The Most Contrary Moth

In Chaadaev’s persuasive letter The Philosophical Letters Addressed to a Lady Chaadaev raises many questions of serious importance for his contemporary Russian countrymen. He asks them, indirectly, to consider the implications of Russia’s role in the western world, as well as Russia’s role in the eastern world. He even raises questions as to whether Russia belongs in either region. These are things which Chaadaev confronts the reader with directly. However, what is not so apparent, or at least not so direct, is Chaadaev’s attitude towards his audience, or the supposed reader of this letter. Certainly, it is easy to assume that the letters were written for consumption by his peers and fellow intelligentsia, however, this letter’s publication was secondary to its original intended recipient. This recipient was a woman, and one who historically really did exist.

                So what can we glean from his attitude towards his audience? Topically, that is without the context of knowing that this woman actually existed, we might think that this correspondence was exaggerated for the full benefit of a larger audience. This, however, cannot be the case. So with this in mind we must ask ourselves: what we can learn of Chaadaev’s attitude towards women, and is this at all a progressive or atypical ideal?

                In Chaadaev’s signature way, he is still somewhat inscrutable. Right off the bat one could argue for either, in one case because of his condescending attitude and supposition that these serious thoughts would plague a woman to a condition of impaired health. (23) On the other hand, one could argue that Chaadaev considers women on an individual basis, much as he probably considers men on an individual basis to be either foolish or wise. This can be evidenced by Chaadaev stating the following:

“The traits which distinguish you from the crowd must also render you partially susceptible to the bad effects of the air which you breathe. Could the little which I have allowed myself to say to you bring stability to your ideas amid all that surrounds you?” (24)

Whether he means by this that she (the intended reader) is distinguished from a crowd of her fellow women or from the masses of people who do not take time to consider these things is somewhat ambiguous. Within the passage Chaadaev continues to hint towards both conclusions. Perhaps he even intends for both.

                That isn’t to say that he doesn’t delineate a very strong supposition towards the roles of women in society however. It may be a bit more subtle than Dostoyevsky, as he doesn’t suppose that is reader is fainting and in fits of hysterics over the troubling ideas which, according to him, plague her. However, there is still an understanding that thinking on such serious matters, in fact devoting any time to contemplative thought at all, provides a pervading sense of inquietude for the female sex. Indeed, the whole letter possesses a certain air of paternal sympathy. It is almost as if Chaadaev finds his correspondent to be of a childlike and frivolous disposition and takes it upon himself, to his credit of course, to be the one to lovingly explain the sad and unfortunate workings of a world that is not fair and shall never be so. There is almost, at the periphery of my mind, the mental image of a man sat with a child on his lap, a comforting hand resting on the child’s back.

However, Chaadaev seems as though he considers his reader to possess certain intelligence. (Or at least in the beginning stages of intelligence- i.e. those stages in which a person first starts to take notice of such pervading questions about religion and nationality.) Arguably, on the other hand, this is his own doing, as we cannot be certain of the content of his first discussions with this woman and whether or not he truly believes that she conceived of some of these ideas on her own is debatable. (He does, in fact, apologize profusely for awakening her to such ideas; however this may just be another of his arrogant suppositions.)

It is somewhat impossible to know for sure how Chaadaev felt simply from this one letter. We’ve never spoken to the woman in question and we never got to hear their discussions with one another. What can be learned is that Chaadaev was certainly not opposed to the possibility that women had the capacity to think on such things, and that still goes a lot further than most of his contemporaries.

Written in January of 2011

Author: The Contrary Moth

In the improbable way of the majority of Islamic empires, the Seljuqs arose from a tribe, loosely affiliated with the institution of Islam (in the sense that it was only subscribed to for the a few generations prior to their rule) and managed, in a spectacular fashion, to institute a far reaching and inclusive control of their subject peoples. This, however, is where the similarity ends.

