Heather Juliussen-Stevenson

May 13, 2013

Bibliophilia and the “Other”: Kitāb al-Fihrist

Ibn al-Nadīm’s (d. 379-81/990-91) Kitab al-Fihrist claims to be a listing of all of the

extant works translated into Arabic at the time that it was written. Whether or not this is true, the

Fihrist is much more than a book catalogue. It contains bibliographical notes on translators,

scribes and authors, ranging from several pages to nothing more than the names of particular

people and the works with which they were associated. The Fihrist also contains extensive

discussions about the societies among whom the translated works were believed, correctly or not,

to have originated. Such an ambitious work provides a treasure trove of information on tenth

century attitudes towards non-Muslims and non-Arabs. At the same time, it provides a

commentary on Muslim Arab-speaking identity, whether the latter was seen to stand in league or

opposition to the peoples whose texts had come to be so significant to Ibn al-Nadīm. The

mechanisms by which this ostensibly “foreign” learning was incorporated into or excluded from

the conceptual framework of Muslim Arabic-reading identity varied throughout this period. Abu

Ḥāmid Muḥammad Ibn Muḥammad al-Ṭusī al-Ghazālī (d. 504-505/1111), for instance, was far

less willing to recognize the value of Greco-Roman contributions to Muslim thought.1 Ibn al-

Nadīm’s openness to non-Muslim non-Arab texts seems to reflect the interests of a textual

community of book collectors and readers, for whom bibliophilia seems to have overridden

doctrinal and social inclinations towards alienation.

1
The Incoherence of the Philosophers of al-Ghazālī criticizes Muslims (First Introduction 11) who have rejected
traditional Muslim practices in favor of Greek philosophers. Al- Ghazzālī, The Incoherence of the Philosophers,
translated by Michael Marmura, Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1997: First Introduction 1.

1
 Abῡ al-Faraj Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq ibn Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq, otherwise known as Ibn al-

Nadīm or al-Nadīm (a reference to either his father’s or his own position as a nadīm, or court

companion), was born circa 323-4/935, as the son of a book dealer. He probably grew up in

Baghdad, where Bayard Dodge imagines the young boy being immersed in a heady atmosphere

of book purchasing, book copying and literary debating. Dodge conjectures that Ibn al-Nadīm

would have attended a school attached to a mosque, then joined a study circle for more advanced

learning, before joining his father in the book trade. As Dodge points out, a book catalogue like

the Fihrist would have been particularly useful to book sellers such as his father.2

Little else is known of Ibn al-Nadīm. He appears to have written another work besides the

Fihrist; unfortunately, it is no longer extant. According to Ibn Ḥajar, he was both a Shī’ite and a

Mu’tazilī, and Dodge accepts these assertions on the basis of Ibn al-Nadīm’s clear interest in the

two. The extent of Ibn al-Nadīm’s travels is not well documented, but he did mention in the

Fihrist that he had met a book collector in al-Mawṣil. It is also unclear just where he served as a

court companion, if he actually did so. In any case, Dodge believes that Ibn al-Nadīm would not

have begun to consolidate his large collection of notes in order to write the Fihrist until his court

service had come to an end. Ibn Ḥajar recorded a tradition, which he admitted was unreliable,

claiming that Ibn al-Nadīm died in 1047. The Beatty manuscript of the Fihrist included a note

claiming that Ibn al-Nadīm died in 379-81/990-91, and Dodge agrees that the earlier date is

probably the correct one. Ibn al-Nadīm’s death does not appear to have halted circulation of the

Fihrist, for it shared the popularity of the many other book lists generated during this period.3

2
Bayard Dodge, “Introduction.” The Fihrist of Al-Nadīm; A Tenth-Century Survey of Muslim Culture. New York:
Columbia University Press, 1970: xv-xxiii.
3
Ibid.

2
 Below, it is argued that Ibn al-Nadīm’s love of books4 encouraged an open attitude

towards the texts he was handling, regardless of their origin. First, the non-Muslim non-Arabic

origins of these texts are explored, an effort being made to understand how Ibn al-Nadīm

perceived their history and how this affected his conceptualization of Muslim Arabic-reading5

identity. Second, Ibn al-Nadīm’s method of classification is analyzed to determine the extent to

which this reveals implicit notions about the identification of an essential Muslim Arabic

intellectual tradition and its status versus “foreign” intellectual traditions. Third, a look is taken

at the textual community in which Ibn al-Nadīm operated, the parameters of identity construction

within this community, and the role of texts in driving interaction with outsiders. Finally, the

discussion concludes with an examination of the so-called “secret” learning associated with, for

example, the scientific treatises supposedly recovered from ancient temples. The exotic appeal of

such works seems to have captured Ibn al-Nadīm’s fascination, but the suggestion of secret

knowledge alienated other Muslims who were suspicious of any learning that could not be

subjected to public scrutiny. Differences of opinion as to the legitimacy of foreign learning and

its role in Muslim Arabic-reading life underscore the high degree to which Ibn al-Nadīm

privileged texts with little regard to the polemical implications of their contents or the uses to

which they might be put. With but a few exceptions, Ibn al-Nadīm rarely expressed hostility

towards a particular body of literature or the people among whom it originated. His love of

collecting seems to have superseded any concerns for the construction of a “safe” reading list

4
By “book,” one means the sort of items that Ibn al-Nadīm included in the Fihrist, for of course many of these texts
probably did not fulfill the modern definition of a “book.”
5
The term “Muslim Arabic-reading” is treated here as though it included, on the one hand, Muslims regardless of
language or ethnicity, and on the other hand, Arabic-readers regardless of religion or ethnicity. Of course there was
variation, and that variation could have a significant impact upon the reception and use of texts. However, the
emphasis here is on the inclusiveness of the textual community in question. The use of religion, ethnicity, language,
and other factors to exclude members from this community would have to be the subject of another paper. The term
“read” is meant to include the aural and oral dimensions of reading during this period.

3
that would protect any one set of Muslim Arab-speaking interests or ideals. It is certainly

possible that Ibn al-Nadīm simply hid his bias, hoping to shape ideology by excluding offensive

works. Yet this would have meant opening himself up to criticism that the Fihrist was not as all-

inclusive as it claimed, and for lack of more exhaustive analysis or the existence of numerous

other book lists from this period with which to compare the Fihrist, one is inclined to accept take

Ibn al-Nadīm at his word. For him, a love of books was more important than doctrinal issues

related to their content.

Origin Stories

According to Ibn al-Nadīm, the Greco-Roman learning that had become the jumping-off

point for the flourishing Muslim scholarship of his age originated in Babylon. Citing Abῡ Sahl

ibn Nawbakht (d. late second century/late seventh-early eighth century), Ibn al-Nadīm identified

Hermes as a great scholar of Babylon. Having studied the many learned texts that had been

collected by the Persians, Hermes travelled to Egypt where he assumed power, seeing to it that

Babylonian learned traditions were preserved in his new place of residence. When Alexander the

Great later invaded Persia, several scientific works were destroyed during the fighting. Under

Alexander’s orders, many of the surviving works were translated into Greek and demotic, and

the original Persian material was destroyed. He sent the texts, along with scholars and treasure,

to Egypt. Fortunately, the prophet Zoroaster had forewarned the Persian kings of the devastation

they would suffer at Alexander’s hands, so material had been sent to China and India for

preservation. However, Persian learning declined in the region of Babylon itself from the time of

Alexander until Ardashir, the first of the Sassanian kings, who saw to it that texts were re-

appropriated from Greece, China and India. He reassembled the Persian royal library from the

scattered material and by uncovering the meager material that still remained in the area of

4
Babylon itself. Under a subsequent Persian king, all of this material was translated into the

Persian language, and both native and foreign texts were included in the educational curriculum.6

This tale is just one of many stories that Ibn al-Nadīm recorded about the history of the

Muslim Arabic-reading intellectual tradition.7 Whether or not Ibn al-Nadīm believed that that

these stories were true, his decision to include them indicates the significance that he accorded to

this history.8 These stories provided genealogies of a sort, allowing the current generation of

thinkers who were reading the Fihrist to trace their intellectual lineage all the way back to

Babylon. In so far as one’s descent served as an identifying marker—and the popularity of

biographical dictionaries in this period is rather telling on the importance of descent to this

community9—the Fihrist was a site of memory for Arabic readers. This observation takes on

special import in light of Patrick Geary’s recent work on the ways in which historical memory is

constructed as a strategy for forging group solidarity. He has helped to explicate the mechanisms

by which memory functions as a guide to self-knowledge for the individual members of a group,

shaping personal narratives and decision-making models. Memory is always somewhat

constructed, with limitations on the amount of information that one can remember be

supplemented by creative narrative strategies by which one unconsciously fills gaps and links the

past to the present. Whatever memories do not appear to link coherently to the present are in

danger of being lost. Within a group setting, the constructed nature of memory lends itself to the
6
Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq Ibn al-Nadīm, The Fihrist of Al-Nadīm; A Tenth-Century Survey of Muslim Culture.
Translated by Bayard Dodge. New York: Columbia University Press, 1970: 7.1 pages 572-75.
7
For instance, he recorded that Ptolemy Philadelphus assembled a large collection of learned writings referencing
important works that were still to be found in India, Babylon, Persia and Greece (Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 page 576). Ibn
al-Nadīm also noted the existence of several competing theories for the origin of medicine, some crediting the
Egyptians, others the people of Qῡ or Babylon or Persia or India or elsewhere (Ibn al-Nadīm 7.3 pages 673-74). This
claim was followed by a sort of genealogy of medical knowledge, with the biographies and texts of leading
physicians ranging from Asclepius to Galen (Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 pages 590-615).
8
Even if he was driven by “fickle” antiquarian interests, the indulgence of such “fickle” interests suggests a
fetishization that is meaningful to the subject at hand. See below for a discussion of the fetishization of texts.
9
Chase Robinson, Islamic Historiography. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

5
drafting of propaganda.10 The Fihrist, therefore, fostered the construction of shared identity

among its Arabic readers by establishing a collective memory. Readers were united to the extent

that they remembered the same history as narrated by the Fihrist. The collective nature of their

identity was further aided by Ibn al-Nadīm’s decision to exclude anything not written in Arabic.

