The Age of Faith

His brother and successor Suleiman (715–17) wasted lives and wealth in a vain attempt upon Constantinople, solaced himself with good food and bad women, and received the praise of posterity only for bequeathing his power to his cousin. Omar II (717–20) was resolved to atone in one reign for all the impiety and liberality of his Umayyad predecessors. The practice and propagation of the faith were the consuming interests of his life. He dressed so simply, wore so many patches, that no stranger took him for a king. He bade his wife surrender to the public treasury the costly jewels that her father had given her, and she obeyed. He informed his harem that the duties of government would absorb him to their neglect, and gave them leave to depart. He ignored the poets, orators, and scholars who had depended on the court, but drew to his counsel and companionship the most devout among the learned in his realm. He made peace with other countries, withdrew the army that had besieged Constantinople, and called in the garrisons that had guarded Moslem cities hostile to Umayyad rule. Whereas his predecessors had discouraged conversions to Islam on the ground that less poll taxes would come to the state, Omar speeded the acceptance of Islam by Christians, Zoroastrians, and Jews; and when his fiscal agents complained that his policy was ruining the treasury, he replied: “Glad would I be, by Allah, to see everybody become Moslem, so that you and I would have to till the soil with our own hands to earn a living.”¹³ Clever councilors thought to stay the tide of conversions by requiring circumcision; Omar, another Paul, bade them dispense with it. Upon those who still refused conversion he laid severe restrictions, excluded them from governmental employment, and forbade them to build new shrines. After a reign of less than three years he sickened and died.

Another side of Moslem character and custom appears in Yezid II (717–24), last of the royal sons of Abd-al-Malik. Yezid loved a slave girl Habiba as Omar II had loved Islam. While still a youth he had bought her for 4000 pieces of gold; his brother Suleiman, then caliph, had compelled him to return her to the seller; but Yezid had never forgotten her beauty and her tenderness. When he came to power his wife asked him, “Is there, my love, anything in the world left you to desire?” “Yes,” he said, “Habiba.” The dutiful wife sent for Habiba, presented her to Yezid, and retired into the obscurity of the harem. One day, feasting with Habiba, Yezid playfully threw a grape pit into her mouth; it choked her, and she died in his arms. A week later Yezid died of grief.

Hisham (724–43) governed the realm for nineteen years in justice and peace, improved administration, reduced expenses, and left the treasury full at his death. But the virtues of a saint may be the ruin of a ruler. Hisham’s armies were repeatedly defeated, rebellion simmered in the provinces, disaffection spread in a capital that longed for a spendthrift king. His successors disgraced a hitherto competent dynasty by luxurious living and negligent rule. Walid II (743–4) was a skeptic libertine and candid epicurean. He read with delight the news of his uncle Hisham’s death; imprisoned Hisham’s son, seized the property of the late Caliph’s relatives, and emptied the treasury with careless government and extravagant largesse. His enemies reported that he swam in a pool of wine and slaked his thirst as he swam; that he used the Koran as a target for his archery; that he sent his mistresses to preside in his place at the public prayer.¹⁴ Yezid, son of Walid I, slew the wastrel, ruled for six months, and died (744). His brother Ibrahim took the throne but could not defend it; an able general deposed him, and reigned for six tragic years as Merwan II, the last caliph of the Umayyad line.

From a worldly point of view the Umayyad caliphs had done well for Islam. They had extended its political boundaries farther than these would ever reach again; and, barring some illucid intervals, they had given the new empire an orderly and liberal government. But the lottery of hereditary monarchy placed on the throne, in the eighth century, incompetents who exhausted the treasury, surrendered administration to eunuchs, and lost control over that Arab individualism which has nearly always prevented a united Moslem power. The old tribal enmities persisted as political factions; Hashimites and Umayyads hated one another as if they were more closely related than they really were. Arabia, Egypt, and Persia resented the authority of Damascus; and the proud Persians, from contending that they were as good as the Arabs, passed to claiming superiority, and could no longer brook Syrian rule. The descendants of Mohammed were scandalized to see at the head of Islam an Umayyad clan that had included the most unyielding and last converted of the Prophet’s enemies; they were shocked by the easy morals, perhaps by the religious tolerance, of the Umayyad caliphs; they prayed for the day when Allah would send some savior to redeem them from this humiliating rule.

All that these hostile forces needed was some initiative personality to give them unity and voice. Abu al-Abbas, great-great-grandson of an uncle of Mohammed, provided the leadership from a hiding place in Palestine, organized the revolt in the provinces, and won the ardent support of the Shia Persian nationalists. In 749 he proclaimed himself caliph at Kufa. Merwan II met the rebel forces under Abu al-Abbas’ uncle Abdallah on the river Zab; he was defeated; and a year later Damascus yielded to siege. Merwan was caught and killed, and his head was sent to Abu al-Abbas. The new Caliph was not satisfied. “Had they quaffed my blood,” he said, “it would not have quenched their thirst; neither is my wrath slaked by this man’s blood.” He named himself al-Saffah, the Bloodthirsty, and directed that all princes of the Umayyad line should be hunted out and slain, to forestall any resurrection of the fallen dynasty. Abdallah, made governor of Syria, managed the matter with humor and dispatch. He announced an amnesty to the Umayyads, and to confirm it he invited eighty of their leaders to dinner. While they ate, his hidden soldiers, at his signal, put them all to the sword. Carpets were spread over the fallen men, and the feast was resumed by the Abbasid diners over the bodies of their foes, and to the music of dying groans. The corpses of several Umayyad caliphs were exhumed, the almost fleshless skeletons were scourged, hanged, and burned, and the ashes were scattered to the winds.¹⁵

III. THE ABBASID CALIPHATE: 750–1058

1. Harun al-Rashid

Abu al-Abbas al-Saffah found himself ruler of an empire extending from the Indus to the Atlantic: Sind (northwest India), Baluchistan, Afghanistan, Turkestan, Persia, Mesopotamia, Armenia, Syria, Palestine, Cyprus, Crete, Egypt, and North Africa. Moslem Spain, however, rejected his authority, and in the twelfth year of his reign Sind threw off his rule. Hated in Damascus, uncomfortable in turbulent Kufa, al-Saffah made Anbar, north of Kufa, his capital. The men who had helped him to power, and now administered the state, were predominantly Persian in origin or culture; after al-Saffah had drunk his fill of blood, a certain Iranian refinement and urbanity entered into the manners of the court; and a succession of enlightened caliphs dignified the growth of wealth by promoting a brilliant flowering of art and literature, science and philosophy. After a century of humiliation, Persia conquered her conquerors.

Al-Saffah died of smallpox in 754. His half brother Abu Jafar succeeded him under the name of al-Mansur, “the Victorious.” Mansur’s mother was a Berber slave; of the thirty-seven Abbasid caliphs, slaves mothered all but three through the institution of concubinage and the legitimation of its progeny; in this way the Moslem aristocracy was perpetually recruited by the democracy of chance and the fortunes of love and war. The new Caliph was forty, tall, slender, bearded, dark, austere; no slave to woman’s beauty, no friend of wine or song, but a generous patron of letters, sciences, and arts. A man of great ability and little scruple, by his firm statesmanship he established a dynasty that might else have died at al-Saffah’s death. He gave himself sedulously to administration, built a splendid new capital at Baghdad, reorganized the government and the army into their lasting form, kept a keen eye on every department and almost every transaction, periodically forced corrupt officials—including his brother—to disgorge their peculations into the treasury, and dispensed the funds of the state with a conscientious parsimony that won him no friends, but the title of “Father of Farthings.”¹⁶ At the outset of his reign he established on a Persian model an institution—the vizierate—which was to play a major role in Abbasid history. As his first vizier he appointed Khalid, son of Barmak; this family of Barmakids was cast for a heavy part in the Abbasid drama. Al-Mansur and Khalid created the order and prosperity whose full fruits were to fall into the lap of Harun al-Rashid.

After a beneficent reign of twenty-two years al-Mansur died on a pilgrimage to Mecca. His son al-Mahdi (775–85) could now afford to be benevolent. He pardoned all but the most dangerous offenders, spent lavishly to beautify the cities, supported music and literature, and administered the empire with reasonable competence. Byzantium having seized the opportunity of the Abbasid revolution to recover Arab-conquered territory in Asia Minor, al-Mahdi sent an army under his son Harun to renew a theft long sanctified by time. Harun drove the Greeks back to Constantinople, and so threatened that capital that the Empress Irene made peace on terms that pledged a yearly payment of 70,000 dinars ($332,500) to the caliphs (784). From that time onward al-Mahdi called the youth Harun al-Rashid—Aaron the Upright. He had previously named another son heir apparent; now, seeing the far superior capacity of Harun, he asked al-Hadi to waive his claim in favor of his younger brother. Al-Hadi, commanding an army in the east, refused, and disobeyed a summons to Baghdad; al-Mahdi and Harun set out to capture him, but al-Mahdi, aged forty-three, died on the way. Harun—so counseled by the Barmakid Yahya, son of Khalid—recognized Hadi as Caliph, and himself as heir apparent. But, as Sa‘di was to say, “Ten dervishes can sleep on one rug, but two kings cannot be accommodated in an entire kingdom.”¹⁷ Al-Hadi soon set Harun aside, imprisoned Yahya, and proclaimed his own son as successor. Shortly thereafter (786) al-Hadi died; rumor said that his own mother, favoring Harun, had had him smothered with pillows. Harun ascended the throne, made Yahya his vizier, and began the most famous reign in Moslem history.

Legends—above all, the Thousand and One Nights—picture Harun as a gay and cultured monarch, occasionally despotic and violent, often generous and humane; so fond of good stories that he had them recorded in state archives, and rewarded a lady raconteur, now and then, by sharing his bed with her.¹⁸ All these qualities appear in history except the gaiety, which perhaps offended the historians. These depict him first of all as a pious and resolutely orthodox Moslem, who severely restricted the liberties of non-Moslems, made the pilgrimage to Mecca every second year, and performed a hundred prostrations with his daily prayers.¹⁹ He drank thirstily, but mostly in the privacy of a few chosen friends.²⁰ He had seven wives and several concubines; eleven sons and fourteen daughters, all by slave girls except al-Emin, his son by the Princess Zobeida. He was generous with all forms of his wealth. When his son al-Mamun fell in love with one of Harun’s palace maids, the Caliph presented her to him, merely asking him in payment to compose some lines of poetry.²¹ He enjoyed poetry so intensely that on some occasions he would overwhelm a poet with extravagant gifts, as when he gave the poet Merwan, for one brief but laudatory ode, 5000 pieces of gold ($23,750), a robe of honor, ten Greek slave girls, and a favorite horse.²² His boon companion was the libertine poet Abu Nuwas; repeatedly angered by the poet’s insolence or open immorality, he was repeatedly mollified by exquisite verse. He gathered about him in Baghdad an unparalleled galaxy of poets, jurists, physicians, grammarians, rhetors, musicians, dancers, artists, and wits; judged their work with discriminating taste, rewarded them abundantly, and was repaid by a thousand metrical doxologies. He himself was a poet, a scholar, an impetuous and eloquent orator.²³ No court in history had ever a more brilliant constellation of intellects. Contemporary with the Empress Irene in Constantinople and with Charlemagne in France, and coming a little later than Tsüan Tsung at Chang-an, Harun excelled them all in wealth, power, splendor, and the cultural advancement that adorns a rule.

But he was no dilettante. He shared in the labor of administration, earned repute as a just judge, and—despite unprecedented liberality and display-left 48,000,000 dinars ($228,000,000) in the treasury at his death. He led his armies personally in the field, and maintained all frontiers intact. For the most part, however, he entrusted administration and policy to the wise Yahya. Soon after his accession he summoned Yahya and said: “I invest you with the rule over my subjects. Rule them as you please; depose whom you will, appoint whom you will, conduct all affairs as you see fit”; and in ratification of his words he gave Yahya his ring.²⁴ It was an act of extreme and imprudent confidence, but Harun, still a youth of twenty-two, judged himself unprepared to rule so wide a realm; it was also an act of gratitude to one who had been his tutor, whom he had come to call father, and who had borne imprisonment for his sake.

Yahya proved to be one of the ablest administrators in history. Affable, generous, judicious, tireless, he brought the government to its highest pitch of efficiency; established order, security, and justice; built roads, bridges, inns, canals; and kept all the provinces prosperous even while taxing them severely to fill his master’s purse and his own; for he, too, like the Caliph, played patron to literature and art. His sons al-Fadl and Jafar received high office from him, acquitted themselves well, paid themselves better; they became millionaires, built palaces, kept their own herds of poets, jesters, and philosophers. Harun loved Jafar so well that gossip found scandal in their intimacy; the Caliph had a cloak made with two collars, so that he and Jafar might wear it at the same time, and be two heads with but a single breast; perhaps in this Siamese garb they sampled together the night life of Baghdad.²⁵

We do not know the precise causes that so suddenly ended the Barmakids’ power. Ibn Khaldun saw the “true cause” in “their assumption of all authority, their jealous disposition of the public revenue, to such degree that al-Rashid was sometimes reduced to asking for a trivial sum without being able to obtain it.”²⁶ As the young ruler grew into middle age, and found no complete expression of his abilities in the pursuit of sensual pleasure and intellectual discourse, he may have regretted the omnipotence with which he had dowered his vizier. When he ordered Jafar to have a rebel executed, Jafar connived at the man’s escape; Harun never forgave this amiable negligence. A story worthy of the Thousand and One Nights tells how Abbasa, Harun’s sister, fell in love with Jafar; now Harun had vowed to keep the Hashimite blood of his sisters as pure as might be of any but high Arabian fluid, and Jafar was Persian. The Caliph permitted them to marry, but on their promise never to meet except in his presence. The lovers soon broke this agreement; Abbasa secretly bore Jafar two sons, who were concealed and reared in Medina. Zobaida, Harun’s wife, discovered the situation and revealed it to Harun. The Caliph sent for his chief executioner, Mesrur, bade him kill Abbasa and bury her in the palace, and supervised in person the performance of these commands; then he ordered Mesrur to behead Jafar and bring him the severed head, which was duly done; then he sent to Medina for the children, talked long with the handsome boys, admired them, and had them killed (803). Yahya and al-Fadl were imprisoned; they were allowed to keep their families and servants, but were never released; Yahya died two years after his son, al-Fadl five years after his brother. All the property of the Barmakid family, reputedly amounting to 30,000,000 dinars ($142,500,000), was confiscated.

Harun himself did not long survive. For a while he dulled his sorrow and remorse with work, and welcomed even the toils of war. When Nicephorus I, Byzantine Emperor, refused to continue the payments pledged by Irene, and boldly demanded the return of the tribute already paid, Harun replied: “In the name of Allah the Merciful, the Compassionate. From Harun, Commander of the Faithful, to Nicephorus, dog of a Roman: I have your letter, O son of an infidel mother. The answer shall be for your eyes to see, not for your ears to hear. Salaam.”²⁷ He took the field at once, and from his new and strategic residence at Raqqa, on the northern frontier, he led into Asia Minor such impetuous expeditions that Nicephorus soon agreed to resume the tribute (806). To Charlemagne—a useful foil to Byzantium—he sent an embassy bearing many presents, including a complicated water clock and an elephant.²⁸

Though Harun was now only forty-two, his sons al-Emin and al-Mamun were already competing for the succession, and looking forward to his death. Hoping to mitigate their strife, Harun arranged that al-Mamun should inherit the provinces east of the Tigris, al-Emin the rest, and that on the death of either brother the survivor should rule the whole. The brothers signed this compact, and swore to it before the Kaaba. In that same year 806 a serious rebellion broke out in Khurasan. Harun set out with al-Emin and al-Mamun to suppress it, though he was suffering from severe abdominal pains. At Tus in eastern Iran he could no longer stand. He was in his last agony when Bashin, a rebel leader, was brought before him. Made almost insane by pain and grief, Harun upbraided the captive for causing him to undertake this fatal expedition, ordered Bashin to be cut to pieces limb by limb, and watched the execution of the sentence.²⁹ On the following day Harun the Upright died (809), aged forty-five.

2. The Decline of the Abbasids

Al-Mamun continued to Merv, and came to an agreement with the rebels. Al-Emin returned to Baghdad, named his infant son heir to his power, demanded of al-Mamun three eastern provinces, was denied them, and declared war. Al-Mamun’s general Tahir defeated the armies of al-Emin, besieged and almost destroyed Baghdad, and sent al-Emin’s severed head to al-Mamun after a now inviolable custom. Al-Mamun, still remaining in Merv, had himself proclaimed Caliph (813). Syria and Arabia continued to resist him as the son of a Persian slave; and it was not till 818 that he entered Baghdad as the acknowledged ruler of Islam.

Abdallah al-Mamun ranks with al-Mansur and al-Rashid as one of the great caliphs of the Abbasid line. Though capable at times of the fury and cruelty that had disgraced Harun, he was usually a man of mild and lenient temper. In his state council he included representatives of all the major faiths in his realm—Mohammedan, Christian, Jewish, Sabian, Zoroastrian—and guaranteed, until his latest years, full freedom of worship and belief. For a time free thought was de rigueur at the Caliph’s court. Masudi describes one of al-Mamun’s intellectual afternoons:

Al-Mamun used to hold a salon every Tuesday for the discussion of questions in theology and law…. The learned men of diverse sects were shown into a chamber spread with carpets. Tables were brought in laden with food and drink…. When the repast was finished, servants fetched braziers of incense, and the guests perfumed themselves; then they were admitted to the Caliph. He would debate with them in a manner as fair and impartial, and as unlike the haughtiness of a monarch, as can be imagined. At sunset a second meal was served, and the guests departed to their homes.³⁰

Under al-Mamun the royal support of arts, sciences, letters, and philosophy became more varied and discriminating than under Harun, and left a far more significant result. He sent to Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, and elsewhere for the writings of the Greek masters, and paid a corps of translators to render the books into Arabic. He established an academy of science at Baghdad, and observatories there and at Tadmor, the ancient Palmyra. Physicians, jurists, musicians, poets, mathematicians, astronomers enjoyed his bounty; and he himself, like some nineteenth-century mikado, and like every Moslem gentleman, wrote poetry.

He died too young—at forty eight (833)—and yet too late; for in a fever of authoritarian liberalism he disgraced his final years by persecuting orthodox belief. His brother and successor, Abu Ishaq al-Mutassim, shared his good will but not his genius. He surrounded himself with a bodyguard of 4000 Turkish soldiers, as Roman emperors had leaned on a Praetorian Guard; and in Baghdad, as in Rome, the guard became in time and effect the king. The people of the capital complained that al-Mutassim’s Turks rode recklessly through the streets and committed unpunished crimes. Fearing popular revolt, the Caliph left Baghdad, and built himself a royal residence some thirty miles north at Samarra. From 836 to 892 eight caliphs* made it their home and sepulcher. For twenty miles along the Tigris they reared great palaces and mosques, and their officials built luxurious mansions with murals, fountains, gardens, and baths. The Caliph al-Mutawakkil affirmed his piety by spending 700,000 dinars ($3,325,000) on a vast congregational mosque, and only a trifle less on a new royal residence, the Jafariya, with a palace called the “Pearl,” and a “Hall of Delight,” all surrounded with parks and streams. To find money for these structures and their trappings al-Mutawakkil raised taxes and sold public offices to the highest bidders; and to appease Allah he defended orthodoxy with persecution. His son persuaded his Turkish guards to kill him, and took the throne as al-Muntasir—“he who triumphs in the Lord.”

Internal factors corrupted the caliphate before external force reduced it to subservience. Overindulgence in liquor, lechery, luxury, and sloth watered down the royal blood, and begot a succession of weaklings who fled from the tasks of government to the exhausting delights of the harem. The growth of wealth and ease, of concubinage and pederasty, had like effects among the ruling class, and relaxed the martial qualities of the people. There could not come from such indiscipline the strong hand needed to hold together so scattered and diverse a conglomeration of provinces and tribes. Racial and territorial antipathies festered into repeated revolt; Arabs, Persians, Syrians, Berbers, Christians, Jews, and Turks agreed only in despising one another; and the faith that had once forged unity split into sects that expressed and intensified political or geographical divisions. The Near East lives or dies by irrigation; the canals that nourished the soil needed perpetual protection and care, which no individual or family could provide; when governmental maintenance of the canal system became incompetent or negligent, the food supply lagged behind the birth rate, and starvation had to restore the balance between these basic factors in history. But the impoverishment of the people by famine or epidemic seldom stayed the hand of the tax-gatherer. Peasant, craftsman, and merchant saw their gains absorbed into the expenses and frills of government, and lost the incentive to production, expansion, or enterprise. At last the economy could not support the government; revenues fell; soldiers could not be adequately paid or controlled. Turks took the place of Arabs in the armed forces of the state, as Germans had replaced Romans in the armies of Rome; and from al-Muntasir onward it was Turkish captains that made and unmade, commanded and murdered, the caliphs. A succession of sordid and bloody palace intrigues made the later vicissitudes of the Baghdad caliphate unworthy of remembrance by history.

