The Timurid and Safavid empires were vast and in perennial fluctuation. This meant that the leaders of these polities required highly effective tactics to exercise control over large swathes of land and propagate their unique ideologies to the substantial population. While most rulers liberally employed the military to ensure stability, they also opted to use several soft power techniques, the most prevalent of which was engagement in a broad programme of art patronage. Between the late fourteenth and seventeenth centuries, art not only served an aesthetic purpose, but was also frequently politicised. Many historians, such as Thomas Lentz and Chad Kia, argue that it is vital to consider artworks created during these centuries within their historical context and that they must be viewed from both stylistic and socio-political perspectives to develop a full understanding of their motifs. From Timur to Shah Abbas, rulers and elites used a combination of architecture, literature, and painting to bolster legitimacy, intimidate internal and foreign opponents by displaying the empire’s strength, illuminate the government’s religious ideology, and manipulate symbols from pre-Islamic and Islamic history to propagate conceptions of ideal kingship that were then applied to contemporary rulers. The way these mediums were utilised differed slightly due to religious and governmental differences between the Timurids and Safavids, but generally, artistic production was controlled by the government and served a political agenda. The two dynasties developed new styles of art that helped rulers and, to some extent, officials “articulate their monarchical claims, religious commitments and personal glory.” [1]
The Timurids patronised art to magnify their achievements, combine recently adopted Perso-Islamic literary and visual traditions with Timurid culture, and codify images that were utilised to express government ideologies. Architecture was one of the mediums used to demonstrate the empire’s power. It had several advantages over painting and literature, the most significant being that it could reach an elite audience but also could be understood by the illiterate laity. Timurid leaders knew the “psychological dimension of lavish public architecture,” and therefore placed great importance on construction.[2] Timur commissioned many structures that stood out due to their size, as they were larger than anything that had been built previously.[3] For example, after conquering Delhi in 1398, he returned to Samarqand and commissioned the immense Bibi-Khanym Mosque as a monument to his successful conquest.[4] The leader patronised many additional structures in the capital, including a series of grandiose palaces and madrasas, to create unforgettable symbols of his far-reaching power that could be seen by both the citizenry and his foreign counterparts, or their liaisons, when they visited the city. Ruy Gonzalez de Clavijo, who had unprecedented access to Timur’s court, writes that the ruler “had such a strong desire to ennoble the city that he brought captives to increase its population, especially all those who were skilful at any art.”[5] The use of architecture to display strength continued after Timur’s death in 1405, and the medium’s use was soon expanded to be a way for kings and elites to illustrate their piety. For example, in an attempt to appease the Muslim population of his empire and show that he was willing to uphold shari’a law as well as yasa, Shahrukh engaged in a large amount of generous religious patronage, sponsoring many mosques during the course of his reign.[6]
Patronage of literature was also very common in the Timurid world, especially in historiography and poetry. Historical writing and genealogies were used as legitimisation devices, with writers formulating versions of the past tailored to contemporary rulers’ needs. By the time of Shahrukh’s reign, Perso-Islamic styles of governance and art were dominant, but Turkic influences were still prevalent in some elite circles.[7] Timurid leaders patronised literature to maintain their Turko-Mongol heritage alongside the Islamic culture that they had adopted after conquering the Iranian plateau. For example, Shahrukh’s commissions show his interest in emphasising the dynasty’s Chinggisid heritage. The ruler ordered the creation of the Majma al-tawarikh of Hafiz-i Abru, which was a continuation of the Jami al-tawarikh and connected Timur’s tribe to the lineage of Chinggis Khan.[8] In this volume, the Timurids are portrayed as upholders of the Turko-Mongol tradition of their ancestors and as valid heirs to the Islamic kings, thereby justifying Shahrukh’s rule to the two main groups that comprised the government. Poetry was also patronised by Timur and his successors to keep the dynasty’s Turko-Mongol heritage alive despite increased Islamisation. Timur and Husayn Bayqara encouraged the composition of both Persian and Turkish literature, thus contributing to a blending of the two cultures that would please the empire’s diverse population.[9] Clavijo observes that “ameers, in the courts of the Timouride princes, while they studied the literature of Persia, did not neglect the poetry of their native Toorki.”[10] The preservation of these original cultural elements was a way to evoke the “glory days” in the dynasty’s history.[11] All of this literary patronage was part of a project of legitimisation in which Timurid powerholders needed to participate to effectively manage their territory. Historiography and poetry were heavily patronised by rulers to gain the support of the conquered population while still retaining the backing of the original Turkic groups that brought the Timurids to power.
