I didn’t know what to expect when we landed in Athens. I knew we were going to be meeting with refugees and hearing their stories, but I did not expect what I saw and heard. For one thing, I may have expected a strong narrative of unbearable suffering that ran through every one of these meetings. A narrative of victimhood and helplessness. A narrative which wanted so badly to be heard and listened to so that it could expose its most tragic and historic aspects to create greater awareness and anger for it. I may have expected helpless, uncontrollable tears rolling down my cheeks in response to harrowing tales of torture, imprisonment, of separation – mother from child, husband from wife, brother from sister.

What happened, instead, has left me incredibly perplexed. I heard the harrowing tales of torture, imprisonment, separation, familial betrayal, the difficulties of escaping a brutal crackdown, and of near-death situations. But an almost unexplainable sense of calm ran through these people as they told their stories. A calm motivated by faith and the belief that God is with the Hizmet, or “service,” Movement and has already manifested His mercy by preserving the movement despite these hardships. These atrocities did not destroy the Movement or break its spirit; they look more united than ever.

The narrative that believers suffer at the hands of unjust oppressors, as many prophets did under the tyranny of various pharaohs, is all too common in the Abrahamic texts. But it is an entirely different experience to physically see and talk with someone who has gone through these kinds of traumatic experiences, who is still in the thick of trying to find a home for themselves and their family, to be able to tell their story while showing the utmost reliance on God’s plan. They were also weary of putting their experiences in the context of other refugees, as they understood that others suffered even more.

I believe that their reliance upon God, and their calm approach to faith in the midst of such turmoil, is real. And the reality is clear for all of us to see and hear. Reading about their stories through an article such as this one, or even hearing them speak on the news, pales in comparison to actually being with them during their greatest hour of need. I feel that my mind is not the same as before. I am not claiming that the refugees, the heroes who were persecuted and driven from their homes for crimes they never committed, are completely okay with their situation. What I am pointing out is that, even in the midst of their losses and suffering, they thank God and are not hopeless.

The hospitality with which they welcome guests is astonishing. Considering the fact that they were refugees, they still took the time to host us and make us feel attended to.

Shaken by trauma, the brothers we spoke to find assurance by making dark jokes about their time in prison, or the difficulties they experienced while crossing over to Greece and other countries. Hours were spent strategizing ways to escape Turkey and flee to other countries or to reunite with family members that had already escaped. Their hopes hinged on the kindness of border police and passport patrol. There was rarely enough time to grieve about a father who might still be suffering in prison, or think about those in prison that were without medical attention, or the difficulty of having to share a single toilet among 50 people at a time. There was rarely enough time to grieve about the discrimination that they endured at the hands of their cruel jailors, who tortured and beat many of them until they went blind. I almost felt ashamed that I did not cry in front of them, however I did not feel that it would be respectful to show my pain in front of them when their suffering had outmatched mine so much more. So I sat there, listening quietly, waiting for their words to unfold into long complicated stories of imprisonment, release, escape, survival (or drowning to death), landing in Greece (or being caught), staying in a refugee camp, and then ending up with fellow refugees from Turkey.

The lessons that this experience taught me are too stark to ignore. It showed me that Hizmet is a movement that brings power into question. Every effort is made to mitigate whatever suffering and loss might come from the jihad of speaking out against injustice. But when it strikes, the experiences of those that are suffering, and have suffered, as a result of doing what is good remind us once again that to be comfortable, and to put all of our eggs in one basket, is not the way to live. We should not just strive to be productive people, and the best citizens we can be, even though this is incredibly important. We should also work within the social sphere to make active change to the way people think, and to the ways in which people oppress themselves and other people. And we must be prepared, as opposed to being scared, for a time in which we might need to make drastic changes to our lives. We might even be forced to do so. To work towards active change does not fit comfortably with people who are happy with oppression. As the common maxim goes, “silence is violence.”

Being as comfortable and privileged as we are in the United Kingdom, we need to remember that, even here, people are suffering. We must stand up for them.

I am still shocked that I had the honor of hearing these most intimate stories. I am also honored that Allah has given me the chance to see what real faith looks like. I say to myself that, if I cry, it should not just be because their suffering is too much to bear (not to say that we should not cry at all about this). But it should be because I have a long way to go to meet their level of faith and commitment to Hizmet and their service to humanity.

What I would like to say in this paper is from a glocal perspective even though the case study I will offer at the end is local. That does not mean that I believe that Ireland is the centre of the universe, though for three decades at the end of the twentieth century we had that tragic privilege. An introverted narrative is negative, be it Irish, British, American, Canadian or wherever. My Irish case study is informed and underpinned by global perspective and is therefore, I hope, a glocal story. I would also like to explore two key components of peacebuilding which education can address, indeed I believe, must address, if humanity is to live at peace on the planet as well as with the planet.

PEACEBUILDING THROUGH EDUCATION

In June of this year Aung San Sui Kyi visited Europe. She is a woman who has suffered greatly, remains committed to non-violence, and is a champion for democracy in her own Burma. She reminds us that peacebuilding is about building democracy, which is essential to sustainable peace.

