History and Society during the Mamluk Period (1250–1517): Studies of the Annemarie Schimmel Institute for Advanced Study III [1 ed.] 9783737011501, 9783847111504

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Mamluk Studies

Volume 24

Edited by Stephan Conermann and Bethany J. Walker

Editorial Board: Thomas Bauer (Münster, Germany), Albrecht Fuess (Marburg, Germany), Thomas Herzog (Bern, Switzerland), Konrad Hirschler (Berlin, Germany), Anna Paulina Lewicka (Warsaw, Poland), Linda Northrup (Toronto, Canada), Jo Van Steenbergen (Gent, Belgium)

Bethany J. Walker / Abdelkader Al Ghouz (eds.)

History and Society during the Mamluk Period (1250–1517) Studies of the Annemarie Schimmel Institute for Advanced Study III

With 129 figures

V&R unipress Bonn University Press

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available online: https://dnb.de. Publications of Bonn University Press are published by V&R unipress. Sponsored by the DFG-funded Annemarie Schimmel Institute for Advanced Study “History and Society during the Mamluk Era, 1250–1517”. © 2021, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht GmbH & Co. KG, Theaterstraße 13, 37073 Göttingen, Germany All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher. Cover image: Road cleared through basalt scatter in eastern Badiyya, Jordan (courtesy: Prof Peter Akkermans, University of Leiden, Jebel Qurma Project). Pilgrims, merchants, Bedouin, and hungry peasants frequently travelled this route, which connected Egypt with Syria and towns with the countryside, in the waning years of the Mamluk Sultanate. Knowledge and goods, as well, flowed along this remote artery of transport. This final volume of the ASK Working Papers is dedicated to these themes of transmission, migration, change, and renewal. Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage | www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com ISSN 2198-5375 ISBN 978-3-7370-1150-1

Contents

Editorial Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

7

Caterina Bori Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553: A Neglected Version of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s al-Siya¯sa al-Sharʿı¯ya and Its Manuscript . . . .

9

Christian Mauder Education and Learning among Members of the Mamluk Army: Results of a Quantitative Analysis of Mamluk Biographies . . . . . . . . .

61

Mustafa Banister The Trouble with Caliphs: Some Remarks on Sultan Barqu¯q and the Late Fourteenth-Century Caliphal Office in Late Medieval Cairo

89

. . .

Robert Moore The Production and Study of Sha¯fiʿı¯ Fiqh Texts in Mamluk Cairo . . . . . 107 Yehoshua Frenkel Mamluk Soundscape. A Chapter in Sensory History

. . . . . . . . . . . . 127

Reuven Amitai The Development of a Muslim City in Palestine: Gaza under the Mamluks 163 Haggai Mazuz Sambari’s Description of the Synagogues in Egypt – How Reliant Was It on al-Maqrı¯zı¯? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197 Nicolò Pini Social Structures and Built Environment in Mamluk Rural and Semi-Urban Settlements: Some Preliminary Results . . . . . . . . . . . . 213

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Contents

Shireen El Kassem Foreign Aesthetics and their Impact on Mamluk Textiles (1250–1517)

. . 257

Carine Juvin Civilian Elite and Metalwork: A View from the Edge . . . . . . . . . . . . 285 Hend Elsayed Mamluk Religious Architecture: Between Luxury and Tadbı¯r . . . . . . . 319 Reem Samed Al Shqour The Economics of the Rural and Urban Kha¯n Markets of Mamluk Jordan

335

Aleksandar Shopov Grafting in Sixteenth-Century Mamluk and Ottoman Agriculture and Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 381 Adriana Gas,par Ottoman Towns in the Light of Archaeological Finds (Ceramic Vessels): The Case of Timis,oara . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407 Alessandro Rizzo Travelling and Trading through Mamluk Territory: Chancery Documents Guaranteeing Mobility to Christian Merchants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 487 Raymond Ruhaak The Crusades, the Development of a Centralised Arab State, and the Rise of Vulnerability Factors for Black Death . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 511 Biographies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 559 Index of Names

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 565

Index of Subjects and Places

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 569

Editorial Foreword

The following collection of Working Papers includes revised and expanded versions of original research essays submitted by Fellows of the Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg (ASK), an Advanced Center of Research in Mamluk Studies, in 2017–2019. This is the final volume of such Papers sponsored by the Kolleg before it closed the fall of 2019, when the eight years of generous funding of the German Research Foundation (DFG) came to an end. We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the DFG, the wonderful staff of the ASK, and the continuous administrative support of the University of Bonn during the life of this very special research institute. The final years of the Kolleg were devoted to three themes: environmental history, material culture studies, and im/mobility. Most, but not all, of the Fellows those years were immersed in research on these topics, though their disciplinary backgrounds were diverse. The Working Papers in this volume represent a collective effort to push the disciplinary boundaries of our field and engage in debates in Ottoman Studies, European history, archaeology and art history, and even the natural sciences. All of the contributions to this volume were subjected to a thorough vetting process, through external, blind peer review, and revisions. I want to gratefully acknowledge the efforts of my co-editor, Dr. Abdelkader Al Ghouz, for ably shepherding all papers through this lengthy process; the never-failing support of Stephan Conermann, the Speaker of the Kolleg, for all new ideas and experimental projects; the reviewers for their time and careful recommendations; the editorial staff of V&R unipress for taking the manuscript to final publication; and, of course, the Fellows themselves, who were the soul of the Kolleg and whose innovative research has pushed our collective work to new horizons. It has been my real pleasure to work with all of them. Bethany J. Walker Co-Speaker/Research Professor, Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg Director, Research Unit of Islamic Archaeology, University of Bonn

Caterina Bori

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553: ¯ sa al-Sharʿı¯ya A Neglected Version of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s al-Siya 1 and Its Manuscript

Introduction If one had to detect which directions the study of pre-modern history of Muslim societies is currently embracing, it would not be wrong to say that we are witnessing a world-wide growing scholarly interest in archives and archival practices, in documents, inscriptions, manuscripts and materiality as a whole. This interest in material culture is emerging with force not only in the field of Mamluk studies, but also in Ottoman intellectual history, Quranic studies, as well as in scholarship on the middle and early periods of Islamic history where documentary sources and inscriptions now provide fresh ground-breaking materials to grapple with.2 Accordingly, at the forefront of new research stand papyri, geniza texts, inscriptions, old Quranic fragments, recycled documents and manuscripts, hundreds of manuscripts with their diversified notes, lives and agencies yet to be studied.3 Manuscripts are not only carriers of literary texts which can be studied for the contents they vehiculate but also objects that can tell 1 This is a highly revised and expanded version of parts of my working paper, which was published online as Bori, “One or Two Versions.” Different drafts of what is here published were presented at a workshop on manuscript studies at the University of Bologna in May 2018 and at the Fifth Conference of the School of Mamluk Studies, Ghent University (Belgium), July 5–7, 2018. I would like to thank the fellows of the Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg (May–July 2016) as well as the conferences’ participants for their feedback. I am also grateful to Frank Griffel, Mohamad Merheb, Ahmet Kaylı, Lucia Raggetti, Konrad Hirschler, Élise Franssen and Nasser Rabbat for helping in various ways with this study. An anonymous reviewer provided many sensible suggestions which helped the paper reach a better structure and clearer argument. I alone remain responsible for any infelicity. 2 A sampling: Gardiner, Esotericism and the author’s related articles; Shafir, Road From Damascus, on Ottoman religious pamphleteering culture. For a thoughtful contribution on how to fruitfully study archiving practices, el-Leithy, “Living Documents”, “Dying Archives”. The works of Petra Sijpesteijn, Ahmad Jallad, Konrad Hirschler focus on the material culture of different periods and are part of an increasing attention towards documentary and material culture. 3 Particularly instructive in this sense is the recent article by Akkerman, “Bohra Treasury.”

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us a lot about ideas of authorship, transmission practices, regional dissemination, reading circles and reception histories, of a given text or bunch of texts. This study keeps both aspects together. Accordingly, it enters in conversation with this recent scholarly trend by putting at its center Istanbul Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553,4 which preserves a little known version of a famous treatise commonly known as al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya (Governance according to the re˙ ˙ vealed normativity for promoting the righteousness of the shepherd and its flock) written by Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n Ahmad Ibn Taymı¯ya (d. 728/1328), the controversial ˙ Hanbalı¯ jurist, theologian and polemicist who lived between the thirteenth and ˙ fourteenth centuries in the Mamluk lands. The version of the text that S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 carries was edited twelve years ago, in 2008, in isolation from the other two writings hosted by the manuscript. Thus, the manuscript is a miscellany which gathers together three writings of Ibn Taymı¯ya, the first is titled Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ sala¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya, the second Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba ˙ ˙ and the third Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj. ˙ Primarily, the overall purpose of this piece of research is to draw attention to the version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya transmitted by S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 and investigate its meaning in relation to the other version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya with which scholars are already familiar. This second one is a shorter Siya¯sa introduced by Ibn Taymı¯ya as a risa¯la mukhtasara. How does the text of Siya¯sa in ˙ S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 look like? What makes it different when compared with the risa¯la mukhtasara? What can we say about the relationship between the two? And ˙ what about their function, meaning and authorship? These questions will be at the center of this study which will shed light on Ibn Taymı¯ya’s fluid process of writing. As a second step, this essay will also look at the manuscript in which the three writings are embedded as a whole, and will explore what we can learn about the meaning of the version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya transmitted by S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553’s when we read it intertextually. A close inspection of the sources will show that the long and short Siya¯sa are two different and yet the same treatise, probably conceived for different readers, possibly between the years 709 and 712. The paper will also highlight how the most obvious way of looking at the two versions of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s political treatise, that is the short one (risa¯la mukhtasara) being the later abridgment of an ˙ original, earlier, expanded Siya¯sa (Jawa¯miʿ), is not to be taken for granted. Both versions of the treatise are internally consistent, but the risa¯la mukhtasara is shorter, denser and embraces a more prescriptive tone, whereas Jawa¯miʿ ˙ is a richer and more articulate treatise more explicitly concerned with the ethics of government; that is, the ethical principles that should inspire the conduct and 4 Abbreviated as S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553.

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553

11

decisions of men in authority. In my ASK Working Paper, I called this thematic preoccupation “ethical leadership,” by which I meant the inclination in governing to go beyond personal interests in order to embrace and promote the public good.5 This powerful ethical dimension emerges more forcefully in the long Siya¯sa and it is reinforced when reading it together with the other two texts of S¸ehid Ali Pasa 1553, which, on the whole, functions as a coherent unity of ˙ meaning. More generally, the paper also shows that the long Siya¯sa transmitted by S¸ehid Ali Pasa 1553 is an important document because it helps us gain fuller ˙ view of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s vision of al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya. This study is organized in three parts. The first traces the printing history of alSiya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya in brief, it presents S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, and on the basis of further manuscript materials as well as external evidence it figures out a working hypothesis regarding the relationship between the long and short Siya¯sa, their authorship and dating. The second part describes in detail the differences between the two versions of the treatise, whereas the third one discusses why the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba and the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj were copied side by side with ˙ ˙ al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya in the same codex. Not all the extant catalogued manuscripts of al-Siya¯sa al-shar‘ı¯ya could be consulted for this study.6 A work of this sort requires more space, time and financial support. Hence, the results presented here are liable to further refinement in the future Yet, in presenting a reliable collection of evidence, some of which so far unexplored, this piece of research wants to inaugurate a line of enquiry connecting Taymı¯yan and manuscript studies, a line of research that will clearly show how much scholars can gain from pursuing the study of a scholar’s manuscript tradition together with its transmission.7 In this case, Ibn Taymı¯ya’s fluid process of writing comes to the surface with all its compelling complexity.

¯ sa al-Sharʿı¯ya Part I: On the Printing History of al-Siya Recent scholarly publications on Ibn Taymı¯ya’s famous treatise or his political project as a whole have not recognized that there have been two different versions of the treatise in circulation.8 Possibly written at the beginning of the third reign 5 See Bori, “One or two versions”, 6. 6 See p. 18, fn. 32. 7 The painstaking work of Frederic Bauden on al-Maqrı¯zı¯ and that of Thomas Bauer on Ibn Nuba¯tah are exemplary. Both scholars worked with autographs. See in particular, Bauden, “Maqriziana II” and Bauer, “Ibn Nuba¯tah al-Misrı¯ (686–768/1287–1366): Life and Works Part ˙ II”. 8 See Anjum, Politics; Johansen, “Perfect Law”; Belhaj, “Law and Order.” Belhaj worked with the long text of al-Siya¯sa edited in 2008 but does not seem to be aware of the risa¯la mukhtasara. ˙

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of Muhammad al-Na¯sir ibn Qala¯wu¯n (1310–1341), al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya is a complex literary piece, the texture of which engages a longstanding and multifarious tradition of Islamic political literature. While belonging to this tradition, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya is a text whose threads are interwoven in a style that belongs to its author alone, dictated by his own agenda as well as by the specific historical circumstances of his time.9 Thanks to the translation into French by Henri Laoust, which was published in 1948, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya enjoyed a wide circulation in Western scholarly circles.10 Brief summaries of it can be found in any standard textbook on medieval Islamic political thought, often relying on both Laoust’s classic study on Ibn Taymı¯ya’s social and political doctrines and on his translation of and introduction to al-Siya¯sa alsharʿı¯ya11 Henri Laoust’s translation contributed to the diffusion, in the West, of a work whose title has produced the nowadays popular “tag” of siya¯sa sharʿı¯ya, commonly, and narrowly, understood as “politics according to the sharı¯ʿa.”12 Working in the first half of the twentieth century, Laoust based his translation on two early printed editions of the text, 1888 Bombay and 1905 Cairo,13 and collated them against two manuscripts, Damascus MS Za¯hiriyya, Adab al-manthu¯r 76 ˙ (dated 734 AH according to Laoust),14 and Paris BnF MS Ar. 2443. Although Laoust did not provide the date of the latter copy, the Paris manuscript is dated to 876 AH (1471 CE).15 Laoust also promised to publish his own edition of the text, but unfortunately, he never did.16 Accordingly, the first printing of the book took place in Bombay. It bore the title of Kita¯b al-jawa¯miʿ fı¯ l-siya¯sa al-ila¯hı¯ya wa-l-a¯ya¯t al-nabawı¯ya and presents the text as a “short” or “abridged treatise” (risa¯la mukhtasara) like all the other ˙ printings and manuscripts of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s political treatise I have been working with, except the manuscript and edition of al-Siya¯sa under consideration in this study. The printing of this work in Bombay was not accidental. In the course of 9 This is not the place to discuss the complex issue of where to locate al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya as far as its literary genre is concerned. Modern scholars express a variety of opinions in this regard. See Mona Hassan, “Modern Interpretations”, 346–349; Belhaj, “Law and Order,” 403; Anjum, Politics, 28–31; Rosenthal, Political Thought, 51–59. 10 Laoust, Traité. 11 A good example is Black, History, 158–163 on Ibn Taymı¯ya which mainly relies on Laoust, Essai. Johansen’s influential study on Ibn Taymı¯ya’s al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya also relies on Laoust’s translation of the treatise: Johansen, “Perfect Law,” 259–294. 12 For an instructive dicussion see Belhaj, “Law and Order,” 404–408, particularly, 404–405. 13 Ibn Taymı¯ya, Kita¯b al-jawa¯miʿ fı¯ l-siya¯sa al-ila¯hı¯ya wa-l-a¯ya¯t al-nabawı¯ya (Bombay: Maba‘at ˙ nukhbat al-akhba¯r, 1306/1888) and Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l˙ ˙ raʿı¯ya, ([al-Qa¯hira]: al-Matbaʿat al-Khayriyya, 1322/1904–05). ˙ a Damascus Za¯hirı¯ya copy dated to 734 AH. Equally, I was not 14 It proved impossible to find ˙ able to find and inspect the 1905 Cairo edition mentioned by Laoust. 15 Paris BnF MS Ar. 2443, fol 57v. 16 Laoust, Traité, xlvii.

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553

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the nineteenth century, Northern India was the place which hosted the formation of a Muslim reformist movement commonly known as the Ahl-i al-Hadith (lit. The Followers of Prophetic Tradition). The Ahl-i al-Hadith put at its center a series of typically Taymı¯yan preoccupations and had in the figure of the controversial thinker Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n (d. 1307/1890) one of its main proponents. ˙ ˙ Claudia Preckel has studied this in depth.17 Yet, what is interesting to recall is that in a long work dedicated to the classification of knowledge, Abjad al-ʿulu¯m, Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n writes that during his stay in Mecca (1285–1286/1868–1869) ˙ ˙ he ran across a mukhtasar of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, which he copied for himself, ˙ and that – at the time of penning his Abjad al-ʿulu¯m – that copy of the book was in his personal library in Bhopal (wa-huwa mawju¯d fı¯ da¯r al-kutub lı¯ya).18 It is likely that the first Indian printing of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya is to be related to that hand copy which Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n brought to Bhophal when returning from ˙ ˙ Mecca.19 This printing is, in any case, a risa¯la mukhtasara without substantial ˙ variations when compared to the other later printings and editions of the texts. Since this first Indian print of the book, various others have been put into circulation; they are pretty much the same and generally without references to the manuscripts they are based on.20 One notable exception is the recent edition by ʿAlı¯ ibn Muhammad al-ʿImra¯n published in Mecca by Da¯r ʿa¯lam al-fawa¯ʾid in ˙ 2008 whose version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya together with the manuscript this writing is embedded into is at the center of this study.21

Istanbul Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553: Some Codicological Insights The 2008 edition by ʿAlı¯ ibn Muhammad al-ʿImra¯n is based on a unique ˙ manuscript preserved at the Süleymaniye Library in Istanbul – Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553. The codex is a majmu¯ʿ, that is a multiple17 Preckel, “Screening Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n’s Library”. 18 Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n,˙ Abjad˙ al-ʿulu¯m, 2: 330: … mukhtasar wajadtuhu fı¯ makka al-mu˙ wa-stansakhtuha¯ bi-yadı¯ li-nafsihi … The relevant ˙ ˙ passage is also mentioned by karramma al-ʿImra¯n, Muqaddima, 43. Preckel, Screening Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n’s Library, 181. On his stay in Mecca, Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n, Rihlat al-Siddı¯q˙ ila¯ bayt˙ alla¯h al-ʿatı¯q, 165–168. ˙ ˙ by al-ʿImra ˙ printed ˙ in the Bombay edition is very close to Leiden MS 19 As also noted ¯ n, the text Or. 2884 which is not dated. According to al-ʿImra¯n, Leiden MS Or. 2884 is a twelfth hijrı¯ century manuscript, cf. ʿImra¯n, Muqaddima, 41. Petrus Voorhoeve, Handlist, VII, 343, says “modern.” 20 Among the available prints I checked are: al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, 1955; al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, [ca. 1386/ca. 1966]; al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, 1983; al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, in: Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà; alSiya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, 1993. For a list of extant printed editions, see al-ʿImra¯n, Muqaddima, 34– 35. 21 al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, ed. al-ʿImra¯n.

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text, non-composite manuscript which consists of 122 folios gathering three texts that also circulated independently one from the other, two of them being rather well-known.22 Thus, these writings were copied by the same hand and are titled: Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ sala¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya,23 which was ˙ copied on 8 Rabı¯ʿ I 780 (4 July 1378; fols. 1a–77r); a Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba (General rule ˙ on hisba), copied on 16 Rabı¯ʿ I 780 (12 July 1378; fols. 78r–103v) and finally a ˙ Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj [General Rule on the Game of Chess], copied on 19 Rabı¯ʿ ˙ I 780 (19 July 1378; fols. 104r–117r). Each writing has its title page (fols. 1r, 78r, 104r) and in the digitized copy at my disposal, the manuscript does not show any significant material discontinuities. The codex conforms to the definition of a multiple-text manuscript as that fruitfully formulated by the editors of a recent volume on the topic: “A codicological unit ‘worked in a single operation,’ with two or more texts as a ‘production unit’ resulting from one production process delimited in time and space.”24 Whether S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a Ms 1553 was in turn copied from a previous composite manuscript, that is a codicological unit made up of formerly independent units,25 we are not given to know. In other words, the manuscript does not surrender any clue about its Vorlage. If we try to imagine for a while the title page as it originally appeared, without the seals and the notes which were added later, centrally located, and in bigger script, one finds the title: Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ sala¯h (and not isla¯h) ˙ ˙ ˙ al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya and right underneath in slighter smaller and spear-shaped script the name of author: taʾlı¯f al-shaykh al-ima¯m al-ʿa¯lim al-ʿalla¯ma Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n Abı¯ l-ʿAbba¯s Ahmad bin ʿAbd al-Halı¯m bin ʿAbd al-Sala¯m bin Taymı¯ya radiya ˙ ˙ ˙ 22 I was unable to physically see the manuscript nor its description in the catalogue. Therefore, I do not have measures. The digitized version at my disposal does not have an image of the front cover. The back cover looks like a consumed brown and black leather cover with a flap. 23 A fluid translation of the treatise title in English is somewhat insidious. Siya¯sa refers here to ways of governing, rather than forms of government (see Johansen, “Perfect Law”, 290, fn. 54). Therefore, I translate it as governance. Sala¯h refers to a state of moral integrity, or right˙ The ˙ ideal of governance articulated by Ibn Tayeousness, as opposed to fasa¯d, corruption. mı¯ya in his treatise is supposed to protect society as a whole from fasa¯d (as highlighted by Belhaj, “Law and Order”, 409–412). In many manuscript titles of the treatise and on its many prints, isla¯h appears in place of sala¯h. Isla¯h points to restoring such moral integrity back or, ˙ ˙ causing it to be. Depending ˙ ˙ ˙ on ˙ how one reads the particle fı¯, the title of the long more plainly, version can be translated either as Basic principles of governance according to the revealed normativity regarding the righteousness of the shepherd and his flock, or Basic principles of governance according to the revealed normativity for the righteousness of the shepherd and his flock. This second reading of the particle fı¯ is the one most commonly adopted in Western translations. Ibn Rushayyiq al-Maghribı¯ (d. 749/1348), the Ma¯likı¯ follower of Ibn Taymı¯ya who authored a list of his works, reports the title of the work with a li- in place of fı¯: al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya li li-isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya. Cf. Ibn Rushayyiq, Asma¯ʾmuʾallafa¯t, 306. ˙ ˙ 24 Friedrich and Schwarke, One-Volume Libraries, 15–16. 25 Friedrich and Schwarke, One-Volume Libraries, 16.

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553

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Figure 1. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 1r, title page.

lla¯hu ʿanhu wa arda¯hu wa-jaʿala abwa¯b al-janna fı¯ wajhihi maftu¯ha.26 This title ˙ ˙ (Jawa¯miʿ min …) recalls the very beginning of the treatise (folio 1v, ll. 13–14), and is penned by the same hand who copied the three writings. On the same folio 1r, the titles of the other two shorter works (al-Hisba and Shatranj) were added ˙ ˙ below the main one by another hand in what looks like a more cursive writing. Thus, the manuscript hosts three independent textual units all by Ibn Taymı¯ya arranged in decreasing length; an arrangement reflecting the relevance of each writing in regard to the core subject of the manuscript, i. e., “the fundamental principles of siya¯sa as oriented by the revealed normativity for the integrity of both subjects and ruler.” These three units were gathered in a single non-composite codex, copied by the same hand closely in time – in the of same month of the same year (Rabı¯ʿ I 780/July 1378) – one after the other, on the same paper, with the same ink and mise en page. The ink is black except for the chapter headings (fasl) of Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya which are in red but only ˙ until fol. 12r. The layout is regular and tidy throughout the manuscript, the lines being perfectly justified within an untraced rectangular frame. Every page has nineteen lines, which means that the space between them is rather compressed. The three texts are often corrected at the margins in forms of integrations of words or group of words which were dropped when copying, then reinserted. 26 Despite this, Muhammad al-ʿImra¯n, who based his edition on S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, chose the most widespread˙ version of the title, that is al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya. ˙ ˙

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Apart from these integrations and corrections, there are no glosses commenting or explaining the contents of the texts. The corrections are highlighted by the common sad letter standing for sahha (“corrected”) or sah¯ıh (“correct”); they ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ also are by the copyist except at fol. 54v where a different hand, from one reader, added a kathı¯r min which was dropped from the Quranic verse reported in the text. There are no collation marks nor a collation statement, but on the whole these annotations tell us that the copying was accurate and probably the copyist checked it against another manuscript. The identity of the copyist is unknown since the three colophons are not signed. Also, the place of copying is not specified, but the writing conforms to that of a scribe of professional Mamluk culture. It is a clear, regular, careful handwriting. Diacritical points are methodically used, whereas vowels are irregular. No serifs are observable, the number of ligatures between letters is limited and there are no unconventional joinings. The la¯m alif employed is warra¯qı¯ya, that it is a triangular based la¯m alif typical of professional scribes.27 The final nu¯n is usually very opened and with the dot above its right upstroke, the ka¯f is always mashku¯la (i. e., with two strokes), whereas the la¯m is greatly flattened on the baseline when joined, while descendant below the line when isolated. The hand is mashriqı¯, accurate and highly readable. As a whole, this writing complies to what has been generally described as Mamluk naskh.28 In conclusion, the manuscript looks like a well-accomplished and thought-out collection of texts, written by a professional scribe, most probably from Syria or Egypt. As noted above, the folios are densely written which might indicate that the scribe did not have much paper at his disposal. The manuscript is neither decorated nor illuminated. In short, the codex does not appear as a costly production. There is no commission statement, and although it cannot be ruled out that somebody copied it for himself, its neat layout, tidy organization and consistent handwriting give the impression that the codex originated as a production for somebody. There are no reading notes nor commentary glosses at the margin, contrary to what happens with some copies of the risa¯la mukhtasara.29 This ˙ suggests that the codex did not enjoy a wide readership, an aspect which is corroborated by the fact that the version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya that S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 records is so far the only known surviving copy.

27 See Gacek, Arabic Manuscripts, 139–140. 28 Gacek, Arabic Manuscripts, 162–165, particularly 163 and 123. Franssen, “What was There,” 322–323. 29 For instance, Leiden MS Or. 2590 and Leiden MS Or. 2884.

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553

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Brief Remarks on the History of the Manuscript As it often happens in manuscripts, the title page (here the first title page, fol. 1r) was densely annotated. It bears a seal which signals that at some point the manuscript became part of the library of S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a, the grand vizir and libraries founder of the Ottoman Empire between the years 1125–1128 (1713– 1716).30 There is also another unreadable smaller seal which is very likely related to the personal ownership note and signature right above it. In fact, the title page hosts two ownership notes. They indicate that the manuscript went into the hands of a certain Ahmad ibn al-Basrı¯ in the month of Rajab 1005 (1597), and ˙ ˙ then into those of his son fifty years later, in 1057 (1647). Sa¯qahu sa¯ʾiq al-taqdı¯r hatta¯ intazama fı¯ silk ˙ al-Bas˙rı¯ … almilk al-faqı¯r / Ahmad bin ˙ ˙ faqı¯r/ al faqı¯r al-haqı¯r ˙ fı¯ yawm al-jumuʿa shahr rajab 1005 thumma intaqala ila¯ milk waladihi ʿUmar al-faqı¯r [?] fı¯ Shaʿba¯n 1057

Figure 2. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 1r., ownership statement with seal in the middle.

The title page also acts as a register for the birth and death records of Ahmad’s ˙ children, who signed the notes. From his signature we learn that he was a Hanafı¯. ˙ All notes date to the beginning of the eleventh Hijrı¯ century (end of sixteenth/ beginning seventeenth Gregorian century). Densely scribbled are also the last four folios of the manuscript which are abundantly inscribed by poetry, invocations and maxims (fols. 117v–121v) not directly related to the contents of the manuscript.31 The handwritings are similar 30 See Mantran, “Ali Pas¸a, Damat S¸ehit.” The seal inscription reads: mimma¯ waqafa al-wazı¯r alshahı¯d ʿAlı¯ Pa¯sha¯ rahimahu lla¯hu bi-shart ʿan la yakhruja min khiza¯na¯tihi 1130 (1717 CE). ˙ title of the second treatise, al-Hisba (fol. 78r) and The seal also appears˙ in the folio bearing the ˙ at the end of the manuscript (fol. 121r). 31 Fol. 117v: a qas¯ıda of the poet Sala¯h al-Dı¯n al-ʿAwwa¯s (d. 723/1323) which is described by ˙ al-qas¯ıdat al-sa¯˙ʾira ˙dha¯t al-awza¯n. See Ibn Hajar, al-Durar al-ka¯mina, 2:118 other sources as ˙ reports the qas¯ıda in full in Aʿya¯n ˙al-ʿasr wa-aʿwa¯n al-nasr, 2: 540– and overall al-Safadı¯ who ˙ ˙ 544. On fol. 118r one finds some devotional poetry attributed to˙ al-Sha¯fiʿı¯, to an ˙unknown

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to that of the first folio notes, so one assumes that they were penned by the owners of the manuscript, Ahmad and his son. A third hasty and thicker ˙ handwriting also appears (fol. 118v, in the margin, and 119r–v, 120r, 121v). It is the same cursive hand which added the titles of al-Hisba and Shatranj below the ˙ ˙ main title in the first page. We may think of him as a later third owner, or reader.

The Importance of S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 In the previous pages, I have qualified S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 as “unique,” by which I mean that this codex is rather special in more than one way. First, the majority of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya manuscripts I was able to check so far show that in the course of time the treatise was normally copied and transmitted as a single-text material unit.32 But not in this case, where S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 is a multiple-text manuscript exhibiting a coherent thematic core. As pointed out above, the texts gathered in this codex relate to and explain the “basic principles” ( jawa¯miʿ ) of a model of “public administration” (siya¯sa) to be oriented by the revealed normativity (sharʿı¯ya).

author (wa-li-ghayrihi) and the historian and literate Zayn al-Dı¯n ʿUmar ibn al-Wardı¯ (d. 1348/1349). Two supplications (duʿa¯ʾ) to be recited on the day of ʿArafa were added later in smaller script on the top margin of folio 118r. An exchange of poetry lines between the judges Ta¯j al-Dı¯n bin al-Shahı¯d and Badr al-Dı¯n bin al-Rida¯ al-Hanafı¯ is recorded on fol. 118v. A ˙ the ˙last folio (122v), more poetry and tradition from Ibn al-Muba¯rak appears at the top on some maxims are inscribed on fols. 120r–v. 32 These are the manuscripts I inspected for this study, ordered by date: – Berlin Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190 (dated 716/1316–1317). – Istanbul Su¨ leymaniye Ku¨ tu¨ phanesi MS Ayasofya 2889 (dated Rajab 744/November 1343); – Damascus al-Asad National Library MS Za¯hirı¯ya 3246 (dated 14 Muharram 756 / 29 January ˙ ˙ 1355); – Leiden MS Or. 2590 (dated second half of Dhu¯ l-Hijja 782/April 1381, Dhamma¯r, Yemen); ˙ – Paris BnF MS 2443 (dated 22 Juma¯da I 876/5 november 1471); – Istanbul Su¨ leymaniye Ku¨ tu¨ phanesi MS Ayasofya 2886 (dated 15 Ramada¯n 893 / 23 Au˙ gust1488). This is a multiple-text manuscript preserving the Kita¯b qa¯ʿidat al-siya¯sa alsharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya (fols. 1–147v) and a response of Ahmad ibn Hanbal on the ˙ ˙ ˙ of killing groups of robbers (harra¯mı¯ya) who go around permissibility the˙ country de˙ priving Muslims of their possessions and killing those who fight them (fols. 148v–159r). – Paris BnF MS 2444 (incipit unreadable, date of copy not mentioned, sixteenth century according to Gallica. See https://archivesetmanuscrits.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/cc30361f [accessed 16/4/2019]); – Istanbul Su¨ leymaniye Ku¨ tu¨ phanesi MS Reisu¨ lku¨ tta¯b Mustafa Efendi 528, fol. 1v (undated, according to catalogue sixteenth-century copy); – Leiden MS Or. 2884 (date of copy not mentioned, according to al-ʿImra¯n, 12th hijrı¯ century, cf. ʿImra¯n, Muqaddima, 41; P. Voorhoeve, Handlist, VII, 343, has “modern”); – Berlin Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 2553, (dated 1303/1885–1886).

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553

19

Miscellanies collecting texts that in some way associated with one another were a very common phenomenon and MS Istanbul S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 fully conforms to this mode.33 In this specific case, the convergence of the three textual units into a single material support signals an act of reception and interpretation of what revelation-oriented siya¯sa was from the part of the person who planned the manuscript. At the same time, the long Siya¯sa transmitted by MS Istanbul S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 provides important clues for understanding Ibn Taymı¯ya’s complex project of al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, as it will become clear in due course. The other distinctive aspects of MS Istanbul S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 consists, first, in the colophon of Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya which states that the text was copied from an autograph: naqaltu min nuskhat nuqilat julluha¯ bi-khatt al-musannif ˙˙ ˙ I transmitted from a copy the great majority of which was transmitted by the hand of the author

and second in the fact that the version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya hosted by S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 displays significant portions of text which are missing from other manuscripts and printings of the text nowadays in circulation. This extended version of the treatise is important because it helps gain a fuller view of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s vision of al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, especially when the treatise on Siya¯sa is read intertextually with the other writings witnessed by the manuscript. All these reasons make of this codex a precious key able to reveal fragments of a story so far untold about the textual history Ibn Taymı¯ya’s famous political treatise as well as the meaning and early reception of this writing. In the next pages I will attempt to shed light on parts of this story.

33 See, for instance, Endress, One-Volume Libraries, on philosophical multi-text and composite manuscripts; Schmidke, “From ‘One-Volume Libraries,’” in the same volume. Gratien, Polczyn´ski and Shafir, “Digital Frontiers,” especially 39–40. For one such example from the Mamluk period, see Franssen, “What was There.”

20

Figure 3. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 77r, colophon.

Caterina Bori

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553

21

A Risa¯la Mukhtasara and a long version of al-Siya¯sa al-Sharʿı¯ya ˙ The version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya scholars are familiar with is the same as that translated by Henri Laoust, which is also the one that we find in its many extant printings and in the manuscripts inspected for this study. This version invariably presents the text as an abridged or short risa¯la. That is, the risa¯la is introduced as mukhtasara “shortened or abridged” or “short, concise.” It reads: ˙

This is a short or abridged treatise which comprises the concise and substantial principles of divinely-oriented governance … / ha¯dhihi risa¯la mukhtasara fı¯ha¯ jawa¯miʿ min ˙ al-siya¯sa al-ila¯hı¯ya34

On the contrary, the text of S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 begins as follows: This is a treatise that comprises the concise and substantial principles of divinelyoriented governance … / ha¯dhihi risa¯la tatadammanu jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-ila¯˙ hı¯ya35

We have thus two different incipits of the text, introducing two versions of the same writing. One is shorter and judging from the number of manuscripts it is the one which imposed itself as the vulgata, the other one is longer and was less read, since so far S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 is its only witness. The exact relationship between the two versions is complex to clarify. Mukhtasar is a term that indicates either a concise composition usually ˙ conceived as complementary to an expanded one (mabsu¯t), or an abridgement or ˙ epitome of a given work.36 In the first case, mukhtasara¯t and their expansums ˙ were common literary structures in the field of substantive law (furu¯ʿ al-fiqh) where mukhtasar and mabsu¯t acted as genres that differed not only in the ˙ ˙ number of pages but also in their function, language and literary features. Most importantly, the concise version of the work (mukhtasar) was not necessarily ˙ written after the expanded one. It could also be the opposite, the mabsu¯t being an ˙ expansion of an initial “structured skeleton of the law” (mukhtasar), to put it in ˙ Norman Calder’s words.37 Differently, the second case, where the word mukhtasar points to an abridgment, normally assumes a vertical diachronical rela˙ tionship between the two texts: a base-copy of a given work which served as the basis for a subsequent epitome. Both kinds of mukhtasara¯t attest to the vitality ˙ 34 Ayasofya 2889, fol. 1r; Za¯hirı¯ya 3246, fol. 1v; Leiden Or. 2590, fol. 1v; Paris BnF 2443, fol. 1v; Ayasofya 2886, fol. 2r;˙ Reisu¨ lku¨ tta¯b Mustafa Efendi 528, fol. 1v; Leiden Or. 2884, fol. 2r; Staatsbibliothek Or. oct. 2553, fol. 1v. 35 S¸ehid ʿAlı¯ Pas¸a 1553, fol. 1v. 36 See the definitions provided by Adam Gacek, Arabic Manuscript, 41. 37 See Calder, Islamic Jurisprudence, 22–115, quotation from 22. Also, Ingall, Sˇarh, Ihtisa¯r, and ˙ ˘ ˙ar rela“Late-Medieval Legal Change”, where the complex dynamics of the sharh-mukhtas ˙ ˙ 2 tionship are highlighted and Arazi-Ben Chamaï, “Mukhtasar”, in EI . ˙

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and continuation of a certain writing of which they were not merely skeletons/ abridgements, but also interpretations.38 The question is then: to which pattern of ikhtisa¯r do the risa¯la mukhtasara of ˙ ˙ al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya and the version of S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 belong? Was the treatise on siya¯sa originally a condensed work which Ibn Taymı¯ya at some point expanded? Or vice-versa, did the long Siya¯sa, or Jawa¯miʿ, (S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553) precede the risa¯la mukhtasara? As a third possible way, in his edition of the long ˙ version, Muhammad al-ʿImra¯n claims that Jawa¯miʿ in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 rep˙ resents a pristine version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya which then served as the basis for an abridgement that was carried out later on by some unknown hand, and not by Ibn Taymı¯ya. This is certainly possible, yet al-ʿImra¯n does not ground his claim on any strong piece of evidence. As a matter of fact, the evidence is partial, fragmented and extremely complex and none of the options mentioned above is self-evident. Let us try and make sense of it. Whereas it proved impossible to chronologically reconstruct in detail the relationship between the risa¯la mukhtasara of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya and its ˙ long version, some tentative thoughts can be formulated.

Chronology: Dating al-Siya¯sa The manuscripts al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya I worked with are ten, of two I only have incomplete digital copies.39 As mentioned, I did not have the opportunity to examine all extant catalogued manuscripts, however those seen so far transmit the short text of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya (risa¯la mukhtasara). Some of these copies ˙ predate the long treatise, that is the version of the text carried by S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 40 1553 which is at the center of this study. This situation as such does not imply any given chronology in the composition of the text. In what comes next, some dating will be attempted on the ground of the available evidence. The long version of al-Siya¯sa (S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553) is dated to 780 and claims to rely mostly on an autograph (naqaltu min nuskhat nuqilat julluha¯ bi-khatt al˙˙ musannif, fol. 77r). If reliable, this statement brings the text back to Ibn Tay˙ mı¯ya’s hand, although the words: julluha¯ bi-khatt al-musannif – “[I transmitted ˙˙ ˙ from a copy] the great majority of which was by the hand of the author” – are a 38 See Kilpatrick, “Abridgement,” 1: 23–24. 39 Ayasofya 2886, fols. 1r–5r, 143v–150r, 158v–159r. Reisu¨ lku¨ tta¯b Mustafa Efendi 528, fols. 1r– 2v, plus explicit and colophon (no number on the images at my disposal). More manuscripts are listed in: Brockelmann, GAL, S, ii, 124–125 e GAL, ii, 127 n. 114 and Gregor Schöler, Arabische Handschriften. Teil II, 161. 40 Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190 (dated 716); Ayasofya 2889 (dated 744); Za¯hirı¯ya 3246 ˙ (dated 756).

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553

23

clue suggesting that the copyist did not work with an holograph. As it stands, the autograph is unknown, either lost or not yet identified by scholars. As for the short Siya¯sa, its manuscripts suggest that the risa¯la mukhtasara was the version ˙ of the treatise that gained wider dissemination. Apart from lexical variants due to the process of copying, and ensuing strands of different transmissions, and apart from some variations in the chapter division (fasl: fusu¯l), the risa¯la mukhtasara ˙ ˙ ˙ with its subsequent prints looks like a rather stable text. For this reason, I refer to it as one.41 The earliest complete extant copies of the risa¯la mukhtasara I am ˙ aware of date to 744 and 756, respectively (Ayasofya 2889 and Za¯hirı¯ya 3246). ˙ Yet, a manuscript preserved in Berlin – Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190 – transmits a partial copy of it. To my knowledge, this manuscript has not been previously used in studies on the subject and it is an important witness because it may provide evidence that the risa¯la mukhtasara was in circulation by 716.42 In ˙ his catalogue description, Gregor Schöler remarks that the manuscript’s title, authorship and introduction (fols. 1r–2v) are false attributions elegantly written in black ink with red punctuation, but clumsily attached to an original copy of alSiya¯sa which lacks its first third.43 The remaining two-thirds transmitted by the manuscript are the sections of the treatise focusing on hudud, discretional ˙ punishment, jiha¯d and men’s claims.44 All is from the risa¯la mukhtasara. The title ˙ of the “new book” is Kita¯b al-maqsu¯d fı¯ iqa¯mat al-hudu¯d (fol. 1r) and the name of ˙ ˙ its purported author the Hanbalı¯ Muhammad bin Ahmad bin Muhammad bin ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Zakariya¯ʾ, better known as al-Alwa¯h¯ı (d. 8th/14th century).45 Not much is known ˙ about Muhammad bin Ahmad al-Alwa¯h¯ı, save that he was active in the first half of ˙ ˙ ˙ the fourteenth century as he copied Ibn Quda¯ma’s (d. 620/1223) Kita¯b rawdat al˙ na¯zir in 733 and al-ʿAnbarı¯’s (d. 577/1181) al-Da¯ʿı¯ ilà al-isla¯m in 744.46 ˙ In point of fact, the colophon clarifies that Zakariya¯ʾ al-Alwa¯h¯ı was the actual ˙ Hanbalı¯ copyist of the truncated manuscript of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya which was ˙ 41 Looking closely at lexical variants and variations in the division into chapters will help establish further lines of transmissions and rcensions of the risa¯la mukhtasara itself. For ˙ as edited by instance, differences in chapter division appear between the risa¯la mukhtasara al-Harasta¯nı¯ and the earliest complete copy of it at my disposal which is Aya ˙Sofya 2889, dated 744.˙ I did not venture into this sort of detailed examination here. I used the text of al-Siya¯sa alsharʿı¯ya in the edition of ʿIsa¯m Fa¯ris al-Harasta¯nı¯, Beirut: Da¯r al-jı¯l, 1993, as a representative ˙ For a chart of differences in the chapter division ˙ short siya¯sa. of the risa¯la mukhtasara, or ˙ Siya¯sa, see Table 1, pp. 30–32. between long and short 42 Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190 described by Schöler in Arabische Handschriften, 160–161. 43 See Schöler, Arabische Handschriften, 161. Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190, fol. 2v: … sannaftu ha¯dha¯ l-kita¯b murattaban ʿalà l-fusu¯l wa-l-a¯da¯b la ghaniya walı¯ l-amr ʿanha¯ wa˙sammaytuhu al-maqsu¯d fı¯ iqa¯mat al-hudu¯d˙… ˙ 3a–48r. 44 Staatsbibliothek MS ˙Or. oct. 3190, fols. 45 Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190, fol. 1r and 48v. 46 Ibn Quda¯ma, Kita¯b rawdat al-na¯zir, 1:31 and Arberry, Handlist, 24–25 (Chester Beatty MS ˙ ˙ Ar. 3822).

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later turned into the Kita¯b al-maqsu¯d fı¯ iqa¯mat al-hudu¯d. As observed by ˙ ˙ Schöler, the colophon bears the word muʾallifihi (“its author”) in a slightly darker black ink next to the word ka¯tibihi (“its copyist”). Thus, it seems that muʾallifihi was added later in order to make al-Alwa¯h¯ı appear as the author too.47 ˙ The improper attribution did not escape the attentive eyes of a later reader who noted down on the inside of the front cover: “It clearly appears that what comes after the first two pages, which are in a different ( jadı¯d) handwriting, is from of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya li-isla¯h al-raʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya of the Shaykh al-isla¯m al-Taqı¯ bin ˙ Taymı¯ya.”48 From its reading and possession notes, we learn that the manuscript was owned and read by various members of the Hanbalı¯ Damascene family al˙ Shatt¯ı in the 80s of the thirteenth hijrı¯ century (second half of nineteenth cen˙˙ 49 tury). It is likely that the original al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya manuscript copied by alAlwa¯h¯ı was initially produced in Damascus where it was preserved.50 ˙ The colophon of Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190 bears the date “year 716,” in numbers. If the date is authentic, this is the earliest – albeit partial – copy of the risa¯la mukhtasara that has come down to us. According to Schöler, the year 716 ˙ was written in the same ink as that of muʾallifihi next to ka¯tibihi, hence it was also added later,51 and yet this date may be not incidental. In his famous Essai on the political and social doctrines of Ibn Taymı¯ya (1939) and in a slightly later (1942) article on Ibn Taymı¯ya’s biography based on reports by Ibn Kathı¯r (d. 773/1374), Laoust dated the text between 1315 and 1318. This dating was based on content considerations and some passages from Ibn Kathı¯r’s chronicle in which the Syrian historian mentions a series of sultanic decisions which were inspired by Ibn Taymı¯ya.52 It is important to clarify that, in al-Bida¯ya wa-l-niha¯ya, Ibn Kathı¯r never mentions explicitly that al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya was written for the Sultan Muhammad al-Na¯sir ibn Qala¯wu¯n, but he does mention, though, two sultanic de˙ ˙ crees dispatched and read aloud in Damascus in the year 712 that were, according to Ibn Kathı¯r, prompted by Ibn Taymı¯ya (wa-ka¯na sabab li-dha¯lika shaykh alisla¯m …).53 In the first edict, the Sultan recommended that public offices should be appointed only to those deserving them, and not be purchased or obtained 47 Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190, fol. 48v:ʿalà yad al-ʿabd al-faqı¯r al-dhalı¯l al-haqı¯r ka¯tibihi ˙ wa-muʾallifihi Muhammad bin Muhammad bin Ahmad bin Muhammad bin Zakariya ¯ ʾʿurifa ˙ ¯n sana 716. ˙ bi-l-Alwa¯h¯ı ʿafa¯ lla¯˙huʿanhu wa-ʿalà˙ l-jamı¯ʿ al-muslimı ˙ cover: qad tabayyana anna ma¯ baʿd al-waraqatayni al-u¯layayni allatayni huma¯ 48 Front inner bi-khatt jadı¯d huwa min kita¯b al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya li-isla¯h al-raʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya li-shayykh al˙ ˙ ˙ isla¯m ˙al-taqı ¯ bin taymı¯ya. 49 The notes are on the title page (fol. 1r) and on the front and back cover. 50 Schöler, Arabische Handschriften, 161. 51 Ibid. 52 Laoust, Essai, 98, fn. 2 and idem, “Biographie”, 115–163, 150–51. 53 Ibn Kathı¯r, Bida¯ya, 1998, 18: 123–124.

Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553

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through bribery, in the second that killing should be prosecuted with retaliation as according to the religious law. Both decrees well tune with some of the recommendations voiced in al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, long and short, and suggest that the treatise may have been conceived between the years 709 and 712 when Ibn Taymı¯ya resided in Cairo and was close to the Sultan Muhammad ibn Qala¯wu¯n. ˙ This is also the conclusion Laoust reaches a few years later in his introduction to the translation of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, which was published in 1948.54 In sum, the year 716 recorded as the copy date of Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190 even if added later sounds realistic. If so, it confirms that the treatise in its short version circulated, was read and copied as early as 716 and fixes a termine ante quem for the composition of the risa¯la mukhtasara. ˙ Another indication about the date of the risa¯la mukhtasara comes from an˙ other manuscript preserved in Leiden (Leiden MS Or. 2884) which transmits the short Siya¯sa. The manuscript is densely annotated and corrected in the margins; it lacks the copyist’s name and the date. According to Muhammad al-ʿImra¯n, the ˙ manuscript is late, perhaps a twelfth century hijri copy.55 A note on its title page states that the treatise was written at the request of the amir Jama¯l al-Dı¯n Qays [?] al-Mansu¯rı¯.56 al-ʿImra¯n suggests that this person is to be identified with Jama¯l al˙ Dı¯n Aqqu¯sh al-Mansu¯rı¯ (d. 719/1319–20), who had been mutawallı¯ (prefect) of ˙ Damascus for eleven years between 709 and 719 (1309/10–1319/20) and is described in biographical dictionaries and chronicles as an important amir, much loved by people.57 Precisely, the note on the title folio of Leiden MS Or. 2884 states that the work was composed in one night when the above mentioned amir interrogated Ibn Taymı¯ya; the object of the question is not specified. Al-ʿImra¯n proposes that Jama¯l al-Dı¯n Aqqu¯sh al-Mansu¯rı¯ advanced his request to Ibn ˙ Taymı¯ya at the time of his appointment or soon after that, hence around 709. At that time Ibn Taymı¯ya was in Cairo, just out of prison, and would not be back in Damascus until three years later. It is an interesting piece of evidence, although late and isolated. Finally, the treatise was probably written in a moment free from war danger since the pages on jiha¯d do not exhibit the highly charged and vehement tone Ibn

54 Laoust, Traité, xii, xxvi–xxvix where he speaks of four decrees, two issued in 712, one in 711 and the other in 714. I did not find the name of Ibn Taymı¯ya associated with the 711 and 714 decrees. See Ibn Kathı¯r, Bida¯ya, 18: 113, 135. 55 al-ʿImra¯n, Muqaddima, 41 and 62. 56 Leiden MS Or. 2884, fol. 1r : Kita¯b al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ sala¯h al-raʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯yaʿallaqaha¯ … ˙ ilà ˙ dha¯lika wa-ʿallaqaha¯ fı¯ layla h¯ına saʾalahu al-amı¯r al-kabı¯r qays al-mansu¯rı¯ fa-aja¯ba ˙wa¯hida. ˙ 57 See˙ al-ʿImra¯n, Muqaddima, 21–23, 41. On Jama¯l al-Dı¯n Aqqu¯sh al-Mansu¯rı¯, Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n, 1: ˙ 190, ˙ 196. 576–77. Birza¯lı¯, Muqtafà, 3: 437–38, 4: 370–71. Ibn Kathı¯r, Bida¯ya, 18: 113,

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Taymı¯ya adopts on the subject in other writings written when the Mamluk lands, Syria in particuar, was under threat.58 All things considered, the evidence makes it plausible that al-Siya¯sa alsharʿı¯ya, either long or short, was conceived at the very beginning of the third reign of Muhammad ibn Qala¯wu¯n, and that the risa¯la mukhtasara had been ˙ ˙ penned by 716.

Authorship: Making Sense of Textual Fluidity There are no compelling reasons to question the authorship of Jawa¯miʿ. As seen, the copyist’s statement that he transmitted Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya from the author’s hand plays in favor of the Taymı¯yan authorship of the long version. Were this statement untrue, the language, style, and thematic concerns of the long treatise are recognizably Taymı¯yan. Furthermore, several of the passages which are not in the risa¯la mukhtasara but in Jawa¯miʿ, have their ˙ counterparts in other writings of Ibn Taymı¯ya, as will be duly pointed out further down in this study. The situation is less clear with the risa¯la mukhtasara. In the absence of sources ˙ clearly proving the contrary, it seems fair to say that it is not evident that the author of the risa¯la mukhtasara was not Ibn Taymı¯ya, as claimed by Muhammad ˙ ˙ al-ʿImra¯n.59 All the manuscripts so far seen, attribute it to Ibn Taymı¯ya. It could be argued that Ibn Taymı¯ya was a hectic, swift, chaotic, circumstantial writer who wrote a lot from memory and whose writings, especially his answers and short rules (ajwa¯b and qawa¯ʿid) were not systematically copied and transmitted. He is described as such by his biographers who also tell us that: “He would write an answer and if somebody producing a fair copy was there [the answer would be transmitted], otherwise the questioner would take his piece and go.”60 Ibn ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯ (d. 744/1343), Ibn Taymı¯ya’s main biographer, also informs us that Ibn Taymı¯ya’s short and circumstantial writings were often taken away by his students or petitioners without been brought back even when Ibn Taymı¯ya himself asked for them. His followers repeatedly lament that it was impossible to have a precise idea of the number of his works, the dispersal of which they also feared.61 Accordingly, one hardly figures Ibn Taymı¯ya out sitting down in the process of cutting, or eventually expanding on something previously written. Yet, it cannot 58 Typically, the fatwas against the Mongols (Majmu¯‘ fata¯wà, 28: 501–552) which are studied in depth by Denise Aigle, “The Mongol Invasions”. 59 al-ʿImra¯n, Muqaddima, 32–33. 60 Ibn ʿIbn al-Ha¯dı¯,ʿUqu¯d, 64. 61 See Bori, “Collection and Edition,” 47–67, especially 54–57; the main source lamenting this bibliographical mess is Ibn ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯,ʿUqu¯d, 26–28, 64–65.

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be ruled out for Ibn Taymı¯ya did recycle previous works of his into new ones, he does often refer to already written works within new writings, and resorts to similar phrasing and passages in works dealing with similar subjects.62 Of his famous Hamawı¯ya creed (al-ʿAqı¯da al-hamawı¯ya) we are told that there was a ˙ ˙ big and a small one (wa-la-hu al-Hamawı¯ya al-kubra¯ wa-l-Hamawı¯ya al-sughra¯) ˙ ˙ ˙ perhaps suggesting a mechanic similar to that we see on stage here.63 Moreover, elsewhere Ibn Taymı¯ya uses the word mukhtasar/a to point, simply, ˙ to a short writing, not necessarily an abridgement. The incipit of the Precept on the Duty to Obey God and His Messenger runs like that of the short Siya¯sa: “As for what comes afterwards (amma¯ baʿd): this is a short general rule on the duty to obey God and His Messenger” (fa-ha¯dhihi risa¯la mukhtasara fı¯ wuju¯b …).64 In ˙ addition, the very General rule on hisba transmitted by S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 is ˙ defined by Ibn Taymiya at some point as “this short rule (ha¯dhihi al-qa¯ʿida almukhtsara).”65 ˙ An interesting case of Taymı¯yan textual fluidity is the General Rule on the Game of Chess copied in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 after al-Siya¯sa and al-Hisba. In fact, ˙ the text of the Rule on the Game of Chess in the manuscript is very similar to that on chess published in the thirty-second volume of Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, but it is not exactly the same. The one in Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà appears as a fatwa opening with a battery of questions on the prohibition of the game. The text presents itself as the answer to such questions,66 whereas in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 the text is introduced as a qa¯ʿida in which the questions are removed (fol. 104v) in order to deal straight with the legal argumentation. The Rule on the Game of Chess is also slightly longer and detailed than the fatwa, and exhibits some passages missing from it.67 Moreover, another much shorter text on chess was recently published. Its opening makes clear that it was an answer to a question that was posited to Ibn 62 See Hoover, “Theology as Translation,” 40–86, especially 40–55; the text of Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 12: 235–245 is copied into al-Tisʿinı¯ya, 529–547. In al-Tisʿinı¯ya this text is called by Ibn Taymı¯ya Jawa¯b al-futya¯ al-misrı¯ya. The fasl on amr bi-l-maʿru¯f appears both as a section of ˙ al-Hisba and al-Istiqa¯ma, see˙Cook, Commanding Right, 151, fn. 48. I thank Jon Hoover for ˙ pointing these references to me. 63 Ibn ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯, ʿUqu¯d, 67. Also Hoover, Ibn Taymı¯ya’s Theodicy, 240 notes an unnamed fatwa in Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 8: 204–234 that abridges the text of al-Hasana wa-l-sayyʾa (see ˙ Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 14: 294–361). We do not know whether this abridgement was by Ibn Taymı¯ya or a later hand. 64 Ibn Taymı¯ya, Majmu¯ʿfata¯wà, 18: 5. 65 S¸ehid Ali Pasa 1553, fol. 99r: wa-laysat ha¯dhihi al-qa¯ʿida al-mukhtsara mawdiʿ dha¯lika …/ ˙ is not the right place for dealing with this issue…”.˙ ˙ “This short rule 66 Ibn Taymı¯ya, Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 32: 216–239: “As for the game of chess: is it prohibited or reprehensible? Or is it indifferent? And if you say that it is prohibited, what is the proof of its prohibition? And if you say that it is reprehensible, what is the proof of its reprehensibility? Or [if you say that it is] indifferent, what is the proof of its indifference?” (p. 216). 67 For instance, S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 106r, 106v, 109r–109v, 11v–112r, 115r.

