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 Mecca and Eden
RITUAL, RELICS, AND TERRITORY IN ISLAM

Brannon Wheeler
 fecca and Eden
=
Mecca and Eden
RITUAL, RELICS, AND TERRITORY IN ISLAM

Brannon Wheeler

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS Chicago

and London
BRANNON WHEELER is director of the Center for Middle East and Islamic Studies and
visiting distinguished professor of history and politics at the United States Naval Academy
in Annapolis. He is the author or editor of seven books, including Applying the Canon in
Islam (1996), Moses in the Quran and Islamic Exegesis (2002), Prophets in the Quran (2002),
and Teaching Islam (2003).

The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637

The University of Chicago Press, Ltd., London
© 2006 by The University of Chicago
All rights reserved. Published 2006
Printed in the United States of America

I5 14 13 I2 II 10 09 08 07 06 Nee
BYPy

ISBN: 0-226-88803-7 (cloth)

ISBN: 0-226-88804-5 (paper)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Wheeler, Brannon M., 1965—
Mecca and Eden : ritual, relics, and territory in Islam / Brannon Wheeler.
p.cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-226-88803-7 (cloth : alk. paper) — ISBN 0-226-88804-5 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Reliquaries, Islamic. 2. Islam—Rituals. 3. Civilization, Islamic. I. Title.
BP186.97.W48 2006
297.3—dc22
2005017331

‘The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American
National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library
Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992.
Contents

Acknowledgments vii | Notes on Conventions xi

INTRODUCTION I
Ritual and Social Order 2
Ritual, Relics, and the Meccan Sanctuary 10
Chapter Outline 15
I TREASURE OF THE KA BAH 19
1- Temple Implements and Treasure of the Ka bah 21
2 - Swords and the Origins of Islam 29
Conclusions - Swords and the Origins of Civilization 43

2 UTOPIA AND CIVILIZATION IN ISLAMIC RITUALS 47

1- Touching the Penis 48
2 - Adam and Eve’s Genitals 56
Conclusions - Taboo and Contagion 69

3 RELICS OF THE PROPHET MUHAMMAD 71

1- Relics of the Prophet Muhammad 72
2+ Relics and Civilization 81
Conclusions - Relics and Portable Territory 94

4 TOMBS OF GIANT PROPHETS 99

1- Long Tombs 100
2-Giants 110
Conclusions - Technology and Human Size 120

CONCLUSION :-THE PURE, THE SACRED, AND CIVILIZATION 123

1- Status and Power 124
2+ Symbol and Agency 128
General Conclusions 132

Notes 135 |Works Cited 247 Indexes 317

Acknowledgments

The ideas that eventually led me to write this book were given to me by
Professor Bill Whedbee in a seminar on the history of religions in 1987 at
Pomona College, when he introduced me to the works of Mircea Eliade and
Jonathan Z. Smith on ritual and sacred space. Bill’s dedication to develop-
ing the ideas of his students through careful, exhaustive study and the clear,
ordered articulation of an argument continues to inspire me, although there
is a long way to go before I begin to approach his standards.
The research and writing of this book have been supported by a num-
ber of individuals, institutions, grants, and fellowships in the years since
the seminar at Pomona College. A large number of imaginative and sharp
students have contributed to my thinking about the relationship of religion
and the state. These include students in the courses “Government of Ritual”
and “Utopia” at Macalester College (1991-1992) and Vanderbilt University
(1992-1994), and different versions of my “Ritual and Territory in Islam”
course, which I taught at the University of Washington (1996-2002). With-
out the insights of these students, this book would not have been possible.
My first attempt at putting to paper some of the ideas contained in this
book was a paper I presented at the Islamic Area Studies Symposium “Be-
yond the Border” at the University of Kyoto in October 1999. Versions of
this paper were also presented in lectures at Syracuse University and Yale
University in December 1999. Helpful comments from a number of col-
leagues, including Michael Lecker, Dale Eickelman, Patricia Cox Miller,
Gerhard Bowering, and Kazuo Morimoto, helped me to publish a revised
version of this paper, “From Dar al-Hijra to Dar al-Islam: The Islamic Uto-
pia,” in The Concept of
Territory in Islamic Law and Thought, edited by Yanagi-
hashi Hiroyuki, Islamic Area Studies 2 (New York and London: Kegan Paul
International, 2000), 1-36.

vii
 My interest in developing more specific and expanded interpretations
of ritual, relics, and territory came from two contexts at the University of
Washington. The first was a comparative religion colloquium with the theme
“Ritual and (Sacred) Space,” to which faculty and students from the Univer-
sity of Washington and visiting scholars contributed over a two-year period
(2000-2002). Among the colleagues who most influenced my thinking in
this colloquium were Jim Wellman, Kyoko Tokuno, Scott Noegel, Eugene
Vance, and Philip Arnold. Instrumental in the success of this colloquium
was Joel Walker, who organized the readings with me and helped to focus
my attention on the historical contexts of the cases we examined. The second
opportunity for reflection on these issues was a graduate seminar I cotaught
with Joel Walker entitled “Holy Land in Late Antiquity and Early Islam.”
The erudition and enthusiasm of my coteacher and students urged forward
my research in ways that go well beyond the confines of this book.
The four chapters of this book were written over a number of years and
have gone through a series of modifications resulting from the countless in-
sights of patient colleagues, students, and friends. Many of the concepts that
found their way into chapter 1 were tried and tested on colleagues in various
venues, including the comparative religion colloquium at the University
of Washington (2002), the “Relics and Territory” consultation at the an-
nual meeting of the American Academy of Religion (2003), and the School
of Oriental and African Studies, University of London (2003). Especially
valuable cormments came from Michael Williams, Kristin Scheible, Gerald
Hawting, Benjamin Fortna, and Robert Elgood.
Chapter 2 was developed from a number of talks and conference papers,
including a paper presented at the annual meeting of the Middle East Stud-
ies Association (2001) and the Fourth International Islamic Legal Studies
Conference in Murcia, Spain (2003). Most helpful to me were the com-
ments of Michael Cook, Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd, Art Buehler, Jonathan
Brockopp, Kevin Reinhart, and Everett Rowson. Students in my Arabic
course “Ritual and Legal Texts” at the University of Washington aided me in
thinking about some of the more convoluted and thorny issues in Islamic le-
gal definitions of purity, especially Daryl Mutton and Dr. Ahmed Souaiaia.
A modified version of chapter 2 appeared as “Touching the Penis in Islamic
Law,” History of Religions 44 (2004): 89-119 (© 2005 by The University of
Chicago), and is reprinted here with permission.
Chapter 3 was largely compiled from references I was able to track down
through the unparalleled library resources of Oxford University, especially
at the Oriental and Indian Reading Rooms at the Bodleian Library, the
Sackler Library of the Ashmolean Museum, and the library of the Oriental
Institute. The librarians at the Bodleian were particularly helpful. A lecture

viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
at the University of Bristol gave me the chance to talk about some of the
ideas in chapter 3 with a fantastic group of colleagues and graduate students
in religion. I especially appreciate the comments of Robert Gleave and Ru-
pert Gethin.
Chapter 4 was made possible only by the opportunity for me to travel
throughout the Middle East and Central Asia during 2003-2004. Dur-
ing this time, I was afforded the chance to discuss with many colleagues
and friends my ideas about the tombs of prophets. This included lectures
at the Royal Institute for Interfaith Studies and Jordan Institute for Di-
plomacy, the American Center for Oriental Research in Amman, Yar-
mouk University, and the Institute for Islamic Sciences at the Grand
Mosque in Muscat. An Arabic synopsis of my findings was published as
“al-Anbiya al-‘Arabiyah wa Qubir al-Jababirah,” a/-Nashra 30 (Spring
2004): 19-23. A modified version of chapter 3 appeared as “Arab Prophets
and the Tombs of Giants,” Bulletin ofthe Royal Institute for Inter-faith Studies
(2005), and is reprinted here with permission.
During the 2004-2005 academic year I had the opportunity to present
an overview of my ideas in this book to colleagues and students in a number
of different contexts, including invited lectures at Macalester College, the
University of Oklahoma, Virginia Polytechnic Institute, the University of
Bergen, and the University of Oslo. Special thanks to James Laine, Calvin
Roetzel, Allen Hertze, William Ochsenwald, Peter Schmitthenner, Ananda
Abeysekara, Brian Britt, Knut Vikor, and Albrecht Hofheinz for their in-
sightful comments and help.
Much of the research, in libraries, archives, and fieldwork, was done dur-
ing a two-year sabbatical from the University of Washington (2003-2005).
I especially thank the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civiliza-
tion and the Comparative Religion Program for their support of my research
during this period. I benefited greatly from a fellowship at the Institute for
Ismaili Studies in London and was a Visiting Scholar at the Oxford Centre
for Islamic Studies during the autumn of 2003. Christopher Melchert, Luke
Treadwell, Jeremy Johns, and the other faculty of the Oriental Institute at
Oxford University were gracious hosts and rousing colleagues. In Septem-
ber 2003, I had the good fortune to participate in a month-long exchange
program in comparative religion and Islamic studies administered by the
University of Washington (with five institutions of higher learning in Uz-
bekistan) and funded by the U.S. Department of State.
During the winter of 2004, a senior fellowship from the Council of the
American Oriental Research Centers afforded me the occasion to spend four
months at the American Center for Oriental Research in Amman. I am
particularly grateful to Pierre and Patricia Bikai, Robert Rook, and Bjorne

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ix
Anderson at ACOR; Majed Nemy, Dr. Ghazi Bisheh, and Professors Omar
al-Ghul and Hani al-Hawajaneh at Yarmouk University; and HRH Prince
Ghazi bin Muhammad and HRH Prince Ra‘ad bin Zeid for their generosity,
facilitation, and intellectual encouragement.
A regional Senior Fulbright Fellowship to Jordan, Egypt, and Oman dur-
ing the 2004 academic year provided me with invaluable opportunities for
research and academic cooperation with Arab colleagues. My sponsors in
these countries were exceptionally hospitable and accommodating: HRH
Prince El Hassan bin Talal, Bakr al-Hiyari and the other faculty and staff at
the Royal Institute for Interfaith Studies in Jordan; Professor Muhammad
al-Hawari at Ibn Sa‘ud University in Riyadh; Professors Ja far Abd al-Salam
and ‘Umar al-Qadi at a!-Azhar University; Professor Khalifah Hasan and the
other faculty at the Center for Oriental Studies at Cairo University; Profes-
sor Amir al-Qadir from the University of Constantine, Algeria; Professors
Isaac and Widad at the Coptic Studies Institute in Cairo; Professor Bahir
‘Abd al-Majid and the other faculty of the Department of Hebrew Language
and Literature, and the faculty of the Center for the Dialogue of Civiliza-
tions at Ayn Shams University; the staff at the Sayyida Zaynab Manuscript
Library; HE Mahmoud Hamdy Zaqzuq, Minister of Awgaf and Islamic
Affairs in Egypt; ‘Ali al-Shahri, Director General of Awgaf and Religious
Affairs in Dhofar Region; Professor Ridwan al-Sayyid, Dr. ‘Abd al-Rahman
al-Salmi and HE Shaikh Abdullah Bin Mohammed Bin Abdullah al-Salmi,
Minister of Awqaf and Religious Affairs in Oman.
The whole manuscript of this book was carefully read and critiqued by Da-
vid Powers, Janina Safran, Art Buehler, and Michael Feener. These four schol-
ars provided enormous help to me in the historical detail, theoretical clarity,
and structural organization of my writing. Other colleagues and friends have
contributed by taking the time to answer my nagging questions about details
I could otherwise never have tracked down: Carl Ernst, Richard Eaton, Walid
Salih, Claude Gilliot, and Fred Donner. Nic Zakheim is to be thanked for
proofreading the manuscript. I feel inadequate to respond to all the comments
and questions they and others have raised, and I expect that future readers
will compel me to think further about the difficult and perhaps unanswerable
issues that are all too easily glossed over in the tidy narrative of a final draft. I
hope that I have put forward my ideas, at this stage of their development, in a
way that stimulates others to challenge and expand upon my conclusions.
Last but not least, I want to acknowledge the unwavering support of my
three sons, Jeffry, Zachary, and Franklin, and my wife, Debbie, the smart
one in the family, who put up with all of my many and long trips to visit
tombs and relics, often driving around through nameless small villages and
wandering for hours in what seemed to them like the middle of nowhere.

xX ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Notes on Conventions

The transliteration of Arabic words follows the conventions used in the Jnter-
national Journal ofMiddle East Studies with the exception that the ta marbuta
is indicated by a final “h” in the nonconstruct position. Common names of
people and places (e.g., the prophet Muhammad, the Quran, Mecca) are
given in standard English transliteration or simplified transliteration. All
dates, unless otherwise indicated, are given according to the common era
(BCE and CE).

xi
 .
|
~~

x. 3 Se *.
‘a

_
‘ 3 ~ ¥¢ =
7
=
3
> ¥ —
.
tT stir og Peis pido c¥s cacht

ues Fis HEN SR | teas i » K¢é au 7

i is ima J a ae : > PUY Das
; A, Jat. tLe ares s Hf)
1g p oy + * in
~vee Me Hier »
>A Got. “t aN
J
¥ ‘ Ci
— wal ~~ te x ' heer . ; :
ve
< ;

: es Aerie heel:
Arrhtsl Aeapetathe gate talaun:
Introduction

Speaking on the topic of sacrifice and the origins of religion among the
Semites, William Robertson Smith makes a number of insightful state-
ments regarding the character of the “holy” and its relationship to certain
locations and objects associated with those places. Perhaps his most fun-
damental contribution is his definition of holy places and objects as social
conventions. He expresses this in explaining traditions concerning the Ara-
bian concept of sanctuaries.

On the whole, then, it is evident that the difference between holy things
and common things does not originally turn on ownership, as if common
things belonged to men and holy things to the gods. ... The approach
to ancient sanctuaries was surrounded by restrictions which cannot be
regarded as designed to protect the property of the gods, but rather fall
under the notion that they will not tolerate the vicinity of certain persons
(e.g. such as are physically unclean) and certain actions (e.g. the shedding
of blood). ... Holy places and things are not so much reserved for the
use of the god as surrounded by a network of restrictions and disabilities
which forbid them to be used by men except in particular ways, and in
certain cases forbid them to be used at all.!

Robertson Smith’s emphasis on the common ownership of holy places and

objects represents a significant shift away from the notion that the holy
is perceived to be inherent in certain things. He recognizes that the rules
regarding what actions may and may not be performed in relation to par-
ticular places and objects delineate the boundaries of what is holy and what
is common.
 The work of Robertson Smith, which had a profound influence on the
early modern study of religion, is also important because of its interpreta-
tion of specifically Arabic and Islamic concepts.’ He was one of the first and
only scholars to draw general conclusions about religion based upon Arabic
examples. He used a variety of classical Arabic sources and ethnographic
accounts of beliefs and rituals among Arabs in the Arabian Peninsula and
elsewhere. Unfortunately, since his work appeared, little attention has been
given to the place of Arabic and Islamic materials in the more general con-
ceptualization of religion.’ This is particularly unfortunate given the great
advances made in the knowledge of Islamic texts and history in the century
since Robertson Smith.
Building upon Robertson Smith’s definition of the Arabian sanctuary
as a holy place, the larger project of this book is a description and analy-
sis of the rituals and objects surrounding and associated with the sacred
status of the sanctuary as delineated in Islamic exegetical and legal texts.
Robertson Smith provides a useful starting point because of his insistence
that the sacred status of certain locations and objects is primarily due not
to their natural but rather to their social character. The following pages of
the introduction provide a brief overview of Robertson Smith’s approach
to the concept of the holy with particular attention to his emphasis on its
symbolic function. For Robertson Smith, the holy is a self-conscious sym-
bolic representation of society based on a notion of communal ownership
and restricted access. The social significance of the sacred is also stressed
in Jonathan Z. Smith’s examination of the bear hunt and its ritualization
among different peoples in Central and East Asia. The examples of both
the ancient Semites and of the bear hunters suggest how the actions that
delimit the sacred status of objects and places can be interpreted as the
result of societies reflecting upon their origins and displaying the need for
the status quo of their social orders.

RIEPUAL AND SOCIAL ORDER

Among the theoretical contributions made by Roberston Smith to the

study of religion is his insistence that the sacred, and the rituals designed to
delimit it, are symbolic representations of society. He defines the sacred, or
the holy, as being generated by a system of restrictions on the human use
of natural things: “[I]t would appear that common things are such as men
have license to use freely at their own good pleasure without fear of super-
natural penalties, while holy things may be used only in prescribed ways
and under definite restrictions. . . . [H]oliness is essentially a restriction on
the license of man in the free use of natural things.”* That these prescrip-

2 INTRODUCTION
tions on the use of natural things are social in origin is evident from the
notion that all objects and locations considered sacred are also considered
to be held in common as the property of the society as a whole. The same
restrictions placed upon the use of natural things such as locations, plants,
and animals are also extended to objects owned by the whole of society,
including items associated with the sanctuary (altars, candlesticks, idols,
vessels), weapons and farming implements, food and drink, certain build-
ings, perfume, and treasures.”
For Robertson Smith, the sacred is that which is “set apart” by society
not because it is “owned” by the gods or because of something intrinsic to
any given location or object, but as a means of emphasizing the symbolic
value of a location or object for society. The actual content of the rules
restricting access to sacred things may be arbitrary, and the things set apart
may appear to be no different from any other location or object. But sacred
things pertain to that which society holds in common, and as such they are
regarded as having special significance beyond the natural or generic attri-
butes they share with other common items. Sacred things are conventions
agreed upon by, and pertaining to, society.
That this symbolic character of the sacred represents a self-conscious at-
titude is also evident from a contradiction inherent in the restrictions and
requirements relating society to the sacred. Referring to Robertson Smith’s
discussion of the sacred character of the camel, Emile Durkheim argues
that the concept of the sacred is ironic: “Every sacred being is removed
from profane touch by this very character with which it is endowed; but,
on the other hand, they would serve for nothing and have no reason what-
soever for their existence if they could not come in contact with these same
worshippers who, on another ground, must remain respectfully distant
from them. At bottom, there is no positive rite which does not constitute a
veritable sacrilege, for a man cannot hold commerce with the sacred beings
without crossing the barrier which should ordinarily keep them separate.”®
Forbidding the private eating of camel flesh by an individual sets the camel
apart from other animals as sacred. Public consumption of a camel that has
been sacrificed in accordance with certain ritual regulations celebrates pre-
cisely that act which is prohibited to the private individual. According to
Durkheim, recognizing that an act is sacrilege is what allows the group to
perceive the social origins of the restrictions that make the camel sacred in
the first place.” The gathering to eat the camel serves as a time for members
of the group to focus on “their common beliefs, their common traditions,
the memory of their great ancestors, the collective ideal of which they are
the incarnation.” The ritual performance of this “sacrilege” by the group is
what allows the camel to function as a symbolic representation of society.

INTRODUCTION 3
 Robertson Smith is also careful to point out that sacred things do not
necessarily reflect an accurate image of society but are symbols with which
society identifies itself. This is illustrated in his conception of the camel as
a totem animal because it was, for the ancient Semites, the primary symbol
for the domestication of animals, just as cattle were in other cultures.’ The
sacrifice of oxen among the Nuer is predicated on the significance of cattle
as providing milk, carcasses for tools, ornaments, sleeping hides, and sun-
dried dung to fuel smudges.'® These domesticated animals are considered
“sacred and kindred for they are the source of human life and subsistence.”"!
The domesticated camel is used for its milk, transportation in the desert,
and as a marker of status and wealth but not as a source of meat.'* Society
defines the camel as sacred by restricting access to it: no individual may kill
and eat the camel privately. In those examples of the private eating of camel
which do exist, it is clear that the camel is not regarded as sacred.'*
According to Robertson Smith, the ancient Semitic notion that the do-
mesticated camel was considered to be a part of human society further
underlines the symbolic character of the camel.'* The camel was regarded
as part of society because of its close symbiotic relationship to desert so-
ciety at its origins. Just as the domestication of the camel allowed for the
survival of people in the desert, so a certain level of social development was
necessary for the care and maintenance of the camel.’ The domestication
of animals is explicitly linked to that point in time when society first came
into existence.

