogmas of medieval religious history and studies. This point is
worth underscoring because one of the central conclusions of this book is
that, in very significant ways, the development of orthodoxy and heresy
in medieval Islamic history does not conform to the existing paradigms
for understanding the formation of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval
religious societies.
This is no excuse to set aside the labour involved in undertaking
comparative and interdisciplinary research. In the appropriate places,
this study explicitly reads the history of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval
Islamic societies against and alongside scholarship in the fields of late
antiquity, religious studies, institutional history, medieval history, and
post-colonial theories of identity and difference. However, interdisciplin-
ary work is valuable only after the philological, historical, and social and
cultural peculiarities of one’s specialist discipline have been documented.
In the words of the greatest (fictional) researcher of our times, ‘It is
a capital mistake to theorise before one has data. Insensibly one begins
to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.’6 In this way,
theory and interdisciplinary methods can inform, rather than be superim-
posed onto, the study of medieval Islamic history and societies. This part
of the Introduction is limited, therefore, to explaining how the book

6
Doyle, Sherlock Holmes, 12.
 Introduction 7

defines terms such as orthodoxy and heresy, whilst later sections of the
book, in particular Chapters 1 and 2, extend these definitions through
a close reading of the primary sources.
The study of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam has yet to develop
into a systematic field of historical inquiry – so much so, in fact, that many
treatments of these subjects in Islam show little engagement with the
primary literature.7 There are four noteworthy approaches in previous
scholarship to deal with these problematic categories for the study of
Islamic history. The first adopts a static, institutional interpretation of
orthodoxy and heresy whose starting point is the obvious observation that
Islam has neither church, councils, nor clergy. According to this view, the
absence of such visible institutional structures vitiates the very value of such
inquiries.8 There is no doubt that the observation is an accurate one. But
the lack of obvious parallel structures should not force us to abandon the
search for similar mechanisms and agents by which orthodoxy and heresy
were negotiated. This monograph argues that such an axiomatic assertion
concerning the institutional apparatus of medieval Christendom and its
absence in the medieval Islamic world cannot be used to dismiss the study
of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam. Such approaches no longer
reflect the level of detail and sophistication now visible in scholarly treat-
ments of orthodoxy and heresy in pre-modern European societies, and they
also fall short in examining how non-European medieval societies devel-
oped indigenous attitudes and apparatuses for regulating their societies.9
Other approaches vacillate between broad conceptual essays on the
subject of categories and detailed studies based on a restricted body of
primary sources. A second approach, for example, proposes erudite but
general assessments of the problems thrown up by the categories of
orthodoxy and heresy. Alexander Knysh proposes sensible caveats to
discussions of orthodoxy and heresy in Islamic history, noting that such
terms should not be used indiscriminately.10 Norman Calder presents
another intelligent essay on the character of orthodoxy in Sunni Islam.
Calder is not concerned with describing how orthodoxy and heresy were
negotiated in the formative period of Islamic history, though he is keen to
underline the importance of intellectual traditions over orthopraxy as
defining the character of Sunni orthodoxy. Calder’s essay presents an
argument for how scholars today should conceive of orthodoxy, and his
proposal is that the literary tradition of Islam, squeezed between the

7
Henderson, The Construction of Orthodoxy and Heresy; Ames, Medieval Heresies.
8
Wilson, ‘The Failure of Nomenclature’.
9
Goldziher, Vorlesungen uber den Islam, 183–4 = Introduction to Islamic Theology and Law,
162–3.
10
Knysh, ‘Orthodoxy and Heresy in Medieval Islam’.
8 Introduction

bookcases of any traditional library, presents a snapshot of the vast

parameters of orthodoxy in Islam.11 In 1953 Bernard Lewis offered
a valuable overview of the semantic field of heresy in Islamic history
but, framing them as no more than observations, Lewis advanced too
many generalisations.12
The third approach places far too much emphasis on (and trust in) the
heresiographical sources to reconstruct how medieval Muslims defined
orthodoxy and heresy. This tendency is apparent in Knysh’s attempt to
locate the sites of orthodoxy. Despite his careful and sophisticated read-
ing of medieval heresiographers such as al-Shahrastā nı̄ (d. 548/1153) and
al-Ashʿarı̄ (d. 324/935–6), Knysh’s article prioritises the heresiographical
(firaq) genre to adumbrate the development of orthodoxy and heresy.13
The focus on heresiography to write the history of orthodoxy and heresy
in medieval Islam is reflected in a number of important studies.14 A fourth
approach views heresy through the lens of political history. In such
studies, heresy and orthodoxy are viewed as mechanisms by which the
state and the caliph regulated the social and religious order of medieval
societies.15 Historians who adopt this view succumb to the seductive
historiographical framework that Peter Brown, in a not too dissimilar
context, has criticised as reflecting an ‘institutionalised egotism’ – the
conviction that real power resided in the emperor and the imperial
apparatus.16 My own study builds on the work of scholars such as
George Makdisi, Christopher Melchert, Maribel Fierro, Muhammad
Qasim Zaman, Eerik Dickinson, Josef van Ess, Wilferd Madelung,
Jonathan Brown, Scott Lucas, Wael Hallaq, and Devin Stewart, all of
whom have advanced the study of medieval Sunnism in significant ways
by detailing its contested history.17

11
Calder, ‘The Limits of Islamic Orthodoxy’.
12
Lewis, ‘Some Observations on the Significance of Heresy’.
13
Knysh, ‘Orthodoxy and Heresy in Medieval Islam’, 50–6.
14
Watt, The Formative Period of Islamic Thought; van Ess, Der Eine und das Andere;
Lewinstein, ‘The Azā riqa in Islamic Heresiography’; Lewinstein, ‘Making and
Unmaking a Sect’; Judd, ‘The Third Fitna’; Laoust, Les schismes dans l’Islam.
15
Judd, ‘The Third Fitna’; Turner, Inquisition in Early Islam; Hawting, ‘The Case of Jaʿd
b. Dirham’; Marsham, ‘Public Execution in the Umayyad Period’.
16
Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity, 9.
17
For their path-breaking work in the study of orthodoxy and the formation of medieval
Sunnism and Shiʿism see Makdisi, ‘Tabaqā t-Biography’; Melchert, The Formation of the
˙
Sunni Schools of Law; Melchert, ‘Traditionist-Jurisprudents’; Stewart, Islamic Legal
Orthodoxy; Madelung, Religious Trends in Early Islamic Iran; Madelung, ‘The Early
Murji’a’. On proto-Sunnism and the hadı̄ th literature see Zaman, Religion and Politics
˙ Development of Early Sunnite Hadı̄ th Criticism;
under the Early ʿAbbā sids; Dickinson, The
˙
Hallaq, Origins and Evolution; Lucas, Constructive Critics; Brown, The Canonization; van
Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft. Maribel Fierro has pioneered the study of heresy and
 Introduction 9

The chief objective of this study is to identify the evolution of

a discourse of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa to demonstrate the epochal
˙
stages and shifts in the formation of Sunni orthodoxy. In contrast with
some of the aforementioned approaches, this study proposes a new frame-
work for the investigation of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islamic
societies. There is a long tradition of describing what orthodoxy is in
medieval Islam through theoretical essays and abstractions.18 These cer-
tainly have their place; but it has been my preference to establish what
orthodoxy and heresy meant in medieval Islam by documenting the
very process of orthodoxy and heresy on the basis of medieval voices.
Nevertheless, our work as historians must be intelligible to colleagues and
readers unfamiliar with the particular details of medieval Islamicate
society. For this reason, it is necessary that I explain how the framework
of orthodoxy and heresy I propose relates to wider scholarship in the
disciplines of medieval history and religious studies.
We should start with Walter Bauer’s radical revisionist thesis published
in 1943, which challenged the conventional ecclesiastical understanding
of early Christian orthodoxy and heresy. In his Rechtgläubigkeit und
Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum Bauer departed from the scholarly consen-
sus that viewed heresies as genuine and concrete social movements which
developed as deviations of earlier orthodox communities. He shifted the
scholarly understanding of heresies away from one that saw in orthodox
representations of heretics and heresies an accurate depiction of deviant

orthodoxy in medieval Andalus: Fierro, La heterodoxia en al-Andalus; Fierro, ‘Heresy in

al-Andalus’; Fierro, ‘Accusations of zandaqa in al-Andalus’; Fierro, ‘Religious
Dissension in al-Andalus’.
18
Asad, The Idea of an Anthropology of Islam; and, more recently, Ahmed, What Is Islam?
270–97; Ahmed, Before Orthodoxy, 3–5. Ahmed has valuable insights about how modern
scholarship accounts for Muslim orthodoxy, and his own interventions are very useful.
However, it is one thing to posit something about medieval orthodoxy or argue about
modern definitions of orthodoxy. It is another thing altogether to document the dynamics
of orthodoxy based on the medieval sources themselves, which is what my study
attempts. On a related note, readers of Ahmed’s What Is Islam?, 113–52, might argue
that my study reinforces a flawed paradigm that sees Islamic law as denoting orthodoxy.
To be clear, my study contends that the schools of law represented one important
dimension of medieval orthodoxy, but by no means the only one. I might have more
sympathy for Ahmed’s argument that madhhab-i ʿishq has been marginal to modern
scholarly conceptions of what was ‘meaningfully Islamic’ to pre-modern Muslims were
it not that his documentation for madhhab-i ʿishq and criticism of ‘legal-supremacist’
Islam rests on an old canard that sees Law as denoting orthodox Islam and Sufism as
a manifestation of heterodox Islam. It amazes me that a scholar of Ahmed’s analytical
depth and acuteness for Orientalist readings of Islam in many respects attempted to
rehabilitate such a patently flawed hypothesis. What is more, Ahmed marshals figures
such as Saʿdı̄ to buttress this hypothesis, who himself on at least one occasion was
reluctant to distinguish between the two (bar kafı̄ jā m-i sharı̄ ʿat bar kafı̄ sindā n-i ʿishq,
har hawas-nā kı̄ nadā nad jā m va sindā n bā khtan). See Saʿdı̄ , Ghazalı̄ yā t-i Saʿdı̄ , ed. Kā zim
Bargnaysı̄ (Tehran: Fikr-i Ruz, 2002), 728 (ghazal no. 521). ˙
˙
10 Introduction

movements to one that emphasised the processes by which orthodox

communities projected heresies and heretics. In Bauer’s retelling of
early Christian history, major Christian communities in the Roman
provinces practised ‘heretical’ forms of Christianity, whilst orthodoxy
represented a limited and less widespread belief system adopted only by
a particular form of the Church of Rome. That is to say, for Bauer, the
ecclesiastical understanding of heresy as a secondary, deviant and fringe
development was untenable. The historical evidence suggested that eccle-
siastical conceptions of what constituted heresies represented the original
and more diffuse understanding of early Christian belief.19
Bauer’s re-imagining of the landscape of early Christian religious com-
munities brought into sharp relief the problems posed by categories such
as orthodoxy and heresy. There is no doubt that his work infused fresh
doubts into medieval portrayals of heresies and heretics and made the
precarious character of heresy the cornerstone of modern approaches to
orthodoxy and heresy in early and medieval Christianity. Bauer’s impact
on the study of orthodoxy and heresy in late antique and medieval history
has been immense. Yet his forceful dislodging of the Eusebian account of
the origins of orthodoxy and heresy was still burdened by a reification of
these categories nowhere more evident than in his essentialising of heresy
and orthodoxy.
It is here that I adopt a different approach from Bauer’s to the study of
orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam. The spectacular work of Alain
Le Boulluec is hard to imagine without Bauer’s initial foray into the
subject. For our book, the implications of Le Boulluec’s work are far
more promising. Le Boulluec’s two-volume study, La notion d’hérésie dans
la littérature grecque IIe–IIIe siècles, places ‘représentations hérésiologiques’
at the forefront of the study of orthodoxy and heresy in second- and third-
century Greek patristic thought. Le Boulluec’s work inaugurates a shift
away from the value-laden character of much research into heresy and
orthodoxy by revealing the discursive strategies involved in the construc-
tion of heresy by an array of gifted Christian heresiologists. For Le
Boulluec, the writings of early Christian heresiologists such as Justin,
Hegesippus, and Irenaeus reveal the precise strategies and mechanisms
by which a discourse of heresy is constructed, articulated, and targeted at
opponents.20
This last insight is crucial to the argument of this book, though in two
contrasting ways: this monograph posits that heresy in the formative

19
Bauer, Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum = trans. Orthodoxy and Heresy
in Earliest Christianity.
20
Le Boulluec, La notion d’hérésie.
 Introduction 11

centuries of Islam rested on the construction of discourses of heresy.

The closer we examine such discourses, the more they reveal about the
evolving nature of proto-Sunni orthodoxy, the influence of its promulga-
tors, and the shifting fortunes of these discourses. On the other hand,
Le Boulluec makes explicit claims to working within a Foucauldian
framework in which notions of discourse acquire centre stage. But, for
Foucault, one of the elementary requirements of identifying discourses
was to read everything.21 Had he any idea of the quantity of primary
sources in Arabic and Persian, to say nothing of other Islamicate
languages such as Ottoman Turkish, I am certain he would have exercised
some flexibility in his formulation.22 To be very clear, I lay no claim to
having read everything. Nevertheless, I agree with the main thrust of
Foucault’s argument, which I interpret to be his concern that scholars
would claim to locate discourses that in actual fact were visible in one
genre only.23 By placing discourses and not institutions at the centre of
the study of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam, I am arguing that the
power to assert and establish narratives of orthodoxy or heresy depended
on the construction of texts and textual communities. Books do not exist
by their own powers. They represent existing and well-established
networks and systems of references.24 They are part of a discursive
field, and deploying this Foucauldian analysis provides new insights
into the actual work (and agents) of orthodoxy. We should remind
ourselves, if only because the term ‘discourse’ has often been stripped of
its original Foucauldian meaning, that Foucault defined discourse in the
following way: ‘Whenever one can describe, between a number of state-
ments, concepts and thematic choices, one can define a regularity, we will
say, for the sake of convenience, that we are dealing with a discursive
formulation.’25
Discourses of heresy surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa in a wide range of texts
˙
and through mechanisms, strategies, and thematic choices that reoccur
frequently signal a discursive formation that defined proto-Sunni trad-
itionalist conceptions of orthodoxy. Studying the emergence of these
discourses furnishes key insights into the formation of proto-Sunni trad-
itionalist orthodoxy and its evolving hegemonic constellations. Perhaps
more significantly, the failure to sustain discourses of heresy concerning

21
Foucault, Aesthetics, 262–3, 303; Foucault, Ethics, 486.
22
Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge, 146, where Foucault expresses the difficulty in
describing all of a society’s archive.
23
Foucault, Aesthetics, 303.
24
Foucault, Aesthetics, 304; Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge, 26.
25
Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge, 41.
12 Introduction

Abū Hanı̄ fa as part of proto-Sunni traditionalism’s vision of orthodoxy

˙
allows us to pursue the fascinating story of the failures and successes that
shaped the evolution of proto-Sunnism. Finally, a primary advantage is
gained by studying discourses of heresy and orthodoxy for its ability to
orient scholars towards how and to what end such discursive positions
are distributed. In this formulation, heresy and orthodoxy in the forma-
tive period of Islamic history are studied as shifting strategies of denunci-
ation and approval. They are not seen as insuperable, hierarchical
impositions on matters of doctrine and ritual. They do not function
only in historical contexts that presume an ecclesiastical culture of coun-
cils, creeds, and inquisitions. Rather, discourses of heresy and orthodoxy
appear to depend heavily on a combination of political life, social imagin-
aries (mentalités), ethno-racial identities, and religious ideas. In this study,
therefore, I posit heresy not as a legal or theological category but as
a process.
Based on a wider set of sources, one of the main contentions of this
monograph is that discourses of heresy and orthodoxy should not be
viewed through the prism of doxa and praxis alone. Discourses of heresy
went far beyond this. They operated in the three quintessential spheres of
medieval Islamic societies: religion, politics, and society. Also central to
my argument about how discourses of orthodoxy and heresy functioned
in medieval Islam is to posit orthodoxy at the end rather than the begin-
ning of the process of community identity and formation. This allows us
to identify local and temporal variations across the late eighth and elev-
enth centuries. Orthodoxy thus defines a temporary preponderance of
significant and persistent views claiming to be representative. This power
of consensus enables groups and movements to articulate and dissemin-
ate discourses of heresy. In turn, this gives birth to a discursive formation
of terms, semantic fields, concepts, and attitudes that seek to identify
and isolate heretics. Daniel Boyarin saw in discourses of orthodoxy and
heresy in the second and third centuries a crucial site for excavating
a genealogy of Judaism and Christianity in late antiquity. Boyarin, like
Le Boulluec and other Islamicists, ascribes exceptional agency to here-
siologists of the second century. The idea of orthodoxy, Boyarin argues,
owes its origins to a group of Christian writers who compose heresiolo-
gies, which inscribe border lines, regulate, police, inspect, and enforce
them. The consolidation of this discourse on boundaries, once adopted
by any two groups, resulted in the establishment of palpable confessional
identities and boundaries, the crossing of which signalled a move from
one group to another. As anathematisers of heretics and heresies
grew, those who were inside and those who were outside became clearly
identified. For Boyarin, the very function of heresiology, therefore, was
 Introduction 13

Christian identity.26 My own formulation is not nearly as dramatic as

Boyarin’s. However, the regularity of discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa, their system of dispersion, their common themes and statements
˙
denote the discursive formation of heresy. Above all, they help historians
to catalogue the history of community formation and communal identity.
This is one of the chief points of departure between Le Boulluec’s work
and mine. Where heresiological texts form the basis of Le Boulluec’s
analysis of how orthodoxy and heresy are constructed, this study is
more circumspect about the value of heresiographical sources for shed-
ding light on when, how, and why orthodoxy and heresy evolved in the
formation of medieval Sunnism. This, in fact, represents what I consider
to be a weakness not just in Le Boulluec’s approach but in the work of
exceptional Islamicists who depend so heavily on the heresiographical
genre in pursuit of studying orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam.
If our aim as historians is to reformulate conventional medieval
accounts of documented heresies and orthodoxies, the heresiographical
literature is likely to serve as our best guide. This is not my objective. The
confessional demands of the genre are so explicit as to render them almost
futile, except in a few specific cases, for historians seeking to locate subtle
shifts and evolutions across the late eighth to eleventh centuries. They are
valuable for their insights into how Sunni orthodoxy projected itself and
reimagined its past from the tenth century onwards: in these works we are
provided with a highly schematised narrative designed to adumbrate and
organise a very complex history of social and religious movements into
distinct typologies and tidy historical origins. This form of confessional
narrative has been described by John Wansbrough as a procedure that
historicised dogma:27
Fundamental to the documentation of confessional identity was selection of
appropriate insignia from the monotheist compendium of symbols, topoi, and
theologoumena. What could be called the ‘sectarian syndrome’ exhibits a lingua
franca composed of such elements, whose sole condition of employment is
adaptability. These may be adduced as nomenclature (tags, eponyms, toponyms),
as emblems (initiation rites, ritual acts), as creeds (membership rules), as catech-
isms (dogmatic formulae) and correspond functionally to the several stages of
confessional elaboration.

Wansbrough’s analysis reminds us of the pitfalls historians face if they

limit themselves to, or depend too heavily upon, the heresiographical

26
Boyarin, Border Lines.
27
Wansbrough, The Sectarian Milieu, 99–100. In fact, ch. 3 of The Sectarian Milieu is
inspired by Bauer’s work on heresy and orthodoxy in early Christianity. The fate of
Wansbrough’s book is that it is a study often cited but seldom engaged with.
14 Introduction

genre for the work of historical reconstruction, for the latter is concerned
with delineating change over time. This study does not jettison the genre
altogether, but nor does it assign the genre a central place in the reservoir
of primary sources I draw upon. In this sense, I do not adopt the approach
taken by A. H. M. Jones, who notoriously dismissed ecclesiastical or
theological sources as ‘chaff’.28 I use heresiographical works as controls,
indicating in the footnotes curious and relevant sections where these works
shed light on arguments whose substance is found in non-heresiographical
sources.
A study of discourses of heresy surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa has particular
merit because it demonstrates the specific ways in˙ which proto-Sunni
orthodoxy evolved. It is vital, therefore, to clarify and define the terms
I use to describe religious movements between the late eighth and
eleventh centuries. By the beginning of the eleventh century medieval
Sunnism had acquired a fairly stable identity that centred around schools
of law, ideas about theology, mysticism, caliphs, dogmas about the past,
and against other religious groups in Islam (Twelver Shiʿism, Zaydism,
etc.). That we can speak of a stable medieval Sunni orthodoxy is under-
scored by the emerging doctrine that representatives of these schools and
groups might have disagreed with each other but, nevertheless, viewed
such disagreements as legitimate. Following modern scholars, I use the
term proto-Sunni to refer to religious movements prior to medieval
Sunnism, that is to say, between the eighth and tenth centuries. Proto-
Sunni is a large and all-embracing term, however. It can refer to so large
a constitution of Muslims, ideas, and groups that it can become futile in
its heuristic employment.29 For this reason, and to accentuate the exist-
ence of greater variety in the eighth–tenth centuries, I draw attention in
this study to a literate and influential religious elite I term proto-Sunni
traditionalists. There is no pure equivalent designation in the primary
sources for this group, and here I submit my own dissatisfaction with such
an incomplete resolution. The nearest equivalent would be the ashā b al-
˙˙
hadı̄ th, who are frequently referred to in the secondary literature as
˙ 30
traditionalists. My primary discomfort with using the term traditionalist

28
Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 284–602, vi–vii.
29
This is one common criticism of an otherwise impressive account of eighth–ninth-
century religious movements: Zaman, Religion and Politics under the Early ʿAbbā sids.
30
Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 1: 386–92 and a discussion of Hodgson’s ‘hadı̄ th folk’ in
˙
Melchert, ‘The Piety of the Hadith Folk’, 425–7; Fück, ‘Die Rolle des Traditionalismus im
Islam’; Makdisi, ‘Remarks on Traditionalism in Islamic Religious History’; Makdisi,
‘Ashʿarı̄ and the Ashʿarites in Islamic Religious History I’, 49–50 (where we find
a detailed definition of traditionalism, which I adhere to closely; though, the traditional-
ist–rationalist tension is central to Makdisi’s article and subsequent research); Goldziher,
Die Zā hiriten, 3–19 = The Zā hirı̄ s, 3–19 (Goldziher’s observation is astute, especially
˙ ˙
 Introduction 15

is that it relies heavily on, or at least inadvertently invokes, a paradigmatic

division in the primary sources of the ninth century onwards: ashā b al-
˙˙
hadı̄ th (traditionalists) and ashā b al-ra’y (rationalists). It is an indisput-
˙ ˙˙
able fact that our primary sources speak of serious divisions between these
two groups. At the same time, however, this simple division became
a mechanism for glossing over a broader set of divisions between these
groups that did not pertain immediately to hadı̄ th or jurisprudence. These
˙
readings viewed the formation of medieval Sunnism as a compromise
between traditionalists and rationalists. A compromise was certainly
reached, but not by traditionalists and rationalists of the ninth century,
and not all traditionalists were open to rapprochement. One of the key
tenets of proto-Sunni traditionalism was the exclusion of Abū Hanı̄ fa as
˙
a heretic and deviant figure, and many proto-Sunni traditionalists made
no concessions with respect to this doctrine. In short, proto-Sunnism is
too broad a designation, and traditionalism/rationalism runs the risk of
denoting a specific genealogy of medieval Sunnism that minimises earlier
conflict and neglects what was really at stake (see Table 1.1).31

because he was writing at the end of the nineteenth century; nevertheless, it misses some
very important elements in the broader conflict between traditionalism and rationalism, in
part because of the dearth of published material to which Goldziher had access); Schacht,
The Origins of Muhammadan Jurisprudence, esp. ch. 6; Graham, ‘Traditionalism in Islam’ (a
broad interpretive essay on variations of traditionalism in Islamic history, which inadvert-
ently highlights the problem that newcomers to the field, or outsiders, will confront when
trying to determine what traditionalism is supposed to designate); Melchert, The Formation
of the Sunni Schools of Law, 1–22 (which examines the conflict between traditionalism and
rationalism in greater detail than previous scholarship and shows its manifestation beyond
mere jurisprudential disagreement); Melchert, ‘Traditionist-Jurisprudents’ (which delin-
eates more specific trends and groups on the traditionalist–rationalist spectrum); Hallaq,
Origins and Evolution, 122–8 (which argues for a ninth-century synthesis or compromise
among traditionalists and rationalists); El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law, 195–
201 (which focuses on the compromise of traditionalists but without reference to the
significant corpus of refutations against al-Shā fiʿı̄ ).
31
Recent attempts to use the appellation ahl al-sunna or sā hib al-sunna to document the
emergence of Sunnism leave me unconvinced. Gautier ˙Juynboll ˙ first proposed this very
method to understand the rise of Sunnism, and John Nawas has recently undertaken it
(Juynboll, ‘Some New ideas on the Development of Sunna’; Juynboll, ‘An Excursus on
the Ahl as-Sunna’; Nawas, ‘The Appellation Sā hib Sunna in Classical Islam’). Nawas’s
analysis leaves me entirely dissatisfied. It shows˙ ˙ no sensitivity to the acute problem of
using later sources to reconstruct eighth–ninth-century developments (‘In principle all
published classical Arabic biographical dictionaries, ranging from Ibn Saʿd (d. 230/845)
to Ibn al-ʿImā d (d. 1089/1679) were used for data collection’: p. 4, n. 9). The method
fails to consider the fact that our ninth–eleventh-century sources exhibit a good deal of
geographical diversity. Readers of texts produced in Iraq and Khurā sā n/Transoxiana
from this period cannot fail to notice the lack of consistent terminology for groups and
ideas in these regions. Nevertheless, Nawas is content with making grand claims upon the
basis of this questionable method (‘This feature of randomness . . . ensures that the results
of our sample are generalisable. That is to say, the conclusions from this random sample
very probably hold for the entire population under study, in the present case, all ulama of
16 Introduction

Table 1.1 Evolving terminology of Sunnism

Term Period Description

Proto-Sunnism 8th–9th Comprising movements subsumed into

centuries classical Sunnism
Proto-Sunni 8th–9th One movement among proto-Sunnism
traditionalism (ahl al- centuries
hadı̄ th, ahl al-sunna)
˙
Proto-Hanafism (ahl al- 8th–9th Students affiliated with Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙ ˙
ra’y, ashā b Abı̄ centuries circle
˙˙
Hanı̄ fa, ahl al-Kū fa)
˙
Hanafism 10th century Classical school of law
˙
Classical Sunnism 10th century Based around the schools of law,
accommodating opposing positions, and
incorporating all of the above

As I acknowledge, proto-Sunni traditionalism is not a satisfactory reso-

lution, and it is for this reason that I have undertaken the effort of
documenting proto-Sunni traditionalists (their writings, ideas, and net-
works), so that when I refer to proto-Sunni traditionalism readers can
identify its adherents. Now, by the eleventh century, things had changed
radically. Medieval Sunnism was now defined by its fidelity to four
eponyms: Abū Hanı̄ fa, Mā lik b. Anas, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , and Ahmad b. Hanbal.
˙ ˙ ˙
Their legacies spawned, arguably, the defining religious institutions of the
medieval Islamic world, the schools of law (madhā hib). Today, Thomas
Carlyle’s theory of history being commensurate with great heroes is out of
vogue, but it is worth recalling that for medieval Muslims history was
intimately tied to collective memories about a few great men.
Parts of this book may be misread as an attempt to deconstruct this
historiographical edifice. It should be stated at the outset that this is not
my objective. This study presents a historical explanation for the social,
political, cultural, and religious forces that contributed to this impressive
and long-standing feature of Islamic orthodoxy. As such, and contrary to
trends in the field of religious studies, I contend that orthodoxy was not
a later ‘communal fiction’ of medieval Muslims who suppressed earlier
narratives of tension and conflict. Rather, they were transparent about
orthodoxy being a contested process.

the first four centuries of Islam’: p. 5). Nawas does not show his readers his sources, so
there is little else I can say beyond this comment.
 Introduction 17

Though this book presents the first comprehensive treatment of dis-

courses of heresy with respect to Abū Hanı̄ fa, it is not the first to identify
˙
hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa in the primary sources. Goldziher was the
˙
first scholar to draw attention to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ‘very poor reception from
˙
his conservative contemporaries’.32 On the basis of the heresiographical
literature, both Madelung and van Ess have attempted to reconstruct
some of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s theological views.33 The most significant references
˙
to anti-Hanafı̄ material can be found in two publications of Christopher
˙
Melchert, and I see the present book as building upon his work on the
history of medieval Sunnism.34 The ‘problem of Abū Hanı̄ fa’ is noted
also by scholars such as Eerik Dickinson and Scott Lucas. ˙ 35 And, more
recently, Jonathan Brown has emphasised the importance of studying
how scholars such as al-Bukhā rı̄ and Abū Hanı̄ fa achieved ‘Sunni
˙
status’.36
Unlike some previous scholarship, this study is not concerned with
reconstructing the life and thoughts of Abū Hanı̄ fa. This decision is partly
˙
motivated by the problems presented by ninth-century sources in describ-
ing the outlook of an eighth-century scholar. As I have stated, this book
argues that contestations surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s shifting reputation as
˙
a heretic and then later as a pillar of Sunni orthodoxy bring into sharp
relief the diverse forces and figures that defined the struggle over ortho-
doxy and heresy in Sunnism. It does not pretend to provide all the
answers to the formation of medieval Sunni orthodoxy, but it seeks to
contribute to issues that are found wanting in current scholarship. This
monograph will, I hope, encourage new investigations into the contested
history of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam, paying particular
attention to the cumulative role played by social, religious, political, and
cultural factors in its formation. To this end, this study is divided into four
parts. Part I writes the mnemohistory of discourses of heresy concerning
Abū Hanı̄ fa based on sources composed between the ninth and eleventh
˙
centuries. This section provides a comprehensive historical examination
of how hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa evolved in the space of three centur-
˙
ies. A central objective of this chapter is to explain the formation of proto-
Sunni traditionalist networks connected through shared conceptions
of orthodoxy and heresy. Discourses of heresy around Abū Hanı̄ fa were
˙
32
Goldziher, Die Zā hiriten, 13–16 = The Zā hirı̄ s, 13–16.
33
Madelung, ‘The˙ Origins of the Controversy’,
˙ 508–11; van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft,
1: 183–212.
34
Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 1–12, 48–60; Melchert, ‘How
Hanafism Came to Originate in Kufa’, 332–3.
35 ˙
Dickinson, ‘Ahmad b. al-Salt’; Lucas, Constructive Critics, 350–1.
36 ˙
Brown, The Canonization, ˙363.
18 Introduction

central to the emerging corporate identity of proto-Sunni traditionalist

scholars and textual communities, and by studying them in detail a clearer
picture of the key agents of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy begins to
emerge.
Part II proposes a typology of discourses of heresy. This section
explores the themes and topoi within the vast range of primary sources
studied in Part I to demonstrate that discourses of heresy went far beyond
matters of doctrine and ritual. I contend that discourses of heresy con-
cerning Abū Hanı̄ fa show that conceptions of orthodoxy and heresy were
˙
woven into the very fabric of society and social imaginaries, religion, and
politics. This section details precisely how heresy was framed in the
context of broad developments in medieval Islamic societies during the
late eighth–eleventh centuries.
One of the central aims of this book is to explain the changing nature of
proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy. How was it that a sustained and
pervasive discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa failed to establish itself
˙
as part of medieval Sunnism’s broad conception of orthodoxy by the
beginning of the eleventh century? Parts III and IV are devoted to
explaining these momentous changes in medieval Sunni orthodoxy.
Part III explains the processes by which Abū Hanı̄ fa was unmade as
˙
a heretic, focusing on the functions of historical writing and historical
memory towards rehabilitating Abū Hanı̄ fa. In this respect, I assign an
˙
important role to two genres of historical writing (manā qib and masā nı̄ d
works), hitherto severely neglected in the study of medieval Islamic reli-
gious history, towards the successful integration of Abū Hanı̄ fa among the
˙
select constellation of paragons of medieval Sunni orthodoxy. Part IV
explains how the rehabilitation of Abū Hanı̄ fa was a crucial factor in the
˙
great convergence in the eleventh century that, despite dissenting views,
consolidated medieval Sunnism’s ecumenical character.37 The final
chapter summarises the results of this monograph and places them in
the context of broader discussions about heresy and orthodoxy in medi-
eval societies and religions.
In general, this study will sketch the development of discourses of
heresy and how they figured in the development of proto-Sunni tradition-
alist orthodoxy. I hope to show that dispensing with the concept of

37
The modern process of editing of ninth–eleventh century texts, as part of nineteenth- and
twenty-first-century efforts to identify, edit, and publish these sources, provoked new and
old contestations regarding the legacy of discourses of heresy surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa
and Hanafism. The modern reception and interpretation of medieval debates concerning ˙
Abū ˙Hanı̄ fa’s rehabilitation signals just how impermeable the eleventh-century consen-
sus of˙medieval Sunni orthodoxy was, for which see Khan, ‘Islamic Tradition in an Age of
Print’.
 Introduction 19

orthodoxy altogether, as Wilson suggests, before any substantial work has

been done on the subject, is both rash and brazen. Similarly, declaring
that there is no orthodoxy in Islam, as van Ess does, principally because
medieval Islam lacked a church or centralising authority, ignores how
different religious communities and groups cultivate and build social
consensus and regulate activities and practices.
2 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

This chapter argues that the construction of heresy and orthodoxy in

medieval Islamic history depended on the circulation of discourses of
heresy among textual communities. In emphasising the agency of
scholars, texts, and the informal communities that emerged around
them, I am proposing that heresy and orthodoxy emerged organically
and outside strict institutions and their mechanisms of regulation. This
more informal regulation of heresy and orthodoxy through discourses
shaped the development of medieval Sunni orthodoxy, but its informal
dimension did not reduce its force or potency. As Foucault reminds us,
‘Whenever one can describe, between a number of statements, concepts,
and thematic choices, one can define a regularity, we will say, for the sake
of convenience, that we are dealing with a discursive formulation.’1 This
chapter documents the regularity, wide dissemination, and systematic
nature of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa between the late eighth
˙
and eleventh centuries, and relies exclusively on sources composed dur-
ing this period to write its history.
This brings us to the question of the sources, which has become the
leitmotif of the academic study of medieval Islam. The pedigree of schol-
arship on the formative period of Islamic history often rests on the ability
of the historian in successfully removing the cloud of suspicion that hangs
over any research topic indebted to historical materials written centuries
after the periods under study. The problems concerning even the most
elementary sources for the study of early Islamic history extend far
beyond the issue of how late texts were composed in relation to the events
they purport to describe. If indeed empirical fundamentalism still guides
positivist readings of contemporary sources narrating contemporary
events, it is enough to unsettle such convictions by being reminded that
the perfect historical document does not exist and no historical document
can presume a state of innocence. These are literary problems that beset
even scholars of documentary sources and state administration, where the

1
Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge, 41.

20
 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850) 21

potential power of imperial projection also forces us to resist any level of

historical naïveté.2 These historiographical problems are woven into the
very fabric of the historian‘s craft, and in different places in this work I will
be forced to respond to these challenges. In what follows, however, many
of these destabilising and debilitating methodological issues have been
neutralised because I use ninth-century texts to examine developments in
the ninth century, and I do the same for the tenth and eleventh centuries.
I do not attempt to write the history of the early eighth century, and I do
not rely on later sources to document the history of the ninth–eleventh
centuries. I should say something, too, about another distinct approach
adopted in this study.3
I have characterised my approach to discourses of heresy around Abū
Hanı̄ fa as that of mnemohistory. Mnemohistory is a new approach to
˙
history that seeks to marry reception history with memory studies. It is
best understood not as a separate discipline to history, but as one of its
sub-disciplines. It is a historiographical technique employed not to under-
stand the truth of traditions but to reveal how these discourses represent
the phenomenon of collective memory. Mnemohistory’s central preoccu-
pation is not with reconstructing the facts, beliefs, and details of historical
persons or events. Instead, mnemohistory investigates how the past
is remembered. In this sense, this study is not concerned with what Abū
Hanı̄ fa and his contemporaries in the eighth century did or did not
˙
believe; rather, it explores the mnemohistory of Abū Hanı̄ fa to yield
˙
valuable insights into the mechanisms by which the formation of
Sunnism was contested in the ninth and tenth centuries, which is coter-
minous with the period in which our sources burst onto the scene. Despite
my engagement with mnemohistory, I distance my work slightly from that
of one of its foundational progenitors, Jan Assmann.4 Collective memory

2
A neat summary and critique of this body of scholarship, which, in my view, is an advance
in our understanding of medieval Arabic sources, can be found in Al-Azmeh, The Arabs
and Islam in Late Antiquity, 1–38.
3
Nora, ‘Comment écrire l’histoire de France?’, 24: ‘The road is open for a totally different
history: instead of determinants, their effects; instead of actions remembered or commem-
orated, the marks they have left and the games of commemoration; not events for their
own sake, but their construction in time, the gradual disappearance and reappearance of
their significances; instead of the past as it was, its constant re-exploitation, utilisation and
manipulation; not the tradition itself, but the way it was constituted and transmitted.’
Cited in Tamm (ed.), Afterlife of Events, 7.
4
Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory; Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 8–17. Assmann’s
exposition of mnemohistory can be narrow and restrictive. Its central concern is with the
temporal orientation of mnemohistory from present to past: how memories of the past are
remembered at any subsequent given moment. The literature on collective memory
preceding and beyond Assmann is extremely insightful, too: Halbwachs, On Collective
Memory; Halbwachs, La topographie légendaire. See also Marc Bloch’s book review of
Halbwachs’s work in Bloch, ‘Collective Memory’; for the social memory approach applied
22 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

forms an important component of this book, too, but I am equally

committed to historiographical techniques that can complement
mnemohistory and reassert the credibility of writing the history of devel-
opments in the ninth century. The mnemohistory of Abū Hanı̄ fa goes
˙
beyond reconstructing the reception history of Abū Hanı̄ fa in the eighth–
˙
eleventh centuries. Microhistorians of the past decade have showed us
the merits of intensive study of particular places, events, and persons.5 In
this study I contend that mnemohistory can be more illuminating when it
is combined with the historical ambition of microhistorians. Microhistory
rests upon the potential that one singular episode or person’s life has
for revealing its exemplariness; that is to say, how an individual’s life or,
as in this case, contestations over their memory points to broader issues
affecting whole cultures, societies, and religions. This chapter offers
a detailed mnemohistory of Abū Hanı̄ fa, which reveals the different stages
˙
in the process of making him a heretic among proto-Sunni traditionalists
in the late eighth and ninth centuries, but this mnemohistory serves as
a microhistory for appreciating the contested formation of medieval
Sunnism. Taken together, these two approaches bring to light historical
traces of the failures and successes of proto-Sunnism; they reveal acute
antagonisms and their subsequent resolutions; they highlight competing
orthodoxies, their progenitors, agents, and interlocutors; they shed light
on social and mental structures (mentalités) of societies that otherwise
seem negligible; and they bring into sharp relief significant social forces
across the ninth and tenth centuries. Together, mnemohistory and
microhistory move us away from the subject (Abū Hanı̄ fa) and towards
˙
discourses of heresy, the construction of orthodoxy, and the formation of
medieval Sunnism. In the words of microhistory‘s éminence grise, ‘a close-
up look permits us to grasp what eludes a comprehensive viewing, and
vice versa’.6
This chapter places under the microscope an extensive range of
primary sources composed between the ninth and tenth centuries.
Using sources written during these centuries to describe the evolution

to the study of medieval history see Fentress and Wickham, Social Memory, 144–72; and
Ricoeur, Memory, History, Forgetting, 204–33, 401–11. In general, Ricoeur’s engagement
with Halbwachs, de Certeau, Nora, Ginzburg, and Koselleck has been extremely helpful
in developing my own ideas about the kinds of history that can be read and produced on
the basis of medieval texts.
5
Lepore, ‘Historians Who Love Too Much’, exposes some of the tensions that confront
microhistorians and biographers. I do not always agree with her conclusions. Her forth-
right and sometimes curt dismissals of the differences between biography and microhis-
tory rest upon very simple, selective presentations of important works in the field of
microhistory.
6
Ginzburg, ‘Microhistory’, 26.
 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850) 23

of discourses of heresy within the same time frame permits us to engage

creatively with a plenitude of contemporary primary sources without
being forced to interrogate the sources for backward projection. In this
way we are able to track the evolution of discourses of heresy. We can
identify the growth, continuity, and shifts in contemporary formulations
of orthodoxy and heresy. The explosion of literary activity in the ninth
and tenth centuries presents a great advantage for this study’s aim to write
the history of orthodoxy and heresy in the ninth and tenth centuries. What
is traditionally viewed to be an Achilles heel of modern history writing
on the formative period of Islamic history becomes this book’s escape
from the historiographical conundrums of early Islamic history. This
impressive period of literary production permits us to document the
discourses of heresy surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa in sources as diverse as
˙
universal histories, local and regional histories, prosopographical sources
(tabaqā t), works of transmitter criticism (rijā l), legal texts, hadı̄ th compil-
˙ ˙
ations, musannafs, geographical sources, belles-lettres (adab), martyrol-
˙
ogies (maqā til and mihan), and ‘hagiographical’ sources. The substantive
˙
nature of the discourses studied in these sources are dialogic. They seek
to speak about the other, and in this way they make their social identity
explicit through differentiation.7 The dialogic structure of our sources,
whether explicit through actual dialogues or implicit through discourses
of heresy being fundamentally a discourse of differentiation in face of
the proximate other, can reveal insights that other sources might not. As
Ginzburg states, ‘in some exceptional cases we have a real dialogue: we
can hear distant voices, we can detect a clash between different, even
conflicting voices’. Along these lines, our monograph adopts the pro-
grammatic statement issued by Ginzburg: ‘In order to decipher them,
we must learn to catch, behind the smooth surface of the text, a subtle
interplay of threats and fears, of attacks and withdrawals. We must learn
to disentangle the different threads which form the textual fabric of these
dialogues.’8
The methodological approach of this study to the sources and its
precise application of the notion of discourses of heresy should now be
clear: I do not use late sources (post-eleventh-century texts) to write the
history of discourses of heresy and orthodoxy during the ninth–eleventh
centuries;9 ninth–eleventh-century sources shall be analysed to write the
history of these centuries; contradictory reports, conflicting materials,
and biased narratives are read not to be reconciled to uncover what really
7
De Certeau, The Writing of History, 45.
8
Ginzburg, ‘The Inquisitor as Anthropologist’, 160–1.
9
Where I cite such primary sources I do so to relate information incidental or supplemen-
tary to our understanding of these periods.
24 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

happened in the eighth century but to analyse what did occur during the
ninth–eleventh centuries. This chapter will provide a detailed historical
account of how discourses of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa evolved
˙
across the eighth and tenth centuries. I will draw attention to the mobility
of such discourses to suggest that hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa became
˙
integral to social, intellectual, anecdotal, and textual interactions between
proto-Sunni traditionalists. This chapter will establish not only the cen-
trality of discourses of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa among proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalists, but it will also bring into sharp focus key agents of proto-
Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy: the scholars and figures who articulated
and promulgated discourses of heresy.

2.1 Agents of Orthodoxy

In 1070 al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ was putting the final touches to his monu-
˙
mental biographical dictionary of over 7,831 scholars who had some
connection to the sprawling metropolis of Baghdad. Written in the
eleventh century, al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s magnum opus represented the
˙
culmination and vast accumulation of historical information concerning
the social and religious history of the eighth–eleventh centuries. Much
can and needs to be said about the motives and methods driving al-Khatı̄ b
˙
al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s History, but what cannot be doubted is that he sought
exhaustive comprehensiveness over piecemeal historical reconstruction.10
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d offers the reader a panoptic view
˙
of the formative period of Islamic history, and for this reason alone his work
is indispensable to historians of medieval Islam. This very strength of the
work, however, poses a risk to the modern historian who seeks a detailed
account of gradual, or abrupt, historical changes and developments
over centuries. The case of the single most extensive biographical entry
contained within the seventeen volumes of the published critical edition
illustrates at once the strengths and risks I have in mind. Al-Khatı̄ b al-
˙
Baghdā dı̄ ’s vast collection of hostile reports concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa pro-
˙
vides an immediate sense of just how widespread discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa had been before the eleventh century. What it does
˙
not allow for, however, is a more precise knowledge of how attitudes to Abū
Hanı̄ fa changed over the course of the eighth–eleventh centuries; nor
˙
does it allow us to reconstruct the proto-Sunni traditionalist textualist
community that promulgated discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. In
˙
10
A detailed study of al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ and his extensive oeuvre is now well overdue.
˙ ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ remains the most significant study of Tā rı̄ kh
Al-ʿUmarı̄ , Mawā rid al-Khat
˙
Baghdā d in modern scholarship and, as the title indicates, is dedicated to studying how
this comprehensiveness was achieved.
 2.1 Agents of Orthodoxy 25

short, al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s entry on Abū Hanı̄ fa is no substitute for

˙ ˙
a more careful examination, century by century, text by text, and author by
author, of the evolution of discourses of heresy. In fact, relying exclusively,
or even primarily, on the Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d risks distorting the history of
discourses of heresy and orthodoxy within proto-Sunnism.
This chapter reveals the results of a thorough investigation into a large
and diverse corpus of texts composed between the ninth and eleventh
centuries of discourses of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa. I have identified
˙
three distinct stages in the development of hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
during these centuries. During the first stage (800–850) discourses of
heresy towards Abū Hanı̄ fa were sharp, but they were limited to specific
˙
criticisms. These criticisms tended to be confined to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legal
˙
views and his approach to hadı̄ th. A more sustained and extensive dis-
˙
course of heresy emerged only during the second stage (850–950). This
period witnessed the emergence of a discourse of heresy designed to
establish Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic and deviant. It was, in my view, the
˙
very intensity of this discourse of heresy that occasioned a third shift
(900–1000) in discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Proto-Sunni
traditionalists now began to engender a more accommodating ˙ attitude
towards Abū Hanı̄ fa. This formed the groundwork for the wide embrace
˙
of Abū Hanı̄ fa among the proto-Sunni community, culminating in his
˙
consecration as a saint-scholar and one of the four representatives of
Sunni orthodoxy in medieval Islam.
Though I have been able to distinguish three important moments in
the history of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, my periodisation is
˙
not without problems. There is significant overlap between stages two
and three. Acute deprecations of Abū Hanı̄ fa, which are a hallmark of
˙
stage two, survived into the tenth century (stage three). This should not
necessarily diminish the validity of my periodisation. Ideas evolved from
region to region and author to author. They were not sealed hermetically
within strict chronological enclosures. The transmission of ideas was
porous and contested, and my periodisation allows for changes in the
tenor of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. I want to be even clearer
˙
about the evidence for these three stages and patterns in the development
of discourses of heresy. The primary sources on which these results are
based represent a substantial proportion of surviving texts from the ninth–
eleventh centuries. The discourses of heresy are contained within some of
the most prominent sources in the history of medieval Sunnism. The
authors of these works, too, must be considered as some of the most
influential figures in the development of medieval Sunnism. However,
this evidence needs to be placed in its proper context. We must beware of
assuming the exemplariness of the primary sources to which scholars have
26 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

access today. There is a problem in asserting that these surviving sources

are representative of the ideas and beliefs of the ninth–eleventh centuries.
We must contend with the probability that most of what was written
in this period has neither been published nor survived in manuscript
form. Furthermore, the significance of these authors and their works
does not mean that the views and ideas they expressed can be considered
to represent the opinions of the majority of society. In fact, I argue that
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa were promulgated by an influen-
˙
tial, enterprising, and outspoken but nevertheless discrete textual com-
munity of scholars. This was not an age or society that manufactured
consent, and this fact alone has a bearing on what can be said specifically
about the range and extent of discourses of heresy. My resolution, not
wholly satisfactory, to this has been to identify both discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa and efforts to rehabilitate him as a figure of orthodoxy to
˙
assess what this material tells us about orthodoxy and heresy in medieval
Islam. I have tried to immerse myself in the past by reading the sources
closely; to go on reading until I can hear the people talking.11 I am aware,
nevertheless, that not everyone wanted to be heard, and that some did not
care to lend their ears. This is simply one among many shortcomings that
serve as a handicap to the historian’s craft. The least we can do is to be
explicitly conscious of it. More fundamentally, I propose to read these
sources on the basis that I take their lack of neutrality extremely seriously.
That is to say, the material I study consists of written sources and written
records of oral speech, real and fictive. The hostility or warmth that they
express, their tendency to clash or their inclination towards resolving differ-
ences – these reveal the formation of ideas and movements over time.12
Our earliest layer of Islamic historiography provides us with no material
on discourses of heresy. The first phase of historical writing (610–730)
reflects the demands of a fledgling state and a burgeoning religion. The
Prophet Muhammad’s career is the central concern of the sı̄ ra/maghā zı̄
˙
literature.13 It is reasonable to assume that these details, along with their
kerygmatic component as Heilgeschichte, were coterminous with the
requirements of organising a state and articulating the foundational
moments and themes of a religion.14

11
Young, Last Essays, 9.
12
I take my cue from Carlo Ginzburg’s remarkable exposition, which was penned as
a response to Hayden White’s ideas about the historian’s craft. See Ginzburg, ‘The
Inquisitor as Anthropologist’.
13
See Görke and Schoeler, ‘Reconstructing the Earliest sı̄ ra Texts’; Wansbrough, The
Sectarian Milieu, 1–49.
14
For an overview of historical writing during this period see Robinson, Islamic
Historiography, 20–4; Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record, 23–81 reaches similar
conclusions about the growth of writing and state administration.
 2.2 Stage One (800–850) 27

2.2 Stage One (800–850)

It is with Chase Robinson’s second phase of historical writing that we see
our first texts exhibiting hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa. The proliferation
˙
of the written word during this period was combined with new develop-
ments in the social organisation of communities. This merger produced
what Brian Stock termed ‘textual communities’.15 Social norms, prac-
tices, skills, expertise, and relations began to form around the written
word and the community of authors that produced them. These texts
gave rise to distinct relations and bonds, which, with the rise of increased
specialisation, facilitated the formation of religious and social groups and
loyalties.

Al-Shā fiʿı̄
The first phase of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa that can be
˙
identified with a good degree of confidence coincides with the formation
of textual communities and the crystallisation of specialised disciplines.
El Shamsy has described the canonisation of Islamic law as being among
the foremost of these developments, spearheaded by the writings of
Muhammad b. Idrı̄ s al-Shā fiʿı̄ (d. 240/820). A systematic examination
˙
of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s magnum opus remains a gap in the study of early Islamic law.
El Shamsy’s important contribution has laid the groundwork for
a historian capable of obsessing over legal minutiae and explaining their
implications for communities of jurists in the ninth century to tackle the
Kitā b al-Umm.16 As a mixed repository of religious trends and attitudes
from the late eighth to mid-ninth centuries, the Kitā b al-Umm presents an
early, but unique, insight into how proto-Sunni traditionalist communi-
ties understood the memory of Abū Hanı̄ fa.17 The mnemohistory of Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa reconstructed in this chapter draws on local histories, biographical
˙
15
Stock, The Implications of Literacy, 89–90.
16
El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law, ch. 6, esp. with his work on al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s
authorship, has laid the groundwork for such a study. There is an infrequent tendency to
read the sources charitably when discussing al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s contribution. Adducing al-
Karā bisı̄ ’s (d. 248/862) statement, ‘We did not know what the Quran and Sunna were
until we heard al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’, for example, for verification of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s paradigm shift in
legal thinking is a step too far. Al-Karā bisı̄ , as El Shamsy himself states, was al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s
student, and this form of praise is so paradigmatic as to be irrelevant as an independent
witness to al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s contribution to Islamic legal theory: El Shamsy, The Canonization of
Islamic Law, 70.
17
For the dating and manuscript evidence of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s corpus see Sezgin, GAS, 1: 486–
90. Doubts have persisted concerning al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s authorship of the texts attributed to
him. See Mubā rak, Islā h ashnaʿ khata’ fı̄ tā rı̄ kh al-tashrı̄ ʿ al-islā mı̄ ; Calder, Studies in Early
Muslim Jurisprudence, ˙ 67–85.
˙ ˙
For significant revisions to Mubā rak and Calder see Lowry,
‘The Legal Hermeneutics of al-Shā fiʿı̄ and Ibn Qutayba’; Melchert, ‘The Meaning of
28 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

dictionaries, rijā l works, hadı̄ th collections, and many other sources. The
˙
Kitā b al-Umm differs from many of these works in ways important enough
to exhibit a peculiar form and degree of hostility to Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
The individual treatises that make up some portion of the Kitā b al-
Umm belong to a tradition of jurisprudential dialectic. Al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s aim in
these treatises and in other legal works is fairly consistent. For al-Shā fiʿı̄ ,
jurisprudential reasoning is a process that must be anchored in revelatory
sources.18 The communitarianism of forms of legal reasoning during his
time greatly troubled al-Shā fiʿı̄ . His legal works are concerned with defin-
ing a canon of legal sources, elementary linguistic proficiencies, and
methods of legal reasoning that are, on the one hand, coherent and, on
the other, derived from sacred sources.19 In outlining his theory and
method of jurisprudence, al-Shā fiʿı̄ is responding to a number of alterna-
tive forms of legal reasoning to which he is deeply hostile.
Kitā b Ibtā l al-istihsā n is al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s refutation of one such form of legal
˙ ˙
reasoning.20 Istihsā n was a juristic technique associated with Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
and his associates in the late eighth century.21 Definitions of istihsā n are
˙

“Qā la al-Shā fiʿı̄ ” in Ninth Century Sources’. Separately, both Mohyddin Yahia and El
Shamsy have argued for the textual integrity and authenticity of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s written
corpus. See Yahia, Šā fiʿı̄ et les deux sources de la loi islamique, ch. 3; El Shamsy, ‘al-
Shā fiʿı̄ ’s Written Corpus’; El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law, ch. 6; and further
details in El Shamsy, ‘From Tradition to Law’, ch. 6, esp. 265–77.
18
Al-Shā fiʿı̄ , Kitā b al-Umm, ed. Rifʿat Fawzı̄ ʿAbd al-Muttalib (Mansoura: Dā r al-Wafā ’,
2001), 1: 43. On al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s contribution to Islamic legal˙˙theory see Schacht, The Origins
of Muhammadan Jurisprudence, 315–28; Goldziher, The Zā hirı̄ s, 20–6; Yahia, Šā fiʿı̄ et les
deux sources de la loi islamique; El Shamsy, The Canonization ˙ of Islamic Law, esp. 69–87;
Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 68–71; Lowry, Early Islamic Legal
Theory; Lowry, ‘Does Shā fiʿı̄ Have a Theory of “Four Sources” of Law?’; Hallaq, ‘Was al-
Shā fiʿı̄ the Master Architect of Islamic Jurisprudence?’; on the opposite side of the
spectrum see Zayd, al-Imā m al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa ta’sı̄ s al-ı̄ diyū lū giyya al-wasatiyya; Ali, Imam
Shafiʿi, 47–78; Vishanoff, The Formation of Islamic Hermeneutics, ch. 2. ˙
19
This is my reading of his work, but readers should consult El Shamsy, The Canonization of
Islamic Law, esp. 84–7.
20
It is reported that al-Tabarı̄ wrote a work with a similar title: Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Muʿjam
al-udabā ’ (Beirut: Da ˙ ̄ r Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-ʿArabı̄ , 1988), 18: 74. For ˙ Muhammad
˙
b. Dā wū d al-Zā hirı̄ ’s (d. 297/909) rejection of istihsā n see al-Qā dı̄ al-Nuʿmā n,˙ Ikhtilā f
usū l al-madhā h˙ ib, ed. S. T. Lockandwalla (Simla: Indian ˙ Institute˙ for Advanced Study,
˙
1972), 183–6, which reads as very similar to al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s criticisms.
21
There is more uncertainty surrounding the nascent circle of Abū Hanı̄ fa than modern
scholars of Islamic law care to admit. Staying with Kitā b al-Umm, consider ˙ for instance
that al-Shā fiʿı̄ speaks of Kufa as being a region divided between the legal doctrine (qawl)
of Ibn Abı̄ Laylā and the school (madhhab) and legal doctrine (qawl) of Abū Yū suf: al-
Shā fiʿı̄ , Kitā b al-Umm, 9: 27. On the legal doctrine of istihsā n see Zysow, The Economy of
Certainty, 240–2, 399–402, but Zysow’s lucid discussion ˙ is focused squarely on post-
formative conceptions of istihsā n; Makdisi, ‘Ibn Taimı̄ ya’s Autograph Manuscript on
Istihsā n’; Makdisi, ‘Legal Logic ˙ and Equity in Islamic Law’; Makdisi, ‘A Reality Check
˙
on Istihsan as a Method of Islamic Legal Reasoning’, which examines case law applica-
tions of istihsā n in al-Kā sā nı̄ ’s (d. 587/1191) Badā ’iʿ al-sanā ’iʿ fı̄ tartı̄ b al-sharā ʿi.
˙ ˙
 2.2 Stage One (800–850) 29

scarce in early Hanafı̄ texts, and relying on opponents of istihsā n for its
˙ ˙
definition is undesirable.22 If we survey discussions of istihsā n in the ninth
˙
century, it becomes clear that istihsā n was a form of legal reasoning to
˙
arrive at legal rules. It was considered a departure from analogy (qiyā s)
and, as such, the deployment of either qiyā s or istihsā n resulted in different
˙
legal rulings.
There is evidence to suggest that the concept pre-dates Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
One prominent exponent of istihsā n seems to have been the Basran
˙
jurist Iyā s b. Muʿā wiya (d. 122/740). He is described as having urged
23

the application of istihsā n among qadis and at the level of provincial

government.24 Owing˙ to the success and spread of proto-Hanafism,
˙
critics of istihsā n regularly associated the method with Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙ ˙
his followers rather than with earlier jurists such as Iyā s b. Muʿā wiya.
In addition to this, scholars close to the circle of Abū Hanı̄ fa were reputed
˙
to have authored works on the subject of istihsā n.25 Other proto-Hanafı̄ s
˙ ˙
explicitly endorsed it. The Kitā b al-Kharā j attributed to Abū Yū suf
recommends istihsā n: ‘If the caliph or his governor (al-imā m aw
˙
hā kimuhu) sees a man commit theft, drink wine, or have sexual inter-
˙course outside of marriage, the caliph should not stipulate a criminal

22
Al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s curt definition of istihsā n – he who adopts istihsā n has legislated (man
istahsana fa qad sharraʿa) – acquired ˙ iconic status in post-eleventh-century
˙ legal works:
see˙al-Ghazā lı̄ , al-Mankhū l min taʿlı̄ qā t al-usū l, ed. Muhammad Hasan Hı̄ tū (Damascus:
n.p., 1970), 374, who begins his chapter ˙on istihsā n with ˙ ˙
this alleged ˙statement of al-
Shā fiʿı̄ ’s. Other scholars, Hanafı̄ s and non-Hanafı̄ ˙ s, sought to clarify that al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s
followers had interpreted as˙ a rebuke what was ˙ originally meant as a compliment of the
highest nature (inna maqsū d al-Shā fiʿı̄ min qawlihi hā dhā madh al-mustahsin wa arā da anna
man istahsana fa qad sā˙ra bi manzilat nabı̄ dhı̄ sharı̄ ʿa wa atbā ˙ ʿ al-Shā ˙ fiʿı̄ lam yafhamū
kalā mahu ˙ ʿalā wajhihi˙ hā dhā ). See ʿAbd al-ʿAlı̄ al-Laknawı̄ , Fawā tı̄ h al-rahamū t sharh
musallam al-thubū t fı̄ usū l al-fiqh, ed. ʿAbd Allā h Mahmū d Muhammad ˙ ʿUmar ˙ ˙
(Beirut:
Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, ˙ 2002), 2: 374; Ibn Rushd,˙ Bidā yat al-mujtahid
˙ wa nihā yat al-
muqtasid, ed. ʿAlı̄ Muhammad Muʿawwad and ʿĀ dil Ahmad ʿAbd al-Mawjū d (Beirut:
˙
Dā r al-Kutub ˙ 1996), 5: 251 = ˙Ibn Rushd, Bidā
al-ʿIlmiyya, ˙ yat al-mujtahid wa nihā yat al-
muqtasid, ed. Muhammad Subhı̄ Hasan Hallā q (Cairo: Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya, 1994) 4:
˙
61, where ˙
Ibn Rushd ˙ ˙ Ma
presents ˙ ̄ lik b.
˙ Anas’s definition of istihsā n as ‘harmonising
contradictory legal proofs’ (jamʿ bayna al-adilla al-mutaʿā rida). To ˙ be clear, this is Ibn
Rushd’s interpretation of Mā lik b. Anas’s view of istihsā n, which ˙ he presents after noting
divergences on Mā lik b. Anas’s application of it. ˙
23
Iyā s b. Muʿā wiya deserves a separate study, the starting point of which must be Wakı̄ ʿ,
Akhbā r al-qudā t, ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z Mustafā al-Marā ghı̄ (Cairo: Matbaʿat al-Saʿā da,
1947–50; repr. ˙ Beirut: ʿĀ lam al-Kutub, ˙ ˙ n.d.), 1: 361–88. For now, ˙ see Tillier,
L’invention du cadi, 360–6.
24
Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 1: 214.
25 ˙
Ibn al-Nadı̄ m, al-Fihrist, ed. Ridā Tajaddud (Tehran: Matbaʿā t Dā nishgā h, 1971), 257 =
Kitā b al-Fihrist, ed. Gustav Flügel ˙ (Leipzig: F. C. W. Vogel,˙ 1872), 203–4 = Kitā b al-
Fihrist, ed. Ayman Fu’ā d al-Sayyid (London: Mu’assasat al-Furqā n li al-Turā th al-
Islā mı̄ , 2009; 2nd edn. 2014), 2: 23. The latter is the superior edition. Devin Stewart is
in the process of producing a new critical edition and translation (personal
communication).
30 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

punishment (hadd) only if he has witnessed this and has no recourse to

˙
additional legal testimony. For the caliph or governor to act in this way is
for him to exhibit istihsā n.’ The text goes on to distinguish carefully
˙
between qiyā s and istihsā n, which suggests not only that such clarification
˙
was important but also that proto-Hanafı̄ s saw a clear distinction between
˙
the two forms of legal reasoning and their legal implications.26
The introductory passages of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s legal treatise Ibtā l al-istihsā n
˙ ˙
present a clear dichotomy between sacred and false knowledge. In the
first few lines of the work al-Shā fiʿı̄ deftly sets out his stall: ‘God sent
Muhammad with a mighty book, and no falsehood can creep into it
˙
(baʿathahu bi kitā b ʿazı̄ z lā ya’tı̄ hi al-bā til min bayna yadayhi wa lā min
˙
khalfihi).’27 This choice selection of a Quranic verse employing a cognate
of the root word b-t-l provides an unambiguous early insight into al-
˙
Shā fiʿı̄ ’s position on istihsā n. He does not overdo the argument by quoting
˙
other passages in the Quran featuring the root b-t-l. The rest of the
˙
introduction adduces Quranic verses in the hope of clarifying the nature
28
and authority of revelatory sources. In this sense, Ibtā l al-istihsā n openly
˙ ˙
adopts the broader ideological thrust of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s oeuvre.29
Al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s critique of istihsā n is severe. Individual jurists known to
˙
advocate the use of istihsā n are not named, however. Abū Hanı̄ fa, Abū
˙ ˙
Yū suf, Iyā s b. Muʿā wiya, and others are not directly attacked. This is not
because they were not the main targets of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s treatise. Such
omissions are better understood in the light of the conventions of juris-
prudential dialectic in the Kitā b al-Umm. As legal works, al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s
treatises treat a number of jurisprudential controversies, but both the
style and substance of these works is dialectical. Al-Shā fiʿı̄ is seeking to
draw distinctions between his own understanding of the law and those of
his interlocutors. It is clear that he sees his interlocutors not as mere
individuals and independent jurists, but that his writings are targeted
towards legal communities located in the different provinces of the early
Islamic empire. Al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s rhetoric is evidence of the level of social and
religious organisation that jurists, scholars, and writers were cognisant of
when they put ink to paper. Al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa are
˙
confined to a number of serious disputes concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
26
Abū Yū suf (attr.), Kitā b al-Kharā j (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1979), 178. On dating the
Kitā b al-Kharā j see Calder, Studies in Early Muslim Jurisprudence, 105–60, where the work
is described, in my view unconvincingly, as being the product of a single redactional effort
in the middle of the ninth century; Zaman, Religion and Politics, 91–4, provides a brief
rebuttal of Calder’s re-dating.
27
Al-Shā fiʿı̄ , Kitā b Ibtā l al-istihsā n, in Kitā b al-Umm, 9: 57–84.
28
Al-Shā fiʿı̄ , Kitā b Ibt˙ ā l al-istih
˙ sā n, in Kitā b al-Umm, 9: 57–8.
29
At least on the subject ˙ of istih ˙ sā n, much of the material found in the chapter on istihsā n in
al-Risā la is identical to Ibtā l˙ al-istihsā n. ˙
˙ ˙
 2.2 Stage One (800–850) 31

understanding of Islamic law, his methodology, and the sources upon

which his legal understanding was based.30 Jurisprudential treatises in al-
Shā fiʿı̄ ’s legal corpus are concerned with matters of method and hermen-
eutic. Another reason for this may be what El Shamsy calls the nature of
al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s written work, which he describes as commentary notes and
epistolary writing.31
This dimension to al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s work results in a different tradition of
anti-Abū Hanı̄ fa sentiment. Abū Hanı̄ fa as an individual is not the subject
˙ ˙
of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s scorn, but the methods and legal reasoning associated
with Abū Hanı̄ fa and his fellow jurists are attacked with great rigour and
energy. Al-Sha ˙ ̄ fiʿı̄ , for example, is explicit that istihsā n is a heretical
˙
method of legal reasoning and rule determination. According to him, it
undermines God’s authority and that of the Prophet. It is distinctly
outside the canon of sources one can draw upon legitimately to derive
legal rules.32 It is an arbitrary process of rule determination, and its
universal acceptance would risk creating a chaotic and contradictory
legal system.33 Using al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s corpus as a benchmark for attitudes
towards Abū Hanı̄ fa in the late eighth and early ninth centuries, we
cannot identify˙ a discourse of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa. Methods,
˙
legal devices, and legal opinions associated with Abū Hanı̄ fa and proto-
˙
Hanafı̄ s were attacked. But this was done at the level of jurisprudential
˙
dialectic, without broaching discourses of orthodoxy and heresy with

30
Johansen, ‘Casuistry: Between Legal Concept and Social Praxis’.
31
El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law, 151.
32
After listing the sources for rule determination, al-Shā fiʿı̄ contrasts these with illegitimate
methods for deducing rulings. See al-Shā fiʿı̄ , Kitā b Jimā ʿ al-ʿilm, in Kitā b al-Umm, 9: 14:
‘It would not be permissible for us to state the permissibility of something on the basis of
juristic preference, nor by any other arbitrary or subjective method (fa lā yajū z lanā an
naqū lahu bi mā istahsanā wa lā bi mā khatara ʿalā qulū binā )’; al-Shā fiʿı̄ , Kitā b Ibtā l al-
˙
istihsā n, in Kitā b al-Umm, 9: 71 (bi mā sanah ˙ a fı̄ qulū bihim wa lā khatara ʿalā awhā m˙ihim).
For˙ al-Shā fiʿı̄ , ijtihā d and qiyā s, sometimes˙ conflated with tashbı̄ h,˙are regarded as legit-
imate methods of rule determination because they rest upon legal evidences; istihsā n is the
very opposite, and because of this it is illegitimate (wa kā na ʿalayhim an yajtahidū ˙ kamā
amkanahum al-ijtihā d. Wa kull amr Allā h jalla dhikruhu wa ashbā hu li hā dhā tadullu ʿalā
ibā hat al-qiyā s wa hazara an yaʿmala bi khilā fihi min al-istihsā n, li anna man talaba amr
Allā˙ h bi al-dalā la ʿalayhi
˙ ˙ fa innamā talabahu bi al-sabı̄ l allatı̄˙ furidat ʿalayhi wa˙ man qā la:
astahsinu lā ʿan amr Allā h wa lā ʿan ˙ amr rasū lihi, fa lam yaqbal ˙ ʿan Allā h wa lā ʿan
rasū˙lihi mā qā la): see al-Shā fiʿı̄ , Kitā b Ibtā l al-istihsā n, in Kitā b al-Umm, 9: 72–75. For
istihsā n as taladhdhudh see al-Shā fiʿı̄ , al-Risā ˙ la, in ˙Kitā b al-Umm, 1: 236.
33 ˙ ̄ fiʿı̄ , Kitā b Ibtā l al-istihsā n, in Kitā b al-Umm, 9: 75–6. It is possible that al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s
Al-Sha
attack on istihsā n is˙ motivated ˙ by his intuition that istihsā n had the potential to wrest rule
determination ˙ away from private jurisprudents to the ˙ state, caliph, and governors. For
one, this is how Abū Yū suf recommends istihsā n; second, and of course because of this,
al-Shā fiʿı̄ discusses istihsā n and criticises it ˙using examples of where rulers are able to
implement Islamic law˙and legal rulings as they see fit in their jurisdictions. See al-Shā fiʿı̄ ,
Kitā b Ibtā l al-istihsā n, in Kitā b al-Umm, 9: 76. These passages are his most impassioned
against ˙istihsā n. ˙
˙
32 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

respect to significant individuals. By the middle of the ninth century these

two aspects began to merge, and it was this development that saw the
rapid rise of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙

Ibn Saʿd
Born in Basra around 168/784, Ibn Saʿd embarked on a journey familiar
to many young and ambitious scholars of his day. He travelled to
Baghdad. There, he quickly secured employment as a scribe with the
historian and judge Muhammad b. ʿUmar al-Wā qidı̄ (d. 207/823). The
˙
earliest biographical sources present a sketchy history of Ibn Saʿd’s
career. He was known to have been a muhaddith (hadı̄ th transmitter) of
˙ ˙
good repute, employed in the service of more famous scholars, and
adopted into the ʿAbbā sid family (banū hā shim) as a mawlā (client).34
For some time in the late ninth and tenth centuries his name and reputa-
tion became embroiled in the events of the Mihna, the inquisition intro-
˙
duced by the ʿAbbā sid caliph al-Ma’mū n (r. 198/813–218/833). The
surviving part of Ibn Abı̄ Tā hir Tayfū r’s (d. 280/893) local history of
Baghdad records that Ibn ˙Saʿd was ˙ one of seven prominent scholars
selected by al-Ma’mū n and his advisers to be tested about their belief in
the created nature of the Quran.35 His selection alongside prominent
proto-Sunni traditionalists such as Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n36 (d. 233/847), Abū
˙
Khaythama37 (d. 234/848), and Ahmad b. Dawraqı̄ 38 (d. 246/860),
˙
as part of the first batch of scholars to be interrogated under the
Mihna, certainly points to his status among peers and the imperial
˙
administration.39 Perhaps because of this Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim was keen to
mention his father’s testimony of Ibn Saʿd’s scholarly˙ integrity. ‘He was
truthful (yasduq),’ Abū Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ (d. 277/890) was reported to
˙ ˙
have said.40
34
For secondary sources see Sezgin, GAS, 1: 300–301; Fück, s.v. ‘Ibn Saʿd’, EI3; Loth, Das
Classebuch des Ibn Saʿd; Cooperson, ‘Ibn Saʿd’; Melchert, ‘How Hanafism Came to
Originate in Kufa’, 324–31. ˙
35
Ibn Abı̄ Tā hir Tayfū r, Kitā b Baghdā d, ed. Muhammad Zā hid al-Kawtharı̄ (Cairo: ʿIzzat
al-ʿAttā r ˙al-Husaynı̄
˙ , 1949), 183. ˙
36
Al-Bukha ˙˙ ̄ rı̄ , ˙al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, ed. Hā shim al-Nadwı̄ et al. (Hyderabad: Matbaʿat
Jamʿiyyat Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, 1941–63), 4.2: 307; Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim ˙ al-
˙
Rā zı̄ , al-Taqdima fı̄ maʿrifa li al-kitā b al-jarh wa al-taʿdı̄ l, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Yahyā al-
Yamā nı̄ (Hyderabad: Matbaʿat Jamʿiyyat˙ Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthma ˙ ̄ niyya, 1952–3),
˙
314–19 ( Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim al-Ra ˙ ̄ zı̄ , al-Jarh wa al-taʿdı̄ l, ed. ʿAbd al-Rā hmā n b. Yahyā al-
Muʿallimı̄ (Hyderabad: ˙ ˙ Matbaʿat Dā ‘irat ˙ al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, ˙1953), 1. ˙
37 ˙
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 2.1: 429; Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ , al-Jarh, 1.2: 591.
38
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 1.1: 39. ˙ ˙ ˙
39
Al-Tabarı̄˙ . Tā rı̄ kh al-rusul ˙ wa al-mulū k, ed. M. J. de Goeje et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1879–
˙ 3: 1116 = 32: 204.
1901),
40
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 3.2: 262.
˙ ˙
 2.2 Stage One (800–850) 33

Ibn Saʿd’s literary fame is confined to his al-Tabaqā t al-kubrā , which is

˙
a well-ordered biographical dictionary composed between 820 and 845.41
Any insights into discourses of heresy in the tabaqā t are constrained by
˙
the conventions and inner structure of prosopographical writing in early
42
Islamic history. Ibn Saʿd’s Tabaqā t is typical of Wadad al-Qadi’s
˙
description of biographical dictionaries of a general, not restricted, kind:
‘a prose work whose primary structure is that of a series of biographies’.43
Its system of arrangement is based predominantly on regions and gener-
ations, which helps to explain why Ibn Saʿd provides two separate notices
for Abū Hanı̄ fa: one in the section on jurisprudents and traditionists from
Kufa and˙ a second discussing those from Baghdad.44
The entries provide us with the standard biographical details one might
expect in such works, but Ibn Saʿd also provides two qualitative state-
ments that indicate proto-Sunni traditionalist attitudes towards Abū
Hanı̄ fa. We are informed that Abū Hanı̄ fa was weak in hadı̄ th (daʿı̄ f al-
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
hadı̄ th) and that he adhered to speculative jurisprudence (sā hib al-ra’y).
˙ ˙ ˙
These specific criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa are expanded in biographical
˙
notices for Abū Hanı̄ fa’s senior associates and students:45
˙
Abū Yū suf al-Qā dı̄ : He has many hadı̄ th on the authority of Abū Khusayf,
Mughı̄ ra, Husayn,˙ Mutarrif, Hishā m˙b. ʿUrwa, al-Aʿmash, and others amongst ˙
the Kufans.˙ He
˙ was known ˙ for his memorisation of hadı̄ th . . . then he adhered
closely (lazima) to Abū Hanı̄ fa, learnt jurisprudence ˙(tafaqqaha) from him, and
speculative jurisprudence ˙ (ra’y) overcame him (ghalaba). Consequently, he
turned away (jafā ) from hadı̄ th.
˙
Ibn Saʿd’s capsule biography is otherwise rich in its rhetorical effect.
Particular verbs denoting ideological developments are arranged accord-
ing to a historical sequence of events. Abū Yū suf’s biography undergoes
a temporalisation which begins with orthodoxy in the form of studying
hadı̄ th with proto-Sunni traditionalists and ends in deviancy under the
˙
domineering influence of Abū Hanı̄ fa in the form of speculative legal
˙

41
For the editorial history of the text see Fück, s.v. ‘Ibn Saʿd’, EI3; Melchert, ‘How
Hanafism Came to Originate in Kufa’, 325–6; Lucas, Constructive Critics, 206–7.
42 ˙
Makdisi, ‘Tabaqā t-Biography’; Gibb, ‘Islamic Biographical Literature’; Hafsi,
˙ le genre Tabaqat’; al-Qadi, ‘Biographical Dictionaries’.
‘Recherhes sur
43
Al-Qadi, ‘Biographical Dictionaries’, 94–5.
44
Ibn Saʿd, Tabaqā t al-kubrā (Beirut: Dā r al-Sā dir, 1957–68), 6: 368 and 7: 322.
45 ˙ abaqā t al-kubrā , 7: 330; see Melchert,
Ibn Saʿd, T ˙ ‘How Hanafism Came to Originate in
Kufa’, 327˙ for other proto-Hanafı̄ s in Ibn Saʿd’s Tabaqā t.˙ Ibn Saʿd’s al-Tabaqā t al-saghı̄ r
contains notices on both Abu ˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa and Abū Yu
˙ ̄ suf under a section ˙on scholars˙ who
moved to Baghdad after it was built ˙ and ended up dying there, but Ibn Saʿd provides no
more than their names and years of death: see Ibn Saʿd, al-Tabaqā t al-saghı̄ r, ed. Bashshā r
ʿAwwā d Maʿrū f and Muhammad Zā hid Jawl (Beirut: Dā r˙ al-Gharb˙al-Islā mı̄ , 2009), 2:
128 (Abū Hanı̄ fa) and 2:˙129 (Abū Yū suf).
˙
34 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

reasoning. This process of gradual decline ends in a fall encapsulated by

Ibn Saʿd’s concluding judgement that Abū Yū suf turned away from the
words of the Prophet.

Ibn Abı̄ Shayba

If al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s writings exhibit the incipient stages of discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa in the specialised genre of juristic writing, our next
˙
example reflects an intensification of criticisms against Abū Hanı̄ fa that
˙
we found in Ibn Saʿd’s biographical dictionary. Abū Bakr b. Abı̄ Shayba
(d. 235/849) belonged to a remarkable family of traditionalist scholars.46
The family’s talents were noticed by the highest authority of the day:
in 234/848–9 the caliph al-Mutawakkil (r. 232/847–247/861) chose
a select group of jurists and hadı̄ th scholars to communicate the pro-
˙
gramme of proto-Sunni traditionalism widely in the regions of the Islamic
empire. Taking care of their financial needs, expenses, and salaries, al-
Mutawakkil dispatched ʿUthmā n b. Muhammad b. Abı̄ Shayba to
˙
Baghdad. Here, ʿUthmā n b. Abı̄ Shayba (d. 239/853) was ordered to
establish religious gatherings where hadı̄ ths refuting the Muʿtazila and
˙
the Jahmiyya would be read out. ʿUthmā n was given a pulpit, where close
to thirty thousand people gathered to listen to and write down hadı̄ ths
˙
narrated by him. His brother, Abū Bakr b. Abı̄ Shayba, was sent to al-
Rusā fa. We are told he was able to draw in crowds of the same magnitude in
˙
al-Rusā fa as ʿUthmā n in Baghdad.47 A third brother, Qā sim, fared less well
and was˙ one of the few members of the Shayba family not to have been
considered an expert in hadı̄ th.48 Ibn Abı̄ Shayba had a son, Ibrā hı̄ m b. Abı̄
Bakr, and a nephew, Abu ˙ ̄ Jaʿfar Muhammad b. ʿUthmā n b. Abı̄ Shayba,
˙
both of whom lived up to the reputations of their fathers.49 Ibn Abı̄ Shayba
is said to have transmitted pro-ʿAbbā sid hadı̄ th.50 During his first lecture in
˙
the mosque of al-Rusā fa, he related that ‘the Messenger of God, may God
˙
pray over him and grant him peace, said: Remember me in al-ʿAbbā s, for he
is the last of my fathers. After all, the uncle of a man is like his father.’51
46
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ . Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, ed. Bashshā r ʿAwwā d Maʿrū f (Beirut: Dā r al-
˙
Gharb al-Isla ̄ mı̄ , 2001), 11: 259–67. For his and his brother’s father see al-Khatı̄ b al-
Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 2: 265–6. ˙
47
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 11: 261.
48
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 11: 266, where Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n’s dismissal of al-
Qā sim’s˙ expertise is blunt: when asked about writing down ˙ traditions from Ibn Abı̄
Shayba and ʿUthmā n against those of al-Qā sim, Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n responded, ‘write on
the authority of those two’. ˙
49
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 11: 263.
50
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 11: 262.
51
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 11: 262 (ihfazū nı̄ fı̄ al-ʿAbbā s fa innahu
baqiyyatu˙ ā bā ’ı̄ , wa inna ʿamm al-rajul sinw abı̄ hi). ˙ ˙
˙
 2.2 Stage One (800–850) 35

His scholarly reputation, however, stands largely on his fourteen-

volume Musannaf, which is a compilation of Companion and Successor
reports and, ˙ to a lesser degree, Prophetic reports arranged under legal
headings. We observed in the case of al-Shā fiʿı̄ that the nature of his
criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa were shaped by the demands of the genre in
˙
which he was writing. Juristic writing provided the necessary space to
highlight Abū Hanı̄ fa’s juristic deficiencies. The Musannaf, too, belongs
˙ ˙
to a distinct genre, and thereby produces a specific range of criticisms
against Abū Hanı̄ fa. It consists of forty-one books. There are the usual
˙
range of legal subjects such as ritual purity (al-tahā ra), marriage (al-
nikā h), and sales (al-buyū ʿ). In addition to these, ˙the Musannaf contains
˙ ˙
books on doctrine (al-ı̄ mā n wa al-ru’yā ), history (al-tā rı̄ kh), eschatology
(sifat al-janna wa al-nā r), asceticism (al-zuhd), and the firsts (al-awā ‘il).
˙
There is, also, the curious inclusion of one of the longest books, ‘The
Refutation of Abū Hanı̄ fa’. The book does not deviate substantially from
˙
the style and format of the Musannaf‘s other chapters. It is introduced
˙
with a sentence explaining that ‘it describes all the instances in which Abū
Hanı̄ fa opposed reports (al-athar) that were transmitted from the
˙
Messenger of God’. Ibn Abı̄ Shayba presents a total of 485 reports
which he believes Abū Hanı̄ fa contravened. The first report concerns
˙
the stoning to death of Jewish men and women and takes the following
format:52
1. Sharı̄ k b. ʿAbd Allā h < Samā k < Jā bir b. Samura: the Prophet, God
pray over him and grant him peace, stoned a Jewish man and a Jewish
woman.
2. Abū Muʿā wiya and Wakı̄ ʿ < al-Aʿmash < ʿAbd Allā h b. Murra < al-
Barā ’ b. ʿĀ zib: the Messenger of God, God pray over him and grant
him peace, stoned a Jewish man.
3. Ibn Numayr < ʿUbayd Allā h < Nā fiʿ < Ibn ʿUmar: the Prophet, God
pray over him and grant him peace, stoned two Jews, and I was among
the people who stoned them both.
4. Jarı̄ r < Mughı̄ ra < al-Shaʿbı̄ : the Prophet, God pray over him and grant
him peace, stoned a Jewish man and a Jewish woman.
5. It is reported that Abū Hanı̄ fa said: ‘They are not to be stoned.’
The remaining 484 reports˙assume this very style of argumentation. The
final report in Ibn Abı̄ Shayba’s refutation of Abū Hanı̄ fa reads:53
˙

52
Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, al-Musannaf, ed. Muhammad ʿAwwā ma (Jeddah: Dā r al-Qibla li al-
˙
Thaqā fa al-Islā miyya, 2006), 20: 53–4 ˙= (Hyderabad: al-Matbaʿa al-ʿAzı̄ ziyya, 1966),
14: 148–9. ˙
53
Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, al-Musannaf, 20: 216–17 = 14: 281–2.
˙
36 Discourses of Heresy I (800–850)

1. Abū Khā lid al-Ahmar < Yahyā b. Saʿı̄ d < ʿAmr b. Yahyā b. ʿUmā ra <
˙ ˙ ˙
his father < Abı̄ Saʿı̄ d said: the Messenger of God, God pray over him
and grant him peace, said: ‘No charity (sadaqa) is due on anything less
˙
than five aswā q.’
2. Abū Usā ma < Walı̄ d b. Kathı̄ r < Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n
˙ ˙
b. Abı̄ Saʿsaʿa < Yahyā b. ʿUmā ra and ʿIbā d b. Tamı̄ m < Abı̄ Saʿı̄ d al-
˙ ˙ ˙
Khudrı̄ : he heard the Messenger of God, God pray over him and grant
him peace, say: ‘There is no charity due on anything less than five
aswā q of dates.’
3. ʿAlı̄ b. Ishā q < Ibn Mubā rak < Maʿmar < Suhayl < his father < Abū
Hurayra:˙The Prophet of God, God pray over him and give him peace,
said: ‘There is no charity due on anything less than five aswā q.’
4. It is reported that Abū Hanı̄ fa said: ‘Charity is due on anything that
˙
exceeds or is less than this.’
Despite the steady pattern of this kind of criticism against Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙
there are some alterations in the specific wording Ibn Abı̄ Shayba chooses
to describe Abū Hanı̄ fa’s contravention of Prophetic reports. We saw in
˙
the first report, for example, that Ibn Abı̄ Shayba described Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
legal views as being in direct contradiction to the Prophet’s: where ˙ the
Prophet stoned a Jewish man and woman, Abū Hanı̄ fa ruled that they
˙
should not be stoned (laysa ʿalayhimā rajm). This seems to represent the
most frequent technique for describing Abū Hanı̄ fa’s opposition
˙
to Prophetic hadı̄ th. Ibn Abı̄ Shayba has Abū Hanı̄ fa provide a legal
˙ ˙
opinion that is contrary to the one adumbrated by his selection of
Prophetic reports. But there are other stock phrases Ibn Abı̄ Shayba
employs. When the Prophet forbade prayer in the resting places of cam-
els, Abū Hanı̄ fa declared that doing otherwise was not a problem (lā ba’s
˙
bi dhā lika). This specific phrase – lā ba’s bi dhā lika – appears in reports
concerning the permissibility of travelling with the Quranic mushaf to
˙˙
enemy lands (al-safar bi al-mushaf ilā ard al-ʿadū w);54 giving equally
˙ ˙ ˙
among one’s offspring (al-taswiya bayna al-awlā d fı̄ al-ʿatı̄ ya); on the
55
˙
prohibition of inheriting wine even if one intends to turn it into vinegar;56
and many others. In other reports Abū Hanı̄ fa is described as having
˙
opined against the verdict of a Prophetic hadı̄ th (qā la bi khilā fihi).57
Criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa in Ibn Abı̄ Shayba ˙ ̄ ’s Musannaf assume
˙ ˙
a pattern consistent with the theme and central preoccupation of the
work. Hadı̄ th reports are the subject matter of the Musannaf, although
˙ ˙
as Christopher Melchert and Scott Lucas have pointed out, Companion
54
Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, al-Musannaf, 20: 58–9 = 14: 151–2.
55
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ annaf, 20: 59–60 = 14: 152–3.
Shayba, al-Mus
56
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ annaf, 20: 90 = 14: 178.
Shayba, al-Mus
57
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ annaf, 20: 104 = 14: 188–9.
Shayba, al-Mus
˙
 2.2 Stage One (800–850) 37

and Successor reports and not Prophetic hadı̄ th constitute the mainstay
˙
of Ibn Abı̄ Shayba’s compilation.58 In the light of the format and focus of
the Musannaf, the way in which Ibn Abı̄ Shayba articulates his opposition
˙
to Abū Hanı̄ fa should not surprise us. Al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s hostility towards Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa was on account of the latter’s legal method and juristic reasoning,
˙
and al-Shā fiʿı̄ expressed them in works dedicated to juridical disputation.
Ibn Saʿd was forced to use biography as a vehicle for conveying Abū
Hanı̄ fa and his students’ deviation from hadı̄ th to speculative jurispru-
˙ ˙
dence. The biographical dictionary imposed this kind of constraint on the
articulation of his ideas. Reports (ā thā r) are the focal point of Ibn Abı̄
Shayba’s work, and he found a way to use such reports to articulate what
he deemed to be Abū Hanı̄ fa’s deviation from the words and deeds of the
˙
Prophet Muhammad and his Companions.
˙

58
Melchert, ‘Traditionist-Jurisprudents’, 401–2; Lucas, ‘Where are the Legal Hadı̄ th?’.
˙
3 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

3.1 Stage Two (850–950)

The second stage in discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa provides
˙
irrefutable evidence for this study’s argument that a proto-Sunni trad-
itionalist network of scholars and associates attempted to frame Abū
Hanı̄ fa as a heretic. It is in these shifting strategies of denunciation
˙
exhibited during this second phase that we learn precisely how orthodoxy
worked in the ninth–tenth centuries. We begin to understand how such
discourses of orthodoxy and heresy could become hegemonic. And, by
focusing on the construction of heresiological discourses, we can develop
a more accurate profile of the agents of orthodoxy.
Two of the most important voices among the proto-Sunni traditionalist
community condemning Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic and deviant were Abū
˙
Bakr al-Humaydı̄ and Ishā q b. Rā hawayh. Their presence in discourses
˙ ˙
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa is ubiquitous; they are prominent as their
promulgators, narrators, ˙ and progenitors. Their connections to subse-
quent proto-Sunni traditionalists, whose writings contain severe condem-
nations of Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic and deviant scholar, warrant a closer
˙
examination of these two figures. The surviving works of al-Humaydı̄ and
˙
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh are meagre and do not indicate any obvious or explicit
˙
attempts to cast Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic. But this absence proves well the
˙
point that relying only on the surviving literary corpus does not permit one
to capture the full extent of ninth–tenth-century religious developments.

Al-Humaydı̄ (d. 219/834)

˙
Al-Humaydı̄ was born into a Meccan family of some renown. His grand-
˙
father, al-Zubayr b. ʿUbayd Allā h b. Humayd, belonged to the generation of
˙
the Successors.1 Al-Humaydı̄ ’s father, al-Zubayr b. ʿĪ sā , was a transmitter
˙
1
Al-Zubayr b. Bakkā r, Jamharat nasab quraysh wa akhbā rihā , ed. Mahmū d Muhammad
Shā kir (Cairo: Maktabat Dā r al-ʿUrū ba, 1962), 444–5; Ibn Hazm, ˙Jamharat ansā ˙ b al-
˙
ʿarab, ed. ʿAbd al-Salā m Hā rū n (Cairo: Dā r al-Maʿā rif, 1962), 117 = Jamharat ansā b al-

38
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 39

of hadı̄ th who had narrated traditions from Hishā m b. ʿUrwa.2 We must

˙
assume that his father’s learning had a formative effect on al-Humaydı̄ ’s
religious orientation. Residing in Mecca certainly reduced ˙the usual
demand on young students of hadı̄ th to travel far and wide in search of
˙
hadı̄ th masters. Though al-Humaydı̄ travelled to Egypt and Iraq, his resi-
˙ ˙
dence in Mecca enabled him to benefit from the endless flow of scholarly
traffic prompted by pilgrims flocking to the Hijā z. Post-classical sources
˙
have plenty to say about al-Humaydı̄ ’s proto-Sunni traditionalist creden-
˙
tials, but it seems wiser to limit ourselves first to his reception in ninth-
century sources and among proto-Sunni traditionalists of that century.
Al-Humaydı̄ makes his first appearance in the literary record in the
˙
section on Meccan scholars in Ibn Saʿd’s al-Tabaqā t al-kubrā . Ibn Saʿd’s
˙
entries tend to give very little away, so we must assume that he deemed
essential the following facts about al-Humaydı̄ ’s life: he was Sufyā n
˙
b. ʿUyayna’s disciple (sā hib); he was a reliable (thiqa) hadı̄ th scholar;
˙ ˙ ˙
and he had memorised a great many hadı̄ th.3 Ibn Qutayba also knew al-
˙
Humaydı̄ to be a member of the ashā b al-hadı̄ th and sā hib Ibn ʿUyayna.4 A
˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
more detailed picture of al-Humaydı̄ ’s importance begins to emerge in
˙
the work of one of his students. Al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh
contains over 297 references to al-Humaydı̄ , 66 of which are reports al-
˙
Fasawı̄ heard directly from al-Humaydı̄ .5 Al-Fasawı̄ ’s History is replete
˙

ʿarab, ed. Évariste Lévi-Provençal (Cairo: Dā r al-Maʿā rif, 1948), 108; al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-
Ansā b, ed. ʿAbd Allā h ʿUmar al-Bā rū dı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Jinā n, 1988), 4: 47–8.
2
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Thiqā t (Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, 1973),
6: 331. ˙
3
Ibn Saʿd, Kitā b al-Tabaqā t al-kabı̄ r [Biographien], ed. E. Sachau et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1904–
40), 2: 368. ˙
4
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, ed. Tharwat ʿUkā sha (Cairo: Dā r al-Maʿā rif, 1969), 526.
5
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 3rd ed., ed. Akram Diyā ’ al-ʿUmarı̄ (Medina:
Maktabat al-Dā r, 1989), 1: 185–6, 200, 203 (al-Fasawı̄ enters ˙a record of al-Humaydı̄ ’s
passing in the year 219/834), 215, 216, 221, 223, 227, 229, 231, 234, 243 (al-H ˙ umaydı̄ ’s
noble lineage), 280, 317, 346, 347, 348, 356, 361, 388, 396, 409, 415, 428 (al-Fasawı̄ ˙
presents al-Humaydı̄ ’s autobiographical account of his studies in Medina), 431, 433, 438,
440, 445, 449, ˙ 456, 457, 458, 459, 489, 494, 496, 502, 513–14, 516, 517–18, 521, 540,
541, 543, 544, 549, 552, 555, 559, 560, 561, 565, 566, 572, 634–5, 647, 659, 661, 680,
681, 698, 702, 703, 706, 712, 725; 2: 5–6, 9, 10, 12–13, 15, 18–22, 24, 32, 45, 93, 94, 113
(report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority concerning Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna’s criticism of a hadı̄ th
˙
transmitter, Ashʿath ˙
b. Siwā r (according to Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tabsı̄ r al-muntabih bi
˙ ˙
tahrı̄ r al-Mushtabih, ed. ʿAlı̄ Muhammad al-Bajā wı̄ and Muhammad ʿAlı̄ al-Najjā r (Beirut:
˙
al-Maktaba al-ʿIlmiyya, n.d.),˙ 2: 699–700 other possibilities ˙ include Sawwā r and
Suwwā r)), 177 (where we learn that al-Humaydı̄ lived in close proximity to Mutarrif b.
˙
ʿAbd Allā h al-Yasā rı̄ , a student of and nephew of Mā lik b. Anas, and an account ˙ of al-
Humaydı̄ ’s counsel to al-Fasawı̄ concerning the recensions of the Muwatta’), 178–9, 183
˙
(al-H umaydı̄ tests two hadı̄ th scholars claiming to have memorised hadı̄ th ˙˙ from Sufyā n b.
˙
ʿUyayna, and under al-H ˙ umaydı̄ ’s interrogation they both fail miserably),
˙ 187, 189, 190,
206, 207, 208, 209, 210, ˙ 211, 212, 214, 220, 226, 227, 229, 231, 236, 255, 256, 259,
279–80, 281, 294, 319, 320, 407, 421–2, 549, 550, 552, 556–7, 560, 561, 572, 574, 575,
40 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

with accounts of his encounters with al-Humaydı̄ . Al-Fasawı̄ informs us

˙
that he arrived in Mecca at the beginning of Ramadā n in 210/826. Once the
month of fasting had finished, al-Humaydı̄ began ˙teaching his Musnad. Al-
˙
Fasawı̄ attended these lessons and heard the entire Musnad.6 It is clear from
the Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh that al-Fasawı̄ and al-Humaydı̄ were
˙
intimate friends. In one account al-Fasawı̄ tells us that he was in Mecca
making his way towards the house of Mutarrif b. ʿAbd Allā h (d. 210/825–
˙
6). On his way to meet Mutarrif, al-Fasawı̄ chanced upon al-Humaydı̄ , and
˙ 7 ˙
the following conversation ensued:
al-h: umaydī : Where are you going?
al-fasawī : I am going to see Mutarrif to read the Muwatta’ with him.
al-h: umaydī : Did you not hear the˙ Muwatta’ from ʿAbd ˙˙ Allā h b. Maslama b.
Qaʿnab? ˙˙
al-fasawī : Yes, I had heard it from him.
al-h: umaydī : In that case, go and perform the circumambulation (al-tawā f) and
do not busy yourself with Mutarrif. ˙
˙
al-fasawī : So, I walked with al-Humaydı̄ towards the Kaʿba, and he told me
˙
[about his reservations concerning Mutarrif].8
˙
577, 578, 579, 580, 581, 582, 583, 584–5, 587, 589, 590–1, 593, 595, 602, 606, 608, 611,
612, 613, 619, 620, 630, 635, 636, 637–8, 643, 652, 665, 667, 668, 669, 670–1, 671–2,
672, 673, 674, 675–6, 677, 678, 679, 680–1, 682, 683, 684, 685, 687, 688, 689–90, 690–
1, 692 (al-Humaydı̄ distinguishing between Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna’s older (mistaken) and
˙
later narrations), 696, 697–708, 710, 711–25, 727–32, 734–45, 753, 755, 756, 757, 758,
778, 779 (anti-Abū Hanı̄ fa report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority), 787 (anti-Abū Hanı̄ fa
report on al-Humaydı̄˙’s authority, containing ˙ al-Humaydı̄ ’s comment that anyone ˙ who
holds the opinion˙ attributed to Abū Hanı̄ fa has ˙committed heresy or unbelief (fa qad
kafara)), 788 (anti-Abū Hanı̄ fa report on ˙ al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority), 800–801, 800–817; 3:
5, 42, 48–9, 81, 85, 91, 102, ˙ 114, 115, 118,˙ 119, 121, 122–3, 129, 130, 158, 160, 161,
166, 184 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority and al-Fasawı̄ ’s remark about al-Humaydı̄ ’s
unparalleled faithfulness˙ to Islam and the people of Islam), 203, 217, 218, 220,˙ 237, 263,
288, 333, 341, 343–4, 389, 391, 406, 408–9, 411, 421, 422, 473, 475, 490 (report on al-
Humaydı̄ ’s authority from al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Sunna), 495 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s
˙
authority from al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Sunna), 498 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority ˙ from
al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Sunna), 501 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority ˙ from al-Fasawı̄ ’s
˙
Kitā b al-Sunna), 511 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority from al-Fasawı̄ ’s other works),
517 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority ˙ from al-Fasawı̄ ’s other works), 527 (report on al-
Humaydı̄ ’s authority ˙ from Ibn Abı̄ ʿĀ sim’s Kitā b al-Sunna), 531 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s
˙
authority from al-Hā kim’s al-Mustadrak), ˙ 537 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority˙ from al-
Bayhaqı̄ ’s al-Sunan ˙ al-kubrā ), 541 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s˙authority from al-Bayhaqı̄ ’s
al-Sunan al-kubrā ), 542–3 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s ˙ authority from al-Bayhaqı̄ ’s al-Sunan
˙
al-kubrā ), 545 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority from al-Bayhaqı̄ ’s al-Sunan al-kubrā ),
˙
547 (report on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority from al-Bayhaqı̄ ’s al-Sunan al-kubrā ), 549 (report
on al-Humaydı̄ ’s ˙authority from al-Bayhaqı̄ ’s al-Sunan al-kubrā ), 560 (report on al-
˙
Humaydı̄ ’s authority from al-Bayhaqı̄ ’s Dalā ’il al-nubū wa).
6 ˙
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 1: 200.
7
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 177.
8
Al-Humaydı̄ deemed ʿAbd Allā h b. Qaʿnab’s (d. 221/836) recension of the Muwatta’ to be
more˙ reliable than Mutarrif’s. Mutarrif b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Yasā rı̄ (d. 220/835) was˙Ma ˙ ̄ lik b.
Anas’s nephew. ˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 41

Anecdotes such as these preserve the kinds of deep loyalties and friend-
ships that existed among proto-Sunni traditionalists. Learning and know-
ledge was a friendship’s greatest currency. When a fellow proto-Sunni
traditionalist gave his word, it was as good as gold. There was no reason to
question it. Al-Fasawı̄ was ready to attend Mutarrif’s house for a lesson,
˙
but his reliable and trustworthy compatriot, al-Humaydı̄ , knew better.
˙
When he told al-Fasawı̄ to change his plans abruptly, al-Fasawı̄ made
no further inquiries. He knew that al-Humaydı̄ and Mutarrif were prac-
˙ ˙
tically neighbours.9 Eventually, al-Humaydı̄ gave his reasons. But not for
˙
a moment did al-Fasawı̄ doubt his teacher’s judgement. Traces of their
friendship are scattered across al-Fasawı̄ ’s ouevre. Al-Humaydı̄ figures in
˙
al-Fasawı̄ ’s now lost Kitā b al-Sunna,10 and the very first hadı̄ th related
˙
by al-Fasawı̄ in his Mashyakha is from al-Humaydı̄ , where al-Fasawı̄
˙
includes al-Humaydı̄ ’s running commentary on the hadı̄ th in question.11
˙ ˙
Al-Humaydı̄ ’s role in the transmission and promulgation of discourses of
˙
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa cannot be underestimated, and beyond this
˙
his contribution to the development of proto-Sunnism has yet to be
acknowledged by modern scholars. This is understandable in the light
of the tendency in modern scholarship to identify key changes and events
in the religious and social history of medieval Islam with scholars whose
written works have survived. It seems reasonable to assume that the
survival of only two modest works by al-Humaydı̄ , neither of which has
˙
been examined in western scholarship, has something to do with the
insufficient attention paid to him.12
Al-Humaydı̄ was a prolific author.13 He composed a book on Quranic
˙
exegesis.14 He wrote a work on the proofs of Muhammad’s prophethood.15
A local history of Mecca is attributed to ˙ him.16 Another literary

9
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 177.
10
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 3: 490, 495, 498, 501.
11
Al-Fasawı̄ , Mashyakhat Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n al-Fasawı̄ , ed. Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h al-
Sarrı̄ ʿ (Riyadh: Dā r al-ʿĀ sima, 2010), 35–6. ˙
12
The only study I know of ˙ is the brief overview by al-Suwayyā n: Ahmad b. ʿAbd al-
Rahmā n al-Suwayyā n, al-Imā m ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Zubayr ˙ al-Humaydı̄˙ wa kitā buhu al-
˙
musnad ˙
(Riyadh: ˙ Brief references to the
Dā r al-Miʿrā j al-Dawlı̄ ya li al-Nashr, 1996).
Musnad appear in Juynboll, Muslim Tradition, 25, 27, 28, 112–13. Al-Humaydı̄ ’s poten-
tial leadership of the Shā fiʿı̄ school upon al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s death is discussed by ˙ El Shamsy, The
Canonization of Islamic Law, 119–20.
13
Sezgin, GAS, 1: 101–2. 14 For his al-Tafsı̄ r see Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 4.1: 40.
15
For al-Dalā ’il see Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf al-zunū n (Beirut: Dā r˙ Ihyā ’ al-Tura ˙ ̄ th al-ʿArabı̄ , n.
˙ ˙
d.), 2: 1418; Ismā ʿı̄ l Pā shā , Hadiyyat al-ʿā rifin (Beirut: Dā r Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-ʿArabı̄ , n.
d.), 1: 439; ʿUmar Ridā Kahhā la, Muʿjam al-mu’allifı̄ n (Beirut: ˙ Dā r Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-
ʿArabı̄ , n.d.), 6: 54. ˙ ˙˙ ˙
16
For Fadā ’il Makka see Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Fath al-bā rı̄ , ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z b. Bā z
(Beirut:˙ Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1970;˙ repr. Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub˙ al-Salafiyya, n.d.), 3: 463.
42 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

contribution was a book, I assume, on rare hadı̄ th reports.17 His most

˙
important work is the Musnad. It is arranged, as was common for
masā nı̄ d works of this period, according to the narrations of (182 male
and female) Companions. This is not the place to examine what the
Musnad and al-Humaydı̄ ’s career can tell us about the history of proto-
˙
Sunnism in the ninth century, but the Musnad is pertinent to the growth of
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
For one, the Musnad reveals al-Humaydı̄ ’s deep and personal relation-
˙
ship with Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna (d. 198/814). Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna was origin-
ally from Kufa, but he spent more than a decade in Mecca, and it was here
that the two men struck up a productive and long-lasting friendship.18 Al-
Humaydı̄ alleged that he had spent close to twenty years in the learned
˙
company of Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna.19 Proto-Sunni traditionalists of the ninth
century were aware of the proximity between the two scholars, and a
number of them recognised al-Humaydı̄ ’s status as Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna’s
˙
most faithful and discerning student.20 The connection between these
two men is particularly important because both Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna and al-
Humaydı̄ appear in the sources as two of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s most severe
˙
detractors. ˙
Moreover, a deeper appreciation of the Musnad gives us a more accur-
ate understanding of the prominent influence al-Humaydı̄ had on leading
˙
members of the proto-Sunni traditionalist community and on the broader

17
On al-Nawā dir see Sezgin, GAS, 1: 101–2; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Fath al-bā rı̄ , 1: 180, 6:
248 (Ibn Bā z edn.). Al-Nawā dir could denote ˙a book on juridical opinions ˙ concerning
rare issues (as in the case of Muʿallā b. Mansū r’s al-Nawā dir) or, alternatively, a book on
rare hadı̄ th reports (as in the case of al-Hakı̄ m ˙ al-Tirmidhı̄ ’s Nawā dir al-usū l fı̄ maʿrifat al-
ahā dı̄˙th al-rasū l, ed. Ismā ʿı̄ l Ibrā hı̄ m ˙ʿAwad (Cairo: Maktabat al-Ima ˙ ̄ m al-Bukhā rı̄ ,
˙
2008)). ˙
18
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b (Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-Nizā miyya,
1907˙ and 1909), 4: 122 tells us that Sufyā n moved from Kufa to Mecca in 163/779–80. ˙ I
thank Christopher Melchert for this reference.
19
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 3.1: 97 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 2.2: 57; Ibn Hibbā n, al-
Thiqā t, 8: 341. Later sources recount this: Ibn al-Qaysara ˙ ̄ nı̄ ,˙ al-Jamʿ bayna kitā˙ bay Abı̄
Nasr al-Kalā bā dhı̄ wa Abı̄ Bakr al-Isfahā nı̄ fı̄ rijā l al-Bukhā rı̄ wa Muslim (Hyderabad:
Mat˙ baʿat Majlis Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-Niz ˙ ā miyya, 1905; repr. Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-
˙
ʿIlmiyya, 1984), 1: 265; al-Mizzı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b˙al-kamā l fı̄ asmā ’ al-rijā l, ed. Bashshā r ʿAwwā d
Maʿrū f (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1983), 14: 514; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar aʿlā m al-nubalā ’,
ed. Shuʿayb al-Arnā ’ū t et al. (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1996), 10: 617; Tā j al-Dı̄ n al-
Subkı̄ , Tabaqā t al-Shā ˙fiʿiyya al-kubrā , ed. Mahmū d Muhammad al-Tanā hı̄ and ʿAbd al-
Fattā h ˙Muhammad al-Hulw (Cairo: ʿĪ sā al-Ba ˙ ̄ bı̄ al-Halabı̄
˙ , 1964–76; ˙ repr. ˙ Cairo: Dā r
Ihyā ’ ˙al-Kutub
˙ ˙
al-ʿArabiyya, 1992), 2: 140; al-Samʿā ˙nı̄ , al-Ansā b, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n
˙
al-Muʿallimı̄ al-Yamā nı̄ (Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, 1979; ˙repr.
Cairo: Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya, 1981–4), 4: 233.
20
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b (Hyderabadedn.), 4: 118–19, 5: 215–16, 9:
25, 29;˙ Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 2.2: 57; Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, al-Intiqā ’ fı̄ fadā ’il al-a’imma al-
fuqahā ’, ed. ʿAbd ˙ al-Fattā ˙h Abū Ghudda (Beirut: Dā r al-Basha ˙̄ ’ir al-Islā miyya,
1997), 104. ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 43

direction of proto-Sunni traditionalism in the middle of the ninth century.

The relationship between al-Humaydı̄ and al-Bukhā rı̄ , which remains a
blind spot in modern scholarship, ˙ illustrates why al-Humaydı̄ ’s contribu-
˙
tion to the development of proto-Sunni traditionalism and its discourses
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa must be accounted for. Al-Humaydı̄ was
˙ ˙
one of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s greatest teachers. The friendship between teacher
and student probably dates back to al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s visits to the Hijā z.21
We learn from a fairly late source that al-Bukhā rı̄ , who apparently ˙ was
eighteen years old at the time, came to see al-Humaydı̄ . Al-Humaydı̄ was
˙ ˙
in the middle of a discussion with another scholar concerning a particular
hadı̄ th. When al-Humaydı̄ saw al-Bukhā rı̄ , he declared al-Bukhā rı̄ fit and
˙ ˙
capable of arbitrating the scholarly disagreement. Al-Humaydı̄ and his
˙
interlocutor both presented their arguments to al-Bukhā rı̄ , and the latter
ruled in favour of al-Humaydı̄ because his was the correct position.22
There are also significant ˙ indications of al-Humaydı̄ ’s impact on al-
˙
Bukhā rı̄ ’s scholarship in the latter’s Sahı̄ h. At least seventy-five hadı̄ ths
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
in the Sahı̄ h are narrated on al-Humaydı̄ ’s authority.23 Some of the
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
greatest medieval readers of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h were of the view that his
selection of the opening hadı̄ th of the Sah˙ı̄ h˙ was
˙ intended, among other
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
things, to serve as a compliment to al-Humaydı̄ :24
˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Zubayr al-Humaydı̄ > Sufyā n > Yahyā b. Saʿı̄ d al-Ansā rı̄ >
˙
Muhammad b. Ibrā hı̄ m al-Taymı̄ > ʿAlqama b. Waqqa ˙ ̄ s al-Laythı̄ : I ˙heard
˙ b. al-Khattā b on the minbar say: I heard the messenger
ʿUmar ˙ of God, may
˙ ˙
God pray over him and grant him peace, say: All actions are in accordance only
with their intentions. Thus, every person shall have only that which they intended.
So, whomever’s migration was for the sake of gaining some material benefit in this
world, or for the sake of marrying a spouse, then their migration is for that which
they intended.

Students of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h, such as Ibn ʿAdı̄ (d. 365/976), Abū Nasr
˙ ˙ ˙
Ahmad al-Kalā bā dhı̄ (d. 398/1008), ˙
and Ibn al-Qaysarā nı̄ (d. 507/1113),
˙
recognised the book’s debt to al-Humaydı̄ , and they pointed to the first
˙
21
On al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s travels and his time in the Hijā z see Melchert, ‘Bukhā rı̄ and his Sahı̄ h’,
427–8. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
22
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taghlı̄ q al-taʿlı̄ q ʿalā Sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄ , ed. Saʿı̄ d ʿAbd al-Rahmā n
Mū sa˙̄ al-Qazafı̄ (Beirut: al-Maktab al-Islā mı̄ ,˙1985),˙ ˙ 5: 404; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , ˙Hady
[sic] al-sā rı̄ : muqaddimat Fath al-Bā rı̄ , ed. Muhammad Fu’ā d ʿAbd ˙ al-Bā qı̄ and Muhibb
al-Dı̄ n al-Khatı̄ b (Beirut: Da˙̄ r al-Maʿrifa, 1959), ˙ 1: 483. ˙
23
This was Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ ’s calculation in Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b (Hyderabad edn.), 5:
216. The modern ˙ authority on al-Humaydı̄ ’s Musnad, al-Suwayyā n, corroborates this
number against Sezgin’s figure of only ˙ thirty-three hadı̄ ths.˙ See al-Suwayyā n, al-Imā m
ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Zubayr al-Humaydı̄ , 46 n. 3; Sezgin, ˙Buhârî’nin Kaynakları, ˙ 213, no. 19.
Scott C. Lucas seems aware ˙ of Sezgin’s figure only: see Lucas, Constructive Critics, 363
n. 163.
24
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Sahı̄ h, kitā b bad’ al-wahy, bā b kayfa kā na bad’ al-wahy 1.
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
44 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

hadı̄ th of the Sahı̄ h as evidence for this.25 In al-Dhahabı̄ ’s view, the first
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
hadı̄ th of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h was meant to deliver a statement about the
˙book’s integrity, and ˙the˙ ˙esteem and pre-eminence of al-Humaydı̄ ’s
˙
transmission achieved precisely this.26 Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ explained
˙
that al-Humaydı̄ was one of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s greatest teachers. He tells us that
˙
al-Bukhā rı̄ began the Sahı̄ h with al-Humaydı̄ ’s transmission because
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
the latter was a Meccan, a Qurashı̄ (and the Prophet had commanded
that precedence be given to the people of Quraysh), and one of the
greatest teachers from whom al-Bukhā rı̄ had learnt jurisprudence.27
Notwithstanding the prestige of beginning the Sahı̄ h with al-
Humaydı̄ ’s transmission, there may have been other reasons ˙ ˙ ˙ guiding
˙
al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s decision to open his Sahı̄ h with this particular hadı̄ th, trans-
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
mitted by al-Humaydı̄ . It is possible that al-Bukhā rı̄ intended to
˙
announce at the very outset of his book his opposition to Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
and his followers. This very hadı̄ th reappears in a number of places in the
˙
Sahı̄ h, and it is cited by al-Bukhā rı̄ in his condemnation of hiyal (legal
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
tricks), which further suggests that followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa were the
˙
intended targets of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s deployment of this tradition.28 Al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s hostility to Abū Hanı̄ fa will be discussed later in this chapter,
˙
but it is important to note that al-Humaydı̄ ’s Musnad, which must have
˙
been composed before al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h, begins with the hadı̄ th of
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

25
Al-Kalā bā dhı̄ , Rijā l Sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄ , ed. ʿAbd Allā h al-Laythı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿrifa,
1987), 1: 406–7; Ibn˙ al-Qaysara
˙ ˙ ̄ nı̄ , al-Jamʿ bayna kitā bay, 1: 265. Al-Humaydı̄ is men-
tioned in Ibn Manda, ‘Tasmiyat al-mashā yikh alladhı̄ na yarwı̄ ʿanhum ˙ al-Imā m Abū
ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. Ismā ʿı̄ l al-Bukhā rı̄ fı̄ kitā bihi al-jā miʿ al-sahı̄ h alladhı̄
sannafahu’, MS 1530, ˙ Idā rat al-Makhtū tā t wa al-Maktabā t al-Islā miyya bi ˙ Wiza
˙ ˙ ̄ rat al-
˙Awqā f al-Kuwaytiyya, fols. 1–23, at 14.˙ The ˙ manuscript I had access to is a copy of the
original Chester Beatty MS 5165, which was edited by Arberry: see ‘Tasmiyat al-
mashā yikh alladhı̄ na yarwı̄ ʿanhum al-Imā m Abū ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. Ismā ʿı̄ l al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’, ed. Arberry in ‘The Teachers of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’, 34–49; I did˙not have access to this
article. This Ibn Manda may be identical to Abū Bakr al-Isfahā nı̄ , whose work Ibn al-
Qaysarā nı̄ was collating in the source cited above. See Ibn ʿAdı̄ ˙ , Asā mı̄ man rawā ʿanhum
Muhammad b. Ismā ʿı̄ l al-Bukhā rı̄ min mashā yikhihi alladhı̄ na dhakarahum fı̄ jā miʿihi al-
sahı̄˙h, ed. ʿĀ mir Hasan Sabrı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir al-Islā miyya, 1994), 141, where he
˙acknowledges
˙ ˙ al-H ˙ umaydı̄
˙ ’s role as someone al-Bukhā rı̄ narrated hadı̄ th reports from but
is quick to note al-H ˙ umaydı̄ ’s close association with al-Shā fiʿı̄ . Not ˙ all students of the
˙
Sahı̄ h referred to the relationship between al-Bukhā rı̄ and al-Humaydı̄ . See, e.g., Abū
˙ ˙mad
Ah ˙ al-Hā kim (d. 378/988–9), Kitā b al-Asā mı̄ wa al-kunā , ed. ˙ Yū suf b. Muhammad
˙
al-Dakhı̄ ˙
l (Medina: Maktabat al-Ghurabā ’ al-Athariyya, 1994), 2: 176. On Abū˙ Ahmad
al-Hā kim see Khan, ‘Before Shurū h’. ˙
26 ˙
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 10: 621. ˙
27
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Fath al-bā rı̄ , 1: 10 (Ibn Bā z edn.); Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tawā lı̄
˙ s li maʿā lı̄ Muhammad
al-ta’sı̄ ˙ b. Idrı̄ s, ed. Abū al-Fidā ’ ʿAbd Allā ˙h al-Qā dı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-
Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1986), ˙ 244–5. ˙
28
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Sahı̄ h, kitā b al-hiyal, bā b 1. See Chapter 7 below for a discussion of hiyal.
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 45

intention.29 It seems plausible that al-Bukhā rı̄ was framing his Sahı̄ h
˙ ˙ ˙
against proto-Hanafı̄ s and, in doing so, he was explicitly imitating the
˙
method and practice of his teacher, al-Humaydı̄ .
˙
Al-Humaydı̄ ’s influence over al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
can be discerned elsewhere. In medieval and modern Arabophone schol-
arship, much has been made of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s twenty-five references to
‘some people’ (baʿd al-nā s) in the Sahı̄ h.30 It has been pointed out that
al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s use of˙ the moniker baʿd ˙ ˙ al-nā
˙ s did not always imply Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa and was intended to denote rationalists and semi-rationalists such
˙
as ʿĪ sā b. Abā n, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , and al-Shaybā nı̄ .31 Sunni traditionalists of the
tenth century believed that the practice of employing oblique references
to Abū Hanı̄ fa as a veiled barb preceded al-Bukhā rı̄ . Ibn Hibbā n (d. 354/
˙ ˙
965) writes:32
I heard al-Hasan b. ʿUthmā n b. Ziyā d < Muhammad b. Mansū r al-Jawwā r say: I
˙
saw al-Humaydı̄ ˙ against Abū H˙ anı̄ fa in the sacred
reading the Book of Refutation
˙
mosque, and I noticed that he would say: ‘Some people say ˙ such and such.’ I
asked him, ‘Why do you not mention them by name?’ He replied, ‘I dislike
mentioning them by name in the sacred mosque.’
The historiographical obsession with al-Bukhā rı̄ and the canonisation of
his Sahı̄ h has contributed to the overshadowing of his teachers and influ-
˙ ˙ ˙
ences. In this and other respects, al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s condemnation of Abū
Hanı̄ fa as a heretic and deviant owed much to al-Humaydı̄ ’s leadership.
˙ ˙
The salient point is not whether al-Humaydı̄ or al-Bukhā rı̄ was the first to
˙
29
Al-Humaydı̄ , Musnad, ed. Habı̄ b al-Rahmā n al-Aʿzamı̄ (Karachi: al-Majlis al-ʿIlmı̄ ,
1963;˙ repr. Beirut: ʿĀ lam ˙al-Kutub, 1988), ˙ ˙
1: 16–17 = ed. Husayn Salı̄ m Asad
(Damascus: Dā r al-Saqqā , 1996), 1: 163. The line of transmission for ˙ the hadı̄ th (isnā d)
in al-Humaydı̄ ’s Musnad is identical to the one provided by al-Bukhā rı̄ . There ˙ is a slight
˙
discrepancy in the content (matn). Present in al-Humaydı̄ ’s Musnad but absent in al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h is the following phrase: fa man kā˙nat hijratuhu ilā Allā h wa rasū lihi, fa
hijratuhu ilā˙ Allā
˙ ˙ h wa rasū lihi.
30
For a nineteenth-century treatment of this topic see the treatise of al-Ghunaymı̄ , Kashf al-
iltibā s ʿammā awradahu al-imā m al-Bukhā rı̄ ʿalā baʿd al-nā s.
31
Melchert defines semi-rationalists as a middle party between rationalists and traditional-
ists of the ninth century: ‘Its jurisprudence was formally based on textual sources but with
heavier reliance on reason to combine texts than extreme traditionalists allowed; in
theology, it upheld the essential traditionalist tenets but elaborated rationalist apologies
for them and made concessions that appalled the extreme traditionalists’: Melchert, The
Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 70; Melchert, ‘The Adversaries of Ahmad Ibn
Hanbal’, 245–52. Brown has argued, pace Melchert, that al-Bukhā rı̄ was a traditionalist ˙
˙ not a semi-rationalist (Brown, The Canonization, 78–81), and the evidence presented
and
here supports Brown’s reading.
32
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n min al-muhaddithı̄ n wa al-duʿafā ’ wa al-matrū kı̄ n, ed.
Mahmu ˙ ̄ d Ibrā hı̄ m Zā yid (Beirut:
˙ ˙
Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1992), 3: ˙70 = Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n min
˙ addithı̄ n, ed. Hamdı̄ ʿAbd al-Majı̄ d al-Salafı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄ , 2009),
al-muh ˙ 2:
411. On ˙ the discrepancies
˙ between the manuscripts and modern editions ˙ see Chapter 10
below.
46 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

use a certain phrase. Karl Mannheim has explained the problems with
analyses of this kind and pointed towards the real significance of such
phenomena:33
Just as it would be incorrect to attempt to derive a language merely from observing
a single individual, who speaks not a language of his own but rather that of his
contemporaries and predecessors who have prepared a path for him, so it is
incorrect to explain the totality of an outlook with reference to its genesis in the
mind of an individual. Only in quite a limited sense does the single individual
create out of himself the mode of speech and thought we attribute to him. He
speaks the language of his group.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists were creating a mode of speech and discourse
against Abū Hanı̄ fa unique to their network. In using baʿd al-nā s in this
˙ ˙
particular fashion, al-Bukhā rı̄ and al-Humaydı̄ were speaking the lan-
˙
guage of their group. The decision to employ a generic term and not
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s name was a conscious one and, as al-Humaydı̄ ’s earlier
remark ˙ shows, this was probably not an indication of reverence.
˙
The evidence in Ibn Hibbā n’s work also underscores the fact that al-
˙
Humaydı̄ may well be considered a pioneer in the promotion of dis-
˙
courses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. There is reasonable evidence that
˙
he was one of the first proto-Sunni traditionalists to pen a refutation
of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Ibn Hibbā n was not the only scholar aware of a book al-
˙ ˙
Humaydı̄ had penned attacking Abū Hanı̄ fa. Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, who had
˙ ˙ ˙
heard traditions from Abū Bakr al-Tabarı̄ , stated that al-Tabarı̄ transmit-
˙
ted al-Humaydı̄ ’s The Refutation against al-Nuʿmā n and ˙ the Book of
˙
Quranic Exegesis. Abū Bakr al-Tabarı̄ , we are told, was a senior com-
34
˙
panion of Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ (d. 264/878).35 He was a truthful (sadū q)
˙
hadı̄ th scholar, who adhered to the legal views of Abū Thawr. Abū Zurʿa
˙
al-Rā zı̄ remembered al-Humaydı̄ ’s lessons wherein he read from The
˙
Refutation against al-Nuʿmā n:36
The people of Rayy had become corrupted by Abū Hanı̄ fa. We were young men,
˙ of Rayy. It got to a point
and we fell into this along with the rest of the people
where I asked Abū Nuʿaym about this, and it led me to realise that I had to do
something. Al-Humaydı̄ used to read [to us] The Refutation and refer to Abū
˙ began to attack him; until, finally, God granted us favour, and
Hanı̄ fa, and I also
˙
we came to realise the deviation of the people.

33
Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia, 2. 34 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 4.1: 40.
35 ˙
On Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ see Dickinson, The Development ˙ Early Sunnite Hadı̄ th
of
Criticism, 18. ˙
36
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 4.1: 40 (kā na ahl al-rayy qad uftutina bi Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, wa kunnā
ahdā than ˙najrı̄ maʿahum,
˙ wa la qad sa’altu Abā Nuʿaym ʿan hā dhā , wa ˙ anā arā annı̄ fı̄
˙
ʿamal. Wa la qad kā na al-Humaydı̄ yaqra’u Kitā b al-Radd wa yadhkuru Abā Hanı̄ fa, wa
˙
anā ahummu bi al-wuthū b ʿalayhi hattā manna Allā h ʿalaynā wa ʿarafnā dalā ta˙al-qawm).
˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 47

One can only speculate about the contents of al-Humaydı̄ ’s book con-
˙
demning Abū Hanı̄ fa. Might it have looked similar to Ibn Abı̄ Shayba’s
˙
Radd ʿalā Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa? One might suppose that al-Humaydı̄ was inspired
˙ ˙
by his teacher, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , to compose The Refutation against al-Nuʿmā n.
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim is again the source for a report that has al-Humaydı̄
˙ ˙
express his gratitude for al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s intervention against the ashā b al-
˙˙
ra’y: ‘We desired to refute the ashā b al-ra’y but we did not know how
˙˙
best to refute them until al-Shā fiʿı̄ came to us and showed us the way.’37
However, ascribing this motive to al-Humaydı̄ ’s authorship of a book
˙
condemning Abū Hanı̄ fa may be too kind to pro-Shā fiʿı̄ sources.38
˙
Though we remain in the dark concerning the exact contents of al-
Humaydı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Radd ʿalā al-Nuʿmā n, there are traces in other texts of
˙
al-Humaydı̄ ’s contribution to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙ ˙
The first indication comes from the work of al-Humaydı̄ ’s faithful stu-
˙
dent, al-Fasawı̄ . The scene of the report is al-Humaydı̄ ’s home town,
˙
Mecca. We learn that Abū Hanı̄ fa was in the Sacred Mosque when
˙
somebody asked him about a man who says: ‘I testify that the Kaʿba is
true, but I do not know whether it is this Kaʿba or not (ashhadu anna al-
kaʿba haqq wa lā adrı̄ hiya hā dhihi am lā ).’ To this hypothetical question,
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa responded: ‘Such a person is a true believer (mu’min haqq).’
˙ ˙
Then Abū Hanı̄ fa was asked about a man who says: ‘I testify that
˙
Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h is a prophet, but I do not know whether he is
˙
the person whose body rests in Medina or not (ashhadu anna Muhammad
˙
b. ʿAbd Allā h nabı̄ wa lā kin lā adrı̄ huwa alladhı̄ qabruhu bi al-Madı̄ na am
lā ).’ Abū Hanı̄ fa gave the same answer: ‘The person who says this is a true
˙
believer.’ It seems that news of this travelled fast among the residents of
the Hijā z. When al-Humaydı̄ came to learn of this he declared: ‘Whoever
˙ ˙
holds such a doctrine has committed unbelief (wa man qā la hā dhā fa qad
kafara).’39 This report belongs to a specific cluster of reports in which
Abū Hanı̄ fa is hereticised for making what his opponents deemed to be
˙
absurd and deviant declarations. It is difficult to identify a point of origin

37
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā qibuhu, ed. ʿAbd al-Ghanı̄ ʿAbd al-Khā liq
˙
(Cairo: Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ , 1993), 41–42 (kunnā nurı̄ d an narudda ʿalā ashā b al-ra’y fa
lam nuhsin kayfa naruddu ʿalayhim hattā jā ’anā al-Shā fiʿı̄ fa fataha lanā˙)˙; al-Bayhaqı̄ ,
Manā qib al-Shā fiʿı̄ , ed. Ahmad Saqr ˙(Cairo: Dā r al-Turā th, 1970),˙ 2: 154.
˙
38
On al-Humaydı̄ ’s relationship˙ ˙
with al-Shā fiʿı̄ see Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa
˙
manā qibuhu, 43–44 (al-Humaydı̄ with Ahmad b. Hanbal and˙Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna talking
˙ ̄ fiʿı̄ would sometimes
about al-Shā fiʿı̄ ), 97 (al-Sha ˙ ˙ pose questions to his son and to al-
Humaydı̄ and offer a dinar to whomever gave the correct answer); Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-
˙ , 3.2: 202–3; al-Bayhaqı̄ , Manā qib al-Shā fiʿı̄ , 2: 326; al-Subkı̄ , Tabaqā t al-shā
Jarh ˙ fiʿiyya
˙
al-kubrā , 2: 140; al-Nawawı̄ , Kitā b tahdhı̄ b al-asmā ’, ed. F. Wustenfeld ˙ (Göttingen:
London Society for the Publication of Oriental Texts, 1842–7), 1: 79.
39
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 287; al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ , Sharh usū l iʿtiqā d ahl al-
sunna, ed. Ahmad b. Masʿū d b. Hamdā n (Riyadh: Dā r al-Tayba, 2003), ˙ ˙ 5: 997–8.
˙ ˙ ˙
48 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

for questions of this sort. We know that Abū Hanı̄ fa and his students
˙
proposed accommodating solutions to new Muslims in the eastern
provinces of the early Islamic empire, and these very overtures drew
the ire of proto-Sunni traditionalists. One can imagine, then, that new
Muslims in far-flung regions of the empire with no previous experience
or understanding of Islam’s Hijā zı̄ origins or deep awareness of its
˙
founding Prophet’s biography might have confessed their ignorance
surrounding elementary facts of the religion. Still, Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙
followers were unwilling to place such individuals outside the boundar-
ies of belief. Proto-Sunni traditionalists such as al-Humaydı̄ , however,
displayed no sympathy for confessions of ignorance and ˙ did not hesitate
to assign the label of unbelief to anybody willing to entertain statements
of this kind. Moreover, if we maintain our position that ninth-century
reports illuminate ninth- and not mid-eighth-century developments,
it seems likely that the original context of such questions and their
eastern provenance were forgotten by ninth-century proto-Sunni
traditionalists.
The study of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa during its second
iteration has revealed the prominence of a man who ˙ has barely featured
even on the margins of modern histories of ninth-century proto-Sunnism.
This reinforces the view that discourses of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
can unveil key insights concerning the historical development of proto-
Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy. The study of one is integral to the study
of the other. Abū Bakr al-Humaydı̄ occupied a critical role in the devel-
˙
opment of proto-Sunni traditionalism. We have surveyed his ideas and
activities against Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers. Of no less consequence,
however, was al-Humaydı̄ ˙ ’s transmission of these ideas among members
˙
of the proto-Sunni traditionalist community. When al-Humaydı̄ declared
˙
defiantly that ‘as long as I am in the Hijā z, Ahmad [b. Hanbal] in Iraq, and
˙ ˙ ˙
Ishā q [b. Rā hawayh] in Khurā sā n, we will never be defeated’, it was not
˙
intended as a mere rhetorical flourish.40 Proto-Sunni traditionalists saw
themselves as vanguards of orthodoxy, a transregional community
engaged in a struggle against heresy.

Ishā q b. Rā hawayh (d. 238/853)

˙
The transregional and empire-wide phenomenon of proto-Sunnism is
neatly captured in the transition from al-Humaydı̄ in the Hijā z to Ishā q
˙ ˙ ˙
b. Rā hawayh in Khurā sā n. Ishā q b. Rā hawayh was born in 161/777–8 in
˙

40
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 10: 619.
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 49

Marw.41 He had lived in Khurā sā n but he travelled widely, residing both
in the Hijā z and in Iraq. One report states that he left for Iraq in 184/800
˙ of twenty-three. It was during his residence in Iraq that Ishā q
at the age
˙
b. Rā hawayh become one of Ahmad b. Hanbal’s closest companions.
˙ ˙
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh had studied with a number of prominent proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalists. He heard traditions from the likes of Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna,
Wakı̄ ʿ b. Jarrā h, and ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Mubā rak. He returned to Nı̄ shā pū r
˙
and lived out the rest of his life there.42 He commanded immense respect
among his proto-Sunni traditionalist peers. He was one of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s
teachers and is said to have been instrumental in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s decision to
compose his Sahı̄ h.43 Indeed, al-Bukhā rı̄ records his details in the Tā rı̄ kh
˙ ˙ ˙
41
There has long been confusion surrounding his name. The usual authorities for pointing
ambiguous names, Ibn Hajar and Ibn Mā kū lā , have nothing to say about this name. Al-
Samʿā nı̄ , who was extremely ˙ well informed about names and places in Khurā sā n and
Transoxiana, states that his name should read ‘Rā huwayh’ but that he was called
‘Rā hawayh’, seemingly owing to the difficulty of the damma on the hā ’: see al-Samʿā nı̄ ,
al-Ansā b, 3: 33–5 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.). Ibn Khallika ˙ ̄ n, on the other hand, proposes
‘Rā hwayh’ and ‘Rahū ya’. Various stories surround the origins of his name. A report
from his son, Abū al-Hasan ʿAlı̄ , states that his father was born with holes in both of his
˙
ears. Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s father was alarmed by this and made inquiries of al-Fadl b.
˙ nā nı̄ , who replied that this was a harbinger of his being a leader of either good
Mū sā al-Sı̄ ˙
or sheer evil. On Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s son Abū al-Hasan ʿAlı̄ (d. 289/901–2), who served
as the qadi of Marw ˙ and later Nı̄ shā pū r, see al-Samʿa
˙ ̄ nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 3: 34 (Dā r al-Jinā n
edn.). On Fadl b. Mū sā al-Sı̄ nā nı̄ (d. 192/808) see Ibn Saʿd, Tabaqā t al-kabı̄ r, 7: 2, 104
(Leiden edn.); al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 4.1: 117; Ibn Abı̄ ˙Hā tim, al-Jarh, 3.2: 28–9;
˙
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil fı̄ duʿafā ’ al-rijā l, ed. ʿĀ dil Ahmad ʿAbd ˙ al-Mawju˙̄ d and ʿAlı̄
Muhammad Muʿawwid˙ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, ˙ 1997), 1: 195. See also Ibn
ʿAbd ˙ al-Barr, al-Intiqā ’,˙ 113, where Ishā q b. Rā hawayh speaks of Fadl b. Mū sā al-Sinā nı̄
as being one of the most reliable scholars ˙ from whom he wrote down ˙ (or recorded)
knowledge. The Tā hirid governor ʿAbd Allā h b. Tā hir was also said to have demanded an
explanation from˙Ishā q b. Rā hawayh about the genesis ˙ of his name. ‘What is the meaning
of this?’, he asked. ‘Do ˙ you dislike being addressed with this name?’ Ishā q b. Rā hawayh
went on to explain that his father was born whilst travelling (presumably˙on a palfrey) and
this is how he came to acquire the epithet ‘Rā huwı̄ ’: see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 7: 365–6. Ibn Khallikā n gives a different version of a˙ similar story: Ishā q b.
Rā hawayh’s father was born on the road to Mecca. In Persian, ‘road’ is rā h and˙ wayh
means to find: the one found on the road. See Ibn Khallikā n, Wafā yā t al-aʿyā n wa anbā ’
abnā ’ al-zamā n, ed. Ihsā n ʿAbbā s (Beirut: Dā r al-Sā dir, 1978), 1: 199–201.
42
The most comprehensive, ˙ though not the earliest, ˙ profile of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh is
provided by al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 7: 362–75. See ˙ also Ibn Qutayba,
Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 287;˙ al-Safadı̄ , al-Wā fı̄ bi al-wafayā t, ed. Ahmad al-Arnā ’ū t and Turkı̄
Mustafā (Beirut: Dā r Ihya˙̄ ’ al-Turā th al-ʿArabı̄ , 2000), 8: 251–2; ˙ al-Subkı̄ , ˙Tabaqā t al-
˙ ˙ ˙
shā fiʿiyya al-kubrā , 2: 83–93; Ibn ʿImā d, Shadharā t al-dhahab fı̄ akhbā r man dhahab, ˙ ed.
ʿAbd al-Qā dir al-Arnā ’ū t and Mahmū d al-Arnā ’ū t (Beirut: Dā r Ibn Kathı̄ r, 1986–9), 3:
˙
172–3; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 11: 379. ˙ ˙
43
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 2: 8; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m wa wafayā t al-
mashā hı̄˙r wa al-aʿlā m, ed. ʿUmar ʿAbd al-Salā m Tadmurı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kitā b al-ʿArabı̄ ,
1987–2000), 19: 248; al-Dhahabı̄ , Juz’ fı̄ hi tarjamat al-Bukhā rı̄ , ed. Ibrā hı̄ m b. Mansū r
al-Hā shimı̄ (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Rayyā n, 2002), 39. For reports that Ishā q ˙ b.
Rā hawayh introduced al-Bukhā rı̄ to ʿAbd Allā h b. Tā hir, the governor of Khura ˙ ̄ sā n,
˙
see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 2: 7, 9; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 19: 249.
˙
50 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

al-kabı̄ r.44 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim is more generous in telling us what contempor-
˙
aries thought of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s learning. We are told that his father
˙
held Ishā q b. Rā hawayh in great esteem.45 We also learn in his biograph-
˙
ical dictionary of hadı̄ th transmitters that Sā lih b. Ahmad b. Hanbal
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
related that his father, Ahmad b. Hanbal, declared Ishā q b. Rā hawayh
˙ ˙ 46 ˙
to be one of the leaders of the Muslims. Ibn al-Nadı̄ m described him
as the author of three books: Kitā b al-Sunan fı̄ al-fiqh, al-Musnad, and
Kitā b al-Tafsı̄ r.47 In Khurā sā n he was referred to as the king of kings
(shā hanshā h) among the ʿulamā ’.48
Like al-Humaydı̄ , Ishā q b. Rā hawayh was central to the dissemination
of discourses ˙ of heresy on˙ account of his towering influence among proto-
Sunni traditionalists and his active role in transmitting reports hostile to
Abū Hanı̄ fa. Early on in his career he was sympathetic to Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙ ˙
his followers. Abū Bakr al-Marrū dhı̄ (d. 275/888) – another crucial
contributor to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa whose views we
˙
shall survey in this chapter – in his Kitā b al-Waraʿ presents the following
account of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s dramatic volte-face:49
˙
I used to be an adherent of speculative jurisprudence (sā hib ra’y). When I decided
to embark on the greater pilgrimage (al-hajj), I studied ˙ ˙deeply the books of ʿAbd
Allā h b. Mubā rak. I found therein close˙ to three hundred hadı̄ th which agreed
with the jurisprudence of Abū Hanı̄ fa (mā yuwā fiq ra’y Abı̄ H˙anı̄ fa). I asked ʿAbd
Allā h b. Mubā rak’s teachers in˙ the Hijā z and in Iraq about˙ them, and not for a
moment did I think that any person˙ would dare oppose Abū Hanı̄ fa. When I
arrived in Basra, I went to study with (jalastu ilā ) ʿAbd al-Rahmā ˙n b. Mahdı̄ .
˙
During their first meeting, the following conversation ensued between
teacher and student:
ʿabd al-rah: mā n b. mahdı̄ : Where are you from?
ish: ā q b. rā hawayh: I am from Marw.
ish: ā q b. rā hawayh: Upon hearing of this [that Ishā q hailed from the same
region as Ibn al-Mubā rak], ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b.˙ Mahdı̄ prayed for God’s
mercy to descend upon (fa tarahhama ʿalā ˙ ) Ibn al-Mubā rak. He loved him
˙ ˙
a great deal (wa kā na shadı̄ d al-hubb lahu). He then asked me whether I could
˙
recite an elegy (marthiya) to celebrate him. ‘Yes,’ I replied, and I recited the

44
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 1.1: 379–80. 45 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 1.1: 209–10.
46
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 1.1: 209–10. ˙ ˙
47 ˙ m, Kitā b al-Fihrist,
Ibn al-Nadı̄ ˙ 1: 230 (Flugel edn.) = Kitā b al-Fihrist, 1: 102 (A. F. al-
Sayyid edn.).
48
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d fı̄ maʿrifat ʿulamā ’ al-hadı̄ th, ed. Muhammad Saʿid b. ʿUmar Idrı̄ s
(Riyadh: Maktabat al-Rushd, 1989), 909–11 ˙ (for him and˙ his son).
49
Abū Bakr al-Marrū dhı̄ , al-Waraʿ, ed. Samı̄ r al-Amı̄ n al-Zuhayrı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-
Sumayʿı̄ , 1997), 131–5= (I did not have access to the following editions) ed.
˙
Muh ammad al-Saʿı̄ d Basyū nı̄ Zaghlū l (Beirut: Dā r al-Kitā b al-ʿArabı̄ , 1988) = ed.
˙ Ibrā hı̄ m al-Qā rū t (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1983).
Zaynab
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 51

elegy of Abū Tamı̄ la Yahyā b. Wā dih al-Ansā rı̄ . Ibn al-Mahdı̄ could not stop
weeping as I was reciting˙ the elegy,˙ but ˙ he stopped
˙ abruptly when I recited: ‘
. . . and with the jurisprudence of al-Nuʿmā n you [i.e. Ibn al-Mubā rak]
acquired knowledge and insight . . . ‘
ʿabd al-rah: mā n b. mahdı̄ : Enough! You have sullied the elegy (uskut! qad
afsadta al-qası̄ da).
ish: ā q b. rā hawayh: ˙ But there are some wonderful verses that follow this.
ʿabd al-rah: mā n b. mahdı̄ : Forget them. How dare you mention ʿAbd Allā h’s
transmission from Abū Hanı̄ fa in the course of an elegy! Do you not know
that for ʿAbd Allā h there˙is nothing more debased than the dirt of Iraq than
his transmitting from Abū Hanı̄ fa? How I wish he had not transmitted from
him (law wadadtu annahu lam ˙ yarwi ʿanhu)! How I would have ransomed a
great portion of my wealth to have ensured that (wa innı̄ kuntu aftadı̄ dhā lika
bi ʿazm mā lı̄ )!
ish: ā q b.˙ rā hawayh: O Abū Saʿı̄ d, why are you so critical of Abū Hanı̄ fa (lima
tahmil ʿalā Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa kull hā dhā )? Is it because he would employ ˙ forms of
˙ ˙
speculative jurisprudence (yatakallamu bi al-ra’y)? Well, Mā lik b. Anas, al-
Awzā ʿı̄ , and Sufyā n all employed forms of speculative jurisprudence.
ʿabd al-rah: mā n b. mahdı̄ : I see, so you consider Abū Hanı̄ fa to be in the same
league as these people (taqrunu Abā Hanı̄ fa ilā hā ’ulā˙ ’)? Abū Hanı̄ fa did not
resemble these people in learning except ˙ in that he was a lone, ˙ deviant she-
camel grazing in a fertile valley whilst all the other camels were grazing in a
different valley altogether (mā ashbaha Abā Hanı̄ fa fı̄ al-ʿilm illā bi nā qa
˙ fı̄ wā dı̄ ā khar).
shā rida fā rida turʿā fı̄ wā dı̄ khasb wa al-ibl kulluhā
˙
ish: ā q b. rā hawayh: After this, I started to reflect more deeply and discovered
that the people’s view of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s [orthodox] standing was completely at
odds with what we in Khurā sa˙̄ n believed about him (fa idhā al-nā s fı̄ amr Abı̄
Hanı̄ fa ʿalā khilā f mā kunnā ʿalayhi bi Khurā sā n).
˙
Conversion narratives can be precarious sources of evidence. This par-
ticular account appears in a section of al-Marrū dhı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Waraʿ
highlighting scholars renowned for their scrupulous piety. The first two
reports extol Ibn al-Mubā rak and other reports in this section return
to his piety and lofty standing. It seems that al-Marrū dhı̄ ’s central
motivation in relating this conversion narrative was to remind readers of
Ibn al-Mubā rak’s regret over having transmitted reports on the authority
of Abū Hanı̄ fa. In my view, this affords the report greater credibility when
˙
considering what it informs us about Ishā q b. Rā hawayh and discourses
˙
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. This narrative account contains precious
˙
information about the formation of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s religious orien-
tation. It comes from an author who˙ would have been sympathetic to
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh, was intimately aware of his life and career, and was
˙
writing within a few decades of his death; yet this does not prevent
the author from including material that exhibits Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s
˙
religious naïveté.
52 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

Beyond the persons involved, we should also consider how important

narratives such as these are for any social or religious history of the
formation of medieval Sunni orthodoxy. The report shows, for example,
that proto-Sunni traditionalists such as Ishā q b. Rā hawayh recognised the
˙
fallacy of local or regional orthodoxies. Increasingly, they appealed to
consensus formation with respect to orthodoxy above and beyond
regional provincialism. Ishā q b. Rā hawayh was disabused of the idea
˙
that Khurā sā n represented the norms of proto-Sunni orthodoxy. A strik-
ingly similar parallel can be observed in Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ ’s account of
the religious history of Rayy, which we shall encounter later in this study.
Communities on the margins of the early Islamic empire were especially
susceptible to being overrun by heretical and deviant ideas. Rayy, like
Khurā sā n, is described as being at odds with the norms of proto-Sunni
orthodoxy in the centres of religious learning in early Islamic society.
One cannot fail to notice, too, how the story of proto-Sunni orthodoxy
in these narratives is the story of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
The agents of proto-Sunni orthodoxy – Abū Bakr al-Humaydı̄ and ʿAbd
˙
al-Rahmā n b. Mahdı̄ – are none other than the severest critics of Abū
˙ The mnemohistory of Abū Hanı̄ fa (discourses of heresy), that
Hanı̄ fa.
˙ ˙
is, represented the perfect foil for proto-Sunni traditionalists to define
orthodoxy against heresy. Orthodoxy also has in these narratives a crucial
disciplinary dimension. It was a process of disciplinary regulation: proto-
Sunni traditionalists were successful in disabusing students and scholars
of their commitment to deviant and heretical beliefs and practices. The
disciplinary interventions of al-Humaydı̄ and ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Mahdı̄
˙ ˙
were integral to the dominance that orthodoxy established in the prov-
inces of the medieval Islamic world.
This encounter with ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Mahdı̄ must be considered to
˙
be the turning point of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s career. It might even be
˙
strengthened by the information we have that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s father
˙
was extremely close to the qadi of Marw, Fadl b. Mū sā al-Sı̄ nā nı̄ (d. 192/
˙ 50 We should be aware,
808), who seems to have been a proto-Hanafı̄ .
nevertheless, that other sources maintain ˙that it was al-Shā fiʿı̄ who had a
major impact on Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s religious formation. Apparently, it
˙
was Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s encounter with al-Shā fiʿı̄ that led the former
˙
to abandon his heresy, and a number of scholars from Iraq were said to
have made the same transition from heresy to orthodoxy on account of

50
He appears in Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa akhbā rihi wa manā qi-
˙
bihi, ed. Latı̄ f al-Rahmā n al-Bahrā ’ijı̄ al-Qā simı̄ ˙
(Mecca: al-Maktaba al-Imdā diyya,
˙
2010), 213, 218; and ˙he appears in a manā qib report for Abū Hanı̄ fa in al-Muwaffaq al-
Makkı̄ , Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa [printed with al-Kardarı̄ , Manā qib˙Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa] (Hyderabad:
˙ ̄ rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, 1894), 1: 123–4.
Matbaʿat Dā ’irat al-Maʿa ˙
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 53

al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s intervention.51 Ishā q b. Rā hawayh supposedly declared al-

˙
Shā fiʿı̄ the leader of the scholars, adding that of the scholars who
employed speculative jurisprudence none was less prone to getting it
wrong than al-Shā fiʿı̄ .52 Another report alleges that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh
˙
was so eager to get his hands on al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s books that he married a
woman from Marw because he knew she possessed copies of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s
writings (by way of her deceased husband).53 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim speaks of
˙
Ahmad b. Hanbal sending Ishā q b. Rā hawayh the Risā la of al-Shā fiʿı̄ .54
˙ ˙ ˙
There is even an allegation that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh plagiarised parts of the
˙
book.55 Some reports suggest that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh had a more luke-
warm attitude to al-Shā fiʿı̄ and his ˙ideas. It seems that it took some
convincing by Ahmad b. Hanbal to get Ishā q b. Rā hawayh to give al-
˙ ˙ ˙
Shā fiʿı̄ the time of day.56 We learn that, after some reluctance, Ishā q
˙
b. Rā hawayh finally agreed to a debate with al-Shā fiʿı̄ concerning the
permissibility of selling or renting houses in Mecca, a debate in which
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh outperformed al-Shā fiʿı̄ .57 These and other reports –
˙
that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh asked a scholar he knew who had al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s
˙
corpus of writings from al-Buwaytı̄ to refrain from transmitting and
˙
51
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā qibuhu, 65; al-Nawawı̄ , Kitā b Tahdhı̄ b al-asmā ’,
˙
78 (qā la Abū Thawr: kuntu anā wa Ishā q b. Rā hawayh wa Husayn al-Karā bı̄ sı̄ wa jamā ʿa
min al-ʿirā qiyyı̄ n mā taraknā bidʿatanā˙ hattā ra’aynā al-Shā ˙fiʿı̄ ).
52
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā ˙ qibuhu, 90; Fakhr al-Dı̄ n al-Rā zı̄ , Manā qib al-
Imā m al-Shā ˙ fiʿı̄ , ed. Ahmad Saqqā (Cairo: Maktabat al-Kulliyyā t al-Azhariyya, 1986),
64–5; Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr,˙ al-Intiqā ’, 130; al-Nawawı̄ , Kitā b Tahdhı̄ b al-asmā ’, 78 (al-Shā fiʿı̄
imā m al-ʿulamā ’ wa mā yatakallamu ahad bi al-ra’y illā wa al-Shā fiʿı̄ aqall khata’ minhu) in
˙ m al-mutaqaddimı̄ n fa man baʿdahum
the chapter fasl fı̄ shahā dat a’immat al-islā ˙ li al-Shā fiʿı̄
bi al-taqaddum ˙ fı̄ al-ʿilm wa iʿtirā fihim lahu bihi wa husn thanā ’ihim ʿalayhi wa jamı̄ l
duʿā ’ihim lahu wa wasfihim lahu bi al-sifā t al-jamı̄ la wa ˙al-khilā l al-hamı̄ da.
53
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b˙ al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā
˙ qibuhu, 64; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā ˙ rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 14: 336
finds this˙ to be far-fetched.
54
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā qibuhu, 62–3 (where Ishā q b. Rā hawayh is said to
have requested˙ the book from Ahmad b. Hanbal); Ibn Abı̄ Hā ˙tim, al-Jarh, 3.2: 204.
55
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa˙ manā qibuhu,
˙ 63; al-Dhahabı̄ ˙ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā
˙ m, 14: 336
doubts this, ˙ too.
56
Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, al-Intiqā ’, 125; al-Rā zı̄ , Manā qib al-Imā m al-Shā fiʿı̄ , 223.
57
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā qibuhu, 42–3, 82, 177–81; al-Bayhaqı̄ , Manā qib
al-Shā fiʿı̄˙, 1: 215; al-Rā zı̄ , Manā qib al-Imā m al-Shā fiʿı̄ , 272–3; al-Subkı̄ , Tabaqā t al-
shā fiʿiyya al-kubrā , 2: 89–90; al-ʿAlmawı̄ , al-Muʿı̄ d fı̄ adab al-mufı̄ d wa al-mustafı̄ ˙ d, ed.
Ahmad ʿUbayd (Damascus: al-Maktaba al-ʿArabiyya, 1930), 123–4, 125(for a transcript
of˙a second disputation between Ishā q b. Rā hawayh and al-Shā fiʿı̄ ); Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, al-
Intiqā ’, 74; Ibn Jamā ʿa, Tadkhirat ˙ al-sā miʿ wa al-mutakallim fı̄ adab al-ʿā lim wa al-
mutaʿallim, ed. Muhammad b. Mahdı̄ al-ʿAjmı̄ , 4th edn. (Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir
al-Islā miyya, 2012), ˙102; Abū Shā ma al-Maqdisı̄ , Mukhtasar al-mu’ammal fı̄ al-radd ilā
al-amr al-awwal, ed. Salā h al-Dı̄ n Maqbū l Ahmad (Kuwait: ˙ Maktaba al-Sahwa al-
˙ ˙
Islā miyya, n.d.), 30; al-Nawawı̄ , Kitā b Tahdhı̄ b ˙al-asmā ’, 1: 61; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā ˙ ˙rı̄ kh al-
Islā m, 32; Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Muʿjam al-udabā ’, 6: 2399–2402 (Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄
edn.). Yā qū t is quoting ˙ the debate from two earlier sources: al-Hā kim’s lost Tā rı̄ kh
̄
Nı̄ shā pū r and al-Abirı̄ ’s Kitā b Manā qib al-Shā fiʿı̄ . ˙
54 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

teaching al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s books during the scholar’s stay in Nı̄ shā pū r, presum-
ably because it might reveal Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s debt to al-Shā fiʿı̄ – seem
designed to extol al-Shā fiʿı̄ at˙ the expense of one of the leading proto-
Sunni traditionalists of the ninth century. One explanation for the
ambivalence in the primary sources surrounding Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s
˙
relationship to al-Shā fiʿı̄ is implicit in the work of the eleventh-century
historian of the madhhabs Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr (d. 463/1071), who seems to
insinuate that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh had a healthy scepticism towards al-
˙
Shā fiʿı̄ during their time together in Mecca, but that later in Baghdad he
studied under him.58 Shā fiʿı̄ authors of Shā fiʿı̄ biographical dictionaries
had other pressures and reasons for claiming Ishā q b. Rā hawayh as one of
˙
their own. Highlighting the influence that al-Shā fiʿı̄ might have had over
someone as prominent and esteemed as Ishā q b. Rā hawayh was certainly
˙
in the interests of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s followers, many of whom were still strug-
gling to fend off criticisms from proto-Sunni traditionalists.59 So, on the
one hand, the provenance of much of this material is explicitly favourable
to al-Shā fiʿı̄ . On the other hand, there is no reason why both ʿAbd al-
Rahmā n b. Mahdı̄ and al-Shā fiʿı̄ could not have figured as important
˙
influences upon Ishā q b. Rā hawayh.
˙
His evolution from someone who respected and acknowledged Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s learning to someone committed to anathematising him and
˙
his followers was a defining feature of his religious orientation. Proto-
Sunni traditionalists who knew him well remarked on his visceral
attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers. Ibn Qutayba was on close
˙
terms with Ishā q b. Rā hawayh. He transmits material from Ishā q
˙ ˙
b. Rā hawayh in a number of his works.60 More to the point, Ibn

58
Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, al-Intiqā ’, 167–8 (wa mimman akhadha ʿan al-Shā fiʿı̄ aydan bi Baghdā d
˙ yuʿraf bi Ibn
baʿd an ra’ā hu wa jā lasahu bi Makka Abū Yaʿqū b Ishā q b. Ibrā hı̄ m b. Makhlad,
Rā hawayh). The wording is vague, but my sense is˙ that Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr was fully aware
of what sources prior to him had stated about Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s changing views
towards al-Shā fiʿı̄ . As a historian of the madhhabs˙ committed to reconciling (though
not whitewashing) eighth- and ninth-century conflicts, Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr suggests in a
subtle manner that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s attitude to al-Shā fiʿı̄ had evolved from when the
two first met and debated ˙ in Mecca to their rapprochement in Baghdad; though I suspect
that Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr was under pressure to relegate Ishā q b. Rā hawayh to the status of al-
Shā fiʿı̄ ’s student and follower in the light of his writing ˙ after the establishment of the
medieval Sunni consensus as to the orthodoxy of four Sunni schools and their eponymous
founders, which might have the effect of exaggerating the influence of founders and
minimising the independence of other jurists and scholars.
59
On these criticisms see Melchert, ‘The Adversaries of Ahmad Ibn Hanbal’, 248–9. I do
not want to paint too simplistic a picture of pro-Shā fiʿı̄ ˙ sources. Many ˙ of these works
acknowledge, for example, that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh outperformed al-Shā fiʿı̄ twice in legal
˙
disputations. See Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā qibuhu, 178, 179; al-Bayhaqı̄ ,
Manā qib al-Shā fiʿı̄ , 1: 215; ˙and Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 182.
60
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 287.
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 55

Qutayba knew Ishā q b. Rā hawayh as a belligerent opponent of Abū

˙
Hanı̄ fa and his followers:61
˙
I have never seen anyone who, when the ashā b al-ra’y were mentioned, would
speak more reproachfully against them, fault˙ ˙them, instigate against their shame-
ful teachings, and caution against them than Ishā q b. Ibrā hı̄ m al-Hanzalı̄ , known
as Ibn Rā hawayh. ˙ ˙ ˙

Ibn Qutayba’s Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th claims to preserve some of Ishā q

˙ ˙
b. Rā hawayh’s attacks on the ashā b al-ra’y. He writes that Ishā q b.
˙ ˙
Rā hawayh used to say: ‘They abandon (nabadhū ) the Book of God the ˙
almighty and the practices (sunan) of His messenger, God pray over him
and grant him peace, and instead they adhere to analogical reasoning
(qiyā s).’ Ibn Qutayba reassures his readers concerning the sheer quantity
of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s hostile material.62 We learn, for example, that
Ishā q˙ b. Rā hawayh attacked Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers for ruling that
˙ ˙
ritual cleansing (wudū ’) is not required if a man falls into a heavy slumber
˙
whilst being seated. He was outraged, then, that the ashā b al-ra’y also
˙˙
agreed that a loss of consciousness necessitated the performance of ritual
cleansing. Ishā q b. Rā hawayh failed to see the difference between these
˙
two situations.63 He was equally perturbed by their neglect of Prophetic
traditions obligating believers to perform the ritual cleansing upon falling
into a state of slumber.64 He, like many proto-Sunni traditionalists, was
incensed by the contradictions that speculative jurisprudence was prone
to producing, as well as its failure to acknowledge the authority of
Prophetic reports. Ibn Qutayba does not reproduce all of Ishā q b.
˙
Rā hawayh’s criticisms, but he does relate Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s dismay
˙
at the legal doctrines of the ashā b al-ra’y: their legal views concerning the
˙˙
consequences of laughter during the prayer; the inheritance of grandchil-
dren from their grandfather if their fathers death precedes that of their
grandfather; Abū Hanı̄ fa’s position on raising the hands during the
˙

61
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th, ed. F. Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ (Cairo: Matbaʿat
Kurdistā n al-ʿIlmiyya, 1908), 65 (wa lam ˙ ara ahadan alhaj bi dhikr ashā b al-ra’y ˙ wa
tanaqqusihim wa al-baʿth ʿalā qabı̄ h aqā wı̄ lihim ˙wa al-tanbı̄ h ʿalayhā ˙min
˙ . . .) = ed.
Muhammad ˙ Zuhrı̄ Najjā r (Cairo: ˙ Maktabat al-Kulliyyā t al-Azhariyya, 1973); there
seems˙ to be no additional editorial work in this edition, and it seems to me no more
than a reprint of the 1908 Cairene edition), 53 = ed. Abū al-Muzaffar Saʿı̄ d b.
Muhammad al-Sinnā rı̄ (Cairo: Dā r al-Hadı̄ th, 2006), 104 = trans. G. ˙Lecomte as Le
traité˙ des divergences du hadı̄ t d’Ibn Qutayba
˙ (mort en 276/889) (Damascus: Presses de
˙ ˙(67), 119 (144), 192–3 (198), 317–18 (302), 335 (310).
l’ifpo, 1962), 59 (63), 60–1
62
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th, 65 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
63
This particular passage has been˙ translated and analysed by Calder, Studies in Early
Muslim Jurisprudence, 227–8. This comes in the context of Calder’s useful account of
legal hermeneutics.
64
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th, 65–6 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
˙
56 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

prayer; Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ruling that it is permissible to drink from silver
˙
vessels; and many other legal doctrines associated with Abū Hanı̄ fa.65
˙
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh was outspoken against Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers,
˙ ˙
and Ibn Qutayba states explicitly that were it not for the fact that the book
would become too long he would have documented them all.66 Among all
the details of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙ ˙
followers, it was their ‘opposing the Book of God, as if they had never read
67
it’ that he found most abhorrent.
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s anti-Hanafism was one of that lasting legacies
˙ ˙
that he bequeathed to many of his students and intimate colleagues. Abū
al-ʿAbbā s al-Sarrā j (d. 313/925) was one of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s most
˙
impressive students.68 A towering figure in hadı̄ th learning and a native
˙
of Khurā sā n, al-Sarrā j must be considered one of the leading hadı̄ th
˙
scholars of the ninth and tenth centuries. Although he was younger than
al-Bukhā rı̄ and studied under him, there are indications that al-Bukhā rı̄
considered him to be a peer.69 Al-Sarrā j was known to all the familiar
historians of hadı̄ th learning.70 Unsurprisingly, no one was more thor-
˙
ough than al-Dhahabı̄ in recording the details of al-Sarrā j’s life.71 There
are hints of al-Sarrā j’s hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers in
˙
works prior to al-Dhahabı̄ . However, it is from al-Dhahabı̄ that we
receive a precise account of his attitude towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙
followers. There is every indication that al-Dhahabı̄ ’s account was
derived from al-Hā kim’s lost history of Nı̄ shā pū r:72
˙

65
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th, 66–9 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
66
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-h ˙ adı̄ th, 67 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
67
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-h ˙ adı̄ th, 67 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
68
His full name was Abū al-ʿAbbā s˙Muhammad b. Ishā q b. Ibrā hı̄ m al-Thaqafı̄ al-Sarrā j.
69
See Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 959 (Riyadh edn.) ˙ (al-Sarrā j transmitted
˙ hadı̄ th from al-Bukhā rı̄ ).
Al-Sarrā j apparently wrote a Kitā b al-Tā rı̄ kh: al-Bukhā rı̄ studied˙ this book, copied large
quantities of the book with his own hand, and al-Sarrā j read the book to him. For this
report see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 2: 56–62, 59.
70 ˙
See al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 828–30, 910 (Riyadh edn.); al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 2: 56–62; Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 3.2: 196; Ibn Nuqt ˙ a, al-Taqyı̄ d li maʿrifat
al-ruwā t wa al-sunan wa al-masā ˙ nı̄ d (Hyderabad:
˙ ˙ ̄ rif al-ʿUthmā niyya,
Dā ’irat al-Maʿa
1983), 18–19. For his students in Jurjā n see Hamza b. Yū suf al-Sahmı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Jurjā n
aw kitā b maʿrifat ʿulamā ’ ahl Jurjā n, ed. ʿAbd ˙ al-Rahmā n al-Muʿallimı̄ (Hyderabad:
Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, n.d.; repr. Beirut: ʿA ˙ ̄ lam al-Kutub, 1987), 95, 172,
187, 260, 414, 513, 540, 546. For some of his writings see Ibn al-Nadı̄ m, Kitā b al-Fihrist,
1: 477–8 (A. F. al-Sayyid edn.) (Kitā b al-Akhbā r, which contains information on hadı̄ th
scholars (al-muhaddithı̄ n), viziers (al-wuzarā ’), and governors (al-wulā t); Rasā ’il; and ˙ al-
˙
Ashʿā r al-mukhtā ra wa al-sahı̄ ha minhā wa al-muʿā ra).
71
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Kitā b Tadhkirat ˙ ˙ ˙ al-huffā z, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Yahyā al-Muʿallimı̄
˙
(Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthma ˙ ̄ niyya, 1954), 2: ˙ 731–5; al-Dhahabı̄
˙ , Tā rı̄ kh
al-Islā m, 23: 462–4.
72
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 23: 463.
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 57

Al-Hā kim said: Abū Ahmad b. Abı̄ al-Hasan said: ‘Ibn Khuzayma sent me to Abū
˙
al-ʿAbba ˙ he told me to pass
̄ s al-Sarrā j, and ˙ on the following message to him: “Stop
mentioning Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers [in a negative light] because the people
˙
of our region are becoming confused.” I delivered this message to him [al-Sarrā j]
and he scolded me (amsik ʿan dhikr Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa ashā bihi fa inna ahl al-balad qad
shawwashū fa addaytu al-risā la fa zabaranı̄˙ ).’ ˙˙

Al-Sarrā j made further protests concerning the influence of the teachings

of Abū Hanı̄ fa in Nı̄ shā pū r. He was disturbed by the widespread accept-
˙
ance of Hanafı̄ rituals and practices in his native province and sought to
˙
bring to an end the practice of pronouncing the iqā ma (the final call to
prayer) according to the Hanafı̄ position. He decided to launch a com-
˙
plaint with the city’s governor:
O governor, the iqā ma has always been pronounced singly (furā dā ) [in contrast to
the doubling in the adhā n], and this is how it is in the Two Holy Sanctuaries
[Mecca and Medina]. However, in our city’s mosque it is pronounced in pairs
(mathnā mathnā ) [just as it is done in the adhā n]. Now, our faith emerged from the
Two Holy Sanctuaries, so I implore you to instruct that it be recited singly (bi al-
afrā d).
Al-Sarrā j’s forthright protest astonished the governor and everyone else
who was present. Al-Sarrā j had been brought into the governor’s presence
to provide some counsel concerning the (worldly) affairs of the city (amr
al-balad), and here he was lecturing the governor about the history of
the religion and its correct practices. As al-Sarrā j exited the governor’s
presence, the entire gathering condemned him. Al-Sarrā j himself felt no
remorse, except that he was ashamed before God were he to speak
to worldly matters (amr al-dunyā ) and neglect matters of the religion
(amr al-dı̄ n).73
Later in our section treating discourses of heresy in Ibn Qutayba’s
ouevre we shall see the degree to which Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s antipathy
˙
towards Abū Hanı̄ fa is reflected in the religious thought of Ibn Qutayba.
˙
We must turn now to another one of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh and al-
Humaydı̄ ’s disciples, who occupied an important˙ status as one of the
˙
agents of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy.

