Peace in the Middle East

As a student of Middle Eastern and Arab history, this question of peace has invariably crossed my path. "What is the solution?" I am often asked, as if my knowledge of history would give me some divine foresight into events to come. I am no prophet, and I can make no such estimations of the future. However, I can provide what insight is available to us based on past information. Though it may not confirm our ideas, it may, at the least, inform them.

What follows is a research paper composed for a class on Modern Israel in which I grapple with the question of two states versus one in a historical context, particularly focusing on Mandatory Palestine. I firmly believe in its contents, but this does not compromise the "objectivity" of the report. As will become clear, the purpose is not to convince, but to instruct and inform. My hope is that anyone reading this will be able to understand and apply its lessons in the way they see fit, and to ultimately find an understanding above all else. There is no "solution" presented in this report, and any attempts to divine one would be to miss the point. There is a deeper wisdom to be gained from history, and I hope that this admittedly imperfect essay will nevertheless help people come to understand that point.

Thus, I present:

Brit Shalom and the Bi-National Solution: An Inquiry into the Moral and Practical Substance of Rapprochement and History

You are forever exclaiming, “Perhaps yesterday your advice was sound, but now it is no longer valid. Today it is no longer possible; it no longer holds true. Today everything has changed!” And thus today has become yesterday and another yesterday…Always, in every situation, it is possible to do something, some correct undertaking, something which determines to some extent the face of the next hour, the character of the next situation. The conditions of action are constantly changing; there is always the obligation to do something else, something new, that is, to respond to a changing situation. But the correct response![1]

- Professor Martin Buber

Brit Shalom and its related bi-nationalist thinkers were often presented as idealists and moralists who failed to grasp the practical realities of the Jewish-Arab problem in Mandatory Palestine. The common rationale is that their bi-national idea, while admirable in theory, was nothing more than the moralizing of a small intellectual elite, and it ultimately was doomed to fail due to its failure to recognize the political and social realities of the time. Furthermore, this argument about the impracticality of the “one state solution” or any such rapprochement between Jews and Arabs has recurred time and again based on the argument of historical circumstances. Those interested in the possibility of peace between the two groups have often looked back upon these early efforts towards cooperation, and yet ultimately the standard line prevails: bi-nationalism was and is nothing more than an ideal, and never was a real possibility.

However, closer analysis reveals that this is an overly simplistic understanding of the movement. Indeed, many Brit Shalom and bi-nationalist thinkers had a keen perception for practice as well as theory, and they put their ideas into action (albeit with varying degrees of success). The contrast between the Realpolitik of mainline Zionist organizations such as the Histadrut and the theoretical and moral view of bi-nationalism is a false dichotomy, and in fact the two shared many similar sentiments in both ideology and practice. The difference, however, lies in that many mainline Zionist organizations drew a divide between the beliefs and goals of their public ideology from their private politics. The bi-nationalist thinkers such as Judah Magnes and Martin Buber, on the other hand, drew no such boundary in their own beliefs, and attempted to bridge moral ideals with practical politics. What resulted was an ideology that was both idealistic and realistic, and it was consistently so across public and private discourse.

The purpose of this essay is to examine the complexities of this theoretical-practical idea as it pertains to Brit Shalom and related thinkers. The goal is not to present a causal argument as to why the bi-national idea failed. Truly, such an explanation is beyond the scope of true history, and leads to overly simplistic views of the parties involved. Rather, Brit Shalom and the bi-nationalist phenomenon require a sophisticated understanding in order to properly place them in history and, if possible, learn from their successes and mistakes. This essay will attempt this task in three sections. First, it will give a background to the bi-nationalist idea. Second will be an analysis of the unique way in which it bridged theory and practice. Finally, there will be an analysis of the implicit mistrust and East/West dichotomy which nevertheless characterized thinkers dedicated towards understanding and unity. It is the hope of the author that these points and arguments will help clear the air of deterministic and ultimately destructive understandings of the past and replace them with an understanding useful to current thinkers wrestling with the contemporary Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The conclusion reached here is that the history of the national question during Mandatory times, properly understood, can neither justify the advent or success of partition any more than it can justify the lack of success of the bi-national solution, whether in the past or in the future. Neither is historically determined to succeed or fail; they are determined by the human beings who dedicate themselves to being active agents in the full light of history.

Background

The ideology of Jewish and Arab cooperation has roots deep in the early stages of Zionism itself. Thinkers such as Ahad Ha’Am and Aharon David Gordon in particular stress the spiritual and moral aspect of Zionism over the political. The latter figure in particular stressed the importance of cooperation with Arabs in order to achieve Zionist ends. Their ideas would later have a profound influence on Martin Buber and other supporters of bi-nationalism. Buber himself stressed the moral side of Zionism over the grossly political. He believed that Zionism above all meant a cultural and spiritual rebirth for the Jews, and this therefore required peaceful interaction with other nations. To ignore the moral responsibilities of Jewish values would be to subvert the entire endeavor. Borrowing from Kantian deontology, Buber argued that one nation’s goals cannot trump another’s because nations are comprised of people who must morally be treated as ends in themselves, never as means to an end.[2] While Buber certainly held his own unique philosophical views, in general, many of the thinkers associated with Brit Shalom and bi-nationalism shared similar sentiments towards the moral nature of Zionism, and as such viewed cooperation not just as a potential solution to the “Arab question,” but as a moral imperative.

Brits Shalom was founded in 1925 after an impassioned speech by Joseph Horowitz calling for Jews to cooperate with Arabs and become more “Eastern” in outlook in order to resist the divisive influences of Arab nationalism and Islamic revivalism.[3] The organization was established as a sort of think-tank for research into the Arab problem and the possibilities of cooperation and understanding. Though participation in Brit Shalom was small, it featured such thinkers as Arthur Ruppin, Hans Kohn, and Chaim Kalvarisky, among others. Judah Magnes, though often connected to the group, was never actually a member, citing a potential conflict of interests with his position as head of the Hebrew University.[4] However, Magnes would remain a close colleague to many of the Brit Shalom thinkers.

Immediately, Brit Shalom members recognized the uniqueness of the venture. In a letter to Hans Kohn, Ruppin expresses the difficulty of “bring[ing] the Jews as a second nation into a country which is already settled by a nation – and fulfill this through peaceful means.”[5] Ruppin notes in this letter that previously, such events were imposed through force. Thus, Brit Shalom had to be willing to put their ideas into both practical and peaceful action. Throughout its existence, the group sponsored many initiatives towards Jewish and Arab cooperation, especially among workers. To this end, they endeavored to set up unions with the joint efforts of other Jewish groups, especially those with socialist aspirations. Mainly, however, Brit Shalom focused its efforts on educating Jews about Arab culture and attempting to foster understanding within the Jewish community.[6]

After the Arab riots of 1929, Brit Shalom came under heavy attack from Zionist leaders and newspapers. Brit Shalom was even accused of siding with the Arabs.[7] Yet, the riots seemed to further the resolve of several Brit Shalom thinkers in the necessity of peaceful cooperation and communication in order to avoid more bloodshed. Still, the public outcry seemed to spell doom for the group itself, and the organization was abandoned by about 1933. However, bi-nationalism would resurface again under different banners all the way up until the declaration of the state of Israel.