Paintings were commissioned to spread a certain image of kingship and to show a ruler’s vision for the state. This type of art was, like literature, often meant for the elite rather than the laity, with the exception of Timur’s wall paintings in the palaces of the Samarqand gardens. Ahmed ibn Arabshah, while not a very reliable source on other aspects of Timur’s reign due to his personal dislike of the ruler, does give a vivid description of these artworks; “he had depicted his assemblies and his own likeness, now smiling, now austere, and representations of his battles and sieges…in India, Dasht, and Persia and how he gained victory…”[12] The laity and the elite were able to view them as they walked through the gardens, and would have had the opportunity to stare in awe at this public assertion of strength commemorating Timur’s various conquests and illustrating his power.[13] On a smaller scale, book painters worked to propagate the ruling class’s religious beliefs. Timur established the kitabkhana, or royal library, which formulated a series of symbols that were then repeatedly employed to create an aesthetic through which the government ideology could be articulated.[14] Using what Chad Kia calls “figure-types”—small figures in the background of paintings that seem out of place or unnecessary—these royally-sponsored artists included references to Sufism in their works. The image of “Majnun on Layla’s Tomb,” commissioned by Husayn Bayqara, features characters associated with Sufism, and was meant to propagate the faith and encourage belief.[15] The 1487 Mantiq al-tayr, also completed during Bayqara’s reign, features Sufi symbols and representations of its practices illustrated by figure-types; the originality of this iconography being placed alongside Attar’s writing suggests that the patron had influence over the content of the manuscript’s illustrations, and decided to politicise the works of art.[16] During the reign of the Timurids, a plethora of paintings and book-art was produced that allowed rulers to aggrandise themselves and spread the government’s religious precepts to the general population and the elites. While these items were, of course, aesthetically beautiful, most also had a hidden political agenda.
The Safavid programme of art patronage mirrored that of the Timurids, although naturally they sometimes had to make alterations to the Timurid model to fit contemporary needs. Architecture was employed in a similar way; to create an illusion of power that was accessible to both lay and elite audiences. Tahmasp emphasised his position as the rightful shah through this medium after wresting control of the government from the Qizilbash. He constructed many splendid buildings, such as the palaces at Qazvin, all of which were meant to show royal precedence over the Turkic tribes and other potential rivals.[17] Abbas I followed suit during his reign, constructing numerous palaces in cities such as Isfahan and Kashan.[18] Like Tahmasp, Abbas required ways to display his power to potential internal enemies, specifically the recently subdued Qizilbash amirs, and to outside powers such as the Ottomans. Some of his grandest projects were located in Isfahan, the new capital on which he lavished funds in order to signal the return of Safavid strength after the civil war of 1576 to 1590.[19]Architecture was also utilised to promote Shi’ism, and patronising a religious building allowed a ruler or a member of the elite to show piety. Tahmasp ordered the construction of many mosques and shrines during his reign, including a particularly large building in Ardabil that was built in the late 1530s.[20] Abbas I continued this trend; Iskandar Beg Munshi writes in his History of Shah Abbas that in “most provinces of the empire, he left monuments such as mosques, theological seminaries, pious foundations…” and many shrines dedicated to the Imams.[21] All of these new religious structures were meant to encourage an influx of visitors, and an increase in conversions. Additionally, the scale of the buildings shows a concentrated effort by these two shahs to rearticulate Safavid religious authority along Shi’i lines after presenting themselves as spiritual heads of the Safaviyya Sufi order became impossible.[22]
Literature, more specifically poetry, was another type of art that was used to propagate Shi’ism. Tahmasp encouraged the composition of religious poetry; Munshi writes that the ruler once said he was “not willing to allow poets to pollute their tongues with praises of me; let them write eulogies of Ali and the other infallible Imams.”[23]Whether this is true or not, exhortations of the Imams became very common during the Safavid period as leaders sought to show their commitment to the religion by commissioning them instead of odes to their own achievements. This prevalence can also be explained by the fact that during Tahmasp’s reign, patronage of the medium started to be monopolised by theologians, and writers were granted little freedom of expression by the late sixteenth century.[24]This shows that most poetry written during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in Iran had an inherent religious slant, as the views of its principal sponsors certainly affected its content. Patrons of literature who were religious figures or government officials usually possessed a political agenda when they commissioned poetry, due to their position in society and goal to spread Shi’ism across the empire.
