It is now a familiar theme in the literature on the emergence and development of the state in the Western world to refer to war and war preparation—in short, war making—as an important contributing factor to the development of the modern state. As Charles Tilly succinctly put it, “War made the state, and the state made war.” We know, however, little about the relation between war making and the development of the state in the contemporary Middle East. This is rather surprising considering the importance of war and war preparation in the history of many states in the region and the current wave of academic interest in the study of state formation in the Middle East. A review of the literature would show that war is usually integrated as a contingent factor, but not as a systematic process that can influence state development. For instance, accounts of state development in Egypt mention the impact ofthe 1956 and 1967 wars on the capacity of the state to intervene in the economy and society; yet until recently no one had systematically studied the impact of war preparation on state formation in Egypt.

Some of the classical commentaries on the sura Yusuf tell us that one day the Prophet Muhammad was reciting Qurʾanic verses for his companions. Bored and weary, they said, “‘O Prophet of Allah! What if you told us a story, what if God Almighty would send a sura that did not contain commandments and prohibitions, and that sura would be a story that soothed our hearts?' God, Mighty and Exalted, said, ‘I will narrate to you the best story.’”

The intention of this article is to show that, when applying his tribal policies, Saddam Hussein altered the Baʿth Party's most central tenets of faith, how and why he did this, and what it meant for Iraqi society and for the ruling party. Saddam Hussein's tribal policy started soon after the party came to power in July 1968, but it went through a quantum leap in the late 1980s and the early 1990s. First, rather than eliminating the tribal shaykh as a sociopolitical power, as dictated by party doctrine, he endeavored to manipulate the shaykhs and, through a process of socialization (or “Baʿthization”), turn them into docile tools in the service of the regime. Second, and a far sharper departure from party tradition, he turned the tribal shaykhs into legitimate partners for power-sharing; he tribalized the regime's Praetorian Guard; and he worked to reawaken long-suppressed and often forgotten tribal affinities in that part of Iraqi society which is no longer tribal and to graft onto it tribal values, or what he considered to be such values. Furthermore, he even took some steps to tribalize the party itself, and tribal customs, real or imagined, permeated the state's legal system. Kinship was legitimized as a principle guiding the selection of party leaders, and leaders' tribal roots were played up; tribal honor became a legitimate guiding principle behind foreign-policy decisions; and at least once, the president even called the Baʿth Party itself “a tribe.”

The evolution of the Islamic Republic of Iran and the dynamics of the relationship between the Iranian state and society can be explored by examining the postrevolutionary regime's policies toward intellectuals, particularly as expressed in its regulation of cinema and book publication. This relationship—at least in the period from the early 1980s to the early 1990s—was complex and nuanced. Factionalism within the regime provided an opportunity for intellectuals to engage the state in a process of negotiation and protest, cooperation and defiance, in pushing the boundaries of permitted self-expression. The degree of their success depended in part on which faction controlled the government and its regulatory agencies during particular phases in the evolution of the postrevolutionary regime.

The International Conference on Population and Development held in Cairo in September 1994 focused world attention on the interplay of religion, family-planning methods, and women's status. The most hotly debated topic of the conference was abortion. Before the conference convened, newspapers in the West and in the Middle East reported “a growing religious furor” that spurred an alliance between Muslim nations and the Vatican based on a common belief in the prohibition of abortion and concern for Western sexual mores. At the conference, Muslim delegations abandoned their slogans and moved away from the Vatican position by denouncing abortion as a method of family planning but leaving open its use under specific circumstances. Although a majority of Muslims worldwide agree with the stance taken at the population conference, and most would state that Islam forbids abortion, the Muslim theological position on abortion does not approximate the Roman Catholic condemnation of the practice. A full prohibition of abortion represents neither the sophisticated Muslim jurisprudence literature on abortion nor current practices of some Muslim women. Discussion with Muslim women and Muslim religious scholars (ʿulamāʾ) about the intricacies of the issues that abortion raises tells us that the question is not simple, consensus is far from being reached, and political concerns further complicate understanding of the paradoxical issues involved.