A little bit of background is perhaps appropriate. The Seljuqs were a nomadic tribe of central Asian descent. They were roughly from the area around Transoxania and they were militant in their approach to conquering. This, of course, begets the question: “How on earth did they manage to subjugate the whole of Islamdom (previously controlled by the Abbasid caliphate) in an arguably peaceable manner?” The answer, as can probably be inferred, is not a simple one. This elusive answer lies in a cocktail of military prowess, dissemination of centralized power, diplomatic overtures, and a never-ending pursuit of legitimization.

The first of these is perhaps the most obvious. The Seljuqs were always militarily inclined, and even into their rule over the Empire, the sultans were still primarily concerned with affairs of a military nature (Safi, 60), whether by necessity or by simple familiarity and preference. In fact, it would not be going too far to believe that their pride concerning military competency was reflexive upon the actual sultan’s vanity with concern to his own personal ability as a soldier. A spectacular example of this is of Alp Arslan’s assassination. This attempt at his life was entirely preventable, should the late sultan not have decided to try and take out the assassinator with his own bow and arrow. (Safi, 61)  This is an excellent example of military pride working against the Seljuqs, however there is little to indicate that this was the norm rather than the exception.

Perhaps this is only so because of the second point of notice: the Seljuq government’s proclivity towards disseminating their administrational power. What this means is that there was not just “The Sultanate.” There was also “The Vizierate,” and “The Caliphate.” This effectively divided the powers and spheres of influence of the realm into three separate, but linked, entities, which would work either in tandem or against each other at any given time. (Safi, 43-44.)

This separation of powers, if you choose to call it such, was what allowed the empire to work cohesively at the height of its power. This was, in large part, due to the mediatory efforts of the vizierate. (Safi, 44.) There were multiple viziers, and officials of many different positions in the sultanate could possess viziers, however it is unanimously considered that the most important of all of these viziers was one Nizam al-Mulk. (Safi, 43-44.)

This was not his real name, but was instead a title. (Safi, 44.) And the acknowledgement of this as a title instead of his given name perhaps gives him even more power; especially when one considers the transliterated meaning of his name. Omid Safi, in his book The Politics of Knowledge in Premodern Islam, investigates the linguistic history of Nizam al-Mulk’s title in penetrating detail, even going so far as to consider cognates of the word “Nizam,” however, for our purposes, it can be understood that his name hints at the great unification of the Seljuq empire which can be ascribed to Nizam al-Mulk’s direction. (Safi, 45-46.)

Nizam al-Mulk, it can be argued, almost single-handedly negotiated the relationship between the reigning sultan and caliph for almost forty years. He drew upon his father’s post in the administration of the Ghaznavid empire and existing facets of the political “landscape” to effectively re-assemble the empire into something resembling earlier models of Islamic empiricism, but wholly independent in functionality. (Safi, 87.) His innovative mixture of realpolitik (Sufi, 54.), proto-fascist control over his peers and the subjects of the empire, and pragmatic bipartisan diplomacy (between the sultanate and the caliphate, as well as between opposing schools of Sunni legal thought) served both the Seljuq Empire, and himself, until 1092 CE when he was assassinated. (Safi, 74.)

The policies concerning the land grant system (‘iqta), patronage of education and madrasas, and strict supervision (or spying) of the subject peoples were not new ideas, however his implementation of these principles was a work of his own ingenuity. (Safi, 87.)

The first two worked in favor of the Seljuq Empire’s diplomatic overtures to the Arabs over which they ruled. ‘Iqta had been a practice which was not new to the region, however Nizam al-Mulk utilized it in a way which both rewarded military and scholastic achievement, and settled the Turkish tribal forces which posed a distinct threat to the incumbent empire, if for no other reason than for their legendary lack of fidelity and their nomadic lifestyle. (Safi, 89.) The latter of which potentially posed a threat to the stability and comfort of established Arab settlements. Far from requiring that the Turkish tribes settle permanently, it merely encouraged them to migrate regularly to their established land grant, if only to collect tax and revenue from those living there. (Safi, 89.)

