The Christians of Lebanon: Political Rights in Islamic Law 9780755611416, 9781860649448

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Notes on Transliteration and Dating

All Arabic and Islamic terms found in common usage English dictionaries, as well as proper names of individuals, and the publishers of Arabic texts have been Anglicized. Otherwise, Arabic and Turkish words have been transliterated using the system found in the International Journal of Middle East Studies . All Arabic and French translations are mine, unless otherwise noted. All Qur’anic citations come from ‘Abdullah Yusuf ‘Ali’s Text, Translation, and Commentary of The Holy Qur’Œn , 1989 edition. Because the focus of this study deals with events in the modern period, and whereas these events are predominantly referred to according to the m¥lŒ d¥ (Western) calendar, I have used the Western dates. However, where appropriate, primarily when discussing classical-medieval history or texts, I have used the hijr¥ (Islamic) calendar as well. Thus, for example, in Chapters 1 and 2, both dates would appear as: “first / third century.”

Acknowledgments

I indeed owe a great deal of thanks to many people who have either directly helped to bring this research to completion, or who have indirectly helped through their support and encouragement. The direct comments, criticisms and suggestions have been invaluable. Special thanks are due to Dr. David Thomas for his keen interest and investment of time in helping me, as well as to Prof. Tim Niblock who engaged me in a helpful discussion of this topic. Of course, this research would never have begun, nor come to completion, without the direction and guidance of Prof. Jorgen Nielsen. His insight into the issues of this area has proven essential to my work, and his tales about life in the midst of the Lebanese civil war have been invalu able to me. I am deeply grateful for his supervision. I would like to thank the staff and students of the Centre for the Study of Islam and Christian-Mu slim Relations, University of Birmingham. I have found our conversations about matters of faith and inter-faith issues to be a great challenge, as well as intellectu ally and spiritu ally edifying. In addition to those listed above, I owe my thanks: to the commu nity of the Nea r East School of Theology, Beirut, Lebanon who took me in and provided a home for me during my field work, especially to Dr. Mary Mikael (My experience at NEST and the hospitality I received there goes beyond mere words); to the Alumni Association of the University of Birmingham who provided a travel award to help with my field work in Lebanon; to the New Jersey Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Am erica which provided annual grants for my work; to Rev. Dr. Mike Shelley, who graciously provided his time and energy in reading large portions of this manuscript and provided necessary and helpful comments; to the congregation of St. Andrew’s United Church of Cairo who graciously allowed me time away from pastoral duties in order for me to complete this task; and lastly to my family. My extended family has provided so much for us in this time that I would be remiss in not thanking them. When we boarded the plane for England from the U.S. in the fall of 1998, and when I left for Lebanon a year after that, they all questioned my wisdom but not my aspirations, and they all persevered in their support, encouragement, patience and love. Certainly, I wish that my father, Alfred Grafton, had

seen me complete this journey, but he completed his own journey in the spring of 2000. My children, Andrew, Rebekah, and Danielle had to share me with my research, and Karla has sacrificed a great deal for me to work on this project. I thank God that I have been given the gift of this family. They have all borne much of my anxiety, joy and burning desire to understand this issue.

Introduction

Modern Arab Islam ic Political thought has undergone a major revival during the last one hundred fifty years. Late nineteenth and early twentieth century Islam ic thought assum ed the aegis of the last Mu slim empire, the Ottoman Empire. This period was dominated by the Reformers Jamal al-D in al-Afghani, Muhamm ad Abdu and Rashid Rida. The context of the Ottoman Empire guided and supported the transition from classical-medieval thought to the modern period. By the early part of the twentieth century, however, Arab Mu slim thought moved dram atically from a pan-Islamic ideal toward a more conservative Arab Nationalism which supported the creation of either one large or various Ara b/M uslim states. Such Arab Nationalist thought struggled to find a its foundations either within Islam ic legal texts, Arab historiography or the cultural-literary explosion of the nah. da [renaissance] period. By the nineteen seventies Islam had been integrated into the specific national cultures of independent Arab nation-states. (Even within the kingdom of Saudi Ara bia Islam took its identity from eighteenth century Arab Wahhabi culture.) These Arab Nationalist ideologies became hard pressed by their populations to address not only issues of identity but matters of econom ic and political liberalization, and to respond to the Palestinian crisis and the “Zionist entity.” The “catastrophe” [ al-nakba ] of 1967, the Israeli Six Day War as it is known by Arab scholars, created a flashpoint for anti-establishment Islamic thinking which would dominate Islam ic political thought until the beginning of the twenty-first century. Israel’s swift and sudden defeat of the Arab nations prompted a backlash against the established order within the Middle East. Islam ic organizations, such as the Mu slim Brotherhood, began to produce ideas which reacted against the concept of the nation-state and the rule of the Arab oligarchy which they saw as an unacceptable system according to their interpretation of the umma islŒmiyya. 1 According to these Islam ic fundamentalists, the Qur’an is clear. The Islam ic commu nity is the “best of all possible nations” in the world.2 The fundamentalist trend began to look toward transnational movements that upheld the image of the umma islŒmiyya, rather than a particular national Mu slim identity. This revival was aided by the establishment of the Islam ic Republic of Iran in 1979. The official ideology of the Iranian Revolution boasted a plan to “export” its ideals from Iran to the whole Islam ic world. Ironically, as has been found here, the Iranian Revolution was rejected by the vast majority of Arab Muslims

2

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

scholars, but still the revolution has thrived on its national Persian heritage. Many Mu slim theorists continue to struggle with proposing concrete, alternate systems of gover nment based on Islam ic sources and the legal opinions of medieval jurists in response to the contemporary international natio n-state system. The various concepts of h. all al-islŒm¥ [Islamic solution], h. uku- ma islŒmiyya [Islamic government], al-niz. Œm al-islŒm¥ [Islam ic order], al-islŒm niz. Œm kŒmil wa shŒmil [the complete and perfect Isla mic order], and d¥n wa dawla [religion and state], have all been solutions put forward by various scholars and politicians as appropriate Mu slim systems of political organization. 3 Such political Islamist propositions have taken on different flavours depending upon the national context of each Mu slim theorist. The majority of the systematic proposals for such an Islam ic system, however, have come from authors working in nations with a predominant Mu slim majority and society: Algeria, Jordan, Egypt and Tunisia for example. Yet, what of those societies which are distinctively pluralistic, where there are a variety of Muslim and non-M uslim commu nities? How do Mu slim scholars who are rooted in a m inority commu nity or a truly pluralistic context, view such Islam ic solutions? Do they approach these issues in a style different from those who live within a predominantly Ara b-M uslim society? Within the Arab Middle East, Lebanon offers the unique perspective of a non-majority Mu slim commu nity which has struggled with such questions. Al-Fad. l Shalaq, co-editor of the Islam ic journal al-IjtiŒd , writing after the most recent Lebanese civil war stated: the Arabs have always seen in unity a high ideal and have regarded dissension and partition as the greatest evil. . . . For the Arabs, unity is not merely a national question, it is something that concerns the mutual relation between them and the rest of the world. It is something to do with their mission in the world, the mission which began with the Prophet. . . . 4

Shalaq argues that the concept of a “unified Arab state” occupies a “central place in their consciousness.” This “unified Arab state” is an ideal that favours a return to the days of Pan-Arabism where the current international boundaries of the Near East would be redrawn so that an Arab state would stretch from the Euphrates to the Nile, or perhaps even as far as Morocco. What is implicit in such designs is that the justification for such a united Arab state is based upon a common language, history and heritage of the Arabs. A traditional Pan-Arab ideology has long argued that Arabs are one ethnic group divided into several unnatural states, carved out by the Western Powers following the collapse of the Ottoman

INTRODUCTION

3

Empire. A variation of this argum ent was used by Saddam Hussein to justify his invasion of Ku wait in 1991, which was originally a province ruled from the historic capital of Baghdad. (It is also the same argum ent which was used by original Zionist organizations to justify the resettlement of Palestinians into neighbouring “brother” Arab states.) Therefore, according the proponents, it is only right and natural that these states be reunited. The strongest opponent of such an pan-Arab political identity, however, has been the historian Kamal Salibi. He has argued that the current Arab nation-state system is a valid configuration which is beneficial and viable. He has urged Arab scholars to discount the erroneous Arab nationalist view of this history as a united national march that went wrong at some point, and correctly assess it as the parochial history that it normally was: an account of so many different Arab regional experiences of one kind or another, fitting more or less into a general pattern. No Arab country today need feel any guilt about accepting its actual existence as a willful or unwillful departure from an Arab national historical norm. It is only when the Arabs succeed in ridding themselves of the highly idealized Arab nationalist vision of their past that they will be able to live together in the m odern Arab world as a coherent political community whose various members relate to one another constructively and without reserve.5

There has been no clearly accepted argument for the basis of a “unified Arab State.” The cultural definition of Arabness has customarily been defined by means of linguistics. However, even the Arab language is subject to various dialects and accents which mak es it difficult to comprehend from one end of the Arab world to the other. Furthermore, common language may be helpful in providing categories, but it does not clearly define social, cultu ral, religious and political differences. Therefore, the most common cultural-historical foundation that has been put forward as the focus of an Arab national identity has centred on the Prophet Muhamm ad and the traditions of the Rightly Guided Caliphs [ rashidu- n ]. 6 It is interesting that within Lebanon and Syria, the early advocates of the Pan-Arab state of the nineteen twenties and thirties were Christians who interpreted Muhamm ad as the eminent Arab cultural hero. Muhamm ad became the main focal point for Arab identity, for an umma ‘arabiyya. Naturally though, the majority of Arab Christians have balked at such an identification as the basis for an Arab nation. They have viewed with suspicion the dubious foundations of a state which ultim ately has its roots within Islam.

4

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

Shalaq, in contrast to Salibi, argues that the idea of an Ara b-M uslim state prompted by the vision of an Ara b-Isla mic umma is the answer to the problems of contemporary Lebanon. Although Shalaq never explicitly mentions the idea of establishing an Arab Islam ic state, his definition of Arab Nationalism above raises the question of the relationship between Islam and the Arab umma . 7 Shalaq’s position introduces questions regarding “citizenship” [jinsiyya] within a proposed Ara b-Isla mic state, especially in regard to non-Muslims. Using the precedent of Muhamm ad and the rule of the Rightly Guided Caliphs as a blueprint for Arab political society prompts a corollary set of questions which involv e the modern political concepts of “citizenship” or “pluralism.” What is the role of non-Muslims within a state organized along Islam ic historical principles? Can non-M uslim citizens accept such foundations for their identity? Traditionally the answer from Arab Christians has been, “no.” From Arab Muslims the answer has been, ‘yes.” Shalaq’s work follows the traditional thought of the Lebanese ‘al¥m Husayn al-Q uwatli, former Director General of Dar al-Ifta. At the beginning of the civil war in Lebanon al-Q uwatli stated The position of Islam is very clear on one point, namely that the true Muslim cannot take a disinterested position vis a vis the state. As a result, his position with regard to ruler and rule cannot be an indecisive one which is content with half-solutions. Either the ruler is Muslim and the rule Islamic then he will be content with the state and support it, or the ruler is nonMuslim and the rule non-Islamic, then he rejects it, opposes it and works to abolish it, gently or forcibly, openly or secretly.8

Shalaq and al-Q uwatli have called into question the current organization of the state of Lebanon. They would rather have organized the state using Islam ic sources or an Islam ic interpretation of history as the basis for a new, Arab Lebanon. This has been the longstanding, traditional position of the Sunni Muslim commu nity since the establishment of the state of Lebanon in 1920. In response to such traditional Muslim viewpoints, this current study attempts to view the M uslim discussion of “citizenship” and “pluralism” within the specific pluralistic context of Lebanon. Since the creation of the current boundar ies of Lebanon in 1920, the various comm unities within the country have struggled to secure power for themselves. Lebanon has always been a refuge for numerous heterodox groups. The Druze and Shi’a found safety in the mountains and hills of the Lebanon, free from Sunni rule. The Mar onites found a haven both from Mu slim and from Byzantine control within the gorges

INTRODUCTION

5

and heights of Mount Lebanon. Most recently the Armenians and Palestinians have sought safety within Lebanon from turmoil in their own countries. This has created a patchwork of comm unities within a small geographic area. Some form of power sharing has been essential over the years, some conflict inevitable. Thedodor Hanf states that this form of power sharing has been a political version of the game “musical chairs” where participants scram ble to find a place to sit when the music stops playing. “Prior to 1975 Christians and Muslims shared the Lebanese chair in reasonable harmony; since then they have fought bitterly over every inch, each afraid of being shoved off.” 9 What has made the particular communal landscape so complex is that there is no one commu nity which commands an overwhelming majority. The historical adage of “might mak es right” has been blunted by the reality that there are too many competing players to create a stable power block. Currently there are seventeen different recognized religious comm unities within the country: ‘Alawite, Armenian Catholic, Armenian Orthodox, Armenian Evangelical, Chaldean, Dru ze, Greek Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Jewish, Latin Catholic, Maronite Catholic, Nestorian, Protestant, Shi‘a, Sunni, Syrian Catholic, and Syrian Orthodox. Thus, there is no clear majority rule. When the Ottoman territory of Mount Lebanon was created in 1860, the Maronite community comm anded an overwhelming 58% of the population. When Le Grande Liban was created from several old Ottoman districts in 1920 the Mar onites actually lost numerical superiority. The territories that were added to the Mount were predominantly Mu slim areas (along the Mediterranean coast, the Biq’a valley and along the border of Palestine). This significantly changed the communal power structures. An official government census in 1921 revealed that the Mar onites now held a mere 33% of the population. The overall Christian population (including the Orthodox and Protestant commu nities), however, was still the majority at 55%. In 1932, the last official census taken showed an even further fragmentation of previous power structures. The Maronite population slipped to 29% as many were emigrating at alarming rates. Meanw hile, since the turn of the century, the Sunni and Shi’a populations have continued to grow. The Sunnis grew from a mere 4% under the old Mount Lebanon to 22% in the new Lebanon with the addition of large Sunni areas along the coast. The Hariri Foundation’s unofficial census of 1990 declared that the Shi’a comm anded an even firmer 35% of the population of the country because of high birth rates. 10 Estimates of the resident populations just prior to the beginning of the most recent civil war paint a truly cosmopolitan portrait of a multi communal state.

6

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

According to Klau s-Peter Hartmann, the total Lebanese population percentages in 1973 were thus: Shi’a 29%, Mar onites 24%, Sunni 16%, Greek Orthodox 9%, Greek Catholics 7%, Druze 6%, Armenians 6% and other denominations totally 3%. 11 Given that Lebanon is politically organized according to the representation of these confessional groups, as opposed to Western political parties, it is evident that the cultural and religious values of these groups must either accommodate or attempt to dominate in the mu lticonfessional context. Both options have been tried. Not surprisingly, the accommodation mode has proven to be more durable and realistic. What is important to note here is that given the lack of clear majorities, not only among the Christian or Mu slim commu nities but within particular religious confessions (i.e., Shi’a or Maronite), power sharing structu res in Lebanon have always cut across religious boundaries. The most recent civil war was never completely a Christian - Mu slim conflict but rather one that reflected the long history and tradition of “trading seats” among all of the confessional groups, and between the various powerful families within particular confessions. Inter and intra confessional alliances shifted like the wind depending upon the needs of each particular confession and clan. How does the pluralistic context of Lebanon affect the use of classicalmedieval Islam ic categories of society and the state? What are the intrinsic Islam ic responses to a state that has no clear Mu slim majority to enforce, impose, or put forward its own system, organization or principles? It is one thing for the predominantly homogenous Shi‘a society of Iran to come to a consensus about or enforce Shi‘a systems of organization, or for Egyptians to argue for particular Sunni proposals, but what about those societies which are not homogenous – Lebanon in particular? In Lebanon where there is a large Christian population, and where there are a variety of Mu slim commu nities? If such a distinctly Islam ic system is proposed what of its non-M uslim citizens? Will Shalaq and Quwatli’s vision of an Arab Islam ic state work in the pluralistic context of Lebanon? Provisions for the welfare of non-M uslim comm unities have always been made within Islam ic systems of government. Yet, what has not been sufficiently investigated is how to employ Islam ic categories of social organization when either the majority commu nity within the state is not Muslim, various political parties or leaders are not Muslim, or there are a variety of Islam ic schools of thought present. Within classical-medieval views of Islam ic society, it was assum ed that the system of government would be Islam ic and that the ruler would be a Muslim. Non-Muslims were recognized within society under various categories. Legally accepted

INTRODUCTION

7

religious minorities were given the status of dhimm¥s , protected comm unities which were requ ired to fulfill specific obligations or responsibilities. In a society that is not composed of a majority of Muslims, however, these Islam ic categories cannot be implemented (at least not without significant turmoil as is currently clear with the case of the Sudan). In pluralistic contexts, what becomes of the dhimm¥s status of Christians? In contemporary pluralistic states what happens to the Islam ic principles which have presupposed either an homogenous Islam ic society, an Islam ic majority, or minority enforced rule? (Syria being a good exam ple in which ‘Alawite rule has been justified and supported under a secular national regime.) Given that the Lebanese state has a Christian President, and Christian representation and authority in all aspects of the government, how do Lebanese Mu slim thinkers classify the current organization? Do the contemporary Lebanese ulema [formal Mu slim religious leaders] apply, or seek to apply, the Islam ic principles of the classical-medieval jurists? Are these principles accepted outright, adapted, or modified? If they have been adapted or modified, what is the justification for this change? How do the religious leaders rectify al-Quwatli’s charge for the need of Islam ic rule and the reality of a pluralistic nation-state? Ultim ately we are interested in whether a pluralistic context yields significantly different parameters for interpreting Islam ic social-political categories, and thus Islam ic law, than a fairly homogenous one. The modern nomenclature of “citizenship” and “pluralism” describes categories that have presented unique challenges to the classical-medieval categories of Islam ic society. Iran, the Sudan and most recently, Taliban Afghanistan, have all come under heavy international criticism from human rights organizations, and to some extent the UN, for their implementation of specific interpretations of Islam ic law. The creation of so m e form of a religious state has been challenged by the current international system mainly with respect to how the legal codes categorize and define religious minorities and women. Human rights issues have been trum peted by those opposing these Islam ic societies seeking to implement shar¥‘a, claiming that the traditional Islam ic categories are incompatible with modern concepts of democracy and international law. Since the seventies there has been a great deal of discourse in the West regarding the Islam ic state. The initial success of the Iranian Revolution propelled the philosophical debate among Muslims regarding the modern international nation-state system. With the publication of Ruhollah Khomeini’s lectures in Huku- ma al-IslŒmiyya in 1979, the Western world began to take a serious look at a new political threat. 12 Following the

8

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

Revolution, Western scholars began holding conferences, lectures and symposiums on the new “Isla mic Resurgence.” 13 It was not, however, until after the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon that serious Western intellectual studies of Islam ic radicalism were published. Iran’s Islam ic revolution and its subsequent intellectual discourse spread very quickly, and quite naturally, to the Shi‘a commu nity in parts of Lebanon. Given the precarious nature of the Lebanese state after four years of civil war, the ideology of the 1979 Iranian Revolution was easily “exported” to the Shi‘a comm unities struggling within the confessional quagmire of the war. The Israeli invasion, the subsequent tragedies of the Shabra and Shatilla massacres, and the 1983 US military intervention in Souq al-Gharb all helped to create the fundamentalist Shi‘a militias Hizb’allah, Islamic JihŒd , and the Sunni Tawh¥d movements, all of which advocated publicly for the establishment of an Islam ic state within Lebanon. These groups called for the overthrow of the nation-state system, which they saw as an imposition of the West designed to combat Islam. The Israeli invasion was a clear exam ple to the fundamentalists that Western imperialism formed the basis of an evil international order. From 1982 onward, Western publications appeared in a myriad of forms responding to the new ideological threat. Most of the studies done on Lebanese Islam ic political thought focussed almost exclusively upon the themes of “Islamic radicalism” or “Islamic resurgence,” that is, investigations regarding militant Islam ic activity for the purpose of establishing an Islam ic state. 14 It seems as if the appearance of political Islamist groups outside of Iran provided enough impetus for Western governments and think tanks to consider that political Islam was now a real danger to the international arena. Undoubtedly we will continue to see much more scholarly and non scholarly work investigating the “rage of Islam.” We have already seen bookstores lined with freshly published works on the topics of JihŒd , the Taliban, al-Qaeda, and Islamic Fundamentalism as well as Post September 11 th studies on Islam and terrorism. 15 What has been neglected, and will more than likely continue to be neglected, is research into liberal or moderate Islam ic positions that support the nation-state system.16 This study seeks to provide one specific aspect of that Islam ic perspective from within the Lebanese context. In the rush to define and characterize Islam, the danger of viewing a monolithic Islam has returned. The debate over the appropriate organization of an Islam ic state in Afghanistan, Iran, and the Sudan, has prompted a corollary debate over the position of non-Muslims within such Islam ic orderings of society. What is the place of non-Muslims within an Islam ic state, and how is their

INTRODUCTION

9

status reconciled with the contemporary concept of “citizenship?” This issue has raised questions among contemporary Mu slim scholars of how, if at all, to implement the dhimm¥ status for Christians - the traditional Islam ic category for some religious comm unities within an Islam ic state. 17 To the extent that recent scholarship on Lebanese Islam has focussed upon these militant Islam ic views, it has neglected a methodological review of moderate Lebanese Mu slim religious political thought which has argued, in various forms, for the maintenance of a pluralistic government in Lebanon. These voices have argued that some form of power-sharing with other religious confessions is desired. A. Nizar Hamzeh has already shown that al-Ah. bash, a Sufi movement in Lebanon, has consistently supported the pluralistic confessional system based upon interfaith coexistence. 18 In addition to al-Ah. bash, such moderate views have been raised not only by heterodox Sunnis but also by several, so called, radicalized Shi‘a. Therefore, this work hopes to provide a scholarly contribution that till now has been absent: a methodological study of moderate Lebanese Islam. The core of this work is focussed upon four Lebanese ulema [religious scholars] and their perspectives of the multi-confessional state within the context of the most recent civil war which raged from 1975-1991. These leaders involved themselves in the debate dealing with Christian political rights, are: Hasan Khalid, the Mufti of the Republic of Lebanon, the legal head of the Sunni commu nity in Lebanon, and the president of the Supreme Islam ic Law Council, Subhi Salih, the vice president of the Supreme Islam ic Law Council, Musa al-Sadr, the legal head of the Shi‘a commu nity in Lebanon, and the President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council, and Mahdi Shams al-Din, the vice president of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council. Each of these individuals publica lly advocated, in various ways, to maintain the pluralistic government which was headed by a Christian President. These opinions are in contrast to other Islamist views which have argued for the necessity of implementing an Islam ic state. Given that classical-medieval categories make no provision for the recognition of a non-M uslim head of state, how do these individuals make such claims?

10

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

What is their justification for holding such opinions? How do they compare their contemporary political situation with classical-medieval categories? Within the classical-medieval categories of social organization Christians were given a “second class” status compared with current understandings of political human rights; that is, they were not afforded the same rights and privileges within the state as Muslims, such as the equal ability of legal defence in a court of law. In Lebanon, however, Christians were not only afforded equal standing before the state, they even procured the most important positions of political authority within the state! How then do Lebanese Mu slim thinkers understand the contemporary religious and social-political context of Lebanon given their traditional social-political paradigm? In this study, we will be looking at how these leaders responded to the question of Christian political rights from within a pluralistic society. 19 In other words, we will be investigating the Lebanese multi-confessional context and how this context has affected the Islam ic principles applied by the ulema regarding Christian political rights during the most recent political and social upheaval. These four individuals were not only recognized scholars among their own communities but they were the legal representatives of those communities to the Lebanese government. Thus, they spoke with official and legal authority. According to Lebanese communal organization (which has its roots in the Ottoman period) each confession has a “head” which is officially recognized by the state as its official legal representative. A corollary issue to their legal standing within the government was the fact that each individual worked within the accepted political pluralistic framework of the Lebanese state. Most fundamentalist positions which have emerged from the chaos of the civil war have included those individuals or groups that have proposed, as Theodor Hanf states, “objections of principle” to the organization of the state. 20 Many of the Islamist voices during the middle eighties argued on behalf of using the Iranian experience as a blueprint for Lebanon. The most prominent exam ple was the manifesto of Hizb’allah in 1985. This manifesto stated that the party wished to give all our people the opportunity to determine their fate to choose with full freedom the system of government they want, keeping in mind that we do not hide our commitment to the rule of Islam and that we urge to choose the Islamic system that alone guarantees justice and dignity for all and prevents any new imperialist attempt to infiltrate our country. . .

INTRODUCTION

11

We declare that we aspire to see Lebanon as an indivisible part of the political map opposed to America, world arrogance, and world Zionism and to see Lebanon ruled by Islam and its just leadership.21

At a time when Mu slim organizations began to develop a modern Islam ic political theory (with the support of Iran), other Muslim leaders in Lebanon held firmly to the belief of a pluralistic state. It goes without saying that these leaders were viewed with suspicion by their compatriots who advocated a new Islam ic system. It has been argued by Islamists that it is precisely because of their formal state positions that these ulema were merely attempting to preserve their own sphere of authority and power. In other words, it can be said that they were taking a position in defence of the status quo to maintain their own positions of power. These religious officials in classical terms have been negatively labelled rijŒl al-sult. Œn [“the sultan’s men”], or ulema al-h. Œfiz. [“service ulama”]. 22 However, the research done on these individuals has shown that rather than such a traditional negative label these individuals could better be identified as rijŒl al-dawla [men of the state]. In this study we have found that these ulema have fully supported the integrity of the nation-state and its pluralistic organization through the use of their respective traditional and confessional sources. Their positions run contrary to al-Q uwatli and Shalaq’s opinions stated previously. According to the ulema of this study, the “position of Islam” supports the political rights of Christians and the integrity of the state within a pluralistic context. At a time when the foundations of the Lebanese state were being demolished, various Mu slim perspectives rose to argue for the formation of a new republic. Interestingly enough, one of those perspectives included the continuance of a pluralistic government. (As we will see in this study, in several instances these individuals argued specifically for maintaining a Christian Presidency or at least supporting the Christian president.) The underlying question that presents itself then is: what Islam ic principles or criterion were used by these individuals in support of their view of the pluralistic government of Lebanon which maintains a Christian President? As Mu slim leaders, how could they justify their positions from an Islam ic legal or theological perspective? Within the context of the civil war, this study will examine four events which deal with the central issues of the Lebanese government and the foundations of the pluralistic state. These four events were: 1) the beginning of the civil war in April 1975, 2) the secularism controversy of 1976, 3) the election of a new president in 1976, and

12

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON 4) the 1979 Iranian revolution.

This study has been organized in three concentric circles. The largest circle being the param eter set by classical-medieval Islam ic law regarding Christian political rights, specifically the dhimm¥ status of Christians. The middle circle contains the general historical context of the Lebanon and the development of its pluralistic government. This will encompass a review of the dram atic changes which occurred during the Tanz. imŒt period of the Ottoman Empire (1839-1876) as well as the development of the foundations of the independent state of Lebanon (1920-1 946). Lastly, the smallest and most important circle is the primary material of these ulema during the most recent civil war. Therefore, an attempt will be made in this work to draw a line directly from the context of Lebanese civil war to the classical-medieval period of Islam ic jurisprudence ( fiqh) regarding the political rights of Christians. The aim is to ascertain how the pluralistic context of Lebanon and the war have affected the use of classical-medieval principles. The methods by which the four Lebanese ulema approached the issues of the civil war are relevant for many Mu slim commu nities in the contemporary international context. The concepts of “citizenship” and “pluralism” are ones that present specific challenges to the traditionally assum ed classical-medieval categories of the Islamic State. These concepts have been prominent within the modern Lebanese political context. How these concepts are interpreted or reinterpreted by the leaders of particular Muslim comm unities is of utmost concern for Modern Islam ic Political Thought. The Lebanese context can, through its pluralistic character, provide an opportunity to explore these concerns, especially for those Muslims living in contexts where they do not constitute the majority, or where Islam ic law does not predominate. We would agree with Salim Nasr who concluded during the war that Lebanese Islam, by its marginality and the very originality of its historical situation and personalities can serve to enlighten, perhaps by the effect of contrast, some of the problems currently confronting political Islam.23

CHAPTER 1

Textual Sources of al-Dhimma

Our study will comm ence with an examination of the development and interpretation of classical Islam ic thought regarding the political rights of Christians. By “classical” we mean the science of jurisprudence which had developed by the third/ninth century and was firmly fixed by the fifth/eleventh century. This was the development of us. u- l al-fiqh which recognized the Qur’an, sunna , ijma‘ and qiyŒs as authoritative Islam ic sources for taking the necessary steps to make legal rulings. 1 The “medieval” period is the subsequent frame of reference, from the fifth/eleventh to the ninth/fifteenth centuries, in which legal scholars relied upon sources and precedents from the classical period to make their rulings. Medieval jurists not only used the first four sources of the law established in the classical period but relied upon the interpretations of the classical scholars as well, expanding and expounding on those original rulings. By “political rights” I am referring to those civil and political rights that perm it “direct participation” in public affairs, employment within the government or military service in Islam ic society. The term “political right” is, of course, of modern origin and cannot be appropriately translated into classical Islam ic terms and ideas. We are using here, however, the classification of Antoine Fattal’s in-depth study Le Statut Legal Des Non-Musulmans En Pays D’Islam . 2 Fatal’s classification of “political rights” has little to do with what contemporary Western social systems attribute to republican or democratic systems of governance. Rather, in his work the issues of “direct participation” in public affairs within an Islam ic society have more to do with Islam ic social organization than the legal issues of governing of the state itself. “Direct participation” in classical Islam ic thought is dependent upon an individual “citizen’s” primary association with a particular comm unity. It is that community which then represents the individual and becomes the primary political identity for that individual within the state. Rather than individual citizens with independent rights, comm unities are given their own rights and responsibilities, and each commu nity represents itself to the state. In other words, one has value only insofar as he or she is a mem ber of a particular commu nity or association within the legal boundar ies of the state. This social classification has a direct bearing upon Lebanese law as

16

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

remnants of these legal classifications still remain. In the state of Lebanon, and earlier in the Ottoman Empire, one’s primary association was based not upon residence in a particular area, but upon association by nature of birth into a particular confessional comm unity. This concept of legal recognition of an individual based upon proof of association within a confessional group rather than proof of residency has been prominent throughout Lebanon’s modern history. During the French Mandate period (1920-1946) and throughout its early years of independence there were continual debates as to whether Lebanese living abroad were still legally eligible to vote in national elections or be counted in the national census. It was accepted that even those Lebanese living abroad were somehow still “Lebanese” regardless of their legal residence in the country. The origin of the concept of communal association, as opposed to residency in a particular domain, was introduced into the Ottoman Empire with the Treaty of Kaynarca of 1774. In this treaty, the Ottoman Empire seeded to Ru ssia sovereignty over the Crimea on the Black Sea. Yet, it maintained that the Muslims living in the new Russian territory were still under subjection, as loyal Muslims, to the Sultan in Istanbul. In return, Ru ssia claimed for itself protection of all Orthodox Christians living within Ottoman territories.3 Thus, Sunni Muslims living within the borders of the Russian Empire were still considered to be under the religious care and Islam ic legal guidance of the Sultan of Istanbul, and thus the authority of the shar¥‘a. The implementation of this treaty was an important moment which began the transformation of classical Islam ic thinking about social and political organization. Prior to the treaty of Kaynarca, Islam ic political thought organized the world according to spheres of territorial sovereignty. Classical Islam ic thinking has maintained that the world is divided into two “Houses”: dŒr al-IslŒm [House of Islam] 4 and dŒr al-h. arb [House of War] 5 . The first, dŒr al-IslŒm ,was designated by the fact that the shar¥‘a was implemented or enforced. Where the shar¥‘a was the rule of the comm unity, there was the House of Islam. The second, dŒr al-h. arb, was that region in which nonMuslims law ruled. Those living within the “House of Islam” fell under several categories. First, there were two categories of Muslims. Muslims were either Arab or converted non-Arabs [ mawŒl¥ ]. 6 In the early years of Islam, non-Arab Muslims needed the sponsor ship and support of Arab Muslims and were sometim es considered “second class citizens.” It was incumbent, however, upon all of the Muslims living in the dŒr al-IslŒm to expand its territory by convincing or forcing the non-M uslim world to submit to

TEXTUAL SOURCES OF AL-DHIMMA

17

Islam ic rule and order. This first and foremost brought them into conflict with the non-Mu slim Arabs of Mecca, and then the Arabs of the whole peninsula. Within the Arabian peninsula, those Arabs who were not Mu slim were considered mushriku- n [polytheists]. Because of their idolatry, they were given the choice of conversion, death or forced exile. Not all non-Muslims living within the dŒr al-IslŒm, however, were required to convert to Islam. Another category of non-Muslims, the ahl al-kitŒb [People of the Book], were given another choice. If they wished to remain living within the territory of dŒr al-IslŒm they were required to accept M uslim rule and live under specific conditions. They could be granted a pact of protection, or al-dhimma. This pact of protection had both rights and responsibilities, as well as prohibitions (which we will outline below). The ahl al-kitŒb were those who belonged to a religious commu nity which had received a previously recognized revelation from God. These were the Jews, Christians and Sabaens. Later, this title was extended to both Zoroastrians and in the Indian subcontinent, Hindus. The religious definition of these faith commu nities, ahl al-kitŒb , received a legal definition, that is, those who are under a pact with the Muslims, the dhimm¥s . In addition, another category of non-Muslims living in the dŒr al-IslŒm were the musta‘m¥n . These were foreigners, primarily merchants or emissaries, who were granted a year’s permission to travel within Mu slim lands. They were granted an amŒn , a document granting them safe passage. The second sphere in Islam ic political thought was the dŒr al-h. arb, or “House of War.” This was that region in which non-Muslims lived and ruled. These inhabitants were labelled as h. arb¥s . But like the dŒr al-IslŒm, there were several categories of people. Among the h. arb¥s there could be either idolaters [ mushriku- n ] or those who followed a recognized religion who had been granted a revelation by God, the ahl al-kitŒb . Muslims residing in the “House of War” receive much less attention by the original jurists than the other categories of people. The prospect of Muslims living voluntarily under foreign domination was not initially considered a possibility. Early jurists do make provisions, however, for a Mu slim living in the “House of War” in a limited scope. These Muslims living in foreign lands include those h. arb¥s who convert to Islam and remain in their land of origin (even though they are encourag ed to make their way to a Mu slim ruled territory), temporary Mu slim visitors to the “House of War” (either a soldier taken captive, a delegation sent to free captives, or a merchant), or those Muslims living in land that has been occupied by non-Muslims. The main issue taken up by the jurists focusses

18

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

upon the legal question of whether a Mu slim can remain in the “House of War” or must migrate [ h. ijra] to the dŒr al-IslŒm. Most jurists argue that Muslims should migrate to Mu slim lands. They base this upon the sunna [practice] of the Prophet Muhamm ad who migrated from Mecca to Medina in order to live under an Islam ic order.7 The “two Houses” categories were refined as the Islam ic state faced the realities of war along its frontier with the Byzantine Empire. The categories of dar al-s. uh. l [house of peace] and dar al-‘ahd [house of covenant] were divisions that developed in order to reconcile the reality of foreig n states or entities that entered into treaty relations with the Muslims. According to legal theory this can only be accepted “on the condition that the non-M uslim state should either pay an annual tribute, a poll tax [ jizya], or cede a portion of its territory.”8 Thus we can see that according to classical views, communal identity was based upon the House in which one resided. Non-Muslims were first categorized according to the territory in which they dwelt. Next, depending upon the commu nity to which they belonged (either the mushriku- n, ahl al-kitŒb or the musta‘m¥n ) the non-Mus li m s were granted different privileges and responsibilities, or specific prohibitions were implemented. Those non-Muslims who did not reside under Mu slim control were also categorized, according to Islam ic law and were dealt with either under the terms of a limited treaty or under the terms of legally established parameters of war. 9 In classical law, one of the primary prohibitions of the dhimm¥s living in the dŒr al-IslŒm was their having social or political authority over Muslims. Contrary to this comm only accepted prohibition, however, we find various historical records of scholars, both from Mu slim and non-M uslim sources, who do respond to the issue of dhimm¥s holding some form of political power or authority within the Islam ic state. What is especially relevant is the presence of Christians within the dar al-IslŒm who were allowed to hold some form of political power and authority, and the response of later legal scholars [ fuqahŒ’ ] to that historical record. What we intend to argue here, then, is that the classical and medieval jurists developed the Islam ic category of al-dhimma in response to the legal problem of non-Muslims holding power over Muslims within the Islam ic State. 10 Stephen Humphries, in his book Islamic History , argues that a “group’s status in society is less a direct consequence of events per se than of the way in which those events are interpreted.”11 The jurists sought to develop what they deemed as an appropriate Islamic response to contemporary and past Christian participation in the government. Thus,

TEXTUAL SOURCES OF AL-DHIMMA

19

the development of the prohibition of dhimm¥s serving within an Islam ic administration or system was one which developed over a period of time. 12 In order to proceed through this study effectively we must take several steps. First, we will provide an overview of the origin and basis of the term dhimma . Second, we will look at the historical record which provides examples of the presence of Christians holding political power and authority within the Islam ic state. Third, we will look at the classical and medieval legal responses to dhimm¥s holding political power and authority. In undertaking this review there are several necessary limitations. We must limit ourselves relative to the relationship between Musl ims and Christians within the government. The doctrine of the al-dhimma included Christians, Jews and Zoroastrians, Sabaeans, Samaritans (and later Hindus in India). 13 Here, however, we are interested in the history and relations between Muslims and Christians. So, we will only concern ourselves with records of Christians in the government of the Islam ic state. 14 Also, we are not intending to study the whole category of al-dhimma, but simply one aspect; that is, the “political rights” of dhimm¥s . 15 We are specifically concerned with the political rights that led to the appointment of Christians to positions of power and authority, directly or indirectly, over Muslims. We do have a great deal of information about the use of Christians within the state for administrative matters. We also have records of many Christians, who as doctors or physicians, were the personal health care providers for Mu slim rulers. 16 The fact that Christians were generally used within the administrative system of the Islam ic state did not cause legal problems for the jurists. The religious and legal problem s arose only around those Christians who held some form of independent political power or authority. Finally, this study is limited geographically. We are concerned only with those areas which ultim ately affect the history of the development of Lebanon. Thus the geographic focus of this research rests upon the Arabic speaking lands of the Near East including present day Iraq, Jordan, Palestine, Egypt, and naturally Syria and Lebanon. To include Balkan, Indian, Maghrebi, Persian and Spanish sources is well beyond the scope of this chapter.

al-Dhimma What, then, is al-dhimma? And who are recognized as al-dhimm¥ ? What was this category based upon and how was it interpreted by the classical and medieval jurists? The term al-dhimma is understood

20

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON to designate the sort of indef initely renewed contract through which the Mu slim comm unity accords hospitality and protection to me mbe rs of other revealed religions, on condition of their acknowledging the domination of Islam. 17

The term al-dhimma mea ns “contract” or “covenant” which denotes a guarantee of protection by one party over another. 18 The idea of “protection” or providing “covenant” between parties was a common social custom in pre-Islamic Arabia. A basic structure of Arabian society included agreements whereupon clan elders gave their protection to other members of the society. The elder was responsible for providing for the “protected” individual or family. These “covenants” of protection often included swearing oaths. Montgomery Watt notes that there are even preIslam ic texts which record the phrase “ al-dhimma of God.” 19 In addition, money was exchanged for protection from enemies. This was a form of tribute. The clan paying the money then fell under the al-dhimma of the larger clan.20 The custom of tribal protection was more widespread than just an Arabian phenomenon, however. The Arab historian al-Baladhuri, writing in the third/ninth century, notes that it was common knowledge that the Jews in the Damascus area were dhimm¥s to the Byzantine Christians.21 William Young, in his research on the Nestorian Church of the East under Mu slim rule, has found that many of the Persian Sassanid laws and traditions, such as forms of protection, found their way into early Mu slim organization. In 410 AD, during the rule of Yazgard I (399-42 0), Christians were recognized as a millet , or separate religious comm unity, and were protected as such within the organization of the Sassanid Empire. The Sassanid law recognized that the Head of the Christian millet was responsible for upholding discipline within the millet and that the state gave formal backing and recognition to the Head. 22 From the Western tradition we might also mention the Roman policy of religio licita. Within the R oman Empire, the Jewish faith was given legal status as a special religious order for a minority population.23 Thus, the recognition and organization of a separate religious or ethnic commu nity under the auspices of a large empire was certainly a formal process that was in place before the Mu slim conquest of the first/seventh century and would have been common practice for the establishing of such empires. The specific Islam ic interpretation of this institution recognizing minority comm unities is based upon several sources. In addition to these pre-Islamic customs reviewed above, the category of al-dhimma developed from at least two Qu r’anic passages, and several Hadith of the Prophet Muhamm ad. It also rested upon several political treaties established

TEXTUAL SOURCES OF AL-DHIMMA

21

during the Conquest of the first/seventh century as recorded in the works of early Mu slim biographers and historians. These treaties are located in Ibn-Ishaq’s SirŒt Rasu- l Allah (d. 151/7 67), al-Baladhuri’s KitŒb Futuh. alBuldŒn (d. 279/8 92), and al-Tabari’s Ta’r¥kh al-rusul wa’l mulu- k (d. 310/9 23). Finally, the category of al-dhimma was established by the jurists and was based upon various traditions and historical records associated with the second rightly guided Caliph, ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab, who served as the Caliph from 13/634-23/644. The concept of al-dhimma took several hundred years to develop and never was fixed into one set legal form throughout the Islam ic world. As the historical treaties show, the pact of protection offered to the ahl al-kitŒb took various forms. A. S. Tritton in his book, The Caliphs and Their Non-Muslim Subjects, remarks that there is no record of a fixed, formal legal doctrine during the first century AH. 24 It is only with the classical scholar al-Shafi‘i, by the beginning of the third/early ninth century, that we find a formal document that establishes legal parameters for dhimm¥s .

The Qur’an The foundation for the Islam ic understanding of al-dhimma is derived from the Qu r’anic recognition of the special place of the “People of the Book” [ ahl al-kitŒb ] within history. The Qur’an recognizes the importance of Jews, Christians and Sabaeans as each being sent a prophet and receiving a revelation from God. Those who believe in the Qur’an, and those who follow the Jewish (scriptures), and the Christians and the Sabaeans – any who believe in Allah and the Last Day, and work righteousness, shall have their rew ard with the Lord; on them shall be no fear, nor shall they grieve (2:62). 25

Because these adherents received a revelation from God they therefore deserved a different status than the pagans, or idolaters [ al-mushriku- n ]. The revealed books of the Torah [ al-TawrŒt ] and the Gospel [ al-Inj¥l ] are regarded as authentic revelations from God (albeit textually corrupted or misinterpreted by Jews and Christians, or abrogated by the final revelation of the Qur’an). Even though they had a special place in history, Jews and Christians were still not Muslims, refusing to take the extra step to become believers. Thus, there was a need to formally recognize their status in Mu slim society. On the one hand, the ahl al-kitŒb deserved some

22

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

kind of recognition within the Islam ic order because of their positive status as monotheists. On the other hand, there was a need to clearly distinguish between them with those who submitted. Even though they were monotheists, they were not Muslims. They were also not idolaters, however, and could not be categorized as polytheists. Whereas ahl al-kitŒb was a theological term, al-dhimma developed as the legal formula to recognize those non-Muslims who had received a recognized revelation and agreed to continue living within the bounds of the Islam ic state. This was a necessary part of the Islam ic ordering of society from the very beginning of Muham mad’s association with the Jews of Medina. The Qu r’anic text which forms the core of the legal understanding of al-dhimma comes from the Medinan sura 9:29. Fight those who believe not in Allah nor the Last Day, nor hold that forbidden which hath been forbidden by Allah and His Messe nger, nor acknowledge the Religion of Truth, from among the People of the Book, until they pay the jizya with willing submission and feel themselves subdued.

The term jizya means “tax” or “tribute.” 26 According to the text we can surmise that those “People of the Book” who submitted to Mu slim rule were to pay some form of tribute or tax. This developed into a yearly poll tax which was placed upon the dhimm¥s . 27 Due to this clear Qu r’anic injunction, the stipulation of paying the jizya became the most centrally defined condition of al-dhimma. A corollary verse to the above regarding the position of the ahl al-kitŒb living under Mu slim rule was sura 2:256. It states: Let there be no compulsion in religion: Truth stands out clear from error: whoever rejects evil and believes in Allah hath grasped the most trustworthy handhold, that never breaks.

The implication of this injunction was that those ahl al-kitŒb who remained under Mu slim rule would be allowed to continue unhindered in their faith. There was no need to convert them to Islam. Although this was a theological injunction, it was also a matter of practical politics. The minority Arab Muslims could not hope to maintain control over the social mores of all their conquered peoples. In addition to the positive view of the ahl al-kitŒb there is the guarded view of their reluctance to accept the seal of revelations and become Muslim. Several verses warn Muslims from taking friends or help from among non-believers.

TEXTUAL SOURCES OF AL-DHIMMA

23

Let not the believ ers take for friends or helpe rs unbe lieve rs rather than believers: if any do that, in nothing will there be help from Allah: except by way of precaution, that ye may guard yourselves from them. But Allah cautions you (to rem em ber) Himself; for the final goal is to Allah (3:28). O ye who believe! Take not into your intimacy those outside your ranks: They will not fail to corrupt you. They only des ire your ruin: Rank hatred has already appeared from their mouths: what their hearts conceal is far worse. We have made plain to you the signs, if ye have wisdom (3:118).

As we shall argue below, the Arab Muslims of the Conquest were content to allow the indigenous populations to continue in their various monotheistic faiths, while taking care to insure that the overall political system was Islamic, that is, under the authority of the caliph or one of his governors. Although these verses above are later interpreted by jurists as proof of the prohibition of Christian political rights, they are not used initially to prohibit Christian authority and power. It is only later, when these verses are cited in conjunction with other legal rulings that they stand out as supports in forbidding Christians from holding political authority. During the early Uma yyad rule , however, it was sufficient to accept that as long as the caliph and his governors ruled as the representatives of Islam, then the parameters were already set within dar al-IslŒm to allow Christians into positions of authority. Ultim ately the governors and caliph insured Islam ic sovereignty, not those serving under them.

Hadith Several Hadith (sayings) of the Prophet Muhamm ad have become vitally important for the development of al-dhimma and specifically for the understanding of the political rights of dhimm¥s . Orthodox Islam has held that the closest source to the revela tion of the Qur’an, the Prophet Muhamm ad, could not contradict God’s revelation. Therefore, his words and actions would confirm and explain God’s will. 28 It was to this precedent, or source of emulation, that the early historians and biographers turned in recording Muham mad’s attitudes toward his relations with Jews and Christians after the conquest. Several Hadith quoted by the later medieval scholars Ibn Naqq ash (d. 763/1357) and Qalqashandi (d. 821/1418) have become important sources for the prohibition of the political rights of dhimm¥s . These Hadith are:

24

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON Do not ask for their counsel nor look to them to enlighten you of their opinions. I repudiate, said Muhammad, the Muslim who will live with in the walls of the Associators. Jews and Christians are traitors.29

The assumptions upon which these Hadith rest are that public offices and functions affect the general welfare of the comm unity. Since the law of the commu nity rests on the Qur’an, non-Muslims cannot be responsible for any aspect of enforcing God’s Law. Because piety is required for dispensing God’s justice in comm unity, non-Muslims are not able to perform such functions. With this in mind, the jurists quite often make moral assessments of dhimm¥s . These Hadith are used in such a way to justify that dhimm¥s do not abide by the shar¥‘a and so are morally untru stworthy. Non-Muslims can divulge secrets of the government to the enemy and cannot be trusted with positions that would jeopardize the whole comm unity. In addition to the Hadith of Muhamm ad, a stream of Hadith developed around the authority of the second caliph, ‘Umar. These traditions became a vital link in the development of the category of al-dhimma. The following Hadith from ‘Umar cited by the medieval jurists Ibn Naqq ash and Qalqashandi is worth noting. Abu Musa al-Ashari, a governor of ‘Umar, came to talk to ‘Umar while he was in the mosque in order to introduce his personal secretary, who was a Christian. ‘Umar said, “How is it that you are able to invest a d h im m ¥ in a function which is given authority over Muslims? D o you not know what God Alm ighty says, “O you believers! Do not take Jews and Christians for yo u r friends.” al-As hari, trying to justify hims elf said, “I utilize his services and leave his faith be.” . . . Umar observed; “Do not honour them, since God has scorned them; do not raise them in dignity, since God has reduced them; do not keep them close to yourself, since God has kept them away.30

Other famous sayings of ‘Umar reported by the jurists are; Do not entrust any function to neither Jews nor Christians, because in their religion they are people who take bribes.31

TEXTUAL SOURCES OF AL-DHIMMA

25

Do not honour them [ d h im m ¥s ], since God has scorned them. Do not raise them in dignity, since God has reduced them. D o not keep them close to yourself, since God has kept them away.32

Invariably, these traditions are uniform in their recognition that ‘Umar forbade non-Muslims from serving in the government. However, these traditions used by the classical and medieval jurists are not quoted by early Mu slim or Christian historical records or annalists of the Conquest (first/seventh century). They reflect later interpretation of the historical record of Christians serving within the government. Given that we find these harsh sayings in later medieval and not early sources, and given that we have record of Christians being entrusted with “functions” at an earlier date, these traditions appear possibly to have been a corrective measu re. That is, these sayings become the primary sources for medieval jurists attempting to reorder Islam ic society.

Historical treaties Several historical events become significant in the reflection of the classical-medieval jurists regarding the emergence of this concept. These precedents take the form of political agreements made between Muhamm ad and the ahl al-kitŒb . These documents are the “Constitution of Medina,” and the treaties of Khaybar, Tabuk and Najran. It is beyond the scope of this study to do a textual analysis of these documents or to provide textual criticism. It is sufficient for our purposes to note that these political documents are recorded in the major early histories of the second/eighth and third/ninth centuries. They provide themes upon which later jurists developed the full category of al-dhimma. When Muhamm ad established his commu nity in Medina he signed an agreement with the Medinan tribes, some of whom had submitted, others which were the ahl al-kitŒb . This agreement has come to be known as the “Constitution of Medina.” 33 Rather than a theological treatise regarding the status of non-Muslims vis a vis the Mu slim comm unity, the “Constitution” was rather a political document stating the rights and responsibilities of Medinan tribes within the state. The earliest sources of this document are two biographies of Muhamm ad : KitŒb s. irŒt rasu- l Allah written by Ibn Ishaq (d. 151/767) and KitŒb al-maghŒz¥ by al-W aqidi’ (d. 207/8 23). 34 It is important to note that these biographies of the Prophet Muhamm ad pre-date the histories of al-Baladhuri and al-Tabari who drew on these sources for their own works. The “Constitution” has been vitally

26

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

important within Islam ic history as it has become “a source for the ideas underlying the Islam ic state in the early formative years.” 35 Furthermore, it has assum ed renewed importance within the contemporary debate of the nation-state system and the Islamic State. 36 Looking back upon the precedents of the Prophet Muhamm ad, contemporary Islamist scholars argue for modern political formulations based upon the Medinan state. Three important points within this document need to be highlighted as they relate to the development of the category of al-dhimma . First, the Medinan Jews who signed the agreement were extended the “protection” [ dhimma ] of Allah. Although this extension of security was common terminology within Arab society, as noted above, the document validated the pre-Islamic Arabian notion of tribal “protection” as the appropriate ordering of society under Islam. Second, the Medinan Jews were allowed to continue practising their religion. This freedom confirmed the important place of the ahl al-kitŒb within the Qur’an upheld by the Qu r’anic injunction; “No compulsion in religion” (2:256). Third, there was an explicit recognition that the Jews of Medina were required to help defend Medina against common enemies. The contract recognized that all of the tribes, both Mu slim and ahl al-kitŒb , were one umma , or one comm unity. Thus, given that all the tribes who agreed to the “Constitution” had submitted themselves to Muham mad’s leadership and rule, they constituted one pluralistic comm unity. This was an Islam ic order which allowed for non-Muslims to participate in various forms of the larger commu nity life, including fighting on behalf of the comm unity. At the battles of Khaybar and Hunayn, the Jews as well as the Banu Taghlib, a Christian tribe37 (and even some Arab Polytheists), were allowed to fight alongside the Muslims. 38 This particular obligation (i.e., defence of the state) would later become one of the direct prohibitions for dhimm¥s . It would later be argued that dhimm¥s could not participate in the military as this would constitute a security risk. Instead they paid the jizya tax in lieu of military service. Dhimm¥s , it was later believed, could not always be trusted with defence of the state because they were not willing to abide by the whole of the Law. However, we see no evidence of this thinking in the early c om munity at Medina. Even after the Battle of Badr, when the Jewish tribe of Qaynuqa revolted against the umma and Muham mad’s authority, there was not sufficient cause to abrogate the “Constitution of Medina” and write another treaty. On the contrary, its articles concerning the defence of the state were strictly enforced. The Banu Qaynuqa had not fulfilled their responsibilities and had broken the pact. On account of that, they were to be punished, but not all of the ahl al-kitŒb . Thus, the

TEXTUAL SOURCES OF AL-DHIMMA

27

“Constitution” stands in contradiction with the accepted classical formulation on this matter. Following the “Constitution of Medina,” the next most important document is the Treaty of Khaybar. The Arabs of Khaybar were defeated by Muhamm ad in the year 7/627. The Jews of Khaybar were allowed to remain on their land provided that they paid one-half of their produce as tribute. 39 Bernard Lewis notes that the terms of this treaty be ca m e the locus classicus regarding the status of conquered non-Muslims. 40 Under the Treaty of Khaybar, once conquered, land was no longer part of the “House of War” [ dar al-h. arb] but rested solely under the authority of the Mu slim comm unity. The classical scholar Malik ibn Anas states: As for the people who make a treaty - those of them who surrender are entitled to their land and property. As for the people of force who are taken by force - if one of them surrenders, his land and property belong to the Muslims. . . . As for the people with a treaty, their property and lives are protected by the treaty they made. Only the terms of the treaty are demanded of them.41

The inhabitants of a territory who surrendered or who were conquered were subject to different terms. Those who surrendered were allowed to keep their land and property. Those who fought and were conquered had to surrender their land and property directly to the Muslims. Thus, the ahl al-kitŒb who formally capitulated to the Muslims paid a tribute and received formal recognition as a minority commu nity within the state. They remained upon their lands and held their property as vassals of the Mu slim authority. Those communities, however, who insisted on defending their lands eventually lost any rights to their land whatsoever. The next treaty that concerns us is that of Tabuk which was concluded in 9/630. For the first time the terms jizya and al-dhimma are used together in one document. According to the biographer Ibn Ishaq, Yuhanna ibn Ru’ba, who was the local bishop of Tabuk and the officially recognized head of the Christian comm unity, 42 was given a contract based upon his paying a tributary tax. When the apostle reached Tabuk Yuhann b. Ru’ba governor of Ayla came and made a treaty wit h him and paid him the poll tax [ ji z y a ]. . . The apost le wrote for them a docum ent which they still have. He wrote to Yuhanna b. Ru’ba thus: ‘In the name of God the Compassionate and Mercifu l. This is a guarantee from God and Muham mad the prophet, the apost le of God, to Yuhanna b. Ru’ba and the people of Ayla . . . all have the protection [ a l- dh im m a ] of God and the protection of Muham mad the prophet. 43

28

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

The importance of this document is that it connects the subjugation of the commu nity of Tabuk with payment of the jizya. By paying this tax they were then under the “protection” [ dhimma ] of God and Muhamm ad. We do know, however, that there was some confusion in early Islamic legal thought regarding the distinction between the jizya and other taxes. The classical scholar Abu Yusuf (d. 182/798) notes that in some cases nonMuslims were made to pay a tax on their land [ kharŒj] in addition to the poll tax, whereas later the land tax was only paid by Muslims. This tax could have been paid either in the form of a financial payment or crops [ al-muqŒsama ]. 44 It was not until after Abu Yusu f, however, that these distinctions between Mu slim and non-M uslim taxes were put into practice. 45 A final important precedent set by Muhamm ad that would affect the future development of al-dhimma was the Treaty of Najran. Unlike the pagan Arabs who were given the option of conversion, death or forced expulsion, the Christian tribes of Ara bia were allowed to either convert to Islam, voluntarily flee the dar al-IslŒm, or accept submission to the Mu slim authority by paying a tax while keeping their faith and communal traditions. The treaty of Muhamm ad with the Christians of Najran as recorded in al-Baladhuri is a turning point in the understanding of the relationship between Muslims and Christians. Najran and their followe rs are entitled to the protection [ a l- dh im m a ] of Allah and to the security of Muham mad the Prophet, the Messenger of Allah, which security shall involve their persons, religion, lands and possessions. . . . The state they previously held shall not be changed, nor shall any of their religious services or images be changed. No attempt shall be made to turn a bishop from his office as a bishop, a monk from his office as a monk, nor the sexton of a church from his office. . . . They shall neither be called to military service nor compelled to pay the tithe [ z a kŒ t ]. No army shall tread on their land . . . And as a guarantee to what is recorded in this document, they are entitled to the right of protection [ a l- dh im m a ] from Allah, and to the security of Muham mad the Prophet. . . . 46

From this point on, as Christian comm unities came under the authority of the Mu slim state, their special recognition as the ahl al-kitŒb took on a legal status as ahl al-dhimma, that is, “protected persons.” 47 A third/ninth century Nestorian source, The Chronicle of Sert, includes the Treaty of Najran with a very interesting variant. It states that the protection [ al-dhimma] is not only given to the Christians of Najran but “to

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29

all other sects.” 48 The Christians of Najran were of the Byzantine Rite, and therefore politically aligned with the Byzantine Empire. 49 The Nestorians, however, were non-Chalcedonian. They were considered heretics by the Chalcedonian Byzantine state, and treated as such. It is possible that the authors of the Nestorian document wanted to show that the treaty was binding upon all Christians under the rule of the Mu slim empire - even Heterodox Christian commu nities. Although the Chronicle is not considered an authentic historical source for the treaty, we can see that by the third/ninth century the Treaty of Najran was interpreted and used by dhimm¥ comm unities themselves to validate their own status within the Islam ic state. Thus, the dhimm¥ status was viewed as an important position by Christians themselves. In the Treaty of Najran, Christians were forbidden to participate in military service and were not required to pay a communal tax. This is in contrast to both the treaties of Khaybar and Tabuk. Henri Lamm ens, in his work on this treaty, argues that this document was not a “contract” imposed by Muhamm ad on a defeated enemy. Rather, he asserts, it was an accord, “negotiated and concluded” between two equal powers. Thus, the Najranites were not dhimm¥s (i.e. conquered) and were therefore later liable for expulsion from their land by ‘Umar. 50 This issue becomes important in contemporary Muslim discussions of Islam ic comm unities with religious minorities. Does the “Constitution of Medina,” with its recognition of the various comm unities under an Islam ic system, become normative? Or, does the later expulsion of the Christians from Najran based upon their refusal to convert to Islam become normative? The terms of the Najran “accord,” however, do not seem to be those of equals. The Mu slims, under this contract, were free to take certain matters into their own hands (e.g. removal of church officials, direct their armies over Najran property, etc.). Acceptance of such terms implies submission by the Najran comm unity. Contrary to Lamm ens’ interpretation, the variant reading of this text compared to al-Baladhuri’s text points out that there was no one clear form of submission by dhimm¥ comm unities at this time. Throughout the Conquest, the various tribes, both those who fought and were conquered, and those who submitted by treaty, were dealt with according to specific conditions. The ahl al-kitŒb of each city were then granted a contract outlining various freedoms and responsibilities based upon their capitulation. Legal status was then granted to Jewish and Christian comm unities according to individual conditions based upon each specific context. As these early historical texts demonstrate, there was no standard ized formula although there were many comm onalities among the

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treaties. (Because of the variations within the form of the treaty, Zoroastrians were later given al-dhimm¥ status based upon the belief that the Zoroastrians did have at one time written scriptures which were destroyed. In addition, Hindus were also granted this legal contract under the Mu slim rule in India.) 51 The category of al-dhimma, then, developed over a period of time until it was codified into the “Covenant of ‘Umar.” 52 In reviewing the importance of the four historical documents listed above, we can see in each treaty a major element that was used by the classical and med ieval jurists in formulating the category of al-dhimma. The “Constitution of Medina” provided protection for the n on -M uslim tribes of Medina while recognizing their religious and communal rights. Part of their duty within the state was helping with its defence. The Treaty of Khaybar provided a source which recognized that conquered land and people were now under the authority of dar al-IslŒm. The Treaty of Tabuk linked the status of protection with some form of tax or tribute. Lastly, the Treaty of Najran formalized the protection of a religious minority with specific rights and responsibilities. In this case, however, the minority commu nity could not serve in the military and was not responsible for a communal tax [ zakŒt ]. It can be deduced from these sources that, as long as the Jews and Christians paid a tax, either monetary or in the form of crops, they were allowed to live and work within the territory of dar al-IslŒm. They maintained their own comm unities economically, religiously, and socially, and even provided military support for the Mu slim conquest. 53 These ahl al-kitŒb now had legal recognition within the state as permanent “protected” residents. (As Young concluded, however, these arrangements were not particular to Islam ic Law, but were found in preIslam ic societies.) This new legal status included various restrictions. Although the contract freed the dhimm¥s from costly military service and the zakŒt tax paid by Muslims; minority comm unities of Christians and Jews were faced with the possibility of state sanctioned oppression because of their minority status.

“Covenant of ‘Um ar” The category of al-dhimma found its final fixed form in documents attributed to the second caliph, ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab (13/63 4-23/6 44). Tradition held that ‘Umar’s conquests during the mid-first/seventh century established and organized the Islam ic state upon Qu r’anic

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31

principles and the precedents of the Prophet Muhamm ad. It was believed by the classical jurists that ‘Umar faithfu lly received and followed Muham mad’s exam ple and instruction. He initiated the foundations for interpreting the law based on the Qur’an, the sunna , ijma‘ [consensus], and qiyŒs [analogy].54 The jurists asserted that it was upon ‘Umar’s genius that the Islam ic state was actually put into practice. Regarding the organization and administration of non-Muslims within the state, ‘Umar is attributed with the authorship of the “Covenant of ‘Umar” or the “Pact of ‘Umar”. It is in this document (and its variants) that the complete concept and category of al-dhimma finds its official formulation and to which Islam ic fundamentalists continu ally refer as an authentic blueprint for Islam. The first western research done on the “Covenant of Umar” was initiated by T.W. Arnold in The Preaching of Islam , and A.S. Tritton in “Islam and the Protected Religions.” 55 They both asserted that the “Covenant” was an apocryphal document written during the classical period, appearing by the early third/ninth century. 56 In a more detailed work, The Caliphs and Their Non-Muslim Subjects: a critical study of the covenant of ‘Umar, Tritton reviews at least four different forms of this document and several variant texts.57 He argues quite convincingly that the Covenant is not recognized in any first century Hijra documents. In fact, he argues that the recorded treaties of the Conquest contradict the final editions of the Covenant. (We have already noted some of these inconsistencies in the previous section where the early treaties require the dhimm¥s to help with military defence, while the “Covenant” prohibits this.) Therefore, Tritton concludes that because of the variants within the texts, as well as the discrepancies between those texts and the earlier treaties, the “Covenant” was credited to ‘Umar apocryphally. It has generally been accepted by western scholarship that the ascription of this document to ‘Umar is spurious. Rather, they argue that the “Covenant” is more than likely attributable to ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-’A ziz (99/717101/720) as we shall see below.58 The earliest extant version of the “Covenant” comes from al-Shafi‘i in his KitŒb al-Umm (204/8 20). 59 Other lengthy references to the “Covenant” come from several medieval authors; Abu Bakr al-Turtushi in his SirŒj al-mulu- k (520/1 126), 60 Ibn ‘Asakir in Tar¥kh dimasq al-kab¥r (571/1 176), 61 Ghazi ibn al-Wasiti in Al-radd ‘ala ahl al-dhimma (632/1292), 62 and Ibn Mutahhar al-Hilli in KitŒb muntaha ’l-mat. lab f¥-tah. q¥q al-madhab (726/1 325). 63 Each of these works includes variations of the “Covenant.” Ibn Hazm also speaks of the “Covenant” in his MarŒtib al-ijma‘ (456/1064) but does not quote it. 64

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

It is interesting to note that in KitŒb al-KharŒj (182/7 98), which is written earlier than al-Shafi‘i’s account of the “Cov enant,” Abu Yusuf attributes a similar “Covenant” to ‘Umar’s general Abu Ubaida, who was responsible for the capture of Dam ascus. 65 Abu Yusuf’s document is of a similar format to another document that associates this treaty with Abu Ubaida. Al-Baladhuri records a similar Treaty of Damascus with Abu Ubaida as the author.66 Al-Baladhuri’s work comes after both Abu Yusuf and al-Shafi‘i. It is important to recognize that he does not mention the “Covenant of ‘Umar” or attribute a formalized document to ‘Umar. Thus, there are at least two document traditions, one holding to the authorship of ‘Umar, the other to Abu Ubaida. These two traditions are quite separate. Those scholars that review ‘Umar’s “Covenant” do not mention Abu Ubaida and the Treaty of Dam ascus. There is enough textual and historical evidence to conclude that the “Covenant of ‘Umar,” although based upon individual treaties of the conquest under ‘Umar’s authority, does not find a final form until the third/ninth century at the earliest. The process of canonization probably occurred during the end of the second/eighth century or the beginning of the third/ninth century, during the reigns of the orthodox Caliphs ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-Aziz, Abu Ja‘far al-Mansur (136/754-1 58/77 5), Harun alRashid (170/7 86-19 3/809 ), and certainly al-Mutawakkil (232/847247/8 61). During these periods, formal legal restrictions were decreed regarding the position of non-Musl im s within the state. It was at this time, in response to these decrees, and the position of Christians in the government, that scholars began to carefu lly spell out the legal nature of the dhimm¥s within Mu slim society. The scholars organized existing preIslamic laws, treaty documents, and existing Hadith to respond to the impropriety of non-M uslim political authority within the state. Throughout the al-dhimma’s development there were times when the “Covenant of ‘Umar” was invoked with great measu re, providing the legalized oppression of dhimm¥s . There were other times in which the category was almost completely ignored or never thorou ghly enforced. Some of the later jurists writing during the Mamluk period in Egypt complained that the rulers and even the judges themselves were derelict in their duties of upholding the ‘Umar’s law. Al-Asnawi (d. 772/1370) was appalled that Christians were allowed to manage Mu slim affairs in direct contradiction of the “Covenant of ‘Umar”.67 Ultimately, the state of affairs of the dhimm¥s depended upon the whim of the ruler as to whether or not he would enforce the developed regulations. 68 It is necessary now to provide an outline of those responsibilities and restrictions that were placed upon dhimm¥s in this accepted “Covenant.”

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33

Although, as stated above, there have always been slight variations within the different texts of the “Covenant,” the basic restrictions upon the dhimm¥s were as follows. The dhimm¥s were 1.

forbidden to build new places of worship or repair existing structu res without permission, 2. not to display crosses in public, ring bells, have public processions, or raise loud voices during worship or funerals, 3. never to bear arms or serve in the military, 4. not to aid spies or enemies of the state, 5. to wear distinctive clothing which clearly marks dhimm¥s as non-Muslims, 6. not to ride horses or put on public displays of wealth, 7. to provide room and board for passing Muslims, for a maximum of three days, 8. not to own Mu slim slaves, 9. not to sell wine, pigs, or other forbidden things to Muslims, 10. not to build homes higher than those of Mu slim homes, and 11. to pay the jizya tax in return for protection from enemies.69 It is apparent that there is no explicit reference, in any of the various forms of the “Covenant” to Christian political rights. This is not surprising given the fact that the Arab Mu slims were the conquering rulers. They supplanted the authority of the previous government with their own rule. It was the authority of the Arab Islam ic state that stood as the sole arbitrator of all political power. However, as we shall see below, this did not prohibit the Muslims from appointing non-Muslims into positions of power and authority.