ʿUthman Katkhuda, Ibrahim Katkhuda, ʿAbd al-Rahman al-Katkhuda, ʿAli Bey al-Kabir, Muhammad Bey Abu Dhahab, Ibrahim Bey, and Murad Bey will be familiar to students and scholars of Ottoman Egypt as the names of men who were in the forefront of the Mamluk resurgence and the leaders of the bayt, the Qazdughli, that became the dominant household from the mid-18th century to the French invasion of 1798. Less familiar—indeed, almost unknown—are the names of women such as Shawikar Qadin, the favorite concubine of ʿUthman Katkhuda and the wife and widow of three powerful Qazdughli amirs, including Ibrahim Katkhuda, the architect of Qazdughli dominance; Amnatullah al-Bayda, widow of ʿAbd al-Rahman al-Katkhuda; and Nafisa al-Bayda, the beautiful, intelligent, and literate widow of ʿAli Bey al-Kabir and wife of Murad Bey, who was also admired by the French during their occupation of the country.

On 29 September 1995, a notice in the leading Palestinian daily Al-Quds announced the following: “After Friday prayers an honorable procession composed of notables from the Bethlehem district and notables from the Hebron district proceeded to the Dīwān of Ahl al-Ḥalāʾiqa in the village of Shuyukh in order to complete the rites of tribal conciliation (ṣulḥ ʿashāʾirī) in the wake of a sad car accident.” Among the jāha, the procession of important dignitaries invited to participate by the family of the driver, was Colonel Abu Khalid al-Lahham, a former officer in the Palestinian Liberation Army and currently an adviser to President Yasir Arafat. Originally from Bethlehem, to which he has recently returned after years of exile, al-Lahham was designated to become the governor of the Bethlehem district in the Palestinian Authority (PA) after it extended its hold over the town in December, as stipulated by the Oslo B agreements of 28 September 1995.

Of the many talented men who entered government service in Egypt in the 19th century, none equaled in sheer energy and productivity ʿAli Mubarak Pasha (1823/4–1893). Engineer, officer, administrator, educator, and author, he was the outstanding Egyptian of his generation and the first native Muslim to head a government department in modern times. Yet his most enduring legacy are his writings, in particular his famous Khitat. A twenty-volume topographical encyclopedia published in the 1880s, the Khitat of ʿAli Mubarak is a landmark of Arabic prose and probably constitutes the greatest existing historical record of Egyptian society.

Many Muslim feminists have argued that at the core of Islam lies a gender-neutral belief system that has been obscured by a centuries-long tradition of male-dominated interpretation. Although this gender-neutral system of belief had been almost entirely suppressed by the ruling Islamic discourses, according to Leila Ahmed, marginalized discourses such as Sufism and the antinomian Carmathians were able to preserve Islam's message of the ethical equality of men and women. Amina Wadud-Muhsin argues that the traditional verse-by-verse method of Qurʾanic exegesis, along with its domination by male practitioners, marginalized female experiences in understanding revelation. In her view, these two factors ultimately led to the suppression of the Qurʾan's message of gender equality. Fatima Mernissi, in The Veil and the Male Elite, instead argues that the religious scholars of Islam, because of their fear of subjectivity, were content with a purely empirical science of religion—a methodology that left the door wide open to the manipulation of revelation through interpretation. Unlike Ahmed, however, she recognizes that even within the dominant discourse of the Sunni scholars, not all spoke of women in the same monotonously misogynistic voice.

