It’s no secret – or at least it shouldn’t be – that climate change is one of the most important issues of our time. Very recently, a report came out saying that the planet could be facing serious consequences of climate change by 2040 – a mere 22 years from now (“Major Climate Report Describes a Strong Risk of Crisis as Early as 2040,” New York Times, Oct. 7, 2018). At a time when many political leaders seem unable to offer meaningful solutions, hamstrung by partisanship or economics, many people have turned to faith leaders for solutions. In 2015, for instance, Pope Francis issued Laudato Si’, a Catholic encyclical devoted entirely to ecological ethics and theology.

Two scholars explore Francis’ encyclical in Nature and Environment in Contemporary Religious Contexts edited by Muhammad Shafiq and Thomas Donlin-Smith. And though Francis might be the most quoted religious figure in the collection, Shafiq and Donlin-Smith have gathered 17 peer-reviewed essays submitted to a conference on nature and the environment in religions, hosted by the Hickey Center for Interfaith Studies and Dialogue at Nazareth College. Taken together, they offer an inspiring and hopeful look at how religions and faith leaders are approaching humanity’s biggest challenge.

Although Francis has been one of the loudest and most prominent religious voices urging a new ecological theology, I want to look at some of the lesser known voices who are advocating for interdisciplinary and interfaith solutions to climate change. For example, Hussam S. Timani writes compellingly about how secularism and modernity – and the so-called advances of contemporary science – have actually led to the on-going ecological disaster. As he lays out in his paper “Modernity, Secularism, and the Exclusion of Nature: Why Religion Matters,” he believes that answers might be found in the ecological consciousness commanded by religion, and looks specifically at Christianity and Islam.

Timani is not just concerned with the environment, though. He believes that Western modernity has estranged man from nature – and from meaning. It is this lack that has led humanity to so voraciously consume the planet’s resources, searching for a higher purpose that has been lost as more and more people have moved away from faith.

He sees potential solutions in both Islam and Christianity. Of Islam he writes, “Being a servant of God, man must preserve and protect what God has entrusted him with and restrain from exercising dominion and power over nature” (p. 41). And, like many scholars of a more compassionate, thoughtful Christianity, Timani finds hope in the words of Richard Niebuhr, who “spoke of ‘loyalty to the community of life’” (p. 49).

Timani also engages with critics of religion – namely, Todd Jared LaVasseur’s critique that all major religions are anthropocentric, or the belief that humans are the most important creature. While true, Timani believes that religions call for a conscientious anthropocentrism, as opposed to the reckless consumption of resources espoused by Western materialism.

In his essay, “Dietrich Bonhoeffer as an Ecological Theologian,” Jamison Stallman also places the blame for our current ecological crisis on Western materialism. He examines climate change and a possible way forward through the theology of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the early 20^th century Lutheran theologian, and the writings of environmental ethicist Larry Rasmussen.

In Sanctorum Communio (literally “a congregation of saints” and also the title of Bonhoeffer’s doctoral dissertation), Bonhoeffer asserts that, in Stallman’s words, “I become an individual when I recognize that there is a self-conscious You” (p. 90). It is only through a person’s relation to other humans that they can have any identity at all. Community is necessary for there to be an individual.

Of course, as we all know, any time two self-conscious “I”s come into contact, there will be an ethical tension. But this, Bonhoeffer asserts, is how person-hood and community are constantly being shaped and re-defined: by managing such ethical barriers.

Larry Rasmussen’s view of humans as “biosocial” is similar to Bonhoeffer’s insistence on community. But he extends the idea further, beyond just a community of Christ, to include the entire ecosystem. Western materialism, Rasmussen believes, has detached humanity from its ecological “niches” – that is, the systems and communities within which humans live (this is referred to as “niche theory”). Western materialism has moved humanity to a place above these systems, not of them. It is only by conceiving of ourselves as of the ecosystem – and in relationship with it – can we begin to repair the damage we’ve done. We cannot exist but in relation to other creatures and systems. 

Though most of the scholars are writing from the perspectives of the three Abrahamic faiths, three authors (one from each section of the book) explore other faiths and their relationships to the environment.

