During this period, migrating peoples once again played a major role, perhaps greater than that of the Arabs during the 7th and 8th centuries. No other civilization in premodern history experienced so much in-migration, especially of alien and disruptive peoples, or showed a greater ability to assimilate as well as to learn from outsiders. Nowhere has the capacity of a culture to redefine and incorporate the strange and the foreign been more evident. In this period, which ends with the death in 1405 of Timur (Tamerlane), the last great tribal conqueror, the tense yet creative relationship between sedentary and migratory peoples emerged as one of the great themes of Islamicate history, played out as it was in the centre of the great arid zone of Eurasia. Because this period can be seen as the history of peoples as well as of regions, and because the mobility of those peoples brought them to more than one cultural region, this period should be treated group by group rather than region by region.
As a general term, “migrating” peoples is preferable because it does not imply aimlessness, as “nomadic” does; or herding, as “pastoralist” does; or kin-related, as “tribal” does. “Migrating” focuses simply on movement from one home to another. Although the Franks, as the Crusaders are called in Muslim sources, differed from other migrating peoples, most of whom were pastoralists related by kinship, they too were migrating warriors organized to invade and occupy peoples to whom they were hostile and alien. Though not literally tribal, they appeared to behave like a tribe with a distinctive way of life and a solidarity based on common values, language, and objectives. Viewing them as alien immigrants comparable to, say, the Mongols helps to explain their reception: how they came to be assimilated into the local culture and drawn into the intra-Muslim factional competition and fighting that was under way in Syria when they arrived.
Turks
For almost 400 years a succession of Turkic peoples entered eastern Islamdom from Central Asia. These nearly continuous migrations can be divided into three phases: Seljuqs (1055–92), Mongols (1256–1411), and neo-Mongols (1369–1405). Their long-term impact, more constructive than destructive on balance, can still be felt through the lingering heritage of the great Muslim empires they inspired. The addition of tribally organized warrior Turks to the already widely used Turkic slave soldiery gave a single ethnic group an extensive role in widening the gap between rulers and ruled.
Seljuq Turks
The Seljuqs were a family among the Oghuz Turks, a label applied to the migratory pastoralists of the Syr Darya–Oxus basin. Their name has come to stand for the group of Oghuz families led into Ghaznavid Khorāsān after they had been converted to Sunni Islam, probably by Sufi missionaries after the beginning of the 11th century. In 1040 the Seljuqs’ defeat of the Ghaznavid sultan allowed them to proclaim themselves rulers of Khorāsān. Having expanded into western Iran as well, Toghrïl Beg, also using the title “sultan,” was able to occupy Baghdad (1055) after “petitioning” the ʿAbbāsid caliph for permission. The Seljuqs quickly took the remaining Būyid territory and began to occupy Syria, whereupon they encountered Byzantine resistance in the Armenian highlands. In 1071 a Seljuq army under Alp-Arslan defeated the Byzantines at Manzikert north of Lake Van; while the main Seljuq army replaced the Fāṭimids in Syria, large independent tribal bands occupied Anatolia, coming closer to the Byzantine capital than had any other Muslim force.
Policies of Niẓām al-Mulk
The Seljuqs derived their legitimacy from investiture by the caliph, and from “helping” him reunite the ummah; yet their governing style prefigured the emergence of true alternatives to the caliphate. Some of their Iranian advisers urged them to restore centralized absolutism as it had existed in pre-Islamic times and in the period of Marwānid-ʿAbbāsid strength. The best-known proponent was Niẓām al-Mulk, chief minister to the second and third Seljuq sultans, Alp-Arslan and Malik-Shāh. Niẓām al-Mulk explained his plans in his Seyāsat-nāmeh (The Book of Government), one of the best-known manuals of Islamicate political theory and administration. He was unable, however, to persuade the Seljuq sultans to assert enough power over other tribal leaders. Eventually the Seljuq sultans, like so many rulers before them, alienated their tribal supporters and resorted to the costly alternative of a Turkic slave core, whose leading members were appointed to tutor and train young princes of the Seljuq family to compete for rule on the death of the reigning sultan. The tutors were known as atabegs; more often than not, they became the actual rulers of the domains assigned to their young charges, cooperating with urban notables (aʿyān) in day-to-day administration.
