Pathfinders

by Jim Al-Khalili

  During the last decade of the seventh century he made the bold decision to establish a common currency for all his dominions. He created the first Islamic royal mint between 693 and 697, modelling the new coinage on those of the Greeks and Persians, but with Arabic Qur’anic inscriptions replacing the traditional images of kings. Abd al-Malik charged Muslim alchemists with experimenting with the best materials to use for the new coins, which were made mainly from gold, silver, copper and alloys of these and other metals.

  Other than alchemy, the Umayyads showed little interest in the sciences. Apart from their passion for grand architectural projects, they were also not very interested in culture and learning, in part because of their preoccupation with securing and expanding their borders, and quelling the constant unrest within. And in stark contrast with the later Abbāsids, who relied heavily on the experience and knowledge of the sophisticated Persians to help them rule – a sharing of affairs of state that was to have crucial knock-on effects in initiating the golden age of science – the Umayyads excluded all non-Arabs from positions of power and influence, even if they were Muslim converts.3

  So it was that, exactly one hundred years after the Arabs marched out of Arabia, they reached the furthest point in their expansion. In the famous battle of Tours in 732, the Muslim armies of the Umayyad dynasty, having conquered half of France, finally ran out of steam and were defeated by the Franks under Charles Martel. By this time the Islamic Empire covered an area larger in expanse than either the Roman Empire at its height or all the lands conquered and ruled by Alexander the Great. In fact, for the first time since Alexander, the lands of Egypt, the Fertile Crescent of the Middle East, Persia and India were reunited, allowing each to grow and prosper through mutual trade and relatively peaceful coexistence in ways that none had quite been able to do for a thousand years beset with wars, divisions and rivalry.

  Despite their vast empire and great prosperity, the Umayyads lasted just ninety years and, towards the end of their dynasty, had to face increasingly difficult revolts and uprisings, particularly from the disaffected Shi’a based in the Iraqi city of Kūfa. But the most serious of these began in the Persian region of Khurasan in the east, where a blend of Arab and Persian culture was catalysing the growth of a substantial religious and political movement claiming its right to power as descendants of the Prophet’s uncle al-Abbās. Its army moved westwards and, in a series of bloody battles, finally defeated the Umayyad army in 750. Immediately, a new caliph, Abū al-Abbās, was declared in Kūfa. A descendant of the Prophet’s uncle,4 he became the first of a long line of Abbāsid caliphs that would last for a remarkable five hundred years.

  Having defeated the Umayyads in battle, but concerned that they might attempt to seize power again, the ruthless Abū al-Abbās tricked all the members of the Umayyad family into attending a conciliatory dinner party where he instead had them killed. The only survivor, a young prince named Abd al-Rahmān, escaped to Spain, where the Umayyad dynasty would endure for a further three centuries.

  After his victory over the Umayyads, Abū al-Abbās’s reign was marked by efforts to consolidate and rebuild the caliphate, with a new government made up of Arabs, Persians, Christians and Jews. However, after his early promises, he turned his back on the Shi’a community who had supported him. He died of smallpox in 754, only four years after deposing the Umayyads. His brother al-Mansūr took over as caliph of this vast new empire, and its influence would reach far beyond its own limits.

  Two and a half thousand miles to the west, Offa, son of Thingfrith, had been crowned the Christian King of Mercia (Middle England) in 757 and ruled for nearly forty years. Many historians regard him as the most powerful Anglo-Saxon king before Alfred the Great. In the 780s he extended his power over most of southern England. One of the most remarkable extant artefacts from King Offa’s reign is a gold coin that is kept in the British Museum. On one side it carries the inscription OFFA REX (Offa the King). But, turn it over and you are in for a surprise, for in badly copied Arabic are the words La Illaha Illa Allah (‘There is no god but Allah alone’). This coin is a copy of an Abbāsid dinar from the reign of al-Mansūr, dating to 773, and was most probably used by Anglo-Saxon traders. It would have been known even in Anglo-Saxon England that Islamic gold dinars were the most important coinage in the world at that time and Offa’s coin looked enough like the original that it would have been readily accepted abroad.