Al-Bukhā rı̄ (d. 256/870)

Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s condemnation of Abū Hanı̄ fa is discussed in more than one
˙
place in this study. Chapter 5 contains an extensive treatment of al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa and its relationship
to ethnogenesis in early Islamicate societies. ˙ That section examines

73
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 23: 463–4.
58 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s deprecation of Abū Hanı̄ fa in his Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn fı̄ al-
˙
salā t. Since Chapter 3 is concerned with examining the role that ethno-
˙genesis had in discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s
˙
biography and his upbringing are described in detail there. This section
studies discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers in al-
˙
Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat,74 al-Jā miʿ al-Sahı̄ h, and
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Kitā b Khalq afʿā l al-ʿibā d.
We learned in the section on al-Humaydı̄ that his influence on
˙
al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s religious formation and, in particular, the Sahı̄ h was consid-
˙ ˙ ˙
erable. The very decision to begin the Sahı̄ h with al-Humaydı̄ – an
˙ ˙
antagonist of Abū Hanı̄ fa – and with the hadı̄ th concerning ˙ ˙ the primacy
˙ ˙
of intentions in the performance of acts and rites raises the possibility that
Abū Hanı̄ fa and proto-Hanafı̄ s were prime targets of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-
˙ ˙
Jā miʿ al-Sahı̄ h. The hadı̄ th of intention is cited by al-Bukhā rı̄ strategically
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
in a number of places, and he seemed to have believed that it was a proof
text against proto-Hanafı̄ uses of hiyal.75 The Sahı̄ h was a landmark and
controversial composition. ˙ 76 ˙ claims not˙ just
It made
˙ ˙
about the primacy of
rigorously authenticated Prophetic reports. It entailed a statement about
the sources of Islamic law, too. The comprehensive range of the Sahı̄ h and
˙ ˙ ˙
its ordering around legal chapters provided al-Bukhā rı̄ with multiple
opportunities to undermine the religious credibility of proto-Hanafı̄ s.
˙
Let us consider, for example, al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s deployment of the moniker
baʿd al-nā s for Abū Hanı̄ fa and his disciples. We learned earlier that this
˙ ˙
label was shot through with subversive undertones and that it originated
with al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s teacher, al-Humaydı̄ . Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h contains ref-
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
erences to Mā lik b. Anas, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , and Ahmad b. Hanbal.77 Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
is not mentioned by name throughout the Sahı̄ h. Mā lik b. Anas, ˙ ˙ al-
˙ ˙ ˙
Shā fiʿı̄ , and Ahmad b. Hanbal are all referred to by al-Bukhā rı̄ on account
˙ ˙
either of their legal opinions or their transmissions of hadı̄ th. Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s
˙
74
This work has been published in different editions, though the preferred one is al-
Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat [Kitā b al-Mukhtasar], ed. Taysı̄ r b. Saʿd Abū Haymad
(Riyadh: Dā r al-Rushd, 2005). ˙ ˙ ˙
75
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Jā miʿ al-Sahı̄ h, kitā b al-hiyal; kitā b al-ı̄ mā n, bā b mā jā ’a anna al-aʿmā l bi al-
˙ ˙ ˙ a’ wa al-nisyā
niyyā t; kitā b al-ʿitq, bā b al-khat ˙ n; kitā b al-manā qib al-ansā r, bā b hijrat al-nabı̄
ilā al-madı̄ na; kitā b al-nikā h,˙bā b man hā jara aw ʿamila khayran li ˙yatazawwija imra’a;
kitā b al-ı̄ mā n wa al-nudhur, ˙bā b al-niyya wa al-ı̄ mā n; kitā b al-hiyal fı̄ tark al-hiyal wa anna li
kull imra’a mā nawā . ˙ ˙
76
Brown, The Canonization, 93–6.
77
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Jā miʿ al-Sahı̄ h, kitā b al-zakā t, bā b fı̄ al-rikā z al-khums (Mā lik b. Anas and
al-Shā fiʿı̄ ); kitā b al-buyū˙ʿ,˙bā˙ b tafsı̄ r al-ʿarā yā (Mā lik b. Anas and al-Shā fiʿı̄ ); kitā b al-
maghā zı̄ , bā b kam ghazā al-nabı̄ sallā Allā hu ʿalayhi wa sallama and kitā b al-nikā h, bā b mā
yahillu min al-nisā ’ wa mā yahrumu ˙ (Ahmad b. Hanbal). As far as I have been ˙ able to
˙
ascertain, al-Bukhā rı̄ transmits ˙ no hadı̄˙th through ˙ al-Shā fiʿı̄ , though he does transmit
numerous hadı̄ th reports through Ma ˙ ̄ lik b. Anas and Ahmad b. Hanbal.
˙ ˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 59

baʿd al-nā s moniker for Abū Hanı̄ fa is reserved exclusively for cases
˙ ˙
where al-Bukhā rı̄ describes an opposing position. He cites baʿd al-nā s
on twenty-seven occasions. Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers were˙natural
˙
targets for al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s section on legal tricks (kitā b al-hiyal).78 This
˙
book alone contains fourteen references to baʿd al-nā s.79 It opens with
˙
the same theme and hadı̄ th report (with slight variations) with which al-
˙
Bukhā rı̄ opens his Sahı̄ h:
˙ ˙ ˙
The chapter on abandoning legal tricks and that for every person is that which he
intends with respect to oaths and other things. Abū al-Nuʿmā n < Hammā d b.
Zayd < Yahyā b. Saʿı̄ d < Muhammad b. Ibrā hı̄ m < ʿAlqama b. Waqqa ˙ ̄ s said: ‘I
heard ʿUmar ˙ b. al-Khattā b as˙he was giving a sermon say: “I heard the Prophet,
˙
˙ ˙
God pray over him and grant him peace, say: ‘O people. Actions are by intentions
only. A man only obtains that which he intends. Whosoever’s migration was to
(and for) God and His Messenger, then his migration was to God and His
Messenger. Whosever migrated for this world seeking to obtain something of it,
or for the sake of marrying a woman, then his migration was for the sake of that
which he migrated.’”’
At one point in the book on legal tricks al-Bukhā rı̄ drops this equivocating
manner of criticising Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers:80
˙
The chapter on gifts and pre-emption. Certain persons have said: if someone gifts
a gift of one hundred dirhams or more, and this gift has remained with the person
for many years and the giver seeks a legal trick and then the gift-giver seeks to
retrieve the gift, then there is no zakā t due on either of the two. He/they has
opposed the messenger, God pray over him and grant him peace, in the matter of
gifts; and he has eliminated [the obligation of] zakā t (fa khā lafa al-rasū l sallā
Allā hu ʿalayhi wa sallama fı̄ al-hiba wa asqata al-zakā t). ˙
˙
We see here a rapid transition of tone and style in the Sahı̄ h. Al-Bukhā rı̄
˙ ˙ ˙
accuses his interlocutor of opposing the Messenger in relation to the issue
of gifts and he insists that his opponent’s doctrine amounts to nothing less
than vitiating altogether the obligation of zakā t. It is the shift in al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s mode of argumentation that adds weight to the view that baʿd
˙
al-nā s was a reference to Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers, and that it was one
˙
that al-Bukhā rı̄ invoked whenever he sought to discredit proto-Hanafı̄ s
˙
and their eponymous founder.
The earliest commentators on al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h were not consistent
˙ ˙ ˙
in taking up the theme of the Sahı̄ h’s opposition to proto-Hanafı̄ s
˙ ˙ ˙
and Abū Hanı̄ fa. The earliest extant commentary is al-Khat ˙ tā bı̄ ’s
˙ ˙˙

78
On discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa on account of his alleged use of hiyal see
Chapter 7 below. ˙ ˙
79
Sixteen references if one includes two references to qā la baʿduhum.
80
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Jā miʿ al-Sahı̄ h, kitā b al-hiyal, bā b fı̄ al-hiba wa al-shufʿa.
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
60 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

(d. 388/998) Aʿlā m al-hadı̄ th.81 There is good evidence to suggest that al-
˙
Khattā bı̄ was a Shā fiʿı̄ in jurisprudence. He is described as a Shā fiʿı̄ in
˙˙
almost all the main biographical dictionaries of the Shā fiʿı̄ school.82 He
wrote a commentary on al-Muzanı̄ ’s Mukhtasar. This work has not sur-
˙
vived, but al-Subkı̄ had access to it and al-Nawawı̄ depended on it as one
of his sources for his Tahdhı̄ b al-asmā ’ wa al-lughā t.83 Additionally, al-
Khattā bı̄ wrote a biographical account of al-Shā fiʿı̄ .84 Despite these indi-
˙˙
cations of al-Khattā bı̄ ’s loyalty to the Shā fiʿı̄ school, Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙˙ ˙
followers are not assailed in al-Khattā bı̄ ’s commentary. Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙˙ 85 ˙
appears only once by name in the work. Al-Khattā bı̄ does, however,
˙˙
81
See Ahmad ʿAbd Allā h al-Bā tilı̄ , al-Imā m al-Khattā bı̄ : al-muhaddith al-faqı̄ h wa al-adı̄ b al-
˙
shā ʿir (Damascus: Dā r al-Qalam, 1996). Both Brown ˙˙ (The Canonization, ˙ 134) and Tokatly
(‘The Aʿlā m al-hadı̄ th of al-Khattā bı̄ ’, 54) tell us that al-Khattā bı̄ was the first commenta-
tor on al-Bukhā rı̄˙ ’s Sahı̄ h. In truth, ˙˙ al-Khattā bı̄ ’s is only the earliest ˙˙ surviving commentary.
The earliest recorded ˙ commentaries
˙ ˙ are :1.˙˙Abū ʿAlı̄ al-Hasan b. Muhammad b. Husayn b.
al-Hasan b. Jaʿfar al-Husaynı̄ al-ʿAlawı̄ al-Baghdā dı̄ (d. 358/969), al-Kawkab ˙ ˙ ˙
al-nahā rı̄ fı̄
sharh˙ Sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄˙; 2. Abū Ahmad Muhammad b. Ahmad b. al-Husayn b. al-Qā sim b.
˙ ˙ rı̄˙f ˙b. al-Jahm al-Ghitrı̄ fı̄ al-ʿAbdı̄
al-Ghit ˙ ˙
al-Jurja ̄ nı̄ al-Riba ˙̄ tı̄ (d. 377/987–8),
˙ al-Musnad al-
˙ Sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄ ˙(see Muhammad b. Jaʿfar al-Katta
sahı̄ h ʿalā ˙ ̄ nı̄ , al-Risā la al-mustatrafa li
˙bayā
˙ ˙ n mashhū ˙ ˙ r˙ kutub al-sunna al-masharrafa ˙ (Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir al-Islā miyya, ˙1993),
88; and al-Dhahabı̄ , Kitā b Tadhkirat al-huffā z, 3: 971–3); 3. Muhammad b. Muhammad b.
Ahmad b. Ishā q al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ al-Hā kim˙ (d. 378/988), ˙ Musannaf˙ʿalā al-Jā miʿ al-S ˙ ahı̄ h; and
4.˙Abū ʿAbd˙ Allā h Muhammad ˙b. al-ʿAbbā s b. Ahmad ˙b. Muhammad b. Abı̄ ˙Dhuhl ˙ ˙ al-
Harawı̄ (d. 378/988), al-Mus ˙ annaf al-sahı̄ h ʿalā Sah ˙ ı̄ h al-Bukhā ˙rı̄ . For these and the most
comprehensive account of˙ commentaries ˙ ˙ ˙ on˙ ˙al-Bukha
˙ ̄ rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h see ʿAbd Allā h
Muhammad al-Hibshı̄ , Jā miʿ al-shurū h wa al-hawā shı̄ : muʿjam shā ˙ mil
˙ ˙ li al-asmā ’ al-kutub
˙
al-mashrū ˙
ha fı̄ al-turā ˙ n shurū
th al-Islā mı̄ wa bayā ˙ hihā (Abu Dhabi: al-Majmaʿ al-Thaqā fı̄ ,
2004), 1:˙ 396–438. These are explicitly commentaries, ˙ but literary responses and inter-
actions with al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h go back to Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim who wrote a critical commentary,
for which see al-Sakhā wı̄˙, al-Iʿlā ˙ ˙ n bi al-tawbı̄ kh li˙ man dhamma ahl al-tā rı̄ kh, ed. Franz
Rosenthal (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1986), 207; Sezgin, GAS, 1: 179; and Dickinson,
The Development of Early Sunnite Hadı̄ th Criticism, 29–30. Al-Mā sarjası̄ (d. 365/975–6) and
Abū Ahmad al-Hā kim (d. 378/988) ˙ both authored Mustakhrajs. Al-Hā kim’s lost history is
the first˙ to mention ˙ their Mustakhrajs on al-Bukhā rı̄ and Muslim’s Sah˙ı̄ hs, and we know this
via the usual channel for such recondite matters in the history of hadı̄ ˙ ˙th,˙ al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar,
16: 287–9; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tarā jim al-a’imma al-kibā r ā shā b al-sunan ˙ wa al-ā thā r, ed. Fahmı̄
Saʿd (Beirut: ʿĀ lam al-Kutub, 1993), 146; al-Hā kim ˙ ˙ al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Nı̄ shā pū r, ed.
Muhammad Ridā Shafı̄ ʿı̄ Kadkanı̄ (Tehran:˙ Ā gā h, 1996), 187; al-Dhahabı̄ , Kitā b
˙
Tadhkirat al-huffā˙ z, 3: 976–9. See Khan, ‘Before Shurū h’.
82
Al-Subkı̄ , Tabaqā ˙ ˙t al-shā fiʿiyya al-kubrā , 3: 282–90; al-Asnawı̄ ˙ , Tabaqā t al-shā fiʿiyya, ed.
ʿAbd Allā h˙al-Jubū rı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-ʿUlū m, 1981), 1: 467–8; Qā d˙ı̄ Ibn Shuhba, Tabaqā t al-
shā fiʿiyya (Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, 1978), ˙ 1: 140–1; al-ʿAbba
˙ ̄ dı̄ ,
Kitā b Tabaqā t al-fuqahā ’ al-shā fiʿiyya, ed. Gösta Vitestam (Leiden: Brill, 1964), 94–6.
83
Al-Subkı̄˙ , Tabaqā t al-shā fiʿiyya al-kubrā , 3: 290; al-Nawawı̄ , Kitā b Tahdhı̄ b al-asmā ’, 1:
8–9; al-Bā tilı̄ ˙ , al-Imā m al-Khattā bı̄ , 1: 207–8.
84
Al-Rā zı̄ , Manā qib al-Imā m al-Shā ˙˙ fiʿı̄ , 225. And, as Christopher Melchert has reminded
me (personal communication), al-Khattā bı̄ ’s commentaries regularly endorse al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s
juridical views. ˙˙
85
Al-Khattā bı̄ , Aʿlā m al-hadı̄ th fı̄ sharh Sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄ , ed. Muhammad b. Saʿd b. ʿAbd
al-Rahma ˙˙ ̄ n al-Saʿū d (Mecca:
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Umm
al-Jā miʿat ˙ al-Qurā , 1988),˙ 1415–19 (during a dis-
˙
cussion on the obligation to obey rulers).
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 61

refer to the legal views of the ashā b al-ra’y a number of times alongside
˙˙
other jurists, but not to criticise them.86
The same cannot be said of the second major commentator on al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h. Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s points of conflict with Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
the Hanafı̄ s acquire a prominent place in Ibn Battā l’s (d. 449/1057)
˙ ˙˙
commentary. Ibn Battā l describes and refutes Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legal views
˙˙ ˙
on countless occasions.87 Hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers
˙
in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h would continue to occupy commentators from the
˙ ˙ ˙
High Middle Periods.88 This discussion culminated in an intense debate
between, arguably, the two greatest authorities on al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Sahı̄ h in
the Mamlū k period.89 ˙ ˙ ˙

86
Al-Khattā bı̄ , Aʿlā m al-hadı̄ th, 304 (alongside other jurists such as Mā lik b. Anas, Ahmad
˙˙ and Sufyā n˙al-Thawrı̄ ), 512–13 (bā b idhā rakaʿa dū na al-saff, alongside Ma
b. Hanbal, ˙ ̄ lik
˙
b. Anas and al-Shā fiʿı̄ ), 625 (kitā b tafsı̄ r al-salā t, bā b mā jā ’a fı̄ al-taqsı̄˙r wa kam yuqı̄ m hattā
yaqsura), 628 (bā b fı̄ kam yaqsur al-salā˙ t), 970 (bā b man mā ta˙ wa ʿalayhi al-sawm, ˙
˙ ˙ ˙
mentioned alongside al-Shā fiʿı̄ ), 1246 (bā b qismat al-ghanam, mentioned in juxtaposition ˙
to the majority of scholars (akthar al-ʿulamā ’)); for mentions of the fuqahā ’ al-ʿIrā q: 114
(in juxtaposition to the Shā fiʿı̄ s), 216 (in juxtaposition to the ahl al-Hijā z), 282, 1031
(mentioned in the context of the ahl al-ʿIrā q opposing the outward˙ meaning of the
hadı̄ th), 1110, 1197, 1855; for ahl al-Kū fa: 235 (bā b isbā gh al-wudū ’, mentioned along-
˙
side Ahmad b. Hanbal), 653 (bā b idhā sallā khamsan), 1416, 2086˙ (bā b al-khamr min al-
ʿinab wa˙ ghayrihi).
˙ I should add that I have ˙ major misgivings about Tokatly’s understand-
ing of al-Khattā bı̄ ’s commentary, and I have detailed these in my forthcoming re-exam-
ination of Aʿlā˙˙m al-hadı̄ th: see Khan, ‘Hadı̄ th Commentary and Philology in the Tenth-
Century’. ˙ ˙
87
Ibn Battā l, Sharh Sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄ , ed. Abū Tamı̄ m Yā sir b. Ibrā hı̄ m (Riyadh: Maktabat
˙˙ 2000),
al-Rushd, ˙ ˙1:˙122, 227, 275, 408–10, 425–6; 2: 117–18, 163–4, 165, 267; 3: 5,
189, 453, 466–8, 484, 498, 530–1, 525, 568; 4: 21, 67, 101, 225, 255, 257, 314, 320,
340–1, 382, 402, 448, 492, 528–9; 5: 67, 157, 376; 6: 143, 167, 185–6, 233, 309, 314–
15, 327, 380, 383, 419, 422, 426, 439, 446, 465, 474, 524–5; 7: 11, 120, 144, 256, 421,
456, 548; 8: 19–20, 25, 61, 148, 157–8, 192–4, 311–12, 321–3, 367–8, 451, 467, 469,
550, 623.
88
This study is not concerned with post-classical debates about the perceived hostility
between al-Bukhā rı̄ and Abū Hanı̄ fa. So my references here (and for al-ʿAynı̄ and Ibn
˙
Hajar) are exemplary and not comprehensive. See Ibn al-Mulaqqin, al-Tawdı̄ h li sharh al-
˙ miʿ al-Sahı̄ h, ed. Khā lid al-Ribā t (Qatar: Wizā rat al-Awqā f wa al-Shu’ū n˙al-Isla
Jā ˙ ˙
̄ miyya,
2008), 16: ˙ ˙456–7,
˙ 510; 17: 209; 25: ˙ 329; 30: 351; 32: 37, 63.
89
See al-ʿAynı̄ , ʿUmdat al-qā rı̄ fı̄ sharh Sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄ (Beirut: Idā rat al-Tibā ʿa al-
Munı̄ riyya and Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub ˙ ˙ al-ʿIlmiyya,
˙ ˙ 2001), 24: 112; Ibn ˙Hajar al-
ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Fath al-bā rı̄ , 3: 364 (Ibn Bā z edn.) (I have used three editions of this˙ work at
˙
different institutions, among which the Bū lā q edition is the preferred edition: ed. Nazar
al-Faryā bı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Tayba, 2005). Blecher, ‘Revision in the Manuscript Age’, 41, ˙
n. 14 is unaware of al-Faryā bı̄ ˙ ’s edition). On the rivalry see Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Intiqā d
˙ ʿAbd al-Majı̄ d al-Salafı̄˙
al-iʿtirā d fı̄ al-radd ʿalā al-ʿAynı̄ fı̄ sharh al-Bukhā rı̄ , ed. Hamdı̄ b.
˙ ˙ ˙
and Subhı̄ b. Jā sim al-Sā marrā ’ı̄ (Riyadh: Maktabat al-Rushd, n.d.). Joel Blecher’s thesis
does ˙ not˙ treat commentarial debates surrounding al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s use of baʿd al-nā s.
However, he has a brief discussion of Hanafı̄ and Shā fiʿı̄ rivalry as reflected ˙ in the
commentaries of Ibn Hajar and al-ʿAynı̄˙ with respect to one particular hadı̄ th. See
Blecher, ‘In the Shade of ˙ the Sahı̄ h’, 90–1. ˙
˙ ˙ ˙
62 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

Let us now turn to other venues where we can observe al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s
denunciation of Abū Hanı̄ fa. One major contention of this book is that
discourses of heresy were ˙ weaponised in the process of constructing
orthodoxy against the proximate other. The proximate other, as
Jonathan Z. Smith has explained, posed an immense threat to pre-
modern religious communities: ‘The radically “other” is merely
“other”; the proximate “other” is problematic, and hence, of supreme
interest.’90 Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers should be understood as the
˙
proximate other, and it is in this light that the discourse of heresy against
Abū Hanı̄ fa can be understood. In many ways Abū Hanı̄ fa was a proto-
Sunnı̄˙. But he and his followers differed in some important
˙ respects on
questions of law, theology, and politics. As a proximate movement to
proto-Sunnı̄ traditionalism, these distinctions became inflated, and
proto-Hanafism emerged as a problematic proximate other. More than
˙
one of the proto-Sunni traditionalists we have studied were at one time
trained as proto-Hanafı̄ s and thought highly of Abū Hanı̄ fa. We do not
˙ ˙
know whether al-Bukhā rı̄ studied under proto-Hanafı̄ s, but there can be
˙
little doubt that al-Bukhā rı̄ encountered proto-Hanafı̄ s in Khurā sā n,
Transoxiana, and Baghdad.91 There are other˙ indications that al-
Bukhā rı̄ had even memorised the books of proto- or semi-Hanafı̄ s.
˙
Consider, for example, the narration of al-Firabrı̄ on the authority of al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s copyist, Muhammad b. Abı̄ Hā tim, that at the age of thirteen
˙ ˙
al-Bukhā rı̄ had memorised the books of Ibn al-Mubā rak and Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-
Jarrā h and that his familiarity with these works had endowed him with an
intimate awareness of the ideas and writings of such people (wa ʿaraftu
kalā m hā ’ulā ’).92 Later authors such as Ibn Hajar explained that kalā m
hā ’ulā ’ was an oblique reference to proto- or ˙ semi-Hanafı̄ s (ashā b al-
˙ ˙˙
ra’y).93 It seems, therefore, that, like the proto-Sunni traditionalists he
studied with, al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa was informed by
˙
his interactions with proto-Hanafı̄ s and their writings.94 Agents of proto-
˙
Sunnı̄ traditionalist orthodoxy, such as al-Bukhā rı̄ , were particularly
sensitive to the differences they perceived to exist among the proximate
other. These small differences were magnified by agents of orthodoxy and
became of supreme interest to them, which is why the proximate other

90
See Smith, ‘What a Difference a Difference Makes’.
91
Later historians report that al-Bukhā rı̄ met Muʿallā b. Mansū r in 210/825–6 (see Ibn
Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taghlı̄ q al-taʿlı̄ q, 5: 389; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ k˙ h al-Islā m, 19: 240).
92 ˙
Al-Khat ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 2: 325.
93
Ibn Hajar˙ al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Hady [sic] al-sā rı̄ (Bulaq edn.), 479. It seems the manuscript
˙
evidence establishes that Ibn Hajar entitled his work Hudā al-sā rı̄ .
94
For the story that the Hanafı̄ scholar ˙ Abū Hafs al-Bukhā rı̄ had al-Bukhā rı̄ expelled from
˙ , Kitā b al-Mabsū t (Beirut:
Bukhā rā , see al-Sarakhsı̄ ˙ ˙ Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1989; repr. Cairo: Dā r
al-Saʿā da, 1906–1913), 30: 297. ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 63

(Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers) featured so heavily in discourses of heresy

˙
and orthodoxy.
In the light of the scarce background information on al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s inter-
actions with proto-Hanafı̄ s, we can turn directly to al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s Histories to
˙
examine his contribution to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Al-
˙
Bukhā rı̄ composed three Histories: al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat
˙
(Kitā b al-Mukhtasar), and al-Tā rı̄ kh al-saghı̄ r. The first two have survived,
˙ ˙
but the third is no longer extant. Al-Bukhā rı̄ also dedicated two works to
95

the history of weak hadı̄ th scholars: Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ al-kabı̄ r and Kitā b al-
˙ ˙
Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r. The former is lost, whilst the latter has been published.96
˙There are˙ attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa and his students across all of these
˙
published works. Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r devotes an entry to Abū
Hanı̄ fa. He dismisses Abū Hanı̄ fa as belonging to a movement which
˙ ˙
proto-Sunni traditionalists deemed to be heretical, the Murji’a. He further
explains that the scholarly community renounced (sakatū ʿanhu) Abū
Hanı̄ fa, his speculative jurisprudence, and his hadı̄ th.97 In the parlance of
h˙adı̄ th specialists, sakatū ʿan did not denote the ˙ silence of scholars. This
˙
particular phrase was a severe indictment of a scholar, and hadı̄ th scholars
understood al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s use of the term as his particular way˙of denouncing
a scholar.98 The religious deviancy of Abū Hanı̄ fa is a theme to which al-
˙
95
Al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat (Kitā b al-Mukhtasar) has been published twice under the mistaken
˙ aghı̄ r: (Hyderabad:
title of al-Tā rı̄ kh al-s ˙ Matbaʿat Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, n.
d.) = ed. Mahmū d Ibra ˙ ̄ hı̄ m Zā yid (Beirut: Da
˙ ̄ r al-Maʿrifa, 1986). Al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat has
been published ˙ properly as al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, ed. Muhammad Ibrā hı̄ m al-Luhayda ˙ ̄n
(Riyadh: Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄ , 1998) and al-Tā rı̄ k˙h al-awsat ˙[Kitā b al-Mukhtasar], ed. ˙ Saʿd
Abū Haymad (Riyadh: ˙ Maktabat al-Rushd, 2005), the˙ latter being the superior ˙ edition
and the ˙ one I try to cite. Al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat was known to medieval authors as Kitā b al-
Mukhtasar. This is how al-Bukhā rı̄ himself˙ refers to it in al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 4.1: 87. Al-
˙
Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat has two recensions. Four manuscripts for the recension of Zanjawayh (d.
318/930) and˙ one for al-Khaffā f (d. 294/906–7?). For more on the problems with
previous editions of al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat see al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat [Kitā b al-
Mukhtasar], 1: 114 ff. (Abū Haymad edn.) ˙ (editor’s introduction). Al-Kala˙̄ bā dhı̄ , Rijā l
˙
Sahı̄ h Bukhā ˙ Rafı̄ ʿ b. Mihrā n) cites al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r and al-Tā rı̄ kh al-
rı̄ , 1: 253 (entry for
s˙aghı̄
˙ ˙r. Mughaltā y b. Qalı̄ j had access to all three histories: Mughaltā y b. Qalı̄ j, Sharh
˙Sunan Ibn Mā ja, ˙ ed. Kā mil ʿUwayda (Mecca: Nizā r Mustafā al-Ba˙̄ z, 1999), 1: 223; ˙
˙
Mughaltā y b. Qalı̄ j, Ikmā l Tahdhı̄ b al-kamā l fı̄ asmā ’ al-rijā˙ ˙l, ed. ʿĀ dil b. Muhammad
and Usā˙ma b. Ibrā hı̄ m (Cairo: al-Fā rū q al-Hadı̄ tha li al-Tibā ʿa wa al-Nashr, 2001), ˙ 1:
167 (entry on Abā n b. Abı̄ ʿAyyā sh). See also ˙ ʿAbd Allā ˙h bt. Mahrū s al-ʿAsā lı̄ , Fihris
˙
Musannafā t al-imā m . . . al-Bukhā rı̄ . . . al-mashhū ra fı̄ mā ʿadā ‘al-Sahı̄ h’, arr. Muhammad
b. H˙ amza b. Saʿd (Riyadh: Dā r al-ʿĀ sima, 1988), 28f.; ʿĀ dil b. ʿAbd ˙ ˙ ˙al-Shukr al-Zuraqı̄
˙ ,
Tā rı̄˙ kh al-Bukhā rı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-T˙uwayq, 2002), 8–29. He concludes that there were
˙
three histories and a fourth work, Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r.
96
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r, ed.˙ Mahmū d˙ Ibrā hı̄ m Zā yid (Aleppo: Dā r al-
Waʿy, 1976) = Majmū ˙ ʿ fı̄ al-d˙uʿafā ’ wa al-matrū
˙ kı̄ n, ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z ʿIzz al-Dı̄ n
Sayrawā n (Beirut: Dā r al-Qalam, ˙ 1985), 405–503.
97
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 4.2: 81.
98
For the special meaning designated by sakatū ʿanhu in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s writings and in al-jarh
wa al-taʿdı̄ l more widely see al-Dhahabı̄ , al-Mū qiza fı̄ ʿilm mustalah al-hadı̄ th, ed. ʿAbd al- ˙
˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙
64 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

Bukhā rı̄ returns in a number of related and unrelated entries. It is no

surprise, for example, that al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s notice for Abū Yū suf refers to
Abū Hanı̄ fa. Al-Bukhā rı̄ states there that Abū Yū suf had studied with
˙
both al-Shaybā nı̄ and Abū Hanı̄ fa. However, according to al-Bukhā rı̄ ,
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s most prominent disciples, al-Shaybā nı̄ and Abū Yū suf,
˙
renounced Abū Hanı̄ fa (tarakū hu).99 Perhaps more surprising is Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s appearance˙ in the entry on the Medinese scholar Muhammad b.
˙ ˙
Maslama Abū Hishā m al-Makhzū mı̄ . Al-Bukhā rı̄ states that Muhammad
˙
b. Maslama once related that someone remarked to him, ‘What is the
business with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s speculative jurisprudence? It entered every
single town save Medina.’˙ To this, Muhammad b. Maslama replied: ‘He
˙
[Abū Hanı̄ fa] was one of the anti-Christs, and the Prophet, God pray over
˙
him and grant him peace, said that neither the plague nor the anti-Christ
shall enter Medina.’100
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s religious outlook in al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r is constituted
through a prosopographical lens. His judgements on thousands of indi-
viduals seek to produce a register of identifiable men in isnā ds. This was
not the primary venue for determining who was reliable and who was not,
who was orthodox and who had deviant leanings.101 In the light of this, it
is all the more surprising that al-Bukhā rı̄ uses notices in al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r
on Abū Hanı̄ fa and his students to convey to his readers that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
stands outside the orthodox community.
When he is not constrained by the prosopographical vision, al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa moves in different
˙
directions. Unlike al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat is
˙
arranged chronologically. This seems to permit him a greater degree of
flexibility with respect to expressing his animosity towards Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
and explaining the charges of heresy and deviance that proto-Sunni
traditionalists levelled at Abū Hanı̄ fa. In the entry for 150/767 al-
˙
Bukhā rı̄ records the death of Abū Hanı̄ fa and notes that he was seventy
102
This much˙ is conventional in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s
years old when died.

Fattā h Abū Ghudda (Aleppo: Maktab al-Matbū ʿā t al-Islā miyya, 1984–5), 83; al-Sharı̄ f
Hā tim˙ al-ʿAwnı̄ , Sharh Mū qiza li al-Dhahabı̄ (Damma ˙ ̄ m: Dā r Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , 2006), 238–
˙ al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, ˙12: 439–41
9; ˙ (within al-Dhahabı̄ ’s lengthy notice for al-Bukhā rı̄ );
Ibn Kathı̄ r, al-Bā ʿith al-hathı̄ th: Sharh ikhtisā r ʿulū m al-hadı̄ th li al-Hā fiz Ibn Kathı̄ r, ed.
and commentary Ahmad ˙ Muhammad ˙ Shā ˙kir (Beirut: Da
˙ ̄ r al-Kutub
˙ al-ʿIlmiyya,
˙ n.d.),
101; al-ʿIrā qı̄ , Sharh˙ al-tabsira˙ wa al-tadhkira, ed. ʿAbd al-Latı̄ f al-Hā mı̄ m and Mā hir
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Yā sı̄ n al-Fahl (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 2002), 1: 377 = Sharh alfiyat al-ʿIrā qı̄ ,
ed. Muhammad ˙ b. al-Husayn al-ʿIrā qı̄ al-Husaynı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub ˙ al-ʿIlmiyya,
˙ ˙ ˙
n.d.), 2: 11; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Hady al-sā rı̄ , 1: 480.
99
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā ˙rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 4.2: 397.
100
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 1.1: 240.
101
Melchert, ‘Bukhā rı̄ and Early Hadith Criticism’, esp. 16–17.
102
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, 4: 502 (Abū Haymad edn.).
˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 65

al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat. What follows this, though, is a scathing description of

˙
the legacy that Abū Hanı̄ fa represented in the eyes of proto-Sunni
traditionalists: 103 ˙

Nuʿaym b. Hammā d < al-Fazā rı̄ said: ‘I was with Sufyā n when news of al-
˙
Nuʿmā n‘s death arrived. He said: “Praise be to God. He was destroying Islam
systematically. No one has been born in Islam more harmful than he [was].”’
The celebration of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s passing is ubiquitous in the literature
˙
produced by proto-Sunni traditionalists in the ninth and tenth centuries.
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s decision to supplement the record of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s death
˙
date with a damning statement on the latter’s legacy was designed to
produce a categorical denunciation of Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic. The
semantic field of heresy may not be present in ˙ this statement, but the
implications are clear enough. Abū Hanı̄ fa was not merely an individual
˙
who dissented and deviated from proto-Sunni orthodoxy; in fact, his was
an active heresy that threatened the very foundations of the religion. As
such, proto-Sunni traditionalists believed that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s heresy rep-
˙
resented an unprecedented danger to the Muslim community. Though
this threat was perceived to manifest itself differently and widely, proto-
Sunni traditionalists argued that there was an immediate sense in which
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s heresies posed a grave threat to the Muslim polity. Al-
˙
Bukhā rı̄ ’s entry for the year 150 and for Abū Hanı̄ fa’s death continues
˙
with yet another narration from Ibrā hı̄ m b. Muhammad al-Fazā rı̄ . Al-
˙
Bukhā rı̄ narrates that al-Fazā rı̄ went to visit the caliph Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d.
Al-Fazā rı̄ entered the caliph’s presence and noticed that Abū Yū suf was
also there. The caliph addressed al-Fazā rı̄ and asked, ‘Are you one of
those who wishes to see the sword raised against us?’ The caliph’s curt
remark obviously annoyed al-Fazā rı̄ , and the attendance of Abū Yū suf
compounded al-Fazā rı̄ ’s sense of dismay. He suspected that Abū Yū suf
had had a hand in bringing al-Fazā rı̄ ’s name into disrepute with the
caliph, and so rather than answering the caliph’s question al-Fazā rı̄
insisted on revealing the views of Abū Yū suf and Abū Hanı̄ fa on the
˙
very issue of rebellion that the caliph had raised with him. Al-Fazā rı̄
told the caliph, ‘I went on a raid in Tarsū s. When I returned, Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa said to me: “Where were you?” I replied, “I was raiding in
˙
Tarsū s.” Then he said to me: “The rebellion of your brother with
˙ ̄ hı̄ m is more preferable to me than your raiding in Tarsū s.”’104
Ibra
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s insertion of this report corresponds neatly˙ to his previous
assertion that Abū Hanı̄ fa was a pernicious force against Islam. In the
˙
103
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, 4: 503 (Abū Haymad edn.) = 2: 77 (al-Luhaydā n edn.).
104 ˙ , 2: 100 (al-Luh
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat ˙ aydā n edn.). ˙
˙ ˙
66 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

narrative told by al-Fazā rı̄ , Abū Hanı̄ fa belittles al-Fazā rı̄ ’s frontier raid-
˙
ing against non-Muslims and encourages him to pursue the path taken by
his brother in joining the rebellion of Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h. For proto-
Sunni traditionalists who believed that the kind of harm Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
posed to Islam was not merely intellectual, the implication of al-Fazā rı̄ ’s
narration was that Abū Hanı̄ fa was more supportive of Muslims raising
˙
the sword against other Muslims than their frontier campaigns against
non-Muslims. Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ideas were an incitement to civil conflict
˙
among members of the Islamic polity, and proto-Sunni traditionalists
such as al-Bukhā rı̄ sought to impress upon readers that this was a defining
aspect of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legacy to ninth-century Muslims.
˙
There were other aspects of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s mnemohistory that al-
˙
Bukhā rı̄ seeks to highlight in al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat. Al-Bukhā rı̄ was
˙
perturbed, for example, by the absence of certain pietistic norms and
conventions in the religious teaching sessions of Abū Hanı̄ fa. He recalls a
˙
comparison that Ibn al-Mubā rak was said to have drawn between the
study-circles of Sufyā n (al-Thawrı̄ ) and those of an unnamed individual
(majlis ā khar).105
Whenever I wanted to see Sufyā n, I saw him praying [upon the Prophet] or
narrating hadı̄ th, or engaged in abstruse matters of law (fı̄ ghā mid al-fiqh). As for
˙
the other gathering that I witnessed, no one prayed upon the Prophet˙ in it.
The narrator, Ibn al-Mubā rak, fails to mention the name of the scholar
who convened the study-circle. However, al-Bukhā rı̄ claimed to know
exactly to whom Ibn al-Mubā rak was referring. He adds at the end of this
report, ‘he means [the gathering of] al-Nuʿmā n’.106 Al-Bukhā rı̄ is con-
cerned with portraying the lack of basic religious piety in the study-circles
of Abū Hanı̄ fa. The report he cites is at pains to demonstrate that proto-
˙
Sunni traditionalists did not simply attack Abū Hanı̄ fa for his speculative
˙
and casuistic jurisprudence. Abū Hanı̄ fa was not the only scholar com-
˙
mitted to tackling obscure legal conundrums. This was the inveterate
practice of Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , too. However, Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ ’s religious
teaching sessions were characterised by the elementary norms of Muslim
piety: he was either invoking blessings and prayers upon the Prophet or
transmitting his words and deeds. According to his critics, these pietistic
conventions were conspicuous by their absence in Abū Hanı̄ fa’s study
sessions. ˙
The final example of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s condemnation of Abū Hanı̄ fa under-
˙
scores, once again, our view that discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
105
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, 2: 113–14 (al-Luhaydā n edn.).
106
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat˙ , 2: 114 (al-Luhayda
˙ ̄ n edn.).
˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 67

represented a group phenomenon: that it was the constant chatter and

communication between proto-Sunni traditionalists that gave birth to a
discourse of heresy designed to exclude Abū Hanı̄ fa from any emerging
˙
conception of proto-Sunni orthodoxy. Al-Bukhā rı̄ transmits the following
107
story in his al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat:
˙
I heard al-Humaydı̄ say: Abū Hanı̄ fa said: ‘I came to Mecca and took from the
cupper (al-h˙ ajjā m) three sunan.˙ When I sat in front of him, he said to me: “Face
the Kaʿba.”˙ Then he began to shave the right side of my head and reached the two
bones.’
Al-Humaydı̄ said: ‘How is it that a man who does not possess [knowledge of
˙
the] practices (sunan) of the Messenger of God, nor of the Companions, with
regard to the rituals of pilgrimage (al-manā sik) and other things, can be followed
in the commandments (ahkā m) of God concerning inheritance and other obliga-
˙
tory elements, [such as] prayer, alms-giving, and the rules of Islam?’
The source of al-Bukhā rı̄ and al-Humaydı̄ ’s outrage seems to be that
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa had to receive instructions from a cupper as to some of the
˙
basic rituals pertaining to the pilgrimage. Al-Humaydı̄ could not fathom
˙
why someone who was unfamiliar with the rituals of pilgrimage could be
considered an authority and worthy of imitation with respect to any
sphere of religious obligation. There is no attempt by proto-Sunni
traditionalists to provide a wider background and context to the alleged
anecdote about Abū Hanı̄ fa. This certainly reads as a disjointed report,
˙
one dislodged from a broader narrative. Proto-Sunni traditionalists
displayed no interest, for example, in entertaining the possibility that
the anecdote referred to a pilgrimage Abū Hanı̄ fa had undertaken as a
˙
young man.108 This narration alone, regardless of its wider context,
constituted further evidence for the proto-Sunni traditionalist belief
that Abū Hanı̄ fa could not be regarded as an exemplary figure of
˙
proto-Sunni orthodoxy.
Our final example of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
in this section comes from his Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r. Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s brief
˙ ˙
history of unreliable scholars is concerned with documenting the unreli-
ability of scholars involved in the transmission or learning of hadı̄ th.109
Scholars are dismissed for various reasons. Al-Bukhā rı̄ brands ˙ certain

107
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, 3: 382 (Abū Haymad edn.) = 2: 37–38 (al-Luhaydā n
edn.). See also Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, ˙ al-Tā rı̄ kh (al-Du
˙ ̄ rı̄ ’s recension), ed. Ahmad Muhammad ˙
Nū r Sayf (Mecca:˙Markaz al-Bahth al-ʿIlmı̄ wa Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-Islā˙mı̄ , 1979), ˙ 2: 607.
108
For this particular explanation see ˙ Zafar Ahmad al-ʿUthma
˙ ̄ nı̄ al-Tahā nawı̄ , Muqaddimat
˙ ˙
iʿlā ’ al-sunan: Abū Hanı̄ fa wa ashā buhu al-muhaddithū n (Karachi: Idā rat al-Qur’ā n wa al-
ʿUlū m al-Islā miyya, ˙ 1984), 35. ˙˙ ˙
109
This work of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s exhibits the influence of al-Humaydı̄ , too. See al-Bukhā rı̄ ,
Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r [wa yalı̄ hi Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ wa ˙ al-matrū kı̄ n li al-Nasā ’ı̄ ], ed.
˙ ˙ ˙
Mahmū d Ibrā hı̄ m Zā yid (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1986), 69, 78, 81, 105, 107.
˙
68 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

scholars as inveterate liars.110 Others are discredited because of their

association with heresies.111 However, al-Bukhā rı̄ appears to give Abū
Hanı̄ fa special treatment. His entry on Abū Hanı̄ fa relates three damning
˙ ˙
reports attacking Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious credibility. The first report main-
˙
tains that Abū Hanı̄ fa repented from heresy twice. The second report states
˙
that when Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ heard that Abū Hanı̄ fa had passed away, he
˙
praised God, performed a prostration (of gratitude), and declared that Abū
Hanı̄ fa was committed to destroying Islam systematically and that nobody
˙
in Islam had been born more harmful than he. The third and final report,
which al-Bukhā rı̄ also includes in his al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, describes Abū
Hanı̄ fa as one of the anti-Christs.112
˙ We have seen that al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s denunciation of Abū Hanı̄ fa as a
˙
heretic and deviant scholar emerged from different contexts and for
various reasons. In Khurā sā n and the Hijā z al-Bukhā rı̄ nurtured close
˙
and formative relationships with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s sternest critics. In
˙
Khurā sā n he developed a life-long and definitive friendship with Ishā q
˙
b. Rā hawayh. In Rayy he would have been exposed to staunch detractors
of Abū Hanı̄ fa. In Baghdad al-Bukhā rı̄ studied with Ahmad b. Hanbal
and Yah˙yā b. Maʿı̄ n. In the Hijā z he studied with al-H ˙ umaydı̄ .˙ Some
˙ ˙ ˙
historians with very good access to eastern sources believed that al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s expulsion from Bukhā rā had been engineered by prominent
Hanafı̄ s in the region.113 Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s oeuvre exhibits a discourse of
˙
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa that manifested itself in the spheres of law,
˙
rebellion, hadı̄ th, piety, religious deviance, unbelief, heresy, ritual prac-
˙
tice, and legal reasoning. There are many important dimensions of this
discourse that have not been mentioned here, for they are treated at
length in Chapter 3.

110
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r, 74, 120, 122 (Dā r al-Maʿrifa edn.).
111 ˙ uʿafā ’ al-s
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙ aghı̄ r (Dā r al-Maʿrifa edn.), for association with the
Qadariyya see 17 (kā n˙ a yarā al-qadar),
˙ 43 (fa afsadū hu bi al-qadar), 98 (kā na yarā al-
qadar), 101 (kā na yuqā l fı̄ hi al-qadar), 111 (kā na yarā al-qadar), 124 (yudhkar bi al-
qadar); for association with the Murji’a see 22 and 65 (kā na yarā al-irjā ’ wa huwa sadū q),
where according to al-Bukhā rı̄ one could be a Murji’ı̄ and still be a moderately ˙reliable
transmitter of hadı̄ th, 52 (kā na yarā al-irjā ’), 78 (kā na yarā al-irjā ’), 82 (kā na yarā al-
˙
irjā ’); for association with the ashā b al-ra’y see 24 (sā hib al-ra’y); for association with the
˙˙
Muʿtazila see 39 (kā na muʿtaziliyyan); ˙ ˙ with the Ibā diyya see 40 (kā na
for association
˙ rijiyyan). On the
yarā ra’y al-ibā diyya); for association with the Khā rijı̄ s see 85 (kā na khā
question of hadı̄ ˙ th scholars and sectaries see Melchert, ‘Sectaries in the Six Books’.
112
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , ˙al-Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r, ed. Abū ʿAbd Allā h Ahmad b. Ibrā hı̄ m b. Abı̄ al-
˙
ʿAynayn (n.p.: Maktabat ˙ ʿAbbā s, 2005), 132.
Ibn ˙
113
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya fı̄ tabaqā t al-Hanafiyya, ed. ʿAbd al-Fattā h
Muhammad Hulw (Cairo: Hajr li al-T ˙ ibā ʿa wa
˙ al-Nashr, ˙ 1993), 1: 166; ʿAbd al-Qā dir˙
˙ mı̄ , al-T
al-Tamı̄ ˙ abaqā t al-saniyya ˙fı̄ tarā jim al-Hanafiyya, ed. ʿAbd al-Fattā h
Muhammad Hulw ˙ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Rifā ʿı̄ , 1983), 1: 395.
˙ ˙
˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 69

Ibn Qutayba (d. 276/889)

Ibn Qutayba’s role in the development of proto-Sunni traditionalism is
less secure than that of his contemporary al-Bukhā rı̄ . He has been
described in modern scholarship as a follower of Ahmad b. Hanbal, a
˙ ˙
member of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s ‘school’, and as a semi-rationalist.114
˙
There is no doubt that his career was more dexterous than those of other
proto-Sunni traditionalists. To begin with, he moved in aristocratic
and courtly circles. Ibn Qutayba found himself under the patronage of
ʿUbayd Allā h b. Yahyā b. Khā qā n (d. 247/861), the vizier of the caliph al-
˙
Mutawakkil.115 At least one of his works is dedicated to him.116 Proximity
to political elites in the empire was not unknown among proto-Sunni
traditionalists, and this connection to the empire’s aristocrats need not
undermine his proto-Sunni traditionalist credentials. For example, we
find in the ninth-century biography of Ahmad b. Hanbal written by his
˙ ˙
cousin Hanbal b. Ishā q (d. 273/886), as well as in the earliest extant
˙ ˙
biographical dictionary of Hanbalı̄ s, the claim that Yahyā b. Khā qā n
˙ ˙
used to visit Ahmad b. Hanbal very frequently, and that these visits
˙ ˙ 117
Furthermore, Ahmad b.
were on the orders of al-Mutawakkil.
˙
114
For Ibn Qutayba’s contributions to proto-Sunni traditionalism see Melchert,
‘Traditionist-Jurisprudents’, 403–5; Lecomte, Ibn Qutayba, 215–74; Husaini, Life and
Works, who considers Ibn Qutayba as adhering to Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s school, which is a
mistake in my view. At least one prominent medieval ˙ historian of hadı̄ th scholars made
room for Ibn Qutayba in his history of hadı̄ th learning: al-Khalı̄ lı̄ ,˙ al-Irshā d fı̄ maʿrifat
ʿulamā ’ al-hadı̄ th, ed. Walı̄ d Mutawallı̄ ˙Muhammad (Cairo: al-Fā rū q al-Hadı̄ tha li al-
˙
Tibā ʿa wa al-Nashr, ˙
2010), 250–1 = 626–7 (Riyadh edn.). According to my˙records, this
˙
citation has been overlooked by modern scholars (the Irshā d had not been published
when Lecomte published his book on Ibn Qutayba). When I first noticed Ibn Qutayba’s
entry in the Irshā d, I interpreted this initially as further evidence of Ibn Qutayba’s being
ensconced in the annals of proto-Sunni traditionalism. However, after I made my way
through the entire Irshā d, I realised that al-Khalı̄ lı̄ ’s history of hadı̄ th scholars has a weak
spot for mavericks. Among the anomalies I found in the Irshā ˙ d was the historian Abū
Hanı̄ fa al-Dı̄ nawarı̄ . In the light of this, scholars who view Ibn Qutayba as being on the
˙
fringes of proto-Sunni traditionalism would be well within their rights, therefore, to see
his appearance in the Irshā d as strengthening their position and not as evidence for his
secure reputation as a proto-Sunni traditionalist.
115
Sourdel, Le vizirat ʿabbā side, 2: 274–86, 305–9; Lecomte, Ibn Qutayba, 33.
116
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b Adab al-kā tib [Ibn Kutaiba’s Adab al-kā tib], ed. Max Grünert
(Leiden: Brill, 1900), 6; Ibn Khallikā n, Wafayā t al-aʿyā n, 3: 43. The ‘al-wazı̄ r Abū al-
Hasan’ mentioned by Ibn Qutayba is ʿUbayd Allā h b. Yahyā b. Khā qā n; not, as Sarah
˙
Savant claims, Fath b. Khā qā n. See Savant, The New Muslims ˙ of Post-Conquest Iran, 98.
˙
On this family see Gordon, ‘The Khā qā nid Families of the Early ʿAbbā sid Period’.
117
Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-Hanā bila, ed. Muhammad Hā mid al-Fiqı̄ (Cairo: Matbaʿat
al-Sunna al-Muh ˙ ammadiyya, ˙ 1952), 1: 401˙ = ed. ʿAbd ˙ al-Rahmā n b. Sulayma˙̄ n al-
˙
ʿUthaymı̄ n (Riyadh: al-Mamlaka al-ʿArabiyya al-Saʿū diyya, al-Ama ˙ ̄ na al-ʿĀ mma li al-
Ihtifā l bi Murū r Mi’at ʿĀ m ʿalā Ta’sı̄ s al-Mamlaka, 1999), 2: 524 (where Yahyā b.
˙ ̄ qā n has his own entry). Other officials such as ʿUbayd Allā h b. Yahyā b. Kha
Kha ˙ ̄ qā n
and ʿAlı̄ b. Jahm would frequent Ahmad b. Hanbal. See Hanbal b. Ishā q,˙ Dhikr mihnat
al-imā m Ahmad b. Hanbal, ed. Muh ˙ ammad ˙Naghsh (Cairo: ˙ Dā r al-Nashr
˙ al-Thaqa˙ ̄ fa,
˙ ˙ ˙
70 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

Hanbal’s sons maintained affable relations with al-Mutawakkil and con-

˙
tinued to accept gifts and stipends from the imperial purse despite their
father’s protests.118
It was probably the combination of Ibn Qutayba’s competent religious
and judicial learning in addition to his access to important officials in
the imperial entourage of the caliph that saw him occupy the judgeship of
the city of Dı̄ nawā r. This, too, was not breaking with proto-Sunni trad-
itionalist conventions and norms. Some proto-Sunni traditionalists felt
that being in the employ of the state as a judge could compromise their
moral integrity. It seems that Ahmad b. Hanbal considered even being
˙
employed by the state as illegitimate. 119 ˙
He dismissed outright any dis-
cussion of being appointed to a judgeship in Yemen120 and would not
accept a delegation of state judges who presumably came to pay their
respects in the final hours of his life (wa jā ’a qawm min al-qudā t wa
˙
ghayrihim, fa lam yu’dhan lahum).121 Others clearly believed it was pos-
sible to overcome any such moral conundrums, or they simply conceded
that they could not sustain such scrupulousness in the face of the
harsh social and economic realities of everyday life. Three of Ahmad b.
˙ Their
Hanbal’s sons – ʿAbd Allā h, Sā lih, and Saʿı̄ d – accepted judgeships.
˙ ˙ ˙
decision to work as judges for the state prompted Ahmad b. Hanbal’s
˙ ˙
refusal to pray behind his sons.122 Ahmad b. Hanbal represented one end
˙ ˙
of the spectrum among proto-Sunni traditionalists, and his sons and men
like Ibn Qutayba the other.
If there is something to distinguish Ibn Qutayba from the proto-Sunni
traditionalist community it may well be that his published works exhibit a
literary adroitness not altogether common among proto-Sunni traditional-
ists. Books such as Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, Adab al-kā tib, and ʿUyū n al-akhbā r
speak to the intellectual and moral edification of a burgeoning secretarial
and literary class; and Ibn Qutayba is sometimes explicit that it is this
particular audience he is addressing. When he wrote the Kitā b al-Maʿā rif,
he explained: ‘I have compiled in this book the things that should be known
to those who have been blessed with positions of social prestige, who have

1983), 87. See also Melchert, Ahmad ibn Hanbal, 14–16; Cook, Commanding Right and
Forbidding Wrong, 101–5. ˙
118
Hanbal b. Ishā q, Dhikr mihnat al-imā m Ahmad b. Hanbal, 87–9.
119 ˙ ˙ b al-Siyar, ˙apud Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿla
˙ ̄ , Tabaqā ˙ t al-Hanā bila, 1: 223 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.)
Al-Khallā l, Kitā
= ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Sulaymā n al-ʿUthaymı̄ ˙ n, 2: 123–4. ˙
120
Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , Manā ˙ qib al-Imā m Ahmad b. Hanbal, ed. Muhammad Amı̄ n Khā njı̄ (Cairo:
Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ , 1931), 270.˙ ˙ ˙
121
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Tarjamat al-imā m Ahmad min Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m li al-Hā fiz al-Dhahabı̄
˙
(Aleppo: Dā r al-Waʿy, n.d.), 73; al-Dhahabı̄ ˙ ˙
, Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 18: 139.
122
Sā lih b. Ahmad, Sı̄ rat al-imā m Ahmad b. Hanbal, ed. Fu’ā d ʿAbd al-Munʿim Ahmad
˙ ˙
(Riyadh: ˙ ̄ r al-Salaf, 1995), 108–9;
Da ˙ Abu˙̄ Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ , Hilyat al-awliyā˙ ’ wa
tabaqā t al-asfiyā ’ (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ and Matbaʿat ˙ al-Saʿā da,
˙ 1932–8), 9: 176.
˙ ˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 71

been lifted out from the ranks of hoi polloi on account of their literary and
social education and risen through learning and eloquence above the
general populace.’123 His ʿUyū n al-akhbā r appears to speak to a broader
coalition of educated readers. ‘I have composed this book, ʿUyū n al-
akhbā r’, Ibn Qutayba writes, ‘as an illumination for the person ignorant
of a proper literary education, as a reminder to religious scholars, to refine
the education of rulers and ruled, and for the pleasure of kings.’124 Still,
even in these books Ibn Qutayba can be seen to be advocating proto-Sunni
traditionalist ideas. These ideas are often the mainstay of his other books,
such as Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th, Gharı̄ b al-hadı̄ th, and Kitā b al-Ashriba.
We have already seen that ˙ a closer look at his˙ writings points us towards
one of his pivotal proto-Sunni traditionalist mentors and teachers, Ishā q
˙
b. Rā hawayh. Our discussion of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s discourse of heresy
˙
against Abū Hanı̄ fa examined some of the passages in Ibn Qutayba’s work
˙
where the latter transmits Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙ ˙
Ibn Qutayba made a conscious effort to include Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s
˙
severe criticism of Abū Hanı̄ fa, though he explained that he had omitted
˙
much of this material in order to keep the length of Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-
hadı̄ th reasonable. Ibn Qutayba’s relationship with Ishā q b. Rā hawayh
˙ ˙
does raise questions about the extent of the former’s connections to
the proto-Sunni traditionalist community.125 One modern historian,
Michael Cook, has stated, for example, that Ibn Qutayba had probably
not even heard of al-Bukhā rı̄ .126 Cook believed that there was ‘no com-
pelling reason’ to suggest that Ibn Qutayba knew al-Bukhā rı̄ . Ibn Qutayba
does not cite al-Bukhā rı̄ , and nor should we expect him to. However,
Cook might have been unaware of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s proximity to Ibn
Qutayba and al-Bukhā rı̄ , who were both ˙ his students, and it seems likely
that Ibn Qutayba would have heard about al-Bukhā rı̄ . Ibn Qutayba was
not a hadı̄ th critic, but he was aware of their methods and relied upon
˙
123
See, for example, Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 1 (hā dhā kitā b jamaʿtu fı̄ hi min al-
maʿā rif mā yahiqqu ʿalā man anʿama ʿalayhi bi sharaf al-manzila wa ukhrija bi al-ta’addub
ʿan tabaqat al-h ˙ ushwa wa fuddila bi al-ʿilm wa al-bayā n ʿalā al-ʿā mma).
124
Ibn˙Qutayba, ʿUyū˙ n al-akhbā ˙ ˙r, 1: yā (numbering by letters: this corresponds to p. 2) (wa
hā dhihi ʿuyū n al-akhbā r nazzamtuhā li mughfil al-ta’addub tabsiratan wa li ahl al-ʿilm
tadhkiratan wa li sā ’is al-nā s˙ ˙wa masū sihim mu’addiban wa li al-mulū
˙ k mustarā han). See
also the remarks about adab and history writing in Khalidi, Arabic Historical Thought ˙ in
the Classical Period, 108–11, though one might wish to ignore Khalidi’s highly subjective
judgements about Ibn Qutayba’s literary originality and flair.
125
Lecomte, Ibn Qutayba, 45–83 recognises Ishā q b. Rā hawayh as one of Ibn Qutayba’s
‘maîtres’. Lecomte’s profile of Ishā q b. Rā hawayh ˙ hardly goes far enough and does not
˙
appreciate fully his role in the development of proto-Sunni traditionalism and how this
might have impacted Ibn Qutayba. Still, Lecomte must be credited with having done the
most thorough work to date on Ibn Qutayba’s teachers.
126
Cook, ‘Ibn Qutayba and the Monkeys’, 61.
72 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

them in his works. Both Ibn Qutayba and al-Bukhā rı̄ penned treatises on
the controversy surrounding lafz al-Qur’ā n, though there is no evidence
that either was aware of the other’s˙ work on this subject. There are other
significant similarities and overlapping themes, and whilst they might not
provide categorical proof that Ibn Qutayba knew al-Bukhā rı̄ , it seems
to me that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh constitutes a compelling intermediary
˙
through whom Ibn Qutayba would have come to hear of al-Bukhā rı̄ .
The precise nature of Ibn Qutayba’s proto-Sunni connections notwith-
standing, his decision to incorporate Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s indictments of
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa speaks to his commitment to the proto-Sunni traditionalist
˙
endeavour to promulgate discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, which
˙
aimed at excluding him and his followers from any emerging orthodoxy.
That is to say, Ibn Qutayba signed up to a central tenet of proto-Sunni
traditionalism. One can see this operating in Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, where
classifications and lists become important vehicles for articulating
proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy. His chapter on the ashā b al-ra’y
˙˙
contains nine entries, whilst the chapter on the ashā b al-hadı̄ th contains
˙˙ ˙
ninety-eight biographies. One can surmise that Ibn Qutayba is using
quantity to make his argument: members of one group deserve more
exposure and greater attention. Competing groups to which Ibn
Qutayba is already hostile warrant curt dismissal. There is a danger that
historians of Islamic legal history will read too much into the organisation
of Ibn Qutayba’s Kitā b al-Maʿā rif. Norman Calder argued that the chap-
ter on the ashā b al-ra’y had been placed after the chapter on Successors
˙˙
and before the chapter on the ashā b al-hadı̄ th so ‘as to mark the deviation
˙˙ ˙
of the jurists from the tradition’. Calder continues: ‘Transmission was
from the Successors to the Transmitters; the jurists, dominated by ra’y,
failed to take up and pass on the cultural baton.’127 This interpretation of
Ibn Qutayba’s Kitā b al-Maʿā rif cannot be sustained upon closer scrutiny.
Ibn Qutayba’s chapter on Successors indeed lists speculative jurists such
as Ibrā hı̄ m al-Nakhaʿı̄ (d. 96/714) and Rabı̄ ʿat al-Ra’y (d. 136/753).128
Rabı̄ ʿat al-Ra’y also makes an appearance in the chapter on the ashā b al-
˙˙
ra’y,129 whilst Ibrā hı̄ m al-Nakhaʿı̄ is listed as a Shiʿi in the chapter on
asmā ’ al-ghā liya.130
Similarly, the chapter on Successors contains the
biographies of sectaries such as Ghaylā n al-Dimashqı̄ , who is described
127
Calder, Studies in Early Muslim Jurisprudence, 187. It is worth mentioning that Calder’s
weak argument concerning Ibn Qutayba’s chapter arrangement in the Kitā b al-Maʿā rif
occurs in an otherwise illuminating account of the social and cultural contexts under
which ninth-century literature developed (Calder, Studies in Early Muslim Jurisprudence,
161–97) – an account that has been neglected by modern historians writing about the
legal writing, literature, and canonisation in the ninth century.
128
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 462. 129 Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 496.
130
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 624.
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 73

as a Qadarı̄ ,131 ʿAmr b. ʿUbayd, who is described as a Muʿtazilı̄ ,132 and

Hammā d b. Abı̄ Sulaymā n, who is listed as a Murji’ı̄ .133 There are other,
˙
more accurate ways to demonstrate the Kitā b al-Maʿā rif’s hostility
towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers. First, we have the fact that the
˙
Kitā b al-Maʿā rif places Abū Hanı̄ fa, Abū Yū suf, al-Shaybā nı̄ , and Misʿar
˙
b. Kidā m as belonging to the Murji’a, one of four groups listed in the
chapter on asmā ’ al-ghā liya min al-rā fida.134 Second, we can turn to the
entries in the Kitā b al-Maʿā rif for Abu ˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa and his two foremost
˙
students, Abū Yū suf and al-Shaybā nı̄ . These entries we can deal with
very quickly. Ibn Qutayba describes both of them as having been over-
come by speculative jurisprudence (ra’y) on account of their association
with Abū Hanı̄ fa. When it comes to Abū Hanı̄ fa himself, Ibn Qutayba is
˙ ˙
more forthcoming in expressing his opposition to proto-Hanafism and
˙
adopts a more mocking tone by choosing to cite a lyrical battle between a
supporter and a detractor of Abū Hanı̄ fa: 135
˙
When the people test us by means of analogical reasoning
presenting before us novel legal issues,
We place before them a correct measurement
inherited from the model of Abū Hanı̄ fa,
When the jurist hears it, he memorises it ˙
and has it inscribed on a sheet of paper
The response from Abū Hanı̄ fa’s detractor is then cited by Ibn Qutayba:
˙
When the people of speculative jurisprudence quarrel over analogical
reasoning
it produces heretical innovations, insignificant and absurd,
We place before them the word of God on the matter
along with noble reports which are superior [to ra’y],
So how many a chaste virgin has been illegitimately breached
the prohibited is made permissible only by Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
The Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th adopts a more urgent and hostile approach
˙
to Abū Hanı̄ fa. Unlike the Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, the Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th
˙ ˙
was composed explicitly to defend proto-Sunni traditionalism against
136
competing groups. Among these, the ashā b al-kalā m are his main
˙˙
opponents. There are so many digressions in the book, however, that

131
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 494. 132 Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 493.
133
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 474. 134 Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 625.
135
Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 495.
136
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th, 2, 14–15, 103–4 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.). The
˙
editors of Dirā r b. ʿAmr, Kitā b al-Tah rı̄ sh, ed. Hüseyin Hansu and Mehmet Kaskin
˙
(Istanbul: Shirkat ˙ Dā r Ibn Hazm, 2014), 18–22 have argued that
Dā r al-Irshā d; Beirut:
Ibn Qutayba’s Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th is a response˙ to the Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh.
˙ ˙
74 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

Abū Hanı̄ fa, and the kind of jurisprudence associated with him, also
˙
becomes a target. Ibn Qutayba writes:137
We turn now to the ashā b al-ra’y. We find them, too, disagreeing and relying upon
analogical reasoning,˙ ˙invoking analogy and juristic preference. They arrive at a
legal view and issue rulings on it, but then they retract from them.
Ibn Qutayba’s supporting evidence for this rebuke against the ashā b al-
˙˙
ra’y comes from Abū Hanı̄ fa. He cites the case of a man from Khurā sā n
˙
who had recorded in a notebook the legal opinions of Abū Hanı̄ fa when
˙
the two men were in Mecca. After a year had passed, the man returned to
Abū Hanı̄ fa and recited his legal opinions back to him (ʿarada ʿalayhi).
˙ ˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa retracted every single ruling the book contained (rajaʿa ʿan
˙
dhā lika kullihi). The man could not contain himself. Exasperated and
astonished, he took a handful of dust, placed it over his head, and cried:
‘O people, I came to this man a year ago, and he issued me all the legal
rulings contained in this book. [I returned to Khurā sā n, where] on the
basis of his book, I permitted the shedding of blood and made licit sexual
relations. Now a year later this man has changed his mind on these
matters.’ Ibn Qutayba tells us that onlookers were disturbed by the
man’s revelations and asked Abū Hanı̄ fa about this. When he appeared
nonplussed about changing his opinions,˙ one observer invoked the curse
of God against him. The theme of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s jurisprudence domin-
138
˙
ates Ibn Qutayba’s discourse of heresy, but he uses a statement attributed
to the Syrian scholar al-Awzā ʿı̄ (d. 157/774) to explain the emergence of
proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa:139
˙
We do not loathe (lā nanqimu) Abū Hanı̄ fa because he employs speculative
˙
jurisprudence, for all of us to do this (kullunā yarā ). However, we loathe him
because when a hadı̄ th comes to him on the authority of the Prophet, God pray
˙
over him and grant him peace, he opposes it (yukhā lifuhu) in preference for
something else.

This explanation paves the way for a series of examples whereby Ibn
Qutayba demonstrates what he perceives to be Abū Hanı̄ fa’s disregard
˙
for Prophetic hadı̄ th.140 Ibn Qutayba then gives ample space to Ishā q b.
˙ ˙
Rā hawayh’s censure of Abū Hanı̄ fa, where he describes seven instances of
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ‘unforgivable opposition to the Quran and unforgivable
˙
opposition to the Messenger of God, upon one’s having been acquainted
with his statement’.141
137
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th, 62 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
138 ˙ adı̄ th, 62–3 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-h
139 ˙ adı̄ th, 63 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-h
140 ˙ adı̄ th, 63–5 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-h
141 ˙ adı̄ th, 65–8 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-h
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 75

What has this review of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in the
˙
writings of Ibn Qutayba demonstrated? There should be no shame in
admitting that texts cannot be bent to say what the historian expects them
to say. Ibn Qutayba’s hostility to Abū Hanı̄ fa does not, in my view,
˙
correspond to the vitriolic discourse of heresy contained in the writings
of scholars included in this second phase of proto-Sunni traditionalist
orthodoxy. Ibn Qutayba certainly depicts Abū Hanı̄ fa as being opposed to
˙
and outside his vision of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy. He does
not, however, anathematise Abū Hanı̄ fa. He does not employ the seman-
˙
tic field of heresy (kufr, murū q, bidaʿ, ahwā ’) against him. Nor does he
cultivate a wider discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa that goes beyond
˙
the spheres of jurisprudence and hadı̄ th. In Ibn Qutayba we have a version
˙
of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa that lies somewhere in between
˙
the first and second phases identified in this study. Historical research is
judged, and rightly so, on the art of a forceful argument. But it must be
equally concerned with coming to terms with the ambivalence of our
medieval sources, and Ibn Qutayba’s oeuvre forces us to do just that.
He is not the only one, and perhaps now is the right occasion to review the
case of one notable proto-Sunni traditionalist who seems to have dis-
sented against proto-Sunni traditionalism’s discourse of heresy against
Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
The case of Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n as someone who repudiated discourses
˙
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa is all the more surprising given his outstand-
˙
ing credentials as a proto-Sunni traditionalist. He had an unimpeachable
record as a scholar and was an intimate companion of Ahmad b.
˙
Hanbal.142 Yet the literary record from the ninth–tenth centuries suggests
˙
that Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n regretted the attacks his peers were making on Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa. The books that his students transmitted from him establish
˙
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n’s exceptional sympathy for Abū Hanı̄ fa and proto-
˙ ˙
Hanafism. Al-Dū rı̄ said that he heard Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n admit: ‘We will
˙ ˙
not lie before God, sometimes we hear something from the ra’y of Abū
Hanı̄ fa and we find it to be to our liking, so we adopt it.’143 The wording is
˙
somewhat reluctant, but Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n appears to want to put his view
˙
on the public record. Another student, Ibn al-Junayd, asked Yahyā b.
Maʿı̄ n what he thought of someone who relied on speculative jurispru- ˙
dence. ‘Whose ra’y do you have in mind?’ Yahyā asked. ‘That of al-Shā fiʿı̄
˙
and Abū Hanı̄ fa,’ replied Ibn al-Junayd. Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n told his student
˙ ˙
142
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 16: 263–76.
143 ˙ Maʿı̄ n, al-Tā rı̄ kh (al-Dū rı̄ ’s recension), 3: 517; Ibn al-Junayd, Su’ā lā t Ibn al-
Yahyā b.
˙
Junayd li Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, ed. Ahmad Muhammad Nū r Sayf (Medina: Maktabat al-Dā r,
1988), 368;˙ Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n,˙ Maʿrifat˙ al-rijā l, ed. Muhammad Kā mil al-Qassā r
(Damascus: Majmaʿ ˙ al-Lugha al-ʿArabiyya, 1985), 2: 56. ˙ ˙˙
76 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

that he should avoid al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s ra’y because he himself found Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s ra’y preferable.144 On yet another occasion he went even further:
˙
‘There is no problem with Abū Hanı̄ fa, and he never lied. In our view,
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa was of the people of truth (ahl al-sidq) and the charge of lying
˙ ˙
cannot be ascribed to him. Ibn Hubayra beat him in order to get him to
accept a judgeship, but still Abū Hanı̄ fa refused.’145 These views certainly
˙
put him at odds with his peers. It dismayed Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, for example,
˙
when one scholar prayed against Abū Hanı̄ fa.146 What exceptions such as
˙
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n indicate is that discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
were slow to develop and that resistance to them existed among some
proto-Sunni traditionalists. Ibn Qutayba did not go as far as Yahyā b.
˙
Maʿı̄ n. Whilst Ibn Qutayba’s works lack a fully developed discourse of
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, there is no doubt that Ibn Qutayba – a
˙
perceptive observer of the social dynamics of medieval Muslim societies –
had a conception of orthodoxy. There is one passage, in particular, where
his description of proto-Sunni traditionalism approximates an argument
of orthodoxy, in so far as he speaks of orthodoxy as a majoritarian
phenomenon with the capacity to yield wide and far-reaching social
consensus. He explains that the consensuses reached by proto-Sunni
traditionalists represent the doctrines and views of the general population
in all the major provinces of the empire. He contends that ‘if one were
to proclaim the doctrines of the ashā b al-hadı̄ th – and we have already
˙˙ ˙
explained that there was an overwhelming consensus concerning these
doctrines – in public gatherings and markets, one would be met with
neither objection nor aversion’.147 According to Ibn Qutayba, the ortho-
doxy of proto-Sunni traditionalists was the orthodoxy of medieval Islamic
society at large.

Al-Fasawı̄ (d. 277/890)

Al-Fasawı̄ devotes an entire chapter to discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa, and this is immediately after a chapter describing Iraq, Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa’s region of birth, as an unholy region.148 His chapter concerning
˙ heresies and unholiness of Iraq closes with a pithy description of
the
religious learning in Iraq. The Iraqis are described as being unparalleled
in asking so many questions yet equally so in turning their backs upon
hearing the answers. Another observer recounts his experience of the

144
Ibn al-Junayd, Su’ā lā t Ibn al-Junayd, 295.
145
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, Maʿrifat al-rijā l, 1: 79.
146
Ibn˙ al-Junayd, Su’ā lā t Ibn al-Junayd, 318.
147
Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th, 20 (Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.).
148
This is the subject of Chapter 4 of˙ this study.
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 77

people of Iraq: ‘I have never seen a people ask so many questions con-
cerning insignificant matters and yet more prone to committing grave
sins.’149
His chapter on discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa gives us a very
˙
good idea of just how systematic proto-Sunni traditionalist hostility
towards Abū Hanı̄ fa had become by the middle of the ninth century.
˙
Scattered throughout al-Fasawı̄ ’s History are anecdotes about Abū
Hanı̄ fa, most of which are sharply critical of him. There are two excep-
˙
tions to this. There is one neutral report noting his death in the year
150/767.150 The other anomaly is the only report in the History that
presents Abū Hanı̄ fa in a positive light. Al-Fasawı̄ transmits a set of
˙
reports critical of the use of analogical reasoning (qiyā s). One of these
reports is attributed to Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h:151 ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa said: Some uses
˙ ˙
of analogical reasoning are more vile than urinating in the mosque (min
al-qiyā s qiyā s aqbahu min al-bawl fı̄ al-masjid).’ His contemporary and
˙
associate Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ remembered having heard Wakı̄ ʿ say
something similar to Yahyā b. Sā lih al-Wuhā zı̄ :152 ‘O Yahyā , beware of
speculative jurisprudence ˙ (ra’y),
˙ ˙for I have ˙ ˙ heard Abu˙̄ Hanı̄ fa say:
“Urinating in the mosque is better than some of their ˙ analogical
reasoning.”’
Our proto-Sunni traditionalists were aware of reports that praised
Abū Hanı̄ fa, and they seemed to cite them only seldom. Still, its
˙
context here is unclear. Our agents of orthodoxy may be attacking
analogical reasoning by suggesting that even someone so closely
associated with it as Abū Hanı̄ fa found abhorrent some instances of
˙
analogical reasoning. Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h exhibits all the signs of a
proto-Sunni traditionalist. Ninth–tenth-century ˙ hadı̄ th critics con-
˙
sidered him a master of hadı̄ th (hā fiz). Like proto-Sunni traditional-
˙ ˙ ˙
ists, he considered Irjā ’ to be a heretical doctrine.153 He played a
prominent role in the transmission and circulation of discourses of
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.154 The list of books attributed to him
˙

149
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 772.
150
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 1: 135.
151
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 1: 673; also cited in Hanafı̄ sources such as Ibn
Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 159. ˙
152
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄˙kh, ed. Shukr
˙ Allā h b. Niʿmat Allā h al-Qū jā nı̄ (Damascus:
Majmaʿ al-Lugha al-ʿArabiyya, 1990), 2: 507.
153
See al-Bukhā rı̄ , Khalq afʿā l al-ʿibā d wa radd ʿalā al-jahmiyya wa ashā b al-taʿtı̄ l (Beirut:
Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1990), 12 = ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n ʿAmı̄ ra (Riyadh: ˙˙ Dā ˙r ʿUkā z, n.
d.), 34. ˙ ˙
154
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 13: 370 (where Wakı̄ ʿ expresses his dismay at
˙ fa’s view on how one ought to express verbally that one is a believer (mu’min).
Abū Hanı̄
˙
78 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

resonates with what we know about patterns of proto-Sunni trad-

itionalist authorship in the ninth century:
1. Kitā b al-Zuhd.155
2. Kitā b al-Musnad.156
3. al-Musannaf.157
˙
4. al-Sunan.158
5. Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh.159
6. Kitā b Fadā ’il al-sahā ba.160
˙ ˙ ˙
Moreover, proto-Sunni traditionalists certainly saw Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h as
˙
one of their own. 161
On the other hand, al-Fasawı̄ ’s report has Wakı̄ ʿ
placing Abū Hanı̄ fa in a good light, and there are some indications of a
˙
connection to proto-Hanafism. First, both early and late Hanafı̄ bio-
˙ ˙
graphical dictionaries class him as a Hanafı̄ .162 One proto-Sunni trad-
˙
itionalist, who himself appears to have dissented from the view of his
proto-Sunni traditionalist peers with respect to Abū Hanı̄ fa, claimed that
˙
Wakı̄ ʿ issued legal rulings in line with the opinions of Abū Hanı̄ fa.163
Returning to al-Fasawı̄ ’s discourse of heresy against Abū H˙ anı̄ fa, more
˙
material can be found outside the chapter targeting Abū Hanı̄ fa. In the
˙
course of a discussion concerning what ought to be done in the case of
a female apostate, al-Fasawı̄ reports two opinions attributed to Abū
Hanı̄ fa.164 Al-Fasawı̄ transmits a number of sayings attributed to Ayyū b
˙
al-Sakhtiyā nı̄ (d. 131/748–9). Among these was that Ayyū b despised Abū
Hanı̄ fa, Rabı̄ ʿa, and al-Battı̄ , presumably on account of their association
˙
with speculative jurisprudence. Another report on the following page
makes this very clear, in which the downfall of the Jews is explained by
the emergence among them of bastard foreigners who relied on specula-
tive jurisprudence, and a parallel development is identified among the

155
One of two works attributed to him which have been published: Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h, Kitā b
al-Zuhd, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n ʿAbd al-Jabbā r al-Farı̄ wā ’ı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄ ˙ ,
1994); the other is Nuskhat ˙ Wakı̄ b. al-Jarrā h, ed. Fahd al-Hammū dı̄ (Beirut:˙ al-
Shabaka al-ʿArabiyya, 2014). ˙ ˙
156
Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Tahbı̄ r fı̄ al-muʿjam al-kabı̄ r, ed. Munı̄ ra Nā jı̄ Sā lim (Baghdad: al-Irshā d
˙
Press, 1975), 2: 181(a very rich list of books al-Samʿā nı̄ was authorised to teach or
transmit by his teacher Abū al-Fadl al-Bukhā rı̄ ).
157
Ibn Khayr al-Ishbı̄ lı̄ , Fihrist, ed. ˙Bashshā r ʿAwwā d Maʿrū f and Mahmū d Bashshā r
ʿAwwā d (Beirut: Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 2009), 172. ˙
158
Ibn al-Nadı̄ m, al-Fihrist, 2: 89–90 (A. F. al-Sayyid edn.); Sezgin, GAS, 1: 96–7.
159
Discussed in Chapter 4 below. 160 Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 7: 43.
161
Ahmad b. Hanbal respected him greatly for many reasons, one of which was Wakı̄ ʿ’s
˙
refusal to mix˙ with rulers: Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 223; al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 13: 477. ˙ ˙
162
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 143, 159; Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir
al-mudiyya, 2: 208. ˙ ˙
163 ˙ ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 13: 470–1 (citing Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n’s view).
Al-Khat
164 ˙ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 3: 14.
Al-Fasawı̄ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 79

nascent Muslim community, the instigators of which are these three

jurists.165 Let us now turn to al-Fasawı̄ ’s chapter dedicated solely to
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
In this chapter we find forty-three reports severely critical of Abū
Hanı̄ fa. I shall present and discuss those reports that represent the most
˙
extreme tendencies within proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa, placing particular emphasis on reports that invoke
˙
the semantic field of heresiological discourses. One of the very first reports
in this chapter establishes the general tone of al-Fasawı̄ ’s conception
of heresy and Abū Hanı̄ fa’s place within it. He reports from Ahmad b.
Khalı̄ l, who had heard˙ ʿAbda b. Sulaymā n al-Marwazı̄ say the following:
˙
‘I heard ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Mubā rak mention Abū Hanı̄ fa, when a person
˙
interjected and asked him: “Did Abū Hanı̄ fa adhere to any form of
166 ˙
heresy?” “Yes, the doctrine of Irjā ’.”’ Al-Fasawı̄ wanted this allegation
to stick, for he supplies further data to corroborate Abū Hanı̄ fa’s associ-
˙
ation with movements that proto-Sunni traditionalists considered anath-
ema. In this case, it is Abū Hanı̄ fa’s disciple Abū Yū suf to whom the
˙
questions are posed:167
questioner: Was Abū Hanı̄ fa a murji’ı̄ ?
abū yū suf: Yes, he was.˙
questioner: Was Abū Hanı̄ fa a jahmı̄ ?
abū yū suf: Yes, he was.˙
questioner: So where do you stand in relation to him (fa ayna anta minhu)?
abū yū suf: Abū Hanı̄ fa was nothing more than a teacher. As such, whatever we
found from his˙ teachings to be correct, we accepted; whatever we found to be
repugnant, we left with him (innamā kā na Abū Hanı̄ fa mudarrisan fa mā kā na
˙ han taraknā hu ʿalayhi).
min qawlihi hasanan, qabilnā hu; wa mā kā na qabı̄
˙ ˙
Al-Fasawı̄ wanted his readers to believe that Abū Hanı̄ fa was implicated
˙
in heresies not simply by his opponents but by his closest students and
companions. The idea that Abū Yū suf acknowledged Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
adherence to heretical doctrines seems far-fetched. Abū Yū suf’s attempt
to justify his association with Abū Hanı̄ fa on the grounds of a sensible
˙
distinction between Abū Hanı̄ fa’s correct and deviant teachings sounds
˙
too neat. Muslim scholars of the late eighth and ninth centuries knew of
the dangers of associating with scholars with supposed heretical leanings,
and it seems unlikely that Abū Yū suf would have relied on so neat a
distinction to exculpate him from alleged charges of heresy. On the other
hand, al-Fasawı̄ ’s was not a voice in the wilderness. ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad
˙
165
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 3: 20–1.
166
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 783 (hal kā na fı̄ hi min al-hawā shay’? Naʿam,
al-irjā ’).
167
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 783.
80 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

b. Hanbal was able to produce a similar report, as was a local historian of

˙
Jurjā n.168 I do not think we can deduce from this anything concrete
concerning Abū Yū suf’s views about his teacher.169 The controversy
surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s proto-Sunni status had now extended to the
˙
alleged views held by influential religious scholars. Proto-Sunni tradition-
alists were happy to present Abū Yū suf in a credible and positive light in
order to discredit Abū Hanı̄ fa as a figure of orthodoxy, and this would
˙
force later Hanafı̄ s to assert that Abū Yū suf had acquitted Abū Hanı̄ fa of
˙ ˙
having any association with such repugnant heresies. That these reports
contradict each other provides us with good evidence that by the ninth
century religious crevices were opening up among religious groups on
the question of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious orthodoxy. Opposing parties
˙
were ascribing contradictory material to scholars of significant social
170
standing. We should not make the mistake of assuming that al-
Fasawı̄ was trying to improve the image of Abū Yū suf. This report is
concerned solely with disparaging Abū Hanı̄ fa. Elsewhere in al-Fasawı̄ ’s
˙
History, for example, we see that he turns on Abū Yū suf. In the chapter
against Abū Hanı̄ fa, al-Fasawı̄ refers to an incident in which a man
asked ʿAbd Alla ˙ ̄ h b. al-Mubā rak about a legal matter. After Ibn al-
Mubā rak had given his answer, the man replied that he had asked Abū
Yū suf the same question and his answer contradicted the one Ibn al-
Mubā rak had given. Ibn al-Mubā rak’s response was curt: ‘If you have
prayed any of the obligatory prayers behind Abū Yū suf, secure them by
repeating them.’171 It is clear in this instance that al-Fasawı̄ uses material
against Abū Yū suf in an attempt to discredit Abū Hanı̄ fa, just as earlier he
˙
had employed material placing Abū Yū suf in a positive light to discredit
Abū Hanı̄ fa. Proto-Sunni traditionalists simply wanted the charge of
˙
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa to stick, and they would marshal whatever
˙

168
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, ed. Muhammad Saʿı̄ d b. Sā lim al-
Qahtā nı̄ (Riyadh:˙ Dā r ʿĀ lam
˙ al-Kutub, 1996), 181; al-Sahmı̄
˙ , Tā rı̄ kh Jurjā n, 219.
169 ˙ ˙ Religion and Politics, 60, on the other hand, interprets material ascribed to Abū
Zaman,
Yū suf as evidence of his views.
170
See Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 3: 258 and al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 530
˙ ̄ Yū suf: ‘I have heard
(Saʿı̄ d b. Sā lim said to Abu ˙ the people of Khurā sā n say that Abū
Hanı̄ fa was a jahmı̄ and murji’ı̄ .’ Abū Yū suf replied: ‘They speak the truth. He also
˙
believed in rebellion against rulers (yarā al-sayf aydan).’ So I said to him: ‘Where do you
stand in relation to him?’ He said: ‘We only went˙to Abū Hanı̄ fa to learn jurisprudence
from him. We did not follow him in our religious outlook’). ˙ Elsewhere (al-Khatı̄ b al-
Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 514), Abū Yū suf relates that Abū Hanı̄ fa declared ˙ the
˙
Jahmiyya to be one of the most evil groups in Khurā sā n. Furthermore, see al-Khatı̄ b al-
Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 518 (where Abū Yū suf is alleged to have said that˙ Abū
Hanı̄ fa was the first person to declare that the Quran was created; but this is contradicted
˙ 15: 517).
at
171
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 789.
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 81

evidence they could find to build a case against Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
orthodoxy.172
We must consider that proto-Sunni traditionalists such as al-Fasawı̄
were motivated to compile chapters dedicated to discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa so that this evidence could be accessed easily. Al-
˙
Fasawı̄ had amassed a large repository of reports concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
and decided to locate them in a single place. However, proto-Sunni
traditionalists would have wished to demonstrate that these discourses
of heresy were not the product of a particular regional or ideological
persuasion. Abū Hanı̄ fa’s heresy had to be portrayed as a phenomenon
recognised by a wide˙ array of scholars and evident to communities resid-
ing everywhere in early Islamic societies. This made the views of proto-
Sunni traditionalists of excellent standing, such as Abū Bakr al-Humaydı̄ ,
˙
integral to al-Fasawı̄ ’s broadside against Abū Hanı̄ fa. It is in this context
˙
that al-Fasawı̄ cites al-Humaydı̄ to argue that Abū Hanı̄ fa was a heretic.
˙ ˙
Al-Humaydı̄ reports that Abū Hanı̄ fa was teaching at the Sacred Mosque
˙ ˙
(al-masjid al-harā m) in Mecca when a man posed him a hypothetical
˙
question. The questioner was interested in Abū Hanı̄ fa’s verdict concern-
ing a man who testifies that the Kaʿba is true but˙ does not know whether
the Kaʿba being referred to is the one located in Mecca or not. Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
replied that he considered such a person a true believer (mu’min haqq).
˙
The questioner followed this up with a similar scenario: what did Abū
Hanı̄ fa think about a man who testifies that Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h is a
˙ ˙
prophet but does not know whether he is the one whose grave is located in
Medina. Again, Abū Hanı̄ fa returned the answer that a person who held
˙
this opinion must be considered a true believer. Al-Humaydı̄ , on the other
hand, considered this to be clear heresy (fa qad kafara).˙ 173
In the eyes of
al-Fasawı̄ , al-Humaydı̄ represented proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy
˙
in Mecca, and his local perspective on orthodoxy and religious deviance
in the context of Mecca could complement the emerging consensus of
proto-Sunni traditionalism in the rest of the empire.
One theme that was of particular interest to al-Fasawı̄ was the
purported inquisition at which Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent from
˙
heresy.174 He cites two important Kufan scholars of the eighth century,
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ and Sharı̄ k b. ʿAbd Allā h, to the effect that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
172
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 3: 64–5 (Beirut edn.) = 2: 406 (Riyadh edn.).
173 ˙
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa˙wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 786. Another contemporary of Abū Hanı̄ fa
reported that he heard him say that ‘if a man worshipped this sandal and, by doing ˙ so,
drew closer to God, then I do not see any problem with this (law anna rajul ʿabada
hā dhihi al-naʿl yataqarrabu bihā ilā Allā h, lam ara bi dhā lika ba’s)’. Saʿı̄ d b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z
al-Tanū khı̄ heard this and remarked that this was manifest heresy (hā dhā al-kufr surā h).
See al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 784. ˙ ˙
174
This inquisition is treated at length in Chapter 7.
82 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

was made to repent from heresy (kufr and zandaqa).175 Moreover, he

relates that it was the notorious governor of Iraq, Khā lid al-Qasrı̄ , who
oversaw the proceedings of the inquisition and demanded Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
repentance. This is not an insignificant detail. Al-Fasawı̄ , it seems, wants
to confer legitimacy upon this episode by arguing that it was carried out
by responsible authorities and confirmed by men in good standing such
as Kufa’s qadi, Sharı̄ k b. ʿAbd Allā h. The majority of reports surround-
ing Abū Hanı̄ fa’s inquisition explain that the inquisition was led by a
˙
group of Khā rijı̄ s in Kufa. That is to say, Abū Hanı̄ fa was on the
˙
receiving end of a trial initiated by a deviant religious community. Al-
Fasawı̄ ’s reports convey a very different picture of the local circum-
stances surrounding the inquisition. The inquisition was not the result
of a chaotic political situation that was exploited by a wing of Khā rijı̄ s.
Rather, Kufa was in the able hands of Khā lid al-Qasrı̄ . He determined
that an inquisition was necessary and that Abū Hanı̄ fa must repent
˙
formally from heresy. Moreover, men of local prestige (qadis and
scholars) could corroborate this.
Before al-Fasawı̄ , proto-Sunni discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
were scattershot. In al-Fasawı̄ ’s History we can observe the maturation of
proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy. Discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa were now being collected in one place. A composite case was being
˙
built against Abū Hanı̄ fa in order to demonstrate to readers and listeners
˙
that Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers were corrupted by heresy. This con-
˙
scious form of orthodoxy formation depended on the construction of
discourses of heresy. And al-Fasawı̄ , as an author of The Sunna and
Avoiding the People of Heresy, was well placed to cultivate proto-Sunni
traditionalist orthodoxy by pitting it against the purported heresies of Abū
Hanı̄ fa.176
˙

Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ (d. 280/893)

It can scarcely be doubted that al-Fasawı̄ and Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄
belonged to the same proto-Sunni traditionalist community. A four-
teenth-century source, probably relying on an earlier source now lost to
us, presents us with Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ’s encounter with Yaʿqū b b.
Sufyā n al-Fasawı̄ :177

175
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 786.
176
Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Tahbı̄ r fı̄ al-muʿjam al-kabı̄ r, 2: 83 (who has the title as al-Sunna wa
˙
majā niyat ahl al-bidaʿ, but I read mujā naba for majā niya).
177
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b (Hyderabad edn.), 387 (qadima ʿalaynā
˙
rajulā n min nubalā ’ al-nā s: ahaduhumā wa arhaluhumā Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n, yuʿjazu ahl al-
ʿIrā q an yaraw mithlahu rajulan ˙ wa kā na Yah˙ yā fı̄ al-Tā rı̄ kh yantakhibu minhu wa kā na
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 83

Two men of the greatest moral character came to study with us. One of them, who
also happened to have travelled more widely [in search of hadı̄ th], was Yaʿqū b b.
˙ yā [b. Maʿı̄ n] would
Sufyā n. The people of Iraq shall never see a man like him. Yah
quote from him in his History. He was a man of great piety and ˙ mighty standing.
Once, I was sitting in the mosque [of Damascus] when a man of the people of
Khurā sā n came to me and said: ‘Are you Abū Zurʿa?’ ‘I am,’ I replied. He then
began to ask me about some very subtle and acute matters [of learning]. I asked
the man, ‘Where on earth did you gather this learning from?’ ‘We wrote it down
from Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n, who transmitted it from you.’
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ was one of al-Fasawı̄ ’s teachers.178 But the mas-
ter displayed no inhibition in extolling his student’s learning and moral
character. In turn, al-Fasawı̄ ’s debt to Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ is recorded
in his Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, where al-Fasawı̄ transmits reports
directly from him.179 These two men had met, respected, and viewed
each other as legitimate religious authorities. Many of the reports al-
Fasawı̄ cites on the authority of Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ appear in the
latter’s Tā rı̄ kh.180 We have, therefore, both anecdotal and textual evi-
dence for the exchange of religious information between them.
This connection is important in so far as we should not underestimate
one of proto-Sunni traditionalism’s greatest strengths – namely, the ability
to generate a set of coherent values and ideas that linked communities that
were otherwise separated from each other by large distances and terrains.181

nabı̄ lan jalı̄ l al-qadr fa bayna anā qā ’id fı̄ al-masjid idhā jā ’anı̄ rajul min ahl Khurā sā n fa qā la
lı̄ : anta Abū Zurʿa? Qultu: naʿam. Fa jaʿala yas’alunı̄ ʿan hā dhihi al-daqā ’iq fa qultu lahu:
min ayna jamaʿta hā dhihi? Qā la: hā dhihi katabnā hā ʿan Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n ʿanka).
178
I have chosen to add ‘al-Dimashqı̄ ’ to his name consistently to differentiate him from
Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ , who is also mentioned in this study.
179
For some of these reports see al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 1: 117 (Asad b.
Wadā ʿa), 121 (ʿAmr b. Muhā jir’s death date), 129 (Asad b. Wadā ʿa), 130 (ʿAmr b.
Muhā jir’s death date taken up again), 132 (al-Zabı̄ dı̄ ; ʿUthmā n b. Abı̄ al-ʿĀ tika), 134
(al-Wadı̄ n b. ʿAtā ’), 137 (Ibn Ishā q), 143–4 (the number of legal questions al-Awzā ʿı̄
answered), ˙ 148 (martyrdom
˙ of H˙armala b. ʿImrā n b. Qurrā n), 151 (death dates for four
scholars), 153 (dates of birth and ˙ death for ʿAbd Allā h b. al-ʿAlā ’ and Ibn Thawbā n),
155 and 157 (Saʿı̄ d b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z al-Tanū khı̄ ), 177 (death date of one Sulaymā n),
180–1 (in the year 189 the alms-tax was collected and distributed properly), 200 (funeral
prayer of Muhammad b. al-Mubā rak al-Sū rı̄ ), 208 (death date of Muhammad b. Dā wū d
b. ʿĪ sā ), 2: 336˙ (ʿUmar b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄˙ z), 374 (Makhū l and Rabı̄˙ ʿa b. Yazı̄ d), 398
(ʿUbayda b. Qays al-ʿUqaylı̄ ), 399–400 (Makhū l), 403 ˙ (ʿAtiyya b. Qays), 405 (wise
˙
sayings of Saʿı̄ d b. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Ibrā hı̄ m), 408 (the number ˙ of legal questions al-
Awzā ʿı̄ answered, again). ˙
180
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 255 (report no. 334), 256 (report no. 335), 259
(report no. 352), 260 (report no. 355), 261 (report no. 361), 262 (report no. 362), 273
(reports no. 393 and 394), 281 (report no. 436), 282 (report no. 441), 284 (report no.
452), 286 (report no. 466), 2: 721 (report no. 2303).
181
The point is made very well by Robinson, Empire and Elites after the Muslim Conquest,
166: ‘but no less important in tying province to capital was a network of learning, which
emerged during the second century as the study of hadı̄ th began to crystallise’.
˙
84 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

Al-Fasawı̄ was in many ways a representative of proto-Sunni traditionalism

in the eastern provinces of the empire, but he had travelled to Shā m in order
to establish affinities and loyalties with proto-Sunni traditionalists there.
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ’s career was formed in this proto-Sunni tradition-
alist milieu.182 Both his father and paternal uncle had studied with a
number of Shā m’s leading traditionists such as al-Awzā ʿı̄ .183 Abū Zurʿa
seems to have spent a number of years under the tutelage of Abū Mushir al-
Ghassā nı̄ (d. 218/833).184 Al-Ghassā ni was very highly regarded by ninth-
century proto-Sunni traditionalists. Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n was remembered to
˙
have considered it utterly shameful to teach or narrate hadı̄ th in a place
where the likes of Abū Mushir resided, whilst Ahmad b. ˙Hanbal told Abū
˙ ˙
Zurʿa that Shā m was home to three proto-Sunni traditionalists, one of
whom was Abū Mushir. Apart from Shā m, Abū Zurʿa spent periods of
185

study in Egypt and Iraq. In Iraq he studied with Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n and Ahmad
˙ ˙
b. Hanbal, and even transmitted a Masā ’il collection from the latter;186
˙
additionally, Abū Zurʿa’s Tā rı̄ kh preserves a number of discussions he had
with these two leading proto-Sunni traditionalists.187 The Tā rı̄ kh bears
witness to Abū Zurʿa’s relations and encounters with other members of
the proto-Sunni traditionalist community, particularly those who played a
prominent role in circulating discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Abū
˙
182
For an overview of his life and career see Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 10–94 (al-
Qū jā nı̄ ’s introduction); and Rotter, ‘Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ und das Problem’. Rotter’s
analysis of Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ’s Tā rı̄ kh is based on its manuscript; there was no
published edition when he was writing.
183
Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, ed. ʿUmar b. Gharā ma al-ʿAmrawı̄ (Beirut: Dā r
al-Fikr, 1996), 9: 182–3.
184
On Abū Mushir al-Ghassā nı̄ see Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 286–92; al-Khatı̄ b al-
Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 11: 72–5; Ibn ʿAsa ˙ ̄ kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 33:˙ 421–
44; Khalek, Damascus after the Muslim Conquest, 66–72; Cobb, White Banners, 53, 60, 62
(where a picture emerges of Abū Mushir as a local qadi and very much a member of the
Damascene elite); Rotter, ‘Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ und das Problem’, 99–100, with
special attention to Abū Mushir’s works constituting sources for Abū Zurʿa’s Tā rı̄ kh; Ibn
al-Jawzı̄ , Manā qib al-Imā m Ahmad b. Hanbal, ed. ʿAlı̄ Muhammad ʿUmar (Cairo:
Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ , 2009), 389 ˙ = ed.˙ ʿAbd al-Muhsin al-Turkı̄ ˙ (Giza: Dā r Hajr,
1988), 538–9, where Abū Mushir is summoned to al-Ma’mu ˙ ̄ n during the inquisition
and initially refuses to submit to the caliph’s doctrine until he is threatened with physical
punishment. According to Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , not even this was enough to spare him impris-
onment, and he languished in jail until he died.
185
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 1: 209 (idhā haddathtu fı̄ balad fı̄ hi mithl Abı̄ Mushir fa yajibu li lihyatı̄
an tuhlaqa); Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ˙ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 384 (qā la Abū Zurʿa: qā la lı̄ Ahmad ˙ b.
Hanbal: ˙ kā na ʿindakum thalā th ashā b al-hadı̄ th: Marwā n, al-Walı̄ d, wa Abū Mushir). ˙
186 ˙
Al-Khalla ˙ ˙ Yaʿlā ˙, Tabaqā t al-Hanā bila, 1: 205–6 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.).
̄ l, Tabaqā t, apud Ibn Abı̄
˙
Al-Qū jā nı̄ supposes that the Masā ’il work ˙ is, in fact,˙ the Fā wā ’id (see Abū Zurʿa al-
Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 64). I do not believe this is correct based on my perusal of a
manuscript of the Fawā ’id.
187
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 285 and 305 (where Abū Zurʿa records that they
were together in 214/829–30?), 2: 460–4. This is also corroborated by Abū Zurʿa, ‘al-
Fawā ’id al-muʿallala’, MS Feyzullah 2169, Millet Kütüphanesi, 48a.
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 85

Zurʿa describes his encounters with al-Humaydı̄ and Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, for
˙
example.188 Now that we have a better idea of Abū Zurʿa’s proto-Sunni
traditionalist education and connections, we can turn to the discourses of
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa found in his Tā rı̄ kh.189
˙
In the light of what I have said about Abū Zurʿa’s proto-Sunni trad-
itionalism we should expect to find a general tenor of hostility towards
perceived forms of heresies in his writings. The Tā rı̄ kh seems to be
operating within a framework of proto-Sunni traditionalism that is com-
mitted to consciously shaping conceptions of orthodoxy and heresy. This
is clear when, for example, Abū Zurʿa proposes distinctions between
people of orthodoxy and heresy. In a section discussing the reputation
of Hammā d b. Abı̄ Sulaymā n (d. 120/738), Abū Zurʿa quotes someone as
˙
telling Hammā d: ‘You were once a leader of the Sunna [read: orthodoxy]
˙
and now you have become a sinner embroiled in heresy (al-bidaʿ).’190
Abū Zurʿa is careful to clarify the nature of this perceived heresy. He
writes, ‘I heard Abū Nuʿaym say, “Hammā d was a murji’ı̄ .”’191 The
˙
scholar Abū Zurʿa discusses after Hammā d is Dharr b. ʿAbd Allā h. He,
192 ˙
too, is identified as a Murji’ı̄ . Any association with Irjā ’ is indeed a
marker of heresy for Abū Zurʿa.
Abū Zurʿa’s source for these two reports concerning orthodoxy and
heresy is someone called Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh (d. 229/843).193
˙
Perhaps the greatest pre-modern historian of Sunni traditionalism recog-
nised Ibn Shabbuwayh as a proto-Sunni traditionalist. Al-Dhahabı̄
adorns him with the esteemed epithet of Shaykh al-Islā m.194 What do
we know of Ibn Shabbuwayh on the basis of sources composed in the
ninth century, and to what extent was he an agent of proto-Sunni trad-
itionalist orthodoxy? It seems that al-Bukhā rı̄ transmits hadı̄ th from him
˙
in the Sahı̄ h.195 In his Histories, al-Bukhā rı̄ provides brief biographical
˙ ˙ ˙
188
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 462, 466, 472 (Ibn Abı̄ Shayba) and 1: 194, 2: 511,
557, 569, 583 (al-Humaydı̄ ).
189
Shukr Allā h b. Niʿmat ˙ Allā h al-Qū jā nı̄ , the editor of Abū Zurʿa’s Tā rı̄ kh, has identified
him as the author of twenty-five works (see Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 48–77). I
am aware of two of these works having survived: the Tā rı̄ kh and the Fawā ’id. The
Fawā ’id does not seem to contain any attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa.
190
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 675. ˙
191
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 675.
192
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 675–6.
193
I rely on al-Samʿā nı̄ ’s pointing for his name (Shabbuwayh as opposed to Shabbawayh):
al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 7: 284–5 (Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya edn.).
194
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 11: 7–8; al-Dhahabı̄ , Kitā b Tadhkirat al-huffā z, 2: 464–5 (as shaykh
waqtihi). ˙ ˙
195
For his appearance as ‘Ahmad b. Muhammad’ in the Sahı̄ h see al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Jā miʿ al-
Sahı̄ h, kitā b al-wudū ’, bā˙b mā yaqaʿu˙ min al-najā sā t fı̄˙ al-samn
˙ ˙ wa al-mā ’ 72; kitā b al-
˙ ā˙ h˙ı̄ , bā b idhā baʿatha
ad ˙ bi hadyihi li yudhbaha lam yahrum ʿalayhi shay’ 15; kitā b al-jihā d,
bā˙ b˙ al-rukū b ʿalā al-dā bba al-saʿba wa al-fuh ˙ ū la min
˙ al-khayl 50. Later scholars who
˙ ˙
86 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

notices for Ibn Shabbuwayh.196 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim relates the opinions of his
˙
father and uncle concerning Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh. Both of them knew
˙
Ibn Shabbuwayh, and Abū Hā tim confirms that he met and studied with
˙
him (adraktuhu). Neither of them, however, wrote traditions on his
authority. 197
Al-Dā raqutnı̄ noted some of his teachers and students.
˙
Among the latter was Abū Dā wū d al-Sijistā nı̄ .198 Ibn Shabbuwayh had
studied with proto-Sunni traditionalists from his native Marw and
Khurā sā n.199 He also travelled with his son to Baghdad.200 It was in
Baghdad that he studied with Ahmad b. Hanbal.201 In one account we
˙ ˙
learn that he came to Baghdad to see the caliph to reprimand him
(‘command good and forbid wrong’). Before doing so he decided to
consult Ahmad b. Hanbal. Ibn Hanbal gave Ibn Shabbuwayh a reality
˙ ˙ ˙
check and told him, ‘I fear that you won’t be up to the task.’202

specialised in identifying al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s informants and transmitters did express some
uncertainty as to this transmitter’s identity: see the discussions in Mughaltā y b. Qalı̄ j,
Ikmā l Tahdhı̄ b al-kamā l fı̄ asmā ’ al-rijā l, 112–14; Ibn Mā kū lā , al-Ikmā l fı̄ rafʿ˙ al-irtiyā b
ʿan al-mu’talif wa al-mukhtalif fı̄ al-asmā ’ wa al-kunā wa al-ansā b, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b.
Yahyā al-Mu’allimı̄ al-Yamā nı̄ (Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya,˙ 1962–
7), ˙5: 21–2; al-Mizzı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-kamā l, 1: 433–6; Ibn Khalfū n, al-Muʿlim bi shuyū kh al-
Bukhā rı̄ wa Muslim, ed. Abū ʿAbd al-Rahmā n ʿĀ dil b. Saʿd (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-
ʿIlmiyya, 2000), 43; al-Kalā bā dhı̄ , Rijā l ˙Sahı̄ h Bukhā rı̄ , 42 (as Ahmad b. Maʿmar b.
Mū sā , Abū al-ʿAbbā s, yuqā l lahu Mardawayh ˙ ˙ ˙al-Simsā r al-Marwazı̄˙); Ibn al-Qaysarā nı̄ ,
al-Jamʿ bayna kitā bay, 11–12; Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 71: 167–70; Ibn
ʿAsā kir, al-Muʿjam al-mushtamil ʿalā dhikr asmā ’ al-shuyū kh al-a’imma al-nabal, ed.
Sukayna al-Shihā bı̄ (Damascus: Dā r al-Fikr, 1981), 57 (Ahmad b. Muhammad b.
Thā bit b. ʿUthmā n b. Masʿū d b. Yazı̄ d, Abū al-Hasan al-Khuza ˙ ˙
̄ ʿı̄ al-Marwazı̄ al-
Mā khuwā nı̄ , al-maʿrū f bi Ibn Shabbuwayh). ˙
196
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 1.2: 5; al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, 4: 1018 (Abū
Haymad edn.) = 2: 252 (al-Luhaydā n edn.). ˙
197 ˙ Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 1.1: 55.˙
Ibn
198
Al-Dā raqut ˙ nı̄ , al-Mu’talif
˙ wa al-mukhtalif, ed. Muwaffaq b. ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAbd al-Qā dir
(Beirut: Da˙̄ r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 1986), 3: 1417–18.
199
Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 7: 285 (Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya edn.). Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-
Thiqā t, 8: 13 (Hyderabad edn.) (Ibn Shabbuwayh studied under al-Fad ˙ l b. Mū sā al-
Sı̄ nā nı̄ (the editor has his name as Shaybā nı̄ , an easy mistake to make)). ˙
200
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 11: 6–8. Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 7: 285
(Maktabat ˙ Ibn Taymiyya edn.) describes his son as one of the leading proto-Sunni
traditionalists (min a’immat ahl al-hadı̄ th), who had studied under the likes of Ishā q b.
Rā hawayh. ˙ ˙
201
Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-Hanā bila, 47–8 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.) (naqala ʿan imā minā ashyā ’).
202
Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , T˙ abaqā t al-H˙ anā bila, 47–8 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.). Both Cook (Commanding Right
and Forbidding ˙Wrong, 101˙n. 152) and Laoust (La profession de foi d’Ibn Batta, 53) record
this incident. Cook adds a reference to Ibn Muflih’s al-Ā dā b al-sharʿiyya ˙˙ (Cairo: n.p.,
1348–9), 3: 492, which contains a more detailed account ˙ (I have not seen the edition
Cook cites). It adds that Ibn Shabbuwayh told Ahmad b. Hanbal that he was resigned to
the likelihood of being beaten to death. Ahmad b. ˙ Hanbal˙told him to go and seek Bishr
˙
al-Hā fı̄ ’s counsel. Bishr al-Hā fı̄ gave Ibn Shabbuwayh ˙ the same advice Ahmad b. Hanbal
had˙ supplied. Ibn Shabbuwayh ˙ emphasised the fact that he had accepted ˙ ˙ fate
the
awaiting him. Finally, he changed his mind when Bishr al-Hā fı̄ suggested that Ibn
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 87

In short, Ibn Shabbuwayh was both well connected to and well

regarded by ninth- and tenth-century proto-Sunni traditionalists.
Perhaps because of this it is no surprise to learn that he contributed to
the growing hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers. First of all, he
˙
appears in our sources as particularly fastidious with respect to circulating
reports that sought to demarcate the boundaries of orthodoxy and heresy.
He tells of one instance in which a teacher of his asked Ibn al-Mubā rā k,
‘Who is the majoritarian group [of orthodoxy]?’203 Ibn al-Mubā rak gave
the name of three people who embodied proto-Sunni traditionalist ortho-
doxy. Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh corroborates Ibn al-Mubā rak’s identifica-
˙
tion of these men as proto-Sunni traditionalists by remarking that ‘none
of these men was tainted by Irjā ’’.204 He also emphasised the wide gulf
between the kind of religious learning and piety serviced by hadı̄ th, on the
˙
one hand, and speculative jurisprudence, on the other. In a tradition
transmitted by his son, who had studied with Ishā q b. Rā hawayh, Ibn
˙
Shabbuwayh declared that those interested in attaining salvation in the
afterlife should study Prophetic traditions, whilst those interested in
attaining knowledge of this world should concern themselves with ra’y.205
Furthermore, Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh is a frequent source for invective
˙
against Abū Hanı̄ fa in ninth- and tenth-century sources. In ʿAbd Allā h b.
˙
Ahmad b. Hanbal’s Kitā b al-Sunna Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh narrates a
˙ ˙ ˙

Shabbuwayh’s actions would lead to his death and that this, in turn, would condemn the
caliph to hellfire. Even Ahmad b. Hanbal was amazed by Bishr al-Hā fı̄ ’s reasoning. See
˙
Ibn Muflih, al-Ā dā b al-sharʿiyya, ˙ Shuʿayb al-Arna’ū t and ʿUmar˙ al-Qayyā m (Beirut:
ed.
Mu’assasat˙ al-Risā la, 1999), 3: 463. Ibn al-Muflih is quoting ˙ from al-Khallā l, so I am
assuming that Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā quoted a short excerpt ˙ from al-Khallā l’s now lost work. A
small portion of al-Khallā l’s Tabaqā t ashab al-Imā m Ahmad b. Hanbal (Riyadh: Markaz
al-Malik Faysal li al-Buhū th˙ wa al-Dira ˙ ˙̄ sā t al-Islā miyya,
˙ 2019)˙ has survived and been
˙
published (names ˙ with alif to khā ’), but it does not contain an entry on Ahmad
beginning
b. Shabbuwayh. ˙
203
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1995), 1: 438
(man˙ al-jamā ʿa?).
204
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 438 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.) (laysa
fı̄ him ˙shay’ min al-irjā ’). Ibn Hajar’s report is probably based on a slightly longer account
contained in Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄˙ ’s Tā rı̄ kh.
205
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Kitā b Sharaf ashā b al-hadı̄ th, ed. Muhammad Saʿı̄ d Khatı̄ b
Ughlı̄ (Ankara: Jā miʿat Anqara, 1969),˙75;
˙ ˙ reproduced
˙ ˙
in al-Dhahabı̄ ˙
, Siyar, 11: 7–8
(man arā da ʿilm al-qabr fa ʿalayhi bi al-athar wa man arā da ʿilm al-khubz fa ʿalayhi bi al-
ra’y). I am interpreting ʿilm al-khubz to refer to worldly learning. A further insight into
Ibn Shabbuwayh’s commitment to proto-Sunni traditionalism might be gained from a
report his son transmits that quotes a certain Yū nus b. Sulaymā n al-Saqatı̄ as having
said: ‘I found in the hadı̄ th the mention of the Lord almighty and His ˙ lordship,
˙
mightiness, and exaltedness, mention of the throne and descriptions of Paradise and
Hell, and mention of the prophets and messengers, the licit and illicit, and incitement
towards good relations with one’s relatives, and much else of good in the hadı̄ th; and
when I looked into ra’y, I found that it was concerned with deception and how ˙ to sever
family relations (al-makr wa al-ghadr) and much else of evil in ra’y.’
88 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

story in which Ibn al-Mubā rak describes his study with Abū Hanı̄ fa as
˙
a source of affliction. He was asked, ‘Did you relate knowledge from Abū
Hanı̄ fa?’ He replied, ‘Yes, and I was afflicted by it.’ 206
Again, Ibn
˙
Shabbuwayh quotes Ibn al-Mubā rak as having declared highway robbery
to be better than some of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s doctrines.207 Ibn Shabbuwayh’s
˙
son transmitted reports of a more caustic nature through Ishā q b.
˙
Rā hawayh. In an apparent reference to Abū Hanı̄ fa, a Khurā sā nı̄ scholar
˙
is reported to have said that ‘the issuing of religious opinions in Bukhā rā
of that so and so Jahmı̄ is more harmful to the Muslims than the appear-
ance of the Beast or the anti-Christ’.208 Ibn Shabbuwayh (and his son)
also circulated scornful reports about Abū Hanı̄ fa’s leading disciple, Abū
˙
Yū suf, which criticised the latter for the ends to which he utilised his
learning, and suggested that Mā lik b. Anas refused to take questions from
him because he regarded the chief judge as unorthodox.209
Specific attacks against Abū Hanı̄ fa are grouped together in Abū
˙
Zurʿa’s Tā rı̄ kh. One report appears to cast doubt on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
belonging to the generation of the Successors.210 Once again, Ahmad b.
˙
Shabbuwayh is his source for a report that almost certainly alludes to Abū
Hanı̄ fa, which warns against a man in Kufa who answers questions
˙
concerning the most enigmatic issues (muʿdilā t).211 Another report trans-
˙
mitted by Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh has al-Awzā ʿı̄ reprimand Ibn al-
˙
Mubā rak when the latter sought his counsel after he had praised Abū
Hanı̄ fa in passing: ‘Yes, I was going to give you some advice regardless of
˙
your asking for it, for I heard you praise a man who permitted rebellion
against the Muslims.’212 Abū Zurʿa’s Tā rı̄ kh seeks to amplify a wider
initiative to isolate and exclude Abū Hanı̄ fa from the proto-Sunni com-
munity. He reminds his readers that not ˙ only did proto-Sunni tradition-
alists admonish one another about praising Abū Hanı̄ fa, but he cites
˙
occasions in which proto-Sunni traditionalists avoided speaking to or
sitting with Abū Hanı̄ fa. The Tā rı̄ kh claims that Sufyā n (al-Thawrı̄ ?)
˙
refused to discuss matters with Abū Hanı̄ fa, and that when a group of
˙
scholars in Mecca were interrupted by the arrival of Abū Hanı̄ fa, they got
˙
206
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 215.
207
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H ˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 214.
208
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H ˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 214.
209 ˙
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ˙ ’, ed. Ismā ʿı̄ l al-Salafı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄ , 2000), 4:
1544–5 (entry on Abu˙̄ Yū suf). ˙
210
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 505 (anā akbar man rā ’a Abā Hanı̄ fa).
211
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 505. For reasons why this report ˙ alludes to Abū
Hanı̄ fa, see Chapter 7 below.
212 ˙ ̄ Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 505 (kuntu ʿinda al-Awzā ʿı̄ fa atraytu Abā Hanı̄ fa, fa
Abu
sakata ʿannı̄ . Fa lammā kā na ʿinda al-wadā ʿ qultu lahu: awsinı̄ . Qā˙la: Ammā innı̄ ˙ aradtu
˙
dhā ka wa law lam tas’alnı̄ samiʿtuka tutrı̄ rajulan kā na yarā al-sayf fı̄ al-umma). See also al-
˙ 15: 528.
Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d,
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 89

up and left, ‘fearful of catching his disease’.213 The Tā rı̄ kh hosts the usual
criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his speculative jurisprudence, but it also
entertains more severe ˙ criticisms.214 Abū Zurʿa quotes Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄
as writing off Abū Hanı̄ fa as untrustworthy and unreliable because he was
˙
made to repent from heresy twice.215 In addition, a report that points
to the wide dissemination of discourses against Abū Hanı̄ fa states that a
˙
local qadi prayed during a sermon that God would show no mercy to Abū
Hanı̄ fa, for he was the first to claim that the Quran was created.216
˙
Resembling this spirit of broad condemnation is another report in the
Tā rı̄ kh that no birth was more harmful to Islam than the birth of Abū
Hanı̄ fa.217
˙
This digression from Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ’s discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa to the background of a source he cites frequently
˙
in his local history of Damascus exemplifies the subtle formation of a
proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy defined through a collective effort to
construct heresiological discourses against Abū Hanı̄ fa. A reference to
˙
Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh is not an incidental fact in Abū Zurʿa’s text. He is
˙
a source of information in so far as the information he provides represents
a broader religious outlook that Abū Zurʿa and other proto-Sunni tradi-
tionalists share.218 Even in the section on the judges of Marw, Ahmad b.
˙
Shabbuwayh corroborates the orthodoxy of one particular judge by exon-
erating him from any association with either Irjā ’ or Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
doctrines.219 This might be lost on modern (and early modern) readers
unfamiliar with Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh’s contribution to proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalist orthodoxy, especially in the form of discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Many of Abū Zurʿa’s contemporaries and readers,
˙
on the other hand, would have been familiar with what united men such
as Abū Zurʿa and Ibn Shabbuwayh.

ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal (d. 290/903)

˙ ˙
Ahmad b. Hanbal’s son ʿAbd Allā h was a good example of the kind
˙ ˙
of ninth-century scholar who would have recognised Ahmad b.
˙
213
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 505 (Sufyā n and Abū Hanı̄ fa), 507 (Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
disease). ˙ ˙
214
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 507, 508 (x 3).
215
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 505–6 (ustutı̄ ba Abū Hanı̄ fa marratayn), 507 (Abū
Hanı̄ fa ghayr thiqa wa lā ma’mū n, ustutı̄ ba marratayn). ˙
216 ˙Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 506.
217
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 507.
218
The information on judges in Marw is provided by Ibn Shabbuwayh: see Abū Zurʿa al-
Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 206–8.
219
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 208.
90 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

Shabbuwayh as a fellow Sunni traditionalist. There are reasons internal to

the texts ʿAbd Allā h b. Hanbal composed that indicate such an aware-
˙
ness, but let us first consider the contexts in which the two men might
have known each other by way of ʿAbd Allā h’s biography. ʿAbd Allā h b.
Hanbal was one of seven children from three of Ahmad b. Hanbal’s
˙ ˙ ˙
marriages. The two best known sons were ʿAbd Allā h and Sā lih, a fact
˙ ˙
which must have something to do with their prominent role in transmit-
ting their father’s teachings and works. Of the two, Sā lih was the elder and
˙ ˙
issued from his father’s marriage to ʿĀ ’isha bt. al-Fadl, whilst ʿAbd Allā h
˙
was born to Ahmad b. Hanbal’s second wife, Rayhā na.220
˙ ˙ ˙
Despite their father’s hostility to state employment, almost all of
Ahmad b. Hanbal’s sons worked as judges in the empire’s provinces.221
˙ ˙
Sā lih served as a judge in Tarsū s and Isfahā n and performed certain
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
diplomatic duties on behalf of the caliph al-Muwaffaq.222 Saʿı̄ d served
as a judge in Kufa. 223
Our central protagonist, ʿAbd Allā h, occupied the
judgeship in Khurā sā n and Hims.224 As a young man ʿAbd Allā h had
˙ ˙
studied with proto-Sunni traditionalists such as Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n and Ibn
˙
Abı̄ Shayba. In the Masā ’il, for instance, we find ʿAbd Allā h in the company

220
The third wife was called Husn, and bore Ahmad six children.
221
See Melchert, The Formation ˙ of the Sunni Schools ˙ of Law, 140; Melchert, Ahmad ibn
Hanbal, 15–16; and for changing Hanbalı̄ attitudes towards state employment ˙ see the
˙vast amount of data amassed by Cook, ˙ Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong, 123–8.
222
For Sā lih’s judgeships in Tarsū s and Isfahā n, where he is reported as disgusted with
himself˙ and ˙ speaks of being˙compelled to˙ accept the judgeship in order to settle his debts,
see Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-Hanā bila, 1: 174–5 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.) = 1: 463–6 (al-ʿUthaymı̄ n
˙
edn.); al-Khallā l, Adab al-qadā˙ ’, apud al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 10: 433–5
(for Sā lih’s anguished account ˙ ˙
of his inauguration as qadi of Isfahā n); Ibn Hazm,
˙ ˙ 319 (ʿAbd al-Salā m Hā rū n edn.) (qā dı̄ al-thaghr); Ibn al-Jawzı̄
Jamharat, ˙ , Manā qib, ˙ 302
(Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ edn.). For Sā lih being dispatched ˙ by Muwaffaq to Ahmad b. Tū lū n,
perhaps as part of a delegation ˙of proto-Sunni ˙ traditionalists (ashā b al-h˙ adı̄ th), see
˙ the
eyewitness account of Abū al-Hasan Muhammad b. al-Fayd al-Ghassa ˙˙ ˙̄ nı̄ , Akhbā r wa
˙
hikā yā t, ed. Ibrā hı̄ m Sā lih (Damascus: Da˙̄ r al-Bashā ’ir, 1994),
˙ 41. The author of this
˙overlooked work was a˙ ninth–tenth-century
˙ proto-Sunni traditionalist from Damascus.
223
For Saʿı̄ d’s judgeship see Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-Hanā bila, 2: 49 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.) = 3: 89–
90 (al-ʿUthaymı̄ n edn.) (the detail is tucked ˙ away˙ in the entry on Ahmad b. Hanbal’s
grandson Zuhayr b. Sā lih, and contains a highly informative family account ˙ ˙ mad b.
of Ah
Hanbal’s marriage and ˙ family history; the editor’s conjectural objection to Saʿı̄ ˙d’s ever
˙
having been a qadi because the historical sources are silent about this is baseless given the
reference that follows). Saud al-Sarhan follows Ibn al-Jawzı̄ (Manā qib, 304–5 (Maktabat
al-Khā njı̄ edn.)) in the view that Saʿı̄ d did not work as a judge: see al-Sarhan, ‘Early
Muslim Traditionalism’, 209 n. 44. However, the earliest reference to Saʿı̄ d’s judgeship is
in a source overlooked by both al-Sarhan and Hurvitz (The Formation of Hanbalism, 35):
Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 3: 199. Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 10: 137 has an
entry on Saʿı̄ d but does ˙ not mention his ˙ judgeship, although he mentions al-Qā dı̄ Abū
ʿImrā n Mū sā b. al-Qā sim b. al-Ashyab as his student (rawā ʿanhu). ˙
224
For ʿAbd Allā h’s judgeship in Khurā sā n and Hims see Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-
Hanā bila, 1: 188 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.) = 2: 20 (al-ʿUthaymı̄ ˙ ˙ n edn.); Ibn Hazm,˙ Jamharat,
˙319 (ʿAbd al-Salā m Hā rū n edn.). ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 91

of Ibn Abı̄ Shayba’s son, ʿAbd Allā h, in Kufa in 230/844–5.225 Evidently he

studied with his father, and later biographers emphasised Ahmad b.
˙
Hanbal’s high regard for the quality of ʿAbd Allā h’s religious learning. 226
˙
Even in the earliest sources ʿAbd Allā h comes across as a dedicated and
keen student. The Masā ’il collection he compiled, for example, describes
him making notations whilst journeying with his father to Mecca.227 ʿAbd
Allā h comes across as a precocious student whose juridical opinions are
confirmed by his father.228 The Masā ’il collection was one of many of his
father’s books that ʿAbd Allā h transmitted. It, too, exhibits the proto-Sunni
traditionalist tendency of defining orthodoxy against heresy, particularly in
the following exchange between ʿAbd Allā h and his father:229
ʿabd allā h: I said to my father: ‘What is your opinion concerning people
belonging to the ashā b al-hadı̄ th who go to a shaykh who is either a Murji’ı̄ ,
˙˙
a Shiʿi, or simply holds ˙ doctrine that is opposed to the Sunna (aw fı̄ hi
some
shay’ min khilā f al-sunna)? Should I remain quiet and not warn against him,
or should I warn people about him?’
ah: mad b. h: anbal: If he calls people to heresy (bidaʿ) and he is a leader among
them and invites others to that heresy, then, yes: you must warn against him.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists were certainly conscious of a group identity,
which formed in opposition to perceived heresies. It was not enough,
however, to simply insist on the demarcations and boundaries between
orthodoxy and heresy. It was equally the work of orthodoxy to oppose
very publicly figures they saw as representatives of deviant movements.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists were not simply venting against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
They knew that presenting Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretical and deviant scholar
˙
was integral to the formation of orthodoxy. This was an essential task of
orthodoxy, and it is within this context that we must understand the
profusion of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in the ninth century.
˙
225
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Masā ’il al-Imā m Ahmad b. Hanbal riwā yat ibnihi ʿAbd
Allā h b. Ahmad,˙ ed. Zuhayr ˙ al-Shā wı̄ sh (Damascus: ˙ al-Maktab ˙ al-Islā mı̄ , 1981), 41.
Although, ˙on this occasion, ʿAbd Allā h relates his father ʿAbd Allā h b. Abı̄ Shayba’s view
that saying yahdı̄ kum Allā h in the series of responses after one sneezes was an innovation
of the Khawā rij. Ahmad b. Hanbal finds this untenable. For ʿAbd Allā h’s meetings with
Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, as˙ recorded˙ in the Masā ’il, see 93, 185, 344, 364.
226
Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-Hanā bila, 1: 180 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.); al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
˙
Baghdā d, 11: 13–14. ˙ ˙
227
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Masā ’il, 199.
228
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah ˙ mad b. ˙Hanbal, Masā ’il, 55 (ʿAbd Allā h decided to hit his servant
because he had missed˙ ˙ intentionally. His father agreed that he should do so until
a prayer
the servant returned to praying).
229
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Masā ’il, 439. A similar point regarding heretics who
˙
preach their heretical ˙
doctrines is made in al-Marrū dhı̄ , Kitā b al-ʿIlal wa maʿrifat al-rijā l li
Ahmad b. Muhammad b. Hanbal: riwā yat al-Marrū dhı̄ , ed. Wası̄ Allā h b. Muhammad
˙ ̄ s (Bombay:
ʿAbba ˙ al-Dā r al-Salafiyya,
˙ 1988; repr. Cairo: Dā r al-Ima ˙ ̄ m Ahmad, 2006), ˙ 126.
˙
92 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

The book most relevant to our discussion of discourses of heresy

against Abū Hanı̄ fa is the Kitā b al-Sunna, though one other work attrib-
uted to ʿAbd ˙Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal mentions the followers of Abū
˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa as a source of misguidance for many people.230 The Kitā b al-
˙
Sunna belongs to a genre of proto-Sunni traditionalist writing that was
crucial to emergence of a public discourse designed to establish ortho-
doxy by explicating heresy.231 His work was preceded by or was coter-
minous with a number of books authored by proto-Sunni traditionalists
bearing similar titles. An early work, the Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, speaks to the
˙
cacophonous nature of the Muslim community in the eighth to early
ninth century, though this may have been our author’s main intention.
The Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh was authored from the opposing perspective of
˙
proto-Sunni traditionalism. Its author, Dirā r b. ʿAmr, was associated
˙
with the early Muʿtazila. His genealogy of sect formation in early Islam
is highly deterministic, which makes it difficult to use for historians, and is
replete with idealised tropes.232 Nevertheless, there is an awareness of the

230
Ahmad b. Hanbal (attrib.), Kitā b al-Radd ʿalā al-jahmiyya wa al-zanā diqa, ed. Daghı̄ s b.
˙
Shubayb ˙
al-ʿAjmı̄ (Kuwait: Gharā s, 2005), 207. There is much uncertainty regarding
the attribution of this text to both Ahmad b. Hanbal and his son ʿAbd Allā h. The
manuscripts do not resolve the issue: at ˙ least nine
˙ manuscripts of the work exist, but
the earliest copy was made in 1418. I know of six editions of the text: ed. Daghı̄ s b.
Shubayb al-ʿAjmı̄ (Kuwait: Gharā s, 2005), based on MS Zā hiriyya, and eight other
manuscripts = ed. Sabrı̄ Salā ma Shā hı̄ n (Riyadh: Dā r al-Thiba ˙ ̄ t li al-Nashr wa al-
Tawzı̄ ʿ, 2002), the editor ˙ does not say which manuscripts serve the basis of the edition
= ed. Muhammad Hasan Rā shid (Cairo: al-Matbaʿa al-Salafiyya, 1973), based on MS.
Zā hiriyya ˙maj. 116 = ˙ ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n ʿUmayra ˙ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Liwā ’, 1982) = ed.
˙
Muh ammad Fahr Shafqa (Hamā : Maktabat ˙ Ibn al-Haytham, 1967) = ed. Qiwā m al-
Dı̄ n,˙ ‘Imam Ahmed’in bir˙ eseri. İ slâmın en kadim iki mezhebinin münakaşası’,
Darülfünun İ lâhiyat Fâkültesi Mecmuası, 2: 5/6 (1927), 278–327, based on MS.
Revan Köşki, Istanbul 510/4 (I owe my knowledge of this last work to Christopher
Melchert). For a discussion of the work’s authenticity with respect to its transmission
history see al-Sarhan, ‘Early Muslim Traditionalism’, 48–54. Abū Hanı̄ fa, Abū Yū suf,
and al-Shaybā nı̄ are also mentioned in the (blameworthy) context of˙ composing books
in ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Masā ’il, 437.
231
This edition is based ˙ on six˙manuscripts: The asl is al-Zā hiriyya, MS 1047, copied in
644/1246–7; Maktabat al-Shaykh ʿAbd Allā h b.˙ Hasan˙ Ā l al-Shaykh, now in Jā miʿat
Umm al-Qurā , MS 1497, copied in 783/1381–2; ˙ al-Maktaba al-ʿĀ mma, MS 288,
copied in 1283/1866–7; Dā r al-Kutub al-Misriyya, MS 1747; al-Maktaba al-
Taymū riyya, MS 335, copied in 1329/1911, Khuda ˙ ̄ Bakhsh, MS 3700, copied in
1300/1882–3. Another edition of the work has been prepared by ʿĀ dil Hamdā n (n.p.:
n.p., 2015). This edition also uses al-Zā hiriyya, MS 1047 as the asl. There˙are significant
discrepancies between the manuscripts, ˙ none more pertinent than ˙ the complete absence
of the chapter on Abū Hanı̄ fa in Jā miʿat Umm al-Qurā , MS 1497. See also ʿĀ dil
Hamdā n’s polemical critique ˙ of earlier editions of the Kitā b al-Sunna: ʿĀ dil Hamdā n,
Silsilat taʿlı̄ qā tı̄ ʿalā tahqı̄ qā t kutub al-sunna: Kitā b al-Sunna (n.p.: Dā r al-Nası̄ h˙a, n.d.).
˙
232
Consider the following ˙ explanation: Dirā r b. ʿAmr, Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, 41 (wa ˙ ˙ minhum
man akfarahum jamı̄ ʿan wa minhum man ˙ tawallā baʿdan wa minhum ˙ man tawallā hum
jamı̄ ʿan wa minhum man waqafa fı̄ him wa minhum ˙man jazama al-kalā m fı̄ him. Fa
hā dhā awwal sabab mā ikhtalafa fı̄ hi ahl al-salā t wa minhu tashaʿʿabū ). Another early
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 93

concept of religious deviance (ahl al-bidaʿ wa al-dalā l). The problem is

˙
that our author seeks to argue that every single religious denomination
classifies other groups as belonging to the ahl al-bidaʿ wa al-dalā l.233 Our
˙
author is vaguely aware of a majoritarian orthodoxy: on one occasion he
speaks of sā hib sunna wa al-jamā ʿa, and twice he refers to the jamā ʿa.234
˙ ˙
Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh conveys the sheer diversity of the early Islamic commu-
˙
nity, with no single group dominating and shaping religious orthodoxy.
When the author wants to speak of the generality of Muslims – there being
no indisputable majoritarian group in his view – he speaks of those who
pray towards the Kaʿba (ahl al-qibla).235 In conclusion, what is patently
absent in the eighth and early ninth centuries is a mature formulation of
religious orthodoxy, particularly one that is defined against heresy.
It is in the kutub al-sunna of the mid- to late ninth century that we can
observe a maturation of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy, whereby
conceptions of orthodoxy are articulated in direct opposition to perceived
heresies. It is through this mechanism, then, that fields of heresy are also
demarcated. For example, the first chapter of Ibn Abı̄ ʿĀ sim’s (d. 287/
˙
900) Kitā b al-Sunna raises the spectre of heresy (ahwā ’);236 another
chapter quotes a tradition encouraging believers to seek protection from
heresy;237 and the subsequent chapter speaks of the deviant nature of
heresy.238 Towards the end of the book Ibn Abı̄ ʿĀ sim makes it clear that
˙
the phenomenon of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy was, by defin-
ition, majoritarian.239 Quietism was also an integral component of proto-
Sunni traditionalist conceptions of orthodoxy, but it made space for
speaking truth to power.240 Other Kitā b al-Sunna books exhibit similar

work is al-Kinā nı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Hayda, but its attribution is uncertain and it resembles a
disputation treatise: ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ ˙ z al-Kinā nı̄ , Kitā b al-Hayda (Giza: Maktabat al-
Nawʿiyya al-Islā miyya li al-Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-Islā mı̄ , ˙ n.d.). I thank Ahmed El
Shamsy for bringing this text to ˙ my attention. The authenticity of the text has been
disputed by van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 3: 504–8 and El Omari, ‘Kitā b al-
Hayda’. Van Ess’s most recent examination of Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, this time based on the
˙
published edition, reiterates the uncertainty surrounding ˙the text’s integrity.
233
Dirā r b. ʿAmr, Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, 46, 51, 52, 56. 57, 58, 59, 61, 69, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77,
˙ 84, 90, 91, 92, 97, 101.
79, ˙
234
Dirā r b. ʿAmr, Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, 72, 75, 104. As van Ess has observed, the ashā b al-hadı̄ th
˙ not mentioned once: ˙van Ess, Kleine Schriften, 3: 2497–8 (‘Das K. At-Tah
are ˙˙ rı̄˙ š des
Dirā r b. ʿAmr: Einige Bemerkungen zu Ort und Anlaβ seiner Abfassung’). ˙
235
D˙ irā r b. ʿAmr, Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, 99.
236 ˙ Abı̄ ʿĀ sim, Kitā b al-Sunna,
Ibn ˙ ed. Bā sim b. Faysal al-Jawā bara (Riyadh: Dā r al-
˙
Sumayʿı̄ , 1998), 35–41. ˙
237 ˙ Abı̄ ʿĀ sim, Kitā b al-Sunna, 44 (citing Ibn Abı̄ Shayba).
Ibn
238
Ibn Abı̄ ʿĀ ˙sim, Kitā b al-Sunna, 44–5 (citing Ibn Abı̄ Shayba).
239
Ibn Abı̄ ʿĀ ˙sim, Kitā b al-Sunna, 617–22.
240
Ibn Abı̄ ʿĀ ˙sim, Kitā b al-Sunna, 696 ff. (quietism), 731–9 (speaking truth to power).
˙
94 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

developments.241 Abū ʿUbayd al-Qā sim b. Sallā m (d. 224/838–9) begins

his treatise on faith (ı̄ mā n) by articulating proto-Sunni traditionalist
orthodoxy in contrast to those who deviate from it.242 Muhammad b.
˙
Nasr al-Marwazı̄ ’s (d. 294/906) Kitā b al-Sunna is an odd work and stands
˙
apart from the kutub al-sunna, though it is noteworthy that he authored a
refutation against Abū Hanı̄ fa.243
In terms of discourses ˙ of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, ʿAbd Allā h b.
˙
Ahmad b. Hanbal’s Kitā b al-Sunna was a watershed moment in the
˙ ˙
evolution of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy. It represents the kind
of religious information that was being circulated among the proto-Sunni
traditionalist community in different regions of the early Islamic world in
the middle of the ninth century.244 My cursory reading of the text sug-
gests a terminus post quem of 231/845–6.245 The majority of the reports
originate with ʿAbd Allā h’s main proto-Sunni traditionalist teachers.246
Among these illustrious figures are Ahmad b. Hanbal, Ahmad b. Ibrā hı̄ m
˙ ˙ ˙
al-Dawraqı̄ , Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, and Ahmad b. Shabbuwayh.247 Evidence
˙
241
Al-Humaydı̄ , Usū l al-sunna, ed. Mashʿal Muhammad al-Haddā dı̄ (Kuwait: Dā r Ibn al-
Athı̄˙r, 1997), 43 ˙ is no more than a few folios ˙ and displays ˙ on one occasion only an
attempt to define orthodoxy against heresy (wa an lā naqū l kamā qā lat al-khawā rij).
242
Abū ʿUbayd al-Qā sim b. Sallā m, Kitā b al-Ī mā n, ed. Muhammad Nā sir al-Dı̄ n al-Albā nı̄
(Riyadh: Maktabat al-Maʿā rif, 2000), 9 (wa tadhkur annaka ˙ ahbabta maʿrifat
˙ mā ʿalayhi ahl
al-sunna min dhā lika wa mā al-hujja ʿalā man fā raqahum fı̄ hi), 53 ˙ (wa zaʿama man khā lafanā
˙
anna al-qawl dū na al-ʿamal, fa hā dhā ʿindanā mutanā qid), 59 (qad dhakarnā mā kā na min
mufā raqat al-qawm iyyā nā [fı̄ anna] al-ʿamal min al-ı̄ m˙ā n, ʿalā annahum wa in kā nū lanā
mufā riqı̄ n, fa innahum dhahabū ilā madhhab qad yaqaʿu al-ghalat fı̄ mithlihi), 66–7 (wa ʿalā
mithl hā dhā al-qawl kā na Sufyā n wa al-Awzā ʿı̄ wa Mā lik b. Anas wa˙ man baʿduhum min arbā b
al-ʿilm wa ahl al-sunna alladhı̄ na kā nū masā bı̄ h al-ard wa a’immat al-ʿilm fı̄ dahrihim min ahl
˙ ˙ zā rı̄ n ˙ʿalā ahl al-bidaʿ kullihā wa yarawna al-
al-ʿIrā q wa al-Hijā z wa al-Shā m wa ghayrihā
ı̄ mā n qawlan wa˙ ʿamalan). It is interesting to note that passages like these, which speak to the
burgeoning confidence of a proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy, are absent in the earlier
work of Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, Kitā b al-Ī mā n, ed. Muhammad Nā sir al-Dı̄ n al-Albā nı̄
(Damascus: al-Maktab al-Islamı̄ , 1983), 157–85. I have ˙ ˙
not undertaken a systematic
comparison between this Kitā b al-Ī mā n and the Kitā b al-Ī mā n that appears in Ibn Abı̄
Shayba, al-Musannaf, 6: 157–84. The ordering of traditions certainly differs in both texts.
243 ˙
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 14: 38. Muhammad b. Nasr al-Marwazı̄ , al-Sunna, ed. ʿAbd Allā h b.
Muhammad al-Busı̄ rı̄ (Riyadh:˙ Dā r al-ʿĀ sima, ˙ 2001). His Ikhtilā f al-fuqahā ’ makes no
˙ reference to
explicit ˙ Abū Hanı̄ fa by name,˙ but he does refer frequently to the ashā b al-
˙
ra’y and their leader (shaykuhum): see Muhammad b. Nasr al-Marwazı̄ , Ikhtilā ˙ ˙ f al-
fuqahā ’, ed. Muhammad Tā hir Hakı̄ m (Riyadh: ˙ Maktaba Ad˙wā ’ al-Salaf, 2000), 169.
244
The Kitā b al-Sunna ˙ refers ˙occasionally
˙ to the places where he˙ received or heard reports:
see ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 493 and 559 (Medina), 495–6 and
563 and 624 (Basra), ˙ and 627 ˙ (Kufa).
245
I have noticed three occasions in the text where ʿAbd Allā h refers to the year in which he
received a report: ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 161 (226/840–1),
479 and 495–6 (231/845–6), 550 (231/845–6).˙ ˙
246
A complete list of teachers is given in ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna,
40–7 (editor’s introduction). ˙ ˙
247
For a list of ʿAbd Allā h’s informants, and the number of times they are cited, see ʿAbd
Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 61–2 (editor’s introduction).
˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 95

internal to Kitā b al-Sunna suggests that most of the information was

received by ʿAbd Allā h through oral transmission, but we do learn of
instances where ʿAbd Allā h’s information was extracted from written
˙
texts. In one passage, for example, we are told that ʿAbd Allā h reproduced
material from his father’s handwritten notes.248 The terminus post quem
helps to explain Kitā b al-Sunna’s principal target: those who believe in the
createdness of the Quran, described by our author as the Jahmiyya. The
year 231/845–6 witnessed Ahmad b. Nasr al-Khuzā ʿı̄ ’s execution by
˙ ˙
the caliph al-Wā thiq. Modern historians have interpreted this incident
as a manifestation of al-Wā thiq’s energetic commitment to the Mihna,
which al-Mutawakkil would bring to an end in 849 or 851–2, as well ˙ as
evidence for the caliph’s role as somebody who shaped and enforced
religious orthodoxy.249 Ahmad b. Nasr’s refusal to assent to the caliphal
˙ ˙
doctrine of a created Quran did play a role in his trial and execution.250
However, it would be a mistake to view this as the principal cause behind
the caliph’s pursuit of him. Ahmad b. Nasr may have been a proto-Sunni
˙ ˙
traditionalist, but he represented a distinct brand of proto-Sunni trad-
itionalism. Unlike Ahmad b. Hanbal, for example, Ahmad b. Nasr was in
the process of raising˙ a rebellion
˙ against the caliph.251˙ As we shall
˙ see in
our analysis of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in the Kitā b al-
˙
Sunna, Ahmad b. Hanbal found the idea of rebelling against the state not
˙ ˙
only repugnant but a sign of heresy. In circumstances such as these, Ibn
Hanbal believed that men could speak truth to power, but a more brazen
˙
challenge to the caliphal office was unconscionable. Within a year of
Ahmad b. Nasr’s execution, change was in the air. Al-Mutawakkil had
˙ ˙
ascended the throne. Caliphal interest in pursuing the Mihna went from
waning to a complete reversal. Ahmad b. Hanbal was ˙now receiving
˙ ˙
invitations to visit the caliph in Samarra.252
These dramatic events and turbulent changes must have been stirring
in ʿAbd Allā h’s mind when he began to compose the Kitā b al-Sunna. But
proto-Sunni traditionalist conceptions of orthodoxy were not limited to
debates concerning the createdness of the Quran. Other themes that
appear prominently in the Kitā b al-Sunna are Irjā ’, the nature of faith
(performance, action, or both), destinarianism, the probity of the first
four caliphs, and attitudes to the state. But we can measure the
248
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 512 (wajadtu fı̄ kitā b abı̄ bi khatt yadihi
mimmā yuhtajju ˙bihi ʿalā al-jahmiyya
˙ min al-Qur’ā n al-Karı̄ m). ˙˙
249 ˙ Enigmatic Reign of al-Wā thiq’.
Turner, ‘The
250
Al-Tabarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 3: 1412 = 9: 190–1. For other indicators of al-Wā thiq’s Mihna policy
see ˙Melchert, ‘Religious Policies of the Caliphs’, 320. ˙
251
Al-Tabarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 3: 1412 = 9: 190–1. Though, for the record, Ahmad b. Nasr did
˙ to the notion that he was planning to rebel.
object ˙ ˙
252
Melchert, ‘Religious Policies of the Caliphs’, 326–7.
96 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

importance of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa to proto-Sunni

˙
traditionalists by the fact that ʿAbd Allā h’s Kitā b al-Sunna devotes almost
fifty pages to portraying Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heresiarch.253 ʿAbd Allā h’s
˙
method for depicting Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic and deviant observes the
˙
norms of religious authority current among proto-Sunni traditionalists of
the ninth century. Rather than communicating his own thoughts and
ideas about Abū Hanı̄ fa, ʿAbd Allā h proposes to relate information he
˙
heard from a select group of religious authorities. His first point of refer-
ence is, naturally enough, his father. At the very outset of the chapter ʿAbd
Allā h relates that his father believed that hostility to Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
followers was a source of divine reward.254 This sanguine ˙interpretation
of displays of enmity towards Abū Hanı̄ fa helps to explain the virulent and
˙
profuse nature of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in the Kitā b al-
˙
Sunna. It provided the necessary pretext, if one was needed, for any
emerging orthodoxy to rally against perceived heretics. He then refers to
the authority of a constellation of proto-Sunni traditionalists, all of whom
were integral to the transmission and circulation of discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa: Hammā d b. Abı̄ Sulaymā n; al-Awzā ʿı̄ ; Abū Ayyū b
al-Sakhtiyā nı̄ ;˙ Ibn ʿAwn;
˙ al-Aʿmash; Mughı̄ ra al-Dabbı̄ ; Sufyā n al-
˙
Thawrı̄ ; Mā lik b. Anas; Hammā d b. Zayd; ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Mubā rak;
˙
Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna; Abū Ishā q al-Fazā rı̄ ; and many others.
˙
The Kitā b al-Sunna evidences a number of themes that form the basis
of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa (see Figure 3.1). I have
˙
counted a total number of 184 anti-Abū Hanı̄ fa reports in this section
˙
of the Kitā b al-Sunna.
There are six overarching (and overlapping) themes in the material
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal collects against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Most of the
˙ ˙ ˙
(forty-one) reports fall into the category of general curses against Abū
Hanı̄ fa. Within this category we have reports describing Abū Hanı̄ fa as
˙ ˙
the greatest source of harm to Islam and Muslims; the most wretched
person to be born in the religion of Islam; prayers and curses against
Abū Hanı̄ fa; and expressions of joy at the news of his death. The second
˙
prominent theme is the opposition between Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ra’y and
˙
Prophetic hadı̄ th (thirty-two reports). This is followed closely by the
˙
theme of heresies (thirty-one reports). This category refers to reports
wherein the semantic field of heresy (kufr, kā fir; zandaqa, zindı̄ q; murū q,
mā riq, etc.) is employed against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Examples of reports from
˙
this category include a report in which a proto-Sunni traditionalist
encouraged his colleague to declare Abū Hanı̄ fa an unbeliever (kā fir)
˙
253
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 180–228.
254
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H
˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 180.
˙ ˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 97

Discourses of Heresy in Kitāb al-Sunna

Rebellion
Heresies
Repentance from Heresy
Ra'y vs Ḥadīth
Irjā'
Jahmī
Created Qur'ān
Cursing Abū Ḥanīfa

Figure 3.1 Discourses of heresy in Kitā b al-Sunna.

and heretic (zindı̄ q) because he believed the Quran to be created;255

students of Mā lik b. Anas alleged that he declared Abū Hanı̄ fa to be
˙
beyond the pale of the religion;256 on a separate occasion, when someone
proposed one of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s solutions to a legal question, it was dis-
˙
missed curtly as the view of ‘that apostate’.257 The fourth theme refers to
reports that describe Abū Hanı̄ fa as having repented publicly from heresy
˙
(twenty-three reports). Another prominent theme is rebellion (seventeen
reports). ʿAbd Allā h collects reports in which proto-Sunni traditionalists
drew attention to the heretical nature of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for rebel-
˙
lion against Muslim rulers. A sixth theme is Abū Hanı̄ fa’s adherence to
˙
the heresy of Irjā ’ (fourteen reports). Little is made of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s views
˙
on the Quran (six reports) and his connection to the Jahmiyya (six
reports), which is especially surprising given the historical background
of the Mihna and the involvement of the author’s father, Ahmad b.
˙ ˙
Hanbal, in that inquisition. There is no doubt that the Kitā b al-Sunna
˙
represented the culmination of proto-Sunni traditionalist attempts to
place Abū Hanı̄ fa outside the realm of orthodoxy and that the close
˙
255
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 184–5.
256
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 199 (samiʿtu Mā lik yaqū l fı̄ Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa
qawlan yukhrijuhu ˙ min al-dı̄
˙ n). ˙
257
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 211 (samiʿtu Abı̄ yaqū l: kunnā ʿinda
Hammā d b. Salama ˙ fa dhakarū
˙ mas’ala fa qı̄ la: Abū Hanı̄ fa yaqū l bihā . Fa qā la: hā dhā wa
˙Allā hi qawl dhā ka al-mā riq). ˙
98 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

students of Ahmad b. Hanbal were at the forefront of disseminating

˙ ˙
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
One such student was Abū Bakr˙ al-Marrū dhı̄ (d. 275/888). He origin-
ated from Marw-i rū dh, one of the five principal cities of Khurā sā n, but it
was in Baghdad that he established his reputation as one of Ahmad b.
˙
Hanbal’s foremost students. He was sufficiently close to Ahmad
˙ ˙
b. Hanbal to have performed the ritual washing of his body before his
˙ 258 Another measure of his proximity is his transmission of Ahmad
burial.
˙
b. Hanbal’s legal opinions, along with a book recording his master’s
˙
assessments of hadı̄ th critics. 259
Like ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal,
˙
al-Marrū dhı̄ belonged ˙
to the circle of proto-Sunni traditionalists ˙ emer-
ging from the circle of Ahmad b. Hanbal who were particularly fervent in
˙ ˙
their opposition to Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers. Al-Marrū dhı̄ ’s contri-
˙
bution to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa appears in a somewhat
˙
unlikely source: Akhbā r al-shuyū kh wa akhlā quhum, a book he wrote in
order to urge religious scholars to keep their distance from rulers.260
It is unclear, therefore, why al-Marrū dhı̄ includes three reports in the
Akhbā r al-shuyū kh severely critical of Abū Hanı̄ fa. The first report is one
we encountered earlier in this book. It has Ish ˙ ā q b. Rā hawayh explain the
˙
moment he came to the realisation that Abū Hanı̄ fa stood outside the
˙
orthodoxy of proto-Sunni traditionalists.261 A second report declares that
no tribulation descended from the heavens to the earth more harmful

258
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 6: 104–6, 104; Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-
Hanā bila, ˙ 1: 56–63 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.). ˙
259 ˙
Al-Khat ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 6: 104. Some parts of the Masā ’il have been
published ˙ in the form of doctoral dissertations submitted to Umm al-Qurā University,
Mecca: al-Marrū dhı̄ , Masā ’il al-Imā m Ahmad al-fiqhiyya bi riwā yat al-Marrū dhı̄ min al-
nikā h hattā nihā yat al-qadā ’ wa al-shahā ˙ dā t, ed. ʿAbd al-Muhsin b. Muhammad al-
Maʿyu ˙ ̄ ˙f (Mecca: Jā miʿat Umm ˙ al-Qurā , 2011) and Masā ’il al-Imā ˙ m Ahmad˙ fı̄ al-ʿibā dā t
bi riwā yat Abı̄ Bakr al-Marrū dhı̄ , ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. ʿAlı̄ al-Tarı̄ ˙qı̄ (Mecca: Jā miʿ
Umm al-Qurā , 2011). ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. ʿAlı̄ al-T ˙ arı̄ qı̄ has also edited
˙ other chapters
from Marrū dhı̄ ’s Masā ’il: see Majallat ˙ ˙
al-Jā miʿa al-Islā miyya bi al-Madı̄ na al-
Munawwara, 1; Majalla Jā miʿat al-Malik Saʿū d li al-ʿUlū m al-Tarbawiya wa al-Dirā sā t
al-Islā miyya, 2, 20 (2008); Majallat Jā miʿat Umm al-Qurā li ʿUlū m al-Sharı̄ ʿa wa al-
Lugha wa Ā dā bihā , 33 (2005). The book on hadı̄ th criticism is al-Marrū dhı̄ , Kitā b al-
ʿIlal. The text was dictated by al-Marrū dhı̄ when ˙ he was in Tarsū s and it was being read
and transmitted in Isfarā ’ı̄ n (Nı̄ shā pū r) by Abū ʿAwā na al-Isfara ˙ ̄ ’ı̄ nı̄ (d. 316/929) near
the beginning of the tenth century. The work provides valuable insights into the proto-
Sunni traditionalist network: 189, 193, 253, 255 (interactions with al-Fasawı̄ ), 175 (one
anti-Abū Hanı̄ fa report, a version of which occurs in ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal,
Kitā b al-Sunna,˙ 192). ˙ ˙
260
The manuscript consisted of three sections. The second section of the book (al-juz’ al-
thā nı̄ ) has not survived, though the editor of the book has managed to locate some
passages from the lost section in later works. The edition itself is based on a unicum
manuscript: al-Marrū dhı̄ , Akhbā r al-shuyū kh wa akhlā quhum, ed. ʿĀ mir Hasan Sabrı̄
(Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir al-Islā miyya, 2005), 27–9 (editor’s introduction). ˙ ˙
261
Al-Marrū dhı̄ , Akhbā r al-shuyū kh wa akhlā quhum, 160–1.
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 99

than that of Abū Hanı̄ fa.262 The third and fourth reports echo a widely
˙
circulated attack on Abū Hanı̄ fa, which locates the origins of the Muslim
community’s deviance in the ˙ influence of Abū Hanı̄ fa, among others, and
˙
his ancestral and social origins. The fourth report seeks to further explain
this deviance. A ninth-century proto-Sunni traditionalist observes that in
his time people showed great keenness in performing good deeds, prayers,
paying the charitable tax, and doing other virtuous actions such as com-
manding good. He is disturbed by a more recent trend that sees this
religious devotion being replaced by an infatuation with speculative
jurisprudence.263 A fifth report does not mention Abū Hanı̄ fa directly.
It presents Ibn al-Mubā rak’s outrage over the contents of˙Kitā b al-Hiyal,
˙
leading him to declare its author an unbeliever (kā fir). Kitā b al-Hiyal, as I
˙
establish later in this study, was produced from within Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
circle. Al-Marrū dhı̄ (or Ibn al-Mubā rak) does not give us the author’s
name, but his inclusion of the report certainly highlights his intransigent
opposition to Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers.
˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal and al-Marrū dhı̄ conclude stage two of
˙ ˙
proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses against Abū Hanı̄ fa. In this and the
˙
previous chapter we have seen how stage two represented a turning point
in the history of proto-Sunnism. Between roughly 850 and 900 there was
a concerted attempt in the different provinces of the early Islamic empire
to cast Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic who stood outside proto-Sunni tradition-
˙
alist conceptions of orthodoxy. By excluding Abū Hanı̄ fa from the proto-
˙
Sunni traditionalist community, his opponents sought to undermine the
religious orthodoxy and standing of his students and followers. The
language and tone of this discourse of heresy is remarkable for the degree
of hostility it exhibits towards a figure whose memory would spawn the
most widespread legal school in Islamic history. Even though discourses
of heresy certainly began to wane in the late ninth to eleventh centuries,
for reasons I document in Part III of this study, one obvious consequence
of this caustic discourse of heresy was that it continued to find some
scattered supporters in the tenth and eleventh centuries. In fact, inhib-
itions towards proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy among its
members can be observed in the work of Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ . He is my
˙

262
Al-Marrū dhı̄ , Akhbā r al-shuyū kh wa akhlā quhum, 160–2 (mā habatat fitnatun min al-
samā ’ ilā al-ard adarra min Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa). ˙ ˙
263 ˙ ˙ ˙
Al-Marrū dhı̄ , Akhbā r al-shuyū kh wa akhlā quhum, 163 (adraktu al-nā s wa hum
yatahā ththū n ʿalā al-aʿmā l: al-salā t wa al-zakā t wa fiʿl al-khayr wa al-amr bi al-maʿrū f
˙ wi hā dhā , wa innahum al-yawm
wa nah ˙ yatahā ththū n ʿalā al-ra’y); Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ ,
Kitā b ˙al-ʿIlal, ed. Saʿı̄ d b. ʿAbd Allā h al-H ˙ umayd and Khā lid b. ʿAbd al-Rah ˙ mā n al-
˙
Juraysı̄ (Riyadh: Maktabat al-Malik Fahd al-Wataniyya, 2006), 359–60. ˙
˙
100 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

starting point for stage three of proto-Sunni discourses of heresy against

Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙ unlike many proto-Sunni traditionalists studied in this chapter,
Quite
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim has been the subject of a monograph in modern western
˙
scholarship.264 A detailed reconstruction of his life and career is provided
by Eerik Dickinson, so I shall limit myself to some preliminary biograph-
ical remarks before directly addressing Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim’s contribution
˙
to the mnemohistory of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Despite the obvious merits of
˙
Dickinson’s monograph, it must be admitted that there is so much
material in his Taqdima, Kitā b al-Jarh wa al-taʿdı̄ l, and other works that
˙
is relevant to the history of proto-Sunnism in general, yet remains to be
excavated. Nowhere is this clearer than in the information these works
yield for the history of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy and the
consolidation of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. We can illus-
˙
trate this by focusing on Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim’s primary religious teachers, his
˙
father, Abū Hā tim (d. 277/890), and Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ , both of whom
˙
receive scant attention in Dickinson’s otherwise rigorous guide to hadı̄ th
265 ˙
criticism.
As we have learnt by now, some of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s sharpest critics were
˙
once adherents of the ahl al-ra’y. In this respect, Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ was
no different. As a young man in Rayy, Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ went along with
what he described as the orthodoxy of the masses, which was aligned with
the ideas of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Abū ʿUthmā n al-Bardhaʿı̄ (d. 292/905) was a
˙
student of Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ . As we can see in the following accounts, his
work provides important commentary on the religious milieu of
Rayy in the mid- to late ninth century.266 Abū Zurʿa remembered the

264
Dickinson, The Development of Early Sunnite Hadı̄ th Criticism.
265
For a painstaking study of Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ see ˙ Saʿdı̄ al-Hā shimı̄ , Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ wa
juhū duhu fı̄ al-sunna al-nabawiyya maʿa tahqı̄ q kitā bihi al-Duʿafā ’ wa ajwibatihi ʿalā as’ilat
al-Bardhaʿı̄ (Medina: al-Maktaba al-ʿArabiyya ˙ ˙
al-Saʿū diyya al-Jā miʿa al-Islā miyya, n.
d.). Non-Arabic readers can consult the brief paragraph on his biography in Dickinson,
The Development of Early Sunnite Hadı̄ th Criticism, 18 and Sezgin, GAS, 1: 145. For Abū
Zurʿa’s works, Sezgin notes the existence˙ only of a fragment of his Kitā b al-Zuhd cited by
Ibn Hajar, al-Isā ba fı̄ tamyı̄ z al-sahā ba, ed. ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAbd al-Muhsin al-Turkı̄ and
ʿAbd al-Samad Hasan Yamā ma (Cairo: Dā r al-Hijr, 2008), 12: 288 in ˙the entry for Abū
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Suʿā d al-Himsı̄ . ˙For a more comprehensive account ˙ of his works see al-Hā shimı̄ , Abū
˙ ˙
Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ , 1: 183–203.
266
I should point out that al-Bardhaʿı̄ studied with Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , another proto-
Sunni traditionalist whose contribution to heresiological discourses against Abū Hanı̄ fa
has been surveyed in this chapter. See al-Bardhaʿı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ wa al-kadhdhā ˙bı̄ n wa
˙ duhu fı̄ al-sunna al-naba-
al-matrū kı̄ n min ashā b al-hadı̄ th, in Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ wa juhū
wiyya maʿa tahqı̄ q˙ ˙kitā bihi˙ al-Duʿafā ’ wa ajwibatihi ʿalā as’ilat al-Bardhaʿı̄ , ed. Saʿdı̄ al-
Hā shimı̄ (Medina:˙ ˙ 2: 725–6, particularly where he provides several reports
n.p., 1989),
told to him directly by Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ and where al-Bardhaʿı̄ writes: ‘Abū Zurʿa
[al-Rā zı̄ ], Abū Hā tim, and Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ said . . . ’.
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 101

proto-Hanafı̄ Muhammad b. Muqā til saying upon his arrival in Rayy that
˙ ˙
it was the waning influence of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers in Iraq that
strengthened his resolve to gain the ˙ upper hand for proto-Hanafism
˙
in Rayy by any and all means necessary (fa la ansurannahu bi ghā yat al-
˙
nasr). Abū Zurʿa insisted: ‘We succeeded in gaining the upper hand over
˙
Muqā til in Rayy.’267 It was only later, after being exposed to proto-Sunni
traditionalist critics of Abū Hanı̄ fa such as Abū Nuʿaym and al-Humaydı̄ ,
˙ ˙
that Abū Zurʿa recognised the misguided nature of his earlier ways.268
There is a strong likelihood that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh played the most
˙
pivotal role in Abū Zurʿa’s shift away from Abū Hanı̄ fa. Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim
˙
speaks on more than one occasion of written correspondence ˙ the
between
two men. Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s letter, which was written in response to a
˙
letter he received from Abū Zurʿa, read as follows:269
My joy for you increases day by day. Praise be to God, for He has made you into
one of those who master his Sunna, and there is nothing more urgent than this for
the student of knowledge today. Ahmad b. Ibrā hı̄ m continues to speak very highly
˙ on the excessive, even though, by the grace
of you, so highly in fact that it borders
of God, there is no sign of excessiveness in you. He read to me your letter to him
containing that which I counselled you with respect to manifesting the Sunna and
abandoning hypocrisy. May God reward you with good. Engross yourself in what
I have counselled you, and know that falsehood goes round and round and then it
fades away. You are from among those whose piety and religion is beloved to one.
I hear from our foremost brothers the [noble] path of learning and memorisation
that you are upon, and I am indeed overjoyed by it.
We have seen in the cases of so many proto-Sunni traditionalists how
instrumental Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s influence was, especially with respect
˙
to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Now it emerges that he also
˙
cast his shadow over the development of a figure who would become one
of Rayy’s indisputable leaders of proto-Sunni traditionalism. This letter,

267
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 2: 755–6 (fa sullita alayhi minnā mā qad ʿalimta).
268 ˙ uʿafā ’, 2: 754–6.
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙
269
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima,˙ 329 (innı̄ azdā du bika kulla yawm surū ran, fa al-hamd li Allā h
˙
alladhı̄ jaʿalaka mimman yahfazu sunnatahu wa hā dhā min aʿzam mā yah˙tā ju ilayhi al-
yawm tā lib al-ʿilm wa Ahmad˙ b.˙ Ibrā hı̄ m lā yazā lu fı̄ dhikrika al-jamı̄
˙ l hattā ˙yakā da yufritu
˙ yakun fı̄ ka bi h˙ amd Allā h ifrā t wa aqra’anı̄ kitā baka ilayhi bi ˙nahw mā awsaytuka
wa in lam ˙
min izhā r al-sunna wa˙ tark al-mudā ˙hana fa jazā ka Allā h khayran fa ˙ dumm ˙ʿalā mā
˙
awsaytuka fa inna li al-bā til jawlan thumma yadmahillu wa innaka mimman uhabbu
˙ huhu wa dı̄ nuhu [reading
salā ˙ dı̄ nuhu for zı̄ nuhu]˙ wa ˙ innı̄ asmaʿu min ikhwā ninā ˙ al-
˙qā dimı̄
˙ n mā anta ʿalayhi min al-ʿilm wa al-hifz wa innı̄ asurru bi dhā lika). The letter
implies previous correspondence, and a fragment ˙ ˙ of this earlier correspondence may
be found elsewhere in the Taqdima: see Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 342, where Abū Zurʿa
states: ‘Ishā q b. Rā hawayh wrote to me saying,˙“Do not be terrified by falsehood, for
falsehood ˙goes round and round and then it disappears.”’ If we take seriously Ishā q b.
Rā hawayh’s letter in which he speaks of his earlier correspondence and counsel, which ˙ I
do, then this might be a fragment from an earlier letter.
102 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

which I regard as authentic, reinforces our hypothesis of a proto-Sunni

traditionalist community operating and communicating with orally and
via texts across the regions of the early Islamic empire. This is evident not
only in the correspondence between Ishā q b. Rā hawayh and Abū Zurʿa
˙
al-Rā zı̄ , but also in the claim that other proto-Sunni traditionalists were
corresponding with one another and keeping one another informed of the
activities of their colleagues and peers. Furthermore, we might deduce
with good reason that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s role in the development of
˙
Abū Zurʿa’s proto-Sunni traditionalism would not have precluded a
transference of the former’s determined opposition to Abū Hanı̄ fa to
Abū Zurʿa. ˙
Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ ’s initial fondness for Abū Hanı̄ fa and the ahl al-ra’y
˙
meant that he had an insider’s knowledge of proto-Hanafism.270 It was this
early exposure, then, that provided him with the˙ necessary material to
attack Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious credibility. Abū ʿUthmā n al-Bardhaʿı̄
˙
(d. 292/905), who took care to record his conversations with both Abū
Hā tim and Abū Zurʿa, preserves some of this anti-Abū Hanı̄ fa material.271
˙
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ relates that he heard Abū Zurʿa declare Abu ˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa and his
two premier disciples to be Jahmı̄ s (a heretical label). He 272 ˙ tells another
anecdote in which his teacher, Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ , caught a glimpse of his
book and saw that it contained a hadı̄ th transmitted by Abū Hā tim on the
˙ ˙
authority of Abū Hanı̄ fa. This prompted a long dialogue between Abū
˙
Zurʿa and al-Bardhaʿı̄ in the presence of Abū Hā tim:273
˙
abū zurʿa: Who should be blamed for [citing] this hadı̄ th, you or Abū Hā tim?274
al-bardhaʿı̄ : I [am to blame]. ˙ ˙
abū zurʿa: How so?
al-bardhaʿı̄ : I forced him [Abū Hā tim] to relate the tradition, and there was a
relevant chapter, so he read it˙to me with some reluctance. I do remember,
however, that Abū Hā tim followed this up with some very harsh words which
I omitted from my book˙ at that time (li annı̄ jabartuhu ʿalā qirā ’atihi wa kā na
bā ban fa qara’ahu ʿalayya baʿd juhd fa qā la lı̄ qawlan ghalı̄ zan ansı̄ tuhu fı̄ kitā bı̄
dhā lika al-waqt). ˙

270
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ insinuates as much in Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 2: 723.
271
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , an important historian of hadı̄˙th learning in the eastern regions of the
medieval Islamic world, considered al-Bardhaʿı̄ ˙ a scholar of great standing and wide
acclaim: see al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 2: 782 (Riyadh edn.).
272
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 2: 570.
273
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙ uʿafā ’, 2: 717–22 (wa ra’ā Abū Zurʿa fı̄ kitā bı̄ hadı̄ than ʿan Abı̄
Hā tim ʿan shaykh lahu˙ʿan Ayyū b b. Suwayd ʿan Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa hadı̄ than musnidan, ˙ wa Abū
˙ ā tim jā lis ilā janbihi fa qā la lı̄ ).
H ˙ ˙
274 ˙
Man yuʿā tab ʿalā hā dhā , anta aw Abū Hā tim?
˙
 3.1 Stage Two (850–950) 103

At this point, al-Bardhaʿı̄ made a half-hearted attempt to justify to Abū

Zurʿa the inclusion of a hadı̄ th on the authority of Abū Hanı̄ fa. He said to
his teacher: ˙ ˙

al-bardhaʿı̄ : Ibrā hı̄ m b. Arū ma used to regard Abū Hanı̄ fa’s isnā ds to be reliable
(inna Ibrā hı̄ m b. Arū ma kā na yaʿnı̄ bi isnā d Abı̄ H˙anı̄ fa).
abū zurʿa: What a calamity! It was for this reason that ˙ our problem with Ibrā hı̄ m
became so grave. On what grounds did he [Ibrā hı̄ m] consider him [Abū
Hanı̄ fa] to be reliable? Was it on account of his [Abū Hanı̄ fa’s] large
˙
following or because of his mastery (innā li Allā h wa innā˙ ilayhi rā jiʿū n!
ʿazumat musı̄ batunā fı̄ Ibrā hı̄ m yaʿnı̄ bihi. Li ayy maʿnā yusaddiquhu? Li
˙ ʿihi? Li itqā
atbā ˙ nihi)? ˙
al-bardhaʿı̄ : At this point, Abū Zurʿa made some extremely harsh comments
about Ibrā hı̄ m which I have omitted here. Then he said (thumma dhakara
kalā man ghalı̄ zan fı̄ Ibrā hı̄ m lam ukhrijhu hā hunā thumma qā la).
abū zurʿa: May God ˙ have mercy upon Ahmad b. Hanbal. I have heard that his
heart was tormented by the hadı̄ ths he ˙had from ˙Muʿallā b. Mansū r, which he
was in desperate need of. After ˙ all, Muʿalla resembled the people ˙ of learning,
for he was an ardent student of knowledge who travelled in search of hadı̄ th,
and he was well respected on account of this. Ahmad showed the utmost ˙
forbearance with respect to these hadı̄ ths by not˙hearing a single letter of
them, and this in spite of the fact that˙ ʿAlı̄ b. al-Madı̄ nı̄ , Abū Khaythama, and
the rest of our companions heard hadı̄ th from him. And in what respect does
al-Muʿallā resemble Abū Hanı̄ fa?˙ Muʿallā was truthful (sadū q), whilst Abū
Hanı̄ fa would combine different ˙ hadı̄ ths (rahima Allā h ˙Ahmad b. Hanbal.
˙
Balaghanı̄ annahu kā na fı̄ qalbihi ghus ˙ as min ah˙ā dı̄ th zaharat˙ʿan al-Muʿallā
˙ b.
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Mansū r kā na yahtā ju ilayhā wa kā na al-Muʿallā ashbaha al-qawm bi ahl al-ʿilm
wa dhā˙ lika annahu˙ kā na tallā ban li al-ʿilm wa rahila wa ʿuniya bihi fa sabura
Ahmad ʿan tilka al-ahā dı̄ ˙th wa lam yasmaʿ minhu˙ harfan wa ammā ʿAlı̄˙ b. al-
˙ nı̄ wa Abū Khaythama
Madı̄ ˙ wa ʿā mmat ashā binā ˙samiʿū minhu wa ayy shay’
yashbihu al-Muʿallā min Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa: al-Muʿallā ˙˙ sadū q wa Abū Hanı̄ fa yasilu al-
ahā dı̄ th). ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
˙
al-bardhaʿı̄ : I think this is what Abū Zurʿa said or something to its effect (aw
kalima qā lahā Abū Zurʿa hā dhā maʿnā hā ).
abū zurʿa: Abū Hanı̄ fa related from Mū sā b. Abı̄ ʿĀ ’isha from ʿAbd Allā h b.
Shaddā d from˙ Jā bir from the Prophet, May God pray over him and grant him
peace. Then he added to the hadı̄ th on Jā bir’s authority: ‘The Quran is
created.’ He [Abū Hanı̄ fa] opposed ˙ the Messenger of God, may God pray
over him and grant ˙him peace, he disparaged the traditions, and he called
people to heresy and misguidance. So only an ignoramus would consider
someone who does all this to have reliable hadı̄ ths (haddatha ʿan Mū sā b. Abı̄
ʿĀ ’isha ʿan ʿAbd Allā h b. Shaddā d ʿan Jā bir˙ ʿan al-nabı̄ ˙ sallā Allā h ʿalayhi wa
˙ ’a khalfa, wa yaqū l:
sallama, fa zā da fı̄ al-hadı̄ th ʿan Jā bir, yaʿnı̄ hadı̄ th al-qirā
‘al-Qur’ā n makhlū q.’˙ Wa yaruddu ʿalā rasū ˙ l Allā h sallā Allā h ʿalayhi wa
sallama wa yastahzi’u bi al-ā thā r wa yadʿū ilā al-bidaʿ ˙wa al-dalā lā t. Thumma
yaʿnı̄ bi hadı̄ thihi mā yafʿalu hā dhā illā ghabı̄ jā hil). ˙
˙
104 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

al-bardhaʿı̄ : He said something along these lines. Then he began to vent his fury
against Ibrā hı̄ m, he mentioned the hadı̄ ths related by Abū Hanı̄ fa and
showed that they had no basis. . . . Finally, ˙ he said to me: ˙
abū zurʿa: Whoever says the Quran is created is an unbeliever, and only the
unbelievers consider reliable that which the unbelievers have transmitted (aw
nahwu mā qā la wa jaʿala yuharridu ʿalā Ibrā hı̄ m wa yadhkuru ahā dı̄ th min
˙ yat Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa lā asl lahā . . . thumma qā la lı̄ : man qā la al-Qur’ā˙ n makhlū q
riwā
˙ fa yaʿnı̄ bimā
fa huwa kā fir, ˙ asnada al-kuffā r ayy qawm hā ’ulā ’).