His readers were, first and foremost, readers of Arabic.

Given the role of history in the construction of collective memory, it is all the more vital

that one examine narratives like the one above about the preservation of Babylonian learning to

see what light these “histories” might shed upon the construction of Muslim Arabic-reading

identity. George Saliba accepts that Ibn al-Nadīm probably believed the Babylonian tale was

true; however, the improbable nature of this tale has convinced Salba that larger social factors

were behind the initial construction and continued repetition of this “memory.” Saliba contends

that Abū Sahl, Ibn al-Nadīm’s source for the tale, was the astrologer for Hārūn al-Rashīd and a

son of the same astrologer who helped cast the horoscope for Baghdad under al-Mansur. The

Babylonian origin story seems to reflect a pro-Persian stance on Abῡ Sahl’s part and a desire to

elevate the antiquity of his profession.11 Saliba seems to be correct in rejecting this tale as a

viable explanation for the transmission of texts from antiquity, for it relies too much on chance.

Nevertheless, the tale has value for explaining what tenth century Muslim Arabic-readers

thought of themselves in terms of their past.

For this reason, Saliba’s treatment of this narrative, as though it were created sui generis

in a Muslim context, is misleading. Kevin Van Bladel has presented evidence that pre-Islamic

10
Patrick Geary, Phantoms of Remembrance: Memory and Oblivion at the end of the first Millennium. Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1994: 9-19.
11
George Saliba, Islamic Science and the Making of the European Renaissance. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press,
2007: 33-40.

6
astrologers were aware of these origin stories,12 and Greco-Roman tradition contained similar

narratives. Many Greco-Roman texts claim that the Chaldaeans, Babylonian priest-astronomers,

were actually the principle authorities on arcane and esoteric matters, competing only with the

Egyptians in the depths of their expertise. The work of these Chaldaeans was brought to the

attention of the Greeks following the conquest of Alexander. This origin story was influential for

Greco-Roman thinkers like Iamblichus, who traced theurgy to both Egyptian and Chaldaean

sources. The association of Greco-Roman figures, such as Asclepius, with Hermes and the

Babylonians, served to bolster their curriculum vitae and the prestige of the texts with which

they were associated.13 Thus, stories about Babylonian learning seem to reflect a long-standing

tradition of tracing Mediterranean intellectual traditions back to ancient and foreign sources.

No doubt Abū Sahl had personal reasons for promoting a story celebrating the

importance of Babylon in the preservation of learning. In so doing, though, he was also

following an established pattern of collective memory construction via memories about the

“Other.” In the process, the “Other” was to some degree domesticated, at least for Muslim

thinkers who supported the Greco-Roman brand of intellectual inquiry. Sā’id al-Andalusī (d.

462-3/1070) carried this concept a step further, legitimizing Greco-Roman philosophers by

linking them to biblical figures of the Old Testament.14 This discourse allowed Abbasid elites to

12
Kevin Van Bladel. The Arabic Hermes: From Pagan Sage to Prophet of Science. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2009: 160.
13
Garth Fowden, The Egyptian Hermes: A Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind. Cambridge
[Cambridgeshire]: Cambridge University Press, 1986: 134-36.
14
Socrates is even credited with discouraging the worship of idols, a tellingly positive and monotheistic twist to this
history (Franz Rosenthal, Emile Marmorstein, and Jenny Marmorstein. The Classical Heritage in Islam. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1975: 39-41). Yūcesoy argues that the inclusion of monotheistic details in this
discourse facilitated the acceptance of this learning within the Muslim community (Hayrettin Yūcesoy, “Translation
as Self-Consciousness: Ancient Sciences, Antediluvian Wisdom, and the 'Abbāsid Translation Movement.” Journal
of World History, Vol. 20, No. 4 (Dec., 2009): 526).

7
construct a cohesive collective memory in which the contemporary flourishing of Muslim-Arabic

thought seemed a logical conclusion.15

If memories of a Greco-Roman and Babylonian lineage were merely appropriated by

Muslim Arabic-reading thinkers to justify their current supremacy of the intellectual field, then

how was this related to political discourse celebrating the supremacy of the Abbasids versus the

Byzantines? Hayrettin Yūcesoy argues that Abbasid translation, along with every other act of

translation, had underlying political implications, suggesting the subjugation of the culture

whose language that was being translated. No act of translation is perfect; changes are always

introduced.16 Ibn al-Nadīm was aware of this. Quoting Aristotle, he praised the passage in

question, commenting that it was so attractive in translation that the original must have been that

much more pleasing.17 Elsewhere, he reported that Ahmad ibn 'Abd Allāh ibn Salām cut bits

from the Torah and other religious writings if they were difficult to translate into Arabic.18

Revision could also be driven by more polemical interests. For instance, Yūcesoy mentions one

translator who removed the name of Zeus from the text he was working on and replaced Apollo

with Allah.19

The Fihrist seems relatively benign, even positive, in its attitude towards other languages.

It privileges Arabic by including works solely written in that language, but the first section

includes a long discussion of non-Arabic languages and includes examples of non-Arabic scripts.

The Fihrist does seem to pass judgment, however, on the Greco-Romans through the behavior of

two pivotal persons and their treatment of texts: Alexander and Julian.

15
Yūcesoy 557.
16
Ibid., 529-31.
17
Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 page 596.
18
Ibid., 1.2 page 42.
19
Yūcesoy 533.

8
 As mentioned above, Ibn al-Nadīm accused Alexander—who was a Macedonian but was

perhaps perceived by Muslim Arabic-readers as a Greek—of destroying learned texts in

Babylon. But Alexander had only done so after securing his own copies, so perhaps Muslim

Arabic-reading thinkers believed that Alexander was motivated out of a disreputable desire to

keep learning out of Persian hands. Ibn Abī Uṣaibi’ah (d. 668-9/1270), citing Abū Naṣr

Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad Fārābī (d. 338-9/950), recounted a more serious outbreak of Greco-

Roman negativity towards learned texts. According to Ibn Abī Uṣaibi’ah, Alexandria was a

center of learning until the Christians suppressed philosophical education. From that point

onward, philosophical learning was preserved in secret, until only two scholars on the subject

remained, one of whom settled in Baghdad. For reasons which either Ibn Abī Uṣaibi’ah or al-

Fārābī did not disclose, Muslims eventually began to study the learning that Christians rejected.20

Saliba contends that this story reveals al-Fārābī’s desire to participate in a genealogical lineage

of knowledge extending far back into antiquity, as well as an ideological interest on al-Fārābī’s

part to position Muslim thinkers as heroes of intellectual pursuits, indulging and fostering

philosophical discourse that was condemned in the contemporary Christian Byzantine world.21

Ibn al-Nadīm related a similar narrative about Greco-Roman Christians banning

philosophy and destroying learned texts. His account of this persecution includes a confused

story about the emperor Julian. According to the Fihrist, Julian was notable for both reversing

anti-philosophical measures carried out under the previous Christian emperors and for managing

to imprison the Persian king, Shapur. Shapur supposedly secured his release through Julian’s

daughter, who had fallen in love with him. Shapur’s escape was taken as a good omen by his

followers, and the Persians rallied and attacked the Romans. Julian died in the battle that

20
Rosenthal 50-51.
21
Saliba 7.

9
followed and Shapur saw to it that Julian’s favorite was selected as the next emperor, providing

the Romans with a safe retreat through Persian territory in exchange for the Romans restoring

property damaged during their initial march through Persia. Afterwards, Christianity regained

dominance within the Roman Empire and philosophical texts were prohibited.22

This tale has little historical basis. Shapur was not taken prisoner by Julian and he had no

hand in determining Julian’s successor. It is true that Julian favored the Greco-Roman

philosophical tradition, opposed Christian learning, and died in battle against the Persians. Yet

even if the other details of this story were true, one would still need to explain its presence in the

Fihrist. After all, what does the imprisonment of a Persian king, a love story, a battle, and a

peace treaty have to do with the transmission of Greco-Roman learning into Muslim Arabic-

reading hands? Perhaps these details were incorporated simply because they were interesting, but

their inclusion seems to reveal something more important about how Muslim Arabic-readers

positioned themselves vis-à-vis the West.

Did the Muslim Arabic-reading audience of this tale identify more with the Persian

Shapur or the Roman Julian? Julian is praised as a proponent of learning and his capture of

Shapur surely demonstrated his tactical expertise. At first glance, Shapur seems to be relegated to

a subservient position. He is not only captured, but he escapes only by seducing Julian’s

daughter. Perhaps the Muslim Arabic-reading audience was meant to identify with the

philosophy-loving Julian. A second reading, however, complicates this facile interpretation.

Julian is praised, but this primarily serves to establish him as a worthy adversary. Shapur appears

all the more admirable for defeating such an enemy. Indeed, a book-hating Christian would be

far less impressive as an opponent, and the significance of Ibn al-Nadīm’s hostile language

22
And, somewhat contradictorily, came to be treasured. Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 pages 579-81. See below for a discussion
of the inverse proportion between a text’s value and its unavailability (because it is hidden).

10
towards these book-haters is underscored by his general failure to criticize Christians elsewhere

in the Fihrist.