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Taymı¯ya; it exhibits the gist of the other two writings but argues for chess prohibition in a simpler and straighter manner.68 Clearly, these texts on chess are closely related to each other, but are moulded in different formats according to their purpose and receivers. Could have not something similar happened with the long and short Siya¯sa? What I am trying to suggest is that what we may have here are authorial variations of the same writing penned in different moments and for different receivers, and not necessarily two writings whose correlation was dictated by a somehow defined vertical relationship, i. e., one being the successive epitome of a pristine Urtext. In conclusion, the authorship of the long Siya¯sa can be reconduced to Ibn Taymı¯ya, whereas the short Siya¯sa does not necessarily have to be thought of as the later product of somebody other than Ibn Taymı¯ya as suggested by Muhammad al-ʿImra¯n. It could be, but also could be not. In the absence of further ˙ evidence, it is hard to reconstruct in detail the circumstances of composition of the long and short Siya¯sa and their chronological exact relationship, but a content examination of the differences between the risa¯la mukhtasara and the ˙ long version can add useful insights on the configuration of the two texts.

Part II: Structure and Contents To all effects the risa¯la mukhtasara and Jawa¯miʿ are closely related: the overall ˙ structure and content-organization of the two texts are the same. Some variations occur in the chapter division, as the risa¯la mukhtasara tends to merge small ˙ sections that on the contrary are organized as separate fusu¯l in Jawa¯miʿ. Some ˙ fluctuation within copies of the risa¯la mukhtasara itself are observable, but not in ˙ the overall arrangement and sequence of the contents. As for its wording, the text is rather stable in both versions. The major differences between the risa¯la mukhtasara and Jawa¯miʿ are omissions or additions. ˙ Depending on the perspective one adopts, entire chapters, final sections of chapters, and to a minor extent short sentences and passages from within chapters – often consisting in the citation of Quranic verses or Hadith to clarify the point in question – are absent from the “short” text when compared to the long one.69 However, some degree of different phrasing occurs especially towards

68 Ibn Taymı¯ya, Ja¯miʿ al-masa¯ʾil, 9: 291–295. 69 Major passages missing from the risa¯la mukhtasara are: S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 10r–12r; ˙ 56v–57r; 59r–61r; 66r; 68v–69r; 70r–72r.

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the end, in the chapters dedicated to fair judgement in the domain of men’s claims which are highly compressed in the risa¯la al-mukhtasara.70 ˙ In what comes next, I describe and review the most relevant passages which distinguish the long version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, or Jawa¯miʿ, from the risa¯la mukhtasara, or “short version.” By “relevant” I mean the longest and most ˙ substantial passages. On the whole, these materials approximately amount to the 13 % of the treatise (which in its entirety consists in 77 folios, if we include the title page), or – again approximately – to 10 folios. For those unfamiliar with the treatise, the overall structure of the text unfolds as follows. Both the risa¯la mukhtasara and Jawa¯miʿ (the long Siya¯sa) are or˙ ganized around Quran 4:58. The first part of this verse exhorts to render trusts (ama¯na¯t) back to their owners, while the second commands to rule or judge with fairness. Ibn Taymı¯ya explains that the recipients of Q. 4:58 are “men in authority” and, accordingly, that this verse refers to their principal duties: first and foremost, giving deposits back and, secondly, ruling or judging with fairness. These two obligations – writes Ibn Taymı¯ya – are “the essence of just siya¯sa and sound authority” ( jima¯ʿ al-siya¯sa al-ʿa¯dila wa-l-wila¯ya al-sa¯liha).71 Thus, the ˙ ˙ book grows as an illustration of the two duties. Its first section develops around the quranic injunction to give deposits back to their owners by focusing respectively on the qualities of public offices (wila¯yat) and on “public wealth,” both conceived as two different types of trusts. The second part revolves around the importance of judging or ruling with equity, or fairness, which is the second part of Q. 4:58. Here, the hudu¯d and huqu¯q of God and those of men are separately ˙ ˙ dealt with. It is especially within the second part of the book that the short and long Siya¯sa depart. Table 1 outlines the book contents and it signals where Jawa¯miʿ and risa¯la mukhtasara significantly differ. ˙

70 See the two chapters on offences to the honour and dignity of single individuals: S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 66v–67r to compare with Siya¯sa, ed. Harasta¯nı¯ pp. 179–182; or the first part of ˙ ukm fı¯ l-amwa¯l): S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, the chapter regarding judging in money matters (al-h ˙ ¯ nı¯, 185–186. fols. 69v–70r and Siya¯sa (risa¯la mukhtasara), ed. Harasta ˙ ¯ sa (risa¯la mukhtasara), ed. Harasta¯nı¯, ˙ 71 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 2r.; Siya¯sa, ed. al-ʿImra ¯ n; Siya ˙ 12. More on the structure and contents of the treatise in Bori, “One or ˙Two Versions.”

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Table 1. Major points of differences between Jawa¯miʿ and the risa¯la mukhtasara ˙ Thematic clusters

S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 Jawa¯miʿ

Risa¯la mukhtasara (ed. al-Harasta¯˙nı¯) ˙

Incipit, fol. 1v

Different

The founding prin- Preface ciples of divine and amma¯ baʿd …, fol. 1v–2r just siya¯sa. (Q. 4:58) [Part 1] Giving deposits Fasl: amma¯ ada¯ʾ al-ama¯na¯t faback (1) Public au- fı¯hi˙ nawʿa¯n ahaduhuma¯ al-wi˙ thority. la¯ya¯t …, fol. 2r Fasl: idha¯ ʿurifa ha¯dha … an ˙ yastaʿamil al-aslah al-mawju¯d ˙ ˙ …, fol. 5r Fasl: ijtima¯ʿ al-quwwa wa-l˙¯na fı¯ l-na¯s qalı¯l …, 5v ama Fasl: al-muhimm fı¯ ha¯dha l-ba¯b ˙ maʿarifat al-aslah …, fol. 8r ˙ ˙ Fasl: al-quwwa fı¯ l-wila¯ya¯t …, Missing ˙ fol. 10r Giving deposits back. (2) Public wealth

Fasl: al-qism al-tha¯nı¯ min al˙¯ ya¯t al-amwa¯l …, fol. 12r wila Fasl: al-amwa¯l al-sulta¯nı¯ya, ˙ fol.˙ 14r Fasl: wa-amma¯ al-sadaqa¯t …, ˙ fol.˙ 15v Fasl: wa-amma¯ al-fayʾ, fol. 16r ˙

Fasl: wa-amma¯ al-masa¯rif …, ˙ fol.˙ 20v [Part II] Hudu¯d alla¯h, and ˙ ¯r, jiha¯d, pretaʿzı cautionary provisos.

Fasl: amma¯ qawluhu taʿa¯là wa˙ hakamtum bayna al-na¯s idha ˙ 25r …, fol.

Subdivided into two chapters, pp. 57–60 (= fols. 16r–17v on fayʾ) and 61–68 (= fols. 17v–20v, on injustice in properties)

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Table 1 (Continued) Thematic clusters

S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 Risa¯la mukhtasara Jawa¯miʿ (ed. al-Harasta¯˙nı¯) ˙ Fasl: wa-min dha¯lika ʿuqu¯bat al˙ a¯ribı¯n …, fol. 30f muh ˙ Fasl: wa-amma¯ al-salb alNot a separate fasl, pp. 101ff. ˙ ˙ ˙ madhku¯r …, fol. 32v Fasl: wa-ha¯dha kull idha¯ qudira ˙ ʿalayhim …, fol. 34r Fasl: fa-amma¯ al-sa¯riq …, fol.˙ 39v Fasl: wa-amma¯ al-zinà …, fol.˙ 41v Fasl: wa-amma¯ al-sharb …, fol.˙ 42v Fasl: min al-hudu¯d allatı¯ ja¯ʾa bi˙ ha¯ ˙al-kita¯b wa-l-sunna … hadd ˙ al-qadhf, fol. 45r (very short, three lines) Fasl: amma¯ al-maʿa¯s¯ı allatı¯ laysa ˙¯ hadd …, fol. 45r ˙ fiha ˙ Fasl: wa-l-jald allatı¯ jaʾat bi-ha¯ ˙ ¯ʿa …, fol. 47v al-sharı Fasl: wa-l-ʿuqu¯ba¯t allatı¯ jaʾat biha¯ ˙al-sharı¯ʿa li-man ʿasà alla¯h … nawʿa¯n …, fol. 47v ˙ This is a long chapter on jiha¯d against rebellious groups. Towards its end, there appears a section on permissible pleasures and their function in promoting the public good (fols. 56v–57r). Fasl: wa-kama¯ anna al-ʿuqu¯ba¯t ˙ shuriʿat …, fol. 57r. This is a chapter on the necessity of precautionary measures. At its end, there appears a long section on the importance on becoming familiar with evil in order to avoid it or cure it, and who is in charge of this, fols. 59r–59v.

Godʿs claims

Not a separate fasl, p. 136 ˙

Not a separate fasl, p. 142 ˙

Section on permissible pleasures is much shorter, see p. 146

Not a separate fasl, pp. 165–168 ˙ Missing

Fasl: Huqu¯q alla¯h ism ja¯miʿ …, Missing ˙ fol.˙ 59v

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Table 1 (Continued) Thematic clusters

S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 Jawa¯miʿ

Men’s claims

Fasl: amma¯ al-huqu¯q wa-l˙ ¯ d li-adamı¯˙ muʿayyan …, hudu ˙ 61r fol. Fasl: wa-l-qisa¯s fı¯ l-jira¯h …, ˙ ˙ ˙ fol.˙ 64r Fasl: wa-l-qisa¯s fı¯ l-aʿra¯d …, ˙ ˙ ˙ fol.˙ 64v

Risa¯la mukhtasara (ed. al-Harasta¯˙nı¯) ˙

Shorter, pp. 177–178 Shorter, pp. 179–180

Fasl: wa-idha¯ ka¯nat al-mazlama Shorter, pp. 181–182 ˙ ˙ fı¯ l-ʿird …, fol. 65v ˙ Fasl: wa-min huqu¯q al-abda¯ʿ fa- Shorter, pp. 183–184 ˙¯ jib …, fol.˙ 66r ˙ l-wa The chapter develops into a Missing discussion of marital gift and wedding allowance, fols. 66r– 68v Fasl: al-hukm fı¯ l-amwa¯l …, fol.˙ 68v ˙ The second part of the chapter deals with frauds in market (overlapping with Hisba), fols. ˙ 70r–72r. Conclusions

Shorter, 185–186 Missing

Fasl: la ghaniya li-walı¯ al-amr ʿan˙ al-musha¯wara …, fol. 72r Fasl: wila¯ya al-amr min aʿzam wa¯˙jiba¯t al-dı¯n …, fol. 73v ˙

As Table 1 shows, most of the differences between long and short siya¯sa are situated in the second part of the treatise (Part II in the table) dealing with punishments first, then with God’s and men’s claims. It is specifically the presence of a chapter dedicated to the huqu¯q alla¯h (or God’s claim), a chapter missing ˙ from the short version, that brings about significant alterations between the two versions of al-Siya¯sa. Let us turn to these divergences, one by one.

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The incipit

Figure 4. From left to right: Aya Sofya 2886, fol. 1 v; Aya Sofya 2889, fol. 1v; S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 1v.

The incipit of Jawa¯miʿ in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 is significantly different from that of the risa¯la mukhtasara (for two samples, see Fig. 4). First, it is not introduced ˙ with the usual: qa¯la … Ibn Taymı¯ya, which normally signals that a person other than him sets out to report his words.72 Second, this incipit is no less than that of al-Ma¯wardı¯’s al-Ahka¯m al-sulta¯nı¯ya with some slight changes. After the basmala, ˙ ˙ the incipit goes: Praise be to God who made clear the milestones of religion for us and bestowed upon us the grace of His clear book. He revealed for us rules and distinguished between permissible and prohibited by means of which men’s common good is established and the bases of truth confirmed. He entrusted to those in authority that in which they best accomplish what decreed and by which they best complete what arranged. To Him belongs praise for

72 Contrarily, the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba and Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj open with: qa¯la al-shaykh al˙ ˙ 104v). ima¯m al-ʿa¯lim al-ʿalla¯ma shaykh al-isla¯m … (fol. 79v and

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what he has decreed and arranged. // I testify that there is no God by Him alone and that He has no associates.73 // He sent His messengers with the proofs …74

The decision to open the treatise with this “textual block” somehow signals a deliberate association with an authoritative treatise of Islamic governamental literature like Ma¯wardı¯’s al-Ahka¯m al-sulta¯nı¯ya, a work Ibn Taymı¯ya’s was surely ˙ ˙ familiar with.75 Moreover, the incipit functions as a thematic pole of attraction anticipating the strong focus of the text on the primacy of the common interest (masa¯lih al-khalq, here) in political action and the role of rulers (wu¯la¯t al-umu¯r) ˙ ˙ as recipients of God’s trust and agency. Although al-Ma¯wardı¯’s Ahka¯m and Ibn ˙ Taymı¯ya’s al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya are utterly different writings, al-Ma¯wardı¯’s effort to discuss the requisites of public offices in legal terms surely did not escape IbnTaymı¯ya’s attention. The former’s treatment of hisba with specific attention ˙ to the dimentions of God’s and men’s rights and the spaces where they intersect may be behind the last chapters of the long Siya¯sa where the rights of single individuals are dealt with.76

2.

On Strength in Public Functions

Figure 5. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 fol. 10r, ll. 15–19: Fasl al-quwwa fı¯ l-wila¯ya¯t (Chapter: Force in public ˙ functions). 73 This shaha¯da is not in Ma¯wa¯rdı¯, and it is only in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, ibid. In the short version of al-Siya¯sa, a longer and more elaborated shaha¯da appears at the end of the incipit right before the amma¯ baʿd. The incipit of the ‘short version’ begins with al-hamdu li-lla¯hi alladhı¯ ˙ arsala rusulahu bi-l-bayyina¯t … 74 S¸ehid Ali Pasa 1553, fol. 1v. : al-hamdu li-lla¯hi alladhı¯ awdaha lana¯ maʿa¯limi al-dı¯ni wa˙ ¯ bi-l-kita¯bi al-mubı˙¯ni sharaʿa lana¯ min al-ah˙ka¯mi ˙ wa-fassala bayna al-hala¯li mannaʿalayna ˙ ˙˙ ¯ʿidu al-haqqi ˙ wawa-l-hara¯mi fa-taqaddarat bihi masa¯lihu al-khalqi wa-thabatat bihi qawa ˙ ilà wula¯ti al-umu¯ri ma¯ ahsana ˙ ˙fı¯hi al-taqdı¯ra wa-ahkama bihi al-tadbı¯ra wa-lahu ˙ wakkala al˙ hamdu ʿalà ma¯ qaddara wa-dabbara // wa-ashhadu anna˙ la¯ ila¯ha illa¯ alla¯hu wahdahu la¯ ˙sharı¯ka lahu // arsala rusulahu bi-l-bayyina¯ti … Compare with Ma¯wardı¯, Ahka¯m, 13. ˙ 75 See Bori, “One or Two Versions,” 13, fn. 87 or Ibn Taymı¯ya, Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà,˙ 35: 401. 76 See Ma¯wardı¯, Ahka¯m, 253–273. ˙

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A whole fasl (chapter) on the nature of force or strength in public functions (al˙ quwwatu fı¯ l-wila¯ya¯t) (fols. 10r–12r) is missing in the ‘short version’ at the end of the clusters of chapters on wila¯ya¯t. This chapter is the fifth fasl in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a ˙ 1553 and is the natural continuation of the previous four ones where Ibn Taymı¯ya expands his highly utilitarian and pragmatic, yet ethical oriented, idea of public authority.77 In brief, rulers and public officers are required to look at the aim (maqsu¯d) of ˙ each single office and the ways to achieve it.78 The qualities required from them are in primis trustworthiness (ama¯na) and strength (quwwa).79 These qualities are to be put at the service of the common interest, or public good (maslaha) ˙ ˙ which already emerges conspicuously as the leading theme of the treatise. Public authority (wila¯ya) is understood as an act of trust, or a deposit (ama¯na) that men in authority are entrusted with; a deposit that must be rendered back (see Q. 4:58).80 How? First, by appointing exclusively the best available (aslah al-mawju¯d) ˙ ˙ for the office in question,81 second by being fair in the distribution of wealth. It is the first point that concerns us here. Embracing a highly utilitarian approach, the idea of “the best qualified” for a given office with its given task is the leitmotif running through the initial four chapters. The appointment of the best man available is dictated by the idea of promoting the preponderant benefit and the lesser evil in a certain situation and for a given office.82 Accordingly, neither ama¯na nor quwwa consists of unchangeable prerogatives but vary accordingly to the charge in question, its goals and circumstances, so that for instance the kind of “force” required from a qa¯d¯ı is ˙ different from that required from a military commander.83 The policy of Abu¯ Bakr and ʿUmar consisting in choosing deputies that complemented them is brought forth as an inspiring example of choosing the best man available; an example generating a virtuous balance (iʿtida¯l) among people holding power.84 Since it is rare to find both qualities (quwwa and ama¯na¯) in the same person, it is recommendable to appoint more than one officer when needed;85 and when two

77 78 79 80 81 82

S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 5r–5v. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 8r. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 5r: al-wila¯ya laha¯ rukna¯n al-quwwa wa-l-ama¯na. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 1v–2r. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 2v. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 6r–7v: anfaʿuhuma¯ li-tilka l-wila¯ya wa-aqall l-darar … maslaha ˙ ˙ ˙ ra¯jiha … li-rujha¯n al-maslahaʿalà l-mafsada …. See Cook, Commanding Right, 154. Vasalou, ˙ ˙ ˙On Ibn Taymı¯ya’s doctrine of maslaha, Opwis, Maslaha, 181–199. Ethics, 45–54, 100–102, 135. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 83 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 5r–5v. 84 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 6v–7r. 85 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 5v and 7r.

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people show equal skills or when the best man is not available, then lots can be cast.86 It is at this point that there appears in Jawa¯miʿ a chapter returning to the topic of quwwa which is missing from the risa¯la mukhtasara. Here Ibn Taymı¯ya further ˙ illustrates what strength (quwwa) in public authority means for him. In line with the style adopted so far, which is didactic and moralistic with a tendency towards classification, Ibn Taymı¯ya explains that quwwa in the exercise of public authority is of two kinds. A strength or force one exerts towards oneself; it is the control of anger or of one’s own compulsions (nafs), and a strength one directs towards else, which expresses itself in courage, experience and other types of forces that are useful in war (the reference is to Q 8: 60). By means of the first quwwa one becomes like the Emigrants (muha¯jiru¯n), who left what God forbid, and the muja¯hidu¯n, who strove against their own selves for God ( ja¯hada nufu¯sahum fı¯ alla¯h). It is an ideal of moral vigor Ibn Taymı¯ya is here referring to: the individual’s capacity of striving against his inner enemies, that are Satan and his own passions (wa-huwa jiha¯d al-ʿadu¯w al-ba¯tin min al˙ shayta¯n wa-l-hawa¯). On the contrary, by means of the second quwwa, one re˙ sembles those muha¯jiru¯n muja¯hidu¯n who physically and materially fought on God’s path.87 In keeping with the initial chapters where Ibn Taymı¯ya underlined how difficult it is to find the necessary qualities for proper siya¯sa in the same person, here he similarly notes that the two types of force (quwwaʿalà nafsihi / quwwaʿalà l-na¯s) rarely dwell together in one individual. Such shortage is a cause of corruption or disorder which can be repaired by a compensatory mechanism. Consistently with earlier musings, the Rightly Guided Caliphs are the pattern to follow. Each gifted with a different virtue, they compensated each other mutually thus producing a virtuous balance.88 It is their example, after the Prophet’s one and the Book of God, which people in general, but scholars and commanders (ʿulama¯ʾ and umara¯ʾ), in particular, are to follow. These two groups are to attentively examine the Ra¯shidu¯n’s lives (yajibu … an yanzuru¯ fı¯ sı¯ratihim) in ˙ order to conform to their guide.89 The fasl ends with an invocation pleading for God’s help (nasʾalu alla¯ha al˙ ʿaz¯ıma an …), an invocation that closes this first thematic section dedicated to ˙ public offices (al-wila¯ya¯t) as the first kind of deposit (ama¯na¯) God entrusted men with.90 The next section (qism) is in fact dedicated to the second trust, that is public resources (amwa¯l) and their fair administration. The invocation thus 86 87 88 89 90

S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 10r. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 10r–v. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 10v–10r that strongly recall fols. 6v–7r. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 11r–12r. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 12r.

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marks a change of subject and the end of a thematic section. This whole fasl is not ˙ in the risa¯la mukhtasara. It may have been added to an initial short version, or ˙ eventually removed from the long one. It is difficult to say. Its presence does not alter the overall meaning of the treatise, but enriches it. First,ʿulama¯ʾ and umara¯ʾ surface as the privileged interlocutors of the taymı¯yan proposal of just siya¯sa. It is a point that will emerge again with utmost clarity later in the long Siya¯sa. Second, the sunna of the Ra¯shidu¯n, specifically their governmental practice, appears as compelling as that of the Prophet. Thus, it is implicitly elected as a normative source man in authority must resort to. Third, the quiet and discursive tone adopted when describing quwwa as physical jiha¯d suggests that Jawa¯miʿ was written in a time free of war pressure. The same must be said for the long chapter on jiha¯d as a punishment for Muslim rebels, both in Jawa¯miʿ and the short siya¯sa. The chapter lacks the uncompromising fury and apologetic character that other Taymı¯yan writings on the same topic do.91

3.

On the Utility of Permissible Pleasures and Avoiding Excess

The third and fourth relevant passages from the long treatise missing in the risa¯la mukhatasara occur in Part II of the work which revolves around the fixed pen˙ alties set by God and the obligations defined by His rights (hudu¯d alla¯h wa˙ huqu¯quhu). Just as the first part of al-Siya¯sa unfolded as an illustration of the ˙ Quranic injunction of “rendering trusts” (Q. 4:58), the second one revolves around the remaining section of the same verse: “And when you judge (or rule) among people, judge (or rule) with fairness” (ʿadl).ʿAdl, equity or fairness, is also the word Ibn Taymı¯ya employs for justice.92 Thus, ruling/judging with equity, fairness or “justice” is the lynchpin of the second part of the treatise and a crucial component of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s concept of “just siya¯sa.” Ibn Taymı¯ya’s discussion opens with hudu¯d offenses putting a heavy emphasis ˙ on not neglecting the application of such penalties, which are a key element of the duty of “commanding right and forbidding wrong,” a substantial obligation which falls upon men in authority. It is in fact only by commanding right and forbidding wrong that people’s integrity (sala¯h) can be safeguarded.93 ˙ ˙ The last two chapters of this portion of the text dedicated to the hudu¯d alla¯h ˙ focus respectively on jiha¯d against rebellious groups and on provisos promoting avoidance of prohibited actions and the fullfillment of duties. As for the first, at 91 More in Bori, “One or Two Versions,” 14. Also observed by Laoust, Essai, 96. 92 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 25r–72r. 93 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 29r–30r : wa walı¯ al-amr innama¯ nusiba li-yaʾmura bi-l-maʿru¯f wa˙ 29r, ll. 10–11). yanhyàʿan al-munkar, wa ha¯dha¯ huwa maqsu¯d al-wila¯ya (fol. ˙

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the end of the long chapter on jiha¯d,94 the tone and the subject change and Ibn Taymı¯ya embarks into one of his digressions. There, he explains what helps rulers and men more in general to face their obligations. Permissible pleasures (almuba¯ha¯t al-jamı¯la/al-ladhdha¯t) are recommeded as a support God created for ˙ man to help him bear his duties. They are, thus, a means to promote the common good (maslahat al-khalq).95 In Jawa¯miʿ, this specific point is expanded into a ˙ ˙ critique of prodigality and severe forms of abstention, all condemned by the Prophet and supported by scriptual proves, Hadith and Quranic verses illustrating the point at issue. In the risa¯la mukhatsara, the whole is compressed to the ˙ point that the excursus on permissible pleasures appears rather disconneted 96 from the context.

4.

Knowledge of Evil as a Necessary Precautionary Measure with a View to Protect the Public Good

The second and last fasl of the hudu¯d section expands on the idea that if means ˙ ˙ are functional to ends and punishments were revealed to restrain people from prohibited acts and encourage them to obligatory ones, then equally prescribed and necessary is whatever is useful to support good and prevent evil. It is specifically when it comes to precautionary measures (al-hadhr) that the Jawa¯miʿ of ˙ S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 has something important to say. Both versions of the texts provide examples of how to encourage good and prevent evil, and both state that while hudu¯d penalties can be applied only when the wrong is proved (illa¯ bi-l˙ bayyina), precautionary measures are exempted from the severe limitations of evidence required by the law.97 This point is particularly significant, for the legitimization of precautionary provisos with a view to protect the public good also empowers the discretional power of rulers. In the pages missing from the short Siya¯sa, resorting to the metaphor of the physician Ibn Taymı¯ya specifically locates in the ruler and religious scholar (alwa¯lı¯ wa-l-ʿa¯lim) the authorities responsible for identifying evil (sharr), its causes and symptoms (ʿala¯ma¯t). By attaining knowledge of evil, these two social actors protect the community. Consequently, rulers and scholars are solicited to acquire experience (khibra) with various manifestations of evil: unbelief, depravation, “the conditions of the enemies in their religious and worldly matters,” so that they can cure diseases of the heart. These diseases consist of doubts and bad 94 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 47v–57r. 95 See Bori, “One or Two Versions,” 15 for a fuller presentation of this topic. 96 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 56v and fol. 57r, ll. 5–7. For the risa¯la mukhtasara, see Siya¯sa, ed. ˙ Harasta¯nı¯, 164. ˙ 97 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 57r–59r; Siya¯sa (risa¯la mukhtasara), ed. Harasta¯nı¯, 167–168. ˙ ˙

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character traits (al-shubuha¯t wa-l-akhla¯q al-radı¯ya): hypocrisy, cheating, envy, avarice and cowardice, desire of illicit sexual intercourses, arrogance and so forth. What is benefitted by knowledge is either obligatory or recommended – writes Ibn Taymı¯ya – and a siya¯sa inspired by personal discernment and experience (raʾy and khibra) is better and more beneficial than one conducted by bravery and force. In the end, whereas men in authority are definitively encouraged to know and identify evil and its causes, they are equally instructed to avoid punishing offences (litt. “sins,” dhunu¯b) damaging exclusively their perpetrator. When they choose not to punish, they will also avoid showing their awareness of such reprehensible actions in order to avoid useless unrest.98 In brief, once more Ibn Taymı¯ya’s concerns are projected beyond the private into the communal dimension, following a line of thought that encourages not to make public what ought to be concealed. These pages missing from the risa¯la mukhtasara are significant for two rea˙ sons. First, in them Ibn Taymı¯ya makes explicit that ideal pact of cooperation between scholars (undefined) political authorities which will materialize at the very end of the text. This pact of cooperation is a distinctive trait of his vision of good government according to the religious normativity, as also underlined by Baber Johansen in a more circumstantial reading of the treatise.99 Ibn Taymı¯ya leaves no doubt about which social groups are invested by the “healing” power he has just described. Second, by setting at the center of the stage a generic elite composed of ʿulama¯ʾ and wu¯la¯t, the text suggests these were the social groups addressed in this famous treatise of his. *** On the whole, the absence of these materials (points 3 and 4) from the “short version” turns the section on hudu¯d into a punishment and jiha¯d-oriented set of ˙ prescriptions aimed at empowering the state and its officers in their aim of commanding right and forbidding wrong, protecting the public good as well the spiritual and material integrity of their subjects. The short Siya¯sa lacks a broader spectrum of concerns which in Jawa¯miʿ are articulated in an advisory tone that 98 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 59r–59v. 99 Johansen, “Perfect Law” stresses that Ibn Taymı¯ya viewed political power as a condition for the survival of religious life (p. 286 specifically). He also puts forth a highly circumstantial reading of the text according to which Ibn Taymı¯ya tried to provide Mamluk rule with religious legitimacy through his doctrine of siya¯sa sharʿı¯ya (p. 261). Such a circumstantial reading is rejected by Anjum, Politics, 30–31. According to Anjum, the complexity of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s political thought can be understood only within the broader context of his epistemological and theological vision.

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recalls that of the initial chapters. The pages missing from the risa¯la mukhtasara ˙ help reconstruct more thoroughlly Ibn Taymı¯ya’s ideal of governance according to the revealed normativity as formulated in Jawa¯miʿ. A decisive contribution towards this reconstruction is given by the next fasl, again absent from the risa¯la ˙ mukhtasara. ˙ 5.

God’s Claims (huqu¯q alla¯h) ˙

Figure 6. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, Folio 59v, ll. 17–19: Fasl Huqu¯q Alla¯h … (Chapter: God’s ˙ ˙ Claims …).

When we move from the hudu¯d alla¯h to his huqu¯q, which Ibn Taymı¯ya had ˙ ˙ promised to treat, it is with great surprise that the reader realizes that the fasl on ˙ the ‘rights of God’ (huqu¯q alla¯h) is entirely absent in the risa¯la mukhtasara.100 ˙ ˙ Now, this fasl is absolutely crucial in order to grasp Ibn Taymı¯ya’s concept of ˙ siya¯sa sharʿı¯ya. It is also a fasl in which the propinquity between this writing and ˙ the Qaʿida fı¯ l-hisba fully comes to light, thus making it clear the reason why the ˙ Qaʿida fı¯ l-hisba was copied next to the Jawa¯miʿ in this multiple-text manuscript. ˙ Even more importantly, the presence of this chapter explains the expansions on conjugal rights and transactions characterizing the subsequent chapters, but that are absent from the “short risa¯la.” This chapter begins by providing an adamant definition of the concept of huqu¯q alla¯h, or “God’s claims.”101 These are defined as every sphere of action and ˙ every type of person in which and by whom common utility (al-manfaʿa alʿa¯mma) is promoted and common damage (al-madarra al-ʿa¯mma) repelled.102 ˙ The notion of huqu¯q alla¯h thus converges with those of common utility and ˙ common benefit (al-manfaʿa al-ʿa¯mma/al-masa¯lih al-ʿa¯mma) and points to a ˙ ˙ communal dimension under the supervision of the authorities where God and “political power” encounter one another.103 100 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 59v–61r. 101 On the concept of huqu¯q alla¯h vs huqu¯q al-ʿiba¯d, see Johansen, “Claims of Men”; idem, ˙ ˙ Emon, Huqu¯q Alla¯h and Huqu¯q al-ʿIba¯d. Contingency and Sacred Law, 212–218; ˙ ja¯miʿ li-kull ma ˙¯ fı¯hi manfaʿa ʿa¯mma la¯ 102 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, 59v–60r: Huquq alla¯hi ism ˙ arraʿa¯mma bi-ma¯ yataʿallaq al-dı¯n wa-l-dunya¯ … yakhtass bi-muʿayyan aw dafʿ mad ˙˙ ˙ 103 See Vasalou, Ethics, 161.

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Next, Ibn Taymı¯ya offers an excursus on the history of the early Islamic administration of the public good, the gist of which claims that in the period after the Prophet and the Rightly Guided Caliphs, the institutions for managing and promoting public interests diversified in time and space: qa¯d¯ıs, shurta officers ˙ ˙ and muhtasibs were those usually appointed to roles serving this purpose. The ˙ head of shurta (sa¯hib al-shurta) is described as “the person who carries out the ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ orders of the great governor, who is called the vice-Sultan” (munaffidh amr alwa¯lı¯ al-kabı¯r alladhı¯ yuqa¯l lahu na¯’ib al-saltana), whereas the muhtasib is in ˙ ˙ charge of implementing the duty of commanding right and forbidding wrong: “His jurisdiction (writes Ibn Taymı¯ya) sometimes interferes with that of the qa¯d¯ı.”104 As for qa¯d¯ıs, Ibn Taymı¯ya explains, people normally think that they are ˙ ˙ the only officers dealing with the revealed normativity (sharʿ), but this is not the case. Sharʿ (‘revealed, or religious, normativity’) is inclusive of fiqh, but broader, as Baber Johansen explains in his various writings.105 In this respect, Ibn Taymı¯ya writes in Jawa¯mi: Every aspect of public functions in which one acts in obedience to God and his Messenger is an office in accordance to the religious normativity (wila¯yat sharʿı¯ya). Every aspect in which one acts contrary to it or in which what is obligatory is omitted is not in conformity with the religious normativity (lam takun sharʿı¯yatan). However, because the qa¯d¯ı is closer to religious knowledge and its holders, [and] he has better knowledge of ˙ the Law (sharı¯ʿa), many people came to understand the religious normativity as the qa¯d¯ı’s activity of ruling. […] Things are not like that. Nay, religious normativity (sharʿ) ˙ is a name that applies to what the Book and Wisdom (hikma) of God the Highest sent ˙ with His Messenger Muhammad. The ruling that derives from it is binding on all men. ˙ Every man in authority (wa¯lı¯) is to conform to this religious normativity.106

In other words, Ibn Taymı¯ya is saying here that shar‘ is not the exclusive domain of qa¯d¯ıs. There are state officers that often act in conformity with the religious ˙ normativity as much as there are qa¯d¯ıs that often contradict it because they lack ˙ knowledge of it, pursue a wrong purpose, follow a certain scholar, and so on.107 Public offices in charge of the protection and implementation of the common good (huqu¯q alla¯h) are many: they change according to historical circumstances, ˙ lexical conventions and the capacities of the single officers, with roles occasionally overlapping.108 However, the principle informing them does not change –

104 105 106 107 108

S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 60r. Johansen, “Signs as Evidence,” 181–182 and “Perfect Law,” 265–267. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 60r-v. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 60v. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 60v–61r.

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that of sharʿ – nor does their aim of protecting religion (ama¯nat al-dı¯n), commanding right and forbidding wrong, and promoting the common good.109 This chapter is the heart of the long Siya¯sa and the key to grasping Ibn Taymı¯ya’s proposition of siya¯sa sharʿı¯ya. Without it, the meaning of the treatise is impoverished, and its structure is truncated. The chapter offers an implicit answer to why, specifically within al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, Ibn Taymı¯ya is not interested in dealing with the institution of the caliphate and its legitimacy, nor with any other specific governmental, military, religious or administrative institution. For him it is not important which officer does what, but how and with what aims each officer acts.110 Furthermore, the contents of this chapter on the huqu¯q alla¯h ˙ highly resonate in the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba, where Ibn Taymı¯ya expresses in similar ˙ language the same ideas about the goals of public functions and their fluid contours. Laysa li-dha¯lika hadd fı¯ l-sharʿ – “There is no definition for them in the ˙ revealed normativity” – writes Ibn Taymı¯ya explicitly in the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba.111 In ˙ turn, this thematic affinity explains why the two writings were copied next to each other in the same material support, and perhaps also why this fasl is not there in ˙ the risa¯la mukhtasara, which on the whole avoids extensive overlapping with the ˙ Hisba. A similar overlapping with the Hisba happens in the chapter on fair ˙ ˙ transaction, to which we shall turn shortly. Last, the treatment of God’s claims paves the way for understanding the next cluster of chapters dedicated to the claims of private individuals. One may wonder: what is their place in al-Siya¯sa alsharʿı¯ya?

6.

al-Huqu¯q wa-l-hudu¯d li-a¯damı¯ muʿayyan (Rights and Penalties for Single ˙ ˙ Individuals)

Gearing towards the end, Ibn Taymı¯ya moves from the realm of God’s claims to that of men’s, namely claims revolving around individual interests and penalties that apply to crimes offending the rights of single individuals rather than those concerning public interest. In neither version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya does Ibn Taymı¯ya offer a neat definition of the notion of huqu¯q li-a¯damı¯ muʿayyan, in ˙ contrast to what he did before with “God’s claims.” This cluster of paragraphs (six in the risa¯la mukhtasara and six in Jawa¯miʿ) appears conspicuously more suc˙ cinct in the “short version” where the text is again lacking whole passages but is 109 Ibid. 110 See also Johansen, “Signs as Evidence,” 184–185 and “Perfect Law,” 268–269. As for the caliphate, Ibn Taymı¯ya does not deny its moral necessity and importance as envisaged by Laoust, Essai, 282 and idem, Traité, xxxiii followed by Johansen, “Perfect Law,” 269 vs Hassan, “Modern Interpretations,” 345–347 reiterated in Hassan, Longing, 114. 111 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 81v, ll. 10–11 (Hisba). ˙

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also rephrased. Such compression somehow affects the clarity of the message; in the short version, how and why the “state” and its officers are meant to intervene in the field of individual interest is not always clear, whereas things are better explained in Jawa¯miʿ. Retaliation for Offences to Dignity and Honour The punishments for killing, either qawd (retaliation) or diya (blood-money), are discussed at length in both versions.112 As for retaliation for bodily offences (alqisa¯s fı¯ l-jira¯h) and offences to dignity and honour (al-aʿra¯d), they are slightly ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ more detailed in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553.113 Reflecting debates among legal scholars, Ibn Taymı¯ya establishes that offences to dignity and honour are to be repaid by retaliation (that is with the same offence) provided no harm is involved. In contrast, when such offences consist of prohibited actions regarding a claim of God, it will be up to political authorities to vindicate the wrong in the interest of the public good, but not by retaliation.114 In Jawa¯miʿ, the example brought forward is that of false accusations of unbelief (takfı¯r), illicit sexual relations (qadhf) or depravity (fisq). Ibn Taymı¯ya claims that these are lies (kadhb) offending a God’s haqq which cannot be repaid by equal lies (i. e., retaliation).115 These ˙ slanders will be redressed by discretionary punishment (yuʿazzarʿalà dha¯lika)116 meted out by competent authorities. Implicit is the idea that false accusations of unbelief, adultery or depravation while damaging the honour of the individual (hence a man’s haqq), also corrupt communal social values. In short, the dividing ˙ line between the domains of God’s and men’s claims can be hazy, hence why these topics are debated in the treatise, and in more detail in the long one. This point becomes clearer in the following paragraph that briefly expands on false defamations unrepayable by retaliation.117 Ibn Taymı¯ya draws a distinction between qadhf, which is duly outlined with its scripturally laid punishment of 80 lashes, and other unspecified offenses which are to be dealt discretionally.118 In both texts, Ibn Taymı¯ya hints at legal discussions about the possibility of waiving the right to redress. Ma¯lik, Shafiʿı¯ and Ahmad held that because qadhf involves ˙ prevailingly a private right, the victim is allowed to waive it; however, the waiver is 112 113 114 115 116 117

S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 61r–64r; Siya¯sa (risa¯la mukhtasara), ed. Harasta¯nı¯, 171–176. ˙ ˙ S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 64r–66r. Such debates are well illustrated by Emon, “Huqu¯q Alla¯h and Huqu¯q al-ʿIba¯d”. ˙ ara), ed. Harasta¯nı¯, 180. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 65v to compare with ˙Siya¯sa (risa¯la mukhtas ˙ ˙ Only in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 65v. The short text uses the word firya Siya¯sa (risa¯la mukhtasara), ed. Harasta¯nı¯, 181; the long ˙honour (S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a ˙ one the expression al-mazlama fı¯ l-ʿird, i. e. a wrong to somebody’s ˙ ˙ 1553, fol. 65v). 118 Ibid.

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not permitted when qadhf is considered to invoke a haqq alla¯h. This is the ˙ position of Abu¯ Hanı¯fa and Ahmad according to one of his transmissions.119 The ˙ ˙ tension between the private and communal dimension implicit in the notion of haqq alla¯h and haqq al-adamı¯ faintly emerges here, but it is not scrutinized in ˙ ˙ depth. On the whole, here the relationship between the long and short risa¯las is one of partial rewording and a little more detail in the long version of the text. Marital Rights and Duties (al-abda¯ʿ) ˙ The general logic of including a bundle of chapters about individual rights in a political writing where the communal dimension and the public good are the dominating focus is not fully clear in the risa¯la mukhtasara. Such logic becomes ˙ more accessible in the long version where the thread is unpacked. In this regard, the chapters on marital rights and transactions in Jawa¯miʿ are exemplary. They are considerably richer, longer and better organized than their counterparts in the risa¯la mukhtasara. It is worth examining them in some detail. ˙ The chapter on abda¯ʿ in the long version of the text shows significant additions ˙ to the vulgata.120 Both versions of al-Siya¯sa declare: “Among men’s claims, there are marital rights and duties” (wa min al-huqu¯q al-abda¯ʿ), yet the same chapter in ˙ ˙ the risa¯la mukhtasara is generically concise, limiting itself to recommend ˙ judging in conjugal affairs according to God’s command, and listing briefly the material and bodily rights and duties that two spouses owe each other (i. e., financial support and sexual pleasure). On the contrary, in Jawa¯miʿ, Ibn Taymı¯ya develops point by point what he only cursorily touches on in the short version and in so doing provides a concise spectrum of controversial issues he also debates elsewhere, in less-known and perhaps more occasional texts.121 As far as the material support that husbands owe to their wives, a series of changes in wedding transactions debated in the legal literature of the period on the wedding gift (sadaqa) and marital allowance (nafaqa) mainly concern Ibn Taymı¯ya.122 In ˙ particular, Ibn Taymı¯ya is critical of the practice of designating the deferrable portion (al-muʾakhkhar, or al-muʾajjal) of the marriage gift not as a sum to be paid to the wife in case of separation due to divorce or death, but as a due debt (ha¯ll) payable upon demand. He is also troubled by the monetization of the ˙ nafaqa, or marital support. Usually due from husbands in kind, payment in the form of daily allowances became increasingly widespread in the fourteenth century. In the eyes of somebody like Ibn Taymı¯ya, both changes empowered 119 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 65v–66r. 120 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 66r–68v to compare with Siya¯sa (risa¯la mukhtasara), ed. Harasta¯nı¯, ˙ ˙ 183–184. 121 See Ibn Taymı¯ya, Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 34: 77–88 (ba¯b al-nafaqa¯t). 122 Well-illustrated by Yossef Rapoport, Marriage and Divorce, 51–68.

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women, thus challenging a deep-rooted “patriarchal ideal of conjugal harmony” and with it a determined ideal of social order.123 This is precisely why these issues are inserted in this piece of governmental literature. In Islamic law matrimonial litigation belongs to the realm of the individual. The presence of these topics in a treatise on public administration is unconventional, so it is no surprise that we do not find them in the risa¯la mukhtasara. And, yet, as digressive as they may sound, sada¯q, nafaqa and related ˙ ˙ controversies are well tuned with Ibn Taymı¯ya’s ideal of good government. In fact, we have seen how judging fairly (al-hukm bi-l-ʿadl) is one of the duties ˙ of men in autority, and judging fairly involves both the sphere of God’s claims and that of individual ones. In turn, it has become clear how individual huqu¯q ˙ can overflow into the domain of God’s huqu¯q. The same logic is implied here. If ˙ changes in wedding transactions are perceived to threaten an ideal social order, then they can gain their pride of place into Jawa¯miʿ. Here too, the specific profile of the officers in charge with these matrimonial claims is of no relevance provided that the broad aims of public authority are never lost sight of. Implicit in this is a potential expansion of the jurisdiction of siya¯sa officers, in matrimonial litigation as well, something which is actually attested by Mamluk sources from second half of the fourteenth century.124 Judging Fairly on Property and Transactions (al-amwa¯l) The chapter on property and lawful transactions, again extremely brief in the short version of the treatise, is long and lively in the long version of the text, where Ibn Taymı¯ya expands on a series of issues he also discusses more in detail in the Precept on hisba (Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba). As expected, the basic principle (al-asl ) to ˙ ˙ ˙ conform to when ruling on property and transactions is again that of judging fairly, that is according to the Book of God and His Messenger. In other words, what people need and is not prohibited by Quran and Sunna is permissible, otherwise it is prohibited.125 This general principle is clearly spelled out in both the short and the long Siya¯sa where a rather long list of prohibted transaction is produced. After this list, the chapter of the risa¯la mukhtasara closes with an ˙ invocation for God’s help whose function is the same as that of the invocation in Jawa¯miʿ at the end of the chapter on quwwa, namely, that of marking the end of a thematic section.126 This invocation is in the chapter on fair transaction in Jawa¯miʿ too (end of fol. 69v) with the crucial difference that, there, after it the text 123 124 125 126

“A patriarchal ideal of conjugal harmony” is from Rapoport, Marriage and Divorce, 52. See Rapoport, “Royal Justice,” 81–85. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 68v–69v; Siya¯sa (risa¯la mukhtasara), ed. Harasta¯nı¯, 185–186. ˙ ¯ li-an najʿala al-hala¯l ˙ fa-waffiqna Siya¯sa (risa¯la mukhtasara), ed. Harasta¯nı¯, 186: alla¯humma ˙ ˙ ˙ ma¯ hallaltahu wa-l-hara¯m ma¯ harramtahu wa-l-dı¯n ma¯ sharaʿtahu. ˙ ˙ ˙

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continues. Given that Ibn Taymı¯ya’s has used before in Jawa¯miʿ a similar invocation with the purpose of signaling a change of subject and a chapter closure, the continuation of the text suggests that what comes after the invocation may have been added later as an expansion. Otherwise, one assumes, why not positioning the invocation straight at the end of the chapter as for the chapter on quwwa? Let us examine the rest of this chapter. The guiding principle (asl) is further ˙ illustrated by specific and concrete instances.127 Here, Ibn Taymı¯ya reminds his reader that it is upon the person in authority (wa¯lı¯ l-amr) to forbid and punish prohibited transactions, in primis ghishsh or cheating. Ghishsh is selling items which are made appear outwardly different – namely more attractive – from what they are inwardly. Ghishsh includes selling to people what one makes for oneself, cheating on prices, counterfeiting coins (kasr al-sikka) and selling products obtained by alchemy (al-kimya¯ʾ), the latter being in fact the art of transforming base metals into precious ones, usually silver or gold:128 “Alchemy is to produce what looks like gold and silver, or likewise what looks like precious stones, musk perfume (t¯ıb min al-misk), saffron, amber and so forth – writes Ibn Taymı¯ya.” ˙ Alchemy challenges God’s distinctive power of creation by deluding men that they can also create, but men fabricate (s.n.ʿ ), they do not create (kh.l.q).129 ˙ Alchemy is also similar to al-sı¯mı¯ya¯ʾ: “Which is sorcery (sihr) inducing imagining ˙ 130 a given thing differently from what it is.” Theological considerations apart, the reason for the prohibition of selling substances or items obtained by way of alchemy is that they are in the end the outcome of a good quality counterfeiting process (al-zaghal al-jayyid) difficult to uncover.131 Blaming and severely punishing such cheaters is an important duty of men in authority because these impostors are a material and spiritual source of damage for themselves and people.132 A rather detailed exploration of the types of punishments that the muhtasib is entitled to mete out in cases of ghishsh is ˙ reserved to the Hisba which juxtaposed to al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya as in S¸ehid Ali ˙ Pas¸a functions as an integration.133 127 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 69v–72r. 128 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 70r–71v. Much of this returns in Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba, S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a ˙ view on the nature, 1553, fols. 82v–83v. Also, Ibn Taymı¯ya produces here a highly synthetic purpose and legitimacy of alchemy which he discusses at length elsewhere, in: Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 29: 368–388 and 389–391 (ba¯b al-khiya¯r). On counterfeiting coins by means of diluting metal, Kristen Stilt, Islamic Law, 176–181. 129 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 70v. The fraudolent nature of alchemy is discussed in similar terms also in the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 83v. ˙ 70v–71r. 130 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 131 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 71r. 132 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 71r and 71v. 133 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 99r–103v.

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At the end of this chapter, the ruler (walı¯ l-amr) is reminded to closely inspect the holders of the hisba office (wula¯t al-hisba) so that they properly perform their ˙ ˙ job when they enter into matters of pricing and market deceits, for cheating in this domain provokes serious common damage (madarraʿa¯mma). This is, again, ˙ a relevant clue indicating that these pages were written having a high officer in mind, the person responsible for supervising the muhtasib, possibly the Sultan ˙ himself. In a revealing closing passage, Ibn Taymı¯ya apologizes for what appears as a digression, explaining that the matters he dealt with pertain to the domain of common rights (al-huqu¯q al-ʿa¯mma) which are to be upheld as a priority, al˙ though – he writes –: “Nowadays many of the complaints (shakwa¯) in these issues come from single individuals and regard judgment among people in matters of money and adjudication.”134 Once more, the boundaries between huqu¯q alla¯h ˙ and huqu¯q li-adamı¯ muʿayyan appear as closely interlaced, and again the con˙ ceptual linchpin of this chapter is the notion of huqu¯q alla¯h. When they are not ˙ there, then this whole section can afford not being there, which is what happens in the risa¯la mukhtasara. ˙ *** These last two chapters of Jawa¯miʿ (the first on conjugal rights and duties, and the second on fair transactions) unfold a range of practical concerns which are typical of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s dynamic engagement in the social and economic life of his time. The latter in particular sheds light on the meaningfulness of the hisba ˙ duty and its practice in Ibn Taymı¯ya’s vision of siya¯sa sharʿı¯yya. It is worth noting that in the treatise, hisba is the only governamental charge which is referred to in ˙ some detail. This accounts for the importance Ibn Taymı¯ya attributed to “commanding right and forbiding wrong” as a means for implementing the “common good.”135 Much more in detail and at the very end of his Ahka¯m, al˙ Ma¯wardı¯’s also examines the requisites and duties of the muhtasib with specific ˙ attention to what of the muhtasib’s activity pertains to God’s rights, men’s rights ˙ or both. Although very different from al-Ahka¯m al-sulta¯nı¯ya, Jawa¯miʿ is a text ˙ ˙ that seems to have in mind (also) that juristic tradition of Islamic political thought.

134 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 71v–72r. 135 Such centrality has been caught by Anjum, Politics, 244–246.

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Part III The considerations on hisba voiced in the previous pages give us the opportunity ˙ to briefly examine the rest of the manuscript before concluding. To this end, we shall now move to the information that can be derived from the combination of texts in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, and to the possible reasons why such texts were copied together. The Qa¯ʿida fı¯ al-hisba, as well as the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj, ˙ respectively the second and third writing of S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, are both mentioned in Ibn Taymı¯ya’s most authorative lists of works. Namely, those produced by his biographer and follower Ibn ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯ and by the Ma¯likı¯ Ibn alRushayyiq (d. 749/1348), the person who was mostly involved in collecting, copying and editing Ibn Taymı¯ya’s works.136

136 IbnʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯,ʿUqu¯d, 46 (Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj wa-annahu hara¯m) and 47 (Qa¯ʿida al˙ hisba). Ibn Rushayyiq, Asma¯ʾ muʾallafa¯t, 308 (Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj) and 309 (Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l˙hisba). ˙

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Qa¯ʿida fı¯ al-hisba (fols. 78r–103v) ˙

Figure 7. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, Folio 78r – Title page: Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba with S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a’s waqf ˙ seal.

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When discussing Ibn Taymı¯ya’s political thought, modern scholars usally resort to the treatise on Hisba, or vice versa when discussing the duty of al-amr bi-l˙ maʿru¯f they turn to al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya.137 Already in the fourteenth century, the person who planned S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 perceived the Rule on hisba to be a next ˙ of kin to al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya. In fact, the presence of the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba in the ˙ manuscript is a material invitation to read the two texts together for reasons that at this point may be already apparent but will be further clarified below. As far as I can judge, the version of Hisba transmitted by the manuscript is the same as that ˙ published in volume 28 of Majmu¯ʿa fata¯wà; that is a short treatise divided in six chapters (fusu¯l).138 ˙ The crossover in thought between al-Siya¯sa (both long and short) and Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba can be resumed as follows: The two writings share a set of fundamental ˙ principles which are a justification of power and social hierarchies by the idea that man is social by nature and that social “groups” even when small need leadership, the invitation to choose the best available for administrative or governmental appointments, and finally the belief that the essence of the common good is indicated only and exclusively by the revealed normativity and subsumed under the injunction to commanding right and forbidding wrong. The centrality of this duty as the overarching goal of public authority is characteristic of both works and brings about a pronounced emphasis on punishment (hudu¯d ˙ wa-taʿzı¯r) as the necessary means men in authority have to fulfill the duty of amr bi-l-maʿru¯f. These ideas traverse Siya¯sa and Hisba and build up a bridge between ˙ them. Further points of convergence between Hisba and Siya¯sa emerge specifically ˙ in Jawa¯miʿ. They can be recalled here as the indispensability of public authority – embodied in primis by ʿulama¯ʾ and umara¯ʾ alike – for promoting and protecting the common good (maslaha) which is in turn conceptualized as the ˙ ˙ domain of God’s rights (huqu¯q alla¯h). This very notion of God’s rights acts as ˙ the meaningful trait d’union between al-Hisba and Jawa¯miʿ and explains the ˙ digression of the latter on frauds in markets in Jawa¯miʿ. When brought one next to the other as in S¸ehid Ali Pasa 1553 the relationship between Hisba and Jawa¯miʿ is not only one of thematic overlapping, but also of ˙ complementariness and integration, for promoting the public good has concrete 137 See Cook, Commanding right, 151–156; Johansen, “Perfect Law”, 176, 178–179; Anjum, Politics, 244–246. The treatise on Hisba is presented and discussed also by Thielmann, Ibn ˙ Taymı¯ya. 138 Ibn Taymı¯ya, Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 28: 60–120 (Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba). The treatise is translated into ˙ into French by Laoust, al-Hisba fi lEnglish by Muhtar Holland Public Duties in Islam, and islam: traité sur la Hisba. Both translations include the Fasl fı¯ l-amr bi-l-maʿru¯f that is not ˙ part of the treatise in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553. This supports Michael Cook’s point that this fasl ˙ was not originally part of al-Hisba. Cook, Commanding Right, 151, fn. 48. ˙

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implications. It means assuring people a fair material life as well as ensuring justice, for people do not accept justice if their material needs are not fulfilled. In al-Siya¯sa, this concern for people’s materiality is developed by focusing on the fair distribution of public resources (al-amwa¯l al-sulta¯nı¯ya), a section not ad˙ dressed in this study because the two versions of the text do not show substantial differences. In the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba and Jawa¯miʿ, it is addressed by covering and ˙ condemning fraudolent practices in markets, with further eleboration in the Hisba on the primacy of political power in price control, production and mar˙ keting.139 No wonder that the person who planned the manuscript thought the two writings were to be copied and read together.

Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj (fols. 104r–117r)

Figure 8. S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 104r – Title page: Qa¯ʿida fı¯ laʿb al-shatranj.

At last, what may be the place of a precept on the prohibition of chess in a manuscript gathering writings on the basic principles of just administration? Once more, the answer is to be found in the intertextuality of the manuscript itself. The General Rule on the Game of Chess of S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 is the shortest of the three treatises, and yet another homage to the fluidity of manuscript trans139 See Johansen, “Perfect Law,” 276–279.

