by Hugh Kennedy
Despite all these successes, however, they had a very mixed reputation in the later Islamic tradition. From the start the Umayyads faced a series of challenges, from the Quraysh of the Hijaz and the supporters of the Family of the Prophet in Iraq and numerous groups of Kharijites among others. They were later held to have been impious, and not true Muslim rulers. They were described as ‘kings’ (mulūk, sing. malik), that is, secular rulers, as opposed to the truly Muslim Abbasids who followed them. Looking at the historical record, it is difficult to account for this verdict. Some of the Umayyad caliphs, such as Walīd II (743–4), led wayward lives, much publicized both by admiring poets and pious opponents, but he was very much the exception. Most of them seem to have lived lives of at least conventional piety and one, Abd al-Malik (685–705), enjoyed a considerable reputation as a religious scholar.
To understand this hostility we must look at the people who held and publicized such negative attitudes. The great chroniclers of the Umayyad caliphate, Balādhuri (d. 892) and Tabarī (d. 923), record the deeds of the caliphs of the dynasty objectively and usually without moral judgements. It is with the ulama, the religious scholars, and later historians that these prejudices become apparent. This is partly because they wrote under the rule of the Abbasids, who would have a natural interest in denigrating the achievements of the dynasty they had overthrown. Ulama also overwhelmingly came from Iraq and the Iraqis remembered the Syrian-based regime of the Umayyads and how the Syrian army had been sent to occupy and cow their country from their newly established garrison city at Wasit in central Iraq. But much of this hostility derives from the fact that the ulama of later years used the Umayyads as examples of how not to be caliphs in their veiled criticisms. The Umayyads, in fact, were made to pay for the sins of rulers much nearer their own time. The reality is that most Umayyad caliphs were strong, effective rulers and pious, believing Muslims.
During the Umayyad period, many features of the caliphate became established and in time traditional in ways which continued long after the dynasty itself had been swept away. Among the most obvious of these were the rituals of inauguration. Caliphs were not crowned. A crown of the Byzantine or Persian sort would have represented an acceptance of all the traditions of ancient monarchy, with its pomp and hierarchy, which the early Muslims rejected and sought to replace. There was absolutely no religious figure to take the role of the popes and archbishops of the western tradition and place a crown on a ruler’s head.
Instead of these ancient and discredited rituals, caliphs were inaugurated through the performance of the baya, the public oath of allegiance signifying acceptance of an individual as ruler. A ceremony usually involving hand-to-hand contact—stroking or pressing rather than shaking—in this respect at least it resembled the swearing of homage by knights to their lords in medieval western Europe. In Umayyad and early Abbasid periods such ceremonies could be grand public occasions, a very visible sign that the public accepted their new ruler, and marked the inauguration of a new reign. In later times the baya lost its public role and ordinary people no longer participated. It was confined to the military, who expected and demanded a bonus payment for taking part, and to members of the court. From the beginning too the baya was sometimes offered by proxy on behalf of people who were too distant from the centre of power to be able to attend. It was a ritual through which rebels who wished to claim the caliphate for themselves could attach their supporters firmly to their cause. Despite the varied and apparently informal nature of the ceremonies, the baya was usually taken very seriously. To break it was a bad thing to do, unless the caliph was so obviously wicked or useless as to justify it, and could have the most dreadful consequences.
The fact that the baya became the primary ritual of inauguration in the caliphate was important. It was a fundamentally Arab idea expressed in Arabic words and Arab gestures. It made it clear that this Islamic leadership was quite unlike the ancient empires with their lavish and extravagant ceremonies. It was also a symbol of a relationship between free men, the subjects voluntarily accepting the authority of the new ruler. At the same time it had no divine approval or sanction. Of course, to break a solemn oath went against the law of God as it did the law of man, and most people accepted that the new ruler was in power because, in some way, God willed it thus, but the ritual itself was essentially a contract between men and that was all that was necessary to confirm a new caliph in power.
