A particularly rousing sermon was the one delivered on the conquest of Aleppo in 351/962. Having praised God and His manifold attributes, Ibn Nubata rises to heights of eloquence:
Do you think that He will forsake you whilst you are assisting Him or do you imagine that He will desert you whilst you are steadfast in His path? Certainly not! Indeed, no tyranny is left unpunished by Him and no trivial offence escapes Him … So put on – may God have mercy on you – for the jihad the coat of mail of the faithful and equip yourselves with the armour of those who trust [in God].19
Figure 3.8 Diagram illustrating function of minbar
Not surprisingly, these sermons have become models of Arab oratory. They also laid the foundations for the sermons of preachers in the armies of Nur al-Din and Saladin, when fighting against the Franks.
Panegyric verse about the exploits of Sayf al-Dawla was composed by the most honoured of all classical Arabic poets, al-Mutanabbi. Such poetry was a forum for the expression of pride in the achievements of jihad. Al-Mutanabbi produced a famous panegyric after the conquest by Sayf al-Dawla of the border fortress, al-Hadath. The piece includes the following lines:
You were not a king routing an equal, but monotheism routing polytheism
We put our hope in you and your refuge Islam,
Why should merciful God not guard it when through you
He cleaves the unbeliever asunder?
Popular epics echoed the jihad spirit of the high literature written for the Hamdanid court. The epic usually known as Sirat Dhat al-Himma has an alternative title, Sirat al-mujahidin (The Way of the jihad Fighters). It mirrors the Muslim-Byzantine conflicts from the Umayyad period onwards and is full of expressions of the jihad spirit. At the beginning the anonymous story-teller declares: ‘Jihad is God’s solid link and the jihad warriors occupy a high position near Him in the seventh Heaven.’20
The campaigns of Sayf al-Dawla were prosecuted in a limited geographical area of the Muslim world and were not followed up by his successors. His highly effective jihad propaganda died with him, although, as we shall see, its lessons were not lost on those responsible for the Muslim Counter-Crusade two hundred years later. Indeed, the fusion of the life of personal asceticism of the ghazis of Central Asia, Spain and Anatolia with the fight against unbelievers was a paradigm for the Muslims of Syria and Palestine to remember and emulate in their war against the Franks.
The Lack of Jihad Spirit in Syria and Palestine
Writing in the latter half of the tenth century, the Arab geographer Ibn Hawqal, whose Spanish origins no doubt sharpened his concern, deplores the fact that jihad has ceased.21 This criticism is reiterated by the even more famous Arab writer al-Muqaddasi who, speaking about the province of Syria, complains that: ‘The inhabitants have no enthusiasm for jihad and no energy in the struggle against the enemy’.22
When the Crusaders approached the Holy Land in 1099 the disunited and strife-ridden Muslim world had, it seems, buried the idea of jihad deep into the recesses of its mind. Indeed, it was the Crusaders who possessed the ideological edge over the Muslims.
The Evolution of the Phenomenon of Jihad in Crusader Times
Modern knowledge of the development of the jihad theme in the Muslim world at the time of the Crusades was considerably enlarged with the appearance in 1968 of the very important pioneering book in French on this subject by Emmanuel Sivan: L’Islam. In it he analyses by very close reference to a wide range of medieval Arabic literary sources the evolution of jihad as an ideology and as a propaganda campaign, and its role in the Muslim response to the Crusades. Much of Sivan’s argument still holds good, although inevitably scholars may wish to take issue with him on some points and indeed, as we shall see later, to stress the gulf between propaganda and political realities. As Humphreys says of jihad: The concept of jihad is a plastic one, which can be deployed in widely varying ways for varying ends.’23
Sivan argues that the serious mobilisation of jihad as an instrument in the war against the Crusaders began in the time of Zengi (d 539/1144), and this is undoubtedly true.24 It is important, however, to look closely at the earliest response of the religious classes in Syria and Palestine to the incoming Crusader threat, since it would be wrong to assume that there were no stirrings of jihad feelings in the period between the fall of Jerusalem in 482/1099 and the Muslim reconquest of Edessa in 539/1144. Indeed, it is probably true to say that amongst the religious classes feelings against the Franks and the desire to promote jihad always ran high; the problem was to find a way of infusing Islamic fervour into the military leaders of the time. The political situation in Syria and Palestine in the early decades of the twelfth century was not conducive to Muslim solidarity and overall military unity. Instead, this was a period of decentralised power in which Turkish commanders and Frankish rulers alike sought to establish themselves in the urban centres. Periodically, they would come together across the religious divide when the territories of Syria and Palestine were threatened from outside. Religious ideology played no part in these ephemeral and pragmatic alliances to defend local territorial interests.
