official authorities, not without good cause, became the receptacle of all
the revolutionary and heterodox ideas maintained by the converted peoples.
Alongside of the _visible_ political history of Islâm of the first
centuries, these circles built up their evolution of the _unseen_
community, the only true one, guided by the Holy Family, and the reality
was to them a continuous denial of the postulates of religion. Their first
_imâm_ or successor of the Prophet was Alî, whose divine right had been
unjustly denied by the three usurpers, Abu Bakr, Omar, and Othmân, and who
had exercised actual authority for a few years in constant strife with
Khârijites and Omayyads. The efforts of his legitimate successors to assert
their authority were constantly drowned in blood; until, at last, there
were no more candidates for the dangerous office. This prosaic fact was
converted by the adherents of the House of Mohammed into the romance,
that the last _imâm_ of a line of _seven_ according to some, and _twelve_
according to others, had disappeared in a mysterious way, to return at the
end of days as Mahdî, the Guided One, who should restore the political
order which had been disturbed ever since Mohammed's death. Until his
reappearance there is nothing left for the community to do but to await
his advent, under the guidance of their secular rulers (e.g., the shâhs of
Persia) and enlightened by their authoritative scholars (_mujtahids_), who
explain faith and law to them from the tradition of the Sacred Family.
The great majority of Mohammedans, as they do not accept this legitimist
theory, are counted by the Shî'ah outside Arabia as unclean heretics, if
not as unbelievers.
At the beginning of the fifteenth century this Shî'ah found its political
centre in Persia, and opposed itself fanatically to the Sultan of Turkey,
who at about the same time came to stand at the head of orthodox Islâm.
All differences of doctrine were now sharpened and embittered by political
passion, and the efforts of single enlightened princes or scholars to
induce the various peoples to extend to each other, across the political
barriers, the hand of brotherhood in the principles of faith, all failed.
It is only in the last few years that the general political distress of
Islâm has inclined the estranged relatives towards reconciliation.
Besides the veneration of the Alids, orthodox Islâm has adopted another
Shîitic element, the expectation of the Mahdî, which we have just
mentioned. Most Sunnites expect that at the end of the world there will
come from the House of Mohammed a successor to him, guided by Allah, who
will maintain the revealed law as faithfully as the first four khalîfs did
according to the idealized history, and who will succeed with God's help in
making Islâm victorious over the whole world. That the chiliastic kingdom
of the Mahdî must in the end be destroyed by Anti-Christ, in order that
Jesus may be able once more to re-establish the holy order before the
Resurrection, was a necessary consequence of the amalgamation of the
political expectations formed under Shî'itic influence, with eschatological
conceptions formerly borrowed by Islâm from Christianity.
The orthodox Mahdî differs from that of the Shî'ah in many ways. He is not
an _imâm_ returning after centuries of disappearance, but a descendant of
Mohammed, coming into the world in the ordinary way to fulfill the ideal of
the Khalifate. He does not re-establish the legitimate line of successors
of the Prophet; but he renews the glorious tradition of the Khalifate,
which after the first thirty years was dragged into the general
deterioration, common to all human things. The prophecies concerning his
appearance are sometimes of an equally supernatural kind as those of the
Shîites, so that the period of his coming has passed more and more
from the political sphere to which it originally belonged, into that of
eschatology. Yet, naturally, it is easier for a popular leader to make
himself regarded as the orthodox Mahdî than to play the part of the
returned _imâm_. Mohammedan rulers have had more trouble than they cared
for with candidates for the dignity of the Mahdî; and it is not surprising
that in official Turkish circles there is a tendency to simplify the
Messianic expectation by giving the fullest weight to this traditional
saying of Mohammed "There is no mahdî but Jesus," seeing that Jesus must
come from the clouds, whereas other mahdîs may arise from human society.