Notably, Shapur’s behavior in this passage seems in line with the heroes of Arabic epics

like Sirat al-AmIra DhAt al-Himma, dated to around the eleventh century. In Sirat al-AmIra

DhAt al-Himma, al-Baţāī is reputed to have learned the art of disguise under the tutelage of

Euclid. He knows seventy-one languages, a feat that would put the best Abbasid translator to

shame, and he uses his linguistic expertise to pass safely through enemy country. He boldly

recites the Bible in Constantinople. Thanks to his cunning, he and his comrades engineer many

an escape and sack multiple cities.23 Thus, al-Baţāī is depicted turning Greco-Roman learning

against the Byzantine heirs of that learning. In the Fihrist, Shapur is depicting using similar wiles

to thwart the last Greco-Roman ruler to champion Greco-Roman learning.

While one does not wish to read too much into Ibn al-Nadīm’s account of Julian’s death,

one does wonder if Shapur’s insistence on the restoration of Persian property (though texts are

not mentioned) was interpreted as revenge against Alexander, who had destroyed the Babylonian

versions of the learning that Julian so valiantly tried to preserve from the book-hating Christians.

Indeed, it seems worth noting that elsewhere Ibn al-Nadīm accused Alexander of being the true

source of what the cataloguer considered a quite vulgar literary tradition: The collection of tales

narrated by Scheherazade. Usually, Muslim Arabic-readers praised Alexander, so Ibn al-Nadīm’s

criticism of the Macedonian on this point seems all the more remarkable. According to the

Fihrist, Sheherazad's famous tales should not be attributed to the Persians, with whom they are

usually associated, but rather to the court of Alexander, who collected the tales and had them

safeguarded. While this suggests a pro-Persian bias on Ibn al-Nadīm’s part, one notes that he was

23
M. C. Lyons, The Arabian Epic: Heroic and Oral Story-Telling, Volume I: Introduction. New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1995: 119-21.

11
happy to attribute a similar but more laudable project to Abū Abd Allāh Muḫammad ibn 'Abdūs

al-Jahshiyāri. Ibn al-Nadīm’s distaste for Alexander’s project cannot have stemmed from

Alexander’s foreign derivation, for al-JahshiyārI was collecting foreign stories.24 However, it is

possible that Ibn al-Nadīm used Alexander’s non-Muslim non-Arab identity to distance the

Muslim Arabic-reader from tales which Ibn al-Nadīm found distasteful.

To be sure, the vitriolic nature of Ibn al-Nadīm’s condemnation of these tales is

surprising. He rarely passed such a strong judgment against the works that he mentioned. One is

tempted to argue that he perceived Scheherazade as a rival whose vast collection of stories

dwarfed the Fihrist which, after all, was merely a list of works and did not go so far as to include

the actual content of those texts. Perhaps he condemned her stories in order to bolster his own

credentials. Yet his passage on Scheherazade appears directly after a claim, offered on Ibn al-

Nadīm’s own authority, that the Persians were the first people to create libraries, the contents of

which were passed onto the Achmaenids and then onto the Sassanians, until they arrived in the

hands of the Arabic-readers who translated them, refining and elaborating what they found.25 Ibn

al-Nadīm seems to have thought that it was impossible for a society that had cultivated such an

important literary tradition to be responsible for Scheherazade’s uncouth tales. It made much

more sense that a book-hater like Alexander would have patronized the composition and

preservation of these stories while destroying truly learned works. And if the Persian Shapur

defeated the last book-loving Greco-Roman ruler and insisted on the restoration of Persian

property, then this would be worthy revenge against his Macedonian predecessor. Admittedly,

this interpretation is far-fetched, but it does suggest some important ways in which Muslim

Arabic-reading thinkers may have perceived themselves vis-à-vis Greco-Roman “heroes” of the

24
Ibn al-Nadīm 8.1 page 714.
25
Ibid., 8.1 page 713.

12
past. Muslim Arabic tales about how the Greco-Romans rejected their own Greco-Roman

intellectual tradition could not help but affect how Muslim Arabic-readers saw their own

attempts to preserve and expand upon that same tradition.

Saliba argues that Ibn al-Nadīm’s genealogy of learning was constructed to emphasize

the vast gap separating Muslim Arabic-readers from their predecessors, thereby demonstrating

the impressive nature of Muslim Arabic advances. The further the Greco-Romans stood from

Muslim Arabic-reading thinkers, the greater the accomplishments of the latter.26 If Saliba is

correct though, one wonders why Ibn al-Nadīm did not simply state this. To be sure, Ibn al-

Nadīm did not have to credit the Greco-Romans with a learned tradition. 'Abd-al-Qahir al-

BaghdAdI (d. 429/1037) claimed that Greek philosophers had stolen all of their zoological

learning from Arab sages.27 Al-Ģaḫiz (d. 255/868) claimed that Christians were too irrational to

be the heirs of Greco-Roman learning and that the Byzantines were lying when they asserted

their identity as the heirs of this tradition. He pointed out that Aristotle, Galen, and the other

“great” thinkers of the ancient tradition were neither Christian nor Byzantine, and that the

Byzantines were just benefiting from their occupation of Greco-Roman territory, which was

seeded with philosophical texts. Al-Ģaḫiz lamented that the Byzantines used fictions of this sort

to assert their supremacy and to falsely claim that the Arabs were but following in their

footsteps.28

Distaste for non-Muslim non-Arabic culture is likewise reflected in discourse attributing

the Umayyad translation of the tax registers to the impertinence of a Greek scribe who urinated

26
Saliba 46.
27
Dimitri Gutas, Greek Thought, Arabic Culture The Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early
ʻAbbāsid Society (2nd-4th/8th-10th Centuries). London: Routledge, 1998: 164-65.
28
Ibid., 87.

13
in an inkpot, offending the caliph.29 As Chase Robinson has noted, an administrative change this

significant would hardly be ordered based on such a trivial event. Nevertheless, the story was

popular because it simply made sense to the people among whom it circulated. The story

reflected underlying attitudes regarding a) the preeminence of 1) Arabs and the Arabic script and

2) Muslims and the script with which the Qur’an was written, and b) the inferiority of other

cultures and the scripts with which those cultures were associated.30

Ibn al-Nadīm’s stories about the first Arabic translations since the arrival of Islam offered

still more opportunities for commenting on Muslim Arabic-reading identity. He claimed that the

first Arabic translations from Greek and Coptic under Islam were ordered by Khālid ibn Yazīd

ibn Mu’āwiyah (d. late third century/late eighth century) who was hoping to inspire the growth

of literary Arabic. The Persian dīwān was translated by a client of the Banū Tamīm; the Persians

were so threatened by this translation that they attempted to halt the project with bribes.31

Whether or not these Persians were conscious of the imperialist implications of translation, as

discussed above, they were surely driven by a desire to preserve administrative posts for Persian-

readers.

In the Fihrist, the passage about the translation of the dīwān is immediately followed by a

story explaining the proliferation of books on philosophy and ancient science among the

Muslims. This explosion of texts was attributed to a dream in which al-Ma’mūn met Aristotle.

Supposedly, al-Ma’mūn was so moved by the dream that he ordered several translations.32

Dimitri Gutas suggests that this narrative was constructed by Aristotelian philosophers seeking to

29
This act was particularly offensive in consideration of the esteem with which the “textual community” regarded
writing implements. See below.
30
Robinson 173-74.
31
Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 page 581.
32
Ibid., 7.1 page 584.

14
bolster their credentials. Indeed, a similar tale was told by Yaḫyā ibn-‘Adī, a mid-tenth century

leading Aristotelian thinker in Baghdad who knew Ibn al-Nadīm personally.33 Gutas admits that

al-Ma’mūn may have in fact patronized the translation of philosophical texts so as to garner

support for Mu'tazilite doctrines. In turn, this would have encouraged al-Ma’mūn’s critics to

attack foreign philosophy and science, as they sought to reject anything associated with the

detested caliph.34 However, the translation of Greco-Roman learning was well underway by the

reign of al-Ma’mūn, so it is misleading to credit him with the origin of these efforts. It seems that

the translation movement inspired the dream-narrative, and not the other way round.35

Saliba argues that work related to the dīwān provided the true impetus for the “translation

movement.” Administrators charged with looking after the dīwān were responsible for

understanding and performing complex mathematic operations. The initial translation of Greco-

Roman scientific texts provided some aid, but the dīwān required far more complicated

operations. Muslim Arabic-reading thinkers were forced to develop their own formulae.

Consequently, they were not simply passive transmitters of scientific learning. They were

conscious actors, intentionally seeking out texts for translation and improving upon the

contents.36 Saliba’s work provides an important corrective to earlier scholarship that tended to

downplay the contributions of Muslim Arabic-reading thinkers. Unfortunately, Saliba’s agenda

means that he is sometimes too eager to dismiss origin stories that credit Greco-Roman

influence. Though his project is admirable, his methodology runs the risk of forestalling any real

appreciation for how the Muslim Arabic-readers incorporated these traditions into their own

33
Gutas 102-104.
34
Ibid., 161.
35
Ibid., 98-100. Saliba also points out that the dream-narrative only explains the explosion of learned texts, not their
initial translation. At least some of the texts had already been translated. The dream was just meant to explain why
they became more widespread. See Saliba 47.
36
Saliba 54-55.