In section one – titled “Our Human Contexts within Nature” – Tatjana Myoko V. Prittwitz writes about “A Vast Net of Interconnected Diamonds: Buddhist Views of Nature.” Prittwitz begins with a fascinating (and humbling) thought experiment, asking the reader to think about everything in their life – their clothes and food, the chair they sit on and the car they drive, the roads and planes that make transit possible – and to consider how these objects and systems were made and how many people played in role in making them. “…our existence is dependent upon billions upon billions of people, actions, and things. What we call a separate self is in fact a vast net of … interconnection” (p. 68). Despite approaching the issue from a Buddhist perspective, Prittwitz concludes something similar, albeit slightly different, to the Muslim perspective of Timani and the Christian perspective of Stallman: “Out of the realization of interdependence comes the imperative of global responsibility …” (p. 70). Prittwitz alludes to this same universality in Native American spirituality, shamanistic rituals, and Tibetan animism, suggesting that most religions, no matter how seemingly disparate, are motivated and inspired by interconnectedness.

Appropriately for section two – “Imperatives from Sacred Texts and Tradition” – Nawaraj Chaulagain provides a close reading of the Sanskrit text Devi Mahatmya (literally “The Glorification of the Goddess”). Chaulagain writes that “The cosmic order is sustained through a continuously dynamic process of creation, preservation, and destruction for re-creating…” (p. 185). Considering the current crisis, this “dynamic process” can only be seen as hopeful!

Similar to Bonhoeffer’s grappling with original sin in Sanctorum Communio, the Devi Mahatmya contends with “the eternal battle … between the good and the evil …” And from an ecological perspective, it is grappling with “the perpetual conflict between those who are part of … the ecosystem and natural order … versus those who are against it…” (p. 186). Lastly, the Hindu festival of Navaratri pays homage to the natural world (rivers and mountains are particularly sacred in Hinduism). Chaulagain calls this “ecological worship”: “The Navaratri calls for the preservation of the earth” and involves the planting of barley seeds and the use of water from sacred rivers (194-95).

Throughout the essays, two dominant approaches to humanity and the environment tend to take shape (albeit with exceptions). Whereas Islam, Judaism, and Christianity tend to situate man as “stewards” of the world, Hinduism and Buddhism often view humanity as being “interconnected” with the world.

Leocadie Lushombo explores one of the exceptions: Central African Christianity, which tends towards interconnectedness. In her piece “Mitigating Deforestation in the Congo Basin and Climate Change: The Ethic of Environmental Responsibility Based on African Spirituality,” Lushombo ties micro environmental damage to macro climate catastrophe. She cites studies showing that deforestation in the Congo Basin “causes a decrease of precipitation of about 5%-15% in the Great Lakes region [in the US]…” (p. 275). Deforestation of the Amazon and Central Africa are causing droughts in the breadbasket of America. Meanwhile, it is leading to deluges in the Arabian peninsula. Such deforestation can be directly tied to the ills of colonialism and globalization. It’s also exacerbated by an influx of refugees – and as climate change worsens, it will lead to even more refugees.

Resistance to the dominant ideologies of Western exploitation and capitalism can be found in African spirituality, including African Christianity. Lushombo quotes Magesa, who wrote “What the African religious world view emphasizes, therefore, are relationships …” (p. 281). In traditional African practices, she finds hints of the “humanity as caretaker” worldview mostly associated with the Abrahamic faiths. She writes, “In order to maintain harmony with nature, it is a moral obligation to function as God’s stewards … and not as rulers” (p. 286). Lushombo sees solutions to over-logging and resource exploitation in the ideologies of both interconnectedness and stewardship.

The other essays in the book support this conclusion. Whether a faith views humanity as a steward of nature or interconnected with nature, is immaterial. All faiths believe that taking care with the natural world is critical to humanity’s future – in this world and the next. As our species grapples with climate change triggered by capitalism run amok, all people of faith – regardless of ideology – must come together to begin healing our planet through a new theology of ecology. This essay collection, with its focus on peacebuilding and interreligious dialogue, would be a good starting point.

When will I learn to embrace every moment,
to surrender everything to God?

I hear you waiting for an answer.
Perhaps when waiting
has also been surrendered
and there is only one
person writing and reading these words,
my Love will be complete.