Historical record of Christians holding political pow er We have thus far reviewed the development of the sources of the category of al-dhimma. Before we can review the specific rulings of the classical and medieval jurists regarding this category it is important at this point to examine the historical record to which those jurists were responding. According to both Christian and Mu slim records we find references to Christians holding positions of authority and power within the administration of the early Islam ic State. In reviewing the administrative

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procedures through early documents of the Arab Mu slim armies, we notice that the presence of non-Muslims was part of the normal administrative machine of the empire. Looking specifically at a period of almost two hundred years, spanning the rise of the U m ayyad dynasty under Mu ‘awiyya (41/661) to the decree by al-M utawakkil forbidding any non-Muslims from service in the state (236/8 50), there is a pattern of Christians holding power within the Islam ic State. The ‘Abbasid Caliph al-Mutawakkil was not the first to make a decree prohibiting Christian from serving within the state, nor the last. However, by the middle of the third/ninth century we find the category of al-dhimma being used as an authoritative source for the dismissal of Christians from public service based on legal rulings [ fatwas]. (Thus, al-M utawakkil had the backing of the shar¥‘a in his prohibition of Christians serving in positions of authority within the government.) This approximately two hundred-year span provides enough material for us to compare the historical record with the rulings of the classical and medieval jurists prohibiting Christians from serving in the government. The records surveyed show that under the early caliphs it was a question of conquest by Arabs and a d h o c arrangements with the conquered, which varied with the circumstances. Under the early Abbasids, howeve r, the st at us of the Christians was beginning to change, though serious legislation lowering the status of the Christians was only to be laid down . . . under Mu taw akkil. 70

The historical record supports the conclusion drawn from an examination of the legal documents (such as the “Covenant of ‘Umar”) that there was no clear use of al-dhimma. When the Arab arm ies expanded their campaigns outside of the Arabian peninsula, following Muham mad’s death, they came into contact with non-Arabian commu nities. Each commu nity had its own system of organization, be it indigenous, or imposed (i.e. Byzantine or Sassanid). However effective the Mu slim Arabs were in campaigning and conquering, the organization of such a vast empire from Spain to the steppes of Asia, including peoples, cultures and communal systems of a wide variety, was too much for any new civilization, especially a commu nity organized around tribal systems. In order to rule effectively, the Umayyad rulers not only kept the local administrative procedures intact, but they kept the non-M uslim and Christian administrators as well. 71 Three important factors contributed to the Umayyad administrative decisions reviewed above for organizing the new Islam ic state. First, at the time of the Conquest there was no system atic application of the

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35

shar¥‘a. The science of interpreting the Qur’an and the sunna had not yet

been developed. It would take another two to three hundred years before the shar¥‘a would be available for system atic interpretation. Therefore, the Islam ic state had to make decisions regarding its administrative procedures based on contextual practicality, that is, what worked in a given area. Thus, the Companions of the Prophet and the early scholars resorted to quoting Hadith in order to justify or criticize a particular policy. Second, the early Umayyads were primarily soldiers. They originated in the villages and cities of the Hijaz. They were not by nature groom ed for the running of a vast empire with a complex system of administration. Furthermore, the speed at which the empire expanded did not allow for a thorough system atic development of organization. Third, following ‘Umar’s precedent, in several places (prim arily D amascus, Cairo, and Busra) the Arabs did not mix with the local populations whom they conquered. In order to maintain their own social and religious purity they created camps outside of the conquered cities. They lived and ruled the conquered populations from these camps. 72 Consequ ently, local administrators were needed to work within the confines of the conquered cities. The Umayyads saw their role as divinely guided and believed that they were granted authority by God over other races and commu nities. According to their belief, Islam was revealed to the Arabs but Islam ic rule was to govern the whole world. Therefore, the early Umayyads were content to force people to subm it to their authority but did not attempt to introduce Arab Mu slim culture or religion into the local populations. Although research into early conversion to Islam is “one of the most poorly examined fields in Islam ic studies,” 73 what documents and research we do possess show that wholesa le conversion to Islam was a slow process. Richard Bulliet’s study of biographical dictionaries has shown that there was not a large scale conversion of the population directly following the Conquest. In some cases, conversions did not become a strong social force until after several hundred years of Islam ic rule. 74 Marshall Hodgson has even argued that in some cases conversion to Islam was frowned upon by the Arab Muslims as it would destroy their social purity. 75 Because the Arabs ruled as a minority commu nity over established societies with their own administrative systems, they had to establish methods to maintain order through the existing bureau cracy and yet hold to some form of Islam ic ideal. Western scholarship has found that the first Umayyad Caliph Mu ‘awiyya (41/66 1-60/6 80), employed Christians regu larly in the service of the government. 76 The ahl al-kitŒb maintained their own positions

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

which they held prior to the conquest of Syria, or were brought in from other areas to help run the state because of the their knowledge or education in such matters. Because the existing administrative systems were kept in place along with their existing languages there was a need for those who were fluent and capable of keeping records in those languages. In the former Byzantine provinces, for example, there was a need to maintain personnel who could work in Greek. 77 In the former Sassanid provinces there was a need to maintain personnel fluent in Persian. 78 Christians were thus in demand as professional state administrators who often rose to influential and important positions.79 The maintenance of non-Arab systems of administration is confirmed by later Mu slim sources. Al-Jahiz (d. 255/869) wrote; It is from the Sassanides that we have borrowed the laws of government and of the kingdom, the organization of private and public affairs, the administration of subjects and their taxation by classes. 80

Mu ch later, Ibn Khaldun in Muqaddima (808/1405) also remarked; The Arabs . . . we re crude, without instruction, and little practice in accounting and arithmetic. 81

Those Christian personnel who were maintained in positions of authority took on greater importance as non-Arabs began converting to Islam. Once non-Arabs in the conquered territories submitted to Islam they were classified as mawŒli and continued to pay a non-M uslim tax. 82 Even though they converted to Islam they were still under the authority of the administrator or administrators confirmed by the Umayyads. Unless these new Muslims moved, or made what Patricia Crone calls their own hijra, to the Mu slim camps outside the cities, they remained under the authority of the dhimm¥ administrator within the city. 83 By the end of Caliph Hisham’s rule (d.125/743) we find a record which admits that Christians did have political authority over mawŒli Muslims. A letter from Caliph Hisham to a Khalid al-Kasir, presu mably a governor, mak es mention of what you have done in the way of asking help from Magians and Christians, and making them rule over the necks of the Muslims, and collecting their taxes, and exercising authority over them.84

We can see then that even though non-Arabs converted to Islam, they were still not on considered on an equal level with Arab Muslims. If these

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37

new converts remained within their previous comm unities then they were often still under the civil authority of the Greek speaking or Persian speaking non-Muslims. The overthrow of the Umayyads by the ‘Abbasids in 132/750 brought a dram atic shift in the perception of Islam ic administration. Although there was no legal justification for removing Islam ic rulers from power at the early second/eighth century, the ‘Abbasids justified their revolution in terms of a necessity to return the state to the guidelines of its authentic Islam ic sources. The ‘Abbasids defined themselves over and against the authority and practices of the previous rulers. 85 Joseph Schacht states that the ‘Abbasids “exagg erated the differences, and in conscious opposition to their predecessors proclaimed their programme of establishing the rule of God on earth.” 86 They claimed that contrary to the Umayyad rule, which they saw as a return to tribal rule, or the ‘as. abiyya of the Umayyad dynasty, they intended restore “true” I sl am ic order. Even so, their ambition to develop more coherent systems of thought regarding the understanding of Islam ic law and administration was genuine. The most well known ‘Abbasid desire to implement Islam ic measu res was in the area of tax law. Caliph Harun al-R ashid appointed the jurist Abu Yusuf to codify a tax system that was consistent with Islam ic ideals. It is during the early ‘Abbasid period that we see a development of the classical view in the ordering of the Islam ic state 87 and certainly of the political rights of the non-Muslims. 88 Developments in Islam ic law categorizing the civic or political rights of non-Muslims in the state did not emerge in a clear and easily definable way. As we have already seen, the category of al-dhimma evolved slowly and erratically. Furthermore, it was not strictly or universally implemented. Even though there is record of Umayyad Caliphs enacting restrictive measu res upon dhimm¥s (as we will see below), it is not until the third/ninth century that we find measures of the category of al-dhimma applied more consistently. At this time, because of the cultivation of us. ul al-fiqh [the science of Islam ic jurisprudence], we begin to find clear legal rulings from jurists forbidding dhimm¥s from holding positions of authority. Thus, by the ‘Abbasid period, dhimm¥s could be prohibited from holding positions of authority within the state primarily because there was a fully developed category of al-dhimma, based upon the tradition of the “Covenant of Umar” which prohibited their employment. By the middle of the third/ninth century there was now official legaltheological sanction for such restrictions. Even after the establishment of the category of al-dhimma, Christians were still maintained in their positions of authority within the state. Ghazi

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al-Wasiti, at the end of the seventh/thirteenth century, observed that under al-Mahdi (158/775-168/787) there were numerous and very powerful Christian functionaries within the government. 89 A Christian apologetic work, the Apology of al-Kind¥ , from the time of Caliph ‘Abd Allah al-Ma’mun (195/8 13-21 8/833 ), remarked that influential Christian scribes and physicians at the Caliph’s court developed political clout and authority. 90 Even as late as the reign of al-M uqtadir (295/908-319/933) there were Christian secretaries within the court. 91 The question arises then, if the ‘Abbasids desired to organize the administration and regulations of the state along more clearly defined Islam ic standards, then why were Christians so prominent within the inner circles of power even after religious law prohibited them from holding positions of authority? The answer stem s from the reality of political administration, and from the fact that the opinions of the independent jurists ultim ately had no formal hold on the policy of the Caliph. The desire to implement Islam ic measu res in all aspects of the empire was not enough to rid the government of all dhimm¥s from positions of power and authority. Christian functionaries proved to be too useful in running an efficient administration. The call for their removal from office based upon legal precepts was set aside in favour of political pragmatism. Decrees forbidding Christians from government service had to be re-enforced at the end of the third/ninth, and beginning of the fourth/tenth centuries because they were never fully carried out for any serious length of time. Hans Putm ann, in L’Eglise et L’Islam sous Timothee I (780-823), argued that even though there was a desire to establish a purely Islamic state organization, Christians maintained their positions during the early ‘Abbasid period because of their education and ability to handle the affairs of the state (ie., record keeping). During the transition from the Umayyads to the ‘Abbasids, the Christians within the government were able to keep a sense of administrative stability within the state. 92 Although this is a bit overstated, it can at least be said that the ‘Abbasids recognized the need to maintain those Christians already in the administration. Later, when the energy of the dynasty shifted from consolidating power to developing Islam ic culture, Jews and Christians, primarily the Nestorians, provided needed expertise in the translation of the Greek texts of philosophy, medicine and science. 93 Both Christian and Mu slim sources give examples of Christians holding positions of authority or power within the government throughout the first/seventh to the third/ninth centuries. Although examples are numerous, it is difficult to neatly categorize the positions attributed to the dhimm¥s . Different terms or descriptions are given for the positions of

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39

these Christians with few, if any, references to their actual responsibilities. The earliest and most thorough attempt to organize the administration of the Islam ic state that has come down to us is from al-Mawardi in the fifth/eleventh century. His Ah. kŒm al-sult. Œniyya (450/1 058), however, reflects a political interpretation of the way the state “should” be organized rather than its actual arrangement. 94 In several instances al-Mawardi recognizes that Christians had been in inappropriate positions within the state and so made explicit regulations in forbidding their appointments.95 In other places he directly allows positions to be filled by Christians. This alludes to the fact that the topic was under some discussion.96 The next major thorough legal reflection on the order of the Islam ic state is by Ibn Khaldun in Muqaddima (808/1 405). Ibn Khaldun carefu lly describes those positions in the state judicial administration which may be held by Christians and those which are forbidden.97 Asid e from these two sources, we have little record of legal discussions regarding the organization of the state. The extant records do, however, allow us to deduce some general categories of Christian service within the Islam ic state. These categories fall under four basic areas: 1) secretaries or scribes, 2) those within the treasury, 3) the military, and 4) governors or viziers. (Although the position of the Christian physician is well documented, we have decided not to include this as the position did not deal directly with either administering or executing law over the Mu slim population even though physicians probably would have had a great deal of power by having access to the Caliph or his court.) The first group that we might classify is that of secretaries or scribes [ kŒtib]. We have already noted the importance of educated Christians for maintaining and keeping the public records. Being responsible for records, a kŒtib was one of the few people who could read and write, usu ally in several languages. He was well educated, and therefore, very influential in government circles, often providing advice and counsel. The need for dhimm¥ expertise did not begin to change until the middle of the third/ninth century when Muslims became qualified for such positions as records began to be kept in Arabic. Prior to this the dhimm¥ administrators were needed because official documents were kept in the original language of the conquered territory (e.g. Greek, Persian, etc.) With the transition into using Arabic, the dhimm¥ scribes were no longer in as much demand. Records show that a number of officials had Christian secretaries. Al-A sh‘ari, the governor of Basra under ‘Umar I, had a Christian secretary. 98 Also both Yazid (60/680-64/683) and ‘Abd al-M alik (65/68586/705) had Christian secretaries with close access to the work of the state. 99 We do know that it was the Christian theologian, John of

40

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

Dam ascus serving as ‘Abd al-Malik’s secretary. 100 Furthermore, Ibn alFurat, vizier under Caliph al-Muqtadir, had nine Christian secretaries, some of whom had such close access to him that they ate with him. 101 Under Caliph al-M u‘tasim (218/833-227/842), a Christian named Sulm uya was so well trusted that “no royal documents were valid until countersigned by him” 102 The power of the kŒtib to affect state policy rested in their access to the records which they handled. The “State Chancellors”[kŒtibŒt al-insa’ ] were responsible for writing and handling official documents, while the “Secretaries of Finance” [ kŒtibŒt al-amwŒl ] were responsible for financial records. 103 Their ability to argue for a particular policy might have had some effect upon Islam ic state policy, but their access to official documents was undoubtedly most beneficial for their minority status. It has been argued that Nestorian scribes during the ‘Abbasid period who had access to the early Treaties added more positive measu res for the Christians.104 Within the judiciary, the kŒtib was not only responsible for paper work, but he helped the judge make judicial decisions.105 Under the ‘Abbasids, kutub were attached to the judge’s [ qad. ¥ ] entourage as a mem ber of the auxiliaries of the court. Due to the religious nature of the qad. ¥ ’s position in making legal rulings, al-Mawardi states that dhimm¥s should be excluded from the posts in the judiciary. Again, al-Mawardi’s specific prohibition of Christian employment in this area seems to imply that the Christian presence was a problem which was being discussed. AlMawardi’s response was to charge that the judiciary kŒtib was not an appropriate position for Christians. He seems to be suggesting that in his system Christians should either be released from service or convert to Islam. The second category in which Christians were found to wield authority and power was in dealing with the finances of the state. We have already mentioned the “Secretaries of Finance” and their authority to handle records. As we have already mentioned, the fact that the Muslims kept the administration system of a conquered territory intact, they had to rely upon the indigenous administrators to work with the local languages. Given that the tax records were kept in Greek and Persian until at least the reign of ‘Abd al-Malik, in the late first/seventh century, and even longer, Christian secretaries working in the treasury had great power.106 The first Umayyad caliph, Mu‘awiyya, had a Christian secretary of finance who is thought to have been Mansur ibn Sarjun (Sergius) from a distinguished Byzantine Orthodox family. 107 Another important exam ple occurs under Caliph Al-M utasim (218/833-227/842) where “a Christian named Ibrahim

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41

was entrusted with the care of the privy seal, and was set over the Bayt alMal or Public Treasu ry, an office that, from the nature of the funds and their disposition, might have been expected to have been put into the hands of a Muslim.” 108 The idea that Christians were involved in the handling of state monies or the collection of Islam ic taxes posed a great problem for the later jurists. Given that some taxes were imposed by the shar‘¥a this would mean that Christians had control over parts of the Holy Law. This was not an acceptable situation for the jurists. Again, as a corrective measu re, al-Mawardi would allow for Christians to be in the service of the state as tax collectors, but only in those cities in which there were no Muslims. 109 The third category of Christian service in the Islam ic state is within the military. The record of Christians within the military establishment of the state proves to be very problem atic for later scholars because of the explicit prohibition of their service in the developed “Covenant of ‘Umar.” Early historical accounts are clear that Christian and Jewish tribes did fight with the Arab Mu slim army at various points during the Conquest. At Khaybar and Hunayn both Jews (and even some Arab Polytheists) were allowed to fight alongside the Muslims. 110 At the “Battle of the Bridge” both the Banu Tayy and the Banu Taghlib fought with the Muslims and proved to be pivotal in the outcome of the battle. 111 Thus, by the time of the Umayyad state there was historical precedent for the position of Christians fighting in the army. Henri Lamm ens, in his 1908 work on the Caliphate of Mu‘awiyya, notes that two hundred Christians even served as a police force in Medina.112 By the ‘Abbasid period there is record of Christians not only serving in the army, but in charge of various aspects of the state war department. A Christian was in charge of the administration of the army under al-M u‘tamid (256/8 70-27 9/892 ), al-M u‘tadid (279/892-289/902) and al-Muqtadir. 113 These reports are extrem ely curious considering they come after al-Mutawa kkil’s reign, and his edict calling for the removal of all Christians from state positions. The last category in which Christians were found to hold positions of authority strikes directly at the heart of this work, Christian governors or viziers. This is an issue which resurfaced in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and is certainly vital for discussing the Mu slim perspective of the Lebanese Presidency. The presence of Christians in direct authority over Muslims is not even a consideration recognized in fully developed classical law, and an anathema to the later jurists. Yet, the historical record is clear. Christians did serve in positions over Muslims. The early Islam ic state provided opportunities for Christians to have political authority and power over Muslims. Sometim es this was because Christians were able to

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buy their way into certain positions.114 In most cases the educational ability of Christians made it beneficial for their service to be accepted. Egypt proved to be one area in which Christians served as governors quite regular ly. A Christian source, John of Nikos, claims that at the time of the conquest in Egypt several Christian governors were kept in their positions of authority. John also notes that ‘Amr ibn al-’Asi replaced one of these governors with another Christian, a John of Damietta.115 Caliph Yaz id employed a certain Theodosius as governor of Alexandria, while Caliph Marwan (64/685-65/687) appointed Athanasius to head the offices in Alexandria. During the reigns of ‘Abd al-M alik and Walid, the end of the first/seventh century, the Prefect of Alexa ndria was a Christian.116 Lastly, under the ‘Abbasid caliph al-Mu‘tasim, a Christian by the name of Saymuyah held “the position of a modern secretary of state.” 117 The vizier of ‘Adud ad-D awla in Baghdad was a Christian. 118 If we would continue to sift through historical records going beyond Mutawa kkil ’s edict of 236/850 prohibiting dhimm¥s from serving in the government, we would find even more examples which contradict classical views preventing their service. Christians played important roles within the governments of both the ‘Ayyubid and Fatimid periods.119 Armenian princes in the Caucasus maintained positions as viziers from the Umayyad period through the Middle Ages, and Ibn Altir notes the power of a certain Bahram and his brother, Yasak, who was appointed governor of Qus. 120 At the end of the seventh/thirteenth century as the ‘Ayyubid empire was crumbling, the harsher measu res inflicted upon the dhimm¥s seem to reflect anxiety regarding international incidents. With Western Christian Crusader states chipping away at the western fringes of the Empire and the Mongol invasion striking directly at the heart of the empire, there was a driving need to adhere to classical Law for security. 121 Political instability translated once again into distrust of the local Christians. There was certainly pressure to remove Christians from offices during the Crusades. In Lebanon, especially, the Mar onites were held to be responsible for the actions of the Crusaders. This issue of viewing minority Christian comm unities in the Middle East as a “fifth column” is still very apparent today, especially for Protestant Christians who have direct ecclesiastical and cultural links to European countries and the United States. Of course, the opposite is true as well. Minority Mu slim comm unities in the West have suffered from a similar “fifth column” concern in response to terrorism, especially after the events of September 11th. Throughout the history of Islam within the Middle East however, a secure and expanding Mu slim empire meant relative security for dhimm¥s and the use of their services for the benefit of the state, while a threatened or static Mu slim

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empire meant uncertainty and the threat of dismissal from state service based upon legal premises.

CHAPTER 2

The Development of the Classical-Medieval Views of Dhimm¥ Political Rights

In the eighth/fourteenth century, the jurist Ibn Naqq ash stated that there was “a universal consensus among the doctors of the law” that dhimm¥s were forbidden from government service. 1 Em ile Tyan has also stated that there was general agreement among the medieval jurists that there is “no note of discord, no contradiction of opinion, and no controversy” on this issue. 2 Although a general agreement may be found a m ong the jurists regarding dhimm¥ political rights during the medieval period, different opinions on this issue are certainly noticeable among the scholars. Furthermore, any consensus of legal views was not carried out with any great consistency within the state administration. This is not unusual however. Tyan has noted that in matters of addressing non- shar¥‘a based courts (i.e., the maz. Œlim courts) the classical jurists are almost completely silent. Historical records are clear about the “secular” courts which were in operation alongside of the shar¥‘a courts. Yet, it is not until alMuw ardi’s al-Ah. kŒm al-sult. Œniyya in the fifth/eleventh century that such courts were recognized by the jurists. 3 Thus, the silence of the jurists regarding any historical record is not the end of the matter. Their silence must be balanced with the general historical record. The focus of this chapter will be on the development of Islam ic socialpolitical thought regarding Christian political rights. It includes a general review of the opinions of scholars from the classical and medieval periods regarding these political rights. Those opinions will then be compared to the general historical record of the status of Christian political rights under Islam ic rule up until 236/850.

al-Awza‘i (d. 85/703) Al-Awza‘i was a jurist from Baalbeck in contemporary Lebanon. He spent most of his career working in Damascus under the Umayyad Caliph ‘Umar II. Gamal Manna‘ ’Ali Solaiman claims that this jurist was considered one of the “leading figures of the second century.” 4 During the end of the Umayyad rule, al-Awza‘i was at the centre of Dam ascene politics.

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However, following Caliph Hisham’s reign and a quick succession of four Caliphs, control of the Islam ic empire shifted from Damascus to Baghdad under the ‘Abbasids. It was at this point that al-Awza‘i retired to a quiet life away from politics and high society by moving to the small fishing village of Beirut. Al-Awza‘i’s Maliki school of thought, although popular at one time, diminis hed after the ‘Abbasid revolution. There are several reasons for this. First, because al-Awza‘i had been close to the power structure of Damascus he would naturally have been repudiated by the new regime in Baghdad. Second, the ‘Abbasids began an extensive program of codifying shar¥‘a. Through this process they adopted Abu Hanifa’s school of jurisprudence. 5 This meant that al-Awza‘i’s school lost a great deal of prestige among the inner circles of power. Last, al-Awza‘i’s library, including his original material, was lost in a fire in Beirut. 6 These three factors meant that by the fourth/tenth century his school was not a major factor among the major schools of jurisprudence. Many of his judicial opinions are located in al-Tabari’s IkhilŒf al-fuqahŒ’ and Ibn Hazm’s al-Mah. alla. However, he deals with the issue of dhimm¥s in his Siyar , under the discussion of war. He was writing at a time when the realities of territorial expansion of the Islam ic state needed to be categorized according to Islamic law. Al-Awza‘i was responding to the issues of the expanding Islamic empire and its confrontation with the Byzantine Empire, of the frontier land between dar al-IsŒm and dar al-h. arb. As related in Chapter One, the indigenous systems of administration were kept intact by the Umayyads. Solaiman even argues that there are hints of Byzantine law in some of al-Awza‘i rulings, which would strong ly support the reception and use of local and traditional administration in the newly acquired territories.7 A prominent theme in al-Awza‘i’s thought is the categorization of Arab versus non-Arab. Al-Awzai‘i often made rulings which claimed privileges for Arab dhimmis over non-Arab M uslims. 8 As the early Umayyad state struggled to define its identity over against the non-Arab conquered peoples, al-Awza‘i argued that it was even possible for Arab polytheists to be granted a dhimm¥ contract.9 His thinking was based upon a belief that Arab identity was the basis of Islam ic law and culture. Therefore, according to al-Awza‘i it was better to be Arab and a non-M uslim than to be a non-Arab Muslim. Traditionally, according to orthodox understanding however, Arab polytheists were to become Muslim, be killed or forced to flee from the peninsula. Given that the vast majority of dhimm¥s during his time were Arabs, this would explain al-Awza‘i’s acknowledging several Hadith that gave

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political rights to the dhimm¥s . Citing these Hadith, al-Awza‘i argued that the Arab dhimm¥s were to be granted the same rights and privileges as the Arab Muslims. They were even “entitled to all public offices except becoming Caliphs, imams, and army commanders.” 10 In a letter to Salih ibn ‘Ali, the governor of Syria, at the occasion of his putting down a revolt in Mount Lebanon and for harsh punishment of the Christian comm unity, al-Awza‘i wrote: Let it be clear that no bearer of burdens shall be made to bear another’s burden. 11

In other words, al-Awza‘i was warning the governor not to exact collective punishment upon the dhimm¥ comm unity. This was in direct contradiction to the later received tradition of the “Covenant of Umar” in al-Turtushi and Qalqishandi that held the whole commu nity and its leaders responsible for the actions of its individual members. 12 Throughout al-Awza‘i’s works, it is clear that Arab Christians living in the Islam ic state should be granted specific rights and responsibilities based upon an agreement or contract. are entitled to perform their religio u s rites, and repair their churches and synagogues, all according to the points of agreement in the 13 d h im m a pledge or covenant. D h im m ¥s

He does not provide for us a listing of the agreements in the “ dhimma pledge” which leads us again to believe that the pledge was based upon an individual agreement made between the Mu slim leader and the Christian comm unity. His opinions, although at odds with the “Covenant of ‘Umar,” are in agreement with the Treaty of Damascus recorded by al-Baladhuri. In the name of Allah, the compassionate, the me rcifu l. This is what Khalid wou ld grant to the inhabitants of Damascus, if he ente rs therein: he promises to give them security for their lives, property and churches. The ir city wall shall not be demolished; neither shall any Moslem be quartered in their houses. The re unto we give to them the pact of Allah and the protection of his Prophet, the caliphs and the ‘Believers.’ So long as they pay the poll-tax, nothing but good shall befall them.” 14

W e might, then, consider al-Awza‘i and al-Baladhuri part of an early accepted tradition on the position of Christians under Islam ic rule which consented to allow Christians to serve the state, providing that they gave some form of pledge of allegiance.

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Abu-Yusuf (d. 182/798) Abu Yusuf served as the qad. ¥ al-qud. Œt [chief judge] under Caliph al-Harun (d. 193/809) in Baghdad. He was commissioned by the Caliph to develop a system atic state tax policy that was in agreement with “pure religio us concepts.”15 In his monumental work, KitŒb al-KharŒj, he dealt with the political rights of dhimm¥s only in so far as they related to the tax system. Abu Yusuf set out to clearly define the place of non-Muslims within the state tax system. He emphasized that the jizya was a non-M uslim tax. Earlier records had confused jizya with the kharŒj [land tax] and forced the mawŒli (that is non-Arab Muslims) to pay it. 16 In order to more clearly distinguish the Arab dhimm¥s from Arab Muslims he encourag ed Caliph alRashid to strictly enforce the clothing restrictions set forth in the “Covenant of ‘Umar.” We see here an opposing perspective from alAwza‘i. By the end of the second/eighth century there is an attempt to put the theological concept of the umma into legal practice, by providing distinctive rights to believers. Even though Abu Yusuf set out to establish the boundar ies for dhimm¥s within the state he said nothing about their ability to serve the state in public positions. Although it cannot be stated for certain, one can assume that he would have forbidden their service in the government based upon their place in the tax structu re. How could a dhimm¥ , required to pay a tax which represented a “collective punitive tribute” to the state, 17 be allowed to have a position of authority when that tax is to be paid with “humility?” The jizya based upon 9:29, called for some form of public humiliation. Since Abu Yusuf intended that Christians strictly adhere to this tax of submission, as well as maintain the clothing distinction, it would certainly follow that positions of authority and power in the government would not be commensurate with their proper status in society. That being said, however, he went on to include several Hadith on appropriate and positive treatment of dhimm¥s . He rehearsed several sayings of Muhamm ad that warned Muslims against oppressing those under Mu slim protection.18 Thus, one is left with the impression that as long as the dhimm¥s upheld their part of the “Covenant” and paid their taxes, they should be left alone. Without any other reference to the economic, political or social rights of the dhimm¥s , it seems that Abu Yusuf did not have much to say regarding the existing authority that Christians held within the court and the state at the time. There is no corrective measu re, only the encouragement to make sure that dhimm¥s were clearly distinguished from the Muslims.

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Al-Jahiz (d. 255/869) Abu ‘Uthman ‘Amr ibn Bahr al-Jahiz was a prolific writer and thorou ghly respected scholar of his day. Like Abu Yusu f, al-Ja hiz wrote at the bequest of his Caliph. This time it was al-M utawakkil. The Caliph comm issioned al-Jahiz to address his concern about non-Arab Muslims serving in the administration. He had in mind the h u miliation of the dhimm¥s and their removal from public office. This was part of his overall agenda to restore a central authority and an orthodox legal view from among the numerous schools flourishing at the time (i.e., the Mu’taz ilites, the Shi‘a, etc.). Unlike al-Awza‘i who often ruled in favour of non-M uslim Arabs over non-Arab Muslims, al-Jahiz pursu ed a line that not only underm ined the position of non-Muslims, but even those whom he considered to be non-Orthodox Muslims. Al-Jahiz supported a policy of removing foreign officials, including a number of influential Turkish lords and Arab Christians, and replacing them with ‘Abbasid royal family members or other Arab Muslims. 19 Al-Jahiz’s Radd ‘ala al-Nas. ara was a response to the preponderance of Christians holding prominent positions within Mu slim society. His work is an important document historically because it revea ls the status of some Christians in Islam ic society by the middle of the third/ninth century. AlJahiz does not deny the influence or power that Christians wielded at the time. He wrote: Another cause for the admiration accorded by the masses to the Christians is the fact that they are sec retaries and servants to kings, physicians to nobles, perfumers, and money changers. . . . And we . . . do not deny that the Christians are rich, and that they wield the sceptre, that their appearance is clean er, and their professions more refined. As for the manifestations of the high social rank of the Christians, w e know that they ride highly bred horses, and drom edary camels, play polo. . . . Wear fashionable silk garments, and have attendants to serve them.20

Al-Jahiz’s brief statement helps us to clearly recognize that Christians still maintained positions of authority and power in the state even after the rise of the ‘Abbasids. 21 Within his work al–Ja hiz reveals the “jealousy” that began to arise among the educated Muslims who felt “shut-out” of jobs held by the Christians.22 Consequently, he goes to great lengths to discredit the Christians in all of their activities. He points out that

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Christians could not be trusted. Their beliefs led to the “seduction of our youth and unintelligent.” 23 Even if they outw ardly converted to Islam they were still “hypocrites at heart.” 24 Al-Jahiz is steeped in a long tradition that perceives religious minorities as a fifth column within society. Because their ultimate allegiance lay elsewhere, outside the foundations of the Islam ic state, they were suspect. Radd ‘ala al-Nas. ara provided al-M utawakkil with enough scholarly fuel to purge ‘Abbasid society of Christian influence. It is important to point out, however, that al-M utawakkil appealed to contemporary lawyers to write tracts supporting his stance against minority commu nities. In other words, the Caliph had a program in mind before al-Jahiz began his “response.” As J. Finkel notes, al-Jahiz’s reputation would ensure alMutawakkil’s design. 25 This was not just a legal treatise from pure theological reflection, this was a piece of propaganda which supported al–Mutaw akkil’s overall political program of centralizing and shoring up the political structu re. If, at this time, the “Covenant of ‘Umar” had been an authoritative text from the end of the first/seventh century, as the later medieval scholars assumed, he simply could have used that text alone for justification in removing all Christians from public office in 236/850. But this was not the case. Instead, al-M utawakkil went to great expense to develop an Islam ic justification for prohibiting non-Arab Muslims from holding important positions of authority and power. However, as official treatises on the organization of the Islam ic state appeared throughout the third/ninth century, provisions were made for dhimm¥s to hold specific posts. This was done out of necessity. Regardless of the legal formulations being developed, Christians remained at their posts. We do not see the explicit mention of the “Covenant of ‘Umar” as an authoritative source here. Shafi‘i, writing his KitŒb al-Umm , some thirty years earlier than al-Jahiz, does provide an account of the “Covenant” for us. So, the “Covenant” was in some kind of form. If, however, we can assume that the “Covenant” was a prevalent document of the time, alMu taww akil would have invoked its authority. Since he does not, we can surmise that the final form of the “Covenant” was not universally accepted or enforced. It would take at least two hundred more years for the provisions of the “Covenant” to be generally recognized as binding upon the dhimm¥s and to become an accepted part of the ordering of Islam ic society. As we have seen through the early treaties, the Christian commu nity’s ability to participate in the military activities of the Muslims varied. At Khaybar and Tabuk, as well as within the “Constitution of Medina,” nonMuslims were allowed to fight along with the Muslims. In the Treaty of

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Najran they were forbidden. These disparities continued with the classical jurists as well. According to Malik and Hanbal, non-Muslims were not allowed to serve in the military. Malik, however, did offer a condition for their participation; that non-Muslims may be used to support military campaigns but could not actively fight.26 These two jurists held that nonMuslims pay the jizya in lieu of m ilitary service. Their argum ent would become the accepted view for the reason of payment of the jizya up through the modern period. Abu Hanifa, on the contrary, argued that there is nothing to prohibit non-Muslims from fighting on the side of Muslims. Al-Shafi‘i agreed but also offered another condition; that there must be a real need for the use of non-Muslims, and that they can only be used against non-Muslim enemies. 27 Abu Hanifa’s opinion was the beginning of a line of reasoning that would ultim ately use the doctrine of mas. lah. a [public interest] which was utilized by al-Ghazali’s time. In other words, we see a trend in accepting the presence of dhimm¥s in the military, contrary to the “Covenant of ‘Umar,” based on the principle of the general welfare, or “interest” of the Islam ic state. This is extrem ely important because such an argum ent will extend into other areas of traditional restrictions for dhimm¥s , namely their presence in the administration of the government. By the third/ninth century we see a change in the approach to dhimm¥ political rights, not so much in the appeal to the “Covenant of ‘Umar,” but in an appeal to previous Islam ic scholars. By the end of the third/ninth century the foundations for us. ul al-fiqh had been laid. With the close of the fourth/tenth century classical Islam ic Law was fully developed. The tools were available for jurists to address the issue of Christians serving in the government by citing previous scholars who had offered opinions on the same matter. In the seventh/thirteenth century Ghazi ibn al-Wasiti wrote the following summary of the medieval position on dhimm¥s in the government. Imam Ahmad ibn Hanbal said: “No help must be accepted from either Jews or Christians in any of the official acts of the Muslims, e.g., the polltax [ ji z y a ].” In like manner Abu Hanifah, al-Shafi‘i and other legal authorities hold that it is not lawful to appoint one of them to a position of influence in any province or to any station of trust; for unbelief is inconsistent with authority and with trust. The injunction of Allah: “Do not ask help of an idolate r” includes asking them for help in defe nce, employing them as governors, as clerks, and the like. . . . For this reason the legal authorities are agreed that it is im possib le to put them in governing positions or in stations of power or in places of weight in a cou ncil. 28

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The combination of Qu r’anic verses, Hadith and juristic reasoning by previous legal scholars led to these opinions. In addition to the citations from the Qur’an inferred above (3:28; 118) several Traditions of the Caliph ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab were used. Based upon these precedents, later jurists followed the example and the general rule demonstrated by the classical texts that it was inappropriate for dhimm¥s to hold positions of authority and power within the state.

Al-Mawardi (d. 450/1058) Al-Mawardi, the qad. ¥ al-qud. Œt under the weak ‘Abbasid caliph al-Q a’im (422/1 031-4 67/10 74), produced the first major popular Mu slim work on the ordering of the Islam ic state. Al-Ah. kŒm al-sultŒniyya was a legal manual for the organization of the state underlining the powers and authority of the Caliph and his functionaries. The work was in many ways a corrective measu re, meant to bolster the weakened central power of Baghdad. It was at this time that the Shi‘a Buwayhids had taken control of the eastern empire and ruled from behind the veil of authority of the ‘Abbasid Caliph. It was also at this time that the Shi‘a Fatimids were ruling comfortably in Egypt. Thus, al-Mawardi spent a great deal of his energy addressing the authority of the Sunni Caliphate in an attempt to provide legitimacy to the weakened ‘Abbasid Caliph. The manual is primarily an intra-Mu slim conversation. In several places, however, he made very important statements about the place of Christians in the service of the government. Contrary to the accepted precepts of the “Covenant of ‘Umar” al-Mawardi distinguished between those restrictions on the dhimm¥s that are necessary and those that are commendable. Those restrictions which were only comm endable to enforce included: 1. the wearing of distinctive clothing, 2. the prohibition of building edifices higher than those of Muslims, 3. the prohibition of the ringing of the naqqus or bells, 4. the prohibition of displaying crosses or drinking wine in public, 5. the prohibition of public mourning, and 6. the prohibition of riding horses in public. 29 Not only does al-Mawardi go against conventionally accepted norms regarding the restrictions of dhimm¥s , he also for the first time in Islam ic records legally allows Christians to serve in various posts of the

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government. In his organization of the state he fashions a distinction between two kinds of personnel, those who had general responsibilities and those who had specific tasks. For example, the “vizier of delegation” [ waz¥r tafw¥d. ] was a position given general authority by the Caliph. He stood in the place of the Caliph to make decisions that affected the policy of the state. 30 Likewise, the appointed military governor, or “ am¥r of ability” [ imŒrŒt al-istikfŒ’ ] was also given general responsibilities for the running of a particular province or country. Not only did he stand as the military and political adjutant to the caliph, but he also acted as the religious head by leading the Friday prayers. 31 Because of the nature of their open ended responsibilities, al-M awardi forbade any non-M uslim from serving within these positions. On the contrary, a “vizier of execution” [ waz¥r tanf¥d ] and an “ am¥r of conquest” [ imŒrŒt al-istilŒ’ ] were posts that had specific responsibilities and thus could be assum ed by nonMuslims. The “vizier of execution” specifically had powers and authority that were limited and he was not able to make independent judgments. 32 Unlike the “ am¥r of ability,” the “ am¥r of conquest” was a military governor who arrived at his station through extraordinary means. He was the conquering ruler of a particular area who was confirmed in his status by the caliph. He was not appointed as other am¥rs but arrived at his position through violent means. Through an arrangement with the Caliph, the am¥r was recognized as the governor with full backing of the Caliphate, providing the am¥r gave his support to that Caliphate. 33 This situation reflected the position of the Shi‘a Buwayhids or Saljuks who had control of various areas of the empire. Mawardi’s thinking was an attempt to legally recognize non-‘A bbasid military leaders under the wing of a weak Caliphate, rather than to address non-Muslims within the empire. Once again, we see the purpose of al-Mawardi’s legal treatise to serve as a political document. It attempted to strengthen a weak ‘Abbasid Caliphate while confirming existing practices under a legal framework. AlAh. kŒm al-sult. Œniyya was very important in dealing with the place of Christians within the state because in some cases it provided formal recognition of Christians serving within the state administration. They could legally serve in various functions provided they had specific duties and responsibilities which made it clear that they were carrying out the instructions of a Mu slim superior. As we have already reviewed above, we know from several historical sources that Christian viziers were present even after the third/ninth century, that is even after they were formally prohibited from legally serving in such positions. We even have record of a Christian governor of Hadra appointed by a Buwayhid vizier during al-Mawardi’s own time. 34

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Thus, it seems as if al-Mawardi attempted to provide a legal framework in various cases for those non-Sunni Muslims and dhimm¥s already in positions of authority.

Ghazi ibn al-Wasiti (ca. 1292) Like al-Jahiz, some four hundred years before him, Ghazi ibn al-Wasiti was intent on purging Christian functionaries from the Islam ic state. Al-Radd ‘ala ahl al-dhimma, written by al-Wasiti is a general treatise which does not follow a legal or theological argum ent but merely relates tradition after tradition on the impropriety of dhimm¥s holding positions of authority. Stephen Hum phries calls al-Radd a “quasi-historical tract of an obscure and disgruntled official of early M amluk times” which is a “polemic directed against non-M uslim officials because of their alleged disloyalty, tyranny, etc.” 35 His purpose was to show that dhimm¥s had become too powerful within the state and that this “angers Allah or his Prophet.” The Christians remained free to do as they pleased in the various countries, among the various tribes and in government positions-mas ters over the persons of the Moslems, over their property and over their situations.36

Written in the seventh/thirteenth century, al-Wasiti argues that rulers have been fallacious by placing authority into the hands of non-Muslims and that the Christians have lived too “freely.” Al-Wasiti asserts that not only has God forbidden Christian’s from having political authority but that the Christian presence in the state is a security risk. Referring to two specific traditions, al-Wasiti relates occasions in which the Christians were reported to be spies; for the Byzantines and for the Mongols (Tatars) during his own century. 37 His work reflects the literature of the time. The two hundred year period from the fifth/eleventh to the seventh/thirteenth centuries was a time when Mu slims saw their land taken by the Franks in the West and the Mongols in the East. Not only was Jerusalem captured by the Crusaders in 1099, but Baghdad was sacked by the Mongols in 1258. For the first time in Islam ic history, not only were border lands in danger from non-M uslim threats, but the very heart of the empire itself. It was at this time, during the Mamluk period, in Egypt, that dhimm¥s suffered from a great deal of insecurity. It is within this context that the “tide of

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polemical literature against Christians and Christianity rose to its highest.” 38 Scholars began consistently arguing for the enforcement of the restrictions put upon dhimm¥s within the “Covenant of ‘Umar.” Ibn al-Q ayyim al-Jawziyya (d. 751/1 356), writing some fifty years after al-W asiti, would argue for the strict implementaiton of the “humiliating” measu res of ‘Umar. 39 It is clear that by the seventh/thirteenth century explicit mention of the category of al-dhimma based upon the tradition of ‘Umar is made. Al-Wasiti based his work on suras 5:57; 60:1; and 9:29, 40 and the traditions of ‘Umar, as well as previous jurists. Citing Malik ibn Anas he stated: Verily, Malik writes in his K it a b a l- M ud a w w a n a h al-Kubra , that the Commander of the Faithful, ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab said: ‘There must not be chosen either from among the Jews or the Christians, divine rs or moneybrokers; they must be removed from our market-places; Allah has made them unne ces sary [ a g h n a h ] for the Moslems .’ 41

In addition to Malik, al-Wasiti cites Ibn Hanbal, Abu Hanifa and al-Shafi‘i. It is worth citing al-Wasiti at length here. For this reason the Imam Ahmad ibn Hanbal said: “No help must be accepted from either Jews or Christians in any of the official acts of the Muslims, e.g. the poll-tax [ ji z y a ].” In the like manner Abu Hanifah, alShafi‘i and other legal authorities hold that it is not lawful to appoint one of them to a position of influence in any province or to any station of trust; for unbelief is inconsistent with authority and with trust. The injunction of Allah: “Do not ask help of an idolate r” includes asking them for help in defence, employing them as governors, as clerks, and the life. The general term used must be applied in all cases and cannot be confined to a special case. In saying this he strengthens his position by two cons iderations. The one is that he gives their idolatry as a reason for withholding the appeal for help; and this reason applies equ ally to all such appeals. The second is that since he has not asked help from them in military matters, in which there is neither official appointment, nor raising him to a position of trust, nor elevating in rank–when it comes to positions of authority and of dignity, it is even less meet and proper. For this reason the legal auth oritie s are agreed that it is impo ssible to put them in governing positions or in stations of power or in places of weight in a cou ncil . . . 42

As the Islam ic Empire was under pressure from both the East and the West, scholars like al-Wasiti collated vast material from tradition not only to demonstrate that non-Muslims should not be put into positions

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of authority but that precisely because they were non-Muslims the were morally and spiritu ally inferior.

Ibn Taym iyya (d. 728/1328) Ibn Taymiyya, the prolific writer and controversial Hanbali qad. ¥ of the medieval period spent his professional life speaking out against Islam ic heresies and innovations. He clearly was against Christians being appointed to any state position, including that of secretaries.43 Although general legal rulings at the time were predisposed against Christians serving, not only in positions of authority but any position in state service, the Christians were retained because of their ability and experience in running the administration. Because of this, Ibn Taymiyya argued against the developed doctrine of mas. lah. a , or “public interest,” that was often used to justify maintaining Christians in their posts. This notion of mas. lah. a , although attributed to al-Shafi‘i, was not a common legal term until the sixth/twelfth century where it is used by al-G hazali. 44 Ibn Taymiyya argues in his Mas’alŒt al-Kana’is that “it is better for Muslims to make use of a Mu slim with fewer capabilities than a Christian with more.” 45 A common Tradition from ‘Umar illustrates this problem very well. A complaint was raised to ‘Umar that a Jewis h tax collector was causing hardship in four districts in Iraq. ‘Umar ordered the Jewish tax collector replaced with a Mu slim one. Sa‘d ibn Abi Waqqash, the governor, however, could not find anyone as capable as the Jew and retained him in his position. When ‘Umar heard this he was extremely angry and wrote, “The Jew is dead!” Sa‘d imm ediately remov ed him from office. 46 It is important to point out that Ibn Taymiyya’s rulings on the issue of Christians in positions of authority must be seen in relation to his context and his other works. Born into the ensuing chaos of the approaching Mongols, his whole life was spent within an empire that was besieged from within and without. A weak Caliphate and several Mu slim states (i.e., the ‘Abbasid, Fatimid and Spanish Umayyad) resulted in questions about central Islam ic authority and political doctrine. Ibn Taymiyya spent his life writing tracts against what he considered to be non-traditional views and philosophies: Shi‘ism, Sufism, kalŒm, etc. These heterodox movements are enemies of the Sunni Islam ic state, he argued. Ibn Taymiyya asserted that Christians have conspired with the Isma‘ilis, Nusayris, and the Druze in helping the Mongols to subvert Islam ic authority. 47 He even claimed to have written a fatwa on this issue although we do not have record of this.48 Thus, Ibn Taymiyya falls back on the common argum ent that Christians

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

pose a “security risk” not only to the state but to the orthodoxy of Islam itself! This was an idea, as we have stated above, that surfaced during the initial Conquest where Arab Christians were feared to be providing the Byzantines with information.

Al-Naqqash (d. 763/1362) Ibn al-Naqqash’s treatise on the dhimm¥s entitled, “Opinions concerning the condition of dhimm¥s and particularly Christians in Muslim countries,” written during the height of the Mamluk period, provides for us a full blown legal treatise on the political rights in question. Al-Naq qash’s fatwa made it clear that Christians were not allowed to serve in public offices and were not to hold positions with any authority whatsoever. It is al-Naqqash who stated that there was a “universal consensus” among all legal scholars on this topic. 49 With a fully developed system of Islam ic jurisprudence at his disposal he reviewed Qu r’anic and Hadith material, including many of the Traditions of the authority of ‘Umar. He even examined the historical record of ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-Aziz’s dismissal of dhimm¥s from public service where he included in his text two letters of ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-Aziz to his governors which ordered the removal of all Christian public servants. 50 In one letter there is a specific response concerning a Christian, Hasan ibn Yazid, who was working in the administration of one of the provinces of the state. ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-Aziz appealed to sura 3:28 and ordered that Hasan ibn Yaz id be giv en the opportunity for he and his family to embrace Islam. If he did, he could remain in his post. If he refused, he was to be let go. According to the source, Hasan converted and remained at his post. 51 In his fatwa, al-Naqqash argued that there were two basic reasons why dhimm¥s were forbidden from state service. First, dhimm¥s were morally defective and should not be allowed to affect the general welfare of the state. 52 The foundation for the Islam ic state and the Mu slim community is the shar¥‘a. The shar¥‘a encapsulates the whole of the organizational structure and activ ity of the government. Therefore, dispensing state justice, at whatever level, is a matter of following God’s law as clearly defined in Islam ic sources. Only those who have submitted themselves to that law can do so. Christians, who have refused to acknowledge the superiority of Islam, are incapable of dispensing that justice. Because they have refused to submit to God’s all-encompassing law they are morally inept. Second, because they have not accepted the law of the state, they certainly cannot be trusted with protecting the state against enemie s.

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Al-Naq qash appealed to the rumours that Christians had been sympathetic to the Byzantine emperor at the time of ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-Aziz, and they were therefore suspect. The implication is that under the contemporary conditions of the Mamluk period, Christians were again suspect and therefore not suitable for serving in the government. 53

Al-Asnawi (d. 772/1370) Al-Asnawi’s al-KalimŒt al-muhimma f¥ mubŒsharŒt ahl al-dhimma follows all of the major themes of the Mamluk period in speaking about the political rights of dhimm¥s . 54 Al-Asnawi made a public statement that Christians had too much power. This was contrary to the will of God. Strang ely enough, no country, either in the East or West, will recognize the appointment of dhimm ¥ s in the managem ent of the affairs of Muslims, Egypt being the only exception. By God, how strange! What is wrong with this country, of all M uslim lands?. . . Now the employme nt of unbe lieve rs brings great evils and appalling conditions, such as one wou ld not wish for his enemy, much less shou ld Musl im s wis h them to come upon the community of Muhammad. 55

Like his contemporaries, al-Asnawi argued that Christians could not be trusted because they take advantage of their positions, especially those within the treasury. They have been known, according to al-Asnawi, to embezzle funds from the treasury. Their authority within the tax system puts them in positions that are not worthy of their presence. Employing them in financial affairs means for the Christians raising their status, imposing them upon Muslims, upholding them so that they despise the Muslims, and turn the Muslims into servants. . . . 56

Thus, the fatwa , like many decrees before it, stated that it was illegal to employ Christians in the state because they were not trustworthy. M. Perlmann has noted that in his fatwa al-Asnawi is reacting to an incident in 113/740 where several monks met with Byzantine officials in a plot to blow up various mosques. The plot was discovered and the two monks were executed. 57 Using a historical precedent then, al-Asnawi provides proof of how Christians cannot be trusted to hold positions of power and authority within the state.

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

Qalqashandi (d. 821/1418) By the ninth/fifteenth century there was clearly a developed category of al-dhimma which included adherence to some form of the “Covenant.” Qalqashandi, in his Subh. al-a‘sha f¥ sina‘Œt al-inshŒ made explicit reference to the “Covenant.” In a section of the work addressing the issue of the Greek Orthodox Patriarch he stated: Let him . . . be careful not to allow the Christians in their churches to bang the wooden clappe rs [naqqus] nor to raise their voices in a loud clam our, and espe cially not at the times of the summ ons of the Mu slim worship. Furthermore, let him enjoin all the Christians to adhe re firmly to the distinctive dress regulations and to the stipulations of ‘Um ar’s covenant.58

In this work, Qalqashandi referred to the Patriarch as an official who received “a letter of appointment and a commend ation” by the Sultan. And, as the representative of the Christian millah , he was responsible for its adherence to the “Covenant.” 59 Qalqashandi, like his contemporaries, also listed several Hadith of ‘Umar to support the doctrine. He simply reiterated the traditional stance regarding non-Muslims under Islam ic rule. In addition, Qalqashandi, like al-Asnawi and al-Naqqash, argued that the administration of the state was a matter of adhering to the Islamic faith. It was dangerous to have a non-M uslim handling governm ent material. Thus, Christians must be forbidden from being appointed as scribes. Because the scribe was such an important part of the system, he must be have the complete confidence of the government. Because they were not Muslims, therefore Christians could not be trusted in such positions.60 By the ninth/fifteenth century, the fractured Mu slim world was facing new threats. European traders, notably from the Italian city states, managed to secure vital links along the Eastern Mediterranean. As the traders made inroads into Mu slim territories they used local Eastern Christians as mediators. The European states were interested in protecting their interlocutors not only because of their faith, but because it ensured stability in their business ventures. The grow ing trade led to treaties between Mu slim rulers and the European city states and nations which included the formal religious protection of Christian minority comm unities in the Levant. This led to a growing resentment by the Mu slim population against the Eastern Christian comm unities who were seen as benefiting from the foreign Christian presence. In addition, the

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loss of Mu slim territory to the Christian reconquista in Spain and the treatment of Muslims under the Latins roused the anger of the Eastern Mu slim states. They took this anger out upon the Christian elements under their protection. Distrust of Christian functionaries then became a direct result of the war and massacres undertaken by the Christian states among the Moors in the West. Qalqashandi related the story of a Mu slim ambassador from the Mag hreb travelling in the east who, taking note of the Christians working within the state remarked, “How can Muslims win a war if at home they have in their midst the infidels at the head of the state?” 61 Thus, according to Qalqashandi, Christians were forbidden from service in the state. If they wished to be retained in their services, they and their whole family needed to convert. This was consistent with al–Naqq ash’s ruling less than a century earlier.

Dismissal of Christians from Government Service Now that we have reviewed the legal positions of several jurists and the context of the situations to which they were responding, let us now see how such views actually impacted the lives of dhimm¥s in positions of authority. The opinions issued by legal scholars as Islam ic law were not necessarily accepted into practice by the political rulers of the Islam ic state, or carried out with any consistency. Throughout the history of the central Caliphate (661-1258) there have been numerous proclamations of dismissing dhimm¥s from service. The reissuing of these decrees only highlights the fact that the “Covenant” with all of its restrictions was not consistently enforced. Usually its enforcement was left to the whim of the ruler of the time. The medieval lawyers are in agreement that the caliphs did not uphold their function as successors to the rashidu- n because they allowed dhimm¥s to remain in government posts. Al-Asnawi states, “We found the Christians in the offices where they have been for generations.”62 The restrictions placed on the dhimm¥s were not normalized until quite late. There was also never a clear understanding before the third/ninth century that dhimm¥s could not hold positions within the government. Rather, their maintenance within the state and the pressure to release them from service was the natural result of a continuing struggle to order the commu nity upon Islam ic precepts in changing international conflicts where threats from non-Muslim nations prompted questions of loyalty. The question was continu ally raised, “If this is a religious state, then what of those who do not adhere to the religion?” Such a question has not evaded those who

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wish to adhere to the principles of an Islam ic state, or an Islam ic order, even today. 63 Hasan Siddiqi sums up well the problem at hand in the modern period. Since the Islam ic state is basically an ideological state, only those persons are to be primarily entrusted with its administration who believe in its ideology, are conversant with its spirit, and have dedicated them selv es to the promotion of the objectives of the state, it is Muslims alone who can be genu inly expected to dedicate themselves fully to running such a state and undergoing all sacrifices that might come in the way of keeping that state a going concern. This does not mean that the Islam ic State taboos the utilization of non-Muslims in the service of the state. T his only means that while availing of the services of non-Muslims, due care shou ld be taken that the Islam ic character of the state is not compromised and the ideological demands are not sacrificed at the altar of so called “tolerance.” This is possible only if the basic policy-making posit ions are held by those who are dee ply and whole-heartedly committed to Islam. 64

In practical terms, Christian dismissal from state service usu ally happened for three basic reasons: 1) The piety of the caliph who wished to adhere to the classical understandings of Islam ic law, 2) anger of the Mu slim populace toward powerful Christians, 3) suspicions of Christian loyalty. Several Caliphs remov ed dhimm¥s from state service in order to reform the government. The first was the ‘Umayyad ruler ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-Aziz. He proved to be the classic case of the pietistic reformer. He claimed that he remov ed Christians throughout his empire and replaced them with Muslims. 65 He wrote to his governors; To proceed, God honoured, exalted and strengthened His people with Islam and put humiliation and shame on their opponents. He made them the best nation that was created for me. We will not give to their subjects authority over any one of them, nor over their revenue; lest they stretch out their hands and tongues against them. . . . 66

In fact, al-Aziz stated that ‘Umar went even as far as dismissing those Christians who were in charge of cleaning out the cisterns and water conduits of Jerusalem.67 Caliph ‘Abd al-M alik was the next ruler to dismiss Christians from the government. His reforms, however, were not Islam ic in nature, but were implemented in order to “Arabize” the state. He ordered that only Ara bic was to be used in government record keeping and that new Ara bic coins be used. This meant that Arab Muslims would now be capable to serve

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in the administration in those positions where Christian were traditionally used because of their language skills in translating Greek or Persian. Fattal has shown, though, that papyrus evidence indicates that most records were still kept in Greek up until 253/857, some one hundred and fifty years later! Thus, the attempt to remove Christian scribes and treasurers did not meet with much success. The ‘Abbasid caliph al-Mutawa kkil’s harsh measu res against the dhimm¥s during the middle of the third/ninth century were recorded by both Mu slim and Christian sources. 68 As we have already noted, the caliph employed al-Jahiz to write a legal tract in support of his repressive measures. In 236/850 he issued the following edict: It has become known to the Commander of the Faithful that men without judgment or discernment are seeking the help of d h im m ¥s in their work, adopting them as confidants in preference to Muslims, and giving them authority over the subjects. . . . Wishing to find favour with God by preventing and forbidding this, he has decided to write to his office rs in the provinces and the cities and to the gove rnors of the frontier towns and districts that they shou ld cease to employ d h im m ¥s in any of their work and affairs or to adopt them as associates in the trust and authority conferred on them by the Commander of the Faithful. . . 69

Al-Mu tawakkil’s edict was also part of a larger movement to impose more orthodox beliefs on the Shi‘a and the Mu’taz ilites. Again and again, the caliphs made such pronouncements. We see this repeated under al-Mansur, al-R ashid and al-M uqtadir during the ‘Abbasid period. The most famous Fatimid exam ple was certainly under al-Hakim during his persecutions in the fifth/eleventh century. Quite often rulers were pressured into pronouncing edicts prohibiting dhimm¥s from public service by angry mobs demanding Christian humility (in adherence to sura 9:29). When Christian public servants displayed their power and authority in public, crowds often took matters into their own hands. The Arab historian Maqrizi recorded an incident where a Christian secretary, dressed in luxurious clothing, was riding by the al-Azhar mosque in Cairo. An angry crowd dragg ed him from his horse and brought him before the Sultan. The leaders of the dhimm¥s were called before the local qad. ¥ and he read to the them “the covenant between the Muslims and the protected,” reminding them of their position. The dhimm¥ leaders “prom ised not to take service in the offices of the government or of the emirs,” even if they converted to Islam in order to keep their jobs.70 Sometim es Mu slim anger boiled over into riots where churches and monasteries were burned and Christians killed. Quite often these

62

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

uprisings would occur during times of econom ic hardship or political instability. In these times dhimm¥ restrictions were enforced in order to collect unpaid taxes due to the state through payment of the jizya. 71 From the Conquest under the rashidu- n through the abolishment of the Caliphate under the Turks in 1924, Christians under Mu slim rule were often suspected of disloyalty to the Islam ic state. Christians were accused of supplying information to the Byzantines, Sassanids, Franks, Mongols and Europeans. In some cases they were guilty. Quite often, however, the activities of foreign Christians caused problems for the indigenous Eastern Christians. Religious ties to Christian states in the West kept many Christians under constant suspicion. Many of the caliphs were forced to address issues of national security in dealing with the dhimm¥s because of complaints made against the Christian officials by Mu slim citizens or the jurists themselves. Formal complaints are on record during the reigns of al-Mansur, al-M ahdi, al-Ma’mun, al-M utawakkil, al-Muqtadir and others.72 From the very beginning of the formation of the Islam ic state, Christians found themselves in a precarious position. There was usu ally no outright persecution of Christians throughout the state because of their refusal to accept Islam, with the exception of al-Hakim’s rule in Egypt. On the contrary, as we have already noted, because of their status as ahl al-kitŒb , Christians were put into a special category under the rule of the state; dhimm¥ status -- “protected.” (We must not confuse this term and concept with the expectations of modern democratic or republican states where individuals are “protected” citizens of a state.) However, because the state was based upon Islam ic precepts, there would automatically be suspicion of those who did not adhere to such beliefs. If one did not support Islam, how could one be loyal to the Islam ic state? As members of a religious (i.e., non-Muslim) or an ethnic (i.e., non-Arab) minority there would always be a sense of uncertainty regarding their place within Arab Islam ic society. Bat Ye’or’s categorization of the dhimm¥ status as a way to safeguard “the domination of the triumphant Islam ic comm unity” is true. 73 The “privileged position” maintained a clear distinction between Mu slim and non-Muslim. Still, her concept of the “ dhimm¥ syndrome” where the non-Muslims experienced “profound dehumanization” is a monolithic view of twelve centuries of Islam ic history not compatible with much of classical and medieval research, and an unfair assessment of medieval society based upon modern concepts of individual liberty. 74 The contemporary debates about second class citizens or ethnocratic states mak es it easy to use these historical cases as “proof” of the oppressive Islam ic state. We must be careful not to use contemporary issues or terms as models for understanding historical settings. And yet, if political

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Islamists wish to lift up these classical and medieval sources as a blueprint for a future Islam ic state then they must carefu lly evaluate how those sources and their social-political categories will fit, if at all, into the context of modernity. 75 We have shown that from the very beginning of Islam ic history certain Christians maintained their power and authority under the auspices of the Islamic government. Umayyad policy of maintaining dhimm¥s in the service of the state was a result of their own self-perception as Arab Mu slim rulers. The early Umayyads saw themselves as a divinely guided people given the right to rule over other nations. Thus, they were content to allow conquered peoples to subm it to their authority and rule and not adopt a new Arab Mu slim faith. Even the reform movements under ‘Abd al-M alik and ‘Umar ibn Abd al-Aziz could not break the local entrenched systems of administration. Their dismissal of Christians from public functions was short lived and never thorou ghly carried out. 76 The ‘Abbasids certainly had to justify the maintenance of Christians in important positions in the face of developing Islam ic Law. It was clear for them that this issue did not provide easy answers. Because of their ability and experience Christians were often kept as administrators, scribes, tax collectors, even as governors and viziers; and because of the suspicious sentiment described above, those dhimm¥s who served the state would always have uncertain futures. Yet, the experience of the Christian secretaries and financial personnel was too valu able for rulers to be brushed aside by legal doctrine. The dhimm¥s proved to be a vital aspect of the burgeoning ‘Abbasid empire. Their participation in the government was an important part of the flourishing Islam ic society.

CHAPTER 3

Ottoman Practice Regarding Non-Muslim “Citizens” Within Lebanon/Syria

In the previous two chapters we set out to investigate the sources of Islam ic Law that deal with the political rights of dhimm¥s . These textual sources have included the Qur’an, Hadith, historical treaties and classical juristic opinions. They are the foundations from which Islam ic scholars have traditionally made decisions or developed opinions. They are also the sources which contemporary Mu slim scholars and jurists continue to utilize when developing current thought. However, the development of contemporary opinions does not take place in a vacuum. Historical and cultural issues permeate the development of such opinions. We have already seen how the contextual issues of the early Umayyad period provided parameters for the acceptance of Christians in the government, while the Mamluk period affected the growth of negative reactions toward Christians and their ability to serve in the government. Now we must take these sources of Islam ic Law and see how they have been used and interpreted within the historical context of Lebanon. This will be accomplished by looking at two specific periods. In this chapter we will investigate the nineteenth century Ottoman rule of Mount Lebanon where dram atic changes affected the social structure of Lebanese society. In the next chapter we will review the Mandate period of French occupation where social structu res were formally established for an independent Lebanon. 1 It is a primary thesis of this study that the social-political structu res set up by the Ottoman Empire in the mid to late nineteenth century and built upon by the French during the Mandate were the political structu res to which the ulema responded during the most recent civil war. It is argued here that these social conditions were just as important as the textual sources, reviewed in the last chapter, when the conte m porary Lebanese ulema developed their own particular responses to the question of Christian political rights. At the end of the nineteenth century there were four main interconnecting factors which contributed to the establishment of the modern social-political foundations of Lebanon. They were:

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1) the Egyptian invasion and rule over Syria/Lebanon (18321840), 2) the general Tanz. imŒt reforms of the Empire, 3) Western diplom atic interference in the policies of the Empire, and 4) the continual administrative reorganization of Ottoman vilŒyas as administrative units. Each factor listed above has contributed to changes in the social-political landscape of Lebanon. The results of these factors which changed Lebanese society were ultimatel y the underlying political issues being disputed during the most recent civil war. The short Egyptian interregnum in Lebanon developed the standard for confessional representation within the government. The Ottoman Tanz. imŒt reforms legally recognized the ability of Christians to serve in the military. This along with foreign interference brought about the reality of a Christian governor and ultim ately a “Head of State.” Lastly, the Ottoman system of reorganizing administrative units, especially in Lebanon/Syria, created a schizophrenic social-political identity whereupon various confessions placed their ultimate allegiance on different national affiliations depending on what served the best interest of their particular clan or confession. This was the social fabric of pre-civ il war society that fed the war effort as each clan as well as each confession fought for its own gains.

Egyptian Rule, 1832-1840 Ibrahim Pasha, son of Muhamm ad Ali, the Ottoman viceroy of Egypt, invaded Palestine in 1831. Continuing his campaign northward he took control of Lebanon and Syria in 1832. This quick and forceful assumption of power by Egypt was a shock to the Ottoman Empire and the Ottoman Sultan. Unable to effectively respond militarily or diplom atically to Ibrahim Pasha’s incursions, the Ottomans resorted to international pressure and political brinkmanship to remove Egypt from its hold in the Levant. However, this was not before Ibrahim Pasha made deep and lasting social changes to Lebanese/Syrian society. Egyptian rule would introduce changes that would negatively affect the established balance of power among the communal groups in Mount Lebanon and in Syria.2

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

Although Ibrahim Pasha introduced political reforms that would benefit the Christian population and bring about more effective local rule for them, the long term results of his changes produced an imbalance in confessional power throughout the whole of Lebanon. The effect within the district of Mount Lebanon was that the longstanding sovereignty of the Druze commu nity would lose out to Maronite ascendency. Prior to Ibrahim Pasha’s arrival in Lebanon/Syria the local Ottom an administrative provinces were controlled by local chieftains. Clan rulers who managed to gather power and gain control of various areas were confirmed in their positions and granted the title of pasha by the Ottoman Empire (much like al-Mawardi’s imŒrŒt al-istilŒ’ ), providing they forwarded the necessary taxes to Istanbul and accepted the ultimate sovereignty of the Sultan. There was no central control and the Empire governed loosely through these local pashas . In Mount Lebanon the social system was organized along feudal lines, where large landowning families of various confessions vied for power and political authority. By the time Ibrahim Pasha arrived, Bashir al-Shihab II (1788-1840) had managed to carve out a fiefdom which included Mount Lebanon and the Biqa‘ valley. Al-Shihab, a Maronite, became the recognized tax-farm er for the Ottomans. Once Lebanon and Syria fell to the occupation of Egypt, Bash ir quickly became the political puppet of Ibrahim Pasha. This would ultim ately lead to his downfall. Both the Druze and Maronite populations eventually turned on him due to his heavy taxation and conscription requirements. 3 The pre-Egyptian era in Syria was a period in which the Ottoman subjects, both Mu slim and non-Muslim, were at the mercy of the rule of local notables. For the non-Muslims this often meant additional requirements. Roderic Davis has noted that at this ti m e various restrictions listed within the “Covenant of ‘Umar” were strictly enforced. By law they [non-Muslims] had to wear distinctive dress, and pay a polltax [ c i z ye ], and their evidence was invalid in courts. Christians and Jews were denied permits to build or repair places of wors hip and were prohibited from performing ceremonies such as the ringing of church bells and the carrying of crosses in public. In addition they we re not allowed to ride horses in the towns, nor to walk in cert ain places with in them, and we re also exposed to many other indignities.4

This state of affairs was to change with Ibrahim Pasha’s modernizing administrative measures. Immediately after conquering Jerusalem, Ibrahim Pasha gave orders for the local rulers to stop exacting extra taxes from Christians and to perm it their acceptance into government positions,

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their riding horses in public and wearing white turbans, all of which had been outlawed in the “Covenant of ‘Umar.” 5 In an order to the deputygovernor of Latakia, Ibrahim Pasha wrote: Muslims and Christians are all our subjects. The question of religion has no connection with political considerations. [In religious matters] eve ry individual must be left alone: the believer to practise his Islam and the Christian his Christianity. But no one to have authority over the other. . . .6

Religious liberty and public freedom were now granted to non-Muslims as well as the opportunity to help govern the society at large. 7 Colonel Charles Churchill, a British agent assigned to attend to British interests among the Druze stated: Christians we re admitted into the local councils. The ir evidence, before mixed tribun als of Christians and Mussu lman, was valid. All distinction of dress was abolished. As secretaries, as local governors, even as military officers, in all departments of the State their services we re accepted and rewarded.8

In addition, the French scholar Baron de Boiselcomte wrote in 1833: Ibrahim Pasha arrived in Syria and proclaimed eve ryw here the religious liberty and legality of the religions.9

With the coming of Ibrahim Pasha, we see the beginning of a transition in the ordering of Lebanese society from one based upon traditional medieval Islam ic views to a pluralistically oriented society. Certainly we cannot imply that Ibrahim Pasha introduced the concept of the modern pluralistic nation-state. However, his reforms began a process where the confessional expectations were dram atically changed.

The Meclis Ibrahim Pasha introduced new political structu res in Lebanon/Syria that would gradually change the traditional feudal system and the medieval Islam ic order of society. One of these changes was the introduction of the meclis system. The meclis was a comm ittee made up of local notables or merchants, both Mu slim and non-Muslim, which advised the local governor. Although the governor had the final authority in the province, the meclis sat to discuss matters of administration, finance, and local trade,

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and it also served in s om e capacities as a civil court. The council “included government officials, notables, merchants, and other representatives from all the commu nities, Mu slim and non-M uslim alike.” 10 Moshe Ma‘oz has stated, however, that even though the Christians were included in the governance of the province under this new system their presence was greatly disproportionate to their numbers and they “had no equal status.” 11 Non-Muslim leaders were allowed into the meclis but there is no indication that they held any power within the comm ittee. Certainly it would be inaccurate to use the word “equ ality” to define the changes which Ibrahim Pasha introduced. Such a definition would be an erroneous description and would place a modern expectation on the political rights of Ottoman citizens when such ideas did not even exist.12 In any case, these changes were vitally important and would serve as stepping stones for later Ottoman provincial organization. In addition, the inclusion of non-Muslims within the system and the jurisdiction of the meclis to deal with matters of administration and finances meant that the shar¥‘a court and its judges lost much of their traditional power. This change would be an important historical step in the loss of power among the ulema in the nineteenth century. A.L. Tibawi has noted that these administrative reforms, although quite effective in much of Lebanon/Syr ia did not occur in Mount Lebanon, however, because of the iron rule of Bashir al-Shihab.13 Because of Bashir’s effective control, and more importantly, his military support of Egyptian sovereignty, he was given the freedom to govern the Mount as he saw fit. It was only after the fall of Bashir and the establishment of tighter control by the Porte (the Ottoman Foreign Ministry) in 1840 that the meclis became active there. Regardless, the establishment of the meclis system was clearly an important administrative change which would affect the future of the Mountain. It was this system that would set the foundations for future governance. 14 Indirectly, Ibrahim Pasha introduced the concept of conciliar confessional representation. George Antonius, in his work The Arab Awakening , painted an altru istic picture of Ibrahim Pasha and his governance of Lebanon/Syria. He asserted that Muhamm ad Ali and Ibrahim Pasha desired to create an atmosphere of Arab Nationalism based upon the principles of Arab selfdetermination by which to subvert Turkish rule. According to Antonius, Ibrahim Pasha truly believed in establishing a modern state based upon equality and justice. His administrative measu res regarding non-Muslims were part of his underlying ideals of modern society which included the rights of self-determination of all Arabs. 15 According to Antonius,

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Ibrahim Pasha was the ideal Arab Nationalist. The contemporary Lebanese political scientist, Sam ir Khalaf, on the other hand, has argued to the contrary, stating that Ibrahim Pasha had econom ic interests primarily in mind when he invaded Syria.16 Under the direction of his father, Ibrahim Pasha set out to gather extra tax revenue to fund the modernizing Egyptian state as well as reap the benefits of the Lebanese trade economy. Through control of the Lebanese coast, Ibrahim Pasha was able to benefit from the silk exports as well as control the tariffs of the increasing European trade with Mount Lebanon. He established a monopoly over the silk trade, soap, rice, and coffee, 17 and used forced labour to mine coal from the Ma’n (a district of Mount Lebanon). He also took advantage, as the ancient Egyptians had long before him, of the ava ilability of wood in the Mount to rebuild the Egyptian fleet. Lastly, during Ibrahim Pasha’s short rule taxes were increased at a dram atic rate. This ultim ately proved fatal for his rule there. Ibrahim Pasha’s quick ability to take advantage of the resources in Lebanon point to the conclusion that econom ic issues were a primary objective of the initiative. His astute arrangement of the administration and economy support Khalaf’s view of Ibrahim Pasha’s intentions in Syria. Furthermore, Tibawi has noted that correspondence between Muhamm ad Ali and Ibrahim Pasha focussed on the issue of finding econom ic resources “almost as frequently as on political and military affairs.” 18 Certainly Ibrahim Pasha desired to transfer local Arab allegiance from Turkish to Egyptian rule. He aspired to transform Syria from a feudal society into a modern state ruled by the modernized Egyptian state founded by his father. But any reorganization of traditional society and its political structu res was done only to benefit and consolidate his political power and grip on the economy. His setting up of the meclis was an attempt to undercut traditional feudal authority and give local merchants more ability to positively affect local trade and comm erce. Thus, his occupation of Lebanon/Syria was ultim ately not an attempt to develop a modern republic founded upon the principles of justice and equality, but a self-serving gam bit in the service of Egypt.