The 1936 riots once again demonstrated the urgent need for peaceful negotiation, and thus in the same year a group known as Kedmah Mizraha was founded. In many ways, this organization “was regarded by many as a continuation of Brit Shalom,” because, “it did include most of the ex-Brit Shalom membership,” except for Ruppin who had become disillusioned with bi-nationalism by this time.[8] This group differed from Brit Shalom in that it stressed communication with Arabs as a primary objective, and thus targeted its efforts more towards the Arab leadership than the Jewish. However, it was very short-lived.

The advent of the Second World War actually saw a marked increase in attempts at Jewish-Arab cooperation, and many committees were set up with regard to this. Among these was The League of Rapprochement and Cooperation in 1942, again with many former Brit Shalom members, but this time including others such as Buber and Magnes. Shortly thereafter, the League founded the Ihud (unity) party as a bloc to include other political groups along with the League itself. There was some cooperation with other organizations, both Jewish and Arab, but generally the cooperation was limited. The group was especially concerned with the politics, and dedicated itself to arguing for bi-nationalism and parity against the idea of partition which had been growing in support since the Peel Commission report in 1937. Perhaps one of its most famous activities was an appearance by Magnes, Buber, and Moses Smilansky before the Anglo-American Committee of Inquiry in 1946. The three laid down a detailed, practical plan for parity in Palestine, and though the Committee was sympathetic, little was accomplished. In fact, their efforts brought criticism from both Jews and Arabs. On the former side, newspaper articles lambasted Magnes and his comrades. Israel Cohen especially criticized them as a “’private initiative’ and without any worthy public authorizing them.”[9] On the other side, several Arab sources argued that the plan was fundamentally flawed because no real trust or sense of unity existed among the two nations.[10] Magnes was, in many ways, even considered a dangerous thinker due to his propensity to act on his own rather than through officially recognized political channels.

Perhaps the final blow to the idea was the incident involving Fawzi Darwish Al-Husseini and his “Falastine al-Jadidah” organization. This Arab group was willing to meet secretly with the League for Rapprochement and Cooperation in 1946 in order to rally support among Arabs for bi-nationalism against more powerful Arab ideologues, but the cooperation between the groups fell apart after Al-Husseini’s assassination in the same year. As Susan Lee Hattis observes, “his murder was a warning to any Arab who might choose the same path.”[11] Partition then became a reality with the creation of the state of Israel in 1948, and since that time the idea of unity between Palestinians and Israelis has become nothing more than ideal which is seldom given serious consideration.

Ideals and Reality

The bi-nationalists, especially Buber and Magnes, have met with a variety of criticism for the ideas and activities both in their time and since. They have often been criticized for being too idealistic, out of touch with realities, and even dangerous in their activities. These criticisms were often direct, but sometimes they were more backhanded in nature. For instance, historian Tom Segev comments in a recent book that “Brit Shalom confronted Zionist ideology with its conscience,”[12] implying that the only real goal or effect of Brit Shalom was an abstract moral one, a sort of gnawing guilt on Zionism rather than an active and acting force in the realities of Mandatory Palestine. Writing in the 1970s, historian Susan Lee Hattis takes a more direct approach, saying that, “Considerations of universal justice may motivate certain group activities but more usually such considerations will at best act as a brake to absolute egotism.”[13] Hattis recognizes here at least some practical activity on the part of bi-nationalists, but she boils their goals down to an abstracted idea of “universal justice,” and like Segev, relegates their effects to essentially one of a moral conscious, i.e. a “brake to absolute egotism.” She dismisses the practicality of bi-nationalist ideas, both in Mandatory times and her own, as unrealistic given political realities, suspicion, and human nature. In a sense, she seems to think bi-nationalism was doomed to fail. Finally, as mentioned before, contemporaries of Brit Shalom also actively slammed Magnes, Buber, and other bi-nationalists for varying reasons and especially regarded their ideas as dangerous. Segev notes, “In the Jewish Agency the common wisdom was that the peace initiatives of Magnes and his associates should be treated gingerly, lest they reveal the fact that the Zionists were not united. Any evidence of a schism could lead the Arabs to take a harder line.”[14] It seemed that many Jews worried that Brit Shalom and similar groups would be interpreted as a splinter group to Zionism, not only implying that Zionism was disunited, but also that, unlike Brit Shalom, mainline Zionism was not for cooperation with Arabs. And, as mentioned above, there was a particular distaste for the activists’ tendencies towards “private initiative” that perhaps gave Zionism a bad image among Arabs.

All of these criticisms, taken together, demonstrate a subtle but interesting implication, which can be framed as this question: If the bi-nationalists were nothing more than ideologues and out of touch with reality, was there really a reason to fear their activities? The very idea suggests activity and activism, not the idle musings of some abstract “conscience of Zionism.” Magnes and his compatriots had drawn criticism not simply for their morals, but their methods, especially talking to Committees, political groups, and Arab leaders. Magnes in particular drew heavy criticism and even protests after word of his secret and infamous negotiations with H. St. John Philby came out in the Jewish press.[15] There seems to be the implicit assumption that the bi-nationalists had substantial goals that, whether misguided or not, were being put to practice. The ideas of the bi-nationalists, especially Magnes and Buber, were indeed moralistic and idealistic. But, these ideals were also put into practical action. Their ideas were thus far more complicated than a simple idealistic vs. realistic dichotomy. Indeed, they attempted to bridge theory and practice, and they did so publicly as well as privately. Unlike many other “practical” Zionist groups, there was no divide between public ideology and private Realpolitik.

