Part Seventeen
The Crisis of the Arab Educated Class (2)
I concluded the previous part by arguing that alienation from one’s own
language leads to the weakening—or even the loss—of belonging. This is the
subject of today’s discussion.
When British oil companies, which monopolized the extraction of Iraqi oil,
established scholarship programs to send Iraqis—primarily to study
engineering—to British universities, they undoubtedly rendered a service to
Iraq, even though the cost of those studies was paid from Iraqi oil revenues. The
oil companies required Iraqis skilled in engineering disciplines related to the
petroleum industry and its ancillary fields. Yet this process had other
dimensions that served the interests of the colonial power dominating the
region, and it contributed directly to the crisis of the Arab educated class we are
examining.
The Iraqi student who studied engineering in Britain learned it in English and began to think in that language, even if he did not master it fully, since the study of natural sciences and engineering does not require complete linguistic fluency.
In addition to thinking about engineering concepts and scientific theories
through English, he also came to approach everything related to that field
according to British standards. Upon returning to work in Iraq, he thus
became—whether he wished it or not—an ambassador for British products.
In this way, oil companies succeeded in producing generations of Iraqis who
served British industry or its partners, while Iraqis themselves bore the cost
through the oil that financed their education. A policy that appeared to serve
Iraq was no less a service to the colonial power and played a role in deepening
the intellectual alienation of successive generations of educated Iraqis.
I have no doubt that similar processes occurred in other parts of our region,
including the states—or mini-states—that were later created. Arab governments
in turn continued sending students abroad on scholarships. Intellectual
alienation was further reinforced through the translation of European literature,
particularly English, French, and Russian works. Yet the problem with this
translation movement—often well-intentioned—was that those who undertook
it were frequently not masters of Arabic, nor scholars of its depths; in many
cases, they scarcely knew Arabic at all. As a result, they resorted to using
European terms and expressions as they were, importing them wholesale into
Arabic usage. Thus, foreign European terminology entered Arabic literature,
philosophy, and thought, just as Western scientific terminology entered through
foreign-educated graduates.
No one responsible for education in Arab lands seems to have paused to reflect
on this matter, or perhaps it never occurred to anyone that there was a problem
with this approach. Many considered it a sound and natural path to learning.
I have received numerous comments in response to what I wrote about the
relationship between language, thought, and creativity. I will not engage in
debate, nor will I delve into the neurological processes of thinking and their
relationship to language. Such a subject belongs to specialized scientific inquiry,
invites disagreement, and may not concern every reader.
Instead, I respond with a single question to those who deny this dialectical
relationship: where is the historical evidence of a nation that achieved
development, productivity, and creativity while not learning and thinking in its
own language—when we have clear examples of nations that succeeded
precisely because they learned and thought in their own tongues, such as
Finland and China?
For years, I have been compiling a series entitled “Say This, Not That”, in
which I collect examples of foreign terms that have become dominant in Arab
media and writing. In that series, I propose sound Arabic alternatives that
convey the intended meaning without forcing the Arab reader into confusion or
a search through dictionaries. These efforts have led to discussion and debate
with people I know and others I do not. That dialogue revealed a dangerous
underlying flaw that deepened my concern. An example best illustrates this
issue.
Let us take three words used daily in Arab media and political discourse:
strategy, tactics, and logistics. These terms are interconnected, having
originated in military usage before expanding into other areas of life.
I asked an interlocutor why he uses the word strategy rather than an Arabic term
to express what he means. He replied that no Arabic word exists that conveys
the meaning of strategy. I asked whether he knew that these terms were
originally coined to describe military needs, and he agreed. I then asked: what,
then, did Arabs use during their wars, which extended from the borders of China
to Spain? Did they employ Latin terminology, or did they somehow manage
without expressing plans for manoeuvre, deployment, supply, and transport
across vast territories?
Like any other nation, the Arabs undoubtedly expressed these needs in their
own language—centuries before the English and French realized they needed to
borrow Greek and Latin terms to describe them.
When I explained to my interlocutor that Arabic is fully capable of expressing
these concepts through sound Arabic terms that convey the meaning clearly and
naturally, I encountered hesitation. When I presented the Arabic alternatives I
had detailed in “Say This, Not That”, he objected that the Arabic phrase “plans
of maneuver” (khutat al-sawq) did not convey what the Latin-derived strategy
conveys. When I asked him, what strategy meant to him, he was unable to
explain it.
At that moment, I grasped the danger of the disjunction between what the
speaker imagines when using a Latin-derived term and what he actually
conveys to an Arabic-speaking audience. If the speaker himself cannot translate
the foreign term into a clear idea, how can the listener possibly understand it?
This rupture permeates every aspect of thought in which the Arab thinks
through a foreign language. A philosopher who cannot render the term dialectic
into Arabic will inevitably fail to convey what he means when discussing
materialism. An Arab listener who has not studied European languages cannot
grasp the concept. When the term is the core of the idea, the idea itself cannot
reach the audience. The listener may hesitate to admit his lack of understanding,
and thus both parties are lost: the speaker, who either does not truly understand
the term or mistakenly assumes the listener does; and the listener, who
understands nothing.
This condition has spread across all fields of knowledge. The Arab educated
person has become someone who attempts to convey a European idea, in a
European language, to an Arabic speaker who lacks the necessary linguistic
tools. The result is inevitable failure of communication.
Nor did the problem stop there. The Arab educated class proved unable to
produce new thought in any field. Arab intellectual activity remained trapped in
transmission and imitation, devoid of creativity. This was not due to any
deficiency in Arab capability when compared to the European educated class,
but rather to the Arab’s inability to connect ideas acquired in a foreign language
with the natural tool of thought—Arabic—with which he was formed.
Some may respond that thought is universal and does not require a particular
language to innovate. This principle may be valid in theory. Yet human thought
is a subjective process rooted in a specific environment. History and experience
demonstrate that even the most profound philosophical theories do not apply
universally without adaptation. They require adjustment to the historical roots
and social development of the region in which they are applied—an adjustment
that demands local thought shaped by local language.
Consider Arab intellectuals who believed they had understood Marxism and
sought to apply it as they had read it. They failed, for example, to grasp the
reason behind Karl Marx’s stance toward the Christian Church, and thus
adopted a similar stance toward Islam. The result was widespread alienation,
because they neither understood Marx’s intent nor made the slightest effort to
think beyond imitation.
Thinking in the non-natural sciences—philosophy, politics, sociology,
economics—requires a deeper integration between imported ideas and the
linguistic tool of thought than is required in the natural sciences. This rupture
has led us to import everything indiscriminately, even when it does not suit the
genuine needs of our region. Those who imagine they can simply transplant the
European political system known as “democracy” fail to account for the
historical, social, and political differences between our region and Europe—
differences that any serious thinking must consider when transferring principles.
Anyone who pauses to examine the divergence between the political systems of
Russia and China and those of Europe today will understand what I mean.
After all this, the Arab educated person has arrived at a state of belonging to
nothing. He is not Western, for the West does not truly accept him; nor is he
Arab, for he has brought nothing new to the Arabs.
So, what, then, is the path that I believe the Arabs must follow?
This is what I shall attempt to explore next.
To be continued…