The Assassins: A Redical Sect in Islam

by Bernard Lewis

  The Sunni response was at first limited and ineffectual – security measures against the da‘is, and political warfare against the Fatimids, who in a manifesto published in Baghdad in ion were accused, somewhat unconvincingly, of not being Fatimids at all, but descendants of a disreputable impostor.

  Yet, despite this imposing strength, and a great effort of political, religious and economic warfare against the Abbasid Caliphate, the Fatimid challenge failed. The Abbasid Caliphate survived; Sunni Islam recovered and triumphed – and the Fatimid Caliphs successively lost their Empire, their authority and their following.

  Part of the reason for this failure must be sought in events in the East, where great changes were taking place. The coming of the Turkish peoples interrupted the political fragmentation of South West Asia, and for a while restored to the lands of the Sunni Caliphate the unity and stability which they had lost. The Turkish conquerors were new converts, earnest, loyal, and orthodox; they were imbued with a strong sense of their duty to Islam, and of their responsibility, as the new protectors of the Caliph and masters of the Muslim world, to sustain and defend it against internal and external dangers. This duty they discharged to the full. Turkish rulers and Turkish soldiers provided the political and military strength and skill to withstand, contain, and repel the two great dangers that threatened Sunni Islam – the challenge of the Ismaili Caliphs and, later, the invasion of the Crusaders from Europe.

  The same dangers – of religious schism and foreign invasion – helped to stimulate the great Sunni revival which was beginning to gather force. In the Sunni world there were still great reserves of religious power – in the theology of the schoolmen, the spirituality of the mystics, and the pious devotion of their followers. In this time of crisis and recovery a new synthesis was achieved, with an answer both to the intellectual challenge of Ismaili thought and to the emotional appeal of Ismaili faith.

  While their Sunni adversaries were gaining in political, military and religious strength, the Ismaili Fatimid cause was weakened by religious dissension and political decline. The first serious internal conflicts in Ismailism resulted from the very successes of the Fatimids. The needs and responsibilities of a dynasty and an empire required some modification in earlier doctrines, and, in the words of a modern Ismaili scholar, the adoption of ‘a graver and more conservative attitude towards the then existing institution of Islam’,1 From the first, there were disputes between Ismaili radicals and conservatives, between the preservers and the revealers of the esoteric mysteries. From time to time the Fatimid Caliphs had to face schism, and even armed opposition, as groups of their followers withdrew their assent and support. Already in the time of the first Fatimid Caliph in North Africa, there were controversies between da‘is of different views, and some defections from the Fatimid camp. The fourth Caliph, al-Mu‘izz, faced similar difficulties; at the very moment of his triumph, during the conquest of Egypt, he even had to fight against the Carmathians from Eastern Arabia who, after first supporting the Fatimids, turned against them and attacked their armies in Syria and Egypt. At a later date the Carmathians seem to have returned to the Fatimid allegiance, and disappeared as a separate entity. Another schism occurred after the disappearance, in obscure circumstances, of the sixth Caliph al-Hakim in 1021. A group of the faithful believed that al-Hakim was divine, and had not died but gone into occultation. Refusing to recognize his successors on the Fatimid throne, they seceded from the main body of the sect. They had some success in winning support among the Ismailis of Syria, where groups of them still survive, in the present-day states of Syria, Lebanon and Israel. One of the founders of this sect was a da‘i of Central Asian origin called Muhammad ibn Isma‘il al-Darazi. They are still known, after him, as Druzes.

  During the long reign of the eighth Caliph al-Mustansir (1036-94) the Fatimid Empire reached its peak and fell into a swift decline; at his death the Ismaili mission was torn apart by its greatest internal schism.

