Figure 3.30 Fatimid textile with addorsed lions, eleventh century, Egypt
He displayed religious orthodoxy (sunna) in Aleppo and changed the innovation (bid’a) which they had in the call to prayer and he tamed the heretics there and built there religious colleges, established endowments and dispensed justice… In war he was steadfast in going forward, good at shooting, hard in striking … he would run the risk of martyrdom… he had a good handwriting [and] he often studied religious books.72
It is certainly possible to ‘demythologise’ this picture of Nur al-Din and this was done recently by the German scholar Köhler. He argues that the efforts made by Nur al-Din in the service of jihad in the first half of his career were not impressive, and he cites the evidence of the Fatimid vizier TalaY b. Ruzzik, who reproaches Nur al-Din very sharply some time after 549/1154 for not fighting against the Franks and for tolerating their continuing rule in Palestine: ‘Tell him: how long will you delay [the wiping out of the blame] with regard to the unbelievers? … Go to Jerusalem! … Leave your penchant for the Franks!’73
Figure 3.31 Individual words of the animated inscription on the Wade Cup, inlaid brass, c. 1230, north-west Iran
Plate 3.21 Jami‘ al-Nuri, minaret, probably after 552/1157, Hama, Syria
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 1516)
This clearly indicates that, according at least to Abu Shama, who was himself not an Isma‘ili and therefore not predisposed to favour the Fatimids, it was not Nur al-Din but the ‘hated’ Fatimids who were pressing for jihad against the Franks. Contrary to the expressed desire of his poets, Köhler argues, Nur al-Din did not embark on jihad against the Franks after he had taken Damascus. He preferred instead to consolidate his power in Syria. Köhler puts the turning-point for Nur al-Din and the use of jihad propaganda at 553/1157.
But even in the struggle between Nur al-Din and the Franks for supremacy in Egypt (553–569/1157–1174), Köhler argues,74 Nur al-Din used jihad propaganda simply as an instrument of his power politics. Indeed, despite the numerous jihad inscriptions which bear his name from 553/1157, he was doing nothing – so Köhler argues – to merit such grandiose titles. In fact, he was only behaving as his father Zengi had done. Jihad propaganda, for him, was only a means of acquiring caliphal legitimacy and recognition of his suzerainty over neighbouring Islamic states.75
The exact balance of motives which propelled Nur al-Din at different stages in his career must remain a matter of speculation. What can be known and assessed is what he achieved, the religious atmosphere in Syria within which he operated and the religious buildings and inscriptions which were erected in his name (e.g. plates 3.22, 3.23–3.24; cf. plate 3.25). These all point forcefully to the view that in the eyes of his contemporaries he was perceived to be a fighter of jihad in a propaganda movement of mounting conviction and success.
It is now time to turn to Jerusalem which seems to have played a key role in this propaganda movement.
The General Status of Jerusalem in the Medieval Islamic World
It has to be admitted that the status of Jerusalem fluctuated in the medieval Islamic world. Its religious importance as a centre for the other two great monotheistic faiths, Judaism and Christianity, made it vulnerable in the view of some Muslim thinkers, notably Ibn Taymiyya and other Hanbalite legists, to the criticism that the Islamic sanctity of Jerusalem was tainted by the influence of Judaeo-Christian traditions and ‘innovations’. Mecca and Medina, on the other hand, were the true foci of Islamic sanctity (figures 3.32, 3.33).
Here is not the place to discuss the ambivalent reputation of Jerusalem from the very beginning of Islam. What is important in the context of the Crusades (and of course, at the end of the 1990s, when the city is under Israeli rule) is to stress that Jerusalem can become the focus of intense religious yearning on the part of Muslims, and that there is more than sufficient basis on which to argue that Islam can take a share in the city’s sanctity. The Muslims of the twelfth century longed with increasing intensity to repossess Jerusalem, and the city came to be the focal point for a highly successful campaign of jihad propaganda, culminating in its reconquest by Saladin in 583/1187.
