The Arabic Language and National Identity
1
The Arabic Language and National Identity
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The Arabic Language and National Identity
A Study in Ideology
YASIR SULEIMAN
Contents
Acknowledgements viii
1
The Arabic Language and National Identity: Aims and Scope
1
Aims of the Study: The Disciplinary Context 1
2
What is National Identity? 4
3
Theoretical and Empirical Scope 9
4
Organization of this Book 12
2
Setting the Scene
1
Definition: The Achilles Heel 16
2
Two Modes of Defining the Nation 20
3
Two Types of Nation, Two Types of Nationalism 23
4
Language and National Identity 27
5
Conclusion 33
3
The Past Lives On
1
Introduction 38
2
In Praise of Arabic 42
3
Óikmat al-ÆArab:
Wisdom of the Arabs 47
4
La˙n:
Solecism 49
5
ÆAjam and
ÆArab 55
6
The Arabs as a Nation (umma):
Further Evidence 64
7
Conclusion 66
4
The Arabic Language Unites Us
1
Introduction 69
2
From Ottomanism to Turkism: The Turkification of the Ottoman Turks
70
3
From Ottomanism to Arabism: Preliminary Remarks 79
3.1
The Placards 82
3.2
Resisting Linguistic Turkification 85
3.3
The Intellectuals Speak 89
contents
4
Ibrahim al-Yaziji: From Immediate Aims to Underlying Motives 96
5
Conclusion 109
5 Arabic,
First and Foremost
1
Introduction 113
2
Under the Banner of Arabic 117
3
SatiÆ al-Husri: Arabic, First and Foremost 126
3.1
Populism: A Question of Style 126
3.2
Nation, Language and Education 128
3.3
Defining the Arab Nation 131
3.4
Arab Nationalism and the Ideologization of Language 134
3.5
Nation, Language and Religion 140
3.6
Between the Standard and the Dialects: The Case for
Linguistic
Reforms 142
4
Zaki al-Arsuzi: The Genius of the Arab Nation Inheres in its
Language 146
5
Conclusion 158
6
The Arabic Language and Territorial
Nationalism
1 Introduction
162
2 The
Arabic Language and Territorial Nationalism:
Antun SaÆada and Regional Syrian Nationalism 164
3 The
Arabic Language and Egyptian Nationalism:
Early Beginnings 169
4 The
Arabic Language and Egyptian Nationalism:
Full Elaboration 174
4.1 The Arabic Language and Egyptian
Nationalism:
Salama Musa 180
4.2 The Arabic Language and Egyptian
Nationalism:
Taha Husayn 190
4.3 The Arabic Language and Egyptian
Nationalism:
Luwis ÆAwad 197
5 The
Arabic Language and Lebanese Nationalism:
A General Introduction 204
5.1 The Arabic Language and Lebanese
Nationalism:
ÆAbdalla Lahhud 207
5.2 The Arabic Language and Lebanese Nationalism:
Kamal Yusuf al-Hajj 210
6 Conclusion
219
contents
7
Conclusion: Looking Back, Looking
Forward
1
The Arabic Language and National Identity: Looking Back 224
2
The Arabic Language and National Identity: Looking Forward 228
Notes 232
Bibliography
Works in Arabic Cited in the Text 249
Works in Other Languages Cited in the Text 260
Index 270
Acknowledgements
This book builds on research I have carried out over the past
decade. Many people have helped me during this period, not all of whom I can
acknowledge here. I would however like to express my thanks to Ramzi Baalbaki,
Youssef Choueiri, Rachid El-Enany, Ronak Husni, Emad Saleh, Muhammad Shaheen
and Iman Soliman for their help in securing some of the works upon which this
book is based. Ramzi Baalbaki’s help in securing some of Kamal Yusuf al-Hajj’s
publications was crucial in expanding my discussion of Lebanese nationalism. I
am particularly grateful to him.
I am also grateful to Bill Donaldson, Carole Hillenbrand, Ibrahim
Muhawi and Bill Roff for reading the entire manuscript and making many valuable
comments. Their perceptive remarks have improved the manuscript on all fronts.
I am also indebted to Ivor Normand, my copy-editor, for his meticulous reading
of the text. Needless to say, the responsibility for any remaining errors is
entirely mine.
In carrying out the research for this book, I have benefited from a
number of small grants from the British Academy, the Carnegie Trust for the
Universities of Scotland and the Royal Society of Edinburgh. I am grateful for
this financial assistance, which enabled me to visit a number of libraries in
the Middle East and elsewhere.
I cannot fully acknowledge the contribution of my family to this
project. As usual, Shahla has been a tower of strength. She pursued references
for me on her trips to the Middle East. She has also ensured that our two sons,
Tamir and Sinan, were kept busy. Her computing expertise got me out of trouble
on several occasions. For all this, I want to thank her.
Finally, Tamir and Sinan were the real power behind this book.
Their interest in it was enormous. They asked the real questions: What is nationalism?
What has language got to do with nationalism? And why is nationalism so
important as to make a father devote so much time away from his family to
studying it? To them, I owe a debt of gratitude for showing understanding and
patience.
— viii —
1
1.
aims of the
study: the disciplinary context
Nationalism is a thriving field of study in which a variety of
disciplines partici- pate. Historians, political scientists, sociologists,
social anthropologists, social psychologists, political geographers and others
have all delved into different aspects of this field. This reflects the
complexity and the elasticity of the pheno- mena of nationalism and of the
durability of the interests they generate across disciplinary boundaries. It
must, however, be said that this multiplicity of theor- etical perspectives has
generated a corresponding multiplicity of discourses, none of which can claim
the prerequisite universality necessary to allow us to talk about a theory of nationalism with any
confidence. Broadly speaking, what we have so far are two types of study.
First, there are those that seek to generalize out of a limited evidential base
by proposing a set of explanatory ideas which can then be tested against
further data outside the base in question. These studies are then refined,
extended or restricted both empirically and theoretically, but they can never
completely escape the limitations inherent in their empirical sources or the
theoretical perspectives which inform them. And there is no reason why they
should. What we have here, therefore, are restricted approaches to the study of nationalism, not a theory of nationalism
or theories of national- ism, although the term “theory” is used in this sense
from time to time. A paradigm example of this is Gellner’s modernist or
functionalist approach, which is best suited to the study of the rise and
development of nationalism in industrialized societies, or, it may be argued,
just to a sub-set of these societies. The present study of the Arabic language
and national identity does not belong to this genre in the study of
nationalism.
The second type of approach is restricted to a particular
nationalism, dealing with it in isolation or in relation to other interacting
or comparable nationalisms. The study of Arab, Turkish, Greek or other named
nationalisms exemplifies this approach. The interest of the researcher here is
to describe and explain the observed phenomena by utilizing the insights of
studies of the first type. Additionally, studies of this second type may serve
as test cases for the insights generated by general approaches. They define the
empirical limits of
the arabic language and national identity
these general studies or circumscribe their excessive explanatory
claims.
Progress in the study of nationalism requires the two types of
study. It is impossible to imagine that general approaches to the study of
nationalism can be conducted in an empirical vacuum, or that studies of
specific nationalisms can proceed without any recourse to theoretical insights.
The present study belongs to the second type of approach. It aims to provide a
reading of a limited site of nationalist discourse – that pertaining to the
Arabic language and national identity – as a contribution towards a general
understanding of the pheno- menon of nationalism in the Arab Middle East. This
study will also contribute to the understanding of the phenomenon of
nationalism in its language-related dimension. A prime example of this kind of
study is Joshua Fishman’s pioneer- ing monograph Language and Nationalism (1972) which, unfortunately, hardly
figures in standard works on nationalism even when language is directly
invoked. The study of nationalism in the Arab Middle East has made great
strides in the last few decades. First, advocacy in favour of a particular
nationalism or the apologetic defence of it gave way to a more objective
outlook. This danger of confusing the subjective with the objective is
particularly present when the nationalist turns into a student of nationalism,
thus producing a discourse which aims to (1) valorize the status quo, (2)
sanction and instigate a particular brand of nationalist behaviour, or (3)
convert the decision-makers in a centre of political power to a particular
nationalist cause. Second, description in the study of the topic under
investigation has increasingly given way to a more analytical and explanatory
orientation. This has in turn led to an increased sophistication in the
standard of argumentation and counter-argumentation. It has also led to the
development of a sharper interest in cross-cultural compari- sons, at least in
the regional context. Third, the study of nationalism in the Arab Middle East
has sought to extend its disciplinary scope beyond its traditional domain of
history and politics, although it continues to be domin- ated by historians and
political scientists. Anthropologists and sociologists have participated from
the edges in a way which has enhanced our understanding of the social processes
involved in the internalization, negotiation and contes- tation of national
identities. Fourth, some students of nationalism in the Middle East have sought
to widen the kinds of data which can be subjected to study and analysis. The
call to use newspaper articles and other kinds of non-orthodox materials, for
example graffiti, in the study of nationalism represents a bold attempt at
trying to reshape the scope within which this enterprise has hitherto
been conducted.
But there are also glaring weaknesses, the most prominent of which
is the reluctance to take the study of nationalism in the Arab Middle East into
the wider cultural arena of literary production, the arts, film, music, sports,
tourism, festivals, school textbooks, architectural styles, naming practices,
maps, stamps
aims and scope
and other media of symbolic expression. There is perhaps a feeling
among historians and political scientists that data from these domains are
fickle and subject to deliberate manipulation. Moreover, scholarly tradition
considers the above media of symbolic expression to fall at the margin of the
scope of history and politics, which thus far have dominated the study of
nationalism in the Arab Middle East. This problem, however, is not entirely the
making of the historians or the political scientists. It is also partly the
responsibility of specialists in the above domains of inquiry, who have done
very little to show how their disciplines can inform the study of nationalism.
Considerations of academic worth are central here. For example, it is unlikely
that any serious literary critic would consider the study of the interaction
between nationalism and literature to be the kind of material from which
scholarly reputations are made. A study of this kind would be considered more
relevant to an under- standing of social and political history than to the
study of literature in its creative mode. The same ethos may also apply in art
history, architecture, music and film studies. Falling between disciplines with
different intellectual agendas, some nationalist phenomena in the Arab Middle
East have been left out of consideration, thus curtailing our understanding of
nationalism in this impor- tant part of the world.
Another glaring gap in the study of nationalism in the Arab Middle
East is
the absence of a serious study of the most important of all systems
of functional and symbolic expression: language. It is indeed remarkable that,
to the best of my knowledge, a study of this kind has not been produced, not
even in Arabic, although limited studies touching on aspects of language and
nationalism do exist (see Bengio 1998, Chejne 1969, Holes 1993, Mazraani 1997
and Suleiman 1993, 1994, 1996b, 1997, 1999b, 1999d). I say this because of the
centrality of language in articulations of nationalism in the Arab Middle East.
This is true of Arab nationalism in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It
is also true of Egyptian and Lebanese nationalism in the first half of the
twentieth century and beyond (see below). This lacuna is all the more glaring because,
when set in a comparative regional context, the study of language and
nationalism in the Arab Middle East deserves greater attention. Witness the
enormous interest in this subject in Turkish nationalism and Hebrew
nationalism, which have succeeded in promoting themselves as paradigm cases
against which other nationalisms may be judged.
The responsibility for this lacuna does not belong to the
historians or
political scientists alone, although so far they are the ones who
have dominated the study of nationalism in the Arab Middle East. A historian or
political scientist is aware of the functional and symbolic roles of language,
but does not usually study language per
se or in any of its hyphenated modes. In a world of disciplinary
specialization, this is regarded as the task of the linguist. But
the arabic
language and national identity
linguists are hemmed in by the imperatives of their discipline.
They tend to be interested in the theoretical foundations of linguistics or the
generation of descriptive studies for individual languages or portions of
languages. Hyphenated approaches such as psycho-linguistics or
socio-linguistics (henceforth “sociolinguistics”) answer to two masters, which
tend to pull them in different directions and, more often than not, assign
those who profess expertise in them to the margins of the parent disciplines.
The closest approach to a linguistics-related field of study which
can investigate the question of language and national identity is
sociolinguistics, provided we conceive of this discipline as being “essentially about identity, its
formation, presentation and maintenance” (Edwards 1988: 3). But this discipline
is handicapped in a number of ways in its treatment of Arabic. First, Arabic
sociolinguistics tends to be interested in the functional capacity of the
language rather than in its symbolic connotations. By treating the language as
a means of communication first and foremost, Arabic sociolinguistics misses the
opportun- ity to tap into a layer of meanings and symbolic values that may
otherwise be available to the researcher. Second, the interest in
quantitatively based analyses in Arabic sociolinguistics (and in
sociolinguistics generally; see Cameron 1997) creates a bias, driven by
logico-positivist impulses, against studies which do not rely on this mode of
investigation. Studies of this kind can therefore be easily dismissed as
“unscientific” or “pseudo-scientific”. Third, Arabic sociolinguistics in its
quantitative mode is handicapped by the invisibility of national identity as a prominent factor in the theoretical impulses
which historically informed this discipline (Labov 1966, 1972). Arabic
sociolinguistics of the 1970s and 1980s in particular created aspects of the
Arabic language situation – particularly dialectal and sociolectal variation –
in the image of the urban-based, North American model on which it relied for
its inspiration (see Walters 2002). This was under- standable at the time when
the thrust of this research was to test the applicability of the Labovian model
outside its original context.
The primary aim of the present research is therefore to fill the
above gap, thus contributing to the study of nationalism in the Middle East
from a cross- disciplinary perspective. Another aim of this study is to encourage
Arabic sociolinguists to delve into other aspects of language and national
identity from a qualitative perspective. Finally, it is hoped that this work
will highlight the importance of symbolic meaning in the study of nationalism.
2.
what is
national identity?
There is nothing novel in saying that identities are complex,
variable, elastic and subject to manipulation (cf. Maalouf 2000). This is the
position in all the disciplines which deal with identity, whether as a
collective or personal unit of
aims and scope
analysis. This multi-dimensional nature of identity, and its
mutations across disciplinary boundaries and theoretical paradigms, makes it
difficult to account for its meaning. It is therefore not my intention to
contrive a concept of identity which can be applied uniformly throughout the
present study. This is not possible; and, at any rate, such a task is beyond my
competence. It may therefore be useful to repeat here what I said in a previous
study on the Arabic language and national identity (Suleiman 1997: 127):
Being so wide-ranging in scope, it is not surprising that the
concept of identity defies precise description. This fact should not however
deter us from delving into those questions of collective affiliation which
constitute the scope of identity, not least because of the persistence of this
notion as an operative factor in all aspects of human life. In a sense it would
be impossible to understand man as a social being without invoking a category
of thought similar to what we describe by the notion of identity. A degree of
conceptual vagueness is therefore inevitable, but not so cripplingly as to deny
us the possibility of an informed treatment of identity-related subjects.
Broadly speaking, collective identities are anchored in relation to
such variables as genealogy, age, gender, sexuality, class, occupation,
locality (be it regional, district, village and so on), tribe, clan, religion,
confession or sect, ethnicity, nationality or state citizenship. The fact that
these and other vari- ables normally appear as discrete members of a list does
not mean that collective identities are neatly segmented along similar lines.
Furthermore, the fact that we talk about collective identities as categories of
social definition should not mask the principle that these identities are
experienced at the personal level, and that it is the individual who
experiences these identities and gives them meaning in his or her social and
cultural setting (see Cohen 1994). It is by virtue of this principle that we can
say that collective identities weave in and out of each other in different ways
at different times depending on the salient features of the situation in which
a person finds him- or herself. However, this principle of mutation does not
mean that collective identities are unstable, albeit that some are amenable to
change more quickly than others. For example, occu- pational, class, local and
state identities may undergo change more easily than religious or national
identities, but this does not make the former set of identities unstable or
chameleon-like. Even when identities seem to have undergone significant change,
residual impulses continue to emanate from them, thus making them able to serve
as the basis of individual or collective action.
As I have mentioned, the aim of this book is to consider
conceptualizations
of national identity in the Arab Middle East as these coalesce
around Arabic. This limitation of scope demands some explanation of how
national identity is deployed here. Smith identifies what he calls the five
“fundamental features” of national identity (1991: 14): “1. an historic
territory, or homeland; 2. common myths and historical memories; 3. a common,
mass public culture; 4. common
the arabic language and national identity
legal rights and duties for all members; 5. a common economy with
territorial mobility for members”. Smith states that this concept of national
identity is based on a “peculiarly Western concept of the nation”, justifying
this by the fact that the “Western experience has exerted a powerful, indeed
the leading, influ- ence on our conception of the unit we call the ‘nation’”
(ibid.: 9). Although the first three “fundamental features” above allow for the
definition of national identity without reference to political community or
state, the last two features imply a denial of this possibility. This denial is
problematic for the study of national identity in the Arab Middle East.
National identity in this part of the world may straddle state borders, and
more than one ethnicity (politicized cultural identity) may coexist within the
same state. This denial is also problematic because it is not possible to say
that there exist throughout the Arab Middle East “common legal rights and
duties” or a “common economy with territorial mobility” for all the people of
the area. Such rights, duties and economic mobil- ities as do exist in the Arab
Middle East are invariably related to the multiplicity of states as independent
legal entities. If accepted, the above specification of national identity would
rule as unwarranted the positing of supra-state and sub- state national
identities. In particular, it would declare as unwarranted all talk about an
Arab national identity. The whole concept of an Arab national identity would be
in doubt, questioning with it the validity of more than a century of embryonic
and fully fledged nationalist thinking. At best, the Arab nationalist discourse
would be one not about an Arab identity per
se, but about an Arab national consciousness as a precursor to this
identity. At worst, the above concept of national identity would declare Arab
nationalist thinking misguided and bogus.
Accepting the above specification may also be taken to imply that
national identities can be quickly induced if states are created over
territories whose populations share the first three fundamental features. The
fact that a state can endow people with “common legal rights and duties” and
that it can extend to them the right to “territorial mobility” and
participation in a “common economy” must, logically speaking, imply that
national identities can be fabricated in a very short time. There should
therefore be little difficulty in producing an Egyptian, Lebanese or Syrian
national identity that is exclusive of other national identities. The fact that
this is not entirely the case testifies to the inadequacy of the above
specification of national identity.
To avoid the above problems, the concept of national identity must
be formulated in different ways to suit the imperatives of different
sociopolitical contexts. For the Arab Middle East, this would require the
division of the above set of fundamental features into two components. Features
1 to 3 in Smith’s list are necessary for the establishment of a cultural concept of national identity.
However, for such an identity – sometimes called ethnicity – to exist, there
aims and scope
should also obtain a political consciousness that is capable of
making these features available for deployment in the political arena,
including the establish- ment of a common state. The existence of the state,
embodied in features 4 to 5 in Smith’s list, is necessary for the creation of
national identity in the political sense.
As we shall see later, both types of national identity are presumed to exist in
the Arab Middle East.
To help frame the discussion of national identity which will
follow, I will highlight a number of principles which inform the present study.
First, I believe that Grew (1986: 35) is fundamentally right when he asserts
that national identity is not “simply a natural growth” among the people who
exhibit it. National identity is a construct, in both the intellectual and the
historical senses. It is fashioned out of history, or, more correctly,
interpretations of history. The in- volvement of the elite in fashioning it is
absolutely fundamental to formulating its intellectual foundations and, also,
to popularizing it as the basis of mass poli- tical action. These observations
will be borne out in this study (see Chapter 3). Second, in recent discourse on
the construction of national identity, such terms as “imagined”, “invented” and
“myth” have come into vogue to describe different aspects of the nation. While
the empirical and theoretical utility of these terms cannot be denied, I agree
with Schöpflin (1997: 26) that “there are clear and unavoidable limits to
invention and imagination” in constructing national identity. Schöpflin
specifies “resonance” as the criterion which sets this limit. Imagination,
invention and mythologizing work only to the extent that they can successfully
exploit authentic and highly significant aspects of the culture of those for
whom a particular national identity is being constructed. Resonance applies
within these limits, which are invariably rooted in the past. Smith (1997: 56)
comes to more or less the same conclusion, although he pushes the literal
meanings of “invention” and “imagining” too far when he declares that the
“golden age” which a particular nationalism manipulates “is not a form of
invented tradition, nor is it made up of ‘shreds and patches’, nor again is it
merely an imagined community”.1 Using Smith’s findings (ibid.: 58), we may
unpack the content of Schöpflin’s concept of “resonance” by saying that it
relates to those aspects of the culture in a nationalist discourse that are
characterized by “authenticity, rootedness, continuity, dignity and
destiny”.
Third, as used in the present work, the concept of national
identity emerges from the ideological articulations of nationalism (cf. Miller
1995: 17–47). Hence my concern with the range of ideas which intellectuals,
educators and people of letters have put forward to describe the role of Arabic
in forming, promoting and maintaining various conceptualizations of national
identity in the Arab Middle East. While answering to a predescriptive or
“objective” reality, these ideologies aim at elaborating and redefining
national identity for particular political purposes. Using functionalist models
of description and explanation in
the arabic language and national identity
the social sciences, we may say that nationalism as ideology aims
at the externalization and objectification of national identity as a
prerequisite for its internalization by members of the putative nation in its
newly refashioned form. The fact that advocacy is central to ideology in this
sense is inevitable. In addition, treating ideology as discourse, we may say
that concepts of national identity are subject to varying interpretations by
members of the (putative) nation. It is ultimately they who can act upon it and
convert it into reality. Whether they do act on it or not, and if they do
whether their effort will be met with success or not, is epistemologically
immaterial here.
Reiterating the point made above, in this study I am more concerned
with nationalism as ideology than as a mass movement or mode of political
action, although the categorial distinction between the two is normally more
honoured in the breach than in the observance. It is important that we bear
this restriction in mind to avoid the fallacy of category-hopping. This fallacy
may take the form of arguing that if the Arab nation is indeed defined by its
langu- age, and since Arabic is common to all Arabs, then why is it that the
Arabs are politically divided? The response to this is a simple one: the
ideological assertion of x does not
necessarily mean that x will be acted
upon to achieve a given political objective. By choosing to concentrate on
nationalism as ideology, rather than as movement, the present study takes a
neutral stand as to whether the Arabic language is capable of bringing about
the political unity much desired by the more politically active among the
cultural nationalists in the Arabic-speaking world.
Fourth, the ideological conceptualization of national identity in
the Arab Middle East is constructed in two ways. On the one hand, it exploits
the power of contrast by invoking a significant Other. This contingent view of
identity is based on the premise that difference is essential for the
maintenance of bound- aries between nations. Termed “playing the vis-à-vis” by
Boon (1982, cited in Cohen 1994: 11) in anthropology, this mode of
conceptualization of national identity is most evident in the early
articulations of Arab nationalism which tended to be visualized in relation to
Turkish nationalism within the Ottoman Empire (see Chapter 4). This is also the
case in some statements of Egyptian and Lebanese nationalism (see Chapter 6)
which posit Arab nationalism as the significant Other. On the other hand,
national identity in the Arab Middle East is sometimes articulated without
direct reference to a significant Other. Com- parisons with other nationalisms
are intended not to emphasize difference and contrast but to add further
substantiation to a pertinent feature of national identity. This positive
approach to the ideological articulation of national identity is best exhibited
in the more mature versions of Arab nationalism (see Chapter 5). In practice,
the two modes of conceptualization of national identity tend to be mixed.
Fifth, although the interaction between language and national
identity is a feature of many nationalisms, this is by no means a universally
accepted premise (see Chapter 2). Furthermore, it is not always clear what the
nature of this interaction is. Some scholars treat language as an ingredient in a mixture of factors that
make up the national self. Others treat it as a component in a set of features that define this self. There are
also those who talk of language as a marker
or attribute of national
identity, rather than as an ingredient or com- ponent of it. Scholars of this
persuasion sometimes employ the alternative terms “badge” or “emblem” to
signify this relationship.2 This multiplicity of terms indicates a lack of
clarity in the study of nationalism. Rather than making tenuous distinctions
between these terms, the present work will utilize them with little
distinction.
Sixth, in conducting this study I am aware that, for some,
“national identity [is] hardly an attractive subject of study in a world that
had so cruelly experienced it as nationalism, imperialism, militarism, and
racism” (Grew 1986: 33). This sense of “awkwardness” (ibid.: 39) about national
identity – which is sometimes mixed up with national stereotypes or views about
the existence of a national character or mind – should not, however, mask the
great achievements of nationalism, not least the creation of many monuments of
high culture in many societies (see Chapter 2). It is also the case that
national identities will not disappear off the face of the earth if they are
made the target of an academic boycott. It is therefore not feasible or
desirable to replace the scholarly scrutiny of national identity by burying our
academic heads in the sand. It is in this spirit that the present study is
conducted and offered. And, in offering it, I am aware that any national
identity is far more complex than the inevitably reductive descriptions one
finds in the literature.
3.
theoretical and
empirical scope
The scope of the present study is restricted in two ways. First, it
deals mainly with standard Arabic, the language of writing and formal oral
expression. Refer- ence to colloquial Arabic, the language of everyday speech,
is made whenever this is invoked by the nationalist ideology under
consideration. This is, for example, the case in some articulations of Egyptian
and Lebanese nationalism. Reference to colloquial Arabic takes several forms.
Some supporters of standard Arabic tend to dismiss the colloquial as a corrupt
and base form of the language which is unworthy of marking the Arab national
identity. The argument goes that a people with a proud heritage and high
aspirations for the future cannot possibly accept such a variety as an
ingredient of their national identity. Standard Arabic only can serve in this
capacity. This is typically the case in Arab nationalism. However, some Arab
nationalists believe that colloquial
the arabic language and national identity
Arabic can serve as a source of neologisms and other terminologies
which the standard language lacks. They therefore argue that colloquial Arabic
should be exploited for this purpose. Territorial nationalists divide between
those who support the colloquial and those who favour the standard form of the
language, although the upper hand in the debate between them tends to be for
the latter. Witness the fact that standard Arabic continues to be the official
language in all Arab countries, in spite of the efforts of the colloquialists
to promote their favoured varieties. Being aware that the gap between the two
forms of the language is a source of pedagogic concern in Arabic-speaking
countries, sup- porters of the standard call for reforms to simplify the way
Arabic grammar is taught in schools. They also call for using standard Arabic
in teaching at all levels of the school curriculum and in higher education as
well. The fact that these suggestions have been mostly ignored – and that those
who support the standard rarely use it in everyday speech – does not undermine
the symbolic status of the language for most Arabic-speakers.
The dominance of the standard in nationalist discourse is
understandable. In spite of its overtures to folk culture, nationalism tends to
favour high culture. Some would actually say that the sociopolitical status of
high culture in modern societies is part and parcel of the growth of
nationalism. If, as Benedict Anderson claims in Imagined Communities (1991), the growth of nationalism is
intimately interwoven with the workings of print capitalism, it follows that,
as the medium of writing, standard Arabic has a head start over the colloquial
(see Holt 1996).
But this is not the only reason for the dominance of standard
Arabic in the nationalist discourse in the Arab Middle East. Although
nationalism is associ- ated with modernity and modernization, it always seeks
to establish its creden- tials as an ideology and movement by locking into a
past heritage, a “golden age”, of which it can be very proud. Relying on
standard Arabic, nationalism in the Arab Middle East can define for itself a
usable past, a source of tradition and authenticity which can enable it to
stand its ground in relation to other nationalisms inside and outside its
immediate geographical context. Being stigmatized in the Arabic intellectual
tradition, and having very few literary or other texts to its name, colloquial
Arabic cannot provide the nationalists with a usable past which they can
interpret and manipulate to their advantage. No wonder, therefore, that the
cause of the colloquial was espoused only by a few modernizers in territorial
nationalism who wished to separate their own concept of nationalism from the
Arab past. But, since it is not possible to achieve this separation without
causing a rupture with Islam, the basis of the religious identity of the
majority of Arabic-speakers, any attempt to replace the standard by the
colloquial as the marker of a particular territorial nationalism is inevitably
met with religious opposition.
aims and scope
In geographical terms, the scope of the present study is restricted
to the Middle East, effectively the Levant and Egypt. The fact that most
ideological articula- tions of nationalism in the Arabic-speaking world
originated in this area explains this restriction. Arab nationalism developed
in the Levant first while under Ottoman rule, and only later found its way to
other parts of the Arabic-speaking world. Egyptian and Lebanese nationalisms
are the result of their own special environment. This is not the place to delve
into the conditions which instigated these nationalisms. The following
statement by Gershoni and Jankowski (1986:
81) sums up very well the kind of areas where such an instigation
may be sited:
Profound structural crises, severe political and social upheavals,
fundamental social changes, the resultant loss of stability and
self-confidence, a collective sense of the collapse of an old order and the
impending advent of a new era – these are the elements that characterise those
transitional periods of history during which human beings, particularly
intellectuals, feel impelled to try to establish a new collective image for
their society.
These conditions obtained in North Africa in the first half of the
twentieth century, at the time when both the Arab Middle East and North Africa
were engaged in a struggle against the ruling colonial powers, mainly Britain
and France. The language issue was involved in both struggles, but more so in
North Africa owing to the colonial policy of promoting French over Arabic in
educa- tion and the institutions of the state. Here, the fight for Arabic was endowed with the
symbolism of noble resistance. It was also considered an integral part of mass
political action against the colonial power. The immediate aim of this fight
was trying to eliminate the Otherness of Arabic, the indigenous language,
against the hegemony of French, the colonial tongue. But, rather than disap-
pearing after independence, the Otherness of Arabic continued in a somewhat
muted way under the banner of taÆrÈb (Arabization/Arabicization),
with some of the promoters of French in this period being the very elite who,
before independence, had fought against its hegemony. The situation in the
Middle East was different. Although it came under attack from Turkish, French
and to a lesser extent English, standard Arabic never lost its commanding
position among those to whom it was a common language.
The challenge for Arabic in North Africa was further complicated by
the
existence of another indigenous language, Berber. The Berber-speaking
popu- lations in Algeria and Morocco supported Arabic against French during the
nationalist struggle for independence in the first half of the twentieth
century. But the situation changed after independence. Berber-speakers started
to assert their own identity through an increased emphasis on their language,
thus cur- tailing the resort to Arabic as a marker of an interethnic national
identity in these countries (see Tilmatin and Suleiman 1996). The fact that no
other significant indigenous language existed in the Arab Middle East to
challenge
the arabic
language and national identity
the commanding position of Arabic – with the exception of Kurdish
in Iraq (see Blau and Suleiman 1996) – meant that the emphasis placed on the
language in the construction of national identity could proceed in Egypt and
the Levant unfettered by interethnic rivalries in this area.
Another factor characterizes the difference between the Middle East
and North Africa. In the Arab Middle East, the emphasis on Arabic in the
construc- tion of national identity allows the nationalists to create a
distinction between their brand of nationalism and Islamic nationalism. This
was particularly the case in Arab nationalism, which sought to allocate faith
to the domain of private religiosity. It is also true of Egyptian nationalism
and some articulations of Lebanese nationalism. This appeal to language in the
Arab Middle East is intended to enable the non-Muslims, namely the Christians,
to participate in the life of the nation as full members rather than as the
members of a margin- alized religious community. In North Africa, particularly
Algeria and Morocco, the situation is different. Language divides, but religion
unites (see al-Jabiri 1995) – I am of course not including the small Jewish community
in Morocco in this characterization. It is therefore strategically more prudent
to emphasize the ties of faith in articulations of national identity in North
Africa, although Tunisia may be different in this domain. This appeal to
religion is signalled most strongly in Morocco, where the monarch carries the
title of amir al-mu’minin (Commander
of the Faithful).
The above differences between the Middle East and North Africa
constitute part of the rationale for concentrating on the Arab Middle East alone
in the present work. The fact that this part of the Arabic-speaking world was
also the cradle of the most dominant and best-articulated pronouncements of
national identity in the modern world constitutes another reason, as the
present study will bear out.
4.
organization of
this book
Building on the above discussion of national identity, the aims and
the theor- etical and empirical scope of the present study, this book is
divided into five substantive chapters and a conclusion. Chapter 2 provides an
elaboration of some of the points raised here in Chapter 1, the introduction.
It delves into some aspects of nationalism for the purpose of delimiting the
scope of the study further, and to isolate a set of concepts which will be
utilized in the ensuing chapters. The first part of the chapter is aimed at
students of language, particularly Arabic, who may not be familiar with the
discourse on nationalism in the social sciences. The second part of the chapter
explains for the benefit of non-linguists the difference between the functional
and symbolic dimensions of language and how these may be exploited in
articulating a particular nationalism.
aims and scope
Chapter 3 deals with aspects of the past which satisfy the
condition of resonance in dealing with the issue of Arabic and national
identity in the modern world. Statements in praise of Arabic as a unique
language in the doctrinal sense, and as a language with unsurpassed qualities
in comparison with other languages, are highlighted. The chapter shows how these
statements formed the foundations of a view of the Arabs which declares them as
the wisest of all nations. This attitude was a factor in inducing an anti-Arab
feeling, with lingu- istic overtones, among the non-Arab Muslims in medieval
times. This in turn motivated a defence of the Arabs in which the language as a
marker of group identity played an important part.
Chapter 4 moves the discussion to the modern period. It looks at
the development of the Arab national identity and how this relates to language
within the Ottoman Empire. In historical terms, the focus is mainly on the
second half of the nineteenth century and the first two decades of the
twentieth century. The discussion shows how the development of Arab nationalism
responded to the development of Turkish nationalism, and how the emphasis on
Arabic in the former was the counterpart of the emphasis on Turkish in the
latter. “Playing the vis-à-vis” is, however, not the only mode of defining the
Arab national identity during this period. This is shown through an examination
of the work of Ibrahim al-Yaziji, whose interest in Arabic and its nationalist
conno- tations derives from the set of values the language can autonomously
sustain.
Chapter 5 deals with two major statements of Arab nationalism in
its cultural mode. These are provided by SatiÆ al-Husri and Zaki al-Arsuzi. In
these and other statements of Arab nationalism, language is constantly invoked
as a paradigmatic, if not the most paradigmatic, factor in defining Arab
national identity. In spite of this common feature, the emphases of the above
statements are different. Thus, while al-Husri tends to invoke history as the
second basis of his nationalist ideology, al-Arsuzi invokes a kind of
linguistic philosophy which sees in the lexico-semantic resources of the
language a vindication of the uniqueness of the Arabs and the innateness of
their genius.
Chapter 6 is devoted to a discussion of territorial nationalism in
the Arab Middle East and how this relates to the language issue as a factor in
the conceptualization of national identity. In particular, emphasis is placed
on Antun SaÆada’s Syrian Nationalism, Egyptian nationalism and Lebanese
nationalism. Language figures in all of these nationalist ideologies, but in
different ways. In some cases, it is only one marker among other equally
important markers. In other cases, the language is subjugated to more important
markers, for example the environment. In yet other cases, the language is
denied any definitional function whatsoever.
Chapter 7, the Conclusion to this study, provides a general
statement of the main themes raised in earlier chapters. It also points to
other dimensions of the
the arabic language and national identity
interplay between language and national identity in the
Arabic-speaking world which would benefit from further studies of the kind
presented in this book.
Being about language and national
identity, rather than how national identity is marked or enacted in language, the present work will not
investigate the truth claims of the assumptions about Arabic or other languages
made by nationalist or prenationalist thinkers. Arabic does not constitute the
data for this book, but pronouncements about Arabic as a marker of national
identity do. Views to the effect that Arabic is more beautiful, logical,
concise or difficult to learn than other languages will not be challenged by
demanding supporting evidence or by producing evidence to the contrary. These
and similar views will be accepted at face value. The same will also apply even
when a statement about Arabic is factually suspect. Linguists may find this
methodological stance irritating, but it is one that is consistent with the
kind of research to which this study belongs, an example being Joshua Fishman’s
magisterial monograph Language and
Nationalism (1972).
In providing a reading of a large number of pronouncements on
language and nationalism in the Arab Middle East, I often had to deal with
texts that are extremely opaque or hopelessly amorphous. Most of these texts
have hitherto not been subjected to analysis of the kind presented here.
Deciphering the meanings of these texts has been one of the major research
objectives of this work. Generating a coherently organized body of data which
can be subjected to further scrutiny and analysis by interested scholars is
another objective of this research. Thus, what the reader may perceive as clear
and coherent sets of ideas in the following pages are often the result of a
great deal of textual spadework at the levels of analysis, synthesis and
systematization. The discussions of al-Arsuzi (Chapter 5, section 4) and
al-Hajj (Chapter 6, section 5.2) provide examples of where analysis and
synthesis proved particularly challenging.
The present work does not seek to defend a particular nationalist
ideology against its rivals. In this respect, a neutral stance is adopted. It
was, however, judged to be important to convey to the reader the affective force involved in the
enunciation of the various nationalist ideologies dealt with in this work. This
decision reflects the fact that task-orientation and motivation is a major
feature of all nationalisms. At times, some of the ideas expressed may be
judged to be based on prejudice or bias; but this should not be taken as an
expression of the views of the present writer. Students of nationalism often
have to deal with prejudice and bias in their data. However, those who are
coming to this work from a different angle may be disconcerted by my reluctance
to rebut or denounce what are seen to be prejudiced views. Little can be done
about this beyond what has just been said.
I have assumed in this work that the reader is familiar with the
basic facts of the Arabic language situation. It may, however, be useful to
reiterate some of
aims and scope
these here for the benefit of readers whose expertise lies outside
Arabic and Middle Eastern studies. Arabic is the common language of well over
300,000,000 speakers in the world. Most of these speakers live in the
Arabic-speaking countries of the Middle East and North Africa. The status of
Arabic as a world language is connected with its being the language of the
Qur’an and the Islamic sciences which support its interpretation as a text and
source of legal pronounce- ments for Muslims. Broadly speaking, the Arabic
language situation is charac- terized by diglossia: the existence of a formal
or “high” variety, and the vast array of dialects which constitute the informal
or less formal or “low” variety. The bulk of this work is directed at the
“high” variety, to which I have referred as standard Arabic to distinguish it
from the colloquial or “low” variety whenever the contrast between the two is
invoked. In contexts where this is not the case, the term “Arabic” is used
without any qualification to designate the standard or “high” variety. At
times, the term “Arabic” is used to refer to the totality of the Arabic
varieties, without distinguishing between standard and colloquial. The context
will make this clear.
Finally, a few features of the present work are in need of
explanation. First, the endnotes in some chapters are intended to provide
background material for the different constituencies of readers at whom this
book is aimed. Second, in certain places I have included Arabic material in the
body of the book or in endnotes. I have done this for three reasons: (1) to
help the reader establish the full meaning of terms with approximate
translations in English, (2) to support what may be regarded as improbable
assertions when rendered in English, and
(3) to convey to the reader the flavour
of some of the texts under analysis. Third, I have used full transliteration in
the Bibliography, but declined to do so in rendering names in the text for
reasons of accessibility to those readers who are not specialists in Arabic.
Technical terms, however, are rendered with full transliteration as also are
titles and quotations in Arabic. Finally, the dates in parentheses next to the
names of people mentioned in the text indicate the year of death of the person
concerned. The Muslim year precedes the Common Era date.
2
1.
definition: the
achilles heel
The concepts of “nation”, “nationalism” and “nationality” – as well
as their composite correlatives “national character, national consciousness,
national will and national self-determination” (Snyder 1954: 7) – have been the
subject of debate by political scientists, sociologists, anthropologists,
historians, lawyers, educators and social psychologists. Scholars from these
backgrounds approach these notions from different perspectives dictated by
varying methodological viewpoints and discipline-orientated theoretical
considerations as to the kinds of data which constitute their particular scope.
It is therefore not surprising that definition is the Achilles heel of
nationalism studies, as emphasized by Ander- son (1991), Hobsbawm (1983), Smith
(1991) and Snyder (1954), to mention but a few of the leading scholars on the
subject. The only epistemological con- solation here is that this situation is
typical of other branches of the humanities and social sciences where equally
complex, varied and, thus, malleable pheno- mena constitute the topic of
investigation. I will therefore eschew the problem of definition in this
chapter by providing a framework of analysis to guide the reader in discerning
the meanings of terms rather than to define these in an essentialist manner.
I am of course aware that such an approach may be seen as a flight
from
rigour. My reply is a simple one: the pursuit of definitional
rigour as an ultimate criterion in nationalism studies would lead to the
dissipation of intellectual energy and, more seriously, to the collapse of
meaning, imperfect though this is, for little or no gain at all.1 Declining to
discuss the role of Arabic in the formation of national identity because of the
absence of watertight definitions of the concept of nation and its derivatives
would be tantamount to denying the historical and political meanings of a host
of culturally seminal discussions of the topic in modern Arab(ic) discourse.
The aim of this study is indeed to establish the meanings of these discussions,
while acknowledging that the basic concepts in terms of which these meanings
will be explicated are not clearly defined. As Edwards (1988: 1) points out,
“Questions of language and identity are extremely complex. The essence of the
terms themselves is open to discussion
setting the scene
and, consequently, consideration of their relationship is fraught
with diffi- culties.”
Before launching this explication, it may be useful to outline some
of the factors which render nationalism such a difficult concept to define in a
rigorous manner. One factor is the difficulty of defining the term “nation”
itself, owing to (1) the novelty or modernity of nations as sociopolitical
constructs in histor- ical terms, which, nevertheless, seems to contradict the
“subjective antiquity” of the nation “in the eye of nationalists” (Anderson
1991: 5); (2) the different types of nation that have come into existence
during the past two centuries; (3) the specific social and political
environments associated with the emergence of different nations which have
given rise to historically contingent factors in nation-formation, such that
factors relevant in one period in history may not be so relevant in another,
even when these factors appear to be similar or labelled by the same
terminology; and (4) the inevitable variety of approaches that have been
developed to study this phenomenon which, according to Liah Greenfeld (1992:
7), is “the source of the conceptually evasive, protean nature of national- ism
and the cause of the perennial frustration of its students”.
In this connection, Hobsbawm (1990: 6) is right when he points out
that the
attempt to fit nations as “historically novel, emerging, changing,
and … far from universal entities into a framework of permanence and
universality” (i.e. that of objective nationalism) has led to essentialist
criteria for defining the nation that are “fuzzy, shifting … ambiguous, and as
useless for the purposes of the traveller’s orientation as cloud-shapes are
compared to landmarks”. In addition to the inevitable changes in the meaning of
nationalism in the course of history, this term has been subjected to what
Snyder (1954: 9) aptly describes as a “process of naturalization and
nationalization” across linguistic and political boundaries. This has led to
its extension to sociocultural terrains that are sometimes vastly different
from each other, or from the one that has acted as their initial referential
anchor.2 This feature of nationalism has led Smith (1991: 79) to describe it as
“chameleon-like” and as being able to lend itself to “endless manipulation”,
depending on the specific nature of the context in which it is applied. The
combination of these factors makes the process of linguistic and cultural
translation, and, therefore, conceptual generalization in the study of
nationalism a very precarious one indeed. Furthermore, these factors highlight
the vagueness of the various understandings of the nation and its technical
derivatives in the literature. Anderson (1991: 5) characterizes this situation
in terms of what he calls the paradox of the “formal universality of
nationality as a socio-cultural concept [versus] the irremediable particularity
of its concrete manifestations”.
Definitions of nationalism are also complicated by the complexity
of the
relationship between nationality
and ethnicity3 on the one hand, and the
the arabic language and national identity
nation and the state on the other. Thus, it is not always easy to
tell when ethnicity ends and nationality begins, or whether or not the
existence of the sovereign state is a necessary criterion for the existence of
the nation as a recog- nizable or even legal entity (see Chapter 1). To this
may be added the important theoretical difference between nationalism as an
ideological construct, or an elite-generated set of organizing doctrines, and
the same term in its capacity as a designation for the emergence of national
consciousness as a movement or mass phenomenon. This distinction between
ideology and movement is particularly important since, as Hobsbawm (1990: 11)
points out, “official ideologies of states and movements are not guides to what
is in the minds of even the most loyal citizens”, a view shared by Breuilly
(1993: 63), who states that “nationalist ideology is neither an expression of
national identity … nor the arbitrary invention of nationalists for political
purposes”. The fact that nation-formation is a process which takes place over a
long period of time rather than being an event with a defined beginning and end
adds to the intractability of defining the nation.
It is therefore invariably difficult to specify the “point in the process
at which
a sufficient portion of a people has internalised the national
identity in order to cause nationalism to become an effective force for
mobilising the masses” (Connor 1990: 100). These difficulties amply justify
Gellner’s (1983: 2) caution- ary note that definitions of “nationalism, nation,
nationality and state must be applied with common sense”. The force of this
cautionary note is particularly pertinent in the Arab context, where the
existence of pan-Arab nationalism as a supra-form of national self-definition
among Arabic-speaking peoples adds to the weight of the terminological
discrimination which scholars of nationalism have to apply. The need for this
discrimination is highlighted in the following statement on the subject
(Sharara 1962: 227):
There are four words which people confuse whenever they talk of
nationalities. These are: nation (umma),
fatherland (watan), people (shaÆb), and state (dawla). They frequently use the word “state” when they mean
“nation”, and talk of “fatherland” to signify “people” or else speak of
“people” when they intend the “nation”, without distinction between the meaning
of these vocables, or precise realization of what they denote, or a firm
grounding in the differences between the respective concepts.
But if nation and its terminological derivatives are not amenable
to precise definition, will the notion of “identity”, which occurs as a
qualified substantive in the title of this book, fare any better? The answer to
this is a definite “No!” (Chapter 1, section 2). To begin with, social
identities, of which national identity is only one, are varied and complex.
They additionally include “familial, territorial, class, religious, ethnic and
gender” identities (Smith 1991: 4), which are as difficult to define as national
identity is. In addition to the fact that these identities are not fixed in
time or social space, they often overlap with each
setting the scene
other in ways which defy systematization. Thus, regional identities
may overlap with class-based ones which, together or separately, may override
gendered self- definition or vice versa. In some cases, religious and ethnic
identities are closely allied to each other, although these identities may not
coincide with single territorial associations. The Druze in the Middle East who
are territorially spread over three states – Israel, Lebanon and Syria –
exemplify this point. The pro- minence of identities as modes of
self-identification may also vary from situa- tion to situation, depending on
the saliency of those features of the situation which the individual judges to
be relevant. This makes identities negotiable, to use a common term in the
literature. In addition, it is important not to think of identity in terms of
sameness, or as an essentialist and, therefore, reductive concept which
projects national self-definition as a grid of boxed associations. But it is
also important not to let the methodological commitment to “context[s] of
opposition and relativities” (Tonkin et al. 1989: 17) deny the efficacy of
characterizing aspects of identity in ways which invoke objective properties
relevant to it. Appropriating Gellner’s (1983: 2) cautionary note above, we may
say that definitions of identity, especially national identity, “must be
applied with common sense”. A good example of this attitude in the context of
Arab identity is provided by Hudson, who, having identified Arabism and Islam
as the two main components of this identity, proceeds to qualify his
conclusions as follows (1977: 54):
There is, in short, such variety of expression of Arabism and
Islam, and such toler- ance of diversity and multiple identifications within
each … that few generalizations about the behavioural consequences of these
identities are valid. Nor is it right to conclude that the existence of such
pluralism negates the communal solidarity implicit in the ethnolinguistic and
religious bonds which the Arabs share. The valid conclusion is simply that
Arabs feel strongly that such feelings do not preclude a variety of other
identifications, practices, and ideologies, nor are they precluded by them.
Yet, in spite of these definitional difficulties, nationalism or
national identity is an important force in modern-day society, as it has been
over the past two centuries. To understand the saliency of national identity
and its function in the modern world, Smith (1991: 163) provides the following
explanation which, being of a general nature, will be assumed as one of the
background premises of this study:
Transcending oblivion through posterity, the restoration of
collective dignity through an appeal to a golden age; the realisation of
fraternity through symbols, rites and ceremonies, which bind the living to the
dead and fallen of the community: these are the underlying functions of
national identity and nationalism in the modern world, and the basic reasons
why the latter have proved so durable, protean and resilient through all
vicissitudes.
the arabic language and national identity
2.
two modes of
defining the nation
In spite of the above difficulties in specifying the technical
meaning of nation, nationality and nationalism, two principal modes of defining
the nation exist in the literature. The first mode is generally referred to as
the objective definition of the nation.
The second mode is designated as the subjective
definition. Although the choice of the terms “objective” and “subjective”
is an unfortunate one, owing to their being technically loaded, the following
discussion will set out the sense in which these two types of definition are
deployed in the literature. Other modes of defining the nation exist, including
the boundary and the ethno-symbolic approaches which will be dealt with below.
Objective definitions of the nation revolve around the
specification of a set of criteria in terms of which individual nations can be
characterized.4 These criteria usually include territory, state, language,
common culture and history. Religion is sometimes added to these criteria,
usually as a corollary, although the situation may vary from case to case. In
its strong form, the objective definition of the nation stipulates that if, and
only if, the full set of designated criteria apply to a given group of people,
the group concerned can be treated as a nation proper. This may be exemplified
by Joseph Stalin’s (1994: 20) definition of the nation as a “historically constituted, stable community
of people, formed of a common language, territory, economic life, and
psychological make-up manifested in a common culture” (original emphasis).
Stalin (ibid.: 21) categor- ically states that it is “only when all these characteristics are present together that we have a
nation” (original emphasis); hence the assignation of this definition to
the strong variety type. The weak form of the objective definition obtains when
no stipulation is offered to the effect that the full set of designated
criteria must apply to a group before the group in question is established as a
nation. This means that the set of designated criteria may apply in its
entirety or only in part to a particular group; and yet, in the latter case,
this is considered to be suffi- cient to confer on the group concerned the
status of nation. In most situations of this type, an element of national
consciousness as a constitutive ingredient in the formation of national
identity is an absolute requirement. An example of this type of objective
definition, in which national consciousness is explicitly invoked, is offered
by Krejcí and Velímsky (1981: 44–5):
There are … five objective factors which can contribute to the
identification of a group as a nation: territory, state (or similar political
status), language, culture and history. When positive answers to all of these
criteria coincide there can be little doubt that the respective community or
population is a nation; then usually the sixth, subjective criterion, national
consciousness, is also present. But there are situations where some, or even
most of the objective criteria are missing and yet the community feels itself
to be a nation … The subjective factor of consciousness is the ultimate factor
which eventually decides the issue of national identity.
setting the scene
Objective definitions of the nation fail to recognize the
complexity of group identity as an act of shifting and overlapping
self-ascription, depending on the contextually determined factors of setting
and interlocutor(s). In this connec- tion, Hobsbawm (1990: 8) gives the example
of a person living in Slough (near Heathrow airport in England) who, “depending
on circumstances”, may think of him- or herself as “a British citizen, or
(faced with other citizens of a different colour) as an Indian, or (faced with
other Indians) as a Gujarati, or (faced with Hindus and Muslims) as a Jain, or
as a member of a particular caste, or kinship connection, or as one who, at
home, speaks Hindi rather than Gujarati, or doubt- less in other ways”.
Continuing with the same line of argument, Hobsbawm (ibid.) points out how
people can “identify themselves as Jews even though they share neither
religion, language, culture, tradition, historical background, blood-group
patterns nor an attitude to the Jewish state”. This seems to have been the
position adopted by Sigmund Freud, who, as Connor (1994: 203) tells us, “made
clear that his [Freud’s] own sense of Jewishness had nothing to do with either
religion or national pride … [but was bonded to] … many obscure and emotional
forces, which were the more powerful the
less they could be expressed in words” (original emphasis). A similar view
is held by Ibrahim (1981/2), who states that some people identify themselves as
Muslims in spite of the fact that they deviate from the fundamental teachings
of Islam. Liah Greenfeld general- izes this criticism by saying that there are
“important exceptions to every relationship in terms of which nationalism has
ever been interpreted – whether with common territory or common language,
statehood or shared traditions, history or race” (1992: 7).
The appeal to national consciousness as a deciding factor in the
formation of
nations is equally problematic. On the one hand, it reduces
national identifi- cation as an act of self-ascription to the option of belonging
to a single nation or nationality, when, as was observed earlier, identity is
both compositionally com- plex and historically variable. On the other hand, by
presupposing the nation, national consciousness emerges as an after-the-event
type of criterion, rather than one with real predictive power. Likewise, the
objective definition of the nation diverts attention from the nation itself as
a problematic construct; in the words of Reynolds (1984: 252), “since the
nation exists, belief in it is seen not as a political theory but as a mere
recognition of fact”. I am also inclined to agree with Karl Deutsch (1966: 97),
who emphasizes the role of communicative efficiency
– within a context of complementary social communication – over the
mere fact of the existence of objective criteria as an important factor in
nation formation:
The usual descriptions of a people in terms of a community of
languages, or charac- ters, or memories, or past histories, are open to
exception. For what counts is not the presence or absence of any single factor,
but merely the presence of sufficient communication facilities with enough
complementarity to produce the overall result.
the arabic language and national identity
The subjective mode of defining the nation – sometimes referred to
as the voluntaristic approach, to contrast it with the involuntaristic nature
of objective definitions – emphasizes the role played by will in nation-formation. To use Renan’s much-celebrated formula,
the nation under this approach is “an everyday plebiscite”. For example, in
recent discussions of the status of Scotland as a nation in its own right
within the United Kingdom, the writer Andrew Marr (quoted in Scotland on Sunday, 29 November 1998, p.
8) states that “fundamentally, Scotland is a nation because it believes itself
to be one”, thus adding to the concept of “will” the element of “belief” in a
group’s nationhood as a supporting factor. Gellner (1983: 53) criticizes the
subjective definition because of its elasticity: “If we define nations as
groups which will themselves to
persist as communities, the definition-net we have cast into the sea will bring
forth too rich a catch”. The subjective definition may also be criticized
because the existence of will among members of a group cannot be unequivocally
established before the emergence of the nation itself, whether in political or
even cultural terms (see Chapter 5, section 3 for a similar view by al-Husri). Will therefore emerges as an a posteriori rationalization in the
study of nationalism rather than as one of its predictive concepts. In
addition, subjective definitions are in principle based on the theoretical
downgrading of the role played by objective factors in nation-formation, in
spite of the fact that this role can be shown to be empirically relevant in
some cases.
These difficulties have led some scholars to conclude that “no
scientific
definition of the nation can be devised” (Edwards 1988: 14),
whether in subjective or objective terms. In response to this theoretical
dilemma, some scholars, for example Barth (1969) and Armstrong (1982), have
shifted the emphasis from criteria that characterize the constitution of the
group internally to the role of boundaries and boundary-maintenance in keeping
groups apart in the ethnic and national spheres – what has been referred to as
“playing the vis- à-vis” in Chapter 1 (section 2). In general terms, these
scholars have tended to focus on exclusion rather than inclusion in
group-definition, by highlighting boundary-enhancing factors and mechanisms.