In the orthodox expectation of the Mahdi the Moslim theory has most sharply
expressed its condemnation of the later political history of Islâm. In the
course of the first century after the Hijrah the Qorân scholars (_gârîs_)
arose; and these in turn were succeeded by the men of tradition (_ahl
al-hadîth_) and by the canonists (_faqîhs_) of later times. These learned
men (_ulamâ'_) would not endure any interference with their right to state
with authority what Islâm demanded of its leaders. They laid claim to an
interpretative authority concerning the divine law, which bordered upon
supreme legislative power; their agreement (Ijmâ') was that of the
infallible community. But just as beside this legislative agreement, a
dogmatic and a mystic agreement grew up, in the same way there was a
separate Ijmâ' regarding the political government, upon which the canonists
could exercise only an indirect influence. In other words since the
accession of the Omayyad khalîfs, the actual authority rested in the hands
of dynasties, and under the Abbasids government assumed even a despotic
character. This relation between the governors and governed, originally
alien to Islâm, was not changed by the transference of the actual power
into the hands of _wezîrs_ and officers of the bodyguard; nor yet by
the disintegration of the empire into a number of small despotisms, the
investiture of which by the khalîf became a mere formality. Dynastic and
political questions were settled in a comparatively small circle, by court
intrigue, stratagems, and force; and the canonists, like the people, were
bound to accept the results. Politically inclined interpreters of the law
might try to justify their compulsory assent to the facts by theories about
the Ijmâ' of the notables residing in the capital, who took the urgent
decisions about the succession, which decisions were subsequently confirmed
by general homage to the new prince; but they had no illusions about the
real influence of the community upon the choice of its leader. The most
independent scholars made no attempt to disguise the fact that the course
which political affairs had taken was the clearest proof of the moral
degeneration which had set in, and they pronounced an equally bold and
merciless criticism upon the government in all its departments. It became
a matter of course that a pious scholar must keep himself free from all
intercourse with state officials, on pain of losing his reputation.
The bridge across the gulf that separated the spiritual from the temporal
authorities was formed by those state officials who, for the practice
of their office, needed a knowledge of the divine law, especially the
_qâdhîs_. It was originally the duty of these judges to decide all legal
differences between Mohammedans, or men of other creeds under Mohammedan
protection, who called for their decision. The actual division between the
rulers and the interpreters of the law caused an ever-increasing limitation
of the authority of the _qâdhîs_. The laws of marriage, family, and
inheritance remained, however, their inalienable territory; and a number
of other matters, in which too great a religious interest was involved to
leave them to the caprice of the governors or to the customary law outside
Islâm, were usually included. But as the _qâdhîs_ were appointed by the
governors, they were obliged in the exercise of their office to give due
consideration to the wishes of their constituents; and moreover they were
often tainted by what was regarded in Mohammedan countries as inseparable
from government employment: bribery.
On this account, the canonists, although it was from their ranks that the
officials of the _qâdhî_ court were to be drawn, considered no words too
strong to express their contempt for the office of _qâdhî_. In handbooks
of the Law of all times, the _qâdhîs "of our time"_ are represented as
unscrupulous beings, whose unreliable judgments were chiefly dictated by
their greed. Such an opinion would not have acquired full force, if it
had not been ascribed to Mohammed; in fact, the Prophet, according to a
tradition, had said that out of three _qâdhîs_ two are destined to
Hell. Anecdotes of famous scholars who could not be prevailed upon
by imprisonment or castigation to accept the office of _qâdhîs_ are
innumerable. Those who succumbed to the temptation forfeited the respect of
the circle to which they had belonged.
I once witnessed a case of this kind, and the former friends of the _qâdhî_
did not spare him their bitter reproaches. He remarked that the judge,
whose duty it was to maintain the divine law, verily held a noble office.
They refuted this by saying that this defence was admissible only for
earlier and better times, but not for "the _qâdhîs_ of our time." To which
he cuttingly replied "And ye, are ye canonists of the better, the ancient
time?" In truth, the students of sacred science are just as much "of our
time" as the _qâdhîs_. Even in the eleventh century the great theologian
Ghazâlî counted them all equal.[1] Not a few of them give their
authoritative advice according to the wishes of the highest bidder or
of him who has the greatest influence, hustle for income from pious
institutions, and vie with each other in a revel of casuistic subtleties.
