I Begin this talk by telling you a story, that of a Spaniard who was living in the Moroccan city of Tangiers. One day he came to see the president of the local Council of Ulemas and said to him: “I feel attracted to your religion. I would have embraced it already but for one thing which disturbs me.”

“What is it?” asked the ‘Alim.

“I am a musician by profession,” answered the Spaniard, “and Islam forbids music.”

“Who told you that?” retorted the ‘Alim angrily. The would-be convert didn’t reply, which he would have done nowadays, as I hear it in the news; he simply pulled out of his pocket a sheet of paper and gave it to the man of religion who read it and understood everything. It was an ad for a book recently published by a local professor. The ‘Alim began to explain patiently that the book was five centuries old and that it was about a theological controversy known as the Sama’ Dispute over the way the Koran should be read in public. What was forbidden, at least in the eyes of some clerics, was to sing the words of the Holy message because the listener would be more interested in the music than in the meaning. But it was soon clear for the ‘Alim that he was speaking for nothing. His visitor had read in the article exactly what he was hoping to find, an Islam more rigorous, stern, severe than his own religion. Otherwise his conversion would be pointless. The kind of Islam the ‘Alim was offering him, simple, moderate, conciliatory, Jesuitical in a word, wasn’t the real thing.

One of the striking features of the literary culture of the modern Maghreb is the profusion of works that undertake to identify the essential features of the region – exercises in definition that almost always emphasize plurality. Philosophers, social scientists, and literary writers have highlighted the Maghreb's multilingualism – the coexistence of different forms of Arabic, Tamazight, French, and Spanish – the varied and hybrid cultural legacies of conquest and colonialism, and the effects of the region's geographical proximity to other parts of Africa, Europe, and the Middle East. It would be hard to find a more ubiquitous theme of francophone Maghrebi literature than cultural diversity, and the subject is by no means absent from Arabic-language literature. This preoccupation with plurality can be seen as a response to a history of colonization and decolonization with particular ideological features. In their efforts to build “l'Algérie française,” the French colonial authorities suppressed Arabic as a language of culture and government. In response, anticolonial nationalists called for the replacement of French with Arabic. “Islam is my religion, Arabic is my language, Algeria is my nation” – the catchphrase of Abdelhamid Ben Badis's Jam'iyat al-'Ulama [Association of Muslim Ulema], an Islamic reform movement of the 1930s and 1940s – later became a slogan of the nationalist movement, the Front de libération nationale (FLN) [National Liberation Front]. Since the 1980s, a similar call to restore Arabic and eliminate French has been issued by the Islamist opposition to the corrupt and undemocratic FLN government and at times by officials in that same government seeking to restore their legitimacy. In emphasizing linguistic and cultural diversity, writers and scholars have tried to tender an alternative to these recurrent efforts to delimit the region's identity.

Almost two years after the inception of the so-called “Arab Spring” some of its primary constituencies remain enigmatic. To a certain degree, this is an effect of previous scholarly interest in various regimes’ strategies for maintaining their monopolization of critical resources, and, ultimately, of state power. The literature on “durable authoritarianism” has taught us much about autocratic longevity and the structures and dynamics that underpinned the management of the populace, as well as marginalization of challengers in a variety of regimes throughout the region. As some scholars have recently observed, however, the focus on authoritarian regimes’ staying power led to overestimations of their strength and, correspondingly, to underestimations of their publics. Of course studies of social movements, resistant populations, and opposition groups are plentiful and trends like the growth of Islamist groups have received copious attention.

The following interview took place via Zoom with Moroccan film director, producer, and writer Nabil Ayouch on Tuesday, March 22, 2022 at 11:00 AM EST. Lightly edited for ease of comprehension.

The task confronting the person who seeks to survey the current state of the literature dealing with Islam as a religion is both enormous and complex. Since Muslims have traditionally considered themselves to be a religious commonwealth whose very identity is fixed by a shared religious commitment, it follows that virtually every writing on any subject whatsoever having to do with Muslims might be considered to fall within the field of religion. Even if one restricts his attention, as we propose to do here, to a more narrow view of religion, the task is still formidable. Muslims have been no less prolific than other major religious communities in producing dissident opinions from within their own fold. The history of Islamic sects, each with its own peculiar thought system and religious practice, is a field of study in itself and one that might well challenge the most energetic scholar. Far from being monolithic, as many of the scholarly cliches about Islam presuppose (e.g. Islam is a religion of Law, Islam is a religion of the Book, etc.), the religious experience of Muslims is diverse and multiform, defying the most sophisticated attempts to reduce it to order and system. No informed approach to the religiousness of Muslims can deal solely with a narrowly marked out “normative Islam”. The deviations from the norm are also part of the reality of historic Islamic experience and cannot be set aside in favor of what one may prefer as religiously or conceptually pure. It quickly becomes clear to the perceptive inquirer that the meaning of Islam is an historical phenomenon cannot be stated in terms of a unified doctrinal system, a universally accepted set of rites, or common institutions.

For several years, there has been at the University of California at Los Angeles a chapter of the Onomasticon Arabicum, an international project whose goal is the collection of data from Arabic biographical dictionaries and the storing and retrieval of these data by computer. What follows is a brief outline of the project and its history.

Dates in parentheses at the end of each statement represent the combined holdings of the Stanford University-Hoover Institution libraries and are meant to serve as a guide to the publication history of the documents.

The bibliography is arranged by country and then by issuing agency. The Arabic form of the agency has been used when available.

This bibliography is not a comprehensive listing, but rather serves as an introduction to the wealth of material buried in the confusing array of publications of statistical agencies in the Middle East.

In March 2004, I sat in the refurbished office of Ms. Juwan Mahmoud, the Chief Librarian of the Iraqi Academy of Sciences (in Arabic, al-majma' al-ilmi) in the Al-Waziriyya section of Baghdad. The Iraqi Academy had been looted of its first-rate collection of manuscripts in Arabic, Farsi, Turkish and other languages immediately after the war. When I had first met Juwan, it was in the ruins of the library. I remember the rooms piled high with trashed documents and manuscripts haphazardly strewn around the place, and rows upon rows of gutted library shelves. I had gone to Baghdad in June 2003 with three colleagues – Jens Hanssen, Edouard Méténier and Keith Watenpaugh – to investigate the burning and pillaging of university and research libraries. One member of the group, Jens Hanssen, made a short documentary of the wrecked library premises, in which Juwan played a starring role. In the spirit of an Iraqi passionara, she forcefully called upon the conscience of the world to restore the Iraqi Academy's collections immediately.