Because the Seljuk throne managed to survive for sixty years after the establishment of the Mongol Protectorate in Seljuk Anatolia in 1243, there seems to have been no sudden upheaval in Anatolian society and its formal institutions. Nevertheless, a gradual, and at first rather inconspicuous, transformation took place which resulted in the shifting of centres of both power and the arts to western Anatolia in the centuries that followed. This paper addresses itself to the resulting alterations and innovations in architecture, especially with respect to the directions they gave to subsequent periods in Anatolian—Turkish architecture.

The transformations that created the classical period in Ottoman architecture began between approximately 1250 and 1450. As a result of these changes, Anatolia came to derive its models and inspiration no longer from Iran, but from the eastern Mediterranean whose traditions now gave the major direction to the following centuries in Anatolia.2 This shift in orientation was by no means sudden or radical, but rather it was the long-term result of a particular political situation. Nevertheless, a critical date in this evolutionary process seems to be around 1250, the time of the coming of the Mongols.

Man has always sought to acquire information regarding his enemies, rivals, even allies, in order to understand their motivations, predict their actions, and behave according to the best of his own interests. In the Bible, we are told that Yahveh ordered Moses to send spies to the land of Canaan. Sun-Tzu's treatise on war, written five centuries B.C., comprises a chapter on intelligence. Leo VI's Taktika insist upon the importance of intelligence, while the Thousand and One Nights contains numerous accounts of Byzantine intelligence operations. Thanks to his spy-networks, the Mongol ruler Subotaï was well aware of conditions prevailing in Christian Europe. Moctezuma's spies kept him well informed as to the strength and whereabouts of the Spanish invaders. Francis Walsingham, Elizabeth l's chancellor, had set up a formidable intelligence service. As Hobbes put it, “spies are no less important to the sovereign than rays of light to the human soul for the discernment of visible objects.”

No other people in the world, perhaps, have given more information in their poetry on their cultural and social life than have the Arabs over the centuries. Many years before the advent of Islam and long before they had any national political organization, the Arabs had developed a highly articulate poetic art, strict in its syntax and metrical schemes and fantastically rich in its vocabulary and observation of detail. The merciless desert, the harsh environment in which the Arabs lived, their ever shifting nomadic life, left almost no traces of their social structure and the cultural aspects of their life. It is only in their poetry – these monuments built of words – that we find such evidence, and it speaks more eloquently than cuneiform on marble statues ever could.

Despite his importance, no substantial study has been devoted to the career of Abū 'l-'Abbās Ahmad b. Idrīs al-Hasanī al-'Arā'ishī al-Fāsī (d. 1837); most accounts of him appear by way of a preface to studies of his pupils. And yet through his teachings, pupils, and family, he was undoubtedly one of the key religious figures of the early 19th century Arab Muslim world. Indeed, his influence, direct and indirect, appears to have stretched from North Africa to Indonesia. Three of his pupils from his immediate circle established major brotherhoods, the Sanūsiyya, Khatmiyya, and Rāshidiyya, from which stemmed several other orders.

The Arab oil-based economies in the Middle East are experiencing a period of unprecedented economic growth and prosperity owing to the recent dramatic increases in their oil revenues. The countries, however, have started to encounter considerable difficulty in implementing their overly ambitious development plans. Their economies are exhibiting obvious signs of tension and stress with acute bottlenecks developing in many areas and sectors. These bottlenecks relate basically to their generally narrow resource base, inadequate infrastructure, profound labor shortages especially in skilled and highly trained manpower, and inefficient administrative machinery. The cumulative impact of these factors diminishes the capacity of these countries to absorb their tremendous oil revenues productively.

The archival material in Istanbul, which presents a unique picture of the mechanism of patronage in Islamic architecture, has evoked only sporadic attention from the time of Ahmet Refik's valuable publications of pertinent Ottoman documents. Indisputably, however, the greatest contribution has been that of the late Ömer Lutfi Barkan, whose direction of a team of researchers on the surviving account books for the construction of the mosque of Süleymaniye and its associated complex/külliye (foundation inscription dated 964'1556–1557, though the works almost certainly continued beyond this date) has resulted in the apperarance of a remarkable work, Süleymaniye Camii ve Inşaati, Vols. I, II (Ankara 1972–1979). The documentation covers a period of roughly seven years and gives virtually a day-to-day picture of the sequence of construction and the constitution of the labour force. This is not the only story the documents have to tell, as Barkan first pointed out almost twenty years ago.

The first two articles in this issue, reflecting growing scholarly interest in the global era of decolonization in the two decades after World War II, track multilayered local, regional, and global forces that shaped particular historical shifts during these pivotal years. Cyrus Schayegh, in “1958 Reconsidered: State Formation and the Cold War in the Early Postcolonial Arab Middle East,” revisits the political crises that tore rapidly through the central Arab states in 1958, focusing on Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan, all of which were “sandwiched between the unstable poles of the Arab state system, Iraq and Egypt.” While Schayegh concurs with previous scholarship that the convulsions of that year did not lead to the deep sociopolitical and ideological transformations in the region that many contemporaries either hoped or feared, he argues that they can now be read as marking a historical milestone of a different sort. In all three countries, the events of 1958 sparked immediate, dramatic, and persistent “state-formation surges,” particularly through the rapid implementation of development plans aimed at defusing both socioeconomic discontent and the political aspirations fueled by Nasirist Arab nationalism on one side and Arab communist movements on the other. Schayegh suggests that these state-formation surges in turn shaped similarities in the three countries’ subsequent historical development in spite of stark differences in their political systems of governance.