Few phenomena in the modern history of Asia can have been so completely misunderstood by Westerners as the Vietnamese religious (and political) movement known in European languages as ‘Caodaism’. Based upon a syncretic approach to religion, in which a key role is played by spirit-séances, it has inevitably been regarded by Christian writers with the same suspicion (if not contempt) as occidental ‘spiritualism’; and this initial lack of sympathy is compounded by the fact that the spirits who have revealed themselves at Caodaist séances include such familiar figures as Victor Hugo and Jeanne d'Arc. Then there is the show-piece temple of the Caodaists at Tây-Ninh, which drew forth Mr. Graham Greene's description of ‘Christ and Buddha looking down from the roof of the Cathedral on a Walt Disney fantasia of the East, dragons and snakes in Technicolor’. This superficial notion of the religious element in Caodaism fitted in very well with the cynicism of political observers, notably Bernard Fall, who saw in Caodaism no more than a political movement anxious to preserve its private armies and local power, using its religious ideas merely to dupe a credulous peasantry. In these circumstances, it is perhaps not surprising that the real nature and origins of Caodaism have been lost from view, and even its history has never been adequately summarized in any Western language. The present article will attempt to fill the historical gap, by tracing the history of the religion from 1925 to 1936, and then looking at its origins and antecedents. A subsequent article (to appear in BSOAS, XXXIII, 3, 1970) will analyse the various beliefs which have been incorporated into this essentially syncretic cult.

The sīra authorities provide a mass of contradictory data on the chronology of the Prophet's raids and the task of fitting these inconsistencies into a cogent chronological pattern is beset with difficulties. In the main sources, for example, Mūsā b. ‘Uqba, Ibn Isḥaq, and al-Wāqidī, we find noticeable divergencies in the dating of a specific event. This is so even with important incidents such as the expulsion of Banu Qaynuqā‘and a comparatively late event such as the attack on Khaybar. A textual collation of the chronological material does suggest, however, that in some cases it may be possibleto win through to a safer position.

One of the few Old Persian words whose precise meaning has not yet been established is yakā-, the name of a material which was used in the building of Darius' palace at Susa. In the Great King's own words ‘it was brought (to Susa) from Gandara and Karmāna’.1 That a timber was meant appears from the Akkadian version (the corresponding Elamite sentence is missing), in which yakā- is translated by GIšMlŠ-MA-KAN-NA. Admittedly the Akkadian word is partly restored; V. Scheil, in his edition,2 printed it as [miš]-má-kan-na. However, both E. Herzfeld3 and F. W. Konig4 thought they could see the determinative GlŠ and a trace of MlŠ; at all events the preserved part of the word leaves scarcely any doubt as to the correctness of the restoration.

The Tārīkhi Qumm was originally written in Arabic by Hasan b. Muhammad b. Hasan Qumml in the year A.H. 378 (A.D. 988–9). No copy of this is known to exist. A Persian translation was made in the year A.H. 805–6 (A.D. 1402–3) by Hasan b. Alī b. Hasan b. Abd al–Malik Qummī for Ibrāhīm b. Mahmūd b. Muhammad b. Alī as–Safī. The translator states that the original contained twenty chapters and fifty sections. None of the known manuscripts, however, contains more than the first five chapters.

The fifteenth-century Cypriot chronicler Leontios Machaeras, whose Recital concerning the sweet land of Cyprus concludes in 1432, first mentions locusts thus: ‘And in 1351 the locust, with God's blessing, began to come to Cyprus (and did great damage).’ Strange as it may seem, this may have been the first visit of locusts to the island in numbers sufficient to be destructive. Soon other local chroniclers, as well as travellers, pilgrims, and merchants, joined Machaeras in recording such invasions. They may have been no surprise to the Cypriot chronicler, writing a little under a century later, but in 1351 they could well have been the cause of surprise, even terror, on the island.

The study of Muslim institutions in Persia is made difficult by a lack of documents, nor is this lack due wholly to the destruction of those that once existed. Many of the legal contracts and procedures, especially those relating to customary as opposed to shar‘ī law, were unwritten. Moreover so far as local matters were concerned the process of recording was a laborious one in Persia as elsewhere; and it must have seemed unnecessary to record what every village elder knew. Another difficulty which faces us in the study of Muslim institutions in Persia is the fact that the sources often use terms imprecisely. Some are used in both a general and a technical sense. The same term may be used to denote a number of different institutions and the meaning of any term may vary according to both time and place.