The adoption of this position is said to allow the student of nationalism to
account for vertical change in the constitution of a particular national
identity through time, as well as for horizontal variations in that identity
across geographical space, so long as the boundary between a particular group
and other groups remains substantially uninfringed. Furthermore, the fact that
boundaries are socially constructed under this approach enables the student of
nationalism to give prominence to the nation as a cultural unit, without having
to link it to a politically sovereign territory or state. Finally, the boundary
approach has the virtue of widening the scope of factors – sometimes called
border guards – which can be deployed in group-definition, including
symbolic ones of
which language is a
prime
ingredient. As Hutchinson and Smith (1996: 10) point out, “myths
and symbols play a vital role in unifying populations and ensuring their
continuity over many generations”. In fact, “symbols, customs and ceremonies”
are so important that Smith (1991: 77) treats them as “the most potent and
durable aspects of nationalism”. He (ibid.) further explains their role in
articulating nationalist ideology as one of embodying the “basic concepts [of
nationalism], making them visible and distinct for every member, [and]
communicating the tenets of an abstract ideology in palpable, concrete terms
that evoke instant emotional responses from all strata of the community”.
Interest in the role of symbols and myths in nation-formation and
group boundary-maintenance is one of the main contributions of the
ethno-symbolic approach to the study of national identity. A basic tenet of
this approach is the interdependence of groups and boundaries, and the importance
of boundary mechanisms as “cultural markers of difference” which, “like all
things at boundaries, … must be visible to members of the group and to
non-members” (Nash 1989: 10) to be effective barriers of inclusion and
exclusion. Symbols as boundary pointers may include dress, language,
architecture, food, music, ritual calendars, rites de passage, taboos, ceremonials, holidays, national anthems,
flags, cenotaphs and tombs of unknown soldiers, among many others. In addition
to their function as badges of difference and as devices which permit the
“purposeful confusion of meaning” (Horowitz 1985: 218), socially constructed
symbols of this type play an important role in maintaining the internal
cohesion of the group and in guarding its identity. The fact that most of these
symbols are ambiguous or even fictive (in the sense of being socially
constructed or fabri- cated), at least at the level of selection and
canonization, is not the issue here, since it is precisely this ambiguous and
fictive nature of the symbols which makes them versatile and effective for
deployment in nationalist ideology (cf. Balibar and Wallerstein 1991).
3.
two types of
nation, two types of nationalism
Broadly speaking, two types of nation are recognized in the
literature: the civic or political nation and the cultural or ethnic nation.
The former type is often associated with Western nations, paradigm examples of
which are France and the Netherlands. The latter type is associated with
nations in Eastern Europe and Asia, although the German nation is the
best-known example of this model in the literature. The difference between the
political (or “old nation”) and the cultural nation (or “newer nation”) is said
by Seton-Watson (1981: 4) to reside in the fact that while, in the former, “the
state came first, then national con- sciousness, and then the nation”, for the
latter national consciousness came first, “then the nation and the nationalist
consciousness, and last the state”. The
the arabic language and national identity
fact that these two types of nation are analytically distinct does
not preclude their occurrence as components of the same nationalism, although
the way in which the civic and the ethnic are mixed will vary from case to case
(see Chapter 4, sections 2 and 3).5 This constant typological mixing and
remixing is one of the reasons why the “nation proved an invention on which it
was impossible to secure a patent” (Anderson 1991: 67).
Smith (1991: 9) characterizes the civic or political nation in
terms of its possession of “compact [and] well-defined territories”. These are
often pro- jected, in literary and other forms of communication and
exhortation, as the repositories of collective (interpersonal as well as
intergenerational) memories, the sites of heroic achievements and the arena of
proud aspirations in a seamless progression of history which unites the past
with the future through an active and nationally self-aware present (see Chapter
3, section 1). A civic or political nation is further characterized as a
“community of laws and institutions with a single political will” (ibid.: 10)
in which all members enjoy the same rights and obligations as equal citizens
before the law. Finally, the effective application of this legal and political
equality of members must depend on a “common civic culture and ideology”
(ibid.: 11) which includes, among other things, shared symbols and myths and
the existence of a system of education whose task is to enhance socialization
and communication across class, regional, religious and gendered boundaries as
well as encouraging political participation within what Deutsch (1966: 96)
calls a community of “complementary habits and facilities of communication”.
The importance of print-languages and literacy as factors in the formation of
the civic nation is organically connected to this system of mass education.
The ethnic or cultural nation starts from the premise of presumed
common
descent, which makes the nation a kind of super-fictive family to
which all its members irrevocably belong (see Chapter 5, section 2 for
references to common descent in the context of Arab nationalism). Under this
concept of the nation, once an Arab or German, always an Arab or German,
regardless of whether one lives in the native lands of the nation or in
diaspora. This concept of the nation is further underpinned by a presumed
common culture and a set of traditional values which provide the basis for
group-mobilization in the political sphere. Mobilization of this kind is an
elite-led activity in which lexicography, philology, archaeology, material
culture, folklore, architecture and “political museumising” (Anderson 1991:
183),6 among other things, encapsulate the data which may undergo a process of
mythologization, symbolization and meta- phorization in the name of the nation.
And although the existence of the state as a politico-legal unit in the
nation’s homeland is the ideal form of national self-realization, cultural nationalists
subscribe to the view that the state and the nation are categorially different (though not categorically distinct from each
setting the scene
other). As Hutchinson (1987: 13) points out, “the cultural
nationalist perceives the state as accidental, for the essence of the nation is
its distinctive civilisation, which is the product of its unique history,
culture and geographical profile”. This view is shared by another student of
nationalism, Carlton Hayes (1960: 5), who states that “cultural nationalism may
exist with or without political nationalism” as a force for political unity and
independence.
The distinction between political and cultural nationalism in the
European context is generally exemplified by reference to the French and German
conceptions of the nation. Thus, while the French understanding of the nation
is said to be “state-centred and assimilationist”, the German view of it is
pro- jected as “Volk-centred and
differentialist” (Brubaker 1992: 1). While the French consider their nationhood
as the “creation of their state”, the Germans treat it as the “basis of their
state” (ibid.: 184). In both forms of nationalism, the cultural and the
political are important, although they move in different direc- tions on their
respective historical axes: from the cultural to the political in German
nationalism and from the political to the cultural in French nationalism. In
most Arab countries, the pull of cultural (pan-Arab) nationalism counter-
balances in varying degrees the imperatives of the political nationalism of the
sovereign state, and vice versa (see Chapter 6, sections 5.1 and 5.2). Or, as
Tütsch (1965: 31) puts it, “Pan-Arab nationalism, local nationalism inside the
partly artificial borders of the … Arab states [state nationalism], and regional
nationalism [for example, Syrian Socialist National Party ideology] grow side
by side in competition to [sic] each
other”.
There are different interpretations of cultural nationalism in the
literature.
For Kohn (1945) and Gellner (1983), cultural nationalism is a
reactive move- ment, or defensive response, on the part of the educated elites,
against externally generated challenges to the existing order of the community
and its traditional belief systems. Cultural nationalism is said by Kohn to
arise in the non-Western world in conditions of “backward … political and
social development” (1945: 329), mirroring in this respect German nationalism
which “substituted for the legal and rational concept of citizenship [in the
Western, civic concept of the nation] the infinitely vaguer concept of ‘folk’”
(ibid.: 331). While accepting the above interpretation of cultural nationalism
as a “defensive response … to
exogenous modernization”, Hutchinson (1987: 32) treats it as a movement for
“the moral regeneration of the historic community” within an overall frame-
work of authentic, tradition-cognizant modernization (ibid.: 16). This explains
the fact that advocates of cultural nationalism tend to be educators and
scholars, people of letters and artists who form cultural societies and publish
newspapers, journals and magazines to mobilize the community – publicly or
illicitly through pamphlet propaganda – both culturally and politically (see
Chapter 3, sections 2–4 for Turkish and Arab nationalism). To achieve this
the arabic language and national identity
aim, cultural nationalists must perform the paradoxical task of
reading modernity into tradition at the same time as treating tradition as an
expression of modernity. They do this through a double move of particularizing
the modern as a manifestation of the native spirit, and generalizing the
traditional as an expression of the universal impulses of that spirit (see
Chapter 6, section 4 and associated sub-sections for this tendency in Egyptian
nationalism). This double move involves universalizing tradition and nativizing
modernity in a way which enables the moral and sociopolitical regeneration of
the nation to take place.
As do its interpretations, attitudes towards nationalism also vary.
While most scholars are content to study nationalism as a multiplex phenomenon
of history, politics, law, anthropology, sociology and psychology, some
scholars approach it from the perspective of the effects it has on communities,
whether these effects are intended or not. Elie Kedourie (1966) provides one of
the most scathing attacks on nationalism from this perspective, although he
does not consistently separate the movement from the ideology in his critique.
Kedourie attacks nationalism as an ideology because it makes the nation as a
historically, politically and sociologically “obscure and contrived” construct
seem “simple and transparent” (ibid.: 9). Nationalism is also criticized for
the belief it engenders in its followers that nations are unique blocks of
humanity; for transforming language from an instrument of communication into a
“political issue for which men are ready to kill and exterminate each other”
(ibid.: 70); for making “extremely difficult the orderly functioning of a
society of states” (ibid.); for mixing language with race (linguism) as emblems
of a politically impregnated identity; for being the invention of “literary men
who had never exercised power, and appreciated little the necessities and
obligations incidental to inter- course between states” (ibid.: 70–1);7 for
operating in a “hazy region, midway between fable and reality” (ibid.: 71); for
making “use of the past in order to subvert the present” (ibid.: 75); for
looking “inwardly, away from and beyond the imperfect world” in a manner which
“ultimately becomes a rejection of life” (ibid.: 87); for fomenting “civil
strife between the generations” (ibid.: 101);8 and for disrupting “whatever
equilibrium had been reached between the different groups [in the community],
[by] reopen[ing] settled questions and … renew[ing] strife” (ibid.: 115).
Kedourie concludes his attack on nationalism by saying that “The attempt to
refashion so much of the world on national lines has not led to greater peace
and stability. On the contrary, it has created new conflicts, exacerbated
tension, and brought catastrophe to numberless people innocent of all politics”
(ibid.: 138).
Although Gellner (1983: 125) rejects Kedourie’s attack on
nationalism for
being anti-historical, for believing that nationalism is a
“contingent, avoidable aberration, accidentally spawned by European thinkers”,
rather than seeing it as a phenomenon that is “inherent in a certain set of
social conditions [which], it
so happens, are the conditions of our time”, he nevertheless agrees
with Kedourie that “nationalism has often not been so sweetly reasonable”
(ibid.: 2) and that, in a “nationalist age, societies worship themselves
brazenly and openly” (ibid.: 56) and, one may add, chauvinistically. Gellner,
however, provides his own critique of nationalism as an ideology, rather than a
movement or pheno- menon, on the grounds that it “suffers from pervasive false
consciousness” (ibid.: 124). First, “it claims to defend folk culture while in
fact [seeking to forge] a high culture” (ibid.). Second, “it claims to protect
an old folk society while in fact helping to build up an anonymous mass
society” (ibid.). Third, it “preaches and defends continuity, but owes
everything to a decisive and unutterably profound break in human history”
(ibid.: 125). And, fourth, “it preaches and defends cultural diversity, when in
fact it imposes homogeneity both inside and, to a lesser degree, between
political units” (ibid.). This is why, Gellner tells us, the “self-image” of
nationalist ideology and “its true nature are inversely related” (ibid.).
Anderson (1991: 141) considers attacks on nationalism of the kind
launched
by Kedourie’s to be one-sided. He points out how the emphasis on
“fear and hatred of the Other” as ugly projections of nationalism ignore the
fact that “nations inspire love” which, when associated with self-sacrifice for
the community, extends into various forms of literary expression, including
poetry, prose, music, dance and the arts. Anderson is also indirectly critical
of Gellner’s inability to appreciate fully the role of myths and symbols in
nation-formation, believing them to be deviations from the historical truth
rather than motifs whose aim is to mould reality. By concentrating on “what is [rather than] what people believe is” (Connor 1978:
380, original emphasis), Gellner denies himself the opportunity of accessing
discourse from a critical perspective to derive what may be called rhetorical
meanings in which historical and sociological truth is not a prime
consideration. Hobsbawm (1990: 12) recognizes this point when he states that
“nationalism requires too much belief in what is potentially not so”. Renan
makes a similar point when he says: “getting its history wrong is part of being
a nation” (quoted in Hobsbawm, ibid.). Finally, from the perspective of this
work, Kedourie’s attack on nationalism suffers from a deficient under- standing
of the function of language in society. He tends to emphasize its communicative
role and to downgrade its symbolic yield, although the latter is central in a
number of domains, including those of personal and group identity.
4.
language and
national identity
Whether objectively or subjectively defined, and whether or not one
character- izes it in boundary or ethno-symbolic terms, the nation is often
associated with language as a marker of its identity. Students of nationalism
who emphasize the
the arabic language and national identity
language–national identity link, in the German Romantic tradition
advocated by Herder and Fichte, point to the fact that language is the most
important instrument of socialization, of making humankind human. In
particular, they point to the fact that language-acquisition takes place in a
speech community, that language and thought are inseparable and that languages
are different from each other, and that these facts stamp the individual and
the community with an imprint that is uniquely their own. The primordiality of
language as a “given” of national identity in some ideological constructions is
rooted in origins that are untraceable in the depth of time: “No one can give
the date for the birth of any language” (Anderson 1991: 144). The durability of
living languages as markers of national identity derives from their imagined
immutability, in spite of the fact that they are constantly changing in the
lexical, grammatical and phonological spheres. In the Middle Ages, the
rationale behind the belief in the primordiality of language was rooted in
religious belief: the biblical idea of a common origin for humankind and of the
existence of a pre-Babel common tongue were instrumental in giving currency to
the belief that the “post-Babel differentiation of language [was] the first
step in the formation of races and peoples” (Bartlett 1994: 198). This kind of
emphasis on the role of language in defining group identity has led some
scholars, notably Kedourie (1966: 71), to charge that “there is no definite
clear-cut distinction between linguistic and racial nationalism”, and that it
was “no accident that racial classifications were, at the same time, linguistic
ones” (ibid.: 72). The persistence of this charge shows the hold which ideas
about language and nationality in the German Romantic tradition still have in
the study of nationalism. This is despite the fact that a scholar as great as
Max Müller rejected as unscientific all attempts to infer race, a genetic
concept, from language, which is not inherited.
For scholars in the German Romantic tradition, language mirrors the
soul of the nation and, as such, is the most effective way of apprehending the spirit
of the community (see Chapter 5, section 2 for similar views by al-ÆAlayli and
al- Bitar).9 Interest in language as an attribute of identity within and
outside this tradition was to a great extent responsible for the preoccupation
with lexico- graphy, philology and comparative and historical linguistics in
Europe, particu- larly Germany, in the nineteenth century. Anderson (1991: 71)
believes that work in these areas was “central to the shaping of
nineteenth-century European nationalism”. He is also of the view that bilingual
dictionaries, by virtue of the visible equality they created between the
vernaculars on the one hand, and between these and the languages of antiquity
on the other, created an “egalitar- ianism among languages” (ibid.: 71), as well
as the “conviction that languages were, so to speak, the personal property of
quite specific groups … and … that these groups, imagined as communities, were
entitled to their autonomous place in a fraternity of equals” (ibid.: 84).
setting the scene
Within this framework of close association between language and
national identity, the defence of one’s language emerges as a defence of the
set of values it encapsulates and transmits from one generation to another.
This is why Fichte calls for cleansing the German language from the impurities
represented by borrowed words which would contaminate its inner fabric and,
inevitably, infect the soul of the glorious German nation (see Chapter 4,
section 2 for similar views in Turkish nationalism). Fichte argues that “to
take abstract, life- less Latin terms into German would have a deadening effect
[on German, and] would lead Germans to ascribe some of the alien values
associated with [these Latin terms] to their German ‘equivalents’” (Breuilly
1993: 60). Hobsbawm (1990: 56) calls the interest in language-purification
“philological nationalism” which, he claims, “obliged German scientists to
translate ‘oxygen’ into ‘Sauer- stoff ’, and today is inspiring a desperate
French rearguard action against the ravages of franglais”. To explain the strength of this primordial association
between language and nation, Hobsbawm refers to the two paradigmatic cases of
Germany and Italy, which he describes in the following way (ibid.: 102–3):
For Germans and Italians, their national language was not merely an
administrative convenience or a means of unifying state-wide communication … or
even a revolutionary device for bringing the truths of liberty, science and
progress at all … It was more even than the vehicle of a distinguished
literature and universal intellectual expression. It was the only thing that made them Germans and
Italians, and consequently carried a far heavier charge of national identity
than, say, English did for those who wrote or read that language.
Language interlocks with national identity in other subtle ways. As
the primary means of socialization, language enables the individual, through
the mere fact of early childhood acquisition and lifelong formal and informal
education, to participate in the life and culture of the community across the
horizontal axis of social space – by creating communities of intercommunicating
individuals in present time – and the vertical axis of social and
intergenerational time (cf. Hayes 1960). Language carries out this role in what
Fishman (1980: 87) describes as a “peculiarly sensitive web of intimacy and
mutuality”. In particular, language acts as the medium for connecting the past
to the present and the future, thus bestowing on the past by virtue of its
durability or pastness a “weight of author- ity, legitimacy and rightness”
(Nash 1989: 14) which, in turn, accrues to language itself through the power of
close association and intellectual transmission. Language also plays a part
with other communication facilities – including “learned habits, … symbols,
memories, patterns of land holding and social strati- fication, events in
history, and personal association” in enabling nationality as a
“complementarity of social communication” to come into being (Deutsch 1966:
97). Identification with a language and loyalty to it are aims of nationalism;
it seeks to inculcate them in its members through literacy and education.
the arabic language and national identity
In delivering these functions, language is the medium which makes
the nation as an “imagined community” imaginable. It connects the individual in
social time and social space to fellow nationals whom he or she will never hear
of, meet or know. Furthermore, language confers on the community the property
of being “simultaneously open and closed” (ibid.: 146). It is open because
“one’s ‘mother’ tongue is not necessarily the language of one’s ‘real’ mother”
(Balibar 1991: 99), which leaves the door open for others to join the nation,
particularly in its political interpretation, through the act of language-
learning in adult life. As Hobsbawm (1990: 21) explains in the context of
French civic nationalism, “in theory it was not the native use of the language
that made a person French … but the willingness to acquire this”. A similar
situation seems to have obtained for “the hispanophone founder of the Basque
National Party (PNV) … [who] had to learn [Basque] as an adult” (ibid.: 119).
The same was the case for SatiÆ al-Husri, the greatest ideologist of pan-Arab
nationalism in the twentieth century, who switched from Turkish to Arabic only
as an adult (see Chapter 5, section 3). This seems to hold true for Ziya
Gökalp, the most important ideologue of modern Turkish nationalism, who is said
by some to be of Kurdish origin (see Chapter 4, section 2). Ibrahim (1981/2:
70–1) cites an example from Egypt during the 1967 war, when the police
instituted tough “stop and search” measures in Cairo and other major Egyptian
cities to prevent Israeli spying activities. Ibrahim tells the story of an
Egyptian behaving suspiciously who had to rely on confirmation of his identity
by members of his neighbour- hood to escape arrest by the Egyptian police, in
spite of the fact that he had a valid Egyptian identity card on him. In
contrast, a Frenchman was able to escape arrest because he addressed the police
in Arabic, broken though this was. Paradoxical as it may seem, the nation as an
imagined community is concep- tualized as a closed construct partly by virtue
of language itself. As Anderson (1991: 148) explains, acquisition per se is not the issue in examples of
this kind; what matters is the fact that acquisition needs to take place in
time: “What limits one’s access to other languages is not their imperviousness
but one’s own
mortality. Hence a certain
privacy to all languages” (emphasis added).
The close connection between language and national identity is
sometimes cast within a framework which emphasizes the non-uniqueness of the
former in characterizing the latter. This non-uniqueness receives a variety of
interpreta- tions in the literature. It may be taken to mean that language and
nation do not mutually imply one another. Max Weber (1948: 172–3) spells out
this principle by emphasizing three facets of the language–national identity
link: (1) “a ‘nation’ is not identical with a community speaking the same
language”; (2) “a common language does not seem to be absolutely necessary to a
‘nation’”; and (3) “some language groups do not think of themselves as a
separate ‘nation’”. It also means that language is but one marker of national
identity among a set of markers
setting the scene
which may include such attributes as territory, common culture and
descent, shared memories and so on. In multilingual societies, people may be
competent in more than one language, to which they may be attached in competing
or complementary ways. There are also situations, especially among illiterate
persons in remote areas of the world, where people are not even aware of the
proper name of their language. Brass (1991: 26) tells us that, in such areas,
people “may very well go on speaking their language and cultivating their
fields without becoming concerned that their language is being neglected and
without developing any sense of solidarity”. Brass (ibid.: 70) also reminds us
that “many people, if not most people, never think about their language at all
and never attach any emotional significance to it”. Hobsbawm (1990: 57)
expresses this point more memorably when he says that “where there are no other
languages within earshot, one’s own idiom is not so much a group criterion as
something that all people have, like legs”. This same point is reiterated by
Edwards (1988: 47), who states that: “it is with group contact that linguistic
identity issues become most pressing”. We also know that people do change their
languages voluntarily. Such a change is not as catastrophic for the individual
as some national romantics would like us to believe. While accepting that
language plays an important role in national identity formation, Karl Deutsch
(1966) nevertheless believes that it does so most effectively when allied to
other factors which together help create complementary channels of social
communication. In some cases, complementary channels of communication may exist
in spite of language, not because of it. Deutsch illustrates this by citing the
example of a German-Swiss newspaper editor who stated in his autobiography that
he had more in common with French-Swiss people than with Austrian Germans (pre-
sumably owing to the existence of extralinguistic complementary channels of
communication in Switzerland): “The French-Swiss and I were using different
words for the same concepts, but we understood each other. The man from Vienna
and I were using the same words for different concepts, and thus we did not
understand each other in the least” (ibid.: 97).
There are also examples from the history of nationalist movements
which
show that unity of language cannot prevent secession, as happened
in relation to English and Spanish in North and Latin America respectively. In
other cases, the injection of language as a criterion of national identity is a
late addition in some nationalist movements. In Ireland, Irish became an issue
in the nationalist movement only after the establishment of the Gaelic League
in 1893. In Finland, language did not become an issue in the nationalist
movement until around 1860. The linguistic element in the Catalan nationalist
movement came to the fore only around the middle of the nineteenth century.
Hobsbawm (ibid.:
62) tells us that “the influx of Francophone foreigners into the
rural communes of Flanders [in the nineteenth century] was resented more for
their refusal to
the arabic language and national identity
attend mass on Sundays than on linguistic grounds”. In some cases,
religious conversion can be a decisive factor in shaping different identities
for commun- ities who share the same language, as happened with the Croats and
the Serbs as a result of their allegiance to Roman Catholicism and Orthodoxy
respectively. The non-uniqueness of language does not, however, challenge the
fact that language can serve as a most effective marker of identity, of
boundary between groups. Language has been used in this capacity since ancient
times. The Greeks used it to distinguish themselves from the “barbarians”,
those who could not speak Greek and therefore were unintelligible. In the
conflict between Gilead and Ephraim (Judges 12:4–6), friend was told from foe
by the correct articu- lation of the word shibboleth.
The use of medical Arabic terms by Jewish doctors in Poland instead of Latin
ones, used by Christian doctors, may have been deployed as a border guard, or
marker of ethnic identity (Armstrong 1982). Similarly, the use of the Hebrew
script by Jews to record aspects of their theology in Arabic in Spain and
elsewhere in the Arab-controlled areas in North Africa and Asia may be viewed
as an attempt at ethnic differentiation. However, it is only in the age of
nationalism that language starts to assume the function of a
marker of national identity.
To be fully effective, the role of language as a boundary marker or
guard requires a distinction between two functions of language: the
communicative or instrumental and the symbolic which, although interrelated in
ordinary language use, are nevertheless analytically distinct (cf. Chapters 3
and 4); this is clear from the continued salience of the latter function even
in the absence of the former. Edwards (1988: 18) stresses this distinction,
pointing out that ignor- ance of it “can lead to lack of clarity and, indeed,
misdirection of effort among linguistic nationalists”. The role of language as
a marker of group boundary is therefore associated more with its symbolic than
its communicative function. Some students of nationalism believe that interest
in the functional allocation of languages to particular communicative domains
(what is called status-planning in sociolinguistics) and language reform (what
is called corpus-planning in sociolinguistics) acquire greater significance in
a speech community in propor- tion to the dominance of the symbolic over the
communicative function in the community in question. Anderson (1991: 13)
expresses this figuratively in a different context by the apparently paradoxical
formula “the deader the langu- age, the better” (see Chapter 4, section 4). The
symbolic significance of language explains the demand by the majority group in
a multilingual community to accord its language official primacy over other
co-territorial languages (see Chapter 4, sections 2 and 3). In situations of
this kind, language becomes a symbol of power and domination. It is this
symbolic function of language which underlies the revival of Hebrew in
Palestine at the beginning of the twentieth century, since at the time Hebrew
was communicatively restricted to a small set
setting the scene
of domains and was by no means the language either of the Jewish
inhabitants of that country or of those Jews who came to live in it during that
period. It is also the significance of this symbolic function which made the
Irish national movement after 1900 launch its “doomed campaign to reconvert the
Irish to a language most of them no longer understood, and which those who set
about teaching it to their fellow countrymen had only themselves begun to learn
very incompletely” (Hobsbawm 1990: 110). The importance of the symbolic func-
tion as a category in its own right is also evident in the attitudes of the
children of emigrants to the language of their ancestry, which Gellner (1964:
163) regards as an expression of the Three Generations Law whereby the
“grandson tries to remember what the son tried to forget”. Edwards (1988: 48)
exemplifies this by Italian-Americans who “may still feel themselves different
from others in the larger society, even though Italian may be only a symbolic
cultural entity”. The importance of the symbolic function of language is
further exemplified by the 1975 findings of the Committee on Irish Language
Attitudes Research which revealed that “strong sentimental attachments to Irish
were not accompanied by language use,
nor by desire to actively promote it, nor yet by optimism concerning its
future, among the population at large” (ibid.: 51). To deal with this function
of language, Eastman and Reese (1981: 113–14) suggest the term “associated
language” in the context of ethnicity, which they define as follows: “An
associated language may comprise a set of shared lexical terms, involve the use
or knowledge of just the name of the language which the group’s ancestors may
have spoken, or it may be a particular language used by all members of the
group in all situations”.
Finally, the symbolic function of language is not restricted to its
verbal
dimension alone; it also extends to its written manifestation. This
is particularly true of Arabic, whose script plays an important role as a
boundary marker, particularly vis-à-vis the Latin and Cyrillic scripts which
have gained at its expense by the “defection” to these scripts of Turkish,
Malay and a host of other languages in Central Asia and sub-Saharan Africa –
including Somalia which, ironically, is a member of the Arab league. Yet, in
spite of these defections, the Arabic script still functions like Chinese
characters to create a community out of signs not sounds, not just with respect
to the Islamic culture at whose centre the Qur’an stands, but also in the
context of the civic and cultural concep- tualizations of the nation in the
Arabic-speaking countries.
5.
conclusion
The aim of the above discussion was to provide a general overview
of some of the main issues in the study of nationalism, as a prelude to
outlining a framework for setting up the major parameters which will guide the
discussion
the arabic language and national identity
of the role of Arabic in articulating national identity in this
work. This I will do in the present section, albeit briefly.
To begin with, the term “nation” will be used in this study to
cover both the civic-political or territorial nation within the boundary of the
sovereign state, for example the Egyptian or Lebanese nation (see Chapter 6),
and the cultural- ethnic nation as associated with pan-Arab nationalism, the
foremost proponent of which in the Arab context is SatiÆ al-Husri (see Chapter
5, section 3). Antun SaÆada’s concept of the Syrian nation partakes of the
political and the cultural currency of nationalist ideology (see Chapter 6,
section 2), although, by insist- ing that the state is a factor in
nation-formation, Syrian Nationalism leans more towards the political than the
cultural conception of the nation.
The importance of observing the above distinction between the
cultural and the territorial forms of nationalism is particularly significant
here owing to the precariousness of the sociocultural translation that is
inevitably involved in transferring an intellectual discourse, the discourse on
national identity in the Arab Middle East, into a foreign language, English.
The ill-formedness of the basic notions of nationalism in European and Arabic
discourses on the subject adds a further element of indeterminacy in the
present project. Using as an analogy Victor Hugo’s notion of translation – in
the technical sense – as an act of violence against the recipient nation and
its language (Lefevere 1992), we may say that the transfer of the Arabic
discourse on nationalism into English will inevitably involve conceptual and
linguistic violence against both the source and target cultures and their
languages. It is therefore important to minimize this violence as much as possible
to avoid falling into the Procrustean trap of judging the Arabic concepts of
nation (umma and shaÆb) and nationalism (qawmiyya
and, sometimes, jinsiyya) as
though they were exact equivalents in all instances of their European,
particularly English, counterparts (see Khalafalla 1981).
It is also important to avoid reading nationalist ideologies in the
Arab
Middle East as though they were echoes of their European
counterparts. To illustrate this point, I will consider the emphasis on folk
culture and the vernacular in the latter. In connection with folk culture,
Gellner (1983: 57) mentions how nationalism “usually conquers in the name of a
putative folk culture. Its symbolism is drawn from the healthy, pristine,
vigorous life of the peasant, of the Volk.”
Unlike many other scholars, however, Gellner is careful to point out that this
image of nationalism represents an inversion of reality, since nationalism in
fact aims at forging a high culture instead of defending the folk culture it
avows to promote. In the Arab nationalist context, whether one actually talks
about political or cultural nationalism, the emphasis is mainly on high
culture, not folk culture; this is organically linked to an attitude which
favours the standard over the dialectal forms of the language as the vehicle
for publicly sanctioned cultural expression in the diglossic language situation
so
setting the scene
paradigmatically characteristic of Arabic. This bias towards high
culture is confirmed by the comparatively low status which oral, folk
literature has within the Arab literary canon. It is also reflected in the
less-than-flattering attitude towards the peasant (fallÅ˙) in classical and modern Arabic literature. In his book Modern Arabic Literature and the West (1985:
27), Badawi points out how in the “classical Arabic tradition the villager, the
tiller of the soil, was more often than not an object of contempt …
Agriculture, al-filÅ˙a, was
definitely considered one of the lowest occupations, suitable only for the
meanest of human beings.” He adds that “it was the beauty of nature, and not
the beauty of the life of the fallÅ˙ who
lived in close proximity with nature, that was the object of the poet’s praise.
Likewise, it was the garden, not the gardener, which elicited a positive response
from the numerous poets who composed countless poems about gardens in Islamic
poetry” (ibid.: 28). Not even the intervention of the Romantic movement at the
beginning of the twentieth century could alter this well-entrenched attitude,
which derives its currency from a set of socio- cultural beliefs of great
antiquity and authority. With the weight of tradition fully and aggressively
ranged against it, folk culture in the Arabic-speaking countries stands little
chance of being considered a worthy fount for the propa- gation and maintenance
of nationalist ideology, especially of the cultural type, although state
nationalism seems more amenable to exploiting this culture to its advantage.
The fact that rural varieties are stigmatized in Arabic-speaking countries, for
example Jordan and Palestine (Suleiman 1993, 1999b), is another piece of
evidence that supports the thesis under consideration here (cf. Chapter 3,
section 3).
The role of the vernacular (for example, French, German and so on)
as a
formative force in the rise of European nationalisms is
historically different from articulations of national identity in the Arab
Middle East. First, whereas the rise of the vernaculars in Europe was connected
to the religious upheavals of the sixteenth century and to the attendant
translation of the Bible from Latin into these vernaculars, the emphasis on the
standard in nationalist ideology among Arabic-speaking peoples was the result
of a radically different set of socio- political circumstances. These included
exogenous challenges of various kinds and intensities, the drive for
modernization and the struggle for political inde- pendence in which the
language was seen as a boundary marker between the in- and out-groups. The fact
that the Qur’an, Islam’s primary sacral text, was in Arabic acted as a
centripetal force of internal cohesion on the linguistic front, unlike in
Europe where the Latin Bible was the source of centrifugal vernacular- ization.
Furthermore, whereas the Latin Bible, in spite of its antiquity and textual
authority, was essentially a translation, the Qur’an is not. The fact that the
Qur’an is seen as the word of God verbatim meant that it was considered
untranslatable (cf. al-Bundaq 1980 and Shumali 1996). As Anderson (1991: 14)
the arabic language and national identity
points out, there is no concession in this context “of a world
separated from language that all languages are equidistant (and thus
interchangeable) signs for it”. This set of doctrinal principles meant that
there were no calls for rendering the Qur’an into the dialects, which, had they
materialized and been imple- mented, could have led to the emergence of an
Arab(ic) vernacularizing trend in the European mould. To this we may add the
fact that whereas the gap between classical and medieval Latin in the
post-Renaissance period was widen- ing as a result of the purifying
interventions of the humanists, the gap between the standard and the spoken
varieties in the Arabic-speaking countries was, if anything, slowly shrinking
in the nationalist era (in the nineteenth and twen- tieth centuries) owing to
the spread of literacy and the ongoing simplification of the language
grammatically and stylistically. In other words, while the widening gap between
the two forms of Latin in the post-Renaissance period created a space which the
vernaculars could communicatively fill, the shrinking gap between the standard
and the local varieties, at least at the level of reception, made this less of
a possibility for Arabic.
Second, whereas print technology under Anderson’s analysis (1991)
was
instrumental in turning the vernaculars into national languages on
the Euro- pean scene, the same cannot be said of Arabic in its sociopolitical
milieu. Thus, while it is true that print technology brought to Arabic a much
wider field of “exchange and communication” than it previously had, it is
nevertheless not true that it “created” this field, as happened with the
vernaculars in the European context (ibid.: 44). While the textualization of
Arabic into visible marks preceded the introduction of print technology,
textualization of the Euro- pean vernaculars was in an important sense the
outcome of this technology. Print technology gave these vernaculars their “new
fixity”, which in the fullness of time helped confer on them an “image of
antiquity” (ibid.). The situation in Arabic was almost the reverse. Print
technology did not confer on Arabic an “image of antiquity”. On the contrary,
it challenged this image by injecting a feeling of modernity into its written
manifestations. However, by making Arabic available to a territorially extended
readership, print technology did foster a feeling of a community in the present
among those who had access to the fruits of its loom.
Definitions of the
nation in the
Arab Middle East
follow a variety of
approaches. In some cases, they subscribe to the objective mode of defining the nation.
This is the case in al-Husri’s brand of Arab nationalism, whereby language and
history are treated as the two ingredients which define Arab national identity
(see Chapter 5, section 3). As we shall see later (Chapter 5, section 2),
al-ÆAlayli and al-Bitar follow a watered-down version of this approach, but
they veer towards a subjective mode
of defining the nation. This is clear from the hesitation these two scholars
express as to whether all the criteria they list
setting the scene
for defining Arab national identity are necessary in such a
definition. In some cases, a boundary or contingent mode of defining the nation
is invoked. This is particularly evident in defining the Arab national identity
in the Ottoman Empire (see Chapter 4, section 3). In this context, Arab
national identity is generally defined in relation to Turkish national
identity, with Arabic and Turkish acting as the primary sources of national
identification respectively. This mode of defining the nation is also invoked
in some articulations of Egyptian nationalism where the significant Other is
Arab nationalism (see Chapter 6). In this respect, Egyptian nationalism seems to
build on an anti- Arab tradition designated as shuÆËbiyya in medieval Islamic society (see Chapter 3, section 5).
Finally, in discussing the role of Arabic in the formation of
national identity in the Arab Middle East, reference will be made to both the
symbolic and the functional roles of the language. In spite of their being
categorially distinct, these two roles of the language normally occur together
in nationalist discourse. In some cases, the symbolic role is given visibility
over the functional. This was particularly the practice in pronouncements on
Arab national identity during the Ottoman period. In other cases, the
functional role is promoted over its symbolic counterpart. This is particularly
characteristic of Arab nationalism as set out by al-Husri (see Chapter 5,
section 3). In yet other cases, for example in al-Arsuzi, the functional is
delivered through the symbolic powers of signi- fication which the language
possesses. These and other issues in the present and the preceding chapter will
guide much of the following discussion.
3
1.
introduction
The presentness of the past is a defining feature of the discourse
of all national- isms, as is the presumed pastness of their present. In this
discourse, the past and the present enact the drama of continuity and change as
they characterize the emergence of the modern nation, its development,
successes, trials and tribulations (cf. al-Husri, årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fi al-wa†aniyya wa-l-qawmiyya, 1984a: 37, 67–73).
The past plays an authenticating and legitimizing role; it signals continuity,
cohesion and, therefore, a feeling of intimacy and belonging between members of
the nation. It confers on the nation the appearance of vertical unity in
diachronic time, thus enabling it to counterbalance the horizontal diversity of
cultural and physical spaces in synchronic time. In a way, the past is part of
that essential mortar which keeps the building blocks of the modern nation
anchored to each other and attached to some imagined or real roots. As Joshua
Fishman puts it (1972: 70), the “long ago is a desirable point of departure” in
nationalist discourse because it is “relatable to religious and temporal
glories”, “uncontaminated by the currently stigmatized [foreign or]
anti-models”, and “for the man in the street, any claims made for it are less
confirmable, [thus making it] infinitely more manipulable” than other models
which the present on its own may commend. It is this flexibility of the past
which makes it suitable for the culling of group-identity symbols with the
power to evoke and motivate. It is also this flexibility which enables
nationalists to avoid the paralysing fixity of, and the excessive reverence
for, the past.
For the nationalists, the past is the storehouse of old glories,
common
suffering, dim memories and other distant and authenticating voices
which are imagined to have left their imprint on a variety of cultural products
– including language – whose significance in the present varies from nation to
nation, and, in the history of the same nation, from time to time (for the role
of the past in Arab nationalism, see al-ÆAli 1986, al-ÆAysami 1994, Farah 1994,
Freitag 1994,
al-Nuss 1994, al-Qaysi 1986, Tarabishi 1993, Zurayq 1959). The past
provides the nation with an authenticating image of its present self which
makes it feel secure within its own definitional frames of reference.
Nationalists therefore use
the past lives on
the past as the basis of an energizing dynamism which enables the
community they address to mobilize for the purpose of defending itself against
externally generated challenges, while, at the same time, embracing change and
projecting it as part of the inner fabric of this past in an almost seamless
progression of history into the present and beyond. This attitude towards the
past is displayed to full effect in the “manifesto” of the First Arab Students’
Congress, held in Brussels in December 1938 (in Haim 1962: 101):1
It is the new Arab renaissance which pervades the Arab nation. Its
motive force is her glorious past, her remarkable vitality and the awareness of
her present and future interests. This movement strives continuously and in an
organized manner toward well-defined aims. These aims are to liberate and unite
the Arab homeland, to found political, economic, and social organizations more
sound than the existing ones, and to attempt afterward to work for the good of
the human collectivity and its progress.
Coupled with the emphasis on modernization, which directed change
in modern nationalist discourse often represents, the past provides the nation
with motivational impulses of a formational kind whose aim is to achieve task-
orientated goals of an integrationist and sociopolitical nature (cf. al-Husri’s
årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fÈ al-tÅrÈkh wa-l-ijtima,
1985e: 9–19). This function of the past is echoed by Joshua Fishman when he
says that, in nationalist discourse, the past is “mined, ideologised, and
symbolically elaborated in order to provide deter- mination … with respect to
current and future challenges” (1972: 9). This interest in the past to cast and
recast modern nationalisms explains the constant inventing and reinventing of
traditions in nationalist discourses,2 in which the museum plays an important re-presentational part, giving rise to
what Benedict Anderson aptly describes as “political museumising” in the new
and even not- so-new nations (1991: 183). The role of tradition in nationalist
discourse is also recognized by Nash (1989: 14), who states that it “bestows
upon the past a weight of authority, legitimacy and rightness” which, in turn,
bestow “upon the most humble member of the group a pedigree, allowing him to
identify with heroic times, great deeds, and a genealogy to the beginning of
things human, cultural and spiritual” (see Chapter 2, section 1).
Paradoxical though it may seem, the mining of the past in
nationalist
discourse makes nationalism Janus-like, in that it is as much
forward-looking as it is backward-orientated. This point is forcefully
recognized in Arab nationalist discourse, an example of which is the following
statement by Nuseibeh (1956: 62–3): “In periods of transition and
transformation, a nation’s vision of itself is beclouded and confused. Then
most of all it needs men who by profound insight into the soul of the past
heritage, by comprehension of the problems of the present, and by vision of the
future can synthesize an amorphous mass of ideas and aspirations in the task of
reconstruction.” Fishman (1972: 9) expresses the same point when he states that
nationalism “seeks to derive unifying and
the arabic language and national identity
energizing power from widely held images of the past in order to
overcome a quite modern kind of fragmentation and loss of identity”. It is this
back- projection of the present into a mythic or real past which infuses the
socio- cultural and politico-operational aims of nationalism with authenticity
and motivational force within the modernization project. We may express this
differently by saying that the forward-projection of the past into the present
endows modernization with an authenticity which can transcend the appeal to the
material benefits of this modernization as the main legitimating force within
nationalism. The success of a nationalist movement or ideology will therefore
depend, in part, on reining in the conflicting forces of authenticity and
modernization in the community in a manner which enables change to take place
without appearing to jettison the legitimizing element of tradition.
The role of the past in constructing nations and nationalisms has
been recognized by major scholars in the field. One such reference will suffice
here. Anderson (1991: 11) states that the nations to which the nation-states
“give political expression always loom out of an immortal past”. The
primordiality of language, the fact that “No one can give the date for the
birth of any language” (ibid.: 144), makes it the most suitable and, perhaps,
most authenticating cultural product for expressing the link of a nation with
the past in what Fishman (1980: 87) calls “a peculiarly sensitive web of
intimacy and mutuality”. It is, however, necessary in relating the present to
the past in the study of nationalism to be aware of the lure of what Hobsbawm
(1990: 74) calls “retrospective nationalism”, the unwarranted reading into the
past of modern nationalist trends, symbols and currents. Breuilly (1993: 61)
also warns against this tendency in nationalist discourse: “The notion of a
return to the spirit of the past was often accompanied by a historical
perspective which read the appropriate trends into events. Figures in the past
became instruments of the national destiny or obstacles in its path.” An
example of this retrospective nationalism in Arab nationalist discourse is
provided by the Egyptian linguist Ibrahim Anis in his pioneering work al-Lugha bayn al-qawmiyya wa-l-ÆÅlamiyya (1970).3
Basing him- self on specious evidence to construct the past in the image of an
ideologized present, Anis concludes that “Arab nationalism emerged before Islam
on the basis of language alone” (ibid.: 176), and that the Arab nationalist
credentials of the Christian poet al-Akhtal (90/708) assured him of the
enviable position of “state poet” (ibid.: 178) at the court of the (Muslim)
Umayyad caliph ÆAbd al- Malik Ibn Marwan (86/705). This spurious evidence
consists of recounting how the Muslim caliph did not object to al-Akhtal
appearing in his court drunk and wearing a cross round his neck, and of the
latter’s disparaging remarks to his wife about her bishop being as ritually
unclean as his (the bishop’s) donkey’s tail. This so-called evidence also
extends to a line of poetry which al-Akhtal directed at one of his enemies,
lampooning him for the fact that his mother was not of pure
the past lives on
Arab stock.4 This retrospective nationalism on the part of Ibrahim
Anis culmin- ates in his statement that “the boundaries of Arab nationalism [in
the early Islamic period] were defined by the spread of the Arabic language”
(ibid.: 190), and that “wherever the language took root, Arab nationalism did
the same” (ibid.).
A term that is often used to describe the group symbols which
nationalists cull from the past to construct modern nationalisms is myth (cf. Chapter 1, section 2). Hugh
Seton-Watson (1981: 5) refers to this use of the past as “histor- ical
mythology”, which he characterizes as a “mixture of truth and fantasy, a
simplified version of a nation’s historical past”. Gellner (1983: 56) expresses
a similar view: “The cultural shreds and patches used by nationalism are often
arbitrary historical inventions. Any old shreds and patches would have served
as well” (cf. Chapter 1, section 2 and n. 1). He adds (ibid.): “The cultures
[nationalism] claims to defend and revive are often its own inventions, or are
modified out of all recognition”. Although it cannot be denied that invention
and arbitrariness are characteristic of the attempt to relate the present to
the past in nationalist discourse, it is nevertheless the case that a blanket
statement of the kind offered by Gellner fails to describe the complexity of
the situation which falls within its scope. The most telling criticism of this
statement is its failure to recognize fully that what matters in assessing
these “shreds and patches” from the past is – strictly speaking – not their
empirical truth or falsity, but their efficacy
as transformed and elaborated instruments or symbols of ethno-cultural and
political mobilization in pursuit of national objectives. In addition, the fact
that certain symbols may or may not have universal currency as factors which
promote national identification leaves unexplained their predominance as
ingredients which can and do promote such identification in many nationalisms.
As Overing (1997: 1) points out, “the use of the term ‘myth’ is more a
judgmental than a definitional or propositional procedure: its attribution
requires a judgment having to do with standards of knowledge or its
organization”. Finally, the fact that there are cases in nationalist discourse
where the reference to the past is rooted in a reality which, though mediated
and constructed, is not entirely fictional or mythical further challenges
Gellner’s position. References to the role of Arabic in nationalist discourse
constitute a prime example of this fact. Therefore, to avoid the connotations
of the term myth in the literature on
nationalism, it may be more appropriate sometimes to refer to certain elements
of the past as imagined or constructed, but only if being imagined
or constructed is not in this context categorially opposed to being real. The aim of this chapter is to
examine the Arabic intellectual tradition in premodern times (before Napoleon’s
invasion of Egypt in 1798) with a view to isolating those aspects of this
tradition which are directly related and relatable to the theme of language and
group identity in Arab nationalist discourses in
the arabic
language and national identity
the modern period. My interest here is that of the cultural
historian who is more concerned with trends in time rather than in chronology per se, although the two cannot be
separated from each other: trends do take place in time. In carrying out this
task, vigilance against retrospective nationalism – the reading of the modern
nationalist trends into the articulations of the role of the language in
defining an Arab identity in premodern times – will be exercised. But this
vigilance should not lead to over-vigilance or paranoia, thus diluting the
force of some of those aspects of the Arabic intellectual tradition which
appear to embody ingredients of group identity that are akin to pronouncements
of a similar nature in nationalist
discourses. Although similarity is different from sameness, the following
discussion will show that the past does not always have to be invented to
support the claims made in a particular nationalism. As Gershoni and Jankowski
(1997: xxv) state, “nationalism is simultaneously real and imagined, authentic
and invented, concrete and discursive”; and yet the “differentiation between
imagination and reality in the study of nationalist thought is specious [owing
to the fact that] nationalist imaginings become part and parcel of nationalist
reality, and attempts to separate them only obscure an understanding of the
phenomenon” (ibid.: xxv–xxvi). The discussion of various modes of nationalist
discourse later in this study will serve as ample proof of the premise which the
title of this chapter signifies: the past is often alive and kicking. It is
this which enables elements in the past to be endowed with “resonance” of the
kind described in Chapter 1 (see section 2).
2.
in praise of arabic
Praise of a group’s language is a well-known phenomenon in
pre/proto- nationalist, nationalist and postnationalist discourse, although the
rhetorical purpose of this praise may vary from one period to another. In
prenationalist discourse, such praise often has a religious, ethnic or even local
dimension. In nationalist discourse, praising a group’s language often aims at
internal cohesion and/or external differentiation for sociopolitical purposes
of integration and task-orientation. In postnationalist discourse, the same
phenomenon may aim at political consolidation or the expansion of socioeconomic
benefits for the in- group at the expense of out-groups within or outside the
state. The aim of this section is to outline a set of themes which are often
adduced in the literature as evidence of the special status of Arabic in
relation to other languages in its premodern (pre-nineteenth-century) cultural
milieu, particularly insofar as these relate to the discourse on nationalism in
the Arab context.5
It is a well-known fact that the prestige of Arabic in the world
derives from the role of the language as the medium of the Qur’an and that of
the vast intellectual tradition to which Islam has given rise since its
appearance on the
the past lives on
world stage in the seventh century. The Qur’an reflects on this in
often lauda- tory terms. Thus, in Qur’an 12:2 the point is made that Muhammad’s
revelation was in Arabic: “innÅ anzalnÅhu
qur’Ånan Æarabiyyan” (“We have sent it down as an Arabic Qur’an”). This is
made in the form of an emphatic statement (indi- cated by innÅ preceding the verb anzalnÅhu)
which sets out God’s will and His desire in a way that favours the language in
cosmic terms. This fact is underlined in Qur’an 26:195, where the language of
the revelation is described as “perspi- cuous” Arabic (mubÈn), thus signalling its quality to those who wish to consider
the veracity of God’s message to humankind. In Qur’an 14:4, God states as a
general principle the fact that every messenger was made to address his people
in his and their own language, which fact confers on Arabic and its native
speakers a special place in Islamic cosmology. This principle explains why the
revelation was sent to Muhammad in Arabic, and not in another language (Qur’an
41:44): “wa-law jaÆalnÅhu qur’Ånan
Æajamiyyan la-qÅlË lawlÅ fußßilat ÅyÅtuhu ’a’aÆjamiyyun wa-Æarabiyy” (“Had
We sent this as a Qur’an [in a language] other than Arabic, they would have
said: ‘Why are its verses not explained in detail? What! A foreign (tongue) and
an Arab Messenger?’”). The opposition between Arabic and foreign languages (Æarabiyy versus aÆjamiyy) in the context of the revelation is further accentuated
in Qur’an 16:103, where the language of those who accuse the Prophet of
fabrication is said to be of the latter kind. By drawing this contrast, the
Qur’an puts Arabic in a favoured position as the com- municative medium for
expressing God’s universal truths; it further establishes the task of
expressing falsehood vis-à-vis the Qur’an as the communicative function of
other languages. This is why the language of the Qur’an (39:28) is said to be
devoid of any crookedness.
Considered together, these portions of the Qur’an provide a clear
picture of
the elevated status Arabic has in Islam. This status is amplified
further in the Prophetic ˙adÈth (traditions)
literature. In one such ˙adÈth, the
Prophet is reported to have related to his cousin and the fourth rightly guided
caliph, ÆAli, that the angel Gabriel descended from heaven and said to him: “O
Muhammad! All things have a master: Adam is master of men, you are the master
of Adam’s descendants, the master of the Rum [Byzantines/Greeks] is Suhayb [Ibn
Sinan, one of the Prophet’s companions of that origin], the master of the
Persians is Salman [al-Farisi, a companion of the Prophet of Persian origin],
the master of the Ethiopians is Bilal [Ibn Rabah, a companion of the Prophet of
that origin], the master of the trees is the lotus (sidr), the master of birds is the eagle, the chief of months is
Ramadan, the chief of weekdays is Friday and Arabic is the master of speech”
(cited in Goldziher, 1966, vol. 1: 195). In another ˙adÈth, the Prophet is reported to have established a clear link
between three elements of his mission: the fact that he is an Arab, that the
Qur’an is in Arabic and that the language of Heaven (janna) is Arabic. The combination of these elements
the arabic language and national identity
constitutes the basis for enjoining all Muslims to love the Arabs:
“a˙ibbË al- Æaraba li-thalÅth: li-annÈ
Æarabiyy, wa-l-qur’Ån Æarabiyy wa-kalÅm ahl al-janna Æarabiyy” (“Love the
Arabs for three reasons: because I am an Arab, the Qur’an is [revealed in]
Arabic and the speech of the people of Heaven is Arabic”: al- Tufi 1997: 246).
It is therefore not surprising that the Prophet exhorts his com- munity to
learn Arabic and to aim at stylistic excellence in their Arabic speech. It
further explains why knowledge of Arabic grammar is regarded by the con- sensus
of the ulema as a collective
obligation (far∂ kifÅya) on the
Muslim com- munity, and as personal obligation (far∂ Æayn) on those who wish to specialize in the legal sciences.6
The emphasis on Arabic in the Qur’an further reflects the privileged position
of the language among the Arabs of pre-Islamic Arabia as the medium of their
most highly prized cultural product, poetry – for it is primarily in response
to the status of poetry that the principle of the inimitability of the Qur’an (IÆjÅz al-qur’Ån) is formulated.7 The
fact that the Qur’an was revealed in Arabic is treated in the literature as
proof to the Arabs of its divine origin, in addition to its being an argument
against their attempts to deny that Muham- mad was God’s true Messenger.8
This linkage between Islam, the Arabs and the Arabic language is
given full
expression by the linguist Abu Mansur al-ThaÆalibi (430/1038–9) in
the short introduction to his book Fiqh
al-lugha wa-sirr al-Æarabiyya (1938).9 Al-ThaÆalibi reiterates this linkage
in a series of related premises and conclusions. First, he states that since
whoever loves God will also love His [Arab] Prophet, and whoever loves the Arab
Prophet will also love the Arabs, it follows that who- ever loves the Arabs
will love the Arabic language, in which the best Book (Qur’an) was revealed and
communicated to the best people among the Arabs and non-Arabs (Æajam). Second, al-ThaÆalibi states that
whoever God guides to Islam will believe that Muhammad is the best of all
Messengers, Islam the best of all religions, the Arabs the best of all nations
(umam) and the Arabic lan- guage the
best of all languages and tongues. Third, because God has honoured Arabic by
making it the language of His revelation to the best of His creation (Prophet
Muhammad) – to which may be added the fact that it is the language of
Muhammad’s best followers in this world and the hereafter – it is inevitable
that God will preserve this language until the end of time. This is done by a
group of scholars – among whom al-ThaÆalibi implicitly includes himself – who
renounce the pleasures of this world and devote themselves selflessly to the
pursuit of this aim.