As during the reign of the Timurids, historical writing of the Safavid period was often politicised, with leaders patronising the genre to legitimise their rule. Through these works, they were able to present their ancestors as Twelver Shi’is and fabricate connections between early Safavid leaders and the Timurids. The Shi’isation of the history of the Safaviyya order was of great importance to the shahs, as the early Safavid shaykhs were not Shi’i nor descended from the Imams, but kings like Tahmasp and Abbas wished to be able to make these legitimising claims due to contemporary political realities. They commissioned chroniclers to alter their dynasty’s history, mainly through imitative writing; a practice which involved basing a work on a previously published book, and then modifying parts of the original narrative to suit the patron’s specific requests.[25] Amir Mahmud’s texts and Munshi’s History, written during the reigns of Tahmasp and Abbas respectively, refer to connections between the Imams and the Safavid shahs to position these two rulers as descendants of defenders of the faith.[26] Mahmud changes the traditional historical narrative, portraying Shaykh Safi and Isma’il as devout Shi’is who ruled on behalf of the hidden Imam; Ismail had “arisen from the horizon of the progeny of that [Safi’s] heaven of the imamate,” and he had “come into existence through the spiritual assistance of that manifestation of magnanimity…” [27] Descriptions such as these allowed Safavid shahs to gain more authority in the eyes of the newly converted Shi’ite elites, and provided legitimisation through fabricated religious connections. Historiography was also employed to link the Safavids genealogically to one of the great dynasties of the Iranian plateau; the Timurids. After the civil war, Abbas required a new form of legitimisation besides religious justification of rule, and so he began to patronise texts that emphasised Timurid ties and appealed to the Qizilbash’s Turkic background. The shah commissioned Qazi Ahmed to write genealogical works and altered histories, the most influential of which is the Khulasat al-tawarikh, to draw connections between Timur and the leaders of the Safaviyya order.[28] Munshi also writes about Timurid associations in his History, another of Abbas’s commissioned works. The author describes several meetings between Timur and Sadr al-Din Musa, and claims that the former predicted the rise of the dynasty.[29]
While these histories played an important role in the Safavid rulers’ programme of legitimisation, the literary works that were the most significant politically were Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh and Nizami’s Khamsa. Kishwar Rizvi hypothesises that the representation of kingship portrayed in these two manuscripts combines Shi’i iconography with historical Iranian ideas of authority to create a paradigm of power that would be accepted by the nomadic Turks and sedentary Tajiks.[30] The original intention of Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh was to celebrate Iran’s history and discuss the values that should be embodied by kings.[31] In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the work took on a new role as a political treatise, since it addressed the topical issues of legitimacy and just leadership.[32] Rulers turned to the “ancient heroes of this work for inspiration and consciously attempted to emulate their achievements.”[33] The Khamsa served a similar purpose, although it was not as influential as the Shahnameh. Through careful examination of the paintings in the commissioned Safavid copies of the two works, it can be seen that the artists merged the historical and mythical figures of these texts with contemporary religion to legitimise themselves to a wide audience, thus strengthening their position. Tahmasp commissioned a two-volume copy of the Shahnameh which was completed in the 1530s, and many of the images indicate that this work was not created simply for aesthetic reasons. The shah’s likeness appears in many of the illustrations, such as “The Court of the Gayumars” and “Isfandiyar Slays Arjasp and Takes the Brazen Hold,” and he is thereby equated with the famous heroes present in these stories.