15
identity. To be sure, for at least some of these thinkers, identity was too closely bound up with

the “Other” for them to completely condemn it. Because the genealogy of the intellectual

tradition included Greco-Romans, the Muslim Arabic-readers who saw themselves as

descendants of this lineage could not help but understand themselves as members of a partly

foreign tradition. The references to Babylonian influence no doubt helped to facilitate the process

of identification with this intellectual history, as it was probably easier to relate to a Persian

heritage, especially for Persians, than to a solely Greco-Roman one. Regardless, that Greco-

Roman tradition must have been considered an important part of this heritage. After all, Greco-

Romans were the latest transmitters of this learning. To the extent that Muslim Arabic-readers

accepted these origin stories as pieces of their own intellectual history, these stories served as

invented traditions by which the “Other” was “safely” incorporated into the Muslim Arabic-

reading identity.

Hobsbawm defines “invented tradition” as the construction of a historical narrative for

symbolic or ritual purposes. Repetition of the tradition encourages the adoption of behavioral

norms and values legitimized by an "imagined" chain of continuity with the past.37 Although

Hobsbawm is more interested in the invented traditions of postindustrial societies, early Muslim

Arabic-readers seems to have incorporated the ritual and symbolic aspects of invented tradition

via repeated references to certain individuals, such as Aristotle and Hermes, whose names were

almost the sine qua non of philosophical and scientific discourse, even when the Muslim Arabic-

reader was only invoking their names in order to reject the learning with which they were

associated. Hobsbawm describes three important functions for invented tradition: They a)

facilitate social cohesion, b) legitimize institutions or authority in hierarchical relationships, and

37
Eric Hobsbawm, “Introduction: Inventing Tradition.” In The Invention of Tradition. Eds. Eric Hobsbawm and
Terence Ranger. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1983: 1.

16
c) educate or socialize members as to the values, beliefs, and behavioral standards of the group.38

A collective memory surrounding the transmission of learning from Babylon and the Greco-

Roman world to the present served to function as a foundation myth for Muslim Arabic-reading

scholars, facilitating social cohesion, legitimizing the authority of scholars and their patrons, and

educating Muslim Arabic-readers on shared values. This is true whether Muslim Arabic-readers

saw themselves as insiders benefitting from and improving upon what they had inherited, or as

outsiders toppling the preceding generations, just as they supposed that Islam had supplanted the

religious experiments of previous generations. This foundation myth was "imagined" in so far as

any elaboration of its details was carried out only to the extent that doing so seemed to make

sense. A doctrine or text might be falsely attributed to Aristotle or Hermes, for instance, not out

of a desire to lie, but because it made sense that Aristotle or Hermes would have written the work

in question.

So what lessons were imparted by these texts? 1) Texts were powerful, so dangerous

even that their Greco-Roman “owners” eventually tried to suppress them. 2) No matter how

important these texts were, they were preferable in their Arabic translation, for Arabic was the

language of the superior culture. 3) Muslim Arabic-readers could improve upon the learning that

was passed down through these texts. Various thinkers may have disagreed on the degree to

which Greco-Roman and Persian thinking was of use to the Muslim intellectual project, but even

the anti-philosophical polemic of a figure such as al-Ghazālī demonstrated its significance. For

why protest something unless it mattered?

From this perspective, the Fihrist is more than just a handbook for the avaricious book

collector. It is a map charting the path from the past to the present. Each text that it mentions

38
Ibid., 9.

17
serves as a stop along the path. Recognizing the importance of books to the construction of paths

through the maze of historical memory, Walter Benjamin wrote: "…the collector's passion

borders on the chaos of memories…the chance, the fate, that suffuse the past before my eyes are

conspicuously present in the accustomed confusion of these books….And indeed, if there is a

counterpart to the confusion of a library, it is the order of its catalogue."39 An index like the

Fihrist was essentially a memory organizer. It is appropriate, therefore, that this discussion next

turns to Ibn al-Nadīm’s organizational methods. These methods suggest an implicit commentary

on the validity of the intellectual enterprise and its incorporation into Muslim Arabic-reading

identity.

Classification: The Index of the Index

At first glance, the organization of a work such as the Fihrist may not seem particularly

significant. After all, Ibn al-Nadīm had to put his entries in some order; perhaps it was just

chance. Yet similarities to the various classification systems used in other works from this period

make it unlikely that Ibn al-Nadīm relied on chance, especially as classification methods were

the subject of much debate. For example, Ibn Jama'a (d. 733-4/1333), a Mamluke official,

advised the organization of texts according to their field of knowledge, then their eminence, then

their authors and finally their excellence. If two texts appeared to be equal, the one with the most

citations from hadith and the Qur’an was to be preferred.40 In some cases, a classification system

was explicitly tied to the manner in which the audience was meant to conceptualize the related

knowledge. Al-Fārābī claimed that whoever wanted to assert his mastery of science risked being

accused of fraud unless he could adequately describe the various sciences and their subdivisions.

39
Walter Benjamin, “Unpacking My Library: A Talk about Book Collecting.” In Illuminations. Edited by Hannah
Arendt. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Schocken Books: 1968, 60.
40
Michael Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice in Medieval Damascus, 1190-1350. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1994: 161.

18
That is, a scholar was expected to be able to demonstrate his knowledge within the framework of

the systems by which this knowledge was classified.41

Looking at the development of scientific classification systems in the early modern West,

Fentress and Wickham have identified a link to memorization techniques: Genus and species

served as a reminder to a particular entity's placement in a memory map, which in turn triggered

the more specific memories attached to the entity. Therefore, knowing an entity meant recalling

its classification.42 Discussions devoted to the classification of the sciences were commonplace

in the Greco-Roman treatises being translated into Arabic during this period,43 so the Muslim

Arabic-readers who developed their own classification systems were following an earlier

precedent. But they were not just mimicking what had been done before. They were forging new

paths, determining the direction from which their audience would broach these subjects, deciding

which topics were most important and organizing their presentations to suit. Thus Devin Stewart,

likening the Fihrist to the Dewey decimal system, has argued that it was more than an inventory

of texts; it was a project to map out the entire scope of knowledge.44 The Fihrist not only served

as a site of memory with regard to the origins of learning; it was a site of memory with regard to

how that learning was meant to be understood and applied within the present context.

Classification models suggested implicit rankings. For instance, a tenth century

encyclopedia, the Rasā’il Ikhwān aṣ-ṣafā’, compiled by scholars who referred to themselves as

the “faithful friends,” included alchemy among the crafts by which a person might earn a living.

The classification systems of other thinkers were more likely to include alchemy among the

41
Rosenthal 54-55.
42
James Fentress and Chris Wickham. Social Memory. Oxford, UK: Blackwell, 1992: 14.
43
C.E. Bosworth, “A Pioneer Arabic Encyclopedia of the Sciences: Al Khwarizmi's Keys of the Sciences.” Isis, Vol.
54, No. 1 (Mar., 1963): 101-102.
44
Devin Stewart, “The Structure of the Fihrist: Ibn al-Nadim as Historian of Islamic Legal and Theological
Schools.” International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 39, No. 3 (Aug., 2007): 369.

19
philosophical sciences, with astronomy.45 By including alchemy among the crafts, this

encyclopedia suggested that it was to be considered in practical terms, divorced from more

speculative pursuits. The alchemist was not a scholar; he was just another tradesmen. This could

not have helped but to have had an impact on the respect accorded to the pursuit of alchemy.

Classification systems also facilitate teaching, as demonstrated by Fentress and

Wickham’s work on the connection between classification and memorization techniques. Thus a

vast array of disorderly information can be arranged into smaller units of data which are more

readily memorized and “learned” then the undifferentiated miasma of material from which these

units are extracted. Not for nothing has Paul Heck argued that these classification systems rose to

prominence in Muslim Arabic-reading discourse via the patronage of a growing body of

bureaucrats who needed instruction manuals to aid them in the execution of their duties, which

required knowledge of tremendously varied subjects, from mathematics and water-works to

language and social customs.46 One such manual, The Book of the Land-Tax and the Art of

Writing by Qudama b. Ga'far (d. 337/948), includes only those topics that were considered

central to administration of the state. Philosophy and theology was ignored.47 Hence it is

significant that scholarly attempts at classification followed Qudama’s example. Al-Fārābī, for

example, seems to have been intent upon demonstrating the usefulness of Greco-Roman

learning, but his Enumeration of the Sciences reflects an organization more evocative of

bureaucratic educational needs than a genuine blending of knowledge categories. He listed

Muslim Arabic learning separate from and before Greco-Roman philosophy.48 To be sure, the

45
Rosenthal 55-57.
46
Paul Heck, “The Hierarchy of Knowledge in Islamic Civilization.” Arabica, T. 49, Fasc. 1 (Jan., 2002): 52.
47
Ibid., 35.
48
Ibid., 36.

20
degree to which a classification system is connected to the overall worldview into which it is

integrated seems to be well-demonstrated by the Muslim Arabic-readers’ difficulty importing the

Greco-Roman classification systems. Speculative theology and logic were particularly

challenging to incorporate.49 Thus, Abu 'Abdallah Muhammad b. Ahmad b. Yusuf al-Katib al-

Khwarizmi (d. 375/985) followed the example set by al- Fārābī and others, prioritizing of

Muslim Arabic learning at the beginning of his work in a manner that suggests an implicit effort

to privilege this material.50

Ibn al-Nadīm organized the Fihrist according to a “table of contents” provided at the

beginning of the work:

o Chapter One: Language and writing, the laws of various religious sects,

and the Qur’ān

o Chapter Two: Grammar and language schools

o Chapter Three: History, genealogies, biographies, government

administration, and courtly life

o Chapter Four: Poets and poetry

o Chapter Five: Theology and theologians

o Chapter Six: Jurisprudence and legal authorities

o Chapter Seven: Philosophy and the ancient sciences

o Chapter Eight: Fables, magic and juggling

o Chapter Nine: Various schools of seemingly exotic thought

o Chapter Ten: Alchemy51

49
Bosworth 102-103.
50
Heck 49.
51
Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 page 2-5.

21
 The Fihrist reflects an organization common to other works of this period, treating

Muslim Arabic learning first, and then Greco-Roman learning. Like Qudama and al-Fārābī, Ibn

al-Nadīm began with a discussion of language, the ubiquitous nature of this trend suggesting that

linguistics was privileged in bureaucratic and scholarly circles alike.52

Abu Hatim al-Razi’s (d. 322/933) Book of Adornment argued that humankind was

divided according to language and that the four languages spoken by the prophets should be

ranked above Greek and Indian. Just as Islam reflected the perfection of divine revelation, Arabic

represented the perfection of language.53 Heck argues that the Fihrist reflects a similar mindset.