[JJust as in the Greek fable of the Golden Age, man, in his pristine state
of innocence, lived at peace with all the animals, eating the spontaneous
fruits of the earth; but after the Fall he was sentenced to earn his bread by
agricultural toil. At the same time his war with hurtful creatures (the ser-
pent) began, and domestic animals began to be slain sacrificially, and their
skins used for clothing. ... The original Hebrew tradition is that of the
Jahvistic story, which agrees with Greek legend in connecting the sacrifice
of domestic animals with a fall from the state of pristine innocence.'®

Animal husbandry, like agriculture, became necessary only after the end of
the golden age, when food no longer grew by itself and the cultivation of
plant and animal products was required to provide clothing and shelter.'7
Although not fully appreciated by all the followers of his work, this
linkage made by Robertson Smith between the restrictions placed on the
domesticated camel and the myth of a golden age is directly pertinent to
defining the relationship of the sacred to society. For Robertson Smith,

4 INTRODUCTION
the camel was considered sacred because for certain groups it epitomized
and may have been the only example of the domesticated animal.'* The
domesticated camel represented the one thing perceived to have allowed
for the existence of present society and to link society with its mythical
origins at the end of the utopia of the golden age. Claude Lévi-Strauss
highlights this conception by emphasizing that the sacred character of the
camel can only be understood by society as being futile: “While myth reso-
lutely turns away from the continuous to segment and break down the
world by means of distinctions, contrasts and oppositions, ritual moves in
the opposite direction: starting from the discrete units that are imposed
upon it by this preliminary conceptualization of reality, it strives to get
back to the continuous, although the initial break with lived experience ef-
fected by mythic thought makes the task forever impossible. . . . [It is this]
mixture of stubbornness and ineffectiveness which explains the desperate,
maniacal aspect of ritual.”'? The apparent sacrilege of eating the camel in
the context of the ritual is a recognition that present society does not live
in the golden age without need for domesticated animals and agriculture.”
It is a recognition that such a style of living is now impossible, and thus fol-
lowing the restrictions relating to sacred things is a conscious affirmation of
the present social order.’ For Roberston Smith, the definition of the sacred
is self-conscious in the sense that it orients attention toward a lost utopian
past which affirms, at least implicitly, the present social order, and the need
for its government by the chieftain.”
In his detailed study of bear-hunting rituals, Jonathan Z. Smith points
out an analogous dichotomy separating the utopia of the ritual to the social
order of everyday life. He contends that the bear hunters he studies are
conscious of the discrepancy between actual bear hunts and the way they
talk about and ritualize the hunt. The hunters claim that the bear offers
itself to be killed, as confirmed by the hunters’ disclaiming their role in the
bear’s death.”> The hunter must never kill a bear while it is sleeping in its
den, for the hunter is said to address the bear face-to-face with poems of
praise before dispatching it in hand-to-hand combat.” In reality, however,
the bear is almost always killed in its den, or immobilized by a trap before
the hunters approach.”

[N]Jot only ought we not to believe many of the elements in the description
of the hunt as usually presented, but we ought not to believe that the hunt-
ers, from whom these descriptions were collected, believe it either. . . .
... The hunter does not hunt as he says he hunts; he does not think
about his hunting as he says he thinks. But, unless we are to suppose that,

INTRODUCTION 5
 as a “primitive,” he is incapable of thought, we must presume that 4e is
aware of this discrepancy, that he works with it, that he has some means of
overcoming this contradiction between word and deed.”

That the hunter recognizes the utopian character of how he claims to hunt
is evident from the fact that he does not actually hunt the way he claims to
hunt. According to J.Z. Smith, scholars who fail to acknowledge this not
only miss the point of the discrepancy but also attribute a kind of “cuckoo-
land” irrationality to the hunters, construing them as “some other sort of
mind, some other sort of human being.””
J.Z. Smith makes the case that it is the hunters’ recognition of the dis-
crepancy between what they say and what they do that typifies the ritual
character of the hunt. Like Robertson Smith, J. Z. Smith shows how society
acknowledges the conventional nature of the rituals it uses to talk about it-
self. The hunters ascribe meaning to their actions, performed in the context
of the bear hunt, that differs from what these actions actually accomplish:”
“[R]Jitual represents the creation of a controlled environment where the
variables (i.e., the accidents) of ordinary life may be displaced precisely
because they are felt to be so overwhelmingly present and powerful. . . .
Ritual relies for its power on the fact that it is concerned with quite ordi-
nary activities, that what it describes and displays is, in principle, possible
for every occurrence of these acts. But it relies, as well, for its power on the
perceived fact that, in actuality, such possibilities cannot be realized.”” The
ritual aspect of the hunt is found, for example, in addressing the bear and
in “killing” it after it is already dead. Similar is the treatment of the bear
carcass as a live bear in the later ceremonies, including feeding the bear,
providing it special entrance into the tent, and giving it gifts, all while the
bear is already dead. Only after it is dead may the people safely treat
the bear as a guest, as a natural object upon which social significance may
be placed.
This point is illustrated even more clearly in the special bear ritual
practiced among the Ainu, Gilyak, Orochi, and Olcha, in which a bear is
raised as a domesticated animal and slaughtered.*° As with the wild bear,
the domesticated bear is treated as though it has given itself up to be killed,
though it is immobilized by being tied between stakes and poisoned by
bow and arrow.*! Because it is domesticated, the bear can be controlled
and the killing staged in ways impossible in the wild. But although the
ritual can control the domesticated bear to a greater degree, J.Z. Smith
argues, following Lévi-Strauss’s characterization of ritual, that people still
recognize the futility of their actions: “It is not that ‘magical’ rituals compel
the world through representation and manipulation; rather they express a

6 INTRODUCTION
realistic assessment of the fact that the world cannot be compelled.” For
J.Z. Smith, the ritual is not an attempt to change the reality inherent in
the natural relationship between bears and people, but rather a recognition
of this reality. Even the more docile domesticated bear must still be tied up
and poisoned before it can be killed, and the domesticated bear still needs
to be dead before it will allow itself to be eaten.
Drawing on these examples, J.Z. Smith emphasizes the importance
of seeing the rationality of ritual, the need to recognize that the hunters
understand the incongruity between the ideal portrayed in the ritual and
the experience of everyday life: “There is a ‘gnostic’ dimension to ritual. It
provides the means for demonstrating that we know what ought to have
been done, what ought to have taken place. But, by the fact that it is ritual
action rather than everyday action, it demonstrates that we know what is
the case.”** J.Z. Smith contends that this incongruity is “recollected” in
normal everyday life. Ritual marks certain actions, just as the “holy” marks
certain objects and locations, as having social significance apart from their
ordinary, natural character. As Robertson Smith points out with the camel
sacrifice, bringing to mind the absence of the utopian past reaffirms the
present social order, including the individual and group obligations made
necessary by this loss. “Ritual is a means of performing the way things
ought to be in conscious tension to the way things are in such a way that
this ritualized perfection is recollected in the ordinary, uncontrolled, course
of things.”* It does not appear to be the case, however, that the ritual and
the unrealistic talk about hunting depict a world in which the ideal hunt
is possible or even desirable. The lost utopian existence imagined by the
ritualized hunt is one in which there is no hunting, a world in which the
first bear has never been killed.
The myths associated with bear rituals by the people who perform them
suggest that the bear ritual and the description of the hunt are not under-
stood only as evidence of an incongruity between perception and reality.”
It is not so much that the world “should be” another way, but rather the
recognition that the world “no longer is” the way it used to be. Talking
about and ritualizing the bear hunt commemorates the natural hardships
people have overcome to survive, by hunting and through social organiza-
tion, in a non- or post-utopian existence.
The link between the practice of the hunt and the taming of bears for a
ritualized hunt can be found in prehistoric times and is not limited to those
groups that sacrifice domesticated bears.** In many of these cultures similar
symbolic associations are made between the bear, whether tamed or dead,
and the origins of civilization. Often the tame bear or the bear carcass is
adorned with jewelry, including strips of copper for bracelets and collars

INTRODUCTION 7
marked with grass threads.” The bear is also given amulets, and amulets
are made from the different body parts of the bear.** Around Hudson's
Bay, pieces of the bear are attached to small objects such as saws, drills, and
other implements of civilization.” A number of cultures associate planting
and agriculture with the bear, planting posts in the ground, tied together
with string.*° The Eskimo attach the bear’s bladder to a stick placed upright
near the encampment for three days.*! The Oroke set up spruce trees to
which were tied special shavings (inau) in the dwellings of the tame bears,
and they associated these trees with the cosmogonic and civilizing activities
of the hero Khadau.”
The tamed bear and bear carcass are also treated as though they rep-
resent the king or leader of the society. Among the Nootka, the bear car-
cass is positioned opposite the chieftain at a ceremonial meal, dressed like
the chieftain, and served a special tray of food.*? Among the Koryak, food
is presented to a wooden representation of the bear, while the Chukchi
slaughter reindeer and serve it to the bear.“ In several cultures, people refer
to the bear as “king” of the animals.*” Ostyak myths state that the bear is
actually a divine being in human form wearing a bear skin.** In other cul-
tures, people make the bear carcass smoke a pipe, and place tobacco in the
bear’s mouth.*” Special burials are arranged for the bear in which the carcass
is taken apart at the joints so that nothing of the bear’s skeleton is broken or
cut. The Evenk bundle the bear’s dried bones and place them upon a high
tree stump or a raised platform and place the head above them nearby.
Tamed bears and carcasses are closely associated with gender segregation
and sexual reproduction in human society.” Among the Turkic tribes of
Siberia, hunters make movements in imitation of sexual intercourse over the
body of the slain bear.’ One of the older hunters stands behind the younger
hunters and pushes them toward the bear with a stick opposite his penis
(kocugan kan). In Lapland, the hunter who kills the bear thrusts his spear
into the carcass three times following its death, for fertility and strength.”
Similar cult sticks are used among the Ainu.” According to Irving Hallowell,
all married women without children, young girls, and dogs are required to
leave the camp aind stay away during the time when the bear carcass arrives
and is cooking. Among the Mistassini, unmarried women must cover their
faces when the carcass is brought into the camp.°? Some Even did not allow
women to participate in any part of the eating of the bear.*4 The Nentsi, on
their bear-hunting expeditions, took along pregnant women, from behind
whom the men would shoot at the bear, believing that the bear would not
attack pregnant women.” Other cultures regard the hunt and the bear feast
as a punishment for men’s killing the bear and therefore exempt women
from eating certain parts of the bear (head, eyes, heart, entrails)
.*°

8 INTRODUCTION
 In the mythology of the peoples who practice the bear hunt and its ritu-
als, the bear is seen as an agent of civilization. Among the Yenisey Evenk the
legend is told of a bear that sacrificed itself in order to provide humans with
reindeer as domesticated herds.” In an Ainu myth, a bear gives to a human
woman the gift of a son whose descendants become the Ainu people.** The
Udegeys and other Lower Amur peoples also tell the story of the marriage
of ahuman girl with a bear.” In other accounts, the bear is responsible for
bringing gifts of civilization, and for instituting the ritualized bear hunt to
commemorate its own death. A Ket legend tells how a “kaigus” (son of a
woman by a bear) wanted to marry a human girl but was killed by the girl’s
people after issuing instructions for the bear ritual and the use of his carcass
in divination.”
Several myths make explicit that the death of the bear represents a con-
test between the natural world of animals and the artificial world of human
society. In Even folklore, a girl gives birth to two sons, one of them by a
bear. The human son grows up to be Torgani, the legendary hero of the
Even. This Torgani kills his brother, the bear, with the result that his people
must now hunt the many bears that will stalk them, and must perform a
special ceremony for the eating of the bears that are hunted. This ceremony
ensures that the bears will not seek retribution for this initial killing of the
brother bear.°' The Ayan Evenk and Orochi have a similar myth, in which
two rival brothers fight, one a bear and one a human, with the result that
the bear is killed, but not before bequeathing the ritualized bear hunt to his
brother and his people.” According to Vogul mythology, humans originally
were covered with hair and had long nails and horns, like other animals.”
In these accounts, the world before the killing of the bear is one in which
animals and humans live together, and the killing of the bear represents the
transition to human mastery of the natural world, marking the passage to a
state of existence dominated by the use of tools, agriculture, and domesti-
cated animals to maintain the growing size of human society.
That the ritualized hunt and the sacrifice of the domesticated bear might
serve as a commemoration of the transition between nomadic and settled
society is consistent with sacrificial practices in other cultures.“ The bear
is a symbol like the camel, kangaroo, and cattle in certain pastoral socie-
ties. Like these other animals, the bear is regarded as kin with the society
that hunts and sacrifices it. Bears are referred to with various kinship terms
including “cousin,” “grandfather,” “old man,” “guest,” and “four-legged hu-
man.”® The bear is also called a spirit or god, one which disguises itself with
black fur, sharp claws, and a large body, said to be the image of humans as
they once lived.
Bears are hunted as a source not only of food, but also clothing, shelter,

INTRODUCTION 9
and items of exchange.” More important than this, however, is the con-
ception of the bear as prey or sacrificial victim, demonstrating the society's
capacity to kill the bear (rather than be killed by it). Perhaps the bear was
chosen because of its anthropomorphic features, because of the relative dif-
ficulty in subduing a bear in the wild, or from a memory of the bear's
importance in prehistorical times. Note also that the bear hunt and ritual
is found far outside the areas in which bears were common enough to serve
as an easy source of food or would have been a significant nuisance to soci-
ety.® Like the camel, the bear also appears to have been treated as a symbol
of society’s existence because it can best represent, through myth and ritual,
the incongruity between the natural, utopian world and the social animal
husbandry of settled society. It is not the animal itself, but the restrictions
and prescriptions with which the animal is delimited and made sacred to
communicate a message that concerns the origins of the social order and
the need for establishment and governance of it.

RITUAL, RELICS. AND I HE UMECCAN SAN

GI UARY.

The observations of Robertson Smith and J.Z. Smith highlight some of

the major theoretical issues relevant to the larger study of ritual and relics
associated with Mecca and the origins of Islam. Of particular importance
is how ordinary objects and actions are set apart and construed in terms
of their conventional significance as symbols of society. The camel and
the bear can be seen as natural objects that represent social concepts for
the societies in which they serve as symbols. Certain locations and objects
are likewise defined as sacred and protected from private trespass by both
prohibiting and prescribing certain types of behavior in relation to these
objects and locations. The examples of the ancient Semites and the bear
hunters show that it is the process of restricting access, not only to the
physical objects and locations themselves, but also to their conceptualiza-
tion, that singles out such objects and locations as sacred. The face-to-face
killing prescribed for bears and the designation of a given location as the
abode of the god amount to fictions which, by virtue of their common ac-
ceptance as necessary social conventions, help to explain and legitimize the
existence of society.

MUSLIM EXAMPLES OF RITUAL AND RELICS

Muslim exegetical and legal traditions attribute special significance to every-

day objects (clothing, utensils, hair and nails, weapons and armor, speech)
as relics, and ordinary actions (sitting, standing, and not eating or having

10 INTRODUCTION
sex) as rituals. In the examples of J. Z. Smith, the discrepancy between what
the hunters say they do and what they actually do in their hunting indicates
that the hunters recognize the relationship between the bear, their hunt,
and the origins of their society. According to Robertson Smith, the use of a
domesticated camel in the sacrifice of the ancient Semites is an affirmation
of the need for domesticated animals and the social order that accompanies
it. Both the bear and the camel are symbols of the transition from nomadic
to settled life. The killing of the camel and the bear epitomize a transition
from a primeval, natural past to a constructed and social present.
Muslim scholarship also links selected objects, actions, and locations
to the origins and development of Islamic civilization. One example, con-
sidered in chapter 1, is the accounts of the discovery of the treasure of the
Kabah, consisting of golden gazelles from pre-Islamic Arab and Iranian
kings, and swords and armor from the Israelite prophets. Muslim accounts
draw extensively on a number of ancient and late antique motifs, such as
the burial of the temple implements, the divine origins of weapons, and
the king as the guardian of the sanctuary. Analysis of how these motifs are
appropriated into Muslim accounts shows that the objects contained in the
treasure of the Ka bah are employed as part of larger narrative framework
incorporating the prophet Muhammad and Islam into a history of prophets
and kings going back to Adam following his expulsion from the garden of
Eden. Specific descriptions associated with the golden gazelles, swords, and
armor of the treasure portray these objects as symbols of the mythological
origins of Islam within the context of the genesis of civilization on earth.
Not unlike the camel and the bear, the contents of the treasure of the
Ka’ bah signify a transition between fundamentally different states of hu-
man existence and society. For both the bear hunters and the ancient Sem-
ites, the transition from nomadic to settled society is understood in light of
the difference between a utopian golden age and the present social order.
By tying the objects contained in the treasure of the Ka bah with particu-
lar pre-Islamic prophets and kings, Muslim accounts delineate a transition
from the utopian existence in the garden of Eden to the current state of
human civilization culminating in the prophet Muhammad and Islam. The
accounts of the discovery of the treasure of the Ka‘ bah link Islam with the
origins of human civilization and the fall from Eden, just as accounts of
the hunt tell of a contest between nature and culture that explains the abso-
lute break between the world as it used to be and the world as it is now.
Central to both Robertson Smith’s and J. Z. Smith’s analyses is that the
rituals surrounding the killing of the camel and the bear, and the objects
associated with these rituals, function as regular physical reminders of the
myth explaining the origins of present society as the result of a fall from a

INTRODUCTION Il
utopian golden age. Chapters 2, 3, and 4 examine how the definition of rit-
uals, relics, and territory in Islamic exegetical and legal texts is related to the
more general mythological depiction of the origins of Islamic civilization
seen in the accounts of the recovery of the treasure of the Ka bah. In part,
this is related to the centrality of the Meccan sanctuary in major rituals
such as pilgrimage (hajj) and prayer (salat), and the symbolic link between
Eden and Mecca in ritual purification (taharah) and offering (zakar).
Muslim rituals contrast civilization, focused on Mecca as the origin of
human civilization (Adam) and Islamic civilization (Muhammad), with the
garden of Eden where the activities of the rituals are unnecessary or impos-
sible. The relics attributed to the prophet Muhammad (hair and fingernails,
footprints, hadith reports, clothing, other artifacts) are closely linked with
the origins of civilization at Mecca and are said to have been dispersed by
his followers from the Meccan sanctuary to the various locations which
became outposts of Islamic civilization after the early Islamic conquests.
Many of these relics were transported by Muslim rulers to centers within
the area of Islamic civilization (Dar al-Islam) and were used in the estab-
lishment of buildings representative of Islam and the spread of knowledge
from the prophet Muhammad, such as mosques and madrasas. The giant
length of the tombs of certain prophets is also a physical reminder of the
loss of Eden and the subsequent development of civilization. They testify to
the existence of prophets, from before the time of Abraham and the Israel-
ite prophets, including Adam, Seth, Idris, Noah, Hud, and Salih. These are
prophets who played an integral role in the earliest development of human
civilization and are thus described as being of giant size, representing the
original stature of humanity before a decrease in size that accompanied an
increase in technology and the arts of civilization.

