The Battle for God: Fundamentalism in Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Karen Armstrong

cult to develop. In the first years after Kerbala, Husain’s son Ali, who had managed to survive the massacre, and his son Muhammad (known respectively as the Fourth and Fifth Imams) retired to Medina and took no part in politics. But in the meantime, Ali, the First Imam, had become a symbol of righteousness for many people who were dissatisfied with Umayyad rule. When the Abbasid faction managed finally to bring down the Umayyad caliphate in 750, and established their own dynasty (750–1260), they claimed at first to belong to the Shiah-i Ali (the Party of Ali). The Shiah was also associated with some wilder speculations, which most Muslims regarded as “extreme” (ghuluww). In Iraq, Muslims had come into contact with an older and more complex religious world and some were influenced by Christian, Jewish, or Zoroastrian mythology. In some Shii circles, Ali was revered as an incarnation of the divine, like Jesus; Shii rebels believed that their leaders had not died but were in hiding (or “occultation”); they would return one day and lead their followers to victory. Others were fascinated by the idea of the Holy Spirit descending into a human being and imparting divine wisdom to him.²⁸ All these myths, in a modified form, would become important to the esoteric vision of the Shiah.

      The cult in honor of Husain transformed a historical tragedy into a myth that became central to the religious vision of Shii Muslims. It directed their attention to a ceaseless but unseen struggle between Good and Evil at the heart of human existence; the rituals liberated Husain from the particular circumstances of his time and made him a living presence; he became a symbol of a profound truth. But the mythology of Shiism could not be applied practically in the real world. Even when such Shii rulers as the Abbasids managed to seize power, the harsh realities of political life meant that they could not rule according to these lofty ideals. The Abbasid caliphs were highly successful in worldly terms, but once in power they soon dropped their Shii radicalism and became ordinary Sunnis. Their rule seemed no more just than that of the Umayyads, but it was pointless for true Shiis to rebel, since any revolution was of necessity brutally suppressed. Indeed, the myth of Husain seemed to suggest that any attempt to oppose a tyrannical ruler was doomed to failure, no matter how pious and zealous for justice it might be.

      The Sixth Shii Imam, Jafar as-Sadiq (d. 765), realized this and formally abandoned armed struggle. He declared that even though he, as the Prophet’s descendant, was the only legitimate leader (Imam) of the ummah, his true function was not to engage in a fruitless conflict but to guide the Shiah in the mystical interpretation of scripture. Each Imam of Ali’s line was, he taught, the spiritual leader of his generation. Each one of the Imams had been designated by his predecessor, who had transmitted to him a secret knowledge (ilm) of divine truth. An Imam was, therefore, an infallible spiritual director and a perfect judge. The Shiah thus abjured politics and became a mystical sect, cultivating the techniques of meditation in order to intuit a secret (batin) wisdom that lay behind every single word of the Koran. The Shiis were not content with the literal meaning of scripture, but used the text as a basis for new insights. Their symbolism of the divinely inspired Imam reflected the Shii sense of a sacred presence, which a mystic experienced as immanent and accessible in a turbulent, dangerous world. It was not a doctrine for the masses, who might interpret it crudely, so Shiis must keep their spiritual as well as their political views to themselves. The mythology of the Imamate, as developed by Jafar as-Sadiq, was an imaginative vision that looked beyond the literal and factual meaning of scripture and history to the constant, primordial reality of the unseen (al-ghayb). Where the uninitiated could see only a man, the contemplative Shii could discern a trace of the divine in Jafar as-Sadiq.²⁹