The Fatimids had paved the way for Jerusalem’s seminal importance in the twelfth century; indeed, it is clear that for their own political and religious motives they had aimed at enhancing the city’s sanctity in the eleventh century. Perhaps al-Hakim’s destruction of the Holy Sepulchre in 1009 should be placed in this context, though whether this action was so intended at the time or helped to trigger renewed awareness of the specifically Muslim sanctity of Jerusalem is a matter for debate. But within a very short time of al-Hakim’s act, the policy of the Fatimids towards Jerusalem had crystallised. They rebuilt the Aqsa mosque in the reign of al-Zahir (d. 427/1036) (plate 3.26); its imperial mosaic inscription is the first one in Jerusalem to begin with the Qur’anic verse which Muslims believe refers to Muhammad’s ascent into the Heavens (17:1). Al-Zahir also restored the Dome of the Rock in 413/1022–3 and its mosaics in 418/1027–8.76 The Persian scholar and traveller Nasir-i Khusraw visited Jerusalem in 439/1047 and notes that those in Palestine who could not perform the hajj assembled in Jerusalem and carried out certain of the ceremonies there:
Plate 3.22 Great Mosque, central aisle from the west, rebuilt by Nur al-Din after 565/1169–70, Aleppo, Syria
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 5648)
Plate 3.23 Great Mosque, aerial view of marble patterning in courtyard, after 565/1169–70, Aleppo, Syria
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 5646)
Plate 3.24 Great Mosque, minaret, 483-7/1090–5, Aleppo, Syria
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 5653)
Figure 3.32 The Mosque of the Prophet, Madina, painting on paper, fifteenth century, Egypt
Figure 3.33 The Ka‘ba, painting on paper, fifteenth century, Egypt
Plate 3.25 Great Mosque, mihrab and minbar, after 565/1169–70, Aleppo, Syria
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 5651)
Plate 3.26 Aqsa Mosque, interior, qibla arch with Fatimid mosaics dated 426/1035, Jerusalem
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 524)
Figure 3.34 Floor mosaic with map of Jerusalem, sixth century, Madaba, Jordan
The people of these provinces, if they are unable to make the pilgrimage, will go up at the appointed season to Jerusalem and there perform their rites and upon the feast day slay the sacrifice as is customary to do (at Mecca). There are years when as many as 20,000 people will be present at Jerusalem during the first days of the month of Dhu‘l-hijja.77
The mystics (Sufis) of Islam such as Sufyan al-Thawri and Ibrahim b. Adham had also venerated Jerusalem greatly and groups of them came there in increasing numbers in the eleventh century; the great scholar al-Ghazali meditated there in the late 1090s after his spiritual crisis had compelled him to leave Baghdad.
Thus it would appear that by the end of the eleventh century, that is on the eve of the Crusades, the key elements in the sanctity of Jerusalem were in place. They could therefore be exploited to the full in the forthcoming struggle with the Franks and utilised very effectively in jihad propaganda. The modern Arab historian Duri is in no doubt on this point:
The Crusades probably added a new dimension to the significance of the Bayt al-muqaddas [Jerusalem]. But it was the great sanctity the city attained by the eleventh century that made it the symbol of the Jihad against the invaders.78
Figure 3.35 Dome of the Rock, cut-away perspectival view, 72/691–2, Jerusalem
As well as the actual physical presence of the Dome of the Rock and the Aqsa mosque within Jerusalem, and the meritorious qualities attributed to prayer and pilgrimage there, Muslims believed that the Prophet Muhammad had made his Night Journey into the Heavens from Jerusalem, and that Jerusalem would be the site on which the
Resurrection would take place on the Last Day.
As already mentioned, there have been conflicting views amongst Muslim scholars over the centuries on the relative merits of the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina as opposed to Jerusalem, but the Palestinian writer al-Muqaddasi (d. 387/997), speaking with pride of his native city, sums up the pro-Jerusalem viewpoint: ‘The province of Syria is in the first rank, the Land of the Prophets, the dwelling-place of the saints, the first qibla; the site of the Night Journey and the Gathering.’79 Then he turns to Jerusalem itself: ‘Mecca and Medina derive their high position from the Ka‘ba and the Prophet, but on the Day of Judgement they will both be brought to Jerusalem.’80
The connection of Jerusalem with the Prophet’s Night Journey is found in the work of the early eleventh-century preacher al-Wasiti, who writes, in a passage redolent with Qur’anic echoes: ‘Glorified be He who carried His servant by night from the Invincible Place of Worship to the Far Distant Place of Worship (al-masjid al-aqsa), the neighbourhood whereof We have blessed.’81
There is then sufficient basis here on which the religious scholars in the twelfth century could build a propaganda campaign extolling the virtues of jihad and focused on Jerusalem.