MYTHOLOGICAL ORIGINS OF CIVILIZATION

The way in which definitions of ritual, relics, and territory relate to the
mythological origins of civilization is stressed in J.Z. Smith’s insistence
that ritual represents a rational process of thinking about the incongruity
between the present social order and the utopian past. Robertson Smith
likewise uses the example of the camel sacrifice to argue that the use of
sacred actions, objects, and locations is how society is able to organize and
maintain its structure. Similarly, my overarching aim in this book is to il-
lustrate how the mythology of the fall from Eden and the origins of Islamic
civilization represented by Muslim rituals and relics can be interpreted as a
narrative expression of an ideology stipulating the necessity of religion and
the state.”

m INTRODUCTION
 This ideology and the mythology by which it is expressed can be uncov-
ered from a combination of details concerning specific rituals and relics and
how these actions and objects are related to particular episodes in the ac-
counts of the origins of human and Islamic civilization. Muslim historical
and exegetical texts describe the dispatch of prophets with different revela-
tions over the course of civilization, from its origins in the fall from Eden to
its culmination on the Day of Resurrection. Rituals and relics are described
in Muslim legal texts and other sorts of sources as relating directly to the
succession of prophets and their role in establishing religion and society
to govern and guide humanity in its fallen existence. Taken individually,
no single Muslim source provides a synthetic overview linking rituals, rel-
ics, and civilization, though state patronage of scholarship and religious
sites might account for the confluence of these concepts. According to the
ideology behind the definition of these concepts, the state is required to
organize society in accordance with the stipulations of religion, which are
themselves designed to remind people of the disjunction separating their
current existence and the utopia of Eden.
In order to uncover some of the ways rituals and relics connect with a
larger mythology and ideology of Islamic civilization, it is necessary to go
beyond the confines of categories generated by attempts to fit Islamic mate-
rials into preconceived notions of the differences between Islam and other
religions. Such an approach is similar to the attitude and method adopted
by Robertson Smith in his eschewal of prejudices which excluded biblical
religion, especially Christianity, from the comparative study of religion.
Robertson Smith’s wide-ranging combination of textual and ethnographic
sources allowed him to recognize the outlines of a more general concept
of sacrifice and religion that was otherwise obscured by what constituted
the proper subjects for the study of the Bible. It should also be noted that
although Robertson Smith did provide a model which could be applied in
other contexts, he focused his attention on explaining the specific details of
the ancient Semites rather than generalizing from a superficial understand-
ing of the sources.
Following the example of Robertson Smith, this book pays careful at-
tention to philological detail and the specific terminology and concepts
of different Islamic textual genres as a means to transcend the categories of
secondary scholarship and to open Islamic materials to fresh comparison.
Such specialized research is to be combined with the insights of cultural
anthropologists, art historians, and literary critics to help integrate the Is-
lamic examples into the generic study of religion. The focus here is not
on any particular instance of ritual or relic but rather on the synthesis of
more general models of ritual and relics from a variety of Islamic sources.

INTRODUCTION i3
 It may be that the Islamic conception of ritual, relics, and territory, and
their relation to myth and ideology, will challenge conventional, generic
understandings of these terms. The goal of this book, however, is to provide
a theory that is judged by whether it makes sense of and provides a rational
explanation for the existence and use of rituals, relics, and territory in their
Islamic contexts.
The following four chapters use a number of comparisons to highlight
the distinctive character of Islamic conceptions of ritual, relics, and ter-
ritory. Some of these examples might be related, as historical influences,
to the earliest Islamic sources. These include late antique Christian tradi-
tions regarding relics and the recovery of sacred sites, inscriptions from the
ancient Near East, and the Hellenistic accounts of the distribution of the
relics of Horus in Egypt. Such examples help to explain the larger cultural
context within which Islamic materials are situated. Other examples are
treated as analogies and are not intended to indicate any historical influ-
ences. These include references to the ritual bear hunts, Taoist and Bud-
dhist burials of bronze mirrors and texts, the Sumerian myth of the distri-
bution of the “Me” by Enki, the distribution and burial of the parts of the
Buddha's body, Iroquois conceptions of wampum and its relationship to
land ownership, European and American curiosity shops compared with
the patronage and display of relics as sites for visitation, Hindu and Hawai-
ian definitions of kingship based on different conceptions of the pure and
the sacred, the worldview of contemporary surfing culture as a contrast to
the utopian character of ritual, and the Lele Pangolin cult as described by
Mary Douglas as displaying the conscious use of natural symbols to think
about social issues.
It would be absurd to reduce the interpretation of the larger Islamic
examples under consideration to the terms of these analogies, just as it
would be a mistake to reduce an Islamic example to the sum of its historical
influences. In his study of the ritual bear hunts, and in other contexts, J. Z.
Smith insists on the need to use analogies which highlight not historical
connections but the logical connections of different examples to theorize
about religion. In part, this is to help make explicit the perspective and
disciplinary framework which scholars employ in the selection and inter-
pretation of their examples. It is also necessary in order to avoid too much
reliance upon received categories that would hinder the distillation of more
generic models from a wider variety of sources. Such comparisons are used
_in this book as heuristic models suggesting fresh patterns in the Islamic
materials under consideration, and ultimately I consider the Islamic mate-
rial itself as an example in the larger study of religion. This book will have
served its purpose if it succeeds in stimulating new ways of thinking about

14 INTRODUCTION
the use of sacred objects, actions, and locations in the display of political
power and religious authority in different cultural and historical contexts.

CHAP
TE R.O.U TLUINE

The four chapters in this book develop different issues related to ritual, rel-
ics, and territory in Islam. The chapters are not arranged according to types
of sources, nor are they chronologically bounded. Each of the chapters
might be seen as a transparency laid atop one another, and, as such, they
are interrelated and meant to be read together, though each of the chapters
addresses separately the larger thesis of the book. Chapter 1 provides an ex-
ample of the mythology of the origins of human and Islamic civilization.
Chapters 2, 3, and 4 show how this narrative mythology is reflected in
Islamic definitions of ritual, relics, and the tombs of prophets. Various ac-
counts of the stories of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, their fall, and
the establishment of civilization at Mecca are present throughout all the
chapters, as is the conclusion that a more general ideology of the necessity
of the state underlies this mythology and its representation in ritual and
relics. The relationship of the mythology and ideology is made explicit in
the course of the four chapters through the uncovering of specific details of
certain rituals and relics and the role of both rituals and relics in delineating
the sacred status of the sanctuary at Mecca.
Chapter 1 provides an outline of the more general myth of the origins
of Islamic civilization by examining the accounts of the recovery of the
treasure of the Ka‘ bah by ‘Abd al-Muttalib, the paternal grandfather of the
prophet Muhammad. The accounts are drawn from some of the earliest
extant Islamic sources on Mecca, including Ibn Sad and Ibn Ishaq’s biog-
raphy of the prophet Muhammad (extant in the recension of Ibn Hisham),
the world histories of al-Tabari and al-Ya‘qubi, and al-Azraqi’s history of
Mecca. Section 1 compares ‘Abd al-Muttalib’s role in the recovery of the
treasure and the details of its contents to ancient Near Eastern foundational
and offering inscriptions, Jewish and Samaritan traditions regarding the
loss and recovery of the tabernacle and temple vessels, and other examples
of treasure burial, including the late antique and Islamic motif of the Cave
of the Treasure associated with the tomb of Adam. Section 2 outlines the
association of the treasure with the named swords and armor of the prophet
Muhammad from Sunni and Shii collections of hadith reports and their
commentaries in the historical and biographical works of al-Wagidi, Ibn
Sa‘d, Ibn al-Athir, al-Dhahabi and in the Quran commentaries of Ibn
al-Jawzi, Muhammad b. Ahmad al-Qurtubi, and Ibn Kathir. References to
metalurgical texts, such as those attributed to al-Kindi and al-Birani, help

INTRODUCTION 15
to inform the discussion of the origins of certain metals and swords, and
such information is also recorded in lexical and geographical works.
Chapter 2 focuses on definitions of certain obligatory rituals related to
the garden of Eden and the origins of civilization at the sanctuary of Mecca.
These definitions are drawn from a variety of Sunni and Shii texts from
all the major legal schools, including collections of legal opinions, com-
mentaries on these collections, and legal commentaries on hadith reports.
Section 1 examines the positions of various Sunni and Shii legal theorists
regarding the opinion that touching the penis (and related genitalia) re-
quires the performance of ritual purification (wudii).This is supplemented
by more general comparative works of legal theory, such as those of Ibn
Rushd, Ibn Qudamah, and Ibn Taymiyah. In section 2, the stories of Adam
and Eve in the garden of Eden and their residence in Mecca after the fall
are extracted from commentaries on the Quran, the stories of the prophets,
and hadith reports, including those of al-Tabari, al-Tha labi, al-Qurtubi,
and Ibn Kathir. A comparison of these different genres and texts shows the
close correspondence between the narrative of exegetical stories concerning
the origins of civilization and the more systematic, technical definitions of
purity and other obligatory rituals in legal scholarship.
Chapter 3 draws on a wide array of Islamic and non-Islamic sources
for details about the treatment of the relics of the prophet Muhammad
and how these relics relate to the sacred status of the sanctuary at Mecca.
The dispersal and collection of the prophet Muhammad’s hair and nails,
footprints, hadith reports, and various artifacts are recounted in hadith col-
lections, biographical dictionaries, and legal commentaries used in earlier
chapters. These are examined in section 1. Section 2 highlights accounts
from Quran commentaries and world histories concerning the relics of
other prophets and the association of prophetic relics with the origins of
human civilization. Section 2 also uses information on prophetic relics from
the accounts of travelers, geographers, and pilgrimage guides, such as those
of al-Maqdisi, Ibn al-Hawrani, al-Harawi, Mujir al-Din, al-Suyati, ‘Abd
al-Ghani al-Nabulsi, and various European travelers. This is supplemented
by certain state histories of different Middle Eastern and Asian Islamic dy-
nasties to describe the identification and patronage of relics, highlighting
attempts to demonstrate authority through linkages to the prophets and
the locations of their activities.
Chapter 4 investigates the long tombs associated with the earliest proph-
ets who are mentioned in the Quran and its exegesis. Section 1 outlines the
depictions of these tombs found in the accounts of Muslim pilgrims, Euro-
pean travelers, and art historical and archaeological surveys done in the past
two centuries. These sources describe long tombs of prophets, up to 150

16 INTRODUCTION
meters in length, in the Middle East, Central Asia, and South Asia. The so-
called “nine-yard” (nau-gaz) tombs of South and Southeast Asia, attributed
primarily to the Muslims who died during the earliest conquests of Sind,
are also included in this analysis. In order to contextualize these tombs and
explain their extraordinary length, section 2 examines various accounts of
giants and the recovery of their remains in the Quran, Muslim exegesis, the
Bible, ancient Greek sources, and European folklore. These accounts dem-
onstrate the Muslim appropriation of a widespread mythological motif in
which giants represent a stage in human history away from which civiliza-
tion has developed with the rise of technology and the law-based state.
A synthesis of these various sources suggests some more general conclu-
sions relevant to the study of Islam and religion. The identification and
patronage of relics, along with the mosques, madrasas, and tombs in which
they are preserved, may be seen as resulting in the establishment of physical
reminders of the loss of Eden and the concomitant need for religion and
the social order maintained by the jurists and the state. Rules pertaining
to purification and other obligatory rituals supply a map of the jurists’
broad conception of the oppositions denoting the pure and impure, and
the sacred and profane. Not unlike the physical symbols of relics, this cat-
egorization of the pure and impure, and the sacred and profane, reflects the
separation of Eden and human civilization. The same separation between
Eden and civilization is exemplified in the narrative accounts of the trea-
sure of the Ka bah and the swords of the prophet Muhammad. The sort of
ideology exhibited in this mythology, and its representation in relics and
ritual, appears to be a justification for the existence of society and the state,
necessitated by the loss of the Edenic utopia.
This book is not a systematic overview of relics and ritual in Islamic
contexts, nor does it provide a full analysis of the history of the definitions
of the sanctuary in Mecca. Rather, select concepts from diverse historical
and geographical settings are highlighted to suggest the outlines of a larger
theory of how certain objects and actions are defined in relation to the ter-
ritorial origins and spread of Islamic civilization. In short, this book studies
discrete examples of relics and rituals used to define the authority of the
prophet Muhammad and the largely interpretive Muslim scholarship that
is built upon that authority. It does so in order to raise larger questions
about the definition of authority vis-a-vis religious myth and ritual. The
following analyses suggest that this image of authority relies upon the myth
of the fall from a utopia to justify the continued existence of an imperfect
social structure based upon absolute notions of right and wrong perpetu-
ated by the institutions of Quran exegesis and Islamic law.

INTRODUCTION 1
 an

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CHAPTER ONE

Treasure of the Ka bah

In his biography of the prophet Muhammad, ‘Abd al-Malik Ibn Hisham

(d. 834) cites a report, on the authority of Muhammad b. Ishaq (d. 768),
regarding ‘Abd al-Muttalib’s recovery of the well of Zamzam and a buried
treasure: “He [Abd al-Muttalib] continued digging until the top of the well
appeared to him. He praised God because he knew that he had been right
[about its buried location]. When he continued digging he found in it two
gazelles of gold. These were the two gazelles which the Jurhum had buried in
the well when they left Mecca. He also found in it Qal'i swords and armor.”
“Abd al-Muttalib made the swords into a door for the Kabah, and pounded
the two gazelles of gold into the door. This was the first gold ornamentation
of the Ka bah. Then ‘Abd al-Muttalib began giving the water of Zamzam to
the pilgrims.”” The well of Zamzam is said to have been discovered originally
by Ishmael and his mother Hagar at the place that would later be identified
with the precincts of the sanctuary at Mecca. The Jurhum are said to have
settled.in Mecca with Ishmael and Hagar and continued as the guardians
of the sanctuary until they were forced to leave by another group of people
called the Khuza‘ah. An almost identical account is found in the history of
Muhammad b. Jarir al-Tabari (d. 923), and Ahmad b. Abi Ya‘qib al-Ya‘qibi
(d. 905) records that ‘Abd al-Muttalib uncovered swords, weapons, and two
gazelles of gold. In his history of Mecca, Muhammad b. ‘Abdallah al-Azraqi
(d. 921) mentions the two gazelles of gold that were in the Ka bah and the
Qal‘i swords that were buried in the well of Zamzam.*
Ahmad Ibn Sad (ca. 784-845) mentions another version of this account,
which specifies the number of swords and armor and the type of armor un-
covered by ‘Abd al-Muttalib but does not indicate that the discovery was re-
lated to the well of Zamzam: “Ibn ‘Umar: When the Jurhum were preparing
to leave Mecca they buried the two gazelles, seven Qal'i swords, and five com-

19
plete suits of armor. ‘Abd al-Muttalib excavated this. It had been desecrated
and was the cause of great abomination. He pounded the two gazelles, which
were of gold, as a plating on the face of the Ka’ bah, and he hung the swords
on the two doors by which he wanted to protect the treasury of the Ka bah
[khizanat al-Ka‘bah], and he made keys and a lock from gold.” In this ac-
count and others there is agreement on the fact that the treasure consisted of
the two golden gazelles, Qal‘i swords, and armor. The accounts also agree that
this treasure was uncovered by ‘Abd al-Muttalib, the paternal grandfather
of the prophet Muhammad, and that the treasure had been buried by the
Jurhum when they left Mecca. Most of the accounts also describe how “Abd
al-Muttalib used the treasure to adorn and protect the Ka bah.
Little attention has been paid to the details of the treasure. Later Muslim
scholarship often mentions but does not elaborate on its significance, and
there is no explicit connection among the recovery of the treasure, the recov-
ery of the well, and the reestablishment of the sanctuary at Mecca under the
prophet Muhammad. Recent scholarship interested in reconstructing the
origins of the sanctuary at Mecca has focused on the significance of the well
of Zamzam, especially the accounts of its rediscovery by “Abd al-Muttalib,
but has commented on the treasure only in passing.° G. R. Hawting studies
some of the accounts of the recovery of the treasure and the well of Zamzam,
also focusing not on the contents of the treasure but on how the accounts
of its recovery are associated with Zamzam.’ A number of details in the ac-
counts of the treasure still require further comment, including the expres-
sion “Qal'i swords” and the reason for the burial of arms and armor in the
sanctuary at Mecca.
This chapter examines a number of issues related to the early Muslim
accounts of the recovery of this treasure. The description of the treasure and
its discovery is a part of and an example of the larger mythological concep-
tion of the origins of human and Islamic civilization. Section 1 focuses on
the different accounts of the burial and recovery of objects at the sanctu-
ary in Mecca, with reference to Hawting’s theory concerning the origins
of the Muslim traditions in Jewish eschatology. Analysis of various tradi-
tions about the burial of objects in the sanctuary in Mecca suggests that the
Muslim accounts of the treasure are best understood as purposeful attempts
to describe the origins of Islam in terms familiar from the ancient and late
antique Near East. Section 2 concentrates on the particular contents of the
treasure, especially the swords and the armor, to illustrate how these items
are used in Muslim sources to link the origins of Islam with certain pre-
Islamic kings and prophets. The golden gazelles, swords, and armor have
specific symbolic associations upon which the Muslim accounts draw to

20 CHAPTER ONE
delineate a certain conception ofterritory and its relation to the relics of the
prophet Muhammad.

iT: LEMPLE IMPLEMENTS AND

TREASURE OF THE KA‘BAH

In his 1980 article, G. R. Hawting asserts that the Muslim accounts of the
disappearance and rediscovery of Zamzam are derived from what he calls
Jewish traditions regarding the loss and recovery of the temple implements
or sacred sanctuary objects:

There are, therefore, a number of obvious similarities between these [Jewish]

traditions and the Muslim traditions associated with the loss of Zamzam.
The loss of objects of great importance for the sanctuary and its cult, which
is the main theme of the Jewish traditions, can be discerned in the Muslim
traditions adduced to account for the loss of Zamzam. The recovery of the
objects, which in Judaism is consigned to eschatology, has in Islam become
an historical fact. The loss and recovery of the hiding place of the sacred
objects, which is the main theme of the Muslim traditions, can also be seen
in the Jewish traditions about the loss of the sacred objects.§

Hawting illustrates these close parallels with a number of examples—spe-

cifically, the account of the hiding of the temple implements by the prophet
Jeremiah in 2 Maccabees 2:4—-8 and several accounts involving Samaritan
traditions regarding the loss and recovery of special objects.
These parallels might appear to suggest that the accounts of Zamzam
and the buried treasure of the Ka bah found their way into Muslim sources
by accident and that Muslim sources were at odds trying to explain their
significance. Citing A.J. Wensinck, Hawting posits that the earliest Muslim
conception associated the sanctuary of Mecca with a pit, related to the more
general Semitic notion of the sanctuary as the “navel of the earth.”” Accord-
ing to Hawting, this conception was derived from Jewish ideas, including the
notion that this pit was the hiding place of the temple implements. When
Muslim accounts associated the pit with the well of Zamzam, however, the
original significance of the buried objects was forgotten or displaced."
With its emphasis on the Jewish origins of the treasure motif and lack
of attention to possible reasons for its purposeful inclusion in Muslim ac-
counts of the sanctuary at Mecca, Hawting’s explanation is misleading. His
approach and conclusions are not unlike the explanations commonly given
for the parallels between Jewish and Muslim interpretations of the Bible and