Among the many texts and manuscripts that Sir Aurel Stein brought to London from the Grottoes of the Thousand Buddhas at Tun-huang early in this century was a text of the first half of the Lao tzu (chapters 1–37 of the standard, received version of the text) with a commentary known as the Hsiang erh chu (Stein MS 6825 in the British Museum). This document has attracted considerable scholarly interest because of its ostensible connexion with the origins and early history of Celestial Master (t'ien shih ) Taoism in the Later Han dynasty. Lu Te-ming (c. 550–c. 630) listed the Hsiang erh chu as a commentary to the Lao tzu in his Ching tien shih wen, and said that accordingto one tradition it was written by Chang Lu (d. 216). This is the earliest known suggestion that the Hsiang erh chu is a text of the Celestial Master school.

For the hisory of religions the rise of Marduk, city god of Babylon, is one of the most striking phenomena known from ancient Mesopotamia. From being an utterly insignificant god in third-millennium Sumer, he had risen to be head of the Babylonian pantheon by the first millennium. The Münster thesis of Walter Sommerfeld, written under W. von Soden, is the first book-length treatment of this topic. As the subtitle indicates, it is largely restricted to the second millennium, the significant period because the rise took place within it. In fact third millennium evidence is dealt with briefly, but the first millennium is omitted. This is unfortunate because most of the religious literature dealing with Marduk is known from first-millennium copies only, though much of it was presumably composed during the second. In view of this uncertainty most of the religious texts about Marduk cannot be used within precise chronological frameworks.

As a good missionary and teacher Mani knew the value of repetition. With endless pains he had elaborated a story of the world, which was to explain all phenomena, of nature and the mind, that came within reach of his knowledge. Its comprehensiveness made it so complicated that it required—and still requiresa strong effort to remember all its details. t All the greater was the need to force it, by ceaseless repetition, into the minds of those who were ready to listen to the new prophet. No doubt every one of his books and longer epistles opened with this story, which may have been the sole subject of several of them. It is therefore useless to try to identify the various accounts before us either with each other or with one of the books of which we know merely the title.

Any attempt to write about the Ibāḍī imāma is faced with the same kind of problem which besets all efforts to provide a generalized account of an Islamic institution: how far to concentrate on the abstract theory and how far to describe the actual practices observed in different places at various times. In this paper the writer has tried to strike a balance between these two approaches by taking as his theme an aspect of the Ibāḍi imāmate that involves basic principles about the nature of the contract which the Ibadi community enters into when it elects an Imām, and to study it specifically from the Omani point of view, through the writings of the local ‘ulamā’ and the way elections have been conducted in that country from the second/eighth down to the fourteenth/twentieth centuries. No attempts will be made to compare this material with the parallel sources from the Maghrib, nor to contrast the Ibāḍī concepts of the imāma with those of other Islamic systems.

The Secret History of the Mongols (Yuanchao bishi) tells us that, after the invasion and conquest of Qipchaq and Rus'lands in 1237–40, Qagan Ögödei placed ‘daruγačin and tammačin’ over peoples whose main cities were Ornas, Saḳsīn, Bulgar and Kiev.

This article examines the role of petitions to the Sultan concerning private disputes in the legal system of Ottoman Egypt during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Previous studies have seen petitioning as a means for subjects to complain about abuses carried out by Ottoman officials: few scholars have engaged with the many petitions involving private disputes between subjects. Based on both original petitions and Ottoman bureaucratic records, this article consists of two parts and an appendix. Part 1 describes the petitioning process, including the procedure followed by the imperial palace when handling petitions. Part 2 analyses the various ways in which sending a petition could affect the outcome of a dispute. The appendix features a reproduction and transcription of a petition which has been annotated by several palace officials, illustrating its progress through the palace bureaucracy.