To be sure, Ibn al-Nadīm began by discussing various languages, with an exploration of the

cultures associated with each language. Yet Heck seems to be overstating his case when he

argues that the Fihrist suggests that a) non-Muslim prophecy was rendered corrupt by virtue of

its delivery in a language other than Arabic and b) non-Muslim learning was only valuable in so

far as it had been translated into Arabic.54 It is true that Ibn al-Nadīm included only Greco-

Roman texts that had been translated, but his comments on prophecies delivered in languages

other than Arabic are by no means negative and, as he does not discuss Greco-Roman works not

translated into Arabic, it is not appropriate to assume that he believed they were inferior to

Muslim Arabic works. They simply did not fall into the parameters of his discussion.

But perhaps Ibn al-Nadīm’s decision to exclude non-Arabic works should not be

dismissed so quickly. The determination of what subjects to include or exclude in a work of this

nature allows an author, compiler or editor to wield significant power, helping elites establish the

52
Heck 37-38.
53
Ibid., 46.
54
Ibid., 48-52.

22
status of various texts and facilitating the use of these texts for the legitimization of behavior.55

Surely, the Fihrist allowed Ibn al-Nadīm to join in the creative project that produced these texts,

even if he was not a writer per se, by giving him an opportunity to pass judgment over which

texts would and would not be included. Unfortunately, even if an exhaustive analysis of extant

texts were performed, as mentioned above, it is probably impossible to determine whether or not

Ibn al-Nadīm intentionally excluded any works. It must be noted, however, that excluding a

work, even in the interests of exercising control over readership, may not have been to Ibn al-

Nadīm’s advantage. Doing so would open him up to criticism that his catalogue was not as all-

inclusive as he wanted the audience to believe.

In any case, the organization of the Fihrist seems to say less about implicit notions

regarding the inferiority of non-Muslim non-Arabic learning and more about Ibn al-Nadīm’s

participation in a textual community. The term "textual community" was coined to describe the

groups that developed around texts in the late medieval west, with these texts serving to unite the

groups in question while simultaneously reflecting the hierarchical organization of the societies

using the texts.56 The Fihrist mimics the social organization of the Muslim Arabic-reading

community in several ways. It is divided by subject but then by author/copyist/compiler, with

individuals arranged according to their social circles, so that persons who knew each other are

grouped together. Ibn al-Nadīm explicitly stated that he intended to proceed by this

methodology,57 though he did sometimes violate it. For example, persons with numerous works

on diverse subjects were listed multiple times in separate sections. And at some point the text of

the Fihrist appears to have reached a somewhat fixed state, so that when Ibn al-Nadīm neglected

55
Alan K. Bowman and Greg Woolf. “Literacy and Power in the Ancient World.” In Literacy and Power in the
Ancient World, ed. Alan K. Bowman and Greg Woolf. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994: 6-7.
56
Ibid., 13.
57
Ibn al-Nadīm 3.3 page 319.

23
to mention a singer in the section on singers where the person rightfully belonged, he simply

placed him at the end of the chapter rather than perform a revision.58

Stewart has pointed out Ibn al-Nadīm's preference for mentioning an author's date of

death over the author’s date of birth, in keeping with the practices seen in biographical

dictionaries from this period. Stewart contends that these dates provide a chronological

framework for organizing the work. 59 However, this glosses over Ibn al-Nadīm's stated goal of

listing persons according to their social grouping. Naturally, persons in the same social group

shared overlapping lifespans, but even if Ibn al-Nadīm listed persons who did not know each

other in close proximity based on when they lived, this does not necessarily mean that he had

abandoned the use of the social circle as an organizing principle. Indeed, to the degree that these

persons lived in the same span of time, one might argue that they shared a sort of community,

imagined or not. This is not to deny that Ibn al-Nadīm used a chronological framework, it is only

to point out that the use of such a framework seems to have served more than one purpose.

To this end, the Fihrist shares elements in common with ţabaqāt and mu'jam works, both

of which flourished in the tenth century. Ţabaqāt works are prosopographies organized by social

cohorts, with groups organized chronologically, by generation. Mu'jam works are biographical

dictionaries arranged alphabetically.60 Ibn al-Nadīm could have chosen to organize the Fihrist

alphabetically, like mu’jam works. It must be significant that he preferred the ţabaqāt model.

Admittedly, Ibn al-Nadīm himself stated that he organized some of his material in order

to emphasize the importance of particular persons. For instance, he indicated that he had

purposely placed Abu Yūsuf Yaʻqūb ibn ʼIsḥāq aṣ-Ṣabbāḥ al-Kindī (d. 259-60/873) after a long

58
Ibid., 3.3 page 342.
59
Stewart 371.
60
Robinson 66-67.

24
list of Greco-Roman philosophers so as to highlight the significance of al-Kindī’s contributions

to philosophy.61 On the one hand, this decision might appear to support Heck’s conclusions

regarding the imperialistic agenda of a text like the Fihrist, incorporating as it does a

classification system that originated in a bureaucracy for whom Greco-Roman learning, if it had

any value at all, was only of interest in so far as it could be appropriated and put to the use of the

government. On the other hand, it seems a disservice to accuse Ibn al-Nadīm of nurturing an

imperialistic agenda for which there is scant evidence. Consider, for instance, Ibn al-Nadīm’s

reference to a man who had deceived a Jew into transcribing the books of the prophets so that the

trickster could start his own sect.62 Ibn al-Nadīm certainly did not believe that this was what the

Muslim Arabic translators were doing, and one imagines that he would be loath to be associated

with such behavior.

Therefore, one wonders if it would not be more helpful to consider the role of these

texts—those produced by both Muslim Arabic-readers like al-Kindī and the Greco-Romans of

the past—within Ibn al-Nadīm’s textual community. Ibn al-Nadīm’s fellow bibliophiles certainly

seem to have been united by their mutual affection for the texts in question. They were

concerned with the acquisition of these objects, but not necessarily because the texts were

perceived as items outside of their community and thus subject to appropriation, but rather

because they identified themselves with these texts, and the activities associated with their

collection and discussion served to confirm group identity.

The Textual Community: Bibliophiles and the Texts that Connected Them

Ibn al-Nadīm’s textual community, which Shawkat Toorawa refers to as a “writerly

culture,” consisted of persons brought together by a common interest in texts. Interaction was

61
Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 page 615.
62
Ibid., 9.1 page 813.

25
fostered by the need to obtain, read, translate, cite, discuss, sell, borrow, and otherwise exchange

texts. The growth of such a community naturally went hand in hand with the growing

significance of writing and literacy. In circular fashion, the power of the text leant significance to

the communities with which they were associated, and as the social status of these communities

rose, competition within and without the communities increased.63 The Fihrist in and of itself is

a testament to the transformation of oral works into written texts with a fixed form. Ibn al-

Nadīm's habit of giving the length of particular works seems to reflect issues related to the

distribution of semi-fixed or abridged works. The distribution of progressively fixed works

indicates the growth of a writing tradition and continued debates over the authority of oral versus

written records, while the circulation of abridged works may reflect the economic factors

governing the expense of reproducing a text. Regardless, the creation of an index like the Fihrist

presupposed the legitimacy of written texts.64

Book markets appear to have provided foci for social interaction above and beyond

providing commercial space for local patrons. For instance, Abu 'Abdallah ibn Battuta (d. 769-

80/1368-9) was able to obtain lodging with the booksellers of Tunis in the fourteenth century.65

Baghdad in the tenth century must have been a delight for a book lover like Ibn al-Nadīm. Its sūq

al-warrāqīn, or book market, offered perhaps as many as one hundred different shops for the

discerning and not so discerning reader. One could attend an auction, make a simple purchase,

commission a copy, idly peruse a dealer's selection, or read in private. Texts were no longer

63
Shawkat Toorawa, Ibn Abī Ṭāhir Ṭayfῡr and Arabic Writerly Culture: A Ninth-Century Bookman in Baghdad.
New York: Routledge Curzon, 2005: 25.
64
Robinson.
65
Frederick G. Kilgour, The Evolution of the Book. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998: 65.

26
limited to the collections of wealthy patrons. There were now public and private libraries, and in

the following decades madrasahs began to spread.66

The book market’s importance as a center for social interaction was recognized in

279/892-3 when Baghdad booksellers were forbidden from trading certain books and

discouraged from hosting debates. It appears that the state feared both the influence of the texts

that were being made available and the discussions that they were inspiring.67 Writing of

Damascus a century later, Michael Chamberlain describes the extent to which reading was

considered a social activity. People were discouraged from reading in private. Texts were meant

to be performed, either with one’s instructor or as a community event. Elites were celebrated for

their ability to memorize and recite texts on demand.68

Thus, Ibn al-Nadīm’s textual community included all of the persons with whom he

interacted in the book market, the persons with whom he shared texts outside this market, and the

persons with whom he discussed particularly notable finds. The Fihrist itself, being organized

into social circles, to some degree replicated this sort of textual community, the biographical

notes being expanded to include not only authors, compilers, translators, copiers, and collectors,

but also elite patrons. Indeed, by composing the Fihrist, Ibn al-Nadīm managed to insert himself

within its imagined textual community, one that stretched all the way back to Adam, to whom

Ibn al-Nadīm attributed writing on clay tablets.69 Citing isnads to verify some traditions, attesting

to the authenticity of other traditions based on his visual inspection of the texts in question70

(obtained through his participation in the real world textual community in which these texts were

66
Toorawa 56-58, 124.
67
Gutas 161-62.
68
Chamberlain 141-48.
69
Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 pages 7-9.
70
Ibid., 3.1 pages 197 and 193, respectively.