TREASURE OF THE KABAH 21

Quran. Scholars routinely cite Jewish (and Christian) parallels with Muslim
texts as evidence that the Quran and Muslim exegesis is derived from the
Bible and the interpretive traditions of Jews and Christians. Discrepancies
between the parallels are used to demonstrate that the transmission from
Jewish and Christian sources was garbled, and that the Muslim texts are
unaware of the original or “correct” significance of the motifs and narratives
they have adopted."
The limitations of this approach are evident in the texts and traditions
cited by Hawting as parallels for the Muslim accounts of the treasure and its
recovery. Hawting cites two examples from Samaritan texts, in addition to
an account recorded by Josephus.’? The fullest example comes from a late
chronicle, which is a continuation of an earlier chronicle composed in the
fourteenth century CE." In this and other late Samaritan texts, the recovery
of the temple vessels is associated with the messianic figure called the Ta-
heb.'4 Hawting also cites an earlier text, the Memar Margqah, a collection of
sermons attributed to the Samaritan thinker Marqah, who lived in the third
or fourth century CE.” Linguistic and textual analysis has shown, however,
that the Memar Marqah was redacted multiple times over the centuries, and
the extant text is difficult to date before the eleventh century CE."° Also,
the account in the Memar Margah is not about hiding the vessels of the
Jerusalem temple, but rather about hiding the tabernacle and the tabernacle
implements used by the Israelites in the wilderness of wandering.” This
motif of hiding the tabernacle and its implements appears to be a separate
tradition, perhaps related to the hiding of the temple vessels but attested sep-
arately in other contexts such as the Babylonian Talmud (Sotah ga), which
states that the implements from the wilderness tabernacle were stored in the
crypts under the temple in Jerusalem."
Limiting the origins of the motif of hiding the temple vessels to Judaism
is too restricting. As does 2 Maccabees 2:4—8, the pseudepigraphical Lives of
the Prophets (2:11-19) states that Jeremiah took the “Ark of the Law and the
things in it” and caused them to be swallowed up bya rock.'? The Babylonian
Talmud (Keritot 5b, Yoma 53b, Sanhedrin 26b, Zebahim 62a, Horayot 12a)
and Jerusalem Talmud (Sotah 8:22c) record that the temple vessels were hid-
den under a rock in Jerusalem by King Josiah.”” Other rabbinic texts, such
as the Mekhilta de Rabbi Ishmael (5:51b) and the Pesiqta de Rab Kahana
(32a),”' explicitly refer to the recovery of the objects in a messianic context,
and one of the Sibylline Oracles (2:188) makes reference to Elijah as the one
who will restore the objects to the temple in Jerusalem at the end of time.”
In the Syriac 2 Baruch (6:7-9) an angel takes the veil, ephod, mercy seat,
two tablets, priestly raiment, altar of incense, forty-eight precious stones,
and all the “holy vessels of the tabernacle” and causes the earth to swallow

22 CHAPTER ONE
them.” Eusebius, citing Alexander Polyhistor, states that the temple vessels
were taken to Babylon, except for the ark and the tablets, which were left in
the possession ofJeremiah.” These various texts demonstrate that the motif
of the hidden temple vessels was widespread and can be found in a number
ofdifferent religious traditions.
There are many examples of objects with religious significance being hid-
den that are not directly related to the motif of the temple vessels from Jeru-
salem or the tabernacle in the wilderness of wandering. The Copper Scroll
(3Qt5) from Qumran provides a list of some sixty items, including gold,
silver, furniture, aromatics, utensils, scrolls, and a copy of a more detailed
list of other things hidden in various underground locations.”* Many of the
hiding places are identified as “pits” or “cisterns,” and the description of the
treasure is given. The various explanations given for these buried treasures
include that the Copper Scroll is from the library of the sectarians at Qum-
ran, from the Jerusalem temple, from the Bar-Kokhba revolt, or from the
medieval period and that it is a fraud designed to mislead treasure-hunting
invaders.”° Also found in the vicinity of Jerusalem but unconnected to the
Israelite temple is a collection of artifacts from the so-called Cave of the
Treasure discovered at Nahal Mishmar. The buried cache, which dates to the
Chalcolithic period, consists of both weapons and armaments (mace-heads,
copper crowns, standards), numerous instruments representing gazelles,
copper horns, and a variety of jars, ivory objects, and other miscellaneous
objects.*” Examples from further afield, such as the ritual burial of bronze
mirrors in Han China, attest to the variety and widespread character of the
purposeful burial of certain objects.”
A number of Jewish and Christian texts refer to the Cave of Treasures, in
which Adam or his son Seth hid certain objects.” The Life of Adam and Eve
mentions tablets of stone and clay which Eve commanded her children to
make and bury.*° These tablets are later uncovered by Solomon.*' Josephus
refers to these tablets or pillars erected by the children of Adam and Eve as
containing astronomical secrets, and the Syriac Treatise of Shem attributes
such calendrical and astrological knowledge to the son of Noah. The Abot
de Rabbi Nathan (31), Genesis Rabbah (26), 2 Enoch 33:8-12, and Philo in
his Life of Moses (2:36) also refer to this testament left by the children of
Adam and Eve.” The Syriac Testament of Adam is an account of prophe-
cies concerning the hours of the day, and the Coptic Three Steles of Seth
contain the revelation of three pillars inscribed by Seth with hymns to a
trinity of heavenly beings.*’ These texts are said to have been buried by Seth
in the Cave of Treasures along with the things Adam had removed from the
garden of Eden, including the gold, myrrh, and frankincense which the
Magi would retrieve and offer as gifts to Jesus at the time of his birth.*4 Mus-

TREASWRE OF THE KA BAH 23

lim sources mention a Cave ofthe Treasure in which Adam is supposed to be
buried. The burial of secret books is also known from many other contexts,
including the Arabic Hermetical tradition and Buddhism.”

CONTENTS OF TREASURE AND VOTIVE OFFERINGS

None of these examples, however, seems to parallel closely or explain the

particular description of the contents of the treasure recovered by “Abd al-
Muttalib. Nor do these parallels account for the specific mention that the
treasure consisted in part of swords and armor. A more detailed examination
of early Islamic accounts of the treasure and the history of the sanctuary at
Mecca suggests that the treasure is understood to be linked with votive of-
ferings made to the Ka bah and Zamzam by pre-Islamic kings. The contents
of the treasure and its burial are also closely linked in Islamic sources to the
custodianship of the sanctuary at Mecca. Emphasizing these elements, the
Islamic accounts of the treasure associate Abd al-Muttalib with the wide-
spread Near Eastern motif of the king as founder of the national sanctuary.
In some accounts, the foundation of the Ka’ bah by Abraham is specifi-
cally linked with the treasure. Hawting claims that “along with the gazelles
and swords the Jurhum chief buried the /ajar al-rukn” when the Jurhum
were ousted by the Khuzaah.** The Aajar al-rukn is the “foundation stone”
usually connected with the building of the Ka bah by Abraham and Ishmael.
The mention of the swords, however, does not occur in all of these accounts
of the burial by the chief of the Jurhum. According to al-Tabari, after the
death of Nabt, the son of Ishmael, and Ishmael’s Jurhumi wife, the Jurhum
took control of the custodianship of the Ka bah. When the Jurhum began
to misappropriate the belongings which had been given to the Ka‘bah as
votive offerings and commit fornication inside the Ka bah itself, God sent
plagues against the Jurhum and the Khuza‘ah attacked them. The leader
of the Jurhum, “Amr b. al-Harith b. Mudad, brought out the two gazelles
of the Ka bah and the foundation stone (hajar al-rukn), asking God for
forgiveness, but God did not respond. So he threw the two gazelles and the
foundation stone into Zamzam, buried them, and left Mecca with the rest of
the Jurchum who had survived.* A similar account is given by Ibn Hisham,
though it states only that the leader of the Jurhum buried the two gazelles
and the foundation stone, omitting the description of the Jurhum leader’s
use of the objects in the attempt to gain God’s help.?8
In another context, al-Azraqi links the burial of the objects with the son
of the Jurhum leader featured in the accounts of al-Tabari and Ibn Hisham,
Mudad b. ‘Amr b. al-Harith b. Mudad.

24. CHAPTER ONE

 When Mudad b. ‘Amr b. al-Harith b. Mudad saw what the Jurhum were
doing in the sanctuary [al-haram], what they were stealing from the prop-
erty of the Ka’bah, both in secret and openly, he went for the two gazelles
which were in the Ka‘ bah, of gold, and the Qali swords. He buried them
in the place of the well of Zamzam. The water of Zamzam had dried up and
disappeared when the Jurhum had done what they had done in the sanctu-
ary, so that the place of the well had been hidden and obliterated. Mudad b.
‘Amr and his son got up in a dark night and dug deeply in the place of the
well of Zamzam and then buried in it the swords and the two gazelles.”

In this account the burial of the gazelles and swords seems designed to hide
them from the Jurhum, who were defiling the sanctuary, whereas in the
accounts of al-Tabari and Ibn Hisham the burial seems designed to hide
the treasure from the invading Khuza ah. None of these accounts mentions
armor as part of the treasure buried, although it is consistently mentioned as
part of the items recovered by ‘Abd al-Muttalib. These accounts do link the
treasure with custodianship of the sanctuary.
Uri Rubin has noted a number of reports of votive objects’ being cast into
the well of Zamzam, many of which mention both golden gazelles (although
not always two of them) and swords, often along with other items. Rubin
uses these examples to dispute Hawting’s denial that the treasure could have
been, as the Muslim sources claim, items given to the Ka bah as votive of-
ferings.* In one account cited by Abi al-Hasan ‘Ali al-Masiidi (d. 956),
it is stated that the Sasanian Sasan b. Babak put into Zamzam two gold
gazelles, swords, and some gold.“ Another report, cited on the authority of
Ibn al-Kalbi, records that it was the Iranian king Babak b. Sasan who buried
swords and jewelry in the place of the well of Zamzam.* Other reports given
on the authority of Said b. Jubayr, ‘Ikrimah, Sa‘id b. al-Musayyab, and
al-Zuhri mention the swords and gazelles as having been votive offerings but
do not associate them specifically with Iranian kings.”
Royal votive offerings to shrines and sanctuaries were widespread in the
ancient Near East, and numerous examples are attested for the Arabian Pen-
insula. An inscription from Assur mentions the placing of precious stones
and spices from the king of Saba in the foundation of a temple built for the
New Year’s Festival (bit Akitu).“ Other offerings included perishable items
such as food and drink offerings but also figurines and statuettes in human
or animal form made of stone, metal, and other substances.” The spoils of
war, including arms and armor, and the spoils of the hunt, including live and
slain animals and animal images, are attested as offerings to the gods.“ Stelae
and statues often portray gods clad in armor and armed with weapons, and

TREASURE OF THE KABAH 25

the image of the deity as a warrior figure is widespread in the Near East and
elsewhere.” That the burial of arms and armor was not uncommon in the
Arabian Peninsula is demonstrated by archaeological finds such as the burial
of armor in a second-century-CE grave at Janussan on the island of Bah-
rain.*® An Aramaic inscription from North Arabia describes the dedication
of two camel figurines to Dushara, and a Sabaean inscription records the of-
fering of a bronze horse and rider to Almaqah.” Other Semitic inscriptions,
such as the Temple of Ba‘al inscription, provide evidence that gold and other
items could be substituted for the offering of actual animals.”°
Gazelles and horns associated with game are also widely attested as vo-
tive offerings in the Near East and in Arabia. In a Hadrami inscription from
about the third century CE, the king of Hadramawt makes an offering of
twenty-five gazelles on the occasion of his rebuilding of the temple and for-
tress in the city of Shabwah.*! Offering the quarry from a ritual hunt at the
founding of a sanctuary was a regular practice among the kings of South
Arabia, as attested by numerous inscriptions and reliefs.” In both classi-
cal and more recent examples of hunting among the Arabs, the killing of
gazelles and the distribution of meat is a ritual that reaffirms the authority
of the chief and the loyalty of his subjects to him.” In classical Hadrami
practice the head huntsman is the priest-king, and the ritual hunt involves
purification and the circumambulation of cultic rocks both before and after
the hunt.*4 Numerous horns are reported in connection with the Ka bah
and the sanctuary at Mecca, including crescent horns of gold and the horns
said to be from the ram offered by Abraham instead of his son Ishmael.*
According to Muhammad b. Ahmad al-Birini (d. 1048), Abd al-Muttalib’s
gift of the gazelles and swords to the Ka bah was an example of a royal vo-
tive offering that was imitated later by “Umar b. al-Khattab, who hung two
crescent moons or horns conveyed to him from the capture of Madain along
with his earnings and divination arrows made from gems.” That votive offer-
ings were given to the Ka bah by South Arabian kings is also evident from the
widespread tradition that the first covering (kiswa) was given to the Ka‘ bah by
the Tubba' king of South Arabia identified as As‘ad Abi Karib al-Himyari. In
his exegesis of Q 44:37, Imad al-Din Isma‘il Ibn Kathir (d. 1373) relates that
one of the kings of Tubba intended to destroy the Ka‘ bah but was advised by
two Jews that it had been built by Abraham and would be of great importance
to a prophet sent at the end of time. The king of Tubba’ circumambulated the
Ka'bah and dressed it with fine cloths before calling all the people of Yemen
to the religion of Moses.” Other accounts state that the Tubba‘ king pro-
vided the Ka bah with a lock, as did “Abd al-Muttalib, and it is reported that
the ‘Abbasid caliph Mu'tasim presented the Ka‘ bah with a gold lock (qufl)
weighing a thousand mithgqals.** According to al-Azraqi, the treasury of the

26 CHAPTER ONE
Ka’ bah used to hold all the votive offerings, including arrows used for divina-
tion, jewelry for adorning idols, and gold.” It is reported that the prophet
Muhammad uncovered a large amount of gold in the well of the Ka‘ bah. He
left it there, and it was untouched unti! Husayn b. ‘Ali removed it.
Examples of weapons and armor sent as gifts are well known in the early
Islamic period. The Kitab al-hadaya wa al-tubaf attributed to al-Qadi Ibn
al-Zubayr (d. 1167) mentions the gift of a mounted horseman armed with
a sword embossed with reptile skin and set with precious stones.*! The king
of Tibet is reported to have sent one hundred gilded Tibetan shields along
with one thousand mana of musk (no. 3). Frequently, gifts of arms and
armor are sent between rulers, such as the swords, girdles, spears, shields,
and equipped beasts of burden sent from the ruler of Khurasan to the caliph
Jafar al-Muqtadir, and the swords, shields, and spears sent to al-Muktafi
from a European queen (nos. 69, 70). The Byzantine emperor sent to the
caliph al-Radi a treasure of ornamented knives and a battle-ax studded with
precious stones and pearls (no. 73). These treasures are also closely associated
with ancient and famous kings. The Byzantine emperor is said to have sent
al-Mustansir three heavy saddles of enamel inlaid with gold and saddles
from Alexander the Great (no. 90). Another report mentions the discovery
of saddles locked in a crate of palm fronds, one of them being one of the
six saddles that had belonged to Dhi al-Qarnayn and later transferred from
him to the Byzantine state treasuries (no. 99).
The Muslim accounts which describe ‘Abd al-Muttalib’s discovery of the
treasure and subsequent gift to the sanctuary at Mecca closely parallel other
ancient Near Eastern narratives of sanctuary foundations. The inscription
on bricks found at Mari for the dedication of the Shamash temple mentions
King Yahdun-Lim’s securing and establishment of the house for Shamash,
and the gift of a mighty weapon to the king by Shamash. Other Near East-
ern accounts also associate the establishment of the sanctuary with weapons,
such as the Gudea inscriptions and the Ugaritic accounts of the sanctuary
at Zaphon.® The Assyrian king Hammurabi also is depicted as securing the
land, establishing sanctuaries, and providing water for his people.“ Like-
wise, the accounts of Samsuiluna, the king of Babylon, the verse account of
Nabonidus, the Moabite Stone, and the building inscription of Azitawadda
of Adana link the civilizing activities of kings, primarily the conquest of
peoples and the fortification of cities, with the establishment of sanctuar-
ies. A similar link between the establishing of the sanctuary and the con-
struction of cities and the accoutrements of civilization can be found in
South Arabian inscriptions, such as that found on the door of the Minaean
capital at Ma in.“
Similarly, ‘Abd al-Muttalib is portrayed as establishing his rightful claim

TREASURE OF THE KABAH_ 27

to the custodianship of the sanctuary, as rebuilding the Ka‘ bah, providing
a door and a lock as well as ornamentation, and he provides water for the
people of the area. The recovery of the treasure by “Abd al-Muttalib is ex-
plicitly linked with the prophecies concerning the future prophethood and
leadership of Muhammad.” Qusayy is also closely associated with the rees-
tablishment of the sanctuary at Mecca and with ‘Abd al-Muttalib. He drives
the Khuza‘ah out of Mecca, takes control of the sanctuary, and settles the
Quraysh there.* Many sources describe Qusayy in terms commensurate not
only with ancient Near Eastern kings but also with other mythical civilizing
figures such as the Greek Atlas or the Iranian king Oshahanj, who, according
to al-Tabari, was the first to build buildings, mosques, and the cities of Baby-
lon and Susa.” Both Qusayy and ‘Abd al-Muttalib also establish themselves
as hereditary custodians of the sanctuary, as did the priest-kings of South
Arabia.” Akkadian texts prescribe certain rituals for the repair of temples,
and Hittite texts describe special rituals for the erection of new buildings,
including houses and palaces.”' Qusayy was responsible for the administra-
tion of the Dar al-Nadwah, providing pilgrims with food (rifada) and drink
(siqayah), and with the supervision of the Ka bah (sidana, hijaba). After
his death these responsibilities reportedly were divided among his sons, but
‘Abd al-Muttalib took control of both the provisions and the supervision of
the Ka’ bah with his recovery of the treasure.
Muslim sources describe the Ka’ bah and the Meccan sanctuary in terms
familiar from the descriptions of other temples of the ancient Near East. In
his history of Mecca, al-Azraqi gives detailed measurements of the Ka bah
and the surrounding sanctuary.” He also provides a number of traditions
regarding the vessels of the Ka bah and its ornamentation, with particular
attention to the dressing of the Ka bah with the kiswa cloth.” Such descrip-
tions of the dimensions and accoutrements of temples is widespread and
characteristic of temple registers in other Near Eastern contexts, including
the accounts of the Israelite tabernacle in Exodus 26—40 and the Jerusalem
temple in Ezekiel 40-42, the Temple Scroll, and the Mishnaic tractate Mid-
dot.” Elaborate and often striking descriptions of temple and city walls, and
their connection with sovereignty, are common in the ancient Near East.”>
It is important to note that in the various reports of his discovery of
the treasure in Mecca, “Abd al-Murtalib does not recover the black stone
or “foundation stone” (hajar al-rukn) that is reported to have been buried
along with the two gold gazelles by the Jurhum. Nor is such a foundation
stone mentioned in the reports of the various votive offerings, outside the ac-
counts of the burial of the implements by the Jurhum chieftain. The marked
absence of this stone from the recovered treasure is significant. Such stones,

28 CHAPTER ONE
especially black stones, were used as the main cult objects for the worship
of other Arabian gods.’* According to Epiphanius, the Nabataean god Dhu-
shara (Dhii al-Shara) was represented by something called a “khaabou,”
which represented the deity.” The Byzantine lexicographer Suidas reports
that this was a black stone, roughly square, four feet high by two feet wide.’
Antoninus Placentinus relates that in Sinai the local Arabs had an idol which
changed from snow white to pitch black, perhaps related to the shedding of
blood over it.” Q 5:3 refers to the food slaughtered on stone altars, and Ibn
al-Kalbi relates that a number of Arab deities were represented by stones.®°
In the accounts concerning ‘Abd al-Muttalib’s recovery of the treasure,
however, the object uncovered at the establishment of the sanctuary is not
the cult object but rather the well of Abraham and Ishmael, the swords of
the Israelites, and the gifts of Arab and Iranian kings.*' This is in striking
contrast to the fact that Abd al-Muttalib is said to recover Zamzam ina loca-
tion near the two idols where the Quraysh used to perform their sacrifices.
In other Arabian contexts, the custodian of the sanctuary is often portrayed
as gaining his office by establishing the altar or cult object. For example,
a limestone stela from Tayma shows the priest-custodian of the god Salm
performing the ritual installation of his cult object.* Often, the custodian is
said to practice divination, and the foundation of the sanctuary sometimes
includes receiving a dream from the deity, as is the case in the accounts of
‘Abd al-Muttalib and Zamzam.® The many accounts of the recovery of the
True Cross and the building of the churches in Palestine likewise emphasize
the priority of the uncovering of the cult object.™ Also evident in the legends
of the True Cross is the close connection between the discovery of the cult
object by the king figure and the establishment of cult sanctuaries.” In these
legends of the True Cross, examples from the ancient Near East, and the
accounts of ‘Abd al-Muttalib, the establishment of the sanctuary is linked
to the civilizing function of the royal or priestly figure who recovers lost ter-
ritory. Similar examples can be adduced from ancient China, Rome, Egypt,
and Southeast Asia.*° The recovery of relics and the rituals accompanying
the establishment of the sanctuary or state capital mark the origins of a new
age of civilization.