This long anecdote preserves one example of the countless interactions

that proto-Sunni traditionalists must have had with each other, peer to
peer and student to master. Hadı̄ th scholars kept notebooks and jotted
˙
down whatever information they deemed relevant and from authorities
that the hadı̄ th community regarded as orthodox. Al-Bardhaʿı̄ made the
˙
mistake of recording information transmitted by Abū Hanı̄ fa. He himself
˙
did not consider this to be a gross oversight, though he was cognisant of
proto-Sunni traditionalist unease with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s probity. He tells us
˙
how he compelled his teacher, Abū Hā tim, to relate a tradition from Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa to him and speaks of Abū Hā tim’s qualms over doing so. More
˙ ˙
than this, he recalls how Abū Hā tim narrated the tradition and then
˙
launched an attack on Abū Hanı̄ fa. Abū Zurʿa’s intervention provides
˙
an excellent illustration of the kind of self-regulation of orthodoxy that
was common in early Islamic society. Abū Zurʿa begins with a direct and
probing question, which signals his disapproval of what he finds in his
student’s notebook. Al-Bardhaʿı̄ , though, is an intrepid student and
proposes a justification for his inclusion of a hadı̄ th from Abū Hanı̄ fa on
the basis of another proto-Sunni traditionalist’s ˙ ˙
positive assessment of
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s transmission of hadı̄ ths. This riposte from al-Bardhaʿı̄ only
˙ ˙
makes matters worse, as Abū Zurʿa recites an invocation typically said
upon hearing disastrous news, such as the death of a pious person. Here,
Abū Zurʿa demonstrates his mastery as a proto-Sunni traditionalist. It
was, he tells his jejune student, for this very reason that he and his
colleagues took umbrage with Ibrā hı̄ m b. Arū ma. This kind of assessment
was enough to impugn Ibrā hı̄ m b. Arū ma’s credibility as a hadı̄ th
˙
scholar.275 Abū Zurʿa even seems to suggest that Ibrā hı̄ m’s judgement
was motivated by public pressure: namely, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s large following.
˙
Curiously, al-Bardhaʿı̄ chooses to omit a more serious diatribe that
Abū Zurʿa launched against Abū Hanı̄ fa. We might suppose that al-
˙
Bardhaʿı̄ had slightly more sympathy than his peers for Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙
his followers, for this is the second admission from him that he chose

275
He receives a positive entry in Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ , Dhikr akhbā r Isfahā n, ed. S.
Dedering (Leiden: Brill, 1931), 1: 184–5. ˙ ˙
 3.2 Stage Three (900–1000) 105

to omit vitriolic remarks made by his teachers against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
Nevertheless, Abū Zurʿa’s masterful tutorial in proto-Sunni traditional-
ism continues. He cites the illustrious example of Ahmad b. Hanbal. Even
˙ ˙
when other proto-Sunni traditionalists around him agreed to hear and
transmit traditions from a prominent proto-Hanafı̄ , al-Muʿallā b.
˙
Mansū r (d. 211/826–7), who unlike many other proto-Hanafı̄ s had an
˙ ˙
admirable grasp of hadı̄ th, still Ahmad b. Hanbal would hear not even a
˙ ˙ ˙
single tradition from him. As much as this pained Ahmad b. Hanbal, he
˙ ˙
could not bring himself to transmit traditions from someone who hap-
pened to be truthful but was tainted by his association with Abū Hanı̄ fa.
It seems that Abū Zurʿa practised what he preached, for we learn ˙that he
rebuked a scholar for citing a hadı̄ th from Abū Hanı̄ fa and then got up
˙ ˙
and left.276
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ ’s work reminds us, though, that Abū Zurʿa himself was a
student before he became a master. He was once in al-Bardhaʿı̄ ’s shoes,
seeking the guidance of his teachers concerning the religious credibility of
figures such as Abū Hanı̄ fa. Al-Bardhaʿı̄ recalls how he heard Abū Zurʿa
˙
say that he asked Abū Nuʿaym about some hadı̄ ths transmitted by Abū
Hanı̄ fa. 277
Likewise, al-Bardhaʿı̄ had learnt ˙from Abū Hā tim that Abū
˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa was incompetent in the science of transmitting hadı̄ th and regu-
˙ ˙
larly made mistakes in their isnā ds, even in the few hadı̄ ths that Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa claimed to know.278 In the end, Abū Zurʿa resorts to a simple
˙
and plain message: Abū Hanı̄ fa was a misguided heretic, and only people
˙
belonging to this category will transmit his traditions or teachings. This
conversation between Abū Zurʿa and al-Bardhaʿı̄ gives some sense of how
deep proto-Sunni traditionalist opposition to Abū Hanı̄ fa went. It is a
˙
classic account of how orthodoxy regulated and disciplined religious ideas
and of how, ultimately, orthodoxy worked.

3.2 Stage Three (900–1000)

Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ (d. 327/938)

˙
A central argument in this study is that orthodoxy was never static.
Something had changed between the time of Abū Hā tim and Abū
˙
Zurʿa, on the one hand, and Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, on the other. Ibn Abı̄
˙
Hā tim’s oeuvre does exhibit a discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙ ˙

276
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 2: 716–17.
277 ˙ uʿafā ’, 2: 753–4.
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ , Kitā b al-D
278 ˙ uʿafā ’, 2: 756 (Abū Hā tim relates an account he heard from
Al-Bardhaʿı̄ , Kitā b al-D
˙
Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna, wherein ˙ these traditions incorrectly to Sufyā n).
Abū Hanı̄ fa narrated
˙
106 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

but it does not display the acerbic character visible in the views of his
two teachers. He signals this at the outset of the Taqdima when he
describes the conflict between proto-Sunni traditionalists and Hanafı̄ s
˙
as ‘disagreement with respect to method’.279 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim is advancing
˙
a new perspective on the mnemohistory of Abū Hanı̄ fa. What was in the
˙
ninth century undoubtedly a discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa is
˙
being read by Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim in the tenth century as a methodological
˙
disagreement. The ninth-century sources this book has examined do
not frame hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa as a consequence of differing
˙
methods. Rather, they exhibit a unified chorus of discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa circulating among proto-Sunni traditionalists and
˙
ringing out from different corners of the early Islamic empire. The emer-
ging conclusion in the ninth century was that Abū Hanı̄ fa and his follow-
˙
ers stood outside proto-Sunni traditionalist conceptions of orthodoxy.
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim’s comparatively accommodating reading of discourses of
˙
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa is largely absent from the writings of earlier
˙
proto-Sunni traditionalists.280
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim presents Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers as subordinate
members of˙ the broad proto-Sunni ˙ orthodoxy of the early tenth century.
This much is clear in his programmatic introduction to his massive
biographical dictionary of hadı̄ th transmitters. The Taqdima seeks to
˙
justify the discipline of hadı̄ th criticism and to establish the religious
˙
superiority of hadı̄ th critics. In order to do this, he argues that Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa and his followers acknowledged the religious superiority of the
˙
hadı̄ th critics over themselves. Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim cites the example of Sufyā n
˙ ˙
al-Thawrı̄ , who was reported to have gone on record to say that he never
once went to Abū Hanı̄ fa with a question but that Abū Hanı̄ fa would visit
˙ ˙
him and seek out his response to a range of religious questions. Ibn Abı̄
Hā tim draws the following conclusion from this report:281
˙
This proves clearly that Abū Hanı̄ fa had this [esteemed] image (sū ra) of Sufyā n
˙ fa would have recourse to al-Thawrı̄
al-Thawrı̄ , such that Abū Hanı̄ ˙ to ask him
˙
questions that otherwise puzzled him. Abū Hanı̄ fa was pleased to regard al-
Thawrı̄ as a religious authority for himself and ˙ for others (radiyahu imā man li
nafsihi wa li ghayrihi). ˙

Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim is clearly reading an established discourse of heresy from
˙
which he carefully selects and omits information. Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim
˙
279
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 3 (al-ikhtilā f fı̄ al-madhhab). My reasons for interpreting the ahl
al-Hijā z ˙as proto-Sunni traditionalists and ahl al-Kū fa as Hanafı̄ s are based on the
˙
subsequent sentences in the Taqdima. ˙
280
See my note on Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n on pp. 75-76 above.
281 ˙
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 3.
˙
 3.2 Stage Three (900–1000) 107

interprets this material in a manner that conforms to his broader thesis

about where religious authority and orthodoxy is located. He does the
same for another figure central to proto-Sunni traditionalism, Mā lik b.
Anas. First, he cites a report that presents Abū Hanı̄ fa as eagerly jotting
˙
down material attributed to Mā lik b. Anas and dictated to him by one of
Mā lik b. Anas’s students, which he again interprets as evidence that Abū
Hanı̄ fa considered Mā lik b. Anas as a superior religious authority
˙
(radiyahu imā man li nafsihi wa li ghayrihi).282 Second, he furnishes reports
˙
in which al-Shaybā nı̄ admits that Mā lik b. Anas was more knowledgable
than Abū Hanı̄ fa about the Quran, Prophetic Sunna, and the views of the
Companions. ˙ 283 To make his point, he draws on a dialogue between al-
Shā fiʿı̄ and Abū Hanı̄ fa’s student al-Shaybā nı̄ :284
˙
al-shaybā nı̄ : Who was more knowledgeable, our master, meaning Abū Hanı̄ fa,
or your master, meaning Mā lik b. Anas? ˙
al-shā fiʿı̄ : Truthfully?
al-shaybā nı̄ : Yes, truthfully.
al-shā fiʿı̄ : I implore you by God, tell me, who had more knowledge of the
Quran, our master or your master?
al-shaybā nı̄ : Your master, Mā lik b. Anas.
al-shā fiʿı̄ : Who had more knowledge of the Sunna, our master or your master?
al-shaybā nı̄ : By God, your master, Mā lik b. Anas.
al-shā fiʿı̄ : I implore you by God, tell me, who had more knowledge of the
sayings of the Companions of the messenger of God, God pray over him
and grant him peace, and the sayings of the early scholars, our master or your
master?
al-shaybā nı̄ : Your master.
al-shā fiʿı̄ : There you have it. Nothing remains [for your master] except
analogical reasoning. But, even there, analogical reasoning is non-existent
unless it is based on these three sources. What is there for someone to employ
analogical reasoning upon if he does not even know the foundations?

Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim claims that this conversation was witnessed by ʿAbd al-
˙
Rahmā n, who extrapolated from it that al-Shaybā nı̄ had recognised the
˙
superior religious learning of Mā lik b. Anas over Abū Hanı̄ fa.285 Third,
˙
he contrasts the religious authority that Mā lik b. Anas had acquired
among communities in the ninth century with that of Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
Again, Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim employs the voice of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s pre-eminent
˙ ˙
disciple, al-Shaybā nı̄ , to drive home his point. He tells us that Shaybā nı̄
would recall how whenever he would transmit hadı̄ th from Mā lik b. Anas,
˙
282
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 3–4.
283 ˙ ā tim, Taqdima, 4, 12–13 and in Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā qi-
Ibn Abı̄ H
˙
buhu, 159–60, 201. ˙
284
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 4.
285 ˙ ā tim, Taqdima, 4, 11 (where a similar point is made).
Ibn Abı̄ H
˙
108 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

people would flock to him in droves and the place would fill up. However,
whenever he transmitted from other teachers only a small group would
gather.286
I would argue that the shift we see with Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim’s writings
˙
reflects a new development in the religious history of proto-Sunnism at
the beginning of the tenth century. The issues so central to the heresy-
making discourse of the ninth century are absent in Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim’s
˙
writings.287 We have no reports labelling Abū Hanı̄ fa a heretic. There is
˙
no employment of the language of disease to allude to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
heresies. Reports concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s repentance from heresy and
˙
supposed inquisition are nowhere to be seen. The semantic field of heresy
is not cited against Abū Hanı̄ fa. References to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s views on
˙ ˙
rebellion, which proto-Sunni traditionalists roundly attacked, are omit-
ted. Both the substance and style of Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim’s attitudes to Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa point to a conciliatory approach towards late ninth- and early
˙
tenth-century Hanafı̄ s. There seems to be an overt attempt by Ibn Abı̄
˙
Hā tim to write with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s followers in mind. He seems to be
˙ ˙
trying to convince them not of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s status as a heretic or deviant
scholar but rather as someone whose˙ religious authority was subordinate
to a constellation of exemplars of proto-Sunni orthodoxy; men such as
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , al-Shā fiʿı̄ , and Mā lik b. Anas. The aim of reaching out
to contemporary Hanafı̄ s, I would argue, motivated his adoption of softer
˙
themes within earlier discourses of heresy (juristic opinions and insuffi-
cient knowledge of hadı̄ th). It was out of this same desire that Ibn Abı̄
˙
Hā tim’s works jettison so many aspects integral to ninth-century dis-
˙
courses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim thus represents a
shift among some, though not˙ all, proto-Sunni˙ traditionalists in their
criticism of Abū Hanı̄ fa. This was a discourse that portrayed Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa as inferior to other proto-Sunnis but did not anathematise or
˙
exclude him from the emerging proto-Sunni orthodoxy. As such, it was
a major development towards the gradual evolution in proto-Sunni
views of Abū Hanı̄ fa, which would culminate in the tenth century with
˙
the apotheosis of Abū Hanı̄ fa as a representative of medieval Sunni
˙
orthodoxy.
However, the history of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa did
˙
not disappear with Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, and they certainly do not end in this
˙
monograph. Chapters 8 and 9 will explain some of the reasons for shifts in

286
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 4–5; Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā qibuhu, 173–4.
287
That is to˙ say, they are not found in all thirty-four
˙ anti-Hanafı̄ reports in Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim,
˙ 103, 105, 108, 110–12,
Ā dā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa manā qibuhu, 13–15, 36, 55, 73, 90, 102, ˙ 140,
153, 155, 164, 166, 170–4, 176, 201–3, 211, 212, 228, 239, 281, 282, 285, 286, 288,
290, 297–9, 301, 304, 306.
 3.2 Stage Three (900–1000) 109

proto-Sunni attitudes towards Abū Hanı̄ fa, in the way in which we have
˙
seen with Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim; whilst Chapter 10 will fill in the details con-
˙
cerning episodic attempts in the tenth–twelfth centuries to contest the
new consensus that secured Abū Hanı̄ fa’s reputation as an orthodox
˙
Sunni among a wider coalition of proto-Sunnis. At this point, however,
I should like to bring this long chapter to a close with some reflections on
my argument that the emergence of textual communities of orthodoxy
owed itself in large part to a conscious enterprise to articulate notions of
orthodoxy and heresy.
This chapter has drawn attention to the formation of orthodoxy through
the construction of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. In turn, this
˙
has shed new light on the emergence of a proto-Sunni traditionalist com-
munity as a network of shared interests distributed across the regions of the
early Islamic empire. The importance of proto-Sunni traditionalism lay in
the fact that it represented a textual community of orthodoxy, and to
appreciate the implications of its textual dominance we must reflect
on the fact that the rise of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa dove-
˙
tailed with a social and technological revolution in medieval Islamicate
288
societies. The introduction and spread of paper in the eighth and ninth
centuries precipitated a massive growth in the writing of texts. Caliphs,
wealthy patrons, bureaucrats, poets, theologians, jurists, subalterns, and
landowners all contributed to this new cultural formation. They all partici-
pated in a discursive sphere whose currency was not so much the power of
domination as the power of persuasion. Large-scale book production gave
a definitive character to new crafts, professions, and markets. In fact, an
entire economy emerged around this that necessitated paper mills, book-
sellers, libraries, and scribes. It is in this literary milieu that we can make
better sense, too, of the range of diverse opinions concerning the social
merits of writing and book production.289 From clarion calls among tradi-
tionalists to destroy books to al-Jā hiz’s paean of books, the formation of
˙ ˙
textual communities fostered new intellectual exchanges.290 This had

288
For a preliminary overview see Pedersen, The Arabic Book. A more critical account of the
introduction of paper into the medieval Islamic world can be found in Bloom, Paper
before Print, 42–89. See also Beeston, ‘Background Topics’, 22–6, though, pace Beeston,
note Bloom’s important note of caution regarding historical explanations for the intro-
duction of paper into the Islamic world.
289
For the argument against writing, see Cook, ‘The Opponents of the Writing of Tradition
in Early Islam’; Schoeler, The Oral and the Written in Early Islam, 111–41; Kister, ‘ . . . Lā
taqra’ū l-qur’ā na’. Concerning the destruction of books, see Melchert, ‘The Destruction
of Books by Traditionists’.
290
Goody, The Domestication of the Savage Mind, 36–51. For more general remarks on this
issue see Goody and Watt, ‘The Consequences of Literacy’, esp. 326 ff. A good deal of
Goody’s characterisations are overdrawn, and his suggestions for deep cognitive
110 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

profound effects on religious movements, community formation, and ideas

about orthodoxy and heresy.
The production of written works generated new opportunities for
articulating competing notions of religious orthodoxy. Discourses of
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, for example, reflected two different modes
˙
for articulating notions of heresy and orthodoxy. One level of criticism
occurred at the level of anecdotes and oral communication. As these
anecdotes moved from memory to the written record, they added a new
dimension to the way notions of orthodoxy and heresy could be articu-
lated, scrutinised, and expanded among social and religious networks.
Even after their movement from the oral to the written, anecdotes con-
tinued to circulate. However, the ability to record such material in written
compositions opened up new potentialities. Fleeting anecdotes that in
their oral mode assumed only a semi-permanent character were trans-
formed as they moved into texts to form stable propositions.291 The
tyranny of conceptual dichotomies such as oral and written has entered
into Islamic historiography, and this has unnecessarily reduced complex
historical processes to simple dichotomies. The transition from oral to
written was never complete, and al-Jā hiz’s attempt to convince his readers
˙ ˙
of the benefits of writing over audition does not do away with the latter
altogether. His argument, to be clear, is that book reading should out-
weigh one’s book hearing (fa al-insā n lā yaʿlamu hattā yakthura samā ʿuhu
˙
wa lā budda min an takū na kutubuhu akthar min samā ʿihi).292 This is one
development that seems to elude al-Jā hiz in his otherwise elegant paean of
˙ ˙
books. In Kitā b al-Hayawā n al-Jā hiz presents a manifesto for books and
˙ ˙ ˙
their role in the formation of cohesive societies and social practices. As

changes are radical. Similarly, Goody’s polarisation between oral and written modes of
communication is problematic (as is Schoeler’s). This has substantial ramifications for
the context that concerns us. Oral conventions were not swept aside during the peak of
religious writing in the ninth century, for example. This complementarity between the
oral and written is slightly closer to Clanchy and Stock’s perspectives (Clanchy, From
Memory to Written Record, 9; Stock, The Implications of Literacy, 13–18); but the theoret-
ical or interdisciplinary nature of scholarship on literacy, unsurprisingly, fails to speak to
the specific circumstances of early Islamic societies. Clanchy’s interpretation of writing
and its spread being linked to the ultimate trust and prestige accorded to it over oral
communication is in open contradiction to scholarly and professional norms throughout
the Islamic Middle Ages: see Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record, 294–327.
291
Schoeler’s research has often been taken to be the final word on orality and literacy in
early Islam, despite the fact that his findings tend to be under-theorised and move across
the disciplines of medieval Islam too swiftly. This is not the occasion to enter into a fuller
treatment, but my discussion here tries to fill in some of the gaps. Al-Azmeh, The Arabs
and Islam in Late Antiquity, 87–100 presents a convincing re-evaluation of Schoeler’s
distinction between hypomnē ma and syngramma.
292
Al-Jā hiz, Kitā b al-Hayawā n, ed. ʿAbd al-Salā m Muhammad Hā rū n (Beirut: Dā r al-
Kitā b˙ al-ʿArabı̄
˙ ˙
, 1966), ˙
1: 50–102. See now the indispensable companion to al-Jā hiz’s
oeuvre: Montgomery, al-Jā hiz, 161–7. ˙ ˙
˙ ˙
 3.2 Stage Three (900–1000) 111

attentive as he is to the social implications of writing, al-Jā hiz says nothing

˙ ˙
about the relationship between writing and orthodoxy. I would suggest,
though, that al-Jā hiz was well aware of the consequences of writing for
˙ ˙
group formation and discourses of orthodoxy and heresy in the ninth
century. Towards the end of Kitā b al-Hayawā n he is forced to clarify that
˙
his book does not serve the purpose of articulating notions of orthodoxy
and heresy, matters that otherwise overwhelmed the book market in a
moment of intense factionalism in ʿAbbā sid society.293 He fails to men-
tion this in the first volume because it undermines his thesis that books
and their composition provided an escape from intense factionalism and
participation, and were the hallmark of cohesive societies.
The growth of writing encouraged a culture of examination that
necessitated a consistent vocabulary that permeated the intellectual
culture of religious communities as far as Khurā sā n and North Africa.
It demanded deliberate steps of logic, explanation, and critique. New
rules for intellectual engagement were slowly being formed.294 With
written compositions, textual communities were developing techniques
to argue and build consensus. Textual communities, as we have seen in
the case of proto-Sunni traditionalists, were sharing, exchanging, dis-
seminating, meeting, and copying from one another at a time when
proto-Sunnism was less a bland consensus than a scene of ferocious
contention and debate. That it to say, textual communities were caught
up in the process of community and identity formation.295 And whilst
orthodoxy may not have necessitated written modes of communication,
these nevertheless extended the orthodoxy of the statement to the
orthodoxy of the book.296
In conclusion, the formation of textual communities is so important to
the evolution of Sunnism in general, and to discourses of heresy specifically,
because it ensured that memories and anecdotes were recorded in texts.
One view is that these writings were written by religious elites and therefore

293
Al-Jā hiz, Kitā b al-Hayawā n, 7: 7–8.
294
This is˙ ˙evident in ˙the granularity with which scholars addressed the rules of dialectics.
See Karabela, ‘The Development of Dialectic and Argumentation’; Young, The
Dialectical Forge.
295
The implications of writing and texts that I am emphasising here are not treated in the
secondary literature I have consulted, though important discussions on tangential issues
can be found in Calder, Studies in Early Muslim Jurisprudence, 161–97; Toorawa, Ibn Abı̄
Tā hir Tayfū r, 11–34; Schoeler, The Genesis of Literature in Islam, 40–53; and Rosenthal,
˙
‘“Of ˙
Making Many Books There is no End”’.
296
I have benefited immensely from the magisterial work of Stock, The Implications of
Literacy, 88–150 (‘Literacy and early heresy’), esp. 98–101. Christopher Melchert’s
analysis of the role of texts and the teaching of doctrine approaches this phenomenon
from a different angle: Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 60–8.
112 Discourses of Heresy II (850–950)

represent the views of a single layer of early Islamic society. On the other
hand, Louis Gernet (and, more recently, Peter Brown) has reminded us in
his study of piety in ancient Greece that religious elites and their writings
function as exemplifications of the broader trends and ideas permeating a
society. That is to say, religious elites do not invent as much as they render
explicit what many others think.297 We do not have to look further than the
great social commentator of the tenth century al-Tanū khı̄ to understand the
consequences of texts, as well as their relationship to the wider beliefs held
by members of early Islamic societies. He writes in his Nishwā r al-muhā dara:
˙ ˙
‘It is my purpose to collect in this work such stories as are current on men’s
lips and which have not yet been transferred from the custody of their
memories to perpetuation in notebooks.’298 Proto-Sunni traditionalists of
the ninth century who were committed to articulating a conception of
orthodoxy through focusing on discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
exhibited a self-awareness of the opportunities this opened up for proto-
Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy. Al-Humā ydı̄ ’s defiant statement, ‘as long as
I am in the Hijā z, Ahmad [b. Hanbal] is in Iraq, and Ishā q [b. Rā hawayh] is
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
in Khurā sā n, we will never be defeated’, is sufficient evidence of this.299 It is
no coincidence that these three men were all friends and on good terms with
one another, wrote books, articulated a transregional vision of proto-Sunni
orthodoxy, played a pivotal role in discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙
and believed that the fight for orthodoxy would be fought to the death.

297
Gernet, Le génie grec dans la religion, 306; Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle, xxiii–xxiv.
This understanding of religious elites and their relationship to society is relevant and
particular to the study of texts produced by religious elites. Sociological theories of elites
in the context of politics and government, however, operate on an entirely different
understanding as to the role of governing and non-governing elites in the age of mass
society. See Mosca, The Ruling Class; Pareto, The Rise and Fall of Elites.
298
Al-Tanū khı̄ , Nishwā r al-muhā dara wa akhbā r al-mudhā kara, ed. ʿAbbū d al-Shā ljı̄
˙ ˙ 7 = The Table-Talk of a Mesopotamian Judge, trans.
(Beirut: Dā r Sā dir, 1995 [1973]),
˙
D. S. Margoliouth (London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1922), 1. As readers of al-Tanū khı̄ ’s
introduction will recognise, he frames his own work explicitly as an attempt to transfer
the oral to the written. Readers should note that I have followed Margoliouth’s transla-
tion: he added supplements in italics because of the fragmentary nature of the first page
of the manuscript.
299
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 10: 619.
 Part II

Heresy and Society

So far we have gained some understanding of the extent and range of

discourses of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa. We have sketched its histor-
˙
ical evolution, its main progenitors, and the connections between them.
The aim of subsequent chapters is to document the ways in which
discourses of heresy and orthodoxy were embedded in wider social and
historical phenomena. This is a departure from the manner in which the
history of orthodoxy and heresy in Islam is typically written.
The traditional framework for studying orthodoxy and heresy in
Islamic history remains beholden to the heresiographical sources, an
approach exemplified by Josef van Ess’s monumental survey of the
genre.1 Medieval heresiography, however, proposes neat historicisations
of confessional dogmas, and nowhere is this clearer than in theological
genealogies of heresies and heresiarchs that heresiographers sketch.
Heresiographers and heresiographies are by no means uniform. Still,
the majority of such texts adhere to certain forms and literary structures
which do not lend themselves to an examination of the complex and wide-
ranging evolution of discourses of heresy and orthodoxy in medieval
Islamicate societies.2 This has not prevented both Islamicists and non-
Islamicists writing comparative histories of orthodoxy and heresy from
using heresiography as their central guide to orthodoxy and heresy in
Islam.3

1
Van Ess, Der Eine und das Andere.
2
Patricia Crone has written a fine study of religion and rebellion in medieval Iran (Crone,
The Nativist Prophets of Early Islamic Iran), but I find it astonishing that a historian who has
done so much to caution students and colleagues about the perils of early Islamic sources
relies so heavily on medieval Muslim heresiography to write the history of nativist rebel-
lions in medieval Iran. Crone would probably respond (as she did to me during our
conversations in Princeton in 2012) that heresiographers were some of the only people
interested in telling us about the beliefs of these otherwise enigmatic personalities and
movements. Still, this approach has serious shortcomings. It is telling, for instance, that
taxation and the economy are almost entirely absent in her history of revolts and social
unrest in eighth–ninth century Iran. Find me a heresiographer interested in taxation.
3
Henderson, The Construction of Orthodoxy and Heresy; Ames, Medieval Heresies.

113
114 Part II

I approach the history of orthodoxy from a study of discourses of

heresy, and I do so from the vantage point of a historian. This part of
the monograph is concerned with teasing out the connections between
discourses of heresy and social developments and beliefs in medieval
Islamicate societies. This may sound like a straightforward historical
exercise but the fact is that, unlike colleagues in the field of late antique
studies or medieval history, I do not have the benefit of a running start.
Consider, for example, that even a classic as dated as Ernst Troeltsch’s
Die Soziallehren der christlichen Kirchen und Gruppen has no equivalent in
the field of Islamic Studies and History.
It is important for historians of Islam to remind themselves that, though
modern disciplinary boundaries between the religious, the social, and the
political are necessary for the growth of knowledge and specialisation in
the modern academy, imposing them onto medieval societies is a patent
error.4 It is an almost irresistible impulse for historians to impose the
artificial boundaries that distinguish modern professional disciplines in
the academy from each other onto the map of medieval Islamicate soci-
eties. This has the result of treating medieval poetry as a subject of
literature, heresy and orthodoxy as subjects of theology and religious
studies, rebellion as a matter of interest for the political historian, legal
debates the purview of legal historians, and ethnicity and language as
belonging to the realm of the social and cultural historian. This study, but
in particular this part of it, insists on the artificiality of such boundaries
in medieval Islamicate societies. Where I am forced to distinguish my
discussion of discourses of heresy pertaining to jurisprudence, hadı̄ th,
˙
theology, and piety it is purely for organisational purposes. Although it
should be clear to readers of this section, it bears reminding that this study
does not support artificial boundaries between social and religious
spheres of life.5
In what follows, I document ways in which discourses of heresy and the
formation of orthodoxy cannot be disentangled from medieval mentalités
and regional historical developments (Chapter 4); from constructions of
ethnicity, genealogy, and language, as well as developments in conversion
to Islam and the effect this had on ritual prayer in the eastern provinces
of the early Islamic empire (Chapter 5); from the history of the medieval
state, rebellions, and the rise of provincial dynasties in eastern Iran

4
Abbott, Chaos of Disciplines, 121–56.
5
A similar approach can be seen in two classics of medieval European history: Troeltsch,
Gesammelte Schriften I, 370 = The Social Teachings of the Christian Churches, 1: 336;
Ladurie, Montaillou. For a succinct review of the historiographies of heresy in medieval
European history see Stock, The Implications of Literacy, 92–101.
 Heresy and Society 115

(Chapter 6); nor from developments in jurisprudence, hadı̄ th, doctrine,

˙
and conceptions of piety (Chapter 7).
A detailed examination of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
documents a total view of the history of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval
Islamicate societies in which social, political, cultural, and religious
themes do not exist independently of one another. The fact that these
themes cohere in proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy is a
strong indication of this total view of heresy and orthodoxy. It is the
task of these subsequent chapters to document the wider relationship
between discourses of heresy and society.
4 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

Our failure to explore the deeper mentalités that governed medieval

Islamicate societies has limited our understanding of how the categories
of orthodoxy and heresy were deployed in the eighth and ninth centuries.
The rigid structures of the heresiographical genre, which have informed
most contemporary scholarship on medieval heresy and orthodoxy, have
much to say about the central roles of law and doctrine (orthodoxy), on
the one hand, and ritual and practice (orthopraxy), on the other.6 This is
one reason why the debate about conceptions of orthodoxy and heresy in
medieval Islam has centred around orthopraxy and orthodoxy and deter-
mining which of these two approaches best characterises medieval Islam.
It is important to remember, though, that these practices and beliefs were
embedded within an emerging cultural order that, in turn, rested upon a
particular social construction of reality.7 Law and ritual are more recog-
nisable to historians today as boundary markers and fields of distinction
because they still resonate strongly with modern conceptions of how
societies and groups operate. The long labour of ‘disenchantment’,
which for Max Weber was the fundamental chasm between pre-modern-
ity and modernity, has made redundant many medieval structures of
reality. The world that (most) medieval Muslims inhabited and imagined
constitutes a foreign country for modern historians.8 Our conception of
the categories of orthodoxy and orthopraxy, narrowly defined as doxa
and praxis, represents only one aspect of the framework of heresy that
dominated medieval religions and societies.9

6
See this study’s Introduction. 7 Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, 164.
8
For medieval dissenting voices on medieval mentalités that were deemed to be ‘irrational’
and ‘mythical’, see, as an example, Abū al-Fadl Bayhaqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh-i Bayhaqı̄ , ed. ʿAlı̄ Akbar
Fayyā d (Mashhad: Mu’assasah-i Chā p va ˙Intishā rā t-i Dā nishgā h-i Firdaws, 1963),
666–67.˙
9
This attempt to capture aspects of the representation and social construction of reality,
based on the writings of medieval Muslims, has been the common thread of a long
tradition of sociological thought, where it has sometimes acquired both an analytical
and a programmatic function. See Bourdieu, Distinction, 482–3; Berger and Luckmann,
The Social Construction of Reality, 110–46, where the analysis establishes the propinquity

117
118 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

As historians of the medieval world, we risk misreading the societies

and groups we study – the discourses of heresy that form the subject of
this chapter – if we fail to examine what role wider aspects of medieval
Muslim mentalités played in the construction of heresy and heresiological
discourses. This chapter, therefore, examines the broader relationship
between heresy and society. It explains how discourses of heresy concern-
ing Abū Hanı̄ fa were articulated around a wider set of themes and
˙
intertwined with a range of social motifs and discursive mentalités.10
My investigation concentrates on the extent to which discourses of heresy
were anchored in beliefs about the sacred and profane nature of places
and regions, which in turn drew on medieval beliefs about holy and
unholy regions, the divine curse, and the devil’s role in society.
To illustrate the connection between regionalism and heresy, I analyse
al-Fasawı̄ ’s chapter on Kufa and Abū Hanı̄ fa in his ninth-century history,
˙
Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh. Chapter 3 of this book included an examin-
ation of the discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history.
˙
As I mentioned there, al-Fasawı̄ ’s discourse of heresy comprises forty-three
hostile reports against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Six of these explicitly accuse Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa of heresy (kufr and zandaqa). The reports on Abū Hanı̄ fa belong
˙ ˙
to a chapter entitled ‘What has been related about Kufa, Abū Hanı̄ fa, al-
˙
Aʿmash, and others’. The attack on Abū Hanı̄ fa is prefaced by a lengthy
˙
description of Kufa as an unholy region. The strategy of establishing a link
between unholy regions and deviant scholars is nowhere clearer than in al-
Fasawı̄ ’s chapters on specific regions of the early Islamic empire.
In this chapter, I argue that al-Fasawı̄ ’s description of Kufa as an
unholy region is designed to provide a framework for his invective against
Abū Hanı̄ fa in the same chapter. In al-Fasawı̄ ’s work we can discern a
˙

between conceptual machineries of the symbolic universe and their social structures, but
is too dogmatic in its emphasis on legitimisation in the social world, which serves to draw
too sharp a distinction between mentalités and society. Such sharp distinctions do not
represent how many medieval religious communities conceived of the organisation of the
world: see the brief remarks of von Martin, The Sociology of the Renaissance, 19. The
origins of this broader structure and its eventual collapse were sketched by Karl Jaspers.
See Jaspers, The Origin and Goal of History, 4, 55 for its emergence, and 127 for a dramatic
obituary: ‘The essential fact is: There is no longer anything outside. The world is closed.
The unity of the earth has arrived.’ The study of such mentalités in the humanities and
social sciences are the subject of three excellent chapters in Bellah and Joas (eds.), The
Axial Age, 146–90, 277–93, and 430–66.
10
My approach to medieval mentalités is informed by the following works: Hutton, ‘The
History of Mentalities’; Burke, ‘Reflections on the Historical Revolution in France’;
Hobsbawm, ‘Comment’; Le Goff, ‘Mentalities’. The relationship between cultural his-
tory and the history of mentalités is disputed. See Darnton’s criticisms of French histori-
ography in ‘Intellectual and Cultural History’. Christian Lange has made an important
contribution to the history of mentalités in the field of medieval Islamic history: Lange,
Justice, Punishment and the Medieval Muslim Imagination, 15–18.
 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy 119

kind of historiography that specialists of local-history writing in the medi-

eval Islamic world have neglected. Al-Fasawı̄ ’s dismissal of Kufa as an
unholy region articulates a number of key features of medieval Islamic
mentalités, and my chapter explores how these social motifs and beliefs
helped to determine conceptions of heresy in al-Fasawı̄ ’s ninth-century
history. I hope it will impress upon historians the necessity to formulate a
broader conceptualisation of heresy: one that accounts for the porous
boundaries between religion, society, and the imagination in medieval
Islamic societies. Since this chapter aims to demonstrate how al-Fasawı̄
depicts Kufa as an unholy region that cultivated heretical figures and ideas,
we must begin by exploring how medieval Muslims conceived of the routes
and realms of the medieval Islamicate world as sacred or profane.
There is a degree of homogeneity in the way in which medieval local
historians and scholars wrote about cities and towns.11 When local histor-
ians composed works about particular regions, they did so because they
wanted to communicate the virtues and merits of their particular locales.12
If it was not a selfless act of regional patriotism, provincial rulers were
always ready to support and extend patronage to scholars writing about the
lands that they governed.13 In addition to rulers, we can reasonably assume
that indigenous populations would have welcomed celebratory accounts of
their towns’ sacred and holy past, fine production of religious scholars and
saints, and mesmerising accounts of their landscapes and landmarks.14
Historians and geographers also were keen to add flavour and intrigue to
their accounts of regions by highlighting peculiarities and fascinating
details about particular places and their inhabitants.15

11
The objectives of medieval administrative geographers differed from those of local
historians, and even among the former group motives diverged. Al-Muqaddası̄ , for
example, wanted to be remembered by posterity, and realised that aiming for the widest
possible readership was the best way to go about achieving this, ‘so that travellers,
merchants, righteous and elect individuals, kings and élites, judges and jurists, laity and
leaders would find the book to be indispensable (wa ʿalimtu annahu bā b lā budda minhu li
al-musā firı̄ n wa al-tujjā r . . . al-sā lihı̄ n wa al-akhyā r . . . al-mulū k wa al-kubarā ’ . . . al-qudā t
wa al-fuqahā ’ . . . al-ʿā mma wa˙ al-ru’asā
˙ ’)’: al-Muqaddası̄ , Ahsan al-taqā sı̄ m fı̄ maʿrifat ˙al-
aqā lı̄ m, 2nd ed., ed. M. J. de Goeje (Leiden: Brill, 1906), 2.˙
12
For a list of local histories see Ibn Funduq, Tā rı̄ kh-i Bayhaq, ed. Ahmad Bahmanyā r
(Tehran: Kitā bfurū shı̄ Furū ghı̄ dar Chā pkhā neh-yi Islā miyya, 1938), ˙20–1. On motives
for composing such works see Shaykh al-Islā m al-Wā ’iz and ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad b.
al-Qā sim al-Husaynı̄ , Fadā ’il-i Balkh, ed. ʿAbd al-H˙ ayy Habı̄ bı̄ (Tehran: Intisha ˙ ̄ rā t-i
˙
Bunyā d-i Farhang-i Irā n,˙ 1971), 9–10; al-Sahmı̄ , Tā˙rı̄ kh Jurjā ˙ n, 43–4; Anon., Tā rı̄ kh-i
Sistā n (Tehran: Kitā bkhā na-i Zawwā r, n.d), 1–2.
13
For al-Jaʿfar al-Narshakhı̄ ’s (d. after 322/943) dedication to the Sā mā nid ruler Nū h b.
Nasr (r. 331–43/942–54) see al-Narshakhı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh-i Bukhā rā , ed. Mudarris Riz˙ avı̄
˙
(Tehran: n.p, 1984), 1. ˙
14
Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ , Dhikr akhbā r Isfahā n, 1.
15
Zakariyyā ’ b. Muh ˙ ammad b. Mahmū d˙ al-Qazwı̄ nı̄ , Ā thā r al-bilā d wa akhbā r al-ʿibā d
(Beirut: Dā r Sā dir,˙ n.d.). ˙
˙
120 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

Increasingly, between the ninth and eleventh centuries, this interest in

producing local histories acquired a new sense of urgency as the notion of
a strong, centralised state gave way to the fractious reality of the Islamic
commonwealth.16 Zayde Antrim has argued convincingly that this new
political reality, the fragmentation of political power, had an important
role to play in the genesis of a discourse of place, which gave Muslims a
powerful language with which to assert connectivity and belonging.17
Still, as important as such political upheavals might have been, it is
worth recognising that we can assign to political fragmentation too
important a role in the making and production of local history writing.
Connectivity and belonging can be interpreted more broadly.
This would require positing a more complex relationship between political
centres and regional provinces in such a way that historians avoid reducing
articulations of regional pride to vibrant responses to the enervated presence
of the imperial centre. We might have to assert for the imperial centre a more
muted role when studying the construction of holy and unholy discourses
about regions – without, however, relegating political developments to the
margins. After all, this chapter, too, raises the relationship between political
upheaval in Iraq and discourses of unholy regions and heretics in the ninth
century. Nonetheless, we might wish to reassert the centrality of social ideas
and beliefs about particular regions. In so doing, we will see that expressions
of fealty to particular places and deep hostility to others owed as much to
potent medieval beliefs and mentalités about physical locations, the inhabit-
ants of specific towns, antediluvian histories, and medieval mentalités about
the sacred and profane as they did to the disembodiment of the early Islamic
empire and the emergence of a commonwealth of regionalisms in its place;
and it is the importance of these elements in al-Fasawı̄ ’s depiction of Kufa
that I want to demonstrate in the rest of this chapter.

4.1 Holy and Unholy Regions in al-Fasawı̄ ’s History

Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n al-Fasawı̄ ’s (d. 277/890) Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh
shows a lively interest in local towns and cities.18 Both the organisation and
content of the history demonstrate an acute concern with the peculiarities

16
On this process see Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates, 156–210;
Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 2: 12–62; Morgan, Medieval Persia, 19–24.
17
Antrim, Routes and Realms, 144.
18
Al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh certainly belongs to the genre of traditionalist
history, but there remains a puzzle over the work’s organisation and diverse content. Its
title is an associated problem, but there is a possibility that works of this kind were common
among proto-Sunni traditionalists. Some bibliographical sources attribute to Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-
Jarrā h (d. 196–7/812–13) a work with the identical title: see Ziriklı̄ , al-Aʿlā m: qā mū s tarā jim li
ashhar ˙ al-rijā l wa al-nisā ’ min al-ʿArab wa al-mustaʿribı̄ n wa al-mustashriqı̄ n (Beirut: Dā r al-ʿIlm
 4.1 Holy and Unholy Regions in al-Fasawı̄ ’s History 121

of towns, regional differences, holy and unholy places, and the role of the
ʿulamā ’ in adding to (or detracting from) the prestige and sanctity of
regions. Al-Fasawı̄ ’s early life and career help to explain this alertness to
the power and pedigree of particular regions. Abū Yū suf Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n
b. Juwwā n al-Fasawı̄ was born in the small town of Fasā in the last decade
of the eighth century. Fasā was a small district in the province of Fā rs,
located to the south-west of Shı̄ rā z and to the west of Dā rā bjird.19
According to some historians, Fasā was home to only a few notable
scholars, although it was considered to be a veritable domain of proto-
Sunnism (fa inna Shı̄ rā z wa Istakhr wa Fasā al-ghā lib ʿalayhim madhā hib ahl
˙˙
al-jamā ʿa).20 For most historians and geographers of Fā rs, al-Fasawı̄ stood
out as a man of vast learning and deep piety. But he would also gain a
reputation for his wide travels as a young student and, later, as a learned
scholar in the regions of the early Islamic empire.21

li al-Malā yı̄ n, 1979), 8: 177–8; Ismā ʿı̄ l Pā shā al-Baghdā dı̄ , Hadiyyat al-ʿā rifı̄ n: asmā ’ al-
mu’allifı̄ n wa al-musannifı̄ n (Beirut: Dā r Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-ʿArabı̄ , 1955), 2: 500.
19
Al-Mutahhar b. T˙ ā hir al-Maqdı̄ sı̄ , Kitā˙b al-Bad’ wa al-tā rı̄ kh, ed. M. C. Huart (Paris:
Ernest ˙Leroux, 1907), ˙ 4: 50–1; Ibn al-Athı̄ r, al-Kā mil fı̄ al-tā rı̄ kh (Beirut: Dā r Sā dir, 1966),
9: 650, where Ibn al-Athı̄ r notes the original Persian pronunciation,˙ Basā ; Ibn
Khurradā dhbih, Kitā b al-Masā lik wa al-mamā lik, ed. M. J. De Goeje (Leiden: Brill,
1889), 45–6; Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Jacut’s Geographisches Wörterbuch: aus den Handschriften
zu Berlin (Kitā b Muʿjam˙ al-buldā n) (Leipzig: In Commission bei F. A. Brockhaus, 1886–
73), 1: 608–9, 2: 560, 3: 891–2, where Yā qū t provides a fuller description of Fasā and
singles out al-Fasawı̄ by way of illustrating the town’s production of scholars; Abū Ishā q al-
Fā risı̄ al-Istakhrı̄ , Kitā b al-Masā lik wa al-mamā lik, ed. M. J. De Goeje (Leiden: Brill, 1870), ˙
108, 127–8, ˙ ˙ who adds that Fasā was the second largest province of Fā rs after Shı̄ rā z.
20
On Fasā ’s scholars see al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 10: 222–5 (Hyderabad edn.) = 9: 305–8
(Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya edn.). On the region’s hospitality to proto-Sunnism see al-
Istakhrı̄ , Kitā b al-Masā lik wa al-mamā lik, 139. Al-Muqaddası̄ shows some enthusiasm for
˙ ˙ ̄ in his Ahsan al-taqā sı̄ m, 420–1.
Fasa
21
On al-Fasawı̄˙ see Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Kitā b Muʿjam al-buldā n, 3: 892; al-Rā mahurmuzı̄ ,
al-Muhaddith al-fā sil bayn al-rā˙ wı̄ wa al-wā ʿı̄ , ed. Muhammad ʿAjā j al-Khatı̄ b (Beirut:
˙
Dā r al-Fikr, ˙ 230 (jamaʿa bayn al-ʿIrā q wa al-Jazı̄
1971), ˙ ra wa Misr wa al-Shā ˙ m); Ibn
Nuqta, al-Taqyı̄ d, 2: 314–16 (tā fa al-bilā d). Ibn Nuqta provides a ˙detailed itinerary of
˙
al-Fasawı̄ ’s studies and teachers.˙ It is very likely that˙ Ibn Nuqta was relying on al-
Fasawı̄ ’s Mashyakha for this information. Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄˙, Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b,
11: 386 (Hyderabad edn.); al-Mizzı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b ˙al-kamā l, 32: 324–35; Ibn Yū nus al-
Sadafı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Ibn Yū nus al-Sadafı̄ [Tā rı̄ kh al-Misriyyı̄ n and Tā rı̄ kh al-Ghurabā ’], ed.
˙
ʿAbd ˙
al-Fattā h Fathı̄ ʿAbd al-Fatta ̄ h (Beirut: Dā r ˙al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 2000), 2: 258;
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā ˙ b˙ al-Thiqā t, 9: 287; ˙ al-Dhahabı̄ , Tadhkirat al-huffā z, 2: 582–3; al-
Dhahabı̄ ˙ , Siyar, 13: 180–4; Ibn Kathı̄ r, al-Bidā ya wa al-nihā ya ˙(Damascus: ˙ Dā r Ibn
Kathı̄ r, 2010), 11:320–1; Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 4.2: 208; al-Nā bulusı̄ , Ikhtisā r
Tabaqā t al-Hanā bila, ed. Ahmad ʿUbayd ˙ ˙ ˙
(Damascus: al-Maktaba al-ʿArabiyya, ˙
˙
1930), ˙
2: 432; Ibn al-Athı̄ r, ˙al-Lubā b fı̄ tahdhı̄ b al-ansā b (Baghdad: Maktabat al-
Muthannā , n.d.), 2: 432; Ibn al-Athı̄ r, al-Kā mil fı̄ al-tā rı̄ kh, ed. Abū al-Fidā ’ ʿAbd al-
Qā dı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1987), 6: 360, where, in this edition, he is
˙
described as Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n b. Hawwā n al-Sarı̄ ; Ibn al-Jazarı̄ , Ghā yat al-nihā ya fı̄
˙
tabaqā t al-qurrā ’, ed. Gotthelf Bergsträßer (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ , 1932–3; repr.
˙Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 2006), 2: 339; Ibn Manzū r, Mukhtasar Tā rı̄ kh
Dimashq li Ibn ʿAsā kir, ed. Sukayna al-Shihā bı̄ (Damascus: Da ˙ ̄ r al-Fikr, ˙1989), 28:
122 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

Al-Fasawı̄ left Fasā and began his travels to collect hadı̄ th in his late
˙
teens. According to hadı̄ th manuals from the tenth and eleventh centuries,
˙
hadı̄ th study in earnest would begin most commonly between the ages of
˙
fifteen and twenty, so al-Fasawı̄ ’s career is nothing out of the ordinary.22
Al-Fasawı̄ tells us of his journey to Mecca in 216/831, where his scholarly
sojourn extended to four months. After this, he departed for Egypt. He
moved on to Damascus in 217/832, but he was back in Mecca for the
greater pilgrimage in 218/833. He returned to Damascus and spent time in
the region of Shā m. For the next thirty years al-Fasawı̄ would study and
collect hadı̄ th in Mecca, Egypt, Damascus, Hims, Palestine, ʿAsqalā n,
˙
Basra, Balkh, and Khurā sā n. He seems to have ˙remained
˙ aloof from polit-
ical life, but he became embroiled, unwittingly, in some controversy during
his stay in the province of Fā rs during the reign of the Saffā rid ruler Yaʿqū b
˙
b. Layth (r. 265/879–287/900), where he was summoned to clarify his
views regarding the third caliph, ʿUthmā n b. ʿAffā n. As it turned out,
Yaʿqū b b. Layth’s concern was misplaced. Our sources tell us that, upon
realising that al-Fasawı̄ had said something untoward about ʿUthmā n b.
ʿAffā n, Yaʿqū b dismissed the matter, revealing that he was worried only
because he thought al-Fasawı̄ had disparaged Abū Muhammad ʿUthmā n
˙
b. ʿAffā n al-Sijzı̄ : ‘What concern do I have for the companion of the
Prophet?’, said Yaʿqū b; ‘I thought he [al-Fasawı̄ ] was speaking about
ʿUthmā n b. ʿAffā n al-Sijzı̄ .’23 Al-Fasawı̄ died in Basra in 277/890.24

44–6; Ibn ʿImā d, Shadharā t al-dhahab, 3: 321–2; al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 9: 305 (Cairo
edn.) and 10: 222–5 (Hyderabad edn.). Christopher Melchert has published an import-
ant article in which he examines al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh to document
the development of different regional trends in early Islamic law: see Melchert, ‘How
Hanafism Came to Originate in Kufa’. Tor, Violent Order, 145–6, mentions al-Fasawı̄ in
˙ context of an incident involving him and the Saffā rids.
the
22
On the age of hadı̄ th study see al-Rā mahurmuzı̄˙, al-Muhaddith al-fā sil, 185–200; al-
Khatı̄ b al-Baghda ˙ ̄ dı̄ , al-Kifā ya fı̄ ʿilm al-riwā ya (Hyderabad:
˙ ˙ al-Maʿā rif al-
Dā ’irat
˙ ̄ niyya, 1938), 54–6, where both authors are keen to point out regional variations
ʿUthma
with respect to the age of hadı̄ th study. See also Bulliet, ‘The Age Structure of Medieval
Islamic Education’, esp. 108–9. ˙ It is worth noting that Bulliet’s conclusions about the age
of hadı̄ th study, based on his statistical interpretation of a twelfth-century biographical
˙
dictionary of Nı̄ shā pū r, are completely at odds with both al-Rā mahurmuzı̄ and al-
Khatı̄ b’s discussions. Additionally, Bulliet’s failure to cite any primary sources through-
˙ article makes his conclusions difficult to accept.
out the
23
On al-Sijzı̄ see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , al-Muttafiq wa al-muftariq, ed. Muhammad Sā diq
(Damascus: Dā r al-Qa ˙ ̄ dirı̄ , 1997), 3: 1615–16; Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙ uʿafā ’ wa
˙ al-
matrū kı̄ n (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1986), 2: 170–1; Ibn al-Jawzı̄˙, Talqı̄ h fuhū m
ahl al-athar fı̄ ʿuyū n al-tā rı̄ kh wa al-siyar (Cairo: Maktabat al-Ā dā b, 1975), 619. ˙ This
anecdote reads like an anti-Saffā rid story stemming from Tā hirid–Saffā rid rivalry over
claims to superior Sunnism in ˙ Khurā sā n in the ninth century.
˙ ˙
24
There are conflicting opinions about both his death date and where he died. See Ibn
Manzū r, Mukhtasar Tā rı̄ kh Dimashq, 28: 46.
˙ ˙
 4.1 Holy and Unholy Regions in al-Fasawı̄ ’s History 123

We know a good deal about his travels and studies because al-Fasawı̄
was diligent enough to record this information in his Kitā b al-Maʿrifa
wa al-tā rı̄ kh. There are two prominent regions missing from this other-
wise impressive register of scholarly travels in the ninth century: al-
Fasawı̄ is silent on whether he visited Kufa and Baghdad.25 The
second major work of his that survives, the Mashyakha, does reveal
some of his connections to scholarly networks in Kufa, Basra, and
Baghdad.26 The Mashyakha was a valuable source for later scholars
and historians. Presumably, al-Fasawı̄ ’s simple arrangement and clas-
sification of his hadı̄ th teachers according to their towns and cities
provided the basis ˙ for a useful snapshot of hadı̄ th learning in the
27 ˙
ninth century. Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh has sections devoted to
the history of many of these regions, and these sections represent the
coming together of two major concerns in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history, region-
alism and prosopography.28
Al-Fasawı̄ records details about scholars on the basis of their associ-
ation with a particular region, which suggests that his central aim was to
document the range and pedigrees of a region’s scholars. One conse-
quence of this approach to traditionalist history was that the prestige of
any given region was tied to its success or failure in generating a healthy
production line of scholars. The care taken by historians to detail the vitae
of numerous scholars and to identify their contribution to scholarly
learning and religious piety suggests that the region was to be the Gestalt
of the holy and scholarly labours of its individuals and communities. In
this way, historians of regions and their scholars contributed towards
making places into sacred ideas. This process is familiar to historians of
other parts of the medieval world. Under the Carolingians, for example,
the history of Christianity was presented as a history of Rome for the very
reason that Rome had become the resting place of martyrs, saints, and

25
As we shall in this chapter, there are good reasons for this omission.
26
For his Kufan teachers see al-Fasawı̄ , Mashyakhat, 96–126, 154–6, 177–8, 145–54, 176–
7 (Basran teachers), 157–8, 178–9 (Baghdadian teachers).
27
See al-Sakhā wı̄ , al-Iʿlā n, 222–5, where, in his section on Muʿjams and Mashyakhas, al-
Sakhā wı̄ refers to al-Fasawı̄ as a pioneer in their composition and geographical arrange-
ment: wa min al-qudamā ’ fı̄ dhā lik Abū Yū suf Yaʿqū b al-Fasawı̄ , rattabahum ʿalā al-buldā n
allatı̄ dakhalahā . The edited text has been wrongly transcribed: rattabahum appears as wa
tabbahum.
28
Al-Fasawı̄ ’s interest in regions extends to Misr. He has sections on the virtues of Misr
and its scholars, which have now been placed ˙side by side by Akram Diyā ’ al-ʿUmarı̄ in ˙
his edition of the work. See al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄˙ kh, 2: 487, n. 2
(editor’s note), 2: 483–7 (virtues), 2: 487–533 (scholars). See Robinson, Islamic
Historiography, 66–74 (prosopography), 85–102 (historiography and traditionalism).
On Sunnı̄ historiography see now Andersson, Early Sunnı̄ Historiography, esp. 90–104.
124 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

holy relics; it was the city of emperors; and it was home to a galaxy of
bishops.29 A similar process can be seen with respect to Jerusalem, too.
Reacting against Mircea Eliade’s understanding of the sacred place as
the site of divine manifestation, scholars have highlighted the creative
construction of Jerusalem as a holy land. Jonathan Z. Smith has drawn
attention to the importance of ritual action in producing sacred and
holy places.30 Robert Wilken, in what is probably the most compre-
hensive history of the idea of Palestine as a holy place in late antiquity,
has documented the central role of ‘tactile piety’ in establishing the
holiness of Jerusalem.31 Peter Walker has used the writings of
Eusebius of Caesarea (d. 339) to examine shifts in the fourth century
with respect to the notion of Jerusalem as a holy region. Walker’s work
has demonstrated that, for late antique scholars such as Eusebius, holy
cities and places could lose their status as sacred sites and diminish in
standing.32
The relationship, then, between regionalism and prosopography meant
that discourses of heresy and orthodoxy, particularly when involving spe-
cific scholars, were dependent on a contentious process of consensus
building about the reputation and status of specific regions. This is pre-
cisely what we see in al-Fasawı̄ ’s account of Kufa and one of its most
controversial scholars, Abū Hanı̄ fa. First, al-Fasawı̄ ’s history of Kufa
˙
reflects a vision of topography and regional history writing deeply con-
nected to mentalités that hinge on social beliefs and motifs about the devil,
divine curses, antediluvian histories, and social and political upheavals.
Second, these interconnected themes about the moral malaise of Kufa are
woven into a coherent narrative about Kufa’s heretical and unholy past.
Moreover, this narrative serves to consolidate the unholy connection
between Kufa and Abū Hanı̄ fa and makes explicit the common thread of
˙
religious deviancy between the two that al-Fasawı̄ is so keen to emphasise.
We are given an insight, therefore, into the relationship between discourses
of heresy and society, between moral topographies and conceptions of
orthodoxy and heresy.

29
McKitterick, Perceptions of the Past; McKitterick, Charlemagne, 292–381. On this theme
see Noble, ‘Topography, Celebration, and Power’. For the wider recognition of episcopal
power in particular cities see Moore, A Sacred Kingdom, 21–51. In the other direction see
Maier, ‘The Topography of Heresy’, on the territoriality of dissenting communities in
fourth-century Rome.
30
Smith, To Take Place, 74–95; Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane.
31
Wilken, The Land Called Holy, 115–16.
32
Walker, Holy City, Holy Places? On sacred topography and the construction of Jerusalem
as a holy region see also Halbwachs, La topographie légendaire; Markus, ‘How on Earth
Could Places Become Holy?’; MacCormack, ‘Loca Sancta’.
 4.2 Heresies and Heretics 125

4.2 Heresies and Heretics

The power of place in the medieval Islamic world, even in an age of
transregional learning and regional displacement, was inseparable from
the power of persons and communities. In Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh,
al-Fasawı̄ ’s section on each region is preceded by an account of the region’s
sacred and (un)holy character, drawing on Prophetic and Companion
traditions, which establishes a framework within which to describe the
communities and scholars that constituted the region’s members. Al-
Fasawı̄ ’s history of Basra is dedicated to describing the reputations of
more than fifty scholars from Basra and recording traditions associated
with them.33 He opens with a set of reports in which the virtues of Basra are
contrasted with the vices of Kufa. The first report sets a scene all too
familiar to historians who have worked on Kufan and Basran rivalry.34
A group of scholars are engaged in a light-hearted session of regional
patriotism. Among them are al-Ahnaf b. Qays (d. c.72/691) and al-Shaʿbı̄
˙
(d. between 103/721 and 109/727).35 They begin to trade remarks and
quips about the merits of Basra over Kufa and vice versa. Addressing the
Kufans, al-Ahnaf says: ‘You are our servants, we rescued you from your
˙
slaves (antum khawalunā , istanqadhnā kum min ʿabı̄ dikum).’36 Not to be

33
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 1: 211. On Basra’s intellectual and religious
milieu see Pellat, Le milieu basrien. For the town’s urban history see AlSayyad, Cities and
Caliphs. This is a problematic work, but one can (cautiously) recommend his comments
on the town’s urban and architectural features. See Cobb, ‘Review of Nezar AlSayyad’.
34
On this kind of rivalry see van Gelder, ‘Kufa vs. Basra’. On similar rivalries see Selove,
‘Who Invented the Microcosm?’ For an early account of the social and political climate of
these two towns see Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Ā thā r Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, ed. Muhammad Kurd ʿAlı̄
(Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1989), 315–17; Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, ˙Rasā ’il al-bulaghā ’,
ed. Muhammad Kurd ʿAlı̄ (Cairo: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿArabiyya al-Kubrā , 1913), 125–7.
35
On al-Ah ˙ naf b. Qays see Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taqrı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, ed. ʿĀ dil Murshid and
Ibrā hı̄ m ˙al-Zaybaq (Beirut: Mu’assasat
˙ al-Risā la, 1995), 1: 121; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ ,
Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, ed. Ibrā hı̄ m al-Zaybaq and ʿĀ dil Murshid (Beirut: ˙ Mu’assasat al-
Risā la, n.d.), 1: 99. All references to the Tahdhı̄ b in this chapter are to this edition and not
to the Hyderabad edition.
36
See Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ , Kitā b al-Aghā nı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-ʿArabı̄ ,
1994), 6: 313–14, 328–89. ˙ ˙
The text differs slightly in Ihsā n ʿAbba ̄ s’s edition: Abū al-
˙ Dā r Sā dir, 2002), 6: 43 (wa
Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ , Kitā b al-Aghā nı̄ , ed. Ihsā n ʿAbbā s (Beirut:
˙ ˙ ˙
hal ahl al-Kū fa illā khawalunā ? Istanqadhnā hum min ʿabı̄ dihim). As an interrogative phrase
implying negation, the exception, khawal, may be put either in the accusative or permu-
tative, although the latter is preferred. See Ibn al-Anbā rı̄ , Kitā b al-Insā f fı̄ masā ’il al-khilā f
bayn al-nahwiyyı̄ n al-basriyyı̄ n wa al-kū fiyyı̄ n, ed. Gotthold Weil (Leiden: ˙ Brill, 1913),
˙
120. I interpret ʿabı̄ d as a˙ reference to al-Mukhtā r’s rebellion and the social background of
his supporters. The two editions of al-Isfahā nı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Aghā nı̄ that I have consulted
both take ʿabı̄ d to be a reference to the Khawa ˙ ̄ rij. Another possibility, suggested to me by
Christian Julien Robin, is that the phrase ʿabı̄ dikum might be a reference to the ʿIbā d of al-
Hı̄ ra, in which case the translation would read: ‘You are our servants, we delivered you
˙
from the Christian ʿIbā d of al-Hı̄ ra.’ This is possible, since this reading would preserve
the notion of a slight against the ˙ Kufans on account of their social status. There is a
126 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

outdone, al-Shaʿbı̄ recites a stirring panegyric in praise of Kufa from the

poetry of his brother-in-law al-Aʿshā Hamdā n (d. c.83/702).37
Al-Ahnaf‘s reaction to al-Aʿshā ’s panegyric in praise of Kufa over Basra
˙
is a turning point in the gathering, as the playful ambience of the scholars’
gathering is injected with a more serious tone. Al-Ahnaf curtly orders his
˙
slave-girl to fetch a notebook and insists that his Kufan guest, al-Shaʿbı̄ ,
38
read out its contents. Al-Shaʿbı̄ reads the letter. It turns out to be from
the Kufan rebel al-Mukhtā r (d. 67/687) to al-Ahnaf, in which al-Mukhtā r
˙
claims to be a prophet.39 Despite al-Shaʿbı̄ ’s having read the letter, al-
Ahnaf is determined to drive the point home to the entire group.
˙
al-ah: naf: Tell me, does this come from a Kufan or a Basran?
al-shaʿbı̄ : God forgive you Abū Bahr, we were speaking in jest and intended no
offence.40 ˙

further complication, however, in so far as Ibn Manzū r in his dictionary cautioned against
˙
scholars confusing the plurals ʿabı̄ d (‘slaves’, pl. of ʿabd) and ʿibā d (‘devotees’, pl. of ʿabd).
Though the meaning of the singular can be ambiguous, Ibn Manzū r insists that the plural
form discriminates between the two possible meanings: Ibn Manz ˙ ū r, Lisā n al-ʿArab
(Beirut: Dā r Sā dir, n.d.), 2: 270. Now it is possible that someone in ˙ the eighth–ninth
˙
centuries made the very mistake that Ibn Manzū r would later caution against. For more
on the ethnic and confessional composition of ˙ al-Hı̄ ra, particularly with regard to the
ʿIbā d of al-Hı̄ ra and an explanation for the appellation ˙ ʿibā d to the Christians of al-Hı̄ ra,
see al-Yaʿqu˙̄ bı̄ , Kitā b al-Buldā n, ed. M. J. De Goeje (Leiden: Brill, 1892), 371. ˙This
passage does not belong to this edition of Yaʿqū bı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Buldā n, but the editor, De
Goeje, has included it as an appendix to the work, containing extracts from Yaʿqū bı̄ ’s
works not found in his writings but in later sources. The source is al-Bakrı̄ , Muʿjam mā
istaʿjama min al-asmā ’ al-bilā d wa al-mawā diʿ, ed. Mustafā al-Saqqā (Beirut: Dā r al-
Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, n.d.), 24–5, where al-Bakrı̄ ˙ lists a ˙number
˙ of other etymological
possibilities. In the secondary literature see Rothstein, Dynastie der Lahmiden in al-Hı̄ ra,
18–20; and for a detailed portrait of the ʿibā d of al-Hı̄ ra see Toral-Niehoff, ˙ al-H˙ ı̄ ra,
88–105; Toral-Niehoff, ‘The ʿIbā d of al-Hı̄ ra’; Morony, ˙ Iraq after the Muslim Conquest, ˙
221–2, 375–8; Donner, The Early Islamic Conquests, ˙ 233. See also Chapter 5 below.
37
Al-Shaʿbı̄ was married to al-Aʿshā ’s sister, and al-Aʿshā was married to al-Shaʿbı̄ ’s sister.
See al-Isfahā nı̄ , Kitā b al-Aghā nı̄ , 6: 313–14, 326–8; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 6: 41.
˙
On al-Shaʿbı̄ see also Juynboll, Encyclopedia of Canonical Hadı̄ th, 463–71; and Judd,
Religious Scholars and the Umayyads, 41–51. ˙
38
Ibn al-Faqı̄ h refers to the correspondence between al-Mukhtā r and al-Ahnaf: see Ibn al-
Faqı̄ h, Kitā b al-Buldā n, ed. M. J. de Goeje (Leiden: Brill, 1885), 185. ˙
39
For further medieval documentation of al-Mukhtā r’s ‘heretical’ claims see al-Balā dhurı̄ ,
Ansā b al-ashrā f, ed. Mahmū d al-Firdaws al-ʿAzm (Damascus: Dā r al-Yaqza al-
ʿArabiyya, 1999), 6: 59–60; ˙ al-Tabarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 520–37,
˙ ˙
598–640; al-Bayhaqı̄ , Dalā ’il
al-nubū wa wa maʿrifat ahwā l sā h˙ ib al-sharı̄ ʿa, ed. ʿAbd al-Muʿtı̄ Qalʿajı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-
Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1988), ˙ 6:˙482–4.
˙ ˙
On al-Mukhtā r see von Gelder, Muhtar de valsche
Profeet; Crone, ‘The Significance of Wooden Weapons’; Wellhausen, Religio-Political
Factions in Early Islam, 121–59; Wellhausen, Die religiös-politischen Oppositionsparteien
im alten Islam, 87–89; Rotter, Die Umayyaden und der zweite Bürgerkrieg, 93–106, 214–20;
Sellheim, Der zweite Bürgerkrieg im Islam; Anthony, The Caliph and the Heretic, 256–90; al-
Dı̄ nawarı̄ , al-Akhbā r al-tiwā l (Leiden: Brill, 1888), 300–14.
40
Al-Ahnaf’s full name was ˙ al-Ahnaf b. Qays b. Muʿā wiya b. Husayn al-Tamı̄ mı̄ al-Saʿdı̄
˙ r al-Basrı̄ . See Ibn Hajar
Abū Bah ˙ al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taqrı̄ b al-tahdhı̄
˙ ˙b, 1: 121; Ibn Hajar al-
˙ ˙ ˙
ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 99 (Beirut edn.). ˙
 4.2 Heresies and Heretics 127

al-ah: naf: Tell me, who is it from?

al-shaʿbı̄ : God forgive you.
al-ah: naf: Tell me.
al-shaʿbı̄ : He is from Kufa.
The session is brought to an abrupt end, we are told, when al-Ahnaf
˙
declares, ‘We Basrans do not have anyone like that among us.’41 This was
not the only occasion where Ahnaf, in particular, was involved in Kufan
˙
and Basran literary jostling.42 Rivalry between Kufa and Basra was a
common feature of regional attitudes among scholars, students, and
inhabitants. In the social sphere of ninth-century learning and education,
regional practices and trends mattered. The organisation of ninth-century
prosopographical and historical works along regional lines exemplifies the
tendency to conceptualise regions as repositories not just of ordinary
inhabitants but of particular views and beliefs. This is observable in the
work of medieval geographers, too, where authors such as al-Muqaddası̄
(d. 380/991) have as much to say about a region’s inclination to orthodox
or heretical movements as about its demography and economy.43
Al-Fasawı̄ ’s description of this intimate and hostile exchange between
Kufan and Basran scholars is designed to illustrate Kufa’s unholiness as a
region that produced heretics and was remembered for having done so.
Normally we would not be in a position to determine whether al-Fasawı̄ ’s
deep-seated enmity towards Kufa resulted in a careful narrative readjust-
ment of an encounter between al-Shaʿbı̄ and al-Ahnaf. In this particular
˙
case, however, we can compare al-Fasawı̄ ’s narrative with that of Abū al-
Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ (d. 363/972) contained in the latter’s tenth-century
˙
literary masterpiece, Kitā b al-Aghā nı̄ .
Al-Aʿshā is one of the literary personalities whom al-Isfahā nı̄ surveys
˙
in the Book of Songs.44 Al-Isfahā nı̄ ’s account differs in very few places. We
˙
learn that the social gathering took place in a mosque during the time of

41
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 30–2. This report also appears in al-Bayhaqı̄ ,
Dalā ’il al-nubū wa, 6: 483, where al-Bayhaqı̄ simply ends with al-Ahnaf declaring that no
character similar to al-Mukhtā r was to be found among the Basrans.˙ This version is one of
two different reports mentioned by al-Fasawı̄ , and it is al-Fasawı̄ ’s report that turns up in
al-Bayhaqı̄ ’s work. Ibn ʿAsā kir narrates al-Fasawı̄ ’s version alongside an alternative
account in Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh Madı̄ nat al-Dimashq, ed. ʿAbd al-Bā qı̄ b. Ahmad and
ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Qahtā n (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr, 1996), 34: 482–5. See also the˙version in
al-Balā dhurı̄˙ , Ansā b al-ashrā
˙˙ f, 6: 74.
42
Al-Masʿū dı̄ , Les prairies d’or. Texte et traduction par C. Barbier de Meynard et Pavet de
Courteille [Murū j al-dhahab] (Paris: Société Asiatique, 1861–77), 6: 275–6; al-Masʿū dı̄ ,
Murū j al-dhahab wa maʿā din al-jawhar, ed. Kamā l Hasan Marʿı̄ (Beirut: al-Maktaba al-
ʿAsriyya, 2005), 3: 274–5. ˙
43 ˙
Al-Muqaddası̄ , Ahsan al-taqā sı̄ m, 32–43.
44 ˙
On al-Isfahā nı̄ ’s survey of al-Aʿshā ’s literary corpus see Kilpatrick, Making the Great Book
˙
of Songs, 190–2.
128 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

Ibn al-Zubayr’s (d. 73/692) rebellion, which places the alleged encounter
some time during the last two decades of the seventh century. For our
purposes, the most significant discrepancy is al-Isfahā nı̄ ’s account of al-
˙
Ahnaf’s response to al-Shaʿbı̄ ’s recitation of al-Aʿshā ’s poetry. Contrary
˙
to al-Fasawı̄ ’s transmission, there is no indignant reaction. The gathering
maintains its jaunty mood, as al-Ahnaf recognises al-Shaʿbı̄ ’s deft deploy-
˙
ment of the great Kufan’s poetry and proceeds to taunt his fellow Basrans
for having been outwitted by al-Shaʿbı̄ .45 In al-Isfahā nı̄ ’s account we have
˙
a description of a merry social occasion in which Basrans and Kufans
engage in polite exchanges about the virtues of their respective regions,
and the Kufans are congratulated on their literary triumph over their
hosts. Al-Fasawı̄ ’s account is very different. What started as a playful
and social gathering is transformed into a caustic deprecation of Kufa as
a breeding ground for heretics and false prophets.
Kufa’s reputation for breeding heretics and false prophets was known
to other sources. Ibn al-Faqı̄ h (d. c.289/902) provides further glimpses
into the social and religious tensions between Kufa and Basra. He records
a long debate between Abū Bakr al-Hudhalı̄ (d. 159/775–6), a Basran,
and Ibn ʿAyyā sh (d. 193/809), a Kufan, ˙ in the presence of the first
ʿAbbā sid caliph, Abū al-ʿAbbā s al-Saffā h (r. 132/750–136/754), during
˙
which Abū Bakr al-Hudhalı̄ raises the matter of the number of false
˙
prophets in Kufa. He says to Ibn ʿAyyā sh mockingly: ‘You have more
prophets than we do. We have but one prophet: Muhammad, may God
˙
bless him. All your prophets are weavers . . . I have not seen prophets
crucified except in the town of Kufa.’ Ibn ʿAyyā sh even acknowledges the
factual accuracy of Abū Bakr’s rebuke, but he interprets it in a positive
light: ‘You deprecate the people of Kufa on account of three mad men of
hoi polloi who, in their madness, claimed to be prophets, and so God let
them be crucified in Kū fa.’46
The two remaining reports in al-Fasawı̄ ’s discussion of Basra’s merits
pursue an identical strategy of praising Basra at the expense of Kufa. Once
again, al-Fasawı̄ describes an encounter. He recalls a scene in Mecca’s
mosque, where ʿAbd Rabbih b. Rā shid was passing as a lesson was being
held. As he approached the circle of students, he found among them Ibn
ʿUmar. Ibn ʿUmar bluntly asked ʿAbd Rabbih, ‘Where do you come
from?’ ‘From Basra,’ he answered. Ibn ʿUmar ended the brief encounter
by reassuring ʿAbd Rabbih: ‘The people of Basra are more virtuous than
the people of Kufa.’47 A third unpropitious report about Kufa brings to a

45
Al-Isfahā nı̄ , Kitā b al-Aghā nı̄ , 6: 328–9.
46
Ibn ˙al-Faqı̄ h, Kitā b al-Buldā n, 167–8, 185. See also van Gelder, ‘Kufa vs. Basra’, 350.
47
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 32.
 4.2 Heresies and Heretics 129

close al-Fasawı̄ ’s collection of reports in praise of Basra. Al-Fasawı̄ pro-

duces a report in which Yū nus b. ʿUbayd (d. 140/757), a Basran scholar,
counts not having been raised in Kufa as one of the great favours of God
upon him.48
The history of Shā m manifests a more familiar approach to document-
ing the sacred history of a holy region. Unlike Basra, the regions of Shā m
developed a strong tradition of local historiography.49 Al-Fasawı̄ ’s history
of Shā m has a wealth of material to draw upon to describe its sacred
topography.50 Readers of al-Fasawı̄ ’s history of Shā m are treated to a
succession of no less than forty reports and traditions that describe the
sanctity of Shā m. Shā m’s holiness is established first through al-Fasawı̄ ’s
citation of a report in which the Prophet declares his favour for Shā m as
he responds to a request to choose a destination for migration. ‘Choose
Shā m,’ the Prophet responds without any hesitation.51 In the same sec-
tion, Shā m is declared to be the best of God’s lands;52 it contains God’s
elect servants;53 it is the fount of God’s light;54 God has guaranteed the
safety of Shā m and its inhabitants;55 faith is to be found only in Shā m
during the time of civil strife (fitna);56 Damascus is declared to be the
fortress of the Muslims on the day of massacre (yawm al-malhama);57 ‘If
˙
the people of Shā m become corrupt, then there is no good to be found
among any of you,’ says another Prophetic report;58 Shā m, along with
Mecca and Medina, is identified as one of the places where the Prophet is

48
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 32. Anti-Kufa reports make a haphazard
appearance, once again, in al-Fasawı̄ ’s chapter on Basra, where a version of this report is
recorded. See al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 255–8. On Yū nus b. ʿUbayd see
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 11: 442–5 (Hyderabad edn.).
49 ˙
Dahhan, ‘The Origins and Development of the Local Histories of Syria’; Borrut, Entre
mémoire et pouvoir, 120–6; Khalek, Damascus after the Muslim Conquest, ch. 2; Elad,
Medieval Jerusalem, 6–22, 147–58; Bianquis, Damas et la Syrie sous la domination fatimide,
1–34. On history-writing in Damascus see Conrad, ‘Das Kitā b al-Tabaqā t des Abū Zurʿa
al-Dimašqı̄ ’; Conrad, Abū ’l-Husain al-Rā zı̄ ; Rotter, ‘ Abū Zurʿa˙ al-Dimashqı̄ und das
Problem’. ˙
50
On Shā m’s fadā ’il traditions see Kister, ‘A Comment on the Antiquity of Traditions
˙
Praising Jerusalem’; Cobb, White Banners, 52–5; Cobb, ‘Virtual Sacrality’; Meri, The Cult
of Saints, 14–16; Khalek, Damascus after the Muslim Conquest, 139–50; Madelung,
‘Apocalyptic Prophecies’; Abū al-Hasan ʿAlı̄ b. Muhammad al-Rabaʿı̄ , Fadā ’il al-Shā m
˙
wa al-Dimashq, ed. Salā h al-Dı̄ n al-Munajjid ˙
(Damascus: ˙ al-ʿArabı̄ ,
al-Majmaʿ al-ʿIlmı̄
1950). ˙
51
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 287–8.
52
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 289–90.
53
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 289.
54
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 289.
55
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 289.
56
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 291.
57
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 290.
58
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 295–6.
130 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

said to have received prophecy;59 Damascus is named as one of the five

places of paradise on earth.60
For medieval scholars like al-Fasawı̄ , the physical landscape of the
world and the worldly fortunes of individual regions were embedded
deeply within medieval mentalités that governed society’s attitudes to
the holy, unholy, moral, supernatural, and eschatological. Society was
ordered around a wider set of medieval mentalités that were thought to
interact with the social, political, and moral framework of medieval
Islamic societies. The reports above are pregnant with social and political
overtones. The attempt to establish Shā m as a holy sanctuary in times of
insecurity, civil strife, and corruption resonates most obviously with the
anxieties of Umayyad Syria in the eighth century. The narratives about
Shā m’s impervious sacrality were designed to provide reassurances dur-
ing a crisis of control and confidence.61 However, our sources also are
keen to establish an Entstehungsgeschichte for beliefs about the holiness and
unholiness of regions that emancipate such narratives from their socio-
political historical contexts. We find in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history the following
report:62
God apportioned good (qassama Allā h al-khayr) in the world into ten tenths. He
placed nine-tenths of it in Shā m, and the remaining portion was distributed
among the other regions (wa baqiyyatuhu fı̄ sā ’ir al-aradı̄ n). Likewise, He appor-
˙ only a small portion was
tioned evil (al-sharr) in the world into ten tenths, of which
allotted to Shā m; the overwhelming portion of evil was distributed among all the
other regions.

This is an emphatic illustration of how recent or contemporary attitudes

towards certain towns and regions were anchored in a distant and immut-
able past. It provides an important insight into how and why attitudes
towards regions and places were cultivated in the medieval Islamic world.
The narrative articulates a plan of history and the fundamental agency of
divine providence in the division of holy and unholy regions, good and
evil, order and chaos. This is a conception of history in which discourses
of regions and discourses of heresy and orthodoxy were collapsed into
what Erich Auerbach described as the ‘figural interpretation of history’:63
59
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 298.
60
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 305.
61
For an overview of the political history and memory of Umayyad Syria see Cobb, White
Banners, 1–9; and Borrut, Entre mémoire et pouvoir, 61–78.
62
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 295. This report is also mentioned in al-
Tabarā nı̄ , al-Muʿjam al-kabı̄ r, ed. Hamdı̄ ʿAbd al-Majı̄ d al-Silā fı̄ (Cairo: Maktabat Ibn
˙
Taymiyya, 1983), 9: 198. ˙
63
Auerbach, Mimesis, 73–5. It is hardly incidental that Auerbach’s piercing analysis is
applied to the writings of the Latin Church Fathers, particularly those of Jerome and
Augustine.
 4.2 Heresies and Heretics 131

The horizontal, that is the temporal and causal, connection of occurrences is

dissolved; the here and now is no longer a mere link in an earthly chain of events, it
is simultaneously something which has always been, and which will be fulfilled in
the future; and strictly, in the eyes of God, it is something eternal, something
omni-temporal, something already consummated in the realm of fragmentary
earthly event.
By incorporating this tradition into his section on Kufa, al-Fasawı̄ is
blurring the lines between doctrine and discourses of holy and unholy
regions. The regional sanctity of Shā m is anchored in a doctrinal certainty
that belongs to the antediluvian period, the epoch before epochs; a pre-
historical moment when God determined the nature of the world and the
division of good and evil. Al-Fasawı̄ is positing a pre-earthly distribution
of the holy and unholy in the regions and realms of the world. Any
predisposition that a region might have to the sacred is dependent on a
supernatural scheme that allows for no renegotiation. In Auerbach’s
words, the ‘connection of occurrences is dissolved’.
We learn more about this doctrine concerning the distribution of good
and evil in the regions of the early Islamic empire. Towards the beginning
of his account execrating Kufa, al-Fasawı̄ relates a tradition that develops
the idea of a preternatural distribution of evil and good. Kufa, it seems, is
described to ʿAlı̄ b. Abı̄ Tā lib as a region nine-tenths occupied by evil,
˙
devils, and rebellious demons (tisʿat aʿshā r al-sharr wa shayā tı̄ n al-ins wa
˙
maradat al-jinn). Al-Fasawı̄ combines two ideas – the ‘omni-temporal’
64

doctrine of earthly events and the view that Kufa was a unique site of
demonological activity – to dismiss Kufa as an unholy region. These
themes continue to find currency throughout al-Fasawı̄ ‘s chapter on
Kufa, where their relationship to the social conditions and historical
circumstances of the eighth–ninth centuries becomes more apparent.
Al-Fasawı̄ adduces a report attributed to the Prophet’s most prominent
Companion in Kufa, ʿAbd Allā h b. Masʿū d (d. c.33/653):65
You are in the place where the tongues were confused [as a manifestation of God’s
displeasure] between Babel and Hı̄ ra (tabalbalat al-alsun bayn Bā bil wa al-Hı̄ ra).
Nine-tenths of good is to be found˙ in Shā m, whilst the remaining tenth portion
˙ is
to be found in other places; and nine-tenths of evil is to be found in other places,
with only the tenth portion of evil remaining in Shā m.
Whilst his readers would have needed little help in deciphering the loca-
tion of the place between Babel and Hı̄ ra, the placement of the report a
˙
64
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 750–1. The report does not mention Kufa
explicitly, but its placement in the chapter on Kufa makes this a reasonable inference.
65
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 750. For ʿAbd Allā h b. Masʿū d, see Ibn Hajar
al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 431–2 (Beirut edn.). ˙
132 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

few folios into the section ‘What has been related about Kufa’ leaves little
room for doubt as to the region in question. More importantly, the report
invokes the primeval biblical pericope about the confusion of tongues at
Babel, an event which in Islamic and pre-Islamic Near Eastern sources
signified an instance of God’s punishment upon the people of Babel.
This was part of the cultural memory of Near Eastern communities in
Mesopotamia and Iraq, and a ninth-century historian’s record of it in his
chapter on Kufa demonstrates that Muslim communities were acutely
aware of the implications of their topography and conscious of its sacred
or profane nature.66 Moreover, the tradition cleverly reflects a degree of
anxiety about the cultural, social, ethnic, and religious hybridity that
would have characterised Kufa’s demographic constitution in the eighth
and ninth centuries.67 The tradition seems to suggest a congruity between
foreign ethnicities and non-Muslim confessional communities, on the
one hand, and the high risk of exposure to evil, demons, doctrinal and
ritual deviancy, and heresy, on the other. This relationship between

66
Arno Borst’s monumental six-volume history of western and eastern accounts of the
Tower of Babel remains the authoritative work on the subject, though his discussion of
Islamic materials is limited to works in translation. See Borst, Der Turmbau von Babel, 1:
325–54, esp. 331–50. See also Geiger, Judaism and Islam, 89–93. On the primeval history
of the confusion of the tongues at Babel in the primary sources see al-Tabarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1:
˙
319–23; al-Bı̄ rū nı̄ , al-Ā thā r al-bā qiya ʿan al-qurū n al-khā liya [Chronologie Orientalischer
Völker], ed. Eduard Sachau (Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1923), 87; al-Bakrı̄ , Muʿjam mā
istaʿjama min al-asmā ’ al-bilā d wa al-mawā diʿ, 218–19; Jalā l al-Dı̄ n al-Suyū tı̄ , al-Muzhir fı̄
ʿulū m al-lugha wa anwā ʿihā (Cairo: Dā r Ihya ˙ ̄ ’ al-Kutub al-ʿArabiyya, 1958),˙ 1: 32; and for
non-Islamic materials see Ginzberg, Legends ˙ of the Jews, 1: 16–64; Sherman, Babel’s Tower
Translated; Rubin, ‘The Language of Creation or the Primordial Language’. On Babel
and Hı̄ ra see Morony, Iraq after the Muslim Conquest, 143–55. The history of Hı̄ ra in the
early ˙Islamic period has yet to be written. The most thorough account of its history ˙ during
late antiquity stops at the eve of Islam, although it reinforces the conventional scholarly
assessment that Hı̄ ra anticipated the dynamism and cultural hybridity that defined Kufa,
Basra, and Baghdad: ˙ see Toral-Niehoff, al-Hı̄ ra, 221. Bertold Spuler’s classic account is
more forthcoming on Hı̄ ra in the early Islamic ˙ period: Spuler, Iran in früh-islamischer Zeit,
7–9, 298 n. 2. Al-Sarra ˙ ̄ f attempts to say more about Hı̄ ra in the first two centuries of
Islam, but unfortunately ˙ her study lacks detail and often ˙ resorts to generalisations: al-
Sarrā f, ‘al-Hı̄ ra fı̄ al-qarnayn al-awwal wa al-thā nı̄ al-hijrayn’.
67 ˙ local history
No ˙ of early Islamic Kufa has survived. The prosopographical sources do
permit a one-sided reconstruction of Kufa’s residents, for which see Khalı̄ fa b. Khayyā t,
Kitā b al-Tabaqā t, ed. Akram Diyā ’ al-ʿUmarı̄ (Baghdad: Baghdad University and ˙
Matbaʿat ˙al-ʿĀ nı̄ , 1967), 126–73; ˙ Morony, ‘Religious Communities in Late Sasanian
and˙ Early Muslim Iraq’; Morony, Iraq after the Muslim Conquest, chs. 3 and 4; Donner,
The Early Islamic Conquests, 239–45. See Spuler, Iran in früh-islamischer Zeit, 297–8, for
his use of economic data (kharā j and jizya) for the early Islamic provinces to infer ethnic
and confessional composition. A good overview of confessional and ethnic hybridity in
the early period is provided by Hoyland, In God’s Path, 157–69. I know of no compre-
hensive treatment of ethnicity and ethnic composition in the regions of the early Islamic
empire. Meanwhile, Peter Webb has offered a thought-provoking study of Arab ethno-
genesis in the early Islamic period. His discussion of ethnicity in eighth–ninth-century
Iraq is particularly relevant: Webb, Imagining the Arabs, ch. 5.
 4.2 Heresies and Heretics 133

regions, their confessional and ethnic constitution, and their propensity

for religious deviance and heresy is a recurring theme in the discourse of
heresy surrounding both Abū Hanı̄ fa and Kufa. As such, it will be treated
˙
in the next chapter, but already we can begin to see that al-Fasawı̄ ’s
histories of Basra and Shā m are deeply embedded with anti-Kufan
narratives.
This aspect of al-Fasawı̄ ’s history stands out in some respects from
medieval universal, regional, and local history writing.68 A number of
important publications have documented the rise of local historiography
and its contribution to a discourse of sanctity around places and regions.69
This body of scholarship has come to dominate our understanding of
medieval perspectives on holy places.70 The regions and realms of the
medieval Islamic world were undoubtedly invested with notions of sanc-
tity and sacrality, but there was also a darker side to the historical and
cultural memory of towns and cities. The positive gloss on regions leaves
unexamined the more unpalatable and, occasionally, graphic discourses
about unholy places. This aspect of the memory of towns and places
comes to the forefront in this chapter because it is understood to be an

68
On universal histories see Springberg-Hinsen, Die Zeit vor dem Islam in arabischen
Universalgeschichten; Radtke, ‘Towards a Typology of Abbasid Universal Chronicles’;
Radtke, Weltgeschichte und Weltbeschreibung; Robinson, Islamic Historiography, 134–8;
Rosenthal, A History of Muslim Historiography, 114–30.
69
Much of the scholarly interest in local and regional historiography can be traced to a
historical curiosity for viewing Islam from the edge, an approach neatly captured by
Richard Bulliet’s work on medieval Iran. In a number of publications Bulliet led the call
for a shift away from the centre. He urged Islamicists to resist the gravitational pull of the
imperial cities of the caliphs on historians, which had had the effect of making historians
over-reliant on medieval universal histories for sketching a portrait of medieval
Islamdom. See Bulliet, The Patricians of Nishapur; Bulliet, Islam: The View from the
Edge; Bulliet, ‘City Histories in Medieval Iran’. See also Frye, ‘City Chronicles of
Central Asia and Khurasan’, 405. Bulliet’s work prompted a group of historians to turn
their attention to charting the rise of local historiography in medieval Iran: Melville,
‘Persian Local Histories’; Melville, ‘The Caspian Provinces’; Bosworth, ‘Sistan and Its
Local Histories’; Pourshariati, ‘Local Historiography in Early Medieval Iran’;
Pourshariati, ‘Local Histories of Khurasan’; Paul, ‘The Histories of Isfahan’; Paul,
‘The Histories of Herat’; Paul, ‘The Histories of Samarqand’; Paul, Herrscher,
Gemeinwesen, Vermittler, 21–3; Weinberger, ‘The Authorship’; Miller, ‘Local History in
Ninth/Fifteenth Century Yazd’. See also Lambton, ‘Persian Local Histories’; Lambton,
‘An Account of the Tā rı̄ khi Qumm’; Meisami, Persian Historiography, 79–108, 209–29;
Drechsler, Die Geschichte der Stadt Qom; Shimamoto, ‘Some Reflections on the Origin of
Qom’. Some of these local histories are used to good effect in Savant, The New Muslims of
Post-Conquest Iran, 90–129.
70
Kister, ‘Sanctity Joint and Divided’; Elad, Medieval Jerusalem; Livne-Kafri, ‘The Early
Shı̄ ʿa and Jerusalem’; Azad, Sacred Landscape; Munt, The Holy City of Medina; Toral-
Niehoff, al-Hı̄ ra; Haider, The Origins of the Shı̄ ʿa; Friedman, ‘“Kufa Is Better”’. Neither
Haider nor ˙Friedman mention the presence of anti-Kufan material. An exception is
Melchert, ‘How Hanafism Came to Originate in Kufa’, 336–7, where he discusses several
anti-Iraqi reports˙in the context of hadı̄ th learning in Iraq.
˙
134 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

important element of ninth-century discourses of heresy. The relation-

ship between making heretics and framing regions as unholy allows us to
assess precisely how towns were desacralised and framed as breeding
grounds for heretics and heresies. For example, what mechanisms were
utilised for dismissing regions as unholy? What were the strategies of
desanctification? Why were certain regions more vulnerable than others
to such techniques? Above all, what were the inter-relationalities between
the framing of heretics and the framing of regions?
Al-Fasawı̄ ’s attempt to discredit Kufa as an unholy region is tied to his
long diatribe against Abū Hanı̄ fa contained in the same section on Kufa.
His attack on Kufa involves ˙ a creative form of history writing that draws
on a repertoire of medieval mentalités. Al-Fasawı̄ draws on eschatology,
ethnicity, politics, scripture, the devil, demons, ritual, and supernatural
beliefs in order to characterise Kufa as an unholy and heretical region.
The very first report in his chapter on Kufa aims to establish a Prophetic
justification for the belief that it was a seat of heresy in the medieval
Islamic world:71
ʿAbd Allā h b. Maslama b. Qaʿnabı̄ (d. 221/835, Basra)72 < Mā lik (d. 179/795,
Medina)73 < ʿAbd Allā h b. Dı̄ nā r (d. 127/744, Medina)74 < ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿUmar
(d. 73/692, Mecca)75 said: I saw the Messenger of God point to the East and say:
‘From there, indeed the tribulation shall come from there. Indeed, the tribulation
shall come from there, from where the horn of the devil shall rise.’
This is followed by a second tradition in which the Prophet is reported as
having said that ‘the seat of heresy is in the East’.76 For al-Fasawı̄ there
was no doubt that these ominous pronouncements about the East were
directed towards Kufa.77 In the same chapter al-Fasawı̄ cites different
versions of a similar report in which al-Mashriq is replaced with Iraq.78
Al-Fasawı̄ ’s motivations for using this tradition become a little clearer
when we consider how versions of this report were handled by some of
his contemporaries and predecessors. Muhammad b. Ismā ʿı̄ l al-Bukhā rı̄
˙
(d. 256/870) died a few decades before al-Fasawı̄ . Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-Jā miʿ
al-sahı̄ h presents an alternative version of this report in his chapter on the
˙ ˙ ˙

71
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 749.
72
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 433–4 (Beirut edn.).
73
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 4: 6–8 (Beirut edn.).
74
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 328 (Beirut edn.).
75
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 389–90 (Beirut edn.).
76 ˙
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 749.
77
In medieval geographies ‘al-Mashriq’ referred to the eastern lands of the ʿAbbā sid
caliphate. See al-Muqaddası̄ , Ahsan al-taqā sı̄ m, 260.
78
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa ˙al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 747.
 4.2 Heresies and Heretics 135

beginning of creation, under the sub-heading ‘The best of a man’s wealth

is cattle which he takes to the peak of the mountain’:79
The seat of unbelief is in the East; pride and haughtiness is among the people who
have horses and camels; the loud-voiced people are the people of the tents; and
tranquility is with the people who have cattle.
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s placement of this report in a chapter on wealth and
property does indeed raise the question of how central the association
of Kufa with unbelief was for al-Fasawı̄ ’s contemporaries.80 There is
nothing in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s presentation of this report that refutes al-
Fasawı̄ ’s insistence that Iraq was to be the breeding ground of heresy
and unbelief. However, the different ways in which our two authors
select, omit, and arrange information can tell us about the strategies
that medieval writers adopted when articulating specific religious
ideas. We find other versions of the ‘unbelief in al-Mashriq’ report
towards the end of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-Jā miʿ al-sahı̄ h in his chapter
˙ ˙ ˙
on trials and tribulations (fitan). Again, there is no suggestion that
the region of Iraq is intended. Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s earliest commentator,
81

al-Khattā bı̄ , was more confident about how to interpret the geographical
˙˙

79
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Jā miʿ al-sahı̄ h, kitā b bad’ al-khalq 59, bā b khayr mā l al-muslim ghanam
yatbaʿu bihā shaghaf al-jibā ˙ ˙l 15,
˙ no. 3301 (numbering after ʿAbd al-Bā qı̄ ’s edn.) (ra’s al-
kufr nahwa al-mashriq; wa al-fakhr wa al-khuyalā ’ fı̄ ahl al-khayl; wa al-ibl wa al-faddā dı̄ n
˙
ahl al-wabar; wa al-sakı̄ na fı̄ ahl al-ghanam).
80
This version also appears in al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b al-Adab al-mufrad, ed. Samı̄ r b. Amı̄ n al-
Zuhayrı̄ (Riyadh: Maktabat al-Maʿā rif li al-Nashr wa al-Tawzı̄ ʿ, 1998), 296; Muslim, al-
Jā miʿ al-sahı̄ h, kitā b al-ı̄ mā n 1, bā b tafā dul ahl al-ı̄ mā n fı̄ hi wa rujhā n ahl al-Yaman fı̄ hi 21,
no. 85, 86,˙ ˙ 90˙ (numbering after ʿAbd˙al-Bā qı̄ ’s edn.); Ahmad˙ b. Hanbal, al-Musnad li
Ahmad b. Hanbal, ed. Muhammad Ahmad Shā kir (Cairo: ˙Dā r al-Hadı̄ ˙ th, 1995), 9: 508–
9,˙ 623–4; ˙Abū Yaʿlā al-Maws ˙ ilı̄ , Musnad ˙ Abı̄ Yaʿlā al-Mawsilı̄ , ed. ˙ Husayn Salı̄ m Asad
(Beirut: Dā r al-Ma’mū n li al-Tura ˙ ̄ th, 1987), 11: 226–7;˙ Abū ʿAwa ˙ ̄ na, Musnad Abı̄
ʿAwā na, ed. Ayman b. ʿĀ rif al-Dimashqı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿā rif, 1998), 1: 61–3,
where at least ten versions of this report are collected in the chapter, bayā n al-akhlā q wa
al-aʿmā l al-mahmū da allatı̄ jaʿalahā rasū l Allā h min al-ı̄ mā n wa nasabahā ilā ahl al-Hijā z wa
mā yalı̄ hā , wa ˙al-akhlā q wa al-aʿmā l al-madhmū ma allatı̄ nasabahā ilā al-kufr wa˙ annahā
qibal al-Mashriq; Ibn Manda, Kitā b al-Ī mā n, ed. ʿAlı̄ b. Muhammad b. Nā sir al-Faqı̄ hı̄
(Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1985), 2: 524–8; al-Tahā wı̄ , ˙Sharh mushkil al-ā ˙ thā r, ed.
Shuʿayb al-Arna’ū t (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1994), ˙ ˙ ˙ For attempts in the
2: 270.
Higher Middle Ages ˙ to discern the exact location and meaning of this tradition see al-
ʿAynı̄ , ʿUmdat al-qā rı̄ sharh Sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr, n.d.), 15: 190–2; Ibn
Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Fath al-bā ˙ ˙ r˙ı̄ ˙bi sharh sahı̄ h al-Bukhā rı̄ , ed. ʿAbd al-Qā dir Shaybat al-
H˙ amd (Riyadh: Maktabat ˙ al-Malik Fahd ˙ ˙ al-Wat
˙ ˙ aniyya Athnā ’ al-Nashr, 2001), 6: 402–
˙
3; al-Nawawı̄ , Sharh al-Nawawı̄ ʿalā Muslim (Cairo: ˙ al-Matbaʿa al-Misriyya bi al-Azhar,
1929), 2: 29–35, where ˙ the tradition appears under the chapter ˙ on the˙ superior faith of
the people of Yemen.
81
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Jā miʿ al-sahı̄ h, kitā b al-fitan 92, bā b qawl al-nabı̄ al-fitna min qibal al-
mashriq 16. ˙ ˙ ˙
136 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

location of al-Mashriq. His commentary focuses on the following trad-

ition that appears in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-Jā miʿ al-sahı̄ h:
˙ ˙ ˙
ʿAlı̄ b. ʿAbd Allā h (d. 234/849, Basra)82 < Azhar b. Saʿd (d. c.203/818, Basra)83
< Ibn ʿAwn (d. 150/767, Basra)84 < Nā fiʿ (d. c.117/735, Medina)85 < Ibn ʿUmar:
The Prophet of God said: ‘O my lord, bless for us our Shā m, bless for us our
Yemen.’ Some people said: ‘And in our Najd, O messenger of God.’ I think on the
third occasion, he [the Prophet] said: ‘There you will find upheavals and tribula-
tions and from there the horns of the devil shall appear.’

After citing this, al-Khattā bı̄ adds: ‘Najd is a region in the east (nā hiyat al-
˙˙ ˙
mashriq). Someone located in Medina will find that Najd for that individ-
ual is the desert region of Iraq (bā diyat al-ʿIrā q) and its surrounding
regions, which is Mashriq to its people. The original meaning of the
word Najd is elevated ground (wa asl al-Najd mā irtafaʿa min al-ard).’86
Al-Khattā bı̄ mentions this tradition ˙in ‘The chapter regarding the saying ˙
˙˙
of the Prophet: “The tribulation will appear from the direction of the
East”’. In his commentary on al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s chapter ‘The best of a man’s
wealth is cattle which he takes to the peak of the mountain’ al-Khattā bı̄
˙˙
does not cite the version of the tradition that states that ‘the seat of
unbelief is in the East’. The point is that al-Khattā bı̄ ’s commentary tells
˙˙
us that he interpreted references to al-Mashriq in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-Jā miʿ al-
sahı̄ h as denoting the region of Iraq. In this respect he shares al-Fasawı̄ ’s
˙ ˙ ˙
convictions about the geographical location of al-Mashriq. But al-Fasawı̄
goes further than even al-Khattā bı̄ by insisting on a direct connection
˙˙
between hadı̄ th reports about heresy and unbelief in al-Mashriq and
˙
Kufa.
A century before al-Fasawı̄ , Mā lik b. Anas, like al-Bukhā rı̄ , incorpor-
ated the report into his chapter on cattle (ghanam).87 The connection
between al-Mashriq, Iraq, and heresy looms large in the Muwatta’. The
˙˙
82
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 3: 176–80 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). Better
known ˙ as ʿAlı̄ b. al-Madı̄ nı̄ .
83
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 104–6 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
84
Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 398–9 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). I follow
Ibn H ˙ ajar’s preference for 150 as his year of death.
85
Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 210–12 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). On
Nā fiʿ,˙ his historicity, and his traditions from Ibn ʿUmar, see Juynboll, ‘Nā fiʿ, the Mawlā
of Ibn ʿUmar’ and Motzki’s response in Motzki, ‘Quo vadis Hadı̄ th-Forschung?’.
86
Al-Khattā bı̄ , Aʿlā m al-hadı̄ th, 2329–30. Note the dominance of˙ Basran traditionists in the
isnā d. It˙is
˙ significant to˙ note that al-Khattā bı̄ ’s citations from al-Bukhā rı̄ are sometimes at
odds with current editions of al-Bukhā rı̄˙’s ˙ Sahı̄ h. For example, in al-Khattā bı̄ ’s Aʿlā m al-
hadı̄ th, qarn in wa bihā yatlaʿu qarn al-shayt ˙ ˙ā n˙ has been inserted in parenthesis
˙˙ by the
˙editor. For more on al-Khat ˙ tā bı̄ and his commentary
˙ see Tokatly, ‘The Aʿlā m al-hadı̄ th
of al-Khattā bı̄ ’. Al-Khattā bı̄ receives a brief mention in Brown, The Canonization,˙134.
˙ ˙
87 ˙˙
Mā lik b. Anas, al-Muwat ˙˙ta’ bi riwā yat Yahyā b. Yahyā al-Laythı̄ , kitā b al-isti’dhā n 54, bā b
mā jā ’a fı̄ amr al-ghanam˙˙ 6, no. 15 (numbering ˙ ˙ ʿAbd al-Bā qı̄ ’s edn.).
after
 4.2 Heresies and Heretics 137

Muwatta’ contains a specific chapter on reports about the Mashriq.88 It

˙˙
contains two traditions: the first is identical both in its chain of transmis-
sion and its wording to the tradition included in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history: ‘I saw
the messenger of God point to the East and say: “From there, indeed the
tribulation shall come from there. Indeed, the tribulation shall come from
there, from where the horn of the devil shall rise.”’89 The second report,
of which a variation appears in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history, describes an exchange
between the second caliph ʿUmar and Kaʿb al-Ahbā r (d. c.35/656).90
˙
ʿUmar b. al-Khattā b was planning to go to Iraq (arā da al-khurū j ilā al-
˙˙
ʿIrā q). Kaʿb al-Ahbā r caught wind of this and warned ʿUmar: ‘Do not set
˙
out for Iraq, O Commander of the Believers, for that land contains ninth-
tenths of sorcery (tisʿat aʿshā r al-sihr), godless demons (fasaqat al-jinn),
˙
and the incurable disease (al-dā ’ al-ʿudā l).’91 The explicit connection
˙
made between Iraq and al-Mashriq in these traditions in the Muwatta’
˙˙
reinforces the idea that in the ninth century Iraq was believed to have been
uniquely receptive to heresy, demons, and religious deviation. That such
reports about the Mashriq being a place of heresy, unbelief, tribulation
and civil strife, the devil, and demons were collected and arranged into
specific sections indicates the extent to which negative reports about Iraq
had captured the imagination of ninth-century scholars and audiences.
The careful process of selection, variation, and textual fluidity shows
how medieval historians and scholars exploited the geographical ambigu-
ity of traditions referring to heresy, unbelief, and upheaval in the East.
In this case, al-Fasawı̄ uses the tradition’s geographical malleability to
interpret the report as a pointed rebuke against Kufa. This technique of
interrupting and isolating fluid reports, which are then recycled for spe-
cific purposes, suggests that the discourse surrounding Kufa’s unholiness
was critical to al-Fasawı̄ and his readership. Kufa’s desanctification could
rest on a reconstruction of material taken from a pool of reports which
might have little direct correlation to the discourse of holy and unholy
places. The process by which material was dislocated from its origins and

88
Mā lik b. Anas, al-Muwatta’, kitā b al-isti’dhā n 54, bā b mā jā ’a fı̄ al-mashriq 11.
89
Mā lik b. Anas, al-Muwat˙˙ta’, kitā b al-isti’dhā n 54, bā b mā jā ’a fı̄ al-mashriq 11, no. 29.
90
Kaʿb al-Ahbā r was reportedly ˙˙ a Yemeni Jewish convert to Islam. His name features in
many early˙ Islamic biblical narratives and apocalyptic traditions. There are a number of
recent studies on Kaʿb al-Ahbā r, but I have consulted only Rubin, Between Bible and
Qur’an, 13–23; Tottoli, Biblical ˙ Prophets in the Qur’ā n, 89–91; Wolfensohn, Kaʿb al-
Ahbā r; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ reckoned him among the muʿammarū n (wa qad zā da ʿalā
˙ ˙
al-mi’a): see Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taqrı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 812 (under Kaʿb b. Mā tiʿ).
Remarkably, Fuat Sezgin ˙ attributes six works to his name: Sezgin, GAS, 1: 304–5.
91
Mā lik b. Anas, al-Muwatta’, kitā b al-isti’dhā n 54, bā b mā jā ’a fı̄ al-mashriq 11, no. 30. It is
˙ ˙
conceivable that tisʿat aʿshā r al-sihr is an incorrect transcription of tisʿat aʿshā r al-sharr,
which appears in other reports. Other ˙ sources tell us that Mā lik b. Anas described Abū
Hanı̄ fa as al-dā ’ al-ʿudā l. This issue is treated in Chapter 7 below.
˙ ˙
138 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

reimagined in new and different contexts gives us a very precise insight

into how, when, and where discourses around unholy places emerged. To
this extent, we should be sensitive to the different histories told by
conflicting forms of presentation and selection.

4.3 The Devil in Kufa

As we have seen, al-Fasawı̄ is committed to establishing the presence of an
incorrigible apparatus of heresy and deviance in Kufa. He does this not
only in his chapter on Kufa, but also in his sections on Basra and Shā m.
He singles out Kufa for its production of heretics. He suggests that being
raised anywhere other than in the region of Kufa ought to be considered a
sign of God’s immense grace and favour. Al-Fasawı̄ attempts to seal his
argument by presenting evidence to the effect that Kufa’s status as an
unholy region has its origins in an irrevocable, pre-earthly uneven distri-
bution of good and evil. Al-Fasawı̄ extends this web of unholiness around
Kufa by advancing a special affinity between Kufa and the devil:92
The devil descended to the East [Iraq], and there he defecated. Then he set out for
the holy land of Shā m, but he was prevented from entering it, so he went to Busā q
and continued on until he reached the West, and there he established his presence
and unfolded his machinations.
We can see just how dramatically the devil is woven into the very land-
scape and topography of the medieval Islamic world. Al-Fasawı̄ ’s con-
ception of the devil as a well-travelled social actor, whose actions have real
implications for the social, religious, and political history of towns and
cities, reflects a widespread medieval belief.93 We find al-Fasawı̄ men-
tioning it again in his History, this time referring explicitly to Iraq rather
than the Mashriq:
Abū Hafs Harmala b. ʿImrā n (d. 243/858, Misr)94 < Ibn Wahb (d. 197/812,
˙ <˙ Yah
Misr)95 ˙ yā b. Ayyū b (d. 168/785, Misr)96
˙ and Ibn Lahı̄ ʿa (d. 174/790,
˙ ˙ ˙

92
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 305–6 (nazala al-shaytā n bi al-Mashriq fa qadā
qadā ’ahu thumma kharaja yurı̄ d al-ard al-muqaddasa al-Shā m fa˙ muniʿa fa kharaja ʿalā ˙
˙ ˙
Busā q hattā jā ’a al-Maghrib fa bā da baydahu wa basata bihā ʿaqbariyyahu).
93
For two ˙ provocative reflections on˙ the decline˙ of this ˙‘belief see Douglas, Mary Douglas: A
Very Personal Method, 95–9, esp. 95; and Lefebvre, Introduction to Modernity, 56–64.
94
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 372–3 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). This is
˙
Harmala b. Yahyā b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Harmala b. ʿImrā n al-Tujı̄ bı̄ ; not to be confused with
˙ grandfather,˙ Harmala b. ʿImrā n b.
his ˙ Qurā d al-Tujı̄ bı̄ . Both were known as Abū Hafs al-
Misrı̄ . ˙ ˙ ˙
95
Ibn˙ Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 453–5 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
96
Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 4: 342–3 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
˙
 4.3 The Devil in Kufa 139

Misr)97 < ʿAqı̄ l [b. Khā lid al-Aylı̄ ] (d. c.144/761, Misr)98 < Ibn Shihā b (d. c.124/
742, ˙ Medina)99 < Yaʿqū b b. ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Mughı̄ ˙ra b. al-Akhnas (d. 128/745,
Medina)100 < Ibn ʿUmar: the Prophet said: ‘Iblı̄ s entered Iraq, where he defe-
cated; then he entered Shā m, where he was driven out by its inhabitants to the
borders of Busā q; finally, he entered Misr, and there he established himself and
spread and unfolded his machinations ˙(dakhala iblı̄ s al-ʿIrā q fa qadā hā jatahu,
˙ ˙ Misr fa
thumma dakhala al-Shā m fa taradū hu hattā balagha Busā q thumma dakhala
˙ ˙
bā da bihā wa farrakha wa basata ʿaqbariyyahu).’ 101 ˙
˙ ˙
Mapping the devil, writing him into and out of the history and topography
of specific regions, characterised an essential component of medieval
mentalités. The devil was conceived of as a real actor with important
agency in the regional dramas of the medieval Islamic world. The degree
to which certain regions are hospitable to his presence serves as an
indicator of the sacred nature of some regions and the unholy character
of others. The dominance of narrators from Misr in the isnā d of a tradition
˙
that implicates Misr, along with Iraq, is further evidence that such tradi-
˙
tions were not only products of regional rivalry; these beliefs were strong
enough to move narrators to transmit traditions against their native
regions. It is clear, then, from this report that medieval Muslims invested
both holiness and unholiness in specific regions. And this became espe-
cially significant as a way to frame the emergence of deviance and heresy
in particular regions. To this extent, it is no surprise that the role of the
devil appears prominently in discourses about regions and their heresy
and orthodoxy. What is surprising is the reluctance of social historians to
take stock of the salience of the devil in medieval Islamicate societies.

97
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 411–14 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
98
According˙ to Ibn Hajar, ʿUqayl b. Khā lid b. ʿAqı̄ l al-Aylı̄ : Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ ,
Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, ˙3: 130–1 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). ˙
99
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 3: 696–9 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
100
Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 4: 444–5 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). This
person ˙ might not be identical to the figure in the isnā d. Ibn Hajar describes a Yaʿqū b b.
ʿUtba b. al-Mughı̄ ra b. al-Akhnas. ˙
101
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 748–9. For the location of Busā q see Yā qū t
al-Hamawı̄ , Jacut’s Geographisches Wörterbuch (Kitā b Muʿjam al-buldā n), 1: 609–10.
˙
Translated literally, the phrase qadā hā jatahu would be rendered as ‘Iblı̄ s executed his
responsibilities’. However, the phrase ˙ ˙ was commonly used in medieval Arabic to refer to
defecation (ghawata), excrement, and faeces. See Muhammad b. Abı̄ Bakr al-Rā zı̄ ,
Mukhtā r al-sihā h ˙(Beirut: Maktabat Lubnā n, 1986), 202 ˙ (under gh-w-t: wa kā na al-
rajul minhum˙ idhā ˙ ˙ arā da an yaqdiya al-hā ja atā al-ghā ’it wa qadā hā jatahu); ˙ al-Tabarı̄ ,
˙ ta’wı̄˙l ā y al-Qur’ā n, ed.
Tafsı̄ r al-Tabarı̄ : jā miʿ al-bayā n ʿan ˙ Mahmu ˙ ̄d˙ Muhammad˙Shā kir
and Ahmad ˙ Muhammad Shā kir (Cairo: Dā r al-Maʿā rif, 1954), ˙ ˙
8: 388–5. Here, al-
˙ ˙
Tabarı̄ explains the meaning of the expression aw jā ’a ahadun minkum min al-ghā ’it in
˙
Quran 5:43 to refer to defecation by way of the Arabic phrase ˙ qadā hā jatahu: yaqū l˙ aw
jā ’a ahadun minkum min al-ghā ’it, qad qadā hā jatahu wa huwa musā ˙ ˙fir sahı̄ h . . . wa al-
ghā ’it˙. . . wa jaʿala kinā ya ʿan qad ˙ ā ’ hā jat˙ al-insā
˙ ˙ ˙takhtā
n li anna al-ʿarab kā nat ˙ r qadā ’
˙
hā jatihā fı̄ al-ghı̄ tā n. ˙ ˙ ˙
˙ ˙
140 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

Devils, demons, and spirits have been the subject of fascinating social
histories in the fields of late antiquity, medieval studies, and early modern
history.102 Any reluctance to investigate the history of the devil in medi-
eval Islamicate societies cannot justify itself by a dearth of primary source
material.
The early centuries of Islamic history boast a considerable production
of books that emphatically present the devil as a social and historical
actor in the earthly dramas and episodes of everyday medieval life. In the
ninth century, during al-Fasawı̄ ’s time, the devil became a subject of
intense inquiry. One scholar and author, in particular, was responsible
for popularising such narratives and beliefs. Ibn Abı̄ Dunyā ’s (d. 281/
894) Makā ’id al-shaytā n represents one of the most significant ninth-
˙
century monographs on the devil. In fact, Ibn Abı̄ Dunyā ’s exceptionally
large oeuvre shows a special interest in eschatology and macabre sub-
jects. He is known to have authored books such as the book of graves
(kitā b al-qubū r), remembrance of death (dhikr al-mawt), the book of grief
(kitā b al-ahzā n), beings who live after death (man ʿā sha baʿd al-mawt),
˙
the book of fear (kitā b al-wajal), and a second book on the devil (masā ’id
al-shaytā n).103 ˙
˙
The Makā ’id al-shaytā n mirrors al-Fasawı̄ ’s portrayal of the devil as a
˙
social and historical agent in community life. Ibn Abı̄ Dunyā suggests that
the physical movement of the devil is the direct cause of earthquakes. We
are told that the devil cries when he fails in bringing about sedition. We
also learn that the devil, Iblı̄ s, is the father of five children, each of whom is
assigned a specific task. Thibir is dedicated to causing destruction and
tribulation, uncovering the breasts of women, jolting their living quarters,
and inciting behaviour reminiscent of the age of ignorance. Al-Aʿwar, the
second son, encourages people to fornicate. Masū t is responsible for
˙
spreading lies. Dā sim causes discord among families and communities.
Zilnabū r ignites disputes in the market places. 104

Ibn al-Muflih (d. 763/1362), also inquisitive about the devil’s social
˙
life, points out his more mundane activities: the types of foods he eats;
where he urinates and excretes; and more details about the precise
nature of his stool.105 Indeed, the social and religious implications of

102
Pagels, The Origin of Satan; Forsyth, The Old Enemy; Russell, Satan; and Thomas,
Religion and the Decline of Magic.
103
On Ibn Abı̄ Dunyā see Brockelmann, GAL, 1: 160 and supp. 1: 247–8; Ismā ʿı̄ l Pā shā al-
Baghdā dı̄ , Hadiyyat al-ʿā rifı̄ n: asmā ’ al-mu’allifı̄ n wa al-musannifı̄ n (Istanbul: n.p.,
1955), 1: 442; and Kinberg, ‘Interaction between This World ˙ and the Afterworld in
Early Islamic Tradition’.
104
Ibn Abı̄ al-Dunyā , Makā ’id al-shaytā n (Cairo: Maktabat al-Qur’ā n, 1991), 54–5.
105
Ibn Muflih, Masā ’ib al-insā n min makā˙ ’id al-shaytā n (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ , 1943),
59–62. ˙ ˙ ˙
 4.3 The Devil in Kufa 141

the latter are hinted at in al-Fasawı̄ ’s reports about the devil defecating
in Iraq.106
Finally, we should note that early beliefs and narratives about the devil
in Kufa and Iraq may have had their origins in the historical memory of
confessional communities in the Fertile Crescent stretching back to the
religious and cultural life of late antiquity. It appears that there was a
resolute tradition of antediluvian narratives in ancient Mesopotamia that
focused on demonology and the devil;107 and Quran 2:102 demonstrates
that the early Muslim community was aware of this memory and indeed
perpetuated it:
And they followed what the devils (shayā tı̄ n) had recited during the reign of
Solomon. It was not Solomon who disbelieved, ˙ but the devils disbelieved, teach-
ing people magic and that which was revealed to the two angels at Babylon
(Bā bil), Hā rū t and Mā rū t. But the two angels do not teach anyone unless they
say, ‘We are a trial, so do not disbelieve.’ And they learn from them that by which
they cause separation between a man and his wife. But they do not harm anyone
through it except by permission of God. And the people learn what harms them
and does not benefit them. But the Children of Israel certainly knew that whoever
purchased the magic would not have in the Hereafter any share. And wretched is
that for which they sold themselves, if they only knew.

106
The social and religious consequences of the devil’s defecation seem to find resonance in
the reports we find in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history. Two similar phrases appear in al-Fasawı̄ ’s
reports about the devil’s activities in Iraq: qadā hā jatahu and qadā qadā ’ahu. These two
phrases became the most common synonyms˙ for ˙ the act of defecation
˙ (see above, note
95). There is a possibility that such phrases as they appear in al-Fasawı̄ ’s reports about
Kufa contain a veiled barb. By the ninth century, stools and urine had been incorporated
into strict purity laws. They were both held to be ritually impure. But they were also
embedded within certain social and moral conceptions of impurity, which was why
scatology was closely linked to ideas about devils and demons. It is possible that al-
Fasawı̄ was presenting narratives that bring together scatology, demonology, and
regionalism to cast an even darker shadow over the moral topography of Kufa. On
defecation and its meanings see Morrison, Excrement in the Late Middle Ages; Bayless, Sin
and Filth in Medieval Culture; Dominique Laporte has written creatively about secular
and cultural conceptions of defecation, but a history of holy and unholy defecation has
yet to be written. See Laporte, History of Shit. On ritual impurity see Reinhart, ‘Impurity/
No Danger’; Katz, ‘The Study of Islamic Ritual and the Meaning of Wudū ’; Maghen,
‘First Blood’; Maghen, ‘Close Encounters’; Reid, Law and Piety in Medieval ˙ Islam,
163–4.
107
Here, I am relying on the following works: Kvanvig, Primeval History, esp. 504–8;
Kvanvig, Roots of Apocalyptic; Haas, Magie und Mythen in Babylonien. The argument
for a Mesopotamian origin for antediluvian narratives is also made in Bautsch, A Study of
the Geography of I Enoch. There are channels of communication between late antique
narratives and early Muslim accounts of antediluvian episodes, and Joseph Witztum has
attempted to identify them. His intertextual analysis of Quranic retellings of Jewish–
Christian narratives covers the Fall of Adam and Eve but stops just short of their and
Satan’s descent: Witztum, ‘The Syriac Milieu of the Quran’, 65–107.
142 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

Memories of Mesopotamia’s antediluvian and demonological past were

vibrant among its multi-confessional communities in the eighth century.
Muhammad al-Qazwı̄ nı̄ (d. 682/1283) relates the following story about
˙
Babel which he attributes to the Kufan al-Aʿmash. Al-Aʿmash relates that
Mujā hid b. Jabr (d. 104/722) had a fascination for strange and fantastical
stories, but he would refuse to listen to such stories and would prefer to
travel to places to examine their veracity. So, when he arrived in Babel he
met the governor, al-Hajjā j. Al-Hajjā j inquired about Mujā hid’s motives
˙ ˙
for coming to Babel, to which Mujā hid responded that he had a matter to
discuss with the exilarch (ra’s al-jā lū t). ‘What is it exactly that you want?’
al-Hajjā j asked. ‘I want somebody to show me Hā rū t and Mā rū t.’ Al-
˙
Hajjā j then ordered some of the Jews to take Mujā hid and show him the
˙
two fallen angels. Mujā hid went along with this Jewish guide and they
continued on until they reached a certain place. The man lifted a boulder,
which revealed a tunnel of some sort (sarab). The Jewish man said to
Mujā hid: ‘Go down and look at the two fallen angels, but do not mention
the name of God (inzil wa unzur ilayhimā wa lā tadhkur Allā h).’ Mujā hid
˙
made his way down, and the Jewish man continued to walk with him until
he saw the two fallen angels, and he found them to look like two great
mountains, hanging upside down, their heads barely above the ground,
and chained from their ankles to their knees in iron shackles (fa ra’ā humā
mithl al-jabalayn al-ʿazı̄ mayn mankū sayn ʿalā ra’sayhimā wa ʿalayhimā al-
˙
hadı̄ d min aʿqā bihimā ilā rukabihimā musaffadayn). When Mujā hid saw
˙ ˙
them he could not control himself, and he uttered the name of God,
whereupon the two fallen angels shook so violently that they almost broke
loose from their shackles. Both Mujā hid and the Jewish man passed out at
the sight of the two fallen angels. When they both came round, the Jewish
man raised his head and said to Mujā hid: ‘I had said to you not to mention
God’s name. We almost lost our lives.’ Mujā hid held on tightly to the
Jewish man, and he would not let go of him as they climbed up together
until they exited the lair.108

108
Al-Qazwı̄ nı̄ , Ā thā r al-bilā d, 304–6. Mujā hid b. Jabr (attr.), Tafsı̄ r Mujā hid, ed.
Muhammad ʿAbd al-Islā m Abū al-Nayl (Cairo: Dā r al-Fikr al-Islā mı̄ al-Hadı̄ tha,
˙ 209–10 comments on some features of Quran 2:102, but says nothing
1989), ˙ about
Hā rū t and Mā rū t. See also Littmann, ‘Hā rut and Mā rut’. Littmann gathers and trans-
lates accounts of the Hā rū t and Mā rū t story mainly from al-Tabarı̄ ’s Tafsı̄ r. After
comparing the accounts in al-Tabarı̄ ’s Quranic exegesis with ˙some other sources,
Littmann concludes that the story ˙ has its origins in Persia and, on the way to Arabia,
came into contact with Jewish communities in Babel (‘Somit werden auch die persischen
Elemente der alten Sage, ehe sie nach Arabien kam, in Babylonien mit den judischen
eine Einheit eingegangen sein’). Littmann then attempts to extract the Bablyonian
elements of the story. Al-Tabarı̄ includes a report in which Mujā hid explains the story
˙
of Hā rū t and Mā rū t, but there is no reference to the episode described above. See al-
Tabarı̄ , Tafsı̄ r al-Tabarı̄ , 2: 434–5. The Persian version of al-Tabarı̄ ’s Tafsı̄ r does refer to
˙ ˙ ˙
 4.3 The Devil in Kufa 143

The survival of a number of reports about the devil in Iraq in contexts

different than the one provided by al-Fasawı̄ provides further documen-
tation for a unique propinquity between the devil and Iraq in medieval
mentalités. Al-Fasawı̄ ’s chapter on Kufa contains more than a dozen
traditions that speak very graphically about the devil’s physical presence
in Kufa. It would be a mistake to think that these narratives depended
only on events contemporary with al-Fasawı̄ . Rather, these narratives
belong to a cluster of memories about the antediluvian past that would
have been familiar to religious communities in the Fertile Crescent,
particularly because they narrate what for these communities would
have been the origins of human history: the moment when Adam, Eve,
and the devil were believed to have been cast down to earth.
There is some evidence that some of al-Fasawı̄ ’s predecessors and
contemporaries believed that the devil was exiled to Iraq in the aftermath
of the cosmic confrontation between God and the devil. ʿAbd al-Razzā q
al-Sanʿā nı̄ (d. 211/827) has a chapter entitled bā b al-ʿIrā q in his Musannaf
˙ ˙
in which he relates that Basra was the place where Iblı̄ s first set foot and
109
that he later settled in Misr. Some sources state that the devil was
˙ ̄ n. Another source tells us that it was the
banished to the region of Baysa
region of Ubulla.110 Reports in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history and in a large number

a small passageway under the earth (dar zı̄ r-i zamı̄ n) in Babel, Mount Damā vand, and
mentions an account of a certain individual who visited the two fallen angels at this
location. See Tarjama-i tafsı̄ r-i Tabarı̄ , ed. Habı̄ b Yaghmā ’ı̄ (Tehran: Dā nishgā h-i
Tihrā n, 1960), 95–8, executed ˙ by a cohort˙ of scholars under the orders of the
˙ ̄ mā nid ruler Mansū r b. Nū h (r. 350/961–365/976). See also the long and unstruc-
Sa
˙
tured discussion in al-Jas sā s, Ah˙ kā m al-Qur’ā n, ed. Muhammad al-Sā diq al-Qamhā wı̄
˙ ˙̄ th˙ al-ʿArabı̄
(Beirut: Dā r Ihyā ’ al-Tura ˙ ˙ also Jung, Fallen
, 1996), 1: 64–9. See ˙ ˙
Angels, 126–
38; de Menasce, ˙ ‘Une légende indo-iranienne’. For some brief but illuminating com-
ments on the Mesopotamian origins of fallen angels narratives in general, and Hā rū t and
Mā rū t narratives in particular, see Crone, ‘The Book of Watchers’, esp. 27–31, 47.
109
ʿAbd al-Razzā q al-Sanʿā nı̄ , al-Musannaf, ed. Habı̄ b al-Rahmā n al-Aʿzamı̄ (n.p. [South
˙
Africa]: al-Majlis al-ʿIlmı̄ ˙ 251 (mawd
, 1970), 11: ˙ iʿ qadima Iblı̄
˙ s bi al-Bas˙ ra wa farrakha bi
Misr), 11: 334 (also on Iraq and Misr). ˙ ˙
110 ˙ ̄ til’s Tafsı̄ r is forthcoming about
Muqa ˙ the details of the exile. He too identifies Ubulla in
Basra as the devil’s place of exile. See (pseudo?-) Muqā til b. Sulaymā n al-Balkhı̄ , Tafsı̄ r
Muqā til b. Sulaymā n, ed. ʿAbd Allā h Mahmū d Shihā ta (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Tā rı̄ kh al-
ʿArabı̄ , 2002), 1: 99–100. On Muqā til and ˙ his tafsı̄ r˙ see Gilliot, ‘Muqā til, grand exégète’;
van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 2: 516–32; Versteegh, ‘Grammar and Exegesis’; al-
Rā zı̄ surveys all the possibilities, in the course of which he refers to the devil’s descent to
Basra: Fakhr al-Dı̄ n al-Rā zı̄ , al-Tafsı̄ r al-kabı̄ r (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr, 1981), 3: 27–8; Abū
Hayyā n al-Andalū sı̄ , Tafsı̄ r bahr al-muhı̄ t (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1993), 1:
˙
315. On Ubulla see Yā qū t al-H˙ amawı̄ , ˙Kitā
˙ b Muʿjam al-buldā n, 1: 96–8, 2: 560, 3: 891–
2. There are sources, too, that˙ place the devil in Kufa in an encounter with Noah: see
Ismā ʿı̄ l Haqqı̄ al-Bū rsawı̄ , Rū h al-bayā n fı̄ tafsı̄ r al-Qur’ā n (Istanbul: al-Matbaʿa al-
˙
ʿUthmā niyya, n.d.), 4: 21–2, 127.˙ On the devil’s descent and the meaning of ihbit ˙ ū (Q
2:36), see Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya, Hā dı̄ al-arwā h ilā bilā d al-afrā h, ed. Zā ’id b. Ah ˙ mad
al-Nushayrı̄ (Beirut: Dā r ʿĀ lam al-Fawa ˙ ˙
̄ ’id, 2007), 57–65. On˙ the descent see˙ also
Gimaret, Une lecture muʿtazilite du Coran, 85; Ibn ʿAtiyya, al-Muharrar al-wajı̄ z fı̄ tafsı̄ r
˙ ˙
144 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

of early sources about the horns of the devil rising in the East should be
seen as yet another feature of the devil’s emplotment into the history of
Kufa and Iraq in the eighth and ninth centuries.111 What they all share is a
representation of Iraq that depends on doctrines about the devil as an
agent of disorder in the chaotic political history and social memory of
Iraq.
Like their Near Eastern late antique neighbours, early Muslims had a
rich pool of resources for putting together narratives about the antedilu-
vian past. This connection that medieval Muslims drew between ante-
diluvian events in the ‘otherworld’ and their continuation in the earthly
life was a cornerstone of late antique ideas about the porous boundaries
between prehistory and human history, this world and the otherworld, the
natural and the supernatural.112 It is understandable, therefore, that these

al-kitā b al-ʿazı̄ z, ed. ʿAbd al-Salā m ʿAbd al-Shā fı̄ Muhammad (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-
ʿIlmiyya, 2001), 1: 131; Beck, ‘Iblis und Mensch’. Beck’s ˙ article fails to consider the
view, put forward by exegetes, that the command ihbitū extends to the devil: Ginzberg,
Legends of the Jews, 1: 62–4. On the devil more generally ˙ see Goldziher, Abhandlungen zur
arabischen Philologie, 1: 106–7, 107–17, 205–12; Goldziher, ‘Die Ginnen der Dichter’;
Eichler, Die Dschinn, Teufel und Engel im Koran.
111
For similar reports and variants see al-Tahā wı̄ , Ahkā m al-Qur’ā n al-karı̄ m ed. Saʿd al-
Dı̄ n Awnā l (Istanbul: Markaz al-Buhū th˙ al-Isla
˙ ˙
̄ miyya, 1998), 1: 174; al-Tahā wı̄ , Sharh
mushkil al-ā thā r, 2: 270; al-Dawlā bı̄˙ , al-Kunā wa al-asmā ’ (Beirut: Dā r˙ al-Kutub ˙ ˙
al-
ʿIlmiyya, 1999), 1: 368; Abū al-Shaykh, Tabaqā t al-muhaddithı̄ n bi Isfahā n wa al-wā ridı̄ n
ʿalayhā , ed. ʿAbd al-Ghafū r ʿAbd al-Haqq ˙ Husayn al-Balu ˙ ˙
̄ shı̄ (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-
˙ r Makka
Risā la, 1996), 4: 106–7; al-Fā kihı̄ , Akhbā ˙ fı̄ qadı̄ m al-dahr wa hadı̄ thihi, ed. ʿAbd
al-Malik ʿAbd Allā h b. Duhaysh (Beirut: Dā r Khidr, 1994), 2: 85 ˙(mentioned in his
description of the springs of Zamzam); al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghda ˙ ̄ dı̄ ’s decision to place this
˙
tradition in his section on ambiguous and clear traditions (al-mujmal wa al-mubayyan) is
an indication of the geographical ambiguity entailed in this tradition: al-Khatı̄ b al-
Baghdā dı̄ , Kitā b al-Faqı̄ h wa al-mutafaqqih, ed. Abū ʿAbd al-Rahmā n and ʿĀ ˙dil b.
Yū suf al-ʿAzzā zı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , 1996), 1: 325–6. ˙
112
The proximity between paradise and earth and the precise topographic relationship
between them is the subject of an entire volume, but it is worth pointing out two chapters
that are particularly relevant: Reed, ‘Heavenly Ascent, Angelic Descent, and the
Transmission of Knowledge’; and Schäfer, ‘In Heaven as It Is in Hell’. Narratives
about the antediluvian past were invoked frequently in order to establish connections
between antediluvian rebellion and evil and late antique and medieval heresy, deviance,
and social and political crises. See Reed, ‘The Trickery of the Fallen Angels’; Orlov,
Divine Scapegoats. More widely, demons and devils were woven into the fabric of
everyday social, political, and religious life in the medieval Islamic world. There is,
quite possibly, another dimension that has negatively impacted scholarship on the
centrality of the devils, demons, and the supernatural in medieval Islamicate societies.
An excessive focus on the ‘rationality’ of the Islamic tradition seems to have dissuaded
scholars from studying devils and demons: von Grunebaum, Medieval Islam, 23–4;
Dols’s fascinating study is an exception to this trend, though it, too, emphasises the
popularity of demons and devils among laymen, which recalls a distinction that has to be
demonstrated with respect to ‘laymen’ and ‘elites’ as opposed simply to being invoked:
Dols, Majnū n, 213–15. An important investigation into the possible sources of early
Islamic narratives about the antediluvian past is Crone, ‘The Book of Watchers’. Less
helpful is McCants, Founding Gods, Inventing Nations, 53–5.
 4.4 Kufa’s Curse 145

narratives formed part of the multi-faceted process of history writing in

the ninth century. The history of regions and places was inseparable from
the ideas and beliefs that were shared by society. The devil as the sower of
discord and heresy occupies a central role in the great Near Eastern trope
of rebellion and evil. The way in which al-Fasawı̄ frames Kufa as an
accursed, heretical, and unholy region that had endeared itself to the
devil is an indication that memories of the antediluvian past were vibrant
in early Islamic societies and that they persisted long afterwards.

4.4 Kufa’s Curse

Al-Fasawı̄ ’s ability to draw on the rich semiotic koine of late antique
religions, mentalités, and beliefs in order represent Kufa as an unholy
region is greatly dependent upon the way in which the holy and the
supernatural were seen to manifest themselves in the events of the eighth
and ninth centuries. One of the most powerful mechanisms for desacral-
ising Kufa was the device of the curse. The power of the curse in late
antiquity has been examined by Peter Brown. Brown’s analysis is con-
cerned with who wields the power to pronounce divine imprecations. For
him, the curse is yet another marker of the social and communal demand
for holy men who, through the device of the curse, would resolve the
social tensions of their communities.113 Brown is right to focus our
attention on the authorities who acquired the social power and prestige
to pronounce the curse. On the other hand, we must also consider the
implications of such curses being directed at discrete audiences and
recipients. Agents of curses should be no more important than their
recipients. In what follows, I shall briefly discuss the use of the curse in
al-Fasawı̄ ’s history as a device to frame Kufa as an unholy region.
It is of no small significance that al-Fasawı̄ commences his chapter on
Kufa with three slightly different versions of a Prophetic curse against
Iraq:114
Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z al-Ramlı̄ (d. 232/847, Wā sit)115 < Damra b. Rabı̄ ʿa
(d. ˙202/818, Damascus)116 < Ibn Shawdhab (d. 144/761, ˙ ˙
Khurā sā n)117 <
Tawbat al-ʿAnbā rı̄ (d. c.131/749, Basra)118 < Sā lim (d. 106/725, Medina)119 <
113
Brown, Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity, 302–22.
114
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 746–7.
115
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 3: 633 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). See also
˙ ̄ nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 6: 164 (Cairo edn.).
al-Samʿa
116
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 229–30 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
117
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 354 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). Ibn
˙
Shawdhab settled in Basra and Damascus.
118
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 261 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
119
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 676–7 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
˙
146 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

Ibn ʿUmar said: The messenger of God, God pray over him and grant him peace,
said: ‘O my Lord, grant sanctity to us in our Medina, and in every measure (Sā ʿinā
wa Muddinā ), and in our Yemen, and in our Shā m.’ Then a man said: ˙ ‘O
messenger of God, what about our Iraq?’ The messenger of God responded:
‘There you will find earthquakes and tribulations and from there shall rise the
horns of the devil.’
Saʿı̄ d b. Asad (d. ?/?)120 < Damra < Ibn Shawdhab < Tawbat al-ʿAnbā rı̄ <
Sā lim < Sā lim‘s father said: The˙ messenger of God, God pray over him and grant
him peace, said: ‘O my Lord, grant sanctity to us in our Medina, and in every
measure, and in our Yemen, and in our Shā m.’ Then a man said: ‘O messenger of
God, what about our Iraq?’ The prophet of God, God pray over him and grant
him peace, said again: ‘O my Lord, grant sanctity to us in our Medina, and in
every measure (Sā ʿinā wa Muddinā ), and in our Yemen, and in our Shā m.’ Once
more, the man asked:˙ ‘O messenger of God, and our Iraq?’ The prophet, upon
him be peace, said: ‘O my Lord, grant sanctity to us in our Medina, and in every
measure (Sā ʿinā wa Muddinā ), and in our Yemen, and in our Shā m.’ The third
time, the man ˙ asked, ‘and our Iraq?’ The prophet, God pray over him and grant
him peace, said: ‘From there will appear earthquakes and tribulations and from
there shall rise the horns of the devil.’ Ibn Shawdhab said: ‘You see that Mecca in
this hadı̄ th is referred to as Yamā niyya.’
ʿĪ˙sā b. Muhammad (d. 256/869, Ramla)121 < al-Walı̄ d b. Mazı̄ d (d. 207/822,
Beirut)122 < ʿAbd ˙ Allā h b. Shawdhab < ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Qā sim (d. ?/?)123 < Matar
˙ 125 < Abū Sahl (d. ?/?)126˙ <
(d. 125/743, Khurā sā n)124 < Kathı̄ r (d. ?/?, Basra)
Tawbat al-ʿAnbā rı̄ < Sā lim b. ʿAbd Allā h < Sā lim’s father said: The prophet of
God, God pray over him and grant him peace, recited a prayer in which he said: ‘O
my Lord, sanctify for us our Mecca; sanctify for us our Medina; sanctify for us our
Shā m; and sanctify for us our Yemen. O my Lord, sanctify for us in every
measure.’ Then a man said: ‘And in our Iraq?’ The prophet turned away from
him. The prophet responded in this way three times: Whenever the man would
say ‘and in our Iraq’, the prophet would turn away from him. Finally, he [the

120
I have been unable to find an entry for him in the biographical sources. I take him to be
the great-great-grandson of the Umayyad caliph al-Walı̄ d. For al-Walı̄ d’s grandson,
Asad b. Mū sā b. Ibrā hı̄ m b. al-Walı̄ d b. ʿAbd al-Malik b. Marwā n (d. 212/827, Misr),
see Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 133 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). Ibn ˙
˙
Hajar transmits a report stating that Asad’s son, Saʿı̄ d b. Asad, authored a two-volume
˙
work, Fadā ’il al-tā biʿı̄ n. Al-Sakhā wı̄ mentions his full name, Saʿı̄ d b. Asad b. Mū sā , and
˙
his authorship of a work on the Successors. See al-Sakhā wı̄ , Fath al-mughı̄ th bi sharh
alfiyat al-hadı̄ th (Riyadh: Maktabat Dā r al-Minhā j, 2005), 4: 104.˙ ˙
121 ˙
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 3: 366–7 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
122
Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 4: 324 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
123
Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 404 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
124
Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 4: 87–8 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.) (under
Matar ˙ b. Tahmā n al-Warrā q). He settled in Basra. There is a possibility that Matar
˙ be Mat
might ˙ ar b. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n al-ʿAnbarı̄ al-Aʿtaq (see Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā ˙nı̄ ,
˙ b, 4: 88 (Mu’assasat
Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ ˙ al-Risā la edn.)). ˙
125
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 3: 458 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). He
settled˙ in Balkh.
126
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 3: 458 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.). He
settled˙ in Balkh.
 4.4 Kufa’s Curse 147

Prophet] said: ‘From there will appear earthquakes and tribulations and from
there shall rise the horns of the devil.’
In these opening reports in al-Fasawı̄ ’s chapter on Kufa, holy and
unholy regions are demarcated through the device of prayer and
curse. The Prophet makes a heartfelt prayer for the sanctification of
a number of key regions of the early Islamic world. Not only is Iraq
excluded from this prayer, but the Prophet refuses to submit to the
petition of a certain individual to include Iraq. Three times the
Prophet ignores the man’s petition and turns away from him. On
the third and final occasion the Prophet invokes the power of the
curse by withholding the prestige of divine favour and sanctification
for Iraq and declares that Iraq will be the site of grave upheavals and
of the devil’s appearance.
Kufa is written out of God’s divine favour in the physical landscape
of the medieval Islamic world. Elsewhere in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history it is the
recipient of any number of divine curses. Al-Fasawı̄ mentions five
variations of two specific incidents in which ʿAlı̄ b. Abı̄ Tā lib and
˙
ʿUmar b. al-Khattā b imprecate Kufa and its inhabitants. ʿAlı̄ , we are
˙˙
told, has this to say about the Kufans:
ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Uwaysı̄ (d. 236/850, Medina)127 < Ibrā hı̄ m b. Saʿd
(d. c.182/798, Baghdad)128 < Shuʿba (d. 160/776–7, Basra)129 < Abı̄ ʿAwn
Muhammad b. ʿUbayd Allā h al-Thaqafı̄ (d. 116/734, Kufa)130 < Abı̄ Sā lih al-
˙ (d. ?/?, Kufa)131: I saw ʿAlı̄ b. Abı̄ Tā lib take the mushaf and place˙it upon
Hanafı̄ ˙
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
his head, whereupon I saw its pages moving. He said: ‘O my lord, they have
prevented me from establishing among the community that which should be
there, so grant me the reward of that which should be there.’ Then he said: ‘O
my lord, I have become impatient with them and they with me, and I loathe them
and they loathe me; they have imposed upon me things which are contrary to my
disposition, character, and ethics, such that were unknown to me. Send me in
their place a people better than them, and send to them in my place one more evil
than me. O my lord, make their hearts perish just as salt perishes in water.’