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mission. The discussion in the Qa¯ʿ ida is rather convoluted, and dense.140 It can be summarized as follows: in the absence of an unequivocal scriptural indication explicitly prohibiting the game of chess, Ibn Tamı¯ya pulls out his arsenal of legal and ethical considerations to deliberate on the game’s legal status. Chess is prohibited essentially because it leads to prohibited actions, and according to the principle of the lesser evil also enunciated in al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya what leads to prohibited action is prohibited as well.141 In fact, chess brings harm and corruption. For instance, when involving money, the game causes expenses in vain, and money – as al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya and Hisba teach us – must be spent either for ˙ the common utility, or for fullfilling licit pleasures and religious obligations.142 Moreover, chess is an absorbing game; it produces addiction and addiction distracts the player from his basic religious duties which are prayer and God’s remembrance.143 In so doing, the game of chess corrupts the believer’s heart which is where God’s remembrance and worship (ʿiba¯da) dwell. When the heart is healthy, the whole body is healthy, a statement we also find in both versions of alSiya¯sa as a metaphor of the indispensable health of the ruler for the well-being of his subject.144 The whole text on chess is permetead by the vocabulary of maslaha (“benefit”) ˙ ˙ versus mafsada (“harm”).145 Considerations of individual and communal benefits orient Ibn Taymı¯ya’s legal reasoning and make full display of the utilitaristic approach that is so charachteristic of the opening chapters of al-Siya¯sa alsharʿı¯ya and Hisba. Specifically, the Precept marks the triumph of al-maslaha al˙ ˙ ˙ ra¯jiha (or “preponderant benefit”), a principle that assures the implementation ˙ of the common good in any circusmtance, while pushing aside absolute moral musts.146 Or, in Ibn Taymı¯ya’s words: Verily the law is built upon the fulfillment and perfection of benefits, and the obscuring and diminishing of harm. Whenever the benefit of an action is preponderant, then it is prescribed; whenever its harm is preponderant then it is prohibited. Every means that brings about harm is prohibited unless there is in it a preponderant benefit.147

140 The similar text on chess in Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà is presented by Schallenbergh, “Ibn Taymı¯ya (d. 1328) on Chess”. 141 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 110v and passim. 142 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fol. 109r and passim. 143 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 105v, 108r, 111r. 144 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 113r–113v. 145 Litt. “cause of corruption.” See Opwis, Maslaha, passim. ˙ ˙ 146 See Cook, Commanding Right, 154. 147 S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, fols. 111v–112r: Fa-inna al-sharı¯ʿa mabna¯ha¯ ʿala¯ tahs¯ıl al-masa¯lih wa˙ ˙ ra¯jiha shuriʿahu ˙ ˙ takmı¯liha¯ wa-taʿt¯ıl al-mafa¯sid wa-taqlı¯liha¯ fa-idha¯ ka¯na al-fiʿl maslahatuhu ˙ ˙˙¯ı ˙ilà l-fasa¯d nuhiyaʿanhu ˙ fa-idha¯ ka¯na mafsadatuhu ra¯jiha nuhiyaʿanhu bal kull sabab yufd ˙¯ jiha. ˙ idha¯ lam yakun fı¯hi maslaha ra ˙ ˙

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This passage is found only in the Qaʿida of the manuscript. It well catches the essence of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s approach across the three writings assembled in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, be it a matter of chess, market supervision or governamental ethics. Perhaps, its standing next to the Qaʿida on hisba is to suggest that hisba officers ˙ ˙ are to be concerned with the dismantlement of chess boards too, as Ibn Taymı¯ya 148 had done in his own life.

Conclusions Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, transmitted by S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, is an important tessera in the textual history of a famous writing, an obscure history so far understudied. Thanks to this manuscript, we now know that this treatise on governance existed in at least two different versions: a long one which was not widely disseminated and a short one which gained wide currency and shaped our vision of what al-siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya is according to Ibn Taymı¯ya. On the whole, the treatise was probably conceived between 709 and 712, when Ibn Taymı¯ya resided in Cairo and was close to Sultan Muhammad ibn Qala¯wu¯n, ˙ in a moment free of the impending pressure of war. If the year 716 recorded by Berlin Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190 as its copy date is close to reality, the short risa¯la had been composed by then. The chronological and authorial relationship between these versions of the text is critically complex and should not only be understood as vertically determined. That is, the risa¯la mukhtasara being a later epitome of an originally ˙ longer text authored by someone other than Ibn Taymı¯ya, as claimed by Muhammad al-ʿImra¯n, or the long Siya¯sa simply being a later expansion of an ˙ originally shorter text. The analysis carried out throughout this study shows that the textual history of the treatise was more tortuous than that. In fact, not only in Jawa¯miʿ does one detect signals of a progressive composition,149 but different phrasing occurs too, especially towards the end. This suggests that the relationship between the two texts was not exclusively one of adding or subtracting from a pristine version of the treatise. This study also shows that Ibn Taymı¯ya was the author of the lengthier version and could well have authored the short one too. We have seen how he composed the same work in more than one format, so it follows that the short and long Siya¯sa may be part of this very same logic. Yet, the possibility that the risa¯la mukhtasara was a later hand’s production, by a student or somebody who ˙ studied the text, cannot be thoroughly discarded. Be that as it may, it should be 148 Ibn ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯,ʿUqu¯d, 288, 269. 149 See pp. 45–46.

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highlighted that the different shape and contents of the long and short Siya¯sa not only reflect different stages of composition, but also different needs and expectations, and perhaps for different readers too. Both Jawa¯miʿ and risa¯la mukhtasara conceive themselves as nas¯ıha treatises, ˙ ˙˙ or “treatises of advice” to men in positions of authority and are part of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s personal engagement with political authorities. Ibn Taymı¯ya did indeed write letters to amirs and rulers and engaged with several members of the ruling elite.150 The neat organization of the two writings, as well as their being free of the long digressions and virulent polemics so typical of his writings suggest that their author had in mind that the treatises should be of easy fruition. Furthermore, the echo of al-Ma¯wardı¯’s al-Ahka¯m al-sultanı¯ya behind the incipit of ˙ ˙ the Jawa¯miʿ gives it a tinge of solemnity and suggests the intended receiver was a person of importance. Such an echo is a homage to the authority of a wellestablished juristic tradition of Sha¯fı¯ʿı¯ political thought. Also, the missing section on hisba in the short text confirms the idea that the long version was written for ˙ somebody belonging to the ruling élite, since it addresses the ruler responsible for the supervision of the hisba office. ˙ The risa¯la mukhtasara and Jawa¯miʿ are closely knitted together. They do not ˙ contradict each other, each one exhibiting its own internal coherence, but with a different focus, as if they were the same but different writings at the same time. The long Siya¯sa is a thematically more balanced and articulated literary piece. When we approach the subject through it, rather than the risa¯la mukhtasara, the ˙ general plan and vision of “divine” and “just” siya¯sa become clear. The chapter on God’s claims missing from the short Siya¯sa, plays a crucial role in this respect. In this chapter, Ibn Taymı¯ya illustrates the ratio of public authority and his characteristic idea that its goals, and the means to fulfill them, are relevant and not the institutional forms public authority is molded into. These goals are the promotion of the moral integrity (sala¯h/isla¯h) of the community, which goes ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ hand in hand with its maslaha and people’s spiritual and material well-being. ˙ ˙ This happens only when the most qualified individuals are assigned to public offices, when wealth is properly distributed and wrongs duly prosecuted. The meaningfulness of the duty of commanding right and forbidding wrong emerges with more force in the long Siya¯sa, as does its intimate link with al-Hisba. Finally, ˙ the fasl on God’s claims also functions as the conceptual ground behind the final ˙ chapters on men’s rights, a cluster of chapters so compressed in the risa¯la 150 For a long list of references of contacts between Ibn Taymı¯ya and prominent members of the ruling elite, cf. Bori, “Collection and Edition,” 48–50, fn. 6. Letters of Ibn Taymı¯ya to various members of the ruling elite are: Ibn Taymı¯ya, Risa¯la ilà l-Sulta¯n al-Malik al-Na¯sir fı¯ shaʾn al˙ ¯ d, 235–247, also˙published in tata¯r; Risa¯la ilà l-Malik al-Na¯sir, in Ibn ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯, ʿUqu ˙ ¯ la ilà l-Sulta¯n al-Malik al-Muʾayyad, in: Ja¯miʿ al-masa¯ʾil, 5: Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 28: 398–409; Risa ˙ 283–292.

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mukhtasara that it makes little sense. In the short risa¯la, this compression creates ˙ a pronounced thematic imbalance. The risa¯la mukhtasara displays a more prescriptive penchant. Its shortness ˙ and laconicism produce a (seemingly) straightforward text strongly focused on jiha¯d, coercion, punishment and public order. At times the text is so generic and condensed that it is difficult to grasp, at least for modern readers. The short risa¯la also avoids the substantial overlapping with al-Hisba that is found in Jawa¯miʿ. ˙ Yet, in spite of its synthetic appearance, the risa¯la mukhtasara displays its own ˙ internal logic and consistency. It is not a messy text, but when compared to Jawa¯miʿ, the risa¯la mukhtasara is unmistakably of poorer quality; the primacy of ˙ maslaha and Ibn Taymı¯ya’s broad vision of what makes a wila¯ya sharʿı¯ya (the ˙ ˙ expression siya¯sa sharʿı¯ya is in fact never used) appear somehow truncated. For some reason yet to discover, the long Siya¯sa, or Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa alsharʿı¯ya copied in S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553, with its broader spectrum of concerns, did not impose itself as the leading version of this well-known treatise. It was the “short one” with its focus on hudu¯d, punishment and jiha¯d that was received, ˙ copied and circulated. This is plain from its manuscript transmission, which unanimously attribute the short text to Ibn Taymı¯ya. Perhaps the contents of the risa¯la mukhtasara looked more pragmatic and immediate, and responded better ˙ to what was expected from a legal-oriented work on public administration. Together with all this, Jawa¯miʿ min al-siya¯sa al-ila¯hı¯ya is also the most substantial writing of a multiple-text manuscript. When read intertextually, the manuscript functions like a unity of meaning revolving around a set of core themes which act as the manuscript’s organizing principle. These themes have at their center, first, the idea of “preponderant benefit” (maslaha ra¯jiha) as the ˙ ˙ ˙ principle that must inform human action at large and political agency specifically. Second is that of the “common good” (maslaha ʿa¯mma), the space where ˙ ˙ rulers and scholars meet in the interest of God and men. The third is the crucial role of rulers and scholars in the promotion of public interest. The person who planned the manuscript thought that the Jawa¯miʿ and the Qa¯ʿida fı¯ l-hisba had ˙ much in common and should be read together. In fact, the arrangement of the manuscript builds up a strong connection between these two writings and favors an understanding of al-Hisba as a work that complements and integrates Ja˙ wa¯miʿ. Moreover, when the three writings transmitted by MS Istanbul S¸ehid Ali Pasa 1553 are read together, and not in isolation from each other, there is a ˙ powerful ethical dimension that emanates from their combination. In other words, MS Istanbul S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553 is a witness and agent of reception. That is, it not only conveys a little known version of a famous work of Ibn Taymı¯ya, a version that is an important key to gain a fuller grasp of the taymı¯yan concept of siya¯sa sharʿı¯ya, but it also reveals how in the second half of the fourteenth century

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an anonymous reader (in primis the person who conceived the manuscript) thought this concept should be understood. In the absence of autographs and earlier copies of the long risa¯la, it is difficult to be more precise, but one thing is sure: today, scholars who intend to embark into a comprehensive study of Ibn Taymı¯ya’s political vision must engage themselves with the long version of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya.

Bibliography Manuscripts Berlin Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 3190. Berlin Staatsbibliothek MS Or. oct. 2553. Paris BnF MS 2443. Paris BnF MS 2444. Damascus al-Asad National Library MS Za¯hirı¯ya 3246. ˙ Istanbul Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS S¸ehid Ali Pas¸a 1553. Istanbul Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS Ayasofya 2889. Istanbul Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS Ayasofya 2886. Istanbul Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS Reisu¨ lku¨ tta¯b Mustafa Efendi 528. Leiden MS Or. 2884. Leiden MS Or. 2590.

Primary sources al-Birza¯lı¯, al-Muqtafà ʿalà kita¯b al-rawdatayn al-maʿru¯f bi-taʾrı¯kh al-Birza¯lı¯, ed. ʿUmar ˙ ʿAbd al-Sala¯m al-Tadmu¯rı¯, 4 vols., Beirut: al-Maktabat al-ʿasrı¯ya, 2006. ˙ Ibn Hajar, al-Durar al-ka¯mina fı¯ aʿya¯n al-mi’a al-tha¯mina, ed. ʿAbd al-Wa¯rith Muhammad ˙ ˙ ʿAlı¯, 4 vols., Beirut: Da¯r al-kutub al-ʿilmı¯ya, 1418/1997. Ibn ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯, al-ʿUqu¯d al-durrı¯ya fı¯ mana¯qib shaykh al-isla¯m Ahmad ibn Taymı¯ya, ed. ˙ Muhammad Ha¯mid al-Fiqı¯, repr. Beirut: Da¯r al-kutub al-ʿilmı¯ya, n.d. ˙ ˙ Ibn Kathı¯r, al-Bida¯ya wa-l-niha¯ya fı¯ l-taʾrı¯kh, ed. ʿAbd al-Alla¯h Muhsin al-Turkı¯, 21 vols., ˙ Hajar: al-Tiba¯ʿa wa-l-nashr wa-l-tawzı¯ʿ wa-l-iʿla¯n, 1419/1998. Ibn Quda¯ma, Kita¯b rawdat al-na¯zir wa-jannat al-muna¯zir fı¯ usu¯l al-fiqh, ed. ʿAbd al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Karı¯m ibn ʿAlı¯ ibn Muhammad al-Namla, 3 vols., Riyad: Maktabat al-rushd, 1413/1993. ˙ Ibn Rushayyiq, Asma¯ʾ muʾallafa¯t shaykh al-isla¯m Ibn Taymı¯ya, in: al-Ja¯miʿ li-sı¯rat shaykh al-isla¯m Ibn Taymı¯ya khila¯l sabʿat quru¯n, eds. Muhammad ʿUzayr Shams and ʿAlı¯ al˙ ʿImra¯n, Mecca: Da¯r ʿa¯lam al-fawa¯ʾid li-l-nashr wa-l-tawzı¯ʿ, 1422 [2001]. (2nd printing) Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya, [al-Qa¯hira]: al-Matbaʿa al˙ ˙ ˙ khayrı¯ya, 1322/1904–1905. Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, Beirut: Da¯r al-kutub al-ʿarabı¯ya, ca. 1386/ca. 1966. Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, Da¯r al-kita¯b al-ʿarabı¯ bi-misr, 1373/1955. (3rd printing) ˙

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Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya, in: Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà shaykh al-isla¯m Ahmad ibn Tay˙ mı¯ya (below Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà), 37 vols., ed. ʿAbd al-Rahma¯ n ibn Muhammad ibn Qa¯sim ˙ ˙ al-Najdı¯ al-Hanbalı¯, Rabat, 1981, 28: 244–397. ˙ Ibn Taymı¯ya, Ba¯b al-khiya¯r, in: Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 29: 368–388 and 389–391. Ibn Taymı¯ya, Ba¯b al-qada¯ʾ, in: Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà 35: 355–408. ˙ Ibn Taymı¯ya, Kita¯b al-jawa¯miʿ fı¯ al-siya¯sa al-ila¯hı¯ya wa-l-a¯ya¯t al-nabawı¯ya, Bombay: Maba‘at nukhbat al-akhba¯r, 1306/1888. ˙ Ibn Taymı¯ya, Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 32: 216–242 (on chess; no title). Ibn Taymı¯ya, Risa¯la ilà l-Malik al-Na¯sir, in Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 28: 398–409. ˙ Ibn Taymı¯ya, Risa¯la ilà l-Sulta¯n al-Malik al-Na¯sir fı¯ shaʾn al-tata¯r, ed. Sala¯h al-Dı¯n al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Munajjid, Beirut, 1976. Ibn Taymı¯ya, Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 34: 77–89 (on nafaqa; no title). Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya, ed. Lajnat ihya¯ʾ al-tura¯th al˙ ˙ ˙ ʿarabı¯, Beirut: Da¯r al-afa¯q al-jadı¯da, 1983. Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya, ed. ʿIsa¯m Fa¯ris al-Harasta¯nı¯, ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Beirut: Da¯r al-jı¯l, 1993. Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Tisʿinı¯ya, ed. Muhammad ibn Ibra¯hı¯m al-ʿAjla¯n, Riyad: Maktabat al˙ maʿa¯rif li-l-nashr wa-l-tawzı¯ʿ, 1420. Ibn Taymı¯ya, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al-ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya, ed. ʿAlı¯ ibn Muhammad al˙ ˙ ˙ ʿImra¯n, Mecca: Da¯r ʿa¯lam al-fawa¯ʾid li-l-nashr wa-l-tawzı¯ʿ, 1429/2008. Ibn Taymı¯ya, Risa¯la ilà l-Sulta¯n al-Malik al-Muʾayyad, in: Ja¯miʿ al-masa¯ʾil, ed. Muhammad ˙ ˙ ʿUzayr Shams, Mecca: Da¯r ʿa¯lam al-fawa¯ʾid, 1437, 5: 283–292. Ibn Taymı¯ya, Masʾala fı¯ laʿb al-shtatranj, in: Ja¯miʿ al-masa¯ʾil, ed. ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n ibn ˙ ˙ Hasan ibn Qa¯dir, Mecca: Da¯r ʿa¯lam al-fawa¯ʾid, 1437, 9: 291–295. ˙ Ibn Taymı¯ya, Public Duties in Islam. The Institution of Hisba, English translation by ˙ Muhtar Holland, Leicester: Islamic Foundation, 1982. Ibn Taymı¯ya, Qa¯ʿida fı¯ al-hisba, in: Majmu¯ʿ fata¯wà, 28: 60–120. ˙ Ibn Taymiy¯a, al-Hisba fi l-islam: traité sur la Hisba, French translation by Henri Laoust, Paris: Geuthner, 1984. al-Ma¯wardı¯, Abu¯ al-Hasan ʿAbı¯ ibn Muhammad, al-Ahka¯m al-sulta¯nı¯ya wa-l-wila¯ya¯t al˙ ˙ ˙ dinı¯yya, ed. Ahmad Ja¯d, Cairo: Da¯r al-Hadı¯th, 2006. ˙ ˙ al-Mawardi, al-Ahkam al-Sultaniyya. The Laws of Islamic Governance, English translation by Asadullah Yate, London: Ta-Ha Publishers, 1416/1996. al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr wa-aʿwa¯n al-nasr, ed. Abu¯ Zayd et al., Beirut: Da¯r al-fikr al-muʿa¯sir, ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Damascus: Da¯r al-fikr, 5 vols., 1418/1999. Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n, Abjad al-ʿulu¯m, 3 vols., Beirut: Manshu¯ra¯t Muhammad ʿAlı¯ Baydu¯n, ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Da¯r al-kutub al-ʿilmı¯ya, 1999. Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n, Rihlat al-Siddı¯q ila¯ bayt alla¯h al-ʿatı¯q, no editor mentioned, n.p.: ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Ida¯ra¯t wiza¯rat al-awqa¯f wa-l-shu’u¯n al-isla¯mı¯ya, 1428/2007. ˙

Secondary sources Aigle, Denise, “The Mongol Invasions of Bila¯d al-Sha¯m by Gha¯za¯n Kha¯n and Ibn Taymı¯ya’s Three ‘Anti Mongol’ Fatwas”, in: The Mamlu¯k Studies Review xi/2 (2007), 89–120.

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Akkerman, Olly, “The Bohra Treasury of Manuscripts as a Site of Philology. A Study in Social Codicology,” in: Philological Encounters 4 (2019), pp. 182–209. Anjum, Ovamir, Politics, Law, and Community. The Taymiyyan Moment, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Arazi, A., and H. Ben Chamaï, “Mukhtasar,” EI2 online, eds. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C. E. ˙ Bosworth, E. van Donzel and W. P. Heinrichs [accessed 21/5/2019]. Kilpatrickh, Hilary, “Abridgement,” in: Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature, eds. Julie Scott Meisam and Paul Starkey, 2 vols. (London–New York: Routledge), 1: 23–24. Arberry, Arthur, A Handlist of the Arabic Manuscripts, Volume IV. MSS 3751 to 4000, Dublin: Hodges and Figgis & Co. Ltd, 1959. Bauden, Frédéric, “Maqriziana II: Discovery of an Autograph Manuscript of al-Maqrı¯zı¯: Towards a Better Understanding of His Working Method, Analysis,” in: Mamlu¯k Studies Review XII/1 (2008), pp. 51–118. Bauer, Thomas, “Ibn Nuba¯tah al-Misrı¯ (686–768/1287–1366): Life and Works Part II: The ˙ Dı¯wa¯n of Ibn Nuba¯tah,” in: Mamlu¯k Studies Review XII/2 (2008), pp. 25–69. Belhaj, Abdelsamad, “Law and Order According to Ibn Taymiyya and Ibn Qayyim alJawziyya: A Re-Examination of siya¯sa sharʿiyya,” in: Islamic Theology Philosophy and Law. Debating Ibn Taymı¯ya and Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya, eds. Birgit Krawietz and George Tamer, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013, pp. 400–422. Bori, Caterina, “The Collection and Edition of Ibn Taymı¯yah’s Works: Concerns of Disciple” in: The Mamluk Studies Review xiii/2 (2009), pp. 47–67. Bori, Caterina, One or Two Versions of al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿiyya of Ibn Taymı¯ya? And What do They Tell Us?, ASK Working Paper, Bonn: 2016 (online). Calder, Norman (ed. Colin Imber), Islamic Jurisprudence in the Classical Era, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Cook, Michael, Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. el-Leithy, Tamer, “Living Documents, Dying Archives: Towards a Historical Anthropology of Medieval Arabic Archives,” in: al-Qantara: Revista de Estudios Arabes 32/2 (2011), pp. 389–434. Emon, Anver M. “Huqu¯q Alla¯h and Huqu¯q al-ʿIba¯d: A Legal Heuristic for a Natural Rights ˙ ˙ Regime,” in: Islamic Law and Society 13/3 (2006), pp. 325–391. Endress, Gerhard, “‘One-Volume Libraries’ and the Tradition of Learning in Medieval Arabic Islamic Culture,” in: One-Volume Libraries: Composite and Multiple-Text Manuscripts, eds. Friedrich, Michael, and Cosima Schwarke, Berlin–Boston: De Gruyter, 2016, pp. 171–205. Franssen, Elise, “What was There in a Mamlu¯k Amı¯r’s Library? Evidence From a 15thCentury Manuscript,” in: Developing Perspectives in Mamluk History. Essays in Honor of Amalia Levanoni, Leiden: Brill, pp. 311–332. Friedrich, Michael, and Cosima Schwarke (eds.), One-Volume Libraries: Composite and Multiple-Text Manuscripts, Berlin–Boston: De Gruyter, 2016. Gacek, Adam, Arabic Manuscripts: A Vademecum for Readers, Leiden–Boston: Brill, 2009. Gacek, Adam, The Arabic Manuscript Tradition. A Glossary of Technical Terms and Bibliography, Leiden–Boston–Köln: Brill, 2001.

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Gardiner, Noah, Esotericism in a Manuscript Culture: Ahmad al-Bu¯nı¯ and His Readers ˙ Through the Mamluk Period, unpublished PhD Dissertation, University of Michigan, 2014. Gratien, Chris, Michael Polczyn´ski and Nir Shafir, “Digital Frontiers of Ottoman Studies,” in: Journal of the Ottoman and Turkish Studies Association 1/1–2 (2014), pp. 37–51. Hassan, Mona, “Modern Interpretations and Misinterpretations of a Medieval Scholar: Apprehending the Political Thought of Ibn Taymiyya,” in: Ibn Taymiyya and His Times, eds. Yossef Rapoport and Shahab Ahmed, Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2010, pp. 338–366. Hassan, Mona, Longing for the Lost Caliphate: A Transregional History, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2017. Hoover, Jon with Marwan Abu Ghazaleh Mahajneh, “Theology as Translation: Ibn Taymiyya’s Fatwa permitting Theology and its Reception into his Averting the Conflict between Reason and Revealed Tradition (Darʾ Taʿa¯rud al-ʿAqlwa-l-Naql),” in: The ˙ Musliwm World 108/1 (2018), pp. 40–86. Hoover, Jon, Ibn Taymiyya’s Theodicy of Perpetual Optimism, Leiden–Boston: Brill, 2007. Ingall, Matthew, Sˇarh, Ihtisa¯r, and Late-Medieval Legal Change: A Working Paper, ASK ˙ ˘ ˙ Working Papers 17, Bonn: 2014 (online). ʿImra¯n, ʿAlı¯ ibn Muhammad, Muqaddimat al-tahqı¯q, in: al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ isla¯h al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ¯ lam al-Fawa¯ʾid, ra¯ʿı¯ wa-l-raʿı¯ya, ed. ʿAlı¯ ibn Muhammad al-ʿImra¯n, Mecca: Da¯r ʿA 1429/ ˙ 2008, pp. 5–67. Johansen, Baber, “A Perfect Law in an Imperfect Society. Ibn Taymiyya’s Concept of ‘Governance in the Name of the Sacred Law,’” in: The Law Applied: Contextualizing the Islamic Shari‘a: A Volume in Honour of Frank E. Vogel, eds. Peri Bearman, Bernard G. Weiss, and Wolfhart Heinrichs, London–New York: I. B. Tauris, 2008, 259–294. Johansen, Baber, “Claims of Men and Claims of God: The Limits of Government Authority in Hanafite Law,” in: Pluriformiteit en Verdeling van de Macht in het Midden-Oosten, Nijmegen: 1980, pp. 60–104. Johansen, Baber, “Signs as Evidence. The Doctrine of Ibn Taymiyya (1263–1328) and Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (d. 1351) on Proof,” in: Islamic Law and Society 9/2 (2002), pp. 168– 193. Johansen, Baber, Contingency and Sacred Law: Legal and Ethical Norms in the Muslim Fiqh, Leiden–Boston–Köln: Brill, 1999. Laoust, Henri, “La biographie d’Ibn Taymı¯ya d’après Ibn Kathı¯r,” in: Bulletin des études orientales 9 (1942–1943), pp. 115–163. Laoust, Henri, Essai sur les doctrines sociales et politiques de Tak¯ı-d-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Taymı¯ya, ˙ ˙ Cairo: Imprimerie del’Institut Français d’Archaéologie Orientale, 1939. Laoust, Henri, Le traité de droit public d’Ibn Taymı¯ya. Traduction annotée de la Siya¯sa sharʿı¯ya, Beirut: Institut Français de Damas, 1948. Mantran, Robert, revised by Hans Georg Majer, “Ali Pas¸a, Damat S¸ehit,” Encyclopaedia of Islam, THREE. eds. Kate Fleet, Gudrun Krämer, Denis Matringe, John Nawas and Everett Rowson [accessed 2/8/2019]. Marlow, Louis, “Advice and Advice Literature,” in: Encyclopaedia of Islam, THREE, eds. Kate Fleet, Gudrun Krämer, Denis Matringe, John Nawas and Everett Rowson [accessed 16/6/2016].

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Opwis, Felicitas, Maslaha and the Purpose of the Law: Islamic Discourse on Legal Change ˙ ˙ from the 4th/10th to 8th/14th Century, Leiden: Brill, 2010. Preckel, Claudia, “Screening Siddı¯q Hasan Kha¯n’s Library. The Use of Hanbalı¯ Literature ˙ ˙ ˙ in 19th-Century Bhopal,” in: Islamic Theology, Philosophy and Law: Debating Ibn Taymiyya and Ibn Qayyim Al-Jawziyya, eds. Birgit Krawietz and Georg Tamer, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013, pp. 162–219. Qarada¯wı¯, Yu¯suf, al-Siya¯sa al-sharʿı¯ya fı¯ dawʾ nusu¯s al-sharı¯ʿa wa-maqa¯sidiha¯, Cairo: ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Maktabat wahba, 1432/2011. (4th printing) Rapoport Yossef, “Royal Justice and Religious Law: Siya¯ sah and Shariʿah Under the Mamluks,” in: Mamlu¯k Studies Review xvi (2012), pp. 71–102. Rapoport, Yossef, Marriage Money and Divorce in Medieval Islamic Society, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Rosenthal, Erwin I. J., Political Thought in Medieval Islam: An Introductory Outline, Cambridge University Press, 1958. Schallenbergh, Gino, “Ibn Taymı¯ya (d. 1328) on Chess: Legal Evidence for a Prohibition,” in Egypt and Syria in the Fatimid, Ayyubid and Mamluk Eras V, Proceedings of the 11th, 12th and 13th International Colloquium, eds. Urbain Vermeulen and Kristof D’Hulster, Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters, 2007, pp. 525–537. Schmidke, Jan, “From ‘One-Volume Libraries’ to Scrapbooks. Ottoman Multiple Text and Composite Manuscripts in the Early Modern Age (1400–1800),” in: One-volume libraries: Composite and multiple-text manuscripts, eds. Friedrich, Michael, and Cosima Schwarke, Berlin–Boston: De Gruyter, 2016, pp. 209–232 Schöler, Gregor, Arabische Handschriften. Teil II, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1990. Shafir Nir, The Road from Damascus: Circulation and the Redefinition of Islam in the Ottoman Empire, 1620–1720, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of California Los Angeles, 2016. Thielmann, Jörn, Ibn Taymiyya: A Social Market Economist Avant la Lettre? Berlin: EBVerlag, 2014. Varvaro, Alberto, Prima lezione di filologia, Bari: Laterza, 2012. Vasalou, Sophia, Ibn Taymiyya’s Ethics, New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. Voorhoeve, Petrus, Handlist of Arabic Manuscripts in the Library of the University of Leiden and Other Collections in The Netherlands, Codices Manuscripti VII, Leiden: Leiden University Library, 1957.

Christian Mauder

Education and Learning among Members of the Mamluk Army: Results of a Quantitative Analysis of Mamluk Biographies1

Introduction When a human being dies, the connection between him and his deeds comes to an end with the exception of three things: continuous alms-giving, useful knowledge (ʿilm) and righteous offspring, who invokes God’s blessing for him.2

This hadı¯th seems to have been of considerable appeal to members of the military ˙ elite of the Mamluk Sultanate.3 It is quoted regularly in Mamluk endowment deeds, that is, documents used to transform private property into unalienable religious endowments that typically provided educational, religious, and social services to Muslim believers. In doing so, the founders of these endowments performed one of the three actions recommended in the quoted saying, namely, “continuous alms-giving.” Many former mamlu¯ks, moreover, also hoped to have fathered “righteous offspring,” as mentioned in the tradition, since their sons often embarked on a pious career as religious scholars.4 But what about the “useful knowledge” – theʿilm – that also figures so strongly in this tradition? As foreign slaves of non-Islamic stock, often speaking a Turkic, Mongol or Circassian dialect as their native language, most mamlu¯ks did not have ideal starting conditions for acquiring useful (in the present context primarily Islamic religious) knowledge during their childhood and youth, especially since such knowledge was usually transmitted in Arabic. At later stages of their lives,

1 I would like to thank the anonymous reviewer for their helpful feedback on an earlier version of this text. 2 Muslim, Sah¯ıh, Kita¯b al-Was¯ıya, no. 949. ˙ ˙ ˙ I use the adjective “Mamluk” to refer to the “totality of the state, 3 Following˙ Richards, Amirs 40, society and culture etc.” which dominated Egypt and Syria in the late middle period, whereas “mamlu¯k” is used to denote “an individual who has that legal and social status.” 4 On descendants of mamlu¯ks as scholars, see, among others, Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 103– 114; Haarmann, Joseph’s Law 77–84; Haarmann, Altun Ha¯n, esp. 8–9; Irwin, Mamluk Liter˙ ˘ ature 6–7.

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these former slaves were expected to prove themselves as soldiers in battle or as government officials, not as scholars in academic discussions. For these and other reasons, for at least a century students of Islamic history were of the opinion that being a mamlu¯k on the one hand and striving for knowledge on the other hand had to be seen as mutually exclusive.5 While more recent publications on the topic have refuted this assumption, it continues to appear even in scholarly works published over the past decades, as the following overview of the state of research demonstrates. Moreover, the extent to which mamlu¯ks participated in the social spheres of scholarship and learning is still largely unclear, given that earlier publications on learned mamlu¯ks were based themselves primarily on anecdotal evidence. This gap in our knowledge about one of the most influential social groups in the history of the Islamic middle period is especially problematic against the background of the still widespread notion that the Mamluk period constituted a time of intellectual decline that was caused inter alia by an alleged disinterest in cultural life on the side of members of its political elite. The present study demonstrates that an analysis of several hundred biographies of mamlu¯ks provides a more holistic picture of education and scholarly activities among members of this social group, but also gives indications of the scope and frequency of their learned interests. The available biographical information suggests that about every eighth mamlu¯k prominent enough to receive treatment by authors of biographical dictionaries pursued learned interests. The study points moreover to factors that could influence the engagement of mamlu¯ks with learning and scholarship – both positively and negatively. It argues that, while there was a structural need for learned mamlu¯ks, powerful social forces prevented a majority of these slave soldiers from acquiring an advanced academic education. The research results presented here are discussed in more detail in my monograph Gelehrte Krieger: Die Mamluken als Träger arabischsprachiger Bildung nach al-Safadı¯, al-Maqrı¯zı¯ unter weiteren Quellen (Hildesheim: Olms, ˙ 2012).6 The present publication serves to provide audiences that do not read German with an updated summary of some of the main findings first published in that monograph. The following sections outline the state of research, introduce my main sources, and sketch the methods employed in their analysis. Thereafter, I present my quantitative results and discuss two examples of well-educated mamlu¯ks in 5 On the history of research on the Mamluk Sultanate, see in general inter alia Conermann, Es boomt; Haarmann, Quellenstudien 2–7; Irwin, Under Western Eyes. 6 I would like to thank Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, Hildesheim, for the permission to publish this updated summary of the monograph.

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some detail. Then, I address the factors that promoted or hindered scholarly activities among mamlu¯ks. The last section summarizes my main findings and contextualizes them within current trajectories of research.

State of Research7 Even in the earliest detailed scholarly discussions of the Mamluk Sultanate written in European languages, we find passages depicting them as coarse and unlettered barbarians. In William Muir’s The Mameluke or Slave Dynasty of Egypt, published in 1896, for example, we read about “slaves with barbarous names from Turcoman and Mongol hordes,”8 who – belonging to “barbarous races”9 as they do – “oppress[…] the land by oft-repeated pillage and outrage.”10 For about 100 years, this picture of members of the Mamluk military as barbarians with only most superficial contact to the Arabo-Islamic culture around them remained unchallenged. Writing in 1973 in his Soldiers of Fortune, John Bagot Glubb states: “We may consider the Mamlukes barbarians.”11 As members of a “half-barbarian military caste,”12 they were “devoid of culture”13 and generally of an “extreme simplicity of mind.”14 Even undisputed experts on Mamluk history and society accepted this point of view. For example, in an article published in 1965 Annemarie Schimmel wrote: The impression that we get from the sources is that neither the Mamlu¯k sultans themselves nor the amı¯rs […] had any interest in spiritual things. […] We often read in the obituaries of these Mamlu¯ks “I never saw a book in his hand” or “he was completely devoid of any knowledge of any science or art.” The few exceptional cases when […] [an amı¯r’s] Arabic was not too bad are carefully mentioned by our historians.15

In another passage of the same article, Schimmel laments “the rather superficial interest of the military caste in religious affairs”16 and emphasizes that even highranking Mamluk officers were often unfamiliar with the basics of the Islamic religion.17

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

See also Mauder, Krieger 14–22. Muir, Mameluke 3. Muir, Mameluke 216. Muir, Mameluke 4. Glubb, Soldiers of Fortune 125, see also 373. Glubb, Soldiers of Fortune 297. Glubb, Soldiers of Fortune 154. Glubb, Soldiers of Fortune 345. Schimmel, Some Glimpses 356. Schimmel, Some Glimpses 384. Schimmel, Some Glimpses 361.

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It is mainly the merit of two pioneering scholars that today we know the mamlu¯ks to have been more than unlettered and uneducated barbarian soldiers, as many earlier historians had described them. Originally interested primarily in Turkic cultural and literary life under Mamluk rule, the Turkologist Barbara Flemming published several studies in which she demonstrated the engagement of mamlu¯ks in learned activities well beyond the Turkic linguistic sphere. Most important in the present context is her chapter “Literary Activities in Mamluk Halls and Barracks,” published in 1977, where Flemming discussed not only the social interconnections between members of the military and the learned culture around them, their patronage activities, and their book collections,18 but also showed that mamlu¯k recruits were active as copyists, if not indeed composers of learned works in Arabic.19 Flemming suggested that the manuscripts produced by these young mamlu¯ks could be interpreted as premodern equivalents of exam papers.20 Among scholars working primarily with Arabic sources, Ulrich Haarmann was the first to fully recognize the extent to which mamlu¯ks could be integrated into the learned culture that surrounded them. In his article “Arabic in Speech, Turkish in Lineage: Mamluks and their Sons in the Intellectual Life of Fourteenth-Century Egypt and Syria,” published in 1988, Haarmann collected historiographical material refuting the earlier opinion about the mamlu¯ks’ disdain for culture and scholarship. In particular, based on historiographical evidence provided mainly by Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n Abu¯ al-ʿAbba¯s Ahmad b. ʿAlı¯ b. ʿAbd al-Qa¯dir al˙ Maqrı¯zı¯ (d. 845/1442), Haarmann showed that young sultanic mamlu¯ks were trained at the Cairo Citadel in civilian fields of learning such as Arabic, calligraphy, the Quran, and the fundamentals of the religious sciences before their manumission.21 Haarmann moreover demonstrated that numerous members of the Mamluk military elite possessed broad knowledge of various civilian, especially religious, disciplines such as hadı¯th, Islamic law, and Arabic literature. To ˙ this end, he quoted a large number of entries of biographical dictionaries describing the merits and academic achievements of well-learned slave soldiers of the 8th/14th century.22 Nevertheless, Haarmann’s article, groundbreaking as it was, remained anecdotal and did not offer a systematic discussion of the phenomenon of education and knowledge among mamlu¯ks in its broader social and intellectual context.

18 Flemming, Activities 249–255. 19 Flemming, Activities 255–259. 20 Flemming, Activities 259–260. For a recent reexamination of Flemming’s findings, see Behrens-Abouseif, Book 97–102. 21 Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 86–88. 22 Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 88–103.

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Building on Haarmann’s study, Jonathan Berkey addressed the topic of Mamluk education in several publications. In the present context, a chapter in his monograph The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo (1992) is of special importance,23 where Berkey shed light on the participation of the mamlu¯ks in the educational system as both students and teachers. Employing the same method as Haarmann, Berkey collected numerous testimonies from the biographical literature to show how mamlu¯ks successfully integrated themselves into the academic life of 9th/15th century Cairo. According to Berkey, military slaves were particularly interested in the study of hadı¯ths, with many of them becoming ˙ important transmitters in their own right.24 As Berkey himself noted, he did not offer a systematic analysis of the available relevant source material.25 Moreover, because neither he nor Haarmann conducted a systematic analysis of a clearly defined data sample, the extent to which mamlu¯ks actively engaged in learning and scholarship remains unclear. Nevertheless, taken together with Ulrich Haarmann’s findings, Berkey’s analysis showed that the available sources do not support the view of all mamlu¯ks as unlettered barbarians. Moreover, Berkey convincingly contextualized his findings by suggesting that the phenomenon of well-educated mamlu¯ks constituted an aspect of more general developments in the educational system of the Islamicate middle period. According to this understanding, the fact that groups such as the mamlu¯ks had a share in the academic activities of their time points to a popularization of religious education during this period.26 It is striking to see that, although the results of Haarmann and Berkey were generally well received by international scholarship, the image of the unlettered Mamluk barbarian is still reproduced in publications claiming to adhere to academic standards. In a monograph published in 2007, i.e., several years after Haarmann’s and Berkey’s studies, the author stated that the mamlu¯ks hail from “barbaric countries,”27 are “coarse and ignorant,”28 and “generally very uneducated.”29 In light of this situation, it seems worthwhile to reexamine the results of Haarmann and Berkey on Mamluk education by means of systematic analyses of the available sources, which could not only help to reject the unbalanced understanding of the mamlu¯ks as barbarians still lingering in some parts of the scholarly literature, but also contribute to a deeper understanding of the mamlu¯ks as a social group interacting with their cultural environment. This, 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Note, however, also Berkey, Silver. Berkey, Transmission 146–160. Berkey, Transmission 147. Berkey, Transmission 201–118. Brandes, Sklavendespotie 8. Brandes, Sklavendespotie 104. Brandes, Sklavendespotie 137.

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it is hoped, will help us to get a better understanding of how widespread learned interests indeed were among members of the Mamluk military.

Sources and Research Method30 The source material for the analysis comes from three biographical dictionaries dating to the 8th/14th and 9th/15th centuries, all of which have not been used previously for systematic studies of learning and education among members of the Mamluk military. The first one is Khalı¯l b. Aybak al-Safadı¯’s (d. 764/1363) ˙ Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr wa-aʿwa¯n al-nasr, which includes some 2000 biographies of the ˙ ˙ 31 author’s contemporaries. The two other dictionaries were penned by Ahmad b. ˙ ʿAlı¯ al-Maqrı¯zı¯ (d. 1442) and remained incomplete. The finished parts of his Kita¯b al-Muqaffa¯ al-kabı¯r contain about 3600 biographies of persons who had lived or spent some time in Egypt.32 In its present form, al-Maqrı¯zı¯’s second dictionary Durar al-ʿuqu¯d al-farı¯da fı¯ tara¯jim al-aʿya¯n al-mufı¯da covers the lives of about 1500 of his contemporaries.33 While both authors are too well known to warrant a detailed biographical introduction here, a few words regarding their stance toward members of the Mamluk military are in order. Ahmad al-Maqrı¯zı¯ was certainly not a fan of his ˙ contemporaries who had begun their careers as mamlu¯ks, although he was well acquainted with many of them. Having long served in the civilian part of the administration of the Mamluk Sultanate, he sometimes actively sought the support of high-ranking officers.34 Nevertheless, he had a very low general opinion of the military men of his days; in an often-quoted passage he called

30 See also Mauder, Krieger 23–79. 31 On this work, see, e. g., Little, Historiography 431–432; Little, An Introduction 103; Little, Biographer; Ritter, Über einige Werke 84–87; van Ess, Safadı¯-Splitter I; van Ess, Safadı¯-Splitter ˙ ˙ II. 32 On this work, see, e. g., al-Sakha¯wı¯, al-Dawʾ al-la¯miʿ ii, 22; Ibn Taghrı¯birdı¯, al-Manhal al-sa¯fı¯ i, ˙ Studies 18; Fierro and Lucini, Biografías; Witkam, ˙ 418–419; Guo, Mamluk Historiographic Discovery; Witkam, Les autographes 92–97; al-Yaʿla¯wı¯, Muqaddima, in al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Muqaffa¯; an now especially Bauden, Maqriziana X [both parts]. 33 On this work, see, e. g., ʿAlı¯, al-Maqrı¯zı¯ wa-kita¯buhu; al-Jalı¯lı¯, Muqaddima, in al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Durar al-ʿuqu¯d; Drory, Timur. 34 See, e. g., ʿAlı¯, al-Maqrı¯zı¯ wa-kita¯buhu i, 28–29; al-Jalı¯lı¯, Muqaddima, in al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Durar alʿuqu¯d i, 28, 33, 37; Broadbridge, Academic Rivalry 87–91; Rabbat, Who was al-Maqrı¯zı¯ 16–18; Little, A Comparsion 206–207; al-Sakha¯wı¯, al-Dawʾ al-la¯miʿ ii, 22; al-Shawka¯nı¯, al-Badr al-ta¯liʿ ˙ ˙ i, 80.

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them “more lustful than monkeys, more ravenous than rats, more destructive than wolves.”35 Al-Safadı¯, on the contrary, had a far more positive attitude toward the slave ˙ soldiers. Being the son of a Mamluk amı¯r and a government official, al-Safadı¯ ˙ spent large parts of his life in close contact with members of this social group. He was on friendly terms with many of these men and treated them well in his scholarly work. In a study of al-Safadı¯’s biographical writings, Josef van Ess notes ˙ that nothing suggests that the author held his father’s colleagues in low esteem.36 Let us now turn to the method employed to analyze these three biographical dictionaries regarding the information they contain on well-educated mamlu¯ks active in the Mamluk Sultanate, which given the dates of composition of the source works is necessarily limited to roughly the first 200 years of the history of the Sultanate. Before I discuss the various steps of the analysis, it is necessary to define the two key terms “mamlu¯k” and “well-educated.” For the purposes of the present study, the term mamlu¯k is understood to denote an uncastrated man of fair skin and usually non-Muslim background who, at some point in his life, had been enslaved, had been converted to Islam, and fulfilled military functions. Mamlu¯ks are thus distinguished from other social groups who shared some, but not all, of their main characteristics, such as black slave soldiers, household slaves, mercenaries, and eunuchs.37 Moreover, only first-generation military slaves and not their offspring known as awla¯d al-na¯s are considered in the present study. A Mamluk is considered “well-educated” if the authors of the biographical dictionaries note that he (1) acquired or possessed ʿilm, that is, theoretical knowledge produced or transmitted in a scholarly context,38 or that he (2) occupied himself with one or more of the ʿulu¯m, that is, academic disciplines.39 Excluded from the category of the well-educated are all those who mingled with scholars but did not partake of their academic activities. The same applies to 35 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Khitat iii, 694. Cf. also Conermann, Es boomt 8–9; Irwin, al-Maqrı¯zı¯ and Ibn ˙ ˙ Irwin, Mamluk Literature 26; Irwin, Mamluk History 167; Levanoni, Khaldu¯n 224–225; History in the Service of Faith 101–103. 36 Van Ess, Safadı¯-Splitter II, 107. ˙ definitions of the term mamlu¯k, see Ayalon, Mamlu¯k 319; Keßler, Welt der 37 For similar Mamluken 15–19; Irwin, Middle East 3–4; Thorau, Grenzgänger 222–223. For groundbreaking recent publications on the realities of the social existence of mamlu¯ks, see Koby Yosef ’s publications including Yosef, Origin; Yosef, Mamluks; Yosef, Term; Yosef, Hatred. See on the origins and early life of mamlu¯ks also Frenkel, Notes; Mazor, Experience. 38 Cf. on this term and its religious connotations, Berkey, Transmission 3–5; Berkey, Tradition 50–53; Biesterfeldt, Enzyklopädien 44; Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges 140; Rosenthal, Knowledge Triumphant, esp. 28–32, 43–154. 39 On ʿilm as denoting a specific discipline, see Berkey, Transmission 12–13; Biesterfeldt, Enzyklopädien, passim; Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges 75–80; Rosenthal, Knowledge Triumphant 41–45, 243–246.

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those who owned collections of books but are not known to have actually read them. Moreover, persons who engaged in an academic activity in a language other than Arabic are not considered.40 Finally, in the present context anyone who excelled in a craft or a profession outside the field of academia is not considered well-educated. Based on previous quantitative study designs in Arabic and Islamic Studies, the following five-step approach was developed to locate such well-educated mamlu¯ks in the source corpus. First, approximately 1,200 out of the more than 7,000 entries included in the three biographical dictionaries noted above were selected as possibly belonging to mamlu¯ks. This selection was based on the names of the individuals discussed in the respective entries. Mamlu¯ks typically bore a non-Arabic, oftentimes Turkic, personal name or ism that distinguished them from their Muslim-born contemporaries. However, a selection based on the ism alone would have yielded incomplete results since a small number of mamlu¯ks were known by typical Arabo-Islamic names such as ʿAlı¯ or Talha.41 Therefore, ˙ ˙ other onomastic elements such as the laqab and the nasab were also taken into consideration. In the second step, all persons were excluded who did not live in the Mamluk Sultanate. Thereafter, I scrutinized all remaining biographies to determine whether or not they belonged to mamlu¯ks according to the definition given above, using in the process ten further biographical dictionaries and six additional chronicles.42 In the end, 257 men remained who were explicitly said to have been slave soldiers and could thus be unambiguously counted as mamlu¯ks. In a fourth step, I was able to identify 224 further persons who, while not explicitly called military slaves in our sources, most likely also belonged to this social group. All of these men bore names typical for mamlu¯ks, held a military or governmental position, and were not said to belong to non-mamlu¯k groups such 40 I am aware that this linguistic limitation implies that a significant part of the cultural output of mamlu¯ks remains unconsidered. The sources used for the present analysis, however, do not allow drawing a clear and comprehensive picture of non-Arabic learned activities within the Mamluk Sultanate. On Turkic-language works written by mamlu¯ks, see, e. g., Eckmann, Mamluk-kiptschakische Literatur 299–300; Flemming, Sˇerı¯f 84, 88, 91; Flemming, Literary Activities 253; Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 90; Haarmann, Altun Ha¯n 3–4; Irwin, Mamluk ˙ been ˘ the dominant written Literature 3–6; Frenkel, Culture 27. However, Arabic seems to have language among learned mamlu¯ks, cf. Flemming, Literary Activities 251. 41 See on mamlu¯ks with Arabic names Ayalon, Names 206–208. 42 Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, al-Durar al-ka¯mina; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, Inba¯ʾ al-ghumr; Ibn al˙ ¯ t; Ibn al-Suqa¯ʿı¯, Ta¯lı¯; Ibn Taghrı¯ʿIma¯˙d, Shadhara¯t; Ibn Sha¯kir al-Kutubı¯, Fawa¯t al-wafaya ˙ birdı¯, al-Manhal al-sa¯fı¯; Ibn Tu¯lu¯n, Iʿla¯m al-wara¯; al-Safadı¯, Nakt al-himya ¯ n; al-Safadı¯, al˙ ˙ ˙ Wa¯fı¯ bi-l-wafaya¯t; al-Sakha¯wı¯, al-Dawʾ al-la¯miʿ; al-Dhahabı¯, Min dhuyu¯l al-ʿibar;˙ Ibn Iya¯s, ˙ ¯ ya wa-l-niha¯ya; Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhba, Taʾrı¯kh; Ibn Taghrı¯Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r; Ibn Kathı¯r, al-Bida ˙ birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira; al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Sulu¯k.

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as eunuchs or awla¯d al-na¯s. Without doubt, most of these people were mamlu¯ks, too, but in the absence of clear-cut evidence, they should be treated with a certain level of caution and considered merely as belonging to the mamlu¯ks’ milieu. Where relevant, they are therefore regarded as a distinct group for the purposes of the present analysis. In the final step, I scanned the biographies of the previously identified 481 mamlu¯ks and members of their milieu for information regarding their participation in scholarly activities. In almost all cases where mamlu¯ks were actively involved in such undertakings, the authors of our sources either noted explicitly that they engaged in particular disciplines, such as history, law or astronomy; or they noted that they devoted themselves to scholarly activities by using the term “ishtaghala bi-l-ʿilm.” In addition to data on a mamlu¯k’s learned interests, several other key variables such as his death date, his military rank, and the subjects he studied were recorded.

¯ ks43 Quantitative Results and Examples of Well-Educated Mamlu The quantitative results of the analysis are suited to reject once and for all the opinion that all mamlu¯ks were unlettered barbarians. According to the definition outlined above, 58 of the 481 persons included in the database (12.1%) could be categorized as well-educated. I.e., about every eighth mamlu¯k or member of their milieu discussed in the biographical dictionaries possessed intellectual merits the scholars al-Maqrı¯zı¯ and al-Safadı¯ considered to be noteworthy. The share of well˙ educated persons among those individuals who could unambiguously be identified as mamlu¯ks was 14.4%, while the percentage for the group of people whose status as mamlu¯ks could not be confirmed beyond doubt was 9.4%. These percentages represent the minimum level of well-educated mamlu¯ks among the slave soldiers covered in the dictionaries, as their authors may have been unaware of scholarly activities of some of them. Moreover, one should be careful not to extrapolate the results obtained to the entire population of mamlu¯ks: Based on al-Maqrı¯zı¯’s and al-Safadı¯’s works as they are, the data were ˙ not obtained by means of random sampling as would be necessary to obtain representative results. Nevertheless, when compiling their dictionaries, al-Maqrı¯zı¯ and al-Safadı¯ almost never included mamlu¯ks primarily because of their ˙ scholarly merits: The slave soldiers who aroused their interest were typically remarkable for their political, military, or economic successes, their cruelty, or their bravery. Thus, whereas the mamlu¯ks discussed in their works certainly do not constitute a random sample of the slave soldier population, the reasons for 43 See also Mauder, Krieger 93–155.

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their being included in the biographical dictionaries were overwhelmingly unrelated to their level of education. Based on the statistical results obtained, we can make several general conclusions about the intellectual pursuits of mamlu¯ks. As Jonathan Berkey already noted, hadı¯th was the most important area of their academic activity: 23 of the 58 ˙ well-educated slave soldiers and members of their milieu were active in this field. The second most-often mentioned discipline in the biographies is law and jurisprudence (15 persons), followed by Arabic literature (14 persons). In nine cases, Quranic studies is listed as field of scholarly activity, while seven persons dedicated themselves to Arabic linguistics, and six to the natural sciences. Sufism and history each stood in the focus of five persons. One factor that seems to have been closely related to a slave soldier’s academic abilities was where his training as a recruit took place. Those mamlu¯ks who received their initial education in their master’s household, typically together with the latter’s children,44 had as adults a higher chance of achieving noteworthy academic merits than peers who had been trained in the barracks, although we know that the latter also received instruction in especially religious fields of learning.45 One may thus assume that an upbringing in a not exclusively military environment had a potentially favorable impact on a mamlu¯k’s scholarly abilities.46 A second remarkable element that appears in many biographies of the welleducated mamlu¯ks concerns their position in the government. Of the 18 persons in the database who held the administrative office of the dawa¯da¯r (“bearer of the inkwell”), nine engaged in scholarly activities. The reasons for this finding are likely related to the tasks dawa¯da¯rs had to fulfill. Ibn Fadl Alla¯h al-ʿUmarı¯ ˙

44 Other household members could have a positive impact on a mamlu¯k’s education, too. ¯ qqu¯sh al-Iftikha¯rı¯ (d. 699/1299–1300) and Balaba¯n al-Ghulmashı¯ (d. 709/ Husa¯m al-Dı¯n A ˙ 1309) studied prophetic traditions with their respective masters, while Baktu¯t al-ʿAzı¯zı¯ alNa¯sirı¯ (d. 699/1299) did the same together with his own children, cf. Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr i, 560, ˙ 717;˙ ii, 46. The data sample includes no direct evidence that the marriage to a woman˙ from a learned family had a positive impact on a mamlu¯k’s education; but see Berkey, Transmission 153. 45 On the education of mamlu¯k recruits in civilian fields of learning, see Ibn Khaldu¯n, al-ʿIbar v, 371, 472; al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Khitat iii, 692–693; al-Qudsı¯, Duwal al-isla¯m 128–131; Tafur, Travels 73– ˙ ˙ 115, 128–129; Ayalon, Mamluk Army II, 460; Ayalon, Mamluk 74; von Harff, Pilgertagebuch Army III, 71; Ayalon, Mamlu¯k 317–318; Ayalon, L’esclavage 14; Garcin, Circassian Mamlu¯ks 300; Haarmann, Der arabische Osten 225–226; Haarmann, Einleitung, in al-Qudsı¯, Duwal alisla¯m 38–45; Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 86–88; al-Musawi, Belletristic Prose 126; Rabie, Training 154, 162–163; Loiseau, Les Mamelouks 79–85; Little, Religion 166, 168–169; Mauder, Krieger 80–92; Mauder, Development 966–968; Mazor, Experience 215–216, 218–220. 46 Ayalon, Circassians 143. See also Ayalon, L’esclavage 22–24; Haarmann, Einleitung, in alQudsı¯, Duwal al-isla¯m 38.