While Fethullah Gulen is revered by many for his authority as a scholar and for his achievements in education and intercultural dialogue, his views on language should earn him equal renown as a philosopher of language. Linguistics offers an analysis of a language’s system – its structure, sounds, grammar, and semantics – but the philosophy of language describes the way language creates meaning. Gulen is anchored in the optimistic tradition of the philosophy of language that establishes the relationship between language, belief, truth, and the meaning of life.

Gulen draws insights on the nature of language from the Qur’an. For Gulen, God has created with a purpose; such is also true of language. He echoes the Qur’an in this sense, in which glad tidings of paradise are given to believers who, “will hear therein neither vain talk nor falsehood” (78:35). In Gulen’s writings there is always a conscious effort to awaken in his audience an awareness of our relationship to God and of our duties towards humanity and the world.

He writes that his concept of “speech” is an effort to expound on the following verse in the Qur’an: “The All-Merciful. He has taught the Qur’an. He has created the human. He has taught him speech” (Rahman 55:1–4). In his book Speech and Power of Expression, Gulen writes, “In creating humankind, the Most Merciful gave us the ability to speak of the human essence, our inner depths, the entire cosmos, and the truth beyond material existence before sending us to the dimension of external existence” (p. 1)

The “Referential paradigm of language” that was an offshoot of Positivism’s exclusive reliance upon rationalism and science looks at language as an empirical object of investigation only and limits meaning to the word-object relation only, reducing reality to mere physical phenomenon that can be quantitatively measured and explained (Medina, 2005:40). However, Gulen writes that language is not only a tool for describing facts and performing vocative functions – it also defines and constitutes our humanity. It “gives voice to our thoughts, it is the rhythm of our feelings, and the excitement of our hearts; it is the interpreter in our communication with God Almighty. Language is a reflection of the Divine Archetype and is the repository of divine knowledge. By virtue of the faculty of language, humankind has been elevated to the rank of vicegerent on this earth” (p. 8).

In this sense, Gulen argues that language not only reveals and expresses the Divine and the Transcendental; it can also establish a relation between the Creator and the created. Gulen writes, “It is through speech that human beings have become the addressee of God and it is thanks to this faculty that they can address Him” (p. 1).

This constructive and creative view of language is a counter to the extreme form of postmodern philosophy of language that presents a pessimistic view of language, denies the divine origin of language, and reduces language to empty signs and elusive images – turns it into chimeras unanchored in any reality or purpose or meaning. This reductive view of language that looks at texts as auto-referential only turns language into a closed system of self-referring signs that endlessly defer meaning. The result is nihilism, solipsism, and the coarsening of the values that define our humanity. Virtues like duty, love, sacrifice, and the idea of the sacred are dismissed as mere linguistic projections.

Gulen, on the other hand, presents an optimistic view of language and writes, “By means of the faculty of speech bestowed in our nature, the facility has been afforded for humans to express and interpret everything at their discretion… Speech is an instrument by way of which truth is acknowledged as the highest reality and all beings become a musical instrument as if in a symphony, thereby removing the veil over things, enabling them to express themselves” (p. 2).

The “Luciferan thrust” of Postmodernism dismisses the ideals of beauty, sacredness, duty, sacrifice, the truth of the heart, and virtue as mere flattering words that mask and hide selfish motives. Freud dismissed the idea of the sacred as “infantile fantasy,” the hangover of the primitive mind, and Karl Marx described religion as the opiate for the masses. The result is a shuddering collapse of all the values that define our humanity, reducing the universe to a “Wasteland,” a “Flatland” inhabited by alienated, depressed “hollow men” who can “connect nothing with nothing.”

But Gulen does not look at beautiful language as mere simulacrum, as empty of meaning. In his account, language is “one of the most precious of gifts” from God, and words are underpinned by ideas and values. Language can inculcate moral values. There is a relationship between language, belief, meaning, and understanding. Language nourishes our aspirations, which arise from “our distinctive foundational essence”; language lends a wing “to our ideals” and takes “their feet off the ground to the heavens”; lifting us to “the upper reaches of a spiritual ascension and preparing for us thrones in realms beyond the material world.” Gulen repeatedly highlights the higher spiritual function of language. He says, “Responding to our desire for eternity, speech enriches our feelings in an indescribable manner and gives our souls a depth that cannot be bound by the dimensions of corporeality” (p. 7-8).

