Showing posts with label Muamalah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muamalah. Show all posts

Caroline Stone*

Table of contents

1. Introductory note by the editors of Saudi Aramco World
2. His Life
3. His Work
4. The Exhibition Ibn Khaldun: The Mediterranean in the 14th Century: The Rise and Fall of Empires

Note of the editor

This article appeared in Saudi Aramco World, vol. 57, issue 5, September/October 2006, pp. 28-39. For the online version, with figures, see: Caroline Stone: Ibn Khaldun and the Rise and Fall of EmpiresSaudi Aramco World). We reproduce the article under the permission granted by the publisher (see Copyright and Permissions). The figures and captions illustrating the articles were added by the editorial board of www.MuslimHeritage.com.

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1. Introductory note by the editors of Saudi Aramco World

Abu Zayd ‘Abd al-Rahman ibn Muhammad ibn Khaldun al-Hadhrami, 14th-century Arab historiographer and historian, was a brilliant scholar and thinker now viewed as a founder of modern historiography, sociology and economics. Living in one of human kind's most turbulent centuries, he observed at first hand—or even participated in—such decisive events as the birth of new states, the death throes of al-Andalus and the advance of the Christian reconquest, the Hundred Years' War, the expansion of the Ottoman Empire, the decline of Byzantium and the great epidemic of the Black Death. Albert Hourani described Ibn Khaldun's world as "full of reminders of the fragility of human effort"; out of his experiences, Arnold Toynbee wrote, "he conceived and created a philosophy of history that was undoubtedly the greatest work ever created by a man of intelligence." So groundbreaking were his ideas, and so far ahead of his time, that a major exhibition [1] now takes his writings as a lens through which to view not only his own time but the relations between Europe and the Arab world in our own time as well.

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Figure 1: A modern statue of Ibn Khaldun stands in the center of Tunis, his native city, on the Habib Bourguiba Avenue. Photography taken in July 2007. (Source).

2. His Life

Ibn Khaldun's ancestors were from the Hadhramawt, now southeastern Yemen, and he relates that, in the eighth century, one Khaldun ibn ‘Uthman was with the Yemeni divisions that helped the Muslims colonize the Iberian Peninsula. Khaldun ibn ‘Uthman settled first at Carmona and then in Seville, where several of the family had distinguished careers as scholars and officials.

During the Christian reconquest of the Iberian Peninsula, the family emigrated to North Africa, probably about 1248, eventually settling in Tunis. There Ibn Khaldun was born on May 7, 1332. He received an excellent classical education, but when he was 17, the plague, or Black Death, reached the city. His parents and several of his teachers died. The terrible epidemic that struck the Middle East, North Africa and Europe in 1347–1348, killing at least one-third of the population, had a traumatic effect on the survivors. Its impact showed in every aspect of life: art, literature, social structures and intellectual life. It was clearly one of the experiences that shaped Ibn Khaldun's perception of the world.

Tunis was not only ravaged by the Black Death, but had also been reduced to political chaos by its occupation between 1340 and 1350 by the Marinids, the Berber dynasty that ruled Morocco. At 20, Ibn Khaldun set out for Fez, the Marinid capital, the liveliest court in North Africa. On the strength of his education, he was offered a secretarial position, but left before long. Although some historians regard his departure as disloyal, it is more likely he was fleeing the general political disintegration.

This was to be a pattern in Ibn Khaldun's life. He was constantly tempted to become involved in murky political intrigues which, combined with the extreme instability of most of the ruling dynasties, meant that he had little choice but frequent changes of master. These experiences, like those of the Black Death, were instrumental in shaping his outlook.

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Figure 2: Miniature "Victimes de la peste de 1349" (victims of 1349-plague) in the Annales of Gilles le Muisit (1272-1353). The Great Plague, or Black Death, swept from Central Asia to Europe, killing an estimated one-third of the population wherever it spread. It reached Tunis in 1348 when Ibn Khaldun was 17; its victims included his parents and several of his teachers. These losses, together with the ensuing social and economic chaos, deeply affected him. © Royal Library of Belgium. (Source).

After a number of moves, he found himself back in Fez, where the previous Marinid ruler had been supplanted by his son, Abu ‘Inan, to whom Ibn Khaldun offered his services. Soon, however, he was once again caught up in political turmoil, and after many changes of fortune, including two years in prison, he decided to withdraw to Granada in 1362. The roots of this decision went back several years.

In 1359, the ruler of Granada, Muhammad ibn al-Ahmar, had been forced to flee to Fez together with his vizier, Ibn al-Khatib, one of the most famous scholars of the age. There they had met Ibn Khaldun. A warm friendship had developed, so that when, in turn, Ibn Khaldun had to escape from similarly dangerous politics, he was received in Granada with honors. Two years later, in 1364, Ibn Khaldun was sent by Ibn al-Ahmar to Seville on a peace mission to King Pedro I of Castile, known as "Pedro the Cruel." In his Autobiography (Ta‘rif), Ibn Khaldun describes how Pedro offered to return his family estates and properties to him, and how he refused the offer. This contact with a Christian power was another watershed experience. He reflected not only on his own family's past, but also on the changing fate of kingdoms—and above all on the historical and theological implications of the reassertion of Christian power in Iberia after more than five centuries of Muslim hegemony.

Later, personal clashes with Ibn al-Khatib, probably fueled by a mixture of jealousy and court intrigue, drove Ibn Khaldun back to the turmoils of North Africa. He had repeatedly expressed the wish to devote his life to scholarship, but the political world clearly fascinated him. Over and over he succumbed to its temptations; in any case, so well-known a figure was unlikely to be left in peace to study.

In spite of their differences, Ibn Khaldun continued to correspond with Ibn al-Khatib, and several of these letters are cited in his Autobiography. He also tried to save his friend when, largely as a result of court intrigue, Ibn al-Khatib was brought to trial, accused of heresy for contradicting the ‘ulama, the religious authorities, by insisting that the plague was a communicable disease. His situation can be compared with that of Galileo nearly three centuries later, but with a less happy outcome: Ibn al-Khatib was strangled in prison at Fez in the late spring of 1375.

Ibn Khaldun was much affected by his friend's death, not only personally, but also because of the political and religious implications of such an execution. Not long afterward, he withdrew to the Castle of Ibn Salamah, not far from Oran in Algeria. There, for the first time, he could really dedicate himself to study and reflect on what he had learned from books, as well as on his often bitter experience of the violent and turbulent world of his day.

The fruit of this period of calm was the Muqaddimah or Introduction to his Kitab al-‘Ibar (The Book of Admonitions or Book of Precepts, also often referred to as the Universal History.) Although these are really one work, they are often considered separately, for the Muqaddimah contains Ibn Khaldun's most original and controversial perceptions, while the Kitab al-‘Ibar is a conventional narrative history. Ibn Khaldun continued to rewrite and revise his great work in the light of new information or experience for the rest of his life.

He spent the years from 1375 to 1379 at the Castle of Ibn Salamah, but at last felt the need for intellectual companionship—and for proper libraries in which to continue his research. At the age of 47, Ibn Khaldun returned again to Tunis, where "my ancestors lived and where there still exist their houses, their remains and their tombs." He planned to travel no more and to settle down as a teacher and scholar, eschewing all political involvement.

That was not so easy. Some considered his rationalist teachings subversive, and the imam of al-Zaytunah Mosque in Tunis, with whom he had been on terms of rivalry since his student days, became jealous. To make matters yet more difficult, the sultan insisted that Ibn Khaldun remain in Tunis and complete his book there, since a ruler's status was greatly enhanced by attracting learned men to his court.

The situation finally became so tense and so difficult that in 1382 Ibn Khaldun asked permission to leave to perform the hajj, the pilgrimage to Makkah—the one reason for withdrawal that could never be denied in the Islamic world. In October he set out for Egypt. He was immensely impressed by Cairo, which exceeded all his expectations. There, the Mamluk sultan Barquq received him with enthusiasm and gave him the important position of qadi, or justice, of the Maliki school of Islamic law.

This, however, proved to be no sinecure. In his Autobiography, Ibn Khaldun describes how his efforts to combat corruption and ignorance, together with the jealousy aroused by the appointment of a foreigner to a top job, meant that once again he found himself in a hornets' nest. It was something of a relief when the sultan dismissed him in favor of the former qadi. In fact, before the end of his life, Ibn Khaldun was to be appointed and dismissed no fewer than six times.