This triad of religion (Islam), the people (Arabs) and the language
(Arabic)
is reiterated by the Andalusian rhetorician Ibn Sinan al-Khafaji
(460/1067–8) in his book Sirr al-faßÅ˙a (1982).10
An interesting feature of al-Khafaji’s treatment of this triad is the emphasis
he places on the relationship between the people and the language over that of
the relationship of religion to either of its
the past lives on
partners. In this context, al-Khafaji posits an organic
relationship between the language and the people (qawm), whereby the high prestige of the language reflects the
unsurpassable qualities of the people. Al-Khafaji’s views on this topic may be
expressed by the following gist translation of a passage from his book (1982:
52):
The superiority of the Arabic language over other languages is part
and parcel of the superiority of its Arab speakers as a nation (umma) unsurpassed by other nations in
quality of character. It is therefore not unreasonable to assume that if the
Arabic language is indeed the creation of the Arabs by convention it is bound
to reflect the quality of their character. In claiming this, I am not driven by
blind allegiance to either the language or its speakers.
Al-Khafaji isolates a number of features which he believes justify
assigning to Arabic a communicative status higher than that attributed to other
languages.11 First, Arabic is said to have a vast and rich lexicon – in
comparison with other languages such as Greek (rumiyya) – partly due to its proclivity for synonymy. As Goldziher
(1966, vol. 1: 195) writes: “When seeking to demonstrate conclusively the
richness of Arabic, the Arabs had always boasted [sic] of the unequalled variety of synonyms in their language”.
Second, Arabic is charac- terized by communicative economy, in the sense that
it deploys minimal linguistic resources to convey meanings with high
informational content; this idea, as an application of Occam’s razor principle,
may be expressed differently by saying that, in comparison with other
languages, Arabic can do more with less. This is said to be most evident in
translation into and out of the language, whereby (1) an Arabic target text
tends to be shorter than its corresponding source text, and (2) a foreign
target text tends to be longer than its Arabic source text. Third, Arabic has
extremely well-developed rhetorical resources which, when combined with the
preceding two features, make it possible to improve the meanings of texts that
are translated into it. The converse of this is also true: Arabic texts
translated into other languages are said to suffer from serious translation
loss, owing to the fact that these languages are rhetorically impoverished in
comparison with Arabic. In supporting this claim, al-Khafaji relies on the evidence
of a bishop called Abu Dawud, who is said to be equally proficient in both
Arabic and Syriac. According to this bishop, when a Syriac text is translated
into Arabic its stylistic quality tends to improve, but when an Arabic text is
translated into Syriac it tends to lose much of its stylistic quality because
of the – comparatively speaking – impoverished resources of the language.
Fourth, Arabic is characterized by a phonological structure which does not en-
courage the occurrence of successive consonants that belong to the same place
of articulation. This property of the language endows it with articulatory
ease, which the principle of lightness (khiffa)
in the Arabic grammatical tradition expresses.12
the arabic language and national identity
Whether the above claims about Arabic are factually true is not the
issue here. What matters for our purposes is that these “properties” of the
language are treated as an expression of the “superior qualities” of the Arabs
in compari- son with other peoples. One of these qualities is generosity, which
sets the Arabs apart from the Indians, Ethiopians, Turks and, especially, the
Persians and Byzantines, who see little shame in being stingy. Another quality
of the Arabs is sound intuition and penetrating judgment, which enable them to
surpass even the Greeks in wisdom. The Arabs are a proud and honourable people,
whose endurance, patience and courage make them supremely equipped to deal with
the hardships of the desert and to triumph over the testing conditions which
characterize its physical and social milieu. The Arabs – men and women, young
and old – are further characterized by loyalty and the ready willingness to
give succour to whoever seeks their help and protection.
This (untestable) interaction between language and group
characteristics is extended to grammar and the use of pure Arabic. It is to
this ingredient in the Arabic intellectual tradition that I will turn next, but
not before adducing some evidence which shows that the correct application of grammatical
rules in speech is regarded as a highly prized attribute. Thus, it is reported
that the second caliph ÆUmar urged the Muslim community to learn the correct
forms of speech because they enhance a person’s wisdom, mental powers and
honour.13 The jurist ÆAmr Ibn Dinar (126/743–4) – who, significantly, is of
Persian origin – reiterates the same theme when he says that the acquisition
and application of the correct forms of Arabic is an honour which brings a
person public recogni- tion.14 The historian Abu al-Hasan al-Mada’ini
(225/839–40) subscribes to the same view when he says that the ability to
deploy Arabic correctly can com- pensate for the absence of other desirable
attributes in men.15 This is exactly what the judge al-Awqas (169/785) nurtured,
for although he was unbearably ugly he was, we are told, still able to rise to
the position of judge in Mecca owing, among other things, to his ability to use
pure and correct Arabic. The sources report how, on one occasion, this judge
was more concerned about a drunken man’s ungrammatical use of the language than
his breaking the Islamic prohibition on the consumption of alcohol.16 Thus,
instead of reminding him of the serious nature of the latter offence and
punishing him for it, he proceeded to correct his ungrammatical language.
The above views reflect the importance of the link between
language, religion
and people in the Arabic intellectual tradition. Although many of
the views put forward by al-Khafaji are scientifically unwarranted, thus
deserving the appellation “myth”, what is important here is not their factual
truth or falsity but their rhetorical or
symbolic value as assertions of ethnic distinctiveness and superiority. The
role of language in underpinning these assertions indicates its capacity to be
used as an attribute of national identity in the modern period.
3.
ÓIKMAT AL-ÆARAB: wisdom of
the arabs
The principle of ˙ikmat
al-Æarab (wisdom of the Arabs) lies at the heart of gram- matical analysis
in the Arabic intellectual tradition. It creates an important link between “the
language” and “the people”, who are originally taken to mean the
Arabic-speakers of Central Arabia (Najd and the immediately surrounding areas)
up to (approximately) the middle of the ninth century. In particular, this
prin- ciple is related to the explanatory part of the grammatical enterprise –
as opposed to its descriptive portion – which is dubbed taÆlÈl (roughly “causation”) in the sources, although, strictly
speaking, causation does cover descriptive aspects of the language as well
(Suleiman 1999c). Broadly speaking, causation aims at providing explanations,
rationalizations or justifications that set out why cer- tain significant
features of the language are the way they are. This is generally done by
offering various types of Æilla (cause)
which specify that “x is the case
because of y”. Some of these causes
are more plausible/testable than others in empirical terms, but this should not
detain us here. Suffice it to say that the study of causation concerns the
methodological foundations of Arabic grammatical theory. The fact that the
“wisdom of the Arabs” principle is anchored to this level in Arabic grammatical
thinking indicates the centrality of the link
between people and language in the Arabic intellectual tradition.
As the starting point for dealing with this association between
language and
people in the context of causation, I will consider aspects of the
seminal study by Ibn al-Sarraj (316/928) of the grammatical structure of the
Arabic language, al-UßËl fÈ al-na˙w (1985).
Ibn al-Sarraj begins this study by pointing out that Arabic grammar is inductively
derived by the (earlier) grammarians from the speech of the Arabs, as these
were originally defined (see preceding paragraph). In so doing, the grammarians
identified the conventions and purposes/aims which the earliest speakers of the
language had initiated. Grammar establishes these conventions and purposes by
using two types of cause. The first type cor- responds to what is called
grammatical rule in common parlance or traditional grammar. The second type of
cause – called Æillat al-Æilla, the
cause of the cause, or meta-cause – seeks to provide explanations for causes of
the first type. Thus, whereas a first cause may take the form of a statement to
the effect that “the subject occurs in the nominative, and the object in the
accusative”, the second type of cause seeks to explain why this is actually the
case in the language. The ultimate aim of causes of the second type is said to
be twofold: (1) to infer the wisdom of the Arabs as this is embodied in the
first causes, and (2) to explain the divinely sanctioned superiority of Arabic
over other languages.
This view of causation is shared by Abu al-Qasim Zajjaji (337/948)
in his
book al- ∂Å˙ fi Æilal al-na˙w
(1959). Al-Zajjaji divides the causes into three types: pedagogic,
analogical and argumentational-theoretical, allocating to them the
the arabic language and national identity
two tasks of description and explanation in grammar (see Suleiman
1999c, Versteegh 1995). Although al-Zajjaji does not explicitly anchor his
discussion of these causes to the “wisdom of the Arabs” principle, it is
nevertheless clear that his study serves the two aims established by Ibn
al-Sarraj. The gist of al- Zajjaji’s position is that Arabic grammar (in the
postdescriptive sense) uncovers the inherent structural correlations, patterns
and symmetries that exist in the language (Suleiman 1990), and that it is these
structural correlations, patterns and symmetries which signal the intrinsically
refined qualities of both the language and its speakers.
The idea that the task of grammar is to capture the inherent
properties and patterns of the language, and that the postdescriptive
articulation of these properties and patterns in grammatical treatises
corresponds to their predescrip- tive counterparts, is reiterated by Ibn Jinni
(392/1002) in al-KhaßÅ’iß (n.d.) as
part of the overarching theme of the “wisdom of the Arabs” principle in gram-
matical theory. Like the famous grammarian al-Khalil, Ibn Jinni believes that
the Arabs display a sound intuitive knowledge of the inner patterns of their
language which, on occasion, they can articulate explicitly, though often with-
out deploying the technical terminology of the grammarians. This shows that the
Arabs are in tune with the inner pulse of their language, and that they have a
well-developed intuitive knowledge of its inherent properties. An example of
this type in the literature concerns al-Mu’arrij (195/811) of the Bedouin tribe
of Sadus who is reported to have said: “I came from the desert and knew nothing
of the rules of the Arabic language, my knowledge was purely instinctive and I
first learnt the rules in the lectures of Abu Ziyad al-Ansari al-Basri” (cited
in Goldziher 1966, vol. 1: 108).
Viewing this type of evidence from the perspective of the
association of
language with people, I agree with the observation made by Bohas et
al. (1990) that “in Ibn Jinni’s opinion speakers are grammarians without
knowing it, and capable, thanks to their inherent wisdom, of making the very
generalizations which the professionals of grammar try to formulate” (ibid.:
29). Although modern linguistic theory would rule that the Arabs are not unique
in this respect, what really matters here is the fact that an association is
established between the speakers’ intuitive knowledge of the structure of their
language and the wisdom principle mentioned above. Also, what matters here is
not the factual truth or falsity of the evidence given in support of this
association, but the fact that this association is asserted and used as a
guiding criterion in the conduct of linguistic inquiry, regardless of whether
this inquiry is pursued in an autonomous or a non-autonomous fashion.
Ibn Jinni is a firm believer in the superiority of Arabic over
other languages. To support this view, he adduces a number of linguistic
arguments of a fairly complex nature, which I will leave out of consideration
here.17 But he also resorts
to reporting the evidence of grammarians whose acceptance of the
superiority of Arabic involves a comparative dimension based on their
competence in other languages and their knowledge, directly or indirectly, of
the grammars of these languages. One such report is provided by Ibn Jinni’s
famous teacher, the grammarian Abu ÆAli al-Farisi (377/987) who, as his name
indicates, is of Persian origin. Ibn Jinni states that this grammarian
considered Arabic to be a finer language than Persian, and that he was
supported in this by other gram- marians, including al-Sijistani (255/869), who
was the teacher of the famous linguist al-Mubarrad (285/898). By tracing his
views to al-Mubarrad, Ibn Jinni confers on them a legitimacy which the
longevity of tradition and the weight of authority make very compelling in
their cultural milieu.
Clearly, the view from causation in establishing the link between
language and people is an extremely interesting one. This link is underpinned
by the “wisdom of the Arabs” principle in two very important ways. On the one
hand, it is this principle which is thought to give the language its internal
equilibrium and symmetry (see Suleiman 1991), and its balance and harmony, as
structural imprints of the genius of the people who, in the mists of time, were
its pro- genitors. On the other hand, through the acts of description and
explanation, causation recaptures the ingredients which make up this wisdom.
Under this interpretation, causation becomes a process of discovery and
confirmation of what is already there – the wisdom of the Arabs. By starting
from the wisdom of the Arabs as a foundational premise, and then returning to
it as a reconstructed fact through the twin instruments of description and
explanation, Arabic grammar assumes a set of values, cultural and
methodological, which make it the mediating link between the language and the
people in identity terms. This is an important finding of this research because
it anchors this link at a level of intellectual abstraction which radiates
beyond grammar into a host of neigh- bouring disciplines whose data are
linguistic in nature. I will return to this point in section 5 below.
4.
LAÓN: solecism18
The association of language, religion and people is further
articulated through the vast body of literature on la˙n in the Arabic intellectual tradition,19 although the
relationship of la˙n – henceforth,
solecism for ease of reference – to the components of this triad tends to vary
from time to time, with prominence being given to language and religion at
times and to language and people at others. Broadly speaking, solecism
designates deviations from the correct norms of the language, whether these
deviations are systematic or unsystematic in nature. What is interesting about
solecism, however, is that it draws attention to the role of the anti-norm –
for this is what solecism represents in systemic
the arabic language and national identity
terms – as an important reminder of the linguistic and, more
significantly from our perspective here, the extralinguistic connotations of
the norm as an emblem of group identity. Seen as a kind of “malfunction” on the
linguistic and socio- linguistic levels, solecism acts as a reminder of the
correct and corrective func- tions of linguistic norms as descriptive and
pedagogic tools which protect the language from corruption and ensure its
vitality as a symbol of a groupness rooted in a pristine past. We may refer to
this orientation as “linguistic funda- mentalism” here, but only if the term
“fundamentalism” is used in a neutral sense rather than with its negatively
loaded connotations in the Western discourses on Islam in the modern world.
Solecism therefore has two dimen- sions: the dimension of the present, in which
the anti-norm is located; and the dimension of the past, from which the norm
emanates. It is there, in that pristine past, that the wisdom of the Arabs as a
predescriptive canon first applied. And it is only by returning to that past
that the purity of Arabic and the wisdom of its people can be excavated and
reconstructed as a first step in moulding the present in the image of the past.
Let us explain how these broad-brush statements apply to the
discussion of
solecism in the literature. In the beginning, during the early
Islamic period, solecism was seen in a predominantly religious context, in
which it was considered as a deviation from the true path. This is explicitly
stated in the
˙adÈth literature. Overhearing the corrupt speech of one of his followers,
the Prophet is reported to have asked members of the community to correct him
because his utterance represented a deviation (∂alÅl) from the correct path. It is also reported in the literature
that the second caliph ÆUmar punished his son for the occurrence of solecism in
his speech, and that he ordered Abu Musa al- AshÆari, his governor in Yemen, to
punish one of his clerks for having com- mitted a solecism in a letter he
composed for the caliph (Anis 1960: 18). Some scholars, we are told (cf.
al-Anbari n.d.: 46), took these stories to indicate that the caliph regarded
deviation from the correct norms of the language as a punishable offence. In a
similar vein, the famous jurist al-Hasan al-Basri (110/ 628) is reported to
have considered the occurrence of solecism in reciting the Qur’an to be an act
of fabrication – albeit unintended – against God, as did al- Sikhtyani
(131/748–9), who used to ask God’s forgiveness every time he com- mitted an act
of solecism (cf. al-Tufi 1997: 251). Al-Hasan al-Basri is also reported to have
considered solecism in the speech of an imÅm
to be a valid reason for removing him from office (Ibn ÆAbd Rabbih 1928,
vol. 2: 18). This explains the many references in the literature which
highlight the need to apply correct iÆrab
(short-vowel case endings) in reciting the Qur’an. It is reported in this
connection that the Prophet had enjoined the Muslim community to do so, as did
the caliph Abu Bakr and the Prophet’s companion Ibn MasÆud.
The repugnance of solecism to early Muslim society is summed up by
the
the past lives on
famous linguist Abu al-Aswad al-Du’ali (69/668), who says that it
has the same foul smell as rotting flesh or meat. Abu al-Aswad further
expresses his horror and dismay that some of the street vendors and merchants
of Basra could run successful businesses in spite of the occurrence of solecism
in their speech. This censuring attitude is also displayed by the caliph ÆUmar,
who admonishes a group of men for the occurrence of solecism in their speech
more than he does their bad arrow-shooting skills, although learning this
skill, together with swimming and horsemanship, is strongly commanded by the
Prophet to his community. This censuring attitude towards solecism receives its
ultimate expression in the Arabic intellectual tradition in the refusal to
treat the body of ˙adÈth literature
as a valid source of data for linguistic analysis, in spite of the fact that
this litera- ture constitutes the second source, after the Qur’an, for the
derivation of legal rulings. The occurrence of solecism in this literature
owing, in part, to the involvement of non-Arab Muslims in the transmission of
the corpus of ˙adÈth is given as the
reason behind this attitude.
It is in this context of censuring solecism and promoting
correctness in
speech, particularly in relation to the recitation of the Qur’an,
that Arabic grammar had its early beginnings at the hands of Abu al-Aswad
al-Du’ali. Although the circumstances of this event vary from one report to
another in the literature, one thing is certain: the development of grammar was
intended as a corrective measure to arrest the spread of corruption in the
language; it further represented an attempt at recapturing the linguistic essence
of that highly prized pristine past before it was too late to do so, hence the
designation “linguistic fundamentalism” earlier. At a different level, grammar
may be seen as a fulfil- ment of God’s will in the Qur’an, of His promise to
preserve the Qur’an, which can be securely achieved only by preserving the
language in which it was revealed. However, two of the reports which set out
the conditions that occasioned the formal beginning of grammatical activity in
early Islam are particularly signifi- cant because of their confluence on one
matter. The first of these has the caliph ÆAli attributing the occurrence of
solecism in Arabic to the linguistic contact between the Arabs and Muslims of
non-Arab origin (aÆÅjim, sing. Æajam). The second report makes the same
point, but is attributed to Ziyad Ibn Abih (53/ 673), the Umayyad governor of
Basra in southern Iraq who was renowned for the purity of his speech or
eloquence (faßÅ˙a). What is
significant about these reports is that they locate – in a boundary-setting
manner (cf. Chapter 1, section
2) – the source of solecism outside the community of original
Arabic-speakers,
attributing it to the linguistic contact which the military
successes in early Islam brought about.20 This theme of linguistic contact
endured well beyond this period, as is evident from the oft-quoted statement –
reiterated by the famous philosopher al-Farabi (339/950) – which describes the
limits the grammarians set as a guiding principle for eliciting linguistic data
for grammatical analysis.
the arabic language and national identity
Because of the importance of this statement, it is given in full
below (see Suleiman 1999c: 22–3):
Linguistic data were not accepted from the tribes of Lakhm or
Judhama because they neighboured the Egyptians and the Copts; nor from QudaÆa,
Ghassan or Iyad because they neighboured the people of Syria who were
predominantly Christian and used languages other than Arabic in their ritual
prayers; nor from Taghlib and Namir because they neighboured the Byzantines who
spoke Greek; nor from Bakr because they neighboured the Nabat and the Persians;
nor from ÆAbd al-Qays because they lived in Bahrain, thus mixing with the
Indians and Persians; nor from Azd of ÆUman because they mixed with the Indians
and Persians; nor from the people of Yemen because they mixed with the peoples
of India and Ethiopia and because Ethiopians were born amongst them; nor from
Banu Hanifa, the inhabitants of Yamama or Thaqif or those of Ta’if because they
mixed with the foreign merchants who resided in their countries; nor from the
townships of Hijaz (˙Å∂irat al-ÓijÅz)
because the language transmitters noticed that their language was corrupted by
mixing with members of foreign nations (ghayrihim
min al-Æumam).
The importance of the principle of linguistic contact as a
solecism-inducing factor is well established in the Arabic grammatical
tradition. In the eighth and ninth centuries, and even earlier, this principle
received two expressions vis-à- vis data-elicitation and collection. On the one
hand, in pursuance of the principle of purity of speech (fasaha), some linguists used to travel deep into the desert to
reside among Bedouin tribes who were thought to have avoided contact with
non-Muslim Arabs or Arabs who had mixed with them, especially in the newly
established centres of Basra and Kufa. On the other hand, the grammarians
collected data from some Bedouins who attended the markets that sprang up
around Basra, especially al-Mirbad, provided that the informants in question
were thought to have shunned contact with city-dwellers. The sources report
that shepherds, hunters and raiders were particularly favoured, although the
financial rewards, such as they were, offered to these informants sometimes led
to professional abuse and data-fabrication.21 These practices are indicative of
the importance attached to the pure form of the language in the Arabic
intellectual tradition, both as a repository of the wisdom of the Arabs in
bygone times and as a boundary-setting device between the various groups, social
and ethnic, which made up Muslim society of the day. This purity of language
had an additional sociopolitical dimension, which is publicly expressed in the
custom of sending the sons of caliphs in the Umayyad period to live in the
desert to learn to speak Arabic correctly in preparation for assuming office
later in life. However, this did not happen all the time. In this connection,
the sources tell us that the caliph al-Walid Ibn ÆAbd al-Malik (96/715)
committed many errors in his speech, and that his father ascribed this to the
fact that he did not send him to the desert to learn the pure speech of the
Bedouins.
In addition, the above practices shed light on an important feature
of Arab
the past lives on
nationalist discourse in the modern period (see Chapter 1, section
5): the almost complete absence in most of this discourse of a return to, or
the eulogization of, the speech of the peasant (“or of some other but equally
sheltered population”) who, in the literature on nationalism, is/are regarded
as “noble and uncon- taminated” and, therefore, as having “kept his/their
language pure and intact” (Fishman 1972: 69; see also Chapter 2, section 5).
The Arab nationalist discourse is not entirely unique in this respect; witness
the return to Sanskrit rather than the language of the peasant in Indian
nationalism. It is, however, interesting to note that the emphasis placed on
the language of the sheltered Bedouin in the first centuries of Islam – in what
may be regarded as one of the earliest examples of status language-planning in
the sociolinguistic literature22 – does represent a kind of return in earlier
times to a formal or symbolic analogue of the peasant in modern nationalist
discourse. It is as though, by having had the return to the past performed at
an earlier stage in the Arabic intellectual tradition, Arab nationalist
discourse could not recreate this same return again. More importantly, the
emergence of a more glorious, heroic and recent past in the period following
the rise of Islam provided the modern nationalist elite with an even more
unifying and evocative point of reference than the one afforded to the Arab
linguists in the eighth and ninth centuries. The past is a relative concept:
this is particularly true here. Modern Arab nationalism returns to a past in
which a codified, elaborated and cultivated form of the language had been
achieved through the work of the grammarians centuries earlier. At this point
of contact, the symbolic peasant had already disappeared as an embodi- ment of
the “noble and uncontaminated” folk so much beloved by nationalists. For the
grammarians, the past was much earlier, prior to their finishing the task of
codification, elaboration and cultivation. In this past, the Bedouin did exist
as a “noble and uncontaminated” construct, but this was no nationalist age.
The point was made earlier in this section that the Umayyad period
(661–
750) brought about a change in the attitude towards solecism.
Whereas the association between language and religion was paramount in the
early Islamic period, greater weight started to be given to the association of
language and people in the Umayyad period. It is, however, important not to
think of these two kinds of association as mutually exclusive within the triad
of language, religion and people established above. This is why, in the first
sentence in this paragraph, I have talked about a change in, not of, the attitude
towards solecism. This change in attitude towards solecism seems to have had a
sociopolitical dimension. The sources are full of anecdotes which show how
solecism was seen as a defect which can undermine the public standing of a
person in whose speech it occurred. This applied as much to caliphs as to other
members of the bureaucracy. Thus, the sources tell us how the Umayyad caliph
ÆAbd al-Malik Ibn Marwan likened solecism to a face ravaged with smallpox, and
how the
the arabic language and national identity
stress of having to avoid solecism in his Friday sermons turned his
hair white prematurely. ÆAbd al-Malik is also reported to have said that
whereas correct language enhances the status of a commoner, solecism detracts
from the status of a nobleman,23 so much that he himself used to avoid using
solecisms in speech even when the context demanded it, as in joke-telling where
authenticity required replication and imitation of corrupt speech. By contrast,
ÆAbd al-Malik’s son al-Walid, who became caliph after his father’s death, was a
notorious la˙˙Åna (a person who
habitually committed solecisms in his speech), a fact which made him the butt
of jokes even in his own court. In one such well-known case, al-Walid is
reported to have asked a Bedouin who his father-in-law was, saying: “man khatanaka?” (“Who circumcised you?”) instead of the correct form “man khatanuka?” (“Who is your father-in-law?”). When the Bedouin answered
that he was circumcised by a Jew, al-Walid started to laugh. The Bedouin did
not take the caliph’s implied insult lying down. He told the caliph that what
he (the caliph) actually meant to say was not khatanaka, but khatanuka,
and then proceeded to tell him who his father-in-law was.24 In another story,
we are told how the caliph ÆUmar Ibn ÆAbd al-ÆAziz (101/720) corrected
al-Walid’s Arabic in public when the latter attempted to correct one of his own
servants. So repugnant was solecism to ÆUmar Ibn ÆAbd al-ÆAziz that he used to
refuse to help beggars if they committed solecism when asking for help or
charity. It may be interesting to note here that a similar attitude towards
beggars existed among some Arab nationalists in modern times (see Chapter 4,
section 3).
So important were the sociopolitical implications of solecism that
the famous
al-Hajjaj (95/714), governor of Iraq, sent the grammarian Yahya Ibn
YaÆmar into exile because the latter, at the insistence of the former, dared to
point to instances of solecism in the governor’s recitation of the Qur’an.25
Knowing how repugnant solecism was to al-Hajjaj, one of his officials, a
certain Kathir Ibn Kathir, committed a gross grammatical error in his presence
on purpose. The sources tell us that this was a ruse by the crafty official to
force al-Hajjaj to fire him to avoid being forced to accept a posting which he
did not fancy.26 To avoid the ignominy of committing solecisms in public, a
non-Arab court poet would sometimes secure the services of a professional
reciter, who would read his poetry for him in public without error. Fear of
committing solecism also led to an exaggerated pronunciation of some Arabic
phonemes by non-Arabs, especially
/˙/, /Æ/ and the emphatic sounds /†/, /∂/ and /Ω/. Finally, the
censuring attitude towards solecism meant that it was tolerated, or was thought
to be appropriate, only in the language of slave girls and young and coquettish
women. And, in the society of the day, no man worthy of the name would dare
stoop so low!
The above discussion highlights aspects of the Arabic intellectual
tradition which show the strong association of language, religion and people.
In parti- cular, it shows the value accorded to correct language use in this
triad, and how
the emphasis on this permeated linguistic, sociolinguistic and
legal facets of this tradition. Worthy of note in this context is the strong
assumption in the Arabic intellectual tradition that the ability to speak
Arabic without solecism was an important consideration in public, especially
political, life. The discussion also highlights how language was seen as a
boundary-setting device at the social and ethnic levels. By ascribing the onset
of solecism to the linguistic contact between the Arabs and non-Arab Muslims,
the Arabic intellectual tradition endows language with functions of
ethno-cultural groupness which it later assumed more forcefully (see Chapters 4
and 5). It is to this aspect of the association of language, religion and
people that I will turn next.
5.
ÆAJAM and ÆARAB27
Contrastive group self-identification by means of ethnic labels is
an ancient phenomenon. The Greek term ethnos,
from which the word “ethnicity” and its derivatives originate, is the
paradigmatic ethnic label par excellence. Tonkin et al. (1989) provide an
interesting analysis of the development of the meaning of this term. Roughly
speaking, the term was initially used to signify groups of animals, but was
later extended to refer to groups of warriors, the Furies, the Persians and
foreign or barbarian peoples. In the New Testament, the term is used to refer
to non-Christians and non-Jews, as an equivalent of the term goyim. At a later stage, the meaning of
the term ethnos was rendered by the
word gentile to signify group
otherness, particularly in the religious sphere. But, in a strange twist of
semantic development, the term later (fifteenth century onwards) started to
mean Greek Orthodox, as it now signified the otherness of this group as a
religious millet in the predominantly
Muslim Ottoman Empire. Similar contras- tive self-identification is practised
by other groups whose claim to fame may not have the same pedigree as that of
the ancient Greeks. Gypsies, as Rom, contrast their own world to that of the gaje. As Hechter (1986: 276) points out,
“Gypsy survival is due to strongly held Gypsy beliefs that the gaje world is polluted, and only the Rom
are clean”. The term baljikiyyin (Belgians)
used in Jordan to refer to Jordanian citizens of Palestinian origin belongs to
this category of ethnic labels (see Suleiman 1999b).
Returning to ethnos,
Tonkin et al. (1989) tell us that the full meaning of this
term as an ethnic label of contrastive self-identification emerges
from its place in a lexical network of related terms, including the Latin genus, populus, tribus, natio, barbarus and civis whose
legacy in “modern Romance languages, and in English, is a complex and rich
moral vocabulary, laid out along dimensions of inclusion and exclusion, dignity
and disdain, familiarity and strangeness” (p. 13). Of particular interest for
our purposes here is the use of the derived adjective ethnikos, in early Christian times, as a close synonym of barbaros which signified
the arabic language and national identity
“those who spoke unintelligible languages” (ibid.), thus making
language the ethnic symbol and boundary-setting device par excellence. An
awareness of this function of language and its ethical and moral implications
is found in the Arabic intellectual tradition, hence the rejection by Ibn Hazm
(456/1064) of Galen’s belief in the superiority of Greek and in the inferiority
of other languages which are likened to the barking of dogs or the croaking of
frogs.28 Armstrong (1982: 5) emphasizes this function of language and its moral
and ethical connotations when he states that terms like “goyim, barbaroi and nemtsi all imply [a] perception of the
human incompleteness of persons who could not communicate with the in-group,
which constituted the only “real men”. Usually, in their original application
such terms singled out one or two alien neighbours, and by reference to such
aliens, large ethnic groupings came to recognize their own relatively close
relationship.” Within this framework of usually boastful inclusion and
deprecating exclusion, the failure of the out-group to come to grips with the
language of the in-group is seen as a fault in the former, rather than as a
result of any impenetrability which this language may have. As a rule,
linguistic impenetrability is usually ascribed to the language of the
out-group, which is often considered an obstacle to the progress of
civilization as an avowed aim of the in-group and its civilizational mission in
history. The atti- tude towards Japanese by some Europeans provides an
interesting example here: the Basque Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier (1506–52)
is said to have described this language, on account of its difficulty, as an
“invention of the devil” whose aim was to impede the progress of Christianity.
Similarly, some Arabists expressed the view that the grammar of numerals in
Arabic was an invention of the devil to torture those who wished to learn the
language.
The above contrastive self-identification between the Arabs and the
non-
Arabs (Æajam), as
constructed by the former, may be illustrated by the following incident from
the early period of Islamic history. It is reported in the sources (see Arslan
1994) that the Banu Taghlib, a Christian Arab tribe from the Arabian Peninsula,
refused to pay the poll-tax to the second caliph ÆUmar on the grounds that they
were Arabs who could not be treated like non-Arabs (Æajam) (ibid.: 292). In the end, they agreed to pay double the
going poll-tax rate on condition that their payment was treated as a form of
charitable contribution and not as poll-tax which, the Banu Taghlib argued, the
infidels among the non-Arabs (aÆlÅj,
singular Æilj) had to pay (ibid.:
292). What is interesting about this report is the contrastive ethnic
self-definition of Arab versus non-Arab which the Banu Taghlib invoked, in
place of the religion-based one of Muslim versus non-Muslim, to justify the
non-payment of the poll-tax. In the process, the Banu Taghlib constructed a
matrix of group self-definition which was more complex than the binary one
operated by the caliph. Whereas the caliph oper- ated in terms of a binary
distinction between Muslims and non-Muslims, the
the past lives on
Banu Taghlib operated in terms of a four-way distinction between
Muslim Arab, Muslim non-Arab, Arab non-Muslim and non-Arab non-Muslim, and that
they did not regard themselves to be on the same par as this last group. On the
contrary, the fact that they used the term Æajam
in an unqualified manner in their interaction with the caliph indicates
that they regarded themselves to be on a par with Muslim Arabs. Also, the fact
that the caliph was willing to tolerate the above classification and its
implications for the principles which governed his tax policy, even if his
reasons for this were administrative and political, indicates the residual
power which the bonds of Arabness in its tribal context held in the early Islamic
period.
In the Arabic intellectual tradition, the term Æajam and its derivatives are best understood in the context of the
network of semantic relations outlined in the preceding two paragraphs.29 In
particular, this term serves the ethno-cultural function of group exclusion
conveyed by the two ethnic labels ethnos (in
its premodern meaning) and barbaros,
although not always with the same negative connotations.30 The term Æajam is used in pre-Islamic discourse
to refer to non- Arabs (cf. Nuseibeh 1956: 12), and this sense is preserved in
the Qur’an where the term occurs four times (16:103, 26:198 and 41:44 (twice))
to designate a binary group classification between Arabs and non-Arabs on the
basis of lan- guage. In adopting this mode of classification, the Qur’an must
have followed established usage. The juxtaposition of aÆjamÈ (relative adjective of Æajam)
to ÆarabÈ in this usage constitutes a
kind of sign in semiotic terms, in which the one term recalls the other in a
relation of mutual implication. In addition, it is clear from the sequential
ordering of the terms in this sign, and their pragmatic loading in their texts,
that the term aÆjamÈ is the marked category, in the sense that it
signifies what is – in terms of the Qur’an as revelation – a deviation from the
standard or norm, ÆarabÈ, in the same
way as the feminine gender is generally treated as the marked category in
relation to the unmarked masculine gender in grammatical analysis. This
markedness of aÆjamÈ is signalled by
the fact that the Qur’an is manifestly in Arabic. It is also signalled by the
fact that ÆarabÈ is the referentially
specific term, whereas aÆjamÈ is the
non-specific one. In other words, while we know that ÆarabÈ signifies a relationship with the Arabic language, we do not
know for certain the language or languages signified by aÆjamÈ, although Persian may be the primary language in this
category. If so, ÆarabÈ must be
treated as a term of positive and specific inclusion, while, in contrast, aÆjamÈ must be viewed as a term of exclusion,
residual inclusion or inclusion by default. Looked at from a different angle, ÆarabÈ is a term of in-groupness, while ÆajamÈ is a term of out-groupness. The
fact that language is treated as the classificatory principle which makes
possible the above distinctions shows powerfully the importance attached to
language in the Arabic intellectual tradition as a symbol of ethno-cultural
identity and as a boundary-setting device. Hourani (1983:
the arabic language and national identity
260) describes this situation in the following terms: “as far back
in history as we can see them, the Arabs have always been exceptionally
conscious of their language and proud of it, and in pre-Islamic Arabia … there
was a unity which joined together all those who spoke Arabic and could claim
descent from the tribes of Arabia”. Playing the vis-à-vis constitutes the very
substance of the distinction between Æarab
and Æajam in the literature.
The conversion of many non-Arabs to Islam in the wake of the Islamic
con- quests generated contradictory implications for this linguistically based
group identification. The prestige of Arabic as the language of the Qur’an was
now significantly enhanced by its deployment in new communicative domains,
notably those of the new sciences, the administration and the military. This
made Arabic an even more potent symbol of group identity for its speakers and,
self-contrastively, for those of the newly conquered populations, especially
the elite. For the former, Arabic became an empowering symbol of prestige,
inclu- sion and in-groupness. For the latter, Arabic became a symbol of
exclusion and (their) out-groupness, a function it never served before. This
new situation represents a subtle, but important, modulation in what may be
called, following Bourdieu (1992), the dynamics of the ethno-linguistic market
at the time. Whereas in pre-Islamic and early Islamic Arabia the populations in
the territories the Arabs acquired later did not identify themselves as
non-Arabs or non-Arabic speakers, this picture started to change after the
conquests in that the identity of the populations in these territories began to
be formulated in such terms. Whereas before the conquest the populations of the
conquered territories defined them- selves principally by what they were – or
by what they were not, but without reference to the Arabs – after the conquest
they started to define themselves, albeit not exclusively, by what they were not by reference to a new and command-
ing classificatory principle represented by the Arabs and their language.
But it is normal in situations of this kind for the linguistically
dispossessed,
especially the elite, to start acquiring and cultivating the new
resource, as happened with IsmaÆil Ibn Bulbul – a Persian vizier to the Abbasid
caliph al- MuÆtamid (279/892) – who, in speech and writing, “indulged in the
most choice linguistic finesses in order to pass more easily as a full Arab”
(Goldziher, 1966, vol. 1: 133). In a situation of this kind, a new dynamic
begins to develop, leading to a reworking of the basis upon which in-groupness
and out-groupness, inclusion and exclusion, are constructed. That this in fact
happened in Muslim society is evidenced by the subtle changes in meaning which
the word Æajam seems to have acquired.
Whereas Æajam earlier meant being
non-Arabic-speaking, particularly of Persian origin, later the term started to
signal speaking the langu- age with difficulty, or speaking it with
characteristic interferences from the mother-tongue. Although this mutation in
meaning may be thought to repre- sent a reduction in the efficacy of language as a group symbol of contrastive self-
the past lives on
identification, it however does not challenge the definitional role
of language as a boundary-setting device – hence the existence of attempts in
the literature to outline stereotypical mother-tongue interferences into Arabic
as a means of maintaining group-identity boundaries.31 It is, I believe, in
this context (fourth/ tenth century) that the reference to Arabic as lughat al-∂Åd, the language of the
phoneme /∂/, assumes its maximal definitional function or significance,
although as a term it may have been in existence at the time of the Prophet.32
This definitional function of /∂/ is reflected in a poem by the famous poet
al-Mutanabbi (354/965), who considers himself the most honourable person among
his own people, who, in turn, are said to be the pride of all those who spoke
the ∂Åd.33 The definitional potential
of /∂/ is also commented on by Ibn Jinni in his famous book Sirr ßinÅÆat al-iÆrÅb (1993, vol. 1:
214–15), in which he says: “let it be known that /∂/ belongs to the Arabs
alone; it is rarely [if ever] found in the speech of the Æajam”. This presumed distinctiveness of a group’s language is
often found among other nations, although it may not always be signalled by a
special term of the kind under consideration here. Witness the claim made by
the French nationalist writer, Charles Murras (1886–1952), to the effect that
no Jew or Semite could achieve complete mastery of the French language to the
extent that he could appreciate the full beauty of Racine’s line in Bérénice: “Dans l’orient désert quel devint mon ennui” (cited in Kedourie
1966: 72).
Calling Arabic lughat al-∂Åd is
not just a matter of signalling the distinctive-
ness of the language by claiming that /∂/ is unique to it
(al-Jahiz, quoted by ÆUways 1977: 245 and al-Khafaji 1982: 56). It is, more
significantly, a way of renaming the language, of giving it a new label that is
derived not from the name of the people who originally spoke it or the area
where it was originally spoken, but from the articulatory difficulty which the
phoneme in question is said to present to hapless foreigners striving for
mastery of the language.34 Under this reading, the phoneme /∂/ becomes an
authenticating emblem, a border guard and a defining symbol of group identity,
signalling, as Anis (1970: 201) indicates, who does or does not belong to the
in-group. This explains, Goldziher tells us (1966, vol. 1: 115), why “mistakes
in language by [Muslims of non-Arab origin] were derided in the most offensive
manner and people appeared outraged when a foreigner presumed to criticize an
Arab in matter of Arab language and poetry”,35 in spite of the fact that “the
most eminent grammarians and the most eager researchers into the treasures” of
the Arabic language were of non-Arab lineage. This also explains the existence
of statements in the literature which set out stereotypical renditions of /∂/
that characteristically signal membership in a particular ethnic group.36 Here
again, language provided a criterion for contrastive group definition which, as
shall be explained in the next chapter, survived well into the modern period.
Witness the use of the term lughat al-∂Åd
and al-mutakallimËn bi-l-∂Åd in
the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to
the arabic language and national identity
refer respectively to Arabic and Arabic-speakers as a group that is
distinct from Turkish and Turkish-speakers (see Chapter 4, sections 3–4). Witness
also the survival of this term in modern Arab culture as a boastful name for
Arabic, and its use as a name for at least one journal devoted to research on
the language, al- ÎÅd, published in
Baghdad in the second half of the twentieth century.
Much of this contrastive self-identification by means of language
took place in a sociocultural context dominated by shuÆËbiyya (cf. al-Duri 1981) and its anti-Arab polemic in which
Persians, Nabat (Nabataeans), Copts and Berbers participated.37 Roughly
speaking, shuÆËbiyya designates “a
movement within the early Muslim society which denied any privileged position
of the Arabs” (Enderwitz 1996: 513–16).38 ShuÆËbiyya
attacks on the Arabs covered rhetoric, oratory, weapons, military skills,
genealogy and – most important from the per- spective of this research –
language, which has caused Anis (1970: 192) to describe shuÆËbiyya as a linguistic conflict (ßirÅÆ lughawÈ). The attacks on Arabic, which Goldziher (1966, vol.
1: 192) similarly dubbed “linguistic shuÆËbiyya”,
aimed at various aspects of the language, but they were all intended to
challenge the claims of superiority attached to it by the Arabs and non-Arab
grammarians alike (cf. section 3 above). One such attack took the form of an
apocryphal
˙adÈth in which the Prophet is claimed to have said: “If God intends a
matter which demands tenderness he reveals it to the ministering angels in …
Persian, but if He wishes for something demanding strictness He uses Arabic”
(Goldziher 1966, vol. 1: 157). In another version of this tradition, tenderness
and strictness are replaced by pleasure and anger respectively (ibid.).39 The
difficulty, however, in assessing the full extent of the shuÆËbiyya attacks on the Arabic language is that very little of
the literature on this topic has come down to us. And, since most of what we
know can only be reconstructed from the rebuttals offered by the opponents of shuÆËbiyya – whether of Arab or non-Arab
lineage – who rose in defence of the Arabic language, I will concentrate on
these works, particu- larly those of Ibn Durayd (321/933), al-Anbari (327/938),
Ibn Faris (395/1004) and al-Zamakhshari (538/1143) because of their immediate
relevance.40 It should be noted, however, that many of the references to the
superiority of Arabic over other languages made in sections 2 and 3 above
belong to this anti-shuÆËbiyya discourse.
Ibn Durayd’s rebuttal of the shuÆËbiyya
claims in his book al-IshtiqÅq provides
a
suitable starting point for this discussion because of its twin
preoccupation with genealogy and language (in particular, etymology), which, as
Goldziher (1966, vol. 1) rightly observes, constitute the main targets of shuÆËbi polemic. The main thesis in al-IshtiqÅq is that Arabic proper names
are embedded in an etymology which defines what may be called linguistic
genealogies by means of derivational networks (ishtiqÅq) whose roots lie in the lexical stock of the language.41
Thus, the extensive etymologies which make up the bulk of al-
the past lives on
IshtiqÅq are offered not as an exercise in lexicography but as a way of
refuting the claim that Arabic names are derivationally rootless and,
therefore, arbitrary. This refutation is further taken to represent a denial of
the claim that the famous grammarian al-Khalil had said that Arabic names are
etymologically arbitrary, which claim is used by the shuÆËbiyya as a basis for their attacks on Arabic. Although the
point is not explicitly made in al-IshtiqÅq,
for Arabic names not to be derived from a native lexical stock would be
unthinkable because it would amount to a denial of the principle of the wisdom
of the Arabs, and it is this principle which Ibn Durayd is ultimately
defending. This is clear from the attempts made by Ibn Durayd to show that the
social context often plays an important role in the choice of a name – for
example, calling a newly born baby boy Ramadan because he was born during this
month – a fact which makes names of this kind sociolinguistically significant
and culturally motivated. The statement that “the Arabs have systems of naming
their male off-spring” (Ibn Durayd 1958: 5) sums up this point well. This
interest in names in modern nationalist discourse is evident in Turkish (see
Chapter 4, section 2) and Arab nationalism (see Chapter 5, section 2), albeit
in a mode of engagement different from that of Ibn Durayd.
This principle of the wisdom of the Arabs is also invoked in
al-Anbari’s defence of the occurrence of a∂dÅd,
words with the same phonological form but opposite meanings,42 in his book of
the same name (1987). The charge here – which al-Anbari attributes to a party
peddling heresy, falsehood and contempt for the Arabs – is that words of this
type can lead to communicative difficulties and even failure. This, the charge
goes, shows the deficient wisdom of the Arabs and their meagre rhetorical
abilities. It also shows a lack of regard for the need to maintain a
relationship of exclusive mutual implication between the signifier and the
signified in words as signs.
Al-Anbari provides an interesting defence of Arabic, based on the
principle of the wisdom of the Arabs, which shows the deficient reasoning of
the propon- ents of shuÆËbiyya.
First, he points out that this party shows little appreciation of the role
which linguistic co-textuality and situational contextuality play in the
processing of speech and the recovery of meaning. This failure in understanding
how language works reduces it to a notational system devoid of all creativity.
Second – and this is only implicitly given by al-Anbari – by combining homo-
nymy and synonymy into one category called a∂dÅd,
the Arabic lexicon acquires expressive resources, limited though these may be,
which other languages lack. Third, some a∂dÅds
express a close semantic relationship between the sets of words they involve,
thus signalling a core meaning in both; this may be exem- plified by the word mu˙tall in contemporary Arabic, which
refers both to the occupier (Israel) and the occupied (Palestinians) as in
historical Palestine. Fourth, some a∂dÅds
are the result of dialect-mixing; for example, the word jawn came to
the arabic language and national identity
mean both “white” and “black” as a result of such mixing. The fact
that in some cases it is not possible to establish the cause(s), Æilla(s), which is/are responsible for
the occurrence of a given a∂dÅd item
in the language does not refute the principle that the Arabs are a wise people
(ibid.: 7–8, gist translation): “If someone asks about the cause behind calling
a man rajul, and a woman imra’a … you should answer as follows:
this is because of causes that are known to the Arabs, but which we have failed
to discover, completely or in part. The Arabs cannot be said to have ceased to
be knowledgeable because we [the grammar- ians] are unable to state with
clarity the causes behind their speech.” It is interesting to note in this
connection that this conclusion was rejected by al- Arsuzi in his attempt to
anchor Arab nationalism in relation to Arabic (see Chapter 6, section 4).
Ibn Faris’ response to the shuÆËbiyya
attacks on Arabic are embodied in his treatise al-ÍÅ˙ibÈ fÈ fiqh al-lugha (1993). Some of the themes he dealt with
were discussed earlier (see section 2), namely in the defence of synonymy in
Arabic. Reference was also made above to the role of this synonymy in enriching
the Arabic lexicon and the effect this has on translating into and out of the
language – views which the Andalusian linguist Ibn Sinan al-Khafaji shared with
Ibn Faris in what may have been, for the former, a similar shuÆËbiyya milieu in Muslim Spain in the fifth/eleventh century.
The use of iÆrab (short-vowel case
endings), which endows the language with syntactic flexibility through free
word order, is regarded by Ibn Faris as a distinguishing feature of Arabic, as
is the capacity of the language to deploy a host of rhetorical devices.
Although all languages do serve the communicative functions to which they are
put, none, so Ibn Faris believes, does so more economically and elegantly than
Arabic.
Al-Zamakhshari’s rebuttal of shuÆËbiyya
is given in the beautifully crafted introduction to his famous book al-Mufaßßal fÈ al-na˙w (1840).43 The
fact that al- Zamakhshari felt impelled to write about this topic, well after
the sociopolitical embers of this movement had subsided in the sixth/twelfth
century, shows – as Goldziher (1966, vol. 1: 191) rightly observes – the
enduring nature of linguistic shuÆËbiyya.
However, this time the nature of the encounter between the propon- ents and opponents
of Arabic across the shuÆËbiyya lines
takes a fairly new direction. First, there is a clear and open identification
of shuÆËbiyya by name in al-Mufaßßal, whereas, in the works I
have discussed earlier, references to this movement were effected by allusion.
Second, there is a strong identification between Arabism and Islam. This
identification is extremely important in view of the attention given to this
issue in Arab nationalist discourse in the twentieth century (see Chapter 5,
section 5).44 Third, the bankruptcy of shuÆËbiyya
is signalled by the absence of any attacks it made against Arabic in any
language other than Arabic itself, which – al-Zamakhshari argues – shows the
unassail- able position of the language. As Norris (1990: 47) wittily points out,
“even the
the past lives on
most fanatical shuÆËbÈ expressed
his sentiments in the tongue first spoken by the Arabian lizard-eaters he so
despised”. A similar charge is levelled in the twen- tieth century against the
proponents of the vernacular (ÆÅmiyya)
in its various dialectal forms (see Chapter 6), who hardly ever use it to
expound and popular- ize their views (cf. Shakir 1972). Fourth, and this is the
most significant point, al-Zamakhshari’s defence is not a defence of Arabic per se but of Arabic grammar, especially
as it pertains to iÆrab (short-vowel
case endings). The gist of al-Zamakhshari’s defence in this connection is that
knowledge of Arabic gram- mar is a prerequisite to the study of the Islamic
sciences, particularly the law. Al-Zamakhshari emphasizes this because of
claims made by the proponents of shuÆËbiyya
in which they belittle the value of grammar, or even reject it.
It is of course true that, by defending Arabic grammar,
al-Zamakhshari defends the Arabic language and, indirectly, reaffirms the
validity of the “wisdom of the Arabs” principle which stands as a bulwark
against the attacks of shuÆËbiyya.
But there is more to this defence than that. This defence shows the increasing
abstractness of the debate over Arabic, and the increasing finesse with which
it is now articulated. In a sense, al-Zamakhshari’s ultimate defence of the
language does not reside in what the introduction to al-Mufaßßal actually says, but in the very act of
inscribing/producing al-Mufaßßal itself,
a book in which the nuts and bolts of grammar are set out. It is as though, by
shifting the defence of the battle line from an immediate concern with the
language to a concern with the grammar of the language, one shifts the
symbolism of ethno- cultural groupness from language as a fully living system
of communication to grammar as a representational device. In diachronic terms,
this reflects a passage in the symbolism from productivity to increasing
fossilization, which accurately reflects the changing status of Arabic over the
centuries as a medium of communication. Although the idea in nationalist
discourse that the deader a language the
greater its symbolic power in constructing group identity does not apply
here – because Arabic was never a dead language, contrary to what Shivtiel
states (1999: 131) – the fact remains that, by endowing grammar with symbolism
of this kind in the Arabic intellectual tradition, the passage from a premodern
and a prenationalist age to a modern and nationalist one in the nineteenth century
is made much easier. This is why Arab authors in the second half of the twen-
tieth century were still engaged in fighting battles against what was called
modern shuÆËbiyya with almost total
disregard for historical discontinuities (Bayhum 1957 and 1962, al-Bazzaz 1962,
al-Fikayki 1968).45 This was especially true of the 1980s in Iraq during the
Iran–Iraq war (cf. al-Khatib 1983, al- Shahhadh 1990, ÆAbd al-Tawwab 1990,
Muhammad 1990, ÆAbd al-Mu’min 1990, Dhihni 1990). Symbols strike a deep chord
in a people’s psyche. This is the source of their durability, and this is why
the past in nationalist discourse lives on and can loudly resonate.
the arabic language and national identity
6.
the arabs as a
nation (UMMA): further evidence
It is clear from the above discussion that the role of Arabic as a
symbol of ethnic identity in premodern times is culturally and historically
sanctioned. Evidence for this role is derived from a variety of sources,
including the religious and the linguistic sciences. References to this role
are available in the Qur’an and ˙adÈth literature.
In the latter, Imam Malik reports that the Prophet considered competence in
Arabic to be the basis for identifying a person as an Arab: “O people! God is
one, and your father is one. No one inherits Arabic from his father or mother.
Arabic is a habit of the tongue. He who speaks Arabic is an Arab” (cited in
Anis 1970: 180). It is remarkable that the definition of Arabism in the last
sentence has been included, almost verbatim (see Chapter 5, section 2), as part
of the definition of the Arab nationalist ideology of the BaÆth party and the
Arab nationalist movement (cf. Arab BaÆth Party Constitution in Haim 1962, and
al-Husri 1968). This highlights the strong association which exists between
language and people in the conceptualization of group identity in Arab culture,
although the historical roots of this association are usually framed in an
Islamic context. This is made clear by the famous jurist Imam ShafiÆi (204/820)
in his RisÅla, in which he points out
that a Muslim ceases to be an Arab if he has no competence in the language, and
that he becomes an Arab if he acquires the language. Al-ShafiÆi is clearly
arguing against descent or lineage as a defining criterion of Arabness, but
this is not the only view on this matter in the Arabic intellectual tradition.
In the eighth/fourteenth century, the jurist al-Shatibi (789/1388) put forward
the opposite view in his book al-IÆtißÅm,
arguing that linguistic competence in Arabic does not make a person ethnically/racially
Arab, owing to the abiding importance of lineage among the Arabs as an
authenti- cating criterion of identity.46
The strength of the language-and-people association is further
reflected in
various ingredients in the Arabic linguistic tradition. Some
linguists establish an organic link between the collective character of the
Arabs and the qualities of their language, insisting on the superiority of the
latter over other languages (section 2). The patterned regularities of Arabic
are seen as a reflection of the wisdom of the Arabs (section 3). The discussion
of solecism and how it was induced by linguistic contact between Arabs and
non-Arabs in the wake of the Islamic conquests highlights the role of Arabic in
defining ethnic and social identities (section 4). The shuÆËbiyya attacks on Arabic and its grammar reflect the role of
the language as an emblem of identity, and the desire to challenge that role to
undermine the cultural and ethnic hegemony of the Arabs. Considering this range
of associations between language and people – and their historical and cultural
depths – it is no accident that Arab nationalists in the modern period
(following Napoleon’s invasion of Egypt in 1798) turned to
the past lives on
language as the primary criterion in defining the cultural and
sociopolitical identities of the Arabic-speaking peoples. I will deal with this
topic in the next two chapters, but not before showing here that this attempt
at collective self- definition by reference to language is not without
precedent in historical and sociopolitical discourse in the Arabic intellectual
tradition.
One of the best treatments of this topic is offered by the
historian al-MasÆudi (345/956) in his books al-TanbÈh
wa-l-ishrÅf and MurËj al-dhahab
wa-maÆÅdin al- jawhar. Al-MasÆudi approaches the topic of the definition of
the nation (umma)47 with due
historical care, arguing that different criteria of nationhood assumed
different degrees of definitional prominence at different periods in history.
Thus, while the existence of a unified or unitary political power over a
defined territory was a criterion of nationhood in ancient times, this was less
so in later periods. For al-MasÆudi, the three defining properties of a nation
are its natural disposition or character (shiyam
†abÈÆiyya), sociocultural constitution (khuluq
†abÈÆiyya) and language (alsinatuhum).
Although it is not possible to specify the meanings of these terms precisely –
for example, al-MasÆudi designates language (sometimes variably) as lisÅn or lugha – and although the term “nation” here cannot be regarded as a
synonym of the same term in the modern sense,48 there is no doubt that language
for him constitutes the most important criterion in defining nationhood. Both
Khalidi (1975) and Nassar (1992) emphasize this point. Khalidi sums this up as
follows (1975: 89–90):
The concept of a nation for [al-MasÆudi] is largely linguistic.