If the ‘iqta system of land grants served to appease the migratory tribes and the military commanders, sponsorship of the Madrasa and endowments for educational pursuits served to appease and curry favor with the Ulama and aspiring scholars, qadi, and those who wished to study fiqh. It also won over whoever subscribed to that particular madrasa’s school of legal thought, (Whether it was Hanafi or Shafi’i.) (Safi, 60.) This was an important step in securing the governability of the empire. Fitna (or civil strife) was rampant in sectarian disputes over legalistic views of Sunni Islam. (Safi, 54.) It was also a defining declaration against Shi’ites, particularly the Isma’ilis and the Fatimid empire to the west.

Through further polarizing the difference between Sunnis and Shi’ites, Nizam al-Mulk sought to ameliorate the disparity between the Hanafi and Shafi’i sectors of the Seljuq Empire. (This was possibly in large part because, in direct opposition to the sultan Alp Arslan, Nizam al-Mulk subscribed to the Shafi’i school. He admitted that this caused him some reason for discomfort.) (Safi, 94.)

The last trick of Nizam al-Mulk which will be mentioned in this essay, (however, certainly not the last political trick up his sleeve), was that of strict observation of the subject peoples. This is not mentioned in a general sense, not in the least. Nizam al-Mulk had a complex circuitry of reconnaissance officers and spies about the entirety of the empire. (Safi, 84.) He utilized postal workers and Sufi travellers as his method of acquiring information on all things great and small. A ruler that knew nothing was no ruler at all, by his consideration. He even went so far as to monitor those who were doing his spying (Safi, 86,) and although this was not a concept which was original to him, his application of it was far more advanced than his predecessors. (Safi, 84.) In what is perhaps reminiscent of the CIA or former KGB, he patrolled the empire fastidiously to ensure that it remained under the thumb of the sultanate.  

However, outside of Nizam al-Mulk’s personal endeavors at empire-building, his nominal position was as an advisor to the sultan and as an emissary to the caliphs. (This was a position which he took very seriously, as the balance of the legitimacy of the caliphal office and the real power of the sultan was fairly precarious.) Nizam al-Mulk was a supporter of keeping the Abbasids in view of the public and upholding the position of the caliph for the sake of stability, however, and this is evidence of one of his failings, very few of his contemporaries agreed upon this sore point. (Safi, 55.) The Seljuq sultans themselves were happy enough to wish the caliphs done away with and some of the other viziers were actively attempting to undermine caliphal power. This was, perhaps, Nizam al-Mulk’s downfall, for as he progressed in his career he met increased resistance from the then sultan Malik-Shah (son of Alp Arslan) who wished to consolidate the offices. (Safi, 62.) This purportedly led to Nizam al-Mulk’s assassination in 1092. (Safi, 74) And thus, one of the greatest political minds in history was dead.

The Seljuq Empire continued on after this point, but its period of solidarity and unification was over. The administrational innovations of the Seljuqs took place, almost singularly, in this period of time. Whether their stigmatism of “outsider” persisted or re-emerged after this point is open to some debate; however it is clear that this was their period of greatest control over their subjects, and their subject’s greatest ubiquitous acceptance of the sultanate. Like all great empires, it also crumbled.

[i]Safi, Omid. The Politics of Knowledge in Premodern Islam: Negotiating Ideology and

 Religious Inquiry. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 2006. Print.

 Written in December 2010

The advent of an Islamic state in which the subject peoples and the ruling peoples could identify themselves independently of most pre-Islamic empires’ bureaucratic practices and agencies was long in the making. It is also of historiographical question when there could be a clean distinction made between the preceding caliphates’ habits of adopting pre-Islamic standards and modes-of-operation and the wholly different manifestation of an independent Islamic state by the time of the Abbasid Revolution in the 750s.