Just over two decades ago many of us sat glued to the television screen. The image is indelible, that of Nelson Mandela finally emerging from his Robben Island prison compound. He walked to freedom to lead, with others, the transformation of apartheid South Africa into a Rainbow Nation. It’s still a work in progress. Mandela has reminded us that peace building is the creation of a pluralist, participative democracy. Peace building is pro-democracy and it is about actively creating rainbow nations and societies, pluralist, participative democracies – at least! Education has a crucial role to play in all of this.

Education for pluralist democracy

Democracy is developing. There is no finished product and there is no one model to be imposed universally irrespective of contexts and cultures. It is not a flawless system either. Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst of political systems, except for all the others.” Democracy is about freedom. What the promise of freedom and potential for democracy does induce is an almost universal abhorrence of tyranny. Dictatorships, totalitarian regimes and fascist states do not last and do not satisfy the deepest longings and needs for freedom and participative belonging. Whatever past history, newly liberated nations usually move towards democracy. In 1918 when Czechoslovakia was born, its President said, “Our whole history inclines us towards the democratic Powers.” That was repeated in 1989-91 by leaders of all the countries of the ex-Soviet bloc (Norman 1997, 131).

Education for pluralist democracy as part of peace building needs to engage history. Democracy has a lineage, a family tree and young people and adults should be aware of it.

The Greeks invented politics and it began with our city states. The polis needed governance and there was a recognition of a public good, a shared public interest and common concerns, and over these issues there could be argument, debate, discussion, decision and policy making. The assembly of citizens was known as the ecclesia, though it was far from being fully participative. It was only for wealthy males, people of power, excluded women and certainly had no place for slaves and lower classes. Athenian democracy lasted for 185 years. It had limited participation and Plato even thought that democracy meant the rule of the incompetent. Democracy was forgotten for a millennium.

European democracy owes more perhaps to the democratic practices of the Viking world. Popular assemblies enter European history in the 9th century in Sweden and Denmark. Iceland’s national assembly came into being in 930 CE. Long before England had such a democratic assembly, it existed in the Manx assembly, the Isle of Man, a small island between Britain and Ireland with a Viking history. The Manx Tynwald or assembly is also 9th century. Wherever the Vikings went, Nordic democracy went with them.

In the modern era the two great shapers of democracy were the French Revolution and the American Revolution. Any education in pluralist democracy needs to be aware of these seismic events. The history of the 18th-19th century Europe was a history of wars and conflict, and absolutist monarchies and imperial powers. The first political revolution of a new time in European history happened outside of Europe and it led to the dissolution of the first British Empire. It began in 1773 with the Boston Tea Party and a decade later at the Paris Peace Conference American Independence was recognised. Now the people of North America “could work out their problems virtually untroubled by foreign intervention, a blessing to much that was to follow” (Roberts 1997, 347). Popular sovereignty was embodied in the opening words of the Constitution, “We the People.” All governments derive their just powers from the assent of the governed. The American Revolution was a landmark in world history.

Then followed the French Revolution and by 1789, notwithstanding the Terror, great reforms were achieved.

The formal abolition of feudalism, legal privilege and theocratic absolutism, and the organisation of society on individualist and secular foundations were the heart of the principles of ’89 distilled in a Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen… legal equality and legal protection of individual rights, the separation of Church and State and religious toleration were their institutional expression. The derivation of authority from popular sovereignty acting through a unified National Assembly, before whose legislation no privilege of locality or group could stand… (Roberts 1997, 353-354).

Modern democracy is born and by 1900 the principle of democracy was an idea, albeit still resented in some parts of Europe, whose time had come. An education process needs to engage with the historical development of democracy. We may have little consensus about its essence and it remains flawed in practice. “We the People” may even be impossible, strictly speaking, in practice. But democracy as a theory of governance and the ordering of the public good has promoted “all the virtues, from freedom, justice and equality to the rule of law, the respect for human rights, and the promotion of political pluralism and of civil society” (Davies 1997, 131).

Democracy is not amoral. It implies a need to be underpinned by a value system. Values and ethics are the foundation of democracy at work. Peace building is an ethical task, it needs democracy and the values and ethics that underpin democracy. Democracy involves pluralism and freedom, it also requires tolerance or respect. The education process needs to draw the distinction between passive tolerance and active tolerance. The former is the tolerance of indifference. The latter is “The attitude of one who positively co-lives with the other because one respects the other and accepts the multi-faceted richness of reality” (Boff 2011, 8-9). At the heart of any education for democracy is justice, especially justice as distributive and restorative. Democracy is for human, social flourishing. And distributive and restorative justice are core to peace building.

Education for global citizenship

Yale historian, Jay Winter, believes that a new kind of vision emerged at the end of the dark 20th century after the momentous events of the late 1980s and early ’90s. It is a vision set in the framework of globalisation which aims to create a new kind of politics called the “politics of global citizenship.” It has also been described as “globalisation – from – below.”

Global citizens are emerging out of an array of transnational social forces animated by environmental concerns, human rights, hostility to patriarchy, and the vision of humane community based on the unity of diverse cultures seeking an end to poverty, oppression, humiliation, and collective violence. (Winter 2006, 169-170)

A new kind of political consciousness is developing which is transnational and is flowing across national borders. It is a glocal movement holding together the local and global. “Global citizenship is a political project helping people to imagine a different kind of world.” Citizenship is not tied to the state, it is “participation in a transnational set of struggles for dignity and justice” (Winter 2006, 170). The nation state is no longer primary. We are no longer just Irish, American, Turkish or Indian citizens but global citizens, in a different and larger solidarity on environmental rights, women’s rights and human rights. Transnational citizenship is about all of these glocal justice issues none of which is limited by national boundaries. Community now is in the local and the global.