Language is the most important constituent of a nation. Land is a minor factor
since certain nations, the Turks for instance, split and migrated but still
retained their nationhood. A unitary kingdom is also of minor importance since
some nations, e.g. the Persians, were living in politically fragmented kingdoms
but were still described as Persians. Physical and other characteristics played
an important role in the earliest times but we hear less of this in later
periods. In other words, while certain factors like land and a unitary kingdom
were important in the early period of world history, they ceased to have much
importance thereafter, while language
remained the most important single constituent of nationhood. (emphasis
added)
This objective definition of nationhood is adopted by the
philosopher al- Farabi (339/950), using more or less the same terms as
al-MasÆudi: similarity in social make-up or constitution, natural character or
disposition and a shared language and speech.49 However, there are two subtle
differences between al- MasÆudi and al-Farabi. First, while the former
approaches the definition of the nation from a historical perspective, the
latter deals with this unit from the perspective of the political philosopher
whose approach may be considered as a- historical or a-chronological, although
it cannot be divorced from history. Second, although al-MasÆudi is aware of the
contrastive self-definition of nation- hood which his criteria generate, he
nevertheless does not articulate this fact
the arabic
language and national identity
explicitly. By contrast, al-Farabi explicitly mentions the role of
these criteria in inducing internal cohesion within the nation and external
differentiation in respect to other nations. Awareness of this
differentiational function of the criteria indicates an appreciation in the
Arabic intellectual tradition of the role which a boundary approach to the
definition of the nation may play in the discourse on the subject (see Chapter
1, section 2).
7.
conclusion
It is clear from the discussion in this chapter that the role of
Arabic as a symbol of group identity in premodern times is sanctioned in a variety
of domains and intellectual enterprises. It is part of the linguistic thinking
of the Arabs, the religious sources and Islamic theology. It is also part of
the historical and social discourse on what makes up a group and what keeps it
apart from other groups, of the internal bond between its members and the
external boundary between itself and other groups. It is therefore not
surprising that Arab nationalist dis- course in the modern period has resorted
to language, owing to its “resonance” in Arab culture, as the mainstay of an
Arab national identity. It is also not surprising that the modern formulations
of this role are sometimes framed in a manner reminiscent of premodern
sentiments vis-à-vis the language, as the following quotation from Qunstantin
Zurayq’s seminal treatise (al-WaÆy al-
qawmÈ, 1938) on Arab nationalism illustrates (cited in Nuseibeh 1956:
69–70):
It is the duty of the nationally conscious [Arab] to ponder his
language in order to know its genesis and how it spread and to comprehend its
superior qualities over other languages and the special endowments which
enabled it to achieve complete mastery over … vast regions. For every language
possesses a unique genius and attri- butes which distinguish it from other
languages. And the Arabic language among all other languages has shown great
vitality in its meticulous structure, the extent of its dissemination, and its
flexibility, which has fitted it to serve an efficacious instru- ment for
expressing the various arts and sciences. For all these reasons it behoves us
to try to discover the secret of this vitality and to lay our hands on the
unique powers which our language represents in order to utilize these powers in
organizing our present and building our future.
The above references to the “superior qualities [of Arabic] over
other langu- ages” and its “special endowments” in matters of communicative
“vitality”, “meticulous structure” and “flexibility” are modern reformulations
of old themes, showing how the past lives
on and how it interacts with the present in nationalist discourse. The fact
that language is seen in these reformulations as the key to unlocking a power
and a vitality which can organize the present and build the future indicates
the strength of the assessment of its motivational role in Arab nationalist
discourse. It is to this theme that I will turn in the next chapter.
the past lives on
This “communion of the past and the present” vis-à-vis the language
is regarded by Arab nationalist thinkers as a “source of strength” in their
socio- political modernization project (ibid.: 78). Language is thought by most
nationalist thinkers to be best suited of all the ingredients of Arab
nationalism to create this communion. In comparison with other ingredients, it
requires but a modicum of intervention and invention before it can be pressed
into active service as a symbol of shared identity. Evidence for this, from a
totally different context, may be indirectly derived from Charles Ferguson’s
(1972) treatment of the attitudes and beliefs which Arabic-speakers display
towards the language situation in present-day Arab societies. One of these
attitudes, called “myths” by Ferguson,50 revolves around a host of beliefs
which enunciate the superiority of Arabic over other languages in a variety of
spheres, including the beauty of its rhythmical cadences, its “grammatical
symmetry and ‘logical’ structure” (ibid.: 377), the “vastness and richness of
its lexicon” (ibid.) and its “sacred character” (ibid.: 378). Although this
attitude towards the language is little more than an imagined construct (I
prefer this to the term “myth”), being similar in this respect to the attitudes
which speakers of other languages hold about their own languages, Ferguson
recognizes its relative uniformity among Arabic-speakers (ibid.: 375):
“Although the Arabic speech community is very large numerically, and spread
over a vast expanse spatially, the
myths about the language are rela- tively uniform throughout the community”. It
is this uniformity of the attitudes, rather than their empirical truth or
falsity, which matters in Arab nationalist discourse and what, ultimately,
makes language the most efficacious symbol of group identity to them.
Contrasting this with the role of historical tradition in the
nationalist enterprise, Nuseibeh obliquely argues – following Renan – that
“oblivion, even historical error [may be essential factors] in the creation of
a nation” (ibid.). Nuseibeh (ibid.: 80) is aware that historical traditions are
“in themselves a two- edged weapon: they contribute to solidarity by keeping
alive memories of common historical antecedents and to dissipation by resuscitating
unsavoury historical episodes in which every history abounds”. This is why
selection, recasting and even invention are important features of nationalist
discourse, although the extent to which intellectual acrobatics of this kind
need to be practised varies from one nationalist ingredient to another.
Nuseibeh’s views on this topic in relation to history in nationality-formation
are interesting and still as valid today as they were half a century ago; they
also provide us with a fitting end to this chapter, taking us back full circle
to where we began (ibid.: 79):
The truth is that historical tradition is a factor contributing to
integration provided it is presented in the right way. That is to say, it is
not so much a question of creating the present in the image of the past as it
is re-creating the past in the image of the present. The pretence of this
mental debauchery claiming to be history rather than
the arabic language and national identity
political propaganda becomes less sinful when we take into account
the sincerity of those who preach it and the formidable difficulties inherent
in preaching historical truth.
In modern times, the debate over the origins of Arab nationalism
has tended to focus on its formative impulses. As pointed out in Chapter 2,
many Arab writers on the topic consider language as one of the most important
impulses in this nationalism, and they trace its operative roots back to the
rise and spread of Islam. The importance of the language in this context is
acknowledged by Antonius in his classic treatment of this nationalism, The Arab Awakening (1938). However,
Antonius places the origins of this national awakening in the Western-inspired
linguistic and literary renaissance in the Levant in the nineteenth century.
But his analysis is challenged by Zeine (1966), who argues that the term
“awakening” is a misnomer. He states that the Arabs’ sense of collective
identity – rooted as it was in the range of themes discussed in this chapter –
was in no need of being woken up in the nineteenth century, for it was fully
alive in spite of the four centuries of Ottoman rule of the Arabic- speaking
peoples. As evidence of how the past can be made to live on, Zeine’s position,
which I will quote below in full, is an interesting one, not least because it
seeks to eliminate the much-quoted phrase “Arab awakening” from the discourse
on Arab nationalism (1966: 146):
If by Arab awakening be meant the awakening of Arab consciousness
and Arab identity, i.e. al-ÆurËba,
then the term “awakening” is a misnomer. Throughout the four centuries of
Ottoman rule, the Muslim Arabs never ceased to think of themselves as Muslims
and as Arabs and they, certainly, did not forget their Arabic language.
By holding this view, Zeine builds on that assessment of Arab
national identity which seeks to ascribe its genesis culturally to impulses
that predate the modern period. An example of this assessment is provided by
Albert Hourani (1983: 260):
That those who speak Arabic form a “nation”, and that this nation
should be independent and united, are beliefs which only became articulate and
acquired political strength during the [twentieth] century. But as far back in
history as we can see them, the Arabs have always been exceptionally conscious
of their language and proud of it, and in pre-Islamic Arabia they possessed a
kind of “racial” feeling, a sense that, beyond the conflicts of tribes and
families, there was a unity which joined together all who spoke Arabic and
could claim descent from the tribes of Arabia.
4
1.
introduction
One of the aims of Chapter 3 was to show that Arabic has many of
the ingre- dients which make it eminently suitable to play the role of one of
the primary markers of national identity in the modern period. In dealing with
this theme, the resonance of Arabic (see Chapter 1, section 2), reference was
made to the position of the language as the focus of a host of cultural
conceptualizations which projected it as the source of pride of its speakers
and as the evidence of their positive moral character and value system (cf.
Saliba 1993). The point was also made that the belief in the systematic nature
of the language was taken to provide an indication of the fine qualities of the
mental make-up of its speakers (see Chapter 3, section 2). In addition, Arabic
was viewed as a major boundary- setter between the Arabs and the non-Arabs in
the increasingly expanding empire in the first few centuries of Islam (see
Chapter 3, section 5). This inevitably made it the target of attacks by
non-Arab members of the Muslim community, who charged that it was mainly
through borrowings from other languages that Arabic was able to overcome its
Bedouin past and become the language of a cultural heritage which, though
Arabic, was not specifically Arab. The fact that many non-Arabs were involved
in the analysis and codification of the language was given as an example of the
veracity of this view.
It may, however, be suggested that for these latent group-identity
impulses to be triggered and to become endowed with overtly nationalist meanings,
a speci- fically modernizing input, whether political or cultural, would have
to come into play. It is generally agreed (see Tibi 1997: 80) that the
Napoleonic invasion of Egypt in 1798 heralded the onset of this input on both
the political and cultural fronts in Egypt itself and, indirectly, beyond Egypt
in the Arabic- speaking lands.2 As a manifestation of an increasingly hegemonic
Europe, this invasion foreshadowed the introduction in the Levant of other
modes of Euro- pean cultural penetration in the form of modern printing
presses, the develop- ment of journalism, the translation of literary and
scientific works, and the production of new translations of the Bible into
Arabic (cf. Thompson 1956). These developments were sustained by the increasing
spread of literacy,
the arabic language and national identity
political liberalization in the form of the Tanzimat administrative reforms in the Ottoman Empire in the
nineteenth century (cf. Davison 1963) – although these progressed in fits and
starts – and the increased contact with the West in the commercial and
political spheres at the sub-state level in the Levant.
There is common agreement among scholars of Arab nationalism that
Greater Syria was the main arena in the development and promotion of this Arab
nationalist ideology and movement. It is also generally agreed that Arab
nationalism first started as a cultural phenomenon (see Chapter 2, section 3)
but later developed into a more overtly political movement at the beginning of
the twentieth century (cf. Tibi 1997: 61, 66, 116). The transition from the
cultural to the political mode of conceptualization and action in this
national- ism occurred as a result of the Turkification policies of the Young
Turks,3 following their ascendance to power in the Ottoman Empire in 1908. This
view sees the transition from Ottomanism to political Arabism as a reaction to
the transition from Ottomanism to political Turkism among the Turkish elements
in the Ottoman Empire.
The aim of this chapter is to examine the implications of the above
view in relation to the role of the Arabic language in articulating two major
issues in Arab nationalism: those of identity and modernization in the second
half of the nineteenth century and the first two decades of the twentieth century.
To set the scene for this discussion, I will show how the mirroring phenomenon
between Arab and Turkish nationalism on the political front at the beginning of
the twentieth century also obtained at the linguistic level in the second half
of the nineteenth century. One of the aims of this chapter will therefore be to
show that Arab cultural nationalism was to some extent a reaction to Turkish
cultural nationalism, as was the case between these two nationalisms on the
political front. It should not, however, be concluded from this that I take a
sequential cause-and-effect view of the relationship between these different
forms of nationalism in the Turkish and Arab contexts – with Turkish
nationalism in the cultural and political domains giving rise to their
counterparts in the Arab sphere – or that the cultural in these two
nationalisms is divorced from and always precedes its political counterpart.
Such a sequential cause-and-effect view of the phenomena under consideration
here would be too simple an explanation for the multi-faceted complexity of
nationalism in any context.
2.
from ottomanism
to turkism: the turkification of the ottoman turks4
The transition from Ottomanism, the view that the Turkish elements
of the Ottoman Empire were Ottoman first and Turkish second, to Turkism, the
view that they were Turkish first and Ottoman second, was a slow process which
the arabic language unites us
spanned the nineteenth century, with points of high intensity
occurring at various times in the second part of that century. The core of this
transition con- sisted of various attempts to define group identity in ways
which constructed the Turks as a nation – in the cultural sense of this term –
standing apart from other groups in the Empire, particularly the Arabs. Language
was the main instrument in this enterprise in symbolic and functional terms.
This was not a fortuitous choice. First, it is consistent with the
general tendency in the nineteenth century to construct nationality on
linguistic grounds, following the German model; this was true of ethnic groups
in the Balkans under the Ottoman Empire as it was of other groups outside this
sphere of political influence in Central Europe. The choice of language for
collective self- definition thus reflects the modernity of the age. It further
constitutes a symbolic and material step towards reversing the waning fortunes
of the Empire in an increasingly combative and acquisitive context of
imperialistic power rela- tions in which Europe was in ascendance. Second, the
promotion of language over religion as the marker of group identity enables its
advocates to construct a new sociopolitical definition of the collective self
which decentres co-religionists in the state, the majority of the Arabs, and
centres co-native speakers outside it, mainly the Turks in Central Asia. This
in turn helps create a concept of national territory which encompasses groups
and communities outside the borders of the Ottoman Empire. Third, the facts
that Turkish was full of Arabic and Persian words which often maintained their
original grammatical categories, and that Turkish poetry followed the rules of
Arabic prosody, provided the advocates of the new identity with a highly
productive opportunity to practise their purifica- tion tendencies in a publicly
visible manner. Fourth, in a period not unaccus- tomed to sudden changes in the
political fortunes of high officials, autocracy, external threats, internal
turmoil, intrigue and counter-intrigue, and censorship, language in the Ottoman
Empire served as a most useful conduit for setting out what are essentially
political views of a discernibly schismatic and irredentist character.
It may be said that a major problem facing the advocates of Turkism
in its cultural mode was altering the Turks’ view of themselves as Turks. In
the nineteenth century, the term “Turk” had negative connotations (see Landau
1981, Lewis 1968). Heyd (1950: 76) tells us that this term was used to
designate its referent as a “rude [and] uneducated villager”, and that this
usage was reflected in a number of proverbs which, according to Gökalp,
originated in the big urban centres. Evidence of this attitude is further found
in some British writings of the period (see Kushner 1977: 20). These negative
views of the Turkish collective self are confirmed by Turkish writers during
the second part of the nineteenth century. The famous Turkist Shemseddin Sami
wrote in his six-volume encyclopaedic dictionary Kamus-ül-AÆlam (1890–1900) that “some
the arabic language and national identity
peoples who are of Turkish origin do not accept this name [Turk]
and consider it to be an insult” (quoted in Kushner 1977: 21). During the same
period, the writer Ahmed Midhat published a series of articles in the newspaper
Iqdam in which he deplored the
self-contempt with which some Turks regarded them- selves and other fellow
Turks. He believed that this attitude “prevented the emergence of a national
consciousness” and a “sense of pride in one’s nation” (ibid.: 30). The issue
facing the Turkists was therefore one of changing the image of the Turk in his
own eyes, particularly in Istanbul and the other big urban centres. In dealing
with this issue, the Turkists hit on language as the linchpin of a host of
themes to advance their aims.
A formative but mediated input into this process of instilling
Turkishness into the Turks – what I have called “the Turkification of the
Ottoman Turks” in the title of this section – derived from the work of the
Orientalists. Publications on various aspects of Turkish history and culture
started to appear in the nineteenth century, and these had an enthusiastic
reception among the elite, particularly the Turkists. One such work is by the
Frenchman Joseph de Guignes, Histoire
générale des Huns, des Turcs, des Mongoles, et autres Tartares occidentaux (Paris,
1756–8). Another is by a Polish convert to Islam, Mustafa Celaleddin Pasha, Les Turcs anciens et modernes, published
in Istanbul in 1869. However, by far the most influential work in this category
was Arthur Lumley Davids’ A Grammar of
the Turkish Language (London, 1832), which provided the first systematic
treatment of the spoken varieties of Turkish inside and outside the Ottoman
Empire, in addition to information about the history and culture of the Turks,
all cast in a discourse full of admiration and respect for them. Works by other
Orientalists claiming linguistic and ethnic relations between the Turks and
other peoples (for example, the Finns, Hungarians and Estonians) who were said
to form a Turanian group enjoyed great currency among the Turkists. Kushner
summarizes the net effect of these works in the following words (1977: 10):
“The scholarly works of Orientalists acquainted Ottoman Turks with their
language and ancient history, and with the contemporary Turkic-speaking peoples
living outside the boundaries of the Empire in Central Asia, the Volga Region,
the Caucasus and Iran.”
The Orientalist input into the formation of Turkish identity,
indirect though
this was, triggered an interest in two types of constructed
continuity: (1) a historical continuity with a past linking the Ottoman Turks
with their presumed ancestors in pre-Islamic times, and (2) a synchronic
cultural-cum-linguistic continuity with other Turkish-speaking peoples outside
the borders of the Otto- man Empire. These two constructed continuities in turn
generated a concept of national territory, the ancestral homeland, which
encompassed areas outside the control of the Ottomans in Central Asia.
Linguistic work on the language varieties spoken in this imagined territory,
which came from authors inside and
the arabic language unites us
outside the Ottoman Empire, became a deliberate act of “nationalist
philology” in the cultural sense of this phrase (see Chapter 1). Travellers,
traders, immi- grants and even dervishes – who used in their devotional prayers
a more rustic form of Turkish than the hybrid Ottoman Turkish variety –
unwittingly played an indigenizing role in this nationalist philology. Interest
in Turkish folk litera- ture in the nineteenth century, under the influence of
the German Romantics, provided another domain through which this nationalist
philology began to be advanced. This multi-source interest in the language
found expression in the Turkish-language press and other forms of printed
material published in the second half of the nineteenth century.
The interest in this identity-orientated form of nationalist
philology, coupled with the drive towards modernization in the nineteenth
century, was respon- sible for suggestions and practices whose aim was to
modernize the language by
(1) simplifying it and (2) equipping it with the necessary lexical
resources to enable it to cope with the demands of an age of fast-moving
technological developments. The introduction of a new educational system and
the institu- tion of administrative reforms in the first half of the nineteenth
century, aided by the development and popularity of the press, motivated
simplifications in style in Ottoman Turkish; they also led to the publication
of new grammars, lexica and textbooks. Ordinances and edicts were promulgated
in this period to make mandatory the shift from an old, highly formal and
ornate style of official communication to a more simple and functional style.
Interest in the simplification of the language also covered what was perceived
to be the chaotic orthography of Ottoman Turkish owing to the inadequacy of the
Arabic script for rendering the phonemic, particularly vowel, distinctions
peculiar to that language. This immediately brought to the fore the question of
the linguistic hegemony which Arabic exercised over Turkish, a hegemony that is
particularly reflected in the lexical domain in the guise of many borrowings
which Turkish had incorporated from Arabic. For some Turkists, effective
modernization in the form of orthographic simplification and lexical enrichment
could be achieved only by turning to the sources of modernity in the West and,
for reasons of authenticity and national self-assertion, to the indigenous
culture of the Turkish speakers themselves. This double move began to
marginalize Arabic and to cast it aside as an Other’s language in the two areas
that mattered: modernization and identity-formation.
Let us consider how this distancing strategy was brought about, and
how it
turned into a form of action against which the Arabists in the
Ottoman Empire felt impelled to produce a counter-reaction. This distancing
strategy manifested itself in an intricate web of causes and effects that
ultimately led to the parting of the ways, first culturally and then
politically, between the Arabs and the Turks in the Ottoman Empire. This is why
the following discussion will not be
the arabic language and national identity
chronologically organized, since the main interest here is in the
general trends that obtained in this period rather than in the onset and
dissolution of any particular suggestion, measure or event. In this context, it
is important to remind ourselves of one of the points made earlier in this
section, namely that debates about language in the Ottoman Empire had as much
to do with non-linguistic agendas as they had with linguistic ones, if not
actually more at times.
One of the points raised by the Turkists concerned the name of the
language, whether it was Ottoman or Turkish. Needless to say, the Turkists
championed the latter designation on the grounds that their language is
structurally related to other Turkish varieties outside the Ottoman Empire,
notwithstanding the fact that it is orthographically and lexically indebted to
Arabic and Persian. The Turkists also argued that Ottoman was the name of the
state, and that this should not be confused with the name of the language. To
give effect to this chain of reasoning, they published textbooks, grammars and
dictionaries which referred to the language as Turkish; they also published
many articles in the press which traced the connections between Turkish and
other Turkic languages or varieties outside the Ottoman Empire, both
synchronically and diachronically. The debate over the name of the language was
essentially a debate over identity, in particular which of the three aspects of
the identity of the Turks came first: the Ottoman, the Islamic or the Turkish.
This debate took as its point of reference the idea that language is the marker
of identity par excellence and that, therefore, it is the ultimate
boundary-setter between the different socio- political groups in the state.
Defending one’s language against other languages thus emerged as a defence of
one’s identity, which increasingly came to be desig- nated in national terms.
If Turkish is the marker of Turkish identity, it must therefore serve as the
foundation of a Turkish national culture; and if this means purging the
language from external influences, even those that are derived from the
languages of co-religionists, then so be it. Shemseddin Sami expresses this
view in the magazine Sabah (8
August 1898, quoted in Kushner 1977: 62):
The first symbol of a nation and a race, its foundation, and its
common property, shared equally by all its members, is the language in which it
speaks. People speaking one language constitute one nation and one race. Each
people and nation must therefore first of all bring order into its language.
The last sentence in the above quotation is tantamount to declaring
that the injection of order into Turkish, which in social-value terms is the
non-linguistic equivalent of linguistic systematicity, must include purging it
of excess Arabic borrowings at the lexical and grammatical levels. Since the domination
of Turkish by Arabic turned the former into a composite or hybrid language
which, lexically and grammatically, is neither the one nor the other, then this
demands an interventionist policy to restore order to the language. In doing
the arabic language unites us
this, the Turkists sometimes marked words in dictionaries as
Arabic, Persian or Turkish to signal the foreignness of the former two. In
forming new words, they suggested the use of lexical items derived from Arabic
and Persian roots, pro- vided that the words concerned were not in active use
in these two languages, or have meanings that are different from their meanings
in the donor language. And when Necib Asım in 1900 proposed a list of fifteen
sources for the lexical expansion of the language, Arabic occurred as number
thirteen, just before Persian and European languages.5 The sentiment exhibited
in this rank ordering of possible donor languages or sources for Turkish
lexical expansion was expressed by one Turkist journalist and writer, Said Bey,
as follows (ibid.: 63; al-Husri ascribes the same view to Diya Pasha in Mu˙Å∂arÅt fÈ nushË’ al-fikra al-qawmiyya,
1985: 98): “Let the one who seeks Arabic go to the Arabs, those who seek
Persian, to the Persians, and the ‘Frenks’ to ‘Frengistan’; but we are Turks
and we need Turkish”.
This attitude towards Arabic did not go unchecked. A group of
Ottoman Turks, the most notable among them being a famous teacher of Arabic
called Haci Ibrahim Efendi, took it upon themselves to challenge the Turkists.
Haci Ibrahim pointed out that since the state is Ottoman, not Turkish, the
language therefore is Ottoman, not Turkish, thus at a stroke denying the
validity of the argument that the name of the state and the language need not
be congruent. The Ottomanists also argued that the historical depth of the
contact between Turkish and Arabic gives the lexical items borrowed by the
former from the latter an authenticity that far exceeds the nebulous
connections between the Turkic languages (of Turkey and Central Asia) which are
constructed on the basis of a dim and distant past. In addition, Arabic
borrowings are borrowings from a rich and beautiful language, being different
on this level of sociolinguistic values from the “crude and deficient” (Kushner
1977: 65) lexical items which the Turkists wished to borrow from other Turkic
languages. Removal of Arabic words and rules of grammar from the language is
therefore bound to reduce the sociolinguistic prestige of Turkish and its
functional efficacy as a means of communication: “If we do this we shall have
to speak without a language”, declares Haci Ibrahim (ibid.).
The Ottomanists further argued that Arabic is the universal
language of Islam as well as the tongue of the Arabs, who are a numerically
important group in the Ottoman Empire. As Muslims, the Turks needed Arabic for
religious and spiritual purposes. Arabic was also important for sociopolitical
reasons, since its rejection as a source for Turkish would be seen by the Arabs
as a symbolic “slap in the face” and as an attempt to undermine the bonds of
Ottomanism that brought the two groups (the Turks and the Arabs) together.
The Turkists responded by insisting on the separation of language
and religion. They pointed out that the Bosnians and Albanians maintained their
the arabic language and national identity
religion (Islam), but without sanctioning the same linguistic input
from Arabic into their languages as exists in Turkish, and without insisting on
knowledge of Arabic as some of the Turkish Ottomanists did. Haci Ibrahim also
argued that knowledge of Arabic cannot be regarded as a “criterion for good
faith” (ibid.: 69), since Christian Arabs know and use Arabic but are not
Muslims.
Many of the ideas of the Turkists found expression in the works of
Ziya Gökalp (1875–1914), the main theoretician of Turkish nationalism, although
Gökalp did not espouse some of the extremist positions on lexical purification
and orthographic reform advocated by members of this group. Gökalp held the
view that language was the marker of national identity, and that, therefore,
the “Turkish nation [is] the totality of Turkish-speaking Muslims” (Heyd 1950:
100). Gökalp further believed that the revival of the Turks socially and
cultur- ally as a nation was dependent on the revival of their language. In
practical terms, this implied an extension in the functional domains allocated
to the language to all aspects of the life of the nation, including literature
and religious practice. In the latter sphere, Gökalp advocated the replacement
of Arabic by Turkish in all aspects of the ritual prayer, except those that
demand direct reference to the Qur’an itself, a position which he felt was
consistent with the teachings of the Imam Abu Hanifa (150/767), whose legal
school was dominant in Turkey. Such an extension was consistent with the
nationalist doctrine in its German Romantic mode in terms of which “religious
worship should be con- ducted in the language of the people” (ibid.: 102).
Writers must therefore write in simple language. For this to happen, the
language must undergo a controlled lexical cull to rid it of some of the
foreign words (mainly Arabic and Persian) that have entered it, especially when
these demand adjustments to the morphological and syntactic rules of the
language. This call for simplification was motivated by a non-linguistic
objective which looks at language as the “touchstone of nationality” and which
“regards independence in the sphere of language as a necessary condition to
political independence” (ibid.: 115).
By the beginning of the twentieth century, the debate between the
Otto- manists and the Turkists was effectively won in favour of the latter.
Turkish became the subject of national pride, and writers started to extol its
virtues as a pleasant, harmonious and precise language with fixed word order
and few excep- tions. The enhanced status of Turkish during the last quarter of
the nineteenth century was reflected in its adoption as the official language
of the state in the short-lived 1876 constitution, which additionally
stipulated that knowledge of Turkish was a condition for election to Parliament
and for employment in government administration. Turkish was also declared an
obligatory subject in all schools in the Empire, including all the foreign
schools which for a long time enjoyed special privileges granted to them under
the Capitulations. The declared intention behind the imposition of these
measures may be expressed as follows:
the arabic language unites us
linguistic diversity in the state can lead to sociopolitical
fragmentation and uneven development. It is therefore essential to spread
knowledge of the official language as a bond of affiliation between all
Ottomans and as the medium of communication between the state and its citizens.
Knowledge of Turkish was seen as an instrument of identity-formation, political
consolidation and moderniza- tion. At another level, however, this emphasis
reflected fear of political disintegration and the “awareness that the Turks
were the only real support of the state” (Kushner 1977: 96). Some Turkists were
aware of the need to tread lightly in dealing with Arabic-speakers. Thus, one
writer wrote in the magazine Iqdam in
1899: “There is no doubt how greatly important it would be in these times … to
attempt at least to teach Turkish to all people of the Ottoman Empire, so that
no one but the Arabs would know a language other than Turkish” (ibid.: 95). The
Turkification policy which the Young Turks imposed on the Arab provinces on
coming to power in 1909 may therefore be viewed as an intensified continuation
of a trend whose beginnings had started much earlier in the nineteenth century.
Rather than representing a break with the past, the Young Turks articulated
some of the dominant Turkist themes in the Hamidian period (1876–1908) to their
logical conclusions. It may therefore be possible to say that the overt
attempts to Turkify non-Turks in the post-1909 period were not an aberration
but the realization of a dominant sociopolitical trend in the Ottoman Empire in
the preceding half-century.
Let us now consider the implications of what has been said above
for the development of Arab nationalism from its cultural beginnings in the
nineteenth century to its transformation to an avowedly political movement in
the first two decades of the twentieth century. To begin with, the debate over
the status of Turkish in the Empire was part and parcel of a larger debate
about non- linguistic matters, which included the status of the Ottoman Turks
vis-à-vis other groups in their sociopolitical sphere. As the largest
non-Turkish group in the Empire, and as the group whose language was the target
of lexical culls in spite of its being the medium of religiosity and
spirituality for the Turks, the Arabs were implicated in a debate not of their
own making. It can therefore be legitimately assumed that many of the issues
raised in this debate heightened the Arabs’ perception of their own – first
cultural and then political – identity in a reactive and boundary-setting mode
of ethnic/national interaction. I believe this must have been the case because
of the interethnic elite contact which existed in the various centres in the
Empire. In particular, the fact that many Arabic-speaking Ottomans lived in
Istanbul and knew Turkish made it possible to (1) monitor the debates which
filled the Turkish-medium newspapers at the time, and (2) pass on the content
and aims of these debates to their compatriots in the Arabic-speaking provinces
(cf. al-ÆUraysi 1981). As Khalidi (1991: 60) points out,
the arabic language and national identity
In pre-1914 Istanbul, at any one time there were normally several
thousand Arab government officials, military officers, students, businessmen,
journalists, and visitors. Most were drawn from the élite of the Arab provinces
… and they were arguably as influential a group of Arabs as any in the Middle
East, albeit lacking the direct contact with the rest of their own society and
its local politics, which their counter- parts at home retained. An
Arabic-language paper [al-Óa∂Åra,
Civilization], published in Istanbul by Shaykh ÆAbd al-Hamid al-Zahrawi, was
influential in all Arabic- speaking regions, with its articles reprinted in the
Cairo, Beirut, and Damascus press.
Taking the Turkists’ argument first, their insistence on treating
the Turkish language as a marker of a specifically Turkish identity had its
counterpart in the insistence by Arabists that Arabic delivered the same
function in its cultural- cum-political domain. It may even be argued that,
because of the religious signi- ficance of Arabic for Islam, its long and
distinguished history and its penetration of Turkish both lexically and
grammatically, Arabic was felt by Ottoman Arabists to be better placed than
Turkish to play the role of identity-marker (cf. al-æUraysi 1981). Furthermore,
the Turkists’ argument that language comes before religion as a factor in
identity-formation may be seen to have played into the hands of those who
promoted Arabic as that ingredient which unites all the Arabic-speaking peoples
regardless of their religious affiliation. This is exactly the position taken
by Christian Arabists, although the position of the Muslim Arabists may not
have always been as clear-cut. In addition, the Turkists’ view of a national
territory that is geographically coextensive with the spread of the language
found its counterpart among Arabists, who started to adopt a defini- tion of
the national territory that completely or partially overlapped with the limits
of the language, with Egypt in particular forming the target of many of these
inclusive or exclusive attempts at limiting the national territory (cf. Tauber
1993: 264–7). Finally, the incessant calls by the Turkists to wrest Turkish
from the lexical and grammatical clutches of Arabic, and the antagon- istic
tone of those calls sometimes, must have infused the debate over language
policy in the Empire with the emotional charge that is often necessary to
trigger the appropriate counter-response, as we shall see later.
It may also be argued that the position of the Turkish Ottomanists
con-
tributed to this cumulation of mirror-image effects. By
highlighting the special status of Arabic both as a lexical resource for
Turkish and as the language of Islam, the Ottomanists underlined its prestige
in the eyes of its speakers. Some even argued that, while the Turks had the
upper hand over the Arabs in military and administrative terms, the Arabs had
commanding cultural and literary superiority (cf. al-Husri’s Mu˙Å∂arÅt fÈ nushË’ al-fikra al-qawmiyya,
1985b: 111). As Zeine (1966: 10–11) points out, the “Arabs were proud that the
Arabic language – their most cherished and precious heritage, after Islam –
remained the spiritual language of the Turks”. Furthermore, by pointing out
that the anti-Arab(ic) feeling peddled by the Turkists was bound to
drive a sociopolitical wedge between the Arabs and the Turks,6 the Ottomanists
high- lighted what the Arabists may have privately thought. Seen as concessions
by the Ottomanists, the above arguments may have functioned on the Arabist side
not as attempts at reconciliation only, but also as an admission of differenti-
ation. If this is the case, their role must be seen as delaying, but not
stopping, the inevitable on the national front. The Turkification policies of the
Young Turks provided the final spur.
3.
from ottomanism
to arabism: preliminary remarks
The debate over the Turkish language culminated in the
Turkification policy of the Young Turks after their effective takeover of power
in 1909, following their Revolution in July 1908. Although the application of
this policy was wide- ranging, in this work I am only interested in the
language-planning implications of this policy for the shift from covert to
overt political nationalism in the Arabic-speaking provinces of the Empire.
This policy aimed at the maintenance of the Empire by making power the preserve
of the new Turkish elite and by countering all secessionist tendencies among
non-Turks, particularly the Arabs. But instead of producing the intended
result, this policy succeeded in alienating the Arabs (who originally
enthusiastically welcomed the Young Turk Revolu- tion)7 and in providing the
spur which transformed the hitherto largely cultural nature of their
nationalist movement into an increasingly overtly political one. The success of
this transformation derived from the existence in the nineteenth century in
(Greater) Syria of facilitating conditions – what Deutsch (1966: 96) has called
rudimentary “complementary facilities of communication”– brought about by the
spread of education and the emergence of a literary renaissance (nah∂a) rooted in the indigenous past.
Coupled with these two factors, the rise of journalism, the improvement in
postal services and other means of communication, the expansion in the number
of printing presses and the betterment in the quality of their output all
conspired to create a print culture in Syria which sought to harness the
modernizing impulse in the emerging national milieu to its authenticating
roots.
According to George Antonius (1938) – and in this he is not alone –
the
seeds of the Arab nationalist idea were first politically
cultivated, though with no immediate yield, by Ibrahim Pasha (son of Muhammad
Ali, governor of Egypt) during his occupation of Syria between 1832 and 1840.8
In pursuing his political and dynastic ambitions, Muhammad Ali, through his son
Ibrahim, tried to make his territorial claims coextensive with the spread of
the Arabic language in its Middle Eastern context (excluding North Africa).
This de facto recognition of the role
of language as a boundary-setter in nation-state-building by Muhammad
the arabic language and national identity
Ali is implicitly recognized by Palmerston in a letter dated 21
March 1833, to the British Minister at Naples, in which he wrote: “[Muhammad
Ali’s] real design is to establish an Arabian kingdom including all the countries in which Arabic is the
language” (quoted in Antonius 1938: 31, emphasis added). More or less the
same point was made a year earlier by the British Consul at Alexandria who, in
January 1832, reported that “[Muhammad Ali’s] immediate object is to establish
his authority firmly in the Pashaliks of Acre and Damascus; after which to
extend his dominion to Aleppo and Baghdad, throughout the provinces, where Arabic is the language of the people,
which he calls the Arabian part of the Empire” (ibid.: 25, emphasis added). It
is therefore not surprising that Ibrahim Pasha, who unlike his father spoke
Arabic, once said about himself: “I am not a Turk. I came to Egypt when I was a
child, and since that time, the sun of Egypt changed my blood and made it all
Arab” (quoted in Hourani 1983: 261). Although one needs to be careful not to
interpret such statements as a recognition of the existence of the Arab
nationalist idea in Syria in the first half of the nineteenth century, or of
the seriousness in identity terms of Ibrahim Pasha’s self-declared Arabness,
the fact still remains that these statements constitute a recognition of the
latent power of the language in promoting the idea of Arabness and the
political benefits that may accrue from harnessing its power for real tasks.
Ibrahim Pasha’s attempt to appeal to the Arabs’ Arabness failed because, among
other things, it was an idea that came ahead of its time in a region where
other forms of group identity were dominant. However, the anticipatory force of
this attempt as a projection of things to come cannot be ignored, especially
when coupled with the increasing flow at the time in Egyptian printed materials
coming into Syria9 and the support given to education in this province by
Ibrahim Pasha, limited though this was.10
Recognizing the importance of print culture and education long
before these
ideas were given currency in the study of nationalism by Benedict
Anderson in his classic study Imagined
Communities (first published in 1983), George Antonius (1938: 40) wrote:
“Without school or book, the making of a nation is in modern times
inconceivable” (see Cleveland 1997 for a discussion of this point). In the
context of Arab nationalism, the expansion of the educational system in Syria
in the second half of the nineteenth century – whether through the implemen-
tation of the provisions of the education law of 1869 (cf. Tibawi 1969: 168),
the increase in and the revitalization of community schools along religious
lines or the introduction of missionary schools11 – led to a linguistic and
literary revival which created its own momentum. The use of Arabic as the
medium of instruc- tion in parts of this system gave the language an added
boost. Dictionaries and encyclopaedias,12 classical Arabic literary texts,
textbooks for schools and trans- lations of foreign works started to appear in
editions whose quality (especially those produced by the Jesuit Press) and
affordability appealed to an expanding
the arabic language unites us
and more discerning reading public. Two new translations of the
Bible into Arabic appeared – an American-sponsored Protestant translation and a
French- sponsored Jesuit translation – each with its own distinctive style, but
both aiming at casting the source text in a form of Arabic that was both
accessible and dignified to suit its status as a Sacred Book (see Chapter 6,
section 4.2 for Taha Husayn’s suggestion in relation to the Arabic version of
the Bible used by the Coptic Church in Egypt). Aided by the popularity of
journalism, a new Arabic style started to develop which, while rooted in the
sources of its own grammatical tradition, aimed at lexical simplicity and
reduced stylistic ornate- ness. This new feature of the language was seen as
part of the modernizing impulse of an educated elite who, after the 1860 civil
strife in Lebanon, sought to stress the common interests between Christians and
Muslims by promoting the bonds between them created by, among other things,
that very same language.
Special mention must be made here of the adoption of Arabic as the
medium of instruction for all subjects in the American missionary schools in
Lebanon, the success of which led to the introduction of Arabic in the French
mission schools whose pupils were mostly drawn from the Maronite community (see
Tibi 1997: 100).13 In particular, reference must be made to the Syrian
Protestant College – now the American University of Beirut – which used Arabic
in this capacity from its inception in 1866 until 1882, when it began to be
replaced by English.14 The use of Arabic in this college was promoted not for
any nationalist reasons per se by its
American masters, but for reasons that are germane to the Protestant philosophy
of encouraging the use of the vernacular in all aspects of the missionary
enterprise,15 and – only indirectly – for the effect which any nascent
nationalist consciousness may have had on promoting the work of the mission,
particularly among Muslims whose bonds of common faith with Ottoman Turks had
to be modulated and redirected.16 It is no accident, therefore, that one of the
big debates – initiated by the weekly al-Nashra
al-usbËÆiyya in 1881 – about whether to use Arabic or a foreign language as
the medium of instruction more or less coincided with the shift from Arabic to
English in the educational process at the Protestant College. It is also no
accident that one of the reasons given in this debate for the use of Arabic as
a medium of education related to the need to train individuals who could serve
the missionary cause. In an interesting article in this debate, the Lebanese
ÆAbdallah Jabbur (1991: 18–
19) put forward the view that training the native missionaries and
others in
Arabic was necessary to enhance their ability to “bring the good
news/good tidings” to “all the Arabs”, since if the Bible was not delivered to
them they would remain ignorant and bereft of “civilization proper”. It is
interesting to note here that a secularist form of this argument is present in
most articulations of Lebanese nationalism in the twentieth century (see
Chapter 6, sections 5.1–2). Jabbur further stressed that the adoption of
foreign languages as the medium of
the arabic
language and national identity
instruction in schools would lead to fragmentation in the body of a
nation whose group identity was premised on the unity of its language.
The fact that Arabic was used as the language of instruction for
the modern sciences, including medicine, in the Protestant College meant that
American missionaries had to learn the language and to use it in teaching and
in the production of textbooks, whether newly written or in translated form.17
This expansion in the functional domains of the language was significant in two
important ways. First, it led to a lexical revitalization of the language,
although it also raised questions about its efficacy in pedagogic terms.
Second, the use of the language in teaching the modern sciences by Western
teachers bestowed on it a stamp of modernity by a constituency which, for
Ottoman subjects, emblematically represented the sources of that modernity in
its original environment. It is therefore not surprising that the above period
was dubbed the “golden age” in the history of the language in institutional
terms (see Dumat 1991: 97–103). It is also not surprising that the change from
Arabic to English as the language of instruction was the subject of criticism
in the press at the time, and may actually have been partly responsible –
although I cannot prove this point – for the publicized delay in the
implementation of this policy in the teaching of medicine in 1881 (see Khuri
1991: 28). Opposition to this change was not restricted to native
Arabic-speakers only, but extended to some Ameri- can faculty members at the
College, leading to the resignation of Cornelius van Dyck (1818–95) when his
compatriot George Post (1838–1908) won the battle for the change.18 The
following quotation from Tibi (1997: 101) provides a balanced assessment of the
contribution of the American mission schools, intended or not:
The American missionaries only modernized Arabic to have a more
suitable means at hand for their religious activities. It was an entirely
unintended consequence of their work that the revival of the national language
inaugurated a literary renaissance, but this naturally suited the missions in
that the movement gradually undermined the loyalty of the Arabs towards the
Ottoman Empire.
3.1 The Placards
Considering the increasing awareness of the role of language as a
marker of group identity and as the medium which can replace religious
affiliation as the common bond par excellence between Muslims and Christians in
Syria, and considering the literary revival which this interest spawned in the
second half of the nineteenth century, it is not surprising that the adoption
of Arabic as an official language in the Ottoman Empire was one of the main
demands pursued by the elite at the time, long before the active promotion of
Turkification by the Young Turks in 1909 and after. The best and, in a sense,
the most dramatic expression of this demand occurred in the third of a series
of placards which
the arabic language unites us
clandestinely appeared in Damascus, Beirut, Tripoli and Sidon in
the second half of 1880 and the first half of 1881 (see Zeine 1966: 171–3 for
the texts of three of these placards).19 In a clear reference to the attacks on
Arabic by the Turkists, and in rousing language full of references to past Arab
glories, the third placard (dated 14 January 1881) considers the plight of
Arabic under the Turks to be second only to their attacks on the sharÈÆa (sacred law); the opening part
of this placard reads as follows (for a full translation of the placard, see
Tibawi 1969: 165):
O people of the fatherland! You are aware of the injustice and
oppression of the Turks. With a small number of themselves they have ruled over
you and enslaved you. They have abolished your sacred law (sharÈÆa) and despised the sanctity of your revered books … They
have passed regulations to destroy your noble language.
The authors of the placard went on to urge the Arabs to correct
these injus- tices by the sword, referring to their Turkish oppressors as ÆulËj al-turk, which Tibawi translates
as “uncouth Turks” (ibid.). This translation fails to capture the additional
ideas in the word ÆulËj of the
“bully”, the “unbeliever” and the “person who does not speak Arabic or speaks
it but with a foreign accent”. What is interesting for us here is the last of
these meanings, because it allows us to associate the word ÆulËj with the foreignness of a person as displayed in his or her
speech. This meaning of the word ÆulËj (singular
of Æilj) signals strong colloca-
tional associations with the word Æajam (see
Chapter 3, section 5).20 A well- known example of this in the literature is the
reference to Ziyad al-AÆjam (d. 718/19), court poet to the Khurasani leader
al-Muhallab Ibn Abi Sufra (82/ 701), as Æilj
aÆjam by virtue of his non-Arab (Persian) extraction and his heavy Persian
accent (see Fück 1980: 42–3). Another example occurs in the report about the
refusal of the Christian Arab tribe of Banu Taghlib to pay the poll-tax (see
Chapter 3, section 5).
This placard is also important because it lists the recognition of
Arabic as an
official language in Syria as the second – after autonomy – of the
three demands which its authors call on the Turks to grant the Arabs, or (and
this is another interpretation of the placard) for the Arabs to wrest from the
Turks by the use of force: “Secondly, recognition of the Arabic language as
official in the country [Syria] and of the right of those who speak it to
complete freedom in publishing their thoughts, books and newspapers, in
accordance with the demands of humanity, progress and civilisation” (see Tibawi
1969: 165–6). The wording of this demand is extremely interesting. On the one
hand, it links denying the language an official status to the imposition of
censorship, and the reversing of the former to the lifting of the latter, as
though to signal that it is only through the native tongue that a person can
achieve true and meaningful freedom of thought. On the other hand, the wording
suggests that a person’s status as a full
the arabic language and national identity
human being, as well as the attainment of progress and
modernization in a society, are dependent on recognizing the linguistic and
freedom-of-expression rights of a group. As such, this demand shows a level of
sophistication in framing the philosophico-linguistic roots of Arab nationalism
that has hitherto gone unrecognized in the literature. The fact that such a
level is achieved in the case under consideration here is all the more
remarkable because of the textual demands of brevity and directness required in
the placard as a linguistic genre.
Two linguistic features of the placards are worthy of comment.
First, the style of these placards was varied to put the authorities off the
scent of their authors. Grammatical errors were also deliberately committed for
the same reason (see Tauber 1993: 16). Second, in reporting on these placards
to the British chargé d’affaires in Istanbul, the Acting Consul-General John
Dickson in Beirut wrote (see Zeine 1966: 64): “The language … in which some of
these placards are couched would show that they are the composition of educated
persons. Competent judges of Arabic declare the style to be of the purest kind,
such as only those acquainted with the Koran and Arab poetry would use …”. The
reference to poetry is significant because of the utilization of six lines from
Ibrahim al-Yaziji’s famous ode (see section 4 below) as a closing coda in the
third placard, notwithstanding the fact that Dickson’s report, despatched on 3
July 1880, predates this placard. The identification of a Qur’anic influence in
the placards is even more significant because it seems to have led the British
and French consuls in Beirut to conclude that the placards were the work of
Muslims, not Christians (Tibawi 1969: 167). We now know of course that this is
wrong, because one of the placards was written by Faris Nimr (c. 1854–1951),21
a Christian from Lebanon. What is particularly significant, however, is the
“sectarian views” on language-production held by the two consuls. The implicit
assumption by the two consuls that the Qur’anic flavour of the style of the
placards indicates Muslim authorship is contradicted by the adoption of the
same style by Christian Arabs (see section 4).
Students of Arab nationalism treat the placards as one of the first
overtly
political expressions in the history of the movement, although
these placards had little popular support at the time. In addition to autonomy
and the recogn- ition of Arabic as an official language in Syria, the placards
demanded that Arab soldiers serve in their local areas in the Arabic-speaking
provinces, preferably under Arab officers. These demands remained at the very
heart of the Arabs’ conditions for a political settlement with the Turks in the
Ottoman Empire. They were adopted by the many secret and public organizations –
cultural and political – which sprang up in various parts of the Empire to
defend the Arabs’ rights to full equality with the Turks, especially after the
rise of the Young Turks to power in 1909 and their vigorous imposition of the
policy of Turkification in the Arabic-speaking provinces. What concerns us
below is the language issue in
the programmes of the Arab organizations; but this will be preceded
by a short outline of the Turkification policies of the Young Turks as they
relate to language (see also the discussion in section 2 above).
3.2 Resisting Linguistic Turkification
Extreme elements among the Young Turks sought to save the Empire by
assimil- ating non-Turkish groups – using coercion if necessary – into Turkish
culture and language, hence the term “Turkification”. Being the largest and one
of the most politically suspect groups, the Arabs were the primary target of
this policy. Turkish was imposed as the language of instruction in all state
schools. Turkish teachers were appointed to teach Arabic grammar through
Turkish, a practice to which the Arab teachers had to conform. One of the
pupils at the lower secondary school in Damascus at the turn of the twentieth
century reported how his Turkish teachers spoke Arabic with a Turkish accent,
and how the Turkish teachers were unable to distinguish between the masculine
and the feminine in their teaching (see al-Afghani 1971: 23). At the secondary
school in Damascus (Maktab ÆAnbar), a
famous Arabic-language scholar and man of letters – Shaykh Tahir al-Jaza’iri
(1852–1920)22 – was replaced by a Turkish teacher (ibid.: 24).23 The Arabic
grammar curriculum was the same as that taught in the Turkish- speaking schools
in the Turkish part of the Empire. This meant that Arabic was taught to Arab
pupils not as a native language, but as a foreign one. This was particularly
the case in the state schools which were predominantly attended by pupils of
Muslim background; non-Muslim pupils fared better because they attended their
denominational schools which, under Ottoman law, enjoyed a measure of freedom
in educational policy denied to state schools. The use of Arabic was outlawed
both inside and outside the classrooms at all times. A pupil caught using the
language was publicly shamed and subjected to corporal punish- ment. Arabic was
also outlawed in the courts and in all correspondence with the government
administration. All members of Parliament had to be proficient in Turkish.
Inflammatory articles appeared in the Turkish-medium press attacking the Arabs
and their language, and threatening them with enforced linguistic
Turkification. The editor of the Turkish newspaper ÊanÈn wrote (see Tauber 1997: 56–7): “The Arabs do not stop
prattling in their language and they are total ignoramuses in Turkish, as if
they were not under Turkish rule. The govern- ment is obligated in such a case
to force them to forget their language and to learn the language of the nation
that is ruling them.” Another Turkish writer declared (ibid.: 57): “The
government is obligated to force the Syrians to leave their homes and to turn
the Arab countries, especially the Yemen and the Hijaz, into Turkish
settlements in order to spread the Turkish language, which must become the
language of religion”.
This attitude towards Arabic and the Arabs is further reflected in
an article
the arabic language and national identity
written in ÊanÈn by one
of the (government) hand-picked Turkish members of Parliament representing
Baghdad, in which he expressed his surprise that none of the (Arab) native
inhabitants of Diwaniyya (outside Baghdad) could talk to him in Turkish. An
Arab newspaper took him to task over this, saying that what was more strange
was that the member of Parliament could not speak the language of the people he
represented (see al-Afghani 1971: 32). Arab students in Istanbul had to endure
racial taunts by their Turkish teachers. One of the Turkish officers at the
military academy in Istanbul is reported to have said to an Arab cadet in his
class: “Be certain that Turkish is better for us than Islam and that racial
zealotry is one of the best things in society” (see Tauber 1993: 58). These and
similar attacks on the Arabic language represented an intensification of the
views (see section 2 above) that were in circulation during the Hamidian period
(1876–1909). They further reflected the derision with which the Arabs were regarded
by some Turkists, as the following terms of abuse or “ethnic slurs” (see Allen
1983, Muhawi 1996 for this notion) in their discourse testify: “scrounging
Arabs” (to refer to the Arabs of Hijaz), “filthy Arab”, “dumb Arab” (to refer
to a stupid person), “an Arab wog” (to refer to a black animal, especially a
dog, or to a slave), and “getting the hell out of Damascus” (to refer to a
place whose people one cannot stand).24 Resisting these views and discursive
practices was one of the imperatives of the Arab national movement.
One mode of resisting Turkification was overtly political in
nature, in the
sense that it was embodied in the programmes of the many societies
– secret and not so secret – and cultural and literary clubs which the Arabs established
inside and outside the Ottoman Empire in the three or so decades before the
outbreak of the First World War (see Mahafza 1980 and Ra’uf 1986). Broadly
speaking, this mode of action consisted in calling for making Arabic, alongside
Turkish, an official language of the state in the Arabic-speaking countries.
This demand is articulated in the programme of the Decentralization Party
(established in 1912/13). Article 14 of this programme states: “Every province
will have two official languages, Turkish and the local language” (Tauber 1993:
124). Article 15 continues: “Education in each province will be provided in the
language of its residents” (ibid.). Article 14 in the programme of the Reform
Society of Beirut states: “The Arabic language will be recognized as an
official language within the province [Syria]. It will be recognized as an
official language, in conjunction with the Turkish language, in the Parliament
and the Senate [Upper House]” (ibid.: 139). The Reform Society of Basra
advocated the imple- mentation of similar policies. Article 19 in the
constitution of this society states: “The local Arabic shall be the official
language in all affairs of the [province of Basra] and among its inhabitants.
The same shall apply to every courthouse, and all announcements shall be
written in Arabic” (ibid.: 167). Article 24 states: “Officers knowing Arabic
shall be employed in their own country …”, and
the arabic language unites us
Article 25 states that “All sciences and arts shall be taught in
our schools in Arabic …” (ibid.). The status of Arabic as an official language
was also the subject of one of the resolutions of the 1913 Paris Congress,25 in
which Arab elites met to press their demands on the Young Turks government in
Istanbul. Paragraph 5 in the resolutions of this congress states: “The Arabic
language must be recognized in the Ottoman Parliament and the Parliament must
decide that it will be an official language in the Arab [provinces]” (ibid.:
193), although this formulation later underwent a subtle change in the form in
which it was transmitted to the European powers: “The Arabic language must be
recognized in the Ottoman Parliament and considered official in the Syrian and
Arab coun- tries” (ibid.: 194). In the same year, the Decentralization Party
issued a four- point manifesto outlining its demands. Points 2 and 4 in this
manifesto deal with the language issue. The former reads as follows (ibid.:
206): “Freedom in educational issues. Most important is that all education
should be in the Arabic language and that its administration should be the
responsibility of the local councils.” The latter states: “The Arabic language
will be recognized as official in all the Arab [provinces], and the government
activities in these provinces will be conducted in Arabic. No official will be
employed in the Arab provinces unless he is one of their residents and can
speak Arabic well …” (ibid.: 206). The Young Turks understood the
non-linguistic ends behind these linguistic demands, and they sought to
frustrate their implementation. Thus, in a meeting of some of the Young Turk
leaders in January 1914, it was decided to “implement the policy of
Turkification of all non-Turkish races in the country by elimin- ating the
nationalist societies that were founded in it …” (ibid.: 225).