The Role of Jerusalem in the Propaganda of the Counter-Crusade
It is difficult to pinpoint precisely when Muslim military leaders began to focus on the reconquest of Jerusalem as an integral or even central part of their ambitions. As we have already mentioned, apart from the Fatimid initiative immediately after the Frankish conquest of Jerusalem in 492/1099, the loss of the city did not prompt any further attempts on the part of the Muslims to recapture it. On the contrary, there seems to have been little reaction until the fall of Edessa in 539/1144. This victory by Zengi seems to mark a turning-point, a moment when Muslim morale began to rise. Certainly, as we have seen, there are hints to this effect in the panegyric poetry commemorating Zengi’s conquest of Edessa.
Sivan argues that Jerusalem began to loom in the Muslim consciousness as a focus for jihad against the Franks in the last years of Zengi’s life. However, the momentum for the recapture of the city was considerably intensified during the career of his son, Nur al-Din, as Jerusalem became a major theme of the programme of jihad propaganda emanating from the cities of Syria and above all Damascus.
Indeed, Jerusalem became the focus of a cleverly orchestrated ideological campaign which played on its loss to the Crusaders. The yearning for Jerusalem could be exploited to the full by Muslim propagandists, who dwelt on the pain and humiliation of seeing Jerusalem become a Christian city, with mosques and Muslim shrines being turned into churches or secular buildings.
It appears likely that at some point in his career Nur al-Din’s ambitions became focused on Jerusalem, although it is not clear exactly when this happened. Successive military victories, personal piety and his increasingly close relationship with the religious classes in Syria (his power base) – cf. plate 3.27 and colour plate 16 – enabled Nur al-Din to develop a most effective religious propaganda programme. It emphasised Muslim unification and a call to jihad, and was focused on the sanctity of Palestine and more especially of Jerusalem. This process can be traced in the Arabic chronicles and it is alluded to in the religious poetry of the period itself. The poet Ibn Munir urges Nur al-Din to fight against the Crusaders, ‘until you see Jesus fleeing from Jerusalem’.82
Ibn al-Qaysarani reiterates the centrality of Jerusalem and in particular the Aqsa mosque in the ambitions of Nur al-Din:
Plate 3.27 Jami‘ al-Nuri, riparian facade, after 552/1157, probably 558/1162–3 and later, Hama, Syria
May it, the city of Jerusalem, be purified by the shedding of blood
The decision of Nur al-Din is as strong as ever and the iron of his lance is directed at the Aqsa.83
Jerusalem may well have been in the minds of the poets before it had become implanted in the heart of Nur al-Din.84
The Arab historian Abu Shama quotes the text of a letter from Nur al-Din to the caliph in which Nur al-Din stresses the urgent need to recapture Jerusalem, stating that his main aim is ‘to banish the worshippers of the Cross from the Aqsa mosque’.85
All this might smack of pious attempts by Muslim chroniclers to remake Nur al-Din after the event into a perfect jihad fighter and Sunni leader, instead of one who fought and won the game of Muslim power politics in Syria in his own time. Yet their image of Nur al-Din is reinforced, as we have seen, by the contemporary testimony of the inscriptions on the monuments he founded and above all by the evidence of an elaborate pulpit (minbar) which was ordered by Nur al-Din and intended by him to be placed in the Aqsa mosque when he had conquered Jerusalem. Much scholarly work has been done on this topic; basic research carried out by Max van Berchem has been supplemented by recent studies by Yasser Tabbaa and Sylvia Auld. It is worth examining in some detail (plates 3.28, 3.29, 3.30; cf. plate 3.31 and colour plate 10).
Plate 3.28 Aqsa Mosque, minbar of Nur al-Din, detail of main inscription, 564/1168, Jerusalem
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 5006)
One of the inscriptions on the minbar stated that it had been commissioned by Nur al-Din in 564/1168–9. It was first used in the Great Mosque of Aleppo and was eventually brought to Jerusalem – after Nur al-Din’s death – at Saladin’s request. The minbar remained in the Aqsa mosque until it was destroyed by an Australian fanatic in 1969. In the context of the importance in the CounterCrusade of the role of Jerusalem, the minbar plays a key role.