[34]This implies that this Shahnameh was meant to propagate an image of Tahmasp as a strong ruler who embodied the ideal kingly values lauded in the text. Ferdowsi’s work also underwent Shi’ification; the originally Sufi Timurid figure-types were appropriated by the creators of Tahmasp’s Shahnameh to promote Shi’ism. The illustration of “Haftvad and the Worm” includes Shi’ite imagery; water carriers, who are associated with the martyrdom of Husayn, can be seen in the background of this image.[35] Painted after the king’s public repentance in 1533 and his subsequent prohibitions on irreligious behaviour such as drinking, this work was clearly meant to generate governmental support for his decrees. This particular Shahnameh was not only used as internal propaganda; Tahmasp gifted this sumptuous book to Selim II to emphasise the distinctly Shi’i, more pious identity of the Safavids to the Sunni Ottomans.[36]
Abbas also patronised an illustrated manuscript of Ferdowsi’s work which, like Tahmasp’s copy, was intended for use as a tool to propagate the image of himself as both an ideal Iranian king and a pious Muslim. As was the case with Tahmasp’s copy, Shi’i elements were introduced into the illustrations of the originally Zoroastrian manuscript; images of people performing rituals were included to promote stricter adherence to the religion in the court and to encourage more conversions.[37] The paintings show Abbas as the embodiment of historical Iranian kingly values through “suggestive portraiture,” a highly idealised, non-naturalistic style that became popular during the early seventeenth century.[38] This type of art was useful to the shah, as he wished to portray himself as a ruler who was similar to the heroes described in Ferdowsi’s work. He patronised a copy of the Shahnameh for the same reason as other Safavid leaders; to articulate his conception of kingship, which combined historical ideas about justice and legitimacy with strict adherence to Shi’ism, and to spread this idea to the elite Turks and Tajiks in an effort to gain their support.
Nizami’s Khamsa was the other important work of fiction that was employed as a propaganda device in the Safavid world. Tahmasp commissioned an illustrated copy, which was completed in 1543 and features Islamic imagery, again changing the Zoroastrian nature of the original manuscript. Shi’ite symbols are a common occurrence in illustrations patronised by Tahmasp; he was a very devout ruler who likely saw himself as the divinely ordained leader of a Shi’i state, and he wanted his government officials to share that view.[39] For example, the illustration of “The Battle between Khusrau Parviz and Bahram Chubina” features Safavid Shi’i iconography; some figures wear the taj, the signifying Qizilbash headgear, and Shi’i inscriptions appear on the banners.[40] Khusrau Parviz resembles Tahmasp in the work; this was part of a conscious effort to compare the ruler with this ancient king, who is also portrayed as Shi’i to cater to contemporary ideas of piety and enable the Safavid ruler to present himself as part of a line of great Iranian heroes and as a defender of Shi’ism. It can be inferred from the inclusion of Tahmasp and Abbas’s likenesses in the Shahnameh and Khamsa that it was common for Safavid leaders to equate themselves with the historical and mythical characters of these two works to gain political support from a population that considered these texts an integral part of its culture. There was also an increased need for leaders to show themselves as devout Muslims, hence the inclusion of Shi’i imagery in Zoroastrian texts. These manuscripts posited the idea that ideal kingship was a combination of the traditional, pre-Islamic values that were espoused by the authors of the Shahnameh and Khamsa, and pious Shi’ism, thus creating a concept that would have appealed to the entire population of the empire.
