We live in an age of history-making. We live in an age of liquid boundaries, malleable categories, moving and movable human subjects. We live in an age of unspeakable horror, illegible events, incomprehensible human actions. We live in an age of unimagined heroics, unthinkable sacrifices, unforeseen human capacities.

We live in an age of uprisings, upended authorities, unbounded rage. We live in an age of speed, motion that seems unnavigable, movement that seems untrackable. We live in age of unprecedented documentation, inconceivable surveillance, uncontrolled intelligence. We live in age of megalith media, lightning communication, urgent immediacy from near and far.

As in Europe, Islamic studies in the U.S. originated in the tradition of Orientalist scholarship and Christian theology, with its strong textual emphasis, but it has gradually expanded to overlap with Middle East area studies as well as a number of humanistic and social science disciplines, especially religious studies. Over the past several decades, and especially since 9/11, scholarly interest in Islamic studies has mushroomed. This interest is visible in the number of doctoral dissertations produced on Islam and Muslims over the past half-century. As a percentage of all dissertations in the Proquest Dissertations and Theses Database, Islamic studies themes grew from less than one percent prior to the late 1970s to three percent in the 1980s and 1990s, to over four percent since 2001 (see Figure l).

There is something seriously flawed about models of social change that posit the dominant role of in-built civilizational motors. While “the rise of the West” makes great ideology, it is poor history. Like Jared Diamond, I believe that we need to situate the fate of nations in a long-term ecohistorical context. Unlike Diamond, I believe that the ways (and the sequences) in which things happened mattered deeply to what came next. The Mediterranean is a particularly useful case in this light. No longer a center of progress after the sixteenth century, the decline of the Mediterranean is usually ascribed to its inherent cultural deficiencies. While the specific cultural infirmity varies with the historian (amoral familism, patron/clientalism, and religion are some of the favorites) its civilizationalist presuppositions are clear. In this respect the search for “what went wrong” typifies national histories across the region and prefigures the fate of the Third World.

A useful paradigm for studying Mediterranean and world history is the concept behind a course I teach, “The Mediterranean as a Borderland.” The paradigm of the borderland was generated by policymakers and social scientists studying the American Southwest and developed for the field of history by Oscar Martinez at the University of Arizona. Arizona is in the borderland, the region close to the border between the United States and Mexico where the influence of Mexico can be directly felt. There is of course an equivalent region on the other side in Mexico that is directly influenced by its proximity to the United States. These two regions together comprise the borderland, and they are in many ways more similar to each other than either is to the rest of the nation it belongs to. Unlike the border itself, which divides one country from another, the borderland is the area where the two societies meet and overlap. The Mediterranean Sea is often seen as a border between Christian and Muslim civilizations to the north and south. It can therefore be studied as a borderland, the region where the two overlap. Such a study highlights similarities, influences, and exchanges rather than differences and oppositions; it forms a necessary corrective to today’s emphasis on the “clash of civilizations.” This paper gives a historiography of the borderland paradigm and its application in the Mediterranean, and compares it with the closely related concept of the frontier.

An extraordinary letter was discovered in a neglected pile of medieval diplomatic correspondence in the Vatican Libraries: a letter from Al-Murtada the Almohad, Muslim Caliph in Marrakech to Pope Innocent IV (1243–1254). The letter, written in finest official calligraphy, proposes an alliance between the Caliph and the Vicar of Christ, the leader of an institution that had called for organized crusades against the Islamic world. While the history of Pope Innocent IV’s contacts with the Muslim rulers of Marrakech remains obscure, the sources indicate that Pope Innocent IV sent envoys south to Marrakech. One of these envoys was Lope d’Ayn. Lope became Bishop of Marrakech, shepherd of a flock of paid Christian mercenaries who were sent to Marrakech by that sometime leader of the reconquista, Ferdinand III of Castile, in a deal he had struck with the Almohads. Although they now had Christians fighting for them and cathedral bells competing with the call to prayer, the Almohads were powerful agitators of jihad against the Christians only decades before. Scholars know only a little about Lope d’Ayn’s story or the historical context of this letter between Caliph Murtada and the Pope. Although very recent research is encouraging, there is a great deal to know about the history of the mercenaries of Marrakech or the interactions between Jews, Muslims and Christians that occurred in early thirteenth century Marrakech. The neglect of Lope d’Ayn and the contacts between the Papacy and the Almohads is only one example of a much wider neglect of North Africa contacts with Europe in the secondary literature in English. While scholarship in English has focused on correspondence, commerce and travel from West to East, between Europe, the Levant and Egypt, there were also important cultural bridges being crossed between North and South, between North Africa and Europe in the Medieval Western Mediterranean.

In 1493, a Czech nobleman named Jan Hasištejnský z Lobkovic embarked on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. As nearly all Central European pilgrims did, he traveled south through the Tyrol to Venice and joined a large, multinational group there before setting out across the Mediterranean. He remained nearly a month in Venice, meeting prominent political figures, visiting churches and cloisters, and admiring the realism of the painting and sculpture of the Venetian quattrocento. Among all the other marvels of Venice that he describes in his 1505 travelogue is the memory of his day trip to the island of Murano. “In this little town,” he writes, “there are, I think, close to seventy artisans or more, and all are glass makers.” He describes some of the fine works that he saw there, and eagerly adds, “and there is always a great quantity of these various things completed, so that whoever arrives wants to buy something of it.” In this moment, the fifteenth-century tourist is not that far removed from his counterpart in the twenty-first century.

Historians of the Middle East and the Balkans have paid little attention to intercommunal relations in Ottoman cities prior to the onset of nationalism and the spread of communal violence in the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Each national and religious community has, therefore, focused on writing and imagining its own history with very little attention to the larger social milieu, economic and social conditions, and interactions outside confessional boundaries in the pre-modern period. The history of the Jewish community has received more attention from scholars, while that of the Greek and Armenian communities has been largely ignored. The literature on Islamic cities also tends to emphasize the homogenous composition of residential neighborhoods in contrast to the diversity of the market place. I will show that in Istanbul, residential quarters remained mixed in their social and religious make-up until Muslim migration from the Balkans during the nineteenth century enhanced the ratio of Muslims. Moreover, the debate among Ottomanists has focused on the existence or absence of the millet system (autonomous communal organizations) prior to the nineteenth century. Scholars have argued that the millet system was a nineteenth century development and that there was great fluidity and interaction among the minority communities and the Muslim majority in Ottoman cities. In the nineteenth century, Tanzimat reforms also centralized the administration of confessional communities and set legal boundaries between them that used to be more porous. Elsewhere, I have discussed the plural legal system in eighteenth century Istanbul.