127
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 588–9 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
128
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 66–7 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
129
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 166–70 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.).
130
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 3: 637 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.) (under
Muh˙ammad b. ʿUbayd Allā h b. Saʿı̄ d), 4: 567 (under Abū ʿAwn al-Thaqafı̄ ).
131
Ibn ˙Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 2: 546 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.) (under
ʿAbd˙ al-Rahmā n b. Qays Abū Sā lih al-Hanafı̄ ), 4: 539 (under Abū Sā lih al-Hanafı̄ ). I
found no death ˙ date recorded for ˙ him
˙ in˙ the biographical or historical
˙ sources;
˙ ˙ simply
references to him as a Successor (tā biʿı̄ ). For his traditions from ʿAlı̄ b. Abı̄ Tā lib see Ibn
˙
Kathı̄ r, Jā miʿ al-masā nı̄ d wa al-sunan al-hā dı̄ li aqwam sunan, ed. ʿAbd al-Muʿtı̄ Amı̄ n
Qalʿajı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr, 1994), 20: 293–5 (vol. 20 consists of the Musnad of ʿAlı̄ b.
Abı̄ Tā lib).
˙
148 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

The report ends with confirmation from Ibrā hı̄ m b. Saʿd that this curse
was intended for the people of Kufa.132 Al-Fasawı̄ ’s section on Kufa
features a second report that has ʿAlı̄ invite God’s curse against the
Kufans: ‘Abase their homes and fill their hearts with terror.’133
A careful examination of these works shows just how intensely (and
graphically) the devil was seen to operate in the social, religious, and
political history of the early Muslim community. Al-Fasawı̄ ’s history
assigns to the devil a good number of functions and roles. In so doing,
there is little to distinguish his treatment of the devil from those that
appear in similar sources. It is, however, al-Fasawı̄ ’s specific emplotment
of the devil into the landscape and politics of Kufa that emerges as an
important strategy in his efforts to dismiss Kufa as an unholy region.134
Abū ʿUdhba reported that a man came to ʿUmar b. al-Khattā b and informed him
that the people of Iraq had attacked their governor with˙˙ pebbles. ʿUmar was
furious and came out to lead the congregation in prayer. During the prayer,
ʿUmar made a mistake, which prompted members of the congregation to offer
the corrective remark, subhā na Allā h. Upon performing the final salutation,
˙
ʿUmar turned to the congregation and said: ‘Who among you is from the people
of Shā m?’ One man stood up, then another, then I (Abū ʿUdhbah) stood up as the
third and then a fourth. ʿUmar said: ‘O people of Shā m, prepare yourself against
the people of Iraq, for the devil established himself among them and from there
spread out. O my lord, they have certainly deceived me, so seize them, and quickly
unleash upon them al-Ghulā m al-Thaqafı̄ , who will rule over them with the reign
of ignorance. He will accept neither from the best of them nor will he let the worst
of them go unpunished.’135
The events of the great civil war (35–41/656–61) that resulted in the
murder of the third caliph, ʿUthmā n, were still etched in the memory of
eighth- and ninth-century Muslims. As Tayeb El-Hibri has shown, Kufa
132
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 751; Ibn Kathı̄ r, al-Bidā ya wa al-nihā ya, 8:
12; al-Masʿū dı̄ , Les prairies d’or [Murū j al-dhahab], 5: 327–8.
133
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 752.
134
The devil appears in the foundation narratives of other towns and cities. See, e.g., Hasan
b. Muhammad Qummı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh-i Qum, ed. Muhammad Ridā Ansā rı̄ Qummı̄ (Qum: ˙
˙ ̄ neh-yi Buzurg-i Hazrat-i Ā yat Allā h al-ʿUz
Kitā bkha ˙ mā Marʿashı̄
˙ ˙
Najafı̄ , 2006), 51.
135
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 754–5.˙ A number of al-Fasawı̄ ’s contem-
poraries cite a version of this tradition: Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 397, where it
appears in Ibn Qutayba’s profile of al-Hajjā j b. Yū suf; al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b al-Kunā juz’ min
al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r (Hyderabad: Dā ’irat˙ al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, 1978), 62. For later
versions see al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ , Sharh usū l iʿtiqā d ahl al-sunna wa al-jamā ʿa, ed. Ahmad b.
Masʿū d b. Hamdā n (Riyadh: ˙Dā ˙r al-Tayba, 2003), 125; Ibn Kathı̄ r, al-Bidā y˙a wa al-
˙
nihā ya, 9: 152; Ibn Mā kū la, Ikmā l, 6:˙ 165–6; al-Suyū tı̄ , Khasā ’is al-kubrā aw kifā yat
al-tā lib al-labı̄ b fı̄ khasā ’is al-habı̄ b, ed. Muhammad Khalı̄˙l Hirā s˙ (ʿAbdū n: Dā r al-Kutub
˙ adı̄ tha, 1967), ˙2: ˙472–3;
al-H ˙ ˙ , Mı̄ zā n al-iʿtidā l fı̄ naqd al-rijā l, ed. ʿAlı̄
al-Dhahabı̄
Muh ˙ ammad al-Bijā wı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1963), 4: 551; Ibn Hajar, Lisā n al-
mı̄ zā˙ n, ed. ʿAbd al-Fattā h Abū Ghudda (Beirut: Maktabat al-Matbu ˙ ̄ ʿā t al-Islā mı̄ ,
2002), 9: 121. ˙ ˙
 4.4 Kufa’s Curse 149

took centre stage in the story of the first civil war.136 The ensuing conflict
between the powerful governor of Shā m, Muʿā wiya, and the fourth
caliph, ʿAlı̄ , in Iraq resulted in an intensification of hostilities between
the two regions. A century later Kufa again became the launching site for
Hā shimı̄ revolutionary activity that would culminate in the ʿAbbā sid
overthrow of the Umayyads. These two formative and violent events
contributed to Kufa’s constituting a lieu de mémoire for sedition and
rebellion, a reputation recorded in al-Hajjā j’s eloquent and scathing
˙
address to the people of Iraq, whom he was sent to suppress.137 If Kufa
was the stage for this earthly drama of violence, al-Fasawı̄ ’s history
suggests that the devil’s pervasive presence in Kufa had an important
part to play.
In such narratives, Kufa’s unholiness is juxtaposed with ʿUmar’s con-
cern for the people of Shā m. This direct comparison between Kufa and
Shā m reflects the deep regional commitments of members of the early
Islamic polity. Religious and political affiliations were entrenched in
particular regions. Most importantly, as this report claims, the devil’s
physical residence in Kufa and his activities therein were seen to be critical
to Kufa’s fate. The belief that the devil took up residence in Kufa is, as we
have seen, a recurring theme in al-Fasawı̄ ’s history. But it reflects wider
religious beliefs and social attitudes about the function of the devil in
medieval Islamic societies. After all, this narrative about the devil’s activ-
ities in Iraq is not peculiar to mechanisms for dismissing regions as unholy
places. If we expand our discussion beyond al-Fasawı̄ ’s history to con-
ceptions of the devil’s role in medieval Islamic society, we see that this
kind of documentation of the devil’s mundane activities in medieval
regions is part of a wider understanding of his deep and graphic role as
a social actor. The political overtones of these instances of divine curse
against Kufa and its inhabitants take us into the heart of the political
instability and insurrection in Kufa under ʿUthmā n. Sedition and treach-
ery were to become important socio-cultural themes in Kufa’s history, as
it became the fomenting ground for a succession of failed insurrections
and ʿAlid rebellions against the Umayyads and ʿAbbā sids.138
We must recall that this moral topography of Kufa as a town of heretics,
the devil, the curse, evil, and demons was articulated against the back-
ground of a succession of political and social crises in Kufa. Founded in
17/638 during ʿUmar’s rule by Saʿd b. Abı̄ Waqqā s, Kufa became the
˙
136
El-Hibri, Parable and Politics, 128–33, 154–7.
137
Nora, ‘Between Memory and History’. For al-Hajjā j’s speech see al-Balā dhurı̄ , Anonyme
˙
arabische Chronik [Ansā b al-ashrā f], ed. W. Ahlwardt (Greifswald: Selbstverlag, 1883),
11: 267–70.
138
El-Hibri, Parable and Politics, 128–33.
150 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

caliphal capital under ʿAlı̄ . Towards the end of the seventh century it was
the scene of al-Mukhtā r’s rebellion. In 82/701 Ibn Ashʿath’s rebellion
struck the town during the reign of ʿAbd al-Malik b. Marwā n (r. 72–86/
691–705) and the latter’s governor, Hajjā j b. Yū suf al-Thaqafı̄ , was sent
˙
to suppress the uprising. In 122/740 Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ rebelled, and within a
decade the town witnessed the Khā rijite uprising of al-Dahhā k b. Qays
˙ ˙˙
and the rebellion of ʿAbd Allā h b. Muʿā wiya. Under al-Saffā h, Kufa
˙
became the ʿAbbā sid capital until 145/762, but during al-Mansū r’s
˙
reign (r. 136–8/754–6) Muhammad al-Nafs al-Zakiyya and his brother
˙
Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h rebelled in 145/763.139

Despite these tumultuous political events, we must be wary of taking

too simplistic a view of anti-Kufan narratives or describing them as
representing dynastic rivalries in which invective against Kufa is seen to
reflect pro-Umayyad sentiments. As we have seen, anti-Kufan reports are
mentioned across a variety of ninth-century sources, and their isnā ds
tend to defy the Shā m versus Iraq framework. Perhaps more pertinent
than the events of the eighth and ninth centuries was the political and
social background against which al-Fasawı̄ was writing. In 250/864 Kufa
was the scene of Yahyā b. ʿUmar’s Zaydı̄ revolt and the uprising of al-
˙
Husayn b. Muhammad. In 255/868–9 two Hasanids rebelled in Kufa.140
˙ ˙
The ʿAbbā sids faced the revolt of the Zanj in ˙ 255/869.141 Perhaps most
dramatically, Yaʿqū b b. Layth marched on Iraq in 262/875 against the
caliph al-Muʿtamid (r. 256–79/870–92).142
We cannot ignore the political upheaval that Kufa and Iraq experienced
during al-Fasawı̄ ’s lifetime and the memory of Kufa’s political and social
turbulence during the seventh–ninth centuries. Nor can we underesti-
mate the salience and spread of mentalités and beliefs about Kufa. Our
understanding of discourses of heresy around Kufa and Iraq has to
incorporate ninth-century mentalités and beliefs about the devil, dis-
courses about holy and unholy regions, and the region’s social and polit-
ical history. It is important to recall, for example, that the political
circumstances surrounding Kufa’s political alignments are articulated
through the device of the curse. The divine curse is afforded a powerful
degree of agency to set the course of Kufa’s subsequent history during the

139
For the political history of Kufa between the seventh and eighth centuries see Hinds,
‘Kufan Political Alignments’; Djaït, al-Kū fa; and Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the
Caliphates, 94–103.
140
Newman, The Formative Period of Twelver Shı̄ ʿism, 9.
141
Popovic, The Revolt of African Slaves. For a sense of how contemporaries responded to
the devastation in Iraq see Ibn al-Rū mı̄ ’s elegy in Ibn al-Rū mı̄ , Dı̄ wā n Ibn al-Rū mı̄ , ed.
Husayn Nassā r (Cairo: Dā r al-Kutub al-Wathā ’iq al-Qawmiyya, 2003), 3: 2377–82.
142 ˙ ˙̄ Saʿı̄ d Gardı̄
Abu ˙ ˙ zı̄ , Zayn al-akhbā r, ed. ʿAbd al-Hayy Habı̄ bı̄ (Tehran: Dunyā -yi Kitā b,
1944), 310–11; Anon., Tā rı̄ kh-i Sistā n, 231–2. ˙ ˙
 4.5 Conclusion 151

ninth and tenth centuries. We are presented here with an aspect théâtral,
whose protagonists, plots, heroes, and villains were many. Kufa simply
serves as a synecdoche for the unholy and heretical. The supernatural
power of prophecy and curse, its ability to orchestrate events in Iraq,
represents the very blurring of the borderline between society and the
supernatural.143 This, arguably, is the hallmark of medieval Islamic soci-
ety. And it is a recurring theme of al-Fasawı̄ ’s history of Kufa which is
presented in its most dramatic form by al-Fasawı̄ in the central role that
he assigns the devil in the history of Kufa. In a region that al-Fasawı̄ has
depicted, quite literally, as godforsaken, the devil naturally comes to
occupy a crucial role in the town’s history. Invective belonged to the
discourse not just of heresy, but to historians and scholars with a penchant
for local and regional history.

4.5 Conclusion
In the work of historians such as al-Fasawı̄ we are able to see how
medieval scholars in their depiction of reality weaved a contiguous and
intricate tapestry of social and religious life. Its threads do not simply
connect historical periods, they contract historical time. Human history is
telescoped as memories of prehistory, the Fall, and antediluvian periods
are brought into sharp relief in al-Fasawı̄ ’s ninth-century reconstruction
of Kufa’s history. Kufa’s history is dependent upon a structure of reality
that owes as much to seventh- and eighth-century developments (Kufa’s
curse) as it does to memories of an ancient past in which the devil was cast
down to earth, good and evil were unevenly distributed among the realms
of the Islamic world, and in which the Prophet was reported to have
warned about Kufa’s dark and unholy prospects.
My aim in this chapter has been to show that discourses of heresy
around particular regions – in this case Kufa – depended upon a range
of socio-religious motifs and mentalités. The power of such discourses
and ideas about unholy regions facilitated the reception of heresiological
discourses about Abū Hanı̄ fa. Establishing the religious deviance of cer-
˙
tain scholars became all the more simple through the process of narrating
the unholiness of their home town. Unholy regions were likely to produce
143
The supernatural was essential to the societies that historians of medieval Islam study. In
the light of its importance, it is remarkable that more work has not been done on this
subject. Contrast this with scholarship on the late antique world, executed with exem-
plary clarity by Brown, Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity, 302–32, and I am indebted
to his discussion in that book. See also Brown’s comments on St. Augustine’s de civitate
Dei and the sack of Rome in Brown, Augustine of Hippo, 311–12. For curses see
Kirschner, ‘The Vocation of Holiness in Late Antiquity’, 116–17; Langer, Cursing the
Christians? for a fascinating history of liturgical curse texts.
152 Regionalism and Topographies of Heresy

deviant ideas and scholars. For al-Fasawı̄ the logic was clear enough, for
his diatribe against Kufa ends where his attack on Abū Hanı̄ fa begins.
˙ of fact. Facts
The objective of historians was not limited to the detailing
were incorporated into historical narratives, and in doing so historians
aimed to insert moral, religious, and supernatural phenomena into the
basic facts and matters of medieval life. The moral imagination was the
social imagination. Medieval historians such as al-Fasawı̄ did not depict
our historical reality, but they described their world. Al-Fasawı̄ had a total
view of society. Heresy was not simply the product of human error or
ritual deviancy. When framing heresies and heretics, historians such as al-
Fasawı̄ collapsed distinctions and boundaries between society and the
supernatural, physical regions and holy and unholy devices. Against this
social and moral topography of Kufa, al-Fasawı̄ ’s discourse of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa was a logical extension of his bleak vision of Kufa’s
˙
past and present. As we shall see in the next chapter on ethnogenesis and
discourses of heresy, holy and unholy regions constituted just one social
dimension of heresiological discourses against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Like region-
˙
alism, ethnicity became a source of deep social and religious anxiety in the
eighth and ninth centuries, and this was reflected in the way in which
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa incorporated slights against Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa’s ethnic and ancestral origins. Consequently, both regionalism
˙
and ethnicity evolved into strategies of distinction between heresy and
orthodoxy.144

144
Pohl, ‘Introduction: Strategies of Distinction’.
5 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

Ethnogenesis, regionalism, and heresy are all tools of otherness and, as

such, they belong to what Jonathan Z. Smith has termed the ‘discourse
of difference’.1 The relationships between regionalism and heresy (the
subject of the previous chapter) and between ethnogenesis and heresy
(the focus of this chapter) differ in some important respects. Where
regionalism and heresy operate on an understanding of topography and
territoriality, ethnogenesis and heresy construct imagined and perceived
boundaries of difference.2 This creative aspect of constructing ethnicity,
language, and foreignness in the service of discourses of heresy serves
a fundamental role in the consolidation of group identities, and the
formation of proto-Sunnism was no exception to such social dynamics.
In the eighth–ninth centuries ethnicity (and ethno-racial reasoning) was
a banal feature of social, political, economic, and religious life in early
Islamicate societies. It should not surprise us, therefore, that ethno-racial
reasoning became an important mechanism in discourses of orthodoxy
and heresy in medieval Islam.
This chapter argues that ethnogenesis had a considerable impact on
religious developments in the late eighth–tenth centuries.3 Processes of
ethnogenesis in the diverse and multi-ethnic milieu of the early Islamic
empire dovetailed with emerging discourses of heresy and orthodoxy.

1
Smith, ‘What a Difference a Difference Makes’; Burke, History and Social Theory, 57–60.
Hartog, The Mirror of Herodotus, 212–59 has called this the ‘rhetoric of otherness’.
2
On the construction of ethnic identities see the important contributions of Amory, People
and Identity in Ostrogothic Italy, esp. 314: ‘Ethnographic discourse did not merely describe
society: it attempted to order and reorder it’; Gillet, ‘Ethnogenesis’; Pohl, ‘Conceptions of
Ethnicity’. For a wide range of contributions on the subject of ethnic communities in
medieval societies, see Pohl and Reimitz (eds.), Strategies of Distinction.
3
In reading ethnogenesis alongside religious developments I am following a well-trodden
path in the field of religious history: Hodge, If Sons, Then Heirs has shown how crucial
kinship and ethnicity were to Paul’s attempt to forge religious identities; Johnson, Ethnicity
and Argument analyses Eusebius’ use of ‘ethnic argumentation’ to explore how Christian
otherness rested on representations of ethnic identities; and Lieu, Christian Identity,
239–68, esp. 259–67, 272–4, 309–10 identifies a central role for ethnicity in the articula-
tion of Christian identities.

153
154 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

This fusion of two concomitant historical developments helps to explain

why proto-Sunni traditionalists deployed forms of ethno-racial reasoning,
often in a seamless manner, to cast Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic. This chapter
˙
draws attention to a set of specific, but interconnected, strategies of
distinction.
I analyse five social and cultural themes that characterise the ethno-
racial dimensions of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa: the first
˙
theme concerns the confessional ambiguity of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ancestors;
˙
the second relates to conflicting accounts of his (ethnic) genealogy; the
third theme displays attempts to establish his servile social status by
linking his ancestors to the institution of slavery and captivity; the fourth
theme surveys the semantic field of foreignness utilised by proto-Sunni
traditionalists to label Abū Hanı̄ fa; and the fifth theme is an extension of
˙
ethno-racial labelling, and is anchored in claims both that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
knowledge of the Arabic language was deficient and that he considered
Persian to be a sacred language suitable for ritual performance and
scriptural recital. A closer examination of such strategies of distinction
establishes a clearer history of how identity was constructed among reli-
gious movements and why the formation of religious orthodoxy cannot
be divorced from the social and cultural history of the eighth–tenth
centuries. It is to this history that we now turn.

5.1 Ethnogenesis in Early Islamicate Societies

It is important to recall the myriad ways in which ethnicity was implicated
in the everyday social life of medieval Islamicate societies. Islam’s foun-
dational scripture is explicit about having been revealed in the language
of the Arabs. The Quran emphasises the primacy of the Arabic language
as a unique receptacle of God’s word on more than one occasion.45 The
Quran also mentions the Arabian Peninsula and its longer role in the
history of monotheism. Peter Webb has argued that these discrete and
specific features of the Quran have been misread frequently as evidence
for the convergence of religion (Islam) and ethnos (Arabness).6 On the
other hand, the éminence grise of ethnicity studies, Anthony D. Smith,
identified ethnicity as a constant in Arab conceptions of the religion of
Islam. For Smith, myths of divine election were so obviously anchored in
Arabness as to require little in the way of demonstration. Christianity, on

4
Quran 12.2, 13.37, 16.103, 20.113, 26.195, 39.28, 41.3, 41.44, 42.7, 43.3, 46.12.
5
Consider passages relating to Abraham (Quran 2.127) and the people of ʿĀ d and
Thamū d, for which see Hoyland, Arabia and the Arabs, 68–9, 223–4; Retsö, The Arabs
in Antiquity, 34–40.
6
Webb, Imagining the Arabs, 115–26.
 5.1 Ethnogenesis in Early Islamicate Societies 155

the other hand, neutralised the potential for ethnicity to become a strategy
of distinction, difference, or contention. Despite the prominence and
influence of Smith’s work, there can be little doubt that his understanding
of the relationship between religion and ethnicity for the history of both
early Islam and early Christianity is untenable.7 Whilst historians of early
Christianity have discredited Smith’s ahistorical and broad thesis of the
role that ethnicity played in the construction of Christian identities,
scholarly works on ethnicity and medieval Islam continue to appeal to
Smith’s authority.
Sarah Bowen Savant’s recent monograph exploring the formation of
‘Persian ethnic identity’ after the Muslim conquests is one such example.
In an otherwise valuable study, Savant places Smith’s influential thesis
that the myth of ethnic election is absolutely integral to ethnic survival at
the heart of her investigation into how Persian ethnic identity was con-
structed and remembered in medieval Islam. She argues, for example,
that the incorporation of Persians into sacred Arab genealogies is
a manifestation of Smith’s theory of divine ethnic election.8 For Smith,
such myths of election were obvious in the case of the Arabs and Islam.9
Smith has no primary sources to support his claim.10 Still, Savant trans-
forms Smith’s undocumented and general assertion into a hypothesis
about ethnogenesis in medieval Islam:11
From an early date, the Arabs often espoused a missionary sense of chosenness
when they sought new converts, first among other Arabs and then among their
neighbours. Arabic literature is filled with claims representing them as a people of
religion, set apart from others. A common identity, documented through tribal
genealogies, was nurtured, and it was also their election that made Arabs out of
former non-Arabs. An ideology of election was supported by the Prophet as well

7
See Buell, Why This New Race, 1, where Smith is cited as one of a number of scholars who
considers ethnicity to be nugatory to the history of early Christianity. As Buell shows, it is
not just anthropologists who dismiss ethnicity. Buell is critical of historians of early
Christianity, such as Guy Stroumsa, for asserting that ‘ethnic terms were deeply irrele-
vant for the Christians’. See Stroumsa, Barbarian Philosophy, 156. Stroumsa’s more
recent work suggests a significant departure from this earlier position. See, e.g.,
Stroumsa, ‘Barbarians or Heretics?’.
8
Smith’s theory of divine election is articulated in Smith, ‘Chosen Peoples’, 441 (‘the
creation and dissemination by specialists of the belief that “we are a ‘chosen people’”’).
9
Smith, ‘Chosen Peoples’, 444: ‘We need not dwell at length on the powerful myths of
election that have surfaced periodically among the Arabs and their kingdoms, notably
during the Islamic conquests and in the period of the Crusades.’
10
Smith cites Armstrong, Nations before Nationalism, ch. 3 for ‘medieval Islamic identities’.
Armstrong says almost nothing regarding the importance of Arab ethnicity. In fact, he
argues that Arab predominance was undermined in the early Islamic period. Smith also
provides two references for the ‘Arab dimensions of Islam’, but provides no pagination:
see Smith, ‘Chosen Peoples’, 452.
11
Savant, The New Muslims of Post-Conquest Iran, 50–1.
156 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

as by the supreme importance of the Arabic language in Muslim religion and

ritual.
Like Smith, Savant’s bold hypothesis about the ‘missionary sense of
chosenness’, a requirement of Smith’s theory of ethnicity, lacks any
supporting evidence. There are no footnotes pointing to this missionary
form of divine election. Despite the claim that Arabic literature is filled
with such claims, nothing other than a passage from al-Jā hiz describing
˙ ˙
the Arabs is cited to refer to ‘a mature sense of Arabness’.12
In fact, ethnogenesis was a complicated and tense process in early
Islamicate societies, and it is difficult to discern in our texts any one single
conception of ethnic chosenness. Arabs and Persians were not static
ethnic categories. In the eighth and ninth centuries they underwent
many transformations and came to denote very different identities
depending on where one was in the early Islamic empire. This is to be
expected in a society marked by a high degree of religious, ethnic, cul-
tural, and linguistic diversity. Simplistic notions of ethnic survival and
stratification produced in an age of nationalism are ill suited to medieval
societies as diverse as the medieval Near East. Historians are on safer
grounds studying specific examples of ethno-racial forms of reasoning.
The everyday significance of ethnogenesis in the social life of medieval
Islamicate societies meant that conceptions of ethnicity and religious
orthodoxy and heresy were destined to come into conversation with
one another. Discourses of heresy and orthodoxy were anchored in spe-
cific social and cultural processes. Like regionalism, ethnogenesis in
the diverse, multi-confessional, and multi-ethnic provinces of the early
Islamic empire had the potential to induce crevasses among religious
movements. Ethno-racial reasoning played an important analytical role
in how society understood, interpreted, and articulated the political
mobilisation of groups and communities. Military life, on so many levels,
was stratified along ethnic and racial lines. The recruitment of military
personnel was configured according to perceived characteristics of ethni-
city. Salaries were subject to fluctuations depending on the social and
ethnic nature of soldiers and units.13 Populations were settled, resettled,
and surveyed, and this process rested on conceptions of ethnicity, race,
and tribe.14
Ethnicity, therefore, operated at every level of social interaction in
medieval Islamicate societies. These are the circumstances against
which discourses of heresy evolved in the eighth–tenth centuries. As we

12
Savant, The New Muslims of Post-Conquest Iran, 50–1.
13
Kennedy, The Armies of the Caliphs, 62 ff.; Kennedy, ‘Military Pay’.
14
Al-Qadi, ‘Population Census and Land Surveys’.
 5.2 Genealogy 157

shall now see, conceptions of ethnicity became part of the religious

rhetoric of orthodoxy and heresy, uprightness and deviance.

5.2 Genealogy
The construction of genealogy is more than just a social fact of kinship.
It has a legitimising role in societies in which traditional structures
of kinship, tribalism, and religion dominate.15 Bringing a scholar’s
genealogy into disrepute was a powerful means of discrediting them and
reducing their standing among Muslim communities.16 Biographical
dictionaries were the perfect venue for this. Ibn Hibbā n’s biographical
˙
dictionary of unreliable and weak hadı̄ th transmitters commences his
˙
entry on Abū Hanı̄ fa in conventional fashion. He describes him as an
˙
upholder of speculative jurisprudence; mentions the names of two trans-
mitters from whom he narrated traditions; and gives his date and place of
birth. Ibn Hibbā n then turns to the issue of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ancestry and
˙ ˙
genealogy:17
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s father was a slave captive (mamlū k) to a man from the tribe of Banū
Rabı̄ ʿa˙ Taym Allā h Najd.18 They were known as the tribe of Banū Qafal. His
father was freed (uʿtiqa) and became a bread-maker (khabbā z) for ʿAbd Allā h
b. Qafal.19
It is worth remembering that the entry on Abū Hanı̄ fa is the lengthiest and
˙
most captious biography in Ibn Hibbā n’s multi-volume work. His deci-
˙
sion to anchor his long diatribe in the context of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s servile
social and ancestral origins exemplifies the connections that ˙ proto-Sunni
traditionalists sought to establish between ethno-social statuses and her-
etical ideas.
This strategy seems to have had wider appeal among proto-Sunni
traditionalists. Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d is the largest
˙
15
The point is obvious enough, but it is discussed in detail by Szombathy, ‘Genealogy in
Medieval Muslim Societies’. A broader perspective on the role of genealogies throughout
Islamic history is provided in Savant and de Felipe, Genealogy and Knowledge in Muslim
Societies.
16
There is a brief paragraph on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ethnicity in van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft,
1: 186–7, though van Ess acknowledges ˙ that his account derives mainly from U. F. ʿAbd-
Allā h, s.v. ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa’, Encyclopaedia Iranica, 1: 295–301.
17
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā˙b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 3: 61–3 (Beirut edn.) = 3: 405–6 (Riyadh edn.).
18
On this˙ tribe see Ibn al-Kalbı̄ ˙ , Jamharat al-nasab, ed. Nā jı̄ Hasan (Beirut: ʿĀ lam al-
Kutub, 1986), 3: 517–21 = Ǧamharat an-nasab: Das genealogische ˙ Werk des Hišā m ibn
Muhammad al-Kalbı̄ , ed. Werner Caskel (Leiden: Brill, 1966), 150.
19
On˙ʿAbd Allā h b. Qafal see Ibn al-Kalbı̄ , Jamharat al-nasab, 3: 518; Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ ,
Kitā b al-Muqtadab min kitā b Jamharat al-nasab, ed. Nā jı̄ Hasan (Beirut: al-Da ˙ ̄ r al-
˙
ʿArabiyya li al-Mawsu ˙ manuscripts mentions
̄ ʿā t, 1987), 190, where at least one of the
that Abū Hanı̄ fa was the mawlā of Banū Qafal.
˙
158 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

repository of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in medieval Islamic

˙
sources, which is why near-contemporaries of his who happened to be
20
Hanafı̄ s produced a string of refutations. It is the lengthiest entry from
˙
a total of 7,831 in the Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, running into 142 pages in the most
recent critical edition. Ethno-racial reasoning plays a crucial role in al-
Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s wide-ranging survey of discourses of heresy against
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa. At the outset, al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ presents eleven reports
˙ ˙
concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s genealogy and ancestry. The first report pro-
˙
vides a neutral statement on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s genealogy.21
˙
Hamza b. Muhammad b. Tā hir < al-Walı̄ d b. Bakr < ʿAlı̄ b. Ahmad b. Zakariyyā ’
˙
al-Ha ˙ ̄ Muslim˙Sā lih b. Ahmad b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Sā lih
̄ shimı̄ < Abu ˙ al-ʿIjlı̄ < al-ʿIjlı̄ ’s
father said: Abū Hanı̄ fa al-Nuʿmā n b. Thā bit was a Kū fan from˙the Taym tribe of
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
˙
Raht Hamza al-Zayya ̄ t. He was a silk merchant.
˙ ˙
Next, al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ presents a report stating that when Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa was born his father was still a Christian (wulida Abū Hanı̄ fa wa
˙ ˙
abū hu nasrā nı̄ ).22 This created yet another context of deviance. Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa’s opponents were able to use elements from his fluid and uncer-
˙
tain genealogical history to insist on the confessional impurity of Abū
Hanı̄ fa and his immediate family.
˙
The careful manner in which al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ arranges his infor-
˙
mation seems designed to discredit and unravel Abū Hanı̄ fa’s dubious
˙
social and ethnic origins. The next report adduced by al-Khatı̄ b al-
˙
Baghdā dı̄ sketches a slightly different family trajectory: 23

Al-Hasan b. Muhammad b. al-Khallā l < ʿAlı̄ b. ʿAmr al-Harı̄ rı̄ < al-Qā sim ʿAlı̄
b. Muh˙ ammad b.˙ Kā s al-Nakhaʿı̄ < Muhammad b. ʿAlı̄ b. ˙ʿAffā n < Muhammad
b. Isha˙̄ q al-Bakkā ’ı̄ < ʿUmar b. Hamma ˙ ̄ d b. Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa said: Abū H˙anı̄ fa al-
Nuʿmā n b. Thā bit b. Zū tā . As for Zū tā , he was from˙the people of Kā bul.
˙ ˙ ˙ Thā bit
was born a Muslim. Zū t˙ā used to be˙ a slave captive for the tribe of Banı̄ Taym
Allā h b. Thaʿlaba. He was ˙ freed and made a client of the tribe of Banı̄ Taym Allā h
b. Thaʿlaba and then after of the tribe of Banı̄ Qafal.
According to this report, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s grandfather was a slave captive
from Kā bul in Khurā sā n. He served as a slave in a family from the tribe of
Banū Taym Allā h b. Thaʿlaba. He was freed, presumably on account of
converting to Islam. As a new convert to the religion of Islam, he was
integrated as a client (mawlā ) of the same tribal family and then under-
went the same process with a family from the tribe of Banū Qafal. Zutā ’s
˙
20
A refutation was penned by an Ayyū bid prince: see al-Malik al-Muʿazzam Abū Muzaffar
˙ ˙ al-Saʿā da, 1932).
ʿĪ sā b. Abı̄ Bakr, al-Sahm al-musı̄ b fı̄ kabid al-Khatı̄ b (Cairo: Matbaʿat ˙
21
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh ˙Baghdā d, 15: 446.˙ ˙
22
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 446.
23
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 446.
˙
 5.2 Genealogy 159

son, Thā bit, was born a Muslim. Converts were vehicles for the mobility
of ideas from foreign regions and cultures, as well as from old and
competing religions. The process of conversion served as a catalyst for
new tensions over ethnicity and community formation. The institution of
walā ’ is a transparent case in which the process of ethnogenesis in the
nascent empire gave rise to new pressures on religious and political elites
to regulate the status of recent converts and freedmen.24 The business of
incorporating new converts and freedmen into social ties with an Arab
Muslim patron was one solution to the vexing problem that faced an
imperial Arab elite seeking to maintain its privileged status amidst an
influx of new converts seeking membership within a religious community
that displayed no obvious scriptural basis for the domination or suprem-
acy of any one particular ethnic group.
The diverse ethnic composition of the amsā r, too, complicated an
˙
already volatile social situation. These amsā r were the birthplace of
˙
some critical discussions concerning legal, political, and economic regu-
lation. Religious ideas evolved, therefore, alongside new institutions.
Furthermore, the nature and success of the conquests also meant that
the Arab ruling elite had to draw on the industry of competent native
administrators, bureaucrats, and elites. The demand created new oppor-
tunities, and many converts readily took advantage of these openings.
The absorption of non-Arab elites into favourable social structures was
a selective process. By the Marwā nid period there was enough of
a correlation between ethnic, social, and political tensions for historians
to describe al-Mukhtā r’s rebellion as a revolt against the degradation of
the mawā lı̄ .25 The mawā lı̄ came to symbolise political and social strife.
Soon, their opponents would begin to cast them as religious deviants, too.
Nowhere is this clearer than in the following reaction to al-Mukhtā r’s
revolt:26

24
On walā ’ and mawā lı̄ see Urban, ‘The Early Islamic Mawā lı̄ ’, 86–112, now published as
Conquered Populations in Early Islam; Enderwitz, Gesselschaftlicher Rang und ethnische
Legitimation; Cooperson, ‘“Arabs” and “Iranian”’; Elad, ‘Ethnic Composition’; Elad,
‘Mawā lı̄ in the Composition of al-Ma’mū n’s Army’. Our understanding of the import-
ance of the mawā lı̄ has been enhanced by Crone’s fascination with the subject throughout
her career, though Urban’s thesis provides an important corrective to some of Crone’s
work. See Crone, Slaves on Horses, ch. 8; Crone, ‘The Significance of Wooden Weapons’;
Crone, ‘Mawā lı̄ and the Prophet’s Family’; Crone, The Nativist Prophets; Nawas, ‘The
Birth of an Elite’; Nawas, ‘The Contribution of the Mawā lı̄ ’; Nawas, ‘A Profile of the
Mawā lı̄ Ulama’; Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, 66–9.
25
Al-Tabarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 649, 719.
26
Al-T˙ abarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 750; al-Balā dhurı̄ , Ansā b al-ashrā f, 6: 135 (al-ʿAzm edn.). On al-
˙ ̄ r and the mawā lı̄ see Dixon, The Umayyad Caliphate, 5; Fishbein,
Mukhta ˙ ‘The Life of al-
Mukhtā r b. Abı̄ ʿUbayd’, 3–4, 36; Crone, ‘The Significance of Wooden Weapons’, 178.
160 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

When the news of the killing of al-Mukhtā r’s supporters reached Kufa, ʿUbayd
Allā h b. al-Hurr [a Kufan sharı̄ f] said: ‘As for me, I think that the amı̄ r [Musʿab
˙
b. Zubayr] should ˙
return every tribal group (qawm) who was with that liar to their
people, for we have use for them on our frontiers; and that he should return our
slaves to us, for they are for our widowers and our weak ones; and that the mawā lı̄
should have their heads struck off for their unbelief and the magnitude of their
arrogance, and the paucity of their thankfulness has become apparent. I do not
trust them with religion.’

Similarly, the mawā lı̄ appear as an acrimonious constituency in the rebel-

lion of Ibn Ashʿath; and the ʿajam serve the same role in historical
accounts of al-Hā rith b. Surayj’s revolt.27
˙
Proto-Sunni traditionalists were aware of this context when they por-
trayed heresies and heretics as outsiders threatening to undermine the
religion of Islam from within. Proto-Sunni traditionalists raised the issue
of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s servile status to add another layer of foreignness to his
˙
questionable genealogy, even if, as one report tells us, Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
reassured his patron that he should deem himself privileged to have Abū
Hanı̄ fa as his client. Not only did this root Abū Hanı̄ fa and his family in
28
˙
a˙ debased social status, but it connected him to an important social group
that was maligned frequently in the eighth and ninth centuries: the
mawā lı̄ .
A third report confirms that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s grandfather hailed from
˙
Kā bul.29 In the next report al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ suggests a more sinister
˙
explanation for much of the confusion surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ances-
˙
tral origins, namely, that Abū Hanı̄ fa falsified his genealogy. His real
˙
name, we are told, was ʿAtı̄ k b. Zū tara, but he invented a false genealogy,
˙
and he adopted a false name for himself (al-Nuʿmā n) and for his father
(Thā bit). 30

27
Ibn al-Aʿtham al-Kū fı̄ , Kitā b al-Futū h, ed. Muhammad ʿAbd al-Muʿı̄ d Khā n et al.
(Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthma ˙ ̄ niyya, 1968–75),
˙ 7: 146–7 (for Ibn Ashʿath)
and 8: 164 (for al-Hā rith b. Surayj). On this source see Conrad, ‘Ibn Aʿtham and his
History’; and Lindstedt, ˙ ‘al-Madā ’inı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Dawla’; Lindstedt, ‘Sources for the
Biography of the Historian Ibn Aʿtham al-Kū fı̄ ’.
28
The Arabic is concise, curt, and conforms entirely with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s reputation for
devastating wit: samiʿtu rajulan min Banı̄ Qafal min khiyā r Banı̄ Taym ˙ Allā h yaqū l li Abı̄
Hanı̄ fa: anta mawlayya. Qā la: anā wa Allā hi ashrafu laka minka lı̄ . See Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr,
˙
al-Intiqā ’, 191.
29
Muhammad b. ʿAlı̄ b. ʿAffā n: al-Fadl b. Dukayn said: Abū Hanı̄ fa al-Nuʿmā n b. Thā bit
b. Zū tā asluhu min Kā bul (al-Khatı̄ b ˙al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā
˙ ˙ d, 15: 446).
30 ˙ ˙ ˙
This report appears in Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ , Musnad al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, ed. Nazar
Muhammad al-Fā ryā bı̄ (Riyadh: Maktabat ˙ al-Kawthar, 1994), 19. ˙Its isnā d is: Abu ˙ ̄
˙
Nuʿaym al-Hā fiz < Abū Muhammad al-Ghitrı̄ fı̄ < al-Sā jı̄ < Muhammad b. Muʿā wiya al-
Ziyā dı̄ < Abu ˙̄ Jaʿfar
˙ said: kā n˙ a Abū Hanı̄ fa ismuhu
˙ ˙ fa sammā nafsahu al-
ʿAtı̄ k b. Zū tara,
Nuʿmā n wa abā hu Thā bit. ˙ ˙
 5.2 Genealogy 161

A further four reports present yet more contradictory accounts. One

connects his ancestry to the people of Bā bil in Iraq.31 A second states that
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s father was from Nasā .32 A third purports that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙ ˙
ancestors were from Tirmidh.33 The fourth report points to Anbā r as the
home of Thā bit, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s father. 34
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ancestry and genealogy, as constructed by proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalists, is characterised by deep contradictions. This in itself upset
a pietistic and scholarly convention in medieval Islam. Genealogies were
a matter of great religious and social significance. They had to be trans-
parent. Abū Hanı̄ fa’s genealogical ancestry is presented by proto-Sunni
traditionalists˙as obscure and spurious. The exact geographical origins of
his family are unknown. The confessional status of his father and grand-
father is brought into disrepute. Allegations are made that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
conjured up a false name and invented a false genealogy. The story of the
social and ethnic status of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his ancestors is one that
˙
vacillates between extremes. According to his detractors, he descends
from slave captives. Defenders of Abū Hanı̄ fa, notably his grandson
˙
Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Hammā d b. Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, repudiated the allegation that his
˙ ˙
grandfather was a slave. ‘We are sons of free Persians.’35 In addition to
this, Ismā ʿı̄ l presented an entirely different narrative regarding his grand-
father’s social and religious status. He maintained that his grandfather
went to ʿAlı̄ b. Abı̄ Tā lib and sought his blessings on him and his
˙
descendants. Abū Hanı̄ fa’s family was clearly perturbed by the ethno-
˙
racial smears against their ancestors. ʿUmar b. Hammā d relates that
˙
his brother, Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Hammā d, made the following declaration: ‘I am
˙
Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Hammā d b. Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa al-Nuʿmā n b. Thā bit b. al-Marzubā n,
among the sons of the kings˙of Persians. By God, slavery befell us never.’
According to family accounts, the ancestral connections that proto-Sunni
traditionalists made concerning the servile status of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s family,
˙
first as slaves, then as clients, then as freedmen, were completely at odds
with their genealogical history. They descended from Persian kings, not

31
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 447. Its isnā d is: Ahmad b. ʿUmar b. Rawh
al-Nahrawa ˙ ̄ nı̄ < al-Muʿā fā b. Zakariyyā ’ < Ahmad b. Nadr b. ˙Tā lib < Ismā ʿı̄ l b. ʿAbd˙
Allā h b. Maymū n < Abū ʿAbd al-Rahmā n al-Muqrı̄ ˙ ’. ˙ ˙
32 ˙
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 447. Its isnā d is: al-Khallā l < ʿAlı̄ b. ʿAmr al-
Harı̄ rı̄ <˙ ʿAlı̄ b. Muhammad b. Kā s al-Nakhaʿı̄ < Abū Bakr al-Marrū dhı̄ < al-Nadr
˙ Muhammad < Yah˙yā b. al-Nadr al-Qurashı̄ .
b. ˙
33
Al-Khat ˙ ı̄ b al-Baghdā ˙dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā
˙ d, 15: 447. Its isnā d is: al-Nakhaʿı̄ < Sulaymā n
b. Rabı̄ ʿ˙ < al-Hā rith b. Idrı̄ s.
34
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghda ˙ ̄ dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 447. Its isnā d is: al-Nakhaʿı̄ < Abū Jaʿfar
Ahmad˙b. Ishā q b. Buhlū l al-Qā dı̄ < father < grandfather.
35
Al-ʿIjlı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-thiqā t, ed. ʿAbd˙ al-Muʿtı̄ al-Qalʿajı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya,
˙ ˙
1984), 1: 450. ˙
162 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

as slave captives and bread-makers for Arab tribesmen.36 The only com-
fort provided to historians by accounts as contradictory as these is that
they demonstrate how much was at stake in constructing genealogies of
men of orthodoxy or heresy.

5.3 The Heresy of Foreigners

The use of ethno-racial forms of reasoning in discourses of heresy against
Abū Hanı̄ fa provides further support for this study’s thesis that orthodoxy
˙
and heresy transcended the sphere of belief and practice.37 Ninth-century
texts exemplify a fascination with ethnography, and this has to be seen in
the context of multifarious communities undergoing processes of ethno-
genesis in a multi-ethnic empire underpinned by a confession with no
definitive overtures to one ethnic community.38 This complex situation
solicited a number of reactions, but above all it created a semantic field
which provided the basis for ethno-racial forms of reasoning. It was with
such words that proto-Sunni traditionalist movements articulated con-
ceptions of orthodoxy and heresy in the semantic field of foreignness, and
this shows how discourses of heresy were entangled in the formation of
ethnic and social identities.

Nabatı̄
˙
Nabatı̄ was a term with ethno-racial connotations, and was used to dispar-
˙
age Abū Hanı̄ fa. The term was a pejorative one usually used as an ethnic
˙
designation for Iraqi Aramaeans. Ibn al-Manzū r’s definition of the term
˙
describes it as referring to a generation that settled in Iraq (jı̄ l yanzilū n al-
sawā d), and he cites yet another authority to add that they settled in valleys
between the two Iraqs (yanzilū n bi al-batā ’ih bayn al-ʿIrā qayn).39
This seems to be the context in which˙it was ˙ used in discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Proto-Sunni traditionalists were engaged in
˙
36
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 447–8. His source is a report in al-Saymarı̄ ,
Akhbā r ˙Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa ashā bihi, ed. Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄ (Beirut: ʿAlam al-Kutub,
˙
1985), 16. ˙ ˙˙
37
‘Ethnic reasoning’ is the term used by Buell, Why This New Race.
38
For examples of medieval ethnography see al-Jā hiz, Thalā th rasā ’il [Tria Opuscula
Auctore], ed. G. van Vloten (Leiden: Brill, 1903), 1–56 ˙ ˙ (Risā la ilā al-Fath b. Khā qā n fı̄
manā qib al-turk wa ʿā mmat jund al-khilā fa), 57–85 (Kitā b fakhr al-sū dā n ˙ʿalā al-bı̄ dā n);
Ibn Qutayba, Fadl al-ʿarab wa al-tanbı̄ h ʿalā ʿulū mihā , ed. Walı̄ d Mahmū d Khā lis ˙(Abū
Dhabi: al-Majmaʿ ˙ al-Thaqafı̄ , 1998); al-Qazwı̄ nı̄ , Ā thā r al-bilā d, 6, where
˙ ˙
he announces
his ethnographic intentions; al-Masʿū dı̄ , Kitā b al-Tanbı̄ h wa al-ishrā f, ed. M. J. de Goeje
(Leiden: Brill, 1894). See also Silverstein, ‘The Medieval Islamic Worldview’.
39
Ibn al-Manzū r, Lisā n al-ʿArab (Cairo: Dā r al-Maʿā rif, n.d.), 4326 cites other authorities
˙ residence in Iraq (sukkā n al-ʿIrā q).
regarding their
 5.3 The Heresy of Foreigners 163

deliberate attempts to interpret Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious deviance in this

˙
ethno-racial framework.40 Ethno-racial words and discourses of heresy
were channelled to discredit scholars, and, in a multi-ethno-racial empire
in which words had legal consequences, forms of ethno-racial labelling
were libellous. The Kitā b al-Umm’s chapter on slander (bā b al-firya)
opens with a legal discussion concerning the consequences of unkind
ethnic or tribal labelling and produces the views of Abū Hanı̄ fa and al-
˙
Shā fiʿı̄ on inaccurate uses of the label nabatı̄ .41
˙
The legal implications of inaccurate and underhand ethno-racial clas-
sification did not necessarily dissuade proto-Sunni traditionalists from
making use of them in religious polemics against Abū Hanı̄ fa. ʿAbd Allā h
˙
b. Hanbal, for example, includes in his capacious assortment of dis-
˙
courses of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa this perspective on the relation-
˙
ship between Abū Hanı̄ fa’s deviance and his ethnic background: ‘Sufyā n
˙
b. Wakı̄ ʿ < I heard my father say: whenever Abū Hanı̄ fa was mentioned in
˙
a gathering, Sufyā n would say: “We seek refuge in God from the evil of
the nabatı̄ when he becomes an Arab.”’ In the same section ʿAbd Allā h
42

b. Hanbal ˙ produces a charientism, cleverly manipulating the double

˙
entendre possible with the root n-b-t: ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa was a nabatı̄ who
˙ ˙ ˙
interpreted (istanbata) religious matters on the basis of his own specula-
˙
tive opinion.’43 Then there is the story in Ibn Waddā h’s work:44
˙˙ ˙
Muhammad b. Waddā h < Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Sahmı̄ < al-Malatı̄ < Ibn
Jurayj˙ < ʿAtā ’ b. Abı̄˙ Raba
˙ ˙ ̄ h said:
˙ a man who seemed peculiar passed by ʿAlı̄˙ b. Abı̄
Tā lib, and ˙ʿAlı̄ asked him:˙ ‘Are you of the people of Khurā sā n?’
˙
man: No.
ʿalı̄ : Are you from the people of Fā rs?
man: No.
ʿalı̄ : So where do you come from?
man: I am from the people of the earth (ahl al-ard).
ʿalı̄ : Indeed, I heard the messenger of God say:˙ ‘The religion will continue to
remain upright and virtuous as long as the nabat of Iraq do not become
Muslims. When the nabat of Iraq become Muslims, ˙ however, they will
˙
corrupt the religion and they will speak about the religion without any
knowledge, and when this happens Islam will be defiled and destroyed.’

40
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 447.
41
Abū Yū ˙suf (attrib.), Ikhtilā f Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa Ibn Abı̄ Laylā , ed. Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄
˙
(Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthma ̄ niyya, 1938–9), 163; al-Shā fiʿı̄ , Kitā b al-Umm
(Bulaq: al-Matbaʿa al-Kubrā al-Amı̄ riyya, 1907), 7: 141.
42
ʿAbd Allā h b. ˙Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 198.
43
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H ˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 197.
44
Ibn Waddā h, Kitā˙ b al-Bidaʿ
˙ [Tratado contra las innovaciones], ed. M. Isabel Fierro
˙ ˙ ˙
(Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, 1988), 213.
164 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

The material in Ibn Waddā h’s work provides us with an insight into
˙˙ ˙
the broader connotations involved in the act of labelling scholars as
nabatı̄ s. To use this term among proto-Sunnı̄ traditionalists was to
˙
invoke the religious deviance of a particular individual. It was to argue
that they were culpable of corrupting the religion. It is unclear whether
this meaning was understood to later authors who cited reports that
labelled Abū Hanı̄ fa as a nabatı̄ ,45 but there can be little doubt that
˙
proto-Sunnı̄ traditionalists ˙ ninth century were cognisant of its
of the
implication.

Muwallad
Another term of reference for foreigners in early Islamicate societies
was muwallad. The muwalladū n were a class of acculturated Arabs
whose parents and ancestors had been non-Arabs. In the words of Ibn
Manzū r, these were Arabs not of pure breed (wa rajul muwallad idhā kā na
˙
ʿarabiyyan ghayr mahd). Ibn Manzū r lists other definitions, all of which
˙˙ ˙
reinforce this sense of ethnic and cultural diffusion: a muwallad refers to
someone born in a place to which either one of their parents belongs
(wulidat bi ard wa laysa bihā illā abū hā aw ummuhā ); a person born among
˙
the Arabs, raised with the children of Arabs, and acculturated according
to ways of the Arabs (wulidat bayn al-ʿarab wa nasha’at maʿa awlā dihim wa
ta’addabat bi ā dā bihim).46 When applied to scholars like Abū Hanı̄ fa, the
˙
term signalled more than simply an ethnic category. The muwalladū n
denoted an ethnic category of scholars of dubious confessional and social
status (abnā ’ sabā yā al-umam).47 These were scholars who, in the view of
proto-Sunni traditionalists, had been advocates of deviant and heretical
views. In support of these views they would sometimes adduce reports to
the effect that the Arabs would perish on encountering the sons of Persian
women.48
ʿAbd Allā h b. Hanbal’s corpus, as we observed in Chapter 3, is
˙
replete with excoriating discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
Among other things, his Kitā b al-ʿIlal wa maʿrifat al-rijā l purports to
reproduce many assessments of individuals that ʿAbd Allā h heard from
his father, Ahmad b. Hanbal, and Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n. In one report he
˙ ˙ ˙
recalls that his father said that Ibn ʿUyayna once remarked: ‘There are

45
Al-Saymarı̄ , Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 75–6.
46
Ibn ˙Manzū r, Lisā n al-ʿArab,
˙ 3: 469–70 (Dā r Sā dir edn.). On the muwalladū n see also
˙ al-Rahman III, 30–1; Guzman, ‘Ethnic
Fierro, ʿAbd ˙ Groups and Social Classes’.
47
De Wet, Preaching Bondage would describe this as doulogy: doulos (slave) and logos
(discourse), a discourse of slavery.
48
See Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, al-Musannaf, 21: 264.
˙
 5.3 The Heresy of Foreigners 165

three individuals whose speculative jurisprudence is shocking: In

Basra, ʿUthmā n al-Battı̄ ; in Medina, Rabı̄ ʿat al-Ra’y; and in Kufa,
Abū Hanı̄ fa.’ After hearing this from his father, ʿAbd Allā h relates
˙
that he thought his father added the following interpretation: ‘The
point Ibn ʿUyayna was making was that these three individuals were
sons of foreign captive slave women.’49 The idea that heresy and reli-
gious deviance were related to the penetration of muwalladū n actually
precedes ʿAbd Allā h b. Hanbal. One of the earliest extant literary texts
˙
in early Islamic history exhibits an awareness of this concept. Dirā r
˙
b. ʿAmr’s Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh opens with an attempt to explain the origins
˙
of disagreement and sectarianism in early Islamic history. In one pas-
sage he remarks that the religious community of Muslims will not
perish until the sons of foreigners and the muwalladū n become
a significant demographic, and they shall be a source of their
misguidance.50
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , who took it upon himself to gather as many
˙
vilifications of Abū Hanı̄ fa as he could find in ninth–tenth century
˙
sources, begins his section on the condemnation by scholars of Abū
Hanı̄ fa with three reports. Each report combines ethno-racial reasoning
˙
and discourses of heresy to explain Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious deviancy, and
˙
each report identifies him as a muwallad:
Abū Nuʿaym al-Hā fiz < Muhammad b. al-Hasan al-Sawwā f < Bishr b. Mū sā < al-
Humaydı̄ < Sufya ˙ ̄ n ˙< Hisha
˙ ̄ m b. ʿUrwa ˙< my father
˙ said: the religion of the
˙
Children of Israel remained upright until there appeared among them the
muwalladū n, the sons of captive slave women from foreign peoples. They spread
the practice of speculative opinion among the Children of Israel, which led them
to go astray and caused others to deviate. Sufyā n said: ‘Likewise, the religion of
the people remained upright until this was transformed by Abū Hanı̄ fa in Kufa, al-
Battı̄ in Basra, and Rabı̄ ʿa in Medina. We did some digging˙ around only to
discover that these three individuals were descendants of captive slave women
from foreign peoples.’51

49
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-ʿIlal wa maʿrifat al-rijā l ʿan Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, ed.
Wası̄ Allā h b. Muh ˙ ammad ˙ ʿAbbā s (Riyadh: Dā r al-Khā nı̄ , 2001), 3: 156˙ (wa rubbamā
qā la˙ Abı̄ qā la: thalā t˙hat awlā d sabā yā al-umam. Hā dhā maʿnā hu). Also found in Abū Zurʿa
al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 508.
50
Dirā r b. ʿAmr, Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, 39. In my opinion, the editors have misread the manu-
˙
script, or the manuscript contains ˙ a scribal error: the editors have mā halakat umma hattā
yakthura fı̄ hā anbā ’ al-umam wa al-muwalladū n min ghayr rushdihim where I would ˙
read mā halakat umma hattā yakthura fı̄ hā abnā ’ al-umam wa al-muwalladū n min ghayr
rushdihim. Likewise, their ˙ suggestion in the footnote for reading anbā ’ al-umam for abnā ’
al-ithm seems incorrect.
51
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 543. Note that this isnā d places Ahmad
b. Hanbal’s˙ nephew and al-Humaydı̄ together. ˙
˙ ˙
166 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

Ibn Rizziq < ʿUthmā n b. Ahmad al-Daqqā q < Hanbal b. Ishā q < al-Humaydı̄
said: I heard Sufyā n say: ‘Our ˙ religion remained˙ on the right ˙ path until
˙ Abū
Hanı̄ fa emerged in Kufa, Rabı̄ ʿa in Medina, and al-Battı̄ in Basra.’ He said:
˙
Sufya ̄ n then turned to me and said: ‘As for your province, it was based on the
religious teachings of ʿAʾtā .’ Then Sufyā n said: ‘We thought about this issue for
some time and we came to ˙ the conclusion that it was exactly as Hishā m b. ʿUrwa
had said on the authority of his father: the religion of the Children of Israel
remained upright until there appeared among them the muwalladū n, the sons of
captive slave women from foreign peoples. They spread the practice of specula-
tive opinion among the Children of Israel, which led them to go astray and
caused others to deviate.’ Sufyā n said: ‘We investigated this and discovered that
Rabı̄ ʿa was the son of a female slave captive, al-Battı̄ was the son of a female slave
captive, and Abū Hanı̄ fa was the son of a female slave captive. We realised then
that this was exactly ˙ how it happened with the Jews.’52
Al-Qā dı̄ Abū al-Hasan b. al-Husayn b. Rā mı̄ n al-Istirā bā dhı̄ < Abū al-Hasan
Ahmad b.˙ Jaʿfar b. Abı̄ ˙ Tawba al-S˙ ū fı̄ in Shı̄ rā z < ʿAlı̄ b. al-Husayn b. Maʿda˙ ̄n<
˙ ˙
Abū ʿAmmā r al-Husayn b. Hurayth < al-Humaydı̄ < Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna: we˙
thought among ourselves˙ and˙ came to the realisation
˙ that the first people who
altered this [upright] state of affairs (awwal man baddala hā dhā al-sha’n) were Abū
Hanı̄ fa in Kufa, al-Battı̄ in Basra, and Rabı̄ ʿa in Medina. We investigated this and
˙
discovered that they were muwallads of foreign female slave captives (muwalladı̄
sabā yā al-umam). Al-Barqā nı̄ < Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Khamı̄ rawayh al-
Harawı̄ < al-Husayn b. Idrı̄ s < Ibn ˙ ʿAmmā r < Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna said: we
˙
pondered over this phrase [muwalladı̄ sabā yā al-umam] in that hadı̄ th [concerning
the Children of Israel and speculative jurisprudence], when it finally ˙ struck us who
they were: Abū Hanı̄ fa in Kufa, ʿUthmā n al-Battı̄ in Basra, and Rabı̄ ʿat al-Ra’y in
Medina.53 ˙

What we have here is copious evidence for how a number of proto-

Sunni traditionalists interpreted the birth of heresy and religious devi-
ance in medieval Islam. Ethno-racial forms of reasoning were a critical
prism through which conceptions of orthodoxy and discourses of heresy
developed. The spread of heretical deviants and movements in the
provinces of the early Islamic empire is explained in terms of the pene-
tration of foreigners into the ranks of the Muslim community. These
were not just any foreigners. They were, in the view of proto-Sunni
traditionalists, products of servile social and religious circumstances,
born in the midst of war, conquest, slavery, and concubinage. In dis-
paraging Abū Hanı̄ fa (and others), proto-Sunni traditionalists mar-
˙
shalled and circulated these ethno-racial accounts. Ethno-racial
reasoning became an indispensable component of discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙

52
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 543.
53
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 543.
˙
 5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy 167

5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy

in Transoxiana
This section assesses the impact that regional circumstances, such as
language and ethnicity, had on constructions of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious
˙
deviancy. It takes as its starting point a particular thread of proto-Sunni
traditionalist attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa. Al-Bukhā rı̄ is the protagonist who
˙
best exemplifies this particular strain of proto-Sunni traditionalism. His
life, career, and writings highlight why ethnogenesis, language, and the
performance of the ritual prayer featured in proto-Sunni traditionalist
constructions of orthodoxy and heresy with respect to Abū Hanı̄ fa. In this
˙
section I argue that al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa cannot be
˙
divorced from certain anxieties arising out of wider social and religious
developments in the eighth and ninth centuries, chief among them being:
(i) conversion and the spread of Islam in Khurā sā n and Transoxiana; (ii)
the diffusion of proto-Hanafism in these same regions; (iii) the process of
˙
ethnogenesis; and (iv) debates concerning prayer and language.
The third ethno-racial label that appears in discourses of heresy against
Abū Hanı̄ fa is the term ʿajam. It was used in early Islamic literature to
˙
denote Persians and, when speaking of episodes in the first century, non-
Muslim Persians.54 We have already observed that opponents of Abū
Hanı̄ fa relied on the art of genealogy to discredit him as a foreigner from
˙ land of Persia.55 The case of al-Bukhā rı̄ establishes a wider spectrum
the
of strategies for how and why ethnogenesis impacted the formation of
orthodoxy and heresy in early Islam.
The first and most obvious context for al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s castigation of Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s association with the ʿajam is the Shuʿū biyya controversy. The
˙
phenomenon of Shuʿū bism refers to a concerted effort by some writers
during the eighth–twelfth centuries to accentuate the prestige of Persians
and minimise the distinction of Arabs. Beyond this basic feature of
Shuʿū bism it is difficult to speak of a specific programme or movement,
and we should probably regard the controversy as reflecting a range of
sentiments emerging out the changing social, economic, professional, and
religious circumstances of both Arab and non-Arab Persian Muslims in
the eighth and ninth centuries. On the other hand, regarding Shuʿū bism
as no more than a literary movement does not do justice to the

54
On the ʿajam see E. C. Bosworth, s.v. ‘ʿAjam’, Encyclopaedia Iranica, 1.7: 700–701;
Goldziher, Muslim Studies, 1: 40–4, 137; Savant, The New Muslims of Post-Conquest
Iran, 79–81.
55
In Chapters 8 (Manā qib) and 9 (Masā nı̄ d) of this study we shall see how defenders of Abū
Hanı̄ fa used his Persian ethnicity and genealogy to establish his incontrovertible
˙
orthodoxy.
168 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

chronological consanguinity between history and literature.56 The eighth

and ninth centuries saw the mawā lı̄ rise to positions of high social standing
and importance. The middle of the eighth century was the moment when
Arabs were dropped from the registry of state pensions.57 In the seventh
and eighth centuries, non-Arabs were instrumental in the development of
the nascent state’s fledgling bureaucracy, especially in the light of the fact
that the Arabicisation of the administration was not complete until the
middle of the eighth century.58 The Arabicisation of the language of
administration occurred in provinces at different times in the mid- to
late eighth century. It must have affected the short-term economic and
social status of non-Arabs employed by the state. All this is to say that the
literature that speaks of the merits of the Shuʿū biyya was in some part
a reflection of the perceived grievances of different ethnic communities.
In other areas of society, people of Persian stock were making substan-
tial contributions to disciplines unhindered by the ebb and flow of state
administration. Persian scholars were at the forefront of the disciplines
of philology (al-Sibawayh (d. c.177/793)), hadı̄ th (Ishā q b. Rā hawayh),
˙ ˙
belles-lettres (Ibn Qutayba and Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ ), and history
˙
(al-Tabarı̄ (d. 310/923) and al-Dı̄ nawā rı̄ (d. c.281/894)). Their regional
˙
and ethnic associations did not, however, determine where they situated
themselves during the Shuʿū biyya controversy. In fact, as Islamicists well
know, one of the peculiar features of tracts responding to the Shuʿū biyya
is that their authors were scarcely Arabs themselves. These scholars had
Persian genealogies, but they were not moved to marshal arguments for
the cultural superiority of Persians over Arabs.59 Their reluctance to do so
is probably due to more than one factor. For one thing, many of these
56
In an otherwise perceptive article, Mottahedeh pays little attention to historical develop-
ments and their surviving echo in literature. See Mottahedeh, ‘The Shuʿū biyyah
Controversy’; Lecomte, Ibn Qutayba, xiii; Goldziher, Muslim Studies, 1: 98–198; Gibb,
‘The Social Significance of the Shuubiya’.
57
In some instances in Khurā sā n, mawā lı̄ soldiers were being paid the same as Arab
soldiers: see Ibn al-Aʿtham al-Kū fı̄ , Kitā b al-Futū h, 6: 146. Arabs were also being
dropped from the dı̄ wā n al-ʿatā ’: see Abū ʿUmar Muh˙ammad b. Yū suf al-Kindı̄ , Kitā b al-
Wulā t wa kitā b al-qudā t [The˙Governors and Judges of˙Egypt], ed. Rhuvon Guest (Leiden:
Brill, 1912), 193–4; ˙Sharon, Black Banners, 102 n. 14, 272–6.
58
For these centuries ‘non-Arab’ could refer to the employment of non-Muslims. Both the
ethnic and confessional hybridity of the early Islamic state is treated in Hoyland, In God’s
Path, esp. 209–18; Borrut and Donner (eds.), Christians and Others in the Umayyad State;
Yarbrough, Friends of the Emir, though this work treats attitudes to and theories of
Muslim employment as opposed to its practice under the Umayyads and ʿAbbā sids.
For the Arabicisation of the state administration see al-Jahshiyā rı̄ , Kitā b al-Wuzarā ’ wa
al-kuttā b, ed. Mustafā Saqqā et al. (Cairo: Maktabat al-Bā bı̄ al-Halabı̄ , 1938), 38, 67.
Abbott, The Qurrah ˙ ˙ Papyri, 11–12 has a useful discussion of this issue.
˙
59
Though Pourshariati, ‘The Akhbā r al-tiwā l’, argues that al-Dı̄ nawā rı̄ ’s history represents
˙ also Savant, The New Muslims of Post-Conquest
a layer of Shuʿū bı̄ historical writing. See
Iran, 148–56 for Persian themes in al-Dı̄ nawā rı̄ ’s history.
 5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy 169

scholars were aware of the fact that a scholar’s achievements could be

recognised irrespective of his cultural ancestry. For many scholars this
was proof of the insignificance of one’s ethnic background. Alternatively,
Mottahedeh has argued, Persian critics of the Shuʿū biyya sought to
reassert the prestige of noble genealogies, both Arab and non-Arab, whilst
assimilating this view within a story of the success of Islam as a religion.
This is why, for example, both al-Jā hiz and Ibn Qutayba remained critical
˙ ˙
of appeals to pre-Islamic Persian nobilities when employed as reproaches
60
against Islam.
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s ancestral pedigree was, in many respects, representative
of legal and hadı̄ th scholars of his day. He was born in Bukhā rā in 194/810
˙
during a tumultuous period in the city’s history. A few decades earlier
Bukhā rā had been among one of the many provincial cities of Khurā sā n
and Transoxiana swept away by a succession of nativist revolts.61 Al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s grandfather had converted to Islam from Zoroastrianism. As
a mawlā , he took the name of his Arab patron, Yamā n al-Juʿfı̄ , the
governor of Bukhā rā .62 His father, Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Ibrā hı̄ m b. Mughı̄ ra, turns
up in some biographical dictionaries as a hadı̄ th scholar.63 The family of
al-Bukhā rı̄ was wealthy. Modern scholars,˙basing themselves on informa-
tion from later historians such as al-Dhahabı̄ and Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ ,
˙
describe al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s family as dihqā ns, but the primary sources speak
mainly of wealth derived from mercantile activities.64 It was from his

60
Mottahedeh, ‘The Shuʿū biyyah Controversy’, 178–80.
61
See Crone, The Nativist Prophets; Karev, Samarqand et le Sughd is the definitive account of
Transoxiana’s history from the beginning of the conquests to the tenth century.
62
For modern biographies of al-Bukhā rı̄ see Brown, The Canonization, 65–9; Abdul-Jabbar,
Bukharı̄ , 9–23; Sezgin, Buhârî’nin Kaynaklarɩ, 210. However, the most careful and
detailed reconstruction of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s life and career has been provided by Melchert,
‘Bukhā rı̄ and his Sahı̄ h’, 426–31. Melchert’s article refers to the most relevant primary
and modern sources ˙ ˙ (in˙ Arabic and European languages). One important source for al-
Bukhā rı̄ that Melchert does not mention is Ghunjā r’s History. For this reason, I discussed
this work in some detail in Chapter 1. Another early and now partially lost source for al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s biography was Abū Ahmad al-Hā kim’s Kitā b al-Asā mı̄ . The work is incomplete
and al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s biography seems ˙ to be missing
˙ from the four-volume work. It must have
contained an entry on al-Bukhā rı̄ , not least because al-Dhahabı̄ cites the work in his
biography of al-Bukhā rı̄ in al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rikh al-Islā m, 19: 258–9. For the earliest extant
biographies see the following: Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 4.1: 182–3; Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 1:
226–7; Ibn ʿAdı̄ , Asā mı̄ man rawā ʿanhum, ˙ ˙
47–63; al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 2: 322–59; al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 958–66 (Riyadh edn.); ˙ al-ʿAbbā dı̄ , Kitā b
Tabaqā t al-fuqahā ’, 53–4.
63 ˙Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Thiqā t, 8: 98; al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 1.1: 342–3; Ibn Hajar
˙
al-ʿAsqala ̄ nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 140 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.) = Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄˙ b,
1: 274–5 (Hyderabad edn.).
64
Brown, The Canonization, 65–6 describes the Bukhā rı̄ s as ‘dehqā ns’, but his source
(Ibn ʿAdı̄ al-Jurjā nı̄ ) mentions neither the term nor the ownership of estates and
properties. Brown’s source is Ibn ʿAdı̄ , Asā mı̄ man rawā ʿanhum Muhammad
b. Ismā ʿı̄ l al-Bukhā rı̄ min mashā yikhihi alladhı̄ na dhakarahum fı̄ jā miʿihi al-sah ˙ ı̄ h, ed.
˙ ˙ ˙
170 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

father’s inheritance that al-Bukhā rı̄ is said to have come into significant
wealth.65 Much of the detailed biographical information we have for al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s personal life comes from Ghunjā r’s (d. 412/1021) lost history
of Bukhā rā . Excerpts of this work survive in a number of later Muslim
sources. Taken together, these reports suggest that Ghunjā r’s history was
a key source for al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s life and career.66
It is also Ghunjā r’s work that preserves a number of contemporary
accounts about al-Bukhā rı̄ from the latter’s companion and secretary,
Muhammad b. Abı̄ Hā tim al-Warrā q. These biographical accounts com-
˙ ˙
bine themes of economic prosperity, austerity, and piety in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s

Badr b. Muhammad al-ʿAmmā sh (Medina: Dā r al-Bukhā rı̄ , 1994–5), 59= Beirut edn.
˙
47–8. See al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 19: 238–74 for the entry on al-Bukhā rı̄ , whilst
263–4 speaks of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s owning an estate (qitʿat al-ard) that brought in a yearly
income of 700 dirhams. On dihqā ns as tax collectors ˙ and landowners
˙ see Morony, Iraq
after the Muslim Conquest, 200–206; Paul, ‘Where did the Dihqā ns go?’; Zakeri,
Sā sā nid Soldiers in Early Muslim Society, 101–11, 203–64; Tafazzoli, Sasanian
Society, 38–53.
65
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taghlı̄ q al-taʿlı̄ q, 5: 394–5.
66
Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taghlı̄ q al-taʿlı̄ q, 5: 395. On Ghunjā r’s lost history see Sezgin,
GAS,˙ 1: 353; al-Sakhā wı̄ , al-Iʿlā n, 239–40, who possessed an abridgement by al-Silafı̄ of
Ghunjā r’s Dhayl = Rosenthal, A History of Muslim Historiography, 461; al-Khatı̄ b al-
Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 11: 206; Ibn al-Salā h al-Shahrazū rı̄ , ʿUlū m al-hadı̄ t˙h, ed.
Nū r al-Dı̄ n ʿItr (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr, 1986), 340 ˙ (wa
˙ Ghunjā r muta’akhkhir wa˙ huwa Abū
ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. Ahmad al-Bukhā rı̄ al-Hā fiz sā hib Tā rı̄ kh Bukhā rā ); Kâtip
Çelebi, Lexicon ˙bibliographicum ˙ et encyclopaedicum [Kashf
˙ ˙ ˙al-zunū n ʿan asā mı̄ al-kutub wa
al-funū n], ed. and trans. Gustav Flügel (Leipzig: Oriental˙ Translation Fund of Great
Britain and Ireland, 1835–58), 2: 116–17; Ibn Bashkuwā l, al-Sila fı̄ tā rı̄ kh a’immat al-
Andalus wa ʿulamā ’ihim wa muhaddithı̄ him wa fuqahā ’ihim wa udabā ˙ ’ihim, ed. Bashshā r
ʿAwwā d Maʿrū f (Beirut: Dā r ˙al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 2010), 1: 283 (s.v. ‘Saʿı̄ d b. Nasr
b. ʿUmar b. Khalfū n’); Ibn Hajar, Lisā n al-Mı̄ zā n, 4: 258–9 (Hyderabad edn.) (s.v. ˙
‘ʿAlı̄ b. Muhammad Abū Ah˙ mad al-Hanı̄ nı̄ al-Marwadhı̄ ’) = Ibn Hajar, Lisā n al-
˙ (Abū Ghudda˙edn.) (s.v.˙ ‘ʿAlı̄ b. Muhammad Abū Ahmad
Mı̄ zā n, 6: 22–3 ˙ al-Habı̄ bı̄ al-
Marwadhı̄ ’); Ibn Hajar, Taghlı̄ q al-taʿlı̄ q, 5: 388; al-Subkı̄ ˙ , Tabaqā t al-Shā
˙ fiʿiyya˙al-kubrā ,
2: 216; al-Sakhā wı̄˙, al-Daw’ al-lā miʿ li ahl al-qarn al-tā siʿ (Beirut:
˙ Dā r al-Jı̄ l, 1992), 9: 119;
al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, ˙9: 177–8, 363 (Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya edn.) = al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-
Ansā b, 1: 108, 217, 4: 311–12 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.); Ibn ʿImā d, Shadharā t al-dhahab, 5:
173 speaks of a continuation (dhayl) of al-Ghunjā r’s Tā rı̄ kh Bukhā ra by Ibn Nā sir al-Dı̄ n
Abū Hā mid Ahmad b. Muhammad b. Ahı̄ d b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Mā mā al-Isfahā nı̄˙ (d. 436/
1045);˙ Ibn al-Athı̄˙ ˙ b, 3: 156 for˙ his tarjama, but without any˙mention of his
r, al-Lubā
Dhayl; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 17: 580, though, unlike al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Dhahabı̄ had no direct
access to the Dhayl; Ziriklı̄ , al-Aʿlā m, 1: 213; Ziriklı̄ , al-Aʿlā m, 15th edn. (Beirut: Dā r al-
ʿIlm li al-Malā yı̄ n 2002) (s.v. ‘Ibn Mā mā ’); Ismā ʿı̄ l Pā shā al-Baghdā dı̄ , Hadiyyat al-
ʿā rifı̄ n, 1: 74 (s.v. ‘Ibn Mā mā ’); al-Dhahabı̄ , Kitā b Tadhkirat al-huffā z, 3: 1117–18; al-
Safadı̄ , Kitā b al-Wā fı̄ bi al-wafā yā t, ed. H. Ritter et al. (Leipzig,˙ Istanbul,
˙ and Beirut:
˙
German Oriental Institute, 1962–97), 7: 361 (s.v. ‘al-Hā fiz al-Mā mā ’ı̄ , Ahmad
˙ ˙
b. Muhammad b. Ahı̄ d’) = al-Safadı̄ , Kitā b al-Wā fı̄ bi al-wafā yā t, 7: 236 (Dā r al-Ihya ˙ ̄ ’ al-
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Turā th al-ʿArabı̄ edn.) (s.v. ‘al-Hā fiz al-Mā mā ’ı̄ , Ahmad b. Muhammad b. Ahı̄ d’); Yā qū t
had access to Ibn Mā mā ’s work,˙ for˙ which see Yā qu ˙ ̄ t b. ʿAbd Alla
˙ ̄ h al-Hamawı̄
˙ , Muʿjam
˙
al-udabā ’, 5: 2349 (Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ edn.) = The irshā d al-arı̄ b ilā maʿrifat al-adı̄ b: or
Dictionary of Learned Men of Yā qū t, ed. D. S. Margoliouth, 2nd edn. (London: Luzac,
1923–31), 6: 329.
 5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy 171

life. One report from al-Warrā q narrates the following from al-Bukhā rı̄ : ‘I
departed to go and see Ā dam b. Abı̄ Iyā s, my money having been delayed
(ta’akhkharat nafaqatı̄ ), so I was reduced to eating weeds from the ground
(hashı̄ sh al-ard). On the third day, a man unknown to me came by and
˙ ˙
gifted me a purse with money inside it.’ Another report tells us that al-
Warrā q heard al-Bukhā rı̄ say: ‘I would receive five hundred dirhams every
month, which I would spend in the way of seeking knowledge, for what is
with God is greater and more lasting.’67
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s relationship with Abū Hanı̄ fa has been addressed in detail
˙
in Chapter 1. The central concern here is to highlight another aspect of al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s opposition to Abū Hanı̄ fa and proto-Hanafism in the context
˙ ˙
of Khurā sā n and Transoxiana’s social history. Scholars such as al-
Bukhā rı̄ lived in societies in which religious, ethnic, social, ancestral,
and political loyalties were tugging at one another. These two provinces,
perhaps more than any other region of the Islamicate world, became the
central scenes for the playing out of these tensions. A concatenation of
rebellions in Khurā sā n in the late eighth–ninth centuries saw rebels
mobilise ethnic (what Crone calls Iranian nativism), social, ancestral,
and religious sentiments against the state’s provincial authorities, in
order to break away from the empire. This was a delicate moment in the
religious and cultural history of the period.
This social, political, and religious discontent was matched by al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s grievances against certain religious trends in proto-Sunnism.
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s vitriolic condemnation of Abū Hanı̄ fa encapsulates these
˙
discontents by pointing to the conversion and spread of Islam, the spread
of proto-Hanafism, the process of ethnogenesis, and disputes over core
aspects of˙religious life (prayer and liturgical languages).
Our sources are not always so generous in revealing the anxieties that
such historical events engendered, but al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s combining of reli-
gion, ritual, ethnicity, language, orthodoxy, and heresy in an otherwise
quotidian treatise on Islamic ritual bring us closer to the climate of his
society. These are the first lines of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s book regarding the per-
formance of the ritual prayer and the obligation, according to al-Bukhā rı̄ ,
that one raise one’s hand during the takbı̄ rā t:68

67
Ibn Hajar, Taghlı̄ q al-taʿlı̄ q, 5: 395; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 19: 236, with slightly
˙ wording.
different
68
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn fı̄ al-salā t, ed. Badı̄ ʿ al-Dı̄ n al-Rā shidı̄ (Beirut: Dā r Ibn
Hazm, 1996), 17–20 (al-radd ʿalā man˙ ankara rafʿ al-aydi fı̄ al-salā t ʿinda al-rukū ʿ wa idhā
˙
rafaʿa ra’suhu min al-rukū ʿ, wa abhama ʿalā al-ʿajam fı̄ dhā lika ˙ takallufan limā lā yaʿnı̄ hi
fı̄ mā thabata ʿan rasū l Allā h min fiʿlihi wa qawlihi wa min fiʿl ashā bihi wa riwā yatihi ka
˙˙
dhā lika, thumma fiʿl al-tā biʿı̄ n wa iqtidā ’ al-salaf bihim fı̄ sihhat al-akhbā r baʿd al-thiqa ʿan
al-thiqa min al-khalaf al-ʿudū l rahimahum Allā h taʿā lā wa˙anjaza˙˙ ˙
lahum mā waʿadahum ʿalā
˙
daghı̄ nat sadrihi wa hajarat qalbihi nifā ran ʿan sunan rasū l Allā h mustahiqqan/mustakhiffan
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
172 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

[This book is] A refutation of him who rejected raising the hands in the ritual
prayer before bowing and upon raising his head after the cycle of prostration. He
confused the non-Arabs on this issue out of his endeavour to disregard utterly that
which was established from the Messenger of God of his actions and sayings; and
he had the same disregard for that which was established from the actions of his
Companions and their narrations; and then the generation of the Successors and
the adherence of the pious ancestors to them with respect to narrations that had
been authenticated, transmitted from one reliable authority to another from the
upright generation that came after, may God be pleased with them all and may He
grant them what He has promised them. [And this was all done] out of the
spitefulness of his breast, the rancour of his heart, departing from the practices
of the Messenger of God, showing contempt for what he transmitted out of his
arrogance and enmity for its people [ahl al-sunan], because heresy had contamin-
ated his flesh, bones, and mind and made him delight in the non-Arabs’ mis-
guided celebration of him.
Al-Bukhā rı̄ is not merely asserting his opposition to a contrary legal
position. He frames his opposition in the context of one notable individ-
ual’s enterprise to undermine the hadı̄ th, the Sunna, the probity of the
˙
Companions, and the legal opinions of the Successors. In short, al-
Bukhā rı̄ is articulating his conviction that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s jurisprudence
˙
represents the extreme opposite of the doctrines and methods that under-
pinned proto-Sunni traditionalism. For al-Bukhā rı̄ this represents
nothing short of heretical innovation which he then proceeds to depict
graphically as having permeated the very flesh and bones of Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
But it is a heresy, he argues, that became widespread because of Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s popularity among the ʿajam. Orthopraxy, orthodoxy, and ethnic
˙
forms of reasoning come together in this compact criticism of Abū
Hanı̄ fa.
˙
In this report al-Bukhā rı̄ pays Abū Hanı̄ fa the courtesy of not naming
him directly. However, the references˙ to Abū Hanı̄ fa later in the same
˙
work indicate who the subject of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s tirade is. Right before
naming Abū Hanı̄ fa, al-Bukhā rı̄ returns to the very contentious themes
˙
he raised at the outset of his book. He refers to Wakı̄ ʿ b. Jarrā h’s definition
˙
of orthodoxy and heresy: ‘Whoever studies hadı̄ th as they have come
˙
down to us, he is a man of orthodoxy; but whoever studies hadı̄ th in
˙
order to strengthen his whims, he is a man of heresy.’69 Al-Bukhā rı̄ then
adds his own explanation: ‘He means by this that it is imperative that

limā yahmiluhu istikbā ran wa ʿadā watan li ahlihā li shawb al-bidʿat lahmihi wa ʿidhā mihi wa
˙ wa anasathu bi ihtifā l al-ʿajam hawlahu ightirā ran).
mukhkhihi ˙
69 ˙
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn, ˙
105 (man talaba al-hadı̄ th kamā jā ’a fa huwa sā hib
sunna, wa man talaba al-hadı̄ th li yuqawwiya ˙ hawā hu fa ˙ huwa sā hib bidʿa). Note˙ that ˙
I translate sā hib˙ sunna as˙ a man of orthodoxy because it contrasted ˙ ˙ to sā hib bidʿa (a
˙ ˙
man of heresy). ˙ ˙
 5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy 173

a person adjust his opinion in accordance with the hadı̄ th of the Prophet,
˙
and when the hadı̄ th is confirmed he does not seek to weaken it with
˙
defects nor to authenticate it in order to strengthen his whims.’ This, al-
Bukhā rı̄ continues, is articulated in the hadı̄ th of the Prophet: ‘None of
˙
you believes until his views are in accordance with what I have come
70
with.’ In order to illustrate the disparity between orthodoxy and heresy,
al-Bukhā rı̄ cites an incident involving Abū Hanı̄ fa which by the ninth
˙
century had become widespread:71
ibn al-mubā rak: I was praying next to al-Nuʿmā n [b. Thā bit] and I raised my
hands.
abū h: anı̄ fa [after the prayer had finished, as another source tells us]: Did you not
fear that you would fly?
ibn al-mubā rak: If I did not fly away the first time I raised my hands at the
opening takbı̄ r of prayer, why would I fly away the second time?
Al-Bukhā rı̄ expresses his delight at this quip of Ibn al-Mubā rak’s by
adding Wakı̄ ʿ’s acknowledgement of Ibn al-Mubā rak’s condign response:
‘God bless Ibn al-Mubā rak. He was someone of quick wit.’72
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s account invites us into competing visions of proto-Sunni
orthodoxy. For learned agents of orthodoxy such as al-Bukhā rı̄ , certain
practices, however insignificant and mundane they may appear to
modern readers, betrayed one’s commitment to particular visions of
orthodoxy. Quick wit and humour could be deployed to underscore the
triumph of one conception of orthodoxy over another. The next report
has Ibn ʿUmar’s description of the Prophet’s performance of the ritual
prayer: ‘I saw that when the Messenger of God stood for the start of prayer
he raised his two hands until they would be placed identically by his
shoulders, and then he would pronounce the takbı̄ r; and he would do
this when he would raise his head after the cycle of prostration and also
when he would say samiʿa Allā h li man hamidahu, but he would not raise
˙
[his hands] after raising his head from the prostration of the forehead [to
the sitting position].’73 This is what al-Bukhā rı̄ appears to have in mind
when he refers at the start of his book in such belligerent a tone to Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s alleged contempt for transmissions concerning the Prophet’s
˙

70
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn, 105–6 (lā yu’min ahadukum hattā yakū na hawā hu
tabaʿan limā ji’tu bihi). ˙ ˙
71
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn, 107. See, e.g., Ibn Qutayba, Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th
(Zakı̄ al-Kurdı̄ edn.), 66–7 = ed. Muhammad ʿAbd al-Rahı̄ m (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr, 1995), ˙
˙ ˙
59 = al-Sinnā rı̄ edn., 106–7 = Le traité, 66; al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15:
535. The isnā d is Ishā q b. Rā hawayh < Wakı̄ ʿ ˙b. al-Jarrā h; ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad
b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, ˙ 1: 276; Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Thiqā˙ t, 8: 45. ˙
72 ˙
Al-Bukha ˙ na hā dir al-jawā b).
̄ rı̄ , Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn, 107 (kā
73
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn, 108–9. ˙ ˙
174 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

actions and sayings. The playful barb that Abū Hanı̄ fa is reported to have
˙
delivered to Ibn al-Mubā rak is, in al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s view, an attack on the
Prophet’s performance of the ritual prayer. This is a carefully crafted
argument designed to discredit Abū Hanı̄ fa's claim to orthodoxy.
˙
The correct performance of the ritual prayer was a matter of utmost
74
importance for early Muslims. Early Islamic juridical and hadı̄ th works
˙
are replete with discussions seeking to clarify different aspects of the ritual
prayer. The ambiguity regarding the very first ritual act of the prayer was
a disturbing fact for some religious scholars, and certainly for al-Bukhā rı̄ .
Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s treatise is an attempt to establish, beyond any doubt, the
validity of the raising of the two hands at the point of bowing (rukū ʿ) and
upon raising one’s head after the bowing (idhā arā da an yarkaʿa wa idhā
rafaʿa ra’sahu ʿmin al-rukū ʿ).75 For this purpose, he gathers a copious
amount of narrations. It is worth remembering that ninth-century society
in Khurā sā n and Transoxiana was still largely non-Muslim. Not only was
proto-Sunni orthopraxy not uniform, but these Muslim communities
were in the process of consolidating their religious identities, beliefs,
and practices. The wave of ninth-century conversion, too, reinforced
the urgency and relevance of treatises on elementary features of the ritual
prayer. We must reckon with the very likely possibility that al-Bukhā rı̄ was
writing for an eager and receptive audience. This also puts into perspec-
tive the acrimony that al-Bukhā rı̄ expresses for Abū Hanı̄ fa and other
˙
scholars who believed that the raising of the two hands was not to be
performed.

74
On the fluidity of the ritual prayer see Goldziher, Muslim Studies, 2: ch. 2, esp. 39–40;
a response to Goldziher’s hypotheses about the ritual prayer in al-Azami, On Schacht, 12–
15. For more on the fluidity of the ritual prayer see Sijpesteijn, ‘A Hadı̄ th Fragment on
Papyrus’. El Shamsy, ‘Debates on Prayer’, has criticised Sijpesteijn’s˙interpretation of the
papyrus. There is one turn of phrase in Sijpesteijn’s article that seems far-fetched based
on the nature and content of the papyrus. She writes that hadı̄ th fragments ‘reflect an
environment in which believers were unsure about how ˙to execute the most basic
religious obligations either because these were still being discussed, or because they
were new to the religion. Either explanation fits of course the second-third/eighth-ninth-
century environment of our papyrus very well.’ El Shamsy’s response focuses mainly on
this sentence. I agree with El Shamsy that Sijpesteijn’s speculation on the basis of this
fragment is unwarranted, but one should note that Sijpesteijn’s conclusion seems to
favour a different reading, namely, that the papyrus ‘is an informal recording of some
hadı̄ ths for personal or educational use’. So, whilst El Shamsy’s criticisms seem sound, it
˙
should not surprise us that in some provinces such as Khurā sā n and Transoxiana aspects
of the ritual prayer were being debated and indeed practised differently in the eighth
century. Haider, The Origins of the Shı̄ ʿa, 57–94, 95–137, has argued that differences in
the ritual prayer (the basmala and qunū t prayer) played a decisive role in the formation of
sectarian identity in the eighth century. In the case of the Imā mı̄ s, these differences point
to an independent sectarian identity, but less so in the case of the Zaydı̄ s.
75
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn, 22.
 5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy 175

Al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s assessment of Abū Hanı̄ fa must be placed alongside other

˙
circumstances specific to Khurā sā n and Transoxiana’s history. This anx-
iety over the influence of Abū Hanı̄ fa in the eastern provinces of the early
˙
Islamic empire is borne out by what little early evidence we have for
the spread of proto-Hanafism in the eighth and ninth centuries. This is
˙
already attested to in the earliest Hanafı̄ biographical dictionary. Ibn Abı̄
˙
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s tenth-century work, Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa akh-
˙ ˙
bā ruhu wa manā qibuhu, lists twenty-three Hanafı̄ s in the eastern prov-
˙
inces: four from Rayy and nineteen from Khurā sā n. This would have
been a choice selection only of the most prominent Hanafı̄ s.76
Information from later sources also testifies to the earlier spread ˙ of
Hanafism in the eastern provinces. Both proto-Shā fiʿism and proto-
77
˙
Hanbalism appear to have gained some influence in Khurā sā n only in
˙
the second half of the ninth century,78 and in the first half of the ninth
century various other strands of proto-Sunnism, such as the Karrā miyya,
existed in Khurā sā n and Transoxiana.79 Of these different trends, al-
Bukhā rı̄ ’s remarks in Rafʿ al-yadayn fı̄ al-salā t are aimed most obviously
˙
at followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa and possibly at the followers of Ibn Karrā m.80
˙
Though we know very little of Karrā mı̄ legal doctrines, it seems that their
fiqh sought to accommodate the wave of conversion to Islam in the ninth
century.81 Ibn Hibbā n describes Ma’mū n b. Ahmad al-Sulamı̄ as one of
˙ ˙
the many anti-Christs who seemed to adhere to the Karrā mı̄ madhhab.

76
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 212–22. See also Melchert, ‘The Spread
of Hanafism’. ˙ ˙
77 ˙ as in al-Wā ʿiz, Fadā ’il-i Balkh; Melchert, ‘The Spread of Hanafism’; Madelung,
Such
‘The Early Murji’a’,˙ 32–9;
˙ Madelung, ‘The Spread of Mā turı̄˙ dism’; Azad, Sacred
Landscape, 132–8.
78
For proto-Shā fiʿism see Halm, Die Ausbreitung; for proto-Hanbalism see the patchy
account in Hurvitz, The Formation of Hanbalism, 73–83; Madelung, ˙ Religious Trends in
Early Islamic Iran, 22.
79
On the Karrā miyya see Massignon, Essai sur les origines, 260–8; van Ess, Ungenützte Texte
zur Karrā mı̄ ya; Bosworth, ‘The Rise of the Karā miyyah in Khurasan’; Bulliet, The
Patricians of Nishapur, 62–4; Chabbi, ‘Remarques sur le développement historique’,
41–5; Melchert, ‘Sufis and Competing Movements’, 240–2; Madelung, Religious
Trends in Early Islamic Iran, 39–45.
80
The author of al-Nutaf states that Muhammad b. Karrā m’s (Abū ʿAbd Allā h in al-Nutaf)
position was identical to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s. ˙ See al-Sughdı̄ , al-Nutaf fı̄ al-fatā wā , ed. Salā h al-
Dı̄ n al-Nā hı̄ (Baghdad: al-Maktaba ˙ al-Wataniyya, 1976), 1: 67. On the legal affiliation ˙ ˙ of
˙
the Karrā miyya see Zysow, ‘Two Unrecognised Karrā mı̄ Texts’.
81
Al-Muqaddası̄ , Ahsan al-taqā sı̄ m, 365; ʿAbd al-Qā hir al-Baghdā dı̄ , al-Farq bayn al-firaq,
ed. Muhammad Muh ˙ yı̄ al-Dı̄ n ʿAbd al-Hamı̄ d (Beirut: al-Maktaba al-ʿAsriyya, 1995),
223–4; ˙Abū al-Muzaffar ˙ ˙
al-Isfarā ’ı̄ nı̄ , al-Tabs ı̄ r fı̄ al-dı̄ n, ed. Muhammad ˙ Zā hid al-
˙ ˙
Kawtharı̄ (Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Azhariyya li al-Turā th, 1940), 93–9 (most of which is ˙
concerned with theological matters), 97–9 (for their legal doctrines); Sayyid Murtadā Ibn
Dā ʿı̄ , Tabsirat al-ʿawā mm fı̄ maʿrifat maqā lā t al-anā m, ed. ʿAbbā s Iqbā l, 2nd˙ edn.
(Tehran: Mat ˙ baʿah-yi Majlis, 1964), 64–74, esp. 67, where he describes Ibn Karrā m’s
˙
legal (and theological) teachings based on purported access to his writings.
176 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

Ibn Hibbā n lists a number of shocking doctrines he was reputed to have

˙
espoused and attributed to the Prophet Muhammad, including that faith
necessitated only an utterance; the prayer˙ of anyone who raises their
hands during the prayer is void; reciting the fā tiha behind the imam is to
˙
fill one’s tongue with fire. These are all doctrines that were associated with
proto-Hanafı̄ s, at least in the eastern provinces. Ibn Hibbā n also identifies
˙ ˙
him with more outrageous ‘forgeries’: ‘There will appear a man in my
community who will be known as Muhammad b. Idrı̄ s, and he will cause
˙
more harm to my community than Satan. There will appear another man
in my community known as Abū Hanı̄ fa, and he is the shining light of my
community.’ For Ibn Hibbā n, the˙ consanguinity between the Karrā mı̄ s
˙
and Hanafı̄ s of Khurā sā n was both disturbing and tragic.82 The similar-
˙
ities did not end there. As we shall see, like Abū Hanı̄ fa, Abū ʿAbd Allā h
˙
Muhammad b. Karrā m (d. 255/869) is reported to have opined in favour
˙
of Persian as a liturgical language in Islamic ritual.83
It was left to jurists and religious scholars to provide solutions to the
changing environment that saw members of diffuse religious communi-
ties slowly commit to the new religion of Islam. Khurā sā n was a province
that saw Arabs acculturate themselves to the region’s languages, cultures,
and customs. But with the process of conversion gaining ground in the
ninth century, the local population, in turn, was coming to terms with the
norms and practices of the religion of Islam. This was no straightforward
evolution of religious tradition. Conversion was seldom a neat transition
from an old confession to a new one, and the wave of nativist revolts in the
eighth and ninth centuries was an indication of how idiosyncratic the
religious milieu of Khurā sā n had become. A central challenge for scholars
and jurists was to make the new religion commensurable with the life of
the native population.
For this to happen, new converts were faced with the obstacles of
liturgy and prayer. At the centre of this new religion was God’s word,
the Quran, revealed in clear, unadulterated Arabic. The religion’s integral
rituals were elaborated and performed in Arabic. Above all, the ritual
prayer demanded basic literacy in Arabic. How might a Persian-speaking
population converting to the religion of Islam deal with this demand for
basic familiarity with Arabic?

82
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 3: 45–6 (Beirut edn.).
83 ˙
See al-Sughdı̄ , al-Nutaf, 1:˙ 49–50. Abū Hafs al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , ‘Rawnaq al-majā lis’, MS
Berlin 8855, gives no further information about ˙ ˙ Karrā mı̄ views on this subject. For this
work see Ahlwardt, Die Handschriften-Verzeichnisse, 7: 733–4; Brockelmann, GAL, supp.
2: 285; Hatoum, ‘An Eleventh Century Karrā mı̄ Text’; van Ess, Ungenützte Texte zur
Karrā mı̄ ya, 35.
 5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy 177

It is difficult to be precise about how much Arabic local Persian-

speaking populations would have known. At a first glance, there is no
reason to assume that non-Muslim Khurā sā nians would have any know-
ledge of how to read or speak Arabic. Consider, for example, the well-
documented tradition of Middle Persian inscriptions on Arab Sasanian
coins in the last decade of the seventh century. Our earliest record for
the testification of Islam (shahā da) is from a Zubayrid coin, where the
shahā da appears in Pahlavi.84 Administrative changes at the heart of the
early Islamic empire in the eighth century did create new incentives for
the proliferation of Arabic among the local population. Al-Jahshiyā rı̄ gives
us some insight into one very significant administrative reform: the
Arabicisation of the dı̄ wā n from Persian:85
Most of the secretaries of Khurā sā n at that time were Magians. The accounts were
kept in Persian. So Yū suf b. ʿUmar, who was then the governor of Iraq in the year
142/759 sent a letter to Nasr b. Sayyā r . . . ordering him not to resort to any of the
polytheists in his government˙ and for the purposes of correspondence. The first
person to translate writing from Persian into Arabic was Ishā q b. Tulayq, the
scribe. ˙ ˙

In a separate passage, al-Jahshiyā rı̄ gives a slightly different account

of the same phenomenon but locates this during the governorship of
al-Hajjā j. He informs us that the last person to keep accounts in
˙
Persian was the head of the dı̄ wā n al-kharā j, a certain Zā dhā n
Farrū kh.86 A settled and acculturated generation of Arab migrants,
an increase in conversion to Islam, and the professional and eco-
nomic incentives of Arab literacy all contributed to an increased level
of familiarity with Arabic in the eighth and ninth centuries. Above all,
the vast scale on which provincial authorities produced written docu-
mentation for the province’s taxpayers reinforces the view that Arab
literacy was expanding.87
Still, these facts do not translate into a wider dissemination of the
Arabic language among Khurā sā n’s population. And the ensuing contro-
versy surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s views on the recitation of the Quran and
˙

84
Mochiri, ‘A Pahlavi Forerunner’; Curiel and Gignoux, ‘Un poids arabo-sasanide’;
Shaked, ‘Mihr the Judge’. The demand for an increasing religious, linguistic, and cultural
fusion between the new religion of Islam and Persian-speaking provinces created a certain
degree of commensurability. Consider the similarity between the Persian basmala and the
beginning invocation of Zoroastrian texts, discussed by Gignoux, ‘Pour une origine
iranienne du bi’smillah’.
85
Al-Jahshiyā rı̄ , Kitā b al-Wuzarā ’, 67. 86 Al-Jahshiyā rı̄ , Kitā b al-Wuzarā ’, 38.
87
Eighth-century documents from Khurā sā n show that local officials communicated with
local non-Arab landowning elites in Arabic. See Khan, Arabic Documents from Early
Islamic Khurasan.
178 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

the performance of the ritual prayer in Persian highlights the social and
religious gravity of these debates in the ninth century, especially.88
Though we shall focus on debates concerning the language of liturgy, it
would be careless to ignore the fact that some proto-Sunni traditionalists
believed the spread and frequent use of Persian (among Arabic speakers,
I presume) to constitute a major social and religious defect. Ibn Abı̄
Shayba’s book on proper social and religious conduct, the Kitā b al-
Adab, explains that speaking in Persian, presumably when one knew
how to speak Arabic, was disliked, though he added that some scholars
had allowed exceptions to this social and religious norm.89 Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
views on language, liturgy, and prayer appear on the record in the ˙ ninth
century. This is not, in and of itself, a decisive fact since almost all of our
earliest extant legal texts date from this period. The important point here
is that the debate is as old as the extant sources. Abū Hanı̄ fa’s student al-
˙
Shaybā nı̄ informs us that Abū Hanı̄ fa was of the opinion that ‘opening the
˙
prayer in Persian and performing the rest of the ritual prayer in Persian,
even if one knows Arabic, was permissible’.90 Al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s redactor
follows this up with quotations from both Abū Yū suf and al-Shaybā nı̄
to the effect that they both disagreed with Abū Hanı̄ fa. They contended
˙
that the liturgical use of Persian in the ritual prayer was only permissible
if one had no knowledge of Arabic.91 Al-Narshakhı̄ describes this exact
phenomenon in his local history of Bukhā rā , new Muslims performing the
ritual prayer and reciting the Quran in Persian because they were unable
to understand Arabic.92

88
Zadeh, The Vernacular Qur’an; Katz, Prayer in Islamic Thought and Practice, 27–9.
89
Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, Kitā b al-Adab, ed. Muhammad Ridā al-Qahwajı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir
al-Islā miyya, 1999), 153–6. There is a˙ Kitā b al-Adab ˙ that contains these reports in Ibn
Abı̄ Shayba, al-Musannaf, 13: 402–4 (Jeddah edn.), but there are discrepancies between
the two books. ˙
90
Al-Shaybā nı̄ , al-Jā miʿ al-saghı̄ r [published with the commentary of al-Laknawı̄ , al-Nā fiʿ
al-Kabı̄ r] (Karachi: Idā rat ˙ al-Qur’ā n wa al-ʿUlū m al-Islā miyya, 1990), 94; al-Shaybā nı̄ ,
al-Asl, ed. Mehmet Boynukalin (Qatar: Wizā rat al-Awqā f and Beirut: Dā r Ibn Hazm,
2012)˙ 1: 16 = al-Shaybā nı̄ , Kitā b al-Asl, ed. Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄ (Hyderabad: Majlis ˙
Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-ʿUthmā niyya, 1966; ˙ repr. Beirut: ʿĀ lam al-Kutub, 1990), 1: 15.
91
On the question of al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s authorship of texts see Sadeghi, ‘The Authenticity of
Two 2nd/8th-Century Legal Texts’; Sadeghi, The Logic of Law Making in Islam, 177–200
(Appendix: The Authenticity of Early Hanafı̄ Texts: Two Books of al-Shaybā nı̄ ).
Sadeghi’s discussions deal only with the Kitā ˙ b al-Ā thā r and the Muwatta’.
92
Al-Narshakhı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh-i Bukhā rā , ed. Mudarris Rizavı̄ (Tehran: Intisha ˙˙̄ rā t-i Tū s, 1967),
67 (va mardumā n-i Bukhā ra bih avval-i Islā m dar namā ˙ z Qur’ā n bih pā rsı̄ khwā ndandı̄ va
ʿarabı̄ natuvā nastandı̄ ā mū khtan, va chū n vaqt-i rukū ʿ shudı̄ mardı̄ bū dı̄ keh dar pas-i ı̄ shā n
bā ng zad ı̄ bknytā nkyntā ’ va chū n sajdeh khwā standı̄ kardan bā ng kardı̄ nikū nyā nikū nı̄ ). See
the notes of Richard Frye (and W. B. Henning) on Sogdian phrases used to inform the
congregation when to bow and when to prostrate in al-Narshakhı̄ , The History of Bukhara,
trans. Richard N. Frye (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy of America, 1954), 135–6.
 5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy 179

Law and jurisprudence adapted to local customs and social pressures.

Despite Abū Yū suf and al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s protestations, the Hanafı̄ scholars
and communities of Khurā sā n and Transoxiana advanced ˙ a number of
different arguments in favour of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s position on Persian as
˙
a language of liturgy in prayer and Quranic recitation, and these can be
tracked century by century in the writings of al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ (d. 333/944), al-
Zandawası̄ tı̄ (d. 382/992), al-Sughdı̄ (d. 461/1068), and al-Sarakhsı̄ . In
his Ta’wı̄ lā t al-Qur’ā n al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ establishes a Quranic basis for Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s opinion concerning the permissibility of performing the prayer
˙
in Persian. His argument rests on an interpretation of the phrase
musaddiqan limā maʿakum in Quran 4.44.
˙
God’s saying, musaddiqan limā maʿakum, means that which is in agreement with
that which is with˙ you. It [the Book] is agreement with that which is with you in
respect of the pursuant meanings and the injunctions in it, not in respect of its
style and language. Similarly, all of God almighty’s revealed books (kutub Allā h)
are in agreement with each other in their meanings and injunctions, even if they
differ with respect to style and language. This proves that they were revealed by
God almighty. Had it originated from anyone other than God, they would have
been divergent. Consider His saying: ‘Had it been from anyone besides God they
certainly would have found in it much divergence.’ And herein lies a proof for the
opinion of Abū Hanı̄ fa as to his permitting the performance of the ritual prayer in
Persian, for the ˙change of the style and the difference of the language does not
occasion a change in the meanings and nor does it produce different injunctions
(ikhtilā f al-ahkā m), since God, mighty and majestic, has declared that it [the
˙
Book] is in agreement with what is with you, yet in its language and style it is
different, whereas the meanings are in agreement.93
According to al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ , performing the ritual prayer in Persian or
reciting verses from the Quran in Persian was compatible with the divine
word. Language and style do not determine God’s revelations, meanings
and injunctions do. In this view, and in very specific circumstances, the
language of liturgy was not confined to Arabic. Al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ can be said to
represent one strain in Transoxanian Hanafism. Al-Zandawası̄ tı̄ , a much-
neglected figure in modern scholarship, ˙ provides us the view from tenth-
century Bukhā rā . In his unpublished Rawdā t al-ʿulamā ’ he reasserts Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa’s verdict on performing the prayer in Persian: ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa per-
˙ ˙
mitted the reading of the Quran in Persian during the ritual prayer, but if
a person knows how to recite in Arabic it is impermissible to recite in

93
Abū al-Mansū r al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ , Ta’wı̄ lā t al-Qur’ā n, ed. Ahmed Vanlioğ lu and
Bekir Topalog˙̆ lu (Istanbul: Dā r al-Mı̄ zā n, 2005), 3: 254–5 (fa fı̄ hi dalı̄ l li qawl Abı̄
Hanı̄ fa radiya Allā h ʿanhu haythu ajā za al-salā t bi al-qirā ’a bi al-fā risiyya li anna taghyı̄ r al-
˙ m wa ˙ikhtilā f al-lisā n lam
naz ˙ yū jab taghyı̄ r˙al-maʿā nı̄ wa ikhtilā f al-ahkā m haythu akhbara
˙ wa jalla annahu muwā fiq limā maʿahum wa huwa fı̄ al-lisā n wa˙al-naz˙m mukhtalif wa
ʿazza
al-maʿā nı̄ muwā fiq). ˙
180 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

Persian. If he does not know Arabic, recital in Persian is permissible.’94

Towards the end of the work, in the chapter on the ritual prayer, its
merits, and its legal issues, al-Zandawası̄ tı̄ gives a fuller account of the
legal debates in Khurā sā n and Transoxiana. He cites Abū Hanı̄ fa’s opin-
˙
ion, as found in Abū Hafs al-Kabı̄ r’s Masā ’il, in the case of someone who
˙ ˙
opens the prayer in Persian (kabbara bi al-fā risiyya) by saying khudā
buzurg ast (God is great). By saying this, a person has entered the ritual
prayer. Al-Zandawası̄ tı̄ adds that this opinion derives from an analogy
with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s deeming it valid for the Quran to be recited in Persian
˙
during the ritual prayer.95
The eleventh-century Hanafı̄ qadi al-Sughdı̄ gives the same account of
˙
this legal doctrine, adding that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legal doctrine on Persian as
˙
a liturgical language extended to the takbı̄ r, the adhā n, the iqā ma, the
tashahhud, the dhibh, the khutba, and the recital of the Quran in prayer. Al-
˙ ˙
Sughdı̄ treats Quranic recital during the prayer separately. He begins by
surveying the views of different jurists (al-Shā fiʿı̄ and Ibn Karrā m) before
turning to the positions of Abū Hanı̄ fa, Abū Yū suf, and al-Shaybā nı̄ .96
The legacy of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ˙views concerning Persian as a liturgical
˙
language in the Persian-speaking provinces of the empire occupied the
mind of a more prominent Hanafı̄ jurist a century later. Al-Sarakhsı̄
˙
discusses the matter in two places. He explores this issue at greater length
in his al-Mabsū t. He discusses the permissibility of Persian as the language
˙
of liturgy with reference to eight ritual acts: the opening of the prayer
(iftitā h); reciting the invocations of the ritual prayer (qara’a fı̄ salā tihi bi al-
˙ ˙
fā risiyya); testification whilst sitting in the prayer (tashahhud bi al-
fā risiyya); delivering the Friday sermon (khataba al-imā m yawm al-jumʿa
˙ ā mana bi al-fā risiyya kā na
bi al-fā risiyya); testifying to one’s belief (wa law
mu’minan); reciting the liturgical invocation necessary for ritual sacrifice
(ʿinda al-dhibh); performing the talbiya required during the Hajj ritual
˙ ˙
(labba bi al-fā risiyya); and performing the call to prayer (adhdhana bi al-
fā risiyya). According to al-Sarakhsı̄ , Abū Hanı̄ fa permitted the use of
˙
Persian in all eight circumstances.97

94
Al-Zandawası̄ tı̄ , ‘Rawdat al-ʿulamā ’ wa bahjat al-fudalā ’’, MS Syria, Maktabat ʿUyū n al-
Sū d, MS 707, fol. 1b ˙= ‘Rawdat al-ʿulamā ’ wa nuzhat ˙ al-fudalā ’’, MS Dublin, Chester
˙
Beatty, MS 6820, fols. 1a–b, where this passage is missing. ˙ On the manuscripts see
Brockelmann, GAL, supp. 1: 361; Sezgin, GAS, 1: 670. On the author see Ibn Abı̄ al-
Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 4: 222; Ibn Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, ed. Muhammad
˙
Khayr Ramadā n Yū suf (Beirut: Dā r al-Qalam,˙ 1992), 164–5. ˙
95 ˙
Al-Zandawası̄ tı̄ , ‘Rawdat al-ʿulamā ’’, MS 707, fols. 99b–100a = MS 6820, fol. 53b.
96
Al-Sughdı̄ , al-Nutaf, 1: ˙ 49–51. Al-Sughdı̄ refers to Abū Yū suf’s notes on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
lessons (wa dhakara Abū Yū suf fı̄ al-Amā lı̄ ʿan Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa annahu qā la). ˙
97 ˙ 1989; repr. Cairo: Dā r al-Saʿā da,
Al-Sarakhsı̄ , Kitā b al-Mabsū t (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿrifa,
1906–13), 1: 36–7. ˙
 5.4 Ethnogenesis, Orthodoxy, and Orthopraxy 181

Al-Sarakshı̄ proceeds to provide explanations for Abū Hanı̄ fa’s juridical

˙
opinion. At one point he states that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s view was based on the
˙
early precedent of the companion Salmā n al-Fā risı̄ , who was asked by the
people of Fā rs to provide a Persian translation of the fā tiha. Accordingly,
˙
they recited the fā tiha in the ritual prayer in Persian until they became
˙ 98
acquainted with Arabic.
Al-Sarakhsı̄ takes up the issues in a work written after al-Mabsū t. The
˙
Usū l appears to be responding to similar objections at the heart of al-
˙
Mā turı̄ dı̄ ’s discussion. Al-Sarakhsı̄ begins by presenting the view of ‘many
of our scholars’ that the inimitability of the Quran lies both in its style
(nazm) and meanings (al-maʿā nı̄ ). This was the view of Abū Yū suf and al-
˙
Shaybā nı̄ , and for this reason they both deemed the recitation of the
Quran in Persian to invalidate the prayer. The obligation to recite the
Quran in the prayer is an obligation to recite the inimitable, and inimit-
ability lies in the combination of the style and the meaning. According to
al-Sarakhsı̄ , the inimitable is the word of God, which is neither muhdath
˙
nor makhlū q, whereas all languages, be they Arabic, Persian, or other
languages, are muhdath. According to this reasoning, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s per-
mitting the recitation ˙ of the Quran in Persian during the prayer ˙ is sound
and is no affront to the Quran’s inimitability nor to the prayer’s validity.99
We have examined proto-Sunni traditionalist hostility towards Abū
Hanı̄ fa on account of his proximity to non-Arabs, the diffusion of proto-
˙
Hanafism in Khurā sā n and Transoxiana, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ethnic origins, his
˙ ˙
family’s confessional background and ancestral social status, and his legal

98
Al-Sarakhsı̄ , Kitā b al-Mabsū t, 1: 37 (wa Abū Hanı̄ fa istadalla bi mā ruwiya anna al-furs
katabū ilā Salmā n an yatluba˙ lahum al-fā tiha bi˙al-fā risiyya fa kā nū yaqra’ū n dhā lika fı̄ al-
˙
salā t hattā lā nat alsinatuhum ˙ On Salmā n al-Fā risı̄ ’s translation, particu-
li al-ʿarabiyya).
˙larly ˙its role in modern debates concerning the translation of Quran into different
languages, see Zadeh, ‘The Fā tiha of Salmā n al-Fā risı̄ ’; al-Laknawı̄ , Ahkā m al-nafā ’is fı̄
adā ’ al-adhkā r bi lisā n al-fā ris, ˙in Majmū ʿat al-rasā ’il al-Laknawı̄ , ed.˙ Naʿı̄ m Ashrā f
Nū r Ahmad (Karachi: Idā rat al-Qur’ā n wa al-ʿUlū m al-Islā miyya, 1998–9), 4: 333–92.
99 ˙
Al-Sarakhsı̄ , Usū l al-Sarakhsı̄ , ed. Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄ (Hyderabad: Lajnat Ihyā ’ al-
Maʿā rif al-Nuʿma ˙ ̄ niyya, 1953–4), 2: 281–2 (under fasl fı̄ bayā n al-kitā b wa kawnihi˙hujja).
There are four extant editions of this work: al-Sarakhsı̄ ˙ ˙
, Usū l al-Sarakhsı̄ (Hyderabad
edn.) = al-Muharrar fı̄ usū l al-fiqh, ed. Abū ʿAbd al-Rah˙mā n Salā h b. Muhammad
b. ʿUwayda (Beirut: ˙ Dā r ˙al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1996) = Us˙ ū l al-Sarakhsı̄
˙ ˙ , ed. Rafı̄
˙ q al-
˙ ˙
ʿAjam (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1997) = Tamhı̄ d al-fusū l fı̄ al-usū l, ed. ʿAbd Allā h
b. Sulaymā n b. ʿĀ mir al-Sayyid (Mecca: Umm al-Qura ˙ ̄ University,
˙ 2011), which is
a comprehensive study, though an incomplete edition, of al-Sarakhsı̄ and the Usū l.
I rely on Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄ ’s edition because of his scrupulous editorial practices, ˙
which the two other complete editions do not exhibit: Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄ relies on
four manuscripts; the other two editors either fail to mention the manuscripts they rely
upon (as in ʿUwayda) or simply rely on the painstaking editorial efforts of Abū al-Wafā ’
al-Afghā nı̄ (as in Rafı̄ ˙ q al-ʿAjam). For a critique of these editions, see al-Sayyid in Tamhı̄ d
al-fusū l fı̄ al-usū l, 6–8 (editor’s introduction).
˙ ˙
182 Ethnogenesis and Heresy

views concerning the validity of Persian as a liturgical language. There

was yet another tributary to this overflowing stream of proto-Sunni agita-
tion. This ‘discourse of difference’ was reinforced by the notion that Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s grasp of the Arabic language was insufficient. Mastery of the
˙
Arabic language was a fundamental prerequisite for any scholar. No one
had a made a stronger case for this than al-Shā fiʿı̄ in the eighth century.100
The dissemination of reports that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s grammar was weak
˙
(yalhanu),101 that he did not know his broken plurals,102 that his vocabu-
˙ 103
lary was lacking, and his knowledge of declensions was deficient pro-
vided further evidence for the view that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious deviance
was not unconnected to the linguistic, cultural, ˙ and ethnic background
104
that his opponents constructed.

5.5 Conclusion
This chapter has argued that proto-Sunni traditionalist attacks on Abū
Hanı̄ fa were a product of the social and cultural environment of the eighth
˙
and ninth centuries. Whilst the discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ facts
does not represent a body of social facts pointing to his heresy, social
and ideas were used to discredit Abū Hanı̄ fa and build up a discourse of
˙
heresy surrounding his memory. The social and cultural facts studied in
this chapter all pertain to the ways in which Abū Hanı̄ fa’s relationship
˙
with the province of Khurā sā n and Transoxiana was interpreted to repre-
sent forms of religious deviance. I have argued that ethnogenesis was
central to the way in which proto-Sunni traditionalists interpreted the
history of heresy. Discourses of heresy depended on ethnic reasoning and
argumentation. Genealogy and geography were mechanisms by which
trajectories of heresy and orthodoxy were understood. Religious demands
upon Persian-speaking communities and societies produced new

100
See Lowry, Early Islamic Legal Theory, 294–8; El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic
Law, 71–4, 116 n. 98, 215–16.
101
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Kitā b al-Faqı̄ h wa al-mutafaqqih, 2: 55 (innaka ahwaju ilā islā h
lisā nika˙min jamı̄ ʿ al-nā s); al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , al-Jā miʿ li al-akhlā q al-rā˙wı̄ wa ā dā ˙b al-
˙
sā miʿ, ed. Mahmū d al-Tahhā n (Riyadh: ˙ Maktabat al-Maʿā rif, 1983), 2: 26.
102
In al-Khatı̄ b ˙al-Baghda˙̄ dı̄ ˙, ˙Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 455–6 two reports are adduced to
demonstrate ˙ Abū Hanı̄ fa’s weak grasp of Arabic grammar (lam yakun lahu ʿilm bi al-
nahw), in particular ˙ its broken plurals (kulū b instead of kilā b) and declensions (law
˙
annahu hattā yarmı̄ hi bi Abā Qubays instead of bi Abı̄ Qubays).
103
Al-Zajjā ˙jı̄ , Majā lis al-ʿulamā ’, ed. ʿAbd al-Salā m Hā rū n (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ ,
1999), 181. It should be borne in mind that al-Zajjā jı̄ ’s book is a witty, playful, erudite,
and (some might say) pretentious display of grammatical virtuosity. Very often religious
scholars are on the receiving end of his derision.
104
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 455–6.
˙
 5.5 Conclusion 183

religious controversies in which proto-Sunni communities sought to

define the rules of liturgy, prayer, and Quranic recitation. The categories
of heresy and orthodoxy were by no means oblivious to the ethnographic
gaze, the process of ethnogenesis in early Islamicate world, and forms of
ethnic argumentation.105

105
Berzon, Classifying Christians.
6 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

Readers have already been introduced to my argument that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
politics – that is, his support for rebellions in the late eighth century –
represented what was most reprehensible to proto-Sunni traditionalists
of the ninth–tenth centuries. This chapter will present evidence for the
hypothesis that it was Abū Hanı̄ fa’s perceived violation of a tenet of proto-
˙
Sunni orthodoxy that served as a catalyst for the sheer volume of dis-
courses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, which emphasised his support for
˙
rebellion against a legitimate state. I shall begin by examining our earliest
sources that refer to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s involvement in three rebellions. This is
˙
necessary not only because it enhances our understanding of the evolu-
tion of proto-Sunni traditionalist ideas about heresy and orthodoxy and
how central politics was to them, but also because no systematic study of
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for rebellions has been undertaken by modern
˙
scholars.1 I shall then demonstrate how Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for these
˙
movements flew in the face of a basic fact of proto-Sunni traditionalist
orthodoxy in the late eighth and ninth centuries; namely, quietism and
obedience to the state. This chapter will close with a discussion of how
and why proto-Sunni traditionalists gave so much attention in discourses
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa to what they saw as his heretical views on
˙
1
In a number of publications, Cook has used his footnotes to refer to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
sympathy with ʿAlid uprisings: Early Muslim Dogma, 172 n. 7 and Commanding ˙ Right
and Forbidding Wrong, 9 n. 29, 51. Similar references are found in Crone, Medieval Islamic
Political Thought, 137 (‘most early Murji’ites, probably including Abū Hanı̄ fa, were activ-
ists who “believed in the sword”’); Crone and Zimmermann, The Epistle ˙ of Sā lim Ibn
Dhakwā n, 240–1 n. 91; Madelung, Der Imam al-Qā sim ibn Ibrā hı̄ m, 74, 234 n. 38; Zaman,
‘The Nature of Muhammad al-Nafs al-Zakiyya’s Mahdiship’; Zaman, Religion and Politics,
˙
73 n. 13, 74 n. 14; Tsafrir, The History of an Islamic School of Law, 25 (where she mentions
in passing Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ‘public incautious remarks at the time of the appearance of the
˙
ʿAlid rebels al-Nafs al-Zakiyya and his brother Ibrā hı̄ m’); Abou El Fadl, Rebellion and
Violence, 72–3, 77–8 (where he relies on a very late source); van Ess, Theologie und
Gesellschaft, 1: 187–8. Jokisch, Islamic Imperial Law, fails to mention the episode, and
had he done so it would have caused insurmountable problems for his overarching thesis
about Hanafism as imperial Islamic law. So many of these references cite van Arendonk’s
˙
pathbreaking research on the ʿAlids: De Opkomst, 281, 288 = Les débuts de l’imā mat Zaidite
au Yemen, 307, 315.

184
 6.1 Abū Ḥanı̄ fa and Rebellion 185

rebellion against legitimate rulers, in addition to highlighting the role that

provincial political elites and representatives of the state might have had
in fostering proto-Sunni traditionalism.

6.1 Abū Hanı̄ fa and Rebellion

˙
Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ was the great-grandson of ʿAlı̄ b. Abı̄ Tā lib and Fā tima, and
˙ ˙
he was a younger brother to the fifth imam of the Twelver Shiʿa,
Muhammad al-Bā qir. As the head of the Husaynid branch of the ʿAlids,
˙ ˙
Muhammad al-Bā qir had entrusted Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ with dealings over the
˙
litigation concerning the sadaqā t (land endowments) of ʿAlı̄ between the
˙
families of al-Hasan and al-Husayn. ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Hasan, the father of
˙ ˙ ˙
Muhammad al-Nafs al-Zakiyya and Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h, accused Zayd
˙
of harbouring ambitions for the caliphate. The Umayyads were happy to
use these disputes between the Hasanids and Husaynids to discredit the
˙ ˙
family of the Prophet in front of the Medinan populace. Sensing that
things were not going his way, Zayd broke off from negotiations. Matters
became worse for Zayd as he was accused of being in possession of Khā lid
al-Qasrı̄ ’s deposits. These accusations swirling around the person of
Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ and his disputes with competing ʿAlids resulted in the caliph
Hishā m ordering the governor of Iraq to dispatch Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ to the
Hijā z. Hishā m feared that the current atmosphere coupled with Zayd’s
˙
residence among the Kufans would prompt Zayd to rebellion. The
caliph’s fears were soon realised. After some deliberation, a promise of
support from the Kufans convinced Zayd to stay in the town, and he
began to make preparations for a rebellion. Supporters were found in
the Sawā d, al-Madā ’in, Basra, Wā sit, Mawsil, Rayy, Jurjā n, and Upper
˙ ˙
Mesopotamia. Support for Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ was less forthcoming from other
places. In particular, it was patchy among the religious scholars. Even
more reluctant in their support were the different ʿAlid families. The later
tradition identifies Zayd’s refusal to condemn Abū Bakr and ʿUmar as
a major reason for the lukewarm support from the ʿAlids. In 122/740
Zayd was forced to rebel. Yū suf b. ʿUmar led the army against him. On
the third day one of Yū suf’s men shot an arrow towards Zayd, killing him.
Zayd’s head was sent to Hishā m in Damascus and paraded in Medina.
His was body was crucified in Kufa.2
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s rebellion is not explicitly
˙
referred to in proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy. In fact,
2
There has been a tendency to portray Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s rebellion as a Shiʿite revolt: see
Sharon, Black Banners, 145–7, 174–7; Blankinship, The End of the Jihā d State, 102, 190.
In my view a more accurate interpretation has been advanced by Haider, The Origins of the
Shı̄ ʿa, 189–214.
186 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

only Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for the rebellion of Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h
˙
is cited. Otherwise, criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s views on rebellion are
general. They refer broadly to his support ˙ for rebellion against the state
and its legitimate rulers (khurū j ʿalā al-a’imma or kā na yarā al-sayf fı̄ al-
a’imma).3 Our earliest reference to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s involvement with Zayd
˙
b. ʿAlı̄ ’s revolt appears in al-Balā dhurı̄ ’s Ansā b al-ashrā f, a key source for
the history of ʿAlid revolts, not least because of its incorporation of earlier
maqtal sources now lost to us.4 We are told there that Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ had
written to people in the provinces. In his letters he described the tyran-
nical rule of the Umayyads and incited the provinces to rise up against
them. He had one of his deputies, ʿAtā ’ b. Muslim, visit Abū Hanı̄ fa. The
˙ ˙
news of Zayd’s ambitions perturbed Abū Hanı̄ fa (fa kā da yughshā ʿalayhi
˙
faraqan). His first response was to inquire about scholars (fuqahā ’) who
had pledged their support to Zayd. He was told that Salama b. Kuhayl,
Yazı̄ d b. Abı̄ Ziyā d, Hishā m al-Burayd, Abū Hā shim al-Rummā nı̄ , and
others had all thrown in their lot with Zayd. Abū Hanı̄ fa was reticent,
˙
however. ‘I am not able to rebel (lastu aqwā ʿalā al-khurū j),’ he told ʿAtā ’
˙
b. Muslim. Instead, he sent him money with which Zayd could empower
himself. Al-Balā dhurı̄ ’s account is located in his section on Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ,
5

but it is introduced without an isnā d. Zaydı̄ historiography, on the other

hand, provides further details concerning the nature of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
involvement in the rebellion. The Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n of Abū al-Faraj al-
˙
Isfahā nı̄ (d. 363/972) belongs to a genre of Arabic historical writing that,
˙
as Sebastian Günther and James Bellamy have shown, developed in the
first half of the eighth century.6 ʿAlid uprisings and the involvement of
proto-Sunni scholars are key themes in the Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, and so it
is not altogether surprising that a version similar to al-Bala ˙ ̄ dhurı̄ ’s report
can be found in the section treating Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s rebellion. The only
difference is that Abū al-Faraj provides us with an isnā d: ʿAlı̄ b. al-Husayn
˙
< al-Husayn < ʿAlı̄ b. Ibrā hı̄ m < ʿAmr < Fadl b. al-Zubayr:7
˙ ˙
abū h: anı̄ fa: Who among the scholars of the people has come forward for Zayd in
this matter?

3
This has been misunderstood to mean ‘he was a sword in the side of the umma’. See Judd,
‘Competitive Hagiography’, 26 n. 2.
4
On ʿUmar b. Shabba see Shaltū t, ‘Ta’rı̄ kh al-Madı̄ na’; for Abū Mikhnaf’s maqtal reports
see Sezgin, Abū Mihnaf, 59–62. See the lengthy entry on him in Bujnū rdı̄ (ed.), Dā ’irat al-
Maʿā rif-i buzurg-i Islā mı̄ , 6: 213–20.
5
Al-Balā dhurı̄ , Ansā b al-ashrā f, ed. W. Madelung (Berlin and Beirut: Klaus Schwarz,
2003), 2.28: 620–1.
6
Günther, Quellenuntersuchungen, 110–230; Bellamy, ‘Sources’.
7
Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ , Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, ed. al-Sayyid Ahmad Saqr (Qum: Intishā rā t
al-Sharı̄ f al-Ridā ˙, 1996), 141. ˙ ˙ ˙
˙
 6.1 Abū Ḥanı̄ fa and Rebellion 187

fad: l b. al-zubayr: Salama b. Kuhayl, Yazı̄ d b. Abı̄ Ziyā d, Hishā m b. al-Burayd,

Abū Hā shim al-Rummā nı̄ , Hajjā j b. Dı̄ nā r, and others.
abū h: anı̄ fa: Tell Zayd that I can˙ provide you with support and power for jihā d
against your enemies, so ensure that you and your companions benefit from it
by acquiring horses and weapons (ʿindı̄ maʿū na wa quwwa ʿalā jihā d
ʿaduwwika, fa-’astaʿin bihā anta wa ashā buka fı̄ al-kurā ʿ wa al-silā h).
fad: l b. al-zubayr: Then he sent that ˙[money?]˙ with me to Zayd,˙ and Zayd
took it.

What can we deduce from the report’s isnā d? First, we have ʿAlı̄ b. al-
Husayn, who is the text’s author, Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ . The second
˙
name in the isnā d, al-Husayn, is to be identified with al-Husayn b. al-Qā sim
˙ ˙
al-Ibrā hı̄ m (d. 246/860), the well-known Zaydı̄ Muʿtazilı̄ .8 ʿAlı̄ b. Ibrā hı̄ m
is unknown to me. The fourth individual is ʿAmr b. ʿAbd al-Ghaffā r
b. ʿUmar (d. 202/817–18). The ninth-century proto-Sunni hadı̄ th scholar
˙
ʿAlı̄ b. al-Madı̄ nı̄ knew ʿAmr b. ʿAbd al-Ghaffā r as a traditionist but refused
to transmit hadı̄ ths from him because he was inclined to Shiʿism (rā fidı̄ ).9
˙
Our main informant ˙
is Fudayl (not Fadl) b. Zubayr al-Rassā n (d. c.140/
˙ ˙
759), a Jā rū dı̄ supporter of Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ . It seems we are dealing with
10

a Zaydı̄ isnā d.
The story of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ found a regular place
˙
in subsequent Zaydı̄ historiography. Abū Tā lib Yahyā b. al-Husayn al-
˙ ˙ ˙
Hā rū nı̄ (d. 424/1033) explained that Abū Hanı̄ fa was among a number of
˙
prominent scholars (fuqahā ’) who lent financial support to Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s
rebellion (wa aʿā nahu bi mā l kathı̄ r).11 Finally, Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄
˙
gives us a sense of how an eclectic community of Zaydı̄ s and proto-Sunni
traditionalists of the eighth and ninth centuries remembered Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s support for Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ :12
˙
8
Van Arendonk, De Opkomst, 323. On him see Madelung, Der Imam al-Qā sim ibn Ibrā hı̄ m.
9
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 14: 107–9. See also Ahmad b. ʿĪ sā b. Zayd,
˙
Amā lı̄ apud ˙ adʿ (Beirut: Dā r al-
ʿAlı̄ b. Ismā ʿı̄ l al-Mu’ayyad al-Sanʿā nı̄ , Kitā b Ra’b al-s
Nafā ’is, 1990), 1: 292. ˙ ˙
10
Al-Qummı̄ , Maqā lā t wa al-firaq, ed. Muhammad Jawā d Mashkū r (Tehran: Matbaʿat
˙
Haydarı̄ , 1923), 74; Ibn al-Nadı̄ m, Kitā b al-Fihrist, 1: 640 (A. F. al-Sayyid edn.) (classed˙
˙ a Zaydı̄ rationalist theologian (mutakallim)) = 178 (Flügel edn.); al-Tū sı̄ , Rijā l al-Tū sı̄ ,
as
ed. Jawā d al-Qayyū mı̄ al-Isfahā nı̄ (Qum: Mu’assasat al-Nashr al-Islā mı̄ ˙ , n.d.), 143˙ (as
a follower of Muhammad al-Ba ˙ ̄ qir), 269 (as a follower of Jaʿfar al-Sā diq); al-Tū sı̄ , Kitā b
˙
al-Amā lı̄ , ed. Bahara ̄ d Jaʿfarı̄ and ʿAlı̄ Akbar Ghaffā rı̄ (Tehran: ˙ Dā r al-Kutub
˙ al-
Islā miyya, 1961), 682 and 729 (transmitting traditions); Ibn Qū lū wayh, Kā mil al-
ziyā rā t (Qum: Nashr al-Faqā ha, 2009), 150–1 (transmitting a tradition); al-Tustarı̄ ,
Qā mū s al-rijā l (Qum: Mu’assasat al-Nashr al-Islā mı̄ , 2009), 8: 344–5; van Arendonk,
De Opkomst, 281–2.
11
Abū Tā lib Yahyā b. al-Husayn al-Hā rū nı̄ , al-Ifā da fı̄ tā rı̄ kh al-a’imma al-sā da, ed.
Muhammad ˙ Ka˙̄ zim Rahmatı̄ ˙ (Tehran: Mı̄ rā th-i Maktū b, 2008), 13–14.
12
Abū ˙ al-Faraj al-Is ˙ fahā nı̄˙ , Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, 140. I admit that the final sentence is
somewhat laconic˙and may be read differently. ˙ For example, ‘He did something to Ibn al-
Mubā rak over the latter’s refusal to acknowledge their virtues and imprecated him.’
188 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

ʿAlı̄ b. al-Husayn < ʿAlı̄ al-ʿAbbā s < Ahmad b. Yahyā < ʿAbd Allā h b. Marwā n
˙ said: ‘I heard Muhammad ˙b. Jaʿfar b. Muh
b. Muʿā wiya ˙ ammad in the governor’s
palace say, “May God have mercy upon Abū Hanı̄ fa.˙ His love for us was evi-
˙
denced by his support for Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ (la qad ˙tahaqqaqat mawaddatuhu lanā fı̄
˙
nusratihi Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ).” He even persuaded Ibn al-Muba ̄ rak in secret of our virtues
˙
and called him to it (wa faʿala bi Ibn al-Mubā rak fı̄ kitmā nihi fadā ’il anā wa daʿā
ʿalayhi).’ ˙

The isnā d combines a number of individuals with mixed sectarian

backgrounds. Our author’s informant is Abū al-Hasan ʿAlı̄ b. al-ʿAbbā s
˙
b. al-Walı̄ d al-Maqā niʿı̄ (d. c.306/919), who was a Kufan scholar reck-
oned by medieval Sunni scholars as a trustworthy and truthful hadı̄ th
˙
scholar but among medieval Imā mı̄ Shiʿa as a Shiʿi transmitter.13 Ahmad
b. Yahyā seems to be Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s grandson. ʿAbd Allā h b. Marwa ˙ ̄n
˙
b. Muʿā wiya al-Fazā rı̄ (d. 193/810) was another Kufan scholar and
traditionist, who was considered to have been a teacher to proto-Sunni
traditionalists such as al-Humaydı̄ , Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, Ishā q b. Rā hawayh,
˙ ˙ ˙
Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, and Yaʿqū b al-Dawraqı̄ .14 Not everyone, however, was
content with his reputation as a proto-Sunni hadı̄ th scholar. Yahyā
˙ ˙

13
Interestingly, the Sunni literary tradition remains silent on al-Maqā niʿı̄ ’s Zaydı̄ and
proto-Shiʿi inclinations: al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , Su’ā lā t al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ li
Dā raqutnı̄ fı̄ al-jarh wa al-taʿdı̄ ˙ l, ed. Muwaffaq b. ʿAbd Alla ˙ ̄ h b. ʿAbd al-Qā dir
(Riyadh: ˙ Maktabat˙ al-Maʿā rif, 1984), 126; al-Sahmı̄ , Su’ā lā t Hamza b. Yū suf al-
Sahmı̄ li al-Dā raqutnı̄ wa ghayrihi min al-mashā yikh fı̄ al-jarh ˙ wa al-taʿdı̄ l, ed.
Muwaffaq b. ʿAbd Alla ˙ ̄ h b. ʿAbd al-Qā dir (Riyadh: Maktabat al-Maʿa ˙ ̄ rif, 1984), 227;
Abū Bakr al-Ismā ʿı̄ lı̄ , Kitā b al-Muʿjam fı̄ asā mı̄ shuyū kh Abı̄ Bakr al-Ismā ʿı̄ lı̄ , ed. Ziyā d
Muhammad Mansū r (Medina: Maktabat al-ʿUlū m wa al-Hikam, 1990), 740; Ibn al-
˙ , Ghā yat al-nihā
Jazarı̄ ˙ ya, 1: 484; al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 5: 361 ˙ (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.); Ibn
al-Athı̄ r, al-Lubā b, 3: 245; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 14: 430–1; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b siyar
aʿlā m al-nubalā ’, ed. Shuʿayb al-Arna’ū t (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1991), 2: 41.
For al-Maqā niʿı̄ in Shiʿi sources see al-T˙ū sı̄ , Kitā b al-Amā lı̄ , 213, 321, 349, 359, 379,
˙
633, 1009; al-Tū sı̄ , al-Fihrist (Qum: al-Sharı̄ f al-Ridā , n.d.), 98 (where a Kitā b Fadl al-
˙ to him); al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄ d, al-Irshā
Shı̄ ʿa is attributed ˙ ˙ al-
d fı̄ maʿrifat hujaj Allā h ʿalā
ʿibā d (Beirut: Mu’assasat Ā l al-Bayt li Ihyā ’ al-Turā th, 1995), 2: 193; ˙ Ibn Shahrā shū b,
Maʿā lim al-ʿulamā ’, ed. al-Sayyid Muhammad ˙ Sā diq Ā l Bahr al-ʿUlū m (Beirut: Dā r al-
Adwā ’, n.d.), 69. ˙ ˙ ˙
14
For˙ early, and overwhelmingly proto-Sunni, sources see Ibn Saʿd, al-Tabaqā t al-kabı̄ r,
7.2: 73 (Leiden edn.); ʿUthmā n b. Saʿı̄ d al-Dā rimı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh [ʿan Yahyā ˙ b. Maʿı̄ n], ed.
Ahmad Muhammad Nū r Sayf (Damascus: Dā r al-Ma’mū n li al-Tura ˙ ̄ th, 1980), 203
˙
(where he is˙ classed as trustworthy (thiqa)); al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 4.1: 372;
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 461–2 (where Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n rates Marwā n
b. Muʿā wiya below the latter’s paternal uncle, Abū Ishā q˙ al-Fazā rı̄ ). For later sources
˙ Manda, Fath al-bā b fı̄ al-kunā
see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 13: 149; Ibn
wa al-alqā b˙ , ed. Abū Qutayba Nazar Muhammad al-Fā rayā bı̄ (Riyadh: ˙ Maktabat al-
˙ ˙
Kawthar, 1996), 1: 268 (s.v. ‘Abū Hudhayfa’); al-ʿIjlı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-thiqā t, 1: 424; Ibn
Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Thiqā t, 8: 350; Ibn H ˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taqrı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, ed. Mustafā
˙
ʿAbd ˙
al-Qā dir ʿAtā ’ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1993), 2: 172; Ibn Hajar˙ ˙ al-
ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b˙ al-tahdhı̄ b, 10: 96–8 (Hyderabad edn.); al-Mizzı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-kamā ˙ l,
27: 403–10; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā m, 16: 245; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 9: 51.
 6.1 Abū Ḥanı̄ fa and Rebellion 189

b. Maʿı̄ n, for one, got into an argument with Marwā n b. Muʿā wiya about
his reliance on ‘rā fidı̄ ’ transmitters. He also criticised his tendency to
describe proto-Sunni ˙ traditionalists as Shiʿis.15 Finally, Muhammad
˙
b. Jaʿfar b. Muhammad b. ʿAlı̄ , nicknamed Dı̄ bā ja, appears to be the
˙
son of Jaʿfar al-Sā diq. Shiʿa scholars of the Middle Ages remembered
˙
Dı̄ bā ja as a courageous and pious man, who adopted the doctrine of the
Zaydı̄ s concerning the permissibility of open rebellion.16An intriguing
aspect of these isnā ds is the assorted background of the transmitters. In
the late eighth and ninth centuries, boundaries were porous enough for
scholars to teach and study with proto-Sunni traditionalists whilst adher-
ing to proto-Shiʿi or Zaydı̄ beliefs; yet these movements were also distinct
enough for proto-Sunni traditionalists to highlight what they believed to
be these traditionists’ unorthodox views.17
As I have stated, discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa are coy on
˙
the question of his involvement with Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s rebellion. On the one
hand, proto-Sunni traditionalists were working round the clock to publi-
cise Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for rebellions because it was further evidence
˙
of his heresy. On the other hand, they were reluctant to highlight the
evidence connecting him to Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s rebelllion. How might we
explain this? Proto-Sunni traditionalists of the late eighth and ninth
centuries had either encouraged, witnessed, or experienced the
ʿAbbā sid revolution, and others were now prospering under their rule.
A good number of them had cordial relations with ʿAbbā sid caliphs.18
Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s rebellion against the Umayyads was viewed by the
ʿAbbā sids as an important epoch in the tradition of legitimate and neces-
sary revolt against their dynastic predecessors, and his execution as a rebel
by the caliph Hishā m became an iconic feature of ʿAbbā sid-era annals. It
would hardly work against Abū Hanı̄ fa for his opponents writing under
˙
the ʿAbbā sids to draw attention to his role in supporting Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ in
15
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, Tā rı̄ kh, ed. Ahmad Muhammad Nū r Sayf (Medina: Maktaba al-
˙
Mukarrama, 1979), 2: 556–7. ˙ ˙
16
Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄ d, al-Irshā d, 2: 211; al-Najā shı̄ , Rijā l al-Najā shı̄ , ed. Mū sā al-Shabı̄ rı̄
al-Zanjā nı̄ (Qum: Mu’assasat al-Nashr al-Islā mı̄ , 1998), 367; al-Tū sı̄ , Rijā l al-Tū sı̄ , 275;
al-Sanʿā nı̄ , Kitā b Ra’b al-sadʿ, 3: 1698–9. It is not entirely unlikely ˙ that Muh ˙ ammad
˙
b. Jaʿfar Dı̄ bā ja was able ˙to make this remark at the governor’s residence. When ˙ his
rebellion in 199/815 failed, al-Ma’mū n was serving as governor of the province.
Muhammad b. Jaʿfar Dı̄ bā ja was delivered to al-Ma’mū n, but the future caliph honoured
him˙and incorporated him into his provincial court setup: see al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄ d, al-
Irshā d, 2: 212–13, where a moving account of al-Ma’mū n’s actions during Muhammad
b. Jaʿfar Dı̄ bā ja’s funeral is also given. ˙
17
A good example of this is the case of Jaʿfar al-Sā diq’s brother, ʿAbd Allā h: ‘He opposed
his father’s beliefs, mixed with the Hashawiyya, ˙ and inclined to the doctrines of the
Murji’a; nevertheless, he claimed the Imā ˙ ma after his father’s death’ (al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄ d,
al-Irshā d, 2: 210–11).
18
In general, see Zaman, Religion and Politics, 70–118.
190 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

the latter’s struggle against the Umayyads. As we shall see shortly, proto-
Sunni traditionalists adopted a completely different stance when it came
to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s involvement with ʿAlid uprisings against the ʿAbbā sids.
˙
Before we turn to the ʿAlid rebellion of Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h, we
should review a report implicating Abū Hanı̄ fa in a revolt led by al-Hā rith
˙ ˙
b. Surayj in Khurā sā n. Though this incident finds no explicit mention
in discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, it does implicate him in yet
˙
another revolt against the Umayyads. In fact, only one source seems to
record this episode. Al-Tabarı̄ ’s Tā rı̄ kh gives considerable attention,
19
˙
and rightly so, to a significant rebellion in Khurā sā n in 116/734 led by al-
Hā rith b. Surayj. It represented a tumultuous movement in Khurā sā n
˙
opposed to provincial policies and conduct during which al-Hā rith
˙
b. Surayj managed to attract a wide coalition of Muslims, subalterns
(mawā lı̄ ), and non-Muslim Turgesh troops. Al-Hā rith managed to cap-
˙
ture Balkh from Nasr b. Sayyā r, but the important city of Marw proved
˙
elusive. He remained a thorn in the side of Khurā sā n’s governors for more
than a decade, but he was finally defeated and killed in 128/746.
According to al-Tabarı̄ , the initiative for offering safe conduct to al-
Hā rith b. Surayj came˙ from the governor of Khurā sā n, Nasr b. Sayyā r.
˙ ˙
Two men, Khā lid b. Ziyā d and Khā lid b. ʿAmr, travelled to Kufa to
petition the caliph Yazı̄ d b. al-Walı̄ d (r. 125–743/126–744) for a pardon.
When they reached Kufa, they sought out Abū Hanı̄ fa and asked him to
˙
write to one of Yazı̄ d b. al-Walı̄ d’s associates. Abū Hanı̄ fa wrote to a man
˙
called al-Ajlah, who was a close companion of the caliph. Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙ ˙
intervention proved successful, and the two men were granted an audi-
ence with Yazı̄ d b. al-Walı̄ d. In 126/744 Yazı̄ d b. al-Walı̄ d resorted to
a common strategy when faced with rebels who failed to acquiesce: he
decided to grant al-Hā rith b. Surayj a safe conduct, which served as an
˙
official amnesty from the Umayyad state.20 I have not seen proto-Sunni
traditionalist writings express an interest in Abū Hanı̄ fa’s relationship
˙
with al-Hā rith b. Surayj’s rebellion. I would not say that the episode
˙
would have been unknown to them, for there are some suggestions that
the heresiarch Jahm b. Safwā n served as the intermediary between Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa and al-Hā rith b. Surayj.21
˙ Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd
˙ Allā h was one of two ʿAlid revolutionaries who chal-
lenged the authority of the ʿAbbā sid caliph al-Mansū r. Modern scholars
˙
19
Al-Tabarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 1866–8 = 26: 234–6. Ibn ʿAsā kir (Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat al-Dimashq, 16:
˙
31 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.)) repeats the story and cites al-Tabarı̄ ’s account.
20 ˙
Al-Tabarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 1866–8 = 26: 234–6. See Madelung, ‘The Early Murji’a’, 34;
˙
Melchert, ‘The Spread of Hanafism’, 23–4. For the strength of both Hanafism and
˙
Murji’ism in Balkh see al-Wā ʿiz, Fadā ’il-i Balkh, 28–9. ˙
21
See section 7.5 below. ˙ ˙
 6.1 Abū Ḥanı̄ fa and Rebellion 191

know him primarily through his association with his brother, Muhammad
˙
al-Nafs al-Zakiyya. Muhammad al-Nafs al-Zakiyya’s rebellion has always
˙
loomed large for both pre-modern and modern scholars, resulting in
some serious neglect of Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h’s involvement.22 The
present study is not the place to settle this imbalance in the modern
literature, but it is important to emphasise that Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h’s
rebellion posed a more serious threat to the ʿAbbā sids than that of his
brother, even if the two were coordinated to some degree.
The evidence connecting Abū Hanı̄ fa to Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h’s rebel-
˙
lion is abundant by the ninth century. Major figures of proto-Sunni
traditionalism refer to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for the ʿAlid rebellion in
˙
order to depict Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic.23 Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for
˙ ˙
Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion was known to writers who had no interest in contrib-
uting to the discourse of heresy against him. Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ ’s
˙
Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n contains thirteen reports to this effect and helps us to
˙
sketch some of the details of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s involvement in the rebellion.
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa expressed his backing for Ibrā hı̄ m’s uprising publicly.24 He
˙
ordered the people to rebel with him.25 He and his compatriot, Misʿar
b. Kidā m, wrote to Ibrā hı̄ m and invited him to come to Kufa, whence
they could provide him with the requisite support and assistance. They
guaranteed Ibrā hı̄ m that the Kufans would rebel with him.26 When
this came to the attention of the Murji’a in Kufa, they were enraged.
They castigated both Abū Hanı̄ fa and Misʿar b. Kidā m for supporting
˙
Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion and for encouraging him to rebel from Kufa.27
We might infer from this that the Kufan Murji’a of the late eighth century
were indeed politically quietist and were perturbed by what they
22
Elad, The Rebellion of Muhammad al-Nafs al-Zakiyya, the most authoritative work on al-
Nafs al-Zakiyya’s rebellion, says little about Ibrā hı̄ m, although Elad has stated that
Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion deserves a separate study (private communication).
23
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 528–30 (a total of nine reports); al-Bukhā rı̄ ,
al-Tā rı̄ k˙h al-awsat, 2: 100 (cited in the Luhaydā n edn.) = 3: 562 (cited in the footnote in
the Abū Haymad˙ edn.); al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa ˙ wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 788 (ahalla lahum al-
khurū j ʿalā˙ al-a’imma); ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 213, ˙ 218, 219 (a
total of six reports); al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙ uʿafā ’ ˙al-kabı̄ r, ed. ʿAbd al-Muʿtı̄ Amı̄ n Qalʿajı̄
(Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1984), ˙ 4: 282 = Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 4: 1409 ˙ (al-Salafı̄
edn.) (support for Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion) = Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, ed.˙Bashshā r ʿAwwā d Maʿrū f
˙
and Muhammad Bashshā r Maʿrū f (Tunis: Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 2015), 4: 322–3.
24
Abū al-Faraj˙ al-Isfahā nı̄ , Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, 310 (kā na Abū Hanı̄ fa yajharu fı̄ amr
Ibrā hı̄ m jahran shadı̄˙ dan); al-Azdı̄ , Tā rı̄˙kh Mawsil, ed. ʿAlı̄ Habı̄ ba (Cairo:
˙ Lajnat Ihyā ’ al-
Turā th al-Islā mı̄ , 1967), 188 (where he is also˙ reported to˙have said, ‘Were I able˙to see,
I would certainly rebel with Ibrā hı̄ m, but what prevents you all from rebelling?’).
25
Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ , Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, 310 (yuftı̄ al-nā s bi al-khurū j maʿahu).
26
Abū al-Faraj al-Is ˙ fahā nı̄ , Maqā til al-t
˙ ā libiyyı̄ n, 310 (reported by Abū Hanı̄ fa’s student
Zufar b. Hudhayl), ˙ 314 (reported by˙ʿUmar b. Shabba). ˙
27
Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ , Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, 310, 314. For classifications of both Misʿar
b. Kidā m and Abu ˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa as Murji’ı̄˙ s see Ibn Qutayba, Kitā b al-Maʿā rif, 481.
˙
192 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

perceived to be Misʿar b. Kidā m and Abū Hanı̄ fa’s revival of an earlier

˙
strand of Murji’ı̄ activism.28 Both proto-Sunni traditionalists and later
Hanafı̄ s would describe Abū Hanı̄ fa as one of the Murji’a who advocated
˙ ˙
for armed rebellion.29
Further details about Abū Hanı̄ fa’s backing for Ibrā hı̄ m’s revolt are
given in Zaydı̄ histories. We are informed that Abū Hanı̄ fa tried to garner
˙
support for Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h’s rebellion, albeit clandestinely.
Crucially, one source speaks of written correspondence that took place
between Abū Hanı̄ fa and Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h, and even produces what
˙
purports to be a letter Abū Hanı̄ fa sent to Ibrā hı̄ m in which he told him:30
˙
So when God grants you victory over ʿĪ sā b. Mū sā and his army, do not deal with
them in the manner in which your father dealt with the people of al-Jamal. For,
indeed, he did not slay the defeated, he did not take the booty, he did not pursue
from the rear, nor did he harry the wounded. For, in truth, it was not for the
people that they take the booty. Instead, deal with them in a manner akin to his
conduct on the day of Siffı̄ n, for there he harried the wounded and distributed the
booty, as the people of˙ Shā m had a right to it.
According to al-Ifā da, the letter never reached Ibrā hı̄ m. The caliph al-
Mansū r managed to obtain the letter, and on the basis of this he had Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa brought to Baghdad and poisoned to death.31 It seems that the
˙
connection between Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h’s rebellion and Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
may have been so strong that the caliph intended to make a point when he

28
This unsettles the view proposed at one point by Cook, Early Muslim Dogma, 26: ‘All this
begins by now to look straightforward. On the one hand we have a quietism well-attested
in classical – or at least Hanafı̄ – Murji’ism. On the other we have the evidence of a proto-
Murji’ite hostility towards ˙ the rulers of the day. It is a simple and attractive hypothesis
that the political stance of the Murji’a was initially hostile to the regime, and subsequently
softened.’ On the political views of the Murji’a see the comprehensive and, generally,
balanced discussion in Crone and Zimmermann, The Epistle of Sā lim Ibn Dhakwā n, 236–
43, though there too the authors assume the authenticity of texts attributed to Abū
Hanı̄ fa; and for a thorough review of Murji’ism in general and in Kufa in particular, see
˙ Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 1: 154–83, esp. 179–83 (where van Ess discusses the
van
full range of Murji’ı̄ quietist and activist views), 182–3 (on Misʿar b. Kidā m), and 187–8
(remarks on Abū Hanı̄ fa and ʿAlid rebellions). I am in favour of treating the history of
Irjā ’ in Kufa separately˙ from that of Irjā ’ in Khurā sā n. For the latter see Madelung, ‘The
Early Murji’a’; and more recently, Melchert, ‘The Spread of Hanafism’, 23–4. For Irjā ’
and Hanafism see also Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools ˙ of Law, 56–60.
29 ˙
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ al-kabı̄ r, 4: 283 (two reports) (Qalʿajı̄ edn.) = 1409, 1410
(al-Salafı̄ edn.); Abū ˙Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 506 (with no mention of Irjā ’); ʿAbd
Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 213, 218, 219; al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 15:˙ 529–30 ˙ (al-Khatı̄ b cites three reports that connect Abu ˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa’s Murji’ism
to rebellion (murji’ı̄ yarā al-sayf), one of which has al-Fazā rı̄ in the˙ isnā d); al-Jassā s,
˙
Ahkā m al-Qur’ā n, 1: 86–7 (for a fascinating defence of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s views on rebellion). ˙˙ ˙
30 ˙ ̄ Tā lib al-Hā rū nı̄ , al-Ifā da, 22; Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ , ˙Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, 315.
Abu
31
Abū T˙ ā lib al-Hā rū nı̄ , al-Ifā da, 22; Abū al-Faraj al-Isfaha
˙ ̄ nı̄ , Maqā til al-tā˙ libiyyı̄ n, 315 and
˙
316 (where two similar reports are provided). ˙ ˙
 6.2 Proto-Sunni Traditionalism and Quietism 193

decided to deposit the decapitated heads of Ibrā hı̄ m and his brother near
the house of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Even in death, so it seems, Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd
˙
Allā h’s legacy was inseparable from Abū Hanı̄ fa.32
˙
Indeed, Abū Hanı̄ fa seems to have been very forthright to a number of
˙
people about the necessity of joining Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion. One man
recalled seeing Abū Hanı̄ fa standing on the steps of his house, when two
˙
men approached him and asked his opinion about rebelling (al-khurū j)
with Ibrā hı̄ m. ‘Go and rebel (ukhrujā ),’ he told them.33 Another man
reported that he went to Abū Hanı̄ fa during the rebellion of Ibrā hı̄ m,
˙
because Abū Hanı̄ fa was someone he held in great esteem. He asked Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa what action he deemed most preferable after one had completed
˙
the greater pilgrimage, and whether joining Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion was pref-
erable to going on another pilgrimage. ‘Holy war after one has performed
the greater pilgrimage is equal to fifty pilgrimages,’ Abū Hanı̄ fa replied.34
On yet another occasion a woman came up to Abū Hanı̄ fa˙ during the days
˙
of Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion and said to him, ‘My son wishes to join this man
[in his rebellion], but I forbid him to do so.’ ‘Let him join,’ Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
told the woman.35 Perhaps the most notorious incident, however, was
one that proto-Sunni traditionalists highlighted in order to disparage Abū
Hanı̄ fa as a heretic; and it was one involving one of their own, Abū Ishā q
˙ ˙
al-Fazā rı̄ (d. c.185/802).

6.2 Proto-Sunni Traditionalism and Quietism

Abū Hanı̄ fa’s vocal support for ʿAlid rebellions fell foul of proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalist orthodoxy, which maintained that revolt against the state
was impermissible and tantamount to heresy. An authoritative and illu-
minating study of rebellion in Islamic law insists that quietism was not the
dominant view among proto-Sunni jurists.36 This position is in response
to the work of a previous scholar who contended that proto-Sunni
scholars adopted largely quietist positions vis-à-vis the legitimacy of the
state.37 In what follows, I argue that by the ninth century proto-Sunni
32
Al-Balā dhurı̄ , Ansā b al-ashrā f, 2.28: 535–6 (Berlin edn.) (wa humila ra’s Muhammad wa
ra’s Ibrā hı̄ m ilā Khurā sā n thumma ruddā fa dafanahumā alladhı̄ ˙hamalahumā tah ˙ ta daraja fı̄
manzilihi bi darb Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa fı̄ madı̄ nat Abı̄ Jaʿfar bi Baghdā d).˙ ˙
33 ˙
Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ , Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, 313.
34
Abū al-Faraj al-Is˙fahā nı̄ , Maqā til al-t˙ā libiyyı̄ n, 324 (ghazwa baʿda hijjat al-Islā m afdal min
khamsı̄ n hijja). ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
35 ˙
Abū al-Faraj al-Isfahā nı̄ , Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n, 325.
36
Abou El Fadl, Rebellion˙ and Violence.˙
37
Zaman, Religion and Politics. Abou El Fadl, Rebellion and Violence is a learned book, but
the author’s impressive intellectual history of pre-modern rebellion is also designed to
explore its potentialities for the modern world. This causes him to make some puzzling
claims, and he often does so on the basis of thin and late documentation: Abou El Fadl
194 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

traditionalists began to articulate explicitly a conception of orthodoxy

that adopted a stern stance against rebellion. First, and as an extension
to the discussion of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s part in Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h’s rebel-
˙
lion, we shall consider the example of a proto-Sunni traditionalist
who became embroiled in controversy with Abū Hanı̄ fa at the time of
˙
Ibrā hı̄ m’s uprising.
Al-Fasawı̄ relates the following encounter between al-Fazā rı̄ and Abū
Hanı̄ fa:38
˙
al-fazā rı̄ : My brother was slain with Ibrā hı̄ m al-Fā timı̄ in Basra. I travelled there
in order to collect his belongings (inheritance).˙ I met Abū Hanı̄ fa. He said
to me: ˙
abū h: anı̄ fa: Where have you come from and where are you going?
al-fazā rı̄ : I told him that I had come from Massı̄ sa because my brother had been
killed with Ibrā hı̄ m. He said to me: ˙˙ ˙
abū h: anı̄ fa: It would have been better for you had you been killed with your
brother than the place from which you have just come.
al-fazā rı̄ : So I said to him:
al-fazā rı̄ : What prevented you from fighting in the rebellion?
abū h: anı̄ fa: I would not have hesitated had it not been for the fact that I was
entrusted with people’s property.
Abū Ishā q al-Fazā rı̄ was a proto-Sunni traditionalist. Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim al-
˙ ˙
Rā zı̄ ’s summary of his career is conclusive about this: ‘If you see a Shā mı̄
who loves al-Awzā ʿı̄ and Abū Ishā q al-Fazā rı̄ , then know that he is a man
˙
of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy (sā hib sunna).’39 Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ also
˙ ˙

disagrees with Zaman’s thesis that proto-Sunnism adopted quietism after the mid-second
century, but he fails to muster up the evidence against this hypothesis. He is correct in
pointing out that juristic positions on rebellion are necessarily going to err on the side of
conservative quietism and that, consequently, this material is not so promising when the
scholarly debate rests on a simply dichotomy between quietism and activism. In my view,
where Zaman’s thesis runs into problems (and what Abou El Fadl fails to recognise) is his
attempt to envision a broad proto-Sunni consensus. As I stated at the outset of this study,
proto-Sunnism is too broad a category to be of any great utility, and in my discussion of
rebellion and quietism I have limited my conclusions to the proto-Sunni traditionalist
community. As for thin and late sources in Abou El Fadl’s book, the discussion of Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s history with ʿAlid uprisings is both incomplete and consistently relies on late
˙
sources (Abou El Fadl, Rebellion and Violence, 77 n. 72); the survey of al-Thawrı̄ ’s views
on rebellions rests on evidence from al-Dhahabı̄ , al-Safadı̄ , and Ibn al-ʿImā d (Abou El
Fadl, Rebellion and Violence, 96–7). ˙
38
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 788.
39
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, Taqdima, 1: 284–6. The same view was held by Abū al-ʿArab al-Tamı̄ mı̄ ,
˙ an, ed. Yahyā al-Jabbū rı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 2006), 296. The
Kitā b al-Mih
˙
fullest biography can be˙ found in Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 7: 119–33 (al-
ʿAmrawı̄ edn.); but see also al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 8: 539–43; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tadhkirat
al-huffā z, 1: 273–4. It should be obvious to readers that ‘proto-Sunni traditionalist
˙ ˙
orthodoxy’ is contextual and not a literal translation for sā hib sunna.
˙ ˙
 6.2 Proto-Sunni Traditionalism and Quietism 195

saw him as a representative of orthodoxy.40 His al-Irshā d fı̄ maʿrifat

ʿulamā ’ al-hadı̄ th includes a story where al-Humaydı̄ recalls Sufyā n
b. ʿUyayna’s ˙ anger when a man came to him saying ˙ that he had heard al-
Fazā rı̄ transmit traditions from Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna. Now he wanted to
hear them from the latter directly. ‘Woe unto you,’ he told the visitor.
Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna deemed it entirely superfluous given that the man had
heard these traditions from a scholar of al-Fazā rı̄ ’s standing.41 These
proto-Sunni traditionalist credentials are borne out by al-Fazā rı̄ ’s per-
sonal history of militant piety, his relations with the rulers of his time, and
his role in circulating discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. We read in
al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat that al-Fazā rı̄ said: ‘I˙ was with Sufyā n
˙
when the news of al-Nuʿmā n’s [b. Thā bit] death came. He said: “Praise
be to God. He was destroying Islam systematically. No one was born in
Islam more accursed than him.”’42 Putting aside whatever personal ani-
mosity al-Fazā rı̄ might have had towards Abū Hanı̄ fa, it seems very likely
˙
that he objected to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s views concerning rebellion against
˙
legitimate rulers. Al-Fazā rı̄ , like many proto-Sunni traditionalists, had
a long and prestigious record of fighting on the frontiers against the
Byzantines.43 Not only did he die on one of these frontiers (al-Massı̄ sa),
˙˙ ˙
but he even composed a book dedicated to the subject, Kitā b al-Siyar. Al-
Humaydı̄ recalls hearing al-Shā fiʿı̄ tell him that no one had produced
˙
a book on the subject of siyar quite like al-Fazā rı̄ ’s.44
Other sources add weight to the view that al-Fazā rı̄ considered Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s position on Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion to be at odds with proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalist orthodoxy because the ʿAbbā sid caliph, al-Mansū r, was
˙
a legitimate ruler; and rebelling against a legitimate ruler was tanta-
mount to heresy.45 According to one ninth-century source, al-Fazā rı̄

40
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 442–5 (Riyadh edn.).
41
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 443 (Riyadh edn.).
42
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat [Kitā b al-Mukhtasar], 3: 503 (Abū Haymad edn.).
43
On proto-Sunni traditionalism ˙ and militant piety˙ see Sizgorich, Violence
˙ and Belief, 180–
95 (where the focus is on Ibn al-Mubā rak); Bonner, Aristocratic Violence, esp. 157–84;
Tor, Violent Order, though I think the latter goes too far in conflating the phenomenon of
religious violence (and the ʿayyā rū n, in particular) with Sunni traditionalism, where the
evidence is thin, and, in turn, underestimates the importance of urban militias.
44
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 443 (Riyadh edn.). On the siyar see Muranyi, ‘Das Kitā b al-Siyar’;
Bonner, Aristocratic Violence, 113–18.
45
Naturally, this raises doubts about Bonner’s (Aristocratic Violence, 110) or his source’s
characterisation of al-Fazā rı̄ as someone who ‘banned from these sessions all those who had
dealings with the government’. The source, I believe, is Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat
Dimashq, 7: 120–1 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.) (man kā na man ya’tı̄ al-sultā n fa lā yahdur majlisanā ).
On a related note, Bonner arrives at the conclusion that al-Fazā ˙rı̄ marked a˙ shift
˙ in notions
of authority. For Fazā rı̄ , authority ‘now inheres in the religious scholar, rather than in the
imam/caliph and his delegated representatives’ (Bonner, Aristocratic Violence, 119). What is
Bonner’s evidence for al-Fazā rı̄ ’s views on religious authority vis-à-vis scholars and rulers?
196 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

once had an altercation with a ruler that resulted in him receiving 200
lashes.46 Otherwise, the sources pretty much agree that al-Fazā rı̄ was
on good terms with political authorities. One source distinguishes him
as belonging to a group of religious scholars who accepted gifts or
stipends from rulers, if only to distribute the money among the local
population.47 Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d cited al-Fazā rı̄ , along with Ibn al-
Mubā rak, as an exemplary religious authority when engaged in an
argument with a heretic (zindı̄ q).48 There is reason to assume that al-
Fazā rı̄ visited Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d more than just once. When the caliph
remarked that al-Fazā rı̄ had a considerable reputation among the Arabs,
al-Fazā rı̄ was unmoved by the comment. ‘This will not help me one bit
in front of God on the Day of Reckoning,’ he told the caliph.49 Also
during Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d’s reign al-Fazā rı̄ was one of several scholars
counselling the governor about treaties with non-Muslims.50 Then
there is al-Asmaʿı̄ ’s eyewitness account of al-Fazā rı̄ ’s meeting with
˙
Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d and Abū Yū suf:51
al-as: maʿı̄ : I was sitting in the company of Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d reciting some poetry
for him. The judge Abū Yū suf was seated beside him. Shortly after, al-Fadl
b. al-Rabı̄ ʿ entered the room. ˙
al-fad: l b. al-rabı̄ ʿ: Abū Ishā q al-Fazā rı̄ is at the door.
hā rū n al-rashı̄ d: Let him in.˙
al-as: maʿı̄ : When he entered, he said [to the caliph].
al-fazā rı̄ : Peace be upon you along with God’s mercy and grace, Commander of
the Faithful.