This measure was judged to be necessary to stave off the
increasingly assertive
proclamations put out by some of the Arab societies. In one such
proclamation (1913),26 the Arab Revolutionary Society (al-JamÆiyya al-Thawriyya al- ÆArabiyya) – an offshoot of the Qa˙†Åniyya society founded in 1909 –
called for “complete Arab independence” from the Ottoman Empire (for the full
text of the proclamation, see Zeine 1966: 176–7), instead of the
decentralization solution which the majority of the Arab societies were calling
for at the time. The proclamation attacks the Turks and praises the Arabs in
language that is both evocative and rousing, thus emphasizing the instrumental
role of language in task-orientated terms in the nationalist enterprise. It
lists many of the grievances of the Arabs and calls on them to get rid of the
Turks, whom it describes as ÆulËj with
all the connotations that accrue from such a term (see section 3.1 above).27
What is important about this proclamation from our per- spective, however, is
the view of the Arabic language it presents and the direct manner in which it
responds to the Turkification policy in its linguistic domain. First, the
proclamation refers to the Arabic language as one of the ingredients
– in addition to common territory and interests – which make the
Arabs a
the arabic language and national identity
nation in their own right. In pursuing this theme, the proclamation
treats Muslims, Christians and Jews as a unity, declaring that “religion
belongs to God alone”. It further reminds members of these faith communities
that at least they can communicate with each other in a language that is their
own, but they cannot do so with the Turks. Second, the proclamation treats the
enmity of the Turks to Arabic – the language of God’s Arabic Qur’an and that of God’s true Arab Prophet – as a nullification of the bond of faith between the
Arabs and the Turks. Referring to the suggestions made by the Turkists to use
Turkish in the call to prayer and in performing the ritual prayers (see section
2 above), the proclamation treats this as an attempt to undermine the position
of Arabic as the primary language of Islam. The proclamation then declares that
Turkish is unfit to act in this capacity: it is a fabricated, counterfeit or
hybrid language, and the best parts of it are actually stolen from the sacred
Arabic tongue and the sweet Persian tongue. Third, the proclamation makes clear
that the Arabs cannot progress without independence and without using their
language in education, business and all legal provisions.
The second mode of resisting Turkification was through the active
promo-
tion of Arabic culture and the Arabic language. One of the best
representatives of this trend was the Arab Revival Society (established in
Istanbul in 1907), which later had to change its name to the Syrian Revival
Society to comply with government orders to remove the word “Arab” from its
title after the imposition of Turkification. The aim of this society, which had
a branch in Damascus, was to spread Arabic culture. It did so by organizing
meetings at which members studied the Arabic language, Arabic literature and
history. On Thursday nights, we are told (see al-Afghani 1971: 37), members of
the society would meet to read and discuss a poem from Abu Tammam’s famous
classical collection DÈwÅn al-ÓamÅsa.
Discussions were conducted in standard Arabic, no matter how difficult this was
for some members. In their enthusiasm for standard Arabic, members agreed to
remove all Turkish borrowings from it in response, it would seem, to the
attempts by the Turkists to purge Turkish of Arabic words.28 Members also
agreed to use this high form of Arabic at Istanbul cafes, and to replace the
Persian numerals traditionally used in backgammon by their Arabic equivalents,
although this does not seem to have had a long-lasting communi- cative effect
(witness the currency of the Persian numerals these days). Thus, instead of
using shesh-pesh, for example, they
would use arbaÆa-khamsa (four- five).
Some members went so far as to refuse to offer beggars any charity until they
had asked for it in standard Arabic, the formulae for which members of the
society would teach them (cf. Chapter 3, section 4 for a similar practice by
the Umayyad caliph ÆUmar Ibn ÆAbd al-ÆAziz).
This enthusiasm for standard Arabic was also exhibited in the
establishment of
the little-known Society of Eloquence (JamÆiyyat al-IfßÅ˙) in Beirut, whose main
aim was to encourage the use of the standard language. Some
Arabists went even further. Al-Afghani (ibid.: 166) tells us of an attempt by
the Lebanese Amin Nasir al-Din in 1901 to cast all the news in his newspaper in
poetry. One issue contains three short poems describing a snowstorm in Jizzin
(in Lebanon) and the destruction it caused, a visit of a foreign frigate to
Beirut and a meeting of the Austrian Parliament in Vienna in which the Speaker
delivered an obituary of Queen Victoria that drew the ire of the opposition,
who, in return, expressed their support for the Boer against the English.
A third mode of resisting Turkification before and after the rise
of the Young Turks was the resort to poetry to rebut the attacks mounted by the
Turkists against the Arabs and Arabic. An example of this is a poem by the
blind Palestinian poet, Sulayman al-Taji al-Faruqi, which he addressed to
Sultan Muhammad Rashad, successor of Abdul Hamid after the 1909 Young Turk
revolution; in it, he reminds the Sultan of the Arabs’ past glories and their
innately excellent character, before he tells him that the neglect of Arabic
and the ban on using it in the schools had led to its decline (ibid.: 44). Amin
Nasir al-Din considers the attacks of the Turkists against the Arabs in whose
language the Qur’an was revealed as no more than an expression of inferiority
on the part of the Turks (ibid.: 49). Another poet, Fu’ad al-Khatib (ibid.),
attacks the Turks for maligning the language of the Qur’an, and he rejects
their claims that the Arabs’ attempts to modernize their culture through their
language are a form of dissension or civil strife in the Empire. The Lebanese
poet ÆAbd al-Hamid al- RafiÆi (ibid.: 45) describes the Turks as a bunch of
hypocrites who feign love of Islam, treating their attacks against Arabic as
the best evidence of this hypocrisy.
3.3 The Intellectuals Speak
Let us now consider the contribution of some members of the
intellectual elite whose ideas on language are important for an understanding
of the sociopolitical situation in the Ottoman Empire between 1876, the
beginning of Abdul Hamid’s reign, and the end of the First World War. Lest the
reader think that the language issue was always cast in a nationalist
framework, I will begin by con- sidering the contribution of two Islamist
reformers, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani (1839–97) and ÆAbd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi
(1854–1902). Both of them believe that the Muslims constitute one nation.
However, al-Kawakibi differs from al-Afghani in assigning political primacy in
this nation to the Arabs by virtue of their close association with Islam,
including the fact that Arabic is the language of the Qur’an. Of the twenty-six
points he lists to outline the “excellent qualities of the Arabs”, three relate
to their language (see Haim 1962: 79–80; the second number indicates the
original number in the list as given by Haim): (1/19) “Their [the Arabs’]
language, of all the languages of the Muslims, takes greatest care of
knowledge; it is preserved from extinction by the noble Qur’an”;
the arabic language and national identity
(2/20) “The language of the Arabs is the language common to all the
Muslims, who number 300 million souls”; and (3/21) “The language of the Arabs
is the native language of 100 million people, Muslim and non-Muslim”. It is
interest- ing to note here that the last point shows an awareness on
al-Kawakibi’s part of the role of language in creating non-religious bonds of
identity, although the main thrust of his argument remains religious in
character. As Zeine (1966: 70–
1) rightly says, al-Kawakibi’s “bitter attacks against the Turks do
not make him an Arab nationalist”.
Likewise, al-Afghani’s recognition of the role of language in
creating group bonds which are perhaps as strong as, if not actually stronger
and more lasting than, those created by adherence to the same faith does not
make him a nationalist thinker in the traditional sense:
There are two kinds of bond between people: the bond of language
and the bond of faith. The bond of language is the basis of nationality (jinsiyya). Language is more stable and
more permanent than faith [in this regard]. Witness the fact that some nations
had changed their religion twice or even three times during a thousand years
without this affecting their linguistic or national unity. We can therefore
conclude that the bonds of language are more lasting than the bonds of faith in
human life. (quoted in al-Bazzaz 1993: 543)
Nor does the fact that al-Afghani advised Sultan Abdul Hamid to
make Arabic the official language of the Ottoman Empire to strengthen the
Islamic character of the state make him an advocate of Arab nationalism.
However, this interest in language on the part of al-Kawakibi and al-Afghani
serves to show the extent to which non-nationalist elites were aware of the
affiliative role of language and of the need to harness its power for political
purposes. We may illustrate this point by reference to al-Afghani. Hourani
(1983: 118) states that al-Afghani’s reasoning in this connection was motivated
by the following conviction: “if only the Ottomans had adopted the Arabic
language as that of the whole empire, its people would have had two links
[religion and language] instead of one, and it would have been united and
strong”.
The language issue was also dealt with by Muhammad Rashid Rida
(1865– 1935), an Islamist thinker whose views on the nature of the Islamic
revival and the political means of achieving it changed with the changes in the
political scene during his adult life. However, it would be true to say that
his views on the role of language in identity-formation remained more or less
the same through- out his long and active career as the editor of the famous
newspaper al-ManÅr (1898–1935). In
his excellent study of this period in Rida’s life, Muhammad Salih al-Marrakishi
(1985: 456–69) identifies four areas in the linguistic debates at the time to
which this thinker contributed: (1) the relationship between Arabic and Islam;
(2) the Turks and Arabic; (3) the struggle between standard Arabic and the
colloquials; and (4) the establishment of a language academy to
the arabic language unites us
oversee the protection and modernization of the language. Since
only the first two points relate to the scope of this study and fall within the
interests of the period under consideration here (1876–1918), I will restrict
myself to them only. Rida established a relationship of mutual dependency
between Arabic and Islam. He believed that Islam depended on Arabic and Arabic
depended on Islam in an organic and indissoluble manner.29 This led him to the
view later in his career that knowledge of Arabic was a necessary condition for
being a full Muslim. In putting forward this view, Rida invoked the authority
of the famous jurist Imam ShafiÆi (150/767–204/820), although he exaggerated
his views on this topic. So organic was the relationship between Arabic and
Islam that Rida considered any attack on the former to be an attack on the
latter in a modern form of shuÆËbiyya.
He therefore attacked the Ottoman Turkists and the Young Turks for seeking to
undermine the language. In an article he published in al- ManÅr in 1913, he castigated the Young Turks for failing to
spread Arabic as the most important language of the Empire. Arabic, he
believed, was more worthy of sponsorship and promotion than Turkish in the
Empire for five reasons (ibid.: 461): (1) Arabic is the language of the Qur’an,
and the Qur’an is the primary source of Islam, which is the official religion
of the Empire; (2) Arabic is the language of the Islamic sharÈÆa, which is the basis of legality in matters of personal and
civil law in the Empire; (3) Arabic is the language of the majority of Ottoman
subjects; and, since the majority of the Arabs do not know Turkish, it is
incumbent on the Turks to learn Arabic for the efficient running of the state;
(4) Arabic is needed by most Ottoman subjects for reasons of faith
and the
performance of religious duties; and (5) Arabic is the most
important source of Turkish, so knowledge of Arabic is necessary for a full
knowledge of the Turks’ – by implication, derivative – language.
Towards the end of the First World War, Rida’s hitherto Arab
Ottomanist views started to change in the direction of a more assertive Arab
Islamist out- look. Whereas before he had campaigned for an Ottoman state in
which the rights of the Arabs were respected, and the position of Arabic was
recognized and operationalized in the terms set out above, now he started to
advocate a more Arabist position in which, implicitly, the role of the language
had to be slightly modified. He outlined his views on this matter in terms in
which a relationship of equivalence between Arabism and Islam was established
(quoted in Hourani 1983: 301): “I am an Arab Muslim and a Muslim Arab … My Islam
is the same in date as my being Arab … I say, I am an Arab Muslim, and I am
brother in religion to thousands upon thousands of Muslims, Arabs and non-
Arabs, and brother in race to thousands upon thousands of Arabs, Muslims and
non-Muslims.” In this respect, Rida shifts to a position similar to
al-Kawakibi’s. On the one hand, he considers the Arabs – the majority of whom
are Muslims – to be the core component in a revived Islam. On the other hand,
he believes
the arabic language and national identity
that the ties of language and culture create bonds of unity between
Muslim and non-Muslim, mainly Christian, Arabs.
A different kind of contribution to the debate about language and
identity, in the context of Turkification, was offered by ÆAbd al-Ghani al-ÆUraysi
(1891– 1916) and Amin Abu Khatir. Both of these writers were Arabist
Ottomanists in their declared intentions, although this may not have been more
than an attempt on their part to hedge their bets until such a time as the
fortune of the Empire was finally decided. ÆAbd al-Ghani al-ÆUraysi’s
contribution to the burgeoning scholarship on Arab nationalism has been little
studied, perhaps because his life was cut short by his Turkish executioners in
1916 in Beirut, along with other suspected leaders of the increasingly
politicized Arab national movement. His main contribution to the debate over
Arab nationalism was through his articles in the newspaper al-MufÈd, which he partly owned and published under the titles LisÅn al-ÆArab and FatÅ al-ÆArab whenever the authorities ordered it to be shut down
(see Khalidi 1981).30 The first of these surrogate titles, which may be
translated as The Voice of the Arabs,
is interesting because of the lexical associations it makes with language
through the meaning of the word lisÅn as
“tongue” (as in speech), and the identity of the name itself with the title of
the best-known Arab dictionary, Ibn Manzur’s LisÅn al-ÆArab. It is important to note here that al-ÆUraysi’s
views on the language issue in the debate over Arab national identity are
explicitly framed in the context of resist- ing the Turkification policies of
the Young Turks in all spheres of application. In carrying out this task,
al-ÆUraysi (1981) tells the Turks that the Arabs are the lifeline of the Empire
and, in a play on words, that al-MufÈd is
an Arabist newspaper, fa-l-mufÈd ÆarabÈ,
which semantically doubles up as “what is bene- ficial for the Empire is
Arab/of Arab nature”. He also reminds the Turks that their anti-Arab
Turkification policies render them Islamic renegades (al-atrÅk al-ΩÅlimÈn al-kafara, ibid.: 162), supporting his view in
this connection – though not in the particular context of this quotation – by
quoting eleven of the Prophet’s ˙adÈths
(traditions) which equate full belief in Islam with the love of the Arabs
(ibid.: 65). It is significant that the last two of these ˙adÈths deal with the sanctity of Arabic and its special place in
Islam (ibid.): “God has not sent a revelation to any of the Prophets except in
Arabic”, and “He who among you can speak Arabic should not speak Persian”.
Perhaps al-ÆUraysi’s best-known views on language and national
identity
occur in his Paris Congress speech (20 June 1913), in which he
raised the question of whether the Arabs had the right to form a [national] group
(hal li-l- Æarab ˙aqq jamÅÆa) (ibid.:
107):
According to political science, groups do not deserve to have this
right unless, following the German model, they have linguistic and racial
unity; or, following the Italian model, they have historical unity and unity in
customs and traditions; or,
the arabic language unites us
following the French model, they have a common political will. If
we consider the case of the Arabs from all these perspectives, we will find
that they [the Arabs] have unity of language, race, history, traditions,
customs and political ambitions. It is therefore an inalienable right of the
Arabs, supported by the full weight of political science, to form a group, a
people (shaÆb) and a nation (umma).
It is interesting that al-ÆUraysi does not list religion as one of
the ingredients in the formation of a group at any of the above (ill-defined)
levels, in spite of the fact that he considers religion as a factor that unites
the Arabs and the Turks in Ottoman citizenship (wa†aniyya)31 but not nationality (jinsiyya). It is also inter- esting to note in this connection that
al-ÆUraysi declares on a few occasions that full citizenship in the Ottoman
Empire is meaningless without the recognition of nationality. This explains
al-ÆUraysi’s appeal to all Christian, Jewish and Muslim Arabs to work together
in pursuit of their legitimate national rights as first and foremost an Arab
group. It is also interesting that al-ÆUraysi is fully aware of the important
voluntarist element in nationality-formation – what Renan called the “daily
plebiscite” in his conception of the nation (see Chapter 2, section 2). It is
this awareness which enables us to treat al-MufÈd
as an instrument for moulding the ingredients of Arab nationalism as the
basis of a task-orientated programme of action, wherein the purposeful willing
of the nation to come into existence will lead to its concrete existence at
some future point. In addition, it is interesting to note that al-æUraysi
treats the unity of language as the most important ingredient in constituting
the Arab nation. Considering this, it is incumbent on the Arabs to resist the
Turkification policies of the Young Turks. This resistance may be pursued
through a variety of means. Foremost among these is pressing the Ottoman authorities
to recognize Arabic as the primary official language, before Turkish, in the
Arabic-speaking provinces in the schools, the courts, the army and the public
administration. In articles in al-MufÈd on
this topic, al-ÆUraysi demands that this recognition be enshrined in the
consti- tution of the Empire, rather than having it promulgated in ministerial
edicts or bye-laws which can be changed at the whim of whoever is in power, at
any time
(ibid.: 21).
Second, al-ÆUraysi calls on the Arabs to force the foreign schools
in the Arabic-speaking provinces, particularly the French-sponsored ones, to
give Arabic the status it must have as the national language of the people
whose children study at these schools (ibid.: 230 and 215–17). Al-ÆUraysi
argues that since language is the primary means of acculturation in the
schools, it is important that Arab children should be taught through their
language, rather than the languages of others, if they are to emerge as full
members of their community. Recognizing the importance of language as a factor
in nation-formation and modernization, al-ÆUraysi calls for the promotion of
three languages in all schools in Syria, in the following order: Arabic (the
national language), Turkish
the arabic language and national identity
(the official language) and a foreign language which could be
either French or English.
Third, al-ÆUraysi calls on the Arabs to show loyalty towards their
language. He therefore calls on them to shun the use of foreign languages in
their personal and public lives, including the pretentious use of French in
business cards, a practice so prevalent that even those who do not know French
have started to follow it (ibid.: 206). He also launches a bitter attack against
the postal services in Beirut which use Turkish and French, but not Arabic, in
their public notices and note-headed telegraph papers. In an article in al-MufÈd (ibid.: 204–6) called Tafarnus al-Æarab (The Francophonization of the Arabs)/Tafarnas al-Æarab (The Arabs
have become Francophonized) – thought to have been penned by al-ÆUraysi
– the use of French is ridiculed, and contrasted with the care and
respect which the French and the English bestow on their languages in
communicating with others. To drive this point home, al-ÆUraysi tells his
readers that he witnessed this pride in one’s national language on several
occasions. On one such occasion (ibid.: 206), an English visitor to Beirut is
said to have refused to use French with a Lebanese hotel-owner, insisting that
the owner look for an interpreter to mediate between them. But he also tells
them, with great pride and enthusiastic approval, how an Arab official refused
to talk to his Turkish superior in Turkish outside office hours, insisting that
once outside the municipality building where he worked he would use Arabic
only.
Fourth, al-ÆUraysi calls on the Arabs to shun the use of ornate
language and pompous personal titles in their writing, which he regards as an
abhorrent impor- tation from the Turks whose wont it is. In an article entitled
“Glorification [of the Other] is a Sign of Humbleness and Submissiveness”,
al-ÆUraysi calls on the Arabs to reject the linguistic practices of the Turks,
where the elevation of the addressee and self-deprecation on the part of the
addresser is the norm between people of different social standing.32 Al-ÆUraysi
regards this antiquated practice as a deviation from the more egalitarian norms
of expression which the Arabs applied in addressing their caliphs and, even,
Prophet Muhammad himself. Lest this be regarded as an idle call on the part of
al-ÆUraysi, he makes the point that, since the persistence of external
appearances can change the essential qualities of an object, the frequent use
of pretentious language and pompous titles can change the moral character of
those who indulge in it. Hence the title of the article above. It is
interesting to note here that the Turkists were aware of this fact and that
they sought to simplify the highly formal style in their language in official
documents (see section 2).
Let us now turn to Amin Abu Khatir, for whom the Islamic identity
of the
state was not strongly engaged as a central agent in its political
constitution. In an interesting article in the Egyptian magazine al-Muqta†af (October 1913), Amin Abu
Khatir (1854–1922)33 offered a very
perceptive analysis of the
the arabic language unites us
relationship between language and national, as opposed to civic,
identity and applied this to the situation in the Ottoman Empire. Abu Khatir
takes as his starting point the inadequacy of defining national identity in
racial terms. He also regards as inadequate all attempts to define national
identity in terms of common interests, a shared past history, shared customs or
a common citizen- ship. Language, argues Abu Khatir, is the criterion of
national identity par excellence, so much so that the status of a language in
the world may be con- sidered as a shorthand for the status of the nation that
speaks it (see Khuri 1991: 139). In a thinly veiled reference to the
Turkification policy of the Young Turks, Abu Khatir points out that a
self-respecting nation would fight to the bitter end to defend its language
against all aggressors who seek to undermine it by outlawing its use in education,
in the courts and in dealings with all organs of the state. Abu Khatir
expresses this in a metaphoric way, stating that “since it is not possible to
convince a person of sound judgment that he should have his head cut off, by
the same token it is not possible for any set of laws to convince
[metaphorically, force] a nation to abandon its language” (ibid.: 140).
Abu Khatir argues that some politicians consider decentralization
as the best
solution to the problems facing nationally composite states, of which
the Ottoman Empire is one. Under such a solution, the languages of the
different nationalities would be recognized as equal partners, and each would
have its own sphere of operation based on demographic and geographic factors.
Abu Khatir argues that although this solution may work in the short term, it
will not do so in the long term. He points out that since the efficient running
of state affairs will perforce demand the use of one language, there is no
eschewing the fact that one of the languages in such a composite state would
emerge as the official language, and that the speakers of that language will
inevitably emerge as the favoured nation. Abu Khatir argues that this situation
would create a two-tier citizenship: a first-class citizenship for those whose
language is chosen or emerges as the official language, and a second-class
citizenship for the rest. Compromise over linguistic issues in status-planning
terms (see section 4 below) cannot therefore be effected in ways which can
achieve equality of prestige and privileges between nations. In this scheme of
things, linguistic survival is equivalent to biological survival, with the
clear implication that only the fittest in both cases will survive or win. In
another thinly veiled reference to the post- Paris Congress discussions about
the recognition of Arabic as an official langu- age in the Arabic-speaking
provinces in the Ottoman Empire, Abu Khatir urges the Arab representatives who
were sent to negotiate with the Young Turks in Istanbul not to compromise over
the legitimate and nationally life-sustaining demands of their people. He
suggests that it is the Arabs’ right, under any system of natural justice, to
defend their language against the Turkification policies. He also points out
that the Young Turks should heed this and grant the Arabs their
the arabic language and national identity
linguistic and other rights, on the basis of a principle of
equality, if they wish the Empire to survive. Should this not happen, then the
Young Turks must be prepared either to use force to Turkify the Arabs, or
accept that the Arabs will use force to achieve their independence. That the
latter was considered the more likely result, and that such a conclusion could
occur soon, was in no doubt in Abu Khatir’s mind.
It is clear from what has been said in this and the preceding
section that the Ottoman Empire was in a no-win situation similar to that which
the Austro- Hungarian Empire faced in the second half of the nineteenth century
(see Anderson 1991: 84–5). As with German vis-à-vis Hungarian in the latter
sphere, Turkish acquired the double status of a “universal-imperial” and a
“particular- national” language in relation to Arabic and other languages in
the Ottoman Empire. This presented the authorities with an insoluble dilemma.
The more they sided with Turkish and supported it, the greater the resistance
of Arabic and other speakers against the language and the Empire. Similarly,
the more con- cessions the authorities made to Arabic and other languages, the
greater the dismay and enmity which the Turkish-speakers felt towards these
languages and their speakers, and the greater the demands made by the speakers
of these languages for further concessions. Against this background, the
analysis given by Abu Khatir above seems to characterize well the dilemma
facing the Otto- man Empire.
4.
ibrahim
al-yaziji: from immediate aims to underlying motives34
The title page of George Antonius’ classic study The Arab Awakening: The History of the Arab
National Movement, published in London in 1938, carries as an epigraph in
beautiful Arabic calligraphy the first hemistich of the first line of the ode
composed by Ibrahim al-Yaziji (1847–1906): tanabbahË
wa-stafiqË ayyuhÅ al-Æarabu (“Arise, ye Arabs and Awake!”).35 This was not
fortuitous. It was meant to signal some of the main themes in Antonius’
assessment of the emergence of the Arab nationalist idea in the second half of
the nineteenth century. In parti- cular, Antonius intended it to highlight the
cultural nature of this nationalism in its initial stages, although he was
aware that culture and politics cannot always be separated from each other,
even if it was intellectually possible to posit the view that a cultural
awakening is a prerequisite of nationalism in its political mode. More
specifically, the choice of this hemistich draws attention to the role of
literature as a means of communicating the nationalist idea which, Antonius
(1938: 60) points out, was “borne slowly towards its destiny on the wings of a
renascent literature”. It further underlies the linguistic component in this
nationalism; for, if Ibrahim al-Yaziji is remembered for anything at the
the arabic language unites us
beginning of the third millennium, he is certainly remembered for
his call for and contributions to the revival of the Arabic language towards
the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth. As
William Cleveland says about Antonius, he believed that language was the “most
decisive feature of the Arab nation, and his analysis of the twin concepts of
language and culture serves as the foundation of his claim that an Arab nation
exists” (1997: 69).
Antonius’ views on the emergence of Arab nationalism have been
subjected to critical inquiry in recent years (see Cleveland 1997, Haim 1953,
Hourani 1981, Kirk 1962 and Lukitz 1984). One criticism of his work concerns
his views on agency and periodization, in particular his attribution of the
formal beginnings of this nationalism to the work of the enlightened elites of
the Syrian Scientific Society which was established in Beirut in 1857 and whose
membership was drawn from Christians, Druze and Muslims.36 Another criticism
concerns the significance he attached to the work of the missionary schools in
the Levant in the nineteenth century (see section 2), and to the role of the
Christians of Lebanon in propagating this nationalism. One argument states that
“while education has been a potent factor in the awakening of the Arab Near
East, the role of missionary education in
the national-political enlightenment
of the Arab youth in the second half of the nineteenth century has been greatly
exagger- ated” (Zeine 1966: 46–7, original emphasis). Another argument states
that nationalism “did not exist in the minds of the masses of the people of the
Near East at that time” (Zeine 1966: 59–60), and that the Christians of Lebanon
were “first and foremost” interested in emancipating “the Lebanon [original emphasis] from the Turkish yoke” (ibid.: 60).
Some scholars, notably Ernest Dawn (1991), have gone even further. Dawn (ibid.:
11) considers the prevailing ideology of Arab nationalism to be a
twentieth-century creation, and that this ideology was a “development from
Islamic modernism”, although some Christian Arabs participated in it. These are
interesting issues to pursue, but their investigation and assessment lies
beyond the scope of the present study. Instead, I will concentrate in this
section on the ideas put forward by Ibrahim al-Yaziji for the revival of the
Arabic language,37 using them as a test case for showing that Antonius’ views
on the cultural nature of Arab nationalism in the second half of the nineteenth
century and the role of the language as the major ingredient in this
nationalism are not wide of the mark. By discussing the work of Ibrahim
al-Yaziji below, I also hope to show the extent to which the cultural roots of
Arab nationalism had developed during the second half of the nineteenth
century, and the contribution made by this important Christian thinker in
propagating this nationalism. In addition, this discussion will demonstrate
that high style and Qur’anic references are not the preserve of Muslim writers,
thus contradicting what the British chargé d’affaires in Istanbul intimated in
his commentary on one of the Beirut placards (see section 3.1).
the arabic language and national identity
In pursuing this task, I will use as an organizing framework some
of the insights of language-planning, which were indirectly applied above. On
the one hand, these insights enable us to treat Ibrahim al-Yaziji’s work on the
revival of the Arabic language as an example of corpus-planning which, in his case, applies mainly to lexical
elaboration and the simplification of pedagogic grammars as the twin channels
of linguistic modernization.38 His defence of standard Arabic against the
dialects may be interpreted as a matter of status-planning,39
but only in the weak sense of this concept owing to the futility in practical
policy terms of the calls to replace the standard by a dialect or dialects in
the Arab context (see Chapter 6). On the other hand, this framework allows us
to relate issues of corpus-planning to the non-linguistic ends they are often
intended to serve. As Robert Cooper (1989: 35) reminds us in his excellent
study of language-plan- ning in its social context,
Language planning is typically carried out for the attainment of
nonlinguistic ends such as consumer protection, scientific exchange, national
integration, political control, economic development, the creation of new
élites or the maintenance of old ones, the pacification or cooption of minority
groups, and mass mobilization of national or political movements … Definitions of language planning as the
solution of language problems are not wrong, but they are misleading. They
deflect attention from the underlying motivation of language planning. Inasmuch
as language planning is directed ultimately toward the attainment of
nonlinguistic ends, it is preferable … to define language planning not as
efforts to solve language problems but rather as efforts to influence language
behaviour. (emphasis added)
In corpus-planning terms, most of al-Yaziji’s interest in the
revival of the Arabic language concerns the imperative of enhancing its
communicative potential in a fast-moving world of new ideas and inventions
emanating from an increasingly hegemonic West. Al-Yaziji believed that although
the Arabic of his day was characterized by lexical deficiency, this deficiency
was due not to any lack of lexical resources on the part of the language per se but to the state of its speakers
who, over centuries of misrule and neglect, had led impoverished lives
materially and otherwise. He expresses this diagnosis in a variety of ways, all
revolving around the theme that the vitality of a language derives from the
vitality of its people. This analysis premises a true revival in the fortunes
of the Arabic language on a genuine revival in the state of its people without,
how- ever, denying that attempts by the elite to revive the language can be a
factor in the general revival of its people. In the latter mode of this revival,
language becomes an important instrument of social change. It is this
interactive and reiterative nature of the relationship between language and
people which underpins al-Yaziji’s firm belief in the necessity of his and
similar proposals for enriching the lexicon of the Arabic language by
exploiting its morphological resources to coin new terms, appropriating disused
words to designate new con-
the arabic language unites us
cepts, extending the meanings of some words to encompass related
meanings and Arabising/Arabicising foreign words.
In the field of grammar, al-Yaziji’s corpus-planning suggestions
mainly pertained to the need to produce new streamlined and simplified
pedagogic grammars which can help language-users deploy it correctly, whether
in speech or in writing. This interest in the communicative functionality of
grammars is also evident in his end-of-session address to the 1890 graduates of
the Patri- archate School in Beirut. He called on them to tailor their interest
in grammar to their communicative needs, lest the excessive preoccupation with
the former deflect them from the active use of the language as an instrument of
scientific and cultural modernization. Al-Yaziji further devoted his attention
to correct- ing mistakes made by writers in the press media in a series of
articles he pub- lished in his magazine al-ÎiyÅ’
in 1905 and elsewhere. He justified this activity by pointing to the long
reach of the press media as a diffuser of new usages and as the surrogate
legitimizer of grammatical errors.
Let us now turn to the non-linguistic ends behind these
corpus-planning activities, to what I have called in the title of this section
the underlying motives that lie
behind the immediate or declared aims of language-planning proposals. The two
overarching themes here are, first, the role of language as the marker par
excellence of the identity of its Arabic-speakers as a nation in their own
right, and, second, the importance of placing the efforts to revive the
language within a modernization framework in which the promotion of a rational
attitude and a scientific outlook in Arab life have pride of place. Interest in
these two ingredients in the modernization framework is evident from the
attempt in al-Muqta†af (a popular
Egyptian journal) in 1881 to define some of the operative concepts in the art
of rational debate for the benefit of its readers (see Khuri 1991: 27). These
included mujÅdala (argument), mukÅbara (refusal to admit one’s
untenable or erroneous position), muÆÅnada
(argumentation out of ignorance), mughÅla†a
(sophistry), munÅqa∂a (contradiction),
muÆÅra∂a (fallacy of asserting the
consequent) and ghaßb (rejecting the
opponent’s premises before they are validated). It is as though by defining
these terms the editors of al- Muqta†af,
YaÆqub Sarruf (1852–1927)40 and Faris Nimr (c. 1854–1951), were trying to
provide some of the standards for producing and assessing the debates their and
other newspapers initiated at the time, an example of which is an article in al-Muqta†af in 1882 (ibid.: 54–7). The
fact that these terms had currency in various branches of the Arabic
intellectual tradition bestows the desired authenticity on their modern
applicability.
The key point in the first theme (language and identity) is the
repeated
assertion by al-Yaziji that language and nation are two sides of
the same coin. In a series of articles published in al-BayÅn in 1897–8, al-Yaziji posits an equi- valence relation
between language and nation (al-lugha
hiya al-umma bi-ÆaynihÅ,
the arabic language and national identity
Khuri 1993a: 62). He spells this out by pointing to the role of
language as the carrier of a nation’s cultural and scientific heritage and as
the boundary-setter between itself and other nations (hiya al-faßl al-fÅriq bayna umma wa-umma, ibid.). The Arabic
language is therefore projected by him as the only effective bond between the
members of the nation (fa-hiya Æillat
al-∂amm al-˙aqÈqiyya, ibid.), a bond whose integrative power far exceeds
that of the disintegrative influences of race, religion and customs, as well as
transcending the conditions of political, economic and social division which
characterize the community of Arabic-speakers (ibid.). This view of the
connection between language and nation underlies al-Yaziji’s belief – expressed
in al-ÎiyÅ’ in a series of articles
published between 1899 and 1900 – that the very existence and vitality of a
nation depends on the existence and vitality of its language. Al-Yaziji returns
to this theme in his discussion in al-ÎiyÅ’
(1901–2) of the relationship between the standard and the dialectal forms
of Arabic, where he declares that the former is the sine qua non of the Arab nation (fa-lÅ baqÅ’ li-umma bi-dËn lughatihÅ, ibid.: 232).
Al-Yaziji’s view of the role which language plays in defining national
iden-
tity, exaggerated though this may be in some of its formulations,41
is consistent with the claims made by Antonius about the relationship between
these two constructs in Arab nationalist thinking. It is this identification
between nation and language which causes al-Yaziji to decry the use by some
Arabic-speakers of foreign greetings terms, such as bonjour and bonsoir, in
place of the rich array of greetings terms in Arabic (see al-ÆUraysi’s views on
this matter in section 3.3 above; see also Chapter 5, section 2 for similar
views by al-ÆAlayli). Al-Yaziji believes that those who use the foreign terms
need to be educated in the love of the homeland and in the importance of
developing a positive self-image in relation to other nations which, in the
full sweep of history, are less culturally endowed than their Arab nation. In a
different place in al-BayÅn (1897–8),
al- Yaziji points to the danger posed by foreign schools which, by promoting
their own national languages among Arabic-speaking pupils, create bonds of
affilia- tion between these pupils and the nations whose languages they learn
at the expense of their native tongue and the bonds of nationhood it
generates.42 This phenomenon was commented on in the same vein by Muhammad Kurd
ÆAli, President of the Arab Academy in Damascus and author of Khi†a† al-ShÅm (1926, vol. 4), who wrote
(quoted in Tibawi 1969: 178): “We have met [in our travels in Greater Syria]
men and women educated at foreign schools who became neither Arabs nor
Europeans: they speak at home a language other than their own, and exhibit
sentiments other than those of the Syrian, nay, they hate their own tradition
and history and their country is black in their eyes”.43
In setting out these views, al-Yaziji constantly refers to the
Arabs as an umma
(nation), albeit a stateless one. This term occurs in his writings
hundreds of
the arabic language unites us
times, sometimes correlated with the word al-lugha (the language) and at others with the word lughatunÅ (our language) as its defining ingredient. Al-Yaziji is aware of the
political division of the Arabic-speaking peoples into different entities and
spheres of imperial or colonial influence, but this does not stop him from
identifying these people as one umma in
the cultural sense of this term. Evidence for this can be derived from two
directions. On the one hand, al-Yaziji believes that the dangers facing Arabic
in the lands directly controlled by the Ottomans, as a result of their
increasingly Turkifying tendencies, are com- parable in national-identity terms
to those facing the language in the French- occupied countries of North Africa.
There is no doubt that, for al-Yaziji, the countries of North Africa and the
Arab Middle East form the constituents of this nation. A reference to this
occurs in his reflections on the phenomenon of stress (nabr) in Arabic phonology, where he provides evidence for his views
on this linguistic phenomenon from the dialects of the Levant, Egypt, North
Africa and the Arabian peninsula.
On the other hand, al-Yaziji is of the opinion that Egypt is an
important part of the “Arab nation” (al-umma
al-Æarabiyya, Khuri 1991: 53) – or just the nation (al-umma), as he generally calls it – although in one or two places
he designates the people of Egypt as the Egyptian nation. Thus he points out
that, of all the Arabic-speaking lands, Egypt is best qualified to lead the
language-revival movement in the modern period (ibid.: 62). This explains the
various calls he made to the Egyptian elites and the Egyptian government to set
up a language academy to lead the effort to revive the language lexically and
grammatically and to protect it against the corrupting influences of foreign
languages and the colloquials. The fact that al-Yaziji was aware of the many
obstacles facing such a project, including the reluctance of the Egyptian elite
and official bodies to place Egypt in a sphere of Arab national identity, is
significant: it shows the extent to which he believed Egypt to be an integral
part of the Arab nation.
This belief was reflected in the comments he made on a language
conference held in Cairo towards the end of the nineteenth century to deal with
issues of lexical revival facing Arabic at the time as a result of the influx
of foreign terminologies. While welcoming this initiative as one which dealt
with a “grave matter” facing the nation, al-Yaziji was critical of the
conference organizers, who restricted participation in it to the Egyptians
only. Al-Yaziji argued that since the issue concerned all Arabic-speakers, not
just the Egyptians, participa- tion in the conference should have been made
open to all those who were competent to contribute to the debate, regardless of
their citizenship. He believed that this would have enhanced the work of the conference,
since Egypt on its own did not possess the necessary expertise in foreign
languages to be able to discuss issues of language contact and lexical revival
single-handedly. Al-Yaziji went even further, deploring the restrictive policy
of the organizers as a form of
the arabic language and national identity
“autocracy” (istibdÅd,
ibid.: 59) which undermined the “bonds of unity” (Æurwat al-wi’Åm, ibid.) between the Egyptians and other groups of
Arabic native speakers. It was also a policy which went against the grain of
Arab history during the golden age of Arabic translation when the Abbasid
Caliph al- Ma’mun (218/833) used non-Arabs to transfer into Arabic the lore of
other nations. In short, al-Yaziji believed that although the aim of the
conference was a legitimate and laudable one, the restriction of participation
in it to the Egyp- tians only went against (1) the spirit of national
affiliation generated by the language, (2) the general thrust of Arab culture
at that moment in its history when it embodied the very ideals the modern Arab
renaissance wished to exca- vate, revive and recreate, and (3) the principles
of cooperation and democratic participation which a rejuvenated Arab nation had
to espouse and vigorously promote if it was to advance forward on a sure
footing.
Let us now consider the second theme in the non-linguistic ends of
al-Yaziji’s work on the revival of the Arabic language: the promotion of a
rational and scientific outlook in Arab life. Point (2) in the preceding
paragraph provides a suitable entry into this topic. It signals that any
revival of the language as a central component in the modernization of the Arab
nation must be rooted in a proper appreciation of the role of the past as a
motivating factor, linguistic guide and source of authenticity. Consideration
of the past glories of the language and its speakers is sufficient to fill the
modern Arab with pride and to confirm him in the conviction that his language
has the necessary resources to partake in the modern Arab renaissance fully and
constitutively (cf. Chapter 3, section 1). For this to happen, a determined
attempt must be made to excavate Arabic lexica and related works to discover
the dormant resources of the language for task- orientated ends in the
linguistic and, indirectly, non-linguistic spheres of modernization. Al-Yaziji
is nevertheless aware that such an attempt must not degenerate into an
“imitation” which slavishly reveres the past without tapping into its
empowering potential.
This reference to the past is sometimes used not just to
authenticate a
modern solution to a perceived problem, but also as a strategy of
protecting the language against interferences from foreign proper names. In his
discussion of Arabicization, al-Yaziji states that all borrowed materials must
either be made to conform to the phonological and morphological patterns of the
language, in which case they melt into it and lose much of their foreign
identity, or they are deliberately made to signal their foreign origin. The
latter strategy, which may be called foreignization or exoticization, is
proposed for proper names, although this necessitates the introduction of new
symbols in the Arabic script (see Chapter 5, section 2 for al-Bazzaz’s
opposition to the use of foreign names in public notices). Al-Yaziji justifies
this expansion in the script by invoking a similar solution which Ibn Khaldun
proposed in his Muqaddima to
transcribe
the arabic language unites us
words borrowed by Arabic from Berber, Turkish and European
languages. By making this reference, al-Yaziji legitimizes the present in terms
of innovative and authoritative aspects of the past, thus bestowing on his own
proposal the seal of innovation in a double move of authenticity and
modernization. Re- creation of innovative aspects of the past in the present is
considered by al- Yaziji no more than a reinvigoration of the latent capacities
of the nation which, when harnessed properly, can lead to its revival as a
leading member in the community of modern nations.
A major aspect of modernization for al-Yaziji is the promotion of
science, the method and its results, as a regenerative force in the life of the
nation. Thus, his writings are full of references to the importance of science
for the advancement of civil and political life (see Chapter 6, section 4.1 for
a somewhat similar attitude by Salama Musa in the context of Egyptian
nationalism). In particular, science is seen by him as a source of power for
any nation in promoting its own interests and in resisting the pressure from other
nations. Al-Yaziji, however, is mainly interested in science as a mode of
reasoning and investigation, as method; and this enables him to treat science
as one indivisible element which applies to the humanities and non-humanities
alike. He sets out his views on this matter in the first issue of the magazine al-ÊabÈb (The Physician/Doctor), relaunched in 1884 following the suggestion
of its first editor, Dr George Post (see section 3), after a period of
withdrawal from circulation. Al-Yaziji takes this opportunity to proclaim an
expansion in the readership of the magazine to include merchants and
shopkeepers, farmers, pharmacists, doctors, poets and prose-writers, civil
servants and those engaged in formal oral delivery (ibid.: 20). There is no
doubt that al-Yaziji sought to expand the original readership
(physicians/doctors) of the magazine for reasons of commercial viability, but
his main motivation was one of promoting an attitudinal, if not actually a
behavioural, change in his intended elite readership – and, through them, other
members of the nation – in which science as a method rules supreme. This is
clear from his editorial policy in al-Bayan,
launched in Egypt in 1897, where a wide readership was aimed at to ensure that
this attitudinal vision reached as wide a section of the national elite as
possible.
The point that interests us most in all of this is the place of
language in this
new vision. By making the Arabic language the topic of many of his
essays in his various magazines with their expanded readership, al-Yaziji aims
to save it from routinization, from the normal conception of it as a decentred
medium of communication to a centred view of it as an object of modernization,
and as the medium through which the promotion of science as method is effected.
In this scheme of things, language starts to assume a heightened symbolic
visibility in addition to its communicative functionality, as was the case in
Turkish nationalism, where Gökalp “sought to make the national revival of the
Turkish
the arabic language and national identity
language … a stepping-stone to a similar renaissance in other
fields of culture and social life” (Heyd 1950: 110). Thus, if the Arab nation
is to emerge as a nation on a par with other modern nations, it must attend to
science as method and to its national language as a subject or domain to which
this method can be applied, and through which the results of this method can be
communicated. To press the claim that Arabic can be the object of scientific
study, al-Yaziji stresses in several of his articles the systematic nature of
the language and the fact that, in spite of its diachronic mutability and
synchronic variability, it is rule-governed. And, to show that this indeed is
the case, he sets out his observations on the systematicity of Arabic in the
first issue of the relaunched al-ÊabÈb,
published in 1884, although the title of this magazine may at first suggest
that language is one of the least likely candidates as a topic for promul-
gating the principle of the indivisibility of science as a method. And, since
most of al-Yaziji’s views on the systematicity of Arabic are no more than
reiterations of the Arab grammarians’ descriptions of the language, the
application of the scientific method here receives the authentication of
tradition which, as I have explained earlier, is a defining feature of
modernization as conceived by this proponent of modernity.
It may, however, be argued that al-Yaziji chose language as the
topic of his discourse on science as method because of his own personal
expertise on this subject, and that, consequently, one should not read too much
into this choice. While it is undeniable that al-Yaziji was first and foremost
a linguist, it is widely acknowledged that he had considerable expertise in
astronomy, about which he wrote and which, we assume, he could have chosen as
the topic for promulga- ting his conviction that science as method is the most
highly prized possession of any developed nation. The fact that al-Yaziji chose
not do so indicates that his selection of language as a test case for
promulgating his views on science and nation-building is deliberate, not
accidental.
Al-Yaziji’s commitment to the scientific method as an important
attitudinal ingredient in the modernization of the Arab nation is organically
linked with the espousal of a rational attitude which considers the validity of
a thesis or point of view before it considers the motives behind it. Here
again, al-Yaziji chooses a linguistic controversy to highlight his views on the
matter. The controversy in question revolved around the call in Egypt towards
the end of the nineteenth century, mainly by British civil servants (see
Chapter 6, section 4.1), to (1) use the colloquial in place of the standard as
the medium of formal education, and (2) replace the Arabic alphabet by a Roman
one. Proponents of these two proposals argued that the adoption of these two
measures would enable the Egyptians to deal with the problem of illiteracy and,
therefore, modernization in an effective way. Unlike other critics of these
proposals, al- Yaziji refused to reject them a priori for being motivated by non-linguistic ends
the arabic language unites us
rather than purely linguistic ones. Instead, he tried to establish
whatever merits they had on linguistic grounds, and then proceeded to refute
them. For example, al-Yaziji concedes that the adoption of the colloquial may
indeed be conducive to an accelerated promotion of science in Egypt, but he
argues that a revived standard form of the language can do the same while,
additionally, preserving the Arabs’ link with their cultural heritage as a
component in the definition of national identity.
The attempt to highlight this rational mode of argumentation is a
deliberate one on the part of al-Yaziji. He refers to it in several places in
his essays. One such reference occurs in his review in al-ÊabÈb (1884) of Dozy’s Supplément
aux Dictionnaires arabes. Before proceeding to criticize this dictionary,
al-Yaziji reminds his readers of the great service which Dozy had rendered to
all Arabic- speakers by compiling this work, then adds that his own espousal of
the scientific attitude imposes on him the obligation of evaluating this work
in a balanced but critical manner (Khuri 1993a: 39). This critical attitude as
a mode of thinking extends to the Arab cultural products of the past as it does
to those of the present, even when in the present they are penned by the author
himself or by his father. Thus, some of al-Yaziji’s articles in al-ÎiyÅ’ for the years 1905–6 deal with
the linguistic errors that he and his father had made in their poetry. Al-
Yaziji specifies these errors, outlines their sources, then proceeds to correct
them, aiming all the time to show that the adoption of science as method means
constant vigilance which, when aided by a rational attitude, leads to accepting
legitimate refutation even when the object of this refutation is one’s own
ideas. Al-Yaziji regarded imparting the scientific and rational approach as the
primary objective of modern education in the Arabic-speaking lands. But he also
believed that this approach can be effective only when coupled with an outlook
on language which places it at the centre of all intellectual endeavours. To
illustrate these themes, I will refer to the end-of-session address to the
gradu- ates of the Patriarchate School in Beirut, which al-Yaziji was invited
to deliver
in July 1890 (see Jeha 1992: 85–105).
The main theme in this address is the importance of espousing the
scientific approach as a mode of inquiry and as a form of scholarly behaviour.
As a mode of inquiry, the scientific approach characterizes learning as a
lifelong activity with commitment to accepted standards of proof and
counter-argumentation, as well as to standards of enunciation in which obfuscation
and doubtful evidence are rejected. As a mode of scholarly behaviour, the
scientific approach imposes on its practitioners the need to avoid personal
criticism. But it also requires them to be open to criticism, which they should
never deflect whenever it is justified. However, for all of these values to be
realized, the practitioners of the scientific approach must always strive to
express themselves in clear and precise language which, inevitably, demands
that they familiarize themselves with as
the arabic language and national identity
much as they need of the linguistic sciences. Language, the Arabic
language, is therefore central to the success of the scientific approach as a
medium of modernization. This is why al-Yaziji declares that in every nation
competence in one’s language is given priority over all other sciences, and
that this should be the norm among the educated elite in the Arab nation (see
Chapter 6, section
5.2
for a similar view by Kamal al-Hajj in the context of Lebanese
nationalism). The fact that al-Yaziji received many linguistic questions from
his readers about correct usage must have been seen by him as an indication of
the importance attached by these readers to competence in the language and as a
vindication of his above views. Al-Yaziji must also have considered the fact
that the questions he received at al-BayÅn
and al-ÎiyÅ’ came from inside and
outside the Arabic- speaking countries (Egypt, Lebanon, Palestine, Syria, Iraq,
Hijaz, the Argentine, Brazil, the Dominican Republic, Italy and the
Philippines) as a confirmation of his view that the Arabs formed a nation in
the cultural sense, regardless of their citizenship status or geographical
distribution. In addition, the fact that many of the questioners from outside
Egypt were, judging by their names, Christian served to show that the defining
function of Arabic in national terms cut across religious affiliations.
Let us now consider some of the strategies which al-Yaziji deployed
in setting out his views on language and national identity, and in propelling
Arabic- speakers on the road to modernity. As far as the issue of language and
identity is concerned, al-Yaziji deliberately employs the term aÆÅjim and its derivatives (see Chapter
3, section 5) to designate non-Arabic-speakers and their languages. Often, the
context makes it clear that the term aÆÅjim
includes all non-speakers of Arabic regardless of their religious
affiliation. This has the effect of creating an equality in Æujma (foreignness) between the Turks,
whom al-Yaziji wished to distinguish from the Arabs in national-identity terms,
and others, including the speakers of English and French in whose colonial or
imperial spheres of influence the Arabs lived. To underline the identity
difference between the Arabs and the speakers of other languages, al-Yaziji
additionally uses the term lughat al-∂Åd (the
language of ∂) to designate the
Arabic language and all the linguistically based connotations that accrue from
this expression (see Chapter 3, section 5).
By using the above two terms, al-Yaziji invokes their historical
and cultural
legacy of differential self-identification in a way which
telescopes the present into the past and uses the latter to inform parallel
situations in the former. Furthermore, he uses these two terms to frame his
description of the occurrence of linguistic corruption in the Arabic of his day
as la˙n (solecism), thus creating
another platform from which to invoke the resonant potential of the past. In
one of its implications, the term la˙n implies
the existence of a foreign agency behind the linguistic corruption (see Chapter
3, section 4). It also implies the
the arabic language unites us
need to put in place counter-measures to protect the Arabic
language against marauding linguistic influences, hence the references by
al-Yaziji in this context to Abu al-Aswad al-Du’ali (see Chapter 3, section 4),
who was entrusted with the first major corpus-planning project in the early Islamic
period. The use of the term la˙n additionally
places al-Yaziji’s effort to revive the language in a rich historical context,
endowing it with a strong motivational force by virtue of its indirect
connection with the preservation of the language of the Qur’an. Al- Yaziji
warns his readers that failure to protect their language from the effects of
solecism may turn it into a laughable, hybrid dialect on a par with Maltese,
whose linguistic identity is not certain.
The above link with the language of the Qur’an is not accidental in
al- Yaziji’s work. A survey of his essays in the various magazines he published
shows that one of his favourite strategies in motivational terms consisted of
quoting the Qur’an directly or of creating intertextual links with it for the
effect these will have on his readers. First, these references are intended to
create bridges of unity between al-Yaziji, a Christian, and his intended
audience, the majority of whom are most probably Muslim. By creating
intertextual links with the Qur’an, al-Yaziji intends to turn its text into a
national linguistic-cum-cultural asset that belongs to all Arabic-speakers
regardless of their religious affiliation. This has the effect of communicating
to al-Yaziji’s Muslim readers the idea that, although the Qur’an unites them
with the Turks doctrinally, it does not do so linguistically or culturally, and
that it is in these two arenas, through the text of the Qur’an, that the Muslim
and Christian Arabs come together as one nation in the face of the Turks. To
show how extensive these intertextual links are, I will list some of the
numerous statements made by al-Yaziji together with the Qur’anic material they
recall (the translations below, especially those of the Qur’anic material, are
approximate):
1.
hal atÅ ÆalÅ al-sharqi ˙Ènun mina
al-dahri lam yarjiÆ li-l-Æilmi fihi ßadÅ (Khuri 1993a: 19) Has not the East/Orient (sharq) passed through a period of time when science had no mention
(lit. echo) in it?
1a. hal atÅ ÆalÅ al-insÅni
˙Ènun mina al-dahri lam yakun shay’an madhkËrÅ (Qur’an 76:1) Has not man
passed through a period of time when he had not been mentioned?
2.
wa-yaßilËna fÈ khidmatihi ÅnÅ’a
al-layli bi-a†rÅfi al-nahÅr (ibid.: 52)
And they (those who serve the cause of science) work day and night
in its service.
2a. wa-min ÅnÅ’i al-layli
fa-sabbi˙ wa-a†rÅfi al-nahÅr (Qur’an 20:13) And glorify thy Lord night and
day.
3.
yawma lÅ yanfaÆu mÅlun wa-lÅ banËna
illÅ man atÅ AllÅha bi-qalbin salÈm (ibid.: 53). The day when wealth and sons will not avail, but he
alone will prosper who brings with him to God a sound heart.
3a. yawma lÅ yanfaÆu mÅlun
wa-lÅ banËna, illÅ man atÅ AllÅha bi-qalbin salÈm (Qur’an 26:88–9)
the arabic language and national identity
The day when wealth and sons will not avail, but he alone will
prosper who brings with him to God a sound heart.
4.
li-yaq∂iya AllÅhu amran kÅna mafÆËlÅ
(ibid.: 82)
God may accomplish that which had been decreed.
4a. wa-lÅkin li-yaq∂iya
AllÅhu amran kÅna mafÆËlÅ (Qur’an 8:42) But God may accomplish that which
had been decreed.
5.
wa-l-salÅmu ÆalÅ man ittabaÆa
al-hudÅ (ibid.: 123) Peace be to him who
follows the guidance.
5a. qad ji’nÅka bi-Åyatin min
rabbika, wa-l-salÅmu ÆalÅ man ittabaÆa al-hudÅ (Qur’an 20:47)
We have come with a Sign from your Lord. Peace be upon him who
follows the guidance.
The above discussion shows that language for al-Yaziji is the
leitmotif around which a range of interrelated themes coalesce. It is the
ingredient which makes a community a nation. In so doing, language cuts across
racial and religious modes of self-definition among Arabic-speakers. Language
is also the subject in terms of which the twin themes of modernization –
science as method and rationality – are promoted in symbolic and communicative
terms. Language thus emerges as the means of bringing about an attitudinal
change in the modern Arab nation, and acts in its revived form as a symbol for
that modernity. Considering all of these features, it is not surprising that
Antonius suggested language as the linchpin of establishing the Arabs as a
nation in the cultural sense. The fact that al-Yaziji sought to canonize Arab
nationhood in poetry – the Arabs’ primary mode of literary expression – in his
famous ode alluded to at the beginning of this section adds to his role as one
of the founders of Arab nationalism.