The weakening of political diligence and military power at the center invited the dismemberment of the realm. Governors ruled the provinces with only formal reference to the capital; they schemed to make their position permanent, at last hereditary. Spain had declared itself independent in 756, Morocco in 788, Tunis in 801, Egypt in 868; nine years later the Egyptian emirs seized Syria, and ruled most of it till 1076. Al-Mamun had rewarded his general Tahir by assigning to him and his descendants the governorship of Khurasan; this Tahirid dynasty (820–72) ruled most of Persia in semisovereignty until replaced by the Saffarids (872–903). In 929–44 a tribe of Shia Moslems, the Hamdanids, captured northern Mesopotamia and Syria, and dignified their power by making Mosul and Aleppo brilliant centers of cultural life; so Sayfu’l-Dawla (944–67), himself a poet, made places at his Aleppo court for the philosopher al-Farabi and the most popular of Arab poets, al-Mutanabbi. The Buwayhids, sons of the Caspian highland chieftain Buwayh, captured Isfahan and Shiraz, and finally Baghdad (945); for over a century they forced the caliphs to do their bidding; the Commander of the Faithful became little more than the head of orthodox Islam, while the Buwayhid emir, a Shi‘ite, assumed direction of the diminishing state. Adud al-Dawla, the greatest of these Buwayhids (949–83), made his capital, Shiraz, one of the fairest cities of Islam, but spent generously also on the other cities of his realm; under him and his successors Baghdad recaptured some of the glory that it had known under Harun.

In 874 the descendants of Saman, a Zoroastrian noble, founded a Samanid dynasty that ruled Transoxiana and Khurasan till 999. We are not wont to think of Transoxiana as important in the history of science and philosophy; yet under the Samanid kings Bokhara and Samarkand rivaled Baghdad as centers of learning and art; there the Persian language was revived, and became the vehicle of a great literature; a Samanid court gave protection, and the use of a rich library, to Avicenna, the greatest of medieval philosophers; and al-Razi, greatest of medieval physicians, dedicated the al-Mansuri, his immense summary of medicine, to a Samanid prince. In 990 the Turks captured Bokhara, and in 999 they put an end to the Samanid dynasty. As the Byzantines for three centuries had fought to contain the Arab expansion, so now the Moslems fought to check the westward movement of the Turks; so, later, the Turks would struggle to stay the Mongol flood. Periodically the pressure of a growing population upon the means of subsistence generates the mass migrations that overshadow the other events of history.

In 962 a band of Turkish adventurers from Turkestan invaded Afghanistan under the lead of Alptigin, a former slave, captured Ghazni, and established there a Ghaznevid dynasty. Subuktigin (976–97), first slave, then son-in-law, then successor, of Alptigin, extended his rule over Peshawar and part of Khurasan. His son Mahmud (998–1030) took all Persia from the Gulf to the Oxus, and in seventeen ruthless campaigns added the Punjab to his empire, and much of India’s wealth to his coffers. Surfeited with plunder, and fretting over the unemployment caused by demobilization, he spent part of his riches, and some of his men, in building the congregational mosque of Ghazni. Says a Moslem historian:

It had an immense nave, in which 6000 servants of God might fulfill their duties without inconvenience to one another. And he raised near it a college, and supplied it with a library, and rare volumes. … And to those pure walls came students, professors, and divines … and from the endowments of the college they received their daily sustenance, and all necessaries, and a yearly or monthly salary.³¹

To this college and his court Mahmud brought many scientists, including al-Biruni, and many poets, including Firdausi, who reluctantly dedicated to him the greatest of Persian poems. During this generation Mahmud stood near the top of the world in more senses than one; but seven years after his death his empire passed into the hands of the Seljuq Turks.

It would be an error to picture the Turks as barbarians. As it was necessary to modify that term as applied to the German conquerors of Rome, so it must be said that the Turks were already passing out of barbarism when they overran Islam. Moving westward from Lake Baikal, the Turks of north central Asia organized themselves in the sixth century under a khan or chagan. Forging iron found in their mountains, they made weapons as hard as their code, which punished not only treason and murder, but adultery and cowardice, with death. The fertility of their women outran the mortality of their wars. By A.D. 1000 a branch of Turks known by the name of their beg or leader Seljuq dominated Transoxiana as well as Turkestan. Mahmud of Ghazni, thinking to halt this rival Turkish power, seized a son of Seljuq, and imprisoned him in India (1029). Undaunted and enraged, the Seljuq Turks under the stern but masterful Tughril Beg took most of Persia, and paved their further advance by sending to the Caliph al-Qaim at Baghdad a deputation announcing their submission to him and Islam. The Caliph hoped that these fearless warriors might free him from his Buwayhid overlords; he invited Tughril Beg to come to his aid. Tughril came (1055), and the Buwayhids fled; al-Qaim married Tughril’s niece, and made him “King of the East and the West” (1058). One by one the petty dynasties of Asiatic Islam crumbled before the Seljuqs, and acknowledged again the supremacy of Baghdad. The Seljuq rulers took the title of sultan—master—and reduced the caliphs to a merely religious role; but they brought to the government a new vigor and competence, and to Mohammedanism a new fervor of orthodox faith. They did not, like the Mongols two centuries later, destroy what they conquered; they rapidly absorbed the higher civilization, unified into a new empire what had been the scattered members of a dying state, and gave it the strength to endure and survive that long duel, between Christianity and Islam, which we know as the Crusades.

IV. ARMENIA: 325–1060

In the year 1060 the Seljuq Turks extended their conquests to Armenia.

That harassed country has felt the claws of rival imperialisms through many centuries, because its mountains hindered its unity of defense while its valleys provided tempting roads between Mesopotamia and the Black Sea. Greece and Persia fought for those roads as highways of trade and war; Xenophon’s Ten Thousand traversed them; Rome and Persia fought for them; Byzantium and Persia, Byzantium and Islam, Russia and Britain. Through all vicissitudes of external pressure or domination, Armenia maintained a practical independence, a vigorous commercial and agricultural economy, a cultural autonomy that produced its own creed, literature, and art. It was the first nation to adopt Christianity as its state religion (303). It took the Monophysite side in the debate about the natures of Christ, refusing to admit that He had shared the infirmities of human flesh. In 491 the Armenian bishops parted from Greek and Roman Christianity and formed an autonomous Armenian Church under its own katholikos. Armenian literature used the Greek language until the early fifth century, when Bishop Mesrob invented a national alphabet, and translated the Bible into the Armenian tongue. Since that time Armenia has had an abundant literature, chiefly in religion and history.

From 642 to 1046 the country was nominally subject to the caliphs, but it remained virtually sovereign and zealously Christian. In the ninth century the Bagratuni family established a dynasty under the title of “Prince of Princes,” built a capital at Ani, and gave the country several generations of progress and relative peace. Ashot III (952–77) was much loved by his people; he founded many churches, hospitals, convents, and almshouses, and (we are told) never sat down to meals without allowing poor men to join him. Under his son Gagik I (990–1020)—how peculiar our names must seem to the Armenians!—prosperity reached its height: schools were numerous, towns were enriched by trade and adorned by art; and Kars rivaled Ani as a center of literature, theology, and philosophy. Ani had impressive palaces and a famous cathedral (c. 980), subtly compounded of Persian and Byzantine styles; here were piers and column clusters, pointed as well as round arches, and other features that later entered into Gothic art. When, in 989, the cupola of St. Sophia in Constantinople was destroyed by an earthquake, the Byzantine emperor assigned the hazardous task of restoring it to Trdat, the architect of the Ani cathedral.³²

CHAPTER XI

The Islamic Scene

628–1058

I. THE ECONOMY

CIVILIZATION is a union of soil and soul—the resources of the earth transformed by the desire and discipline of men. Behind the façade, and under the burden, of courts and palaces, temples and schools, letters and luxuries and arts, stands the basic man: the hunter bringing game from the woods; the woodman felling the forest; the herdsman pasturing and breeding his flock; the peasant clearing, plowing, sowing, cultivating, reaping, tending the orchard, the vine, the hive, and the brood; the woman absorbed in the hundred crafts and cares of a functioning home; the miner digging in the earth; the builder shaping homes and vehicles and ships; the artisan fashioning products and tools; the pedlar, shopkeeper, and merchant uniting and dividing maker and user; the investor fertilizing industry with his savings; the executive harnessing muscle, materials, and minds for the creation of services and goods. These are the patient yet restless leviathan on whose swaying back civilization precariously rides.

All these were busy in Islam. Men raised cattle, horses, camels, goats, elephants, and dogs; stole the honey of bees and the milk of camels, goats, and cows; and grew a hundred varieties of grains, vegetables, fruits, nuts, and flowers. The orange tree was brought from India to Arabia at some time before the tenth century; the Arabs introduced it to Syria, Asia Minor, Palestine, Egypt, and Spain, from which countries it pervaded southern Europe.¹ The cultivation of sugar cane and the refining of sugar were likewise spread by the Arabs from India through the Near East, and were brought by Crusaders to their European states.² Cotton was first cultivated in Europe by the Arabs.³ These achievements on lands largely arid were made possible by organized irrigation; here the caliphs made an exception to their principle of leaving the economy to free enterprise; the government directed and financed the maintenance of the greater canals. The Euphrates was channeled into Mesopotamia, the Tigris into Persia, and a great canal connected the twin rivers at Baghdad. The early Abbasid caliphs encouraged the draining of marshes, and the rehabilitation of ruined villages and deserted farms. In the tenth century, under the Samanid princes, the region between Bokhara and Samarkand was considered one of the “four earthly paradises”—the others being southern Persia, southern Iraq, and the region around Damascus.

Gold, silver, iron, lead, mercury, antimony, sulphur, asbestos, marble, and precious stones were mined or quarried from the earth. Divers fished for pearls in the Persian Gulf. Some use was made of naphtha and bitumen; an entry in Harun’s archives gives the price of “naphtha and reeds” used in burning the corpse of Jafar.⁴ Industry was in the handicraft stage, practiced in homes and artisans’ shops, and organized in guilds. We find few factories, and no clear advance in technology except the development of the windmill. Masudi, writing in the tenth century, speaks of seeing these in Persia and the Near East; there is no sign of them in Europe before the twelfth century; possibly they were another gift of the Moslem East to its crusading foes.⁵ There was much mechanical ingenuity. The water clock sent by Harun al-Rashid to Charlemagne was made of leather and damascened brass; it told the time by metal cavaliers who at each hour opened the door, let fall the proper number of balls on a cymbal, and then, retiring, closed the door.⁶ Production was slow, but the worker could express himself in integral work, and made almost every industry an art. Persian, Syrian, and Egyptian textiles were famous for the patient perfection of their technique; Mosul for its cotton muslin, Damascus for its damask linen, Aden for its wool. Damascus was noted also for its swords of highly tempered steel; Sidon and Tyre for glass of unexcelled thinness and clarity; Baghdad for its glass and pottery; Rayy for pottery, needles, combs; Raqqa for olive oil and soap; Fars for perfume and rugs. Under Moslem rule western Asia attained a pitch of industrial and commercial prosperity unmatched by western Europe before the sixteenth century.⁷

Land transport was chiefly by camels, horses, mules, and men. But the horse was too prized to be chiefly a beast of burden. “Do not call him my horse,” said an Arab; “call him my son. He runs more swiftly than the tempest, quicker than a glance…. He is so light of foot that he could dance on the breast of your mistress and she would take no hurt.”⁸ So the camel, “ship of the desert,” bore most of the freight of Arab trade; and caravans of 4700 camels swayed across the Moslem world. Great roads radiating from Baghdad led through Rayy, Nishapur, Merv, Bokhara, and Samarkand to Kashgar and the Chinese frontier; through Basra to Shiraz; through Kufa to Medina, Mecca, and Aden; through Mosul or Damascus to the Syrian coast. Caravanserais or inns, hospices and cisterns helped the traveler and his beasts. Much inland traffic was borne on rivers and canals. Harun al-Rashid planned a Suez canal, but Yahya, for unknown reasons, probably financial, discouraged the idea.⁹ The Tigris at Baghdad, 750 feet wide, was spanned by three bridges built upon boats.

Over these arteries a busy commerce passed. It was an economic advantage to western Asia that one government united a region formerly divided among four states; customs dues and other trade barriers were removed, and the flow of commodities was further eased by unity of language and faith. The Arabs did not share the European aristocrat’s scorn of the merchant; soon they joined Christians, Jews, and Persians in the business of getting goods from producer to consumer with the least possible profit to either. Cities and towns swelled and hummed with transport, barter, and sale; pedlars cried their wares to latticed windows; shops dangled their stock and resounded with haggling; fairs, markets, and bazaars gathered merchandise, merchants, buyers, and poets; caravans bound China and India to Persia, Syria, and Egypt; and ports like Baghdad, Basra, Aden, Cairo, and Alexandria sent Arab merchantmen out to sea. Moslem commerce dominated the Mediterranean till the Crusades, plying between Syria and Egypt at one end, Tunis, Sicily, Morocco, and Spain at the other, and touching Greece, Italy, and Gaul; it captured control of the Red Sea from Ethiopia; it reached over the Caspian into Mongolia, and up the Volga from Astrakhan to Novgorod, Finland, Scandinavia, and Germany, where it left thousands of Moslem coins; it answered the Chinese junks that visited Basra by sending Arab dhows out from the Persian Gulf to India and Ceylon, through the Straits and up the Chinese coast to Khanfu (Canton); a colony of Moslem and Jewish merchants was well established there in the eighth century.¹⁰ This vitalizing commercial activity reached its peak in the tenth century, when western Europe was at nadir; and when it subsided it left its mark upon many European languages in such words as tariff, traffic, magazine, caravan, and bazaar.

The state left industry and commerce free, and aided it with a relatively stable currency. The early caliphs used Byzantine and Persian money, but in 695 Abd-al-Malik struck an Arab coinage of gold dinars and silver dirhems.* Ibn Hawqal (c. 975) describes a kind of promissory note for 42,000 dinars addressed to a merchant in Morocco; from the Arabic word sakk for this form of credit is derived our word check. Investors shared in financing commercial voyages or caravans; and though interest was forbidden, ways were found, as in Europe, of evading the prohibition and repaying capital for its use and risk. Monopolies were illegal, but prospered. Within a century after Omar’s death the Arab upper classes had amassed great wealth, and lived on luxurious estates manned by hundreds of slaves.¹¹ Yahya the Barmakid offered 7,000,000 dirhems ($560,000) for a pearl box made of precious stones, and was refused; the Caliph Muqtafi, if we may believe Moslem figures, left at his death 20,000,000 dinars ($94,500,000) in jewelry and perfumes.¹² When Harun al-Rashid married his son al-Mamun to Buran, her grandmother emptied a shower of pearls upon the groom; and her father scattered among the guests balls of musk, each of which contained a writ entitling the possessor to a slave, a horse, an estate, or some other gift.¹³ After Muqtadir confiscated 16,000,000 dinars of Ibn al-Jassas’ fortune, that famous jeweler remained a wealthy man. Many overseas traders were worth 4,000,000 dinars; hundreds of merchants had homes costing from 10,000 to 30,000 dinars ($142,500).¹⁴

At the bottom of the economic structure were the slaves. They were probably more numerous in Islam in proportion to population than in Christendom, where serfdom was replacing slavery. The Caliph Muqtadir, we are told, had 11,000 eunuchs in his household; Musa took 300,000 captives in Africa, 30,000 “virgins” in Spain, and sold them into slavery; Qutayba captured 100,000 in Sogdiana; the figures are Oriental and must be discounted. The Koran recognized the capture of non-Moslems in war, and the birth of children to slave parents, as the sole legitimate sources of slavery; no Moslem (just as in Christendom no Christian) was to be enslaved. Nevertheless a brisk trade developed in slaves captured in raids—Negroes from East and Central Africa, Turks or Chinese from Turkestan, whites from Russia, Italy, and Spain. The Moslem had full rights of life and death over his slaves; usually, however, he handled them with a genial humanity that made their lot no worse—perhaps better, as more secure—than that of a factory worker in nineteenth-century Europe.¹⁵ Slaves did most of the menial work on the farms, most of the unskilled manual work in the towns; they acted as servants in the household, and as concubines or eunuchs in the harem. Most dancers, singers, and actors were slaves. The offspring of a female slave by her master, or of a free woman by her slave, was free from birth. Slaves were allowed to marry; and their children, if talented, might receive an education. It is astonishing how many sons of slaves rose to high place in the intellectual and political world of Islam, how many, like Mahmud and the early Mameluks, became kings.

Exploitation in Asiatic Islam never reached the mercilessness of pagan, Christian, or Moslem Egypt, where the peasant toiled every hour, earned enough to pay for a hut, a loincloth, and food this side of starvation. There was and is much begging in Islam, and much imposture in begging; but the poor Asiatic had a protective skill in working slowly, few men could rival him in manifold adaptation to idleness, alms were frequent, and at the worst a homeless man could sleep in the finest edifice in town—the mosque. Even so, the eternal class war simmered sullenly through the years, and broke out now and then (778, 796, 808, 838) in violent revolt. Usually, since state and church were one, rebellion took a religious garb. Some sects, like the Khurramiyya and the Muhayyida, adopted the communistic ideas of the Persian rebel Mazdak; one group called itself Surkh Alam—the “Red Flag.”¹⁶ About 772 Hashim al-Muqanna—the “Veiled Prophet” of Khurasan—announced that he was God incarnate, and had come to restore the communism of Mazdak. He gathered various sects about him, defeated many armies, ruled northern Persia for fourteen years, and was finally (786) captured and killed.¹⁷ In 838 Babik al-Khurrani renewed the effort, gathered around him a band known as Muhammira—i.e. “Reds”¹⁸—seized Azerbaijan, held it for twenty-two years, defeated a succession of armies, and (Tabari would have us believe) killed 255,500 soldiers and captives before he was overcome. The Caliph Mutasim ordered Babik’s own executioner to cut off Babik’s limbs one by one; the trunk was impaled before the royal palace; and the head was sent on exhibition around the cities of Khurasan¹⁹ as a reminder that all men are born unfree and unequal.

The most famous of these “servile wars” of the East was organized by Ali, an Arab who claimed descent from the Prophet’s son-in-law. Near Basra many Negro slaves were employed in digging saltpeter. Ali represented to them how badly they were treated, urged them to follow him in revolt, and promised them freedom, wealth—and slaves. They agreed, seized food and supplies, defeated the troops sent against them, and built themselves independent villages with palaces for their leaders, prisons for their captives, and mosques for their prayers (869). The employers offered Ali five dinars ($23.75) per head if he would persuade the rebels to return to work; he refused. The surrounding country tried to starve them into submission; but when their supplies ran out they attacked the town of Obolla, freed and absorbed its slaves, sacked it, and put it to flames (870). Much encouraged, Ali led his men against other towns, took many of them, and captured control of southern Iran and Iraq to the gates of Baghdad. Commerce halted, and the capital began to starve. In 871 the Negro general Mohallabi, with a large army of rebels, seized Basra; if we may credit the historians, 300,000 persons were massacred, and thousands of white women and children, including the Hashimite aristocracy, became the concubines or slaves of the Negro troops. For ten years the rebellion continued; great armies were sent to suppress it; amnesty and rewards were offered to deserters; many of his men left Ali and joined the government’s forces. The remnant was surrounded, besieged, and bombarded with molten lead and “Greek fire”—flaming torches of naphtha. Finally, a government army under the vizier Mowaffaq made its way into the rebel city, overcame resistance, killed Ali, and brought his head to the victor. Mowaffaq and his officers knelt and thanked Allah for His mercies (883).²⁰ The rebellion had lasted fourteen years, and had threatened the whole economic and political structure of Eastern Islam. Ibn Tulun, governor of Egypt, took advantage of the situation to make the richest of the caliph’s provinces an independent state.

II. THE FAITH

Next to bread and woman, in the hierarchy of desire, comes eternal salvation; when the stomach is satisfied, and lust is spent, man spares a little time for God. Despite polygamy, the Moslem found considerable time for Allah, and based his morals, his laws, and his government upon his religion.