Ibn Khaldun was married and had children; he had a sister who died young—her tombstone survives—and his brother Yahya ibn Khaldun was also a very distinguished historian. However, we know very little about his personal life. It was not the Muslim, and in particular not the Arab, custom to include personal details in one's writings. We do know, however, that at about this time, Ibn Khaldun's family and household, which was essentially being held hostage at Tunis for his return, were given permission to join him in Cairo. This was at the personal request of Barquq, whose letter is quoted in the Autobiography. But the boat carrying his family went down in a tempest off Alexandria, and no one survived.

Three years passed. Ibn Khaldun dedicated himself to teaching and then at last set out to perform the hajj in 1387 with the Egyptian caravan. Ibn Khaldun says little of his pilgrimage, but he mentions that at Yanbu‘ he received a letter from his old friend Ibn Zamrak, many of whose poems are inscribed on interior walls of the Alhambra. Ibn Zamrak, then the confidential secretary of the ruler of Granada, asked among other things for books from Egypt. It is one more example of how Ibn Khaldun maintained his intellectual contacts all across the Arabic-speaking world.

On his return to Cairo, Ibn Khaldun held various teaching posts, but from 1399 the cycle of political appointments and dismissals began again. The scholar had already witnessed at first hand the political upheavals caused by the various Berber dynasties in North Africa, as well as the success of the Christian powers in reducing the Muslim kingdoms in the Iberian Peninsula. Now he was about to witness another example of the rise and fall of empires, this time with an epicenter farther to the east than he had ever traveled.

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Figure 3: Astrolabic quadrant made by Muhammad ibn Ahmad al-Mizzi the the muwaqqit (time-keeper) of the Great Mosque of Damascus in 1333-34 CE. There are four other astrolabic quadrants signed by the same craftsman, and they are the earliest known examples of this type of quadrant. (Source).

In 1400, Ibn Khaldun was compelled by Barquq's successor, Sultan al-Nasir, to travel to Damascus, where he took part in the negotiations with the Central Asian conqueror Timur, the Turco-Mongol ruler known in the West as Tamerlane. The aim was to persuade Timur to spare Damascus. Ibn Khaldun describes his conversations with Timur in some of the most interesting pages of his Autobiography.

In the end, however, the Egyptian diplomatic delegation was unsuccessful. Timur did sack Damascus and from there went on to take Baghdad, with great loss of life. The following year, Timur defeated the Ottomans at Ankara, taking their Sultan Beyazit prisoner. These events are described by the Spanish traveler Ruy Gonzáles de Clavijo, who went out to Samarkand in 1403 as ambassador to Timur.

Ibn Khaldun's Autobiography continues for no more than a page or two after his return from Damascus, and he mentions only his appointments and dismissals. Although he never returned to Tunis, he continued to think of himself as a westerner, wearing until the last the dark burnous that is still the national dress of North Africa. He continued to revise and correct his great work until his death in Cairo on March 16, 1406—600 years ago this past spring.

3. His Work

Ibn Khaldun's most important work was Kitab al-‘Ibar, and of that the most significant section was the Muqaddimah. Such "introductions" were a recognized literary form at the time, and it is thus not surprising that the Muqaddimah is both long—three volumes in the standard translation—and the repository of its author's most original thoughts. Kitab al-‘Ibar, which follows, is much more conventional in both content and organization, although it is one of the most important surviving sources for the history of medieval North Africa, the Berbers and, to a lesser extent, Muslim Spain.

In the early 19th century, western scholars, already admirers of such Muslim thinkers as the philosopher Ibn Rushd, whom they knew as Averroes, became aware of the Muqaddimah, probably through the Ottoman Turks. They were struck by its originality—all the more so because it was written at a time when political and religious authority were exerting increasing pressure against independent thought, resulting in a decline of original scholarship. In this context, Ibn Khaldun's interest in a whole range of subjects that today would be classified as sociology and economic theory, and his wish to create a new discipline to accommodate them, came as a particular surprise to scholars in both the Arab world and the West.

Many of the subjects that Ibn Khaldun discusses are not, however, new preoccupations. They had also concerned both Greek thinkers and earlier Arab writers, such as al-Farabi and Mas‘udi, to whom Ibn Khaldun refers frequently. The question of how much access Ibn Khaldun had to Greek sources in translation is still being debated, and in particular whether he had read Plato's Republic. But Ibn Khaldun's originality lies not in the fact he was conscious of these problems, but in his awareness of the complexity of their interrelationships and the need to study social cause and effect in a rigorous way.

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Figure 4: One of the many beautiful patios of the Alcazar palace in Seville showing the delicately carved arches of the Patio del Yeso (Patio of the Stuccoes). In 1364, Ibn Khaldun journeyed to Seville, seat of the Castillan monarch Pedro I, whose magnificent Real Alcázar ("Royal Palace"), inspired from Mudejar art, was then close to completion. (Source).

It is in this way that Ibn Khaldun took his place in a chain of intellectual development. Although his work was not followed up by succeeding generations, and indeed met with some disapproval and even censure, the great Egyptian historian al-Maqrizi perhaps chose his career as a result of his acquaintance with Ibn Khaldun, and he developed some of Ibn Khaldun's ideas. It was, however, the Ottoman Turks who took the most interest in his theories concerning the rise and fall of empires, since many of the points he discusses appeared to apply to their own political situation.

In the Muqaddimah, Ibn Khaldun's central theme is why nations rise to power and what causes their decline. He divides his argument into six sections or fields. At the beginning, he considers both source material and methodology; he analyzes the problems of writing history and notes the fallacies which most frequently lead historians astray. His comments are still relevant today.

Another aspect of Ibn Khaldun's originality is his stress on studying the realities of human society and attempting to draw conclusions based on observation, rather than trying to reconcile observation with preconceived ideas. It is interesting that at the time Ibn Khaldun was writing, the humanist movement was well under way in Europe, and it shared many of the same preoccupations as Ibn Khaldun, in particular the great importance of the interaction between people and their physical and social environment.

One of Ibn Khaldun's basic subjects is still being debated, and it is of the greatest relevance in the increasingly multicultural societies of today: What is social solidarity, and how does a society achieve it and maintain it? He argues that no society can achieve anything—conquer an empire or even survive—unless there is internal consensus about its aims. He does not argue in favor of democracy in any recognizable form (which suggests he may not have had intimate knowledge of the Greek political theorists), and he assumes the need for strong leadership, but it is clear that, to him, a successful society as a whole must be in agreement as to its ultimate goals.

He points out that solidarity—he uses the word ‘asabiyah—is strongest in tribal societies because they are based on blood kinship and because, without solidarity, survival in a harsh environment is impossible. If this solidarity is joined to the other most powerful social bond, religion, then the combination tends to be irresistible.

Ibn Khaldun perceives history as a cycle in which rough, nomadic peoples, with high degrees of internal bonding and little material culture to lose, invade and take resources from sedentary and essentially urban civilizations. These urban civilizations have high levels of wealth and culture but are self-indulgent and lack both "martial spirit" and the concomitant social solidarity. This is because those qualities have become unnecessary for survival in an urban environment, and also because it is almost impossible for the large number of different groups that compose a multicultural city to attain the same level of solidarity as a tribe linked by blood, shared custom and survival experiences. Thus the nomads conquer the cities and go on to be seduced by the pleasures of civilization and in their turn lose their solidarity and come under attack by the next group of rough and vigorous outsiders—and the cycle begins again.

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Figure 5a-b: Two posters from the exhibition Encounter of Civilizations: Ibn Khaldun displayed at the United Nations Headquarters in New York (18th December 2006-17 January 2007). (Source).

Ibn Khaldun's reflections derive, of course, from his experiences in a radically unstable time. He had seen Arab civilization overrun in some parts of the world and seriously undermined in others: in North Africa by the Berbers, in Spain by the Franks and in the heartlands of the caliphate by Timur and his Turco-Mongol hordes. He was well aware that the Arab empire had been founded by Bedouin who were, in terms of material culture, much less sophisticated than the peoples of the lands they conquered, but whose ‘asabiyah was far more powerful and who were inspired by the new faith of Islam. He was deeply saddened to watch what he saw as a cycle of conquest, decay and reconquest repeated at the expense of his own civilization.

As Ibn Khaldun developed his themes through the Muqaddimah, he presented many other innovative theories relating to education, economics, taxation, the role of the city versus the country, the bureaucracy versus the military and what influences affect the development of both individuals and cultures. It is in these themes that we find echoes of al-Mas‘udi's Kitab al-Tanbih wa al-Ishraf, where he considers the factors that shape a nation's laws: the nature of authority and the relationship between spiritual and temporal powers, to name only two.