  Back in Kūfa, the Caliph al-Mansūr needed a new imperial capital and so set about looking for the best place to build it.

  Like the city of Alexandria, founded a thousand years earlier by Alexander the Great, Baghdad grew from nothing to become the world’s largest city just fifty years after the first brick was laid. And just like Alexandria, it became a centre for culture, scholarship and enlightenment that attracted the world’s greatest minds. Before its foundation, the two largest urban conurbations in Iraq were the garrison cities of Kūfa and Basra, which had both been founded by the early caliphs during the long war with the Sasanians.

  Al-Mansūr chose the exact site for his new city carefully. It is told that among the many people offering advice were several Christian monks he met in what is now central Iraq, who claimed that their ancient texts documented how a great king would one day build his new city on the site next to their monastery.5 This happened to be a farm called al-Mubāraka (‘the Blessed’) and it suited the caliph perfectly, situated as it was on the west bank of the Tigris close to several thriving market villages.

  A ninth-century Persian historian by the name of al-Tabari (c. 839–923), who wrote enormous compendiums of early Islamic history, describes in his Annals of the Prophets and Kings how al-Mansūr chose the site:

  He came to the area of the bridge and crossed at the present site of Qasr al-Salām. He then prayed the afternoon prayer. It was summer, and at the site of the palace there was then a priest’s church. He spent the night there, and awoke the next morning having passed the sweetest and gentlest night on earth. He stayed, and everything he saw pleased him. He then said, ‘This is the site on which I shall build. Things can arrive here by way of the Euphrates, Tigris, and a network of canals. Only a place like this will support the army and the general populace.’ So he finalised the plans and assigned monies for its construction.6

  Before laying his new city’s foundations, al-Mansūr had asked three of his most respected astrologers to cast a horoscope for him. These wise men were an Arab, al-Fazāri, a Persian, Nawbakht, and a Jew, Mashā’allah, who between them agreed on the most favourable hour on the most favourable day for the first stone to be set in place: 30 July 762.

  Schematic map of early Abbāsid Baghdad showing the location of al-Mansūr’s original Round City on the west bank of the Tigris.

  Four years in the building, the Round City was based on the plans of traditional Roman military camps and designed with security uppermost in al-Mansūr’s mind. It was surrounded by a double set of immense brick walls, the outer one about 6 miles in circumference, and then by a broad moat that was fed by the Tigris. Four gates pierced these fortifications, from which roads radiated to the far corners of the empire. The Khurasan Gate in the north-east was the gateway to Persia, while the Basra Gate in the south-east, the Kūfa Gate in the south-west and the Damascus Gate in the north-west each led to the city after which it was named. Each gate had also been carefully designed so as to secure the inner city against invasion, with a complex series of curved passageways, ramps and chambers. A large chamber was built high into each gate, roofed with a dome that was in turn crested, 100 feet up, by a grand weathervane.

  Within the city, roads ran from each gate to the centre, first through an outer ring of buildings that housed the caliph’s family, staff and servants, then through an inner ring of buildings housing the arsenal, the treasury and the government, until they reached a grand, wide esplanade on which stood the headquarters of the palace guard, the mosque and the grand palace itself, known as Qasr Bāb al-Thahab (the Golden Do
or Palace).

  Because of its surrounding fortifications and comparable size, one cannot help but compare al-Mansūr’s Round City with the US-controlled Green Zone set up in 2003 after the fall of Saddam’s regime, just a few miles down the river: a contrast that is both powerful and apt.

  The Round City itself was not much more than an enormous palace-complex, which combined the caliph’s residence with the administrative buildings of government. While it alone would have been equal in size to most other imperial cities in the world, it was very different from any other city, for the general populace all lived outside its walls. Its construction brought thousands of labourers and troops from far and wide to swell the population of the surrounding districts.