Theoretically the Moslem faith was the simplest of all creeds: “There is no god but Allah, and Mohammed is His Prophet.” (La ilaha il-Allah, Muhammad-un Rasulu-llah.) The simplicity of the formula is only apparent, for its second clause involves the acceptance of the Koran and all its teachings. Consequently the orthodox Moslem also believed in heaven and hell, angels and demons, the resurrection of body and soul, the divine predestination of all events, the Last Judgment, the four duties of Moslem practice—prayer, alms, fasting, and pilgrimage—and the divine inspiration of various prophets who led up to Mohammed. “For every nation,” said the Koran, “there is a messenger and prophet” (x, 48); some Moslems reckon such messengers at 224,000;²¹ but apparently only Abraham, Moses, and Jesus were considered by Mohammed as having spoken the word of God. Hence the Moslem was required to accept the Old Testament and the Gospels as inspired scriptures; where these contradicted the Koran it was because their divine text had been willfully or unwittingly corrupted by men; in any case the Koran superseded all previous revelations, and Mohammed excelled all the other messengers of God. Moslems proclaimed his mere humanity, but revered him almost as intensely as Christians worshiped Christ. “If I had been alive in his time,” said a typical Moslem, “I would not have allowed the Apostle of God to put his blessed foot upon the earth, but would have borne him upon my shoulders wherever he wished to go.”²²

Making their faith still more complex, good Moslems accepted and obeyed, besides the Koran, the traditions (Hadith) preserved by their learned men of their Prophet’s customs (Sunna) and conversation. Time brought forward questions of creed, ritual, morals, and law to which the holy book gave no clear answer; sometimes the words of the Koran were obscure, and needed elucidation; it was useful to know what, on such points, the Prophet or his Companions had done or said. Certain Moslems devoted themselves to gathering such traditions. During the first century of their era they refrained from writing them down; they formed schools of Hadith in divers cities, and gave public discourses reciting them; it was not unusual for Moslems to travel from Spain to Persia to hear a Hadith from one who claimed to have it in direct succession from Mohammed. In this way a body of oral teaching grew up alongside the Koran, as the Mishna and Gemara grew up beside the Old Testament. And as Jehuda ha-Nasi gathered the oral law of the Jews into written form in 189, so in 870, al-Bukhari, after researches which led him from Egypt to Turkestan, critically examined 600,000 Mohammedan traditions, and published 7275 of them in his Sahih—“Correct Book.” Each chosen tradition was traced through a long chain (isnad) of named transmitters to one of the Companions, or to the Prophet himself.

Many of the traditions put a new color upon the Moslem creed. Mohammed had not claimed the power of miracles, but hundreds of pretty traditions told of his wonder-working; how he fed a multitude from food hardly adequate for one man; exorcised demons; drew rain from heaven by one prayer, and stopped it by another; how he touched the udders of dry goats and they gave milk; how the sick were healed by contact with his clothes or his shorn hair. Christian influences seem to have molded many of the traditions; love toward one’s enemies was inculcated, though Mohammed had sterner views; the Lord’s Prayer was adopted from the Gospels; the parables of the sower, the wedding guests, and the laborers in the vineyard were put into Mohammed’s mouth;²³ all in all, he was transformed into an excellent Christian, despite his nine wives. Moslem critics complained that much of the Hadith had been concocted as Umayyad, Abbasid, or other propaganda;²⁴ Ibn Abi al-Awja, executed at Kufa in 772, confessed to having fabricated 4000 traditions.²⁵ A few skeptics laughed at the Hadith collections, and composed indecent stories in solemn Hadith form.²⁶ Nevertheless the acceptance of the Hadith, in one or the other of the approved collections, as binding in faith and morals, became a distinguishing mark of orthodox Moslems, who therefore received the name of Sunni, or traditionalists.

One tradition represented the angel Gabriel as asking Mohammed, “What is Islam?”—and made Mohammed reply: “Islam is to believe in Allah and His Prophet, to recite the prescribed prayers, to give alms, to observe the fast of Ramadan, and to make the pilgrimage to Mecca.”²⁷ Prayer, almsgiving, fasting, and pilgrimage constitute the “Four Duties” of Moslem religion. These, with belief in Allah and Mohammed, are the “Five Pillars of Islam.”

Prayer had to be preceded by purification; and as prayer was required of the Moslem five times a day, cleanliness came literally next to godliness. Mohammed, like Moses, used religion as a means to hygiene as well as to morality, on the general principle that the rational can secure popular acceptance only in the form of the mystical. He warned that the prayer of an unclean person would not be heard by God; he even thought of making the brushing of the teeth a prerequisite to prayer; but finally he compromised on the washing of the face, the hands, and the feet (v, 6). A man who had had sexual relations, a woman who had menstruated, or given birth, since the last purification, must bathe before prayer. At dawn, shortly after midday, in late afternoon, at sunset, and at bedtime the muezzin mounted a minaret to sound the adhan, or call to prayer:

Allahu Akbar (God is most great)! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! I bear witness that there is no God but Allah. I bear witness that there is no God but Allah. I bear witness that there is no God but Allah. I bear witness that Mohammed is the Apostle of Allah. I bear witness that Mohammed is the Apostle of Allah. I bear witness that Mohammed is the Apostle of Allah. Come to prayer! Come to prayer! Come to prayer! Come to success! Come to success! Come to success! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! There is no God but Allah!

It is a powerful appeal, a noble summons to rise with the sun, a welcome interruption in the hot work of the day, a solemn message of divine majesty in the stillness of the night; grateful even to alien ears is this strange shrill chant of many muezzins from divers mosques calling the earthbound soul to a moment’s communion with the mysterious source of life and mind. On those five occasions all Moslems everywhere must leave off whatever else they may be doing, must cleanse themselves, turn toward Mecca and the Kaaba and recite the same brief prayers, in the same successive postures, in an impressive simultaneity moving with the sun across the earth.

Those who had the time and will would go to the mosque to say their prayers. Usually the mosque was open all day; any Moslem, orthodox or heretic, might enter to make his ablutions, to rest, or to pray. There, too, in the cloistered shade, teachers taught their pupils, judges tried cases, caliphs announced their policies or decrees; people gathered to chat, hear the news, even to negotiate business; the mosque, like the synagogue and the church, was the center of daily life, the home and hearth of the community. Half an hour before Friday noon the muezzin chanted from the minarets the salutation or salaam—a blessing on Allah, Mohammed, his family, and the great Companions; and called the congregation to the mosque. The worshipers were expected to have bathed and put on clean clothes, and to have perfumed themselves; or they might perform minor ablutions in the tank or fountain that stood in the courtyard of the mosque. The women usually stayed at home when the men went to the mosque, and vice versa; it was feared that the presence of women, even veiled, would distract the excitable male. The worshipers removed their shoes at the door of the mosque proper, and entered in slippers or stocking feet. There or in the court (if they were numerous) they stood shoulder to shoulder in one or more rows, facing the mihrab or prayer niche in the wall, which indicated the qibla or direction of Mecca. An imam or prayer leader read a passage from the Koran and preached a short sermon. Each worshiper recited several prayers, and in the prescribed postures of bowing, kneeling, and prostration; mosque meant a place of prostration in prayer.* Then the imam recited a complex series of salutations, benedictions, and orisons, in which the congregation silently joined. There were no hymns, processions, or sacraments; no collections or pew rents; religion, being one with the state, was financed from public funds. The imam was not a priest but a layman, who continued to earn his living by a secular occupation, and was appointed by the mosque warden for a specified period, and a small salary, to lead the congregation in prayer; there was no priesthood in Islam. After the Friday prayers the Moslems were free, if they wished, to engage in work as on any other day; meanwhile, however, they had known a cleansing hour of elevation above economic and social strife, and had unconsciously cemented their community by common ritual.

The second duty of Moslem practice was the giving of alms. Mohammed was almost as critical of the rich as Jesus had been; some have thought that he began as a social reformer revolted by the contrast between the luxury of the merchant nobles and the poverty of the masses;²⁸ and apparently his early followers were mostly of humble origin. One of his first activities in Medina was to establish an annual tax of two and a half per cent on the movable wealth of all citizens for the relief of the poor. Regular officials collected and distributed this revenue. Part of the proceeds was used to build mosques and defray the expenses of government and war; but war in return brought booty that swelled the gifts to the poor. “Prayer,” said Omar II, “carries us halfway to God, fasting brings us to the door of His palace, almsgiving lets us in.”²⁹ The traditions abound in stories of generous Moslems; Hasan, for example, was said to have three times in his life divided his substance with the poor, and twice given away all that he had.

The third duty was fasting. In general the Moslem was commanded to avoid wine, carrion, blood, and the flesh of swine or dogs. But Mohammed was more lenient than Moses; forbidden foods might be eaten in cases of necessity; of a tasty cheese containing some prohibited meat he only asked, with his sly humor, “Mention the name of Allah over it.”³⁰ He frowned on asceticism, and condemned monasticism (vii, 27); Mohammedans were to enjoy the pleasures of life with a good conscience, but in moderation. Nevertheless, Islam, like most religions, required certain fasts, partly as a discipline of the will, partly, we may presume, as hygiene. A few months after settling in Medina he saw the Jews keeping their annual fast of Yom Kippur; he adopted it for his followers, hoping to win the Jews to Islam; when this hope faded he transferred the fast to the month of Ramadan. For twenty-nine days the Moslem was to abstain, during the daylight hours, from eating, drinking, smoking, or contact with the other sex; exceptions were made for the sick, the weary traveler, the very young or old, and women with child or giving suck. When first decreed, the month of fasting fell in winter, when daylight came late and ended soon. But as the lunar calendar of the Moslems made the year shorter than the four seasons, Ramadan, every thirty-three years, fell in midsummer, when the days are long and the Eastern heat makes thirst a torture; yet the good Moslem bore the fast. Each night, however, the fast was broken, and the Moslem might eat, drink, smoke, and make love till the dawn; stores and shops remained open all those nights, inviting the populace to feasting and merriment. The poor worked as usual during the month of fast; the well-to-do could ease their way through it by sleeping during the day. Very pious persons spent the last ten nights of Ramadan in the mosque; on one of those nights, it was believed, Allah began to reveal the Koran to Mohammed; that night was accounted “better than a thousand months”; and simple devotees, uncertain which of the ten was the “Night of the Divine Decree,” kept all ten with dire solemnity. On the first day after Ramadan the Moslems celebrated the festival of Id al-Fitr, or “Breaking of the Fast.” They bathed, put on new clothes, saluted one another with an embrace, gave alms and presents, and visited the graves of their dead.

Pilgrimage to Mecca was the fourth duty of Moslem faith. Pilgrimage to holy places was traditional in the East; the Jew lived in hopes of one day seeing Zion; and pious pagan Arabs, long before Mohammed, had trekked to the Kaaba. Mohammed accepted the old custom because he knew that ritual is less easily changed than belief; and perhaps because he himself hankered after the Black Stone; by yielding to the old rite he opened a wide door to the acceptance of Islam by all Arabia. The Kaaba, purified of its idols, became for all Moslems the house of God; and upon every Mohammedan the obligation was laid (with considerate exceptions for the ailing and the poor) to make the Mecca pilgrimage “as often as he can”—which was soon interpreted as meaning once in a lifetime. As Islam spread to distant lands, only a minority of Moslems performed the pilgrimage; even in Mecca there are Moslems who have never made a ritual visit to the Kaaba.³¹

Doughty has described, beyond all rivalry, the panorama of the pilgrimage caravan moving with fantastic patience across the desert, caught between the hot fury of the sun and the swirling fire of the sands; some 7000 believers, less or more, on foot or horse or donkey or mule or lordly palanquin, but most tossed along between the humps of camels, “bowing at each long stalking pace . . . making fifty prostrations in every minute, whether we would or no, toward Mecca,”³² covering thirty miles in a weary day, sometimes fifty to reach an oasis; many pilgrims sickening and left behind; some dying and abandoned to lurking hyenas or a slower death. At Medina the pilgrims halted to view the tombs of Mohammed, Abu Bekr, and Omar I in the mosque of the Prophet; near those sepulchers, says a popular tradition, a space is reserved for Jesus the son of Miriam.³³

Sighting Mecca, the caravan pitched its camp outside the walls, for the whole city was haram, sacred; the pilgrims bathed, dressed in seamless robes of white, and rode or walked in a line many miles long, over dusty roads, to seek living quarters in the town. During their stay in Mecca they were required to abstain from all disputes, from sexual relations, and from any sinful act.³⁴ In the months specially ordained for pilgrimage the Holy City became a babbling concourse of tribes and races suddenly doffing nationality and rank in the unanimity of ritual and prayer. Into the great enclosure called the Mosque of Mecca these thousands hurried in tense anticipation of a supreme experience; they hardly noted the elegant minarets of the wall, or the arcades and colonnades of the cloistered interior; but all stopped in awe at the well of Zemzem, whose water, said tradition, had slaked the thirst of Ishmael; every pilgrim drank of it, however bitter its taste, however urgent its effects; some bottled it to take home, to sip its saving sanctity daily, and in the hour of death.³⁵ At last the worshipers, all eyes and no breath, came, near the center of the enclosure, to the Kaaba itself, a miniature temple illuminated within by silver hanging lamps, its outer wall half draped with a curtain of rich and delicate cloth; and in a corner of it the ineffable Black Stone. Seven times the pilgrims walked around the Kaaba and kissed or touched or bowed to the Stone. (Such circumambulation of a sacred object—a fire, a tree, a maypole, an altar of the Temple at Jerusalem—was an old religious ritual.) Many pilgrims, exhausted and yet sleepless with devotion, passed the night in the enclosure, squatting on their rugs, conversing and praying, and contemplating in wonder and ecstasy the goal of their pilgrimage.

On the second day the pilgrims, to commemorate Hagar’s frantic search for water for her son, ran seven times between the hills, Safa and Marwa, that lay outside the city…. On the seventh day those who wished to make the “major pilgrimage” streamed out to Mt. Ararat—six hours’ journey distant—and heard a three-hour sermon; returning halfway, they spent a night in prayer at the oratory of Muzdalifa; on the eighth day they rushed to the valley of Mina and threw seven stones at three marks or pillars, for so, they believed, Abraham had cast stones at Satan when the Devil interrupted his preparations for slaying his son…. On the tenth day they sacrificed a sheep, a camel, and some other horned animal, ate the meat and distributed alms; this ceremony, commemorating similar sacrifices by Mohammed, was the central rite of the pilgrimage; and this “Festival of Sacrifice” was celebrated with like offerings to Allah by Moslems all over the world on the tenth day of the pilgrimage period. The pilgrims now shaved their heads, pared their nails, and buried the cuttings. This completed the Major Pilgrimage; but usually the worshiper paid another visit to the Kaaba before he returned to the caravan camp. There he resumed his profane condition and clothing, and began with proud and comforted spirit the long march back home.

This famous pilgrimage served many purposes. Like that of the Jews to Jerusalem, of the Christians to Jerusalem or Rome, it intensified the worshiper’s faith, and bound him by a collective emotional experience to his creed and to his fellow believers. In the pilgrin age a fusing piety brought together poor Bedouins from the desert, rich merchants from the towns, Berbers, African Negroes, Syrians, Persians, Turks, Tatars, Moslem Indians, Chinese—all wearing the same simple garb, reciting the same prayers in the same Arabic tongue; hence, perhaps, the moderation of racial distinctions in Islam. The circling of the Kaaba seems superstitious to the non-Moslem; but the Moslem smiles at similar customs in other faiths, is disturbed by the Christian rite of eating the god, and can understand it only as an external symbol of spiritual communion and sustenance. All religions are superstitions to other faiths.

And all religions, however noble in origin, soon carry an accretion of superstitions rising naturally out of minds harassed and stupefied by the fatigue of the body and the terror of the soul in the struggle for continuance. Most Moslems believed in magic, and rarely doubted the ability of sorcerers to divine the future, to reveal hidden treasures, compel affection, afflict an enemy, cure disease, or ward off the evil eye. Many believed in magic metamorphoses of men into animals or plants, or in miraculous transits through space; this is almost the framework of the Arabian Nights. Spirits were everywhere, performing every manner of trick and enchantment upon mortals, and begetting unwanted children upon careless women. Most Moslems, like half the Christian world, wore amulets as protection against evil influences, considered some days lucky, other days unlucky, and believed that dreams might reveal the future, and that God sometimes spoke to man in dreams. Everyone in Islam, as in Christendom, accepted astrology; the skies were charted not only to fix the orientation of mosques and the calendar of religious feasts, but to select a celestially propitious moment for any important enterprise, and to determine the genethlialogy of each individual—i.e., his character and fate as set by the position of the stars at his birth.

Seeming to the outer world so indiscriminately one in ritual and belief, Islam was early divided into sects as numerous and furious as in Christendom. There were the martial, puritanic, democratic Kharijites; Murji’ites who held that no Moslem would be everlastingly damned; Jabrites who denied free will and upheld absolute predestination; Qadarites who defended the freedom of the will; and many others; we pay our respects to their sincerity and omniscience, and pass on. But the Shi‘ites belong inescapably to history. They overthrew the Umayyads, captured Persian, Egyptian, and Indian Islam, and deeply affected literature and philosophy. The Shia (i.e., group, sect) had its origin in two murders—the assassination of Ali, and the slaughter of Husein and his family. A large minority of Moslems argued that since Mohammed was the chosen Apostle of Allah, it must have been Allah’s intent that the Prophet’s descendants, inheriting some measure of his divine spirit and purpose, should inherit his leadership in Islam. All caliphs except Ali seemed to them usurpers. They rejoiced when Ali became caliph, mourned when he was murdered, and were profoundly shocked by Husein’s death. Ali and Husein became saints in Shia worship; their shrines were held second in holiness only to the Kaaba and the Prophet’s tomb. Perhaps influenced by Persian, Jewish, and Christian ideas of a Messiah, and the Buddhist conception of Bodhisattvas—repeatedly incarnated saints—the Shi’ites considered the descendants of Ali to be Imams (“exemplars”), i.e., infallible incarnations of divine wisdom. The eighth Imam was Riza, whose tomb at Mashhad, in northeastern Persia, is accounted the “Glory of the Shia World.” In 873 the twelfth Imam—Muhammad ibn Hasan—disappeared in the twelfth year of his age; in Shia belief he did not die, but bides his time to reappear and lead the Shia Moslems to universal supremacy and bliss.

As in most religions, the various sects of Islam felt toward one another an animosity more intense than that with which they viewed the “infidels” in their midst. To these Dhimmi—Christians, Zoroastrians, Sabaeans, Jews—the Umayyad caliphate offered a degree of toleration hardly equaled in contemporary Christian lands. They were allowed the free practice of their faiths, and the retention of their churches, on condition that they wear a distinctive honey-colored dress, and pay a poll tax of from one to four dinars ($4.75 to $19.00) per year according to their income. This tax fell only upon non-Moslems capable of military service; it was not levied upon monks, women, adolescents, slaves, the old, crippled, blind, or very poor. In return the Dhimmi were excused (or excluded) from military service, were exempt from the two and a half per cent tax for community charity, and received the protection of the government. Their testimony was not admitted in Moslem courts, but they were allowed self-government under their own leaders, judges, and laws. The degree of toleration varied with dynasties; the Successors were spasmodically severe, the Umayyads generally lenient, the Abbasids alternately lenient and severe. Omar I ejected all Jews and Christians from Arabia as Islam’s Holy Land, and a questionable tradition ascribes to him a “Covenant of Omar” restraining their rights in general; but this edict, if it ever existed, was in practice ignored,³⁶ and Omar himself continued in Egypt the allowances formerly made to the Christian churches by the Byzantine government.