2: SWORDS AND THE ORIGINS OF ISLAM

Although he does not develop the idea, Hawting does refer to the eschato-
logical significance of the loss and recovery of the temple implements in the
Bible and in Samaritan sources. It is possible that the early Muslim sources
reflect a conscious attempt to use the account of the recovery of the trea-

TREASURE OF THE KABAH _ 29

sure to signal the dawn of a new prophetic age. The swords and armor, in
particular, are relevant to this attempt. According to a number of sources,
pilgrims were not supposed to take swords or other weapons into the sanc-
tuaries at Mecca and at other locations.*” The rules for the visitation of other
sanctuaries in the area also prohibited the carrying of weapons and required
abstaining from sex while in the sanctuary.** Like other Semitic sanctuaries,
the sanctuary at Mecca is said to have been a place, marked by stones, con-
sidered inviolable, a place of refuge, and a place in which blood was not to
be shed.®? This suggests that the swords and armor, as the two gold gazelles,
were not understood as random objects buried in the sanctuary.

LEXICAL REFERENCES TO SWORDS AND METALS

The specific designation of the recovered swords as “Qal'i swords” is per-

tinent to the mythological significance of the accounts of the treasure. Ac-
cording to Aba ‘Abdallah Yaqit (d. 1229), the adjective “Qal'i” may refer to
a number of different things, including the name of a mountain in Syria:

Qal‘ah is the name of a tin mine from which the adjective is derived. It is
also said that it is a mountain in Syria. Mis‘ar b. Muhlahal the poet says, in
the account of his travels to China: “I returned from China to Kalah. It is
the first city of India on the border with China. The caravan stopped there
and did not go further. In it is a great fortress [qal‘ah] in which is a tin [al-
rasas al-qal i] mine which is only in this fortress. In this fortress are pounded
the Qal'i swords which are of ancient India [al-hindiyyah al-‘atiqah]. The
people of this fortress obey their king when they want and disobey him when
they want, because there is a tin mine in this fortress. Between it and Sandabul
the Chinese city is three hundred parsangs. Around it are well-ordered spread-
out cities.” Abi al-Rihan says: “Tin is obtained from Sarnadib, an island in the
Indian Ocean.” In al-Andalus is the region of al-Qal‘ah from Kirah Qabrah.
I think the term “tin” [al-rasas al-qal‘i] is related to it because it is obtained
from al-Andalus and therefore it is called after it or after some place else that
is named al-Qal'ah there. Qal'ah is [also] a place in Yemen and it is from here
that the legal scholar al-Qal‘i derives his name.”

The notion that “Qal'ah” refers to a mountain in Syria directly links the re-
covery of the treasure with the traditions about the hiding of the temple im-
plements on a mountain outside Jerusalem.” That the term “Qal‘ah” or the
swords themselves are associated with a location in Syria is also mentioned
by several sources cited by Ibn Manziir. Both Muhammad b. Mukarram
Tbn Manzi (d. 1312) and Yaqit relate opinions that Marj Qal'ah is a village

30 CHAPTER ONE
outside the district of Hulwan in Iraq, that it is in open country connected
somehow with swords, and that it refers to a place in Yemen.” In his diction-
ary, Muhammad b. Ya qib al-Firazabadi (d. 1415) locates Qal‘ah in Yemen,
and Yaqit claims that the name is associated with Spain.” These multiple
identifications may, in part, be due to the fact that the term “qal‘ah” can
refer in a generic sense to any fortress or stronghold, as indicated by Yaqiit's
account of the fortress in which the tin is mined in Kalah.
The name Qal'ah and its relation to the adjective apparently formed from
it as a descriptive of certain swords is unclear. In his work on minerology,
al-Birtini cites al-Bahili, who wrote a work on weapons, to demonstrate
that the adjective “Qal'i” refers to Qal‘ah, just as the type of sword known
as Mashrafi refers to Mishraf.** Continuing with his descriptions of swords,
al-Birtini states that the term “Qal'ah” refers to a place and specifically to
the type of sword which is made from the metal mined in that place, just
as other swords are called Indian or Yemeni, referring to the origins of the
materials used to make them.” He describes these swords as being broad,
and explains that the association of the swords and the adjective “Qal'?” with
other apparently unrelated objects such as sails, types of boats, and moun-
tains arises from the “white” color of the metal used to make the swords.”
Ibn Manzir also explains that using the adjective “Qal‘i,” as in “Qal'i lead”
(al-rasas al-qal'i), is like saying “good lead” (rasag jayyid) or “tin,” which is
also called “white lead” (al-rasas al-abyad) because it is white in color.” A
number of other poetic sources mention “Qal'i” swords, and some appear
to identify these as being of Indian or Yemeni origins.”*
In his work on swords, Ya‘qib b. Ishaq al-Kindi (d. ca. 866) lists “Qal'i”
swords as one of three types of “ancient” (atiq) steel-bladed swords used by
the Arabs, including “Yemeni” and “Indian” (Hindi or Hindiwani) swords.”
He explains that these swords are of non-Arab origin but does not specify the
location of Qal‘ah other than distinguishing it from Yemen and India.’ A
possible location for Qal'ah suggested by later sources is China or the eastern
edge of India on the border with China. Yaqit, citing Misar b. Muhlahal,
identifies Qal‘ah with the city of Kalah located in India on the border with
China. Ibn Sa‘id says that the town of Kalah, in the thirteenth century CE,
had a fortress in which a certain type of sword was forged.'” According to
Pliny, the Romans and Parthians used iron from China because it was best
known, until exports from Europe increased.' The use of Chinese iron is
also attested in Islamic times by Ibn Khurradadhbih and Muhammad b.
Muhammad al-Idrisi (d. 1165). Others have identified Qal'ah with the
region of Kalah in the Malay Peninsula, a successful trading center in later
centuries, and have noted the use of the term in various forms to designate
tin in other languages, such as Persian, Turkish, Greek, and Portuguese.'“

TREASURE OF THE KABAH 31

 Thus, it is possible that the sources reflect a lack of certainty about the
origins of Qal‘i swords or the existence of multiple origins for swords given
the “Qal‘i” adjective. The use of tin is one of the oldest metallurgical tech-
nologies for hardening metals and dates back to a stage immediately suc-
ceeding the use of copper. Tin is also one of the metals that is least durable
but easiest to treat, and it was not used in the sword making described in
Muslim sources such as al-Kindi and al-Birani.'! The association of Qali
swords with tin, and their connection to the iron imports of China and
the East in general, may signify an attempt to demonstrate the antiquity of
the swords and the craft utilized to produce them. The uncertainty about the
identification of Qal‘ah in these later etymological and geographical sources
may also be due to a lack of continuity with earlier historical sources that
mention certain Qal‘i swords.

SWORDS OF THE PROPHET MUHAMMAD

One of the swords attributed to the prophet Muhammad is said to be a Qal'i

sword or a sword named al-Qal‘i. In his section on the distribution of booty,
Muhammad b. Isma il al-Bukhari (d. 870) cites a number of hadith reports
in which there is mention of items that belonged to the prophet Muhammad
and were still in use after his death: “Section: What is mentioned concerning
the arms of the prophet, his rod, his sword, his arrow, and his ring, and what
the successors [khulafa’] used after him about which there is no mention that
he apportioned it, and concerning his hair, his shoe, and his vessels [aniyah]
which his companions and others considered blessed after his death.”!” This
section of al-Bukhari includes six hadith reports. The first hadith report refers
to the ring of the prophet Muhammad, the second to his shoes, the third
to some of his clothing, the fourth to his arrow, the fifth to his sword, and
the sixth to his giving of some alms (sadaqah). In his collection of hadith
reports, Muhammad b. ‘Isa al-Tirmidhi (d. 893) preserves a report that the
prophet Muhammad had a sword of silver and gold.'” He also cites a re-
port that the pommel of the sword of the Prophet was of silver, and a similar
report is recorded by Muhammad b. “Uthman al-Dhahabi (d. 1348) in his
biography of the prophet Muhammad.'* Both Muhammad b. Yazid (d. 887)
and al-Tirmidhi record a report, transmitted on the authority of Sulayman
b. Habib, that swords were ornamented with silver and gold.’ There is also
a report related by al-Tirmidhi and al-Dhahabi in which Ibn Sirin claims to
have made his sword from the sword of Samurah b. Jundab, and that Samurah
made his sword from the sword of the prophet Muhammad."
There are a number of other swords attributed to the prophet Muham-

32 CHAPTER ONE
mad in Muslim sources. Nine swords are mentioned by name in verses re-
corded in the fifteenth century by al-Bulqini: “We gave nine swords: Rasiib,
al-Mikhdham, Dhi al-Fagar, Qadib, Hatf, al-Battar, ‘Adb, Qal‘i, and
Ma thar al-Fijar. They were decreed to be equivalent with the signs of Moses,
all for the enemy the cause of ruin.”""! The names of many of these swords
can be traced back to earlier sources, where other names are also provided.
In the ninth century, Ibn Sad mentions Ma thir, Dha al-Faqar, Battar,
al-Hatf, al-Mikhdham, and a Qal‘i sword in the section of his work on the
“swords of the apostle of God,” along with various traditions related to the
swords.'!” He follows this with several sections devoted to the armor, shield,
spear, horses, camels, and other possessions of the prophet Muhammad.'?
In his biography of the prophet Muhammad, al-Dhahabi includes a sec-
tion on the “weapons of the prophet Muhammad, his armor, and other war
implements,” in which he lists a number of traditions related to the named
swords of the prophet Muhammad.' Among these, he cites the tenth-
century scholar Ibn Faris al-Qazwini as a source for eight named swords:
“The weapons of the prophet Muhammad included Dhi al-Fagar, which
was a sword he took as spoil on the day of Badr. He had a sword that was be-
queathed to him by his father. Sa‘d b. “‘Ubadah gave him a sword called al-‘Ad
b. He took as spoil from the weapons of the Bana Qaynuga a Qal'i sword,
and in another report he had one called al-Battar and al-Lakhif. He had al-
Mikhdham and al-Rasub. There were eight swords.”'” According to the edi-
tor of al-Dhahabi’s text, “al-Lakhif” is Persian for “al-Hanif,” also related to
“al-Hanf,” another name given to this sword.''® Based on the Arabic orthog-
raphy, it is possible that the “al-Hanif” mentioned here is to be identified
with the “al-Hatf” mentioned by Ibn Sad and other sources.
Other items related to the military campaigns of the prophet Muham-
mad are mentioned in early Muslim sources. Ibn Sa‘d has separate sections
on the armor, shields, lances, riding animals, pack animals, and camels of
the prophet Muhammad, and al-Bukhari mentions a rod and arrows of the
prophet Muhammad." Ibn Majah mentions his helmet, armor, bow, and
lance.!'8 In his collection of hadith reports, al-Darimi mentions the helmet
of the prophet Muhammad and the silver pommel of his sword." He is
also reported to have owned and used a number of lances, armor, and rods
known by name, and sources make reference to a number of banners, flags,
and a tent (fustat) that belonged to him.!”° In his work on the biography
of the prophet Muhammad, Ibn Kathir lists three lances, three bows, six
swords, armor, a shield, a signet ring, an arrow, flags, and banners.'”' Aba
al-Hasan “Ali b. al-Athir (1160-1233) lists all of the named weapons of the
prophet Muhammad:

TREASURE OF THE KABAH 33

 He had Dhii al-Faqar. He took it as spoil on the day of Badr. It belonged
to Munabbih b. al-Hajjaj, and, it is said, to others. He took three swords as
spoil from the Bana Qaynuqa: a Qal'i sword, a sword called Battar, and a
sword called al-Khayf (ms. B: al-Hatf]. He had al-Mikhdham and Rasub.
He took two swords with him to Medina, one of which, named al-‘Adb,
was present at Badr. He had three lances and three bows: a bow named
al-Rawha’, a bow called ai-Bayda’ and a nab’ wood bow called al-Safra.. He
had armor called al-Sa‘diyah and he had armor called Fiddah [i.e., “silver’].
He took it as spoil from the Bani Qaynuga. He had armor named Dhat
al-Fudil, which he wore on the day of Uhud. It was silver. He had a shield
on which was a representation of the head of a ram.'”

Many of these items are preserved in the Topkapi Museum in Istanbul and
are mentioned as having been included in the treasuries of the ‘Abbasid,
Fatimid, Mamluk, and Ottoman dynasties.'”°

al-Ma thir The first sword acquired by the prophet Muhammad was
al-Ma thir, or Ma thar al-Fijar, bequeathed to him by his father, Abdallah b.
‘Abd al-Muttalib.'*% Ibn Suhayl reports that the prophet Muhammad came
to Medina at the time of the Hijrah with this sword, which had belonged to
his father.’ It is also reported that the prophet Muhammad accompanied
the procession for the marriage of his daughter Fatimah to ‘Ali b. Abi Talib
with his sword unsheathed, protected by the swords of the Bani Hashim.”
Sharif al-Din al-Dimyati is cited by al-Dhahabi as reporting that the first
sword owned by the prophet Muhammad was al-Ma thir and that people
say it was made by the Jinn.'”” After the death of the prophet Muhammad,
ownership of the sword is said to have been transferred to ‘Ali b. Abi Talib,
although the emphasis in all the reports appears to be upon the fact that the
prophet Muhammad inherited the sword from his father. There is a sword
preserved in the Topkapi Museum in Istanbul which is identified as the
al-Ma thir sword. It is ninety-nine centimeters in length with a gold handle
encrusted with emeralds and turquoise, shaped like two serpents. Inscribed
on the handle is the inscription “Abdallah b. ‘Abd al-Muttalib,” in a Kufic
script.'* The close linkage of this sword with both ‘Abdallah b. ‘Abd al-
Muttalib and ‘Abd al-Muttalib, son of Hashim, suggests that the sword is a
symbol of the Hashimi lineage of the prophet Muhammad and his associa-
tion with the custodians of the sanctuary at Mecca.

Dhu al-Fagar "The sword called “Dhii al-Faqar” is the best known of the
named swords that are attributed to the prophet Muhammad.’ Ahmad
b. Nar al-Din “Ali b. Hajar (d. 1448) identifies the sword mentioned in

34. CHAPTER ONE

al-Bukhari’s section on the weapons of the prophet Muhammad as Dha
al-Faqar, a sword which the prophet Muhammad took as spoil at the battle
of Badr.'° A sword taken by the prophet Muhammad as booty is also men-
tioned in the hadith collection of Muslim b. al-Flajjaj b. Muslim (d. 875).!*!
In his commentary on Q 8:41, Ibn Kathir refers to this sword by name and
cites al-Tirmidh?s report transmitted on the authority of Ibn ‘Abbas.!”
This is also reported by Ibn Majah and al-Bayhaqi on the authority of
Ibn ‘Abbas.’ In his commentary on al-Bukhari, Aba al-“Abbas Ahmad b.
Muhammad al-Qastallani (d. 1517) states that the sword mentioned in con-
nection with the prophet Muhammad’s weapons is Dhi al-Faqar, adding
that the sword was given as a gift to Ali b. Abi Talib and was passed on to his
descendants after his death, as indicated by the text of the hadith itself.!54 Ac-
cording to al-Dhahabi, the name derives from the blade of the sword, which
resembled the vertebrae of a spinal cord. He cites a description by al-Dimyati
in which the sword is said to have accoutrements of silver.!*
According to a report transmitted on the authority of ‘Ikrimah, Dha
al-Fagar belonged to al-As b. Munabbih al-Sahmi, who was slain at the
battle of Badr by ‘Ali b. Abi Talib, and the sword was taken by the prophet
Muhammad as spoil.'*° Al-Dimyati explains that the sword had belonged to
al-‘As b. Munabbih, the brother of Nabih b. al-Hajjaj b. Amir al-Sahmi, who
was killed along with his father and his paternal uncle while still unbeliev-
ers at the battle of Badr.'*” Other reports link a sword with al-‘As b. Wail of
the Bani Sahmi, and with the revelation of Q 19:77-80.'3* Aba Daiid al-
Sijistani (d. 889) cites a report which mentions that the prophet Muhammad
killed Abu Jahl and took from him his sword.'” In all of these reports the
sword is closely associated with one of the more prominent of the Meccan
opponents to the prophet Muhammad. Ahmad b. Hanbal (d. 856) and Ibn
Majah preserve a report from Ibn ‘Abbas according to which the prophet
Muhammad took his sword Dhi al-Faqar as spoil on the day of Badr, and
that it was this sword in which he saw the vision on the day of Uhud.'”
According to another report cited by al-Tabari, on the authority of Aba
Hurayrah, the sword had belonged to Munabbih b. al-Hajjaj, the father of
al-‘As b. Munabbih, who was also killed during the battle of Badr.'*!
Dha al-Faqar is commonly associated with “Ali b. Abi Talib and his de-
scendants in later centuries. According to al-Tabari, the sword is reported
to have been used by ‘Ali b. Abi Talib against a group of the unbelievers of
the Quraysh at the battle of Uhud: “Then the apostle of God saw another
group of the unbelievers of the Quraysh and said to “Ali: ‘Attack them!’
‘Ali attacked them, divided them, and killed Shaybah b. Malik of the Banu
‘Amir b. Lu’ayy. Then Gabriel said: ‘Apostle of God, this is for consultation.’
The apostle of God said: ‘He is of me and I am of him.’ Gabriel said: ‘I am of

TREASURE OF THE KABAH 35

both of you.’ They heard a voice saying: “There is no sword but Dhi al-Faqar,
and no companion but ‘Ali.””"” Ibn Majah and al-Tirmidhi also cite reports
of people hearing the voice making a statement about the sword and “Ali b.
Abi Talib.’ It is also reported on the authority of Jafar al-Sadiq that the
prophet Muhammad saw a vision of God sitting on his throne and making
this statement.’ Later accounts closely associate Dhii al-Faqar with ‘Ali b.
Abi Talib and the leaders ofthe Shi‘ah, including the Fatimid caliphs.’ The
Isma ili scholar al-Qadi al-Nu‘man b. Muhammad (d. 962) describes how
the sword was taken from the caliphal palace in Baghdad after the murder
of the ‘Abbasid al-Mugqtadir in 932 and returned to its rightful owner, the
Fatimid caliph, in Cairo.'*°
According to al-Dhahabi, the name “Dhi al-Faqar” is derived from the
appearance of the sword, being the plural of “fiqrah,” which means “verte-
bra,” because the sword is said to have had notches or pits on the blade. He ex-
plains the source of the iron used to make the sword: “It is said that the source
of the iron was found buried at the Ka‘bah, [taken] from that which the
Jurhum buried. From it [the iron] was made Dhi al-Faqar. It was crafted by
‘Amr b. Madi Karib al-Zubaydi and was given to Khilid b. Sa‘id b. al-‘As.”!”
The sword is tied to eschatological contexts in Ibn Hajar’s commentary on
al-Bukhari, in which he compares the battles against Muslims at the end of
time to the Meccan opposition to the prophet Muhammad." A tradition
cited by Aba ‘Abdallah Muhammad b. Shahrashib (d. 1192) states that this
sword was a gift from Bilqis the Queen of Sheba to Solomon the prophet and
king of the Israelites.’ These traditions connect Dhi al-Fagar to the burial
and offering of swords at the sanctuary of Mecca and suggest a link between
their recovery by ‘Abd al-Muttalib and the prophet Muhammad.