It is one report (Bonner, Aristocratic Violence, 116–17), which, as far as I can see, represents
no significant comment on the authority of scholars against that of rulers, even when
interpreted against al-Awzā ʿı̄ ’s response to a similar issue. In my view, Bonner has read
into this report the issue of caliphal authority versus scholarly authority, which seems
entirely unwarranted. I discovered in the final stages of writing this monograph that
Cook’s summary of al-Fazā rı̄ ’s career (Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong, 66) agrees
with my own reading and serves to correct Bonner’s account.
46
Abū al-ʿArab al-Tamı̄ mı̄ , Kitā b al-Mihan, 296, 357; repeated in Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ ,
Muʿjam al-udabā ’, 1: 95 (Dā r al-Gharb˙al-Islā mı̄ edn.). ˙
47
Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 7: 129 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.); Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ ,
Muʿjam al-udabā ’, 1: 93 f., esp. 95–6 (Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ edn.). ˙
48
Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 7:127 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.); Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ ,
Muʿjam al-udabā ’, 1: 95 (Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ edn.). ˙
49
Abū Nuʿaym, Hilyat al-awliyā ’ (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ , 1996; repr. Beirut: Dā r al-
˙
Fikr, n.d.), 8: 253–65, esp. 253 (I owe my knowledge of this reference to the editor of Ibn
ʿAsā kir’s Tā rı̄ kh): Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 7: 128–9 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.).
50
Abū ʿUbayd al-Qā sim b. Sallā m, Kitā b al-Amwā l, ed. Muhammad Hā mid al-Fiqı̄ (Cairo:
n.p., 1975), 171. ˙ ˙
51
Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 7: 129–30 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.); Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ ,
Muʿjam al-udabā ’, 1: 96 (Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ edn.). ˙
 6.2 Proto-Sunni Traditionalism and Quietism 197

hā rū n al-rashı̄ d: May God grant you no peace, may He banish your house, and
may He make desolate your resting place.52
al-fazā rı̄ : Why is that, Commander of the Faithful?
hā rū n al-rashı̄ d: Are you not the person who declared the [wearing of] black to
be illicit (anta alladhı̄ tuharrimu al-sawā d)?
al-fazā rı̄ : Commander of ˙the Faithful, who told you this? Perhaps it was that
person – al-Fazā rı̄ pointed in the direction of Abū Yū suf and made a remark.
By God, Commander of the Faithful, when Ibrā hı̄ m had rebelled against
your grandfather al-Mansū r, my brother rebelled with him. Meanwhile, I had
made an intention to go ˙[to the Byzantine frontier] to raid, so I went to Abū
Hanı̄ fa and I mentioned this [my brother’s joining Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion and
˙ plans to go raiding] to him. He told me: ‘Your brother’s rebelling is more
my
beloved to me than your intention to go raiding.’ By God, I never declared
the [wearing of] black to be illicit (yā amı̄ r al-mu’minı̄ n, man akhbaraka bi
hā dhā ? Laʿalla hā dhā akhbaraka – wa ashā ra ilā Abı̄ Yū suf wa dhakara
kalima – wa Allā hi yā amı̄ r al-mu’minı̄ n la qad kharaja Ibrā hı̄ m ʿalā jaddika al-
Mansū r fa kharaja akhı̄ maʿahu wa ʿazamtu ʿalā al-ghazw fa ataytu Abā Hanı̄ fa
˙
fa dhakartu ˙
lahu dhā lika fa qā la lı̄ : ‘makhraj akhı̄ ka ahabbu ilayya mimmā
˙
ʿazamta ʿalayhi min al-ghazw.’ Wa wa Allā hi mā harramtu al-sawā d).
hā rū n al-rashı̄ d: In that case, may God grant you peace, ˙ may He bring peace to
your abode, and may He breathe life into your resting place. Sit down, Abū
Ishā q, [be] happy.53 Three thousand dinars are to be given to Abū Ishā q.
˙ : The money was brought and placed in al-Fazā rı̄ ’s hand. He left ˙ the
al-as: maʿı ̄
room and then departed.

According to al-Asmaʿı̄ , Abū Ishā q did not need the money. Both he and
˙ ˙
Ibn al-Mubā rak distributed all of the money to charitable causes in al-
Rā fiqa. This detail is of tertiary interest to us, however. More pertinent to
this chapter are the following points. Al-Fazā rı̄ , a proto-Sunni tradition-
alist, is at the court of the caliph, seeking to maintain cordial relations with
him, and accepting a stipend from him. He is outraged by the caliph’s
suggestion that he is disloyal to the ʿAbbā sids. Suspecting that Abū Yū suf
is the source of the rumour that al-Fazā rı̄ has declared the donning of
black – the colour of the ʿAbbā sids – impermissible, he cannot help but
use this occasion to articulate the irony of Abū Yū suf comfortably
ensconced in Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d’s court trying to drive a wedge in between
al-Fazā rı̄ and the caliph. The implication is that al-Fazā rı̄ , if indeed he
believes the donning of black to be impermissible, is undermining the
legitimacy of the ʿAbbā sids. This is not lost on al-Fazā rı̄ . He reminds the

52
This is a particular expression in the literary sources but usually the prerogative of caliphs
and governors alone. For instances where this phrase is employed either as a curse or to
signal approval see al-Jā hiz, Kitā b al-Hayawā n, 4: 64; al-Balā dhurı̄ , Ansā b al-ashrā f, ed.
Suhayl Zakkā r (Beirut: Da ˙ ̄˙r al-Fikr, 1996),
˙ 9: 67.
53
Yā Masrū r may be a reference to one of the caliph’s courtiers or eunuchs ordered by the
caliph to fetch al-Fazā rı̄ his money.
198 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

caliph that it was Abū Yū suf’s teacher, Abū Hanı̄ fa, who supported
˙
the rebellion against the caliph’s grandfather, counselled his brother to
do the same, and tried to convince him that participation in Ibrā hı̄ m’s
rebellion was more meritorious than raiding against the Byzantines.
A similar story is told by al-Bukhā rı̄ in the ninth century, this time with
al-Fazā rı̄ as the narrator. Al-Fazā rı̄ explains that he went to see Hā rū n al-
Rashı̄ d and found Abū Yū suf sitting there next to him. The caliph saw al-
Fazā rı̄ and accused of him advocating rebellion against him (anta alladhı̄
tarā al-sayf ʿalaynā )? Al-Fazā rı̄ suspected Abū Yū suf of feeding this idea
to Hā rū n, and so he decided to tell the caliph about his run-in with Abū
Hanı̄ fa during the rebellion of Ibrā hı̄ m.54 Al-Fazā rı̄ ’s aim is to assure the
˙
caliph of his own loyalty whilst casting aspersions on the fidelity of Abū
Hanı̄ fa, Abū Yū suf, and possibly other proto-Hanafı̄ s. Al-Fazā rı̄ was
˙ ˙
probably aware that his family history revealed a certain sympathy for
rebellions against the state: his nephew Marwā n b. Muʿā wiya, whom we
discussed above, may have been a Zaydı̄ ; his brother had espoused rebel-
lion against the ʿAbbā sids and died fighting for Ibrā hı̄ m against the caliph
al-Mansū r. The loyal proto-Sunni traditionalist that he was, al-Fazā rı̄ was
keen to˙put to rest any doubts about his own views on the legitimacy of
the ʿAbbā sids.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists rallied hard against those whom they
believed advocated rebellion against rulers. This is evidenced by the
reports we have cited that castigate Abū Hanı̄ fa for the fact that he
˙
supported open rebellion against rulers (kā na yarā al-sayf ʿalā al-
a’imma). It can be seen also in the history of other individuals who were
discredited for similar views. We have the example, for instance, of
Muhammad b. Rā shid al-Makhū lı̄ (d. c.160/776), a Damascene trad-
˙ ˙
itionist with a decent reputation for transmission who fled to Iraq and
was known for his heretical views on doctrine and rebellion.55 ʿImrā n
54
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, 2: 100 (cited in the Luhaydā n edn.) = 3: 562 (cited in the
footnote in the Abū Haymad ˙ edn.). This report is ˙present in ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad
b. ʿAbd al-Salā m al-Khaffa ˙ ̄ f’s (d. 294/907) recension only. It is missing in ˙ Abū
Muhammad Zanjawayh b. Muhammad al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ ’s (d. 318/930) recension.
55
Abū ˙ Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ k˙h, 1: 401 (reliable but someone who inclined towards
heresy (thiqa wa kā na yamı̄ lu ilā hawā ) and when Abū Mus’hir was asked why it was
that he did not write traditions from Muhammad b. Rā shid, he replied: because he
advocated rebellions against rulers (kayfa lam ˙ taktub ʿan Muhammad b. Rā shid? Qā la:
kā na yarā al-khurū j ʿalā al-a’imma)); al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa ˙ wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 395–6;
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, al-Tā rı̄ kh, 4: 446 (al-Dū rı̄ ’s rescension); Ibn al-Junayd, Su’ā lā t Ibn al-
˙
Junayd, 306, 337, 472; al-Nasā ’ı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ wa al-matrū kı̄ n [published with Kitā b
al-Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r], ed. Mahmū d Ibrā hı̄ m˙ Zā yid (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1986), 235
˙ (laysa ˙bi al-quwwa)); Ibn
(weak ˙ ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil fı̄ duʿafā ’ al-rijā l, ed. al-Ghazzā wı̄ and
Suhayl Zakkā r (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr, 1988), 8: 201–2˙ esp. 201 (kā na yarā al-khurū j ʿalā al-
a’imma); al-Jū zajā nı̄ , Ahwā l al-rijā l, ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAlı̄ m ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ m al-Bastawı̄ (n.p.
[Pakistan]: Hadı̄ th Academy, ˙ n.d.), 278; al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄˙kh Baghdā d, 3: 181–
˙ ˙
 6.2 Proto-Sunni Traditionalism and Quietism 199

b. Dā war Abū al-ʿAwwā m al-Qattā n (d. c.160/776) was generally highly
˙˙
rated as a hadı̄ th scholar.56 But, like Abū Hanı̄ fa, he was considered to be
˙ ˙ ̄ h. Al-Fasawı̄ informs us that
on very good terms with Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Alla
Ibrā hı̄ m befriended him when he rebelled in Basra.57 He also issued
a fierce religious edict at the time of Ibrā hı̄ m’s uprising permitting the
rebellion.58 This led people to declare him a heretic who advocated
rebellion.59 Similarly, there is the case of al-Hasan b. Sā lih (d. 169/785–
˙ ˙ ˙
6), a traditionist and traditionalist of good repute but whose doctrines
concerning rebellion and the legitimacy of rulers placed him outside
proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy.60

5, esp. 185; Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 53: 4–16, esp. 10 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.); al-
Mizzı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-kamā l, 25: 186–91, esp. 191; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-
tahdhı̄ b, 3: 559–60 (Mu’assasat al-Risā la, edn.); al-Dhahabı̄ ˙ , Siyar, 7: 343–4.
56
Khalı̄ fa b. Khayyā t, Kitā b al-Tabaqā t, 221; al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 3.2: 425 (his
name appears as Da ˙ ̄ wū d); Yah˙ yā b. Maʿı̄ n, al-Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 437 (al-Dū rı̄ ’s rescension) is not
impressed with ʿImrā n b. Dā ˙war’s hadı̄ th learning, and he does refer to his support for
rebellion (kā na yarā ra’y al-khawā r˙ij); al-Marrū dhı̄ , Kitā b al-ʿIlal wa maʿrifat al-rijā l li
Ahmad b. Muhammad b. Hanbal, 107, 3908; ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-
˙ wa maʿrifat
ʿIlal ˙ al-rijā l ʿan˙ Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, ed. Abū ʿAbd al-Ha ˙ ̄ dı̄ al-Jaza
˙̄ ’irı̄ (Beirut: Dā r
Ibn Hazm, 2004), 62–3, 101; ˙ ʿAlı̄ b. al-Madı̄ nı̄ , al-ʿIlal, ed. Muhammad Mustafā al-
Aʿzamı̄ ˙ , 2nd edn. (Beirut: al-Maktab al-Islā mı̄ , 1980), 80 (where ˙ ʿImrā n’s view ˙˙ on
˙
a hadı̄ th with implications for the doctrine of rebellion is noted); Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-
Jarh˙ , 6: 297–8; Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil fı̄ maʿrifat al-rijā l, ed. Mā zin b. Muhammad al-Sarsa ˙ ̄ wı̄
˙
(Riyadh: Maktabat al-Rusdh, 2018), 7: 479–84; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar,˙ 7: 280, 4: 442, 5:
274. The index (25: 531) has his name as ʿImrā n b. Dā wū d.
57
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 258 (wa kā na Ibrā hı̄ m wallā hu hı̄ na kharaja bi
al-Basra al-ghazā ). ˙
58 ˙ , Su’ā lā t Abı̄ ʿUbayd al-Ā jurrı̄ Abā Dā wū d Sulaymā n b. al-Ashʿath al-Sijistā nı̄ fı̄
Al-Ā jurrı̄
maʿrifat al-rijā l wa jarhihim wa taʿdı̄ lihim, ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAlı̄ m ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ m al-Bastawı̄
(Mecca: Maktabat Da ˙̄ r al-Istiqā ma, 1997), 418–19 (where his weakness ˙ as a hadı̄ th
scholar seems tied to his involvement in Ibrā hı̄ m’s rebellion: daʿı̄ f, aftā fı̄ ayyā m Ibrā ˙ hı̄ m
b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Hasan bi fatwā shadı̄ da fı̄ hā safk al-dimā ’); al-Dhahabı̄˙ , Mı̄ zā n al-iʿtidā l,
3: 236. ˙
59
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 258 (kā na ʿImrā n harū riyyan wa kā na yarā al-
sayf ʿalā ahl al-qibla); Al-Dhahabı̄ , Mı̄ zā n al-iʿtidā l, 3: 237 (kā˙na harū riyyan yarā al-sayf);
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 8: 131 (Hyderabad edn.). ˙
60
Ibn Saʿd,˙ al-Tabaqā t al-kabı̄ r, 6: 260–1, esp. 261 (Leiden edn.) (his twin brother ʿAlı̄
b. Sā lih); Khalı̄˙ fa b. Khayyā t, Kitā b al-Tabaqā t, 168 (death dates for al-Hasan and ʿAlı̄ );
˙ ˙ ̄ rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄
al-Bukha ˙ r, 1.2: 295˙ (no comment on his alleged ˙deviances); Ibn
Qutayba, al-Maʿā rif, 509 (a brief biographical notice); al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-
tā rı̄ kh, 2: 805–6 (where al-Fasawı̄ mentions, among other vices, his advocacy of rebellion
(al-khurū j ʿalayhim bi al-sayf). There is also an interesting anecdote about his attitude to
past caliphs, which other proto-Sunni traditionalists such as Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h did not
find objectionable). For an overview see al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 7: 361–71, esp. 361, ˙ 363,
364, 365. In al-Dhahabı̄ ’s assessment: ‘I consider him one of the leaders of Islam, were it
not for the fact that he became mired in heresy.’ I am grateful to the editor of the Siyar for
indicating where biographical notices on al-Hasan b. Sā lih can be found. Al-Dhahabı̄ ,
˙
Tahdhı̄ b tahdhı̄ b al-kamā l fı̄ asmā ’ al-rijā l, ed. Ghunaym ˙ʿAbba
˙ ̄ s Ghunaym and Majdı̄ al-
Sayyid Amı̄ n (Cairo: al-Fā rū q al-Hadı̄ th li al-Tibā ʿa wa al-Nashr, 2004), 2: 286–90; Ibn
Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ ˙ b, 2: 285–9˙ (Hyderabad edn.); Ibn Hajar al-
˙
ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taqrı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 1: 205. ˙
200 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

By focusing on the mnemohistory of Abū Hanı̄ fa, we have already seen

˙
that proto-Sunni traditionalists believed rebellion against rulers to go
against a fundamental tenet of orthodoxy. In order to ensure that our
picture reflects wider currents in proto-Sunni traditionalism during the
ninth and tenth centuries, I should like to point out echoes of this doctrine
of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy that can be heard in a number of
works from this period.61
Consider the short epistle written by one of al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s leading stu-
dents, Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Yahyā al-Muzanı̄ (d. 264/877–8). Al-Muzanı̄ ’s creedal
˙
work was, we are told, a response to a letter in which some scholars sought
out his views concerning various doctrines and beliefs. Al-Muzanı̄ obliged
by composing a short creed. His Sharh al-Sunna discusses nineteen
˙
issues. Two of these have direct relevance for our discussion about proto-
Sunni traditionalist attitudes to rulers and rebellion. First, al-Muzanı̄
addresses the question of obeying the caliphs and governors and the
prohibition against rebellion. He writes:62
One must obey those in command with respect to that which is pleasing to God,
mighty and majestic. And one must turn away from what is displeasing. One must
not rebel in the face of their transgressions or oppression. One should repent to
God, mighty and majestic, that He may make them appreciate their subjects.
Moreover, one of the issues he addresses is the question of performing
communal rituals under the leadership of rulers. He contends that one
must not avoid attending the Friday prayer, since praying behind the
pious and wicked of this community is compulsory.63 He adds that
those performing the prayer are not culpable for any heretical innovation
that rulers – I assume – might have incorporated into the religion.64

61
This is a selective and not a comprehensive account of proto-Sunni traditionalist texts
that speak against rebellion. Al-Khallā l, al-Sunna, ed. ʿAtiyya al-Zahrā nı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-
Rā ya, 1989), 1: 82–5, 97–126, esp. 130–44 (bā b al-inkā r˙ ʿalā man kharaja ʿalā al-sultā n),
where al-Khallā l cites the opinions of various ninth-century proto-Sunni traditionalists; ˙
al-Barbahā rı̄ , Sharh Kitā b al-Sunna, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Ahmad al-Jumayzı̄ (Riyadh:
Maktabat Dā r al-Minha ˙ ˙ usū l iʿtiqā
̄ j, 2005), 57; al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ , Sharh ˙ d ahl sunna wa al-jamā ʿa,
ed. Kamā l al-Misrı̄ (Alexandria: Maktabat Dā r al-Bas ˙ ı̄ ra,
˙ n.d.), 1: 146–71.
62
Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Yahyā ˙al-Muzanı̄ , Sharh al-Sunna, ed. Jama ˙̄ l ʿAzzū n (Riyadh: Dā r al-Minhā j,
˙ ˙
2009), 85 (tā ʿatu al-a’imma wa al-umarā ’ fı̄ mā kā na ʿinda Allā h ʿazza wa jalla mardiyyan
˙ kā na [ʿinda Allā h] muskhitan wa tark al-khurū j ʿinda taʿaddı̄ him wa jawrihim,
wa ijtinā b mā ˙
wa al-tawba ilā Allā h ʿazza wa jalla kaymā ˙ yaʿtifa bihim ʿalā raʿiyyatihim).
63
Al-Muzanı̄ , Sharh al-Sunna, 87 (wa lā natruk ˙ hudū r al-jumuʿa, wa salā tahā maʿa barr
˙
hā dhihi al-umma wa fā jirihā lā zim). It was because ˙ ˙of the presence of ˙rulers or governors
that al-Hasan b. Sā lih did not perform the Friday prayer.
64
Al-Muzanı̄ ˙ , Sharh˙ al-Sunna,
˙ 87 (wa mā kā na min al-bidaʿ barı̄ ’an). The editor observes
that one manuscript ˙ adds the following clause: if a ruler introduced a heresy, one should
not pray behind him (fa in ibtadaʿa dalā lan fa lā salā t khalfahu).
˙ ˙
 6.3 Orthodoxy and the State 201

Likewise, it is compulsory to fight and perform the greater pilgrimage with

every ruler, be he just or oppressive.65
There is also the evidence from the proto-Sunni traditionalist commu-
nity beginning with al-Khallā l and ending with al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ . Abū Bakr al-
Khallā l (d. 311/923) obsesses on the theme of political quietism and the
impermissibility of rebellion.66 Many of the traditions and sayings he
mentions are attributed to his teacher, Abū Bakr al-Marrū dhı̄ , whom
we discussed in Chapter 3 of this study. They prohibit consistent rebel-
lion against rulers. Al-Hasan b. Sā lih makes more than one appearance
˙ ˙ ˙
in this section, with al-Marrū dhı̄ citing opinions of his teachers who
objected to al-Hasan b. Sā lih’s belief in the legitimacy of open
˙ ˙ ˙
rebellion.67 Al-Khallā l speaks of historical episodes in Baghdad and dur-
ing the reign of Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d where rebellions broke out and scholars
were asked whether they ought to join the rebels, and they were instructed
firmly against it.68 Al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ ’s (d. 418/1027) discussion lacks the inter-
est in historical episodes from the eighth and ninth centuries otherwise
present in al-Khallā l’s work, but he claims to have found the doctrine
against rebellion stipulated in the creeds of proto-Sunni traditionalists
such as Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , Ahmad b. Hanbal, ʿAlı̄ b. al-Madı̄ nı̄ , al-
˙ ˙
Bukhā rı̄ , Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ , Abū Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ , and Sahl b. ʿAbd Allā h
˙
al-Tustarı̄ .69

6.3 Orthodoxy and the State

Let us conclude now with some remarks about the formation of ortho-
doxy and heresy in the ninth and tenth centuries and how attitudes to the
state might have influenced the religious communities invested in argu-
ments of orthodoxy and heresy. The review of proto-Sunni traditionalist

65
Al-Muzanı̄ , Sharh al-Sunna, 87 (wa al-jihā d maʿ kulli imā m ʿadl aw jā ’ir wa al-hajj).
66
Jarrar, Doctrinal ˙Instruction argues that Sharh al-Sunna, traditionally attributed ˙ to al-
Barbahā rı̄ , was penned in the ninth century by ˙ Ghulā m Khalı̄ l. For Khalı̄ l’s statements
on rebellion see Jarrar, Doctrinal Instruction, 158–9 (translation) = 267–70 (Arabic edn.).
67
Al-Khallā l, al-Sunna, 1: 135–6.
68
Al-Khallā l, al-Sunna, 1: 132–3, 137, 140 (where reactions of proto-Sunni traditionalists
to the rebellion of Sahl b. Salā ma are mentioned).
69
Al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ , Sharh usū l iʿtiqā d, 1: 146 (citing the creed of Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ : wa al-sabr
tahta liwā ’ al-sultā˙n jā˙ r am ʿadl), 152 (citing the creed of Ahmad b. Hanbal: wa al-samʿ˙ wa
˙ ā ʿa li al-a’imma),
al-t ˙ 153 (citing Ahmad b. Hanbal again: wa ˙ lā yahillu
˙ qitā l al-sultā n wa lā
˙
al-khurū j ʿalayhi li ahad min al-nā s˙ fa man faʿala
˙ dhā lika fa huwa˙ mubtadiʿ ʿalā ˙ghayr al-
sunna wa al-tarı̄ q), 158 ˙ (citing the creed of ʿAlı̄ b. al-Madı̄ nı̄ : wa lā yahillu qitā l al-sultā n wa
˙
lā khurū j ʿalayhi li ahad min al-nā s fa man ʿamila dhā lika fa huwa mubtadiʿ ˙ ˙ al-
ʿalā ghayr
sunna), 164 (citing the ˙ creed of al-Bukhā rı̄ : wa an lā yarā al-sayf ʿalā ummat Muhammad
sallā Allā hu ʿalayhi wa sallama), 166 (citing the creed of Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ : wa lā˙ narā al-
˙khurū j ʿalā al-a’imma), 170 (citing the creed of Abū Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ ), 171 (citing the creed
of Sahl b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Tustarı̄ : wa lā yakhruj ʿalā hā ˙ dhihi al-umma bi al-sayf).
202 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa on account of his advocacy of rebellion has

˙
resulted in a greater awareness of the proto-Sunni traditionalist commu-
nity and their conception of orthodoxy. We also looked beyond Abū
Hanı̄ fa to survey broader attacks on individuals who supported the idea
˙
of rebelling against legitimate rulers.
There is another important aspect of these attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa that
˙
warrants consideration. A prime motivation for proto-Sunni traditionalist
discourses on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ‘heresy’ concerning rebellion must have been
˙
to undermine the ʿAbbā sid state’s reliance on Hanafı̄ judges and to curtail
˙
the spread of Hanafism throughout the empire and its provinces. The
˙
circulation of a discourse of heresy that anchored Abū Hanı̄ fa’s heresy,
˙
and that of the movement that emerged after him, in his support for
rebellion aimed to embarrass the ʿAbbā sid state and political elites into
diminishing its employment of Hanafı̄ scholars and judges.70 The logic of
their discourse was reasonable and˙ powerful: how could the state facilitate
and support proto-Hanafism when its eponymous founder not only
˙
doubted the legitimacy of the ʿAbbā sids but actively supported efforts
to overthrow it? At the same time, proto-Sunni traditionalists were them-
selves well connected to rulers and political elites, found employment as
judges, and were using their proximity to them to disseminate proto-
Sunni traditionalism. I do not mean to suggest that any one of these
three characteristics meant that scholars were agents of the state. The
relationship was more complicated than that. Judges were intermediaries
between the state and its subjects. Rulers recognised the need for religious
scholars and wise counsel. Scholars understood that an efficient state and
a stable society were prerequisites for the diffusion of religious orthodoxy
and its norms.
The case of the Tā hirids and proto-Sunni traditionalism is a neat
˙
illustration of the symbiotic relationship that existed in the ninth century.
On the one hand, when Tā hir b. al-Husayn counselled his son ʿAbd Allā h
˙ ˙
b. Tā hir, he impressed upon him the importance of having religious
˙ 71
scholars in close proximity. This, he argued, would influence the way
in which one’s subjects would come to regard their rulers (al-tawqı̄ r li
amrika), it would augment their respect for the ruler’s authority (wa al-
hayba li sultā nika), and it would enhance the justice of the ruler (wa al-
˙
thiqa bi ʿadlika).72 Qadis, for example, are considered to be agents of

70
On the employment of proto-Hanafı̄ judges see Hinds, s.v. ‘Mihna’, EI2; Tsafrir, The
History of an Islamic School of Law, ˙ 117–18; Melchert, ‘How Hanafism ˙ Came to Originate
in Kufa’, 339–40; and Tillier, Les cadis, 177–86. ˙
71
Ibn Abı̄ Tā hir Tayfū r, Kitā b Baghdā d, 27, 30 (mushā warat al-fuqahā ’). On this epistle see
Bosworth,˙ ‘An ˙Early Arabic Mirror for Princes’.
72
Ibn Abı̄ Tā hir Tayfū r, Kitā b Baghdā d, 27.
˙ ˙
 6.3 Orthodoxy and the State 203

justice, truth, and order, not mere functionaries of the state.73 In the other
direction, proto-Sunni traditionalists such as Ishā q b. Rā hawayh saw
the Tā hirids as vehicles for promoting proto-Sunni ˙ traditionalism. Ishā q
˙ ˙
b. Rā hawayh is described as being in the company of ʿAbd Allā h b. Tā hir
˙
on multiple occasions, and he seems to have used these opportunities
to promote proto-Sunnı̄ traditionalism as orthodoxy and distinguish it
from proto-Hanafism. When, for example, ʿAbd Allā h b. Tā hir asked
˙ ˙
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh about a certain issue, the latter responded: ‘The
˙
orthodox doctrine (al-sunna) concerning this is such and such. This is
the doctrine of those who follow proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy (wa
ka dhā kila yaqū l man salaka tarı̄ q ahl al-sunna). As for Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙ ˙
followers, they oppose this (wa ammā Abū Hanı̄ fa wa ashā buhu fa innahum
˙ ˙ ˙
qā lū bi khilā f hā dhā ).’ The rest of the report is illuminating: Ibrā hı̄ m
74

b. Sā lih was present during this conversation, and he objected to Ishā q
˙ ˙ ˙
b. Rā hawayh’s characterisation of the Hanafı̄ position. Ishā q b. Rā hawayh
˙ ˙
responded that he had memorised this Hanafı̄ doctrine from the book
˙
composed by Ibrā hı̄ m b. Sā lih’s grandfather, with whom Ibn Rā hawayh
˙ ˙
had attended school. Ibrā hı̄ m accused Ibn Rā hawayh of lying about
his grandfather. The book was brought to the Tā hirid governor. Ibn
˙
Rā hawayh told him to turn to the eleventh folio and focus his attention
on line nine. The governor did this and found the discussion of the legal
problem. Needless to say, the governor was startled: ‘You have memor-
ised the legal discussions, I know, but I am amazed at this display of your
prodigious memory.’ Ishā q replied, ‘[I memorised books] so that on a day
˙
such as this, God may manifest it against enemies [of mine] like Ibrā hı̄ m.’
We cannot be certain as to the authenticity of the details presented here.
However, a few things seem very likely, based on the regularity of their
depiction elsewhere in our medieval sources: first, that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh
˙
was present in the company of ʿAbd Allā h b. Tā hir; second, that Ishā q
˙ ˙
b. Rā hawayh sought to promote proto-Sunni traditionalism and attack
proto-Hanafism under the Tā hirids; and third, that Ishā q b. Rā hawayh,
˙ ˙ ˙
like many of his peers, memorised books.
Ishā q b. Hanbal (d. 253/867) knew Ishā q b. Rā hawayh as an intimate
˙ ˙ ˙
member of the Tā hirid court, and perhaps this was the disagreement
˙
between Ahmad b. Hanbal and Ishā q b. Rā hawayh hinted at in one
˙ ˙ ˙

73
Ibn Abı̄ Tā hir Tayfū r, Kitā b Baghdā d, 30–1.
74
Al-Khatı̄˙b al-Baghda
˙ ̄ dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 7: 372–3. Of course, ‘proto-Sunni tradition-
˙
alist orthodoxy’ is not a literal translation for ahl al-sunna. This is why I’ve provided
the original text in parenthesis. On Ishā q b. Rā hawayh in conversation with ʿAbd
Allā h b. Tā hir on a different occasion and ˙ discussing the former’s prodigious memory,
˙
see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 7: 373.
˙
204 Politics: Rebellion and Heresy

medieval source.75 His students included both Ibn Qutayba and al-
Bukhā rı̄ . Ishā q b. Rā hawayh is purported to have shown ʿAbd Allā h
b. Tā hir the ˙ Kitā b al-Tā rı̄ kh composed by al-Bukhā rı̄ .76 There are
˙
a number of problems with evidence of this kind. It is preserved in later
sources. It might be inspired by a desire to establish the early composition
of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s works. On the other hand, ʿAbd Allā h b. Tā hir’s interests
˙
in proto-Sunni traditionalism are unusually prominent in a range of
primary sources. I think there is some evidence to suggest, for example,
that in the eastern provinces of the early Islamic empire during the ninth
century proto-Sunni traditionalists had established good relations with
the Tā hirids. Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ ’s al-Irshā d, a key source for the religious history
˙
of Khurā sā n, allows us to tease from it some meagre details about
Tā hirids and proto-Sunnı̄ traditionalism. We learn, for example, that
˙
one al-Husayn b. al-Fadl al-Bajalı̄ arrived and settled in Nı̄ shā pū r, having
˙ ˙
moved there from Iraq. Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ quotes al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , who
˙
wrote that al-Bajalı̄ was one among a group of scholars whom ʿAbd Allā h
b. Tā hir had brought with him. These scholars were chosen from Iraq and
˙
transferred to Nı̄ shā pū r.77 Al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ ’s remark seems to
indicate that this was a specific policy ˙ pursued by the Tā hirids and that al-
˙
Bajalı̄ was one among many scholars now gathering around the Tā hirids.
˙
The Tā hirids were not an independent dynasty. They represented one of
˙
the empire’s most important elite families. They were reliable provincial
governors, but their authority had extended across the entire empire into
Egypt and Baghdad. They were invested in the maintenance of ʿAbbā sid
authority, and the ʿAbbā sids, in turn, invested in them.78 The decisions
Tā hirid governors made in Khurā sā n and Transoxiana, especially the
˙
kind of religious culture they supported, were made independently of
the ʿAbbā sids. In the light of this, I think it would be unreasonable to
doubt the influence that a literate elite (the proto-Sunni traditionalist
community) might have had on the political authorities of their day.
To conclude, what this may suggest is that we need to revise an
interpretation of religion and politics in early Islam as old as Ibn
75
Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-Hanā bila, 1: 112–13 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.).
76 ˙
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghda ̄ dı̄ , Tā˙ rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 2: 7; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Taghlı̄ q al-taʿlı̄ q,
5: 405. ˙ ˙
77
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 2: 811–12 (Riyadh edn.). We have no reason to doubt al-Khalı̄ lı̄ ’s
reliable transmission of al-Hā kim’s history, since an entry on this al-Bajalı̄ survives in
Khalı̄ fa al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , Talkhı̄ ˙ s tā rı̄ kh Nı̄ shā pū r, ed. Behmā n Karı̄ mı̄ (Tehran:
Kitā bkhā neh-yi Ibn Sı̄ nā , n.d.), ˙ 21, where the author notes: ‘al-Husayn b. Fadl
b. ʿUmayr b. al-Qā sim b. Kaysā n al-Bajalı̄ [not al-Hillı̄ ] Abū ʿAlı̄ al-Ku ˙ ̄ fı̄ , he was the˙
imam of his age who came to Nı̄ shā pū r with ʿAbd Allā ˙h b. Tā hir. He took up residence in
Nı̄ shā pū r and died there. He is buried in the graveyard of ˙al-Husayn b. Muʿā dh.’
78
On the Tā hirids see Kennedy, The Early Abbasid Caliphate, 138–48; ˙ Kaabi, ‘Les origines
˙
tā hirides’.
˙
 6.3 Orthodoxy and the State 205

Khaldū n and as recent as Ahmad Taymū r Pā shā – namely, that we might
˙
have to revisit our view of the spread of Hanafism as a product of
ʿAbbā sid patronage. The view that the ʿAbba
79 ˙ ̄ sids facilitated the spread
of Hanafism rests on a number of accidents pertaining to the surviving
˙
corpus of primary sources.80 The Hanafı̄ biographical dictionaries are
˙
more copious and forthcoming concerning qadis. We know from specific
examples that many proto-Sunni traditionalists served as qadis, but
their biographical literature has not survived. This is the case for both
proto-Hanbalism and proto-Shā fiʿism. This is not to say that Hanafism
˙ ˙
failed to benefit from the appointment of someone like Abū Yū suf as
81
Chief Judge. But proto-Sunni traditionalists, too, appreciated what was
advantageous in maintaining good relations with rulers and governors.
This chapter has attempted to document and explain why Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
views on rebellion played such a dominant role in proto-Sunni tradition-
alist discourses of heresy against him. I have suggested that three
historical developments in the middle of the ninth century contributed
to charges of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa on account of his doctrine of
˙
rebellion against rulers. First, the promotion of proto-Sunni traditional-
ism under al-Mutawakkil. Second, friendly relations between the
Tā hirids and proto-Sunni traditionalists. Third, a desire among proto-
˙
Sunni traditionalists to undermine the ʿAbbā sid state’s reliance on proto-
Hanafı̄ judges and to replace them with proto-Sunni traditionalist ones.
˙
The frequency with which Abū Hanı̄ fa’s involvement in rebellion per-
vaded discourses of heresy has to be seen as an attempt by proto-Sunni
traditionalists to highlight the embarrassing contradiction that lay at the
heart of perceived ʿAbbā sid patronage of Hanafism in the provinces of the
empire. How could the ʿAbbā sids rely on a˙ network of jurists, judges, and
bureaucrats whose patron founder was so relentless in his efforts to
support robust challenges to ʿAbbā sid authority?

79
Ahmad Taymū r Pā shā , Nazrat al-tā rı̄ khiyya fı̄ hudū th al-madhā hib al-fiqhiyya al-arbaʿa
˙
(Beirut: ˙
Dā r al-Qā dirı̄ , 1990), ˙
51–3; Tsafrir, The History of an Islamic School of Law,
117–18.
80
I shall take up this point in more detail in Chapter 10 below.
81
See my discussion in Chapter 8 below.
7 Religion and Society

Part II of this monograph has been organised around the view that heresy
and orthodoxy must be understood in the light of social, cultural, and
political history. Chapters 3 and 4 have detailed the ways in which
discourses of heresy were implicated in the society and social imaginaries
of the ninth century. Chapter 6 argued that politics (and the state) were
foundational to the discourses of heresy concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa. I even
˙
suggested that it was the most odious aspect of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legacy in
˙
the view of his proto-Sunni traditionalist critics and the one that contrib-
uted most to his reputation as a heretic among some proto-Sunni tradi-
tionalists. This chapter confronts those aspects of discourses of heresy
that concerned Abū Hanı̄ fa’s jurisprudence, hadı̄ th, theology, and piety.
˙
I will reiterate, one final time, my view that ˙ the discourses of heresy
treated so far in this book belonged to the broader realm of religion.
I conceive of religion in medieval Islam as a category within which were
embedded questions of society and politics and not as a category defined
solely by questions of ritual and dogma. Society and the state were no less
important to discourses of heresy and orthodoxy than the nascent fields of
Islamic learning in the eighth and ninth centuries placed here under the
rubric of religion. Even my division of these dimensions of religion into
distinct fields is somewhat anachronistic for the eighth century. There
was no neat scholarly division of labour in the eighth century to distin-
guish expertise in jurisprudence from hadı̄ th, theology, or modes of piety.
˙
I have separated them for purely organisational convenience.
This chapter distils a massive reservoir of discourses of heresy against
Abū Hanı̄ fa to document the capaciousness of proto-Sunni traditionalist
˙
discourses of heresy. It identifies the multifarious nature of criticisms of
Abū Hanı̄ fa. Proto-Sunni traditionalists assailed Abū Hanı̄ fa on account
of his˙ jurisprudence (section 7.1), expertise in hadı̄ th ˙(7.2), theological
˙
doctrines (7.3), and his piety (7.4). These were, in the eyes of proto-
Sunni traditionalists, a set of wide-ranging heresies, and the challenge
presented by this scale of religious deviance prompted proto-Sunni tradi-
tionalists to cultivate a set of disciplinary mechanisms to regulate and

206
 7.1 Law 207

enforce religious orthodoxy. This social dimension of marginalising

heresy and regulating orthodoxy is the focus of the final section of this
chapter (7.5).

7.1 Law
I outlined at the very beginning of this study that mnemohistory was
particularly well suited to writing the social history of the formation of
orthodoxy during the eighth–eleventh centuries. I explained that mne-
mohistory, much like this study, is not concerned with the life and career
of Abū Hanı̄ fa. The focus on discourses of heresy takes us to the moment
˙
in early Islamicate societies when textual communities begin to form on
the heels of an explosion of the written word. In turn, the formation of
these textual communities marks the beginning of discourses of heresy
concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa, and because of this the mnemohistory of Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa provides important insights into the development of discourses
˙
of heresy and their relevance to the formation of proto-Sunni orthodoxy.
The fact that the literary record, by and large, dates to at least half a
century after his death hampers the prospects of a comprehensive biog-
raphy of Abū Hanı̄ fa and an account of his legal doctrines. Historical
˙
criticism simply does not yield such desired results. Fortunately, this
chapter is explicitly concerned with the ways in which his opponents
interpreted his jurisprudence as evidence of his religious deviance and
why jurisprudence formed an important component of discourses of
heresy. Before turning to these heresiological discourses, I should like to
explore briefly what can be known about the nature of Islamic law and
jurisprudence in the time of Abū Hanı̄ fa. This is necessary in so far as it
˙
provides a more concrete background to the jurisprudential dimensions
of ninth-century discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. It holds up
˙
a mirror against which we can better understand proto-Sunni traditional-
ist depictions of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s jurisprudence.
˙

Jurisprudence in the Eighth Century

That this is a question worth posing is because sources from the ninth
century purport to preserve two ‘texts’ dating to the middle of the eighth
century. I should like to examine the letters of Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (d. c.139/
756) to the caliph al-Mansū r (r. 136–58/754–5) and ʿUbayd Allā h b. al-
˙
Hasan al-ʿAnbarı̄ (d. 168/785) to the caliph al-Mahdı̄ (r. 158/775–169/
˙ 1
785). They provide unrivalled social commentary on the world of law

1
See Zaman, Religion and Politics, 82–5.
208 Religion and Society

and jurisprudence in the middle of the eighth century and on the eve of
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa on account of his jurisprudence.
The first document is a letter ˙authored by the Basran judge ʿUbayd
Allā h b. al-Hasan al-ʿAnbarı̄ to the caliph al-Mahdı̄ . The letter is pre-
˙
served in only one source, Muhammad b. Khalaf Wakı̄ ʿ’s (d. 306/917)
˙
ninth-century composition on the history of judges.2 The document has
been examined by a number of scholars to elucidate the relationship
between scholars and caliphs.3 To my knowledge, its authenticity has
not been disputed.4 Al-ʿAnbarı̄ was involved intimately with political and
administrative matters in the caliphate of al-Mansū r and his son al-
Mahdı̄ .5 He was appointed qadi and governor in charge ˙ of prayer over
Basra by al-Mansū r in 156/773 and removed a decade later.6 Under al-
˙
Mahdı̄ , al-ʿAnbarı̄ retained his judgeship until 167/783–4. During his
term as judge al-ʿAnbarı̄ came into conflict with al-Mahdı̄ a number
of times.7 His brief treatise deliberating on state administration (the
military, judiciary, and taxes) betrays al-ʿAnbarı̄ ’s professional experi-
ences in the political life of the early ʿAbbā sids. Our concern here is
with what al-ʿAnbarı̄ ’s letter reveals about jurisprudence in the mid-
eighth century.
Al-ʿAnbarı̄ describes the role of judges and governors (al-hukkā m) and
˙
how rulings (al-ahkā m) should be determined.
˙
Judgment must be based on the book of God (kitā b Allā h). If such rulings are not
found in the book of God, then they must be based on the Sunna of the messenger
of God (thumma bimā fı̄ sunnat rasū l Allā h). If such rulings are not found in the
Sunna of the messenger of God, they must be based upon that which the imams–
jurists have agreed (mā ajmaʿa ʿalayhi al-a’imma al-fuqahā ’). Finally, there is the

2
Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 2: 97–107. For a translation of the document into French see
˙
Tillier, ‘Un traité politique’, 155–67.
3
Van Ess, ‘La liberté’; van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 2: 167; Tillier, ‘Un traité
politique’; Zaman, Religion and Politics, 85–91; Crone and Hinds, God’s Caliph, 93, 98,
103; Hallaq, Origins and Evolution, 185–6; Bligh-Abramski, ‘The Judiciary (Qā dı̄ s)’
51, 70. ˙
4
See Tillier, ‘Un traité politique’, 145, where he writes: ‘Les problèmes liés à l’édition de cet
unicum ne permettent pas d’affirmer avec certitude que le texte est conforme, à la lettre
près, à l’original du IIe/VIIIe siècle. Une référence aux quatre sources du droit (Coran,
sunna, iğ mā ʿ et iğ tihā d) pourait même paraître anachronique. M. Q. Zaman, qui s’est
interrogé le premier sur son authenticité, rapelle néanmoins que les fondements du droit
musulman (usū l) commencent à être définis dans des écrits antérieurs.’ To be clear,
Zaman raises˙ the question of the text’s authenticity only to rule it out (see Zaman,
Religion and Politics, 89). Tillier himself seems content with authenticity of the text to
159/775 as indicated in Wakı̄ ʿ’s text (see Tillier, ‘Un traité politique’, 145: ‘De fait,
plusieurs indices laissent penser que l’épître a bien été écrite à l’époque indiquée par
Wakı̄ ʿ’).
5
Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 2: 91–123 (for the entry on al-ʿAnbarı̄ ), 91.
6
Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qud ˙ ā t, 2: 91. 7 Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 2: 92–4, 117.
˙ ˙
 7.1 Law 209

independent decision of the governor (ijtihā d al-hā kim), which he must exercise if
the caliph has assigned him this responsibility, ˙ though in consultation with
scholars (fa innahu lā ya’lū idhā wallā hu al-imā m dhā lika maʿa mushā warat ahl
al-ʿilm).8
Al-ʿAnbarı̄ ’s account of the process of Islamic law focuses on that
dimension of it which relates to the state’s administration of the early
Islamic empire and its provinces. It must be admitted that al-ʿAnbarı̄
seems less interested in the world of private jurisprudence in the first half
of the eighth century. Perhaps for this reason he is silent on the role and
relevance of ra’y to the elaboration of Islamic law. One could argue that
al-ʿAnbarı̄ hints at the importance of ra’y in his emphasis on the ijtihā d of
the governor, which he explains must be exercised in consultation with
scholars and jurists (ahl al-ʿilm).9 Additionally, al-ʿAnbarı̄ ’s remark about
the importance of scholarly consensus may constitute another nod to the
independent reasoning of jurists.10 Still, what cannot be disputed is that al-
ʿAnbarı̄ believes that law and legal reasoning, to the extent possible, must
be deduced on the basis of a hierarchy of scripture, Prophetic practice, and
the consensus of jurists. As we shall see, discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa in the realm of jurisprudence echo a vision of law advocated by al-
˙
ʿAnbarı̄ : a legal process wherein ra’y as a legal procedure is circumscribed.
On account of his concern with the role of the state in implementing legal
justice al-ʿAnbarı̄ admittedly may not provide us with the most accurate
portrait of Islamic law and legal reasoning in the eighth century; but, for
now, his letter is one of the few eighth-century documents to which scholars
can gain access. The other belongs to Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ.
Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s treatise describes a society deeply affected by the vagaries
of law and jurisprudence.11 His view of jurists’ law, however, is an unflattering
one and is delivered as a blistering critique in one single paragraph:12

8
Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 2: 101. Tillier, ‘Un traité politique’, 160 translates al-hā kim/al-
˙
hukkā m as judge/judges (‘juge/les juges’). In this context, I believe al-ʿAnbarı̄ ˙ to be
˙referring primarily to governors and only secondarily to judges (qadis).
9
Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 2: 101. 10 Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 2: 101.
11
Schacht was one of the ˙ first scholars to realise the potential˙ of Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s epistle as
an early and external source for the history of Islamic legal reasoning in the eighth
century. See Schacht, The Origins of Muhammadan Jurisprudence, 58–9, 95–6, 102–3,
137. The literature on Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ and his Risā la fı̄ al-sahā ba is vast, but I have
limited myself to those sources treating the legal dimensions˙ of˙ the treatise. See Crone
and Hinds, God’s Caliph, 85–7; Zaman, Religion and Politics, 82–5; Goitein, ‘A Turning
Point’, 149–67; van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 2: 22–36; Lowry, ‘The First Islamic
Legal Theory’; Lambton, State and Government, 53–4; and Pellat, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ for
a critical edition and translation.
12
Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, al-Risā la fı̄ al-sahā ba, in Ā thā r Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, 316, though the critique
of juristic reasoning (ra’y) and ˙ ˙juristic analogical reasoning (qiyā s) can be found at
316–18.
210 Religion and Society

Among the matters which the Commander of the Faithful must consider, espe-
cially with respect to the situation in these two provinces and other provinces and
regions, is the divergent nature of these contradictory rulings. In fact, its diver-
gence has resulted in grave consequences relating to public violence (al-dimā ’),
sexual morality (al-furū j), and wealth and poverty (al-amwā l). In al-Hı̄ rā , for
example, public violence and sexual immorality is permitted, whilst the ˙ same
things are prohibited in Kufa. Similar divergences can be observed in Kufa itself,
where in one of its districts something is permissible which has been prohibited in
another district. These rulings, notwithstanding their multiple variations, are
executed against the Muslims in matters that lead to the spilling of their blood
and violations against them, and it is pronounced by judges.
Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ is disturbed by the law’s divergent, contradictory rulings,
its different character from province to province, its extreme analogising
(qiyā s), the lack of consistent tradition (sunna), and its contribution to
social disorder. He sees the jurists’ law as arbitrary, unpredictable, and
disorderly. Based on this he concludes that the ruler must impose his
authority upon the jurists’ law.13 Our interest here is in the social com-
mentary on Islamic law that Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ provides. Jurisprudence in
the first half of the eighth century was a thriving enterprise that involved
a number of mechanisms: juristic reasoning (ra’y), juristic analogising
(qiyā s), Prophetic or Companion practice (sunna), speculative inquiry
(nazar), and judicial decision making (qadā ’). Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ recognises
˙ ˙
an environment in which jurists engaged in a variety of legal methods and
thereby produced highly divergent results. He singles out the jurists’ use
of juristic reasoning (ra’y) and analogising (qiyā s) as contributing to social
and political chaos.
Taken together, the eighth-century testimonies of al-ʿAnbarı̄ and Ibn
al-Muqaffaʿ reflect an awareness of significant developments in Islamic
legal reasoning. We should not make the mistake of reading their social
commentary as historical fact, and this is especially the case with Ibn

13
To be precise, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ counsels the caliph to impose his own juristic authority
(ra’y) with respect to legal cases. I see Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s use of the term ra’y in this
context as not incidental. The ra’y of the ruler or the governor referred to the scope of
legal authority. Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s argument seems to be that ra’y as practised by jurists
lacks both a centralising authority and an executing function. The ra’y of the ruler (or the
governor), on the other hand, comprises both. The term ra’y is referred to in some of the
earliest documentary sources, but it is not ra’y as a juridical technique that is intended.
See the discussion around P. Vindob. AP 5.379 in Sijpesteijn, ‘The Archival Mind in
Early Islamic Egypt’, 172–5. However, it seems to me that the formulaic use of the term
in early eighth-century documents, often official state correspondence, indicates that,
even when employed in documents of this kind, ra’y conveyed something more consid-
erable and authoritative than just one’s opinion. For the phrase in rā ’a al-amı̄ r min al-
ra’y . . . see Khan, ‘Historical Development’. I would argue that the caliph’s or the
governor’s ra’y was a legitimate and independent source of authority. Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ
suggests as much in Risā la fı̄ al-sahā ba, in Rasā ’il al-bulaghā ’, 126, 313, 318.
˙ ˙
 7.1 Law 211

al-Muqaffaʿ, who was nothing if not a gifted rhetorician and astute polit-
ical mind. Even if the terrain of Islamic law that they sketch, particularly
that of Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, may not be a flattering one, it is nevertheless one
in which the jurisprudential methods that proto-Sunni traditionalists
attacked Abū Hanı̄ fa for are vaguely recognisable. Discourses of heresy
˙
with respect to Abū Hanı̄ fa and his jurisprudence may feature much
˙
ninth-century back-projection, but at least some of the legal mechanisms
for which Abū Hanı̄ fa was pilloried can be dated to the middle of the
˙
eighth century. It is to these that we now turn.14

Speculative Jurisprudence (Ra’y)

Modern scholars have identified the impact that diverging approaches to
jurisprudence had on intensifying the rivalry between the partisans of
hadı̄ th (ahl al-hadı̄ th) and the partisans of juristic reasoning (ahl al-ra’y).15
˙ ˙
In what follows, I should like to expand upon and provide earlier (and
further) documentation for hostility to Abū Hanı̄ fa on account of his
˙
jurisprudence.
Our first example demonstrates, once again, the overlapping nature of
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. In the ninth century a steady
˙
stream of reports began to circulate establishing a connection between
lowly social and ethnic status, the fall and decline of other religious
communities, and the decisive role that juristic reasoning played in bring-
ing about religious deviancy. Chapter 5 translated and analysed some of
these reports, focusing on their ethnic and social dimensions. Here,
I should like to show how, in order to interpret the trajectory of orthodoxy
and heresy, proto-Sunni traditionalists also appealed to a cyclical view of
history. These reports contrasting the history of Judaism with contem-
porary developments in the ninth century in Islam make it apparent that
ninth-century religious scholars viewed their own history within explicitly
inter-confessional paradigms. There were paradigms of religious heresy
and deviance among the religions of late antiquity, and proto-Sunni
traditionalists warned of the dangers of remaining oblivious to them:16

14
Hiyal, for example, is absent from both Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ and al-ʿAnbarı̄ ’s account of
˙
Islamic legal reasoning. We might wish to consider, therefore, whether proto-Sunni
traditionalist criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s use of hiyal reflects late eighth-century proto-
Hanafı̄ developments. We shall return ˙ ˙
to this problem later in this chapter.
15 ˙
The definitive account is given by Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 1–
47. See also Melchert, ‘Traditionist-Jurisprudents’; Goldziher, The Zā hirı̄ s, 3–18; Hallaq,
Origins and Evolution, 122–49. ˙
16
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 543, where three slightly different iterations
˙
of this report can be found.
212 Religion and Society

Abū al-Hasan ʿAlı̄ b. Ahmad b. Ibrā hı̄ m al-Bazzā z < Abū ʿAlı̄ al-Hasan
˙
b. Muhammad b. ʿUthma ˙ ̄ n al-Fasawı̄ < Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n < Muhammad
˙
˙ ˙
b. ʿAwf < Ismā ʿı̄ l b. ʿAyyā sh < Hishā m b. ʿUrwa < Hishā m’s father said: ‘The
state of the Children of Israel remained upright until bastard foreigners descend-
ing from slaves (abnā ’ sabā yā al-umam) appeared among them and began to
practise speculative jurisprudence. Consequently, they perished and caused
others to perish.’
This is mentioned in al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s history. Its provenance is
˙
much earlier, and the chain of transmission allows us to identify it with at
least one ninth-century historical source: al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa
al-tā rı̄ kh.17 In fact, variations of this tradition appear in other ninth-
eleventh century sources, where on more than one occasion they purport
to go back to the Prophet or a Companion. Among ninth-century proto-
Sunni traditionalists we find that Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, Ibn Mā ja (d. 273/887),
and al-Dā rimı̄ (d. 255/869) include the report in their hadı̄ th
˙
collections.18 From the tenth century al-Dā raqutnı̄ (d. 385/995) and
˙ 19
Ibn Batta al-ʿUkbarı̄ (d. 387/997) refer to the tradition. In the eleventh
˙˙
century the report attracted the attention of Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄
˙
(d. 430/1038), al-Bayhaqı̄ (d. 458/1066), and al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ .20
˙

17
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 20–1.
18
The earliest trace of this report can be found in Sayf b. ʿUmar, Kitā b al-ridda wa al-futū h,
ed. Qā sim al-Sā marrā ’ı̄ (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 18. See Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, al-Musannaf, 21:˙
˙
264; Ibn Mā ja, Sunan, al-muqaddima, bā b ijtinā b al-ra’y wa al-qiyā s 8, no. 56 (numbering
after ʿAbd al-Bā qı̄ ’s edition); al-Dā rimı̄ , Kitā b al-Musnad al-Jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], ed.
Nabı̄ l b. Hā shim b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Ghumarı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir al-Islā miyya, 2013),
kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b al-tawarruʿ ʿan al-jawā b fı̄ mā laysa fı̄ hi kitā b wa lā sunna 2, no. 130.
19
Al-Dā raqutnı̄ , Sunan, ed. ʿĀ dil Ahmad ʿAbd al-Mawjū d and ʿAlı̄ Muhammad Muʿawwid
(Beirut: Dā˙r al-Maʿrifa, 2001), 3: 379–80, ˙ ˙ dir 1, no. 12 and˙
kitā b al-nawā dir 19, bā b al-nawā
13 = al-Dā raqutnı̄ , Sunan al-Dā raqutnı̄ wa bi dhaylihi al-taʿlı̄ q al-mughnı̄ ʿalā al-Dā raqutnı̄ ,
ed. Shuʿayb al-Arna’u ˙ ˙
̄ t (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 2004), 5: 257, with additional ˙
versions in the commentary; ˙ Ibn Batta al-ʿUkbarı̄ , al-Sharh wa al-ibā na ʿalā usū l al-sunna
wa al-diyā na, ed. Ridā b. Naʿsā n Muʿt ˙˙ ı̄ (Medina: Maktabat˙ al-ʿUlū m wa al-Hikam, ˙ 2002),
127 = Ibn Batta al-ʿUkbarı̄ ˙ , al-Sharh˙ wa al-ibā na [al-ibā na al-sughrā ], ed. ˙ʿĀ dil b. ʿAbd
˙˙
Allā h b. Saʿd al-Gha ̄ midı̄ (Riyadh: Da˙ ̄ r al-Amr al-Awwal, 2011), ˙ 24–5.
20
Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ , Maʿrifat al-sahā ba, ed. ʿĀ dil b. Yū suf al-ʿAzzā zı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r
al-Watan li al-Nashr, ˙ 1998), 1722 (under ˙ ˙ bā b al-ʿayn ‘ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAmr b. al-ʿĀ s’); al-
Bayhaqı̄ ˙ , Maʿrifat al-sunan wa al-ā thā r, ed. ʿAbd al-Muʿtı̄ Amı̄ n Qalʿajı̄ (Aleppo: Da ˙ ̄ r al-
Waʿy, 2012), 1: 182; al-Bayhaqı̄ , al-Madkhal ilā al-sunan ˙ al-kubrā , ed. Muhammad
Diyā ’ al-Rahmā n al-Aʿzamı̄ (Kuwait: Dā r al-Khulafā ’ li al-Kitā b al-Islā mı̄ , n.d.), ˙ 195,
˙
which ˙ in a chapter
appears ˙ recollecting condemnations of speculative jurisprudence
(ra’y); al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Kitā b al-Faqı̄ h wa al-mutafaqqih, 1: 451 (under dhikr al-
ahā dı̄ th al-wā r˙ida fı̄ dhamm al-qiyā s wa tahrı̄ mihi wa al-manʿ minhu). For brief discussions
of˙ this report in the secondary sources ˙see Kister, ‘Haddithū ʿan Banı̄ Isrā ’ı̄ la Wa-Lā
Haraja’, 232, where Kister mentions the tradition ˙by way of illustrating that early
˙
Muslims believed the Muslim community would undergo developments similar to
those that the Jewish community had experienced; and El Shamsy, The Canonization of
Islamic Law, 31.
 7.1 Law 213

The narrative is that the decline and fall of this religious community is
reduced to the influence of foreigners, slaves, and female captives. It was
they, as a social and ethnic group, who introduced juristic reasoning into
Judaism, and now a similar process was threatening the early Islamic
community. The rise of speculative jurisprudence marks the beginning
of religious misguidance. Inquiries into the historical roots and causes of
religious deviance are informed by an awareness of how previous mono-
theistic communities fell into heresies. This ancient form of historical
explanation provides a template for the early Islamic community. The
changing social and ethnic landscape of early Islamic society had pro-
duced serious anxieties, and this report reflects a miasma of fear about
what effect such rapid changes might have on the religious integrity of the
early Muslim community. Proto-Sunni traditionalists paid close attention
to the social circumstances that produced religious deviants and heresies.
They saw in these manifestations instances in which foreign, servile, and
socially inferior origins gave birth to heresies in the central heartlands of
the early Islamic empire. For proto-Sunni traditionalists this develop-
ment signalled the beginning of a fateful turn in early Islam, which if it
continued unchecked could result in the kind of irreparable damage that
Judaism had suffered at the hands of foreigners descended from female
slave captives, or so the argument went.
This correlative relationship between ethnicity and religious deviance
in early Islam was widespread among proto-Sunni traditionalist textual
communities, but there are indications that ninth-century proto-Sunni
traditionalists tried to connect discourses of heresy concerning Abū
Hanı̄ fa and, in particular, his jurisprudence, to a broader inter-
˙
confessional framework. ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal relates that
˙ ˙
Shuʿayb b. Harb was instructed by Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ to go to Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa to ask him about the waiting period for an umm walad (slave
˙
concubine who has given birth to her master’s child) in the event that
her master dies. Shuʿayb b. Harb reports that he went to see Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
and posed this question to him. Abū Hanı̄ fa responded that she did not
˙
have to observe a waiting period. Shuʿayb b. Harb returned to Sufyā n and
˙
told him of what had passed. Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ responded by telling him
that this was the precise jurisprudential opinion of the Jews.21 Here, ʿAbd
Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal suggests a deeper connection between Abū
˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa and the deviance of other religious communities. Deviant jurispru-
˙
dential edicts are identical with jurisprudential positions taken by the

21
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 194. The isnā d is Ahmad b. Ibrā hı̄ m al-
Dawraqı̄ < al-H˙asan b. Mu
˙ ̄ sā al-Nasā ’ı̄ < ʿUbda/ʿAbda b. ʿAbd Allā h˙ < Shuʿayb b. Harb
˙
< Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ . ˙
214 Religion and Society

Jewish community. The fact that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legal opinions dovetail with
˙
those of the Jewish community is sufficient to bring Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious
credibility into grave disrepute. Some went even further ˙ than this.
A scandalous rumour was circulated in tenth-century Wā sit: someone
˙
had told someone else that he heard Ibn Abı̄ Shayba say that he suspected
Abū Hanı̄ fa was a Jew. Similar outlandish attempts to malign Hanafı̄ s
22
˙ ˙
were originating, once more, from Wā sit. Shā dhdh b. Yahyā al-Wā sitı̄ ,23
˙ ˙ ˙
a companion of Yazı̄ d b. Hā rū n, reports that he heard Yazı̄ d say: ‘I have
not seen anyone who resembled the Christians more than the followers of
Abū Hanı̄ fa.’24 Proto-Sunni traditionalists in the ninth century were also
˙
circulating reports that the downfall of the Jews occurred at the hands of
their reciters and their jurists, and that the same fate would befall the
Muslims.25
The social and religious histories of late antique religions serve
a parabolic purpose. Studying the causes for the decline and fall of late
antique religious communities transforms an inter-confessional parable
into an indictment of heresy and deviance, culminating in a paraenetic
argument concerning the proximity between foreign peoples and the
origins of heresy and religious deviance.26 In the words of al-Fasawı̄ :
the people of heresy (ahl al-ahwā ’) are equivalent to the Jews and
Christians.27 In some cases, the people of heresy were perceived to be
more pernicious. Ibn Shaqı̄ q was heard as having said: ‘Indeed, we relate
the doctrines of the Jews and Christians, but we cannot bring ourselves to
relate the doctrines of the Jahmiyya.’28

22
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 571.
23
Shā dhdh ˙ b. Yahyā al-Wā sitı̄ studied with Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h and Yazı̄ d b. Hā rū n, both of
whom figure in˙reports praising ˙ and condemning Abū Hanı̄˙ fa. On Shā dhdh b. Yahyā al-
Wā sitı̄ see Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 4: 392 (repr. Beirut:˙ Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya,˙ n.d.);
˙ , Tahdhı̄ b al-kamā
al-Mizzı̄ ˙ l, 12: ˙341–2. For the pointing of his name see Ibn Hajar al-
ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tabsı̄ r al-muntabih, 2: 764. ˙
24
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghda˙ ̄ dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 566 (mā ra’aytu qawm ashbah bi al-nasā rā
min ash˙ā b Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa). ˙
25 ˙ ˙ dā h, Kitā
Ibn Wad ˙ b al-Bidaʿ, 202 (innamā halakat banı̄ isrā ’ı̄ l ʿalā yaday qurrā ’ihim wa
fuqahā ’ihim ˙ ˙ ˙wa sa tuhliku hā dhihi al-umma ʿalā yaday qurrā ’ihim wa fuqahā ’ihim).
26
In his (now lost) Kitā b al-Sunna, al-Fasawı̄ gives a fascinating example of the curiosity
that medieval Muslims displayed for inter-confessional accounts of religious deviance in
Judaism. See al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 3: 493. The editor of al-Fasawı̄ ’s
history has gone to the trouble of collecting extracts from his Kitā b al-Sunna as they
appear in later works. Much of al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Sunna is reproduced by al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ ,
‘Sharh usū l iʿtiqā d ahl al-sunna wa al-jamā ʿa’, ed. Ahmad b. Masʿū d b. Hamdā n’ (PhD
thesis,˙ Jā ˙miʿat Umm al-Qurā , 1990), 131 f. (and this ˙particular report can˙be found in al-
Lā lakā ’ı̄ , Sharh usū l iʿtiqā d, 142 (Hamdā n edn.)).
27
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā ˙ b˙ al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā ˙ rı̄ kh, 3: 490; al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ , Sharh usū l iʿtiqā d, 131
(Hamdā n edn.). ˙ ˙
28 ˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 174. The edited text reads: anā la nahkı̄
kalā m al-yahū d ˙wa al-nas˙ā rā wa lā nastatı̄ ʿ an nahkiya kalā m al-jahmiyya. First, I would ˙
˙ ˙ ˙
 7.1 Law 215

If juristic reasoning was a mechanism for law making, some proto-

Sunni traditionalists found it lacking some basic ingredients of the law –
namely, consistency and predictability. For proto-Sunni traditionalists
a law devised on the basis of a body of hadı̄ th reports ensured both of these
˙
features. Ra’y, on the other hand, was a source of frivolous speculation,
arbitrary legal opinion, flagrant contradictions, and legal absurdities.
Sometimes Abū Hanı̄ fa’s detractors found gentle ways to express their
˙
dissatisfaction with the speculative nature of his jurisprudence. ʿAbd
Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal’s Kitā b al-Sunna describes a man contrasting
˙ ˙
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ ’s jurisprudence with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s: ‘I found Sufyā n
to be more learned in legal problems that actually ˙ occurred, whilst Abū
Hanı̄ fa knew more about legal problems that had never occurred.’29
˙
Similarly, when Qays b. al-Rabı̄ ʿ was asked about Abū Hanı̄ fa, his
˙
response is said to have mirrored this statement. ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa’, he said,
˙
‘was the most learned person in legal problems that never occurred, yet he
was the most ignorant person with respect to what had gone before.’30
Both reports offer up a charientism: Abū Hanı̄ fa was learned, but his
˙
knowledge had been wasted in impractical jurisprudential details and
hypothetical legal scenarios. Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , on the other hand, put
his learning to very good use. His jurisprudence was grounded in concrete
realities and, as such, it offered real legal solutions to the everyday pre-
dicaments people confronted in their lives.
Criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa were usually fiercer than this. We need look
˙
no further than the same book by ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, who
˙ ˙
cites ʿUthmā n al-Battı̄ as having lamented that Abū Hanı̄ fa arrived at the
˙31 Abū Hanı̄ fa was
right answer only after having given the wrong one.
said to have counselled his student Abū Yū suf not to transmit˙ any of the
opinions of his master because, ‘By God, I don’t know whether I am
wrong or right.’32 This relaxed attitude towards issuing legal opinions
was a recurring concern for some proto-Sunni traditionalists. Sufyā n
b. ʿUyayna recounted his experience of being in the company of Abū

suppose anā should read innā because the latter corresponds to the consistent use of the
first person plural. I would suppose two readings for la nahkı̄ . The first reads la as the
inchoative particle (lā m al-ibtidā ’), whilst the second reads ˙lā as the negative particle. In
the latter case the translation would read: ‘Indeed, we do not relate the doctrines of the
Jews and Christians and, likewise, we cannot bring ourselves to relate the doctrines of the
Jahmiyya.’ As for the lā ms, both readings seem plausible to me.
29
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 223 (fa ra’aytu Sufyā n aʿlam bimā kā na,
˙
wa Abū Hanı̄ fa aʿlam bimā ˙ lam yakun).
30 ˙
For two versions of this report see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 558–9.
31 ˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 191 (waylun li Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa hā dhā mā
yukhtı̄ ’ marra fa yus˙ ı̄ b). ˙ ˙
32 ˙ ˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 226 (lā tarwi ʿannı̄ shay’an fa wa
˙
Allā hi mā adrı̄ a mukht ı̄ ’ am ˙musı̄ b).
˙ ˙
216 Religion and Society

Hanı̄ fa when a man came to him and asked him a legal question concerning
˙
exchange transactions (al-sarf). Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna heard Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
incorrect response and interjected, ‘This is wrong (yā Abā Hanı̄ fa˙ hā dhā
˙
khata’).’ According to Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna, this angered Abū Hanı̄ fa (fa
˙ ˙
ghadiba) and he told the questioner to return home and act in accordance
˙
with the legal opinion he had issued, assuring the man that any sin that
might accrue from the man’s action would be on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s head (wa mā
˙
kā na fı̄ hā min ithm fa huwa fı̄ ʿunuqı̄ ).33
Some proto-Sunni traditionalists saw this kind of insouciance as stem-
ming from the very nature of ra’y. As a speculative and arbitrary form of
reasoning, it made light of matters of grave religious import. Sufyā n
b. ʿUyayna was reported to have complained about the utter brazenness
encouraged by such forms of legal reasoning. When a man from Khurā sā n
came to Abū Hanı̄ fa and said, ‘I have come to you with a hundred
˙
thousand legal questions that I should like to ask you about,’ Abū
Hanı̄ fa replied, ‘Bring them here.’ This outraged Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna. ‘I
˙
have never seen anyone more bold before God than Abū Hanı̄ fa,’ he is
˙
supposed to have remarked.34
It was not the number of questions that Abū Hanı̄ fa was apparently
˙
willing to entertain that caused consternation among proto-Sunni tradi-
tionalists. They believed that such liberality in issuing legal opinions
would implicate unsuspecting lay petitioners, such as the man from
Khurā sā n, even if Abū Hanı̄ fa protested that it was his neck that was in
˙
the noose. Another Khurā sā nian, Muhammad b. Maymū n (also known
˙
as Abū Hamza al-Sukkarı̄ ), supposedly expressed his anxiety about dis-
˙
seminating Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legal opinions in the province of Khurā sā n.35
˙
I went to Abū Hanı̄ fa and asked him about some legal questions. I went away for
˙
some twenty years, then went to him, and lo, he had gone back on those legal
opinions. All the while, I had issued these legal opinions to people. I told him
this, and he said: ‘We come to one opinion, then the next day we arrive at
a different opinion, and we take it [the first one] back.’ He [Abū Hamza] said:
‘How remote you are. This is how you attend to your religion? What ˙ a wretched
man you are.’

33
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 216. ʿUnuqı̄ literally translates as ‘my
neck’, of course,˙but in this
˙ context ‘on my head’ is a smoother fit than, say, ‘my neck in
the noose’.
34
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 215–16. This incident is also recorded
by Melchert, The˙ Formation˙ of the Sunni Schools of Law, 12, though it is Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna
and not Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ who is quoted as expressing his disbelief at Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
response. ˙
35
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 220–1. See also Melchert, The
˙
Formation of the Sunni Schools˙ of Law, 11.
 7.1 Law 217

Khurā sā nians were not the only ones disturbed by their contribution
to the spread of proto-Hanafism in their home province. Al-Nadr
b. Muhammad recounted˙ how once he was engaged in a dispute with ˙
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa over some aspect of the law. A student from the province of
˙
Shā m happened to be present. The man got up to leave and went to Abū
Hanı̄ fa to bid him farewell. As he was leaving, Abū Hanı̄ fa asked him
˙ ˙
whether he intended to transmit what he had heard to the people of Shā m.
When the man confirmed that this indeed was his intention, Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
cautioned him that by doing so he would be causing great damage.36
According to this report, Abū Hanı̄ fa recognised that his legal discussions
might be misconstrued as legal ˙ doctrines and reported as such in the
provinces of the early Islamic empire. Indeed, proto-Hanafı̄ accounts
˙
recognised some aspects of this portrayal of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s propensity for
˙
changing opinions. The following account is attributed to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
contemporary and student, Zufar b. Hudhayl (d. 158/774):37
We were engaged in a legal discussion with Abū Hanı̄ fa, and Abū Yū suf and
Muhammad b. al-Hasan were present among us. We˙ were writing notes based on
the ˙discussion. One
˙ day, Abū Hanı̄ fa said to Abū Yū suf: ‘Woe to you, Abū
˙
Yaʿqū b! Do not write down everything you hear me say. After all, I arrive at
a legal opinion one day and the next day I reject it. The day after that, I arrive at
another legal opinion and, again, the next day I reject it.’
More proto-Hanafı̄ accounts point to this attitude towards the rapidly
˙
changing nature of legal opinions. On another occasion, Abū Hanı̄ fa is
˙
reported to have counselled Abū Yū suf, ‘Do not transmit anything from
38
me because I do not know whether I am wrong or right.’ We hear
frequently of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s insistence that his legal views were neither
set in stone and nor ˙ indubitable. Someone once asked Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
whether his legal opinions and the views he set down in his notes were
categorically true. ‘I swear by God, I do not know,’ replied Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
‘Perhaps it is categorically false.’ Given Abū Hanı̄ fa’s reputation among
˙
both friends and foes for quick wit, one cannot fail to appreciate his
sardonic response. His answer seems to draw attention to the absurdity
of the question and its very implication that one could be categorically
certain as to the truth of one’s legal opinions.39
Proto-Sunni traditionalists, however, had no interest in appreciating
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s condign retort. In fact, for proto-Sunni traditionalists
˙
36
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 553.
37
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 554.
38
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 554.
39
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 553–4 (Yā Abā Hanı̄ fa, hā dhā alladhı̄ tuftı̄
wa alladhı̄˙ wadaʿta fı̄ kutubika huwa al-haqq alladhı̄ lā shakka fı̄˙hi? Fa qā la: wa Allā hi mā
adrı̄ , laʿallahu˙al-bā til alladhı̄ lā shakka fı̄˙ hi). I translate kutub as ‘notes’ and not ‘books’.
˙
218 Religion and Society

circulating these accounts what this indicated was Abū Hanı̄ fa’s irrespon-
˙
sible and indifferent attitude to jurisprudence. In their view, jurispru-
dence practised in so casual a manner as this was ripe for inconsistencies
and flagrant contradictions. ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal explains that
˙ ˙
this had a perplexing effect on Hafs b. Ghiyā th: ‘I sat with Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙ ˙ ˙
he gave ten different answers in response to one legal issue. We did not
40
know which answer we were to follow.’ Eventually, this form of juris-
prudence turned out to be intolerable for Hafs b. Ghiyā th and, in fact,
˙ ˙
precipitated his conversion to the people of hadı̄ th: ‘I was sitting with Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa, and I heard him issue five different legal opinions in response to
˙ legal question, and all this in the space of one day. When I saw this,
one
I left him and adopted the way of jurisprudence based on the hadı̄ th.’41
˙
Proto-Sunni traditionalists believed in a legal system that was cultivated
in opposition to this image of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s jurisprudence – an image that
˙
they themselves took great pains to depict. The question of whether Hafs
˙ ˙
b. Ghiyā th’s conversion really took place or not is irrelevant to the study of
proto-Sunni traditionalist notions of religious deviance and the evolution
of discourses of heresy and orthodoxy.42 What such reports document is
the way in which standards of proto-Sunni orthodoxy were described,
depicted, and demarcated in the ninth century. Above all, they demon-
strate that discourses of heresy were circulated in order to distinguish
religious orthodoxy from heresy.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists also emphasised the frivolity of Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s juristic reasoning. Ahmad b. Hanbal reports that Raqaba
˙ ˙ ˙
b. Masqala (d. 129/746–7)43 asked a man who passed by him, ‘Where
˙
40
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 220.
41
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 205; al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-
˙
tā rı̄ kh, 2: 789; al-Khat ˙
ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 554.
42 ˙
An indication of the difficulties involved in determining the precise religious orientation
of eighth-century scholars can be found in the facts that Hafs b. Ghiyā th is claimed as
a Hanafı̄ in the earliest surviving Hanafı̄ tabaqā t section (Ibn ˙ ˙ Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ,
Fad ˙ ā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 154–5) and that˙ Ibn Manda ˙ (d. 395/1005) listed him as an exemplary
˙
representative ˙ of proto-Sunni traditionalism (Shurū t al-a’imma, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n
b. ʿAbd al-Jabbā r al-Faryawā ’ı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Muslim, ˙ 1995), 55. ˙
43
Raqaba b. Masqala was a Kufan scholar, and it is worth noting that he was opposed to the
Murji’a. See Ibn ˙ Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 3: 286–7; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ ,
Taqrı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b,˙1: 303 and cf. van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 2: ˙368–9, esp. n. 18.
A curious coincidence is that Raqaba b. Masqala was notorious for his own chewing
habits: al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , al-Tatfı̄ l wa h˙ ikā yā t al-tufayliyyı̄ n wa akhbā ruhum wa
nawā dir kalā m˙ihim wa ashʿā ruhum, ed. ˙ Bassa ˙̄ m ʿAbd al-Wahha
˙ ̄ b al-Jā bı̄ (Beirut: Dā r
Ibn al-Hazm, 1999), 84–5. It was important enough for Ibn Hajar to record that
Raqaba ˙b. Masqala liked to joke, and this in a book, Taqrı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ ˙ b, rightly regarded
for its ruthless ˙parsimony with words (the twelve-volume Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, consisting
of 12,455 entries, does not mention this but the two-volume Taqrı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, treating
8,874 hadı̄ th scholars, does); so I deemed it worthwhile to find out why Raqaba
b. Masqala ˙ kā na yamzahu. The joking probably troubled Ibn Hajar because it displayed
˙ ˙ ˙
 7.1 Law 219

are you coming from?’ ‘I was with Abū Hanı̄ fa,’ the man replied. ‘I see
˙
you have returned from a man who will fill you with as much ra’y as you
can chew, and all the while you will return to your people with nothing
trustworthy.’44 At least three other proto-Sunni traditionalists thought so,
too.45 Al-Fasawı̄ transmits the report on the authority of al-Humaydı̄ ;46
˙
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ is the only source to identify the person returning
from Abū Hanı̄ fa’s lesson, and it is none other than al-Qā sim b. Maʿn;47
˙
and al-ʿUqaylı̄ records the incident.48 Unsurprisingly, this incident did
not go unreported in al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s history.49
˙
Raqaba b. Masqala seems to have been drawing attention to the
˙
propensity of ra’y to produce a form of legal expertise concerned with
recondite matters that lacked any practical relevance to the communities
that jurists were supposed to serve. Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ and ʿAbd
Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal had access to reports in which Ibn ʿAwn
˙ ˙
expressed similar concerns about Abū Hanı̄ fa’s jurisprudence. ʿAbd
˙
Allā h b. ʿAwn (d. 151/768) was a contemporary of Abū Hanı̄ fa.50 His
own background and career in some respects mirrored Abu ˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa’s.
˙
His grandfather was from Khurā sā n and became a mawlā , whilst his

a lack of seriousness. And unremitting seriousness, as Melchert has observed, was

a ‘salient feature of the piety of the hadith folk’. See Melchert, ‘The Piety of the Hadith
Folk’, 427–8. Another curious fact is that Raqaba b. Masqala had a student, Muhammad
b. Maymū n, who transmitted a nuskha from him, yet was ˙ also a student of Abu˙̄ Hanı̄ fa
and harboured Murji’ı̄ sentiments. See van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 2: 551. For ˙ the
nuskha, see al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , Maʿrifat ʿulū m al-hadı̄ th, ed. Ahmad b. Fā ris al-
Sallū m (Beirut:˙ Dā r Ibn al-Hazm, 2003), 480 = Kitā˙b Maʿrifat ʿulū ˙ m al-hadı̄ th, ed.
Muʿazzam Husayn (Beirut: ˙ Dā r al-Ā fā q al-Jadı̄ da, 1989), 164; for Muh ˙ ammad
˙ ˙ ̄ n’s˙ study with Abū Hanı̄ fa see Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya,
b. Maymu ˙ 4: 39
(under ‘Abū Hamza al-Sukkarı̄ ˙ ’); and for the former’s Murji’ism (according ˙ to Abū
Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ )˙ see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 7: 17 (under the tarjama of
˙ ̄ hı̄ m b. Tuhmā n’), 4: 432–7
‘Ibra ˙ (‘Muhammad b. Maymū n’s’ tarjama), where there is no
trace whatsoever ˙ of his connection to Abu ˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa, nor to Murji’ism.
44
Three different versions of this report are given ˙ in ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b
al-Sunna, 191–2 (kalā m mā madaghta wa turā jiʿu ahlaka bi ghayr thiqa; ˙ ˙ ʿindi rajul
ji’ta min
yumlı̄ ka min ra’y mā madaghta wa ˙ taqū mu bi ghayr thiqa; idhan yuʿtı̄ ka ra’yan mā madaghta
wa tarjiʿu bi ghayr thiqa). ˙ Another variant can be found at ˙ ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah ˙ mad
b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 205 (yumakkinuka min ra’y mā madaghta wa tarjiʿu ilā ahlika ˙
˙
bi ghayr thiqa). ˙
45
It should not surprise us that all isnā ds go through and begin with al-Humaydı̄ .
46
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 779. The editor, Akram˙ Diyā ’ al-ʿUmarı̄ ,
seems to have garbled the passage: Ru’ba should read Raqaba; injafilū ˙ should read
inhafilū .
47 ˙ ̄ Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 506.
Abu
48
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 4: 1411. See also Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, Jā miʿ bayā n al-ʿilm wa
fadlihi, ed. Abū al-Ashba ˙ ̄ l al-Zuhayrı̄ (Dammam: Dā r Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , 1994), 1074.
49 ˙
Al-Khat ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 576–7.
50
On Ibn ˙ʿAwn see Judd, Religious Scholars and the Umayyads, 62–8; van Ess, Theologie und
Gesellschaft, 2: 355–67.
220 Religion and Society

grandmother was a captive in Khurā sā n.51 Our ninth-century sources,

however, portray two men committed to opposing religious and political
trends. Ibn ʿAwn both opposed Abū Hanı̄ fa’s style of jurisprudence and
˙
refused to grant an audience to the ʿAlid rebel Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h.52
Abū Hanı̄ fa, on the other hand, spoke out in favour of Ibrā hı̄ m’s revolt.
˙
Like Raqaba b. Masqala, Ibn ʿAwn was perturbed by the arbitrary and
˙
speculative form of juristic reasoning being attributed to Abū Hanı̄ fa. He
˙
is said to have had Abū Hanı̄ fa in mind when he declared, ‘News has
˙
reached me of a man in Kufa who answers legal questions concerning the
most enigmatic issues.’53
There was no doubt among some proto-Sunni traditionalists as to
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s learning and perspicacity. If anything, he was pilloried for
˙
being too clever or, alternatively, for a misapplication of his learning.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists remembered him as a master of legal obscur-
ities, wild legal speculation, and legal disputations. One former student
recalled how he studied with Abū Hanı̄ fa only to discover that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
knew nothing about jurisprudence (fiqh) but certainly had a complete
command of legal disputations (al-khusū mā t). Labelling Abū Hanı̄ fa as
54
˙
a master of khusū mā t had wider implications ˙ In his
in the ninth century.
˙
treatise on heresies and heretics, Ibn al-Waddā h contends that the ashā b
˙˙ ˙ ˙˙
al-khusū mā t are the heretics (ahl al-bidaʿ).55 Al-Dā rimı̄ , another potent
˙
force within the proto-Sunni traditionalist network, was also conscious
of the existence of a group of scholars specialising in legal disputations.
His Musnad contains a tradition warning people not to keep the company
of the ashā b al-khusū mā t.56 In the tenth century al-ʿUqaylı̄ produced
a similar˙ ˙ set of criticisms
˙ against Abū Hanı̄ fa. He reports that both
Sharı̄ k b. ʿAbd Allā h and Abū Bakr b. ʿIyya˙ ̄ sh declared that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
was a master of disputations, and he was not known for anything else.57

51
Khalı̄ fa b. Khayyā t, Tā rı̄ kh, ed. Akram Diyā ’ al-ʿUmarı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Tayba, 1985),
128 (Ibn ʿAwn’s ˙grandfather), 167 (Ibn ˙ ʿAwn’s Khurā sā nı̄ grandmother),
˙ 264 (Ibn
ʿAwn’s year of birth), 425 (Ibn ʿAwn’s year of death).
52
Ibn Saʿd, Tabaqā t al-kabı̄ r (Leiden edn.), 7.2: 24–30, 27.
53
ʿAbd Allā h˙ b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 189 (balaghanı̄ anna bi al-Kū fa rajulan
yujı̄ bu fı̄ al-muʿdilā ˙ t, yaʿnı̄ ˙Abā Hanı̄ fa.). This report is also quoted (without naming Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa but in a section dedicated ˙ to condemning him) in Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh,
˙ 505.
2:
54
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 210 (adraknā Abā Hanı̄ fa wa mā yaʿrifu
bi shay’ min al-fiqh; ˙ mā yaʿrifu
˙ illā bi al-khusū mā t). ˙
55
Ibn Waddā h, Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 193. ˙
56
Al-Dā rimı̄˙ ˙ , ˙Kitā b al-Musnad al-jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], ed. Nabı̄ l b. Hā shim b. ʿAbd
Allā h al-Ghumarı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir al-Islā miyya, 2013), kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b fı̄
karā hiyat akhdh al-ra’y 8, no. 234.
57
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 4: 1408.
˙
 7.1 Law 221

Finally, al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ (d. 418/1027) collected a group of reports declaring
khusū mā t as the catalyst for destroying the faith.58
˙
Whereas some proto-Sunnis marvelled at the kind of jurisprudence
Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers became renowned for, proto-Sunni tradi-
˙
tionalists were unreservedly dismayed by its cavalier approach to religious
jurisprudence. Proto-Sunni traditionalists interpreted these develop-
ments as markers of heretics and deviant movements. For them, religious
orthodoxy was dictated by canonised texts, not by one’s casuistic reason-
ing; it was determined by judgements issued by epigones, not new-
fangled sophistry; and where these sources were silent, representatives
of the people of orthodoxy were expected to admit this readily and avoid
any pontification. Al-Fasawı̄ , an agent of proto-Sunni traditionalist
orthodoxy, said as much when he described religious knowledge as com-
prising three things: ‘a speaking book, past precedent, and saying “I do
not know.”’59 This proposition, so proto-Sunni traditionalists tell us, was
once put to Abū Hanı̄ fa. According to Yahyā b. Ā dam, somebody asked
˙ ˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa what he thought of the saying, ‘I do not know is half of
˙
knowledge.’ Abū Hanı̄ fa’s response was priceless. ‘Let him say, “I do
not know’ twice, in˙order that he may complete his knowledge.”’60 If this
was the actual response Abū Hanı̄ fa issued, it was surely delivered with his
˙
characteristic style of satire. Once again, such light humour fell on deaf
ears. Yahyā b. Ā dam’s response to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s remark illustrates this.
˙ ˙
He feels the need to clarify the meaning of the phrase. ‘Saying “I do not
know” is half of knowledge because knowledge consists only of saying “I
know” and “I do not know.” One of them is the half of the other.’61 It was
in this vein that proto-Sunni traditionalists such as al-Dā rimı̄ held up as
exemplary the attitude of, for example, the jurist who, when asked about
eight legal issues, answered four and refused to answer the remaining
four.62 Still, with this particular locution Yahyā b. Ā dam was expressing
˙
a widely held belief among proto-Sunni traditionalists about the form
that jurisprudence ought to take. A number of ninth-century sources
underscore the necessity of avoiding speculation in the domain of law. Al-
Shaʿbı̄ was reported to have said: ‘Saying “I do not know” is half of

58
Al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ , Sharh usū l iʿtiqā d, 127–9 (Hamdā n edn.).
59
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b ˙al-maʿrifa
˙ wa al-tā rı̄ kh,˙ 3: 494 (apparently in a book he wrote condemn-
ing ra’y (dhamm al-ra’y)); and also found in al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Kitā b al-Faqı̄ h wa al-
mutafaqqih, 2: 172. ˙
60
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 535 (fa-l-yaqul marratayn ‘lā adrı̄ ’ hattā
˙ al-ʿilm).
yastakmila ˙
61
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 534–5.
62 ˙ , Kitā b al-Musnad al-jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b man hā ba al-
Al-Dā rimı̄
futyā wa kariha al-tanattuʿa wa al-tabadduʿa 4, no. 140.
˙˙
222 Religion and Society

knowledge.’63 Other ninth-century scholars identified the Companion Ibn

ʿAbbā s with this axiom.64 Abū Zurʿā al-Dimashqı̄ cites a version in which
this aphorism is attributed to Saʿı̄ d b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z.65 Many proto-Sunni
scholars associated this approach with Mā lik b. Anas.66 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim
˙
related the story about Mā lik b. Anas refusing to answer a questioner who
had travelled for six months at the behest of the people of his home town.67
Al-Dā rimı̄ was particularly aggressive against the style of jurisprudence
attributed to Abū Hanı̄ fa. His Musnad contains a chapter collecting harsh
˙
criticisms against those who rush to issue legal opinions. He told his readers
that ‘whoever issues legal opinions to people every time he is asked for one
is certifiably mad (inna alladhı̄ yuftı̄ al-nā s fı̄ kull mā yustaftā la majnū n)’.68
Somebody asked Saʿı̄ d b. Jubayr why he never spoke about the legal rulings
pertaining to divorce. He replied that this was his inveterate practice
because he feared making permissible the impermissible and vice versa.69
He also railed against the use of ra’y: ‘Nothing was more loathsome to me
than hearing the people who say, “What is your opinion?”.’70 Others were
prohibited from sitting with people who would use such expressions.71
The second book of al-Dā rimı̄ ’s Musnad is the Book of Knowledge
(Kitā b al-ʿIlm). One section collects traditions from the Prophet,
Companions, and Successors underscoring their dislike for issuing legal
opinions (bā b karā hiyat al-futyā 3); another section describes the virtue of
refusing to issue legal opinions and condemns those who delve into matters
too deeply and the heretics (bā b man hā ba al-futyā wa kariha al-tanattuʿa wa
˙˙
al-tabadduʿa 4); there are also chapters that warn of the dangers of issuing
legal opinions (bā b al-futyā wa mā fı̄ hi min al-shidda 4) and decry the
employment of ra’y (bā b fı̄ karā hiyat akhdh al-ra’y 8). Al-Dā rimı̄ is just
one example of many proto-Sunni traditionalists whose hadı̄ th compil-
˙
ations devoted special sections to sharp condemnations of the form of
jurisprudence that Abū Hanı̄ fa was associated with.
˙
63
Al-Dā rimı̄ , Kitā b al-Musnad al-jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b 6 [no title],
no. 197; bā b karā hiyat al-futyā 3; bā b man hā ba al-futyā wa kariha al-tanattuʿa wa al-
tabadduʿa 4; bā b al-futyā wa mā fı̄ hi min al-shidda 4; bā b fı̄ karā hiyat akhdh al-ra’y˙˙ 8.
64
Al-Balā dhurı̄ , Ansā b al-ashrā f, 3: 59 (al-ʿAzm edn.).
65
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 361. ˙
66
Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, al-Intiqā ’, 74–5; al-Bayhaqı̄ , Manā qib al-Shā fiʿı̄ , 2: 151.
67
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh [taqdima], 1: 18; See Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools
˙
of Law, 12. ˙
68
Al-Dā rimı̄ , Kitā b al-Musnad al-jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b [no title] 6,
no. 186.
69
Al-Dā rimı̄ , Kitā b al-Musnad al-jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b man hā ba al-
futyā wa kariha al-tanattuʿa wa al-tabadduʿa 4, no. 144.
70 ˙˙
Al-Dā rimı̄ , Kitā b al-Musnad al-jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b taghayyur al-
zamā n wa mā yuhdathu fı̄ hi 6, no. 210.
71 ˙
Al-Dā rimı̄ , Kitā b al-Musnad al-jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b taghayyur al-
zamā n wa mā yuhdathu fı̄ hi 6, no. 211.
˙
 7.1 Law 223

Legal Tricks (Hiyal)

˙
Discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa were not conjured out of
˙
nothing. As we observed in the case of ra’y, ninth-century discourses
of heresy bore some similarity to earlier discontent with ra’y, particu-
larly on account of the perception that it undermined a stable and
consistent legal system, resulting in unpredictable implications for
medieval Islamic societies. Proto-Sunni traditionalist antagonisms
against Abū Hanı̄ fa were rooted in wider controversies and develop-
˙
ments in the ninth century. In this respect, proto-Sunni traditionalist
condemnations of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s deployment of hiyal were no different.
˙ ˙
Proto-Sunni traditionalists exploited well-known legal and jurispru-
dential developments in an effort to undermine Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious
˙
standing.
In the ninth century, the hı̄ la was a recognisable and controversial
˙
legal mechanism identifiable not only in books and their titles but in the
judgements of qadis and private jurists. Hiyal were legal devices that
˙
enabled certain objectives and desired results to be met, but only by
subverting standard judicial norms, procedures, and forms of legal
reasoning. Proto-Hanafı̄ s believed hiyal, or makhā rij, to be necessary
˙ ˙
in order to reach lawful resolutions in scenarios where one was likely to
72
commit unlawful acts. Proto-Hanafı̄ s of the ninth and tenth centuries,
for example, considered makhā rij˙ essential for ‘avoiding sinful acts and
transforming them into lawful ones’.73 Hiyal were mechanisms by which
˙
one could escape committing prohibited acts and engage in licit acts
(farra al-qawm min al-harā m wa arā dū al-dukhū l fı̄ al-halā l).74 Proto-
˙ ˙
Sunni traditionalists perceived the hiyal as allowing for this peculiar
˙
transformation of acts and the swift legal reclassification accompanying
it, and they castigated proto-Hanafı̄ s for facilitating such legal tricks.
˙
Where proto-Hanafı̄ s believed they were attending to the spirit of the
˙
law, proto-Sunni traditionalists saw such manoeuvres as blatant trans-
gressions of it.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists in the ninth century made reference to
books dedicated to making such hiyal accessible to the Muslim
˙
72
See Schacht, ‘Die arabische hijal-Literatur’; Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law,
78–85; Wichard, Zwischen Markt ˙ und Moschee, 78–85, esp. 81–8.
73
For definitions, to the extent that they are provided, see al-Shaybā nı̄ , Kitā b al-Hujja ʿalā
ahl al-Madı̄ na (Hyderabad: Matbaʿat Dā ’irat al-Maʿā rif al-Sharqiyya, 1963), 2: ˙ 585–7;
Horri, ‘Reconsideration of Legal˙ Devices’, 318.
74
Al-Shaybā nı̄ , Kitā b al-Hujja ʿalā ahl al-Madı̄ na, 2: 584–5. This is al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s response
upon being accused by ˙ his Medinan interlocutors of creating a means for usurious
transactions (dharı̄ ʿa ilā al-ribā ) because he allowed for payments in kind, but not in
gold, in order to compensate for any weight differential in the value of gold being
exchanged.
224 Religion and Society

community. They were categorical in their opposition to these books, and

they were the first to write against hiyal.75 Ibn al-Mubā rak was quoted as
having said that whoever has a copy ˙ of Kitā b al-Hiyal and intends to act
˙
upon a judgement given in it is an unbeliever (kā fir), and, as such, his
wife must separate from him and his greater pilgrimage (hajj) is invalid
˙
(batala).76 According to one account, after having said this Ibn al-
˙
Mubā rak was informed that Kitā b Hiyal opined that where a woman
˙
seeks to separate from her husband, she should apostatise from Islam in
order to achieve this. Thereafter, she may return to Islam. Upon hearing
this version of the book’s contents, Ibn al-Mubā rak is supposed to have
said that the author of this book is an unbeliever (kā fir) and, as such, his
marriage is invalid and his greater pilgrimage is to be considered void.77
On another occasion, Ibn al-Mubā rak is cited as having accused Abū
Hanı̄ fa of composing Kitā b al-Hiyal. ‘Whoever examines Kitā b al-Hiyal
˙ ˙ ˙
of Abū Hanı̄ fa has permitted what God has prohibited and prohibited
˙
what God has permitted,’ Ibn al-Mubā rak was alleged to have said.78
A third and final statement concerning Kitā b al-Hiyal is attributed to Ibn
˙
al-Mubā rak. When his client (mawlā ) said to him, ‘I do not believe that
anyone but the devil has authored Kitā b al-Hiyal,’ Ibn al-Mubā rak is
˙
alleged to have responded that the author of Kitā b al-Hiyal was more
˙
pernicious than the devil.79 Ahmad b. Saʿı̄ d al-Dā rimı̄ heard al-Nadr
˙ ˙
b. Shumayl say that the Kitā b al-Hiyal covers such and such a legal
˙
issue, and it is all heresy (kufr).80
Despite ninth-century reports of proto-Sunni traditionalists reading
books on hiyal, proto-Hanafı̄ s rejected the ascription of some of these
˙ ˙
books to their masters. Writing in the eleventh century, al-Sarakhsı̄
devoted a few pages to the uncertainty surrounding al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s author-
ship of Kitā b al-Hiyal. ‘People differed’, al-Sarakhsı̄ explained, ‘as to
˙
whether or not Kitā b al-Hiyal was one of the books authored by
˙
Muhammad [al-Shaybā nı̄ ].’ Al-Jū zajā nı̄ , for instance, explicitly rejected
˙
the attribution of Kitā b al-Hiyal to his teacher, al-Shaybā nı̄ . He recog-
˙
nised that there was a book in circulation, and that it was being attributed
to al-Shaybā nı̄ . He found this ascription totally unfounded, saying that it
was absurd to believe that al-Shaybā nı̄ would have given any of his books

75
Horri, Die gesetzlichen Umgehungen, 33–9.
76
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 3: 70–1 (Beirut edn.).
77
Al-Khat ˙ ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā r˙ı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 556.
78
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 556.
79
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 556 (mā arā wadaʿa Kitā b al-Hiyal illā
shaytā n˙ fa qā la Ibn al-Mubā rak: alladhı̄ wadaʿa Kitā b al-Hiyal asharru
˙ ˙
min al-shayt ā n).
˙
Another version reads: alladhı̄ wadaʿahu ʿindı̄˙ ablasu min Iblı̄
˙ s. See al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghda
˙ ̄ dı̄ ,
Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 556. ˙ ˙
80
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 556.
˙
 7.1 Law 225

a title as inappropriate as this. How could he have done so knowing that

ignorant critics would exploit this and cite it as evidence for their attacks
on proto-Hanafism? According to al-Sarakhsı̄ , the book was compiled by
˙
some copyists in Baghdad, and it was ascribed to al-Shaybā nı̄ in order to
disgrace proto-Hanafı̄ s.81 Al-Jū zajā nı̄ ’s comments are insightful for our
˙
purposes. As one of al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s most influential students, al-Jū zajā nı̄
was well positioned to inform us of developments among proto-Hanafı̄ s
˙
and their interlocutors. Like most proto-Hanafı̄ s of the late eighth century
˙
he would have been privy to proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of
heresy. This was especially so in the light of the favour he found among
proto-Sunni traditionalists, many of whom were particularly impressed
by his refusal of the judgeship al-Ma’mū n offered to him and his, probably
related, anathematisation of any person who believed the Quran was
created.82 For these very reasons, however, al-Jū zajā nı̄ ’s explicit rejection
of al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s having authored such a book is instructive. It may reflect
the beginnings of the traditionalisation of proto-Hanafism. Explicitly
˙
rejecting the authenticity of Kitā b al-Hiyal and its ascription to al-
˙
Shaybā nı̄ represented an important step towards proto-Sunni tradition-
alists softening in their hostility to Abū Hanı̄ fa. His comment displays
˙
how conscious he was of proto-Sunni traditionalist criticisms of Abū
Hanı̄ fa and his disciples. He shows an awareness of proto-Sunni trad-
˙
itionalist tendencies to use the association between proto-Hanafı̄ s and
˙
legal tricks (hiyal) to discredit them. It was inconceivable for him that
˙
proto-Hanafı̄ s, aware of proto-Sunni traditionalist hostility, would
˙
have given a book a title as rebarbative as this. This, however, was not
al-Sarakhsı̄ ’s opinion. According to him and Abū Hafs al-Bukhā rı̄ – al-
Shaybā nı̄ ’s other prominent student – the work˙ did ˙ belong to al-
Shaybā nı̄ ’s ouevre.83
Proto-Sunni traditionalists objected vehemently to the use of hiyal,
˙
which they saw as an activity practised by proto-Hanafı̄ s. Discourses of
˙
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa maintain that his (and his followers’) method
˙
of jurisprudence up-ended religious and jurisprudential norms. The
accusation that Abū Hanı̄ fa and proto-Hanafı̄ s transformed what God
˙ ˙
had decreed to be licit into the illicit, and vice versa, was espoused
frequently by proto-Sunni traditionalists. Furthermore, when proto-
Sunni traditionalists attacked Abū Hanı̄ fa for issuing absurd legal rulings,
˙
they may have done so with proto-Hanafı̄ proclivity to hiyal in mind. ʿAbd
˙ ˙
Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal rallied against Abū Hanı̄ fa for supposedly
˙ ˙ ˙
permitting the consumption of pork, alcohol, and other prohibited

81
Al-Sarakhsı̄ , Kitā b al-Mabsū t, 30: 209. 82
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim, al-Jarh, 4.1: 145.
83
Al-Sarakhsı̄ , Kitā b al-Mabsū˙t, 30: 209. ˙ ˙
˙
226 Religion and Society

drinks.84 He was aghast at Abū Hanı̄ fa’s edict that breaking musical
˙
instruments was a punishable crime.85 Other proto-Sunni traditionalists
claimed that Abū Hanı̄ fa permitted adultery and usury and that his
˙
jurisprudence led to the shedding of blood with impunity.86 Many were,
of course, puzzled and startled by these allegations. When a sceptic
demanded an explanation, he was told that Abū Hanı̄ fa permitted usury
˙
because he did not object to deferred credit transactions that accrue
additional charges (nası̄ ’a); he permitted public violence (al-dimā ’)
since he ruled that if a man kills another man by striking him with
a massive stone, the blood money must be paid by his male relatives,
tribe, or social group (al-ʿā qila); he permitted adultery because he ruled
that if a man and a woman have sexual intercourse in a house, whilst they
are known to be parents, and both declare themselves that they are
married to each other, no one should object to them. Upon hearing this
detailed explanation the sceptic remarked that all of this amounted to
invalidating God’s laws (al-sharā ’iʿ) and injunctions (al-ahkā m).87
˙

Analogical Reasoning (Qiyā s)

Analogical reasoning (qiyā s) was another legal mechanism that proto-
Sunni traditionalists associated with Abū Hanı̄ fa. They argued that
˙
proto-Hanafism’s dependence on qiyā s at the expense of other methods
˙
of legal reasoning signalled its religious deviance. One ninth-century
source has al-Awzā ʿı̄ maintain that Abū Hanı̄ fa was lacking in the very
˙
foundations of the law, so he embraced analogical reasoning.88 Qiyā s was
seen not only as an illegitimate method, as practised by Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙
his followers, but proto-Sunni traditionalists saw in this technique the
enactment of Satan’s original sin. Satan, they argued, was the first person
to invoke analogical reasoning by drawing an analogical argument
between his creation from fire and Adam’s from clay.89
Again, this study is not concerned with establishing whether proto-
Sunni traditionalist attacks on proto-Hanafı̄ uses of qiyā s were accurate or
˙
not.90 In the interests of providing some context, however, it is important
to point out that proto-Sunni traditionalists themselves utilised forms

84
Abd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 206–7.
85
Abd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H ˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 206–7.
86 ˙
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghda ˙ rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 569.
̄ dı̄ , Tā
87
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 569–70.
88
ʿAbd Alla˙ ̄ h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 156.
89
Al-Dā rimı̄ , Kitā b˙ al-Musnad ˙ al-jā miʿ [Sunan al-Dā rimı̄ ], kitā b al-ʿilm 2, bā b taghayyur al-
zamā n wa mā yuhdathu fı̄ hi 6, nos. 206, 207.
90 ˙
Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 36–7; Lucas, ‘Legal Principles’,
303–7.
 7.1 Law 227

of analogical reasoning; but they chose their terms carefully and some-
times preferred to jettison qiyā s, only to replace it with tashbı̄ h. This
can be observed in the legal responsa (masā ’il) of Ahmad b. Hanbal,
˙ ˙
who on a few occasions appears to employ a mode of analogical
reasoning, which he signals with the words ashbah and shabı̄ h, and in
the writings of other proto-Sunni traditionalists.91 The analogical rea-
soning of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers, however, was believed to bring
˙
about legal rulings that contradicted Prophetic reports. Ahmad
˙
b. Hanbal’s son ʿAbd Allā h would cite reports to the effect that Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa permitted eating pork, drinking alcohol, and forbade the break-
˙ of musical instruments.92 It was this kind of logic that led one
ing
proto-Sunni traditionalist to suggest that highway robbery was better
than the qiyā s of Abū Hanı̄ fa.93 It was the lesser of two evils. Not all
˙
proto-Sunni traditionalists, however, were convinced by this caricature
of Hanafı̄ qiyā s. At least some of them in the midst of their otherwise
˙
vituperative discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa cited a statement
˙
attributed to him that ‘urinating in the mosque is better than some of
their qiyā s’. That is to say, Abū Hanı̄ fa was understood to be critical
94

of some forms of qiyā s. ˙

What does seem clear is that in the ninth century proto-Hanafı̄ s
˙
adopted a set of legal tools and techniques to elaborate the law that proto-
Sunni traditionalists determined to be illegitimate. The legal strategies
were so problematic because they produced results concerning legal
matters that differed from the results reached by proto-Sunni traditional-
ists. But the latter were not content to view these legal developments
simply as jurisprudential aberrations. The law was essential to the
elaboration of the religion. If the legal strategies were unsound, then
one’s approach to the religion was unsound too. This is why proto-
Sunni traditionalists of the ninth–tenth centuries argued that Abū
Hanı̄ fa harmed the religion through juristic strategies. Such people,
˙
proto-Sunni traditionalists alleged, sat precariously on the outer edges
of orthodoxy.95
91
Al-Kawsaj, Masā ’il al-Imā m Ahmad b. Hanbal wa Ishā q b. Rā hawayh (Medina: Maktabat
al-Malik ʿAhd al-Wataniyya, ˙2004), 2894; ˙ Sā lih ˙b. Ahmad, Masā ’il al-Imā m Ahmad
b. Hanbal, ed. Tā riq˙ b. ʿAwad (Riyadh: Da ˙ ̄ r ˙al-Wat˙an, 1999), 142–3; al-Bukha ˙ ̄ rı̄ ,
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Sahı̄ h, kitā b al-iʿtisā m bi al-kitā b wa al-sunna, bā b man shabbaha aslan maʿlū man bi aslin
˙ ˙ ˙
mubayyan ˙
qad bayyana Allā hu hukmahumā li yufhima al-sā ’il, 13. ˙See Chapter 1 above, ˙
where I note al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s use of ˙tashbı̄ h.
92
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 206–7.
93
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H ˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 225. 94 See Chapter 3 above.
95
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H ˙ anbal, Kitā b al-sunna, 199 (two reports: kā da bi al-dı̄ n); ʿAbd
Allā h b. Ahmad ˙b. Hanbal, ˙ Kitā b al-ʿIlal, 2: 547, 3: 164 (Dā r al-Khā nı̄ edn.); al-ʿUqaylı̄ ,
Kitā b al-D˙uʿafā ’, 4:˙ 1408 (al-Qalʿajı̄ edn.); al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d,
15: 552. ˙ ˙
228 Religion and Society

7.2 Hadı̄ th
˙
The growth and circulation of traditions attributed to the Prophet
Muhammad was essential to the emergence of a proto-Sunni tradition-
˙
alist community. These traditions consisted of two aspects: isnā ds and
matns. The isnā d contained a list of transmitters (traditionists), many of
whom were also proto-Sunni traditionalists. The matn claimed to rep-
resent a saying or action of the Prophet Muhammad or of his
˙
Companions. Proto-Sunni traditionalists devoted themselves to the
task of studying, memorising, critiquing, and interpreting these
traditions.
This spawned an entire range of written compositions by which
proto-Sunni traditionalists were able to distinguish themselves and
their craft. Books on transmitters were compiled that focused on
detailing whom they studied with, whether they were reliable trans-
mitters, and when they died (tā rı̄ kh and rijā l works). In order to
facilitate the easy recognition of transmitters, works on transmitter
nicknames flourished (kutub al-kunā wa al-asmā ’). Specialists also
began to detect flaws in the transmission of hadı̄ th, both their
˙
isnā ds and matns (kutub al-ʿilal). Students wrote works in which
they preserved transcripts of their conversations with teachers con-
cerning specific transmitters (kutub al-su’ā lā t). Others began to
analyse and arrange traditions under legal headings to facilitate
the study of legal jurisprudence and to augment the authority of
hadı̄ th in the realm of jurisprudence. Works devoted to establishing
˙
the authority of hadı̄ th in law and theology began to emerge, too.
˙
And, in response to criticisms relating to the sheer number of
hadı̄ ths and their contradictory nature, proto-Sunni traditionalists
˙
developed hermeneutical methods to reconcile them. All of these
developments occurred in a very short span of time during the late
eighth and ninth centuries.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists of the ninth and tenth centuries
believed that Abū Hanı̄ fa and his students had played no significant
˙
part in any of these transformative developments. In the earliest
biographical dictionaries, which also showed a special interest in
hadı̄ th learning, it was Abū Hanı̄ fa’s poor standing as a hadı̄ th
˙ ˙ ˙
transmitter that was highlighted. We saw this in Chapters 2 and 3
when we examined the entries on Abū Hanı̄ fa in the works of Ibn
˙
Saʿd and al-Bukhā rı̄ , respectively. The rise of books dedicated to
weak and unreliable hadı̄ th transmitters had a decisive impact on
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s reputation in the discipline of hadı̄ th. Al-ʿUqaylı̄ ’s
˙ ˙
collection of ninth-century criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s hadı̄ th
˙ ˙
 7.2 Ḥadīth 229

expertise included the exhortation that all of his hadı̄ th should be

˙
dismissed;96 that he was seriously deficient in hadı̄ th;97 we are told
˙
that one scholar, whenever he heard a hadı̄ th that surprised him,
˙
would ask sarcastically whether it had been transmitted by Abū
Hanı̄ fa. Ibn Shā hı̄ n (d. 385/995–6?) included in his al-Thiqā t the
98
˙
view that Abū Hanı̄ fa was too noble and pious to have lied with
˙
respect to transmitting hadı̄ th.99 Abū Hanı̄ fa also made it into the
˙ ˙
author’s other book on weak and untruthful transmitters, but even
there Ibn Shā hı̄ n dissents from many of his proto-Sunni traditional-
ist peers and fellow authors of books on hadı̄ th transmitters by
declaring that a group of scholars had declared ˙ Abū Hanı̄ fa to be
100
Abū Ahmad al-Hā kim, a tenth-century Sha ˙ ̄ fiʿı̄ judge
trustworthy.
˙ ˙
from Khurā sā n and a leading authority on the Sahı̄ hs of al-Bukhā rı̄
˙ ˙ ˙
and Muslim, also adopted a softer view of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s proficiency
˙
in hadı̄ th. He provided a neutral biography of Abū Hanı̄ fa, though
˙ ˙
he added at the end that most of his hadı̄ th contained mistakes.101
˙
Al-Tirmidhı̄ (d. 279/892) claimed that Abū Hanı̄ fa had told his
˙
students as much: ‘Most of the hadı̄ th I relate to you are mistaken
˙
(ʿā mmatu mā uhaddithukum khata’).’102 Muslim b. al-Hajjā j’s book
˙ ˙ ˙
96
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 4: 282, 285 (al-Qalʿajı̄ edn.).
97
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙ uʿafā ’, 4: 285 (al-Qalʿajı̄ edn.).
98
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙ uʿafā ’, 4: 283 (al-Qalʿajı̄ edn.).
99 ˙
Ibn Shā hı̄ n, Tā rı̄ kh asmā ’ al-thiqā t, ed. Subhı̄ al-Sā marrā ’ı̄ (Kuwait: Dā r al-Salafiyya,
1984), 241 (wa Abū Yū suf awthaqu min˙ Abı̄˙ Hanı̄ fa fı̄ al-hadı̄ th wa kā na Abū Hanı̄ fa
anbala fı̄ nafsihi min an yakdhiba, wa ism Abı̄ Hanı̄ ˙ fa al-Nuʿmā ˙ n b. Thā bit) = ed. ʿAbd˙ al-
˙
Muʿtı̄ Amı̄ n Qalʿajı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1986), 323–33 (wa Abū Yū suf
˙ min Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa fı̄ al-hadı̄ th wa kā na Abū Hanı̄ fa anbala fı̄ nafsihi min an yakdhiba,
awthaqu
wa ism Abı̄ Hanı̄ f˙a al-Nuʿmā˙n b. Thā bit) = ed. ʿAbd ˙ al-Rahı̄ m Muhammad Ahmad al-
Qashqarı̄ (n.p.: ˙ n.d., 1989), 184 (wa Abū Hanı̄ fa: ismuhu al-Nuʿmā ˙ n˙b. Thā bit wa˙ dhukira
˙
ʿan jamā ʿa tawthı̄ quhu). The entry on Abū Hanı̄ fa reads differently in one of these
editions. These bold differences and inconsistencies ˙ are not recorded in the otherwise
extremely useful and industrious study of Saʿdı̄ Hā shimı̄ , Nusū s sā qita min tabaʿā t asmā ’
al-thiqā t li Ibn Shā hı̄ n (Medina: Maktabat al-Dā r, 1987). Although ˙ ˙ ˙ Ha
˙ ̄ shimı̄˙ ’s study was
published two years prior to the publication of al-Qashqarı̄ ’s edition, it makes extensive
use of the Marrakesh manuscript and presents a painstaking comparison between three
editions of Ibn Shā hı̄ n’s book (one of which I have not seen: Sā lih b. ʿAbd al-Muhattab,
MA thesis, al-Jā miʿa al-Imā m Muhammad b. Saʿū d, 1982) ˙and˙ the Marrakesh ˙manu- ˙˙
script, listing any and every discrepancy ˙ between them. Somehow, the discrepancy
regarding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s entry escaped him. Al-Qashqarı̄ ’s edition is based on a single
manuscript housed ˙ in Marrakesh. Unfortunately, this is the extent of his description of
the manuscript. Hā shimı̄ , Nusū s sā qita min tabaʿā t asmā ’ al-thiqā t li Ibn Shā hı̄ n, 41
provides more extensive details˙ about ˙ ˙ ˙this manuscript.
˙
100
Ibn Shā hı̄ n, Tā rı̄ kh, 184–5 (al-Qashqarı̄ edn.).
101
Abū Ahmad al-Hā kim, Kitā b al-Asā mı̄ wa al-kunā , 4: 175–7.
102 ˙
Al-Tirmidhı̄ , ʿIlal˙ al-Tirmidhı̄ al-kabı̄ r, arranged by Abū Tā lib al-Qā dı̄ [Mahmū d b. ʿAlı̄ (d.
585/1189)], ed. Subhı̄ al-Sā marrā ’ı̄ , Abū al-Maʿā tı̄ al-Nu ˙ ̄ rı̄ , and Mah
˙ mu˙̄ d Muhammad
˙ ˙ ʿĀ lam al-Kutub/Maktabat ˙al-Nahda al-ʿArabiyya,
Khalı̄ l al-Saʿı̄ dı̄ (Beirut: ˙ 1989), ˙388. Al-
Tirmidhı̄ ˙wrote two works on this subject: al-ʿIlal al-kabı̄ r˙ (IK) and al-ʿIlal al-saghı̄ r (IS).
˙ ˙
230 Religion and Society

on the subject of hadı̄ th transmitters and their nicknames arrived at

˙
a similar conclusion: Abū Hanı̄ fa was deficient in hadı̄ th, and had
˙
very few sound hadı̄ th.103 Al-Nasa ˙
̄ ’ı̄ ’s verdict was that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ 104 ˙
was weak in hadı̄ th. In his short book describing the standards of
˙
individual hadı̄ th scholars, al-Jū zajā nı̄ described Abū Hanı̄ fa as
˙ ˙
someone whose hadı̄ th could not be relied upon.105 In his Sunan, al-
˙
Dā raqutnı̄ called Abū Hanı̄ fa weak (daʿı̄ f) in hadı̄ th, and reportedly
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
communicated the same point to Hamza al-Sahmı̄ . Still, Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
found no place in al-Dā raqutnı̄ ’s history of weak hadı̄ th scholars.106
˙ ˙
It was not simply the fact that his name was featured regularly in
these books; the entries on him became venues for authors to launch all
kinds of attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s character. Readers of and listeners to
˙
these works, therefore, would receive a fairly representative sample of
wider proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa.
˙
The same convention was applied to his students, but by no means
with a broad brush. So, Yū suf b. Khā lid al-Samtı̄ is described as being
weak in hadı̄ th, strong in ra’y.107 We are told that Abū Yū suf had learnt
many hadı̄ ˙ ths from a range of Kufan hadı̄ th scholars. His peers recog-
˙ ˙
nised him for his memorisation of hadı̄ ths. His proficiency as a hadı̄ th
˙ ˙
scholar waned, however, after he became a dedicated student of Abū
Hanı̄ fa.108 Al-Shaybā nı̄ is judged in a similar fashion: he studied hadı̄ th
˙ ˙
and heard numerous traditions from hadı̄ th scholars, but Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
and ra’y got the better of him. Henceforth, his peers disagreed about his
expertise, although some continued to study hadı̄ th and jurisprudence
˙

There are internal references in the IS to a book, which I take to be the IK (. . . qad bayyannā
hā dhā ʿalā wajhihi fı̄ al-kitā b alladhı̄ ˙fı̄ hi al-mawqū f wa mā kā na fı̄ hi min dhikr al-ʿilal fı̄ al-
ahā dı̄ th wa al-rijā l wa al-tā rı̄ kh . . .). This has only survived in Abū Tā lib’s rearrangement.
˙
Sezgin believed that Ibn Rajab wrote a commentary on the IK, but ˙ Hamza Mustafā has
argued that the commentary is on the IS: see Sezgin, GAS, 1: 154–9, 159; ˙ al-Tirmidhı̄
˙ ˙ , al-
ʿIlal al-kabı̄ r, ed. Hamza Mustafā (Amman: ˙ Maktabat al-Aqsā , 1985), xx (editor’s intro-
duction); Akram D ˙ iyā ’ al-ʿUmarı̄
˙ ˙ , Turā th al-Tirmidhı̄ al-ʿilmı̄˙ (Medina: Maktabat al-Dā r,
1991), 52–4, where˙ the treatment of these texts is brief and negligible; and Ibn Rajab, Sharh
ʿilal al-Tirmidhı̄ , ed. Subhı̄ al-Sā marrā ’ı̄ (Baghdad: Wizā rat al-Awqā f al-ʿIrā qiyya, 1976) = ˙
ed. Nū r al-Dı̄ n ʿItr ˙(n.p: ˙ Dā r al-Malā h, 1978) = ed. Hammā d ʿAbd al-Rahı̄ m Saʿı̄ d
(Riyadh: Maktabat al-Rushd, 2001). ˙ ˙
103
Muslim b. al-Hajjā j, Kitā b al-Kunā wa al-asmā ’, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahı̄ m Muhammad Ahmad
al-Qashqarı̄ (Medina:˙ Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-Islā miyya, 1984), 276. ˙ ˙ ˙
104
Al-Nasā ’ı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ˙ ’ wa al-matrū kı̄ n, 240 (laysa bi al-quwwa fı̄ al-hadı̄ th).
105 ˙
Al-Jū zajā nı̄ , Ahwā l al-rijā l, 75. ˙
106 ˙
Al-Dā raqutnı̄ , Sunan, 2: 107–8, 1: 223, 323 (al-Arna’ū t edn.); al-Sahmı̄ , Su’ā lā t Hamza
˙
b. Yū suf al-Sahmı̄ ˙
li al-Dā raqutnı̄ , 263, where we are informed that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s˙hadı̄ th
transmissions were unreliable˙ since he never met a Companion. ˙ ˙
107
Ibn Saʿd, al-Tabaqā t al-kubrā , 7.2: 47 (Leiden edn.).
108
Ibn Saʿd, al-T ˙ abaqā t al-kubrā , 7.2: 73–4 (Leiden edn.).
˙
 7.2 Ḥadīth 231

under him.109 However, other proto-Hanafı̄ s fared better in Ibn Saʿd’s

˙
view. Asad b. ʿAmr al-Bajalı̄ had memorised numerous hadı̄ ths and he
was believed to be a trustworthy transmitter of hadı̄ ths, ˙despite having
˙
learnt jurisprudence from Abū Hanı̄ fa.110 Abū Yū suf’s son was charac-
˙
terised as someone who had studied hadı̄ th and transmitted the juris-
˙
prudence of his father.111 Al-Husayn b. Ibrā hı̄ m b. al-Hurr was
˙ ˙
described as having studied hadı̄ th and gained expertise in ra’y. But he
˙
continued to teach both hadı̄ th and jurisprudence in Baghdad to the end
˙
of his life. Ibn Saʿd had nothing damning to say about his knowledge of
112
hadı̄ th. Bishr b. al-Walı̄ d al-Kindı̄ taught hadı̄ th and issued legal
˙
rulings in Baghdad. He was on good terms with˙ proto-Sunni tradition-
alists, it seems. He was imprisoned, after all, for refusing to declare the
Quran to be created. It was only when he took a neutral position,
refusing to declare the Quran either created or uncreated (takallama bi
al-waqf) that the proto-Sunni traditionalist community renounced
him.113 Al-Muʿallā b. Mansū r is even described as a master of hadı̄ th
˙ ˙
(sā hib hadı̄ th), speculative jurisprudence (ra’y), and legal rulings
˙ ˙ ˙
(fiqh). Even though Ibn Saʿd rated him as truthful (sadū q), he acknow-
˙
ledged that proto-Sunni traditionalists remained ambivalent about his
reputation: they would transmit his hadı̄ th but not his speculative
˙
jurisprudence.114
I should emphasise though that this picture of hadı̄ th learning
˙
among Abū Hanı̄ fa and proto-Hanafı̄ s cannot be taken to represent
˙ ˙
the opinions of proto-Sunni traditionalists at large. These same
individuals, for example, receive more severe assessments in rijā l
works from a later period. Al-ʿUqaylı̄ ’s notice on Muʿallā b. Mansū r
consists of one damning judgement attributed to Ahmad b. Hanbal, ˙
˙ ˙
who declared proudly: ‘I never wrote a single letter [let alone
a hadı̄ th] on his authority.’115 ʿUqaylı̄ has plenty of ammunition
for˙ Abū Yū suf. He begins with the comparatively mild claim that
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n judged that Abū Yū suf was not proficient in hadı̄ th
˙ ˙
109
Ibn Saʿd, al-Tabaqā t al-kubrā , 7.2: 74 (Leiden edn.).
110
Ibn Saʿd, al-T˙ abaqā t al-kubrā , 7.2: 74 (Leiden edn.) (kā na ʿindahu hadı̄ th kathı̄ r wa huwa
thiqa in shā ’a˙ Allā hu wa kā na qad sahiba Abā Hanı̄ fa wa tafaqqaha).
˙
111
Ibn Saʿd, al-Tabaqā t al-kubrā , 7.2: ˙ 78
˙ (Leiden˙ edn.).
112
Ibn Saʿd, al-T ˙ abaqā t al-kubrā , 7.2: 87–8 (Leiden edn.).
113
Ibn Saʿd, al-T ˙ abaqā t al-kubrā , 7.2: 93 (Leiden edn.). A similar fate was met by another
proto-Hanafı̄˙, Muhammad b. Shujā ʿ al-Thaljı̄ . Proto-Sunni traditionalists had a hard
˙
time incriminating ˙ him, but his alleged ambivalence concerning theological questions
about the Quran made it all the easier. On this see Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni
Schools of Law, 51–3.
114
Ibn Saʿd, al-Tabaqā t al-kubrā , 7.2: 82 (Leiden edn.).
115 ˙ b al-Duʿafā ’, 4: 1360–1 (Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄ edn.) = 4: 215–16 (al-Qalʿajı̄
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā
edn.). ˙ ˙
232 Religion and Society

and ends with an outrageous story of man who alleged that he saw
Abū Yū suf in a dream with a cross around his neck, gifted to him
by a Jewish man.116 For al-Bajalı̄ , al-ʿUqaylı̄ quotes the expertise of
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal. When the latter was asked whether
˙ ˙
al-Bajalı̄ was a reliable hadı̄ th scholar (sadū q), he replied: ‘No
˙ ˙
one should relate anything on the authority of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s follow-
117 ˙
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ was equally dismissive about
ers (ashā b Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa).’
˙ ˙ ˙
Zufar b. Hudhayl. In the words of the authorities he cites, Zufar
was a heretic who should be avoided at all cost.118 Yū suf b. Khā lid
al-Samtı̄ receives a similar appraisal in al-ʿUqaylı̄ ’s book on weak
hadı̄ th scholars. Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n’s views on him are adduced by al-
˙ ˙
ʿUqaylı̄ , and they are anything but flattering. He is described as an
inveterate liar, a vile man, and an enemy of God, and no one who
had an ounce of virtue related anything from him.119
Though there are substantial differences between Ibn Saʿd’s al-
Tabaqā t al-kubrā and al-ʿUqaylı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, they share
˙ ˙
a tendency to dismiss Abū Hanı̄ fa and his students’ expertise in
˙
hadı̄ th. Ibn Saʿd stands at the beginning of proto-Sunni traditionalist
˙
literature on hadı̄ th learning, whereas al-ʿUqaylı̄ represents its mature
˙
stage. Ibn Saʿd’s interest in individuals is broad, and he sometimes
neglects to mention their hadı̄ th credentials. Al-ʿUqaylı̄ is concerned
˙
with the vast swathes of hadı̄ th scholars he believed possessed inad-
˙
equate and deficient knowledge of the discipline. More pertinently,
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa were fully developed by al-
˙
ʿUqaylı̄ ’s time, whereas they were still in their infancy when Ibn Saʿd
was writing. Al-ʿUqaylı̄ had more resources on which to draw when
writing off Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers in the orthodox discipline of
˙
hadı̄ th studies.
˙
Though there was a growing consensus among proto-Sunni tradi-
tionalists that Abū Hanı̄ fa was not a recognised hadı̄ th expert, they did
˙ ˙
acknowledge that he was involved in the transmission of traditions.
However, they deemed even these few traditions to reflect his lack of
expertise as a hadı̄ th transmitter. Even when discussing other tradi-
˙
tionists, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s grasp of the science of hadı̄ th was reckoned to be
˙
insufficient. Al-Jawraqā nı̄ ’s (d. 543/1148) book ˙ on false and sound
hadı̄ ths twice cites hadı̄ ths containing Abū Hanı̄ fa in the isnā ds. He
˙ ˙ ˙
declares them to be false and states that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s hadı̄ ths are to be
˙ ˙

116
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 4: 1544 and 4: 1548 (Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄ edn.).
117 ˙ uʿafā ’, 1: 36–8 (Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄ edn.).
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙
118 ˙ uʿafā ’, 2: 456–7 (Dā r al-S
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙ umayʿı̄ edn.).
119 ˙ uʿafā ’, 4: 1555 (Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-D ˙ edn.).
˙ ˙
 7.2 Ḥadīth 233

renounced (matrū k al-hadı̄ th).120 Abū Hanı̄ fa’s traditions are discussed
˙ ˙
by al-Khalı̄ lı̄ in the course of a survey of the career of Abū ʿAbd al-
Husayn b. al-Walı̄ d, a native of Nı̄ shā pū r with impressive scholarly
˙
credentials. He had met and studied with Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , Shuʿba,
and Mā lik b. Anas.121 In his entry on Abū al-Husayn, al-Khalı̄ lı̄ seems
˙
concerned with preserving Abū al-Husayn’s good reputation. He cites
˙
a hadı̄ th tradition in which Abū al-Husayn transmits from Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙ ˙ ˙
who transmits from Suhayl b. Abı̄ Sā lih, and then eventually back to the
˙ ˙
Prophet Muhammad, who instructed that a person pray four
˙
rakʿas after the Friday congregational prayer. Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ explains that
there is an error in this tradition, and that the error returns to the
person who transmits from al-Husayn. He adds that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙ ˙
transmissions from Suhayl are anomalous and unknown to specialists.
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ says he heard something similar from Abū ʿAlı̄ ʿAbd al-
Rahmā n b. Muhammad al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , who said:
˙ ˙
When I heard from Ibn ʿAbdā n the hadı̄ th of Abū Hanı̄ fa from Suhayl, I returned
to Basra. When I reached there, ʿAlı̄˙ b. Muhammad ˙ b. Mū sā , the servant of
˙ from Ibn ʿAbdā n the hadı̄ th of
ʿUbayd, said to me: ‘O Abū ʿAlı̄ , have you heard
Abū Hanı̄ fa from Suhayl?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ He smiled. He said: ‘Abū al-ʿAbba˙ ̄s
˙
b. ʿUqda told me: “This error was committed by the person who related it from
al-Husayn b. al-Walı̄ d. It must have been so, because al-Husayn never met Abū
˙ fa. This would not have pleased him.”’122
Hanı̄ ˙
˙
Here al-Khalı̄ lı̄ narrates how tenth-century hadı̄ th scholars discussed
among themselves traditions that contained ˙Abū Hanı̄ fa in the isnā d.
˙
They were able to identify problems in these traditions by drawing atten-
tion to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s involvement, but they could do so without seeking
˙
to undermine his religious orthodoxy in its entirety, thereby exhibiting
the variety among proto-Sunni traditionalists in their attitudes to Abū
Hanı̄ fa.
˙
To a large degree, however, proto-Sunni traditionalists’ attacks on Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s hadı̄ th learning were designed to raise serious and lingering
˙
doubts ˙
about his religious orthodoxy. Where some tenth- and eleventh-
century scholars found sobering ways to discuss Abū Hanı̄ fa’s knowledge
˙
of hadı̄ th, earlier proto-Sunni traditionalists insisted that he ignored and
˙
dismissed the authority of hadı̄ ths, and this in turn reflected his lack of
˙
regard for Prophetic authority. Indeed, this view became a hallmark of
proto-Sunni traditionalist criticisms against Abū Hanı̄ fa, and it occupied
˙
120
Al-Jawraqā nı̄ , al-Abā tı̄ l wa al-manā kı̄ r wa al-sihā h wa al-mashā hı̄ r, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n
ʿAbd al-Jabbā r al-Faryu ˙ ̄ wā ’ı̄ (Benares: Idā rat˙ al-Buh
˙ ˙ ū th al-Islā miyya wa al-Daʿwa wa
˙ al-
Iftā ’, 1983), 2: 111, 170–1. ˙
121
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r, 2.1: 391.
122
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 802–3 (Riyadh edn.).
234 Religion and Society

many pages of a ninth-century manifesto of proto-Sunni traditionalist

learning. One critic, referring to Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers, opined
that ‘their doctrine is to go against the˙ traditions transmitted from the
messenger of God’.123 Another critic explained, ‘It was not on account of
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s juristic reasoning that we loathed him; after all, we all resort
˙
to juristic reasoning. Rather, we loathed him because when a hadı̄ th from
˙
the messenger of God was mentioned to him, he would give an opinion
contrary to it.’ Hammā d b. Salama was thought to have made this very
124
˙
complaint, too: ‘When faced with traditions and practices (al-ā thā r wa al-
sunan), Abū Hanı̄ fa would counter them with his juristic reasoning.’125
˙
A general picture has emerged, then, of the proto-Sunni traditionalist
community seeking to discredit Abū Hanı̄ fa as a figure of orthodoxy by
˙
drawing attention to the paucity of his hadı̄ th expertise. There were
˙
occasional proto-Sunni traditionalist exceptions to this broad consensus.
We have highlighted some of these, and another important one whom
we studied at the end of Chapter 3 was Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, who deemed Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa to be a reliable and pious scholar. Still, the mainstream of proto-
˙
Sunni traditionalism had discredited Abū Hanı̄ fa as a hadı̄ th scholar.
From the ninth century onwards hadı̄ th became ˙ so critical˙ to the orienta-
˙
tion of proto-Sunnism that defenders of Abū Hanı̄ fa had to do something
˙
out of the ordinary to respond to the hostile attacks upon their imam. As
we shall see in Chapter 9 concerning the plethora of masā nı̄ d works
composed for Abū Hanı̄ fa, they did not disappoint. We should recognise
˙
that this important phenomenon had an impact on hadı̄ th masters of the
˙
eleventh century such as al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , who included Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa as one of the hadı̄ th scholars of Kufa.126Al-Hā kim even implies
˙ much at the outset
as ˙ of the chapter when he writes: ˙ ‘This category
concerns those famous, trustworthy, leading scholars from the generation
of Successors and their successors whose hadı̄ th were collected for
˙
the purposes of memorisation, learning, and to gain blessings through
them.’ For the great hadı̄ th master al-Hā kim, there was no doubt that
127
˙ ˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa belonged to this category of hadı̄ th specialists. This was
˙ ˙
nothing short of a sea change, then, from the days of ʿAbd Allā h
b. Ahmad b. Hanbal in the ninth century to al-Hā kim in the eleventh.
˙ ˙ ˙

123
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 204.
124
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H ˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 207 (innā lā nanqumu ʿalā Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
al-ra’y, kullunā narā . Innamā nanqumu ʿalayhi annahu yudhkaru lahu al-hadı̄ th ʿan ˙ rasū l
Allā h fa yuftı̄ bi khilā fihi). ˙
125
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 210.
126
Al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ sha˙ ̄ pū rı̄ , Maʿrifat
˙ ʿulū m al-hadı̄ th, 649 (Dā r Ibn Hazm edn.).
127 ˙
Al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , Maʿrifat ʿulū m al-h ˙ adı̄ th, 642 (Dā r Ibn H
˙ azm edn.).
˙ ˙ ˙
 7.3 Theology 235

7.3 Theology
The eighth and ninth centuries saw Muslims occupied with some funda-
mental theological questions.128 How religious scholars responded to
such questions had an immediate bearing on their status and association
with the proto-Sunni community. It could be argued that there were two
doctrinal controversies that animated theological perspectives on ortho-
doxy and heresy during these centuries. The first was the doctrine of Irjā ’,
a theological epithet that could refer to a variety of ‘heretical’ doctrines,
ranging from ideas about the status of sinners, disputes between the
Companions of the Prophet Muhammad, definitions of belief, and polit-
˙
ical quietism and rebellion. The second was the Mihna, an attempt by the
˙
ʿAbbā sid caliph al-Ma’mū n to impose an empire-wide religious consen-
sus that the Quran was the created word of God. We are concerned here
with Irjā ’ and the Mihna in so far as they were two theological develop-
˙
ments that had a direct, adverse impact on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s status as a figure
˙
of orthodoxy among the proto-Sunni community.
The history of the Mihna is well-charted territory in the field of Islamic
˙
history and theology. Al-Ma’mū n’s attempt in 211/833 to impose the
doctrine of the createdness of the Quran has been the subject of countless
monographs and articles.129 Our concern in the following pages is to
explain how the Mihna’s association with Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers
contributed to new ˙discourses of heresy against ˙Abū Hanı̄ fa.130 We can
˙
identify three factors that generated a unique relationship between the
Mihna and proto-Hanafism. The first and most obvious connection lies
˙ ˙
in the role that Hanafı̄ judges played in spearheading the Mihna. Not only
˙ ˙
were Hanafı̄ s such as Bishr al-Marı̄ sı̄ prominent at the court of al-
˙
Ma’mū n and espousing the doctrine of the created Quran, but Hanafı̄
˙
judges such as Ibn Abı̄ Du’ā d were directing the Mihna, and the Hanafı̄
˙ ˙
judges under his supervision were implementing the new imperial the-
131
ology all across the empire. A second link is the existence of Hanafı̄
˙
128
For a magisterial survey of early Muslim theology see van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft.
129
Patton, Ahmed ibn Hanbal and the Mihna; Watt, The Formative Period of Islamic Thought,
280 ff.; Nawas, Al-Ma’mū n; Hinds, s.v. ‘Mihna’, EI2; van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft,
3: 446–508; Melchert, The Formation of the˙Sunni Schools of Law, 8 ff., 54–60; Zaman,
Religion and Politics, 106–18; Turner, Inquisition in Early Islam; Hurvitz, ‘Mihna as Self-
Defense’; Lucas, Constructive Critics, 192–202. ˙
130
See the excellent account given by Hinds, s.v. ‘Mihna’, EI2; and Melchert, ‘Religious
Policies of the Caliphs’. ˙
131
In Egypt, Ibn Abı̄ Layth al-Asamm (see al-Kindı̄ , al-Wulā t wa kitā b al-qudā t, 452); in
Baghdad, al-Hasan b. ʿAlı̄ b.˙ al-Jaʿd (see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh ˙Baghdā d, 7:
364) and ʿAbd ˙ Allā h b. Muhammad al-Khalanjı̄ ˙ (see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 10: 73). On al-Ma’mu˙ ̄ n’s special interest in Hanafı̄˙ jurisprudence see the
˙ ā hira fı̄ mulū k Misr wa al-
profile of the caliph given by Ibn Taghrı̄ birdı̄ , al-Nujū m al-z
Qā hira (Cairo: Matbaʿat Dā r al-Kutub al-Misriyya, 1930), ˙2: 225. ˙
˙ ˙
236 Religion and Society

scholars who professed the doctrine of the created Quran and submitted
to it under interrogation or trial. Still, it is difficult to characterise proto-
Hanafism in this period. For every Hanafı̄ judge or scholar who espoused
˙ ˙
the doctrine of a created Quran and spearheaded trials and interrogations,
we find Hanafı̄ judges and scholars who were opposed to the theological
˙
doctrine and the Mihna.132 The third and final basis for attacks upon Abū
Hanı̄ fa on account of ˙ the doctrine of the created Quran pertained to the
˙
supposed personal doctrine of Abū Hanı̄ fa. There is no early evidence to
˙
suggest that Abū Hanı̄ fa held this doctrine. A significant attempt to
˙
ascribe this doctrine to Abū Hanı̄ fa was made by his grandson, Ismā ʿı̄ l
b. Hammā d b. Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (d. ˙ 212/827–8). Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Hammā d was
˙ ˙ ˙
a judge on the eastern side of Baghdad in 194/809. He was then appointed
to a judgeship in Raqqa, followed by an appointment in Basra in 210/825.
He was one of the first Kufans to be quizzed about the doctrine of the
created Quran and subsequently accede to it. We learn from an antagonist
of Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Hammā d, which is enough reason to call into question the
˙
report’s veracity, that in the course of his interrogation he declared: ‘The
Quran is created, this is my religion, the religion of my father and of my
grandfather [Abū Hanı̄ fa].’133
˙
The Mihna instigated a controversy surrounding the createdness of the
˙
Quran, and these three levels of association between Abū Hanı̄ fa (and
˙
Hanafism) and this emerging theological controversy undoubtedly con-
˙
tributed to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Was this the main
˙
basis for the emergence of these discourses? It is unlikely. The discourse
of heresy around him was much broader than this one doctrine. The
entire tradition of manā qib works defending Abū Hanı̄ fa against charges
of heresy says relatively little about this doctrine.˙ The Mihna itself, as
˙
Zaman and Lucas have argued, was not as consequential to the scholarly
community as has been supposed by scholars in the past. It could be
argued that another theological controversy was more pertinent to the
wave of heresiological discourses that engulfed Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
mnemohistory.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists were unequivocal in charging Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
with heresy on account of Irjā ’. The Murji’a were an amorphous segment
of early Islamic society. They had no single leader; an array of doctrines

132
See the discussion of this complicated picture of Hanafı̄ jurists and scholars and their stance
around the Mihna controversy in Tsafrir, The History ˙ of an Islamic School of Law, 44–7
˙
(‘Thanks to this theological diversity the Hanafi school could supply most of the qadis of
Baghdad for about a century and a half, both when qadis where [sic] required to admit the
createdness of the Quran and when they were supposed to believe the contrary.’).
133
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil fı̄ al-duʿafā ’ al-rijā l, 1: 509 (Dā r al-Kutub edn.); al-Khatı̄ b al-
Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d˙ , 7: 216–18. ˙
 7.3 Theology 237

were ascribed to them, which changed over time; and the label Irjā ’
denoted different doctrines from region to region.134 It is possible, never-
theless, to identify three main strains of Murji’ism in the eighth–ninth
centuries, all three of which were attributed to Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙
followers.
The first was the doctrine of the created Quran, and in this respect the
claim that Abū Hanı̄ fa was a Murji’ı̄ or Jahmı̄ designated his alleged
˙
adherence to the doctrine of a created Quran. This collapsing of the
Murji’a and Jahmiyya into one, and the amorphous character of the
movement, is documented in Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, which distinguishes
between the Murji’a of Khurā sā n and those of˙Kufa and Basra, explaining
that the Murji’a of Khurā sā n were the Jahmiyya, and that they were the
leaders of the Murji’a.135 How concerned Hanafı̄ s were by this allegation
˙
of heresy is unclear, though our discussion of the Mihna does suggest that
˙
it was not the central premise for discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
Some Hanafı̄ creeds written in the ninth–tenth centuries, such as al-
˙
Tahā wı̄ ’s, refer to the controversy over the nature of the Quran and
˙ ˙
emphatically deny its createdness.136
Proto-Hanafı̄ s were far more concerned with Irjā ’ as it pertained to the
˙
theological controversy over the nature of belief (ı̄ mā n), though they
rejected the label itself. A group of credal treatises circulated among
students of Abū Hanı̄ fa, sometimes attributed to Abū Hanı̄ fa himself,
˙ ˙
responded to discourses of heresy. These texts reject the epithet of
Murji’a, deny the allegation that they are heretical innovators (ahl al-
bidaʿ), and instead posit their affiliation to ahl al-ʿadl wa ahl al-sunna (the
people of justice and the Sunna).137 These late eighth- and ninth-century
texts show an awareness, therefore, among proto-Hanafı̄ s of discourses of
˙
heresy. They use theological treatises to refute proto-Sunni traditionalist
critics and seek to establish their own proto-Sunni credentials. The very
existence of a debate over the term Sunni, being employed by proto-Sunni

134
For much of the primary and secondary sources pertaining to Abū Hanı̄ fa, Irjā ’, and the
Quran see Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 54–60; ˙ van Ess, Theologie
und Gesellschaft, 1: 179–214 (on Abū Hanı̄ fa and Irjā ’); Madelung, ‘The Origins of the
Controversy’. ˙
135
Dirā r b. ʿAmr, Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh, 76–8. The association between Jahm b. Safwā n and
˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa was discussed ˙in Chapter 1 and is treated below in section 7.5.
Abu ˙ On the
Jahmiyya˙ and the doctrine of a created Quran see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 15: 580; van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 2: 493–508, ˙ esp. 506–7.
136
Al-Tahā wı̄ , al-ʿAqı̄ da al-Tahā wiyya, ed. Zuhayr al-Shā wı̄ sh (Beirut: al-Maktab al-
˙ ,˙ 1977), 5; Wensinck,
Islā mı̄ ˙ ˙ The Muslim Creed, 127 [Abū Hanı̄ fa (pseud.), Wasiyyat
Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, art. 9], 189 [Abū Hanı̄ fa (pseud.), Fiqh al-akbar ˙II, art. 3]. ˙
137
Abū ˙ Hanı̄ fa (attr.), al-ʿĀ lim ˙wa al-mutaʿallim, ed. Muhammad Zā hid al-Kawtharı̄
(Cairo:˙ Matbaʿat al-Anwā r, 1948), 37–8 (Risā lat Abı̄ Hanı̄˙ fa ilā ʿUthmā n al-Battı̄ ). See
also van Ess, ˙ ‘Kritisches zum Fiqh Akbar’, 336. ˙
238 Religion and Society

traditionalists against proto-Sunni followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa and vice versa,

˙
is good evidence of the competing nature of proto-Sunni orthodoxy in the
eighth–tenth centuries. Discourses of heresy were central to these compet-
ing claims over Sunni orthodoxy. Abū Hanı̄ fa was attacked for establishing
˙
a low benchmark for belief and for excluding works (ʿamal or farā ’id) from
˙
the definition of belief. Both doctrines were considered heretical by proto-
Sunni traditionalists. The cultural commentator al-Thaʿā libı̄ (d. 429/
1039) explained that the term ı̄ mā n murji’ı̄ had such wide usage that it
simply denoted the idea that something does not increase or decrease. He
explained that this idiomatic usage of the expression emerged because the
Murji’a held that faith is only a statement and that it does not increase or
decrease.138 This contradicted the view of proto-Sunni traditionalists,
who, in response to requests that they explain the doctrines of proto-
Sunni majoritarian orthodoxy (mā ʿalayhi ahl al-sunna), posited that belief
comprised of intention, speech, and works, all together.139 The view of
others, that belief comprised what is in one’s heart and attestation by the
tongue, whilst works were only expressions of God-consciousness and
piety and not part of belief, was held to be untenable.140 Despite eschewing
the epithet Murji’a, followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa upheld Murji’a doctrines in
˙
their theological treatises.141
The third implication of the charge of Irjā ’ against Abū Hanı̄ fa was, as
˙
we saw in the previous chapter, that he supported rebellion against
legitimate rulers. This was another discourse of heresy that Hanafı̄
˙
authors of the tenth century sought to refute.
When proto-Sunni traditionalists employed these labels against Abū
Hanı̄ fa, they were hoping to associate him and his followers with heretical
˙
groups and movements. Sometimes they were clear about which beliefs
they were accusing Abū Hanı̄ fa of holding, and sometimes they expressed
˙
ambivalence. On other occasions, Abū Hanı̄ fa was charged with holding
˙
specific errant doctrines and beliefs.142

138
Al-Thaʿā libı̄ , Thimā r al-qulū b fı̄ al-mudā f wa al-mansū b, ed. Muhammad Abū al-Fadl
Ibrā hı̄ m (Beirut: al-Maktaba al-ʿAsriyya, ˙ 2003), 145 (yudrabu ˙bihi al-mathal limā lā ˙
yazı̄ d wa lā yanqus li anna al-murji’a ˙yaqū lū n: inna al-ı̄ mā n qawl
˙ fard lā yazı̄ d wa lā yanqus
fa yushabbahu bi ˙ı̄ mā nihim mā yakū n bi hā dhihi al-sifa). ˙
139
Abū ʿUbayd al-Qā sim b. Sallā m, Kitā b al-Ī mā n, 10˙ (al-ı̄ mā n bi al-niyya wa al-qawl wa al-
ʿamal jamı̄ ʿan). See also Madelung, ‘Early Sunnı̄ Doctrine’.
140
Abū ʿUbayd al-Qā sim b. Sallā m, Kitā b al-Ī mā n, 10 (al-ı̄ mā n bi al-qulū b wa al-alsina fa
ammā al-aʿmā l fa innamā hiya taqwā wa birr wa laysat min al-ı̄ mā n).
141
Abū Hanı̄ fa, al-ʿĀ lim wa al-mutaʿallim, 36–7 (Risā lat Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa ilā ʿUthmā n al-Battı̄ ).
142
ʿAbd ˙Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 194–5 (reports ˙ alleging Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
deficient theology˙ regarding ˙ the Prophet Muhammad’s birth and resting place). Note ˙ that
˙
later Hanafı̄ works, including those attributed to Abū Hanı̄ fa, adopted a different position:
See Abu˙ ̄ Mutı̄ al-Balkhı̄ [attr. to Abū Muqā til al-Samarqandı̄
˙ ], Kitā b al-ʿĀ lim wa al-
˙
mutaʿallim, 8–32, 13 (on the nature of faith) and Risā la ilā ʿUthmā n al-Battı̄ , 34–38, 35
 7.3 Theology 239

These theological issues posed a real problem for followers of Abū

Hanı̄ fa. They caused enough concern for them to compose works of
˙
theology and creed in an attempt to establish his Sunni credentials in
the face of hostile opposition. In the realm of theology, the creed of al-
Tahā wı̄ perhaps played the most significant role in convincing other
˙ ˙
communities that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s theological opinions were inseparable
˙
from the emerging Sunni orthodoxy:143
The following is an exposition of the creed of majoritarian Sunni orthodoxy (ahl
al-sunna wa al-jamā ʿa) according to the school of the jurists of the community,
Abū Hanı̄ fa al-Nuʿmā n b. Thā bit al-Kū fı̄ , Abū Yū suf Yaʿqū b b. Ibrā hı̄ m al-
Ansā rı̄˙, and Abū ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. al-Hasan al-Shaybā nı̄ , may God be
˙
pleased ˙ they believe of
with them all. This is what ˙ the fundamental principles of
religion and what they observe in serving the Lord of all worlds of beings.
Article 5 of the creed is explicit about the uncreated nature of the Quran,
thereby undermining claims in the wake of the Mihna that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
and his followers stood outside Sunni orthodoxy on the question of the
144
createdness of the Quran. Article 20 renounces disputation about the
Quran and emphasises the absence of conflict with other Sunnis on this
issue.145 But the most emphatic response to discourses of heresy against
Abū Hanı̄ fa in al-Tahā wı̄ ’s creed pertains not to theological or doctrinal
˙ ˙ ˙
points, but rather to the matter of rebellion:146
We do not approve of the sword against any of the community of Muhammad,
God bless him and give him peace, except him against whom the ˙sword is
obligatory. We do not approve of rebelling against our imams and the administra-
tors of our affairs, even if they act wrongfully, and we do not summon (others to
rebel) against them and do not withdraw a hand from obeying them. We consider
that obedience to them is obedience to God, as long as they do not instruct
disobedience (to God), and we pray for soundness and pardon for them.
This credal point is a clear attempt to respond to a putative discourse of
heresy around Abū Hanı̄ fa’s engagement with late Umayyad and early
˙
ʿAbbā sid uprisings. The creed’s break with discourses of heresy is nowhere
clearer than in the final article: ‘We follow’, writes al-Tahā wı̄ , ‘the major-
itarian Sunni orthodoxy, and we avoid deviancy, ˙disagreement,
˙ and

and 38 (denial of Irjā ’), both texts in Abū Hanı̄ fa (attr.), al-ʿĀ lim wa al-mutaʿallim. On the
attribution of these and other texts see Wensinck, ˙ The Muslim Creed, chs. 6, 7, and 8;
Givony, ‘The Murji’a and the Theological School of Abū Hanı̄ fa’, 117–21; Rudolph, al-
Mā turı̄ dı̄ and the Development of Sunnı̄ Theology, 28 ff.; ˙Schacht, ‘An Early Murc’ite
Treatise’.
143
Al-Tahā wı̄ , al-ʿAqı̄ da al-Tahā wiyya, 5.
144
Al-T ˙ ah˙ ā wı̄ , al-ʿAqı̄ da al-T
˙ ah
˙ ā wiyya, 5. My numbering of the articles follows Watt,
˙ ˙ Creeds, 48–56. I have
Islamic ˙ ˙ modified some of his translations.
145
Al-Tahā wı̄ , al-ʿAqı̄ da al-Tahā wiyya, 9. 146 Al-Tahā wı̄ , al-ʿAqı̄ da al-Tahā wiyya, 11.
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
240 Religion and Society

sectarianism.’147 We shall have occasion in Chapter 10 to say more about

the role of theology and creed, including al-Tahā wı̄ ’s, in the writings of
Hanafı̄ s seeking to represent majoritarian Sunni ˙ ˙ orthodoxy. For the pre-
˙
sent, I should like to note that these theological charges dominated discus-
sions in tenth–eleventh-century heresiographical texts, and non-Hanafı̄
˙
works of theology were also categorical about Abū Hanı̄ fa’s sound, Sunni
148 ˙
theological orthodoxy.
Al-Ashʿarı̄ (d. 324/935–6) counts Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers as one of
˙
the sects of the Murji’a.149 In al-Ibā na, however, he cites contradictory
material concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s theological views. In a number of places
˙
al-Ashʿarı̄ cites reports describing Abū Hanı̄ fa as a polytheist because he
˙
believed the Quran was created.150 Al-Ashʿarı̄ himself is entirely unmoved
by such accusations. On one occasion, he declares: ‘How utterly impossible
for the great imam Abū Hanı̄ fa to have held such a doctrine. It is a lie and
˙
falsehood, because Abū Hanı̄ fa belongs to the very best of ahl al-sunna.’151
˙
After citing a report alleging that Abū Hanı̄ fa was forced to repent from
˙
heresy but then started preaching that same heresy to others, al-Ashʿarı̄
writes, ‘What a pure lie against Abū Hanı̄ fa.’152 Abū Hanı̄ fa then appears in
˙
a list of proto-Sunni traditionalist scholars ˙ as heretics anyone
who declared
espousing the doctrine of a created Quran.153 ʿAbd al-Qā hir al-Baghdā dı̄
(d. 429/1037) adopts a similar tone to that of al-Ashʿarı̄ . He regards Abū
Hanı̄ fa as one of the jurists of the Muslims.154 He raises the issue of Abū
˙
147
Al-Tahā wı̄ , al-ʿAqı̄ da al-Tahā wiyya, 11.
148 ˙ ˙ beginning of this˙ study
At the ˙ I signalled my scepticism regarding the utility of here-
siographical sources to permit a detailed historical reconstruction of change over time in
discourses of heresy and orthodoxy. I do not intend to repudiate this view here. As sources
for the historical development of religious and political trends across the ninth and tenth
centuries, creeds and heresiographical works are notoriously inscrutable. Credal formula-
tions are characteristically laconic, whilst heresiographical works observe formulaic and
schematic structures. The internal material of early creeds seldom exhibits allusions to
historical persons, political circumstances, and contemporary events. Heresiographers
make bolder claims to historical documentation, but their commitment to confessional
legitimisation raises a different set of problems for historians. Furthermore, the discourses
of heresy studied in Chapters 2 and 3 are done so on the basis of ninth–tenth-century
sources, whereas the heresiographical sources date from the tenth–eleventh centuries. Put
simply, the effort to reconstruct the vicissitudes of political, social, and religious history from
heresiographical and doxographical works alone can be unrewarding. Nevertheless, it is
important to present an overview of this material to gain a better understanding of how Abū
Hanı̄ fa was portrayed as an adherent of deviant theology.
149 ˙
Al-Ashʿarı̄ , Maqā lā t al-Islā miyyı̄ n, ed. H. Ritter (Istanbul: Devlet Matbaasi, 1929–30),
138–9.
150
Al-Ashʿarı̄ , al-Ibā na ʿan usū l al-diyā na, ed. ʿAbbā s Sabbā gh (Beirut: Dā r al-Nafā ’is,
1994), 77–8. ˙ ˙
151
Al-Ashʿarı̄ , al-Ibā na, 78. 152 Al-Ashʿarı̄ , al-Ibā na, 78.
153
Al-Ashʿarı̄ , al-Ibā na, 82–3.
154
ʿAbd al-Qā hir al-Baghdā dı̄ , Kitā b al-Milal wa nihal, ed. Nasrı̄ Nā dir (Beirut: Dā r al-
Machreq, 1982), 139–40, 100, 156. ˙ ˙
 7.4 Piety 241

Hanı̄ fa more than once in his treatment of the Murji’a but dissociates him
˙
from any problematic Murji’ı̄ doctrines.155
The primary focus of these heresiographical texts is on questions of
doctrinal theology. In the main, they exculpate Abū Hanı̄ fa from charges
˙
of deviance and heresy; and so they do not provide the full range of
discourses of heresy found outside firaq works. The mnemohistory we
see in these texts is, therefore, a partial one. But this is not their most
serious shortcoming. Firaq texts furnish a view of medieval Sunni ortho-
doxy at the end of a long and arduous process. The approach taken in this
study has been to examine a disparate pool of sources, both broader and
earlier than the heresiographical literature, to understand the evolution of
medieval Sunni orthodoxy as a process and not as a legal or theological
category.

