The 19 August 1991 coup attempt in Moscow and the subsequent collapse of the economy of the former Soviet Union has had its effects on Middle East studies. The seizure of Communist party property and bank accounts and the dispute between the Russian federal government and what remained of the centralized Soviet state structure still headed by President Gorbachev placed such distinguished centers for Middle East research as the Institutes for Oriental Studies in Moscow and St. Petersburg in serious financial jeopardy. Even before the coup attempt and the dissolution of the Communist party, continued full state funding was uncertain and the institutes were scrambling to establish joint publishing agreements with Western academic presses to ensure some infusion of hard currency against the plunging value of the ruble. Individual researchers began looking for translation work or other lucrative forms of moonlighting to supplement their insufficient salaries. And, of course, the content of Middle East studies has undergone a radical transformation. For the social scientists, such notions as “imperialism,” “socialist orientation,” and “international solidarity” have been swiftly abandoned and replaced with what experts now call “the new pragmatism,” which seeks to steer foreign policy away from engaged ideological alliances in the Middle East and towards bettering those state-to-state relations in the region that serve Russian national and economic interests.

By the first quarter of the 19th century, foreigners and Ottomans alike were keenly aware that the sovereignty of the house of Osman was rapidly eroding. Austrian and Russian armies threatened the empire from without; ethnic revolts and secession beset it from within. Its occasional allies Britain and France ate away at its autonomy through growing economic and political influence. The military threats were apparent, but the Porte was less alert to the dangers its relationships with the Western European powers held for Ottoman hegemony over the peoples of the Balkans and the Arab Middle East.1

In the 1980s, the Iranian economy assumed the burden of an eight-year war that resulted in considerable sacrifice and financial hardship for the Iranian people. Iran also bore the costs associated with the influx of a large number of refugees from neighboring countries. Its public sector was inefficient and its private sector reluctant; both suffered from uncertainty created by suddenly and rapidly changing economic policies. In such circumstances, implementation of the necessary macroeconomic and structural adjustments was a formidable task.

Scholary works on Sufism have been almost entirely concerned with the classical textual tradition and have given scant attention to the contemporary practice of Sufism. Such Studies as have been done in Egypt inadequately reflect actual popular beliefs and practices by exhibiting tendencies either to interpret contemporary sufism in light of classical Sufism,to dismiss popular Sufism as a degradation of “true” Sufism,or to conclude, in light of the presentation of Sufism propagated by the Supreme Council of Sufi Orders, that there is nothing that distinguishes contemporary Sufism from any other branch of Islam.Contemporary Sufism must be studied as a complete system, not merely a degradation of another system. It developed from classical Sufism but is not identical with it, and offers a world view and rituals that distinguish it from other Islamic currents. The centrality of devotion to the Prophet and his family is one aspect of Egyptian Sufi religious life that distinguishes it from that of other Egyptian Muslims, and bears interesting parallels to Shicism, perhaps providing evidence for what Marshall Hodgson called "the moulding of Islam as a whole in a ShiStic direction."4 This article will document and analyze devotion to the Prophet and the ahl al-bayt and its associated beliefs in Egyptian Sufism, and compare them with their analogues in ShiSsrn.

[Reza Khan] seemed to me a strong and fearless man who had his country's good at heart. —Sir Edmund Ironside, recalling late 1920 Reza… has never spoken for himself, nor… [his] Government… but only on behalf of his country… —Sir Percy Loraine, January 1922 He is secretive, suspicious and ignorant; he appears wholly unable to grasp the realities of the situation or to realise the force of the hostility he has aroused. —Harold Nicolson, September 1926 I fear we can do nothing to humanise this bloodthirsty lunatic. —Sir Robert Vansittart, December 1933 Born in obscurity about 1878 and soon orphaned, Reza Pahlavi enlisted at fifteen in a Russian-officered Cossack brigade. Rising through the ranks, he provided force for a February 1921 coup d'état, seizing power for journalist Sayyid Zia alDin Tabatabai. Reza Khan provided strength in the new government and rose from army commander to minister of war (April 1921) to prime minister (1923) and, after failing to make a republic in 1924, to the throne in 1925. As shah he ruled with increasingly arbitrary power until Britain and Russia deposed him in 1941. He died in exile in 1944.

The history of the mountain hinterland of Sidon and Beirut—the area often referred to as the Druze Mountain—has hitherto been treated mainly as parochial Lebanese history, with inadequate reference to the Ottoman administrative context. Now that Ottoman archival material has become generally accessible, the subject needs to be revised in its light. In so doing one must keep in mind that most Ottoman chancery documents are normally orders issued in Istanbul for the governors of the provinces—in this particular case, the Syrian provinces—which were not necessarily acted upon, but which can serve to indicate the sort of problem that the Ottoman administration faced in a given province, whether or not they tell us what action was actually taken.This means that to attempt a reconstruction of the administrative history of a given Syrian region—or of any region of the far—flung Ottoman realm—purely on the basis of the Ottoman chancery documents, without taking into account what the local chronicles have to say, is bound to leave major parts—sometimes, perhaps, the most significant parts of the story in question—untold. On the other hand, to reconstruct such a history purely from what the chronicles relate, without reference to the official documents of the Ottoman chancery would leave much of the story unexplained or inexplicable. It is only by combining the two that one can gain a full historical picture of the subject under investigation. From this combination, what transpires, in the case of the sanjak of Sidon—Beirut, is an account of repeated Ottoman accommodations to local realities, made at the expense of administrative norms which existed in theory, but whose application in the different parts of the Ottoman world was far from uniform.