Nur al-Din’s minbar is an eloquent statement of jihad, as the main inscription once testified. It is, according to Tabbaa, ‘the richest of all Nur al-Din’s inscriptions in proclamations of the victory of Islam and defeat of the infidels’.86 The beginning of the inscription, which is dated 564 (equivalent to 1168–9) reads as follows:
Its construction has been ordered by the slave,87 the one needful of His mercy, the one thankful for His grace, the fighter of jihad in His path, the one who defends [the frontiers] against the enemies of His religion, the just king, Nur al-Din, the pillar of Islam and the Muslims, the dispenser of justice to those who are oppressed in the face of the oppressors, Abu’l-Qasim Mahmud b. Zengi b. Aqsunqur, the helper of the Commander of the Faithful.88
Later on, the text of the inscription seems even to be requesting God to grant him the personal favour of conquering Jerusalem himself: ‘May He grant conquest to him [Nur al-Din] and at his own hands.’89 Tabbaa finds, quite rightly, that the minbar inscription is very unusual, both in length and in its emotional invocations to God.90
Supporting evidence for the commissioning of this minbar by Nur al-Din for Jerusalem, even though the city was still in Frankish hands, is provided in the writings of the Muslim chroniclers. ‘Imad al-Din al-Isfahani records that after the conquest of Jerusalem, when Saladin wanted a more splendid minbar for the Aqsa mosque, he recalled that Nur al-Din had commissioned one for Jerusalem more than twenty years before the conquest of the city. Saladin therefore wrote to Aleppo to have the minbar brought and installed in Jerusalem. ‘Imad al-Din, perhaps twisting the story to please his master Saladin, then claims retrospectively that Nur al-Din knew God would not grant him the conquest of Jerusalem. There is strict adherence to truth, however, in the statement that the minbar was built by an outstanding carpenter called al-Akharini whose name actually appeared on the inscriptions of the minbar together with four other signatures.91
Plate 3.29 Aqsa Mosque, minbar of Nur al-Din, detail showing craftsmanʼn signature, 564/1168, Jerusalem
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 5011)
Plate 3.30 Aqsa Mosque, minbar of Nur al-Din, 564/1168, Jerusalem
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 5005)
In his summary of another work of ‘Imad al-din, Sana al-barq al-shami, the later chronicler al-Bundari includes a slightly different account of the minbar:
Plate 3.31 Aqsa Mosque, minbar of Nur al-Din,
detail showing doors, 564/1168, Jerusalem
(Creswell Photographic Archive, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, neg. C. 5008)
By the light of his discernment the just prince Nur al-Din Mahmud b. Zengi had known in his time about the conquest of Jerusalem after him. So he commissioned in Aleppo the making of a minbar for Jerusalem; carpenters, craftsmen and architects laboured on it for years and they made it outstanding in its solidness and decoration. That minbar remained installed in the mosque of Aleppo, sheathed like a sword in the scabbard of protection until the sultan [Saladin] in this age ordered the fulfilment of the Nurid vow and the minbar was brought to its place in Jerusalem.92
Here too we see ‘Imad al-Din claiming that Nur al-Din knew that Jerusalem would be conquered but not in his own time. Strikingly, the minbar is likened here to a sword in its scabbard, awaiting its unsheathing as a weapon of religious propaganda in its final destination, Jerusalem.
The account of Ibn al-Athir concerning the minbar is more prosaic. He describes the making and transporting of the minbar as follows:
He [Saladin] ordered that a minbar should be made for him. So he was told that Nur al-Din Mahmud had made a minbar in Aleppo. He ordered craftsmen to go to great lengths to fashion it beautifully and to perfect it and he said ‘We have made it to be erected in Jerusalem’. So carpenters made it in a number of years; nothing like it was made in Islam.
So he [Saladin] ordered that it should be brought and it was carried from Aleppo and erected in Jerusalem. Between the making of the minbar and its being carried [to Jerusalem] was more than twenty years. This was one of the blessings and good intentions of Nur al-Din, may God have mercy on him.93
Clearly, there is good reason to assume that towards the end of his career Nur al-Din had his eyes set on the goal of Jerusalem and that the minbar he had commissioned was intended to record for posterity his own role in such an enterprise. The minbar may be viewed, on a much loftier level, as a forerunner of the gigantic monument of intersecting scimitars erected by Saddam Husain in 1985 to celebrate his coming victory in the Iraq-Iran war – a victory he too was never to see. The Aqsa minbar was a palpable and lasting symbol of the Muslim Counter-Crusade; it was in effect a piece of sympathetic magic. The inscriptions which Nur al-Din chose for his minbar concern the Day of Resurrection (Sura 16: 92–5), the fulfilling of solemn oaths taken and the Sura of Light (probably used also – as in his minbar in the Jami’ al-Nuri at Hama [plates 3.32, 3.33 and figure 3.36; cf. plate 3.34] – as a play on words with his own name, which means ‘light of religion’).
The Crusades- Islamic Perspectives Page 21