But among those scholars there are and always have been some who, in
poverty and simplicity, devote their life to the study of Allah's law with
the sole object of pleasing him; among the _qâdhîs_ such are not easily to
be found. Amongst the other state officials the title of _qâdhî_ may count
as a spiritual one, and the public may to a certain extent share this
reverence; but in the eyes of the pious and of the canonists such glory is
only reflected from the clerical robe, in which the worldling disguises
himself.
[Footnote 1: Ghazâlî, _Ihya_, book i., ch. 6, quotes the words of a pious
scholar of the olden time: "The 'ulamâ' will (on the Day of judgment)
be gathered amongst the prophets, but the _qâdhîs_ amongst the temporal
rulers." Ghazâli adds "alike with these _qâdhîs_ are all those canonists
who make use of their learning for worldly purposes."]
To the _muftî_ criticism is somewhat more favourable than to the _qâdhî_. A
muftî is not necessarily an official; every canonist who, at the request of
a layman, expounds to him the meaning of the law on any particular point
and gives a _fatwa_, acts as a _muftî_. Be the question in reference to the
behaviour of the individual towards God or towards man, with regard to his
position in a matter of litigation, in criticism of a state regulation or
of a sentence of a judge, or out of pure love of knowledge, the scholar is
morally obliged to the best of his knowledge to enlighten the enquirer. He
ought to do this for the love of God; but he must live, and the enquirer is
expected to give him a suitable present for his trouble. This again gives
rise to the danger that he who offers most is attended to first; and that
for the liberal rich man a dish is prepared from the casuistic store, as
far as possible according to his taste. The temptation is by no means so
great as that to which the _qâdhî_ is exposed; especially since the office
of judge has become an article of commerce, so that the very first step
towards the possession of it is in the direction of Hell. Moreover in
"these degenerate times"--which have existed for about ten centuries--the
acceptance of an appointment to the function of _qâdhî_ is not regarded as
a duty, while a competent scholar may only refuse to give a _fatwa_ under
exceptional circumstances. Still, an unusually strong character is needed
by the _muftî_, if he is not to fall into the snares of the world.
Besides _qâdhîs_ who settle legal disputes of a certain kind according to
the revealed law, the state requires its own advisers who can explain
that law, i.e., official _muftîs_. Firstly, the government itself may be
involved in a litigation; moreover in some government regulations it may be
necessary to avoid giving offence to canonists and their strict disciples.
In such cases it is better to be armed beforehand with an expert opinion
than to be exposed to dangerous criticism which might find an echo in a
wide circle. The official _muftî_ must therefore be somewhat pliable, to
say the least. Moreover, any private person has the right to put questions
to the state _muftî_; and the _qâdhî_ court is bound to take his answers
into account in its decisions. In this way the _muftîs_ have absorbed a
part of the duties of the _qâdhîs_, and so their office is dragged along in
the degradation that the unofficial canonists denounce unweariedly in their
writings and in their teaching.
The way in which the most important _muftî_ places are filled and above
all the position which the head-_muftî_ of the Turkish Empire, the
Sheikh-ul-Islâm, holds at any particular period, may well serve as a
touchstone of the influence of the canonists on public life. If this is
great, then even the most powerful sultan has only the possibility of
choice between a few great scholars, put forward or at all events not
disapproved of by their own guild, strengthened by public opinion. If, on
the other hand, there is no keen interest felt in the Sharî'ah (Divine
Law), then the temporal rulers can do pretty much what they like with these
representatives of the canon law. Under the tyrannical sway of Sultan
Abd-ul-Hamid, the Sheikh-ul-Islâm was little more than a tool for him and
his palace clique, and for their own reasons, the members of the Committee
of Union and Progress, who rule at Constantinople since 1908, made no
change in this: each new ministry had its own Sheikh-ul-Islâm, who had to
be, above everything, a faithful upholder of the constitutional theory
held by the Committee. The time is past when the Sultan and the Porte,
in framing even the most pressing reform, must first anxiously assure
themselves of the position that the _hojas, tolbas, softas_, the
theologians in a word, would take towards it, and of the influence that
the Sheikh-ul-Islâm could use in opposition to their plans. The political
authority makes its deference to the canonists dependent upon their strict
obedience.