  In the prime of Fatimid power the Caliph retained full personal control of affairs, presiding with equal authority over the three great branches of government – the bureaucracy, the religious hierarchy, and the armed forces. The head of the civil bureaucracy, and the effective head of the government under the Caliph, was the vizier, a civilian; the head of the religious hierarchy was the chief of the da‘is or missionaries (dā‘ī al-du‘āt), who besides controlling the Ismaili establishment within the Empire also commanded the great army of Ismaili agents and missionaries abroad. The commander of the armed forces, in what was essentially a civilian regime, headed the third branch. Since the death of al-Hakim, however, the military had been steadily increasing their power at the expense of the civilians and even of the Caliph himself. The setbacks, misfortunes, and upheavals of the mid-eleventh century accelerated this process; it was completed in 1074 when, at the Caliph’s invitation, Badr al-Jamali, the military governor of Acre, moved into Egypt with his own army to take control of affairs. He was soon master of the country, with the three titles, conferred by the Caliph, of Commander of the Armies, Chief of the Missionaries, and vizier – signifying his control over all three branches, the military, religious, and bureaucratic. It is by the first of these titles that he was usually known.

  Henceforth the real master of Egypt was the Commander of the Armies, a military autocrat ruling through his troops. The post became a permanency, in which Badr al-Jamali was succeeded by his son and grandson, and then by a séries of other military autocrats. Just as the Abbasid Caliphs in Baghdad had become the helpless puppets of their own praetorians, so now the Fatimids became mere figureheads for a succession of military dictators. It was a sad decline for a dynasty which had claimed the spiritual and political headship of all Islam – a decline that was in striking contradiction with the beliefs and hopes of the Ismaili faith.

  Such a change inevitably awoke discontent and opposition among the more militant and consistent of the sectaries, the more so since it coincided with a period of renewed activity among the Ismailis in Persia. The replacement of Badr al-Jamali by his son al-Afdal in 1094 made little change in the state of affairs, and when, on the death of al-Mustansir a few months later, the Commander of the Armies was confronted with the need to choose a new Caliph, his choice was not difficult. On the one hand there was Nizar, the eldest son and an adult, already appointed heir by al-Mustansir, known and accepted by the Ismaili leaders; on the other his younger brother al-Musta‘li, a youth without allies or supporters, who would consequently be entirely dependent on his powerful patron. It was no doubt with this in mind that al-Afdal arranged a marriage between his own daughter and al-Musta‘li and, on al-Mustansir’s death, proclaimed his son-in-law as Caliph. Nizar fled to Alexandria, where he rose in revolt with local support. After some initial success, he was defeated, captured, and later killed.

  In choosing al-Musta‘li, al-Afdal split the sect from top to bottom, and alienated, perhaps intentionally, almost the whole of its following in the eastern lands of Islam. Even within the Fatimid boundaries there were movements of opposition; the Eastern Ismailis refused to recognize the new Caliph and, proclaiming their allegiance to Nizar and his line, broke off all relations with the attenuated Fatimid organization in Cairo. The divergence between the state and the revolutionaries, which had begun to appear when the state was first established, was now complete.

  Before long, even those Ismailis who had accepted al-Musta‘li broke their links with the régime in Cairo. In 1130, after the murder of al-Amir, the son and successor of al-Musta‘li, by supporters of the Nizaris, the remaining Ismailis refused to recognize the new Caliph in Cairo, and adopted the belief that a lost, infant son of al-Amir, called Tayyib, was the hidden and awaited Imam. There were to be no more Imams after him.

  Four more Fatimid Caliphs reigned in Cairo, but they were no more than a local Egyptian dynasty, without power, influence or hope. In 1171, as the last of them lay dying in his palace, the Kurdish soldier Saladin, who had meanwhile become the real mas
ter of Egypt, allowed a preacher to recite the bidding-prayer in the name of the Abbasid Caliph of Baghdad. The Fatimid Caliphate, already dead both as a religious and as a political force, was now formally abolished, amid the almost total indifference of the population. The heretical books of the Ismailis were heaped on bonfires. After more than two centuries, Egypt was restored to the Sunni fold.

  By this time, there can have been few convinced Ismailis left in Egypt, In other lands, however, the sect survived, in the two main branches into which it had divided on the death of al-Mustansir. The followers of al-Musta‘li were – and still are – to be found mainly in the Yemen and in India, where they are known as Bohras. Their form of Ismailism is sometimes called the ‘old preaching’ since it carried on the main doctrinal traditions of the Fatimid period.