7.4 Piety
Piety was a fundamental virtue for the proto-Sunni community at large,
and for the proto-Sunni traditionalist movement in particular. There was
certainly a spectrum of pious expression, ranging from an unremitting
seriousness to a less disciplined mode of piety, and as long as one
remained within this one could avoid extreme censure.156 Proto-Sunni
traditionalists understood how central piety and the observance of reli-
gious norms were to the construction of orthodoxy. One way to ensure
that Abū Hanı̄ fa was jettisoned from a community of orthodoxy was to
˙
argue that his behaviour did not match up to the basic standards of
orthodoxy.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists began with his lived example. They nur-
tured suspicions regarding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious orthodoxy by attacking
˙
his performance of the ritual prayer. We have already seen how his
opponents had expressed their disapproval of the way in which Abū
Hanı̄ fa himself prayed and how he instructed his students to pray,
˙
which centred on the raising of the hands in prayer. Proto-Sunni tradi-
tionalists contended that the problem went deeper and complained that
when they performed their prayers behind Abū Hanı̄ fa something made
them feel perturbed.157 In fact, there was a general˙ concern among proto-
Sunni traditionalists about the decorum of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s prayer and piety,
˙
and they suggested that this spilled over into other aspects of his social life.
Particular concerns were raised about his religious study-circles and the
155
ʿAbd al-Qā hir al-Baghdā dı̄ , Kitā b al-Milal wa nihal, 140, 147 (Dirā riyya); ʿAbd al-Qā hir
al-Baghdā dı̄ , al-Farq bayn al-firaq, 203. ˙ ˙
156
See now the articles on piety gathered in Melchert, Hadith, Piety, and Law, 119–236.
157
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 572–3.
˙
242 Religion and Society

way they were conducted. Onlookers observed that when Abū Hanı̄ fa was
˙
presiding over lessons in the mosque there would be laughter and people
158
would be raising their voices. Others were affronted by more serious
charges, namely, that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s lessons would go on without their
˙
being any praise for the Prophet Muhammad.159 Proto-Sunni tradition-
˙
alists made these allegations because they wanted to sketch a portrait of
a deviant and heretical figure. They saw Abū Hanı̄ fa as a man who failed
˙
to live up to the acceptable standards of proto-Sunni traditionalists.
They even used his death as an occasion to publicise the consensus of
the proto-Sunni traditionalist community concerning his religious ortho-
doxy. The death of a scholar was supposed to be a moment of sober
reflection on their contributions, an opportunity to seek God’s forgive-
ness on their behalf, and to wish them well in the hereafter. There was
a different protocol, however, for people who were cast as deviants and
heretics. In the case of Abū Hanı̄ fa, proto-Sunni traditionalists purported
˙
to document the instant reactions of leading members of their textual
community to the news that Abū Hanı̄ fa had passed away. When Sufyā n
˙
al-Thawrı̄ heard the news of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s death, proto-Sunni tradition-
alists of the ninth century reported ˙him as having exclaimed: ‘Praise be to
God who has relieved the Muslims of him [Abū Hanı̄ fa]. He had been
˙
destroying systematically the foundations of Islam. No birth was more
harmful (ash’am) to Islam than his.’160 The same is reported on the
authority of Mā lik b. Anas: ‘No one was born in Islam whose birth was
more harmful to the Muslims than that of Abū Hanı̄ fa.’ The report
˙
continues:
Mā lik b. Anas would condemn speculative jurisprudence. He would say, ‘We
must adhere to the reports of the messenger of God, may God bless him and grant
him peace, and the reports of his Companions. We cannot adhere to speculative
jurisprudence, for it produces a situation whereby if someone comes along who is
stronger in speculative jurisprudence, then one must adhere to him. We would
have a situation whereby whenever someone comes along who displays a stronger
grasp of speculative jurisprudence than you, you would be forced to follow him.
The matter would continue in this [absurd] manner.’161
We find al-Fasawı̄ ’s history again cited the following view: ‘No one
initiated more evil in Islam than Abū Hanı̄ fa except so and so who was
˙
crucified.’162 This particular expression of celebration at the death of Abū

158
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 216.
159
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ah˙ mad b. H ˙ anbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 213–14.
160
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b˙ al-Maʿrifa
˙ wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 785–6.
161
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 790.
162
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 783; al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 13: 396–7. ˙
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 243

Hanı̄ fa because it saw the elimination of a scholar whose heretical ideas

˙
had caused irreparable damage to the Muslim community is a regular
feature in some of the most important ninth- and tenth-century texts
written by proto-Sunni traditionalists.163
That proto-Sunni traditionalists were relentless in their pursuit of
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa can be discerned from the fact
˙
that they were not content to stop at his death. Even his funeral became
a pretext for highlighting his remoteness from proto-Sunni traditionalist
orthodoxy. Bishr b. Abı̄ al-Azhar al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ told ʿAlı̄ b. al-Madı̄ nı̄
about a dream he had seen of a funeral where the coffin was draped in
white cloth and was encircled by priests. In the dream, Bishr asked,
‘Whose funeral is this?’ He was told: ‘This is Abū Hanı̄ fa’s funeral.’
˙
Bishr told a leading proto-Hanafı̄ , Abū Yū suf, about this dream. Abū
˙
Yū suf instructed him not to relate this dream to anyone.164

7.5 Sociology of Heresy

I have attempted in a number of places to emphasise the social dimen-
sions of orthodoxy and discourses of heresy. In Chapters 2 and 3
I detailed the ways in which proto-Sunni traditionalists formed both
a textual community and a social community of the learned.
I documented the circulation of discourses of heresy in various social
encounters and settings among proto-Sunni traditionalists. This pro-
vided an opportunity to draw attention to the promulgators of these
discourses: the agents of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy.
Chapters 4 (regionalism), 5 (ethnogenesis), and 6 (politics) studied the
wider social sphere in which discourses of heresy flourished. In closing
this chapter on religion I should like to argue that heresy was implicated
not only in the social life of medieval Muslims but in the very attitudes
towards social life and ways of living in communities and societies.
Notions of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam were accompanied
by a set of moral social codes governing and restricting social interaction
with heretics. There was a salient social dimension to discourses of heresy
and conceptions of orthodox communities. When Max Weber wrote in
his seminal essay, ‘Prophecy has created a new social community, par-
ticularly where it became a soteriological religion of congregations,’ he
was merely scratching the surface concerning how groups organise the
work of salvation in this world.165 This section shall highlight the social
163
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 783; al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 4: 209. ˙
164
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 784.
165
Weber, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, 329.
244 Religion and Society

mechanisms that proto-Sunni traditionalist communities used to regu-

late, isolate, mock, test, and marginalise those they considered to be
deviants and heretics.
Strategies of exclusion are described in a number of theoretical anti-
heresy treatises composed from the middle of the ninth century onwards.
One could comb these texts to present a catalogue of social attitudes to
heretics. However, anti-heresy treatises do not always speak of specific
cases and circumstances, and the reader of these works runs the risk of
reading theory and mistaking it for practice. It is more pertinent for our
purposes to show how proto-Sunni traditionalists, in their own writings,
used discourses of heresy to marginalise Abū Hanı̄ fa and attempt to
˙
isolate his memory among societies and communities in the medieval
Islamic world. A social history of heresy and orthodoxy has to go beyond
theoretical disquisitions by placing the latter alongside specific instances
and social strategies.

A Community of Heretics
Proto-Sunni traditionalists conceived of heresy as a social phenomenon.
The state’s marginal role in the direct articulation and enforcement of
religious orthodoxy, in addition to the absence of any ecclesiastical social
structure or institution, meant that the task of regulating orthodoxy and
heresy in the social life of Muslim communities rested with an informal
network of learned communities.166 One of these communities, the
proto-Sunni traditionalists, developed a fairly consistent social vision of
how orthodoxy could be articulated and maintained. It was a vision that
focused on how heresy might be suppressed and marginalised. A close
study of discourses of heresy targeted towards Abū Hanı̄ fa reveals the
˙
extent to which sociological and anthropological concerns – how societies
and individuals behave and interact – lay at the heart of proto-Sunni
conceptions of orthodoxy and heresy.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists knew that Islam was a social religion, and
their vision of heresy and heretics was informed explicitly by an awareness
of this fact. They described heretics not as isolated and solitary individ-
uals but rather as constituting a social community of heretics and deviants
capable of, and indeed seeking to, disseminate their ideas across a wide
spectrum of society. We have already observed, for instance, that when
proto-Sunni traditionalists explained the spread of ideas they deemed to

166
Occasionally, the state’s qadis were called upon to regulate orthodoxy. The execution of
Mansū r al-Hallā j is the most well-known example. See Massignon, The Passion of al-
˙ 1: 277–8.
Hallaj, ˙ See also Tillier, ‘Qā dı̄ s and the Political Use’, 57–9.
˙
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 245

be deviant, such as ra’y, they did so by drawing attention to three religious

scholars and their shared ethnic, genealogical, and social status, as well as
their prominence in some of the key provinces of the early Islamic empire.
Heresy as a social movement conveyed a more ominous image than the
heresy of single individuals. It was important for proto-Sunni traditional-
ists to argue that different heresies were connected and that heresiarchs,
far apart though they might be, constituted a network. This technique is
noticeable, too, in proto-Sunni traditionalist attempts to suggest that Abū
Hanı̄ fa was a close associate of the heresiarch Jahm b. Safwā n. In his al-
˙ ˙
Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat al-Bukhā rı̄ alludes to the kind of relationship the two men
˙
might have had. Al-Bukhā rı̄ writes: 167

I heard Ismā ʿı̄ l b. ʿUrʿura say that Abū Hanı̄ fa said: ‘The wife of Jahm [b. Safwā n]
came to us here, and she educated our˙ women (addabat nisā ’ana).’ I heard ˙ al-
̄
Dā rimı̄ say that Abū ʿAsim was asked: ‘Was she intelligible (kā nat fası̄ ha)?’ He
said: ‘By God, certainly˙not. [She spoke] only with a stammering and˙ ˙defective
speech (lā wa Allā hi illā lathghā ’ laknā ’).’
Proto-Sunni traditionalists imagined a deep level of affinity between the
two men. They saw this as a relationship that went beyond any doctrinal
convergence of Abū Hanı̄ fa and Jahm b. Safwā n’s views. Abū Hanı̄ fa is
˙ ˙ ˙
depicted as the informal head of a religious community who oversees the
religious education of its womenfolk. He is portrayed as being comfort-
able with Jahm b. Safwā n’s wife visiting and educating them. Jahm
˙
b. Safwā n’s wife, it seems, had established a reputation for her religious
˙
views and interventions. When al-Asmaʿı̄ , the philologist, heard that
Jahm b. Safwā n’s wife had described God and his throne as being con-
˙
fined entities (mahdū d), he declared that this statement made her an
˙
unbeliever.168
This was not the only work of al-Bukhā rı̄ ’s to discuss Jahm b. Safwā n.
˙
In Khalq afʿā l al-ʿibā d wa al-radd ʿalā al-jahmiyya wa ashā b al-taʿtı̄ l, al-
Bukhā rı̄ explains that he was privy to information that Jahm b. S˙afwā n
˙ ˙
˙
abandoned the obligatory ritual prayer for forty days, and that this doubt
stemmed from his discussions with the Sumaniyya – Buddhists from
Khurā sā n.169 Proto-Sunni traditionalists believed that the friendship

167
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, 2: 37 (al-Luhaydā n edn.); al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ,
Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 514. ˙ ˙ ˙
168
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Mukhtasar al-ʿulū w li al-ʿalı̄ al-ghaffā r, ed. Muhammad Nā sir al-Dı̄ n al-
˙
Albā nı̄ (Damascus: al-Maktab al-Islā mı̄ , 1981), 170–1. ˙ ˙
169
Al-Bukhā rı̄ , Khalq afʿā l al-ʿibā d ( Mu’assasat al-Risā la edn.), 9(qā la Damra ʿan Ibn
Shawdhab: taraka al-Jahm al-salā t arbaʿı̄ n yawman ʿalā wajh al-shakk˙ fa khā samahu
baʿd al-sumaniyya, fa shakka fa ˙ aqā ma arbaʿı̄ na yawm lā yusallı̄ . Qā la Damra:˙wa qad
ra’ā˙ hu Ibn Shawdhab). On Jahm and the Sumaniyya see al-Malat ˙ ı̄ , Kitā b al-Tanbı̄
˙ h wa al-
˙
radd ʿalā ahl al-ahwā ’ wa al-bidaʿ, ed. S. Dedering (Istanbul: Matbaʿat al-Dawla, 1936),
˙
246 Religion and Society

between Abū Hanı̄ fa and Jahm b. Safwā n extended beyond just a concern
˙ ˙
for one another. Abū al-Akhnas al-Kinā nı̄ reported that he had it on the
authority of a trustworthy man that he saw Abū Hanı̄ fa holding the camel
˙
halter of the coffin carrying the women of Jahm b. Safwā n, which had
˙
been transported from Khurā sā n. Abū Hanı̄ fa led the camel and walked it
170 ˙
Proto-Sunni traditionalists insisted that there was
through Kufa.
a cross-fertilisation of ideas and teachings between Jahm b. Safwā n and
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s community, which the latter seemingly welcomed. The
˙
spread of religious ideas did not always depend on formal instruction
between (male) scholars and students. Concepts and beliefs travelled
through personal networks and communities. Social relations were con-
duits for religious ideas. The controversy surrounding the status of lafz al-
˙
Qur’ā n was, in the view of proto-Sunni traditionalists, another instance in
which Abū Hanı̄ fa and Jahm b. Safwā n were deemed to have shared
˙ ˙
heretical ideas.
One of the most ardent spokespersons of proto-Sunni traditionalism was
cognisant of the convergence of ideas found in these two men. Ibn
Qutayba’s treatise Ikhtilā f fı̄ al-lafz wa al-radd ʿalā al-Jahmiyya wa al-
mushabbiha addresses a number of˙theological controversies and compet-
ing groups of his day. One of its sections is dedicated to clarifying the
ontological status of the recital and pronunciation of the Quran. He begins
this section by acknowledging the existence of contradictory reports circu-
lating in his lifetime about the views of proto-Sunni traditionalists (ahl al-
hadı̄ th). He then turns to the question of the origins of this theological
˙
controversy. A decisive turning point, he argues, was the intervention of
Jahm b. Safwā n and Abū Hanı̄ fa. These two figures, he contends, were the
˙
first scholars who began to˙ discuss such theological issues concerning the
Quran. ‘Prior to their intervention,’ Ibn Qutayba states, ‘such theological
problems had not circulated among the people, they were unknown, and it
was not from among the things that people discussed.’171 What Ibn
Qutayba presents here is a superficial connection between Jahm
b. Safwā n and Abū Hanı̄ fa. The burden of blame for this sharp and bitter
˙ ˙
theological controversy is assigned to two notable individuals, both of
whom were placed outside the proto-Sunni traditionalist community.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists were relentless in their pursuit of the
connections between Abū Hanı̄ fa and Jahm b. Safwā n. For them, Abū
˙ ˙

77 ff.; van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, 2: 493–508, 503–4; Crone, ‘al-Jā hiz on Ashā b
al-Jahā lā t and the Jahmiyya’; Crone, The Iranian Reception of Islam, ch 9. ˙ ˙ ˙˙
170
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 514.
171 ˙
Ibn Qutayba, al-Ikhtilā f fı̄ al-lafz wa al-radd ʿalā al-jahmiyya wa al-mushabbiha, ed.
Muhammad Zā hid al-Kawtharı̄ ˙(Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Azhariyya li al-Turā th, 2001),
40–1˙ = ed. ʿUmar b. Mahmū d b. ʿUmar (Riyadh: Dā r al-Rā yya, 1991), 60–1.
˙
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 247

Hanı̄ fa and Jahm b. Safwā n were not simply arch-heresiarchs who knew
˙ ˙
each other and had some overlapping beliefs. The Kitā b al-Sunna of
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal alleges that Abū Yū suf confirmed that
˙ ˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa was a follower of Jahm b. Safwā n’s doctrines. One report,
˙ ˙
set in the region of Jurjā n, states that Abū Hanı̄ fa died as a Jahmı̄ .172
This anecdote was preserved by ʿAbd Allā h b.˙ Hanbal, but it also found
˙
a place in a local biographical dictionary of Jurjā n.173 Also originating
from Jurjā n was the claim that when asked about Abū Hanı̄ fa, Abū
˙
Yū suf responded brusquely, ‘Why do you concern yourself with him,
he died a Jahmı̄ .’ 174
In another report, when Abū Yū suf was asked
whether or not Abū Hanı̄ fa followed the doctrines of Jahm b. Safwā n,
˙ ˙
he replied in the affirmative.175 Abū Yū suf was then asked to explain his
relationship to Abū Hanı̄ fa. ‘He was a teacher,’ Abū Yū suf said, ‘we
˙
accepted those of his teachings which were correct and we rejected
whatever we considered to be abhorrent.’176 There were also claims
that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s adoption of Jahm b. Safwā n’s doctrines was based
˙ ˙
on his reading of the latter’s books, which were brought to Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
from Khurā sā n. All of this points to a discernible discourse of heresy
targeted towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers in Jurjā n – one that was
˙
memorialised in the city’s local histories.177
It bears reminding that the historicity of these reports is not the subject
of this section, let alone this monograph. It is instructive enough for our
purposes that ninth-century proto-Sunni traditionalists projected an
image of a network of heretics forming a closely knit community. There
is, however, a political dimension to reports attempting to connect Abū
Hanı̄ fa and Jahm b. Safwā n, and this is worth mentioning in so far as it
˙
might ˙
furnish some indications of how proto-Sunni traditionalists came
to be convinced of a connection between these two individuals. What Abū
Hanı̄ fa and Jahm b. Safwā n shared was, in fact, an involvement in the life
˙ ˙
and career of al-Hā rith b. Surayj, a subject discussed briefly in Chapter 6.
˙
There we analysed Abū Hanı̄ fa’s contribution to securing an amnesty for
˙
al-Hā rith b. Surayj. What was not mentioned was that Jahm b. Safwā n
˙ ˙
172
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 181 ([chain of transmission:] I asked
Abū Yū suf when˙he was in˙Jurjā n about Abū Hanı̄ fa. He replied: ‘What do you want with
him? He died as a Jahmı̄ .’). ˙
173
Al-Sahmı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Jurjā n, 219. Abū Yū suf’s time in Jurjā n is discussed elsewhere in al-
Sahmı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Jurjā n, 282, 372, 487.
174
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 513.
175
ʿAbd Alla˙ ̄ h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 191 (a kā na Abū Hanı̄ fa yaqū l bi qawl
˙
Jahm? Fa qā la: naʿam). ˙ ˙
176
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 512–13.
177
ʿAbd Alla˙ ̄ h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 183 (Ahmad b. Ibrā hı̄ m < Khā lid
b. Khidā sh < ʿAbd ˙ al-Malik˙ b. Qarı̄ b al-Asmaʿı̄ < Hā zim al-T˙ afā wı̄ : Abū Hanı̄ fa innamā
kā na yaʿmal bi kutub Jahm). ˙ ˙ ˙
248 Religion and Society

played a pivotal role in al-Hā rith b. Surayj’s career.178 He served as al-

˙
Hā rith b. al-Surayj’s secretary.179 In 128/745 Jahm b. Safwā n was
appointed by al-Hā rith b. Surayj to represent him in the˙ arbitration
˙
˙
settlement with the governor of Khurā sā n, Nasr b. Sayyā r.180 In the
˙
end, Jahm b. Safwā n died defending al-Hā rith b. Surayj.181
˙ ˙
Whatever the nature of their relationship, we can be sure that it was
a complicated one. They were connected through their relationship with
al-Hā rith b. Surayj. Both Jahm b. Safwā n and Abū Hanı̄ fa had students and
˙ ˙ ˙
disciples in Khurā sā n, Balkh, and Tukhā ristā n who were known to have had
˙
Murji’ı̄ sympathies. Murji’ı̄ doctrines, in turn, were considered to have been
an important ingredient of al-Hā rith b. Surayj’s revolt. Furthermore, both
˙
Jahm and Abū Hanı̄ fa were renowned for their interventions in theological
˙
and doctrinal issues. Proto-Sunni traditionalists insisted on the social and
intellectual proximity between them, although some proto-Hanafı̄ s were
˙
adamantly opposed to such a suggestion. According to Abū Yū suf, Abū
Hanı̄ fa condemned Jahm b. Safwā n and criticised his doctrines.182 Abū
H˙ anı̄ fa himself was quoted as ˙having called Jahm b. Safwā n an unbeliever
˙ ˙
(kā fir).183 He was also reported to have decried the emergence in Khurā sā n
of Jahm b. Safwā n and Muqā til b. Sulaymā n, describing them as the very
˙
worst of people.184 The contradictory nature of these reports is very illumin-
ating in that it points to the potency of the notion of a community of heretics
in the eighth and ninth centuries. Proto-Sunni traditionalists were intent on
documenting the close relations between Abū Hanı̄ fa and Jahm because
˙
they believed religious deviance was not a solitary enterprise. It was the work
of communities, networks, and parties sympathetic to each other’s religious
views. When proto-Hanafı̄ s (and proto-Sunnis) of the ninth and tenth
centuries categorically˙ denied any affinity between Abū Hanı̄ fa and Jahm
˙
b. Safwā n, they did so because they, too, appreciated the explanatory power
˙
that the argument from community carried.

Social Strategies of Exclusion

The awareness among proto-Sunni traditionalists of heretics forming
a coalition precipitated the growth of a number of strategies designed to
marginalise deviants and heretics from the social life of medieval Islamic

178
Al-Balā dhurı̄ , Ansā b al-ashrā f [Tatimmat Himyar b. Sabā ’], 25: 54, 57, 59.
179
Al-Tabarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 1918–19. 180 Al-T ˙ abarı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 1919.
181 ˙
Gardı̄ zı̄ , Zayn al-akhbā r, 262. ˙
182
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 514.
183
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 514–15.
184
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 514; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-
tahdhı̄ b,˙ 10: 281. ˙
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 249

communities. Proto-Sunni traditionalists found in the language of disease

a convenient and powerful metaphor for the deadly impact that heresy
had on society. The work of Robert Moore has shown that the language of
disease was an essential ingredient of heresy-making discourses.185
Moore argued that the language of disease was more than simply
a convenient metaphor for heresy. It provided a systematic model of
heresy and how it worked grounded in then-current beliefs about disease.
Ideas about heresy were rooted in the realities of social life. Heresies could
spread like disease and infection, and their consequences were violent and
fatal.186 Remaining immune to the ideas and vicinity of heretics was at
least as important as ensuring one’s immunity from physical ailments.
Ibn Waddā h’s treatise on heresy invokes the metaphor on two occa-
˙˙ ˙
sions in the course of highlighting the dangers of mixing with the people of
heresy. People were advised not to sit with a heretic because he could
poison their hearts (yumarrid qalbak).187 The way to protect one’s religion
was to withdraw from mixing ˙ with rulers and sitting with the people of
heresy. Those who exposed themselves to the company of rulers (al-
sultā n) or heretics (ashā b al-ahwā ’) risked certain infection by the disease
˙ plagued these two
that ˙ ˙ groups of people (alsaqu min al-jarab).188 It was
˙
literally ‘more contagious than mange’. Even groups engaging in religious
debate were seen as a threat to the social fabric of medieval life. One
observer of a group of people debating among themselves rose up, dusted
the dirt off his clothes, and departed. Before leaving, he described them as
human parasites (innamā antum jarab, innamā antum jarab).189
Employing the language of disease to describe the work of heresy
became a persistent feature of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
Al-Fasawı̄ ’s history mentions a conversation between Kaʿb al-Ahba ˙ ̄ r and
˙
Shamr, in which the latter communicates his desire to travel to Iraq
(arā da ʿUmar an ya’tiya al-ʿIrā q). Kaʿb does not like the sound of this
and responds with an ominous description of Iraq: ‘There you will cer-
tainly find rebels against the truth and every kind of incurable disease
(inna bihā ʿusā t al-haqq wa kullu dā ’ ʿudā l).’ Kaʿb and Shamr’s conversa-
˙ ˙ ˙
tion, it seems, was part of a wider discussion among a small group of
people, for the report adds that ‘someone asked Kaʿb what the incurable
disease was’. ‘Different heresies for which no cure exists (fa qı̄ la lahu: mā
al-dā ’ al-ʿudā l? qā la: ahwā ’ mukhtalifa laysa lahā shifā ’),’ Kaʿb added.190
Here, Kaʿb˙ employs the discourse of heresy and disease to dissuade

185
Moore, ‘Heresy as Disease’. 186 On this theme see Stearns, Infectious Ideas.
187
Ibn Waddā h, Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 192. 188 Ibn Waddā h, Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 194.
189
Ibn Wad˙ d˙ ā h˙ , Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 196. ˙˙ ˙
190 ˙ ˙ , ˙ Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 751; Muhammad Zakariyyā ’ al-
Al-Fasawı̄
˙ Dā r al-Qalam, 2003),
Kā ndahlawı̄ , Awjaz al-Masā lik ilā Muwattā ’ Mā lik (Damascus:
˙˙
250 Religion and Society

Shamr from going to Iraq, citing as factors the place’s hosting of sedition,
falsehood, and any number of heresies. We cannot be certain whether or
not Shamr heeded Kaʿb’s counsel about the unholiness of Kufa. But we
must reckon with the likelihood that this type of exercise in persuasion
had the potential to grow in a period in which regional divisions were
beginning to mark differences in Islamic law, ritual, and political allegi-
ances. The language of disease and heresy was weaponised in regional
rivalries. As we saw in Chapter 4, al-Fasawı̄ is determined to portray Kufa
as a land of heresy and unbelief. Kufa is portrayed as a city where the devil
resides, heretics flourish, and diseases proliferate. The city of Medina,
meanwhile, is the one city where the plague shall never enter.191 It is also
the one city wherein the anti-Christ shall never enter.192
Kaʿb al-Ahbā r was not the only scholar to describe Kufa as a repository
˙
of incurable diseases. One of Medina’s leading spokespersons, Mā lik
b. Anas, was reported to have been more specific than Kaʿb on the
issue. ‘The incurable disease’, he said, ‘was the destruction of the faith,
and Abū Hanı̄ fa was of the incurable diseases.’193 Mā lik b. Anas was also
˙ expressed his disbelief at the fact that the people of Kufa were
said to have
so hospitable to Abū Hanı̄ fa and had not thrown him out of the city.194
˙
Other proto-Sunni traditionalists came to a similar conclusion about the
ominous ‘incurable disease’:195
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal > Mutrif al-Yasā rı̄ al-Asamm > Mā lik b. Anas
˙ disease
said: ‘The incurable ˙ is the destruction
˙ of faith. Abū ˙ Hanı̄ fa is the incurable
disease.’196 ˙
Ibn ʿAdı̄ > Ibn Abı̄ Dā wū d > al-Rabı̄ ʿ b. Sulaymā n al-Jı̄ zı̄ > al-Hā rith b. Miskı̄ n >
Ibn al-Qā sim > Mā lik said: ‘The incurable disease is the destruction ˙ of faith, and Abū
Hanı̄ fa is [one manifestation] of the incurable disease.’197
˙
According to the historian of early Muslim judges Wakı̄ ʿ b. Jarrā h, this
˙
kind of discourse came to the knowledge of the caliph al-Ma’mū n. Wakı̄ ʿ

17: 355–61; Abū Bakr b. al-ʿArabı̄ , Kitā b al-Qabas fı̄ sharh Muwattā ’ Mā lik b. Anas, ed.
Muhammad ʿAbd Allā h Wuld Karı̄ m (Beirut: Dā r al-Gharb ˙ ˙˙ ̄ mı̄ , 1992), 1: 1150.
al-Isla
191 ˙
Al-Samhu ̄ dı̄ , Wafā ’ al-wafā bi akhbā r dā r al-mustafā , ed. Muhammad Muhyı̄ al-Dı̄ n
ʿAbd al-Hamı̄ d (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, ˙˙ n.d.), 1: ˙61–7 = ed. Qa ˙ ̄ sim al-
Sā marrā ’ı̄˙ (London: Mu’assasat al-Furqā n li al-Turā th al-Islā mı̄ , 2001), 1: 144–52.
192
Al-Samhū dı̄ , Wafā ’ al-wafā , 1: 144 ff. (al-Sā marrā ’ı̄ edn.) in the chapter fı̄ ʿismatihā min
al-dajjā l wa al-tā ʿū n. ˙
193 ˙
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 507, 751; al-Bukhā rı̄ , Kitā b Rafʿ al-yadayn, 17–18.
194
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 224; Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil fı̄ al-duʿafā ’ al-
rijā l, 7: 2473 (Da ˙ ̄ r al-Fikr˙ edn.). ˙
195
Abū al-Walı̄ d al-Bā jı̄ , al-Muntaqā sharh Muwattā ’ (Cairo: Dā r al-Saʿā da, 1914), 7:
299–300 states this as one possible interpretation ˙ ˙˙ of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers
(Abū Hanı̄ fa wa ashā bihi) but then proceeds to dismiss it as unreliable. ˙
196
ʿAbd Alla ˙ ̄ h b. Ah˙mad ˙ b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 223.
197
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā m˙ il fı̄ al-duʿafā
˙ ’ al-rijā l, 8: 236–7 (ʿAbd al-Mawjū d edn.).
˙
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 251

mentions that a group of scholars were sitting when one of them men-
tioned the hadı̄ th report that neither the plague nor the anti-Christ shall
˙ At this point, someone added, ‘and neither the ra’y of Abū
enter Medina.
Hanı̄ fa’. This was mentioned to the Hanafı̄ judge Yahyā b. Aktham, who
˙ ˙ ˙
informed al-Ma’mū n about this. When a Hanafı̄ judge was finally
˙
appointed to Medina, al-Ma’mū n said: ‘It has happened, the legal doc-
trine (qawl) of Abū Hanı̄ fa has entered Medina.’198 Proto-Sunni tradi-
tionalists understood˙ the weight of (mis-)attributing hostile remarks
about Abū Hanı̄ fa to Mā lik b. Anas, and began to disseminate them
˙
among colleagues in the ninth century. References to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legal
doctrine not entering into Medina reflect later, ninth-century ˙ jurispru-
dential conflicts and seem to be a convenient addition to an otherwise
widely reported idea about neither the plague nor the anti-Christ being
present in Medina. Such discourses spread far and wide, even to the
caliphal court, inspiring the ʿAbbā sid caliph to provide his own commen-
tary of ninth-century polemics.
The resonance of the language of disease in heresiological discourses
during the ninth–tenth centuries presents us with more than just another
strategy for dismissing scholars as heretics and deviants. The written
sources that perpetuate these kinds of heresiological discourses mirrored
the development of another critical group of writings in the ninth century.
Systematic works treating plagues and diseases were produced in the
ninth century, detailing plagues and epidemics in the medieval Middle
East. The acute and graphic descriptions of heretics and their beliefs seem
to have occurred at a time when the Muslim community was beginning to
confront and deal with these deadly scourges. The vivid and deadly
consequences of such epidemics seem to acquire expression in the ways
in which proto-Sunni traditionalists articulated their opposition to those
they deemed to be heretics.199
Regulating orthodoxy and disciplining heresy through language was
not always enough. More robust action was sometimes required. Proto-
Sunni traditionalists developed a set of moral codes and social

198
Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 1: 259–60.
199
On plagues and diseases˙ from the seventh–ninth centuries see Conrad, ‘The Plague in
the Early Medieval Near East’, 247–311; Conrad, ‘Arabic Plague Chronologies and
Treatises’; Conrad, ‘A Ninth-Century Muslim Scholar’s Discussion of Contagion’;
Conrad, ‘ʿUmar at Sargh’; Dols, The Black Death in the Middle East. For some primary
source material on late seventh- and eighth-century plagues see John bar Penkā yē ’s
description of the plague of 686 in northern Iraq in Mingana (ed. and trans.), Sources
syriaques, 159–67; and Brock, ‘North Mesopotamia in the Late Seventh Century’. The
Zū qnı̄ n chronicle discusses the plague of 743–5: see Anon., The Chronicle of Zū qnı̄ n,
168–74. On a succession of earthquakes and plagues in 713 see Palmer, The Seventh
Century, 45–6.
252 Religion and Society

conventions designed to suppress the influence of ideas they perceived as

deviant. The first and most important step was to exclude heretics and
deviants from one’s social environment. According to Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ ,
being in the company of a heretic left a person susceptible to at least one of
three calamities: he will become a trial for someone else; something will
settle in his heart, which will cause him to commit an error, and subse-
quently God will consign him to the hellfire; or he will say to himself, ‘By
God, I have no regard for what they say, for I am confident about myself.’
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ added, ‘Whoever feels secure about God even for the
blinking of an eye, God will deprive him of his religion.’200 Ibn Waddā h
was concerned with more than simply the prospect of sitting down ˙with ˙
the people of heresy. His treatise insists that if one happens to encounter
a person of heresy on the street, then one ought to take a different route
altogether.201 Ibn Waddā h also denounced the practice of debating with
˙˙ ˙
heretics.202 His treatise recounts the practice of proto-Sunni traditional-
ists ostracising those known to interact or speak with heretics. One man
reported that he happened to be walking with ʿAmr b. ʿUbayd, and Ibn
ʿAwn saw the two of them together. Thereafter, Ibn ʿAwn refused to
speak to the man for two months.203 Al-Barbahā rı̄ was notoriously hostile
towards heretics (ahl al-bidaʿ). Not only did he encourage Muslims to
refuse to converse with them, he also urged that they should not hear the
recital of the Quran from them.204
Others were forcibly removed or excluded from social and learned
circles on account of their perceived heresies. Muhammad b. al-Sā ’ib
˙
was told to stay away on account of his being a Murji’ı̄ .205 A similar story
is told about Ibrā hı̄ m b. Yū suf al-Balkhı̄ , one of a small group of Mā lik
b. Anas’s students from Balkh.206 We learn in al-Khalı̄ lı̄ ’s al-Irshā d how
his plans to study with Mā lik b. Anas were derailed by his fellow towns-
man, Qutayba b. Saʿı̄ d al-Balkhı̄ (d. 240/854).207 When Ibrā hı̄ m b. Yū suf
went to see Mā lik b. Anas, Qutayba b. Saʿı̄ d protested: ‘This man holds
the doctrine of the Iraqians concerning al-Irjā ’.’ Mā lik b. Anas, or

200
Ibn Waddā h, Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 192. 201 Ibn Waddā h, Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 193.
202
Ibn Wad˙ d˙ ā h˙ , Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 193. 203 Ibn Wad˙ d˙ ā h˙ , Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 195.
204 ˙ ˙ ̄ ˙rı̄ , Sharh Kitā b al-Sunna, 124–5 (al-Jumayzı̄
Al-Barbaha ˙ ˙ ˙ edn.) = ed. Khā lid b. Qā sim al-
Raddā dı̄ (Medina: ˙Maktabat al-Ghurabā ’ al-Athriyya, 1993), 128. There are minor and
major discrepancies between these editions. For now, al-Jumayzı̄ ’s edition has the final
word (14–18 for the catalogue of errors in previous editions); Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā , Tabaqā t al-
Hanā bila, 2: 18–43, 39 (al-Fiqı̄ edn.); Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni˙ Schools of
˙
Law, 152. Ibn Abı̄ Yaʿlā preserves an almost complete copy of al-Khallā l’s work, but the
entire text is available in the aforementioned editions of al-Barbahā rı̄ ’s work.
205
Ibn Waddā h, Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 196.
206
A number ˙ ˙ of˙ such students are listed in al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 274–8 (Riyadh edn.) = 80–1
(Cairo edn.).
207
See al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 935–8 (Riyadh edn.) = 445–7 (Cairo edn.).
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 253

possibly someone else who was present, grabbed him by the hand and
showed him the way out. In so doing, Mā lik b. Anas was perpetuating
a practice of social exclusion that was the norm in proto-Sunni tradition-
alist circles. When Ibrā hı̄ m b. Yū suf al-Balkhı̄ returned to his homeland,
Balkh, Qutayba b. Saʿı̄ d was on his case once again and had him banished
from Balkh. Ibrā hı̄ m b. Yū suf was forced to live in exile in Baghlā n.208
Proto-Sunni traditionalists such as Mā lik b. Anas were intransigent
when it came to marginalising those with heretical leanings. On
a separate occasion, ʿUmar b. Maymū n came to Mā lik b. Anas and
began to ask him some questions. Mā lik b. Anas responded angrily to
ʿUmar b. Maymū n’s line of questioning: ‘This is the speech of the heretics,’
he bellowed. Mā lik b. Anas threw him out of the lesson, although he later
forgave ʿUmar b. Maymū n for this transgression.209 This strategy of social
exclusion was not simply inflicted by proto-Sunni traditionalists upon
heretics and deviants. It was understood as a social and moral convention
beyond the proto-Sunni traditionalist community. Al-Fasawı̄ ’s ninth-
century History relates that a group of scholars and students were seated
in a study circle with Ayyū b al-Sakhtiyā nı̄ . Ayyū b began to speak about the
people of heresy, and maligned them. Suddenly, a man stood up and left
the gathering. ‘O Abū Bakr, this man is a heretic.’ Ayyū b had had no idea
about the man’s heresy, and it perturbed him deeply that the man probably
thought that Ayyū b’s diatribe was directed towards him personally.210
Marginalising and expelling deviants was a relentless but necessary activity,
whether it be from one’s town, one’s study-circle, or one’s home. Scholars
and students sat together and articulated their concerns about heretics.
Heretics were in their very midst. Discourses, diatribes, and forms of
denunciation proved to be good and efficient ways of marginalising them.
In his ninth-century credal work, al-Muzanı̄ wrote of the necessity of
Holding back on hereticising the people of the qibla and dissociating oneself from
their heretical innovations as long as they do not instigate a grave heretic error.
Whoever does innovate a grave heretical error is outside the people of the qibla and
becomes a heretic, having left the religion, and one becomes closer to God,
almighty and majestic, by dissociating from such a person. His heresy is to be
renounced (yuhjaru), scorned (yuhtaqaru), and avoided; for it is more harmful and
catching than a disease.211 ˙

208
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 277–8 (Riyadh edn.) = 81 (Cairo edn.). Another version of the
story is told by al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 937–8 (Riyadh edn.) = 446–7 (Cairo edn.) where we
are told of his important standing among the followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa.
209
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 943–4 (Riyadh edn.) = 450 (Cairo edn.). ˙
210
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 236 (wa kunnā fı̄ majlis Ayyū b fa dhakara ahl al-
ahwā ’, fa nā la minhum fa qā ma rajul min al-majlis, fa qı̄ la lahu: yā Abā Bakr, inna hā dhā ʿalā
hawā hu. Qā la: innā li Allā h, yazunnu innamā ʿarradnā lahu. Qā la: fa shaqqa dhā lika ʿalayhi.).
211
Al-Muzanı̄ , Sharh al-Sunna, ˙85. ˙
˙
254 Religion and Society

Proto-Sunni traditionalists also believed in seeking clarification with

respect to the doctrines of individuals. If they discovered particular scholars
adhering to abhorrent doctrines, they recommended that such scholars
keep their distance from them. ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal relates the
˙ ˙
following story from a man he considered to be reliable and trustworthy:
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ was heard as having once said to Hammā d b. Abı̄
˙
Sulaymā n: ‘Go and see that unbeliever, meaning Abū Hanı̄ fa, and tell
˙
him: “If you believe that the Quran is created, stay well away from us.”’212
If these were the social customs and norms for dealing with heretics, then
we should see them reflected in discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
Indeed, there seems to have been a concerted effort to implement ˙ the
sociological and spatial dimensions of orthodoxy with respect to Abū
Hanı̄ fa. Abū ʿUbayd al-Qā sim b. Sallā m said that he was sitting one day,
˙
with Aswad b. Sā lim beside him. The people in the group were discussing
a legal issue, to which he responded: ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa said such and such about
˙
this matter.’ Aswad b. Sā lim turned abruptly towards him and said: ‘How
dare you mention Abū Hanı̄ fa’s name in the mosque?’ Abū ʿUbayd added
˙
that thenceforth Aswad b. Sā lim never spoke to him until the day he
213
died. It was not simply in the mosque that some proto-Sunni tradition-
alists desisted from mentioning the name of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Sharı̄ k b. ʿAbd
˙
Allā h was reluctant even to mention his name. He deemed it a dishonour to
one’s lips.214 Al-Humaydı̄ , as we saw in Chapter 3, refused to mention Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa’s name even in the process of refuting him. He did this, apparently,
˙
because he disliked mentioning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s name in the sacred mosque
˙
of Mecca.215 The influential hadı̄ th scholar and historian Abū Zurʿa al-
˙
Dimashqı̄ highlights the way in which social and spatial distance from those
perceived as heretics was one way to inoculate oneself from their influence.
Abū Zurʿa tells us that Ayyū b al-Sakhtiyā nı̄ was once in Mecca – teaching
a class, presumably – when Abū Hanı̄ fa happened to enter the study-circle.
˙
Upon learning of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s presence, Ayyū b brought an end to pro-
˙
ceedings. ‘Stand up,’ he exclaimed to his students, ‘otherwise he will infect
us with his disease.’216
212
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 184 (ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAwn b. al-Kharrā z
Abū Muhammad˙ wa kā na˙ thiqa < Shaykh min ahl al-Kū fa < Qı̄ la li ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAwn:
huwa Abū ˙ al-Jahm, fa ka annahu aqarra annahu qā la: samiʿtu Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ yaqū l: qā la
lı̄ Hammā d b. Abı̄ Sulaymā n idhhab ilā al-kā fir yaʿnı̄ Abā Hanı̄ fa fa qul lahu: in kunta taqū l
anna˙ al-Qur’ā n makhlū q, fa lā taqrubnā [or tuqarribnā ].).˙
213
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-Sunna, 208 (kuntu jā lisan wa maʿanā Aswad
˙ mas’ala
b. Sā lim fa dhakarū ˙ fa qultu: inna Abā Hanı̄ fa yaqū l kayta wa kayta. Fa iltafata
ilayya fa qā la: tadhkuru Abā Hanı̄ fa fı̄ al-masjid?˙ Fa lam yukallimnı̄ hattā mā ta).
214
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, ˙ Kitā b al-Sunna, 209. ˙
215
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā˙ b al-Majrū
˙ hı̄ n, 3: 70 (Beirut edn.).
216
Abū ˙Zurʿā al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā˙ rı̄ kh, 2: 507. Ayyū b’s remark seems to invoke an Arabic
proverb: ‘More contagious than the infection among the Arabs (aʿda min al-jarab ʿinda
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 255

Others vowed never to speak to Abū Hanı̄ fa again upon claiming to

˙
hear his responses to some outlandish questions. ‘I placed my sandals
among some pebbles and asked Abū Hanı̄ fa: “What do you say concern-
˙
ing a man who prays to these sandals until he dies, but he knows [who]
God [is] with his heart?” “He is a believer,” responded Abū Hanı̄ fa. “I
˙
shall never to speak to you again,”’ said the man.217
Proto-Sunni traditionalists found informal ways to regulate, discipline,
and marginalise religious deviance. This did not necessitate their dis-
appearance from the very fabric of social life. Religious scholars might
have balked at the phenomenon of heresy, but they did find ways to deal
with it. Even in a case so delicate as legal testimony, ninth-century jurists
recognised the validity of a heretic’s testimony (shahā dat ahl al-ahwā ’).218

Inquisitions
Though I have emphasised the informal mechanisms that proto-Sunni tra-
ditionalists cultivated to regulate ideas and movements, I do not wish to
suggest that formal disciplinary practices and institutions were entirely absent
or foreign to early medieval Islamic societies. A deep suspicion of institutions
and resistance to imperial interventions is, in my view, a hallmark of proto-
Sunni communities from the ninth to tenth centuries. There was
a recognition, however, that imperial authority did extend to certain signifi-
cant realms of religious, political, and social life. To this extent, religious
scholars welcomed (or tolerated) the latent political and imperial dimensions
of particular religious rituals and obligations, such as the Friday prayer and
sermon, payment of land, wealth, and charitable taxes, qadi and mazā lim
courts, and the imperial Hajj procession. Recent scholarly attempts ˙ to
˙
demarcate secular authority (with caliphs) from religious power (with
scholars) misread, in my view, what was a division of labour as an irrevocable
divorce.219

al-ʿarab)’. See Lane, An Arabic–English Lexicon, 1.2: 403 (s.v. ‘jarab’). The editor of Abū
Zurʿa’s history has it has yuʿdinā . I am reading the lā as the lā m al-duʿā ’ (or ‘lā of
prohibition’, as Wright has it), which is why I place the verb in the jussive. Another
alternative may be to replace the ʿayn with a hamza, which would give us yu’idnā (to
infect us). See Wright, A Grammar of the Arabic Language, 2: 36.
217
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 510 (wadaʿtu naʿlı̄ fı̄ al-hasan thumma qultu
li Abı̄ H˙anı̄ fa: a ra’ayta rajulan sallā li hā dhihi al-naʿl˙ hattā mā ta illā
˙ ˙annahu yaʿrifu bi
qalbihi?˙ Fa qā la: mu’min. Fa qultu: ˙ lā ukallimuka abadan.).˙
218
Al-Tahā wı̄ , Mukhtasar ikhtilā f al-ʿulamā ’, ed. ʿAbd Allā h Nadhı̄ r Ahmad (Beirut: Dā r al-
˙ ̄ ’ir
Basha ˙ al-Islā miyya,
˙ 1996), 3: 334–5. ˙
219
For this reading see Lapidus, ‘The Separation of State and Religion’; Crone and Hinds,
God’s Caliph, 93 ff. Crone and Hinds’s narrative, which commits the methodological
blunder of reading imperial propaganda (panegyric poetry, imperial coinage, and cali-
phal letters) as social fact, is given a new lease of life in Tor, ‘God’s Cleric’.
256 Religion and Society

Inquisitions, too, belonged to this overlapping world of formal and

informal measures designed to order and regulate orthodoxy; but not all
inquisitions were manifestations of a single, uniform institution. A recent
history of inquisitions in medieval Islam has overlooked this nuance. John
Turner has seen the inquisition as a mechanism by which the caliph and,
by extension, the state attempted to enforce and uphold orthodoxy. The
examples Turner studies are exceptions in so far as they reflect the history
of individuals believed to have held incorrect doctrines whilst simultan-
eously posing a (perceived) political threat to the authority of the caliph.
Inquisitions were not always instantiations of caliphal or imperial efforts
to enforce or uphold orthodoxy, and there is not yet enough documenta-
tion for the view that these in any way reveal an inquisitorial regime and
society operating at the heart of medieval Islamic societies.220
Seeing the caliphs as shapers of religious orthodoxy and normativity is
a result of what Peter Brown has described as ‘institutionalised egotism’ –
the conviction that all power and political initiative should reside in the
person or office of the emperor. Far away from the imperial gaze, however,
regional and local communities pursued inquisitorial methods, with varying
results;221 and if they were outside the purview of the imperial machinery
they were very much visible to proto-Sunni traditionalist communities of the
ninth–tenth centuries. Proto-Sunni traditionalists were adamant that in the
middle of the eighth century in Kufa Abū Hanı̄ fa was the subject of a mild
˙
and haphazard inquisition that saw him repent from heresy twice. Sources
both antagonistic and favourable towards Abū Hanı̄ fa agree on this much,
˙
though the rest of the details are disputed. The Kitā b al-ʿIlal attributed to
Ahmad b. Hanbal preserves four different versions of this account:222
1.˙ ʿAbd Alla˙ ̄ h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal < Ahmad b. Hanbal < Mu’ammal
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
said: I heard Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ say: Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent
˙
from heresy twice.
2. ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal < Ahmad b. Hanbal said: I heard
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna say: Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent from heresy
˙
twice. One of Sufyā n’s companions, Abū Zayd (Hammā d b. Dalı̄ l),
˙
asked Sufyā n, ‘What was he made to repent from?’ Sufyan replied: ‘He

220
One problem with Turner’s (Inquisition in Early Islam) analysis of eighth-century heresy
trials is that it depends on a twelfth-century source, Ibn ʿAsā kir. Turner’s analysis of
heresy is therefore, strictly speaking, a study of twelfth-century perceptions of heresy and
orthodoxy, normativity, and dissent.
221
Though Chapter 8 discusses pourous boundaries between Sunnism and Shiʿism in the
tenth century, a treatment of orthodoxy and heresy in Twelver Shiʿism or, for that
matter, other religious movements, is well outside the scope of this monograph. For
a recent contribution to mechanisms of regulation and discipline in Twelver Shiʿism see
Hayes, Agents of the Hidden Imam, 198 ff.
222
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, Kitā b al-ʿIlal, 2: 545, 548 (Dā r al-Khā nı̄ edn.).
˙ ˙
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 257

said something and his companions saw it appropriate to ask him to

repent, and he did.’
3. ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal < Ahmad b. Hanbal < Mu’ammal
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
b. Ismā ʿı̄ l < Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ < ʿAbbā d b. Kathı̄ r said: ʿAmr
b. ʿUbayd said to me: ‘Ask Abū Hanı̄ fa about a man who says:
˙
I know that the Kaʿba is a reality and that it is the house of God, but
I do not know if it is the house in Mecca or the house in Khurā sā n. Is
such a person a believer?’ ‘He is a believer,’ replied Abū Hanı̄ fa. ʿAmr
˙
b. ʿUbayd then asked me to ask Abū Hanı̄ fa about a man who says, ‘I
˙
know that Muhammad is a real person and that he is the messenger of
God, but I do not˙ know whether he is the person who lived in Medina
or some other person.’ Is such a person a believer? ‘Yes, he is
a believer,’ said Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
4. ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal said that my father said: ‘I think Abū
˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa was made to repent from heresy because he said the Quranic
˙
verse subhā na rabbika rabbi al-ʿizza ʿammā yasifū n was created.’
˙ ˙
The speculation concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s alleged repentance from heresy
˙
was endless. Ibn Hibbā n, for example, gave a very different account of the
episode. He, too,˙ had reason to believe that Abū Hanı̄ fa was asked to
˙
repent from heresy twice. He had a report: ‘Zakariyyā ’ b. Yahyā al-Sā jı̄ of
˙
Basra < Bundā r and Muhammad b. ʿAlı̄ al-Muqaddamı̄ < Muʿā dh
˙
b. Muʿā dh al-ʿAnbarı̄ < Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ said: Abū Hanı̄ fa was made
˙
to repent from heresy twice.’ Ibn Hibbā n was privy to a second account of
˙
this incident:
Al-Husayn b. Idrı̄ s al-Ansā rı̄ < Sufyā n b. Wakı̄ ʿ < ʿUmar b. Hammā d b. Abı̄
Hanı̄˙ fa < Hammā d b. Abı̄ ˙Hanı̄ fa said: I heard my father (Abū H˙anı̄ fa) say: ‘The
˙
Quran ˙
is created.’ ˙
This prompted Ibn Abı̄ Layla to write to Abu˙̄ Hanı̄ fa, ‘Either
you renounce this position or I shall take action against you.’ Abū ˙Hanı̄ fa said: ‘I
renounce my view.’ When Abū Hanı̄ fa returned to his house, I said ˙ to him: ‘O
˙
father, is the createdness of the Quran not your real belief?’ Abū Hanı̄ fa replied,
˙
‘Yes, my son, it is my view, and it is the view I stand by today, too. However, I had
no choice other than to say it out of precautionary dissimulation (taqiyya).’223
Writers and scholars committed to establishing Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious
˙
orthodoxy were by no means oblivious to these reports. In fact, it is in
some ways a remarkable testament to the nature of early Muslim writing
that supporters of Abū Hanı̄ fa did not attempt to conceal or suppress such
˙
scandalous reports. The earliest source I have discovered responding to
reports about Abū Hanı̄ fa’s repentance from heresy is, in fact, our earliest
˙
surviving manā qib work: Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s (d. 335/947–8)
Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa akhbā ruhu wa manā qibuhu. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m is
˙ ˙
223
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 3: 64, 65 (Beirut edn.).
˙ ˙
258 Religion and Society

explicit in framing Abū Hanı̄ fa’s alleged repentance from heresy within
˙
the context of the provincial governor’s efforts to install Abū Hanı̄ fa as an
official judge. Abū Hanı̄ fa’s refusal to serve in this position ˙gave rise to
˙
speculation among the local population that Abū Hanı̄ fa had been made
˙
to repent from heresy.224 The subject of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s repentance from
˙
heresy appears a second time in Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s book.
The second reference appears in a chapter devoted to examining dis-
courses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa (fı̄ al-tashnı̄ ʿ ʿalayhi). Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙ ˙
we are told, refused to swear oaths in God’s name even with respect to
things that were true. Some of Kufa’s local officials sought to discredit
him by making him announce in public that the Quran is created. Their
plan was to make Abū Hanı̄ fa swear an oath, knowing that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙ ˙
principled refusal to swear oaths in God’s name would create the impres-
sion that he held the Quran to be created. The governor seized Abū
Hanı̄ fa, and displayed him in front of a public audience, and said:
˙
governor: What are some of the people saying against you? What are they
saying? They insist that you believe the Quran to be created.
abū h: anı̄ fa: I have heard no one say such a thing and nor have I heard anyone
debate about it. In fact, it is something that makes the soul feel uneasy
(innahu la qawl tadı̄ qu lahu al-nafs).
governor: In that case, ˙ swear an oath [in God’s name] to the effect that you have
never expressed this doctrine.
abū h: anı̄ fa: God, exalted and almighty, is more knowledgeable than I as to the
falseness of their claims (huwa yaʿlamu tabā raka wa taʿā lā minnı̄ khilā f mā
yaqū lū n).
governor: So swear an oath that you have never uttered it.

Once again, Abū Hanı̄ fa refused to swear an oath. The governor then
˙
warned him that he would be forced to punish him if he refused a third
time. Abū Hanı̄ fa told the governor to do whatever he had to. The
˙
governor ordered Abū Hanı̄ fa to be whipped, but when he witnessed
˙
the slenderness of his body and his old age (nahā fat jismihi wa shaybihi)
˙
he asked Abū Hanı̄ fa to repent. Abū Hanı̄ fa insisted that he had never
˙ ˙
held such a doctrine and that it was not something that he had come to
believe since. ‘So repent,’ said the governor. ‘O God, accept our repent-
ance,’ Abū Hanı̄ fa exclaimed. Then people began to say, ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa was
˙ ˙
made to repent from heresy, Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent from heresy
˙
(ustutı̄ ba Abū Hanı̄ fa ustutı̄ ba Abū Hanı̄ fa).’ 225
˙
In both accounts ˙
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwa ̄ m al-Saʿdı̄ seeks to explain to
readers that the infamous episode of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s inquisition and
˙
224
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 66–7.
225 ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 72–3.
H
˙ ˙
 7.5 Sociology of Heresy 259

repentance from heresy had been misinterpreted. There was, he suggests,

no real heresy to speak of. Abū Hanı̄ fa was subject to a vicious campaign
˙ his quick wit and intelligence to avoid
by political authorities, and he used
further persecution.
Another early manā qib work provides an alternative explanation for
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s public repentance from heresy. In a work composed in the
˙
first half of the eleventh century, Abū al-Husayn al-Qudū rı̄ (d. 438/1037)
˙
states:226
The truth of the matter concerning reports that Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent
from heresy twice is that his repenting from heresy was ˙ a show of great intelli-
gence. This is because the Khawā rij (al-shurā t) captured Abū Hanı̄ fa when they
entered Kufa, and they said to him: ‘Repent from heresy.’ They ˙ asked him to
repent because it was their practice to hereticise anyone who opposed them. In
response to this, Abū Hanı̄ fa said: ‘I repent to God from all heresy and unbelief.’
They released Abū Hanı̄ ˙ fa. However, someone said to one of the leaders of the
˙
Khawā rij, ‘He only repented from the heresy that he believes you to be committed
to.’ The Khawā rij then demanded the return of Abū Hanı̄ fa. They said to him,
‘You repented from heresy, but you intended to repent˙ from the heresy that you
believe us to be steeped in.’ Abū Hanı̄ fa replied, ‘Do you say this on the basis of
evidence or speculation?’ ‘Of course, ˙ it is based on speculation,’ replied the
Khā rijite. Abū Hanı̄ fa said: ‘God the exalted has said: “Certainly some forms of
speculation are ˙sinful.” This, therefore, is a sin on your part and, according to
your belief, every sin is heresy. You, too, must repent from heresy.’ The Khā rijite
then said: ‘I repent to God from all heresy and unbelief.’ On the basis of the
episode, people began to say: ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent from heresy twice.’
This is what they intend when they say, ˙ ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa repented from heresy twice.’
˙
It is fascinating to see defenders of Abū Hanı̄ fa not ignoring discourses of
˙
heresy against him. These authors do not challenge the veracity of the
inquisition and repentance. From the ninth century onwards inquisitions
and persecution at the hands of political authorities were a source of pride
and credibility for medieval Sunnis.227 Followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa provide
˙
detailed accounts of the episode, which suggest that later proto-Sunni

226
Al-Qudū rı̄ , ‘Manā qib al-Imā m al-Aʿzam’, MS Arab 283, Houghton Library, Harvard
˙ edition of al-Qudū rı̄ ’s manā qib work on the basis
University, fols. 1a–2a, at 1b. A critical
of five different manuscripts is being prepared by Talal Al-Azem and Ahmad Khan. For
a similar account see Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 90–1 (an account
which our author tells us he wrote down in his collection ˙ ˙ from his lessons with
of notes
Ahmad b. Hafs b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Sulamı̄ . Ahmad was the son of Hafs b. ʿAbd Allā h al-
˙
Sulamı̄ . Hafs˙ , the
˙ father, had been the qadi ˙of Nı̄ shā pū r. ˙ ˙
227 ˙ ˙
Consider the case of Abū al-ʿArab’s Kitā b al-Mihan, where the caliphs are depicted as
assassinating and persecuting proto-Sunni scholars ˙ in a ruthless and routine fashion.
Writing in Aghlabid North Africa, Abū al-ʿArab was far enough from the court of the
ʿAbbā sid caliphs to make such bold claims without fear of ending up like his book’s
subjects.
260 Religion and Society

traditionalists manipulated reports surrounding the inquisition and used

it as a basis to charge Abū Hanı̄ fa with heresy.
˙
For proto-Sunni traditionalists, the precise circumstances surrounding
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s inquisition were debatable. The fact that they could point to
˙
more than one reason why such an inquisition and demand for repent-
ance from heresy might be warranted was further evidence of Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s religious impropriety. What was not in dispute was that Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa was implicated by his contemporaries and social communities in
˙
statements of heresy, and these occasioned an official and recorded
repentance. This was a narrative that other proto-Sunnis did not recog-
nise. This incident marked a defining moment in the discourse of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa. This was not because of its inquisitorial dimension.
˙
In fact, the incident itself was shorn of its original context, and proto-
Sunni traditionalists promulgated as historical fact that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
repented from heresy.228
Parts I and II of this monograph have described the formation of
a discursive process among textualist communities of the eighth–eleventh
centuries. A discourse around heresy was not merely floating in the air
among intellectual elites. These textualist communities lived, studied,
and taught in social contexts. They did not inhabit monasteries. Their
ideas were promulgated in study-circles, but also during walks, visits,
social congregations, and other casual and everyday settings. As such,
processes of orthodoxy and heresy were anchored not only in texts but in
social attitudes, practices, imaginaries, and lived contexts. The discourse
around heresy and orthodoxy saw the emergence of competing and
contrasting ideas about what constituted Sunni orthodoxy. As a living
and lived religion, orthodoxy in Islam was constantly being refined,
adjusted, and debated by communities. So, as dominant and powerful
communities of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy may have been in
the eighth–tenth centuries, they were neither static nor hermetically
sealed. In fact, during the course of the tenth–eleventh centuries, this
discrete though influential discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa was
˙
challenged. Major transformations were to take place that altered the
character of medieval Sunni orthodoxy and gave way to a new and more
lasting conception of medieval Sunnism.

228
On a related note, some doubted the validity of repentance from heresy. Ibn Waddā h’s
˙˙ ˙
treatise presents a number of traditions declaring that a person of heresy only continues
to evolve in a more sinister direction: Ibn Waddā h, Kitā b al-Bidaʿ, 198.
˙˙ ˙
 Part III

Unmaking Heresy: Orthodoxy as History

Writing

Parts I and II of this study have documented and analysed the growth of
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in the ninth–eleventh centuries.
˙
We have shown the sheer variety, spread, and transmission of these
discourses. In the face of this prominent and lively religious development,
how can we explain the emergence in the tenth and eleventh centuries of
Abū Hanı̄ fa as a representative of medieval Sunni orthodoxy among a
˙
larger spectrum of the Muslim community? How did a school of legal
orthodoxy form around his name in the midst of such disrepute, hostility,
and open charges of heresy and deviance? How can we understand Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s evolution from a heretic among a discrete coalition of proto-
˙
Sunni traditionalists between the late eighth and tenth centuries to a
patron saint of medieval Sunnism by the eleventh century?1
Part III argues that the production of manā qib (biographies) and
masā nı̄ d (collections of hadı̄ th) works for Abū Hanı̄ fa in the ninth–elev-
˙ ˙
enth centuries was integral to his integration within medieval Sunnism.
Without the invention and rapid production of these two genres of writ-
ing, it is difficult to imagine the subsequent apotheosis of Abū Hanı̄ fa as
˙
an exemplar of medieval Sunni orthodoxy on such a wide scale as did
occur, for these writings incorporated other major genres of texts within
them, such as tabaqā t works. The processes by which Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙ ˙
perceived heresies were unmade and the mechanisms by which his reli-
gious orthodoxy was established constitute the focus of subsequent chap-
ters. Chapter 8 introduces readers to a new tenth-century source and
undertakes a detailed examination of this extremely valuable text. The
main objective in doing so is to demonstrate that manā qib works were
composed in response to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. These
˙
works were committed to transforming Abū Hanı̄ fa’s mnemohistory from
˙
1
Christopher Melchert has spoken of a predisposition to compromise from the ninth-
century onwards (The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 202–3). This section builds
on his insight and argues that the compromise was not inevitable but rather that it was
effected by a number of important religious and literary developments during the tenth–
eleventh centuries.

261
262 Part III

one of heresy to one of orthodoxy. Nevertheless, a single source, however

early and significant, is not enough. For this reason, this chapter also
provides, for the first time, a detailed history of Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa works
˙
from the ninth–eleventh centuries. Chapter 9 does something similar for
Musnad Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa works. This genre of writing emerged at the same time
˙
as the manā qib genre, although it was more circumscribed in its focus.
Where manā qib works sought to respond to the full range of proto-Sunni
traditionalist discourses of heresy, masā nı̄ d works aimed to rehabilitate
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s expertise in hadı̄ th. Both the manā qib and masā nı̄ d genres
˙ ˙
have been neglected as sources for the history of medieval Islamic history
and society. Manā qib works have been dismissed as works of pious hagi-
ography, whilst masā nı̄ d works have been read with little attention to their
social and historical context. Above all, the speed and scale of the pro-
duction of manā qib and masā nı̄ d works was unprecedented. Together they
constitute such a massive corpus of texts composed in the ninth–eleventh
centuries that to ignore them as pious hagiographies or insignificant to the
broader religious history of the period would be to dismiss entirely the
significance given to them by the people and societies we study.
It is the aim of these chapters to show that these texts were alternative
forms of historical writing about the past committed to fashioning a new
consensus of what medieval Sunni orthodoxy ought to look like. In short,
we shall study the genres, texts, authors, developments, and social and
political pressures that contributed to such a fundamental and lasting
reshaping of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s historical memory. We will come closer to
˙
understanding how and why this vision for medieval Sunni orthodoxy
became a reality by the beginning of the eleventh century.
8 Manā qib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

A considerable body of writing was produced between the late eighth and
eleventh centuries by proto-Sunni traditionalists in order to document
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s heresy and deviance and to place him outside the orbit of
˙
proto-Sunni orthodoxy. Proto-Sunni traditionalists and their followers
maintained a fairly consistent view on the question of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
religious orthodoxy. Proto-Sunni traditionalist writings were beginning
to dominate the religious landscape of medieval Islam, and their espousal
of a proto-Sunnism that excluded and targeted Abū Hanı̄ fa placed proto-
˙
Hanafı̄ s in a difficult position. How do we explain the fact that by the
˙
eleventh century Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious orthodoxy had gained wide
˙
acceptance among a broad coalition of Sunnis? In short, what happened
in the tenth and eleventh centuries that effected a transformation in the
memory (mnemohistory) of Abū Hanı̄ fa and, thus, gave shape to a new
˙
conception of medieval Sunnism? This chapter argues against whiggish
histories of Sunnism’s development that posit a natural evolution or
inevitable disposition towards a more accommodating trend in Sunni
orthodoxy. I contend that one of the most decisive factors in shaping
medieval Sunni orthodoxy was the rise and production of Manā qib Abı̄
Hanı̄ fa works. This genre provided a new forum for writing the history of
˙
religious orthodoxy, enabling a complete integration of Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
within Sunni orthodoxy.
Despite the commitment of proto-Sunnis to promulgating discourses
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, proto-Hanafism continued to operate in the
˙ ˙
medieval Islamicate world. Students of Abū Hanı̄ fa had established juris-
˙
prudential traditions, with varying degrees of penetration, in Iraq, west-
ern Iran, the Jazı̄ ra, Shā m, Egypt, the Maghrib, Khurā sā n, and
Transoxiana.2 A number of factors contributed to proto-Hanafism’s
˙
2
See Tsafrir, The History of an Islamic School of Law; and an important book review by
Melchert, Review of Nurit Tsafrir; Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law,
32–8, 116–36; Melchert, ‘How Hanafism Came to Originate in Kufa’; Melchert, ‘The
˙
Early Hanafiyya and Kufa’; Melchert, ‘The Spread of Hanafism’; Madelung, ‘The
˙
Westward Migration of Hanafı̄ Scholars’. ˙
˙
263
264 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

dissemination. State patronage had worked to the favour of proto-

Hanafı̄ s. Their jurisprudence seemed to equip jurists to deal with the
˙
kind of erratic and complex problems that local judges were expected to
resolve. There was also a missionary dimension to proto-Hanafism,
˙
whose spread in remote and distant provinces in the Islamic world coin-
cided with a rise in conversion to Islam. In many respects, these develop-
ments were not unique to proto-Hanafism. Other legal traditions, within
˙
and beyond the four schools of law, had experienced similar successes.3
Not one of them, however, faced a situation in which their eponymous
founder was attacked by a discrete but influential community of scholars
as a heretic and deviant. In this respect, proto-Hanafism was the
˙
exception.
The challenge that confronted proto-Hanafı̄ s was to counter the
˙
proliferation of discourses of heresy against their madhhab’s eponym-
ous founder and to establish his religious orthodoxy. The evidence for
this monograph’s claim that the Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa genre was the
˙
main instrument for integrating Abū Hanı̄ fa into a new consensus of
˙
medieval Sunni orthodoxy in the tenth and eleventh centuries rests on
two arguments. The first concerns dating and periodisation: the writ-
ing of manā qib works occurs in the late ninth to early tenth centuries,
after the peak of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in the middle
˙
of the ninth century. Thereafter, the rise of manā qib works is concomi-
tant with the waning of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙
with the gradual acknowledgement by proto-Sunni traditionalists in

3
The standard work for the spread of the Sunni schools of law is Melchert, The Formation of
the Sunni Schools of Law, 68–86 (Shā fiʿism), 137–55 (Hanbalism), 156–77 (Mā likism),
178–90 (Zā hirism), 191–7 (Jarı̄ rism). Apart from this, see ˙ also, on the spread of Shā fiʿism,
Halm, Die ˙ Ausbreitung; El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law, 160–73; Hallaq,
Origins and Evolution, 176–7. For the Mā likı̄ school see Mansour, ‘The Spread and the
Domination’. Unfortunately, this thesis is replete with errors, fails to examine the primary
sources with a critical eye, does not distinguish between early and late primary sources,
shows a weakness for reading modern Arabophone and Anglophone scholarship as pri-
mary sources, regularly employs anachronisms, and its historical explanations are under-
whelming. Miklos Muranyi’s history of early Mā likı̄ literature provides invaluable insights
into the school’s spread in North Africa, even if his findings do not furnish an accessible
historical narrative of the school’s regional history: Muranyi, Die Rechtsbücher; Muranyi,
Beiträge zur Geschichte; Muranyi, Materialien zur mā likitischen Rechtsliteratur. The spread of
the Hanbalı̄ school has yet to be written: Hurvitz, The Formation of Hanbalism does not
˙
examine the school’s spread in a systematic manner. The one study I have consulted that
attempts a survey of the spread of Hanbalism is far from comprehensive and satisfactory;
also, it is weak on the school’s early ˙ spread: ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAbd al-Hasan al-Turkı̄ , al-
˙ wa mu’allafā tihi
Madhhab al-Hanbalı̄ : Dirā sa fı̄ tā rı̄ khihi wa simā tihi wa ashhar aʿlā mihi
˙
(Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 2002), 227–90. A good overview of the school’s history is
provided by Laoust, Le Hanbalisme sous les califat de Bagdad. On legal traditions in Shā m
see Conrad, Die qudā t Dimašq. For Zā hirism see Adang, ‘The Beginnings of the Zahiri
Madhhab’; Osman,˙ The Zā hirı̄ Madhhab, ˙ 48–89.
˙
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 265

the tenth and eleventh centuries that he was a representative, par

excellence, of medieval Sunni orthodoxy. The second argument per-
tains to the actual content of manā qib works: their organisation,
themes, and content are concerned explicitly with responding to dis-
courses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa – remarkably, manā qib works
˙
make no effort to conceal the fact that there was a significant body of
writing devoted to attacking Abū Hanı̄ fa and his religious orthodoxy.
˙
Hanafı̄ s explicitly acknowledged and cited discourses of heresy against
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa. Both of these arguments can be established by examining
˙
a new source and subjecting it to close analysis for the first time in
modern scholarship.

8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source

The published edition of Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa akhbā ruhu wa manā qi-
˙ ˙
buhu ascribes the work to Abū al-Qā sim ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad b.
˙
Ahmad b. Yahyā b. al-Hā rith b. Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ (d. 335/946–
˙ ˙ ˙
7). To be precise, the Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa is an eleventh-century redac-
tion of a late ninth/early˙ tenth-century ˙ composition. The book was
composed originally by Qā dı̄ Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ . The book
˙
was redacted by his grandson, Ahmad b. Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h b.
˙ ˙
Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m (d. 450/1058–9). The book was transmitted by Qā dı̄
˙
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ (the grandfather) to his son, who in turn
transmitted the book to its final redactor (the grandson). This figure
represents four alternative ways of understanding the text’s transmission
and composition:
Haddathanı̄ Abı̄ qā la > haddathanı̄ Abı̄ qā la:
˙ ˙
Grandson: My father said > My father said:
Grandson > Father > Grandfather
Redactor > Transmitter > Author
Not much is known about Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s career. His list of
teachers suggests that he was a prominent scholar of the tenth century. He
studied under an influential group of Hanafı̄ judges that included al-
˙
Tahā wı̄ , al-Dū lā bı̄ , Jaʿfar b. Aʿyan, and Ahmad b. Sahl al-Tirmidhı̄ . He
was also a student of the famous hadı̄ th˙ scholar and compiler of the
˙ ˙
˙
Sunan, Ahmad b. Shuʿayb al-Nasā ’ı̄ .4 Later biographers described him
˙
as a qadi in Egypt, but this detail is missing in the surviving histories of
judges in Egypt.5 Muhammad b. Yū suf al-Sā lihı̄ (d. 942/1536) describes
˙ ˙ ˙
4
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Rafʿ al-isr ʿan qudā t Misr, ed. ʿAlı̄ Muhammad ʿUmar (Cairo:
˙
Maktabat ˙
al-Khā njı̄ , 1998), 2: 71–5. ˙ ˙ ˙
5
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Tadhkirat al-huffā z, 2: 700 (s.v. ‘al-Nasā ’ı̄ ’).
˙ ˙
266 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

him as a qadi and one of the competent scholars of hadı̄ th who authored a
˙
manā qib work for Abū Hanı̄ fa.6 We can say little more than this on the
˙
basis of the historical and biographical literature about our original
author.7
His grandson, on the other hand, seems to have made quite a name for
himself. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m followed his grandfather’s footsteps and
became a qadi in Egypt. He probably worked his way up gradually to
become chief judge of Egypt (qā dı̄ al-qudā t), since we learn that he was
˙ ˙
charged with overseeing shares of inheritance (al-furū d) around 389/999.8
His attempt to progress to the judgeship got off to a˙ false start when an
attempt to have him appointed as a judge was rebuffed.9 His career as a
judge began in February 405/1015. He is described as Egypt’s chief judge
in April 416/1025.10 He was an influential official responsible for intro-
ducing a number of innovations in judicial conventions, and his name
turns up in several historical accounts alongside the Fā timid ruler al-
˙
Hā kim bi-Amr Allā h (r. 386/996–411/1021).11 Some biographers appar-
˙
ently had reasons to believe that high office went to Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m’s
head (hubb al-riyā sa ghalaba ʿalayhi).12 When the Fā timid caliphate
passed˙on to Abū al-Hasan al-Zā hir, Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m was ˙ reappointed
˙ ˙
to his position until just before his death in May 418/1027. His judicial
career lasted twelve years and six months.13
A number of medieval Islamic historians knew of the grandfather’s
composition of Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa. Ibn al-Hattā b al-Rā zı̄ (d. 525/1130–1)
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙˙
6
Al-Sā lihı̄ , ʿUqū d al-jumā n fı̄ manā qib al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa al-Nuʿmā n, ed. Muhammad
Mulla˙ ̄ ʿAbd
˙ al-Qā dir al-Afghā nı̄ (Jeddah: Jā miʿ al-Malik ˙ ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z, 1978),˙69 (min
a’immat al-hadı̄ th mimman sannafa fı̄ manā qib al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa ka Abı̄ Jaʿfar al-Tahā wı̄
wa al-qā dı̄˙ Abı̄ al-Qā sim˙ b. Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m); also ed. ˙ Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afgha ˙ ˙ ̄ nı̄
(Hyderabad: ˙ Lajnat Ihyā ’ al-Maʿā rif al-Nuʿmā niyya, 1974).
7
The following sources ˙give the grandfather’s name, but little beyond this: Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’,
al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 1: 282–4 (grandson), 2: 327 (grandfather); ʿAbd al-Qā dir al-Tamı̄ mı̄ ,
al-Tabaqā t al-saniyya, ˙ 2: 94–7, 4: 202; al-Zaylaʿı̄ , Nasb al-rā ya li al-ahā dı̄ th al-hidā ya, ed.
Muh ˙ ammad ʿAwwā ma (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Rayā n,˙1997), 3: 140; Jala ˙ ̄ l al-Dı̄ n al-Suyū tı̄ ,
Husn ˙ al-muhā dara fı̄ tā rı̄ kh Misr wa al-Qā hira, ed. Muhammad Abū al-Fadl Ibrā hı̄ ˙m
˙
(Aleppo: Da˙̄ r ˙Ihyā ’ al-Kutub al-ʿArabı̄
˙ ˙ , 1967; repr. n.p.:˙ Dā r Ihyā ’
ʿĪ sā al-Bā bı̄ al-Halabı̄
al-Kutub al-ʿArabiyya, ˙ 1968), 2:148 = Husn al-muhā dara ˙ fı̄ akhbā r Misr wa al-Qā hira,˙ ed.
ʿAlı̄ Muhammad ʿUmar (Cairo: Maktabat ˙ al-Khā njı̄˙ , ˙2007), 2: 130. ˙
8
Al-Kindı̄˙ , al-Wulā t wa kitā b al-qudā t, 596, 600, 605, 608, 610–12.
9
Al-Kindı̄ , al-Wulā t wa kitā b al-qud ˙ ā t, 604.
10
Al-Kindı̄ , al-Wulā t wa kitā b al-qud ˙ ā t, 299.
11
Al-Kindı̄ , al-Wulā t wa kitā b al-qud ˙ ā t, 612.
12
Al-Kindı̄ , al-Wulā t wa kitā b al-qud ˙ ā t, 611.
13
Al-Kindı̄ , al-Wulā t wa kitā b al-qud˙ā t, 496, 611 (twelve years and seven months), 612. Ibn
Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ claims to have ˙ gathered this information from Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Mū sā al-
H˙ abı̄ bı̄ ’s Akhbā r qudā t Misr and Ibn Muyassar’s Tā rı̄ kh. For a slightly more lucid account
˙ the grandson’s career
of ˙ ˙see al-Maqrı̄ zı̄ , Kitā b al-Muqaffā al-kabı̄ r, ed. Muhammad al-
Yaʿlā wı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 1991) 1: 603–6 (grandson). ˙
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 267

reports that his father was reading the book in Egypt, probably in the
eleventh century. A list of his father’s teachers (mashyakha) and the
books he read (thabat) was prepared by him and the hadı̄ th master of
˙
Alexandria Abū Tā hir al-Silafı̄ (d. 576/1180–1).14 Both Ibn al-Hattā b
˙ ˙ ˙˙
and al-Silafı̄ appear in the transmission history of the surviving manuscripts
of Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa. Al-Silafı̄ describes Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa as having
15
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
been authored by Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ and transmitted by his son
and grandson. He adds that the book consisted of five large parts (ajzā ’
dikhā m).16 Additionally, we know that a century later the book was circu-
˙
lating in North Africa, for al-Hā fiz al-Tujı̄ bı̄ (d. 610/1213–14) mentions it
in his catalogue of teachers and ˙ books
˙ studied under them (barnā maj).17
The book was certainly being read and transmitted in the Middle
Periods, but it was also part of a developing tradition of manā qib writing
in the Islamicate world. When al-Dhahabı̄ came to write his manā qib book
on Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers in the fourteenth century, Ibn Abı̄ al-
˙
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s work was an important source of information. On the
occasions that al-Dhahabı̄ quotes from the book, he introduces it as Qā dı̄
˙
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s one-volume Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa.18 Ibn
˙ ˙
Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ also attributed the work to the grandfather, but he
˙
provided a little more context to the work’s authorship. He explained that
the grandson, Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m, transmitted an extensive amount of
material (through his father) from his grandfather, Qā dı̄ Ibn Abı̄ al-
˙
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ; and this material gave him access to the narrations of
Egypt’s notable tenth-century scholars, men such as al-Tahā wı̄ , al-
˙ ˙
Dū lā bı̄ , and Jaʿfar b. Aʿyan. Ibn Hajar states that Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m
˙
had written a large book on the Manā qib of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers
(lahu musannaf hā fil fı̄ manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa ashā˙bihi), but on the basis of
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙˙
Ibn Hajar’s preceding explanation of where his grandson received his
˙
material from we can assume that Ibn Hajar was aware of the grand-
˙
father’s original authorship.19 Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ ’s grandson Yū suf b.
˙
14
See the valuable introduction by the editor of the text in Ibn al-Hattā b al-Rā zı̄ ,
Mashyakhat al-shaykh al-ajall Abı̄ ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Ibrā ˙ ˙˙hı̄ m al-Rā zı̄
wa thabat masmū ʿā tihi, ed. al-Sharı̄ f Hā tim b. ʿA ˙ ̄ rif al-ʿAwnı̄˙ (Riyadh: Dā r al-Hijra,
1994), 30–53. ˙
15
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 13–18 (editor’s introduction).
16
Ibn al-Hattā b al-Rā zı̄ , Mashyakhat ˙ al-Rā zı̄˙ , 243.
17
Al-Hā fiz ˙ al-Tujı̄
˙˙ bı̄ , Barnā maj al-Hā fiz Abı̄ ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n al-
Tujı̄˙bı̄ , ed.
˙ al-Hasan Saʿı̄ d (Rabat: ˙ Wiza
˙ ̄ rat al-Awqā f wa ˙al-Shu’ū n al-Islā miyya, ˙ 2011),
140, 177, 186–7, ˙ 338.
18
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Manā qib al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa sā hibayhi Abı̄ Yū suf wa Muhammad b. al-
Hasan, ed. Muhammad Zā hid al-Kawtharı̄ ˙ ˙ ˙Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄˙ (Hyderabad:
and
˙
Lajnat ˙
Ihyā ’ al-Maʿa ̄ rif al-Nuʿmā niyya, 1947), 16, 22.
19
Ibn Hajar ˙ al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Rafʿ al-isr, 2: 71–5, where the next biographical notice summar-
˙
ises the career of Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwa ˙ ̄ m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s nephew.
268 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

Shā hı̄ n was a prolific copyist of, and commentator on, his grandfather’s
works.20 Yū suf b. Shā hı̄ n’s autograph copy of his grandfather’s work
corroborates the latter’s understanding of Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s
authorship of the manā qib book.21
The dearth of information concerning Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m is one
reason for the lack of clarity we find in the later historical and biographical
sources concerning the Fadā ’il’s authorship. The clearest evidence that
˙
the Fadā ’il had been composed originally by the grandfather in the tenth
˙
century and then transmitted by his son and grandson comes from the
text itself and, in particular, in one decisive paragraph of the book:22
My father < his father, God’s mercy be upon him, said: it was mentioned to me by
people utterly lacking in knowledge that Abū Hanı̄ fa, God show him mercy, was
not from among the generation of the Successors. ˙ So I decided to produce
evidence by citing the death of every Companion who died after the birth of
Abū Hanı̄ fa. I had mentioned his birth in the first section (al-juz’ al-awwal) of
˙ in the section on his merits (fadā ’il) and history (akhbā rihi). I shall repeat
this book
some of that now in order to connect and˙ contextualise it with the death dates of
the Messenger of God’s – God bless him and grant him peace – Companions.

In this passage we see that our original author, Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-
Saʿdı̄ (the grandfather), refers directly to his authorship of the book. This
is the only instance in the entire work where the author references and
directs his readers to another section of his book, and from it we get a
glimpse into the author’s plan for the organisation of the book. Ibn Abı̄ al-
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ authored and arranged his work into different parts

20
On Yū suf b. Shā hı̄ n see al-Sakhā wı̄ , al-Daw’ al-lā miʿ, 10: 313–17; Radı̄ al-Dı̄ n Ibn
Hanbalı̄ , Durr al-habab fı̄ tā rı̄ kh aʿyā n H ˙ alab, ed. Mahmū d Hamd al-Fa ˙ ̄ khū rı̄ and
˙ yā Zakariyyā ’ ʿAbba
Yah ˙ ̄ ra (Damascus: Wiza ˙ ̄ rat al-Thaqā fa, ˙ 1972),
˙ 1: 53 (mentioned as
˙
having given the author of Durr al-habab an ijā za), 731 (mentioned as having taught
hadı̄ th to al-Shihna), 2: 313 (mentions ˙ Ibn Shā hı̄ n’s father and grandfather in an entry on
˙ of Ibn Shā hı̄˙ n’s students), 548 (mentioned as a teacher to the person in the entry);
one
Najm al-Dı̄ n al-Ghazzı̄ , al-Kawā kib al-sā ’ira bi-aʿyā n al-mi’a al-ʿā shira (Beirut: Dā r al-
Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1997), 1: 219. The author mentions that ʿAbd al-Bā sit b. Muhammad
b. al-Shihna heard hadı̄ th from him (samiʿa bihā [al-Qā hira] ʿalā al-Jamā˙ l b. Shā˙ hı̄ n Sibt
al-Hā fiz ˙b. Hajar); al-Shawka
˙ ̄ nı̄ , Badr al-tā liʿ bi-mahā sin man baʿd al-qarn al-sā biʿ (Cairo:˙
Dā ˙r al-Kita
˙ ̄ ˙b al-Islā mı̄ , n.d.), 2: 354–5. We ˙ are told˙that his name was Yū suf b. Shā hı̄ n al-
Jamā l Abū al-Mahā sin b. al-Amı̄ r Abı̄ Ahmad al-ʿAlā ’ı̄ Qutlū bughā al-Karkı̄ al-Qā hirı̄ al-
Hanafı̄ , but that he ˙ converted to Shā fiʿism: ˙ ˙ m, 3: 77 (3rd edn., 1969–
al-Ziriklı̄ , al-Aʿlā
˙
70); al-Kattā nı̄ , Fihris al-fahā ris wa al-athbā t wa-muʿjam al-maʿā jim wa al-mashyakhā t wa-
musalsalā t, ed. Ihsā n ʿAbbā s (Beirut: Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 1982), 1: 307, 2: 636, 913,
and 1139–41. ˙
21
Yū suf b. Shā hı̄ n, ‘al-Nujū m al-zā hira bi talkhı̄ s Akhbā r qudā t Misr wa al-Qā hira’, MS
Arabe 2152, Bibliothèque nationale de France,˙ 119 fols., 9a ˙ (Ibn˙ Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m was
appointed qadi in 405/1014), 21a–21b, 73a (confirms departure of the grandson and his
replacement by Qā sim b. ʿAbd al-ʿArs (?) Muhammad b. al-Nuʿmā n in the year 418/
1027). On this manuscript see Vajda, ‘Notices de ˙ manuscrits’, 75.
22
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 222.
˙ ˙
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 269

(ajzā ’). As he states, the first part of the book does indeed open with
reports concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s birth.
It contains three reports ˙ documenting his year of birth (80/699) and
death (150/767) and how old he was when he passed away (seventy
years). That manā qib works began by determining the birth and ancestry
of their subjects is straightforward enough given that the genre was
concerned with chronological coherence. The precise historical details
about Abū Hanı̄ fa’s birth and ancestry, however, acquired greater social
˙
and religious significance in the ninth–tenth centuries. Ibn Abı̄ al-
ʿAwwā m relates that Abū Hanı̄ fa was born in the year 80, died in the
year 150, and was seventy years ˙ old at the time of his death. Our author
emphasises this point of chronology in the light of the discourses of heresy
surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa in the centuries and decades prior to Ibn Abı̄ al-
˙
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s composition of the Fadā ’il. A second report confirms
˙
these basic chronological facts, whilst a third report is adduced to add that
Abū Hanı̄ fa died in the month of Shaʿbā n in the year 150 during the
˙
caliphal reign of al-Mansū r.
˙
The passage cited above occurs near the middle of the book. Ibn Abı̄ al-
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ informs his readers at this juncture of the book that they
should expect some repetition of the material cited at the very beginning
of the Fadā ’il. His argument for Abū Hanı̄ fa’s belonging to the generation
˙ ˙
of the Successors rests on chronology and dating, and for this reason he
must revisit material from the opening section. As promised, he supple-
ments these three reports with an excursus listing those Companions who
died after the year of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s birth. The first Companion he cites is
˙
Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ. We learn that he died in the year 83, three years after
Abū Hanı̄ fa was born.23 The next Companion is ʿUmar b. Abı̄ Salama,
one of˙ the Prophet’s stepsons by way of the latter’s marriage to Umm
Salama. He died in the year 83.24 A third Companion, ʿAmr b. Hā rith,
˙
died when Abū Hanı̄ fa was five. Here, a report on ʿAmr suggests that
˙
ʿUmar b. Abı̄ Salama died in the year 85, two years later than suggested by
the report Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ cites in his notice on him. The
report adds that both Hā rith and ʿUmar died in the same year (85) and
˙
were buried on the same day.25 The final two reports provide clarification
on the first companion Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ mentions. In the
notice on Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ we are told he died in the year 83. The
final two reports date his death two years later, in the year 85.26 The next
section groups three companions together: ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Hā rith b. Juz’
˙
23
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 222.
24
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 222.
H
25
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 223.
H
26
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 224.
H
˙ ˙
270 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

al-Zabı̄ dı̄ , Ibn Abı̄ Awfā , and Abū Umā ma al-Bā hilı̄ . Al-Zabı̄ dı̄ is
recorded as having been the last Companion to die in Misr in the year
86; Ibn Abı̄ Awfā , we are told, was the last companion to die ˙in Kufa in the
same year; and al-Bā hilı̄ died aged ninety-one, also in the year 86.27 Ibn
Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ is explicit about his intention to dip into the
reservoir of historical information that he and his colleagues would have
had at their disposal. He displays a voracious effort to make a case, based
on chronological certainty, that would undermine any suspicions about
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s status as a Successor. His Fadā ’il is dedicated to using
˙ ˙
history as a means to rehabilitate Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodoxy in the face of
discourses of heresy against him. ˙
It is possible to read a little more into Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s
method. In the Fadā ’il, we read: ‘[Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ]: Abū
˙
Maʿmar Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Khuzayma al-Basrı̄ and Muhammad b.
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Ahmad b. Hammā d < ʿAbbā s al-Dū rı̄ said: I heard Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n say:
˙ ˙ ˙
Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ died in the year 83 at the age of one hundred and five.’28
A number of Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s details are drawn from figures
who were influential proto-Sunni traditionalists in the ninth century. As
such, these figures, as my earlier chapters have explained, were actively
engaged in transmitting heresiological discourses about Abū Hanı̄ fa. Ibn
˙
Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s information about Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ is based
upon the testimony of Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n. Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n’s Tā rı̄ kh contains a
˙ ˙
notice on Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ and conveys this exact information: ‘Wā thila
b. al-Asqaʿ died in the year 83 at the age of one hundred and five.’29 The
second piece of evidence Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ adduces for Wā thila’s
death date relies on the transmission of Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ . We encoun-
tered Abū Zurʿa in Chapter 3 as an important member of the proto-Sunni
traditionalist network, where we also observed that his local history of
Damascus provided a platform for discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa. Abū Zurʿa’s Tā rı̄ kh contains the following notice on Wā thila b. al-
˙
Asqaʿ: ‘Abū Zurʿa: Abū Zurʿa > Yazı̄ d b. ʿAbd Rabbih > Ismā ʿı̄ l b. ʿIyyā sh
said: Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ died in the year 83.’30
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m’s report is identical, notwithstanding one typo-
graphical error: ‘Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Hammā d > ʿAbd al-Rahmā n
˙
b. ʿAmr Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ˙ Yazı̄ d˙b. ʿAbd Rabbih > Isma˙̄ ʿı̄ l b.
said:
27
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 224–5.
28
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ ā ’il Abı̄ H
˙ anı̄ fa, 223.
29
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, Tā rı̄ kh Yahyā˙ b. Maʿı̄˙ n [recension of Abū al-Fadl al-ʿAbbā sı̄ b.
Muh ˙ ammad b. Hā tim al-Dū ˙rı̄ al-Baghdā dı̄ ], ed. ʿAbd Allā h Ahmad˙ Hasan (Beirut:
Dā r˙ al-Qalam, n.d.),
˙ 1: 36. The same wording can be found ˙in Yah˙yā b. Maʿı̄ n’s
Tā rı̄ kh, 2: 627, as part of his Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n wa kitā buhu al-tā rı̄ k˙h, ed. Ahmad
Muhammad Nū r Sayf (Mecca: n.p.,˙1979). ˙
30 ˙
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 239.
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 271

ʿAbbā s said: Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ died in the year 83.’31 Ibn Abı̄ al-
ʿAwwā m lists another eleven companions who died after the birth of
Abū Hanı̄ fa:32
˙
1. ʿUbayd Allā h b. al-ʿAbbā s al-Muttalib died in the year 87.
˙˙
2. Al-Miqdā m b. Maʿdı̄ karib died in Shā m, aged ninety-one, in the
year 87.
3. ʿUtba b. ʿAbd al-Sulamı̄ died in the year 87 in Hims.
˙ ˙
4. ʿAbd Allā h b. Basr al-Mā zinı̄ died in year 88.
5. ʿAbd Allā h b. Thaʿlaba b. Saʿı̄ r al-Zuhrı̄ died in the year 87, aged
˙
eighty-three. Second report says year 89, aged seventy-three.
6. Sahl b. Saʿd al-Sā ʿidı̄ died in Medina in year 91, aged 100.
7. Al-Sā ’ib b. Yazı̄ d al-Kindı̄ was regarded as the last Companion of
Medina. He died in the year 91, aged eighty-eight.
8. Anas b. Mā lik. There are conflicting reports: year 90; year 91, aged
ninety-nine; 93; 91; 91, aged ninety-nine; 91 or 92.
9. Abū Umā ma b. Sahl b. Hanı̄ f died in the year 100.
˙
10. Abū Tufayl ʿĀ mir b. Wā thila: Last Companion to die who saw the
˙
Prophet Muhammad. Died in year 101, lived through eight years of
the Prophet Muh ˙ ammad’s life; born in the year 1.
˙
11. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. ʿAbd al-Qā rı̄ died in year 81, aged 120.
˙
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m’s mining of historical data for death dates of
Companions aims to respond to claims that Abū Hanı̄ fa could not have
˙
heard traditions from Companions. The manā qib and masā nı̄ d works
identify Abū Hanı̄ fa as having been the only eponym to have seen or
˙
met a Companion, heard traditions from them, and transmitted these
traditions. This was a veritable coup de grâce for followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙

31
ʿAbbā s for ʿIyyā sh: a very easy scribal error to make: Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il
Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 1: 285. Abū Zurʿa later reports an incident involving Yahyā b. al-Hā ˙rith,
where˙ he reports that he met Wā thila and asked him whether he performed ˙ ˙
the oath of
allegiance to the Prophet with his hand. Wā thila confirmed this, and Yahyā proceeded to
kiss his hand: Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh, 1: 323. This report appears ˙ in a section
that seems to recount incidents concerning Successors and Companions, wherein the
latter had touched the body of the Prophet Muhammad. Another report records a
Successor’s proud boast that he prayed funeral prayers ˙ with Wā thila. We have another
report in which ʿAmr b. Muhā jir recounts his prayer behind Wā thila (1: 324). Later on in
the work Abū Zurʿa recounts the names of two more Successors who met Wā thila (1:
327). Abū Zurʿa would have been very well placed to supply this information on Wā thila.
Ibn ʿAsā kir frequently cites Abū Zurʿa’s work, Tasmiyat al-asā ghir min ashā b Wā thila b.
˙
al-Asqaʿ. Ibn ʿAsā kir mentions this in his Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat al-Dimashq, ˙ ˙ 217 (ʿAmr b.
9:
Muhā jir b. Dı̄ nā r), 10: 369 (Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Shuʿaythı̄ ), 12: 197 (Yahyā b.
˙ ̄ Musʿab), 7: 63 (ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Abı̄ Qusaym
al-Hā rith al-Dhimā rı̄ ), 12: 340 (Abu ˙ al-
˙ ), 8: 39 (ʿAmr b. Ruwaym al-Lakhmı̄
Hajarı̄ ˙ ), 8: 80 (ʿAtā ’ b. Maysara
˙ al-Khurā sā nı̄ ), 10:
˙ (Bishr b. Hayyā n al-Khusanjı̄ al-Balā tı̄ ).
89 ˙
32 ˙ ˙
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 225–32.
˙ ˙
272 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

and it was one that manā qib and masā nı̄ d works were keen to draw
attention to, since it augmented Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodox credentials.
It is particularly significant that this˙passage offers the only bold state-
ment of intent for the book’s origins. We have Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m
expressing his awareness of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
which originate, in this case, from the claim that he never met a
Companion and thus did not qualify as a Successor. In formulating this
attack, proto-Sunni traditionalists wished to eliminate Abū Hanı̄ fa from a
˙
category that carried a certain amount of moral and orthodox probity. Ibn
Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m’s intervention, which sets forth explicitly an explanation
for some of the book’s content, reflects the preoccupation of manā qib
works with responding to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. This
˙
was their central social and religious function. A better appreciation of
this is gained by examining Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s Fadā ’il in more
˙
detail.
Following the section on the birth of Abū Hanı̄ fa is a chapter concern-
˙
ing his social and ethnic background. In this section Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m
appears to have two main objectives. On the one hand, he is concerned
with establishing a single narrative concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ancestral
˙
origins that places Abū Hanı̄ fa’s father as a member of Kabul’s aristocracy
˙
who became a prisoner of war. He was purchased by a lady from the tribe
of Banı̄ Taym Allā h b. Thaʿlaba who later freed him.33 On the other hand,
our author knows that proto-Sunni traditionalists used the uncertainty
surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ancestral origins to undermine his religious
˙
orthodoxy. He mentions two instances to highlight the unreasonable
nature of proto-Sunni traditionalist attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s social back-
ground. One report describes the tension between al-Qa ˙ ̄ sim b. Maʿn and
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ . The latter used to censure al-Qā sim b. Maʿn on
account of his having studied with Abū Hanı̄ fa (qā la lı̄ Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄
˙
ghayra marra yuʿā tibunı̄ fı̄ ityā nı̄ Abā Hanı̄ fa). They happened to meet
˙
each other one day, and al-Qā sim b. Maʿn demanded an explanation for
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ ’s sharp hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa: ‘Why do you
˙
loathe him so much (mā tanqimu ʿalā Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa)?’ Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄
˙
was stymied (fa sakata, lā yadrı̄ mā yaqū l). He had no credible defence,
and instead found it puzzling that someone with al-Qā sim b. Maʿn’s
esteemed social origins, whose ancestor was the famed Companion
ʿAbd Allā h b. Masʿū d, would frequent a man such as Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙
whose ancestors were clients (rajul mithluka min wuld ʿAbd Allā h b.
Masʿū d yakhtalifu ilā rajul min al-mawā lı̄ ). 34
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m

33
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 40–1.
34 ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 41–2.
H
˙ ˙
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 273

acknowledges the presence of proto-Sunni traditionalist hostility to and

condemnation of Abū Hanı̄ fa, but his aim is to convey just how unrea-
sonable and petty it was.˙ It was grounded in unreasonable social hierarch-
ies and ethnic prejudices rather than religious principles.
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ is to keen to argue that others found such
criticisms entirely inappropriate and bigoted. He relates Sā lih b. al-
˙ ˙
Hasan’s analysis of the widespread proto-Sunni traditionalist criticisms
˙
of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Sā lih b. al-Hasan believed that the Arabs were envious of
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa because someone of his standing did not emerge from among
˙
them. He recognised also that scholars whose ancestral origins were to be
found among the mawā lı̄ were also scathing about Abū Hanı̄ fa, but this
˙
too was to be explained on the grounds that, in one way, Abū Hanı̄ fa did
˙
not claim to belong to them either. Sā lih b. al-Hasan ends this anecdote
˙ ˙ ˙
by relating the response he had heard Abū Hanı̄ fa give to a man inquiring
˙
about his ancestral origins. ‘I am from the community of Muhammad,
˙
God bless him and grant him peace, and among those whom God, mighty
and exalted, has granted His favour to by bestowing upon our ancestors
Islam.’35 Manā qib authors seeking to curtail the ethnic dimensions of
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa found comfort in the defence
˙
that one’s greatest ancestry lay in a claim to the religion of Islam.
Proto-Sunni traditionalist attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious credibility
˙
appear in different places throughout Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s
Fadā ’il work. That they admitted the material of their interlocutors into
˙
manā qib works is surprising, even if the goal in doing so was to respond
directly to their criticisms. Followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa went even further
˙
than this, however. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s Fadā ’il includes a
chapter entitled ‘Denunciations of Abū Hanı̄ fa and the˙ slander against
˙
him’.36 This section concerns itself with a number of the gravest charges
against Abū Hanı̄ fa that we found in proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses
˙
of heresy between the ninth and tenth centuries. Proto-Sunni traditional-
ists disseminated the idea very widely in texts composed between the
ninth and eleventh centuries that Abū Hanı̄ fa had repented publicly
˙
from heresy on two occasions.
This charge against Abū Hanı̄ fa had become so widespread that fol-
˙
lowers of Abū Hanı̄ fa found themselves not so much doubting the exist-
˙
ence of such incidences as giving an alternative explanation for them. One
account given by Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m explains that an abstruse, technical
principle propelled the entire controversy. He says that the political
authorities of Kufa arranged for the city’s governor to question Abū

35
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 43–4.
36 ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 72–80.
H
˙ ˙
274 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

Hanı̄ fa in public about his belief regarding the createdness of the Quran.
˙
When pressed to give an answer, Abū Hanı̄ fa was non-committal in his
˙
responses. ‘I have never heard anyone espouse this doctrine, nor have I
known anyone to debate about it. In fact, it is the kind of speech that one
finds disturbing (innahu la qawl tudı̄ qu lahu al-nafs).’ He was asked to
˙
swear an oath to this effect, but refused to do so. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-
Saʿdı̄ explains that this was because Abū Hanı̄ fa, out of principle, would
˙
never swear an oath in God’s name. The governor then threatened Abū
Hanı̄ fa that he would be flogged if he refused to swear an oath. In the light
˙
of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s persistent refusal to swear an oath, the governor began
the process˙ for flogging him, but when he noticed his body’s slenderness
and old age, he resorted to asking Abū Hanı̄ fa to repent publicly. Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa was puzzled by this and told the governor that nothing that he had
˙
said or believed was in any way self-implicating. ‘In that case, repent,’ said
the governor. So Abū Hanı̄ fa said, ‘O my Lord, accept our repentance.’
˙
This was the basis for people’s saying, ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent,
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent.’37
˙
It was the view of a number of important proto-Sunni traditionalists
that Abū Hanı̄ fa had repented from heresy on two occasions. News of this
˙
incident had clearly begun to circulate among Muslim communities.
Hanafı̄ authors such as Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m contended that other proto-
˙
Sunnis and proto-Sunni traditionalists could not bring themselves to
believe that Abū Hanı̄ fa had been made to repent from heresy. But people
˙
wanted answers and so they sought clarification from leading scholars.
One man plucked up the courage to ask ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Mubā rak, ‘Was
Abū Hanı̄ fa made to repent from heresy?’ Ibn al-Mubā rak was not moved
to talk˙ (fa sakata). The man posed the same question one month later. Ibn
al-Mubā rak relented: ‘I seek refuge in God from the hostility of the
readers (al-qurrā ’), and I seek refuge in God from the hostility of those
involved in government (al-siyar).’38 Similarly, when ʿAbd al-Salā m b.
Harb al-Malā ’ı̄ was asked whether Abū Hanı̄ fa was forced to repent
˙ ˙
publicly from heresy, he expressed his outrage over the suggestion that
Abū Hanı̄ fa had any deviant beliefs that demanded a public repentance.
˙
‘God forgive you, my brother. I seek God’s forgiveness from that. It was
an attempt to slander him.’39 Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ reports Misʿar
b. Kidā m’s thoughts on the entire episode: ‘The people of government
envied al-Nuʿmā n b. Thā bit on account of the latter’s perspicacity (fahm)
and learning (ʿilm). This was nothing but an attempt to slander him.’40
37
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 72–3.
38
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 73.
H
39
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 73–4.
H
40
Ibn Abı̄ ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 74.
H
˙ ˙
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 275

Again, whether Misʿar b. Kidā m actually said this will interest historians
of the eighth century who aim to use later texts to reconstruct the history
of the eighth century. For our purposes, it shows how Hanafı̄ s of the late
˙
ninth and tenth centuries interpreted attacks on their imam. Ibn Abı̄ al-
ʿAwwā m does not stop here. He is absolutely committed to exonerating
Abū Hanı̄ fa from the charges directed towards the latter by proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalists, and so he draws our attention to other accounts sympa-
thetic to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ordeal. This was an account that Ibn Abı̄ al-
˙
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ (grandfather) found in his own book containing the
traditions of al-Hasan b. Hammā d Sajjā da (d. 241/855).41 It relates the
story of Abū Qut˙un ʿAmr b. ˙ al-Haytham, who sets out for Kufa in search
˙
of religious scholars. He is guided in the direction of Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ . In the course of a conversation with Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ ,
al-Haytham decides to ask him something that has been on his mind:42
al-haytham: I have heard the following statement attributed to you: ‘Abū
Hanı̄ fa was made to repent from unbelief twice.’ The unbelief that is
˙
mentioned here, does it imply the unbelief that constitutes the very
opposite of belief?
al-thawrı̄ : No one has asked me about this incident since the very day that I first
spoke these words (mā sa’alanı̄ ʿan hā dhihi al-mas’ala ahad ghayruka mundhu
kallamtu bihā ). ˙
al-haytham: He [al-Thawrı̄ ] then lowered his head and said the following:
al-thawrı̄ : The answer is no. One day, Wā sil al-Shā rı̄ entered Kufa. A group of
people flocked to him and told him: ‘Here ˙ in Kufa we have a man who does
not declare as unbelievers people who commit sins (lā yukaffir ahl al-maʿā sı̄ ).’
The person they were referring to was Abū Hanı̄ fa. Abū Hanı̄ fa was then ˙sent
for and brought to Wā sil. ˙ ˙
˙
wā s: il b. al-shā rı̄ : Old man, I have been informed that you do not declare
sinners to be unbelievers. Is this so?
abū h: anı̄ fa: Yes, this is my position (huwa madhhabı̄ ).
wā s: il b. al-shā rı̄ : Holding such a position is itself unbelief (inna hā dhā kufr). If
you repent, we shall accept it from you. But if you refuse to repent, we shall
kill you.
abū h: anı̄ fa: From what should I repent?
wā s: il b. al-shā rı̄ : Repent from what we have mentioned.
abū h: anı̄ fa: I repent from unbelief (anā tā ’ib min al-kufr).
Abū Hanı̄ fa then left. A group of the caliph al-Mansū r’s strongmen
˙ ˙
arrived and had Wā sil banished from Kufa. After a short while, al-
˙
Mansū r convened one of his sessions with the public. A group of people
˙
who had been present during proceedings between Wā sil and Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙

41
On al-Hasan b. Hammā d Sajjā da see al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 11: 392–3.
42
Ibn Abı̄˙ al-ʿAwwa˙̄ m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 74–5.
˙ ˙
276 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

reported to the caliph that Abū Hanı̄ fa had retracted his statement to
˙
Wā sil. Once again, Abū Hanı̄ fa was summoned:
˙ ˙
al-mans: ū r: Old man, I have been informed that you have retracted the
statement you gave earlier.
abū h: anı̄ fa: Which statement is that?
al-mans: ū r: That you do not declare sinners to be unbelievers.
abū h: anı̄ fa: Yes, this is my position.
al-mans: ū r: According to us, holding such a position constitutes unbelief. If you
repent, we shall accept it from you. But if you refuse, we shall put you to
death. The authorities do not have someone put to death from heresy or
unbelief until they have been offered the chance to repent thrice (wa al-shurā t
lā yaqtulū na hattā yustatā ba thalā th marrā t).
abū h: anı̄ fa: From˙ what should I repent?
al-mans: ū r: Repent from unbelief.
abū h: anı̄ fa: Then I repent from unbelief.
Al-Thawrı̄ adds that this was the background to the unbelief from which
Abū Hanı̄ fa was made to repent.43 Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ acknow-
˙
ledges the sharp discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa and highlights the
˙
enmity Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ displayed against Abū Hanı̄ fa. However, Ibn Abı̄
˙
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ seeks to draw attention to the misinterpretations of
various controversial episodes that became the basis of this discourse of
heresy. Therefore, these reports are valuable for our purposes because they
document the development of narratives of orthodoxy and heresy in the
centuries that concern us. Moreover, they reveal the extent to which authors
of manā qib works were engaged intensely in shaping narratives of orthodoxy
by confronting proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy head-on.
An important discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa that Ibn Abı̄ al-
˙
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ alludes to only in passing is the allegation that Abū
Hanı̄ fa permitted rebellion against the state (yarā al-sayf). He cites the
˙
disbelief and curt dismissal of al-Nadr b. Muhammad upon being asked
whether Abū Hanı̄ fa held this doctrine. ˙ 44 What ˙ this section in Ibn Abı̄ al-
˙
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s Fadā ’il tells us is that there was an awareness and an
˙
acknowledgement that discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa were
˙
fairly widespread. Our author does not pretend that this material never
existed. Rather, he cites it and shows the extent to which fierce opposition
to Abū Hanı̄ fa existed. This is because Abū Hanı̄ fa’s defenders saw these
˙ ˙
attacks as proof of his orthodoxy.
In one section of the Fadā ’il, Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ gives numer-
˙
ous examples of this discourse of heresy and suggests that it was on the
rise. He explains that once a son asked his father, ‘Why do I see so many
43
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 74.
44 ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 75.
H
˙ ˙
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 277

people defaming Abū Hanı̄ fa? They say [terrible] things about him and
˙
they have increased in number.’ ‘My dear son,’ the father responded,
‘everyone in Kufa had a tribe that protected its members. Abū Hanı̄ fa was
˙
simply a man of the clients (al-mawā lı̄ ). After a while, by God, no one
remained except that he went to Abū Hanı̄ fa and learnt from him. The
˙
only exception was Sharı̄ k b. ʿAbd Allā h, who refused to do so, and his
deficiency was well known up until the day he met his Lord.’45 Crucially,
what this account tells us is that Muslims, including Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m,
were sensitive to the fact that orthodoxy was a process. Discourses of
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa could be on the rise in a certain period, but that
over time narratives ˙ of orthodoxy evolved. In addition, Ibn Abı̄ al-
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ highlights instances wherein Abū Hanı̄ fa’s opponents
˙
described him as a heretic, unbeliever, and deviant.46 Another report tells
us that during the course of a conversation Abū Hanı̄ fa’s name was
˙
mentioned and it emerged that there were those who were extreme in
their love for him and those whose animosity against him was extreme.
One onlooker had more sympathy for Abū Hanı̄ fa’s admirers, for he
˙
described the state of those who heaped opprobrium on Abū Hanı̄ fa as
doing so ‘out of envy, because they see in you [Abū Hanı̄ fa] the ˙ virtues
˙
that God grants to His elect.’47 Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ understands
this, but he shows that the basis for such opposition was often fickle, that
it rested upon gross historical misunderstandings, and that it was subject
to serious objections. He saw his manā qib work as the forum for docu-
menting this complex and contested mnemohistory, so as to rehabilitate
Abū Hanı̄ fa as an exemplary figure of Sunni orthodoxy.
˙
There was no doubt in Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m’s mind that proto-Sunni
traditionalist opposition to Abū Hanı̄ fa was real and substantial. He
˙
located the roots of this vehement hostility in the rising popularity of
Abū Hanı̄ fa in the eighth and ninth centuries. In his Fadā ’il he tries to
˙ ˙
suggest that it was personal animosity and prejudice that contributed to
the growth of discourses of heresy. He quotes the words of al-Jā hiz,
˙ ˙
‘People are of two types with respect to Abū Hanı̄ fa: they are either
˙
envious or ignorant. The envious person is so because he has not been
granted the like of which was granted to Abū Hanı̄ fa. The ignorant
person is so because he does not understand what˙ Abū Hanı̄ fa said.’48
˙

45
See Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 79.
46
See Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ ā ’il Abı̄ H
˙ anı̄ fa, 76, 78.
47
See Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ ā ’il Abı̄ ˙Hanı̄ fa, 78: Hasadan an ra’ū ka faddalaka
Allā h bimā fuddilat bihi al-nujabā ’. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙˙
48 ˙˙
See Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwa ̄ m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 78. I have not been able to locate
this statement in al-Jā hiz’s works. The ˙ ˙
statement is attributed by other pre-modern
˙ ˙
278 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m, like al-Jā hiz before him, understood that Abū
˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa was a victim of his own success.
˙ Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ gives a number of examples to illustrate his
argument. When, for example, Ahmad b. Hanbal was asked why he
˙ ˙
insisted on attacking Abū Hanı̄ fa so sharply he responded by saying that
˙
it was because of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s reliance on speculative jurisprudence (al-
˙
ra’y). This did not satisfy the questioner. ‘Did not Mā lik b. Anas rely on
speculative jurisprudence?’ he protested. Ahmad b. Hanbal agreed. He
˙ ˙
added, though, that what made Abū Hanı̄ fa’s speculative jurisprudence
˙
so much more injurious was that it had endured in books. Ahmad b.
Hanbal’s inquisitor found this answer unhelpful, too. ‘Mā lik b.˙ Anas’s
˙
speculative jurisprudence was also recorded in books,’ he replied. ‘That is
true,’ said Ahmad b. Hanbal, ‘but Abū Hanı̄ fa relied on speculative
˙ ˙ ˙
jurisprudence more than Mā lik b. Anas.’ We can deduce from this that
proto-Sunni traditionalists were being challenged on account of their
dissemination of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. It was apparent
˙
to some that the grounds for proto-Sunni traditionalist condemnations of
Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic and deviant lacked credibility. There was cer-
tainly ˙ an increasing sentiment that Abū Hanı̄ fa was being targeted
˙
unfairly, and that proto-Sunni traditionalists were playing the man and
not his ideas. Another account in the Fadā ’il, for example, explains how
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa and his Kufan interlocutors, Ibn Shubruma and Ibn Abı̄
˙
Layla, gave identical responses to a legal question. They also provided
similar reasoning for arriving at that particular answer. When it was put to
them that Abū Hanı̄ fa had given the same answer and provided similar
˙
legal reasoning, the two scholars supposedly retracted their position.49
The point Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ seems to want to convey is that,
when it came to Abū Hanı̄ fa and the Hanafı̄ s in general, some proto-
˙ ˙
Sunni traditionalists exhibited double standards. They did so, evidently,
because they deemed it necessary to draw a line between their religious
conclusions and those ascribed to Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
We have seen that, for Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , demonstrating the
orthodoxy of Abū Hanı̄ fa could not be achieved without responding to
˙
specific discourses of heresy. It was necessary to cite them and explain
them. In the process of doing so, Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ even

writers to ʿAbd Allā h b. Dā wū d al-Khuraybı̄ , whom al-Dhahabı̄ (Siyar, 9: 348) believed
was sympathetic to ra’y, in the following works: al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d,
13: 367; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 6: 402; al-Mizzı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b ˙al-kamā l, 29: 441; Ibn Hajar al-
˙
ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tahdhı̄ b al-tahdhı̄ b, 10: 402; Murtadā al-Zabı̄ dı̄ , ʿUqū d al-jawā hir al-munı̄ fa fı̄
adillat madhhab al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, ed. Muhammad ˙ al-ʿAzā zı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-
ʿIlmiyya, n.d.), 46. ˙ ˙
49
See Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 77.
˙ ˙
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 279

reproduced some of this disparaging material, if only to deconstruct it or

explain it away. It was also possible to undermine discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa and reinforce his orthodox credentials simply by
˙
emphasising the number of his followers and just how far and wide they
had spread. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m achieved this in two ways. In the first
place, the Fadā ’il contains chapters wherein religious scholars are seen to
˙
attest to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodoxy. The first of these chapters appears
˙
immediately after two chapters that describe the torrent of heresiological
discourses surrounding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s mnemohistory. Having analysed
˙
and responded to this critical material, our author considers this an
opportune moment to furnish a catalogue of positive attestations to Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s piety, learning, perspicacity, proficiency in hadı̄ th, and
˙ ˙
unrivalled juristic knowledge.50
A second technique we can observe in the Fadā ‘il for documenting Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa’s orthodoxy is to incorporate into his manā qib work a genre of
˙
writing that was designed to convey the religious orthodoxy of legal
eponyms, namely, tabaqā t works. Tabaqā t books were first composed in
˙ ˙
the late eighth century and became more prominent in the ninth and
tenth centuries. They were essentially biographical dictionaries devoted
to a particular social or religious group in which biographical notices,
arranged by generation (tabaqa), were given for individuals.51 These
˙
biographical dictionaries played a fundamental role in the formation of
religious and social movements and helped to consolidate their collective
identities. Their use in manā qib works from the ninth and tenth centuries,
however, points to a more precise function. If the manā qib genre sur-
rounding Abū Hanı̄ fa in the ninth and tenth centuries sought to defend
˙
50
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 80–92.
51
Much has been written on the tabaqā ˙ ˙ See Makdisi, ‘Tabaqā t-Biography’. A study
t genre.
that builds on Makdisi’s insights ˙ and emphasises the relationship
˙ between authority and
tabaqā t works is Jacques, Authority, Conflict, and the Transmission of Diversity. On ortho-
˙doxy and biographies see also Fierro, ‘Why and How do Religious Scholars Write about
Themselves?’ For the view that the development of hadı̄ th study prompted the rise of
tabaqā t works see Loth, ‘Ursprung und Bedeutung’;˙ and Gibb, ‘Islamic Biographical
˙Literature’; a comprehensive overview of the genre across disciplines is provided by
Hafsi, ‘Recherches sur le genre Tabaqat’; Al-Qadi, ‘Biographical Dictionaries’. See
also Robinson, ‘al-Muʿā fā b. ʿImrā n’. Jokisch believes that tabaqā t works were modelled
on Byzantine bishop lists. He tells us that ‘Ibn Saʿd and ˙possibly also the other early
authors of tabaqā t works had direct or indirect knowledge of the Church History of
Eusebius’. ˙Readers of Jokisch’s work will note that this seems to be his explanation for
other developments in early Islam. He does not go to the effort of actually building a case
for the relationship between tabaqā t works and Byzantine bishop lists, and, having read
˙
the relevant sections in Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History, I remain unconvinced. See
Jokisch, Islamic Imperial Law, 435. One tabaqā t work not cited in the previous scholarship
listed here was brought to our attention ˙ by Muranyi. For the ninth-century Tabaqā t ahl
al-Basra wa maʿrifat al-rijā l see Muranyi, Beiträge zur Geschichte, 74–5 (Muranyi˙ mis-
˙
takenly gives al-ʿIjlı̄ ’s death date as 975 instead of 875).
280 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

his orthodoxy against discourses of heresy, then the tabaqā t sections

˙
contained within manā qib works furnished an argument for orthodoxy
that rested on perceived facts concerning the number of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
followers and the spread of his legal teachings across the early Islamic
world. Manā qib and tabaqā t works came together, often in a single text
˙
such as Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s, to perform the work of orthodoxy.
The decision to bring these two distinct genres together seems to have
been a conscious move. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s tabaqā t section
˙
begins after the final detail concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s death has been
˙
recorded. Immediately following this is his historical account of scholars,
jurists, and hadı̄ th experts who studied jurisprudence or hadı̄ th with him.
˙ ˙
A considerable amount of thinking seems to have gone into the organisa-
tion of the tabaqā t work. First, the tabaqā t section is arranged geographic-
˙ ˙
ally. Second, each regional account begins with a list of names. After this,
information is provided on each individual name and his relationship to
Abū Hanı̄ fa. The first part of the tabaqā t section treats Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙ ˙ ˙
followers in Kufa. A total of seventy names is provided in list form, and
sixty-five of these scholars receive individual notices. According to this
data, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s students and, thereby, his teachings were dominant in
˙
Kufa, Khurā sā n, and Basra.52
It is important to point out that these notices differ from biographical
notices that are common to the tabaqā t genre. Rather than providing some
˙
elementary details concerning the scholar’s birth, education, teachers,
students, and place and date of birth, Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m cites reports
that connect the scholar in question to Abū Hanı̄ fa in some shape or form.
˙
For example, Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m provides reports in which these scholars
extol Abū Hanı̄ fa, transmit legal opinions from him, report incidents
˙
about Abū Hanı̄ fa, and narrate hadı̄ ths with a chain of transmission
˙ ˙
containing Abū Hanı̄ fa. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m is drawing on the technique
˙
of tabaqā t works, but he is adapting it for the specific purposes of his
˙
manā qib book. In fact, his tabaqā t section on the followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
ends where a new tabaqā t section begins, which has the explicit aim of
˙
52
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s data on Kufa will reignite the debate concerning the
importance of Kufa to the spread of proto-Hanafism. In a number of important studies
Melchert has pointed out that a survey of a˙ large pool of both Hanafı̄ and non-Hanafı̄
sources (tabaqā t and masā nı̄ d works) shows the dearth of Kufan H˙anafı̄ s: Melchert,˙‘How
Hanafism ˙ Came to Originate in Kufa’; Melchert, ‘The Early˙ Hanafiyya and Kufa’.
˙
Melchert is certainly right to question modern scholarship’s (Schacht ˙ and Tsafrir) reli-
ance on the casual connection between Kufa and Hanafism, and he has marshalled more
˙
evidence than anyone else towards this research question. This new data from Ibn Abı̄ al-
ʿAwwā m, however, suggests more strongly than any other primary source the dominance
of Kufan Hanafism. This question is not directly relevant to this book, so, for now, I have
avoided a ˙closer analysis of Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s survey of Hanafism’s regional
distribution. ˙
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 281

providing death dates for Companions of the Prophet to establish the

plausibility of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s belonging to the generation of Successors.
This second tabaqā t˙ section resorts to the technique more common to
˙
tabaqā t works of recording death dates (see Table 8.1).
˙
The tabaqā t model makes a third appearance in Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-
˙
Saʿdı̄ ’s Fadā ’il. This section, however, was not composed by the original
˙
author of the work (the grandfather). It was authored by the author’s
grandson, and it was designed to supplement the tabaqā t section enumer-
˙
ating Abū Hanı̄ fa’s vast and expansive network of students. In what is only
˙
the second explicit statement of authorial intervention in the Fadā ’il, the
grandson states: ‘I had uncovered a large number of people who transmit-˙
ted reports from and studied with Abū Hanı̄ fa but whose narrations from
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa my grandfather had failed to mention. They are as follows.’53
˙
Indeed, these names are omitted in the grandfather’s tabaqā t section, which
˙
made no claims to being comprehensive. Whereas the earlier tabaqā t
˙
sections contain isnā ds in which the grandson transmits (through his father)
from the grandfather, this tabaqā t section does not refer to the father and
˙
grandfather in the isnā ds. The grandson furnishes his own, non-family
isnā ds and even refers to his own written materials from which he derives
information on students of Abū Hanı̄ fa (see Table 8.2).54
The grandson also eschews the ˙ regional organisation of the tabaqā t
˙
favoured by his grandfather. He mentions thirteen scholars absent in his
grandfather’s account and provides evidence for their having studied with
Abū Hanı̄ fa. The fourth and final tabaqā t section returns to the grandfather’s
˙ ˙

Table 8.1 Overview of tabaqā t section within Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s
˙
Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
Region Number of scholars Reference

Kufa 70 Fadā ’il, 143–84

˙
Medina 5 Fadā ’il, 184–7
˙
Yemen 7 Fadā ’il, 190–8
˙
Basra 18 Fadā ’il, 194–204
˙
Yamā ma 2 Fadā ’il, 205
˙
Wā sit 6 Fadā ’il, 205–8
˙ ˙
Jazı̄ ra 9 Fadā ’il, 208–9
˙
Shā m and Misr 7 Fadā ’il, 209–12
˙ ˙
Rayy and Khurā sā n 23 Fadā ’il, 212–22
˙

53
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 234.
54 ˙ ā ’il Abı̄
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 240–1.
H
˙ ˙
282 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

Table 8.2 The occurrence of tabaqā t sections within Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-
˙
Saʿdı̄ ’s Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
Author Tabaqā t Arrangement Reference
˙
Grandfather Students of AH Regional Fadā ’il, 143–222
˙
Grandfather Companions alive during Chronological Fadā ’il, 222–33
˙
AH’s lifetime
Grandson Students of AH omitted Random Fadā ’il, 234–42
˙
by grandfather
Grandfather Biographies of major Random Fadā ’il, 242–375
˙
students of AH

composition and provides detailed biographies of three major students of

Abū Hanı̄ fa.55
˙
In a landmark article, George Makdisi argued that the central motiv-
ation for writing tabaqā t works came from traditionalism. Makdisi is
˙
characteristically careful with the evidence, and he acknowledges that
the current state of research shows that the earliest recorded tabaqā t
˙
work was authored by a tationalist scholar. For this reason, we cannot
say that tabaqā t works originated with traditionalists. Nevertheless,
˙
Makdisi shows that the tabaqā t genre was developed by followers of the
˙
eponyms and that this development was integral to the formation of
Sunni orthodoxy around the schools of law.56 In a review essay,
Melchert has presented some important modifications to Makdisi’s
hypothesis that traditionalists dominated the composition of tabaqā t
˙
works. The most significant one for our purposes is Melchert’s point
that deriving conclusions based upon titles of works overlooks the fact
that tabaqā t works could appear within books that did not contain the
word˙ tabaqā t in the title.57
˙
Building on Makdisi and Melchert’s findings, I have argued that man-
ā qib works were more important in establishing the orthodoxy of eponyms
of legal schools than tabaqā t works.In this respect, my conclusions com-
˙
plement, extend, and modify Makdisi’s hypothesis: ‘The Traditionalists
may or may not have created the tabaqā t; but there can be no doubt that
˙
they adopted it for a specific purpose. Their motivation was to identify the

55
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 242–375: Dā wū d al-Tā ʿı̄ (242–63),
˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Mubā rak (264–85), al-Qa˙ ̄ sim b. Maʿn (285–90), Zufar ˙ b. Hudhayl
(290–300), Abū Yū suf (200–331), ʿAbd Allā h b. Dā wū d al-Khuraybı̄ (332–41), Asad b.
ʿAmr al-Bajalı̄ (341–4), Yahyā b. Zakariyyā ’ b. Abı̄ Zā ’ida (344–6), Yū suf b. Khā lid al-
Samtı̄ (247–9), Muhammad˙ b. al-Hasan al-Shaybā nı̄ (349–75).
56 ˙
Makdisi, ‘Tabaqā t-Biography’. ˙
57 ˙
Melchert, ‘George Makdisi and Wael B. Hallaq’, 311–12.
 8.1 A New Tenth-Century Source 283

scholars who had the legitimate authority to determine religious

orthodoxy’.58 Makdisi was right to highlight the consequences of the
tabaqā t genre for the formation of religious movements. The data I have
˙
presented in this chapter, which was not available to Makdisi when he was
writing, suggests that the opponents of traditionalism were equally, if not
more, industrious and creative in their adoption of the tabaqā t genre to
˙
shape religious orthodoxy. Makdisi was also right, in a separate publica-
tion, to draw attention to the interdependence of different genres of
historical writing and how, together, these forms of writing impacted in
profound ways the development of religious movements.59 Following
this, whilst at the same time disagreeing with Makdisi’s emphasis on the
agency of traditionalism, I have tried to show the interdependence of
genres of historical writing (manā qib, masā nı̄ d, and tabaqā t) and their
˙
collective contribution in the ninth–tenth centuries to unmaking heresy
and shaping orthodoxy. This is abundantly clear in the case of Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s mnemohistory.60 It was the manā qib and masā nı̄ d genres, not
˙
58
Makdisi, ‘Tabaqā t-Biography’, 373 (the emphasis is Makdisi’s); and see Makdisi, Ibn
˙
ʿAqil et la résurgence, 67–8.
59
Makdisi, Ibn ʿAqil et la résurgence, 68.
60
This is not the place to offer a comparative history of manā qib works. I am currently
preparing a research article on the history of manā qib works for the eponyms of the four
Sunni madhhabs. Abū Hanı̄ fa stands out for the sheer number of manā qib works produced
for him between the ninth ˙ and eleventh centuries and, I would venture to add, throughout
Islamic history all the way up to the twentieth century. The earliest manā qib work for al-
Shā fiʿı̄ was authored by Dā wū d al-Zā hirı̄ , followed shortly after by Zakariyyā ’ b. Yahyā al-
Sā jı̄ (d. 307/919). On al-Sā jı̄ see al-ʿAbba ˙ ˙
̄ dı̄ , Kitā b Tabaqā t al-fuqahā ’, 61–2; al-Dhahabı̄ ,
Siyar, 14: 197–200. On al-Sā jı̄ ’s authorship of Manā ˙ qib al-Shā fiʿı̄ see al-Sakhā wı̄ , al-
Jawā hir wa al-durar fı̄ tarjamat Shaykh al-Islā m Ibn Hajar, ed. Ibrā hı̄ m Bā jis ʿAbd al-
Majı̄ d (Beirut: Dā r Ibn Hazm, 1999), 1258–9, who provides ˙ an authoritative though far
from complete list of manā ˙ qib works for eponyms. Another list of manā qib works for al-
Shā fiʿı̄ is provided by al-Subkı̄ , Tabaqā t al-Shā fiʿiyya al-kubrā , 1: 243–5. For excerpts of al-
Sā jı̄ ’s Manā qib work see al-ʿAbba ˙ ̄ dı̄ , Kitā b Tabaqā t al-fuqahā ’, 8; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 10: 23–
4, 27, 28, 29, 31, 35, 59; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala ˙ ̄ nı̄ , Isā ba, 11: 118–19, 661–2; Ibn Hajar al-
˙ 48, 53, 55, 61, 76,
ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tawā lı̄ al-ta’sı̄ s, 24, 40, ˙ 79, 80, 81–2, 83, 84, 85, 88,˙ 90, 91,
92, 97, 99, 114, 116, 122, 125, 129, 132–3, 147, 151, 181, 182; al-Bayhaqı̄ , Manā qib al-
Shā fiʿı̄ , 1: 204, 460; ʿAbd Allā h al-Ansā rı̄ , Dhamm al-kalā m wa ahlihi, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n
b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z al-Shibl (Medina: Maktabat ˙ al-ʿUlū m wa al-Hikam, 1998), where al-Sa ˙ ̄ jı̄
is cited a number of times; but it is only in the following citations ˙ wherein I believe one can
find remnants of his lost Manā qib al-Shā fiʿı̄ : 3: 15, 26, 27, 170, 4: 638, 5: 169. I would
understand the production of three manā qib works for al-Shā fiʿı̄ in the ninth century as
resembling the case of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Al-Shā fiʿı̄ faced some hostile opposition, but it paled in
comparison with Abū Hanı̄˙fa. See Melchert, ‘The Adversaries of Ahmad Ibn Hanbal’,
248–9. It seems that opposition ˙ to al-Shā fiʿı̄ was forthcoming from˙ other proto-Sunni ˙
circles, too. See the number of refutations of al-Shā fiʿı̄ prior to Ibn al-Labbā d’s (d. 333/
944) better-known refutation described in Muranyi, Beiträge zur Geschichte, 73 (Ibn Tā lib
al-Qā dı̄ (d. 275/888–9): Radd ʿalā al-Shā fiʿı̄ ; al-Radd ʿalā man khā lafa Mā lik; al-Radd˙ ʿalā
al-mukhā ˙ lifı̄ n min al-Kū fiyyı̄ n, the latter probably directed against proto-Hanafı̄ tes); 87–8
(Abū ʿUmar al-Azdı̄ (d. 288/901): Kitā b al-Radd ʿalā al-Shā fiʿı̄ ; and the˙author of Kitā b
Fadā ’il Mā lik b. Anas); 92–5 (al-Kinā nı̄ (d. 289/902): Kitā b al-Hujja fı̄ al-radd ʿalā al-
˙ ˙
284 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

the tabaqā t genre, that was dedicated to building the case for Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙ ˙
status as a patron saint of Sunni orthodoxy. This is not to suggest that
tabaqā t works were nugatory to the success of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s adoption as a
˙ ˙
pillar of Sunni orthodoxy. As I have shown, manā qib works of the late ninth
and tenth centuries incorporated tabaqā t sections into these books.
˙
Manā qib works posited a vision of medieval Islamic society and portrayed
their eponym as an exemplar of religious orthodoxy in society. The tabaqā t
˙
sections within these works were included to argue that the eponym’s
religious orthodoxy had obtained the consensus of the Muslim community
in the past and the present and in almost every region of the medieval
Islamicate world.
This discussion of the themes in a new medieval source has been the
starting point for documenting a transition from the ninth century –
during which Abū Hanı̄ fa was depicted as a heretic and deviant scholar
˙
among a group of proto-Sunni traditionalists – to the tenth century, which
saw the emergence and popularisation of a genre of writing that was
dedicated to undermining discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙
establishing his credentials as an orthodox Sunni. We have chosen to
focus on Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s wide-ranging and diverse com-
position, whose central social function was to facilitate the unmaking of
Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic and to root him firmly within a shifting consensus
˙
in medieval Sunnism. It is imperative to recognise, though, that Ibn Abı̄
al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ was not unique in this respect. In fact, his efforts
represent a wider trend in the tenth–eleventh centuries, and it is to
documenting this historical development that we now turn.

8.2 A History of Manā qib Works

In the middle of the sixteenth century in Yemen an industrious Hanafı̄
˙
scholar decided that he would not let his frustration with provincial religious
trends get the better of him. Sharaf al-Dı̄ n al-Qartabı̄ (c.974/1566) explained
that he had embarked on a long and fruitless search for manā qib works
centred around Abū Hanı̄ fa.61 It pained him immensely that biographies
of Abū Hanı̄ fa were so ˙ scarce in his native Yemen and its environs. Al-
˙
Shā fiʿı̄ ); 155–7 (Ibn al-Haddā d al-Ghassā nı̄ (d. 302/915): Kitā b al-Radd ʿalā al-Shā fiʿı̄ ).
Incidentally, Ahmad b. Malu ˙ ̄ l al-Tanū khı̄ (d. 262/875–6) authored Fadā ’il al-Awzā ʿı̄ : see
Muranyi, Beiträge ˙ zur Geschichte, 67–8. There was a manā qib work ˙for al-Bukhā rı̄ : al-
Samʿā nı̄ , al-Tahbı̄ r fı̄ al-muʿjam al-kabı̄ r, 2: 69. For the relationship between manā qib
works and social ˙ crises see below, pp. 312.
61
See Kahhā la, Muʿjam al-mu’allifı̄ n (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1993), 1: 812 (no.
6016). I˙ ˙understand there is a published version of al-Qartabı̄ ’s Manā qib (ed. Khā lid
Nihā d Mustafā al-Aʿzamı̄ (Baghdad: Maktabat Amı̄ r Baghdā dı̄ , 2001)), but no library in
the United˙ ˙Kingdom˙ houses it.
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 285

Qartabı̄ was not simply venting about the state of religious learning and
education in Yemen. He was a diligent researcher. He knew of al-Saymarı̄ ’s
biography of Abū Hanı̄ fa.62 He had studied Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’s biographical ˙
˙
dictionary of Hanafı̄ s with a keen eye and discovered references to a number
˙
of manā qib works.63 Al-Qartabı̄ mentions al-Tahā wı̄ ’s biography.64 His wide
˙ ˙
reading of medieval Islamic literature meant that he was aware of manā qib
works not commonly known in Hanafı̄ circles. He mentions that al-Hā kim
˙ ˙
al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ ’s monumental Tā rı̄ kh Nı̄ shā pū r refers to an extensive manā qib
work authored by Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Shuʿayb. Al-Qartabı̄ is also 65

familiar with well-known ˙ manā qib ˙works: he refers to al-Muwaffaq b.

Ahmad al-Makkı̄ ’s work; Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’s Bustā n;67 al-Zamakhsharı̄ ’s
66
˙
Shaqā ’iq al-Nuʿmā n;68 Sibt b. al-Jawzı̄ and his al-Instisā r al-imā m a’immat al-
˙ ˙
amsā r, the existence of which he learnt from Ibn Wahbā n’s Sharh
˙ ˙
Manzū ma; ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad b. Yaʿqū b al-Hā rithı̄ ’s Kashf al-
69
˙ 70 ˙ ˙
ā thā r fı̄ manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa. Al-Qartabı̄ also described works by Hanafı̄ s
˙ ˙
62
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id ʿuqū d al-durar wa al-ʿuqyā n fı̄ manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, MS. Or. 8224,
British Museum, 3b. See al-Saymarı̄ , Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa. ˙
63
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b. See˙ Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā , al-Jawā
˙ hir al-mudiyya.
64
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 3b. See the discussion on pp. 291-300 below. ˙
65
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 3b. Al-Hā kim’s Tā rı̄ kh has not survived in toto, and I have been
unable to identify this work and ˙ its author. One ‘Muhammad b. Ahmad al-Shuʿaythı̄ ’
appears in an isnā d extolling Abū Hanı̄ fa: see Ibn H˙ajar al-ʿAsqala˙̄ nı̄ , Lisā n al-mı̄ zā n
(Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir al-Islā miyya,˙ 2002), 1: 613. Ibn
˙ Hajar’s source for this tradition
is al-Hā kim’s Tā rı̄ kh. This may or may not be the author to ˙ whom al-Qartabı̄ is referring.
66 ˙
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 3b. See al-Makkı̄ , Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa.
67
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 3b. Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’ refers to ˙this book as al-Bustā n fı̄ manā qib
imā minā al-Nuʿmā n and includes sections from it in the beginning of al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya.
See Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā , al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 1: 49–63. Other references to this book appear˙
in Ibn Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, ˙ 196; Ibn Tū lū n, ‘al-Ghuraf al-ʿaliyya fı̄ tarā jim
muta’akhkhirı̄ ˙ al-Hanafiyya’, MS Şehid Ali Paşa˙ 1924, Süleymaniye Library, Istanbul,
141b. I have seen˙ two other copies of Ibn Tū lū n’s al-Ghurar: MS Taymū r Tā rı̄ kh 631,
Dā r al-Kutub, is incomplete, as it begins with ˙ the letter alif and ends with zā ’ (I thank
Torsten Wollina for making me aware of the Taymū riyya manuscript); I was ˙ unable to
identify the entry for Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’ in MS Or. 3046, British Museum (for a description of
this manuscript see Rieu, Supplement to the Catalogue of the Arabic Manuscripts, 434–5).
68
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 3b. See Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Muʿjam al-udabā ’, 6: 2687–91 (Dā r al-
Gharb al-Islā mı̄ edn.) (the title of the work ˙ given is Shaqā ’iq al-Nuʿmā n fı̄ haqā ’iq al-
Nuʿmā n); Ibn Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, 292; Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf al-z˙unū n, ed.
˙
Şerefettin Yaltaka and Rifat Bilge (Istanbul: Maarif Matbaasi, 1951), 2: 1056, ˙ 1838.
69
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4a. Sibt b. al-Jawzı̄ , al-Intisā r wa al-tarjı̄ h li al-madhhab al-sahı̄ h, ed.
Muhammad Zā hid al-Kawtharı̄ ˙ (Cairo: Matbaʿat ˙ al-Anwā r, ˙1941). I could not ˙ locate
˙ ˙ a
˙
reference to Sibt b. Jawzı̄ ’s work in Ibn al-Shih ˙ na, ‘Sharh manzū mat Ibn Wahbā n’, MS
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
14866, Jā miʿ Umm al-Qurā , Maktabat al-Malik ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z, 409 fols.
(though Ibn Shihna’s commentary contains one paragraph on the Manā qib of Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa, at 2a); al-Dhahabı̄ , al-ʿIbar fı̄ khabar man ghabar, ed. Salā h al-Dı̄ n al-Munajjid
˙
(Kuwait: Dā ’irat al-Matbū ʿā t wa al-Nashr, 1960), 5: 220 refers ˙ ˙to Sibt b. al-Jawzı̄ ’s
˙
authorship of a manā qib book on Abū Hanı̄ fa. ˙
70
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4a. See my discussion˙ on pp. 300-302 below of al-Subadhmū nı̄ ’s
work.
286 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

and non-Hanafı̄ s which contained manā qib sections devoted to Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
at the beginning and towards the end of their works: Abū al-Husayn al-
Qudū rı̄ ’s Manā qib at the beginning of his Sharh Mukhtasar of al-Karkhı̄ ;71 ˙
˙ ˙
Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n al-Ghaznawı̄ ;72 Ahmad b. Sulaymā n b.
˙ ˙ 73 ˙
Saʿı̄ d at the end of his Durar; Shams al-Dı̄ n Yū suf b. ʿUmar b. Yū suf al-
Sū fı̄ al-Kamā rū rı̄ (d. 832/1429) in his Jā miʿ al-Mudmarā t wa al-mushkilā t;74
˙ ˙
Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr’s Intiqā ’;75 Shams al-Dı̄ n Yū suf b. Abı̄ Saʿı̄ d b. Ahmad al-
˙
Sijistā nı̄ in his Munyat al-Muftı̄ ; Sharaf al-Dı̄ n Ismā ʿı̄ l b. ʿĪ sā al-Awghā nı̄
76

al-Makkı̄ in his Mukhtasar al-Musnad; Abū al-Bafā b. Abı̄ al-Dibā ’ al-

77
˙ ˙
Qurashı̄ al-Makkı̄ in his Mukhtasar al-Musnad;78 Abū ʿAbd Allā h
˙
Muhammad b. Khusraw al-Balkhı̄ in the beginning of his Musnad;79 the
˙
author of Safı̄ nat al-ʿulū m;80 Abū Jaʿfar Ahmad b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Qasam al-
˙
Sarmā w[r]ı̄ al-Shı̄ rā zı̄ had a chapter in his Tarjı̄ h madhhab Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa;81 Abū
˙ ˙
al-ʿAbbā s Ahmad b. Muhammad Mahmū d al-Ghaznawı̄ included a mana-
˙ ˙ 82 ˙
̄ qib chapter in his al-Muqaddima; ʿUthmā n b. ʿAlı̄ b. Muhammad al-
˙
Shı̄ rā zı̄ ’s al-Ī dā h li ʿulū m al-nikā h;83 Abū Ishā q al-Shı̄ rā zı̄ al-Shā fiʿı̄ in his
84 ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Tabaqā t; and Muhyı̄ al-Dı̄ n al-Nawawı̄ in Tahdhı̄ b al-asmā ’. Al-Qartabı̄ 85
˙ ˙
had done his homework to a very high standard, and one would not risk
second guessing him when he adds that he could have mentioned many
more works. However, al-Qartabı̄ turns his attention to questions that
readers might have posed to him:86
If you ask why, after mentioning all these works, I commit myself to writing a
Manā qib work, I respond with this: all of these aforementioned works are either
lost or not available in our lands, nor in the environs of Yemen. We have searched
far and wide and for many years, but we have found no way to access them. The
reason for this is that the detractors of Abū Hanı̄ fa talk nonsense about him and
˙
71
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, see pp. 259 above. 72 Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4a.
73
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4a.
74
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4a. See al-Kā dū rı̄ , ‘Jā miʿ al-Mudmarā t wa al-mushkilā t fı̄ sharh
Mukhtasar al-Qudū rı̄ ’, MS 1409, Maktabat al-Malik ʿAbd ˙ al-ʿAzı̄ z, 535 fols., 5b–6a (fasl fı̄˙
˙ wa dhikr al-fuqahā ’); al-Kā dū rı̄ , ‘Jā miʿ al-Mudmarā t wa al-mushkilā t fı̄ sharh
fadl al-fiqh ˙
˙
Mukhtas ar al-Qudū rı̄ ’, MS 1697, Maktabat al-Malik ʿAbd˙ al-ʿAzı̄ z, 657 fols., 4b–6a (fasl fı̄˙
˙ wa dhikr al-fuqahā ’). MS Vollers 0356, Leipzig, Refaiya, does not contain the first
fadl al-fiqh ˙
˙ chapters of the book. On al-Kā dū rı̄ /Kamā rū rı̄ see al-Laknawı̄ , al-Fawā ’id al-bahiyya fı̄
two
tarā jim al-Hanafiyya, ed. Muhammad Badr al-Dı̄ n Abū Firā s al-Niʿsā nı̄ (Cairo: Matbaʿat al-
˙
Saʿā da, 1906), 230= Cawnpore ˙ [Kanpur]: al-Matbaʿa al-Mustafā li Muhammad ˙Mustafā
Khā n, 1876) 96; Brockelmann, GAL, 1: 183 and ˙supp. 1: 296, ˙ ˙ where he ˙gives the author’s ˙˙
name as al-Kā dū zı̄ ; al-Ziriklı̄ , al-Aʿlā m, 8: 244 (15th edn.) (s.v. ‘al-Sū fı̄ ’); Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf
al-zunū n, 1: 574, 2: 1713, 1: 455 (Maarif Matbaasi edn.); Kahh˙ ā la, Muʿjam al-mu’allifı̄ n
˙
(Beirut: Makabat al-Muthannā , 1957), 13: 320–1. ˙˙
75
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4a; Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, al-Intiqā ’. 76 Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4a.
77
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4a. 78 Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b.
79
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b. 80 Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b.
81
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b. 82 Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b.
83
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b. 84 Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b.
85
Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 4b. 86 Al-Qartabı̄ , ‘Qalā ’id’, 5a.
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 287

seek to obliterate his memory. This is proven by the fact that the Manā qib book of
al-Saymarı̄ was owned by someone who was opposed fanatically to Hanafı̄ s. This
man˙ would never show the book to anyone. He never mentioned anything˙ from
the book to the day he died. Finally, I managed to purchase this book and I
became its owner.
In al-Qartabı̄ ’s assessment, the dearth of Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa works was a
˙
consequence of the strength and purpose of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s detractors. The
˙
prevailing sense of hostility towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers, in
˙
addition to the predominance of the Shā fiʿı̄ school in Yemen, had con-
tributed to the censorship and suppression of manā qib works for Abū
Hanı̄ fa. Writing in sixteenth-century Yemen, more than six centuries
˙
after Abū Hanı̄ fa’s complete integration into medieval Sunni orthodoxy,
˙
al-Qartabı̄ frames his manā qib work in the context of discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa. A history of the Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa literature, one
˙ ˙
more complete than al-Qartabı̄ ’s select bibliography, demonstrates that
in the second half of the ninth and the tenth centuries a prolific manā qib
genre arose out of similar concerns. It is to documenting this history that
we now turn, first by listing manā qib works composed for Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
between the late ninth and early eleventh centuries; and, second, by
examining particular works to understand the development of the genre
across these centuries. As we can see from this list, manā qib works began
to be composed in the immediate aftermath of ninth-century discourses
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
1. Zakariyyā ’ b. Yahyā b. al-Hā rith al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ (d. 298/910).
˙ ˙
2. Abū al-ʿAbbā s Ahmad b. al-Salt (d. 302/914).
˙ ˙
3. Abū Jaʿfar al-Tahā wı̄ (d. 321/933).
˙ ˙
4. Ibn Kā s al-Nakhaʿı̄ (d. 324/935).
5. ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad b. Yaʿqū b al-Hā rithı̄ al-Subadhmū nı̄ (d.
˙ ˙
340/952).
6. *Ibn ʿUqda (d. 333/944).
7. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ (d. 345/956).
8. Mukram b. Ahmad al-Qā dı̄ (d. 345/956).
˙ ˙
9. Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Shuʿayb b. Hā rū n b. Mū sā (d. 357/968).
˙ ˙
10. Abū Layth Nasr b. Muhammad b. Ahmad al-Samarqandı̄ (d. 373/
˙ ˙ ˙
983), Tuhfat al-anā m fı̄ manā qib al-a’imma al-arbaʿa al-aʿlā m.87
˙
11. *Abū ʿAbd Allā h al-Marzubā nı̄ (d. 378/988).

87
Arberry, The Chester Beatty Library, 6: 3936. This manuscript is attributed to Abū Layth,
but it cannot have been written by him because fol. 1b cites Abū Ishā q al-Shı̄ rā zı̄ (d. 476/
˙ ammad b. Ahmad
1083) with respect to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s biography: Abū Layth Nasr b. Muh
˙ fat al-anā m fı̄ manā qib al- a’imma
al-Samarqandı̄ (attr.), ‘Tuh ˙ al-arbaʿa
˙ al-aʿlā m’,˙ MS
˙ fols. 1–91a. I have read the manuscript once, and I have
3936, Chester Beatty Library,
seen no name of the author. However, the author does refer to a work of his called al-
288 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

12. *Abū ʿAbd Allā h al-Dabı̄ lı̄ Muhammad b. Wahbā n (d. 385/995).
˙
13. *Abū al-Mufaddal al-Shaybā nı̄ (d. 387/997).
14. ˙ ˙
Ibn Dakhı̄ l (d. 387–8/997–8).
15. Anonymous, Maqā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa ʿinda al-mulū k.88
˙
16. Abū al-Husayn al-Qudū rı̄ (d. 428/1037).
˙
17. Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl (d. after 428/1037), Fasl ʿalā
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa.
˙
18. Al-Saymarı̄ (d. 436/1045).
˙

Beginnings: Ninth Century

It is reasonable to assume from isnā ds found in later works that individuals
were transmitting and circulating reports to defend Abū Hanı̄ fa in the
˙
ninth century. Figures such as Hammā d b. Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa and Shujā ʿ b. al-
˙ ˙
Thaljı̄ are frequently cited in later manā qib works to this effect. The actual
composition of manā qib works for Abū Hanı̄ fa, however, first began in the
˙
late ninth century.

Nı̄ shā pū r: Ninth Century

Zakariyyā ’ b. Yahyā b. al-Hā rith al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ (d. 298/910) should be
˙ ˙
considered as the first author of a Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa work. Abū Yahyā
˙ ˙
al-Bazzā r, as he was known to the Hanafı̄ biographical tradition, was a
˙
native of Nı̄ shā pū r. He had studied in Khurā sā n, under the province’s
senior proto-Sunni scholars. Perhaps the most significant detail about his
teachers is that one of them was Ishā q b. Rā hawayh, a ninth-century
proto-Sunni traditionalist who played ˙ a leading role in the diffusion of
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
Abū Yahyā al-Bazzā r should be seen as a pivotal figure in Nı̄ shā pū rı̄
˙
Hanafism during the ninth–tenth centuries. He seems to be a connect-
˙
ing link to many of Khurā sā n’s key Hanafı̄ scholars. His teachers
˙
included Ahmad b. Muhammad b. Nasr (d. 280/893–4), whom al-
˙ ˙ ˙
Hā kim in his Tā rı̄ kh Nı̄ shā pū r had described as the chief of the Hanafı̄ s
˙ ˙
in his time (shaykh ahl al-ra’y fı̄ ʿasrihi wa ra’ı̄ suhum).89 Another of Abū
˙
Yahyā al-Bazzā r’s eastern Hanafı̄ teachers was Sahl b. ʿAmmā r b. ʿAbd
˙ ˙

Hilya on fols. 10b–11a, which he describes briefly. This fact, along with the emphasis on
˙
al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s manā qib in the manuscript, makes me conclude that the author of the manu-
script is Sayf al-Dı̄ n al-Qaffā l al-Shā shı̄ (d. 507/1113–14): al-Shashı̄ , Hilyat al-ʿulamā ’ fı̄
˙
maʿrifat madhā hib al-fuqahā ’, ed. Yā sı̄ n Ahmad Ibrā hı̄ m Darā dika (Amman: Dā r al-Bā z,
1988). This manuscript is listed as belonging ˙ to Sayf al-Dı̄ n al-Shā shı̄ ’s oeuvre in
Brockelmann, GAL, 1: 489–90, supp. 1: 674.
88
Sezgin, GAS, 1: 410. 89 Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 1: 320–1.
˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 289

Allā h al-ʿAtakı̄ (d. 267/880–1). He, too, was a native of Nı̄ shā pū r, but
his renown had spread to Khurā sā n’s other major cities. The local
histories of Nı̄ shā pū r and Herā t – al-Hā kim’s Tā rı̄ kh Nı̄ shā pū r and
˙
Muntakhab Tā rı̄ kh Herā t – contained notices for him. He received
appointments as a qadi in both Tū s and Herā t.90 Al-Bazzā r’s students
˙
were also notable Hanafı̄ s in Nı̄ shā pū r. His nephew Ahmad b.
˙ ˙
Muhammad b. Sahl Abū al-Hasan b. Sahluwayh (d. 352/963) was
˙ ˙
described by al-Hā kim as one of the leading Hanafı̄ s of his time.91 The
˙ ˙
extremely well-travelled and well-regarded Hanafı̄ qadi Abū al-Husayn
˙ ˙
Ahmad b. Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h had also studied with Abū Yahyā
˙ ˙
al-Bazzā r in Nı̄ shā pū r before going on to occupy judgeships in Maws ˙ il,
˙
Ramla, Mecca, Medina, and Nı̄ shā pū r. Abū al-Husayn had a sojourn in
˙
Baghdad, too, where he came to the attention of the caliph al-
Muqtadir’s (r. 295–320/908–32) vizier, ʿAlı̄ b. ʿĪ sā (d. 334/946). He
died in Nı̄ shā pū r in 351/962.92 Another of Abū Yahyā al-Bazzā r’s
˙
students was Khadı̄ ja (d. 372/982–3?). She was the daughter of
Nı̄ shā pū r’s Hanafı̄ judge, Muhammad b. Ahmad Rajā ’ al-Jū zajā nı̄ (d.
˙ ˙ ˙
285/898–9?).93 Finally, there was Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Dı̄ nā r
˙
(d. 338/949), known as Abū ʿAbd Allā h al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , and who was laid
to rest beside Abū Hanı̄ fa. He is particularly important for our purposes,
˙
because al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ informs us that this student transmitted
˙
the majority of Abū Yahyā al-Bazzā r’s books.94 It is possible, therefore,
˙
that this student would have transmitted Abū Yahyā al-Bazzā r’s
˙
Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa.
˙
We know that Abū Yahyā al-Bazzā r composed a manā qib work because
˙
al-Hā kim al-Muwaffaq b. al-Makkı̄ al-Khwā rizmı̄ (d. 568/1172) tells us
˙
about this book – and, indeed, cites it.95 The fact that the first manā qib
work defending Abū Hanı̄ fa against discourses of heresy originated in
˙
Nı̄ shā pū r corresponds to a number of ninth-century historical trends.
Discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa were certainly a transregional
˙
phenomenon, but they were especially acute in the province of Khurā sā n.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists such as al-Bukhā rı̄ and Ishā q b. Rā hawayh
˙
90
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 2: 239–40.
91
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mud ˙ iyya, 1: 270–1.
92
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mud ˙ iyya, 1: 285–8.
93
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mud ˙ iyya, 3: 82, 4: 120.
94
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mud˙iyya, 3: 188; al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d,
3: 474–6; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-Islā ˙ m, 25: 167; al-Dhahabı̄
˙ , Siyar, 15: 382–3; Ibn al-
Jawzı̄ , al-Muntazam, 14: 78; Ibn Taghrı̄ birdı̄ , al-Nujū m al-zā hira fı̄ mulū k Misr wa al-
Qā hira (n.p.: Wiza ˙ ̄ rat al-Thaqā fa, 1963), 3: 300; al-Safadı̄ , al-Wā fı̄ bi al-wafā yā˙t, 3: 316
˙ t al-jinā n, ed. Khalı̄ l al-Mansū r
(Dā r al-Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-ʿArabı̄ edn.); al-Yā fiʿı̄ , Mir’ā
(Beirut: Da ˙ ̄ r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1997), 2: 327 or 2: 246. ˙
95
Al-Muwaffaq al-Makkı̄ , Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 53. See also Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf al-zunū n,
2: 1839 (Dā r Ihyā ’ edn.). ˙ ˙
˙
290 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

were at the forefront of condemnations of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Ishā q b.

˙ ˙
Rā hawayh, in particular, had gained a reputation in Khurā sā n and
beyond for his hostility to Abū Hanı̄ fa and proto-Hanafı̄ s. Abū Yahyā
˙ ˙ ˙
al-Bazzā r had studied with Ishā q b. Rā hawayh. He cannot have been aloof
˙
to Ishā q b. Rā hawayh’s condemnations of Abū Hanı̄ fa. As a religious
˙ ˙
scholar from Nı̄ shā pū r who had come under the tutelage of one of Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s prominent detractors, Abū Yahyā al-Bazzā r had good and com-
˙ ˙
pelling reasons to compose a manā qib work in order to respond to dis-
courses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa and to establish his orthodox
˙
credentials.

Iraq: Ninth–Tenth Centuries

A brief manā qib work is attributed to a second scholar active in the late
ninth century. Abū al-ʿAbbā s Ahmad b. al-Salt (d. 302/914) is credited
˙ ˙
with Fasl fı̄ manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa. Eerik Dickinson, who has studied the
˙ ˙
controversy surrounding Ahmad b. al-Salt, is of the opinion that he did
˙ ˙
not actually compose a manā qib work.96 Instead, he is believed to have
circulated numerous reports concerning the manā qib of Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
These reports did enter a number of late ninth- and early tenth-century
manā qib works to which better attestations exist.
There seems to be no obvious connection between the authors of the
first and second Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa works. Ibn Kā s al-Nakhaʿı̄ (d. 324/
˙
935) was a Kufan scholar, who spent most of his life in Baghdad. He had
acquired a reputation as a leading representative of Hanafism, but this did
˙
not stop him being recognised as a reliable hadı̄ th scholar. It seems he was
˙
in demand as a judge in the late ninth and early tenth centuries. He is
supposed to have left Kufa towards the end of the ninth century and taken
up judgeships in the province of Shā m. At some point he took up resi-
dence in Baghdad, but was later on the move again, after being appointed
judge in Ramla. After his term came to an end he returned to Baghdad. It
was during a journey from Baghdad to Samarra that he drowned, soon
after on the tenth day of Muharram.97 In the midst of all these travels and
appointments, Ibn Kā s found ˙ time to compose Kitā b al-Khisā l, to which
he attached a volume entitled Fadā ’il al-Imā m.98 ˙
˙
96
Dickinson, ‘Ahmad b. al-Salt’, 413 n. 34.
97 ˙
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghda ̄ dı̄ , Tā˙ rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 13: 540–1.
98 ˙
See al-Sakhā wı̄ , al-Jawā hir, 1255. On Ibn Kā s see Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq,
43: 12 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.); al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 5: 475–6 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.); Ibn Kā s’s
book caught the attention of a Mā likı̄ peer, Abū Bakr al-Qurtubı̄ (d. 381/991–2), who
responded with a Kitā b al-Khisā l for the Mā likı̄ madhhab. See ˙ al-Safadı̄ , al-Wā fı̄ bi al-
˙
wafā yā t, 5: 120 (Dā r Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-ʿArabı̄ edn.). ˙
˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 291

Egypt and al-Tahā wı̄ ’s Manā qib: Ninth–Tenth Centuries

˙ ˙
Perhaps the most significant manā qib work of the tenth century was
composed by the Egyptian scholar Abū Jaʿfar al-Tahā wı̄ .99 The late
˙ ˙
ninth and early tenth centuries were precarious times for Egyptian
Hanafism. The rise of the Tū lū nids under Ahmad b. Tū lū n (r. 254–70/
˙
868–84) ˙
and his sons witnessed ˙
the gradual waning ˙ Hanafism and
of both
˙
Mā likism, giving way to greater dependence on Shā fiʿism.100 Ibn Tū lū n’s
˙
son, Abū Maʿadd ʿAdnā n, was particularly proud of this shift in
101
allegiance:
God cast love for al-Shā fiʿı̄ and his followers into my father’s heart. Disturbances
and clashes broke out between the Shā fiʿı̄ s and Mā likı̄ s in Egypt and my father
always sided with the Shā fiʿı̄ s. . . . I heard my father say on more than one occasion
to anyone who came to him with news of disturbances among the Shā fiʿı̄ s and
Mā likı̄ s, ‘I am a Shā fiʿı̄ .’ He encouraged his deputies to side with the Shā fiʿı̄ s, too.
In this way, God empowered the Shā fiʿı̄ s at the hands of my father and weakened
the position of the Mā likı̄ s.