The reductive and degrading views of human nature put forth by the pseudo prophets of modernity, who define the essence of humanity in terms of libido, monetary profit, or class struggle, cannot explain how good literature stirs the soul and uplifts the heart. According to Gulen, literature that wells from, and voices what is in, our hearts will always remind us of the Divinity that was breathed into human beings and forms the quintessence of humanity. The constructive use of language is like “a strong gust” of wind that lifts people up “in the sky where kites wander,” “and they enjoy the freedom and ease of a bird taking wing in the spacious sky…they experience constant transformations and perceive the magnificence of transcendent life through the colorful dimensions of speech…” (p. 6).

Gulen cites the Holy Qur’an as an excellent example of the zenith of language that has an immense depth of meaning, and whose “voice is heard beyond ramparts and echoes in even the most obstinate and bigoted of hearts. There is such dazzling magic in the presentation of its themes that it is impossible not to be impressed upon hearing it.”

According to Gulen, language that embeds lofty ideals and noble goals “is as expansive as the skies, as full of vigor as the earth, as lustrous as silk, and as comforting as a mother’s embrace. It articulates to us the glory of our faith, the riches of our society, the purity and integrity of our fellow companions, the struggle of our ancestors, and our values that make us unique. Good speech that originates directly from, and voices what is in, our hearts will always remind us of our Divine origin. To the extent of the sacredness of its color, wealth, and goals, good speech will echo in our hearts like celestial voices providing us with proofs of its origin” (p. 8).

Western literary theory and Positivist epistemology support each other in looking at literature as auto-referential; they view literature as self-reflexive and not referring to any meaning outside it. It is parasitic and, in the words of the French poet Valery, it is like a dance that leads nowhere.

On the other hand, Gulen establishes a relationship between literature and axiology. He says that literature not only describes and creates beauty, it also tells us about our relationship to life and the purpose of life. He rejects the concept of Art for the sake of Art, which is exclusively concerned with creating elegance of form only.

Equally emphatic is his rejection of naturalism in literature that, in the name of realism, puts the emphasis on the sordid, mean, and brutal aspects of life. He advises that literary people should “put their language skills and artistic talents at the service of the right, good, and beautiful, instead of hurting the souls of the masses…by describing what is corrupt, or contaminating people’s pure thoughts with dirty images, and condemning them to the slavery of materialism with descriptions of carnal desires” (p. 15-16).

Gulen exhorts artists to take the prophets and writers of Sufi literature as role models, because all of them have, “acted in cooperation and are united in building prosperous cities from speech, weaving lace from the silken threads of language, and stringing exquisite necklaces with the jewels of words” (p. 5).

Language is an instrument given exclusively to humankind. It has tremendous power and can perform diverse and contradictory functions. In this context, Gulen quotes a hadith that says that a believer must guard his speech because it can be equally used as a remedy and as a weapon. The range of its power can extend in opposite directions: it can revive and kill, establish peace and start war, disclose and hide, liberate and imprison, construct and destroy, exaggerate and downplay. It is therefore necessary to keep watch that one’s language is not misused. When the use of language is yoked to an agenda of self-aggrandisement, or the acquisition of power or monetary profit, it is severed from its divine purpose of pursuing Truth and serving humanity. It degenerates into the rhetoric of hatred and misrepresentation, and generated suspicion, deception, competition and aggression. It becomes an instrument of manipulation and exploitation. Gulen emphasises that we need to use language in a constructive way. He argues for promoting interfaith and intercultural dialogue, because language has tremendous power to make people understand others and to change their perception. It can persuade people to work for peace. It is, in the words of Gulen, “the sword of humankind,” and, “wherever the flag of speech waves, the most powerful armies are defeated and scattered. In the arenas in which speech shouts out, the sounds of cannon balls become like the buzzing of bees. From behind the battlements on which the banner of speech has been raised, the sound of its drums are heard. In the precincts where its march reverberates, kings shake in their boots” (p. 2).

Good speech influences people to make the best of their potential, removes misunderstandings and false consciousness, helps them expand tolerance and promote cooperation, encourages collaboration, and establishes peace. Gulen expresses the educative value of language in these words, “foxes take their leave of deception, and lions are terrified, seeking shelter in their dens.” No “combatant has ever possessed a weapon mightier than speech” (p. 5).