To understand the depth of al-Yaziji’s commitment to his views on
language,
identity and modernization, I shall consider them briefly in
relation to two major debates in the intellectual circles towards the end of
the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century. One debate,
initiated by the weekly al-Nashra
al-usbËÆiyya in 1881, deals with the use of foreign languages for learning
non-language-based subjects in the schools. A similar debate took place at the
time, and it dealt with the replacement of Arabic by English as the language of
instruction at the American Protestant College in Beirut in 1882 (see section
3). Opinions on the issue of using foreign languages were divided between those
favouring their use and those who rejected it, with each group adducing
arguments in favour of their position based on the role of language in
identity-formation and modernization. The second debate revolved around Arabic
diglossia, and which of the two varieties, the standard or colloquial, should
be promoted in status-planning terms in Arabic-speaking countries. Again, this
debate was framed by reference to the two categories of identity and moderniza-
the arabic language unites us
tion. These two debates, and the host of self-definition issues
with which they interlocked, show the sociopolitical importance of the language
in the period under consideration. Al-Yaziji’s views must be seen as part and
parcel of this general atmosphere among the elites, one of whose strands was to
consider the ways and means by which their people could develop and catch up
with the West. However, on a different level, these debates show that al-Yaziji
held to his views in spite of the currency of alternative orientations on the
linguistic modernization front which he could have, if he so wished, adopted.
What is remarkable about al-Yaziji’s position, therefore, is the consistency
and dogged determination with which he expressed it. Equivocation is not his trait.
He believed that Arabic was the marker par excellence of the national identity
of its speakers, as well as the means of delivering the coveted results of
modern- ization in all spheres in a thoroughly modernized and modern idiom. The
fact that al-Yaziji pursued the first of these themes from a base in Egypt, at
a time when the country was more absorbed in its own territorial identity (see
Chapter 6), further underlines his Arabic-based nationalist credentials.
Considering the extensive nature of the evidence that has been
marshalled
above, it is not surprising that George Antonius regards Ibrahim
al-Yaziji as one of the earliest proponents of Arab nationalism in its cultural
mode, a view reiterated more recently by Mikha’il ÆAwn (1983). The fact that Antonius
failed to consider al-Yaziji’s contribution to this nationalism beyond the
refer- ences he made to his famous ode may have contributed to this linguist’s
relative invisibility in the burgeoning scholarship on Arab nationalism in the
West. It is for reasons of wanting to rectify this lacuna in the study of Arab
nationalism that I have devoted a large portion of this chapter to considering
aspects of al- Yaziji’s thinking. This discussion has also shown the following:
(1) the sophisti- cated nature of Arab nationalism in its cultural mode during
the last two decades of the nineteenth century, (2) the organic interactions
between langu- age, nationalism and modernization, (3) the role of the past in
underpinning this triadic interaction, and (4) the attempt to invoke the
linguistic medium of the Qur’an as a national bond that overrides the
differences in religion among the Arabs.
5.
conclusion
In this chapter, I have tried to show that, for the study of Arab
nationalism to proceed properly, it must consider the development of this
phenomenon, on both the cultural and political levels, in the wider context of
the emergence of Turkish and, to a lesser extent, other (Balkan) nationalisms
in the Ottoman Empire in the last quarter of the nineteenth and early decades
of the twentieth century. In particular, I have tried to suggest that the
double trajectory of the
the arabic language and national identity
Turkifying trend in the Ottoman Empire – which was first aimed at
the Turks before culminating as a policy objective that was coercively targeted
at the Arabs – played a crucial role in the shift from the cultural to the
political in the development of Arab nationalism. The above discussion has also
tried to show that the analysis of this shift cannot be complete without
considering the role of language in it both materially and emblematically.
Language in this context emerged as the object of modernization in material
terms and as the vehicle through which the fruits of modernization in other
spheres can be expressed and promoted in the Empire. But language was also used
emblematically as the marker of group identity which increasingly expressed
itself in national terms. In debates about this, language served as the site of
contestation in relation to which issues of group inclusion and exclusion could
be articulated without incurring the full wrath of the censor. The use of
language in this manner was considered as a manifestation of the
language-planning principle which says that most of the so-called linguistic
debates about language reform in the world, whether of the status or the corpus
type, are ultimately aimed at non-linguistic ends. This is certainly true of
the call for Arabic and Turkish reforms which were used as a blatant camouflage
for putting forward views of a covertly political nature.
The increasing politicization of the language issue in Arab
nationalism depended on the successful excavation of the Arab heritage. The
connections between Arabic and Islam were projected in a nationalist guise that
had the full support of the Prophet’s traditions. Reference to the foreignness
of the Turks was articulated intertextually by invoking the boundary-setting
meaning of carefully chosen and strategically sited expressions from that
heritage, including the terms Æajam, Æilj and lughat al-∂Åd. Poetry, the Arabs’ primary art form, was pressed
into service to express a cultural identity that is nationally sui generis. But poetry was also used
for motivational effect. Complaints about the neglect of Arabic in education
and the state apparatus were expressed in poetry to criticize the Turks and to
shame the Arabs into action. This occurred in poems specifically composed for
this purpose, as well as in placards and proclamations which sometimes began by
quoting a line of poetry and ended by quoting a few more. None of this would
have happened without the emergence of a literary renaissance which was
sustained by an expanding school system consisting of a state sector, an
indigenous private sector and a foreign or missionary sector. The increasing
popularity of journalism and the introduction of modern printing presses with
greater and better output fed into this renaissance and derived support from
it. In this increasingly complex web of cultural innovations and nascent
political developments of a nationalist kind, Arabic emerged as that ingredient
which unites Arab Muslims and Christians into a new identity that separates
them from the Turks. This process was accelerated after the rise of the
the arabic language unites us
Young Turks to a position of seemingly uncontested power in 1909.
Secret socie- ties and cultural clubs championed the cause of the language for
the symbolic significance it has in Arab life and heritage, and for its
efficacy as a conduit for expressing overtly nationalist demands. In expressing
these demands, some nationalist thinkers showed themselves familiar with the
various modes of defining national identity in Western political thought. This
does not mean that Arab nationalism was an importation from the West. A careful
assessment of the roots of this nationalism is bound to show that it is more
home-grown than transplanted from the outside, although “home” here must be
understood as the Ottoman Empire in all its diachronic and synchronic
complexities. Western ideas were important as the framework in terms of which
the emerging conception of an Arab nation could be formulated and presented to
the outside world for the purpose of achieving specifically political aims.
On a different level, the above discussion is intended to serve as
a critique of the study of Arab nationalism which, thus far, has suffered from
the lack of an integrative theoretical perspective and, more cripplingly, the
reluctance to adopt a view of the phenomenon which expands the types of data
which can shed light on it beyond their current historical and political limits
(cf. Hutch- inson and Aberbach 1999). In particular, although language has
often been acknowledged as the primary feature of Arab nationalism, and as the
surrogate channel through which suppressed political ideologies can make
themselves visible, little work has been done on its role in this phenomenon.
This has, in my view, led to an impoverished understanding of Arab nationalism
– and other territorial nationalisms in the Arabic-speaking countries, for that
matter – although the studies by Armbrust (1996), Baron (1997) and Suleiman
(1993, 1994, 1996b, 1997, 1999a, 1999b) have offered a way forward which this
work is intended to pursue.
Finally, the move from the cultural to the political in the
development of
Arab nationalism in the period under consideration in this chapter
may be interpreted as a move from the covertly and indirectly political to the
overtly and directly political in nation-formation. Or, looked at as a
back-projection from the present to the past, this development may be
visualized as a move from what is overtly and directly political to what is
overtly and directly cultural. The idea that cultural nationalism can be
“purely cultural”, in the sense of being devoid of any political impulses, is
therefore not possible without denying the open-endedness of cultural
signification. Furthermore, it is not possible to insist that the “cultural” in
cultural nationalism is purely cultural without denying the fact that what the
sender sends, and what the receiver receives and reconstructs, may not always
be identical. It may therefore be more helpful in the study of nationalism to
say that the cultural can never be ascertained to be devoid of political
meanings, in the anthropological sense of the term “political”, and that
the arabic language and national identity
the political can never be ascertained to be devoid of cultural
signification, in the anthropological sense of the term “cultural”. What
matters therefore in the study of nationalism is the assessment of the mix of
these two dimensions at any one stage in the development of a given nationalism,
rather than ascertaining the existence of their logically impossible mutual
exclusion.
5
fa-lisÅnunÅ
al-Æarabiyyu khayru muwa˙˙idi1
1.
introduction
The status of Arabic as a marker or ingredient of an Arab national
identity which distinguishes speakers of the language from the Turks within the
Ottoman Empire was set out in Chapter 4. Initially, language delivered this
function in a predominantly cultural mode of collective self-definition which,
nevertheless, was not devoid of sociopolitical overtones. The imposition of
Turkification as a policy objective in the last years of the Ottoman Empire
helped transform this nascent Arab nationalism into a more overtly political
one. Arab cultural clubs and societies were established to pursue a variety of
overtly or covertly nationalist aims within the Empire, building in this effort
on the achievements of a cultural and literary revival which gave the Arabs a
sense of pride in their past heritage (see Chapter 3). Poets, lexicographers,
linguists, essayists, teachers and students participated in this revival,
benefiting in this process from the increased contact with the West at a rate –
and at a level and of a quality – unprecedented in the past. Language was
central in this newly emerging enterprise of contrastive self-definition. It
was the ingredient which separated the Arabs from the Turks. And, by virtue of
its seemingly non- political nature, it served as the conduit for setting out
ideas which could escape the ever-alert eye of the censor, who was not reluctant
to exercise his authority, as happened several times to al-ÆUraysi’s newspaper al-MufÈd (see Chapter 4, section 3).
However, the separation of the Asian part of the Arabic-speaking world from the
Ottoman Empire at the end of the First World War marked a subtle change in the
role of language in self-definitional terms. Whereas before the break-up of the
Empire the language was pressed into service primarily as a criterion which
externally bounded the Arabs, it was
now increasingly projected as an ingredient which bonded them internally. Using the words of the celebrated Egyptian
poet Ahmad Shawqi (1868–1932), which he uttered in a different context, Arabic
started to be promoted as a metaphorical “fatherland” or “homeland” (wa-mÅ al-Æarabiyyatu illÅ wa†an), as the
soil in which a group’s national identity is rooted and to which it gives
sustenance and life.
The idea that language is a marker of national identity was not
restricted to
the arabic language and national identity
men of letters only in the last few decades of the Ottoman Empire.
It was articulated in studies of a more schematic nature long before the
collapse of the Empire after the First World War. As early as 1870, Francis
al-Marrash (1836–
73) distinguished between the two concepts of wa†an (the place to which a person belongs, the fatherland) and umma (the group of which a person is a
member, the nation), without insisting on the necessity of the fatherland and
the nation being united under the jurisdiction of a single, unitary state (see
Nassar 1994: 212–14). In discussing the application of the latter concept in
the context of Greater Syria, al-Marrash points to the role played by language
– in addition to customs and the belief in common interests that override faith
boundaries and sectarian differences – in defining national identity. The
impor- tance of the language ingredient in this concept of the nation, although
limited by the other two factors, is evidenced by the attacks al-Marrash
mounted against those who code-switched to foreign languages in their speech or
those who favoured these languages in attitudinal terms (see Chapter 4,
sections 3–4 for similar views). It is also signalled by the fact that he
deplores the dialectal differences between the Syrians which, we must assume, he
considers a danger to the linguistic bond that unites them.
The distinction between fatherland and nation is also made by the
Egyptian
Azhari educator Hasan al-Marsafi (1815–90) in his short treatise RisÅlat al-kalim al-thamÅn (A Treatise in Explanation of Eight Terms),
first published in Cairo in 1881. The eight terms dealt with in this treatise
are: umma (nation), wa†an (common territory), ˙ukËma (government), Æadl (justice), Ωulm (tyranny), siyÅsa (politics),
˙uriyya (freedom) and tarbiya (education). Of these terms,
“nation”, “fatherland” and “education” – particularly the first and the last –
receive most attention. The other terms are dealt with sparingly, especially
“politics”, which is dealt with in passing only. Since the main interest in the
present work lies in issues of language and national identity, I will restrict
myself here to al-Marsafi’s definition of the nation insofar as it relates to
language as its major ingredient. It may be helpful before launching this
discussion to point out that al-Marsafi’s RisÅla
was most probably intended as a reflection on the emerging national culture
in Egypt. Al-Marsafi’s RisÅla is
therefore a confirmation of the currency of the above concepts in Egypt in the
second half of the nineteenth century rather than an attempt to inject them
into Egyptian political life during that period. It is, however, not always
easy to understand what al-Marsafi actually means by a particular term. This
reflects (1) the inherent indeterminacy of these terms conceptually, (2) their
recency in Arabic sociopolitical discourse,
(3) the loose formulations in which the author sometimes casts his
explana-
tions, owing to the dictation method he used in composing his RisÅla because of his blindness, and (4)
the poor quality of the first printed copy of this treatise. It further
reflects the desire by al-Marsafi to fit these terms into a mould which
arabic, first and foremost
suited Egypt’s sociopolitical realities in the last two decades of
the nineteenth century. In particular, it signals the desire to establish Egypt
as a modernizing nation-state on a par with other developed states, without
regard to the bonds of religion which may unite it with the Ottoman Empire.
Al-Marsafi defines the nation as a “group of people with a common
bond which, induction tells us, may be language, territory, or faith” (1984:
63). Al- Marsafi then tells us that nations united by a common language have a
greater claim to nationhood than those united by territory and faith. He
explains this by invoking the innate nature of language in human life on the
individual level and its character as an inalienable property of its speech
community on the social. As the major instrument of socialization, a common
language creates affiliative bonds between its speakers and sets them apart
from the speakers of other languages (see Chapter 2, section 4). So important
is the role of language as a barrier and facilitator of inter-nation
communication that al-Marsafi compares different linguistically defined nations
to non-communicating animals (al-˙ÅyawÅnÅt
al-Æujm) until they learn each other’s language. Although a major criterion
of nationhood, the existence of a common language does not neces- sarily
correlate with the existence of a single state with political jurisdiction over
those who speak the language concerned in the territory they inhabit.
It is however not clear whether, according to al-Marsafi, all those
who speak
Arabic constitute one nation, in spite of the fact that the kind of
Arabic this author reveres and wishes to promote through education is standard
Arabic, the language of the Qur’an, rather than the “corrupt” dialects which
are infected by solecism (see Chapter 3, section 4). Al-Marsafi’s commitment to
this form of the language is evidenced by (1) the emphasis he places on
simplifying the way it is taught to learners to enable them to use it more
correctly in public life, and
(2) the blistering attack he launches against the imams of mosques
whose Friday sermons are replete with grammatical errors. There is, however, no
mention in the RisÅla that the Arabs
constitute one nation by virtue of the fact that they share a common language.
The term al-umma al-Æarabiyya (the
Arab nation) occurs once only in this work (p. 162), but not to specify the
nationhood of this nation by reference to the linguistic criterion. Moreover,
although the term al- Æarab (the
Arabs) occurs a few times in the RisÅla,
it is nevertheless used to refer to the Bedouin inhabitants of Egypt –
reflecting the usage of the time in Egypt and the influence of Ibn Khaldun’s
terminology on the author – rather than “the Arabs” in Arab nationalist
discourse. But if al-Marsafi does not explicitly recognize the existence of an
Arab nation, he equally does not rule it out. If anything, it is more likely
that al-Marsafi would be more willing to entertain the existence of an
Arabic-speaking nation – considering his views on the lack of unity among
Muslims historically – than one based on Islam. The fact that the term al-umma al-mißriyya (the Egyptian
nation) is used by this author a few times
the arabic language and national identity
does not contradict this conclusion, owing to the fact that this
term is often anchored in relation to the criterion of territory. And since, he
tells us, this criterion is not as effective as its linguistic counterpart in
the formation of nations, the above conclusion concerning the role of language
as a basis of an Arab nation, albeit a latent one, remains intact.
The view that language is an ingredient in nation-formation, and
that Arabic plays this role for its speakers, was promoted by other writers
before the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. One such writer was æUmar Fakhuri
(1895– 1946)2 in his book Kayfa yanha∂
al-Æarab? (How Can the Arabs Rise?)
– first published in Beirut in 1913 and reissued in 1981 – in which he puts
forward the view that language is one of the “highest manifestations of
nationalism” (1981: 141), in combination with common origin and common history.
Another writer whose views on the topic are worthy of mention is Salah al-Din
al-Qasimi (1887–1916),3 who worked tirelessly to promote the teaching and
learning of Arabic as a means of resisting the Turkification policies of the
Young Turks (see Chapter 4, section 3). His interest in this field was
motivated by the conviction that language is a component of nationalism, that
the Arabs constitute a nation, and that since the “surest way of bringing about
the demise of a nation is eliminating its language” it was incumbent on the
Arabs to defend their language against the Turkifying policies of the Young
Turks (1959: 45).
But these and other attempts at linking nation with language in the
Arab context remain vague when it comes to deciding whether or not all those to
whom Arabic is a common language belong to the same nation. One of the first
and perhaps clearest pronouncements on this issue was made by Najib ÆAzury
(1873?–1916) in his book Le Réveil de la
nation arabe dans l’asie turque (published in Paris in 1905), in which he
set out his ideas on Arab independence from Turkish domination (see Wild 1981).
ÆAzury believed that the Arabs in the area east of Suez constituted one nation,
regardless of their religious and sectarian differences, and that this nation
should form an independent kingdom under the leadership of a member of the
Khedival dynasty in Egypt. But he specifically excluded from the scope of this
nation the Arabic-speaking peoples of North Africa and Egypt, in spite of the
fact that they shared with the Arabs in Asia the same language which, in this
context, he regarded as a factor in nation- formation. The exclusion of the
countries of North Africa may be explained by the fact that they were under
French domination at the time, and that any attempt to include them in his
project would have earned him the enmity of the French, whose support he needed
in the struggle against the Ottoman Empire. His exclusion of Egypt, which was
under British control at the time, may also have been motivated by
considerations of a similar nature as well as by his dislike for the Egyptian
leader Mustafa Kamil, whose pro-Islamic and pro- Ottoman policies ÆAzury
regarded as false. But he also argued that the Egyptians
do not qualify for inclusion in this Arab nation owing to their
different racial origins (he says they are descended from an African Berber
family), the well- defined geographical borders of Egypt, and the fact that
before the incorpora- tion of Egypt into Islam the Egyptians did not speak
Arabic. The last of these arguments is a curious one, since the same may be
said of other communities in the projected Arab nation in Greater Syria and
Iraq. This view, however, is fully understandable in its own political context
as set out in the preceding few lines. However, the fact that he called for his
proposed Arab kingdom to be headed by a member of the Khedival dynasty in Egypt
indicates his willingness to leave the door open for Egypt to be part of this
kingdom.
The main aim of this chapter is to investigate a set of
contributions which goes beyond ÆAzury by seeking to incorporate into one
nation all those to whom Arabic is a common language in the Middle East and
North Africa. Advocates of this ideology, which is referred to in the
literature as pan-Arab nationalism – or Arab nationalism for short – treat
language as one of the major ingredients in nation-formation. For some, Arabic
is in fact the major ingredient which binds the Arabs to each other internally
and which sets them apart from other nations. The two nationalist thinkers
whose views will constitute the bulk of this chapter are SatiÆ al-Husri and
Zaki al-Arsuzi. However, before dealing with these two thinkers, I will discuss
the contributions of a few important, though less seminal, modern writers to
show the depth of the trend in modern Arab thought which associates national
identity with language.
2.
under the
banner of arabic
The first writer I will deal with is the Lebanese linguist and
jurist al-Shaykh ÆAbdalla al-ÆAlayli (see BaÆalbaki 1984, Dimashqiyya 1984,
Khuri 1984, Mruwwa 1984, SaÆd 1984 and Tarhini 1985), whose modernizing work on
various aspects of the Arabic language is part and parcel of his belief in its
role as a factor in Arab nationalism (see Chapter 4, section 4). Al-ÆAlayli’s
(b. 1914) major work in this field is Dustur
al-Æarab al-qawmi (The Arabs’
National Constitution), first published in 1941 and twice reprinted since,
the last time in 1996 (all references below are to this edition). This is an
interesting work because of the range of views on Arab nationalism that it
contains. It is also interesting because the author sought through its elevated
style and its unusually fully vowelled script to signal aesthetically and
grammatically the type of Arabic he wished to promote in the national
enterprise: a standard language that was grammatically correct and, hence,
capable of invoking the linguistic sensibilities of the Arabs in all the
Arabic-speaking countries. This rich symbolism of the book reflects the
author’s view of this work as the national “constitution”, of and for the Arabs.
the arabic language and national identity
Although al-ÆAlayli does not spell out how his book functions as a
“constitution”, the following may offer some explanations. It is the national
constitution of the Arabs by virtue
of the fact that it recognizes the status of Arab nationalism as an intuitively
felt component of Arab subjectivity. In this sense, Arab nationalism predates,
historically and logically, all the studies which seek to explain it or, more
correctly, uncover it. As such, Arab nation- alism can be said to exist
independently of the theoretical and descriptive accounts which deal with it.
Furthermore, his book is the national constitution for the Arabs because it sets out to objectify this intuitive
nationalism by reference to nationalism in the West, but without imposing the
special pro- perties of the latter on the former.
In spite of the emphasis this work lays on careful and correct
(linguistic) enunciation, there are at least two major problems in dealing with
it. These concern, first, the vagueness with which some of its major concepts
are articulated, and, second, the lack of consistency it exhibits in dealing
with the role of some of the factors at work in nation-building. An example of
the first problem is the definition of Arab nationalism al-ÆAlayli gives (1996:
101):
Arab nationalism is the feeling by the Arabs of becoming aware of
their full social existence in an intuitive (or subjective) way rather than in
an objective manner, so much so that [1] their imagining of the Arab community
as a psychological and life- sustaining (or biological) construct is always
intensely present in their lives emo- tionally, and [2] every Arab
instinctively and compulsorily experiences the strong and wide-spread bonds [in
this community] in a way which helps him psychologically internalise the
visible existence of the community concerned.
Al-ÆAlayli points out that this is not a definition in the logical
sense of the term, but an attempt to capture those aspects of Arab nationalism
which predate it epistemologically, that is, independently of all the attempts
to explain it in the literature. This definition further reflects al-ÆAlayli’s
essentialist belief that Arab life is characterized by a “mystical quality”
which informs Arab nationality in a formative manner; hence the references in
the above definition to the instinctiveness and intuitiveness of Arab
nationalism and the almost mystical quality which imbues the definition
concerned. Al-ÆAlayli further believes that the Arabs differ in this respect
from the West which “sold its soul to the devil of uncompromising rationality”,
leading to what he calls confusion (balbala)
and restlessness (qalqala) in Western
thought. This extends to the literature on nationalism, which has failed to
provide watertight definitions of the nation, nationality and nationalism for
universal or even for particular application.
Under this view, it may be argued that the above vagueness in the
definition of Arab nationalism does no more than reflect the inherent vagueness
of the phenomenon designated by this concept in its generic form and particular
context (see Chapter 2, section 2 for similar views). Rather than exhibiting
any
arabic, first and foremost
methodological failure on the part of al-ÆAlayli, the vagueness of
his definition of Arab nationalism is projected as unavoidable. This position
on the part of al- ÆAlayli is worthy of highlighting because it serves as an
example of similar views in the discourse on Arab nationalism. Thus, in an
article first published in 1940, Michel ÆAflaq (1993a) – the founder and one of
the leading ideologues of the Arab BaÆth Party – deplores as reductive and
intellectually subversive the attempts in Arab nationalist discourse to define
Arab nationalism by using categories imported from the West and applied to this
nationalism in a way which does violence to it. In a memorable statement of his
views, Aflaq (1993a:
80) declares that “the Arabs do not need to learn anything new to
become nationalists. On the contrary, they need to forget most of what they
have learned [about nationalism] to regain that direct link they once had with
their pure and authentic [nationalist] disposition. Nationalism is not a
science, but a matter of memory, a living memory.” In two further articles
published in 1940, Aflaq refers to Arab nationalism as an “act of love before
everything else” (1993b: 74) and as a “sweet fate” (1993c: 76) in an attempt to
signal his view that (1993a: 79) “the biggest danger to Arab nationalism is the
extreme preoccupation with abstract thought [about what it means]”.4
Let us now turn to the lack of consistency in al-ÆAlayli’s Constitution before discussing his views
on the role of language in nation-formation. In some cases, the inconsistency
takes the form of outright contradiction. This is characteristic of his views
on the relationship between the nation and the state, which he regards as
categorially distinct from each other in the sense that the former is a
“natural” phenomenon while the latter is an artificial construct. Thus, whereas
he says that “a nation cannot exist without a state” (1996: 96), he later tells
us that a nation can lose its independent state without losing its status as a
nation in its own right (ibid.). In other cases, the lack of consistency takes
the form of assessing the contribution of a particular nation-building factor
in different ways. Thus, while he says that the existence of natural
geographical borders is a factor, but not a primary one, in nation-formation,
he later treats this same factor as the most important element in
nation-building, perhaps under the influence of the ideology of the Syrian
National Party of Antun Saæada (see Chapter 6, section 2). This lack of
consistency extends to the role of language itself in nation-formation. Thus,
whereas he says that language is more important than geography in
nation-formation (ibid.: 90), he later tells us that it ranks third after
geography and common interests in this enterprise (ibid.: 110). There is,
however, no doubt that, overall, al-ÆAlayli treats language as one of the most
important ingredients in the formation of Arab nationalism, as I will explain
below.
Al-ÆAlayli’s interest in the role of Arabic in nation-building
pertains mainly to its communicative function, with some consideration for its
symbolic
the arabic language and national identity
significance. This lack of concern with the symbolic dimension of
the language is consistent with al-ÆAlayli’s views on Arab nationalism, which
exclude religion in the traditional sense from its scope. Thus, Constitution lacks the usual references
in the Arab nationalist discourse to the symbolic significance of Arabic in its
capacity as the language of the Qur’an. The absence of these references is all
the more conspicuous owing to the pre-eminence of al-ÆAlayli as one of the
leading Muslim jurists of Lebanon in the twentieth century. But it is the
identity of this thinker as an Arab nationalist from Lebanon which holds the
key to explaining why he chooses to exclude religion as a factor in Arab
nationalism. Being aware of the divisive nature of religion in the Lebanese
context, the author excludes it as a factor in Arab nationalism, although he
recognizes the need to include its spiritual dimension and moral imperatives as
part of the fabric of the Arab nation. He expresses these views by saying that
“religion has no place in nationalism” (ibid.: 150), and that “religion is the
cause of all the catastrophes between the sons of the same nation, even the
same town” (ibid.). In this respect, he is different from the Lebanese
nationalist Kamal Yusuf al-Hajj, whose views will be dealt with in Chapter 6
(section 5.2), and more akin to the Arab nationalist thinkers al-Husri and
al-Arsuzi, as we shall see below.
Al-ÆAlayli describes the role of language in nation-formation in
four ways:
(1) language plays the greatest role in nation-formation (ibid.:
90), and it is the mainstay in any stable national structure (ibid.: 104); (2)
language is a national habit (ibid.: 110); (3) language is not a product of
race (ibid.: 90), which amounts to a rejection of linguism (see Chapter 2,
section 3); and (4) language is a necessary but not sufficient ingredient in
nation-formation. The other ingredients of Arab nationalism in the order in
which al-ÆAlayli lists them are (after language): common interests, geography,
common origin or race, common history and common customs and traditions.
However, al-ÆAlayli later divides these factors implicitly into two categories:
a primary category, incorporating geography, common interests and language in
this descending order of impor- tance; and, a secondary category incorporating
the rest, whose function is to strengthen the working of the primary factors
although they are not essential constituents in defining the nation. This
classification of the factors and their ranking within the primary category
contradicts the above description of the role of language in nation-formation
in two ways. On the one hand, it compromises the position of language as the
mainstay of nationalism by placing it after geography and common interests in
the primary category, as has been pointed out earlier in this section. On the
other hand, the treatment of language as a “national habit” (ibid.) has the
effect of removing it from the primary category and assigning it to the less
important secondary category or, at least, of casting doubt on the legitimacy
of assigning it completely to the
arabic, first and foremost
primary category of nation-formation ingredients. In spite of these
contradic- tions, there is no doubt that language for al-ÆAlayli remains one of
the most significant affiliative bonds in Arab nationalism.
Al-ÆAlayli points out that language delivers two important
functions in the nationalist enterprise. The first function is that of serving
as a medium of communication between those to whom it is a common tongue. By
virtue of this function, language creates bonds of affiliation between its
users through the exchange of ideas and experiences. And, as the means of
recording the nation’s history and past glories, in addition to articulating
its culture and vision of the future, language underpins these affiliative
bonds and envelops them in such a way that it becomes in itself a mirror of the
nation’s feelings and thinking. In playing this role, language brings its
socializing function to bear on the development of members of the nation in a
way which no other nation-forming ingredient can match. The second function of
language, which is not unrelated to the first, is that of serving as a
boundary-setter between its speakers and others (see Chapter 2, section 2).
Al-ÆAlayli expresses this role of language by pointing out how people tend to
be drawn to those whose languages they share, and how they may shun or ignore
those whose languages they do not know.
Owing to the importance of language in nation-formation, al-ÆAlayli
believes
that it is incumbent on the Arabs to nurture their language in at
least two ways. First, it is the duty of the specialists among them to simplify
the language, to improve the methods for teaching it, and to provide the tools
which can protect it against foreign infiltration and internally induced
ossification, particularly in the lexical field. It is in fact this realization
on the part of al-ÆAlayli which made him one of the most prolific writers on
all aspects of the Arabic language. Thus, in addition to his seminal
publications Muqaddima li-dars lughat
al-Æarab (1938, published when he was 24 years old), al-MuÆjam (1954) and al-MarjiÆ
(1963), al- ÆAlayli published dozens of articles in many newspapers and
magazines in Lebanon and elsewhere in the Arabic-speaking world (see a list of
these articles in Tarhini 1985). Second, al-ÆAlayli believes that the Arabs
must dedicate themselves completely to their language and they must shun any
form of allegiance to other languages. In their ardent zeal for Arabic, the
Arabs must treat with “contempt and loathing” (1996: 103) any Arab who uses a
foreign language in preference to his own sacred and sublime tongue. In his
dedication to Arabic, al-ÆAlayli believes that in the context of Arab
nationalism the Cartesian principle “I think, therefore I am” must be replaced
with the maxim “I think in Arabic, therefore I am an Arab” (ibid.: 126–7).
Although this is nowhere explicitly stated in Constitution, there is no doubt
that al-ÆAlayli’s attack on foreign languages is intended as an
attack on those who treat French in Lebanon as a surrogate national language
alongside Arabic, their native tongue, or even in preference to it. In this
sense, al-ÆAlayli’s views
the arabic language and national identity
on foreign languages are a culmination, in the intensity with which
they are expressed, of earlier views concerning the divisive role that foreign
languages played in Greater Syria in the second half of the nineteenth century
and the early part of the twentieth century. In this respect, al-ÆAlayli is the
true heir of al-ÆUraysi (see Chapter 4, section 3) and Ibrahim al-Yaziji (see
Chapter 4, section 4). On a different level, al-ÆAlayli’s attack on foreign
languages in the Arab context must be interpreted as an attack on those who
wish to promote extraterritorial bonds of affiliation with the speakers of the
languages concerned, for example the French in the Lebanese context (see
Chapter 6, section 5), or those who seek to promote what he regards as outmoded
forms of territorial nationalism as an alternative to an all-inclusive Arab
nationalism (see Chapter 6).
It should not, however, be understood from this that al-ÆAlayli
disapproves of all types of territorial nationalism in the Arab context. He
distinguishes between two types of territorial nationalism: (1) Arab
territorialism, which he conditionally approves of insofar as it considers
itself a step towards overall Arab nationalism and works vigorously to promote
it, and (2) what he calls geological-archaeological territorialism. He
categorically rejects this form of nationalism because, being schismatic and a
fossilized form of self-definition, it seeks to undermine and replace Arab
nationalism as a form of group identi- fication; examples of this type of
nationalism are Phoenicianism in Lebanon, Pharaonism in Egypt and Assyrianism
in Iraq (see Chapter 6). Addressing the proponents of these “reprehensible”
territorial nationalisms, al-ÆAlayli invokes the language factor in
nation-formation to make the point that, since the languages to which these
nationalisms hark back are dead languages, these nationalisms themselves must
be declared dead too. Unlike Arabic, which is a living language, the languages
to which these ossified nationalisms refer failed to withstand the challenges
posed by other languages. In marked contrast to these languages, Arabic
expanded its pool of speakers through conquest or through more peaceful
exchanges between the Arabic-speakers and other communities. These facts make
Arabic more suitable than any of the pur- portedly alternative languages to be
the standard-bearer of Arabism as the only viable form of national
identification in the Arabic-speaking lands.
These ideas on language and national identity have found their way
into the
early work of Nadim al-Bitar (1948–93). This writer describes the
community of ideas and feelings created by language using terms that are
peculiar to al-ÆAlayli in his Constitution,
including ÆadwÅ (for the spread of
ideas) and taÆaßßub (for
uncompromising dedication to the Arabic language). In some cases, he merely
paraphrases what al-ÆAlayli says: “language is the mainstay of any stable
national structure” (al-Bitar 1993: 192 and al-ÆAlayli 1996: 104). And:
“language is no more than thoughts and feelings masquerading as words”
(al-Bitar 1993: 191
arabic, first and foremost
and al-ÆAlayli 1996: 34). The fact that an important nationalist
thinker like Nadim al-Bitar (1979, 1981, 1982) seems to follow in the footsteps
of al-ÆAlayli in explaining the role of language in nation-formation testifies
to the importance of the latter’s contribution to this area in Arab nationalist
thought. Al-Bitar highlights the two functions of language in nationalism: the
communicative and the differential or boundary-setting. By means of the former,
a nation comes together as a result of the transfer of ideas and feelings
vertically through time and horizontally across space. The existence of a print
culture which covers the four corners of the Arabic-speaking world is a
testimony to this power of the language. Through the latter function, a nation
sets itself apart from other nations. So important is language for differential
identity in nationalist thought that what is peculiar to a nation is hardly
ever adequately translatable into another language (see also Chapter 6, section
5.2). Although al-Bitar does not pursue this point beyond these limits, it may
be argued on the basis of what he says here that the “untranslatability of the
Qur’an” thesis – which is widely held in the Arabic intellectual tradition – is
but an expression of the peculiarly Arab (national) character of the text of
the revelation. In this respect, he follows in the footsteps of al-Yaziji (see
Chapter 4, section 4). In addition, al-Bitar believes that language is worthier
than a nation’s indepen- dence for its survival. Thus, a nation which loses its
independence may one day regain it. But, if a nation loses its language, it
will surely perish and die. This explains the attempts by diasporic communities
to preserve their languages, whether functionally for in-group communication or
symbolically for marking the self against the other or for linking that self
with its ethnic past (see Chapter 2, section 4). The fact that al-Bitar seems
to be primarily concerned with the functional (or communicative) role of
language in national self-identification, and only tangentially interested in
its symbolic potential, further shows the affinities between him and
al-ÆAlayli, whose views on this issue were set out
above.
This similarity also extends to al-Bitar’s position towards
territorial nation- alism in its two forms above. Thus he rejects the
schismatic type of this nationalism, which he believes was aided and abetted by
the colonial powers to undermine the affiliative force of Arab nationalism.
This, al-Bitar argues, is the reason behind what he calls the shuÆËbÈ (see Chapter 3, section 5)
attacks on the Arabic language, which took the form of promoting the
colloquials as media of communication and as symbols of national identity at
the state level. However, his position concerning the second type of
territorial nationalism, which considers itself as a step on the way towards
full Arab nationalism and state unity, is a little more equivocal. Being aware
that the Arabs in the second half of the twentieth century were divided into
several political entities, he had little choice but to recognize that as long
as these entities worked towards achieving
the arabic language and national identity
full Arab unity, then their brand of nation-statism may be
tolerated. Al-Bitar was prepared to tolerate this form of territorial
nationalism as long as it remained of a transitory character. And, in order to
make sure that what is avowedly intended to be transitory does not become
permanent, he believes that it is incumbent on entities of this type (1) to
promote the idea of a single Arab
state as a nationalist political objective, and (2) to strengthen the forces of
unity between the Arabs, particularly on the language front. To achieve this
aim, measures of the kind suggested by al-ÆAlayli above must be put in place
and vigorously pursued.
However, al-Bitar is aware that this is a precarious position to
take. This is so because, more than any other Arab nationalist thinker I know
of, he is fully alive to the role of the state, whether this is intended or
not, in creating a sociopolitical dynamic within its own sphere of influence
which can alter the course of Arab nationalism. His views on this matter are
guided by his reading of history, wherein political unity in the past was
regarded as the factor which endowed particular groups of people with common
bonds that were later put to use as ingredients in nation-formation in the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Applied to language in the Arab context, it
would be possible to say that its unifying role on the national level in the
modern period was the result, rather than the cause, of earlier political unity
which projected it as a language of widespread communication in its heyday. The
fact that this was the case in the past must surely indicate that it can happen
again in the future, but in the opposite, schismatic direction. Al-ÆAlayli was
aware of this, but he sought to counter it by taking an essentialist
interpretation of Arab subjectivity and Arab nationalism. Under this view, Arab
nationalism, once formed, is not subject to change, at least in a radical way.
Unlike al-ÆAlayli, al-Bitar is an avowed relativist and, as such, he is aware
of the malleability of identity and of the mutations it can undergo in response
to the factors at work in its own socio- political sphere. This means that none
of the ingredients of nationalism he lists in the Arab context (common race,
common language, common history, common territory, common literature, common
culture, customs and traditions, common interests, and the idea of one state)
is immune to change, though some are more resistant to manipulation by the
state than others. Of all these ingredients, language is the one which is most
resistant to manipulation. It is this fact which makes al-Bitar recognize Arabic
as the principal affiliative bond in Arab nationalism.
The view that Arabic is the principal centripetal force of Arab
unity capable of countering the centrifugal power of the territorial state is
embedded in the discourse of the BaÆth Party, and in that brand of Arab
nationalism which the late Egyptian President Nasser adopted in the wake of the
dissolution of the union between Egypt and Syria in 1961. Thus, article 9 of
the constitution of
arabic, first and foremost
the BaÆth Party declares that the “official language of the
[projected Arab] state, as well as that of all the citizens, is Arabic” (Arab
BaÆth Party 1962, “Constitution”). This article further adds that Arabic “alone
is recognised in correspondence and in teaching”. Article 10 defines an Arab as
one “whose language is Arabic, who has lived on Arab soil, or who, after having
been assimilated to Arab life, has faith in his belonging to the Arab nation”.
A similar position is taken by President Nasser in al-MÈthÅq al-wa†anÈ (the National Charter), in which he declares
that the unity of language, history and aspirations (in this order) between the
various Arab peoples reveals the unity of the Arab nation and point to its
ability to overcome the political differences between the Arab states (see Nassar
1994: 318–99). This unifying role of the language explains the enormous
interest in cultivating it as a medium of communication. Thus, in the canon of
Arab nationalism, cultivating the language becomes an article of faith, as
Ziyada (1950) states when he calls on Muslim and Christian Arabs to study the
Qur’an for its linguistic qualities, although for the former it is additionally
the source of their faith (see Chapter 4, section 4). The unifying role of
Arabic further explains the calls made by influential proponents of Arab
nationalism to protect it against infiltration by linguistic practices imported
– directly or indirectly – from outside. An example of this is the call made by
the Iraqi scholar and statesman ÆAbd al-Rahman al-Bazzaz (1956), who deplored
the use of foreign names in shop signs (including cinemas, theatres, hotels and
so on) in cities like Cairo, Baghdad and Beirut. Al-Bazzaz also deplored the
importation of the Western practice in vogue among some women in Arab society
of using their married names in preference to the indigenous Arab practice of
keeping their maiden ones. Believing that naming practices are
language-cum-culture- bound, and that it is the duty of the Arabs to protect
their culture and the naming philosophy (falsafat
al-asmÅ’) embedded in it (see Chapter 3, sections 2– 3 for related views on
names in nationalism), al-Bazzaz further deplored the use of new and
fashionable female names, for example Ahlam,
Gharam, Ibtisam and Hiyam in
preference to such names as al-Khansa’,
Asma’, Khawla, Fatima and Khadija, which are culturally and
historically sanctioned. The question of names as a linguistic practice which
can act on reality to further the political objectives of Arab nationalism is
taken up by al-Basir (1993b) in an article concerning the reference to the Gulf
as the Persian Gulf. In this article, first published in 1965, al-Basir argues
that the weight of historical and geographical evidence supports the
alternative name, the Arab or Arabian Gulf, and that this is the name which the
Arabs must use and promote to counter the effort by the aÆÅjim (Persians and other foreigners) who use the rival label
(Persian Gulf).
The above discussion shows that the early attempts at framing
nationalism in
relation to language took two forms. Some writers on this topic
failed to specify whether or not all those to whom Arabic is a common language
constituted a
the
arabic language and national identity
single nation. Francis al-Marrash and Hasan al-Marsafi belong to
this category. Other scholars were more specific, for example Najib ÆAzury, who
explicitly excluded Egypt from the scope of his concept of an Arab nation. It
was suggested above that these conceptualizations of the membership of the Arab
nation were usually dependent on the nature of the political context in
reference to which they were framed. This approach is particularly relevant for
al-ÆAlayli and al-Bitar, who, in formulating their views, were aware of the
role played by French and the colloquial in some expressions of Lebanese
nationalism. As such, these conceptualizations must be regarded as historically
contingent, as – in theory – all other such conceptualizations are. Later
attempts at discussing the role of language in nation-formation – for example,
those by al- ÆAlayli and al-Bitar – made the nation coextensive with the
community of Arabic-speakers in the countries of the Middle East and North
Africa. The most famous attempt at formulating Arab nationalism in these terms
was provided by SatiÆ al-Husri, to whose ideas I will turn next.
3.
satiÆ al-husri:
arabic, first and foremost
3.1 Populism: A Question of Style
SatiÆ al-Husri (1880–1968) is the most influential exponent of the
ideology of Arab nationalism, which – rather than its political manifestations
– will be the subject of this section.5 Al-Husri’s sustained advocacy of this
ideology in a period extending over four decades was delivered through prose
which has the quality of immediacy, of face-to-face interaction. This stylistic
feature is consis- tent with the genesis of many of his writings as public
lectures to audiences of mixed professional backgrounds and educational
achievements at different kinds of fora in the Arabic-speaking countries,
including cultural clubs, schools, teacher-training colleges, universities,
institutes of advanced higher education, and radio audiences. This is reflected
in the structure of his discourse, often consisting of short sentences and of
brief paragraphs, and in the use of lexical cues which highlight this mode of
communicative interaction, for example “at any rate” (årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fÈ al-wa†aniyya wa-l-qawmiyya, 1984a: 27),
“Gentlemen! Can you believe that …?” (ibid.: 51, 52), “At this very moment, I
am looking at the report …” (Óawl
al-wa˙da al-thaqÅfiyya al-Æarabiyya, 1985i: 15), and many others. It is
also reflected in his resorting to (1) formulaic and slogan-like repetitions (al-dawla shay’ wa-l-umma shay’ Åkhar,
1985d: 30, which may be rendered as “the state and the nation are two different
things”), (2) ideational reiterations (al-ÆurËba
fawq al-jamÈÆ, 1985d: 49, and al-ÆurËba
awwalan, 1985f: 134, which may be rendered as “Arabism first and
foremost”), and (3) the clever use of extended analogies and engaging metaphors
as heuristic aids to fix an idea in the minds of his audiences, for example the
likening of nations to great rivers
arabic, first and foremost
(ibid.: 19), or the view that the pull of the national language is
similar to that of the forces of gravity (1985j: 208). Through these and other
stylistic devices like the use of well-sited couplets, the reader enters into
an oral-like communion with al-Husri wherein this thinker performs the role of
the educator and teacher, in which he excelled in his life before and after the
actual dissolution of the Ottoman Empire in the wake of the First World War.
This mode of delivery, which often relates the content of the verbal and
non-verbal interactions he had with real or imagined interlocutors in
face-to-face communication – at times involving his son Khaldun – is consistent
with his brand of populist nationalism in whose propagation al-Husri is
prepared to use all manners of means, including explanation, persuasion,
inculcation, indication, wooing and enthusing, to address both the mind and the
heart of his audiences (cf. Óawl al-
qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya, 1985j: 16). Hence the description of his brand of
nationalism as populist.
On a different level, this oral-like quality of al-Husri’s
discourse exhibits his interest in linguistic performance as a mode of
purposeful action (saying is doing), whose aim is to bring about an attitudinal
change in the interlocutor for social or political ends. While personally
shunning politics in the sense of practice, which he calls “low politics”,
al-Husri’s discourse is still political in the “high” sense: it is intended to
motivate people to achieve the political ends lying behind the cultural
nationalism which he firmly espouses. In this scheme of things, al-Husri
conceived of style as a means to an end, rather than as an end in itself.6 In
adopting this position, al-Husri conforms to his own stipulation that the
mission of literature in the formative stage of nation-building is one of
education and mobilization rather than one of achieving artistic elegance,
beauty and excellence for their own sake. This orientation on al-Husri’s part
does not spring from the fact that he spoke Arabic with a foreign accent, for
there is no doubt that he had a great facility in the language, and that he
devoted himself to it completely after he had made the break with Turkish as
his chosen medium of intellectual expression in 1919.7 We also know that, when
al-Husri made this linguistic break with his past, there was no going back on
his new Arabic-linked identity (see Cleveland 1971: 14).
This shift from Ottoman Turkish to Arabic marked a significant
break in al-
Husri’s thought, but without causing a complete rupture in it. In
this context, the break was not just a linguistic one in the sense of
exchanging a particular communicative code for another, but a paradigmatic one
in which a particular mode of conceptualizing the nation, where language was
treated as a secondary factor, was replaced by another in which it was adopted
as the primary criterion of nationhood. Thus, whereas al-Husri the Ottomanist
could say: “We cannot accept the concept of the Germans [the German definition
of the nation by reference to language] because language is the least of the
ties which bind the
the arabic language and national identity
Ottomans to one another” (translated from Turkish and quoted in
Cleveland 1971: 38), al-Husri the Arabist repeatedly declared that the Arabs
constitute a nation by virtue of their sharing the same language, in addition
to their having a common history. The break in al-Husri’s thinking represented
a replacement in ideological terms of the French voluntarist idea of the
nation, in which the state is a necessary condition of nationhood but language
is not, by the German culture-orientated concept of the nation, in which the
state is not a defining criterion but language is (see Chapter 2, section 3).
Whereas before the end of the First World War al-Husri believed that the
preservation of the Ottoman Empire as a nation-state for all the disparate
groups it encompassed – regardless of their religious, ethnic or linguistic
backgrounds – required the adoption of a French-style concept of the nation,
the final defeat of the Empire in that war and the emergence of new states on
its territory which resorted to language for self-legitimation led al-Husri to
espouse the German model of nationhood. The fact that this German concept of
the nation was judged to be the most appli- cable model in the Arab context –
wherein fragmentation had to be replaced by unity as a political objective –
gave greater significance to Arabic as an ingredient in this enterprise. With
hindsight, al-Husri could now reinterpret his experiences as a state official
in the Balkans in a way that publicly recognized the power of language as a
bond of nationality, whereas previously he had tended to downgrade his
assessment of this role, as has been pointed out above. This shift from the
French to the German mode of conceptualizing the nation is summed up in the
formula which al-Husri never tires of repeating: “al-dawla shay’ wa-l-umma shay’ Åkhar” (1985g: 30), “The state and
the nation are two different things”. The fact that the two may sometimes
coincide is not con- sidered to be definitionally relevant by al-Husri, a view
equally forcefully held by al-ÆAlayli and, to a certain extent Nadim al-Bitar,
whose ideas were dealt with in the preceding section.
3.2 Nation, Language and Education
Nowhere is the continuity in al-Husri’s thought before and after
the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire more evident than in his belief in the
role of education as an instrument of modernization and nation-building. In the
person of al- Husri, the role of the nationalist thinker and the educator exist
side by side, not as autonomous or independent entities, but as vigorously
interacting ones.8 Education, for al-Husri, can be meaningful only if it is
truly nationalist in character, at the level both of content and of practice.
This explains why the only official functions al-Husri the Arabist accepted in
Syria, Iraq and Egypt were all in the educational field, where he could use his
position and influence to promote nationalist education without getting directly
involved in politics in the “low” sense of the term. However, this continuity
in the transition from
arabic, first and foremost
Ottomanism to Arabism in al-Husri’s career was marked by a subtle
change in his educational thinking. Whereas a voluntarist conception of the
nation tends to be liberal and democratic, targeting the individual before the
community in the educational enterprise, the cultural approach to the nation
inverses this order of priorities by giving more weight to the community over
the individual in pedagogic terms. This shift further requires giving more
weight to sociology over psychology in the pedagogic field. The fact that
al-Husri was able to accomplish this shift in pedagogical outlook in his
Arabist phase signals an intellectual reconciliation with Ziya Gökalp, the
philosopher of Turkish nationalism (see Chapter 4, section 2), with whom
al-Husri debated the relative weight of psychology and sociology in the
educational field. Thus, while Gökalp felt that sociology is more in tune with
his brand of cultural nationalism, al- Husri felt that psychology was more
consistent with his voluntarist conception of the Ottoman nation.9 This move in
outlook on the part of al-Husri made itself felt in his educational policies in
Iraq, which, Cleveland tells us (1971: 63), “limited the scope of individual
initiative and provided a coherent, controlled national ideology throughout the
school system”.
When al-Husri made the shift to Arabism as a cause and an ideology,
he
espoused it completely and in an unwavering manner. This is clear
from his interest in a series of educational issues in the language sphere. One
such issue is his insistence on Arabizing the curriculum in Syria after the
collapse of the Ottoman Empire by making Arabic the sole language of
instruction in the schools, and by setting up a committee to find Arabic
equivalents for foreign terms, be they Turkish or European in origin. The same
Arabizing drive was relentlessly pursued in Iraq, where he sought to restrict
the financial and educational autonomy of the foreign-sponsored schools, which,
for obvious reasons, pursued their activities in a manner not fully cognizant
of Arab nationalism and the role of the Arabic language in it. In a similar
fashion, al- Husri decided to remove the teaching of foreign languages from the
primary schools in Iraq (see Chapter 6, section 4.2 for a similar position in
Egyptian nationalism). In arguing his case against his opponents, al-Husri
states that the introduction of foreign languages into the curriculum at this
stage is detrimental to national education because it takes time away from the
national language without serving the practical or cultural needs of the
community in an effective manner. He further points out that, since the
difference between Arabic and the major European languages is so great, the
introduction of these languages in the primary schools is bound to lead to
confusion in learning terms. This is further complicated by the diglossic
nature of Arabic, which means that Arab children have to learn the grammar of
the fuß˙Å form of the language in
situations that are less than ideal in acquisition terms (see årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fÈ al- Æilm wa-l-akhlÅq
wa-l-thaqÅfa, 1985c: 68–9). Al-Husri supports these arguments
the arabic language and national identity
by saying that the teaching of foreign languages at the primary
stage in Europe, even in situations where multilingualism obtains, as in
Geneva, is delayed at least until the end of the primary phase to avoid any
confusion in language- learning terms between the native language and the other
co-territorial languages. There is also a sense in which the removal of the
foreign languages from the primary schools represents for al-Husri a break with
the colonial past, since it was the policy of the colonial powers to promote
their languages in the countries they occupied to serve their own
self-interests rather than those of the peoples they ruled. An example of this
in the Arab context was the French in Algeria, who, al-Husri tells us (see A˙ÅdÈth fÈ al-tarbiya wa-l-ijtimÅÆ,
1984b: 87), considered the primary role of education to be the promotion of the
French language to encourage feelings of allegiance towards France.
In the same vein, al-Husri also rejected the call by the Egyptian
thinker Taha Husayn to introduce Greek and Latin as compulsory subjects in the
higher education system in Egypt (see Chapter 6, section 4.2). Using the above
arguments concerning the need to devote time to learning the national language
– which, by virtue of its diglossic nature and the complexity of
its pedagogic grammars, is a demanding task – al-Husri aimed to counter
alternative orienta- tions at forging a national identity for Egypt which took
it outside its Arab orbit and the challenges of modernization this urgently
demanded.10 In particular, al- Husri considered the call to introduce these two
languages into higher education a false attempt to attach Egypt to, or to
attach to it, a European and Mediterranean conception of national self which
negates, or at least weakens, its Arab identity. In addition, al-Husri believed
that the promotion of Greek and Latin would, first, take away from the time
available to the teaching of modern European languages and, second, induce a
classicism and elitism that looked to the past, rather than to the future where
the thrust of modernization in the Arab context ought to lie. Furthermore, by
rejecting Taha Husayn’s position on Latin and Greek, al-Husri sought to oppose
the slavish tendency among Arab educationalists and other elites to formulate
their views and policies on grounds that are pertinent to the West rather than
to the realities of their own situation in its historical and properly
modernizing context. Thus, al- Husri insisted that the arguments advanced by
some European educationalists for the validity of Greek and Latin within their
education systems cannot be transferred to the Arab context with its own
different historical and cultural particularities. Al-Husri wanted to impress
on his audience the need to consider as a maxim of modernization that what is
good for Europe is not necessarily good for the Arabs. And this extends to the
conceptualization of the nation, where it is essential to adopt those views of
it which fit the Arab context, although these views may not be completely
watertight in theoretical or empirical terms.
3.3 Defining the Arab Nation
Let us now turn to al-Husri’s conception of the nation. To begin
with, this conception is characterized by two features. First, it is cultural
rather than overtly political (see Chapter 2, section 3). Second, it belongs to
the objective rather than the subjective variety of definitions of the nation
(see Chapter 2, section 2).
The first feature implies that the state is not a necessary or even
a sufficient condition for the constitution of the nation. A nation can exist
without being associated with a state that is exclusively coterminous with it.