The idea of baya is an old one used among the pre-Islamic tribes of Arabia to seal alliances and agreement. Some sources say that a baya was taken to Muhammad by the people of Mecca in 630 when he gained control over the city. It is assumed by later sources that a baya was taken to Abū Bakr, Umar and Uthmān in turn as caliphs, but there are no detailed descriptions of how this was done and we may be simply looking at a back-projection of later Islamic practice to the era of the Orthodox caliphs.
Muāwiya’s assumption of the caliphate is the first case in which we have a clear contemporary description of how the oath of allegiance was given and taken. It comes from a rather unexpected source. This is the so-called Maronite Chronicle, written in Syriac, the ancient liturgical language of the eastern churches in Syria, by a Christian author probably between 664 and 681, during the reign of Muāwiya, in fact. This makes it extremely valuable evidence for early practice. Not only is it earlier than any surviving Arabic-Muslim account, but it is not in any way influenced by later Muslim ideas. Its author may even have been an eyewitness. Among accounts of earthquakes and quarrels between different groups of Christians he writes of Muāwiya’s assumption of power:
In . . . Constans’ 18th year [the Christian chronicler dates events to the regnal year of the Byzantine emperor in distant Constantinople] many nomads gathered at Jerusalem and made Muāwiya king and he went up and sat down on Golgotha [the site of the crucifixion of Christ]. he prayed there, and went to Gethsemane and went down to the tomb of the blessed Mary to pray in it.
Later he records how, in July 660,
the emirs and many nomads gathered and pledged allegiance [lit. ‘proffered their right hand’] to Muāwiya. Then an order went out that he should be proclaimed king in all the villages and cities of his dominion and that they should make acclamations and invocations to him. He also minted gold and silver, but it was not accepted, because it had no cross on it [the Byzantine coins in normal use all carried images of the cross as well as those of the reigning emperors]. Furthermore, he did not wear a crown like other kings in the world. He placed his throne in Damascus and refused to go to Muammad’s throne [that is to Medina].1
Earlier the chronicler describes how Muāwiya had gone to Hīra, by which he means Kufa in Iraq, where all the Arabs pledged allegiance to him.
These short accounts make many interesting points. The pledging of allegiance by stretching out the right hand is a key feature. It is done by the people described as nomads and Arabs: non-Arabs are not involved. However, the new caliph visits the site of the crucifixion of Christ and the tomb of his mother Mary to pray. No mosque is mentioned. There is no suggestion that Muāwiya was a crypto-Christian, but both Jesus and his mother are, of course, highly respected in the Muslim tradition. This account may simply be wishful thinking on the part of our author, anxious to show how the new ruler respected the Christian holy places, but it may reflect a gesture by the new caliph to acknowledge his Christian subjects, who were, at this time, much more numerous in Syria than the Muslims. He is confident enough in his religion not to put crosses on his coins, showing that he is not a Christian ruler, but it does not work and he has no power to force the new money on his subjects. It was not until the reign of his successor Abd al-Malik, a generation later, that a Muslim ruler could issue an Islamic currency which would be generally accepted. Finally, the new ruler is different. He may be called a king, but he does not wear a crown as kings usually do. On the other hand, he makes it clear that Syria is to be his base and Damascus his capital when he refuses to go to Medina.
Muāwiya
was a forceful and effective ruler, but he was no dictator. Much of the success of his long and largely peaceful reign was that he negotiated and made agreements with local elites in Iraq and Egypt while he largely confined his activities to Syria. His right to rule rested partly on his membership of Quraysh, though his settlement in Damascus represented a rejection of the Qurashi legacy in the Hijaz, and, no doubt, partly of his kinship with the murdered Uthmān, but above all it was based on his ability to attract the baya of the Arab Muslim leaders, not only in Syria but in hostile Iraq as well.
He was clearly a Muslim leader: ‘The earth belongs to God and I am God’s deputy [khalīfat Allah],’ he proclaimed.2 You could not be much clearer than that. He showed his religious authority not by forcing people to accept his beliefs but by leading the Muslim people in jihād against the Byzantines and he devoted massive resources to naval expeditions against the city of Constantinople itself. He also promoted the hajj, so showing deference to the Arabian origins of the new religion of Islam. These two policies, leading the Muslims against the Byzantines and safeguarding the hajj, were to be key elements in the public role of any man who wished to be considered a proper caliph right down through the ages.
