This picture is too highly coloured. It must be admitted for the credit of the ‘Ulamá, that they seldom resorted to violence. Islam was happily spared the horrors of an organised Inquisition. On the other hand, their authority was now so firmly established that all progress towards moral and intellectual liberty had apparently ceased, or at any rate only betrayed itself in spasmodic outbursts. Ṣúfiism in some degree represented such a movement, but the mystics shared the triumph of Scholasticism and contributed to the reaction which ensued. No longer an oppressed minority struggling for toleration, they found themselves side by side with reverend doctors on a platform broad enough to accommodate all parties, and they saw their own popular heroes turned into Saints of the orthodox Church. The compromise did not always work smoothly—in fact, there was continual friction—but on the whole it seems to have borne the strain wonderfully well. If pious souls were shocked by the lawlessness of the Dervishes, and if bigots would fain have burned the books of Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí and Ibnu ’l-Fáriḍ, the divines in general showed a disposition to suspend judgment in matters touching holy men and to regard them as standing above human criticism.

As typical representatives of the religious life of this period we may take two men belonging to widely opposite camps—Taqiyyu ’l-Dín Ibn Taymiyya and ‘Abdu ’l-Wahháb al-Sha‘rání.

Ibn Taymiyya was born at Ḥarrán in 1263 a.d. A few years later his father, fleeing before the Mongols, brought him Ibn Taymiyya (1263-1328 a.d.). to Damascus, where in due course he received an excellent education. It is said that he never forgot anything which he had once learned, and his knowledge of theology and law was so extensive as almost to justify the saying, "A tradition that Ibn Taymiyya does not recognise is no tradition." Himself a Ḥanbalite of the deepest dye—holding, in other words, that the Koran must be interpreted according to its letter and not by the light of reason—he devoted his life with rare courage to the work of religious reform. His aim, in short, was to restore the primitive monotheism taught by the Prophet and to purge Islam of the heresies and corruptions which threatened to destroy it. One may imagine what a hornet's nest he was attacking. Mystics, philosophers, and scholastic theologians, all fell alike under the lash of his denunciation. Bowing to no authority, but drawing his arguments from the traditions and practice of the early Church, he expressed his convictions in the most forcible terms, without regard to consequences. Although several times thrown into prison, he could not be muzzled for long. The climax was reached when he lifted up his voice against the superstitions of the popular faith—saint-worship, pilgrimage to holy shrines, vows, offerings, and invocations. These things, which the zealous puritan condemned as sheer idolatry, were part of a venerable cult that was hallowed by ancient custom, and had engrafted itself in luxuriant overgrowth upon Islam. The mass of Moslems believed, and still believe implicitly in the saints, accept their miracles, adore their relics, visit their tombs, and pray for their intercession. Ibn Taymiyya even declared that it was wrong to implore the aid of the Prophet or to make a pilgrimage to his sepulchre. It was a vain protest. He ended his days in captivity at Damascus. The vast crowds who attended his funeral—we are told that there were present 200,000 men and 15,000 women—bore witness to the profound respect which was universally felt for the intrepid reformer. Oddly enough, he was buried in the Cemetery of the Ṣúfís, whose doctrines he had so bitterly opposed, and the multitude revered his memory—as a saint! The principles which inspired Ibn Taymiyya did not fall to the ground, although their immediate effect was confined to a very small circle. We shall see them reappearing victoriously in the Wahhábite movement of the eighteenth century.