Perhaps this began for many of us as children when we put our name and address on the inside page of a school text book. Name, street, town/city, Ireland, Europe, The World, The Universe! It is now the reality in a globalised world. Transnationalism and global citizenship may still have an unmapped future, but like modern democracy at the beginning of the 20th century this new local – global reality is and will shape who we are in the 21st century. It will be a peace building project stretching us well beyond any introverted narrative. Citizenship education now needs to be global for all ages, and it is not only an alternative to introverted narratives, but also to economic globalisation as the sole determinative factor for human and environmental life on the planet.

A GLOCAL CASE STUDY

I currently work on an initiative called Ethical and Shared Remembering. It is an initiative which will respond to the centenaries of events that occurred in Ireland between 1912-1922 and shaped the rest of the 20th century for the people in Ireland. It was a decade of enormous political change ending with the partition of Ireland, and it was also a decade of brutal violence.

How the centenaries will be handled between 1912-1922 will shape the decades ahead for better or worse. Ethical remembering is an approach that is critical in relation to the militarisation of politics and the violence that was so deeply embedded in culture and practice. Shared remembering is an approach that encourages the protagonists in all their complexity to engage with each other as human beings and to understand better each other’s perspectives on this crucial Irish decade and its legacy. The legacy has left many issues unresolved which have been re-played in the more recen phase of violence and conflict in Ireland. Some of these issues are; nationalism, nation-state, faith and politics, faith and violence, class and labour relations, feminism and equality issues, trauma and peace building. These constitute for any educational programme a generational peace building agenda which needs to be set in a global or glocal context.

There are multiple Irish narratives from this decade. Not only will this initiative try to recover them, especially the alternative, repressed or forgotten narratives, but the events of 100 years ago will be carefully set in the larger global, at least European context of that time. The memory of the Irish narrative(s) has often been introverted, but this community education initiative will seek to provide a larger and more critical perspective on a century ago by placing the events in a more global context. Early 20th century imperialism and the catastrophe of the Great War, provide a larger and rather different perspective.

The framework for an educational exploration will not only include global contextualisation but also narrative hospitality. This is about generosity of spirit and openness to engage with multiple narratives, especially those of one’s sectarian tradition or narrative perspective. Narrative hospitality will also include narrative pluralism and narrative flexibility. These latter two approaches will encourage an openness to recognise that there are multiple histories and diversities of interpretation of historical events and never a fixed or final norm. It is openness to realise that history is a plethora of interpretations, little of which may be about what actually happened even if ever that can be fully known.

Another educational framework will be integrative complexity. This is also getting beyond mono-narrative or mono-truth, simplism or fundamentalist politics or religion. Integrative complexity (IC) is a way of seeing history, culture, politics, faith, the world in all their diversity and complexity and integrating or weaving together the complexities of personal, communal and historical existence, and to see this complexity in the other.

Key to this project will be the development of critical thinking skills in a community where there has been, through the dynamics of violence and conflict, a culture which is unquestioning. The latter has often been understood as being disloyal or unpatriotic. Few people have thought for themselves and this educational methodology will engage with critical reflection on matters of history, politics, religion and cultural identity without reducing their complexity.

Essential to the educational exploration of the past will be future visioning. This is not just about a 2030 vision for Ireland. It is about transcending local nationalist politics of whatever shade and visioning a common good. It will also be about global citizenship, a transnational vision that will require the imaginative creation of a larger identity myth, beyond introversion, and glocal in perspective and complexity. Not only will the initiative encourage the development of an ethical vision for future society but will also unpack the need for ethical leadership in a society where the moral authority of the major institutions has collapsed. The initiative is being delivered through community education programmes, dialogue events, training resources and materials and a series of in-depth publications, and also the use of the arts. The community of ethical and shared remembering will include people from the community development and community relations sector, education, youth, the faith sector, politicians, ex-prisoners, commemorative groups and institutions. This is an initiative which we hope will make a positive contribution through education to peace building as a glocal task.

References

1. Davies, Norman. 1997. Europe: A History, London: Pimlico.
2. Roberts, J.M. 1997. The Penguin History of Europe, London: Penguin Books.
3. Boff, Leonardo. 2011. Virtues: For Another Possible World, Oregon: Cascade Books.
4. Winter, Jay 2006. Dreams of Peace and Freedom: Utopian Moments in the 20th Century, New Haven and London: Yale University Press. The extended quotation is from Richard Falk.

However, a recent book, Islamic Science and Making of the European Renaissance, by George Saliba calls these arguments into question. This book prompted me to think more critically about this long, accepted argument. Can this prominent scholar of Islam or his famous book, Tahafut al-Falasifah, be held responsible, single handedly, for causing an age of decline in the scientific activities in the Muslim World?