It is worth remembering that, besides having witnessed a particularly turbulent period of history, Ibn Khaldun also had much practical experience of politics on both national and international levels. Furthermore, his various terms of duty as a qadi in Cairo gave him, as he claimed, insight into the problems of battling corruption and ignorance in a cosmopolitan environment, mindful of the "moral decadence" he believed to be one of the great threats to civilization. His conclusions were, as he tells us in his Autobiography, based on practical knowledge and direct observation, as well as academic theory.

It would be hard for any book to live up to the standard set by the Muqaddimah, and indeed Kitab al-‘Ibar does not. Although it is an invaluable source for the history of the Muslim West, it is less remarkable in other fields, and Ibn Khaldun did not share al-Mas‘udi's lively and unbiased interest in the non-Muslim world. Other blank spots are all the more surprising in that Ibn Khaldun was living in Cairo with access to excellent libraries and bookshops.

On the other hand, there were occasions when he made great efforts to establish facts accurately. It must have required courage to ask Timur himself to correct the passages in the ‘Ibar that referred to him! Timur was of great interest to Ibn Khaldun, who hoped the conqueror might be the one to provide the social solidarity needed for a renaissance of the Muslim and, especially, the Arab worlds—but it was a short- lived hope.

Ibn Khaldun wrote a number of other books on purely academic subjects, as well as early works which have vanished. His Autobiography, although lacking personal details, contains extremely interesting information about the world in which he lived and, of course, about his meetings with Pedro and Timur.

Ibn Khaldun's strength was thus not as a historian in the traditional sense of a compiler of chronicles. He was the creator of a new discipline, ‘umran, or social science, which treated human civilization and social facts as an interconnected whole and would help to change the way history was perceived, as well as written.

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Figure 6: Two coins issued in 1382 during Antonio Venier reign as Doge of the Venetian Republic from 1382 to 1400. Antonio Venier was responsible for reviving Venice's economy after the Black Death and negotiating with the Mamluks to make the city Egypt's most important trading partner. At this period, Ibn Khaldun was resident in Cairo. The statue is displayed in the Real Alcázar's Hall of the Ambassadors, where Ibn Khaldun may have been received by Pedro I. (Source).

4. The Exhibition Ibn Khaldun: The Mediterranean in the 14th Century: The Rise and Fall of Empires

The exhibition marking the 600th anniversary of the death of Ibn Khaldun could not be held in a more evocative place than Seville's Real Alcázar (Royal Palace). Not only is it a most beautiful backdrop, but it is a building that Ibn Khaldun himself knew. He walked through the same rooms where the exhibition is being held today, and he stood in the great Audience Chamber when he met Pedro I "The Cruel" on his peace mission from the sultan of Granada in 1364.

That is, of course, if the rooms were complete, for in 1364 the palace was partly under construction by the Christian king "in the Moorish manner," decorated with Arabic calligraphy by Muslim craftsmen in the style called mudejar. For Ibn Khaldun it must have been a strange experience to revisit the city where his ancestors had held high office and to walk through older areas of the palace, such as the Patio del Yeso (Patio of the Stuccoes), which they would have known.

Opened by King Juan Carlos and Queen Sofía of Spain and attended by royalty and dignitaries from many countries, the commemorative exhibition is dedicated to the world of Ibn Khaldun, placing him in the context of his age and doing much to explain his particular preoccupation with the rise and fall of empires.

Apart from manuscripts, some in his own hand, and his sister's tombstone, little survives that is directly connected with Ibn Khaldun, although the writings of his friend Ibn al-Khatib are represented. Nevertheless, from around all the Mediterranean, a dozen or more countries have contributed items to build up the picture of the material world he would have known: plates such as those he might have used, mosque lamps, a traveler's writing box, a set of nesting glasses, some beautiful examples of Granada silk and more.

In one section of his Autobiography, Ibn Khaldun wrote at length about the gifts he arranged to be sent to certain rulers on various occasions. These were an essential part of the diplomatic exchanges of the day, and fine silks played an important role. He also described his hunt for suitable presents to give Timur: He chose a one-volume copy of the Qur'an with an iron clasp, a pretty prayer rug, a copy of a famous poem (al-Burdah) and four boxes of his favorite Egyptian sweets—which he tells us were immediately opened and handed round. Similar items are on display.

The world of Ibn Khaldun is also brought alive by photographs or architectural details of buildings he would have known, from the street on which he is believed to have lived in Tunis to the Castle of Ibn Salamah, now in ruins, where he retired for four years of relative peace to write his great work. The madrasahs, where he taught all across North Africa and in Cairo, are represented too—including, of course, al-Azhar, the great center of Islamic learning still functioning today.

The Christian world is also present to remind the visitor of what was going on in Europe in terms of art and intellectual achievement during the period Ibn Khaldun was writing. There are objects from China and Central Asia too, for besides the struggles for power among the Berber dynasties in North Africa and the Christian attempt to drive the Muslim colonizers from Spain, the great threat to civilization as Ibn Khaldun saw it was in fact posed by Timur. Hence the Central Asian steppe was an important part of the world picture from which his theories of the rise and fall of empires was formed. Taking advantage of Seville's warm summer nights, the exhibition stays open until midnight. This enables visitors to wander through the courtyards of the palace, watch the moon reflect in the ornamental pools and inhale the scent of jasmine—a plant introduced by the Arabs and which Ibn Khaldun would have known.

In the evenings, a play about Ibn Khaldun is performed in the gardens, and across the façade of the palace there is a striking play of projected images: knights in armor, Mamluk horsemen, depictions of Dante and Timur, calligraphy in both Arabic and Latin, maps and landscapes taken from illuminated manuscripts.

One of the most remarkable achievements of this exhibition is its fine catalogue, coordinated under the auspices of the Granada-based El Legado Andalusí and the José Manuel Lara Foundations. It is in two volumes, with one dedicated specifically to the exhibition and the other a compilation of articles on aspects of Ibn Khaldun and his world written by scholars from a wide range of universities. (Fittingly, Ibn Khaldun's home city of Tunis is particularly well represented.) It is, in fact, an anthology of the most up-to-date scholarship on Ibn Khaldun and his world.

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Figure 7: Map of the Muslim World around 1400, few years before Ibn Khaldun's death. In the 15th and 16th centuries, three major Muslim powers emerged: the Ottoman Empire in much of the Middle East, the Balkans and Northern Africa; the Safavid Empire in Greater Iran; and the Mughul Empire in South Asia. These new imperial powers were made possible by the discovery and exploitation of gunpowder, and a more efficient administration. (Source).

Particularly interesting is the analysis of his manuscripts by Jumaâ Cheikha of the University of Tunis, who shows that the oft-repeated statement that Ibn Khaldun was not valued in the Muslim world is untrue: 195 surviving copies of his various books may not seem like much in the light of modern print runs, but by medieval standards it indicated success. Many works by more recent authors have come down to us in not more than a single copy.

As an homage to Ibn Khaldun, and one that would surely have given him pleasure, the organizers and especially Jerónimo Páez López, founder of El Legado Andalusí, have gone to immense trouble to ensure that places associated with Ibn Khaldun are all represented and different aspects of his world covered. It is very much to be hoped that the plans for the exhibition to travel to a number of different locations will come to fruition.

5. Appendixes [2]

5.1. The Black Death

"Civilization both in the East and the West was visited by a destructive plague which devastated nations and caused populations to vanish. It swallowed up many of the good things of civilization and wiped them out. It overtook the dynasties at the time of their senility, when they had reached the limit of their duration. It lessened their power and curtailed their influence. It weakened their authority. Their situation approached the point of annihilation and dissolution. Civilization decreased with the decrease of mankind. Cities and buildings were laid waste, roads and way-signs were obliterated, settlements and mansions became empty, dynasties and tribes grew weak. The entire inhabited world changed. The East, it seems, was similarly visited, though in accordance with and in proportion to [the East's more affluent] civilization. It was as if the voice of existence in the world had called out for oblivion and restriction, and the world responded to its call" (tr. Rosenthal).

5.2. The Contents of the Muqaddimah

1. Human society, its kinds and geographical distribution.
2. Nomadic societies, tribes and "savage peoples."
3. States, the spiritual and temporal powers, and political ranks.
4. Sedentary societies, cities and provinces.
5. Crafts, means of livelihood and economic activity.
6. Learning and the ways in which it is acquired.