27
exchanged), and vouching for still other traditions based on his own authority (without

specifying how he knew what he claimed to know), Ibn al-Nadīm asserted his right to

membership within the textual community alongside significant patrons like Julian. One’s

identity within this textual community was certainly not fixed. In order to be a scholar, one also

had to be a book collector, and possibly a translator, copyist,71 and patron as well. Ibn al-Nadīm

wore many masks, as he copied, collected, wrote and traded texts.

Ibn al-Nadīm relied on the support of his fellow bibliophiles—including a Christian

whom Ibn al-Nadīm praised as a source of great help—who shared their notes and texts with

him, thereby enabling the composition of the Fihrist.72 Hence, texts served as a justification for

linking him to people in the real world just as texts served as a justification for the linking of

social circles in the Fihrist. Through these linked social circles, a single text had the ability to

connect a collector like Ibn al-Nadīm to another collector, then a copyist, then a translator or

author/compiler, then a patron, then copyist after copyist, then Plato, then Pythagoras, and then

Hermes or perhaps even a biblical figure, with intervals spent with Alexander or some other

notable.73 The imagined origin stories and the social circles drawn around each text allowed the

Muslim Arabic-readers of Ibn al-Nadīm’s textual community to associate themselves with the

71
Ibn al-Nadīm’s decision to devote several passages of the Fihrist to copyists demonstrates his recognition of their
significance in the textual community. Yet skill at copying was not necessarily a ticket to wealth and fame. Abū
Hiffān (d. 257/871) was told by one copyist that his life seemed to have become restricted to a space smaller than an
inkwell, that his body was less sturdy than a guide-sheet, his countenance blacker than ink, his means less
substantial than the slit of a pen, his hands more feeble than a reed, and his drink more bitter than ink (Toorawa 58).
Telling as this text may be for the obstacles faced by a copyist, it is significant for demonstrating the degree to
which some persons had come to see themselves in terms of writing, with one's body, mind-frame and sustenance
likened to the implements of the craft.
72
Ibn al-Nadīm 3.2 page 287.
73
They were his reward for emerging as the victor in contests against fellow collectors and they served as his link to
a community extending into the past. Likewise, handling an 1838 edition of Balzac's Peau de chagrin, Walter
Benjamin saw "not only its number in the Rumann collection, but even the label of the shop in which the first owner
bought the book over ninety years ago" (Benjamin 64).

28
great philosophers of the preceding centuries merely by reading, collecting, commissioning,

copying, translating and revising their texts, even if these texts were falsely attributed.

Therefore, while it might be argued that the inclusion of Greco-Romans within the Fihrist

was an attempt at appropriation and, more damning still, an attempt to “domesticate” the “Other”

through translation and classification, it is also clear that their inclusion within the catalogue

facilitated an imagined dialogue with the west. For some Muslim Arabic-readers, translation

facilitated a rejection of the “Other,” enabling a systematic repudiation of everything they

symbolized. For others, translation opened doors to both foreign cultures and the past. This

sometimes had real world consequences. For instance, Abū 'Amr Kulthūm ibn 'Amr al-'Attābi (d.

208/823 or 220/835) was an avid reader of the Persian literature collected in the library in Merv,

and such was his fascination for these works that he made copies, left and then returned to copy

still more. Leaving again, he introduced himself to the Persian-speaking ibn al-Ḫasan and

afterwards took great delight in trading quotations from Persian texts with his new friend.74

Membership within the real world textual community was driven primarily by a love of

books, regardless of imperialist designs. Ibn al-Nadīm referred to one al-Fatḫ ibn Khāqān, who

apparently used to carry texts in his sleeves and shoes, and would read whenever he had free

time, even in the latrine.75 Ibn al-Nadīm quoted Socrates to the effect that reading was worth

losing one’s eyesight, and quoted ibn 'Amr al-'Attābi on the function of a book as a favorite

companion who could always be trusted.76

74
Toorawa 76
75
Ibn al-Nadīm 3.2 page 255.
76
Ibid., 1.1 page 20.

29
 Ibn al-Nadīm is but one of many sources from this period on the rise of bibliophilia. Ibn

Durayd (d. 321/933) claimed to prefer literary parties over fine estates and beautiful singers.77

Al-WāqidI (d. 207-8/823) supposedly owned six hundred trunks of books, and al-Jāḫiz (d. 254-

5/868) apparently owned so many books that when they toppled over, he was killed. One tenth

century courtier reportedly refused a promotion because he did not want to have to move his

library, which consisted of more than four hundred camel loads of books.78 He seems to have

cared far more about his collection than social and financial advancement.

One should not assume, however, that the exchange of books always proceeded along

friendly lines. Bibliophilia no doubt inspired serious competition, encouraging enmity in some

cases while encouraging alliances in others. Ibn al-Nadīm alluded to the heated nature of this

rivalry, describing how Abū Zakarīyā' Yaḫyā ibn 'Adī wanted to buy some commentaries on

Aristotle for one hundred and twenty gold coins, but while he was away collecting the money, he

was outbid by a rival from Khurāsān who offered three thousand gold coins.79

Social factors must have played some role in book-related interaction, with ethnic,

financial and religious influences shaping the connections made within the book trade. Some

argue that Ibn al-Nadīm was pro- Shī’ite,80 though the evidence for this is slim and one is want to

claim that, as seems to be demonstrated by the lack of hostility expressed towards non-Muslims

in the Fihrist, Ibn al-Nadīm’s love for books simply overrode religious, ethnic and cultural

interests. For Ibn al-Nadīm’s audience, such factors may have played at least some part in

determining which of the items listed in the Fihrist drew the most attention. By the same token,

77
Toorawa 4-5.
78
Robinson 7.
79
Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 pages 608-9.
80
Ibid., xv-xxiii.

30
texts were thought to be capable of having a profound effect upon the reader, influencing

behavior. Thus, efforts were sometimes made to restrict access to various texts, as demonstrated

by the 279/892-3 book bans. Indeed, Chamberlain has argued that some books were thought to

carry baraka, or spiritual power.81

The attraction to a text encouraged a fascination with the materials on which it was

written and the tools with which it was written. Hence, important texts like the Qur’an were

thought to require the use of finer scripts. Ibn al-Nadīm described the care with which one al-Sarī

prepared a book for a friend: al-Sarī bound the book in black leather and wrote on the back that

the color of the binding was in fact a veil, the text itself being like the dawn and the binding like

the night. Al-Sarī wrote that he meant the text to be a stand-in for actual companionship.82 This

passage is telling not only with regard to the premium placed on texts as material objects, but

also in terms of their role in the maintenance of social relationships in textual communities.

When friends could not see each other, they sent texts instead. This text exchange helped to

preserve social ties. The appreciation of a text as a material object only underscored the value of

this exchange. Abū Bakr ibn Shādhān (d. 376/986) heaped praise upon the colored bindings of

his teacher’s extensive collection,83 implying that this symbolized the beauty of the wisdom

contained therein. Ibn al-Nadīm certainly appreciated the contributions of bookbinders to the

textual community. The Fihrist refers to several bookbinders who were commemorated,

presumably for excellence in performing their craft.84

81
Chamberlain 137
82
Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 page 21.
83
Toorawa 23.
84
Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 page 18.

31
 A few passages in the Fihrist are devoted to the different sorts of mediums on which

writing is recorded.85 According to Ibn al-Nadīm, the kings of Persia were so concerned with the

preservation of scientific writings that they ensured that these were recorded on the most durable

material available, which in this case was the bark of a white poplar tree. The Chinese and the

Indians followed their example.86

Ibn al-Nadīm quotes several learned persons, including Aristotle and al-Kindī, in praise

of the pen, going so far as to provide al-Kindī's breakdown of the numerological values for the

letters used to spell "pen" and "usefulness," so as to prove that the two terms are equivalent.87

There is even a section on the different ways that various nations sharpen their pens.88 According

to The Book of Gifts and Rarities, a fifteenth century manuscript apparently representing the

transmission of an eleventh century Fatimid text, the Fatimid palace contained several boxes full

of pen boxes made of gold, silver, sandalwood, ebony, ivory, and so on. Some of these were

worth as much as one thousand dinars, and that was not taking into account the jewels with

which they were decorated.89

Ibn al-Nadīm provided several traditions regarding the high premium placed on good

penmanship, especially in composition of the Qu'ran.90 Multiple passages of the Fihrist are

devoted to men known for their fine penmanship. Ibn al-Nadīm concluded with sayings that

85
Ibid., 1.1 page 39-40.
86
Ibid., 7.1 pages 576-79.
87
Ibid., 1.1 pages 18-19.
88
Ibid., 1.1 pages 38-39.
89
Anonymous. Book of Gifts and Rarities (Kitāb al-Hadāyā wa al-Tuḥaf). Translated by Ghāda al-Ḥijjāwī al-
Qaddῡmī. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996: paragraph 381.
90
Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 page 10-11. Ibn Khaldun claimed that certain letters were imbued with occult properties
(Mushegh Asatrian, “Ibn Khaldūn on Magic and the Occult.” Iran & the Caucasus, Vol. 7, No. 1/2 (2003): 74 ).