Notwithstanding the brilliant effort of Ghazálí to harmonise dogmatic theology with mysticism, it soon became clear that the two parties were in essence irreconcilable. The orthodox clergy who held fast by the authority of the Koran and the> Traditions saw a grave danger to themselves in the esoteric revelation which the mystics claimed to possess; while the latter, though externally conforming to the law of Islam, looked down with contempt on the idea that true knowledge of God could be derived from theology, or from any source except the inner light of heavenly inspiration. Hence the antithesis of faqíh (theologian) and faqír (dervish), the one class forming a powerful official hierarchy in close alliance with the Government, whereas the Ṣúfís found their chief support among the people at large, and especially among the poor. We need not dwell further on the natural antagonism which has always existed between these rival corporations, and which is a marked feature in the modern history of Islam. It will be more instructive to spend a few moments with the last great Muḥammadan theosophist, ‘Abdu ’l-Wahháb Sha‘rání † 1565 a.d.). al-Sha‘rání, a man who, with all his weaknesses, was an original thinker, and exerted an influence strongly felt to this day, as is shown by the steady demand for his books. He was born about the beginning of the sixteenth century. Concerning his outward life we have little information beyond the facts that he was a weaver by trade and resided in Cairo. At this time Egypt was a province of the Ottoman Empire. Sha‘rání contrasts the miserable lot of the peasantry under the new régime with their comparative prosperity under the Mamelukes. So terrible were the exactions of the tax-gatherers that the fellah was forced to sell the whole produce of his land, and sometimes even the ox which ploughed it, in order to save himself and his family from imprisonment; and every lucrative business was crushed by confiscation. It is not to be supposed, however, that Sha‘rání gave serious attention to such sublunary matters. He lived in a world of visions and wonderful experiences. He conversed with angels and prophets, like his more famous predecessor, Muḥyi ’l-Dín Ibnu ’l-‘Arabí, whose Meccan Revelations he studied and epitomised. His autobiography entitled Laṭá’ifu ’l-Minan displays the hierophant in full dress. It is a record of the singular spiritual gifts and virtues with which he was endowed, and would rank as a masterpiece of shameless self-laudation, did not the author repeatedly assure us that all his extraordinary qualities are Divine blessings and are gratefully set forth by their recipient ad majorem Dei gloriam. We should be treating Sha‘rání very unfairly if we judged him by this work alone. The arrogant miracle-monger was one of the most learned men of his day, and could beat the scholastic theologians with their own weapons. Indeed, he regarded theology (fiqh) as the first step towards Ṣúfiism, and endeavoured to show that in reality they are different aspects of the same science. He also sought to harmonise the four great schools of law, whose disagreement was consecrated by the well-known saying ascribed to the Prophet: "The variance of my people is an act of Divine mercy" (ikhtiláfu ummatí raḥmatun). Like the Arabian Ṣúfís generally, Sha‘rání kept his mysticism within narrow bounds, and declared himself an adherent of the moderate section which follows Junayd of Baghdád († 909-910 a.d.). For all his extravagant pretensions and childish belief in the supernatural, he never lost touch with the Muḥammadan Church.

In the thirteenth century Ibn Taymiyya had tried to eradicate the abuses which obscured the simple creed of Islam. He failed, but his work was carried on by others and was crowned, after a long interval, by the Wahhábite Reformation.[857]

Muḥammad b. ‘Abd al-Wahháb,[858] from whom its name is Arabia. In his youth he visited the principal cities of the Muḥammad b. ‘Abd al-Wahháb and his successors. East, "as is much the practice with his countrymen even now,"[859] and what he observed in the course of his travels convinced him that Islam was thoroughly corrupt. Fired by the example of Ibn Taymiyya, whose writings he copied with his own hand,[860] Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahháb determined to re-establish the pure religion of Muḥammad in its primitive form. Accordingly he returned home and retired with his family to Ḍira‘iyya at the time when Muḥammad b. Sa‘úd was the chief personage of the town. This man became his first convert and soon after married his daughter. But it was not until the end of the eighteenth century that the Wahhábís, under ‘Abdu ’l-‘Azíz, son of Muḥammad b. Sa‘úd, gained their first great successes. In 1801 they sacked Imám-Ḥusayn,[861] a town in the vicinity of Baghdád, massacred five thousand persons, and destroyed the cupola of Ḥusayn's tomb; the veneration paid by all Shí‘ites to that shrine being, as Burckhardt says, a sufficient cause to attract the Wahhábí fury against it. Two years later they made themselves masters of the whole Ḥijáz, including Mecca and Medína. On the death of ‘Abdu ’l-‘Azíz, who was assassinated in the same year, his eldest son, Sa‘úd, continued the work of conquest and brought the greater part of Arabia under Wahhábite rule. At last, in 1811, Turkey despatched a fleet and army to recover the Holy Cities. This task was accomplished by Muḥammad ‘Alí, the Pasha of Egypt (1812-13), and after five years' hard fighting the war ended in favour of the Turks, who in 1818 inflicted a severe defeat on the Wahhábís and took their capital, Ḍira‘iyya, by storm. The sect, however, still maintains its power in Central Arabia, and in recent times has acquired political importance.