Cognitive linguistics postulates that language is inseparable from thought, and Gulen writes, “Speech is the key that opens the locks on the doors of the treasury of thought” (p. 2). As the famous linguist Wittgenstein said, “My world ends where my language ends.” In Gulen’s view, since language is intertwined with thought, it should be developed and enriched to empower a nation intellectually and morally. He notes and cautions that nations which do not think and speak become dependent on others: “Societies which do not think and speak will find others speak and think on their behalf” (p. 18). Imported views estrange us from our own rich heritage. It is of supreme importance for a nation to be respectful towards the history of its language.

However, language has to go beyond historical value and respond positively to every positive new development. For, as Gulen says, “reaching out to the future at full speed requires catching up with industrialization, global commerce, and technological warehouses.” If language and thought, both living phenomena, do not evolve with the times, they will become stagnant, as solidified as rock, and will lose their soul. Nations that can manage to develop their language and make it accommodating, while at the same time staying faithful to the roots of it, are the most dynamic in thought and influence.

Language can serve both genealogical and teleological functions. As a symbol making activity, language not only embodies, but also preserves, all of our core values and cognitive and intellectual reserves. It also renews our link with our origins and traditional heritage. With its new developments and transformations, language looks to the future – just as our heritage of wisdom, ethics, and ideals can give direction to future, too.

Gulen compares the teleological function of language to a “golden-winged turtledove released by our hopes to the future” (p. 8). The core values of every society are embedded in the symbols of its language. Gulen argues, “Language is not only a means of speech and thought; it is a bridge with the significant function of bringing the wealth of the past to our day and conveying today’s heritage and our new compositions to the future” (p. 17).

Language is an important tool for humankind in our efforts to better understand the cosmos and events both holistically and analytically. The relationship between language and thought comprises cognitive and intellectual reflections on existence and events, transforming these reflections into sources of information, and becoming productive while forming links between the cosmos and our knowledge. The future prospects of a nation are very much dependent on evaluating these relationships. Language is one of the fundamental dynamics in the composition of a culture. We should not cast everything that is old into oblivion, nor turn our face to the past and close our doors to what is new. Let us embrace the past with the utmost sincerity and at the same time salute the coming days with their open, new developments and transformations.

I will conclude with summing up Gulen’s message – Let us use language as a bridge between different cultures and religions to establish peace. Let us use language as a beacon house to illuminate minds and souls, and as a bond to bring people together on the basis of shared human values: compassion, tolerance, harmony, and peace.

References

• Gulen, M. Fethullah. 2010. Speech and Power of Expression: On Language, Esthetics, and Belief, NJ: Tughra Books.
• Medina, Jose. 2005. Language: Key Concepts in Philosophy, Continuum.

Life is indeed full of contrasts and surprises.

Something that is no more a surprise in our lives but still as scary as it was first discovered is cancer – the disease-whose-name-must-not-be-mentioned, as in the case of Voldemort in the Harry Potter series. “The long illness” or “the bad disease” are some of the other euphemisms for cancer which almost all nations have developed as none of us are really willing to sully our conversations with possible implications that it may bring into our imaginations. For almost every one of us knows someone who has been suffering from it, or we have already lost him or her because of it.

Ali Fethi Toprak in this issue takes matters further with his analogy of cancer as anarchy. What the cancer disease does in our body is, in a sense, no different than what anarchy causes in the society. Just as “anarchy cuts and throws away norms and laws that organize social life, one by one, thus destroying the order and leading to mischief and rebellion, cancer breaks genetic rules that organizes cell proliferation and eliminates pathways that suppress tumor formation. Thus, it eradicates the order and triggers chaos and malignancy. Again, cancer works against the life of the body without considering the rights of other cells,” writes Kocabas in his “Cancer: Cellular Anarchy” article in this issue. He also notes that genetically engineered T cells offer us a medical hope for healing from cancer, and that patients should never give up on prayers and always keep spirits high, which is ultimately the greatest strength in fighting against it.

Overcoming troubles or diseases, or at least standing up honorably in the face of their danger, is perhaps bound with attaining “immortality,” as described in this issue’s lead article. “Souls of immortality” Gülen writes, “never fall into despair… Neither the darkness of menacing nights, nor the multiplicity of accumulated problems can discourage them. Even if they were faced with Noah’s flood, they would walk away from it without a drop touching their feet.” This portrayal is indeed a very high peak to climb, but aren’t we mankind perfectly equipped potentially for this challenge?