5.3. The New Science

"This science then, like all other sciences, whether based on authority or on reasoning, appears to be independent and has its own subject, viz. human society, and its own problems, viz. the social phenomena and the transformations that succeed each other in the nature of society…. It seems to be a new science which has sprung up spontaneously, for I do not recollect having read anything about it by any previous writers. This may be because they did not grasp its importance, which I doubt, or it may be that they studied the subject exhaustively, but that their works were not transmitted to us. For the sciences are numerous, and the thinkers belonging to the different nations are many, and what has perished of the ancient sciences exceeds by far what has reached us" (tr. Issawi).

5.4. Overcrowding and Urban Planning

"The commonest cause of epidemics is the pollution of the air resulting from a denser population which fills it with corruption and dense moisture…. That is why we mentioned, elsewhere, the wisdom of leaving open empty spaces in built-up areas, in order that the winds may circulate, carrying away all the corruption produced in the air by animals and bringing in its place fresh, clean air. And this is why the death rate is highest in populous cities, such as Cairo in the East and Fez in the West" (tr. Issawi).

5.5. The pernicious effects of domination

"A harsh and violent upbringing, whether of pupils, slaves or servants, has as its consequence that violence dominates the soul and prevents the development of the personality. Energy gives way to indolence, and wickedness, deceit, cunning and trickery are developed by fear of physical violence. These tendencies soon become ingrained habits, corrupting the human quality which men acquire through social intercourse and which consists of manliness and the ability to defend oneself and one's household. Such men become dependent on others for protection; their souls even become too lazy to acquire virtue or moral beauty. They become ingrown. …This is what has happened to every nation which has been dominated by others and harshly treated" (tr. Issawi).

5.6. Taxes

"In the early stages of the state, taxes are light in their incidence, but fetch in a large revenue; in the later stages the incidence of taxation increases while the aggregate revenue falls off. …Now where taxes and imposts are light, private individuals are encouraged to actively engage in business; enterprise develops, because businessmen feel it worth their while, in view of the small share of their profits which they have to give up in the form of taxation. And as business prospers the number of taxes increases and the total yield of taxation grows. However, governments become progressively more extravagant and start to raise taxes. These increases [in taxes and sales taxes] grow with the spread of luxurious habits in the state, and the consequent growth in needs and public expenditure, until taxation burdens the subjects and deprives them of their gains. People get accustomed to this high level of taxation, because the increases have come about gradually, without anyone's being aware of exactly who it was who raised the rates of the old taxes or imposed the new ones. But the effects on business of this rise in taxation make themselves felt. For businessmen are soon discouraged by the comparison of their profits with the burden of their taxes, and between their output and their net profits. Consequently production falls off, and with it the yield of taxation. The rulers may, mistakenly, try to remedy this decrease in the yield of taxation by raising the rate of taxes; hence taxes and imposts reach a level which leaves no profit to businessmen, owing to high costs of production, heavy burden of taxation and inadequate net profits. This process of higher tax rates and lower yields (caused by the government's belief that higher rates result in higher returns) may go on until production begins to decline owing to the despair of businessmen, and to affect the population. The main injury of this process is felt by the state, just as the main benefit of better business conditions is enjoyed by it. From this you must understand that the most important factor making for business prosperity is to lighten as much as possible the burden of taxation on businessmen, in order to encourage enterprise by giving assurance of greater profits" (tr. Issawi).

5.7. At Qal‘at ibn Salamah

"I had taken refuge at Qal‘at ibn Salamah… and was staying in the castle belonging to Abu Bakr ibn ‘Arif, a well-built and most welcoming place. I had been there for a long time…working on the composition of the Kitab al-‘Ibar to the exclusion of all else. I had already finished drafting it, from the Introduction to the history of the Arabs, Berbers and the Zanatah, when I felt the need to consult books and archives such as are only to be found in large towns, in order to check and correct the numerous citations that I had set down from memory. Then I fell ill…. Because of all this, I felt a great wish to be reconciled with the Sultan Abu al-‘Abbas and to go back to Tunis, the land of my forefathers, whose houses and tombs are still standing and where traces of them are still to be found" (tr. Caroline Stone).

[1] [The exhibition was held in the Real Alcázar de Sevilla in May-September 2006: Ibn Jaldu´n: el Mediterráneo en el siglo XIV. Auge y declive de los imperios [Ibn Khaldun: The Mediterranean Region in the XIV century; the rise and fall of empires] organised in (Sevilla by the Fundacio´n El Legado Andalusi´ and Fundacio´n Jose´ Manuel Lara [note added by www.MuslimHeritage.com editorial board].

[2] These extracts from Ibn Khaldun's Muqaddima are part of the article published in Saudi Aramco World. A note in the article specifies: "Where not otherwise credited, translations from the Muqaddimah are from Charles Issawi's An Arab Philosophy of History: Selections from the Prolegomena of Ibn Khaldun of Tunis (1332–1406) (revised edition 1987, Darwin Press) or from Franz Rosenthal's three-volume translation The Muqaddimah (second edition 1967, Princeton University) [note added by www.MuslimHeritage.com editorial board].

* Caroline Stone has published more than 150 articles over the years in various languages, principally on textile history, medieval history and literature, Islamic culture and literature, and the cultural and economic relations between Europe and the Orient in the pre-modern era. She is the author, with Paul Lunde, of Al-Mas'udi, The Meadows of Gold: The Abbasids, translators and editors (Kegan Paul International, 1989). For a list of her publications, click here. [Note added by www.MuslimHeritage.com editorial board.]


by: Caroline Stone, Sat 24 April, 2010


Table of contents

1. Introduction
2. The Legal Background
2.1. Position of the Classical Jurists
2.2. Establishment of a Cash Waqf
2.3. The Perpetuity Debate
3. Cash Waqfs in Historical Reality
3.1. Survival of the Cash Waqfs
3.2. Icareteyn Vakiflari
3.3. The Management of the Cash Waqfs
4. Injection of Capital into the Economy
4.1. The Trustees as Borrowers
4.2. Capital Injection
4.3. The Decline of the Cash Waqfs
5. Conclusion
6. Bibliography
6.1. Primary Sources
6.2. Secondary Sources

Note of the editor

This article was summarised and updated from the author's extensive book A History of Philanthropic Foundations The Islamic World From The Seventh Century to the Present (Istanbul: Bogazici University Press, 2000). It is also a shortened and updated version of the author's original article published as Murat Cizakca, "Cash Waqfs of Bursa: 1555- 1823", Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient (E. J. Brill, Leiden), vol. 38, n° 3, 1995, pp. 313-354. A previous version of the article was published on www.MuslimHeritage.com in June 2004. The present version was converted to HTML with new illustrations.

* * *
Cash endowments contributed to Ottoman society, without any cost to the State, by organizing and financing expenditures on education, health, welfare and a host of other activities. The aim of this article is to discover how these endowments functioned and contributed to the society over the long term. For this purpose the Cash Waqf Census Registers of the city of Bursa covering the period 1555-1823 were analysed. Thus, although limited to one Ottoman city, a long-term analysis covering almost three hundred years has been attempted for the first time.

1. Introduction

The cash waqf (plural awqaf) was a Trust Fund established with money to support services to mankind in the name of God. The Ottoman courts approved these endowments as early as the beginning of the 15th century, and by the end of the 16th century they had reportedly become extremely popular all over Anatolia and the European provinces of the Empire.

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Figure 1: General view of Bursa, Turkey. Color photochrome print created between 1890 and 1900. (Source).

The exact extent of the geographical diffusion of these waqfs and, specifically, in the Arab provinces is subject to discussion. The gifted capital of the waqf was "transferred" to borrowers who after a certain period, usually a year, returned to the waqf the principal, plus a certain "extra" amount, which was then spent for all sorts of pious and social purposes. These vague terms, "transferred" and "extra", have been used here deliberately. Whether the capital of the endowment was lent as credit to the borrowers and the return was in fact nothing but the ordinary interest constitutes another debate. In a society where health, education and welfare were entirely financed by gifts and endowments, the cash waqfs carried serious implications for the very survival of the Ottoman social fabric.

2. The Legal Background

2.1. Position of the Classical Jurists

The Ottomans, being devoted Hanefis, conducted their business and social affairs within the general guidelines established by this school of thought. It is, therefore, imperative that this analysis should start with a summary of the classical Hanefi position pertaining to cash waqfs. Let us first consider the thorny issue of the endowment of moveable assets. The essence of this problem pertains to the perpetuity of the endowment, the sine qua non condition for any waqf. Real estate was thought to be the best asset to ensure the perpetuity of an endowment. There were, however, three recognized exceptions to this general principle among the Hanefi scholars:

* the endowment of moveable assets belonging to an endowed real estate, such as oxen or sheep from a farm, was permitted;
* second, if there was a pertinent hadith, and
* third, if the endowment of the moveable asset was the customary practice, ta'amul, in a particular region.