The Wahhábís were regarded by the Turks as infidels and authors of a new religion. It was natural that they should The Wahhábite Reformation. appear in this light, for they interrupted the pilgrim-caravans, demolished the domes and ornamented tombs of the most venerable Saints (not excepting that of the Prophet himself), and broke to pieces the Black Stone in the Ka‘ba. All this they did not as innovators, but as reformers. They resembled the Carmathians only in their acts. Burckhardt says very truly: "Not a single new precept was to be found in the Wahaby code. Abd el Waháb took as his sole guide the Koran and the Sunne (or the laws formed upon the traditions of Mohammed); and the only difference between his sect and the orthodox Turks, however improperly so termed, is, that the Wahabys rigidly follow the same laws which the others neglect, or have ceased altogether to observe."[862] "The Wahhábites," says Dozy, "attacked the idolatrous worship of Mahomet; although he was in their eyes a Prophet sent to declare the will of God, he was no less a man like others, and his mortal shell, far from having mounted to heaven, rested in the tomb at Medína. Saint-worship they combated just as strongly. They proclaimed that all men are equal before God; that even the most virtuous and devout cannot intercede with Him; and that, consequently, it is a sin to invoke the Saints and to adore their relics."[863] In the same puritan spirit they forbade the smoking of tobacco, the wearing of gaudy robes, and praying over the rosary. "It has been stated that they likewise prohibited the drinking of coffee; this, however, is not the fact: they have always used it to an immoderate degree."[864]

The Wahhábite movement has been compared with the Protestant Reformation in Europe; but while the latter was followed by the English and French Revolutions, the former has not yet produced any great political results. It has borne fruit in a general religious revival throughout the world of Islam and particularly in the mysterious Sanúsiyya The Sanúsís in Africa.Brotherhood, whose influence is supreme in Tripoli, the Sahara, and the whole North African Hinterland, and whose members are reckoned by millions. Muḥammad b. ‘Alí b. Sanúsí, the founder of this vast and formidable organisation, was born at Algiers in 1791, lived for many years at Mecca, and died at Jaghbúb in the Libyan desert, midway between Egypt and Tripoli, in 1859. Concerning the real aims of the Sanúsís I must refer the reader to an interesting paper by the Rev. E. Sell (Essays on Islam, p. 127 sqq.). There is no doubt that they are utterly opposed to all Western and modern civilisation, and seek to regenerate Islam by establishing an independent theocratic State on the model of that which the Prophet and his successors called into being at Medína in the seventh century after Christ.

Since Napoleon showed the way by his expedition to Egypt in 1798, the Moslems in that country, as likewise in Syria and North Islam and modern civilisation. Africa, have come more and more under European influence.[865] The above-mentioned Muḥammad ‘Alí, who founded the Khedivial dynasty, and his successors were fully alive to the practical benefits which might be obtained from the superior culture of the West, and although their policy in this respect was marked by greater zeal than discretion, they did not exert themselves altogether in vain. The introduction of the printing-press in 1821 was an epoch-making measure. If, on the one hand, the publication of many classical works, which had well-nigh fallen into oblivion, rekindled the enthusiasm of the Arabs for their national literature, the cause of progress—I use the word without prejudice—has been furthered by the numerous political, literary, and scientific journals which are now regularly issued in every country where Arabic is spoken.[866] Besides these ephemeral sheets, books of all sorts, old and new, have been multiplied by the native and European presses of Cairo, Búláq, and Beyrout. The science and culture of Europe have been rendered accessible in translations and adaptations of which the complete list would form a volume in itself. Thus, an Arab may read in his own language the tragedies of Racine, the comedies of Molière,[867] the fables of La Fontaine, 'Paul and Virginia,' the 'Talisman,' 'Monte Cristo' (not to mention scores of minor romances), and even the Iliad of Homer.[868] Parallel to this imitative activity, we see a vigorous and growing movement away from the literary models of the past. "Neo-Arabic literature is only to a limited extent the heir of the old 'classical' Arabic literature, and even shows a tendency to repudiate its inheritance entirely. Its leaders are for the most part men who have drunk from other springs and look at the world with different eyes. Yet the past still plays a part in their intellectual background, and there is a section amongst them upon whom that past retains a hold scarcely shaken by newer influences. For many decades the partisans of the 'old' and the 'new' have engaged in a struggle for the soul of the Arabic world, a struggle in which the victory of one side over the other is even yet not assured. The protagonists are (to classify them roughly for practical purposes) the European-educated classes of Egyptians and Syrians on the one hand, and those in Egypt and the less advanced Arabic lands whose education has followed traditional lines on the other. Whatever the ultimate result may be, there can be no question that the conflict has torn the Arabic world from its ancient moorings, and that the contemporary literature of Egypt and Syria breathes in its more recent developments a spirit foreign to the old traditions."[869]

Hitherto Western culture has only touched the surface of Islam. Whether it will eventually strike deeper and penetrate the inmost barriers of that scholastic discipline and literary tradition which are so firmly rooted in the affections of the Moslem peoples, or whether it will always remain an exotic and highly-prized accomplishment of the enlightened and emancipated few, but an object of scorn and detestation to Muḥammadans in general—these are questions that may not be fully solved for centuries to come.