  Long before Islam, huge markets had flourished on both banks of the Tigris to serve the villages and farming communities in the areas surrounding the Round City, which would soon be subsumed within the greater metropolis of Baghdad. To its south was the vast market district of al-Karkh (a name that was later used to mean the whole of the city of Baghdad on the west side of the Tigris) and, on the east bank, the bustling Sūq al-Thalāthā’ (‘Tuesday Market’). Soon after al-Mansūr had completed the Round City, al-Karkh in particular quickly became congested, struggling to meet the demands of the new influx of inhabitants, and so underwent extensive development, including the construction of new commercial facilities and the widening of the major roads. Other districts, such as al-Harbiyya north of the Round City, were newly built and quickly grew to rival al-Karkh in size and importance. The name Harbiyya derives from the word Harb, meaning ‘war’, for this district was originally the residence of the many thousands of troops who served the caliph.7 Each one of these boroughs would have been large enough to require its own sprawling markets, wide avenues, mosques and municipal buildings. And each would have been subdivided into different and quite distinct quarters. The shoemakers’ market might lead onto the booksellers’ market; the bird market alongside and flower market. Then there were the food markets (Sūq al-Ma’kūlat) and bakeries (Sūq al-Khabbāzīn), which would have been set apart from the higher-class goldsmiths, moneychangers and elegant boutiques for the wealthy. Even the traders’ residences were divided according to their professions and status in society: perfumers would not mix with fishmongers. There were exclusive streets where the more elegant and wealthy merchants lived apart from the common traders and manual workers.

  Round City projected onto a map of modern Baghdad contrasting its size and location with that of the US controlled Green Zone set up in 2003.

  The Round City was soon swallowed up within an expanding conurbation of more than a million people. Not only was Baghdad now the administrative hub of the Islamic world, it also became a centre for art, culture and trade; and with the rest of the empire embroiled in a continuous and bloody struggle (both internally and with its neighbours), Baghdad must have seemed a peaceful oasis by comparison. In fact, it was originally also known as Madinat al-Salam, meaning ‘City of Peace’. And like many cities around the world today, Baghdad would have been a world of limitless opportunity and luxury for the wealthy while at the same time a wretched and miserable place for the poor.

  Al-Mansūr quickly began to feel somewhat trapped within the walls of his Round City and for reasons of security abandoned it for a brand new palace outside the walls. This might at first seem paradoxical given the comfortingly strong fortifications that surrounded the Round City, but he regarded his close proximity to large numbers of loyal troops as more reassuring than the claustrophobia of the palace-complex, which he continued to use for administration. Al-Mansūr moved into his new home, the fabulous Qasr al-Khuld on the banks of the Tigris, in 774. Its precise location had been chosen because it was on slightly higher ground than its surroundings and so relatively free of river mosquitoes during the summer nights. Al-Khuld, which means ‘Eternity’, was so named because the palace gardens were said to be so beautiful that they resembled Heaven as described in the Qur’an. The palace would later become famous for having held the magnificent and lavish wedding party of al-Rashīd and Zubayda.

  The cultural climate in the new capital would have been very different from what was familiar to the indigenous rural population, and was unlike anything ever seen before. It brought together a multicultural society of Muslim and Christian Arabs, Muslim converts from among other races in the indigenous population, as well as Jews, Sabians, Zoroastrians and pagans. The predominant way of life would not have been too different from that of the Persian Empire which the Muslims had conquered and which had ruled these lands for hundreds of years, but the new mix of mutually tolerant religions and cultures would have made for a fascinatingly colourful society.

  Despite the Abbāsids’ problems of consolidating power and their need to build coalitions with the Persians who had helped bring about their victory over the Umayyads, the first century of Abbāsid rule was a period of huge prosperity and impressive achievements. It had taken a new Islamic Empire to achieve the necessary unity between different peoples and cultures, but it was this empire’s multicultural and multifaith tolerance that fostered a real sense of expectancy and optimism, and this would usher in a golden age of enlightenment and intellectual progress.