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(d. 749/1349), an expert on the internal affairs of the Mamluk empire, writes on the dawa¯da¯rs the following: They are there to deliver the messages of the sultan and to convey all affairs. [Moreover, they are there] to present petitions to him, to confer about whoever comes to the [sultan’s] door and to deliver the mail together with the commander of the bodyguard and the private secretary […]. [Furthermore, the dawa¯da¯r] obtains the sultan’s signature on all decrees, edicts and documents. If an ordinance is issued by the sultan, he writes and lays down the respective message.47

Evidently, a dawa¯da¯r’s duties were mostly administrative and nonmilitary in nature and demanded a high level of cooperation with civilian officials and government clerks. In order to perform well in his office, a dawa¯da¯r had to be able to grasp what his colleagues and subordinates in the civilian part of the administration were doing and talking about. He therefore typically had to be able to understand, read, and most likely also write Arabic. Furthermore, it was most desirable for him to have a share in the intellectual world of his highly educated civilian colleagues.48 It is thus not surprising that al-Maqrı¯zı¯ and alSafadı¯ note particularly often that mamlu¯ks who held the office of dawa¯da¯r were ˙ active in Arabo-Islamic fields of learning.49 The quantitative analysis of the Mamluk biographies yields equally interesting results regarding variables that appear to be unrelated to the level of a mamlu¯k’s education. One of these variables is military rank. Based on the information available, nothing suggests that academic activities and interest in scholarly topics were typical only for the higher echelons of the Mamluk army. Indeed, there is even some incidental evidence to the contrary. When speaking about mamlu¯ks who failed in their endeavor to become amı¯rs, in one of his works alMaqrı¯zı¯ notes that “some of them reached the rank of a competent expert of religious law, a proficient man of letters or a skilled arithmetician.”50 This remark suggests that some rank-and-file mamlu¯ks might have been especially interested in refining their intellectual abilities in order to diversify their potential career paths.

47 Al-ʿUmarı¯, Masa¯lik al-absa¯r 58. On the dawa¯da¯r’s duties see also ʿAbd al-Nabı¯, al-Dawa¯da¯r al-tha¯nı¯ 72; Drory, Yu¯nus ˙al-Dawa¯da¯r 267–270; Martel-Thoumian, Les Civils 71; and especially the still fundamental description in Ayalon, Mamluk Army III, 62–63. 48 On the intermediate position of the dawa¯da¯r between the Turkic-speaking world of the mamlu¯ks and the Arabic sphere of the scribes, see also Bauer, Hunting Party 296; Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 100. 49 Cf. Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 94–95, 100, 105. See also in more detail Mauder, Development 974–977. 50 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Khitat iii, 693. See also Haarmann, Der arabische Osten 226; Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 87–88. ˙ ˙

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A second factor that had no influence on the level of the participation of mamlu¯ks in intellectual activities as reported in the dictionaries is whether a given biographical entry was written by al-Maqrı¯zı¯ or by al-Safadı¯. When a ˙ mamlu¯k is discussed in the dictionaries of both authors, the description of his academic achievements is almost always identical, an observation corroborating that al-Maqrı¯zı¯’s and al-Safadı¯’s works are not textually independent.51 More˙ over, a separate computation of the respective percentages of well-educated mamlu¯ks in al-Maqrı¯zı¯’s and al-Safadı¯’s dictionaries shows that the values are ˙ almost identical – even when the men covered by both authors are excluded. It thus appears that the authors’ differing attitudes toward members of the military did not affect their scholarly work such that they exaggerated or downplayed a given slave soldier’s scholarly merits. No clear conclusions can be derived from the data collected regarding the historical development of Mamluk education in the course of the history of the Sultanate. In the past, both the first52 and the last53 decades of the history of the Mamluk Sultanate were suggested as being the heydays of cultural and scholarly activities within military circles. Since most of the biographies in the sources analyzed cover the lives of mamlu¯ks who flourished during the late early to middle years of the history of the Sultanate, one cannot use them to decide which of the two positions should be considered more plausible.54 The following two examples of well-educated slave soldiers – one rather typical, the other more unusual – may serve to illustrate the diversity of the intellectual activities pursued by mamlu¯ks. Arghu¯n al-Dawa¯da¯r al-Na¯sirı¯ is a fairly normal member of the Mamluk ˙ military who rose from the status of a slave soldier to assume an influential political position. What makes him interesting in the present context is that he combined his military and administrative activities with the acquisition of legal expertise and scholarly merits in other fields. As his nisba already indicates, Arghu¯n was a mamlu¯k of Sultan al-Na¯sir Muhammad b. Qala¯wu¯n (r. 693/1293– ˙ ˙ 694/1294, 698/1298–708/1308, 709/1309–741/1341), who made him vice-regent of Egypt in 712/1315. Later on, Arghu¯n was sent to Syria as the sultan’s na¯ʾib in Aleppo, where he died in 731/1331. Al-Maqrı¯zı¯ lauds the piety and the just rule of

51 See on the connection between the two authors esp. Bauden, Maqriziana XI. 52 E. g., Haarmann, Altun Ha¯n 4–5. ˙ ˘ 147; Brandes, Sklavendespotie 201; Glubb, Soldiers of Fortune 315, 53 E. g., Berkey, Transmission 355; Irwin, Mamluk Literature 3. See also the findings on intellectual life at the late Mamluk court in Mauder, Salon; Mauder, Legitimating; Mauder, Read; Mauder, Persian; Mauder, Authority. 54 For an analysis of a separate data sample that allows conclusions about this topic, see Mauder, Development.

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this high-ranking military man, criticizing only his greed.55 About his academic activities, he writes: He was of Turkish stock, eloquent and of beautiful stature. He studied law according to the school of Abu¯ Hanı¯fa, and the experts of this discipline granted him the right to issue ˙ fatwa¯s. He was knowledgeable in jurisprudence and knew its details (daqa¯ʾiq), but his understanding of arithmetic was extremely limited. He heard the Sah¯ıh of al-Bukha¯rı¯ ˙ ˙ ˙ […] and copied it in a single volume with in his own good handwriting at night in the light of a candle. He acquired an extremely large amount of books. […] He was a student of Shaykh Sadr al-Dı¯n b. al-Wakı¯l, Shaykh Athı¯r al-Dı¯n Abu¯ Hayya¯n, ˙ ˙ and Shaykh Fath al-Dı¯n b. Sayyid al-Na¯s. […] ˙ Every Friday night, there was a time when the reciters of the Quran gathered around him to recite the entire Quran. He recited with them. Moreover, the leading legal experts came [to him] and the whole night was spent studying.56

Al-Safadı¯ notes about him: ˙

He was a Hanafı¯ legal scholar, highly learned and a muftı¯ of his school of law. He knew ˙ the details of his school of law and participated in scholarly discussions. He studied the peculiarities [of Hanafı¯ fiqh] and delivered lectures.57 ˙

The biographical entries of both authors emphasize that Arghu¯n al-Na¯sirı¯ ˙ reached the rank of a muftı¯ of his school of law. Georg Makdisi called this level of qualification “the chief goal of Islamic education”58 to which most students of the religious sciences aspired. Only a full-fledged legal scholar could achieve this rank, and it took students often dozens of years to reach it. Not even persons who taught Islamic law in madrasas were necessarily granted this rank. Before being allowed to issue fatwa¯s by a senior scholar, a law student had to demonstrate, among other things, that he knew the rulings of his school and how to derive them. Moreover, he was obliged to show that he was able to discuss legal matters with other scholars. Finally, he had to know the most important texts of his school by heart and prove that he understood them correctly.59 Being recognized as a mufti, Arghu¯n al-Na¯sirı¯ evidently belonged to a dis˙ tinguished group of legal scholars meeting high educational standards. The only way to acquire the necessary qualifications was through direct contact with eminent legal scholars of his age. In addition to al-Maqrı¯zı¯’s note that Arghu¯n regularly gathered legal scholars around him at night, the list of his teachers deserves particular attention in this regard. It is no exaggeration to say that 55 On him, see Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 95; Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, al-Durar al-ka¯mina ii, 374; Ibn Taghrı¯birdı¯, al-Manhal al-sa¯fı¯ ii, 306–308;˙ al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Muqaffa¯ ii, 19–23; al-Safadı¯, ˙ ¯ fı¯ bi-l-wafaya¯t viii, 358–360. ˙ Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr i, 452–456; al-Safadı¯, al-Wa ˙ 56 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯˙, Muqaffa¯ ii, 22–23. 57 Al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr i, 453. ˙ 58 Makdisi, The Rise of ˙Colleges 148. 59 Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges 128, 140, 147–152, 197–200.

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Arghu¯n’s instructors represented the crème de la crème of the local scholarly milieu. Sadr al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. al-Wakı¯l (d. 716/1317) held several posts as ˙ ˙ professor of fiqh and hadı¯th and was both respected and feared for his skills in ˙ academic discussions.60 Abu¯ Hayya¯n Athı¯r al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Yu¯suf al˙ ˙ Gharna¯t¯ı (d. 745/1344) is counted among the leading grammarians of the 8th/14th ˙ century and was also an eminent authority in law and prophetic traditions.61 Fath ˙ al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Muhammad b. Muhammad, better known as Ibn Sayyid al˙ ˙ ˙ Na¯s (d. 734/1334), hailed from al-Andalus and was said to have studied with more than 1,000 authorities. One finds the most important scholars of his age among his pupils.62 The examples of Arghu¯n al-Na¯sirı¯ and those of his fellow military ˙ men who reached the rank of muftı¯63 thus demonstrate with particular clarity that slave soldiers could become very well integrated into the scholarly world while at the same time holding important offices in the Mamluk government. Whereas Arghu¯n al-Na¯sirı¯ could be called a typical high-ranking member of ˙ the military with a special interest in various academic fields, the second case of a well-educated mamlu¯k of interest here is rather exceptional. Al-Safadı¯ writes ˙ about this slave soldier by the name of Taybars al-Hanafı¯ al-Jundı¯ (d. 749/1348– ˙ ˙ 1349): ¯ lim al-Faqı¯h al-Nahwı¯ ʿAla¯ al-Dı¯n alTaybars b. ʿAbd Alla¯h, al-Shaykh al-Ima¯m al-ʿA ˙ ˙ Hanafı¯, known as al-Jundı¯. ˙ It was reported that he came from his country to al-Bı¯ra. There, a certain amı¯r bought him. He taught him calligraphy and the noble Quran. Taybars advanced in rank with ˙ him. Thereupon, [the amı¯r] gave him a tax grant (iqta¯ʿ) and manumitted him. ˙ When his master died, [Taybars] came to Damascus, being slightly older than twenty ˙ years. There, he studied jurisprudence according to the school of Ima¯m Abu¯ Hanı¯fa – ˙ may God be satisfied with him. [Taybars] occupied himself with grammar, lexicog˙ raphy, metrics, adab, the study of the religious duties and the two usu¯ls64 until he ˙ surpassed his companions in them. […] He composed (sannafa) books about grammar and other things. He versified (nazza˙ ˙˙ ma) the Kita¯b al-Turfa on grammar in which he summarized Ibn Ma¯lik’s Alfiyya, Ibn al˙ 60 On him, see Ibn al-ʿIma¯d, Shadhara¯t vi, 40–42; Ibn Kathı¯r, al-Bida¯ya wa-l-niha¯ya xiv, 80–1; al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr v, 5–33; al-Safadı¯, al-Wa¯fı¯ bi-l-wafaya¯t iv, 264–284; Wüstenfeld, ˙ ˙ Academien 52–53. ˙ 61 On him, see Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, al-Durar al-ka¯mina v, 70–76; Ibn Sha¯kir al-Kutubı¯, Fawa¯t ˙ Homerin, Reflections on Arabic Poetry 80–5; al-Husayn, al-Adab 83–84; al-wafaya¯t iv, 71–79; ˙ Irwin, Mamluk Literature 3–4; Salla¯m, al-Adab i, 206–208. 62 On him, see Ibn Kathı¯r, al-Bida¯ya wa-l-niha¯ya xiv, 169; al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr v, 201–204; al˙ Safadı¯, al-Wa¯fı¯ bi-l-wafaya¯t i, 289–311; Salla¯m, al-Adab i, ˙147–148; Wüstenfeld, Academien ˙ 109. 63 On other mamlu¯ks qualified as muftis, see al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr ii, 467–470; al-Maqrı¯zı¯, ˙ ˙ Muqaffa¯ ii, 533; Berkey, Transmission 154. 64 I.e., usu¯l al-dı¯n (the fundamentals of religion) and usu¯l al-fiqh (the fundamentals of juris˙ ˙ prudence).

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Ha¯jib’s Muqaddima and added [further material] to them. It consisted of 900 verses. He ˙ read [this text] to a group [of scholars] […] and composed a commentary on it. Shaykh Shams al-Dı¯n Ibn ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯ praised both. He loved poetry since his youth, was good in memorization, of pleasant company […]. He read a lot and prayed a lot at night.65

This description of Taybars al-Jundı¯’s intellectual achievements seems well˙ suited to illustrate al-Maqrizı¯’s above-quoted comment about mamlu¯ks who, having failed to pursue a military career (or, possibly, having decided against one), specialized in a field of nonmilitary learning in which they achieved considerable fame. As an amı¯r’s mamlu¯k, Taybars al-Jundı¯ received a basic civilian ˙ education but seems to have focused primarily on his military duties, which resulted not only in his manumission, but were also a source of his livelihood in the form of a tax grant. The death of his patron, however, most likely represented a major setback for Taybars. Subsequently, at an already quite advanced age, he ˙ embarked on an academic career focusing, in addition to legal studies, on linguistics in the broadest sense of the world, as his epithets “al-Faqı¯h” and “alNahwı¯” indicate.66 As a linguist, Taybars achieved something that set him apart ˙ ˙ from most well-educated slave soldiers: He composed a scholarly work that was favorably received by his scholarly colleagues. In his entry on the Kita¯b al-Turfa, ˙ ˇ elebı¯ notes that it constituted not only a summary of older works – as Ka¯tib C was fairly common in Taybars’ time – but that it also contained new material in˙ troduced by the author.67 Taybars al-Jundı¯’s decision to base his text on Jama¯l al˙ Dı¯n Muhammad Ibn Ma¯lik’s (d. 672/1274) and ʿUthma¯n b. ʿUmar Ibn Ha¯jib’s (d. ˙ ˙ 646/1249) grammatical standard works, although not very creative, demonstrates his embeddedness within the scholarly culture of his time, given that both texts were widely studied in Syria during the 7th/13th and 8th/14th centuries.68 This fact might have facilitated the positive reception of Taybars’ work by local scholars ˙ including Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Ahmad b. ʿAbd al-Ha¯dı¯ (d. 744/1343), a ˙ ˙ respected Damascene grammarian.69 In many ways, Taybars’ biography from the point of his immersion into the ˙ Damascene scholarly scene onward is typical for a local respected scholar, who, however, never made it into the top-echelons of the academic world. As far as we know, Taybars never held a distinguished teaching position, and none of his ˙ works seems to have survived. What makes Taybars particularly noteworthy, ˙ 65 Al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr ii, 625. Al-Safadı¯ continues with specimens of Taybars’ poetry. On ˙ ¯ d, Shadhara¯t vi, ˙ al-ʿAsqala¯nı˙¯, al-Durar al-ka¯mina ii, 330; Ibn al-ʿIma him,˙ see also Ibn Hajar ˙ 161. 66 On these terms, see Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges 172–175, 214. ˇ elebı¯, Kashf al-zunu¯n ii, 1111. 67 Ka¯tib C 68 Cf. Berkey, Transmission 175; al-Husayn, al-Adab 83, 86–87; Salla¯m, al-Adab i, 205, 211–213. ˙ r i, 273–275; al-Safadı¯, al-Wa¯fı¯ bi-l-wafaya¯t ii, 161–162. 69 On him, see al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿas ˙ ˙ ˙

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however, is that he represents one of the few examples of a slave soldier who left his military context of origin completely to engage in a civilian profession we know about in detail. Based on the information we have about him, we may conclude that for Taybars, a profound engagement with the fields of learning he ˙ eventually dedicated himself to was not possible during, but only after his military career. He thus represents a very different type of a well-educated mamlu¯k than Arghu¯n al-Na¯sirı¯, who as amı¯r-cum-muftı¯ acted as a link between ˙ the military and the scholarly world without having to leave the former. Based on the available information, Arghu¯n al-Na¯sirı¯’s approach was clearly the more ˙ common one among well-lettered slave soldiers, as only very few mamlu¯ks seem to have traded their military career for a life as a scholar.70

Factors Hindering and Promoting Mamluk Scholarly Activities71 In our attempt to understand why mamlu¯ks such as Arghu¯n al-Na¯sirı¯ and Tay˙ ˙ bars al-Jundı¯ chose different strategies to follow their intellectual interests – and why the majority of their peers apparently never engaged in noteworthy scholarly activities – we encounter a fundamental limitation in the use of quantitative methods in the humanities: These methods are far better suited to describing phenomena than to explaining them. Thus, a purely quantitative approach may yield notable findings about the social characteristics of learned mamlu¯ks, but it can hardly be used to explain more deeply why some slave soldiers occupied themselves with academic subjects while others did not. Therefore, the following remarks about factors that hindered and promoted the scholarly activities of mamlu¯ks constitute a “spin-off” of the quantitative analysis, based primarily not on numbers and proportions, but on a close reading of a large number of biographies of mamlu¯ks. Institutional reasons figure prominently among the factors that hindered mamlu¯ks from pursuing an academic career. Mamlu¯ks were first and foremost soldiers. Especially in the earlier periods of the history of the Sultanate, wars and battles were a constant feature of a mamlu¯k’s life, as were military exercises and training.72 Given that these activities must have been very time-consuming, slave soldiers necessarily lacked the time available to their civilian contemporaries for intensive study and research – especially in the years of late youth and early 70 Note also the similar case of Talha Sanjar al-Sha¯fiʿı¯ (d. 725/1324–5); see al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr ˙ ˙ ˙ ii, 620–621; Mauder, Krieger˙ 123–127. 71 See also Mauder, Krieger 156–172. 72 On a mamlu¯k’s military training, see inter alia Ayalon, Exercises and Games; ʿAdwa¯n, alʿAsakariyya al-islamiyya 117–124; Rabie, Training; Shatzmiller, Crusades and Islamic Warfare 272–274, 284; Loiseau, Les Mamelouks 85–88.

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adulthood, when locals were passing through vital stages of their academic career. It is therefore not surprising that in the biographies of well-educated mamlu¯ks we often find information suggesting that the slave soldiers spent especially those hours learning, reading and writing which could not be used for military or governmental tasks. The above-mentioned Arghu¯n al-Na¯sirı¯, for ˙ example, studied Prophetic traditions “at night in the light of a candle.”73 Other mamlu¯ks used more extreme forms of spare time for their studies: Yalbugha¯ alSa¯limı¯ al-Faqı¯h (d. 811/1408–1409) learned the seven canonical ways of reciting the Quran in prison.74 Furthermore, Ulrich Haarmann’s work suggests that mamlu¯ks had at times limited opportunities to acquire religious knowledge, not for reasons of time, but because they were not allowed in the spaces where it was being taught: As Haarmann showed, the founders of madrasas and Sufi convents at times explicitly stipulated that mamlu¯ks should not be allowed to enter these buildings.75 However, it must be noted that it is currently not clear how widespread such prohibitions were and to what degree they were enforced. A second important factor limiting the participation of mamlu¯ks in the scholarly world of their time was the language barrier. An excellent knowledge of Arabic was a necessary precondition for studying subjects such as the Quran, prophetic traditions, jurisprudence, and of course Arabic literature and linguistics. Moreover, the ability to speak classical Arabic according to century-old grammatical rules was an important feature of a full-fledged scholar’s habitus. But as foreigners, mamlu¯ks learned Arabic only at a rather late point in their lives – if they learned it at all. In a few instances, we read in biographical entries on mamlu¯ks statements such as “he was incapable of clear speech, he did not know Arabic, and understood nothing of it.”76 While examples of mamlu¯ks who knew absolutely no Arabic were exceptions carefully noted by the biographers, the same applies to those rare cases in which a Mamluk grew fluent in classical Arabic. Most military slaves seem to have spoken at least some Arabic,77 but did not measure up to scholarly standards and were thus largely excluded form scholarly communication.78 73 Al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr i, 450. ˙ ˙ 74 Al-Maqrı ¯zı¯, Durar al-ʿUqu ¯ d i, 548. On studying in prison, see also Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 93; Irwin, Mamluk Literature 2; Tritton, Materials 58. 75 Haarmann, Mamluk Endowment Deeds 38; Haarmann, Ideology and History 183, Haarmann, Der arabische Osten 245. 76 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Muqaffa¯ ii, 294; see also al-Safadı¯, Aʿya¯n al-ʿasr ii, 618. 77 Cf. Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 92. David˙Ayalon (Mamlu¯k˙ 319) wrote: “The knowledge of Arabic of most of them [sc. the mamlu¯ks] seems to have been very superficial,” but also acknowledged that “a more systematic study of this question may change that impression to a certain extent.” 78 But see Berkey, Transmission 151–152, who considers the language barrier to be less important.

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A third and important reason that hindered mamlu¯ks from participating in the academic activities of their time was the scholars’ stance toward them. Sentences like “There is nothing more abhorrent to God Most High then a scholar visiting an amı¯r”79 expressed an apparently widely shared notion and fulfilled a central function in maintaining the social boundaries between the scholarly and the military elite. In the present context, the scholars’ disdain for members of the military can be interpreted as more than just another example of the century-old idea that the religious should keep aloof from the powerful. Following Ulrich Haarmann, we can understand this behavior as an expression of the autochthonous scholars’ struggle not to lose their main – and often last – instrument of power, that is, their monopoly on culture and scholarship, to the foreign lords who claimed sovereignty over all other social domains.80 For the scholars, keeping mamlu¯ks out of their world of learning was not only a question of prestige and academic etiquette, but also one of economic survival, as scholars wanted to maintain their access to – and share of control over – the academic, administrative, and juridical jobs on which most of them depended.81 The findings of the quantitative analysis presented above reveal that, despite all these difficulties, many mamlu¯ks did engage in academic activities. There are again at least three possible reasons that might explain this behavior. One of them is practical in nature and related to the way the Mamluk ruling elite administered their realm. Several of the Mamluk governmental offices staffed by members of the military required knowledge of academic disciplines such as Islamic law or Arabic philology.82 In addition to the office of the dawa¯da¯r already mentioned, various positions within the maza¯lim jurisdiction and beyond with their juridical ˙ tasks were held regularly by slave soldiers.83 Arguably, men with a certain level of learning fulfilled the duties associated with these positions better and more efficiently than their unlettered peers. Moreover, numerous mamlu¯ks seem to have pursued their scholarly activities purely out of piety. As noted, religious disciplines such as hadı¯th or Islamic law ˙ figured prominently among the subjects mamlu¯ks studied. Many biographies report these academic activities in the context of descriptions of their pious and religious inclinations. In a typical passage, al-Maqrı¯zı¯ writes about Yashbak al79 Al-ʿAlmawı¯, Muʿı¯d 32–33. On similar maxims, see Rosenthal, Knowledge Triumphant 330– 331; and for further examples see al-ʿAlmawı¯, Muʿı¯d 32–33. 80 Haarmann, Joseph und seine Söhne 69; Haarmann, Arabic in Speech 81–84; Haarmann, Rather the Injustice 67; Haarmann, Ideology and History 183; Haarmann, Mit dem Pfeil 228. See also Rabbat, Representing the Mamluks 68. 81 Cf. Bulliet, Patricians of Nishapur 47; Humphreys, Expressive Intent 118. 82 Cf. on the interests of mamlu¯ks in practically useful knowledge Keßler, Welt der Mamluken 126. 83 See, e. g., Rapoport, Justice 75, 81–82, 86, 90–92, 96, 101; Irwin, Privatization.

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Za¯hirı¯ (d. 831/1428): “He was pious and not known to engage in sinful deeds. He ˙ used to read the Quran and occupied himself with books on fiqh.”84 These and similar passages suggest that we can often understand the learned activities of mamlu¯ks as aspects of the still understudied religious life of members of the Mamluk military. The third reason concerns the need among members of the Mamluk elite to legitimize their rule. Manumitted slaves of non-Islamic stock as most of them were, they used multiple means to prove that they were worthy of rule. To this end, for example, they supported the scholarly community through endowments, emphasized their military successes against non-Muslims, styled themselves as protectors of Mecca and Medina, obtained investitures from ʿAbbasid caliphs, and tried to maintain law and order. Literature and architecture were favored means of communicating their claims to political legitimacy. Given the great respect for scholarship and learning in many Islamic societies, it stands to reason that especially high-ranking members of the Mamluk military sought to obtain prestige also by means of academic activities. The large book collections of many Mamluk officers85 and their habit of surrounding themselves with distinguished scholars point in this direction. Yet, becoming able to participate in learned discussions in person offered additional, and arguably greater, prestige than these activities and can thus be interpreted as another strategy of legitimation employed by members of the ruling circles of the Sultanate.

Summary and Conclusion86 The preceding pages and the monograph on which they are based are not intended to suggest that all mamlu¯ks were something like undercoverʿulama¯ʾ who hid their scholarly interests behind the façade of a military life. Such an assumption would be as unwarranted as the claim that dominated scholarship on the Mamluk Sultanate for many decades, namely, that Mamluk slave soldiers were in their entirety coarse and unlettered barbarians who through their rule contributed to an alleged cultural and intellectual decline of the Islamic world. As a quantitative analysis of several hundred biographies of mamlu¯ks has shown, many of them in fact possessed a notable degree of academic education. The authors of three major Mamluk biographical dictionaries credited about every eighth slave soldier they discussed with a level of learning they considered noteworthy. 84 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Durar al-ʿuqu¯d iii, 535. 85 See on these collections Franssen, Library; Behrens-Abouseif, Book 19; Tanindi, Emirs. 86 See also Mauder, Krieger 173–178.

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Moreover, a few key variables could be identified that appear especially often in well-educated mamlu¯ks, such as holding offices that brought with them administrative responsibilities or having been raised in their master’s household. At the same time, other characteristics such as the mamlu¯k’s eventual military rank seem to be unconnected to his level of learning. Moreover, the available data do not allow meaningful conclusions about the chronological development of learned interests within the Mamluk military. Furthermore, two examples of well-educated mamlu¯ks were addressed in some detail. While one of them combined his academic activities with a military career that brought him into the highest-ranking echelons of the Mamluk elite, the other abandoned his military identity after the death of his master and integrated himself into the local world of scholarship and learning. Finally, I suggested a number of reasons that motivated or hindered slave soldiers to occupy themselves with nonmilitary studies. While institutional realities, language differences, and attitudes widely shared among members of the learned establishment apparently had a negative effect on the opportunities of mamlu¯ks to follow their learned interests, these negative factors were partly offset by practical necessities, pious considerations, and the promise of gaining prestige through the acquisition of knowledge. Recent scholarship has produced insights that help us to contextualize the noteworthy involvement of slave soldiers in the learned activities of their time. As Konrad Hirschler showed, the Islamic middle period is characterized by a popularization of access to the written word.87 Nathan Hofer pointed to the popularization of Sufism in roughly the same period.88 Jonathan Berkey and Stefan Leder moreover shed light on the participation of nonscholarly circles in the study and transmission of prophetic traditions,89 while Thomas Bauer and others underscored that, in Mamluk times, the production of Arabic literary works was by no way exclusively an elite phenomenon.90 Taken together, these findings suggest that groups previously thought to have been largely excluded from the academic world in Mamluk times had sufficient opportunities to learn, study, and participate in scholarly activities. While the chronological development, shaping factors, and social ramifications of this process of a popularization of knowledge await further study,91 it appears justified considering the noteworthy 87 E. g., Hirschler, The Written Word 6 and passim. 88 Hofer, Popularisation, passim. 89 E. g., Leder, Postklassisch und vormodern 297–298; Berkey, Women and Islamic Education 151–155; Berkey, Transmission 155–160, 175–181, 210–216. 90 E. g., Bauer, Hunting Party 292; Bauer, Handwerker; Bauer, Anthologien 99–100; Bauer, Communication 23; Behrens-Abouseif, Craftsmen 375–376, 383–384. 91 See for the time being inter alia Hirschler, The Written Word 5, 17, 22–29, 197–198 and passim; Berkey, Popular Preaching 71–77; Berkey, Transmission 175–181, 186–187, 201–210;

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participation of mamlu¯ks in scholarship and learning that the present study documents as a part of this larger social transformation.

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Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice, passim; Sabra, From Artisan to Courtier 217; Shoshan, High Culture 89–91.

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Mustafa Banister

The Trouble with Caliphs: Some Remarks on Sultan Barqu¯q and the Late Fourteenth-Century Caliphal Office in Late Medieval Cairo

Introduction By the late fourteenth century in Cairo, the Abbasid caliph was largely a figure kept apart from all but the Citadel elite. For his part, the individual officeholder, by virtue of his official dignity, was deemed too holy to deal with the unpleasant business of restraining rebels, adjudicating in legal matters, or otherwise engaging in the affairs of running the government. The way in which the Muslim masses of Cairo perceived the seclusion of the caliph remains a mystery, though evidence suggests an adverse effect on public opinion. When ushers restrained a man seeking audience with the chief Sha¯fiʿı¯ qadi Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n ibn Daqı¯q al-ʿI¯d (d. 702/1302), the petitioner angrily demanded “Who is [the qadi] that I should be prevented from seeing him? Is he a caliph?!”1 This anecdote appears to suggest that the imprisonment of the caliph was a well-known (and perhaps even illregarded) social practice.2 In the context of late medieval Cairo, caliphs essentially served at the pleasure of the sultans. Many spent significant portions of their time in confinement or under guard, brought out by political elites to perform ceremonial duties or to accept public appeals to their authority in special circumstances. In the sultanate of Cairo, the caliphs were stripped of classical prerogatives which even the Buyids and Seljuks had not denied them, such as the rights of sikka and khutba.3 Faruk ˙ Sümer described the Abbasid caliphs of this period as fonctionnaires with little choice but to carry out orders at once, lest they risk losing the meager position and wealth that accompanied their station.4 As a public figure beholden to 1 Garcin, “Histoire, opposition, politique et piétisme traditionaliste,” 54. 2 Indeed, some contemporaries complained about the inaccessibility of caliphs and kings, see Al-Azmeh, Muslim Kingship, 187. 3 Becker, “Barthold’s Studien,” 372–3. Although some sultans took punitive measures against the caliphs, they, unlike the Buyids and Seljuks, never blinded or killed an Abbasid caliph under their protection. See Khu¯ lı¯, ‘Ulama¯’, 70; Ma¯jid, Nuzum, 1:40; Tyan, Institutions, 2:256–7. ˙ 4 Sümer, “Yavuz Selim,” 346.

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courtly patrons, many elites appeared to believe the caliph’s time was better spent in solitary study or supplication for God’s help in advancing the aims of the sultanate and thus no one ought to be surprised when he was inevitably returned to his (figurative and literal) tower. The reign of the sultan al-Za¯hir Barqu¯q (1382–89, 1390–99) has provided ˙ fertile ground for recent studies of late medieval Middle Eastern economy, military, and politics. In addition to being identified in modern scholarship as a possible “turning point” for the medieval sultanate in Cairo, the era was also an important one for studies of religion, particularly for notions of the caliphate. Through an examination of European travel literature complemented by some observations from studies of the late fourteenth-century Sı¯rat Baybars and other works of Arabic historiographical literature5, this paper will discuss aspects of the nature of the contemporary caliphal office during the late fourteenth/early fifteenth centuries. In their views of the politics of Barqu¯q’s sultanate, it was inevitable that European travelers would take a particular view of the contemporary caliphate influenced by their observations, predispositions, and sources of second hand information.

The Reign(s) of Barqu¯q (784–791, 792–801/1382–1389, 1390–1399) Barqu¯q’s attempts at consolidating power at the start of his first reign as sultan had been made difficult by his often complicated relationship with the reigning Abbasid caliph, al-Mutawakkil ʿala¯ ʾlla¯h Muhammad (r. 763–85/1362–83 and ˙ 791–808/1389–1406)6, the great-grandson of al-Ha¯kim bi-Amr Alla¯h (r. 660–701/ ˙ 1262–1302), the second Abbasid survivor installed by the sultan Baybars (r. 658– 676/1260–1277) as caliph in Cairo. Al-Mutawakkil had been invested as caliph twenty years before the reign of Barqu¯q in 763/1361 during the reign of the sultan al-Mansu¯r Muhammad at a time when the Qalawunid amir Yalbugha¯ al-Kha¯ssakı¯ ˙ ˙ ˙˙ was the true wielder of power behind the throne.7 In those twenty years, although al-Mutawakkil occasionally clashed with leading amirs, he was nevertheless held aloft as an entrenched symbol of theocratic authority and legitimacy along with 5 I have attempted a more thorough examination of the Abbasid Caliphate of Cairo in late medieval Arabic historiography in Chapter 7 of my forthcoming book, The Abbasid Caliphate of Cairo, 1261–1517: Out of the Shadows (Edinburgh University Press). 6 For modern summaries of the career of al-Mutawakkil I of Cairo, see Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate, 89–93; Garcin, “Histoire, opposition, politique et piétisme traditionaliste,” 58– 61; Tarkha¯n, Misr, 56–63. ˙ 7 See ˙Van Steenbergen, “The Amir Yalbugha¯ al-Kha¯ssakı¯,” 423–44; Van Steenbergen, “On the ˙˙ Brink of a New Era?”. At roughly the same time in 764/1363–4, Barqu¯q was a new recruit in the household of Yalbugha¯. See Holt, Age of the Crusades, 127.

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his forefathers.8 During that time the caliph cultivated important relationships with amirs and served as a prominent courtier with access to many key players dominating politics in the 1360s and 1370s. Upon significantly expanding his household, network, and client base, the ambitious Circassian amir Barqu¯q next became a reckonable force on the political scene from 779/1377. After his seizure of the sultanate in 784/1382 Barqu¯q was tasked with establishing his political order and consolidating authority amidst the opposition of other power groups.9 In the first two decades of his reign (763–85/1362–83), later historians of the fifteenth century such as al-Maqrı¯zı¯ and Ibn Taghrı¯birdı¯ consistently present the caliph al-Mutawakkil as a stalwart for the rights of Qalawunid princes against presumptuous amirs. For the “Commander of the Faithful” to bristle against the pretensions of Barqu¯q and possibly even resist or join his enemies may have been a natural reflex. As a result of al-Mutawakkil’s past caliphal experience and existing relational ties with rival amirs, Barqu¯q found great difficulty in acquiring a suitable relationship with the respected caliph at the start of his own reign. Nevertheless, the sultan did all he could to carefully recreate the caliphal bayʿa on more than one occasion while making full use of all the Abbasid symbolism traditionally attached to Cairene investiture ceremonial. Information on the caliph’s career during the reign of Barqu¯q is sparse save for his possible involvement in a failed coup attempt in Rajab 785/August-September 1383. Barqu¯q’s trouble with the caliphate was by no means limited to issues with alMutawakkil. The Za¯hirı¯ fitna, detailed by Lutz Wiederhold, occurred during the ˙ caliph’s period of incarceration and centered around issues concerning the caliphate and non-canonical taxes and involved disgruntled Syro-Egyptian religious scholars. The Za¯hirı¯ movement was a rebellion of religious elites who ˙ opposed the existing caliphate system and who sought to depose Barqu¯q, abolish non-canonical taxes and restore political power to a new Qurayshı¯ caliph.10 The Egyptian scholar Ahmad ibn Muhammad ibn Isma¯ʿı¯l ibn Ibra¯hı¯m ibn ʿAbd al˙ ˙ Rah¯ım, known as Abu¯ Hisha¯m or Ibn al-Burha¯n, was one of the ringleaders ˙ arrested and brought before Barqu¯q in late Dhu¯ al-Hijja 788/January 1387. As the ˙ sultan tried to extract the names of the amirs which were colluding with the conspirators, the pair shared the following exchange which betrayed uniquely candid feelings about the contemporary Abbasids of Cairo and perhaps the sultan’s own understanding of himself as an acting caliph:

8 Onimus, Les maîtres du jeu, 128–9; Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate, 88–97. 9 For recent insights into how this complex process was carried out, see Onimus, Les maîtres du jeu, 125–217. 10 Wiederhold, “Legal-Religious Elite,” 212–6; Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate, 91.

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The first to begin speaking was Barqu¯q, who said “Ahmad, what displeases you about ˙ my reign?” To which he replied, “All of it is abominable (munkar).” Barqu¯q asked, “what specifically [about it]?” Ahmad replied: “Firstly, your very occupation of the sultanate is ˙ reprehensible, for it is impermissible that you be ima¯m of the Muslims, as ima¯ms must be from the [line of] Quraysh according to a stipulation (nass) made by the Prophet.” ˙˙ The sultan said: “I am aware of that, but where is someone who is more appropriate for the caliphate? Surely you know that when the caliphs frittered away their time in the bathhouses, and shirked the governing duties of their realm (tadbı¯r al-mamlaka) they lost the caliphate. So if you know someone fitting for the caliphate then I will surrender power to him.” Ahmad responded “There are individuals and groups from the Quraysh ˙ but they have all forsaken their authority.” The sultan asked: “So where is someone appropriate who I can stand beside?” Ahmad: “There are many such people.” Barqu¯q: ˙ “Where are they?!” Ahmad: “Remove yourself from the matter and let the Muslims ˙ 11 decide.”

A final revolt which ended the first sultanate of Barqu¯q, perpetrated in 791/1389 by the amirs of Syria led by Yalbugha¯ al-Na¯sirı¯, his ally Minta¯sh and their sup˙ porters, was at least – prima facie – instigated over discontent caused by the sultan’s six-year imprisonment of the caliph al-Mutawakkil for allegedly participating in the failed coup of 785/1383. Ultimately Barqu¯q, after escaping his own imprisonment in al-Karak, rallied forces and retook Cairo, consolidating his authority for a second time with the help of al-Mutawakkil.12 Despite the ups and downs of al-Mutawakkil’s political career, his persistence as a viable symbol maintained currency among the factions hostile to Barqu¯q. As Émile Tyan points out, among the various struggles, each rival group sought to have a hand on the caliph as a most basic demonstration of victory.13 Al-Mutawakkil, as the work of Mona Hassan suggests, was also able to unify disparate factions under a universal Islamic symbol capable of transcending factional loyalties.14 Although the narrative events of Barqu¯q’s caliphal issues have been wellcovered in late fourteenth and fifteenth-century Arabic historiographical texts, less attention has been paid to the remarks made by European travelers to the region.

11 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Durar al-‘uqu¯d, 1:298–9. 12 Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate, 90–1; Banister, Abbasid Caliphate of Cairo. For a discussion of how Barqu¯q may have sought to overwrite the legitimating importance of the caliph and thereby find a suitable (or even acceptable) solution to his caliphate problem in the second half of his reign, see Onimus, Les maîtres du jeu, 134–8; Broadbridge, Kingship and Ideology, 174–89. 13 Tyan, Institutions du droit public musulman, 2:243. 14 Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate, 71–97.

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European Merchants and Travelers While most visiting medieval sketch-artists and European painters apparently failed to include or capture the Abbasid caliphs of Cairo in their scene depictions of elite Cairene courtly life15, a number of merchants and pilgrims who arrived during the late fourteenth/early fifteenth centuries called attention to the importance of the caliph at court in their observations of Egyptian society. As Ulrich Haarmann pointed out, such writings offer a good deal of insight into the socio-political perceptions (from both inside and outside) as well as the workings of the late medieval administration of the sultanate.16 Contemporary European sources paint a strained (and occasionally violent) picture of sultan-caliph relations during Barqu¯q’s first reign. The Florentine pilgrims who visited Syro-Egyptian territory in the 1380s, the Cretian entrepreneur Emmanuel Piloti, and the resident Italian merchant Bertrando de Mignanelli all candidly discussed al-Mutawakkil’s apparent resistance and reluctance to support Barqu¯q as well as pushback against the sultan by unhappy amirs.17

The Florentine Pilgrims of 1384 Two years into the reign of Barqu¯q, a group of thirteen Tuscan pilgrims set out for the holy sites of the Levant and began their journey into Syro-Egyptian territory. Three members of the party, the Florentines Leonardo di Frescobaldi, Giorgio Gucci, and Simone Sigoli wrote independent accounts of their journey to Jerusalem and resultanat travels in the cities of late medieval Bila¯d al-Sha¯m and Egypt. Both Frescobaldi and Sigoli discuss the likely “Greek” Christian origins of Barqu¯q whom they viewed as an apostate who ascended the ranks of the “admirals” (amirs) to become the sultan.18 According to Frescobaldi, it was only after Barqu¯q reached the ascendancy and reorganized the environs of Egypt that he “called the Caliph, the Pope as you would say, and wished to be confirmed: the Caliph said he could not since their law had it that he who is Sultan should be a Saracen and the son of a Saracen and that his father was a Christian. At once he 15 Mayer, “Some Remarks,” 36, Mayer, Mamluk Costume, 12. Mayer concludes that the caliphs were simply too highly placed by the sultans of Cairo and were probably not accessible or visible to any visiting artists. 16 Haarmann, “Mamluk System of Rule”. 17 Onimus, Les maîtres du jeu, 30–1, 128. 18 Frescobaldi, “Pilgrimage,” 45; Sigoli, “Pilgrimage,” 174–5. See also: Haarmann, “Mamluk System of Rule,” 110.

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had [the caliph] taken and put in prison, and he appointed another [caliph], and by that he was confirmed.”19 Likewise in Sigoli’s account, the author speaks briefly on his understanding of Barqu¯q’s caliphal legitimization by al-Mutawakkil: Now, before one is confirmed Sultan, he should have the approval of their Caliph, that is, their pope after our fashion. Now the Caliph would never agree to give the approval, because the seigniory should not fall to him. So he who is now Sultan quickly had the Caliph arrested and cast into prison, and then chose one at will. Having done this, he called his council, and finally in one night he began to send for many citizens, who were great and powerful, and were capable of being able to do harm to his seigniory.20

Although some tensions are implied, few Arabic sources of the time mention the rumors that al-Mutawakkil had been initially reluctant to invest Barqu¯q, though most mention the caliph’s imprisonment after the alleged coup attempt of 785/ 1383.21 Several European visitors on the other hand covered both items as a single event, perhaps after conflating contemporary gossip that had been in circulation about Barqu¯q. Visitors heard stories that the caliph rejected Barqu¯q on alternating grounds that his ancestors had not been Muslim, that he was not a member of the previous ruling house, that he had not been sold twice as a slave, or that the caliph merely had misgivings concerning Barqu¯q’s character and true ambitions. European travelers recognized the importance of the caliphate in making the rule of the sultan acceptable to both the ruling elites and their population. They asserted that no one could seize power without the blessing of the caliph, which may have resembled the way western rulers needed approval from the pope. Understanding the Abbasid caliph as the “pope of the pagans”, although problematic, was nevertheless a common trope in pre-modern Christian literature down to the early twentieth century.22 Indeed, the travelers were interested in approaching a late medieval Muslim society by seeking correlations between what they encountered in Egypt with what they knew at home. Thus amirs became admirals (the term itself most likely a corruption of amı¯r al-bahr), qadis ˙ became bishops,23 and the twelve districts of Cairo became wards or quarters akin to those of Florence.24 19 Frescobaldi, “Pilgrimage,” 45–6. 20 Sigoli, “Pilgrimage,” 171. See also: Haarmann, “Mamluk System of Rule,” 23–4. 21 See for examples: Al-Qalqashandı¯, Subh, 3:262; al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Durar al-‘uqu¯d, 2:211, 3:293; Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhba, Taʾrı¯kh, 1:110; Ibn H˙ajar,˙ Inba¯ʾ, 1:275, 2:344; Ibn Taghrı¯birdı¯, Nuju¯m, 11:235. ˙ Barcoch,” 159. Even the great Florentine political phi˙ 22 Bertrando de Mignanelli, “Ascensus losopher Niccolò Machiavelli (1469–1527), a contemporary of the later Circassian sultans of Cairo, was apparently interested in Egyptian affairs and saw similarities between the election of the sultan and that of the pope. See: Van Steenbergen, “Appearances,” 51–2. For a wellknown comparison of the pope and caliph, see: Arnold, Caliphate, 9–18. 23 Frescobaldi, Pilgrimage, 46; Silogi, Pilgrimage, 171. 24 Frescobaldi, Pilgrimage, 45.

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Unless they were direct participants at the court of the sultan or other elite circles, much of the information was reported secondarily to the European pilgrims and merchant travelers. Although their accounts did not describe the reality of the caliphs’ situation, we may suggest that the importance of the caliphate was nevertheless expressed to them in terms which encouraged a comparison of the caliph to the pope as “chief of religion”. It is thus that such descriptions from European travelers function as windows into the contemporary view of the caliphate. Modern scholars have been astute in pointing out the most obvious proposition that these travelers fundamentally misread the reality of a largely powerless caliph at the mercy of the sultan,25 but we can also observe that the Abbasid Caliphate had a significance and prestige that even foreign visitors to the sultanate based in Cairo could appreciate.

Bertrando de Mignanelli (d. 1455) The Italian traveler and merchant Bertrando de Mignanelli wrote a Latin biography of Barqu¯q titled Ascensus Barcoch in 1416. After leaving Italy, he ultimately enjoyed a prosperous life as a trader in Damascus for many years, growing fluent in Arabic and later working as a translator between the sultan of Cairo and the ambassador of Milan. During a brief sojourn in Konstanz in 1416, friends urged De Mignanelli to recount his observations in two treatises, Ascensus Barcoch on the life of the sultan and Vita Tamerlani or Ruina Damasci on Temür’s sack of Damascus that the author, who while wintering in Jerusalem in 1400, had escaped by chance.26 Little information about De Mignanelli survived beyond his own writing, and he provides a true outsider’s perspective to events at the court of Barqu¯q. Many of the proceedings covered in his biography of Barqu¯q occurred before his arrival in the lands of the sultanate and it is difficult to determine his sources.27 Like the Syrian chronicler Muhammad ibn Sasra (d. ca 1399?) and the Flor˙ ˙ ˙ entine pilgrims, De Mignanelli provides an image of difficult relations between Barqu¯q and the caliph al-Mutawakkil from the time of the sultan’s investiture until his return to power after his ouster in 791–2/1389. Thus, the caliph appears as a staunch opponent of Barqu¯q, who raises numerous objections to his rule.28 Also like the pilgrims, De Mignanelli’s account melds the sultan’s investiture with 25 Haarmann, “Mamluk System of Rule,” 24. 26 Bertrando de Mignanelli, “Ascensus Barcoch,” 4–5. See also: Walter Fischel, “A New Latin Source on Tamerlane’s Conquest of Damascus (1400/1401)(B. de Mignanelli’s ‘Vita Tamerlani’ (1416),” Oriens 9 (1956): 201–32; Haarmann, “Mamluk System of Rule,” 9, 23. 27 Bertrando de Mignanelli, “Ascensus Barcoch,” 6. 28 Ibid.

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the alleged 785/1383 plot to remove the sultan that saw al-Mutawakkil charged as a chief conspirator then quickly replaced by an ambitious relative.29 De Mignanelli believed Barqu¯q to be largely unpopular for his failure to secure the support of “the true ranking caliph because he was a higher priest.” For the author, Barqu¯q’s illegitimacy in the eyes of the caliph created tensions in power that emboldened rivals such as Yalbugha¯ al-Na¯sirı¯ and Minta¯sh.30 ˙ ˙ After Barqu¯q had scattered Minta¯sh’s forces following the Battle of Shaqhab in ˙ ˙ early 792/1390, he captured al-Mutawakkil on the battlefield, and according to most late medieval Arabic sources, promptly renewed the caliphal bayʿa, after which he returned to Cairo and lived harmoniously and in good faith with the caliph until his death.31 Nevertheless, De Mignanelli’s account provides a vivid image of hostility between Barqu¯q and al-Mutawakkil, far more sensational than anything found in the Arabic historical writing of many Syro-Egyptian historians of the fifteenth century: Whomever [Barqu¯q] found in his way he put to the sword, and he hurried on to the big tent. He wounded the Caliph in the head […] The Caliph, after he was wounded, called out loudly, “Now, indeed, Barqu¯q, you are worthy to rule, because you are victorious over [the interim Qalawunid sultan Ha¯jjı¯] in battle.” Such things and more he said, not ˙ because of Barqu¯q as much as because of the wound in his head, which was red with blood and wrapped in cloth, like the head of a goldfinch. The Caliph and the Sultan [Ha¯jjı¯] with their leading men were taken prisoners. Barqu¯q’s flag was raised aloft and ˙ fluttered above the great tent.32

In regard to Barqu¯q’s second affirmation as sultan, De Mignanelli observed that the sultan “was confirmed by the caliph who is their pope, but is not held in such great reverence as we hold our pope.”33 On their way back to Cairo, important notables came to meet Barqu¯q amid great pomp; the mood infectious, the traveler remarks that even the caliph who had so bitterly opposed Barqu¯q, ultimately

29 Ibid., 18. According to most fifteenth-century Arabic sources, it was at that point (rather than the investiture) that Barqu¯q raised a sword and threatened to behead the caliph. De Mignanelli claims that the caliph’s grandson ruled for seven years as al-Wa¯thiq. Al-Wa¯thiq’s relationship to al-Mutawakkil is confused at best among the sources: Ibn Khaldu¯n named him generally as a relative, while Ibn Taghrı¯birdı¯ called him a nephew. 30 Ibid., 19, 23–4. See also Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate, 91–2. 31 Ibn Hajar, Inba¯’ al-ghumr, 2:345; Ibn Hajar, Dhayl al-Durar al-ka¯mina, 119. See also Beau˙ “Political Violence,” 218. ˙ mont, 32 Bertrando de Mignanelli, “Ascensus Barcoch,” 25. Although most contemporary Arabic sources recognize that Barqu¯q had wanted to beat or behead al-Mutawakkil in 785/1383, some later fifteenth-century authors allege that in 791–2/1389, the sultan was kind to the caliph and Hajjı¯ after re-capturing them. See: Ibn Hajar, Inba¯’ al-ghumr, 2:345; Ibn Hajar, Dhayl al-Durar ˙ ¯ mina, 119; Ibn Sasra¯/Brinner, al-Durra ˙ ˙ al-ka al-mud¯ı’a, 1:75–6 (English), 2:50–1 (Arabic). ˙ ˙ ˙ 33 Bertrando de Mignanelli, “Ascensus Barcoch,” 26.

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joined the people in exclaiming “long live Barqu¯q!” in an atmosphere of amnesty and jubilation.34 On the other hand, in Syria, Ibn Sasra¯ confirms the anticipation ˙ ˙ for order and political unity attached to the caliphate and sultanate in his coverage of the aftermath of the same battle, recording that while many Syrians awaited news of the outcome, “the people of Damascus became disheartened, because neither the sultan nor the caliph came to them.”35

Emmanuel Piloti (ca. 1371–1438?) Hailing from the island of Crete during its time as a Venetian possession, the merchant and commercial entrepreneur Emmanuelle Piloti (b. 1371) spent several non-consecutive decades in Syro-Egyptian territory from roughly 1396 to 1438, alternately at the end of the second reign of Barqu¯q (1390–99), the reign of his son al-Na¯sir Faraj (1399–1412), and later during the rule of sultan al-Ashraf ˙ Barsba¯y (1422–38).36 Piloti describes the caliph and sultan dually as “masters of the Egyptian people,”37 the latter, a group from among whom, “was always and is now their caliph, chief of the pagan faith, as the pope of Rome is the chief of the Christian faith.”38 He identifies the military role of the caliph which is to ride by the side of the sultan so that in the case that the sultan should die, the caliph stands in his place until [the political elites] have made another [sultan]. The sultan cannot act if the aforementioned caliph does not present him with a robe at the proper hour so that the people will believe for certain that he is the true and appeasing sultan.39 Piloti’s tenure in Egypt was contemporary to the 815/1412 deposition of Barqu¯q’s son Faraj and the brief sultanate of al-Mutawakkil’s son, the caliph alMustaʿı¯n bi-lla¯h (808–16/1406–14),40 the author’s coverage of which Haarmann underscored as an important contribution to our understanding of the institutional history of the sultanate in the early fifteenth century.41 Nevertheless, the actual weakness of the caliph-sultan seems to have escaped Piloti, and he presents al-Mustaʿı¯n instead as a powerful holy man whose counsel was sought by political

34 Ibid. 35 Ibn Sasra¯, Durra, 1:76 (English), 2:50 (Arabic). ˙ ˙L’Égypte, xi–xii. See also: Haarmann, “Mamluk System of Rule,” 10; Housley, “Em36 Piloti, manuelle Piloti and Crusading in the Latin East,” 139–43. 37 Piloti, L’Égypte, 11. 38 Piloti, L’Égypte, 11–2. 39 Piloti, L’Égypte, 12. 40 Piloti, L’Égypte, 12–4. 41 Haarmann, “Mamluk System of Rule,” 23–4.

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and religious elites wishing to derive justice in the sentencing of Faraj, before he himself briefly became sultan.42

Late Fourteenth-/Early Fifteenth-Century Discourse on the Caliphate At the heart of the caliphal discourse during the period, as ever, was the issue of the caliph’s authority. In his Encyclopaedia of Islam 2 article on “Khalı¯fa” Dominque Sourdel rightly noted that the two questions forever circling the caliph’s power – in all periods of Islamicate history – had remained constant since the death of the Prophet; 1) “Who should be caliph?” and 2) “What powers should such an individual have?” Similarly, the late fourteenth century proved to be a time when various interest groups in late medieval Cairene society, anxious for political capital amidst great uncertainty, began experimenting (sometimes desperately) with the power and reputation of the sitting Abbasid caliph. Al-Mutawakkil, based on the sources, seems to have interpreted himself as an independent agent advocating for the Qalawunid traditions of the past associated with the old pre-Barquqid power elite. Overall, Arabic and European sources paint a grim picture of relations between the caliphate and sultanate at the end of the fourteenth century. There had been no true sultan of Cairo in the style of Baybars, Qala¯wu¯n, or al-Na¯sir Mu˙ hammad for several decades, and most amirs, unable to dominate their rivals, ˙ often ruled behind the scenes as amı¯r kabı¯r.43 As Anne Broadbridge points out, these earlier troubles which plagued relations between the caliph and sultan may provide some explanation as to why Barqu¯q chose not to name the caliph on the coins and diplomatic correspondence of this period.44 However, the Abbasid Caliphate does not always appear to have been wellremembered at the local level, at least among popular storytellers. The so-called Sı¯rat Baybars literature, the folkloric epic read and performed in the urban Cairene coffeehouses of the late fourteenth and early fifteenth century and beyond, celebrated the life achievements of the sultan Baybars and provides yet

42 Piloti, L’Égypte, 13. See also: al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Sulu¯k, 4:1:223–25; Ibn Taghrı¯birdı¯, Nuju¯m, 13:198. For further comment on Piloti’s understanding of the caliph’s public position, see Banister, “Naught Remains,” 237–9. 43 On Barqu¯q’s reclamation of the traditional sultanate vis-à-vis the caliph and other means, see Onimus, Les maîtres du jeu, 143–57. As Jo Van Steenbergen has argued, however, many of the later Qalawunid sultans successfully involved themselves in the politics of the sultanate and wielded real influence to greater or lesser degrees, see: “Is Anyone My Guardian?” 56, 59. 44 Broadbridge, Kingship and Ideology, 171.