Figure 3.9 Armour for hand and arm, Firdawsi, Shahnama (‘Book of Kings’), leaves mounted in albums, c. 1370–80, Iran
At the time of the First Crusade the first focus for any call to jihad was the Sunni caliph in Baghdad; it was certainly he who was expected to be involved in a jihad and it was he who had the legitimate right to promote jihad against the Franks.25 This is the clear implication of the various delegations that made their way to Baghdad in the wake of the First Crusade, as we have already noted in Chapter 1. Although the Seljuq sultans restricted the caliphs’ movements, preferring them to be mere figureheads and not to meddle in the politics of the time, the Syrian religious leaders who went to Baghdad to summon support against the Franks seem to have believed that the caliphs were their principal recourse. Despite these expectations, there were no independent military undertakings sponsored by the caliphs, although the sources make it clear that some of the caliphs, such as al-Mustarshid and al-Rashid, did take the field with their own armies.26
So who else could promote jihad against the Franks? Certainly, in strict interpretation of Islamic law, the military barons who ruled Syria in the twelfth century were not bound to fight jihad. None of them were legitimate rulers. They had usurped power. Put simply, they could fight jihad but they did not have to do so.27 The major emphasis of jihad seems to have been a personal undertaking and the personal reward which every Muslim would receive from God for his meritorious struggle.28 Possibly when the sources mention terms such as mutatawwi’a (‘volunteers’), they are referring to the kind of warriors who in previous eras frequented the ribats on the frontiers of Islam and who waged jihad against the infidel at their own personal costs. Certainly the presence of such volunteers (mujahidun) is mentioned at the fall of Antioch in 491/1098 when they fought ‘for divine reward and seeking martyrdom’.29
Figure 3.10 Armour for leg and foot, Firdawsi, Shahnama (‘Book of Kings’), leaves mounted in albums, c. 1310–80, Iran
We have already seen that there were only a few isolated voices which spoke out in consternation at the loss of Jerusalem. Still fewer drew any moral lessons from this loss. The outstanding exception to this lethargy and lack of concern was the Syrian legist al-Sulami, who preached in the Umayyad mosque in Damascus in the early years after the fall of Jerusalem that Muslims should rally against their enemy, the Crusaders. Muslim defeat – argues al-Sulami – was God’s punishment for the abandoning of their religious duties and, above all, for their neglect of jihad.
Figure 3.11 Umayyad Mosque, perspectival view, 86–96/705–15, Damascus, Syria
It is important to remember that al-Sulami’s extant work is called the Book of Holy War (figure 3.12), and indeed the concept of jihad lies at the heart of all that he says. He protests strongly that it is the Muslims’ indifference to the Frankish presence and their neglect of the religious duty of jihad that have caused the Crusad
ers to triumph. According to al-Sulami, the neglect of jihad which he so deplores is not a phenomenon peculiar to his own time nor just to Syria. It has existed since the caliphs first began to neglect their religious duty to conduct at least one campaign a year into infidel territory. In his view this forms part of a wider religious and moral decline amongst Muslims, which, he argues, has resulted in the fragmentation of Islam and has encouraged the enemies of Islam to take the offensive and seize Muslim territories.
Figure 3.12 Title-page, al-Sulami, Kitab al-Jihad (The Book of Holy War’), part Il., original text written in the early twelfth century, Syria
Al-Sulami’s solution to this dire predicament lies first in moral rearmament to end this process of Muslim spiritual decline. The Crusader attacks are a punishment as well as a Divine warning to Muslims to return to the ‘right path’. According to al-Sulami, conducting jihad against the infidel is a hollow sham if it is not preceded by the greater jihad (al-jihad al-akbar) over one’s baser self and he stresses that the latter must be accomplished if the former is to be successful. And he calls on Muslim rulers to lead the way. Thus, personal spiritual struggle is an absolute requirement before conducting war against the Franks.30
Plate 3.8 Great Mosque, minbar, detail, 548/1153, ‘Amadiyya, Iraq
Al-Sulami’s words proclaimed in the mosque from the minbar (cf. plate 3.8) and preserved in his Book of Holy War do not seem to have had a widespread effect on his fellow Muslims at large, nor did they strike a chord with Muslim rulers and commanders at the time of maximum Crusader expansionism in the early twelfth century. The concept of jihad remained alive within the circles frequented by religious scholars, but it had yet to be harnessed to full-scale military activity under vigorous Muslim leadership: the alliance between the religious classes and the military had yet to be forged.
It may well be that al-Sulami’s challenge did not go completely unheeded and that after him other preachers continued to shout vociferously from the pulpits. The sources are unhelpful on developments within the period 1100–1130, but even if there was a strong local reaction amongst some of the religious classes it was not backed up by the political or military will to act in concerted fashion on the part of the leaders of the time. Even if the circles of the religious scholars in the time of al-Sulami propagated the essential idea of jihad it does not mean necessarily that their words and writings were heeded by the military leaders of the period. Nor did rousing poems in the cause of jihad written after the shock of the First Crusade necessarily imply that those to whom they were addressed rose up and obeyed the eloquent calls made by the poets. For jihad propaganda to be a really effective weapon a tight and meaningful alliance was necessary between the religious classes and the army leaders. This did not prove viable until later in the twelfth century.
It is not appropriate to give the title jihad to the series of campaigns (as, for example, those of Mawdud of Mosul during the years 503–7/1110–13) launched from the Seljuq east under Turkish commanders into Syria in the first two decades of the twelfth century, nor were these pan-Islamic activities. They were ill-assorted, heterogeneous, ephemeral alliances of rival princelings and military barons – not true coalition forces – and as such destined, on the whole, to fail and disperse. Freeing Jerusalem had no significance to such rulers in this period.