32
likened bad penmanship to a chronic disease and a sterile culture.91 Of course, the first section of

the Fihrist is addressed to the wide variety of scripts known in the world, and the origin of the

Arabic script in particular. The first origin story for the Arabic script attributed this innovation to

a group of Bedouin Arabs, while the second story attributed it to foreigners who became

Arabized, suggesting again Ibn al-Nadīm’s disinterest in privileging a particular ethnic identity.

Admitting that it was probably impossible to know who really invented the Arabic script, Ibn al-

Nadīm proceeded to offer a tradition—for which he disavowed responsibility—claiming that

both the Arabic and Persian scripts could be traced back to Adam.92

Ibn al-Nadīm’s descriptions of other scripts and writing habits, from Saxony to China,

provide anecdotal details that appear to have occasionally perplexed him. For instance, when

writing of the Turkish habit of exchanging messages by tracing images on split arrows, he

confessed that only Allah knew the truth of such matters.93 However, this exposition of the

various scripts used by each culture seems to have served a double purpose. While imparting

simple facts regarding the scripts of other people—perhaps he was hoping that linguists could

use his writing samples to further future translation projects—this discussion also provided a

context within which to describe encounters with foreigners. For example, testimony regarding

the al-Şughd script was apparently provided by a visitor to Upper Iran and testimony regarding

Chinese Collective Writing was provided by a visitor from China to Muḥammad ibn Zakarīyā’

al-Rāzī.94 Ibn al-Nadīm’s knowledge of the Frankish script was supposedly based on its

appearance on Frankish swords and in a letter from a queen of the Franks to al-Muktafī

91
Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 Dodge 11-20
92
Ibid., 1.1 pages 6-7.
93
Ibid., 1.1 page 37.
94
Ibid., 1.1 pages 33 and 31, respectively.

33
proposing marriage.95 While one does not wish to engage in wild speculation, this juxtaposition

of foreign swords (either as representations of the vanquished enemy or as highly desired spoils)

and a marriage proposal does suggest some sense in which the “Other” may have been

romanticized via discourse on the nature of their scripts.

The exchange of texts as gifts appears to have driven interaction in the wider political

arena, with texts serving as gifts to and from foreign rulers. The Book of Gifts and Rarities refers

to texts exchanged by the Fatimids and Chinese and Indian rulers.96 According to Ibn al-Nadīm,

al-Ma’mῡn decided to delay hostilities against the Byzantine emperor in the interests of

obtaining a set of scientific texts. The latter must have been particularly important, for the

emperor at first refused to share them with the caliph.97 Shākir al-Munajjim’s grandsons received

special mention in the Fihrist for their efforts to obtain exotic and rare texts from Byzantium.98 A

source other than Ibn al-Nadīm recorded how, in 337/948-9, the Byzantine emperor sent 'Abd al-

Raḫmān III an illustrated copy of Dioscorides, and then followed up by sending a monk who

translated the text for the Muslim scholars of Cordova.99 According to Ibn Ḫaldūn (d. 808-

9/1406), al-Mansūr learned of the existence of some important mathematical works through

Christians, and sent to Byzantium for them,100 suggesting again the variability of the textual

community, which included persons of diverse faiths.

95
Ibid., 1.1 page 38.
96
Book of Gifts and Rarities paragraphs 8 and 29.
97
Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 page 584. Elsewhere, Ibn al-Nadīm wonders if the Christians are concealing Marcionite texts, of
which there do not appear to be many extant (Ibn al-Nadīm 9.1 page 807).
98
Ibid., 7.1 page 584.
99
S. M. Stern, “A Letter of the Byzantine Emperor to the Court of the Spanish Umayyad Caliph al-Hakam.” Al-
Andalus, 26:1 (1961): 40-41.
100
Gutas 32.

34
 Texts were sometimes exchanged under less than auspicious circumstances. 'Abdallāh

ibn-abī-Zayd (d. 386/998) claimed that certain ancient texts were delivered into Muslim Arabic-

reading hands because the Byzantine emperor feared that they would encourage heresy if they

remained in Byzantium. These texts supposedly had an unhealthy effect on the Muslim Arabic-

reading audience, encouraging disputations and irreligious behavior.101 If, as argued above, the

Fihrist contained an implicit criticism of the book-hating Christians of the west and a

valorization of the book-loving Muslim Arabic-readers, then Ibn al-Nadīm and the suspicious-

minded ibn-abī-Zayd were clearly at odds on the subject of book collecting. For Ibn al-Nadīm,

the forbidden102 and rare nature of a text only enhanced its value.

Textual Treasures

This fetish for texts—including the materials upon which and with which they were

written, as well as the scripts in which they were recorded—was undoubtedly enhanced by tales

describing how some of these texts had been secreted away, like treasure. According to Ibn al-

Nadīm, ancient kings of Persia conducted a search for the safest place in the world in which to

store their collection of texts. They chose the city of Jayy in Iṣbahān. Centuries later, a vault was

uncovered in this city containing ancient texts written in an old Persian hand on white poplar

bark.103 Saliba argues that this story reflects the efforts of astrologists to bolster the prestige of

their craft, for the Persian kings of this tale were apparently driven to seek out a secure location

for their collection by an astrological prediction involving a deluge, which of course the story

101
Ibid., 157. Muḫammad al-Ḫurāsānī al-Aḫbārī seems to have shared ibn-abī-Zayd’s fears regarding the danger of
certain texts, claiming that the wide circulation of texts by Mani, Bardesanes and Marcion, which had been
translated, explained why there were so many heretics and apostates under al-Mahdī (Gutas 65).
102
Forbidden to Christians, that is. Ibn al-Nadīm was critical of works containing black magic (Ibn al-Nadīm 8.2
pages 725-33).
103
Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 pages 576-79.

35
claims did not strike until the vault was safely closed.104 For the present discussion, however, the

salient fact is that astrologists imagined that they could bolster support for their craft by enticing

the audience’s fascination for ancient, hidden texts. According to Ibn al-Nadīm, a second vault of

texts was found in Jayy, but no one was able to decipher the script, a fact which only seems to

fuel Ibn al-Nadīm’s interest.105

The same trope of book-preserving Persians and book-hating Greco-Roman Christians

discussed above reappears in the passages of the Fihrist that describe the discovery of treasure-

texts. Unlike the Persians, who secreted away texts in Jayy in order to preserve them, the

Byzantines secreted texts away for fear of their contents. Ibn al-Nadīm, citing ibn Isḥāq,

described Abῡ Isḥāq ibn Shahrām’s visit to an ancient temple in the district of the Chaldean

Sabians. This temple had been sealed since the rise of Christianity. After a great deal of

negotiation, Ibn Shahrām convinced the Byzantine emperor to open it up for his examination.

Inside, ibn Shahrām found, in addition to a collection of impressive statues and inscriptions, a

thousand camel loads of texts, though Ibn al-Nadīm admitted that some exaggeration may have

gone into describing the extent of this treasure.106

Ibn al-Nadīm also claimed that there were underground libraries hidden in the pyramids

of Egypt, and that these contained works written about alchemy.107 Alchemical works enjoyed

special status in the world of hidden texts. Ibn al-Nadīm seems to have felt somewhat

uncomfortable with the subject of alchemy. He cited one tradition identifying Hermes as the first

alchemist, but included a second tradition claiming that Allah had provided Moses with an

104
Saliba 39.
105
Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1 page 578.
106
Interestingly, , ibn Shahrām even confesses to feeling uncomfortable for putting out his host (Ibn al-Nadīm 7.1
pages 585-86).
107
Ibn al-Nadīm 10 page 847.

36
education in the craft.108 In any case, Ibn al-Nadīm concluded that, since it was for Allah to

determine, and there were numerous texts on the subject of alchemy, he supposed that it would

be alright if he devoted several passages to the topic.109 It is by no means shocking that a book

lover like Ibn al-Nadīm argued that the number of books on a subject was justification enough

for its place in Muslim Arabic thought.

Ibn al-Nadīm was particularly disgruntled by doubts about the authenticity of the so-

called Jabirian corpus, which consisted of some two thousand treatises attributed to an eighth

century alchemist. In the late tenth century, Abū Sulaymān al-Manţiqī claimed that these works

had actually been composed by a tenth century scholar.110 More recently, Paul Krauss

demonstrated that the corpus was probably the work of several generations of Abbasid

“authors.”111 Nevertheless, Ibn al-Nadīm was quite certain that the Jabirian corpus was

authentic, arguing that the texts were simply too numerous and too significant to be forgeries. 112

One supposes that Ibn al-Nadīm was not merely gullible, for elsewhere he questioned the

reliability of his sources. On the one hand, it is not surprising that Ibn al-Nadīm was unwilling to

deprive himself of two thousand potential texts to trade; perhaps he had a stockpile. On the other

hand, perhaps Ibn al-Nadīm’s skepticism was driven by his continued insistence on the primacy

of the text. Where there was a text, there was value.

Other sources placed a similar premium on alchemical texts, which were all the more

treasured for the degree to which they were concealed. In the ninth-century Sirr al-ḫalīqa,

108
Ibid., 10 pages 843-44.
109
Ibn al-Nadīm 10 pages 844-45.
110
Syed Haq, Names, Natures and Things: The Alchemist Jabir ibn Hayyan and his Kitab al-Ahjar (Book of
Stones). Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1994: 3.
111
Ibid., 8.
112
Ibn al-Nadīm 10 pages 854-55.