Bi-nationalist thinkers were not unaware of the necessity of practical activity. A short quote from Magnes, “let us build while others talk,” captures concisely the attitude of many Brit Shalom thinkers and their affiliates.[16] Magnes believed that practical action was, in a sense, logically necessitated by abstract principles. He stated in his essay, “Stand of the Palestinian Jews,” that, “It is fatuous to think that good-will can be engendered through abstract formulas. Good-will can come through life, through the creation of common interests vital to both peoples. Active, responsible participation in government is perhaps the most important of these common interests.”[17] To Magnes, active cooperation had to precede understanding and unity. In many ways, this is the antithesis of certain criticisms of bi-nationalist policy that claimed it impractical because no unity yet existed. But, this was not Magnes’ goal, nor was it Brit Shalom’s. Rather, the goal was to create unity through action. Magnes writes, “Proposing that good-will first appear and that only then the two peoples can come together, is putting the cart before the horse.”[18] These ideas were also expressed in the nature of the Brit Shalom movement, which was united less by ideology than by desire for practical action. Hattis remarks, “Brit Shalom had no ideology; bi-nationalism, they said, is not the ideal but the reality, and if this reality is not grasped Zionism will fall.”[19] This is consistent with later accusations by numerous bi-nationalists that the failure of cooperation to take root is the fact that policy failed to develop “self-governing institutions,” which would foster cooperation.[20] Hashomer Hatzair, a fellow group of the League for Rapprochement and Cooperation, in particular blamed the British government for subverting efforts to establish joint Jewish-Arab unions.[21] There may be some basis for this last point, as early efforts by Brit Shalom to form the “Achvat Poalim” joint Jewish-Arab union in 1930 fell through when the British Mandatory government refused to accept their registration on account of suspected communist activities.[22] Whether these efforts would have worked or not, it is clear that practical action was an integral, necessary part of the theoretical framework. Magnes especially believed in the necessity of establishing joint political committees and legislatures in the post-Mandate country. He claimed before the Anglo-American Committee that, “no side can afford for long to withhold its adherence [to the proposed organizations of a bi-national Palestinian government]. The demands of life itself, the insistence of the people would be too strong.”[23] Magnes’ idea was that a bi-national government would be forced to cooperate in order to accomplish anything, and that the social, economic, and cultural need for government action would fuel this cooperation. Buber shared Magnes’ logic, but focused especially on the need to create a “Land Policy,” or dedication to the social and economic growth of Palestine (not simply the Yishuv) in order to foster good will.[24] Again, though, Buber had his own particular and complex philosophy for supporting bi-nationalism. Yet, it is important to note what separated Buber (and many bi-nationalists) from most Zionist political parties was in the “assessment of the political relevance of the moral aspect of the Arab question.”[25] Buber based his politics on moral grounds, but his morals necessitated a political and practical dimension. Indeed, he shunned Realpolitik, and asserted the unity of ideals and political action. So, regardless of the particular philosophies brought to bear on the issues of bi-nationalism, it is reasonable to say that the movement expressed a clear link between ideology and practical reality, and these thinkers did so consistently.

In many ways, this nature of the bi-nationalists is contrasted by the more common politics at the time, which tended to draw a sharp divide between public ideologies on the one hand, and private practicality and pragmatism on the other. This led to an interesting development among Zionist leaders of occasionally supporting the bi-nationalists ideas, both in theory and practice. However, privately they seemed to hold an agenda that was ultimately not compatible with genuine rapprochement.

Mendes-Flohr notes that, “most Zionists were painfully aware of the Arab presence in Palestine, and not infrequently this awareness reflected genuine moral anguish.”[26] For many Jews, cooperation and peace with the Arabs was an obvious moral concern, one not exclusive to bi-nationalists. High profile Zionists like Ben-Gurion and even Chaim Weizmann seem to have supported negotiations with the Arabs.[27] Chaim Arlozoroff, later head of the Jewish Agency, even declared in a 1922 speech that, “There is no other way except the setting up of a common state in Palestine for Jews and Arabs as equal nations in their rights.”[28] It is even suggested that the rejection of the idea of parity by the World Zionist Organization in 1931 was a direct cause of Weizmann’s resignation as president of that organization.[29] Although this was part of the public discourse, many Zionist leaders had somewhat incompatible agendas privately. These agendas tended to revolve around the push for Jewish interests, in economics and in demographics, and this seemed to underlie efforts for collaboration that otherwise might seem consistent with bi-nationalists’ ideas.

To illustrate this point, it is helpful to look at the efforts of Jewish labor, particularly the Histadrut, in organizing joint Jewish-Arab unions. Ben-Gurion pushed for joint labor early on during the Mandate,[30] and the Histadrut even helped to secretly found Arab workers clubs after the 1929 riots.[31] These activities actually seem in line with Brit Shalom thinking, as they would presumably help foster cooperation and good will among Jews and Arabs. Further, there is no evidence to suggest that Ben-Gurion and other leaders did not genuinely desire or expect such an outcome. However, secret loyalties and agendas tended to sour the supposed outcome of such policies. Historian Anita Shapiro argues that the fundamental goal of these policies was actually to support Jewish labor, with little real concern for Arabs. To make her point, she argues that Jewish laborers, having come from a more affluent European background, expected a higher level of working conditions and pay than did Arab workers.[32] Arab workers were able and willing to work for less, thus making them more competitive than Jews in the labor force. Thus, the underlying idea behind organizing Arab labor was to help Arabs raise their wages to the level of Jews, thus making Jews as competitive in the labor market.[33] While this may be a cynical analysis, it does seem consistent with some of the evidence regarding Histadrut’s involvement in joint railway workers’ unions. In this area, cooperative unions actually met with an unusual amount of success. Arab workers approached Jewish workers on the basis of cooperation, and some even asked to join the Histadrut.[34] These Arab unionists seemed to oppose other Arab ideologues, and “generally ignored or resisted pressure from the Palestinian nationalist movement to terminate cooperation with Jewish unionists.”[35] Although this was not the norm among workers outside the Palestinian Railway, this example would at least seem to supply exactly what the bi-nationalists and the Histadrut wanted to accomplish. However, the issue of Arabs joining the Histadrut was a particularly contentious idea. Historian Zachary Lockman writes, “The admission of Arabs to the Histadrut or its constituent trade unions, or even their organization into separate unions under the Histadrut’s tutelage, was likely to conflict with the long term goal of increasing Jewish employment; and once organized, the Arab workers might not be controllable.”[36] This seems consistent with the Histadrut’s later policy of trying to organize exclusively Arab unions and clubs unaffiliated with the Histadrut, a policy that particularly angered many Arab Railway workers who shunned political and religious division.[37] Eventually, the joint union idea and Jewish-Arab worker cooperation receded and fell apart.

It would seem that Ben-Gurion and the Histadrut had secondary motives that hindered the success of these attempts at rapprochement. The argument that the aim had always been the benefit of Jewish labor seems plausible, but ultimately the real motives are unknown. Still, it is enough to illustrate that the politics of the day seemed to revolve around split loyalties to incompatible causes that never seemed to come out publicly. This reality also manifested itself with regards to the issue of Jewish immigration and the creation of a Jewish majority in Palestine. This was a core element in much Zionist ideology of the time, and it only occasionally dawned upon Zionists that it was incompatible with addressing Arab grievances. Chaim Arlozoroff declared that, “we cannot rattle 10 times a day into the ears of the Arabs the slogan about a Jewish majority in Palestine, while wanting to reach an agreement with them.”[38] It seems as though Zionists had fairly split priorities, and these manifested themselves variously in the public and private discourse. Taken together, one can imagine that Zionists were sending a very mixed message to Arabs. On the one hand, there were offers of cooperation, joint unions, and understanding, while on the other there were slogans, declarations about establishing a Jewish majority, split unions, and denial of Arab workers into Jewish organizations such as the Histadrut. This does not seem to be the case with bi-nationalists, who consistently tended to support joint labor as well as cooperation and consolidation between Jewish and Arab political groups (though, as the case of Fawzi Darwish demonstrates, little became of these efforts). Taken together, it seems there was a sharp divide between the approaches of a group like the Histadrut and the bi-nationalists. The former drew a dichotomy between both theory and practices, resulting in conflicting and often confusing activities with questionable motives. The bi-nationalists, on the other hand, tended to bridge theory and practice, resulting in seemingly more consistent activities, or at least ones which leave less room for questioning their motives. This, however, is not to make a point on which approach is better. Though both met with some success, they ultimately failed at garnering Arab support. The issue here is simply understanding and appreciating the intricacies of the Arab question, and highlighting the major differences in concept between many bi-nationalists and other groups of Zionists. On the surface, both tended to take similar practical measures, such as setting up joint unions. However, the critical difference lies in that one group practiced within a divided framework of public ideology and private practicality, whereas the other drew no such distinction. This distinction is not to be taken lightly, as it illustrates in part why bi-nationalist thinkers were open to criticism both of being too idealistic while at the same time criticized for their practical efforts. Both sides were represented publicly (such as speaking before the Anglo-American Committee) as well as privately (such as Magnes’ secret negotiations with Philby). This distinguishing characteristic also provides a better understanding of the bi-nationalist position as opposed to that of more “pragmatic” groups. The difference does not lie in practicality vs. ideology or even in ideals vs. reality. Rather, the distinguishing feature is in how the relative groups resolved the two. This being the case, it is unfair to point to the bi-nationalists’ idealism as the reason for their failure, and it is also unreasonable to conclude that other groups, such as the Histadrut, were therefore more practical and more in touch with realities. Truly, the evidence here does not seem to suggest why any group “failed” while others “succeeded.” The issue is far more complex.