This important change is a natural consequence of the modernization of
Mohammedan political life, a movement through which the expounders of a
law which has endeavoured to remain stationary since the year 1000 must
necessarily get into straits. This explains also why the religious life of
Mohammedans is in some respects freer in countries under non-Mohammedan
authority, than under a Mohammedan government. Under English, Dutch, or
French rule the 'ulamâs are less interfered with in their teaching, the
_muftîs_ in their recommendations, and the _qâdhîs_ in their judgments of
questions of marriage and inheritance than in Turkey, where the life of
Islâm, as state religion, lies under official control. In indirectly
governed "native states" the relation of Mohammedan "Church and State" may
much more resemble that in Turkey, and this is sometimes to the advantage
of the sovereign ruler. Under the direct government of a modern state, the
Mohammedan group is treated as a religious community, whose particular life
has just the same claim to independence as that of other denominations. The
only justifiable limitation is that the program of the forcible reduction
of the world to Mohammedan authority be kept within the scholastic walls as
a point of eschatology, and not considered as a body of prescriptions, the
execution of which must be prepared.
The extensive political program of Islâm, developed during the first
centuries of astounding expansion, has yet not prevented millions of
Mohammedans from resigning themselves to reversed conditions in which at
the present time many more Mohammedans live under foreign authority than
under their own. The acceptance of this change was facilitated by the
historical pessimism of Islâm, which makes the mind prepared for every
sort of decay, and by the true Moslim habit of resignation to painful
experiences, not through fatalism, but through reverence for Allah's
inscrutable will. At the same time, it would be a gross mistake to imagine
that the idea of universal conquest may be considered as obliterated. This
is the case with the intellectuals and with many practical commercial or
industrial men; but the canonists and the vulgar still live in the illusion
of the days of Islâm's greatness.
The legists continue to ground their appreciation of every actual political
condition on the law of the holy war, which war ought never to be allowed
to cease entirely until all mankind is reduced to the authority of
Islâm--the heathen by conversion, the adherents of acknowledged Scripture
by submission. Even if they admit the improbability of this at present,
they are comforted and encouraged by the recollection of the lengthy period
of humiliation that the Prophet himself had to suffer before Allah bestowed
victory upon his arms; and they fervently join with the Friday preacher,
when he pronounces the prayer, taken from the Qorân: "And lay not on us, O
our Lord, that for which we have not strength, but blot out our sins and
forgive us and have pity upon us. Thou art our Master; grant us then to
conquer the unbelievers!" And the common people are willingly taught by the
canonists and feed their hope of better days upon the innumerable legends
of the olden time and the equally innumerable apocalyptic prophecies about
the future. The political blows that fall upon Islâm make less impression
upon their simple minds than the senseless stories about the power of
the Sultan of Stambul, that would instantly be revealed if he were not
surrounded by treacherous servants, and the fantastic tidings of the
miracles that Allah works in the Holy Cities of Arabia which are
inaccessible to the unfaithful.
The conception of the Khalifate still exercises a fascinating influence,
regarded in the light of a central point of union against the unfaithful.
Apart from the _'âmils_, Mohammed's agents amongst the Arabian tribes,
the Khalifate was the only political institution which arose out of the
necessity of the Moslim community, without foreign influence. It rescued
Islâm from threatening destruction, and it led the Faithful to conquest. No
wonder that in historic legend the first four occupiers of that leadership,
who, from Medina, accomplished such great things, have been glorified into
saints, and are held up to all the following generations as examples to put
them to shame. In the Omayyads the ancient aristocracy of Mecca came to the
helm, and under them, the Mohammedan state was above all, as Wellhausen
styled it, "the Arabian Empire." The best khalîfs of this house had
the political wisdom to give the governors of the provinces sufficient
independence to prevent schism, and to secure to themselves the authority
in important matters. The reaction of the non-Arabian converts against the
suppression of their own culture by the Arabian conquerors found support in
the opposition parties, above all with the Shî'ah. The Abbasids, cleverer
politicians than the notoriously unskillful Alids, made use of the Alid
propaganda to secure the booty to themselves at the right moment. The means
which served the Alids for the establishment only of an invisible dynasty
of princes who died as martyrs, enabled the descendants of Mohammed's
uncle Abbas to overthrow the Omayyads, and to found their own Khalifate at
Bagdad, shining with the brilliance of an Eastern despotism.