      The Imamate also symbolized the extreme difficulty of incarnating God’s will in the flawed and tragic conditions of daily life. Jafar as-Sadiq effectively separated religion from politics, privatizing faith and confining it to the personal realm. He did this to protect religion and enable it to survive in a world that seemed essentially hostile to it. This secularization policy sprang from a profoundly spiritual impulse. Shiis knew that it could be dangerous to mix religion and politics. A century later, this became tragically evident. In 836, the Abbasid caliphs moved their capital to Samarra, some sixty miles south of Baghdad. By this date, Abbasid power was disintegrating, and though the caliph remained the nominal ruler of the whole Muslim world, real authority lay with the local amirs and chieftains throughout the far-flung empire. The caliphs felt that in these disturbed times they could not permit the Imams, the descendants of the Prophet, to remain at large, and in 848, Caliph al-Mutawakkil summoned the Tenth Imam, Ali al-Hadi, from Medina to Samarra, where he was placed under house arrest. He and his son, the Eleventh Imam, Hasan al-Askari, could only maintain contact with the Shiah by means of an agent (wakil) who lived in al-Karkh, the mercantile quarter of Baghdad, practicing a trade to deflect the attention of the Abbasid authorities.³⁰

      In 874, the Eleventh Imam died, probably poisoned at the behest of the caliph. He had been kept in such strict seclusion that Shiis knew very little about him. Did he have a son? If not, what would happen to the succession? Had the line died out, and, if so, did this mean that the Shiah was deprived of mystical guidance? Speculation ran rife, but the most popular theory insisted that Hasan al-Askari indeed had a son, Abu al-Qasim Muhammad, the Twelfth Imam, who had gone into hiding to save his life. It was an attractive solution, because it suggested that nothing had changed. The last two Imams had been virtually inaccessible. Now the Hidden Imam would continue to make contact with the people through his wakil, Uthman al-Amri, who would dispense spiritual advice, collect the zakat alms, interpret the scriptures, and deliver legal judgments. But this solution had a limited life span. As time passed beyond the point where the Twelfth Imam seemed likely to be still alive, Shiis became anxious once again, until, in 934, the current agent, Ali ibn Muhammad as-Samarri, brought the Shiah a message from the Hidden Imam. He had not died, but had been miraculously concealed by God; he would return one day shortly before the Last Judgment to inaugurate a reign of justice. He was still the infallible guide of the Shiah and the only legitimate ruler of the ummah, but he would no longer be able to commune with the faithful through agents, or have any direct contact with them. Shiis should not expect his speedy return. They would only see him again “after a long time has passed and the earth has become filled with tyranny.”³¹

      The myth of the “occultation” of the Hidden Imam cannot be explained rationally. It makes sense only in a context of mysticism and ritual practice. If we understand the story as a logos, one that should be interpreted literally as a plain statement of fact, all kinds of questions arise. Where in the world had the Imam gone? Was he on earth or in some kind of intermediate realm? What kind of life could he possibly have? Was he getting older and older? How could he guide the faithful, if they could neither see nor hear him? These questions would seem obtuse to a Shii who was involved in a disciplined cultivation of the batin, or secret sense of scripture, which bypassed reason and drew on the more intuitive powers of the mind. Shiis did not interpret their scriptures and doctrines literally. Their entire spirituality was now a symbolic quest for the Unseen (al-ghayb) that lies beneath the flux of outward (zahir) events. Shiis worshipped an invisible, inscrutable God, searched for a concealed meaning in the Koran, took part in a ceaseless but invisible battle for justice, yearned for a Hidden Imam, and cultivated an esoteric version of Islam that had to be secreted from the world.³² This intense contemplative life was the setting that alone made sense of the Occultation. The Hidden Imam had become a myth; by his removal from normal history, he had been liberated from the confines of space and time and, paradoxically, he became a more vivid presence in the lives of Shiis than when he and the other Imams had lived a normal life in Medina or Samarra. The Occultation is a myth that expresses our sense of the sacred as elusive and tantalizingly absent. It is present in the world but not of it; divine wisdom is inseparable from humanity (for we can only perceive anything, God included, from a human perspective) but takes us beyond the insights of ordinary men and women. Like any myth, the Occultation could not be understood by discursive reason, as though it were a fact that was either self-evident or capable of logical demonstration. But it did express a truth in the religious experience of humanity.

      Like any