The Islamic shariʿa is central to Islam in the minds of most Muslims and non-Muslim scholars. In many ways, the centrality of the Islamic shariʿa has increased in recent decades. Yet despite—or perhaps because of—this centrality, the precise, even the general, role of the shariʿa in Islamic societies is the subject of contentious debate among Muslims. Outside of and underlying such debates are more subtle and rarely articulated differences about the meaning of the Islamic shariʿa. In this essay, I will put forward a general intellectual map for those varying meanings. More critically, I will suggest that important shifts in the meaning of the Islamic shariʿa have taken place in the Muslim world, and that these shifts are closely connected to the nature and viability of legal and educational institutions associated with the Islamic shariʿa in the past. As the Islamic shariʿa has become disconnected from these institutions, its meaning has changed in some fundamental ways. Most important, the shariʿa is approached less for its process than for its content. And because the shift in institutions and understanding has received much less attention from Muslims, widespread attempts to re-create older relationships (particularly involving the relationship between the Islamic shariʿa and the state) in fact involve a deepening rather than a counteracting of the transformation in the Islamic shariʿa.

The literary works produced by Iranian women writers after the 1979 revolution, despite their diversity in artistic value and quality of narrative, commonly manifest a remarkable sensitivity toward women's issues and gender relations. The overall theme tying these works together seems to be the problematic of gender hierarchy and women's suffering expressed in a figurative language, transcending the extant male-dominated literary discourse. In these works, women's personal and private experiences become public. Their narratives articulate their protests against sexual oppression and reflect their struggle for identity. This phenomenon is noteworthy not simply because this is a literature produced by women about women, but also because this body of work displays a contrast with the literary works produced by women in the decades preceding the revolution. Pre-revolutionary works, under the sway of the dominant literary discourse, did not give rise to a feminist literary movement, for they emphasized sociopolitical issues more than specific gender issues. To be sure, there were themes related to women, but they were often presented in the context of socially conscious yet male-dominated committed literature. Women's literary paradigms before and after the revolution thus represent different literary discourses, and the Iranian Revolution of 1979 appears to be the major historical event that separates these two discourses and may well be responsible for the shift. In a strict sense, gender is socially constituted, and gender issues are in fact a type of social issue.

Long before the French Revolution, an anonymous geographer of the 10th century had already imagined the “boundaries of the world”—(ḥudūd al-ʿālam)—as comprising distinct regions. According to this unknown figure, each territory varied from another “First, by the difference of water, air, soil, and temperature (garma-va-sarma). Secondly, by the difference of religion, law (sharīʿat) and beliefs (kīsh). Thirdly, by the difference of words (lughāt) and languages. Fourthly, by the difference of kingdoms (padshāʾī-hā).” These criteria, as well as natural barriers—mountains, rivers, deserts—allowed the author of this work to divide the world into tracts much like nation-states today.

One of the most important arenas of the ferment in contemporary Arab social thought is Egypt. Egyptian writers have been contributing to a rapidly growing body of literature on state and society. Its themes include methodological issues, the nature of the ideal Islamic society; the elite–mass gap; the state's role in public life; the appropriate model for socioeconomic development; and the social bases of Islamist movements.

One of the main arguments used to prop up the thesis that, as of the 16th century, there was a steady decline in virtually all spheres of the Ottoman Empire's administration and society has been that Muslim societies in the Ottoman Middle Eastproved incapable, or even unwilling, to open up and accept the process of Western modernization. In recent years, however, newly discovered local sources together with a change in methodological approach have led to a growing body of critical studies that challenge the decline theory on a number of points. The 19th century, for example, is increasingly viewed as still very much an Ottoman century, in which the Porte, instead of seeing its power in the provinces diminish under the growing impact of the West, succeeded in strengthening its hold through the centralization policies of the Tanzimat. Another significant example is that of local elites who, instead of opposing Istanbul's reformist policies across the board, are often found to identify and cooperate with the central government.