The Jews of the Near East had welcomed the Arabs as liberators. They suffered now divers disabilities and occasional persecutions; but they stood on equal terms with Christians, were free once more to live and worship in Jerusalem, and prospered under Islam in Asia, Egypt, and Spain as never under Christian rule. Outside of Arabia the Christians of western Asia usually practiced their religion unhindered; Syria remained predominantly Christian until the third Moslem century; in the reign of Mamun (813–33) we hear of 11,000 Christian churches in Islam—as well as hundreds of synagogues and fire temples. Christian festivals were freely and openly celebrated; Christian pilgrims came in safety to visit Christian shrines in Palestine;³⁷ the Crusaders found large numbers of Christians in the Near East in the twelfth century; and Christian communities have survived there to this day. Christian heretics persecuted by the patriarchs of Constantinople, Jerusalem, Alexandria, or Antioch were now free and safe under a Moslem rule that found their disputes quite unintelligible. In the ninth century the Moslem governor of Antioch appointed a special guard to keep Christian sects from massacring one another at church.³⁸ Monasteries and nunneries flourished under the skeptical Umayyads; the Arabs admired the work of the monks in agriculture and reclamation, acclaimed the wines of monastic vintage, and enjoyed, in traveling, the shade and hospitality of Christian cloisters. For a time relations between the two religions were so genial that Christians wearing crosses on their breasts conversed in mosques with Moslem friends.³⁹ The Mohammedan administrative bureaucracy had hundreds of Christian employees; Christians rose so frequently to high office as to provoke Moslem complaints. Sergius, father of St. John of Damascus, was chief finance minister to Abd-al-Malik, and John himself, last of the Greek Fathers of the Church, headed the council that governed Damascus.⁴⁰ The Christians of the East in general regarded Islamic rule as a lesser evil than that of the Byzantine government and church.⁴¹

Despite or because of this policy of tolerance in early Islam, the new faith won over to itself in time most of the Christians, nearly all the Zoroastrians and pagans, and many of the Jews, of Asia, Egypt, and North Africa. It was a fiscal advantage to share the faith of the ruling race; captives in war could escape slavery by accepting Allah, Mohammed, and circumcision. Gradually the non-Moslem populations adopted the Arabic language and dress, the laws and faith of the Koran. Where Hellenism, after a thousand years of mastery, had failed to take root, and Roman arms had left the native gods unconquered, and Byzantine orthodoxy had raised rebellious heresies, Mohammedanism had secured, almost without proselytism, not only belief and worship, but a tenacious fidelity that quite forgot the superseded gods. From China, Indonesia, and India through Persia, Syria, Arabia, and Egypt to Morocco and Spain, the Mohammedan faith touched the hearts and fancies of a hundred peoples, governed their morals and molded their lives, gave them consoling hopes and a strengthening pride, until today it owns the passionate allegiance of 350,000,000 souls, and through all political divisions makes them one.

III. THE PEOPLE

Under the Umayyads the Arabs constituted a ruling aristocracy, and enjoyed a stipend from the state; in return for these privileges, all able-bodied Arab males were subject at any time to military service. As conquerors they were proud of their supposedly unmixed blood and pure speech. With keen genealogical consciousness the Arab added his father’s name to his own, as in Abdallah ibn (son of) Zobeir; sometimes he added his tribe and place of origin, and made a biography of a name, as in Abu Bekr Ahmad ibn Jarir al-Azdi. Purity of blood became a myth as the conquerors took conquered women as concubines, and reckoned their offspring as Arabs; but pride of blood and rank remained. The higher class of Arabs moved about on horseback, clothed in white silk and a sword; the commoner walked in baggy trousers, convoluted turban, and pointed shoes; the Bedouin kept his flowing gown, head shawl and band. Long drawers were prohibited by the Prophet, but some Arabs ventured into them. All classes affected jewelry. Women stimulated the male fancy with tight bodices, bright girdles, loose and colorful skirts. They wore their hair in bangs at the front, curls at the side, braids at the back; sometimes they filled it out with black silk threads; often they adorned it with gems or flowers. Increasingly after the year 715, when out of doors, they veiled the face below the eyes; in this way every woman could be romantic, for at any age the eyes of Arab women are perilously beautiful. Women matured at twelve and were old at forty; in the interval they inspired most of Arabic poetry, and maintained the race.

The Moslem had no respect for celibacy, and never dreamed of perpetual continence as an ideal state; most Moslem saints married and had children. Perhaps Islam erred in the opposite direction, and carried marriage to an extreme. It gave the sexual appetite so many outlets within the law that prostitution diminished for a time under Mohammed and the Successors; but exhaustion requires stimulation, and dancing girls soon played a prominent role in the life of even the most married Moslem male. Moslem literature, being intended only for male eyes and ears, was sometimes as loose as male conversation in a Christian land; it contained a superabundance of deliberately erotic books; and Moslem medical works gave much attention to aphrodisiacs.⁴² In strict Mohammedan law fornication and pederasty were to be punished with death; but the growth of wealth brought an easier ethic, punished fornication with thirty strokes, and winked at the spread of homosexual love.⁴³ A class of professional homosexuals (mukhannath) arose who imitated the costume and conduct of women, plaited their hair, dyed their nails with henna, and performed obscene dances.⁴⁴ The Caliph Suleiman ordered the mukhannath of Mecca castrated; and the Caliph al-Hadi, coming upon two women attendants in Lesbian relations, beheaded them on the spot.⁴⁵ Despite such discouragement homosexualism made rapid progress; a few years after al-Hadi it was prevalent at Harun’s court, and in the songs of his favorite poet Abu Nuwas. The Moslem male, separated from women before marriage by purdah, and surfeited with them after marriage by the harem, fell into irregular relations; and women, secluded from all men but relatives, slipped into similar perversions.

The contact with Persia promoted both pederasty and purdah in Islam. The Arabs had always feared, as well as admired, woman’s charms, and had revenged themselves for instinctive subjection to them by the usual male doubts about her virtue and intelligence. “Consult women,” said Omar I, “and do the contrary of what they advise.”⁴⁶ But the Moslems of Mohammed’s century had not secluded their women; the two sexes exchanged visits, moved indiscriminately through the streets, and prayed together in the mosque.⁴⁷ When Musab ibn al-Zobeir asked his wife Aisha why she never veiled her face, she answered: “Since Allah, may He remain blessed and exalted, hath put upon me the stamp of beauty, it is my wish that the public should view that beauty, and thereby recognize His grace unto them.”⁴⁸ Under Walid II (743–4), however, the harem-and-eunuch system took form, and purdah developed with it. Harim, like haram, meant forbidden, sacred; the seclusion of women was originally due to their being tabu because of menstruation or childbirth; the harem was a sanctuary. The Moslem husband knew the passionate temper of the Oriental, felt a need to protect his women, and saw no escape from their adultery except through their incarceration. It became reprehensible for women to walk in the streets except for short distances and veiled; they could visit one another, but usually they traveled in curtained litters; and they were never to be seen abroad at night. They were separated from the men in the mosque by a screen or railing or gallery; finally they were excluded altogether;⁴⁹ and religion, which in Latin Christendom has been described as a secondary sexual characteristic of the female, became in Islam, as public worship, a prerogative of the male. Even more cruelly, women were forbidden the pleasure of shopping; they sent out for what they needed; and pedlars, usually women, came to spread their wares on the harem floor. Rarely, except in the lower classes, did the women sit at table with their husbands. It was unlawful for a Moslem to see the face of any woman except his wives, slaves, and near relatives. A physician was allowed to see only the afflicted part of a woman patient. The man found the system very convenient; it gave him at home a maximum of opportunity, and outside the home full freedom from surveillance or surprise. As for the women themselves, until the nineteenth century, there is no evidence that they objected to purdah or the veil. They enjoyed the privacy, security, and comforts of the zenana, or women’s quarters; they resented as an insult any negligence of the husband in maintaining their seclusion;⁵⁰ and from their apparent prison the legal wives still played a lively part in history. Khaizuran, Harun’s mother, and Zobaida, his wife, rivaled in the eighth and ninth centuries the influence and audacity of Aisha in the seventh, and enjoyed a magnificence hardly dreamed of by Mohammed’s wives.

The education of girls, in most ranks of the population, seldom went beyond learning their prayers, a few chapters of the Koran, and the arts of the home. In the upper classes women received considerable instruction, usually by private tutors, but sometimes in schools and colleges;⁵¹ they learned poetry, music, and many varieties of needlework; some became scholars, even teachers. Several were famous for enlightened philanthropy. They were taught a brand of modesty adapted to their customs; surprised at the bath, they would cover their faces first; they marveled at the immodesty of European women who bared half their bosoms at a ball and embraced divers men in a dance; and they admired the forbearance of a God who did not strike such sinners dead.⁵²

As in most civilized countries, marriages were usually arranged by the parents. The father might marry his daughter to whomever he wished before she became of age; after that she might choose. Girls were usually married by the age of twelve, and were mothers at thirteen or fourteen; some married at nine or ten; men married as early as fifteen. The betrothal, or marriage contract, pledged the groom to give her a dowry; this remained her property through marriage and divorce. The groom was rarely allowed to see the face of his bride before marriage. The wedding followed eight or ten days after the betrothal; it required no priest, but was accompanied by brief prayers; it involved music, feasting, a “shower” of gifts, and a gay illumination of the bridegroom’s street and house. After many ceremonies the husband, in the privacy of the bridal chamber, drew aside the veil of his wife, and said, “In the name of God the Compassionate, the Merciful.”⁵³

If this belated examination left the groom dissatisfied, he might at once send the wife back to her parents with her dowry. Polygamy in Islam was more often successive than simultaneous; only the rich could afford plural wives.⁵⁴ Facility of divorce made it possible for a Moslem to have almost any number of successive mates; Ali had 200;⁵⁵ Ibn al-Teiyib, a dyer of Baghdad who lived to be eighty-five, is reported to have married 900 wives.⁵⁶ In addition to wives a Moslem might have any number of concubines; Harun contented himself with 200, but al-Mutawakkil, we are told, had 4000, each of whom shared his bed for a night.⁵⁷ Some slave merchants trained female slaves in music, song, and sexual seduction, and then sold them as concubines for as much as 100,000 dirhems ($80,000).⁵⁸ But we must not think of the usual harem as a private brothel. In most cases the concubines became mothers, and prided themselves on the number and gender of their children; and there were many instances of tender affection between master and concubine. Legal wives accepted concubinage as a matter of course. Zobaida, wife of Harun, presented him with ten concubines.⁵⁹ In this way a man’s household might contain as many children as an American suburb. A son of Walid I had sixty sons and an unrecorded number of daughters. Eunuchs, forbidden by the Koran, became a necessary appendage to the harem; Christians and Jews participated in importing or manufacturing them; caliphs, viziers, and magnates paid high prices for them; and soon these cunning castrati subjected many phases of Moslem government to their narrow competence. In the early centuries after the conquest this harem system prevented the Arabs from being ethnically absorbed by the conquered population, and multiplied them to a number needed to rule their spreading realm. Possibly it had some eugenic effect from the free fertility of the ablest men; but after Mamun polygamy became a source of moral and physical deterioration, and—as mouths grew faster than food—of increasing poverty and discontent.

The position of woman within marriage was one of sacred subjection. She could have only one husband at a time, and could divorce him only at considerable cost. The infidelities of her husband were quite beyond her ken, and were accounted morally negligible; her own infidelity was punishable with death. It is remarkable how many adulteries she managed to commit despite her handicaps. She was reviled and revered, belittled and suppressed, and in most cases was loved with passion and tenderness. “For my wife,” said Abu’l Atiyya, “I will gladly renounce all the prizes of life and all the wealth of the world”;⁶⁰ such professions were frequent, and sometimes sincere. In one matter the Moslem wife was favored as compared with some European women. Whatever property she received was wholly at her disposal, not subject to any claim of her husband or his creditors. Within the security of the zenana she spun, wove, sewed, managed the household and the children, played games, ate sweets, gossiped and intrigued. She was expected to bear many children, as economic assets in an agricultural and patriarchal society; the estimation in which she was held depended chiefly upon her fertility; “a piece of old matting lying in a corner,” said Mohammed, “is better than a barren wife.”⁶¹ Nevertheless abortion and contraception were widely practiced in the harem. Midwives transmitted ancient techniques, and physicians offered new ones. Al-Razi (d. 924) included in his Quintessence of Experience a section “on the means of preventing conception,” and listed twenty-four, mechanical or chemical.⁶² Ibn Sina (Avicenna, 980–1037), in his famous Qanun, gave twenty contraceptive recipes.

In nonsexual morals the Mohammedan did not differ appreciably from the Christian. The Koran more definitely denounced gambling and intoxication (v, 90); but some gambling and much drinking continued in both civilizations. Corruption in government and judiciary flourished in Islam as in Christendom. In general the Moslem seems to have excelled the Christian in commercial morality,⁶³ fidelity to his word, and loyalty to treaties signed;⁶⁴ Saladin was by common consent the best gentleman of the Crusades. The Moslems were honest about lying; they allowed a lie to save a life, to patch up a quarrel, to please a wife, to deceive in war the enemies of the faith.⁶⁵ Moslem manners were both formal and genial, and Moslem speech was heavy with compliments and polite hyperbole. Like the Jews, the Moslems greeted one another with a solemn bow and salutation: “Peace [salaam] be with you”; and the proper reply of every Moslem was, “On you be peace, and the mercy and blessings of God.” Hospitality was universal and generous. Cleanliness was a function of income; the poor were neglected and encrusted, the well-to-do were scrubbed, manicured, and perfumed. Circumcision, though not mentioned in the Koran, was taken for granted as a precaution of hygiene; boys underwent the operation at five or six.⁶⁶ Private baths were a luxury of the rich, but public bathhouses were numerous; Baghdad in the tenth century, we are told, had 27,000.⁶⁷ Perfumes and incense were popular with men as well as with women. Arabia was famous of old for its frankin cense and myrrh; Persia for its oil of roses or violets or jasmine. Gardens of shrubs, flowers, and fruit trees were attached to many homes; and flowers were loved, above all in Persia, as the very fragrance of life.

How did these people amuse themselves? Largely with feasting, venery in both senses, flirtation, poetry, music, and song; to which the lower orders added cockfights, ropedancers, jugglers, magicians, puppets…. We find from Avicenna’s Qanun that the Moslems of the tenth century had nearly all the sports and physical foibles of our time: boxing, wrestling, running, archery, throwing the javelin, gymnastics, fencing, riding, polo, croquet, weight lifting and ball playing with mallet, hockey stick, or bat.⁶⁸ Games of chance being forbidden, cards and dice were not much used; backgammon was popular; chess was allowed, though Mohammed had denounced the carving of the pieces in the likeness of men. Horse racing was popular, and was patronized by the caliphs; in one program, we are informed, 4000 horses took part. Hunting remained the most aristocratic of sports, less violent than in Sasanian times, and often subsiding into falconry. Captured animals were sometimes used as pets; some families had dogs, others monkeys; some caliphs kept lions or tigers to awe subjects and ambassadors.

When the Arabs conquered Syria they were still half-barbarous tribes, recklessly brave, violent, sensual, passionate, superstitious, and skeptical. Islam softened some of these qualities, but most of them survived. Probably the cruelties recorded of the caliphs were no worse in total than those of contemporary Christian kings, Byzantine, Merovingian, or Norse; but they were a disgrace to any civilization. In 717 Suleiman, on pilgrimage to Mecca, invited his courtiers to try their swords on 400 Greeks recently captured in war; the invitation was accepted and the 400 men were beheaded in merry sport as the Caliph looked on.⁶⁹ Al-Mutawakkil, enthroned, cast into prison a vizier who had, some years before, treated him with indignity; for weeks the prisoner was kept awake to the point of insanity; then he was allowed to sleep for twenty-four hours; so strengthened, he was placed between boards lined with spikes, which prevented his moving without self-laceration; so he lay in agony for days till he died.⁷⁰ Such savagery, of course, was exceptional; normally the Moslem was the soul of courtesy, humanity, and tolerance. He was, if we may describe the mythical average, quick of apprehension and wit; excitable and lazy, easily amused and readily cheerful; finding content in simplicity, bearing misfortune calmly, accepting all events with patience, dignity, and pride. Starting on a long journey, the Moslem took his grave linen with him, prepared at any time to meet the Great Scavenger; overcome in the desert by exhaustion or disease, he would bid the others go on, would perform his final ablutions, hollow out a pit for his grave, wrap himself in his winding sheet, lie down in the trench, and wait for the coming of death, and a natural burial by the wind-blown sands.⁷¹

IV. THE GOVERNMENT

Theoretically, in the generation after Mohammed, Islam was a democratic republic in the ancient sense: all free adult males were to share in choosing the ruler and determining policy. Actually the Commander of the Faithful was chosen, and policy was decided, by a small group of notables in Medina. This was to be expected; men being by nature unequal in intelligence and scruple, democracy must at best be relative; and in communities with poor communication and limited schooling some form of oligarchy is inevitable. Since war and democracy are enemies, the expansion of Islam promoted one-man rule; unity of command and quickness of decision were required by a martial and imperialist policy. Under the Umayyads the government became frankly monarchical, and the caliphate was transmitted by succession or trial of arms.

Again theoretically, the caliphate was a religious rather than a political office; the caliph was first of all the head of a religious group, Islam; and his primary duty was to defend the faith; in theory the caliphate was a theocracy, a government by God through religion. The caliph, however, was not a pope or a priest, nor could he issuè new decrees of the faith. In practice he enjoyed nearly absolute power, limited by no parliament, no hereditary aristocracy, no priesthood, but only by the Koran—which his paid pundits could interpret at his will. Under this despotism there was some democracy of opportunity: any man might rise to high office unless both his parents were slaves.

The Arabs, recognizing that they had conquered decadent but well-organized societies, took over in Syria the Byzantine, in Persia the Sasanian, administrative system; essentially the old order of life in the Near East continued, and even the Hellenic-Oriental culture, overleaping the barrier of language, revived in Moslem science and philosophy. Under the Abbasids a complex system of central, provincial, and local government took form, operated by a bureaucracy that suffered little interruption from royal assassinations and palace revolutions. At the head of the administrative structure was the hajib or chamberlain, who in theory merely managed ceremony, but in practice accumulated power by controlling entry to the caliph. Next in rank, but (after Mansur) superior in power, was the vizier, who appointed and supervised the officials of the government, and guided the policy of the state. The leading bureaus were those of taxation, accounts, correspondence, police, post, and a department of grievances, which became a court of appeal from judicial or administrative decisions. Next to the army in the caliph’s affections was the bureau of revenue; here all the pervasive pertinacity of the Byzantine tax collectors was emulated, and great sums were sluiced from the nation’s economy to maintain the government and the governors. The annual revenue of the caliphate under Harun al-Rashid exceeded 530,000,000 dirhems ($42,400,000) in money, to which were added now incalculable taxes in kind.⁷² There was no national debt; on the contrary, the treasury in 786 had a balance of 900,000,000 dirhems.

The public post, as under the Persians and Romans, served only the government and very important persons; its chief use was to transmit intelligence and directives between the provinces and the capital, but it served also as a vehicle of espionage by the vizier upon local officers. The system issued itineraries, available to merchants and pilgrims, giving the names of the various stations, and the distances between them; these itineraries were the basis of Arabic geography. Pigeons were trained and used as letter carriers—the first such use known to history (837). Additional “intelligence” was provided by travelers and merchants, and in Baghdad 1700 “aged women” served as spies. No amount of surveillance, however, could check the Oriental-Occidental appetite for “squeeze” or “graft.” The provincial governors, as in Roman days, expected their tenure of office to reimburse them for the expenses of their climb and the tribulations of their descent. The caliphs occasionally forced them to disgorge their accumulations, or sold this right of squeezing to the newly appointed government; so Yusuf ibn Omar extracted 76,000,000 dirhems from his predecessors in the government of Iraq. Judges were well paid, yet they too could be influenced by the generous; and Mohammed (says a tradition) was convinced that out of three judges at least two would go to hell.⁷³

The law by which the great realm was ruled claimed to deduce itself from the Koran. In Islam, as in Judaism, law and religion were one; every crime was a sin, every sin a crime; and jurisprudence was a branch of theology. As conquest extended the reach and responsibilities of Mohammed’s impromptu legislation, and puzzled it with cases unforeseen in the Koran, the Moslem jurists invented traditions that implicitly or explicitly met their need; hence the Hadith became a second source of Mohammedan law. By strange but repeated coincidence these useful traditions echoed the principles and judgments of Roman and Byzantine law, and still more of the Mishna or Gemara of the Jews.⁷⁴ The growing mass and complexity of legal traditions gave sustenance and high status to the legal profession in Islam; the jurists (faqihs) who expounded or applied the law acquired by the tenth century almost the power and sanctity of a priestly class. As in twelfth-century France, they allied themselves with the monarchy, supported the absolutism of the Abbasids, and reaped rich rewards.

Four famous schools of law took form in orthodox Islam. Abu Hanifa ibn Thabit (d. 767) revolutionized Koranic law by his principle of analogical interpretation. A law originally enacted for a desert community, he argued, must be interpreted analogously, not literally, when applied to an industrial or urban society; on this basis he sanctioned mortgage loans and interest (forbidden in the Koran), much as Hillel had done in Palestine eight centuries before. “The legal rule,” said Hanifa, “is not the same as the rules of grammar and logic. It expresses a general custom, and changes with the circumstances that produced it.”⁷⁵ Against this liberal philosophy of progressive law the conservatives of Medina put forth a strong defender in Malik ibn Anas (715–95). Basing his system on a study of 1700 juridical Hadith, Malik proposed that since most of these traditions had arisen in Medina, the consensus of opinion in Medina should be the criterion of interpretation of both the Hadith and the Koran. Muhammad al-Shafii (767–820), living in Baghdad and Cairo, thought that infallibility should have a wider base than Medina, and found in the general consensus of the whole Moslem community the final test of legality, orthodoxy, and truth. His pupil Ahmad ibn Hanbal (780–855) considered this criterion too wide and vague, and founded a fourth school on the principle that law should be determined exclusively by the Koran and the traditions. He denounced the rationalism of the Mutazilites in philosophy, was jailed for orthodoxy by al-Mamun, but held so valiantly to his conservative position that when he died almost the entire population of Baghdad attended his funeral.