Confessional clashes between Druze and Maronites Before 1832, Druze and Maronite feudal lords handled and maintained local conflicts within the rugg ed terrain of Mount Lebanon as local power struggles between landowning families. Mu ch like medieval European disputes, Druze and Maronite families often used inter-marriage to help

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settle family crises. Bashir al-Shihab, for example, was the nephew of the last Druze Ma’n ruler, Ahmad (d. 1697). Khalaf has argued that it was Egyptian rule and the subsequent re-establishment of central Ottoman authority that challenged the old system of conflict and confrontation of “intermittent feuds, personal and factional rivalry between bickering feudal chieftains and rival families vying for a greater share of power and privilege in society” and transform ed these conflicts into confessional disputes or “confessional antagonisms.” 19 This transition was accelerated by two factors. The first was the growth of international trade which was encouraged by Ibrahim Pasha. Those who prospered under the new econom ic system of Ibrahim Pasha were primarily Christians. The Greek Orthodox and Maronite m erchants served as intermediaries for the European traders. This brought about resentment among the Dru ze, who had up until the rule of Bashir al-Shihab been the dominant confessional group in Mount Lebanon. The second factor which challenged traditional society was the centralization of taxation and conscription. Ibrahim Pasha’s policies of heavy taxation and conscription of troops, two items that the Ottomans had traditionally left to the local emirs, raised tensions and ultim ately brought the comm unities of the Mount into conflict with one another. By the nineteenth century France and the Italian city states had already had long standing agreements with the Ottoman Empire regarding free trade. In 1535 Sulayman II and Francis I signed an arrangement, The Capitulations , granting protection for foreign Catholic nationals and merchants within the Ottoman empire. It gave them freedom to practice open trade between the two nations.20 Extended several times, The Capitulations gave Western traders free access to ports along the Eastern Mediterranean. As Western traders invested more money in the attractive Eastern markets, they worked with those comm unities with which they had long established ties. In this comm erce, the natural partner for these W estern merchants were their co-religionists, the Ottoman Catholics or other Syrian Christians. Mar onite, Greek Catholic and Greek Orthodox merchants became the “middle-men” for the booming trade. They were trusted and ensured protection by the Western powers. Colonel Churchill, the local British agent, wrote that this commercial activity among Christians of Dayr al-Qamar, a Druze stronghold, changed their social status. Its merchants built spacious houses, with marble courts and fountains, and furnished in a style of cost ly luxury. All the Druze landed property in the neighbourhood passed into their hands. Thus they finally attained a position of wealth and affluence which excited the jealousy and cupidity

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of their feudal superiors, the Druze sheiks of the family of Abou Nakad. . . . Released from the restraints which had hitherto weighted upon them from being placed under a Turkish gove rnor, the Christians of De ir-elKamar enjoyed the full and unimpeded development of comm ercial activity. 21

The Druze of the Mount began to resent Maronite prosperity. Their frustration and anger would ultim ately lead to the civil unrest of 1840 and the Ottoman reorganization of the Mount along confessional lines under the double qŒi’maqŒmiyya administrative system in 1842. However, the econom ic prosperity and ascendency of the Mar onites during this period was not the only reason for civil unrest in the Mountain. Ibrahim Pasha’s policies of high taxation, conscription into the army, and the disarmament of comm unities within the Mount was too much for the local populace to bear. Living up in the hard to reach places of the rugged Lebanon mou ntain range and used to freedom from any central authority, the local populace could not accept such harsh measures. As if exacting taxation and his insistence upon conscription were not enough, Ibrahim Pasha ordered Bash ir II to conscript Mar onites into the army to put down a Druze revolt in the Hawran (Syria) in 1840. For the first time, open hostilities broke out along confessional lines rather than familial ones.22 However, at this point such seeds of discontent were not enough to completely sever traditional feudal ties. The confessional leaders of Mount Lebanon agreed that Ibrahim Pasha was the source of their problems regarding taxation and conscription. At a conference in Antilyas in 1840 all of the confessional leaders agreed to work together to overthrow Egyptian rule and “to fight to restore their independence or die.” 23 Ultimately, however, this agreement broke down once the Western Powers of Austria, Britain, France, Pru ssia and Ru ssia signed an agreement in London for the restoration of central Ottoman authority and to support the overthrow of the Bashir-Egyptian rule. The major European nations of the nineteenth century had been debating about how to respond to the “sick man of Europe.” The declining might of the Ottoman Empire raised questions over the balance of power in Europe and how best to address the anticipated power vacuum which would be created by a collapse of the Empire. Official British policy had been to support a weak Ottoman state to maintain the balance of power in the rest of Europe. Britain, therefore, successfully lobbied for international support to restore Ottoman authority in Syria. Because of European concerns, the Druze-Maronite conflicts of 1840 were enough to insure international intervention. The International Powers landed troops at Junieh. Bashir II turned himself over to the

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British to be sent into exile to Malta, and within a month Ibrahim Pasha retreated from Syria. Bashir III, a distant cousin of Bashir II, who helped to remove Ibrahim Pasha from Syria, was granted authority over Mount Lebanon by the Porte. It was not long, however, before Druze-Maronite disturbances erupted again. France, Great Britain and Russia fanned the fires of confessional discontent by claiming that the Turks were arming the Druze against unarm ed Mar onites in Zahle. 24 Under pressure from the Western powers, the Porte once again reorganized the political structure of Mount Lebanon in order to protect the confessional comm unities “adopted” by each of the foreign governments. This time, however, the Ottoman administrative province was set up according to confessional divisions; the Maronites and Druze taking advantage of their foreign supporters, France and Britain, respectively. In 1842 Mount Lebanon was divided into two districts. The northern district was to be ruled over by a Maronite am¥r and the southern district was to be ruled by a Druze am¥r . Both district sub-governors reported to the Ottoman Pasha holding office at the old Shihab palace at Bayt al-D in in the Shouf mountains. The scheme was doomed from the beginning, as each district had a confessionally-mixed population. Neither the Druze living in the northern district nor the Mar onites living in the south could be assured of protection or fair treatment. Furthermore, the plan was not fully supported by all the parties concerned. France wanted to reestablish a Shihab Maronite state following Ibrahim Pasha’s expulsion. The Russians were not supportive of the new Ottoman organization as it left no place for their “protectorates,” the Greek Orthodox. Lastly, the Turks themselves wished to establish more central control over the region and were not really interested in seeing the new confessionally divided experiment work. Due to the mixed populations, further confessional disturbances broke out in 1845. Ottoman Foreign Minister Shakib Effend i rushed to the Mount to quell the riots. He revised the double qŒi’maqŒmiyya system and attempted to account for those confessions not explicitly given a district of their own, such as the Greek Orthodox. He made two changes to the original system which were spelled out in the document Reglement of Shakib Effendi of 1842. First, he proposed that the qŒi’maqŒm (or am¥r ) be appointed from among the traditional family leaders of the Mount rather than by the Porte, in order to assuag e the concerns of the traditional family feudal lords who felt they were losing authority. This provided for the election of more moderate individua ls who had to garner support from the notables and politicians of other confessions. 25 This tradition

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has been continued into the present electoral system of independent Lebanon, where a confessional representative is voted into the Cham ber of Deputies by all the constituents of his district, rather than simply by his own confession. Second, following Ibrahim Pasha’s meclis system, Shakib Effendi organized a twelve mem ber council consisting of representatives from each confessional group to advise each qŒi’maqŒm. 26 The eight years of Egyptian rule between 1832 and 1840 saw unprecedented changes in the social-political organization of Mount Lebanon. When Ibrahim Pasha rode into Dam ascus, Lebanon was divided into three Ottoman vilŒyas (Dama scus, Sidon, and Tripoli) with Bashir al-Shihab having virtu ally independent rule in Mount Lebanon and the Biqa’. Society was feudal in nature. Large landholding families, be they Dru ze, Mar onite, Sunni, or Shi‘a, vied for power with one another. 27 Ibrahim Pasha’s econom ic policies generated international trade and his establish m ent of administrative comm ittees began to break down the traditional feudal structu re. With the undermining of the feudal authority came the rise of the Maronite Church and its leadership contending for control of property. The sudden rise in the econom ic status of the Christians moved local political issues outside of the confines of Druze or Maronite ruling families into the arena of confessional tensions. As the Maronite Church grew stronger, it stepped into the power vacuum created by the breakdown of the traditional feudal system, to direct the issues of the Maronite comm unity. The church helped to develop a sense of strong Maronite communal identity. By the time Ibrahim Pasha was driven out of Lebanon by the Ottomans, the Western Powers and a coalition of Lebanese, the tradition of confessional representation had taken root. The establishment of the Reglement of Shakib Effendi in 1842 had sealed the death-knell of old-style, feudal aristocracy and established the foundation of confessional representation which would become a constitutional provision in 1943 (Article 95) and an accepted principle of the Ta’if Agreement in 1989.

Ottoman Tanz. imŒt reforms, 1839-1876 The history of the Ottoman Empire in the nineteenth century has been the subject of a great deal of research and beneficial scholarly work. 28 The last century of the Ottoman Empire proved to be a pivotal period in the development of modern Islam ic thought. Known as the Era of Reform, Islam ic scholars in the Empire struggled with just abo Œ ut every foundation of medieval Islam ic society and the challenges of responding

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to the modern world. Although it is not within the scope of this work to completely review this period of the Ottoman Empire (1839-1876) it is necessary to mention those issues arising from the reforms which directly affected the society of Mount Lebanon. We are specifically interested in focussing on those reforms which addressed the issues of Christian political rights. In this section we will see that the implementation of these reforms, primarily the Hatt¥-Ûer¥f of Gülhane in 1839, the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n of 1856, as well as the 1876 Ottoman Constitution, had a tremendous impact on Lebanese society. These reforms provided the most important “conditions” to which the Lebanese ulema responded in the most recent civil war. In 1839 the Ottoman Sultan Abdulm ecid issued a proclamation, the Hatt¥-Ûer¥f of Gülhane. The imperial decree stated: Mu slim and other peoples who are am ong the subjects of our imperial sultanate, shall be the object of our imperial favou rs without exception. 29

This proclamation ushered in a period of radical reforms known as the Tanz. imŒt . These reforms were intended to help the empire keep pace militarily with the modern European nation-states by organizing the army and its training programs along the lines of Western military methods. 30 This decree was intended to continue a movement of m ilitary reforms begun earlier by sultan Mahmud II (1808-1 838). 31 However, the military reforms quickly broadened into other areas of civil life. The reforms impacted civil and econom ic life alike. 32 It was believed that the only way to compete militarily and economically and to defend itself from the expansion of Western Europe, was to adopt some of the West’s modern principles and methods. 33 One of these principles, that of c om munal “equality,” underm ined the traditional, medieval-Islam ic view of the ordering of society. The Hatt¥-Ûer¥f legally changed the accepted view of non-Muslims as dhimm¥s [ zimmis in Turkish]. Although the Hatt¥-Ûer¥f of Gülhane did not eradicate all of the distinctions between Muslims and non-Muslims, it was intended to provide changes which would be seen as more “modern” and thus acceptable to the international community. Ottoman society was still organized according to the millet system. Indiv iduals were legally recognized by the empire based upon their being registered as members of a particular religious comm unity, while each of these comm unities swore allegiance to the Sultan. According to the system, Christians and Jews were still considered dhimm¥s . The Hatt¥ , however, repealed three of the legal regulations imposed upon dhimm¥ s by traditional Islam ic society. First, it annulled the

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distinction between Mu slim and non-M uslim testimony in court. The rescript guaranteed “life, honor and property” for all Ottoman subjects regardless of their communal status. This meant that all trials were to be in public and “according to regulations” which led to the acceptance of non-M uslim testimony in court being as valid as that of Mu slim testimony, contrary to the shar¥‘a. 34 Second, it challenged the tax system based on the distinction of Mu slim and non-M uslim commu nities. Opposed to the long accepted custom of tax-farming, the proclamation was an attempt to set up a centralized taxation policy. Third, the Hatt¥ revoked the longstanding prohibition of Christian military service. This issue raised many questions regarding the legal basis for non-Christian members of the empire. To this point in history the official reason for dhimm¥s paying the jizya was that they paid this tax in lieu of their military service. The Hatt¥ challenged this. Some Christians did enter the military medical school as a result of this decree, but most preferred to pay a different tax, the bedel , which then became the new formal tax in lieu of military service. This was in reality another form of the jizya. 35 In 1856, Sultan Abdulm ecid issued a second decree that went even farther than the Gulhane. The Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n stated: All the subjects of my empire, without distinction of nationality, shall be adm issible to public employments, and qualified to fill them according to merit.36

Unlike the Hatt¥ Ûer¥f which was in some ways part of an internal Ottoman argum ent over the foundations of a modernizing Islam ic society, the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n was undoubtedly written with a Western international audience in mind. The hope of the Ottoman Prime Minister, Fuad Pasha, was to stave off any serious damage to the empire as a result of the Crimean War by proving to the W estern Allies that the Ottoman Empire was truly a Western nation-state. The Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n had the effect of legally eradicating the traditionally held Islam ic view that non-Muslims were “second class citizens.” The millet system was formally abolished and n on -M uslims were legally accepted as full members of the empire. It did not, however, replace the millet system with a republic based upon individual citizenship. Even though individuals were no longer legally defined by their confessions, the particular religious comm unities continued to serve as the social-political bases for organization, where citizens received their services or conducted business of the state. There was an uneasy coexistence between the two systems. In any case, Christians were now officially no longer dhimm¥s and

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could be admitted to political posts and into the a rm y up to the rank of colonel and could serve in the highest posts of civil service. 37 The last legal proclamation of importance in this period was the 1876 Ottoman Constitution. Edmu nd Rabbath has stated that this document was “the decisive event in the political history of Islam and the evolution of its public rights.” 38 For the purposes of this work, the 1876 Ottoman Constitution becomes vitally important in understanding the Lebanese context. The Constitution legally reversed all aspects of the “Covenant of ‘Umar” as understood by the medieval jurists and paved the way for the establishment of contemporary Christian political rights within the Levant. Not only did the Constitution declare the equality of all Ottoman citizens, but its electoral laws made provisions for the legality of nonMu slim representatives. Each province of the empire was to elect several representatives, according to the confessional makeup of that district. For example, Istanbul itself had twenty districts. Each district elected two electors, one Mu slim and one non-Muslim. These forty electors then selected ten representatives to serve in the parliament, which was to be divided equally among Muslims and non-M uslims. The first parliament included 115 deputies, 67 Muslims and 48 non-Muslims from across the empire. 39 Although the Constitution was short-lived, being quickly abolished by Sultan Abdulmecid, it set a precedent for both the Republic of Turk ey as well as for Lebanon. 40 What is interesting to note for these representatives was the basis of their allegiance. The oath for the elected deputies of the parliament stated: I pledge to respect my Sultan, my country, and the l aw s of the Constitution and to perform no actions which might oppose them.41

There was no reference to the shar¥‘a as either a source of authority or legislation for the Ottoman Empire. By the end of the nineteenth century the Ottoman Empire was moving more toward the idea of citizenship based upon jus soli (“the law of the soil”); that is, every individual citizen within the boundar ies of the state had the same rights of “direct participation” within the government regardless of ethnic, national or religious background. In 1869 the Ottoman government passed the Ottoman Citizenship Law No. 1044 which provided for the full citizenship of an individual based upon their residency within the confines of the Empire. This was again confirmed by Article 8 of the 1876 Ottoman Constitution.42 Thus, from 1839 to 1876 the Ottoman Empire moved from being an Islam ic Empire based upon medieval categories to a fledgling modern state based upon the rules of

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European politics. The legal changes within the empire, however, did not necessarily reflect popular Mu slim opinions.

Traditional Muslim responses As outline above, three important definitions of al-dhimma, according to the “Covenant of ‘Umar,” were legally reversed between 1839 and 1876. Dhimm¥s were no longer required to pay the jizya, they were not prohibited from serving in the defence of the state, and they were free to serve in positions of authority or hold power within the state. These were dram atic changes from the classical-medieval Islam ic category of al-dhimma. The radical departure from the traditional medieval organization of society or the state was not received well by a large segment of the Mu slim population of the empire, nor by many of the ulema . Many Muslims felt that “the appearance of non-Muslims in the adm inistration of the state would dishonour the state and nation.” 43 Moshe Ma‘oz records an even stronger Mu slim response to the declaration of non-M uslim equality: Today we have lost our sacred national rights which our ance stors gained with their blood; while the nation used to be the ruling nation it is now bereft of this sacred right. This is a day of tears and mourning for the Mu slim brethren. 44

In 1859 there was an uprising in Istanbul led by a group of ulema , students and army officers. They were outrag ed at the decrees of 1839 and 1856, arguing that these proclamations were contrary to the shar¥‘a. The revolt was eventually discovered and its leaders were arrested. However, because public opinion was so sympathetic to their cause the government exacted light penalties on the perpetrators.45 This reform period saw the worst confessional clashes within M ount Lebanon up to this time. A tragic civil war was sparked between Druze and Mar onites in 1860 which spilled out of Mount Lebanon into Dam ascus. Although the war did not originate in the Mount as a result of M uslim anger over these reforms, massacres in Damascus did occur because of Mu slim resentment. The loss of traditional independence by the Druze and the changing social context of Mount Lebanon only added more fuel to the fire of Mu slim anxiety regarding the changing role of Christians in the Ottoman Empire. 46 The loose administrative structure under the double qŒi’maqŒmiyya system and the secure econom ic position of the Mar onites created a sense of frustration among the Druze of Mount Lebanon. In a region where they had once thoroug hly dominated, the

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Druze were now quickly falling subject to the expanding power and wealth of the Maronites. 4 7 It was this sense of frustration that helped to bring about civil war in 1860. As has already been stated, the breakdown of the feudal system and traditional clan leadership of the Mount between 1832 and 1840 raised confessional loyalties. A Maronite peasant revolt against the landholding Maronite Khazin family due to excessive tax farming was not enough to entice Druze peasants in a similar situation with Druze landlords to join the revolt. Instead, the unstable situation led the Druze to join in the violent attacks, not against the tax farmers, but against the Mar onites themselves. In April 1860, the southern district of Mount Lebanon was alight with the fires of Christian villages. It has been claimed that Khurshid Pasha, the Ottoman governor of Beirut, supplied the Druze with weapons, and Colonel Churchill who was working for the British, organized the attacks. The French, themselves, provided support for the Maronites. 48 The result of the angry, armed mount aineers was the massacre of Mar onites in Dayr al-Qamar and Zahle. When word about the uprising and massacre reached Dam ascus, it was enough to ignite more killings. However, although the civil war in the Mount stemm ed from the changes in the administrative, economic, and social structu res of the mountain from the previous twenty years, the violence in Damascus was the result of Mu slim anger toward the Ottoman reforms and their fellow Christian citizens. Thus, the proclamations which were intended to promote an equal state of “citizenship” resulted in a worse situation for the non-Muslims. 49 Anger over the reforms came not only from the feeling that traditional Islam ic values were being trampled but also from the “foreign pressures which led to the edict” of 1856.50 Unlike the debate surrounding the roots of the Hatt¥-Ûer¥f of Gülhane there is basic agreement that the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n was promu lgated by the Sultan under the direction of Fuad and Ali Pasha. As the Foreign and Prime Ministers, they felt Western pressure after the Crimean War with regard to the protection of the Empire’s nonMu slim “citizens.” The empire was well aware that the Western Powers had been invited by Ru ssia to discuss the dismantling of the “sick man of Europe,” 51 so they embark ed on publishing the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n to prove to Europe that the empire was serious about reforming itself into a Westernstyled republican nation-state. The HumŒyu- n was announced only shortly before the Western Powers sat at the table to discuss the peace treaty of the Crimean War. The reformers hoped to stay one step ahead of the game, providing Europe with evidence of its place at the European table. Fortunately for the empire, Britain had already decided that the answer to

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the “Eastern Qu estion” was to keep the empire viable as a buffer to growing Russian power and French interests in the Levant. The fact that the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n was clearly aimed at those sitting at the Paris peace table was not lost on the Ottoman Arab Muslims.

The Mutas. arrifiyya, 1861-1918 The empire was determined to keep the civil unrest of the Mount an internal matter. Ever since the Capitulations , the Western powers had begun to interfere in most every form of Ottoman rule regarding its nonMuslims. France, due to long standing ties with Latin Catholics, offered protection to the Maronites. Ru ssia had proclaimed itself the protectorate over all Orthodox Ottoman subjects as early as the Treaty of Küçük Kaynarca in 1774.52 The British, scrambling not to be outdone, sought to defend the Dru ze. Thus, the massacre in Damascus in 1860 was the only excuse France needed. They landed troops in Beirut “to help the Porte re-establish order.” 53 Once French troops were ashore, the British too wasted little time in sending a fleet to patrol the coast. Recent studies of the French and British foreign office archives indicate how important the AngloFrench “cold war” was in executing their foreign policy in Syria and Lebanon. 54 It is clear that British and French international policy in the Levant had just as much to do with British-Fr ench economic/political detente, as it did with keeping Russia in check, and in supporting minority rights. The result of the 1860 massacres led the Western Powers to intrude further into Ottoman internal affairs. The Porte had little choice but to accept this foreign involvement as the European nations forced the empire to address the security of its multi-confessional provinces. In 1860 an international commission headed by the Ottoman Prime Min ister, Fuad Pasha, was convened to discuss the future organization of Mount Lebanon. Western consuls in Istanbul had already, by this time, developed a great deal of power in determining the course of events within the Empire. 55 The Crimean War showed evidence that the Ottoman Empire was really a “paper tiger” within the European arena, beholden to its two allies. Thus, Britain and France were able to use their positive political situation to advance their interests and solidify their protection over the various comm unities in the Levant. In addition, Beirut was already occupied by the France, and Britain was showing no hesitation in flexing

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its muscles through its naval power in the area to counter that French presence. Fuad Pasha had the difficult job of balancing the authority of the Ottoman Empire with the interests of each Western government involved in the debate. It was clear that the double qŒi’maqŒmiyya system in Mount Lebanon could not continue in its present form. The question now at hand was how the administration would be organized and how each confession could maintain its own political presence. The Ottomans wished to establish more central control, so the Porte outlin ed a new extended qŒi’maqŒmiyya system. Their proposal was quickly rejected by the Western nations. The end result of the commission was the establishment of a governorship, called a mutas. arrifiyya, directly responsible to the Porte with a supporting Administrative Council made up of confessional representatives. According to Meir Zamir, the first legal definition of a Lebanese national identity appears with this organization. 56 If we are to identify the “Lebanese” as a multiconfessional state governed by various confessions, rather than as a state of individual citizens granted statehood by virtue of their birth within the borders of a particular geographic area, then the mutas. arrifiyya provides a promising legal starting point. It is at this point that the current Lebanese system of government with its two very distinctive traits is put into place. The first distinction is that of a Christian “head of state.” The second is the firm establishment of confessional representation within the government. The establishment of the mutas. arrifiyya of Lebanon in 1861 came about through detailed negotiations between the Ottoman Empire and five Western Powers; Austria, Britain, France, Prussia, and Russia. The Western Powers, in their bid to provide protection for their adopted minority commu nities, succeeded in confirming that a Christian governor would be appointed as the highest ranking Ottoman official in the province. Article 1 of the Regulation and relative protocol for the reorganization of Mount Lebanon states: Lebanon shall be administered by a Christian Governor appointed by and direc tly respo nsible to the Sublime Porte. This official, holding office at pleasure, shall be invested with all the attributes of executive power, shall maintain order and public security throughout the Mountain, shall collect taxes, and shall appoint on his own responsibility Administrative Agents with authority that he shall receive from His Imperial Majesty the Sultan. . . . 57

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The idea of a Christian Governor was first suggested by the French who had hoped that this would secure for the Mar onites a dominant place in the governance of the Mount. The British then proposed that the Mount be put under the direct supervision of the Pasha of Sidon, with a Christian official assigned to look after the interests of the Christians. In addition, the Porte desired to direct ly appoint a Governor in order to keep tight control over the district. As a comprom ise, the Prussians then proposed that a non-Lebanese Ottoman Catholic Governor be appointed. This was ultim ately accepted.58 The precedent for a Christian as “head of state” in Lebanon was now set. This would become the most prominent political feature of modern Lebanon. It can be argued that a Christian “head of state” in Lebanon began with the reign of Yusuf Shihabi (1770-8 8). 59 However, as we have already seen above, confessional identities certainly carried less importance in the eighteenth century than in the mid-nineteenth century where such identities took centre stage. The tradition and acceptance of a Christian “head of state” continued up to the twentieth century with the appointment of the first Lebanese President, Charles Dabbas, under the French Mandate, and even to the present day. By 1946 and the election of Bishara al-Khoury as the first President of an independent Lebanon, this tradition was “set in stone.” After this, negotiations between major political figures assured that the Presidency in an independent Lebanon would remain in the hands of the Maronite Christians, while the Muslims retained the Prem iership and the position of Speaker of the Chamber. This political arrangement was called the National Pact. The historical developments surrou nding the governance of Mount Lebanon could not have taken place if it were not for the implementation of the Tanz. imŒt reforms of the Ottoman Empire. Certainly, Maronite dominance in the Mount had been confirmed by the Porte’s support of the Shihab regime during the eighteenth century, where a Maronite ruled over Mu slim members of the empire. Also, Ibrahim Pasha’s rule in Syria could be credited with the support or at least acquiescence to Maronite dominance. However, it wasn’t until the Tanz. imŒt reforms that an Ottoman Christian Governor would be accepted or given this much authority. This Governor ( mutas. arrif) served within the Foreign Ministry of the Porte and carried official political and military titles. One of the Tanz. imŒt laws which was enacted in 1855 allowed for non-Muslims to serve in the army and into the highest levels of state service. This proclamation allowed for Christian civil servants to be given the title of “pasha.” 60 Carter Findley, who conducted research within the records of the Porte to determine some of the changes among personnel within the civil service

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during the Tanz. imŒt reforms, found that in 1790 the organization of the Porte had only one non-M uslim department, the Greek Translator of the Imperial Divan. 61 This department was serviced primarily by Phanariot Greek Christians. However, with the rise of Greek nationalism and the Greek War for independence of 1821 these Christians lost their status and position within the government. Christians had always served on the fringes of the government in special capacities, especially with their ability to speak or read foreign languages, which the Ottoman Muslims were reluctant to do. Still, they were never accepted as full members of the civil services but were relegated to their own department. Findley has shown that prior to the Tanz. imŒt reforms the predominant pattern of entry into the growing bureau cracy of the Empire was to be the son of a bureaucrat or to have a “patronage relationship with scribal figures”.62 This system was known as “clientelism” [ intis. Œb ]. Yet, during the reform period the recruitment of new civil servants outside of this traditional clientele system grew. By the nineteenth century non-Muslims had gained access to civil positions based on the new educational system. Then, with Sultan Abdulm ecid’s 1855 proclamation, Christians were not only allowed entrance into the modern civil service schools, they were also admitted into the highest level of foreign service and were granted the titles of bey and efendi. 63 Even if Christians had served within the government prior to the Tanz. imŒt reforms, as we have mentioned above, there is no record of their being granted such official titles or their legal confirm ation as governors. 64 Thus, due to the reforms, by the time the mutas. arrifiyya of Mount Lebanon was organized in 1860, and the international commission agreed upon the appointment of a Catholic Ottoman Governor, there were Christians within the Foreign Ministry who had some experience and were qualified for the new post. Daud Pasha, an Armenian Catholic and the first mutas. arrif (1861-1 868), was not only granted the title of “pasha” but also mush¥r , the highest rank for a non-M uslim in the Ottoman Empire. 65 The second important aspect of the new mutas. arrifiyya is described in Articles 2 and 7 of the Reglement . These articles paved the way for the acceptance of confessional representation based upon the precedent of the earlier Egyptian meclis. This representation was instituted in two ma jor areas; an Administrative Council (Article 2) and the Judicial Council (Article 7). The re shall be for the entire Mountain one Central Administrative Council c om prising twelve members: two Maronites, two Druzes [sic], two Greek Orthodox, two Greek Catholics, two Matawilah, and two Muslims: it shall be charged with assessing taxes, administering revenues

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and expenditures, and rendering its advis ory opinion on all questions submitted to it by the Gov ernor. 66 . . . a Higher Judicial Council, comprising twelve members, two from each of the six communities enumerated in Artic le 2, to which will be added a representative of the Protestant or the Jewish religion whenever the interests of a member of these communities may be involved in a lawsuit. The presidency of the Judicial Council will rotate eve ry three months among all their members.67

Article 7 above stated that an advisory council was to help the governor of the mutas. arrifiyya in matters of administration and revenue. The council was to be made up of twelve members, two representatives from each of the confessional groups within the mutas. arrifiyya (Dru ze, Greek Orthodox, Greek Catholic, M aronites, Shi‘a and Sunni). As under the original qŒi’maqŒmiyya system, each representative was chosen by their respective commu nities. This kept the clan leaders and the hierarchy of the Maronite Church within the power structure so that they were able to influence the election process within their specific comm unity. John Spagnolo has argued that this original protocol worked well within the Mount because it “did not allow the political subordination of one sect to another.” 68 It seems that a strong central governor with extensive powers combined with confessional representation of some variety provid ed an agreeable governmental structure to most of the commu nities. The system was not accepted without protest, however. The Mar onites were not in favour of equal confessional representation but demanded “proportional representation.” Being the largest confessional community within the Mount they pressured France at the meeting of the commission to argue for a larger “piece of the pie” within the inter-confessional power structu re. It seems that the tradition of accepting a Maronite “vicepresident” of the council was a compromise to this grievance. 69 In 1864 France proposed a revision to the Reglement . Supporting the Maronite majority, they again introduced a system of “proportional representation.” There was disagreement, however, among the Powers as to how the “proportion” would be arranged. In order to limit confessional divisions in the Mount, the French submitted a plan that would allow for one representative from each organized district rather than distributing seats according to a straight percentage of the population within the whole mutas. arrifiyya. This way those districts with sma ller populations received the same representation as the more populated districts. In addition, knowing that the Sunni and Shi‘a did not have a majority in any one district, they were to be allowed one extra seat to be

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added for their respective commu nities. Thus, regardless of the makeup of the population of the districts, the Sunni and Shi‘a would be guaranteed representation. The Russians, however, had their own counter-proposal. They suggested a council of sixteen; six Maronites, three Dru ze, three Greek Orthodox, two Greek Catholics, one Sunni, and one Shi‘a. Ultim ately it was agreed to continue with the same twelve mem ber council, the seats being assigned according to straight proportional representation within the whole of Mount Lebanon. Thus, under the final version the Mar onites had four seats, the Druze three, the Greek Orthodox two, the Greek Catholic, Sunni, and Shi‘a one each. 70 The original meclis system organized by Ibrahim Pasha in Syria and later implemented by the Ottomans had finally become the legal foundation for the confessional representation of Lebanon. Furthermore, the revisions of 1864 would provide the basis for the discussions of the political organization in an independent Lebanon. This system would become the centre of the controversy during the most recent civil war. With the establishment of the extended boundar ies of the current state in 1920, and with the changing demog raphics of comm unities in favour of the Muslims by the late 1960's, it became clear that if proportional representation were to be the status quo, then the Mar onites would lose their status as the largest confession. Due to the extended boundar ies of Le Grande Liban which expanded the boundar ies of the old mutas. arrifiyya of Mount Lebanon to include a larger Mu slim population, the Mar onites were no longer the dominant comm unity. If the tradition of a Christian “head of state” was to be maintained, then proportional representation would have to be set aside. This is, in effect, what happened.

Reorganization of Ottoman VilŒyas The last important element of Ottoman rule that would affect political issues in the contemporary period was the continual reorganization of Ottoman sanjaks and vilŒyas throughout the end of the Ottoman Empire. The flux and flow of territorial boundar ies would be one of the underlying issues of Lebanese identity. The proclamation of a Le Grande Liban in 1920 and the subsequent recognition of Lebanon’s boundar ies in the Constitution of 1926 created a territory which was never firmly fixed as a recognized domain of national identity for all of the Lebanese commu nities. The continual reorganization of administrative districts prohibited issues from being polarized into confessional politics. Instead, it preserved traditional family and “Notable politics.” By continu ally

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gerrymandering districts, the representatives of different confessions had to work together within smaller administrative units rather than organizing themselves into inter-confessional blocs.71 However, no greater issue would be as problem atic in the continual re-organization of political districts in Syria/Lebanon as that of the separation of the Biqa‘ valley from M ount Lebanon and the inclusion of Beirut to the mutas. arrifiyya in 1860. As we will see below, this act would affect the future national identity of the Sunnis, Shi‘a and Maronites. When the Ottomans came to power in the sixteenth century, they maintained the old Mamluk regional divisions in Lebanon/Syria with its three provinces: Aleppo, Damascus and Tripoli. (Beirut at this time was included in the vilŒyet of Damascus.) 72 In 1520 the confirmed vali of Dam ascus, Jan-Birdi al-G hazali, declared himself independent of the Ottoman state. He was subsequently crushed and his former territory was divided into thirds, each part becoming its own vilŒyet : Aleppo, Dam ascus, and Tripoli. (Beirut and Sidon remained attached to Dam ascus.) 73 The Druze feudal leader Fak hr-al-Din II (1586-1635) of Mount Lebanon however, incorporated Beirut and Sidon into his control. By 1610 he controlled the Biqa‘ and Hawran, as well as northern Palestine. 74 Under the feudal reigns of the Ma‘ns and the Shihabis in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, taxes for the Biqa‘ were paid to the Ottoman pasha of Dam ascus, while the Chouf and Beirut fell under the jurisdiction of the pasha of Sidon. Sidon had been granted its own vilŒyet following the rise of Bashir al-Shihab in order for the empire to curb the growing power on the Mount. Beirut was then relegated to the authority of the pasha of Sidon. However, in 1748 Mu lhim al-Shihab managed to secure possession of the Biqa‘ for the Shihab emirate and in 1749 he acquired Beirut. 75 In 1780 Ahmad al-Jazzar, a former Christian from Bosnia, was conferred the title of governor of Damascus by the Sultan. He maintained rule with an iron fist within, not only his own province, but Mount Lebanon and the Biqa‘ as well. In 1799 the Ottoman Grand Vizier granted to Bashir al-Shihab II (1788-1840) control over “the Mount of the Druzes, Wadi al-Taym, the region of Ba‘lbekk, al-Biqa‘ Jabal ‘Am il and the region of Jubayl [Byblos]” for helping to support the defence of Palestine from Napoleon’s invasion.76 By 1842, however, the next Shihab, Bashir III, was forced out of power due to continuing Druze-Maronite bloodshed which he could not control. The Ottomans then divided Mount Lebanon into two districts or qŒi’maqŒm. Both districts were subject to the vŒli of Sidon stationed in Beirut. 77 The Biqa’ remained attached to Dam ascus.

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During this period, from 1520 through 1860, the Ottomans maintained a rather loose control over the Mount. They were content to allow local feudal lords to rule in their stead providing they recognized the authority of the local pashas and passed on to the governor the appropriate tax revenue. As we have seen above, the various districts of Lebanon and Syria were organized and reorganized numerous times, and consequently, by the qŒi’maqŒmiyya period (1842-1 860), the Porte was very interested in proving to the Western powers that local rule was not working and that a central Ottoman government was needed. Following the civil war of 1860, the mutas. arrifiyya of Mount Lebanon was established and the adm inistrative unit of the Mount was stripped of Beirut, Sidon and the Biqa‘ valley. 78 The first Ottoman mutas. arrif, Daud Pasha, soon petitioned for both Sidon (which included Beirut) and the Biqa‘ to be reattached to the Mount. His petition was refused.79 Under the next mutas. arrif, Nasri Franco, there was once again pressure from the Mar onites to reattach Sidon and the Biqa‘, but Franco was given strict orders by the Porte not allow such a move. 80 In 1867 the vilŒyas of Sidon and Damascus were combined to form the VilŒyet of Syria with the governor residing in Dam ascus. Beirut was now attached to yet another province. By this time the nobles in Beirut, feeling a lack of power, petitioned to have Beirut separated from Dam ascus. The villages of Hasbaya and Rashaya in the Biqa‘ petitioned to be separated from Damascus as well. A year later, in 1888, Beirut became the seat of its own vilŒyet which included Tripoli and Sidon. 81 Thus, the territory of the mutas. arrifiyya (1860-1920) did not include most of what is now included in the current state of Lebanon. It was only with the proclamation of le Grand Liban by the French on 1 September 1920, that Beirut, the Biqa‘ and Ba‘lbekk were all reattached to the Mount as they had been at various times under the Ma‘ns and Shihab’s (prior to 1860). The arrangements and re-arrangements of the various areas in and around Mount Lebanon were not only a product of internal politics and power struggles but external ones as well. The annexation of Beirut and the Biqa‘ to the Mount was accomplished by the Ma’ns or the Shihabs through the extent of their military power. Tibawi has argued that the organization of Ottoman vilŒyas were quite often the result of power struggles between pashas . Ottoman records have detailed the “ephemeral squabbles of Ottoman pashas or Syrian Arab ministers.” 82 This was made possible through the loose administrative structure maintained by the empire. Local rulers who gained power were useful, or were to be rewarded for their assistance to the Porte were given a governorship over a province and granted the title of pasha . In effect, there was nothing the

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Porte could do to stop a runaway governor from extending his authority into neighbouring provinces. Muhamm ad Ali of Egypt is clearly the most famous example, with al-Jazzar of Acre being the more important exam ple within Syria. The Maronites claimed that the re-attachment of the Biqa‘, Ba‘lbekk and Beirut to the Mount was simply the recognition of the “natural and historical” borders of Lebanon established originally by Fakhr al-D in and the Shihab emirate of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As has been clearly demonstrated above, however, there was never a clear demarcation of a distinct political entity within a “Greater Lebanon.” The various districts which comprise the current state of Lebanon fluctuated from one area of control to another quite regular ly. In addition, it was not until Bashir II, during the nineteenth century, that the Mar onites gained and maintained control over these areas as the dominant confessional group. For the Sunni leadership, the extended borders of “Greater Lebanon” disrupted historical and religious ties with Dam ascus, ties which preceded even the Ottomans. For the Sunnis, it was the Umayyad caliphate seated in Damascus from 661-750 that provided the original locus of power for the entire Levant. Clearly the problem for Lebanese national identity centres upon the “golden age” in which each confessional group wishes to place its identity. For the Mar onites such national ties begin in the seventeenth century. The Druze would look to the sixteenth century. The Shi’a to the tenth century of Fatimid power. For the Sunnis, such ties are rooted even further back in the seventh century. The last two-thirds of the nineteenth century has seen major changes in the organization of the governance of Mount Lebanon. These changes under Ottoman sovereignty and a short Egyptian interlude would provide the basis for the development of the modern state of Lebanon and the problems associated with its establishment. The rule of Ibrahim Pasha initiated a system of confessional representation into the governance of the Mount. This was made possible because of the manifestation of the importance of confessional identity. Ibrahim Pasha’s dismantling of the feudal system left a political vacuum which was quickly filled by the intensification of confessional identity. The double qŒi’maqŒmiyya system established by the Ottomans following Ibrahim Pasha’s departure further intensified confessional confrontations. The development of radical reforms within the administration of the Ottoman Empire would greatly affect society in the Mount during the second-half of the nineteenth century. The acceptance of non-Muslims into the highest levels of the government, including the Foreign Ministry, made it possible for the long history of Christian dominance within the Mount to be legitimized under the governance under an Islam ic empire.

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As long as the jurisdiction of Mount Lebanon was under the authority of the Mu slim Sultan in Istanbul it was not considered problematic. In addition, the equality of non-M uslim “citizenship” within the empire led to the legality of confessional representation for non-Muslims. Ultim ately this resulted in a common Mu slim disapproval of these innovations. The political development of this “citizenship” and confessional identity found its catalyst in the intervention of foreign powers. It was the involvement of Austria, Britain, France, Pru ssia and Ru ssia that solidified not only a government based upon equal citizenship, but upon the proportional representation of each commu nity within the governance of the Mount. The proportional representation of the previous meclis, Administrative Councils of the double qŒi’maqŒmiyya, and the mutas. arrifiyya would ul ti m ately lead to political confessionalism; that is, ascribing specific governmental posts to specific confessions. Thus, by the beginning of the twentieth century, with the waning of Ottoman power, the idea of Christian political leadership and confessional representation had a strong, established history. Finally, the continu ally fluid movement of boundar ies in and around Mount Lebanon left little recognition of a firm identity based upon the land. The organization and re-organization of Ottoman provinces based upon the power and authority of individual pashas and rulers left each confession to identify with boundar ies given to their own self-glorification. For the Dru ze, they identified with the boundar ies extended under Fahkr al-D in II. For the Maronites, their identity was bound to the emirate of the Shihabs. The Sunnis would continue to point back to the days of the Umayyad Caliphate, while the Shi‘a longed for Fatimid rule. Natu rally, this lack of a consensus in clearly defined boundaries deepened the different confessional historiographies. From the very inception of the current state of Lebanon in 1920, the various confessions debated its identity. The beginning of the civil war in April 1975 was, in many ways, part of the continued debate over Lebanon’s identity crisis. Ahmad Beydoun’s historigraphical study, Identité Confessionnelle et Temps Social Chez les Historiens Libanais Contemporains, has clearly revealed this pr ob le m . Beydoun reviews the works of several Lebanese Mu slim historians published during the 1970's. His work shows that each author viewed the history of Lebanon from a particular confessional point of view. The perception of the foundations of the state varied depending upon the Sunni or Shi‘a perspective. 83 Kamal Salibi, in A House of Many Mansions , has shown that Muslims and Christians for the most part have disagreed over the nature of their state and its ideological foundations. Salibi stated:

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Since the emergence of Lebanon as a state in 1920, the Christian and Mu slim Lebanese have been in fundamental disagreement over the historicity of their country: the Christians by and large affirming it, and the Muslims denying it. Because the Christians, in the Lebanese state, have been at the helm from the very start, it fell to them to come forward with historical visions of Lebanon which provide a theoretical basis for a gene rally acce ptable concept of Lebanese nationality. . . . From the Mu slim side, there has been an insistence that whatever history Lebanon can claim for itself is in reality part of a broader Arab history.84

In a different methodological review, Youssef M. Choueiri has investigated the views of several historians, not from a confessional basis, but from each author’s particular historical context. He organized his study by time periods rather than according to confessional membership. In fact, Choueiri was quite critical of both Beydoun and Salibi’s methods, in that they did not recognize the shift in historical perspectives. Nevertheless, like the other authors, he finds that national identity constitutes a substantial trend in the intellectual discourse of the Arab intelligentsia, and a major preoccupation of a number of prominent Arab historians. It is neither a figment of the fertile imagination of a cote rie of intellectuals, nor a passing phenomenon and a passive echoing of European culture. 85

Although the various Arab historians might have debated the origins of their various communal identities, they all assum ed some form of national identity. However, the basis of this nationality shifted depending upon which history was read. French Mandatory rule and the struggle for an independent Lebanon attempted to deal with these various historiographies and provide a truly unified Lebanese identity. However, the basis of national identity would continue to remain close to the surface prior to the political turmoil of the 1975 civil war. The nineteenth century proved to be an important period in the development of Lebanese national identity. The territory of the current state of Lebanon began that century within the confines of a medieval Islam ic empire and emerged as a multi-confessional state. The principles of Islam ic social organization were overturned in favour of the modern social-political system of the nation state and the equality of “citizens.” Yet, the combination of the old Ottoman millet system and the modern understanding of individual citizenship has proven to be an unique “characteristic” of the Lebanese political system.

CHAPTER 4

Formation of the Lebanese State & the Christian Presidency

In the previous chapter we reviewed the changes of the political rights of Ottoman Christians at the end of the nineteenth century. (Again, by “political rights” we mean direct participation in public or state affairs.) We also looked at how the continual reorganizations of Lebanese territory led to different national identities among the Lebanese confessions. The final reorganization, prior to the beginning of World War I, integrated territorial identity with the legal results of the Tanz. imŒt regarding the political rights of Christians in the empire. Because of the legal reforms, a Christian governor was able to rule over a territory of the Ottoman Empire. We will now look at the legal changes in political rights of citizens that occurred in Lebanon from 1920 to 1946; that is, from the beginning of the French Mandate to national independence. Contrary to Meir Zamir, Edmu nd Rabbath has argued that this period forms the basis for understanding the contemporary foundation of Lebanese citizenship. 1 In less than thirty years, from 1920 to 1946, the Sunni Muslims went from being under the sovereignty of an Islam ic Empire, headed by the Sultan, to an independent nation-state headed by a Christian President. The Shi‘a went from being politically irrelevant, having no official political rights, to holding the third most prominent position in the government, and having officially recognized Ja‘farite courts. The Arab community was caught up at the time in the swirling political controversy between pan-Arab and pan-Syrian ideologies. Ultimately, these hopes and dreams came to nothing. Between 1920 and 1946 the Lebanese Muslims were tantalized by the possibility of an Arab State from the “Muscat to Marakesh” 2 only to be subjected to foreign Mandates with terms stricter than any “Capitulation” ever signed under the Ottoman Empire. The classical-medieval laws and precepts previously outlined were completely overturned as a non-Islamic secular state prescribed the laws and set the precedent for the Mu slim commu nity in Lebanon. However, let us first look at both Arab National and Islamic political thought prior to the French Mandate. Both movements began as an intra-Mu slim response to the weakening of the empire, to Sultan Abdul Hamid’s Pan-Islamic ideology and to Turkish political thought itself.

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The weakening of the Ottoman E m pire toward the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries prompted several Islam ic responses. Thinkers within the empire, such as Rifa‘a Badawi Rafi‘ Tahtawi, Khayr al-Din , Namik Kem al, 3 and the Syrians Shakib Arslan, 4 Sati‘ al-Husri, 5 ‘Abd al-Rahman al-K awakebi, 6 and Rashid Rida 7 all developed different responses to the rise of Western Imperialism and the fall of the empire. However, most of the Reformists shied away from Sultan Abdul Hamid’s political Pan-Islamist rhetoric, which embraced Jamal al-D in al-Afghani’s ideas of Pan-Islamism.8 The Ottoman Sultan ‘Abdul Ham id was not recognized as a pious Muslim, let alone a worthy leader by the leading Mu slim thinkers of the day. His ideas were seen as self-serving. Thus, ‘Abdul Hamid’s ideas of Pan-Islamism were not recognized as an authentic Arab Mu slim response to the world situation. After the 1909 Young Turk Revolution and the process of Turkification within the empire, Arab nationalism gained popularity among Arab intellectuals. By 1913 the Arab Nationalists had organized themselves at a conference in Paris. The conference did not produce any real political results. However, the rhetoric of the meeting focussed upon the Arab Nation [ umma ‘arabiyya]. Both Mu slim and Christian participants attempted to produce a platform for Arab cultural and national political unity. 9 As the Arab Rev olt began in 1916, the ideas of Arab Nationalism seemed an attainable political goal. Sharif Hussain had envisioned a restored Arab Caliphate based in Mecca. He began negotiating with the British for the establishment of an Arab State. The proclamation of Prince Faisal as “King of the Arabs” in Damascus in 1918 furthered the hopes of an Arab Mu slim Empire. 10 However, Faisal’s Arab state had ambiguous Islam ic foundations. It was not clear whether Faisal wished to rule as the newly proclaimed Muslim Caliph or as an Arab King. In any case, he cultivated support from both the Mu slim and Christian communities “based upon the common Arab origin, culture and language of its citizens, and not on religious beliefs.” 11 The case of Faisal clearly demonstrates the lack of clarity regarding the foundations of Arab nationalism. Shalaq al-Fad. l’s comments at the beginning of this book regarding the foundations of the Arab state, and the ambiguity of the place of Muhammad and Islam in such a foundation, underline this continuing obfuscation. The vision of a unified Arab State came to naught on 24 July 1920 when the French defeated Faisal’s Arab forces at Maysalun, outside of Dam ascus. Sati‘ al-Husri, stated that the battle “was a turning point in the history of the Arab cause.” 12 Bassam Tibi has posited that

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON While Arab nationalism in the pre colonial period, as formulated by the Syro-Lebanese Western-ed ucated intellectuals, sought the introduction of liberal freedoms and bourge ois democracy on Western lines in the context of a sec ular Arab state, it developed into an apologetic, react ionary populist and freq uen tly aggressive ideology under colonial rule. 13

With the dismemberment of the empire and the establishment of the French Mandate in Lebanon and Syria, competing Arab Nationalistic ideologies began to gain ground. Although it is beyond the scope of this work to analyse completely the nature of Arab Nationalism, there are two salient points germane to the issue of Mu slim thought in an independent Lebanon. They are the development and importance of Syro-Lebanese Christian Arab Nationalist thought and, the emergence of a particular Lebanese Mu slim Nationalism. As early as the late nineteenth century several Syrian Christians began publishing works on Ara bic language and literature. Albert Hourani has already thorou ghly explored the nahd. a period of Ara bic literature and the role of the Syro-Lebanese Christians in that movement. 14 He has shown that it was the Yaz iji and Shidyaq families, and ultim ately Butrus alBustani, who began to explore the roots of Arab culture and its meaning for the present question of Arab Nationalism. Al-Bustani developed Tahtawi’s ideas of h. ubb al-wat. an and advanced the idea of a particular Arab Nationalism.15 A second generation of Christian Arab N ationalists arose during the Mandate Period. These thinkers developed the more specific ideologies of Syrian Nationalism and Lebanese Nationalism. George Antonius and Antun Sa‘ada laid the foundations for Pan-Syrian Nationalism in the thirties.16 By the forties it was the influential Michel Chiha and Charles Corm who argued for an historically rooted Lebanese Nationalism.17 These second generation historians fostered the idea of the Arab nationstate. Chou eiri, in his important historiography, Arab History and the Nation-State, has argued that The nation-state became an axiom in the discourse of all Arab intellectuals, be they liberal or Islam ic reformist, Christian, or Muslim. 18

While Arabs could accept the concept of the independent nation-state, its cultural roots were still ambiguous. It was, then, the Christian thinkers who put forward the concepts of Arabism and a cultural Islam as opposed to political Islam. These ideas were readily accepted by the Muslim leaders of the day.

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The French Mandate Following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire in World War I, France was granted a mandate over the territories of Syria and Lebanon by the United Nations. The French imm ediately pursu ed a policy in Lebanon to develop a civil code in order to introduce a secular state, resembling the Third French Republic. When the French High Commissioner Henri Gouraud proclaimed the form ation of le Grand Liban , the debate over Lebanon’s identity was again set in motion. Both Christian and Mu slim Syrians were already outrag ed by the dissection of their Arab State into British and French Mandates, and more specifically into six separate French controlled states 19 let alone the re-configuration of the old Mount Lebanon with its inclusion of the Biq‘a and Beirut. The dismemberment of the larger Ottoman Arab province seemed to put an end to the possibility of an extended independent Arab state. On the contrary, however, it helped to stimulate Arab Nationalistic thought, as we shall see below. According to Article 1 of the Mandate over Lebanon, France was to develop and implement an “org anic law” for Lebanon. Article 1 states: [The Mand atory power] Shall take into account the rights, interests and wishes of all the population inhabiting the said territory. The Mand atory shall further enact measures to facilitate the progressive development of Syria and Lebanon as independent states. 20

Thus, France was given the responsibility of developing an independent Lebanese and Syrian state. Philip Khoury has argued that French authority over Lebanon and Syria was from the very beginning a threat to the Mu slim commu nity and brought “disastrous financial difficulties.” 21 He states that the French were motiva ted by three factors. First, French society had a sense of moral responsibility to support what they felt was the “culturally superior Christian minority.” 22 Second, the French encouraged political reform that was anti-Ottoman and pro-French. Third, there was pressure to protect and encourage French investments. 23 Stephen Longrigg, on the other hand, has argued that the French had “humanitarian and anti-colonialist” ideals.24 These are certainly two very different historical perspectives of the U.N. Mandates. Meir Zamir’s latest research, however, points to the complexity of issues and policies being debated within the French government at the time. Zamir’s research of the French archives appears to be a more accurate resource in ascertaining French motives and designs of the time. He demonstrates that the French motives and actions of this time were not straight-forward or clear cut. He points out the vast differences of opinion and ideals between High

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Commissioner General Gouraud and Secretary General Robert de Caix regarding Grea ter Lebanon and its viability. Gouraud was clearly supportive of French-Maronite relationships, induced by the ideas of the Maronite Patriarch Hawayik. De Caix, on the other hand, understood that Lebanon was in essence a “confessional commu nity,” and that each confession needed to have adequate representation.25 In any case, the political developments from the beginning of the Mandate witnessed the process of carrying out an independent organic law for Lebanon based upon a French secular model. This was completed with the prom ulga tion of the Lebanese Constitution in 1926. Thus, the changes that took place between 1920 to 1926 were monum ental. Movem ent from mem bership in an Islamic empire, governed by the Sultan, to citizenship in a multi-confessional state, headed by a Christian president, was a distinct and problem atic issue according to Mu slim classical law. For the zu‘amŒ’ of Lebanon and Syria, the traditional family and clan leaders, the development of an independent Lebanon was either the promise of greater power and authority or the undermining of that traditional power and authority. For the ulema , the traditional religious scholars, the pillars of classical-medieval Islam communal organization came crashing down. Although it can be argued that such novel changes in the foundations of the state had already begun to occur in the Ottoman Empire during the nineteenth century Reform period, the establishment of a non-M uslim political authority is something entirely different! This new secular blueprint of society based upon “citizenship” does not fit into the classical-medieval moulds of society. Two main issues stand out in all of the administrative and judicial changes within Mandatory Lebanon which affected these traditional Islam ic categories. The first was the authority of the French High Commissioner. The second was the acceptance of the Sunni commu nity as simply one millet among many. Endowed with great powers, the French High Commissioner could control and veto legislation passed by the Lebanese and Syrians. If it was not the High Commissioner himself, his délégués had the “final decisions on all important matters of state.” 26 The power of the High Commissioner in several cases exceeded the legal role given to the “Mandatory” by the League of Nations. This became a major issue when he assum ed control of the awqŒf (or Mu slim endowed properties). The fact that a non-M uslim was in control of a primary Mu slim institution was unprecedented. The second issue of importance during the Mandate which challenged the traditional Islam ic view was the legal subjugation of the millets to a civil government. The Sunni commu nity within the confines of the French Mandate was no longer under the jurisdiction of the Sultan, Caliph or any

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other representative of the Islam ic Empire. The Sunnis now had to come to terms with a social-political context in which they were no longer a part of the “mainline” culture. Their status as a commu nity was itself subject to the authority of the “governing powers.” Article 8 of the Mandate states: The Mand atory shall ensu re to all complete freedom of conscience and t h e f r e e exercise o f all fo rm s o f wo rsh ip which are consonant wit h public order and morality.

Article 10 states: The supervision exercised by the Mand atory over the religious missions in Syria and Lebanon shall be limited to t h e m a i n t e n a n c e o f pu blic o r d e r a n d 27 g o o d g o v e r n m e n t . . . [all emphases mine].

Laws enacted by the Mandatory power over each of the confessions and their particular religious laws would set a precedent for the later independent state of Lebanon. Although the Porte held power over each millet within the Ottoman Empire, such authority stemm ed directly from the Sultan. Even under the progressive 1876 Constitution, the state was subject to the authority of the Sultan by whom all citizens were granted rights and privileges. In the end, the empire was an Islam ic empire. Even with the application of the Tanz. ¥mŒt , the Sultan was still the head of the Empire and the shar¥‘a was the legal code of law.28 The Christian mutas. arrif of Mount Lebanon was beholden to the Sunni Ottoman Prime Minister and the Sultan. Under the Mandate, however, even the Sunni millet became subjected to the civil authority of the Mandate and later to the Lebanese government. Article 9 of the 1926 Constitution states: The re shall be absolute freedom of cons cience. T he state in rendering homage to the Most High shall respect all religions and creeds, and shall guarantee under its protection the free exercise of all religious rites p r o v i d e d t h a t t h e pu blic o r d e r is n o t d i s tu r b e d . It shall also guarantee that the personal stat u s and religious interests of the population, to whatever religious sect they belong, shall be respected.29

Article 10 of the Constitution states: Education is free so l o n g a s it is n o t contrary to pu blic o r d e r a n d to g o o d man ners and does not touch the dignity of creeds. No derogation shall affect the right of communities to have their schools, subject to the general prescriptions on public education edicted by the State [all emphasises mine].

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The implication, here, is that the state has the authority to prohib it those religious rites which disturb the publi c order and that they can decide what is acceptable and unacceptable in the civil realm. 30 For the Sunnis this again proved to be a novel situation. From the very beginning of the Mandate, the French confirmed the multi-confessional nature of Lebanon. Legally the terms of the Mandate kept much of the Tanz. ¥mŒt in place. The Mandate maintained the authority “of the religious tribunals” [Article 1], provided respect for “the personal status of the diverse populations and of their religious interests” [Article 6], and the “complete freedom of conscience” [Article 8]. 31 The terms of the Mandate did not change the status of the comm unities as they had been organized under the Ottoman Empire. In support of the Ottoman system, French High Commissioner de Caix wrote: We are finding the presence of the following truth: . . . that which constitutes the true nation of Lebanon is religion, is confessional communities. . .” 32

On 22 September 1920 the High Commissioner reappointed a new Administrative Council. The last Adm inistrative Counci l had been suspended by the empire in 1915. Previou sly, the Administrative Council of the mutas. arrifiyya was made up of two representatives from the Sunni, Shi‘a, Druze, Mar onite, G reek Orthodox and Greek Catholic commu nities.33 The new Council consisted of seventeen representatives, one from each legally recognized confession.34 As before, the issue of proportional representation was again the main issue of contention. The Mar onites argued that because their confession represented a larger voting block than some of the other smaller confessions they should be given more seats. As a result of this dispute, the Council was again be reorganized in 1922 based upon a proportional ratio, using the figures of a 1921 census. 35 In recognizing the confessional makeup of Lebanon the French continued the process begun by Ibrahim Pasha in the nineteenth century when he set up the meclis. However, the French continu ally sought to implement a secular civil structure in place of the Ottoman millet system and independent communal laws. On 7 December 1921, the High Commissioner abrogated Article 156 of the 1917 Ottoman Fam ily Law. This law had upheld the authority of the heads of the religious comm unities in matters of personal status laws. 36 These “personal status laws” dealt with issues related to domestic organization, i.e., birth, marriage and divorce, and inheritance laws. The religious leaders, therefore, held the reins of power in organizing their particular co m m unities. Thus, the abrogation of the

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Ottoman Fam ily Law brought about an outcry from both Mu slim and Christian leaders. The French High Commissioner was forced to repeal the measu re. Another opportunity presented itself in 1931. Then High Commissioner Henri Ponsot was asked by the Greek Orthodox commu nity to intervene in a dispute over the election of their Patriarch. This request set in motion the second attempt to subm it the independent communal laws to a civil code. The intrusion of the Mandatory power into a commu nal dispute was a violation of Article 9 of the Mandate that stated: The Mand atory shall refrain from all interference in the administration of the Councils of managem ent or in the managem ent of religious communities and sacred shrines belonging to the various religions, the immunity of which has been expre ssly guaranteed.37

The League of Nations supported Ponsot’s intervention to “prevent a state of disorder and unite the direction of the religious comm unity, which is necessary in the temporal domain.” 38 In effect, the issue of “public order” as mentioned in Articles 8 and 10 of the Mandate were invoked, to the exclusion of Article 9. The Christian daily paper L’Orient stated: The East ern [Orie ntal] Patriarch does not sim ply represent a spiritual authority; he is equ ally a functionary, who exercises a civil magistracy . . . he hims elf is raised by the s up re m e civ il au tho rity who is the superior controller and must assu re the safe guard of the security and the temporal we ll being of all the citizens. That supreme civil authority had in the past been represented by the Sultan [em phasis mine]. 39

The argum ent being advanced was that the spiritual heads of each confession were not merely religious leaders but civil functionaries, as well. Therefore the High Commissioner as the “supreme civil authority” had an obligation to maintain the public order by holding power even over the confessional heads. Thus, a precedent was set. When the Sunnis were ultim ately granted their own religious head, he was also subject to such civil scrutiny. Legislative Decree 18 of 1955, which we will look at later, upheld that all communal law and activity was “under the condition that it is not incompatible with the laws affecting public order.” 40 The Greek Orthodox dispute ultim ately led Ponsot to issue Arrêté no. 60/LR 13 in 1936. This decree formally recognized all communal codes but gave the civil authority (ie. , The Lebanese government and ultim ately the High Commissioner) final power to ratify all personal status laws. Natu rally, this was vehem ently opposed by all confessional leaders.

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Interestingly, the Sunni commu nity publicly opposed this civil decree by stating that all Muslims (Sunni, Shi‘a, Druze and ‘Alawites) were all one nation and could not be legally separated. 41 The non-Sunni Muslims responded unfavourably to this statement. They did not want to be beholden once again to any Sunni law or jurisdiction. Arrêté no. 60/LR 13 sparked a public debate regarding the nature of the authority of the state over the public and private realm. The most problem atic issue of French administration came in 1921 when the High Commissioner set up the Supreme Council of the AwqŒf . Although the council was strictly made up of Mu slim leaders, it was the High Commissioner who made final decisions through a direct subordinate, the Controller General. 42 The rationale for taking control of this sensitive area of the Mu slim comm unity, it was argued, was that during the last few years of the Ottoman Empire major Mu slim properties were not being properly cared for, and that the High Commissioner wished to make sure they did not deteriorate any further.43 Philip Khou ry, however, has a less than noble view of French intentions, stating that it was in order “to weaken the country’s Mu slim majority by upsetting the legal and religious status quo in which Sunni doctrine was clearly dominant.” 44 This administrative change provided a novel problem for the Mu slim commu nity and its organization. The holdings were still in theory the property of the Mu slim comm unity. However, the supreme authority over these holdings was now no longer the Sultan, or the Caliph, but a foreign non-Muslim. Classical Islam ic Law held no provision for such a possibility. The French Mandate also carried out reforms within the confessional courts. These changes have had a profound impact upon contemporary Lebanese society, especially within the Mu slim comm unity. The application of judicial codes based upon Hanafi interpretation of the shar¥‘a formed the basis of Mu slim debate during the Reform period. The Reformers, struggling to cope with modernity, sought new avenues to interpret and implement the shar¥‘a. Western political categories were adopted or adapted by the Reformers and introduced into Ottoman society. During the French Mandate, Western secular ideals were being introduced into the structure of the confessional courts. What is important here is that these initial changes were not the result of an intraMu slim legal debate over classical categories of fiqh (as during the Reform period) but were enforced by a foreign Western authority. According to Article 5 of the Mandate, the old laws of the Capitulations were no longer legal or applicable. Under Article 6 the French were

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granted authority to insure that foreigners were protected and their rights guaranteed. The French organized the niz. Œmiyya [general courts] with French and Lebanese officials. Under this arrangement, French judges appointed by the High Commissioner oversaw and could overturn rules of local confessional judges. 45 In cases where foreigners were being tried a French judge presided over the court. 46 Viewed as French interference, this reorganization was generally condemned by both Syrian and Lebanese officials. The Syrian Lawyers Union went on strike in 1925 and 1926 to display their indignation. The judicial reforms also alienated the traditional ulema whose power had dwindled during the late Ottoman period. 47 The ulema vehem ently opposed the growing restrictions on their authority and power by the imposition of French authority in personal status cases.48 In 1923, only one year after the enactment of the Mandate, a decision was made to begin reviewing the issue of personal status laws. This resulted in Arrêté 2851 which accepted the authority of religious courts in the cases of marr iage, divorce and apostasy. However, in 1926 High Commissioner de Jouvenel attempted to reform the personal status laws relegated to the jurisdiction of the communal courts. In doing so, he hoped to legalize one complete civil code. Arrêté 261 limited the authority of the religious heads and introduced civil marr iage. In one fell swoop the traditional foundations of the classical Mu slim and Ottoman millet systems were abolished.49 These reforms went beyond the legal bounds established for the French under the terms of the Mandate. Arrêté 261 even abrogated Article 1 of the Mandate itself by interfering in “the rights, interests and wishes” of the population! De Jouvenel’s attempt to define a new secular Lebanese state was unsu ccessful. The Mu slim leaders refused to recognize the authority of any civil court. The Christian communal leaders demanded that their own judges be given powers equal to that of the M uslims regarding personal status laws. 50 After two months of protests de Jouvenel authorized the Lebanese President, Charles Debbas, to suspend the law. Although the same procedure would be tried again in 1936, the protests by the various confessional leaders left the French with little choice but to continue to recognize confessionally specific courts. Arrêté 6 of 1930 formally recognized Mu slim shar¥‘a tribunals as well as Christian and Jewish courts. However, the matter was not yet concluded. In 1936 Ponsot issued Arrêté no. 61, once more limiting the authority of the religious leaders in personal status matters. The law was met with fierce opposition from both the Mu slim and Christian religious leaders. Once again the French High Commissioner backed down. This last dispute, however, would eventually lead to a movement among the Sunni

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to create a Mufti of the Lebanese Republic who would be invested with “temporal and spiritual power.” 51 Up to this point the Sunni community did not have a formal head of their comm unity. Historically their confessional leader had been the Sultan. Thus, from 1920 to 1955, the Sunnis in Lebanon had no religious or confessional leader! The formal recognition of a confessional leader, however, provided legal sanction for their specific confessional laws. The attempt by the French to do away with confessional laws and enact a complete civil code resulted in exactly the opposite: the formal establishment of confessional laws with specific religious leaders holding legally recognized political authority.

The 1926 Leban ese Constitution The Lebanese Constitution was promu lgated on 23 May 1926 under the direction of the French. There continues to be debate concerning the origin of the Constitution. Meir Zam ir has argued that although the Constitution is modelled on the Third French Republican Constitution, the work remains entirely Lebanese - primarily Lebanese Christian, that is. 52 Several historians, Helena Cobban and Kamal Salibi, have sought to show that Michel Chiha, the chief architect of the constitution, endeavoured to maintain the pluralistic nature of the Lebanon by reflecting the desires of the various comm unities in an altru istic sense. 53 Most Mu slim leaders, however, continue to feel that it was drafted and imposed by the French. 54 Two articles of the Constitution have proved to be a major source of controversy, Articles 7 and 95. According to Article 7 [a]ll the Lebanese are equal under the l aw . They enjoy equal civil and political rights and are equ ally subjected to the public charges and duties, without distinction.55

What began in 1856 with the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n and continued in 1876 with the Ottoman Constitution culminated in this constitution of a pluralistic modern nation-state of Lebanon. The declaration of equality among all members of the Ottoman Empire led to the establishment of a Lebanese government that was supported by citizens who were given equal civil and political rights. Art icle 95 is, however, in some ways a contradiction of Article 7. It states:

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measure . . . the sects shall be equ itably represented in public employment” [em phasis mine]. A s a p r o v is io n a l

By preserving confessional equality in public employment, individual merit is subjected to communal quota systems. As long as the provisional nature of Article 95 remains intact, Article 7 is de facto nullified. Article 7 sets the legal boundaries for a modern nation-state based upon the rights and responsibilities of individuals. Article 95, however, recognizes the reality of the communal and confessional nature of Lebanese society. The provisional nature of this article was intended to develop the sense of individual citizenship. It was hoped that Lebanese society could move from Confessional Republicanism to a state where political parties represented the individual. This did not happen. Rem oving the provisional nature of Article 95 is problem atic even today. 56 Lebanese society is still organized according to the Ottoman millet system. According to this system, an individual is legally recognized by the state because one belongs to a particular confessional group. As a result of this strong communal structu re, the attempt to introduce individual citizenship into the political and social realms has been most difficult. The nature of Lebanese politics has become a matter of sharing the access to state power through confessional representation rather than individual access to its resources. 57 This leads to and supports a “clientele” system of relationships [ intis. ab ], where a commu nity seeks its voice through their local family, clan or head of their particular religious body. However, what is implicit in the discussion of these two Constitutional articles is the assumption that the state is composed of individual Lebanese citizens who theoretically have access to the resources of the state. The Constitution and society are working on different levels. In addition, Article 12 holds that [e]v ery Lebanese shall have the right to hold public office, no preference being made except on the basis of me rit and competence.