Swords Associated with ‘Ali b. Abi Talib Four other swords attributed to
the prophet Muhammad are closely associated with ‘Ali b. Abi Talib and
later Shii figures. Among these are the swords known as al-Rasiib and al-
Mikhdham. According to some accounts, the prophet Muhammad sent ‘Ali
b. Abi Talib and 150 men on an expedition to al-Fuls, against the idol of the
Tayyi, and when ‘Ali b. Abi Talib destroyed the idol he found in the treasury
there the two swords al-Rasib and al-Mikhdham.!°° Muhammad b. ‘Umar
al-Wagidi (d. 822) mentions a third sword that was not given to the prophet
Muhammad but was kept by “Ali b. Abi Talib: “Ali went out to al-Fuls,
destroying and leveling it. He found in its temple three swords: Rasab,
al-Mikhdham, and a sword known as al-Yamani.”">! Ibn Shahrashib men-
tions a report in which Gabriel commands ‘Ali b. Abi Talib to destroy
an iron idol in Yemen, and it is from this idol that two swords are made:
Mikhdham and Dhia al-Faqar.’” Both Rasib and Mikhdham are men-

36 CHAPTER ONE
tioned by al-Dhahabi as having been made from the idol of the Tayyi’.! In
another account, ‘Ali b. Abi Talib discovers the swords when he is sent by
the prophet Muhammad to raze Minah. The two swords, said to have been
in the possession of the Ghassanid king al-Harith b. Shamr, had been offered
as gifts to the local idols. Both swords were then given by the prophet Mu-
hammad to ‘Ali b. Abi Talib to pass down to his family.'*4 There is a sword in
the Topkapi Museum identified as al-Rasib and bearing the name of Ja‘far
al-Sadiq,'” and Ahmad b. “Ali al-Magrizi (d. 1442) mentions swords of al-
Husayn b. ‘Ali b. Abi Talib and Ja
far al-Sadigq in the treasuries from the Fati-
mids.'*° Another sword in the Topkapi Museum is identified as al-Mikhdham
and bears the name ‘Ali Zayn al-Abidin.'”
The Shii scholar al-Majlisi (d. 1698) preserves a tradition that the Shi‘ah
maintained a weapons storehouse (Dar al-Silah) for the weapons of the
family of the prophet Muhammad, which included these swords, just as
the Israelites kept their implements, like the Ark of the Covenant, in the
storehouse of the ark (Dar al-Tabit).'°* The swords known as al-Qadib and
al-‘Adb, the names of both of which mean “cutting,” are also attributed
to the prophet Muhammad and associated with ‘Ali b. Abi Talib and his
descendants.'* A sword identified as the al-Qadib sword is housed in the
Topkapi Museum and is inscribed with the names of Muhammad, his fa-
ther, and his grandfather.'® A sword identified as the al- Adb sword is now
kept in the Husayn Mosque in Cairo. 161

Swords and Armor from the Israelites “The three remaining named swords of
the prophet Muhammad—al-Qal’i, al-Battar, and al-Hatf—are all said to
have been taken as spoil by the prophet Muhammad from the Jewish tribal
grouping of the Bani Qaynuqa. According to al-Waqidi, the prophet Mu-
hammad took a number of weapons and armor from the Bani Qaynugqa:
“The apostle of God took their weapons: three bows, a bow called al-Katim
which he used at Uhud, a bow called al-Rawha’, and a bow called al-Bayda’.
He took two suits of armor from their weapons, a suit of armor called al-
Saghdiyah, and another of silver, and three swords: a Qal'i sword, a sword
which is called Battar, and another sword, and three lances. They found
many weapons in their strongholds and implements for smithing, for they
were smiths.”! The same statement is preserved by ‘Ali b. Ahmad b. Hazm
(d. 1064) in his collection of reports on the life of the prophet Muhammad,
and al-Dhahabi mentions three swords and two suits of armor.'®
Muslim sources mention that the raid against the Bani: Qaynuqa took
place following the battle of Badr in the second year after the Hijrah to
Medina. According to a report cited by al-Bukhari, the Bani Qaynuga
were smiths, and they left behind their tools and arms when they were ex-