Despite this century-long debate, the four schools of law recognized by orthodox Islam agreed in detail as much as they differed in principle. They all assumed the divine origin of the Moslem law, and the necessity of divine origin for any law adequate to control a naturally lawless mankind. They all entered into such minute regulation of conduct and ritual as only Judaism could equal; they prescribed the correct use of toothpicks and matrimonial rights, the proper dress of the sexes, and the moral arrangement of the hair. One legist never ate watermelon because he could not find, in either the Koran or the Hadith, the canonical method for such an operation.⁷⁶ The multiplicity of enactments would have stifled human development; but legal fictions and condoned evasions reconciled the rigor of the law with the flow and vigor of life. Even so, and despite the wide acceptance of the liberalizing Hanafite code, Mohammedan law tended to be too conservative, too inflexibly mortised in orthodoxy to allow a free evolution of economy, morals, and thought.

With these provisos we must concede that the early caliphs, from Abu Bekr to al-Mamun, gave successful organization to human life over a wide area, and may be counted among the ablest rulers in history. They might have devastated or confiscated everything, like the Mongols or the Magyars or the raiding Norse; instead they merely taxed. When Omar conquered Egypt he rejected the advice of Zobeir to divide the land among his followers, and the Caliph confirmed his judgment: “Leave it,” said Omar, “in the people’s hands to nurse and fructify.”⁷⁷ Under the caliphal government lands were measured, records were systematically kept, roads and canals were multiplied or maintained, rivers were banked to prevent floods; Iraq, now half desert, was again a garden of Eden; Palestine, recently so rich in sand and stones, was fertile, wealthy, and populous.⁷⁸ Doubtless the exploitation of simplicity and weakness by cleverness and strength went on under this system as under all governments; but the caliphs gave reasonable protection to life and labor, kept career open to talent, promoted for three to six centuries the prosperity of areas never so prosperous again, and stimulated and supported such a flourishing of education, literature, science, philosophy, and art as made western Asia, for five centuries, the most civilized region in the world.

V. THE CITIES

Before searching out the men and the works that gave meaning and distinction to this civilization we must try to visualize the environment in which they lived. Civilization is rural in base but urban in form; men must gather in cities to provide for one another audiences and stimuli.

Moslem towns were nearly all of modest size, with 10,000 souls or less, cramped into a small and usually walled area for protection against raid or siege, with unlit streets of dust or mud, and little stucco houses hugging their privacy behind a forbidding continuum of external wall; all the glory of the town was concentrated in the mosque. But here and there rose the cities in which Moslem civilization touched its summits of beauty, learning, and happiness.

In Moslem sentiment both Mecca and Medina were holy cities, one as the seat of the ancient Arab shrine and the birthplace of the Prophet, the other as his refuge and home. Walid II rebuilt in splendor the modest mosque at Medina; at Walid’s urging, and for 80,000 dinars, the Byzantine emperor sent forty loads of mosaic stones, and eighty craftsmen from Egypt and Greece; the Moslems complained that their Prophet’s mosque was being built by Christian infidels. Despite the Kaaba and this mosque, the two cities took on under the Umayyads an aspect of worldly pleasure and luxury that would have shocked the earlier caliphs, and must have gladdened the triumphant Quraish. The spoils of conquest had flowed into Medina, and had been distributed chiefly to its citizens; pilgrims were coming to Mecca in greater number, and with richer offerings than ever before, enormously stimulating trade. The holy cities became centers of wealth, leisure, gaiety, and song; palaces and suburban villas housed an aristocracy surfeited with servants and slaves; concubines accumulated, forbidden wine flowed, singers strummed pleasantly sad melodies, and poets multiplied rhymes of war and love. At Medina the beautiful Suqainah, daughter of the martyred Husein, presided over a salon of poets, jurists, and statesmen. Her wit, charm, and good taste set a standard for all Islam; she could not count her successive husbands on her jeweled fingers; and in some instances she made it a condition of marriage that she should retain full freedom of action.⁷⁹ The Umayyad spirit of joie de vivre had conquered the abstemious puritanism of Abu Bekr and Omar in the most sacred centers of Islam.

Jerusalem was also a holy city to Islam. Already in the eighth century the Arabs predominated in its population. The Caliph Abd-al-Malik, envying the splendor with which the church of the Holy Sepulcher had been restored after its destruction by Khosru Parvez, lavished the revenues of Egypt to surpass that shrine with a group of structures known to the Moslem world as Al-Haram al-Sharif (the venerable sanctuary). At the south end was built (691–4) Al-Masjid al-Aqsa—“The Farther Mosque”—so named after a passage in the Koran (xvii, 1). It was ruined by earthquake in 746, restored in 785, and often modified; but the nave goes back to Abd-al-Malik, and most of the columns to Justinian’s basilica in Jerusalem. Muqaddasi considered it more beautiful than the Great Mosque at Damascus. Somewhere in the sacred enclosure, it was said, Mohammed had met Abraham, Moses, and Jesus, and had prayed with them; near by he had seen the rock (reckoned by Israel to be the center of the world) where Abraham had thought to sacrifice Isaac, and Moses had received the Ark of the Covenant, and Solomon and Herod had built their temples; from that rock Mohammed had ascended into heaven; if one but had faith he could see in the rock the footprints of the Prophet. In 684, when the rebel Abdallah ibn Zobeir held Mecca and received the revenues of its pilgrims, Abd-al-Malik, anxious to attract some of this sacred revenue, decreed that thereafter this rock should replace the Kaaba as the object of pious pilgrimage. Over that historic stone his artisans (691) raised in Syrian-Byzantine style the famous “Dome of the Rock,” which soon ranked as the third of the “four wonders of the Moslem world” (the others were the mosques of Mecca, Medina, and Damascus). It was not a mosque, but a shrine to house the rock; the Crusaders erred twice in calling it the “Mosque of Omar.” Upon an octagonal building of squared stones, 528 feet in circuit, rises a dome, 112 feet high, made of wood externally covered with gilded brass. Four elegant portals—their lintels faced by splendid repoussé bronze plates—lead into an interior divided into diminishing octagons by concentric colonnades of polished marbles; the magnificent columns were taken from Roman ruins, the capitals were Byzantine. The spandrels of the arches are distinguished by mosaics depicting trees with all the delicacy of a Courbet; even finer are the mosaics of the drum below the dome. Running around the cornice of the outer colonnade, in yellow letters on blue tiles, is an inscription in Kufic—the angular characters favored in Kufa; Saladin had it set up in 1187; it is a lovely example of this unique form of architectural decoration. Within the colonnade is the massive, shapeless rock, 200 feet around. “At dawn,” wrote Muqaddasi,

when the light of the sun first strikes on the cupola, and the drum reflects his rays, then is this edifice a marvelous sight to behold, and such that in all Islam I have never seen the equal; neither have I heard tell of aught built in pagan times that rivals in grace this Dome of the Rock.⁸⁰

Abd-al-Malik’s plan to make this monument replace the Kaaba failed; had it succeeded, Jerusalem would have been the center of all the three faiths that competed for the soul of medieval man.

But Jerusalem was not even the capital of the province of Palestine; that honor went to al-Ramlah. Many places that are now poor villages were in Moslem days flourishing towns. “Aqqa” (Acre) “is a large city, spaciously laid out,” wrote Muqaddasi in 985; “Sidon is a large city, surrounded by gardens and trees,” wrote Idrisi in 1154. “Tyre is a beautiful place,” wrote Yaqubi in 891, built on a rock jutting out into the Mediterranean; “its inns are five or six stories high,” wrote Nasir-i-Khosru in 1047, “and great is the quantity of wealth exposed in its clean bazaars.”⁸¹ Tripoli, to the north, had “a fine harbor, capable of holding a thousand ships.” Tiberias was famous for its hot springs and its jasmines. Of Nazareth the Moslem traveler Yaqut wrote in 1224: “Here was born the Messiah Isa, the son of Mariam—peace be upon him! … But the people of this place cast dishonor upon her, saying that from all time no virgin has ever borne a child.”⁸² Baalbek, said Yaqubi, “is one of the finest towns in Syria”; “prosperous and pleasant,” added Muqaddasi. Antioch was second only to Damascus among the cities of Syria; the Moslems held it from 635 to 964, the Byzantines then till 1084; the Mohammedan geographers admired its many beautiful Christian churches, its rising terraces of pretty homes, its lush gardens and parks, the running water in every house. Tarsus was a major city; Ibn Hawqal (978) reckoned its male adults at 100,000; the Greek Emperor Nicephorus recaptured it in 965, destroyed all the mosques, and burned all the Korans. Aleppo was enriched by the junction there of two caravan routes: the city “is populous and built of stone,” wrote Muqaddasi; “shady streets, with rows of shops, lead to each of the gates of the mosque”; in that shrine was a mihrab famous for the beauty of its carved ivory and wood, and a minbar “most exquisite to behold”; near by were five colleges, a hospital, and six Christian churches. Homs (the ancient Emesa) “is one of the largest cities in Syria,” wrote Yaqubi in 891; “nearly all its streets and markets are paved with stones,” wrote Istakhri in 950; “the women here,” said Muqaddasi, “are beautiful, and famous for their fine skin.”⁸³

The eastward sweep of the Arab empire favored for its capital a site more central than either Mecca or Jerusalem; and the Umayyads wisely chose Damascus—already heavy with centuries when the Arabs came. Five converging streams made its hinterland the “Garden of the Earth,” fed a hundred public fountains, a hundred public baths, and 120,000 gardens,⁸⁴ and flowed out westward into a “Valley of Violets” twelve miles long and three miles wide. “Damascus,” said Idrisi, “is the most delightful of all God’s cities.”⁸⁵ In the heart of the town, amid a population of some 140,000 souls, rose the palace of the caliphs, built by Muawiya I, gaudy with gold and marble, brilliant with mosaics in floors and walls, cool with ever-flowing fountains and cascades. On the north side stood the Great Mosque, one of 572 mosques in the city, and the sole surviving relic of Umayyad Damascus. In Roman days a temple of Jupiter had adorned the site; on its ruins Theodosius I had built (379) the cathedral of St. John the Baptist. Walid I, about 705, proposed to the Christians that the cathedral should be remodeled and form part of a new mosque, and promised to give them ground and materials for another cathedral anywhere else in the city. They protested, and warned him that “it is written in our books that he who destroys this church will choke to death”; but Walid began the destruction with his own hands. The whole land tax of the empire, we are told, was devoted for seven years to the construction of the mosque; in addition a large sum was given to the Christians to finance a new cathedral. Artists and artisans were brought in from India, Persia, Constantinople, Egypt, Libya, Tunis, and Algeria; all together 12,000 workmen were employed, and the task was completed in eight years. Moslem travelers unanimously describe it as the most magnificent structure in Islam; and the Abbasid caliphs al-Mahdi and al-Mamun—no lovers of the Umayyads or Damascus—ranked it above all other buildings on the earth. A great battlemented wall, with interior colonnades, enclosed a spacious marble-paved court. On the south side of this enclosure rose the mosque, built of squared stones and guarded by three minarets—one of which is the oldest in Islam. Ground plan and decoration were Byzantine, and were doubtless influenced by St. Sophia. The roof and dome—fifty feet in diameter—were covered with plates of lead. The interior, 429 feet long, was divided into nave and aisles by two tiers of white marble columns, from whose gold-plated Corinthian capitals sprang round or horseshoe arches, the first Moslem examples of this latter form.* The mosaic floor was covered with carpets; the walls were faced with colored marble mosaics and enameled tiles; six beautiful grilles of marble divided the interior; in one wall, facing Mecca, was a mihrab lined with gold, silver, and precious stones. Lighting was effected through seventy-four windows of colored glass, and 12,000 lamps. “If,” said a traveler, “a man were to sojourn here a hundred years, and pondered each day on what he saw, he would see something new every day.” A Greek ambassador, allowed to enter it, confessed to his associates: “I had told our Senate that the power of the Arabs would soon pass away; but now, seeing here how they have built, I know that of a surety their dominion will endure great length of days.”⁸⁷†

Striking northeast from Damascus across the desert, one came to Raqqa on the Euphrates, royal seat of Harun al-Rashid; and then through Hatra and across the Tigris to Mosul; farther northeast lay Tabriz, whose finest age was still to come; then, to the east, Tehran (as yet a minor town), Damghan, and—east of the Caspian—Gurgan. In the tenth century this was a provincial capital noted for its cultured princes; the greatest of them, Shams al-Maali Qabus, was a poet and scholar who sheltered Avicenna at his court, and left behind him, as his tomb, a gigantic tower 167 feet high, the Gunbad-i-Qabus, the only structure standing of a once populous and prosperous city. Along the northern route to the east lay Nishapur, still melodious in Omar Khayyam’s verse; Mashhad, the Mecca of Shia Moslems; Merv, capital of a once mighty province; and—usually beyond the reach of the caliph’s taxgatherers—Bokhara and Samarkand. Over the mountain ranges to the south lay Ghazni. Poets tell of Mahmud’s great palaces there, and of “tall towers that amazed the moon”; still stand the “Triumphal Tower” of Mahmud, and the more ornate tower of Masud II. Moving back westward, one could find in the eleventh century a dozen prosperous cities in Iran—Herat, Shiraz (with its famous gardens and lovely mosque), Yazd, Isfahan, Kashan, Qasvin, Qum, Hamadan, Kirmanshah, Samana; and in Iraq the populous cities of Basra and Kufa. Everywhere the traveler could see shining domes and sparkling minarets, colleges and libraries, palaces and gardens, hospitals and baths, and the dark and narrow alleys of the eternal poor. And at last Baghdad.

“Blessed be Baghdad!” cried the poet Anwari—

Blessed be the site of Baghdad, seat of learning and art;

None can point in the world to a city her equal;

Her suburbs vie in beauty with the blue vault of the sky;

Her climate rivals the life-giving breezes of heaven;

Her stones in their brightness rival diamonds and rubies; …

The banks of the Tigris with their lovely damsels surpass Kullakh;

The gardens filled with lovely nymphs equal Kashmir;

And thousands of gondolas on the water

Dance and sparkle like sunbeams in the air.⁸⁹

It was an old Babylonian city, and not far from ancient Babylon; bricks bearing Nebuchadrezzar’s name were found in 1848 under the Tigris there. It throve under the Sasanian kings; after the Moslem conquest it became the seat of several Christian monasteries, mostly Nestorian. From these monks, we are told, the Caliph al-Mansur learned that the site was cool in summer, and free from the mosquitoes that harassed Kufa and Basra. Perhaps the Caliph thought it advisable to put some distance between himself and those unruly cities, already swelling with a revolutionary proletariat; and doubtless he saw strategic advantage in a site safely inland, yet in touch by water, through the Tigris and the major canals, with all the cities on the two rivers, and then through the Gulf with all the ports of the world. So in 762 he transferred his residence from Hashimiya, and the governmental offices from Kufa, to Baghdad, surrounded the site with a threefold circular wall and a moat, changed its official name from Baghdad (“Gift of God”) to Medinat-al-Salam (“City of Peace”), and employed 100,000 men to build in four years great brick palaces for himself, his relatives, and the bureaus of the government. At the center of this “Round City of al-Mansur” rose the caliphal palace, called the “Golden Gate” from its gilded entrance, or the “Green Dome” from its gleaming cupola. Outside the walls, and directly on the west bank of the Tigris, al-Mansur built a summer residence, the “Palace of Eternity”; here, for most of his years, Harun al-Rashid made his home. From the windows of these palaces one might see a hundred vessels unloading on the docks the wares of half the earth.

In 768, to provide his son al-Mahdi with independent quarters, al-Mansur built a palace and a mosque on the eastern or Persian side of the river. Around these buildings a suburb grew, Rusafa, connected with the Round City by two bridges resting on boats. As most of the caliphs after Harun made their dwelling in this suburb, it soon outstripped the city of Mansur in size and wealth; after Harun “Baghdad” means Rusafa. From the royal centers, on either side of the Tigris, narrow crooked streets, designed to elude the sun, led out their chasms of noisy shops to the residential districts of the well-to-do. Each craft had its street or mart—perfumers, basket weavers, wire-pullers (in the literal sense), money-changers, silk weavers, booksellers…. Over the shops and beyond them were the homes of the people. Almost all dwellings but those of the rich were of unbaked brick, made for a lifetime, but not for much longer. We have no reliable statistics of the population; probably it reached 800,000; some authorities estimate it at 2,000,000;⁹⁰ in any case it was in the tenth century the largest city in the world, with the possible exception of Constantinople. There was a crowded Christian quarter, with churches, monasteries, and schools; Nestorians, Monophysites, and orthodox Christians had there their separate conventicles. Harun rebuilt and enlarged an early mosque of al-Mansur, and al-Mutadid rebuilt and enlarged this mosque of Harun. Doubtless several hundred additional mosques served the hopes of the people.

While the poor solaced life with heaven, the rich sought heaven on earth. In or near Baghdad they raised a thousand splendid mansions, villas, palaces-simple without, but “within, nothing but azure and gold.” We may imagine this domestic splendor from an incredible passage in Abulfeda, which assures us that the royal palace at Baghdad had on its floors 22,000 carpets, and on its walls 38,000 tapestries, 12,500 of silk.⁹¹ The residences of the caliph and his family, the vizier, and the governmental heads occupied a square mile of the eastern city. Jafar the Barmakid inaugurated an aristocratic migration by building in southeastern Baghdad a mansion whose splendor contributed to his death. He tried to evade Harun’s jealousy by presenting the palace to Mamun; Harun accepted it for his son, but Jafar continued to live and frolic in the “Qasr Jafari” till his fall. When the palaces of al-Mansur and Harun began to crumble, new palaces replaced them. Al-Mutadid spent 400,000 dinars ($1,900,000) on his “Palace of the Pleiades” (892); we may judge its extent from the 9000 horses, camels, and mules that were housed in its stables.⁹² Al-Muqtafi built next to this his “Palace of the Crown” (902), which, with its gardens, covered nine square miles. Al-Muqtadir raised in his turn the “Hall of the Tree,” so named because in its garden pond stood a tree of silver and gold; on the silver leaves and twigs perched silver birds, whose beaks piped mechanical lays. The Buwayhid sultans outspent them all by lavishing 13,000,000 dirhems upon the Muizziyah Palace. When Greek ambassadors were received by al-Muqtadir in 917, they were impressed by the twenty-three palaces of the Caliph and his government, the porticoes of marble columns, the number, size, and beauty of the rugs and tapestries that almost covered floors and walls, the thousand grooms in shining uniforms, the gold and silver saddles and brocaded saddlecloths of the emperor’s horses, the variety of tame or wild animals in the spacious parks, and the royal barges, themselves palaces, that rode on the Tigris, waiting the Caliph’s whim.

Amid these splendors the upper classes lived a life of luxury, sport, worry, and intrigue. They went to the Maydan or plaza to watch horse races or polo games; drank precious forbidden wine, and ate foods brought from the greatest possible distances at the greatest possible price; robed themselves and their ladies in gorgeous and colorful raiment of silk and gold brocade; perfumed their clothing, hair, and beards; breathed the aroma of burning ambergris or frankincense; and wore jewelry on their heads, ears, necks, wrists, and feminine ankles; “the clinking of thine anklets,” sang a poet to a lass, “has bereft me of reason.”⁹³ Usually women were excluded from the social gatherings of the men; poets, musicians, and wits took their place, and doubtless sang or spoke of love; and willowy slave girls danced till the men were their slaves. Politer groups listened to poetic readings, or recitations of the Koran; some formed philosophical clubs like the Brethren of Purity. About 790 we hear of a club of ten members: an orthodox Sunni, a Shi’ite, a Kharijite, a Manichean, an erotic poet, a materialist, a Christian, a Jew, a Sabaean, and a Zoroastrian; their meetings, we are told, were marked by mutual tolerance, good humor, and courteous argument.⁹⁴ In general Moslem society was one of excellent manners; from Cyrus to Li Hung Chang the East has surpassed the West in courtesy. It was an ennobling aspect of this Baghdad life that all the permitted arts and sciences found there a discriminating patronage, that schools and colleges were numerous, and the air resounded with poetry.

Of the life of the common people we are told little; we may only assume that they helped to uphold this edifice of grandeur with their services and their toil. While the rich played with literature and art, science and philosophy, the simpler folk listened to street singers, or strummed their own lutes and sang their own songs. Now and then a wedding procession redeemed the din and odor of the streets; and on festive holydays people visited one another, exchanged presents with careful calculation, and ate with keener relish than those who feasted from plates of gold. Even the poor man gloried in the majesty of the caliph and the splendor of the mosque; he shared some dirhems of the dinars that were taxed into Baghdad; he carried himself with the pride and dignity of a capital; and in his secret heart he numbered himself among the rulers of the world.