The issue throughout the most recent war was not the essence of individual citizenship, but confessional privileges for particular government posts. The Mar onites claimed a right to maintain their hold on the Presidency and the Sunnis to claim the Premiership. The political debates throughout the war were, in essence, about the removal of these provisions of confessional privilege for the sake of “justice and amity.” The precept being argued was whether access to any governmental post was based upon the rights and responsibilities of individual citizens,

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whatever their confessional background (i.e. Articles 7 and 12) or whether the government should reflect accurate confessional proportional representation based upon accurate census figures (ie., Article 95). 58 While the Shi‘a, Dru ze, and Greek Orthodox comm unities argued for either one of these options, the Sunni and the Maronite comm unities fought to maintain the status quo which solidified their hold on power. Articles 7 and 12 constitute a further development of a modern republic built upon the foundations of Ottoman political organization. As has been previously argued, the Tanz. ¥mŒt consented to the establishment of a Christian mutas. arrif in the Ottoman province of Mount Lebanon by withdrawing Sunni privileges in the government. Building upon this precedent, the promulgation of Articles 7 and 12 allowed for the establishment of a Christian President of the Lebanese Republic. The acceptance of this constitution has relegated the classical-medieval Islam ic categories of Christians to irrelevancy. The dhimm¥ status and its prohibition of public service in positions over Muslims is no longer effectual. As will be seen below, the Lebanese ulema reviewed here do not dispute this. In some cases they even support the election of the Christian President.

Muslim Responses to the Mandate and the Struggle for Independence Throughout the struggle to gain independence from the French, Mu slim leadership acquiesced and even supported the political developments that ultim ately led to the establishment of the Christian President. Although this was quite problem atic from the legal perspective, the Mu slim leadership of the time was compelled and motiva ted by factors other than adherence to classical-medieval law. For the Mu slim zu‘amŒ’ , the French Mandate provided a solid base from which to conduct their family and client-based politics on a national platform. For the most part they were willing to assent to the state of affairs. The decline of the Ottoman Empire at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries led to a variety of responses by Muslim thinkers to meet the challenges and changes of a rapidly modernizing world. At the time of Lebanon’s independence a plurality of Mu slim political and social views abounded. Most of the views centred around the shape and form of Arab Na tionali st thought. Both Michael Hudson and Michael Suleiman have provided excellent reviews of the political landscape of the time. 59 In addition, Najlah Wadih Atiyah, Ragid

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Solh and Meir Zam ir have reviewed the various schools of thought among the Mu slim zu‘amŒ’ . The establishment of Lebanon as an independent territory threw the Mu slim parties “into disarray.” 60 Following the battle of Mayasalun of 1920, when the French defeated the Lebanese/Syrian forces, the French exiled many of the prominent Syrian Nationalists who were considered too dangerous to leave in control of the political situation. Both Lebanon and Syria were then left without their prominent philosophical thinkers. The Lebanese oligarchy that remained behind were divided by familial, cultu ral, and religious loyalties as well as individual “material interests.” Interest in maintaining their own communal authority, rather than a national platform,61 resulted in, as Khoury has argued, a matter of “Notable politics. ”62 With the imposition of the Mandate, the Mu slim commu nity was faced with an unprecedented crisis. For the first time since the Crusades, the Mu slim commu nity was subjug ated to a foreign Western power. Najla W. Atiyah outlines four ma jor trends of Lebanese Mu slim political thought from 1920 to 1928. The first trend was made up of those who advocated union with Syria. These were the Syrian Nationalists who did not recognize Le Grande Liban and its territorial integrity. Second there were those who advocated for a wider Arab unity. These were the Pan-Arab Nationalists who continued to look to Sherif Husayn and Faisal’s idea of an Arab state created out of the old Ottoman Arabian province, from Egypt to Iraq. Third, on the other side of the fence, were those who supported an independent Lebanese State. The Lebanese Nationalists were by far the smallest number among the Mu slim parties. Lastly, there were those who tacitly recognized the Lebanese State as it was and participated in its structu res as the leaders of their respective constituencies but maintained a negative view of the state. 63 Similarly, Zam ir designates three schools of Lebanese Mu slim thought following the promulgation of the Lebanese Constitution of 1926. According to Zamir, those Mu slim zu‘amŒ’ who were not exiled by the French found themselves holding considerable power as representatives of specific Lebanese communal interests. The first group of Lebanese zu‘amŒ’ consisted of those who accepted the authority of the state and sought to influence its policy by working with the French. Their hope was to increase their own power base within the accepted framework of the state. The second group of leaders were those who demanded unification or a confederation with Syria. These were the Pan-Syrians (as Atiyah has defined them). Lastly, there were those who sought independence from the French before dealing with any questions about the organization of an

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independent state. 64 The overthrow of French occupation was considered the most important issue and goal for these Lebanese. Thus, any and all political alliances were provisional and necessary in order to create the opportunity for a truly Lebanese state. Finally Raghid Solh has offered a slight variation of these trends. He defines the following categories of Lebanese zu‘amŒ’ . The “Kiyanists” were those who advocated for an independent Greater Lebanon. The term “Kiyanist” is based on the root kaun , meaning “to exist.” As Lebanese Nationalists, the “Kiyanists” argued that the Greater Lebanon was an already existing entity with its own “historical and natural” boundaries. The Syrian Unionists, on the other hand (identified as Atiyah’s Syrian Nationalists and Zamir’s Pan-Syrians), advocated for either complete unification with Syria, or some sort of federal system respecting a “Lebanese Particularism.” This would address Maronite concerns that they would be dominated by a Mu slim majority after having had a great deal of independence of self rule. 65 In their studies, both Atiyah and Zam ir have stated that the 1932 Presidential elections and the candidacy of Sheikh Muhamm ad al-Jisr, a prominent Sunni, for the Presidency was the turning point in Mu slim thought. Before this election, the mainline Mu slim response held the state of Lebanon in suspicion. They preferred a Syrian Nationalist or PanSyrian view. Very few Mu slim zu‘amŒ’ in Lebanon actively participated in the politics of the state. Al-Jisr’s candidacy for the Presidency of Lebanon challenged this view. The popularity of al-Jisr and his possible bid for election was unacceptable to the French, who saw the events as opening the door to future problems regarding Maronite security. The possibility of a Sunni President was not acceptable to High Commissioner Henri Ponsot. He dissolved Parliament and appointed Charles Dabbas as President. The French did, however, try to appease the situation by appointing the Sunni ‘Abdullah Bayhum as the Secretary of State. 66 According to Atiyah and Zamir, this event began a process through which Muslims began serving in high level political positions, thereby gradually bringing about a tacit acceptance of the state. One might say that the Sunnis began entering the political foray simply out of spite for the French! What is overlooked in both Atiyah and Zamir’s studies is a recognition of the importance of the 1936 Franco-Syrian treaty and its bearing upon the future of Lebanese politics. As has often happened throughout Lebanon’s history, regional or international concerns have largely determined the country’s course. Syrian politics had developed at its own pace under their own French Mandate. The French had, all the while, been negotiating with Syrian leadership determined to keep the Lebanese

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issue separate. Meanw hile, the largest political party within Syria, the National Bloc, pushed hard for the inclusion of the territory of Lebanon within a Syrian state. It was the force of Syrian politics from Damascus and the French insistence on keeping the two states as distinct entities that prompted the Sunni leadership of Lebanon to begin a process of supporting an independent Lebanon based upon an ideology of its own Arab roots and identity. 67 With the Syrians establishing their own treaty with France and gaining their own independence, the Lebanese Muslims who had advocated for a Syrian Union or a greater Arab State felt betrayed. The Franco-Syrian peace treaty left the Mu slim leadership of Lebanon with little choice but to begin defending their own commu nity’s position within the confessional landscape of Lebanon. With ‘Abdullah Bayhum appointed as Secretary of State and Khaer al-D in serving as the Prime Minister in 1937, the move toward Sunni acceptance of the state was on its way.

Independence and the mithaq al-wat. Œniyya 1932 proved to be a turning point for Mu slim support of an independent Lebanon. Al-Jisr’s presidential candidacy, and the French cancellation of the election, prompted Mu slim leaders to begin thinking in terms of supporting their own positions in a Lebanese political system. A similar incident to the 1932 elections which galvanized Sunni support for an independent Lebanon would take place in 1943. In 1941 Free French forces under the direction of General Georges Catroux took control of the Levant. The Mandate was formally ended. However, it would not be until 1943 that Lebanese elections would take place, and it was another three years after that before Lebanon was formally declared independent. However, following the elections of 1943, the Lebanese leadership acted quickly to take control of France’s weakened situation by striking all references of French authority and references to the Mandate out of the Lebanese Constitution. The French responded imm ediately by arresting most of the Lebanese leadership. This action united Mu slim and Chr istian leaders. The Maronite Kata’ib and the Sunni Najjadeh political parties put aside their differences and came together to work for the removal of French forces from Lebanon. The crisis also solidified Mu slim support for the state and began a process by which the Sunni and Shi‘a would be guaranteed primary leadership positions in the government. 68

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It was at this point that negotiations between the Maronite Bishara al-Khoury and the Sunni Riad al-Solh, respected leaders within their commu nities, hamm ered out the National Pact [ mithaq al-wat. Œniyya]. The National Pact was an unwritten agreement in which it was acknowledg ed that the Mar onites would retain the office of the Presidency, the Sunnis would have the Premiership, while the Shi‘a would be given the position of the Speaker of the Cham ber of Deputies. (This arrangement of these three positions has been called the Lebanese Triumvirate.) In addition, they agreed that there should be a ratio of six Christians to five Muslims in the Cham ber of Deputies. This agreement gave the Maronites what they had been historically seeking - proportional superiority, but provided a strong Mu slim representation as well. What is ironic about this political arrangement is that whereas the Lebanese came together to respond to French power, France would see the National Pact as a victory for its policy of keeping the M aronites in a position of power, thus securing French foreign interest in the region. Kamal Salibi has argued that it was the “mindful” Sunni leadership who recognized that Pan-Arabist Mu slim ideology was frightening the Christian commu nity of Lebanon and thereby causing it to seek continued protection from the French who supported the idea of the National Pact. 69 According to Helena Cobban, however, the National Pact was the result of a united Christian-Mu slim zu‘amŒ’ effort to remove the French from power and thus maintain their own hold on power as the established oligarchy. 70 These traditional argum ents see both Lebanese history and the most recent civil war as a Christian-Mu slim comprom ise. On the contrary, studies by Michael Johnson and Philip Khoury propose that the development of an independent Lebanon and the mithaq al-wat. Œniyya was less about inter-confessional negotiations than intra-confessional politics. The Maronite rivalry between two family aristocrats Bishara al-Khoury and Em ile Eddé has been well docum ented in the histories of Lebanon. 71 What has been consistently underplayed in their duel for prominence, not only within the Maronite commu nity but within the whole of Lebanon itself, is the Sunni leadership’s role in the development of the National Pact and the political system it helped to put in place. Michael Johnson has argued that the Sunni zu‘amŒ’ “played a major role in determining the general and specific directions taken by political and socioeconom ic developments.” 72 While the interests of certain Sunni zu‘amŒ’ may have been for “material” benefits, there were ideological issues at stake as well. 73 It is not sufficient to merely lay this acqu iescence of Maronite primacy by the Sunni zu‘amŒ’ at the feet of their selfish econom ic ambition. There had been genuine Mu slim concerns for maintaining

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comm unal, and familial, representation and power within the state administration. For the Sunni there was a general recognition that their commu nity had lost a great deal of political authority and power during the Mandate and that they needed to solidify their position. What the mithaq al-wat. Œniyya did was to create a formal tradition whereby each confession was represented by a holding specific governmental post and therefore no commu nity was shut out of the formal power structu re. This system has become known as political confessionalism. In addition to the distribution of the Presidency, Prem iership and the Speaker of the Cham ber of Deputies to the Maronites, Sunnis and Shi‘a, respectively, various cabinet posts and top civil positions were designated to specific confessions. For example, the head of the army was to be a Mar onite, while the Minister of Defence was a Dru ze. This system, although accepted by the zu‘amŒ’ , was viewed by the ulema as one of the most fatal flaws of Lebanon.

The Muslim zu‘amŒ’ The Mu slim and Christian political leadership of Lebanon were vested with formal political positions by virtue of the authority they held within their respective constituencies, as either members of traditional landholding families or new political elites.74 These positions were not derived solely because of the religious authority they carried within their commu nities, but primarily from geographic, familial 75 and econom ic issues. 76 In other words, the deep seated quasi-feudal social system of Lebanon maintained power structu res that had little to do with religious confession per se. Like the political feuds between landed families in the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries, contemporary Lebanese politics ultim ately derives its roots from zu‘amŒ’ politics rather than simply confessional representation.77 Thus, zu‘amŒ’ from the same confession are often in conflict over their own special interests. The “game of musical chairs,” as Hanf calls it, of Lebanese ministerial politics is not only a matter of confessional representation but intra-confessional rivalries, between clans of the same confession as well. 78 Zam ir calls this “political feudalism” and Khoury calls it “Notable politics.” 79 The intraconfessional politicking is just as important and vital to the maintenance of the whole country as inter-confessional politics. It was the 1937 parliamentary elections that set the precedent for intraconfessional politics. The candidacies of Mu slim leaders like al-Jisr, Solh, and Khaer al-D in in the political process were forcefu lly opposed by fellow

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Sunnis ‘Abd al-Hamid Karam i, Sai’d Salaam, and others. This prompted public intra-confessional politics. Government-sponsored electoral lists during the elections of the forties and fifties supported this process of intra and inter-confessional rivalries. A slate of candidates prepared on each voting list was inter-confessional, that is, it included names from various confessions. M uslim politicians opposed each other by aligning themselves with members of other confessions to produce beneficial results for themselves and their own particular constituencies. In 1958 civil war broke out. Caught between the rising tide of a rekindled Pan-Arabism under the leadership of Egypt’s President Gamal abd al-Nasser and his formation of the Egyptian-Syrian United Arab Republic, the Sunni zu‘amŒ’ were split into various ideological camps. Once again, the regional and international political climate determined the scope of Lebanese politics. There were those leaders who once again supported a Pan-Arabist ideology, that is a movement to re-unite the Arab State. Others opposed the movement and supported the status quo. Another group formed a third independent camp seeking an hard-line independent course for Lebanon. 80 Even though the rhetoric of Arab Nationalism was the public issue, local politics ultimately ruled the day. Johnson argues that the 1958 civil war was “at one level . . . a factional conflict in which those za’im who had been excluded from high political office were seeking to limit and ultim ately destroy the power of President Chamoun and his supporters.” 81 With the expiration of the Mandate and the French leaving the Levant, there was nothing or no authority to check the multifarious political ambitions of the zu‘amŒ’ . The zu‘amŒ’ followed various political ideologies based on “Notable politics” which cut across confessional lines and loyalty.

Leban ese Islamic Political Thought The Lebanese Mu slim zu‘amŒ’ did not seek answers to the problems of the modern Arab Nation State within traditional Islam ic categories. Nationalist Sunnis believed Islam ic law was outdated and that its principles were not able to meet the needs of the modern nation-state syste m .82 These views were a product of the Ottoman Reform period where the civil programs and educational schools began enrolling and educating civil servants in secular European methods as opposed to the traditional Islam ic schools.83 Many of the Lebanese leaders were educated in these modern civil Ottoman schools. Others were educated in American mission schools set up by Presbyterian missionaries in the

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nineteenth century. Although the Sunni leaders were not converted to Christianity they were groom ed in an Am erican mode of thinking regarding the separation of religious and secular powers. W e have already mentioned the attempt by several leading Mu slim Syrian thinkers to come to terms with the end of the Ottoman Empire and the Caliphate by reinterpreting Islam ic categories. These Reformers changed the course of modern Islam ic political thought in order to provide Islam ic categories for the novel nation-state system. It is important at this point to pause and present several Islam ic reactions that emerged as a result of national independence. The Reformist thinker Rashid Rida argued that the answers to Mu slim problems in the “modern” period were to be found by returning to the foundations of Islam laid down by the early Mu slim comm unity. Rida called this salaf\ism. 84 For Rida, this approach took what were the essential principles laid down in the Qur’an and Hadith and held them in tension with the ambiguities of c on te m porary society. Rida argued that the interest of the commu nity [ mas. lah. a ] should be the guide to rationalize the appropriate Islam ic response where there are no clear injunctions in the Qur’an. 85 His views supported independent national Islam ic responses above the needs of an Ottoman Islam ic Empire. In Dam ascus, another Reformer, Jamal al-D in al-Q asimi, supported the modernist 1876 Ottoman Constitution on the basis that it met with Islam ic principles and provided the basis for an acceptable modern political entity. The “Muhamm ad Union,” on the other hand, a group of conservative ulema in Dam ascus, declared this constitution contrary to the shar¥‘a. 86 It is clear that here was no consensus on the “essential principles” which were to guide the decision making process of the Mu slim comm unity. Two important individuals who contributed to the development of Islam ic thought in Lebanon after independence were the political thinker, Ramadan Lawand, and the former Mufti of Tripoli, ‘Abd al-Hamid Karami. Lawand was the ideologue behind the Sunni al-Najjadeh party originally formed in 1936. He believed that the found ation of the Lebanese commu nity was its Ara b-Isla mic culture. He saw Mu slim culture as inseparable from Arab Nationalism.87 Lawand strove to formulate an Ara b-Isla mic state where Lebanon would be one part of the greater Arab state. In this state, Christians would be categorized as dhimm¥s . However, the first order at hand was to rid Lebanon of French rule. Lawand and the al-Najjadeh party supported the National Pact in order to remov e French authority. In 1943 they were willing to work with the Maronite Kata’ib party to support the Lebanese government against the French. Hudson has pointed out that although the al-Najjadeh proposed a radical vision from within a m ulti-confessional state, they were willing to work within

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the then current system. By the 1972 national elections, the party only had one mem ber in the Cham ber of Deputies and was relegated to obscurity. Even so, Lawand’s Ara b-Isla mic vision is still an important step in the development of Islam ic political thought in Lebanon, as we have seen through al-Fad. l Shalaq’s argum ents. Karami, like Lawand, saw the removal of the French to be the first priority before any attempt to deal with issues relating to Muslim-Christian communal relationships. Karami refused to cooperate with the French during the Mandate. Originally he was pro-Turkish, and so was remov ed from his position as Mufti of Tripoli by the French. Once the Ottoman Empire was formally dissolved, Karami turned to support Pan-Arab nationalism. He was uncompromising in his view.88 In 1928 he organized the “Conference of the Coast” which called for the territories annexed to Greater Lebanon in 1920 to be returned to Syria.89 In his political ideology he saw no distinction between Islam and Arab nationalism. 90 Lawand and Karami express the challenges of Lebanese Mu slim political thought. The idea of an Islam ic umma is watered down by Arab Nationalism, which is further diluted by Lebanese Nationalism. We see, then, during the Mandate period and the struggle for independence, a movement in Lebanese Islam ic thought from Umma IslŒmiyya to Umma ‘Arabiyya. There was a tension between the reality of the pluralistic nationstate and the ideals of Islam ic history and tradition. Under the Ottoman Empire the traditional Islam ic view of the pan-Islamic state could hold up, however precarious. With the fall of the Empire and the abolishment of the Caliphate in 1924, Arab Mu slim political thought had to respond to a novel situation. Although there were very different models proposed for the organization of an Arab state, there was little opposition to the nationstate system itself. The notion of a Pan-Islamic Empire was not considered as an option by the majority of Syro-Lebanese thinkers. From 1924 to 1967 the Arab Mu slim world looked to the nationalist regimes of their own various states. Choueiri calls this the “nationalization of Islam.” 91 Salibi puts it this way: [u]nless the Arabs now, as Muslims, cou ld justify how they actu ally behaved politically in Islamic terms, they cou ld not claim for their different tribal and regional autonomies any legitimacy, because Islam as a universal religion and state did not recognize any claim that wou ld give race, tribe or religion a special political standing. Therefore, wherever Arabs chose to be autonomous or independent of the universal Islam ic rule w ithout appearing to be rebels, they had to

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justify their political dissidence by opting for sectarian interpretations of Islam. 92

The Islamist voice in Lebanon has almost always been modified by the “peculiarities” of the confessional system.93 Several religious groups after independence publica lly called for the implementation of an Islam ic state in Lebanon. The Lebanese branch of the JŒmi‘yŒt al-Ikhwan al-Muslim¥n was formed in 1949 and the ‘IbŒd al-Rah. man was established in 1950. However, they came to the conclusion that the “realities” of Lebanon (that is, its multi-confessional mix) prohibited the establishment of a pure Islam ic state based upon classical-medieval traditions.94 Dalal al-Bizri calls these “realities” the sŒh. a , or the “scene” of the Lebanese social-political landscape. 95 There still existed, however, various traditional Islamist groups which continued to call for an Islam ic system. In 1964 al-JŒmi‘yyŒ al-IslŒmiyya was formed. This group continues to argue for the full implementation of an Islam ic state in Lebanon. Mu slim political thought following Lebanese independence for the most part accepted and worked from within the Arab nationalist system. Nazih Ayubi has explained this as the normal process in the development of any Islam ic political thought. He has argued that Islam ic political theory has historically “on the whole taken shape subsequent to the historical development it addressed.” 96 Both Fuad Khuri and Bassam Tibi have explained this phenomenon in sociological categories. Sunni Islam, stated Khuri, has adapted itself to the ideology of “state structures, centralized authorities and ruling regimes” while Shi‘a Islam has historically adopted “rebellious ideologies rejecting state structures.” 97 For Tibi, the response of Islam to the Arab nation-state system is merely the normal process of Muslims seeking to understand and perceive their sacred texts in their contemporary period. Rou ghly expressed, contem porary tendencies in Islam can still be traced back to these two components: the archaic, static interpretation of Islam that sees eve ry innovation as a threat to its own existential frame of reference, and the modern-tinged concept of Islam, which interprets innovations, not always intent ionally adopted from industrial societies, as auth entic ally Islamic, adoption being understood as an act of retrieval. This tension between the sacred concept of reality and reality itself is the tension between legal and popular Islam. The former is the source of the legal provisions, of the model for reality; the latter is Islam in practice.98

From 1920 to 1946, Lebanese Mu slim political thought was challenged to respond to dram atic social and political changes. As discussed above, two

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tendencies in Lebanese Mu slim political thought provided for the development of the state and the tacit acceptance of the Lebanese Christian Presidency. The first was “Notable politics.” Local special interests competed with overarching Islam ic ideology. The second tendency was the development of independent Mu slim Arab nationalist thought. Once Syrian Muslims could justify an independent Syrian state, Lebanese Muslims sought to justify an independent Lebanese state. Lebanese Muslims would later grow to resent the Mar onite-controlled Presidency but they were willing to support the status quo because the prime political motivation during the Mandate was the removal of the French.

CHAPTER 5

The Position of the Ulema in Lebanese Society and Politics

In the sixteenth century, the Ottoman Sultan Suleiman reorganized the judicial structure of the empire. 1 It was at this point that the Mufti of Istanbul gained a greater sense of authority within the empire by being given the official office and title shaykh al-IslŒm. 2 Up to this point, the Mufti of Istanbul stood as the “first among equals” among the independent jurists and scholars in the empire. Prior to this reorganization the ulema remained outside the official state administration. Within the state the military maintained its own judges, and if a jurist desired to rise in the ranks of the esteemed he had to become part of the military establishment. When Suleiman reorganized the judiciary, by including more formal government posts for the once independent judges, new doors were opened by the formation of a newly established profession within the state judicial system. Suleiman created a formal structure of graded positions to provide for the large number of ulema seeking employment. 3 Thus, the Islam ic judicial system became formalized through a process of state control. Even though the shaykh al-IslŒm was formally incorporated into the state by Suleiman, being put on a fixed salary, he never formally sat on the Imperial Council [ d¥wŒn-i humŒyu- n ]. 4 Although he comm anded authority by interpreting the shar¥‘a, the shaykh al-IslŒm ranked in power below the qŒd. ¥ ‘askers, the military judges of Ru melia and Anatolia, who did sit on the Imperial Council. 5 This order of power was a holdover from the dominant military organization of the empire. The shaykh al-IslŒm’s role was limited to providing fatwas for the sultan and the council. Thus, the shaykh al-IslŒm had official authority but he had no official power. Only the Sultan himself had the power to pass law. This was the classicalmedieval system of ulema organization par excellance. The muftis had religious authority to provide opinions on social and political issues, but they did not hold official political power. Suleiman’s appointee for shaykh al-IslŒm, Ebu’s Su’ud, was the head of this new judicial structure and took on the task of codifying Ottoman law [ qŒnu- n ] to bring it in line with the shar¥‘a. 6 This process of organization and codification brought the traditionally independent Islam ic legal system

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of opinions and rulings under greater scrutiny by the state. Ultimately, this would lead to a loss of authority for the ulema class. They were no longer the independent guardians of religious law. They now would have to answer to the special interests of political views in the empire. Their inclusion in the official state structure “tainted” them in the public’s eye as well as in their own. In 1826, the Ottoman autocratic military, the Janissaries, were disbanded in order to make way for the new modern military reforms of the Tanz. imŒt . The shaykh al-IslŒm was given the corps’ building as the centre of his new judiciary. In fact, the secret agreement reorganizing the Ottoman military structure occurred at the residence of the shaykh al-IslŒm, Tahir Efend i. Thus, the shaykh al-IslŒm had a direct hand in changing the power structure of the modern Ottoman state. 1826, then, can be viewed as the pinnacle of power and authority for the shaykh al-IslŒm and his department of judicial oversight. From this point on the religious class would be relegated to the periphery of power. In his review of the archives of the shaykh al-IslŒm, Faruk Bilici has shown that the correspondence and records of the courts reflect a change in the role of the ulema after 1870. It was in 1870 that the Ottoman Civil Code, or Mecelle, was promulgated. The Mecelle, part of the Tanz. imŒt , instituted a series of legal changes which ultimately would lead to a secularization of personal status law, or civil law. It created a “dual judiciary,” where the civil courts were given power in social-political matters while the ulema maintained control over family rights, inheritance and awqŒf . 7 Throughout the Tanz. imŒt period there was a gradual reduction in the power of the ulema to affect the empire’s social or political policy. By the time of the sultans Selim III (1789-1807) and Mahmud II (1808-1 838), the ulema class had become so large that it was fractured into various social and econom ic groups. When the modernizing refor m s were carried forward concerning social-political reorganization, the ulema were not in a position to form a unified response. The upper class ulema supported the reforms while the lower class argued that the reforms were un-Islam ic. 8 Although this categorization might be a bit simplistic, it does point to a deep division within the ulema . The division was prompted by several developments. First, the growing number of candidates seeking positions in the judiciary lowered the quality of judges. Unqu alified ulema from varied backgrounds began buying positions.9 Second, families that had traditionally produced sons who would pursue religious education were pressed by other noble fam ilies seeking to place their sons in the positions of the new judiciary. The judicial vocation was no longer the

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prerogative of one class.10 Third, the jurists from aristocratic families occasionally abandoned the judiciary to enter the new civil servant schools and bureaucratic careers. Whereas prior to the reforms the judiciary was a closed caste, it was now open to a wide variety of social groups. Research into the records of the Porte before and during the Tanz. imŒt indicate that from 1870 onwards the number of civil servants being appointed to state positions who gradu ated from the modernist schools grew in number. Similarly, the number of those civil servants who were products of the traditional medreses shrank. 11 Thus, there was a bifurcation of the state and traditional ulema institutions. If one can talk about a separation in political and religious institutions, it happened at the end of the Ottoman Empire. Contrary to the designs of the Tanz. imŒt the new bureaucracy did not produce an integration of tradition and modernity, but rather a series of dichotomies with ill-defined and conflicting interests. There were secular law codes and un codified Ûeriat, statutory courts and courts of Holy Law, a Ministry of Justice and the office of the shaykh al-IslŒm. These differentiated legal systems overlapped and contradicted one another at many points. The sum effect was a dram atic curtailment in the legal jurisdiction of the ulema . 12 Under Sultan Mahmud II (1808-1 838), new government schools were formed to meet the needs of these growing military reforms. The schools developed along Western methods and styles of learning. The Ottomans hired Europeans, primarily French instructors, to teach in the schools. The quality of education quickly eclipsed the traditional medresses in meeting the needs of the empire for a modernizing world. Whereas civil servants had been originally educated in medresses in classical Islam ic fashion, the new civil servants enrolled in the government schools which taught the hard sciences and foreign languages. The ulema within the medresses refused to change their classical curr iculu m. This led to a widening gap between the ideas of the reform movement and the majority of the ulema . 13 These ulema considered the “secular” schools outside of their area of concern. It was only when the new schools announced in 1848 that they would begin teaching fiqh [Islam ic jurisprudence] and kalŒm [theology] that the ulema objected to the curriculum. By this time it was too late. The ulema system was completely unable to equip its students to work within a reformed and modernized empire. 14 The traditional ulema saw the new secular schools as contaminated with foreign ideas and fought against them.15 This would ultim ately lead to their demise. As they did not take part in the new education process, they were not equipped to deal with the new state practices and procedures.

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The changing organizational structure of the state, along with the development of new Westernized schools for civil servants, pushed the ulema farther from the centre of power. The shaykh al-IslŒm during the Tanz. imŒt , Hasan Fehmi Efend i, was willing to acquiesce to the bifurcation as long as the ulema retained authority over issues of personal status. His office could maintain a sense of control over the rulings of the family and comm unity. However, when the new state military schools introduced fiqh and kalŒm along with the western categories of science and engineering, Hasan Fehmi Efendi began to actively undermine the new system.16 The traditional ulema found themselves in contention with the gradu ates of the modern schools and their interpretation of society and state. Their authority was threatened from another source as well. Lay Islam ic reformists saw the need for reinterpreting Holy Law free from what they saw as the calcified ulema institution. The argum ent by the salafis17 against taql¥d [following legal tradition] discredited the authority of the traditional ulema . The salafis held that the ulema class was corrupt and unfit for interpreting Islam in the contemporary context. In this period, then, the ulema lost authority due to the secularization of civil servant education and from the Reformist thinkers advocating ijtihŒd and freedom from the classical-medieval system. Two important salafis who supported the modernizing reforms were Jamal al-D in al-Qasimi (1866-1914) and Rashid Rida (1865-1 935). Al-Q asimi, born during the Tanz. imŒt period, supported the social-political ideals of the reform. In 1908, on the occasion of the reinstatement of the 1876 Constitution, he stated in a speech in Damascus that the Constitution was consistent with I sl am ic principles and with the public interest [ mas. lah. a ] of the Mu slim comm unity. 18 In addition, al-Qasimi belonged to a group of salafis in Damascus who argued with the young Arab secular nationalists that Islam was fully compatible with modernity. Al-Qasimi and the salafis held that Islam supported ijtihŒd as opposed to taql¥d in order to address the challenges of the modern period. 19 Rida, like al-Q asimi, was born during the Tanz. imŒt period. As Hourani states, “He belonged to the last generation of those who could be fully educated and yet alive in a self-sufficient Islam ic world of thought.” 20 The medieval ideal of the ruler as the central authority who enacted Islam ic law was being challenged by the modernization process. By the time of the Turkish revolution of 1908, the medieval foundations of the Islam ic state had come crashing down. The Tanz. imŒt adopted Western methods of political organization and began to see the “impersonal legislative agency” of parliamentary procedure as the foundation for modern government. 21 Rida saw the Islam ic principles of shu- rŒ and mas. lah. a as categories in which

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the Mu slim commu nity as a whole was granted the authority to respond to the contemporary context. Rather than the caliph or the ulema holding the authority to interpret sacred law, Rida argued that the classical concept of ahl al-h. all wa ’l-‘aqd [those who “bind and loose,” i.e., those in authority] was now to be understood to refer to representatives of the commu nity at large. 22 The Mu slim commu nity had the freedom to enact new laws and to respond to Modernity, providing those laws did not contradict the principles of the shar¥‘a. Rida understood that the historical context was germane for a c om m unity’s interpretation of the Law.23 Ironically, although Rida was not of the ulema class, and therefore was one of those who underm ined its authority, he provided a foundation of legal interpretation for the ulema of the next generation. We shall see that both Subhi Salih and Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-D in use Rida’s categories and principles when interpreting the Lebanese context during the most recent civil war.

Independent Lebanon Under the Ottoman system, each millet was governed by its own religious laws, and headed by its own confessional leaders. For the Orthodox and non-Latin Catholic Christians, the Patriarch of each denomination was the legally recognized Ottoman official. For the Jewish comm unity, the chief rabbi of Istanbul became the legally recognized head of its millet . The Muslims, on the other hand, had no religious leader other than the Sultan himself. The empire was organized on the basis of Sunni Hanafi law. Thus, the Shi‘a and Druze were not officially recognized as comm unities and their confessional laws had no legal standing because they were considered deviant Mu slim commu nities. After the 1908 Revolution and the reinstatement of the 1876 Constitution, the Young Turks and Kemal Attaturk began a process that would lead to the abolishment of the Sultanate in 1922 and the Caliphate in 1924 to create a modern secular state. The legal system of the former empire was now without its official head, the Caliph, and the shaykh al-IslŒm. In Lebanon, as we have seen, the effective head of the judiciary became the French High Commissioner during French occupation. However, under Article 20 of the Constitution, provisions were made for independent communal laws to be formally recognized and each confession maintained authority over its own comm unity.

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Judicial power functioning with in the framew ork of a statute established by law and ensuring essential guarantees to judges and the disputing parties is exercised by courts of different order and degrees. The law fixes the limits and the conditions of the magistrates’ tenu re of office. Judges are independent in the exercise of their functions. The awards and judgments of all courts are rendered and executed in the name of the Lebanese people.

Through this system, the French High Commissioner maintained power over the individual courts but allowed each confession to appoint its judges as it saw fit. When Lebanon became independent in 1946, the Christians had already granted their confessional leaders authority and power. The Maronite Patriarch, as the head judicial figure, held a great deal of authority and political power within the Maronite comm unity. Likewise, for those Armenians who had arrived recently from Turk ey and Armenia, the Patriarch of Antiliyas became their judicial head. These religious leaders had not only religious or spiritual authority in their own comm unities but actual power from the state to carry out their specific communal laws. This was not so for the Mu slim comm unity. In the early years of independence the Muslims were at a disadvantage as they had no recognized central religious authority. Their religious leaders had been relegated to providing independent fatwas as muftis on personal status cases. On the contrary the zu‘amŒ’ or newly educated leaders were the ones involved in the governmental system that carried legal power. In addition to the older, respected statesmen, newly educated lay lawyers had also succeeded in taking over much of the work formerly ascribed to the ulema . 24 The ulema carried spiritual authority but very little power when it came to national social-political matters. Throughout the early years of independence there was the growing sense among the Sunni that a religious figure with “tem poral” power was needed. The dissolution of an Islam ic empire into a secular nation-state left the Lebanese Mu slim commu nity adrift (as it did to the rest of the Arab Sunni commu nity in the Middle East). No religious or legal provisions were provided for the participation of the Sunni commu nity within a pluralistic state. Within Syria, a group of ulema protesting the change in Sunni communal status issued a proclamation claiming that they did not constitute a commu nity like the other millets. A similar view was echoed in Lebanon. 25 As a result of this change in states, from 1922 to 1967 the Sunni, Druze and Shi‘a c om munities all went through a process of validating and legitimizing their comm unities within the pluralistic society of Lebanon by electing a formal religious leader. What occurred during

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this time was a unique mixture of Ottoman social organization, Lebanese feudal politics, and modern nation-state parliamentary method. In 1928 the Mu slim commu nity formed a Sup re m e M uslim Council made up of prominent zu‘amŒ’ and ulema . This was an attempt to rectify the loss of the Mu slim political authority displaced by the office of the French High Commissioner. The Mu slim commu nity was at a crossroads as, the Christian administration of the French Mandate contradicted 5:51, which had been a foundational text for the classical-medieval social order. O ye who believe! Take not Jews and Christians for your friends and protectors; they are but friends and protectors to each other. And he amongst you that turns to them (for friendship) is of them. Verily Allah guideth not a people unjust.

The “absence of a final Mu slim source of authority . . . was beyond rectification” and great cause for concern.26 A pertinent exam ple of this struggle for Mu slim identity was Shakib Arslan’s 1939 work, LimŒdhŒ ta’akhkhar al-muslimu- n? [Why are Muslims Backward?]. Arslan was a Druze za’im from the Shouf. He sought to come to grips with the fall of the Ottoman Empire and the new nation-state system from an Islam ic perspective. From his viewpoint, how could Muslims come to grips with the twentieth century, and their current situation under the occupation of Western powers? It may be said without exaggeration about the Musl im s that their condition, spiritual as we ll as mat erial, is deplo rably unsatisfactory. With very few exceptions, in all countries whe re Muslims and non-Muslims live side by side, the Muslims lag far behind in almost everything. . . . This, then, is the general cond ition of the mod ern Muslims. What are the causes that led to the general degradation of Muslim s? Was it not the Muslims who we re credited with leade rship in the East as we ll as in the West, for about eight or nine centuries . . . ? 27

Rashid Rida also addresses the critical issue of a lack of strong Mu slim leadership in al-KhilŒfa aw al-ImŒma ’l-‘Uz. mŒ [The Caliphate or the Supreme Imamate]. He writes: Muslims do not have a leader and an organized body to undertake such a task with the necess ary organization and funds in the manner that it is done by the leader of the Catholics, the Pope, and the patriarchs and bishops and mis sionary societies in Christian lands. 28

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The creation of the Supreme Mu slim Council in Lebanon was, then, a particular political attempt to respond to this crisis. To provide religious legitimacy and authority to the Council, the Mufti of Beirut, the most prominent mufti of Lebanon became its spokesperson.29 The title of the Mufti of Beirut was officially changed in 1932 to the Mufti of the Republic of Lebanon. 30 In addition, the Sunni head of the Court of Appeals was renamed the qŒd. Œ’ al-qud. Œt , the classical term for the Chief Islam ic Judge under the Caliph. 31 This adoption of classical Islam ic titles was an attempt by the Sunni leadership to come to terms with the current socialpolitical situation.32 With High Comm issioner Henri Ponsot’s proclamation of Arrêté no. 60, which limited the authority of the confessional courts regarding matters of personal status, the Muslim commu nity responded by endowing the Mufti of the Republic of Lebanon with “temporal and spiritual power.” 33 This was not a unanimous decision, however. Some Sunni notables argued that the popularly elected members of the Cham ber of Deputies were the only legitimate representatives of the Sunni community and not a mem ber of the ulema class. The notables argued that in the modern period it was the elected civil officials who should hold temporal power, not the Mu fti. The debate demonstrates that the Sunni community was not in agreement over the proper Islam ic response to the changing political landscape. In any case, the Sunnis eventually agreed to put forward a religious leader as their official spokesperson to the civil authority in the same vein as the Maronite comm unity. It was not until 1955, however, that the Lebanese political system recognized a formal religious authority with communal power for the Sunni comm unity. This was accomplished by the promulgation of Legislative Decree No. 18. The Sunni Muslims are independent, com plete ly independent in their religious affairs, their awq Œ f ; their ability to self-exercise, and to assu re the administration in conformity with the noble s h a r¥‘a . 34

Legislative Decree No. 18 conceded that the religious, social, administrative and financial autonomy of the Sunnis was to remain separate from the civil administration. This was important for two reasons. First, it returned to the Sunni commu nity the authority of the awqŒf previously overseen by the High Comm issioner’s office. Second, it allowed for the establishment of the political power of the Mufti of the Republic who would be recognized as “the religious chief of the Muslims.” 35

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The Mufti of the Rep ublic is the chief head to the association of Sunni Mu slim men of religion and the chief Islam ic authority and position, and exercises overall responsibility in statutes, organization, endowments, and law. 36

There was still ambiguity, however, regarding the Mufti’s power. Although he represented the Sunni comm unity, it was the Sunni Prime Minister who was the head of the government of Lebanon. Initially, the Mufti and the Department of awqŒf resided under the control of the Sunni Prime Minister and his office. 37 This was challenged within the Cham ber of D eputies and the Mufti was given independent power on 26 May, 1955.38 However, by 1955 the Mufti was granted power within his confession, but he was still subject to the Lebanese Constitution and the civil power. Article Two of the legislation stated that the Mufti would represent the Sunni commu nity to the “public powers” [ al-sult. Œt al-‘Œmma]. 39 The “public powers” included the Sunni P r im e M inister. Even with the official independence of authority from the Prime Minister’s office there was still ambiguity. The Mufti’s office was an elected one that needed the approval of the civil authority. According to Section Five of the legislation, the selection of the Mufti was agreed upon by a c om m ittee that consisted, among others, of the Prime Minister, former Prime Ministers, members of Parliament and other important Sunni zu‘am Œ . 40 After this election he was formally confirmed by the Prime Minister and the President of the Republic. 41 Thus, his position was an appointment by Sunni members of the civil government to the central government represented by a Mar onite. The schizophrenic nature of his position, government appointee and independent confessional leader subject to the civil authority, has never been fully clarified. Two incidents clearly elucidate this confusing issue of authority and power. The first occurred in 1920 when the French High Commissioner General Gourard pronounced the establishment of Le Grande Liban . The Mufti of Beirut was present on the dais in a seem ingly public display of support. Although insufficient evidence can be found to argue that the Mufti’s presence was an explicit support of the new state, his presence does show the ambiguous relationship between the office of the Mufti and the civil authority. 42 As the relig ious official and spiritual leader of the Sunni commu nity the Mufti was an important political figurehead. Yet, he was subject to the civil power, here the French High Commissioner, who could affect the establishment of a new state with or without the Mufti’s support.

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The second incident occurred several years after Hasan Khalid was elected Mufti of the Republic in 1966. As the ceremonial President of the most prominent Sunni al-MaqŒs. id Society, Khalid was asked to arbitrate in a dispute. This dispute, however, became a political battle between opposing Sunni zu‘amŒ’ and “Notable politics.” In 1970, prime minister Saib Salam, and the Board of Directors, rejected the nominees for mem bership to the Society that were being sponsored by another prominent Sunni za‘im, Rashid al-Sulh. Khalid agreed to arbitrate and held several meetings at his residence. His final independent decision was that the names should be presented and accepted for membership. Saib Salam, however, refused to accept Khalid’s arbitration, arguing that the Mufti was “sym pathetic to the Opposition’s cause.” 43 The dispute was then taken up within the cabinet of the government and the result was a near disaster. Arm ed bands supporting each faction began to riot. “Despite the Mufti’s prestige and status as the spiritual head of the Sunni comm unity, he did not have the authority to act as an arbitrator in a dispute about the leader ship of a Sunni charity.”44 We might clarify Johnson’s statement here. Although Khalid had the “prestige and status” (i.e., authority), he did not have any political power to affect a resolution. When addressing political issues the Mufti was - and continues to be - merely another voice in the dispute. Whereas the Sunnis needed to be compensated for the loss of their legal and judicial head in an independent Lebanon, the Shi‘a were given an opportunity to provide for their own legal and judicial needs. As early as 1933, members of the Shi‘a commu nity began to feel as if they needed a “supreme religious leader” vis a vis the Maronites. 45 By 1936, Twelver Shi‘a law became legally recognized. According to Arrêté no. 3503, the Shi‘a commu nity could maintain its own religious courts. 46 However, under the original promulgation of Legisla tive Decree No. 18, the Shi‘a were still represented to the civil authority by the Sunni Mu fti. There was no official religious representative of the Shi‘a comm unity. 47 For the Shi‘a, the drive for judicial equality within the state would be an uphill battle. Not only was there the predominance of Sunni power, but there was also a strong power bloc among the Shi‘a zu‘amŒ’ who felt their power base threatened by such a legal move favouring Shi‘a jurists. Furthermore there was a deep-seated tradition from within the Shi‘a ulema to refrain from involvement in governmental politics. The Shi‘a scholars from both Najaf and Qom had long been involved in philosophical struggles regarding the participation of the ulema with the government. Although the Iranian ulema from Qom had given religious support and leadership to the 1906 Iranian revolution, by the middle of the twentieth

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century the overwhelming opinion among Twelver Jurists was to refrain from political involvement. The leading marŒji‘ al-taqŒl¥d , the Ayatollah Hussein Borujerdi (d. 1961) in Qom and Ayatollah Mu hsin al-Hakim (d. 1970) in Najaf, both encourag ed “scholarly restraint” in entering the political foray. 48 Ayatollah Abu al-Qasim al-Musawi al-Kho’i in Najaf, considered by many in Iraq and Lebanon to be the marja‘ al-taql¥d after the deaths of al-Hakim and Boru jerdi, also encourag ed restraint from political involvement. Within Lebanon, Muhamm ad Jawad Mughniyya, echoed these views. He would become a prominent spokesperson against Khomeini’s interpretation of the Islam ic state in Iran. 49 What was at stake, he argued, was the traditional Shi‘a stance against a central authority. By participating in government, the jurists would be “aborting historical Shi‘a opposition to unjust rule.” 50 By putting themselves on the government payroll they would be abandoning their responsibility as independent caretakers of the shar¥‘a. In addition to the debates going on among the Shi‘a ulema , the zu‘amŒ participated in blocking any major changes to the political system of the time. The rich, land-owning notables had an interest in maintaining the status quo. As the sole legal representatives of the Shi‘a commu nity in Lebanon, the formal recognition of the ulema would threaten their grip on power, especially in the South. It was this group of notables, the Speaker of the Cham ber of Depu ties Kamil al-As‘ad in particular, who would frustrate the efforts to create a Shi‘a judicial head.51 The strongest argum ent against forming an independent Shi‘a judicial body came from the Sunni establishment itself. It was argued that, because of the close ties in the Shi‘a commu nity with their ulema in Iran that a formally recognized Shi‘a representative would simply be an avenue for “American-Iranian politics.” It was feared that the Shi‘a confessional head would be beholden to Iran, and the Shah’s pro-Western stance. The close ties between the Shah’s Iran and the United States provid ed a convenient argum ent that would tip the balance against the idea of a Shi‘a representative. 52 The argum ent, however, was simply a mask. The Sunni authority was reluctant to give up its power over its Shi‘a constituents. As a result of these three factors, there was not much success in developing support for a Shi‘a religious leader. It would not be until Musa al-Sadr comm enced his work in southern Lebanon in 1958 that things would change. Al-Sadr, a Shi‘a scholar from a prominent religious family, undertook a relentless campaign to champion the rights of the poor Shi‘a in the South, calling for proper governm ent support for the South’s infrastructu re, and its defence against Israel. He pushed for the creation of a Shi‘a council that would be forma lly recognized by the Lebanese

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government. This issue brought al-Sadr into direct conflict with the Speaker of the Cham ber of Deputies, Kamil al-As‘ad.53 Al-Sadr’s charisma and leadership abilities were too much for his opposition. In 1967, Legislative Decree No. 18 was amended with Law 72/67 54 that provided for the establishment of an independent Shi‘a Council. Law 72/67 was framed and worded in the s am e style as Legislative Decree No. 18. The purpose of the law was to provide the same model of confessional independence for the Shi‘a and for the Sunnis. This meant that Section 2 of Legislative Decree No. 18, which provided for the Mufti as the “religious chief of [all] the Muslims,” had to be amended. The Mufti of the Republic would no longer have jurisdiction over the Shi‘a comm unity. That jurisdiction now fell to the President of the Shi‘a Council. 55 The President of the Council was to represent the Shi‘a to the “public powers.” 56 This law, however, would not be put into effect until 1969 when the Supreme Islam ic Shi‘a Council would be formed and Musa al-Sadr elected its President. It was the charismatic presence of Musa al-Sadr that made the promu lgation and the implementation of the law possible. With Law 72/67, The Lebanese Shi‘a attained an official religious status that they had not owned since the overthrow of Fatimid rule in Syria in the fifth/eleventh century. 57 While the Sunnis attempted to adjust to the power they had lost, the Shi‘a finally gained what they had never had under the Sunni Ottomans. Yet, the civil authority, including the Shi‘a Speaker of the Cham ber of Deputies, still stood as the power partly determining “public order.” Thus, the Speaker of the Cham ber of Deputies could undermine the influence of the President of the Suprem e Shi‘a Council. The ambiguity of the power of the President and the Council was (and still is) unresolved. These two positions, the Mufti of the Republic and the President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council, highlight what Max Weber calls the distinction between “traditional authority” and “legal authority.” In his discussion of the typology of legitimate authority Weber outlines three distinct types: legal, traditional and charismatic authority. Under legal authority “obedience is not owed to any particular person, rather to an impersonal set of rules, codes and principles.” 58 Traditional authority, on the other hand, is owed to a patriarchal form of rulership. The person who is Chief entitled to authority based on the “sanctity of immem orial traditions” or custom and heredity gene rally is supported by religious doctrines.59

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Lastly, charismatic authority is that in which obedience is given to a particular person because of his/her personal qualities. The charismatic leader garners followers because of their devotion and loyalty to the individual, not to any set of rules or traditions.60 According to these ideal typologies, the ulema as a class hold traditional authority, while the formal civil politicians, the President, Prime Minister and Speaker of the Cham ber of Deputies, hold legal authority. In both cases, it is the institution to which these individuals belong which carries their authority. However, in some cases, individuals of both groups will hold charismatic authority based upon their personal qualities. For example, in addition to his traditional authority, the Shi‘a Imam Musa Sadr held charismatic authority as well. We might further distinguish between the authority of the ulema and the civil politicians by use of Weber’s discussions of the state and the nation. Weber mak es a distinction between “staatspolitisch” and “kulturpolitisch.” The authority of the “staatspolitisch” is based upon the state institutions of the civil corps and the army. These individuals are the natural and primary exponents of the des ire for the power-oriented prestige of their own political structure . . . the chief beare rs of the concept of the State. 61

On the other hand, the ulema are the “kulturpolitisch,” who are the spec ific beare rs of cult ure and the idea of nation . . . the promotion of what was individual to a community.62

What is confusing in the Lebanese context is that the Mufti and the President of the Supreme Shi ‘a Islam ic Council are individuals who have official civil power primarily because of their traditional, or spiritu al, authority. Their positions as the bearers of their commu nity’s identities grant them civil power. Thus, there is an overlap in Weber’s categories. The unique social-political organization of Lebanon mak es the application of universal theories of the state and society difficult.

Spiritual Sum mits The distinction and ambiguity between confessional authorit y and civil power was highlighted throughout the Lebanese civil war as the Mu slim and Christian religious leaders supported the discussions and political platfor m s of their own comm unities in order to solve the political

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problems facing Lebanon. From the early part of the war to its very end the spiritual leaders of each confession met together to provide official statements regarding the war. They did so both in religiou sly specific meetings as well as in interfaith summ its. In each case, the meetings produced both official and unofficial statements directed at the current fighting, the militias and the politicians. In his work, al-‘AlmŒniyya [Secularism], Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-D in asserts that the ulema never formed a separate or distinct class within society. He states that the ulema al-d¥n [the religious scholars] worked with the ahl h. uku- m wa sult. Œn [those who have authority and power]. Thus, their inclusion in the political meetings of their specific confesions did not seem to be a problem. These meetings were, in fact, an appropriate place for one to assert authority as the religious head of a particular constituency. Fouad Khuri, on the other hand, argues that “The ulema entrusted with this private knowledge have always constituted a separate, distinct category in Islam.” 63 Islam does not have the same distinctions of “sacred” and “secular” that have developed in Western Christianity. However, Khuri’s view is borne out within the experience of the Lebanese context. Although the Mufti of the Republic and the President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council represent their confessions on an official level, they do so constitu tionally before the “civil powers.” Khuri states that “the influence wielded by the ulema in Sunni Islam tends to be indirect and tacitly executed by the power elites.”64 The religious heads held no real political power. They did, however, wield confessional authority. Due to this confessional authority, the ulema were included in various political organizations within their confession. Still, they were seen as, and considered themselves to be, distinct from the political sphere. R esponding to the outbreak of the civil war, Syrian Foreign Minister Khaddam organized a National Dialogue Committee in Beirut in October 1975.65 While the political leaders met, the spiritual leaders assembled both at Bkerk e, the residence of the Maronite Patriarch, and at Dar al-Fatwa, the office of the Mufti on successive days. Musa al-Sadr was chosen to prepare the agenda for the meeting. In a memo to each participant he stated that it was necessary for the “religious leaders of the different commu nities, in their capacity as representatives of the whole of the citizens, to meet periodically.” 66 At the meeting, the clerics passed a resolution upholding the unity of the state and the “distinctive character of its civilization.” 67 The assembled affirm that God, who is their origin and end, has brought them toge ther, both Muslims and Christians. In His Justice, mercy and benignity, they possess what constitutes their unity as long as they

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conduct themselves in the way of God and live in a spirit of cooperation and mutu al welcome, adhering to lofty spiritual values and recognizing the dignity of man, in the best interest of Lebanon.

The clerics proclaimed their belief that what is most outstanding in Lebanon, the very cause of its existence and distinction, is the presence on its soil of a remarkable coexistence which is unique in the world. They believed that this distinctive attribute was a deposition in trust which God and the faithful had placed in their hands and to which they were held accountable. 68 Although there were many attempts to organize another meeting, the next large interfaith meeting did not take place until 1984. 69 As the political and militia leaders sat around the conference table in Lausanne, Switzerland, the religious leaders gathered in Lebanon and issued a statement that “condemned the killing, kidnapping and destruction of property in Lebanon.” 70 The clerics represented a distinct voice separate from the political and militia leaders working to reach political settlement. The next full interfaith sum mit was held 20-23 February 1989 in Kuw ait. In this case the religious leaders were responding to the complete collapse of the Lebanese state following the expiration of President Gemeyal Amin’s term. Both Prime Minister Salim al-Hoss and chief of the army General Michel Aoun each formed a cabinet and declared a legal government. With two governments attempting to run the state, Syria and Israel occupying most of Lebanon, as well as Amal and Hizb’allah battling each other in the streets of Beirut, the situation was critical. The interfaith meeting produced no real positive results or dram atic statements. However, the religious heads agreed that it was Israel, and not Syria that was a major cause of the problems in Lebanon. 71 These interfaith summ its did not, interestingly, in any way impede the spiritual leaders from meeting with their own confessional politicians. Rea listically, they continued to serve as the spiritual leaders for their specific commu nities. Consequ ently, they still provided a platform from which to defend their specific “piece of the pie.” Again, this highlights the curious mixture of confessional and civil, religious and political definitions of the formal religious leaders. Four of these ulema have provided critical support for the pluralistic state of Lebanon, in some cases both criticizing and supporting the Christian Presidency. We now turn to the specific responses of those four ulema ; Hasan Khalid, Subhi Salih, Musa al-Sadr, and Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-Din, after a brief introduction of their careers.

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Hasan Khalid Hasan Kh alid was born in Beirut in 1921. He received a traditional Islamic education, studying at the al-MaqŒs. id al-IslŒmiyya. Following this, he attended the Islam ic law school of Azhar Lubnan H. aliyya and then went on to al-Azhar itself, where he gradu ated first in his class. In 1946 he returned to Beirut to begin teaching logic and tawh. ¥d at a MaqŒs. id school until 1954 and also served as a clerk in the courts of Beirut. It was in 1954 that Khalid began serving in senior judicial appointments, when he was appointed the Deputy Chief Judge of Beirut. He stayed here for three years until he was appointed the Chief Judge of the northern district of Akkar. Then in 1960 he was transferred to the district of Mount Lebanon where he became the Superintendent of the Shar¥‘a Courts. In 1966 he was elected Mufti of the Republic of Lebanon which position he held until the time of his assassination in 1989.72 As the official confessional leader of the Sunni commu nity in Lebanon, Khalid was a very public figure. He was a moderate who consistently called for political unity through dialogue. The residence of the Mu fti, Dar al-Fatwa, was often the scene of meetings between various parties and militias throughout the war. Khalid also called for Christian-Mu slim cooperation in solving the political problems, although he stood firm against Maronite privileges as they were played out in the current National Pact. He also continu ally hosted and attended Sunni political meetings where specific Sunni political statements were advanced. Khalid spoke openly against the violence perpetrated by all sides against civilians, and was a critic of Syrian intervention in Lebanon. The contemporary shi‘a scholar Fouad Ajami describes Hasan Khalid as a pillar of the city of Beirut, a man of the social hierarchy and the status quo, a man to whom the fundamental concerns of Islam were the administering of men and social institutions and the keeping intact of a system of property and standing . . . . The ease with which Shaykh Hassan Khalid pronounced on social and political mat ters was rooted in the still uns hakable Sunni sense of belonging to Islam’s dominant cult ure and faith.73

On 16 May 1989, shortly after returning from a meeting with the Maronite General Aoun, he was killed by a car bomb. “The assassination . . . was understood as a warning to all prepared to meet or cooperate with Aoun.” 74 The Prime Minister, Dr. Salim al-Hoss, stated that Khalid was “a symbol of wisdom who stood for national reconciliation, unity and peace.” 75

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Subhi Salih Subhi Salih was born in 1926 in Tripoli. He began his formal higher education at al-Azhar. He earned his Higher Certificate in 1947 and then his Ulema’s Certificate in 1949. In 1950 he earned a degree from the College of Arts of Cairo University. From Cairo, Salih went to Paris to pursue his Doctorate in Comparative Theology at the Sorbonne which degree he obtained in 1954. Immediately after earning his doctorate he began teaching at Baghdad University (1954-1956), then at Damascus University (1956-1 963). During this time he began a career as a professor of Arab Philology at the Lebanese University (1960) which he held until his assassination. His responsibilities at the Lebanese University included the Directorship of the Faculty of Arts and Human Sciences, and Chair of the Ara bic Department. He also held visiting professorships at the University of Tunisia (1970), the University of Jordan (1971-1973) and the Islam ic University of Muhamm ad ibn Saud, Riyadh (1980). Throughout his academic career Salih published a great deal in both Ara bic and French. Although Salih pursu ed a vigorous scholarly career, he was still elected as the Deputy Head of the Supreme Islam ic Shar¥‘a Council and the Legislative Council under the Mu fti, Hasan Khalid.76 Throughout his life Salih was actively engaged in the pursuit of providing a consistent Islam ic response to modernity. Many of Salih’s published works dealt with interpreting Islam according to modern categories: including al-IslŒm wa ’l-mujtama‘ al-‘as. r¥, al-IslŒm wa mustaqbal al-h. ad. arah , and Réponse de l’Islam aux defis de notre temps. In addition, Salih was a member of the Organization of Arab Education, Culture and Sciences in Tunis working to produce an “independent legal thought in Islam” [ jŒ’iz al-tafk¥r al-ijtihŒd¥ f¥’l-IslŒm]. This organization was created in preparation for the celebration of the fifteenth century of the Islam ic calendar. 77 Salih was assassinated on 6 October 1986 by an unknown assailant. Like Khalid, Salih was known as an advocate for Christian-Mu slim reconciliation. The daily al-Amal called him “a symbol of national unity and an advocate of dialogue between the Lebanese factions.”78 He was granted the Order of the Cedar, Lebanon’s highest honour, posthum ously, by President Am in Gem ayel.

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Musa al-Sadr Of the four ulema represented here, Musa al-Sadr is the most well known, and has himself been the subject of much research. Duplicating this well docum ented material is not necessary. 79 Three things, however, are worth noting here: his educational background, the roots of his political activity, and his ecumenical and interfaith ventures during his career in Lebanon. Born in Qom, Iran, in 1928, al-Sadr came from a long line of Shi‘a scholars. Although he was given a traditional religious education at a seminary in Qom, he was not interested in following in his father’s footsteps. He continued his studies at Tehran University where he earned a degree in Law. Ajami states: The fact that Musa al-Sadr enrolled at the law school at the University of Tehran when he was in his mid-twenties is indicative of a mod ern cast of mind, a cert ain dissatisfaction with what the world of the clerics and the education of the clerics had to offer. 80

In the end, however, al-Sadr’s father’s wishes won out. Al-Sadr returned to the seminary in Qom to teach logic and fiqh . 81 From Qom he would move on to Najaf and continue to study under the leading scholars, Mu hsin al-Hakim and Sayyid Abu al-Q adim al-K ho’i. Al-Sadr’s exposure to a secular education at the University of Tehran revea ls his modernist and reforming tendencies. In 1977, al-Sadr provided a eulogy for Ali Shariati, the secular political ideologue who provided much of the impetus for the events leading up to the beginning of the Iranian Revolution in 1978. In his speech, al-Sadr praised Shariati for his attempt to respond to the Iranian situation by discovering an “au thentic ideology that emerged out of the soil of Islam ic society.”82 Al-Sadr came from a long line of scholars who were involved in some form of political activity. Ayatollah Husayn al-Q omm i, al-Sadr’s grandfather, was an active opponent of Reza Shah and his policies in Iran. Sayyid Muhamm ad al-Sadr, al-Sadr’s paternal uncle, was an active opponent of British rule in Iraq at the end of World War I. 83 Al-Sadr’s cousin, Muhamm ad Baqer al-Sadr became the leading figure opposing the Bathist regime in Baghdad following the 1958 revolution and was ultim ately executed by Saddam Hussein. 84 Although al-Sadr’s father, Sad al-D in al-Sadr, was much more reluctant to enter the foray of the political world, Musa was not. The family tendency here is quite remarkable given the propensity among the leading marja‘ to hold political activity in disdain.

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As we have already noted above, Musa al-Sadr would fight against a great deal of Shi‘a clerical and social power in opting to enter the political arena in Lebanon. Al-Sadr’s establishment of the organization H. arakŒt al-Muh. rumu- n [the Movem ent of the Disinherited] and its militia unit, Amal, was simply the Lebanese way of playing the political game. 85 High stakes politics in Lebanon and the clientele system insured that each leader had a fully armed militia. When al-Sadr decided to work outside the jurisdiction of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council and the Shi‘a Members of Parliament he was demonstrating that he had grasped the notion of the political power of the time. 86 He also made it clear that his activities with H. arakŒt al-Muh. rumu- n , which was a social-political organization intent upon addressing the econom ic ills of the South, and Amal were in no way connected to the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council or his role as the President. Al-Sadr paid for his political activities with his life, disappearing on a trip to Libya in 1978. The last issue worth noting here is al-Sadr’s strong position on ecumenism and interfaith relations. Shortly after being elected the President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council, al-Sadr sent Hasan Khalid a formal letter encouraging greater cooperation among the two sects on various levels.87 Al-Sadr also worked quite closely with Greek Catholic Bishop Gregoire Haddad, co-founding the social movement al-H. arakŒt al-IjtimŒ‘iyya. 88 Furthermore, al-Sadr delivered a paper at the World Council of Churches interfaith meeting at Broumana, Lebanon in 1972.89 Lastly, al-Sadr’s most famous interfaith activity was his Lenten sermon delivered at the Cathedral of Saint Louis D es Capuchins for which he was heavily criticized by other ulema . 90 Al-Sadr’s modernist and activist tendencies provided a platform for him to engage with members of other confessions intellectually. Interestingly, in 1957 when al-Sadr was invited to Lebanon by the leading cleric of the time, Sayyid Sharaf al-Din, al-Sadr was put in a situation that altered the future of the Lebanese Shi‘a. Before al-Sadr’s arrival in Tyre in 1958, the most likely candidate to succeed Sharaf al-D in was Muhamm ad Jawad M ughniyya. Mu ghniyya was educated in Najaf, but moved to Lebanon in 1948 to become a judge in the Shar¥‘a court in Beirut. Within a year Mu ghniyya was appointed the president of the tribunal of the courts. 91 Mughniyya, as the leading Shi‘a ‘Œlim, viewed political activism negatively. For some reason, however, Mu ghniyya was not chosen by Sharaf al-D in as his successor. The young Iranian Musa alSadr was chosen instead. If al-Sadr had not entered the scene, one wonders what would have been the political Shi‘a communal response to the war with Mu ghniyya as its leader.

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Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-D in Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-D in was born in 1936 in Najaf. His father, Sheikh ‘Abd al-K arim al-D in ibn ‘Abas Shams al-Din, was a religious scholar. The family originally came from Jabal ‘Am il, but Shams al-Din’s father moved to Nafaj, Iraq to study theology. Shams al-D in was raised in a religious environment and, unlike Musa al-Sadr, actively pursu ed a religious career on his own initiative. When Shams al-D in was twentythree his father returned to Lebanon and he was left alone. This was the most difficult and formative period of his life. While trying to study in Najaf, he suffered great hardship. He had no money and was always hungry, living a “life of poverty.” 92 This period would impress upon him the importance of supporting the poor and marginalised. It was in Najaf at this time that Shams al-D in studied under the two leading marŒji‘, Mu hsin al-Hakim and Sayyed Abu al-Q asim al-K ho’i. We have already noted both scholars’ inclinations to refrain from political involv ement. Following the Iraqi revolution of 1958 Shams al-D in became actively involved not in politics but in the social aspects of religion. He says that he was overcome by the “behaviour and conduct” of the people, and “the power of the rulers” over the people. 93 Mov ed by the irreligiousness of Iraqi society he actively began building mosques and schools. This was the form of his social-political involvement. 94 Shams al-D in went back to Lebanon in 1969, the year Musa al-Sadr was elected President of the Supreme Islam ic Shi‘a Council. Shams al-D in returned to Lebanon in order to work with al-Sadr.95 Although a fine scholar and longtime activist of justice for the poor, Shams al-D in would never prove to be a powerful figure in Lebanese politics. He would never command the majority of support among the Shi‘a. This happened for several reasons. First, Shams al-D in was an outsider, only recently arrived from Iraq. He would have to contend, as did Musa al-Sadr almost ten years earlier, with the established Shi‘a power brokers. Second, Shams alDin was seen as the protege of al-Sadr. It was al-Sadr who first recomm ended Shams al-D in for the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council and then for Vice President of the Council in 1975 needed to replace the previous Vice President, Sheikh Suleiman al-Yak hfufi Rahman‘allah who had served under al-Sadr since 1969. Shams al-Din’s nomination and election as Vice President was highly contested within the Council. Therefore, al-Sadr suggested that Shams al-D in leave Lebanon during the election. Shams al-D in left for London and returned when he was elected.96 Thus, from the very beginning his authority was under question. Third, Shams al-Din’s status as a communal and religious

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leader in Lebanon would always be in contention with other more prominent and charismatic leaders. Throughout the seventies Shams al-D in would stand in the shadow of Musa al-Sadr. He could not compete with the charismatic presence of al-Sadr, even after al-Sadr’s disappearance. When he took over as the head of the Supreme Islam ic Shi‘a Council following al-Sadr’s disappearance his official title was only “acting” President, until al-Sadr returned. By the eighties Shams al-D in had to contend with the growing popularity of the other Shi‘a relig ious leaders, the independent ideologue of Hizb’allah, Muhamm ad Hussain Fadlallah, and the Ja‘afarite Mufti of Lebanon, Sheikh Abdelmir Kabalan. Fadlallah would command the authority of Hizb’allah , 97 while Kabalan would be named the religious mentor of Amal. 98 Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-Din was the only individual of the four ulema in this research to survive the war. He continued to serve as the President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council producing volum es of material on Shi‘a Islam and the Lebanese situation until his recent death in 2001.

CHAPTER 6

Objections to the Formula of the Confessional State

The four ulema previously introduced provided various opinions regarding the issue of Christian political rights in Lebanon. We will now look at their views in light of four events from the most recent Lebanese civil war. These four events were significant in that each scholar responded publica lly to each crisis. W e can now review their opinions during the war with an understanding of the theological and legal perspective of classical-medieval Islam regarding Christian political rights as Dhimm¥s , the history of the multi-confessional system in Lebanon, and the status of the ulema in contemporary Lebanese society. The first two events, the beginning of the civil war in 1975, and political reform and the 1976 Presidential election, focus upon the argum ents surrounding a fair and just reorg anization of the mu lticonfessional system. There was no real attempt to overturn the mu lticonfessional system of Lebanon, merely the formula. These events addressed the issue of political con fessionalism and the privileges of the Maronite comm unity. The second two events, the 1976-1977 Secularism controversy and the 1979 Iranian Revolution, which we will review in the next chapter, however, address the more radical prospect of creating a new system and government. These four incidents all involve questions of Christian political rights and the Christian Presidency of Lebanon. Each of these ulema responded to these historical events by providing opinions or argum ents that in some way supported the maintenance of that pluralistic government, or in some cases even supported the role of the Christian Presidency. In reviewing these events, we hope to uncover the methodology or criteria used in interpreting these events. Given the historical context reviewed above, we will see how these ulema interpreted their religious sources in light of the Lebanese context.

Beginning of the civil war, 1975 There were many factors behind the beginning of the most recent civil war which began 13 April 1975. The buildup to the hostilities included

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both domestic and international factors, as well as domestic political and economic issues.1 Both Wade Goria and Walid Khalidi have provided adequate coverage regarding the issues underlying the war. In addition to these two authors there are numerous studies surrounding the causes of the civil war. We do not need to repeat that information here. 2 It is necessary, however, to review the events directly leading up to the hostilities of April 1975. A dispute in Sidon arose in Mar ch 1975 regarding the granting of an exclusive fishing license to the Proteine Fishing Company, owned by former President Cam ille Chamoun. Local fishermen protested that their livelihood was threatened by this company. Demonstrations were organized that included some Palestinian participants. The army was called out to control the demonstrations and several people were killed, including the popular Mu slim leader and former MP, Maarouf Saad. The incident prompted cries from the Mu slim commu nity that the Maronite led army was protecting Maronite interests (i.e., a former Maronite President). Charg es of favouritism were levelled. These domestic disputes regarding the charges of confessional privileges were quickly set alongside the issue of the Palestinian cause. Since 1948 Lebanon had been the “temporary” home for a large number of Palestinian refugees. The number of Palestinian refugees continued to swell following the 1967 war. Lebanon continued to support the return of the Palestinians and so legally set up provision for their status as refugees, or as legal, resident non-citizens. Pan-Arab and Arab nationalist ideologies claimed that the Palestinian crisis should be seen as an Arab crisis. Because of this, support for the cause was officially sanctioned by many members of the Lebanese Parliament. The PLO and other Palestinian militias began to train within Lebanon, occasionally attacking Israel across the Lebanese border. The increased activity of the Palestinians from within Lebanon brought Israeli reprisals. Some Lebanese leaders, primarily Mar onite, charged that the Palestinian commando activity within Lebanon was a liability to state sovereignty. The Maronite and Palestinian comm unities were suspicious of each other’s power base. Set within this context there was the feeling among the Mar onites that the Sidon demonstrations were part of a Palestinian “radicalist plot to discredit not only the Army but the whole Lebanese system.” 3 Furthermore, the Palestinians were certain that Maronite President Suleiman Franjiyya was getting ready to expel the PLO just as King Hussein had done in Jordan in September 1970.4 Riots polarized the two comm unities and things quickly spun out of control. 5 On 13 April there was a drive-by shooting in the village of Ain al-Ru mm aneh where the

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Maronite za’im Pierre Gem ayel was attending the inauguration of a church. Several people were killed. Gemayel’s Kata’ib militia then opened fire on a bus of Palestinians which passed through the village several hours later. By that evening fighting had broken out in several areas of Beirut. The spark ignited the country. In response to the turmoil, President Franjiyya appointed a new cabinet of military leaders headed by General Nureddine Rifai, a retired Sunni general. This was viewed as a hostile act. The appointing of this cabinet went against the traditionally accepted practice of appointing powerful confessional zu‘amŒ’ . Portfolios within the cabinet were distributed not only according to the tradition of the National Pact, but the selecting ministers from each confession involved difficult intra-confessional negotiations as well. President Franjiyya did not follow conventional procedures by negotiating these new positions. He simply appointed the new cabinet. The new government was doomed to fail because the zu‘amŒ’ responded by stonewalling the cabinet. Disrupting the confessional representation within the government created a stronger anti-Presidential reaction. Thus, it was no surprise that the cabinet of military men was unable to bring the country under control and within several days the newly appointed cabinet resigned. In a shocking turn of events, Rashid Karam i, a former Sunni Prime Minister, then publica lly declared himself a candidate for the upcoming 1976 Presidential elections on the principle of equality and democracy guaranteed under the Constitution.6 His public statement, even if intended only to be part of the vociferous political rhetoric, further deepened the confessional divisions. Once again debate raged regarding the legality of the National Pact and the confessional privileges of the Maronites. In response to Karam i’s bold claim, both Kamal Junblatt, head za’im of the Druze and Musa al-Sadr, President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council, publicly stated that the presidency of the Republic should remain in the hands of the Christians, but not just the Maronites. Kamal Junblatt stated: In calling for the amendm ent of the National Pact and the Constitution, we do not aim at nominating a Moslem for the P residency: we are hoping that the Presidency will rem ain in the hands of the Christians, but not in the hands of one Christian sect to the exclusion of another . . . to set the mind of [the] Christian public opinion at ease.7

Junblatt and al-Sadr’s responses were most certainly attempts to calm the fears of the Mar onites who had begun to hint at the possibility that if the National Pact of 1943 were to be rewritten then they would favour the

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partition of Lebanon into various cantons where they could control their own territory. 8 It was clear that the issue of the Palestinian presence in Lebanon was quickly taking a back seat to the issue of the identity of Lebanon and the organization of the multi-confessional government.