Inherent Mistakes

Also pursuant to the analysis of bi-nationalist ideas is pointing out shared sentiments between them and other groups at the time. What seems consistent throughout the discourse of both is an implied mistrust between Jews and Arabs. Neither Brit Shalom, the Histadrut, nor their Arab counterparts seemed to escape this fundamental difficulty. To illustrate this point, it is helpful to examine a story reportedly told to Magnes by an Arab Christian:

“A man was riding on his donkey and saw another man walking. He invited the man to ride with him. Mounting the donkey, the stranger said, “How fast your donkey is!” The two rode on for a while. When the stranger said, “How fast our donkey is!” the animal’s owner ordered the man to get off. “Why?” the stranger asked. “I’m afraid,” said the owner, “that you’ll soon be saying, ‘How fast my donkey is!’”[39]

This story, whether truly said or not, encapsulates the fear and mistrust surrounding the Jewish-Arab discourse during the Mandate period. It manifested itself mainly in the contentious issue of Jewish immigration, which many Arabs regarded as an attempt to create an exclusively Jewish state in Palestine despite overtures of cooperation. Furthermore, this idea of the Jews as “strangers” in the land of Palestine was, for both sides, a conflicting dichotomy representative of a conceptual East and West split between Jews (many of whom were émigrés from Europe) and native Palestinian Arabs. This conceptual split was inherent in the immigration issue and in the realities of Jewish-Arab joint labor. It was even endemic of the bi-nationalists, most notably in Magnes’ secret negotiations with Philby, the latter of whom was acting as a middle man between Magnes and certain Arab notables such as (supposedly) the Mufti of Jerusalem Hajj Amin. Throughout the discourse it seems clear that mistrust and fear were a common element in both the Jewish and Arab sides, and that the bi-nationalists themselves were not immune to this bias. And, this mistrust was indicative of a conceptual split between the East and the West.

First, the issue of Jewish immigration was an underlying assumption of much of the political rhetoric during the Mandatory era. Members of Brit Shalom recognized early on that the desire to create a Jewish majority in Palestine incited much of the Arab fears towards Zionism.[40] Yet, this desire to increase the population of the Yishuv remained a priority for both bi-nationalists and their Jewish opponents. Weizmann in particular noted in a 1930 letter, “While we accept the principle of equality… in the future Palestinian State, the Arabs press for having that state constituted immediately, because circumstances [of the population] would enable them to distort it into and Arab dominion,” and further, “we have come, are coming, and mean to come in increasing numbers.”[41] For Weizmann and many other Zionists, there was a fear that, if Palestine became a state before the Jewish population was significant in strength and size, then the Arabs would try to use their demographic advantage to dominate the Jews. Thus, it became a part of the mainline Zionist policy to push for immigration during the Mandate era in an effort to strengthen the Yishuv. This, of course, seemed to verify the fears of Arabs that the Jews intended to establish a Jewish majority and hence a Jewish state. Some Zionists sought to assuage the fear by proposing an agreement on equal representation, regardless of population, to ensure the rights of both Jews and Arabs. Moshe Shertok of the Jewish Agency wrote in 1936, “they [Arabs] have no right to demand that we should undertake to remain a minority… On the other hand we will be willing to discuss guarantees for non-domination and non-eviction.”[42] Here, Shertok expresses an apparent fear that a Jewish minority would lead to Arab dominance, and as a result, the eviction of the Jews from Palestine. Although Shertok was not a bi-nationalist, the latter group was in accord with his idea of an agreed national equality. As early as 1929, Magnes expressed his goal in the proposed agreement with Philby, stating, “There shall be freedom of immigration into Palestine, and more particularly of Arabs and Jews, subject to the economic capacity of the country to absorb such immigration.”[43] Although Magnes mentions both Arabs and Jews, it is clear that he had in mind the latter especially. In the revision of the draft by Philby’s Arab associates, Magnes highlights a significant change in the wording of this point, specifically, “The immigration to Palestine shall be free, especially to Arabs and Jews, subject to due regard for the interests of the country and economic capacity to absorb such immigration.”[44] It should be noted that this revision still includes the Magnes’ words on immigration complete with freedoms and restrictions, except with the insertion of the clause regarding the “interests of the country.” This seemingly innocuous phrase irked Magnes, prompting him to respond, “Mr. Philby’s Arab friends have here inserted a general phrase that would make Jewish immigration into the country more difficult than if the sole interest to be considered was the economic capacity of the country to absorb immigrants.”[45] Indeed, the phrase is extremely general, so much so that one wonders how Magnes could divine an ulterior motive for including it. Magnes gives no explicit rationale for his assumption, but it is interesting that he assumes such a general clause would automatically be used by the Arabs to subvert Jewish interests with regards to immigration. Such an assumption is not clear from the wording, but it was apparently clear to Magnes, thus suggesting that he was operating on an inherent mistrust of Arab motives with regards to Jews. Whether this mistrust was deserved, it was clearly a significant factor in these negotiations.

Magnes was not alone in his support for Jewish immigration and mistrust of Arab attempts to limit it. The League for Rapprochement and Cooperation laid down among its principles that “Jews have the right to immigrate to and settle in Palestine,” and that, “Non-domination of one people over the other, regardless of the numerical relationship between the two peoples.”[46] It is worth mentioning that at the time this was written (1942), the Jews were still a minority in Palestine. These statements beg the question: would the League make it a point to stress non-domination despite population figures if the Jews were a majority in Palestine? While the historical evidence is insufficient to answer such a question, it is still useful to consider that mistrust of an Arab majority may have been a basic assumption among the bi-nationalists at large during this period. This stress for Jewish immigration but representational equality regardless of demographics recurs throughout the arguments of bi-nationalist thinkers, and even among their opponents (as seen above). The motives behind this are dubious at best. Of course, this phenomenon went both ways. Many Arabs particularly stressed the importance of limiting Jewish immigration and expressed fears of what might result from a Jewish majority. The newspaper Falastin, among others, published Arabic translations of Brit Shalom ideas, but ultimately rejected the bi-nationalists’ ideas based on a desire to recognize an Arab majority in Palestine.[47] It seemed that neither side trusted the other to behave responsibly if it had the demographic advantage.