During the first decade of Ahmad b. Tū lū n’s governorship Egyptian
˙ ˙
Hanafism had maintained its dominance under the protection of its
˙
erstwhile qadi, Bakkā r b. Qutayba (d. 270/884).102 Ahmad b. Tū lū n
had been successful in his attempts to obtain a considerable ˙ ˙ of
degree
independence from the ʿAbbā sid empire. He had secured both fiscal and
administrative control over the province by removing the heads of the
dı̄ wā n (chancery) and barı̄ d (postal system).103 Shā fiʿı̄ scholars received
judgeships, and students of al-Shā fiʿı̄ such as al-Rabı̄ ʿ gained a pre-
eminent status under the Tū lū nids.104 The judiciary, however, remained
˙
in the hands al-Mutawakkil’s appointee, Bakkā r b. Qutayba. A political
crisis provided Ahmad b. Tū lū n with an opportunity to sideline Bakkā r.
The latter’s refusal˙ to sign ˙a document declaring al-Muwaffaq’s regency
no longer legitimate gave Ahmad b. Tū lū n the pretext he needed to
˙ ˙
99
Incidentally, al-Tahā wı̄ himself became the subject of a manā qib work: al-Biqā ʿı̄ ,
‘Manā qib al-Imā ˙m ˙al-Tahā wı̄ ’, MS 12831, Maktabat al-Asad al-Zā hiriyya, 16 fols.
100
On the schools of law in ˙ Egypt
˙ under the Tū lū nids see Melchert,˙ The Formation of the
Sunni Schools of Law, 119–22; El Shamsy,˙ The Canonization of Islamic Law, 140–2;
Tillier, ‘The Qā dı̄ s of Fustā t-Misr’; and Hassan, Les Tulunides, 88.
101
Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄˙kh madı̄ nat
˙ ˙Dimashq,
˙ 40: 54 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.) (fa alqā Allā h fı̄ qalb Abı̄
hubb al-Shā fiʿı̄ wa hubb ashā bihi. Wa kā nat takū n bi Misr khusū mā t wa fitan bayn al-
˙shā fiʿiyyı̄ n wa al-mā ˙ likiyyı̄˙ ˙n, fa kā na Abı̄ abadan yamı̄ l˙u ilā al-shā
˙ fiʿiyyı̄ n. Qā la Abū
Maʿadd: fa samiʿtu Abı̄ ghayr marra yaqū l li man yarfaʿu ilayhi al-akhbā r bi khusū ma li
al-shā fiʿiyyı̄ n wa al-mā likiyyı̄ n, anā Shā fiʿı̄ . Wa yataqaddamu ilā khulafā ’ihi an yamı̄˙ lū ilā
al-shā fiʿiyyı̄ n hattā qawwā Allā h amr al-shā fiʿiyyı̄ n ʿalā yaday Abı̄ wa duʿifa amr al-
˙ also El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law, 141–2.˙
mā likiyyı̄ n). See
102
For his life and career see al-Maqrı̄ zı̄ , Kitā b al-Muqaffā al-kabı̄ r, 2: 442–53.
103
Bianquis, ‘Autonomous Egypt’.
104
Ibn ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, 40: 54–5 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ edn.).
292 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

marginalise him. The Hanafı̄ judge was arrested and unable to carry out
˙
his judicial duties.105
Al-Tahā wı̄ would have been intimately familiar with these political
˙ ˙
intrigues, court politics, and their impact upon social attitudes to Abū
Hanı̄ fa and Hanafism in the late ninth and early tenth centuries. After all,
˙ ˙
he had been a student of Bakkā r b. Qutayba.106 And, in the wake of
Bakkā r b. Qutayba’s death, he served as the secretary to Muhammad
˙
ʿAbda b. Harb al-ʿAbbā dā nı̄ (d. 313/926–7) in the mazā lim courts.107
˙ ˙
Moreover, he had undergone a fairly public transition from Shā fiʿı̄ sm to
Hanafism, which saw him part ways with the madhhab of his uncle, al-
˙
Muzanı ̄ , and establish himself as a pioneer of Hanafism’s traditionalisation
˙
in the ninth and tenth centuries. This traditionalisation entailed, among
other things – such as writing a traditionalist creed, analysed earlier in this
monograph – establishing a greater degree of harmony between juristic
reasoning and hadı̄ th sources in order to demonstrate the scriptural basis
˙
for Hanafı̄ jurisprudence.108 The primary sources contain diverging
˙
accounts for the reasons behind al-Tahā wı̄ ’s change in legal affiliation.
˙ ˙
There is the view that a stern reprimand from al-Muzanı̄ served as the trigger
for his conversion to Hanafism.109 There is also the view that al-Tahā wı̄ ’s
˙ ˙ ˙
conversion was on account of his having witnessed al-Muzanı̄ ’s more than
frequent study of proto-Hanafı̄ books.110 The dissenting opinion is given by
˙
Ibn Yū nus al-Sadafı̄ , who claims to quote al-Tahā wı̄ to the effect that the
˙ ˙ ˙
arrival in Egypt of the Hanafı̄ Ahmad b. Abı̄ ʿImrā n (d. 280/893) prompted
˙ ˙
105
See al-Maqrı̄ zı̄ , Kitā b al-Muqaffā al-kabı̄ r, 2: 444–9, where, as Melchert (The Formation
of the Sunni Schools of Law, 121 n. 33) rightly notes, al-Maqrı̄ zı̄ insists that Bakkā r b.
Qutayba refused to legitimise Ahmad b. Tū lū n’s actions despite the fact that the
document he provided named Bakka ˙ ̄ r b. Qutayba
˙ as a witness and signatory to it: Ibn
Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Rafʿ al-isr, 98–197, 105 = Rafʿ al-isr ʿan qudā t Misr in al-Kindı̄ , al-
˙ ˙
Wulā t wa kitā b al-qudā t, 501–614, 505–14, 512, 226 (al-Kindı̄ ˙ ˙’s account
˙ of Bakkā r b.
Qutayba’s dispute with ˙ Ibn Tū lū n); Ibn Khallikā n, Wafayā t al-aʿyā n, 1: 279; Ibn Abı̄ al-
Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, ˙ 1: 461; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 12: 600–602.
106
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā ˙ hir al-mudiyya, 1: 165.
107
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Rafʿ al-isr ʿan ˙ qudā t Misr in al-Kindı̄ , al-Wulā t wa kitā b al-qudā t,
516; ˙Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā ˙hir al-mud ˙ iyya,˙ 1: 165; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tadhkirat al-huffā ˙ z,
3: 30; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Lisā n al-mı̄˙ zā n, 1: 274–82, 275 (Hyderabad edn.).˙ ˙
108
See Melchert, ˙ The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 116–23; El Shamsy, The
Canonization of Islamic Law, 205–7; Brunelle, ‘From Text to Law’, 281–2, where she
describes al-Tahā wı̄ ’s method as ‘practical hermeneutics’.
109 ˙ ˙ rā zı̄ , Tabaqā t al-fuqahā ’, ed. Ihsā n ʿAbbā s (Beirut: Dā r al-Rā ’id al-
Abū Ishā q al-Shı̄
ʿArabı̄ , ˙1970), 142; al-S ˙ aymarı̄ , Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄˙ fa, 168. The relationship between al-
Muzanı̄ and al-Tahā wı̄˙ has been discussed ˙at length by Jacques, ‘Contestation and
Resolution’. See˙ also ˙ the discussion of Saʿd al-Dı̄ n Ünā l in al-Tahā wı̄ , Ahkā m al-
Qur’ā n al-Karı̄ m, ed. Saʿd al-Dı̄ n Ünā l (Istanbul: ISAM, 1995), ˙ ˙ 16–19 ˙ (editor’s
introduction).
110
Al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā d, 1: 431 (s.v. ‘al-Muzanı̄ ’) (Riyadh edn.); al-Yā fiʿı̄ , Mir’ā t al-jinā n wa
ʿibrat al-yaqzā n (Hyderabad: Dā ’irat al-Maʿarif al-Nizā miyya, 1919), 2: 281; al-
Saymarı̄ , Akhbā ˙ r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 168. ˙
˙ ˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 293

his embrace of Hanafism.111 Al-Tahā wı̄ ’s conversion from Shā fiʿı̄ sm to

˙ ˙ ˙
Hanafism highlights the greater degree of competition and hostility that
˙
obtained among adherents of both madhhabs. According to Ibn Zū lā q (d.
386/996), when, for example, Bakkā r b. Qutayba came to learn of al-
Muzanı̄ ’s criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa contained in the former’s Mukhtasar,
˙ ˙
Bakkā r responded with a refutation of al-Shā fiʿı̄ .112
It was in this milieu of charged exchanges, attempts to influence or
control the judiciary, and the entangled webs of legal affiliations and
family loyalties that al-Tahā wı̄ decided to compose a Manā qib Abı̄
˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa work.113 Al-Tahā wı̄ ’s Manā qib work has not survived, but this
˙does not mean that we ˙ cannot
˙ say anything about the content and context
of al-Tahā wı̄ ’s endeavour. It is thanks to the recent publication of a
˙ ˙
manā qib work dated to the tenth century – a work that is analysed in this
study for the first time in modern scholarship – that we can now better
understand the nature of al-Tahā wı̄ ’s Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa.
˙ ˙ ˙
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ is a successor to the Egyptian tradition of
manā qib writing around the person of Abū Hanı̄ fa. His Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙ ˙
has been studied earlier in this chapter. Here, it is important to note that
his work seems to preserve a significant proportion of al-Tahā wı̄ ’s now
˙ ˙
lost manā qib work. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s work consists of 900
reports; 20 per cent (183 reports) of the Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa is narrated
˙ ˙
from al-Tahā wı̄ . Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m’s Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa is the earliest
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
evidence for the fact that manā qib works devoted to Abū Hanı̄ fa brought
˙
together two forms of historical writing: manā qib reports concerning an
eponym and a tabaqā t section. The material attributed to al-Tahā wı̄
˙ ˙ ˙
appears in reports discussing the life and career of Abū Hanı̄ fa, but al-
˙
Tahā wı̄ is cited frequently in the tabaqā t section treating various students
˙ ˙ ˙
and disciples of Abū Hanı̄ fa. In the light of this, we can assume that al-
˙
Tahā wı̄ ’s manā qib work would have comprised both manā qib and tabaqā t
˙ ˙ ˙
sections.
We can also say something about al-Tahā wı̄ ’s sources and what this
˙ ˙
might tell us about the circulation and dissemination of manā qib works
and their content. It is the proportion of material that emerges from
Egyptian qadis that is particularly striking. Three of al-Tahā wı̄ ’s most
frequent sources for reports about Abū Hanı̄ fa and his˙ followers ˙ are
˙
111
Ibn Yū nus al-Sadafı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Ibn Yū nus, 1: 21.
112 ˙
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala ̄ nı̄ , Rafʿ al-isr, 105; al-Suyū tı̄ , Husn al-muhā dara, 1: 433 (Cairo
edn.)˙ = 1: 463 (Aleppo edn.). ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
113
Al-Saymarı̄ , Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 37, 66; Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 1: 277;
Ibn ˙ Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā
˙ jim, 100–102, at 101. Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf˙ al-zunū n, 2:
1836–7 ˙ (Matbaasi edn.). For information on al-Tahā wı̄ ’s family (father, ˙offspring,
and grandchildren) see al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 4: 53 (Da ˙ ˙̄ r al-Jinā n edn.); and concerning
his background and travels see Flügel, ‘Die Classen’.
294 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

Ahmad b. Abı̄ ʿImrā n, Bakkā r b. Qutayba, and Abū Khā zim. All three
˙
men served as qadis in Egypt and taught al-Tahā wı̄ .
˙ ˙
Bakkā r b. Qutayba was appointed qadi by al-Mutawakkil. His appoint-
ment began on Friday 10 September 860 and came to an end twenty-four
years later in 884, and his judicial career was the subject of extensive
commentary in medieval Arabic sources. Bakkā r b. Qutayba was a hadı̄ th
˙
scholar, too. Scholars such as Abū ʿAwā na and Ibn Khuzayma narrated
traditions on his authority, and he was cited in some respected medieval
hadı̄ th collections.114 He was reported to have written a number of works
˙ the field of jurisprudence: al-Shurū t; Kitā b al-Mahā dir wa al-sijillā t;
in
˙
Kitā b al-Wathā ’iq wa al-ʿuhū d; and a refutation ˙ ̄ fiʿı̄
of al-Sha ˙ in response to
criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa in al-Muzanı̄ ’s Mukhtasar, which the latter
˙ ˙
alleged were based exactly on al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s words.115 Most of these books
were particularly relevant to a qadi’s career. All that has survived, how-
ever, of Bakkā r b. Qutayba‘s oeuvre is a brief collection of his hadı̄ th
˙
reports.116 Before he came to Egypt, Bakkā r b. Qutayba had lived and
studied in Basra. It was there that he learnt jurisprudence from a leading
Hanafı̄ jurist and qadi, Hilā l b. Ra’y. Many of al-Tahā wı̄ ’s manā qib
˙
reports from Bakkā r b. Qutayba originate with Hilā l b.˙ Ra’y.˙
One consequence of Bakkā r b. Qutayba’s involvement in Tū lū nid
˙
political machinations was that it created a vacancy within the judiciary.
A qadi was needed, and the position was given to another of al-Tahā wı̄ ’s
˙ ˙
teachers: the Hanafı̄ judge Ahmad b. Abı̄ ʿImrā n (d. 280/893).117 Like his
˙ ˙
predecessor, Ahmad b. Abı̄ ʿImrā n was in some respects an outsider – Ibn
˙
Yū nus included an entry for him in his ‘ History of outsiders who came to
Egypt (al-ghurabā ’ alladhı̄ na qadimū Misr)’.118 He was originally from
˙
114
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 12: 599–605. For other biographical details see al-Kindı̄ , Kitā b al-
Wulā t wa kitā b al-qudā t, 76, 477, 505; Ibn ʿAbd al-Hakam, Futū h Misr (London: n.p.,
1858), 276; Ibn Hibba ˙ ̄ n, Kitā b al-Thiqā t, 8: 152 (Da ˙̄ ’irat al-Maʿa˙ ̄ rif edn.);
˙ Ibn Abı̄ al-
Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir˙ al-mudiyya, 1: 458–9; al-Suyū tı̄ , Husn al-muhā dara, 1: 433 (Cairo
˙
edn.); Yū suf b. Shā hı̄ n, ‘al-Nuju ˙ ˙
̄ m al-zā hira’, 26a–27b. ˙ ˙
115
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, ˙ 1: 459.
116
Bakkā r b. Qutayba, ‘Juz’ fı̄ hi min hadı̄ ˙ th al-qā dı̄ Bakkā r b. Qutayba al-Thaqafı̄ ’, MS 124,
fols. 1–7. The work was known to ˙ the following:
˙ Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , al-Majmaʿ al-
mu’assas li al-muʿjam al-mufahras, ed. Yū suf ʿAbd al-Rah˙ mā n al-Marʿaslı̄ (Beirut: Dā r al-
Maʿrifa, n.d.); Muhammad b. Sulaymā n al-Rū dā nı̄ , Silat ˙ al-khalaf bi mawsū l al-salaf, ed.
Muhammad Hajı̄ (Beirut: ˙ ˙
Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ , 1988), 432; al-Ayyū bı̄ ,˙ Hasr al-shā rid
˙ ˙ ̄
min asā nı̄ d Muhammad ʿAbid, ed. Khalı̄ l b. ʿUthmā n and al-Jubū r al-Subayʿı̄ ˙ ˙ (Riyadh:
Maktabat al-Rushd, ˙ 2003), 1: 241–2; Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf al-zunū n, 2: 596 (Flügel edn.).
117
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 6: 348–9; Ibn Abı̄ ˙ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-
mudiyya, ˙ 1: 337–8; al-Suyū tı̄ , Husn al-muhā dara, 1: 433 (Cairo edn.); al-ʿAbbā dı̄ ,
Kitā˙ b Tabaqā t al-fuqahā ’, ˙5; ˙al-Shı̄ rā zı̄ , ˙ T˙abaqā t al-fuqahā ’, 140; Flügel, ‘Die
Classen’,˙ 292. ˙
118
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 1: 337 mentions seeing the entry in Ibn
Yū nus’s Tā rı̄ kh and the modern edition ˙ indeed preserves a notice on him: Ibn Yū nus
al-Sadafı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Ibn Yū nus, 2: 27–8.
˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 295

Baghdad and trained under one of its leading Hanafı̄ scholars and judges,
˙
Muhammad b. Samā ʿa (d. 233/848). His arrival in Egypt seems to have
˙
been a significant development for Egyptian Hanafism, for it is one of the
˙
reasons given for al-Tahā wı̄ ’s decision to switch his legal affiliation from
˙ 119
˙
Shā fiʿism to Hanafism. It was probably in an official and bureaucratic
˙
capacity that Ahmad b. Abı̄ ʿImrā n relocated to Egypt. We learn that he
˙
transferred to Egypt with another Hanafı̄ scholar, Abū Ayyū b, who we
˙
know was employed in the state’s administration as the official in charge
120
of taxes (sā hib kharā j).
Al-Tah˙ ā wı̄
˙ ’s third important source for manā qib reports concerning
˙ ˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers more generally was Abū Khā zim. Abū
˙
Khā zim’s career began in Basra, where he studied with its leading jur-
isprudents. Like Bakkā r b. Qutayba, Abū Khā zim learnt jurisprudence
with Hilā l b. Ra’y. He was appointed chief judge of Damascus in 264/
877–8 and retained this position until he transferred to Iraq. It was during
these years that he served as judge in both Kufa and Karkh during the
caliphal reigns of both al-Muʿtadid (r. 279–89/891–902) and al-Muktafı̄
˙
(r. 289–96/902–8); although, according to al-Tahā wı̄ ’s biographers, al-
Tahā wı̄ met and studied jurisprudence and hadı̄ ˙ th
˙ with Abū Khā zim in
˙ ˙ ˙
Shā m in 268/862.121 Wakı̄ ʿ tells us that Abū Khā zim succeeded Ibn Abı̄
al-ʿAnbas as judge of Sharqiyya in Baghdad in 275/888 or 276/889, and
that he saw out his last days as the judge of Kufa. He died in Baghdad in
292/905.122
The nature of al-Tahā wı̄ ’s sources for manā qib reports about Abū
˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa betrays a number of salient points concerning the actors involved
˙
in using manā qib works to establish the orthodoxy of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Al-
Tahā wı̄ ’s network of sources is drawn overwhelmingly from one ˙ profes-
˙ ˙
sional class. In Egypt, and in other regions of the Islamic world, qadis
were paramount to the production and dissemination of manā qib works

119
Ibn Yū nus al-Sadafı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Ibn Yū nus, 1: 21.
120
His full name was ˙ Ahmad b. Muhammad b. Shujā ʿ. On the relocation of Ahmad b. Abı̄
ʿImrā n and Abū Ayyu ˙̄ b together to ˙ Egypt see Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mud
˙ iyya, 1:
338. On Abū Ayyū b’s employment as sā hib kharā j during the reign of Ahmad b. ˙ Tū lū n
˙ ˙
see Ibn Taghrı̄ birdı̄ , al-Nujū m al-zā hira, 2: 311. Abū Ayyū b was also the author ˙ ˙ of
panegyrics in praise of the ʿAbbā sid governor Humayd b. ʿAbd al-Hamı̄ d and his
prominent family, for which see Khan, ‘An Empire ˙ of Élites’; and al-Buh ˙ turı̄ , Dı̄ wā n
al-Buhturı̄ , ed. Hasan Kā mil al-Sayrafı̄ (Cairo: Dā r al-Maʿā rif, n.d.), 1: 491–2 ˙ (qası̄ da
˙
no. 206). ˙ ̄ b was also on˙ the receiving end of panegyrics: al-Buhturı̄ , Dı̄ wā n˙ al-
Abū Ayyu
Buhturı̄ , 1: 627–31 (qası̄ da no. 258). ˙
121
Ibn˙ Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā ˙ hir al-mudiyya, 3: 26; Ibn Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, 101; Ibn
ʿAsā kir, Tā rı̄ kh madı̄ nat Dimashq, ˙34: 78–87 (al-ʿAmrawı̄ ˙ edn.); Ibn ʿImā d, Shadharā t
al-dhahab, 2: 210; Wakı̄ ʿ, Akhbā r al-qudā t, 3: 24; Flügel, ‘Die Classen’, 293–4.
122 ˙
Al-Shı̄ rā zı̄ , Tabaqā t al-fuqahā ’, 141; Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 2: 366–8;
Ibn Qutlū bugha ˙ ̄ , Tā j al-tarā jim, 182. ˙
˙
296 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

and reports in the ninth–eleventh centuries. The content of manā qib

works was clearly fundamental to judges affiliated with Hanafism hailing
from different parts of the early Islamic empire. Bakkā r˙b. Qutayba and
Abū Khā zim began their careers in Basra. Ahmad b. Abı̄ ʿImrā n preserved
˙
material he had acquired from his native city, Baghdad, and from scholars
such as Muhammad b. Samā ʿa. These scholars and judges learnt and
˙
transmitted material that was deemed necessary as a response to the
growth of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, for manā qib works
˙
and their content provided a venue for consolidating Abū Hanı̄ fa’s cre-
˙
dentials as an exemplar of orthodoxy. This material moved with them
from Basra and Baghdad to Egypt, where it flourished and expanded
among its network of judges. The successful reintegration of Abū
Hanı̄ fa within proto-Sunni orthodoxy in the tenth century cannot be
˙
appreciated without considering the persistent creativity and dedication
of Hanafı̄ judges and authors in developing the tradition of manā qib
˙
works. Judges functioned as intermediaries in medieval Islamicate
societies.123 They occupied positions of power and prestige in a way
that allowed them to represent both the state and its subjects. On the
one hand, they were an extension of the state’s administrative apparatus.
The rule of the qadi was a reflection of the state’s duty to administer and
dispense justice. He was to be appointed by caliphs and could be relieved
of his duty by them alone. On the other hand, judges lived and worked in
the provinces and not in the caliph’s court. They had to represent the
interests and respond to the quandaries of the empire’s entire population:
Zoroastrians, Christians, Jews, and Muslims. Survival in the provinces for
judges meant accommodating the needs of two parties. They had to
garner the admiration of the local population where their jurisdiction
applied, all the while ensuring that they did not unsettle the state’s
interests in the provinces. Therefore, when judges transmitted and com-
posed manā qib works defending the orthodoxy of Abū Hanı̄ fa, they did so
˙
from a position of leadership and authority. This had important conse-
quences for ensuring Abū Hanı̄ fa’s complete integration into medieval
˙
Sunni orthodoxy.
Writing as judges was not without its risks, however. Judges were
required to strike a delicate balance between their professional loyalties
and the kind of history writing they were producing when shaping the
narrative of orthodoxy around Abū Hanı̄ fa. This tension was particularly
˙
acute when it came to treating an aspect of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s mnemohistory
˙
that had generated discourses of heresy: his relationship with the state.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists excoriated Abū Hanı̄ fa and declared his
˙
123
Paul, Herrscher, Gemeinwesen, Vermittler, 243–6.
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 297

involvement with rebellions against the ʿAbbā sids to be heresy. No trace

of the episodes with Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ , Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h, and al-Hā rith b.
Surayj is to be found in early manā qib works. In the same way that ˙ proto-
Sunni traditionalists sought to emphasise the heresy of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
doctrines concerning rebellion against the state in order to undermine
the wide-reaching dependence of the ʿAbbā sid state on Hanafı̄ judges,
˙
defenders of Abū Hanı̄ fa were determined to omit material of this kind
˙
that might create a divisive wedge between the empire’s judiciary – so
much of it populated by followers of Abū Hanı̄ fa – and loyalty to the
˙
caliph. It was hardly in the interests of Hanafı̄ members of the judiciary to
˙
add credibility to proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy by dwell-
ing on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s support for uprisings against the ʿAbbā sids. The
˙
surest way to deal with this challenging fact was to ignore it altogether.124
However, we would be mistaken in assuming that these strategic liter-
ary decisions were motivated by an unwavering loyalty to the ʿAbbā sid
state; or that the preservation of their careers was what compelled judges
to avoid raising certain themes in manā qib works. Authors of manā qib
works who were qadis were not mere agents of the state willing to expunge
any and all embarrassing historical details and to treat history writing so
flippantly, in order to satisfy their imperial employers. Manā qib works
written by judges articulated a nuanced history of the relationship
between scholars and the state. They recognised, for instance, the ethical
and moral imperatives of steering clear of the caliph, his court, and state
employment in general. Moreover, these authors also tried to explain to
their readers the difficult and compromising nature of their employment.
The longest report in Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa is a
discussion around Muhammad b. al-Hasan al-Shayba ˙ ̄ nı̄ ’s proximity
˙ to
˙ ˙
the ruler. The narrative is one of the many reports that Ibn Abı̄ al-
ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ transmits from al-Tahā wı̄ > Abū Khā zim Bakr al-
˙ ˙
ʿAmmı̄ > Muhammad b. Samā ʿa:125
˙
The only reason for Muhammad b. al-Hasan’s association (mukhā lata) with the
caliph was the following:˙ Abū Yū suf was
˙ consulted (shū wira) about ˙ whom to
appoint as a judge in Raqqa. He told his seniors: ‘I cannot give you the name of
any man fit for the job except Muhammad b. al-Hasan. But he lives in Kufa. If you
˙
want to appoint him, you must dispatch someone˙ to bring him here.’ They sent for
him and had him brought to Raqqa (fa baʿathū ilayhi fa ashkhasū hu). When he
˙
arrived, he went to see Abū Yū suf. Al-Shaybā nı̄ asked him: ‘Explain to me why I
was chosen for this office.’ Abū Yū suf replied: ‘They asked me to recommend a
candidate for the judgeship of Raqqa, so I proposed your name. In doing so, I had

124
For a unique strategy adopted by one Hanafı̄ judge, see my discussion below and in
˙
Chapter 10 of al-Surmā rı̄ ’s al-Ibā na fı̄ al-radd ʿalā mushanniʿı̄ n ʿalā Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa.
125
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 356–7. ˙
˙ ˙
298 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

a particular point in mind: God, mighty and exalted, has spread this knowledge of
ours (qad baththa ʿilmanā hā dhā ) to Kufa, Basra, and the entire East. I desired for
this to occur in this region; namely, that God, mighty and exalted, may extend our
knowledge to this region and other areas in Shā m through you.’ ‘Praise be to
God,’ exclaimed al-Shaybā nı̄ . ‘All this time I harboured the delusion that it was on
account of some greatness of mine that I had been selected for office. I was
completely oblivious to this reason for my being selected.’
This is one of the rare insights into the inner intentions and motivations of
qadis that we find in the primary sources. I do not propose that this
citation preserves an original transcript of a conversation between al-
Shaybā nı̄ and Abū Yū suf.126 It is enough for our purposes to acknow-
ledge that members of the judiciary in the ninth and tenth centuries who
were affiliated with Hanafism were circulating these reports. Judges such
˙
as Abū Khā zim and men such as al-Tahā wı̄ who worked in the qadi’s
˙ ˙
office transmitted this material, and probably found it at once edifying
and empowering. Not only did it provide greater meaning to the excessive
drudgery throughout the province’s judicial system, it also connected
Hanafı̄ judges of the ninth and tenth centuries to an exemplary precedent
˙
reaching back to the foundational epigones of the Hanafı̄ madhhab.
˙
This was evidently an important tradition for Hanafı̄ judges. But it did
˙
not translate into a dogmatism that they were unwilling to challenge
themselves. Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa recounts multiple anecdotes concerning
˙ ˙
the encounters of scholars with the state. It relates, for example, how
Muhammad b. Shujā ʿ recognised that scrupulous piety was incompatible
˙
with employment in the judiciary. When he consulted ʿAbd Allā h b.
Dā wū d al-Khuraybı̄ as to whether he should take it upon himself to
study Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legal teachings, al-Khuraybı̄ responded to him
˙
sharply, ‘Yes, do so. But only study with those among them who practise
scrupulous piety.’127 Muhammad b. Shujā ʿ interpreted this as an instruc-
˙
tion not to study with those who sought judgeships.128
In Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m’s Fadā ’il we find reports from al-Tahā wı̄ that
˙ ˙ ˙
place the judgeship in a slightly different light. With another qadi isnā d
from al-Tahā wı̄ < Bakkā r b. Qutayba we have Hilā l b. Ra’y giving us an
˙ ˙
eyewitness account, most probably as a youth, of Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d’s ritual
performance of the pilgrimage at Mecca. Hilā l b. Ra’y follows the caliph’s

126
On the other hand, there is no reason to dismiss the report as a later fabrication. It is,
indeed, plausible that this report gives an accurate account of how al-Shaybā nı̄ came to
occupy the judgeship of Raqqa.
127
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 332 (Qultu li ʿAbd Allā h b. Dā wū d al-
˙ Hanı̄ fa?
Khuraybı̄ : tarā an anzura fı̄ qawl Abı̄ ˙ Fa qā la lı̄ shadı̄ dan: Naʿam, wa lā kin jā lis ahl
al-waraʿ minhum). ˙ ˙
128
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 332 (Qā la Ibn Shujā ʿ: yaʿnı̄ man lā yurı̄ d
al-qadā ). ˙ ˙
˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 299

performance of the pilgrimage rites, noting along the way some of the
mistakes that the caliph made. He describes how the caliph finally arrived
at the Kaʿba, which was duly opened for him. He observed that the entire
entourage of the caliph was standing, except the caliph and an elderly
scholar. The caliph and the scholar were seated. Hilā l b. Ra’y
continues:129
I did not know who the man was (wa lam adri man huwa). So I said to some of my
fellow companions, ‘Who is this elderly man?’ ‘That is the caliph’s judge, Asad b.
ʿAmr,’ they replied. It was at that point that I realised that after the office of the
caliph the most exalted office was the judgeship (lā martabata baʿda al-khilā fa
ajallu min al-qadā ’).
˙
From this small sample of al-Tahā wı̄ narrations in Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-
˙ ˙
Saʿdı̄ ’s Fadā ’il we can appreciate the complexity and conflict that judges
˙
were faced with in coming to terms with the nature of their employment.
What emerges from this discussion of materials from al-Tahā wı̄ ’s now lost
˙ ˙
manā qib work is that medieval scholars and judges did not disregard
certain moral tensions, nor did they try to gloss over them. If anything,
they used the texts that they wrote – in this case, manā qib works – to
communicate to their audiences the difficulties that their social status
presented.
A final point to consider in this survey of the sources al-Tahā wı̄ ’s
˙ ˙
Manā qib most likely drew upon is his non-Hanafı̄ sources. We discussed
˙
earlier his transition from the legal affiliation he inherited from his family
to his adoption of the Hanafı̄ madhhab. It was perhaps because of this that
˙
al-Tahā wı̄ included reports extolling the orthodoxy of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
˙ ˙ ˙
followers which originated with members of the Shā fiʿı̄ school. Al-Tahā wı̄
˙ ˙
adduces al-Shā fiʿı̄ six times. On two occasions he relies on an account
130

transmitted to him by Yū nus b. ʿAbd al-Aʿlā (d. 264/877), an Egyptian

student of al-Shā fiʿı̄ whom some considered to be a teacher of Mā likı̄
jurisprudence.131 Al-Tahā wı̄ ’s maternal uncle al-Muzanı̄ is another
˙ ˙
source for al-Shā fiʿı̄ ’s praise of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his students.132 Finally,
˙
al-Tahā wı̄ ’s father makes an appearance in an isnā d reaching back to al-
˙ ˙ 133
Shā fiʿı̄ . It was important for al-Tahā wı̄ that his readership understood
˙ ˙
that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodox status was recognised by scholars outside the
˙
Hanafı̄ tradition. Making this argument was essential to the broader
˙
embrace among Sunnis of Abū Hanı̄ fa as an orthodox figure.
˙
129
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 343 and again, with some minor
differences, at 162–3. ˙ ˙
130
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 87–8, 324–5, 348, 350 (x2), 366.
131 ˙ ā ’il Abı̄ H
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 324–5, 350.
132 ˙ ā ’il Abı̄ H
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fad ˙ anı̄ fa, 348.
133 ˙
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ H˙ anı̄ fa, 350.
˙ ˙
300 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

Aside from what we can deduce as to al-Tahā wı̄ ’s sources and the
˙ ˙
content of his manā qib work, there are also some indications as to how
al-Tahā wı̄ acquired his material. Much of it was related to him in person.
˙ ˙
In Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ ’s notice on Asad b. ʿAmr al-Bajalı̄ , we
learn that al-Tahā wı̄ also relied on written correspondence. Five of the ten
˙ ˙
reports about al-Bajalı̄ return to al-Tahā wı̄ . Four of these five indicate
˙ ˙
that al-Tahā wı̄ ’s Manā qib drew upon written materials. In three instances
˙ ˙
Ibn Abı̄ Thawr wrote to al-Tahā wı̄ (kataba ilayya) to provide him with
˙ ˙
details concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers.134 In one instance, we
̄ ˙
are informed that ʿIsā b. Rū h transferred his book or notes to al-Tahā wı̄
(nā walanı̄ ).135 Clearly, these ˙men had access to information integral ˙ to
˙ al-
Tahā wı̄ ’s broader aim of establishing Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious orthodoxy.
˙ ˙ ˙
Ibn Abı̄ Thawr furnished al-Tahā wı̄ with reports from Ifrı̄ qiya, by way of
˙ ˙
Asad b. al-Furā t, attesting to the scholarly prowess and literary produc-
tion of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s students. Similarly, ʿĪ sā b. Rū h was able to provide
˙ ˙
al-Tahā wı̄ with details known in Ifrı̄ qiya, once again through Asad b. al-
˙ ˙
Furā t, about Abū Hanı̄ fa’s legal opinions. The production of Manā qib Abı̄
˙
Hanı̄ fa works owed themselves, in part, to a culture of knowledge sharing
˙through both the oral and written medium.

Bukhā rā : Tenth Century

In Bukhā rā another Hanafı̄ scholar with experience of working with
˙
provincial state authorities was writing manā qib and musnad works for
Abū Hanı̄ fa. ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad b. Yaʿqū b al-Hā rithı̄ al-
˙ ˙ ˙
Subadhmū nı̄ (d. 340/952) composed Kashf al-ā thā r fı̄ manā qib Abı̄
Hanı̄ fa.136 He was born in 258/872, just as the reign of the Tā hirids
˙ ˙
134
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 241–2. Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-
mudiyya, 1: 387 cites one of these ˙ reports˙ and attributes it to al-Tahā wı̄ .
135
Ibn˙ Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 243. ˙ ˙
136
Al-Subadhmū nı̄ , ‘Kashf al-ā thā r˙ fı̄ manā qib ˙ Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, MS 3105, no. 102, 326 fols.
See Muhammad Mutı̄ ʿ al-Hā fiz and ʿAbd al-Rahma ˙ ̄ n Farfū r, al-Muntaqā min makhtū tā t
maʿhad ˙al-Bı̄ rū nı̄ li al-dirā
˙ sā˙ t al-sharqiyya
˙ ˙
bi Tasqand (Dubai: Markaz Jumʿat al-Mā ˙jid ˙ li
al-Thaqā fa wa al-Turā th, 1995), 102. On ˙al-Subadhmū nı̄ see: al-Ziriklı̄ , al-Aʿlā m, 4:
120 (15th edn.); Kahhā la, Muʿjam al-mu’allifı̄ n, 6: 145 (Dā r Ihyā ’ al-Turā th al-ʿArabı̄
edn.); Kā tib Çelebi,˙ ˙Kashf al-zunū n, 2: 1485 (Dā r Ihyā ’ edn.); ˙ Ismā ʿı̄ l Pā shā al-
˙ ˙
Baghdā dı̄ , Hadiyyat al-ʿā rifı̄ n, 1: 445 (Dā r Ihyā ’ edn.). See al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ,
Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 10: 126–7; al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , al-Irshā˙ d, 971–2 (s.v. ‘al-Kalā ˙bā dhı̄ ’) (Riyadh
edn.); al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 1: 129 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.) (s.v. ‘al-Ustā dh’), 3: 213 (Dā r al-
Jinā n edn.) (s.v. ‘al-Subadhmū nı̄ ’); Ibn Mā kū la, Ikmā l, 3: 178; al-Dhahabı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh al-
Islā m, 25 (years 331–50): 190–1 (s.v. ‘year 340’); al-Dhahabı̄ , Mı̄ zā n al-iʿtidā l, 2: 496–7;
al-Dhahabı̄ , Tadhkirat al-huffā z, 3: 854; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 15: 424; Ibn Qutlū bughā ,
Tā j al-tarā jim, 175–6 (where ˙ both ˙ his manā qib and musnad works are mentioned); ˙ Ibn
Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Lisā n al-mı̄ zā n, 4: 579–80 (Abū Ghudda edn.); Ibn Hajar al-
˙
ʿAsqala ̄ nı̄ , Taʿjı̄ l al-manfaʿa bi zawā ’id rijā l al-arbaʿa, ed. Ikrā m Allā h Imdā d ˙al-Haqq
˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 301

was coming to an end and the Sā mā nids were rising to power in
Transoxiana. He travelled to Khurā sā n, Samarqand, Nasaf, Iraq, and
the Hijā z.137 He was a hadı̄ th scholar and could count hadı̄ th masters
˙ ˙ ˙
like Abū al-ʿAbbā s b. ʿUqda and Abū ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. Ishā q
˙ ˙
b. Manda as his students. Despite this, al-Hā kim was of the view that he
˙
possessed ‘strange and unique traditions from reliable transmitters’, and
that, ultimately, the hadı̄ th masters rejected him (sakatū ʿanhu).
˙
Similarly, al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ believed that he did not hold the status
˙ Al-Subadhmū nı̄ worked at the court of the Sā mā nid
138
of being a proof.
amir, Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Ahmad al-Sā mā nı̄ (r. 279/892–295/907). He was often
summoned often to ˙ the amir’s residence, where Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Ahmad would
˙
ask him about certain things and al-Subadhmū ni would answer him.139
This earned him the nickname ‘the Teacher’ (al-ustā dh), in addition to
fame as ‘the scholar of the realm of al-Sultā n al-Saʿı̄ d (Nasr II r. 301/
˙ ˙
914–331/943)’.140 He died on the evening of Friday the fifth of Shawwā l
340/952.
Al-Dhahabı̄ had heard of but not seen a book of his entitled Kitā b [or
Kashf ʿan] Wahm al-tabaqa al-zalama Abā Hanı̄ fa, which one presumes
from the title defended ˙ Abū H ˙ anı̄ fa against˙ ninth-century proto-Sunni
˙
traditionalist discourses of heresy.141 We can assume that, like most
manā qib works, al-Subadhmū nı̄ ’s included a section on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
followers. At least one report from al-Subadhmū nı̄ on Abū Yū suf turns

(Beirut: Dā r al-Bashā ’ir al-Islā miyya, 2008), 1: 239–40; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tabsir
al-muntabih, 2: 801 (where al-Subadhmū nı̄ is described as having ˙ transmitted hadı̄ th˙to
the Sā mā nid ruler); Ibn Nā sir al-Dı̄ n, Tawdı̄ h al-mushtabih fı̄ dabt asmā ’ al-ruwā ˙ t wa
ansā bihim wa alqā bihim wa ˙kunā hum, ed. ˙Muh ˙ ammad Naʿı̄ m ˙ al-ʿArqasu
˙ ̄ sı̄ (Beirut:
Mu’assasat al-Risā la, 1993), 1: 196, 7: 348; Ibn˙al-Athı̄ r, al-Lubā b (Beirut: Dā r Sā dir,
1980), 1: 50 (s.v. ‘al-Ustā dh’), 2: 99–100 (s.v. ‘al-Subadhmū nı̄ ’); Laknawı̄ , al-Fawā ˙ ’id
al-bahiyya (Beirut: Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1906), 104–6; Ibn ʿImā d, Shadharā t al-dhahab, 2:
357; Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 2: 344–5; al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Muntakhab min
muʿjam shuyū kh al-Samʿā nı̄ , ed. Muwaffaq ˙ b. ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAbd al-Qā dir (Riyadh: Dā r
ʿĀ lam al-Kutub, 1996), 3: 343–4, where al-Samʿā nı̄ recalls hearing the book from one of
his teachers. I was unable to gain access to al-Subadhmū nı̄ ’s manuscript, but I under-
stand it is in the process of being edited by Latı̄ f Rahmā n al-Bahrā ’ichı̄ al-Qā simı̄ and
published by Maktabat al-Irshā d in Istanbul. ˙ ˙
137
Al-Nasafı̄ , al-Qand fı̄ dhikr al-ʿulamā ’ Samarqand, ed. Yū suf al-Hā dı̄ (Tehran: Mı̄ rā th-i
Maktū b, 1999), 319–20.
138
Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 3: 213–14 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.) (s.v. ‘al-Subadhmū nı̄ ’).
139
Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , Tabsı̄ r al-muntabih, 2: 801.
140 ˙ ̄ nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 1: 129
Al-Samʿa ˙ (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.) (s.v. ‘al-Ustā dh’), 3: 213–14 (s.v. ‘al-
Subadhmū nı̄ ’) = 1: 212, 7: 29–30 (Hyderabad edn.). See also Fu’ā d Sā lih, Muʿjam al-
alqā b wa al-asmā ’ al-mustaʿā ra fı̄ tā rı̄ kh al-ʿarabı̄ al-Islā mı̄ (Beirut: Da ˙ ̄ r ˙al-ʿIlm li al-
Malā yı̄ n, 1990), 26.
141
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 15: 424–5 (s.v. ‘al-Ustā dh’); Ibn Nā sir al-Dı̄ n, Tawdı̄ h al-mushtabih,
7: 348 (s.v. ‘al-Kalā bā dhı̄ ’). Reports from either his Kashf ˙ al-ā thā r or˙Kitā
˙ b Wahm al-
tabaqa al-zalama appear in al-Muwaffaq al-Makkı̄ , Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa [printed with al-
˙Kardarı̄ , Manā
˙ qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa], 1: 123–4. ˙
˙
302 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

up in a later work.142 There is good reason to believe that al-

Subadhmū nı̄ ’s manā qib work spread far and wide, for it entered the
world of al-Tanū khı̄ and his Nishwā r al-muhā dara. The notorious judge
˙ ˙
cites a manā qib report from al-Subadhmū nı̄ in the Nishwā r’s chapter on
Abū Hanı̄ fa. 143
˙
There was another manā qib work produced by a scholar from
Bukhā rā . His name was Ahmad b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Abı̄ al-Qā sim al-
˙
Surmā rı̄ , Abū Jaʿfar al-Qā dı̄ .144 He belonged to the village of Surmā rā ,
˙ 145
which was located in Bukhā rā . He was a judge, too. Frustratingly, we
do not know when he lived. The sources that mention him provide no
clues as to when he lived. We know that he wrote two books: Ta’sı̄ s al-
nazā ’ir and al-Ibā na fı̄ al-radd ʿalā mushtaniʿı̄ n ʿalā al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa.
˙ ˙
On the basis of the pattern of manā qib works produced in Khurā sā n and
Transoxiana, along with the nature of the title of this manā qib work, I
suspect that the author lived during the tenth–eleventh centuries. Ta’sı̄ s
al-nazā ’ir has not survived. A work with a similar title is attributed to
˙
both Abū Layth al-Samarqandı̄ (d. 373/983) and Abū Zayd al-Dabū sı̄
(d. 430/1038). My knowledge of Abū al-Qā sim al-Surmā rı̄ ’s authorship
of this work comes from an unpublished manuscript, which mentions al-
Surmā rı̄ as its author.146 So we know he was writing before al-
Marghı̄ nā nı̄ (d. 593/1197).
A clearer picture of the book’s textual history has now emerged thanks
to Mehterhan Furkani’s 2019 edition of al-Surmā rı̄ ’s al-Ibā na fı̄ al-radd
ʿalā mushtaniʿı̄ n ʿalā al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa.147 Prior to his edition of the
work, a basic description of the plan˙ of the book was given by a number of
authors, including Kā tib Çelebı̄ . The book consisted of six chapters.
Chapter 1 presented the ˙ argument that the Hanafı̄ madhhab was well
˙
suited to rulers and the management of state affairs. One wonders
whether this, too, points to a pre-Saljū q historical context. The second
chapter established the necessity of adhering to sound traditions (ā thā r).
Chapter 3 discussed the importance of taking precautions in jurispru-
dence, and the fourth chapter followed on from this by warning about the

142
Al-Qā dı̄ ʿAbd al-Bā qı̄ b. Muhammad al-Ansā rı̄ , Ahā dı̄ th al-shuyū kh al-thiqā t: al-shahı̄ r bi
˙
al-mashyakha ˙
al-kubrā , ed. al-Sharı̄ f Hā tim˙ b. ʿĀ rif
˙ al-ʿAwnı̄ (Mecca: Dā r al-ʿĀ lam al-
Fawā ’id, 2001), 2: 878–9. ˙
143
Al-Tanū khı̄ , Nishwā r al-muhā dara, 7: 41.
144 ˙ ˙jim, 113–14; ʿAbd al-Qā dir al-Tamı̄ mı̄ , al-Tabaqā t al-
Ibn Qutlū bughā ’, Tā j al-tarā
saniyya,˙ 1: 426–7 (the editor has al-Shayrabā dı̄ not al-Sarmā rı̄ ); Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafa ˙ ̄ ’, al-
Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 1: 183–4, 184 (two entries on same person).
145 ˙
Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 3: 247–8 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.).
146
Al-Marghı̄ nā nı̄ , ‘Fusū l al-ahkā m fı̄ usū l al-ahkā m [fusul al-ʿimā dı̄ ]’, MS 706, Jā miʿat al-
˙
Malik Suʿū d, Riyadh, 290b. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
147
Furkani, ‘Tahqı̄ q al-Ibā na’.
˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 303

dangers of not having a precautionary jurisprudential approach. The fifth

chapter examined the legal rulings of other madhhabs that demanded
censure. The final chapter responded to legal issues raised by opponents
of the Hanafı̄ s and which were used to slander Abū Hanı̄ fa.148 Thanks to
˙ ˙
Furkani’s edition, we can say a little more about the text itself. Though we
do not know about the author’s precise date of death, we know for certain
that he was writing between the tenth and eleventh centuries, for the book
mentions tenth-century Hanafı̄ s such as Abū al-ʿAbbā s b. ʿUqda, whilst
˙
the text’s transmitter, Abū Bakr Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Malik b. ʿAlı̄ (d.
˙
475/1082), heard the book from al-Surmā rı̄ .149 The book’s title is unique
in the history of manā qib works, for it frames the book explicitly in
response to attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa by ‘slanderers’, and he states at the
˙
very outset that his book aims to deal with the slanderous discourse
around Abū Hanı̄ fa. 150
The author’s appeal to rulers and the state (al-
˙
wulā t) makes more explicit an emerging reality in the eastern provinces of
the empire where provincial dynasties were emerging, with the Sā mā nids
and then the Ghaznavids. In these changing circumstances, religious
scholars saw the state as a guarantor of religious stability.151 The book
also went on the offensive against other madhhabs, although there is
nothing unusual about the final chapter, which would have gone into
some detail about discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, seeking to
˙
defend him against them.152

Iraq: Tenth Century

Manā qib works began to emerge in Baghdad, too, in the tenth century.
Mukram b. Ahmad al-Bazzā z was a judge in his native city of Baghdad.153
˙
Nothing in his training or education suggests that he was a Hanafı̄ . He was
˙
known to have studied under a group of hadı̄ th scholars: Yahyā b. Abı̄ Tā lib
˙ ˙ ˙
(d. 275/889), 154
Muhammad b. ʿĪ sā al-Madā ’inı̄ (d. 274/887–8),155
˙
Muhammad b. al-Husayn al-Hunaynı̄ (d. 277/890–1), ʿAbd al-Karı̄ m b.
156
˙ ˙ ˙
148
On the manā qib work see Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf al-zunū n, 2: 1838–9 (Dā r Ihyā ’ edn.);
ʿAbd al-Latı̄ f b. Muhammad ˙Riyā dı̄ Zā dah, Asmā˙ ’ al-kutub al-mutammim ˙li kashf al-
˙
zunū n, ed. Muh ammad˙ al-Tū njı̄ (Cairo:
˙ Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ , 1978), 25.
149 ˙ ˙ q al-Ibā na’, 74. For this transmitter see also Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-
Furkani, ‘Tahqı̄
Jawā hir al-mud ˙ iyya, 3: 238, a source not cited by Furkani.
150
Furkani, ‘Tah˙qı̄ q al-Ibā na’, 89.
151 ˙ b Tabaqā t al-sū fiyya, ed. Johannes Pederson (Leiden: Brill, 1960), 217,
Al-Sulamı̄ , Kitā
˙
quoting the ninth-century ˙
mystic Abū Bakr al-Warrā q (d. 280/893).
152
This work shall be discussed in more detail in Chapter 10, when we examine the role of
the state in discourses of heresy and orthodoxy around Abū Hanı̄ fa.
153
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 295; al-Dhahabı̄˙, Siyar, 15: 517–18.
154 ˙
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 12: 619–20. 155 Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 13: 21–4.
156
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 13: 243–4.
304 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

al-Haytham al-Dı̄ rʿā qū lı̄ (d. 278/891),157 and Muhammad b. Ghā lib (d.
˙
283/896).158 Among his students were men such as Ibn Manda, al-
Hā kim, 159
Abū al-Hasan b. Razqawayh (d. 412/1021–2),160 and Ibn al-
˙ ˙
Fadl al-Qattā n (d. 415/1024).161 Not one of the scholars he studied with,
˙ ˙˙
or those who studied under him, appear in Hanafı̄ biographical dictionaries.
˙
The one exception might have been a student of Mukram b. Ahmad, called
˙
Abū ʿAlı̄ b. Shā dhā n (d. 425/1033–4). Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ knew this
162
˙
student intimately. He writes in his History that ‘the traditions I heard from
163

him are more precious to me than those I have heard from anyone else’.164
Naturally, al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ attended Abū ʿAlı̄ b. Shā dhā n’s funeral
prayer.165 He tells˙us that Abū ʿAlı̄ b. Shā dhā n was an Ashʿarı̄ who for a brief
period adopted the Hanafı̄ position (ʿalā madhhab al-kū fiyyı̄ n) on nabı̄ dh.166
˙
Furthermore, Hanafı̄ s did claim him as one of their own.167 If Abū ʿAlı̄ b.
˙
Shā dhā n was a Hanafı̄ , the association might have been short-lived.
˙
Let us return to Mukram b. Ahmad al-Bazzā z. What else do we know
˙
about his career and composition of a manā qib work for Abū Hanı̄ fa? His
˙
scholarly links through teachers and students suggest no affiliation with
Hanafism. We know that he was a hadı̄ th scholar of good repute.168 Al-
˙
Khat ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ believed he was a˙ reliable scholar (thiqa).169 Traces of
˙
Mukram b. Ahmad’s manā qib work have survived in al-Saymarı̄ ’s Akhbā r
˙ ˙
Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa. In fact, I have counted almost 250 references to Mukram b.
˙ 170
Ahmad. Other works also cite Mukram b. Ahmad with respect to man-
˙ ˙
ā qib reports for Abū Hanı̄ fa.171 Hadı̄ th scholars such as al-Dā raqutnı̄ were
˙ ˙ ˙
157
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 13: 335–6, where we learn that he studied with Abū Bakr al-
Humaydı̄ .
158 ˙
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 13: 390–3.
159
Al-Hā kim, al-Mustadrak ʿalā al-sahı̄ hayn (Cairo: Dā r al-Haramayn, 1997), 4: 249, 590.
160 ˙
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 17: 258–9 (a˙ Sha ˙ ˙̄ fiʿı̄ scholar). ˙
161
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 17: 331–2 (he heard al-Fasawı̄ ’s Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh from
ʿAbd Allā h b. Jaʿfar b. Durustuwayh).
162
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 17: 415–18.
163
I estimate that he is listed in the index over 680 times: al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh
Baghdā d, 17: 218–21. ˙
164
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 8: 224.
165
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 8: 224.
166
Al-Khat˙ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 8: 223.
167
Ibn Abı̄˙ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 2: 38–9.
168
Mukram b. Ahmad had a good reputation ˙ as a hadı̄ th scholar, no doubt aided by works
˙
such as his Fawā ’id. Manuscripts of this work ˙ exist at Maktabat al-Zā hiriyya, 135,
Majmū ʿa 45, fols. 66–83 and Maktabat al-Zā hiriyya, 135, Majmū ʿa 63, ˙ fols. 24–33.
See Mu’assasat Ā l al-Bayt, al-Fahras al-shā mil ˙ li al-turā th al-ʿarabı̄ al-islā mı̄ al-makhtū t:
al-hadı̄ th al-nabawı̄ al-sharı̄ f wa ʿulū muhu wa rijā luhu (Amman: Mu’assasat Ā l al-Bayt, ˙ ˙
˙
1991), 1: 1203 and Sezgin, GAS, 1: 186–7.
169
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 295.
170 ˙ , Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 16 ff.
Al-Saymarı̄
171 ˙
Al-Khat ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , ˙Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 5: 342; al-Qā dı̄ ʿIyā d, al-Ghunya: Fihrist
˙
shuyū kh al-Qā dı̄ ʿIyā d, ed. Mā hir Zuhayr Jarrā r (Beirut: ˙ Dā r˙ al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ ,
˙ ˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 305

far from impressed with Mukram b. Ahmad’s manā qib work. He had seen
˙
Mukram b. Ahmad’s Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa but declared it to consist of nothing
˙ ˙ ˙
but lies because of the regularity with which the work cited reports from
Ahmad b. al-Salt.172
˙ ˙

Nı̄ shā pū r: Tenth Century

East of Iraq, another Hanafı̄ judge took some time away from his profes-
˙
sional duties at the court to defend Abū Hanı̄ fa as a figure of proto-Sunni
˙
orthodoxy. His name was Abū Ahmad Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Shuʿayb
˙ ˙
b. Hā rū n b. Mū sā al-Shuʿaybı̄ . He had studied ˙
with scholars such as Abū
ʿAbd Allā h al-Bū shanjı̄ , Abū Bakr Muhammad b. Muhammad b.
˙ ˙
Sulaymā n al-Bā ghandı̄ , Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAlı̄ al-Dhuhlı̄ , al-Husayn b. Idrı̄ s al-
˙
Ansā rı̄ , Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n al-Shā mı̄ , Ahmad b. Jaʿfar b.
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Nasr al-Muzakkı̄ , ʿAbd Allā h b. Mahmū d al-Pazdawı̄ , and Abū Bakr b.
˙ ˙
Dā wū d al-Sijistā nı̄ , among others. His students included the giant of
hadı̄ th learning in the tenth century, al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ . Al-
˙ ˙
Shuʿaybı̄ died in 357/968.173 One might presume that al-Shuʿaybı̄ , as a
judge, belonged to a learned family. Someone who appears to be his son
attracted the notice of al-Hā kim in his History of Nı̄ shā pū r.174 The
˙
Damascene scholar Ibn Nā sir al-Dı̄ n (d. 842/1438) knew of the son too,
˙
which should not surprise us since al-Shuʿaybı̄ had studied with at least
one scholar from Shā m.175 It seems as if al-Shuʿaybı̄ worked his way up to
a judgeship. In addition to being an expert in Quranic canonical readings,
he was considered one of the most knowledgeable scholars in the science
of writing documents (shurū t). He was charged with the task of monitor-
˙
ing merchant activity and assessing the probity of upright witnesses. This
latter duty had been offered to him on multiple occasions, but he had
refused to take it on. Al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ noted in his History that al-
˙

1982), 79; ʿAbd al-Hā dı̄ al-Maqdisı̄ , Manā qib al-a’imma al-arbaʿa, ed. Sulaymā n
Muslim Harash (Riyadh: Dā r al-Mu’ayyad, 1996), 75–6. See also Tsafrir, ‘Semi-
Hanafı̄ s’, ˙79.
172 ˙
Al-Khat ı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 5: 342.
173
Al-Samʿa ˙ ̄ nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 3: 435 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.); Ibn al-Athı̄ r, al-Lubā b, 2: 199
(Maktabat al-Muthannā edn.); Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 3: 34; Ibn
Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, 232; ʿAbd al-Qā dir al-Tamı̄ mı̄ , al-Tabaqā ˙ t al-saniyya, 1:
˙
255–6 (where he is mentioned in the context of one of his ˙teachers, Ibrā hı̄ m b.
Muhammad b. Ibrā hı̄ m Abū Ishā q al-Khidā mı̄ al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ ); Ismā ʿı̄ l Pā shā al-
˙ ̄ dı̄ , Hadiyyat al-ʿā rifı̄ n, 2: 46˙ (Dā r Ihyā ’ edn.).
Baghda
174 ˙ pū r, 115.
Al-Khalı̄ fa al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , Talkhı̄ s tā rı̄ kh Nı̄ shā
175 ˙
Ibn Nā sir al-Dı̄ n, Tawdı̄ h al-mushtabih, 5: 342 (where he notes al-Shuʿaybı̄ ’s son,
Shayba,˙ who died in 395/1004–5).˙˙ Shayba had studied with ʿAbd Allā h Ibn al-Sharqı̄ .
Ibn al-Sharqı̄ was a hadı̄ th master from Khurā sā n of immense standing: see al-Dhahabı̄ ,
Siyar, 15: 37–9. ˙
306 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

Shuʿaybı̄ was the author of a book on asceticism (zuhd) and a manā qib
work on Abū Hanı̄ fa, which consisted of two fascicles (ajzā ’). Al-Hā kim
regarded him as ˙ having a mastery over the Hanafı̄ madhhab quite ˙unlike
˙
some of his other fellow Hanafı̄ s.176 I have located at least one report that
˙
ought to have belonged to his Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, which narrates Abū
˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa’s astounding display of care for a drunkard neighbour who seemed
˙
to present an enormous nuisance for Abū Hanı̄ fa, but who when
˙
imprisoned was released after Abū Hanı̄ fa petitioned on his behalf. The
˙
story began in Nı̄ shā pū r with al-Shuʿaybı̄ , was transported by another
native of Nı̄ shā pū r, who told it to a well-known scholar from Bukhā ra,
who himself travelled to Damascus and circulated the story among its
residents.177 This captures well the extent to which manā qib works were
integrated into different regions of the medieval Islamic world, and how
‘Book Islam’ was intimately connected to ‘Lived and Experienced Islam’.

Eleventh Century
The final specimen of manā qib works for Abū Hanı̄ fa I should like to
highlight is an unpublished manuscript.178 MS 4216 ˙ is a short treatise
entitled ‘Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa fı̄ al-jumla ʿalā sā ‘ir fuqahā ’ al-
˙ ˙
amsā r’. An author is identified in the middle of the manuscript as
˙
Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl in the context of his explaining the
˙ ˙ ˙
purpose of a section in which he provides a typology of jurists in the
Hanafı̄ madhhab.179 I have not been able to identify this author. At this
˙
moment I can only offer a tentative sketch based on this manuscript and
the collection (majmū ʿ) in which it is found. As for the manuscript itself,
our author presents a periodisation of the Hanafı̄ madhhab, which begins
˙
with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s students and ends with the third generation of jurists,
˙
giving the name of Abū al-Husayn al-Qudū rı̄ as the last jurist.180 This
leaves us with a terminus post ˙ quem of 428/1037. This manuscript is
coupled with a second treatise, ‘Kitā b al-ʿĀ lim wa al-Mutaʿallim’. The
beginning of this second treatise contains a record of transmission. The

176
Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 3: 435 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.).
177
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 497.
178
I should˙ add that there are some manā qib works I can say little about. For example, al-
Samʿā nı̄ (al-Ansā b, 1: 381 (Maktabat Ibn Taymiyya edn.)) tells us of a Manā qib Abı̄
Hanı̄ fa work authored by one Abū Jaʿfar al-Zajjā j circulating in the tenth century in
˙
Marw. Another manā qib work authored by one Abū al-Hasan al-Dı̄ navarı̄ was edited in
2020: Kütük ‘Ebu’l-Hasen ed-Dîneverî’nin Menâkibu Ebî ˙ Hanîfe’.
179
Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl, ‘Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, MS 4216,
˙
Chester ˙
Beatty Library, ˙
38b. On typologies ˙ of jurists in the Hanafı̄ madhhab
˙ see now Al-
Azem, Rule-Formulation, 93–101. ˙
180
Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl, ‘Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, 39a.
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
 8.2 A History of Manāqib Works 307

name of the redactor is not given, but the teacher who transmitted the text
to him is: ‘The shaykh, the imam, the scholar, the scrupulous ascetic, the
authority, the chief of the school, Majd al-Dı̄ n ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. ʿAmr
˙
b. Ahmad b. Hibat Allā h b. Abı̄ Jarā da’.181 The text was transmitted to
˙
Ibn Abı̄ Jarā da by the teacher at Abū Hanı̄ fa’s shrine in Baghdad on
˙
Friday evening, 30 June 1245.182 If we assume that the copyist of ‘Kitā b
̄
al-ʿAlim wa al-Mutaʿallim’ is the author of ‘Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄
˙
Hanı̄ fa’, and the scripts and hands in the treatises in the manuscript seem
˙
identical, then we might suggest that the author is a student of Ibn Abı̄
Jarā da. The final indication of dating is a reference to one ʿAlı̄ b. Mū sā al-
Qummı̄ (d. 305/917–18), who we are informed wrote Kitā b al-Radd ʿalā
ashā b al-Shā fiʿı̄ .183 This must be the famous tenth-century Hanafı̄ scholar
˙ ˙ Nı̄ shā pū r, who had studied jurisprudence under Muh ˙
from ammad b.
˙
Shujā ʿ al-Thaljı̄ . 184

In this work, too, our author openly recognises discourses of heresy

transmitted by proto-Sunni traditionalists.185 He writes: ‘As for those
who spoke against Abū Hanı̄ fa during his lifetime, they did so out of spite
˙
because Abū Hanı̄ fa had surpassed them in knowledge and they found this
˙
unbearable.’186 Our author gives the example of Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ . He
explains that Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ delivered a mea culpa on his deathbed and
repented from his contribution to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
Nevertheless, our author details some of these discourses of heresy. One
pertains to a book that was discovered under Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ ’s pillow
after he passed away in which he related a tradition from Abū Hanı̄ fa and
˙
then accused him of forgery (dallasahu).187 The author even admits that
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ accused Abū Hanı̄ fa of being forced to repent from
heresy twice. He makes no effort to ˙ attack the credibility of such reports.

181
Abū Hanı̄ fa (attr.), ‘Kitā b al-ʿĀ lim wa al-mutaʿallim’, MS 4216, Chester Beatty
Library, ˙ 1a.
182
Abū Hanı̄ fa (attr.), ‘Kitā b al-ʿĀ lim wa al-mutaʿallim’, 1a.
183
Mahmu ˙ ̄ d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl, ‘Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’ 39b.
184
Ibn ˙al-Nadı̄ m, Kitā ˙ b al-Fihrist, 2: 32
˙ (A. F.
˙ Sayyid edn.); Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafa ˙ ̄ ’, al-Jawā hir al-
mudiyya, 1: 380; Ibn Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, 31; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 14: 236–7.
185 ˙
Arberry, The Chester Beatty ˙ Library, 5: 68. Sezgin, GAS, 1: 411. Sezgin suggests that the
author may correspond to one Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Mansū r. For this person, Sezgin
refers readers to Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄˙, Kitā b Muʿjam ˙ al-buldā˙n, 3: 535. I found no such
˙
person cited there. The next page (3: 536 refers to one Mansū r b. Mansū r al-
Rū dhā bā dhı̄ ). I also checked more recent editions of the work, and˙ the indices˙list no
one resembling this name.
186
Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl, ‘Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, 36a: (fa
ammā ˙ man takallama ˙ fı̄ Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa min
˙ ahl˙ ʿasrihi fa li al-munā fasa li annahu
˙ taqammahum
fı̄ al-ʿilm fa shaqqa ʿalayhim). ˙ ˙
187
Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl, ‘Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, 36a.
˙
Alternatively, ˙
dallasahu might imply ˙that Sufya
˙ ̄ n transmitted the tradition but ˙ concealed
his embarrassing source.
308 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

Instead, he explains that the incident in which a public repentance from

heresy was extracted from Abū Hanı̄ fa was a case in which he had outwitted
˙
(yulā hinu) his inquisitors.188 The last word, however, is given to Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa’s admirers, as our author devotes the remaining pages to those
˙
who praised him.189

8.3 Conclusion
Let us summarise some of the key patterns that have emerged from our
study of the manā qib genre. Perhaps the most central aspect of the
production of manā qib works for Abū Hanı̄ fa is their timing. They were
˙
first composed in the aftermath of ninth-century discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa, and their proliferation marks the beginning of a
˙
shift in conceptions of medieval Sunni orthodoxy.
The geographical spread of these works is also significant. It is no
coincidence, for example, that the first manā qib works of the late ninth
to early tenth centuries were written in regions where discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa were especially strong. In Chapters 2 and 3 of this
˙
study I emphasised the transregional dimension of proto-Sunni tradition-
alist discourses of heresy. In the light of this, it is not surprising that the
task of establishing Abū Hanı̄ fa as a patron saint of medieval Sunnism
˙
required authors of manā qib works in major centres of the medieval
Islamic world: Iraq, Transoxiana, Khurā sā n, and Egypt. Any adjustments
to the evolving orthodoxy of medieval Sunnism demanded a consenting
community directing these changes from different provinces.
A third pattern we have identified pertains to the professional occupa-
tions of our manā qib authors. Al-Tahā wı̄ , Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m, al-
˙ ˙
Subadhmū nı̄ , al-Surmā rı̄ , Mukram b. Ahmad, and al-Shuʿaybı̄ were all
˙
judges and had relationships of some kind with local rulers. There has
been a tendency in modern scholarship to see judges as nugatory to the
development of Islam as a religion, but this chapter suggests that qadis, as
authors, were instrumental in bringing about major transformations in
the evolution of medieval Sunnism.
A fourth discernible trend in the composition of manā qib works for Abū
Hanı̄ fa is the diverse sectarian backgrounds of their authors. Though the
˙
overwhelming majority of manā qib authors were associated with
Hanafism, in Ibn ʿUqda and Abū al-Mufaddal al-Shaybā nı̄ we have two
˙ ˙˙
authors who occupied an ambivalent place in medieval Sunnı̄ and Shiʿite
memory. Since these works have not survived, we cannot determine their

188
Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl, ‘Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, 36a.
189
Mah˙ mū d b. Mans˙ ū r b. Abı̄ al-Fad˙ l, ‘Fas˙ l ʿalā taqdı̄ m madhhab Abı̄ ˙ anı̄ fa’, 36b.
H
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
 8.3 Conclusion 309

precise nature. On the one hand, medieval Shiʿite works attempt to

portray Abū Hanı̄ fa in a positive light in order to claim that his achieve-
ments were due ˙ to his proto-Shiʿi teachers.190 On the other hand, there
existed a more belligerent strain within medieval Shiʿi works that attacked
Abū Hanı̄ fa.191 In any case, this is an interesting phenomenon that we
˙
shall encounter again in the next chapter when we turn to the history of
masā nı̄ d works for Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
A final point I wish to emphasise is something that was implicit in my
treatment of Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ and al-Tahā wı̄ ’s manā qib works but
˙ ˙
deserves to be reiterated, and that is the extent to which manā qib works reflect
a broader nexus between the law, the madhhabs, social norms, and lived
Islam. The schools of law, through the medium of manā qib works and
biographical dictionaries, became schools of orthodoxy in medieval
Sunnism.192 This meant that manā qib works were essential to the consolida-
tion of orthodox identities.193 They helped to fashion an orthodox school
identity that would prove integral to the community of masters, professors,
teachers, students, judges, and others that made up the classical guild school.
At the same time, the production of manā qib works reflects the madhhabs’
wider social remit. Manā qib works provide insights into the kind of social
world that the law, broadly conceived, attempted to nourish. Manā qib works
were a form of composite historical writing in which the features of history,
biographical dictionary, and biography were all integrated. These constitu-
tive elements of manā qib works all served to accentuate different aspects of
the lives of medieval Muslims. The form of writing one finds in manā qib
works sought to create a society and not simply describe a past one.194 This is
why it spoke to everyday concerns. Manā qib works, after all, were performed
190
Qazwı̄ nı̄ al-Rā zı̄ , Kitā b al-Naqz: maʿrū f bih baʿz-i mathā lib al-navā sib fı̄ naqz baʿz fazā ’ih
al-ravā fiz, ed. Jalā l al-Dı̄ n Muh ˙ addith (Tehran: ˙ Anjuman-i Ā thā ˙r-i Millı̄ ,˙ 1980),
˙ ˙159– ˙
60, 236,˙ 455. ˙
191
Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄ d, ‘Kitā b Fadā ’ih Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, Majmū ʿa MS no. 2, Marʿashı̄ Library,
Qum. See also al-Majlisı̄ , Bihā˙r al-anwā
˙ r˙ (Tehran: Dā r al-Kutub al-Islā miyya, 1956),
10: 202–4, 212–14, 216, 220–2. ˙
192
I should emphasise, again, that this study examines one aspect of the formation of Sunni
orthodoxy. Other aspects, such as Sunni–Shiʿi relations, gender, politics, and so on,
deserve independent treatment. On Sunni–Shiʿi relations and the question of orthodoxy
see Stewart, Islamic Legal Orthodoxy; and Dann, ‘Contested Boundaries’.
193
Ahmed’s What Is Islam?, 453 ff., a sweeping critique of the legal discourse of fiqh, fails to
apply his sensitive and brilliant analyses of poetry and ethical treatises to works of law.
194
This relationship between historical writing, its reception among readers or listeners,
and its subsequent impact on shaping the present and future is described by Koselleck,
The Practice of Conceptual History, 111: ‘Historical times can be identified if we direct our
view to where time itself occurs or is subjectively enacted in humans as historical beings:
in the relationship between past and future, which always constitutes an elusive present.
The compulsion to coordinate past and future so as to be able to live at all is inherent in
any human being. Put more concretely, on the one hand, every human being and every
human community has a space of experience out of which one acts in which past things
310 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

in everyday, lived, experienced, and public settings, such as when they were
taught and performed beside the shrine of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Early Muslims did
not conceive of time in one single fashion. They ˙knew of historical epochs.
Narratives about the sequential progression of time – from accounts of
creation, antediluvian period, and prognostications about the future (eschat-
ology) – represented one conception of time. The division of history into
generational epochs (tabaqā t) was another form of periodisation. But perhaps
˙
the conception of time most germane to medieval Muslims was the lifespan
of the human. It was this conception of time and its organisation that became
the central preoccupation of manā qib works. Authors began with Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s birth, gave an overview of the life of his ancestors, provided some
˙
details about his childhood, outlined his educational trajectory, deliberated
upon features of his adult life, and culminated with the final years of his life.
This was a schema of time that was immediate to all potential readers and
listeners. Furthermore, narratives of ritual purity, education, asceticism,
economic scarcity, hardships, enemies, suffering, and political pressure and
persecution were entirely consistent with the life that most people experi-
enced. In this respect, manā qib works were a far cry from the world of country
leisures, delights, coquettes, and flamboyance described by works of
Fürstenspiegel. Societies needed heroes, and durable ones at that. The lifespan
of dynasties and the durability of their legacies paled in comparison to those
of the eponyms. Manā qib works served to define a catholic community whose
goal became not just salvation and piety but the cultivation of virtue in a
testing social world. The social and moral consistency of a select group of
great Sunni heroes was woven into narratives to which ordinary members of
society could relate. The world of princes was never going to resonate with
most people, and, in any case, princes and rulers came and went by the
hundreds and were mere drops in the ocean. Manā qib works were another
way of establishing the fact that the Abū Hanı̄ fas of the world were like gold
˙
dust. They were exemplars of orthodoxy and virtue.
It might be that this fact has not been appreciated because little atten-
tion has been paid to these works and that, when scholars have written
about them, they have understood them to be literary artefacts of Muslim
hagiography.195 The use of hagiography to describe manā qib works for the
eponymous founders of the madhhabs has been both unfortunate and
misleading. The problem of hagiography is the problem of fabula, and it
was an ideological project of the nineteenth century engineered by the
Bollandists that sought to distinguish hagiography (miraculous events)

are present or can be remembered, and, on the other, one always acts with reference to
specific horizons of expectation.’
195
Pellat, s.v. ‘Manakib’, EI2.
 8.3 Conclusion 311

from historia.196 Such miraculous events are absent, almost in their entir-
ety, from manā qib works for eponyms. So, reading these works carefully
requires confronting certain errors of classification and preconceptions
regarding genres of history and hagiography. Additionally, it demands a
recognition of tendentious treatments of medieval Islamic scholarship,
texts, and scholars. Nietzsche’s cynical reading of European morality as
‘nothing but a series of disguises for the will to power’,197 inflected with
Weberian notions of authority and power, has produced scholarship on
medieval Islamic religious societies that sometimes struggles to move
beyond the platitudes about legitimacy, power, and authority.198
Medieval moral and ethical traditions are seen as veils for deeper motives
such as the exercise of power, the extension of authority, and the estab-
lishment of legitimacy. This reading of medieval religious traditions
makes unintelligible the deeper, explicit currents that move these texts,
their authors, and their readers. It was the cultivation of virtues (and
movements that could channel them) among moral communities in a
difficult and unsettling world that manā qib works sought. They posited a
social vision, a society, and the bonds and loyalties that would make life
within it worthwhile and facilitate the passage to the life that they believed
existed beyond it, and it was a path that our authors believed had been
trodden by the likes of Abū Hanı̄ fa. We historians need not believe in this
˙
or any other vision sketched by medieval religious communities, but we
nevertheless must try to make sense of its appeal among the people we
study.199

196
For a sympathetic account see Delahaye, The Work of the Bollandists, esp. ch. 6 and ch. 8.
For the Bollandist method see de Gaffier, ‘L’Hagiographe et son public’. A number of
important studies have been published in the field of medieval history and literature
seeking to challenge the utility of a history–hagiography binary. I have consulted a
number of studies, such as Lifshitz, ‘Beyond Positivism and Genre’. Heffernan, Sacred
Biography, 15–71, is another important intervention, which reads ‘hagiographical’ texts
as sacred biography. Heffernan’s discussion, especially his historiographical introduc-
tion, ignores the contributions of Bollandists. Still, I have benefited from Heffernan’s
insights into medieval texts and their relationship to history writing. I also benefited from
reading two books that focus on medieval Christian hagiography: Kreiner, The Social
Life of Hagiography; and Krueger, Writing and Holiness, esp. 189–97.
197
Macintyre, After Virtue, 299. See also Ricoeur on the ‘masters of suspicion’ in Ricoeur,
Freud and Philosophy, 32 ff.; and Felski, The Limits of Critique, ch. 1.
198
There are many examples, but some that come to mind are Safi, The Politics of
Knowledge, xxiii–xxviii, xxxi (for examples of such programmatic statements); Crone,
Slaves on Horses, 62–3, 88; Crone, Pre-Industrial Societies, 133–9 (the account is general
and not specific to pre-modern Islam); Dabashi, Authority in Islam, where the author
reads early Islamic history through a strictly Weberian and sociological lens.
199
I do not mean to dismiss other ways of reading these texts. There are many lines of
inquiry we must pursue when analysing these sources, some of which I hope to explore in
the future.
312 Manāqib: Narratives of Orthodoxy I

The main aim of this chapter has been to draw attention to the fact that
the late ninth century witnessed the beginning of a concentrated effort to
contest ninth-century discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, to
˙
unmake him as a heretic, and to establish him as a paragon of medieval
Sunni orthodoxy. I have argued here that the manā qib genre was instru-
mental to this effort. This led me to undertake a detailed study of manā qib
works written for Abū Hanı̄ fa. In one respect, this represents a significant
˙
advance in our understanding and appreciation of a literary genre that has
been either neglected or described as mere hagiography. I have rooted the
development of this genre in a specific historical context. To this extent,
our history of the manā qib genre has endeavoured to introduce new data
and to study new or previously unexamined texts and scholars. What we
should understand in these two phases marked by distinct literary phe-
nomena – ninth-century discourses of heresy and shaping a new vision of
medieval Sunni orthodoxy through manā qib works in the ninth–eleventh
centuries – is that they reflect what Victor Turner has called a ‘social
drama’ in which contesting religious movements were confronted with a
choice between reconciliation and permanent cleavage.200
Discourses of heresy, gone unchallenged, might have resulted in per-
manent cleavage, but the decision to compose manā qib works helped to
avoid this and instead fostered medieval Sunnism’s great convergence.
Discourses of heresy did not disappear, and attempts to rehabilitate them
continued in the course of the medieval and early modern periods. We
can hear the survival of these social and religious tensions in texts from
this period. However, they were challenged consistently by manā qib
authors, many of whom were Hanafı̄ s but others who were not.201
Permanent cleavage was no longer ˙ a viable option after the eleventh
century. There was nothing inevitable about the compromise that gave
way to a medieval Sunni orthodoxy in which four eponyms acquired the
status of orthodox patron saints. The decision to compose manā qib works
was a decisive one, and it was to have lasting consequences for the
evolution of Sunni orthodoxy up until the modern day. In short, manā qib
works acquired a key role in shaping the religious orientation of medieval
Sunni orthodoxy.

200
Turner, ‘Social Dramas and Stories about Them’.
201
Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr’s (d. 463/1070) al-Intiqā ’ was a decisive work in this respect. I have
counted and gathered notes on close to fifty manā qib works for Abū Hanı̄ fa written after
˙
the eleventh century, but they are not immediately relevant to the period in question.
9 Masā nı̄ d: Narratives of Orthodoxy II

Works dedicated to reshaping conceptions of medieval Sunni orthodoxy

were, as I argued in the previous chapter, composite in their nature.
Manā qib works aimed to respond to a wide-ranging set of themes raised
in the ninth–tenth centuries by proto-Sunni traditionalists to brand Abū
Hanı̄ fa as a heretic. A comprehensive defence of Abū Hanı̄ fa required,
˙ ˙
therefore, authors of manā qib works to employ forms of argumentation
that leaned on techniques familiar to historical writing, biographical
dictionaries, and hadı̄ th scholars.
Masā nı̄ d works˙ mirrored this strategic diversity, too. Nevertheless,
musnad books for Abū Hanı̄ fa were devoted to defending him against
˙
one substantial charge: that he lacked sufficient expertise in a staple
discipline of medieval proto-Sunni orthodoxy, hadı̄ th. In this chapter
˙
I will provide a brief history of masā nı̄ d works.1 This is necessary
because, I argue, the genre was instrumental in establishing Abū
Hanı̄ fa as a pillar of medieval Sunni orthodoxy. After providing
˙
a historical overview of the development of this genre in the ninth–
eleventh centuries with respect to Abū Hanı̄ fa, I shall present two
˙
specimens from the genre. The first seeks to highlight the porous
boundaries between manā qib and masā nı̄ d works, showing that they
were both engaged in the task of defending Abū Hanı̄ fa against charges
˙
of heresy and consolidating his orthodoxy identity. The second example
points to an equally significant feature of musnad works for Abū Hanı̄ fa –
˙
one that we also observed in our history of manā qib works – whereby
proto-Sunni traditionalists as well as Hanafı̄ s began to defend Abū
Hanı̄ fa and compose musnad works for ˙him in an effort to document
˙
his orthodoxy.

1
On musnad works for Abū Hanı̄ fa see Melchert, ‘Traditionist-Jurisprudents’, 396 n. 50.
A new twenty-volume history˙ of musnads published in 2020, which I have not seen, has
been produced by the prodigious scholar Latı̄ f Rahmā n al-Bahrā ’ichı̄ , Mawsū ʿat al-hadı̄ thiyya
˙
li-marwı̄ yā t al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (Istanbul: Dā r al-Bayru
̄ tı̄ , 2020). ˙
˙
313
314 Masānīd: Narratives of Orthodoxy II

9.1 History of Masā nı̄ d Works

We saw in Chapter 7 that proto-Sunni traditionalists claimed a monopoly
over the discipline of hadı̄ th studies, which they extolled as a premier
˙
proto-Sunni discipline. They used this expertise to produce discourses of
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa by claiming that he showed little respect for the
authority of hadı̄ th, ˙that he was an unreliable hadı̄ th transmitter, and that
˙ ˙
he lacked expertise in its study. This was a serious charge, and there were
no signs in the ninth or tenth centuries that such criticisms were letting
up. Those movements seeking to promote Abū Hanı̄ fa’s proto-Sunni
˙
orthodoxy could not simply ignore them either, because by the ninth
and tenth centuries the authority of hadı̄ th in religious matters was now
˙
widely accepted by most medieval groups. Something had to be done.
A potent and ingenious solution was found in a genre of writing that
had been the exclusive purview of proto-Sunni traditionalists of the ninth
century. It was a leading proto-Sunni traditionalist of the tenth century
who took it upon himself to document the first writers in the genre.2 Ibn
ʿAdı̄ identified Yahyā b. ʿAbd al-Hamı̄ d al-Himmā nı̄ (d. 228/842–3) as
˙ ˙ ˙
the first author of a musnad work in Kufa;3 in Basra, it was Musaddad
b. Musarhad al-Basrı̄ (d. 228/842–3); in Egypt it was Asad b. Mū sā al-
4
˙
Umawı̄ (d. 212/827);5 and another candidate was Mū sā b. Qurra al-
Zabı̄ dı̄ (d. 203/818).6 According to al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , the first
scholars to write musnad works were ʿUbayd ˙ Allā h b. Mū sā al-ʿAbsı̄ (d.
213/828) and Abū Dā wū d al-Tayā lisı̄ (d. 203–4/818).8 Other musnad
7
˙
authors of the ninth century included Ishā q b. Rā hawayh,9 ʿUthmā n
˙
b. Saʿı̄ d al-Dā rimı̄ , and al-Humaydı̄ .11
10
˙
2
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 7: 2694–5, though for a more complete list of candidates seemingly
culled from earlier sources see al-Suyū tı̄ , Tadrı̄ b al-rā wı̄ fı̄ sharh taqrı̄ b al-Nawawı̄ , ed. Abū
Qutayba Nazar Muhammad al-Fā raya˙̄ bı̄ (Cairo: Maktabat ˙al-Kawthar, 1994), 2: 599;
and al-Kattā nı̄ ˙ , al-Risā
˙ la al-mustatrafa, 61–76; Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf al-zunū n, 2: 1678–85
(Dā r Ihyā ’ edn.). ˙ ˙
3
Al-Katta˙ ̄ nı̄ , al-Risā la al-mustatrafa, 62. It seems al-Himmā nı̄ made the claim himself, too:
see al-Suyū tı̄ , Tadrı̄ b al-rā wı̄ ,˙2: 599. Al-Himmā nı̄ ’s ˙ proto-Sunni credentials were ques-
˙
tioned: see al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 10: 527–40.˙ Since I am not making any specific arguments
surrounding these individuals, I have used al-Dhahabı̄ rather than earlier sources to
acquire a basic overview of their careers.
4
Al-Kattā nı̄ , al-Risā la al-mustatrafa, 62; al-Suyū tı̄ , Tadrı̄ b al-rā wı̄ , 2: 599; al-Dhahabı̄ ,
Siyar, 10: 591–5. ˙ ˙
5
Al-Kattā nı̄ , al-Risā la al-mustatrafa, 61–2; al-Suyū tı̄ , Tadrı̄ b al-rā wı̄ , 2: 599; al-Dhahabı̄ ,
Siyar, 10: 162–4. ˙ ˙
6
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 9: 346.
7
Al-Kattā nı̄ , al-Risā la al-mustatrafa, 61; al-Suyū tı̄ , Tadrı̄ b al-rā wı̄ , 2: 599.
8 ˙ al-Kattā nı̄ , al-Risā
Al-Suyū tı̄ , Tadrı̄ b al-rā wı̄ , 2: 599; ˙ la al-mustatrafa, 61; al-Ishbı̄ lı̄ , Fihrist,
˙
141; al-Sakha ̄ wı̄ , Fath al-Mughı̄ th, 1: 85. ˙
9
Al-Kattā nı̄ , al-Risā la˙al-mustatrafa, 65. 10 Al-Kattā nı̄ , al-Risā la al-mustatrafa, 64.
11
Al-Kattā nı̄ , al-Risā la al-mustat˙ rafa, 67. ˙
˙
 9.1 History of Masānīd Works 315

Our aim here is not to produce a complete list of authors, but rather to
evidence the monopoly that proto-Sunni traditionists and traditionalists
had over the musnad genre.12 In the ninth century, defenders of Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
turned to this popular genre among proto-Sunni traditionalists and began
to compile hadı̄ ths that they claimed Abū Hanı̄ fa had learnt and transmit-
˙ ˙
ted. This decision was motivated by attempts to silence Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
ninth- and tenth-century critics. These critics, we should remember, had
Abū Hanı̄ fa as their primary target. They were keenly aware, though, that
˙
their criticisms of him were meant to undermine the religious orthodoxy of
Hanafı̄ s of the ninth and tenth centuries. Authors of musnad works for Abū
H˙ anı̄ fa were hoping to establish him as a hadı̄ th master par excellence; but
˙ ˙
they were also trying to make a point about themselves and the school’s
larger legacy – namely, that Hanafism was engaged in the same orthodox
˙
discipline of hadı̄ th studies. Here is a list of musnad works for Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙
composed during the eighth–eleventh centuries:
1. Hammā d b. Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (d. 176/792–3), Musnad. 13

2. Abu˙ ̄ Yū suf (d. 182/798),

˙ Nuskhat Abı̄ Yū suf.14
3. Muhammad b. al-Hasan al-Shaybā nı̄ (d. 189/805), Nuskhat
Muh˙ammad.15 ˙
˙
4. Al-Hasan b. Ziyā d al-Lu’lu’ı̄ (d. 204/819–20), Musnad.16
˙
5. Abū Bakr Ahmad b. Muhammad b. Khā lid al-Kalā ʿı̄ (fl. 300/912),
˙ ˙
Musnad.17
6. *Ibn ʿUqda (d. 333/944), Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa musnaduhu.18
˙
7. Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ (d. 335/946), Musnad.19
8. **ʿUmar b. al-Hasan al-Ushnā nı̄ (d. 339/951), Musnad.20
˙
12
A Moroccan historian of the early twentieth century has produced a comprehensive
survey of the genre, listing a total of forty-four works composed during the ninth century:
see al-Kattā nı̄ , al-Risā la al-mustatrafa, 61–70.
13
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d al-Imā˙ m al-Aʿzam (Hyderabad: Matbaʿat Majlis Dā ’irat
al-Maʿā rif, 1914), 1: 5, 75–6. ˙ ˙
14
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 5, 75; Sezgin, GAS, 1: 414.
15
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 5, 75, 76–7.
16
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 5, 73–4.
17
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 5; Murtadā al-Zabı̄ dı̄ , ʿUqū d al-jawā hir, 84; Abū al-
Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄ in Abū Yū suf, Kitā b al-Ā thā˙r, ed. Abū al-Wafā ’ al-Afghā nı̄ (Hyderabad:
Lajnat Ihyā ’ al-Maʿā rif al-Nuʿmā niyya, n.d.), 4 (editor’s introduction).
18 ˙
Ā ghā Buzurg al-Tihrā nı̄ , al-Dharı̄ ʿa ilā tasā nı̄ f al-shı̄ ʿa (Beirut: Dā r al-Adwā , 1983), 1:
316. See also al-Naja ˙ ˙ ̄ shı̄ , Rijā l al-Najā shı̄˙, ed. Muhammad Jawā d Nā ʿı̄ nı̄˙ (Beirut: n.k.,
1988), 1: 240 = ed. Mū sā al-Shabı̄ rı̄ al-Zanjā nı̄ (Qum: ˙ Mu’assasat al-Nashr al-Islā mı̄ ,
1998), 94–5; al-Tū sı̄ , Rijā l al-Tū sı̄ , 409; al-Tū sı̄ , Fihrist al-Tū sı̄ , ed. Muhammad Sā diq Ā l
Bahr al-ʿUlū m (Najaf: n.p., 1960), 57 = Sharı̄ f al-Ridā ˙edn., 28–9; ˙Ibn Shahra
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ̄ shū b,
˙
Maʿā lim al-ʿulamā ’, 17. ˙
19
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 5, 77.
20
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 5, 73–4. In Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ we have a Sunni tradition-
alist (ashā b al-hadı̄ th) who authored a musnad work for Abū Hanı̄ fa. For al-Dā raqutnı̄ ’s
˙ ˙ of him
assessment ˙ see al-Hā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , Su’ā lā t al-Hā kim ˙ al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ li Dā raqut
˙ nı̄ ,
˙ ˙ ˙
316 Masānīd: Narratives of Orthodoxy II

9. ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad b. Yaʿqū b al-Hā rithı̄ al-Subadhmū nı̄ (d.

˙ ˙
340/952), Musnad.21
10. ***Ibn Hibbā n al-Bustı̄ (d. 354/965), Kitā b ʿIlal mā istanada ilayhi
˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa.22
˙
11. ***Abū Ahmad ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAdı̄ al-Qattā n (d. 360/970–1),
˙ ˙˙
Musnad.23
12. Muhammad b. Ishā q al-Kalā bā dhı̄ (d. c.380/990), Sharh musnad Abı̄
˙ ˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa.24
˙
13. Abū al-Qā sim Talha b. Muhammad b. Jaʿfar al-Shā hid (d. 380/990–1),
˙ ˙ ˙
Musnad.25
14. Abū Bakr Muhammad b. Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAlı̄ b. ʿĀ sim b. al-Muqrı̄ al-
˙ ˙
Isfahā nı̄ (d. 381/991–2), Musnad.26
˙
15. *Abū al-Mufaddal al-Shaybā nı̄ (d. 387/997), Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa
˙˙ ˙
musnaduhu.27
16. **Abū ʿAlı̄ Muhammad b. Ishā q b. Muhammad b. Manda (d. 395/
˙ ˙ ˙
1005), Musnad.28
17. Abū al-Husayn Muhammad b. al-Muzaffar b. Mū sā b. ʿĪ sā
˙ ˙ ˙
b. Muhammad (d. c.400/1009–10), Musnad.29
˙
18. **Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ (d. 430/1038), Musnad.30
˙
19. Abū Bakr Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Bā qı̄ b. Muhammad al-Ansā rı̄ (fl.
˙ ˙ ˙
fifth/eleventh century).31

162–4. See also al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 13: 90–3; al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b,
˙
1: 180 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.); al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 15: 406.
21
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 4, 69–70; Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 2:
344–5; Ibn Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, 175–6; Sezgin, GAS, 1: 415. ˙
22
Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄˙ , Kitā b Muʿjam al-buldā n, 1: 616.
23 ˙
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 4, 72–3; Kā tib Çelebi, Kashf al-zunū n, 2: 1681 (Dā r
Ihyā ’ edn.). ˙
24 ˙
al-Hibshı̄ , Jā miʿ al-shurū h, 3: 1700–1701; Mu’assasat Ā l al-Bayt, Al-Fihras al-shā mil li al-
turā˙th al-ʿarabı̄ al-islā mı̄ al-makht
˙ ū t: al-hadı̄ th al-nabawı̄ al-sharı̄ f wa ʿulū muhu wa rijā luhu
(Amman: Mu’assasat Ā l al-Bayt, ˙ 1991),
˙ ˙ 1008 (extant in manuscript).
25
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 4, 70–1. His affiliations are unclear. He seems to have
been yet another Sunni traditionalist author of a musnad, who also happened to study
under Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ . He was the representative of the official court witnesses, and his
proximity to judges helped him to write a history of them (Akhbā r al-qudā t). Then there
are strong indications of his Muʿtazilı̄ beliefs: see al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , ˙Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d,
10: 480–1; al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 16: 396–7. ˙
26
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 5; al-Hibshı̄ , Jā miʿ al-shurū h, 3: 1701; Ziriklı̄ , al-Aʿlā m,
5: 295 (15th edn.); al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 16: ˙ 398; Ibn ʿImā d, Shadharā
˙ t al-dhahab, 3: 101;
al-Sakhā wı̄ , al-Iʿlā n, 220, 378; al-Kattā nı̄ , Fihris al-fahā ris, 2: 972; Sezgin, GAS, 1: 415.
27
Al-Tihrā nı̄ , al-Dharı̄ ʿa ilā tasā nı̄ f al-shı̄ ʿa, 1: 316.
28 ˙ ˙
Brockelmann, GAL, supp. 1:˙ 286; Sezgin, GAS, 1: 415. I have not seen the Berlin manu-
script, but there is a suggestion that Ibn Manda represents another Sunni traditionalist
aiming to consolidate Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodoxy: see al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 129.
29
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ ˙ d, 1: 4, 71–2.
30
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 4, 71–2; Sezgin, GAS, 1: 415.
31
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 4–5, 72.
 9.1 History of Masānīd Works 317

20. Abū ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. Khusraw al-Balkhı̄ (d. 522–3/1128–

˙
9), Musnad.32
21. Anonymous, Jazā ’ al-aʿmā l.33
It is difficult to say anything about the late eighth- and early ninth-
century musnad works, and without having compared them to the extant
works attributed to Abū Yū suf and al-Shaybā nı̄ , I shall let them pass
without comment. My interest here is in the production of musnad
works during the ninth–eleventh centuries. A large body of material had
been produced by proto-Sunni traditionalists in the ninth century to
discredit Abū Hanı̄ fa’s learning in the discipline of hadı̄ th. As the ninth
century went on ˙ it was becoming clear that patron˙ saints of medieval
Sunni orthodoxy were required to have a good grasp of hadı̄ th. During the
˙
very century that proto-Sunni traditionalists were attacking Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
orthodoxy and were themselves writing musnad works, other proto-Sunni
scholars began to compile works that contained the hadı̄ ths that Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa had memorised and learnt. Who was writing these musnads?
˙
Surprisingly, only a handful of Hanafı̄ s were involved in writing such
˙
works (three from the tenth–eleventh centuries who appear in Hanafı̄
biographical dictionaries). They began to see the potential in the musnad ˙
genre to curtail criticisms of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s hadı̄ th expertise. There was the
˙ ˙
added pressure to respond to proto-Sunni traditionalist objections to
a jurisprudence supposedly practised by the Hanafı̄ s that was deemed to
˙
be anchored in speculation and not hadı̄ th. The sight of numerous mus-
˙
nad works in the name of their eponymous founder would serve as
evidence of Hanafism’s hadı̄ th pedigree.
˙ ˙
Interestingly, Hanafı̄ s were not the only scholarly community involved in
˙
producing musnad works for Abū Hanı̄ fa. The first phenomenon that we
˙
have, indicated by an asterisk next to the names of Abū al-Mufaddal al-
˙˙
Shaybā nı̄ and Ibn ʿUqda, is that of non-Sunni authors writing musnad
works. I have identified two such examples. Abū al-Mufaddal al-Shaybā nı̄
˙˙
was a Kufan scholar who had studied in Shā m and Egypt before settling in
Baghdad. He had studied under numerous scholars but he was known to
have been a close student of al-Tabarı̄ . There was, however, a cloud of
˙
suspicion that had gathered around him on account of his tendency to
transmit strange traditions (gharā ’ib) and traditions perceived as bolstering
Shiʿism. There was a growing consensus among Sunni traditionalists that he
had pretensions to being a Sunni scholar but failed to meet their standards.34

32
Al-Khwā rizmı̄ , Jā miʿ masā nı̄ d, 1: 5, 74.
33
Al-Nasafı̄ , al-Qand fı̄ dhikr al-ʿulamā ’ Samarqand, 144; al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 5: 538 (Dā r
al-Jinā n edn.).
34
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 3: 499–501; al-Sahmı̄ , Su’ā lā t Hamza b. Yū suf
al-Sahmı̄ ˙ li al-Dā raqutnı̄ , 274–5. ˙
˙
318 Masānīd: Narratives of Orthodoxy II

It seems as if the Shiʿi community saw him in a similar light. Al-Najā shı̄ puts
it slightly differently: ‘In the beginning of his career he was reliable, but he
got things messed up towards the end of it.’ Al-Najā shı̄ does give us a list of
his works, which certainly betrays a sympathy for Shiʿism, Zaydism, and
Hanafism. Based on other precedents, I am assuming that the Akhbā r Abı̄
˙
Hanı̄ fa ascribed to Abū al-Mufaddal al-Shaybā nı̄ would have included
˙ ˙˙
a musnad, too.35 Our second author whose relationship to medieval
Sunnism was ambivalent was Ibn ʿUqda. He was known as a Sunni hadı̄ th
˙
scholar, but historians gave him mixed reviews. He had an impressive array
of Sunnı̄ teachers and students, yet he managed to give some the impression
that he was a Zaydı̄ , and others cast aspersions on his reliability as a hadı̄ th
˙
scholar.36 In medieval Shiʿi biographical dictionaries he is classed as a Zaydı̄
of the Jā rū dı̄ branch and as someone who was revered among that religious
community. Like Abū al-Mufaddal al-Shaybā nı̄ , Ibn ʿUqda’s list of works
˙˙
speaks to a diverse heritage. For our immediate purposes, it is his authorship
of Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa musnaduhu that stands out.37
Why were scholars˙ such as Abū al-Mufaddal al-Shaybā nı̄ and Ibn
˙˙
ʿUqda interested in writing musnad works for Abū Hanı̄ fa? Their works
have not survived, so we can do no more than hazard˙ some guesses. One
possibility is that we are still dealing in the middle of the tenth century
with eclectic identities, such that some students and scholars could move
between Shiʿi and Zaydı̄ identities and Sunni ones. In this case, scholars
moving along such a spectrum saw it as perfectly natural to compose
musnad works for Abū Hanı̄ fa. On the other hand, as was highlighted in
˙
Chapter 8, there were Shiʿi scholars who wrote about Abū Hanı̄ fa from
˙
a slightly negative perspective, or sought to highlight his dependence on
Shiʿi imams. In this case, these musnad authors might have been inter-
ested in drawing attention to traditions that Abū Hanı̄ fa transmitted from
˙
these imams. Here, the Zaydı̄ s too might have wanted to show connec-
tions between Abū Hanı̄ fa and Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ that went beyond support for
˙
the latter’s rebellion.
Then there is the authorship of musnad works for Abū Hanı̄ fa by proto-
˙
Sunni traditionalists. The consolidation of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodox Sunni
˙
35
Al-Najā shı̄ , Rijā l al-Najā shı̄ , 396 (al-Zanjā nı̄ edn.).
36
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 6: 147–59. See also ʿAbd al-Rashı̄ d al-
Nuʿmā nı̄ ˙ , Nazarā t ʿalā kutub al-thalā th fı̄ al-hadı̄ th, ed. Muhammad ʿUmar ʿUthmā n al-
Nadwı̄ (n.p.: Ih ˙ yā ’ al-Maʿā rif al-Islā miyya, 2016), ˙ 32–44(for˙ an account of musnad works
for Abū Hanı̄ fa), ˙ 34 (on Ibn ʿUqda). ʿAbd al-Rashı̄ d al-Nuʿmā nı̄ was one of the great
˙
Hanafı̄ scholars of hadı̄ th in India and Pakistan, and his Makā nat al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa fı̄
˙ adı̄ th has become
al-h ˙ a classic in modern times. ˙
37 ˙
Al-Najā shı̄ , Rijā l al-Najā shı̄ , 1: 240 (Nā ʿı̄ nı̄ edn.) = 94–5 (al-Zanjā nı̄ edn.); al-Tū sı̄ , Rijā l
˙ ā edn.),
al-Tū sı̄ , 409; al-Tū sı̄ , Fihrist al-Tū sı̄ , 57 (Ā l Bahr al-ʿUlū m edn.) = al-Sharı̄ f al-Rid
˙ ˙ ˙
28–9; Ibn Shahrā shū b, Maʿā lim al-ʿulamā ’, 17. ˙ ˙
 9.1 History of Masānīd Works 319

identity was aided in great measure by the appearance of musnad works for
him composed by proto-Sunni traditionalists of the late tenth and early
eleventh centuries. In the list above, two asterisks appear next to Ibn al-
Ushnā nı̄ , al-Kalā bā dhı̄ , Ibn Manda, and Abū Nuʿaym. Three of these
four were Sunni traditionalists and one was possibly a Hanafı̄ . Let us
˙
begin with the latter. Al-Kalā bā dhı̄ is the author of two works, his land-
mark manual of Sufism and a less well-known work on traditions with
mystical themes.38 These books contain no clues as to his legal affiliation,
but he has been claimed as a Hanafı̄ by more than one Hanafı̄ biographical
˙ ˙
dictionary.39
As for Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ , he signals a crucial moment in the history of
unmaking Abū Hanı̄ fa as a heretic and establishing his orthodox Sunni
˙
identity. Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ belonged to a learned family.40 His father had
studied under proto-Sunni traditionalists such as Ibn ʿAwn and Yahyā
˙
b. Maʿı̄ n. The father had at least three sons: about ʿUmar we know next to
nothing; Muhammad had studied with ninth-century hadı̄ th scholars,
˙ ˙
one of whom was ʿAlı̄ b. Sahl b. al-Mughı̄ ra al-Bazzā z (d. 271/884);41
another brother was a judge, Abū al-Husayn. Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ himself
42

was considered to be an outstanding Sunni ˙ traditionalist (sā hib al-hadı̄ th

˙ ˙ ˙
mujawwidan). Those who related traditions from him included the Sunni
traditionalist Abū al-ʿAbbā s Ibn ʿUqda mentioned earlier and Abū Hafs
˙ ˙
b. Shā hı̄ n (d. 385/996). Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ was a judge in Shā m, but he was
remembered as having served as the judge of Baghdad for three days
under the caliph al-Muqtadir. He had also held a position as a hisba
˙
officer. But it was as a hadı̄ th scholar that he was best known.43 There is
˙
nothing to indicate that he was a Hanafı̄ , and the descriptions we have of
˙
his learning point to a Sunni traditionalist orientation. His role as

38
Al-Kalā bā dhı̄ , Bahr al-fawā ’id al-mashhū r bi maʿā nı̄ al-akhbā r, ed. Wajı̄ h Kamā l al-Dı̄ n
˙
Zakı̄ (Cairo: Dā r al-Sala ̄ m, 2008); al-Kalā bā dhı̄ , al-Taʿarruf li madhhab ahl al-tasawwuf,
ed. ʿAbd al-Halı̄ m Mahmū d (Cairo: Maktabat al-Thaqā fa al-Hı̄ niyya, n.d.). See ˙ also
˙
Sezgin, GAS, 1: 668–9. ˙ ˙
39
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 4: 105–6; Ibn Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, 333;
al-Laknawı̄ , al-Fawā ’id al-bahiyya,˙ 161, 234 (Dā r al-Maʿrifa ˙ edn.). There is also the
possibility that al-Kalā bā dhı̄ has been confused with ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad
b. Yaʿqū b al-Hā rithı̄ al-Subadhmū nı̄ (no. 9 in our list), whose name was ˙ also al-
Kalā bā dhı̄ . ˙
40
Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 1: 170–1 (Dā r al-Jinā n edn.).
41
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 13: 159–60.
42
A work of his has survived: Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ , Juz’ al-Qā dı̄ al-Ushnā nı̄ in Majmū ʿat ajzā ’
hadı̄ thiyya, ed. Mashhū r b. Hasan Ā l Salmā n Abū ʿUbayda ˙ (Beirut: Dā r Ibn Hazm,
˙2001), 307–28. This same brother ˙ also wrote maqtal works on Husayn b. ʿAlı̄ and˙ Zayd
b. ʿAlı̄ , which makes one wonder yet again about the fluid identities ˙ of Sunni traditional-
ists and, perhaps, Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ himself.
43
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 13: 90–3; al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b, 1: 170–1 (Dā r
al-Jinā n˙ edn.); al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 15: 406–7.
320 Masānīd: Narratives of Orthodoxy II

a teacher to Ibn Shā hı̄ n may be significant, since we have identified Ibn
Shā hı̄ n as an exceptional Sunni traditionalist hadı̄ th critic who adopted
a more accommodating tone towards Abū Hanı̄˙ fa.
˙
We have a similar case in the person of Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ .
˙
A hadı̄ th master from Isfahā n, Abū Nuʿaym was an Ashʿarı̄ Shā fiʿı̄ scholar
˙ ˙
who produced a number of monumental works on Sū fism, hadı̄ th, local
˙ ˙
history, and traditionists.44 His Musnad Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa is an intriguing work.
˙
It documents very clearly a new phase in tenth-century Sunnism in which
there was a conscious attempt to portray Abū Hanı̄ fa as a man of ortho-
˙
doxy. It opens with eleven reports of a biographical nature. Three of these
portray Abū Hanı̄ fa as a persecuted martyr–patron saint who supported
˙
the family of the Prophet Muhammad.45 This is followed by a chapter
with seventeen reports extolling ˙ his piety, asserting his juristic skill,
exhibiting his unwavering commitment to hadı̄ th, and absolving him of
˙
any doctrinal deviance.46 Then there is a brief section on Companions of
the Prophet Muhammad whom Abū Hanı̄ fa saw. This was one argument
˙ ˙
defenders of Abū Hanı̄ fa could employ against his proto-Sunni tradition-
˙
alist critics. Abū Hanı̄ fa had seen some Companions and, according to
some Hanafı̄ s, had˙ heard traditions from them. This privilege escaped al-
˙
Shā fiʿı̄ , Mā lik b. Anas, and Ahmad b. Hanbal, all of whom were born too
˙ ˙
late. Abū Nuʿaym takes a moderate position on the contentious issue of
how many Companions Abū Hanı̄ fa saw and heard traditions from, and
˙
concludes that he saw two Companions and probably heard something
from them.47 At the same time, the work includes a few unflattering views
of Abū Hanı̄ fa.48 The overwhelming majority of the text is concerned with
˙
documenting 325 traditions Abū Hanı̄ fa related from other hadı̄ th
scholars. Abū Nuʿaym singles out 266 ˙ shaykhs from whom Abū H ˙ anı̄ fa
˙
heard traditions: 259 are identified and 7 remain unknown to him. Abū
Nuʿaym’s other works might be suggestive of a certain animosity towards
Abū Hanı̄ fa. He is the only one of the four Sunni eponyms who does not
˙
receive a notice in Abū Nuʿaym’s Hilyat al-awliyā ’. He also finds a place
˙
in Abū Nuʿaym’s book on weak traditionists. It is bad enough that he
makes it into this book, but Abū Nuʿaym’s entry goes on to say that Abū
Hanı̄ fa believed that the Quran was created and that he was made to
˙
repent from his disgraceful views on more than one occasion. Abū
Nuʿaym ends the entry by saying that Abū Hanı̄ fa made numerous
˙
44
Al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar, 17: 453–64.
45
Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ , Musnad al-Imā m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 18–19.
46
Abū Nuʿaym al-Is˙ fahā nı̄ , Musnad al-Imā m Abı̄ H
˙ anı̄ fa, 20–3.
47
Abū Nuʿaym al-Is˙ fahā nı̄ , Musnad al-Imā m Abı̄ H
˙ anı̄ fa, 24.
48
Abū Nuʿaym al-Is ˙ fahā nı̄ , Musnad al-Imā m Abı̄˙ Hanı̄ fa, 19 (Abū Hanı̄ fa invented his
genealogy), 20 (Abu˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa concerned himself with ˙ obscure issues).˙
˙
 9.1 History of Masānīd Works 321

mistakes (kathı̄ r al-khata’ wa al-awhā m).49 He concludes his book with

˙
this summary statement:50
The people I have named in this chapter I have done so on account of their
transmitting rejected (al-manā kı̄ r), forged (al-mawdū ʿā t), and false narrations (al-
abā tı̄ l). I have spoken about their weakness (duʿf).˙Their case is not concealed to
the˙ scholars of this discipline. The light of their traditions is lost, and instead
darkness is found in most of their traditions. . . . In my opinion, one cannot
transmit narrations from most of these people. Their hadı̄ th cannot be adduced
as proofs. They can only be written down for consideration ˙ (al-iʿtibā r) and for
general awareness (al-maʿrifa).

I would characterise Abū Nuʿaym’s musnad as one that indicates the new
conciliatory approach towards Abū Hanı̄ fa that facilitated the disappear-
˙
ance of discourses of heresy and enabled his integration into the new
Sunni orthodoxy of the tenth and eleventh centuries. At the same time,
however, Abū Nuʿaym’s works also reflect the anxieties that Sunni tradi-
tionalists still felt about the legacy of discourses of heresy in the ninth–
tenth centuries, on the one hand, and the contemporary climate of
Sunnism during the tenth–eleventh centuries that was unmaking these
heresiological discourses, on the other.
Ibn Manda also poses a slight predicament. He was a renowned Sunni
traditionalist of the tenth century. Modern scholars have described him
as the author/redactor of a musnad for Abū Hanı̄ fa.51 This does not give
an entirely accurate picture of Ibn Manda’s ˙ musnad and his views on
Abū Hanı̄ fa and Hanafism. I have not seen the manuscript in Berlin.
˙ ˙
I am aware that Ibn Manda is the transmitter of al-Subadhmū nı̄ ’s
musnad for Abū Hanı̄ fa.52 I suspect, therefore, that this led Sezgin to
attribute the musnad ˙ to Ibn Manda. So, we know Ibn Manda as
a transmitter of a musnad work for Abū Hanı̄ fa, which he heard from
˙
a tenth-century Hanafı̄ scholar. This Hanafı̄ scholar, al-Subadhmū nı̄ ,
˙ ˙
was known as one of Ibn Manda’s teachers.53 However, there is a tiny
detail contained within a barely legible manuscript that complicates this
story of Ibn Manda as a Sunni traditionalist writing a musnad to rehabili-
tate Abū Hanı̄ fa. Majmū ʿa 62 of the Zā hiriyya manuscript library
˙ ˙
includes fragments from two works authored by Ibn Manda.54 One is
49
Abū Nuʿaym, Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, ed. Fā rū q Hamā da (Casablanca: Dā r al-Thaqā fa, 1984),
154. Other proto-Hanafı̄ ˙ s make it into the ˙book: the Kufan judge, Nū h b. Darrā j (151);
the judge of Marw,˙ Nū h b. Abı̄ Maryam (151); and Yū suf b. Khā lid al-Samtı̄ ˙ (164).
50
Abū Nuʿaym, Kitā b al-D ˙ uʿafā ’, 167–70. 51 Sezgin, GAS, 1: 415.
52
Al-Hā rithı̄ al-Subadhmu ˙ ̄ nı̄ , Musnad Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya,
˙ 19.
2008), ˙
53
Al-Samʿā nı̄ , al-Ansā b (al-Bā rū dı̄ edn.), 3: 213.
54
Muhammad Nā sir al-Dı̄ n al-Albā nı̄ , Fihris makhtū tā t dā r al-kutub al-zā hiriyya: al-muntakhab
min ˙makhtū tā t al-h
˙ adı̄ th (Riyadh: Maktabat al-Maʿa ˙ ˙ ̄ rif, 2001), 170.˙
˙ ˙ ˙
322 Masānīd: Narratives of Orthodoxy II

Ibn Manda’s Kitā b al-Tawhı̄ d, and its fragment found in the manuscript
˙
contains an exposition of Sunni creed concerning the uncreated nature
of the Quran and its pronunciation. The second fragment appears to
contain a critique of Abū Hanı̄ fa under the title ‘The view of leading
˙
hadı̄ th critics and their testimony against him and exposing his
˙ 55
shortcomings’. Much of the manuscript is illegible, but in one line
we have Ibn Manda quoting someone who said that Abū Hanı̄ fa died as
˙
someone who was misguided and misguided others (dā ll mudill).56 The
˙ ˙
short treatise begins with a Quranic theme. Ibn Manda cites Quran
2.143, ‘And so too have We made you a select nation of faith, nobly
upright in equity, that you might be witnesses over all men, and the
Messenger alone be witness over you.’ which was a verse used often
when medieval scholars sought to establish consensus (ijmā ʿ).57 Ibn
Manda then fills the page with a long list of scholars, which I presume
from the context he gives consists of the names of hadı̄ th scholars who
˙
attacked the religious credibility of Abū Hanı̄ fa in an effort to establish
˙ 58
a scholarly consensus regarding his shortcomings. It is quite possible,
then, that scholars such as Ibn Manda did not write or transmit a musnad
in order to defend Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
Though these musnads signal a new direction in the history of Sunni
orthodoxy and provide a more detailed picture of how it was taking shape
in the tenth century, other Sunni traditionalists were disturbed by these
developments. We can sense, in fact, a crisis among Sunni traditionalists.
Men such as Ibn ʿAdı̄ and Ibn Hibbā n took to writing explicitly against
˙
the growing phenomenon of musnads for Abū Hanı̄ fa. Ibn ʿAdı̄ , a staunch
˙
proponent of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, wrote a critique of
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s musnads. He closes his entry on˙ Abū Hanı̄ fa in al-Kā mil
˙ ˙
with a number of hadı̄ ths Abū Hanı̄ fa is said to have transmitted, and he
˙ ˙
then identifies problems with them. According to Ibn ʿAdı̄ , one problem
concerns Abū Hanı̄ fa’s informants. He claimed to transmit hadı̄ th on the
˙ ˙
authority of transmitters who were not known by other traditionists to
have transmitted them. Ibn ʿAdı̄ accuses Abū Hanı̄ fa of making add-
59
˙
itions to the content of traditions. Not one of the other traditionists who
transmitted the tradition narrated the phrase Abū Hanı̄ fa is said to have
˙
55
Ibn Manda, ‘Nubdha fı̄ naqd Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa [Qawl al-thiqā t al-mutaqaddimı̄ n wa sha-
hā dā tuhim ʿalayhi wa al-kashf ʿan masā wı̄˙ hi]’, Makabat al-Zā hiriyya, Majmū ʿa 62, fol. 141a.
56
Ibn Manda, ‘Nubdha fı̄ naqd Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, fol. 141a. ˙
57 ˙ ammad Tā mir (Beirut: Dā r al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya,
Al-Jassā s, al-Fusū l fı̄ al-usū l, ed. Muh
2000), ˙ ˙ 2:
˙ 154.Translation
˙ ˙ from Nuh ˙ Ha Mim Keller, The Quran Beheld: An English
Translation from the Arabic (Istanbul: Stanchion Press, 2022), 22.
58
Ibn Manda, ‘Nubdha fı̄ naqd Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa’, fol. 141b.
59
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 243, 245 (Dā ˙r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh: Maktabat al-Rushd, 2018,
10: 131, 133).
 9.1 History of Masānīd Works 323

added.60 He points out other irregularities in Abū Hanı̄ fa’s traditions. He

˙
compares Abū Hanı̄ fa’s habit in this regard with another traditionist.
˙
Though both of them were weak, Ibn ʿAdı̄ says, at least the other knew
the hadı̄ th with more precision.61 Ibn ʿAdı̄ tries to come to a fair judge-
˙
ment with respect to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s musnads. His assessment is that some
˙
of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s hadı̄ ths are accurate. The vast majority of the traditions
˙ ˙
he transmitted contain inaccuracies (ghalat), distortions (tasā hı̄ f), and
˙ ˙ ˙
additions (ziyā dā t) in both their chains of transmission (asā nı̄ d) and
content (mutū n). There are also distortions with respect to the names of
traditionists (al-rijā l). Ibn ʿAdı̄ believes that this is the case with respect to
almost all of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s transmissions. In fact, no more than seven to
˙
ten of his hadı̄ ths can be considered sound.62 This should not surprise
˙
people, Ibn ʿAdı̄ writes, ‘because Abū Hanı̄ fa was not among the scholars
˙
of hadı̄ th. It is only natural, after all, that an individual whose situation is
˙
as we have described, cannot be relied upon with respect to hadı̄ th.’63
Ibn Hibbā n must have put forward similar criticisms of musnad ˙ works
˙
composed for Abū Hanı̄ fa. A small part of his literary career was devoted to
˙
combating the rise of manā qib and musnad works for Abū Hanı̄ fa. We know
˙
that he wrote a book entitled ‘The defects of Abū Hanı̄ fa transmissions’ and
˙
another on ‘The defects of praiseworthy and blameworthy reports about
Abū Hanı̄ fa’.64 Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , himself a notorious critic of Abū
˙
˙ provided a recommended
Hanı̄ fa, reading list he had received from his
˙
teacher of beneficial hadı̄ th works written by Ibn Hibbā n, which included
˙ ˙
both of these works.65 Though these works have not survived, Ibn Hibbā n’s
˙
major works have, and they give us an insight into his attempts to resist
Sunnism’s new consensus forming around Abū Hanı̄ fa. His al-Thiqā t and
Mashā hı̄ r ʿulamā ’ al-amsā r we can deal with very˙ quickly. The books on
˙
reliable hadı̄ th scholars and famous scholars in the Islamic world contain no
˙
entry for Abū Hanı̄ fa. Conversely, Ibn Hibbā n’s history of weak and rejected
˙ ˙
hadı̄ th transmitters has much to say about Abū Hanı̄ fa. The notice begins
˙ ˙
with a broad evaluation of Abū Hanı̄ fa and it betrays Ibn Hibbā n’s special
˙ ˙
interest in Abū Hanı̄ fa’s hadı̄ th transmissions. Ibn Hibbā n tells us that Abū
˙ ˙ ˙
60
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 243–4 (zā da Abū Hanı̄ fa hā dhā fı̄ al-matn) 245 (Dā r al-Kutub edn.
= Riyadh edn., 10: 131–2). ˙
61
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 245 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 132).
62
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 246 (lam yasihha lahu fı̄ jamı̄ ʿ mā yarwı̄ hi illā bidʿa ʿashar hadı̄ than)
(Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., ˙ ˙ 10:
˙ 133-4). ˙ ˙
63
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 246 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 134).
64
Kitā b ʿIlal mā asnada Abū Hanı̄ fa and Kitā b ʿIlal manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa wa mathā libihi. See
Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Muʿjam ˙ al-buldā n (Beirut: Dā r Sā dir, 1977), ˙ 1: 417; al-Suyū tı̄ , al-
Bahr alladhı̄˙ zakhara fı̄ sharh Alfiyat al-Suyū tı̄ fı̄ al-hadı̄˙th (Medina: Maktabat al-Ghuraba ˙ ̄’
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
al-Athariyya, 1999), 3: 888; al-Hibshı̄ , Jā miʿ al-shurū h, 3: 1701; Ismā ʿı̄ l Pā shā al-
˙
Baghdā dı̄ , Hadiyyat al-ʿā rifı̄ n, 2: 45 (Dā r Ihyā ’ edn.). ˙
65
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , al-Jā miʿ li al-akhlā ˙q al-rā wı̄ wa ā dā b al-sā miʿ, 2: 302–3.
˙
324 Masānīd: Narratives of Orthodoxy II

Hanı̄ fa transmitted 130 hadı̄ ths with isnā ds. Ibn Hibbā n wrote with supreme
˙ ˙ ˙
confidence that there are no other hadı̄ ths from him in the entire world other
˙
than these 130. Of these 130 hadı̄ ths, Ibn Hibbā n believed that Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙ ˙ ˙
had committed errors in 120 by way of either mixing up the isnā ds or
changing the matn. He concludes that in situations when someone’s errors
significantly outweigh their positive results, their traditions cannot be relied
upon. This seems like a précis of Ibn Hibbā n’s now lost book on the defects
˙
of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s hadı̄ ths. For Ibn Hibbā n this was not the only reason for
˙ ˙ ˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa to be denounced. He continues in the next sentence: ‘There is
˙
another reason why one cannot use him as a proof and that is because he
invited people to [the heresy of] Irjā ’, and there is a total consensus among
every single one of our imams that one may not rely upon somebody as
a proof if he calls others to heresy (al-bidaʿ).’66
This chapter has documented the efforts of proto-Sunni and Hanafı̄
˙
scholars between the ninth and eleventh centuries in rehabilitating Abū
Hanı̄ fa as a Sunni scholar of unimpeachable orthodox credentials. In this
˙
and the previous chapter I have argued that the manā qib and masā nı̄ d
genres were indispensable mechanisms through which the history and
memory of Abū Hanı̄ fa was reshaped. Musnad works, as we have seen,
˙
were integral to the early hadı̄ th community. It was members of this
˙
community who were responsible for the spread of discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa. This consanguinity between discourses of heresy and
˙
the musnad genre was fundamental to the decision of defenders of Abū
Hanı̄ fa to compose musnad works to refute Abū Hanı̄ fa’s reliability as
˙ ˙
a hadı̄ th transmitter. As such, it was a masterstroke. Musnad works now
˙
established Abū Hanı̄ fa’s mastery of hadı̄ th. I drew attention to the
manā qib genre not ˙only because of its importance
˙ for the broader cultural
memory of the madhhabs among medieval Islamic societies, but also on
account of its attempt to respond to some of the gravest charges made
against Abū Hanı̄ fa. When we consider the very pervasiveness of dis-
˙
courses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa in the ninth century, he comes
˙
across as an arch-heretic in the writings of proto-Sunni traditionalists. If
we think about why, then, he did not become a heresiarch, we should keep
in mind that discourses of heresy against him existed in circumstantial
reports, anecdotes, statements, utterances, and books. As long as this
remained the evidential basis for discourses of heresy, even if they were
etched into the textual record of the ninth–tenth centuries, discourses of
heresy were also going to be susceptible to the kind of textual tsunami and
revolution that carried forward the defence of Abū Hanı̄ fa in the form of
˙
manā qib and masā nı̄ d works. Furthermore, authors of manā qib and

66
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 2: 405–6 (Riyadh edn.).
˙ ˙
 9.1 History of Masānīd Works 325

masā nı̄ d works were able to turn discourses of heresy to their advantage.
No saint, they argued, could acquire such orthodox standing without
attracting the scorn of his contemporaries.
Yet, we have also seen that though the genre exemplifies a concerted
effort to rehabilitate Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious orthodoxy, these same works
˙
elucidate the tensions that had emerged in the tenth–eleventh centuries
with respect to the changing nature of Sunni orthodoxy and Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
place within it. Sunnis of the tenth–eleventh centuries were recognising
that change was afoot. Most, it seems, engineered and encouraged it.
Others were reluctant to commit to the new consensus. It is to these
diverse responses that we now turn.
Part IV

The Formation of Classical Sunnism

10 Consensus and Heresy

As we draw to the denouement of this study, let us briefly recall its earlier
phases. At the beginning of this book I presented material from the late
eighth–tenth centuries that highlighted the formation of proto-Sunni trad-
itionalist orthodoxy and the movement’s commitment to the idea of Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s heresy. We then explored some of the thematic strands that made
˙
up medieval conceptions of orthodoxy and heresy. As well established as the
idea of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s heresy was in the eighth–tenth centuries, fundamental
˙
changes to this were introduced through the production of new genres in the
tenth and eleventh centuries. The manā qib and masā nı̄ d genres were crucial
in transforming Abū Hanı̄ fa’s mnemohistory from one of heresy to ortho-
˙
doxy. This chapter is designed to bring our long story, which began in the
late eighth century with proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy, to
a close by considering three tenth-century attempts to define Sunnism in the
wake of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s rehabilitation. The first example looks at the reaction
˙
of the state, the second examines efforts by Sunni traditionalists to revive
discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa through the argument of consensus,
˙
and the third gives an insight into how Hanafı̄ s, in the light of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙ ˙
reintegration into orthodoxy, could now claim to represent medieval Sunni
orthodoxy on the grounds of communal consensus.

10.1 The State

Wider social and political developments in the tenth century give us indica-
tions of a medieval Sunnism whose character was changing; one in which, as
Makdisi has shown, the schools of law had become markers of Sunni
orthodoxy and their eponyms paragons of orthodoxy.1 The political mani-
festations of this new consensus can be traced to 381/991, which saw the
unremarkable occasion of an ʿAbbā sid caliph’s deposition at the hands of
a Bū yid amir. The new balance of power under the Bū yids had given Bahā ’
al-Dawla the prerogative to terminate al-Tā ʿı̄ ’s (r. 363–81/974–91) caliphal
˙
1
On the nature of the medieval ‘state’ see Hallaq, The Impossible State, ch. 2.

329
330 Consensus and Heresy

reign. On Thursday 21 Shawwā l at a ceremony in the caliphal palace, Bahā ’

al-Dawla gave his oath of allegiance to the new caliph, al-Qā dir (r. 381–
422/991–1031). Al-Qā dir, in turn, gave his oath of fidelity to Bahā ’ al-
Dawla.2
Al-Qā dir’s reign as caliph witnessed a number of significant religious
developments. The intellectual landscape of tenth-century Baghdad was
increasingly dominated by Shiʿism, Hanbalism, and Muʿtazilism. Al-
˙
Qā dir’s overtures to Baghdadi Hanbalism had seen him adopt antagonistic
˙
measures against Shiʿi communities and Muʿtazilı̄ scholars. He clamped
down on the practice of cursing Muʿā wiya and Yazı̄ d in mosques and
dismissed Shiʿi preachers. He introduced new measures to enforce public
morality in Baghdad. Religious scholars were required to publicly renounce
Muʿtazilı̄ doctrines. It was many of these developments that Makdisi had in
mind when he made the case for the decidedly traditionalist character of al-
Qā dir’s religious policies.3 The Qā dirı̄ creed, in particular, came to character-
ise the religious orientation of traditionalist Sunnism in the eleventh century.
Traditionalist Sunnism certainly received the endorsement of the cali-
phal office, but towards the end of the caliph’s reign we can detect a move
towards a more accommodating view of Sunnism. Information about this
different direction in caliphal religious policy seems to have been scarce.
The one source who reports it, Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ (d. 626/1229), was
˙
privy to its details only because he chanced upon some writings belonging
to his acquaintances in Basra. Yā qū t writes:4
I read the following in a work belonging to some people in Basra: al-Qā dir bi Allā h
commissioned four of the leading Muslim scholars during his reign who belonged
to the four madhhabs to do the following: each of these four scholars should
compose (yusannif) for the caliph a legal digest (mukhtasar) of his madhhab.
Accordingly,˙ al-Mā wardı̄ authored Kitā b al-Iqnā ʿ. Abū ˙al-Husayn al-Qudū rı̄
wrote his famous Mukhtasar for the madhhab of Abū Hanı̄ fa. ˙The Mā likı̄ judge
Abū Muhammad ʿAbd al-Wahha˙ ̄ b b. Muhammad b. ˙Nasr wrote a Mukhtasar.
˙ digest was produced for the madhhab
And a legal ˙ of Ahmad˙ b. Hanbal, though˙
I do not know the name of its author. ˙ ˙

It seems that these four scholars were asked to submit their mukhtasars and
˙
subsequently were summoned to the caliphal residence. Al-Yā qū t’s source
5
continues:
These four works were presented to the caliph. The caliph’s servant then went
to the supreme judge (aqdā al-qudā t) al-Mā wardı̄ and said to him: ‘The
˙ ˙

2
Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , al-Muntazam, 14: 348–9.
3 ˙
Makdisi, ‘The Sunni Revival’, esp. 156, 164; Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , al-Muntazam, 14: 353 ff.
4 ˙ edn.).
Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Muʿjam al-udabā ’, 5: 1956 (Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄
5 ˙
Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , Muʿjam al-udabā ’, 5: 1956 (Dā r al-Gharb al-Islā mı̄ edn.).
˙
 10.1 The State 331

Commander of the Faithful says to you: “May God preserve for you your
religion just as you have preserved for us our religion.”’
Al-Qā dir’s decision to commission the writing of four legal digests repre-
senting only four legal schools cannot be explained by the traditionalist
doctrines usually associated with his reign. Baghdadi Hanbalism might
˙
have dominated the outlook of the caliphal office, but it is important to
point out that this strain of traditionalism did not seek to challenge the
legitimacy of Hanafism, Mā likism, and Shā fiʿı̄ sm. When, for example, al-
˙
Saymarı̄ was recognised as an official legal witness it was any supposed
˙
fealty to Muʿtazilism that he was pressed to renounce, not his Hanafism.6
In an important study of caliphal religious policy in the ʿAbbā ˙sid period,
Melchert has reminded us that caliphs tended to follow dominant religious
developments, not set them.7 Al-Qā dir’s decision to anchor Sunni ortho-
doxy in four legal schools should be read in the same manner. We should
consider his religious policies and measures not as progenitors of new
religious trends but rather as late endorsements of prevailing religious
developments and consensuses. A consensus that Sunni orthodoxy con-
verged around four legal madhhabs preceded al-Qā dir’s reign, and the
manā qib and masā nı̄ d genre that grew around the persons of Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙
Mā lik b. Anas, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , and Ahmad b. Hanbal played no small part in the
˙ ˙
consolidation of this consensus. Interestingly, ʿAbd al-Qā hir al-Baghdā dı̄
tells us:8
God almighty has singled out the ahl al-sunna by making them alone the locus of
[orthodox] legal views. In the lands of the Muslims, the legal view of a qadarı̄ ,
jahmı̄ , najjā rı̄ , khā rijı̄ , rā fidı̄ , and jismı̄ are not accepted; unless one of their muftis
hides behind an affiliation ˙ to the madhhab of al-Shā fiʿı̄ or Abū Hanı̄ fa, whilst
concealing their heresy. ˙

Some Hanafı̄ s made more concerted efforts than others to appeal to

˙
the state’s role in endorsing religious trends. The previously dis-
cussed al-Ibā na fı̄ al-radd ʿalā al-mushanniʿı̄ n ʿalā Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa by al-
Qā dı̄ al-Surmā rı̄ in the tenth–eleventh centuries devotes ˙ the first
˙
chapter to criticising those who claim that the madhhab of Abū
Hanı̄ fa is ill-suited to governance and that it was founded to under-
˙
mine government and rule (al-imā ra wa al-imā ma). Our author pro-
ceeds to sketch a portrait of positive relations between Abū Hanı̄ fa
˙
and the ʿAbbā sids.9 At the same time, in chapters 2, 3, and 4 al-
Surmā rı̄ is at pains to depict a Hanafism that is principled, organised
˙
6
Ibn al-Jawzı̄ , al-Muntazam, 15: 176.
7 ˙
Melchert, ‘Religious Policies of the Caliphs’, 342.
8
ʿAbd al-Qā hir al-Baghdā dı̄ , Kitā b al-Milal wa nihal, 158.
9
Furkani, ‘Tahqı̄ q al-Ibā na’, 91–3. ˙
˙
332 Consensus and Heresy

around scriptural sources, and more scrupulous in its moral reasoning

than the other madhhabs. Al-Surmā rı̄ ’s treatise is unique in so far as it
recognises proto-Sunni traditionalist attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa and politics,
˙
but contends that Abū Hanafı̄ ’s legal opinions were more suitable for
˙
government and that Hanafı̄ sm was the most prudent madhhab for
˙
administering state and society. Al-Surmā rı̄ ’s work belonged to a new
emerging consensus, alongside al-Qā dir’s advocacy of four Sunni madh-
habs, that represented an official endorsement and recognition of one of
medieval Sunnism’s defining moments: when it became synonymous
with the orthodoxy of four eponymous founders. To understand the
emergence of this new consensus and subsequent dissatisfaction with it
we must consider the conceptual history of consensus as a social and not
purely legal doctrine in proto-Sunnism.

10.2 Resisting the New Orthodoxy

ʿAbd Allā h b. ʿAdı̄ b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad b. Mubā rak, better
˙
known to modern scholars as Ibn ʿAdı̄ , was born in Jurjā n in 277/890.10
His religious education probably began with his father, who had been
a student of one of the leading hadı̄ th scholars of Rayy in the ninth
˙
century, Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ .11 Religious education, particularly the
study of hadı̄ th, began at a very early age, and Ibn ʿAdı̄ was no excep-
˙
tion. In his al-Kā mil, for instance, he informs us of an oral dictation
session (imla’) during the hadı̄ th lessons of one Muhammad
˙ ˙
b. ʿUbayda al-Massı̄ sı̄ in Jurjā n in 288/901, which he attended as an
˙ ˙ ˙
eleven-year-old.12 By the time he was twenty he had left his homeland
of Jurjā n, and headed towards Shā m and Egypt. In an entry on Abū al-
Qā sim al-Baghawı̄ , Ibn ʿAdı̄ tells us about his time in Iraq and his
inquiries into al-Baghawı̄ ’s reputation among its local scholars.13 He
says that he was in Egypt in 299/911–12 and again in 304/916–17, and
on both occasions he wrote down traditions from one Jaʿfar b. Ahmad
˙
b. ʿAlı̄ b. Bayā n b. Zayd b. Siyā ba.14 Elsewhere in al-Kā mil Ibn ʿAdı̄
provides details about his travels to Baghdad, Basra, Kufa,17
15 16

10
For an indispensable guide to Ibn ʿAdı̄ ’s life and career see Zuhayr ʿUthmā n ʿAlı̄ Nū r, Ibn
ʿAdı̄ wa manhajuhu fı̄ kitā b al-kā mil fı̄ duʿafā ’ al-rijā l (Riyadh: Maktabat al-Rushd, 1997).
11
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 1: 141 (Dā r al-Fikr ˙ edn.).
12
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 7: 2720 (Dā r al-Fikr edn.).
13
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 4: 1578–9 (Dā r al-Fikr edn.).
14
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 2: 578 (Dā r al-Fikr edn.).
15
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 4: 1557 (Dā r al-Fikr edn.), where he heard a fantastic story about
a woman who only ever spoke the words of the Quran.
16
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 4: 1607.
17
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 5: 1891. He states that this was in 298/910–11.
 10.2 Resisting the New Orthodoxy 333

Mecca,18 Bukhā rā ,19 Sarakhs,20 Marw,21 Nı̄ shā pū r,22 and many
others regions of the medieval Islamic world.
It was during these travels that Ibn ʿAdı̄ came into contact with
a number of very significant hadı̄ th scholars and teachers. In Egypt he
˙
heard traditions from al-Nasā ’ı̄ , Ibn Khuzayma, al-Baghawı̄ , Abū Yaʿlā
al-Mawsilı̄ , and Muhammad b. ʿUthmā n b. Abı̄ Shayba. Ibn ʿAdı̄ became
˙ ˙
an important teacher in his own right. His intellectual legacy was felt
deeply in his home town of Jurjā n, and it was one of his students, Hamza
˙
b. Yū suf al-Sahmı̄ , who ensured that Ibn ʿAdı̄ ’s reputation was recorded
in his local history of the scholars of Jurjā n.23

We have no information about Ibn ʿAdı̄ ’s relationship with the political

authorities of his day. In some ways, his stable and successful career stood
in contrast to the political uncertainties experienced by the ʿAbbā sids in
the ninth and tenth centuries. Ibn ʿAdı̄ had lived through the reigns of
a total of ten ʿAbbā sid caliphs. As a young student he would have begun
his career during the reign of Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d (r. 279/786–289/809) and
it would have ended with al-Tā ’iʿ li-Allā h. Ibn ʿAdı̄ also would have been
˙
aware of Jurjā n’s precarious position as a site of frequent contestations
over suzerainty between various provincial rulers and dynasties. In 872
a rebellion against ʿAbbā sid rule was raised by the ʿAlid Hasan b. Zayd,
˙
and this successful venture extended Zaydı̄ rule over Jurjā n and the
Caspian provinces. The rise of the Sā mā nids resulted in a successful
march against Muhammad b. Zayd, the ʿAlid ruler of Tabaristā n and
˙ ˙
Jurjā n. The founder of the Ziyā rid dynasty, Mardā wı̄ j b. Ziyā r (d. 323/
935), had set his sights on Jurjā n, too, in the early 930s.24
Despite these massive changes, or perhaps precisely because of them,
Ibn ʿAdı̄ was keenly aware of the world around him. The religious trans-
formation that saw proto-Sunni traditionalism, with its discourse of her-
esy against Abū Hanı̄ fa, evolve into a medieval Sunni orthodoxy that had
˙
embraced him wholeheartedly was one change too many. His al-Kā mil fı̄
al-duʿafā ’ exemplifies his stubborn resistance to the new Sunnism. The
˙
book is replete with enmity towards Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers. It seeks
˙
to resurrect discourses of heresy from the ninth–tenth centuries for a new
readership. A number of familiar reports appear in the entry on Abū
Hanı̄ fa. We have the claim that Abū Hanı̄ fa was forced to repent from
˙ ˙
18
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 4: 1562. In a tradition praising Mecca as a place where no usurious
person resides, no person who spills blood, and no public slander exists.
19
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 4: 1514 (Dā r al-Fikr edn.).
20
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 1: 229 (Dā r al-Fikr edn.).
21
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 7: 2563 (Dā r al-Fikr edn.).
22
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 4: 1568 (Dā r al-Fikr edn.). 23 Al-Sahmı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Jurjā n, 266–8.
24
Bosworth, ‘On the Chronology of the Ziyā rids’. On the scholars of Jurjā n see Brown, The
Canonization, 128–31; see also Savant, The New Muslims of Post-Conquest Iran, 111–15.
334 Consensus and Heresy

heresy.25 He is described as a Murji’ı̄ missionary, and this is one reason

why a scholar refused to transmit anything from him: ‘I sell meat with the
bones,’ he said, implying that doctrinal deviance could not be separated
from a man’s transmitting traditions.26 Ibn ʿAdı̄ recalls the celebratory
words of Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ when he learned of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s passing:
˙
‘Praise be to God. He was destroying Islam systematically. No one was
born in Islam more harmful than him.’ Abū Hanı̄ fa is described as
27
˙
a devil who opposed the reports of the Prophet Muhammad with his
28 ˙
speculative jurisprudence. His hadı̄ th learning is described in the most
29 ˙
unflattering fashion. Finally, we have the claim that a group of ninth-
century proto-Sunni traditionalists refused to accept the legal testimony
of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers.30 There is one passage, however, that
˙
provides an important insight into Ibn ʿAdı̄ ’s attempt to push back against
the growing consensus of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodoxy by urgently reminding
˙
his audience of an older, well-established consensus among proto-Sunni
31
traditionalists. He writes:
There is a consensus of the scholars as to the fall of Abū Hanı̄ fa. We know this
˙ , had aspersed him;
because the leading authority of Basra, Ayyū b al-Sakhtiyā nı̄
the leading authority of Kufa, al-Thawrı̄ , had aspersed him; the leading authority
of the Hijā z, Mā lik, had aspersed him; the leading authority of Misr, al-Layth
b. Saʿd,˙had aspersed him; the leading authority of Shā m, al-Awzā ʿı̄ , had
˙ aspersed
him; and the leading authority of Khurā sā n, ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Mubā rak, had
aspersed him. That is to say, we have here the consensus of ˙ the scholars in all of
the regions.
In another place, Ibn ʿAdı̄ expresses the very same sentiment: ‘There is
not a scholar who is well respected except that he has denounced Abū
Hanı̄ fa.’32 There is no need here to revisit the discourses of heresy that
˙
Ibn ʿAdı̄ has in mind. Readers of Chapters 2 and 3 of this study will
25
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 239 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 125).
26
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 239 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 125).
27
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 239 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 126).
28
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 239 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 125).
29
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 236 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 121 (lā yuktab
hadı̄ thuhu, mudtarib al-hadı̄ th, wā hı̄ al-hadı̄ th), 237 = 122-3 (fı̄ al-hadı̄ th yatı̄ m, laysa sā hib
˙al-hadı̄ th, laysa˙˙bi al-qawı̄
˙ ), 238 = 123˙(matrū k al-hadı̄ th). ˙ ˙ ˙
30
Ibn˙ ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 239 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = ˙Riyadh edn., 10: 124–5).
31
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 241 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 129) (samiʿtu Ibn Abı̄
b. Dā wū d yaqū l: al-waqı̄ ʿa fı̄ Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, ijmā ʿuhu min al-ʿulamā ’ li anna imā m al-Basra
Ayyū b al-Sakhtiyā nı̄ wa qad takallama ˙ fı̄ hi; wa imā m al-Kū fa al-Thawrı̄ wa qad takallama ˙
fı̄ hi; wa imā m al-Hijā z Mā lik wa qad takallama fı̄ hi; wa imā m Misr al-Layth b. Saʿd wa qad
takallama fı̄ hi; wa˙ imā m al-Shā m al-Awzā ʿı̄ wa qad takallama fı̄ hi; ˙ wa imā m Khurā sā n ʿAbd
Allā h b. al-Mubā rak wa qad takallama fı̄ hi. Ijmā ʿ min al-ʿulamā ’ fı̄ jamı̄ ʿ al-ā fā q aw kamā
qā la).
32
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-Kā mil, 8: 238 (Dā r al-Kutub edn. = Riyadh edn., 10: 123) (lam yakun bayn
al-mashriq wa al-maghrib faqı̄ han yudhkar bi khayr illā ʿā ba Abā Hanı̄ fa wa majlisahu).
˙
 10.2 Resisting the New Orthodoxy 335

recognise that Ibn ʿAdı̄ ’s argument, and the evidence he adduces, is not
imagined. Ibn ʿAdı̄ is giving a summary account of what he has gleaned
from a disparate discourse of heresy that was widespread during the
ninth–tenth centuries.
What I wish to emphasise here is that, for Ibn ʿAdı̄ , consensus is
operating as a social and religious doctrine outside the sphere of jurispru-
dence proper. Ijmā ʿ is not invoked for a particular interpretation of
Islamic law or legal practice. Ibn ʿAdı̄ marshals ijmā ʿ as a social doctrine
to undermine and diminish the religious orthodoxy of an individual
scholar and what he has come to represent in the tenth century. It is
a consensus, he claims, that has the support of leading proto-Sunni
traditionalist scholars of the ninth century. Ibn ʿAdı̄ lays special emphasis
on the regional breadth of this consensus. It is clear that his conception of
orthodoxy is neither local nor regional. He conceives of orthodoxy –
understood as the consensus of proto-Sunni traditionalist scholars and
their denunciation of Abū Hanı̄ fa – as a transregional phenomenon.
˙
A fascinating parallel can be found in the work of Ibn Hibbā n. In the
˙
notice on Abū Hanı̄ fa in Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, Ibn Hibbā n writes:33
˙ ˙ ˙
Among every single one of our imams, I know of no disagreement between them
concerning him [Abū Hanı̄ fa]: the leaders of the Muslims and those of scrupulous
piety in the religion, in˙all of the regions and provinces [of the Islamic world], one
after another, they all have declared him to be unreliable and have vilified him. We
have included examples of these statements in our book entitled ‘The Warning
about the Falsification’. There is no need, then, to repeat all of this in our present
book. Instead, I shall simply cite here a summary from which readers will be able
to deduce for themselves everything else that lies behind it.

Ibn ʿAdı̄ and Ibn Hibbā n were contemporaries. Though they wrote on
˙
similar subjects, they lived slightly different lives.34 Ibn Hibbā n was born in
˙
Sijistā n, but his professional commitments took him to Khurā sā n and
Transoxiana. In Khurā sā n he studied Shā fiʿı̄ jurisprudence under Ibn
Khuzayma and taught in Nı̄ shā pū r at a Khā nqah. He was qadi of
Samarqand and Nasā .35 Yet, he arrived at the same conclusion about

33
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 3: 64 (Beirut edn.) = 2: 406 (Riyadh edn.) (ʿinda
˙
a’immatinā lā aʿlamu baynahum ˙ fı̄ hi khilā fan ʿalā anna a’immata al-muslimı̄ n wa ahl al-
waraʿ fı̄ al-dı̄ n fı̄ jamı̄ ʿ al-amsā r wa sā ’ir al-aqtā r jarahū hu wa atlaqū ʿalayhi al-qadh illā
˙
wā hid baʿda al-wā hid. Qad dhakarnā mā ruwiya ˙ fı̄ hi min
˙ dhā lika˙fı̄ kitā b al-tanbı̄ h ʿalā
˙ al-
˙ h, fa aghnā˙ dhā lika ʿan takrā rihā fı̄ hā dhā al-kitā b ghayra annı̄ adhkur minhā
tamwı̄
jumalan mā yustadallu bihā ʿalā mā warā ’uhā ).
34
On comparisons between Ibn ʿAdı̄ ’s al-Kā mil and Ibn Hibbā n’s Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n see
Nū r, Ibn ʿAdı̄ wa manhajuhu, 1: 259–68. ˙ ˙
35
Al-Subkı̄ , Tabaqā t al-Shā fiʿiyya al-kubrā , 3: 131–5 (where one also learns that Ibn
Hibbā n was ˙ forced into exile from Sijistā n on a charge of heresy); al-Dhahabı̄ , Siyar,
˙
16: 92–104.
336 Consensus and Heresy

Abū Hanı̄ fa as did Ibn ʿAdı̄ . They both believed that, in spite of the efforts
˙
of medieval Sunnis (Hanafı̄ s and non-Hanafı̄ s) to rehabilitate Abū Hanı̄ fa
as an orthodox Sunni ˙using the manā qib˙ and masā nı̄ d genres, the consensus
˙
of ninth-century discourses of heresy against him had to be re-established.
In fact, so complete was the new character of medieval Sunni orthodoxy
with Abū Hanı̄ fa at its heart that at least one transmitter or scribe of Ibn
˙
Hibbā n’s Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n could not bring himself to include Ibn
˙ ˙
Hibbā n’s vilification of Abū Hanı̄ fa and other Hanafı̄ s in the final
˙ ˙ ˙
manuscript. MS 1 retains passages condemning Abū Hanı̄ fa and his
36
˙
followers, whilst MS 2 omits them. The entire entry on Abū Hanı̄ fa,
a scathing and captious account of Abū Hanı̄ fa, is absent in MS 2.˙37 Ibn
˙
Hibbā n begins his entry on al-Shaybā nı̄ by drawing a direct relationship
˙
between him and Abū Hanı̄ fa. MS 1 describes him as an upholder of
˙
speculative reasoning (sā hib ra’y) and as someone who studied under
˙ ˙
Abū Hanı̄ fa for a short period of time (sahiba al-Nuʿmā n wa huwa Abū
˙ ˙ ˙
Hanı̄ fa ayyā man yası̄ ra). This entire passage referring to al-Shaybā nı̄ as
˙
a practitioner of speculative jurisprudence and his association with Abū
Hanı̄ fa is absent from MS 2. There are other omissions. As is conventional
˙ such works, Ibn Hibbā n lists the scholars from whom al-Shaybā nı̄
in
˙
narrated traditions. MS 1 states that al-Shaybā nı̄ narrated from al-
Nuʿmā n b. Thā bit and Yaʿqū b b. Ibrā hı̄ m and that he heard from
Yaʿqū b on the authority of Abū Hanı̄ fa more than what he is frequently
˙
judged to have heard. MS 2 states none of this. The entry opens by stating
that al-Shaybā nı̄ narrated traditions on the authority of Yaʿqū b b. Ibrā hı̄ m
and the people of Kufa, adding that many people narrated traditions on his
authority. MS 2 does add a slight criticism from Ibn Hibbā n to the effect
that any traditions unique to al-Shaybā nı̄ are unreliable. ˙ This wording is
absent from MS 1, although Ibn Hibbā n’s criticism of al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s
˙
expertise in hadı̄ th is articulated in more severe language:
˙
He was bright, but he had no expertise in hadı̄ th. He would relate hadı̄ th on the
˙ t), but he would get˙ them wrong
authority of trustworthy transmitters (al-thiqā
(yahimu fı̄ hā ). When this became excessive and shameless, it became necessary to
abandon him as an authority due to the sheer number of errors he committed,

36
There is more than one edition of this work: Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n min al-muhaddithı̄ n wa al-
˙
duʿafā ’ wa al-matrū kı̄ n, ed. Muhammad Ibrā hı̄ m Zā yid (Beirut: ˙
Dā r al-Maʿrifa, 1996);
˙ed. ʿAzı̄ z Bayg al-Qā dirı̄ (Hyderabad:
˙ al-Matbaʿa al-ʿAzı̄ ziyya, 1970–7; reprinted); Kitā b
˙
al-Majrū hı̄ n min al-muhaddithı̄ n, ed. Hamdı̄ ʿAbd al-Majı̄ d al-Salafı̄ (Riyadh: Dā r al-
Sumayʿı̄ ,˙ 2000). Al-Salafı̄
˙ alleges that˙ the two previous editions (Aleppo/Beirut and
˙
Hyderabad) contain grievous errors, with entire passages and entries omitted. His edition
is based on MS 496 (MS 2), Aya Sophia. Muhammad Ibrā hı̄ m Zā yid’s edition is based on
MS 195998 (MS 1), Dā r al-Kutub al-Misriyya. ˙
37
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 3: 61 ˙(MS 1 – Beirut edn.) = 2: 405 (MS 2 –
Riyadh˙ edn.). ˙
 10.2 Resisting the New Orthodoxy 337

which likely had something to do with the fact that he was an avid propagandist for
his school’s doctrines (fa lammā fahusha dhā lika minhu istahaqqa tarkuhu min ajl
˙ ilā madhhabihim).
kathrat khatı̄ ’a li annahu kā na dā ʿiya ˙
˙
This entire passage is absent from MS 2. There are other important
criticisms of al-Shaybā nı̄ in the preliminary part of the entry in MS 1
that are absent from MS 2. MS 1 adds that al-Shaybā nı̄ was
a propagandist for the Murji’a, whom he defines elsewhere as heretics.
The statement that al-Shaybā nı̄ was the first person to write refuta-
tions against the people of Medina is also missing from MS 2. So too is
the remark made by Ibn Hibbā n that al-Shaybā nı̄ was committed to
˙
aiding and supporting Abū Hanı̄ fa. The only other detail shared in the
˙
opening reports of both entries is the fact that al-Shaybā nı̄ died in the
same year as al-Kasā ’ı̄ in Rayy as he was en route to Khurā sā n in the
entourage of Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d. MS 2 also abridges a judgement from
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n concerning al-Shaybā nı̄ and, by extension, Abū
˙ fa: ‘al-Dahhā k b. Hā rū n < Muhammad b. Ahmad al-Asfarı̄ :
Hanı̄
˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
I heard Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n say: Muhammad b. al-Hasan al-Shaybā nı̄
˙ ˙ ˙
was a liar (kadhdhā b) and close associate (sā hib) of Abū Hanı̄ fa.’ The
˙ ˙ ˙
part about al-Shaybā nı̄ being a close associate of Abū Hanı̄ fa is absent
38 ˙
from MS 2. This is all to say that even the manuscript evidence
indicates that some elements of the new medieval Sunni orthodoxy
resorted to omitting earlier discourses of heresy that no longer
belonged in the new consensus.39
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ ’s work is the final example of dissent from the new medieval
orthodoxy I should like to highlight. His Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ belongs to the
˙
same genre as the works of Ibn Hibbā n and Ibn ʿAdı̄ , which we looked at
˙
briefly above. Al-ʿUqaylı̄ puts on display a small but biting exhibitition of
ninth-century proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa. His views on rebellion are presented as heresy.40 The claim that
˙ ̄ Hanı̄ fa was forced to repent from heresy twice is included.41 There is
Abu
˙
more venom directed towards Abū Hanı̄ fa in the thirty-seven reports
˙
against him contained in al-ʿUqaylı̄ ’s work. 42

38
Ibn Hibbā n, Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 2: 275–6 (MS 1 – Beirut edn.) = 2: 287 (MS 2 –
Riyadh ˙ edn.). ˙
39
This technique was not at odds with medieval philological methods. Al-Rā mahurmuzı̄ ’s
manual of hadı̄ th learning speaks about philological techniques and copying practices.
He mentions ˙ erasure (al-hakk) and adds that erasing passages amounted to an accusation
(tuhma) – I presume, against ˙ the material itself. See al-Rā mahurmuzı̄ , al-Muhaddith al-
fā sil, 606. For other types of erasure among hadı̄ th scholars see Melchert, ˙ ‘The
˙
Destruction of Books by Traditionists’, 219, 220, 226. ˙
40
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’, 4: 1409, 1410 (Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄ edn.).
41 ˙ uʿafā ’, 4: 1409 (Dā r al-Sumayʿı̄˙ edn.).
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-D
42 ˙ uʿafā ’, 4: 1407–12 (Dā r˙al-Sumayʿı̄ edn.).
Al-ʿUqaylı̄ , Kitā b al-D
˙ ˙
338 Consensus and Heresy

Ibn ʿAdı̄ , al-ʿUqaylı̄ , and Ibn Hibbā n shared more than just a commitment
˙
to establish Abū Hanı̄ fa as someone outside medieval Sunni orthodoxy.
˙
These three scholars were important figures at the heart of a tenth-century
movement devoted to looking back on the eighth and ninth centuries and
determining the religious credibility and orthodoxy of figures from that
period. Many of the numerous figures they deemed unreliable had fallen
by the wayside. Abū Hanı̄ fa, in this sense, was exceptional. Here was a figure
˙
who, despite the acrimony surrounding his mnemohistory, had been revived
as a figure of medieval Sunni orthodoxy. The desperate attempts of Ibn ʿAdı̄ ,
al-ʿUqaylı̄ , and Ibn Hibbā n to revive the ninth–tenth-century discourses of
heresy against him must˙ be seen as a last-ditch effort to turn back the clock of
orthodoxy. Discourses of heresy did not disappear, and attempts to rehabili-
tate them continued in the course of the medieval and early modern periods.
We can hear the survival of these social and religious tensions in texts from
this period. Between the eleventh and twelfth centuries a number of very
significant historical sources exhibit a central concern with the fallout from
ninth-century discourses of heresy. Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s entry on Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa is the longest entry in the entire Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, and it represents
˙
a comprehensive attempt to rehabilitate ninth-century discourses of heresy
against Abū Hanı̄ fa. At the same time, it also contains a manā qib section,
˙
albeit an extremely brief one, which was quoted frequently by Hanafı̄ and
˙
non-Hanafı̄ admirers of Abū Hanı̄ fa.43 The lesson to be learnt for such
˙ ˙
dissenting voices was that, far from being an antiquarian doctrine lodged in
ancient texts, Sunni orthodoxy was a living tradition, and its orthodoxy
required constant supervision by an evolving scholarly consensus.