Hasan Khalid, Mufti of the Republic of Lebanon, responded to the growing tension in Lebanese society. In January 1975 he addressed the leaders of various comm unities at an inter-faith meeting by urging for calm. He highlighted the important and special place that Lebanon had in history. Lebanon is a cou ntry loved by both Muslims and Christians who depend upon religious unity, urging upon them patriotism [mah. abba], calling them to live in a concordat of continual cooperation.

He underlined the Islam ic sense of Muslim-Christian cooperation by quoting sura 5:82: And nearest among them in love to the Be lieve rs wilt thou find those who say, “We are Christians.”9

From a practical standpoint, K halid stated that Muslim-Christian coexistence [ ta‘Œyush] was needed in the face of Israeli occupation of Lebanese soil. 10 At a meeting of Sunni ulema on 13 February, Khalid presented an exposition on “The Role of Islam in the Wars of Liberation” [ Dawr al-IslŒm f¥ h. uru- b al-tah. r¥r ]. War, he wrote, must be a thoroughly explored necessity, guarding principles and beliefs and moral certainties in order to obtain justice and equality between people, establish social peace, freedom of the individual and the people from oppression of calamitous false beliefs .11

Khalid felt that war must be undertaken to “aid the truth, to strengthen the notion of justice and protect the freedom of believers.” 12 Thus, Khalid begins to outline a notion of a “just war” concept in Islam. 13 The focus of his paper was on restricting the use of war by Muslims for Islam ic purposes. Using both the Qur’an and Hadith, Khalid argues that great restraint is called for when entering into war, and that the calling for jihŒd must abide by the principles outlined above. He quotes Muhamm ad as saying,

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The man who fights for bene fit and the man who fights for reputation and the man who fights to make hims elf powerfu l, which is in the path of God? Say: The one who fights according to the Word of God, he is uppermost in the path of God. 14

In response to the fracturing of Lebanese society into confessional enclaves, Khalid cautions against the use of the rhetoric of jihŒd . He mak es it clear that jihŒd is first and foremost a spiritual term by quoting from a famous Hadith of Muhamm ad returning from battle only to say: We have come back from the sm all stru ggle to the greater stru ggle [that is, the spiritual jihŒ d ]. 15

He underlines the spiritual concept of jihŒd by quoting from the sura 22:77-78: O ye who believe! Bow down, prostrate yourselves, and adore your Lord; and do good; that ye may prospe r. And strive in His cause as ye ought to strive (with sincerity and under discipline).16

Kh alid devotes a great deal of space in reviewing the attitude of Muhamm ad toward the Quraysh. He argues that Muhamm ad exhibited great patience with his enemies, first bearing the persecution, then undertaking several migrations for his followers and himself in order to flee from the persecution. Only then does he pursue armed conflict with the Quraysh. Quoting al-Isfahani (519/1125-597/1201)17 he writes: [t]he comm and of the Prophet is first to treat with kindness and be content with preaching and beneficial discussion with whomever is in contention with you. Fighting is a necess ary consideration of conduct then, against the one who has conspired against you, by refusing the truth with war, after deliberating.18

Khalid tried to discredit any view that would put the political crisis of April 1975 into religious categories. In other words, he endeavou red to preempt the idea that the enemies of the Mu slim commu nity (the Maronite establishment) were to be equated with the Quraysh (and thus the mushriku- n ) who must be eradicated. In an interview in June 1975, two months after the start of the civil war Khalid underlined the point, that the crisis was political, not religious. The issue of belief and doctrine between Christianity and Islam is not up for discussion on any Lebanese leve l. Consequently, I hope that we will not confuse doctrinal issues, whose rightful forum in private meetings

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and conferences, with daily issues that relate to our practical living. . . . Ques tions of wors hip do not conflict with politics. . . . Lebanese politics, by virtue of its confessional nature, is in conflict most of the time with religious and moral values held in c om m on by all religions . . . such as justice, righteousness, goodness and equality. 19

Again, in a press interview on 18 November 1975, Khalid reiterated that the war was not a religious conflict, but a “struggle of general interests.”20 All crises are the work of politics, and the escalation of any crisis is the resu lt of the exercise of politics in a malicious manner designed to exploit religion to serve personal interests .21

Khalid’s statements must be seen within the context of the political debate going on between the leaders of the sectarian parties. During the spring of 1975 the war raged primarily between the Mar onites and the Palestinians. The Lebanese National Movem ent (LNM) and numerous socialist organizations, including the Popular Nasserite Organization and al-Moura bitoun, allied themselves with the Palestinian cause. 22 These organizations were made up of Dru ze, Sunni, and Shi‘a as well as some Greek Orthodox. A month after the war began the Supreme Islam ic Shari‘a Council, following Khalid’s leadership, issued a statement urging the politicians to settle their disputes, while at the same time supporting the Palestinian cause. 23 By September, after nearly five months of civil strife, the Maronite politician Pierre Gem ayel made public statements that the Christians, more precisely the Maronites, were considering a partition of Lebanon. The only solution, according to Gem ayel, was for the Christians to withdraw into their own state. 24 Syria, concerned that the Mar onites would withdraw into their own enclave and seek Israeli support, thus tipping the balance of stability in the region, was prompted to act. The Foreign Minister of Syria, Khaddam, called together a meeting of the political leaders to form a National Dialogue Committee. By the end of October, however, the Committee broke up without any positive effects. The disagreements between the political leaders focussed upon restructuring the state and, either doing away with, or modifying the National Pact. Khalid attempted to downplay the religious aspects of the conflict and continu ally declared that the problems were purely political. He argued that the religions offered comm onalities which could solve the political conflict. In a khut. ba on the occasion of Eid al-Fitr, in October 1975, Khalid said,

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We Muslims, committed to the message of Muhammad, respo nsible for its comm unication to all the world, are clearly instructed to use . . . the language of dialogue with ourselves and with believ ers of the heavenly religions. Christians and Muslims have high spiritual comm on values with which we can, toge ther, not only build Lebanon, but together [build] a comm on humanity .25

In his sermon, Khalid held up several sura as guidance for working with Christians through dialogue. And dispute ye not with the Pe ople of the Book, except with means better (than me re disputation) (29:46). Say, O People of the Book! Come to comm on terms as between us and between you; that we wors hip none but Allah, that associate no partne rs with him (3:64). 26

Khalid challenged the National Dialogue Committee to resolve the problems of the country. He argued that as Muslims: we do not abandon our faith in Christianity, in that heav enly religion, and in our capacity to live with our brother Christians in one unique nation, each of u s having the same rights as each other and the same obligations .27

What supported Khalid’s interpretation of the Qur’an was the Islam ic concept of tawh. ¥d [unity]. It is tawh. ¥d that: instructs us to apply this principle [of unity] on the social leve l, seeking to make society one after we have determined the comm on and identical elements that link and bind people toge ther, [and] spec ifically instructs us to coexist and forgive people of other religious differences .28

Thus, at the beginning of the war Khalid argued that it was the religious nature of Islam and Christianity that would bind Lebanese society together in coexistence. Khalid consistently argued throughout the war that Muslim-Christian coexistence and equality “is the best civilized, progressive formula we can offer the world.” 29

Musa al-Sadr was, like Hasan Khalid, an elected official of the Lebanese state confessional system and therefore directly involved in the realm of politics as an official representative of his confession. Al-Sadr’s

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involvement in both ecumenical and social justice issues is well documented. Because of his concern for the econom ic plight of the Shi‘a in the South he had been a firm supporter of the state, calling for state protection against Israeli incursions and increased development of the infrastructure for all Lebanese. 30 On 15 April, two days after the shootings in Ain al-Rum maneh, alSadr called upon the Lebanese to support their nation and the Palestinian cause. 31 On 18 April he called for the formation of a “Com mittee to Guide the Nation” and for the preservation of Lebanese confessional coexistence, confidence in dialogue and the path of dem ocratic means to true political and social reforms, to oppose coercive sectarianism, necess arily preserve LebanesePalestinian coexistence and upho ld the Palestinian revolution. 32

Throughout the spring he also chaired the “National Committee for Public Calm” to help bring the political crisis to an end by working tirelessly with both Arafat and Gem ayel. 33 By June 1975 al-Sadr had lost faith in the politicians and the political process and called upon the religious leaders of Lebanon to help lead the country out of civil war. Al-Sadr felt that it was the multi-confessional nature of Lebanon, what he called the “cultural role”, that was its witness to the world,34 “a deposition in trust which God and the faithful have placed in their hands.” 35 Like Khalid, al-Sadr claimed that the politicians were using the current situation to fan the flames of religious intolerance, and that they were using religion for political purposes. Al-Sadr had long held the politicians of Lebanon responsible for the continuing problems of the Shi‘a in the South. 36 Now, al-Sadr said, the militia leaders were invoking religious language to spread fear between the confessions. 37 On the contrary, he argued, the religious leaders could produce “cooperation, sympathy and brotherhood, both in feeling and in practice.” Al-Sadr truly believed that religion could provid e the answer to Lebanon’s problems. Service to humanity and worship of God, for al-Sadr, is inexorably linked. Faith promotes a more equitable society. Islam declares that, as the khal¥fa of God on earth, humanity is endowed with dignity. Thus, the needs of humanity are sacred and all “endeavours for the satisfaction of man’s needs . . . are matters of worship.” 38 Al-Sadr understood Islam to have concerns for universal human rights. As the crisis deepened in the early summer of 1975 al-Sadr publica lly stated: “Christ said: ‘Man shall not live by bread alone,’ and it must also be said that ‘man shall not live by religious thoughts alone.’” 39 He then began a hunger strike on 27 June in order to encourage a resolution of the

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conflict. 40 He called upon the country to stop the bloodshed and for the formation of a new government that would undertake “national reforms . . . following the demands of the oppressed.” 41 He implored all to uphold “coexistence and the princip les of equality and social justice in the country. . . . since weapons do not solve the crisis but further the destruction of the country.” 42 Five days later a National Unity cabinet was formed under the Sunni za’im Rashid Karami which instituted a twomonth hiatus in the hostilities. However, it was also at this time that Musa al-Sadr had to explain an embarrassing accident in the Biqa‘, when the militia wing of his H. arakŒt al-Mah. ru- mu- n , Amal, was exposed. An accidental explosion killed a number of Amal members in Ba’lbekk. Up until this point al-Sadr claimed that H. arakŒt al-Mah. ru- mu- n was merely a social-political organization. With the accident it was now clear that al-Sadr was involved in the activity of the militias. He was publica lly implicated in precisely that which he was denouncing. His justification was that Amal’s militia was devoted to defence of the nation only against Israeli aggression and not a participant to the civil war. In a report to the Supreme Islam ic Shi‘a Council on 13 September, al-Sadr stated that the current civil war was only benefiting Israel and would lead to the “collapse of Lebanon and the fall of the Palestinian nation.” 4 3 He urged the Council to study the situation and to come up with possible solutions to the crisis. In another khut. ba , al-Sadr stated that Lebanon’s slide into civil war in 1975 had raised three dangerous issues. First, the war was threatening to destroy Lebanon. Second, Israel was using the confusion of the war to exploit South Lebanon. Third, the war would bring about the collapse of the Palestinian resistance. Thus, while the Palestinians and the Mar onites were fighting in the streets of Lebanon, al-Sadr was trying to help the country focus on what he considered to be the root cause of the problem, the occupation of South Lebanon and Palestine by Israel. “Israel,” he said, “is the ultimate evil. It is a danger to all the Arabs, Muslims and Christians, to peace, freedom and human dignity.” 44 Despite al-Sadr’s attempts to work toward peace, by the end of 1975 the war had degenerated into the anarchy of militias attempting to carve out autonomous confessional enclaves. The Mar onites began attacking and expelling both Shi‘a and Palestinian comm unities in East Beirut. In response, the Palestinians attacked Christians in Hazmiyyeh, Akkar, Jiyeh, Damour and in the Biqa‘. Al-Sadr, in a khut. ba given in Tyre in December, reminded the Shi‘a of their moral responsibility to not retaliate against the Christian civilians. He invoked a Hadith of Imam ‘Ali: “Whoever attacks

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or harasses a civilian, attacks God and His messengers.” 45 Al-Sadr argued that it was only by uniting together as a nation that the Lebanese would be able to defeat Israel and remain a beacon of light for mu lticonfessional justice.

Subhi Salih, the Deputy of the Supr em e Islamic Shar¥‘a Council, resisted being drawn into the political arena as Hasan Khalid and Musa al-Sadr had been. He was more adept within academic and intellectual circles than political debates. 46 Thus, his responses to the Lebanese civil war as well as the questions of Lebanese state and society were aimed more toward conceptual and theological issues rather than political rhetoric. For example, instead of dealing specifically with the economic, social, or political antecedents of the current situation, Salih delved into what he determined were the deeper issues. He believed that the origin of the Lebanese civil war was a crisis of modern Islam ic and Arab society. In 1975, Salih saw modernity as the root cause of the problems in society. He argued that Lebanese society suffered from what other societies also suffered, the attempt to translate their social forms and religious beliefs into “the spirit of the time.” 47 This is not just an issue for Muslims, he asserted, but for all people. Salih, however, specifically addressed the problems of modernity from an Islam ic perspective for a Mu slim audience. 48 In the particular case of Lebanon, he felt that the inability to respond positively to the changes of modernity had resulted in “confessional fanaticism”49 or “diabolical” political confessionalism. 50 For Salih, Lebanon was part of the greater Arab-Isla mic culture that m ust seek to find answers to the challenges of modernity. 51 Standing behind the Supreme Islam ic Council’s 18 May statement, Salih was an outstanding supporter of the Palestinian cause. Thus, he saw “Maronitism” (that is, the maintenance of Maronite confessional privileges within the current National Pact) as detrimental for the reformation of Arab society in the modern world and to the solution to an Arab problem - the restoration of the Palestinians to their homeland.52 Every civilization, stated Salih, has its own historical “particularities” [ khawŒs. s. ]. The origins of Arab civilization are “inspired by the foundations from national trials as much as its inspiration comes from Islam ic instructions.”53 Therefore, he believed that accepting “historical peculiarities” even if they are not inherently Islam ic was not problem atic for Muslims because this was natural for the development of societies, even Islam ic societies. 54 The solution to the crisis in Lebanese society, then, was to come up with a methodology to deal with the changing

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historical situation of contemporary Lebanon; that is, a society striving to deal with modernity, factionalism and the Palestinian crisis. In this decisive period that Lebanon has crossed, the Lebanese citizens of the Mu slim confession must be inspired with a true spirit of Islam, adopt a forward looking position in their total loyalty tow ard their country, Lebanon; combat confessional fanaticism, propagate a national awakening, promote a new spiritual renaissance, preach for a true democracy having the foundations of progress, liberty, justice in respect of all its citizens.55

Thus, for Salih, the political crisis was a deep spiritual crisis faced by all Lebanese. It was not a political game. The war was merely the flash point of this spiritual crisis which could be solved only through a national unity that would promote and maintain a “spiritual renaissance.”

Like Salih, Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-Din, deputy of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council, did not venture into the political quagmire of public statements and press releases. His most significant contribution to this part of the war was a large work entitled Bayn al-jŒhiliyya wa ’l-IslŒm. [Between Ignorance and Islam] 56 The book was initially released in 1975 and reprinted in three subsequent editions (1984, 1987, and 1995 respectively). The work does not deal with the multi-confessional context of Lebanon, rather it focuses upon the ideologies of both Comm unism [ al-shuyu- ‘iyya] and the West [ al-gharb]. In the vein of Sayyid al-Qutb the work is a theological treatise on jŒhiliyya. However, Shams al-D in was much more influenced by Muhamm ad Baqr al-Sadr, cousin of Musa alSadr, the leader of the religious opposition to the Ba’athist regime in Iraq, than Sayyid Qutb and his struggle against Nasser’s regime. Shams al-D in used many of the same categories and definitions as Baqr al-Sadr. This is not surprising given that Shams al-D in worked closely with Baqr al-Sadr in Iraq while he was a student in Najaf. 57 Shams al-D in determined that “humanity is ignorant. Not [just] on the surface of humanity, but profoundly wicked and evil . . . born from a standing inclination of ignorance [ al-jŒhiliyya al-munh. arfa].” 58 Like Salih, he argues that there is a profound spiritual crisis in the modern world. He demonstrates his concern more for the spiritual resources of Muslims in contemporary society than for the political state of affairs. Yet, whereas Salih concludes that modernity in general poses severe problem s for humanity, Shams al-D in states that the modern Cold War dichotomy has confused Muslims into adopting ways that are contrary to Islam. Both the

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East and the West “disfigure, misconstrue and falsify Islam.” 59 The differences between the West and East and Islam ic civilization, he says, are more than mere political appearances, but rather, are instead profou ndly spiritu al. 60 Thus according Shams al-Din, removing foreign ideologies [i.e., Westernization and Marxist Socialism] would leave Muslims free to pursue their future on their own terms. It seems that he is criticizing those following the Nasserite organizations holding to an ideology of Arab Socialism, as well as those aligning themselves with the West. Al- Din asserts that Islam is the “third middle way” [ al-t. ar¥q al-thalŒtha al-wasat. ] between the Eastern Comm unism and Western Capitalism. Quoting suras 29:69 and 11:112, Shams al-D in shows that this third path is not an ideological way but is God’s path. And those who strive in our (cause) – we will cert ainly guide them to our Paths: For verily Allah is with those who do right. The refore stand firm (in the straight Path) as thou art commanded – thou and those who with thee turn (unto Allah); and transgress not (from the Path); for He seeth we ll all that ye do.

The reality of a large Shi‘a participation in socialist organizations and the presence of socialist ideology in Lebanon was one of the reasons that Shams al-D in wrote Bayn al-jŒhilyya wa ’l-IslŒm. 61 Beginning in the nineteen fifties, socialist doctrine became a popular ideology in the Middle East through the leadership of Egypt’s President Gamal ‘Abd alNasser, and the rise of the Ba’ath party in Syria and Iraq.62 Although the commu nist party was never really a major factor in Lebanese politics, 63 by the 1970's many young Shi‘a had joined various socialist organizations or Palestinian groups in order to express their discontent with the econom ic situation in Lebanon. 64 Kamal Junblatt’s Progressive Socialist Party (PSP)65 and later his Lebanese National Movem ent (LNM) 66 were socialist organizations that drew heavily upon Marxist and Socialist ideals. These parties, prior to 1983, recruited heavily among the Shi‘a. Shams al-Din, like al-Sadr, was deeply concerned about the number of Shi‘a identifying with the Lebanese Left and its Marxist-socialist doctrine. Regarding Western liberalism, Shams al-D in devoted most of his energy to criticizing the reforming movements of Muhamm ad Abdu and Muhamm ad Iqbal. He argued that these two figures were responsible for the intrusion of Western thought into Islam ic civilization. Thus, Muslims who accept the “spirit of accommodation” [ ru- h. al-tawf¥q ] of Abdu and Iqbal are abandoning Islam and its spiritual path. 67 He did not propose

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concrete answers to the ideological problems of the Lebanese context, but rather addressed the issues of identity for the Shi‘a comm unity. 68 In addition, Bayn al-jŒhilyya wa ’l-IslŒm responded to the practical possibility of Lebanon’s partition which the Mar onites were threatening. He feared that any change in the national structure might further weaken Shi‘a society. Thus, he firmly stood behind the pluralistic character of Lebanese society to support the presence of his own commu nity in some form of a power-sharing government. Shams al-D in stated that Islam in Lebanon rests upon two important ideals. First, it “constitutes an essential element in the religious and cultural diversity” of the country. Second, it guarantees national harmony by participating as a partner in the running of the country. 69 There is no indication in 1975 that Lebanese Shi‘a thought felt the need to argue for Shi’a rule or the implementation of a Shi‘a Islam ic state. There was no precedent for such an argum ent here. At the outbreak of the Lebanese civil war in 1975 both Musa al-Sadr and Hasan Khalid, as legally recognized heads of their respective confessions, supported the drive for a national settlement and maintenance of the unity of Lebanon. Each ‘Œlim supported the state in order to protect the interests of their respective comm unity. Al-Sadr had already worked long and hard to provide basic and much needed social services for the Shi‘a. He did not want to see these gains lost. Hasan Khalid, a mem ber of the old urban Sunni aristocracy, stood behind the state in order to protect the Sunni establishment set up by the National Pact. As the highest religious representative of his comm unity, Khalid wanted to maintain the Sunni hold on the power of the Premiership. The partition of Lebanon into smaller cantons would have put both the Sunni and Shi‘a in danger of being ruled by more powerful Palestinian or Syrian forces. Thus, each of these individuals saw the preservation of the state as the way to maintain the status of their respective commu nities. Yet they maintained their positions with Islam ic principles. Using the Qur‘an and Hadith, they were able to justify the cooperation with Christians because the “people of the book” were comm unities living under God’s jurisdiction and consequently deserved special consideration. Salih and Shams al-Din’s responses to the problems of the civil war, on the other hand, exhibited their concern for contending with the issue of Mu slim identity. For Salih, Lebanon faced a crisis of modernity. For Shams al-Din, the Shi‘a faced a crisis of abandoning their Islam ic ways for foreign ideologies.

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Political Reform and the Election of a New President, 1976 The second issue to be considered regarding the ulema’ s objections to the formula of the state is the discussions focussed around the question of the 1976 Presidential election. By December 1975, Syria had made it clear that it was not going to stand by and watch Lebanon disintegrate into small, unstable cantons precipitating a change in the balance of power with Israel. It was the intervention of Syria in Lebanon that shifted the focus of the political debate from the Palestinian cause to the reform of the Lebanese government. The refusal of Prime Minister Karami to call out the army to directly intervene in the fighting of 1975 was an attempt to keep the perceived Maronite led national army from escalating the conflict. However, the lack of action led to the frustration of some Sunni officers. In January 1976 Ahm ed Khatib, a Sunni lieutenant of the Lebanese Arm y, mutinied and proclaimed the formation of the Lebanese Arab Army . This was followed on 11 Mar ch 1976 by the takeover of the Beirut radio and television stations by Brigadier-General Aziz Ahdab. He proclaimed himself the new provisional military governor of Lebanon and called upon President Franjiyya to resign. The Palestinians and Junblatt’s LNM supported the “coup.” 70 Meanw hile, President Franjiyya declared that he would not step down from the presidential office before his term ran out in September 1976. These events once again galv anized the debate regarding reform of the government and the election of a new president.71 Kamal Junblatt, initially supporting the rebellion, was holding out for a radical change in the formation of a new government. He publicly called for the establishment of a secular state to address the privileged position of the Mar onites in the government. As the political leader of the Druze community, Junblatt was blocked from both the Presidency and the Prem iership under the current state organization. His hope was that by calling for a secular state he could assert his authority and possibly claim a top post. 72 However, Syria once again intervened in the civil war, this time against the Palestinians and the LNM. Junblatt found himself at the mercy of Syrian designs which did not desire any such radical changes. Throughout the army rebellion the Lebanese leadership looked to Damascus for ways out of the political impasse. An Islam ic sum mit made up of both political and religious leaders was held again at Aram oun, Hasan Khalid’s private residence, on 30 January. It intended to address

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a “ New National Pact” being worked out by President Franjiyya and Syrian President Assad during Franjiyya’s visit to Dam ascus. 73 In response to both the situation of the army mutinies and Kamal Junblatt’s call for a secular state, the Islam ic council took a conservative course at the conference. They declared: 1) the “principle” of the Presidency to remain in the hands of the Maronites, 2) equal numerical representation of Muslims and Christians in the Cham ber of Deputies, 3) election of the Prime Minister by a simple majority within the Chamber, 4) extensive powers given to the Prime Minister [presu mably a Sunni but not explicitly stated], 5) creation of a Supreme Court to determine the constitutionality of laws, 6) deconfessionalization of all posts, except the top three, 74 7) creation of an economic council (specifically to aid the disenfranchised areas), 8) revision of the law of naturalization, and 9) creation of a High Court to judge cases of treason within the Executive branch. 75 The statement was not the radical “New National Pact” that Junblatt had hoped for. It still maintained the triumvirate of the Maronite-Sunni-Shi‘a head of state. It did, however, call for a change within the Cham ber of Deputies from the normal ratio of six Christian representatives for every five Muslims to that of an equal representation. The meeting between Franjiyya and Assad resulted in what has been called the Constitutional Document. 76 The document was basically a reiteration of the nine points elicited by the Islam ic sum mit only days before. The unwritten National Pact was this time formally recognized in a written document by allocating the three top offices of the state to the Maronites, Sunni and Shi’a. The other major issue which was formally addressed was the equal ratio of Christian and Mu slim representation within the Cham ber of Deputies. 77 In addition, Lebanon was recognized as “an Arab country.” The issue of “identity” was on the table again. For the M aronites, the claim that Lebanon is an Arab country had always implied Arab nationalist designs working for a Greater Syria. They opposed this out of fear of being swallowed up in a new Arab Mu slim State. For the Muslims, it implied the formal acceptance of support for the Arab Palestinian cause and the rejection of the Western hegemony.

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With the Constitutional Document Kamal Junblatt lost his chance for a share in the power. The new agreement completely shut him and the Druze out. The Sunni comm unity, however, gained more power through the added responsibilities of the Prime Minister.

At this point in the civil war, the Mufti of the Republic, Hasan Khalid, began to assert his authority in the political realm as the spiritual head of the Sunni comm unity. He began hosting a series of meetings at his residence, Aram oun, in hopes of reaching a settlement. Two sets of political meetings that Khalid brokered throughout 1976 were between the Palestinians and Syria and between the militias of the LM N and the Mouribitoun. 78 As stated previously, in January he hosted the Islam ic commu nity leaders to discuss the army rebellion. In addition to several Sunni leaders, Imam Musa al-Sadr was present. In a statement following the meeting the participants stated: we condemn . . . that rebellion with great vigour. . . .[and urge] that measures be taken to prevent this aggression against the fatherland and its citizens and to defend and preserve the Palestinian resistance. 79

In response to Franjiyya’s Constitutional Document, Khalid gave an historic khut. ba at the Basta-Tahta mosque in Beirut. 80 He gave an impassioned appeal for the political leaders of Lebanon to stand behind the document for the sake of national unity. For Khalid, the document was a “provisiona l” stepping stone on the way to more formal agreements. It was “sincere and constructive” and would, most importantly, help to end the violence of the previous year. He stated that it was now up to both Muslim and Christian politicians to adhere to its principles. Khalid underlined that the document had three elements of reform: 1) the importance of the recognition of Lebanon as an Arab state, 2) the necessity of creating a system for amending the Constitution to eliminate political confessionalism and to accept “absolute national equality,” 3) the importance of affecting “deeply rooted traditions” (i.e., Maronite privileges). The main import of Khalid’s statement was the fact that his vision of Lebanon did not rest upon the ideology of an Islam ic state. On the contrary, he looked toward an Arab Lebanon that included both Mu slim

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and Christian citizens [ muwŒt. in]. 81 This concept is the result of the Arab Nationalist movements of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries which viewed Lebanon as an Arab nation composed of various religious confessions. Rather than looking toward specific Islam ic sources for a way out of the political impasse, Khalid appealed to national documents. Khalid would form ally appeal to Lebanese national symbols as valid responses to the current political crisis, rather than posing Islamist solutions. In part, to appeal to the non-Muslims, particularly the Maronites. The most important point of Khalid’s sermon was his invoking of Legislative Decree 18. As previously stated, this national law placed the Mufti as the legally recognized spiritual head of the Sunni c om munity. Each confessional commu nity remained under the jurisdiction of the government’s authority and the Mu fti stood as the formal governmental representative of the Sunni comm unity. 82 Therefore, Khalid referred to the legal documents of the Lebanese State granting his authority in calling for the restoration of unity of the Sunni commu nity within the country. In other words, as the legal representative of the Sunni commu nity he was able to make public argum ents regarding the restoration of civil order and unity on behalf of his comm unity. Khalid firmly supported the multi-confessional nature of the state, yet he was adamant in calling for the abolition of political confessionalism in the parliament, civil administration and the army. He argued for reform on the basis of the equality of all citizens. While he would be unflagging in his attempts to call for “equal rights,” he would stand solidly behind the Christian president as a symbol of national unity. 83 Thus, when pressure was applied to President Franjiyya to resign, Khalid was willing to let the political process take its course and put his support fully behind the newly elected Maronite President, Elias Sarkis. 84 When President Franjiyya was asked to resign in Mar ch 1976, he refused and declared that he would serve his full term of office. However, on 9 April, the Cham ber of Deputies voted to amend Article Seventy-Three of the Constitution which stated that the President should call for elections one to two months prior to his leaving office. The term was to expire in September 1976. Thus, elections would norm ally have been called in July or Augu st. Article 73 states At least one month and at the latest two months before the expiry of the powers of the President of the Republic, the Chamber convenes on the invitation of its Speak er, for the election of a new President. In defa ult of a convocation, the meeting shall be held as a matter of right the tenth day before the end of the Preside nt's term of office.

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The proposed amendment in question allowed the Parliament to begin election proceedings imm ediately and suspend the Article temporarily. The amendment passed and elections were held. On 8 May 1976 the Maronite Elias Sarkis was elected by 66 out of the 69 voters present. Khalid then offered his public support for the new President. We all, without exception, must mobilize our effort and our potential to aid the new president to serve the cou ntry and the grand Arab cause. . . . Now that we have traversed a dangerous stage and that we have succeeded in electing a new president, we must perm it [him] to be allowed to work for the reconstruction of the country. We demand today the retu rn of calm; to finally realize the aspirations of the people, the edification of a new Lebanon, the reconstruction of state institutions, and the reorganization of the national army. We must assu re the reconstruction of the cou ntry in the political, econom ic and social fields, and to work for the union of all the Lebanese. That is the life that we must all follow. The combatants must now turn against the comm on enemy [i.e., Israel] who watches at our doors. That is the life of unity, of dignity, of stability, of Lebanese sovereignty and of reconstruction. 85

In a time of great uncertainty, Khalid raised the banner of Lebanese sovereignty. The election of a new President was a symbol of that sovereignty. He does not raise the spectre of the appropriate roles of Christians in the government, rather he considers the political situation from the perspective of “the people” (i.e., all Lebanese). The electoral process was, then, one of the opportunities to bring about unity and order among all confessions.

Even before the war had broken out, Musa al-Sadr had long been an advocate of just and fair political representation. It was al-Sadr’s tireless work that brought about the complete legal and political recognition of the Shi‘a commu nity through the formation of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council in 1969. Yet, the origin of equal Shi‘a representation in the government had more to do with Sunni-Shi’a equality than MuslimChristian equality or any question of the appropriate prohibitions of Christians serving in the government. Intra Mu slim concerns tended to dominate interfaith issues.

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Al- Sadr was always more concerned with the social and eco no m ic conditions of the Shi‘a, however, than about Maronite privileges. In 1971 he had called for the abolition of political confessionalism except for in the top posts (i.e., the Triumv irate). The problem as al-Sadr saw it was not in “distributing authority fairly [i.e., the number and make-up of posts] but rather the problem of distributing the fruits of authorityparticularly security and justice.”86 In November 1975, the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council published a working paper called the “Political, Social, and Economic Reform.”87 The paper stated that it was necessary for Lebanon to abolish political confessionalism while maintaining its “humanistic mark.” This “mark” was the “common denominator among all Lebanese” regardless of their confession. It was the commitment to guarantee “the liberty and rights of all Lebanese in order to keep this nation as a shining exam ple to others in the realm of building human ties.” 88 The paper also called for the parliament to have an equal ChristianMuslim representation in the Cham ber of Deputies. It suggested that Article 95 of the Constitution only called for equal distribution of government posts and positions between confessions “as a transitory measure.” As a transit ory me asure and for the sake of even justice and concord, the comm unitie s shall be equ ally represented in public posts and in ministerial composition, without damage to State interest resulting therefrom.

The working paper suggested a one year transitional period in which Article 95 was to be overturned. After this year Article 12, calling for the distribution of posts and positions based solely upon “merit and competence,” would be strictly invoked. Al-Sadr and the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council were, through this document, only asking for the letter and intent of the Constitution to be implemented. However, when al-Sadr sat down with other Mu slim leaders at the Islam ic Summit in January 1976 he advocated that the distribution of Mu slim seats in the parliament be divided equally between Sunnis and Shi‘a.89 It is clear then that from the beginning of the civil war up through the Spring of 1976, al-Sadr’s energy was directed primarily toward “redistributing the pie,” not only between Christians and Muslims, but between Sunni and Shi‘a as well. The summer of 1976 was a turning point for al-Sadr. The Maronite led Lebanese Forces (LF) began an offensive to carve out territory in East Beirut. They forcefu lly evicted Palestinian and Shi‘a citizens from their

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neighbourhoods. As many as two hundred thousand Shi’a and Palestinian refugees fled from East Beirut. 90 Al-Sadr had been actively involved in helping to safely extricate the civilians and the appalling violence of the expulsion affected him. After this he would continue to stand behind the authority of a united Lebanon, but he was much more cautious. Although he criticized the Maronite militias for their activities, he also blamed Kamal Junblatt and the LNM. By Mar ch 1978, al-Sadr also turned his energy into publicly criticizing the Palestinian methods and agenda within Lebanon. As the country slipped into anarchy and the Maronite and Palestinian militias began overrunning each other’s commu nities, al-Sadr published a statement in al-Saf¥r : Our cou ntry is going through the worst crisis in its history and we must not be satisfied with the status quo. We must change it in such a way that we will be able to live in peace and harmony in the future. The enemies from inside and outside our cou ntry are exploiting our religious differences in order to weaken and divide us. Let us unite and foil their evil schemes.91

In another statement he urged the Lebanese people to “get rid” of the politicians in order to establish a more just and equitable government. 92 One of the ways to begin this process, according to al-Sadr, was to elect a new President. Thus, he publicly called for President Franjiyya to resign from office so that the Cham ber of Deputies could elect a new President who would “ensure the preservation of Lebanon and the security of Syria and the Arab world.” 93 On 10 May 1976, al-Sadr publicly responded to the election of the Maronite Elias Sarkis. He called the election of the new president a “thin ray of hope bursting forth and putting an end to our night of the oppressor’s injustice.”94 The hope of building a new nation rested upon the shoulders of the newly elected President and upon the country’s individual citizens. Al-Sadr stood behind the fact that Sark is was the elected President of the nation and that loyalty was due to him and not to various factions, international interests or even the U.N. Security Council. He was trying to raise domestic loyalties over competing international ones.

The public responses of Subhi Salih and Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams alDin to the issue of political reform were limited. Both deputies were hindered by their exposure to the political frontline. Salih’s major contribution of this period was his book, al-IslŒm wa mustaqbal al-h. ad. Œrah .

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In this work he quotes not only from traditional Islam ic sources but from Western scholars, including Durkeim, Descartes, Fromm, Toynbee and de Tocqu eville. Salih was meticulous in his book in setting a positive tone for Mu slim discourse with Christians. He reviews those suras that define Christians (one group of the ahl al-kitŒb ) as those who have received a “revealed” religion [ wah. y ]. He cites the following suras : Those who believe (in the Qur’an) and those who follow the Jewish (scriptures), and the Christians and the Sabaeans – Any who believe in Allah and the Last Day, and work righteousness, shall have their rew ard (2:62). Say: “O People of the Book! Come to comm on terms as between us and you: that we wors hip none but Allah; that we associate no partne rs with Him; that we erect not, from among ourselves, Lords and patrons other than Allah (3:64). We have sent thee inspiration, as we sent it to Noah and the Messe ngers after him: We sent inspiration to Abraham, Ism a‘il, Isaac, Jacob and the tribes, to Jesus, Job, Jonah, Aaron, and Solomon, and to Dav id we gave the Psalms. Of some me sse ngers We have already told thee the story; of others we have not -- and to Moses Allah spoke direct (4:163-164). The same religion has He established for you as that which He enjoined on Noah -- that w hich We have sent by inspiration to thee -- and that which W e enjoined on Abraham, Moses, and Jesus: namely, that ye shou ld rem ain steadfast in Religion, and make no divisions therein: To those who wors hip other things than Allah hard is the (way) to which thou callest them. Allah chooses to Him self those whom He pleases, and guides to Him self those who turn (to Him) (42:13). To thee we sent the Scripture in truth, confirming the script ure that came before it, and guarding it in safety: so judge between them by what Allah hath revealed, and follow not their vain desires, diverging from the Truth that hath come to thee. To each among you have we prescribed a Law and an Open Way. If Allah had so willed, He wou ld have made you a single People, but (His Plan is) to test you in what he hath given you; so strive as in a race in all virtues. The goal of you all is to Allah; It is He that will show you the truth of the mat ters in which ye dispute (5:48).

It is Interesting, however, that in a footnote on the same page as these citations, Salih lists sura 5:51.

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O ye who believe! Take not the Jews and the Christians for your friends and protectors; they are but friends and protectors to each other.

He does not explain the footnote or why this negative verse is listed! Also in al-IslŒm wa mustaqbal al-h. ad. Œrah , Salih argues that the Qur’an points out that Christians share something in common with Muslims. Quoting Masson’s Le Coran et la Révélation Judéo-Chrétienne, he states: the comm on denominator between the revealed religions is that they are at the right hand of the one God who is the originator of all things. He is the eternal refuge. 95

This “common denominator” [ al-qasm al-mushtaraka] then is the basis for religious freedom. Since God has created all humanity, then “certainly humanity is allowed to choose the faith that he desires.” 96 Even Muhamm ad himself lived by the principles of sura 2:256: There is no compulsion in religion.97 Therefore, since Christians are ahl al-kitŒb they are deserving of respect in order to “achieve continued relations, interaction, and peaceful coexistence in the love of protection and unity.” 98 Positive religious and social discourse should reflect itself in civil society, argued Salih. Given the ferocity of the conflict at the time, Salih was making a bold statement regarding the religious parameters of Mu slim conduct in Lebanon. The implication, then, was a condemnation of the militia activity as well as the expulsion and murder of civilians. Given that Salih was concerned with finding religious answers to the questions explicit in Modernity, his concern regarding the political landscape was only in seeking and explicating an Islam ic role “in the spirit of the times.” 99 We have already seen where Salih has argued in al-IslŒm wa mustaqbal al-h. ad. Œrah that societies carry their own “historical peculiarities.” Thus, even though he argued that Islam has a place and role in politics and society, that role is never clear or predetermined. It must be discovered and adapted to each context. Salih mak es a distinction between the “city of God” [ mad¥nŒt allah ] and “the city of man” [ mad¥nŒt al-insŒn ]. It is the role of the shar¥‘a, he says, to bring the “city of man” into line with the “city of God.” While this is the ultimate aim, there is no one particular way in which it may be accomplished. For the shar¥‘a “evolves with the times and circumstances in adapting to all situations.” 100 Therefore, the organization of the state is subject to a particular historical context. It is up to the ulema , presum ably, to identify those Islam ic principles which can be applied to each particular context. Although the shar¥‘a itself is eternal, each society must draw out its

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principles in its own time and place. 101 Given this theological background, Salih was free to argue for the reform of the Lebanese confessional government by calling for the abolition of political confessionalism. Like Khalid, he labelled this political confessionalism as “diabolical,”102 and fully supported the confessional system of Mu slim and Christian citizenship based upon the “common denominator” of their createdness and their God-given religious freedom. In a public dialogue between himself and Monsignor Gregoire Haddad, Salih stated that the common base between coreligionists is the “union of nationality [ muwŒt. in al-liqŒ’ ] between them in all civil life.”103 Humans then, according to Salih, must work under these parameters in order to establish the “city of God.”

Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-Din’s contribution to the issue of political reform was a large work he produced very early on in his career. This dealt with the organization of an Islam ic system of government. Niz. Œm al–h. ukm wa ’l-idŒra f¥ al-IslŒm [Governmental Organization and Administration in Islam] was published by Shams al-D in in 1955 as a young ‘Œlim in Najaf, Iraq.104 Its original intent was to respond to the Sunni Hashimite state of Iraq set up under British tutelage. Shams al-D in was critical of the state because it had no social or legal guidelines. This work was reissued thirty-eight years later in a second edition in 1991, a third edition in 1992, and a fourth edition in 1995. The topic of the book regarding the foundations of the state obviou sly struck a nerve in the Lebanese Shi‘a commu nity during the nineties. Interestingly enough, it was not released or in demand from 1982 through 1988 when the country struggled through its most difficult period of central reform and radical Shi‘a groups were calling for the implementation of an Islam ic state in Lebanon. It appears that his work was not seen as well suited to address crises between the Shi‘a political parties. The renewed interest in Shams al-Din’s book in the nineties, however, can most certainly be attributed to Hizb’allah debates regarding the 1992 elections. At that time there were strong debates regarding the questions associated with whether or not the Shi‘a should legally participate in the governmental structu re. 105 The book concerns itself primarily with the differences between Sunni and Shi‘a state organization. Although it is clear, argued Shams al-Din, that Islam clearly “regards the state, government and [its] organization as legitimate,” Sunni and Shi‘a have different understandings of what form the Islamic state will take. 106 Appealing to al-Shahrastani (469/1076-548/1 153), a Sunni convert to

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Shi‘ism, he comm ented that the differences between the Sunnis and Shi‘a are too great to bridge. 107 These differences stem from three problems: 1) Musl im s are divided by different states each bearing its own legal status [ jinsiyya]. 2) While the shar¥‘a is to be the basis of the umma , each state has laws that do not adhere to the shar¥‘a, thus complicating the future shape of the Islam ic state. 3) The Shi‘a understand the “infallible Imam” [ al-imŒm al-ma‘su- m] to be the head of the state while for the Sunni it is those who “bind and loose” [ ahl al-h. all wa ’l-‘aqd ]. 108 The first issue is of prime importance in the debate over the reform of the Lebanese government during 1976. The reality of different nation-states means that Muslims hold citizenship in different states, all with different customs, laws and particularities. Because some of these states include non-Muslims, a distinction has arisen between “various kinds of citizenship” [ naw‘iyya al-muwŒ t. inah ] and “class (or degree of) citizenship” [ daraja al-muwŒ t. inah ]. Shams al-D in states that he accepts the idea of the “various kinds of citizenship.” 109 Rather than holding first, second or third class citizenship within a state, persons of non-M uslim comm unities simply belong first and foremost to their own community within a national framework, says Shams al-Din. This concept is in agreemen t with the long-standing social organization of the Ottoman Empire and subsequently with Lebanese society. It is, in essence, the understanding that the nation is made up of millets which takes precedent over the notion of individual citizens . Not only are there different geographic nation-states but there are numerous comm unities [ ta‘addud al-umam] within these states.110 Shams al-Din’s work is a recognition of the contemporary nation-state system and a desire to find a suitable and legal Shi‘a response to that system. Another document Shams al-D in authored during this period was the paper Mushkila ins Œ n al-h. ad. Œ rah [“The Problems of Civilized Humanity”] which he read at an interfaith meeting in February 1976.111 Following an argum ent by Salih on the problems of modernity, Shams al-D in stated that civilized society is absorbed in materialism and its people lead shallow lives. This, he felt, was the basis of the hostilities in Lebanese society. Consequ ently, he determined that there was a need for all of society, both Muslims and Christians, to dialogue [ h. iwŒr ] in order to address these

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problems. 112 According to Shams al-Din, the focus of Muslim-Christian dialogue should be to address the issues of morality in modern life. Shams al-D in argued that this dialogue could take place in three ways. First, the dialogue could take place through the language of force and armed conflict. This he felt was the is the option currently chosen by the militias which would only lead to the destruction of the state by subjugation through force. The decision for armed violence had been supported by Muslims who appealed to sunna of the Prophet, in particular, Muham mad’s instructions to his generals in Syria who were fighting against the Byzantines: The first army amongst my follow ers who will invade Caesar’s city will be forgiven their sins. 113

The second form of dialogue, Shams al-D in wrote, could be a theological dialogue. This, too he felt, would not work. In his view Christian theology attacked the Prophet with “intellectual weapons” [ al-iqnŒ‘ al-‘aql¥ ]. Shams al-D in could not conceive of dialogue occurring in this form. According to him, this method had never proven adequ ate. The third form of dialogue that can take place in order to reform society is the dialogue of coexistence [ al-ta‘Œyush] between the followers of religions.114 Christians and Muslims, he believed, hold common beliefs of morality and spirituality apart from politics. This, he says, can be used in combatting contemporary materialistic and atheistic society apart from the issues of theology or politics. 115

The intense military activities at the end of 1975 and early 1976 prompted Khalid and al-Sadr to take up their representative positions as confessional heads within the political realm. Their responses produced very little in the development of Islam ic legal thought. On the contrary, both appealed to the nation or to the legality of state laws. For al-Sadr the intensity of the conflict between the Maronite militias and the Palestinians which directly affected the Shi‘a commu nity in East Beirut changed his approach. A certain sense of bitterness and pragmatism began to enter into his argum ents. He soon began to see the Palestinians as an obstacle to Lebanese unity. However, he continued to maintain that the President of the nation was the focus of any national settlement. Khalid understood that any political reform of the Lebanese system required an understanding of Lebanon’s Arab identity. The “patriotism” of the Lebanese must include the understanding of their participation in the “grand Arab cause” and the “noble Palestinian cause.” 116 Khalid’s

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views regarding the “Arab cause” would be modified, however, by the summer of 1976 when Syria invaded Lebanon in order to curb Palestinian and LNM advantages. Then on 14 November, Syria entered Beirut under the authority of a mandate by a sum mit of Arab states in Riyadh. 117 Khalid became openly critical of Syria and its role, thus affecting his rhetoric of the “Arab cause.” His critical stance would ultim ately lead to his death. The car bomb which killed him in 1989 was suspected to have been planted by Syrian agents. Al-Sadr, on the other hand, came to see Syria as a guarantor of Shi‘a representation in the political spectrum. As an ‘Alawite minority regime, Syria certainly had a reason to ensure that the minority Shi‘a were adeq uately represented. Al-Sadr was more concerned with the practical realities of the politics of the notables and various militias than with philosophical or ideological identities. Both Salih and Shams al-Din, however, used works developed prior to the war in order to respond to the issues of political reform in Lebanon. This was because they did not see the war as inherently a novel problem. It was, at its root, about deeper issues which they had addressed long before the crisis escalated. In addressing the content of political reform, they used confessionally specific material. Shams al-D in was concerned with the differences between Sunni and Shi‘a traditions in the development of Mu slim society. He utilised Shi‘a traditions and scholars, while Salih focussed upon the relationship between Christians and Muslims as related by various suras of the Qur’an. We see, then, in the responses of these four ulema, a concurrent theme advanced by Youssef Choueiri earlier in this work. Choueiri argues that among the Arab intelligentsia there has been a public debate over the foundations and principles of the Arab nation-state. However, there is no debate as to the acceptance of particular nation-states themselves. 118 Although these four religious leaders do have objections to the specific “formula” of the contemporary Lebanese government, they do not object to Lebanon’s existence per se.

CHAPTER 7

“Objections of Principle” to the Confessional State

The next two incidents to be reviewed, the Secularist Debate of 19761977 and the Iranian Revolution of 1978-1979, deal with what Theodor Hanf calls “objections of principle” 1 to the organization of the mu lticonfessional state. The Secularist Debate of 1976-1977 sought to overturn not only political confessionalism, that is the exclusive claim of specific confessional groups to particular government positions, but the confessionalist system itself and to establish a secular civil law which would replace distinct communal personal status laws. Whereas under the French Mandate, this process of promulgating an all encompassing civil law was driven by the French High Com mis sioner, during the civil war this issue was raised by representatives of the various confessions within the government. The last event, the Iranian Revolution of 1978-1979, sought to overturn the confessionalist system of government and replace it with an Islam ic state. The result of Iran’s policy of “exporting the Revolution” directly affected Lebanon’s Mu slim commu nity as both Sunni and Shi‘a Lebanese comm unities responded to the Iranian call for an Islam ic state in Lebanon. Both of these “objections of principle” sought to overturn the accepted multi-confessional system for one overarching state system - the first to be organized according to a secular model and the second according to an Islam ic system.

The Secularism controversy, 1975-1976 Like the 1976 Presidential election, the debates over secularism were really about national political reform. In this case, the ulema were responding not merely to the question of whether a Christian could hold the office of President or even to the question of Christian-Mu slim parity within the parliament, but to whether a political candidate’s religion should be a factor at all in the electoral process. Throughout this debate it became clear to these ulema that the call for a completely secular form of government, disregarding old or even new confessional formulas, was more threatening than the election of a Maronite President.

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The call for a secular system of government was an issue which had its origins at the end of the Ottoman era. Ottoman Sultan ‘Abdul Ham id himself in proclamation of the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n of 1856 began the formal process of separating one’s faith (and thus, one’s communal affiliation) from governmental service. The Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n prompted the debate among various Reformers within the empire to begin a process of separating the identity of the nation (or empire) from Islam and to establish civil laws. In Syria, in 1857, the Syrian Scientific Society was formed. It was an interfaith society that strove for “collective national consciousness” separate from the Islam ic roots of the empire. 2 This movement had little overall support, however. Throughout the Reform period, the Ottoman Empire was still officially an Islam ic Empire ruled by the Sultan. Not until the abolishment of the caliphate in 1924 did the remnants of the medieval system of Islam ic government come to an end. Furthermore, it was not until after the Second World War that issues of a secular form of government were championed in Lebanon. The Parti Populaire Syrien, or Syrian Nationalist Party, and the Lebanese Comm unist Party were organized in 1932 and 1944, respectively. They argued for a clear separation of religion and politics, that the “Clergy should be barred from interference in any national political or judicial matters.” 3 In 1945, secularization finally became a prominent issue. The Maronite Patriarch, Hawayik, was accused of interfering in national politics. 4 This was not the first time the Maronite Patriarch had interfered with the civil power structu res of Lebanon. In fact, there had been a long history and tradition associated with the Maronite Patriarchate’s intervention in political elections and appointments.5 Given that both the Mufti of the Republic and the President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council were established as comparable religious and temporal positions to that of the Maronite Patriarch, the Mu slim responses to secularism should be seen as a reaction against Christian clergy interference in politics as opposed to a philosophical understanding of the organization of secular society in its own right. There is no real sense here of grappling with secular theories as a framework for the secularization of civil society, the demarcation of the government’s power and religious communal freedom. These Lebanese ulema were concerned primarily with preventing the Maronite Patriarch from effectuating too much power within the state. Their responses to the call for a secularist system were reactionary, groom ed by a fear of their losing their own political power rather than by the pro-active development of contemporary Mu slim political thought. Although it has been argued that the 1958 civil war was not confessional in nature, that it was mostly a matter of “Notable politics,”

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the strife resulted in the hardening of confessional identity among the Maronites and Sunnis. 6 The conflict also saw the growth of secular ideologies among various political parties. The socialists or commu nists saw the confessional system of government, primarily the National Pact, as detrimental to the development of the nation. The Lebanese Baath Party also denounced the political confessional system.7 The Lebanese Comm unist Party saw the 1958 civil war as proof for the need to establish “a democratic, parliamentary, bourgeois system in which public liberties are guaranteed.” 8 Prior to the most recent civil war, Kamal Junblatt, the Druze leader of the PSP, argued against the confessional electoral laws and in favour of a secular government. 9 Junblatt would lead the charge toward forming a secular government during 1975-1976. In doing so, however, he would become an unwilling ally of the Maronite Kata’ib Party and their platform which he violently opposed. This was because both Junblatt and the Mar onites saw a secularist system as a way to protect their own interests.10 For Junblatt, the eradication of confessional privileges would give him the opportunity to run for the Presidency or Primiership. For the Maronites, a secular government would insure their freedom from the encroachment of Islam ic law and culture. It is surprising, however, that the 1975 national secularism debate began as an internal Sunni issue and not an intra-confessional one! Husayn al-Q awatli, Director General of Dar al-Ifta, stated in Augu st 1975 that Muslims must oppose non-Islamic form s of government. 11 The Islam ic Association of Maqasid Gradu ates, the most prominent mainline Sunni organization, however, responded to the issue with its historic declaration on 21 November outlining its proposed reforms. The first of these reforms is to fix firmly in place the rule of equality [ m u s Œ w Œ h ] among all Lebanese in rights and duties so that the rights of the Lebanese citizen will be complete w ithout any deficiency deriving from his confessional affiliation. All Lebanese are equal in rights and duties. Consequently, it is the right of eve ry Lebanese citizen to occupy any post in the Lebanese state including those of the President of the Republic, President of the Chamber and President of the Government. 12

Like the Supreme Shi‘a Islamic Cou ncil’s working paper of November 1975, the Maqasid statement argued on behalf of a strict interpretation of Article 12 and Article 95 of the Constitution. According to the Association, Article 95 was originally a provisional article. A strict interpretation of the article, then, would mean a definite timetable for

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ending the provision for equal representation among the confessions. The Association understood the basis of Lebanese democracy to be founded upon individual citizenship as opposed to representation through confessional affiliation. In response to this statement the Sunni Council of Ulema published their own position on secularis m . The ulema lamented the fact that the Association of Islamic M aqasid Grad uates had been “drag ged along behind the propagandists of secularization.”13 The ulema argued that the origins of secularism grew out of seventeenth and eighteenth century Europe where the Church held influence and power over European states. Responding to that influence and power, the development of rational philosophy assailed much of the Church’s authority. As modern philosophers and political thinkers began to question the medieval roots of European society, individual rational thought subjected traditional Christian authority to scrutiny. Positivistic philosophers began to see religion as a hindrance to the development of society rather than as a pillar of society. According to the Ulema Council, the views of Feuerbach and Lenin especially, “established an historical materialism which aimed at destroying religion.”14 Thus, modern Western secular thought, according to the ulema , was inherently anti-religious. The move to introduce secularism in Mu slim lands by European imperialists and Orientalists was intended to undermine Mu slim unity, and to isolate Muslims from their Islam ic heritage. 15 Defending themselves against secular thought, the ulema argued the premise that there was no reason to employ a secularist, that is, antireligious political system, because Islam in Lebanon was not a part of the formal political process. In contrast to al-Q awatli, the Council of Ulema’s statement argued that Islam concerns itself with “religious duties” [ ‘ibŒdŒt ] and not government policy. In fact, the ulema would say, Islam in Lebanon deals with “rules of personal status,” and that “Muslims are completely content with the application of Islam ic rules in personal status.” 16 Thus, the state that calls for complete secularization and the adoption of civil laws in the areas of personal status, is only attempting to destroy Islam ic values because true Islamic law concerns itself with personal status laws. Kamal Junblatt, the leader of the Druze commu nity in Lebanon, had long been in favour of some form of secular system. The current system of political confessionalism kept his commu nity outside of the rings of power, refusing to adm it a Druze to the positions of President, Prime Minister or Speaker of the Cham ber of Deputies. These positions were held for the Mar onite, Sunni and Shi‘a commu nities, respectively. As we have noted above, Junblatt saw a secular government as the only way to

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advance his own position within confessional political culture and that of the Druze comm unity. He responded to the ulema by issuing his own statement in support of a secular state in May 1976. Secularism attempts to do away with dual allegiance (to confessional community first, and to nation second) to make room for establishing allegiance--allegiance to the nation only. . . . it is also the operation of transforming the cult ure of the society, moving it towards a cult ure built on reason and science. 17

The debate over the secularization of the Lebanese government was never formally resolved in 1976. The resignation of President Franjiyya and the election of Elias Sarkis, and more importantly the Syrian invasion in the s u mm er of 1976, ended the possibility of any real ideological reorganization of the state. Syria did not wish any radical changes. In addition, Kamal Junblatt, the most outspoken proponent of a secular system was assassinated in 1977. His death was a severe blow to the socialist political platform in Lebanon. These events prevented the debate from gaining support across confessional lines. Throughout 1977 and 1978 Lebanon looked to the south with hope as serious discussions regarding the Palestinian conflict took place in Cairo and Jerusalem. During these two years the civil war settled into a war of attrition. There were no major attempts to radically challenge the system or the status quo. However, following the 1979 Iranian Revolution and the 1982 Israeli invasion of Beirut, the pendulum had completely swung the other way. Rather than proposing a secular system of government, several Mu slim groups, both Sunni and Shi‘a would propose an Islam ic m odel for the state. By late 1978 most of the socialist based political groups and militias had lost their power due to attrition. With their power base eroded and no primary political advocate (such as Junblatt), many Shi‘a began to look toward Tehran for an answer to the problems of Lebanon’s governmental system. In addition, the Israeli invasion of southern Lebanon created an atmosphere which promoted the growth of Islam ic fundamentalism among the poor Shi‘a community of the south and in the southern shantytowns of Beirut. Even after the 1989 Ta’if Accord the secularist debate was not fully settled. This highlights a dichotomy among the Lebanese between confessionalism and secularization. The Lebanese have a desire for both a confessional and national identity. They are torn between wanting confessional personal status laws and the “secularization of state and society,” as Hanf has remarked. 18 This ambivalence regarding

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confessional identity and national identity in some form of a secular organization has been noted in several sociological studies both during and after the civil war. 19

The Mufti of the Republic, Hasan Khalid, was very outspoken in this debate regarding Islam as a non-political institution in Lebanon. In a letter to his constituency at the beginning of Ramadan in Augu st 1976, Hasan Khalid opposed the calls of some parties who advocated secularism as a way forward for the nation, stating, “Islam is neither Left nor Right in politics.” In an interview with the newspaper al-Saf¥r on 14 November 1976 Khalid stated that in addition to political confessionalism, he opposed secularism, as do all “Muslims who are fighting and struggling.” 20 Because the war was not a religious war there was no particular reason to create a system where religion was to be eradicated from public life. Religion was not the problem which needed to be remedied. In fact, he stated, that religion is a strong bond between devoted Christians and Muslims. It develops “love of country and cooperation.”21 Khalid argued that a system which would dissolve the personal status laws of each commu nity was against both God and Islam. A completely secularist system “is worse than the confessional system,” he said.22 Responding to the debate within the Sunni comm unity, Khalid was clear that such a secularist system was not an option. Although political confessionalism was an evil which needed to be eradicated, he asserted that it would be better to continue with Maronite privileges than to abolish the religious communal laws. In another interview in May 1978, Khalid once again linked political confessionalism with secularism as the two problems facing Lebanese society. Secularism poses a problem for the religious freedom of Muslims who need communal laws. Thus, the confessional order [ al-niz. Œm al-t. Œ’if¥ ], that is, the legal recognition of Sunni communal law, was necessary for the continued education and teaching of Islam ic principles in matters of personal status. 23 It was not confessionalism that was the problem, but political confessionalism, which kept specific governmental offices in the hands of certain commu nities. According to Khalid, secularism has its origins in Aristotelian thought. Although this philosophical system develops a respect of freedom, it also leads to “anarchy and confusion” by subverting tradit ion and social authority, he says. The development of secularism in France was the result of “the authority of the Church in the government, administration

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and education.” and its abuse of that authority. Following the argum ents of the Sunni Council of Ulema in responding to the Association of Islam ic Maq asid Gradu ates, Khalid saw the development of secular political thought in Europe as a result of the Church’s interference in matters outside its realm. Because the Church abused its authority, Western political thought jettisoned its power structu re. In the United States where the church was completely disestablished from the government, secularism meant “absolute freedom in all matters.” In this case, the complete freedom to pursue any form of religious or non-religious doctrine led to complete social and ethical anarchy. Interestingly, according to Khalid, this left a void in the public sphere that has led to the appearance of the “Jewish authority,” what is called in American politics as the “Jewish lobby.” In other words, because the Church has been reduced to private matters, political Zionism filled the void in American political life. Concluding his interview, Khalid offered four reasons for opposing secularism in Lebanon: 1) it leads to anarchy, 2) it cultivates the divisions between confessions, 3) it encourag es Zionism, and 4) it encourag es apostasy. 24 According to Khalid, secularism as a political theory does not work. It does not agree with the religious viewpoint, more specifically, the Mu slim need to abide by communal dictates. A secular civil law would tram ple the freedom of Muslims to abide by confessional religious laws. The problem in Lebanon . . . is not a matter of Islam or Christianity interfering in politics, as the church had done in Europe before the Renaissance, but of Lebanese politicians meddling in religious affairs. 25

Contrary to the argum ents put forward by the Islamists in the mideighties, Khalid argued that maintaining the multi-confessional system of Lebanon was not only the just and fair way through the current conflict, it was consistent with Islam ic precepts. In his magnum opus, Mawqif alIslŒm min al-wat. aniyya wa ’l-Yahudiyya wa ’l-Nas. rŒniyya [Islam ic Positions on Nationalism, Jews and Christians], Khalid reviewed the Islam ic sources dealing with the treatment of Jews and Christians in the Islam ic State. Although he consistently focusses upon the application of shar¥‘a within the Mu slim comm unity, he does not mention any form of Islam ic government for the Lebanese context. On the contrary, quoting sura

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18:29 Khalid underlines the freedom of conscience and individual belief within Islam. Say: “The Truth is from your Lord:” Let him who will, believe, and let him who will, reject (it).

Khalid saw the adoption of Islam ic principles and precepts guided by the shar¥‘a as the basis of personal piety which then leads to specific Mu slim communal organization. This piety, in the view of Islam, yields perfect knowledge in belief and principles of the s h a r¥‘a , and is unparalleled in lifting to God devotion . . . [and] is committed to insure with it charity and knowledge and good understanding among people, to human co-existence . . . which leads them to God the almighty, to him devotion. 26

His framework clearly reflects the legacy of the Ottoman system, continued under the French Mandate and adopted in independent Lebanon, where each confession is given freedom to operate under its own communal law (providing those laws do not interfere with state security). Khalid, born, raised and educated in such a context saw the exhibition of Islam ic principles within the realm of personal status laws as the answer to other options put forward by the Islamists, the Maronites, and the secularists.27 It is worth noting that in Mawqif, Khalid went into great detail dealing with the history of Christians in Islam ic society by using Christian and Mu slim sources . He focussed especially on the origin and purpose of the dhimm¥ status (which we will outline later). Yet, he interestingly does not offer any suggestions for the organization of an Islam ic state, nor for dhimm¥s under Islam ic law. Also, he inserts a section on divorce laws in the middle of a work on historical records of non-Muslims in Islam ic society. 28 This reflects his understanding of the use of religious law for personal status cases, or for confessionally specific purposes, rather than as a foundation for the contemporary state.

In contrast to the Mufti of the Republic, Musa al-Sadr, as the official head of the Shi‘a comm unity, surprisingly offered little in t er m s of concrete response to the secularist debate. From the late sixties through the early seventies al-Sadr found in the Palestinian organizations allies to counteract the established oligarchy. His concern for the Shi‘a commu nity was directed toward social and econom ic development. Since

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the ideology of socialist political parties were concerned with economics, he found the Left to be a necessary ally to achieve his Shi‘a goals. The ideals of economic justice, a mainstay of the socialist groups, was very much in line with al-Sadr’s vision of Lebanon. That being said, al-Sadr saw in Kamal Junblatt and his secularist movement one of the major problems facing Lebanon. Junblatt’s insistence on completely restructuring the Lebanese state kept Lebanon in a perpetual state of conflict. Al-Sadr asserted: [h]ad it not been for Kam al Junblattt, the war wou ld have ended in two months. Now it has been raging for two years. And God knows when it will come to an end. 29

According to al-Sadr, it was the secularists who continued to instigate the problems. At a gathering of Muslims at UNESCO in 1976 al-Sadr c la im ed that “those who call for complete secularism simply wish the destruction of religious values. . . [and] that there is no difference between those who are atheists and those who are Israelis.” 30 In a gathering of the H. arakŒt al-Mah. rumu- n on 5 May 1976,31 al-Sadr addressed two problems of secularism. He stated that the call for creating a secular [orde r] is to be rejected. It is far from the rule of God. . . . Regarding personal status laws and our general life and its inequity in the purs uit of social customs; the call for secularism serves the enemy Israel and its aims.32

We have seen elsewhere where al-Sadr understands the compulsion to overturn the organization of the state as only benefiting Israel. In a speech given in honour of the death of the Iranian social activist Ali Shariati in Augu st 1977 al-Sadr said that it was Israel who was behind the religious division in Lebanon. The Zionists had first divided the Muslims and were now dividing the Christians. It was, thus, beholden upon the Christians and Muslims in Lebanon and in the Arab world to unite against the Zionists.33 In fact, it is the Lebanese way to coexist, while the Israelis hold “racial, sectarian” views, “refusing to coexist.”34 Al-Sadr did not view the issue of secularism through the lense of Islam ic legal or theological frameworks but through practical political and econom ic realities. He saw secularism as a commu nist or socialist platform that opposed religion and Islam. This was, however, of secondary importance to the problem of the presence of Israel and its imper ialistic designs. Secularism was a Zionist ploy to attack the roots of the Shi‘a comm unity.