Many orientalists argue that Ghazali’s Tahafut is responsible for the age of decline in science in the Muslim World. This is their key thesis as they attempt to explain the scientific and intellectual history of the Islamic world. It seems to be the most widely accepted view on the matter not only in the Western world but in the Muslim world as well. George Saliba, a Professor of Arabic and Islamic Science at Columbia University who specializes in the development of astronomy within Islamic civilization, calls this view the “classical narrative” (Saliba, 2007). However, interesting discoveries in the second half of the twentieth century by historians of science challenged many of the assertions of this classical narrative. An example of such discoveries is the strong connections between Ibn al-Shatir, a famous Damascene astronomer of the fourteenth century, and the Renaissance astronomer Copernicus (Roberts, 1957). If Ghazali had killed science in Islam in the twelfth century, then al-Shatir’s work from the fourteenth century could not have been so influential on Copernicus’s work. Saliba challenges almost all of the major tenets of the classical narrative on the basis of (1) a critical examination of historical evidence, some of which is quite recent, and (2) the results of his own long-term research in Islamic astronomy.

Saliba’s response to the question

In making his argument, Saliba first notes that most of the orientalists operate under the assumption that there must be a sharp conflict between religion and science. This paradigm is probably based on their European experience. To them, al-Ghazali represents the orthodox tradition in Islam and with Tahafut, written in the late eleventh century (between 1091 and 1095), they assume that orthodox religious thought won a decisive victory over rational, scientific thought. From that point on they assume that science in Islam declined, and the Islamic world did not produce anything significant in terms of scientific advancements.

Saliba argues that both of these assumptions are false. First, the European paradigm of conflict between religion and science does not really apply to the Islamic world. The religion of Islam encourages rational and scientific inquiry. Therefore, Muslims see no insurmountable contradictions between their faith and natural laws. Hence, studying religion and studying natural sciences does not create a conflict for Muslims.

Secondly, many of the scientists in the Islamic world were also religious authorities at the same time. A few examples among such scholars are Ibn al-Nafis, Nasir al-Din al-Tusi, Qutb al-Din al-Shirazi ,and Ibn al-Shatir who lived in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and made important contributions to such diverse scientific disciplines as mathematics, astronomy, medicine, physics and philosophy. In fact, these scholars were regarded primarily as religious figures by the general public with side interests in sciences. Early Muslim scholars did not hesitate to acquire scientific knowledge wherever they could find it, whether it be in Indian civilization, in Greek civilization, or in Persian civilization. Not only did they acquire these sciences through translation, but they also critically examined them in a comprehensive way. Making corrections and improvements and even introducing new disciplines, they showed a high degree of ownership and maturity. This led to a remarkable period of creativity and rapid advancements in many scientific disciplines in the Islamic world beginning as early as the eighth century (Saliba, 2007).

Contrary to the classical narrative, scientific advancements in the Islamic world did not stop or even slow down after Ghazali. Saliba gives many examples of sophisticated scientific achievements in the Islamic world well after Ghazali. Based on his life-long research in the area, he concludes that the golden age of Islamic astronomy was in the post-Ghazali period from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century. Discoveries by Western historians of science in the second half of the twentieth century show that there are surprisingly strong connections between Copernicus (sixteenth century) and Muslim astronomers from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, such as Nasir al-Din al-Tusi and Ibn al-Shatir (Roberts, 1957; Saliba, 2007). These discoveries were shocking to many in the scholarly community who did not expect to find any transfer of knowledge from the Islamic civilization to Europe in the post-Ghazali period. Unfortunately, this new information has not been sufficiently digested by today’s scholars and does not yet generally appear in secondary sources.

Saliba also provides examples from other disciplines, such as medicine, that show that a high level of scientific production took place in more than one discipline in the Islamic world in the post-Ghazali period. How is it that such important scientific materials could have been overlooked by the experts? According to Saliba a major reason for modern historians of science to have missed the large amount of scientific production in Islamic world in the post-Ghazali period is the damage caused by the classical narrative. Most historians simply weren’t looking for it because the classic narrative stipulated that science in Islam was dead after Ghazali. Even though some new discoveries have been made, there are still many scientific works waiting to be studied from that period. As an example of these omissions, Berggren, the author of Episodes in the Mathematics of Medieval Islam, says that he used this title for his book as opposed to The History of Mathematics in Medieval Islam simply because “Such a book could not be written yet, for so much material remains unstudied that we do not know enough of the whole story” (Berggren, 1986).

The Content and the Method of the Tahafut

Even though Saliba’s arguments and evidence are quite convincing to doubt or reject the common narrative, I wanted to go straight to the source-the Tahafut-and have a closer look to see if it might be a book that can be held responsible for killing the science or scientific thought in Islamic civilization.

In Tahafut, Ghazali refutes twenty philosophical doctrines. Using a scientific, or in this context philosophical, method, he first explains those philosophical doctrines before criticizing them. His explanations were so comprehensive and so clear that he made them accessible to non-philosophers, and thus, his ideas became generally better known in the Islamic world. Next, he gave arguments to refute those doctrines. In doing so, he used the very same logical and philosophical principles and arguments that philosophers used in the first place to support their claims. Ghazali mainly argues that the philosophers who proposed the doctrines that conflict with religious principles failed to provide valid and rigorous proofs for their propositions. Hence, he attacked their methodologies using their own tools and principles.