Indeed, exercising judicial preference, istihsan, Imam Muhammad al-Shaybani had ruled that even in the absence of a pertinent hadith, the endowment of a moveable asset was permissible if this was customary practice in a particular location. Apparently, even custom was not always a required condition, for according to al-Sarakhsi, Imam Muhammed had, in practice, approved the endowment of a moveable asset even in the absence of custom. Furthermore, both Imams Muhammed al-Shaybani and Abu Yusuf had confirmed, absolutely, the endowment of a moveable asset attached to a piece of real estate. In view of this, it is not surprising that we often see such combined cash/real estate waqfs in the Ottoman records.

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Figure 2: Endowment charter (waqfiyya) of Haseki Hürrem Sultan Mosque and Madrasa in Jerusalem. The document is dated 964 H / 1556–7, it is held in the Museum of Turkish and Islamic Arts, Inventory Number 2192, p. 1b. (Source).

Given the acceptability of moveable assets as the basis for creating a waqf, how does one define a moveable asset? More specifically, can money be considered a moveable asset and, therefore, be permitted as the basis for the establishment of a waqf? Imam Zufer answered this question affirmatively and ruled that the endowment of cash was absolutely permissible. Zufer went into detail as to how such an endowment could be organized: he suggested that the endowed cash should form the capital base of a mudaraba partnership and any profit realized be spent in accordance with the general purpose of the waqf as stated in its charter. If the moveable assets endowed were not originally in a liquid cash form, then they should be sold in the marketplace and the cash thus obtained could be utilized as the capital of a mudaraba.

In summary, three principles constituted the basis upon which the later Ottoman jurists built the structure of the cash waqfs: the approval of a moveable asset as the basis of a waqf, acceptance of cash as a moveable asset and, therefore, approval of cash endowments.

2.2. Establishment of a Cash Waqf

An additional debate in the establishment of Ottoman cash waqfs revolved around the question of irrevocability. According to Ebu Hanife, the founder of a waqf or his descendants could revoke the original decision and claim the endowed property back. That is to say, a waqf was revocable. Ebu Hanife added, that for a waqf to become irrevocable and valid, a court's decision was necessary.

Other great jurists of the Hanefi School did not agree with this opinion. Ebu Yusuf, for instance, argued that when Prophet Muhammad endowed his property, his personal property rights became null and void. Moreover, neither the Prophet nor any of the four Caliphs or the followers of the Prophet, ashab, ever reversed their decision to endow their properties. These scholars further argued that the establishment of a waqf was an irrevocable act, based upon the hadith pertaining to 'Umar's endowment.

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Figure 3: First pages of the Suleymaniye Kulliye (Complex) of Suleyman I deed (waqfiyya) written in 965/1557. Source: Vakiflar Genel Mudurlugu Arsiv ve Nesriyat Mudurlugu Arsivi, N° 52.

During the Ottoman period, a legal precedent was established which resolved the debate among the great Hanefi scholars, a man wishing to establish a waqf informed the court of his intention thereby creating the waqf. He later revoked his decision and demanded the trustee of the waqf return his capital. When the latter refused to do so, the case was brought before the court where the request was flatly rejected by the judge who declared that a waqf, once established, was irrevocable and definite.

There are many instances of the establishment of cash waqfs noted in the Bursa Court Registers. One particular case dated 1676 should suffice to demonstrate the process described above. A certain Mehmed Ali b. Hasan, resident of the Karaca Muhiddin district of Bursa, had appointed Hasan Celebi b. Mehmed as trustee of a cash waqf which was to be established with a rather modest capital of 50 Esedî Grus. This capital was to be loaned to borrowers having satisfactory collateral and sureties on a "ten to eleven percent per annum" basis.

The return from this investment was to be used to provide a public banquet for the poor Muslims in the "zaviye" of the Baglar district on the evening of every 12th Rebiullevvel. The 50 Esedi Grus was then entrusted to the trustee. Later the endowment's founder demanded the return of his capital on the belief that the three imams did not consider the establishment of a waqf with cash a legal act. The trustee responded that according to Imam-i Ensari quoting Imam-i Zufer, the cash waqf was legal. The two disputants appealed to the court for an opinion. In his application to the court, Mehmed Ali b. Hasan stated that since Abu Hanife did not consider a waqf irrevocable and, therefore, withdrawal from a decision to establish a waqf was permitted, he wished to do so and demanded his capital from the trustee of the waqf. The trustee responded by confirming that, indeed, Abu Hanife had not considered a waqf as definitely irrevocable but Abu Yusuf, the "second imam" and Al- Shaybani, the "third imam" had ruled that a waqf was both definite and irrevocable and therefore he requested the decision of the court upholding the irrevocability of the waqf. The judge ruled that the waqf was definite and irrevocable and that any attempt to abolish the waqf was null and void. Moreover, the judge ruled, this decision was in agreement with the rulings of all the "strong imams". This verdict finalized the procedure for the binding establishment of a cash waqf.

2.3. The Perpetuity Debate

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Figure 4: External view of Topkapi Palace Library, established by the Sultan Ahmed III as his own waqf.

The establishment of cash waqfs by the Ottomans during the 15th century appears to have taken place without legal difficulties. But during the next century when these waqfs became so popular that they dominated the awqaf system, the military judge of the European provinces, Civizade, challenged the situation. The Seyhulislam Abussuud Efendi almost immediately countered his view and a fierce debate began. Since the details of this debate have already been published they will not be summarized here. It suffices to say that the debate between these two great jurists and their followers lasted for more than a century and even then remained inconclusive. Supported by the State, cash waqfs continued to exist and flourish. We will now focus our attention on the paradigm of perpetuity, the most vital issue in the debate, and seek answers to the following questions:

* Since, one of the main points of the debate concerned the problem of perpetuity (proponents arguing that these endowments had as good a chance for survival as any other real estate endowments and the opponents believing that they would collapse within a relatively short time), would it be possible now, during the first decade of the 21th century, to evaluate retroactively which side of the debate was more true?
* What factors caused their failure or support endowments, indeed, had rapidly disappeared, where they so badly managed? If, in contrast, they succeeded in surviving for any length of time, then what were the reasons for their relative success?
* In what way did the cash waqfs contribute to the process of capital accumulation? This question has to be approached from two perspectives, i.e., from the point of view of savers as well as users of funds. More specifically, did the savers pool their resources to form joint cash waqfs or did they add their capital to already existing ones? Did the users of capital have access to several cash waqfs so as to enlarge the available pool of capital at their disposal?
* In the process of transferring funds to entrepreneurs or to the public, to what extent was the Islamic prohibition of riba observed? In other words are the claims that cash waqfs violated Islamic law justified?

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Figure 5: Original Ottoman coin (left) and gold-coloured (brass) replica (right), both used as ornaments, dated 1223. (Source).

3. Cash Waqfs in Historical Reality

3.1. Survival of the Cash Waqfs

Since perpetuity is considered to be the conditio sine qua non of any waqf, an analysis of the survival rate of the cash waqfs assumes great importance. Unfortunately, with the exception of the Barkan-Ayverdi study, there is no published source that is relevant for this paradigm. Even this well-known study suffers from two weaknesses. First, it covers a time span of merely 76 years and is therefore unsuitable for an analysis of perpetuity. Next, closely related to the first weakness (since it is based upon an analysis of only three tahrir registers), the fluctuations in the number of waqfs that survived may be misleading. These fluctuations may have resulted from the fact that there may have been more than one tahrir register for a single year and a waqf not observed in one register may simply have been included in the missing register.

Bearing in mind these shortcomings of the Barkan-Ayverdi study, which concentrated on Istanbul waqfs, an attempt has been made in this article to overcome these two weaknesses by a study of the Bursa cash waqfs. To start with, the time span has been expanded to cover the period 1555-1823, i.e. a period of 268 years. Secondly, the analysis has been based upon the individual cash waqf. Thus, it has been possible to trace the performance of a waqf over a much longer period of time and it has been found that a waqf that seemed to have vanished at a certain point in time could be "re-discovered" at a later period.