TREASURE OF THE KABAH 37

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light. By this means roundness in the moulding of form is complete;
there is no harshness of line or limit, but all is equable transition.
Light and shadow are not here merely in their immediate effect as
such, but gleam through one another much as a spiritual force is
operative through an external shell. It is just an effect like this we
find in the artistic treatment of colour, and the Dutch were no less
than others consummate masters of this. By virtue of this ideality,
this mutual relation between the parts, this interfusion of reflections
and colour scintillations, this alternation and evanescence of
transitional tones, a breath of soul and vitality is throughout
communicated in the brilliancy, depth, the mild and juicy illumination
of colour. It is this which gives us the magic effect of a masterpiece
of colour; it is the unique gift of the genius of the artist who is
himself the magician.
(γγ) And this brings us to the last point we have to discuss on this
part of our subject.
We started with the linear perspective, we passed on then to
drawing and concluded with colour; first considering light and shade
in its relation to modelling, and, secondly, viewing it as colour
simply, or more accurately, as the mutual relation between degrees
of brightness and darkness in colours, regarding it, moreover, in its
aspects of harmony, atmospheric perspective, flesh-colour and
magical effect. We have now to consider more directly[306] the
creative impulse of the artist in bringing about such colour effects.
The ordinary view is that the art of painting follows definite rules in
attaining its results. This is, however, only true of the linear
perspective, being as it is a wholly geometrical science, and even in
this case rules must not obtrude themselves in their abstract
stringency, if we are to preserve all that essentially contributes to
our art. And, in the second place, we shall find that artistic drawing
accommodates itself even less readily than perspective to universal
rules, but least of all is this true of colouring. Sense of colour ought
to be an artistic instinct or quality, should be as much a unique way
of looking at and composing existing tones of colour, as it should be
an essential aspect of creative power and invention. On account of
this personal equation in the production of colour, the way, that is,
the artist looks at and is active in the making of his world, the
immense variety which we find in different modes of treating, it is no
mere caprice and favourite mannerism of colouring, which is absent
from the facts in rerum natura, but lies in the nature of the case.
Goethe supplies us with an example of personal experience which,
as confided in his "Dichtung und Wahrheit," illustrates what I mean:
"As I returned to my cobbler's house [he had just visited the
Dresden Gallery] once more to take lunch I could scarce trust the
evidence of my eyes. I believed myself to see before me a picture of
Van Ostade[307], so complete it was, that you might have hung it
there and then in the Gallery. Composition of subject-matter, light,
shadow, brown tone of the whole, all that is admirable in this artist's
pictures I saw actually before me. It was the first time that I was
aware, to such a high degree of the power which I subsequently
exercised with intention, the power of seeing, that is, with the eyes
of the particular artist, to whose works I had just happened to
devote exceptional attention. This facility afforded me great
enjoyment, but also increased the desire from time to time to
persevere in the exercise of a talent which Nature seemed
ungracious enough to disallow me[308]." This variety in the manner
of colouring is exceptionally conspicuous in the painting of human
flesh, quite apart from all modifications rendered necessary by the
mode of lighting, age, sex, situation, and the like considerations.
And for the rest, whether the subject depicted be daily life, outside
or within the interior of private houses, taverns, churches, or other
buildings, or it be that of Nature's landscape, with its wealth of
objects and colour, which finds more or less accurate reflection in
the personal essay of any particular painter, the result cannot fail to
illustrate this varied play of form and colour effect[309], which will
infallibly appear, due as it is to the manner in which each
comprehends, reproduces, and creates his own work according to
his own outlook, experience and imaginative powers.
(c) We have hitherto, in discussing the several points of view which
are given effect to in the art of painting, referred, firstly, to its
content, and secondly to the sensuous medium in which such
content can be built up. We have in conclusion to define the mode
under which the artist is bound to conceive and execute his content
as a painter and under the conditions of his particular medium. We
will divide the very considerable matter which such an investigation
implies in the following manner:
First, we have to deal with the more general distinctions in forms of
conception, which it will be necessary to classify and follow in their
progressive advance to richer manifestations of life.
Secondly, we shall have to direct attention to the more definite
aspects, which, within these general types of conception, are more
directly referable to genuine pictorial composition, that is, the artistic
motives apparent in the particular situation and manner of grouping
selected.
Lastly, we propose to review rapidly the mode of characterization,
which results from distinctions of subject-matter no less than modes
of conception.
(α) With respect to the most generally prevailing modes of artistic
conception[310], we shall find these are in some measure due to the
content which has to be depicted, and in part are referable to the
course of the art's evolution, which does not from the first seek to
elaborate all that is apparent in any subject, but rather through a
variety of stages and transitions makes itself fully mistress of Life
and its manifestations.
(αα) The first position which the art of painting is able to secure still
betrays its origin from sculpture and architecture: in the entire mode
of its conception it is still in close association with these arts. And
this will pre-eminently be the case where the artist restricts himself
to individual figures, which he does not place before us in the vital
connections of an essentially concrete situation, but in the simple
independence of its self-repose. Out of the many sources of content
which I have indicated as adapted to painting, we shall find religious
subjects, Christ, his apostles, and the like are exceptionally suited to
such abstract treatment. Such figures as these must necessarily be
assumed to possess sufficient significance in their isolation, to be
complete in themselves, and to unfold an object sufficiently
substantive of adoration and love. Belonging to this type, particularly
in early art, we meet with examples of Christ or his saints isolated
without definite situation and environment. If we do find the latter it
mainly consists in architectural embellishments, particularly Gothic;
this is frequently the case in early Flemish or upper German art[311].
In this relation to architecture, among the columns and arches of
which such figures as the twelve apostles and others are frequently
composed, painting does not as yet attain to the life-like actuality of
its later development, and we find that even the figures still retain in
some measure a character which inclines to the statuesque, or to
some extent do not move beyond such a general type as we find
indicated in its fundamentals by Byzantine painting. For isolated
figures of this character, devoid of any background or only retaining
a purely architectonic outline, a more severe simplicity of colour, and
a more emphatic brilliancy, is as it should be. The oldest school of
painters have consequently employed a single-tinted ground of gold
instead of a rich natural landscape, a ground which the colours of
drapery have to confront, and to which they are compelled to adapt
themselves; these are consequently more decisive and glaring than
the colours employed in the periods of Art's finest bloom, just as we
find as a rule that simple vivid colours such as red, blue, and the
rest are most pleasing to uncultivated people.
To this earliest type of conception it is that for the most part the
miracle-working pictures belong. To such as to something
stupendous man is merely placed in a relation of stupidity, from
which the aspect of their artistic merit vanishes, so that they are not
brought nearer to his conscious life in friendly guise in accordance
with their vital humanity and beauty, and the very pictures which are
most revered in a religious sense are from an artistic standpoint the
most execrable.
If, however, isolated figures of this type do not supply an object for
devotion or interest as being already complete and independent
personality, their execution, carried out as it is in consonance with
the principle of statuesque conception, has no meaning at all.
Portraits, for example, are of interest to relatives who know the man
thus portrayed and his individuality. But where the personages thus
depicted are forgotten or unknown the sympathy which is excited by
their portraiture in a given action or situation, which gives definite
content to a particular character, is of a wholly different kind to that
which we find in the entirely simple type of conception above
referred to. Really great portraits, when they face us in the fullest
wealth of life all the means of art can display, possess in this wealth
itself the power to stand forth from and step out of their frames. In
looking at the portraits of Van Dyck, for example, more particularly
when the pose of the figure is not wholly full face, but slightly turned
away, the frame has struck me like the door of the world, which the
man before me enters. When consequently individuals do not
possess, as saints, angels and the like do, a characterization which is
in itself sufficiently complete and acknowledged, and are only
interesting by virtue of the definite character of a given situation,
some single circumstance or particular action, it is not suitable to
present them as independent figures. As an example of this the last
work of Kügelchen in Dresden was a composition of four heads, half
figures, namely, Christ, John the Evangelist, John the Baptist, and
the Prodigal Son. So far as Christ and John the Evangelist are
concerned I found the conception quite appropriate. But in the case
of the Baptist, and in every respect in that of the Prodigal Son, I
failed to connect with them the authentic character which could
justify a treatment of them as half-length portraits. In such cases it
is essential to place the figures in a condition of action or incident, or
at least to show them in situations, by means of which, in vital
association with external environment, they can assert the
individuality which marks an essentially exclusive whole. The head of
the Prodigal Son in the above picture expresses no doubt, very finely
too, pain, profound repentance and remorse, but the only indication
we have given us that this is the repentance of the Prodigal Son is a
very diminutive herd of swine in the foreground. Instead of a
symbolical reference of this kind we ought to see him among his
swine, or at least in some other scene of his life. The Prodigal Son,
in short, does not possess for us any further general characterization
complete as such in our minds and only exists, in so far as he is not
purely allegorical, in the well-known scenes of Biblical narrative. He
should be depicted to us as leaving his father's house, or in his
misery, his repentance and return, that is, in the concrete facts of
the tale. Those swine put in the foreground do not carry us much
further than a label with "The Prodigal Son" written on it.
(ββ) And generally it is obvious that painting, for the reason that its
function is to accept as its content the wealth of soul-life in all its
detail, is, to a yet greater extent than sculpture, unable to rest
satisfied with that repose on itself which is without defined situation
and the conception of a character taken by itself and alone simply. It
is bound to make the effort to exhibit such self-subsistency and its
content in specific situation, variety, and distinction of character
viewed in their mutual relations and in association with their
environment. It is, in fact, just this departure from purely eclectic
and traditional types, from the architectonic composition of figures
and the statuesque mode of conception; it is just this liberation from
all that is devoid of movement and action, this striving after a living
human expression, a characteristic individuality; it is this investment
of a content with all the detail of the ideal and external condition
that affects it which constitutes the advance of the art, in virtue of
which it secures its own unique point of view. Consequently to
painting as to no other plastic art is it not merely permitted, but it is
even required from it, that it should unfold dramatic realization, and
by the composition of its figures display their activity in a distinctly
emphasized situation.
(γγ) And, in the third place, closely connected with this absorption in
the complete wealth of existing life and the dramatic movement of
circumstance and character, we are aware of the importance which
is increasingly attached, both in conception and execution, to the
individuality and the vital wealth of the colour aspect of all objects,
in so far as in painting we attain to the supremest effects of vital
truth which are capable of being expressed purely by colour.
This magical result of appearance can, however, be carried to such a
pitch, that in contrast to it the exhibition of content becomes a
matter of indifference, and painting tends to pass over, in the mere
charm and perfume of its colour tones, and the contrast, fusion, and
play of their harmonies, into the art of music, precisely as sculpture,
in the elaboration of its reliefs, tends to associate itself with painting.
(β) What we have in the first instance now to pass in review are the
particular lines[312] that pictorial composition is constrained to
adhere to in its productions when presenting to us a definite
situation and the more immediate motives referable to it by virtue of
the way it concentrates and groups together various figures and
natural objects in one self-exclusive whole.
(αα) What is of fundamental and pre-eminent importance here is the
happy selection of a situation adapted to the art.
In this respect the imaginative powers of the painter possess an
immeasurable field to select from, a field whose limits extend from
the simplest situation[313] of an object insignificant in itself, such as
a wreath of flowers, or a wineglass composed with plates, bread,
and certain fruits, to rich compositions of important public events,
political actions, coronation fêtes, battles, or even the Last
Judgment, in which God the Father, Christ, his apostles, the heavenly
legions, nay, our entire humanity, and earth, heaven, and hell are
brought together. And here a closer inspection will show us that we
must clearly distinguish what is truly pictorial on the one hand from
that which is sculpturesque, and on the other from what is poetical
in the sense that it is only poetry that can fully express it.
The essential difference between a pictorial, and sculpturesque
situation consists, as we have already seen, in this, that the main
function of sculpture is to place before us that which is self-
subsistent in its tranquillity, without conflict under conditions that do
not affect it, in which distinctness of definition is not the main
demand, it is only in the relief that it really begins to approach a
group composition, and an epic expanse of figures begins to
represent actions involving motion, and which imply collision of
opposing forces. The art of painting, on the contrary, only
thoroughly takes up its proper task, when it moves away from
figures composed independently of their more concrete relations,
moves away from a situation that is deficient in its elaboration, in
order that it may thus pass into the sphere of living movement,
human conditions, passions, conflicts, actions in persistent
association with external environment, and even in its composition
of natural landscape is able to retain firmly this definite structure of
a given situation and its most lifelike individuality. It was for this
reason that from the first we maintained that painting was called
upon to effect the exposition of character, soul, and ideal qualities,
not in the way that this spiritual world enables us to recognize it
directly in its external shape, but in the way it evolves and expresses
its actual substance by means of actions.
And the truth we have just mentioned is that which brings painting
into closer relation with poetry. Both arts have in this respect an
advantage[314], and from another point of view, also a disadvantage.
Painting is unable to give us the development of a situation, event,
or action, as poetry or music, that is to say, in a series of changes; it
can only embody one moment of time. A simple reflection is
deducible from this, namely, that we must in this one moment have
placed before us the substance of the situation or action in its
entirety, the very bloom of it; consequently, that moment should be
selected in which all that preceded and followed it is concentrated in
one point. In the case of a battle, for example, this moment will be
that of victory. The conflict is still apparent, but its decisive
conclusion is equally so. The artist is able, therefore, to retain as it
were the residue of the Past, which, in the very act of withdrawal
and disappearance, still asserts itself in the Present, and furthermore
can suggest what has yet to be evolved as the immediate result of a
given situation. I cannot, however, here enlarge further on this head.
The painter, however, together with this disadvantage as against the
poet, is to this extent advantaged in that he can bring the precise
scene before our vision in all the appearance of its reality, can depict
it perfectly in all its detail. "Ut pictura poesis erit" is no doubt a
favourite saying which is particularly and pertinaciously advanced by
theorists, and is no doubt actually accepted and exemplified by
narrative poetry in its descriptions of the seasons, its flowers, and its
landscapes. Detailed transcription of such objects and situations is,
however, not only a very dry and tedious affair, and indeed, so far
from being exhaustive, always leaves something more to say. It is,
further, contrasted with painting, only a confusing result, because it
is forced to present as a successive series of ideas what painting
sets before our vision once and for all, so that we constantly tend to
forget what has gone before and lose it from our minds, despite the
fact that it should be held in essential relation with that which
follows, inasmuch as under the spatial condition it is in fact a part of
it, and only is significant in this association and this immediacy. It is,
however, just in this contemporaneous exposition of detail that the
painter can restore that which, in respect to the progressive series of
past and future events, he fails to secure.
There is, however, another respect in which painting yields place to
poetry and music, and that is in its lyrical quality. The art of poetry
can not only develop emotions and ideas generally as such
respectively, but also in their transitions, movement, and increased
intensity. In respect to concentrated intensity this is yet more the
case in music, which is essentially concerned with soul-movement.
To represent this painting has nothing beyond the expression of face
and pose; and if it does exclusively direct its effort, to what is
actually lyrical, it misconceives the means at hand. However much
the soul's passion may be expressed in the play of the countenance
or bodily movement, such expression should not be directly referable
to emotion as such, but to emotions in so far as they are present,
with a definite mode of expression, in an event or action. The fact
that it reveals ideality in external form therefore does not connote
the abstract meaning that it makes the nature of the soul visible by
means of physiognomy and form, under the mode of which it
expresses soul-life; it is rather just the individual situation of an
action, passion in some specific outburst thereof, by means of which
the emotion is unfolded and recognized. When, therefore, it is
attempted to interpret the poetical quality of painting under the
assumption that it should express the soul's emotion directly, without
a motive and action more near to it in facial expression and pose, all
that we do in such a case is to throw the art back upon an
abstraction, which its effort should precisely strive to be rid of; we
ask of it, in short, that it should master the peculiar and just
contribution of poetry; and if it attempts to do this the result will be
a barren and stale one.
I particularly insist on this point because in the exhibition of art we
had here last year (1828) several pictures from the so-called
Düsseldorf school have received much attention, the painters of
which, while displaying in their work considerable knowledge and
technical ability, have laid almost exclusive stress on this ideal
aspect, on material that is only capable of adequate presentment in
poetry. The content, for the most part borrowed from poems of
Goethe or from Shakespeare, Ariosto, and Tasso, may be generally
indicated as the ideal emotion of Love. As a rule the most capable of
these pictures set before us a pair of lovers, Romeo and Juliet, for
example, or Rinaldo and Armida, without any further situation, so
that these couples have nothing more to do and express except the
fact that they are in love with each other, in other words, they share
a mutual attraction, gaze on each other as lovers, and as lovers look
yet again. Naturally in such a case the main expression must be
concentrated in the mouth and eyes; and we may add that our
Rinaldo has been so placed relatively to his spider legs that he looks
very much as though he did not know what to do with them. They
are extensions which are entirely without meaning. Sculpture, as we
have seen, dispenses with the glance of eye, the soul-flash; painting,
on the other hand, seizes on this potent means of expression, but it
must not focus everything at this one point, it should not make the
fire or the refluent languor and yearning of the eye or soft
friendliness of lips the soul and centre of expression without any
other motives. Equally defective was the fisherman of Hübner, the
theme of which was borrowed from that famous poem of Goethe,
which depicts with such wonderful depth and charm of feeling the
indefinite yearning for the repose, coolness and purity of water. The
naked fisher lad, who in this picture is being drawn into the water,
has, just as the male figures in the other pictures have, a very
prosaic looking face, such as we could not imagine, if the features
were in repose, to be capable of profound or beautiful emotions.
And, as a rule, we cannot assert of these figures, whether male or
female, that they are beautiful in a healthy sense; they, on the
contrary, merely betray the nervous excitement, weakness, and
disease of Love and emotional life generally, which people have no
business to repeat and which we would willingly, whether in life or
Art, be spared. To the same class of conception belongs the way that
Schadow, the master of this school, has depicted Goethe's Mignon.
The character of Mignon is wholly poetical. What makes her
interesting is her Past, the severity of her destiny as it affects both
her inward and outward life, the conflict of her Italian, wholly excited
passion in a soul which is still obscure to itself, which can neither
decide upon a course of action or object, and which, being this
mystery to itself, merges itself in such and yet can do itself no good.
It is this self-expression wholly divided in itself and yet retiring into
itself, and only letting us see its confusion in isolated and unrelated
eruptions, which creates the awful interest we cannot fail to
experience in her. Such a network of contradictions we may no
doubt imagine in our minds, but the art of painting is wholly unable
to, present it to us, as Schadow has attempted to do, simply by
means of Mignon's form and physiognomy, without defining further
any situation or action. We may, therefore, assert generally that the
above-mentioned pictures are conceived without any real insight for
situations, motives, and expression. It is, in short, an inseparable
condition of genuine artistic representations of painting that the
entire subject-matter should be grasped with imaginative power,
should be made visible to us in figurative form, which is expressed
and manifests its ideal quality through a series of feeling, that is,
through an action, which is of such significance to the emotion, that
each and everything in the work of art appears to be entirely
appropriated by the imagination to express the content selected.
The old Italian painters have to a conspicuous degree, no less than
their modern fraternity, depicted love-scenes, and in part borrowed
the material from poetry; but they have known how to clothe the
same with imagination and delight. Cupid and Psyche, Cupid and
Venus, Pluto's rape of Proserpine, the rape of the Sabine women,
such and other similar subjects the old masters depicted in lifelike
and definite situations, in scenes properly motived and not merely as
simple emotion conceived without imaginative grasp, without action.
They have also borrowed love scenes from the Old Testament. We
may find an example in the Dresden Gallery, a picture of Giorgione,
in which Jacob, after his long journey, greets Rachel, presses her
hand and kisses her; in the distance there stand a pair of youths by
a spring, busily engaged in watering their herds, which are feeding,
a large number of them, in the dale. Another picture presents to us
Isaac and Rebecca. Rebecca gives Abraham's carls water to drink
and is recognized in doing so. In the same way scenes are taken
from Ariosto; we have Medor, for example, writing the name of
Angelica on the edge of a spring. When, therefore, people nowadays
refer to poetry in painting, this can only mean, as already insisted,
that we must grasp a subject imaginatively and suffer emotions to
unfold themselves in action; it excludes the idea of securing feeling
simply as such or endeavouring thus to express it. Even poetry,
which is capable of expressing emotion in its ideal or spiritual
substance, is unfolded in ideas, images, and descriptions. If this art
was content to abide by a mere "I love thee," repeated eternally, as
its entire expression, such a consummation no doubt, might prove
highly agreeable to those masters who have talked so much about
the poetry of poetry, but it would be the blankest prose for all that.
For art generally in its relation to emotion consists in the
apprehension and enjoyment of the same by means of the
imagination, which in poetry displays passion in its conceptions, and
satisfies us in their expression, whether that expression be lyrical, or
conveyed in epical events, or dramatic action. As a presentment of
the inward life of soul, however, in painting the mouth, eye, and
pose, do not alone suffice; we must have the total objective
realization in its concreteness to make valid and vouch for such
ideality.
The main thing, then, in a picture is that it present to us a situation,
the scene of some action. And closely associated with this we have
the primary law of intelligibility. In this respect religious subjects
possess the supreme advantage, that they are universally known.
The annunciation of the angel, the adoration of the shepherds or of
the three kings, the repose in the flight to Egypt, the crucifixion,
burial, resurrection, no less than the legends of the saints, were well
known subjects with the public, for whom such pictures were
painted, albeit to our own generation the stories of the martyrs are
removed to some distance. For a particular church, for example, it
was mainly the biography of its patrons or its guardian saints which
was represented. Consequently it was not always the painters
themselves who selected such subjects; particular circumstances
rendered such selection inevitable for particular altars, chapels, and
cloisters, so that the place where they are exhibited in itself
contributes to their elucidation. And this is, in part, necessary, for in
painting we do not find speech, words, and names, by which
interpretation of poetry may be materially assisted to say nothing of
all its other means. And in the same way in a royal residence,
council-hall, or parliament-building, scenes of great events,
important situations taken from the history of the state, city, and
building in which they are found are there, and receive a just
recognition in the place for which they were originally painted. It is
hardly likely, for instance, that in painting a picture for one of our
palaces an artist would select a subject borrowed from English or
Chinese history, or from the life of King Mithridates. It is otherwise in
picture galleries, where we have all kinds of subjects brought
together that we could wish to buy or possess as examples of fine
works of art. In such a case, of course, the peculiar relation of any
picture to a definite locale, no less than its intelligibility, so far as it is
thereby promoted, disappears. The same thing is true of the private
collection. The collector brings together just what he can get; the
principle is that of a public gallery, and his love of art or caprice may
extend in other directions.
Allegorical pictures are far inferior to those of historical content in
the matter of intelligibility; they are, moreover, for the reason that
the ideal vitality and emphatic characterization of the figures must in
great measure pass out of them, indefinite, and not motive to
enthusiasm. Landscapes and situations borrowed from the reality of
daily life, are, on the contrary, no less clear in their substantial
import than, in respect to their characterization, dramatic variety,
movement and wealth of existence, they supply a highly favourable
opportunity for inventive power and executive ability.
(ββ) To render the defined situation of a picture intelligible, in so far
as the artist is called upon to do this, the mere fact of its local place
of exposition and a general knowledge of its subject will not suffice.
As a general rule, these are purely external relations, under which
the work as a work of art is less affected. The main point of real
importance consists, on the contrary, in this that the artist be
sufficiently endowed in artistic sense and general talent to bring into
prominence and give form to the varied motives, which such a
situation contains, with all the bounty of invention. Every action, in
which the ideal world is manifested in that which is external,
possesses immediate modes of expression, sensuous results and
relations, which, in so far as they are actually the activities of spirit,
betray and reflect its emotion, and consequently can be utilized with
the greatest advantage as motives which contribute to the
intelligibility of the work no less than its individual character. It is, for
example, a frequent criticism of the Transfiguration picture of
Raphael, that the composition is cut up into two unrelated parts; and
this from an objective standpoint is the case. We have the
transfiguration on the hill and the incident of the possessed child in
the foreground. From an ideal[315] point of view, however, an
association of supreme significance is undoubtedly present. For, on
the one hand, the sensuous transfiguration of Christ is just this very
exaltation of himself above the earth and his removal from his
disciples, a removal which as such separation ought to be made
visible; and from a further point of view the majesty of Christ is in
this, an actual and particular case, to the highest degree emphasized
by the fact that the disciples are unable to heal the possessed child
without the assistance of their Master. In this instance, therefore,
this twofold action is throughout motived, and the association is
enforced before our eyes, both in its external and ideal aspect, by
the incident that a disciple expressly points to Christ who is removed
from them, and in doing so suggests the profounder truth of the Son
of God to be at the same time on Earth, in accordance with the truth
of that saying, "If two are gathered together in my name I am in the
midst of them." I will give yet another illustration. Goethe on one
occasion gave as a subject for a prize exhibition the representation
of Achilles in female garments at the coming of Odysseus. In one
drawing Achilles glances at the helmet of the armed hero, his heart
fires up at the sight, and in consequence of this emotion the pearl
necklace is broken which he wears round the neck. A lad seeks for
and picks up the pieces from the ground. Such is an example of
admirable motive.
Moreover, the artist finds he has to a more or less extent large
spaces to fill in; he requires landscape as background, lighting,
architectonic surrounding, and he has to introduce incidental figures
and objects and so forth. All this material he should apply, in so far
as it can be so adapted, as motives in the situation, and bring this
external matter into unity with his subject in such a way that it is no
longer insignificant. Two princes or patriarchs shake hands. If this is
indicative of a peace treaty, and the seal upon the same, warriors,
armed bands, and the like, preparations for a sacrifice to solemnize
the pact, will be an obviously fitting environment. If such people
happen to meet each other with a similar welcome on a journey,
other motives will be necessary. To invent the same in a way that
attaches real significance and individualization to the action, this it is
which more than anything else will test the artistic insight of the
painter so far as this aspect of his work is concerned. And in order to
promote this not a few artists have also attached symbolical
relations between background and the main action. In the
composition, for example, of the Adoration of the three Kings, we
not unfrequently find the holy Infant in His cradle beneath a ruined
roof, around Him the walls of a building falling in decay, and in the
background the commencement of a cathedral. The falling stone-
work and the rising cathedral directly suggest the victory of the
Christian church over paganism[316]. In the same way we find, not
unfrequently, in pictures, more especially of the Van Eyck school,
which depict the greeting of the angel Gabriel to Mary, flowering
lilies like stamens. They indicate the maidenhood of the mother of
God.
(γγ) Inasmuch as in the third place the art of painting, by virtue of
the principle of ideal and external variety, in which it is bound to give
clear definition to situations, events, conflicts, and actions, is forced
to deal on its way with many kinds of distinction and contradiction in
its subject-matter, whether purely natural objects or human figures,
and, moreover, receives the task to subdivide this composite
content, and create of it one harmonious whole, a way of posing and
grouping its figures artistically, becomes one of the most important
and necessary claims made upon it. Among the crowd of particular
rules and definitions, however, which are applicable to this subject,
what we are able to affirm in its most general terms can only be
valid in quite a formal way, and I will merely draw attention shortly
to a few of the main points.
The earliest mode of composition still remains entirely architectonic,
a homogeneous juxtaposition of figures or a regular opposition and
symmetrical arrangement, not merely of the figures themselves, but
also their posture and movements. We may add that at this stage
the pyramidal form of grouping is much in favour. When the subject
is the Crucifixion of our Lord such shapes follow as a matter of
course. Christ is suspended on high from the cross, and at the sides
we have a group of the disciples, Mary the mother, or saints. In
pictures of the Madonna also, in which Mary is seated with her Child
on a raised throne, and we find adoring apostles, martyrs, and so
forth, beneath them on either side we have a further illustration of
this form. Even in the Sistine Madonna picture this mode of grouping
is still in its fundamental features retained. And, generally, it brings
repose to the eye because the pyramids, by virtue of its apex, makes
the otherwise dispersed association coherent, giving an external
point of unity to the group[317].
Within the limits, however, of such a generally abstract symmetrical
composition, the pose of the figures may be marked in detail by
great vividness and individuality, and equally the general expression
and movement. The artist, while using in combination the means of
his art, will have his several planes, whereby he is able more
definitely to emphasize the more important figures as against the
others; and he can in addition avail himself of his scheme of lighting
and colour. The way he will arrange his groups to arrive at this result
is sufficiently obvious. He will not, of course, place his main figures
at the sides, or place subordinate ones in positions which are likely
to attract the highest attention. And similarly he will throw the
strongest light on objects which are part of the most significant
content, rather than leave them in shadow, and emphasize with such
strong light and the most conspicuous tints objects which are
incidental.
In the case he adopts a method of grouping less symmetrical, and
thereby more life-like, the artist will have to take especial pains not
to make the figures press too closely on each other, which results in
a confusion not unfrequently noticeable in certain pictures; we
should not be under the necessity of having first to identify limbs
and discover which belong to which, whether they be arms, legs, or
other properties, such as drapery, armour, and so forth. It will, on
the contrary, be wisest in the case of larger compositions, in the first
instance no doubt, to separate the whole into component parts
easily ascertained, but, at the same time, not to isolate them in
dispersion entirely. And particularly will this be advisable where we
have scenes and situations, which on their own account naturally
tend to a broad and disunited effect such as the gathering of manna
in the wilderness, market-fairs, and similar subjects.
On the above subject I must restrict myself here to these very
general observations.
(γ) Having thus, firstly, dealt with the general types of pictorial
composition, and, secondly, with a composition from the point of
view of selection of situations, arrangement of motives and
grouping, we will now add a few remarks upon the mode of
characterization, by means of which painting is to be distinguished
from sculpture and its ideal plastic character.
(αα) I have several times previously taken occasion to remark, that
in painting the ideal and external particularity of soul-life is admitted
in its freedom, and consequently is not necessarily that typical
beauty of individualization which is inseparable from the Ideal itself,
but one which is suffered to expand in every direction of particular
appearance, by virtue of which we obtain that which in modern
parlance is called characteristic. Critics have generally referred to
"the characteristic" thus understood as the distinctive mark of
modern art in its contrast to the antique; and, in the significance we
are here attaching to the term, no doubt the above contrast is just.
According to our modern criterion Zeus, Apollo, Diana, and the rest
are really not characters at all in this sense, although we cannot fail
to admire their infinitely lofty, plastic, and ideal individualities. We
already find a more articulate individualization is approached by the
Homeric Achilles, the Agamemnon and Clytemnestra of
Aeschylus[318], or the Odysseus, Antigone, and Ismene in the type
of spiritual development which by word and deed Sophocles unfolds
to us, a definition in which these figures subsist in what appears to
be consonant with their substantive nature, so that we can no doubt
discover the presentment of character in the antique if we are
prepared to call such creations characters. Still in Agamemnon, Ajax,
Odysseus, and the rest, the individualization remains throughout of a
generalized type, the character of a prince, of frantic rage, of
cunning in its more abstract determinacy. The individual aspect is in
the result closely intertwined with the general conception, and the
character is merged in an individualization of ideal import. The art of
painting, on the contrary, which does not restrain particularity within
the limits of such ideality, is more than anything else occupied with
developing the entire variety of that aspect of particularization which
is accidental, so that what we have now set before us, instead of
those plastic ideals of gods and men, is particular people viewed in
all the varied appearance of their accidental qualities. Consequently
perfection of corporeal form, and the fully realized consonancy of the
spiritual or ideal aspect with its free and sane existence, in a word,
all that in sculpture we referred to as ideal beauty, in the art of
painting neither make the same claim upon us, nor generally are
regarded as the matter of most importance, inasmuch as now it is
the ideality of soul-life itself, and its manifestation as conscious life
which forms the centre of interest. In this more ideal sphere that
realm of Nature is not so profoundly insistent. Piety of heart, religion
of soul can, no less than ethical sense, and activity in fact did in the
Silenus face of Socrates, find a dwelling in a bodily form which,
viewed on the outside simply, is ugly and distorted. No doubt in
expressing spiritual beauty, the artist will avoid what is essentially
ugly in external form, or will find a way to subdue and illumine it in
the power of the soul which breaks through it, but he cannot for all
that entirely dispense with ugliness[319]. For the content of painting,
as we have above depicted it at length, includes within itself an
aspect, for which it is precisely the abnormal and distorted traits of
human figures and physiognomy, which are most able to express.
This is no other than the sphere of what is bad and evil, which in
religious subjects we find mainly represented by the common
soldiers, who take a part in the passion of Christ, or by the sinners
and devils in hell. Michelangelo was pre-eminent in his delineation of
devils. In his imaginative realization, though we find he passes
beyond the scale of ordinary human life, yet at the same time an
affinity with it is retained. However much notwithstanding the
impersonations which painting sets before us necessarily disclose an
essentially complete whole of characteristic realization, we will not
go so far as to maintain that we cannot find in them an analogue of
that which we refer to as the Ideal in the most plastic type of
art[320]. In religious subjects, no doubt, the feature of all importance
is that of pure Love. This is exceptionally so in the case of the Virgin
mother, whose entire life reposes in this love; it is more or less the
same thing with the women who accompany the Master, and with
John, the disciple of Love. In the expression of this we may also find
the sensuous beauty of forms associated, as is the case with
Raphael's conceptions. Such a close affinity must not, however,
assert itself merely as formal beauty, but must be spiritually made
vital through the most intimate expression of soul-life, and thereby
transfigured; and this spiritual penetration must make itself felt as
the real object and content. The conception, too, of beauty, has its
real opportunity in the stories of Christ's childhood and those of John
the Baptist. In the case of the other historical persons, whether
apostles, saints, disciples, or wise men of antiquity, this expression
of an emphasized intensity of soul-life is rather simply an affair of
particular critical situations, apart from which they are mainly placed
before us as independent characters of the actual world of
experience, endowed with force and endurance of courage, faith and
action, so that what most determines the gist of their characters in
all its variety is an earnest and worthy manliness. They are not
ideals of gods, but entirely individualized human ideals; not simply
men, as they ought to be, but human ideals[321], as they actually
are in a certain place, to which neither particular definition of
character is wanting, nor yet a real association between such
particularity and the universal type which completes them.
Michelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo da Vinci, in his famous Last
Supper, have supplied examples of this type, in the composition of
which we find an entirely different quality of worth, majesty and
nobility present than in those presented by other painters[322]. This
is precisely the point at which painting meets on the same ground
with the ancients, without, however, sacrificing the character of its
own province.
(ββ) Inasmuch, moreover, as the art of painting, to the fullest extent
among the plastic arts, acknowledges the claim of the specific form,
and the individualized characterization to assert itself, so above all
we find here the transition to real portraiture. We should be
therefore wholly in the wrong if we condemned portrait painting as
incompatible with the lofty aims of art. Who indeed could desire to
lose the great number of excellent portraits painted by the great
masters? Who is not, quite apart from the artistic merits of such
works, curious to have definitely substantiated to their vision this
actual counterfeit of the idea of famous personalities, their genius,
and their exploits, which they may have otherwise had to accept
from history. For even the greatest and most highly placed man was,
or is, a veritable individual, and we desire to see in visible shape this
individuality, and the spiritual impression of it in all its most actual
and vital characteristics. But apart from objects, which lie outside
the purview of art, we may assert in a real sense, that the advances
in painting from its imperfect essays consist in nothing so much as
this very elaboration of the portrait. It was, in the first instance, the
pious and devotional sense which brought into prominence the ideal
life of soul. A yet finer art added new life to this sense by adding to
its product reality of expression and individual existence; and with
this profounder penetration into external fact the inward life of spirit,
the expression of which was its main object, was also enhanced and
deepened. In order, however, that the portrait should be a genuine
work of art the unity of the spiritual individuality must, as I have
already stated, be stamped upon it, and the spiritual impression of
the characterization must be the one mainly emphasized and made
prominent. Every feature of the countenance contributes to this
result in a conspicuous degree, and the fine instinct for detecting
such in the artist will declare itself by the way in which he makes
visible the unique impression of any personality by seizing and
emphasizing precisely those traits, and parts in which this distinctive
personal quality is expressed in its clearest and most vitally pregnant
embodiment. In this respect a portrait may be very true to Nature,
executed with the greatest perseverance, and yet entirely devoid of
life, while a mere sketch[323], a few outlines from the hand of a
master, may be infinitely more vivacious and arresting in its truth.
Such a study should, however, by indicating the lines or features of
real significance, reflect that character in its structural
completeness[324], if on the simplest scale, which the previous
lifeless execution and insistence upon crude fact glosses over and
renders invisible. The most advisable course, as a rule, is to maintain
a happy mean between such studies, and purely natural imitation.
The masterly portraits of Titian are of this type. The impression such
make on us is that of a complete personality. We get from them an
idea of spiritual vitality, such as actual experience is unable to
supply. The effect is similar to that afforded by the description of
great actions and events in the hands of a truly artistic historian. We
obtain from such a much loftier and vitally true picture of the facts
than any we could have taken from the direct evidence of our
senses. Concrete reality is so overburdened with the phenomenal,
that is incidental or accidental detail, that we frequently cannot see
the forest for the trees, and often the most important fact slips by us
as a thing of common or daily occurrence. It is the indwelling insight
and genius of the writer which first adds the quality of greatness to
events or actions, presenting them fully in a truly historical
composition, which rejects what is purely external, and only brings
into prominence that through which that ideal substance is vitally
unfolded. In this way, too, the painter should place before us the
mind[325] and character of the impersonation by means of his art. If
success is fully attained we may affirm that a portrait of this qualify
is more to the mark, more like the personality thus conceived than
the real man himself is. Albrecht Dürer has also executed portraits of
this character. With a few technical means the traits are emphasized
with such simplicity, definition, and dignity, that we wholly believe
ourselves to be facing spiritual life itself. The longer we look at such
a picture, the more profoundly we penetrate into it, the more it is
revealed to us. It reminds one of a clear-cut drawing, instinct with
genius, which completely gives expression to the characteristic, and
for the rest is merely executive in its colour and outlines in so far as
the same may make the characterization more intelligible, apparent,
and finished as a whole, without entering into all the importunate
detail of the facts of natural life. In the same way also Nature in her
landscape paints every leaf, branch, and blade to the last shadow of
a line or tint. Landscape painting, on the contrary, has no business
to attempt such elaboration, but may only follow her subject to a
principle of treatment, in which the expression of the whole is
involved, which emphasizes detail, but nevertheless does not copy
slavishly such particulars in all their threads, irregularities and so
forth, assuming it is to remain essentially characteristic and
individual work. In the human face the drawing of Nature is the
framework of bone in its harsh lines, around which the softer ones
are disposed and continue in various accidental details. Truly
characteristicportraiture, however, despite all the importance we may
rightly attach to these well defined lines, consists in other traits
indicated with equal force, the countenance in short as elaborated
by the creative artist.[326] In this sense we may say of the portrait
that it not only can, but that it ought to flatter, inasmuch as it
neglects what pertains to Nature's contingency, and only accepts
that which contributes to the characteristic content of the individual
portrayed, his most unique and most intimate self. Nowadays we
find it the fashion to give every kind of face just a ripple of a smile,
to emphasize its amiability, a very questionable fashion indeed, and
one hard to restrain within the limit imposed. Charming, no doubt;
but the merely polite amiability of social intercourse is not a
fundamental trait of any character, and becomes in the hands of
many artists only too readily the most insipid kind of sweetness.
(γγ) However compatible with portraiture the course of painting may
be in all its modes of production it should, however, make the
particular features of the face, the specific forms, ways of posing,
grouping, and schemes of colour consonant with the actual situation,
in which it composes its figures and natural objects in order to
express a content. For it is just this content in this particular
situation which should be portrayed.
Out of the infinitely diversified detail which in this connection we
might examine I will only touch upon one point of vital importance.
It is this that the situation may either be on its own account a
passing one, and the emotion expressed by it of a momentary
character, so that one and the same individual could express many
similar ones in addition and also feelings in contrast with it, or the
situation and emotion strikes at the very heart of a character, which
thereby discloses its entire and most intimate nature. Situations and
emotions of this latter type are the truly momentous crises in
characterization[327]. In the situations, for example, in which I have
already referred to the Madonna, one finds nothing, however
essentially complete the individualization of the Mother of God may
be in its composition, which is not a real factor in the embracing
compass of her soul and character. In this case, too, the
characterization is such that it is self-evident that she does not exist
apart from what she can express in this specific circumstance.
Supreme masters consequently have painted the Madonna in such
immortal maternal situations or phases. Other masters have still
retained in her character the expression of ordinary life otherwise
experienced and actual. This expression may be very beautiful and
life-like, but this form, the like features, and a similar expression
would be equally applicable to other interests and relations of
marriage lore. We are consequently inclined to regard a figure of this
type from yet other points of view than that of a Madonna, whereas
in the supremest works we are unable to make room for any other
thoughts but that which the situation awakens in us. It is on this
ground that I admire so strongly the Mary Magdalene of Correggio in
Dresden, and it will for ever awake such admiration. We have here
the repentant sinner, but we cannot fail to see that sinfulness is not
here the point of serious consideration[328]; it is assumed she was
essentially noble and could not have been capable of bad passions
and actions. Her profound and intimately self-imposed restraint
therefore can only be a return to that which she really is, what is no
momentary situation, but her entire nature. Throughout this entire
composition, whether we look at form, facial expression, dress,
pose, or environment, the artist has therefore not in the slightest
degree laid a stress on those circumstances, which might indicate sin
and culpability; she has lost the consciousness of those times, and is
entirely absorbed in her present condition, and this faith, this
instinct, this absorption appears to be her real and complete
character.
Such a complete reciprocity between soul-life and external
surroundings, determinacy of character and situation, the masters of
Italy have illustrated with exceptional beauty. In the example I have
already referred to of Kügelchen's picture of the Prodigal Son, on the
contrary, we have no doubt the remorse of repentance and grief
expressed to the life; but the artist has failed to secure the unity of
the entire character, which, apart from such an aspect of it, he
possessed, and of the actual conditions under which such was
depicted to us. If we examine quietly such features, we can only find
in them the physiognomy of any one we might chance to meet on
the Dresden bridge or anywhere else. In the case of a real
coalescence of character with the expression of a specific situation
such a result would be impossible; just as, in true genre-painting,
even where the concentration is upon the most fleeting moments of
time, the realization is too vivid to leave room for the notion that the
figures before us could ever be otherwise placed or could have
received other traits or an altered type of expression.
These, then, are the main points we have to consider in respect to
the content and the artistic treatment in the sensuous material of
painting, the surface, that is, and colour.

3. HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PAINTING

In our consideration of this third section of our subject we are

unable to confine ourselves, as we have hitherto done, to a wholly
general examination of the content and purport appropriate to
painting, and the mode of configuration, which follows from its
principle, for in so far as this art is built up on the particularity of
characters and their situation, and upon form and its pose, colour,
and so forth, we are compelled to fix in our minds and discuss the
actual reality of this art's separate productions. No study of painting
is complete that does not take into its survey and is unable to enjoy
and criticize the pictures themselves, in which the aspects of it we
have examined are enforced. This is a general rule in the case of all
art, but it applies with exceptional force to painting among those we
have up to the present considered. In the case of architecture and
sculpture, where the embrace of the content is more restricted, the
means of exposition and configuration are to a less extent stamped
with wealth and distinctive modification, and the particular aspects
of their definition are simpler and more radical, we can more readily
avail ourselves of copies, descriptions, and casts. It is essential in
dealing with the art of painting that we should see the actual works
themselves. In this case mere descriptions, however important they
may be in a subsidiary sense, will not suffice. In the infinite variety,
however, of its explication, the various aspects of which are united in
particular works of art, these works appear to us in the first instance
as a mere motley array, which, by reason of the fact that our review
of it is based upon no principle of classification, is only to a small
extent able to disclose to us the unique quality of individual pictures.
And it follows from this that galleries, as a rule, if we are not already
able to connect with each picture our knowledge of the country,
period, school, and master to which it belongs, is simply a collection
without meaning, in which we lose ourselves. The most profitable
arrangement for study and enjoyment with our eyes is therefore an
exhibition based on historical sequence. A collection of this kind, co-
ordinated in relation to such a principle, unique and invaluable of its
class, we shall shortly be able to admire in the picture gallery of the
royal museum in this city[329]. In this we shall not only possess a
historical survey of the technique of art in its stages of development,
but shall have set before our minds, as an essential process with a
history, that articulation of its ideal content in the distinctions of its
schools, their various subject-matter, and their different modes of
artistic conception and treatment. It is only through having given us
a survey as consonant as this is with that vital process that we can
form an idea from its origins in traditional and eclectic types, of the
living growth of art, its search after expression and individual
characteristic, its liberation from the inactive and tranquil station of
its figures, that we can appreciate its progress to dramatic
movement, grouping, and all the wealth and witchery of its colour, or
finally learn to distinguish its schools, which either to some extent
treat similar subject-matter in a way peculiar to themselves, or are
distinct from each other by reasons of the variety of their respective
content.
A historical development of painting such as that referred to is of as
great importance to scientific observation and exposition as it is to
accurate study. The content of art as I have presented it, namely,
the elaboration of its material, the distinct and fundamental changes
in the mode of its conception, we find all this and more receives thus
for the first time its concrete coherence in a sequence and under a
classification which corresponds with the facts. It is therefore
incumbent on us to glance at this process, if only by way of
emphasis to what most immediately arrests attention.
In general the advance consists in this, that it originates in religious
subjects conceived still in a typical way, with simple architectonic
arrangement and unelaborated colour. After this, in an increasing
degree of fusion with religious situations, we get actuality, vital
beauty of form, individuality, depth of penetration, charm and
witchery of colouring, until Art finally turns its attention to the world
itself, makes itself master of Nature, the daily occurrence of ordinary
life, or what is of significance in national history whether present or
past, or portraiture and anything else down to the merest trifle and
the least significant fact, and with an enthusiasm equal to that it
devoted to the religious ideal, and pre-eminently in this sphere
secures not merely the most consummate result of technical
accomplishment, but also a treatment and execution which is most
full of life and personality. This progress is followed in clearest
outline if we take in succession the schools of Byzantine, Italian,
Flemish, Dutch, and German painting, after noting the most
prominent features of which briefly we shall finally indicate the
transition to the art of music[330].
(a) In our review of Byzantine painting we may remark to start with
that the practice of painting among the Greeks was to a definable
degree always carried on; and examples of antique work contributed
to the greater excellence of its results relatively to posture, draping,
and other respects. On the other hand the touch of Nature and life
wholly vanished from this art; in facial types it adhered strictly to
tradition; in its figures and modes of expression it was conventional
and rigid; in its general composition more or less architectonic. We
find no trace of natural environment and a landscape background.
The modelling, by means of light and shadow, brilliance and
obscurity, and their fusion, no less than perspective and the art of
lifelike grouping, either were not elaborated at all, or to a very slight
extent. By reason of this strict adherence to a single acknowledged
type independent artistic production had little room for its exercise.
The art of painting and mosaic frequently degenerated into a mere
craft, and became thereby lifeless and devoid of spirit, albeit such
craftsmen, equally with the workers on antique vases, possessed
excellent examples of previous work, which they could imitate so far
as pose and the folding of drapery was concerned. A similar type of
painting spread its sombre influence over the ravaged West and
more particularly in Italy. Here, however, although in the first
instance with beginnings of little strength, we are even at an early
date conscious of an effort to break away from inflexible forms and
modes of expression, and to face, at first, however, in a rough and
ready way, a development of loftier aim. Of Byzantine pictures we
may, on the contrary, affirm, as Herr von Rumohr[331] has
maintained of Greek Madonnas and images of Christ that "it is
obvious even in the most favoured examples, their origin was that of
the mosaic, and artistic elaboration was rejected from the first." In
other words[332] the Italians endeavoured even before the period of
their independent art development in painting, and in contrast to the
Byzantines to approximate to a more spiritual conception of Christian
subjects. The writer above-named draws attention also as
noteworthy support of his contention to the manner in which the
later Greeks and Italians respectively represented Christ on
crucifixes. According to this writer "the Greeks, to whom the sight of
terrible bodily suffering was of common occurrence, conceived the
Saviour suspended on the Cross with the entire weight of his body,
the lower part of the body swollen and the slackened knees bent to
the left, the bowed head contending with the pains of an awful
death. Their subject was consequently in its essentials bodily
suffering. The Italians, on the contrary, in their more ancient
monuments, while we must not overlook the fact that the
representation of the Virgin Mary with her Child no less than the
Crucified is only of rare occurrence, were accustomed to depict the
figure of the Saviour on the cross adopting, so it appears to us, the
idea of the victory of the spiritual, not as in the former case the
death of the body. And this unquestionably nobler conception asserts
itself at an early date in the more favoured parts of Western
Europe[333]." With this sketch I must here rest content.
(b) We have, however, secondly, another characteristic of art to
consider in the earlier development of Italian painting. Apart from
the religious content of the Old and New Testament and the
biographies of martyrs and saints, it borrows its subjects in the main
from Greek mythology, very seldom, that is, from the events of
national history, or, if we except portraits, from the reality of
contemporary life, and equally rarely, and only at a late stage and
exceptionally, from natural landscape. Now that which it before all
contributes to its conception and artistic elaboration of the subject-
matter of religion is the vital reality of spiritual and corporeal
existence, relatively to which at this stage all its forms are embodied
and endowed with animation. For this vitality the essential principle
on the spiritual side is that natural delightfulness, and on the
corporeal side is that beauty which is consonant with physical form,
a beauty which independently, as beautiful form, already displays
innocence, buoyancy, maidenhood, natural grace of temperament,
nobility, imagination, and a loving soul. If there is further added to a
naturel of this type the exaltation and adornment of the soul in
virtue of the ideal intimacy of religion and the spiritual characteristics
of a profounder piety established as a vitalizing principle of soul-life
in this essentially more admitted and inviolable province of spiritual
redemption[334],—in such a case we have presented to us thereby
an original harmony of form and its expression, which, wherever it is
perfected, vividly reminds us in this sphere of romantic art and
Christian art of the pure Ideal of art. No doubt also within a new
accord of this type the inward life of the heart will be predominant;
but this inward experience is a more happy, a purer heaven of the
soul, the way of return to which form what is sensuous and finite,
and the return to God, albeit the passage may be through a travail in
the profounder anguish of repentance and death, is, however, less
saturated with trouble and its insistency. And the reason of this is
that the pain is concentrated in the sphere of soul, of idea, of faith,
without making a descent into the region of passionate desire,
intractable savagery, obstinate self-seeking and sin, and only arriving
at the hardly won victory through smiting down such enemies of the
blessed state. It is rather a transition of ideal permanence[335], a
pain of the inward life, which feels itself as such suffering rather
simply in virtue of its enthusiasm, a suffering of more abstract type,
more spiritually abundant, which has as little need to brush away
bodily anguish as we have to seek signs in the characterization of its
bodily presence and physiognomy of obstinacy, uncouthness,
crookedness, or the traits of superficial and mean natures, in which
an obstinate conflict is first necessary, before such are meet to
express real religious feeling[336] and piety. This more benign[337]
intimacy of soul, this more original consonancy of exterior forms to
ideal experience of this kind is what creates the charming clarity and
the untroubled delight, which the genuinely beautiful works of Italian
painting excite and supply. Just as we say of instrumental music that
there is tone and melody in it, so, too, we find that the pure song of
soul floats here in melodious fusion over the entire configuration and
all its forms. And as in the music of the Italians and in the tones of
their song, when the pure strains ring forth without a forced
utterance, in every separate note and inflection of sound and
melody, it is simply the delight of the voice itself which rings out; so,
too, such an intimate personal enjoyment of the loving soul is the
fundamental tone of their painting[338]. It is the same intimacy,
clarity, and freedom which meet us again in the great Italian poets.
To start with this artistic resonance of rhymes in their terzets,
canzonets, sonnets, and stanzas, this accord, which is not merely
satisfied to allay its thirst for reverberation in the one repetition, but
repeats the echo three times and more, this is itself a euphony
which streams forth on its own account and for the sake of its own
enjoyment. And a like freedom is stamped upon the spiritual
content. In Petrarch's sonnets, sestets, and canzonets it is not so
much the actual possession of their subject, after which the heart
yearns; it is not the consideration and emotion which are involved in
the actual content of the poem as such, and which is therein
necessarily expressed; rather it is the expression itself which
constitutes the source of enjoyment. It is the self-delight of Love,
which seeks its bliss in its own mourning, its laments, its
descriptions, memories, and experience; a yearning, which is
satisfied in itself as such, and with the image, the spirit of those it
loves, is already in full possession of the soul, with which it longs to
unite itself. Dante, too, when conducted by his master Virgil through
hell and hell-fire, gazes at what is the culmination of horror, of
awfulness; he is fearful, he often bursts into tears, but he strides on
comforted and tranquil, without affright and anxiety, without the
sullenness and embitterment which implies "these things should not
be thus." Nay, even his damned in hell receive the blessedness of
eternity. Io eterno duro is inscribed over the gates of hell. They are
what they are, without repentance and longing; they do not speak of
their sufferings; they are as immaterial to us as they are to them, for
they endure for ever. Rather they are absorbed simply in their
personal experience and actions, secure of themselves as rooted in
the same interests, without lamentation and without yearning[339].
When we have grasped this trait of happy independence and
freedom of the soul in love we shall understand the character of the
greatest Italian painters. It is in this freedom that they are masters
of the detail of expression, and situation. On the wings of this
tranquillity of soul they can maintain their sovereignty over form,
beauty, and colour. In their most defined presentation of reality and
character, while remaining wholly on the earth and often only
producing portraits, or appearing to produce such, what we have are
pictures of another sun, another spring. They are roses which are
equally heavenly blossoms. And, consequently, we find that in their
beauty we do not have merely beauty of form, we do not have only
the sensuous unity of soul impressed on sensuous corporeal shapes;
we are confronted with this very trait of reconciled Love in every
mode, feature, and individuality of character. It is the butterfly, the
Psyche[340], which in the sunlight of its heaven, even hovers round
stunted flowers[341]. It is only by virtue of this rich, free, and
rounded beauty that they are able to unfold the ideals of the antique
art's more recent perfection.
Italian art has, however, not immediately and from the first attained
to such a point of perfection; it had in truth a long road to traverse
before it arrived there. And yet, despite this, the purity and
innocence of its piety, the largeness of the entire conception, the
unassuming beauty of form, this intimate revelation of soul[342], are
frequently and above all in the case of the old Italian masters most
conspicuous where the technical elaboration is still wholly
incomplete. In the previous century it was fashionable to depreciate
these earlier masters, and place them on one side as clumsy, dull,
and barren[343]. It is only in more recent times that they have been
once more rescued from oblivion by savants and artists; but the
wonder and imitation thus awakened has run off into the excess of a
preference which tends to deny the advances of a further
development in mode of conception and presentment, and can only
lead astray in the opposite direction.
In drawing the reader's more close attention to the more important
phases in the development of Italian art up to this period of its
fullest perfection, I will only briefly emphasize the following points
which immediately concern the characterization of the essential
aspects of painting and its modes of expression.
(α) After the earliest stage of rawness and barbarism the Italians
moved forward with a fresh impetus from that in the main
craftsmanship type of art which was planted by the Byzantines. The
compass of subjects depicted was, however, not extensive, and the
distinctive features of the type were austerity, solemnity, and
religious loftiness. But even at this stage—I am quoting the
conclusions of Herr von Rumohr—who is generally recognized as an
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