An important point Ghazali makes in Tahafut is that he has no problems with the philosophers’ mathematics, astronomical sciences, or logic. He says (Marmura 2000, p. 11):

Regarding mathematical sciences, there is no sense in denying them or disagreeing with them. For these reduce in the final analysis to arithmetic and geometry. As regards to logical sciences, these are concerned with examining the instrument of thought in intelligible things. There is no significant disagreement encountered in these.

Therefore, it is clear that his views could not be used to justify a position against the study of mathematical sciences.

To give the reader a sense of what kinds of philosophical doctrines the Tahafut is concerned with and aims to refute, a selected few out of the twenty are listed below (Marmura 2000, p. 10, 11). The list shows that the questions discussed in Tahafut concern some of the most fundamental issues in theology, particularly in the Islamic theology.

The first problem: On refuting their doctrine of the world’s pre-eternity.

The sixth: On refuting their doctrine denying the divine attributes.

The tenth: On showing that upholding a materialist doctrine and the denial of the Maker is a necessary consequence [of what they hold].

The twentieth: On refuting their denial of bodily resurrection and the accompanying bodily pleasures and pains in paradise and hell.

Concluding Remarks

When I discuss the question given in the title of this article with my colleagues, and I argue that it would be unfair to hold Ghazali or Tahafut responsible for the decline of science in Islam, I sometimes hear the objection that “perhaps the content or the method of Tahafut may not justify this conclusion, but this is not how people understood it.” But then, one must consider the evidence given by Saliba that there is a large amount of sophisticated scientific production in the Islamic world well after Ghazali, and there is still much more to be discovered. Considering the content of Tahafut and the scientific advances in post-Ghazali period, I have a hard time convincing myself that the classical narrative is the ultimate truth on the matter. This position is supported by the fact that it is usually not realistic to try to explain most major social and historical transformations in terms of a single person, a book, an event, or the like. According to Saliba, the decline in Islamic science was the result of a combination of many internal and external reasons that took place several centuries after Ghazali.

Finally, one may wonder why this question is important or relevant. After all, these things happened a long time ago, and we have to deal with the current realities. One answer would be that there are many lessons to be learned from the history. And of course if the correct version of the history is not available, conclusions will be flawed. If anybody is interested in reviving science and scientific activities in a society, there is much that can be learned from the early Islamic period when there was a remarkable rapid and widespread rise in science, as well as lessons from the later periods of Islamic history when the Islamic world fell behind in scientific production. Some researchers are beginning to realize how much damage the classical narrative has caused in understanding the general history and the development of the modern science. It is always useful to have a critical mind to question and reevaluate assumptions when they do not conform to the evidence.

References

• Berggren, J. L. 1986. Episodes in the Mathematics of Medieval Islam, New York: Springer-Verlag.
• Marmura, Michael E. (translator). 2000. Al-Ghazali The Incoherence of the Philosophers (Tahafut al-Falasifah) Provo: Brigham Young University Press.
• Roberts, Victor . 1957. “The Solar and Lunar Theory of Ibn al-Shatir: A pre-Copernican Copernican Model,” Isis 48:428-432.
• Saliba, George. 2007. Islamic Science and Making of the European Renaissance, Cambridge: MIT Press.

There are seven chapters in the book. The first chapter summarizes the basic tenets of the classical narrative, then criticizes it listing many questions which the classical narrative cannot satisfactorily answer. Islamic civilization’s contribution to the development of modern science is so immense that it is impossible to completely ignore this part of the history in any serious discussion of the general history of science or civilization. The problem arises in assessing the importance and the nature of Islamic science. Generally accepted views of the classical narrative go something along these lines: Islamic civilization was a desert civilization and began to develop scientific thought only when it came in contact with more advanced civilizations (Persian, Indian and Greek and most importantly Greek). A vital component of the rise of science in Islamic civilization was the remarkable translation movement that took place during the early period of Abbasid times (750–900 CE), in which many important scientific books of other civilizations, particularly those of ancient Greeks, were translated into Arabic. The classical narrative says by learning Greek science through this translation activity, Islamic science reached its golden age while Greek science was neglected under Byzantine rule. Adherents of the classical narrative generally assume that Islamic civilization did not go much beyond translation, did not make original contributions to scientific knowledge or produced any new science of its own. They also assume this period of the golden age did not last long and came to an end with Ghazali’s “attack” on philosophers in his major work Tahafut al-Falasifa (The Incoherence of Philosophers). They assume that Islamic science began to decline with Ghazali while there was an awaking in Europe, sometimes called the Renaissance of the twelfth century, when Europeans began to translate major Arabic philosophical and scientific texts into Latin. Some of these texts had already been translated from much earlier Greek and Sanskrit texts into Arabic. So, they reconnected with their Greco-Roman legacy. The classical narrative says from that point on Europe had no need for Islamic science, hence the role of Islamic civilization was to simply translate and preserve the ancient Greek science and make it available to Europeans later. Thus, according to this view all the roots of modern science were European. The classical theory also attempts to explain the process by which the acquisition of Greek science by the Muslim world occurred. There are a few versions of this proposal which are called “contact theory,” “pocket transmission theory,” and “translation through Syriac medium first.”