CIVIL WAR AND THE RISE OF ABD AL-MALIK
Muāwiya died, full of years and achievement, in 680. Before that, however, he had made a move which aroused bitter opposition and overshadowed his later years. He had his son Yazīd proclaimed as his heir, his successor as caliph. He seems to have known that the adoption of hereditary succession to decide the caliphate would be controversial and to have taken all the precautions he could to ensure that the baya to his son aroused as little controversy as was possible. The young prince was put in charge of a summer expedition against the Byzantines to establish his Islamic bona fides with military Arabs of the frontier region. Muāwiya and Yazīd seem to have led the hajj one after another, again making the point about father and son as leaders of the Muslim community. In Mecca they solicited the baya from some senior members of Quraysh, among them Zubayr’s son Abd Allah, but were rebuffed, at least according to local tradition. Ibn al-Zubayr is said to have called for a new shūra to choose a new caliph. There was also opposition from some Syrian Arab tribes, unhappy with the close family and political connections with the tribe of Kalb to the exclusion of others. Muāwiya could persuade, cajole and bribe, but he could not force the Muslims to accept his decision. In the end, however, his will prevailed: Syrians took the baya in person and delegations came from Iraq and other provinces to offer their allegiance. When the old caliph died, the succession initially passed smoothly: as one contemporary is said to have written to Yazīd, ‘You have lost the Caliph of God and been given the Caliph of God’, a curious parallel with the English formula, ‘The King is dead, long live the King’, on such occasions.
Ostensibly, and according to later tradition, the issue was whether caliphate should be hereditary, which would make it, the critics argued, like an old-fashioned kingship, exactly the sort of arrangement the Muslims had so clearly rejected. Muāwiya had been careful not to claim a hereditary right for his son to succeed but simply to assert that he was the best candidate. His opponents seem to have been unimpressed, which probably reflected their unhappiness about being excluded from the decision. By the time Abd al-Malik was making provision for the succession a quarter of a century later, such doubts seem to have disappeared and it was generally accepted that the caliph could arrange the succession among the members of his family as he saw fit. The Abbasids, their rivals the Alids, the Fatimids and the caliphs of the west all took it for granted that hereditary succession would be the norm and so did their subjects. Hereditary succession within a wider family circle was, however, different from primogeniture. It was by no means the case that the eldest son should automatically be preferred to his younger siblings. Perceived ability, paternal favouritism, maternal pressure and the views of the civil and military establishment all played their part. Only among the Shia did the ideal of primogeniture hold any sway, and that was because it was held to be a manifestation of God’s choice, not of family custom.
The accession of Yazīd in 680 temporarily solved these problems. Except among the diehard supporters of the family of Alī, the new caliph was generally accepted and continued the policies of his father, but the apparent peace was soon to be disrupted by the second great trauma, after the murder of Uthmān, of early Islamic history, one that would end up splitting the Muslim community from top to bottom.
Until recently, when the Iranian government banned the practice, if you walked through the streets of Iranian towns or travelled along the old roads which link them at the time of Ashura, in the first month of the Muslim year, you would come across groups of men, sometimes just a dozen or so, sometimes many hundred in number, walking the dusty routes and flogging themselves over their shoulders with painful whips. Blood was often drawn. The reason for this was to remind themselves of the events of the death of Husayn fourteen centuries ago and to expiate the sins of their predecessors, who failed to come to the aid of the grandson of the Prophet in his hour of need. And in the centre of Iranian towns, small and large, you will see, played out by passionate and emotional actors, the events which surrounded this tragic incident. It is remarkably similar in spirit to a traditional Christian passion play. The heroes and villains are easy to identify: Husayn and his family on one side, the caliph Yazīd and his henchman Ubayd Allah b. Ziyād, the governor of Iraq, on the other. The events that unfold are both entirely predictable and deeply moving as Husayn and his family are surrounded by the forces of brutal oppression, deprived of water and shade and finally done to death by the soldiers of the Umayyad regime. These Iranian passion plays are remarkable as the only form of ancient indigenous theatre in the Islamic world, but perhaps even more so because they show how the events of that remote period still move people and define their thinking so many centuries later.