The main source used for this study is the set of registers that may be called aptly the "vakif tahrir defterleri" or the cash waqf censuses. About seventy volumes of these registers have been identified among the Bursa Court Registers Collection. In order to facilitate the research, a sample had to be made and those registers with approximately 20 years in between were chosen. Having selected our sample sources, we were then in a position to examine thoroughly the debate between the two great jurists of the 16th century, Chivizade and Seyhulislam Abussuud Efendi and attempt to conclude, some four hundred years later, whose perspective was the most accurate. The question that we researched was, "what percentage of registered waqfs were perpetual"? But first, the term "perpetual" must be defined. For all practical purposes, a perpetual waqf is defined here as one which survived for more than a century. Thus, those waqfs that had survived for at least one hundred years were sought.

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Figure 6: An Ottoman akça coin dated 1115 hijra (1703 AD), issued during the reign of Sultan Mehmed IV.

In order to find the answer to the problem of perpetuity, a total of 2688 cash waqfs were entered into the computer. This constituted the total population of the research. Within this whole population, however, there were 761 individual waqfs that were repeatedly identified across several different years, hence the much larger total population figure. The main question can thus be re-stated: what percentage of these 761 waqfs were "perpetual"?

In order to answer this question, the entire waqf population was analysed by computer. To help the computer identify distinct individual waqfs, it was decided that the district (mahalle) would be the main research unit. There were usually several waqfs in each mahalle and each of the latter was given a separate code. The computer was ordered to arrange first the entire population according to the mahalles in alphabetical order; and, secondly, to produce a chronological list of the waqfs in each mahalle. With this chronological list of district waqfs in hand, it was then a simple matter to search for an individual waqf and count the number of its occurrences across different registers and different years.

One of the greatest difficulties encountered in this study was the naming of the mahalles. This difficulty became quite serious since the recording clerks often omitted writing the name of the mahalle in which a waqf was established, and so many waqfs could not be included in the research. Thus, the number of perpetual waqfs observed represents a probable minimum of the total reality. This number was 148, that is to say out of 761 individual waqfs, 148 definitely survived for more than a century. This gives us a "perpetuity percentage" of 19%. It is quite clear that had it been possible to incorporate, into the general population, those waqfs that could not be traced to a specific mahalle, this percentage would have exceeded 20%.

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Figure 7: Front cover of Inventory of Ottoman Turkish Documents about Waqf Preserved in the Oriental Department at the St. Cyril and Methodius National Library by Evgeni Radushev, Svetlana Ivanova, Rumen Kovachev, Part 1: Registers, Sofia, IMIR, 2003. Click here for the table of contents and here for the preface to the book written by Vera Mutafchieva.

Given this information, can we then pass a judgement about the 16th century debate of perpetuity? In other words, was Abussuud Efendi correct in arguing that cash waqfs had as good a chance as real estate waqfs for long-term survival? Obviously, what has been presented above constitutes only the first part of the answer to this question, i.e. that at least 20% of the cash waqfs survived for more than a century. For a complete answer, it would be necessary to determine the survival rate for real estate waqfs. Such research has never been attempted.

At this point, it may be argued that the real estate waqfs, normally, would have had a far better chance of survival than the cash waqfs and Abussuud Efendi must have been wrong to argue that the latter had as good a chance for survival as the former. But the staying power of the real estate waqfs should not be exaggerated. After all, waqfs were subject to such dangers as frequent fires, earthquakes and the declining fertility of land. Moreover, they suffered from inelastic revenues, the artisans who rented their shops refused to increase their rents and were difficult to evict due to the State support they enjoyed.

3.2. Icareteyn Vakiflari

When a major disaster struck a waqf property, substantial reconstruction work would have to be undertaken. Financing such unforeseen major expenses would naturally have been beyond the capacity of the normal revenues of the endowment. The solution was found in an institution known as the icareteyn vakiflari, which may be translated as the "double rent endowments."

The basis of this institution is subject to debate. Gerber has argued that the classical law manuals are silent about the icareteyn vakiflari and that these endowments were invented during the 16th century. According to Gerber, these endowments were incorporated into the Ottoman jurisprudence in the year 1611-12, with the promulgation of a new law. This law belonged to the orbit of the state law, kanun, and was not an original Islamic concept. However, this view is challenged by Akgunduz who traces the origin to the so-called icare-i tavile by which the long term renting of an endowment property became possible for the first time as early as the 10th century. The icare-i tavile, a simple method by which the trustee signed successive rent contracts in a single session, was approved by the well known Hanefite jurists Mohammed b. El-Fadl and Ca'fer al-Hindawani. Moreover, the concept of a lump sum payment can also be observed in the writings of these early 10th century jurists. That the icare-i tavile evolved during the next six centuries into the Ottoman icareteyn vakiflari is certainly an interesting idea and is supported by Klaus Kreiser. Drawing our attention to a 15th century fetwa (religious decree) by Seyhulislam Molla Gurani and to Bulent Koprulu's work, Kreiser has informed us that the concept of double rents was well known during the 15th and 16th centuries.

But this evolution did not occur smoothly and the legality of the concept was subject to an intense debate lasting several centuries even before the Ottomans emerged as a world power. The final outcome of the debate was that such endowments could be permitted only following the decision of a judge and in response to a dire necessity, zaruret. In any case, the promulgation of the 1611-12 law was apparently in response to such a zaruret which took the form of a series of fires that caused large scale destruction of the waqf property in Istanbul.

The new system was based upon two different types of rents: the first one was a large lump sum amount, muaccele, paid promptly to the trustee of the waqf. The second type, mueccele, was the normal annual rent. According to a fetwa by Abulhay, the muaccele had to be roughly equal to the real value of the waqf property and the relationship between the two rents exhibited a ratio that varied between 1:30 and 1:112.

With the now substantially enhanced revenues of the waqf, the reconstruction work could be completed. In order to ensure that the rental of a waqf property remained attractive to prospective tenants, the tenure was lengthened substantially, up to as much as 90 years.

Lengthening the tenure to nearly a century created two new problems. The first one was the legal problem of circumventing the orthodox legal prohibition on the long-term lease of a waqf. A legal device, hile-i ser'iye, which has been explained in detail by Gerber, solved this problem. The second problem was the more substantial one of confusion and eventual loss of the waqf property rights in the long term. It goes without saying that with the tenure increasing to just under a century, the waqf property ended up having, in practice, two "owners" which must have led to substantial confusion of property rights. As a result, the new tenants who rented it as icareteyn must have eventually usurped some real estate waqf property. There is substantial evidence that in Egypt, where the ninety years tenure was applied, probably for the first time, this practice led to the emergence of pseudo private property.

Although it is not possible, within the present limitations of our knowledge, to quantify these arguments, substantial evidence can be found regarding the evolution of the Ottoman waqf law. Consider, for instance, the legal status of the person, mutasarrif, who utilized the waqf property. Although, strictly speaking, when the former died, the contract between him and the endowment should have been cancelled, however, over time a transfer prior to death was permitted. This transfer took the form of renting or selling the waqf property to a third party. Bequeathing the property to one's children or even to other relatives was permitted first in 1833 and then in 1867. When such transfers became legal, clearly the status of anicareteyn waqf effectively approached that of private property. Finally, Vakiflar Kanunu, the republican law of endowments, permitted the private ownership of a waqf property against the payment of a so-called taviz bedeli.

Until now, we have referred to the "usurpation" of waqf property rights by private individuals. But the greatest challenge to these rights came from the State and need not be repeated here as it has been explained in detail elsewhere. All of the above should indicate the vulnerability of the real estate waqfs for long term survival and hence, in retrospect, support Abussuud Efendi's argument in the perpetuity debate. Before moving on to the next topic, it will be argued here that the icareteyn vakiflari probably constituted the origin of the well-known malikane system, which was initiated in the year 1695 and thereafter dominated Ottoman State finance during the 18th century. In the malikane system, as in the icareteyn vakiflari, tax-farms were auctioned off to the highest bidder who paid a muaccele, a large lump sum payment and an annual rent, mal. The system was introduced during a period of extreme financial hardship and severe budget deficits caused by the long and costly war with the Habsburgs. It played a crucial role in restoring the State finances (Genç, 1975).

3.3. The Management of the Cash Waqfs

Having observed the "perpetuity percentage" of the cash waqfs, the obvious question to ask at this point is one of management. How was it that some twenty percent of the cash waqfs succeeded in surviving for more than a century in the first place? To answer this question we need to take a careful look at the way these waqfs were managed. More specifically, we will be concerned here mainly with the manner in which the trustee invested the capital of the waqf.