Also, the existence of the state does not guarantee that the people who live
under its sovereignty constitute a nation in their own right. This is sometimes
referred to as “the German mode of defining the nation” in the literature. It
is, however, important not to draw the conclusion from this association that
al-Husri identifies his conception of the nation with the views of the German
Romantics on the topic. Thus, although al-Husri shares with Herder, Fichte and
Arndt the view that language is the main ingredient of nationhood, he differs
from the last two in his refusal to ascribe to Arabic and the Arabs the status
of “original” language and “original” people as these two thinkers did for
German and the Germans (see section 4 on this issue). In addition, al-Husri
adamantly refuses to turn his interest in language as an ingredient of
nationalism into what Kedourie (1966) calls “linguism” (see Chapter 2, section
3), wherein ideas of race and language are said to coincide, or are used to
construct a platform from which to launch claims of racial superiority towards
other nations and their languages. Finally, al-Husri does not direct his
nationalist fervour against an external Other in the same way as some of the
German Romantics do in their vehement denunciation of France and the French
language. It is with these provisos in mind that I refer to al-Husri’s
conception of the nation as being in the German mode.
This endogenous versus exogenous orientation in thinking about the
nation
extends to al-Husri’s objective definition of the Arab nation in
terms of language and history. In this definitional enterprise, al-Husri is
mainly inter- ested in what binds the Arabs internally rather than in what
marks them externally from other nations and groups. Within this framework, the
external marking of the Arab nation becomes a function of its internally generated
self- definition rather than the other way round. This endows the Arab nation
with a degree of national self-sufficiency in existential terms which is not
defini- tionally or logically contingent on the existence of a differentiated
Other – what is sometimes called “playing the vis-à-vis” (see Chapter 1,
section 2). This to some extent underlies al-Husri’s refusal to accept the
general interpretation in the literature on Arab nationalism and modernism that
the Napoleonic invasion of Egypt – as a projection of a different Other –
marked a turning point
the arabic language and national identity
in the cultural history of the Arabic-speaking people; it further
explains his refusal to treat this invasion as formatively instrumental in
developing the conditions which prepared the ground for the rise of this
nationalism later in the nineteenth century. Al-Husri, however, does not deny
that Napoleon’s invasion acted as a catalyst in this direction; but that is the
end of the story (cf. årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fÈ
al-tÅrÈkh wa-l-ijtimÅÆ, 1985e: 45–79).
Part of the rationale behind the discussion of the role of Arabic
in group- identity formulations in premodern times in this work (Chapter 3) is
to lay the grounds for claiming that al-Husri’s view on the commanding role of
Arabic as an ingredient of the national self in modern times is – in spite of
being traditionally associated with the German Romantics – ultimately rooted in
its own historical and cultural milieu. Two implications flow from this. The
first is that the Arabic intellectual tradition provides al-Husri with a
definition of the collective self in relation to language which he could
utilize in a subtle, but effective, manner in promoting his own nationalist
ideas. Although al-Husri does not explicitly tap into this tradition, giving an
impression of almost complete ideological modernity, he must of course have
known that a definition of the Arab collective self in relation to language
would strike a chord with the elite, and that it would satisfy the criterion of
“resonance” by tapping into deep- rooted attitudes towards the language on a
more popular level (see Chapter 1, section 2). The second implication makes the
German Romantic influence on al-Husri as much one of implying modernity as it
is one of substance in theoretical terms. The fact that Germany was the most
highly regarded Euro- pean power at the popular level among the Arabs in the
nineteenth century and most of the twentieth century, and that its condition of
national fragmentation in its formative stage most resembled that of the Arabs
during this period, must have acted as a catalyst in promoting al-Husri’s
vision of what constitutes the Arab nation.
Let us now consider al-Husri’s objective definition of the Arab
nation. To
begin with, in comparison with most other definitions (for example,
al-ÆAlayli’s and al-Bitar’s above), al-Husri’s definition is compositionally
minimalist in that it refers to language and shared history (in that order) as
the ingredients of this nationalism. In discussing the relationship between
these two ingredients, al- Husri employs the following formula (which he
repeats in several places in his writings): “Language constitutes the life of a
nation. History constitutes its feeling. A nation which forgets its history
loses its feeling and consciousness. A nation which forgets its language loses
its life and [very] being” (Mu˙Å∂arÅt fÈ
nushË’ al-fikra al-qawmiyya, 1985b: 51). Al-Husri further likens language
to the key which can enable an imprisoned nation to free itself (cf. årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fÈ al-wa†aniyya
wa-l-qawmiyya, 1984a: 68). The importance of language in the definition of
Arabness on the individual and collective self levels is clear from
arabic, first and foremost
the following statement by al-Husri (årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fÈ al-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya, 1985d: 46):
Every Arabic-speaking people is an Arab people. Every individual
belonging to one of these Arabic-speaking peoples is an Arab. And if an Arab
does not recognize this, and if he is not proud to be an Arab, we must look for
the reasons that make him take this position. His position may be the result of
ignorance: in that case we must teach him the truth. It may spring from a false
consciousness and deception: in that case we must awaken him and guide him on
the right path. It may be the result of excessive egoism: in that case we must
try to limit his egoism. But under no circumstances should we say: “He is not
an Arab as long as he does not wish to be one, does not accept his Arabness or
is disdainful of it”. He is an Arab whether he wishes to be one or not in his
present condition. He is an Arab: an ignorant, unaware, recalcitrant or
disloyal Arab, but an Arab all the same. An Arab who lost his consciousness and
feelings, and may have even lost his conscience.
The following statement by al-Husri, which further reveals the role
of language in framing his nationalist ideology, amplifies the above
specification of who an Arab is (al-ÆUrËba
awwalan, 1985f: 14–15):
Every individual who belongs to the Arab countries and speaks Arabic
is an Arab. He is so, regardless of the name of the country whose citizenship
he officially holds. He is so, regardless of the religion he professes or the
sect he belongs to. He is so, regardless of his ancestry, lineage or the roots
of the family to which he belongs. He is an Arab, [full stop].
Arabness is not restricted to those who can trace their origin back
to the Arabian Peninsula; nor is it restricted to Muslims alone. It encompasses
every individual who belongs to the Arab countries: whether he is Egyptian,
Kuwaiti or Moroccan; whether he is Muslim or Christian; whether he is Sunni,
Twelver Shi’ite or Druze; and whether he is Catholic, Orthodox or Protestant.
[Regardless of what he is,] he is a son of the Arab nation as long as he
belongs to the Arab lands and speaks Arabic.
The above is tantamount to saying: “Tell me what your language is,
and I will tell you who you are”. But al-Husri’s interest in language as a
nationalist ingredient is far more cognizant of its functionality than of its
power of symbolism. Al-Husri is decidedly more interested in the role of
language as a means of communication in the nationalist enterprise than in its
symbolic connotations, although he is deeply aware of the role of symbols
(flags, ceno- taphs, border points, national anthems, stamps, coins and so on)
in formulating a view of the national self. This is why al-Husri considers the
death of a language to be genuinely tantamount to the death of the nation whose
tongue it is. Nations for al-Husri are living or natural organisms, in the
social sense of the term, and their vitality must therefore be reflected in the
vitality of the languages they speak. Similarly, the weakness of a language is
indicative of the weakness of the national spirit among its people. Language is
therefore not just an ingredient of the nation, but a barometer through which
the condition of the
the arabic language and national identity
nation can be gauged. But what does it mean to say that al-Husri is
interested in the functional power of language in defining the nation? How is
this function- ality ideologized in al-Husri’s conception of Arab nationalism?
3.4 Arab Nationalism and the Ideologization of Language
The starting point for al-Husri in this matter is the role of
language as that factor of differentiation which sets the boundary between man
and beast. As a cognitive resource, language is the instrument of thought,
which ceases to exist without it. In addition, language is a means of
socialization which bonds the individual to a particular culture through
child-rearing practices and experiences at an early age. In this social
capacity, language further serves as a means of communication between the members
of a particular community, thus facilitat- ing the transmission of ideas and
feelings between them and creating a feeling of interpersonal intimacy in the
process. As such, a language is a bonding agent between those who speak it,
bringing them closer to each other while, at the same time, setting them apart
from those who speak other languages. And, for the purposes of this study,
language is that factor which makes a people a nation by enabling them to
imagine themselves as a community that is internally bonded and externally
bounded, both synchronically and diachronically.11 Language is also the carrier
of a nation’s culture, as this is expressed through its literature and other
modes of linguistic production. It is language as the outcome of a common history
and as the forger of cultural unity which creates the will in a people to
become a nation, thus contradicting Renan on this matter, rather than the other
way round. This is a clever move on the part of al- Husri because it enables
him to acknowledge the role of “will” in nation- building, while at the same
time claiming that this voluntarist mode of defining the nation is but a
product of the nation as a cultural construct at whose heart lies the formative
power of language. Under this interpretation, language remains primary while
will becomes secondary. Furthermore, language is considered as the antecedent
from which will flows as a consequent or second-order bonding agent which can
enhance the functional role of language as the nation- formation factor par
excellence.
This logical, even causal, ordering of factors at play in
nation-formation
remains rhetorical in nature, in the sense that it is not possible
to show in a factually convincing or empirically testable manner that language
is indeed the antecedent, and will is the consequent, in nation-building. This
challenges the repeated assertions by al-Husri that his theory of a
language-based Arab nation- alism is historically valid, in the sense that it
can transcend the evidential base from which it is derived, at least in its
German manifestation. To achieve this, al-Husri deploys three strategies. The
first admits that his theory is historically contingent and, therefore, applies
within a non-universalist and, to a certain
arabic, first and foremost
extent, eclectic framework. It is therefore a restricted theory of
nationalism, mainly fashioned to suit the Arab context (see Chapter 1, section
1). The second strategy consists of providing evidence from within the realm of
the Ottoman Empire, in which the seeds of Arab nationalism were embedded, to
show that language is the criterion of nationhood par excellence. The third
strategy consists of reinterpreting what is projected as counter-evidence by
his opponents, and doing so in a way which turns this evidence into data that
corroborate rather than falsify his theory. In the following discussion, I will
deal with the last two strategies insofar as they apply to the role of language
in nationalism. The first strategy will not be considered here because of its
quasi- theoretical nature.
The second strategy is best illustrated by considering examples
from within the realm of the Ottoman Empire before its dissolution after the
First World War. The primary example in this respect is the Turkification of
the Ottoman Turks in matters of language, literature and history which served
the cause of Turkish cultural nationalism. It was pointed out in Chapter 4
(section 2) that this cultural nationalism laid down the foundations for a
Turkish political nationalism, and that the latter in turn enhanced the later
progress of the former under Atatürk. The fact that Turkish was used as a
national bond between those to whom it was a common language, inside and
outside the Ottoman Empire, is regarded by al-Husri as a confirmation of the
efficacy of language as an identity-marker. In addition, the fact that Turkish
was made to undermine the bond of religious brotherhood between Ottoman Turks
and Ottoman Arabs who professed Islam provides further evidence of this role of
language in nation-formation. This same pattern was evident in the Balkans,
especially within those Ottoman communities which belonged to the Orthodox
Church. It was also evident among the Albanians, who resorted to language in
constructing their national identity, thus overriding their division into
Muslims and Catholics, on the one hand, and undermining the religious bond
which held between the Muslims among them and the Ottoman Turks, on the other.
Within the Balkan context, the Greeks are said to constitute an interesting
example of the above trend of relying on language, as an ingredient of culture,
in framing their national identity. Al-Husri puts forward the view that the
Greek language and the Orthodox faith were both relevant in keeping Greek
identity alive in the Ottoman Empire, but that language was more significant in
this enterprise than religion. Whereas the Greeks were distinct from the Turks
in both language and religion, they were distinct from other Orthodox
communities inside the Empire in language alone. This the Greeks never tired of
using to their advantage, in all affairs of the Church, at the expense of other
Orthodox communities, for example the Bulgarians. In addition, language was the
major factor deployed by the Greeks as an organizing principle in resisting
the arabic language and national identity
the attempts to bring them into the Russian sphere of influence
towards the close of the nineteenth century. Al-Husri adds that it was the pull
of language and common culture, aided by that of religion, which led to the
incremental expansion in the areas brought under Greek sovereignty in the
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Areas newly liberated from under
Ottoman control joined other already independent Greek areas with which they shared
a linguistic bond over and above the religious one.
This trend of putting language before religion in constructing
national identity in the Balkans is said by al-Husri to have been exhibited
very clearly in the Bulgarian context. He explains this by reference to the
double dominance over the Bulgarians by (1) the Turks in the political domain,
and (2) the Greeks in the cultural sphere. In their struggle for national
independence, the Bulgar- ians first sought to liberate themselves from the
cultural hegemony which the Greeks – through the Orthodox Church and its
associated institutions and liturgical practices – exercised over them. This
effort consisted of attempts which revolved around establishing Bulgarian as
the language of education, culture and religion. Al-Husri sketches out the
methods used by the Bulgarians to achieve this aim. Schools which taught in
Bulgarian, not Greek, started to appear towards the middle of the nineteenth
century. This had the effect of turning what had previously been a spoken
language into a written one around which a thriving cultural industry of
dictionary-making, grammatical scholarship and translation coalesced. Most
significant in the last domain was the translation of the Bible from Greek into
Bulgarian during this period. Calls to use Bulgarian in the Church liturgy
started to appear, but they were met by stiff Greek opposition on the grounds
that Greek was a language of the Scriptures and, therefore, the only legitimate
one for articulating it in formal church settings. To overcome this opposition,
calls were made to establish a Bulgarian Orthodox Church, which would differ
from its Greek counterpart in matters of language only. Exploiting the
political situation which made them administratively subject to an Ottoman
Empire that was keen to weaken the Greeks, the Bulgarians in 1870 obtained a
Royal Decree from the Ottoman Sultan permitting them to establish their own
Church. The effect of this was to strengthen Bulgarian culture and to underpin
the movement for political independence from the Ottoman Empire by exploiting
religion as a motivating factor in it. Al-Husri further tells us that this same
pattern obtained in Romania, where a Romanian language-based cultural
independence from Greek hegemony eventually led to political independence from
the Ottoman Empire.
The situation in Yugoslavia provides an interesting case study for
testing the
limits of al-Husri’s theory of nationalism. In dealing with the
historically, politically and religiously complex situation in this area,
al-Husri is sometimes more cautious about positing a direct and formative link
between language and
arabic, first and foremost
nation-formation – or he is less assertive about the finality of
this link. This reflects the awareness on his part that history, in particular,
can work in the opposite direction to language in nation-formation. One feels,
however, from the tenor of al-Husri’s treatment of the subject, which was made
public for the first time in 1948, that he is hopeful that the course of future
events will confirm the historical adequacy of his theory – or its predictive
power, to use a more accurate concept. This is evident from his statement that
“the feeling of national unity in Yugoslavia is sufficient to overcome [all the
forces of division in this country] and to put an end to all local-territorial
tendencies” (Mu˙Å∂arÅt fi nushË’ al-fikra
al-qawmiyya, 1985b: 83). The fact that what al-Husri expected, suspected or
strongly hoped would be the case has been shown by the events of recent years
to be more in the realm of wishful thinking than in the domain of historical
reality may be taken as a refutation of his theory of nationalism, at least
insofar as it claims that language is the primary factor in nation-formation.
It is, however, not very difficult to imagine how al-Husri might have responded
to this criticism. On the one hand, he might have pointed to the cautious note
of his predictions, and to the fact that history, which is the second factor in
nation-formation under his theory, has on this occasion assumed greater
formative power over language. To make this point, al-Husri would have had to
show and explain that historical differences between the constituent members of
Yugoslavia (Serbs, Slovenes, Croatians and Bosnians) played a more dominant
role than the unifying power of language, or that these differences were far
too great to be overcome by the unifying power of language. On the other hand,
al-Husri might have pointed to Yugoslavia as a test case which proves the
empiricism of his theory in the Popperian sense of the term, that is, its
ability to refer to factual situations against which it can be judged.
Yugoslavia might have been further projected as yet another example which shows
the limits of al-Husri’s theory, or its non-universality, a point he himself
openly admits in a pre-emptive move to deflect any anticipated criticism. But
he might also have deployed counter-strategies of the type he employed to
reject the following supposedly recalcitrant cases, which are said by his
critics to refute the theoretical and
descriptive adequacy of his theory concerning language in
nation-formation.
These cases divide into two categories. The first category involves
the secession of one territory from another, in spite of the linguistic bond
that holds between them. This includes (1) the separation of the United States
of America from Great Britain, and (2) the separation of the countries of Latin
America from Spain and Portugal, although this will not be dealt with here
because it replicates the arguments applicable to (1) above. The second
category involves the unity of multilingual states, for example Belgium and
Switzerland, against the expectation of fragmentation along linguistic lines as
predicted, or projected to happen, under al-Husri’s theory. Al-Husri
acknowledges the suggestive power
the arabic language and national identity
of these examples, but he still considers them to be in line with
his theory. To explain this, al-Husri resorts to analogy as one of his
favourite rhetorical devices to convince his audience that what may seem to be
refuting evidence is in fact misdirected and not properly interpreted. Thus he
likens the above examples to smoke which rises up in the atmosphere in seeming
refutation of the law of gravity, although in fact its behaviour is in total
conformity with this law. Let us now consider the above chosen examples in more
detail.
Al-Husri’s treatment of the USA consists of four elements. The
first element is based on the idea that, since the USA seceded from Great
Britain before the age of nationalism, it cannot be validly treated as a
refuting evidence of his theory. This is one of the major premises of
nationalism studies which al-Husri uses to promote his theory in a number of
places in his extensive output on the subject, although he does this
selectively. The second element considers the independence of the USA as the
result of the desire on the part of those who were behind it to rid themselves
of the unfair tax-raising policies and other economic restrictions which the
British sought to impose on them. They were aided in this by the physical
separation of the USA from Great Britain. This is essentially an argument from
history which, al-Husri reminds us, is a relevant factor in his theory. However,
the fact that physical separation was invoked as an aiding factor in this
process is seen by some critics of al-Husri as an admission on his part that
geography, contrary to what he repeatedly asserts, is a relevant factor in
nation-formation. The third element seeks to challenge the general view that
the language of the USA was exclusively English throughout its history. He does
this by introducing an implicit distinction between the “official” language and
the language of the home in the USA, and another distinction between the
majority language and other minority languages in the country. Thus he argues
that, although English was the language of the states which formed the original
federation, these were later joined by other states in which Spanish or French,
not English, was dominant. Although English had the upper hand in this
situation, it nevertheless was not the only language. This situation of
linguistic diversity continued to exist under the influence of waves of
immigrants who introduced their languages into the country and kept them alive
through further immigration injections, community schools and associa- tions,
and migrant literatures. Al-Husri believes that this situation of linguistic
diversity weakens the argument that English was a binding force, of the type he
posits in his theory, between the USA and Great Britain.12 The fourth element
shows al-Husri’s ingenuity in arguing his case. It consists of a turning of the
tables against his critics by pointing out that, if the Americans can still
agree to live together in a united state, in spite of their linguistic
diversity, then how much more it behoves the Arabs to be more determined to
achieve the same kind of unity, in view of their linguistic unity.
arabic, first and foremost
Let us now deal with the second category above. Al-Husri considers
the unity of Belgium, in spite of the country’s bilingual character, to be the
result of its history and the distribution of its two languages, French and
Flemish. He points out that the intense rivalry between France and Britain in
the nineteenth century was instrumental in establishing Belgium as a
buffer-state whose territorial integrity was essential for the balance of power
between the two competing nations and the cause of peace in Europe. In the linguistic
realm, the intricate distribution of the two languages in Belgium, whereby
their speakers live cheek by jowl not only in the big urban centres but also in
the smallest of villages, has meant that no sensible separation of the two
language communities can be achieved without a demographic upheaval on a
massive scale. Turning to Switzerland, al-Husri points to its status as a
buffer-state that keeps its more powerful neighbours apart as an important
factor in its political unity (see also Chapter 6, section 5.2). Furthermore,
the fact that the various language communities in Switzerland enjoy full
control over their own affairs – except defence and foreign relations – within
a vastly devolved system of government has ensured the continuity of the union
between them. Al-Husri concludes that the special character of these two
examples is too limited in empirical terms to constitute a refutation of his
theory. In addition, al-Husri invokes the theore- tical premise of the
categorial difference between nation and state to claim that Switzerland and
Belgium are states, not nations.
Al-Husri (see årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth
fÈ al-wa†aniyya wa-l-qawmiyya, 1984a: 75–81)
reiterates these arguments in his critique of the Egyptian thinker
Taha Husayn, who cites the above cases to argue that language cannot form the
basis of nation-formation between Egypt and the other Arabic-speaking countries
(see Chapter 6, section 4.2). In a similar manner, al-Husri refuses to concede
any ground to Lutfi al-Sayyid (see Chapter 6, section 3), Hafni Mahmud Pasha
and the writer Ihsan ÆAbd al-Quddus, who cite the history of Greece, Turkey and
the USA respectively in support of their views that language is not an ingred-
ient in nation-formation in the Arab context. Al-Husri also rejects as bogus
all the attempts to construct Egypt’s identity in Eastern, African,
Mediterranean, Pharaonic or Islamic terms. He declares that Egypt is an Arab
country because its language is Arabic, and that being Arab in national terms
does not deny Egypt’s past and the role this past may play in modulating its
identity (see Chapter 6, sections 3, 4, 4.1–2). Al-Husri acknowledges that some
Egyptians may feel a bond with their Pharaonic past, but this is a bond with a
past that is linguistically dead. And since language is the vehicle and
substance of culture, the only bond that the Egyptians can meaningfully have in
national-identity terms perforce goes through this language. Egyptian culture,
according to al- Husri, must therefore be defined as Arab culture; and, since
Egypt shares its language with other Arabic-speaking countries, it must
therefore share this
the
arabic language and national identity
culture with them too. This is a significant result for al-Husri,
who stresses that “the unity of culture guarantees all forms of unity” (årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fÈ al- wa†aniyya
wa-l-qawmiyya, 1984a: 81). Thus, the linguistic unity of Egypt enables the
Egyptians to overcome the divisions which religion may induce between them.
Furthermore, the unity of Egypt with other Arabic-speaking countries opens the
possibility for Egypt to assume a leadership role which it would otherwise be
denied. The call “Egypt for the Egyptians” turns out under this analysis to be
against Egypt’s interests, both internally and externally. Al-Husri concludes
his argument by claiming that, as an exercise in self-generation, a
territorially conceived national identity for Egypt is short-sighted and miscon-
ceived. The fact that such a statement cannot be properly tested is of no
concern to al-Husri.
The attempt by al-Husri to downgrade the role of religion as a
factor of national identity in Egypt, a point on which he goes far beyond the
limits advocated by Taha Husayn, is symptomatic of his secular conception of
Arab nationalism. Al-Husri’s reading of the history of nationalism in the
Balkans is seen as a historical confirmation of this view. Al-Husri believes
that this situation, in what is essentially a Christian sphere of religious
identification, is applicable in the Islamic context. A paradigm example of
this is the fragmenta- tion of the Ottoman Empire into separate entities, in
spite of the unity of religious belief between the Turks and the majority of
the Arabic-speaking Ottomans under its jurisdiction. Al-Husri sees this as a
vindication of his theory, and he therefore approves of the separation between
nation-formation and religion which is one of the cornerstones of Turkish
nationalism under Atatürk. To the best of my knowledge, this approval of
Atatürk is rarely echoed by other Arab nationalists.
3.5 Nation, Language and Religion
Al-Husri’s views on the secular character of Arab nationalism hold
enormous interest for political scientists and scholars of nationalism. In the
present work, however, I will restrict myself to the way in which these views
impinge on the interaction between language and religion in al-Husri’s
thinking. To begin with, al-Husri believes that, in the age of nationalism,
religion can be an effective factor in nation-formation when it is of the
exclusivist type, for example Judaism, thus allowing for the coincidence of
language with religion in nation- formation. This is not applicable to
universal religions like Christianity and Islam, owing to the multilingual
nature of their faith communities. However, it would be wrong to conclude from
this that al-Husri denies that religion can play a role in nation-formation.
Any role which religion plays must nevertheless be articulated through its
contribution to the language, by spreading and protecting it against
fragmentation. Thus, al-Husri claims that the role of Islam
arabic, first and foremost
in nation-formation is relevant only to the extent that it enhances
the position of Arabic as the factor around which conceptualizations of the
Arab nation can coalesce. In this context, the fact that Islam turned Arabic
into the language of a vibrant culture, and led to the Arabization of many
communities, is a relevant factor in Arab nation-formation. But, he adds, this
does not make Arabic an Islamic language in national-identity terms, that is,
in the sense of serving as a focal point in the calls for Islamic unity as an
alternative to Arab unity. Islam is a relevant factor in Arab nationalism insofar
as it was involved in drawing, through the spread of Arabic, the boundaries
within which the nationalist idea can be activated and promoted in modern
times. Islamicized but non-Arabized parts of the realm of Islam fall outside
the scope of this idea.
This decoupling of religion, on the one hand, from nation and
language, on the other, explains two important features of al-Husri’s
projection of Arabic as the ingredient of national identity par excellence in
the Arab context. The first feature concerns the absence of the usual
references to Arabic as the language of the Qur’an in setting out the case of
the importance of the language in cultural terms. In addition, this feature is
represented in the refusal to exploit for ideological ends the references to
the language in the Qur’an itself and the body of the ˙adÈth literature (see Chapter 3, section 2). These references are
conspi- cuous by their uncompromising absence, unlike the references to the
role of literature in forming the national culture.
The second feature consists of breaking what al-Husri implicitly
considers as the Muslim monopoly over the language by emphasizing the role it
plays in the life of the Christian Arabs. In particular, he highlights the use
of the Bible in Arabic by the Christian Arab communities, a trend in which the
Protestant missions in Lebanon played a leading role through their epoch-making
trans- lation of the Bible and use of the local language in the liturgy (see
Chapter 4, section 3). In addition, al-Husri highlights the fact that it was
the Christian Arabs of the Levant who, through their formative participation in
the literary renaissance of the nineteenth century, have made of Arabic in
modern times a language worthy of serving as the marker of an Arab national identity
and as the medium of cultural and scientific modernization. By so doing,
Christian Arabs provided their Muslim compatriots in the Ottoman Empire with
the means through which they could fashion a collective identity for themselves
that finally broke the bond of religious identity between them and Ottoman
Turks. Thus language, not religion, came to be the highest common denominator
between the Arabs in national terms.
Al-Husri’s insistence on language rather than religion as a common
bond of
national identity among the Arabs is clearly designed to override
the religious differences existing between them. The fact that religious and
denominational identifications were used by the French authorities in
Alexandretta (the Hatay
the arabic language and national identity
region in south-western Turkey) to break up the linguistically
based unity of the population in this area, in order to produce a census count
in which the Turks were a majority, is seen by al-Husri as an example of the
divisive potential of religious and sectarian affiliations. This explains
al-Husri’s rejection of all forms of religious and sectarian identification in
the national body politic, as the last quotation above sets out. However, by
ignoring the fact that language may also divide as much as religion does in the
Arab world, at least insofar as the exist- ence of other sizeable language
communities is concerned (for example, the Berbers and the Kurds), al-Husri
fails to offer a comprehensive argument in favour of his view that Arabic is
the highest common denominator in the formation of the Arab nation.
3.6 Between the Standard and the Dialects: The Case for Linguistic
Reforms
The search for the highest common denominator in Arab
nation-formation via language is responsible for al-Husri’s rejection of all
tendencies which promote the dialects at the expense of the standard language.
Thus, he rejects the view which calls for the formation of as many Arab
nation-states as there are perceptibly overarching Arab dialects. He also
rejects the view which correlates the present boundaries of the Arab states
with discrete linguistic boundaries of the dialectal kind. Applying the
nationalist principle that “language defence is nation defence”, al-Husri sets
out to show the untenability of the above views, which the Syrian National
Socialist Party of Antun SaÆada (see Chapter 6, section 2) puts forward to
counter his language-based Arab nationalism. Al- Husri argues that the
so-called nation-state dialects (for example, Iraqi, Syrian, Lebanese or Egyptian
Arabic), on which his opponents confer the status of languages, are linguistic
labels of little empirical validity beyond their descrip- tive and geographical
domains. Thus, what is traditionally called Iraqi Arabic is no more than an
idealized form of a dominant dialect of Baghdad and the areas surrounding it.
This dialect is different from the dialect of Mosul, in the same way as the
dialect of Aleppo is different from that of Damascus, although the latter is
erroneously referred to as Syrian Arabic. What we have, according to al- Husri,
is a dialect continuum which does not correlate with the borders of the
Arabic-speaking states. Al-Husri further points out that, if the principle of
dialect difference as a correlate of state boundaries demarcation is to be
applied throughout the Arabic-speaking countries, we would end up with far more
states than we presently have. Not only would this lead to more fragmentation
than even the supporters of Antun SaÆada are willing to countenance, but it
would also make a mockery of any attempt to construct a theory of Arab national
identity in relation to language. And, in the absence of another equally
effective principle of nation-formation, the Arab nation would cease to exist.
Thus, what the Arabs need is a unified language which can in turn unify them,
arabic, first and foremost
an instrument of fusion rather than fission. Or, as al-Husri puts
it, the Arabs need a “unified and unifying language” (“lugha muwa˙˙ada wa-muwa˙˙ida”, in FÈ al-lugha wa-l-adab wa-ÆalÅqatihimÅ bi-l-qawmiyya, 1985h: 30),
rather than a series of dialect-languages which will lead to further
fragmentation in the Arab body politic.
In defending this “unified and unifying language”, al-Husri rejects
the view that the standard language and the dialects will go the way of Latin
and its daughter languages. Al-Husri argues that the two situations are vastly
different. Standard Arabic, unlike Latin, never lost its dominance in its
linguistic heart- land. This dominance was maintained through the close association
between Arabic and Islam in the capacity of Arabic as the language of the
Qur’an. Thus, even when the Arabs came under the control of the Ottomans, whose
rule lasted almost half a millennium, standard Arabic never lost its position
of dominance in relation to Turkish. This ensured the continuity of the
language as the medium of education and culture. Furthermore, in spite of the
diglossic nature of the Arabic language situation, the standard language
remained intelli- gible to the elite and, in modern times, gained access to an
expanding number of school-educated people. The media, press and electronic,
have enhanced this trend. If anything, the trend will be towards convergence,
not divergence, in intelligibility between the local varieties and standard
Arabic. This, al-Husri believes, will be achieved through a middle form of
Arabic in which the standard is cross-fertilized with the dialects (ibid.: 30).
This vehement defence of the standard language contrasts sharply
with the
lukewarm defence al-Husri provides against the calls to replace the
Arabic script by a Roman alphabet. In the literature on the subject, the
argument is always made that changing the Arabic script would inevitably lead
to a massive rupture with the cultural heritage of the Arabs. The point is also
sometimes made that the Turks were able to implement the reform of the script
because of an impoverished cultural legacy (whatever that means), a situation
which did not pertain to the Arabs. Al-Husri does not mention either of these
two arguments, especially the former. Rather, he points out that any such
change must take place under conditions of national unity and must be sponsored
by a leadership that has the political will, power and resources to implement
it. But, since none of these conditions exists in the Arab context, the calls
for the reform of the script are bound to lead to friction, division and the
dissipation of national energy which is better spent pursuing the goals of
unity and modern- ization.
Clearly, al-Husri objects to the calls to change the script not on
grounds of
principle, but on the basis of expedience. The impression one gets
from what he says is that he would have gone along with this change if the
conditions in the Arabic-speaking countries were different. If so, this raises
the question as to why
the arabic language and national identity
al-Husri would espouse such a change. The answer may partly lie in
the fact that al-Husri does not believe that the way a language is written is
one of its inalienable linguistic properties, the implication being that a
change of the script does not mean a change of the language as a system sui generis. Although al-Husri does not
explicitly make this point, it is not unreasonable to assume that he would
accept it. The evidence for this may be derived from his view that the “Arabic
language is one thing, and traditional Arabic grammar is another” (see A˙ÅdÈth fÈ al-tarbiya wa-l-ijtimÅÆ,
1984b: 53). This is a sophisticated view of the language which goes against the
naive-realist, or God’s-truth, grain of the Arabic grammatical tradition (see
Suleiman 1999c). But such a view of language is not in itself sufficient to
make a thinker who regards it as a criterion of the nation accept the
abandonment of its script lightly. We must therefore assume that al-Husri’s
lukewarm opposition referred to above is the result of something deeper.
Although we do not have evidence for it, it is possible that al-Husri would
have linked such a change to the imperatives of national unity and modernization,
to counter the tendency among the Arabs to look back to a past in which
religion, rather than the secularized forces of language and history, provided
the underpinnings of the future. This, however, will remain in the realm of
speculation.
Al-Husri seems to subscribe to the principle that, like charity,
modernization
in a linguistically defined nation must begin at home by reforming
the language itself. Al-Husri considers this principle a part of the strategic
edifice of his nationalist theory. In tactical terms, however, the reform of
the language is considered by him as the best means of defence against external
attack, or as a corrective remedy which can energize the language and make it
more suitable to deliver at an enhanced level of nationalist participation.
Writing almost half a century ago, al-Husri says that Arabic is going through a
“stage of change and transformation after a period of stagnation and inertia” (FÈ al-lugha wa-l-adab wa-ÆalÅqatihimÅ
bi-l-qawmiyya, 1985h: 7), and that this requires the input of all those
with an interest in the language, whether linguists or non-linguists. It is for
this reason, and because of his interest in Arabic as the mainstay of his
nationalist theory, that al-Husri delves into matters of linguistic reform.
Al-Husri’s reforms are informed by three principles. The first
principle involves the need to reach a rapprochement between the dialects and
the standard language; this is important to prevent the diglossic situation of
Arabic from turning into a multilingual state of inter-nation differentiation
rather than remaining one of intra-nation variation. He thus calls for
negotiating the difference between the two forms of the language through active
grammatical and lexical intervention, in a two-pronged process of levelling up
and levelling down. Language, al-Husri argues, is a living object which must
respond to the needs of its users if it is to survive and develop. And, since
it is not realistic to
arabic, first and foremost
expect the standard to replace the dialects in one fell swoop, it
is therefore prudent to seek a middle kind of Arabic which can bring this goal
into the realm of possibility.
The second principle declares that traditional Arabic grammar,
whether in its descriptive or pedagogic form, is different from the grammar of
the language in the predescriptive sense. Although this is a methodologically
sound prin- ciple, al-Husri invokes it not for its empirical value but to
pre-empt the charge that his ideas on grammatical reform would distort the
structural integrity of the language. His intention, he declares, is the
simplification of pedagogic grammar, not the distortion of the language as a
self-contained system. This may at times involve a different presentation of
the facts of grammar from the one tradition- ally available in traditional
pedagogic grammars. It may sometimes involve offering semantically based
definitions of grammatical categories, in place of the traditional definitions
which invoke the formal, or inflectional, character of words in constructions.
At other times, the required simplification may be achieved by eliminating the
various kinds of causes (see Chapter 3, section 3) that make the formal
acquisition of grammar such a chore to the learners. In some cases, the simplification
of grammar must respond to the clearly perceived needs of the speakers. A good
example of this is the need to introduce what al- Husri calls a possessive
article into Arabic grammar to encode the idea expressed by mÅl in Iraq, dhyÅl in Morocco, bitÅÆ in
Egypt, ˙agg in the Arabian Peninsula,
and shét in Syria (ibid.: 118–19).
Al-Husri is, however, aware that none of these proposals for simplification can
succeed without challenging “the conservative spirit” (ibid.: 67), and the
“paralysis of familiarity” (ibid.), that pervade Arabic grammatical thinking.
The third principle declares that lexical, particularly
terminological, develop-
ment in Arabic is not possible without admitting the following: (1)
Arabic has an impoverished terminological stock to designate the never-ending
stream of scientific concepts in the modern world; (2) this impoverishment is
not one of lexical resources per se,
but of lexical inertia and a feeling of linguistic smugness which wrongly
interprets the static vastness of the Arabic lexicon as a sign of its dynamic
richness; and (3) the surest way of plugging the terminological gap in Arabic
is to espouse the modern sciences in an active and formative way, rather than
in a passive and summative manner. To achieve the goal of lexical innovation,
the resources of the language – including derivation, Arabicization and the
much-neglected blending – must be pressed into service. In pursuing this task,
the linguists can take advantage of the conventionality of terms as labels, to
seek equivalents in Arabic which designate their concepts without necessarily
translating them faithfully. They can also take advantage of the fact that the
lexical currency of a term can eliminate any feeling of “strangeness” or
“foreignness” which may be associated with it during the initial stages of its
the arabic language and national identity
introduction. The cause of lexical reform may be enhanced further
by working towards lexical harmonization between the Arabic-speaking countries.
As an example, al-Husri gives the names of the calendar months which differ
between the various Arab countries. Al-Husri calls for the standardization of
these names, giving preference to the indigenous ones over their borrowed
counterparts.
Al-Husri’s views on the role of language in nation-formation
reflect a multi- plicity of influences. There is first the influence of the
German Romantics. Second, al-Husri’s direct experience of life in the Balkans
and in the Turkish part of the Ottoman Empire provided him with confirmation of
the efficacy of this connection between language and nation. The fact that
Arabic was a high- prestige language in the eyes of its speakers meant that its
role as the mainstay of his nationalist thinking needed little demonstration or
validation. In tapping into these sources of theoretical argumentation and
empirical validation, al- Husri was mainly interested in the functional, as distinct
from the symbolic, role of the language. He was also able to frame his
nationalist views in secular terms, thus marginalizing almost to the point of
extinction the connection between Arabic and Islam. Al-Husri was very adept at
negotiating his way through competing theoretical positions. Thus he never
allowed the legitimizing power of the past to overwhelm his commitment to
modernization. Each had its role, but he was more interested in modernization
as a twin force of nation-formation than in investing the future with the
authenticity of the past. To this end, he projected his treatment of the role
of Arabic in nation-formation onto a canvas of European history, which he had
to interpret in such a way as to ascribe to his views the legitimacy of modernity
and the power of future promise. The path of nation-formation, modernization
and secularization is well trodden. Europe has paved the way. The Arabs can
follow, but only if they can make the kind of attitudinal adjustments and
task-orientation shifts explained above.
4.
zaki al-arsuzi:
the genius of the arab nation inheres in its language
Although he was a contemporary of al-Husri – and also a strong
believer in the role of Arabic as the criterion which defines the Arabs as a
nation – the Syrian Zaki al-Arsuzi (1900–68) is almost unknown in Western
scholarship on Arab nationalism. References to him tend to concentrate on the
overtly political and irredentist dimensions of his ideology (cf. Khadduri
1970). References to the central role which language plays in his thinking are
almost completely absent in this scholarship (cf. Suleiman 1997: 135–7). The
situation in Arab(ic) scholarship on the nation and nationalism is only
marginally better (see Ahmad 1981, ÆAla’ al-Din 1971, Barakat 1977/8, Nassar
1994 and Nuh 1994), in spite of the fact that al-Arsuzi’s ideas started to
appear in print in the early 1940s, and
arabic, first and foremost
that his complete works (six volumes, totalling some 3,000 pages)
have been available since the mid-1970s. It is interesting to note in this
context that, despite their abiding interest in the language and their common
belief that the Arab nation is defined by it, al-Husri and al-Arsuzi do not
refer to each other. It is as though a wall of silence exists between them. If
one reads al-Husri on his own, one would be excused for thinking that al-Arsuzi
does not exist, and vice versa. In this world of disjunctive nationalist
theorization, al-Husri emerges as the winner. It is his ideas rather than those
of al-Arsuzi which have defined for us the conceptualization of the Arabic
language as the nationalist ingredient par excellence.
It would be interesting from the viewpoint of the history of ideas,
in any full treatment of Arab nationalism, to try to understand how this
situation arose. Here, a few points related to language will suffice. First,
although al-Husri and al-Arsuzi are both masters of repetition as a didactic
strategy in the dissemina- tion of their ideas, and although both ideologues
pepper their discourses with anecdotes for a similar purpose, al-Arsuzi’s use
of Arabic seems to be self- defeating: it excludes rather than includes. It is
a barrier to be overcome on the way to effective communication, rather than an
enabler of communication. It is also elitist rather than populist. And it
sometimes displays the awkwardness of literal translation, rather than the
transparency of a discourse whose ultimate aim is to promote task-orientated
ideas and to motivate those at whom these ideas are aimed to act. Second,
al-Husri’s easy flow of ideas is consistent with the view of the language in
the Arab nationalist discourse as the medium of modernization and as the
subject of modernization itself. Although al-Arsuzi subscribes to this
modernizing view of Arab nationalism, he nevertheless places on it a different
interpretation, as we shall see later, which somehow demands a use of the
language that harks back to a more traditional stylistic engagement. This
sometimes gives al-Arsuzi’s discourse an old-fashioned flavour that is suggestive
of the past, at a time when the nation was being directed by the elite towards
a future based on the insights of Western models of development and progress.
Third, while al-Husri is interested first and foremost in the functional role
of Arabic in nation-formation, al-Arsuzi is concerned with its symbolic
capacities. This difference between them accounts for the transparency of al-
Husri’s discourse and the obscurantism and opaqueness of al-Arsuzi’s. Fourth,
although both al-Arsuzi and al-Husri favour an objective definition of the
nation, and although they both refer approvingly to Fichte’s ideas on the role
of language in nation-formation, unlike al-Husri, al-Arsuzi fails to harness
the wealth of empirical data which other national and historical contexts seem
to provide in support of this thesis. As a result, al-Husri appears more
historically well informed in comparison with al-Arsuzi, whose ideas come
across as parochial and, at times, nationally self-indulgent, if not actually
racist. This disparity
the arabic language and national identity
reflects the wider difference between them as to the place of the
Arab nation and its language in relation to history. Whereas for al-Husri the
historicity of Arabic and the Arab nation is a given fact, al-Arsuzi places
both almost outside history, as the discussion in this chapter will show.
The central idea in al-Arsuzi’s nationalist thinking is that of the
revival of the Arab nation in modern times. The implication here is that an
Arab nation existed in the past, whose roots al-Arsuzi locates in pre-Islamic
and early Islamic times, although on balance the former period seems to carry
more weight in nation-formation terms for him. The key to this revival is the
rediscovery and re-enactment in modern times of the initial impulses and
intuitions embodied in the language lexically, phonologically and
grammatically. This revival will further enable the Arabs in the modern period
to reconnect with the innate character and genius (Æabqariyya) which their ancestors in the pre-Islamic and early
Islamic times embedded in the language. According to this view, Arabic is the
storehouse of an original and specifically Arab view of the world, which must
be made manifest if the Arab nation is to regain its vigour and to reposition
itself as a leading nation of the world.
Implicit in this view, however, is the belief that the Arab nation
lost its
direction on the way to modernity from that glorious period of pure
engagement with the universe. Al-Arsuzi reflects on this in different parts of
his complete works, and he ascribes it to the mixing of races which took place
in the wake of the Islamic conquests. In the linguistic sphere, this led to the
occurrence of solecism, which is said to have weakened the link between the
Arabs and the original impulses inherent in their language. On the
meta-linguistic level of grammatical description and explanation, the
involvement of the non-Arabs in the codification of the language has meant that
they failed to realize fully, owing to linguistic interference from their
mother-tongues, the special character of the language as the embodiment of the
Arabs’ view of life and as the structural articulator of their status as a
special nation among nations (see Chapter 3, section 5). In this category of scholars,
he mentions by way of exemplification some of the foremost thinkers and men of
letters in the Arabic intellectual tradition, including Ibn al-MuqaffaÆ,
Avicenna, al-Farabi and al-Ghazali, and he refers to them by a set of
“othering” epithets (ibid.: 278): al-aghyÅr
(the others or strangers), al-dukhalÅ’
(aliens or impostors), and al-aÆÅjim (non-Arabs).
But al- Arsuzi fails to demonstrate how this linguistic interference manifested
itself in the act of describing and explaining the inner structure of the
language. He also fails to square this charge with the view he holds that
Arabness is a matter of culture not race. As a result, his ideas on language
and nation smack of the “linguism” which Kedourie rightly criticizes in his
study of nationalism (see Chapter 2, section 3). Furthermore, none of the
thinkers al-Arsuzi mentions can be identified as a professional linguist,
although some have delved into
arabic, first and foremost
matters of language from time to time. And, to cap it all, some of
the most fundamental insights in al-Arsuzi’s thinking on the Arabic language
can be traced back to the work of linguists who are not racially Arab,
particularly Ibn Jinni, who was of Greek stock (see Chapter 3, section 3). The
following discussion, which is inevitably technical in character, will outline
the broad parameters of this link with the past on the linguistic front.
One of the most important of these insights is the assumption of
correspon- dence between the sound (lafΩ)
and the meaning (maÆnÅ) of the Arabic
word as a bi-unity of these two constituents. The implication here is that the
relation- ship between the acoustic and semantic contents of the Arabic word is
not arbitrary or conventional, but natural and motivated. Ibn Jinni (al-KhaßÅ’iß, vol. 2: 152) expresses this
property of the Arabic lexicon by talking about the contiguity (imsÅs) of sound and meaning in Arabic
words. He considers this property as further evidence of the “wisdom of the
Arabs” principle, which is central to his thinking and to the entire project of
Arabic grammatical theory (see Suleiman 1999c and Chapter 3, section 3). In
some cases, the natural connection between sound and meaning is said to be
obvious or may require some interpretation and manipulation. In other cases, it
is not possible to establish an unequivocal link between these two components
of the word. But this does not deter Ibn Jinni from offering the principle of
contiguity as an established fact of the Arabic language. Deviations from it
are explained by him as examples of the inability of the later generations of
Arabic-speakers to fathom the depths of the language, or as the result of the
untraceability of the original insights which the Arabic-speakers of old had at
the moment of linguistic inception (al-KhaßÅ’iß,
vol. 2: 164). This principle has never lost its intuitive appeal down to the
present day. Witness the comment by the Leban- ese poet Rashid Salim al-Khuri
that he can assign meaning to individual letters of the Arabic alphabet, and
al-ÆAqqad’s response that, while this may be true in very many cases, it does
not apply across the board.
Let us now consider how the principle of contiguity works by
explaining
some of the examples given by Ibn Jinni in the second volume of his
KhaßÅ’iß. Ibn Jinni begins this discussion
by citing the views of al-Khalil (175/791) and Sibawayhi (188/803), the two
foremost grammarians in the Arabic linguistic tradition, to establish the
intellectual pedigree of his ideas and to give them credibility in the eyes of
his readers. The fact that the second of these gram- marians is of Persian
origin gives the lie to al-Arsuzi’s charge that non-Arabs suffered from a
congenital inability to understand the inner structure of the language owing to
their racial origin.
The principle of contiguity is said to apply at different levels.
On the level of word morphology, Ibn Jinni states that some morphological
patterns are seman- tically iconic. For example, the pattern faÆalÅn is said to signify iconically
the
the arabic language and national identity
ideas of disturbance (È∂†irÅb)
and movement (˙araka), as in naqazÅn (leaping in the air out of
fright) and ghalayÅn (boiling, for
water). Another morphological pattern of the same type is faÆfaÆa, in which the reduplication of faÆ is said to signify iconically the idea of reiteration or
repetition, as in zaÆzaÆa (to shake
violently or to rock) and jarjara (to
jerk or pull back and forth). A less obvious application of the principle of
contiguity is said to apply to the morphological pattern istafaÆala, signifying request. Ibn Jinni states that since the
verb at incep- tion was used to signify an action that had already taken place
– in the sense that the verb as articulatory action follows the action it
denotes in the real world – it follows that (1) the request for an action in
the real world should precede the action itself, and (2) the request part of
the verb should iconically precede the verb itself. We may explain this by
reference to the verb †aÆima (to give
food) and its request form ista†Æama (to
ask for food), wherein the prefix ista- precedes the verb †aÆima in its modified form (†Æama). Ibn Jinni points out that
although the element of iconicity is not immediately apparent in this
morphological pattern and in the examples that realize it, owing to the fact
that it does apply at a more abstract level than usual, it is nevertheless no
less real or valid than its counterparts. What we have here, he argues, is an
extension of iconicity by analogy with other more clear-cut examples of the
type mentioned above.
The contiguity principle is said to apply at the level of
phonological structure
too, in the sense that the phonological make-up of the word and/or
the arrangement of the consonantal phonemes reflect(s) the meaning of the word
concerned iconically. Taking the verb jarra
(to pull) as an example, Ibn Jinni (vol. 2: 164) says that, as a tense
consonant (produced with greater muscular effort and breath force), j occurs initially in the word because
it mirrors the fact that the initial stage in pulling an object is the hardest
and, therefore, the one which requires the greatest expenditure of energy. This
is followed by the trill r, which is
repeated to signify the act of pulling and to recreate iconically the fact that
in pulling an object on the ground it often bounces up and down as reflected in
the articulation of the r itself.
Contiguity is said to apply at a more abstract level in the phonological
domain. An example of this is the verb ba˙atha
(to look for, to search). Ibn Jinni (ibid.: 163) states that the thick
release of occlusive b resembles the
sound produced by striking the earth with one’s palm. The consonant ˙, by virtue of its husky quality, is
said to resemble the sound made by the lion or the wolf when it digs the earth
with its claws. Finally, the consonant th
is said to resemble the sound made when the earth is scattered. Ibn Jinni
(ibid.) says that this is not a matter of speculation, but a fact which can be
discerned by noting the similarity between speech and the extralinguistic
reality it recreates.
The principle of contiguity through iconicity is said to apply with
greater
clarity and frequency in the lexical domain. The main idea here is
that of
arabic, first and foremost
associating distinctions in the semantic imports of pairs of
related words to particular consonants in their phonological structure. Thus,
the distinction between kha∂ima (to
munch, in respect of soft-textured foods) and qa∂ima (to gnaw, in respect of hard-textured foods) is correlated
with the fact that kh is phonetically
“lax” (produced with less muscular effort and breath force) and q is “tense” (produced with greater
muscular effort and breath force). The phonetic feature lax vs tense is said to apply in other examples to explain how the
meaning of a word correlates iconically with its sound. Thus, the difference
between cutting lengthwise, signified by qadda,
and cutting breadthwise, signified by qa††a,
is said to correlate with the quality of d as tense and † as lax,
and that this in turn iconically reflects the fact that it takes more effort to
cut an object lengthwise than it does breadthwise. Similarly, the difference in
meaning between qasama (to divide)
and qaßama (to pound) is iconically
correlated with the fact that s is
more lax in comparison with ß.
The principle of contiguity can be extended further to cover, among
other things, the correlation between the canonical inflectional endings u (∂amma)
and a (fat˙a) and their grammatical functions in marking the agent and
patient respectively. Ibn Jinni (vol. 1: 49) states that since u is phonetically stronger than a (in terms of the muscular effort and
breath force required to produce them), and since the agent is the doer of the
action whereas the patient only receives the action concerned, it follows that
the stronger inflectional ending u is
assigned to the agent and the weaker ending a
to the patient (see Suleiman 1999c). Although the iconicity of this
correlation operates on the abstract plane, it is argued that it is no less
real than the other kinds of iconicity obtaining in the language. In this
context, the question of contiguity may be envisaged as a matter of correlation
between the grammatical meaning of the inflectional endings under consideration
and the amount of energy required to produce them in articulatory terms.
Let us now consider how the principle of contiguity was
appropriated and
extended by al-Arsuzi, and how he came to regard it as his personal
creation. Al-Arsuzi’s starting point is his characterization of Arabic as a
primary (bidÅ’È) and original (badÈ) derivational language. Using a
terminology that is highly reminiscent of the work of the great Swiss linguist
Saussure, he characterizes the Arabic word as a bi-unity of acoustic and mental
images which mutually imply each other (ßËra
ßawtiyya-mar’iyya, al-Mu’allafÅt al-kÅmila, vol. 1: 71). However, he
differs from Saussure radically in declaring that the relationship between the
two sides of the Arabic word is not arbitrary or conventional, but natural. In
this respect, Arabic, as the Semitic language par excellence, is said to be
different from all other languages, particularly those of the Indo-European
family, in that whereas these languages are subject to the laws of historical
development, Arabic is not. In setting out this comparison, al-Arsuzi wishes to
challenge the
the arabic language and national identity
German Romantics’ view that German is the original language,
without how- ever denying their insight that language is the mirror of a
nation’s soul. And his frequent unflattering references in this context to
French, a language he knew very well, are intended to show that the language of
the colonial power in Syria at the time is inferior to the Arabic language.
This reflects al-Arsuzi’s loathing of, and hostile attitude to, France, which
he held responsible for the loss of his native Alexandretta to Turkey in 1939.
The view that the bond between the two sides of the word is
natural, not arbitrary, is not new to al-Arsuzi. It existed in different forms
in different cultures at different times. However, al-Arsuzi expands this view
by extending the range of naturalness beyond its confined and obvious domain of
onomatopoeia. In this expanded usage, nature covers three senses which
constitute the sources of Arabic words. First, there is the imitation of the
sounds of nature, pertaining to a particular object, in the acoustic image of a
given set of related words. An example of this is the family of words which,
according to al-Arsuzi, derive from the consonantal string f(a)q as the acoustic image of the sound of boiling water. The
semantic import of this phonological string, al-Arsuzi tells us, is that of
compression and explosive release. This impression is encoded in the semantic
import of the following words: faqaÆa (to
open, to gouge out) as in faqaÆa al-
dumla (he opened the abscess), faqa˙a
(to open) as in faqa˙a al-kalbu
Æaynayh (the puppy opened its eyes for the first time), faqasa (to hatch), faqaÆa (to explode, to burst), faqara
(to pierce, perforate) and faqasha (to
break, to crush, to shell). Other words are assigned to this family; but this
will not concern us here. All of these words, we are told, are formed by adding
a consonant to the underlying root consisting of f(a)q. The same semantic import is said to accrue to a related set
of words in which the q in f(a)q is replaced with j. Examples of this are the words fajja (to open, to cleave, to gorge), fajara (to cleave, to break up), faja (to open) and fajana (to open).