In modern Iraq, processes of state formation and national integration have been consistently affected by a number of ethnic issues and concerns. This became particularly evident in the decade after the country became independent from British Mandatory control in 1932. First, in the immediate postcolonial period ethnicity became central to the development of Iraqi national and international politics. Second, ethnic specificity emerged as a major factor in the shaping of postcolonial Iraqi society, despite the continuous attempts at enforcing a new national identity on the part of a still fragile state. This article discusses the important role played by ethnicity during the first stages of Iraqi national development by focusing on the impact of conscription on the Yazidi Kurds of Jabal Sinjar.

The political and dynastic history of Afghanistan during the 19th and the early 20th centuries is well known. So is British imperial policy toward Afghanistan. However, very little attention has been paid to the role of the clergy, the guardians of the Islamic order and the representatives of the civil society in Afghanistan. They played a major role in domestic politics and in Afghanistan's challenges with foreign powers. This paper attempts to fill the gap in information about the ulama by detailing their role in defending Afghanistan's territorial integrity and by examining the conflict over jihad between the ulama and Afghanistan's rulers, a conflict that adversely affected the legitimacy of successive regimes.

In 1826, Sultan Mahmud II orchestrated the slaughter of 6,000–7,000 janissaries and, in order to incinerate any janissary remnants that had taken refuge there, burned the Belgrade Forest outside Istanbul. During his reign (1808–39), the sultan attacked many of the other bases of the ancien régime, such as the timar system, the lifetime tax farms, and the political autonomy of provincial notables. He also centralized the pious foundations, brought them under a special ministry, and expropriated their revenues. Such stories of Sultan Mahmud's dramatic and violent policies, as well as their 18th-century origins and their 19th-century legacies, are familiar ones in Ottoman and Middle Eastern history. It is a commonplace that Sultan Mahmud aimed to dismantle the power of the military and religious classes in favor of a new bureaucracy of administrators and scribes. And it is also known that his efforts had a major impact on the subsequent evolution of the Tanzimat reform programs during the later 19th century.

Amid all the attention that Iranian politics has received since the Islamic Revolution of 1979, local politics has been almost totally neglected. This neglect vitiates our understanding of contemporary Iran, as it is at the local level that state policies are carried out, contested, reshaped, resisted, or revised. Beginning with the centralizing state-building of Reza Shah Pahlavi (r. 1926–41), Tehran increasingly dominated Iran's politics, commercial activities, and cultural life, and most of the country's Westernized elites lived in the capital. The 1979 revolution was to some extent a populist revolt against this Westernized elite, and among the new rulers those whose social and family roots are outside Tehran abound. Among the common people, “the experience of participation in mass political activity … undermined the feeling of political abjection,” while the new rulers have attempted, not always successfully, to lessen the gap not only between rich and poor, but also between rich and poor provinces. The new prominence of provincials in national life has gone hand in hand with a greater recognition of Iran's ethnic and linguistic diversity, while at the same time the sense of common participation in the revolution and the Iran–Iraq War has knitted people of different ethnic backgrounds more closely together.

Between December 1947 and the first four months of 1948, the fabric of a centuries-old Palestinian Arab society unraveled with astounding rapidity, producing 750,000 refugees. The collapse occurred within the context of widespread socioeconomic disruption and dislocation among peasants and migrant and urban workers. The eroding socioeconomic foundation severely weakened this lower stratum's defense against Zionist settlement, colonial state policies, and military pressures. Beginning in late Ottoman times and throughout the British Mandate period (1918–48), the agrarian social economy had been slowly undermined by the urban landowning class and oppressive tax and land-tenure systems. Peasant dispossession, begun in the 19th century and aggravated by Zionist land-buying in the 20th, created a significant landless rural population that was increasingly dependent on wage labor in scattered rural locations and in the cities. During the British Mandate, as Palestine was rapidly incorporated into the world market, communal harmony and social integration were further strained by urban–rural and peasant–landowner tensions, disjointed urban–working–class development, unemployment, and overcrowding. As a result, by the late 1940s Palestinian Arab society was on the brink of disintegration.