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another image of the caliphate.45 Despite the pomp and celebration of the historical Baybars’s late thirteenth-century investiture of the caliph al-Mustansir ˙ (r. 1261), the caliphate is completely absent in the popular life story of the sultan, who in some versions, is referred to himself as “Commander of the Faithful”.46 According to analysis by Thomas Herzog, some Egyptian manuscripts of the Sı¯rat Baybars dating to the late fourteenth century mention only the last Baghdad caliph al-Mustaʿsim (640–56/1242–58), who, through his own perceived frivolity ˙ and inability to apply justice, was understood to be complicit in his fall from power and saddled with the blunder of allowing Baghdad to fall to the Mongols in 656/1258.47 Rather than the legitimacy of caliphal investiture, the various authors and narrators of the Sı¯rat Baybars invented a daughter named “Shajar al-Durr”, who in many early versions of the epic, is not the historical concubine-turned-queen of Egypt, but instead re-imagined and re-cast as an Abbasid princess wed to the Ayyubid sultan al-Sa¯lih Ayyu¯b. After al-Sa¯lih Ayyu¯b’s acquisition of the young ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ slave Baybars, the future sultan becomes their “son” and thus in the Sı¯ra construction, through Shajar al-Durr, Abbasid legitimacy passes to Baybars and the caliphate is thus quietly absorbed into the sultanate.48 Herzog suggests that the extant sı¯ra literature reflects the historical reality of the later fourteenth-century Cairene Abbasid caliph al-Mutawakkil, who, following the tradition set into motion by Baybars, was kept out of view just as he was kept out of the popular narrative.49 Jean-Claude Garcin also proposes that because some manuscripts of the Sı¯rat Baybars were produced in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth century, the lack of mention of caliphal ceremonies and the negative depiction of the last caliph of Baghdad may have been tied to a contemporary current of anti-Abbasid propaganda related to Barqu¯q’s suppression of and ongoing political struggles with al-Mutawakkil in the late 1380s. The brief “sultanate” of that caliph’s son al-Mustaʿı¯n in the early fifteenth century had also been used to bandage a difficult transition following the complete breakdown of order between the reigns of al-Na¯sir Faraj and al-Muʾayyad Shaykh ˙

45 Very little is known about the origins and development of this literature. See Lyons, Arabian Epic, 1:13–5; Herzog, “First Layer of the Sı¯rat Baybars,” 137–8; Herzog, Geschichte und Imaginaire, 12–6. 46 Garcin, “Récit d’une recherche sur les débuts du Roman de Baybars,” 252. See also: Herzog, Geschichte und Imaginaire, 331–3, 343; Herzog, “Legitimität durch Erzählung,” 260. 47 Herzog, Geschichte und Imaginaire, 333–9; Herzog, “Legitimität durch Erzählung,” 263–6. On al-Mustaʿsim and the fall of Baghdad, see Heidemann, Das Aleppiner Kalifat, 27–71; Hassan, ˙ the Lost Caliphate, 33–7. Longing for 48 Herzog, Geschichte und Imaginaire, 331–2; Behrens-Abouseif, “Mahmal Legend,” 91–2. ˙ 49 Herzog, Geschichte und Imaginaire, 331.

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for six months.50 Is it possible that redactors of the Sı¯rat Baybars absorbed an anti-caliphal tone which may have been disseminated by political and military elites? This is one hypothesis certainly, though even if slightly denigrated in the sı¯ra literature, Abbasid legitimacy was of great use to Barqu¯q on his return to power in 792/1390 and the deposition of al-Mustaʿı¯n from the sultanate in 815/ 1412 was not without palpable upset on the popular level.51 In a number of ways, Barqu¯q had been particularly interested in linking his political order to the “glory days” represented by the earlier sultanate of al-Za¯hir ˙ Baybars 120 years earlier.52 That Baybars, in many ways understood himself as an “ima¯m” acting vis-à-vis Abbasid delegation, is apparent from the language of his investiture deed53 and sequestration of the caliphs in his service. Wilferd Madelung, in his study of the “Treatise on the Imamate Dedicated to Sultan Baybars I”, discusses an anonymous manuscript attributed to the early reign of Baybars and argues that an ima¯m need not be of Qurayshı¯ lineage; a classical stipulation for Islamic leadership.54 While many jurists of the period maintained that the “ima¯m” be a Qurayshı¯ family member (or at least have ceremonial access to one)55, it was the notable qadi, historian, and sociologist ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n Ibn ˙ Khaldu¯n who, perhaps writing in support of Barqu¯q, famously argued that descent from the Quraysh was no longer necessary, a position very much appreciated by later rulers lacking claims to the lineage such as the Ottomans. As an epilogue, we may turn to a vignette from the period of rule by Barqu¯q’s son, the ill-fated sultan Faraj, who in Rajab 803/February 1401 famously dispatched Ibn Khaldu¯n to meet with Temür (Tamerlane) after the sack of Damascus. An unnamed Abbasid relative of al-Mutawakkil, perhaps through clandestine means, was able to accompany the delegation and, once in the presence of Temür, petitioned the warlord-conqueror in hopes of unseating al-Mutawakkil in Cairo.56 The Abbasid prince boasted of having a worthier genealogy than that of the incumbent caliph and cited a tradition that the caliphate had “belonged to the Abbasids as long as the world endured.”57 Turning to Ibn Khaldu¯n for his input, Temür asked about the historic caliphate and the Abbasid family’s claims to it. In 50 Garcin, “Récit d’une recherche,” 256. See also Herzog, Geschichte und Imaginaire, 353–4, 406, 411. 51 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Sulu¯k, 4:1:273–4; Ibn Hajar, Inba¯’ al-ghumr, 3:92–3; Ibn Taghrı¯birdı¯, Manhal, 7:63. See also Hassan, Longing for ˙the Lost Caliphate, 93–5; Banister, Abbasid Caliphate of Cairo. 52 Onimus, Les maîtres du jeu, 143–6. 53 Cf. Ibn ‘Abd al-Za¯hir, Rawd al-za¯hir, 103–9. ˙ ˙ 54 Madelung, ‘Treatise on the˙Imamate’, 101–2. 55 Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate, 110. 56 On this meeting and its significance for the Abbasid Caliphate of Cairo, see Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate, 124–6; Fischel, Ibn Khaldu¯n in Egypt, 57–8. 57 Ibn Khaldu¯n, Taʿrı¯f bi-Ibn Khaldu¯n, 374–5.

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a calculatingly guarded response, Ibn Khaldu¯n simultaneously defended notions of the “Dawlat al-Atra¯k” – the political order established by the consecutive sultans of Cairo – against two potential challengers: a rival Abbasid claimant and Temür himself.58 In his own recollection of the incident, Ibn Khaldu¯n explained that leadership had been in dispute among Muslims since the death of the Prophet Muhammad, and after a brief summation of Sunni, Shiite, and Kharijite ˙ positions, discusses the formulation and spread of official Abbasid propaganda (daʿwa). He recounts the early history of the very first Abbasid caliph ʿAbdalla¯h al-Saffa¯h (132–6/749–54) whose legitimacy rested on his ability to command ˙ powerful group feeling (ʿasabiyya). After his election, the Abbasids and their ˙ supporters demanded obedience from all other groups.59 Rule remained in the Abbasid family “either by designation or choice by the people of the age” until the last caliph of Baghdad. Ibn Khaldu¯n ended his remarks with an endorsement of the legacy of the Cairo caliphate and the status quo: When Hülegü took possession of Baghdad and put [al-Mustaʿsim] to death, his kins˙ men dispersed. Some took up residence in Egypt, including Ahmad al-Ha¯kim, from the ˙ ˙ progeny of al-Ra¯shid, who was appointed to office in Cairo by al-Za¯hir Baybars with the ˙ concurrence of the military electorate (ahl al-hall wa-l-ʿaqd min al-jund) and the jurists. ˙ Authority (amr) has been transmitted in his house down to the present one who is in 60 Cairo, no deviation from this is known.

Appreciative of the reply, Temür promptly ejected the Abbasid prince from his scholarly soiree.61 Through his statements on the abiding legacy of the Abbasid Caliphate Ibn Khaldu¯n set aside his views on Qurayshı¯ descent in order to protect the regional socio-political order topped by the sultan and caliph of Cairo while attempting to appear diplomatic in the ominous presence of Temür’s (un)spoken challenges.

Conclusion The image of Baybars in the Sı¯ra literature transcribed in the later fourteenth century is interesting for its demonstration of the integration of the caliphate into the sultanate. Barqu¯q made plain his interest in securing proper caliphal legitimation throughout his reign, thus it seems as though the depiction of Baybars as “Commander of the Faithful” in the Sı¯rat Baybars preserves a popular

58 59 60 61

Ibid., 374–6. Ibid., 376. Ibid. Ibid.

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historical memory of that sultan as “caliph” rather than a reflection of the contemporary reign of Barqu¯q. The writings of European travelers also reflect ongoing fifteenth-century Muslim discourses taking place on who should hold power in society and on the legitimating or invalidating factors of a sultan’s authority. They also speak more candidly about the caliph’s reluctance to recognize or cooperate with Barqu¯q whereas many contemporary Egyptian sources sought to offer a more harmonious representation to mask the tension between the offices. Nevertheless, the image of the caliphate in European travel literature is complementary to its analogue found in Arabic historiographical literature of the period and, together, provides a useful corrective to the idea of the “sultan-caliph” retrieved from the Sı¯rat Baybars. It is in analyzing late fourteenth-century succession struggles and other troubled moments of turnover in offices such as the sultanate or caliphate that modern historians are able to follow through on the vital choice between “reconstructing everyday life, or dealing with indigenous discourses.”62 The historical processes and social practices which created the appearance of order and continuity in these offices/institutions/ideas were by no means linear and were in fact far more messier than appears at first glance. It is at confusing times of instability when the sultanate or caliphate became contested and linked to moments in which important actors such as Barqu¯q or al-Mutawakkil were removed from their positions while political orders and courtly relationships were reorganized and realigned. Important lessons emerge for modern scholars in the disturbances of such offices which reveal affairs as they may really have been rather than how our fifteenth century sources attempt to record, preserve, and present them.63

Bibliography Al-Azmeh, A., Muslim Kingship: Power and the Sacred in Muslim, Christian and Pagan polities. London: I. B. Tauris, 1997. Arnold, T., The Caliphate. London, 1965. Banister, M., The Abbasid Caliphate of Cairo, 1261–1517: Out of the Shadows, Edinburgh University Press, 2021.

62 Conermann, “On the Art of Writing History in Mamluk Times,” 7. 63 Here my comments have drawn influence from my time at the Annemarie Schimmel Kolleg (University of Bonn) as well as ongoing collaborative research conducted in the context of the ERC-Consolidator Grant Project “The Mamlukisation of the Mamluk Sultanate-II. Historiography, Political Order and State Formation in 15th-century Egypt and Syria” directed by Jo Van Steenbergen (Ghent University).

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–. “‘Naught Remains to the Caliph but his Title’: Revisiting Abbasid Authority in Mamluk Cairo.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review 18 (2014–15): 219–45. Beaumont, D., “Political Violence and Ideology in Mamluk Society.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review 8/1 (2004): 201–25. Becker, C., “Barthold’s Studien über Kalif und Sultan.” Der Islam 6 (1916): 350–412. Behrens-Abouseif, D., “The Mahmal Legend and the Pilgrimage of the Ladies of the ˙ Mamluk Court.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review 1 (1997): 87–96. Broadbridge, A., Kingship and Ideology in the Islamic and Mongol Worlds. Cambridge, 2008. Conermann, S., “On the Art of Writing History in Mamluk Times.” In Mamluk Historiography Revisited – Narratological Perspectives, edited by Stephan Conermann. Göttingen, 2018: 7–26. De Mignanelli, Bertrando., Ascensus Barcoch (I). Translated by Walter Fischel in Arabica 6 (1959): 57–74, 152–172. Fischel, W., “A New Latin Source on Tamerlane’s Conquest of Damascus (1400/1401) (B. de Mignanelli’s ‘Vita Tamerlani’ (1416).” Oriens 9 (1956): 201–32. –. Ibn Khaldu¯n in Egypt: His Public Functions and his Historical Research. Berkeley, 1967. Frescobaldi, Leonardo., “Pilgrimage of Lionardo di Niccolo Frescobaldi to the Holy Land.” In Visit to the Holy Places of Egypt, Sinai, Palestine and Syria in 1384. Translated by Theophilus Bellorini and others. Jerusalem: Franciscan Press, 1948. Garcin, J-C., “Histoire, opposition politique et piétisme traditionaliste dans le Husn al˙ muha¯dara de Suyu¯t¯ı.” Annales islamologiques 7 (1967): 33–89. ˙ ˙ ˙ –. “Récit d’une recherche sur les débuts du Roman de Baybars.” In L’Orient au coeur en l’honneur d’André Miquel, edited by F. Sanagustin, 249–62. Paris, 2001. Haarmann, U., “The Mamluk System of Rule in the Eyes of Western Travelers.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review 5 (2001): 1–24. Hassan, M., Longing for the Lost Caliphate: A Transregional History. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016. Heidemann, S., Das aleppiner Kalifat (A.D. 1261): vom Ende des Kalifates in Baghdad über Aleppo zu den Restaurationen in Cairo. Leiden: Brill, 1994. Herzog, T., Geschichte und Imaginaire: Entstehung, Überlieferung und Bedeutung der Sı¯rat Baibars in ihrem sozio-politischen Kontext. Wiesbaden, 2006. –. “The First Layer of the Sı¯rat Baybars: Popular Romance and Political Propaganda.” Mamlu¯k Studies Review 7/1 (2003): 136–48. –. “Legitimität durch Erzählung: Ayyubidsche und kalifale Legitimation mamlukischer Herrschaft in der populären Sı¯rat Baibars.” In Die Mamlu¯ken: Studien zu ihrer Geschichte und Kultur: Zum Gedenken an Ulrich Haarmann, 1942–1999, edited by Stephan Conermann and Anja Pistor-Hatam, 251–68. Hamburg: EB-Verlag, 2003. Holt, P. M., The Age of the Crusades: The Near East from the Eleventh Century to 1517. London, 1986. Housley, N., “Emmanuelle Piloti and Crusading in the Latin East.” In The Hospitallers, the Mediterranean, and Europe: Festschrift for Anthony Luttrell, edited by Karl Borchardt, 139–49. Burlington: Ashgate, 2007. Ibn ʿAbd al-Za¯hir, Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n. al-Rawd al-za¯hir fı¯ sı¯rat al-Malik al-Za¯hir. Edited by ‘Abd ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ al-‘Azı¯z Khuwaytir. Riyadh, 1976. ˙

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Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, Ahmad. Dhayl al-Durar al-ka¯mina. Edited by ʿAdna¯n Darwı¯sh. ˙ ˙ Cairo, 1992. –. Inba¯ʾ al-ghumr bi-anba¯ʾ al-ʿumr. Edited by Hasan Habashı¯. Cairo, 1969–98. ˙ ˙ Ibn Khaldu¯n, ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n. al-Ta‘rı¯f bi-Ibn Khaldu¯n wa-rihlatihi gharban wa-sharqan. ˙ ˙ Cairo, 1951. Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhbah, Abu¯ Bakr. Ta’rı¯kh Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhbah. Edited by ‘Adna¯n Darwı¯sh. ˙ ˙ Damascus, 1977–94. Ibn Sasra¯, Muhammad. al-Durra al-mud¯ı’a fı¯ al-dawla al-Za¯hiriyya. Translated and edited ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ by William M. Brinner as A Chronicle of Damascus, 1389–1397. Berkeley, 1963. Ibn Taghrı¯birdı¯, Yu¯suf. al-Manhal al-sa¯fı¯ wa-al-mustawfı¯ ba‘da al-wa¯fı¯. Edited by Mu˙ hammad M. Amı¯n. Cairo, 1984–1993. ˙ –. al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira fı¯ mulu¯k Misr wa-al-Qa¯hira. Edited by Ibra¯hı¯m ʿAlı¯ Tarkha¯n. Cairo, ˙ ˙ 1963–74. Khu¯lı¯, M. ʿA., Al-ʿUlama¯ʾ fı¯ Misr fı¯ al-‘asr al-Mamlu¯kı¯, 648–923 H/1250–1517 M. Cairo, ˙ ˙ 2014. Lyons, M.C., The Arabian Epic: Heroic and Oral Story-Telling. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Madelung, W., “A Treatise on the Imamate Dedicated to Sultan Baybars I.” In Proceedings of the 14th Congress of the Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, Part 1, edited by A. Fodor, 91–102. Budapest, 1995. Ma¯jid, ʿA., Nuzum dawlat sala¯t¯ın al-mama¯lı¯k wa-rusu¯muhum fı¯ Misr: dira¯sa sha¯mila lil˙ ˙ ˙ nuzum al-siya¯siyya. Cairo: Maktabat al-Anjlu¯ al-Misriyya, 1979. ˙ al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Ahmad. Durar al-‘uqu¯d al-farı¯da fı¯ tara¯jim al-a‘ya¯n al-mufı¯da. Edited by ˙ Mahmu¯d al-Jalı¯lı¯. Beirut, 2002. ˙ –. Kita¯b al-Sulu¯k li-ma‘rifat duwal al-mulu¯k. Edited by Muhammad Muhammad Amı¯n ˙ ˙ and Sa‘ı¯d ‘Ashu¯r. Cairo, 1956–73. Mayer, L. A., “Some Remarks on the Dress of the Abbasid Caliphs in Egypt.” Islamic Culture 17/1 (1943): 36–8. –. Mamluk Costume: A Survey. Genève: A. Kundig, 1952. Onimus, C., Les maîtres du jeu: Pouvoir et violence politique à l’aube du sultanat mamlouk circassien (784–815/1382–1412). Paris, 2019. Piloti, Emmanuel. L’Égypte au commencement du quinzième siècle d’après le traité d’Emmanuel Piloti de Crète, incipit 1420. Edited by Pierre-Herman Dopp. Cairo, 1950. al-Qalqashandı¯, Ahmad. Subh al-a’sha¯ fı¯ sina¯’at al-insha¯’. Cairo, 1963. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Sigoli, Simone. “Pilgrimage of Simone Sigoli to the Holy Land.” In Visit to the Holy Places of Egypt, Sinai, Palestine and Syria in 1384. Translated by Theophilus Bellorini and others. Jerusalem: Franciscan Press, 1948. Sourdel, D., “Khalı¯fa.” In Encyclopaedia of Islam². Vol. 4. Pp. 937–47. Leiden: Brill, 1973. Sümer, F., “Yavuz Selim s’est-il proclamé calife?” Turcica 21–23 (1991): 343–54. Tarkha¯n, I. ʿA., Misr fı¯ ʿasr dawlat al-Mama¯lı¯k al-Jara¯kisa. Cairo, 1960. ˙ ˙ ˙ Tyan, É., Institutions du droit public musulman. Paris, 1954–6. Van Steenbergen, J., “‘Is Anyone My Guardian…?’ Mamlu¯k Under-age Rule and the Later Qala¯wu¯nids.” Al-Masa¯q 19/1 (2007): 55–65. –. “Appearances of dawla and Political Order in Late Medieval Syro-Egypt: The State, Social Theory, and the Political History of the Cairo Sultanate (thirteenth-sixteenth centuries).” In Stephan Conermann (ed.), History and society during the Mamluk period

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(1250–1517): Studies of the Annemarie Schimmel Institute for Advanced Study II. Göttingen, 2016: 51–85. –. “The amir Yalbugha¯ al-Kha¯ssakı¯, the Qala¯wu¯nid Sultanate, and the Cultural Matrix of ˙˙ Mamluk Society: A Reassessment of Mamlu¯k Politics in the 1360s.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 131/3 (2011): 423–43. –. “On the Brink of a New Era? Yalbugha¯ al-Kha¯ssakı¯ (d. 1366) and the Yalbugha¯wı¯yah.” ˙˙ Mamlu¯k Studies Review 15 (2011): 117–52. Wiederhold, L., “Legal-Religious Elite, Temporal Authority, and the Caliphate in Mamluk Society: Conclusions Drawn from the Examination of a ‘Zahiri Revolt’ in Damascus in 1386.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 31 (1999): 203–235.

Robert Moore

The Production and Study of Sha¯fiʿı¯ Fiqh Texts in Mamluk Cairo

Introduction When students gathered to study Sha¯fiʿı¯ law with their shaykh in Mamluk Cairo, a text was at the center of their discussion. The text would be memorized, discussed and debated.1 Often students copied and reproduced the book in the study circle for their personal use, and a thriving market of booksellers and copyists emerged to meet the demands of students.2 Instructors passed the contents and interpretations of the works on to their students, granting them certificates upon their mastery of them.3 The centrality of texts in legal education is well-established, but the particular texts that made up the course of students’ education is less understood. This paper will explore some of the key texts that students of Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh, or positive law, would have studied during the Mamluk period. The Sha¯fiʿı¯ madhhab of Islamic law was one of the most powerful institutions in Mamluk Cairo. The majority of the population and religious elite followed the Sha¯fiʿı¯ madhhab, and Mamluk regime provided for the Sha¯fiʿı¯ʿulama¯ʾ through the foundation of dozens of madrasahs and their associated teaching positions. Many other Sha¯fiʿı¯ scholars ascended to judicial and administrative posts in the state.4 The training of jurists became an important activity in the empire. Several studies have focused on education in the Mamluk period and its social significance, but few have examined specific works that scholars used or studied.5 1 Jonathan Berkey, Transmission of Knowledge, 24–29; George Makdisi, Rise of the Colleges, 99– 111. 2 Elias Muhanna, The World in a Book, 105–122; Johannes Pedersen, The Arabic Book, 20–55. 3 George Makdisi, Rise of the Colleges, 140–52; Devin Stewart, “The Doctorate of Islamic Law,” 434–66. 4 Carl Petry, Civilian Elite, 200–241. 5 Konrad Hirschler’s study of the library in the Ashrafı¯ya Quran recitation school provides a remarkable example of books read in Ayyubid Damascus, Medieval Damascus: Plurality and Diversity in an Arabic Library: Ashrafı¯ya Library Catalogue.

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Jonathan Berkey’s work on the transmission of knowledge gives attention to the educational preparation of jurists and identifies general areas of study that students of law would have explored, but does not identify specific texts they would have used in their study.6 Michael Chamberlain addresses the social practices and rituals surrounding the reading and memorization of texts, but rejects the idea that agreed-upon texts were used to prepare students to practice and teach law.7 In contrast, Devin Stewart has followed George Makdisi’s observations that students would progress through levels of education and obtain certifications that qualified them for certain careers.8 He argues that the attainment of the most advanced license, a certificate to teach law and issue fatwa¯s (ija¯zat al-tadrı¯s wa’l-ifta¯ʾ), prepared jurists for work as a “judge, deputy judge, professor of law (mudarris), deputy professor of law (na¯ʾib al-mudarris), or repetitor (muʿı¯d).”9 In his examination of copies of ija¯za¯t, Stewart found a few books that were studied to attain those certificates.10 This paper will build on Stewart’s work by identifying texts that correspond to students’ educational levels and by discussing other examples of books that were studied in order to earn an ija¯zat al-tadrı¯s wa’l-ifta¯ʾ. While students had to establish their competence in several subjects, the scope of this paper will be limited to fiqh texts. Exploring the works of Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh provides a focused look into the intellectual and social history of the madhhab. Aspiring judges, muftı¯s, law instructors and other members of the madhhab would have had to master the legal rulings of their predecessors. Whereas works on hadith, theology, grammar, and other fields students would have studied might be composed by scholars from other madhhabs, books of fiqh would have been written within their own school. The works selected by instructors thus reflect the importance and relevance of the work at the time, as well as demonstrating the networks that existed among scholars in the madhhab. To illustrate the general course of study in the madhhab and the types of books students would have studied, manuals of advice for students and instructors of law will be examined. These works describe the progression of the students’ study and the type of books they would have been required to master at each phase of their education. These manuals also describe the importance of authorship in establishing one’s reputation as an expert in Sha¯fiʿı¯ law. Next, Qalqahandı¯’s list of the most important books for the study of Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh from his encyclopedic work Subh al-aʿsha¯ fı¯ sina¯ʿat al-insha¯ʾ will be described. Finally, the books studied ˙ ˙ ˙ by scholars who received a certificate to teach law and issue fatwa¯s (ija¯zat al6 7 8 9 10

Jonathan Berkey, Transmission of Knowledge, 7, 82–4. Michael Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice, 140–51. George Makdisi, Rise of the Colleges, 171–176; Devin Stewart, “Doctorate,” 60–66. Devin Stewart, “Doctorate,” 63. Ibid., 66–78.

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tadrı¯s wa’l-ifta¯ʾ) will be examined in more detail. These case studies will identify some of the central works of Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh that were in use at this time, as well as ways scholars integrated their own books or those of their mentors into their instructional program. While some specific works that held a central place in fiqh instruction during the Mamluk period will be identified, a strong emphasis will be placed on the larger patterns that explain the dynamics of the composition and instruction of the works.

Texts and the Progression of Students’ Education Manuals on the proper behavior of students and instructors provide a wealth of information on the lives and educational practices of scholars. The three writers considered here, Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n Yahya al-Nawawı¯ (d. 676/1277), Badr al-Dı¯n ˙ ˙ Muhammad Ibn Jama¯ʿah (d. 733/1333) and Badr al-Dı¯n Muhammad al-Ghazzı¯ ˙ ˙ (d. 984/1577), were distinguished scholars and law instructors. They represent different time periods within the Mamluk era, with al-Nawawı¯ writing during the early Mamluk period, Ibn Jamaʿah in the middle, and al-Ghazzı¯ in the late Mamluk and early Ottoman period. Each was a distinguished scholar and legal instructor. Their works provide commentary on the crucial role of books in the lives and careers of scholars, as they instruct students to begin with the study and memorization of short manuals before moving on to the study of longer books, and, for those with proper qualifications, the composition of their own works. Their relationship with books reflects scholars’ intellectual and social advancement as they move through different phases of their careers. In his work Kita¯b al-ʿilm wa a¯da¯b al-ʿa¯lim wa al-mutʿallim, Al-Nawawı¯ gives a description of the education required for a person who aspired to practice and teach law. The program he describes indicates the key subjects that a student should master and the progression through these fields that one would follow. To begin, al-Nawawı¯ indicates that a student should not study with an instructor unless, “his qualification is complete (kamulat ahlı¯yatuhu), his piety is apparent, his knowledge is confirmed.”11 He indicates a few of the areas an instructor should have mastered and develops this idea further in the text. Once the student finds a qualified instructor, al-Nawawı¯ offers a brief description of the fields that the student should study. The starting point is memorization of the Quran. Al-Nawawı¯ emphasizes the centrality of memorization of the Quran before listing other areas of study. He writes, “After he memorizes the Quran, he should memorize a mukhtasar of each field (fann), ˙ beginning with the most important of them. Among the most important are fiqh 11 Nawawı¯, Kita¯b al-ʿIlm, 104.

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and grammar. Then hadith and usu¯l [al-fiqh]. And then the remaining [fields] for ˙ preparation. Next, he should strive in seeking interpretations of his memorized works.”12 Al-Nawawı¯’s advises students to work through general mukhtasars of ˙ law and grammar early in their program. The student’s early education is shaped by a group of instructors (shuyu¯kh) who would choose a variety of introductory texts through which to guide their students. These mukhtasars, abbreviations of ˙ longer authoritative texts, were compact works that condensed elaborate arguments into brief presentations. Often the text would lose clarity in the process, and the commentary given by the instructor or by additional texts were necessary to understand their original meaning.13 In addition to providing a brief synopsis of complex arguments formulated by respected jurists useful as texts to students, mukhtasars in fiqh served as reference guides by judges in order to make a ruling ˙ consistent with their madhhab.14 If students had completed this level in their education, al-Nawawı¯ explains the next step in the students’ training. He writes, “If he has studied the mukhtasars, ˙ then he should move on to study longer [works] than these with perfect reading and continuous care.” These works that deal with “gems, unusual issues, and the solutions to problems” go beyond the material covered in the introductory books. This advanced study called for close interaction with the shaykh. AlNawawı¯ advises that the student should “attach himself to the shaykh’s study circle” and be committed to study.15 Finally, after a student had worked through these advanced courses of study, al-Nawawı¯ indicates that he should begin to compose his own works. He writes, “If he does what we have recommended, his qualification is completed, and his moral excellence is well-known, then he should undertake writing, and strive in collection and composition, being certain about all that he says, being established in what he transmits and what he discovers.”16 Al-Nawawı¯ emphasizes the importance of this work. Through writing, the jurist offers interpretations, clarifies problems, corrects weak interpretations, and solves dilemmas. In doing so, alNawawı¯ writes, “he reaches the leaders of the mujtahids or nears them, if he is suitable for this and God grants him success.”17 In his advice to instructors, al-Nawawı¯ further explains the importance of writing. He writes that it is necessary that one who is qualified should write. Writing demands that the scholar continue to read, research, study, and seek the

12 13 14 15 16 17

Ibid., 109. A. Arazi and H. Ben Shammai, “Mukhtasar,” Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 7: 536–40. ˙ Mohammad Fadel, “The Social Logic,” 193–233. Nawawı¯, Kita¯b al-ʿIlm, 110. Ibid., 110. Ibid., 110.

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truth.18 Al-Nawawı¯ recognizes that the legal tradition is a living one requiring work of mujtahids to apply the law in their generations.19 However, he also recognizes that not all are qualified for this work. He emphasizes that those who are not qualified due to their lack of knowledge or character weaknesses should not write. If an unqualified individual does write, his work should not be distributed unless it has been corrected under the oversight of a qualified reader.20 Al-Nawawı¯’s advice on these matters demonstrates the organization that existed within the Shafiʿı¯ madhhab to regulate the distribution of knowledge. While the general parameters of the subjects of study are fairly broad as he presents them, he designates the most crucial fields that must be addressed by scholars. Later scholars would add more detailed descriptions. The study of introductory mukhtasars followed by more advanced works and close companionship with the ˙ instructor as they studied more advanced legal concepts, difficult problems, and texts marked the progress of a student’s education. About one hundred years after al-Nawawı¯, Badr al-Dı¯n Ibn Jama¯ʿah, a chief judge of Cairo and Damascus, composed a work offering advice to students of the religious sciences, Tadhkirat al-sa¯miʿ wa al-mutakallim fı¯ adab al-ʿa¯lim wa almutaʿallim. Ibn Jama¯ʿah prescribes several works that students should study.21 He, too, placed a strong emphasis on the memorization and study of the Quran. Like al-Nawawı¯, Ibn Jama¯ʿah indicates that the Quran should form the basis of scholars’ educations. It should be memorized and students should study its interpretation (tafsı¯r). The knowledge of the these two fields serve as the basis of all other fields of knowledge, and Ibn Jama¯ʿah reminds his readers that they must review their memorization of the Quran daily so that they do not forget it as they move on to other works.22 After mastering the Quran and its interpretation, Ibn Jama¯ʿah writes that students should memorize a mukhtasar summarizing the following fields: hadith ˙ and its related sciences, jurisprudence (usu¯l al-fiqh), theology (usu¯l al-dı¯n), ˙ ˙ grammar (nahw), and morphology (tasrı¯f). Rather than beginning with an ex˙ ˙ haustive study of a particular field, Ibn Jama¯ʿah recommends gaining a general overview of a number of fields.23 Furthermore, he writes that students could not engage in disputation (ikhtila¯f) with scholars at the beginning of their studies. Otherwise, the beginners may become confused and disheartened. Instead,

18 19 20 21

Ibid., 91. Norman Calder, “Al-Nawawı¯’s Typology,” 141–55. Nawawı¯, Kita¯b al-ʿIlm, 91. Sections of this paper on Ibn Jama¯ʿah and Al-Ghazzı¯ are drawn from the author’s dissertation; Robert Moore, The Role of the Madrasah, 278–320. 22 Ibn Jama¯ʿah, Tadhkirat, 112–13. 23 Ibid., Tadhkirat, 113.

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students should wait until they gain more advanced understanding in a madhhab before they engage in debates with other scholars.24 Ibn Jama¯ʿah explains that books must be studied and memorized in the presence of teachers who are able to comment on the meaning and interpretation of the works. Students should seek out the most accomplished scholar in a particular area and study with him. As for professors, Ibn Jama¯ʿah writes that they should focus their attention on one book at time and avoid jumping between books. He fears that students become lost unless they master one work before moving on to another. When gathered in the study circle, the professor reads from a text and then comments on it. Later, the professor, or someone appointed by him, has the students repeat the material they studied, checking for proper pronunciation and comprehension.25 The beginning stages of students’ educations, according to Ibn Jama¯ʿah, revolved around the memorization and study of mukhtasars that summarized the ˙ central sciences of Islamic law, with a special emphasis on the study of the Qurʾa¯n, hadith and commentaries on these works. Students engaged in memorization of the texts, repetition of their contents both in the presence of either a professor or repetitor (muʿı¯d) and in solitude, and discussion of the texts. Students listened to professors’ comment on the texts and were required to explain these works back to them. Mastering these basics allowed students to advance to the next phase of their education. The next stage required students to study more advanced material and to engage in disputations with other students. Ibn Jama¯ʿah describes the transition to the intermediate stage in the following passage: If he can comment on the mukhtasars which he has memorized and if he has mastered ˙ their difficult aspects and important information, then he may move on to discussion of advanced works (al-mabsu¯ta¯t) with the constant reading and note taking (taʿlı¯q) on ˙ gems of knowledge, intricate questions, and unusual applications of law which he comes across or hears. He will solve problems and the differences between rulings of obscure questions from all types of sciences . . . he sets out to gather his notes (taʿlı¯q) on these things and memorizes them. The ambition [of the student] in seeking knowledge is [to attain] the highest rank.26

As this passage illustrates, a number of the characteristics define the advanced stage of students’ education, including the study of difficult points of law, disputation and debate, and the composition of a notebook for study. Ibn Jama¯ʿah describes this level of education as dealing with intricate questions (al-masa¯ʾil aldaqı¯qah), unusual applications of law (al-furu¯ʿ al-gharı¯bah), and solving prob24 Ibid., Tadhkirat, 116–17. 25 Ibid., Tadhkirat, 115–18; 121–23. 26 Ibn Jama¯ʿah, Tadhkirat, 133–34.

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lems. Within each madhhab, differing opinions (khila¯f) existed about certain legal questions. After training their students in positive law (fiqh) and jurisprudence (usu¯l al-fiqh), law professors challenged their advanced students with ˙ these more difficult problems. Within this context, professors would open up these questions for debate among the students. Students would rely on their knowledge of the Qurʾa¯n, hadith, fiqh and usul al-fiqh to construct their re˙ sponses. The instructor would moderate and guide these discussions, and, in the process, instruct the students in his approach (tarı¯qah) to dealing with difficult ˙ questions.27 By doing so, the instructor prepared the students for disputations in their study circles and for the work of developing their own well-considered legal opinions. Ibn Jama¯ʿah goes on to conclude this section by stating that the most advanced students must master the greatest and most famous works in their madhhab, while continuing to write (tasnı¯f) and to engage in disputation (khi˙ la¯f).28 Writing at the end of the Mamluk period and early Ottoman period, Badr alDı¯n Muhammad al-Ghazzı¯ also comments on the development of jurists’ edu˙ cation and the phases that they should advance through as they study in his work, Al-Durr al-nad¯ıd fı¯ adab al-mufı¯d wa-al-mustafı¯d. On this subject, al-Ghazzı¯ is in ˙ agreement with Ibn Jama¯ʿah, and quotes him extensively, but he elaborates on some of Ibn Jama¯ʿah’s statements, particularly regarding the requirements for jurists’ education in writing. Al-Ghazzı¯ quotes Ibn Jama¯ʿah’s Tadhkirah in stating students should first memorize the Quran and study commentary on it. Next, he writes, students should memorize mukhtasars on law, grammar, morphology, ˙ hadith and its sciences, jurisprudence, and theology. Like Ibn Jama¯ʿah, al-Ghazzı¯ notes that this work should be done with a teacher and that students in this early stage should avoid engaging in disputation (ikhtila¯f).29 For advanced study, alGhazzı¯ also agrees with Ibn Jama¯ʿah, stating that if students have memorized mukhtasars and mastered their content, then they should begin study of more ˙ advanced works (al-mabsu¯ta¯t) along with difficult problems in law while de˙ veloping notebooks for reference and study (taʿlı¯q).30 While Al-Ghazzı¯’s manual closely resembles Ibn Jama¯ʿah’s, indicating consistency in educational requirements throughout this time period, al-Ghazzı¯ does present a slightly different explanation of when one’s qualification is complete. Al-Ghazzı¯ uses the phrase that one’s “qualification is complete” to indicate that a jurist’s education is finished and that he is prepared to receive an appointment to 27 28 29 30

George Makdisi, Rise of the Colleges, 101–22. Ibn Jama¯ʿah, Tadhkirat, 135–142. Al-Ghazzı¯, Durr, 263–70. Ibid., 270.

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teach. Al-Ghazzı¯ writes, that a jurist, “will set himself up to teach law (yantasiba ˙ lil-tadrı¯s) when his qualification is complete (takmul ahlı¯yatuhu), and the most reliable of his teachers testify to this about him.”31 This approval indicates that the student has attained the highest levels of education and has permission to teach. Each of these manuals emphasize the crucial link between instructors, students, and texts. In the early phase of their education, students focused on the memorization and discussion of mukhtasars. As their education advanced, their ˙ study turned to longer works that addressed the intricacies of legal problems and prepared for disputation in their study circles. For those students who pursued the highest ranks of the jurists and composed their own works, their focus remained on the texts they studied as they wrote commentaries, abridgements, versifications and other works based on the books they studied with their shaykhs. Sha¯fiʿı¯ jurists’ educational and career development was intimately tied to the works they studied and composed. It is not surprising, given the extensive patronage networks and the social and intellectual capital one could attain through the composition of books, Cairo developed into a thriving literary center for the Sha¯fiʿı¯s. While these manuals provide a picture of the types of books studied by students as they progressed through their education, they do not provide specific titles on the subject of fiqh. Other sources address this question more directly.

Qalqashandı¯ on Key Fiqh Texts While a universal and uniform curriculum in fiqh used by instructors across Cairo does not appear to have existed, certain texts seemed to form the core of the study in this subject. To help identify these central texts and other books that were inspired by these works, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. ʿAlı¯ al-Qalqashandı¯’s (d. 824/ ˙ 1471) encyclopedic chancery manual, Subh al-aʿsha¯ fı¯ sina¯ʿat al-insha¯ʾ, will be ˙ ˙ ˙ examined. In one section of this work, he sought to describe the most important books used in the study of a number of fields, including fiqh. Qalqashandı¯ was particularly qualified to comment on the works that were used in the area of law. Qalqashandı¯ descended from a family of scholars, and he studied law and tradition under the famous Shafiʿı¯ Ibn Mulaqqin (d. 804/1401). Qalqashandı¯ taught law for a while and composed works on fiqh. Eventually, he took a position in the chancery office (dı¯wa¯n al-insha¯ʾ).32 His advanced training in law makes him a reliable commentator on the books that defined the study of this field. 31 Ibid., 169. 32 C.E. Bosworth, “Kalkashandı¯,” EI2, 4:509–11; Devin Stewart, “Doctorate,” 67.

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The following list of books come from a section in which he describes the areas of study pursued by theʿulama¯ʾ and the most well-known books in these fields.33 He divides these into seven general fields, including the religious sciences (ʿulu¯m al-shariʿah). The religious sciences are subdivided into nine areas: 1) Laws Related to Prophecies (ʿilm al-nawa¯mı¯s al-mutaʿalliq bi-l-nubu¯ʾa¯t), 2) Recitation of the Quran (al-qura¯ʿa¯t), 3) Commentary on the Quran (tafsı¯r), 4) Transmission of Hadith (riwa¯yah), 5) Evaluation of Hadith (dira¯yah), 6) Theology (ʿusu¯l al-dı¯n), ˙ 7) Jurisprudence (ʿusu¯l al-fiqh), 8) Dialectic ( jadal), 9) Fiqh, containing a sepa˙ rate section for each madhhab. Each of these subdivisions has a similar organization. All of the nine are divided into three types of books: mukhtasars, intermediate works (muta˙ wasitah), and advanced books (mabsu¯tah). The texts in each subsection are ˙ ˙ organized roughly by the date of the composition, with the earliest works listed first to the most recent. Qalqashandı¯’s longest individual list of books is dedicated to Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh. As a jurist who worked as a law instructor for a time, he had special knowledge in this field, which partly explains the unusual attention that he devotes to this section. However, his personal interest and knowledge are probably not the only reason that he records so many fiqh texts. Another explanation for the large number of works that Qalqashandı¯ dedicates to field is that Sha¯fiʿı¯ writers were especially prolific. The number of texts dedicated to Sha¯fiʿı¯ law far outstrip those produced in Egypt by the other three madhhabs at this time.34 As Shafiʿı¯ jurists sought to establish their qualifications to teach or hold judicial appointments, they produced a large number of texts in fiqh. Also, scholars would dedicate these books to ruling elites and other potential patrons in the hope of attaining appointments or to show their gratitude.35 In his list, Qalqashandı¯ mentions ten mukhtasars, six intermediate works, and ˙ fourteen advanced texts. In most instances, Qalqashandı¯ lists an abbreviated title and name of the author. The full name of the work and the complete name of the author are listed after Qalqashandı¯’s provided information: Mukhtasars ˙ 1. Mukhtasar by al-Muzanı¯. Isma¯ʿı¯l b. Yahya¯ b. Ibra¯hı¯m al-Muzanı¯ (d. 264/ ˙ ˙ 878). 2. Mukhtasar by al-Buwayt¯ı. Yu¯suf b. Yahya, Abu¯ Yaʿqu¯b al-Buwayt¯ı (d. 231/ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 846).

33 Qalqashandı¯, Subh al-aʿsha¯, 1:467. ˙ ˙ Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur, S2, 86–131. 34 Carl Brockelmann, 35 Abdelkader Al Ghouz, “Recasting al-Bayda¯wı¯’s Eschatological Concept,” 44–8. ˙

116 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

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Al-Wajı¯z by Al-Ghaza¯lı¯. Abu¯ Ha¯mid Muhammad b. Muhammad Al-Ghaza¯lı¯ ˙ ˙ ˙ (d. 505/1111). Al-Tanbı¯h by Abu¯ Isha¯q al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯. Abu¯ Isha¯q Jama¯l al-Dı¯n Ibra¯hı¯m b. ʿAlı¯ b. ˙ ˙ Yu¯suf al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯ (d. 476/1083). Al-Tanbı¯h fı¯ fiqh. Al-Muharrar by Al-Ra¯fiʿı¯. ʿAbd al-Karı¯m b. Abı¯ Saʿı¯d Muhammad al-Ra¯fiʿı¯ ˙ ˙ (d. 623/1226). Kita¯b al-muharrar. ˙ Al-Minha¯j by al-Nawawı¯. Muhyı¯ al-Dı¯n Abu¯ Zakariyya¯ʾ Yahya b. Sharaf b. ˙ ˙ Murı¯ al-Nawawı¯ (d. 676/1277). Minha¯j al-ta¯libı¯n. ˙ Al-Ha¯wı¯ al-saghı¯r by ʿAbd al-Ghafa¯r al-Qazwı¯nı¯. Najm al-Dı¯n ʿAbd al˙ Ghafa¯r b. ʿAbd al-Karı¯m (d. 665/ 1266). Al-Ha¯wı¯ al-saghı¯r fı¯ fata¯wı¯. ˙ ʿAjab al-ʿUja¯b. An author is not provided by al-Qalqashandı¯, but it appears be part of the list attributed to al-Nasha¯ʾı¯ (see note below). Ja¯miʿ al-Mukhtasara¯t. An author is not provided by al-Qalqashandı¯, but it ˙ appears be part of the list attributed to al-Nasha¯ʾı¯ (see note below). Mukhtasar al-jawa¯mı¯ by Shaykh Kama¯l al-Dı¯n al-Shayba¯nı¯. The correct name is most likely Ahmad b. ʿUmar b. Ahmad, Kama¯l al-Dı¯n al-Nasha¯ʾı¯. ˙ ˙ (d. 758/ 1357). Al-Nasha¯ʾı¯ composed works titled Ja¯miʿ al-mukhtasara¯t and ˙ Mukhtasar al-jawa¯mı¯ as well as one titled Ikhtasa¯r al-muntaqa listed among ˙ the intermediate texts below, which is also attributed to Kama¯l al-Dı¯n Shayba¯nı¯.36 The connection between al-Nasha¯ʾı¯ and Qalqashandı¯ will be explored below.

Intermediate Texts 1. Al-Muhadhdhab by Abu¯ Isha¯q al al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯. Abu¯ Isha¯q Ibra¯hı¯m b. ʿAlı¯ b. Yu¯suf ˙ ˙ al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯ (d. 476/1083). Al-Muhadhdhab fı¯ fiqh al-Ima¯m al-Sha¯fiʿı¯. 2. Al-Wası¯t by al-Ghaza¯lı¯ (d. 505/1111). ˙ 3. Al-Sharh al-saghı¯r by Al-Ra¯fiʿı¯. ʿAbd al-Karı¯m b. Abı¯ Saʿı¯d Muhammad al˙ ˙ Ra¯fiʿı¯ (d. 623/1226). 4. Al-Rawdah by al-Nawawı¯ (d. 676/1277). Rawdah fı¯ mukhtasar sharh al-Ra¯fiʿı¯. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 5. Al-Jawa¯hir by al-Qamu¯lı¯. Najm al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Muhammad b. Abı¯ al-Hazm ˙ ˙ ˙ al-Qamu¯lı¯ (d. 727/1327). Al-Jawa¯hir al-bahr. ˙ 6. Ikhtasa¯r al-muntaqa by Shaykh Kamal al-Dı¯n al-Shayba¯nı¯. The correct name ˙ is most likely Ahmad b. ʿUmar b. Ahmad, Kama¯l al-Dı¯n al-Nasha¯ʾı¯ (d. 758/ ˙ ˙ 1357) (see note above).

36 For a list of Kama¯l al-Dı¯n al-Nasha¯ʾı¯’s works, see Ta¯j al-Dı¯n al-Subkı¯, Tabaqa¯t al-Sha¯fiʿı¯yah alKubra, 9:19.

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Advanced Works 1. Al-Umm by al-Ima¯m al-Shafiʿı¯. Muhammad b. Idrı¯s al-Ima¯m al-Shafiʿı¯ (d. ˙ 204/820). 2. Al-Ha¯wı¯ by al-Ma¯wardı¯. Abu¯ Hasan ʿAlı¯ b. Muhammad al-Ma¯wardı¯ (d. 450/ ˙ ˙ ˙ 1058). Al-Ha¯wı¯ al-kabı¯r fı¯ furu¯ʿ. ˙ 3. Al-Bahr by al-Ru¯ya¯nı¯. ʿAbd al-Wa¯hid b. Ismail al-Ru¯ya¯nı¯ (d. 502/1108). Bahr ˙ ˙ ˙ al-madhhab. 4. Al-Niha¯yah by Ima¯m al-Haramayn. Abu¯ al-Maʿa¯lı¯ ʿAbd al-Ma¯lik b. ʿAbd ˙ Allah. Niha¯yat al-matlab fı¯ dira¯yat al-madhhab. ˙ 5. Al-Bası¯t by al-Ghaza¯lı¯. Abu¯ Ha¯mid Muhammad b. Muhammad al-Ghaza¯lı¯ ˙ ˙ ˙ (d. 505/1111). 6. Al-Sha¯mil by Ibn al-Sabba¯gh. Abu¯ Nasr ʿAbd al-Sayid b. Muhammad Ibn al˙ ˙ ˙ Sabba¯gh (d. 477/1083). ˙ 7. Al-Tatimmah by al-Mutawallı¯. Abu¯ Saʿd ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n b. Maʾmu¯n al˙ Mutawallı¯ (d. 478/1070). Tatimmat al-iba¯nah. 8. Al-ʿUdah by Abu al-Maka¯rim al-Ru¯ya¯nı¯. Unable to identify the book or author. 9. Al-Sharh al-kabı¯r fı¯ al-wajı¯z by al-Ra¯fiʿı¯. ʿAbd al-Karı¯m b. Muhammad al˙ ˙ Ra¯fiʿı¯ (d. 623/1226). 10. Sharh al-muhadhdhab by al-Nawawı¯ (d. 676/1277). Majmuʿ fı¯ sharh al-mu˙ ˙ hadhdhab. 11. Al-Kifa¯yyah fı¯ sharh al-tadhbı¯h by Ibn al-Rafʿah. Ahmad b. Muhammad b. ˙ ˙ ˙ ʿAlı¯ Najm al-Dı¯n (d. 710/1310). Kifa¯yat al-nabı¯h sharh al-tanbı¯h. ˙ 12. Al-Matlab fı¯ sharh al-wası¯t by him. Ibn al-Rafʿah, see entry above. ˙ ˙ ˙ 13. Al-Bihar al-muh¯ıt fı¯ al-sharh al-wası¯t by al-Qamu¯lı¯. Najm al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. ˙ ˙ ˙˙ ˙ ˙ Muhammad b. Abı¯ al-Hazm al-Qamu¯lı¯ (d. 727/1327). ˙ ˙ 14. Al-Rawdah by Shaykh Jama¯l al-Dı¯n al-Asnawı¯. ʿAbd al-Ra¯him b. al-Hasan al˙ ˙ Asnawı¯ (d. 772/1378). The first ten introductory works are mukhtasars, or abbreviated works, drawn ˙ from longer, more comprehensive studies on fiqh. The mukhtasars represent ˙ some of the most crucial manuals for the study of Sha¯fiʿı¯ law, going back to alMuzanı¯ (d. 264/878), one of al-Sha¯fiʿı¯’s most accomplished and influential pupils. Buwayt¯ı (d. 231/846), another early follower of al-Sha¯fiʿı¯, is included before ˙ the list jumps ahead to two influential Sha¯fiʿı¯s attached to the Nizamiyyah madrasah in Baghdad, Ghazalı¯ (d. 505/1111) and al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯ (d. 476/1083). ʿAbd alKarim al-Ra¯fiʿı¯’s (d. 623/1226) Kita¯b al-Muharrar represents a contribution from ˙ the Sha¯fiʿı¯s of Qazwı¯n that also includes ʿAbd al-Ghafa¯r al-Qazwı¯nı¯ (d. 665/ 1266). Al-Nawawı¯ (d. 676/1277) is the first writer mentioned living in the Mamluk empire. The final three mukhtasars were all most likely written by Kama¯l al-Dı¯n ˙ al-Nasha¯ʾı¯ (d. 758/1357), a scholar teaching in Mamluk Cairo.

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The six intermediate texts begin with al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯ and include al-Ghazalı¯ and alRa¯fiʿı¯. From the Mamluk period, Qalqashandı¯ includes works by al-Nawawı¯, alQamu¯lı¯, and Kama¯l al-Dı¯n al-Nasha¯ʾı¯. Qalqashandı¯ includes a large number of texts in the advanced works section. He begins the list with al-Umm by al-Sha¯fiʿı¯ (d. 204/820), Sha¯fiʿı¯’s longest legal work. He then includes a number of texts by influential scholars who taught in Baghdad including, al-Ma¯wardı¯ (d. 450/1058), al-Ruya¯nı¯ (d. 502/1108), Ima¯m alHaramayn al-Juwaynı¯ (d. 478/1058), al-Ghaza¯lı¯ (d. 505/1111), Ibn Sabba¯gh ˙ ˙ (d. 477/1083), and al-Mutawallı¯ (d. 478/1070). He then goes on to list a work by alRa¯fiʿı¯ and one by al-Nawawı¯ as well. Qalqashandı¯ then recommends more recently written works including two by Ibn al-Rafʿah (d. 710/1310), one by alQamu¯lı¯ (d. 727/1327), and one by al-Asnawı¯ (d. 772/1370). Of the thirty works listed by Qalqashandı¯, thirteen of the works were composed during the Mamluk period, with twelve of those written by authors living in Egypt or Syria. Of the twelve works that were written during the Mamluk period by those living in Egypt and Syria, all of the authors held a teaching post in either a madrasah, mosque or similar institution. Qalqashandı¯’s recommendations suggest a path of study that takes students through a series of levels that are adapted to the gradually increasing abilities of the students. They should first work through basic texts before continuing to more advanced works that would have explored the complexities of legal questions in greater detail. For instance, al-Ghaza¯lı¯’s al-Wajı¯z, al-Wası¯t and al-Bası¯t ˙ are different versions of the same work. The shorter works provide legal opinions with lesser degrees of explanation, disagreements, and critical evaluations. AlBası¯t offers a discussion of each question in greater depth. This path would align with the similar recommendations laid out by Nawawı¯, Ibn Jamaʾah, and alGhazzı¯. The chronology of the program also would fit with the goals of developing a student’s legal abilities. By studying works sequentially, law students would have seen the ways legal arguments would have been applied in different times and places. Also, as different authorities contradicted one another, the students would have had the opportunity to see development of the madhhab in a variety of directions. From this perspective, Qalqashandı¯’s list would have guided a student from a basic understanding up through interpretive developments and applications. The selection of the books themselves reveals important patterns in Islamic legal education and the networks that shaped the process of this education. Qalqashandı¯’s choices for the most crucial works prior to the thirteenth century were heavily influenced by the madhhab and the traditions of teaching that had preceded him. The texts that were deemed most important though the centuries were taught, commented upon, and referenced, while others fell into disuse. As

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he chose from works that had been composed in the century or two before him, Qalqashandı¯ had far greater latitude. The natural course of selection over time had not yet winnowed the number of texts down considerably, and the number of choices would have been extraordinary, particularly in the field of Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh. It is here that Qalqashandı¯ had the greatest license in selecting texts, and it is here that we can best detect the influences that shaped his decisions. One of the clearest and easiest choices from the recent past would have been the inclusion of al-Nawawı¯. Al-Nawawı¯ (d. 676/1226) lived only a little over one hundred years before Qalqashandı¯ was born, but his works in law and hadith had already become standard texts among Sha¯fiʿı¯ jurists. Al-Minhaj was one of the most commented upon works by scholars during the Mamluk period, and alRawdah also was studied widely.37 In his work, Subh al-aʿsha¯, Qalqashandı¯ in˙ ˙ ˙ cludes a certificate of memorization (ʿard) that he awarded to a student, who had ˙ 38 memorized al-Nawawı¯’s Minhaj al-Ta¯libı¯n. Other choices reflect Qalqashandı¯’s own interests and training. For instance, Qalqashandı¯ included four works by Kama¯l al-Dı¯n al-Nasha¯ʾı¯. Al-Nasha¯ʾı¯’s work did garner interest among the ʿulama¯ʾ during his own day, but his works did not hold a sustained position of importance in the Sha¯fiʿı¯ madhhab. This outsized position can be explained by Qalqashandı¯’s personal enthusiasm for his work. Qalqashandı¯ studied with Ibn Mullaqin (d. 804/1401) who issued him an ija¯zat al-tadrı¯s wa’l-ifta¯ʾ that Qalqashandı¯ preserved in Subh al-aʿsha¯. In this ija¯zah, Ibn ˙ ˙ Mullaqin explains that Qalqashandı¯ was examined on al-Nasha¯ʾı¯’s Ja¯miʿ almukhtasara¯t. In this process, Ibn Mullaqin opened the text and required Qal˙ qashandı¯ to recite specific passages, after which he had to comment on these sections and explain their meaning. Qalqashandı¯ was also examined on two texts written by Ibn Mulaqqin, a law text, Jamiʿ al-Jawa¯miʿ, and his commentary on Bukharı¯, which is also listed in Qalqashandı¯’s section on dirwa¯yah.39 In addition to this intense personal study of al-Nasha¯ʾı¯ during his highest levels of education, Qalqashandı¯ also wrote a commentary on al-Nasha¯ʾı¯’s text, Ja¯miʿ al-mukhtasara¯t. Qalqashandı¯ composed another fiqh commentary on Al-Ha¯wı¯ sahı¯r fı¯ furu¯ʿ ˙ ˙ by ʿAbd al-Ghafa¯r al-Qazwı¯nı¯ (d. 665/1266), a work in his list under the mukh40 tasars. Qalqashandı¯ had a connection to al-Nasha¯ʾı¯ through one of his own ˙ instructors, Ibn Mulaqqin, who studied under al-Nasha¯ʾı¯.41 Ibn Mulaqqin also did advanced study with Jama¯l al-Dı¯n al-Asnawı¯, who is mentioned in Qalqashandı¯’s list as an author of an advanced work of fiqh. The books that Qalqashandı¯ selected as most crucial in learning Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh from the generation 37 38 39 40 41

GAL S2, 680–6. Devin Stewart, “Doctorate,” 51. Steward, “Doctorate,” 69–70. C.E. Bosworth, “Kalkashandı¯,” EI2, 4:509–11. Al-Sakha¯wı¯, Al-Dawʾ, 6:100. ˙

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immediately preceding him directly reflect his own education and intellectual lineage. The strong presence of works written by scholars teaching in madrasahs or similar institutions during the Mamluk period demonstrates the crucial role these institutions played in determining which books would have been distributed widely enough to be considered authoritative. This phenomenon can be explained in a couple of ways. First, in most cases, instructors who received posts at madrasahs tended to be highly accomplished scholars who would have demonstrated exceptional ability in legal knowledge. Second, by virtue of their positions in madrasahs, these scholars would have significant numbers of students who would have studied and copied their work. These students would then have assigned their works to other students, causing their texts to grow in popularity and usage. This effect is evident in Qalqashandı¯’s use of his own master’s texts and Ibn Mulaqqin’s incorporation of al-Nasha¯ʾı¯’s and al-Asnawı¯’s work into his lessons, all three of whom held teaching posts in madrasahs or similar institutions. Conversely, while Qalqashandı¯’s Subh al-aʿsha¯ became widely read ˙ ˙ and recognized, perhaps due to his high ranking position in the chancery, Qalqashandı¯’s works on law have been lost. His stint as an instructor of law and as a judge were too brief to allow his works in these fields to grow and spread, and he did not have a position in a madrasah from which to propagate his legal writings. Christopher Melchert described a similar trend among authors who taught in the Niza¯ymı¯yah madrasah in the eleventh century.42 Those who did hold these po˙ sitions possessed a clear advantage, particularly in the social environment of Mamluk Cairo, but this trend does not preclude the possibility that an independent author could compose influential works. Qalqashandı¯’s list should be examined in contrast to other recommended courses of study. While Qalqashandı¯ does provide an excellent collection of works, many other authors do not. Most biographical dictionaries give only the briefest mention of texts studied by specific scholars. Some authors, however, do give us a more detailed description of their education, which can help identify central works in fiqh education.