This is the question that Chase Robinson attempts to answer in his biography of ‘Abd al-Malik. The simple fact that Robinson chooses to investigate the life of ‘Abd al-Malik is evidential in the sense that it gives some idea of what his position on ‘Abd al-Malik’s historical relevance is. It can be assumed from the fact that Robinson so thoroughly investigates the life of one of the earlier, less documented Caliphs that he has some opinion on his importance. Indeed, he states that he is less than satisfied with the relatively small amount of information available. (Robinson, 53).

Much of the evidence left behind is indirect in nature; things that can only be attributed to ‘Abd al-Malik’s caliphate through investigation of the time period to which they are attributed. Robinson makes note of coinage (Robinson, 73), tax papyri (Robinson, 71), The Dome of the Rock (Robinson, 4), contemporary rebellions (Robinson, 92) and the diwan (Robinson, 68) as evidence of ‘Abd al-Malik’s direct changes upon the Islamic empire of the late seventh century. One must also consider the historical context of these findings. For example: What was the political atmosphere at the time of the Dome of the Rock’s construction? (Which was in the year 72 of the Muslim calendar, or 691 CE) (Robinson, 3,4).

To answer this question we must first look at who preceded ‘Abd al-Malik as caliph. Already there is a question implicit. Is it Mu’awiya who was last official caliph or Ibn al-Zubayr? This is precisely why the political connotations connected to the Dome of the Rock are so murky. After Mu’awiya’s death as the last Sufyanid caliph of the Umayyad caliphate, there is some dispute over who should then take over the office. The two fighting over the position were ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Marwan (appropriately, a “Marwanid”), and Ibn al-Zabayr, a non-Umayyad member of the Quraysh who had extensive ties to the life of the Prophet Muhammad as a boy. (Robinson, 14).

One of the primary reasons for the lack of consensus was the geographical positioning of both the caliphs. ‘Abd al-Malik, as an Umayyad, had his largest band of supporters in Syria, while Ibn al-Zubayr controlled the Hijaz region of Arabia which included Mecca and Medina, both of exceptional interest to Muslims. This explains, in part, why ‘Abd al-Malik was given the oath of allegiance as early as 685, while Ibn al-Zubayr was not defeated by ‘Abd al-Malik’s constituents until 692, and was, too that point, still considered caliph. (Robinson, 4,5)

The Dome of the rock, by this rational, must have been completed about the time of Ibn al-Zubayr’s defeat in Mecca, if not a year or so before hand. By extension, this means that Robinson is open to infer that ‘Abd al-Malik must have, by this time, collected enough momentum, power, and wealth to undertake such a project in an area that typically belonged to non-Muslims, while not yet, if ever, unanimously considered to be caliph. (Robinson, 6).

It is established by one eighth-century bishop that ‘Abd al-Malik had initial trouble in his caliphate with the Byzantine emperor Justinian II and his autonomy within the Syria if not Damascus itself. This would have been in the early years of his reign, which took place in the 680s. (Robinson, 40). For the successful overthrow of Ibn al-Zubayr in 692 and the completion of the Dome of the Rock the year prior, ‘Abd al-Malik would have had to have gained substantial support and power in a relatively short amount of time, which he, through liberal use of military strategy, does. (Robinson, 43). At this point in time it was necessary for ‘Abd al-Malik to appoint governors to his newly acquired provinces. He chose to appoint his chief deputy al-Hajjaj and his brothers to the most crucial areas of interest such as Persia and Egypt.

However, this is all preceding the actual creation of a unified Islamic state. Robinson uses this to explain the acquisition of power that was necessary for ‘Abd al-Malik’s changes to be effective. Unlike Mu’awiya before him, who, while almost unanimously respected as caliph, made very few, if any, lasting administrative changes. On the contrary, Mu’awiya’s success was largely contingent upon his respect of the autonomy of tribes and non-Muslim subject populations to self-govern to a certain extent. (Robinson, 24).