The Magnes-Philby negotiations provide an excellent secondary example of the inherent mistrust among thinkers of the Mandate era. As mentioned before, these negotiations took place secretly between Magnes and certain Arab notables, with Philby as an intermediary. Magnes undertook these negotiations without official sanction from any political group, and distributed its contents to certain American figures with the hopes of convincing them of parity and thereby pressuring Weizmann to adopt a more active policy towards bi-nationalism, lest he risk the support of his American friends.[48] The contents of this negotiation were mentioned above, but what is of particular interest is Magnes’ use of Philby as an intermediary. Magnes actually refused a proposal from the U.S. Consul to meet with Hajj Amin directly.[49] He cites the reasons for this refusal as threefold: “a. I represented no organization; b. I know the Mufti’s terms; and he could not emphasize them; and if he minimized them I had no answer; c. He might misinterpret the visit and so might my own friends.”[50] This explanation is less than adequate. First, Magnes’ lack of official representation did not stop him from undertaking the negotiations entirely. What difference was there between using Philby as an intermediary and talking to Hajj Amin? The second point seems feasible, given that the proposal was made after the negotiations took place. The third, however, is of particular importance. By using Philby as an intermediary, Magnes was able to conceal his identity. This would, presumably, prevent personal biases from manifesting in the negotiations. It seems Magnes was especially careful of this fact, worrying that the Mufti might change his opinions based on with whom he was dealing. Whether or not this was a pragmatic or justified concern on the part of Magnes is immaterial. Fundamentally, what matters is that there was a basic mistrust on the part of Magnes for the Mufti to remain consistent in his expressed desires. There is an assumption, real or imagined, that Hajj Amin would not be completely honest and open about his opinions if he knew exactly with whom he was dealing. This anonymity seemed to be Magnes’ goal all along, as he states, “I thought it of advantage to know what the Arabs were ready to yield and what it was they were saying in private and how far their public statements differed from their private plans.”[51] Here, Magnes assumes a pre-existing disconnection between public rhetoric and private desires, implying that the Arab leadership had ulterior motives that could only be estimated through anonymous communication. This assumption may have been valid, but the point is that it represents a genuine mistrust of the Arab leadership on the part of Magnes. Essentially, he did not believe that they would tell the truth about their intentions if they new to whom and in what capacity they were speaking. And, if Magnes’ assumption was indeed valid, it would indicate a mistrust on the part of the Arab leadership in that they would have been wary of the potential conflicts of interests in regards to negotiating with certain Jewish figures. Whatever the case, it is clear that a lack of trust permeated the very concept of the Magnes-Philby negotiations.

Finally, one should recall the ideology of the bi-nationalist, which held that mutual good will would arise from the necessities of cooperation, and that it was the fault of all parties involved that such cooperation was not stressed. However, it seems as though cooperation, when it did occur, did not have precisely the imagined results. Referring to the example of the Palestinian Railway, it seems that cooperation did not usually lead to good will. Although some Arabs and Jews established personal relationships, as evidenced by attendance of Arabs at Jewish funerals, Lockman notes, “apparently in their leirsure time within and outside the workplace they generally kept to themselves.”[52] This idea is an echo of Shapiro’s earlier statement that “The meeting of Jewish and Arab workers on the job may have engendered some feelings of solidarity, but it also created problems of communication which were rooted in differences in nationality, religion and culture.”[53] It should be noted that evidence of personal relationships is sketchy at best, and that there is no real way of telling exactly how successful these examples of cooperation were at fostering understanding. However, one should recall the failed attempts at joint labor posited by both the bi-nationalists of Brit Shalom and the Histadrut, the latter of which especially seemed to break down due to mistrust, especially with regards to the Histadrut’s refusal to accept Arab participation in their political party. Furthermore, it is worth mentioning that the example of the Railway workers was unique in terms of cooperation. In fact, a union of railway, postal, and telegraph workers was set up which featured approximately half Arab and half Jewish participants.[54] However, even these examples of joint labor had a very short existence and tended to dissipate due to mistrust and split loyalties to national causes.[55] Thus, even in the atypical examples of cooperation, mistrust seemed to overcome attempts at conciliation.

Taken together, these assumptions and events could be seen as part of a larger conceptual divide between Eastern and Western culture. This division can be seen as far back as Joseph Horrowitz’ speech, which called for Jews to adopt “Eastern” ways and manners. Furthermore, Western assumptions seemed to underlie the issues of immigration and equal participation. After his disillusionment with Brit Shalom in 1931, Arthur Ruppin wrote, “What the Arabs are willing to give us is at most minority rights for the Jews in an Arab state, according to the pattern of minority rights in Eastern Europe. But we have sufficient experience from the situation in Eastern Europe to what extent one can force the majority nation, which holds the reins of power, to give the minority real national equality. The fate of the Jewish minority in Palestine will always depend on the good will of the Arab majority holding the reins of Government.”[56] It is significant that Ruppin draws a parallel between the treatment of the Jewish minority in Eastern Europe and the perceived possibility of treatment in Palestine. Ruppin, like many other members of Brit Shalom, came from an Eastern European background, and likely had first-hand experience with the persecution of Jews in that part of Europe. To draw this parallel is strange, however. Throughout the history of the Islamic world, Jews were indeed treated with inferior status, but rarely made subject to persecution and pogroms which threatened their safety. Though there is evidence of Jewish persecution in the East (such as the Damascus affair), there does not seem to be similar circumstances as those which took place in Eastern Europe. Thus, it would be fallacious to draw an analogy between Eastern Europe and what might happen under an Arab Palestinian rule. Though Ruppin might have had reason to suspect an unwarranted amount of persecution, he chose to justify his reasoning not with examples of the current social and political climate in Palestine, but rather with reference to events in Europe. This represents a fundamental assumption of the primacy of the West, in that what happens in Europe must inevitably occur among Eastern non-Jews when faced with similar circumstances of power. It is interesting that this mistrust of the non-Jew, and especially the Arab, found its way into the core of the Arab question, despite historical precedent of relatively peaceful coexistence in that part of the world.

It is perhaps possible that this mistrust permeated much of the Zionist policy. The Histadrut’s policy towards organizing Arab labor expressed a similar bias against the supposedly backward Arab. As Shapiro writes, the perception was that, “It was up to the Jewish workers… to play an active role in organizing the Arab workers who, in view of their backward condition, were unable to organize themselves.”[57] Here, the very issue of organizing Arab labor becomes suspect as part of a fundamental assumption that Arabs could not and would not organize.