ʿAlam al-Din al-Bulqı¯nı¯’s Course of Study in Fiqh While Qalqashandı¯ identifies texts that he considered to be the most important during his day, a focused study of individual scholars suggests specific texts favored by scholars and used in the education of their students. As an example of 42 Christopher Melchert, “Abu¯ Isha¯q al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯ and Ibn al-Sabba¯gh and the Advantages of ˙ ˙ Teaching at a Madrasa,” 141–166.

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a specific instructor’s course of study, ʿAlam al-Dı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯ (d. 868/1464) will be examined. ʿAlam al-Dı¯n was a part of one of the most influential dynasties of judges and law instructors during the Mamluk period. The Bulqı¯nı¯s held the most important offices in the Mamluk judiciary, and they occupied professorships in many of the most prestigious madrasahs in Cairo. A discussion of ʿAlam al-Dı¯n is especially profitable for a number of reasons. While there were many Sha¯fiʿı¯ scholars, not all built their reputation in the instruction of fiqh; many specialized in hadith or other fields. The Bulqı¯nı¯s and ʿAlam al-Dı¯n were widely recognized for their expertise in fiqh, and they were sought out by students in Cairo for instruction in this field. Because ʿAlam al-Dı¯n enjoyed such wide respect, scholars recorded the texts that they studied with him, in part to establish their own credentials as legal scholars. Jala¯l al-Dı¯n al-Suyu¯t¯ı (d. 911/1505) and Shams ˙ al-Dı¯n al-Sakha¯wı¯ (d. 902/1497) both list the works they studied with ʿAlam alDı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯ in order to attain an ija¯zat al-tadrı¯s wa’l-ifta¯ʾ. Because ʿAlam alDı¯n trained two famous scholars who describe their curriculum, the course of study that he used can be reconstructed. While this may not represent the works selected and used by all scholars during his time, it does provide evidence of what two of the most prominent scholars of the age considered to be the highest standard of education in fiqh. ʿAlam al-Dı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯ was the third son of Sira¯j al-Dı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯ (d. 805/ 1403), the founder of the Cairo branch of the Bulqı¯nı¯ judicial dynasty. ʿAlam alDı¯n’s father and older brother both acted as chief judge of the Sha¯fiʿı¯ madhhab in Egypt, and they held a large number of teaching positions in institutions across Cairo. ʿAlam al-Dı¯n followed in their footsteps by studying extensively with his father and brother, as well as other important scholars of his day, including Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯ (d. 852/1449). ʿAlam al-Dı¯n worked as a deputy judge under ˙ his brother before eventually working through the judicial ranks to become chief judge. He had the reputation as a remarkable scholar and was a sought after instructor. He held teaching positions in five of the largest and most important institutions in Cairo, mostly in fiqh, one in tafsı¯r. As an author, his most important accomplishment was the completion of an edition of his father’s work on fiqh, Al-Tadrı¯b. He was considered the most accomplished Sha¯fiʿı¯ instructor of his age, and a reconstruction of his course on fiqh provides a significant example of a curriculum in positive law.43 Jala¯l al-Dı¯n al-Suyu¯t¯ı became one of the greatest scholars in the Mamluk ˙ Sha¯fiʿı¯ madhhab and in the larger Islamic tradition. In Husn al-muha¯darah, al˙ ˙ Suyu¯t¯ı compiles lists of the most important Egyptian scholars in various fields in ˙ the Islamic sciences, including a list of the most accomplished scholars in Islamic

43 Al-Sakha¯wı¯, al-Dawʾ, 3:312–14. ˙

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law, the mujtahids. This list includes only seventy-eight scholars, with the final two entries going from Sira¯j al-Dı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯ to al-Suyu¯t¯ı himself.44 ˙ As a means of legitimizing his claims to the title of mujtahid, al-Suyu¯t¯ı first ˙ lists the works that he studied and the individuals with whom he studied and later describes the works that he composed in the religious sciences (ʿulu¯m al-shar¯ıʿah). He makes a special note of the works that he studied with ʿAlam al-Dı¯n alBulqı¯nı¯ until his death. Al-Suyu¯t¯ı then continued studying with ʿAlam al-Dı¯n’s ˙ son, who issued al-Suyu¯t¯ı an ija¯zat al-tadrı¯s wa’l-ifta¯ʾ.45 Al-Suyu¯t¯ı lists the fol˙ ˙ lowing texts that he studied with the Bulqı¯nı¯s:46 1. Al-Tadrı¯b by ʿAlam al-Dı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯ and his father, Sira¯j al-Dı¯n. 2. Al-Hawı¯ al-Saghı¯r by ʿAbd al-Ghafa¯r al-Qazwı¯nı¯. ˙ ˙ 3. Al-Minha¯j by al-Nawawı¯. 4. Al-Tanbı¯h by Abu Isha¯q al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯. ˙ 5. Al-Rawda by al-Nawawı¯. 6. Sharh al-minha¯j by al-Zarkashı¯. Badr al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Baha¯dur al˙ Zarkashı¯ (d. 794/1392). The course of study presented here represents both mukhtasars (Al-Hawı¯ al˙ ˙ Saghı¯r, Al-Minha¯j, and Al-Tanbı¯h) and more advanced texts (Al-Rawda, Sharh ˙ ˙ al-minha¯j, and Al-Tadrı¯b). These works formed a critical foundation to alSuyut¯ı’s legal education. He went on to write commentaries, abridgements and ˙ versifications of several of these works, including Bulqı¯nı¯’s Al-Tadrı¯b and alShı¯ra¯zı¯’s Al-Tanbı¯h.47 Another prominent scholar who studied with ʿAlam al-Dı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯ was Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad al-Sakha¯wı¯ (d. 902/ 1497). Al-Sakha¯wı¯ excelled in the study of hadith, but is best known for his biographical dictionary, al-Dawʾ al˙ la¯miʿ fı¯ aʿya¯n al-qarn al-ta¯siʿ. In this work, al-Sakha¯wı¯ provides a detailed account of his own life and education. Among his instructors, he lists ʿAlam al-Dı¯n alBulqı¯nı¯ and the works of fiqh that he studied with him, including the following:48 1. Al-Minha¯j by al-Nawawı¯. 2. Al-Tanbı¯h by Abu Isha¯q al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯. ˙ 3. Al-Tadrı¯b by Sira¯j al-Dı¯n and completed by ʿAlam al-Dı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯. While this list of works does not include as many as al-Suyu¯t¯ı’s, it does repeat the ˙ same works, indicating a consistency in the program that ʿAlam al-Dı¯n used in

44 45 46 47 48

Al-Suyu¯t¯ı, Husn, 1:283–288. ˙ usn, 1:289. Al-Suyu¯t˙¯ı, H ˙ ˙ Ibid., 1:293. Ibid., 1:293. Al-Sakha¯wı¯, Al-Dawʾ, 8:4. ˙

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instructing his students. Al-Sakha¯wı¯ also indicates that ʿAlam al-Dı¯n issued an ija¯zat al-tadrı¯s wa’l-ifta¯ʾ to him.49 The books which ʿAlam al-Dı¯n choose to teach reflect the pattern seen in Qalqashandı¯’s education. While an older foundational text appears in Shı¯ra¯zı¯’s al-Tanbih, most of the books were written in the more recent past. Al-Nawawı¯ and al-Qazwı¯nı¯ lived only two hundred years before ʿAlam al-Dı¯n. Their books seem to have acted as a foundational works for many jurists in Mamluk Egpyt, with both appearing in Qalqashandı¯’s list. Finally, two works written by ʿAlam alDı¯n, Sira¯j al-Dı¯n, and al-Zarkashı¯ rounded out his program. ʿAlam al-Dı¯n studied these works with his own masters who composed them. As such, he would have possessed special authority to transmit them. Al-Zarkashı¯ was a close associate of Sira¯j al-Dı¯n and worked as one of his deputy judges.50 By including his own work, a completion of his father’s book on fiqh, ʿAlam al-Dı¯n passed on his father’s most important work. Additionally, by teaching a text of his own composition, ʿAlam al-Dı¯n established his own qualifications as an instructor. The selection of books by an instructor to teach should be a viewed as a means of not only establishing the student’s qualifications, but the instructor’s as well. The reliance on more recent texts may also reflect the instructor’s interest in preparing students to make decisions as judges or as muftı¯s that were consistent with the madhhab. These most recent texts in positive law would have provided guides in not only legal methodology and reasoning, but also decisions on common and difficult cases. Introducing students to works produced in Egypt of their own day would prepare them for work in that field. This motive may have been especially relevant to ʿAlam al-Dı¯n, a chief judge of the Sha¯fiʿı¯ madhhab, since many of his students would have sought to act as one of his deputies. It is also worth noting that while Qalqashandı¯ recommended the study of a massive number of texts to attain mastery in the field of Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh, the requirements to achieve an ija¯zat al-tadrı¯s wa’l-ifta¯ʾ were far more modest. The examples from Ibn Mulaqqin and al-Bulqı¯nı¯ require the students to study between three and six fiqh texts. However, students seeking to establish themselves as leading scholars would likely attain multiple ija¯za¯t and study additional books in the process. These examples point to a several key texts that were in use. Further studies could identify other important works and programs of study. An examination of mashaykhah literature would yield more examples. Also, quantitative analysis of biographical dictionaries, focusing on the frequency of the appearance of fiqh texts, would help identify crucial works in the study of fiqh.

49 Al-Sakha¯wı¯, Al-Dawʾ, 3:314. ˙ 50 Ibn Hajar, Al-Durur, 3:241–2. ˙

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Conclusion The a¯da¯b manuals by al-Nawawı¯, Ibn Jama¯ʾah, and al-Ghazzı¯ lay out a clear course for students to follow. Students should find an instructor with complete qualification to teach law. The instruction would begin with the memorization and study of mukhtasars. Once students mastered these works, they would ad˙ vance on to longer and more complex works that dealt with more difficult problems in the law. As they did so, instructors would allow students to participate in disputation in the study circle. Finally, as students advanced and sought to establish their own place as instructors or leaders in the madhhab, they would compose works in order to contribute to the madhhab and demonstrate their own qualifications and authority. These manuals may present an idealized vision of a student’s program of study, and the reality of students’ education may not have followed this program to the letter. However, the fact that these manuals were composed by leading scholars and instructors of their age lends them credibility. Additionally, the examples of books used for study collected here demonstrate that instructors taught their students using these approaches. Qalqashandı¯ identified books according to their length and the depth to which they addressed legal questions. Likewise, ʿAlam al-Dı¯n al-Bulqı¯nı¯’s course of study demonstrates that the fiqh works which students studied would progress along the lines described in the a¯da¯b manuals. The examples here point to the primacy of some of the most important works of the madhhab, especially the mukhtasars and commentaries of prominent ˙ authors such al-Nawawı¯, al-Shı¯ra¯zı¯, al-Qazwı¯nı¯, al-Ra¯fiʿı¯, and others. As layers of commentaries accumulated through generations of jurists, the Sha¯fiʿı¯s returned to common referent points rather than relying on the commentaries and supercommentaries of their immediate mentors alone. These foundational texts formed the basis of most fiqh education at the time. These examples also reveal the dynamic world of composition among Sha¯fiʿı¯ jurists. The authorship of texts played a crucial role in establishing scholars’ qualifications among their peers, and writers used these books in their instruction of students. The Bulqı¯nı¯s, Ibn Mulaqqin, al-Asnawı¯, al-Qamu¯lı¯, and others taught their texts alongside of the standard texts of the madhhab, and in doing so, legitimized their claim to the high-ranking judicial and educational appointments they held. The vast majority of these works have been lost. Even the works of the most prestigious scholars of the period often fell into disuse within a generation or two. Few could rise to the position of al-Nawawı¯, and new scholars composed their own books to instruct their students, edging out the compositions of their mentors while integrating some of their contributions into their own books through references.

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A course of study in Sha¯fiʿı¯ fiqh during the Mamluk period, then, called on students to progress through texts of increasing levels of difficulty, with an emphasis on studying certain standard foundational texts selected by the instructor while also studying books composed by leading scholars of their own generation or the preceding generation, often composed by the instructor or the mentor of the instructor. By following this path, students would understand the development of the madhhab as well as the most current applications of law. Mastery of these texts would prepare aspiring judges, muftı¯s, and other officials to apply the law in a consistent manner, but also with the ability to adapt to their times.

Bibliography Primary Sources Al-Ghazzı¯, Badr al-Dı¯n Muhammad, Al-Durr al-nad¯ıd fı¯ adab al-mufı¯d wa-al-mustafı¯d, ˙ ˙ Jı¯zah: Maktabat al-Taw‘ı¯yah al-Isla¯ mı¯yah 2006. Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad, Al-Durar al-ka¯minah fı¯ aʿya¯n al-miʾah al˙ ˙ tha¯minah, Bayru¯t: Da¯r al-Kutub al-‘Ilmı¯yah 1998. Ibn Jama¯ʿah, Muhammad b. Ibrahı¯m, Tadhkirat al-sa¯miʿ wa al-mutakallim fı¯ adab al-ʿa¯lim wa al-mutaʿallim, Bayru¯t: Da¯r al-Kutub al-‘Ilmı¯yah 1979. Al-Nawawı¯, Yahya¯ Ibn Sharaf, Kita¯b al-ʿilm wa a¯da¯b al-ʿa¯lim wa al-mutaʿallim, Bayru¯t: Da¯r ˙ al-Khayr 1993. Qalqashandı¯, Ahmad b. ‘Alı¯, Subh al-aʿsha¯ fı¯ sina¯ʿat al-insha¯ʾ, 15 vols., Bayru¯t: Da¯r al-Kutub ˙ ˙ ˙ al-‘Ilmı¯yah 1987–89. Al-Sakha¯wı¯, Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad, Al-Dawʾ al-la¯miʿ li-ahl al-qarn al-ta¯siʿ, 12 vols., ˙ ˙ Bayru¯ t: Da¯ r Maktabat al-haya¯ t 1966. Al-Subkı¯, Taj al-Dı¯n ʿAbd al-Wahha¯b b. ʿAlı¯, Tabaqa¯t al-Sha¯fiʿı¯yah al-Kubra, ed. Mahmu¯d ˙ Muhammad Tana¯hı¯, 11 vols., Cairo 1967. Al-Suyu¯t¯ı, Jala¯l al-Dı¯n ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n, Husn al-muha¯darah fı¯ ta¯rı¯kh misr waʾl qa¯hirah, ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ 2 vols., Bayru¯t: Da¯r al-Kutub al-‘Ilmı¯yah 1997.

Secondary Sources Arazi, A. and H. Ben Shammai, “Mukhtasar,” Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 7: 536–40. ˙ Berkey, Jonathan. The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo: A Social History of Islamic Education, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1992. Bosworth, C.E., “Kalkashandı¯,” Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 4:509–11. Brockelmann, Carl, Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur, 2 vols. (G I, II), 3 suppl. Vols. (S I, II, III), Leiden: E. J. Brill 1937–49.

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Calder, Norman, “Al-Nawawı¯’s Typology of Muftı¯s and its Significance for a General Theory of Islamic Law,” Islamic Law and Society, 3/2 (1996), pp. 137–164. Chamberlain, Michael, Knowledge and Social Practice in Damascus, 1190–1350, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1994. Fadel, Mohammad, “The Social Logic of Taqlı¯d and the Rise of the Mukhatasar,” Islamic ˙ Law and Society, 3/2 (1996), pp. 193–233. Al Ghouz, Abdelkader, “Recasting al-Bayda¯wı¯’s Eschatological Concept of Bodily Resur˙ rection: Shams al-Dı¯n al-Isfaha¯nı¯ and Ahmad al-I¯jı¯ in Comparative Perspective,” ˙ ˙ Mamluk Studies Review, 20 (2017) pp. 39–54. Hirschler, Konrad. Medieval Damascus: Plurality and Diversity in an Arabic Library: The Ashrafiya Library Catalogue. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press 2016. Makdisi, George, Rise of the Colleges: Institutions of Higher Learning in Islam and the West, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press 1981. Moore, Robert, The Role of the Madrasah and the Structure of Islamic Legal Education in Mamluk Egypt (1250–1517), unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Emory University 2010. Muhanna, Elias, The World in a Book: Al-Nuwayri and the Islamic Encyclopedic Tradition, Princeton: Princeton University Press 2018. Pedersen, Johannes, The Arabic Book, trans. by Geoffrey French, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1984. Petry, Carl, The Civilian Elite of Cairo in the Later Middle Ages, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1981. Stewart, Devin, “The Doctorate of Law in Mamluk Egypt and Syria,” in Law and Education in Medieval Islam: Studies in Memory of George Makdisi, ed. Joseph E. Lowry, Devin J. Stewart and Shawkat M. Toorawa, Cambridge: E. J. W. Gibb Memorial Trust 2004.

Yehoshua Frenkel

Mamluk Soundscape. A Chapter in Sensory History

Introduction That sounds and pageantry play significant political and social roles in public arenas is but common wisdom.1 Students of the Qurʾa¯n are familiar with the acoustic mode of several sections of the Holy Book, particularly the last su¯ras. Hearing is a shared communal sense and sounds have a collective capacity; they influence us. Intentionally and non-deliberately, voices call attention. Their melodies and rhythm generate an emotive mode.2 We can soundly maintain that sounds create an acoustic community.3 As such, sounds have a social role. They echo events, either chaotic disorder (fitna)4 or harmony. A glorious event was described as ‘nothing similar to it was heard’.5 This is the contradiction between yawm mashhu¯d or ha¯fil (a well-attended festival but also funeral)6 and yawm ˙ muhhawı¯l or mahu¯l (dreadful day).7 Moreover, sounds reflect the changing times. An ambassador from Istanbul brought to Damascus a playing clock that staged a musical show each hour.8

1 2 3 4 5

Arkette, ‘Sounds Like City’, 160. Sells, ‘Sound and Meaning’, 403–430. Schafer, The Soundscape, 215. Ibn Hajar, Durar 3: 262 (no. 681 Kitbugha). Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:154, 283 (gathering at the Ibn Tu¯lu¯n Mosque); One Thousand Nights, 33 3:539 (night 738, the wedding of Ardashı¯r and Haya¯t al-Nufu¯s). ˙ 6 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:267 (894/August 1489, the opening of the Nile canal), 271 (895/ 1490, the performance of singers at a royal circumcision), 276; Ibn Rajab al-Hanbalı¯, Tabaqa¯t ˙ al-hana¯bila, 3:429 (Rabı¯ʿa Khatu¯n attended the inauguration of a school, ˙sitting behind a ˙ curtain); Ibn Khallika¯n, Wafaya¯t, 65 (the funeral of al-Jawa¯d al-Isfaha¯nı¯). 7 Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, 15:96 (AH 843); Ibn Sasra¯, al-Durra al-mud¯ıʿa, 35. ˙ ˙ ˙ 8 Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhba, Taʾrı¯kh, 2:483 (777/1376). ˙

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Sound Studies The historical interpretation of voices is based upon the assumption that giving meaning to sounds is a social production.9 Awareness of this led to the expansion of a new historical field. Some years ago, Roman Jacobson wrote on the sound of reading, on rhythm that catches the ear and the attention. For him, ‘[t]he task is to investigate speech sounds in relation to the meanings with which they are invested, i. e. sounds viewed as signifiers’.10 This developing field of historical studies investigates the production of sounds in the public sphere and their absorption. It examines the influence of sonic environments upon people’s emotions. The emergence of acoustic history illuminates the growing interest of historians in sensory history, in the past of sounds and lights.11 Hence, the history of soundscapes joins the study of historical landscapes.12 In addition to our efforts to reconstruct the past we should endeavour to recover its acoustics, to hear its sounds.13

Sound and Mamluk Studies The historiographical turn in the 1970s affected the study of the Mamluk Sultanate (1250–1517). In addition to investigating political and military institutions, scholars developed research interests in religious and cultural history. The study of Mamluk political history and culture is based primarily on chronicles and biographical dictionaries. Composers of these sources either belonged to the religious establishment or worked for the sultanate’s administration. Even a quick glance at Mamluk chronicles will reveal that sounds preceded events or concluded them. To cement this observation, I will refer in the following pages to voices that occurred in the urban public sphere. In this context it is sufficient to highlight the data that is preserved in writing of contemporaneous authors such as al-Maqrı¯zı¯ (766–845/1364–1441), Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯ ˙ (773–852/1372–1449) and Ibn Khaldu¯n (732–808/1332–1406). Theirs and others’ 14 works are tagged as siya¯sa-oriented historiography, namely source material that 9 Kelman, ‘Rethinking the Soundscape’, 215. 10 Jakobson, Six Lectures, 109. 11 Febvre, ‘La sensibilité et l’histoire’; Corbin, ‘Charting the Cultural History of the Senses’; Bull/ Gilroy/Howes/Kahn, ‘Introducing Sensory Studies’; Smith, ‘Producing Sense’. 12 Cf, Frenkel, ‘Public Projection of Power in Mamluk Bilad al-Sham’; Ergin, ‘The Soundscape’. 13 Clifford and Marcus, Writing Culture, 12–13. 14 Khalidi, Arabic Historical Thought, 183–184 (‘a new historiography came into being under the umbrella of siyasa, most typically represented in what may be called the imperial bureaucratic chronicle. (…) The Mamluk chronicles, in my opinion the climax of this siyasa-oriented

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largely aims at fortifying the sultanate’s ruling elite. Hence their writings devote considerable space to reports of the sultans’ courts and on careers among the authors’ social circles. They inform us also of the soundscape of the Sultanate. The following stories clearly illuminate the style and contents of siya¯sa-oriented historiography and the acoustic sensitivity that Mamluk historical texts reflect. The first is a report on the conversion of the leader of Damascus’ Jewish congregation: In this year on Tuesday 4 Dhu¯ l-Hijja (31 July 1302). ʿAbd al-Sayyid ibn al-Muhadhdhab, ˙ then the chief judge of the Jews of Damascus who inherited this post from his father and grandfather, came over to the da¯r al-ʿadl (palace of justice). Together with him were his sons. They all converted to Islam. The viceroy of Damascus granted them robes of honour (khilʿa) and ordered that horses be prepared so they could ride in a parade in the city of Damascus and for drums (daba¯dib) to be beaten and horns (abwa¯q/bu¯qa¯t) be played at the tail of the procession. All this was for the purpose of publicizing their conversion to Islam.15

The second example sheds light on popular scenes that were shared by the military elite and the religious establishment and were observed by the urban masses. These reports on loud public events that combined games and religious rituals transmit contemporaneous authors’ perception of the social and political role of sounds: On Rabı¯ʿ I (20 April-19 May), on the first of Pashons [9 May-7 June in the Coptic calendar; it is Mary the Mother of God’s birthday – YF], the sultan changed his dress. He took off the winter woollen costume and dressed in the summer white uniform. Next, he held the Prophet’s mawlid festival16 and played polo.17

A third example that illuminates awareness of the function of sounds is the story of the arrest of the singer Hadı¯ja al-Riha¯bı¯ya by the governor of Cairo. She was a ˙ ˙ famously beautiful Arab artist who mesmerized dignitaries and influential men. One of her admirers even composed several short verses regarding her. In order to limit her influence, the governor ordered this prestigious lady to stop per-

historiography, broadened to include the alpha and the omega, the bidaya and the nihaya of history’). 15 al-Yu¯nı¯nı¯, Dhayl (ed. and trans. Guo), 1:206–27; (ed. Abbas): 656 [to be published in a volume edited by Luke Yarbrough et al.]; Ibn Kathı¯r supplements additional information: ‘The procession came to a halt at their house. There they celebrated at night. Jurists and judges participated with them in the completing the recitation of the Qurʾa¯n’ (Ibn Kathı¯r, al-Bida¯ya wal-niha¯ya, 18:10). 16 The commemoration of Muhammad’s birth and death. Usually dated to the month of Rabı¯ʿ al-Awwal. On vocal aspects of this yearly celebrations, see Katz, The Birth, 63–87; Homerin, ‘Sufism in Mamluk Studies’, 196. 17 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:193 (887/1482). On the hippodromes of Cairo and the game, see Shehada, Mamluks and Animals, 203–206.

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forming. The expulsion from the stage broke her heart and she died at a very young age: The beauty of Hadı¯ja al-Riha¯bı¯ya hides the perihelion / the loveliness of her singing ˙ ˙ decorates her words // She resembles the moon on the night it is full / may her vision never ever fade from my eyes and heart.18

These and other historical tales raises research questions regarding past soundscapes. A close inspection of these thick accounts serves as the methodological starting point of the present contribution, which is based on the working hypothesis that sounds reflected the nature of the ruling system. In the urban centres of the Sultanate, they informed the subjects of the political goals of their rulers. Often, they accompanied royal processions of Mamluk sultans, the voices of armies riding to the battle fields, the entry of victorious battalions, and the echoes of prisoners on their way to jail19 or to the site of execution are only several categories of noisy political activities. Their effects on the audiences certainly were more potent in illiterate societies.20 Sounds served the governing Mamluk elite as a powerful tool for affecting the Sultanate’s subjects. Yet, the historical reports aimed at explaining the near past and the present. We cannot assume that the written texts which are at the heart of this contribution instigated the urban mobs, although indeed, Mamluk society was not an uneducated one. The research of soundscape contributes to the reconstruction of diverse fields of study of Mamluk urban society and its military aristocracy. The data presented so far and additional episodes that will be mentioned below highlight the potential contribution of soundscape history to the study of Mamluk politics and urban society. It sheds light on Cairo’s Citadel, royal images, social perceptions, rituals and communication. Hence, by concentrating on these accounts this paper aims at fixing the role of sounds’ reports as a central research question and thus contributing to the developing field of sensory history. The study of soundscape is undoubtedly a salient component of this research field. It constitutes a section of social history and is a potential contribution to popular culture. Although our reconstruction of Mamluk sounds is based primarily on written accounts, nevertheless material sources preserve data on how these tools were employed to produce sounds. Indeed, we cannot turn up the volume of history and catch the sounds of the past. Yet we can identify the traces of sounds. Consequently, by giving us another dimension of past societies the study of soundscape provides us with an additional tool to study these societies’ histories. 18 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:185–186 (886/1481). 19 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:137 (Cairo, 882/1477: ‘He was put on a donkey and disgraced by hanging a bell on his neck’). 20 Smith, Sensing the Pasts, 42.

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Since we cannot isolate our examination of the political history of the Mamluk Sultanate from the study of the cultural production within its realm, we can argue soundly that a holistic approach is a methodological obligation in our efforts to reconstruct the past.

Mamluk Authors on Sounds Let us move now from these general reflections regarding sounds in Islamic public spheres to a condensed report of ear-witness accounts from the Mamluk realm. Yet before presenting the source material used in our investigation of Mamluk sounds, I would like to call your attention to the well documented fact that the Muslim scholars who compiled the Middle Islamic period texts that are at our disposal, were fully aware of the political significance of voices, their communal impacts and the importance of monitoring them. Consequently, these scholars highlighted, long before modern politicians employed mass assemblies, processions, and sound and light plays, the vital social and governmental importance of public performances,21 including the sounds that were produced. From their writings we can easily deduce that sounds affected the population in the lands under the Mamluk sultans’ control. To support this statement, it is sufficient to present here several well-known Mamluk-period writers’ statements on sounds and on measures to monitor noises. Pseudo-Aristotle’s advice to Alexander the Great was well received by Mamluk-period Muslim scholars,22 as we can learn from the colophons of several copies that were reproduced in the lands of the Sultanate. In this work, the great Greek philosopher is quoted as advising the legendary king: And let there be plenty of frightening and terrific sound-producing instruments, even if you do not need them. For verily instruments that produce frightening sounds and alarming voices will inspire thy men with courage and strengthen their spirits. From the opposite end those instruments will terrify thy enemy. Fear will disperse them.23

This short citation can serve us as a springboard to further presentation of supporting evidence of contemporaneous awareness regarding the monitoring of

21 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3: 106–07 (Muharram 880/May 1475: the returning Hajj pilgrims ˙ were received by singers). 22 The complex history of this text is beyond the limits of the present contribution. Yet from the history of the manuscripts it is clear that in Ibn Khaldun’s days Sirr al-asra¯r was popular among Arabic readers. Gaster, ‘The Hebrew Version’; Manzalaoui, ‘The Pseudo-Aristotelian “Kita¯b Sirr al-asra¯r”’; Daiber, Islamic Thought, 48. 23 Pseudo-Aristotle, in Badawı¯, al-Usu¯l al-yu¯na¯niyya, 150 (ll. 2–3); Fulton, Secretum secretorum, ˙ 248.

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sounds.24 The names of several ‘famous’ Mamluk writers pop up instantly. I will transmit three fifteenth-century accounts by authors who painted a comprehensive picture of Mamluk institutions. These translations are arranged chronologically. It is no surprise to learn that in his al-Muqaddima Ibn Khaldu¯n holds forth on music and on sound. In a chapter entitled The Characteristic Emblems of Royal and Government Authority, he deals with the ceremonial instrument (a¯la):25 One of the emblems of royal authority is the set of instruments (a¯la), that is, the display of banners and flags and the beating of drums (tubu¯l) and the blowing of trumpets ˙ (abwa¯q) and horns (quru¯n). In the Book on Politics (kita¯b al-siya¯sa) ascribed to Aristotle, Aristotle mentioned that its real significance is to frighten the enemy in war. Frightful sounds do have the psychological effect of causing terror. Indeed, as everyone knows from his own [experience], this is an emotional element that plays a role on battlefields.26 The explanation given by Aristotle – if it was he who gave it – is correct in some respects. But the truth is that listening to music and sounds no doubt causes pleasure and emotion in the soul. The spiritual temper of man is thereby affected by a kind of drunkenness, which causes him to make light of difficulties and to be willing to die in the very condition in which he finds himself. This (state of affairs) exists even in dumb animals.27

The second piece of sound analysis that Ibn Khaldu¯n wrote is found in a section that concentrates on popular music and dancing. Here, the great historian maintains that: When (the Arabs) sang, they often effected a simple harmony between the modes, as was mentioned by Ibn Rashı¯q at the end of the Kita¯b al-ʿUmda, and by others. This was called sina¯d. Most (Arab music) was in the light rhythm (khafı¯f) that is used for dancing and marching, accompanied by drums (daff) and flutes (mizma¯r). It causes emotion and makes the serious-minded feel light hearted. The Arabs called that hazaj. All these simple types of melodious music are primary ones. It is not implausible to assume that they can be grasped by nature without any instruction, as is the case with all simple crafts.28

In his encyclopaedic description of the sultanate’s political institutions and rituals, al-Qalqashandı¯ describes the musical bands of the Mamluk army in similar words:

24 25 26 27

Quatremère, Makrizi, 1: 173–174 (note 54). Cf. Ibn Fadl Alla¯h al-ʿUmarı¯’s account of India. Quatremère, ‘Notices’, 188–189. ˙ ¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 1:935 (702/1303). Cf. al-Maqrı Ibn Khaldu¯n, al-Muqaddima, 2:42–43; ed. al-Shadda¯dı¯, 2:36–37; Rosenthal (trans.), The Muqaddimah, 2:48. 28 Ibn Khaldu¯n, al-Muqaddima, 2:359; ed. al-Shadda¯dı¯, 2:329; Rosenthal (trans.), The Muqaddimah, 2:403.

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The tabl-kha¯na is an assemblage of many drums together with trumpets and flutes. This ˙ band produce a mixture of changing voices according to the occasion. Each evening, after the evening prayer, it plays in the Citadel. It escorts the army companies on marches and during fighting. It is a common instrument employed by kings generally. It is narrated that Alexander [the Great] had in his service forty tabl-kha¯na bands. Ar˙ istotle, who wrote for Alexander the Book of Government, mentions in this book that the secret behind employing these bands is that during wars they terrorize the enemy. Other knowledgeable persons argue that these bands’ sounds excite the soul and strengthen the mind in an equivalent manner to which camel drivers’ voices affect the camels.

This is followed by a closer look at the musical bands: Great cymbals (ku¯sa¯t) are another musical instrument.29 They are basket shaped instruments made from cooper that are designed like a small shield (unu¯j). The player knocks with one brass castanet on the other in an orchestrated tempo. In the tabl-kha¯na ˙ it goes with drums’ playing and blowing of pipes. This is done twice each night in the Citadel on the Hill. They go around it once after the night prayer and a second time before the call to the morning prayer. It is named the circling of the Citadel. On the occasions that the sultan is travelling this band circles his tent.30

Khalı¯l Ibn Sha¯hı¯n al-Za¯hirı¯ tells his readers that the band of the sultan comprised ˙ forty loads (haml pl. ahma¯l) of cymbals (ku¯sa¯t), four double-headed kettledrums ˙ ˙ (duhu¯l), four reed pipes (zumu¯r), and twenty trumpets (anfira). Among the instruments used in the tabl-kha¯na of an amı¯r, says al-Za¯hirı¯, were two duhu¯l, ˙ ˙ two zamr, and four nafı¯r, but not the great ku¯sa¯t. An ata¯bak (field marshal) was allowed twice this number, whilst an amı¯r muqaddam (commander of one thousand) was only permitted a horn (bu¯k).31 According to his summary of the music production in the elites’ courts: The amı¯rs of a thousand numbered in the past twenty-four amı¯rs. Each one of them commanded one hundred mamlu¯ks and other professional officers, and one thousand reserve soldiers ( jundı¯). They had before their houses eight ‘loads’ (ahma¯l) of tabl˙ ˙ kha¯na [bands], and two timbales (tabl dahl), two flutes (zamr), and four trumpets ˙ (anfira), as well as new timbales and flutes. The orchestra playing at the gate of the army’s commander in chief (ata¯bak [al-ʿasa¯kir]) was twice as large. In the past (i. e. during the reign of the first sultans), the number of the tabl-kha¯na amı¯rs was forty commanders. Each one of them ˙ commanded forty mamlu¯ks. Three bands of tabl-kha¯na players and two trumpets ˙ (nafı¯r), but today (i. e. in the days of al-Za¯hirı¯), there are only two drums (tabl) and two ˙ ˙ 32 flutes (zamr).

29 Ibn Khaldu¯n states that ku¯sa¯t were allowed to each amı¯r who commanded an army battalion. Al-Muqaddima, 2:46; Rosenthal (trans.), The Muqaddimah, 2:52. 30 Al-Qalqashandı¯, Subh al-aʿsha¯, 4:8–9. ˙ ¯,˙ Zubdat kashf, 125. 31 Ibn Sha¯hı¯n al-Za¯hirı ˙ 32 Ibn Shahin al-Za¯hirı¯, Zubdat kashf, 113. ˙

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The symbolic power of the tabl-kha¯na reflects the military character of the ˙ Mamluk regime. The sounds produced by these musical bands in peace and war, in the towns and during expeditions, clearly conveyed to the listeners the true nature of the sultanate, certainly more sharply than any political theory that some jurist wrote for the governing military aristocracy.33 Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯ says that under Qala¯wu¯n (d. 678/1290) a wazı¯r possessed a tablkha¯na,34 and we read of a similar privilege in 821/1418, although we are told ˙ that the custom was not usual. According to him, it was only the officers (umara¯ʾ) who commanded a battalion of one thousand soldiers who were granted this honour. By the ninth/fifteenth century, however, an amı¯r of forty horsemen was allowed to possess a tabl-kha¯na, but for a time he was only allowed to let it play ˙ while on duty. When the Ottomans conquered Egypt in 923/1517, the bands of the battalions were suppressed.35 In his comprehensive study of the Mamluk army, David Ayalon summarizes this military institution. As the point of departure of his study, Ayalon uses narrative accounts in the chronicles of music bands (tabl-kha¯na),36 yet he adds ˙ also the accounts of Mamluk administration guides. Based on these sources, he explains that the amı¯r of tabl-kha¯na was so called because holders of this and ˙ higher ranks were entitled to have a band playing (tabl-kha¯na) in front of their ˙ houses. According to the sources, he says, the tabl-kha¯na consisted of a group of ˙ musical instruments, including many drums and some trumpets (abwa¯q), and flutes (zumu¯r) of various timbres and playing in a specific style. Every evening, following the evening prayer, the instruments would be played. The tabl-kha¯na accompanied the army battalions (tulb pl. atla¯b) of the sultan ˙ ˙ ˙ or the amı¯rs in wars and expeditions with the aim of heartening the troops and striking terror into the hearts of the enemy.37 Similar interpretations of royal processions are put forward by several scholars. Headed by the standard-bearer (ʿalam-da¯r), who carried the great royal banner ( ja¯lish) of gold-embroidered yellow silk adorned with a tuft of horsehair, the procession advanced. Behind the standard-bearer walked the armour bearers, headed by the arsenal commander (sila¯h-da¯r). The amı¯rs, on horseback or on foot, came next with their retinue of ˙ mamlu¯ks, in similar order and with hardly less pomp, and the rear was brought up by the royal band, al-tabl-kha¯na al-sharı¯fa, an ensemble more noisy than ˙

33 34 35 36

Ayalon, ‘Studies on the Structure of the Mamluk Army – I’, 469–470; Farmer, ‘Tabl-Kha¯na’. ˙ Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, 8:141. Quatremère (trad.), al-Maqrizi, I/1, 173–4 (note). Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 1: 694–695; Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3: 4 (872/1468), 34 (873/1469); Ibn Zunbul, A¯khirat al-mama¯lı¯k, 78. 37 Ayalon, ‘Studies on the Structure of the Mamluk Army’, 469–470.

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melodious, composed of four big drums, forty brass cymbals, four double-reed clarinets, and twenty small kettledrums.38 We mentioned above the role of drums and trumpets in the battlefield, an ancient method of transmitting vocal signals during fighting that was familiar to the Mamluk armies.39 Muhammad al-Aqsara¯ʾı¯ (d. 749/1348), a Damascene au˙ thor about whom little is known, remarks in his book on horsemanship that military horses trained for battle should be used to the beat of drums (tubu¯l) and ˙ cymbals (ku¯sa¯t).40

Governmental Sounds The Mamluk rulers staged cavalcades, pageants (mawkib pl. mawa¯kib), communal ceremonies,41 processions of the palanquin (mahmal),42 displays of pen˙ alties (tasmı¯r),43 and public festivities. Chronicles tell that bands of drummers (tabl-kha¯na) publicly announced momentous events. Reports of victories are ˙ often appended with the plain and simple line ‘and the drums roared’: duqqat albasha¯ʾir,44 durribat lahu¯ al-basha¯ʾir45 or duqqat lahu¯ al-basha¯ʾir wa-ka¯na yawman mashu¯dan46 or wa-duqqat al-ku¯sa¯t.47 The playing of the drums informed listeners of a new development. On cheerful occasions such as investitures of sultans, proclamations of royal births, or recovery of the sultan’s health, cities were decorated. This was done also in cases when a contestant succeeded in winning a political challenge.48 The rhythm of the drums on these occasions differed from the music played by tambourines or the beating of drums during fighting. The rhythm broadcasted the information, perhaps the announcement that a new sultan had ascended the throne in the citadel on the hill overlooking Cairo, or an alarm caused by a crisis.

38 Stowasser, ‘Manners and Customs at the Mamluk Court’, 19. 39 Aelian in Dillon (trans.), The Tactics of Aelian, 128; this Greek author (al-Ya¯nu¯s) was familiar to Arab audiences. See Wüstenfeld, Das Heerwesen der Muhammedaner. 40 Jensen, ‘The Mamluk Lancer’, 13 (Arabic), 14 (English). 41 Cf. the description of Damascus by a contemporary author. Al-Dhahabı¯, al-ʿIbar, 4:3 (701/ 1301). 42 Ibn Battu¯ta, Tuhfat al-nuzza¯r, 1:93–94; Shoshan, Popular Culture, 70–72; Behrens-Abouseif, ˙˙ ˙ ˙ ‘The Mahmal Legend’, 94.˙ ˙ 43 Ibn al-Qaysara¯nı¯, Kita¯b al-durr al-masu¯n, 93. 44 Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, ˙10:302 (755/October 1354); al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 4:893 (836/1433); Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 2:316 (AH 857), 342 (AH 861). 45 Al-ʿAynı¯,ʿIqd al-Juma¯n, 302 (792/February 1390: the drums played for three days). 46 Abu¯ Ha¯mid al-Qudsı¯, Duwal al-isla¯m, 49, 56, 89, 90. ˙ ¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 2: 73; al-Yusufı¯, Nuzhat al-na¯zir, 141; Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhba, Taʾrı¯kh, 1:129. 47 Al-Maqrı ¯ ˙ ˙ 48 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 2:214 (AH 842/).

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In grave cases, times of tension or crisis. the kettledrums and cymbals played war marches (duqqat al-ku¯sa¯t harbiyyan).49 ˙ News of military triumphs was broadcasted across the cities by the playing of drums50 and victories saw public celebrations Thus were the sounds that broadcasted news of the ascendancy of a new sultan also transmitted. On these occasions, cavalry and infantry marched across the city, drums played loudly, jugglers performed, and emblems of state were put on display.51 Sounds were accompanied by candle-lights and decorations, as can be deduced from the following account of a circumcision that took place in Damascus:52 [And] Ibn Hijjı¯ said: in a word (wa-ʿala¯ al-jumla), such a festive day never was seen in ˙ Damascus before. The viceroy ordered to be brought eight horses coated with horseblankets (kana¯bı¯sh) made of silk and embroidered with gold and silver (zarkash), and on them golden saddles. The presenting senior commanders mounted the horses. Then the boy was summoned to the grand tent. The commanders rode out, and the viceroy and his son followed them. The musicians paraded behind them till they arrived at the Palace of Felicity (da¯r al-saʿa¯da).53

To support the paradigm, I advocate, I choose to present several public performances in Mamluk Cairo and in other provinces of the Sultanate. The aim is to demonstrate the contribution of soundscape studies to the investigation of Mamluk political discourse. By concentrating upon accounts of political events that took place in the major cities of the Sultanate, I aim to elucidate the thesis that sounds inform us of the social environment and of the political nature of past regimes and historical societies. The following section brings together several reports, presented in chronological order, that cast light on the task of voices in spreading news and on their loud receptions. To welcome the victorious Mamluk battalions returning to Cairo after victory over the Mongols in ʿAyn Ja¯lu¯t, the city was decorated (zuyyinat).54 Similar descriptions of beautification can be detected in reports on royal processions.55 This passive verb occurs hundreds of times in the chronicles that tell of the entrée royale.56 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56

Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, 8:170. Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 2:100 (828/1425). Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 4:521 (naft, petroleum, in 823/1420). ˙ Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhba, Taʾrı¯kh, 4: 28–29; Ibn Hijjı¯, Taʾrı¯kh Ibn Hijjı¯, 370; cf. Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al˙ ˙ On him see Hassan, ‘Ta¯ʿift al˙ zuhu¯r, 3:115 (Ibn Riha¯b al-Mughnı¯ in Damietta, 880/April. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ maga¯nı¯’, 380–81). I.e., the governors’ quarters. On this palace see Brinner, ‘Da¯r al-Saʿa¯da’; Rabbat, ‘The Ideological Significance’. Abu¯ Ha¯mid al-Qudsı¯, Duwal al-isla¯m, 33, 55. ˙ a¯mid al-Qudsı¯, Duwal al-isla¯m, 36. Abu¯ H ˙ ¯,ʿIqd al-juma¯n, 297–298 (792/1390). Al-ʿAynı

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As Qala¯wu¯n was concluding his preparation to seize the throne in Cairo (in 1279), several of his Mamluks joined him. In two days and seven hours they crossed the distance separating Cairo from Damascus. ‘Such a speed was never recorded in the past’, says the historian, and adds: ‘and then the drums were beaten and all the population, city dwellers and countryside residents, were notified about this promising information’.57 Describing the siege of Acre (690/ 1291) by al-Ashraf ibn Qala¯wu¯n, the chronicler tells that: at dawn the sultan and his armies advanced towards the city, the kettledrums played loudly, they produced frightening sounds and high unpleasant voices.58

A similar vocabulary is used in an account of the Mamluk victory over the Mongols at Marj al-Suffa¯r (702/1303): ˙

Advancing, the sultan’s ku¯sa¯t and the trumpets (bu¯qa¯t) played. Their sounds shook the earth and hearts trembled… The sultan and his cavalry spent the night sitting on their horses while the drums were playing. Their sound attracted the dispersed soldiers, who advanced toward the sultan’s drums (tubu¯l) and kettledrums.59 ˙

Writing about a political crisis during the second reign of al-Na¯sir Muhammad ˙ ˙ (1299–1309), the historian al-Maqrı¯zı¯ says: ‘and the great cymbals (ku¯sa¯t) of the sultan in the Citadel of Cairo were beaten and played the sound of war (duqqan harbiyyan), with the intention of calling those units of the army that kept their ˙ loyalty to the sultan to gather into the citadel’.49 The account of the abdication of al-Malik al-Na¯sir (in 708/1309) is another ˙ case in point. The vacant throne was occupied by Baybars al-Jashnagı¯r. The military and civil elite assembled and publicly pronounced their recognition of the legitimacy of the new sultan. Following this open support, Baybars rode to the citadel while the military aristocracy walked behind him. ‘The drums were beaten’, says the chronicler, ‘and the heralds carried the message to other centres of the sultanate’.60 Reporting on the restoration of the sultan al-Na¯sir Muhammad (in 730/1330), ˙ ˙ the chronicler tells that Cairo was decorated magnificently, in several sites bands of musicians played, the kettledrums were continually beaten and the amı¯rs’ tabl˙ kha¯na also played.61 Following the arrest of al-Nashw,62 Cairo was decorated

57 Ibn al-Dawa¯da¯rı¯, Kanz al-Durar, 232 (AH 678); For his career see Northrup, From Slave to Sultan, 81–84. 58 Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, 8:6. 59 Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, 8:126. 60 Ibn Kathı¯r, al-Bida¯ya wal-niha¯ya, 18:80 (ah 708). 61 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 2:318. 62 On him see Levanoni, ‘The al-Nashw Episode’.

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(zuyyinat). Popular poems (azja¯l) and satirical verses (bala¯lı¯q) were played in the streets as the civil population celebrated the event.63 Describing the departure of Tankiz, the governor of Damascus (1312–1340), to Anatolia, the chronicler says: ‘Tankiz was decorated according to the royal etiquette, [his army] adorned in red ribbons and playing on kettledrums’.64 As an embassy from Cairo carrying gifts to the ruler of eastern Turkey, including an elephant and a giraffe,65 stopped in Damascus (741/May 1341). The locals rushed out to examine the animals. While the delegation rested, the elephant was paraded along the city’s streets.66 The detailed account of the nomination and coronation of al-Malik al-Za¯hir ˙ Sayf al-Isla¯m Abu¯ Saʿı¯d Barqu¯q (784/November 1382) enriches our acquaintance with the sultanate’s royal ceremonies. Following his proclamation, the caliph bestowed upon him the sultan’s robe. From the embankment on the Nile, Barqu¯q rode up the hill to the citadel, where he ascended the throne. While his train paraded it started raining, and the population believed this was a good omen. The army bowed and kissed the ground in front of him. The city was decorated for seven days, and the drums played. Similar acts occurred in the cities of Syria.67 The account of Barqu¯q’s victorious return to the throne in 792/1390 preserves the joyful scene at the welcoming reception. A mission from Cairo proceeded to meet him at dawn when he arrived at Rayda¯niyya. Among the dignitaries were the descendants of the Prophet, Sufis carrying banners (sana¯jiq), army battalions dressed for combat and armed with weapons, Jews carrying candelabra and the Torah, Christians holding candles and Bibles. The masses chanted blessings, and the women trilled. As the beating of the drums spread the news that the young prince Faraj had ascended the throne, the streets of Cairo were decorated.68 After his temporary recovery, sultan Barsba¯y (1422–1438) bestowed robes of honour on the surgeons who had treated him. Drums delivered the message.69 The news of a victory over the Ottomans pleased the dwellers of the Citadel (891/April 1486). In preparations to welcome the expedition force, Cairo was decorated. When the soldiers entered the Sultanate’s capital, the sound of the drums rumbled.70 A month later, as severe illness endangered the life of Qa¯ytba¯y, high tension loomed in Cairo. His recovery pleased his followers (891/May 1486). 63 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 2:482 (740/1339). 64 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 2:142. 65 Cf. the sending of a giraffe to Tamerlane in 806/1404. The animal was dressed by a yellow silk gown. The jurists of Damascus debated its origin, is it a hybrid of a cow and a camel, and questioned whether its flesh may be eaten. Ibn Hijjı¯, Taʾrı¯kh Ibn Hijjı¯i, 612, 613. ˙ ˙ 66 Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhba, Taʾrı¯kh , 1:132. ˙ ¯ al-Sayrafı¯, Nuzhat al-nufu¯s, 1:38–40. 67 Al-Jawharı ˙ ¯ k, 3:985 (802/1399). 68 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu 69 Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, 15:99 (841/1437). 70 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:228.

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Orders were issued to decorate the city’s streets. Drummers played marches spreading the good tidings (duqqat al-basha¯ʾir).71 In his efforts to prop up his image as a good ruler and sound Muslim, the sultan al-Ashraf Qa¯ytba¯y initiated a construction policy. At the Haram al-Sharı¯f ˙ in Jerusalem he ordered the building of a new learning institution (madrasa) and water installations. Learning that his construction initiative had been successfully completed, the sultan directed a group of army commanders to travel to the city. They were accompanied by several reciters and preachers72 and the recently nominated head of the new school (al-Ashrafiyya) in Jerusalem. Recitation and lecturing were key components of the inauguration ceremony (walı¯ma; 890/June 1485).73 Describing the establishment of the dashı¯sha in al-Madı¯na by the sultan Qa¯ytba¯y,74 the historian says: ‘and the voices rose high in approval’.75 As false news circled in Cairo narrating that the island of Rhodes had surrendered due to political manoeuvres, the sultan al-Ashraf Qa¯nsu¯h considered ˙ the playing of military music bands to communicate the untrue but pleasing 76 information. The thesis that the study of sounds contributes to knowledge of the cultural history of past Islamic societies is supported by accounts of the Rajab and Hajj mahmal (ceremonial palanquin) processions that accompanied the pilgrim ˙ caravans in Cairo and Damascus.77 Reports on this festival reveal that it was inaugurated in Ayyubid Egypt.78 Mamluk chronicles report that starting in the reign of al-Za¯hir Baybars, the mahmal departed Cairo for the holy cities of ˙ ˙ Arabia. Describing the festive departure of the mahmal caravan from Cairo, late ˙ Mamluk writers describe a noisy happening.79 When the lady Tugha¯y arrived in Cairo, on her way to the holy cities of Arabia, she was saluted with gorgeous celebrations. As she departed from the Hajj pond the sultan’s flags waved, and the kettledrums played.80 Another noisy event was 71 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:229. 72 From preachers’ biographies we can deduce that chanting was not strange to them. From Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad al-Qarda¯h (780–841/1378–1438) we learn that he studied music; see Ibn ˙ Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯˙nı¯, Inbaʾ al-ghumr, 4:76–77 (bio. no. 5); al-Majmaʿ al-muʾassis, 3:77–78 (bio. ˙ no. 442). Ibn Hajar was familiar with this preacher and met with him on several occasions. See ˙ Berkey, ‘Storytelling, Preaching and Power in Mamluk Cairo’, 62. 73 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:218. On this institute of learning and the nearby fountain (sabı¯l) see Tamari, ‘Al-Ashrafiyya’; Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 606. 74 Behrens-Abouseif, ‘Sultan Qaytbay’s Foundation’. 75 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al -zuhu¯r, 3:165. 76 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 4: 271–272 (918/1512). 77 Meloy, ‘Celebrating the Mahmal’. 78 On Ibn Jubayr’s account see Jomier, Le Mahmal, 47; Warner, ‘Commerce and Spirituality’, 211–214. 79 Frenkel, ‘Volksroman under the Mamluks’, 25. 80 Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 2: 232–233 (721/November 1321).

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the Nile festival (kasr al-halı¯j). Historical accounts describe fire plays and cere˙ monial sounds.81 Yet music was not only reserved for rulers’ shows or religious occasions. Royal wedding processions (zaffa) that escorted the bride to her new dwelling seem also to have been used to demonstrate the host’s wealth, strength, and status.82 During the wedding of the prince Anuk, singing girls played on tambourines.83 Reports of mass circumcisions inform us that loud music was played.84 Describing an event in Damascus, the local historian Ibn Hijjı¯ exclaims ˙ that ‘such a festive day never was seen in Damascus before. The commanders rode out, and the viceroy and his son followed them. The musicians paraded behind them till they arrived at the Palace of Felicity (da¯r al-saʿa¯da).The circumcision took place there’.85 In addition to these noisy sounds in the open air that the armies of the sultanate produced, listeners could hear more mild voices in indoors gatherings. Such were the literary salons that took place at the sultans’ courts. Poets read verses that highlighted the virtue of the ascending sultan.86 Following the arrest of the king of Cyprus by al-Ashraf Barsba¯y (in 1427), the poet Ibn al-Kharra¯t read an ˙ ode (qas¯ıda). At the assembly of the leading political figures in Cairo he praised ˙ the victorious sultan.87 The limited number of sound accounts presented here are supported by numerous short reports in contemporary Mamluk chronicles. The development of the public sphere by the governing elite was not restricted to stone and marble. The narrative accounts of the Mamluk soundscape fortify our argument that in order to capture their subjects’ attention, sultans and emirs shaped an urban space where mass events took place. Streets and squares were also decorated with textiles, colours, and lights. Music and sounds attracted the attention of passersby and of large crowds. Moreover, this demonstration of honour was not limited to the military aristocracy but was occasionally also shown towards the religious establishment. When the qa¯d¯ı Karı¯m al-Dı¯n arrived in Cairo (717/1317), the city was decorated ˙ and thousands of candles and torches ignited. At night a reception took place.88 From the documentation analysed above we learn that the effects created by sounds were familiar to past societies. Sounds were instrumental in boosting a sultan’s image and prestige. Sounds were – and are – a tool to inform, particularly 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88

Shoshan, Popular Culture, 42–44, 49–50; Lutfi, ‘Coptic Festivals’. Cf. Frenkel, ‘Marriage and Family’. Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, 9:102 (732/April 1332). Abu¯ Ha¯mid al-Qudsı¯, Duwal al-isla¯m, 36; Frenkel, ‘Popular Culture’, 198. ˙¯ d¯ı Shuhba, Taʾrı¯kh, 4:28–29; Ibn Hijjı¯, Taʾrı¯kh, 370. Ibn Qa ˙ Al-ʿAyni,ʿIqd al-Juma¯n (Barqu¯q), 121. ˙ Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Manhal, 3:269–70, 7:213. Al-Safadı¯, Nuzhat al-ma¯lik, 241.