‘Abd al-Malik’s changes to the structure of the Islamic state may have been precipitated by either his institution of a more professionalized army, or his establishment of himself as a figure with express control over the subject peoples and leader of the faithful in one. However which preceded the other is up to some interpretation. They may have been contemporaneous developments, whereby ‘Abd al-Malik’s image of warrior caliph was complimented by his better organized military. However, to this point Robinson makes no allusion. He simply presents ‘Abd al-Malik’s appointments of senior officers rather than tribal chiefs to the army (Robinson, 68), and ‘Abd al-Malik’s public identity according to coins and various pieces of paraphernalia dated to his reign. (Robinson, 50).

However, the fact that evidence exists to support these two developments to the caliphate suggests that the Islamic state was changing in a radical way already, and in regards to both the diwan (military roster for pay as interpreted in the year 700)(Robinson, 68) and the coinage minted at the time (Robinson, 73), Robinson provides sufficient commentary that would seem to imply that he is of the opinion that ‘Abd al-Malik was the one who effected the large-scale change of the Islamic polity. (Robinson, 66)

The professionalization of the army was a feat that was probably accomplished early after the second civil war, and there are consequences which would reverberate until the 750s with the social effects of it. ‘Abd al-Malik’s strategy was to replace the old tribal system of fighting with one that would stand unanimously, without, for the most part, tribal divisions. There were formal officers in charge now and no longer were the armies garrisoned as parts of a tribe, but were acknowledged as soldiers under the caliph. Each was registered for pay on the diwan, including the non-Muslim soldiers, who, although paid less, were still entitled to a salary. (Robinson, 68)

A point of notice is that the soldiers are speculated to have been paid in gold and silver coins. A hallmark of the ‘Abd al-Malik caliphate was his minting of coins which were independent of earlier Sassanid and Byzantine models. There were, Robinson tells, two periods of minting: one where the influence was still semi-iconographic, where the images of the warrior caliph coin fit, and another period which reflects the iconoclastic tendencies of the Islamic world. These coins were fitted purely with Arabic calligraphy and no naturalistic imagery. (Robinson, 73). The beginning of minting coins is thought to date at about 691. This is shown by a remarkable consistency of the coins which are found from this period. Instead of the differences that were normally found by region in the coins, it seems as if there was some kind of authority over the minting on a wide scale. This not only affected the design, but also the weight and value. (Robinson, 72, 73).

One of the most interesting pieces of evidence used by Robinson is, however, papyri found in Palestine. These are thought to have been from the mid to end periods of the seventh-century. Robinson takes a special interest in these, as they seem concurrent with the changes affected in the bureaucracy of the infant Marwanid caliphate. He makes three points:

“The first is that continuity of administrative traditions that I hinted at earlier: the Nessana papyri are in Greek, as they are in parallel documents found in Eygpt (where we also have bilingual papyri in Greek and Arabic). The second is irregular tribute-taking, which is familiar to us from other regions, such as northern Mesopotamia; there too, it very clearly featured through the 680s. The third is a series of unprecedented fiscal measures, including a survey of properties and census of people; one papyrus also describes how the “commander of the faithful,” ‘Abd al-Malik authorized payments to Arab (and thus presumably Muslim) soldiers.”(Robinson, 71).

            Finally, Robinson makes mention of a fractioned identity. There is less of a division along tribal lines and the focus of division instead shifts to geographical differences in identity. In the late seventh century, especially during the aftermath of the Second Civil War in the 690s, there was a great deal of migration which split tribes (Much of this because many tribesmen would become professional soldiers or perhaps merchants). (Robinson, 70). Some of this could possibly be from the military, when some of the troops may have been mobilized to far reaches of the empire to control the land interests, however the effect is the same. There were divisions now of the Northerners and Southerners (“Qays” and “Yaman” respectively). (Robinson, 70). This is not something which is unique to the Umayyad caliphate. Many empires and countries throughout history divide themselves through geographic identity, and indeed, this could almost seem to, counter-intuitively, designate an empire, albeit one of a heterogeneous subject population. ‘Abd al-Malik was acutely aware of this and would use this to affect change politically. (Robinson, 71).