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After the expulsion of the Shi‘a comm unities from East Beirut and the invasion of the Syrians under the auspices of the Arab Deterrent Forces in 1976, al-Sadr became critical of all of the foreign forces that had a hand in fighting among the militias. As al-Sadr understood it, the presence of Syrian forces in Lebanon gave Israel a pretext for continuing to occupy the South. In addition, the Arab governments as well as western and commu nist nations were “settling their scores by using the Lebanese civil war.” 35

Subhi Salih, the deputy mufti of the Sunni comm unity, contributed to the debate about secularism by authoring an editorial entitled “Secularism: a Philosophical Concept or an Intellectual Revolution?” which appeared in the weekly English journal, Monday Morning 36 The editorial had two aims. The first aim was to define secularism in its historical context, its roots in Western society and to uncover its current hold on the political landscape in Lebanon. The second aim was to offer a defence of national unity under a democratic system which formally recognized religion. Salih held that the origin of the term “secularism” is best translated as ‘ilmaniyya as opposed to ‘almŒniyya. (This differs from Shams al-Din’s deve lopment of the concept in early 1977, as we will see below.) He argued that the roots of secularism are in Western humanism and rational scientific thought, thus ‘ilm for “knowledge” or “science” for scientific thought, rather than ‘Œlam¥ as “worldly.” Like Khalid’s opinion of secularism examined above, Salih understood the development of secularism as a problem of W estern society. Originally these humanist ideas considered religion and religious language to be a negative effect upon society. Secularism was therefore associated with “anticlericalism, deconfessionalism, and Gallicanism.” 37 Western secular philosophy developed in response to the power and authority of the Church which had crept into politics. Salih argued that the sphere of politics did not concern the Church in the first place. Christian scripture itself provided for the separation of the Church and state. 38 Thus, secularism was a response by lay scholars to the problem of clergy interference in politics, into areas that were outside their jurisdiction. This interference upset the balance of society. In contrast however to their negative approach to Christianity, Western philosophers, according to Salih, never found it necessary to adopt a negative attitude toward the message of Islam. They felt that Islam synchronized the spiritual with the temporal needs of society. Islam dispensed with a Church and a clergy, preventing the imposition of any type of control on society in the name of religion.39 Two important implications result from Salih’s view. First,

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Islam does have a great deal to say about social affairs. Second, there is no need for a separate “religious” institution of the state to enforce Islam ic precepts, because it is not a political institution. Salih himself was a mem ber of a specific branch of the Sunni commu nity which dealt only with the personal status laws of that comm unity. Like Khalid, he did not seem to be concerned about the limits of the Sunni legists’ jurisdiction within personal status law. On the contrary, such jurisdiction provided him with the security to appeal to Sunni communal law. Continuing, Salih argues that once the French state had overthrown the authority of the Church, it was free to pursue an “objective rationalism.” Free from the authority of the clergy, the liberal philosophers believed that they were able to provide structu res and ideas that were based upon human reason and rationality, completely neutral toward religion. In fact, says Salih, such belief was a “hypocritical notion of ‘neutralism.’” The philosophers of this era actually attacked religion rather than drew from it. Rather than developing a sound philosophical structure in response to the power of the Church, Salih says the philosophers attacked the Church and remov ed its authority. The secularists’ attempt to remove the church from power was the main impetus for the development of this secular philosophy. In the contemporary period, says Salih, one cannot “pretend” to remain neutral to religion, especially in a sectarian country like Lebanon, lest one replace the authority of religion with that of secular humanism. Therefore, the answer to combatting secularism is by abolishing political sectarianism and establishing a mod ern democ ratic state on firm foundations of science, intellect, respect for the value of the individual and the dignity of Man, justice, equality, full rights and liberties and a cou ntry of sects, tribes and factions into a cou ntry with one united people. 40

By arguing for a democratic state founded upon “respect for the value of the individual,” Salih believed that the individual would be free to practice his own faith within the confines of his own confession. This is what was explicit in Legislative Decree 18. The concept of respect for the individual could work in a multi-confessional state as long as any religious law or belief was confined to the status of communal or personal rights. However, the “fear” factor that had driven the Mar onites since the 1860 massacres was that communal rights mandated under the law are not enough to guarantee protection. In fact, these communal rights merely exacerbate potential problems for minorities. As has been seen above, the recognition of full Christian political rights within the Ottoman Empire was a cause of Sunni unrest in the late 1800's. 41 Thus, according to the

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Maronites, the only guarantee of protection under a confessional system was what Hanf calls “communal mobilization” solidified by maintaining a strong hold on the most powerful position within the government, and the Presidency. 42 What Salih argues on one hand, he gives back with the other. His conclusion to the problems of the Lebanese situation is no different than the argum ents put forward by the secularist philosophers he denounces. The philosophers of the Enlightenment argued that a “dem ocratic state on firm foundations of science, intellect, respect for the value of the individual and the dignit y of Man” would help one to become a more moral and rational person and naturally allow for the practice of religion to the private sphere. Salih desired the same type of state, that is, a moral and rational state, but he used a different methodology. He disregarded the methods of the secularists because he believed that their ulterior motive was to destroy the power of religion. According to Salih, it is only individuals practising their faith and respecting others’ faiths that will allow a multi-confessional state to survive. The difference here being that for Salih individual Mu slim piety naturally involved communal organization and social laws. “We cling to the practical import of secularism [that is, the freedom to pursue religion] and reject its formal label [that is, its anti-religious origin].43

Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-Din, vice-president of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council, provides the most detailed scholarly response to the secularism controversy. In February 1977 he published original material on secularism in the daily Ara bic paper al-Saf¥r . The articles were then collected and expanded upon in a work entitled ‘AlmŒniyya [Secularism]. The book was revised and re-published in 1992 and again in 1996. It is a very detailed piece attempt ing to show the roots of secularism in the West as well as in contemporary Arab society. Shams al-Din’s ultimate aim was to come up with a method for rebuilding Lebanese society based on the framework of confessionalism, that is communal religious and cultural values. According to Shams al-Din, secularism is a human innovation [ bida‘ ], which is deserving of God’s curse. 44 The first part of ‘AlmŒniyya is a review of the Western and Christian origins of secularism. Unfortunately, throughout this section, Shams al-D in consistently equates Christianity with the West. His review of Western secular philosophy does not address the issue of anti-secular Christian responses. There is neither an exploration of specific Christian political theories, nor negative Christian responses toward aspects of the

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secular state. The deficiency of any in-depth analysis in contemporary Christian political thought demonstrates a lack of knowledge regarding the complex relationship between religious societies and individual Western secular state systems. His only two examples of W estern, church-state relations highlight the appearance of the Christian Dem ocrat ic Party in Germ any, and a vague reference to Western state support for Christian mis sionaries. These elementary references demonstrate his assumptions regarding the relationship between Christianity and the secular Western State. 45 Shams al-D in then goes on to juxtapose his criticism of Western secularism with the answers Islam maintains regarding the issue of religion and political power. Whereas the French Revolution was a struggle between the priesthood and the civil spheres, he argues that Mu slim scholars are not a separate entity from the political powers. They simply provide a different “function” [ majŒl al-waz. ¥fa] rather than a separate order. Whereas the priesthood stood for the old order and the status quo of power, the fuqahŒ’ stand for “the cause of the people’s general interest and their rights.” 46 The most pertinent section of this book deals with the issues involved in responding to the call specifically for a Lebanese secularist state. A secular state derives its authority directly from the sovereignty of the people and does not recognize the role of religion in society, writes Shams al-Din. The Lebanese political system, on the one hand, recognizes no official religion. On the other hand, Lebanese society is made up of various sects which do derive their authority from religious laws. Lebanon is thus, a “state of believers” [ dawla al-mu’min¥n ]. 47 The government of Lebanon is made up of representatives which reflect different confessional beliefs. Shams al-D in affirms that Article 9 of the constitution, which guarantees “absolute liberty of conscience,” has its origins in the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n of 1856.48 Liberty of conscience is absolute. By rendering homage to the Almighty, the State respects all creeds and guarantees and protects their free exercise, on condition that they do not interfe re with public order. It also guarantees to individuals, whatever their religious allegiance, the respect of their personal status and their religious interests.

He asserts that contrary to the secular state which does not recognize the authority of religion, the authority of the Lebanese citizen rests upon particular confessional laws which function as personal (or more appropriately comm unal) status laws. Thus, the basis of Lebanese citizenship is an individual’s participation in one’s confession. 49 Whereas

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secularism infringes upon human freedom and its desire for religion, the Lebanese system leads to a “path of cooperation” among the various religions.50 Citing the Lebanese Constitution again, Shams al-D in states that Article 12 provides for the protection and equal participation of all citizens regardless of whatever confession they are from, and thus protects their freedom to pursue religion. He also appeals to both Articles 9 and 12 of the constitution in order to defend the maintenance of religious personal status laws [ qawŒn¥n al-ah. wŒl al-shakhsiyya] as opposed to secular civil laws. In order to provide a comprehensive response to the political situation of the secularism debate, S ha m s al-Din reviews five argum ents for the secular civil state which have been put forward by Western philosophers. He then refutes those argum ents, not on the basis of Islam ic law, but by reasoned antit heses. The first Western secular argum ent he analyses is that of the suprem acy of “state sovereignty” which protects and provides for individual liberties. This idea, Shams al-D in claims, originates with the seventeenth century English philosopher Thomas Hobbes. Hobbes argued that the state and its power is needed to protect the individual from the “mob.” 51 Shams al-D in responds to this argum ent, however, by asserting that the state cannot truly recognize individual sovereignty. By serving to protect the sovereignty of the individual, the state is negating its own sovereignty. The state cannot hold supreme sovereignty above everything else if it seeks to protect the sovereignty of the individual. 52 Hobbes’ argum ent underm ines his premise, according to Shams al-Din. The second argum ent put forward by the secularists, states Shams al-Din, is that a secular society maintains “human freedom from the [oppressive] bonds of religion.” The secularists argued that under the confessional system individuals are kept bound and submissive to religion. Shams al-D in responds to this by arguing that it is individual faith which creates religious laws, not the other way around. Indiv iduals willingly subm it themselves to the teachings of their religion. Therefore, people are not bound to an oppressive religious system but help to create it out of their desire to be faithful to their particular religious tradition. Shams al-Din’s response here is somewhat disingenuous. We might, for example, mention the “apostasy law” of Islam in respect to religious freedom. While Islam ic Law allows non-Muslims to convert to Islam, it forbids Muslims from opting out of Islam without fear of legal reprisal. Shams al-D in does not adeq uately acknowledge the social-cultural pressure of particular religious authority in societies in which one’s religious commu nity is the dominant identity. 53

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

The third argum ent Shams al-D in reviews is that of the Western “positivistic civil law.” The philosophers of the Enlightenment have maintained that: [f]ollowing religious law in their personal status is not com patible with the principles of freedom guaranteed in the constitution and laws of human rights.54

Shams al-Din turns this argum ent upside down. On the contrary, he says, not allowing people to live according to their personal beliefs is a violation of their human rights and freedoms. The fourth argum ent for a civil secular state is that confessional allegiance weakens the unity of the state and the identity of individual “citizens” to that state. One cannot pledge allegiance to the nation-state if every confession has its own communal agenda. Again, Shams al-D in turns this argum ent around. By creating a new civil code the Lebanese state would merely be creating a new confession which “leads to the deepening and enhancing of these [already existing confessional] bodies.” 55 The reality, he argues, is that Lebanon is already made up of various confessions and religious beliefs. Lebanon is a “state of believers.” By validating personal status laws which are limited in scope and power to a particular communal sphere, the political and econom ic spheres are kept free from confessional regulations. The final argum ent of the secularists, according to Shams al-Din, is that a religious state destroys the unity of society and kinship [ al-nasab ] between its citizens. Shams al-D in responds that strengthening kinship ties lies not in creating a secular society but in upholding the reality of Arab culture and civilization which already unites Muslims and Christians. This is a manifestation of the concept of the umma ‘arabiyya which became a prominent cornerstone of Arab Nationalism at the end of the nineteenth century. What stands out in Shams al-Din’s work is his goal not only to maintain the confessional structure of the government of Lebanon, but to rationalize the necessity of legal personal status laws “which do not possess political or econom ic connotations.” 56 Fully implementing the Lebanese Constitution to the letter of the law would maintain and guarantee confessional parity and individual rights, not only between Christians and Muslims but between Sunni and Shi‘a as well.

It is important to note that in their responses to the secularist controversy, these ulema begin by thorou ghly investigating the historical

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and philosophical origins of Western secularism. They resolve that the issues involved in the debate between religion and secularism is a Western Christian problem irrelevant to the Islam ic context. Islam has no institution of the clergy and therefore no conflict between separate spheres of power. Both Khalid and al-Sadr focus upon the historical realities of the political forces at work in the conflict of eighteenth century France. They determine that it was the political context that took precedent over socialreligious resources. In other words, the development of Western secularism was not a debate about Christian theology but political power. They consistently argue that secularism was a Western invention in response to the abuses of Western Christianity. In their public statements these ulema clearly denounce Lebanese politicians for attempting to meddle in “religious” affairs, rather than Lebanese religious leaders meddling in “political” affairs. Hasan Khalid and Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-D in do develop ideas of maintaining a religious state in areas of personal status rather than developing ideas of an Islam ic state. Their main Qu r’anic basis cited for this is 2:256: “There is no compulsion in religion.” It is not until after the Israeli invasion of 1982 and the response of the Islamist parties (i.e., Hizb’allah, Islamic Amal, and Tawh¥d ) that Khalid begins to address the historic roots of the Islam ic state in his work Mawqif. Likewise, after 1982, Shams al-D in re-released ‘AlmŒniyya with a section developing the concept of political concept of shu- rŒ . He also published another edition of DirŒsŒt wa mawqif f¥ al-d¥n wa’ l-s¥yŒsah wa’ lmujtama‘ [Studies and Positions in Religion and Politics and Society], introducing the concept of ‘adadiyya [pluralism] only after models of an Islam ic state were advanced by other groups. 57 The issue of some form of Islam ic system of government as opposed to a secular system only appears in response to the Iranian Revolution in 1979. It is to that event which we now turn.

The Iranian Revolution, 1979 The last event which we will review comes from the other end of the philosophical spectrum from the secularist debate of 1976-1977. This is the call for an Islam ic state. The Islam ic Revolution in Iran has been the focus of much research and many volum es of published material. The success of the Iranian Revolution had a m ajor impact on the contemporary debate regarding the implementation of an Islam ic system

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in opposition to the current world order of the nation-state system.58 Although we need not detain ourselves in reviewing this debate, the external event of the Iranian Revolution directly impacted Lebanese society and does provide a good opportunity to respond to the central question of this study, the place of Christians in the government among Mu slim commu nities. The large population of Shi‘a in Lebanon meant that a Shi‘a revolution in Iran would have some affect on their own communal mobilization and communal ideology. The official policy of the Khomeini regime was to export the revolution to other Mu slim commu nities. Due to the strong familial ties between Jabal ‘Am il and Iran, the Lebanese Shi‘a community was seen as an ally and a natural place to begin exporting this revolution. 59 Lebanese Shi‘a scholars were not only schooled and trained in both Qom, Iran and Najaf, Iraq, but traditional Shi‘a families had a history of moving back and forth from Lebanon and Iran. Musa al-Sadr’s family history, therefore, which was rooted in both countries is not uncommon. Following the success of the Revolution, Imam Hassan Shirazi, a Shi‘a cleric from the South, quickly urged the Lebanese government to recognize the new Iranian government. He publicly declared that the Islam ic state was superior to other systems of government even if it was not popular with the citizens of Lebanon. 60 Once the Revolution had succeeded there was great pressure from within the Mu slim comm unity, even among the Sunnis, to respond positively with full public support. Adnan Hakim, the leader of the Sunni Najjadeh party affirmed that “the Ira nian Revolution contributes to the world an exemplary model of Islam ic government.” 61 Even Hasan Khalid himself in his official role as the head of the Sunni commu nity in Lebanon, showed a guarded form of support, claiming that the Revolution would “aid our cause” (whatever that “cause” may be). 62 When the Syrians allowed the Iranian Pasdaran Guards through the border into the Biqa‘ in 1979, another ideological layer was added to the already crowded political ideological struggle in Lebanon. What is important for the purposes of this study is that the Iranian presence added another option for reorganizing the confessional state. This time, rather than a re-configuration of political confessionalism, or the installation of a secular model, the Iranians promoted neo-traditionalist Islam ic principles using the shar¥‘a (and Ja‘afarite law) as the sole guide for the organization of the state. 63 The neo-traditionalist argum ent for the implementation of an Islam ic state could be summed up by alQawatli’s statement, cited previously, which asserts that Muslims are by necessity limited in their ability to recognize legitimate governments, they are either Islam ic and legitimate or un-I slamic and illegitimate. 64 This line

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of apology was used in 1982 when a faction broke away from the Shi‘a m ilitia Amal, naming itself Islamic Amal, and when the organization Hizb’allah published its manifesto calling for an Islam ic state. 65 The neotraditionalist view was put forward again in 1986 when Shi‘a Lebanese and Iranian clerics publicly released a working draft of a constitution for the new Islam ic Republic of Lebanon. 66 Although nothing helped to support for these political Islamist groups more than the Israeli invasion of 1982,67 the Revolution itself brought to the fore issues that had been debated in the nineteenth century regarding the concept of the Islam ic umma and the nation-state system. While the Israeli invasion of Lebanon galvanized public support (even among the Christian commu nities) for the Islam ic militias that were defending the South, the Iranian Revolution provided an Islam ic intellectual backdrop for thinking about the organization of society. The early rhetoric of the Revolution questioned the nation-state system itself. 68 The political mobilization of the Shi‘a in Lebanon, which began under al-Sadr’s direction in the late nineteen sixties, was well prepared for this point in history. Their communal identity provided a strong social support for implementing a novel political organization of the state imported from Iran. Fuad Khuri has argued that the Shi‘a have traditionally vacillated between taqiyya, what he calls “indifference toward the political regime,” and ta‘bi’a or “outright rebellion.” 69 Through the early seventies the Shi‘a commu nity was moving from a “sect” to “religious minority,” to use Khuri’s terms. They were beginning to accept their role within the mu lticonfessional government and to claim a “piece of the pie.” This political movement would ultim ately lead to the decision by Hizb’allah leaders to enter into formal confessional politics by enrolling candidates in the 1992 Parliamentary elections. 70 What is interesting about the responses of the four Lebanese ulema examined here is their unified plea to take seriou sly the different social contexts of Iran and Lebanon. Both the Sunni and Shi‘a leaders argued quite heavily that Lebanon was not Iran, and that what was good for Iran may not be good for Lebanon. They also highlighted the need for new models of Islam ic political thought, or at least a re-examination of the old models in a new light.

Hasan Khalid certainly showed misgivings about the growing Shi‘a power in the South and the possible effect of the Iranian Revolution. The large but politically disenfranchised Shi‘a commu nity received the Iranian Revolution with zealous anticipation. By the late sixties and early

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seventies unofficial census figures had shown that the Shi‘a had become the largest confessional group. They could now claim a larger “slice of the pie” based upon the concept of proportional representation.71 With the support of Iran, the Lebanese Shi‘a not only had ideological support for their political claims but they had the military backing of a foreign nation-state! In a sermon on the occasion of Eid al-Adha in November 1979, Khalid raised questions regarding the presence of foreign troops on Lebanese soil which gave Israel a pretext for its offensives. He was referring to the Iranian Pasdaran Guard s. Khalid argued that it was only “Arab solidarity,” that is, Lebanese-Palestinian-Syrian coordination which would “guarantee a solution to the Lebanese drama.” 72 His sermon supported the focus of an Arab solution and not a specifically Mu slim one, which at that point in time would have included the Iranian solution. Several years later, in response to the Lausanne Conference of 1984 when the discussions of a “new pact” between the Mar onites and the Shi‘a were raised, Khalid responded that “a new pact must not be concluded on a confessional base but from the various political orientations of the Lebanese.” 73 He reiterated that no one community can exercise a monopoly of power to the exclusion of the others, and that there could not be a “demographical redistribution [of power] on a confessional base in the different regions of Lebanon” (ie., the South or Mount Lebanon), the traditional strongholds of both the Shi‘a and the Maron ites, respectively. 74 K halid’s public press statements responding to the Revolution and Shi‘a power did not show the attempt to use Islamic, or even for that matter, Sunni sources. As the politically appointed head of the Sunni commu nity and as a Sunni aristocrat his responses were, at best, intended to prevent further fracturing of the state and, at worst, simply protecting Sunni claims to power. Khalid did, however, offer three written works on the development of an Islam ic framework in response to the Revolution and the call for the implementation of the shar¥‘a as the Lebanon’s Constitution which addressed categories of Islam ic law. The first was in MasŒr al-da‘wa ’l-IslŒmiyya f¥ LubnŒn [The Path of Islam ic Da‘wah in Lebanon]. The second was Ta‘r¥f bi’ l-IslŒm [Instruction in the way of Islam]. The third was in Mawqif al-IslŒm. In each case Khalid did not explicitly speak about the Revolution but he did offer different methods of interpreting Islam ic society. MasŒr al-da‘wa ’l-IslŒmiyya f¥ LubnŒn was a pamphlet published by Khalid in 1980 shortly after the Revolution. 75 After examining the Qu r’anic message regarding humanity’s call to religion, Khalid reviews the

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history of Islam in Lebanon. He begins by making universal claims to humanity rather than focussing specifically upon Islam or the Muslim comm unity. He then ends the short treatise by offering ten proposals that might help Lebanese Muslims meet the challenges of the fourteenth century AH. Khalid first lays out a deterministic, predestinarian view of humanity based upon the following suras . Some He hath guided: Others have (by their choice) deserved the loss of their w ay; in that they took the Evil Ones, in preference to Allah, for their friends and protectors, and think that they receive guidance. (7:30) But he did lead astray a great multitude of you. (36:62) Then seest thou such a one as takes as his god his own vain desire? Allah has, knowing (him as such), left him astray, and sealed his hearing and his heart (and understanding), and put a cover on his sight. Who, then, will guide him after Allah (has withdrawn Guidance)? Will ye not then receive admonition ? (45:23)76

Khalid argu es that even though there are those who do not follow the path of Islam this should not worry Muslims. It is the will of God that humanity should be free to follow the religion of Islam or not as it chooses. However, it is beholden upon the Mu slim commu nity to firmly adhere to its own calling. This is an argum ent for the basis of a pluralistic society. Khalid then turns to the heart of the pamphlet which deals with the present situation in Lebanon. In order to meet the contemporary context, Khalid states that the Mu slim commu nity must follow a path of ijtihŒd , following the reformist methodology laid out by Muhamm ad Abdu and Rashid Ridda. Freedom from old methods and formalism without principles. [ al-ta h. r¥r min a l -a sŒ l¥b a l -q a d ¥m a wa ’ l- s h a k li y y a g h a y r a l -a sŒ s i y ya ]. 77

Like the nineteenth century salafis, he argues that it is possible to come up with new formulations for contemporary problems while being faithful to Islam ic principles. Khalid then mak es ten proposals to help the Muslim community of Lebanon respond to the contemporary situation while being faithful to da‘wah. Propositions one to three propose raising the standards and qualifications of education for Mu slim institutions by creating a school of Isla mic theology, an Islam ic educational office, and “a well-organized

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course in religious administration.” 78 Propositions four and six deal with raising the standards of dealing properly and ethically with finances. Proposition five is an encouragement to use mass media effectively as a tool for propagating the faith. Proposition nine calls for the clear understanding that there is no such thing as a separation of religion and politics, and that the “men of religion” are not prohibited from speaking in the political realm. Lastly, proposition ten reiterates Khalid’s opening thesis by calling for ijtihŒd to be used by the Supreme Islam ic Law Council in aiding the M uslim comm unity. 79 The most important issue in these recommendations, however, comes in propositions seven and eight. Here Khalid calls for a modification of Legislative Decree 18 to increase its authority in order to better meet the Mu slim commu nity’s needs and strengthen the powers of the Supreme Islam ic Law Council. 80 This pamphlet is the second time that Khalid has appealed to Legislative Decree 18 in order to formulate some response to the civil war. In Ta‘r¥f bi ’l-IslŒm, published in 1981, and later in a French translation in 1983, Lettre pour Une Invitation a l’Islam , Khalid envisions two foundations for the Muslim community. The first foundation is the shar¥‘a [Islam ic law]. The second foundation is ‘ibŒdŒt [worship or acts of devotion]. Interestingly, the shar¥‘a establishes the parameters for individual and communal life. It provides for the organization of families, safeguarding the rights of big and sm all in society, the legality of marriage, the prohibition of fornication, tem porary marriage and concubinage, the determination of the conditions of divorce, parental guardianship, and inheritance.81

In other words, the shar¥‘a organizes personal status laws. Khalid does not propose the use of the shar¥‘a as any form of political organization. He does not deny, however, that Muhamm ad’s aim was to set up an Islam ic political, administrative, econom ic and social state governed by the principles of the Qur’an, but Khalid asserts that this achievement was limited to Muhamm ad during the time of revelation.82 In other words, the Mu slim community can not make these same claims after the death of Muhamm ad. This leads us to a point that Khalid mak es in his monumental work Mawqif al-IslŒm min al-wat. aniyya wa ’l-Yahu- diyya wa ’l-Nas. rŒniyya. The book was published in response to the collapse of the Tri-partite Agreement of 1983. (This agreement was the militia leaders’ answer to the failed Lausanne and Geneva conferences.) Although Khalid’s book was not a direct response to the Iranian Revolution, it did provide a particular Mu slim response toward an organization of the state, and more

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specifically, toward the recognition of Christian political rights within a Mu slim comm unity. Mawqif is an exhaustive review of classical Islam ic positions regarding Christians and Jews in Islam ic society. Khalid studied the development of the dhimm¥ status of Christians under Islam ic rule. He ultim ately concluded that the purpose of the dhimm¥ status was to protect Eastern Christians from Byzantine and later Crusader Christian oppression.83 “The Arab Christians and Muslims were brothers” against the foreign invaders, states Khalid.84 The development of al-dhimma has its roots in historical circumstances, and specific situations of the Syriac, Coptic and Armenian churches under the protection of the Islam ic State. 85 The status was a beneficial one, protecting those of a minority faith. Islam “does not stop revering differences and protecting their rights and maintaining their characteristics, their religious rites” contrary to the European practice of cuius regio eius religio [to the ruler, his religion].86 Muslims can be tolerant, says Khalid, because the Qur’an is tolerant. He cites 18:29: The truth is from your Lord: Let him who will, believe, and let him who will, reject (it).”

What prohibits the establishment of the dhimm¥ status for Christians now in Lebanon, asks Khalid? It is because Lebanon is a “special case.” It is a place where Christians and Muslims have a very profound and deep-rooted history. They have been raised from one family, one conviction. . . . Muslims and Christians cert ainly have a pledge in Lebanon in order to cooperate to guarantee with [this pledge] to all in a free and dignified national life. 87

Consequ ently, the organization of the state in Lebanon must reflect the cultural and historical context. Khalid is critical of any call for a radical reorganization of the state that is the work of “religious extr em ism” or “fanaticism.” Fanaticism, he fears, only leads to anarchy. Khalid states that Islam speaks not only against any form of individual religious fanaticism [ ta‘as. s. ub ] but against the social and national forms of fanaticism as well (i.e., Maronitism). 88 What we are left with is the claim that both Christian and Mu slim Lebanese are brothers and their national context calls upon them to work together in coexistence, cooperation, justice and equality and that all foreign aid, assistance and ideology, be it

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Western, Israeli, Syrian or Iranian, negatively affects the national situation.89

Musa al-Sadr did not live to see the Revolution brought to completion. His strange disappearance in 1978 occurred before the establishment of Khomeini’s vilayŒt al-faq¥h . He was, however, active and did respond to the antecedents of the Revolution. Al-Sadr had also earlier responded to the question of working toward an Islam ic state in Lebanon. This is recorded in a biography of al-Sadr by Peter Theroux in The Strange Disappearance of Imam Musa al-Sadr . Other responses to the Iranian Revolution are located in an interview by al-Shira‘ , and an article he scripted for Le Monde only eight days before he disappeared. Theroux, in his biography of al-Sadr, records an incident between al-Sadr and Muam mar Qaddafi in September 1975. In a personal conference at Qaddafi’s palace, Qaddafi asked, “What will it take to establish an Islam ic state in Lebanon?” Al-Sadr responded that, The establishment of an Islam ic state in Lebanon is not the goal of any of the Lebanese communities. Lebanon is an Arabic cou ntry with a unique religious configuration. Transforming Lebanon into a Musli m State will destroy its special status with in the Arab world and the world as a whole.90

Al-Sadr’s response to Qaddafi is consistent with other material looked at above. The multi-confessionalism of Lebanon is the “sacred witness” of the Lebanese to the world. To implement the Islam ic state would destroy that unique quality. That is not to say that al-Sadr was not in favour of challenging or altering the government, but he was certainly not in favour of challenging the confessional system of representation. In an interview with al-Shira‘ , al-Sadr further clarified the issues raised in his statement to Qaddafi. He stated that Islam is about “commanding the good and forbidding the evil” [ Œmr bi ’l-m‘aru- f wa nah. y an al-munkar ]. 91 Therefore, “Isla mic politics” is about human rights and fighting oppression.92 For al-Sadr, entering into Lebanese politics is not a matter of establishing an Islam ic order, but rather of asserting Islam ic principles. It is about “forbidding the evil” of injustice. This is reflected in his early sermons from 1973-1974 where the injustice and oppression of the Shi‘a of the South drove al-Sadr into politics in order to create a more just Lebanese society. 93 For al-Sadr, the principle of shu- rŒ [consultation] allows for something akin to modern democracy within Lebanese society, and thus the legitimate voice of the Shi‘a comm unity. 94

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In this interview al-Sadr underlines the fact that Amal is not a sectarian or religious party but that it is a national organization. It is open to all people, regardless of their confessions, both Christians and Muslims. 95 This is because Arab Muslims and Christians are “one nation” [ qawmiyya wŒh. ida ] and are united in faith by their belief in G od. 96 Al-Sadr asserts that the militia wing of the “Mov ement of Disinherited,” Amal, was not an Islam ic organization. The achronym of Amal stands for afwŒj almuqŒwama al-LubnŒniyya [National Lebanese Resistance]. It is not based on Islam ic political categories but rather on the defence of the South against Israeli aggression and oppression. It is, al-Sadr claims, a national militia or movement. The reality, however, was that Amal was a distinctly Shi‘a movement. By 1982, with the emergence of Hizb’allah and Islamic Amal, Amal became embroiled in a Shi‘a power struggle over Shi‘a authority. Ultim ately this power struggle would break out into a smaller civil war in 1987. When some Iranian and Lebanese Shi’a clerics published their draft constitution for the Islam ic Republic of Lebanon, Amal disassociated itself from the radical Shi‘a movement. 97 Asked whether Amal followed the precepts of the Revolution, al-Sadr responded: [w]e in Lebanon know we ll with experience that this state combines a number of confessions. . . . Therefore, we oppose control over us and we also oppose our control over the remaining confessions.98

Any control of one confession over another, says al-Sadr, “violates the commu nity of the Lebanese people.” 99 Although the Amal movement looks to Imam Khomeini as its marja‘ in matters of faith, “it does not follow the course of judgments in the constructed politics of Iran.” Iran is a special case, just as is Lebanon. 100 Al-Sadr appeals to the historical context of each state and claims that they were not of the same mould. Al-Sadr’s last published statement on an Islam ic State was an article he wrote for le Monde eight days before his disappearance. Written during the struggle for power in Iran he argues that the Revolution was a broadbased movement of the whole Iranian people. The Iranian revolution does not represent a particular social strata. Students, workers, intelle ctu als and men of religion all participate in the revolution. It is the movem ent of a people from diverse generations.101

The problem in Iran originated with the repression of “moral values of human civilization” by the Shah’s iron fist rule. Therefore, the

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Revolution was unlike anything seen before in history. The world would do well to take notice of the Iranian experience and its drive for justice. The impetus of the revolution led by Imam Khomeini is “motivated by faith and the objectives are an open humanism and an ethical revolution.” 102 Unfortunately, al-Sadr does not expound on what his term “open humanism” means. We would assume by this that he means the movement is a diverse one, made of various social groups. Although al-Sadr is clearly supportive of the Revolution and Khomeini, it must be remembered, however, that he is writing in the summer of 1978 before the new republic had clearly established itself. He is correct in asserting that the Revolution was a broad-based movement. 103 The drive to overturn the Shah’s rule included studen ts, trade unions, Marxist organizations as well as the religious leaders. One cannot conclude, however, that al-Sadr’s vociferous support was a nod toward a specific Islam ic interpretation of the state or certainly the wilayŒt al-faq¥h . On the contrary, al-Sadr was clear that the revolution began as more than simply a drive to implement the Islam ic state by men of religion. Consistent with his previous statements, this is an issue of oppression and human rights, not of Islam ic rule.

Subhi Salih, once again appears to have been reluctant to be drawn into the foray of the political debate regarding the Revolution and its meaning for Muslims in the contemporary period. Salih did not produce any fresh material for his response but relied upon the use of older materials released with updated editions. One would think, however, that Salih would have actively engaged in this debate. His continual concern was that of the response of religion and faith to the modern world. In 1965, Salih published an edition of Ibn Qayyam al-Jawziyya’s medieval text, Ah. kŒm ahl al-dhimma [Statutes Regarding the Protected Minorities]. In his introduction to al-Jawziyya’s work, Salih argues that the formulation of al-dhimma had deeply rooted “historical conditions” [ d. uru- f tŒr¥khiyya] and that Ibn Qayyam was writing “in the spirit of his time.” 104 In 1980, Salih reissued the work with a second and longer introduction. In the original edition, he was concerned about the options the M uslim commu nity might take in the face of the temptations of Western and Comm unist systems [i.e., implying Maronite/Israelite hegemony or PLO/LNM Marxism]. In the second edition, the situation had changed. The temptations facing the Lebanese Mu slim community were no longer issues of the Cold War but the Iranian Revolution.

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During its history, says Salih, the Mu slim community has always overcome foreign incursions and ideologies. In the process, and to accomplish their feat, leaders such as al-M awardi, Ibn Taymiyya and Salah al-D in have all derived new categories “suitable to the circumstance,” based upon the “changes of time.” 105 Thus, in the modern context, new social-political categories [ as. nŒf ] must be erected which take into account the modern concepts of the free-mar ket economy, individual human rights and group freedoms. It is significant that in the introduction to a medieval Islam ic text on the category of Christians and Jews in Islam ic society, Salih comments upon the need and appropriateness of providing new Islam ic categories to meet the needs of contemporary society. While undertaking a critical study of Ibn Qayyam al-Jawziyya’s medieval categories, Salih carves out a methodology that might be applicable for the modern Lebanese context. Salih states in the introduction that any kind of contemporary salafi approach, in the tradition of Sayyid al-Qutb, to the problems of the contemporary Mu slim world will not work. In all of the recent developments in Islam ic thought, says Salih, no method has been able to grasp fully the dram atic changes in the modern world and to deal with them effectively. 106 Although there is no outright mention of the Revolution there is an emphasis upon the necessity to return to the Sunni tradition and hold that in tension with the modern period. According to Salih, no one has yet been able to find an appropriate mod el, not even Khomeini (we might add). In contrast to the Imam ate [ al-imŒm al-ma‘su- m], he holds that the heritage of the Sunni Caliphate is the only way forward for the Mu slim world.107 Although he does not clearly define what he means by the heritage of the Caliphate in the modern period, it is clear in any case, that he does not see the blueprints put forward by the Shi‘a as valid alternatives. Salih reiterates this in another edition of al-IslŒm wa mustaqbal al-h. adŒrah [Islam and the Future Civilization] released in 1980. In this introduction Salih again argues that Islam has always used systems appropriate to the situation [ munŒsib al-z. aru- f ]. It is only with respect to a particular context that an Islam ic political system can be formed.108 It is implicit, then, that the Iranian Revolution will not provide answers for the Lebanese context. Salih also released a new edition of his al-Niz. Œm al-IslŒmiyya [Islam ic Orga nizat ion] in Mar ch of 1982, only three months before the June 6 Israeli invasion. This was the seventh subsequent edition after the original 1965 publication. In this work, Salih undertakes a review of the historical sources of the origins of Islam ic society under the rashidu- n . As

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in al-IslŒm wa mustaqbal al-h. adŒrah , Salih shows the breadth of his education by quoting widely from Western sources as well as from traditional Islam ic ones. In his Introduction, he states that there has been a flurry of studies done on the Islam ic state, in light of the Islam ic Republic, but that most of the work has been “arbitrary” and rushed. He states that contemporary authors who have attempted to piece together the foundations of the Islam ic state have often omitted many important sources, such as Abu Ya‘la’s al-ah. kŒm al-s. ult. aniyya. 109 Salih’s underlying thesis is that the historical sources point out that “there is no one single religious conviction” regarding the “basic principles” of politics, economics, society and military matters. 110 There is no state of “consensus” [ ijma‘] regarding the organization of the Islam ic state. 111 In response to post-Revolution Iran, Salih felt compelled in al-IslŒm to comment upon the “theory” of the Imamate. He called it “very far from the spirit of Islam ic shar¥‘a.” Salih argued that there is no Theocr atic rule in Islam. Rather, the Imam is only the khal¥fat allah ‘alŒ’ l-ard. . 112 In other words, the rule of Islam ic society is an earthly government set forth through the principles of the shar¥‘a, not through the judgments of the Imam . He is offering here a criticism of Khomeini’s vision of wilayŒt al-faq¥h , the rule of the “just jurist” in Iran.

It is in response to the Iranian Revolution that Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-D in takes on a greater communal role by making more political and authoritative public statements. After al-Sadr’s disappearance on 31 Augu st 1978, Shams al-Din, as the vice-president of the Higher Shi‘a Islam ic Council, became its spokesperson and ulti m ately its President. Thus, he became the de-facto legal confessional representative of the Shi‘a commu nity in Lebanon. As has already been stated, his voice was always muted by the authority of other Shi‘a militia organizations as well as the authority of Muhamm ad Hussain Fadlallah. Shams al-D in in his writings, however, mak es clear his position on Iranian military involvement in Lebanon. He also thorou ghly reinterprets one of the greatest Shi‘a symbols, ‘Ashu- rŒ’ , and its role in Shi‘a society. He does this in response to the radical interpretations of the rite offered by al-Sadr as well as by Amal, Islamic Amal, and Hizb’allah . Eventually, by 1985 Shams al-D in would produce a thorou ghly constructed position on the pluralistic state that maintained Islam ic categories, while countering that set forth by the Islamist militias. In January 1980, Shams al-D in publicly responded to the presence of Iranian revolutionary guards in the Biqa‘ valley. “We, of course, deeply

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appreciate the noble spiritual motive that [has] prompted this move,” he stated, “but it is possible the people involved lack a full understanding of the political situation in the South.” 113 Rather, than accepting the Iranian position of “exporting the Revolution,” Shams al-D in argued that what was needed in response to Israeli aggression was, he argued, a return of the “national institutions.”114 In a more precise response dated April 1980, Shams al-D in stated, If the Iranian authorities want to militarily export their revolution, we refuse that type of exportation. [That is] the w estern method of exportation . . . in the exam ple of [Napoleon] Bonaparte and of the Soviet Revolution. In the cou ntry whe re the population is Muslim, we are for aiding the liberty of the people to let them choose the path of their revolution to create in the other Islam ic countries the necess ary intellectual climate tow ard an Islam ic revolution. 115

The greatest tool that the Shi‘a had for garnering support among its people for political activism was the use of the ‘Ashu- rŒ’ celebrations. ‘Ashu- rŒ’ is the commemoration of the death of Husayn, the prophet’s grandson, at the hands of the ‘Umayyads on the plains of Karbala on 10 Muharram. For much of its history Shi‘a piety interpreted ‘Ashu- rŒ’ as a personal penitential right. After the Iranian Revolution, the ‘Ashu- rŒ’ commem oration came to be seen and used as a platform to support the implementation of the Islam ic State and to support the exportation of the Revolution. It became a symbol of Shi‘a political power. The use of this age-old tradition, however, had been changing even before the Iranian Revolution. Musa al-Sadr used the religious imagery of ‘Ashu- rŒ’ to galvanize the Shi‘a into activity during the early seventies.116 Ajami states that, Musa al Sadr brought to the old tale of Ke rbala a new reading, which stripped it of its sorrow and lament and made of it an episode of political choice and courage on the part of Imam Husse in and the band of follow ers who fought by his side . . . hitherto a reminder to the Shia of their solitude and defeat, was to become under Musa al Sadr a celebration of defiance on the part of an ‘elite minority’ -- the Shia--that had refused to sub mit to injustice.117

We find in Shams al-Din’s work a criticism of the use of ‘Ashu- rŒ’ in this manner. Rather than using it as a confessionally specific image to create

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support for the Shi‘a movement among Amal, Islamic Amal, or Hizb’allah , Shams al-D in cautioned the Shi‘a on the improper usages of this ritual. During the 1979 ‘Ashu- rŒ’ celebrations, Shams al-D in stated Ash ura isn’t the revolution of a religious rite against anothe r, or one confession against anothe r. It is the revolution of Islam against deviating [from the truth], the revolution of authenticity against falsification . . . We find in the Conscience and in the sentiment of the strong Christians of the faith, a permanent Truth in relation with the lasting quality of the Conscience of Man. We conceive of a national union based upon the principles of the Christian and Mu slim faiths which perm it the building of a fatherland, united and solitary. . . 118

In 1980 Shams al-D in published the third volume of a planned four volume work on the events of ‘Ashu- rŒ’ and its place in Shi‘a society. 119 In Thawrat al-Husayn [The Rising of al-Husayn] Shams al-D in reviews how the ‘Ashu- rŒ’ celebrations have been used by Shi‘a religious leaders throughout history. In the contemporary period he notes that the rites of remem brance have become an “established cultural phenomena.” 120 He is critical of the way in which those leading the rites have attempted to create an emotional frenzy among the participants. The speech of the preacher attempts to go beyond the historical and social origins of the events of ‘ ‘Ashu- rŒ’ . Shams al-D in argues further that there must be tighter control on how this event is used and interpreted, holding that the revolution of al-Husayn comes with in the scope of historical reality through mentioning its historical circumstances, causes and results without exaggerations, in an artistic language which is und erstandable to sim ple man, and far away from theatrical techniques, by putting it forward in terms of a psychological influence which arises a s a res ult o f a n i n te l le c tu a l s y m p a t h y , n o t a s t h e r e s u l t o f a f a n a ti c a l emo tionalism [em phasis mine]. 121

We see here an implicit criticism of the use of ‘Ashu- rŒ’ in the speeches of al-Sadr in 1974 and 1975 in which he used the religious imagery of Shi‘a history to politically mobilize the comm unity. It is also a criticism of those attempting to use the celebrations to support the Iranian Revolution as the vindication of the injustices done to al-Husayn by the Sunni Umayyads. Shams al-D in would soon change his perspective on how to understand this festiva l, however. In 1983 the Israeli army intruded into the ‘Ashu- rŒ’ celebrations in Nabatiyya, one of the largest Shi‘a centres of this celebration. They disrupted the large event by driving through the middle of the procession

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in a deliberate act of provocation. Following this offensive incident Shams al-Din begins to use the images of Husayn and his martyrdom as an avenue for active civil disobedie nce against Israel. Following the incident in Naba tiyya, Shams al-D in issued a fatwŒ. He declared it a Muslim’s duty to offer total civil resistance against Israel. The imagery which Shams al-D in invoked is an attempt to deepen the understanding of jihŒd as has been popularly understood by radical Islamist groups. Martyrdom is not achieved only in death; it can be achieved in life as we ll. Rallying behind a just cause affecting the whole society rather than a person or family, a cause linked to God and His teachings, and to carry this cause across with piety and determination . . . this is what gives life and death the meaning of martyrdom. To live for service and salvation of people . . . to unite the fate of the martyr with the destiny of man. . . 122

It is important to note here that although Shams al-D in does begin using stronger language and encouraging political activism, he does so by focussing upon “society” or the nation, and not the Shi‘a comm unity. He also does not mention that the purpose of such activism is the implementation a Shi‘a Islam ic state. We have already reviewed Shams al-Din’s work in Niz. Œm al-h. ukm. In this original work his primary concern dealt with the differences in the methodology and resources of the Sunni and the Shi‘a commu nities. It was this concern that would lead him to develop the ideas of al-‘adadiyya and al-d¥muqrŒtiyya al-‘adadiyya al-qŒ’ima ‘alŒ mabda’ ash-shu- rŒ [Dem ocratic pluralism based upon the principle of consultation].123 In the 1990 edition of his initial work, Shams al-D in stated that his viewpoint is “an Arab Shi‘a expression” (as opposed to a Persian Shi‘a expression).124 Shams al-D in had in mind his experiences of Najaf and Jabal ‘Am il, not Qom. That is, during his early formative years his struggle was against an Arab, secular Sunni government holding power over a Shi‘a minority in Iraq. Ultimately, he stated, Sunni and Shi‘a will never agree upon an organization of the state because the Sunni focus upon the Caliphate and the ahl al-h. all‘ wa al-‘aqd who govern the state, while the Shi‘a focus upon the Imam ate [ al-imŒm al-ma‘su- m]. 125 Responding to the debate surrounding Khomeini’s system, Shams al-D in argued that the Shi‘a have two possibilities when it comes to implementing the Islam ic state: 1) a state of the General Jurist [ al-wilŒyat al-‘Œmmat al-faq¥h ] and, 2) an state of the people [ al-wilŒyat al-umma nafsiha ]. 126 Like the other Lebanese ulema , and contrary to the path chosen by Khomeini, Shams al-D in pointed out that the status of the religious leaders as guiding forces to the state does not confer “the perfect

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ability in ruling as the appointed delegate for the Imam .” 127 In each Mu slim country, Muslims bear their nationality [ jinsiyya], and thus the religious leaders are limited to advise the people of that specific state. 128 Thus, the fuqahŒ’ guide the people in social and religious matters of a specific society but the state is, in essence, run by its own citizens.129 Due to the differences between the Shi‘a and the Sunni and because of the reality of different commu nities, the fuqahŒ’ are both a necessary and a limited class. They are necessary to guide the specific comm unities according to their own suitable legal schools. They are also limited geographically by the boundary under which their people are organized. Each state or geographically limited umma is one “particular manifestation” [ al-z. Œhira ikhtis. Œs. ] of the Islam ic State. Shams al-D in is arguing for the recognition of some form of the nation-state system. He might wish that it was organized according to some other principles (i.e., other than the Western secular system), but he does not deplore the formation of independent and legal nations organized according to their own cultural and social standards. From this earlier work, Niz. Œm al-h. ukm, Shams al-D in would begin to crystallize a blue print for a pluralistic society based upon Islam ic categories. After the second round of political national reconciliation talks in Lausanne in 1984, Shams al-D in offered the idea of a democratic society built upon the balance among the communities and groups . . . based on a proper oneman-one-vot e democracy, not on the democracy of sects . . . popular democracy, based on the equality of individual citizens, an equality both of rights and obligations.130

In 1985 Shams al-D in published a pamphlet entitled Niz. Œm al-dimuqrŒtiyya al-‘adadiyya al-qŒ‘ima ‘alŒ mabda’ al-shu- rŒ [The System of Dem ocratic Pluralism Based on the Principle of Consultation], where he further elaborated the above statement. In the pamphlet he argued that the “country’s political commu nity is composed not of individual citizens but of sects. It is the sect through which a citizen exercises his rights.” 131 Thus, while calling for the end of political confessionalism and Maronite dominance he appeals to the Islamic concept of shu- rŒ [consultation] within a democratic system of comm unities as a support for confessional government. There is some ambiguity in this pamphlet, however , between a system of egalitarian comm unities and his understanding of “numerical democracy,” where individual citizens within confessions make up the base of the electorate. While arguing to do away with the National Pact because of its unfair treatment of smaller confessional commu nities,

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he produces another unwritten National Pact whereupon the largest comm unity, the Shi‘a, would govern simply by virtue of numbers. 132 Is this “dem ocratic pluralism?” By the mid-eighties, although no official census had taken place since the Mandate period, it was generally accepted that the Shi‘a now represented the largest confession. Although this concept of a new system based upon Islam ic categories was a novel interpretation of implementation of the shar¥‘a among Mu slim commu nities, it still left one of the main questions of Lebanese governance on the table. Were the confessions to be given an equal distribution of power regardless of their size, or were they to be given the equivalent power reflected by the size of their constituency? Was the premise behind Article 95 to be upheld (representational distribution of power)? Or was Article 12 with its focus upon individual merit and competence to be given its due weight? Shams al-Din’s commitment to a pluralist system can be clearly seen in an incident which occurred in 1989. Shams al-D in was one of four candidates nominated by the Iranian and Lebanese conservative ulema for the Presidency of the next Islam ic Republic of Lebanon. He was not pleased by the public nomination and regretted that his name was on the list. Consequ ently, he emphasized his plan for “dem ocratic pluralism based on Shura (Consultation).” 133 This is of course, not to say that Shams al-D in was not in favour of implementing an Islam ic system, but the models or methods being offered were not suitable to the current context. Nor was the constituency of the state fully educated as to the purpose and effects of the Islam ic state. According to Shams al-Din, during the tragedies of the current war the Christian population was certainly not ready to accept any form of Islamic system over them, regardless of how just that system might have been in his view. Any attempt at implementing such a state was at best premature, or at worst irrelevant .

Although these four ulema used different methods in responding to the proposals of reorganizing Lebanese society, either according to a completely secular model, on the one hand, or an Islam ic Republic, on the other hand, they were united in their argum ents to maintain a multiconfessional state. Whereas the Marxist societies and Nasserite organizations were in favour of creating a non-sectarian state, and the fundamentalist militias were in favour of creating an Islam ic state, these ulema appealed to the unique quality of Lebanon as a microcosm of humanity. In responding to the Secularism Debate of 1976-1977 there was a tendency to use philosophic argum ents and appeal to the humanity’s

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gift of freedom in choosing “religion.” Yet, in response to the push for the implementation of an Islam ic Republic there was a tendency to focus upon confessionally specific material which highlighted the differences between the Sunni and Shi‘a. In the end, these ulema argue for the maintenance of a multi-confessional state where communal law is limited in jurisdiction to the sphere of specific confessions.

Conclusion

In this work we have reviewed the responses and opinions of four Lebanese ulema to four historical incidents during the early part of the most recent Lebanese civil war. In responding to the Lebanese crisis, these four individuals relied upon the main sources of their faith, that is the Qur’an and Hadith. They also drew upon the long history of judicial interpretation of the fuqahŒ’ , as well as to their own Lebanese historical historical context. As we will argue below, the social-political and historical context of Lebanon provided the main parameters for how they developed their judicial interpretations and the method by which they used these sources. Clearly we have found that the Lebanese ulema examined here do not subscribe to the classical-medieval views regarding the political rights of Christians within their own Lebanese pluralistic context. That is, they do not hold to the interpretations of the “Covenant of ‘Umar” which include prohibitions of Christian political authority (outside the Christian commu nity). Several themes have made themselves apparent through this review, however. Two of these themes are held in common by both the Sunni and Shi‘a. They are: 1) the acceptance of Lebanese Pluralism based on a doctrine of the free will of humanity, and 2) a strong identity of the umma ‘arabiyya. In addition to these two common themes, two other themes are confessionally specific. These include: 3) the Shi‘a support of specific Personal Status Laws, and 4) the Sunni response to the concept of al-dhimma as an historically conditioned category. These four themes become the guiding principles for how these ulema have interpreted their context in the early part of the civil war, and how they applied the various textual sources of their faith. Ultimately, the ulema have developed these themes based upon the specific historical context of Lebanon. It is the social-political milieu of Lebanon that lays the foundation for these four Islam ic themes.

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

The Social-Political Milieu The social-political milieu of the late nineteenth century Ottoman Empire and early twentieth century French Mandate periods, that is the organization of the millet system under the aegis of both governments, have directly affected the theological and judicial opinions of Hasan Khalid, Musa al-Sadr, Subhi Salih, and Muhamm ad Mahdi Shams al-Din. Three historical factors have become evident here. First, the position of the ulema within Lebanese society and politics had a direct bearing upon their argum ents. Their status and authority in society provided the parameters for their speaking to specific public events. Second, the communal organization of Lebanese society in an independent nationstate provided a platform for the reestablishment of their authority (which had officially been taken from them at the end of the nineteenth century). Third, the legal, political documents of the late Ottoman Empire and early Lebanese state become authoritative sources for these leaders. This last point is borne out by the frequent references that these ulema make to the Hatt¥ HumŒyu- n , 1 the Lebanese Constitution, and Legislative Decree 18. 2 These documents become important texts for the justification of their opinions and views regarding the state.

Position of the ulema in Society The mid-nineteenth century, the ulema as a class had lost considerable central governmental power. During the French Mandate, the ulema functioned beneath the “civil powers.” These “powers” were represented by the French High Commissioner and his office. The ulema were subject to the authority of a foreig n Christian. 3 Although they were limited in their central judicial power, the ulema were given more freedom and authority over their own comm unities under this sy st em . Legislative Decree 18 of 1955 returned to the Sunni commu nity what it had lost when the Ottoman Empire collapsed, namely a religious head officially appointed by the state who provided communal leadership. Furthermore, the 1967 amendment to the Decree provided the Shi‘a with something they had not had since the fall of the Fatimid dynasty: their own legal standing as a confession. Following the Reform period of the Ottoman Empire (1839-1876) the authority of the ulema shifted from interpreting an Islam ic system of government and administration to focussing upon confessionally specific personal status laws. Thus, they developed an understanding and

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acceptance of the shar¥‘a as pertaining to comm unally specific matters. Both Hasan Khalid and Subhi Salih grew up and were educated in the Mandate era. They began their careers in a system in which their judicial training dealt solely with the application of the shar¥‘a within the sphere of personal status. Unlike their Islamist counterparts, they showed no aversion toward staying within that sphere. This system provided them with a clear area of jurisdiction within society. The ability of the Sunni ulema to affect government policy had eroded even long before the end of the Ottoman empire. Thus, when the Constitution of Lebanon legally recognized specific shar¥‘a courts as binding upon the Mu slim comm unity, this was in itself a victory for the ulema leadership. Now, the ulema had jurisdiction even over the zu‘amŒ’ within their own comm unity. With the legal recognition of Sunni and Shi‘a law for their respective commu nities, the ulema had regained some of the power and authority that they had lost at the end of the Ottoman era. Each of these four individuals, however, approached the issues of communal law in his own unique way. Khalid, as the premier Sunni religious authority, was well entrenched in the aristocratic political-legal system. Salih, unlike Khalid, explored the more universal proble m s of religion and modernity based upon a philosophy of religion, rather than a legal and dogm atic interpretation of shar¥‘a. Both al-Sadr and Shams al-D in moved to Lebanon at a time when social justice issues were paramount for the well-being of the disadva ntaged Shi‘a comm unity. As foreigners and as Shi‘a, who had formally been excluded from legal religious recognition until 1967, the two scholars worked within their comm unities to provide greater econom ic support and political freedom to govern their own affairs. Al-Sadr accepted his political role within the state as a confessional representative with great ease. Shams al-Din, however, addressed social issues from a theological or legal standpoint, rather than delving into the political foray.

Comm unal Organization In response to the contemporary organization of Lebanese state and society, these four ulema argued for maintaining the classical- medieval organization of society (i.e., the millet system) with some important variations. The millet system of the Ottoman Empire was organized according to Islam ic traditions following the pattern of the "Constitution of Medina," where religious or ethnic comm unities retained their own internal structure and legal codes while being subjected to a higher state

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

power - the Mu slim ruler. Although this blueprint for society was followed within an independent Lebanon, there were two major alterations. First, according to the Ottoman system, the Sunni commu nity was the dominant culture under which all other Mu slim and non-M uslim comm unities were organized. In the "Constitution of Medina," protection was granted to the dhimm¥s when they submitted to the authority of Muhamm ad. Likewise, in the Ottoman Empire it was the Sunni Caliphate and its commu nity which comm anded loyalty. The non-M uslim comm unities were given legal recognition providing they accepted the authority of the Islam ic state and worked under its provisions. The classical-medieval tradition never considered the possibility of a pluralistic organization of government. It assum ed that the government would be Islamic. In Lebanon, however, even the Sunni commu nity was recognized as one millet among others. The second change was that, in Lebanon all of the comm unities were subject to the “civil powers.” Sunni and Shi‘a communal law were legal providing that such laws did not interfere with civil order. The ulema studied here worked under these conditions with relative ease and acceptance. They criticized and critiqued the government and its organization. Nevertheless, they ultim ately accepted the government’s pluralistic character and worked within its rules.

Legal Docum ents The Sunni ulema in question derive their authority from Article Twenty of the Constitution of the Republic of Lebanon which is further clarified by Legislative Decree 18 in its original and 1967 amended forms. Thus, their views of the political landscape in some ways supported the status quo. One could argue that these ulema were intent to maintain the working constitution in order to preserve their own sphere of power. Although Khalid did continu ally call for the eradication of political confessionalism and undoubtedly the end of the Maronite Presidency, he never called for the eradication of confessionalism itself nor of Christian representation. The presence of Christians in the government, even in the top posts, was not a theological or judicial issue that threatened these leaders. It was rather an issue of justice regarding fair access to the positions of power. For the Shi‘a, the acceptance of the confessional state had different origins. Whereas the Sunnis have generally stood within the political centre of the Islam ic world, the Shi‘a have for the most part, stood on the

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periphery (with the exception of Fat im id Egypt, Safav id and postrevolutionary Iran, as well as Yemen and Bahrain). 4 Thus, the raison d’etre of the Shi'a commu nity has defined itself over and against the Sunni status quo. In the modern period it has only been since 1979 that the Shi‘a have begun to formulate a modern theory of government which is positive toward the state (and then, with important disension from leading ulema ). In short, it is within their long historical experience to accept the rule of a non-Shi‘a government. They have principles that allow them to remain and function under non-Islam ic, or non-Shi‘a rule. 5 Both the Sunni and Shi‘a ulema examined here c am e to accept the multi-confessional state and work within its parameters to gain advantages for their own commu nities. Again, the deeply rooted pluralistic nature of Lebanese society forced the revolutionary potential of these individuals into accommodation. Although Shams al-D in did not shy away from hope in the eventual establishment of an Islam ic State through “numerical democracy” (that is, through the will of the Shi‘a majority), he worked within the system and accepted the political rights of the Christian comm unity. The more radical Shi‘a and even Sunni groups like Islamic Amal, Hizb’allah and Tawh¥d were ultim ately worn down either through the general attrition of the war or, by the time of the Ta’if Accords, they had been assim ilated into the general multi-confessional political process. The history of Hizb’allah is a good exam ple of the process of moderation among militant Islam ic groups in Lebanon. Hizb’allah’s “Open Letter” of 1985 declared that its members were opposed to the existing Lebanese regim e and urged for the implementation of an “Islam ic system” [ al-niz. Œm al-islŒm¥ ]. 6 By 1992 Hizb’allah , however, tacitly accepted the multi-confessional system and legally took part in the parliamentary elections. There were, and continue to, be misgivings about the political confessional order, but the nature of confessionalism itself does not pose an inherent problem.7 The deeply rooted multi-confessional system was strong enough even to withstand the continued calls for the establishment of an Islam ic state in its various forms. Even the previous establishment of such a state in Lebanon, under the Umayyads, ‘Abbasids and early Ottomans, allowed for a great deal of flexibility in social-political organization. The political organization of the Islam ic state, although legally Islam ic and administered by the Caliph, was a pragmatic structure of family rivalries and politics sustained by the Ottoman governors and local tax-farmers. There has tradit ionally been a great deal of freedom among the various comm unities living in what is now Lebanon. Thus, this deeply rooted multi-confessional milieu where no one group has maintained a large

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

numerical superiority has created a social-political climate of “live and let live.” These then are the social-political factors that provided the context for the contemporary Lebanese ulema , the reestablishment of the ulema ’s communal power, the communal organization of various confessions under one government, and the adherence of these confessions to national documents for protection and advantage. These social-political factors are understood by these ulema as the “particulars” of Lebanese society which as Salih stated, must be taken seriously. The “particulars” of Lebanese political history become the framework out of which these ulema interpret their traditions and seek faithfu lly to apply them to this crisis.

Four Themes Four themes become clear in an analysis of the ulema . As stated above, two thematic responses were confessionally specific. In other words, their responses dealt specifically with the Sunni and Shi‘a interpretation of their own legal resources. These were Shi‘a Personal Status Laws and the Sunni interpretation of the concept of al-dhimma. On the other hand, two themes held in common were derived from an understanding of divine, revealed religion. These were the recognition of Lebanese Pluralism as a gift of God, and the commitment to the umma ‘arabiyya. Let us begin by examining the common issues.

Leban ese Pluralism According to the four ulema , Lebanon is a unique nation, where pluralism is a divine gift. For al-Sadr it is “our sacred witness” 8 that not only provides equality among citizens, but cooperation between Sunnis and Shi‘a.9 For Shams al-Din, Lebanon’s long history of coexistence is part of its “character istic throughout history” [ khawŒs. s. ‘abra al-tŒr¥kh]. 10 How then do they justify the acceptance of religious political coexistence in the face of continual calls for the implementation of a total Islam ic system whereupon non-Muslims would be beholden to some form of the long established traditions of the “Covenant of Umar”? Turning to the primary sources, Khalid and Salih lift up those suras and Hadith that focus on God’s gift of faith to humanity (3:64; 4:163; 5:48; 29:46; 42:13). There is here, an Islam ic doctrine of Free Will which asserts that

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each human is provided the opportunity of faith and has the right and responsibility to choose his/her own religious path. Sura 2:256 then becomes the legal cornerstone for a pluralist social organization. Therefore, provision for this freedom must be maintained not only socially but politically as well. This is not freedom in the contemporary Western sense of the individual right or ability to choose his or her own religion. This is an Eastern perspective whereby the individual is bound to a commu nity which is justified in holding to its own doctrines under various governments. Whereas the European Peace of Westphalia legitimized various independent religious states in Europe through the legal term cuius regio eius religio, Lebanon might be an exam ple of the legitimization of various independent communal laws as cuius communio eius religio. 11 The attempt to foster an individual right of association, however, is still quite problem atic in the region. This holds true not only because of the Islam ic doctrine of Apsotasy, which forbids Muslims from converting to another faith, but for Christians, primarily the Oriental Orthodox churches as well, where excommunication is still very much a factor. Certainly, according to Khalid and Salih, Islam is the true and certain path which God has provided. Even so, Christianity and Islam are still both “heavenly revealed religions.” Tru ly following these revealed religions will benefit the whole of society. Faith in God provides the basis for a moral life and a moral society. 12 Salih, especially, focussed on the need for the individual to respond to the problems and issues of modernity in a faithful way. The current century has offered uniq ue challenges never before faced in Islam ic history. Technology has brought unprecedented changes and has created a global village. It is inevitable that contemporary civilization [ al-h. ad. Œrah al-h. ad¥tha ] leads to the necessity of coexistence. 13 Salih talked of the “peculiarities” [ khas. Œ’is. ] 14 which help to develop distinct human civilizations [ mad¥nat al-insŒn ] and therefore of the need to consider these particularities when organizing society. 15 He gave legitimacy to Islam ic comm unities which used innovations [ bid‘a] or accommodations to meet the challenges of modernity because their particular contexts required unique responses, just as the great Mu slim scholars throughout history created faithful and unique responses to the problems they faced. For al-Sadr, religion (whether Islam or Christianity) at its root core is about justice. Because they are created by God, faithful Christians or Muslims are those individuals who seek to employ justice and equality in society. Lebanon, according to al-Sadr and Shams al-Din, has a unique responsibility in the world to demonstrate the superiority of faith by

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

creating a just and equitable pluralistic society. 16 Therefore, society should take into consideration the equality and dignity of all humans. Because God has created all people equal, it is beholden upon society to maintain the rights and freedoms of all individuals and commu nities. These views of social equality led al-Sadr and Shams al-D in to severely criticize political confessionalism and Maronite privileges within the state apparatus. On the one hand, this was a rejection of Christian suprem acy over the Mu slim comm unity. On the other hand, this was an acceptance of national citizenship and service in the government, regardless of one’s confession. All four clerics have accepted the equal status of all citizens under the Constitution as well as one individual’s ability to serve in an elected office, including in the office of President of the Republic. These opinions are contrary to the classical-medieval provisions outlined in Chapters 1 and 2. 17 Of course, it must be stated that some of the ulema ’s public statements were made in the midst of severe political crises. Calling for the maintenance of the status quo was the easiest way to secure stability. In addition, these clerics understood that to call for the eradication of political confessionalism would allow for the possibility of a Mu slim President, which was precisely what the Mar onites feared. Yet, they realized that to feed the fears of the Mar onites was to invite turmoil. Shams al-D in was the only one who openly stated the desire to support his confession’s right to the Presidency. He argued that true democracy in Lebanon would result in the election of a Shi‘a President. Yet, he also stated that the principle of the equality of citizenship would allow for the possibility of a Sunni or Shi‘a President as much as a Mar onite, or Greek Orthodox one. His argum ents have been held in suspicion by Mar onite, as well as Sunni leaders.

umma ‘arabiyya The second prevalent theme of the ulema was commitment to the umma ‘arabiyya. In concert with their anti-I sraeli rhetoric and their cautious responses to the Iranian Revolution the clerics comm itted themselves to the ideal of the Arab Nation . Appearing as a fully recognized political ideology at the 1913 Arab Nationalist Conference in Paris and developing during the early years of Arab independence, the idea of the umma ‘arabiyya was part of the accepted rhetoric within the political circles of Lebanon and Syria by the nineteen seventies. This is quite significant because it again modifies the classical views of the election of the Mu slim

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commu nity and the establishment of dar al-IslŒm to an argum ent based upon ethnic or national claims. 18 Contemporary Islamist groups have seen this period of Arab Nationalism as a deviation from the "straight path." As we saw in the Introduction, the "catastrophe" of 1967 becomes a flashpoint for fundamentalist thought. Contemporary Islamists counter such nationa list vews by stressing the identity of the global umma IslŒmiyya. Pressed by such Islamist views, it remains to be seen if Arab Islam ic moderate political thought will respond. Each trend seeks to claim a truly Islam ic identity. The fundamentalists hold out a utopian dream which somehow must reconstruct the present political structu res (either through legal processes or through violent action). The moderates and liberals work within the present political realities to create a legally acceptable system based upon the principles of the Qur'an and the sunna . We have seen in this study the attempt by four Mu slim scholars to provide Islam ic principles for their particular comm unities in a particular historical, multi-confessional context. The collapse of the Ottoman Empire as well as the Caliphate introduced questions of Islamic national sovereignty in the twentieth century. 19 R eacting against the Turkification of the Empire, Arab Nationalists began to develop the image of the Arab Nation apart from a more universal image. Within Lebanon, Christians and Muslims of Arab descent, began to see themselves as one Nation with deep historical roots. Khalid states: “Christians and Muslims in Lebanon have a very profound and deep-rooted history . . . They have been raised from one family, one conviction . . . ” 20 Interestingly, for the Shi‘a, the issue of the umma ‘arabiyya appears not only in defence of the nation against Israel, but in response to the establishment of the Islam ic Republic of Iran as well. For Shams al-D in the exportation of the Islam ic Revolution to Lebanon was not a viable solution. He felt that it would only create more problems, without providing answers to the social-political pro bl em s of Lebanese society. 21 The Shi‘a response to the Lebanese crisis, stated Shams al-Din, must be precisely that, a Lebanese, Arab, Shi‘a response, not an Iranian one. An interesting corollary to this theme of umma ‘arabiyya was the acceptance of the contemporary state of Lebanon as a legal entity. Wher eas Arab Nationalism originally began as either political PanArabism or Pan-Syrianism, Lebanese Arab Nationalist thought was seen here as the full participation of the state of Lebanon within the socialpolitical context of the other Arab states. The forceful insistence on the “Arabness” of Lebanon meant that Lebanon would participate fully within the political orbit of other Arab states. This became an important issue once Syria entered into the civil war. By 1976, Pax-Syriana was an

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

ideology that threatened to swallow Lebanon. The ulema responded by asserting that although Syria and Lebanon were sister states, Lebanon was itself an integral part of the Arab Nation. These four individuals continu ally responded to the intrusion of outside forces which caused or aggravated the inter-confessional problems in Lebanon. The ideal of the umma ‘arabiyya stands in opposition to Eastern, Western, Israeli or even Iranian encroachment. This concept becomes vitally important for the implementation of contemporary Islam ic Political Thought. Although Khomeini attempted to espouse a pan-Islamic ideology, the Iranian blueprint was rejected outright by these ulema because it was not a response to the Arab context, in general, nor to the Lebanese context specifically. This negative response was even found among the two Shi‘a ulema . In addition, each individual places a great deal of importance on the unity of the Arab states in the face of the “ en em y Israel.” From the beginning of the war the ulema see support for the Palestinians as an expression of Arab unity. Certainly, after the original Israeli invasion of 1978 the rhetoric turned away from the Palestinian cause, as the Palestinians were now seen by the Shi‘a of the South as the usurpers in their own right. The focus shifted to the defence of the South against foreign invaders. The two Shi‘a ulema continu ally called for the state to defend its citizens in the South in the face of the Israeli occupation.

Shi‘a Personal Status Law What distinguishes the Sunni and Shi‘a in their responses regarding the political rights of Christians is the use of their own confessionally specific legal sources and traditions. Two themes stand out here. For the Shi‘a, the concern is responding to Sunni dominance and thus, the need for independent Shi‘a Personal Status Laws. For the Sunni, their specific confessional response deals with the main focus of this study, the Sunni interpretation of the concept of al-dhimma. In researching the positions of these Lebanese ulema regarding the position of Christian political rights we have found that the Shi‘a ulema focus as much, if not more attention on positions of power held by the Sunni comm unity, than upon the traditional place of Christians in an Islam ic state. Their attention to matters of Christian political power is always in the context of a Maronite-Sunni power structu re. The Shi‘a were concerned as much with establishing their own secure position as a

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comm unity, independent from Sunni judicial oversight, deserving of their own respective Mu slim representation, as with the presence of a Christian holding the Presidency. For the Shi‘a ulema , their concern throughout the nineteen sixties and seventies was to develop Shi‘a judicial and political structu res independent of the Sunni comm unity. Musa al-Sadr’s letter to Hasan K halid at the occasion of his election as President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council shows his concern for developing an atmosphere in which both Sunni and Shi‘a traditions were taken seriously. Furthermore, Shams al-Din’s Niz. Œm al-h. ukm wa ’l-idŒra f¥ ’l-IslŒm was primarily concerned with the different principles and structu res of the Sunni and Shi‘a forms of government. Thus, the issue of a Christian President in Lebanon was not necessarily the most important legal issue for the Shi‘a. Rather, the attempt to ensure that their tradition be given its fair share of authority within the already established pluralistic state took priority. Khuri calls this the movement from their identity as a “sect” to a “religious minority.” 22 Shams al-D in argued quite thorou ghly for the maintenance of Personal Status Laws for each commu nity in an attempt to assure the freedom of Shi‘a law, not only from secular civil law but from Sunni predominance as well. 23 The Shi‘a were willing to accept and develop the idea of the pluralistic state because it provided them with not only a political voice and power but religious freedom. With the acceptance of Personal Status Laws they were free to pursue their own tradition while ma intaining political power within the civil government. This prohibited further war and bloodshed while attempting to introduce a new state system. The establishment of an Islam ic Republic of Lebanon, although an ideal, was not seen as achievable in Lebanon by al-Sadr or Shams al-D in because the pluralistic context would not allow for its development. According to the demographic figures, the Shi‘a, although the largest confession, did not command a majority of the population. Therefore, an Islam ic Republic would not work, not only because half the population was Christian but also because the Druze and Sunni population would not adhere to the Shi‘a concepts of Islam ic rule. S ha m s al-Din, then, developed the Islam ic category of shu- rŒ as a modern method of holding to specific confessional and communal laws. Al-Sadr did mention this as well, but it was Shams al-D in who thorou ghly developed the idea.24 Shu- rŒ , originally understood as a legal term (as part of us. ul al-fiqh ) was transform ed into a modern political concept during a change in the use of classical terms that occurred during the Reform Period in the Ottoman Empire. 25 Shams al-D in further developed the idea of shu- rŒ as a political

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THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

category involving the development and jurisdiction of specific confessional and communal laws.