37
attributed to Apollonius of Tyana, Apollonius claimed to have found nature’s secrets inscribed

upon an Emerald Tablet composed by Hermes and concealed in an underground tunnel. Van

Bladel argues that the audience of this text identified Hermes as a prophet. Thus, the content of

the Emerald Tablet was considered revealed wisdom.113 The narrative, in which the text was

hidden and then brought to light, merely underscored the revelatory symbolism of the message

contained in the text. Form met function.

The Emerald Tablet reappeared in the Sirr al-asrāt (Kitāb 'ilm al-siyāsa fi tadbīr all-

riyāsa, or The Book of the Science of Government, on the Good Ordering of Statecraft), in which

it was supposedly found in the tomb of Hermes. Notably, the Sirr al-asrāt was structured in the

form of a letter from Aristotle to Alexander, and provided a sort of manual on statecraft,

reminiscent of the bureaucratic manuals discussed above. Unlike those manuals, however, which

were meant to be public and understood by anyone who read them, the Sirr al-asrāt reveals a

fear of public exposure. The narrator, pseudo-Aristotle, claimed that he was concerned that the

letter might fall into the wrong hands. Therefore, he had purposely filled the text with allusions

and cryptic language to mislead anyone who might happen to come across the writing and be

unworthy of reading the contents.114 Again, form met function: The complicated nature of the

alchemical text posed as a “final exam;" one did not merely read the text, one studied it, with

only an advanced adept being able to decipher all of its meanings. This is reminiscent of the

educational dimensions of the classifications systems that were so important during this period.

Reification was essential to the maintenance of group identity.

113
Van Bladel 170-71.
114
Steven J. Williams, The Secret of Secrets: the scholarly career of a pseudo-Aristotelian text in the Latin Middle
Ages, Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press, 2003: 1-9. In keeping with the above discussion regarding the role
of classification in the construction of knowledge, it is worth noting the arrangement of the Sirr al-asrār: Types of
kings, the king's character, political and moral "rules," astrology, medicine, justice, government officials (with
lengthy sections devoted to each), war (including another section on astrology), and occult sciences (including
talismans, alchemy, lapidary, and herbal) (Williams 10-11).

38
 Yet the secretive aspect of alchemy seems to undermine the social aspect of the textual

communities in which these texts circulated. Richard Kieckhefer, writing of the cult of secrecy

surrounding Arabic alchemical works in translation in the Latin west, contends that the secrecy

surrounding this learning was inspired by the great wealth that an alchemist was expected to

acquire. That is, economic incentives encouraged a popular demand for this literature, and

strategies involving secrecy served as a form of resistance to these popularization efforts. Of

course, secrecy also enhanced the mystique of the texts in question and drove up their value.115

Hence, a text that claimed that its contents were cleverly concealed from the average reader

might have nonetheless played a vital role in the textual community—the occult claims

enhancing its value and encouraging exchange in a social context. Insistence upon a limited

circulation ought to have restricted the social circle of the textual community, but it heaped

tremendous prestige upon the shoulders of any persons who imagined that they had managed to

join the ranks of that community.116

In the end, what is one to make of all of these narratives, which seem to delight in the

exotic nature of the texts in question? The more foreign and hidden, the better. As Saliba points

out, the discovery of a treasure trove is hardly a trustworthy mechanism for the systematic

transmission of scientific knowledge, meaning that the Muslim Arabic-reading scholars had to

have been actively seeking out texts to translate, rather than relying on chance.117 So why would

they tell stories that ignored their own active contributions? The fantastic nature of the narratives

115
Richard Kieckheder, Magic in the Middle Ages. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992: 140-44.
116
Secrecy was a privilege of the elite. Hence, Ibn al-Nadīm referred to a secret Persian script, known only by the
kings and apparently no longer extant in Ibn al-Nadīm's time, used by the kings for communicating confidential
matters (Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 page 25). He described a Greek script that was reserved for the elites because of its great
importance (Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 page 29) and claimed that a certain Persian script was reserved for religious adepts
(Ibn al-Nadīm 1.1 page 24).
117
Saliba 39.

39
at hand no doubt served to increase the prestige of the texts with which they were associated,118

but was that their only purpose or their only impact?

The prestige accorded to the foreign origin of these texts implies an appreciation for the

“Other,” but was this genuine? Or does the emphasis on “difference” actually pose an obstacle

for taking the “Other” on its own terms? Orientalists such as Stephen Greenblatt, describing the

role of "wonder" in the colonizing projects of Europeans, suggest that “wonder” only facilitates

the process by which the “Other” is colonized and dispossessed. By focusing on difference,

“wonder” alienates the viewer from the “Other,” making the latter more easily subjected to

commodification. Yet, Nizar Hermes sees little evidence in Muslim travel writing that “wonder”

lent itself to objectification or imperialistic designs.119 Can the same be said of Ibn al-Nadīm’s

writings? His fascination with the material artifacts of writing, including the material on which it

was written and with which it was written, suggests that he perceived these as objects attached to

wonder. The narratives he provided about hidden texts discovered in vaults would have

strengthened the fetish-like symbolism of the texts in question.120 Moreover, he only listed the

names of the works that had already been translated into Arabic, suggesting a preoccupation with

his own culture to the exclusion of others, and a prima facie acceptance of the imperialistic

aspects of the translation project. But if perfect political correctness means showing neither overt

118
Though in the fourteenth century, Ibn Khaldun condemned astrology because it was practiced in secret, and
therefore not subjected to public debate like the other sciences (Saliba 39). Presumably, he would not have objected
to a text that was found and then shared publicly, but would have objected to efforts to purposely obscure or hide the
meaning of a text.
119
Nizar Hermes, The [European] Other in Medieval Arabic Literature and Culture: Ninth-Twelfth Century A.D.
New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2012: 36-37.
120
Though in one passage he noted that the documents were actually quite foul smelling, a detail that does not seem
to have been fabricated for polemical purposes.

40
hostility nor overt passion (or “wonder”) for the “Other,”121 then at least Ibn al-Nadīm could not

be accused of the former.122

Conclusion

Although Ibn al-Nadīm was not openly hostile towards non-Muslim non-Arabic texts or

cultures, it might be argued that his relatively mild stance was but a step towards more

imperialistic, aggressive efforts, whether the latter meant utterly rejecting the “Other” as al-

Ghazālī did, or dispossessing the “Other” of its intellectual/physical (that is, textual) property.

Indeed, by providing a list of book titles and the names of the textual community’s members, he

could be accused of making it that much easier either to destroy texts, and the memories they

represented,123 or to completely appropriate the intellectual property of other cultures.124 Surely

though, this is too strong an indictment. Ibn al-Nadīm’s writing project was driven by a desire to

participate in his textual community, a community that drew its identity from its relationship to

texts, many of which were of foreign origin. Community members were also defined vis-à-vis

internal factors. For instance, many of the anti-Greco-Roman voices in Muslim discourse were

reacting against the Aristotelian associations of the Mutazilites.125 Participation in this textual

community was of paramount importance to its members. One must not forget that this was an

important raison d’être for the composition of the Fihrist.

121
It is not clear what Orientalists would consider “proper.” See Nizar Hermes 36-37.
122
The same might be said of the philosophers themselves. Al-Kindī and Ibn-Qutayba (d. 276/889) claimed that it
was appropriate to accept the learning of foreigners or polytheists if it was true. The opposite side of the spectrum
was occupied by fellows like Abū Sa'īd ibn-Dust (d. 431/1040), who warned that one might lose his religion without
knowing it if he pursued philosophy or the teachings of the polytheists. See Gutas 158-60.
123
Like the book-hating Christians and Byzantines.
124
It seems only fair to turn the Orientalist argument in the opposite direction. Were Ibn al-Nadīm a westerner, and
the translated texts of eastern origin, this is certainly one of the critiques that would be levied against him. The point
is, as useful as the Orientalist debate has been, it must not be taken too far.
125
Hermes 14.

41
 Greg Woolf’s work on Roman Gaul may shed some important light on the role of non-

native discourse within native identity construction. Woolf argues that the introduction of non-

indigenous forms of discourse does not necessarily mean that one has become alienated from his

own culture. The elites of Gaul adopted Roman manners and engaged in Roman forms of

discourse not because they were no longer Gallic, but because Romanization offered them a new

avenue for competition within Gallic society.126 Likewise, the Muslim Arabic-readers of Ibn al-

Nadīm’s textual community appear to have discussed Greco-Roman learning not because they

wanted to become Greek or Roman (or Byzantine), but because doing so fostered their

communal identity as learned thinkers. The invented traditions surrounding the transmission of

this learning into the Muslim Arabic-reading world constituted the collective memory

construction that underpinned this group identity.

Ibn al-Nadīm’s provision of a catalogue for his textual community was a monumental

achievement. The members of this community could use the Fihrist a) to identify other members,

both past and present, in their intellectual lineage, b) to review the community’s collective

memories and perhaps to find material for challenging and revising those memories, and c) to

examine the list of texts around which the community had come to define itself, then compare

this list to their own collections to determine whether or not they were missing anything of note.

If a text/person did not appear in the Fihrist, the implication would have been that the text/person

was not really Arabic. So while Stewart is right to rail against modern scholarship that considers

Ibn al-Nadīm no more than an avid book collector with no serious intellectual dimensions,127 one

cannot help but feel that even as a mere book collector, Ibn al-Nadīm's contribution was

126
Greg Woolf, Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul. Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge
University Press, 1998.
127
Stewart 385.

42
significant. His celebration of the textual community’s identity is a testament to that

community’s vitality in the tenth century. To be sure, this community could not have possibly

thrived without the participation of simple book lovers.

43
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