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in zones where direct eye contact is limited. Buildings obstruct visibility and voices surpass this obstacle. To argue that the use of sounds in efforts to shore up political images was not a unique Mamluk phenomenon is supported by a quick review of historical texts from all quarters of the Abode of Islam. Sources in Arabic and Persian from all over the Islamicate world provide accounts of the employment of musical instruments to encourage soldiers,89 to impress audiences and to broadcast might. Ibn Funduq, the historian of the city of Bayhaq in Iran, for example, tells of the role of drums and horns in alerting the Ghaznavid expedition force.90 A quick glance at popular narrative sources will illuminate the prevalence of this practice of beating the drums to proclaim joyous events and disseminate information.91 Such, for example, is found in a tale of the arrival of the ill king’s boat from an island to the mainland. As it anchored and the servants were making preparations to receive him, ‘the drums played’ (wa-duqqat al-basha¯ʾir li-qudumihi).92 Another example is a story in the dateless ‘One Thousand and One Nights’. The sound of drums filled the city’s air as the wedding of the king Badr and Jawhara was proclaimed.93 In another story, we are told that a birth was publicised by maids who played with tambourines and other musical instruments.94

Civil Milieu Sounds Not only royal and military voices, analysed previously, sounded in the streets of Mamluk towns in Egypt and Syria, but also communal and religious voices, namely sounds that constitute an integral component of Islamic rituals.95 The following section is concerned with the acoustic mode of several texts, not in their semantic mode, i. e. not with social or liturgical history, but with the lyrical intensity of the reported performances. These reports serve as a clear indication that the governing military commanders and sultan were aware of the importance of creating an urban environment that would affect the visions and minds of their subjects. Since these accounts comprise the sheer bulk of the information that contemporary authors reported upon, readers of Mamluk

89 90 91 92 93 94 95

Al-Maqrı¯zı¯, al-Sulu¯k, 1:429, 431 (Qutuz in 658/1260). ˙ Ibn Funduq al-Bayhaqı¯, Taʾrı¯kh Bayhaq, 487. Al-Harı¯rı¯, Maqa¯ma¯t, 126–127 (interpretive notes). Ibn ˙ʿArab Sha¯h, Fa¯kihat al-khulafa¯ʾ, 29. Habicht, Alf Layla wa-Layla, 10:71. MacNaghten, The Alf Laila, 1:353. Al-Dhahabı¯, al-ʿIbar, 4:13 (a band of Sufis was received with open arms: wa-ka¯nat tudaqqu lahu¯ nawban).

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chroniclers are familiar with this data;96 hence I can limit the number of reference presented here. The audio-visual elements of design contributed to the development of an Islamic urban space. Sounds from minarets made Islam heard as well as seen. They produced a space where five time a day calls to the believers to congregate in the mosques (adha¯n)97 are heard loudly and clearly. Passers-by would also hear loud readings from the Qurʾa¯n and from Hadı¯th collections (in Mamluk Cairo ˙ particularly from Sah¯ıh al-Bukha¯rı¯). Yet. limiting myself to the study of urban ˙ ˙ acoustic spaces I will dwell in this chapter concisely only upon sonic enclaves that housed religious rituals, such as Sufi mystical invocations (dhikr) or students’ auditions (sama¯ʿ),98 advancing the thesis that Mamlu¯k urban conglomerates were governed by regulations and decrees that were interpreted as derived from the sacred Islamic Law (sharı¯ʿa).99 Islam is a scriptural civilization. The word Qurʾa¯n means reciting. A second title of the sacred scripture is al-kita¯b, which means a written book, although the followers of the messenger who proclaimed the revelations believed that he was al-nabı¯ al-ummı¯ (the illiterate prophet). This did not belittle the social role of texts and flamboyant reading. On many occasions, the public reciting of verses from the Qurʾa¯n out loud served as the axis of a religious ceremony. Supplications to Alla¯h and pleas to bless the prophet Muhammad and his ˙ community can be traced from Islam’s early days. During the Abbasid period Muslims started to circulate written and oral eulogies praising Muhammad, the ˙ Seal of the Prophets. An early example of these writings is a booklet by Ibn Abı¯ ¯ sim, who among other traditions transmits the following prophetic maxim: ʿA We told the Messenger of Alla¯h: ‘We have learned how to say hello and goodbye; but now we ask you how to pray for your own sake’. Muhammad said: ‘Say: O God extol ˙ Muhammad and his family similarly to Your extolment of Abraham and his household. ˙ You are the praiseworthy and the glorious. O God bless Muhammad and his family ˙ similarly to Your blessing of Abraham and his household. You are the praiseworthy and 100 the glorious’.

96 Ibn Duqma¯q, Nuzhat al-ana¯m, 277. 97 Describing a political crisis at the court of the sultan Hasan (759/August 1358) that involved ˙ to the evening prayer the situation soldiers and Sufis, the historian tells: ‘before the call calmed down and the disturbances stopped’: Ibn Taghrı¯ Birdı¯, al-Nuju¯m al-za¯hira, 10:309. On that, see further below. 98 This is not the place to dwell upon questions regarding ‘the Mediterranean Islamic city’ and its features. Circumventing the architectural or structural dimensions of this colonial model, see Neglia, ‘Some Historiographical Notes’; Gottreich, ‘Rethinking the ‘Islamic City’’. 99 Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 119–125. ¯ sim, Kita¯b al-Sala¯t, 12. 100 Ibn Abı¯ ʿA ˙

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This and similar texts were received with open arms by Mamluk audiences, who made use of some of these early booklets in praise of the Prophet.101 Moreover, several Mamluk authors contributed directly to this literary genre. Readers’ lists (sama¯ʿa¯t) support this conclusion. An observable case demonstrating this is the library of the Damascene scholar Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya.102 We should assume that this ritual reading in praise of the Prophet was a resounding ceremony and that the reciter raised his voice while uttering his supplications (duʿa¯ʾ).103 Several decades later, Ibn Na¯sir al-Dı¯n al-Hamawı¯ (also known as al-Di˙ ˙ mashqı¯) wrote a very detailed biography of the prophet Muhammad (sı¯ra).104 ˙ Prayers for the Prophet occupy many pages in his composition.105 Relying on earlier authors, Ibn Na¯sir al-Dı¯n ties the commandment to pray for the cause of ˙ the Prophet Muhammad to explicit sayings that are attributed to him. Such, for ˙ example, is the maxim: ‘pray for me wherever you are because your prayer will reach me’.106 Muhammad al-Jazu¯lı¯ (d. c. 869/1465), a North African scholar and ˙ Sufi, composed the very popular booklet Dala¯ʾil al-khayra¯t. It is not clear if fifteenth-century Egyptians were familiar with this highly revered master.107AlSakha¯wı¯, a prolific Mamluk author, says in his biographical dictionary: He stopped in Cairo in 840AH. In the pilgrimage of 841AH he visited Mecca. Afterwards he moved to al-Madı¯na and settled there. He returned to Mecca in 842AH and married. There he begat children, thought and wrote legal opinions. He died in Mecca in 863AH.108

As with the public narration of the Prophet’s sı¯ra, reading this manual was also performed out loud.109 The history of the Prophet’s birthday and death festival (mawlid al-nabı¯, celebrated on 12 Rabı¯ʿ I) has been studied thoroughly.110 During 101 al-Maqdisı¯, Thabat masmu¯ʿa¯t, 161. 102 Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya, Jala¯ʾ al-afha¯m, 44 (33), 61, 73 (n. 71), 94 (no. 97, quoting Isma¯ʿı¯l b. Isha¯q al-Qa¯d¯ı, Fadl al-salatʿala¯ al-nabı¯), 41 (no. 31), 97 (no. 102), 105 (no. 116, quoting Ibn ˙¯ ʿA ˙ 131, ˙ quoting Ibn Abı¯ ʿA ¯ sim), ˙116 (no. ¯ sim), 117 (no. 133, quoting Isma¯ʿı¯l b. Isha¯q alAbı ˙ ˙ Qa¯d¯ı), 496, 497, 504. ˙ 103 Q. 17, al-Isra¯ʾ: 11 ‘Man prays for evil, as he prays for good’ and 40: 60 ‘Your Lord has said, “Call upon Me and I will answer you”’. See Katz, Prayer, 29. 104 al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Imta¯ʿ al-asma¯ʿ. 105 Ibn Na¯sir al -Dı¯n al-Hamawı¯, Ja¯mi al-a¯tha¯r, 8:101ff. ˙ amawı¯, Ja¯mi al-a¯tha¯r, 8:105, 128. 106 Ibn Na¯s˙ ir al -Dı¯n al-H ˙ ˙ this information 107 Although conflicts with other accounts of the life and death of al-Jazu¯lı¯, we may accept al-Sakha¯wı¯’s note as supporting evidence of Egyptians’ familiarity with the Maghribı¯ shaykh. There is no question that later Muslim generations were familiar with alJazu¯lı¯, whose book became a popular prayer manual. Padwick, Muslim Devotions, 146–147. 108 Al-Sakha¯wı¯, al-Dawʾ al-la¯miʿ, 7:258–259 (no. 651). ˙ 109 Shinar, ‘Traditional and Reformist Mawlid Celebrations’, 382–384; Shoshan, Popular Culture, 23–24. 110 The Mamluk encyclopaedist al-Qalqashandı¯, Subh al-aʿsha¯, 3:502 (Fatimid mawlid); ˙ ˙ Schimmel, And Muhammad is his Name, 370–371.

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the Mamluk Sultanate these celebrations were already a well-established custom. The veneration of the prophet Muhammad was expressed during the Mamluk ˙ period in royal public celebrations. This public festival was performed yearly at the royal court in the mountain citadel.111 The following account is not the only one that contemporary sources transmit: On Monday the 11th, as the custom is, the sultan [Qanısav] organized the novel birthday ˙ ceremony to commemorate the birth and death (mawlid) of the prophet Muhammad. ˙ He instructed the pitching of the colossal tent that was made by the sultan al-Ashraf Qa¯ytba¯y. It is said that it had cost 36 thousand golden dinars. This tent was constructed in the shape of a large hall divided into three wings and in its middle were four tall pillars carrying a dome. Nothing on earth resembles it. It was made from colourful textiles. No less than three hundred sailors are needed to erect this tent. The sultan ordered it be pitched in the inner garden of the citadel. Near it the servants of the drinks prepared several troughs from leather and filled them up with sweet water. Using racks, they hung precious clay pitchers and porcelain jars and bronze bowls. The place was much more decorated than usual. Accompanied by the army’s chief of staff, the sultan took his place in the tent. High-ranking army commanders joined them. In line with custom, the heads of the religious establishment and the upper social echelons followed suit. Then all the readers of the Qurʾa¯n and the preacher ascended from the city of Cairo to the citadel on the hill. The sultan ordered the assembly be served with food and it was distributed lavishly. This was a special occasion and more exciting than any past mawlid.112

The commemoration was an arena that witnessed routine performances of ritual reciting of anecdotes concerning the Prophet’s life. During this memorial event, storytellers narrated popular stories about the Prophet’s miraculous achievements. A guiding model of how contracts should be written illuminates the arrangements that were made to recite eulogies in praise of Muhammad and his ˙ merits: The outlines of a document of a charity in favour of the noble mawlid are: X has donated etc. etc. the described property as a real, legal etc. endowment. He regulated that the supervisor of the charity and its administrator will start first with the construction of the property. … the surplus of the capital will be used to hire a learned scholar who will sit in the above-mentioned location and in front of him a stand (kursı¯). During the night of 12 Rabı¯ʿ I, he will recite attractively to the gathering poems on the miraculous birth of the Prophet. It will be a clear reading accompanied with explanations, in a loud voice so that the audience will be able to hear it, but with no music. In addition, the pious charity will pay a chaste and trusted person who will be in charge of the candles. He will set the lamps and light the candles, arrange the meal and distribute it to those who gather to commemorate the mawlid… he also will pay for three bands, each band is composed of a leader and three men who accompany him. They will recite the complete reading from 111 During the celebrations in Mecca the name of the ruling sultan was mentioned by Ibn Zahı¯ra ˙ al-Qurayshı¯, al-Ja¯miʿ al-lat¯ıf, 285. ˙ 112 Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 5:24–25 (11 Rabı¯ʿ I 922/14 April 1516).

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A to Z. They will pray for the founder of the charity and ask God to bless him and all the Muslims, women and men alike. They will continue to recite blessings till a reciter who will read poems in praise of Muhammad starts reading.113 ˙

A second yearly celebration to commemorate Muhammad’s miraculous biog˙ raphy was the annual festival of his night-journey. Although the reciting of literary narratives of this mythical event was well-received, popular practices of the miʿra¯j ritual caused angry reactions within certain circles, as can be deduced from Ibn al-Ha¯jj al-ʿAbdarı¯’s ‘reports’ on the ‘Night of Muhammad’s Ascension’ ˙ ˙ (on 27 Rajab).114 In this chapter, the critical jurist argues that [One of their wrong innovations] is their gathering in circles. Each circle has an elder whom they all imitate in the ritual of recollection, of repeating God’s name and recitation of verses (dhikr)115 from the Book (i. e. Qurʾa¯n). If only that implied ritual remembrance prayer and recitation from the Qurʾa¯n! Instead they play with God’s religion. For instance, for the most part the chanter (dha¯kir) who leads the remembrance prayer does not say the Qurʾa¯nic statement ‘There is no god but God (la¯ ila¯ha illa’lla¯h) [which indicates that God is One and Unique (kalı¯mat al-tawh¯ıd)]’, rather he ˙ says: ‘Don’t follow him, let’s go!’. They shorten the letter A and employ it as a link without a vowel sound. When they say: ‘Glory be to God’ (subha¯na’lla¯h), they quicken ˙ the pace of it so much and repeat it until you can hardly understand. The reciter performs verses from the Qurʾa¯n, adding to it what is not in it, subtracting from it what is in it, in accordance with intonations and reverberations which resemble singing (alghina¯ʾ) and scales which they adopted, the reprehensible conditions (dhamı¯ma) of which you already know.

Then there is a great matter, al-ʿAbdarı¯ adds. The reciter begins with the recitation of the Qurʾa¯n, and when another reciter delivers lines of poetry, or wishes to do so, they silence the Qurʾa¯n reciter, or strive with him, or leave this one and his poem and that one and his reciting on account of their noticing others listening to mystical trance music (sama¯ʿ) of poetry and those forged intonations. These types of games with religion, were they to be held outside the mosque, would be prohibited. How then is it allowed when inside the mosque, moreover, on this noble night? ‘We surely belong to Alla¯h and to Him we shall return’ (Q. 2: 156).116 Within walls of lodges and other constrictions as well as in open spaces, Sufis gathered and practiced their meditative rite of recollection (dhikr).117 Ibn ʿAta¯ Alla¯h explains what a dhikr is: ˙ 113 Al-Asyu¯t¯ı, Jawa¯hir al-ʿuqu¯d, 1:368; Brockopp, The Cambridge Companion to Muhammad, ˙ 145. 114 Colby, ‘The Rhetoric of Innovative Tradition’, 39–40; Webb, ‘The Familiar and the Fantastic’. 115 Homerin, ‘“Recalling You, My Lord”’. 116 al-ʿAbdarı¯, al-Madkhal, 1:297. The English translation is based on Colby, ‘The Rhetoric of Innovative Tradition’, 40. 117 Tafur, Travels and Adventures, 71, describes the unruly friends of Alla¯h. On them, see Karamustafa, God’s Unruly Friends.

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remembrance of Alla¯h is liberation from ignorance… It has been said that it is the repetition (tardı¯d) on the Name of the Invoked (God) by the heart and by the tongue… Remembrance may be with the tongue, the heart, or members of the body. It may be practiced secretly or openly…Invoking with the tongue is the remembrance of the letters [of God’s name] without being in the [state of] presence (hudu¯r) [with God].118 It ˙ ˙ is the outward remembrance, but it has great virtue as witnessed by the [employment] of verses from the Qurʾa¯n, stories on the history of the Prophet and his sayings.119

Another example by Ibn ʿAta¯ Alla¯h is the following story: ˙

One of our comrades used to say frequently Alla¯h, Alla¯h. One day a tree trunk fell on his head and fractured his skull. The blood spilled on the ground spelling Alla¯h, Alla¯h.120

In a third piece, Ibn ʿAta¯ Alla¯h dwells upon the issue of dancing and chanting ˙ during dhikr ecstatic occasions: You would experience in your mind the sound of cymbals and horns. Invoking is powerful. When the sound descends into a place, it does so with its horns and cymbals. The invocation is against everything except God (al-haqq). When it settles in some place ˙ it actively seeks to expel its opposite, as we find in the combination of water and fire.121

This dhikr ritual, the constant evoking of the name of God,122 sometimes led to modes of behaviour that were not approved by critical observers who voiced their condemnations. Describing the great Sufi Shaykh Abu¯ al-Wafa¯ʾ, the historian Ibn Hajar provides an ego document: ˙ I met him in a Sufi gathering (daʿwa) and I rejected his companions gesturing in prostration towards him. He continued with the chanting [to reinforce ecstasy and induce mystical trance] (sama¯ʿ) and during the whirling dance he recited the verse: ‘Wherever you turn, there is the Face of God’ (Q. 2:115). Law students that were presented cried out: ‘You have blasphemed! You have blasphemed!’ So he stopped the session and, accompanied by his followers, left [the mosque].123

Another example highlighting this custom of reading out loud in the public sphere during Islamic rituals is taken from a manual by Muwaffaq al-Dı¯n ibn ʿUthma¯n (d. 615/1218), an Ayyubid historian of Cairo’s cemetery. In his book he provides a list of prayers that should be recited at the shrine of Sayyida Nafı¯sa. 118 Chittick, The Sufi Path of Knowledge, 105. 119 Ibn ʿAta¯ʾ Alla¯h, Mifta¯h al-fala¯h, 3; Koury-Danner (trans.), ‘The Remembrance of God in ˙ 45–46. ˙ ˙ Sufism’, 120 Ibn ʿAta¯ʾ Alla¯h, Mifta¯h al-fala¯h, 4; Koury-Danner (trans.), ‘The Remembrance of God in ˙ 48. ˙ ˙ Sufism’, 121 Ibn ʿAta¯ʾ Alla¯h, Mifta¯h al-fala¯h, 4–5; Koury-Danner (trans.), ‘The Remembrance of God in ˙ 48. ˙ ˙ Sufism’, 122 For an internal Sufi definition of this ritual see Najm al-Dı¯n Kubra¯: Molé, ‘Traités mineurs’, 128. 123 Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, Inba¯ʾ al-ghumr, 2:308 [no. 16]; McGregor, Sanctity, 55. ˙

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The visitor is advised to start his vocal ritual by reciting two verses from the Qurʾa¯n. The first verse is a plea to Alla¯h: ‘The mercy of God and His blessings be upon you, O people of the House!’;124 it is followed by a direct appeal to the dead: ‘O People of the House, God only desires to put away from you abomination and to cleanse you’.125 Then the visitor should proclaim: O God! You encouraged me to execute deeds that I am familiar with, which I said, heard, obeyed, believed and made as a reward for Your Prophet, whom You commissioned to guide us towards You and to lead us towards You, as You said: ‘He is All-compassionate to the believers’.126 We adore Your guidance and we esteem the duties You imposed upon us and this obligation, the love of the family [of the Prophet Muhammad], that ˙ You imposed upon us. O Alla¯h, with my tongue I accomplish it, and I believe in it in my heart, with my feet I advance towards it, hoping to attain favour in this world and in the hereafter. Appealing to You that in the day when all family bonds and ties would be cut, You would help me. O God bless your Prophet.127

The vocal appeal attests to the strong belief that the loud voice would be heard in heaven. It is composed from selected Qurʾa¯nic verses and vows that name Alla¯h and Muhammad. The visitor fortifies his belief by making them public sounds, ˙ his sounds also emphasize that Islam is the governing religion in the vicinity where he utters his words. A different picture of vocal performance in the open public sphere is provided by Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n al-Maqrı¯zı¯. The great historian reports in his topography of Cairo on a Sufi practice that hypnotized the city: People from Old Cairo (misr) would come on Fridays to the Fatimid quarter of the city ˙ to gain blessings and benefit from watching the Sufis of the central Sufi lodge (the Saʿı¯d al-Suʿa¯da kha¯nqa¯h). Presenting an imposing appearance on Friday they used to go to alHa¯kim mosque. The Chief Sufi sheikh of the lodge (kha¯nqa¯h) would lead, while the ˙ novices (khudda¯m) marched ahead of him. The most senior amongst them carried the volumes (rabʿa) of the Noble Book on his head. They would walk in silence and restrained demureness to the door of the al-Ha¯kim ˙ mosque [and stop] near the pulpit (minbar). They would enter, and the Shaykh then would make a prayer of greeting to the mosque from under a canopy (sahha¯ba) that he ˙˙ always had with him and the people would pray [in turn]. Then everyone would sit, and they would distribute the volumes of the Noble Qurʾa¯n among them, reading from the Qurʾa¯n until the muʾadhdhin would call for the afternoon prayer. Then they would collect the volumes and busy themselves with prayer and listening to the preaching (khutba), all of them listening humbly. When it was time for prayer and invocations, one ˙ 124 125 126 127

Q. 11, Hu¯d: 73. Q. 33, al-Ahzab: 33. Q. 33, al-Ah˙ zab: 43. Ibn al-Faqı¯h˙ ʿUthma¯n, Murshid al-zuwwa¯r, 186–187; Ibn al-Zayya¯t al-Ansa¯rı¯, al-Kawa¯kib alsayya¯ra, 34; This prayer refers to Q. 33:56: ‘God and His angels bless the˙ Prophet (yusallu¯˙ naʿala¯ al-nabı¯). O believers, do you also bless him (sallu¯ ʿalayhi), and pray upon him peace’. ˙

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of the readers of the kha¯nqa¯h would get up and read something appropriate from the Qurʾa¯n and then bless the Sultan Saladin, the endower of the kha¯nqa¯h, and the rest of the Muslims. When he had finished, the Shaykh would get up from his prayers and then walk from the mosque to the kha¯nqa¯h, the Sufis [walking] with him in the same way they had come to the mosque. This is one of the most beautiful customs of the people of Cairo.128

No wonder that some circles in the Mamluk elite were not happy with these popular events and made efforts to censor them. Their critical evaluation of the commoners’ behaviour cast light on prevalent practises.129 The prevalence of the Islamic courts and judges, the role of the muhtasib, the ˙ predominance of the sounds of Islamic religious rituals and the marginality of non-Muslims (through restrictions imposed on them) were all components in the routine life of human spaces that clearly define an ‘Islamic city’.130 To these criteria we should add the principal role of Islamic pious foundations (waqf pl. awqa¯f) in establishing urban institutions and in the daily life of these towns. The influence of religious endowments on the landscape of the Mamluk city was immense.131 The awqa¯f paid for the construction of a very wide range of social and religious institutions. They also met the maintenance costs of these edifices and also paid regular salaries to their staff. Awqa¯f documents illuminate the significant role of this institution in maintaining an Islamic soundscape. Some documents that are mentioned in this study refer to several functionaries whose duties included raising their voices loudly so that the endowers’ fame would reach the ears of the population. From waqf certificates and other legal documentation we learn that muezzins and reciters were paid by pious charities to call to prayer or to recite verses from the Qurʾa¯n. The endowment certificate of the madrasa that the sultan Abu¯ al-Maha¯sin al˙ Na¯sir Hasan (1356–1361) built in al-Rumayla (near the Citadel of Cairo in 760/ ˙ ˙ 1359) provides an example of such a case.132 He appointed a team of sixteen muezzins and four shift heads who would recite the call to prayer, ‘those leading the rituals of Islam’, and readers of the Qurʾa¯n ‘who will recite continually and repeatedly the Book of God,133 and will not stop from doing it day and night’. He also appointed, in addition to a Hadı¯th teacher, a reader to recite traditions from ˙ the Hadı¯th collections and an additional performer (ma¯dih) who would recite ˙ ˙ 128 al-Maqrı¯zı¯, Kita¯b al-mawa¯ʿiz, 4/2:729–730 (based on an informant who passed away in 800/ ˙ 1397); Hofer, The Popularisation of Sufism, 94. 129 Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqala¯nı¯, Inba¯ʾ al-ghumr, 3: 402–03 (831/April 1428, an ego document). ˙ a vast range of contemporaneous sources support the indicators presented above 130 Indeed, and allow the use of the term ‘Islamic city’. See Frenkel, ‘Is There an Islamic Space?’. 131 Raymond, ‘Les Grands Waqfs’: 114–116; Luz, The Mamluk City, 107–147. 132 Al-Harithy, ‘The Four Madrasahs’. 133 The Ottoman scholar Birgvi (Birkawı¯) opposed the payment to Qurʾa¯n readers, a practice which he considered no less then hypocrisy.

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poems eulogizing (mada¯ʾı¯h) the Prophet.134 Accomplishing this task, they would ˙ pray, and ask God’s beneficence on behalf of the donor. In the mausoleum (qubba) the donor/sultan appointed sixty men whose task was to recite from the Qurʾa¯n continually, day and night, thirty to read in the night and thirty during the day. Each shift lasted two hours and the team of readers was composed of five men. At the end of each session one of the team would address God on behalf the sultan.135 A similar formula is mentioned in the waqf document that the sultan Qa¯yitba¯y endowed to maintain the shrine complex of Ibra¯hı¯m al-Dasu¯qı¯. He stipulated the addition of three Qurʾa¯n reciters. One was to recite every day after the evening prayer by the window of the dome where the saint was buried.136 Letters sent by pilgrims from the Hajj road were among the texts that were performed publicly. Damascene chronicles regularly inform their readers about letters sent by pilgrims, either on the way to Mecca or when they were back from Arabia.137 Moreover, supplications by passers-by who walked through the towns’ alleys or stopped at the windows of mausoleums (turbas) echoed the voice of Islam. These sounds certainly accentuated the authority of Islam. Starting with the Ayyubid Sultanate, it became traditional for the founder of a religious institution to add his own intended mausoleum (turba) to a religious building he had founded.138 Often, mausoleums were much more richly decorated than the buildings they were attached to. Ideally, the façade of the chamber where the sarcophagus of the founder stood opened onto the street. It was given a large rectangular window with an iron grill.139 It housed a sheikh who recited the Qurʾa¯n for blessings on the soul of the deceased. Sitting in the dark tomb chamber, next to the sarcophagus that was illuminated by candles, his voice was intended to attract the attention of passers-by. The vocal sound linked the tomb with the urban public space. Several court records shed light on reciters of the Qurʾa¯n who were employed by urban mausoleums and on the payments to these men, whose voices were heard by passers-by. A nomination degree (marsu¯m) from Jerusalem provides an example of this. The supervisor (na¯zir) of the shrine ˙ of Ta¯z, a deceased army officer, ordered that Sa¯rim al-Dı¯n Ibra¯hı¯m replace the ˙ ˙ 134 Compare with the position of a reciter who would read the ‘Poem of the Mantle’ at the Dome of the Rock on Friday and on Monday. Raba¯yiʿa, Sijilla¯t, sijill 149 p. 72 (no. 157). 135 Al-Harithy, The Waqf Document, 4, 149–150 153, 155–158; and her studies ‘The Complex of Sultan Hasan’; ‘The Four Madrasahs’. ˙ 136 Hallenberg, ‘The Sultan Who Loved Sufis’, 153. 137 Ibn Hijjı¯, Taʾrı¯kh, 37, 380. ˙ 138 Salam-Liebich, The Architecture of the Mamluk City, 198; Behrens-Abouseif, Islamic Architecture in Cairo, 15; al-Harithy, ‘The Concept of Space’. 139 Muhammad Beg b. Zakariya¯, Za¯wiya (c. 748/1348), Jerusalem Haram doc. ## 643 = Bur˙ goyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 72.

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late Yu¯nis.140 He was to sit near the tomb and recite groups of verses (ʿashr) from the Qurʾa¯n.141 Documents and inscriptions from other shrines throughout the Mamluk Sultanate carry similar stipulations.142 The tomb chamber at the Jala¯qiyya, in the Street of the Chain in Jerusalem, contains two cenotaphs with grilled windows opening on the street.143 As in the case with the Ta¯ziyya, it housed a reciter. A ˙ court record from Jerusalem deals with pious endowments that paid reciters who set next to a tomb and read from the Qurʾa¯n.144 The sounds were not produced only in Arabic. Turkish too was used in calling upon the divinity (Tänghri; modern Turkish Tanrı i. e. the God in sky).145 In the court of the sultans Qaytbay and Qa¯nisaw invocations and stanzas were read ˙ aloud and repeated.146 One example of this are the lines: ‘Make me free You blessed One / We are the poor slaves [who mast be pitted] seeking refuge; Allah bir dur tha¯nı¯ yuqdur / fı¯ mulkihi mithlu¯ yuqdur // ʾu¯l (olmak)ʿazı¯z dur / ʾu¯l karı¯m dur’. The vows of silence that Muslims made strengthens the claim that sounds do matter.147 Taking an oath not to speak can be traced in early traditions.148 Jesus, who became a moral example for many Muslims, is associated with sayings in favour of silence.149 Al-Suyu¯t¯ı transmits a maxim: ‘to refrain from talking con˙ tinually, day and night, is forbidden’.150 His selection of this tradition indicates that practicing a vow of silence was not strange to his society. Moreover, some Sufi circles inspired their followers to practice silence.151

Monitoring the Voices That control of sounds was significant we may learn by looking at this from an opposite angle: namely, from reports on the banning of the production of voices and of noises. While Muslims made loud vocal and instrumental sounds, non140 Diem, ‘Philologisches’, 11 (doc. 214). 141 Al-Da¯nı¯, Kita¯b al-naqt, 133; idem, al-Muhkam, 14–15; Sell, The Faith of Islam, 347 (app. A: ˙ The Blackwell Companion ˙ ʿIlm al-tajwı¯d); Rippin, to the Quran, 178. 142 Gaube, Arabische Inschriften, 91 (no. 174). 143 Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 191. 144 Raba¯yiʿa , Sijilla¯t, 84 (no. 178/2 1064/1654). 145 Roux, ‘Tängri’. 146 Majmu¯ʿa muba¯raka 36 (fihi adhka¯r wa-muwashshaha¯t), MS Ayasofya 2047. ˙ 147 Ibn Abı¯ al-Dunya¯, Kita¯b al-Samt. ˙ tahannuth’, 214–215. 148 Calder, ‘Hinth, birr, tabarrur, ˙ Samir (ed.), Christian˙Arab Apologetic; idem, The Muslim Jesus, 59 no. 13. 149 Khalidi in 150 Al-Suyutı¯, al-Amr bil-ittiba¯ʿ, 231. 151 Waugh, Visionaries of Silence.

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Muslims were ordered to lower their voices. In the domains of the Mamluk Sultanate standard regulations delimited the sounds that these communities were permitted to produce. Intending to prop up the hegemony of Islam, the governors envisioned the control of the sounds that their non-Muslim subjects were producing, and even their suppression. The history of the Pact (ʿahd) of ʿUmar is far beyond the limits of the present study, hence it is sufficient to call attention to several adaptations of this pseudocertificate that circulated in the Sultanate’s domains. A version of an early compilation that was copied in Mamluk Cairo in 1455 sheds light on this aspect of Muslim-Christian relations.152 An item in this fictive pact contains an undertaking by the Christians: ‘We shall beat on small balls (nawa¯qis) gently and reading [the Bible] we shall not raise our voices’.153 The rules imposed on nonMuslims are in line with this interpretation. Again, a text compiled by Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya154 indicates the desirable direction. In his book on regulations concerning Jews and Christians he limits Christians’ public celebrations and bans them from openly displaying crosses. Analysing the Pact of ʿUmar, the famous Damascene jurist quotes what he presents as a letter that the Christians of Syria wrote to the caliph ʿUmar: We shall use the na¯qu¯s (wooden clappers or gong clappers)155 only within our churches and play them only very softly. We shall not display our crosses or our books in the roads or markets of the Muslims. We shall not raise our voices during praying, recitation or when calling to follow our dead.156

Measures to control sounds were not limited to voices produced by the Protected People. Restrictions that religious scholars issued regarding funerals and lamentations provide a different sort of evidence of efforts made by Mamluk rulers to govern the sounds voiced in the public sphere. For example, they criticize the sounds produced by Muslims during funerals. The employing of professional mourners, these scholars argued, contradicts Islamic norms. The raising of the voices of these women disturbs the ideal of bearing patiently with God’s verdict.157 The regulations of the market inspector (muhtasib) provide several ex˙ amples to support my interpretations concerning the social function of sounds and the authorities’ efforts to monitor voices. According to Mamluk-period manuals, the muhtasib should inspect the town’s graveyard, and he should also ˙ 152 Cohen, ‘What was the Pact of Umar?’, 137. 153 Tritton, The Caliphs, 5. 154 On him, see Hoover ‘Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya’, Masthurhah, ‘The Views of Ibn Qayyim alJawziyyah’. 155 For a description, see Shams al-Dı¯n al-Zurqa¯nı¯, Sharh al-Zurqa¯nı¯ ʿala¯ al-Muwattaʾ, 1:121. ˙ ˙˙ 156 Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya, Ahka¯m, 3:1159. ˙ 157 El Cheikh, Women, Islam, and Abbasid Identity, 44–58.

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prevent women from ostentatious lamentation, visiting graves, and following the bier.158 Procedures to restrict voices created by women and rival religious communities serve as a clear indication of the politics of the ruling military aristocracy and its continuous efforts to control public space. The sultans’ steps often brought them closer to the religious establishment. This policy upholds the deduction regarding the Mamluk soundscape, and its political dimensions presented above. Yet it is clear that the military aristocracy did not follow blindly those religious scholars who expressed hostility to popular sounds. Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya’s attack (in 740/1339–40) on Sufi groups that assembled (sama¯ʿ) to chant, play music, beat drums, blow horns and dance159 did not lead the governors to crack down on popular Sufi groups. Their visibility in the sources shows that the voices they made were perceived as an approved component in the Mamluk soundscape. This is in opposition to music that singers played. Again and again we come across reports on taxation imposed upon places that housed musicians and the abolition of this tax. This step was received as a sign of the sultan’s religious commitment.160 The control of voices in urban environments emphasises the characterisation of the Mamluk city as an Islamic town. That is, as a place where social values were articulated as Islamic public regulations. In built zones, sounds served as the major tool in transmitting messages that were blocked by walls and other obstacles. Behind the screens (min wara¯ʾ al-sita¯r), women could perceive the military bands. The beating of the drums penetrated the raised barriers. City dwellers would hear the voices of the muezzins during the dark nights. Passers-by could catch the voice of readers reciting verses from the Qurʾa¯n.

Conclusion In line with the social and cultural characteristics of Mamluk society, orality and written documents were complementary modes of communication and not opposite poles. Walls and buildings could not stop sounds from penetrating the ears and minds of the subjects, notifying them that they were controlled by an authoritative force. At the same time, the need to achieve this goal defined the performances of the rulers who invested considerable sums in creating an imposing urban space. The soundscape of the sultanate echoed the multilingual 158 Ibn al-Ukhu¯wwa, Kita¯b Maʿa¯lim al-qurba, 106 (Arabic) [trans. Levy, 18 (English)]; Ohtoshi, ‘Cairene Cemeteries’, 110. 159 Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya, al-Kala¯mʿala¯ masalat al-sama¯ʿ. 160 Ibn Qa¯d¯ı Shuhba, Taʾrı¯kh, 2: 506–07. ˙

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nature of Mamluk court culture and the political structure of this regime – a military aristocracy that claimed to govern Egypt and Syria on behalf of Islam and presented the protection of the Muslims as its raison d’être . Devotional invocations were read aloud in what might be called intersectional diglossia, namely in Mixed Arabic as well as in Turkish and Persian.161 The accounts and stories that are at the heart of this research contribute to the study of everyday life and politics in the late Middle Islamic Period. They support the thesis that sounds served as more than a simple identity tag; sounds were a social communication tool, employed by believers who held that their voices were heard by God. The melody transmitted the message. Uttering or listening to sounds created a sense of joint action among the audiences, it inspired them and motivated them. The participants could share the feeling that their voices might generate heavenly reaction. Sounds are strongly related to power and authority,162 and hence to establishment ambitions to control the soundscape. They mediate between the rulers and the subjects and shape the public’s mind.163 They are an efficient tool to install in the minds and hearts of subjects the image that the ruling elite aspire to. We see that the data analysed here can uphold the thesis of a unique Islamic soundscape. The subjects of the sultanate and its governing elite were exposed to sounds that echoed the self-image of the leading military aristocracy. By its selfdefinition, the sultanate was an Islamic state. This is clearly reflected in contemporary jurists’ writings, biographies and chronicles. The ceremonies in the streets of the cities fortified this stance. The year centred around pilgrimage festivals; the departure and return of the Hajj caravan were flamboyant ceremonial occasions. The calls to prayer (adha¯n) and daily reciting from the Qurʾa¯n, funerals, popular festivals and other events had a phonetic dimension that can be identified as a uniquely Islamic one. The drums and trumpets declared that a powerful army was steering the helm of government. These reverberating voices rumbled in the streets. They served as symbols of sultanic authority, of royal (almalik) power. They projected control of the space, disseminating the sultan’s image as protector of Islam and of Arabia’s holy cities. Although we should point out that voices can be employed as a subversive tool, which can erode governing power, express resentment, protest, and challenge the rulership, the above examples clearly illustrate the potential contribution of soundscape history to the study of Mamluk history, architecture and archaeology.

161 Al-Kha¯zinda¯rı¯, Taʾrı¯kh majmu¯ʿ al-nawa¯dir, 159. 162 Al-Safadı¯, A¯tha¯r al-uwal, 247–250. ˙ 163 Certainly, this was not the only tool sultans used to cultivate an authoritative image. See the Thousand and One Nights-style story about Qa¯yitba¯y walking around the streets of Cairo dressed as a North African pilgrim: Ibn Iya¯s, Bada¯ʾiʿ al-zuhu¯r, 3:121 (881/December 1476).

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Reuven Amitai

The Development of a Muslim City in Palestine: Gaza under the Mamluks

Introduction Gaza emerged from the Crusading and Ayyubid periods as a small town of minor importance, particularly run down by incessant military activity in the area in the middle decades of the thirteenth century. Yet, under the Mamluk Sultans, the city regained much of its former importance, and perhaps, in some ways, reached new heights. It is described in Arabic and other sources as a prosperous center, not least due to it becoming the capital of a newly organized province around 1300. Other reasons behind these auspicious economic and demographic trends were the massive patronage of the Mamluk elite, a burgeoning agricultural hinterland and ongoing interregional trade that passed through it. Another important cause for the overall positive developments in the city and its surrounding countryside was the general sense of security provided by the Mamluk regime, including arrangements to keep local nomads (not only Bedouins, but also Kurds and Turkmans who immigrated to the area) under control and to integrate them into the local economy and administrative scheme. Gaza and its region also underwent a process of further Islamization, encouraged by the Mamluk authorities. The city and its environs certainly took on a more Islamic appearance, due to construction of large and small buildings. There are increased Muslim religious activities of various kinds in mosques, madrasas, zawiyas and maqams. Finally, there appears to have been an increased Muslim population in the region, both in absolute and relative terms. In short, Gaza and its hinterland were much more Muslim in different ways (landscape, activity and population) at the end of the Mamluk period than at its beginnings. Gaza can be seen as an example of such trends of Islamization in Palestine (and beyond) in the period between the end of Frankish rule here in 1192 and the coming of the Ottomans in 1516.1 1 This is a good opportunity to express my thanks to the Anne-Marie Schimmel Kolleg at Bonn University, and more specifically its directors, staff and fellows for all of the encouragement

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This present paper is part of a larger project to examine different aspects of the history of the city and its countryside in the time of Mamluk rule (1260–1516 CE), and seeks to set out some of the general lines of this current wider research venture.2 This “Gaza Project” is in turn a case study for an even larger research plan to look at the history of Palestine and the neighboring countries in the late medieval period, from the end of Frankish rule (1187 in some parts, and others in the years of 1265–91) to the coming of the Ottomans to the region. The long-term goal is to produce several case studies of different regions and themes to enable a fuller and more nuanced history of the country within a regional context. A preliminary note might be made here regarding the title of this paper. The use of the expression “Muslim City” in it does not mean that I am getting involved in the interesting and ongoing discussion among scholars about the nature of an Islamic city, or even whether one can be said to exist. My intention is rather to describe the emergence (or rather re-emergence) of an urban center that had a distinct Muslim character, certainly more so than in the preceding years: many construction projects of monumental religious buildings, both political-military and civilian elites of an unequivocally Muslim nature, and an apparently growing Muslim population in the city and surrounding countryside. Islamic religion, Muslim culture and Muslims were clearly hegemonic here, and thus it was unequivocally a Muslim city in all aspects (although significant non-Muslim minority communities lived there; see below). This being said, perhaps this present article, as well as the envisioned wider monograph on Gaza, can serve as material for those scholars engaged in these deliberations on the “Islamic City.”3

and assistance that I received during my two-year research stay. I would like to particularly note my gratitude to the co-directors of the ASK, Prof. Stephan Conermann and Prof. Bethany Walker, for their advice and support. The atmosphere at the Kolleg was remarkable, and one could not ask for a better place to read, think and write. I am particularly grateful to my two officemates, each for one year, Prof. Jo van Steenbergen and Prof. Nasser Rabbat, for good comradery and stimulating discussions, not always about the Mamluks. I am also grateful to the anonymous reader for the careful reading of the paper, with many comments that led to polishing the text and clarifying some points. I confess, however, that here and there I remained faithful to my idiosyncratic style. Some of the ideas and data found in this paper were first presented in Amitai, “Islamization in the Southern Levant” and Amitai, “Gaza in the Frankish and Ayyubid Periods.” 2 From October 2016 to September 2018, this project has been supported by the Israel Science Foundation (ISF, Grant No. 1827/16). Since October 2018, I have enjoyed the support of an additional ISF grant (No. 19955/18), which has enable me to expand my research to the rural areas further north and northeast of Gaza in the Mamluk period. 3 Some idea of this debate can be found in von Grunebaum, “The Structure of the Muslim Town,”; Abu Lughod, “The Islamic City”; Raymond, “Islamic City, Arab City”; Luz, The Mamluk City in the Middle East, esp. Part D; idem, “The ‘Islamic City’ Model.” See also the important articles in the still very useful volume edited by Albert Hourani and Samuel Stern, The Islamic City.

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The Pre-Mamluk Background We need not overly concern ourselves here with the history of Gaza from the middle of the second millennium BCE until the time of late Roman rule, the socalled Byzantine period. We should, however, already note its importance as a center of regional and even international trade.4 In late Roman times, Gaza flourished as an economic and cultural center, and was well known for its school of rhetoric. By the end of the fifth century, Christianity was clearly the leading religion of the city and region, but there was also a significant Jewish community. The agricultural richness of the area – wheat, vineyards and other fruits – presages the Mamluk period.5 In the Muslim tradition, Gaza had maintained trade with pre-Islamic Mecca, and the great grandfather of the prophet, Ha¯shim b. ʿAbd al-Mana¯f, is reported to have been buried there.6 After the Muslim Arab occupation of the mid-630s, it is only rarely mentioned in the Arabic sources, reflecting, perhaps, declining fortunes and prominence; it seems to have suffered from fighting among Arab tribes at the end of the second hijrı¯ century (i. e., early in the ninth century CE). The city, however, enjoyed some repute as the birthplace of the great jurist al-Sha¯fiʿı¯, born there in 767. Yet writers of the tenth century note a city with some splendor and importance, having a large mosque, surrounded by a wide belt of agricultural land including vineyards. While Gaza and its surroundings appear to have become heavily Muslim relatively early in the Muslim period, a substantial Christian community continued, and it was the seat of a bishopric (as was nearby Ashkelon). A Jewish community still existed and there were Samaritans too.7 Some indication of the state of the town in the early Fatimid period is given by al-Muqaddası¯ (d. 991), a native of the country: Gaza is a large town lying on the high-road into Egypt, on the border of the desert. The city stands not far from the sea. There is here a beautiful mosque, also to be seen is the monument (ʿathr) of the Caliph ʿUmar; further, this city was the birthplace of al-Sha¯fiʿı¯,

4 For this, see s.v. “Gaza,” Der Neue Pauly, 4:815; Avi-Yonah and Gibson, “Gaza,” 7:398–399. 5 “Gaza,” Der Neue Pauly, 4:815; Avi-Yonah and Gibson, “Gaza,” 7:399. On Jews and Christians (and the decline of the pagan community) in Gaza in last centuries of Roman rule, see the recent comments of Abulafia, The Great Sea, pp. 218–221. 6 Al-Istakhrı¯, Kita¯b masa¯lik al-mama¯lik, p. 113; Ibn Hawqal, Kita¯b su¯rat al-ard, p173. This is ˙ ˙ ˙ the same text. Both of these tenth century geographers ˙ that in Gaza ˙ basically note “[the later Caliph] ʿUmar ibn al-Khatta¯b grew rich at the time of the Ja¯hilı¯ya, for this place was a highway ˙ ˙ (mustatriq) for the people of the Hijaz”. Cf. translation in Le Strange, Palestine under the ˙ p. 442. Moslems, 7 Sourdel, “Ghazza,” 2:1056; Levy-Rubin, “Changes in the Settlement Pattern of Palestine,” pp. 164–171.

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and it possesses the tomb of Ha¯shim ibn ʿAbd al-Mana¯f. Mı¯ma¯s on the sea is a small fort connected to Gaza.8

This apparent prosperity, however, did not last. William of Tyre (d. 1186), writing in the mid-twelfth century, describes a destroyed and abandoned city that the Franks had taken a century earlier: Gaza, a very ancient city, lay about ten miles south of Ashkelon. It was now in ruins and entirely uninhabited. This same Gaza, a most ancient city, was one of the five cites of the Philistines. It was celebrated for its buildings, and many handsome churches and spacious houses of marble and large stones, though now in ruin, still gave splendid evidence of its ancient glory. Many reservoirs and wells of living water also still remained. It was built on a slight eminence and enclosed with its walls much widespread territory.9

When did this apparent economic and demographic decay, even destruction, take place? Was it a result of depredations of local Bedouins, perhaps chafing under Fatimid rule (or attempts to bring them under control)? Did it come about during the late eleventh century, during the quarter century or so of Turcoman and Seljuq dominance? There is a report that in around 1076 the Seljuq chieftain Atsiz massacred all the population of Gaza, after putting down a rebellion in Jerusalem.10 We might, however, doubt the extent of this killing and how this was connected to the trouble in Jerusalem is left unexplained. Possibly, it was caused by the fighting between Franks and Muslims in the area in the first half of the twelfth century, not far from the increasingly isolated Fatimid city of Ashkelon, only taken in 1153. Meron Benvenisti doubted whether the destroyed and deserted state of Gaza, as reported by William of Tyre, really reflects the nature of things in the period before the Frankish occupation of the area and the rehabilitation of the city. Otherwise, he wonders, how does one explain the appearance there of a large population so quickly in the early Frankish period?11 We might thus imagine a depressed region in the decades leading up to the conquest of Ashkelon, due, inter alia, to fighting and unsettled conditions, but not a

8 Al-Muqaddası¯, Ahsan al-taqa¯sim, p. 174; translation based on Le Strange, Palestine under the Moslems, pp. 442.˙ Le Strange (ibid., pp. 441–443) conveniently collected and translated a number of citations from Arabic sources regarding the city up to the fourteenth century. Mı¯ma¯s is derived from the ancient name of Maioumas; Sourdel (“Ghazza,” 2:1056) refers to it as a port. In Amitai, “Gaza in the Frankish and Ayyubid Periods,” the evidence regarding ʿUmar is reviewed and an alternative translation is offered. 9 Guillaume de Tyr, Chronique, Book 17, ch. 12 (=vol. 2:775–776); translation from William of Tyre, A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea, tr. Babcock and Krey, 2:202; see also Pringle, The Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, 1:208. 10 Gil, p. 412 (section 605); Köhler, Alliances and Treaties between Frankish and Muslim Rulers, p. 10. I am grateful to Dr. Shimʿo¯n Gat for bringing this incident to my attention. 11 Benvenisti, The Crusaders in the Holy Land, p. 190.

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complete collapse of urban (and rural) life before the Frankish occupation of Gaza in 1149.12 A detailed discussion of the forty some years of Frankish rule in Gaza and the surrounding region, from 1149–50 to 1192, goes beyond the confines of the present paper. I will note just a few key matters: In 1149–50, the Franks under their king Baldwin built a castle at the top of a low hill. Later a low, and evidently somewhat provisional, wall was built around a faubourg that surrounded the castle which was inhabited by local Christians, Muslims and even some Franks.13 Control of the city was soon handed over to the Templars who administered it for the next few decades; a recent article delves further into this matter.14 We know virtually nothing of the agricultural settlement in the area, although there surely was activity of this type. No information is given about the nature of the rural population. Only with regard to Da¯ru¯m (later Dayr al-Balah), a town to the south, ˙ is there a notice: a fort was built here by King Almalic in 1170. Although Gaza was attacked several times by Muslim forces (including twice by Saladin), it was never taken (although the faubourg was overrun once, and there was much killing of the local population). Yet, in the aftermath of the Muslim victory at Hattin in July 1187, the city surrendered to Saladin’s forces after Ashkelon and Da¯ru¯m were taken. In 1191, during the Third Crusade, Gaza’s fortifications were destroyed at the Sultan’s order, along with those of Ashkelon. King Richard of England soon gained control over Gaza and repairs of the fortifications commenced. However, in the treaty of 1192, it was returned to the Muslims, after the Franks had destroyed the walls.15 There is little information on Gaza and its hinterland in the early Ayyubid period. Benvenisti writes: “The city was restored by the Moslems and became an administrative, military and commercial centre.”16 While we have little evidence for the state of Gaza city in the early Ayyubid period, this is a reasonable statement. The general lack of fighting in the immediate area and the seemingly competent Ayyubid rule surely enabled some amelioration of conditions. We are,

12 The city was neither taken nor occupied in 493–4/1100, soon after the conquest of Jerusalem (in 1099), as stated in Büssow, “Gaza.” 13 There were evidently no Jews in the city at this time. Around 1170, Benjamin of Tudela was in the area, travelling in Palestine, visiting Jewish sites and communities. He got only as far as Ashkelon, but went no further south, before turning north again. This indicates that there were probably no Jews in Gaza , and thus Benjamin did not bother travelling the extra few days to visit there. Yaʿarı¯, Masaʿo¯t eres israʾel, p. 44; translation in Adler, The Itinerary of Benjamin ˙ of Tudela, pp. 27–28. 14 See Amitai, “Gaza in the Frankish and Ayyubid Periods.” 15 Benvenisti, Crusaders in the Holy Land, 189–190; Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom, 1:208; Hugh Kennedy, Crusader Castles, p. 31. 16 Benvenisti, Crusaders in the Holy Land, 191.

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however, lacking details. A generation or so later, the geographer Ya¯qu¯t (d. 1229), writes: [Gaza] is a city on the edge of Syria on the way to Egypt. Between it and Ashkelon there is a difference of two farsakhs or less. It is part of the Filast¯ın district, west of Ashkelon.17 ˙

This is a fairly terse description, revealing hardly anything in the way of special features or prosperity; this can be compared to the detailed picture accounts presented in some of the Mamluk sources (see below), where local agricultural variety and plenty are noted. The mistaken location given for Gaza in relation to Ashkelon – “west” and not southwest – must say something about a not particularly important or famous city.18 We have no idea what was the extent of construction in the city itself during the time of Ayyubid rule, since only three inscriptions have come down to us from this period, epitaphs from 607/1211 and 626/1229 and a construction text from 1249.19 This compares to 42 construction texts from the following Mamluk period, some 20 epitaphs and a few other types of texts (see below). True, the Mamluks ruled the city almost four times as long as their Ayyubid predecessors, but still the comparison between the two periods is a telling one of the relative extent of patronage and building. We know of one inscription in the nearby countryside from the late Ayyubid period: a construction text from a mosque in Bayt Ha¯nu¯n in 1239.20 This compares to five ˙ known rural inscriptions from the Mamluk period, so a meaningful appraisal is not possible here. Even this modest epigraphic evidence for building in the later Ayyubid period belies the difficulties that the city and surrounding areas endured in these years. For more than twenty years this region was the site of many battles and much movement of troops, along with horses and supply trains, and at times even large numbers of livestock. Here is a brief list of these events: – 1239: The “Battle of Bayt Ha¯nu¯n” took place between the Ayyubid forces from ˙ Egypt and Frankish forces under Count Henry of Bar; the former were victorious.21 – 1244: Battle of La Forbie (Hirbı¯ya¯) was a large and wide-ranging battle. On the one side were arrayed Frankish forces with Syrian Ayyubid allies, while on the other side stood the army of al-Sa¯lih Ayyu¯b (r. 1240–49) of Egypt, supported ˙ ˙ by a large force of Khwarazmian mercenaries, perhaps accompanied by 17 Ya¯qu¯t Kita¯b Muʿjam al-Bulda¯n, 3:799. 18 Although when one looks at the map, one sees that Gaza is really to the south-south west of Ashkelon, so perhaps Ya¯qu¯t can be forgiven for this statement. 19 CIAP, 4:50–53. 20 CIAP, 2:98–104. 21 Humphreys, From Saladin to the Mongols, p. 261; Prawer, Histoire du royaume latin, 2:272– 274.

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families and livestock. The battle ended in a resounding victory by al- al-Sa¯lih ˙ ˙ Ayyu¯b.22 1250–60: Much of this decade witnessed battles and skirmishing between Syrian Ayyubid forces and those of the new Mamluk state, and often Gaza was occupied for some time by one of them. Armies of various sizes also passed through it, staying for short times. Overall, Gaza remained under Syrian Ayyubid control, but most probably only in name. There does not appear to have been any representative of one of the Syrian Ayyubid princes in place for a substantial length of time.23 1260: The first months of this year began with the concentration of troops and people fleeing the Mongols who had invaded northern Syria at the very end of 1259, and whose advanced forces were soon in the Damascus region (with raiding and reconnaissance further south in Palestine and Transjordan). Many civilian refugees were to be found, along with Ayyubid princes and their entourages (and probably not insignificant numbers of troops), Kurdish tribesmen, and eventually Baybars and a group of his comrades from the Bahrı¯ya (the main Mamluk unit established by al-Sa¯lih Ayyu¯b, which had long ˙ ˙ ˙ been in exile in Syria). Probably most of these people made their way to Egypt before the arrival of Mongol raiders in the early spring.24 1260: Probably in the late spring or early summer, a second Mongol force under Baydar (or Baydara¯ in the Arabic sources) was dispatched to Gaza to serve as an advance guard (yazak), keeping an eye on developments in Egypt.25 1260: Apparently in mid-August, the Mamluk vanguard under Baybars (sultan Qutuz was following with the main army) came up to Gaza. There was evi˙ dently some fighting before the Mongol force under Baydar withdrew to the north. The entire Mamluk army soon arrived, and after a stopover of one day, continued along the coast to Acre.26 1260: After the Mamluk victory at ʿAyn Ja¯lu¯t over the Mongol army in Syria led by Kitbuqa, Qutuz took control over most of the country up to the Euphrates, ˙ including Gaza and its environs. Subsequent developments will be the subject of the next sections.

22 Humphreys, From Saladin to the Mongols, 275–276; Prawer, Histoire du royaume latin, 2:312– 313; Berkovich, “The Batle of Forbie.” 23 Humphreys, From Saladin to the Mongols, 309–333, 342; Irwin, The Middle East in the Middle Ages, pp. 6–30. 24 Humphreys, From Saladin to the Mongols, 347–353; Amitai, “Mongol Raids into Palestine”; idem, Mongols and Mamluks, pp. 26–35. 25 Ibid., p. 33. 26 Ibid., p. 38.

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Beyond the inscriptions noted above, we have no information on the state of Gaza and its agricultural hinterland during these two decades or so, but it seems a reasonable assumption that these were not auspicious times, from economic, demographic and cultural perspectives. The frequent movement of troops, horses, baggage trains, and civilians – not to mention recurrent fighting – could not have helped the local economy or been a propitious time for demographic growth. Likely, the opposite was the case. This was the situation that the Mamluk authorities encountered when taking control of the town and its surrounding area.