In this first chapter of the book, Saliba argues that the classical narrative is an oversimplification of what actually happened in reality and fails to answer many fundamental questions. The first problem is about origins. He argues none of the proposed methods of translation is convincing to explain the reasons why, how, and when Muslims acquired Greek science. In terms of the nature and quality of translations, Saliba gives examples of sophistication and maturity exhibited by the Muslim scientists that is well beyond what would be expected from an early generation of translators who are struggling to understand a foreign science. Moreover, already in the early period of the translation movement Muslim scientists produced original new science such as algebra by al-Khwarizmi (830 CE), remarkable advances by Habash a-Hasib (850 CE) in the field of trigonometry and mathematical projections that go far beyond what was known from Indian and Greek sources, and developed decimal fractions. He argues such advances could not happen suddenly. There must be a longer tradition of scientific activity in the Islamic world and real motivations for the rise of science which cannot be explained by the classical narrative.

Not only does the classical narrative fail to explain beginnings but also more recent developments as well. Saliba gives many examples from various scientific disciplines to show that the Islamic science did not decline after Ghazali. Astronomy is a perfect counterexample to this thesis of the classical narrative, and it is not the only one. In fact, there were so many advances in astronomy in the Islamic world after Ghazali that Saliba calls the post-Ghazali period as the golden age of Islamic astronomy. Recent research in the second half of the twentieth century shows that astronomy has particularly interesting connections to the European Renaissance. Saliba comments that post-Ghazali works by the Muslim scientists were not sufficiently considered by the adherents of the classical narrative because of their pre-supposition that no significant science of any interest could have been produced in this period. This caused unfortunate damage in terms of understanding the post-Ghazali period in the Islamic world as well as the European Renaissance itself.

In the second chapter, Saliba proposes an alternative thesis/narrative to the classical narrative in terms of the beginnings of the rise of scientific activities in the Islamic world. His thesis is based on the writings of Al-Nadim (full name Abu al-Faraj Muhammad b. Abi Ya’qub Ishaq al-Nadim) who wrote about intellectual history of the early Islamic period. Saliba also supports his thesis with well known historical facts. In summary, the alternative narrative proposes that there was already a significant amount of interest and activity in the nascent Islamic civilization before the translation movement began. Rather than learning science from others (Greeks) just because they came into contact with them, the Islamic world actively sought those sciences because of a keen interest to advance their own scientific knowledge. Unlike the classical narrative, the alternative thesis argues that Muslim scientists already had a high level of knowledge and maturity when the translation activities began. This is evidenced by the high quality of translations of highly technical materials, and corrections of errors in the original sources. The main societal factors for the rise of science in the new civilization are listed as a) the need for people (bureaucrats) with a high level of scientific knowledge in administrations, and b) competition between those people to acquire higher levels of scientific knowledge to be able to advance in the ranks of governments.

In the next chapter, Saliba gives detailed examples, mostly from astronomy, to show how critically Muslim scientists received and reacted to the Greek science. They noticed observational errors and internal inconsistencies in Greek texts. They also pointed out more philosophical and foundational errors and contradictions. Muslim scientists showed a high level of sophistication, maturity and critical spirit. They had a comprehensive look at the Greek texts they translated and studied them in relation to one another. Saliba argues that it is not possible to explain these phenomena with the classical narrative. Moreover, Muslim scholars went beyond just criticizing these errors and made many novel contributions to exact sciences. In the process, they realized the proper place of mathematics in the natural sciences. Saliba also comments that Muslim scientists continued to make original contributions to astronomy and other mathematical sciences long after Ghazali, when the classical narrative would preach the death of Islamic science.

In chapter four, Saliba gives examples of critical innovations by Muslim astronomers. He remarks that the interest of the Islamic society in astronomy was very strong due to many religious requirements that need to be answered by astronomy, such as visibility of the moon, daily prayer times, and qibla (direction of worship) etc. Such problems were not considered by Greeks before. Muslim astronomers could not ignore absurdities in Ptolemaic astronomy where mathematical models in Almagest violated the fundamental cosmological assumptions in Planetary Hypotheses. Although Ptolemy’s mathematical models usually made good predictions computationally, it was not satisfactory for the scientists in the new civilization to allow those models to violate the physical properties of the celestial bodies. They took it upon themselves to propose alternative mathematical models that satisfied both requirements. They were highly successful in that quest. The solution of this problem required some new mathematical theorems. Two of the most important of such theorems were Urdi’s Lemma and Tusi couple invented by Urdi and Nasir al-Din al-Tusi in the thirteenth century. Both of these were fecund and fundamental theorems that were used repeatedly by many astronomers who followed them for a long time. Renaissance astronomer Copernicus was among those who made use of these theorems. Also noted in this chapter is Shams al-Din al-Khafri’s understanding of the role of mathematics in describing the physical phenomena.

The title of chapter five is “Science between Philosophy and Religion: the Case of Astronomy,” wherein Saliba considers the relationship between the religion of Islam and scientific developments in astronomy. He explains that religious motivations led to the creation of new disciplines such as ilm al-hay’a (science of configuration) and advances in trigonometry. He states that astronomy and trigonometry are the best examples which demonstrate the intersecting interest between the practice of a religion and scientific thinking that need to be developed as a result of that practice. Many important scientists in medieval Islam were at the same time religious authorities. A few examples among such scholars are Ibn al-Nafis, Nasir al-Din al-Tusi, Qutb al-Din al-Shirazi and Ibn al-Shatir. Saliba also notes that the European paradigm of conflict between science and religion does not exist in the Islamic world.