Patronage of pre-Islamic manuscripts for political reasons was not practised solely by Safavid rulers; Ibrahim Mirza commissioned an illustrated edition of Abdul-Rahman Jami’s Haft awrang after his uncle Tahmasp’s second repentance in 1556, and it is obvious that this event influenced the imagery used in Mirza’s copy of the work. For example, the image of “A Depraved Man Commits Bestiality” contains religious iconography meant to illustrate support of the shah’s new bans.[41] Gypsies, minstrels, antinomian Sufis, and clowns are placed at the centre of the image, even though they are only figure-types and therefore are not mentioned in Jami’s writing. By focusing on them, the artist encourages comparison between these minor characters and the depraved man described in the Haft awrang.[42] Given the fact that laws against the people represented by the figure-types were enacted in the late 1550s because they were considered impious, this work should be regarded as propaganda made to show concurrence with Tahmasp’s decrees. The use of art patronage as a political tactic was widespread and was not confined to the rulers. Miniatures commissioned by elite members of government were rarely simply illustrations, but were also concerned with glorifying their patrons and showing agreement with the shah’s ideology in an effort to gain his support.
Despite the vast amount of art commissioned for political purposes during the fifteenth through seventeenth centuries, it must be noted that some artworks meant more to the patron than in a socio-political context. Before Shahrukh, little independent patronage was allowed, but after he ascended the throne, the princely courts became more culturally active and artists began to produce works that represented their individual tastes.[43] Around the mid-fifteenth century, a strong tradition of apolitical art began to evolve alongside its continued use as propaganda. For example, Muhammad Juki patronised a copy of the Shahnameh that does not feature any discernable political images. The patron had some choice in the subject matter of the illustrations, and topics were often selected that celebrated him and his ancestors.[44] Elites also commissioned manuscripts featuring images that corresponded to their current situations; Juki chose to illustrate several uncommon parts of the Shahnameh, such as the story of Qubad, which were meant to address the problems he was facing at court and, according to Barbara Brend, were probably used for contemplation.[45] These artworks were deeply personal items, and the illustrations were chosen only because they had significance to the patron. The ruler and politically inclined members of the government, however, remained the largest sponsors of art in the Timurid and Safavid periods, and therefore much of the art produced during these centuries was political.
Art patronised during the Timurid and Safavid period obviously served an aesthetic purpose, but when analysed within its historical context, much of it gains an additional layer of political meaning. The patronage of architecture, literature and painting for political reasons was a fundamental part of governmental and court culture, and art was usually not commissioned solely for its visual appeal. Sponsorship of the arts in both empires was monopolised to a large extent by the royal family and elite members of government; it was a soft power tactic that enabled leaders to gain more control over their expanding domains, and allowed other officials to curry favour with the ruler and enhance their reputations. Architecture was used to influence members of government and the general population, as it could be seen and understood by all, while political literature and painting were usually restricted to an elite audience due to the absence of literacy among the laity. Altered histories and genealogies served as legitimisation devices, while poetry and paintings of various types blended pre-Islamic notions of kingship with contemporary religious trends, allowing leaders to aggrandise themselves and build their narrative of legitimacy in empires with diverse populations and different cultural affinities.
Dorothy Greene is in her 4th year of an MA in Middle Eastern Studies and Persian at the University of St. Andrews.