The First Tentative Steps towards the Revival of Jihad
As already mentioned, Sivan believes that the turning point in Muslim attitudes came with the fall of Edessa in 539/1144. But the tide was probably beginning to turn in the preceding decades. Indeed, the process of the reawakening of jihad must have been slow and gradual and in some part at least it must have come as a direct response to Crusader fanaticism, witnessed first-hand.
There are isolated signs of this early Muslim reawakening and the battle of Balat might be seen as a tentative turning-point. An early model for the active participation of the religious classes in the fight against the Franks seems to have been the qadi Abu’l Fadl b. al-Khashshab of Aleppo. Not content to sit back in the mosque or madrasa and to preach and teach jihad, Ibn al-Khashshab was also closely involved in the running of affairs in Aleppo at a time when the city was extremely vulnerable to external attacks. Indeed, in the early twelfth century the Aleppan notables had sought military support from Baghdad against the Franks, before turning in desperation to the Turcoman ruler of Mardin, Il-Ghazi. In these negotiations Ibn al-Khashshab was prominent. According to the town chronicler of Aleppo, Ibn al-‘Adim, Ibn al-Khashshab was responsible for the defence of the city and for taking care of its interests. In difficult and anarchical times it is noteworthy that prominent religious figures were ready to shoulder administrative duties and assume civic leadership.31
There is no evidence that al-Sulami had personally involved himself in actual fighting, although he was well known as a preacher. Ibn al-Khashshab (d. 528/1133–4), on the other hand, is known to have been present amongst the troops just before the battle of Balat in 513/1119, preaching to them. At this stage, however, his presence was obviously not welcome to everybody. As Ibn al-‘Adim writes:
The qadi Abu’l Fadl b. al-Khashshab came, spurring the people on to fight, riding on a mare and with a spear in his hand. One of the troops saw him and belittled him saying: ‘[So] we have come from our lands only to follow this man in a turban!’ He [Ibn al-Khashshab] went up to the people and amongst the ranks preached them an eloquent sermon in which he awakened their resolutions and sharpened their resolves. He made the people weep and there was agony in their eyes.32
Figure 3.13 Mounted archer, silk and linen textile, second half of the eleventh century, Egypt
Thus we see a man of religion, clearly identifiable by his turban, standing out by his choice of riding-animal, and flourishing both a lance and the weapons of his rhetoric. He clearly swayed the emotions and won the day.
Just as on the Byzantine frontier Ibn Nubata had preached jihad in an earlier period, so too here we see an example, albeit an isolated one, of the potential of jihad as a stimulus before battle and of the emotional impact which the presence of the religious classes had in the midst of the soldiers themselves. The author of this account, Ibn al-‘Adim, may well be viewing this battle through the eyes of thirteenth-century Syria, when people were long-used to jihad against the Franks, but he does not write in this way about any of the other military encounters between Muslims and Crusaders in the early twelfth century. We can reasonably believe, therefore, that this episode was rather unusual for its time. Ibn al-‘Adim does not labour his point; but it is of course significant that this battle, the battle of the Field of Blood, was a major victory for the Muslims under the Artuqid military leader Il-Ghazi, a battle, moreover, in which a major Crusader leader, Roger of Antioch, was slain. Il-Ghazi emerges from the sources as an erratic, uncoordinated adventurer who was unable to follow up this victory because of his prolonged alcoholic celebration of it, which lasted a week. He was not a man with staying power or political vision. As a Turcoman nomad, his attitude to Islam was probably pragmatic too. Whilst he too may well have been swayed by the eloquence of Ibn al-Khashshab, he did not have the personality around which other Muslim military commanders could congregate under the banner of jihad. So his victory at Balat remained an isolated one. But Ibn al-Khashshab had shown the way.33
Another legal activist was the Hanbalite preacher ‘Abd al-Wahhab al-Shirazi who was sent with a group of merchants to Baghdad to beg for help in 523/1129, after the Franks had appeared outside the very gate of Damascus. The delegation was on the point of breaking the minbar when the people in Baghdad promised to get in touch with the sultan about sending the Syrians help against the Franks.34
Il-Ghazi’s nephew, Balak, is also worthy of mention in a jihad context. He became a much-feared opponent of the Crusaders, displaying tremendous vigour in a number of small-scale encounters against them. He was killed outside Manbij in 518/1124 and buried in a tomb at Aleppo. The inscription on his tomb is a key piece of evidence in
any discussion of the evolution of the concept of jihad in Syria in the early Crusading period. It is worth setting the scene a little here. Within the period 482–541/1099–1146, right across the Muslim world from Spain to Central Asia, there are no surviving inscriptions which mention jihad except those in Syria. Even in Spain, the other theatre of war with the Crusaders, none have survived. This makes the few examples in Syria stand out all the more; indeed, it suggests that they may have had something to do with the proximity of the Crusaders and their invasion of the Muslim heartlands.35
The Crusades- Islamic Perspectives Page 18