  While the Musta‘lians stagnated in the remoter outposts of Islam, their rivals the Nizaris, the supporters of Nizar, entered on a period of intensive development, both in doctrine and in political action, and for a while played an important and dramatic role in the affairs of Islam.

  In the eleventh century the growing internal weakness of the Islamic world was revealed by a séries of invasions, the most important of which, that of the Seljuq Turks, created a new military Empire stretching from Central Asia to the Mediterranean. Associated with these invasions were important economic, social and cultural changes, of profound importance in the history of Islam. In the customary aftermath of conquest, vast lands and revenues were assigned to the officers of the victorious Turkish armies, who, with their officials, formed a new ruling element, displacing or overshadowing the Arab and Persian aristocracy and gentry of earlier times. Power, wealth and status belonged to new men – alien newcomers who, often, were still imperfectly assimilated to the urban civilization of the Islamic Middle East. The position of the old élite was further weakened by other factors – the movement of nomads, the shift of trade-routes, the beginnings of the great changes that led to the rise of Europe and the relative decline of Islam. In a time of trouble and danger, the new Turkish masters brought a measure of strength and order – but at a cost of higher military expenditure, firmer control of public life, and stricter conformity of thought.

  The military power of the Turks was unshakable – the orthodoxy of the schools was no longer open to serious challenge. But there were other methods of attack, and to the many malcontents of the Seljuq Empire Ismailism, in its new form, once again brought a seductive critique of orthodoxy, now associated with a new and effective strategy of revolt. The ‘old preaching’ of Ismailism had failed; the Fatimid Empire was dying. A ‘new preaching’ and a new method were needed. They were devised by a revolutionary of genius, called Hasan-i Sabbah.

  3

  The New Preaching

  Hasan-i Sabbah was born in the city of Qumm, one of the first centres of Arab settlement in Persia and a stronghold of Twelver Shi‘ism.1 His father, a Twelver Shi‘ite, had come from Kufa in Iraq, and was said to be of Yemeni origin – more fancifully, a descendant of the ancient Himyaritic kings of Southern Arabia. The date of Hasan’s birth is unknown, but was probably about the middle of the eleventh century. When he was still a child, his father moved to Rayy – by the modern city of Tehran – and it was there that Hasan pursued his religious education. Rayy had been a centre of activity of the da‘is since the ninth century, and it was not long before Hasan began to feel their influence. In an autobiographical fragment, preserved by later historians, he tells his own story:

  ‘From the days of my boyhood, from the age of seven, I felt a love for the various branches of learning, and wished to become a religious scholar; until the age of seventeen I was a seeker and searcher for knowledge, but kept to the Twelver faith of my fathers.

  ‘In Rayy I met a man, one of the Comrades [Rafīq, a term often used by the Ismailis of themselves] called Amira Zarrab, who from time to time expounded the doctrine of the Caliphs of Egypt. . . as Nasir-i Khusraw had done before him..

  ‘There had never been any doubt or uncertainty in my faith in Islam; in my belief that there is a living, enduring, all-powerful, all-hearing, all-seeing God, a Prophet and an Imam, permitted things and forbidden things, heaven and hell, commandment and forbidding. I supposed that religion and doctrine consisted of that which people in general, and the Shi‘a in particular, possessed, and it never entered my mind that truth should be sought outside Islam. I thought that the doctrines of the Ismailis were philosophy [a term of abuse among the pious], and the ruler of Egypt a philosophizer.

  ‘Amira Zarrab was a man of good character. When he first conversed with me, he said: “The Ismailis say such and such.” I said: “O friend, do not speak their words, for they are outcasts, and what they say is against religion.’ There were controversies and debates between us, and he disproved and destroyed my belief. I did not admit this to him, but in my heart these words had great effect. . . Amira said to me: “When you think in your bed at night you know that what I say convinces you”.’

  Later Hasan and his mentor were separated, but the young disciple continued his search, and read Ismaili books, where he found some things that convinced him, and others that left him dissatisfied. A severe and terrible illness completed his conversion. ‘I thought: surely this is the true faith, and because of my great fear I did not acknowledge it. Now my appointed time has come, and I shall die without having attained the truth.’