CHAPTER XII

Thought and Art in Eastern Islam

632–1058

I. SCHOLARSHIP

IF we may believe the traditions, Mohammed, unlike most religious reformers, admired and urged the pursuit of knowledge: “He who leaves his home in search of knowledge walks in the path of God … and the ink of the scholar is holier than the blood of the martyr”;¹ but these traditions have the ring of pedagogic narcissism. In any case the contact of the Arabs with Greek culture in Syria awoke in them an eager emulation; and soon the scholar as well as the poet was honored in Islam.

Education began as soon as the child could speak; it was at once taught to say, “I testify that there is no God but Allah, and I testify that Mohammed is His prophet.” At the age of six some slave children, some girls, and nearly all boys except the rich (who had private tutors) entered an elementary school, usually in a mosque, sometimes near a public fountain in the open air. Tuition was normally free, or so low as to be within general reach; the teacher received from the parent some two cents per pupil per week;² the remaining cost was borne by philanthropists. The curriculum was simple: the necessary prayers of Moslem worship, enough reading to decipher the Koran, and, for the rest, the Koran itself as theology, history, ethics, and law. Writing and arithmetic were left to higher education, perhaps because writing, in the Orient, was an art that required specific training; besides, said the Moslem, scribes would be available for those who insisted on writing.³ Each day a part of the Koran was memorized and recited aloud; the goal set before every pupil was to learn the entire book by heart. He who succeeded was called hafiz, “holder,” and was publicly celebrated. He who also learned writing, archery, and swimming was called al-kamil, “the perfect one.” The method was memory, the discipline was the rod; the usual punishment was a beating with a palm stick on the soles of the feet. Said Harun to the tutor of his son Amin: “Be not strict to the extent of stifling his faculties, nor lenient to the point of … accustoming him to idleness. Straighten him as much as thou canst through kindness and gentleness, but fail not to resort to force and severity should he not respond.”⁴

Elementary education aimed to form character, secondary education to transmit knowledge. Squatting against a mosque pillar or wall, scholars offered instruction in Koranic interpretation, Hadith, theology, and law. At an unknown date many of these informal secondary schools were brought under governmental regulation and subsidy as madrasas or colleges. To the basic theological curriculum they added grammar, philology, rhetoric, literature, logic, mathematics, and astronomy. Grammar was emphasized, for Arabic was considered the most nearly perfect of all languages, and its correct use was the chief mark of a gentleman. Tuition in these colleges was free, and in some cases government or philanthropy paid both the salaries of the professors and the expenses of the students.⁵ The teacher counted for more than the text, except in the case of the Koran; boys studied men rather than books; and students would travel from one end of the Moslem world to another to meet the mind of a famous teacher. Every scholar who desired a high standing at home had to hear the master scholars of Mecca, Baghdad, Damascus, and Cairo. This international of letters was made easier by the fact that throughout Islam—through whatever diversity of peoples—the language of learning and literature was Arabic; Latin had no wider realm. When a visitor entered a Moslem city he took it for granted that he could hear a scholarly lecture at the principal mosque at almost any hour of the day. In many cases the wandering scholar received not only free instruction at the madrasa, but, for a time, free lodging and food.⁶ No degrees were given; what the student sought was a certificate of approval from the individual teacher. The final accolade was the acquirement of adab—the manners and tastes, the verbal wit and grace, the lightly carried knowledge, of a gentleman.

When the Moslems captured Samarkand (712) they learned from the Chinese the technique of beating flax and other fibrous plants into a pulp, and drying the pulp in thin sheets. Introduced to the Near East as a substitute for parchment and leather at a time when papyrus was not yet forgotten, the product received the name papyros—paper. The first paper-manufacturing plant in Islam was opened at Baghdad in 794 by al-Fadl, son of Harun’s vizier. The craft was brought by the Arabs to Sicily and Spain, and thence passed into Italy and France. We find paper in use in China as early as A.D. 105, in Mecca in 707, in Egypt in 800, in Spain in 950, in Constantinople in 1100, in Sicily in 1102, in Italy in 1154, in Germany in 1228, in England in 1309.⁷ The invention facilitated the making of books wherever it went. Yaqubi tells us that in his time (891) Baghdad had over a hundred booksellers. Their shops were also centers of copying, calligraphy, and literary gatherings. Many students made a living by copying manuscripts and selling the copies to book dealers. In the tenth century we hear of autograph hunters, and of book collectors who paid great sums for rare manuscripts.⁸ Authors received nothing from the sale of their books; they depended on some less speculative mode of subsistence, or upon the patronage of princes or rich men. Literature was written, and art was designed, in Islam, to meet the taste of an aristocracy of money or of blood.

Most mosques had libraries, and some cities had public libraries of considerable content and generous accessibility. About 950 Mosul had a library, established by private philanthropy, where students were supplied with paper as well as books. Ten large catalogues were required to list the volumes in the public library at Rayy. Basra’s library gave stipends to scholars working in it. The geographer Yaqut spent three years in the libraries of Merv and Khwarizm, gathering data for his geographical dictionary. When Baghdad was destroyed by the Mongols it had thirty-six public libraries.⁹ Private libraries were numberless; it was a fashion among the rich to have an ample collection of books. A physician refused the invitation of the sultan of Bokhara to come and live at his court, on the ground that he would need 400 camels to transport his library.¹⁰ Al-Waqidi, dying, left 600 boxes of books, each box so heavy that two men were needed to carry it;¹¹ “princes like Sahib ibn Abbas in the tenth century might own as many books as could then be found in all the libraries of Europe combined.”¹² Nowhere else in those eighth, ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries of our era was there so great a passion for books, unless it was in the China of Ming Huang. Islam reached then the summit of its cultural life. In a thousand mosques from Cordova to Samarkand scholars were as numerous as pillars, and made the cloisters tremble with their eloquence; the roads of the realm were disturbed by innumerable geographers, historians, and theologians seeking knowledge and wisdom; the courts of a hundred princes resounded with poetry and philosophical debate; and no man dared be a millionaire without supporting literature or art. The old cultures of the conquered were eagerly absorbed by the quick-witted Arabs; and the conquerors showed such tolerance that of the poets, scientists, and philosophers who now made Arabic the most learned and literary tongue in the world only a small minority were of Arab blood.

The scholars of Islam in this period strengthened the foundations of a distinguished literature by their labors in grammar, which gave the Arabic tongue logic and standards; by their dictionaries, which gathered the word wealth of that language into precision and order; by their anthologies, encyclopedias, and epitomes, which preserved much that was otherwise lost; and by their work in textual, literary, and historical criticism. We gratefully omit their names, and salute their achievement.

Those whom we remember best among the scholars are the historians, for to them we owe our knowledge of a civilization that without them would be as unknown to us as Pharaonic Egypt before Champollion. Muhammad ibn Ishaq (d. 767) wrote a classical Life of Mohammed; as revised and enlarged by Ibn Hisham (763) it is—barring the Koran—the oldest significant Arabic prose work that has reached us. Curious and tireless scholars composed biographical dictionaries of saints, or philosophers, or viziers, or jurists, or physicians, or calligraphers, or mandarins, or lovers, or scholars. Ibn Qutaiba (828–89) was one of many Moslems who attempted to write a history of the world; and unlike most historians he had the courage to set his own religion in that modest perspective which every nation or faith must bear in time’s immensity. Muhammad al-Nadim produced in 987 an Index of the Sciences (Fihrist al-’ulum), a bibliography of all books in Arabic, original or translated, on any branch of knowledge, with a biographical and critical notice of each author, including a list of his virtues and vices; we may estimate the wealth of Moslem literature in his time by noting that not one in a thousand of the volumes that he named is known to exist today.¹³

The Livy of Islam¹⁴ was Abu Jafar Muhammad al-Tabari (838–923). Like so many Moslem writers, he was a Persian, born in Tabaristan, south of the Caspian Sea. After several years spent as a poor wandering scholar in Arabia, Syria, and Egypt, he settled down as a jurist in Baghdad. For forty years he devoted himself to composing an enormous universal chronicle—Annals of the Apostles and Kings (Kitab akhbar al-Rusul wal-Muluk)—from the creation to 913. What survives fills fifteen large volumes; we are told that the original was ten times as long. Like Bossuet, al-Tabari saw the hand of God in every event, and filled his early chapters with pious nonsense: God “created men to test them”;¹⁵ God dropped upon the earth a house built of rubies for Adam’s dwelling, but when Adam sinned God drew it up again.¹⁶ Al-Tabari followed the Bible in giving the history of the Jews; accepted the Virgin Birth of Christ (Mary conceived Jesus because Gabriel blew into her sleeve),¹⁷ and ended Part One with Jesus’ ascension into heaven. Part Two is a far more creditable performance, and gives a sober, occasionally vivid, history of Sasanian Persia. The method is chronological, describing events year by year, and usually traditional—tracing the narratives through one or more chains of Hadith to an eyewitness or contemporary of the incident. The method has the virtue of stating sources carefully; but as al-Tabari makes no attempt to co-ordinate the diverse traditions into a sustained and united narrative his history remains a mountain of industry rather than a work of art.

Al-Masudi, al-Tabari’s greatest successor, ranked him as al-Masudi’s greatest predecessor. Abu-l-Hasan Ali al-Masudi, an Arab of Baghdad, traveled through Syria, Palestine, Arabia, Zanzibar, Persia, Central Asia, India, and Ceylon; he claims even to have reached the China Sea. He gathered his gleanings into a thirty-volume encyclopedia, which proved too long for even the spacious scholars of Islam; he published a compendium, also gigantic; finally (947)—perhaps realizing that his readers had less time to read than he had to write—he reduced his work to the form in which it survives, and gave it the fancy title, Meadows of Gold and Mines of Precious Stones. Al-Masudi surveyed omnivorously the geography, biology, history, customs, religion, science, philosophy, and literature of all lands from China to France; he was the Pliny as well as the Herodotus of the Moslem world. He did not compress his material to aridity, but wrote at times with a genial leisureliness that did not shun, now and then, an amusing tale. He was a bit skeptical in religion, but never forced his doubts upon his audience. In the last year of his life he summarized his views on science, history, and philosophy in a Book of Information, in which he suggested an evolution “from mineral to plant, from plant to animal, and from animal to man.”¹⁸ Perhaps these views embroiled him with the conservatives of Baghdad; he was forced, he says, “to leave the city where I was born and grew up.” He moved to Cairo, but mourned the separation. “It is the character of our time,” he wrote, “to separate and disperse all…. God makes a nation prosper through love of the hearth; it is a sign of moral uprightness to be attached to the place of one’s birth; it is a mark of noble lineage to dislike separation from the ancestral hearth and home.”¹⁹ He died at Cairo in 956, after ten years of exile.

At their best these historians excel in the scope of their enterprise and their interests; they properly combine geography and history, and nothing human is alien to them; and they are far superior to the contemporary historians in Christendom. Even so they lose themselves too long in politics and war and wordy rhetoric; they seldom seek the economic, social, and psychological causes of events; we miss in their vast volumes a sense of orderly synthesis, and find merely a congeries of unco-ordinated parts—nations, episodes, and personalities. They rarely rise to a conscientious scrutiny of sources, and rely too piously upon chains of tradition in which every link is a possible error or deceit; in consequence their narratives sometimes degenerate into childish tales of portent, miracle, and myth. As many Christian historians (always excepting Gibbon) can write medieval histories in which all Islamic civilization is a brief appendage to the Crusades, so many Moslem historians reduced world history before Islam to a halting preparation for Mohammed. But how can a Western mind ever judge an Oriental justly? The beauty of the Arab language fades in translation like a flower cut from its roots; and the topics that fill the pages of Moslem historians, fascinating to their countrymen, seem aridly remote from the natural interests of Occidental readers, who have not realized how the economic interdependence of peoples ominously demands a mutual study and understanding of East and West.

II. SCIENCE*

In those lusty centuries of Islamic life the Moslems labored for such an understanding. The caliphs realized the backwardness of the Arabs in science and philosophy, and the wealth of Greek culture surviving in Syria. The Umayyads wisely left unhindered the Christian, Sabaean, or Persian colleges at Alexandria, Beirut, Antioch, Harran, Nisibis, and Jund-i-Shapur; and in those schools the classics of Greek science and philosophy were preserved, often in Syriac translations. Moslems learning Syriac or Greek were intrigued by these treatises; and soon translations were made into Arabic by Nestorian Christians or Jews. Umayyad and Abbasid princes stimulated this fruitful borrowing. Al-Mansur, al-Mamun, and al-Mutawakkil dispatched messengers to Constantinople and other Hellenistic cities—sometimes to their traditional enemies the Greek emperors—asking for Greek books, especially in medicine or mathematics; in this way Euclid’s Elements came to Islam. In 830 al-Mamun established at Baghdad, at a cost of 200,000 dinars ($950,000), a “House of Wisdom” (Bayt al-Hikmah) as a scientific academy, an observatory, and a public library; here he installed a corps of translators, and paid them from the public treasury. To the work of this institution, thought Ibn Khaldun,²⁰ Islam owed that vibrant awakening which in causes—the extension of commerce and the rediscovery of Greece—and results—the flowering of science, literature, and art—resembled the Italian Renaissance.

From 750 to 900 this fertilizing process of translation continued, from Syriac, Greek, Pahlavi, and Sanskrit. At the head of the translators in the House of Wisdom was a Nestorian physician, Hunain ibn Ishaq (809–73)—i.e., John son of Isaac. By his own account he translated a hundred treatises of Galen and the Galenic school into Syriac, and thirty-nine into Arabic; through his renderings some important works of Galen escaped destruction. Further, Hunain translated Aristotle’s Categories, Physics, and Magna Moralia; Plato’s Republic, Timaeus, and Laws; Hippocrates’ Aphorisms, Dioscorides’ Materia Medica, Ptolemy’s Quadripartitum, and the Old Testament from the Septuagint Greek. Al-Mamun endangered the treasury by paying Hunain in gold the weight of the books he had translated. Al-Mutawakkil made him court physician, but jailed him for a year when Hunain, though threatened with death, refused to concoct a poison for an enemy. His son Ishaq ibn Hunain helped him with his translations, and himself rendered into Arabic the Metaphysics, On the Soul, and On the Generation and Corruption of Animals of Aristotle, and the commentaries of Alexander of Aphrodisias—a work fated to wield great influence on Moslem philosophy.

By 850 most of the classic Greek texts in mathematics, astronomy, and medicine had been translated. It was through its Arabic version that Ptolemy’s Almagest received its name; and only Arabic versions preserved Books V–VII of the Conics of Apollonius of Perga, the Mechanics of Hero of Alexandria, and the Pneumatics of Philo of Byzantium. Strange to say, the Mohammedans, so addicted to poetry and history, ignored Greek poetry, drama, and historiography; here Islam accepted the lead of Persia instead of Greece. It was the misfortune of Islam and humanity that Plato, and even Aristotle, came into Moslem ken chiefly in Neoplatonic form: Plato in Porphyry’s interpretation, and Aristotle discolored by an apocryphal Theology of Aristotle written by a Neoplatonist of the fifth or sixth century, and translated into Arabic as a genuine product of the Stagirite. The works of Plato and Aristotle were almost completely translated, though with many inaccuracies; but as the Moslem scholars sought to reconcile Greek philosophy with the Koran, they took more readily to Neoplatonist interpretations of them than to the original books themselves. The real Aristotle reached Islam only in his logic and his science.

The continuity of science and philosophy from Egypt, India, and Babylonia through Greece and Byzantium to Eastern and Spanish Islam, and thence to northern Europe and America, is one of the brightest threads in the skein of history. Greek science, though long since enfeebled by obscurantism, misgovernment, and poverty, was still alive in Syria when the Moslems came; at the very time of the conquest Severus Sebokht, abbot of Ken-nesre on the upper Euphrates, was writing Greek treatises on astronomy, and was making the first known mention of Hindu numerals outside of India (662). The Arabic inheritance of science was overwhelmingly Greek, but Hindu influences ranked next. In 773, at al-Mansur’s behest, translations were made of the Siddhantas—Indian astronomical treatises dating as far back as 425 B.C.; these versions may have been the vehicle through which the “Arabic” numerals and the zero were brought from India into Islam.²¹ In 813 al-Khwarizmi used the Hindu numerals in his astronomical tables; about 825 he issued a treatise known in its Latin form as Algoritmi de numero Indorum—“al-Khwarizmi on the Numerals of the Indians”; in time algorithm or algorism came to mean any arithmetical system based on the decimal notation. In 976 Muhammad ibn Ahmad, in his Keys of the Sciences, remarked that if, in a calculation, no number appears in the place of tens, a little circle should be used “to keep the rows.”²² This circle the Moslems called sifr, “empty” whence our cipher; Latin scholars transformed sifr into zephyrum, which the Italians shortened into zero.

Algebra, which we find in the Greek Diophantes in the third century, owes its name to the Arabs, who extensively developed this detective science. The great figure here—perhaps the greatest in medieval mathematics—was Muhammad ibn Musa (780–850), called al-Khwarizmi from his birthplace Khwarizm (now Khiva), east of the Caspian Sea. Al-Khwarizmi contributed effectively to five sciences: he wrote on the Hindu numerals; compiled astronomical tables which, as revised in Moslem Spain, were for centuries standard among astronomers from Cordova to Chang-an; formulated the oldest trigonometrical tables known; collaborated with sixty-nine other scholars in drawing up for al-Mamun a geographical encyclopedia; and in his Calculation of Integration and Equation gave analytical and geometrical solutions of quadratic equations. This work, now lost in its Arabic form, was translated by Gerard of Cremona in the twelfth century, was used as a principal text in European universities until the sixteenth century, and introduced to the West the word algebra (al-jabr—“restitution,” “completion”). Thabit ibn Qurra (826–901), besides making important translations, achieved fame in astronomy and medicine, and became the greatest of Moslem geometers. Abu Abdallah al-Battani (850–929), a Sabaean of Raqqa known to Europe as Albategnus, advanced trigonometry far beyond its beginnings in Hipparchus and Ptolemy by substituting triangular for Ptolemy’s quadrilateral solutions, and the sine for Hipparchus’ chord; he formulated the trigonometrical ratios essentially as we use them today.

The Caliph al-Mamun engaged a staff of astronomers to make observations and records, to test the findings of Ptolemy, and to study the spots on the sun. Taking for granted the sphericity of the earth, they measured a terrestrial degree by simultaneously taking the position of the sun from both Palmyra and the plain of Sinjar; their measurement gave miles—half a mile more than our present calculation; and from their results they estimated the earth’s circumference to approximate 20,000 miles. These astronomers proceeded on completely scientific principles: they accepted nothing as true which was not confirmed by experience or experiment. One of them, Abu’l-Farghani, of Transoxiana, wrote (c. 860) an astronomical text which remained in authority in Europe and Western Asia for 700 years. Even more renowned was al-Battani; his astronomical observations, continued for forty one years, were remarkable for their range and accuracy; he determined many astronomical coefficients with remarkable approximation to modern calculations—the precession of the equinoxes at 54.5″ a year, and the inclination of the ecliptic at 23° 55′.²³ Working under the patronage of the early Buwayhid rulers of Baghdad, Abu’l-Wafa (in the disputed opinion of Sadillot) discovered the third lunar variation 600 years before Tycho Brahe.²⁴ Costly instruments were built for the Moslem astronomers: not only astrolabes and armillary spheres, known to the Greeks, but quadrants with a radius of thirty feet, and sextants with a radius of eighty. The astrolabe, much improved by the Moslems, reached Europe in the tenth century, and was widely used by mariners till the seventeenth. The Arabs designed and constructed it with aesthetic passion, making it at once an instrument of science and a work of art.

Even more important than the charting of the skies was the mapping of the earth, for Islam lived by tillage and trade. Suleiman al-Tajir—i.e., the merchant—about 840 carried his wares to the Far East; an anonymous author (851) wrote a narrative of Suleiman’s journey; this oldest Arabic account of China antedated Marco Polo’s Travels by 425 years. In the same century Ibn Khordadhbeh wrote a description of India, Ceylon, the East Indies, and China, apparently from direct observation; and Ibn Hauqal described India and Africa. Ahmad al-Yaqubi, of Armenia and Khurasan, wrote in 891 a Book of the Countries, giving a reliable account of Islamic provinces and cities, and of many foreign states. Muhammad al-Muqaddasi visited all the lands of Islam except Spain, suffered countless vicissitudes, and in 985 wrote his Description of the Moslem Empire—the greatest work of Arabic geography before al-Biruni’s India.