  Initially, emphasis among most Abbāsid men of learning was placed on the interpretation of the words in the Qur’an. After all, this was the very first book to be written in the Arabic language. Grammar, syntax, punctuation and calligraphy had all to be agreed and refined. But this in turn encouraged a certain devotion to scholarship that, once started, took on a life of its own. One cannot, therefore, understand Arabic science without considering the extent to which Islam influenced scientific and philosophical thought. Arabic science was, throughout its golden age, inextricably linked to religion. Clearly, the scientific revolution of the Abbāsids would not have taken place if it were not for Islam, in contrast to the spread of Christianity over the preceding centuries, which had nothing like the same effect in stimulating and encouraging original scientific thinking.

  But the spread of Islam was not in itself sufficient to light the touch paper of scientific enquiry. There is no evidence of any original scientific activity taking place during the preceding Umayyad dynasty beyond the isolated efforts already being made by Jewish and Christian scholars in the region. It was, instead, a fresh cultural attitude towards scholarship, which the Abbāsids inherited from the Persians, coupled with the newfound wealth and power of the caliphs of the expanding Islamic Empire that was to help foster an interest in academic enquiry lost since the glory days of Greek Alexandria. The age of Arabic science only began, however, once a quite separate period of almost frantic activity had built up a head of steam. This took place mostly in Baghdad and was known as the translation movement.

  3

  Translation

  The significance of the Greco-Arabic Translation Movement lies in that it demonstrated for the first time in history that scientific and philosophical thought are international, not bound to a specific language or culture.

  Dimitri Gutas, Greek Thought, Arab Culture

  Why did the golden age of Arabic science that blossomed so suddenly during the reign of the early Abbāsid caliphs begin? And why did it eventually come to an end?

  It is always assumed that the answer to the second question is the more difficult to articulate and certainly the more contentious, for there were many different contributing factors to the decline of the Islamic Empire, and the most important turn out not to be the most obvious. But that is for later in our story; for now, we shall explore the answer to the first question. At first glance it seems straightforward. The common view is that the exciting advances made in mathematics, astronomy, physics and engineering, the industrialization of chemistry, the great progress in medicine and the flourishing of philosophy that took place, first in Baghdad and then elsewhere in the Islamic Empire, all began thanks to the success of a spectacularly massive translation movement – a process that lasted for t
wo centuries – during which much of the wisdom of the earlier civilizations of the Greeks, Persians and Indians was translated into Arabic. Then, once a culture of scholarship had taken hold within the Islamic Empire, it quickly became self-sustaining, leading to a grand synthesis of scientific knowledge that grew to far outstrip the sum of what had come before.

  But while the Abbāsids did indeed sponsor and encourage a massive translation movement, which brought together essentially all world knowledge under one roof, this only pushes the enigma a stage further back. Why did the translation movement itself take place? Or, more to the point, what was it about the Abbāsid mindset – for the beginning of the translation movement does indeed coincide with the arrival on the scene of the Abbāsids – that differed from earlier civilizations in that part of the world, such as the Persian Sasanians, the Byzantines, and even the Muslim Umayyads of Damascus? Militarily powerful though these great empires were, none had shown any real intention of resuscitating the earlier glories of Alexandria that had flourished in the early centuries after the birth of Christianity.

  With the arrival of the Abbāsids, all that suddenly changed. The translation movement began in the mid-eighth century, and before too long all levels of elite Abbāsid society in Baghdad were involved, for this was not simply the pet project of the caliph. A huge amount of money was laid out by a large number of wealthy patrons to subsidize and pay for this movement, and translation quickly became a lucrative business. The patrons supported the movement in part for the practical benefits it brought them in finance, agriculture, engineering projects and medicine, and in part because this patronage quickly turned into a de rigueur cultural activity that defined their standing in society. And everyone was involved. As one historian puts it: ‘It was no eccentric whim or fashionable affectation of a few wealthy patrons seeking to invest in a philanthropic or self-aggrandising cause.’1 The translation movement was not, therefore, a separate process that led on to a subsequent golden age of science. It should be seen instead as an integral early part of the golden age itself. Once it got going, it became part of a wider quest for knowledge. By the mid-ninth century it had evolved into a new tradition of original scientific and philosophical scholarship that further fuelled the demand for more translations, both in quantity and quality.