Sunni Interpretation of al-dhimma The last theme is the response of the Sunni ulema to the use or interpretation the category of al-dhimma . Out of all of the sources consulted, this tradition was only discussed in two works. These were Khalid’s Mawqif al-IslŒm min al-wat. aniyya wa ’l-Yahudiyya wa ’l-Nas. rŒniyya, and Salih’s edition of Ibn Qayyam al-Jawziyya’s Ah. kŒm ahl al-dhimma. In both cases, the concept of al-dhimma is relegated to an “historical ‘contract’ rather than a consecration of a permanent status of inferiority.” 26 Hasan Khalid, in his study of the early relationship between Arab Christians and Muslims, concluded that the doctrine of al-dhimma was a contract between brother Arabs in order to provide protection from foreign Christian invaders. It was the beneficence of the Mu slim rulers which provided formal protection for the Arab Christians from Byzantine and Crusader oppression. As a result of theological differences, the Byzantine and Western Catholic churches had forced their Eastern Orthodox compatriots to accept Western doctrine or face persecution. The Syriac, Coptic and Armenian churches under Islam ic rule were, however, given formal protection by the Islam ic State. This was contrary to the Byzantine or European practice, argued Khalid, where the faith of the ruler determined the faith of the empire. The category of al-dhimma stands in contradiction to the Western Christian practice of cuius regio eius religio. Religious minorities were allowed to exist under the Islam ic state. Khalid did leave open the possibility that, given the problems between the various Christian confessions within Lebanon and the foreign “Christian” states which were interfering in the Lebanese conflict [i.e., France, Italy and the United States], perhaps the Islam ic state would, once again, be able to provide security for the Lebanese Christians. However, he noted that the category was now no longer applicable in Lebanon. In addition to the intra-Christian problems, the Sunni-Shi‘a issues would pose their own problems. Ultimately, as stated above, the implementation of the Islam ic state in Lebanon would face problems concerning the interpretation and implementation of that state between the Sunni and Shi‘a commu nities. Therefore, the dhimm¥ status is not applicable. On the contrary, the only pact that is applicable in Lebanon is a “guarantee to all

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in a free and dignified national life.”27 It is the purpose of Islam and Christianity to work together in mutual cooperation. For Salih, the tradition of al-dhimma did not meet the needs, nor the temperament of the modern period. It was part of an historically conditioned social organization that did not fit with modernity, nor with the Lebanese context. In the forward to his edition of Ibn Qayyam al-Jawziyya’s Ah. kŒm ahl al-dhimma, Salih stated that Ibn Qayyam was working within the categories of his own historical period. The attempt to apply the dhimm¥ tradition was merely one part of a larger issue for Salih: the inability of Islam to come up with a comprehensive response to the problems posed by modernity. Like Khalid above, Salih criticized the Iranian interpretation of the I sl am ic state. In fact, he called the Khomenian interpretation a “salafist” approach (in the vein of Sayyid Qutb). Qutb used the term “salafism” to define a movement that perceived itself as going back to the original sources of the Qur’an and Hadith in order to argue for a particular vision of an Islam ic state. But such visions tended to be exclusive and intolerant of other views. Those not adhering to the “salafist” approach were condemned. For Salih, the purpose of Islam is not to build a theocra tic state, but to provide a socialmoral foundation for individuals so that they might be able to respond to the challenges of the modern world. Islam, says Salih, can provide answers to the issues and problems of society, and ultim ately help to build national unity. Throughout Salih’s works there is a constant tension between the past and the future, between historical tradition and contemporary responses. According to Salih, as well as Khalid, the sources of Islam (that is the Qur’an and Hadith) provide the principles for building the moral and spiritual qualities of modern society. The long history of Islam ic jurisprudence provides examples of how Muslims have addressed their contemporary issues by relying upon and reinterpreting those sources. Rather than using historical tradition as a paradigm for the current organization of society, tradition should be used as the model or precedent for the reinterpretation of new paradigms in contemporary situations. Although Salih does not explicitly argue for ijtihŒd , like Khalid he seems to advocate such a position.

In this study, we have seen that the context of Lebanese society has produced various Mu lsim opinions of Christian political rights that are not in uniformity with the traditionally held views of classical-medieval Islam. According to the four ulema , the prohibition of Christians from

208

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

serving in the government, or holding authority over Muslims (according to the “Covenant of ‘Umar” ), is not an insurmou ntable problem running contrary to contemporary Islam ic principles. The category of al-dhimma, when mentioned, is relegated to historical conditions which are not relevant for the contemporary Lebanese situation. Certainly there is agreement among these ulema that a society based solely upon Islam ic categories and headed by Muslims would provide the best answers to the problems of the Mu slim commu nity and the ahl al-kitŒb , but categories derived from their own specific confession. However, the pluralistic society and multi-confessional government of Lebanon provide historical realities that set parameters for the expression of their views. The ulema 's acceptance of shar¥‘a as the guiding force behind social-moral formation and spiritual principles or for confessionally specific communal law allows them to accept their place in a pluralistic society as advisors to a multi-confessional government. In fact, in this arrangement these ulema find the authority to address issues beyond their own confession, while respecting the balance of the pluralistic society. They can speak to society as a whole as representatives of one specific faith tradition. The ulema reviewed here have accepted the mu lti- confessional, or pluralistic state, and the maintenance of a Christian Presidency based upon principles of: 1) the gift of human responsibility and freedom of religion (therefore implying that justice and equality must be extended toward the individual to whom God has given the ability to choose to follow a particular religion), 2) national unity based upon citizenship enforced by a constitution or legal document of the state, 3) the understanding of religious law as confessionally specific, pertaining to one’s comm unity, and 4) that the concept of al-dhimma as a historically conditioned category is not suitable for contemporary Lebanon. These principles were guided by the legacy of the marginalisation of the ulema from the centre of governmental power, the history of the confessional system within Lebanon, and the distinct legal differences between the Sunni and Shi‘a commu nities. What this study has revealed is that the historical context of the

CONCLUSION

209

Lebanese Mu slim commu nity is just as important a factor for the commu nity’s organization and structure as its judicial and theological sources. In fact, the historical context, the social-political milieu, lays the param eter for how the Qur’an and Hadith are interpreted. There is no sense among these ulema that the Lebanese pluralistic government system is a matter of “necessity permitting the forbidden.” 28 The multi confessional arrangement is not an “innovation” [ bid‘a] in the negative sense, nor is it “for the public good” [ mas. lah. a ]. Furthermore there is no indication of “opting for the better of two worse options.”29 These ulema do not convey the sense that they are living under extra ordinary circumstances until such a time in which they can reinstate the traditional Islam ic order. The ulema do not see Christians as a “security risk” as do Jahiz, Ibn Taymiyya and al-Asnawi (as long as the Christians work within an acceptable and equitable political framework); nor do they see Christians as morally defective like al-Wasiti or al-Naqqash. On the contrary, Christians have received a “Hea venly religion” and therefore deserve respect. The ulema accept the form of the multi-confessional government as part of respecting the dignity of humanity. In this case, there is an explicit focus upon the sources and references to pluralism and religious freedom, which are often missing in fundamentalist literature. These opinions do have implications for Mu slim comm unities in other pluralistic contexts. If these religious leaders can produce coherent argum ents for participation in pluralistic systems, where the government is not Islam ic or the head of state is not Muslim, then certainly Mu slim comm unities in other pluralistic states can produce contextually relevant contemporary Islam ic models. We have seen how these ulema were able to claim authority for the religious ordering of their particular commu nities. Shams al-Din's image of a "state of believers" provides room for religion (specifically communal religious law) while maintaining a multi-confessional state. Arnold Hottinger’s concept of the communitatis religio et regi might be a helpful concept to explore here. Hottinger uses a variation of the Peace of Westphalia's answer to the problem of multi-confessionalism: cuius regio eius religio [to the ruler goes the religion]. In other words, The West has lived by the edict of Westphalia that the state has the power to dictate or curb religious law. Hottinger's variation gives the authority of religious law to the particular religious commu nity for the ordering of its own society. Is it possible for Mu slim comm unities in multi-confessional states to see themselves as one particular religious commu nity that is a part of a larger national identity? Certainly, this will require reviewing communal identity in "the spirit of the time" and a reevaluation of classical-medieval categories. It also means that particular national laws will provide

210

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

parameters for legal communal laws. In some states, religious communal law may be recognized by the state as legal and valid. In other states where citizenship is based upon individual rights and sovereignty, communal religious laws would be suspended in favour of civil law. However, even in these cases, this does not mean the religious community cannot work toward being accorded the recognition of specific religious communal laws (ie., as with the Amish or Native American comm unities in North America). In addition, even under civil law, religious comm unities can adhere to their own commu nal laws that do not contradict civil law. The religious commu nity can also, if it sees itself as a part of civil society, argue for the recognition of specific confessional laws for their commu nity in particular cases, or for the transformation of civil law to honour the communal organization of a portion of its citizenship. Whatever the case, the religious commu nity must first and foremost see itself as part of the social-political mileau. As we have seen here, this is precisely the vision to which these four Muslim scholars adhered.

Notes

Introduction 1. Although the term funda men talism has been much debated regarding its validity as a term in reference to Islamic movem ents, as opposed to Christian Biblical literalism. I agree with Bruce Lawrence’s contention that the term can be used as a general description of protest movements within Islam who contend that “the religious sym bols and claims have been devalued in the public discourse of many societies. . . . [and that the] nation state has defined and then occupied the space of symbolic purity.” Bruce B. Lawrence, Defend ers o f G o d (Columbia, South Carlina: University of South Carolina Press, 1989): 233. Bassam Tibi also argues for the same term in accordance with the Arabic term u s. u- l iy y a as a “neo-Arabic” definition for those Muslims who seek to “return to the roots” of Islam to organize an Islamic system. See Bassam Tibi, T h e C h a l le n g e o f Funda men talism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002): 36, 53f. 2. 3:10. 3. John Esposito and Azzam Tamimi, eds., I s la m a n d Secu larism (New York: New York University Press, 2000), Bassam Tibi, “Major Themes in the Arabic Political Literature of Islam ic Revivalism 1970-1985, Parts I & II, I s la m a n d Ch ristia n-M us lim R e la t io n s 3, no. 2 (1992), pp. 181-210, and 4, no. 1 (1993), pp. 83-99. Kate Zebiri, “Muslim Anti-Secular Discourse in the Context of Muslim-Christian Relations,” Isla m a n d Ch ristia n-M us lim R e la t io n s 9, no. 1 (1998), p. 47. 4. Al-Fad. l Shalaq, “Concepts of Nation and State with Special Reference to the Sunnis in Lebanon,” in Sta te a n d So cie ty in Sy ria a n d L e b a n o n , ed. Youssef M. Choueiri (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1994), p. 122. 5. Salibi, A House of Many Mansions in Martin Kramer, R e v iv a l (London: Transaction Publishers, 1996): 36-37.

A r a b A w a k e n in g a n d Isla mic

6. Shalaq: 126. 7. For a very simple, but comprehensive view of the contemporary Islamist position regarding Arab Nationalism see Emmanual Sivan, “Arab Nationalism in the Age of Islamic Resurgence,” in James Jankowski, ed. R e th i n k in n g Na tio n a l ism in t h e A r a b Mid dle East (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997): 207-228. 8. Al-Quwatli, Husayn, “Islam, the State and Secularism,” in R e li g io n , Sta te a n d I d e o lo g y (Beirut: Dar al-Mashreq, 1976): 175. For a discussion of al-Quwatli’s position see Ahmed Beydoun, Ide ntité Co nfe ssio ne lle e t T e m p s S o c i a l c h e z l e s H i s to r ie n s

NOTES Lib an ais C o n t e m p o r a in s

213

(Beirut: Librairie Orientale, 1984): 323-329.

9. Theodor Hanf, C o e x i s te n c e in W ar tim e L e b a n o n (London: I.B. Tauris, 1993): 2. Hanf is actually using an image developed by Michael C. Hudson. See: Michael C. Hudson, T h e P r ec a r io u s Re pu blic (New York: Random House, 1968): 161. 10. William Harris, F a c e s o f L e b a n o n (Princeton: Markus Wiener, 1997): 84. 11. Hanf: 87. 12. See Hamid Algar, ed. I s la m a n d R e v o lu t io n : K h o m e in i (London: Mizan Press, 1981).

W r i ti n g s a n d D e c l a ra t io n s o f I m a m

13. See Hamid Enayat, Mod ern Isla mic P o li ti c a l T h o u g h t (London: MacMillan, 1982) and John Esposito, ed. V o i ce s o f R e s u rg e n t I s la m (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983); Esposito and John J. Donohue, I s la m in T r a n si ti o n (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982); Nikki R. Keddie, ed., R e li g io n a n d P o l it ic s in I r a n (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1983); and Fazlur Rahman, I s la m & Mo de rn ity (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1982). 14. See for exam ple Juan R. I. Cole and Nikki R, Keddie, eds., Shiism a n d S o c i a l Protest (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986); Dekmejian, R. Hrair, I s la m in R e v o lu t io n : funda men talism in t h e A r a b wo rld (Syracuse, N.Y. : Syracuse University Press, 1985); Esposito, T h e Isla mic Th rea t: My th o r Re ality (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992); Ragheb Jaber, H e z b o ll a h : Born with a V e n g e a n c e (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997); Martin Kramer, T h e M o r a l Lo gic o f H i z b o ll a h (Tel Aviv: Shiloah Institute, 1987) and S h i‘ is m , R e s i st a n c e , a n d R e v o lu t io n (Boulder, Col.: Westview Press, 1987); Augustus Rchard Norton, A m a l a n d t h e S h i a : Str ug gle f o r t h e S o u l o f L e b a n o n (Austin: University of Texas Pre ss, 1987); Magnus Ranstorp, H i z b ’A l la h in L e b a n o n : T h e P o l it ic s o f t h e W e s te rn H o s ta g e Cr isis (London: MacMillan Press, 1997); Emmanuel Sivan, R a d i ca l I sla m : M e d i e va l T h e o lo g y a n d Mod ern P o l it ic s (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1985); Sivan, ed. R e li g io u s Radica lism a n d P o l it ic s in t h e Mid dle East (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990); Montgomery Watt, Funda men talism a n d Mo de rn ity (Routledge: London, 1989); Robin Wright, S a c r e d R a g e : T h e Wra th o f M i li ta n t I s la m (New York: Sim on and Schuster, 1985). 15. Recent additions to jihŒ d literature include Reuven Firestone, J i h a d : T h e O r i g in s o f Ho ly W a r in I s la m (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), James Turner Johnson, T h e Ho ly W a r I d e a in Western a n d Isl a m i c T r a d it io n s (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania University Press, 1997), Gilles Kepel, J i h a d : T h e Tra il o f P o li ti c a l I s la m (London: I.B. Tauris, 2002), and Rudolph Peters, Jihad in Classical and Modern Islam (Princeton: Markus Wiener, 1996). On the Taliban see Michael Griffin, The Taliban M o vement in Afghanistan (Sterling, VA.: Pluto Press, 2001), William Maely, ed., Funda men talism Reborn: Afghanistan and the Taliban (London: Oxford University Press, 1998), and Peter Marsden, The Taliban: War, Religion and the New O rder in Afghanistan

214

NOTES

(London: Oxford University Press, 1998). For Fundamentalism see Bruce B. Lawrence, Defend ers of God (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1995) and Ahmad S. Moussalli, Mo de ra te a nd Ra dic al Is lam ic Funda men talism (Gainsville: University of Florida Press, 1999). Recent Post September 11th hype literature includes Anonymous, Through Our Enemies Eyes (London: Brasseys, 2002); Mark Gabriel, Islam an d Terrorism (Florida: Charisma House, 2002); Daniel Pipes, Militant Islam Reaches America (New York: W.W. Norton, 2002); Malise Ruthven A Fury for God (London: Granta Books, 2002). 16. For a recent collection of various liberal Islamic perspectives on a number of topics see Charles Kurzman, ed., L ib e r a l I sl a m : A S o u r c e b o o k (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998). See also Azzam Tamimi, P o w e r S h a r in g Is l a m ? (London: Liberty for the Muslim World, 1993). 17. Abdullahi Ahmed An-N a‘im, Toward a n Isla mic R e fo r m a t io n (Cairo: American University of Cairo Press, 1992); John Esposito, I s la m a n d D e m o c r a c y (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998); Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad, “Christians in a Muslim State: the Recent Egyptian Debate,” in Haddad, ed. Ch ristia n-M us lim Enco unters (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1995): 381-398; Stephen R. Humphries, Isla mic H i s to r y : A Framewo rk f o r Inquiry (London: I.B. Tauris, 1991): 25-261; Tarek Mitri, “The Implementation of Islamic Law: The Debate Between Christians and Muslims,” in Gé Speelman, Muslims a n d C h r is ti a n s in E u r o p e : B r e a k in g N e w G r o u n d (Kampen: Uitgeverij Kok, 1993): 59-65; Ahmad S. Moussalli, “Modern Islamic Fundamentalist Discourses on Civil Society, Pluralism and Democracy,” in Augustus Richard Norton, ed. Civ il So cie ty in t h e Mid dle East (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995): 79-119; Abdullah Saeed, “Rethinking Citizenship Rights of Non-Muslims in an Islamic State: Rashid al-Ghannushi’s contribution to the evolving debate,” I s la m a n d C h r is ti a n Mu slim R e la t io n s 10, no. 3 (1999): 307-323; Emmanuel Sivan, “Arab Nationalism in the Age of Islamic Resurgence,” in Jankowski: 226-228. For literature specific to Egypt see Muhammad S. al-‘Awa, a l -N iz. Œ m al-siyasah lil-daw a h a l-IslŒmiyya (Cairo: Muktab al-Misr al-Hawadith, 1975) now translated as O n t h e P o li ti c a l S y s t em o f t h e Isla mic Sta te (Indianapolis, Indiana: Islamic Trust Publications, 1980) and also the reprinting of Fahmi Huwaydi’s a l - I s lŒ m w ’ l- d i m u q r a ti y y a (Cairo: Markaz al-Ahram lil-Tarjamah wa-al-Nashr, Mu’assasat al-Ahram, 1993). 18. A. Nizar Hamzeh, and R. Hrair, “A Sufi Response to Political Islamism: AlAh. bash of Lebanon,” Intern atio n a l J o u r n a l o f Mid dle East S t u d i e s 1/28 (1996): 217-224. 19. The category of Apolitical rights@ of Christians has been taken from Antoine Fattal. L e S t a tu t L e g a l d e s N o n- Mu su lm a n s e n P a y s d ' Is la m (Beirut: Im primerie Catholique), 1958: 222-261. 20. Hanf: 315. 21. Norton: 173, 175.

NOTES

215

22. Hanna Batatu, “al-Da’wah al-Islamiyah and al-Mujahidin”, in eds, Juan R. I. Cole and Nikke R. Keddie, Shi’ism a n d S o c i a l Protest (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986): 196. 23. Nasr: 19.

Chapter 1. Textual sources of al-Dhimma 1. See Wael B. Hallaq, A History o f Isla mic L e g a l T h e o r i e s (London: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Christopher Melchert, T h e F o r m a ti o n o f t h e S u n n i Sc ho ols o f Law, 9th -10 th C e n t u r ie s C . E . (New York: Brill, 1997); see also Joseph Schacht, “Fik. h,” EI2 . 2. Antoine Fattal, L e S t a tu t L e g a l D e s Imprimerie Catholique, 1958): 232ff. 3. Bernard Lewis, Press, 1966).

N o n - M u s u lm a n s E n P a y s D ’ I sl a m

T h e E m e r g e n c e o f Mod ern T u r k e y

(Beirut:

(New York: Oxford University

4. Although these are the generally accepted categories of classical Islam, K hadduri has shown that these terms were not always consistently used by early jurists. See Majid Khadduri, T h e Isla mic L a w o f Nations: S h a y b Œ n ¥’s S i y a r (Baltimore, Maryland: Johns Hopkins Press, 1966). Also Khadduri, W a r a n d P e a c e in t h e L a w o f I s la m (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1955). 5. Khadduri, “Dar al-Harb,” E I 2 . 6. Although the definition of m a w Œ l¥ went through various stages, the category listed above is that used by classical jurists. See P. Crone, “Mawla,” E I 2 . 7. For an excellent overview of these issues see Bernard Lewis, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993): 43-57. 8. Khadduri,

W a r a n d P e a c e in t h e L a w o f I s la m :

I s la m a n d t h e West

145.

9. Again, see Khadduri, W a r a n d P e a c e in t h e L a w o f I s la m , for the parameters for declaring and carrying out war with foreign states. See also James Turner Johnson and John Kelsay, Cross, Cr esc en t, a n d s w a rd : T h e J u s ti fi c a ti o n a n d L im i ta t io n o f W a r in Western a n d Isla mic T r a d it io n (New York: Greenwood Press, 1990). 10. See Cl. Cahen, “Dhimma,” in E I 2 . See also N.J. Coulson, A History o f Isla mic L a w (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1964) and Joseph Schacht, A n I n tr o d u c ti o n to Isla mic L a w (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964).

216 11. Humphries, Isla mic

NOTES History :

261.

12. Yohanan Friedman, “Classification of Unbelievers in Sunni Muslim Law and Tradition,” J e r u s a le m S t u d i e s in Ara bic a n d I s la m 22 (1998): 163-195. 13. 2:62. 14. For a review of the Jews in the Islamic state see Mark R. Cohen, “Jews in the Mamluk Environment: The Crisis of 1442,” Bu lletin o f t h e S c h o o l o f O r i e n ta l a n d A f ri c a n S t u d i e s 47 (1984): 425-448; W.J. Fischel, Jews in t h e Ec on om ic a n d P o li ti c a l Life o f M e d i e va l I s la m , (London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1937); Bernard Lewis, T h e Jews o f Isl a m (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1984); M. Schreiner, “Contributions a l’histoire des Juifs en Egypte,” R e v u e d e s E t u d e s J u i v e s 31 (1895): 212-217; M. Swartz, “The position of Jews in Arab lands following the rise of Islam,” M o s l e m Wo rld 60 (1970): 6-24; Bat Yeor, T h e Dh imm i: Jews a n d C h r is ti a n s u n d e r I s la m (New Jersey: Fairleigh Dickenson University Press, 1985). I am not aware of any major work done on the Zoroastrians as d h im m ¥s under Islamic rule to date. 15. For a discussion of the religiou s rights of d h im m ¥s and the construction of churches under Muslim rule see: Sally Garen, “Santa Maria de Melque and Church Construction Under Muslim Rule,” J o u r n a l o f t h e So cie ty o f A r c h it e ct u ra l H i s to r ia n s , 51: 3 (1992): 288-305; Martin Schreiner: 212-217; Moise Schwab, “Les non-musulmans dans le monde de l’Islam,” R e v u e d u M o n d e M u s u l m a n , 6 (1908): 622-639; A.S. Tritton, T h e C a l ip h s a n d Th eir No n-M us lim Su bjec ts (London: Frank Cass & Co., 1930): 37-60. 16. For several examples of Christian physicians, administrators or translators see Fatal: 249; J.M. Gaudeul, Enco unters a n d Clashes, vol. II (Rome: Pontifico Istituto di Studi Arabi e Islamici, 1984): 26-27; Philip K. Hitti, History o f t h e A r a b s , 10th ed. (London: Macmillian, 1970): 105, 310; Hans Putmann, L’Eglise & L ’ Is la m s o u s T i m o t h e e I (7 8 0 - 8 2 3 ) (Beirut: Librarie Orientale, 1986): 101f. In addition al-Baladhuri makes several comments regarding Christian engineers responsible for construction of government projects even in Mecca and Medina. See al-Baladhuri, KitŒ b Futu h. al-B uld Œ n , vol. 1, trans. Philip Hitti (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968): 20, 82-83; 220-221. See also Tabari, T a r¥k h , II, ed. M.J. Goeje (Leiden,: E.J. Brill, 188182): 1194; al-Maqrizi, A l -M a w Œ ‘iz. wa ’l-i‘tib Œ r f ¥ - d h i k r al- h. it. Œ t wa ’ l- a tŒ r , Bulaq, Cairo, 1270/1853, II: 265. 17. C. Cahen, “Al-dhimma,” E I 2 . 18. Montgomery Watt, M u h a m m a d 1956): 244. 19. Watt: 244. 20. Watt: 246.

at Medina

(New York: Oxford University Press,

NOTES

217

21. Baladhuri: 190-191. 22. William G. Young, 1974):176.

P a tr ia r c h , S h a h a n d C a l ip h

(Palistan: Christian Study Centre,

23. Patricia Crone in, R o m a n , p r o v in c i a l a n d Isla mic L a w , (London: Cambridge University Press, 1987) argues that there are traces of Roman and Jewish law mediated through provincial laws of the Near East, even so far as to penetrate parts of the s h a r¥’a (see esp. 91-99). 24. Tritton: 233. 25. See also 5:69. 22:17 interestingly adds Zoroastrians [a l -m a g u- s ] and Polytheists [al-m us hr ik u- n ] to the previous list. Some Qur’anic commentators ascribe to the Zoroastrians an ancient revealed text that has now been lost. Some traditions hold that the m a g i of the G ospe l of Matthew (2:12) were Zoroastrians, and are thus confirmed as mem bers of a revealed religion. 26. See Cahen and Inalcik, “Djizyah,” E I 2 . 27. For a classical position on the understanding of the ji z y a see Abu Yusuf’s KitŒ b a l -K h a rŒ j , trans. A. Ben Shemesh (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1969). See also R.W. Bulliet, C o n v e r si o n to I s la m in t h e M e d i e va l P e ri o d (New York: Harvard University Press,1979). 28. Schacht: 45-48. 29. Ibn an-Naqqash,

Fetwa rela tif à la c o n d i ti o n d e s dh imm is e t p a r t ic u l i è re m e n t d e s c h r é ti e n s e n p a y s m u s u l m a n s de pu is l ’è t a b li ss e m e n t d e l ’i sl a m ju s q u ’ a u m i l ie u d u 8 e sièc le d e l’hégire , trans. M. Belin, Journal Asiatique, vol. 18-19 (1851-1852): 97-103, 417-431;

and Qalqashandi, s u bh.

a l -a ‘ s h a ,

both as cited in Fattal: 237.

30. Ibn Naqqash and Qalqashandi, as cited in Fattal: 241. 31. Qalqashandi,

S u b h. a l -‘ a s h a ,

vol 13: 386, as cited in Fattal: 242; Lewis: 29.

32. Qalqashandi, vol. 1: 61; vol. 13: 386; Ibn Naqqash, Fatwa, vol. 1: 428; and Turtushi, Sir Œ j a l -m u lu- k , as cited in Fattal: 241. 33. For a comprehensive annotated bibliography of work done on this see Humphreys: 92-98. 34. For a textual comparison of these two sources see Rizwi S. Fazier, “Muhammad and the Medinan Jews: A Comparison of the Texts of Ibn Ishaq’s KitŒ b sirŒ t r a s u- l A l la h with al-Waqidi’s KitŒ b a l -m a g h Œ z¥,” I n te r n a ti o n a l J o u r n a l o f M idd le East S t u d i e s 28:4 (1996): 463-489.

218

NOTES

35. Watt: 228. 36. For Muslim perspectives on the implications of the Constitution for non-Muslim rights see Sami Awad Aldeeb Abu-Sahlieh, N o n - M u s u lm a n s e n P a y s D ’I sla m : C a s d e L’E gy pte (Zurich: Universitaries Fribourg Suisse, 1979); ‘Abdur Rahman I. Doi, N o n- Mu slim s U n d e r S h a r i' a h Isla mic L a w , (London: Ta Ha Publishers, 1983); Kaka M. M. Khel, “Foundation of the Islamic State at Medina and its Constitution,” Isla mic S t u d i e s 21:3 (1982): 61-68; Am ir Hasan Siddiqi, N o n- Mu slim s U n d e r Mu slim Ru le a n d M u slim s u n d e r no n-M us lim Ru le (Karachi, Pakistan: Jamiyatul Falah P ublications, 1969). 37. T.W. Arnold, T h e P r ea c h i n g o f I s la m , 2nd ed. (London: Constable & Co., 1913): 45. 38. Fattal: 233. 39. Al-Baladhuri: 42-44. 40. Bernard Lewis, T h e Jews

o f I s la m :

10-11.

41. Malik ibn Anas, al-Muwa t. t. a ’ , trans. Aisha Abdurrahman Bewley (London: Kegan Paul International, 1989): 183. See also al-Baladhuri: 92-94. 42. Fattal: 20. 43. Ibn Ishaq, Kit Œ b s. ir Œ t r a su- l A ll a h , trans. A. Guillaume (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1955): 607; ‘Abdul Malik Ibn Hisham, Kit Œ b s. ir Œ t r a su- l A l la h , ed. Ferdinand Wustenfeld (Gottingen: Dieterischsch Universitats-Buchhandlung, 1860): 902. 44. Abu Yusuf: 16. 45. In addition to Shemesh’s translation of Abu Yusuf: 20, see Hossein Modarressi Tabatab’i, K h a r a j in Isla mic L a w (London: Brill, 1983). 46. al-Baladhuri: 100-1. Ibn Ishaq does not include the Treaty of Najran, but only a “disputation” which is rendered more along the lines of a theological debate. 47. G. Vajda, “Ahl al-kitab,” E I 2 . 48. Samuel Hugh Moffet, A History o f Ch ristia nity (San Francisco: Harpercollins, 1992): 330. 49. Martin Lings, M u h a m m a d : Allen & Unwin, 1983): 326. 50. Fattal: 24.

in As ia, V ol. 1 : B e g in n i n g s to 1 5 0 0

his life b a s e d o n t h e earliest s o u r c e s

(London: George

NOTES

219

51. C.E. Bosworth, “The Concept of A l- dh im m a in Early Islam,” in C h r is ti a n s a n d Jews in t h e Ott o m a n E m p i r e : T h e F u n c ti o n in g o f a P lu r a l So cie ty , vol. 1, eds. B. Braude and Bernard Lewis (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1982): 41, 45. 52. Bosworth: 45-46.

.

53. Khel: 78-79; Bosworth: 41. 54. This formulation comes from the “Epistle of ‘Umar”, which Tyan argues is an apocryphal piece. The primary source is from Abu Yusuf, KitŒ b a l -K h a rŒ j. It is not mentioned in Bukhari or Muslim. See Emile Tyan, Histoire D e L 'O r g a n i sa t io n Judica ire E n P a y s D ' Is la m (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1960): 23; 78ff. 55. For Arnold see n. 37. A.S. Tritton, "Non Muslim subjects of the Muslim State," J o u r n a l o f t h e R o y a l Asia tic So cie ty , Vol. 70 , Part III (1928): 485-508. 56. See A.L. Tibawa, “Christians Under Muhammad and His First Tw o Caliphs,” Isla mic Qu ar terly 6; no. 1 & 2 (1961): 30-46 for a listing of early Western scholars who argue for this later date of the “Covenant”. 57. Tritton: 5-16. 58. Fattal: 69. 59. Lewis, I sla m : f ro m t h e P r o p h e t M u h a m m a d t o York: Oxford University Press, 1987): 219-223.

t h e Cap ture o f Co ns tan tino ple

(New

60. Fattal: 60; Lewis: 217. 61. Fattal: 63ff. 62. Fattal: 64ff; R.J.H. Gottheil, “An Answer to the Dhimm is,” A m e r ic a n O r i en t a l So cie ty 41 (1921): 383-457.

Journal of the

63. Fattal: 65. 64. Arnold: 59; Fattal: 61. 65. Bosworth: 46; Fattal: 65ff. 66. Al-Baladhuri: 187. 67. M. Perlmann, “Notes on Anti-Christian Propoganda in the Mamluk Empire,” Bu lletin o f t h e S c h o o l o f O r i en t a l a n d A f ri c a n S t u d i e s 19 (1940-42): 846.

220

NOTES

68. Martin Schreiner, “Contributions a L’Histoire Des Juifs en Egypte,” E t u d e s J u i v e s 30-31 (1895): 212.

Revue Des

69. Compiled from Lewis’ translations of al-Turtushi and al-Shafi‘i. Lewis, I sla m : f ro m t h e P r o p h e t M u h a m m a d to t h e Cap ture o f Co ns tan tino ple : 219-223. See also T.W. Arnold, T h e P r ea c h i n g o f I s la m : 57-59. For an interesting discussion of similar restrictions put on Muslims under Latin rule in the Levant during the Crusades see Benjamin, Z. Kedar, “The Subjected Muslims of the Frankish Levant,” in James M. Pow ell, ed. M u slim s u n d e r La tin R u l e , 1 1 0 0 - 1 3 0 0 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990): 135-174. 70. Young: 167. 71. Hitti, History of the Arabs: 169; Tyan: 87. 72. Hitti, History of the Arabs: 169. 73. Humphries: 250. 74. Richard W. Bulliet, C o n v e r si o n to I s la m in t h e m e d i e va l p e r io d : a n e s s a y in q u a n t i ta t iv e history . Cambridge : Harvard University Press, 1979. See also Nehemia Levtzion, C o n v e r si o n to I s la m (New York: Holmes & Meier Pub., 1978). 75. Marshall G. S. Hodgson, T h e Venture o f I s la m , vol. 1 (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1974): 226. 76. Arnold: 13. 77. Arnold: 59. 78. Fattal: 240. 79. Moffet: 338. 80. Fattal: 240. 81. Fattal: 240. 82. P. Crone, “Mawla,” E I 2 ; Hitti, History of the Arabs: 233. 83. Tritton: 22. 84. Tritton: 22.

NOTES 85. Hugh Kennedy, 1986): 124.

T h e P r o p h e t a n d t h e A g e o f t h e C a l i p h a te s

221 (Longman: New York,

86. Schacht: 49. 87. See John Robert Barnes, A n Intr od uc tio n t o R e li g io u s F o u n d a ti o n s in t h e O t to m a n Emp ire (Brill: Leiden, 1986): 5-6 where he discusses the pre-Islamic and Byzantine forms of w a k f as well as Abu Hanafi, Abu Yusuf, and Ibn Hanbal’s attempts to codify this institution. 88. Young: 177. 89. Fattal: 251. 90. L.E. Browne, T h e Eclipse o f Ch ristia nity in Asia . New York: Howard Fertig, 1992: 53; Muir, A p o l o g y o f a l -K in d y , 2nd ed. (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1887). 91. Tritton: 23 92. Putmann: 104. 93. Putmann: 104. 94. Although Abu Yal‘a’s own work by the same title was published at this time, al-Mawardi’s text became and continues to hold more authority. Qamar-ud-din Khan, in al-Ma ward i’s Theory o f Sta te (Delhi: Idarahh-i Abadiyat-i Delli, 1979), considers Abu Yal‘ Œ ’s text to be a copy of al-Mawardi’s text at best, or not an original at worst. 95. Abou ’l-Hassan al-Mawardi, al-A h. k Œ m al-s ult Œ n i y y a , trans. E. Fagnan, L e s Sta tuts G o u v e r n e m e n ta u x (Alger: Imprimeur-Libraire de l’Universite, 1915): 7-8. 96. Al-Mawardi: 53-54. 97. Emile Tyan provides an exhaustive study of both al-Mawardi and Ibn Khaldun in Histoire D e L 'O r g a n i sa t io n Judica ire E n P a y s D ' Is la m . 98. Tritton: 16f. 99. Fattal: 245. 100. Moffett: 342 101. Fattal: 253.

222

NOTES

102. Arnold: 63. 103. Putmann: 94. Al-Mawardi forbids non-Muslims from being in these positions. 104. Jan Slomp, “The Meeting of the Prophet Muhammad with Christians from Najran and the Present Muslim-Christian Dialogue,” Al-M us hir 18, nos. 8-12 (1976): 234. 105. Tyan: 257. 106. Fattal remarks that papyrus evidence shows that even as late as 857 there were bilingual documents. He argues that these language reforms were not very successful because of the Christians were continually needed in for such administrative work: 246. 107. Hitti, A History o f t h e A r a b s : 234; Moffet: 341; Siddiqi: 25; Tabari also makes reference to this in T a r¥i k h , vol. II: 205, 837. 108. Arnold: 63. 109. Abu-Sahlieh: 53. 110. Fattal: 233. Fattal lists Muslim, Ibn Hanbal, Shafi’i and Abu ‘Ubaida among those sources that refer to this incident. Baladhuri does not mention this. 111. Arnold: 45. 112. H. Lammens, E t u d e s S u r 434 as qoted in Fattal: 243.

le R e g n D u Ca life O m a y a d e Mo aw ia

(Beirut, 1908): 13,

113. Arnold: 64; Siddiqi: 33; Fattal: 254; Hitti: 95. 114. Tritton: 20-21. We must recognize, however, that purchasing positions was common practice. 115. Fattal: 242. There is no indication whether these governors voluntarily converted to Islam, but it must be considered a possibility. 116. Fattal: 247. 117. Arnold: 63 118. Fattal: 255.

NOTES

223

119. Samir Khalil Samir, SJ. “The Role of Christians in the Fatimid Government Services of Egypt to the Reign of Al-Hafiz,” M e d i e va l Enco unters 2:3 (1996): 177-192. 120. Fattal: 260. 121. Arnold: 76, 78; Bosworth: 65; Perlmann: 843.

Chapter 2. The Development of the Classical-Medieval Views of Dhimm¥ Political Rights 1. Fattal: 236. 2. Tyan: 19. 3. Tyan: 446. See also Jorgen S. Nielsen, S e c u la r J u s t ic e in a n Isla mic S t a te : Ma za lim U n d e r t h e Bahri Mam luks, 6 6 2 / 1 2 6 4 -7 8 9 / 1 3 8 7 (Leiden: Nederlands Historisch Archaeologisch Institut te Istanbul, 1985): 17ff. 4. Gamal Manna‘ ’Ali Solaiman, “Al-Awza‘i’s Life and Thought With Special Emphasis On His Controversial Rulings” (Ph.D. Thesis, University of Exeter, 1991): 17. 5. Solaiman: 424. 6. Solaiman: 20. 7. Solaiman: 246. 8. Solaiman: 2. 9. Solaiman: 333 10. Solaiman: 337. 11. Solaiman: 330. 12. Lewis: 219; Bosworth: 203. 13. Al-Tabari, Ikh ilŒ f a l -f u q a hŒ ’ : 240, as cited in Solaiman: 336. 14. Al-Baladhuri: 187.

224

NOTES

15. Abu Yusuf: 13. 16. P. Crone, “Mawla,” E I 2 . 17. Abu Yusuf: 16. 18. Abu Yusuf: 86-87. 19. Kennedy: 168-170. 20. Al-Jahiz, R a d d ‘ala a l -N a s. ara , as cited in J.M. Gaudeul, Encounters and Clashes, vol. II (Rome: Pontifico Instituto Di Studi Arabi e Islamici, 1984): 26-27. Includes both Arabic text and English translation. See also J. Finkel, “A Risala of al-Jah. iz. ,” J o u r n a l o f t h e A m e r ic a n O r i en t a l So cie ty (1927): 311-334. 21. Siddiqi: 33. 22. See also Hitti, History

o f t h e A r a b s:

353.

23. Al-Jahiz: 28. 24. Al-Jahiz: 24. 25. Finkel: 316. 26. Fattal: 232. 27. Fattal: 233. 28. Ghazi ibn al-Wasiti, R a d d ‘ala a h l d h im m a , in R.J.H. Gottheil, “An Answer to the Dhimmis”: 387. See also Bat Yeor for the English translation: 180. 29. Al-Mawardi: 305-6. See also Browne: 46-47. 30. Al-Mawardi: 43-50. 31. Al-Mawardi: 59-60. 32. Al-Mawardi: 51-54. 33. al-Mawardi: 66-70. 34. Fattal: 254.

NOTES

225

35. Humphries: 237. 36. Al-Wasiti: 439. 37. Al-Wasiti: 426, 452 respectively. 38. Perlmann: 843. 39. Bat Yeor: 196-198. 40. Al-Wasiti: 417. 41. Al-Wasiti: 457. 42. Al-Wasiti: 418; See also Bat Yeor’s citation: 180. 43. Ibn Taymiyya as quoted in Thomas F. Michel, S.J., A Mu slim Theo logian ’s Respo nse to Ch ristia nity (New York: Caravan Books, 1984): 82. 44. Madjid Khadduri, “Mas. lah. a,” E I 2 . 45. Ibn Taymiyya: 80. 46. Reported by Nizam al-Mulk in S i a s s e t N a m e h (a Persian text). Interestingly, both Ibn Naqqash and Ghazi ibn al-Wasiti include the same report with Mu’awiyya instead of ‘Umar, while Qalqashandi writes that the governor was ‘Amr ibn al-‘As and the tax collector was a Christian, in Fattal: 242. 47. Ibn Taymiyya: 79. 48. Ibn Taymiyya: 72. 49. Fattal: 236. 50. Fattal: 238-9. 51. Al-Naqqash: 434-435. 52. Fattal: 238. 53. Al-Naqqash: 433. 54. Perlmann: 843-861.

226

NOTES

55. Al-Asnawi as cited in Bat Yeor: 211. 56. Al-Asnawi as cited in Perlmann: 850. 57. Perlmann: 854. 58. C.E. Bosworth, “Christian and Jewish Religious Dignitaries in Mamluk Egypt and Syria: Qalqashandi’s Information on Their Hierarchy, Titulature, and Appointment,” I n te r n a ti o n a l J o u r n a l o f Mid dle East S t u d i e s 3:2 (1972): 203. 59. Bosworth: 203. 60. Perlmann: 850. 61. Qalqashandi,

S u b h. a l -a ‘ s h a ,

quoted in Perlmann: 852-53.

62. Perlmann: 860. 63. For a recent discussion of the current move toward the rhetoric of n iz. Œ m islŒ m ¥ see Bassam Tibi, “Major Themes in the Arabic Political Literature of Islamic Revivalism, 1970-1985: The Islamic System of Government [a l -n iz. Œ m al-islŒ m ¥ ], sh u- rŒ Democracy and the Implementation of the Shar¥‘a as Opposed to Secularism [‘ilm Œ n i y y a ], Part Two, I s la m a n d C h r is ti a n Mu slim R e la t io n s 4, no. 1 (1993): 83-99. 64. Siddiqi: 2. 65. Tritton: 20. 66. Tritton: 21. 67. Fattal: 249. 68. Tabari, T a r¥k h a l -r u su- l wa’l m u l u- k , vol. 3, trans. Joel L. Kraemer (New York: State University of N.Y. Press, 1989): 90. 69. Lewis, T h e Jews

o f I s la m :

48.

70. Maqrizi, as quoted in Tritton: 33-34. 71. Arnold: 79. 72. Arnold: 78. 73. Bat Ye’or: 67.

NOTES

227

74. Bat Ye’or: 143. 75. For a recent discussion of citizenship based upon “kin, tribal , or religious affiliation” see Uri Davis, “Democratization, Citizenship, Arab Unity, and Palestinian Autonomy,” in ed. Nils A. Butenschon, Uri Davis, and Manual Hassassian, Citiz en sh ip a n d t h e Sta te in t h e Mid dle East (New York: Syracuse University Press, 2000): 225-245. 76. Fattal: 246.

Chapter 3. Ottoman Practice Regarding Non-Muslim “Citizens” within Leb anon/Syria 1. See Edmund Rabbath, L a F o r m a ti o n H i s to r iq u e d u L ib a n P o li ti q u e e t C o n s t it u ti o n n e l (Beirut: Librarie Orientale, 1973): 83. 2. Alfred Schlicht, “The Role of Foreign Powers in the History of Lebanon and Syria from 1799 to 1861,” J o u r n a l o f Asia n H i s t o r y 14 (1980), p. 115; Samir Khalaf, “Communal Conflict in Nineteenth-Century Lebanon,” in B. Braude & B. Lewis, eds. C h r is ti a n s a n d Jews in t h e O t to m a n E m p i r e : T h e F u n c ti o n in g o f a P l u ra l So cie ty , vol. 2 (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1982): 114. 3. Khalaf: 116. 4. Roderic H. Davison, “Turkish Attitudes Concerning Christian-Muslim Equality in the Nineteenth Century,” A m e r ic a n H i s to r ic a l R e v i e w 59, no. 3 (1954): 844-5; see also H.A.R. Gibb and Harold Bowen, Isla mic So cie ty a n d t h e West , vol. 2 (London, 1957): 208. 5. Hitti, L e b a n o n in 6. A.L. Tibawi,

History

(London: Macmillan, 1967): 423.

A Mod ern History o f Sy ria

(London: St. Martin’s Press, 1969): 84.

7. See G. Douin, L a M i s si o n d u B a r o n d e B o i s l e c o m t e , L’E gy pte e t la Sy rie (Cairo, 1927); and Ibn Ya‘qub Abkarius, Lebanon, as cited in Schlicht 126. 8. Charles H. Church ill, 1862): 29-30.

T h e D r u z e s a n d M a r o n i t e s u n d e r t h e Turkish Ru le

9. Schlicht: 205. 10. Moshe Ma‘oz, O t to m a n

Reform :

90.

en 1833

(London,

228 11. Ma‘oz,

NOTES O tto m a n R efo rm

: 92.

12. Davison: 845. 13. Tibawi: 91. 14. For a full discussion of the me clis system see: Ma‘oz,

O tto m a n R efo rm

: 87-101.

15. George Antonius, T h e A r a b A w a k e n in g (New York: Paragon Books, 1979): 26-35. For a critique of Antonius and his historiography see William C. Cleveland, “The Arab Nationalism of Ge orge Antonius Revisited,” in eds., James Jankowski and Israel Gershoni, R e th i n k in g Nationa lism in t h e A r a b Wo rld (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997): 65-86. 16. Khalaf: 110. 17. Tibawi,

Mod ern History o f Sy ria :

70, 87.

18. Tibawi: 70. 19. Khalaf: 114. 20. See Mgr. Basile Humsy, L e s C a p i tu l a ti o n s & L a P r o te c ti o n D e s C h r e ti e n s a u P r o c h e O r i en t (Beirut: Librairie Orientalist, 1956); Charles A. Frazee, C a t h o l ic s a n d S u l ta n s (London: Cambridge University Press, 1983): 62. 21. Churchill: 104-5. 22. Khalaf: 116. Tibawi, in Mod ern History o f Sy ria , does note that in 1829 al-Jazzar ordered Bashir Shihab to the Muslim fortress of Sanur in the Nabulus district outside of the Mount because of the community’s refusal to pay taxes. The Christians not only besieged the fortress for three months, but razed local villages. “The fortress was partially demolished, but a bitter feeling against Christians and Druzes lingered in the memory of the people of the district till comparatively very recent times”: 62. 23. Hitti, L e b a n o n in

History :

425.

24. I. de Testa, Re cu eil d e s t r a it e s d e la Por te o t to m a n e , vol. 3 (Paris, 1866): 102-5 in Hitti, L e b a n o n in History : 435. It is uncertain as to why the British government would participate in publishing rumors about Druze military activity against the Maronites and Turks when they were actively involved in supporting the Druze cause. This report warrants a closer investigation, but is outside the scope of this thesis.

NOTES

229

25. See Eyal Zisser, Lebanon: The Challenge of Independence (London: I.B. Tauris, 2000): 41-50 for a review of the 1943 elections and Clyde G. Hess, Jr., and Herbert L. Bodman, Jr. “Confessionalism and Feudality in Lebanese Politics,” Middle East Journal 8 (1954): 10-26 for a review of the 1953 elections. 26. See J.C. Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1956): 132-135. 27. Not mentioned thus far were the Sunni Shihabs of Wadi al-Taym, the ‘Assaf’s of the Kisrawan, and the Shi’a Harfushes. See Hitti, A Short History of Lebanon (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1965): 160; Kamil Salibi, Maronite Historians of Mediaeval Lebanon (Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1959): 220ff. 28. For further reading on the Reform period of the Ottoman Empire see: Richard L. Chambers, “The Ottoman Ulema and the Tanzimat,” in Scholars, Saints, and Sufis, ed. Nikki R. Keddie,(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972): 33-46; Roderic H. Davison, Reform in the Ottoman Empire, 1856-1876 (New York: Gordian Press, 1973); Bernard Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey (Turkey: Oxford University Press, 1966); Serif Mardin, The Genesis of Young Ottoman Thought (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1962), esp. 138-164; Moshe Ma‘oz, “Com munal Conflicts in Ottoman Syria during the Reform Era: The Role of Political and Economic Factors,” in eds. B. Braude & B. Lewis, Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Empire, vol. 2 (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1982): 91-105; Moshe Ma‘oz, Ottoman Reform; Turgut Subasi, “Anglo-Ottoman Relations and the Reform Question in the Early Tanzimat Period 1839-1852,” Ph.D. Thesis, University of Birmingham, 1995. Other sources which take up the results of these reforms include: George A. Dionyssiou, “The Implementation of the Tanzimat Reforms in Cyprus (1839-1878): An Assessm ent of the Greek an Ottom an Evidence from Local Sources,” Ph.D. Thesis, University of Birmingham, 1995; Carter Vaughn Findley, Bureaucratic Reform in the Ottoman Empire: The Sublime Port, 1789-1922 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980); Findley, Ottoman Civil Officialdom (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989); Findley, “The Acid Test of Ottomanism: The Acceptance of Non-Muslims in the Late Ottoman Bureaucracy,” in ed. B. Braude: 339-368. 29. Ma‘oz, O t to m a n Reform : 22. Interestingly, the above text was translated into Arabic and sent to Syria. The published French text read: “subjects of whatever religion or sect they may be”. This translation softened the Islamic aspect of the Empire and highlighted the idea of a modern, secular-style state. 30. There is a long standing debate as to whether Abdulmecid’s proclamation was actually the work of the Ottoman statesm an, Resid Pasha pressured by Western influences (see Ma’oz: 24; Lew is, T h e E m e r g e n c e o f Mod ern T u r k e y ; and Shaw, History o f t h e O t to m a n Emp ire a n d Mod ern T u r k e y ) or whether the reform sprang from Islamic roots within the upperulema and Abdulmecid’s religious upbringing (see Butrus AbuManneh, “The Islamic Roots of the Gulhane Rescript,” Die Welt D e s I sla m s 34, no. 2 (1994): 173-203; Davison, “Turkish Attitudes”: 544-564; Uriel Heyd, “The Ottom an

230

NOTES

‘Ulema and Westernization in the Time of Selim III and Mahmud II,” in T h e Mod ern Mid dle East , ed. Albert Hourani, (London: I.B. Tauris, 1993): 29-60; A.L. Tibawi, A Mod ern History o f Sy ria : 94-5. 31. Davison: 27-31; Heyd: 30-31. 32. For a listing of all of the reforms decreed from 1839 to 1876 see J.H. Kramers, “Tanzimat,” E I 2 : 656-60. Interestingly, it was not until 1858 that Jews in England could be elected to Parliament. See Tibawi, A Mod ern History o f Sy ria : 133. 33. For the theological justifications for the T a n z im a t reforms by upper Chambers, “The Ottoman Ulema and the Tanzimat.”

u le m a

see

34. Ma‘oz, O t to m a n Reform : 22. Interestingly, the above text was translated into Arabic and sent to Syria. The published French text read: “subjects of whatever religion or sect they may be.” This translation softened the Islamic aspect of the Empire and highlighted the idea of a m odern, secular-style state for Western consumption. 35. Davison: 44. 36. J.C. Hurewitz, T h e Mid dle East a n d No rth A f r ic a Record , 2nd ed., vol. 2 (New Haven, 1975): 270.

in Wo rld Politics: A Doc ume ntary

37. Findley, O t to m a n Civ il O f fi c ia l d o m ; 33; Khalaf; 124; Lewis, E m e r g e n ce : 331. Findley argues that regardless of the proclamation, Christians did not penetrate into the army until 1909, but that they did serve as important administrators within the Treasury and the Foreign Office quite early (33-34) 38. Rabbath: 44. 39. Enver Ziya Karal, “Non-Muslim Representatives in the First Constitutional Assembly, 1876-1877,” in ed. Braude and Lewis: 393-394. 40. The Constitution was re-established in 1909. 41. Karal: 395. 42. Uri Davis and Kefar Shemaryahu, Citiz en sh ip a n d t h e S t a te : A C o m p a r a t i v e S t u d y o f C i t i z en sh ip L e g is la t io n in Isra el, J o r d a n , P a l es t in e , Sy ria a n d L e b a n o n (Reading, UK: Garnet, 1997): xxvi-vii. 43. Karal: 390. 44. Ma‘oz, “Communal Conflicts”: 94.

NOTES

231

45. See Davison, Reform : 101-2; Davison, “Turkish Attitudes”: 861; Ma‘oz, O t to m a n Reform : 29. 46. For a full accounting of the 1860 civil war see Fawaz. 47. John P. Spagnolo, F r a n c e & O t to m a n 1977): 33. 48. Hitti, L e b a n o n in

History :

Lebanon 1861-1914

(London: Ithaca Press,

437-8.

49. For a very detailed inquiry into the civil war see Leila Tarzi Fawaz, O c c a s io n f o r War: Civ il C o n f l ic t in L e b a n o n a n d D a m a s c u s in 1 8 6 0 (London: I.B. Tauris, 1994), and Khalaf, “Communal Conflicts”: 128-130. For a discussion of the differences in the causes of the massacres in Mount Lebanon as opposed to Damascus see: Tibawi, A Mod ern History o f Sy ria : 121-29. 50. Davison, Reform : 57. 51. For more information regarding Russian involvement in the Levant see Derek Hopwood, T h e R u s s ia n P r e se n c e in Sy ria a n d P a l es t in e , 1 8 4 3 - 1 9 1 4 (Oxford, 1969). 52. For the English text see J.C. Hurewitz: 92-101. 53. Kamal Salibi, T h e Mod ern History o f L e b a n o n (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1965): 107. 54. See Zisser. 55. See Ma‘oz,

O t to m a n Reform :

212-14.

56. Meir Zamir, T h e F o r m a ti o n o f Mod ern L e b a n o n (London: Croom Helm, 1985): 8. Salibi, in T h e Mod ern History o f L e b a n o n , seems to point to the establishment of the double q Œ ’ im a q Œ m i y y a twenty years early as the beginning of modern Lebanon. 57. Hurewitz: 346-347. 58. For an excellent review of the work of the Commission and the establishment of the mu ta s. a r r if iy y a see Spagnolo: 32-45. 59. Hitti, L e b a n o n in History : 393. Hitti notes that Yusuf’s father, Mulhim was a devout Muslim, while his cousin, Haydar, “was a devout Christian” (392). Bashir II, Yusuf’s first cousin once removed and successor was “Christian by baptism, Moslem in matrimony, Druze through convenience rather than conviction” (417). Finally, Bashir III, Yusuf’s nephew was a Christian (434). All of these comm ents lead to the conviction that matters of religious belief were not yet tied to communal loyalties but

232

NOTES

to personal conviction or inter-family political gain. 60. See I. Metin Kunt, “Transformation of Z im m i into Askeri ,” in B. Braude, ed. C h r is ti a n s a n d Jews in t h e O t to m a n Emp ire , vol. 1: 55-67, esp. 65. 61. Carter Vaughn Findley, “The Legacy of Tradition to Reform: Origins of the Ottoman Foreign Ministry,” I n te r n a ti o n a l J o u r n a l o f Mid dle Eastern S t u d i e s 1 (1970): 337. 62. Carter Vaughn Findley,

O t to m a n Civ il O f fi c ia l d o m :

63. Ma‘oz,

192.

O t to m a n Reform :

50.

64. In fact, a specific study of Christians within the administration of the Porte before Mahmud II has not yet been sufficiently undertaken. 65. Spagnolo: 80. 66. Hurewitz: 347. 67. Hurewitz: 347. 68. Spagnolo: 45. 69. Spagnolo: 159. 70. Spagnolo: 85ff. 71. See Samir Khalaf, P e r si s te n c e a n d C h a n g e American University of Beirut, 1979).

in Nin ete en th Century L e b a n o n

(Beirut:

72. Hitti, A Sho rt History o f L e b a n o n : 144-5. For further information regarding early Ottoman acceptance of local traditions and systems see Halil Inalcik, T h e O t to m a n E m p i r e : T h e C l a ss ic a l A g e 1 3 0 0 - 1 6 0 0 (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1973): 71. 73. Hitti, L e b a n o n in

History :

359.

74. Hitti: 374-5. 75. Hitti: 387, 391. 76. Haydar A. Al-Shihab, L u b nŒ n f¥ A h d a l -‘ U m a r a ’ a l -S h i h a b y¥n , ed. Asad Rustum and Fu’ad a. al-Bustani (Beirut, 1933): 195 as quoted in Hitti: 414.

NOTES

233

77. Hitti: 433-4. 78. Hitti: 442. 79. Hitti, A

Sho rt History o f L e b a n o n :

201.

80. Hitti, Leban on in H istory : 446. 81. Spagnolo: 113. See also Meir Zamir, “Faisal and the Lebanese Question, 19181920,” Mid dle Eastern S t u d i e s 27, no. 3 (1991): 404-426. 82. Tibawi: 12. 83. Ahmad Beydoun,

Ide ntité Co nfe ssio nn elle e t Temp s S o c i a l C h e z l e s H i s to r ie n s

(Beirut: Librairie Orientale, 1984). For a specific Shi‘a view of the state see Joseph Olmert, “The Shi’is and the Lebanese State,” in S h i’ is m , R e s i st a n c e a n d R e v o lu t io n , ed. Martin Kramer (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1987): 189-201. Lib an ais C o n t e m p o r a in s

84. Kam al Salibi, A Hou se o f M a n y M a n s i o n s (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988): 3. 85. Youssef M. Ch oue iri, A r a b History a n d t h e N a t i o n -S t a te : A H i s to r io g r a p h y 1 8 2 0 - 1 9 8 0 (New York: Routledge, 1989): 203.

S t u d y in Mod ern A r a b

Chapter 4. Formation of the Leban ese State & the Christian Presidency 1. Edmund Rabbath, L a F o r m a ti o n H i s to r iq u e D u L ib a n (Beirut: Librairie Orientale, 1973): 83. Contra Zamir: 8. 2. David Gilmour, Limited, 1984): 67.

L e b a n o n : T h e F r a c tu r e d Cou ntry

P o l it iq u e e t C o n s t it u ti o n n e l

(Great Britain: Sphere Books

3. See Hourani’s chapter on Tahtawi, Khayr al-Din and Bustani in Ara bic T h o u g h t : 67102. He also briefly discusses the Young Ottomans. For a fuller review of the Young Ottomans and Namik Kemal, see Serif Mardin, T h e Ge ne sis o f Y o u n g O t to m a n T h o u g h t (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1962): 283-336. 4. See William L. Cleveland, I s la m Against t h e Wes t: Sh ak ib A r s la n a n d t h e C a m p a i g n f o r Isla mic Nationa lism (London: al-Saqi Books, 1985).

234

NOTES

5. Tibi, A r a b Nationa lism : 123-198. 6. Hourani: 271-272; Khaludin S. al-Husry, T h r e e Reform ers: A P o li ti c a l T h o u g h t (Beirut: Khayats, 1966): 55-112.

S t u d y in Mod ern A r a b

7. See Hamid Enayat, Mod ern Isla mic P o li ti c a l T h o u g h t (London: MacMillan, 1982): 70ff; Hourani: 222-244, and Malcolm Kerr, Isla mic R efo rm : T h e P o li ti c a l a n d L e g a l T h e o r i e s o f M u h a m m a d ‘ A b d u h a n d Rashid R i d a (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966). 8. See Hourani: 107-108. 9. Tibi: 110-112. 10. Hudson: 41. 11. Zamir, “Faisal and the Lebanese Question”: 408. 12. Sati‘ al-Husri, T h e D a y o f M a y s a lu- n , trans. Sidney Glazer (Washington, D.C.: The Middle East Institute, 1966): 12. See also, Najla Wadih Aityah, “The Attitude of the Lebanese Sunnis Towards the State of Lebanon” (Ph.D. Thesis, London University, 1973): 67. 13. Tibi, A r a b Nationa lism : 116. 14. Hourani: 95-102, and Tibi: 102-105. Both authors note the importance of the American Presbyterian missionary movement in the encouragement of the study of the Arabic language. Tibi especially noted that the Protestant emphasis upon the vernacular language created the right conditions for the establishment of independent Arab Nationalist thought (100). 15. Hourani: 78-79; Salibi, A Hou se o f M a n y M a n s i o n s: 167-181. See also Youssef M. Choueiri, A r a b History a n d t h e N a t i o n -S t a te : A S t u d y o f Mod ern A r a b H i s to r io g r a p h y 1 8 2 0 1 9 8 0 (New York: Routledge, 1989): 115ff. 16. For a recent study on Antonius see William L. Cleveland, “The Arab Nationalism of George Antonius Reconsidered,” in eds. Jam es Jankowski & Israel G ershoni, R e th i n k in g Nationa lism in t h e A r a b Mid dle East (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997): 65-86. For more on Sa‘ada and Chiha see Hourani: 317-323, and Tibi: 191198. 17. Hourani: 319-323; Tibi: 191-192. 18. Choueiri: 200.

NOTES

235

19. Al-Husri:. 3. Lebanon, Aleppo, Alexandretta, Damascus, a state for the Alawites and for the Druze. 20. Stephen Hemsley Longrigg, Sy ria Oxford University Press, 1958): 376.

a n d L e b a n o n U n d e r F r e n c h Ma nd ate

(London:

21. Khoury: 5. 22. Khoury: 28. Solh writes that the French Foreign Ministry Kellogg Briand sent H.C. Gouraud a dispatch stating: “this Christian country should fully absorb our culture and depend on us and should without ulterior motives represent our longstanding influence in the Orient. Under no condition should this Christian element be swamped by the Muslim Arabs surrounding it and which outnumber it vastly,” (Solh: 152). 23. Khoury: 31. 24. Longrigg: 363. 25. Meir Zamir,

T h e F o r m a ti o n o f Mod ern L e b a n o n :

Qu est: T h e R o a d to S t a te h o o d 1 9 2 6 - 1 9 3 9

26. Philip S. Khoury, Sy ria

95, 143-4; and Zamir, Leba non ’s (London: I.B. Tauris, 1997): 242-243.

a n d t h e F r e n c h Ma nd ate

(London: I.B. Tauris, 1987): 78.

27. Longrigg: 377-378. 28. See Akarli, T h e L o n g P e a c e : 155-156. 29. Lebanese Constitution, Part I, Chapter One, Article 9. 30. Of course, in the Lebanese confessional system, such decisions are made by representatives of the various confessions. Therefore, any decision regarding the prohibition of a religious rite would be subject to approval by representatives from that very same confession. The likelihood of this happening is very minimal. Nevertheless, the state is given this power, providing the state could pass such decrees. 31. Longrigg: 376-380. 32. Zamir: 142. See also Raghid Solh, “The attitude of the Arab nationalists towards Greater Lebanon during the 1930’s,” in ed. Nadim Shehadi, L e b a n o n : A History o f C o n f l ic t a n d C o n s e n s u s (London: I.B. Tauris), 1988: 153. 33. See Spagnolo.

236

NOTES

34. ‘Alawite, Armenian Catholic, Armenian Orthodox, Armenian Evangelical, Chaldean, Druze, Greek Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Jewish, Latin Catholic, Maronite Catholic, Nestorian, Protestant, Shi‘a, Sunni, Syrian Catholic, and Syrian Orthodox. 35. Decree no. 1307 stipulated that thirty representatives would be elected for a fouryear term by general suffrage based upon proportional representation of the 1921 census. Zamir, T h e F o r m a ti o n o f Mod ern L e b a n o n : 142. 36. Pierre Rondot, L e s I n s ti tu t io n s P o l it iq u e s D u L ib a n (Paris: Institut d’Etudes de l’Orient Contemporain, 1947): 69. See also Ibrahim A. Khairallah, T h e L a w o f I n h e r it a n c e in t h e R e p u b l i cs o f Sy ria a n d L e b a n o n (Beirut: American Press, 1941): 183184. 37. Longrigg: 378. 38. Rondot: 66. 39. As cited in Rondot: 67. 40. Rabbath: 115. 41. Rondot: 68. 42. Khoury: 83; Longrigg: 137. 43. Longrigg: 137. 44. Khoury: 85. 45. Khoury: 83; Rabbath: 473. 46. Longrigg: 136. 47. Khoury: 300-301. 48. Khoury: 83. 49. Rondot: 64-65. 50. Rondot: 131 51. Rondot: 117. 52. Zamir, F o r m a ti o n : 203.

NOTES

237

53. Helena Cobban, T h e M a k i n g o f Mod ern L e b a n o n (London: Hutchinson, 1985): 61; Salibi, A Hou se o f M a n y M a n s i o n s: 180. 54. Zamir: 209-210, 212. 55. Rabbath: 89. 56. Regarding the discussion around removal of the provisional nature of Article 95 in the 1989 Ta’if Accord see Sami A. Ofeish, “Lebanon’s Second Republic: Secular Talk, Sectarian Application,” A r a b S t u d i e s Qu ar terly 21, no. 1 (1999): 97-116. 57. Hudson: 212; Zamir, Leba non ’s Que st : 32ff. 58. Rabbath states that “The Lebanese state is not, in effect, a modern state because it has been incapable until today of assuring all the Lebanese, without distinction of religion and in all domains, equality before the law” (555). Rabbath argues that until the provisional nature of Article 95 is abrogated Lebanon will not be able to support the claim to proper democracy. 59. Hudson, T h e P r ec a r io u s Re pu blic ; Suleiman, P o li ti c a l Par t ie s in L e b a n o n , New York: Cornell University Press, 1965. 60. Suleiman: 294. 61. Atiyah: 101. 62. Philip S. Khoury, U r b a n N o t a b l e s a n d A r a b Nationa lism , (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983); and esp. Sy ria a n d t h e F r e n c h Ma nd ate : 620. 63. Atiyah: 134. 64. Zamir,

Leba non ’s Que st :

108-109.

65. Raghid Solh, “The attitude of the Arab nationalists towards Greater Lebanon during the 1930s,” in Shehadi, L e b a n o n : 150-152. 66. Atiyah: 139; Zamir, Leba non ’s Que st : 129. 67. Zamir,

Leban on’s Q uest :

211.

68. Salibi, A

Mod ern History o f L e b a n o n :

69. Salibi, A

Hou se o f M a n y M a n s i o n s:

70. Cobban: 75.

189.

185.

238

NOTES

71. For example see Cobban: 70-71; Salibi, A Leban on’s Q uest : x. 72. Johnson, Class

a n d C l ie n t in B e ir u t :

Modern History of Lebanon :

189; Zamir,

1.

73. Atiyah: 101; Khoury, “Factionalism”: 462; Khoury, Sy ria : 58. 74. See R. Hrair Dekmejian, P a tt e rn s o f Poli t ic a l L e a d e r s h ip : Eg yp t, Isra el, L e b a n o n (New York: State University of New York Press, 1975): 12-21; Arnold Hottinger, “Zu’ama in Historical Perspective,” in P o l it ic s in L e b a n o n , ed. Leonard Binder (New York: Wiley & Sons, 1966): 85-106. 75. Khoury, in U r b a n N o t a b l e s shows how the leading families of Lebanon competed for the top religious posts in Damascus during the Nineteenth century. See also John Voll, “Old ‘Ulama’ Families and Ottoman Influence in Eighteenth-Century Damascus,” A m e r ic a n J o u r n a l o f Ara bic S t u d i e s 3 (1975): 50-51. 76. See Fuad I. Khuri, F r o m V il la g e t o S u b u rb : (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975).

O r d e r a n d C h a n g e in G r e a t e r B e ir u t

77. Dekmejian: 39f. 78. Again, Hanf is using a metaphor established by Michael Hudson. See Hudson: 161. 79. Zamir,

Leba non ’s Que st :

32.

80. Hudson: 108-116; Dekmejian: 49. 81. Johnson: 123. 82. Khoury,

Sy ria :

620.

83. See Findley, O t to m a n Civ il O f fi c ia l d o m . In reviewing the records of persons serving in the Porte during the T a n z im a t , Findley found that there was an increasing number of civil servants who graduated from “modernist” schools as opposed to the “traditional” Islamic schools. 84. In this and the following chapter I am using the term salafism to refer to the nineteenth century Reform movement as used by Hourani, and contrary to the more conventional current use in the vein of the Wahabi-Qutb tradition. See Hourani: 139141; “Salafiya,” E I 2 . 85. See Hourani: 222-244. See esp.: 230-231 where Hourani shows the difference in understanding of the s a la f between Rida and Abdu.

NOTES

239

86. David Comm ins, “Reformers and Arabists in Damascus, 1885-1914, I n te r n a tional J o u r n a l o f Mid dle East S t u d i e s 18, no. 4 (1986); 405-425. 87. Suleiman: 211. 88. Arnold Hottinger, “Z u ’ a m a ’ in Historical Perspective,” in Binder: 85-106. 89. See Solh: 54. For more on Sunni thought after independence see Bassem al-Jisr, “Les Sunnites au Liban,” L ’ O r ie n t L’Jour: S a m e d i S u p p l e m e n t, 9-15 June 1973: 27, 29, 31. 90. Zamir,

Leba non ’s Que st :

110.

91. Youssef Choueiri, Isla mic

Funda men talism

(London: Pinter, 1990): 75.

92. Salibi, A Hou se o f M a n y M a n s i o n s: 40. It is important to mention at this point the political authority of Egypt’s Gamal Abd al-Naser. His popularity and leadership led the Pan-Arab movement, culminating in the formation of the United Arab Republic of Egypt and Syria. This movement is germane to Lebanon’s political history as it prompted fears among the Maronite establishment of the inclusion of Lebanon in an Arab-Muslim state. How ever, as this thesis is interested in Islamic political thought and not Middle Eastern political theory, we are therefore justified in leaving Naser and his political ideology out of the main discussion. 93. I am using William E. Shepherd’s term “radical Islam ism ” in reference to “Islamist” thought. That is, the radical Islamists “claim that Islam is for all aspects of social as well as personal life” and seek to implement Islam in those spheres. See William E. Shepherd, “Islam and Ideology: Tow ards a Typology,” I n te r n a ti o n a l J o u r n a l o f Mid dle East S t u d i e s 19 (1987): 314. 94. Suleiman: 175ff. 95. See D alal al-Bizri, “Lebanon’s Islamists: Cumbersome Inheritors of a Weighty Legacy,” in T h e B e ir u t R e v i e w 6 (1993): 79-83. al-Bizri deals with the Islamist response to the Israeli invasion of 1982 and the Iranian Revolution. 96. Nazih Ayubi,

P o li ti c a l I s la m

(New York: Routledge, 1991): 8.

97. Fuad I. Khuri, “Secularization and ‘Ulama’ Networks Among Su nni and Shi‘a Religious Officials,” in Toward a Viable Lebanon, ed. Halim Barakat (London: Croom Helm, 1988): 71. Khuri takes up this theme more fully in I ma m s a n d Emirs (London: al-Saqi Books, 1990).

240

NOTES

98. Bassam T ibi, I s la m a n d t h e C u l tu r a l A c c o m m o d a t io n Krojzl (Westview Press: Boulder, Col., 1990): 21, 23.

of Social Change,

trans. Clare

Chapter 5. The Position of Ulema in Leban ese Society and Politics 1. For a review of the organization of the Ottoman Empire prior to Suleiman see Inalcik, T h e O t to m a n Emp ire ; Madeline C. Zilfi, T h e P o l it ic s o f P e it y : T h e O t to m a n U le m a in t h e P o s tc l a ss ic a l A g e (1 6 0 0 - 1 8 0 0 ) (Minneapolis: Bibleatheca Islamic, 1988): 23-42. 2. J.H. Kramers, R.W. Bulliet, and R.C. Repp, “Shaykh al-Islam,” E I 2 . 3. R.C. Repp,

T h e Mu fti o f I s ta n b u l

(London: Ithaca Press, 1986): 49.