Abu al-Rayhan Muhammad ibn Ahmad al-Biruni (973–1048) shows the Moslem scholar at his best. Philosopher, historian, traveler, geographer, linguist, mathematician, astronomer, poet, and physicist—and doing major and original work in all these fields—he was at least the Leibniz,²⁵ almost the Leonardo, of Islam. Born like al-Khwarizmi near the modern Khiva, he signalized again the leadership of the Transcaspian region in this culminating century of medieval science. The princes of Khwarizm and Tabaristan, recognizing his talents, gave him a place at their courts. Hearing of the bevy of poets and philosophers at Khwarizm, Mahmud of Ghazni asked its prince to send him al-Biruni, Ibn Sina, and other savants; the prince felt obliged to comply (1018), and al-Biruni went to live in honor and studious peace with the bellicose ravisher of India. Perhaps it was in Mahmud’s train that al-Biruni entered India; in any case he stayed there several years, and learned the language and the antiquities of the country. Returning to Mahmud’s court, he became a favorite of that incalculable despot. A visitor from northern Asia offended the king by describing a region, which he claimed to have seen, where for many months the sun never set; Mahmud was about to imprison the man for jesting with royalty when al-Biruni explained the phenomenon to the satisfaction of the king and the great relief of the visitor.²⁶ Mahmud’s son Masud, himself an amateur scientist, showered gifts and money upon al-Biruni, who often returned them to the treasury as much exceeding his needs.

His first major work (c. 1000) was a highly technical treatise—Vestiges of the Past (Athar-ul-Baqiya)—on the calendars and religious festivals of the Persians, Syrians, Greeks, Jews, Christians, Sabaeans, Zoroastrians, and Arabs. It is an unusually impartial study, utterly devoid of religious animosities. As a Moslem al-Biruni inclined to the Shia sect, with an unobtrusive tendency to agnosticism. He retained, however, a degree of Persian patriotism, and condemned the Arabs for destroying the high civilization of the Sasanian regime.²⁷ Otherwise his attitude was that of the objective scholar, assiduous in research, critical in the scrutiny of traditions and texts (including the Gospels), precise and conscientious in statement, frequently admitting his ignorance, and promising to pursue his inquiries till the truth should emerge. In the preface to the Vestiges he wrote like Francis Bacon: “We must clear our minds … from all causes that blind people to the truth—old custom, party spirit, personal rivalry or passion, the desire for influence.” While his host was devastating India al-Biruni spent many years studying its peoples, languages, faiths, cultures, and castes. In 1030 he published his masterpiece, History of India (Tarikh al-Hind). At the outset he sharply distinguished between hearsay and eyewitness reports, and classified the varieties of “liars” who have written history.²⁸ He spent little space on the political history of India, but gave forty-two chapters to Hindu astronomy, and eleven to Hindu religion. He was charmed by the Bhagavad Gita. He saw the similarity between the mysticism of the Vedanta, the Sufis, the Neopythagoreans, and the Neoplatonists; he compared excerpts from Indian thinkers with like passages from Greek philosophers, and expressed his preference for the Greeks. “India,” he wrote, “has produced no Socrates; no logical method has there expelled fantasy from science.”²⁹ Nevertheless he translated several Sanskrit works of science into Arabic, and, as if to pay a debt, rendered into Sanskrit Euclid’s Elements and Ptolemy’s Almagest.

His interest extended to nearly all the sciences. He gave the best medieval account of the Hindu numerals. He wrote treatises on the astrolabe, the planisphere, the armillary sphere; and formulated astronomical tables for Sultan Masud. He took it for granted that the earth is round, noted “the attraction of all things towards the center of the earth,” and remarked that astronomic data can be explained as well by supposing that the earth turns daily on its axis and annually around the sun, as by the reverse hypothesis.³⁰ He speculated on the possibility that the Indus valley had been once the bottom of a sea.³¹ He composed an extensive lapidary, describing a great number of stones and metals from the natural, commercial, and medical points of view. He determined the specific gravity of eighteen precious stones, and laid down the principle that the specific gravity of an object corresponds to the volume of water its displaces.³² He found a method of calculating, without laborious additions, the result of the repeated doubling of a number, as in the Hindu story of the chessboard squares and the grains of sand. He contributed to geometry the solution of theorems that thereafter bore his name. He composed an encyclopedia of astronomy, a treatise on geography, and an epitome of astronomy, astrology, and mathematics. He explained the workings of natural springs and artesian wells by the hydrostatic principle of communicating vessels.³³ He wrote histories of Mahmud’s reign, of Subuktigin, and of Khwarizm. Oriental historians call him “the Sheik”—as if to mean “the master of those who know.” His multifarious production in the same generation with Ibn Sina, Ibn al-Haitham, and Firdausi, marks the turn of the tenth century into the eleventh as the zenith of Islamic culture, and the climax of medieval thought.³⁴

Chemistry as a science was almost created by the Moslems; for in this field, where the Greeks (so far as we know) were confined to industrial experience and vague hypothesis, the Saracens introduced precise observation, controlled experiment, and careful records. They invented and named the alembic (al-anbiq), chemically analyzed innumerable substances, composed lapidaries, distinguished alkalis and acids, investigated their affinities, studied and manufactured hundreds of drugs.* Alchemy, which the Moslems inherited from Egypt, contributed to chemistry by a thousand incidental discoveries, and by its method, which was the most scientific of all medieval operations. Practically all Moslem scientists believed that all metals were ultimately of the same species, and could therefore be transmuted one into another. The aim of the alchemists was to change “base” metals like iron, copper, lead, or tin into silver or gold; the “philosopher’s stone” was a substance—ever sought, never found—which when properly treated would effect this transmutation. Blood, hair, excrement, and other materials were treated with various reagents, and were subjected to calcination, sublimation, sunlight, and fire, to see if they contained this magic al-iksir or essence.³⁶ He who should possess this elixir would be able at will to prolong his life. The most famous of the alchemists was Jabir ibn Hayyan (702–65), known to Europe as Gebir. Son of a Kufa druggist, he practiced as a physician, but spent most of his time with alembic and crucible. The hundred or more works attributed to him were produced by unknown authors, chiefly in the tenth century; many of these anonymous works were translated into Latin, and strongly stimulated the development of European chemistry. After the tenth century the science of chemistry, like other sciences, gave ground to occultism, and did not lift its head again for almost three hundred years.

The remains of Moslem biology in this period are scant. Abu Hanifa al-Dinawari (815–95) wrote a Book of Plants based on Dioscorides, but adding many plants to pharmacology. Mohammedan botanists knew how to produce new fruits by grafting; they combined the rose bush and the almond tree to generate rare and lovely flowers.³⁷ Othman Amr al-Jahiz (d. 869) propounded a theory of evolution like al-Masudi’s: life had climbed “from mineral to plant, from plant to animal, from animal to man.”³⁸ The mystic poet Jalal ud-din accepted the theory, and merely added that if this has been achieved in the past, then in the next stage men will become angels, and finally God.³⁹

III. MEDICINE

Meanwhile men loved life while maligning it, and spent great sums to stave off death. The Arabs had entered Syria with only primitive medical knowledge and equipment. As wealth came, physicians of better caliber were developed in Syria and Persia, or were brought in from Greece and India. Forbidden by their religion to practice vivisection, or the dissection of human cadavers, Moslem anatomy had to content itself with Galen and the study of wounded men. Arabic medicine was weakest in surgery, strongest in medicaments and therapy. To the ancient pharmacopeia the Saracens added ambergris, camphor, cassia, cloves, mercury, senna, myrrh; and they introduced new pharmaceutical preparations—sirups (Arabic sharab), juleps (golab), rose water, etc. One of the main features of Italian trade with the Near East was the importation of Arabic drugs. The Moslems established the first apothecary shops and dispensaries, founded the first medieval school of pharmacy, and wrote great treatises on pharmacology. Moslem physicians were enthusiastic advocates of the bath, especially in fevers⁴⁰ and in the form of the steam bath. Their directions for the treatment of smallpox and measles could scarcely be bettered today.⁴¹ Anesthesia by inhalation was practiced in some surgical operations;⁴² hashish and other drugs were used to induce deep sleep.⁴³ We know of thirty-four hospitals established in Islam in this period,⁴⁴ apparently on the model of the Persian academy and hospital at Jund-i-Shapur; in Baghdad the earliest known to us was set up under Harun al-Rashid, and five others were opened there in the tenth century; in 918 we hear of a director of hospitals in Baghdad.⁴⁵ The most famous hospital in Islam was the bimaristan founded in Damascus in 706; in 978 it had a staff of twenty-four physicians. Medical instruction was given chiefly at the hospitals. No man could legally practice medicine without passing an examination and receiving a state diploma; druggists, barbers, and orthopedists were likewise subject to state regulation and inspection. The physician-vizier Ali ibn Isa organized a staff of doctors to go from place to place to tend the sick (931); certain physicians made daily visits to jails; there was an especially humane treatment of the insane. But public sanitation was in most places poorly developed; and in four centuries forty epidemics ravaged one or another country of the Moslem East.

In 931 there were 860 licensed physicians in Baghdad.⁴⁶ Fees rose with proximity to the court. Jibril ibn Bakhtisha, physician to Harun, al-Mamun, and the Barmakids, amassed a fortune of 88,800,000 dirhems ($7,104,000); we are told that he received 100,000 dirhems for bleeding the caliph twice a year, and a like sum for giving him a semiannual purgative.⁴⁷ He successfully treated hysterical paralysis in a slave girl by pretending to disrobe her in public. From Jibril onward there is a succession of famous physicians in Eastern Islam: Yuhanna ibn Masawayh (777–857), who studied anatomy by dissecting apes; Hunain ibn Ishaq, the translator, author of Ten Treatises on the Eye—the oldest systematic textbook of ophthalmology; and Ali ibn Isa, greatest of Moslem oculists, whose Manual for Oculists was used as a text in Europe till the eighteenth century.

The outstanding figure in this humane dynasty of healers was Abu Bekr Muhammad al-Razi (844–926), famous in Europe as Rhazes. Like most of the leading scientists and poets of his time, he was a Persian writing in Arabic. Born at Rayy near Tehran, he studied chemistry, alchemy, and medicine at Baghdad, and wrote some 131 books, half of them on medicine, most of them lost. His Kitab al-Hawi (Comprehensive Book) covered in twenty volumes every branch of medicine. Translated into Latin as Liber continens, it was probably the most highly respected and frequently used medical textbook in the white world for several centuries; it was one of the nine books that composed the whole library of the medical faculty at the University of Paris in 1395.⁴⁸ His Treatise on Smallpox and Measles was a masterpiece of direct observation and clinical analysis; it was the first accurate study of infectious diseases, the first effort to distinguish the two ailments. We may judge its influence and repute by the forty English editions printed between 1498 and 1866. The most famous of al-Razi’s works was a ten-volume survey of medicine, the Kitab al-Mansuri (Book for al-Mansur), dedicated to a prince of Khurasan. Gerard of Cremona translated it into Latin; the ninth volume of this translation, the Nonus Almansoris, was a popular text in Europe till the sixteenth century. Al-Razi introduced new remedies like mercurial ointment, and the use of animal gut in sutures. He checked the enthusiasm for urinalysis in an age when physicians were prone to diagnose any disease by examining the urine, sometimes without seeing the patient. Some of his shorter works showed a genial side; one was “On the Fact That Even Skillful Physicians Cannot Cure All Diseases”; another was entitled, “Why Ignorant Physicians, Laymen, and Women Have More Success than Learned Medical Men.” Al-Razi was by common consent the greatest of Moslem physicians, and the greatest clinician of the Middle Ages.⁴⁹ He died in poverty at the age of eighty-two.

In the school of medicine at the University of Paris hang two portraits of Moslem physicians—“Rhazes” and “Avicenna.” Islam knew its greatest philosopher and most famous physician as Abu Ali al-Husein ibn Sina (980–1037). His autobiography—one of the few in Arabic literature—shows us how mobile might be, in medieval days, the life of a scholar or sage. Son of a money-changer of Bokhara, Avicenna was educated by private tutors, who gave a Sufi mystic turn to an otherwise scientific mind. “At the age of ten,” says Ibn Khallikan, with customary Oriental hyperbole, “he was a perfect master of the Koran and general literature, and had obtained a certain degree of information in theology, arithmetic, and algebra.”⁵⁰ He studied medicine without a teacher, and while still young began to give gratis treatment. At seventeen he brought back to health the ailing ruler of Bokhara, Nuh ibn Mansur, became an official of the court, and spent eager hours in the Sultan’s voluminous library. The breakup of the Samanid power towards the end of the tenth century led Avicenna to take service under al-Mamun, prince of Khwarizm. When Mahmud of Ghazni sent for Avicenna, al-Biruni, and other intellectual lights of al-Mamun’s court, Avicenna refused to go. With a fellow scholar, Masihi, he escaped into the desert. There in a dust storm Masihi died; but Avicenna, after many hardships, reached Gurgan, and took service at the court of Qabus. Mahmud circulated throughout Persia a picture of Avicenna, and offered a reward for his capture, but Qabus protected him. When Qabus was murdered, Avicenna was called to treat the emir of Hamadan; he succeeded so well that he was made vizier. But the army did not like his rule; it seized him, pillaged his home, and proposed his death. He escaped, hid himself in the rooms of a druggist, and began in his confinement to write the books that were to make his fame. As he was planning a secret departure from Hamadan he was arrested by the emir’s son, and spent several months in jail, where he continued his writing. He again escaped, disguised himself as a Sufi mystic, and after adventures too numerous for our space found refuge and honors at the court of Ala ad-Dawla, the Buwayhid Emir of Isfahan. A circle of scientists and philosophers gathered about him, and held learned conferences over which the emir liked to preside. Some stories suggest that the philosopher enjoyed the pleasures of love as well as of scholarship; on the other hand we get reports of him as absorbed day and night in study, teaching, and public affairs; and Ibn Khallikan quotes from him some unhackneyed counsel: “Take one meal a day…. Preserve the seminal fluid with care; it is the water of life, to be poured into the womb.”⁵¹ Worn out too soon, he died at fifty-seven on a journey to Hamadan, where to this day pious veneration guards his grave.

Amid these vicissitudes he found time, in office or in jail, in Persian or in Arabic, to write a hundred books, covering nearly every field of science and philosophy. For good measure he composed excellent poems, of which fifteen survive; one of them slipped into the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam; another, “The Descent of the Soul” (into the body from a higher sphere), is still memorized by young students in the Moslem East. He translated Euclid, made astronomical observations, and devised an instrument like our vernier. He made original studies of motion, force, vacuum, light, heat, and specific gravity. His treatise on minerals was a main source of European geology until the thirteenth century. His remarks on the formation of mountains is a model of clarity:

Mountains may be due to two different causes. Either they result from upheavals of the earth’s crust, such as might occur in violent earthquake; or they are the effect of water, which, cutting for itself a new route, has denuded the valleys. The strata are of different kinds, some soft, some hard; the winds and waters disintegrate the first kind, but leave the other intact. It would require a long period of time for all such changes to be accomplished … but that water has been the main cause of these effects is proved by the existence of fossil remains of aquatic animals on many mountains.⁵²

Two gigantic productions contain Avicenna’s teaching: the Kitab al-Shifa, or Book of Healing (of the soul), an eighteen-volume encyclopedia of mathematics, physics, metaphysics, theology, economics, politics, and music; and the Qanun-fi-l-Tibb, or Canon of Medicine, a gigantic survey of physiology, hygiene, therapy, and pharmacology, with sundry excursions into philosophy. The Qanun is well organized, and has moments of eloquence; but its scholastic passion for classification and distinction becomes the one disease for which the author has no prescription. He begins with a discouraging admonition: “Every follower of my teachings who wishes to use them profitably should memorize most of this work,”^52a which contains a million words. He conceives medicine as the art of removing an impediment to the normal functioning of nature. He deals first with the major diseases—their symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment; he has chapters on general and individual prophylaxis and hygiene, and on therapy through enemas, bleeding, cautery, baths, and massage. He recommends deep breathing, even occasional shouting, to develop the lungs, chest—and uvula. Book II summarizes Greek and Arabic knowledge of medicinal plants. Book III, on special pathology, contains excellent discussions of pleurisy, empyema, intestinal disorders, sexual diseases, perversions, and nervous ailments, including love. Book IV discusses fevers, surgery, and cosmetics, the care of the hair and the skin. Book V—materia medica—gives detailed directions for concocting 760 drugs. The Qanun, translated into Latin in the twelfth century, dethroned al-Razi, and even Galen, as the chief text in European medical schools; it held its place as required reading in the universities of Montpellier and Louvain till the middle of the seventeenth century.

Avicenna was the greatest writer on medicine, al-Razi the greatest physician, al-Biruni the greatest geographer, al-Haitham the greatest optician, Jabir probably the greatest chemist, of the Middle Ages; these five names, so little known in present-day Christendom, are one measure of our provincialism in viewing medieval history. Arabic, like all medieval science, was often sullied with occultism; except in optics it excelled rather in the synthesis of accumulated results than in original findings or systematic research; at the same time, however haltingly, it developed in alchemy that experimental method which is the greatest pride and tool of the modern mind. When Roger Bacon proclaimed that method to Europe, five hundred years after Jabir, he owed his illumination to the Moors of Spain, whose light had come from the Moslem East.

IV. PHILOSOPHY

In philosophy, as in science, Islam borrowed from Christian Syria the legacy of pagan Greece, and returned it through Moslem Spain to Christian Europe. Many influences, of course, ran together to produce the intellectual rebellion of the Mutazilites, and the philosophies of al-Kindi, al-Farabi, Avicenna, and Averroës. Hindu speculations came in through Ghazni and Persia; Zoroastrian and Jewish eschatology played some minor role; and Christian heretics had stirred the air of the Near East with debate on the attributes of God, the nature of Christ and the Logos, predestination and free will, revelation and reason. But the yeast that caused the ferment of thought in Moslem Asia—as in Renaissance Italy—was the rediscovery of Greece. Here, through however imperfect translations of apocryphal texts, a new world appeared: one in which men had reasoned fearlessly about everything, unchecked by sacred scriptures, and had conceived a cosmos not of divine whimsy and incalculable miracle, but of majestic and omnipresent law. Greek logic, fully conveyed through Aristotle’s Organon, came like an intoxication to Moslems now gifted with leisure to think; here were the terms and implements they needed for thought; now for three centuries Islam played the new game of logic, drunk like the Athenian youth of Plato’s time with the “dear delight” of philosophy. Soon the whole edifice of Mohammedan dogma began to tremble and crack, as Greek orthodoxy had melted under the Sophists’ eloquence, as Christian orthodoxy would wince and wilt under the blows of the Encyclopedists and the whips of Voltaire’s wit.

What might be called the Moslem Enlightenment had its proximate origin in a strange dispute. Was the Koran eternal or created? Philo’s doctrine of the Logos as the timeless Wisdom of God; the Fourth Gospel’s identification of Christ with the Logos, the Divine Word or Reason, that was “in the beginning … was God,” and “without which was not anything made that was made”;⁵³ the Gnostic and Neoplatonic personification of Divine Wisdom as the agent of creation; the Jewish belief in the eternity of the Torah—all conspired to beget in orthodox Islam a correlative view that the Koran had always existed in the mind of Allah, and that only its revelation to Mohammed was an event in time. The first expression of philosophy in Islam (c. 757) was the growth of a school of “Mutazilites”—i.e., Seceders—who denied the eternity of the Koran. They protested their respect for Islam’s holy book, but they argued that where it or the Hadith contradicted reason, the Koran or the traditions must be interpreted allegorically; and they gave the name kalam or logic to this effort to reconcile reason and faith. It seemed to them absurd to take literally those Koranic passages that ascribed hands and feet, anger and hatred, to Allah; such poetic anthropomorphism, however adapted to the moral and political ends of Mohammed at the time, could hardly be accepted by the educated intellect. The human mind could never know what was the real nature or attributes of God; it could only agree with faith in affirming a spiritual power as the foundation of all reality. Furthermore, to the Mutazilites, it seemed fatal to human morality and enterprise to believe, as orthodoxy did, in the complete predestination of all events by God, and the arbitrary election, from all eternity, of the saved and the damned.