A typical 18th century waqf register contains the following information:
1. The name of the waqf and the purpose for which it was established;
2. The name of the mahalle; district, in which the endowment was registered;
3. The name of the trustee;
4. The time period covered by the census;
5. Original capital of the waqf;
6. Later additions to the capital of the waqf, either by individuals or by other waqfs;
7. The balance of the new capital thus formed;
8. The return obtained from the investment of the endowed capital at the end of the year;
9. The purpose for which the annual return was designated, i,e., the expenditure or almasarif. Finally, in the section known as the zimem, information about the borrowers of the endowment capital was given;
10. The names of the borrowers;
11. The amount of capital they borrowed;
12. The mahalle where the borrowers lived;
13. The religious denomination of the borrowers; and
14. Their gender.

The invaluable wealth of information contained in the waqf census registers stems from the standardized entry of data kept on hundreds of endowments across a time span of nearly three hundred years. Leaving aside the usual changes in the palaeography, there are only two distinctions discernible between a record kept in the 16th century and one of the 18th century. Pprofit was called iradin the former period and murabahain the latter; and whereas in the earlier period there is no information supplied about the borrowers, this information is made available in the latter. With the exception of these differences, a 16th century waqf census entry contains exactly the same type of information as the one from the 18th century.

A typical 18th century cash waqf entry would read like this: "The account of the revenue and expenditure of the Muslim endowments for the purpose of (assisting) the avariz and nuzul taxes for the (residents of the) Orhan Gazi district of the city of Bursa during the trusteeship of Esseyid Halil Aga, the trustee of the said endowment from the year 1200 (1785) until the end of Zilhicce of the same year."

This particular cash waqf was endowed with an initial capital of 2377.5 grus. To this, the "profit" of the previous year was added which increased the capital to 2544 grus. Later, we have three other waqfs further contributing to this 2544 grus. The first contribution, 50 grus, was provided by the waqf of the Ayse Hatun for the purpose of reciting the mevlid. The second one, 85 grus, came from the waqf of Hatim Hatun, for the same purpose. Finally, the third contribution, 50 grus, also came from the waqf of Hatim Hatun this time, for the purpose of buying candles for the Orhan Gazi waqf. The total capital of the endowment thus, increased from the original 2377.5 grus to 2729 grus, a total addition of 351.5 grus.

This enhanced capital of 2729 grus was then distributed as credit to 20 individuals. These investments generated a return of 257.5 grus, murabaha fi sene-i kamile, which represented 9.4 per cent of the invested capital. Out of this return of 257.5 grus, a total of 86.5 grus were spent to assist the payment of avariz and nuzul taxes, to recite the mevlid, to buy candles, to pay the trustee and the bookkeeper, and for miscellaneous expenses. The remaining 171 grus was called the ziyade ez masraf and was added the following year to the capital of the endowment. This demonstrates, in brief, how a cash waqf actually functioned.

In a nutshell, the endowed capital was distributed as credit to a number of borrowers and the return from this investment was spent for religious and social purposes. If the return exceeded, as in this particular example, the expenses, the remainder was then added to the original capital of the endowment the following year. In this brief explanation there are many points that cry out for an explanation. First, let us consider the enhancement of the initial capital.

The original capital of an endowment could be expanded in two ways: either the return of the invested capital exceeded the expenditure and the resulting profit was added to the capital, or other endowments assigned part of their revenue to the endowment considered. The waqf for the provision of food to the members of the guild of sipahiyan constitutes a good example: the original capital of this endowment was 2010.5 grus. Four other endowments contributed to the capital of this waqf increasing it to 2180.5 grus. There is no satisfactory explanation for this frequently observed phenomenon of the transfer of funds between endowments. Whatever the explanation, the increased capital was invested in its entirety through transference to borrowers.

Having observed above that the original capital of the endowment could be increased either by a reinvestment of the profit generated or by contributions from other endowments, it will be argued here that there must have been a relationship between "perpetuity" and enhancement of the initial capital. Put differently, we have the impression that the "perpetual waqfs" owed their survival to the enhancement of their initial capital. It has been stated above that 148 perpetual waqfs were studied. Of this total a 25% sample (36 perpetual waqfs) was created and the relationship between the enhancement of their capital and their perpetuity was examined. The results of this analysis are presented in Table 1 [1]. Out of these 36 perpetual waqfs, only 7 or 19%, had not had their initial capital expanded. The remainder, i.e., 81% of these waqfs, had gone through a process of capital enhancement. Thus, our impression that the enhancement of the initial capital appears to have been an important factor in explaining the perpetuity of the endowments was confirmed.

Let us now examine the nature of the return of the invested capital, the irad or murabaha. Was it based on a certain percentage of the capital invested, i.e. a rate of interest pure and simple, or was it solely the profit generated by the invested capital? If the former is true, it goes without saying that this would be in contradiction with the well known Islamic prohibition of interest. In such a case an explanation concerning how the prohibition was circumvented would be necessary. If the latter alternative is correct, i.e. return equals profit realized, then the return could conceivably entail not only a situation of profit but also a loss thereby causing a potential depletion of the initial capital as well.

A cash waqf could invest its capital in one of these three methods: mudaraba, bida'a and muamele-iseriyye. The first two methods are well known forms of Islamic finance and need not be explained here. The third expression, on the other hand, is a general terminology covering various methods by which money could be lent to borrowers within the framework of Islamic jurisprudence. While the jurists permitted these muamele-i seriye methods, it seems they were simple legal devices intent on obeying the letter of the law while violating its spirit. Of these, a method called Istiglal, was the most wide-spread. By this method, the borrower was asked to provide a collateral, usually his own house, which he was permitted to continue using but for which he had to pay a rent for as long as he kept the waqf's money in his possession. When he paid back the credit, the ownership of his house reverted back to him. It is the exact nature of this rent and whether it actually constituted interest that is debated.

Thus, through istighlal and other similar measures, it was possible for cash waqfs to lend money (on interest) and still remain within the law. But did they actually lend money on interest or pseudo interest? We searched for the answer to this question by examining the murabaha/capital ratios. This search also shed light upon a recent debate between modern economic historians and jurists. This debate started with the Barkan-Ayverdi study that claimed that the cash waqfs simply lent money on interest. These authors were then joined by first Mandaville and then Gerber.

A large body of modern day jurists specializing in Islamic law came to notice Barkan's and others' argument when these views were summarized and published in Turkish (Çizakça and Çiller, 1989). In a symposium that followed in Istanbul, the historians' views were criticized on the grounds that all of the methods by which the cash waqfs transferred their capital to the borrowers had been scrutinized carefully by the Ottoman jurists and were therefore legal. More specifically, it was argued that the historians had been confused by some of the terminology used in the endowment deeds. The term istirbah, for instance, which some historians wrongly interpreted as resorting to riba or interest, simply meant that the capital of the endowment was not transferred as karz-i hasene, lending without interest, but that a share of the profit to be earned by the investment of the endowed capital was to be paid back by the borrower to the waqf. The term ilzam-i ribh, likewise, meant that the borrower was required to make a profit and return to the waqf the principal plus a share of this profit. The term, onu onbir uzere, which can be translated as "eleven out of ten", specified this profit share and meant that for every ten dirhems earned by the borrower or the entrepreneur, one dirhem should be returned to the waqf.

The crucial word here is "earn". Indeed, if as Donduren suggests, the amount returned to the waqf by the borrower was a percentage of the profit earned, then this would be a profit share and not interest. So, herein is the basis for yet another debate.

To test this theory we need to investigate the profit/capital ratios for each cash endowment. If Donduren is right and the return of the capital was in the form of a profit share, then we would expect that the profit/capital ratio would exhibit a fluctuating trend reflecting the ever changing amounts of profits (or losses) accruing to the invested capital. If the return, however, were in the nature of in would expect to see more or less constant profit/capital invested.

Before we start this analysis, however, we need to make a distinction between judicial and economic interest. Even if the profit/capital ratios exhibit a constant trend and the return is therefore identified as interest, it must be remembered that this pertains to an economic interest and not to a judicial one. This is because, as far as judicial interest is concerned, the issue had been resolved centuries ago by the jurists. Istighlal and other methods of lending that modern historians consider simply as interest, pertain in actual fact to economic interest. As far as the Legal Establishment was concerned, these instruments were permitted and not categorized as interest. Most of the Ottoman jurists had no doubts about the legality of these instruments.

To find an answer to the question of whether the murabaha or irad constituted an economic interest, 1563 waqfs and their respective profit/capital ratios covering the period 1667-1805 had been entered into the computer. This evaluation constituted a major part of an earlier study (Çizakça, 1993). Only four of these waqfs exhibited significant fluctuations while all the rest, i,e., 1559 of them, produced returns of between 9 and 12 per cent. Thus we conclude, although the financial instruments utilized by the cash waqfs were considered to be legal and approved by the courts, these constant ratios strongly suggest that an economic interest prevailed. The details are presented below.