Indeed, we as human beings are well equipped and have much to offer the world, both intellectually and technologically, when compared to the past. However despite having the upper hand in the fields of science and technology, our environment is still struggling and suffering due to our negligence. Every year, 14 billion pounds of garbage are dumped into our oceans and as a result, 1 million seabirds and 100,000 sea mammals are being killed. Erhan Yenilmez gives insight into the current state of affairs and how we can work together to protect our environment.

Ibn Battuta and Marco Polo traveled through many of the same lands less than 50 years apart. They were able to do so, in part, due to some of the same conditions: the Pax Mongolia had united (and devastated) much of Central Asia, and China and India were relatively stable. Marco Polo traveled during the height of the Pax Mongolia, while Ibn Battutas travels occurred while the first effects of the Plague were being felt. In many of his descriptions, especially of older cities located in the vicinity of Persia and Central Asia, the destruction wrought by the Mongol conquest was still evident. Although Marco Polo and Ibn Battuta did not travel exactly the same path, a reader of both books nonetheless gets a sense of the changes occurring in those areas during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

Unfortunately for historians, Marco Polo does not always notice the same things, or simply chooses not to mention them. As he is concerned almost exclusively with what the land and its inhabitants produce, he rarely notices or comments on the destruction and decay that pepper many parts of Ibn Battutas travel narrative.

Travels in a Stricken Land

Ibn Battuta finds the first signs of decay after he leaves Makkah for Iraq. He leaves the main caravan to travel to Basra, which had been a main center of Islamic learning. He notes that he has to travel in the company of a large group of native Arabs, for it is impossible to travel in those regions except in their company. At least one danger he faces is that of Arabs inhabiting a waterlogged jungle of reeds in the area, who in fact did attack and plunder a party traveling behind his. Ibn Battuta does not comment on this, but the necessity of traveling with an armed escort and the constant threat of highway robbery would seem to indicate a weak central state.

Upon his arrival in Basra, Ibn Battuta is told that a large building located some distance outside of the city, the Mosque of Ali, used to be in the middle of the city. However, Basra has shrunk so much that it now stands alone. Another indication of Basras diminished status is the fact that during the Friday congregational prayer, the preachers sermon contains grammatical mistakes. He is also told that no one in the city speaks or writes grammatically correct Arabic”and this in the very city where Arabic grammar was devised and established! So it appears that this area has slipped from the control of whatever centralized government once controlled it, that the population has left, and that it is no longer a center of learning.

Reporting on his trip to Kufa, the other historically great garrison city in Persia, he writes that it also has diminished in size and prestige: Though it was once the abode of the Companions of the Prophet and of scholars and theologians, as well as the capital of Ali, Kufa has now fallen into ruins as a result of the attacks which it has suffered from the nomad Arab brigands in the neighborhood. That such a formerly important city has been left so vulnerable that even a band of brigands can attack it at will again indicates the central governments increasing weakness.

Even the western part of Baghdad is found to be partially in ruins: The hospital is a vast ruined edifice, of which only vestiges remain. Traveling near the Tigris river, he finds yet another city in ruins, as well as Jazirat ibn Umar and Nisibin. He observes a similar swath of destruction in Central Asia and in areas located to the north of India.

Marco Polo notes that some cities have been destroyed, but Ibn Battuta goes into much more detail. Bukhara, once the capital of the lands beyond the Oxus river, is mostly destroyed; Samarkand is likewise mostly in ruins, as is Balkh, where Genghis Khan partially destroyed a mosque in his search for treasure; Banj Hir (Panjshir) city has been destroyed, and the surrounding country uninhabited since that time.

Fondness for Miracles

Marco Polo and Ibn Battuta resemble one another in their fondness for miracles, especially those that validate their own religion or sect. Marco Polo tends to be more enthusiastic and narrates many miracles (second-hand) at great length, while Ibn Battuta is generally more skeptical. In addition, his miraculous happenings, if usually not very miraculous in nature, are easier to believe.