The well-known Turkish scholar Kilisli Raf'at, to whom we owe the publication of Kāshgharī's monumental Dīwān lughat al-Turk, was fortunate in discovering a short but important work in Persian, which throws an unexpected light on the military and civil organization of the Aq-qoyunlu state in the reign of Uzun Hasan (A.D. 1466–1478). The original of the ‘Arḍ-nāma (“Account of the Parade”) forms one of the twenty-one items of MS. 1438 of the Ḥamdīya Library in Stambul which contains the complete works (kulliyāt) of Jalāl al-dīn Muḥammad b. As'ad Davānī (A.H. 830–908/ A.D. 1427–1502). This learned theologian, poet, and moralist is particularly known in the west by his Akhlāq-i Jalālī compiled at the request of Sulṭān-Khalīl, who was governor of Fars on behalf of his father Uzun-Ḥasan. The ‘Arḍ-nāma is a further proof of

An important phonological feature of many of the dialects of Arabia is the pronunciation of . This sound change is not confined to one dialect group, and unlike the affrication of and is non-conditioned. The evidence whether > in Classical Arabic or in the ancient dialects is rather inconclusive, and exceptin a few authors it is not categorically stated to be a sound change in the way that this is stated, for example, of 'aj'aja (iy[y] > ij[j] mainly in pause) for the dialect of the Tamīm.

In the cold December of 1906 I was returning from Borūjerd to Tehran. At every village on the road I inquired whether there existed any local curiosities. At Kondūrūd I was told that the inhabitants belonged to the Turkish Khalaj tribe and spoke Khalajī. I had only a couple of hours to jot down a few sentences in the dialect which struck me by its unusual features. It was too late to call back my men who, by that time, had gone ahead, and I had to content myself with the hope that some Khalaj might turn up in the capital. Indeed I had an inhabitant of “Khalajestān” brought to me from the bazaar only to discover that he spoke an Iranian dialect. I revisited Solṭanābād in 1917 in circumstances of war. At my request, the governor's men got hold of two Khalaj villagers, but the latter were so frightened that the official summons might mean some trouble in store for them that they hardly answered my questions and most pathetically asked me to let them go in peace.

While interest in early exegetical works concerned with the Qur'ān has certainly increased in the last few decades, no clear consensus seems to have emerged concerning how to establish the genesis of a supposedly early text. The basic problem to be faced is whether the texts we have today are compilations extracted from later works and then put in the name of a single, early authority or whether they are genuinely transmitted works from early teachers and writers, albeit with the definite possibility of some reformulation and intrusion from a later date by editors and copyists. The question to be discussed is one of both the date and method of composition.

In Quran 2: 127 Ibrāhīm founded “the house” (most probably a reference to the Kaʿba) together with his son Ismāʿīl. This scene does not appear in the Bible and none of the attempts to find a literary precedent for it are satisfactory. This paper argues that this scene reflects post-biblical traditions concerning Genesis 22. The argument is based on a comparison of the Quran, quranic commentaries, rabbinic sources and Syriac homilies on Gen. 22. After suggesting an origin for the story, the paper analyses the ways in which the Quran adapted and appropriated the story to its needs. The replacement of Isaac with Ismāʿīl is a central point addressed in this context.

Mīrzā Mahdī the biographer of Nādir Shāh, gives but little information on the subject of the Iranian campaigns in 'Omān during the period 1737 to 1744, probably because 'Omān was, relatively speaking, merely a secondary theatre of war and because Nādir did not go there in person. Fasa'I, in his Fārsnāma-yi-Nāsirī, also devotes but little space to the subject, notwithstanding the fact that Muhammad Taqī Khān Shīrāzī, the Beglarbegi of Fārs, played a prominent part in the campaigns.

Until the twentieth century the Bedouin of the Sinai peninsula and the Negev desert were no less dependent upon knowledge of the heavenly bodies than their nomadic ancestors of countless generations in the Arabian peninsula. The stars were as vital to a Bedouin trying to find his way in almost featureless stretches of the desert waste as they were to a sailor navigating the open sea. Moreover, the Bedouin needed stable indications of the seasons of the year so that they could regulate the annual activities necessary for agriculture and livestock raising; the only calendar they knew was the Muslim lunar calendar, the months of which rotate among the seasons of the year, at times appearing in the winter, at others in the spring, summer, or autumn. They found these indications in the positions of the stars. Finally, their preoccupation with the heavenly bodies and their nightly exposure to starry skies naturally led the inhabitants of the desert, like many other peoples, to find, in the movements of the stars, explanations for the natural disasters to which they were always so vulnerable.