10.3 Hanafism as Majoritarian Orthodoxy

˙
The rehabilitation of Abū Hanı̄ fa is also evidenced by the new confidence
˙
palpable among Hanafı̄ scholarly communities who in the tenth century
˙
began to assert a universal consensus (al-sawā d al-aʿzam) that they repre-
˙
sented majoritarian orthodoxy (ahl al-sunna wa al-jamā ʿa), and that this
empowered them to define heresy. During the mid-ninth–tenth centuries
a number of prominent Hanafı̄ scholars turned to the genre of heresiography
and doxography to assert˙ Abū Hanı̄ fa’s fidelity to certain theological
˙
postulates. Al-Tahā wı̄ ’s traditionalist creed, for example, claimed to
44
˙ ˙
43
Al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 15: 444–586 (entire entry on Abū Hanı̄ fa), 459–63
˙ section). On medieval (and modern) refutations of al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghda
(manā qib ˙ ̄ dı̄ ’s dia-
tribe against Abū Hanı̄ fa, see Khan, ‘Islamic Tradition in an Age of Print’, ˙ 62–3.
44 ˙
On these genres see Rudolph, Al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ and the Development of Sunnı̄ Theology, 23–124;
Lewinstein, ‘Notes on Eastern Hanafite Heresiography’; Bernand, ‘Le Kitā b al-Radd ʿalā
ahl al-bidaʿ wa al-ahwā ’’. ˙
 10.3 Ḥanafism as Majoritarian Orthodoxy 339

represent the doctrines of Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers in the name of ahl al-
˙
sunna wa al-jamā ʿa (majoritarian orthodoxy). This traditionalist creed dove-
tailed neatly with al-Tahā wı̄ ’s traditionalisation of Hanafı̄ jurisprudence, as
˙ ˙ ˙
well as his important manā qib work. As we have seen, works of theology and
heresiography by figures such as al-Ashʿā rı̄ and al-Baghdā dı̄ also made the
case for, not against, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodoxy. Whilst the heresiographical
˙
sources do not allow us to reconstruct the precise changes that Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
˙
reputation underwent in the ninth–eleventh centuries, they nevertheless
highlight the attempt to cultivate a tradition of Hanafı̄ heresiographical
˙
works which placed Abū Hanı̄ fa at the head of a programme of theological
˙
Sunni orthodoxy. That is to say, defenders of Abū Hanı̄ fa turned to the genre
˙
of heresiography, supplementing the production of manā qib and masā nı̄ d
works, in order to establish Abū Hanı̄ fa as an exemplar of Sunni orthodoxy.
˙
The peculiar nature of one particular tenth-century work helps to under-
line some of the difficulties that such sources pose to historians, but it also
provides a more promising perspective on the scraps of historical informa-
tion that such sources might yet yield. The al-Sawā d al-aʿzam has caught
˙
the attention of a number of historians interested in the religious history of
45
eastern Iran between the ninth and tenth centuries. Despite this interest
from historians, no comprehensive study of the work has been published.
In particular, there is no clear consensus regarding the function of the work.
The al-Sawā d al-aʿzam is commonly described as the official catechism of
˙
the Sā mā nid dynasty. The only evidence that we have for the circum-
stances surrounding its composition comes not from the original Arabic
treatise, but from a later Persian version.46
The redactor of the Persian work informs us that a group of Hanafı̄ jurists
and theologians were perturbed by the appearance of heresies˙ and innov-
ations, which threatened to undermine the traditional form of Sunni ortho-
doxy (tarı̄ q-i sunnat va jamā ʿat) that reigned supreme in Transoxiana.47
˙
These concerns were relayed to the amir of Khurā sā n, Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Ahmad
˙
(r. 279–95/892–907). The amir instructed a certain ʿAbd Allā h b. Abı̄

45
Van Ess, Der Eine und das Andere, 1: 448–53; Rudolph, Al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ , 97–121; al-Tanchî,
‘Abû Mansûr al-Mâturîdî’; Ritter, ‘Philologika. III. Muhammedansiche Häresiographien’;
ʿAbd-Allā h, ‘The Doctrines of the Mā turı̄ dite School’; Madelung, ‘The Early Murji’a’, 32–
9; Habı̄ bı̄ , ‘Yek kitā b gum shud qadı̄ m˙ nathr-i fā rsı̄ paydā shud’; Pā katchı̄ , ‘Abū al-Qā sim
˙ m Samarqandı̄ ’; Dā nishpazū h, ‘Dū risā la dar bā ra-yi ihdā ’ı̄ -yi haftā d u dū gurū h’.
Hakı̄
46 ˙
The Arabic version of al-Sawā d al-Aʿzam is almost impossible to access. To my know-
ledge, only two universities in the western ˙ world house copies of the published text
(UCLA and Chicago). Instead, I have relied on the English translation of the Arabic
version. A week before submitting this book for publication, I managed to access the
original Arabic version: al-Samarqandı̄ , Kitā b al-Sawā d al-aʿzam (Cairo: Bū lā q, 1837).
47
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, ed. ʿAbd˙ al-Hayy Habı̄ bı̄ (Tehran:
Bunyā d-i Farhang-Ī rā n, 1969), 18. ˙ ˙ ˙
340 Consensus and Heresy

Jaʿfar and some other jurists to establish the correct orthodox doctrine
which the region’s ancestors had observed for centuries (madhhab-i rast
va tarı̄ q-i sunnat va jamā ʿat ā nkeh pidarā n-i mā bar ā n bū deh and). ʿAbd
˙
Allā h b. Abı̄ Jaʿfar and his fellow jurists turned to Abū al-Qā sim
Samarqandı̄ (d. 342/953) and said to him:
Guide us as to the correct path of Sunni orthodoxy, which the Messenger, upon
him be peace, was on. This creed was presented to the amir of Khurā sā n. He
approved of it and declared that the creed represented the correct doctrines of
Sunni orthodoxy (rā h-i rā st-i sunnat va jamā ʿat ı̄ n ast). In order to make the creed
available to both scholars and the wider public, and in order for the Muslim
population to distance themselves from heresies, the amir of Khurā sā n (Nū h
b. Mansū r, though not mentioned by name here) instructed that the work be˙
˙ into Persian.48
translated
In these passages, the only explanation of the creed’s origins, we have
a clear indication that it was the local Hanafı̄ scholars of Transoxiana who
˙
sought the political intervention of the Sā mā nid rulers in order to impose
some degree of theological and legal uniformity upon the Muslim com-
munities of Transoxiana. There is nothing unoriginal in the claim that
local Hanafı̄ scholars were responding to the threat of heresies. Raising
˙
the spectre of threats from heretics was a staple technique of heresiogra-
phers and doxographers. However, we do know that Transoxiana in the
ninth century was the scene of a number of hostile and competing reli-
gious trends in law, theology, and mysticism. The Hanafı̄ communities of
˙
Transoxiana and Khurā sā n, in particular, had experienced mixed for-
tunes under the Tā hirids and Saffā rids. This is all to suggest that there are
˙ ˙
good grounds for asserting that the Hanafı̄ scholars were anxious to claim
˙
the primacy of their doctrines and practices in the region by appealing to
the Sā mā nid amir. Already, this undermines the idea that the creed was
the official catechism of the Sā mā nids. The redactor of the Persian al-
Sawā d al-aʿzam states that the translation was commissioned by Nū h
˙ ˙
b. Mansū r (r. 366–87/976–97), but no single individual is credited with
˙
having executed this task. It is possible to infer from this (and from the
circumstances surrounding the Persian adaption of al-Tabarı̄ ’s Tafsı̄ r)
˙
that a group of scholars was appointed to translate al-Hakı̄ m al-
˙
Samarqandı̄ ’s creed. In the Persian al-Sawā d al-aʿzam we read that
˙
Nū h b. Mansū r’s central objective behind commissioning the work was
˙ ˙

48
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, 19. Some scholars dispute the attribu-
tion of the work to al-Hakı̄ m al-Samarqandı̄˙ and ascribe it instead to Abū Hafs al-Kabı̄ r
(d. 216/831). See Akram˙ Muhammad Ismā ʿı̄ l’s forthcoming edition of the text
˙ ˙(Amman:
Dā r al-Nū r). ˙
 10.3 Ḥanafism as Majoritarian Orthodoxy 341

also concerned with making the doctrines and practices of Sunnism, as

promulgated by eastern Hanafism, available to a wider audience.49
˙
Locating the Persian al-Sawā d al-aʿzam within the broader context and
˙
enterprise of Sā mā nid patronage of religious learning provides a clearer
view of the function of al-Hakı̄ m al-Samarqandı̄ ’s creed. We see
˙
a concentrated effort to make available to the Persian-speaking commu-
nities of Khurā sā n and Transoxiana the religious heritage of ninth-
century Islamic learning and scholarship. At the same time, this heritage
was not simply imposed upon these regions. Rather, these texts were
adapted to suit specific local and regional circumstances. Al-
Samarqandı̄ ’s creed represents an attempt to establish eastern Hanafism
˙
as the normative practice and creed of greater Khurā sā n under the
Sā mā nids.
The Persian al-Sawā d al-aʿzam can be considered only a partial trans-
˙
lation and adaptation of the original Arabic work. The substance of al-
Sawā d al-aʿzam consists of a detailed exposition of sixty-two points of
˙
doctrine and ritual. All but one of these are presented in the Persian al-
Sawā d al-aʿzam, even if the latter frequently departs from the Arabic
original. More˙ importantly, the Persian al-Sawā d al-aʿzam contains
˙
a lengthy introduction, not found in the Arabic original, furnishing
a more elaborate insight into the functions of the creed. More than
anything, the introduction displays a heightened sense of threat from
the spectre of heresy. Readers are regularly cautioned, from the outset,
to guard their religion carefully because of the rapid diffusion of heresies
among the populace.50 In the light of the prevalence in society of these
heresies and heretics, the author of the Persian al-Sawā d al-aʿzam
advances a policy of isolation and exclusion as the only way to retain ˙
one’s affiliation with the way of truth and majoritarian Sunnism of
Transoxiana.51 As we shall see, this majoritarian Sunnism is, in fact,
conceived of as being exclusive and narrow. Our Persian author continues
his exhortation and counsels his readers to ‘beware of heretics (havā dā rā n
va bidʿat). Do not sit with them, and do not keep their company; that way,
you ensure that you do not perform the ritual prayer led by them. After all,
the very residence of heretics is hell.’ Our Persian redactor continues with

49
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, 19 (pas Amı̄ r-i Khurā sā n bi farmū d: keh ı̄ n
˙ ss-rā buvad ʿā mm-rā nı̄ z buvad va manfaʿat
kitā b-rā bi-pā rsı̄ gardā nı̄ d tā chunā nkeh khā
kunad va madhhab-rā nı̄ kū bi-dā nand va az ˙havā ˙ va bidʿat dū r bā shand).
50
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, 21 (va dı̄ n-i khū d-rā nigā h dā r az ā n jihat
keh havā dar miyā n-i khalq basyā r shudeh ˙ast va amā nathā bar-khā steh va hark az bar
havā hā -yi khwı̄ sh mashghū l gashteh).
51
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, 21 (pas bā yad keh nishast va khā st,
khwı̄ sh-rā bi ahl-i haqq dā rı̄ va khū d rā az ahl-i ˙ bidʿat dū r dā rı̄ va tarı̄ q-i ahl-i sunnat va
˙
jamā ʿat nigā h dā rı̄ ). ˙
342 Consensus and Heresy

these urgent appeals for readers and listeners to steer well clear of
heretics.52 Just prior to the section where the Persian adaptation of the
Arabic al-Sawā d al-aʿzam begins, we are presented with another explan-
˙
ation of the book’s composition in Persian:53
I have composed this work in Persian because the amir of Khurā sā n, Nū h
b. Mansū r, gathered all of the scholars of Transoxiana to discover and establish˙
˙ path, in line with the way of the messenger of God, may God bless him
the correct
and grant him peace, and the Companions and Rightly Guided Caliphs, may God
be pleased with them all.
At this point, the author provides a definition of Sunni orthodoxy:54
That correct path is majoritarian Sunnism, which is the belief of the scholars of
majoritarian Sunnism. This is also the school of the foremost imam, the master of
the jurists, the lord of religion and knowledge, and the king of kings in jurispru-
dence, Abū Hanı̄ fa Nuʿmā n b. Thā bit b. Tā wus b, Hurmuz b. Kisrā Malik
Baghdad; he ˙was on this very path, as were ˙ all of his followers, and all the
representatives of majoritarian Sunnism are on this path.
The Persian al-Sawā d al-aʿzam informs us of the Sā mā nid amir’s object-
˙
ive of making the creed widely known throughout Khurā sā n and
Transoxiana. There seems to be a conscious effort in the Persian al-
Sawā d al-aʿzam to make the work accessible to a broader readership.
˙
There are appeals throughout the introduction for readers to study the
book closely. Learning the book is declared to be obligatory. The Persian
al-Sawā d al-aʿzam describes the book’s function to be like ‘a sacred
˙
periapt (taʿvı̄ dh sā zı̄ ), which people must read with their children and
families (mar farzandā n va ahl-rā bi-yā mū zı̄ ), because the salvation of you,
your family, and your children depends on learning this book’.55 Those
who ignore the book are described as wretched.56 Most severely, those
who oppose the book are heretics.57 Not only is it clear from these
passages that the Persian al-Sawā d al-aʿzam was intended for a wide
˙
readership, but the intensity with which it rallies against heresy and

52
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, 22–3.
53
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿz ˙ am, 22.
54
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿz˙ am, 22–3 (va ā n madhhab-i sunnat va jamā ʿat
ast va madhhab-i ʿulamā -yi keh ahl-i ˙sunnat va jamā ʿat and va ā n madhhab-i
imā m-i imā mā n va sayyid-i fuqahā ’ va kadkhudā y-yi dı̄ n va ʿilm va shā hanshā h-i fiqh . . .
ke ı̄ n bar ı̄ n madhhab bū d va hameh ashā b-i ā n bar ı̄ n madhhab bū dand va hameh ahl-i sunnat
va jamā ʿat bar ı̄ n madhhab bū d). ˙ ˙
55
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, 24 (zı̄ rā keh rastagā rı̄ -yi tū va ahl va
farzandā n-i tu bih ā mukhtan-i ı̄ n kitā b buvad). ˙
56
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, 24 (pas amū khtan-i ı̄ n kitā b farı̄ deh ast va
rū y gardā nı̄ dan az ı̄ n kitā b shiqā vat ast). ˙ ˙
57
Al-Samarqandı̄ , Tarjumeh-yi al-sawā d al-aʿzam, 24 (khilā f kardan mar ı̄ n kitā b-rā
bidʿat ast). ˙
 10.3 Ḥanafism as Majoritarian Orthodoxy 343

strictly defines Sunni orthodoxy within the confines of al-Sawā d al-aʿzam

˙
is striking.
The main substance of al-Sawā d al-aʿzam, present in both the Arabic
˙
and Persian versions, consists of detailed commentary on sixty-one (sixty-
two in the Persian version) points of doctrine. These discussions and
doctrinal issues are not always confined to theological matters. Matters
of ritual performance, political thought, and asceticism and mysticism
receive attention, too. Despite this eclectic range of themes, scholarly
discussions surrounding al-Sawā d al-aʿzam have sought singular explan-
˙
ations of the creed’s historical context and function. The predominant
view is that al-Sawā d al-aʿzam should be understood as an eastern Hanafı̄
˙ ˙
polemic against the Karrā miyya. There are two main reasons for this
interpretation. The first concerns the background tension between east-
ern Hanafism and the Karrā miyya in the ninth and tenth centuries.
˙
Despite a number of affinities in jurisprudence between eastern Hanafı̄ s
˙
and Muhammad b. Karrā m (d. 255/869) and his followers, Hanafı̄ theo-
˙ ˙
logians increasingly became hostile to Ibn Karrā m’s anthropomorphic
theology. On the basis of perceived hostilities between the Karrā miyya
and the Hanafiyya, scholars have read certain passages in the al-Sawā d al-
˙
aʿzam as support for the creed’s anti-Karrā miyya orientation. Articles 45,
˙
46, and 48 make explicit reference to the Karrā miyya. Article 45 stipu-
lates that belief in God’s oneness must reside in the heart and be con-
fessed with the tongue. Anyone who does not subscribe to this tenet is
described as a heretic. Those who hold the view that faith is in the heart
apart from the tongue are labelled Jahmiyya and others who declare that
faith is utterance of the tongue without knowledge in the heart are
described as Murji’a and Karrā miyya. Both positions are deemed heret-
ical. Article 46 condemns anthropomorphic interpretations of God, and
here the author invokes a familiar accusation against the Karrā miyya of
their likening God to anything or asserting that He possesses a member.
Article 48 intervenes in the debates about the obligation of earning
a living. The Karrā miyya are labelled as heretics because they do not
regard earning to be a duty.
Al-Sawā d al-aʿzam had ambitions to be more than just an anti-Karrā mı̄
creed. It can be ˙argued that the creed reflects attempts by Hanafı̄ s to
˙
respond to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. On the one hand, this
˙
meant undermining proto-Sunni traditionalist conceptions of orthodoxy.
Article 53, for example, takes up the issue of the witr prayer. It contends
that the witr prayer consists of three rakʿas and one taslı̄ ma, and that
whoever says otherwise is considered a heretic. This was a direct attack
on proto-Sunni traditionalists, who advocated that witr prayer was one
rakʿa. Although proto-Sunni traditionalists are not mentioned explicitly
344 Consensus and Heresy

in this article of the creed, one might be tempted to argue that the fact that
this article cites more Prophetic traditions, fifteen to be precise, than
anywhere else in the creed betrays the identity of their opponents, for
whom argument by tradition was considered decisive. On the other hand,
it required articulating a narrow conception of orthodoxy that gave pride
of place to Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers. In order to do this, al-Sawā d al-
˙
aʿzam takes up a number of themes common to ninth-century discourses
˙
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa and seeks to establish an orthodox narrative
˙
around them. Articles 1, 10, 44, 49, and 58 all concern debates surround-
ing the nature of faith: article 1 states that one must not have any doubt
with respect to one’s faith; article 10 declares that faith is a gift; article 44
states that faith involves two members of the body, the heart and the
tongue; article 49 distinguishes between faith and action; and article 58
establishes that faith does not increase or decrease. Articles 11 and
12 pertain to debates about the created nature of deeds and of the
Quran. Deeds, we are told, are created. As for the Quran, it is uncreated.
But al-Sawā d al-aʿzam points to the difficulty involved in arriving at this
˙
conclusion, for it reports that Abū Yū suf said that he debated with Abū
Hanı̄ fa for six months concerning the Quran, and they agreed that who-
˙
ever says the Quran is created is an unbeliever. Finally, article 7 argues
against proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy by permitting rebellion
against Muslims with a just cause.
What al-Sawā d al-aʿzam suggests, therefore, is that the rehabilitation
˙
of Abū Hanı̄ fa as a figure of Sunni orthodoxy enabled Hanafı̄ commu-
˙ ˙
nities in Transoxiana to claim to represent majoritarian Sunni ortho-
doxy. Theirs was a narrow, regional conception of orthodoxy at the
helm of which stood Abū Hanı̄ fa and his followers. A century earlier
˙
they had been described by proto-Sunni traditionalists as heretics and
deviants. By the tenth century they had found the confidence to depict
themselves and Abū Hanı̄ fa as vanguards of medieval Sunni
˙
orthodoxy.
Staying in the eastern regions of the Islamic world, another text from this
period gives us an insight into how and when discourses of heresy against
Abū Hanı̄ fa were invoked and, in particular, how the manā qib genre was
key to˙diminishing any tensions arising from them.58 The text in question is

58
On Hanafı̄ and Shā fiʿı̄ rivalry in Khurā sā n see Bulliet, The Patricians of Nishapur, 28–46.
˙
Al-Ghaza ̄ lı̄ , al-Mankhū l, 471, 500, 504. Shams al-Dı̄ n Muhammad b. Muhammad
b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Sattā r al-ʿImā dı̄ al-Kardarı̄ al-Barā nı̄ qı̄ ˙ (d. 642/1244) ˙ penned
a manā qib work in response (although there were rumours that it was a Muʿtazilı̄ author
and not al-Ghazā lı̄ himself who had authored the treatise): al-Kardarı̄ , ‘Kitā b al-Radd
ʿalā Abı̄ Hā mid al-Ghazā lı̄ ’, MS Vollers 0351, Universitätbibliothek Leipzig, fols. 21a–
˙
25b; al-Kardarı̄ , ‘Kitā b al-Radd wa al-intisā r li Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa imā m fuqahā ’ al-amsā r’, MS
˙ ˙ ˙
 10.3 Ḥanafism as Majoritarian Orthodoxy 345

a Persian history of the Saljū qs, Rā hat al-sudū r va ā yat al-surū r dar tā rı̄ kh
˙ ˙
ā l-saljū q.59 The author of the history, al-Rā wandı̄ , was born in the mid- to
late twelfth century. Under the tutelage of his maternal uncle, Tā j al-Dı̄ n
al-Rā wandı̄ , he gained favour with the Saljū q sultans and, in particular,
with Sultan Tughril (r. 571–90/1175–94). With the dynasty’s demise, al-
Rā wandı̄ took the wise decision to reorient his career towards the Saljū q
sultans of Anatolia. The Rā hat al-sudū r was composed between 599/1202
˙ ˙
and 601/1204, and was dedicated to the ruling sultan, Rukn al-Dı̄ n
Sulaymā n (d. 601/1204) and then to his successor, Ghiyā th al-Dı̄ n
Kaykhusraq (d. 644/1246).60 Abū Hanı̄ fa receives profuse praise in the
Rā hat al-sudū r,61 but I should like to ˙ draw attention to a small manā qib
˙ ˙
section in the work (madh-i imā m al-aʿzam). The section begins with some
˙ ˙
lines of poetry in which we see al-Rā wandı̄ ’s playful and ambiguous interest
in diminishing hostilities between Hanafis and Shā fiʿı̄ s:62
˙
Dı̄ nı̄ li ashā b al-nabı̄ al-Mustafā ,
˙ ˙ bi rabbı̄ in law ˙aftarı̄
Innı̄ kafartu ˙ .
Yā rabbı̄ in ghalabat dhunū bı̄ tā ʿatı̄ ,
Fa Abū Hanı̄ fa Shā fiʿı̄ fı̄ al-mah˙ shari.
˙ ˙
My religion is that of the Companions of the Prophet, al-Mustafā ,
˙˙
I have disbelieved in my lord if I slander [them].
My lord, if my sins outweigh my obedience to you,
Then [I take refuge in being with] Abū Hanı̄ fa and al-Shā fiʿı̄ in
the Assembly [or: Abū Hanı̄ fa as my˙intercessor in the
Assembly]. ˙

Then, when al-Rā wandı̄ lists the leaders of the religion and the foremost
experts of the sacred law, Abū Hanı̄ fa and al-Shā fiʿı̄ head up the list. They
˙
are followed by Abū Yū suf, al-Shaybā nı̄ , al-Thawrı̄ , Mā lik b. Anas, Zufar

194, Dā r al-Kutub al-Misriyya, fols. 46–55. In one of his final works al-Ghazā lı̄ wrote
a glowing tribute to Abū H ˙ anı̄ fa: al-Ghazā lı̄ , Ihyā ’ ʿulū m al-dı̄ n (Jeddah: Dā r al-Minhā j,
2011), 1: 106–8. On al-Kardarı̄ ˙ ˙
see Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafa ̄ ’, al-Jawā hir al-mudiyya, 3: 228–30;
Ibn Qutlū bughā , Tā j al-tarā jim, 267–8; al-Kaffawı̄ , ‘Katā ’ib aʿlā m al-akhya ˙ ̄ r min fuqahā ’
madhhab ˙ al-Nuʿmā n al-mukhtā r’, MS 1381 Feyzullah, fols. 242b–243b, no. 418; al-
Laknawı̄ , al-Fawā ’id al-bahiyya, 176–7 (Cairo edn.). For the refutation see al-Laknawı̄ ,
al-Fawā ’id al-bahiyya, 50–1 (Cairo edn.); Littman, A List of Arabic Manuscripts, 82;
Brockelmann, GAL, 1: 474; supp. 1: 654; Madelung, ‘The Spread of Mā turı̄ dism’,
126–7; Bouges, Essai de Chronologie, 8; Badawı̄ , Mu’allafā t al-Ghazā lı̄ , 6–8.
59
Browne, ‘Manuscript History of the Seljū qs’. On this work see also Meisami, ‘History as
Literature’, 27; Meisami, ‘The Past in Service of the Present’, 272.
60
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā hat al-sudū r va ā yat al-surū r dar tā rı̄ kh ā l-saljū q, ed. Muhammad Iqbā l
˙
(Leiden: Brill, 1921). ˙ ˙
61
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā hat al-sudū r, 14.
62
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā ˙hat al-s˙ udū r, 14 (the meaning could be: Then [I take refuge in being with]
Abū Hanı̄ fa as my˙ intercessor
˙ in the Assembly).
˙
346 Consensus and Heresy

b. Hudhayl, and Ahmad b. Hanbal.63 His preference for Hanafı̄ s is transpar-

˙ ˙ ˙
ent given that half of these scholars were considered Hanafı̄ s in his time. He
˙
warns his readers and listeners that ‘whoever uttered words of abuse or
reproach against any one of them was a terribly ill-fated person, because all
of them were on the truth, all their paths led to God, and the religion of them
all was based upon the commandments of the prophet Muhammad’.64
What al-Rā wandı̄ was trying to explain to his readers was˙ that medieval
Sunni orthodoxy was anchored in the legacies and institutions that were
spawned by these men, their followers, and their schools. By his time,
medieval Sunnism was (in theory and, most of the time, in practice) an
accommodating tradition: ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa was the right eye and al-Shā fiʿı̄
˙
the left eye . . . two madhhabs sharing one truth, one piece of wood but of
two different shades.’ He continues in the Rā hat al-sudū r:66
65
˙ ˙
It is not extreme fanaticism when the follower of the madhhab of the greatest
imam, Abū Hanı̄ fa the Kufan, says that the path of Abū Hanı̄ fa has greater
˙
spiritual illumination ˙
and is closer to God. Similarly, it is not extreme fanaticism
when the follower of the esteemed imam al-Shā fiʿı̄ al-Muttalibı̄ holds fast to the
belief that the path of al-Shā fiʿı̄ is easier and more honest. ˙However,
˙ anyone who
says about either Abū Hanı̄ fa or al-Shā fiʿı̄ that they were not on the truth, that
˙
person is, with all certainty, an unbeliever and someone whose religion is in
turmoil.
Al-Rā wandı̄ himself was clearly partisan to the madhhab of Abū Hanı̄ fa,
˙
and his work gives many examples of the kind of unproblematic commit-
ment to a madhhab he defends in this passage above. One example of this
is his remark that
Abū Hanı̄ fa was the light of the umma. At that time, when the stars – ‘my
˙
companions are like the stars’ – had set in the dust of the West, a light from the
lamp of Kufa was ignited such that with its light Iraq, Khurā sā n, Rū m, and
Turkistā n were lighted; that the light of my umma is Abū Hanı̄ fa – this is my
religion, and this is my madhhab.67 ˙

63
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā hat al-sudū r, 13–14.
64
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā˙hat al-s ˙ udū r, 13 (va sakht bad bakht kesı̄ bū d keh zabā n-i taʿn dar yekı̄ az
˙ az ˙ā nke hameh bar haqq and rā h-i hameh bi khudā ast˙ va dı̄ n-i jumleh
ı̄ shā n darā z kunad,
sharʿ-i Mustafā ast). ˙
65 ˙ ˙
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā hat al-sudū r, 17 (Abū Hanı̄ fa chashme rā st, Shā fiʿı̄ chashme chap . . . madh-
hab-i dū , haqq yek,˙ ā bnū
˙ s yek, rang dū ).˙
66
Al-Rā wandı̄˙ , Rā hat al-sudū r, 13 (taʿassub az ı̄ n nabā yad kı̄ ā n kesı̄ keh madhhab-i imā m
aʿzam Abū Hanı̄ f˙a kū fı̄ ˙dā rad guyad rā h˙˙e-yi Abū Hanı̄ fa rū shantar va bi khudā nazdı̄ ktar ast,
va˙ ā nke madhhab-i
˙ imā m muʿazzā m Shā fiʿı̄ mutt˙alibı̄ dā rad iʿtiqā d bandad ke rā he-yi Shā fiʿı̄
sahaltar va amı̄ ntar ast. Ammā˙ ˙ā nkeh guyad Abū ˙˙ Hanı̄ fa yā Shā fiʿı̄ nah bar haqq bū dand
kā fir yaqı̄ n va bad-i dı̄ n bā shad). ˙ ˙
67
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā hat al-sudū r, 14 (Abū Hanı̄ fa sirā j-i ummat bū d. Dar ā n vaqt keh sitā rgā n –
ashā bı̄ ka al-nujū˙ m’ –˙ dar maghrib khā ˙ k-i afū l kardand, chirā ghı̄ az mishkā t-i Kū fa bar
˙˙
 10.3 Ḥanafism as Majoritarian Orthodoxy 347

One of the poems in this manā qib section reads:68

Nı̄ stı̄ islā m agar fatā va-yi Nu‘mā n nı̄ stı̄ ,
Kı̄ stı̄ muftı̄ agar Nu ‘mā n nabū deh rah‘numā .

There is no Islam, if there are no edicts of Nuʿmā n,

Who can be a mufti, if Nuʿmā n was not a guide.

In making these remarks, al-Rā wandı̄ was defending the right to

express such fidelity. He recognised that madhhab affiliation conveyed
a deep and penetrating commitment to the eponymous founder. What
troubled him was that this loyalty had the potential to result in animos-
ity against other eponymous founders, especially with the knowledge of
earlier proto-Sunni traditionalist discourses of heresy. It was, in the
end, the vision of orthodoxy espoused by manā qib and musnad authors
of the ninth–eleventh centuries, the convictions of scholars such as Ibn
ʿAbd al-Barr and al-Rā wandı̄ ’s vision and not the one advanced by al-
Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ’s captious account in his Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, that
˙
prevailed. For someone like al-Rā wandı̄ , this was never in doubt. He
told his readers a story of a class Abū Hanı̄ fa supervised at the Kaʿba,
˙
where Abū Hanı̄ fa reportedly prayed: ‘God, if my ijtihā d is correct and
˙
my madhhab is true, make it victorious since it is for your sake, God,
that I assert the sacred law of Mustafā .’ Al-Rā wandı̄ tells us that at this
˙˙
point a voice from the Kaʿba declared: ‘Thou hast uttered the truth; thy
doctrine shall not wane so long as the sword abides in the hands of the
Turks.’69 This is a fantastical story, and its immediate context was the
Saljū q sultans of the east. Al-Rā wandı̄ reminds his readers that in
Arabia, Persia, Rū m, and Rū s, the sword is indeed in the hands of the
Turks and fear of their sword is implanted firmly in all hearts.
Furthermore, this section of Rā hat al-sudū r closes with our author
˙ ˙
listing examples of Saljū q sultans who provided patronage and support
to the Hanafı̄ madhhab and favoured Hanafı̄ institutions over Shā fiʿı̄
˙ ˙
ones. Beyond this immediate historical context, al-Rā wandı̄ ’s employ-
ment of the heavenly voice device (hawā tif) conveys an integral point
˙
about the evolution of Sunni orthodoxy and its conception among
medieval Muslims. A return to an earlier phase of proto-Sunni

afrū khtan keh bi nū r-i ū ʿIrā q va Khurā sā n va Rū m va Turkistā n rū shan shud keh
sirā j-i ummatı̄ Abū Hanı̄ fa, dı̄ n-i man ı̄ n ast, va madhhab-i man chinı̄ n ast).
68
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā hat˙ al-sudū r, 14.
69
Al-Rā wandı̄ , Rā ˙hat al-s˙ udū r, 14 (keh chū n Imā m Aʿzam Abū Hanı̄ fa Kū fı̄ bi hajjat al-vidā ʿ
˙
bū d halaqa dar kaʿba ˙
bi-garaft va guft khudā vand agar ˙ ijtihā d durust
˙ ˙
ast va madhhab-i man
haqq˙ ast nusratish kun keh az bi-rā y-i tū khudā taqrı̄ r-i sharʿ-i Mustafā kardam. Hā tifı̄ az
˙khā neh-yi kaʿba
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
ā vā z dā d va guft: haqq qulta; lā zā la madhhabuka mā dā ma al-sayf fı̄ yad al-
atrā k). ˙
348 Consensus and Heresy

traditionalist orthodoxy was no longer viable. A new orthodoxy had

been consecrated, and it was (and still is today) one that outlasted the
Turks. What was once a consensus concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s heresy
˙
among proto-Sunni traditionalists had been transformed into a more
lasting consensus among a broader Muslim community of the tenth–
eleventh centuries. This was a consensus about orthodoxy that now
proved to be unshakeable.
11 Conclusion

This monograph has aimed to address both general and specific problems
in our understanding of medieval Islamic history. There are a number of
gaps and weaknesses, though, that I hope future scholarship will be better
placed to deal with. One obvious weakness in this study is the absence of
any serious examination of the texts and manuscripts attributed to Abū
Hanı̄ fa. The question of whether Abū Hanı̄ fa actually composed any
˙ ˙
works is not a simple one; eighth- and ninth-century authors did not
remember him as an author. His detractors did not cite specific books
or passages in the course of their diatribes against him. His students,
followers, and admirers neither cited nor pointed to his books to defend
him against his critics until the eleventh century.1 In line with one of the
finest researchers and philologists of Islamicate learning, Murtadā al-
˙
Zabı̄ dı̄ , where medieval sources do refer to kutub Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, one possi-
˙
bility is that the authors intended notebooks or dictation to his students.2
The absence of such books probably helped to stem discourses of
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. (As I have pointed out already, the absence
˙
of such texts made the work of proto-Sunni traditionalists who sought to
frame him as a heretic so much harder.) ʿAmr b. Dı̄ nā r said that he went
to visit Wahb b. Munabbih at his house in Sanʿā ’ and, during
˙
a conversation over walnuts, ʿAmr b. Dı̄ nā r said to Wahb b. Munabbih:
‘How I wish you had not written a book on the subject of predestination
(wadadtu annaka lam takun katabta fı̄ al-qadar kitā ban).’ Wahb
b. Munabbih felt the same way: ‘By God, how I would have wished
that, too.’3 After all, there was no written record to point to Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s heresy, and in fact the written record that did exist later on in
˙

1
ʿAbd al-Qā hir al-Baghdā dı̄ , Usū l al-dı̄ n (Istanbul: Matbaʿat al-Dawla, 1928), 308.
2 ˙
Al-Zabı̄ dı̄ , Ithā f al-sā da al-muttaqı̄ ˙ n.d.), 2: 14. See also Nuʿmā nı̄ ,
n (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr,
‘Imā m Abū ˙Hanı̄ fa kı̄ tasā nı̄ f se Imā m Mā lik kā istifā dah [On Imam Mā lik’s Benefiting
from the Books ˙ of imam˙ Abū Hanı̄ fa]’, in Usū l-i hadı̄ th kı̄ baʿd ahamm mabā hith [Some
Important Researches in the Science ˙ of Hadı̄ th] (Karachi:
˙ ˙ al-Rahı̄ m˙ Akı̄ damı̄ , n.d.),
˙ 58–64.
3 ˙
Al-Fasawı̄ , Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-tā rı̄ kh, 2: 281. ˙

349
350 Conclusion

the form of texts emerging from the master’s students established his
orthodox credentials.
I was unable to examine the eleventh century in more detail and, in
particular, the emergence of the new and more accommodating medieval
Sunnism. This, too, I leave to historians of the Ghaznavids and Saljū qs.
There are certain paradoxes and contradictions that warrant closer inves-
tigation. The fact that this discourse of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa existed
˙
during a time when the Hanafı̄ school continued to spread is perhaps the
˙
most glaring paradox. But here I would tend to agree with Shahab
Ahmed’s suggestion that contradictions of this kind were crucial to the
formation of meaning making in medieval Islamic societies.4 Another
subject that has been raised in this book is that of porous boundaries
between Sunnism and Shiʿism. The question of ambiguous confessional
loyalties certainly requires further research; and whilst this study has been
an account of orthodoxy and heresy in the history of proto-Sunnism and
medieval Sunnism, I hope it might serve as a model for understanding the
dynamics of orthodoxy and heresy among other religious movements in
medieval Islam. On other questions, my explanations simply do not
satisfy me. I am sure other readers may feel the same way, but I leave it
up to them to form their own opinions and close now with a summary of
this study’s main contributions.
***
Part I provided a history of invective against Abū Hanı̄ fa during the ninth–
˙
eleventh centuries. I described this invective as a discourse of heresy
because of its wide, regular, and recurring circulation among a discrete
yet influential network of proto-Sunni traditionalists. All of these scholars
and writers were major figures in the growth and development of religious
writing in the formative period of medieval Islam. These discourses of
heresy were disseminated, therefore, by and among a textual community.
This did not mean that such discourses were shorn of their oral dimen-
sions. Discourses of heresy were recorded and memorialised in texts; but
they continued to circulate as anecdotal and oral materials. The oral and
the written existed side by side.
Taking into consideration the oral and textual dimensions of these
discourses permitted us to detail the lives, connections, and shared beliefs
of proto-Sunni traditionalists. Discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa
illuminated the deep and penetrating loyalties that bound together ˙ reli-
gious scholars in the ninth–eleventh centuries. Our history of proto-Sunni
traditionalism documented new insights about figures familiar to
4
Ahmed, What Is Islam?, 405 (though I find Ahmed’s evidence and argumentation in ch. 6
unconvincing).
 Conclusion 351

Islamicists. It went further, though, by highlighting the formidable con-

tributions made by figures who remain unstudied in modern scholarship.
We were able to compose a broader history of the proto-Sunni tradition-
alist community that recognised an empire-wide network of religious
scholars dedicated to a particular version of proto-Sunni orthodoxy.
Their commitment to constructing a discourse of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa that excluded him was instrumental to the very process of the
˙
formation of orthodoxy. It was in the process of framing and combating
the heresy of the proximate other that proto-Sunni traditionalists were
able to embolden their own group identity and fashion orthodoxy.
Emphasising this diverse and messy process has meant pushing back
against essentialising narratives about Sunnism’s development.5
Part II of this study contextualised the data amassed in Part I. It used
this data to argue that modern scholarship in Islamic Studies and within
the field of Religious Studies more broadly has adopted too narrow an
understanding of heresy and orthodoxy. Discourses of heresy against Abū
Hanı̄ fa demonstrate that notions of orthodoxy and heresy were not
˙
limited to the realm of belief (doxa) and practice (praxis). Heresiological
discourses against Abū Hanı̄ fa were rooted in wider social phenomena,
˙
attitudes, ideas, mentalités, and social and political trends in medieval
Islam. Chapter 4 examined how one ninth-century historian perceived
and depicted the religious deviance of Abū Hanı̄ fa. We learnt that, for al-
˙
Fasawı̄ , Abū Hanı̄ fa’s heresy was an extension of prevailing attitudes and
˙
mentalités about the holy and unholy nature of regions and cities in the
medieval Islamic world. Al-Fasawı̄ saw Kufa as the devil’s first place of
residence after his exile. This foundational event set the stage for Iraq’s
dark and ignoble history in the eyes of al-Fasawı̄ and others. The region
was a breeding ground for religious heresies and political chaos. Al-
Fasawı̄ ’s extensive section assailing Abū Hanı̄ fa is prefaced with material
˙
of this kind depicting Iraq as an unholy region. This broader social and
cultural history concerning particular regions helped to situate Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s religious deviance for proto-Sunni traditionalist scholars.
˙
In Chapter 5 we analysed another social dimension of medieval
Islamicate societies that was employed in discourses of heresy against
Abū Hanı̄ fa. We demonstrated that ethnogenesis played a crucial role in
˙
accentuating the discourse of difference that separated orthodoxy from
heresy. The chapter pointed to the ways in which ethnogenesis, religious
conversion, and language were interwoven into discourses of heresy

5
There can be no harm in re-stating Smith’s formulation of the proximate other: ‘The
radically “other” is merely “other”; the proximate “other” is problematic, and hence, of
supreme interest.’ See Smith, ‘What a Difference a Difference Makes’.
352 Conclusion

against Abū Hanı̄ fa. Proto-Sunni traditionalists exploited these themes in

˙
order to bring Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ancestry, genealogy, and social status into
disrepute. Proto-Sunni ˙ traditionalists presented his social, ethnic, and
religious background as a necessary precursor to his religious deviance.
These factors were instrumental and not incidental to what they con-
ceived of as the heresy of Abū Hanı̄ fa.
˙
Chapter 6 showed that politics and the role of the state were funda-
mental to discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa. It maintained that his
˙
association with ʿAlid revolts, in addition to other rebellions, in the eighth
century was one of the cornerstones of proto-Sunni traditionalist dis-
courses of heresy against him. His alleged support for Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ ’s
rebellion, backing for Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h’s revolt, and intervention
during the uprising of al-Hā rith b. Surayj all contributed to a near-
˙
consensus among proto-Sunni traditionalists that Abū Hanı̄ fa advocated
˙
rebellion against Muslim rulers. It was further argued that proto-Sunni
traditionalist discourses of heresy were overwhelmingly concerned with
this aspect of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s mnemohistory. We suggested that this pre-
˙
occupation with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s involvement with rebellions owed itself to
˙
two factors. First, political quietism had become a core and indisputable
doctrine of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy by the middle of the
ninth century. Rebellion against rulers constituted heresy. This doctrine
extended to scholars supporting rebellions. There was a second factor
that energised proto-Sunni traditionalist attacks on Abū Hanı̄ fa on
˙
account of his involvement in political upheavals during the late
Umayyad and early ʿAbbā sid periods. The first half of the ninth century
witnessed a rise in the appointment of proto-Hanafı̄ judges. Local and
provincial courts all over the early Islamic empire ˙ were being populated
by proto-Hanafı̄ qadis. The appointment of judges became a very sensi-
˙
tive issue for both local scholars and communities. Judges were crucial
intermediaries between the state and provincial subjects. The social status
of judges as brokers of justice afforded them a degree of social prestige.
Proto-Sunni traditionalists had been observing this phenomenon in dif-
ferent provinces of the empire. They recognised the implications of
judges, aligned to an eponymous founder whom they regarded as
a heretic, being scattered across the empire and administering religious
law to society at large. In the eyes of many proto-Sunni traditionalists the
judiciary was becoming a vehicle for proto-Hanafism’s wide dissemin-
˙
ation across the empire. One way to disrupt the ʿAbbā sid empire’s reli-
ance on proto-Hanafı̄ judges was to emphasise and indeed publicise Abū
˙
Hanı̄ fa’s support for rebellions against caliphs and the state, and to insist
˙
that he was a heretic. By communicating this fact far and wide, proto-
Sunni traditionalists would place the ʿAbbā sids in the awkward position
 Conclusion 353

of appointing proto-Hanafı̄ judges to represent the legal authority of the

˙
medieval state when their eponymous founder had been at the forefront of
past attempts to overthrow the caliphal administration and when his
orthodoxy, so they argued, had been in doubt. The focus on Abū
Hanı̄ fa’s politics served to undergird proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy
˙
whilst at the same time undermining proto-Hanafı̄ claims to religious
˙
orthodoxy.
The distinct treatment of ‘religion’ in Chapter 7 represented little more
than a capitulation to the organisational demands of a lengthy mono-
graph. The division of discourses of heresy into separate realms of polit-
ics, society, and religion is a compartmentalisation that this book rails
against. We historians have imposed the model of fragmentation that
obtains in the twenty-first century and have begun to see and analyse
medieval Islamicate societies on the basis of it. This study has insisted on
the necessity of seeing discourses of heresy and orthodoxy as the product
of a broad and integrated conception of religion and religious life, one in
which the social and the political often lacked any clear lines of demarca-
tion. It should be understood, then, that I have been compelled to
organise this study in a way in which religion, society, and politics appear
only superficially to be treated in a distinct manner.6 Chapter 7 proceeded
to analyse discourses of heresy that pertained to Abū Hanı̄ fa’s jurispru-
˙
dence, theology, expertise in hadı̄ th, and personal piety. Its aim was to
˙
amplify the fears and threats that proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy
perceived from those they described as heretics: to give readers and
specialists a comprehensive view of how proto-Sunni traditionalists con-
structed a discourse of heresy in the ninth–eleventh centuries. The final
section of the chapter emphasised that discourses of orthodoxy and heresy
emerged alongside a developed sociology of heresy. Heresy was to be
marginalised and orthodoxy was to be promoted by means of regulating
societies, places of communal worship, communities, and individuals. In
this sense, discourses of heresy and orthodoxy can hardly be understood
as merely floating in the air or being confined to closed texts. The growth
and importance of such organic and non-institutional mechanisms for
disciplining society cannot be appreciated without recognising the muted
role of the state in discourses of heresy and orthodoxy. Under the Saljū qs,
institutions were integrated within the sphere of religious learning. How

6
For recent attempts to posit a clearer distinction between the secular and the religious in
pre-modern Islam see Abbasi, ‘Did Premodern Muslims Distinguish the Religious and
Secular?’, where the author’s deployment of dı̄ nı̄ –dunyā wı̄ does not, in my estimation, map
neatly onto the secular–religious categories in the modern world. A more thorough and
theoretically robust interrogation of these categories can be found in Ahmed, What Is
Islam?, 176–245.
354 Conclusion

the proto-Sunnism of the ninth and eleventh centuries that was so suspi-
cious of institutions and institutionalisation was transformed under the
Saljū qs into a Sunnism integrated so seamlessly into institutionalisation is
a fascinating question which historians of the twelfth century must
address.
Where Parts I and II of this book examined the construction of dis-
courses of heresy and the dominance of proto-Sunni traditionalist visions
of orthodoxy, Part III revealed the dramatic evolution and failings of
proto-Sunni traditionalism. The concerted efforts of proto-Sunni tradi-
tionalists in the ninth–eleventh centuries to establish Abū Hanı̄ fa as being
outside the realm of orthodoxy were met with a new kind˙ of resistance.
This response to proto-Sunni traditionalism is essential, I have argued, to
understanding the emergence of medieval Sunnism. Part III contended
that two neglected but prolific genres of historical writing were indispens-
able to explaining this historical transformation in proto-Sunnism: How it
was that discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa were committed to
˙
portraying him as a heretic and deviant in the ninth–eleventh centuries;
and how over the course of the tenth–eleventh centuries Abū Hanı̄ fa was
˙ proto-
considered by members of the Shā fiʿı̄ , Hanbalı̄ , Mā likı̄ , and other
˙
Sunni movements as a pillar of Sunni orthodoxy. The production and
unprecedented proliferation of manā qib and masā nı̄ d works – the former
dismissed as mere hagiography and the latter barely utilised by modern
scholars – are crucial documents for marking the evolution of medieval
Sunnism. The apotheosis of Abū Hanı̄ fa as a figure of unimpeachable
˙
Sunni orthodoxy alongside Mā lik b. Anas, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , and Ahmad
˙
b. Hanbal cannot be understood without a scholarly appreciation for
˙
what manā qib and masā nı̄ d works sought to do. The new consensus
regarding Abū Hanı̄ fa’s orthodoxy was not merely a convenient rational-
˙
isation of orthodoxy as it was beginning to take shape. We must recognise
manā qib and masā nı̄ d works as agents of these changes. I hope to show
elsewhere how the emergence of the manā qib literature, in particular,
around these four eponyms constituted a defining feature of medieval
Sunnism’s identity and memory, but I believe its contribution to the
transformation of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s mnemohistory has been established by
˙
this study. Chapter 8 proposed that hagiography is a misleading descrip-
tion of and category in which to place manā qib works that revolve around
the eponyms of the legal schools. The manā qib literature represented
a form of biographical and historical writing. It contained narratives
that framed a society and posited a social vision. They advocated
a social world that consisted of living by particular types of loyalties,
devotional practices, pedagogical norms, and moral codes. Authority,
heresy, and orthodoxy were defined and delineated by authors of these
 Conclusion 355

books, who chose to craft these visions around one figure. Though
manā qib works were dedicated to orthodox masters of the past, their
defining orientation was towards the present and the future. Their
authors saw history as the history of a few great men. But they believed
that the future could be effected and affected by many men (and women)7
who emulated such epigones and who embodied the social vision that
authors of manā qib works sought to articulate. Manā qib works were
commentaries on a basic but essential credo of medieval Islamicate soci-
eties: What has been may be again.
The concluding part of this study examined attempts in the post-
formative period of Islamic history to unsettle medieval Sunnism’s new
consensus concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa’s flawless orthodoxy. Religious
˙
scholars such as Ibn ʿAdı̄ and Ibn Hibbā n tried to resurrect discourses
˙
of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa from the ninth–tenth centuries by docu-
˙
menting what they described as the consensus of proto-Sunni tradition-
alist orthodoxy. But this consensus had vanished. It had been replaced by
a new one. And there was no disputing it now. This was a lesson that
traditionalist Salafı̄ s of the twentieth century learned, too, as they arrived
at the realisation that Abū Hanı̄ fa was too big to fail.8 It seems to me that
someone like Muhammad ˙ Zā hid al-Kawtharı̄ , a twentieth-century
˙
scholar whose oeuvre was dedicated to defending Abū Hanı̄ fa, under-
˙
stood and appreciated the fact that Sunnism was a cumulative force. His
robust and relentless defence of Abū Hanı̄ fa had little to do with what
˙
both his detractors and admirers described as his taʿassub (extreme parti-
˙˙
sanship) for Hanafism. What al-Kawtharı̄ was defending was a historical
˙
process that took some four centuries to reach maturation. He considered
short-sighted and ahistorical the view of numerous contemporaries who
looked back on the historical past and reduced the dynamic history of
orthodoxy in medieval Sunnism to the narrow belle époque of Salafism.
This study has argued that the formation of medieval Sunni orthodoxy
was the work of medieval scholarly and textual communities and the
social, cultural, political, and intellectual contexts that they participated
7
For an uncommon example see al-Sulamı̄ , Dhikr al-niswa al-mutaʿabbidā t al-sū fiyyā t, ed.
Mahmū d Muhammad al-Tanā hı̄ (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khā njı̄ , 1993); and˙ Melchert’s
˙
finding ˙
that ‘there ˙
is no room ˙
here to say that collections of renunciant sayings name
surprisingly many saintly women, or that the tradition systematically suppressed reports of
saintly women from disbelief in female saintliness. On the contrary, saintly women were
part of the prevailing ideology, at least of the renunciant tradition as represented by the
male-authored literature. Pious Muslim men expected to hear of pious Muslim women.
Whether women would have transmitted different sorts of reports if they had written
books can only be guessed at’: Melchert, ‘Before Sū fiyyā t’, 139.
8 ˙
See Mahmū d Shukrı̄ al-Alū sı̄ , Tajrı̄ d al-sinā n fı̄ al-dhabb ʿan Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa al-Nuʿmā n ʿalayhi
al-rahma˙ wa al-ridwā n, ed. Iyā d b. ʿAbd al-Latı̄ f b. Ibrā hı̄ m al-Qaysı̄
˙ (Damascus: Dā r al-
˙
Nawā dir, 2017). ˙ ˙
356 Conclusion

in for over four centuries. Medieval Sunni orthodoxy took time to take
shape, and among its most decisive characteristics was its recognition of
the unimpeachable orthodoxy of four legal schools and their eponymous
founders.9 But this grand consensus was possible only through a series of
failures, successes, conflicts, and compromises between different strains
of proto-Sunnism. It was this consensus that al-Kawtharı̄ believed was the
cornerstone of Sunnism and its homeostatic stability throughout Islamic
history. For him, few developments personified the quintessence of con-
sensus than Abū Hanı̄ fa’s consecration as a paragon of Sunni orthodoxy.
˙
The danger that al-Kawtharı̄ recognised was that any attempts, however
bold or subtle, to unsettle this consensus would mark the beginning of the
end of Sunnism. This was the stark yet understandable frame of reference
within which al-Kawtharı̄ understood debates concerning the heresy and
orthodoxy of Abū Hanı̄ fa.10
Let me now turn ˙to some of the broader arguments this monograph has
made, and its implications, if any, for the study of medieval Islamic history
and Islamicate societies. I have tried to offer some alternative ways of
understanding the history of orthodoxy and heresy in Islam – ways that
describe more accurately how our subjects themselves, over centuries,
understood and participated in such efforts. Proposing this alternative
history has required, at least on my part, rethinking certain approaches
found in modern treatments of heresy and orthodoxy in Islam. On one
spectrum, we have the influential framework of Durkheim, whose defin-
ition of religion states that ‘religious phenomena fall into two basic categor-
ies: beliefs and rites’. This definition of the work that religion does in society
has helped to confine the study of orthodoxy and heresy to the realm of
heresiography (doxa and praxis). Specialists in Islamic Studies, such as van
Ess, Wilson, and Knysh, have been particularly susceptible to this
approach, seeing in theology and heresiography the most complete repre-
sentation of orthodoxy and heresy. This approach has found a much wider
audience through comparative accounts of history and orthodoxy in Islam,
such as those given by Henderson and Ames, which offer sweeping conclu-
sions based on a limited corpus of Islamic theological works in translation.
Our study has examined works of theology and theological debates as one
resource for the study of orthodoxy and heresy; but, similar to Fierro’s work
on heresy in Andalus and the Islamic west, it has sought to go beyond the
genre of heresiography to exhibit a more dynamic and diverse set of

9
The reader should not assume that I am claiming that medieval Sunnism did not evolve
after the eleventh century. When I speak of the maturation of classical Sunnism, I am
speaking of its consensus – an unshakeable one from the eleventh century onwards –
concerning the orthodoxy of the legal eponyms.
10
Khan, ‘Islamic Tradition in an Age of Print’, 77–8.
 Conclusion 357

processes visible across the corpus of medieval Muslim writings and social
experiences.11 The work of texts and textualist communities, as one late
scholar has reminded us, is to create experiences. This insight, to my mind,
enables us to move beyond the binary of Historical (Book) Islam versus
Lived Islam.12 If we understand that texts (written, performed, or memor-
ised) form experiences – that women, men, children, rulers, and scholars
begin to live through their engagement with these texts – we can appreciate
how Lived Islam did not necessarily operate above and beyond a historical,
source-based corpus. Societies lived these texts in the sense that they used
them to create and explore. Society was possessed, as Ahmed explains, of
the sensibilities and modalities of these texts. No experience is ever the
same (lā takrā r fı̄ al-tajallı̄ ), according to a medieval maxim employed in
a different context, and so each reading and engagement with texts and
textualist communities paves the way for different encounters. And the rise
of new genres, such as manā qib, masā nid, tabaqā t, and doxographical works
˙
gave rise to an alternative conception of Sunni orthodoxy.13 Another
implication of the Durkheimian model has been a focus on institutions
and power.14 Durkheim insisted that ‘in history we do not find religion
without Church’.15 The absence of such an institution in Islam has resulted
in vertical, state-centric histories of orthodoxy and heresy in Islam. Ames’s
comparative history of medieval heresies reflects this very well. The story
she provides is one of triumph and repression, exhibited by the Umayyad
caliphs, the Mihna of the ʿAbbā sids, Saljū q viziers, and, finally, Mamlū k
˙
11
Fierro, ‘Heresy in al-Andalus’.
12
Reinhart, Lived Islam, 1–10. Reinhart’s fascinating book does, in my view, begin by
positing an unfortunate, straightforward dichotomy between Lived Islam and Book
Islam: Reinhart, Lived Islam, 32–6 (‘Lived Religion is an approach that studies the
religiosity of those who don’t write books, though it studies also the religiosity of clerics
that isn’t expressed in their books’). Lived Islam, in contrast to Book Islam, is thus
characterised as ‘irremediably heterogeneous, unstable, dynamic, creative, and enrich-
ing’. There is no reason why these very attributes could not be ascribed to Book Islam.
Ahmed, in his sweeping critique of Islamic legal studies, has presented a similar and, in
my view, misleading caricature of Book Islam; though in the same work Ahmed shows
through an exceptionally sensitive reading of epics that Book Islam and Lived Islam need
not be construed as binaries: Ahmed, What Is Islam?, 303–43 (‘Fictional texts construct
and communicate Islam through the exercise of the creative and explorative imagination.
A society that lives these texts is necessarily a society possessed of the sensibilities and
values of the modalities of fiction’).
13
On the relationship between texts and experiences see Ahmed, What Is Islam?, 310–43.
14
Henderson, The Construction of Orthodoxy and Heresy, 108 ff.; Ames, Medieval Heresies, 93 ff.
15
Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, 41, 42, 44 (‘Religion is inseparable
from the idea of Church’). It should be noted that Durkheim took a broader view of
institutions. By ‘Church’ he meant a society or moral community whose members were
united, and this phenomenon could exist ‘without any official directing body’. See
Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, 41. This resonates with the Weberian
notion of a church as an ‘association aspect of community organization for religious
ends’. See Parsons, The Structure of Social Action, 1: 435.
358 Conclusion

rulers.16 Van Ess and Wilson, meanwhile, have concluded that the lack of
any central institutional authorities (churches and councils) in early and
medieval Islamicate societies meant that orthodoxy did not and could not
have existed. I have argued that, though institutions were not entirely
absent, they were not a prerequisite for the construction of heresy and
orthodoxy. We have looked at the formation of diverse communities,
forming loose networks, agreeing and disagreeing with one another. They
espoused moral, religious, and social codes and conventions. They sought
to persuade, shape, and direct the course of orthodoxy. They managed to
regulate and discipline outside state and institutional apparatuses.17 But
the discourse of heresy and orthodoxy reflected the nature of Islam, which
was a living and lived religion and not a dead tradition. For this important
reason, orthodoxy was constantly being refined, adjusted, and debated by
communities. Communities of proto-Sunni traditionalist orthodoxy may
have been dominant and powerful in the eighth–tenth centuries, but they
were neither static nor hermetically sealed. As we saw, during the course of
the tenth–eleventh centuries this discrete though influential discourse of
heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa was challenged. Major transformations took
place that altered the ˙character of medieval Sunni orthodoxy and gave way
to a new and more lasting conception of medieval Sunnism.
The central preoccupation of this book has been with orthodoxy and
heresy in medieval Islam, not the life and times of Abū Hanı̄ fa. Orthodoxy
˙
and heresy are categories that have unsettled many scholars in our field. In
large part, the study of heresy and orthodoxy in Islam has been under-
taken by non-Islamicists whose inability to engage with primary sources,
except by way of translations, has resulted in trite narratives about medi-
eval Islam. Specialists have written articles and essays counselling
scholars on the dangers of these categories. Some historians working
with chronicles have seen heresy and the regulation of orthodoxy through
the lens of the state, which has led them to posit that heresy and orthodoxy
were functions of the state. Islamicists have even suggested jettisoning
these terms altogether. A more thorough critique of orthodoxy and heresy
has been made very recently by the leading scholar of medieval Islamic
theology. Josef van Ess’s tome surveying the history of Islam’s heresio-
graphical literature – it reviews practically every single work of heresio-
graphy in Islamic history – contains countless statements repeating his
central claim that heresy did not exist in medieval Islam because it lacked
any centralising authority, institution, or church to impose doctrines or
16
Ames, Medieval Heresies, 86–93 (Umayyads to ʿAbbā sids), 167 ff. (ʿAbbā sids to
Mamlū ks).
17
Durkheim himself recognised this function. See Nisbet, The Sociological Tradition, 89,
150; Durkheim, Moral Education, 23 ff.
 Conclusion 359

practices.18 This study has reached a very different conclusion. I have

argued (not against van Ess per se) that religious communities in medieval
Islam cultivated their own techniques, strategies, and mechanisms for
establishing the preponderance of doctrines, practices, attitudes, and
beliefs. This was the work of orthodoxy; and it was best achieved by
constructing discourses of heresy. My work has sought to undermine
the view that orthodoxy and heresy are terms ill-suited to medieval
Islam because it lacked the kind of institutional structure that existed in
medieval Christianity and Judaism for regulating beliefs, practices, and
ideas. Proto-Sunni traditionalists in the ninth century were curious,
and were aware of confessional accounts of religious deviance in
Judaism and Christianity. This awareness evolved into a conscious effort
to read the trajectory of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam against
religious developments in Christianity and Judaism. To jettison concepts
such as orthodoxy and heresy altogether and to insist on their incommen-
surability with medieval Islam requires ignoring the fact that proto-Sunni
traditionalists in the ninth century interwove religious narratives about
orthodoxy and heresy in Christianity and Judaism into their own com-
munal discourses of heresy. Inspired by the work of scholars such as Alain
Le Boulluec in the field of medieval religious history, I have argued that
the history of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam can be written by
examining their discursive formation. These heresiological discourses
have been shown to exist in a diverse range of genres and sources,

18
Van Ess, Der Eine und das Andere, 1: 1303, 1315. In these passages van Ess argues that
orthodoxy was an urban phenomenon but even then was not orthodoxy proper because
Islam lacked a church. He writes that there was no church to regulate or discipline
religion. But, as our monograph has shown, one does not need institutions to regulate
or discipline religion. At one point van Ess states that the word ‘orthodoxy’ is useful only
in so far as it operates as a metaphor. But he adds quickly that orthodoxy represents the
view of the ruling elite. He also contends that orthodoxy was a local phenomenon, which
approaches the view of Walter Bauer’s history of orthodoxy and heresy in early Christian
history (Bauer, Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum). Pace van Ess, I have
tried to show how discourses of heresy were not restricted to specific locales and regions.
They circulated in texts and among communities all over the provinces of the early
Islamic empire. He also proposes that Islam was not a religious orthodoxy but
a network of power. This sounds convincing, but it also approximates the ambiguity of
some writing that reduces various phenomena to the work of power, without actually
defining or explaining power (see the critique in Ahmed, What Is Islam?, 270 ff.). Van Ess
knows the heresiographical genre better than any other Islamicist, especially this one.
I am willing to concede, therefore, that his interpretation may be viable with respect only
to the heresiographical genre. His conclusions stem from an unremitting focus on one
genre, which he defines as a literary genre. Our study, on the other hand, eschews this
approach of studying orthodoxy and heresy through works of heresiography only. I argue
that understanding the evolution of orthodoxy and heresy should not be based on a single
genre, especially a literary one dedicated systematically to classifying movements as
orthodox and heretical.
360 Conclusion

including historians, litterateurs, jurists, and hadı̄ th scholars. Some of

˙
these discourses have also survived in the form of records of intimate
conversations, witty asides, and constant gossiping. Some historians may
dismiss this material as anecdotal. But it is probably in the unrefined,
untutored, and unscripted material that we are likely to find traces of the
most personal beliefs and convictions held by members of medieval
societies. L’histoire est anecdotal.19
It is worth repeating towards the end of this study that the use of terms
such as heretic and orthodox has not been dogmatic, theological, or legal.
I have studied orthodoxy and heresy as processes and shifting strategies of
denunciation and consensus making. My immersion in these texts and
sources does not seek to furnish an epistemology of heresy or orthodoxy,
or a positivistic elucidation of doctrine and theology.20 Rather, I have
conceived of heresy and orthodoxy as representing impulses by medieval
religious communities to construct notions of religious deviance and to
denounce them. Proto-Sunni traditionalists aimed to establish clear dif-
ferences between their conception of orthodoxy and that of the proximate
other, and they then converted this difference into a programme of
exclusion by constructing discourses of heresy. My readings of these
sources, as well as my analytical interpretations of them, originate from
the understanding that there are no neutral texts. This lack of neutrality
has often been viewed as undermining the scholar’s craft. This study has
argued that the very lack of neutrality represented by the evidence of past
societies is their greatest strength for the historian. The reading of per-
sonal and conflicting distant voices helps the historian to listen in on the
tensions that characterised medieval societies, appreciate precisely what
was at stake for them, and understand how they were resolved. This can
be achieved when one recognises the changing nature of the balance of
power implicit in such texts – depicting heresy and articulating claims to
orthodoxy – and integrates this into a study of how these relationships
reflect broader social and religious developments.21
This study has not attempted a comparative history of heresy and
orthodoxy in medieval religious history. It has sometimes read in
a tertiary manner episodes in the story of orthodoxy and heresy in medi-
eval Islam against or alongside developments in late antique societies and
medieval Christianity. For example, I have insisted that the absence of
episcopal power, the lack of official imperial institutions, councils, and
churches, and the marginal role that caliphs played in the religious
19
Veyne, Comment on écrit l’histoire, 23.
20
It would be a grave misreading of this monograph, for example, to posit theological claims
on its basis, especially against Abū Hanı̄ fa.
21 ˙
Ginzburg, ‘The Inquisitor as Anthropologist’, 161.
 Conclusion 361

development of Islam in the ninth–eleventh centuries did not render

orthodoxy and heresy missing from medieval Islam. Yet, the absence of
these dimensions ensured that orthodoxy and heresy took on a different
character in medieval Islam than they did in some manifestations of
medieval Christianity. Sometimes this had profound consequences.
Persecution was by no means absent in medieval Islamicate societies.
But a persecuting society, targeting members of the same confession,
can hardly be discerned as a general pattern of medieval Islamic history.
Similarly, the absence of powerful institutions for imposing orthodoxy
and suppressing heresy in medieval Islam fostered the necessity for
resolving tensions through the power of persuasion. More often than
not, religious scholars knew that they had to resort to the written word
to articulate their opposition or to resolve their differences.
When I first began researching this monograph, I assumed on the basis
of my reading into the history of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval
religious history that the story of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval
Islam would mirror that found in medieval religious communities con-
ceived more widely. There were a number of axioms common to the
secondary literature that I was expecting to find in my study of medieval
Islam: there is, for example, the idea that the transformation of old
heresies into new orthodoxies results in the suppression of memories
and narratives about this complicated trajectory. Similarly, there is the
view that religious communities are committed to concealing or white-
washing earlier conflicts and tensions. I was expecting to find something
similar in my study of discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa:
˙
a concerted effort to conceal the dramatic evolution of Abū Hanı̄ fa from
˙
a heretic (among some influential proto-Sunnis) to a saint of orthodoxy
(among the broad coalition of medieval Sunnis); and a determination to
create a smokescreen so that this embarrassing fact would remain obscure
and even undetectable. However, I found very little evidence of medieval
scholarly communities glossing over or suppressing earlier contestations.
This is one important aspect where prevailing assumptions in the fields of
Memory Studies and Religious Studies can be less instructive for specific
investigations into the history of medieval Islam, or where the study of
Islam calls into question such prevailing assumptions. The notion of
orthodoxy demanding the oblivion of earlier, turbulent aspects of the
early Islamic community’s history has been generally absent in this
study. Discourses of heresy against Abū Hanı̄ fa were a constant feature
˙
of religious writing even after the great convergence of medieval Sunnism,
which witnessed his elevation as one of a few patron saints of medieval
Sunni orthodoxy. In fact, defenders of Abū Hanı̄ fa regularly and almost
˙
without fail cited from and included sections on these condemnations of
362 Conclusion

Abū Hanı̄ fa by proto-Sunni traditionalists. They were explicit about these

˙
discourses of heresy, for they saw in such vehement criticism and slander
the very mark of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s religious orthodoxy. Seldom did sup-
˙
porters of Abū Hanı̄ fa turn a blind eye to discourses of heresy. The corpus
˙
of medieval religious writing, therefore, is far more forthcoming with
respect to evolutions and transformations within the history of medieval
Sunnism than our field sometimes assumes. The medieval Muslims
studied in this monograph were not committed de nier ce qui est, et
d’expliquer ce qui n’est pas (to deny what is and explain what is not).
This study has argued that the formation of proto-Sunni orthodoxy was
an evolving process. Not only did it undergo a number of iterations, but it
was characterised by internal contradictions and divisions. The failures of
proto-Sunnism were as relevant to the formation of medieval Sunnism as
were its successes. Medieval Sunnism was a product of constant tensions.
These required negotiations. In order to appreciate the historical achieve-
ment of classical Sunnism, examining proto-Sunnism’s most contentious
times is integral to making sense of its most agreeable times. In this sense,
to study the formation of orthodoxy and heresy in medieval Islam is to
come to terms with a truism that ‘traditions, when vital, embody continu-
ities of conflict’.22
We might even dispense with Macintyre and reach further back in
history, closer to the period studied in this work. One might suggest
that the study of orthodoxy and heresy by modern scholars and by
medieval Muslims differs more in style than in substance. Writing in the
thirteenth century, Ibn Tumlū s reflected upon the erratic evolution of
˙
Sunni orthodoxy in the Islamic world. The evolution of orthodoxy and
heresy was apparent to him, he observed, in studying the cases of Baqı̄
b. Makhlad in the ninth century and al-Ghazā lı̄ in the twelfth. Baqı̄
b. Makhlad had been declared a heretic in al-Andalus on account of his
identifying with the ahl al-hadı̄ th and was summoned to a heresy trial. The
˙
introduction of al-Ghazā lı̄ ’s books into al-Andalus led to charges of
heresy against him and the burning of his books. Ibn Tumlū s tells us
˙
that, with time, the heresy trials and the book burning were forgotten:23
When they realised that it was the truth bestowed upon them by God, they became
convinced of the unbelief and heresy of its opponents. . . . What they had once
considered reprehensible became good. What they believed to be unbelief and
heresy became right belief and the true religion (lammā kā nū yaʿtaqidū n fı̄ hi annahu
al-haqq wa annahu min ʿindi Allā h iʿtaqadū fı̄ mukhā lifı̄ hi al-kufr wa al-zandaqa . . . fa
˙
22
Macintyre, After Virtue, 257.
23
Ibn Tumlū s, Kitā b al-Madkhal li sinā ʿat al-mantiq [Introducción al arte de la lógica por
˙
Abentomlús ˙ M. Asín Palacios
de Alcira] ed. and trans. ˙ (Madrid: Centro de Estudios
Historicus, 1916), 9–11; Fierro, ‘Heresy in al-Andalus’, 904.
 Conclusion 363

ʿā da mā kā na munkaran ʿindahum maʿrū fan wa mā iʿtaqadū hu kufran wa zandaqa
ı̄ mā nan wa dı̄ nan haqqan).
˙
Ibn Tumlū s’s pithy reflection on the transformation of orthodoxy and
˙
heresy in medieval Islam holds as true for religious developments in al-
Andalus as it does for the history of discourses of orthodoxy and heresy
concerning Abū Hanı̄ fa: orthodoxy was real and not a fiction of an
˙
imagined community, but it was nevertheless a complex process of con-
sensus making.
In a study that began with Abū Hanı̄ fa’s detractors, it seems fitting that
˙
the last word be given to a card-carrying tenth-century Hanafı̄ . Al-
Muqaddası̄ (d. 380/991) was an astute observer of the entire ˙ Islamic
world. He made it his life’s mission to catalogue the diversity in the social
world he was familiar with. He interrupts his description of Iraq with
a digression, seeking to justify his affiliation with the Hanafı̄ madhhab. Al-
˙
Muqaddası̄ was aware that in his day and age discourses of heresy were
still floating around, so he decided to pre-empt Abū Hanı̄ fa’s critics. He
˙
writes:24
If someone were to object and say: ‘Abū Hanı̄ fa has been vilified (matʿū n ʿalayhi),’
it should be said to him: ‘Know that all men ˙ may be placed in three classes:
˙ a class
of people for which there is complete consensus as to their uprightness; a class of
people for which there is an overwhelming consensus as to their [religious]
corruption; and a class of people who have been praised by some and reproached
by others. The last class is the best of the three. . . . Even though there is a group of
ignorant people who rebuke him, there are many people of virtue who support and
praise him. Moreover, look at the spiritual opening that God granted his heart (mā
fataha Allā h ʿalā qalbihi), such that he was able to interpret the Sharı̄ ʿa so that the
rest˙of mankind did not have to concern themselves with this. . . . The like of Abū
Hanı̄ fa will not be seen.’
˙
Al-Muqaddası̄ was deeply aware of discourses of heresy against his imam,
but he also recognised that a new consensus concerning heresy and
orthodoxy had emerged by his time. Speaking about the religious milieu
of Jurjā n, al-Muqaddası̄ writes:25
If someone were to say: ‘Did you not say that no heretics resided in Biyā r, but now
you speak of the presence there of the Karrā miyya?’ I would say the following to
them: ‘The Karrā miyya are a people of asceticism and devotion, and they rely on
Abū Hanı̄ fa as their authority. Now, anyone who appeals to the authority of Abū
Hanı̄ fa,˙ Mā lik b. Anas, al-Shā fiʿı̄ , or proto-Sunni traditionalists (a’immat al-
h˙adı̄ th) who does not go to extremes, does not display excessive love for
˙Muʿā wiya, does not liken God or ascribe to Him attributes of created beings,

24
Al-Muqaddası̄ , Ahsan al-taqā sı̄ m, 127–8.
25 ˙ san al-taqā sı̄ m, 365–6.
Al-Muqaddası̄ , Ah
˙
364 Conclusion

then such a person is not a heretic. I am determined not to let my tongue speak
against the umma of Muhammad, God bless him and grant him peace, and nor
˙ as to their deviance as long as I can find a reason to
shall I testify against them
avoid this. . . . So may God grant mercy to any worshipper who reflects upon this
anecdote and adheres to one of the four madhā hib, for they comprise the vast
majority of people; [and may God grant mercy to the person who] restrains his
tongue from tearing apart the Muslims and going to extremes in the religion.’
It seems to me that both Ibn Tumlū s and al-Muqaddası̄ understood
˙
heresy and orthodoxy as processes, appreciated the authority of major-
itarian forms of orthodoxy, and recognised its constant regulation and
supervision by a textualist community. Perhaps medieval scholars were
no less cognisant than modern academics of the changes that marked
their societies. They simply saw no need to dwell on them for almost four
hundred pages.
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 Index

ʿAbbā sid caliphate. See also individual ʿAbd Allā h b. Muhammad b. Yaʿqū b al-
caliphs Hā rithı̄ , 285 ˙
caliphs, 209, 255–6, 296, 297, 333 ʿAbd Alla ˙ ̄ h b. Muhammad al-Khalanjı̄ , 235
Hanafism, spread of, 204–5 ʿAbd Allā h b. Qafal, ˙ 157
˙ Saʿd serving, 32
Ibn ʿAbd Allā h al-Sā diq, 189
rebellions, 149, 189, 197, 202, 297, 333 ʿAbd Allā h b. T ˙ ā hir, 49, 202–4
ʿAbd Allā h (son of Ibn Abı̄ Shayba), 91 ˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Thaʿlaba b. Saʿı̄ r al-Zuhr
ʿAbd Allā h b. Abı̄ Jaʿfar, 340 ı̄ , 271 ˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal ʿAbd al-Karı̄ m b. al-Haytham al-
on Abū Yū suf,˙ 80 ˙ Dı̄ rʿā qū lı̄ , 304
on affliction by Abū Hanı̄ fa, 87 ʿAbd al-Malik b. Marwā n, 150
on Ahmad b. Hanbal,˙ 94, 96, 98 ʿAbd al-Qā hir al-Baghdā dı̄ , 331
˙
biographical ˙
details of, 89–91 ʿAbd Rabbih b. Rā shid, 128
ethno-racial reasoning by, 163, 164 ʿAbd al-Rahmā n, 107
implicating students of Abū Hanı̄ fa, 80 ʿAbd al-Rah˙ mā n b. ʿAbd al-Qā rı̄ , 271
on Jahmiyya, 247 ˙ ʿAbd al-Rah˙ mā n b. Mahdı̄ , 50–2
Kitā b al-ʿIlal wa maʿrifat al-rijā l, 164 ʿAbd al-Rashı̄ ˙ d al-Nuʿmā nı̄ , 318
Kitā b al-Sunna, 87, 92, 94–8, 97, ʿAbd al-Razzā q al-Sanʿā nı̄ , 143
215–16, 247 ʿAbd al-Salā m b. H˙arb al- Malā ’ı̄ , 274
legal arguments against Abū Hanı̄ fa ʿAbda b. Sulaymā n˙ al-Marwazı̄ , 79
analogical reasoning, 227 ˙ Abū al-ʿAbbā s Ahmad b. Muhammad
hadı̄ th, 232 ˙
Mahmū d al-Ghaznawı̄ ˙, 286
h˙ iyal (legal tricks), 225 Abū al-ʿAbba ˙ ̄ s al-Saffā h, 128
˙speculative jurisprudence, 96, 99, 213, Abū al-ʿAbbā s b. ʿUqda, ˙ 233, 301, 303
215–16, 218 Abū ʿAbd Allā h al-Bū shanjı̄ , 305
on Murji’a, 95, 97 Abū ʿAbd Allā h Muhammad b. Khusraw al-
on Quran, createdness of, 95, 97, Balkhı̄ , 286 ˙
103, 257 Abū ʿAbd Allā h al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , 289
on rebellion, 97 Abū ʿAbd al-Husayn b. al-Walı̄ d, 233
on repenting from heresy, 97 Abū Ahmad al-H ˙ ā kim, 169, 229
on social exclusion, 254 ˙
Abū al-Akhnas ˙
al-Kina ̄ nı̄ , 246
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n and, 90 Abū ʿAlı̄ ʿAbd al-Rahmā n b. Muhammad
ʿAbd ˙Allā h b. al-Hasan, 185 ˙
al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , 233 ˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Basr ˙ al-Mā zinı̄ , 271 Abū ʿAlı̄ b. Shā dhā n, 304
ʿAbd Allā h b. Dā wū d al-Khuraybı̄ , 278 Abū al-ʿArab, 259
ʿAbd Allā h b. al-Hā rith b. Juz’ al-Zab Abū ʿAwā na, 294
ı̄ dı̄ , 270 ˙ Abū ʿAwā na al-Isfarā ’ı̄ nı̄ , 98
ʿAbd Allā h b. Mahmū d al-Pazdawı̄ , 305 Abū Ayyū b, 295
ʿAbd Allā h b. Marwa ˙ ̄ n b. Muʿā wiya al-Faz Abū al-Bafā b. Abı̄ al-Dibā ’ al-Qurashı̄ al-
ā rı̄ , 188 Makkı̄ , 286 ˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Masʿū d, 131, 272 Abū Bakr (caliph), 185
ʿAbd Allā h b. Muʿā wiya, 150 Abū Bakr al-Hudhalı̄ , 128
˙

413
414 Index

Abū Bakr b. ʿIyyā sh, 220 Abū Tā lib Yahyā b. al-Husayn al-Hā rū nı̄ ,
Abū Bakr al-Marrū dhı̄ , 50–2, 98, 201 ˙ 187, 192 ˙ ˙
Abū Bakr Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Malik Abū Tamı̄ la Yahyā b. Wā dih al-Ansā rı̄ , 51
b. ʿAlı̄ , ˙303 Abū Thawr, 46 ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
Abū Bakr Muhammad b. Muhammad ̄
Abū Tufayl ʿAmir b. Wā thila, 271
b. Sulayma ˙ ̄ n al-Bā ghandı̄ ˙ , 305 ˙
Abū ʿUbayd al-Qā sim b. Sallā m, 94, 254
Abū Dā wū d al-Sijistā nı̄ , 86, 305 Abū ʿUdhba, 148
Abū Dā wū d al-Tayā lisı̄ , 314 Abū Umā ma al-Bā hilı̄ , 270
Abū al-Faraj al-Is ˙ fahā nı̄ , 127–8, 168, Abū Umā ma b. Sahl b. Hanı̄ f, 271
186, 191 ˙ Abū Yahyā al-Bazzā r, 288–90 ˙
Abū Hafs al-Kabı̄ r, 180, 340 Abū Yaʿla ˙ ̄ al-Mawsilı̄ , 333
Abū H˙ amza ˙ al-Sukkarı̄ , 216, 219 Abū Yū suf ˙
Abū H˙ anı̄ fa. See also Hanafism; madhhabs ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 80
˙ (schools of law); ˙ proto-Hanafism al-Bukhā rı̄ on, 64, ˙ 198 ˙
absence of texts from, 349 ˙ on dream about Abū Hanı̄ fa’s
death of, 64, 68, 77, 192, 242–3, funeral, 243 ˙
269–72, 334 elites, proximity to, 65, 196–8
as exemplar of Sunni orthodoxy. see al-Fasawı̄ on, 79–81
Sunni orthodoxy al-Fazā rı̄ and, 65, 196–8
as founder of madhhab, 3 hadı̄ th proficiency, 230, 231
heresy, discourses of heresy on. See heresy, ˙
al-H ā rithı̄ al-Subadhmū nı̄ on, 301
discourses of ˙ ̄ rū n al-Rashı̄ d’s court, 65, 196–8
at Ha
satire, use of, 221 Ibn Saʿd on, 33–4
scholarship on, 17 Ibn Shabbuwayh on, 88
shrine of, 310 implicating Abū Hanı̄ fa, 79–81
Abū al-Hasan ʿAlı̄ , 49 on istihsā n, 29 ˙
Abū al-H ˙ asan ʿAlı̄ b. al-ʿAbbā s b. al-Walı̄ d ˙
on Jahmiyya, 247, 248
˙
al-Maqa ̄ niʿı̄ , 188 on jurisprudence, 215, 217
Abū al-Hasan al-Zā hir, 266 Kitā b al-Kharā j, 29
˙
Abū Hā shim ˙
al-Rumma ̄ nı̄ , 186 Murji’a and, 73, 80
Abū al-Husayn, 319 on Quran, createdness of, 344
˙
Abū al-Husayn Ahmad b. Muhammad al-Rā wandı̄ on, 345
b.˙ ʿAbd Alla ˙ ̄ h, 289 ˙ religious authority of, 345
Abū al-Husayn al-Qudū rı̄ , 259, 286, 330 on ritual prayer, 178, 181
Abū Isha˙̄ q al-Fazā rı̄ , 190–3, 194–8 al-Shaybā nı̄ and, 297–8, 308
Abū Ish˙ ā q al-Shı̄ rā zı̄ al-Shā fiʿı̄ , 286 al-Tahā wı̄ on, 239
˙ Ahmad b. ʿAbd Allā h al-Qasam
Abū Jaʿfar ˙ ˙ (Hammā d b. Dalı̄ l), 256
Abū Zayd
al-Sarma ˙ ̄ w[r]ı̄ al-Shı̄ rā zı̄ , 286 Abū Zayd al-Dabu ˙ ̄ sı̄ , 302
Abū Jaʿfar Muhammad b. ʿUthmā n b. Abı̄ Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄
Shayba,˙34 Ahmad b. Hanbal and, 84, 103, 105
Abū Khaythama, 32 ˙
al-Bardhaʿı̄ ˙and, 100
Abū Khā zim, 294, 295, 296, 298 al-Fasawı̄ and, 82–4
Abū Layth al-Samarqandı̄ , 302 al-Fawā ’id al-muʿallala, 84
Abū Maʿadd ʿAdnā n, 291 al-Humaydı̄ and, 85
Abū al-Mansū r al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ , 179 ˙
on Murji’a, 85
Abū al-Mufad ˙ dal al-Shaybā nı̄ , 317 on orthodoxy, 85
Abū Muhammad ˙ ˙ ʿAbd al-Wahhā b on Quran, createdness of, 89
b.˙Muhammad b. Nasr, 330 on repenting from heresy, 89
Abū Muhammad ˙ ʿUthmā n b. ˙ ʿAffā n al-Sijz on social exclusion, 254
ı̄ , ˙122 on speculative jurisprudence, 77,
Abū Nasr Ahmad al-Kalā bā dhı̄ , 43 219, 222
Abū Nuʿaym,˙ ˙ 46, 105 Tā rı̄ kh, 83, 84–5, 88–9, 270
Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ , 212, 320–1 on Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ, 270
˙
Abū al-Qā sim Samarqandı̄ , 339–44 Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ , 46, 52, 100–5, 332
Abū Qutun ʿAmr b. al-Haytham, 275 Adam, 143, 226
˙
 Index 415

Ā dam b. Abı̄ Iyā , 171 Akhbā r Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (al-Saymarı̄ ), 304

administration, state, 168, 177, 208–9, Akhbā r al-shuyū ˙ kh wa akhlā˙ quhum (al-Marr
291, 296 ū dhı̄ ), 98
adultery, 226 ʿAlı̄ b. Abı̄ Tā lib (caliph), 131, 147, 149,
ahl al-hadı̄ th. See proto-Sunni 161, ˙163
˙ traditionalism ʿAlı̄ b. ʿĪ sā , 289
ahl al-ra’y. See proto-Hanafism ʿAlı̄ b. al-Madı̄ nı̄ , 187, 243
˙
ahl al-sunna. See proto-Sunni traditionalism ʿAlı̄ b. Muhammad b. Mū sā , 233
Ahmad b. Abı̄ ʿImrā n, 292, 294, 296 ʿAlı̄ b. Mū sa ˙ ̄ al-Qummı̄ , 307
Ah˙ mad b. Dawraqı̄ , 32 ʿAlı̄ b. Sahl b. al-Mughı̄ ra al-Bazzā z, 319
Ah˙ mad b. Hanbal. See also Hanbalism ʿAlid families, 185, 333
˙ʿAbd Alla˙̄ h b. Ahmad b. H˙ anbal on, 94, almsgiving (zakā t), 59
96, 98 ˙ ˙ al-Aʿmash, 142
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ and, 84, 103, 105 Ames, Christine Caldwell, 356, 357
analogical reasoning, use of, 227 ʿAmr b. ʿAbd al-Ghaffā r b. ʿUmar, 187
al-Bukhā rı̄ and, 58, 68 ʿAmr b. Dı̄ nā r, 349
Companions, has not met, 320 ʿAmr b. Hā rith, 269
elites, proximity to, 69 ʿAmr b. Muha ˙ ̄ jir, 271
as founder of madhhab, 3 ʿAmr b. ʿUbayd, 73, 252, 257
hadı̄ th proficiency, 231 amsā r, 159
˙
al-H umaydı̄ and, 48, 112 ˙
analogical reasoning (qiyā s)
Husn ˙ (wife of), 90 ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 227
˙ Shabbuwayh and, 86
Ibn Ahmad b. Hanbal, ˙ used by,
˙ 227
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh and, 49, 53, 203 Ibn˙ al-Muqaffaʿ ˙ on, 210
˙ b al-ʿIlal, 256–7
Kitā Ishā q b. Rā hawayh on, 55
al-Rā wandı̄ on, 346 ˙ sā n and, 29, 30
istih
Rayhā na (wife of), 90 ˙
proto-H anafism and, 226–7
˙
on rebellion against the state, 95 ˙
as religious deviance, 226–7
on repenting from heresy, 256–7 al-Shā fiʿı̄ on, 31
Sā lih (son of), 90 Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h on, 77–8
˙ ˙ exclusion by, 105
social Anas b. Mā lik, 271
sons serving as qadis, 90 anathematisers, 12
on speculative jurisprudence, 218, 278 Anbā r, 161
on state employment, 70 al-ʿAnbarı̄ , ʿUbayd Allā h b. al-Hasan,
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n and, 75 207–9 ˙
Ahmad ˙ b. Ibrā hı̄ m, 101 ancestry, 88, 268, 272–3, 281
˙
Ahmad b. Ibrā hı̄ m al-Dawraqı̄ , 94 al-Andalus, 362
Ah˙ mad b. Jaʿfar b. Nasr al-Muzakkı̄ , 305 anecdotes, 110
Ah˙ mad b. Khalı̄ l, 79 ˙ angels, 141–2
Ah˙ mad b. Muhammad b. Nasr, 288 Ansā b al-ashrā f (al-Balā dhurı̄ ), 186
Ah˙ mad b. Muh˙ ammad b. Sahl ˙ Abū al- antediluvian narratives, 131, 141–5
˙ ˙
Hasan b. Sahluwayh, 289 anthropomorphic theology, 343
Ahmad ˙b. Nasr al-Khuzā ʿı̄ , 95 anti-Christs, 64, 68, 175, 250, 251
Ahmad b. al-S˙ alt, 290, 305
˙ anti-heresy treatises, 244
Ah˙ mad b. Shuʿayb ˙ al-Nasā ’ı̄ , 265 Antrim, Zayde, 120
Ah˙ mad b. Sulaymā n b. Saʿı̄ d, 286 Arabic language
Ah˙ mad b. Tū lū n, 291–2 Abū Hanı̄ fa’s proficiency in, 182
Ah˙ mad b. Yah ˙ yā , 188 Quran˙ and, 154, 176–82
˙
Ahmed, ˙ 350, 357
Shahab, state administration, used for, 168
al-Ahnaf b. Qays, 125–8 Arabs, 155–6, 164, 167–9, 273
˙ bt. al-Fadl, 90
ʿĀ ‘isha Asad b. ʿAmr, 299
ʿajam, 160, 167–9, ˙ 172 Asad b. ʿAmr al-Bajalı̄ , 231, 300
al-Ajlah, 190 Asad b. al-Furā t, 300
Akhbā r˙ Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (Abū al-Mufaddal al- Asad b. Mū sā al-Umawı̄ , 314
˙ ̄ nı̄ (attr.)), 318
Shayba ˙˙ al-Aʿshā Hamdā n, 125–8
416 Index

ashā b al-hadı̄ th (traditionalists), 14, 72 belief, realm of (doxa), 12, 117, 351, 356
˙ ˙hā b al-kalā
as ˙ m, 73 Bellamy, James, 186
˙˙
al-Ashʿarı̄ , 8, 240, 339 biographical dictionaries. See also manā qib
al-Asmaʿı̄ , 196 (biographies); masā nı̄ d (collections
Assmann,˙ Jan, 5, 21. See also mnemohistory of hadı̄ th); tabaqā t works (biograph-
Aswad b. Sā lim, 254 ical˙ dictionaries)
˙
ʿAtā ’ b. Muslim, 186 on genealogy, 157–9, 160
˙ r (reports). See Prophetic hadı̄ th
ā thā Hanafı̄ , 175, 205
Auerbach, Erich, 130 ˙ ˙ Ishā q b. Rā hawayh, 54
on
authority tabaqā˙ t works, 279–84, 281, 282, 293
of Prophetic hadı̄ th, 28, 30, 36, 74, ˙Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 24–5, 157–8, 165–6,
˙ 233, 242, 314
172–4, 228, 182, 219, 338
of qadis, 208, 296, 353 on Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h, 78
of rulers, 202, 208–9, 210, 255–6, 311 biographies. See manā qib (biographies)
authority, religious Bishr b. Abı̄ al-Azhar al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , 243
of ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, 96 Bishr al-Hā fı̄ , 86
of Abū Yū suf, 345 ˙ ˙ ˙
Bishr al-Marı̄ sı̄ , 235
curses and, 145 Bishr b. al-Walı̄ d al-Kindı̄ , 231
al-Fazā rı̄ on, 195 black clothing, 197
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim on, 106–7 Bollandists, 310
of Mā lik ˙b. Anas, 107–8, 345 book production, 109
perceived absence of, in Islam, 7, 19, 357, Boyarin, Daniel, 12
358, 360 Brown, Jonathan, 8, 17
of al-Shaybā nı̄ , 345 Brown, Peter, 8, 112, 145, 256
of Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , 106, 345 Bukhā rā , 68, 88, 169, 179, 300–3
al-Awzā ʿı̄ , 74, 84, 88, 194, 226, 334 al-Bukhā rı̄ , 43–6, 56, 58–61
Ayyū b al-Sakhtiyā nı̄ , 78, 253, 254 Abū Yū suf and, 64, 198
Ahmad b. Hanbal and, 58, 68
bā b al-firya (slander), 163 in˙Baghdad,˙ 62, 68
Babel, 131–3 biographical details of, 121–2
Babylon (Bā bil), 141–2, 161 on ethnogenesis, 167
baʿd al-nā s (‘some people’), 45, 46, 58–9 al-Humaydı̄ and, 39–41, 47, 81, 219
˙
al-Baghawı̄ , Abū al-Qā sim, 332, 333 Ibn˙ al-Mubā rak and, 80
Baghdad Ibn Qutayba and, 71
al-Bukhā rı̄ in, 62, 68 on Ibn Shabbuwayh, 85
al-Fasawı̄ on, 123 Ishā q b. Rā hawayh and, 48, 112
Ibn Abı̄ Shayba in, 34 on˙ Jahmiyya, 245–6
madhhabs in, 330–1 Khalq afʿā l al-ʿibā d wa al-radd ʿalā al-
manā qib works from, 296, 303 jahmiyya wa ashā b al-taʿtı̄ l, 245
Bahā ’ al-Dawla, 330 in Khurā sā n, 62, 68, ˙ ˙ 171, 174 ˙
al-Bajalı̄ , al-Husayn b. al-Fadl, 204, 232 Kitā b al-Duʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r, 67
˙
Bakkā r b. Qutayba, 291, 293,˙ 294, 296 Kitā b al-Tā˙ rı̄ kh, 204 ˙
al-Balā dhurı̄ , 186 on Kufa, 134–6
Balkh, 190, 252 Mā lik b. Anas and, 58, 88
Banı̄ Taym Allā h b. Thaʿlaba, 158 on Murji’a, 63
Banū Qafal, 157–8 on orthodoxy, 172
Banū Rabı̄ ʿa Taym Allā h Najd, 157 proto-Hanafı̄ s and, 62
Baqı̄ b. Makhlad, 362 ˙
Rafʿ al-yadayn fı̄ al-salā t, 173, 175
al-Barbahā rı̄ , 252 on rebellion, 194, 199 ˙
al-Bardhaʿı̄ , 100, 102–5 on repenting from heresy, 81
Basra, 125–9, 143, 185, 280, 296, 314 on ritual prayer, 171–4
Bauer, Walter, 9–10 Sahı̄ h, 43–5, 49, 85, 204
al-Bayhaqı̄ , 212 ˙ ˙ ˙ ̄ j and, 58
al-Sarra
Baysā n, 143 on scholars, 67
belief, nature of (ı̄ mā n), 237 al-Shā fiʿı̄ and, 47
 Index 417

al-Shaybā nı̄ and, 225 lack of scholarship on, 139

‘some people’ (baʿd al-nā s), 45, 46, 58–9 as social actor, 138, 139–45, 148, 149
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ and, ˙ 66 al-Dhahabı̄ , 44, 56, 85, 169, 199, 267, 301
al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat, 64–7, 195, 245 Dharr b. ʿAbd Allā h, 85
al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r˙, 50, 63–4 Dı̄ bā ja (Muhammad b. Jaʿfar
on Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h, 62, 173 b. Muh ˙ ammad b. ʿAlı̄ ), 189
Busā q, 138, 139 Dickinson, Eerik, ˙ 8, 17, 100, 290
Bū yid dynasty, 329 Dı̄ nawā r, 70
al-Dı̄ nawā rı̄ , 168
Calder, Norman, 7, 72 Dirā r b. ʿAmr, 92, 165, 237
caliphs, 209, 255–6, 296, 297, 333. See also ˙
discourse, definition of, 11, 20. See also
ʿAbbā sid caliphate; individual caliphs heresy, discourses of
Carlyle, Thomas, 16 disease used as metaphor for heresy,
cattle, 135, 136 248–51, 253, 254
charity, 36, 197 disenchantment, 117
chosen people, 154–6 distribution of good and evil, 130–1, 138
Christianity, 123, 154, 158, 214, 359, 360 divine election, 154–6
cities, unholy. See regionalism divine providence, 130
civil war (First Fitna), 148 dı̄ wā n (chancery), 177
coins, 177 doxography, 338
collective memory. See mnemohistory al-Dū lā bı̄ , 265, 267
Companions, 36, 230, 242, 268, 269–72, al-Dū rı̄ , 75
281, 320. See also Prophetic hadı̄ th Durkheim, É., 356
comparative research, 6 ˙
consensus (ijmā ʿ) Egypt, 291–300, 314, 333
proto-Sunni traditionalist response to, El Shamsy, Ahmed, 27, 31
334–7, 355–6 elegies (marthiya), 50
Quran 2.143, 322 El-Hibri, Tayeb, 148
Sunni orthodoxy, 329, 332, 338, 348 Eliade, Mircea, 124
conversion, 51, 174–7, 264, 292, 299 elites, political, 34, 65, 69, 196, 202, 204
converts, 159–60, 168, 169, 273 elites, religious, 111
Cook, M., 71 epidemics, 64, 250, 251
credal treatises, 237, 238–40, 253, 340–1 epithets, 85
Crone, Patricia, 171 eponyms. See also Abū Hanı̄ fa; Ahmad
curses, 145–51 ˙
b. Hanbal; madhhabs ˙ of
(schools
˙ Mā lik b. Anas; al-Shā fiʿı̄
law);
al-Dahhā k b. Qays, 150 Abū Nuʿaym al-Isfahā nı̄ on, 320
˙ ˙˙
Damascus, 129, 306 Companions and,˙ 271
al-Dā raqutnı̄ , 86, 212, 230, 304 in general, 3, 4, 16, 25
˙
al-Dā rimı̄ , 212, 220, 221, 222, 224, madhhabs and, 16, 347
245, 314 manā qib works and, 310, 312
Dā wū d al-Zā hirı̄ , 283 al-Rā wandı̄ on, 347
death ˙ erasure (al-hakk), 337
of Abū Hanı̄ fa, 64, 68, 77, 192, 242–3, ethnicity. See˙ also genealogy
˙
269–72, 334 Arab identity and, 154–7, 167–9, 273
of scholars, 242 ethnogenesis, 153–4, 156, 162, 167,
of Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , 307 351
deeds, 344 ethno-racial reasoning
defecation, 138, 141 ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal,
destinarianism, 95 163, 164 ˙ ˙
devil. See also Iblı̄ s; Satan ʿajam, 160, 167–9, 172
defecation, 138, 141 in general, 153–4, 162
al-Fasawı̄ on, 134, 138, 143–4, 148–51 influence on society, 156
horns of, 144, 146–7 Iraq, against people from, 162
in Kufa, 138–45, 148, 149, 250, 351 by al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , 157–8
˙
418 Index

ethnicity (cont.) in general, 120

muwalladū n (acculturated Arabs), Iraq, 76, 138, 142–4, 145–7,
164–6, 212 148–9, 249
nabatı̄ , 162–4 Kufa, 118–19, 123, 124, 125–9,
˙
scholars, used to discredit, 164, 169 131–3, 134, 138, 143, 145, 147,
in general, 153–4, 156 249, 351
Islam and, 154 scholarship and, 122–4
military life, influence on, 156 Shā m, 129, 138, 139, 148
Persians, 155, 167–9, 177 on repenting from heresy, 68
Shuʿū bism, 167–9 on social exclusion, 253
ethnography, 162 on speculative jurisprudence, 78, 212,
ethnos (Arabness), 154–6 214, 219, 221
Eusebius of Caesarea, 124 travels, 121–3
Eve, 143 Fasl ʿalā taqdı̄ m Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (Mahmū d
executions, 185, 189 ˙ b. Mansū r b. ˙Abı̄ al-Fadl),
˙ 306–8
Fasl fı̄ manā qib˙ Abı̄ Ha (Ahmad˙ b. al-
Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al- ˙ Salt), 290 ˙ ˙
˙ Saʿdı̄˙) ˙
fā tiha, 181
on ancestry, 272–3 ˙
al-Fawā ’id al-muʿallala (Abū Zurʿa al-
authorship of, 265–9, 281–2 Dimashqı̄ ), 84
on judgeships, 297–9 Fierro, Maribel, 8, 356
proto-Hanafism, spread of, 175 al-Firabrı̄ , 62
˙
on rebellion, 276 firaq genre. See heresiography
on repenting from heresy, 257–9, 273–6 First Fitna, 148
responding to heresy, 257–9, 272, 273, foreignness, 162
276–9 Foucault, Michel, 11, 20
on Successors, 268–72 freedmen, 159
tabaqā t in, 279–82, 281, 282 Friday prayer, 200
˙al-Tahā wı̄ and, 293, 300 Fudayl b. Zubayr al-Rassā n, 187
Fadā ’il ˙ Abı̄
˙ Hanı̄ fa (al-Shuʿaybı̄ ), 306 ˙
funeral of Abū Hanı̄ fa, 243
Fad ˙ ā ’il al-Imā
˙ m (Ibn Kā s), 290 ˙
Furkani, Mehterhan, 302
˙ l b. Mū sā al-Sı̄ nā nı̄ , 49, 52
al-Fad
faith, ˙nature of, 95, 344 Gedächtnisgeschichte. See mnemohistory
Fā rs, 121 genealogies, 155, 161
Fasā , 121 genealogy. See also ethnicity
al-Fasawı̄ biographical dictionaries, 157–9, 160
on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s death, 77, 242 falsifying, 160–2
on Abū Yu ˙ ̄ suf, 79–81 Ibn Hibbā n on, 157
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ and, 82–4 ˙
importance of, in medieval society, 157
on Baghdad, 123 al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ on, 157–9, 160
biographical details of, 169–71 ˙
scholars, used to discredit, 157
al-Humaydı̄ and, 58, 67, 68 servile origins, 157–9, 160–2
Ibn˙ al-Mubā rak and, 62, 66, 172 Shuʿū bism and, 168
Kitā b al-Sunna, 41 genres
Mashyakha, 41, 123 hagiography, 311
on Murji’a, 79 heresiography. See heresiography
on other religions, 214 impacting development of religious
on rebellion, 65 movements, 283
regionalism jurisprudential, 28–32, 35
Basra, 125–7, 128 Gernet, Louis, 112
curses, 145–8 al-Ghassā nı̄ , Abū Mushir, 84
devil, 134, 138, 143–4, 148–51 Ghaylā n al-Dimashqı̄ , 72
disease used as metaphor for her- al-Ghazā lı̄ , 344, 362
esy, 249 Ghiyā th al-Dı̄ n Kaykhusraq, 345
distribution of good and evil, 130, 138 al-Ghulā m al-Thaqafı̄ , 148
 Index 419

Ghunjā r, 169, 170–1 in Nı̄ shā pū r, 288–9

gifts, 59 al-Qā dir and, 331–2
Ginzburg, Carlo, 22, 23 qadis, 202, 205, 251, 291, 296, 298
Goldziher, Ignaz, 17 al-Rā wandı̄ on, 345–8
governors, 209 al-Samarqandı̄ on, 340–1, 344
greater pilgrimage (hajj), 67, 193, 201, al-Tahā wı̄ and, 292, 295, 299
224, 298 ˙ ˙ ˙ communities and, 300
textual
Gunther, Sebastian, 186 traditionalisation, 292, 339
in Transoxiana, 340–1, 344
hadı̄ th Hanbal b. Ishā q, 69
˙ ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 232 ˙
Hanbalism, 330, ˙ 331
˙
Abū Yū suf’s proficiency ˙ 230, 231
in, ˙ ā rithı̄ al-Subadhmū nı̄ , 300, 319, 321
al-H
Ahmad b. Hanbal, 231 al-H˙ ā rith b. Surayj, 160, 190, 247–8, 297
˙
authority ˙ 228, 314
of, ˙ ̄ n al-Rashı̄ d (caliph), 65, 196–8, 298
Hā ru
Hanafı̄ sm and, 317 Hā rū t (angel), 141–2
˙
heresy, discourses of, 33, 36, 172, al-Hasan b. ʿAlı̄ b. al-Jaʿd, 312
228–34, 314, 322, 334 al-H˙ asan b. Hammā d Sajjā da, 275
al-Humaydı̄ , 41, 44, 58 al-H˙ asan b. S˙ā lih, 199, 201
Ibn˙ Abı̄ Shayba, 34 ˙ b. Zayd,
Hasan ˙ 333˙
Ibn Hibbā n on, 336 ˙ asan family land endowments, 185
al-H
˙
of intention, 58, 59 ˙
Hegesippus, 10
masā nı̄ d. See masā nı̄ d (collections of Henderson, John B., 356
hadı̄ th) Herā t, 289
˙
Prophetic hadı̄ th. See Prophetic hadı̄ th heresiography
proto-Hanafism,˙ 216–18 ˙ Abū Hanı̄ fa as exemplar of Sunni ortho-
˙
proto-Sunni traditionalism, 228–34, 314 ˙
doxy in, 338
proto-Sunnism, 234 discourses of heresy and, 241
al-Shaybā nı̄ ’s proficiency in, 230 historiography and, 8, 13–14, 113, 117,
speculative jurisprudence and, 214–22 240, 356, 358, 359
study of, 121–3, 332 heresiologists, 10, 12
al-Hā fiz al-Tujı̄ bı̄ , 267 heresy. See also orthodoxy
Hafs ˙ b.˙Ghiyā th, 218 defining of, against orthodoxy, 52, 91,
˙ ˙
hagiography, 310–12 93
hajj (greater pilgrimage), 67, 193, 201, discourses of. See heresy, discourses of
˙ 224, 298 historiography and, 113–15, 361
al-Hajjā j (governor of Babel), 142, 149 regulation of, 3, 20, 52, 104–5, 244, 256
˙
Hajjā j b. Yū suf al-Thaqafı̄ , 150 repenting from. See repenting from heresy
˙ ā kim bi-Amr Allā h, 266
al-H scholarship on, modern, 7–17
al-H ˙ ā kim al-Nı̄ shā pū rı̄ , 56, 204, 234, 285, sociology of. See heresy, sociology of
˙ 288, 301, 305, 314 heresy, discourses of
al-hakk (erasure), 337 ancestry, 88, 268, 272
˙
Hallaq, Wael, 8 anti-Christ, 64, 68
Hammā d b. Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 288 Arabic language proficiency, 182
˙
Hammā d b. Abı̄ Sulayma˙ ̄ n, 73, 85, 254 conciliatory approach to, 320–1
H ˙ ammā d b. Salama, 234 confessional impurity, 158
H ˙ anafism. See also madhhabs (schools of danger to Islam, Abū Hanı̄ fa as, 65, 96
˙ law); proto-Hanafism death of Abū Hanı̄ fa, 64,˙ 68, 96, 195,
ʿAbbā sid caliphate ˙ and, 204–5 242–3, 334 ˙
in Egypt, 291–3, 295 disease used as metaphor for, 249–51,
hadı̄ th and, 317 253, 254
˙
Karra ̄ miyya and, 343 ethnicity. See ethnicity
in Khurā sā n, 340–2 genealogy, 157–9, 160–2
madhhabs and, 345–8 in general, 25–6, 350
as majoritarian orthodoxy, 338 hadı̄ th, 33, 36, 172, 228–34, 314,
masā nı̄ d, 315, 317 ˙ 322, 334
420 Index

heresy, discourses of (cont.) heresiography and, 8, 13–14, 113, 117,

harmful birth of Abū Hanı̄ fa, 89, 96, 240, 356, 358, 359
242–3, 334 ˙ of medieval local historians, 119
heresiography and, 241 model of fragmentation, 353
Jahmiyya, 245–8 orthodoxy/heresy and, 113–15, 361
Judaism and, 78, 166, 213, 359 primary sources. See primary sources
legal arguments. See analogical reasoning Zaydı̄ , 186
(qiyā s); jurisprudence; speculative hiyal (legal tricks), 44, 58, 59, 211, 223–6
jurisprudence (ra’y) ˙holy places, 123–4, 129
manā qib works, leading to lack of, 286 horns of the devil, 144, 146–7
masā nı̄ d, 314–17, 320–1, 322 al-Humaydı̄
Mihna, 235–7 ˙ ̄ Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ and, 85
Abu
Muh ˙ ammad, failure to praise, 242 Ahmad b. Hanbal and, 48, 112
˙
Murji’a. See Murji’a (movement) ˙
al-Bukha ˙
̄ rı̄ and, 43–6, 58, 67, 68
piety, 241–3 disciplinary dimension, 52
proximate ‘other‘, 61–3, 351, 360 al-Fasawı̄ and, 39, 47, 81, 219
Quran, createdness of. See Quran, cre- hadı̄ th, 41, 44, 58
atedness of ˙ Abı̄ Hā tim on, 46, 47
Ibn
rebellion. See rebellion, discourses of Ibn Hibba ˙ ̄ n on, 46
heresy Ishā q˙ b. Rā hawayh and, 52–4
refusing to swear oaths, 258–9 ˙
al-Khalı̄ lı̄ on, 195
repenting from heresy. See repenting from in Mecca, 39, 45, 81, 254
heresy Musnad, 40, 42–3, 44, 314
ritual prayer, 171–4, 178–81, 241 Refutation against al-Nuʿmā n, 46, 47
scholars and, 79 on rituals, 67
social exclusion. See social exclusion al-Shā fiʿı̄ and, 58
society, in all aspects of, 12, 113–15, 117, social exclusion by, 45, 254
118, 206, 353, 360 on speculative jurisprudence, 219
students implicating Abū Hanı̄ fa, 79–81 statement on Proto-sunni traditionalism,
Successors, not from generation˙ of, 88, 48, 112
268, 272 on ‘true believers’ and ignorance, 47–8,
theological arguments, 235–41 81, 255, 257
transregional phenomenon, 81, 83, al-Husayn b. Ibrā hı̄ m b. al-Hurr, 231
289, 335 al-H˙ usayn b. Idrı̄ s al-Ansā rı̄ ,˙ 305
‘true believers’ and ignorance, 47–8, 81, al-H˙ usayn b. Muhammad, ˙ 150
255, 257 al-H˙ usayn b. al-Qa ˙ ̄ sim al-Ibrā hı̄ m, 187
heresy, sociology of al-H˙ usayn family land endowments, 185
disease used as metaphor for heresy, Husn˙ (wife of Ahmad b. Hanbal), 90
248–51, 253, 254 ˙ ˙ ˙
in general, 243, 353 al-Ibā na (al-Ashʿarı̄ ), 240
network of heresiarchs, 244–8 al-Ibā na (al-Surmā rı̄ ), 302, 331
proto-Sunni traditionalist view of, Iblı̄ s, 139, 140, 143
244–8 Ibn ʿAbbā s, 222
social exclusion. See social exclusion Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, 54, 286, 312, 347
heretics, 127–8, 134, 138, 249, 252–5 Ibn ʿAbdā n, 233
Hijā z, 39, 47, 68. See also Mecca; Medina Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAnbas, 295
˙ ̄ l b. Ra’y, 294, 295, 298
Hila Ibn Abı̄ ʿĀ sim, 93, 245
Hilyat al-awliyā ’ (Abū Nuʿaym), 320 Ibn Abı̄ Awfa ˙ ̄ , 270
˙ ı̄ ra, 132
H Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m
˙
Hisha ̄ m (caliph), 185, 189 on ancestry, 269, 270–3
Hishā m al-Burayd, 186 authorship of Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 265,
Hishā m b. ʿUrwa, 39, 165 267–9, 281–2 ˙ ˙
historical documents. See primary sources as qadi, 265–6
historiography responding to heresy, 275, 279
devil, lack of study on, 139 on Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , 272, 275–6
 Index 421

tabaqā t section of, 280, 281–2 on Murji’a, 324, 337

˙ Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m al-Saʿdı̄ , 267
Ibn refuses to speak Abū Hanı̄ fa’s name, 45
authorship of Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, on repenting from heresy, ˙ 257
267, 268 ˙ ˙ on al-Shaybā nı̄ , 336–7
biographical details of, 265–6 on Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n, 337
Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa. See Fadā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa Ibn Hubayra, ˙ 76
˙ (Ibn Abı̄ ˙ al-ʿAwwā m ˙al-Saʿdı̄ )˙ Ibn al-Junayd, 75
responding to heresy, 275, 276–7, 278 Ibn Karrā m, 175, 176, 343
tabaqā t section of, 280 Ibn Kā s al-Nakhaʿı̄ , 290
˙al-Tahā wı̄ and, 265 Ibn Khallikā n, 49
˙ ˙Du’ā d, 235
Ibn Abı̄ Ibn Khuzayma, 294, 333, 335
Ibn Abı̄ Dunyā , 140 Ibn Mā ja, 212
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim Ibn Manda, 218, 301, 316, 321–2
˙
accommodating towards Abū Hanı̄ fa, Ibn Manzū r, 126, 162, 164
105–9 ˙ Ibn al-Muba ˙ ̄ rak
on authority, religious, 106–7 al-Bukhā rı̄ and, 62, 66, 172
on al-Humaydı̄ , 46, 47 denouncing Abū Hanı̄ fa, 51, 334
on Ibn˙ Saʿd, 32 al-Fasawı̄ and, 80 ˙
on Ibn Shabbuwayh, 86 Hā rū n al-Rashı̄ d on, 196
on Ishā q b. Rā hawayh, 50, 53, 101 Ishā q b. Rā hawayh and, 49, 51
on Ma ˙ ̄ lik b. Anas, 107–8 on˙ Kitā b al-Hiyal, 99, 224
on speculative jurisprudence, 222 praising Abu˙̄ Hanı̄ fa, 87–8
on Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , 106 on rebellion, 188 ˙
Taqdima, Kitā b al-Jarh wa al-taʿdı̄ l, on repenting from heresy, 274
100, 106 ˙ on Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , 66
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim al-Rā zı̄ , 32, 99, 100, 194 Ibn al-Muflih, 140
˙ ̄ da, 307
Ibn Abı̄ Jara Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, ˙ 209–11
Ibn Abı̄ Layla, 257, 278 Ibn al-Nadı̄ m, 50
Ibn Abı̄ Layth al-Asamm, 235 Ibn Nā sir al-Dı̄ n, 305
Ibn Abı̄ Shayba, 34–7, ˙ 85, 90, 94, 178, 212 ˙
Ibn al-Qaysara ̄ nı̄ , 43
Ibn Abı̄ Tā hir Tayfū r, 32 Ibn Qutayba, 39, 54–6, 69–75, 76, 168, 246
˙
Ibn Abı̄ Thawr, ˙ 300 Ibn Saʿd, 32–4, 37, 39, 228, 231, 232
Ibn Abı̄ al-Wafā ’, 285 Ibn Shabbuwayh, 85–9, 90, 94
Ibn ʿAdı̄ , 43, 314, 322–3, 332–6, 338, 355 Ibn Shā hı̄ n, 229, 319
Ibn ʿAsā kir, 271 Ibn Shaqı̄ q, 214
Ibn Ashʿath, 150, 160 Ibn al-Sharqı̄ , ʿAbd Allā h, 305
Ibn ʿAwn, 219, 252, 319 Ibn Shubruma, 278
Ibn ʿAyyā sh, 128 Ibn Tumlū s, 362–3, 364
Ibn Batta al-ʿUkbarı̄ , 212 ˙
Ibn ʿUmar, 128, 173
Ibn Bat˙˙tā l, 61 Ibn ʿUqda, 308, 318, 319
˙˙ l al-Qattā n, 304
Ibn al-Fad Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ , 315, 319
Ibn al-Faqı̄ ˙ h, 128˙˙ Ibn ʿUyayna, 164
Ibn Hajar, 62, 218 Ibn Waddā h, 163–4, 220, 249, 252, 260
Ibn H˙ ajar al-ʿAsqalā nı̄ , 44, 169, 267–8 Ibn Wahba ˙ ˙ ̄ n,
˙ 285
˙ attā b al-Rā zı̄ , 266
Ibn al-H Ibn Yū nus, 294
Ibn Hibba˙ ˙̄ n˙ Ibn Yū nus al-Sadafı̄ , 292
on˙genealogy, 157 Ibn Zū lā q, 293˙
on al-Humaydı̄ , 46 Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h, 150, 186, 197, 199,
on Karra˙ ̄ mı̄ s, 175 220, 297
al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ and, 323 Ibrā hı̄ m b. Abı̄ Bakr, 34
in Khura ˙ ̄ sā n, 335 Ibrā hı̄ m b. ʿAlı̄ al-Dhuhlı̄ , 305
Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n, 335–7 Ibrā hı̄ m b. Arū ma, 103, 104
masā nı̄ d, reaction ˙ to, 323–4 Ibrā hı̄ m b. Muhammad al-Fazā rı̄ , 65
on medieval Sunni orthodoxy, 335–7, Ibrā hı̄ m al-Nakhaʿı̄˙ , 72
338, 355 Ibrā hı̄ m b. Saʿd, 148
422 Index

Ibrā hı̄ m b. Sā lih, 203 al-Shā fiʿı̄ and, 52–4

Ibrā hı̄ m b. Yu ˙ ̄ suf
˙ al-Balkhı̄ , 252 on speculative jurisprudence, 51, 53,
al-Ifā da (Abū Tā lib al-Hā rū nı̄ ), 192 55, 87
Ifrı̄ qiya, 300 ˙ Tā hirid dynasty and, 203–4
ijmā ʿ. See consensus (ijmā ʿ) ˙
Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h and, 49
ijtihad (independent legal reasoning), 31 Ishā q b. Tulayq, 177
Ikhtilā f fı̄ al-lafz wa al-radd ʿalā al-Jahmiyya ˙
Islam. See ˙ also madhhabs (schools of law);
˙
wa al-mushabbiha (Ibn proto-Hanafism; proto-Sunni
Qutayba), 246 ˙
traditionalism; Quran; Shiʿism;
ı̄ mā n (belief, nature of), 237 Sunnism
ʿImrā n b. Dā war Abū al-ʿAwwā m al-Qa Abū Hanı̄ fa as danger to, 65, 96
ttā n, 199 Arabic˙ language, revealed in, 154
˙˙
inquisitions, 255–60. See also Mihna; ethnicity and, 154
repenting from heresy ˙ institutional structures, absence of, 7, 19,
institutionalised egotism, 8, 256 357, 358, 360
institutions as lived religion, 260, 358
Durkheim on, 357 rationality of, 144
in Islam, perceived absence of, 7, 19, 357, scholarship on, modern, 20
358, 360 shahā da (testification of Islam), 177
Saljū q dynasty, 353 Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Ahmad, 339
interdisciplinary research, 6 Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Ah˙ mad al-Sā mā nı̄ , 301
iqā ma (final call to prayer), 57 ˙
Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Hamma ̄ d b. Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 161, 236
Iraq. See also Baghdad; Kufa ˙ ̄ hı̄ m b. Mughı̄˙ ra, 169
Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Ibra
curse against, 145–7 Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Mū sā al-Habı̄ bı̄ , 266
devil in, 138, 142–4, 145–7, 148–9 Ismā ʿı̄ l b. ʿUrʿura, 245 ˙
ethno-racial reasoning against people Ismā ʿı̄ l b. Yahyā al-Muzanı̄ , 60, 200–1, 253,
from, 162 ˙
292, 294, 299
al-Fasawı̄ on, 76, 138, 142–4, 145–7, isnā ds (lists of transmitters), 186–9, 228,
148–9, 249 233, 281, 324
manā qib works from, 290, 303–5 istihsā n (juristic technique), 28–32
political upheaval in, 148–9, 150–1 Iya˙̄ s b. Muʿā wiya, 29
as unholy region, 76, 135–7, 138, 249, 351
Irenaeus, 10 Jā bir, 103
Irjā ’. See Murji’a (movement) Jaʿfar b. Ahmad b. ʿAlı̄ b. Bayā n b. Zayd
al-Irshā d fı̄ maʿrifat ʿulamā ’ al-hadı̄ th (al- ˙ ̄ ba, 332
b. Siya
Khalı̄ lı̄ ), 69, 195, 204, ˙252 Jaʿfar b. Aʿyan, 265, 267
ʿĪ sā b. Abā n, 45 Jaʿfar al-Sā diq, 189
ʿĪ sā b. Rū h, 300 ˙
al-Jā hiz, 109, 110, 156, 169, 277
Ishā q b. H˙anbal, 203 Jahm˙ b. ˙ Safwā n, 190, 245–8
Ish˙ ā q b. Ra˙ ̄ hawayh ˙
Jahmiyya. See also Murji’a (movement);
˙Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ and, 101–2 Quran, createdness of
Ahmad b. Hanbal and, 49, 53, 203 ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 95,
on˙ analogical ˙ reasoning, 55 97, 247 ˙ ˙
al-Bazzā r and, 288, 289 Abū Hanı̄ fa and, 80, 102, 237, 247
al-Bukhā rı̄ and, 48–56, 68, 204 Abū Yu ˙ ̄ suf on, 80
in general, 38 Murji’a and, 237, 343
al-Humaydı̄ and, 48, 112 other religions as preferable to, 214
Ibn˙ Abı̄ Hā tim and, 50, 53, 101 al-Samarqandı̄ on, 343
Ibn al-Muba ˙ ̄ rak and, 49, 51 al-Jahshiyā rı̄ , 177
Ibn Qutayba and, 54–6, 71–2, 74 al-Jamal, 192
on Khurā sā n, 52, 289 Jā rū dı̄ branch of Zaydism, 318
masā nı̄ d works by, 314 al-Jawraqā nı̄ , 232
name of, 49 Jerusalem, 124
on orthodoxy, 98 Jones, A.H.M., 14
as Persian scholar, 168 Judaism, 78, 166, 211–14, 359
 Index 423

judges. See qadis on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s weak grasp of

jurisprudence Arabic,˙ 182
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s lack of knowledge on, 220 on genealogy, 157–9, 160
˙
analogical reasoning. See analogical rea- on al-Hā rithı̄ al-Subadhmū nı̄ , 301
soning (qiyā s) Ibn Hibba ˙ ̄ n and, 323
dialectic, jurisprudential, 28–32, 35 manā˙qib, use of, 338, 339
in general, 208–11 on Mukram b. Ahmad, 304
hiyal (legal tricks), 44, 58, 59, 211, 223–6 ˙
on speculative jurisprudence, 212, 219
˙‘I do not know’, 221–2 Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d, 24–5, 157–8, 165–6,
Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ on, 210 182, 219, 338
istihsā n, 28–32 al-Khattā bı̄ , 59, 135
˙
judicial decision making (qadā ’), 210 Khawā rij,˙ ˙ 125, 259
jurists, 193, 209 ˙ Khurā sā n
from Kufa, 210 Abū Yahyā al-Bazzā r in, 288
lawmaking, 214–18 al-Bukha ˙̄ rı̄ on, 62, 68, 171, 174
legal disputations (al-khusū mā t), 220 discourses of heresy from, 289
proto-Hanafism, 216–18,˙ 223, 224–5, Hanafism in, 340–2
226–7˙ ˙ Hibbā n in, 335
Ibn
proto-Sunni traditionalism, 217, 221–2, Ishā q˙ b. Rā hawayh on, 52, 289
223–7 ˙ lı̄ soldiers from, 168
mawā
retracting earlier opinions, 74, 215–18 Murji’a in, 192
al-Shā fiʿı̄ on, 27–9, 30–2, 35, 37 proto-Hanafism in, 174–8, 216, 280
speculative. See speculative jurispru- rebellions ˙ in, 171, 190
dence (ra’y) al-Khuraybı̄ , ʿAbd Allā h b. Dā wū d, 298
of Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , 213, 215 al-khusū mā t (legal disputations), 220
juristic reasoning. See speculative jurispru- Kitā b ˙al-Adab (Ibn Abı̄ Shayba), 178
dence (ra’y) Kitā b al-Aghā nı̄ (Abū al-Faraj al-
Jurjā n, 185, 247, 332–3 Isfahā nı̄ ), 127
Justin, 10 Kitā b al-D ˙ uʿafā ’ (al-ʿUqaylı̄ ), 337
al-Jū zajā nı̄ , 224, 230 Kitā b al-D ˙ uʿafā ’ al-saghı̄ r (al-Bukhā rı̄ ), 67
Kitā b al-H ˙ ayawā n (al-Ja
˙ ̄ hiz), 110
Kaʿb al-Ahbā r, 137, 249 Kitā b al-H ˙ iyal (book on ˙legal ˙ tricks), 99,
Kaʿba, 47,˙ 81, 93, 257, 299, 347 ˙
224–5
kā fir (unbeliever), 224, 248 Kitā b Ibtā l al-istihsā n (al-Shā fiʿı̄ ), 28, 30
al-Kalā bā dhı̄ , 319 ˙
Kitā b al-ʿIlal (Ah˙ mad b. Hanbal (attr.)),
al-Kā mil fı̄ al-duʿafā ’ (Ibn ʿAdı̄ ), 333 256–7 ˙ ˙
al-Karā bisı̄ , 27 ˙ Kitā b al-ʿIlal wa maʿrifat al-rijā l (ʿAbd Allā h
al-Karkhı̄ , 286 b. Ahmad b. Hanbal), 164
Karrā miyya, 175, 343, 363 Kitā b al-ʿIlm˙ (al-Dā rimı̄ ˙ ), 222
Kashf al-ā thā r fı̄ manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (al- Kitā b al-Kharā j (Abū Yū suf (attr.)), 29
Hā rithı̄ al-Subadhmū nı̄˙ ), 300 Kitā b al-Khisā l (Ibn Kā s), 290
˙
Kā tib Çelebı̄ , 302 Kitā b al-Maʿā ˙ rif (Ibn Qutayba), 70, 72–3
˙
al-Kawtharı̄ , Muhammad Zā hid, 355–6 Kitā b al-Majrū hı̄ n (Ibn Hibbā n), 335–7
Khadı̄ ja, 289 ˙ Kitā b al-Maʿrifa ˙ wa al-tā˙rı̄ kh (al-Fasawı̄ ).
Khā lid b. ʿAmr, 190 See al-Fasawı̄
Khā lid al-Qasrı̄ , 82, 185 Kitā b al-Siyar (al-Fazā rı̄ ), 195
Khā lid b. Ziyā d, 190 Kitā b al-Sunna (ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad
al-Khalı̄ lı̄ , 69, 194, 204, 233, 252 b. Hanbal), 87, 92, 94–8,˙97,
al-Khallā l, 201 ˙
215–16, 247
Khalq afʿā l al-ʿibā d wa al-radd ʿalā al- Kitā b al-Sunna (al-Fasawı̄ ), 41
jahmiyya wa ashā b al-taʿtı̄ l ((al-Bukh Kitā b al-Sunna (Ibn Abı̄ ʿĀ sim), 93
ā rı̄ ), 245 ˙˙ ˙ Kitā b al-Sunna (Muhammad ˙ b. Nasr al-
Khā rijites, 82 Marwazı̄ ), 94˙ ˙
al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ Kitā b al-Tahrı̄ sh (Dirā r b. ʿAmr), 92,
Abū ˙ʿAlı̄ b. Shā dhā n and, 304 165,˙ 237 ˙
424 Index

Kitā b al-Tā rı̄ kh (al-Bukhā rı̄ ), 204 madhhabs (schools of law). See also
Kitā b al-Tawhı̄ d (Ibn Manda), 322 Hanafism; Hanbalism; eponyms;
Kitā b al-Umm ˙ (al-Shā fiʿı̄ ), 27–8, 30, 163 Ma˙ ̄ likism; Sha
˙ ̄ fiʿism
Kitā b Wahm al-tabaqa al-zalama Abā eponymous founders and, 16, 347
˙
Hanı̄ fa (al-Subadhmu ˙ ̄ nı̄ ), 301 Hanafism and, 345–8
˙
Kitā b al-Waraʿ (Abū Bakr al-Marr ˙
manā qib works and, 264, 302, 309
ū dhı̄ ), 50–2 al-Muqaddası̄ on, 363–4
Knysh, Alexander, 7, 8, 356 al-Qā dir and, 329–32
Kufa al-Rā wandı̄ on, 345–8
Abū Hanı̄ fa repenting from heresy in, Sunni orthodoxy, importance for, 16,
˙ 275
81, 356, 363–4
Basra, rivalry with, 125–9 tabaqā t developed by followers of, 282
al-Bukhā rı̄ on, 134–6 ˙
magic, 141
devil in, 138–45, 148, 149, 250, al-Mahdı̄ (caliph), 207–8
351 Mahmū d b. Mansū r b. Abı̄ al-Fadl, 306–8
disease, as repository of, 250–1 ˙ ʿa 62 (manuscript),
Majmū ˙ 321 ˙
false prophets from, 128 Makā ’id al-shaytā n (Ibn Abı̄ Dunyā ), 140
foreign ethnicities in, 132 Makdisi, George, ˙ 8, 282–3, 329
jurisprudence from, 210 makhā rij, 223. See also hiyal (legal tricks)
masā nı̄ d from, 314 Mā lik b. Anas ˙
Murji’a in, 192 on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s death, 242
proto-Hanafism in, 280 al-Bukhā ˙rı̄ on, 58, 88
rebellions,˙ 148–51, 185, 191 Companions, has not met, 320
al-Shā fiʿı̄ on, 28 denouncing Abū Hanı̄ fa, 334
al-Shaybā nı̄ in, 298 as founder of madhhab, ˙ 3
as unholy region, 131–3, 134, 138 on heresy coming from al-Mashriq, 136
Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim on, 107–8
lā ba’s bi dhā lika (not a problem), 36 on Kufa as ˙ repository for diseases, 250–1
al-Lā lakā ’ı̄ , 201, 221 Muwatta’, 136
language ˙˙
al-Rā wandı̄ on, 345
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s proficiency of Arabic, religious authority of, 107–8, 345
˙
182 al-Shā fiʿı̄ and, 107
Arabic, 154, 168, 176–82 al-Shaybā nı̄ on, 107–8
groups, spoken by, 46 social exclusion by, 252–3
liturgical, 176, 178–81 on speculative jurisprudence, 222,
Pahlavi, 177 242, 278
Persian, 176, 178–82 Mā likism, 291, 331
Quran and, 154, 176–82 mamlū k (slave captives), 157, 158
al-Shaybā nı̄ on, 178, 181 al-Ma’mū n (caliph), 32, 189, 225, 235, 250
state administration, used for, 168 Ma’mū n b. Ahmad al-Sulamı̄ , 175
al-Layth b. Saʿd, 334 ˙
manā qib (biographies). See also biographical
Le Boulluec, Alain, 10–11, 13, 359 dictionaries; masā nı̄ d (collections of
legal arguments against Abū Hanı̄ fa. See hadı̄ th); tabaqā t works (biographical
jurisprudence ˙ ˙ ˙
dictionaries)
legal disputations (al-khusū mā t), 220 from Baghdad, 296, 303
Lewis, Bernard, 8 ˙ from Bukhā rā , 300–3
libel, 163 chronology in, 269, 310
liturgical language, 176, 178–81 on Companions, 271
local histories, 119, 129, 133 from Egypt, 291–300
local orthodoxies, 52, 81 eponyms and, 310, 312
Lucas, Scott, 8, 17, 36, 236 in general, 261–2, 263–5, 308–12, 354–5
geographical spread of, 308
al-Mabsū t (al-Sarakhsı̄ ), 180 heresy, discourses of, influence on, 286
˙ 185
al-Madā ’in, history of, 284–8
Madelung, Wilferd, 8, 17 from Iraq, 290, 303–5
 Index 425

by al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ , 338, 339 matn (content of report), 228

madhhabs ˙and, 264, 302, 309 mawā lı̄ (converts), 159–60, 168, 169, 273
on Mihna, 236 al-Mā wardı̄ , 330
from Nı̄ ˙ shā pū r, 288–90, 305–6 Mawsil, 185
qadis and, 293–9, 308 Mecca ˙
by al-Rā wandı̄ , 344–8 al-Humaydı̄ in, 39, 45, 81, 254
on rebellion, 296 Kaʿba,˙ 47, 81, 93, 257, 299, 347
responding to heresy, 257–60, 265, 270, local orthodoxy in, 81
272, 273, 276–9, 307–8 pilgrimage, 67, 193, 201, 224, 298
sectarian backgrounds of authors, 308 ‘true believers’ and ignorance, 47–8, 81,
on al-Shā fiʿı̄ , 283 255, 257
social aspect of, 309–10 Medina, 47, 64, 81, 250, 251, 257, 337
tabaqā t works and, 279 Melchert, Christopher, 8, 17, 36, 282, 331
˙by al-Tahā wı̄ , 285, 291, 292–5, 299–300 memorising books, 203
textual˙ communities
˙ and, 306 memory studies. See mnemohistory
timing of, 264, 308 mentalités. See society, medieval
Manā qib Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (al-Bazzā r), 289 Mesopotamia, 141
Manā qib Abı̄ H ˙ anı̄ fa (al-Tahā wı̄ ), 293–5, microhistory, 22
299–300 ˙ ˙ ˙ Mihna, 32, 95, 235–6. See also inquisitions;
Mannheim, Karl, 46 ˙ repenting from heresy
al-Mansū r (caliph), 150, 190, 192, 195, military life, 156
˙
197, 275–6 al-Miqdā m b. Maʿdı̄ karib, 271
Mansū r al-Hallā j, 244 miraculous events, 310
˙ ˙
Maqā til al-tā libiyyı̄ n (Abū al-Faraj al- Misʿar b. Kidā m, 73, 191, 274
˙ ̄ nı̄ ), 186, 191
Isfaha Misr, 123, 139, 143
Mardā wı̄˙ j b. Ziyā r, 333 ˙
mnemohistory, 5, 21–2, 207, 277
al-Marghı̄ nā nı̄ , 302 Moore, Robert, 249
marginalisation, 248 Mottahedeh, Roy P., 169
marriage, 53 al-Muʿallā b. Mansū r, 103, 105, 231
marthiya (elegies), 50 Muʿā wiya, 149 ˙
Mā rū t (angel), 141–2 Muhammad, Prophet. See also Companions
Marw, 49, 50, 190 ˙
ignorance of location of resting place, 47,
Marwā n b. Muʿā wiya, 189, 198 81, 257
Masā ’il (Abū Hafs al-Kabı̄ r), 180 praising, Abū Hanı̄ fa’s lack of, 242
˙ ˙
Masā ’il (legal questions and answers), Prophetic hadı̄ th. ˙ See Prophetic hadı̄ th
84, 90 on Shā m, 129 ˙ ˙
masā nı̄ d (collections of hadı̄ th) on tribulation, 134–7, 146–7
by Hanafis, 315, 317 ˙ Muhammad (son of Ibn al-Ushnā nı̄ ), 319
˙ discourses of, 234, 314–17,
heresy, Muh˙ ammad ʿAbda b. Harb al-
320–1, 322 ˙ ʿAbbā dā nı̄ , 292 ˙
by al-Humaydı̄ , 40, 42–3, 44, 314 Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allā h b. Dı̄ nā , 289
by Ibn˙ Hibbā n, 323–4 Muh˙ ammad b. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n al-
by Ishā q˙ b. Rā hawayh, 314 ˙ Ghaznawı̄ , 286 ˙
from ˙Kufa, 314 Muhammad b. ʿAbd al-Rahmā n
list of musnad works, 315–17 ˙ al-Shā mı̄ , 305 ˙
by non-Sunni authors, 317–18 Muhammad b. Abı̄ Hā tim, 62
orthodoxy in, narratives of, 262, 283, Muh˙ ammad b. Abı̄ H ˙ ā tim al-Warrā q, 170
313, 317, 324, 331, 354–5 Muh˙ ammad b. Ahmad ˙ b. Shuʿayb, 285
by proto-Sunni traditionalists, 314–17, Muh˙ ammad b. Ah˙ mad Rajā ’ al-
318–25 ˙ Jū zajā nı̄ , 289
˙
on speculative jurisprudence, 317 Muhammad al-Bā qir, 185
textual communities and, 324 Muh˙ ammad b. al-Husayn al-Hunaynı̄ ,
al-Mashriq, 134–7. See also Iraq ˙ 303 ˙ ˙
Mashyakha (al-Fasawı̄ ), 41, 123 Muhammad b. ʿĪ sā al-Madā ’inı̄ , 303
al-Massı̄ sa, 195 Muh˙ ammad b. Jaʿfar b. Muhammad, 188
˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
426 Index

Muhammad b. Jaʿfar b. Muhammad b. ʿAlı̄ Musannaf (Ibn Abı̄ Shayba), 34–7

˙ (Dı̄ bā ja), 189 ˙ ˙
Muslim b. al-Hajjā j, 229
Muhammad b. Khalaf Wakı̄ , 208 Musnad (al-Da˙̄ rimı̄ ), 220, 222
Muh˙ ammad b. Maslama Abū Hishā m al- Musnad (al-Humaydı̄ ), 40, 42–3, 44,
˙ Makhzū mı̄ , 64 314 ˙
Muhammad b. Maymū n, 216, 219 Musnad Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa (Abū Nuʿaym), 320–1
Muh˙ ammad b. Muqā til, 101 al-Muʿtadid ˙(caliph), 150, 295
Muh˙ ammad al-Nafs al-Zakiyya, 150, 191 ˙ ʿAbd Allā h, 40
Mutarrif b.
Muh˙ ammad b. Nasr al-Marwazı̄ , 94 ˙
al-Mutawakkil (caliph), 34, 69, 95, 294
Muh˙ ammad b. Rā shid ˙ al-Makhū lı̄ , 198 Muʿtazilism, 92, 330, 331
Muh˙ ammad b. al-Sā ‘ib, 252 ˙ al-Muwaffaq (caliph), 90, 291
˙
Muhammad b. Samā ʿa, 295, 296 al-Muwaffaq b. al-Makkı̄ , 285, 289
Muh˙ ammad b. Shujā ʿ al-Thaljı̄ , 231, muwalladū n (acculturated Arabs),
˙ 298, 307 164–6, 212
Muhammad b. ʿUbayda al-Massı̄ sı̄ , 332 Muwatta’ (Mā lik b. Anas), 136
Muh˙ ammad b. ʿUmar al-Wā qidı̄ ˙ ˙ ,˙32 ˙˙
Muh˙ ammad b. ʿUthmā n b. Abı̄ nabatı̄ (pejorative term), 162–4
˙ Shayba, 333 al-Nad ˙ r b. Muhammad, 217, 276
Muhammad b. Zayd, 333 al-Nad˙ r b. Shumayl, ˙ 224
Muh˙ yı̄ al-Dı̄ n al-Nawawı̄ , 286 al-Naja ˙̄ shı̄ , 318
Muja ˙ ̄ hid b. Jabr, 141–2 Najd, 136
al-Mukhtā r, 125, 126, 150, 159 al-Narsakhı̄ , 178
Mukhtasar (Abū al-Husayn al-Qudū rı̄ ), 330 Nasā , 161
Mukhtas ˙ ar (al-Muzanı̄
˙ ), 60, 293, 294 al-Nasā ’ı̄ , 230, 333
Mukram ˙ b. Ahmad, 303, 304–5 Nasr b. Sayyā r, 190, 248
˙
al-Muktafı̄ (caliph), 295 ˙
al-Nawawı̄ , 60
al-Muqaddası̄ , 127, 363–4 nazar (speculative inquiry), 210
Muqā til b. Sulaymā n, 248 ˙
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 311
al-Muqtadir (caliph), 289, 319 Nı̄ shā pū r, 56–7, 204, 288–90, 305–6
Murji’a (movement). See also Jahmiyya; notion d’hérésie, La (Le Boulluec), 10–11
Quran, createdness of Nū h b. Abı̄ Maryam, 321
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, Nū h˙ b. Darrā j, 321
95, 97 ˙ ˙ Nū h˙ b. Mansū r, 340, 342
Abū Yū suf and, 73, 80 ˙ ˙
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ on, 85 oral communication, 110
al-Ashʿarı̄ on, 240 original sin, 226
al-Bukhā rı̄ on, 63 orthodoxy. See also heresy
faith as utterance of the tongue, 343 Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ on, 85
al-Fasawı̄ on, 79 al-Bukhā rı̄ on, 172
in general, 235, 236–8 defining of, against heresy, 52, 91, 93
Ibn ʿAdı̄ on, 334 disciplinary dimension of, 52
Ibn Hibbā n on, 324, 337 of eponymous founders, 3, 4, 16, 25
˙
Ibn Qutayba on, 73 formation of, 52, 154, 260, 358, 362–3
Ibn Shabbuwayh on, 87 Hanafı̄ sm as majoritarian, 338
Jahmiyya and, 237, 343 ˙
historiography and, 113–15, 361
in Khurā sā n, 192 Ibn Qutayba on, 76
in Kufa, 192 Ibn Shabbuwayh on, 87, 89
proto-Hanafism and, 237–8 Ishā q b. Rā hawayh on, 98
˙
on rebellion, 191, 248 in˙Islam, perceived absence of, 7, 19, 357,
al-Shaybā nı̄ as follower of, 73, 337 358, 360
social exclusion of followers of, 252 local orthodoxies, 52, 81
Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h on, 77 manā qib works shaping, 263
Murtadā al-Zabı̄ dı̄ , 349 piety and, 241
Mū sā b.˙ Qurra al-Zabı̄ dı̄ , 314 as process, 277, 362
Musaddad b. Musarhad al-Basrı̄ , 314 proto-Sunni, 6, 237–8
˙
 Index 427

proto-Sunni traditionalism and. See al-Bukhā rı̄ on, 172–4

proto-Sunni traditionalism, in general, 228, 233
orthodoxy Ibn Abı̄ Shayba on, 36
qadis and, 89, 244 Ibn Qutayba on, 74
regulation of, 3, 20, 52, 104–5, 244, 251 al-Khalı̄ lı̄ on, 233
religious jurisprudence and, 221–2, 227 legal authority of, 28, 30, 36, 74, 172–4,
scholarship on, 7–17 233, 242
Sunni. See Sunni orthodoxy Mā lik b. Anas on, 242
Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h on, 172 al-Shā fiʿı̄ on, 28, 30
orthodoxy, narratives of prosopography, 33, 64, 123–4
on ancestry, 268–73, 281 proto-Hanafism. See also Hanafism; Sunni
in general, 261–2 ˙orthodoxy ˙
in manā qib works. See manā qib ʿAbbā sids and, 202
(biographies) Abū Zurʿa al-Rā zı̄ and, 100, 102
in masā nı̄ d, 262, 283, 313, 317, 324, 331, in general, 15
354–5 hadı̄ th, 216–18
al-Muqaddası̄ on, 363–4 ˙ Qutayba on, 72–5
Ibn
process, seeing orthodoxy as, 277, 363–4 istihsā n and, 29
on rebellion, 344 ˙
Jahmiyya and, 248
on refusing to swear oaths, 274 jurisprudence, 216–18, 223, 224–5,
on repenting from heresy, 273–6, 307 226–7
responding to heresy in, 257–60, 265, al-Khattā bı̄ on, 60
270, 272, 273, 276–9, 307–8, 361 in Khura ˙˙̄ sā n, 174–8, 216, 280
al-Sawā d al-aʿzam, 343 in Kufa, 280
on Successors,˙ 268–72, 281 Mihna, 235
tabaqā t and, 279 ˙
Murji’a and, 237–8
˙transregional spread of, 308 as proximate ‘other’, 62
orthopraxy, 7, 117, 172, 174, 356 qadis, 202, 235, 263–4, 352–3
‘other’, proximate, 61–3, 351, 360 spread of, 175
states and, 202, 264
Pahlavi language, 177 tabaqā t works by, 282
paper, introduction of, 109 ˙Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h and, 78
Persian language, 176, 178–82 proto-Hanbalism, 175
Persians, 155, 167–9, 177, 340–3 proto-Sha ˙ ̄ fiʿism, 175
philology, 337 proto-Sunni traditionalism
piety, 66, 241–3 accommodating towards Abū Hanı̄ fa,
pilgrimage (hajj), 67, 193, 201, 224, 298 25, 106 ˙
˙
plague, 64, 250, 251 Christianity and, 359
political elites, 34, 65, 69, 196, 202, 204 as community, 41, 67, 91
practice, realm of (praxis), 12, 117, 351, 356 consensus (ijmā ʿ), 334–7, 355–6
prayer, 57, 171–6, 178–81, 200, 241, 343 discourses of heresy. See heresy, dis-
predestination, 349 courses of
primary sources. See also textual dissensus on Abū Hanı̄ fa, 75–6, 78
communities elites, proximity to,˙ 34, 65, 69, 196,
absence of Abū Hanı̄ fa’s texts, 349 202–4
heresiography and, ˙ 7, 13–14 ethno-racial reasoning by, 154
lack of neutrality of, 17, 20–1, 22–4, in general, 14–16, 350
25–6, 204, 360 hadı̄ th, 228–34, 314
quantity of, 11 ˙
heresy as a social phenomenon, 244–8
survival of written work, 41 al-Humaydı̄ ’s statement on, 48, 112
Prophet. See Muhammad, Prophet ˙
Judaism and, 78, 166, 211–14, 359
Prophetic hadı̄ th ˙ jurisprudence, 217, 221–2, 223–7
ʿAbd Alla˙̄ h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 96 masā nı̄ d by, 314–17, 318–25
˙
analogical reasoning and,˙227 al-Mutawakkil and, 34, 69
al-Awzā ʿı̄ on, 74 piety, 241–3
428 Index

proto-Sunni traditionalism (cont.) quietism, 93, 191, 192, 193, 201, 352
proximate ‘other’, 61–3, 351, 360 al-Qū jā nı̄ , 84
publicly opposing deviants, 91, 96 Quran
Qā dirı̄ creed, 330 2.143, 322
qadis, serving as, 70, 205 Arabic language, 154, 176–82
quietism, 93, 191, 193, 201, 352 establishing consensus and, 322
rebellion, 184, 190–2, 193–201, 202 istihsā n and, 30
tabaqā t works by, 282–3 ˙
theological controversy over, 246
˙Tā hirid dynasty and, 202–4 Quran, createdness of. See also Jahmiyya;
˙ textual community, 81, 82, 83,
as Mihna; Murji’a (movement)
111–12, 242 ʿAbd Alla ˙ ̄ h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 95,
transregional phenomenon, 81, 83, 97, 103, 257 ˙ ˙
289, 335 Abū Yū suf on, 344
proto-Sunni traditionalism, orthodoxy Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ on, 89
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ on, 85 al-Ashʿarı̄ on, 240
defining of, against heresy, 52, 91, 93 Bishr b. al-Walı̄ d al-Kindı̄ on, 231
disciplinary dimension of, 52 Mihna, 32, 95, 235–6
discursive formation of, 11, 38–9, 46 ˙
al-Samarqandı̄ on, 344
Ibn ʿAdı̄ on, 335 al-Shaybā nı̄ on, 225
Ibn Shabbuwayh on, 85 social exclusion and, 254
piety and, 241 al-Tahā wı̄ on, 239
regulation of, 52, 104–5, 244, 251 Quraysh,˙ ˙ 44
religious jurisprudence and, 221–2, 227 Qutayba b. Saʿı̄ d al-Balkhı̄ , 252
proto-Sunnism
Abū Hanı̄ fa, embracing of, 25 al-Rabı̄ ʿ, 291
˙
in general, 14 Rabı̄ ʿat al-Ra’y, 72, 165–6
heresy, discourses of, 108 Rafʿ al-yadayn fı̄ al-salā t (al-Bukhā rı̄ ),
orthodoxy, 6, 237–8 173, 175 ˙
piety, 241 Rā hat al-sudū r (al-Rā wandı̄ ), 344–8
as proximate ‘other’, 62 ˙
raising of˙ hands during prayer, 171,
spread of, 175 173, 241
proximate ‘other’, 61–3, 351, 360 Raqaba b. Masqala, 218–19
purity laws, 141 Raqqa, 297 ˙
rationalists (ashā b al-ra’y). See proto-
al-Qadi, Wadad, 33 Hanafism ˙˙
al-Qā dir (caliph), 4, 330–1 ˙ , 344–8
al-Rā wandı̄
qadis ra’y. See speculative jurisprudence (ra’y)
Ahmad b. Hanbal’s sons serving as, 90 Rayhā na (second wife of Ahmad
˙
al-ʿAnbarı̄ ˙ 208
on, ˙ b. Hanbal), 90 ˙
authority of, 208, 296, 353 Rayy, 46, 52,˙ 68, 100, 175, 185
Hanafı̄ , 205, 251, 291 rebellion
˙ Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m as, 265–6
Ibn ʿAbbā sid caliphate and, 149, 189, 197,
Ibn Shabbuwayh on, 89 202, 297, 333
intermediary function of, 296, 352–3 in Fadā ‘il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 276
manā qib works, 293–9, 308 ˙
Ibn al-Muba ˙ on, 188
̄ rak
orthodoxy, 89, 244 in Khurā sā n, 171, 190
proto-Hanafi, 202, 235, 264, 352–3 in Kufa, 148–51, 185, 191
˙
proto-Sunni traditionalist, 70, 205 manā qib works on, 296
rebellion and, 202, 296, 352–3 al-Mukhtā r, 125, 150, 159
al-Qartabı̄ , Sharaf al-Dı̄ n, 284–7 Murji’a and, 191, 248
Qā sim b. Abı̄ Shayba, 34 orthodoxy, narratives of, 344
al-Qā sim b. Maʿn, 219, 272 qadis and, 202, 296, 352–3
Qays b. al-Rabı̄ ʿ, 215 scholars’ lack of support for, 185
al-Qazwı̄ nı̄ , 142 al-Tahā wı̄ on, 239–40
qiyā s. See analogical reasoning (qiyā s) Zayd˙ ˙b. ʿAlı̄ , 150, 185–90, 297
 Index 429

rebellion, discourses of heresy revelatory sources. See Prophetic hadı̄ th

ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 97 Risā la (al-Shā fiʿı̄ ), 53 ˙
Ahmad b. Hanbal ˙ on, 95 ˙ ritual cleansing (wudū ’), 55
˙
al-Bukha ˙ 65
̄ rı̄ on, ˙
ritual and practice (orthopraxy), 7, 117,
al-Fasawı̄ on, 194, 199 172, 356
in general, 184, 352–3 ritual prayer, 171–6, 178–81, 241, 343
al-Hā rith b. Surayj, 190, 247–8, 297 Robinson, Chase, 27
Ibra˙̄ hı̄ m b. ʿAbd Allā h, 186, 190–3, 197, Rome, 123
199, 220, 297 Rukn al-Dı̄ n Sulaymā n, 345
quietism, 191, 193–201, 352 rule determination, 31
state, against, 95, 186, 238–40, 276, 296 al-Rusā fa, 34
al-ʿUqaylı̄ on, 337 ˙
Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ , 185–90 sacred places, 123–4, 129
reception history. See mnemohistory Saʿd b. Abı̄ Waqqā s, 149
Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten ˙
sadaqā t (land endowments), 185
Christentum (Bauer), 9 ˙al-Saffā h (caliph), 150
Refutation against al-Nuʿmā n (al-Humaydı̄ ), Saffā rid˙dynasty, 340
46, 47 ˙ S˙ ahı̄ h (al-Bukhā rı̄ ), 43–5, 49, 58–61,
regional orthodoxies, 52, 81 ˙ ˙ ˙ 85, 204
regionalism Sahl b. ʿAmmā r b. ʿAbd Allā h al-ʿAtakı̄ , 289
Basra, 125–7, 128 Sahl b. Saʿd al-Sā ʿidı̄ , 271
curses and, 145–8 al-Sahmı̄ , 230, 333
devil and, 134, 138, 143–4, 148–51 al-Sā ‘ib b. Yazı̄ d al-Kindı̄ , 271
disease used as metaphor for heresy, 249 Saʿı̄ d b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzı̄ z, 222
distribution of good and evil, 130, 138 Saʿı̄ d b. Jubayr, 222
in general, 120, 134, 151 Saʿı̄ d b. Sā lim80
Iraq, 76, 138, 142–4, 145–7, 148–9, 249 sakatū ʿan (denouncing by scholars), 63
Kufa, 118–19, 123, 124, 125–9, 131–3, al-Sakhtiyā nı̄ , 334
134, 138, 143, 145, 147, 249, 351 Salafism, 355
scholarship and, 122–4 Salama b. Kuhayl, 186
Shā m, 129, 138, 139, 148 salaries of military personnel, 156
Reinhart, Kevin, 357 Sā lih b. Ahmad, 50, 90
religions in Islamic world, 3 S˙ ā lih˙ b. al-H
˙ asan, 273
religious deviance, 93, 164, 166. See also ˙ ˙
al-Sā lihı̄ , 265˙
heresy, discourses of; Jahmiyya; Salju ˙ ̄ q ˙dynasty, 345, 353
Murji’a (movement) Salmā n al-Fā risı̄ , 181
religious elites, 111 al-Samʿā nı̄ , 49
repenting from heresy. See also inquisitions; Sā mā nid dynasty, 301, 333, 339–41
Mihna al-Sarakhsı̄ , 179, 180, 224
ʿAbd Alla ˙ ̄ h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 97 al-Sarrā j, Abū al-ʿAbbā s, 56–7
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ˙ ˙ 89
on, Satan, 226
Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 256–7 satire, 221
˙
al-Ashʿarı̄ ˙ 240
on, Savant, Sarah Bowen, 155–6
al-Bukhā rı̄ on, 68 Sawā d, 185
in Fadā ‘il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 257–9, 273–6 al-Sawā d al-aʿzam (al-Samarqandı̄ ),
˙
al-Fasawı̄ ˙
on, 81 339–44˙
Ibn ʿAdı̄ on, 333 Sayf al-Dı̄ n al-Qaffā l al-Shā shı̄ , 288
Ibn Hibbā n on, 257 al-Saymarı̄ , 285, 287, 304, 331
˙
Ibn al-Muba ̄ rak on, 274 ˙
scholars
in Kufa, 81, 275 al-Bukhā rı̄ on, 67
orthodoxy, narratives of, 273–6, 307 death of, 242
state’s role in inquisitions, 256–60 ethno-racial reasoning towards, 164, 169
Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ on, 81, 256, 275–6 genealogy, discrediting by means of, 157
al-ʿUqaylı̄ on, 337 heresy and, 79
reports (ā thā r). See Prophetic hadı̄ th jurisprudence and, 209
˙
430 Index

scholars (cont.) Ibn Hibbā n on, 336–7

rebellion, lack of support for, 185 ˙ 298
in Kufa,
regionalism and, 123 on language used for prayer, 178, 181
sakatū ʿan (denouncing by), 63 on Mā lik b. Anas, 107–8
Tā hirid dynasty and, 204 Murji’a and, 73, 337
˙
Zaydi, 187–9 qadi in Raqqa, asked to be, 297–8
schools of law. See madhhabs (schools on Quran, createdness of, 225
of law) al-Rā wandı̄ on, 345
sedition, 149 religious authority of, 345
Sezgin, F., 321 ‘some people’ (baʿd al-nā s), 45
al-Shaʿbı̄ , 125–8, 221 al-Tahā wı̄ on, 239˙
Shā dhdh b. Yahyā al-Wā sitı̄ , 214 Shaykh ˙ al-Isla
˙ ̄ m (epithet), 85
al-Shā fiʿı̄ ˙ ˙ Shiʿism, 188, 309, 317, 330, 350
on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s weak grasp of shrine of Abū Hanı̄ fa, 310
Arabic,˙ 182 Shuʿayb b. Harb, ˙ 213
Bakkā r b. Qutayba on, 294 al-Shuʿaybı̄ ,˙305
al-Bukhā rı̄ on, 58 Shujā ʿ b. al-Thaljı̄ , 288
Companions, has not met, 320 Shuʿū bism, 167–9
as founder of madhhab, 3 al-Sibawayh, 168
al-Humaydı̄ and, 47 Sibt b. al-Jawzı̄ , 285
Isha˙̄ q b. Rā hawayh and, 48–56, 68, 204 ˙
al-Silafı̄ , Abū Tā hir, 267
˙
al-Khat tā bı̄ on, 60 ˙
sı̄ ra/maghā zı̄ literature, 26
˙˙ ā l al-istihsā n, 28, 30
Kitā b Ibt slander (bā b al-firya), 163
˙
Kitā b al-Umm, 27–8, ˙ 30, 163 slave captives (mamlū k), 157, 158
on Kufa, 28 slave-concubines (umm walad), 213
legal arguments against Abū Hanı̄ fa, slaves, 125
27–9, 30–2, 35, 37 ˙ Smith, Anthony D., 154–6
on Mā lik b. Anas, 107 Smith, Jonathan Z., 62, 124, 153
manā qib works on, 283 social exclusion
Risā la, 53 ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal, 254
‘some people’ (baʿd al-nā s), 45 ˙
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ˙
, 254
speculative jurisprudence ˙ of, 75 Ahmad b. Hanbal, 105
al-Tahā wı̄ on, 299 ˙
al-Fasawı̄ ˙
, 253
Yah˙ ya˙̄ b. Maʿı̄ n on, 75 in general, 251–5
˙
Shā fiʿism, 291–3, 331, 345–6. See also Mā lik b. Anas, 252–3
madhhabs (schools of law) Murji’a and, 252
shahā da (testification of Islam), 177 Quran, createdness of, and, 254
al-Shahrastā nı̄ , 8 al-Sawā d al-aʿzam on, 341
Shā m, 84, 129, 138, 139, 148, 149, 217 ˙
speculative jurisprudence and, 222
Shamr, 249 Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄ , 88, 252, 254, 272
Shams al-Dı̄ n Yū suf b. Abı̄ Saʿı̄ d b. Ahmad society, medieval
al-Sijistā nı̄ , 286 ˙ antediluvian past, 144
Shams al-Dı̄ n Yū suf b. ʿUmar b. Yū suf al- curses, 151
Sū fı̄ al-Kamā rū rı̄ , 286 devil, influence of, 139–45
˙
Sharaf al-Dı̄ n Ismā ʿı̄ l b. ʿĪ sā al-Awghā nı̄ al- discourses of heresy in all aspects of life,
Makkı̄ , 286 12, 113–15, 117, 118, 206, 353, 360
Sharh al-Sunna (al-Muzanı̄ ), 200–1 ethnography, 162
Sharı̄˙ k b. ʿAbd Allā h, 81, 220, 254, 277 ethno-racial reasoning, 167
al-Shaybā nı̄ formation of meaning making in, 350
Abū Yū suf and, 297–8, 308 genealogy, importance of, 157
authorship of Kitā b al-Hiyal, 224–5 imperial authority over, 255
al-Bukhā rı̄ and, 225 ˙ regions, importance of, 130, 145
denouncing Abū Hanı̄ fa, 64 regulation of, 6–9
hadı̄ th scholarship,˙ 230 religious heterogeneity, 3, 92
˙ hiyal (legal tricks), 223
on ritual prayer, 174–8
˙
 Index 431

texts creating experiences in, 357 Sufyā n al-Thawrı̄

time, concept of, 310 on Abū Hanı̄ fa repenting from heresy, 81,
Solomon, 141 256,˙ 275–6
‘some people’ (baʿd al-nā s), 45, 46, 58–9 on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s death, 68, 242, 334
speculative inquiry˙ (nazar), 210 al-Bukhā ˙rı̄ on, 66
speculative jurisprudence ˙ (ra’y) death of, 307
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 96, denouncing Abū Hanı̄ fa, 334
˙
99, 213, 215–16, 218˙ Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwā m ˙ on, 272, 275–6
Abū Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ on, 77, 219, 222 Ibn Abı̄ Hā tim on, 106
Ahmad b. Hanbal on, 218, 278 Ibn ʿAdı̄ ˙on, 334
˙
al-ʿAnbarı̄ ˙ 209
on, Ibn al-Mubā rak on, 66
al-Fasawı̄ on, 78, 212, 214, 219, 221 jurisprudence and, 213, 215
al-Humaydı̄ on, 219 al-Rā wandı̄ on, 345
Ibn˙ Abı̄ Hā tim on, 222 religious authority of, 106, 345
Ibn ʿAdı̄ ˙on, 334 repenting from discourses of heresy
Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ on, 210 against Abū Hanı̄ fa, 307
Ibn Qutayba on, 73 social exclusion by, ˙ 88, 252, 254, 272
Ibn Saʿd on, 33, 37 Sufyā n b. ʿUyayna, 39, 42, 49, 195,
Ibn Shabbuwayh on, 87 215–16, 256
Ishā q b. Rā hawayh on, 51, 53, 55, 87 al-Sughdı̄ , 179, 180
˙
Judaism linked to, 78, 166, 211–14 Suhayl b. Abı̄ Sā lih, 233
al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ on, 212, 219 ˙ d (Nas
al-Sultā n al-Saʿı̄ ˙ r II), 301
Mā lik b. ˙ Anas on, 222, 242, 278 ˙
Sumaniyya (Buddhists), ˙ 245
masā nı̄ d responding to criticism Sunan (al-Dā raqutnı̄ ), 230
about, 317 Sunni orthodoxy ˙
muwalladū n and, 164–6, 212 Abū Hanı̄ fa as exemplar of, 239–40, 261,
Prophetic hadı̄ th and. See Prophetic ˙
277, 284, 296, 310, 318–20, 324–5,
hadı̄ th˙ 339, 354
al-Sha ˙ ̄ fiʿı̄ on, 75 consensus. See consensus (ijmā ʿ)
social exclusion and, 222 definition of, Nū h b. Mansū r’s, 342
Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h on, 77–8 Ibn ʿAdı̄ on, 333 ˙ ˙
Yahyā b. Maʿı̄ n on, 75–6 madhhabs and, 3–5, 14, 16
˙
state employment, 70, 90, 168, 297 manā qib works establishing, 282–4,
states 309, 312
administration of, 168, 177, 208–9, masā nı̄ d and, 318–20, 321, 322, 324–5
291, 296 Qā dirı̄ creed, 331
employment by, 70, 90, 168, 297 resistance to, 333–8
fragmentation of political power of, 120 al-Sawā d al-aʿzam on, 339–44
Hanafism and, 329–32 tabaqā t works ˙and, 282–4
˙
inquisitions, 255 ˙
Sunnism
proto-Hanafism and, 202, 264 formation of, 6, 111
qadis and, ˙ 202 legacy of, 3
rebellion against, 95, 186, 238–40, orthodoxy. See Sunni orthodoxy
276, 296 porous boundaries of, 318, 350
regulation of heresy and orthodoxy by, proto-Sunnism. See proto-Sunnism
353, 358 terminology of, 16
Stewart, Devin, 8 Surmā rā , 302
Stock, Brian, 27 al-Surmā rı̄ , 302, 331
stoning, 35 swords, 65–6, 239, 347
al-Subkı̄ , 60
Successors. See also Prophetic hadı̄ th al-Tabaqā t al-kubrā (Ibn Saʿd), 37, 39
Abū Hanı̄ fa’s ancestry and, 88, ˙ 268, 272 ˙ t works (biographical dictionaries),
tabaqā
in Fad˙ ā ’il Abı̄ Hanı̄ fa, 268–72 ˙ 279–84, 281, 282, 293, See also
in Ibn˙ Qutayba’s ˙ book, 72 manā qib (biographies)
ritual prayer, 172 al-Tabarı̄ , 28, 46, 168, 190, 317, 340
˙
432 Index

al-Tahā wı̄ tribulation, 134–7, 146–7

˙ ˙
conversion to Hanafı̄ sm, 292, 295, 299 Troeltsch, Ernst, 114
Ibn Abı̄ al-ʿAwwa ˙ ̄ m al-Saʿdı̄ and, Tughril (sultan), 345
265, 267 Tū lū nid dynasty, 291
manā qib of, 285, 291, 292–5, 299–300 ˙
Turner, John P., 256
on rebellion, 239–40 Turner, Victor, 312
traditionalisation of Hanafı̄ jurispru- Tū s, 289
dence, 338 ˙ ˙
Tā hir b. al-Husayn, 202 ʿUbayd Allā h b. al-ʿAbbā s al-Muttalib, 271
T˙ ā hirid dynasty,
˙ 202–4, 340 ʿUbayd Allā h b. al-Hurr, 160 ˙˙
˙ ā ʿı̄ (caliph), 329
al-T ʿUbayd Allā h b. Mū ˙sā al-ʿAbsı̄ , 314
˙
Tā j al-Dı̄ n al-Rā wandı̄ , 345 ʿUbayd Allā h b. Yahyā b. Khā qā n, 69
takbı̄ rā t (reciting Allahu Akbar), 171 Ubulla, 143 ˙
al-Tanū khı̄ , 112, 302 ʿUmar b. Abı̄ Salama, 269
Taqdima, Kitā b al-Jarh wa al-taʿdı̄ l (Ibn Abı̄ ʿUmar b. Hammā d, 161
Hā tim), 100, 106˙ ˙
ʿUmar b. al-Khat tā b (caliph), 137, 147,
˙ ̄ Zurʿa al-Dimashqı̄ ), 83, 84–5,
Tā rı̄ kh (Abu 148, 185 ˙˙
88–9, 270 ʿUmar b. Maymū n, 253
Tā rı̄ kh (al-Tabarı̄ ), 190 Umayyad caliphate, 149, 185
˙
al-Tā rı̄ kh al-awsat (al-Bukhā rı̄ ), 64–7, Umm Salama, 269
195, 245 ˙ umm walad (slave-concubines), 213
Tā rı̄ kh Baghdā d (al-Khatı̄ b al-Baghdā dı̄ ), unbeliever (kā fir), 224, 248
24–5, 157–8, 165–6, ˙ 182, 219, 338 unholy regions. See regionalism
al-Tā rı̄ kh al-kabı̄ r (al-Bukhā rı̄ ), 50, 63–4 Upper Mesopotamia, 185
tashbı̄ h, 31, 227. See also analogical reason- al-ʿUqaylı̄ , 219, 220, 228, 231–2, 337
ing (qiyā s) Usū l (al-Sarakhsı̄ ), 181
Ta’sı̄ s al-nazā ’ir (al-Surmā rı̄ ), 302 ˙
usury, 226
˙
Ta’wı̄ l mukhtalif al-hadı̄ th (Ibn Qutayba), ʿUtba b. ʿAbd al-Sulamı̄ , 271
71, 73 ˙ ʿUthmā n b. ʿAffā n (caliph), 122, 148
Ta’wı̄ lā t al-Qur’ā n (al-Mā turı̄ dı̄ ), 179 ʿUthmā n b. ʿAlı̄ b. Muhammad al-Sh
textual communities ı̄ rā zı̄ , 286 ˙
creation of experiences by, 357 ʿUthmā n al-Battı̄ , 165–6, 215
discourses of heresy, 26, 27, 207, 260 ʿUthmā n b. Muhammad b. Abı̄ Shayba, 34
exploitation of material, 137 Uyū n al-akhbā r (Ibn ˙ Qutayba), 71
in general, 11, 20, 23–4, 27, 109–12, 350
Hanafı̄ sm as, 300 van Ess, Josef, 8, 17, 19, 113, 356, 358
˙
literacy, 177 violence, 33–4, 65–6, 239, 347
manā qib works and, 306
masā nı̄ d, 324 Wahb b. Munabbih, 349
memorising books, 203 Wakı̄ ʿ b. al-Jarrā h
orthodoxy/heresy and, 110–12 on Abū Khā zim, 295
proto-Sunni traditionalism as, 81, 82, 83, on analogical reasoning, 77–8
111–12, 242 on attitudes concerning past caliphs, 199
al-Thaʿā libı̄ , 238 authorship of Kitā b al-Maʿrifa wa al-
Thā bit (father of Abū Hanı̄ fa), 158, tā rı̄ kh, 120
160–2, 272 ˙ biographical dictionaries, 78
theology, 235–41, 356 al-Bukhā rı̄ and, 62, 173
al-Thiqā t (Ibn Shā hı̄ n), 229 Ishā q b. Rā hawayh and, 49
time, 310 on˙ Medina, 250
Tirmidh, 161 on Murji’a, 77
al-Tirmidhı̄ , 229, 265 on orthodoxy, 172
topographies, moral, 124, 132, 138, 149 proto-Hanafism and, 78
transmitters, 187, 228, 232, 322. See also ˙
on speculative jurisprudence, 77–8
isnā ds (lists of transmitters) walā ’ (clientship), 159
Transoxiana, 62, 171, 174–5, 179, 339 Walker, Peter, 124
 Index 433

Wansbrough, John, 13–14 Yahyā b. Sā lih al-Wuhā zı̄ , 77

Wā sil al-Shā rı̄ , 275 Yah˙ yā b. ʿUmar,
˙ ˙ 150 ˙ ˙
Wā ˙sit, 185 Yama˙ ̄ n al-Juʿfı̄ , 169
˙ b. al-Asqaʿ, 269, 270–1
Wā thila Yaʿqū b b. Ibrā hı̄ m, 336
al-Wā thiq, 95 Yaʿqū b b. Layth, 122, 150
Webb, Peter, 154 Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n al-Fasawı̄ , 82
Weber, Max, 117, 243 Yā qū t al-Hamawı̄ , 330–1
whipping, 258, 274 ˙ Ziyā d, 186
Yazı̄ d b. Abı̄
Wilken, Robert, 124 Yazı̄ d b. Hā rū n, 214
Wilson, M. Brett, 19, 356, 358 Yazı̄ d b. al-Walı̄ d (caliph), 190
witr prayer, 343 Yemen, 284–7
women, 245–6, 355 Yū nus b. ʿAbd al-Aʿlā , 299
written communication, 110. See also text- Yū nus b. Sulaymā n al-Saqatı̄ , 87
ual communities Yū nus b. ʿUbayd, 129 ˙
Yū suf b. Khā lid al-Samtı̄ , 230, 232, 321
Yahyā b. ʿAbd al-Hamı̄ d al-Himmā nı̄ , 314 Yū suf b. Shā hı̄ n, 268
Yah˙ yā b. Abı̄ Tā lib, ˙ 303 ˙ Yū suf b. ʿUmar, 177, 185
Yah˙ yā b. Ā dam, ˙ 221
Yah˙ yā b. Aktham, 251 Zā dhā n Farrū kh, 177
Yah˙ yā b. Maʿı̄ n al-Zajjā jı̄ , 182
˙
ʿAbd Allā h b. Ahmad b. Hanbal and, 90 Zakariyyā ’ b. Yahyā b. al-Hā rith al-
on Abū Hanı̄ fa’s˙ hadı̄ th proficiency,
˙ 231 Nı̄ shā pū rı̄˙, 288–90 ˙
˙
on Abū Mushir, ˙
84 Zakariyyā ’ b. Yahyā al-Sā jı̄ , 283
Ahmad b. Hanbal and, 75 zakā t (almsgiving), ˙ 59
˙
al-Bukha ˙
̄ rı̄ and, 68 al-Zamakhsharı̄ , 285
Ibn Hibbā n on, 337 Zaman, Muhammad Qasim, 8, 236
˙
Ibn al-Ushna ̄ nı̄ and, 319 al-Zandawası̄ tı̄ , 179
Mihna, 32 Zayd b. ʿAlı̄ , 150, 185–90, 297
˙
on al-Sha ̄ fiʿı̄ , 75 Zaydism, 318
on Shiʿism, 189 Ziyā rid dynasty, 333
on speculative jurisprudence, 75–6 al-Zubayr b. ʿĪ sā , 38
sympathy for Abū Hanı̄ fa, 75–6, 234 al-Zubayr b. ʿUbayd Allā h b. Humayd, 38
on Wā thila b. al-Asqaʿ, ˙ 270 Zufar b. Hudhayl, 217, 232, 346 ˙
on Yaʿqū b b. Sufyā n, 83 Zū tā , 158
˙