Average profit/capital ratio (Economic interest)


Economic Interest Rates in Bursa

963/1555


10.8%

1078/1667


10.8%

1104/1692


10.8%

1105/1693


10.6%

1163/1749


11.5%

1181/1767


11.1%

1200/1785


11.5%

1201/1786


11.0%

1220/1805


11.5%

1239/1823


13.0%

Table 1

At this point, it would be appropriate to ponder the implications of this observation. First of all, the increasing trend of the economic interest rate in Bursa is diametrically opposed to the declining trend of the rate of interest observed in the West. This observation needs urgent explanation and should constitute the subject of a separate research. Moreover, there seems to have existed a secondary capital market in the Ottoman economy. This conclusion is suggested by the observation that market interest rates prevailing among the sarraf in Istanbul as well as in Ankara were significantly higher than the Bursa interest rates. This leads us to the following conclusions: first, the cash waqfs were prohibited from applying the existing market interest rate and were not allowed to charge rates above a certain limit imposed by their founders. Second, there were at least two different rates of interest prevailing in the market with the cash waqfs applying the lower rate. Consequently, it would make economic sense to borrow from a Bursa cash waqf and to lend the capital borrowed at the market rate of interest, say, to the sarrafs, bankers, in Istanbul.

We will investigate this speculation below. For the moment, it should suffice to point out that evidence from other sources support this argument. Consider, for instance, the forthcoming book by Ronald Jennings where he has shown that the trustee of a waqf in Lefkose, Cyprus lent money to the poor at 20 or 30% "interest" thereby violating the condition of the donor that only 10% "interest" be charged. This violation did not escape the attention of the court and the trustee was accused of fraud.

It is possible to find literally thousands of endowment documents, vakifnames, which impose a maximum level of economic interest to be charged. Consider the following cases: In the month of Safer, 1513, el-Hac Suleyman b. el-Hac (?) endowed 70.000 silver dirhems. Of this, 30.000 dirhems were to be spent for the construction of a school and the remaining 40.000 was to be loaned as muamele-is-eriyyeand istiglal with 10% annual murabaha. The revenue thus obtained was to be spent as follows: 3 dirhems daily wage to the teacher of the school, 1 dirhem to his assistant, 1 dirhem to the person who recites the Koran, and 2 dirhems to the trustee of the endowment.

Looking at the situation from a purely economic point of view, it may be suggested that if other institutions like the sarraf existed, that fully exploited the high market demand for capital by charging higher rates of interest, then eventually such institutions would expand at the expense of the cash waqfs, which due to moral and religious considerations were not permitted to charge beyond a maximum rate. We will have more to say on this argument when we consider the decline of the cash waqfs.

* Prof. Dr. Murat Çizakça was a Professor at the Bogaziçi University, Fatih University and Bahcesehir University. He is currently a Professor of Comparative Economic History, PDP Member, INCEIF, at the Global University in Islamic Finance, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.


by: Professor Murat Cizakca, Sun 27 June, 2004 http://muslimheritage.com/topics/default.cfm?ArticleID=424
Ketersediaan pasar bagi para pedagang adalah serupa dengan ketersediaan jalan bagi setiap orang untuk bepergian, sekolah untuk belajar, atau mushola untuk salat. Tanpa pasar seseorang tak bebas berdagang.
Sepanjang sejarah Islam para pedagang selalu bergerak bebas, sendiri-sendiri maupun dalam kafilah-kafilah dagang (Karavan), dari satu pasar terbuka ke pasar terbuka lainnya. Bahkan, pasar-pasar itu pun selalu bergerak yang dicerminkan dari nama-namanya: suq al-ahad di Damaskus, suq al-thalatha di Baghdad, suq al-arba’a di Maswil, suq al-khamis di Fez dan Marakesh.
Pasar-pasar itu tidak ada yang permanen. Hanya untuk keperluan pengamanan barang-barang berharga dibangun gudang-gudang penyimpanan, sebagai fasilitas umum. Pasar pertama di Madinah yang dibangun oleh Rasulullah SAW, baqi’ al-Zubayr, pun sepenuhnya merupakan lapangan terbuka. Terkait dengan keberadaan pasar-pasar terbuka ini institusi wakaf kembali perlu dihidupkan.
Pengenaan segala bentuk retribusi dan pajak di pasar juga haram hukumnya, dengan jaminan oleh pemerintah (bukan justru memajaki para pedagang, sebagaimana dilakukan oleh negara fiskal). Di sini, sekali lagi, kita melihat bahwa pemerintahan negara kapitalis yang memajaki rakyatnya sendiri adalah sebuah otoritas yang mengingkari fungsinya sebagai pelindung masyarakat. Apalagi, akhirnya hanya sedikit saja pajak itu yang dikembalikan kepada rakyat, karena sebagian besar diserahkan sepenuhnya kepada rentenir sebagai cicilan utang.
Pasar terbuka dalam konteks kekinian, tentu saja, tidak lalu berarti sekadar mengembalikan pasar-pasar tradisional yang sumpek dan kumuh, tetapi pasar-pasar dengan sarana niaga yang memadai, pergudangan, perparkiran, sarana komunikasi modern, layaknya ‘mal dan hipermarket’, tetapi terbuka sebagai milik umum. Membangun kembali karavan tidak lalu menghidupkan kembali kabilah-kabilah berunta, tetapi delegasi-delegasi pedagang, dengan kapal-kapal dagang, atau sekurangnya peti kemas bergerak, yang bisa berpindah dari satu pasar terbuka ke pasar terbuka lainnya.
Yang paling fundamental untuk dimengerti dari sebuah karavan adalah wataknya yang terbuka bagi setiap investor, sepanjang ada kesepakatan antara mereka dengan si agen-pedagang. Maka, sebuah karavan dapat berukuran kecil, beberapa dirham saja, atau sangat besar, mencapai ribuan dinar. Karavan bisa melibatkan kontrak kemitraan dagang antara dua orang (satu pedagang dan satu investor) atau puluhan orang (satu agen dan banyak investor). Dalam ukuran tradisional, kalau mau dilihat dari jumlah unta yang terlibat dalam sebuah karavan juga bisa: di Mekah dulu sebuah karavan bisa terdiri atas ratusan, bahkan ribuan, ekor unta.
Dalam catatan sejarahwan Mesir, Muhammad Haekal, misalnya, dalam bukunya yang terkenal Sejarah Hidup Muhammad (sallallahu’alaihi wasalam) disebutkan omset Karavan Mekah di masa awal Rasulullah sallallahu’alaihi wassalam mencapai 250 ribu dinar/tahun. Praktis semua warga Mekah ketika itu terlibat dalam pembiayaan karavan. Karavan milik Utsman bin Affan sendiri saja, ketika tiba dari Syam pada suatu kali, berjumlah 1000 ekor unta. Satu Karavan, menurut Haekal lagi, adakalanya berangkat dengan 2000 ekor unta, dengan muatan senilai 50 ribu dinar.
Kontrak yang diberlakukan dalam sebuah karavan adalah kontrak kemitraan dagang atau qirad, juga acap disebut sebagai mudharabah. Syarat pertama qirad adalah ia hanya valid dilakukan dalam dinar atau dirham, bukan dalam bentuk lain. Pembagian keuntungan tergantung kesepakatan, tetapi bila terjadi kerugian, sepenuhnya ditanggung oleh pihak investor. Kontrak qirad tidak mengenal batas waktu, sepenuhnya berdasarkan pada siklus perdagangan yang bersangkutan (baca juga artikel di situs ini: Tentang Qirad dan Syirkat).
Penghidupan kembali perdagangan melalui Festival Hari Pasaran (FHP) yang kini mulai secara reguler dilakukan pada dasarnya adalah juga untuk membuka kemungkinan dimulainya kembali karavan-karavan dan kontrak qirad di atas. Dengan tersedianya pasar, tempat terbuka dan bebas untuk berdagang, maka tak ada lagi penghambat bagi seseorang untuk berdagang. Kalau pun ada masalah permodalan dapat dengan mudah diatasi melalui kontrak qirad dengan pemilik modal.
Kalau warga Quraish di Mekah saja, di masa 1500 tahun lalu, telah mampu berqirad sampai 250 ribu dinar/siklus tahunan (setara 375 milyar rupiah), kenapa kita tidak? Maka, segera mulailah berqirad, meski hanya dengan 10 Dirham perak, untuk perdagangan di festival hari pasaran kita!
sumber: www.zaimsaidi.org