“Islamic Science and Renaissance Europe: The Copernican Connections” is the title of chapter six. Researchers in the second half of twentieth century first realized that many of the astronomical models of Copernicus were identical to that of Ibn al-Shatir from three centuries earlier. This surprising discovery, which contradicted the view that Renaissance science was a European self-contained creation, opened the door for further investigations which revealed more surprising outcomes. The mathematical theorem called the Tusi couple that is mentioned above plays an important role in Copernicus’s model. Copernicus stated the theorem and proved it in 1543 without mentioning that he invented a new theorem or saw it in any other source. The theorem was first invented and proved by Tusi in the middle of the thirteenth century. By comparing the two proofs, W. Hartner noticed in 1973 that Copernicus’s proof was identical to Tusi’s. He even used the same letters for essential geometric points. That is where Tusi used the Arabic letters “alif,” “ba” etc. Copernicus used the corresponding Latin letters “A,” “B” etc. This discovery makes it pretty certain that Copernicus knew about Tusi’s work.

Saliba shows Copernicus’s case is not an isolated instance and gives more evidence in this chapter of the phenomenon that “there are much too many coincidences of ideas appearing first in Arabic texts usually written between the 12th and 15th centuries, which reappear, without much explanation, in Latin sources of the 16th and 17th centuries.” Saliba’s explanation of this phenomenon is that by the Renaissance time men of science themselves learned Arabic and no longer needed translations. There are many examples that show European reliance on Arabic sciences in the post-Copernicus period when the whole worldview was supposed to have been changed by him. Renaissance men of science had a high regard for the Islamic sciences and were looking to the Islamic world for the latest in scientific activities rather than the classical Greek sources.

In the last chapter Saliba discusses the age of decline in Islamic science. He starts by rejecting the two main reasons proposed by the advocates of the classical narrative and argues that it did not start after Ghazali (eleventh century) or the destruction of Baghdad by Mongols in 1258. Saliba says that those who believe the first reason look at the Islamic civilization as a source of religious thought only and operate under the assumption that the European paradigm of conflict between religion and science applies to Islamic world as well. Saliba argues that this assumption is not true for the Islamic world and that scientific activities did not decline after Ghazali. Those who think the main reason was the destruction of Baghdad by Mongols saw the Islamic civilization mostly in political terms and paid little attention to its intellectual history. Saliba gives many examples of high quality and sophisticated scientific production in the Islamic world, mostly in astronomy but in other areas as well, well after both of these events. He says those examples were ignored or not properly read by the adherents of the classical view who did not expect to find any important scientific production in the Islamic world after the thirteenth century.

There still remains the problem and timing of decline of science in the Islamic world. When did it happen? Saliba notes that decline is a relative concept. What actually happened was the European science advanced more rapidly than the rest of the world after the sixteenth century. Hence it looked like science declined elsewhere, including the Islamic world. According to Saliba the main reason for these rapid developments in science in Europe was related to the discovery of the “new world.” He argues that the wealth and resources obtained by Europeans as a result of discovery of new lands helped them fund scientific activities. Europe witnessed the rise of royal and scientific academies where most educated men of the time were assembled and engaged in scientific research without having to worry about financial needs. Healthy competition among these institutions led to new scientific discoveries. Western superiority in science continues to this day and the constant brain drain that feeds the West at the expense of the developing and third worlds does not help to change the balance.

In summary, this book presents fundamental challenges to many of the commonly held views about the intellectual and scientific history of the Islamic world and proposes alternative explanations. The science of astronomy is used as a template to test and justify these claims. The author invites researchers to subject his proposals to the test of historical data in other disciplines as well. This book is highly recommended to all interested in the general history of science, and that of the Islamic world and the Renaissance period in particular.

Nuh Aydin is an associate professor of Mathematics at Kenyon College, Ohio, USA.

Hostility to Islam and Muslims was an integral part of most of the travellers’ mental makeup. David Roberts, a painter of the idealized landscapes of classical ruins, expresses his frustration in a dislike and hatred of Arabs whose forms litter the otherwise perfect scene: ‘Splendid cities, once teeming with a busy population and embellished …with temples, now deserted and lonely, or reduced by mismanagement and the barbarism of the Muslim creed to a state as savage as wild animals by which they are surrounded. Often have I gazed on them till my heart actually sickened within me.’1

As ‘the idea of travel as a means of gathering and recording information is commonly found in societies that exercise a high degree of political power, the traveler begins his journey with the strength of a nation or an empire sustaining him (albeit from a distance) militarily, economically, intellectually and, as is often the case, spiritually…’2

In 19th century travel accounts, the more routine designation of the Orient is feminine; its main symbols are sensual women, the harem, and the despotic -but curiously attractive- ruler. Moreover, Oriental women, like Victorian housewives, were confined to silence and to unlimited service. The English woman traveller, Miss Irby, who travelled throughout the Ottoman regions, defines the proper place of the oriental women:

‘To the Musulman, a woman was an inferior being, a chattel, to be bought and sold, kept secluded behind the screens of the women’s quarters, or, if produced in public, to be hidden behind the draperies of the litter, or muffled and secreted in long shapeless robes, face covered by the veil; the property of the man as was his dog, his servant, his horse, to wait on his pleasure, to sleep at his feet; yet withal, if the husband be rich, to be cossetted and adorned with jewels and fed with sweetmeats, to spend days in idleness and chatter.’3

In various 19th century Oriental books and tales like Vathek, the Giaour and Don Juan (especially Cantos 5-8) which are more or less fixated on the images of the Oriental harem, the figure of the veiled Eastern girl symbolising the colonial Other is created by a narrative structure in which a male subject’s attempts to liberate a female object from the tyranny of the harem is interrupted or arrested by a stereotypical patriarchal aggressor who prevents the achievement of narrative desire in the possession of the woman. In other words, the Orient is thus refigured as the harem fantasy of European imperialism that shows ‘the East’ as the obscure object of Western desire. The narrative structure of Vathek designates the Orient as a feminized place invaded by the masculine subject.

Reza Hammani and Martina Rieker criticize Ghoussoub’s Marxist approach which deprecates Islam as not good for women. However, they agree that Middle Eastern feminism is vitiated by its involvement in debates whose agenda was set in 19th century travel writing. They develop this idea further with the following explanation:

‘Two issues have dominated Western discourse about Middle Eastern women since the 19th century; the veil and the harem. The harem continues to be treated as a contemporary reality in popular mythology. Thus, Gloria Steiner cites freeing Saudi women from harems as one of her fantasies in her autobiography – we wish her luck in finding a harem in Saudi Arabia. Moreover, it is above all the veil which remains a central preoccupation… The veil is not always imposed; in many contemporary instances women have been instrumental in assuming it. This is not a matter of relativist interpretations but of power… In the case of women in Egypt since Sadat’s Open Door Policy, large numbers of working-class women have themselves mobilized to veil to signify their opposition to the regime.’4

Irene L. Szyliowicz remarks that historians and social scientists arc demonstrating that the traditional portrayal of women in these societies has been biased and based on Western judgements. European ethnocentrism and male chauvinism have combined to account for this phenomenon.5 As she thinks that French travel writer, Pierre Loti’s attitude toward Oriental women is particularly worth studying for several reasons, she points out in her Pierre Loti and the Oriental Woman (1988) that ‘since all the Oriental women essentially support and ratify their Occidental lovers, it is proper to conclude that Loti created these fictional characters as wish-fulfilment fantasies, to simultaneously reinforce and magnify his manhood.’6 When Loti made a speech titled ‘La Femme Turque’ (the Turkish Woman) before a large gathering of European women in the conference on ‘Feminine Life’, he concluded with a message: ‘Open the cages, open all the harems. Yet, don’t open them too quickly, for fear that the young, imprisoned birds should take a frantic flight before knowing properly where their inexperienced and fragile wings will take them.’7 According to Loti’s interpretation of Oriental women, which is quite similar to that of Byron, one might imagine that ‘they could be manipulated easily by their dominating masters, and further, this masculine paradigm presented these women, like their Occidental sisters as actually craving male domination.’8 Eventually, in the case of Oriental or exotic women created by Loti, the reader faces a different form; they are simple, primitive, dependent, often helpless, and they worship the hero as though he was God. ‘And despite the fact that he was still a product of his Occidental milieu and the prejudices with which he was raised, he prided himself on his objectivity toward various lands which he visited.’9

In sum, from the previously quoted remarks by 19th century travellers, it may be concluded that the most general point about travel literature (something also confirmed by Sir John Mandeville’s Travels) is that travel is undertaken for a great variety of purposes; the specific purpose involved in a given case is always, to a greater or lesser degree, determinant of what is noted or considered noteworthy. Consequently, the attention paid by the writer of a travel book is always ideological. A traveller usually comes from somewhere – from a country from a language community, class – and consciously writes the record of his journey for a particular public in the country he came from.10

Notes

1. As quoted in BALLANTINE, J. The Life of David Roberts, R.A. Compiled from his journals and other sources, Edinburgh, 1986, pp. 104-5.

2. KABBANI, R. Europe’s Myths of the Orient, Macmillan, London, 1986, p.1.

3. ANDERSON. D. Miss Irby and her Friends, Hutchinson, London, 1966, pp. 52-3.

4. HAMMANI, R. and RIEKER, M. ‘Feminst Orientalism and Orientalist Marxism’, New Left Review, 170, 1988, p. 93.

5. SZYLIOWICZ, I. L. Pierre Loti and the Oriental Woman, Macmillan, London, 1988, pp.1-3.

6. ibid.

7. ‘Et je dis avec eux, mais non sans inquietude: out ouvrez toutes les cages ouvrez tous les harems. Cependant ne les ouvrez pas trop vite, de peur que les jeunes piseaux prisonniers…’ P. Loti ‘La Femme Turque in Quelques aspect du vertige mondial, Ernest Flammarion, Paris, 1917, p. 182.

8. SZYLIOWICZ, p. 3.

9. ibid, p. 12.

10. PARKER, D. ‘Orientalism and its Problems’ in BOOLE, F. (ed.) The Politics of Theory, University of Essex, John Fletcher.