Although somewhat different in expression, these two examples point to a disjunctive view of Western and Eastern culture that was endemic to both bi-nationalists and other mainline Zionist organizations. On the one hand, there is the tendency to assert the primacy of European history and course of events and on the other there is the idea of the backwardness of the “other,” the Arab. They are expressions of the same conceptual disjunction.

Conclusion

Brit Shalom and its related institutions and thinkers thus represented a unique view on the link between ideology and practical action, while at the same time falling prey to biases and assumptions that permeated the discourse among European Jews during the Mandate era. Though both morally and practically inclined towards rapprochement, these figures nevertheless exhibited a fundamental mistrust of the Arab “other” while operating from a particularly Western concept of the Orient which did not reflect historical or contemporary reality. It should be noted, though, that neither of these elements could be argued as the cause of the bi-national solution’s failure. Other, and arguably more “successful” organizations, adopted many bi-nationalist ideas and practices, while at the same time making the same fundamental assumptions of East and West. Why, then, did parity fail and partition succeed? Why did the Histadrut come to dominate Israeli politics while bi-nationalism became an unrealistic dream? The historical evidence cannot explain this occurrence, but rather it can only highlight the characteristics of the various parties involved. There seems to be no historical force of causality or inevitability which decided the events which were to unfold. If one were to view the Mandate era through the eyes of one living during this time, then both parity and partition would seem possible outcomes, both in ideology and reality. Arabs and Jews may have misunderstood one another, but there was no reason to believe at this time that a remedy could not be found. Cooperation was in existence already, and although not widespread or conclusive, it seemed to indicate at least the possibility of cooperation to develop over time. It was this long-term view which motivated many bi-nationalists to not only pursue reconciliation, but also to avoid separation. Almost prophetically, Hans Kohn wrote in a letter, “I believe that it is possible that with English help and later with the help of our own bayonets… we will be able to hold on and grow in Palestine. However, we will not be able then to dispense with the bayonets. Those means will have that end.”[58] Kohn, like other Brit Shalom members, worked in a time when the future was unclear, and yet believed strongly that violent, colonialist means would have violent ends. Theirs was a mission not simply of ideology, but of the practical realization of the goals of Zionism and the Yishuv to survive peacefully given uncertain times.

It should be noted that this work was done in full consciousness of the bias of its writer. Indeed, his personal beliefs are sympathetic to the Brit Shalom thinkers and those associated with it, and he is morally supportive of unity between Jews and Arabs. Yet, this bias has been mitigated due to the recognized limitations of history: this essay has not endeavored to, nor would it be able to, prove the validity of a bi-national solution. It has not made a causative argument, nor attempted to demonstrate the practicality or impracticality of the solution – quite the contrary. The methods of historical reasoning cannot provide for such an argument. However, it has been the purpose to answer the question of “what?” in order to gain a better understanding of the movement for those who are interested. Opponents of the bi-national dream can rightly continue to oppose, as it is impossible for any serious historical scholarship to defeat their position. However, those who support unity can continue to do so with full confidence in their dream. History cannot validate their position, but neither can it invalidate it. Thus, the real benefit of such research as this is a better understanding of the issue in its historical context, regardless of one’s particular vision for the future. Historians cannot look to the past to predict the course of events any more than astrologers can predict the future by looking to the stars. As of yet, no one can claim a knowledge of the future. And hence, no one can rightfully dismiss an idea based on its assumed historical “impracticality.” Such non-answers at most become self-fulfilling prophecies.

And so, it is worthwhile to take account of Martin Buber’s words that “The conditions of action are constantly changing; there is always the obligation to do something else, something new, that is, to respond to a changing situation. But the correct response!” That is, the changing aspect of historical circumstance cannot justify ignoring one’s universal principles; indeed, history cannot provide us with the concrete answers necessary for such a compromise, nor any more “realistic” alternative to our beliefs and convictions. Rather, it necessary to understand history as it was and then to make our own judgments, and to use our knowledge positively and actively to make the morally correct decisions for the future. Changing circumstances can neither justify nor invalidate our moral imperatives, nor change our obligation to do what is right.

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[1] Paul Mendes-Flohr, ed, Martin Buber: A Contemporary Perspective (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2002), 135.

[2] Ibid., 59-60.

[3] Susan Lee Hattis, The Bi-National Idea in Palestine During Mandatory Times (Haifa: Shikmona, 1970), 38.

[4] Ibid., 65.

[5] Ibid., 48.

[6] Ibid., 47.

[7] Ibid., 61.

[8] Ibid., 139.

[9] Ibid., 291.

[10] Ibid., 292.

[11] Ibid., 305.

[12] Tom Segev, One Palestine, Complete: Jews and Arabs under the Mandate (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2000), 409.

[13] Hattis, The Bi-National Idea in Palestine, 320.

[14] Segev, One Palestine, Complete, 409.

[15] Menahem Kaufman, The Magnes-Philby Negotiations, 1929: The Historical Record, ed. by Moshe Goodman (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, the Hebrew University, 1998), 152-3.

[16] Ibid., 86.

[17] Martin Buber, et al., Palestine, A Bi-National State (New York, NY: Ihud (Union) Association of Palestine, 1946), 75-6.

[18] Ibid., 76.

[19] Hattis, The Bi-National Idea in Palestine, 46.

[20] Ibid., 287.

[21] Ibid., 294-5.

[22] Ibid., 56-7.

[23] Buber, Palestine, A Bi-National State, 43.

[24] Mendes-Flohr, Martin Buber, 71.

[25] Ibid., 6.

[26] Ibid., 5-6.

[27] Hattis, The Bi-National Idea in Palestine, 82-3.

[28] Ibid., 85.

[29] Ibid., 92.

[30] Anita Shapiro, “The Ideology and Practice of the Joint Jewish-Arab Labour Union in Palestine, 1920-39,” Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 12, no. 4 (Oct., 1977): 671.

[31] Ibid., 681-2.

[32] Ibid., 671.

[33] Ibid., 675-7.

[34] Zachary Lockman, “Railway Workers and Relational History: Arabs and Jews in British-Ruled Palestine,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 35, no. 3, (Jul., 1993): 610.

[35] Ibid., 618.

[36] Ibid., 612.

[37] Ibid., 613.

[38] Hattis, The Bi-National Idea in Palestine, 86.

[39] Segeve, One Palestine, Complete, 410-1.

[40] Mendes-Flohr, Martin Buber, 76.

[41] Ibid., 11.

[42] Hattis, The Bi-National Idea in Palestine, 155.

[43] Kaufman, The Magnes-Philby Negotiations, 102.

[44] Ibid., 108.

[45] Ibid., 110.

[46] Hattis, The Bi-National Solution in Palestine, 257.

[47] Ibid., 63-64.

[48] Kaufman, The Magnes-Philby Negotiations, 4.

[49] Ibid., 14.

[50] Ibid., 139.

[51] Ibid., 119.

