Evidently, then, the Hazár Afsánwas the kernel of the 'Arabian Nights,' and it is probable that this Persian archetype included the most finely imaginative tales in the existing collection, e.g., the 'Fisherman and the Genie,' 'Camaralzamán and Different sources of the collection. Budúr,' and the 'Enchanted Horse.' As time went on, the original stock received large additions which may be divided into two principal groups, both Semitic in character: the one belonging to Baghdád and consisting mainly of humorous anecdotes and love romances in which the famous Caliph 'Haroun Alraschid' frequently comes on the scene; the other having its centre in Cairo, and marked by a roguish, ironical pleasantry as well as by the mechanic supernaturalism which is perfectly illustrated in 'Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp.' But, apart from these three sources, the 'Arabian Nights' has in the course of centuries accumulated and absorbed an immense number of Oriental folk-tales of every description, equally various in origin and style. The oldest translation by Galland (Paris, 1704-1717) is a charming paraphrase, which in some respects is more true to the spirit of the original than are the scholarly renderings of Lane and Burton.

The 'Romance of ‘Antar' ( Síratu ‘Antar) is traditionally ascribed to the great philologist, Aṣma‘í,846 who flourished in the reign of Hárún al-Rashíd, but this must be considered as an invention of the professional reciters The 'Romance of ‘Antar.' who sit in front of Oriental cafés and entertain the public with their lively declamations.847 According to Brockelmann, the work in its present form apparently dates from the time of the Crusades.848 Its hero is the celebrated heathen poet and warrior, ‘Antara b. Shaddád, of whom we have already given an account as author of one of the seven Mu‘allaqát. Though the Romance exhibits all the anachronisms and exaggerations of popular legend, it does nevertheless portray the unchanging features of Bedouin life with admirable fidelity and picturesqueness. Von Hammer, whose notice in the Mines de l'Orient(1802) was the means of introducing the Síratu ‘Antarto European readers, justly remarks that it cannot be translated in full owing to its portentous length. It exists in two recensions called respectively the Arabian ( Ḥijáziyya) and the Syrian ( Shámiyya), the latter being very much curtailed.849

While the decadent state of Arabic literature during all these centuries was immediately caused by unfavourable social and political conditions, the real source of the malady lay deeper, and must, I think, be referred to the spiritual paralysis which had long been creeping over Orthodoxy and mysticism. Islam and which manifested itself by the complete victory of the Ash‘arites or Scholastic Theologians about 1200 a.d. Philosophy and Rationalism were henceforth as good as dead. Two parties remained in possession of the field—the orthodox and the mystics. The former were naturally intolerant of anything approaching to free-thought, and in their principle of ijmá‘, i.e., the consensus of public opinion (which was practically controlled by themselves), they found a potent weapon against heresy. How ruthlessly they sometimes used it we may see from the following passage in the Yawáqítof Sha‘rání. After giving instances of the persecution to which the Ṣúfís of old—Báyazíd, Dhú ’l-Nún, and others—were subjected by their implacable enemies, the ‘Ulamá, he goes on to speak of what had happened more recently850:—

"They brought the Imám Abú Bakr al-Nábulusí, notwithstanding his merit and profound learning and rectitude in religion, from the Persecution of heretics. Maghrib to Egypt and testified that he was a heretic ( zindíq). The Sultan gave orders that he should be suspended by his feet and flayed alive. While the sentence was being carried out, he began to recite the Koran with such an attentive and humble demeanour that he moved the hearts of the people, and they were near making a riot. And likewise they caused Nasímí to be flayed at Aleppo.851 When he silenced them by his arguments, they devised a plan for his destruction, thus: They wrote the Súratu ’l-Ikhláṣ852 on a piece of paper and bribed a cobbler of shoes, saying to him, 'It contains only love and pleasantness, so place it inside the sole of the shoe.' Then they took that shoe and sent it from a far distance as a gift to the Shaykh (Nasímí), who put it on, for he knew not. His adversaries went to the governor of Aleppo and said: 'We have sure information that Nasímí has written, Say, God is One, and has placed the writing in the sole of his shoe. If you do not believe us, send for him and see!' The governor did as they wished. On the production of the paper, the Shaykh resigned himself to the will of God and made no answer to the charge, knowing well that he would be killed on that pretext. I was told by one who studied under his disciples that all the time when he was being flayed Nasímí was reciting muwashshaḥsin praise of the Unity of God, until he composed five hundred verses, and that he was looking at his executioners and smiling. And likewise they brought Shaykh Abu ’l-Ḥasan al-Shádhilí853 from the West to Egypt and bore witness that he was a heretic, but God delivered him from their plots. And they accused Shaykh ‘Izzu ’l-Dín b. ‘Abd al-Salám854 of infidelity and sat in judgment over him on account of some expressions in his ‘Aqída(Articles of Faith) and urged the Sultan to punish him; afterwards, however, he was restored to favour. They denounced Shaykh Táju ’l-Dín al-Subkí855 on the same charge, asserting that he held it lawful to drink wine and that he wore at night the badge ( ghiyár) of the unbelievers and the zone ( zunnár)856; and they brought him, manacled and in chains, from Syria to Egypt."

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

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

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