When it is said that the Abbasid Khalifate maintained itself from 750 till
the Mongol storm in the middle of the thirteenth century, that only refers
to external appearance. After a brief success, the actual power of these
khalîfs was transferred to the hands, first, of the captains of their
bodyguard, then of sultan-dynasties, whose forcibly acquired powers, were
legalized by a formal investiture. In the same way the large provinces
developed into independent kingdoms, whose rulers considered the
nomination-diplomas from Bagdad in the light of mere ornaments. Compared to
this irreparable disintegration of the empire, temporary schisms such as
the Omayyad Khalifate in Spain, the Fatimid Khalifate in Egypt, and here
and there an independent organization of the Khârijites were of little
significance.
It seems strange that the Moslim peoples, although the theory of Islâm
never attributed an hereditary character to the Khalifate, attached so high
a value to the Abbasid name, that they continued unanimously to acknowledge
the Khalifate of Bagdad for centuries during which it possessed no
influence. But the idea of hereditary rulers was deeply rooted in most
of the peoples converted to Islâm, and the glorious period of the first
Abbasids so strongly impressed itself on the mind of the vulgar, that the
_appearance_ of continuation was easily taken for _reality_. Its voidness
would sooner have been realized, if lack of energy had not prevented the
later Abbasids from trying to recover the lost power by the sword, or if
amongst their rivals who could also boast of a popular tradition--e.g.,
the Omayyads, or still more the Alids--a political genius had succeeded in
forming a powerful opposition. But the sultans who ruled the various states
did not want to place all that they possessed in the balance on the chance
of gaining the title of Khalîf. The Moslim world became accustomed to the
idea that the honoured House of the Prophet's uncle Abbas existed for the
purpose of lending an additional glory to Mohammedan princes by a diploma.
Even after the destruction of Bagdad by the Mongols in 1258, from which
only a few Abbasids escaped alive, Indian princes continued to value visits
or deeds of appointment granted them by some begging descendant of the
"Glorious House." The sultans of Egypt secured this luxury permanently for
themselves by taking a branch of the family under their protection, who
gave the glamour of their approval to every new result of the never-ending
quarrels of succession, until in the beginning of the sixteenth century
Egypt, together with so many other lands, was swallowed up by the Turkish
conqueror.
These new rulers, who added the Byzantine Empire to Islâm, who with Egypt
brought Southern and Western Arabia with the Holy Cities also under their
authority, and caused all the neighbouring princes, Moslim and Christian
alike, to tremble on their thrones, thought it was time to abolish the
senseless survival of the Abbasid glory. The prestige of the Ottomans was
as great as that of the Khalifate in its most palmy days had been; and they
would not be withheld from the assumption of the title. There is a doubtful
tale of the abdication of the Abbasids in their favour, but the question
is of no importance. The Ottomans owed their Khalifate to their sword; and
this was the only argument used by such canonists as thought it worth their
while to bring such an incontestable fact into reconciliation with the law.
This was not strictly necessary, as they had been accustomed for eight
centuries to acquiesce in all sorts of unlawful acts which history
demonstrated to be the will of Allah.
The sense of the tradition that established descent from the tribe of
Qoraish as necessary for the highest dignity in the community was capable
of being weakened by explanation; and, even without that, the leadership of
the irresistible Ottomans was of more value to Islâm than the chimerical
authority of a powerless Qoraishite. In our own time, you can hear
Qoraishites, and even Alids, warmly defend the claims of the Turkish
sultans to the Khalifate, as they regard these as the only Moslim princes
capable of championing the threatened rights of Islâm.