So what do we know of the historical events which inspired this devotion?
When Muāwiya took over Iraq after Alī’s assassination and made his agreements with the tribal notables, Alī’s eldest son Hasan had been effectively bought off and his younger brother Husayn had remained in Medina, probably looking for an opportunity to seize his father’s inheritance. With the death of the old caliph he saw his opportunity to claim the caliphate for himself and the Family of Muhammad. He must already have been in touch with Alī’s old supporters in Kufa where devotion to the descendants of the Prophet was lively and widespread. Husayn and a small group of family and followers crossed the desert to Iraq, expecting and hoping that the people of Kufa, so enthusiastic in their letters and promises, would come out to meet them and bring them in triumph to the city. Instead they were met by soldiers of the Umayyad governor, forewarned and well prepared. The conflict was short and violent. On 10 October 680, the grandson of the Prophet, whom the old man had fondly played with as a boy, was killed by the forces of godless repression as he tried to claim his father’s caliphate and bring the rule of justice and true Islam to the Muslims.
The killing of Husayn put an end to this first and most famous attempt to establish an Alid caliphate, but the memory of what was attempted and what happened stayed alive. In the immediate aftermath, a large group of Kufans, ashamed of their failure to come to Husayn’s aid, set out from the city to avenge his death. Calling themselves the Repenters, they were enthusiastic but not militarily experienced and were soon defeated by the Umayyad troops. Yet, all these centuries later, modern Iranians remember them and scourge themselves to atone for their shortcomings.
If Yazīd had lived to be as old as his father, he might have established the custom of hereditary succession beyond challenge, but he did not and he died in November 683 in his favourite residence at Hawwarin on the road from Damascus to Palmyra. He left a young son who died after only a few weeks. The hereditary idea, such as it was, had died as a result of obvious natural causes.
Once more the whole future of the calipha
te was cast into doubt. For more than five years the Islamic world was divided by bitter rivalries and civil wars. The events were complex, but in the end three main parties emerged to claim the caliphate, each with very different ideas as to what sort of caliphate they wished and where it should be based.
One of these parties was the Umayyad family, but with Yazīd gone none of Muāwiya’s immediate relatives inspired much confidence. However, another branch of the Umayyads came from Medina to take refuge in Syria. They were led by Marwān b. al-Hakam. He was now an old man, having been born around the time of Muhammad’s Hijra, and was one of the last major figures in Islamic politics to have known the Prophet personally. He had served Uthmān well and had remained in Medina after the caliph’s death. He died in 685 soon after his arrival, and his son Abd al-Malik took over the leadership of the Umayyad party. He was an energetic young man who was to become one of the most important figures in the creation of the Islamic world. But at the time of his father’s death it was all he could do to maintain the Umayyad position in Syria where he had to contend with numerous enemies.
The second party was led by Abd Allah b. al-Zubayr, the son of that Zubayr who had been killed at the Battle of the Camel. His political platform was, in the literal sense of the word, reactionary. He reacted against the policies of the Umayyads. He wanted the new caliph to be chosen not just from the Umayyads but from all Quraysh, and he is said to have called for a new shūra to achieve this. He wanted the caliph to be based in the Hijaz and specifically in Mecca, the original stronghold of Quraysh. This Ibn al-Zubayr was a charismatic figure, at least in the accounts we have of him, a stern and modest Muslim who rejected any form of royal display, and his personal courage in battle and in the face of death was indisputable. He was perhaps the first of many Muslims through the ages who advocated a return to what they thought to be the simple certainties of that time and followed the ways of the salaf, the pious first generation. He was also probably the man who rebuilt the Kaba in the form in which we have it today. He was ably supported by his brother Musab, perhaps more worldly and politically savvy, whom he sent to Iraq to drum up support against the Umayyads.