In a hundred variations of these themes, Mutazilite doctrines spread rapidly under the rule of al-Mansur, Harun al-Rashid, and al-Mamun. At first in the privacy of scholars and infidels, then in the soirees of the caliphs, finally in the lecture circles of colleges and mosques, the new rationalism won a voice, even, here and there, ascendancy. Al-Mamun was fascinated by this fledgling flight of reason, defended it, and ended by proclaiming the Mutazilite views as the official faith of the realm. Mingling old habits of Oriental monarchy with the latest ideas of Hellenizing Moslems, al-Mamun in 832 issued a decree requiring all Moslems to admit that the Koran had been created in time; a later decree ruled that no one could be a witness in law, or a judge, unless he declared his acceptance of the new dogma; further decrees extended this obligatory acceptance to the doctrines of free will, and the impossibility of the soul ever seeing God with a physical eye; at last, refusal to take these tests and oaths was made a capital crime. Al-Mamun died in 833, but his successors al-Mutassim and al-Wathiq continued his campaign. The theologian Ibn Hanbal denounced this inquisition; summoned to take the tests, he answered all questions by quoting the Koran in favor of the orthodox view. He was scourged to unconsciousness and cast into jail; but his sufferings made him, in the eyes of the people, a martyr and a saint, and prepared for the reaction that overwhelmed Moslem philosophy.

Meanwhile that philosophy had produced its first major figure. Abu Yusuf Yaqub ibn Ishaq al-Kindi was born in Kufa about 803, son of the governor of the city; he studied there and at Baghdad, and won a high reputation at the courts of al-Mamun and al-Mutassim as translator, scientist, and philosopher. Like so many thinkers in that confident heyday of the Moslem mind, he was an omnivorous polymath, studying everything, writing 265 treatises about everything—arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, meteorology, geography, physics, politics, music, medicine, philosophy…. He agreed with Plato that no one could be a philosopher without being first a mathematician, and he struggled to reduce health, medicine, and music to mathematical relations. He studied the tides, sought the laws that determine the speed of a falling body, and investigated the phenomena of light in a book on Optics which influenced Roger Bacon. He shocked the Moslem world by writing an Apology for Christianity.⁵⁴ He and an aide translated the apocryphal Theology of Aristotle; he was deeply impressed by this forgery, and rejoiced in the thought that it reconciled Aristotle with Plato—by turning both of them into Neoplatonists. Al-Kindi’s philosophy was Neoplatonism restated: spirit has three grades—God, the creative World Soul or Logos, and its emanation, the soul of man; if a man trains his soul to right knowledge he can achieve freedom and deathlessness.⁵⁵ Apparently al-Kindi made heroic efforts to be orthodox; yet he took from Aristotle⁵⁶ the distinction between the active intellect, which is divine, and the passive intellect of man, which is merely the capacity for thought; Avicenna would transmit this distinction to Averroës, who would set the world by the ears with it as an argument against personal immortality. Al-Kindi associated with Mutazilites; when the reaction came his library was confiscated, and his deathlessness hung by a thread. He survived the storm, recovered his liberty, and lived till 873.

In a society where government, law, and morality are bound up with a religious creed, any attack upon that creed is viewed as menacing the foundations of social order itself. All the forces that had been beaten down by the Arab conquest—Greek philosophy, Gnostic Christianity, Persian nationalism, Mazdakite communism—were rampantly resurgent; the Koran was questioned and ridiculed; a Persian poet was decapitated for proclaiming the superiority of his verses to the Koran (784);⁵⁷ the whole structure of Islam, resting on the Koran, seemed ready to collapse. In this crisis three factors made orthodoxy victorious: a conservative caliph, the rise of the Turkish guard, and the natural loyalty of the people to their inherited beliefs. Al-Mutawakkil, coming to the throne in 847, based his support upon the populace and the Turks; and the Turks, new converts to Mohammedanism, hostile to the Persians, and strangers to Greek thought, gave themselves with a whole heart to a policy of saving the faith by the sword. Al-Mutawakkil annulled and reversed the illiberal liberalism of al-Mamun; Mutazilites and other heretics were expelled from governmental employ and educational positions; any expression of heterodox ideas in literature or philosophy was forbidden; the eternity of the Koran was re-established by law. The Shia sect was proscribed, and the shrine of Husein at Kerbela was destroyed (851). The edict allegedly issued by Omar I against Christians, and extended to the Jews by Harun (807) and soon again ignored, was reissued by al-Mutawakkil (850); Jews and Christians were ordered to wear a distinctive color of dress, put colored patches on the garments of their slaves, ride only on mules and asses, and affix wooden devils to their doors. New churches and synagogues were to be pulled down, and no public elevation of the cross was to be allowed in Christian ceremonies. No Christian or Jew was to receive education in Moslem schools.⁵⁸

In the next generation the reaction took a milder form. Some orthodox theologians, bravely accepting the gage of logic, proposed to prove by reason the truth of the traditional faith. These mutakallimun (i.e., logicians) were the Scholastics of Islam; they undertook that same reconciliation of religious dogma with Greek philosophy which Maimonides in the twelfth century would attempt for Judaism, and Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth for Christianity. Abul-Hasan al-Ashari (873–935) of Basra, after teaching Mutazilite doctrines for a decade, turned against them in his fortieth year, attacked them with the Mutazilite weapon of logic, and poured forth a stream of conservative polemics that shared powerfully in the victory of the old creed. He accepted the predestinarianism of Mohammed without flinching: God has predetermined every act and event, and is their primary cause; He is above all law and morals; He “rules as a sovereign over His creatures, doing what He wills; if He were to send them all to hell there would be no wrong.”⁵⁹ Not all the orthodox relished this submission of the faith to intellectual debate; many proclaimed the formula Bila kayf—“Believe without asking how.”⁶⁰ The theologians for the most part ceased to discuss basic issues, but lost themselves in the scholastic minutiae of a doctrine whose fundamentals they accepted as axioms.

The ferment of philosophy subsided at Baghdad, only to emerge at minor courts. Sayfu’l-Dawla provided a house at Aleppo for Muhammad Abu Nasr al-Farabi, the first Turk to make a name in philosophy. Born at Farab in Turkestan, he studied logic under Christian teachers at Baghdad and Harran, read Aristotle’s Physics forty times and the De Anima 200 times, was denounced as a heretic at Baghdad, adopted the doctrine and dress of a Sufi, and lived like the swallows of the air. “He was the most indifferent of men to the things of this world,” says Ibn Khallikan; “he never gave himself the least trouble to acquire a livelihood or possess a habitation.”⁶¹ Sayfu’l-Dawla asked him how much he needed for his maintenance; al-Farabi thought that four dirhems ($2.00) a day would suffice; the prince settled this allowance on him for life.

Thirty-nine works by al-Farabi survive, many of them commentaries on Aristotle. His Ihsa al-ulum, or Encyclopedia of Science, summarized the knowledge of his time in philology, logic, mathematics, physics, chemistry, economics, and politics. He answered with a straightforward negative the question that would soon agitate the Scholastic philosophers of Christendom: Does the universal (the genus, the species, or the quality) exist apart from the specific individual? Deceived like the rest by the Theology of Aristotle, he transformed the hard-headed Stagirite into a mystic, and lived long enough to subside into orthodox belief. Having in his youth professed a theoretical agnosticism,⁶² he progressed sufficiently in later life to give a detailed description of the deity.⁶³ He took over Aristotle’s proofs of God’s existence very much as Aquinas would do three centuries later: a chain of contingent events requires for its intelligibility an ultimate necessary being; a chain of causes requires a First Cause; a series of motions requires a Prime Mover unmoved; multiplicity requires unity. The ultimate goal of philosophy, never quite attainable, is knowledge of the First Cause; the best approach to such knowledge is purity of soul. Like Aristotle, al-Farabi carefully managed to make himself unintelligible on immortality. He died at Damascus in 950.

One work alone, among his remains, strikes us with its original force: Al-Medina al-Fadila—The Ideal City. It opens with a description of the law of nature as one of perpetual struggle of each organism against all the rest—Hobbes’ bellum omnium contra omnes; every living thing, in the last analysis, sees in all other living things a means to its ends. Some cynics argue from this, says al-Farabi, that in this inescapable competition the wise man is he who best bends others to his will, and most fully achieves his own desires. How did human society emerge from this jungle law? If we may trust al-Farabi’s account, there were both Rousseauians and Nietzscheans among the Moslems who took up this question: some thought that society had begun in an agreement, among individuals, that their survival required the acceptance of certain restraints through custom or law; others laughed this “social contract” out of history, and insisted that society, or the state, had begun as the conquest and regimentation of the weak by the strong. States themselves, said these Nietzscheans, are organs of competition; it is natural that states should struggle with one another for ascendancy, security, power, and wealth; war is natural and inevitable; and in that final arbitrament, as in the law of nature, the only right is might. Al-Farabi counters this view with an appeal to his fellow men to build a society not upon envy, power, and strife, but upon reason, devotion, and love.⁶⁴ He ends safely by recommending a monarchy based upon strong religious belief.⁶⁵

A pupil of a pupil of al-Farabi established at Baghdad, about 970, an association of savants—known to us only from its founder’s place name as the Sidjistani Society—for the discussion of philosophical problems. No questions were asked as to the national origin or religious affiliation of any member. The group seems to have drowned itself in logic and epistemology, but its existence indicates that intellectual appetite survived in the capital. Of greater moment or result was a similar but secret fraternity of scientists and philosophers organized at Basra about 983. These “Brethren of Sincerity” or Purity (Ikhwan al-Safa) were alarmed by the weakening of the caliphate, the poverty of the people, and the corruption of morals; they aspired to a moral, spiritual, and political renovation of Islam; and thought that this renewal might be founded upon a blend of Greek philosophy, Christian ethics, Sufi mysticism, Shia politics, and Moslem law. They conceived friendship as a collaboration of abilities and virtues, each party bringing to the union a quality of which the others had lack and need; truth, they thought, comes more readily from a meeting of minds than from individual thought. So they privately met and discussed, with fine freedom, catholicity, and courtesy, all the basic problems of life, and finally issued fifty-one tracts as their considered and co-operative system and epitome of science, religion, and philosophy. A Spanish Moslem, traveling in the Near East about the year 1000, took a fancy to these treatises, collected them, and preserved them.

In these 1134 pages we find scientific explanations of tides, earthquakes, eclipses, sound waves, and many other natural phenomena; a full acceptance of astrology and alchemy; and occasional dallying with magic and numerology. The theology, as in nearly all Moslem thinkers, is Gnostic and Neoplatonic: from the First Cause or God emanates the Active Intelligence (Logos, Reason), from which proceeds the world of bodies and souls. All material things are formed by, and act through, soul. Every soul is restless until it rejoins the Active Intelligence or World Soul. This union demands absolute purity in the soul; ethics is the art of attaining this purity; science, philosophy, and religion are means to such purification. In seeking purity we must try to model ourselves upon the intellectual devotion of Socrates, the universal charity of Christ, and the modest nobility of Ali. When the mind has been emancipated by knowledge it should feel free to reinterpret through allegory, and thereby reconcile with philosophy, “the crude expressions of the Koran, which were adapted to the understanding of an uncivilized desert people”⁶⁶—a sharp Persian retort to Arab pride. All in all, these fifty-one tracts constitute the fullest and most consistent expression that we possess of Moslem thought in the Abbasid age. The orthodox leaders in Baghdad burned them as heresy in 1150, but they continued to circulate, and exercised a pervasive influence upon Moslem and Jewish philosophy—upon al-Ghazali and Averroës, ibn Gabirol and Judah Halevi,⁶⁷ the philosophical poet al-Ma‘arri, and perhaps upon the man who in his brief life rivaled the scope and depth, and surpassed the rationality, of this co-operative synthesis.

For Ibn Sina—Avicenna—was not content to be a scientist and a world-renowned authority on medicine; doubtless he knew that a scientist completes himself only through philosophy. He tells us that he read Aristotle’s Metaphysics forty times without understanding it, and that when al-Farabi’s commentary enabled him to comprehend the book he was so happy and grateful that he rushed into the street and scattered alms.⁶⁸ Aristotle remained to the end his ideal in philosophy; already in the Qanun he used of him that phrase, “the philosopher,” which was to become in the Latin world a synonym for Aristotle. He detailed his own philosophy in the Kitab al-Shifa, and then summarized it in the Najat. He had a flair for logic, and insisted on precise definitions. He gave the classic medieval answer to the question whether universals or general ideas (man, virtue, redness) exist apart from individual things: they exist (1) ante res, “before the things,” in the mind of God as Platonic exemplars according to which the things are made; (2) in rebus, “in the things” in which they appear or are exemplified; and (3) post res, “after the things,” as abstract(ed) ideas in the human mind; but universals do not exist in the natural world apart from individual things. Abélard and Aquinas would, after a century of turmoil, give the same reply.

Indeed, Avicenna’s metaphysics is almost a summary of what, two centuries after him, the Latin thinkers would syncretize as the Scholastic philosophy. He begins with a laborious restatement of Aristotle and al-Farabi on matter and form, the four causes, the contingent and the necessary, the many and the one, and frets over the puzzle of how the contingent and changeable many—the multiplicity of mortal things—could ever have flowed from the necessary and changeless One. Like Plotinus he thinks to solve the problem by postulating an intermediate Active Intelligence, distributed through the celestial, material, and human world as souls. Finding some difficulty in reconciling God’s passage from noncreation to creation with the divine immutability, he proposes to believe, with Aristotle, in the eternity of the material world; but knowing that this will offend the mutakallimun, he offers them a compromise by a favorite Scholastic distinction: God is prior to the world not in time but logically, i.e., in rank and essence and cause: the existence of the world depends at every moment upon the existence of its sustaining force, which is God. Avicenna concedes that all entities but God are contingent—i.e., their existence is not inevitable or indispensable. Since such contingent things require a cause for their existence, they cannot be explained except by reverting, in the chain of causes, to a necessary being—one whose essence or meaning involves existence, a being whose existence must be presupposed in order to explain any other existence. God is the only being that exists by its own essence; it is essential that He exist, for without such a First Cause nothing that is could have begun to be. Since all matter is contingent—i.e., its essence does not involve existence—God cannot be material. For like reasons He must be simple and one. Since there is intelligence in created beings, there must be intelligence in their creator. The Supreme Intelligence sees all things—past, present, and future—not in time or sequence but at once; their occurrence is the temporal result of His timeless thought. But God does not directly cause each action or event; things develop by an internal teleology—they have their purposes and destinies written in themselves. Therefore God is not responsible for evil; evil is the price we pay for freedom of will; and the evil of the part may be the good of the whole.⁶⁹

The existence of the soul is attested by our most immediate internal perception. The soul is spiritual for the same reason: we simply perceive it to be so; our ideas are clearly distinct from our organs. The soul is the principle of self-movement and growth in a body; in this sense even the celestial spheres have souls; “the whole cosmos is the manifestation of a universal principle of life.”⁷⁰ By itself a body can cause nothing; the cause of its every motion is its inherent soul. Each soul or intelligence possesses a measure of freedom and creative power akin to that of the First Cause, for it is an emanation of that Cause. After death the pure soul returns to union with the World Soul; and in this union lies the blessedness of the good.⁷¹

Avicenna achieved as well as any man the ever-sought reconciliation between the faith of the people and the reasoning of the philosophers. He did not wish, like Lucretius, to destroy religion for the sake of philosophy, nor, like al-Ghazali in the ensuing century, to destroy philosophy for the sake of religion. He treats all questions with reason only, quite independently of the Koran, and gives a naturalistic analysis of inspiration;⁷² but he affirms the people’s need of prophets who expound to them the laws of morality in forms and parables popularly intelligible and effective; in this sense, as laying or preserving the foundations of social and moral development, the prophet is God’s messenger.⁷³ So Mohammed preached the resurrection of the body, and sometimes described heaven in material terms; the philosopher will doubt the immortality of the body, but he will recognize that if Mohammed had taught a purely spiritual heaven the people would not have listened to him, and would not have united into a disciplined and powerful nation. Those who can worship God in spiritual love, entertaining neither hope nor fear, are the highest of mankind; but they will reveal this attitude only to their maturest students, not to the multitude.⁷⁴

Avicenna’s Shifa and Qanun mark the apex of medieval thought, and constitute one of the major syntheses in the history of the mind. Much of it followed the lead of Aristotle and al-Farabi, as much of Aristotle followed Plato; only lunatics can be completely original. Avicenna occasionally talks what seems to our fallible judgment to be nonsense; but that is also true of Plato and Aristotle; there is nothing so foolish but it may be found in the pages of the philosophers. Avicenna lacked the honest uncertainty, critical spirit, and ever open mind of al-Biruni, and made many more mistakes; synthesis must pay that price as long as life is brief. He surpassed his rivals in the clarity and vivacity of his style, in the ability to relieve and illuminate abstract thought with illustrative anecdote and pardonable poetry, and in the unparalleled scope of his scientific and philosophical range. His influence was immense: it reached out to Spain to mold Averroës and Maimonides, and into Latin Christendom to help the great Scholastics; it is astonishing how much of Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas goes back to Avicenna. Roger Bacon called him “the chief authority in philosophy after Aristotle”;⁷⁵ and Aquinas was not merely practicing his customary courtesy in speaking of him with as much respect as of Plato.⁷⁶

Arabic philosophy in the East almost died with Avicenna. Soon after his culminating effort the orthodox emphasis of the Seljuqs, the frightened fideism of the theologians, the victorious mysticism of al-Ghazali put a cloture on speculative thought. It is a pity that we know these three centuries (750–1050) of Arabic efflorescence so imperfectly. Thousands of Arabic manuscripts in science, literature, and philosophy lie hidden in the libraries of the Moslem world: in Constantinople alone there are thirty mosque libraries whose wealth has been merely scratched; in Cairo, Damascus, Mosul, Baghdad, Delhi are great collections not even catalogued; an immense library in the Escorial near Madrid has hardly completed the listing of its Islamic manuscripts in science, literature, jurisprudence, and philosophy.⁷⁷ What we know of Moslem thought in those centuries is a fragment of what survives, what survives is a fragment of what was produced; what appears in these pages is a morsel of a fraction of a fragment. When scholarship has surveyed more thoroughly this half-forgotten legacy, we shall probably rank the tenth century in Eastern Islam as one of the golden ages in the history of the mind.

V. MYSTICISM AND HERESY

At their peak philosophy and religion meet in the sense and contemplation of universal unity. The soul untouched by logic, too weak of wing for the metaphysical flight from the many to the one, from incident to law, might reach that vision through a mystic absorption of the separate self in the soul of the world. And where science and philosophy failed, where the brief finite reason of man faltered and turned blind in the presence of infinity, faith might mount to the feet of God by ascetic discipline, unselfish devotion, the unconditional surrender of the part to the whole.

Moslem mysticism had many roots: the asceticism of the Hindu fakirs, the Gnosticism of Egypt and Syria, the Neoplatonist speculations of the later Greeks, and the omnipresent example of ascetic Christian monks. As in Christendom, so in Islam a pious minority protested against any accommodation of religion to the interests and practices of the economic world; they denounced the luxury of caliphs, viziers, and merchants, and proposed to return to the simplicity of Abu Bekr and Omar I. They resented any intermediary between themselves and the deity; even the rigid ritual of the mosque seemed to them an obstacle to that mystic state in which the soul, purified of all earthly concerns, rose not only to the Beatific Vision but to unity with God. The movement flourished most in Persia, perhaps through proximity to India, through Christian influence at Jund-i-Shapur, and through Neoplatonist traditions established by the Greek philosophers who fled from Athens to Persia in 529. Most Moslem mystics called themselves Sufis, from the simple robe of wool (suf) that they wore; but within that term were embraced sincere enthusiasts, exalted poets, pantheists, ascetics, charlatans, and men with many wives. Their doctrine varied from time to time, and from street to street. The Sufis, said Averroës, “maintain that the knowledge of God is found in our own hearts, after our detachment from all physical desires, and the concentration of the mind upon the desired object.”⁷⁸ But many Sufis tried to reach God through external objects too; whatever we see of perfection or loveliness in the world is due to the presence or operation of divinity in them. “O God,” said one mystic, “I never listen to the cry of animals, or the quivering of trees, or the murmur of water, or the song of birds, or the rustling wind, or the crashing thunder, without feeling them to be an evidence of Thy unity, and a proof that there is nothing like unto Thee.”⁷⁹ In reality, the mystic held, these individual things exist only by the divine power in them; their sole reality is this underlying divinity. Therefore God is all; not only is there no god but Allah, there is no being but God.⁸⁰ Consequently each soul is God; and the full-blooded mystic shamelessly avers that “God and I are one.” “Verily I am God,” said Abu Yezid (c. 900); “there is no god but me; worship me.”⁸¹ “I am He Whom I love,” said Husein al-Hallaj; “and He Whom I love is I. … I am He Who drowned the people of Noah…. I am the Truth.”⁸² Hallaj was arrested for exaggeration, scourged with a thousand stripes, and burned to death (922). His followers claimed to have seen and talked with him after this interruption, and many Sufis made him their favorite saint.