Notes: [1] Thomas Lentz and Glenn Lowry, Timur and the Princely Vision: Persian Art and Culture in the Fifteenth Century (Los Angeles, 1989), p. 20. [2] Robert Hillenbrand, ‘Safavid Architecture’, in Peter Jackson (ed), Cambridge History of Iran, Vol 6 (Cambridge, 1986), p. 825. [3] Lentz and Lowry, Timur, p. 43. [4] Ruy Gonzalez de Clavijo, Narrative of the Embassy of Ruy. Gonzalez de Clavijo to the court of Timour, at Samarcand, trans. Clements R. Markham (Cambridge, 1859), p. xlviii. [5] Ibid, pp. 170-171. [6] Beatrice Forbes Manz, ‘Temur and the Problem of a Conqueror’s Legacy’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 8:1 (April 1998), p. 35. [7] Lentz and Lowry, Timur, pp. 74, 78. [8] Beatrice Forbes Manz, ‘Temur and the early Timurids to c. 1450’, in Nicola di Cosmo (ed), The Cambridge History of Inner Asia (Cambridge, 2009), p. 195; Lentz, Timur, p. 99. [9] Clavijo, Narrative, p. lii. [10] Ibid. [11] Lentz and Lowry, Timur, p. 270. [12] Ahmed Ibn Arabshah, Tamerlane, or Timur the Great Amir, trans. J.H. Sanders (London, 1936), p. 310. [13] Ibid, p. 310. [14] Lentz and Lowry, Timur, p. 50, 206. [15] Chad Kia, Art, Allegory and the Rise of Shi’ism in Iran, 1487-1565 (Edinburgh, 2019), p. 54. [16] Kia, Art, p. 96. [17] Iskandar Beg Munshi, History of Shah ‘Abbas the Great Volume 1, trans. Roger Savory (Colorado, 1978), p. 205. [18] Ibid, p. 537. [19] Stephen Blake, ‘Shah ‘Abbas and the Transfer of the Safavid Capital from Qazvin to Isfahan’, in Andrew J. Newman (ed), Society and Culture in the Early Modern Middle East: Studies on Iran in the Safavid Period (Leiden, 2003), p. 151. [20] Andrew J. Newman, Safavid Iran: Rebirth of a Persian Empire (London, 2006), p. 32. [21] Munshi, History, pp. 535-538. [22] Newman, Safavid Iran, p. 57. [23] Munshi, History, p. 275. [24] Z. Safa, ‘Persian Literature in the Safavid Period’, in Peter Jackson (ed), Cambridge History of Iran, Vol 6 (Cambridge, 1986), pp. 954-955. [25] Sholeh A. Quinn, Historical Writing During the Reign of Shah Abbas: Ideology, Imitation, and Legitimacy in Safavid Chronicles (Salt Lake City, 2000), pp. 34, 64. [26] Munshi, History; Quinn, p. 74. [27] Quinn, Historical, p. 74. [28] Ibid, pp. 87-88. [29] Munshi, History, p. 16. [30] Kishwar Rizvi, ‘The Suggestive Portrait of Shah ‘Abbas: Prayer and Likeness in a Safavid “Shahnama”’, The Art Bulletin, 94:2 (June 2012), p. 234. [31] Barbara Brend, Muhammed Juki’s Shahnamah of Firdausi (London, 2010), pp. 8-9. [32] Lentz and Lowry, Timur, p. 126. [33] Ulrike Al-Khamis, ‘Khusrau Parviz as Champion of Shi’ism? A Closer Look at an Early Safavid Miniature Painting in the Royal Museum of Edinburgh’, in Bernard O’Kane (ed), The Iconography of Islamic Art (Edinburgh, 2005), p. 206. [34] Sheila Blair, ‘Reading a Painting: Sultan-Muhammad’s The Court of the Gayumars’, in Hani Khafipour (ed), The Empires of the Near East and India: Source Studies of the Safavid, Ottoman, and Mughal Literate Communities (New York, 2019), p. 528. [35] Kia, Art, pp. 144-145. [36] Blair, ‘Reading a Painting’, p. 531. [37] Rizvi, ‘Suggestive Portrait’, p. 230. [38] Ibid, p. 244. [39] Al-khamis, ‘Khusrau Parviz’, pp. 202, 205. [40] Ibid, p. 202. [41] Kia, Art, p. 153. [42] Kia, Art, p. 156. [43] Manz, ‘Temur’, p. 195. [44] Brend, Muhammed Juki, p. 137. [45] Ibid, p. 139.
Comments