General Trends: Administration and Economy under the Mamluks We have few details about exact measures adopted by the Mamluk authorities in Gaza and its surroundings in the period immediately after the expulsion of the Mongols from Syria and the establishment of Mamluk rule over most of the Muslim controlled sections of the country. Yet, some idea of developments can be gained from this short passage taken from the multi-volume geographicalhistorical work al-Aʿla¯q al-khat¯ırah fı¯ dhikr umara¯ʾ al-sha¯m wa-l-jazı¯rah by ʿIzz ˙ al-Dı¯n ibn Shadda¯d al-Halabı¯ (d. 1285), formerly a high official in Ayyubid Syria, ˙ who immigrated to Egypt just prior to the Mongol occupation of the country, working subsequently in the Mamluk bureaucracy.27 In the section on Gaza, he writes: When al-Malik al-Muzaffar Sayf al-Dı¯n Qutuz al-Muʿizzı¯ al-Turkı¯ defeated the Mongols ˙ ˙ near ʿAyn Ja¯lu¯t, and the country was taken back, the inhabitants [of Gaza] returned to [Gaza] and it was built anew. In our time – when this book was composed – there are in it governors (nuwwa¯b) of our lord, the Sultan al-Malik al-Za¯hir Rukn al-Dunya¯ wa-l-Dı¯n ˙ Baybars al-Sa¯lih¯ı – may God make his reign last forever, and bring his rule over the ˙28 ˙ entire land!

This passage clearly states that a sense of stability and security was brought about in southwestern Palestine early on, and this continued under Baybars (r. 1260– 77), in many ways the real founder of the Mamluk Sultanate and certainly its great institutionalizer,29 and his successors as ruler. “Governors” (nuwwa¯b, pl. of na¯ʾib) are mentioned here in a general way, but we have hardly any names of these officers from the reign of Baybars. Only under Qala¯wu¯n (r. 1279–90) are these officers named in a more-or-less systematic manner.30 As time went on, the 27 28 29 30

On this author, see Antrim, “Making Syria Mamluk,” pp. 3–4. Ibn Shadda¯d al-Halabı¯, ed. Dahan, p. 266. Thorau, The Lion˙ of Egypt, surveys this sultan’s initiatives to institutionalize the state. ʿAta¯ Alla¯h, Niya¯bat ghazzah, pp. 277–280. ˙

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actual area of the province became increasingly well defined, including large swaths of land along the coast and inland conquered by Baybars from the Franks (the remnants of Arsu¯f, Jaffa, and Caesarea and on the coast, Qa¯qu¯n to the north, but further inland, and Ramla, Ludd/Lo¯d and Bayt Jibrı¯l/Jibrı¯n to the northeast). The seizure of Safad from the Franks in 1266 laid the groundwork for Mamluk ˙ rule in the north of the country; the conquest of Acre in 1291 by Sultan al-Ashraf Khalil (r. 1290–93) put an end to Frankish rule and Franks residing in the country and in Syria overall. Palestine was divided into three administrative units: 1) In the north was the niya¯bah or mamlakah – both of which can be translated as “province” in this context – of Safad, including areas in modern-day southern ˙ Lebanon and the Golan Heights; 2) Jerusalem and the area more-or-less covered by the West Bank today were usually part of the province of Damascus, but independent at times; 3) Gaza was the province in the southwest of the country: about two thirds up the coast to Haifa, and inland as far as Bayt Jibrı¯l. Generally Gaza answered directly to the sultan in Cairo, but at times was subordinate to the governor of Damascus; al-Qalqashandı¯ notes that occasionally it was not controlled by a governor, but only by an army commander.31 In any case, these provincial borders were more probably more or less intact by about the year 1300, but as we shall soon see, they could be flexible according to the needs and choices of the central authorities.32 (See map no. 1) This present study is not concerned with the entire province of Gaza, but only with the city itself and its immediate agricultural hinterland, a radius of some 20–25 km from it, or the distance that one might travel comfortably in a day on mule or horse. After several decades of Mamluk rule, we get a good idea of the state of the city in the following passage from the encyclopedia by Ibn Fadlalla¯h al-ʿUmarı¯ ˙ (d. 1349), Masa¯lik al-absa¯r fı¯ mama¯lik al-amsa¯r: ˙ ˙ Gaza is a city between Egypt and Damascus. Ha¯shim ibn ʿAbd al-Mana¯f was buried there, and in it al-Sha¯fiʿı¯ was born. It is built of stone and plaster, its buildings are solid, on a high spot, at a distance of a mile from the Mediterranean Sea. It has good and pure

31 Al-Qalqashandı¯, Subh al-aʿsha¯, 12:214. ˙ ˙ of the administrative geography of Palestine under the Mamluks, 32 Preliminary discussions basically critical translations/summaries of the relevant parts of the encyclopedias of alʿUmarı¯ (d. 1349) and al-Qalqashandi (d. 1322) (with the latter heavily indebted to the former), are found in Hartmann, “Politische Geographie des Mamlu¯kenreichs,” pp. 1–40, 477–511; 71, (1917), 429–430; Gaudefroy-Demombynes, La Syrie à l’époque des Mamelouks, pp. 173–179, 234–235; Nielsen, “The Political Geography and Administration of Mamluk Palestine,” pp. 114–133. A detailed and analytical study of the administrative geography from the beginning to the end of Mamluk rule, taking into account Ayyubid precedents (and maybe Ottoman changes) is a desideratum. I should note that the boundaries between the provinces marked on Map 1 were neither immutable nor clearly defined, but those given here provide an idea of the influence of the provincial governors and where the rural districts paid their taxes. See below for one clear example of expanded provincial borders.

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water that is easy to digest, but it is not considered tasty. The drinking water of its inhabitants [originates] in wells, and it has reservoirs for rainwater, into which the winter rains run, although these are considered unpleasant (yustaqallu, perhaps just: not plentiful). It has many fruits, of which grapes and figs are the best. In [Gaza] is a hospital built by the Sultan, may God reward him, for which travelers to it had the greatest need. It possesses many colleges (mada¯ris) and gravesites that were embellished by him. It is a noble province, in which is stationed a regular army contingent, Bedouins and Türkmen. It is accessible by on its two sides, the land and the sea, and it is near the Sinai desert (tı¯h banı¯ isra¯ʾı¯l). To its south are agricultural and pasture lands, and it is a place of meeting between settled and nomadic people. Its sedentary people are tribesmen (ʿushra¯n) who are hostile to each other. Were it not for the fear of the regime, the fire of battle would not abate there, and the sword would not be put back in the scabbard. No inhabitant would feel secure there and would not settle there, neither outsider nor local.33

This passage is worthy of further discussion, but first I will cite another text, more-or-less contemporary text. Ibn Battu¯tah (d. 1358–9), the famous traveler ˙˙ ˙ from the Muslim west, passed through Gaza in 1326. This is what was recorded in his Rihla, or “Travelogue”: ˙ From there [Qatya¯ in Egypt] we went to the town of Gaza, which is the first of the towns ˙ of Syria on the borders of Egypt, a place of spacious dimensions and much building (kathı¯rat al-ʿima¯rah), with fine bazaars. It contains numerous mosques, and there is no wall round it. There was formerly a fine congregational mosque in the town. The mosque in which the Friday service is now held there was built by the illustrious amir alJa¯wlı¯; it is an elegant building of solid construction and its pulpit (minbar) is made of white marble. The qa¯d¯ı of Gaza was Badr al-Dı¯n of Salkhad in Hawra¯n, and the pro˙ ˙ fessor of its madrasa ʿAlam al-Dı¯n b. Sa¯lim. The Sa¯lim family are the notable inhabitants of this town, and one of them is Shams al-Dı¯n, the qa¯d¯ı of Jerusalem.34 ˙

We may note a few important matters that arise from the reading of these two passages. Firstly, the city of Gaza under the Mamluks was the focus of much building, due in part to the patronage of the political-military elite. The plethora of construction is only indicative of prosperity but also contributed to it: we will return to this matter in the next section. Secondly, the city had good infrastructure, including markets and fresh water, from both wells and reservoirs. Water resources will be mentioned below in the section on the agricultural hinterland, where the matter of the agricultural productivity of the region will also be reviewed. 33 Al-ʿUmarı¯, Masa¯lik al-absa¯r, ed. Sayyid, pp. 142–143. Cf. the translation in Richards, Egypt ˙ and Syria in the Early Mamluk Period, 85, from whom I have taken some expressions, but also differ on a few points. 34 Ibn Battu¯ta, al-Rihla, ed. Defrémery and Sanguinetti, Voyages d’Ibn Batoutah, 1:113–114. The ˙˙ ˙ here is ˙ based on Gibb, The Travels of Ibn Battu¯ta, 1:73, but I have made some translation ˙˙ ˙ changes with his text.

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A particularly important matter mentioned by al-ʿUmarı¯ is that of relations with the local nomads. Early on, the Mamluks had brought the local Bedouin in ¯ bid, Jarm and line: In 1263 Baybars had met the leaders of these tribes – al-ʿA Taʿlabah – and integrated them into the Mamluk political and military system,35 and there is no reason to think that these arrangements were not in place well into the fourteenth century. These efforts by Baybars and his successors can be seen as part of the larger endeavor to control the nomads of Syria, both to make sure that they would not cause trouble, but also that they might even contribute to Mamluk governance in the country and to ongoing military efforts.36 We will have more to say on the Bedouins and their possible sedentarization in the section on the countryside below. We may just note here that from this passage by al-ʿUmarı¯, we see clearly how the firm hand of the Mamluk authorities played a significant role in bringing stability and prosperity to the whole region. Related to this matter, but not to be confused with it, is the presence of nomads of other types in the vicinity of Gaza. These were Turcomans and Kurds, both recent arrivals in the neighborhood. The former – noted by al-ʿUmarı¯ – were refugees from Mongol controlled territory and were brought to the southern Palestinian coast by Baybars, who in 1263 was also arranging their affairs.37 These Turcomans certainly persisted in their pastoral nomadic lifestyle for at least a few generations, although they eventually settled down and were arabized.38 Probably the same thing happened to the Kurds who also took up residence in this area, perhaps some arriving even before the end of the Ayyubid period. Both Turcomans and Kurds served as auxiliaries to the army of Gaza, as did the Bedouin.39 Ibn Battu¯tah mentioned the work of a Mamluk officer named al-Ja¯wlı¯, re˙˙ ˙ ferring to ʿAlam al-Dı¯n Sanjar al-Ja¯wlı¯40 (d. 1344), a key governor of Gaza in the ˙ early reign of Sultan al-Na¯sir Muhammad b. Qala¯wu¯n. This is what Khalı¯l b. ˙ ˙ Aybak al-Safadı¯ (d. 1366) has to say about him in his biographical compendium: ˙ 35 Ibn ʿAbd al- Za¯hir, al-Rawd al-za¯hir fi sı¯rat al-malik al-za¯hir, p. 149. ˙ Origins and ˙ Development of the Amı¯rate˙ of the Arabs,” pp. 509–524; Amitai36 See Hiyari, “The Preiss, Mongols and Mamluks, pp. 64–69; Franz, “Bedouin and States.” 37 Ibn ʿAbd al- Za¯hir, al-Rawd, pp. 148–149. Under Baybars, thousands of Türkmen were settled ˙ from Gaza ˙ to Antioch; Ibn Shadda¯d al-Halabı¯, Taʾrı¯kh al-Malik al-Za¯hir, along the coast ˙ 69–70. ˙ p. 335. For a discussion, see Amitai, Mongols and Mamluks, 38 For the larger picture of the Turcoman relocation to Syria, see Kellner-Heinkele, “The Turkomans and Bila¯d asˇ-Sˇa¯m in the Mamluk Period,” pp. 169–180; Ashkenazi, Les Turkmênes en Palestine. 39 In the diploma for the commander of the army of Gaza, Bedouins, Türkmen and Kurds are mentioned as part of the auxiliary forces in the region; al-Qalqashandı¯, Subh al-aʿsha¯, 12:218. ˙ ˙ falcon” of some 40 This name is the derived from the Turkish word, cˇavlı, meaning “a (little) type. See: Sauvaget, “Noms et surnoms de Mamelouks,” p. 46; Clauson, An Etymological Dictionary of Pre-Thirteenth Century Turkish, 397 (root CBL), cf. p. 410 (cˇagrı). For more on this name and how it was applied to this Sanjar, see Amitai, “Islamization in the Southern Levant,” note 52.

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[Sanjar al-Ja¯wlı¯] built (ʿammara) in Gaza an extremely gigantic bath, and a madrasa, and a mosque ( ja¯miʿ) without parallel … He is the one who turned Gaza into a city and urbanized it (wa-huwa alla¯dhı¯ maddana ghazzah wa-massaraha¯). He built (bana¯) a ˙˙ hospital in it, and there was endowed for it from al-Na¯sir Muhammad a large waqf; the ˙ ˙ supervision of it was handed over to the governors of Gaza. He erected (ʿammara) in Gaza the hippodrome and the palace, and constructed (bana¯) a caravansaray (kha¯n).41

Al-Ja¯wlı¯ was governor of Gaza and extensive adjacent regions for most of the second decade of the fourteenth century (until his arrest in 720/1320), a pivotal time, as the town was transformed into a city, not just due to lots of monumental building, but most probably also to general urban expansion. The mosque that he constructed was also noted by Ibn Battu¯tah, who states that it eclipsed the regular ˙˙ ˙ congregational mosque of the city for a while.42 The third sultanate of al-Na¯sir ˙ Muhammad was a time of much building throughout the Sultanate,43 and such ˙ activity under al-Ja¯wlı¯’s aegis fits this overall pattern. The endowment set up by the Sultan for the hospital indicates how he himself was involved in this construction boom in a provincial capital. We should add that the area that al-Ja¯wlı¯ controlled was much larger than the Gaza province as it was usually understood: according to al-Safadi: it included Jerusalem, Hebron, Nablus, Qa¯qu¯n, Ludd and Ramla. The last three were indeed part of the “standard package,” but clearly Jerusalem and the areas to its north and south were not. This says something about the flexibility of provincial boundaries, and also, about al-Ja¯wlı¯’s high position with the Sultan after the latter’s accession to the Sultanate for the third time.44 The continued prosperity of the city is seen in foreign travelers’ reports later in the fourteenth century. This is in spite of the Black Plague of the late 1340s and the ongoing political confusion and disorder that followed al-Na¯sir Mu˙ hammad’s death 1341. The Italian traveler Giorgio Gucci, for instance, writing in ˙ 1384: This Gaza is a big city and has many inhabitants, and it is believed to be as large and to have as many inhabitants and houses as the city of Alexandria, save that the city of Alexandria has beautiful houses and more beautiful streets and it is a civil city and a business place, while the city of Gaza is a rural city in regard to inhabitants and houses 41 Al-Safadı¯, al-Wa¯fı¯ biʾl-wafa¯ya¯t, 15:483. See also RCIA, 4:86–87, and passim; ʿAta¯ Alla¯h, ˙¯ bat ghazza, 280–283, for references to other biographies (apparently derived mostly ˙ from Niya al-Safadı¯’s work). 42 For˙ the foundation text of this mosque, not in situ (and in fact, in secondary usage in another mosque today), see CIAP, 4:84–88. 43 See the comments of Meinecke, Die Mamlukische Architektur in Ägypten und Syrien, 1:58–59, and for the larger context: Ayalon, “The Expansion and Decline of Cairo,” pp. 13–20. 44 Al-Safadı¯, Wa¯fı¯, 15:482. See CIAP, 4:86–87 for a biography of al-Ja¯wlı¯. In the foundation text of his ˙mosque in Gaza, he is referred to as the governor in the “coastal and mountainous districts” near Gaza; CIAP, 4:84.

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and everything. Indeed the country where the said city stands is beautiful, of good climate, with plenty of bread, good meat, chickens and eggs, and every kind of food, plenty and good; and there are Jews there. And since the country has plenty of grapes, they make wine, which they keep in glass jars, each holding a mezzina; and it is good wine. This city is one of the cities of the Philistines, and in this city abode Samson.45

This is clearly a prosperous city, or perceived as one by a visiting European Christian. There is no reason to doubt this data. Another interesting piece of information regards the existence of a Jewish community, about which we are hearing for the first time. This is confirmed by another traveler from Europe, this time from France, Seigneur (Ogier) d’Anglure (writing in 1395–6): Gaza is an unwalled city and it is bigger than Jerusalem. In this city, Samson brought down the hall … In this city there stands a house that is close to the street, and in it is the temple of the Jews … Likewise, very near this house, on another street, a type of unbeliever is found, known as Samaritans.46

This information about local Jews is not a trivial matter, and not just for historians of the Jewish communities of the Mamluk Sultanate. We have seen above that there was, apparently, no Jewish community living under the Franks. It is impossible to say whether one was founded during the Ayyubid period, but this seems unlikely, given that the last two decades of Frankish rule that was characterized by a lack of stability and by military challenges. It seems most likely that Jews immigrated to Gaza from elsewhere in Syria and Egypt – or even beyond – only during the time of the Mamluk Sultanate. These Jews – probably mostly merchants and craftsmen – were surely attracted by the ongoing prosperity under the Mamluks. This is another clear indication of the healthy economic situation enjoyed by the inhabitants of Gaza City and probably of the surrounding countryside. Further information on the Jewish community a century later is seen in the account of the northern Italian Meshu¯llem of Volterra, who reported ca. 1481: Gaza [ʿAzza / ‫ ]עזה‬is called by the Moslems Ga¯za¯ [‫]גאזא‬.47 It is a fine and prosperous place, and its fruits are very praiseworthy. Bread and good wine is to be found there, but only Jews make wine. Gaza has a circumference of four miles and no walls. It is about six miles from the sea and situated in a valley and on a hill. It has a population as numerous as the sands of the sea, and there are about sixty Jewish householders, and four Samaritan householders, [and they enjoy the prosperity of the land. They have a small but 45 Bellorini and Hoade, Visit to the Holy Places of Egypt, Sinai, Palestine and Syria in 1384, p. 122. I have not been able to check the original text of this account. 46 Ogier d’Anglure, Le saint voyage de Jherusalem du seigneur d’Anglure, pp. 42–43; cited in Luz, The Mamluk City in the Middle East, 97; translation of a longer passage in Braslavsky, “Yishu¯v ʾAzza,” pp. 133–136. 47 Clearly Meshu¯llem was doing his best to replicate the Arabic Ghazzah as he heard it in Hebrew letters.

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pretty Synagogue, and vineyards and fields and houses. They had already begun to make the new wine] … There are also four Samaritan householders who live on the hillside. At the top of the Judecca (Jewish quarter) is the house of Delilah in which Samson the hero lived, nearby it – about one-eighth of a mile beyond it at the top of the hill, also in Gaza, I saw a large courtyard (i. e., a large courtyard surrounded by building) that he had caused to fall by his strength. Those houses are still ruined and desolate, but to this very day it can be seen that the courtyard was very great.48

This positive picture of Gaza is briefly mentioned by Ovadiah of Bertinoro writing in 1488 (while noting at greater length the good condition of the local Jewish community): Gaza is the first town that we found on coming out of the wilderness, leading to the land of the Philistines. It is a large and beautiful city, of the same size as Jerusalem, but without walls for among all the places under Egyptian dominion, which now extends over the Palestine, the country of the Philistines and Syria, Alexandria and Aleppo alone are surrounded by walls. If the account of the Jews living there be correct, I saw in Gaza the ruins of the building that Samson pulled down on the Philistines.49

In order to dispel any thoughts that the rosy picture presented by Jewish travelers is due to the happy state of their local co-religionists, let us look at the report by the German Dominican Felix Fabri (d. 1502), describing his visit to the city in the early 1480s: New Gaza [i. e., as compared to the Biblical city] at this day is a notable city of Palestine, twice as great as Jerusalem, populous and flourishing. In vulgar speech, it is a ditchful of butter, and all things needful for human are abundant and cheap there. There are so many palm-trees that the city seems to stand in a wood. Its houses are wretched, and built of mud, but its mosques and hot baths are exceed[ingly] costly; it is not enclosed by a wall, but it has lofty towers within it. It is a seaside town, albeit does not stand on the seashore, but at a distance of one German mile therefrom … many merchants dwell in Gaza, and very many cooks, and there is a wondrous mixture of nations. There are many Ethiopians, many Arabs, Egyptians, and Syrians, Indians, and Eastern Christians, but no Latins …50

In this far from exhaustive survey (a more comprehensive one is planned), there are indications of continuing prosperity from the early Mamluk period into the 48 Yaʿarı¯, Masaʿ Meshu¯llam mi-Volterra, pp. 64–65. Cf. the translation Adler, Jewish Travellers in the Middle Ages: 19 Firsthand Accounts, pp. 180–181, which is somewhat freely rendered. The passage in the square brackets is not in Yaʿarı¯’s Hebrew text; Adler also provides here the names of local Jewish notables, which are found later (p. 68) in this Hebrew text. There appears thus to be another version of this travelogue, but a discussion of this matter – and the establishment of an acceptable text – is beyond the present study. 49 Yaʿari, p. 125; for translation, see Adler, Jewish Travellers in the Middle Ages, p. 232 (who omits part of the following text on the Jewish population). 50 Felix Fabri, in Stewart, “Felix Fabri (ca. A.D. 1480–1483) vol II, part II,” pp. 451–452. I was hitherto unable to look at the original text.

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late fifteenth century. The implications of this impression will be examined in the conclusion below.

A New Look at the Urban Fabric We are fortunate to have the comprehensive and impressive study of MohamedMoain Sadek (Muhammad-Muʿı¯n Sa¯diq) on the architecture of Gaza in the ˙ ˙ Mamluk period.51 This work has already permitted a clear picture of the scope of Mamluk patronage and construction, now supplemented by the exhaustive treatment in volume 4 of the Corpus Inscriptionum Arabicarum Palaestinae (henceforth referred to as CIAP) by Moshe Sharon.52 This latter work is not just a presentation of the epigraphical evidence (text, translation and philological commentary, with a few references), but also begins with a detailed historical and archeological discussion of each site (when possible), and is followed by a full historical commentary. The entire section on Gaza is preceded by a long historical survey of the entire city from ancient times up to the end of Ottoman rule in 1917; of course, here we are interested mainly in the Mamluk material. Taken together, these remarkable studies enable the historian and the historical geographer to investigate the development of the city over the quarter millennium of Mamluk rule. In the next section, we will see how the discussion of that surrounding countryside has been impacted by the “epigraphic revolution” brought on by Moshe Sharon in his CIAP. At this point in my research, I am not ready to present a full discussion of trends in the development of the city and the role played by Mamluk patronage. Likewise, I still do not have a proper map ready showing the sites of these constructions and how they developed over the years of Mamluk rule. What I have done is to present in different ways the epigraphic evidence, thus enabling some initial analysis and tentative conclusions. From the 256 years of Mamluk rule in al-Sha¯m, (and thus of Gaza), we have 69 inscriptions from Gaza City. This compares favorably to Jerusalem with some 70 inscriptions, and overshadows Safad with about a dozen extant inscriptions (exact numbers will become clear with the publication of future volumes of the CIAP). We should note, however, that from the beginning the spread and type of inscriptions in Gaza differ somewhat from those in Jerusalem. In the latter, the vast majority of inscriptions are devoted to individual projects, while – as will be seen below – more than a quarter of the examples from Gaza are epitaphs, and 51 Sadek, Die mamlukische Architektur der Stadt Gaza. An updated precis of this work is found in idem, “Gaza, art and architecture.” 52 CIAP, vol. 4 (published in 2009), which is mostly devoted to Gaza.

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also there is a certain bunching: 13 inscriptions are found at the Great Mosque. Still, we can note the impressive record of patronage – mostly from the Mamluk military-political elite – as seen in the following table: Type of Inscription Construction, reconstruction and repair53

Numbers 42

Epitaphs54 Sultanic and Caliphal orders, not connected to construction55

19 4

Waqf texts56 Qurʾanic texts57

2 2

Total 69 Table 1: Breakdown of Mamluk-era inscriptions in Gaza by type

We see that almost two-thirds of the inscriptions are indeed devoted to construction and repair/reconstruction works, along with commemorating waqfs (properly awqa¯f, endowments) relating to a specific site. This is a clear record of remarkable patronage, especially when taken together with the actual buildings themselves, some of them on a grand scale. The next step is to take the 42 inscriptions of the first category, and break them down further: Building Great Mosque58

Number of Inscriptions 14

Ja¯miʿ Ibn ʿUthma¯n59 Mosque of ʿAlı¯ b. Marwa¯n60

6 3

Ja¯miʿ of al-Ja¯wlı¯61 Miscellaneous minor mosques62

1 10

53 See Table 2 for breakdown and references. 54 CIAP, 4: nos. 15, 16 17, 18, 21, 22, 23, 28, 36, 37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 47, 57, 63. For simplicity’s sake, only the numbers of inscriptions are provided here and in the following notes, not page numbers. 55 CIAP, 4: nos. 49, 58, 67 and 76. 56 CIAP, 4: nos. 66, 82; cf. no. 52, which is connected to a series of construction texts, and no. 62, also part of a construction inscription. 57 CIAP, 4: nos. 33, 73. 58 CIAP, 4: nos. 13, 19, 20, 24, 25, 27, 31, 32, 34, 39, 46, 50, 70, 78. 59 CIAP, 4: nos. 51, 52, 53, 55, 61, 64. 60 CIAP, 4: nos. 29, 30, 60. 61 CIAP, 4: no. 26. As noted above, this mosque is no longer standing, but its foundation inscription is extant. 62 CIAP, 4: nos. 12, 43, 48, 54, 56, 65, 68, 69, 72, 77.

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(Continued) Building Za¯wiyas (small Sufi lodges)63 Madrasas64

Number of Inscriptions 3 2

Maza¯r (tomb serving as focus for pilgrimage)65 Hamma¯m (public bath)66 ˙ Sabı¯l (public fountain)67 Total

1 1 1 42

Table 2: Types of construction, reconstruction and waqf projects in Mamluk Gaza

The first thing that strikes the observer is that the construction is overwhelmingly of a clear religious nature (and one could claim that all the work is religious, if the hamma¯m and sabı¯l are also seen as worthy pious constructions). The large ˙ amount of attention paid to the Great Friday Mosque ( ja¯miʿ) certainly catches the eye, as well as that carrying the name of ʿAlı¯ b. Marwa¯n.68 Ten other mosques have one inscription each; I have noted separately that one established by Sanjar al-Ja¯wlı¯, both because of the identity of its patron and its role as central mosque of the city for a while (noted by Ibn Battu¯tah above). The extant epigraphical ˙˙ ˙ evidence apparently does not fully convey Mamluk patronage and other building projects here. One clear instance of this discrepancy is in the case of the madrasas (properly mada¯ris, religious colleges): Ha¯tim Maha¯mı¯d has identified nine ma˙ ˙ drasas from the Mamluk period from the literary sources,69 compared to the smaller number revealed in the epigraphical record. Likewise, we find here only one inscription for a hamma¯m (from 816/1413–4),70 while we know about at least ˙ one earlier bathhouse, that built by Sanjar al-Ja¯wli (see the above passage by alSafadı¯), and Felix Fabri refers to such institutions in the plural.71 Moshe Sharon ˙ has given a long list of now lost buildings in Gaza, admittedly not all from the 63 CIAP, 4: nos. 14, 35, 75. 64 CIAP, 4: nos. 62, 70; cf. no. 68, which is listed under miscellaneous mosques but mentions a madrasa. Another four madrasas are mentioned under in Gaza in this volume of CIAP. 65 CIAP, 4: no. 11; several other maza¯rs are mentioned for Gaza in this volume of CIAP, but without foundation or reconstruction inscriptions. 66 CIAP, 4: no. 56. 67 CIAP, 4: no. 71. 68 Sadek, Die mamlukische Architektur der Stadt Gaza, ch. 2, has a long discussion of the mosques of the city, with attention to seven of the “minor” mosques. Section 7.1 surveys the many mosques that are no longer extant. 69 Mahamid, “The Construction of Islamic-Educational Institutions in Mamluk Gaza,” pp. 36– 40. Sadek, Die mamlukische Architektur, ch. 3, notes two madrasas, but in section 7.2, lists seven more that have not survived. 70 CIAP, 4:150–153. 71 Sharon (CIAP, 4:149) has a short discussion of bathhouses in Gaza; see also Sadek, Die mamlukische Architektur, section 7.10.

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Mamluk period.72 In short, it is reasonable to suggest that there was somewhat more patronage and construction in the Mamluk period for which we have no extant epigraphic evidence. Finally, it may be instructive to look at how the 42 construction/ reconstruction/ waqf inscriptions are broken down by chronology. Years 1260–1309

Number of Inscriptions 8

1310–1341 1342–1400

10 9

1401–1460 1461–1516

8 7

Total 42 Table 3: Chronological spread of Mamluk construction inscriptions in Gaza

I have broken up the early Mamluk period (until 1341) in Syria into logical historical phases,73 while the later period is in divided into segments of about some 60 years each. In spite of this inconsistency in the length of the sub-periods, one can clearly see that there was building and patronage throughout the entire 256 years of Mamluk rule. One may note that the shortest period, the 31 years or so of al-Na¯sir Muhammad’s third reign, has the most building; this particularly ˙ ˙ intensive time of construction has already been mentioned above. What is most important for our purposes in the present paper is to show that construction, repairs and other patronage were found throughout the entire Mamluk period, even if there were some variations in the intensity. This work and patronage continued to the end of this era, giving expression to relative prosperity at this time, and surely contributing to it.

The Rural Hinterland Any discussion of the countryside around Gaza is stymied by an almost total lack of information regarding conditions in the Frankish and Ayyubid periods. About the latter we have one inscription (noted above) and some other bits of information (see below); the situation for the time of Frankish rule is even more disappointing. Outside of Da¯ru¯m (Dayr al-Balah) to the south of Gaza City we do ˙ not possess any information on Frankish rural settlement in the later half of the 72 CIAP,4:37–39. 73 The first period comprises the time of initial Mamluk expansion and consolidation, up to the third reign of al-Na¯sir Muhammad b. Qala¯wu¯n. The second period is the pivotal reign of this ˙ ˙ division ruler; henceforth, the is into approximately 60 years segments.

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twelfth century, and in fact Da¯ru¯m was more a town with fortifications than a village.74 At this stage, it is thus impossible to make any comparisons between the rural situation in the Mamluk period and that in the periods preceding it.75 Matters are much better for the first decades of Ottoman rule in the sixteenth century, as we have several population and tax registers for the Gaza province, providing us with the names of villages, the component population and tax figures. Four of the defters (932/1525–6, 940–5/1533–9, 955/1548, and 961–4/ 1553–7) have come down to us for Gaza, although probably only the first is relevant to our concerns here.76 It is tempting to take the names of villages from that early survey and read them back into the Mamluk period, at least its later part. However, we will not assume that a village in the Ottoman register existed under the Mamluks unless we find explicit evidence for this from earlier sources. Luckily, we can put together a tentative settlement map for the Mamluk period that provides the basis for some provisional conclusions for continuity into the time of Ottoman rule. The basis of this tentative settlement map is two tables: the first (Table no. 4) gives the names of villages in the Gaza area as reflected in various literary sources. Most likely, as I continue my research, additional villages will will be found that can be entered in this table. As noted above, a radius of 20–25 km was drawn with Gaza City as the center, from the coast in the north around to the coast in the south. Settlements just beyond this radius were also included. This distance would have been what could have been covered reasonably in one day by mule or horseback, and thus represents the immediate agricultural hinterland of Gaza City.

74 Without going into the matter too deeply, we can refer to the fairly detailed map of Frankish settlement in Ellenblum, Frankish Rural Settlement in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, p. xvii, which has no settlement marked in this area beyond Gaza City and Da¯ru¯m. Jonathan Riley-Smith (The Knights Hospitaller in the Levant, p. 34) has written that ca. 1169, the Templars had only a few estates around Gaza, while the Hospitallers had many to the south of the City; the basis of this statement is not clear to me. 75 A recent article, however, deals with the situation in the late late Frankish period to the area just to the north of that discussed here: Blakely and Huster, “The Wadi el-Hesi Region in 1256/ 7.” 76 For these surveys in general, see: Lewis, “Studies in the Ottoman Archives – I,”; Cohen and Lewis, Population and Revenue in the Towns of Palestine in the Sixteenth Century; Hütteroth and Abdulfattah, Historical Geography of Palestine, Transjordan and Southern Syria in the Late Sixteenth Century; Hütteroth, Palästina und Transjordanien im 16. Jahrhundert. For the historical geography and economic history of early Ottoman Gaza and its region, I have found particularly useful Etkes, “Nomads and Droughts, Challenges to Middle Eastern Economic Development: The Case of Early Ottoman Gaza (1516–82).”

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Village Information Source Barbara Near Ashkelon. There is the maza¯r of Mujı¯r al-Dı¯n, 2:14877 the Shaykh Yu¯suf al-Barbara¯wı¯ Listed as Jarha¯: One of the villages of Ya¯qu¯t, 2:56;78 Little, Catalogue, 84 ˙ early 13th century. In (no. 171) 79 Ashkelon in the an estate inventory from Jerusalem in 797/1395, this village is listed as Bayt Kharja. Dayr A bridge is built there (“near Gaza”) Ibn Shadda¯d, Taʾrı¯kh, 352 Sunayd during the reign of Baybars

Bayt Jirja¯

Da¯ru¯m

Dimra¯

The Bedouin tribe of Jarm was located nearby and near Gaza early in first half of 14th century. Also appears as a stop in Frankish itineraries from the Mamluk period.

Ibn Fadl Alla¯h al-ʿUmarı¯, Qaba¯ʾil al˙ 80 ʿarab, 107; Paviot, Projets de Croisade, 47.81 As noted above, this settlement, more a town than a village, was in existence in the Frankish and Ayyubid periods. The Banu¯ Ja¯bir tribe lived near Dimra¯ Ibn Fadl Alla¯h al-ʿUmarı¯, Qaba¯ʾil al˙ in the first half of the 14th century. ʿarab, 109

Hirbı¯ya¯ One of the villages of Ashkelon in Ya¯qu¯t, 3:867 early 13th century. Written here as Firbı¯ya¯. Site of important battle with Franks in 1244 (La Forbie). Jabalı¯ya One of the villages of Ashkelon. Ya¯qu¯t, 2:198–19982 Written as Habla. ˙ Ku¯fı¯ya The headman (rayyis) of this village, Ibn Shadda¯d, Taʾrı¯kh, 293 from the region of Gaza, is rewarded by Baybars. Table 4: Settlements in the Gaza area from textual evidence, from the Ayyubid period to end of Mamluk rule

The next table (Table no. 5) is based on inscriptions for the same area. The evidence is taken from the hitherto published volumes of the CIAP. As further volumes appear, additional relevant inscription will probably become known. As we can see, two of the villages in Table no. 5 also appear in the previous Table.

77 78 79 80 81 82

Mujı¯r al-Dı¯n, al-Uns al-jalı¯l bi-taʾrı¯kh al-quds wa-l-khalı¯l. An Ottoman inscription, from 1241/1825, is also found in this village; CIAP, 2:143–144. Little, A Catalogue of the Islamic Documents from al-Haram asˇ-Sˇarı¯f in Jerusalem. ˙ Al-ʿUmarı¯, Masa¯lik al-absa¯r, ed. Krawulsky. ˙ Paviot, Projets de Croisade (v. 1290–v. 1330). Tal, Eres-Israʾel be-meko¯ro¯t ʿaraviim, p. 152, note, 232 makes this suggestion, but discusses ˙ other possible identification for the entry in Ya¯qu¯t.

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Village Bayt Ha¯nu¯n ˙ Bayt La¯hiya¯

Date 637/1239

Description Source Construction text of mosque to com- CIAP, 2:98–104 memorate victory over Franks

897/1492

Bayt T¯ıma¯ ˙

792/1390

CIAP, 2:149–151 Epitaph of Muslim children (of the amir Aqba¯y, died from plague that year). Construction text of local mosque. CIAP, 2:158–160 Also Ottoman inscription from 1252/ 1836

Burayr

2nd half 9th century/15th century 690/1290

Part of construction text with blazon of dawa¯da¯r

676/1277

Construction text, perhaps from mosque (that may have been destroyed in WWI, and was in secondary usage in a newer, simpler mosque). 3 pieces now in Rockefeller Museum, Jerusalem. Inscription in mosque contructed by Sala¯r al-Mansu¯rı¯ ˙

Da¯ru¯m (Dayr alBalah) ˙ Dimra¯

Majdal

700/1300

Epitaph of a Mamluk, with a blazon.

CIAP, 3: XLVII–L (Addenda and Corrigenda) CIAP, 3:11–19 CIAP, 3:138–141

CIAP, 1:185–186 (no. 15); RCEA, 13:204 (no. 5099)

Niʿilya¯ 645?/1247–8 unclear CIAP, 1:18983 Table 5: Inscriptions from the Countryside around Gaza (Late Ayyubid and Mamluk periods)

Taking this information together, the reader can be referred to Map no. 2. We note 14 different villages (or rather: 13 villages and one town, Da¯ru¯m) in this area, that can be broken down as follows: – Six villages existed in the Ayyubid period. Four of these are not mentioned during Mamluk times, but are noted in Ottoman land registers of the sixteenth century. – Twelve villages existed in the Mamluk period, of which two had also existed under the Ayyubids). – Two locations are mentioned twice (Bayt Jirja and Hirbı¯ya¯), showing more clearly that these existed for some time. Da¯ru¯m, surely the largest settlement outside of Gaza city, is mentioned above three times, and without a doubt lasted the entire Ayyubid and Mamluk periods. 83 Here, M. Sharon only makes a passing reference to this inscription (as well as another from the Fatimid period), and refers us to the article “Niʿilya¯” in a forthcoming volume of the CIAP. The village is also mentioned in an inscription 958/1551, as containing waqf property supporting a mosque in nearby Majdal (CIAP, 1:187–189 (no. 16).

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– All of these sites are mentioned in the Ottoman land registers of the sixteenth century. We can draw, then, a tentative conclusion: Assuming that mention of the villages in epigraphy and the literary sources indicates long-term settlement, we can see that Gaza was surrounded to its north and northeast by many villages, providing evidence for a robust local agricultural economy, which had already been indicated by some of the literary evidence presented above. We cannot compare the situation in Mamluk times to the previous condition due to the lack of mentioning of any villages, but the early Ottoman period is certainly comparable. Ottoman settlement maps, as prepared by Hütteroth and Abdulfattah on the one hand and Etkes on the other, show a thicker matrix of settlement, but this may well be due to the paucity of evidence for the Mamluk period: I fully expect further studies to reveal additional literary and epigraphic evidence for settlement activity. In any case, we can see an apparent overall continuity between the Mamluk and the Ottoman periods in the realm of rural settlement in this particular area.84 As we have seen, Ibn Fadl Alla¯h al-ʿUmarı¯ attributes much of the agricultural ˙ fortune of the area to the good relations with the local Bedouin, guaranteed inter alia by the firm hand of the authorities. He explicitly notes the presence of nearby pastoral nomads raising livestock. We learn from the passage that the region of Gaza is a frontier area with steppe and desert to its southwest and southeast, with mixed populations living in agricultural land. However, the real discovery in this passage is that at least some of the settled population is of tribal origin: they are ʿushra¯n (plural of ʿashı¯ra). This may indicate a process of relatively recent sedentarization of Bedouins, perhaps with the encouragement and helping hand of the local government, with the backing of the authorities in Cairo and Damascus. On the other hand, this may not have been (only?) a recent phenomenon. Elsewhere in sections on the Arab tribes in Masa¯lik al-absa¯r, al-ʿUmarı¯ notes that ˙ Gaza was one of the areas in the region where Bedouin tribes settled down early on in Islamic history.85 In any event, this tribal population could be recalcitrant or worse, as seen in the first passage cited above by al-ʿUmarı¯, who notes the decisive role of a strong administration in maintaininging long term stability.86 84 The abandonment of this or that settlement for some time between the two dates is not impossible, but given the lack of evidence – explicit or otherwise – to this effect, I suggest that our default position should be continuity of settlement. 85 Al-ʿUmarı¯, Qaba¯ʾil al-ʿarab, 154. 86 Meshu¯llam of Volterra describes unsettled conditions with the bedouins (ara¯bo¯ ‫ )אראבו‬between Gaza and Jerusalem/Hebron; according to him the governor (Niʾepo¯ ‫ < נייפו‬na¯ʾib) of Gaza was even defeated by them. Yaʿarı¯, Masaʿ Meshu¯llam mi-Volterra, 67–68; trans. in Alder, Jewish Travellers, 184–185. To the best of my knowledge, there is no confirmation in Arabic

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One final matter remains to be raised in the framework of this section on the countryside. We hear time and again in the Arabic and other sources about the agricultural richness of the area, and this spans almost the entire Mamluk period. Invariably, the information is about grapes, figs and other succulent fruits. I have no doubt that these were important crops, and they must have made life more pleasant; their value in trade with other regions was also surely considerable. But was there more? It seems highly unlikely that grains – wheat and barley – were not grown in the region, and actually were probably the mainstay of the agricultural economy. Certainly the climate is right for it: a long hot growing season and sufficient water.87 However, wheat and barley are not as exciting as grapes and figs, and in the descriptions of the Arab writers, they were pushed aside. However, hints of a plethora of grains are indicated by Giorgio Gucci, who notes plentiful bread (see above) and also Meshu¯llem of Volterra notes this abundance. Further research undoubtedly will reveal more explicit evidence for this aspect of the region’s economic life. We can note that at the end of the nineteenth century, the region of Gaza produced enormous quantities of barley of the highest quality, and this was exported to Great Britain to supply the burgeoning beer industry there.88 There is nothing quite so dramatic under the Mamluks, but probably a good portion of the barley ended up in Damascus and Cairo (besides supporting the local military-political elite), as well as in cities like Jerusalem as waqf income.

Conclusions, Tentative and Otherwise Under the Franks, Gaza City began to undergo a process of restoration, which was cut short by the defeat at Hattin in 1187 and subsequent events. During the time of Frankish Rule, Gaza played a minor but discernable strategic role in FrankishMuslim military relations. There is yet virtually no information about its agricultural hinterland at this time. We also have little evidence for the state of the city and its environs during the time of Ayyubid rule, particularly in the first decades. In fact, the information that we have indicates a town of secondary or even tertiary stature. We have no explicit evidence for prosperity, but even if this was sources of the governor’s defeat. The stark conditions described by Meshu¯llam of the road to Jerusalem (“it is all desert”), also casts some doubts on this particular evidence. 87 One report notes that the annual precipitation in the Gaza Strip today “varies from 450 mm/yr in the north to 200 mm/yr in the south.” “CLIMB: Climate Induced Changes on the Hydrology of the Mediterranean Basins.” Further discussion of this aspect necessitates examining the long-term climatic trends in the region, while also taking into account precipitation in the areas to the north and northeast, part of the hinterland of Gaza that is today in Israel. We can also mention here that 200 mm/yr is the minimal annual rainfall necessary for unirrigated wheat cultivation; see Curtis, “Wheat in the World.” 88 Halevy, “Listo¯t (bı¯rah) me-ha-yam shel ʿazza.”

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the case, conditions deteriorated from 1239 to 1260, a time of frequent war and movement of troops in the area, probably at times incessantly so. The city and the surrounding region begin to recover under the early Mamluks. This trend gains in momentum in the early fourteenth century, not least since Gaza is the capital of a new Mamluk province (niya¯bah / mamlakah). This was a time of much patronage from the Mamluk elite. We see economic and demographic prosperity, along with cultural activity. The roles of sultan al-Na¯sir ˙ Muhammad and the governor Sanjar al-Ja¯wlı¯ in the 1310s are particularly crucial ˙ in these developments. The authorities saw to the political stability in the region, generally keeping the local nomads under firm control. The city of Gaza has a substantial agricultural hinterland, and we have the names of more than a dozen villages, mostly to the north and northeast of Gaza City that also enjoy some affluence. The impression so far is of agricultural prosperity throughout the entire Mamluk period (which does not mean that there were no ups and downs). The interregional trade between Syria and Egypt passing through Gaza would have also contributed to the economic well-being of the city and the surrounding area, a topic that was not discussed in this paper but that will receive attention in the future.89 One indication of ongoing prosperity is the establishment and continuation of a Jewish community. We have no idea yet from where these Jews arrived, and in what numbers, but their appearance and ongoing presence speaks of an auspicious economic situation, as Jews would have been attracted to a prosperous region, where their communal autonomy would have been respected. In this paper I have not dealt with the question of religious conversion, i. e. Islamization, but I will touch upon it here yet. My hypothesis is that under the Mamluks we see in Gaza City and its countryside the development of a larger Muslim population in both relative and absolute terms, as we find apparently in other areas of Palestine (and elsewhere in al-Sha¯m and Egypt) in the time of the Mamluk Sultanate.90 We certainly have a more Islamic landscape, both urban and rural, as indicated by all of the construction projects mentioned above. Nimrod Luz has suggested that changing landscape may well be an indicator of a growing Muslim population.91 This may have been due to migration (the immigration of Muslims and the emigration of Christians), actual conversion (of individuals and groups), and even a differential birthrate.92 In a dialectical twist, the more Islamic 89 For now, see Map 1 in Cytryn-Silverman, The Road Inns (Kha¯ns) in Bila¯d al-Sha¯m, showing the network of caravanserais in Palestine, indicating a high volume of commercial traffic in the country, not the least via the region of Gaza. 90 See Amitai, “Islamization in the Southern Levant after the End of Frankish Rule”; El-Leithy, “Sufis, Copts and the Politics of Piety.” 91 Luz, “Aspects of Islamization of Space and Society in Mamluk Jerusalem and its Hinterland.” See also: Frenkel, “Baybars and the Sacred Geography of Bila¯d al-Sha¯m.” 92 These are matters broached in Amitai, “Islamization in the Southern Levant,” forthcoming.

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landscape and ambience would have been conducive to further conversion. I intend to continue this line of research in the ongoing Mamluk Gaza project. Another matter that did not receive attention in this paper is how the tentative picture of overall, continual prosperity fits in with the larger economic and demographic trends of the Mamluk Sultanate. The fifteenth century has often been seen as a time of economic and demographic decline in Mamluk Syria (and Egypt for that matter).93 Recent scholarship has begun to criticize this approach, at least in the area of international foreign trade.94 I also look forward to trying to integrate the history of Gaza into the larger picture of Palestine and Syria, and at the same time perhaps contribute some insights to those working on the grand narrative of the area, including its economic history. Gaza was a city of some importance in the Mamluk scheme of provincial government. It enjoyed overall prosperity during the more than a quarter millennium of Mamluk rule. Gaza was neither Cairo nor Damascus, nor Aleppo for that matter, but it could proudly hold its own with the second tier cities of the Sultanate in Syria: Hama, Homs, Tripoli, Karak and Safad.

93 One notable example is Ashtor, “The Venetian Supremacy in Levantine Trade.” 94 An important contribution is Apellàniz Ruiz de Galarreta, Pouvoir et finance en Méditerranée pré-moderne.

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Bibliography Abbreviations CIAP RCIA

Sharon, Moshe, Corpus Inscriptionum Arabicarum Palestinae, Leiden and Boston: Brill, 1997-. 7 volumes to date. Combe, Étienne, Jean Sauvaget and Gaston Wiet et al. (eds.), Répertoire chronologique d’épigraphie arabe, Cairo: l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 1931–91, 18 vols. to date.

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Meshu¯llam of Volterra, Masaʿ Meshu¯llam mi-Volterra be-Eres Yisraʾel be-shenat 1481 [The ˙ Voyage of Mehu¯llam of Volterra in the Land of Israel in the year 1481], ed. Avraham Yaʿarı¯, Jerusalem: Mo¯sad Bialik, 1948. Mujı¯r al-Dı¯n ʿAbd al-Rahma¯n b. Muhammad al-ʿUlaymı¯ al-Hanbalı¯, al-Uns al-jalı¯l bi˙ ˙ ˙ taʾrı¯kh al-quds waʾl-khalı¯l, ed. Muhammad Mu¯sa¯ al-Muhtasib, Amman: Maktabat al˙ ˙ Muhtasib, 1973, 2 vols. ˙ Al-Muqaddası¯, Shams al-Dı¯n Muhammad b. Ahmad, Ahsan al-taqa¯sim fı¯ maʿrifat al˙ ˙ ˙ aqa¯lı¯m (Descriptio imperii moslemici), ed. de M.J. Goeje, Leiden: Brill, 1906. Ogier d’Anglure, Le saint voyage de Jherusalem du seigneur d’Anglure (Paris: Libraire de Firmin Didot, 1878. Al-Qalqashandı¯, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b.ʿAlı¯, Subh al-aʿsha¯ fı¯ sina¯ʿat al-insha¯, Cairo: ˙ ˙ ˙ Wiza¯rat al-Thaqa¯fah wa-l-Irsha¯d al-Qawmı¯, 1963, reprint, with corrections, of Cairo: Da¯r al-Kutub al-Khidiyawı¯yah, 1331–40/1913–22, 12 vols. Richards, Donald S., Egypt and Syria in the Early Mamluk Period: An Extract from Ibn Fadl ˙ Alla¯h al-ʿUmarı¯’s Masa¯lik al-Absa¯r fi Mama¯lik al-Amsa¯r, London and New York: ˙ ˙ Routledge, 2018. Al-Safadı¯, Sala¯h al-Dı¯n Khalı¯l ibn Aybak, al-Wa¯fı¯ bi-l-wafa¯ya¯t, ed. Hans Ritter et al., ˙ ˙ ˙ Istanbul, etc.: Deutsche Morgenlandische Gesellschaft, 1931–2013, 32 vols. Tal, Uri (tr. and ed.), Eres-Israʾel be-meko¯ro¯tʿaraviim me-yemey ha-benayyim (1517–634) ˙ [Eretz Israel in Medieval Arabic Sources (634–1517): Selected Translations], Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi and Ashkelon: Ashkelon Academic College, 2014. Al-ʿUmarı¯, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Yahya¯ ibn Fadlalla¯h, Masa¯lik al-absa¯r fı¯ mama¯lik al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ amsa¯r d’Ibn Fadl Alla¯h al-ʿUmarı¯ (Sˇiha¯b Fadl Alla¯h b. Yahya¯ b. Fadl Alla¯h m. 749/1349): ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ L’Égypte, la Syrie, le Hig˘a¯z, ed. Ayman Fuʾa¯d Sayyid, Cairo: Institut Français d’Ar˙ chéologie Orientale, 1984. Al-ʿUmarı¯, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Ahmad b. Yahya¯ ibn Fadlalla¯h, Masa¯lik al-absa¯r fı¯ mama¯lik al˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ amsa¯r: qaba¯ʾil al-ʿarab fı¯ al-qarn al-sa¯siʿ wa-l-tha¯min al-hijrı¯yı¯n, ed. Dorothea Kra˙ wulsky, Beirut: Markaz al-Isla¯mı¯ li-l-Buhu¯th, 1406/1985. ˙ William of Tyre, A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea, tr. Emily Atwater Babcock and A.C. Krey, New York: Columbia University Press, 1943. See also Guillaume de Tyr. Yaʿarı¯, Avraham, Masaʿo¯t eres israʾel shel ʿo¯lı¯m yehu¯diim me-yamey ha-beynayyim ve-ʿad ˙ raʾshı¯t yamey shı¯va¯t siyyo¯n [“The Land of Israel Travels of Jewish Immigrants from the ˙ Middle Ages to the Start of the Return to Zion”], Tel Aviv: Gazı¯t, 1946; rpt. Tel Aviv: Mo¯dan, 1996. Yaʿarı¯, Avraham, Igro¯t eres israʾel [“Missives of the Land of Israel”], Ramat-Gan: Masada, ˙ 1971; apparently rpt. of Tel Aviv 1943 edition. Ya¯qu¯t, Shiha¯b al-Dı¯n Abu¯ ʿAbdalla¯h b. ʿAbdalla¯h, Kita¯b Muʿjam al-Bulda¯n (Jacut’s geographisches Wörterbuch), ed. Ferdinand Wüstenfeld. Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1866–73, 6 vols.

Modern Studies Abu Lughod, Janet, “The Islamic City – Historic Myth, Islamic Essence, and Contemporary Relevance,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 19 (1987), pp. 155–176.

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Abulafia, David, The Great Sea: A Human History of the Mediterranean, London: Penguin, 2012. Amitai, Reuven, “Mongol Raids into Palestine (A.D. 1260 and 1300),” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (1987), pp. 236–255. Amitai, Reuven, Mongols and Mamluks: The Mamluk-Ilkhanid War 1260–1281, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Amitai, Reuven, “Islamization in the Southern Levant after the End of Frankish Rule: Some General Considerations and a Short Case Study,” in: Islamisation: Comparative Perspectives from History, ed. Andrew Peacock et al., Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 156–186. Amitai, Reuven, “Gaza in the Frankish and Ayyubid Periods: The Run-up to 1260 CE,” in: Syria in Crusader times: Conflict and Co-existence, ed. Carole Hillenbrand, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2019, pp. 225–244. Antrim, Zayde, “Making Syria Mamluk: Ibn Shadda¯d’s Al-Aʿla¯q al-Khat¯ırah,” Mamluk ˙ Studies Review 11/1 (2007), pp. 1–18. Apellániz Ruiz de Galarreta, Francisco Javier, Pouvoir et finance en Méditerranée prémoderne: Le deuxième état mamelouk et le commerce des épices (1382–1517), Barcelona: Consejo superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2009. Ashkenazi, Tovia, Les Turkmênes en Palestine, Tel Aviv: Kedem, 1931. This work is actually a short pamphlet of 16 pages in Hebrew, with the title: Ha-Turkmanim be-eres-israʾel: ˙ mehkar be-antropologiyah shel eres-israʾel. ˙ ˙ Ashtor, Eliyahu “The Venetian Supremacy in Levantine Trade: Monopoly or Pre-Colonialism?” Journal of European Economic History 3 (1974), pp. 5–53. ¯ fa¯q ʿAta¯ Alla¯h, Mahmu¯d ʿAlı¯ Khalı¯l. Niya¯bat ghazzah fı¯ al-ʿahd al-mamlu¯kı¯, Beirut: Da¯r al-A ˙ ˙ al-Jadı¯da, 1986. Avi-Yonah, Michael and Shimon Gibson, “Gaza,” Encyclopaedia Judaica, 2nd edn, 7:398– 399. Ayalon, David, “The Expansion and Decline of Cairo under the Mamlu¯ks and its Background,” Itinéraires d’Orient: hommages à Claude Cahen, published in Res Orientales 6 (1994), pp. 13–20. Benvenisti, Meron, The Crusaders in the Holy Land. Jerusalem: Israel Universities Press, 1970. Berkovich, Ilya, “The Batle of Forbie and the Second Frankish Kingdom of Jerusalem,” The Journal of Military History 75 (January 2011), pp. 9–44. Blakely, Jeffrey A. and Yaakov Huster, “The Wadi el-Hesi Region in 1256/7: An Interpretation of the John of Ibelin’s Contract with the Hospital of Saint John,” Crusades 15 (2016), 35–53. Braslavsky, Yo¯sef, “Yı¯shu¯v ʿAzza be-meʾa ha-yu¯d-alef” [“The Jewish Settlement in Gaza in the 14th Century”], Bulletin of the Jewish Palestine Exploration Society 3/4 (1936), pp. 133–136. Büssow, Johann, “Gaza.” Encyclopaedia of Islam, 3rd edn, Brill Online, 2016, accessed at Universitaets- und Landesbibliothek Bonn. 22 July 2016 Cancik, Hubert and Helmuth Schneider (eds.), Der Neue Pauly: Enzyklopädie der Antike, Stuttgart: J.B. Metzler, 1996–2003.

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Clauson, Gerald, An Etymological Dictionary of Pre-Thirteenth Century Turkish, Oxford: Oxford University Press at the Clarendon Press, 1972. CLIMB: “Climate Induced Changes on the Hydrology of the Mediterranean Basins,” , accessed on 26 March 2017. Cohen, Amnon and Bernard Lewis, Population and Revenue in the Towns of Palestine in the Sixteenth Century, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978. Curtis, B.C. “Wheat in the World,” FAO (Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations) Corporate Document Repository,