4. This represents a dramatic shift from the structure of the Abbasid period, where the muftis maintained their distance from official state politics. Quite often, the appointment of an ‘alim to a state position tarnished his reputation as a respectable scholar. From this time forward in the Ottoman Empire there is the movement toward seeing the state appointed offices as goals for achievement within the profession. 5. See Repp,

E I2.

6. See Colin Imber, E b u ’ s- S u ‘u d : T h e Isla mic L e g a l T r a d it io n (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1997). 7. Faruk Bilici, “Les archives du Seyh’ ul-Islam en tant que source del l’histoire de la fin de l’empire Ottoman,” in Histoire E c o n o m i q u e e t So cia le d e L’Emp ire O t to m a n , ed. Halil Inalcik (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994): 30. 8. Heyd, “The Ottoman ‘Ulema”: 34-35. See also Chambers, “The Ottoman Ulema and the Tanzimat”: 33-46. 9. Chambers, “The Ottoman Ulema and the Tanzimat”: 34. 10. Chambers, “The Education of a N ineteenth-Century Ottoman Alim”: 445-448; Ruth Roded, “Ottom an Service as a Vehicle for the Rise of the New Upstarts Among the Urban Elite F amilies of Syria in the Last Decades of Ottoman Rule,” A s ia n & A f ri c a n S t u d i e s 17 (1983): 63-94.

NOTES

241

11. See Findley, O t to m a n Civ il O f fi c ia l d o m . See also Findley, “The Legacy of Tradition to Reform: Origins of the Ottoman Foreign Ministry”: 334-357. 12. Chambers, “The Ottoman Ulema and the Tanzimat”: 45. See also Gibb and Bowen”: 81-113. 13. See Richard L. Chambers, “The Education of a Nineteenth-Century Ottoman Alim , Ahmed Cevdet Pasa,” I n te r n a ti o n a l J o u r n a l o f Mid dle East S t u d i e s 4 (1973): 440464; and Chambers, “The Ottoman Ulema and the Tanzimat,” in Keddie: 33-46. 14. Chambers, Richard L., “The Ottoman Ulema and the Tanzimat”: 41. 15. Chambers: 41. See also Chambers, “The Education of a Nineteenth-Century Ottoman Alim ”: 440-464. 16. Chambers, “The Education of a Nineteenth-Century Ottoman

Alim ,”:

41.

17. See Hourani: 139-141; “Salafiya,” E I 2 . Please note that I am using Hourani’s terminology here, based upon the nineteenth century historical movement. See Hourani, Ara bic T h o u g h t : 319-323; Tibi, A r a b Nationa lism : 191-192.. In the next chapter we make reference to the contemporary usage of sa lafi . The overwhelming contemporary Islamist usage is now based upon the tradition of Sayyid al-Qutb. The term as used here stands as the Reformist response to the nineteenth century. 18. David Commins, “Reformers and Arabists in Damascus”: 418. 19. Commins: 407. 20. Hourani, Arabic Thought: 235. 21. Niyazi Berkes, T h e D e v e lo p m e n t o f Secu larism in T u r k e y (Montreal, 1964): 133 as quoted in Chambers, “Ottoman Ulema and the Tanzimat”: 42. 22. Rashid Rida, al-K hil Œ fa as cited in Malcom H. Kerr, Isla mic Reform (Berkeley: The University of California Press, 1966): 163-164. Hourani: 233-234. 23. Rida, al-K hilŒfa as cited in Hourani: 234. 24. Muhamm ad Khalid Masud, Isla mic Harvard University Press, 1996): 27. 25. Rabbath: 96. 26. Atiyah: 67.

L e g a l I n te r p r et a ti o n

(Cambridge, Mass.:

242

NOTES

27. Shakib Arslan, O u r D e c l in e a n d Its C a u s e s , trans. M.A. Shkoor (Lahore, 1944): 1-3. See also William C. Cleveland, I s la m Against t h e Wes t: Sh ak ib A r s la n a n d t h e C a m p a i g n f o r Isla mic Nationa lism (London: al-Saqi Books, 1985). 28. Al-K hil Πfa , as quoted in Malcom H. Kerr, Isla mic California Press, 1966): 185.

Reform

(Berkeley: University of

29. Atiyah: 70. Cobban states that the Mufti of Beirut was called the Grand Mufti, and given prominence over the Muftis of Tripoli and Sidon (25). 30. Fahrasa a l -q a wŒ n ¥n wa ’ l- m a rŒ s¥m : P X P W-P X S U [Index of Laws and Decrees: 19181946], Decree 291, 9 July 1932. 31. Rondot: 30. 32. Ayubi: 8. 33. Rondot: 117. 34. Fahrasa a l -q a wŒ n ¥n wa ’ l- m a rŒ s¥m wa ’ l- q a rŒ rŒ t: P X T T [Index of Laws, Decrees and Resolutions: 1955], 13 February 1955, Legislative Decree 18, Section 1. See also Rabbath: 112. 35. Rabbath: 112. 36.

Fahrasa ,

Legislative Decree 18, Section 3.

37. Atiyah: 307. 38. Minutes of Parliament 1954-1955, 26 May 1955: 822, 857 as cited in Atiyah: 307. 39.

Fahrasa ,

Legislative Decree 18, Section 2: 174.

40. Fahrasa , Legislative Decree 18, Section 5: 175. The selection committee is further outlined in Section 8: 175-176. 41. Majed Halawi, A L e b a n o n D e f ie d : Musa Westview Press, 1992): 157.

a l -S a d r a n d t h e Shi‘a Co mm un ity

(Boulder:

42. Although many historians see the Mufti’s presence as at least an implicit support for the state, Atiyah argues that the Mufti was “lured into attending the ceremony but took no active part.” Atiyah: 60. 43. Michael Johnson, “Factional Politics in Lebanon: The Case of the ‘Islamic Society of Benevolent Intentions’ (Al-Maqasid),” Mid dle Eastern S t u d i e s 9 (1973): 64-65.

NOTES

243

44. Johnson, “Factional Politics”: 70. 45. Rabbath cites the periodical

Sy rie

from 3 March 1933: 117.

46. Rabbath: 111. 47. The Sheikh al-Akl of the Druze comm unity was given legal recognition on 13 July 1962. 48. Fuad Ajami, T h e V a n i sh e d I m a m (New York: Cornell University, 1986): 44-45, 193-194. It is important to note that it was al-Hakim who would recomm end and encourage Musa al-Sadr to agree to take the position in Tyre which he would hold until his disappearance in 1978. Following the death of al-Hakim, al-Sadr would extend a letter of support recognizing al-Kho’i as the m a r ja ‘ a l -t a q l¥d in 1970. 49. See Chibli Mallat, Shi’i T h o u g h t Lebanese Studies, 1988), esp.: 16f.

F r o m t h e So uth o f L e b a n o n

(Oxford: Centre for

51. Center for the Study of the Modern Arab World, V is io n So cie ty (Beirut: Dar el-Mashreq, 1975): 123-127; Naim: 104.

a n d Re visio n i n A r a b

50. Halawi: 140.

52. Halawi: 140. 53. See Thom Sicking, S.J. and Dr. Shereen Khairallah,“The Shi’a Awakening in Lebanon: a Search for Radical Change in a Traditional Way,” in V is io n a n d R e v is io n in A r a b So cie ty : 123-127; Naim: 104. 54. A l -D a l ¥ l al-h ijŒ ’¥ ’ l- q a wŒ n ¥n wa ’l- m a r Œ s¥m wa ’ l- q a rŒ rŒ t: P X U V [Alphabetical Directory of Laws, Decrees, and Resolutions: 1967], Law 72, 19 December 1967: 1949. See also Rabbath: 118. (Note: Rabbath states in his text that this is Law 76/67. We can only assume that this was a editorial error in translating the Arabic U V /V Q .) 55. Rabbath: 112, n. 35. 56.

A l -D a l¥l al-h ijŒ ’¥

, Law 72, Section 4: 1949. Rabbath: 118.

57. The Seljuks conquered Syria in 1070. See Salibi, A Hou se o f M a n y

M a n s i o n s:

7-8.

58. Mohamad Seif Eddine Salman, “Leadership Legitimacy in the Middle East: Imam Musa Sadr’s Identity, Charisma and Political Legitimation in Lebanon 1960-1975,” (Ph.D. Dissertation: Syracuse University, 1997): 74.

244

NOTES

59. Salman: 77. 60. Salman: 79. Salman devotes a whole chapter of his dissertation to the discussion of Max Weber’s theories of public authority. See: 75-107. 61. Peter Lassman and Ronald Spiers, eds., Cambridge University Press, 1994): 130-131.

Weber: P o li ti c a l W r it in g s

(London:

62. Lassman: 131. 63. Khuri, “Secularization and ‘Ulama Networks,” in Barakat: 68-69. 64. Khuri, I ma m s a n d

Emirs :

174.

65. See Hanf: 208-10. 66.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r

4 October 1975: 1. See also a l -N a h Πr 5 October 1975: 1, 3.

67.

A l -N a h Πr ,

5 October 1975: 3.

68.

A l -N a h Πr ,

5 October 1975: 3.

69. Khalid’s meeting with Greek Orthodox Metropolitan Maximus V, and Mufti Kabalan’s meeting with Maronite Patriarch Khoreish for example. See L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r 14 October 1979: 3 and 9 June 1980: 3, respectively. 70. L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r 23 February 1984: 1, 10; M o n d a y M o r n i n g 27 February - 4 March 1984: 33; L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r 14 March 1984: 3. In preparation for this summit Greek Orthodox Patriarch Ignatius IV Hazim stated that the upcoming Summit “would embody the spec ial position of the true Lebanon, which is both Moslem and Christian. . . . It will enable outsiders to see that our problem does not lie in our religions, but in the use of these religions to achieve various (political) goals.” M o n d a y M o r n i n g 6-12 February 1984: 48. 71. L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r , 22 February 1989: 3; 1989: 14-15.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

27 February - 5 March

72. See Mid dle East Repo rter, Wee kly , 20 May 1989; a l -N a h Œ r , 17 May 1989; Who ’s W h o in L e b a n o n (Beirut: Publitec Publications, 1982). 73. Ajami: 119. 74. Hanf: 578. 75.

The Times

(London), 17 May 1989: 8a.

NOTES 76.

245

A l -N a h Œ r , 8 October, 1986; T h e Mid dle East Repo rter, Da ily , 8 October 1986; Who ’s

W h o in L e b a n o n

(Beirut: Publitec Publications, 1982).

77.

A l -N a h Πr ,

8 October 1986.

78.

The Times

(London), 9 October 1986: 9.

79. See Ajami; Halawi: 133-165; al- H a r a kŒ t ; Ibrahim Ali Naim, “Imam Musa al-Sadr,” Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Arizona, 1998; A. R. Norton. “Musa al-Sadr," in Pioneers o f Isla mic R e v iv a l , ed. Ali Rahnema (London: Zed Books, 1994); Norton, A m a l a n d t h e S h i a : Str ug gle f o r t h e S o u l o f L e b a n o n (Austin: University of Texas Press), 1987; Sicking and Khairallah: 97-130; Salim Nasr, AMobilisation Communautaire et Sym bolique Religieuse: L=Imam Sadr et Les Chi>ites du Liban (1970-1975) in R a d i c a l is m e s I s la m i q u e s , vol. 1, ed. Oliver Carré (Paris: L=Harmattan, 1985): 119-159. 80. Ajami: 42. 81. Halawi: 125; Norton, “Musa al-Sadr”: 195. 82. Ajami: 220. 83. Ajami: 37. 84. See Mallat, T h e R e n e w a l o f Isla mic L a w (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), which covers Baqer al-Sader’s role in the Shi‘a opposition to the Iraqi Baathist state. While al-Sadr followed Baqer’s political activity, it would be Shams al-Din who would pick up on Baqer’s arguments and categories. 85. See Ajami: 168-174, Naim: 80-84. 86. Ajami does not adequately explain al-Sadr’s role in the formation of A m a l . He Claims that al-Sadr got himself involved in something that he could not control, or that he was powerless to stop the events which overtook him are unsatisfactory. (See Ajami, pp. 167-173.) Salim Nasr provides a m uch more detailed explanation of A m a l ’s violence and al-Sadr’s participation. The justification for A m a l ’s use of violence is based upon its motives to 1) defend the South against Israeli aggression, and 2) take offensive action against unjust social issues in the South. See Nasr: 147-154. 87. Al-Sadr, M i jm ‘ a wŒ t min k h a t. Œ b Œ t wa m a h. Œ d. irŒ t wa b a y Œ n Œ t: P X V W-P X U U , 1 October 1969; M i n b a r wa m ih. rŒ b , (Beirut: Dar al-Hawra, 1987): 218-223; al-M uh ar ir , 10 September 1969. A l- M uh. a r¥r , 10 September 1969. Al-Sadr makes reference to Dar al-Taqrib founded by Muhammad Taqi Qommi in 1947. See Enayat: 50. 88. Halawi: 137.

246

NOTES

89. S.J. Samartha and J.B. Taylor, eds., Ch istian -M us lim D i a l o g u e : Papers P r e se n t e d a t t h e B r o u m a n a C o n s u lt a ti o n , 1 2 - 1 8 J u l y , 1 9 7 2 , (Geneva: W.C.C., 1973). It is important to note that Subhi Salih was present at this meeting as well although his contribution is not published. 90. Al-Sadr, al-IslŒ m (Beirut: Dar al-T‘aruf, 1985): 10-18. 91. Mallat: 16. Mallat, in Shi‘i T h o u g h t , gives a brief biography of Mughniyya as well as his involvement in the Iranian political debate: 16-24. Certainly there is a great deal of research to be done on Mughniyya and his impact on the Lebanese landscape. 92. Farah Muhammad Muussa, a l - S h a y k h M u h. a m m a d M a h d ¥ S h am s al-D ¥n (Beirut: Dar al-Hadi, 1993): 36-37. See also Joseph Sokhn, “Cheikh Mohammad Medhi Chamseddine,” H o r i zo n s Lib an ais , vol. 1 (Beirut: n.p., n.d.); T h e Mid dle East Repo rter, W e e k ly , 20 May, 1989: 8-9; I.K.A. Howard, forward to T h e R i si n g o f A l H u s a y n : I ts I m p a c t o n t h e C o n s c i o u s n ess o f Mu slim So cie ty , by Muhammad Mahdi Shams al-Din (Great Britain: Muhammadi Trust, 1985). 93. Muussa: 38. 94. Shams al-Din’s thought was influenced by Muhammad Baqer al-Sadr’s work in Iraq. Baqer al-Sadr saw the Iraqi context as the people versus the state; the faithful versus the comm unists; the oppressed versus the oppressor. Shams al-Din would pick up on Baqer al-Sadr’s language of equality, justice and the fight against exploitation. This would be transferred in the Lebanese context to the dominant Maronite privileges and to the occupation of the South by Israel. See Chibli Mallat, T h e R e n e w a l o f Isla mic L a w . 95. Muussa: 49. 96. Muussa: 49-51. 97. Martin Kramer, “The Oracle of Hizbullah,” in R. Scott Appleby, ed., S p o k e s m e n f o r t h e D e s p is e d : Funda men talist Leade rs o f t h e Mid dle East (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997): 83-181; Norton, A m a l a n d t h e Sh ia : 101f. The debate over Fadlallah’s relationship with Hizb’allah is adequately covered in Ranstorp, H i z b ’A l la h : 37-42. Mallat, in S hi’i T h o u g h t , argues, contrary to Kramer, that Fadlallah seeks to remain aloof from political involvement: 28-30. 98. M o n d a y M o r n i n g , 8-14 December 1986: 17-19. A social survey done by Theodor Hanf between 1984 to 1987 shows that both al-Sadr and Fadlallah maintained as much support, if not more, than Shams al-Din throughout the war. See Hanf: 496.

NOTES

247

Chapter 6. Objections to the Formula of the Confessional State 1. For a review of the regional context affecting Lebanon prior to the war see Hanf: 142-178; and Cobban: 100-108. For a discussion of the economic situation within Lebanon see Johnson, Class a n d C l ie n t In Be iru t: T h e S u n n i Mu slim Co mm un ity a n d t h e Leban ese Sta te 1 8 4 0 - 1 9 8 5 (London: Ithaca Press. 1986): 159-166. 2. Wade R. Goria, So ve reig nty a n d Lea de rsh ip in L e b a n o n 1 9 4 3 - 1 9 7 6 (London: Ithaca Press, 1985). Walid Khalidi, C o n f l ic t a n d V io l e n c e in L e b a n o n (Harvard: Center for International Affairs, Harvard University, 1979). For one of the latest studies using very good Lebanese political sources see Latif Abul-Husn, T h e Leban ese Co nflic t: L o o k in g Inward (London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1998). 3. Kamal Salibi, C r o s sr o a d s to Civ il W a r: L e b a n o n 1 9 5 8 - 1 9 7 6 (Lebanon: Caravan Books, 1976): 94. 4. Johnson, Class

a n d C l ie n t :

175.

5. For a review of the clashes between the Palestinians and the Lebanese army leading up to the Sidon riots see Hanf: 160-175. 6.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

26 May-1 June 1975: 13.

7. M o n d a y M o r n i n g , 9-15 June 1975: 29. Junblatt’s statement is a complete contradiction to his overall political strategy of working toward the secularization of all government posts. For al-Sadr’s statements see; M o n d a y M o r n i n g , 9-15 June 1975: 32-35; L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r , 19 July 1975: 1, 14. 8. Salibi, C r o s sr o a d s : 117-118. 9. Khalid, al-M us lim u- n

f¥ L u b nŒ n

(Beirut: Dar al-Kindi, 1978): 99.

10. Khalid: 100. 11. Khalid: 101. 12. Khalid: 111. 13. For further reading on legal parameters on war according to Islamic Law see Majid Khadduri, W a r a n d P e a c e in t h e L a w o f I s la m .

248

NOTES

14. Khalid: 111. See Muhammad Muhsin Khan, ed. and trans., T h e T r a n sl a ti o n o f t h e M e a n i n g o f Sa hih a l -B u k h a r¥: Arabic-En glish , vol. 4 (New Delhi: Kitab Bhavan, 1983): 50. 15. Khalid: 103. 16. Khalid: 103. 17. See “‘Imad al-Din Muh. ammad b. Muh. ammad al-Khatib al-Is. fahani,” author given.

E I2,

no

18. Khalid: 108. The text does not give a citation for al-Isfahani. 19.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

20.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

21.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

23-29 June 1975: 27-28.

19 November 1975: 4. See also Khalid: 301. 5-11 June 1976: 26.

22. See Hanf: 187-210. 23.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

18 May 1975: 3.

24. Hanf: 208. It is important to underline that the Maronite movement did not reflect the complete “Christian” understanding of the conflict. As noted above, many Greek Orthodox and Greek Catholics sided with the Lebanese Left, or part of the Nationalist organizations. This reflects the truism that the conflict was not merely divided by religious issues. 25. L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r , 7 October 1975: 7. Khalid’s statement here is not one borne out of pragmatic necessity to find an end to the conflict. He had long championed the call for establishing a moral society. In a sermon during Eid al-Adha in 1969 K halid railed against the moral problems of Lebanon. He stated that it was egoism and selfinterest that was at the heart of the problems of Lebanon that prohibited a united nation. See L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r , 27 February 1969: 3. In 1981 he reiterated this point by arguing that the purpose of the s h a r ¥ ‘a is to establish the moral behavior of the individual and the community. See Lettre p o u r u n e i n it ia t io n a L ’ Is la m , trans. Mohammad Radouan Hassan (Tripoli: Dar al-Fatwa. 1983): 28-31. 26. Khalid: 168-169. 27.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,7

October 1975: 7.

28.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

23-29 June 1975: 27.

NOTES 29.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

249

26 March - 1 April 1984: 41.

30. See the Islamic Shi‘a Council’s sixteen demands to President Helou regarding the state of the south. A l -H a y Œ t , 2 February 1974: 2; Sicking and Khairallah: 103-104. For al-Sadr’s speech at his reelection as the president of the Supreme Shi’a Council see L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r , 2 April 1975: 2. 31. Naim: 183-184;

al- H. a r a kΠt :

32.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

33.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

34.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

40-41.

41. 28 April: 3; 30 April: 1; 4 May 1975: 1. 9-15 June 1975: 32-33.

35. "Declaration of Summit of Muslim and Christian Religious Leaders, State and Ideology” : 66

“Religion,

36. For example, see al-Sadr’s famous 14 March 1974 speech in Baalbeck; a l -N a h Œ r, a l -S a fŒ ’ , 18 March 1974:12. See also A.R. d Norton, “Musa al-Sadr”: 202. 37. Naim: 186. 38. Charles Malik, ed. G o d a n d M a n in Con tempo rary Isla mic T h o u g h t (Beirut: Centenial Publishing, 1972): 82. Includes both the Arabic text of al-Sadr’s paper, “Islam and the Dignity of Man” and a synopsis in English. 39. M o n d a y M o r n i n g , 9-15 June 1975: 35. For a deeper analysis of al-Sadr’s thought in this area see “Islam and the Dignity of Man,” in G o d a n d M a n in Con tempo rary Isla mic T h o u g h t : 43-57. 40. See a l -N a h Œ r , June 27- July 2. 41.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

42.

A l -A n wΠr ,

43.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

41.

28 June 1975 as cited in Halawi: 206. 42; Naim: 184-185.

44. Naim: 188. 45. Naim: 188-189. Naim does not give a citation for this Hadith. 46. A good example of this is Salih’s participation in a discussion over the position of “free press” in Lebanon in March of 1976. See a l -A n wŒ r , 3 March 1976: 5.

250

NOTES

47. Subhi Salih, Répo nse d e L ’ Is la m a u x De fis d e Notre T e m p s , trans. François Harfouche (Beirut: Arabelle, 1979): 27. 48. Salih, al-IslŒ m

wa m u s t a q b a l al- h. a d. Πr a h

49.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

50.

L’Orient L’Jour,

(Beirut: Dar al-Shura, 1976): 7.

27 February 1969: 3.

24 May 1976: 4.

51. Salih, al-IslΠm : 13. 52. Hanf: 425. 53. Salih, al-IslΠm : 291. 54. Salih, al-IslΠm : 295. 55.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

27 February 1969: 3.

56. Muhammad Mahdi Shams al-Din, B a y n al-jŒ h i li y y a al-Mu’assasah al-Dawliyya lil-Darasat wa al-Nashar, 1975). 57. See Chibli Mallat, T h e R e n e w a l o f Isla mic Press, 1993.

L a w.

wa ’l-IslŒ m

(Beirut:

Cambridge: Cambridge University

58. Shams al-Din: 16. 59. Shams al-Din: 9. 60. Shams al-Din: 303. 61. Hanf: 114-118. As early as 1957 the Cold War took hold of Lebanon and provided a “surrogate battlefield” between the ideologies of Western Capitalism and Eastern Communism. President Chamoun of Lebanon accepted the Am erican Eisenhower Doctrine, risking a direct confrontation with President Nasser of Egypt. In 1958 Nasser announced the formation of the United Arab Republic between Egypt and Syria. This was soon followed by the Ba=ath party overthrow of the Hashimite kingdom of Iraq. Tensions mounted in Lebanon as Chamoun and the US feared that Lebanon would be drawn into a larger socialist Arab state. In May 1958 full-scale civil war broke out. On July 14 Chamoun appealed to the US for assistance. The day after the Iraqi revolution US marines landed in Beirut. Although the country was brought under control and the crisis quelled under the leadership of the new president, Fuad Shihab, the ideological rift of Lebanon was set. The problems of identity surfaced once again. Regarding the Cold War and the 1958 civil war see George A. Fawaz, “The Lebanese Crisis of 1958,” B e ir u t R e v i e w 5 (1993), pp. 88-113;

NOTES

251

Arnold Hottinger, “Zu=ama and the Parties in the Lebanese Crisis of 1958,” Mid dle East J o u r n a l 15 (1961): 127-140; Malcolm Kerr, “Lebanese Views on the 1958 Crisis,” Mid dle East J o u r n a l 15 (1961): 211-217; Kamal Salibi, “Lebanon under Fuad Chehab 1958-1964,” Mid dle East S t u d i e s, 2 (1966): 63-86. 62. For the Iraqi response to socialism see Hanna Batatu, “Shi’i Organizations in Iraq: Al-Da’wah al-Islamiyah and al-Mujahidin,” in eds., Juan R. I. Cole and Nikke R. Keddie, Shi’ism a n d S o c i a l Protest (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986): 179-200. 63. For a review of the formation of communist or socialist political parties in Lebanon see Rondot; and Suleiman: 81-174. 64. Norton,

A m a l a n d t h e Shi‘a :

38.

65. Hudson: 188. 66. See Hanf: 187-189. 67. Shams al-Din: 303. Shams al-Din critiques Iqbal’s work from T h e R e c o n s tr u c ti o n o f R e li g io u s T h o u g h t in I s la m (Lahore, 1944). 68. Shams al-Din’s first major work, Niz Œ m a l - h u k m wa ’l-id Œ r a h f¥ ’l-IslŒ m , published in 1955, is devoted to the differences between the Sunni and Shi‘a in the organization of government and the particular Shi‘a response to Sunni communal dominance. We will review this below. See also Chibli Mallat, Shi‘a T h o u g h t for a critique. 69. Sokhn: 119-120. 70. Hanf: 214-215. 71. This old debate raged during the 1932 presidential elections when Muhammad al-Jisr was a frontrunner before the French canceled the election. See Meir Zamir, Leba non ’s Que st . 72. Hanf: 216-217. 73. L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r , 30 January 1976: 1. For the Arabic minutes of this meeting see Khalid: 221-227. 74. That is the President, Prime Minister, and Speaker of the Chamber of Deputies. 75.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

31 January 1976: 4. See also Khalidi: 52.

76. See Kamal S. Salibi, C r o s sr o a d s : 163-164.

252

NOTES

77. See Salibi: 163-164; and Khalidi, C o n f l ic t : 189-191. 78. See L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r , 5 September 1976: 1,4; 15 September 1976: 1, 4. 79. 80.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

17 January 1976: 1,4.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

a l -A n wΠr ,

21 February 1976: 1,4. The full Arabic texts are found in 21 February 1976: 3, 8; Khalid, al-M us lim u- n : 234-240.

81. Khalid: 236. 82.

Fahrasa ,

Legislative Decree 18, 13 February, pp. 174-190. Rabbath: 111-115.

83. It seems that Khalid was content to keep the T riumvirate intact. However, by 1984 he was calling for a complete abolition of p o l it ic a l confessiona lism even for the Presidency. As has already been argued in the Introduction, the Israeli invasion of 1982 and the subsequent May 17 Agreement between President Amin Gemayel and Israel completely changed the dynamics of the war. See M o n d a y M o r n i n g , 26 March 1 April 1984: 40. 84. See Hanf: 218-219. 85.

L’O rien t, L ’ Jo u r ,

11 May 1976: 1.

86.

Monday Morning,

87. 88.

A l -N a h Πr ,

88.

R e li g io n , Sta te a n d I d e o lo g y :

89.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

9-15 June 1975: 33.

28 November 1975: 3;

al- H. a r a kΠt :

42-43;

R e li g io n , Sta te a n d I d e o lo g y :

88.

31 January 1976: 4.

90. Ajami: 172. See also Hanf: 222-224. 91. Naim: 189. 92. Naim: 190. 93. Naim: 191. 94. Al-Sadr, M ijm u- ‘Œ t min al-Nahayah, n.d.), #107: 1

k h a t. Πb Πt wa m a h. Πd. i y yΠt wa b Πy Πn Πt, 1 9 6 6 - 1 9 7 8

(Beirut:

NOTES

253

95. Salih, al-IslŒ m : 257. 96. Salih, al-IslŒ m : 257. 97. Salih, al-IslŒ m : 257. Such an Islamic principle is contrary to the thought and practice of Christian evangelism says Salih. 98. Salih, al-IslŒ m : 258. 99. Salih, Répo nse

d e L ’ Is la m :

27.

100. Salih, Répo nse : 30. See also al-IslŒ m : 291. 101. Salih, Répo nse : 31. 102.

L ’ O r ie n t L’Jour,

24 May 1976: 4.

103. Shams al-Din, Dir Œ sŒ t wa ma wq if f¥ a l - fi k r w a ’ l-s ¥ y Œ s a h w a ’ l -m u j ta m a ’ (Beirut: alMassah al-Jamiyah al-Dirasat wa al-Nashr wa al-Tawzi‘, 1990): 333-334. 104. Muhammad Mahdi Shams al-Din, N iz. Œ m al- h. u k m wa ’l-id Œ ra f¥ al-IslŒ m , 4 th ed. (Beirut: al-Mu‘ssah al-Dawliyya al-Darasat wa al-Nashar, 1995). See also Mallat, Shi’i T h o u g h t : 39-40. 105. Nizar Hamzeh, "Lebanon's Hizballah: From Islamic Revolution to P arliamentary Accommodation," Third Wo rld Qu ar terly 14, no. 2 (1993): 321-337; May ChartouniDubarry, “Hizb’allah: From Militia to Political Party,” in eds. Rosemary Hollis and Nadim Shehadi, L e b a n o n o n Ho ld (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs and the Centre for Lebanese Studies, Oxford, 1996). 106. Shams al-Din: 13. 107. Al-Shahristani’s kit Œ b

a l -m i la l wa’l n ih. a l

in Shams al-Din: 7.

108. Shams al-Din: 391-397. 109. Shams al-Din: 392. See also Tarek Mitri, “The Implementation of Islamic Law: The Debate Between Christians and Muslims ,” in ed. Gé Spellmen, M u slim s a n d C h r is ti a n s in E u r o p e : B r e a k in g N e w G r o u n d (Kampen: Uitgeverij Kok, 1993): 63. 110. Shams al-Din: 415. 111. Shams al-Din,

Dir ΠsΠt :

332-343.

254

NOTES

112. Shams al-Din, Dir Œs Œ t: 333. He cites this dialogue in a footnote. One of the main points of Salih’s address in the dialogue noted by Shams al-Din is that “The foundations of the association between co-religionists is in beliefs and the union of citizenship between them in all of civil life.@ 113. Hadith from al-Bukhari in Khan, vol. IV:109. 114. Shams al-Din: 336-337. 115. Shams al-Din: 338-339. 116.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

11 May 1976: 1.

117. See Hanf: 220-226. 118. Youssef M. Choueiri, A r a b History

a n d t h e Na tion -Sta te :

203.

Chapter 7. “Objections of Principle” to the Confessional State 1. Hanf: 513. 2. Suleiman,

P o li ti c a l P a r ti e s in L e b a n o n :

14. See also Antonius: 53-54.

3. Suleiman: 18-19, 108; and Rondot: 118. 4. A l -N a h Œ r 2 June 1945 as cited in Rondot: 118. Rondot’s work was written following the secularist debates of 1945 and is an excellent resource for understanding the issues surrounding personal and communal status laws. 5. See Iliya Harik, “The Maronite Church and Political Change in Lebanon,” in Leonard Binder, P o l it ic s in L e b a n o n (New York: Wily & Sons, Inc. 1966): 31-56. 6. See Hudson: 108-116; Johnson, Class 7. Suleiman: 124. 8. Suleiman: 81.

a n d C l ie n t :

123. Contra Salibi, C r o s sr o a d s .

NOTES

255

9. Suleiman: 220-223. After the war, however, Junblatt did support the N a t io n a l P a c t as a way to help the c ount ry settle its disputes. This points to Junblatt’s political pragmatism. 10. For the Sunni response to Junblatt’s proposals see “Declaration of the Council of Ulama in Lebanon on Secularism,” a l -A n wŒ r 25 March 1976: 3. This declaration will be dealt with below. 11. Al-Quw atli’s statement has already been quoted in the Introduction. The statement appeared in a l -S a f¥r , 18 August 1975 and a l -A m a l 9 October 1975. 12. A l -N a h Œ r 21 November 1975: 3; R e li g io n , Sta te a n d I d e o lo g y : 84-85. For more on the Islamic Association of Maqasid Graduates see Johnson, “Factional Politics”: 5675. 13. ”Declaration of the Council of Ulama in Lebanon on Secularism,” A l -A n wŒ r 25 March 1975: 3, as in Isla mic L a w a n d C h a n g e s in A r a b So cie ty 1 9 7 5 , vol. 3 (Beirut: Dar el-Mashreq, 1976): 86. See also the review of the meeting of the u le m a in a l -S a f¥r 25 March 1976. 14.

Isla mic L a w :

88.

15.

Isla mic L a w :

88-89.

16. Isla mic L a w : 89, 91. See Fuad Khuri’s “Secularization and ‘Ulama’ Networks,” in ed. Halim Barakat, Toward a Viab le L e b a n o n (London: Helm Croom, 1988): 71. He argues that Sunni Islam has always adapted itself to the ideology of “state structures, centralized authorities and ruling regimes. The Sunni law schools “have provided, and will continue to provide, ways for both states and citizens to follow the dictates of divine law while seeking to serve political interests” (73). See also Khuri, I ma m s a n d Emirs . 17. Hanf:135-136. Hanf has an extensive review of this issue but his orgainzation of the m aterial listed above is unclear and out of historical order. 18. Hanf’s sociological surveys, of 1981, 1984, 1986 and 1987, form the basis of his book. His findings show that although the majority of respondents from each confession agree that “one should not mix religion and politics,” not all agreed that this meant a “completely secular state and society” (513). “In all communities support was significantly greater for the “secularization of state and society” than for a “secular community.” The explanation may live in the formulation. The description of the secular community is far more concrete, elaborating on what secularization of state and society could entail: persons would have the right to withdraw from their religious community, that is, contract civil marriages and seek non-com munal political representation. The more concrete the secularization, the fewer the secularists” (515).

256

NOTES

19. Hilal Khashan, “The Lebanese State: Lebanese Unity and the Sunni Muslim Position,” I n te r n a ti o n a l S o c i o lo g y 7, no. 1 (1992): 85-97; Khashan, “The Political Values of Lebanese Maronite College Students,” J o u r n a l o f C o n f l ic t R e s o lu t io n 34, no. 4 (1990): 723-744; and L e rô le d e l ’é v ê q u e d a n s la vie p u b l iq u e a u L ib a n (Beirut: Centre de Sociologie Religiuse, 1974). 20. Kahlid: 326. 21. Khalid: 327. 22. Khalid, al-M us lim ¥n

f¥ L u b nŒ n :

299-304.

23. Khalid: 453. 24. Khalid: 454. 25.

26 March - 1 April, 1984: 38.

Monday Morning

26. Khalid, Ma wq if al-IslŒ m min al-wa t. a n i y y a wa ’ l- Ya h u d i y y a wa ’ l- N as. rŒ n i y y a (Beirut: Ma’had al-Inma’ al-‘Arabi, 1986): 491. 27. Khalid: 8. 28. Khalid: 729-750. 29. Ajami: 178. 30.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

24 May 1976: 4.

31. For more on the Movem ent of the Disinherited” see Augustus Richard Norton, A m a l a n d t h e Sh ia : 47ff; Naim: 80-86; V is io n a n d R e v is io n in A r a b So cie ty : 115-128. Ajami is curiously silent on the “Movement,” noting only the formation of A m a l [afw Œ j a l -m u q Œ w am a a l - lu b n a n i y y a ]: 168ff. 32. Al-Sadr, M ijm u- ‘Œ t min al-Nahayah, n.d.), #108: 6.

k h a t. Πb Πt wa m a h. Πd. i y yΠt wa b Πy Πn Πt, 1 9 6 6 - 1 9 78

(Beirut:

33. Naim: 202-203. 34. From a message given by al-Sadr after “Operation Litani,” 31 March 1978, al-Sadr, M ijm u- ‘Œ t , #146: 2. 35. Naim: 211 36.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

26 April - 2 May 1976: 8-9.

NOTES

257

37. M o n d a y M o r n i n g : 9. Gallicanism was a French movement which sought ecclesiastical independence from Rome. The Concordat of 1516 gave the French king the right to appoint French Bishops. However, by 1682, the Four Gallican Articles transferred this ecclesiastical power to the French clergy. These Articles were renounced by the Roman Pope and King Louis XIV, but continued to be taught in educational institutions up until 1789. 38. Matthew 22:21. 39. M o n d a y M o r n i n g : 9. See Fuad Khuri”s comments against this argument in “Secularization and ‘Ulama Networks Among Sunni and Shi‘a Religious Officials,” in Barakat:71. 40.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g:

9.

41. Ma‘oz, “Communal Conflicts”: 91-105. Fawaz, A n O c c a s io n f o r W a r , gives a much more comprehensive explanation. She states that the 1860 conflict must be understood in the context of “center-region dynamic and the communal balance in political institutions within regions” (5). 42. See Fawaz: 208. 43.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g:

9.

44. Shams al-Din, ‘Alm Œ n i y y a , 3rd ed. (Beirut: al-M’ussata al-Dawliyya al-Dirisat wa al-Nashar, 1996). 45. See:145-152. For a very good review of these “sweeping generalizations” regarding the political thought of Christianity see Hugh Goddard, “Some Reflections on Christian and Islamic Political Thought,” I s la m a n d Ch risti an-Mu slim R e la t io n s 1, no. 1 (1990): 25-43. 46. Shams al-Din: 165. 47. Shams al-Din: 186, 201. 48. Shams al-Din: 188. 49. Shams al-Din: 193. 50. Shams al-Din: 171. 51. See 146 for his review of Hobbes’ thought. 52. Shams al-Din: 205-206.

258

NOTES

53. See the classical critique on the apostasy law, Samuel Zwemer, T h e L a w o f Apostasy in I s la m (Marshall Brothers, 1924). 54. Shams al-Din: 202. 55. Shams al-Din: 213. 56. Shams al-Din: 213. 57. Shams al-Din,

‘Alm Œ n y y a :

246ff; and

Dir ΠsΠt ,vol.

2: 339-351.

58. For information on the Iranian Revolution see Shaul Bakhash, “Islam and Social Justice,” in ed. Martin Kramer, S h i’ is m , R e s i st a n c e , a n d R e v o lu t io n (Boulder, Col.: Westview Press, 1987): 95-116; Anoushiravan Ehteshami, A f te r Kh om ein i: T h e I r a n ia n S e c o n d Re pu bli c (London: Routledge , 1995); Fred Halliday, I s la m a n d t h e My th o f C o n f ro n t a ti o n (London: I.B. Tauris, 1996): 42-75; eds. Cole and Keddie, Shi’ism a n d S o c i a l Protest ; Roy Mottahadedeh, T h e Ma ntle o f t h e P r o p h e t (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1985); Nikki R. Keddie, ed., R e li g io n a n d P o l it ic s in I r a n (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983); Aschar Schirazi, T h e C o n s ti tu t io n o f I r a n , trans. John O’Kane (London: I.B. Tauris, 1997). 59. See Mallat for the relationship between Najaf and Jabal ‘Amil, as well as his “Religious Militancy in contemporary Iraq: Muhammad Baqer as-Sadr and the SunniShia Paradigm,” Third Wo rld Qu ar terly 10, no.2 (1988): 699-729. 60.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

2 February 1979: 3 and 14 February 1979: 10.

61.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

14 February 1979: 10.

62.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

14 February 1979: 10.

63. I am using Shephard’s terminology of Neo-Traditionalist. “The neo-traditionalist accepts the need for modern technology, but is likely to be more selective than the modern types in appropriating it . . . He is also likely to have internalized other Western ideas and values somewhat less. . . . The neo-traditionalist is likely to value the depth and complexity of the past Islamic tradition as represented by the learning of the u lama and the wisdom of the Sufi sheiks more than the more modern types.” Shepherd, “Islam and Ideology: 319-320. 64.

R e li g io n , Sta te a n d I d e o lo g y :

65. See Jaber,

H e z b o ll a h ;

66. Norton, A m a l a n d the proclamation.)

175.

Kramer, T h e M o r a l Lo gic

t h e Sh ia :

o f H i z b o ll a h ;

Ranstorp, H i z ’b a l la h .

88; Hanf: 316. (Hanf cites April 1987 as the date for

NOTES

259

67. See Norton: 88ff. 68. See Kramer: 163. 69. Khuri, I ma m s a n d Emirs : 124-125. Khuri states that ta‘bi’a , or “mobilization” is understood as action against the state while t a q iy y a allows for adjustment to whatever regime is in power. 70. See Hamzeh, “Lebanon’s Hizbullah: 321-337. 71. William Harris, F a c e s o f L e b a n o n (Princeton: Markus Wiener Pub., 1997): 83-84. 72.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

2 November 1979: 1.

73.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

25 March 1984: 3.

74.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

25 March 1984: 3.

75. Khalid, M a s Œ r a l -d a ‘ w a h al-IslŒ m i y y a f¥ L u b nŒ n (Beirut: Dar al-Da‘waah, 1980). 76. Khalid: 5ff. 77. Khalid: 80. 78. Khalid: 81. 79. Khalid: 83-84. 80. Khalid: 83. 81. Khalid, Lettre P o u r U n e

I n it ia t io n a l ’I s la m :

26-27.

82. Khalid: 13-14. 83. Khalid, Ma wq if : 779-780. 84. Khalid: 776. 85. Khalid: 777. 86. The ruling c u i u s reg io e i u s relig io is the result of the Peace of Westphalia, 1648. Hottinger states that this formula can be understood in Lebanon as co mm un itatis relig io e t r e g i [the religious community and its rule]. See Hottinger: 85.

260

NOTES

87. Khalid: 486, 488, 497. 88. Khalid: 492-493. 89. Khalid: 489. 90. Peter Theroux, T h e S t ra n g e D i s a p p e a r a n c e o f Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1987): 60 as in Naim: 65. 91.

Al-Shir‘a :

80.

92.

Al-Shir‘a :

80.

I m a m Musa a l -S a d r

(London:

93. See Sicking and Khairallah: 97-130. 94.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

81.

95.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

79-80.

96.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

81.

97. See Hanf: 315-318. 98.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

83-84.

99.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

84.

100. Al- H. a r a kŒ t : 85-86. Ajami makes a different claim regarding al-Sadr’s preference for the Shi‘a m a r ja ‘ a l -t a q l¥ d . Ajami claims that following Muhsin al-Hakim’s death in 1970, al-Sadr pledged his allegiance to al-Kho’i, his former teacher, as the m a r ja ‘ (Ajam i: 194). At issue is the interpretation of the role of the jurists and their authority within the political realm. al-Sadr comes from a long line of religious scholars who advocated activism in the political realm, while the Lebanese u le m a from Jabal Am il traditionally refrained from being involved in politics, including ‘Abd al-Husain Sharaf al-Din, the m a r ja ‘ of the Lebanese Shi‘a, and Muhammad Jawad Mughniyya, al-Sadr’s contemporary and rival. al-Sadr was criticized early in his career in Lebanon for interfering in politics. However, that involvem ent in politics is a separate issue from arguing for the implementation of the Islamic state and certainly the wilŒ y a t a l -f a q ¥ h of Khomeini. Al-Sadr definitely follows in the tradition of Jabal Amil of the u le m a , refusing to claim leadership of the state. For more on the Shi‘a debate over the Islamic state see Ajami: 191-198; Ayubi, P o li ti c a l I s la m : 146-155; and Mallat: 21-25. 101.

Le Monde,

23 August 1978.

102.

Le Monde,

23 August 1978.

NOTES

261

103. See Hamid Algar, “The Oppositional Role of the Ulama in Twentieth-century Iran,” in Keddie, Scho lars, Saints, a n d Su fis : 254. 104. Subhi Salih forward to Ibn Qayyam al-Jawziyya, (Damascus: University of D amascus, 1980): xvi.

A h. k Πm a h l a l- dh im m a ,

2nd ed.,

105. Salih: ii. 106. Salih: i. 107. Salih: iii. 108. Salih, al-IslΠm

wa m u s t a q b a l al- h. a d. Πr a h :

13.

109. Salih, al-Niz. Œm al-IslŒmiyya : 9. 110. Salih: 7. 111. Salih: 12. See also Ahmad Hasan, T h e D o c t ri n e o f I jm a ‘ in I sla m : A S t u d y o f t h e J u r d ic a l Prin cip le o f C o n s e n s u s (Islamabad: Islamic Research Institute, 1991). 112. Salih: 13. See Patricia Crone, G o d Press, 1986).

’s C a l ip h

113.

M o n d a y M o r n i n g,

114.

Monday Morning,

30 June - 6 July 1980: 21.

115.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

20 April 1980: 3.

(Cambridge: Cambridge University

7-13 January 1980: 32.

116. Ajami: 142; Halawi: 171ff; Nasr: 141-147; Sicking and Khairallah: 115-117. 117. Ajami: 142. 118.

L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r ,

1 December 1979: 1.

119. The first work was A n sŒ r a l -H u s a y n : Dir Œ sa ‘ a n S h u h a d Œ ’ Thawr a t a l-Husa yn-a l -RijŒ l w a - a l- D a lŒ lŒ t (Beirut, 1975.). The second was T h a w ra t a l -H u s a y n : Z u ru- f u h Œ al-I jtimŒ ‘ y y a wa -Ath Œ r u hŒ a l -I n sŒ n i y y a (Beirut, 1977). The third was T h a w ra t a l - H u s a y n f¥ a l- wi jd Œ n a l -s h a b¥ (Beirut, 1980). The text used here is Shams al-Din, T h e R i si n g o f Al Husayn. 120. Shams al-Din: 195.

262

NOTES

121. Shams al-Din: 207. 122. Khuri, I ma m s a n d

Emirs :

128-129; see also Mallat: 34.

123. See Mallat: 40; Shams al-Din, Dir ΠsΠt : 339-351; Monday Morning, 4-10 November 1985: 18-19; and N iz. Πm al- h. u k m : 415f. 124. Shams al-Din, N iz. Πm

al- h. u k m :

13.

125. Shams al-Din: 410-415. 126. Shams al-Din: 410. 127. Shams al-Din: 417. Other Lebanese scholars who question Khomeini’s interpretation were Mughniyya and Fadlallah. See Mallat, Shi’i T h o u g h t : 23-25, and 3537, respectively. 128. Shams al-Din: 416, 418. 129. Shams al Din: 418. 130.

Monday Morning,

19-24 March 1984: 45.

131. Pam phlet privately published by Shams al-Din. See Mallat: 4; and Morning, 18-24 January 1988: 17.

Monday

132. According the an unofficial report by a l -N a h Œ r , 5 Novem ber 1975 the population for the following confessions were given: Shi‘a - 970,000; Sunni - 690,000; Maronite - 496,000; Druze - 348,000; Greek Orthodox - 230,000; Catholic - 213,000. See also Meir Zamir, “Small or Greater Lebanon - The Squaring of a Circle?” J e r u s a le m Qu ar terly 23 (1982): 34-53. 133.

T h e Mid dle East Repo rter, Wee kly E d i ti o n ,

20 May 1989: 8-9.

Conclusion 1. Shams al-Din,

‘Alm Œ n i y y a :

195ff.

2. See a l -A n wŒ r, 21 February 1976: 3, 8. 3. Although the government of France was by nature completely secularized, recent studies show that French officials within Lebanon and Syria did not agree over the issues of supporting secular law there. (See Zamir, Leba non ’s Que st .) Throughout the

NOTES

263

nineteenth century focus of French foreign policy in Lebanon included protection of Christian minorities. This policy was reversed after the creation of Grand Liban, however, which saw the attempt to introduce secular civil laws. This was seen by the Muslim community as a Christian attempt to disparage the s h a r¥‘a . So although French policy itself sought the secularization of it’s Mandatory territories, its rule came to be seen by the Muslim com munity as the imperialism of the “Christian” West. 4. Khuri,

I ma m s a n d Emirs :

23.

5. Khuri: 124-125. 6. Norton, A m a l a n d

t h e Shi‘a :

167-187.

7. See Nizar Hamzeh, "Lebanon's

H i z b a ll a h ”:

321-337.

8. Al-Sadr, al-IslΠm :17. 9. Al-Sadr, M i n b a r : 221. See also Naim: 167, 198. 10. Shams al-Din,

‘Alm Œ n i y y a :

192.

11. See Hottinger: 85. 12. See the review of Khalid’s material in George N. N ahas, ed., a l -M a s ¥h. i y y a ’l-IslŒ m m a r Œ y a m u t a qŒ ba la (Beirut: University of Balamand, 1997): 51-53.

wa

13. Khalid, Ma wq if : 6. 14. Salih, al-IslŒ m : 295. 15. Salih: 291. 16. Naim: 197-198; Sokhn: 122. 17. For Khalid’s support of President Franjiyeh See L ’ O r ie n t L ’ Jo u r , 19 November 1975: 4. For his support of the elected president Sarkis see L’Orient L’Jour 11 May 1976. See al-Sadr’s k h u t. b a at the election of Elias Sarkis, 10 May 1976 in M ijm u- ‘Œ t ; and al-Isl Œ m : 188. See also Monday Morning 9-15 June 1975: 33. For Shams al-Din and Khalid’s support for the election of Bashir Gamayel see Rosemary Sayigh, T o o M a n y Enem ies: T h e P a le s ti n ia n E x p e r i e n c e in L e b a n o n (London: Zed Books, 1994): 132. 18. See Malat’s discussion of Shams al-Din’s views in the journal, a l -M a n t a la q , in Shi’i T h o u g h t ; and Rabbath, L a Co nq uê te A r a b e s o u s l e s Qua tre P r e m ie r s C a l i fe s (1 1 / 6 3 2 4 0 / 6 6 1 ), vol. 2. Beirut: Librarie Orientale, 1986.

264

NOTES

19. Bernard Lewis provides a very helpful discussion in the problems raised through the changing landscape of the Empire and its impact upon the categories of d a r al-IslΠm and d a r al- h. arb . See Lewis, T h e E m e r g e n c e o f Mod ern T u r k e y . 20. Khalid, Ma wq if : 486. 21.

L’Orient L’Jour,

25 December 1979: 1.

22. Khuri, I ma m s a n d 23. Shams al-Din, 24.

Al- H. a r a kΠt :

Emirs :

27.

‘Alm Œ n i y y a :

202ff.

81.

25. For the changes in the interpretation of classical terms in the Reform period see Lewis, I s la m in History : 337-343. 26. Mitri, “The Implementation of Islamic Law”: 63. 27. Khalid: 486, 488, 497. 28. Hourani, Ara bic 29. Azzam Tamimi, 1993): 55.

T h o u g h t:

233.

P o w e r S h a r in g I sla m ?

(London: Liberty for the Muslim World,

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Index

a l-Ah. bash, 9 ‘Abbasids, 34, 36-40, 44, 47, 51, 62, 198 ‘Abd al-Malik, 39-42, 59, 62; “Arabization program,” 62 Abdu, Muhammad, 147, 181 ‘Abdul Hamid, 90, 91, 163 Abu Hanifa, 44, 49, 53 Abu Yusuf, 28, 31, 37, 46 a h l a l -k i tŒ b , 14, 18, 21, 22, 26-30, 35, 61, 155, 157, 207 a h l al- h. all w a ’ l -‘ a q d , 159, 191 Administrative Council, 79, 81-82, 87, 96 Ali, Muhammad, 64, 67, 68, 86 ‘a l m Œ n i y y a (see secularism) ‘Alawite, 5, 7 A m a l , 129, 132, 133, 135, 144, 177, 184, 185, 188, 189, 244 Arab Nationalism, 1, 4, 67, 90-92, 103-105, 108, 109, 110, 176, 202; Lebanese Nationalism, 92, 109-110; Syrian Nationalism, 91, 103-105 Arslan, Shakib, 91, 121 al-As‘ad, Kam il, 125 ‘ash u- rŒ ’, 188-191 al-As nawi, 32, 56-58, 208 al-Aw za‘i, 43-45 Baqr al-Sad r, Muhammad, 146 Baghdad, 3, 42, 44, 46, 50, 52, 132 al-B aladhu ri, 20, 21, 25, 28-31, 45, 215 Beirut, 44, 77-79, 84, 85, 86, 93, 121, 128-130, 133, 138, 144, 149, 151, 154, 166, 171, Beydou n, Ahmad, 87-88 Byzantine Empire, 4, 18, 28, 34, 35, 44, 52, 55, 56, 60, 158, 204 Capitulations, 69, 78, 97

Civil War of 1840, 70-72, 77 Civil War of 1860, 76-78, 85, 171, 255 Civil War of 1958, 107, 162, 163, 248 Civil War of 1975, 9, 11, 87, 88, 135-147, 153, 159, 163, 194 Chou eiri, Youssef, 88, 91, 109, 160 Churchill, Charles, 66, 69, 77 Citize nship (see also ji n s iy y a ),4, 7, 8, 9, 12, 74, 75, 77, 87-89, 93, 100, 200, 206-208; Lebanese citizenship, 87-89; al-Maqas id Society on, 164; Shams al-D in on, 158, 173, 251 Constitutional Document, 149, 150 Constitution of Medina, 25, 26, 29, 30, 48, 195, 196 Covenant of ‘Um ar, 29-33, 34, 37, 41, 45, 46, 48-50, 51, 56-58, 65, 66, 75, 76, 193, 198, 205 c u i u s reg io e i u s relig io , 182, 199, 204, 207, 257 Dabbas, Charles, 80, 103 Damascus, 20, 23, 31, 32, 35, 4345, 72, 76, 77, 78, 84-86, 90, 108, 117, 148; Treaty of, 31, 32, 45; 1860 massacres, 76-78 d a r a l -‘ a h d , 18 Dar al-Fatwa, 127, 129 d a r al- h. arb , 16, 17, 27, 44, 262 d a r al-IslŒ m , 18, 23, 28, 30, 200 d a r al- S. u h. l , 18 d h im m a , 17-37, 45, 53, 56, 76, 79, 182, 185, 193, 202, 204, 205 al-Din, Sharaf, 132 Druze,4, 5, 54, 65, 66, 68-72, 7678, 81-84, 86, 87, 95, 97, 101, 106, 118, 119, 140, 149, 164, 165, 203, 241; Druze-

282

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

Maronite conflicts, 68-72, 76, 77 Eddé, Emile, 105 Egypt, 19, 32, 41, 50, 52, 56, 6468, 70, 81, 85, 102, 107, 146; Ibrahim Pasha’s invasion, 6468 Fadlalla, Muham mad Husayn, 84, 187, 244 fatwa , 34, 54-56 Franco-Syrian Treaty of 1936, 103104 Franjiyya, Suleiman, 136, 137, 148151, 154, 165; “Constitutional Docum ent,” 149-150 French High Com mis sione r, 92, 93-99, 103, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 161, 194; authority of, 92, 93, 118-119, 122; Henri Gourard, 92, 122; Henri Ponsot, 96, 103, 121 French Mandate of Lebanon, 16, 63, 80, 89, 92-99, 101-105, 109, 111, 120, 161, 168, 194, 195 Fundamentalism, 1, 8, 210, 212 f u q a hŒ ’ , 18, 173, 190, 193 al-G hazali, 49, 54 le G r a n d e L ib a n , 5, 83, 102, 122 Hadith, 20, 23-32, 34, 44-46, 50, 55, 57, 108, 138, 139, 143, 147, 193, 198, 205-207; use by Lebanese u le m a , 138, 139, 143, 147, 193, 198, 206, 207 al-Hakim (Caliph), 63 al-Hakim, Muhsin, 123, 131, 133, 258 h. arb ¥s , 17 H. a r a kŒ t a l- M uh. r u m u- n , 132, 143, 169 Ha tt¥ H u m Œ y u- n , 73-75, 77, 78, 99, 162, 173, 194; Lebanese u le m a use of, 194 Ha tt¥-Û e r¥f o f G ü l h a n e , 73, 77

hijra ,

36

H i z b ’a l la h ,

8, 10, 128, 134, 157, 176-178, 184, 187, 188, 197, 244 h. u b b al-wa t. a n , 951 Ibn Ibn Ibn Ibn

Ishaq, 21, 25, 27, 215 Khaldun, 36, 39 Naqq ash, 23, 24, 43, 55 Taym iyya, 54, 185, 207 ijtihŒ d , 117, 180, 181, 205 al-im Œ m al-ma ‘su- m , 158, 186, 190 Iranian Revolution, 1, 7, 8, 131, 135, 161, 165, 176-192; response of the Lebanese u le m a to, 176-192 Isla mic A m a l , 178, 179, 186, 189, 200 Islam ic Rep ublic of Iran, 1, 187, 202 Islam ic state, 2-4, 6, 7-9, 12, 15, 18, 19, 22, 33, 26, 29, 33-39, 41, 44, 50-52, 55, 59, 61, 109, 110, 125, 148, 151, 152, 158, 159, 162, 168, 169, 177-179, 183-188, 191, 192, 193, 197, 198, 203, 205, 206; classical categories, 19-21, 22, 23, 3033; d h im m ¥s in, 15, 17, 18, 19, 39-57; Khalid on 151, 152, 168, 169, 177, 183, 205; Khom eini on, 125, 191; Lawand on, 108; Lebanese Shi‘a on, 148, 178, 179; Shalaq on, 4, 11, 90; al-Sadr on, 183186, 259; Salih on, 187, 188, 206; Shams al-D in on, 158, 159, 192, 193, 198 Jabal ‘Am il, 85, 139, 178 al-Jahiz, 36, 47-50, 60, 208 Janissaries, 116 al-Jisr, Muhammad, 103, 104, 106, 250 al-Jawziyya, ibn Qayyam, 53; Salih on, 186, 187, 205, 206

INDEX (see also citizenship), 4, 158, 191 ji z y a , 18, 22, 26,27, 33, 46, 49, 53, 61, 74, 76, 216 Junblatt, Kam al, 138, 149, 150, 155, 164-170; on the LNM and PSP, 147; on the N a t io n a l P a c t , 138; on secularism, 150, 164-170 ji n s iy y a

Kabalan, Abdelm ir, 135 Party, 105, 108, 139, 165 39, 40 al-K awak ebi, ‘Abd al-Rahman, 90 Khalid, Hasan 9, 123, 124, 129, 130, 139-142, 148, 149, 151153, 178, 180-183, 196, 197, 199, 200; authority of 123, 124, 148, 152, 160, 167-169, 197; response to the 1975 war, 139-142, 148; response to secularism, 167-169, 177; response to Iran, 178, 180; on a l- dh im m a , 183, 202, 205, 206; on the Islam ic state, 177, 179183 Khaybar, Treaty of, 25-27, 29, 30, 41, 48, 52 Kho’i, Abu al-Qadim, 124, 132, 134, 251 Khome ini, Ruhollah, 7, 178; response of the Lebanese u le m a to , 184-193, 203; response of Mughniyya to, 125 al-Khoury, Bishara, 80, 104 Ka ta’ib k Œ tib ,

Lausanne Conference, 129, 180, 182, 192 Lebanese Constitution; Artic le Seven, 99, 101; Artic le Twelve, 100, 101, 154, 164, 193; Artic le Seventy-Three, 152; Artic le Ninety-Five, 72, 99, 100, 154, 164, 193, 236 Lebanese Forces, 154

283 Lebanese National Movem ent (LNM), 141, 147, 149, 155, 160, 186 Lebanese Triumvirate, 105; Lebanese President, 7, 9, 11, 80, 89, 93, 98, 101, 103, 107, 123, 126, 129, 131, 137, 138, 149, 150, 152, 155, 160, 162, 165, 166, 201, 248, 249; 1976 Presidential election , 136, 138, 152, 153; Charles Dabbas, 80, 98, 103; Cam ile Chamoun, 107, 249; Suleiman Franjiyya, 138, 149, 150, 155, 166, 201; Elias Sarkis, 152, 153, 155, 166; Am in Ge may al, 129, 131, 251; Khalid on, 153; al-Sadr on, 166 Lebanese Prime Minister, 104, 106, 123, 124, 129, 130, 138, 149, 150, 15, 152, 165; Khayer al-Din, 106; Salim al-Hoss, 130; Rashid Kara mi, 138, 144, 149 Lebanese Speaker of the Chamber of Deputies, 80, 105, 106, 125, 126, 152, 165; Kam il alAsad, 125 Legislative Decree No. 18, 96, 122, 124, 125, 126, 152, 172, 182, 195, 197 Maronites, 4-6, 42, 65, 68-72, 76, 76-87, 93, 95, 100, 101, 103, 105, 111, 120, 122, 123, 128, 136, 137, 138, 140, 141, 144, 145, 149, 150, 151, 154, 155, 160, 164, 167, 169, 180, 186, 192, 201, 203; 1860 civil war, 68-72, 77, 78, 172; 1975 civil war, 141, 144, 145, 49, 155, 160 Maronite Church, 72, 82 Maronite Patriarch, 93, 120, 124, 128, 163; Hawayik, 93, 163; Khoreish, 128, 129, 243

284

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

m a s. la h a ,

54 al-Maqas id Society, 164, 165, 168 m a r ja ‘ a l -t a q l¥d , 124, 132, 185, 259 m a w Œl¥ , 18 al-Maward i, 38-41, 50-52 me clis , 66-68, 72, 81, 83, 87, 95 me ce lle , 116 m i l le t , 20, 73, 74, 88, 92, 98, 100, 108, 119, 120, 159, 195-197; classical categories, 20; Ottoman categories, 73, 74, 119; during the French Mandate, 92-101, 119, 120 m i th a q al-wa t. Œ n i y y a (The National Pact), 104-106, 108, 130, 138, 141, 145, 148, 149, 150, 164; Khalid on 149, 150; Salih on 145; Shams al-D in on, 192 Mount Lebanon, 5, 45, 63-65, 6773, 76, 77, 79-85; Ottoman territory, 81-86; Egyptian interregnum, 64-67, 72, 86, 87, 94; Religious representation in, 81-83, 87; French Mandate, 92; creation of le Grande Liban from, 5, 8388, 102, 123, 125, 133, 245 Mughniyya, Muham mad Jawad, 125, 133, 245, 259 Muhammd, the Prophet, 3, 4, 18, 20, 25-30, 34, 44, 90, 140, 157, 160, 182, 197 mu fti , 115, 239; Mufti of Istanbul, 115; Mufti of the Republic, 9, 98, 121-128, 130, 152, 163, 241 mu sh rik u- n , 17, 18, 21, 140, 216 mu sta‘m ¥n , 17, 18 mu ta s. ar rif , 81-83, 85, 101 mu ta s. a r r if iy y a , 78-85, 87, 95 al-Mutaw akkil (Caliph), 32-34, 41, 42, 47, 48, 60, 61; decree of, 41, 42, 60 Party, 104, 108, 178 Najran, Treaty of, 25, 28-30, 40 a l - N a jja d e h

Ottoman Constitution of 1876, 73, 75, 94, 99, 108, 118, 119 Ottoman Empire, 1, 3, 12, 16, 6365, 69, 70, 72-74, 78-80, 89, 90-94, 99, 101, 109, 117, 159, 163, 172, 195, 196, 202, 204, 228, 239 Palestinians, 3, 5, 137, 138, 141, 144, 145, 149, 151, 160, 203 Pasha, Ibrahim, 64-95, 80, 83, 86, 95 Political Confessionalism, 87, 106, 136, 143, 151, 154, 157, 162, 165, 167, 178, 192, 197, 201; Khalid on, 151-153; Salih on, 145; Shams al-D in on, 192, 200-201 Porte (The Ottoman Foreign Ministry), 87, 71, 78, 79, 94, 117; Reorganization of Mount Lebanon, 78-83, 85 President of the Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council, 126-128, 134, 135, 144; authority of, 126, 127, 163, 130, 165; al-Sad r, 9, 133, 134, 138; Shams al-Din, 134, 135 Progressive Socialist Party ( PSP ), 147, 164 q a d. ¥ a l -q u d. Œ t ,

46, 50, 122 70, 71, 72, 76, 79, 82, 85-87 Qalq ashandi, 23, 24, 57, 58 Qur’an, 1, 15, 20-24, 26, 30, 34, 50, 55, 65, 108, 139, 142, 148, 156, 157, 161, 177, 181-183, 194, 202, 206, 207; Khalid’s use of, 139, 142, 148, 177, 181-183; Salih’s use of, 156, 157, 161, 206; Shams al-Din’s use of, 177 Qutb, Sayyid, 146, 187, 206, 240 al-Q uw atli, Husayn, 4, 6, 7, 11, 211 q Œ i ’m a q Œ m i y y a ,

INDEX Rashid Rida, 1, 90, 108, 118, 119, 121 R e g le m e n t o f Sh ak ib E f fe n d i , 71, 72, 81, 82 rijŒ l al-d aw la , 11 rijŒ l a l -s u lt. Œ n , 11 Roman Empire, social-political organization of, 20 al-Sad r, Musa, 9, 125-129, 131134, 138, 142-145, 148, 151, 153-155, 160, 161, 169-171, 177, 178, 188-190, 196, 199, 200, 201, 204, 245; on Junblatt, 170; on the Iranian Revolution, 184-186 Salibi, Kam al, 3, 87-88, 99, 105, 109 salafism , from the Reformist perspective, 118, 237; form the Fundamentalist perspective, 187, 206 Salih, Subh i, 9, 119, 130, 131, 145, 146, 150, 156, 158, 160, 161, 171-173, 186-188, 195, 196, 199, 200, 205, 206, 248; on the 1975 war, 145, 146, 148; on political reform, 155-157; on secularism, 171-173; on the Iranian Revolution, 186188 Sarkis, Elias, 152, 153, 155, 166 Shabra and Shatilla, 8 al-Shafi‘i, 21, 31, 48, 49, 53; on m a s. la h. a , 49, 54 S h a y k h al-IslŒ m , 115-117, 119 Shalaq, al-Fad. l, 2-4, 6, 11, 90, 109 Shams al-Din, Muham mad Mahdi, 9, 119, 127, 133-135, 146-148, 155-160, 161, 171, 173, 174, 177, 188-193, 195, 196, 200202, 204, 208; on political reform, 155-160, 200, 201, 208; on the Islam ic state, 177, 188-193, 198, 202; on secularism, 173-176.

285 s h a r¥‘a ,

7, 16, 24, 34, 43, 44, 55, 67, 74, 75, 94, 97, 98, 108, 115, 119, 122, 125, 130, 157, 159, 168, 169, 178, 180, 182, 188, 192, 196, 207, 247 Sass anid Empire, 20 secularism (see ‘alm Œ n i y y a ), 165 French civil codes, 92-99, 127, 136, 162-177 Shi‘a, 4, 5, 6, 8, 47, 50, 51, 60, 72, 82-84, 86, 87, 89, 95, 97, 101, 104-106, 11, 119, 120, 124126, 132, 133, 141, 142-144, 147, 148, 153, 154, 158-161, 165, 166, 169, 170, 71, 176, 178-180, 184, 187-193, 195198, 201-205, 207; representation of, 82, 83, 105, 106, 124-126, 150, 161, 185, 188, 192, 195, 196, 203, 204; call for an Islam ic State, 8, 158, 162 sh u- rŒ , 118, 177, 204 Sidon, 72, 80, 84, 85, 137 al-Shihab, Bas hir, 65, 67-70 Sultan, 16, 57, 60, 64, 65, 73-75, 77, 81, 84, 86, 89, 93, 94, 96, 97, 99, 115, 117, 119, 163; ‘Abdul Mecid, 73-75, 81; ‘Abdul Hamid, 89, 90, 163; Mahmud II, 116, 117; Suleiman, 115, 116 s u n n a , 15, 18, 31, 35, 161, 204 Sunn i, 4-6, 8, 9, 16, 55, 73, 83-85, 87, 88, 90, 94-98, 100, 102, 104-107, 109, 111, 120, 121127, 131, 142, 149, 151-155, 160, 165-172, 179, 181, 188, 192, 193, 197-199, 205, 206; Lebanese Sunni Council of Ulema, 140, 166, 169; representation of, 83-85, 102, 104, 106, 107, 151, 152, 154, 155; creation of Sunni Mu fti, 97, 100, 121-123 Supreme Islam ic Law Council, 183

286

THE CHRISTIANS OF LEBANON

Supreme Shi‘a Islam ic Council, 127, 129, 133, 134-136, 139, 147, 154, 155, 164, 165, 174, 206 Syria, 3, 7, 19, 36, 46, 65, 66-68, 71, 72, 79, 81, 84-87, 93-95, 99, 103-105, 110, 121, 127, 130, 131, 142, 149, 150, 152, 161, 162, 172, 203, 204; French occupation of, 79, 93, 94, 95, 99, 103; Ibrahim Pasha’s rule of, 65-68, 81, 84; Syrian occupation of Lebanon, 130, 131, 149, 150, 152, 161, 162, 172, 204 al-T abari, 21, 25, 45 Tabuk, Treaty of, 25, 27-30, 49 Ta’if Accord, 73, 167, 200 T a nz. im Œ t , 12, 65-73, 77, 81, 82, 90, 95, 96, 102, 117-119 Tawh ¥d , 8, 178, 200 Tri-partite Agreement, 183 Tripoli, 73, 85, 86, 131 u le m a , 7, 9-12, 64, 74, 77, 102, 109, 116-121, 123, 125-130, 137, 140, 158, 163, 164, 169, 177, 178, 180, 192, 194, 196-201, 203, 205, 206-210, 261; Ottoman u le m a , 68, 94, 99, 109, 116-120; Lebanese Sunni Council of Ulema, 140, 166, 169 u le m a al-h Œ fiz , 11 ‘Umar ibn al Khattab, 21, 30, 51, 54 (see also Covenant of ‘Um ar) ‘Umar ibn ‘abd al-Aziz, 31, 32, 56, 57, 60, 63 u m m a , 1, 4, 26, 47, 110, 160, 180, 193 u m m a ‘ a r a b i yy a , 3, 91, 110, 177, 196, 201, 203, 205 Umayyads, 35-38, 45, 63, 190, 191, 200 u s. u l a l -f iq h , 12, 15, 37, 50, 99, 118, 119, 133, 206

vil Πy a s ,

65, 73, 84-89 185

v i la y Œ t a l -f a q¥h ,

al-Waqidi’, 25 al-W asiti, 31, 38, 51-56, 210 Weber, Max, 127, 128 z u ‘ a mŒ ’ ,

94, 102-104, 106-108, 121, 124-126, 139, 198