Although Niẓām al-Mulk was not immediately successful, he did contribute to long-term change. He encouraged the establishment of state-supported schools (madrasas); those he personally patronized were called Niẓāmiyyahs. The most important Niẓāmiyyah was founded in Baghdad in 1067; there Niẓām al-Mulk gave government stipends to teachers and students whom he hoped he could subsequently not only appoint to the position of qāḍī but also recruit for the bureaucracy. Systematic and broad instruction in Jamāʿī-Sunni learning would counteract the disruptive influences of non-Sunni or anti-Sunni thought and activity, particularly the continuing agitation of Ismāʿīlī Muslims. In 1090 a group of Ismāʿīlīs established themselves in a mountain fortress at Alamūt in the mountains of Daylam. From there they began to coordinate revolts all over Seljuq domains. Nominally loyal to the Fāṭimid caliph in Cairo, the eastern Ismāʿīlīs confirmed their growing independence and radicalism by supporting a failed contender for the Fāṭimid caliphate, Nizār. For that act they were known as the Nizārī Ismāʿīlīs. They were led by Ḥasan-e Ṣabbāḥ and were dubbed by their detractors the ḥashīshiyyīn (assassins) because they practiced political murder while they were allegedly under the influence of hashish.
Niẓām al-Mulk’s madrasa system enhanced the prestige and solidarity of the Jamāʿī-Sunni ulama without actually drawing them into the bureaucracy or combating anti-Sunni agitation, but it also undermined their autonomy. It established the connection between state-supported education and office holding, and it subordinated the spiritual power and prestige of the ulama to the indispensable physical force of the military emirs. Niẓām al-Mulk unintentionally encouraged the independence of these emirs by extending the iqṭāʿ system beyond Būyid practice; he regularly assigned land revenues to individual military officers, assuming that he could keep them under bureaucratic control. When that failed, his system increased the emirs’ independence and drained the central treasury.
The madrasa system had other unpredictable results that can be illustrated by al-Ghazālī, who was born in 1058 at Ṭūs and in 1091 was made head of the Baghdad Niẓāmiyyah. For four years, to great admiration, he taught both fiqh and kalām and delivered critiques of falsafah and Ismāʿīlī thought. According to his autobiographical work Al-Munqidh min al-ḍalāl (The Deliverer from Error), the more he taught, the more he doubted, until his will and voice became paralyzed. In 1095 he retreated from public life, attempting to arrive at a more satisfying faith. He undertook a radically skeptical reexamination of all of the paths available to the pious Muslim, culminating in an incorporation of the active, immediate, and inspired experience of the Sufis into the Sharīʿah-ordered piety of the public cult. For his accomplishments, al-Ghazālī was viewed as a renewer (mujaddid), a role expected by many Muslims to be filled by at least one figure at the turn of every Muslim century.
Ṭarīqah fellowships
In the 12th century Muslims began to group themselves into ṭarīqah, fellowships organized around and named for the ṭarīqah (“way” or “path”) of given masters. Al-Ghazālī may have had such a following himself. One of the first large-scale orders, the Qādirīyah, formed around the teachings of ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlānī of Baghdad. Though rarely monastic in the European sense, the activities of a ṭarīqah often centred around assembly halls (called khānqāh, zāwiyah, or tekke) that could serve as places of retreat or accommodate special spiritual exercises. The dhikr, for example, is a ceremony in which devotees meditated on the name of God to the accompaniment of breathing exercises, music, or movement, so as to attain a state of consciousness productive of a sense of union with God. Although shortcuts and excesses have often made Sufism vulnerable to criticism, its most serious practitioners have conceived of it as a disciplined extension of Sharīʿah-minded piety, not an escape. In fact, many Sufis have begun their path through supererogatory fulfillment of standard ritual requirements.
Thousands of ṭarīqahs sprang up over the centuries, some associated with particular occupations, locales, or classes. It is possible that by the 18th century most adult Muslim males had some connection with one or more ṭarīqahs. The structure of the ṭarīqah ensued from the charismatic authority of the master, who, though not a prophet, replicated the direct intimacy that the prophets had shared with God. This quality he passed on to his disciples through a hierarchically ordered network that could extend over thousands of miles. The ṭarīqahs thus became powerful centripetal forces among societies in which formal organizations were rare; but the role of the master became controversial because followers often made saints or intercessors of especially powerful Sufi leaders and made shrines or pilgrimage sites of their tombs or birthplaces. Long before these developments could combine to produce stable alternatives to the caliphal system, Seljuq power had begun to decline, only to be replaced for a century and a half with a plethora of small military states. When the Frankish Crusaders arrived in the Holy Land in 1099, no one could prevent them from quickly establishing themselves along the eastern Mediterranean coast.