  Hasan did not die, and on his recovery he sought out another Ismaili teacher, who completed his instruction. His next step was to take the oath of allegiance to the Fatimid Imam; it was administered to him by a missionary who held his licence from Abd al-Malik Ibn Attash, the chief of the Ismaili da‘wa, or mission, in Western Persia and Iraq. Shortly after, in May-June 1072, the chief in person visited Rayy, where he met the new recruit. He approved of him, gave him an appointment in the da‘wa, and told him to go to Cairo and present himself at the Caliph’s court – in other words, to report to headquarters.2

  It was not in fact until several years later that Hasan went to Egypt. A story related by several Persian authors, and introduced to European readers by Edward Fitzgerald in the preface to his translation of the Rubaiyat, purports to give an account of the events leading to his departure. According to this tale, Hasan-i Sabbah, the poet Omar Khayyam, and the vizier Nizam al-Mulk, had all been fellow-students of the same teacher. The three made a pact that whichever of them first achieved success and fortune in the world would help the other two. Nizam al-Mulk in due course became the vizier of the Sultan, and his schoolmates put forward their claims. Both were offered governorships, which they both refused, though for very different reasons. Omar Khayyam shunned the responsibilities of office, and preferred a pension and the enjoyment of leisure; Hasan refused to be fobbed off with a provincial post, and sought high office at court. Given his wish, he soon became a candidate for the vizierate and a dangerous rival to Nizam al-Mulk himself. The vizier therefore plotted against him, and by a trick managed to disgrace him in the eyes of the Sultan. Shamed and resentful, Hasan-i Sabbah fled to Egypt, where he prepared his revenge.

  The story presents some difficulties. Nizam al-Mulk was born at the latest in 1020, and was killed in 1092. The dates of birth of Hasan-i Sabbah and Omar Khayyam are unknown, but the former died in 1124, the latter at the earliest in 1123. The dates make it very unlikely that all three could have been contemporaries as students, and most modern scholars have rejected this picturesque tale as a fable.3 A more credible explanation of Hasan’s departure is given by other historians; according to this version, he fell foul of the authorities in Rayy, who accused him of harbouring Egyptian agents and of being a dangerous agitator. To escape arrest he fled from the city, and embarked on the séries of journeys which were to bring him to Egypt.4

  According to the autobiographical fragment, he left Rayy in 1076 and went to Isfahan. From there he travelled northward to Azerbayjan, and thence to Mayyafariqin, where he was driven out of town by the Qadi for asserting the
exclusive right of the Imam to interpret religion, and thus denying the authority of the Sunni Ulema. Continuing through Mesopotamia and Syria, he reached Damascus, where he found that the overland route to Egypt was blocked by military disturbances. He therefore turned west to the coast, and, travelling southwards from Beirut, sailed from Palestine to Egypt. He arrived in Cairo on 30 August 1078, and was greeted by high dignitaries of the Fatimid court.

  Hasan-i Sabbah stayed in Egypt for about three years, first in Cairo and then in Alexandria. According to some accounts, he came into conflict with the Commander of the Armies Badr al-Jamali because of his support for Nizar, and was imprisoned and then deported from the country. The reason given for the conflict must be a later embellishment, since the dispute over the succession had not yet arisen at the time, but a collision between the ardent revolutionary and the military dictator is far from unlikely.5

  From Egypt he was deported to North Africa, but the Frankish ship on which he was travelling was wrecked, and he was saved and taken to Syria. Travelling through Aleppo and Baghdad, he reached Isfahan on 10 June 1081. For the next nine years he travelled extensively in Persia, in the service of the da‘wa. In the autobiographical fragment he speaks of several such journeys: ‘From thence [i.e. from Isfahan] I proceeded to Kerman and Yazd, and conducted propaganda there for a while.’6 From central Iran he returned to Isfahan, and then turned south to spend three months in Khuzistan, where he had already spent some time while on his way back from Egypt.