            There are numerous ideas presented in ‘Abd al-Malik which would indicate that Robinson considered the man to be a very important, if not sole, catalyst of the change in the Islamic polity’s identity and shape. In fact, there is very little that goes to say that he feels ‘Abd al-Malik was anything but the driving force of the subsequent Marwanid caliphate, though he is slow to acknowledge his legitimacy in the year that ‘Abd al-Malik (purportedly) received the oath of allegiance. This is perhaps apt, as Robinson points out; there were many rebels who claimed to be caliph throughout Islamic history. (Robinson, 31). Though could any have them claimed the legitimacy which belonged to ‘Abd al-Malik? Could any of them have laid the groundwork for an empire that stretched as far as Spain and India? It seems doubtful.

Robinson, Chase F. ʻAbd Al-Malik. Oxford: Oneworld Publ., 2005. Print.

Written in October 2010

Dawson, Christopher. Mission to Asia. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1980.

            In John of Plano Carpini’s observation of Mongolian war tactics, compiled into his History of the Mongols in 1240, Carpini observes the behavior and advancement of the Mongol troops on their enemies. Carpini, acting as an ambassador for Rome at that time was one of the first Europeans to attempt to chronicle the history of the Mongols. In addition to their history, this entailed a fair bit of proto-anthropological work on his part, as little was understood of their culture from a western, christiological standpoint. As a diplomat to the Mongols, Carpini worked from an enviable vantage point when writing his history and ethnography of the Mongols, and as such was afforded many insights which may have been overlooked by the victims of the Mongols, or may have just gone unobserved by most of western and eastern Christendom.

            At the time of Carpini’s exposition on and investigation of the Mongolian operation and empire, the whole of Christendom had been recently rent in two by an ecumenical crisis between the patriarchy of Constantinople and the papacy of Rome. The divergent Latin and Greek churches were expressly interested in the diaspora of their constituents and the emerging Mongol threat, as they saw it, posed a formidable new enemy on the horizon.

Like the Islamic caliphate before them they overtook Christian lands and peoples and subjugated or enslaved them to Mongol rule. The need to send an emissary to the Mongol Khan to try and negotiate a halt to the progress of the Mongol invasion that would soon become established as the Golden Horde became a pressing one. Their tactics were brutal and their mercy was scarce. In the eyes of the Europeans, they were considered barbarians- as is evidenced by Carpini’s admission that they showed “bad faith” in those who surrendered to them.

This was the political and religious climate in which Carpini was sent unto the Mongols. As a man in high esteem with the European aristocracy and the Latin (or western) clergy, he was generally well liked and favored for the position. The looming threat of a Mongol occupancy of European lands must have been a significantly oppressive one in a time period which already suffered from abundant death and considerably unstable political institutions dependent upon feudalism.

Carpini’s exposition upon Mongol history and Mongol life seem appropriately, if curiously, removed from the reproval and general disgust which other westerners might have met the Mongol’s procedures with. Aside from his comment about the bad faith they reportedly met surrendering cities and armies with, there is very little censure in his explanation of how their army worked and disciplined its own. The explanation which he provided for how the Mongolian army treated deserters was met with the same cool professionalism that met the description of their executions of the nobles and the majority of their captured human assets.

The History of the Mongols, as far as can be ascertained from this short excerpt, was written within a rather interesting context by a rather interesting player in the greatly significant interplay between Europe and the invading Mongols. However, John de Plano Carpini was still a gifted writer who contributed a priceless link to the Mongol side of the invasion- a link which is either often neglected or forgotten so his contribution is both valid and of great importance. Who he was is both problematic and promising, as, although he cannot, by nature of his post, be objective, he can, by nature of his unique window into Mongol life, tell us what no one else at that time could or was inclined to. With this in mind his contribution to history should be treated with respect and due recognition, if with some necessary wariness and wise application of critical analysis.

Written September of 2012