[52] Lockman, “Railway Workers,” 618-19.

[53] Shapiro, “Ideology and Practice,” 678.

[54] Lockman, “Railway Workers,” 614.

[55] Ibid., 614.

[56] Hattis, The Bi-National Idea in Palestine, 57.

[57] Shapiro, “Ideology and Practice,” 675.

[58] Hattis, The Bi-National Idea in Palestine, 58.

The End of The Golden Age: Part 3

In my first piece of the series, I made a passing comment about the “so-called” Golden Age of Islam, implying a question as to whether this is indeed an accurate description. However, I held off on expanding upon this idea until now, as I first needed to establish some ground work. For their majority, the last two essays have operated on a very Western bias and outlook towards Eastern science and philosophy. This was partially intentional. I wished to present that outlook as it is the easiest place to start, and it is the starting point of most modern history one might read on the subject. I only inserted marginally challenging ideas to this bias, such as the defense of Al-Ghazali’s support of science and the idea of ijtihad of the spirit, but the even these were at heart Western in conception. But, having planted the seed of these doubts and different perspectives, it is now time to reap. This final installment will be a dedicated expose and attack on the Western biases which heretofore have assumed the end of Islamic science and thought. Indeed, it is totally mistaken to claim that the Golden Age of Islam ended. These ideas have more to do with the development of modern Western culture than they do with the actual history of the Middle East.

Background

In order to make the argument, let us try first to see the West through Eastern eyes, so to speak. That is, let us take the issue raised in the second essay, that of ijtihad vs. taqlid, and transfer it to an overview of Western scientific development in the early modern era. Strangely, this concept (which I posited as conceptual, not actual), is far more useful for understanding European intellectual history than it is for understanding the Middle East and Islamic world.

Historians of science in particular like to point to the significance of Copernicus and Galileo’s challenges to the geocentric model of the world, claiming that this was what resulted in a complete shift from medieval style science to the Mechanistic model of reality. And, hence, it resulted in what would come to be known as modern science. In pre-modern Europe, astronomy was not simply a branch of science, but a foundational model of the universe. Ptolemy’s (and Aristotle’s) geocentric system worked on philosophical and religious principles that ordered the universe in a series of spheres upon spheres, such as the orbit of planets, all the way out to the sphere of the stars, and beyond that the Prime Mover, i.e. God. God would spin the nearest sphere of the stars, and all others would then begin to turn as well, all the way down to the center. Thus could God guide all action and causality in the universe and on Earth. This, by the way, is part of the justification for astrology: assuming this model is true, one could predict what would happen on Earth based on the movement of planets and stars.

Coinciding with and dependent upon this model was also Aristotle’s views on physics. Aristotle argued that there were four elements: earth, water, air, and fire. And, in a perfect world, each had its place: earth was down, water was just above it, air was just above that, and at the top was fire. But the world isn’t perfectly set up like this; all of the elements are mixed. Mountains rise above the sea, fire can be found deep within the earth (i.e. magma), and so forth. But, Aristotle, claimed, these elements all tended to move towards their perfect place. Thus, earth tends to fall down, air tends to rise, water tends to settle in between, and so on. This essentially explained all physical motion without the need for modern notions like gravity, density, and so on. Given this conception, then, the Earth had to be at the center of the universe.

But, if someone were to challenge this model, then entire thing would fall apart. If the sun were at the center of the universe, the Earth would fall into it. If the Earth were to move, then it would fly apart. If the orbit of planets was not a perfect circle, they couldn’t be on a celestial sphere. If all of this were untrue, then where would be the Prime Mover? What room would there be for God? Given this reality, most European scientists and religious officials had a vested interest in the geocentric model and Aristotelian physics. All this began to change, say historians, when Copernicus demonstrated that a sun centered universe would fit our observations and calculations just as well as a geocentric one. That is, the sun may very well be at the center, because it would result in the same mathematical consequences. Needless to say, this would be a very troubling concept for European thought.

However, this was a non-issue in Islam. As inheritors of several different traditions of astronomy, from the Greeks to the Persians to the Indians, Islamic theology and philosophy was not tied up in concerns about the nature of the universe in terms of geocentric vs. heliocentric. Ptolemy’s model was used extensively because it did explain quite a bit of phenomenon and allowed for accurate predictions. But many Muslim astronomers questioned this system, some even going so far as to make proto-Copernican arguments for a sun-centered system. Most notable among them are Ibn al-Haytham (965 – 1039), al-Biruni (973-1048) and Nasir ad-Din al-Tusi (1201-1274). All three were geocentrists, but often made the similar point of Copernicus that a heliocentric universe would result in similar calculations and observations. In fact, all three were active critics of Ptolemy, championed experimental method and empirical observation, and did believe the Earth moved (on its axis). Al-Tusi was actually able to empirically demonstrate this final point. Historians are now finding that the models, arguments, and mathematics of these three, especially the last, can be found throughout Copernicus’ work. Whether he developed his ideas independently or had access to scattered translations, Copernicus was clearly working with a vast amount of similar information as his Muslim predecessors. So why, then, is the work of Copernicus and those like him so monumental and the work of their Muslim counterparts not?

Before answering, let us continue our analysis of Western science with Galileo. By this time, the telescope had been invented, allowing for more detailed observations than before. With the recent work of figures such as Brahe and Kepler, it was soon becoming clear that the Ptolemaic system couldn’t entirely explain everything. Galileo, working with his own observations and with Copernicus’ writings, became the first to really push for the heliocentric model of the universe. He also experimented in physics, challenging a lot of the old Aristotelian ideas of motion. Galileo’s arguments were very sound, but if he were right, it would mean that all astronomy and all physics up until that point would have to be rethought (at least in Europe). As brilliant as he was, Galileo was also skilled at making enemies, and he soon was able to make an enemy out of the Pope. The history at this point is well known: the persecution of Galileo by the Inquisition, the reaction of scientists against established truths, the formation of Newtonian physics, and so on. Suffice to say, historians of science often point to Copernicus and Galileo’s contribution towards the heliocentric model as the first step towards a new physics, a new science, and consequently, even new philosophy. With all old truths in doubt and all old authorities in question, thinkers such as Descartes felt compelled to start with reasoning alone, resulting in his famous words, “I think, therefore I am.” Thomas Hobbes began constructing a whole new conception of society based on similar original reasoning, beginning by positing man “in a state of nature,” i.e. before any government, and then reasoning out what kind of government is best. In short, this new doubt for everything spread to all aspects of European intellectual life, not simply the sciences. Galileo did not simply cast doubt on Ptolemy and Aristotle (as Muslim thinkers did so long before him), he cast doubt on the authority of religion, the church, and all traditional sources of authority. In a sense, then, we could say that Galileo made it necessary for European thinkers to abandon any sort of “taqlid of spirit” in favor of a kind of hyper-ijtihad wherein everything must be doubted and subjected to individual reasoning, from the ground up. And of course, historians say, it is from these new thinkers that the modern world was formed: democracies, the industrial revolution, advanced medicine, and so on.