Franks
The call for the Crusades
At the Council of Clermont in 1095 Pope Urban II responded to an appeal from the Byzantine emperor for help against the Seljuq Turks, who had expanded into western Anatolia just as the Kipchak Turks in the Ukraine had cut off newly Christian Russia from Byzantium. The First Crusade, begun the next year, brought about the conquest of Jerusalem in 1099. The Christian Reconquista (Reconquest) of Spain was already under way, having scored its first great victory at Toledo in 1085. Ironically, modern historiography has concentrated on the Crusades that failed and virtually ignored the ones that succeeded. In the four centuries between the fall of Toledo and the fall of Granada (1492), Spanish Christians replaced Muslim rulers throughout the Iberian Peninsula, although Muslims remained as a minority under Christian rule until the early 17th century. In the 200 years from the fall of Jerusalem to the end of the Eighth Crusade (1291), western European Crusaders failed to halt the Turkish advance or to establish a permanent presence in the Holy Land. By 1187 local Muslims had managed to retake Jerusalem and thereby contain Christian ambitions permanently. By the time of the Fourth Crusade (1202–04) the Crusading movement had been turned inward against Christian heretics such as the Byzantines.
Effect of the Crusades in Syria
The direct impact of the Crusades on Islamdom was limited largely to Syria. For the century during which western European Christians were a serious presence there, they were confined to their massive coastal fortifications. The Crusaders had arrived in Syria at one of its most factionalized periods prior to the 20th century. Seljuq control, never strong, was then insignificant; local Muslim rule was anarchic; the Seljuq regime in Baghdad was competing with the Fāṭimid regime in Egypt; and all parties in Syria were the target of the Nizārī Ismāʿīlī movement at Alamūt. The Crusaders soon found it difficult to operate as more than just another faction. Yet the significance of the Crusaders as a force against which to be rallied should not be underestimated any more than should the significance of Islamdom as a force against which Christendom could unite.
The Crusaders’ situation encouraged interaction with the local population and even assimilation. They needed the food, supplies, and services available in the Muslim towns. Like their Christian counterparts in Spain, they took advantage of the enemy’s superior skills, in medicine and hygiene, for example. Because warfare was seasonal and occasional, they spent much of their time in peaceful interaction with their non-Christian counterparts. Some early-generation Crusaders intermarried with Arab Muslims or Arab Christians and adopted their personal habits and tastes, much to the dismay of Christian latecomers. An intriguing account of life in Syria during the Crusades can be found in the Kitāb al-Iʿtibār (“Book of Reflection”), the memoirs of Usāmah ibn Munqidh (1095–1188). Born in Syria, he was a small boy when the first generation of Franks controlled Jerusalem. As an adult, he fought with Saladin (Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb) and lived to see him unite Egypt with Syria and restore Jerusalem to Muslim control. In this fine example of Islamicate autobiographical writing, Usāmah draws a picture of the Crusades not easily found in European sources: Christians and Muslims observing, and sometimes admiring, each others’ skills and habits, from the battlefield to the bathhouse. Although the Franks in Syria were clearly influenced by the Muslims, the Crusades seem to have contributed relatively little to the overall impact of Islamicate culture on Europe, even though they constituted the most prolonged direct contact.
Although the Crusaders never formed a united front against the Muslims, Syrian Muslims did eventually form a united front against them, largely through the efforts of the family of the emir Zangī, a Turkic slave officer appointed Seljuq representative in Mosul in 1127. After Zangī had extended his control through northern Syria, one of his sons and successors, Nūr al-Dīn (Nureddin), based at Aleppo, was able to tie Zangī’s movement to the frontier warrior (ghāzī) spirit. This he used to draw together urban and military support for a jihad against the Christians. After taking Damascus, he established a second base in Egypt. He offered help to the failing Fāṭimid regime in return for being allowed to place one of his own lieutenants, Saladin, as chief minister to the Fāṭimid caliph, thus warding off a Crusader alliance with the Fāṭimids. This action gave Nūr al-Dīn two fronts from which to counteract the superior seaborne and naval support the Crusaders were receiving from western Europe and the Italian city-states. Three years before Nūr al-Dīn’s death in 1174, Saladin substituted himself for the Fāṭimid caliph he theoretically served, thus ending more than 200 years of Fāṭimid rule in Egypt. When Nūr al-Dīn died, Saladin succeeded him as head of the whole movement. When Saladin died in 1193, he had recaptured Jerusalem (1187) and begun the reunification of Egypt and Syria; his successors were known, after his patronymic, as the Ayyūbids. The efforts of a contemporary ʿAbbāsid caliph, al-Nāṣir, to revive the caliphate seem pale by comparison.
The Ayyūbids ruled in Egypt and Syria until around 1250, when they were replaced first in Egypt and later in Syria by the leaders of their own slave-soldier corps, the Mamlūks. It was they who expelled the remaining Crusaders from Syria, subdued the remaining Nizārī Ismāʿīlīs there, and consolidated Ayyūbid holdings into a centralized state. That state became strong enough in its first decade to do what no other Muslim power could: in 1260 at ʿAyn Jālūt, south of Damascus, the Mamlūk army defeated the recently arrived Mongols and expelled them from Syria.