For example, he relates how the Caliph Walid I wish to expand the Umayyad mosque in Damascus into the area occupied by a church. The Greek Christians refused to sell the land, for they believed that anyone who destroyed the church would be stricken with madness. The caliph decided to set an example and thus began to tear down the church with his own hands. According to Ibn Battuta: The Muslims on seeing that followed his example, and God proved that the assertion of the Christians was false. Although Ibn Battuta does not exactly claim miraculous status for this event, the tone is very similar to the one used by Marco Polo to describe miracles performed by Christians in Muslim lands.

Many of Marco Polos miracles are a sort of polemic against Muslims, and many of Ibn Battutas miracles, as well, are polemical. He does not direct them against Christians, however, but rather against the Shiah, whom he dislikes intensely. He writes of a man who told the Shiah that he was the mahdi (the awaited messiah) and convinced people that he was going to perform many miracles. Of course none were actually performed.

He mentions the place in Mashhad Ali, located in the city of Najaf, that supposedly holds Ali’s tomb. The townspeople, all Shi, regard the miraculous healing of the sick that is said to occur there as proof that the place is, in fact, Ali’s final resting place. Ibn Battuta comments that the fact is widely known among them, and I heard it from trustworthy authorities, but I was not actually present on any such night. He also says that he saw some cripples there who were waiting for that night. Although he does not refute these events, he appears to be very hesitant to actually believe and confirm them. One might simply attribute this to his reluctance to give credence to supposed miracles that he did not actually witness. However, he is not so cautious about believing such stories in other places. For instance, during his stay in Shiraz, he visits the illustrious Shaykh Majd al-Din Ismail, the marvel of the age [who] is held in the highest esteem by the sultan of Iraq, for reasons which the following story will show.

He then relates how this shaykh was the judge of an Iraqi province that refused to turn Shiah. The sultan was infuriated and had him brought to his summer residence to be thrown to the large, fierce, man-eating dogs that he kept there. However, when the dogs were loosed on the judge Majd al-Din, they would not attack him but wagged their tails in the friendliest manner. The sultan thereupon rejected the Shiah doctrine. This incident is treated as something of a miracle and related in rather strong language, although Ibn Battuta did not actually witness it. Therefore, it does not seem that he is overly reluctant to accept miracles when it suits his purpose.

Views of Other Peoples

Although, as the translator points out, Ibn Battuta is quite tolerant of Christians (despite his frequent derogatory references to them), Marco Polo’s hostile attitude toward Muslims is mirrored very accurately in Ibn Battuta’s attitude toward the Shiah. He describes them as abominable people who hate the Ten Companions and every person whose name is Umar, and as revilers who hate the ten. He claims that in Sarmin, one cannot even mention the word ten. At one place, he refuses to enter the city because the inhabitants are fanatical Shiah. All of this is no doubt due in large part to his strict Maliki views. Another similarity between the two traveler’s work lies in what they choose to include and describe. One of the most striking elements is the character and appearance of the people they encounter. Generally, Ibn Battuta has good things to say about the people he meets, such as his assertions that the inhabitants of Makkah are very kind to strangers and the poor, the people of Shiraz are very pious and upright, and the women of Sana are virtuous and have many fine qualities. He also writes: I have never seen anywhere in the world more excellent people than the Khwarizmians, or more generous or more friendly to strangers. In Hinawr, the women are beautiful and virtuous. When he meets people he does not like, he is not slow to explain why. In Taizz, for example, the people are overbearing, insolent, and rude, as is generally the case in towns where kings reside. And the inhabitants of Bukhara are looked down upon and their evidence is not accepted in Kharizm and elsewhere, because of their reputation for fanaticism, falsehood, and denial of the truth.

Conclusion

Although Ibn Battuta and Marco Polo wrote their travelogues for somewhat different reasons, as they were of different religions and backgrounds and faced different circumstances, the two authors show a remarkable similarity in their approaches to their subject matter, that which interests them, and their reaction to the places they visit. Their works of course differ in some ways, but the similarities argue rather forcefully that the cosmopolitan, unified world to which they both seem to have felt they belonged did, in fact, exist

References

• Ibn Battuta. The Travels of Ibn Battuta (trans.) London: 1829.
• Marco Polo. The Travels. Translated by Ronald Latham. England: Penguin Books, 1958.