As mentioned before, the geocentric world view was never so entangled in traditional authority, whether religious or secular, as it was in Europe. Thus, we might be able to understand why questioning it would not send so many shock waves through the intellectual culture. In other words, if Galileo had lived in 12^th century Baghdad and come up with the same ideas, what we think of as modern science, modern philosophy, and modernity in general may not even have happened. More likely, he would be among peers who would consider his ideas interesting, open for debate like anything else, but ultimately not be motivated to question every other traditional authority. There wouldn’t be a need for a Muslim version of Descartes, for example, nor a Muslim equivalent of Hobbes, or Locke, or Newton. The traditional authorities in science, society, and religion would have been adaptable enough to accommodate a heliocentric model without sending shock waves reverberating throughout all other aspects of society. In a way, then, modern scientists of the West actually own a debt of gratitude to the Catholic Church: by being so dogmatic and repressive of science, it actually gave challenging, new science greater effect! Islam, on the other hand, was perhaps too respectful of science for its own good.

Argument

But of course, this version of history carries a very strong Western bias: specifically, the assumption that the modern ideas that developed since Galileo are inherently superior and part of a historical teleology from start to finish. This is the assumption intentionally operating in all of my previous writing on the issue, right through the very last sentence of the preceding section in this essay. But, let us also look at the subtle clues hidden in my arguments: In my first essay, I argued that Al-Ghazali and those like him actually had a pro-scientific spirit. In my second essay, I argued that a taqlid of spirit dominated in the Muslim world, but at the same time I suggested that it was only a conceptual point, as the historical fact is that the gate never truly closed on ijtihad. And, in this essay, I have already demonstrated how Muslim science had a strong tradition of challenging norms and old models of science and philosophy without much constraint from traditional authority. So, let us return to my original question from the first installment of this series: “Why did the Golden Age of Islam come to an end?”

There is no real answer to this question, only a punchline. The Golden Age didn’t end. It was the European outlook which ended and began anew. Through its own inner workings, Modern European thought shifted into a form of hyper-ijtihadism, in which the gate closed on taqlid. This constituted what came to be modern era rationalization. Everything was rebuilt from the bottom up, premise by premise. Thinkers began with a “state of nature,” a first premise such as “I think, therefore I am,” and began reformulating every idea in every branch of human thought, from philosophy to science, and guiding every question from “What is the best form of government?” to “How did the universe begin?” Thinkers pursued these topics explicitly without the reliance on old authorities. They trusted only their sole reasoning. What resulted was the Age of Enlightenment, and eventually, the modern world.

But reasoning itself was nothing new. Reasoning had been around for quite some time. The principles of logic are ancient, as are math and the sciences. These men of Europe didn’t somehow get thinking “right” after all these millennia; thinking was right before. What mattered was their way of thinking, their hyper-ijtihadism, their rejection of all past authority, doubt for everything, and sole reliance on their own reasoning for knowledge. This was new. This didn’t, however, make them “more right.” Their mathematical principles were just as valid as the mathematical principles of the medieval Muslim astronomers. Their principles of logic were just as valid (or invalid, which was often the case) as their medieval Muslim forbearers’. What changed was an entire view of the world, a particularly Western view. It is from this view that came the notion of a Golden Age of Islam, as well as the notion of its decline.

As mentioned before, Western thinking became focused on rejecting authority and working from a foundational premise to all conclusions with an unerring logic. This was not simply a method, but a world view. To modern Western thinkers, reality itself would come to be seen as following the same process. That is, the history of existence flows from an original premise to a conclusion with an unerring logic, from one point to the next, in a secular teleology from start to finish. In short, it was the development of the idea of progress. A culture, they would come to believe, develops from its first, or “primitive,” form to its final development, like an evolution. And, all the cultures of the world followed the same logical progression. Given this view, it is easy to understand how someone might come to grips with the history of the Islamic world. Muslims science in the Middle Ages represented one stage, much like it did in Europe before Copernicus. But, it never developed into modern European style of thinking. To our new breed of European thinker, this presented a huge problem. If all of history is supposed to develop along a logical path of progress, then how to we come to terms with the fact that the Islamic world didn’t “progress” in the same way “we” did? Something must have interrupted the flow of nature. Something must have gotten in the way of the logical, “natural” progression. In short, something must have happened to end this age. And furthermore, this age must represent the last point of progress before decline, a marvelous “Golden Age” which at once promised future progress, but ended in disappointment.

This is the real source of the problem and the real source of the question: it is nothing more than a modern European illusion, an invention of a peculiarly European way of thinking since the modern era began. As such, it is the wrong question entirely. Nothing ended the Golden Age. There never was a Golden Age. There was an age, time passed, change occurred, and this change occurred on its own terms. A better question would be, “Why do we think the Golden Age ever existed?” The answer is that it is a modern, Western invention.

And this also tends to explain the mistakes of Western historians in interpreting Islamic history and philosophy. As hyper-ijtihadists looking for a theory of progress, it is natural to assume that independent reasoning is what leads to “higher” forms of culture. Europe moved from a religious, authority-centered world to one of freedom of thought, therefore independent reasoning tends to further science, philosophy, and society, whereas traditionalism, or “taqlid of spirit,” has the opposite effect. Such is the most reasonable assumption for one coming from a modern, European perspective. Thus, in looking for a cause for decline, one must look for tradition and traditionalists. Islam was a popular target for the likes of Ignaz Goldziher and his contemporaries. They argued that Islam was anti-science. Another popular target was Al-Ghazali, who does indeed hold a lot of respect for traditional authorities, particularly the Qur’an. And then, of course, there is the entire tradition of taqlid in Islamic jurisprudence, an explicit example of reliance on authority. To a modern, Western thinker, these are the most natural culprits. They simple fit the Western worldview in the best way. But, as I have been demonstrating with each of my three essays, they do not fit the evidence. These are not the real culprits. Taqlid never killed ijtihad, Al-Ghazali never killed philosophy (nor did Ibn Sina, for that matter), and Islam was not and is not anti-science. None of those arguments are supported by the evidence. In fact, the evidence contradicts them. These arguments are nothing more than conceptual fabrications based on the more fundamental fabrication: that a Golden Age ever existed.

Truly, this has not been a history of the Middle East or Islam. It has actually been a history of the Western world. My concepts of ijtihad and taqlid are indeed valuable for historical analysis, but for modern and early modern European culture, not for Islamic culture. Perhaps we should be grateful to the Arabic language for supplying the proper terms. In any case, there is still plenty that can be learned from this about the Middle East, Islam, and their histories. If we are to get a rational understanding of the East, as opposed to a rationalized one, it will require that we pick apart our assumptions in such a way as these three essays have done. The Middle East, Islam, and the cultures they entwine have changed in significant ways over time based on each one’s particular circumstances. There is no lack of development or progress, no backwardness or decline, and certainly no stagnation. These concepts and their corollaries are at best roadblocks to rational inquiry into the past, and as Said argued, they are at worst pathetically racist. If we can banish these biases from our minds, we can finally look at the evidence objectively.