However, for this analysis to apply, we must entertain two
properties of the
Arabic language which, according to al-Arsuzi, have not been fully
recognized in the history of Arabic grammatical theory. The first is the
replacement of the traditional organization of the Arabic lexicon into
predominantly triliteral consonantal roots by a new principle of word-formation
in terms of which words are derived from more atomic roots mirroring the sounds
of nature (wherever applicable). Al-Arsuzi suggests (al-Mu’allafÅt al-kÅmila, vol. 1: 234–5) that this principle of
classification never materialized because of the involvement of the non-Arabs
in codifying the language, who, owing to linguistic interference from their
native tongues, failed to see the extent to which this principle applies (see
Chapter 3, section 5). No evidence is produced in support of this charge. The
second property is the ability of the Arabic consonants and short vowels to be
associated with semantic imports (qÈma bayÅniyya,
ibid., vol. 1: 86) of a general
arabic, first and foremost
nature, as the following example from the consonantal portion of
the language is said to show. The consonant b
in Arabic is said to be associated with the semantic import of becoming
clear or visible (ibid.: 88), as in badara
(be obvious), badÅ (to appear), bara˙a (to become generally known), baraza (to come into view), bazagha (to break forth) and balaja (to dawn). The fact that this
association does not consistently apply to all words beginning with b in the Arabic lexicon does not seem to
bother al-Arsuzi in the slightest. Furthermore, the fact that what is at best a
vague tendency is raised to the status of a general lexical principle does not
seem to impinge on al-Arsuzi’s desire to enunciate his brand of linguistic
philosophy. Vagueness and over-generalization also apply to al-Arsuzi’s
characterization of the semantic import of the short vowels, for example u (∂amma),
which he says expresses “continuous activity” (al-Mu’allafÅt al-kÅmila, vol. 1: 85) by virtue of the strong
muscular effort required to produce it in comparison with the other short
vowels in the language.
The second source of words in Arabic is the spontaneous, and thus
natural (as opposed to contrived), expressions of human feelings and emotions.
An example of this is the expression of pain Åkh, from which is derived the words akh (brother), ukht (sister)
and ukhuwwa (brotherhood) as if to
suggest the familial bond between members of the family, and the help and
succour they give each other when they are in distress (ibid.: 305). Another
example is the string farra (to fly
away, to flee, to gleam), which al-Arsuzi considers to be the root of the word
for happiness or joy (fari˙a) by
virtue of sharing the conson- antal string f(a)r
with it. The semantic import of fari˙a
is said to conjure up a feeling of freedom and joy similar to that
experienced by birds when they hover high in the sky (ibid.: 116). To support
this association, al-Arsuzi gives the Arabic idiom †Åra min fara˙ih (lit. “He flew as a bird out of joy”), which
correlates the experience of joy with the act of flying like a bird. The same
consonantal string f(a)r is said to
be the base for the word faras (horse),
to signify the speed of the object it signifies. The fact that the associations
men- tioned above are, at best, speculative or suggestive does not seem to
figure in al- Arsuzi’s pronouncements on the nature of the Arabic language.
The third source of Arabic words is a set of sounds which are
produced in the
mouth for no specific communicative function. An example of this is
the string b(a)t, in which the
release of the alveolar occlusive t suggests
the idea of the cutting off or severing of an object (ibid.: 306). Thus, out of
this string, the words batta (to cut
off, to sever, to decide), batara (to
cut off), bataka (to cut off) and batala (to cut off) are derived.
Al-Arsuzi gives other examples of other roots and their associated families of
derived words to support his analysis, but none of these can turn the
speculative and suggestive nature of this analysis into an established fact.
Al-Arsuzi points out that the nature-bound character of Arabic,
awareness of
the arabic language and national identity
which was displayed at its best in the pre-Islamic period, should
not however obscure the fact that the language is equally rooted in Heaven.
Hence the numerous references to al-mala’
al-’aÆlÅ (the heavenly host) as the other source of the Arabic language by
al-Arsuzi. The linchpin in this part of al-Arsuzi’s theory is the story of the
creation of Adam from adÈm (the
surface of the earth) as his name indicates, and the reference in the Qur’an that
God taught Adam the names of all His creation. The Arabic language, like Adam,
straddles the divide between what al-Arsuzi calls nÅsËt (the world of ordinary human beings) and lÅhËt (the world of the heavens). Al-Arsuzi supports this
interpretation by saying that the Arabs are the source of the Semitic race (sÅmÈ); and, since the name of this race
is related both to that of heaven (samÅÆ)
and to the verb samÅ (to ascend), it
follows that the Arabs and their language have their source and destiny in the sphere
of the heavenly host. In this
respect, the Arabs are different from the Aryan race and its Indo-European
languages in that the latter are rooted in this world, the nÅsËt, as opposed to the lÅhËt
of Arabic and the Arabs.
Al-Arsuzi uses the above analyses to launch the idea that the
genius of the
Arabs inheres in their language (hence the sub-title of this
section). This makes Arabic different from all other languages, including its
sister Semitic languages, which have lost their connection with the original
sources of their inspiration. The true renaissance of the Arabs in the modern
period must therefore begin by “reviving” the Arabic language, to enable them
to uncover the vision of life internalized in it in all its pristine
manifestations. The “idea that the Arabic language can unlock the primordial
world of meanings which came into being at the very beginning of time” is said
by al-Arsuzi to place the Arab nation in “a unique position unattained by any
other nation” (Suleiman 1997: 136). The derivational structure of the Arabic
lexicon into overlapping families of words is seen to reflect the organization
of the Arabs into a nation of individuals held together by relations of common
descent, compassion and common purpose.
Al-Arsuzi constructs this vision of the Arab nation by looking at
the connection between the constituent members of the following set of words: umm (mother), ra˙m (womb) and akh (brother).
The word for “nation” in Arabic is umma,
which signifies the ideas of motherhood and goal-orientation – by virtue of its
root meaning: umm (mother) and amm (to lead the way) – at one and the
same time, as if to capture the views of common historical ancestry and shared
aspirations that are associated with the ethnic conceptualizations of the
nation. And, since the relationship between brothers, sisters and other members
of the extended Arab family is designated by the term ÆalÅqat al-ra˙m, literally “womb relationship”, an additional
meaning is added to the signification of umma
through the root r-˙-m (to be
compassionate; the Compassionate as an attribute of God) to reveal at one and
the same time the ideas of compassion
arabic, first and foremost
and Godliness which the root signifies. In a similar vein, the word
which signifies the meaning of solidarity between various members of the nation
is ukhuwwa, whose stem meaning akh (brother) captures this relationship
by virtue of its phonetic similarity to the interjection of pain (Åkh). On the basis of what has been said
above, the Arab nation in its ideal form now emerges as a familial,
goal-orientated community among whose members relations of compassion and
solidarity obtain by virtue of divine intervention and action.
The derivational structure of Arabic and its rootedness in the
sounds of nature is said by al-Arsuzi to be the key to shedding light on the
relationship between the Arabs and other nations, which in turn can enable
scholars to reach a conclusion as to the origins of humanity. Al-Arsuzi
exemplifies this by the words for “man” in Arabic, Hindi and Latin: rajul, raja and rex (this is
actually the word for “king”, not “man”, in Latin) respectively. He says that
these words can be traced via the stem rajja
in Arabic (to shake), as in rajja al-
ar∂ (He stamped on the ground and caused it to shake), to the root r, which echoes this meaning through its
trilling articulation in the mouth. Arabic under this analysis is projected as
the storehouse of connections between languages and as the instrument which can
unlock some of the most complex and funda- mental secrets of humanity. This in
turn shows that Arabic is superior to all other languages.
Let us pursue how the revival of Arabic – in the sense of
reactivating the vision it lexically and structurally embodies – can lead to
the revival of the Arab nation. In addition to explaining this, the following
discussion will serve to show the continuities between al-Arsuzi’s thinking and
aspects of the Arabic grammatical tradition I have outlined above. First, we
may mention al-Arsuzi’s view that the inflectional ending u is stronger than a,
which Ibn Jinni gave as the reason for assigning the former to the agent and
the latter to the patient. Al- Arsuzi introduces a new twist in this line of
argument by saying that the associa- tion of a – as in kataba – in the canonical form of the
verb with the perfect (in Arabic mÅ∂È, past),
and u – as in yaktubu – with the
imperfect (in Arabic mu∂ÅriÆ,
present), reflects the priority of the present over the past in the division of
time. And, since the mu∂ÅriÆ form of
the verb also signals the future, it follows that the Arabs are more orientated
through their language towards the present and the future than they are towards
the past (al-Mu’allafÅt al-kÅmila,
vol. 1: 185, 331). This in turn shows that the Arabs are by their very nature a
progressive people (taqaddumÈ), and
not a reactionary nation (rajÆÈ). Second, al- Arsuzi puts forward the
view that the structural priority of the verbal sentence (sentence beginning
with the verb as the signifier of action) over the nominal sentence (sentence
beginning with the noun) in Arabic reflects the importance the Arabs attach to
action in life (ibid.: 328). This in turn shows the dominance of the dynamic
over the static in Arab life. Al-Arsuzi gives other examples of
the arabic language and national identity
how the revival of Arabic in the above sense, rather than in its
usual meaning of coining new terms, can lead to re-enacting the impulses of a
glorious past in the present; but the above examples will suffice to show how
this is supposed to work in al-Arsuzi’s thinking.
This centrality of language in the modern Arab revival now acquires
a new dimension that is consistent with the root meaning of the word Æarab itself. Al- Arsuzi puts forward
the view that the word Æarab is
derived from the root Æarra, which is
used to signify a male ostrich uttering a cry, thus associating the word Æarab with articulation and enunciation
in nature (ibid.: 360). The word Æarab is
formed by adding the sound b to this
root, albeit in a modified form. And, since b
is a bilabial sound whose articulation takes place visibly at the external
extremity of the vocal tract, the choice of this sound adds the meaning of
“clarity” to its underlying root. The meaning of the word Æarab, according to this analysis, may now be glossed as “to speak
clearly”; and it is this meaning which underlies the grammatical signification
of the word i’rab in the sense of “to
use desinential inflections correctly”.
Although al-Arsuzi in the analysis given in the preceding paragraph
is still operating within the traditional semantic norms of the Arab
grammatical tradi- tion vis-à-vis the meaning of the word Æarab and its derivatives, he nevertheless goes beyond this tradition
in claiming that this word is derived from Æarra.
In putting forward this view, al-Arsuzi pays little attention to the fact
that the meaning of Æarra he adopts
is one of the most marginal significations of this root. Al-Arsuzi invokes this
tradition further, particularly in the interpretation put on it by al-Jahiz
when he considers the quality of bayÅn (clarity,
purity) in Arabic as the criterion which separates the Arabs from other
nations, the Æajam. Under this view,
the Arabs are said to be different from other nations not by virtue of having
Arabic per se, but owing to the
quality of bayÅn which inheres in the
language in a unique and unequalled way (ibid.). This explains al-Arsuzi’s
insistence on treating the dialects as degenerate forms of Arabic owing to
(what he believes to be) their defective character in matters of bayÅn. Al-Arsuzi regards this to be
self-evident and, therefore, in no need of proof or demonstration.
The general trend in Arab nationalist thought is to treat Arabic as
the
marker of the Arab national identity and as the medium of
modernization which, in itself, is in need of modernization to enable it to
become the communicative instrument of a flourishing and nationally conscious
Arab life in the modern period. Although al-Arsuzi has sympathy with this
trend, championed by al-Husri and other nationalist thinkers, the thrust of his
language-based nationalist ideology is markedly different. Arabic for al-Arsuzi
is not just the marker of an Arab national identity in the lands in which it is
the dominant language; it is also (and more significantly) the means through
which this identity can be revived, enriched and reasserted by invoking the
view of life
arabic, first and foremost
it encapsulates lexically and grammatically. As al-Arsuzi keeps
repeating in his publications, the Arabs’ genius as explained above resides in
their language, and it is only by rediscovering the sources of this genius that
the Arabs as a nation can relaunch themselves in the modern period. Reviving
the language, for al- Arsuzi, therefore becomes a precondition for reviving the
Arabs as a nation. Furthermore, this revival is the guarantee of authenticity
which the nationalist spirit must dig out and engage in an age of blind and
imitative modernization. True Arab modernization, for al-Arsuzi, cannot be
achieved without reinvigorating the future direction of the nation with the
formative, language- based impulses of its past. Clearly, what al-Arsuzi is
calling for is a radically different engagement with the language than has
hitherto been proposed in the Arab nationalist literature. This is what makes
him different from all the other thinkers I have dealt with in this chapter. To
this may be added the fact that the particular nature of al-Arsuzi’s appeal to
language, and his attempt to locate the period of unmediated engagement with
it, the period of fi†ra, mainly in
the pre- Islamic period, highlights the thoroughly secular nature of his brand
of Arab nationalism. Al-Arsuzi’s references to Islam as a system of thought,
and to the Prophet Muhammad as a national hero, bolster the secular nature of
this ideology. This in turn is intended to override the sectarian differences
between the Arabs which the French colonial policy tried to utilize in its
administration of and control over Syria.13
A full understanding of al-Arsuzi’s nationalist thought cannot,
however, be
achieved without placing it in its historical context. First, by
fronting language in the way he did as the criterion of nation-formation in the
Arab context, al- Arsuzi aims to challenge the French view of the nation which
tends to downgrade the role of language in nation-building. This in turn
enables him to put sufficient epistemological distance between his thinking and
French thought on the subject, thereby signalling a disjunction in the history
of Syria between its pre- and postcolonialist life, on the one hand, and the
colonial legacy of France on the other. Hence the many dismissive references in
his work to the French language and the role which France played in handing
over the Alexandretta region to Turkey. This further explains why, at least in
part, he suggests that the Syrian education system replace French by English as
the primary foreign language.
Second, al-Arsuzi’s nationalist theory is intended to reject the
claim made by some German Romantics that German is the “original” language. It
is also intended to counter the claim made by the Turkish nationalists, through
the “sun-language” theory, that Turkish is the mother of all languages. Al-Arsuzi’s
attitude towards Turkish is conspicuous by its absence, not only because of his
enmity towards Turkey but also because he believes that it is ludicrous that
the Turks as Æajam would ascribe such
a claim to their language. The place of being
the arabic
language and national identity
original (badÈ) and
primary (bidÅ’È) accrues to Arabic,
and to Arabic alone, in al- Arsuzi’s thinking. Al-Arsuzi is aware of the racial
connotations of his views, but he does not consider them to be racist. In this respect,
he wishes to distance himself from the racist tendencies of German nationalism
in the twentieth century, but without forgoing the claim that under his theory
Arabic is, and is capable of being shown to be, the original and primary
language in the manner set out earlier in this section.
Al-Arsuzi’s impact on Arab nationalist thinking has been
negligible, in spite (or because) of the acrobatics of his linguistic
theorizing. To begin with, for al- Arsuzi’s brand of Arab nationalist thought
to be accepted, his radical critique of the Arabic lexical tradition would have
to be accepted. This would require a complete overhaul of the principles upon
which the Arabic lexicon is based, particularly the dismantling of the dominant
triliteral root-orientation of this lexicon. In this respect, al-Arsuzi’s ideas
require the rejection of a tradition sanctioned by the authority of the entire
Arabic grammatical polysystem. Second, al-Arsuzi’s alternative system seems to
work more through the power of speculation than demonstration. It is only by
harnessing the power of sugges- tion, tenuous semantic overlaps and symbolic
representation that we can make al-Arsuzi’s ideas begin to work in support of
his nationalist ideology. Third, al- Arsuzi’s views of Arabic are both reductive
and essentializing. The idea that the Arabs have a more or less fixed view of
life that is internalized in the lexical, phonological and grammatical
structure of their language is tantamount to linguistic fundamentalism.
Furthermore, the idea that the most spontaneous expression of this view is
located in pre-Islamic and early Islamic times amounts to a kind of historical
fundamentalism which may lead to ossification, in spite of the fact that its
intention is one of ascribing an authenticity of a secular hue to the
nationalist philosophy it seeks to enunciate. Fourth, al-Arsuzi’s language-
based philosophy runs uncomfortably close to a view of national categories that
is not completely devoid of racial overtones, as he himself admits to have been
the case in the early years of his thinking. The fact that his views are
far-fetched and, in many ways, airy-fairy has contributed to the neglect they
have suffered.
5.
conclusion
The role of Arabic as the marker and the ingredient of the greatest
importance in the formation of the Arab national identity is a major theme in
the literature on the topic. Early pronouncements on the subject were either
vague as to the membership of the Arab nation, or sought to circumscribe this
membership to meet with the political exigencies of the prevailing political
situation at the beginning of the twentieth century. An example of the former
is the definition of the nation by reference to language by al-Marsafi (section
1). An example of
arabic, first and foremost
the latter attitude is the attempt to limit membership in the Arab
nation to the Arabic-speaking countries in Asia by Najib ÆAzury (section 1).
These pro- nouncements gave way to a clear and unequivocal association between
language and nation in all the Arabic-speaking countries in Asia and Africa in
the work of al-ÆAlayli (section 2), al-Bitar (section 2), al-Husri (section 3)
and al-Arsuzi (section 4). It is in the work of these authors, particularly
al-Husri, that the association of language and nation in the Arab(ic) context
culminated. This association is invariably linked to an objective mode of
defining the nation. If the “will” is important in forming the nation, it is
because it represents the prior existence of the nation as a cultural entity,
rather than the other way round.
There is general agreement among these nationalist thinkers on the
secular- ist nature of Arab nationalism. The association between language and
national identity, in place of the old association between religion/sect and
group identity, was promoted to override the faith differences between the
Arabic-speaking peoples, a theme well represented in the fairly extensive body
of poetry as a meta-nationalist discourse on the Arabic language. In this
respect, Arab nation- alism develops from its earlier roots in the work of the
renaissance (nahda) writers in the
nineteenth century, for example Ibrahim al-Yaziji (see Chapter 4, section 4).
Recourse to the language is further consistent with the position of Arabic as a
marker of identity in earlier times. However, one of the main advantages of
utilizing language in the conceptualization of Arab subjectivity is the fact
that the objective of modernization which the renaissance writers launched
could be pursued without encumbrance from the limiting confines of the past.
For this modernizing project to succeed, the language must be seen to be
functionally able to respond to the terminological, pedagogic and other
communicative needs of the Arabs. To achieve this goal, Arabic itself had to
undergo modernization both grammatically and lexically. This interest in the
functional role of a living and thriving language explains the little explicit
interest there is in the work of these scholars in the symbolic significance of
Arabic, with the exception of al-Arsuzi. It also explains the interest in
reform- ing the language and invigorating it by the above scholars,
particularly al-Husri. Of the nationalist thinkers dealt with in this chapter,
al-Husri stands out as the most influential figure in Arab nationalist thought.
Unlike al-ÆAlayli or al- Arsuzi, his style is characterized by immediacy and
communicative efficiency. This is why he is referred to as the populist Arab
nationalist thinker par excellence in the literature. Al-Husri shows himself to
be aware of the power of language not just to unite but also to communicate.
This is why his ideas had such currency in the second half of the twentieth
century, and why they generated controversy in the daily and weekly press in
Lebanon and Egypt in particular. In comparison, al-ÆAlayli and al-Arsuzi can be
a real chore for the ordinary reader. The use of semi-classical language by the
former, and abstract
the arabic language and national identity
and vague expressions by the latter, meant that their message
failed to get through to the intended audience, the Arabs themselves, who at
the time did not enjoy the same level of literacy as exists in the Arab world
today.
Al-Husri also distinguished himself above the others in adopting a
historical, some might say pseudo-historical, approach to dealing with Arab
nationalism. In particular, he sought to support his ideas on the nature and
direction of this nationalism by evidence he drew eclectically from other
contexts, especially European history. This strategy was most effective in the
treatment of the relative weight of language and religion in nation-formation.
In setting out his observations, al-Husri adopted a descriptive tone, which
then served as the basis for prescription in the Arab nationalist context.
Furthermore, al-Husri’s reflections on the origins and course of European
nationalism are used to identify general tendencies which he then uses to argue
in favour of his own ideas on Arab nationalism. History is important for
al-Husri, not because it can enable the nationalist thinker to resurrect the
past, but because it objectifies the nationalist ideology and makes it amenable
to empirical investigation. Outright speculation is not a mode of investigation
which he uses or of which he approves. In this respect, he is different from
al-Arsuzi, whose approach to Arab nationalism may be said to be
“philosophical”, “metaphysical” and “a-historical” rather than positivist and
historical. The interesting thing, however, is that both scholars regard their
approaches to the study of Arab nationalism as the only way of building the
basis upon which the modernization project of the Arab nation can proceed. For
al-Husri, the discovery of historical trends enables the Arabs to step into the
future armed with knowledge of what is historically possible and relevant and
what is not. For al-Arsuzi, the past – but not just any past, as I have
explained above – is the basis for deciphering and calling back into service
what may be metaphorically called the “genetic code” of the nation in
sociopolitical terms. It is this code alone which can guarantee that the future
of the Arab nation will be built on secure grounds. Whereas modernity for al-
Husri is located in the future, but with reference to the past, for al-Arsuzi
modernity is based on a past without which it cannot take root in the future.
The highly speculative nature of al-Arsuzi’s thinking on language
and nationalism strains the linguistic parameters within which the Arabic
gramma- tical tradition works. The reduction of triliteral roots to biliteral
ones cannot be sustained in descriptive terms. In particular, this alternative
view of the Arabic lexicon works through suggestion rather than solid empirical
analysis. This view is also motivated by an extralinguistic objective whose aim
is to promote a particular type of nationalist enunciation in which language
has pride of place in a semi-philosophical mode of thinking. On a different
level, al-Arsuzi’s ideas are intended to counter the claims made in Turkish
nationalism as to the antiquity of Turkish and to its ability to act as the
source of all human languages
arabic, first and foremost
–
what is traditionally known as the “Sun Theory” by Turkish
nationalists. The fact that Turkish cannot be shown to articulate a conceptual
network of nationalist meanings similar to those culled from Arabic by
al-Arsuzi is seen as proof of the falsity of the Turkish claims mentioned in
the preceding sentence. In pursuing this line of thinking, al-Arsuzi further
aims to settle some political scores in the arena of cultural nationalism
insofar as this involves Arabs and Turks. The Arabs appear as a more legitimate
nation than the Turks on the stage of human history. This makes the loss of
al-Arsuzi’s native Iskandarun (Alexandretta) to the Turks all the more
unbearable. It may also be a factor behind his views on Arabic and nationalism
which, as I have pointed out in the preceding section, border on linguistic
racism.
The association of language with nation in Arab nationalism is an
example of the phenomenon of cultural nationalism (cf. Hutchinson 1987). In
this respect, Arab nationalism is cast in the German mode of defining the
nation, without however espousing its racial overtones – the only exception
here being al-Arsuzi. This type of nationalism is seen to fit the Arab context
best. First, it represents a continuation of the main impulses of this
nationalism in the Ottoman period which, not unexpectedly, came to be the
dominant impulse in post-Ottoman Turkish nationalism. Second, the lack of
insistence on the state as a precondition of nation-formation in cultural
nationalism suits the Arab context in which political fragmentation, not
political unity, is the norm. Aware- ness of the role of the state in promoting
or depressing cultural nationalism is recognized by some of the scholars dealt
with in this chapter, particularly al- Bitar. It is also recognized by
al-ÆAlayli, al-Arsuzi and al-Husri, although their views on the subject are
offered more in passing acknowledgement of this element – particularly for
al-Husri’s – than as a serious engagement with this most important topic, as we
shall see in the next chapter.
6
1.
introduction
In Chapter 5, an attempt was made to investigate how language was
utilized in promoting a concept of nationalism in the Arabic-speaking countries
in which standard Arabic was the primary ingredient. Emphasis in this attempt
was placed on the contributions made by SatiÆ al-Husri (section 3), Zaki
al-Arsuzi (section 4) and, to a lesser extent, ÆAbdalla al-ÆAlayli and Nadim
al-Bitar (section 2). The role of other ingredients in the definition of Arab
nationalism
–
for example, history, culture, customs and traditions, geography and
common interests – is acknowledged by these writers, but none of these
ingredients is said to have the primacy of language in this nationalism, with
the exception of, possibly, history for SatiÆ al-Husri. It would therefore be
correct to say that Arab nationalism is based on the premise that those who
share Arabic as their common language belong to the same nation. Suffice it to
say that, by promoting this view of Arab national identity, Arab nationalism
succeeded in shaping the ideological terrain in the Arab Middle East in such a
way that alternative territorial nationalisms were impelled to deal with this
ingredient in setting up their defining principles. They did so by employing a
host of strategies whose aim ranges from denying the definitional role of
language in nation-formation to relegating it to the level of a support factor
that is secondary to other more primary factors, be they geographical or
state-orientated in character.
This conceptualization of identity in Arab nationalist thinking is
anchored
(1) to those elements in the history of the Arabic-speaking peoples
which lend support to the language-based mode of definition of national
identity, and (2) to the ideas of the German Romantics (see Chapter 3). Viewed
from the perspec- tive of these two formative impulses, the Arab nation emerges
as a construct that is sanctioned by the past and supported by evidence drawn
from the course of nationalism in modern European history. To this must be
added the contri- bution of the struggle between the Arabs and the Turks in the
Ottoman Empire in the second half of the nineteenth century and the first two
decades of the twentieth century (see Chapter 4). In this context, Arab
nationalism in its early stages appears as a response to the rise of Turkish nationalism
in the Ottoman
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
Empire. Being products of more or less the same milieu, both
nationalisms follow the same model of nation-formation whereby language plays
the defining role. It was also pointed out in Chapter 5 that one of the main
themes in the Arab nationalist discourse is the separation of the nation and
the state, in the sense that the latter is not established as a precondition of
the former in ideological terms. Time after time, the point is made that,
although the state may enhance the cause of Arab nationalism, it nevertheless
does not enjoy the same status as language in nation-formation. This valorizing
attitude towards the state in the Arab nationalist discourse reflects the
situation of political division between the Arabic-speaking countries. It is
important to note here, however, that the attempt to fashion a nationalist
ideology that is in tune with its own historical and political imperatives is
also present in the set of alternative nationalisms which I have dubbed
“territorial” in the title of this chapter, as we shall see below.
Nevertheless, these nationalisms differ from Arab nationalism in the
conviction that the state is an absolute criterion of the nation.
The term “territorial nationalism” in the present work covers a
host of nationalist pronouncements which have in common the correlation of a
parti- cular ideology with a specific geographical area in the Arabic-speaking
world. In some cases, the area in question is more or less identical with the
boundaries of a given state, for example Egypt or Lebanon. In other cases, the
area in question is regional in character. An example of this type is Antun
SaÆada’s Syrian Nationalism, whose territorial scope includes the countries of
the Fertile Crescent (Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, Palestine and Syria) and Cyprus
(see section 2 below). In some cases, territorial nationalism is expressed
through a principle of environmental determinism, as in Egyptian nationalism in
the first three decades of the twentieth century (see section 3), Lebanese
nationalism as promulgated by Jawad Bulus (1899–1982) in his LubnÅn wa-l-buldÅn al-mujÅwira (Lebanon and the Surrounding Countries,
1973), or (to a somewhat lesser extent) Antun SaÆada’s Syrian Nationalism (see
section 2). In other cases, territorial national- ism is tied to the state and
the structure of political authority it possesses, as in Kamal al-Hajj’s brand
of Lebanese nationalism, whose aim is to produce an ideological rationalization
of the confessional basis of the Lebanese state (see section 6.2 below). In
some cases, territorial nationalism constitutes a rejection of Arab
nationalism; this is represented by Syrian Nationalism and some articu- lations
of Egyptian and Lebanese nationalism. In other cases, territorial nation- alism
considers itself an ally of Arab nationalism; this is the position of Jamal
Hamdan, whose study Shakhßiyyat mißr (The Character of Egypt) sets out his
views on this matter in great detail. Other expressions of territorial nationalism
do exist, but they will not concern us here.
Although the present chapter will be (mainly) restricted to
articulations of
territorial nationalism in Egypt and the Levant in the twentieth
century, the
the arabic language and national identity
impulses of these nationalist ideologies are located in the
preceding century. In the Levant, territorial nationalism had as its precursor
the ideas of Butrus al- Bustani (1819–83), whose notion wa†an (used interchangeably with bilÅd or iqlÈm, roughly patrie) is geographically and
socioculturally defined to include Greater Syria. Al-Bustani believes that the
environment in which a people lives helps to mould their character and make out
of them a broadly cohesive unit with common interests. This sense of social
cohesion is strengthened by – but is not dependent on – the existence of a
common language and shared customs and traditions which can enable the people
concerned to neutralize the forces of division existing between them (see
Nassar 1994: 347–60). In putting forward this interpretation of wa†an as a self-contained
socio-geographical entity, al- Bustani intended to make Greater Syria the focus
of loyalty and solidarity of and between the people who lived in it, and to do
so in a way which could overcome the divisive influence of the religious and
sectarian differences that were responsible for much of the intercommunal
strife in Mount Lebanon in his day. In Egypt, RifaÆa al-Tahtawi (1801–73) paved
the way for the emergence of territorial nationalism in the twentieth century.
He did so by constructing a vision of an Egyptian nation that is territorially
defined and politically anchored to a powerful and modernizing state. The
existence of a common language and shared customs and traditions between the
Egyptians is said to strengthen this nationalism without, however, uniquely
identifying it. Being an ideological rationalization of the status quo in Egypt
during al-Tahtawi’s lifetime, this con- cept of Egyptian national identity is
made to include religion, thus reflecting the Islamic character of the country
and its connections with the Ottoman Empire,
of which Egypt was formally a part.
The aim of this chapter is to deal with those articulations of
territorial nationalism in the Arabic-speaking countries of the Middle East in
which lan- guage is invoked in identity-formation. To this end, this chapter
will deal with Antun SaÆada’s regional Syrian Nationalism (section 2), Egyptian
nationalism (section 3, and section 4 and associated sub-sections) and Lebanese
nationalism (section 5 and associated sub-sections). In line with the overall
design of this book, the interaction between language and a given territorial
nationalism will be placed in its historical and political context.
2.
the arabic
language and territorial nationalism: antun
saÆada and regional
syrian nationalism
In his major work NushË’
al-umam (1994), Antun SaÆada (1904–49) reiterates the point that the nation
has been the subject of competing theoretical con- ceptualizations in different
nationalist discourses. The reason behind this, he points out, is the attempt
by nationalists to fashion a concept of the nation that
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
suits their own situation and the internal or external challenges
facing their people. This may be explained as follows. As a sociological fact,
a particular nation partakes in one way or another of the universal or
semi-universal charac- teristics of the generic phenomenon to which it belongs.
However, the political state of the nation means that this generic concept is
packaged to suit the particularities of the situation to which it is to be
applied. As a result, the nation emerges as the outcome of the interplay
between the general and the particular, whereby the former is projected as the
domain of sociology and the latter is visualized as the realm of politics.
Although SaÆada asserts that his book NushË’
al-umam (The Genesis/Rise of Nations)
is a work of “pure sociology” (1994: 17), there is no doubt that the political
situation in Lebanon to which it responds had a determining effect on the view
of the nation it puts forward.
This situation is characterized by the identitarian duality of
Lebanese nation- alism and Arab nationalism. The fact that Lebanese nationalism
in its early stages was mainly supported by Christians, particularly Maronites,
led SaÆada to the view that this nationalism was irretrievably sectarian in
character. Similarly, the fact that Arab nationalism was mainly supported by
the Muslims led SaÆada to the conclusion that Arab nationalism was a variant of
Islamic nationalism. Viewed from these two perspectives, SaÆada’s Syrian
Nationalism may be seen as an attempt to provide an alternative mode of
definition which can overcome the confessional configurations of Lebanese
national identity. This explains SaÆada’s strong opposition to the above two
forms of conceptualization of national identity. It also explains his espousal
of a nationalist ideology that is thoroughly secular and thoroughly Syrian in
character.1 Furthermore, it explains why he declares that both Lebanese and
Arab nationalism are reactionary (1993) and bankrupt (1976) ideologies which
are out of tune with the spirit of the age and the abiding forces which have
helped shape the Syrian national character over the centuries.
SaÆada states that he set out “to fight” Arab nationalism because
it promotes what he calls a “false sense of Arabness” (1993: 185). Syrian
Nationalism, says SaÆada, believes in a “genuine Arabness” (ibid.) in which it
is prepared to play a leading role on the basis of cooperation between what are
distinct Arab nations in an Arab world that seeks integration, not
assimilation, between its constitu- ent members. In a similar fashion, SaÆada
declares that the Syrian Nationalists chose “to fight” Christian Lebanese
nationalism because it is the creation of the colonialist “will” and the
realization of sectarian politics. By promoting the idea that Lebanon is the
eastern frontier of the Christian West, Lebanese national- ists adopt an
isolationist and false identity for Lebanon (1993: 196) that denies the
historical and cultural links between it and the rest of Syria. In addition,
Lebanese nationalism denies the environmental basis upon which these links are
constructed.
the arabic language and national identity
One of the most important principles in SaÆada’s concept of the
nation concerns the role of the physical environment in shaping the character
of a people and in creating different groups among humankind. Broadly speaking,
the environment delivers this function through the boundaries it provides
between regions, the climatic conditions which obtain in each region, the kind
of soil each region has, and, finally, its topography. This view is generally
dubbed “environmental determinism” in the literature. As we shall see below
(section 4), environmental determinism plays an important role in formulations
of Egyptian nationalism.
SaÆada’s environmental determinism consists of two components: (1)
the earth is made up of different geographical regions and physical
environments, and (2) these environments determine the distribution of human
beings into distinct groups. He supports these two components by pointing out
that “were our earth but one vast plain of equal climatic conditions and without
such physical boundaries as deserts, mountains, rivers and seas, it would have
been self-evident that mankind would have formed one big society” (1994: 50).
Yet SaÆada does not ignore the importance of what he calls the “psychological
and individual” factors (ibid.: 55) which a group can bring to bear in moulding
the environment to its needs, thus creating its own distinctive history. He
expresses this element in his thinking by saying that “there can be no people
where there is no land, no group where there is no physical environment, and no
history where there is no group” (ibid.). Under this view, history emerges as
the creation of a group whose character is shaped by the environment of the
territory on which it exists. As a historical phenomenon, the nation therefore
partakes of the interaction between the group – as a social entity with common
interests and psycho-physical characteristics – and its physical environment,
with the emphasis being put on the latter in nation-formation.
But a nation is more than just a social group (mutta˙ad ijtimÅÆÈ) who share a common life within a well-defined
territory. What makes a nation different from other social groups – whether
they are defined in terms of village, city or country
– is the involvement of political will as a “vital element” in
bringing it about (1994: 191). Although SaÆada does not make the distinction,
it seems necessary that nation-building as a political enterprise be kept
distinct from nation- formation as a sociological phenomenon in his thinking.
Whereas nation- formation is largely the outcome of the interaction of a given
group with its environment, and the influence which this environment indelibly
has on them, nation-building is the outcome of the will of the group concerned
to achieve political unity by creating a single state on its territory.
Although the state in this sense is not definitional of the nation as a
sociological fact, in political terms it constitutes the crown which the nation
aims to acquire for itself to protect its own interests. For this to be
achieved, a nation must nurture its own
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
nationalism in its capacity as the socio-psychological fusion of
the love of the motherland, a keen awareness of the common interests of the
group, and the readiness on the part of the group concerned to defend and
protect these two.
What is significant from the perspective of the present study is
the exclusion of language as a criterion in the definition of the nation in
Syrian Nationalism. On the ideological level, this constitutes a rejection of
the Arab nationalist idea which considers language as the sine qua non of the nation, or as the factor which marks it
externally in relation to other nations. Language in Syrian Nationalism is considered
as a necessary condition for the existence of human society, in the same way as
other species or sub-species in the animal kingdom must have recourse to a
means of communication to take care of their needs. SaÆada expresses this point
by saying that language is not the cause of society, but its outcome; it is the
result of people coming together to form a group, rather than the reason why
the group concerned comes into being in the first place. But he also
acknowledges that a common language can aid nation-formation and
nation-building by spreading the culture of the nation to its members, and by
linking these members to earlier generations of the same nation. A common
language can also serve these functions by making it possible for members of
the nation to pursue common goals and interests more easily than would
otherwise be the case if they did not share the same language. It is often
difficult to escape the feeling in dealing with SaÆada’s thinking on the
position of language in nation-formation that he is more than prepared “to have
his cake and eat it”.
Sharing a common language under this analysis may be treated as an
attribute (ßifa) of the nation, but
not as an ingredient (Æunßur) which
makes all those who speak the language concerned belong to the same nation.
SaÆada tells us that the disjunction between language and nation at the level
of identity is supported by the existence of more than one nation in
communities that speak the same language. Thus, not all those who speak Arabic,
Spanish or English constitute one nation. By the same token, different national
literatures with their own specific flavours do exist through the same language
community. SaÆada also states that the opposite is equally true. A nation may
possess more than one language and one literature, which it may share with
other nations beyond its borders without this leading to the fragmentation of
the nation concerned. That a nation must have access to a common language for
general use is understand- able; but this is different from saying that this
common language makes the nation concerned one with other nations that speak
the same language.
SaÆada believes that the fallacy of defining the nation
linguistically was promulgated by the Germans to justify the acquisition of
territories where pockets of German-speakers existed outside the borders of
Germany. Linguistic nationalism, therefore, was developed by the Germans not
through objective study and sound reflection, but as a camouflage for
territorial expansion, the
the arabic language and national identity
implication here being that Arab nationalism can promote a similar
attitude among those who espouse it. It is therefore the duty of Syrian
Nationalists to refute the claims of Arab nationalism, and to fight it as an
ideology which condones territorial expansion. The Syrians, SaÆada states, have
survived many changes of religion and language throughout their long history.
Thus, rather than being absorbed into a nation of Arabic-speakers, the Syrians
have injected their vigour and vitality into Arabic by translating into the
language knowledge they had accumulated through their contact with other
peoples and nations. Rather than losing their identity to the Arabs and fusing
it into a prefabricated Arabic, the Syrians assimilated Arabic and its original
speakers into their national character in a way that is consistent with similar
assimilations they had performed in earlier times. Thus, if Arabic is the
national language of the Syrians, it is so only in its Syrianized form. Furthermore,
consideration of situations elsewhere in the world shows that the pursuit of
language as the marker of the national self may lose its intensity after
independence has been achieved. Ireland is a case in point. SaÆada points out
how the Irish language went into decline after the creation of the Irish Free
State in 1921, thus reversing a long- standing tradition which sought to
utilize the language as a marker of Irishness during the long and hard struggle
for independence from the British.
By citing this example, SaÆada wishes to imply that the treatment
of language as a marker of the nation is contingent on the factors existing at
the time when this association is made, and that this definitional role is
weakened considerably when the conditions giving rise to it lose their potency.
According to SaÆada, therefore, language is an accidental property of the
nation rather than a definitional criterion of it. Syrian Nationalists believe
that this shows the fallacy of the linguistic nationalist principle that
language is worthier than territory. In Syrian Nationalism, the opposite is
true. Faced with the loss of its language or its territory, a nation will
always choose to retain its territory. Without it, the nation concerned will
cease to exist. The same is not true of language. The Syrians, we are told,
changed their language several times throughout their history, but by sticking
to their homeland they have succeeded in preserving their own identity.
Like al-Husri’s and al-Arsuzi’s, SaÆada’s nationalist thinking is
not without problems, chief among which is the mixing of sociology and
advocacy. It is therefore not always easy to know where SaÆada the sociologist
speaks and where his nationalist alter ego enunciates. Another problem is the
lack of clarity as to where the nation as a sociological fact begins, and where
it ends in relation to its political manifestation in the state. On one level,
it seems that the will of the nation to achieve political unity is the factor
which distinguishes it from sub- national units within its realm. But until
this will is realized, it is hard to distinguish between social groups that are
nations and those that are not. If so,
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
how can the Syrian nation be defined? The answer to this may be
framed in relation to the boundaries which the Constitution of the Syrian
National Party sets, although these boundaries were subjected to change by
SaÆada at different points in his career. In terms of this position, the Syrian
nation may be said to consist of those people who live or have lived within
these boundaries. But this begs the question; for, in terms of the
environmental determinism which characterizes this nationalism, we must be able
to establish how those who live or have lived within these boundaries are all
marked by a set of environmentally induced characteristics which, though not
necessarily uniform, are still cohesive enough to distinguish them from other
nations. Apart from a few remarks, no attempt is made to deal with this issue,
perhaps because SaÆada intended to return to it in his book NushË’ al-umma al-sËriyya, which has
never been published. SaÆada’s rejection of language as a marker of the nation
may therefore be said to be the outcome of his desire to distance himself from
Arab nation- alism ideologically, rather than as the logical outcome of the
principle of environmental determinism upon which he premises his thinking. On
a different level, this rejection reflects SaÆada’s awareness of how Arab
nationalism plays out on the Lebanese political scene by eliciting an
alternative and sectarian mode of national self-definition, namely Christian
Lebanese nationalism.
3.
the arabic
language and egyptian nationalism: early beginnings
Egyptian territorial nationalism operates within the domain of the
state. This explains the lack of an intense preoccupation with the state at the
ideological level in this nationalism. Instead, the main goal of this
nationalism is the forma- tion of a self-conscious nation in the territory
ruled by the state. Like other territorial nationalisms in the Arab Middle
East, Egyptian nationalism in the period under consideration here projects
itself as a form of identification that is more authentic than other competing
nationalisms, be they linguistic or religious in orientation. In particular,
Egyptian nationalism promotes itself as an alter- native to Arab and Islamic
nationalism, which are not without their supporters in the Egyptian cultural
and political space.
The early beginnings of Egyptian nationalism go back to the start
of the nineteenth century, with the French occupation (1798–1803) playing a
moti- vating role in stirring the beginnings of a political consciousness in
the country (see Ahmed 1960: 2, Suleiman 1996b: 26). The rise to power of
Muhammad Ali in 1805 and his ensuing reforms, especially in the educational
field, heralded a period of modernization unparalleled in the modern history of
Egypt. One of Muhammad Ali’s crowning achievements in this field was the
establishment in 1835 of the School of Languages (Dar al-Alsun), whose task was
to produce
the arabic language and national identity
translations from European languages into Arabic (see al-Shayyal
1951). The vigorous translation programme of this school constituted a boost to
the func- tional role of Arabic as an instrument of modernization. This
new-found status of the language was further strengthened in symbolic terms by
the use of Arabic alongside Turkish in a new functional domain: al-WaqÅ’iÆ al-mißriyya, the official Egyptian Gazette. Later, Arabic replaced
Turkish altogether as the sole language of this important publication, thus
reflecting the rising fortunes of the language and its implicit role as the
official language of the state. These achievements constituted a vindication of
the view expressed at the beginning the nineteenth century by Shaykh Hasan
al-ÆAttar (c. 1766–1835) to the effect that the “power of language” can be used
as “an instrument in awakening the mind of Egypt” (Ahmed 1960: 5). This is one
of the most abiding themes in Egyptian nationalism.
Muhammad Ali appointed al-Tahtawi to the headship of the School of
Languages. From the perspective of the present work, al-Tahtawi’s contribution
inside and outside this school proved to be of seminal importance in the
development of Egyptian nationalism. First, he was responsible for the massive
expansion in the functional domains which Arabic was made to serve. He did this
through the subject range of the translations he commissioned, which brought
the language face to face with new fields of knowledge and lexical expression.
To respond to these challenges, al-Tahtawi felt the need to modernize the
language to make it more amenable to deliver the extralinguistic modernization
programme championed by Muhammad Ali. In practical terms, this meant the
introduction of new vocabularies in the form of borrowings from European languages,
expanding the semantic domain of words in active use, or activating those words
that had lain dormant for a long time by deploying them in new lexical domains.
In addition, al-Tahtawi turned his attention to the task of developing new
Arabic-language materials for use in the expanding school system in Egypt. In
particular, he is generally credited with the pioneering use of tables to
summarize points of grammar in the teaching of Arabic language, as evidenced by
his al-Tu˙fa al-maktabiyya fÈ taqrÈb al-lugha
al-Æarabiyya (in vol. 5, 1981), which contains around forty-seven such
tables.
Second, influenced by French thought on the role of geography in
moulding
communities and by the need to give legitimacy to Muhammad Ali as
the sovereign ruler of Egypt in the face of the rival claim to authority
attributed to the Ottoman Sultan, al-Tahtawi called on his countrymen to make a
distinction between “brotherhood of country” and “brotherhood of religion”,
complemen- tary though these two forms of identification were. In pursuing this
distinction, al-Tahtawi showed a keen interest in the history of Egypt and
displayed a great pride in its Pharaonic past and the potential of this past in
motivating the Egyptians to regain their ancient glory, a theme to which I will
return later in
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
discussing Egyptian nationalism in the 1920s and early 1930s. As
Gershoni and Jankowski (1986: 11) point out, al-Tahtawi “was perhaps the first
modern Egyptian writer to view the entire civilized history of Egypt as a
continuum and to formulate an embryonic theory of an Egyptian national
character that extended from the ancient Egyptians to his contemporaries”.
Al-Tahtawi believed that it was the role of education to impart these ideas to
the Egyptian youth, inculcating them with the idea of ˙ubb al-wa†an (the love of the fatherland) which, as Hourani (1983:
78–9) points out, “acquires the meaning of territorial patriotism in the modern
sense” (see also ÆAbd al-Malik 1983, al- Qirni 1995: 5–32).
The ideas that Egypt is distinct from other entities with which it
shares ties of religion or language, and that language is an important element
in society – functionally as an instrument of modernization and symbolically as
the embodi- ment of that modernization – constitute the two most important
components of al-Tahtawi’s legacy to the development of Egyptian nationalism.
Witness the impact these ideas had on Muhammad ÆAbdu (1849–1905) and Ahmad
Lutfi al- Sayyid (1872–1963). So important was the language issue for Muhammad
ÆAbdu that he declared it to be second only to the reform of religious thinking
in his scheme of things: “My second purpose has been the reform of the way of
writing the Arabic language” (Hourani 1983: 141). This interest in the language
found greater expression in the nationalist thinking of Lutfi al-Sayyid, to
whose ideas I will turn next.
Lutfi al-Sayyid believed that Egypt was a distinct nation whose
people are linked not by religion or language, but by the conditions of their continuous
history, their existence in a well-defined territory and the common interests
that hold between them. Lutfi al-Sayyid was not opposed to the idea of a
community based on Islam or Arabic, but he thought that any such community
should be premised on the existence of distinct nations that cooperate with
each other without fear of assimilation. For Lutfi al-Sayyid, the Egyptian
nation “was something concrete and definite” (Ahmed 1960: 107), as concrete and
definite as the land on which it exists. This feature of Lutfi al-Sayyid’s
thinking has led Hourani to observe with characteristic insight that “what is
original in Lutfi’s writing is his physical consciousness of Egypt and its
countryside” (1983: 177). Hourani continues: Lutfi al-Sayyid “evokes the sights
and sounds of the cotton fields, paints in bright colours the virtues and
happiness of the good peasant, and exhorts the younger generation to respond to
the beauty of nature”. The purpose of this mode of writing was to form the
political consciousness of the Egyptians and to mould their character in favour
of an ideology which promoted the nation as the basis of group loyalty and
solidarity. Education through the national language was considered the means to
achieving this aim. This view of education puts language at the heart of Lutfi
al-Sayyid’s
the arabic language and national identity
nationalist thinking. As the editor of the newspaper al-JarÈda between c. 1908 and 1914, he
used his position to advance a range of views on the reform of the Arabic
language. Commenting on this aspect of Lutfi al-Sayyid’s work, Ahmed (1960:
105) believes that “his contribution to the enrichment of the language will
probably be his chief legacy as a sociological writer”. Lutfi al-Sayyid
believes that Arabic belongs to the Egyptian nation, and that a nation which
neglects its language and does not seek to develop it lexically and
stylistically lacks an awareness of itself and respect for it. This fact
behoves the Egyptian nation to preserve its language and to develop it to meet
its own modernization needs. Preservation does not however mean ossification,
nor does modernization mean the wholesale importation of lexical resources from
other languages. What is required is a strategy which allows the Egyptian
nation to strike a happy medium between, first, the traditionalists and the
modernizers, and, second, the colloquial and the standard. The ultimate aim of
this will be to reform Arabic and to make it the language of science, which
does not belong to any one nation to the exclusion of others. To do this,
Arabic must be endowed with an ever- expanding stock of scientific terms to
enable it to address the needs of its users. The battle between the linguistic
traditionalists, as Lutfi al-Sayyid defines them, and the modernizers is one of
attitude towards the past and how it relates to the present and the future. The
traditionalists insist that the lexical purity of the language must be
preserved by coining native technical terms to designate new inventions and
concepts.2 Failure to follow this principle will lead to a flood of foreign
terms, which will compromise the cultural and structural integrity of the
language. By holding this position, the traditionalists clearly display a keen
awareness of the role of symbolism in conceptualizing issues of linguistic
change as emblematic manifestations of larger change in society. What is
ultimately at stake here is the attempt to fashion a concept of language and
nation that is rooted in the past and that will remain true to it. Foreign
lexical imports are
believed to undermine this position; that is why they must be
resisted.
The modernizers, on the other hand, believe that borrowing terms
from other tongues is consistent with the history of the Arabic language. Lutfi
al- Sayyid, who considers himself to be among the modernizers, points out that
the Qur’an itself contained borrowed terms, and that during the age of
translation in the medieval period the Arabs borrowed many terms from Greek,
Persian and Sanskrit even when at times they had native equivalents to these
terms. Borrowing is therefore not a sign of weakness or corruption, but of
strength and the desire to advance forward, hence the use of such phrases as IlÅ al-amÅm (“Forward, March!”) and RaqqË lughatakum (“Develop Your Language!”)
as titles for some of Lutfi al-Sayyid’s articles in al-JarÈda in 1913 (1945, vol. 1: 126, 134). Furthermore, borrowings
from European languages will represent a case of lexical restitution whereby
the Egyptians will reclaim new terminologies in lieu
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
of the terms which the Europeans borrowed from Arabic in the past.
Borrowing from European languages thus becomes a case of quid pro quo, and not a sign of linguistic weakness as the
traditionalists may think.
Borrowings may be done directly from the donor languages, or
indirectly via the colloquial which often incorporates the names of new objects
well before these names are subjected to scrutiny by linguistic authority. The
involvement of the colloquial in this process of lexically replenishing the
standard requires some adjustment in the attitude towards the former in
society. Lutfi al-Sayyid therefore insists that a new mode of thinking must be
developed whereby the colloquial as the site of linguistic corruption is
nevertheless considered as a reservoir of lexical and grammatical resources
which may be used to enrich and reform the standard. To this end, Lutfi
al-Sayyid established it as an aim of the nation to effect a rapprochement
between the colloquial as the language of speech and the standard as the
language of writing. This will lead to creating a middle language between these
two forms of Arabic in a double trajectory of lexically enriching the standard
and grammatically correcting the colloquial. In national terms, the new
language will represent an important, perhaps the most important, factor in the
advancement of the Egyptian nation. It will do so by harnessing the living
power of the colloquial to the sanctioned authority of the standard as the
language of research and scientific exchange.
Some critics have dubbed Lutfi al-Sayyid’s call to create a middle
language to
bridge the difference between the colloquial and the standard tamßÈr al-lugha, the Egyptianization of
Arabic (al-RafiÆi 1974: 54–66). They have been helped in this by Lutfi
al-Sayyid’s use of the term al-lugha
al-mißriyya (the Egyptian language) to refer to the spoken Arabic of Egypt
(1945, vol. 1: 247), and by his calls to Egyptianize education and Western
civilization. The fact that Lutfi al- Sayyid did not seem to have challenged
this term (tamßÈr al-lugha) may have
been the reason behind its currency as a feature of his thinking to this day.
This acquiescence on his part – if it is correct – may reflect a belief that a
distinct Egypt in national terms would be better served by having a language
that is more or less its own, at least in its lexical flavour. There is,
however, no way of establishing whether Lutfi al-Sayyid did in fact hold such a
belief. What is certain is that Lutfi al-Sayyid was not a supporter of the
colloquial, which he held in some contempt as a corrupt form of Arabic. This
attitude on his part may be exemplified by his reaction to the use of the
colloquial on the stage (1945, vol. 2: 143, translation in Wendell 1972: 280):
I saw this on the stage of the ÆAbbas Theatre when the Abyad troupe
presented four plays which had been translated into poetry in the colloquial
tongue by the late … ÆUthman Bey Jalal. I saw the great crush of people, the
enthusiastic applause, and the tremendous acclaim which greeted these popular
plays. I saw everyone [so transported] except for myself and a few of my
friends who were of the same mind; who felt
the arabic language and national identity
depressed by the spectacle of [this sick language gaining in
strength], jostling the literary language, and forcing it out of the stage; and
who were oppressed by having to listen to solecisms [affecting the ends of
words].
We may gauge the strength of this interest in the language as a factor
in the formation of the Egyptian national consciousness by considering the
response in Egypt to the decision by the British to make English or French the
medium of instruction in the Egyptian schools. At the secondary level, this
resulted in reducing the number of hours devoted to instruction in or through
Arabic between 1893 and 1907 (see ÆAli 1995: 97–8). The journalist ÆAbdalla al-
Nadim (1844–96) published an article in the journal al-TankÈt wa-l-tabkÈt, entitled I∂ÅÆat
al-lugha taslÈm al-dhÅt (“Language Loss is Surrendering the Self ”), in
which he called upon the Egyptians to hold on to Arabic instead of surrendering
themselves to foreign languages (ibid.: 114–15). The same cause in its wider
ramifications was taken up by other journalists and newspapers of the day,
including Mustafa Kamil (1874–1908), whose al-LiwÅ’
was the scourge of those who promoted foreign languages over Arabic, be
they of British or Egypt- ian origin.
The above discussion shows that, although language was regarded as
an important element in Egyptian nationalism in the early stages of its
develop- ment, it is nevertheless not raised to the status of a characteristic
principle of this nationalism in definitional terms. This excludes the
possibility of positing a common nationalism that ties the Egyptians to other
Arabic-speaking peoples outside Egypt, as pan-Arab nationalism later demanded.
However, language is accorded a pivotal role by Egyptian nationalists as an
instrument of modern- ization and as the object of modernization itself (see
Suleiman 1996b). This view of the language invokes both its functionality and
its power of symbolism. The above discussion also shows the deep desire among
the Egyptian nation- alists to reform the language by bringing it closer to the
colloquial, the spoken language of the people. And all of this is framed within
a concept of the nation that is territorially based, conscious of its past
history and determined not to let religion be one of its defining ingredients
(cf. Gershoni and Jankowski 1986: 13). This set of associations will constitute
the main thrust of the next section.
4.
the arabic
language and egyptian nationalism: full elaboration
The idea that Egypt is a distinct nation that is historically
unique and rooted in its geography was the product of a long period of
gestation in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Commitment to this
concept of Egypt operated even when the tie of religion was invoked as an instrument
of ridding the country of British occupation. This was the case with Mustafa
Kamil, who never
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
wavered in his belief in the uniqueness of Egypt, even when he
turned to Islam as a means of promoting extraterritorial links with the
Ottomans to oppose the British (see æAmara 1976, Nasr 1984). However, the idea
that the Egyptian national character was determined by the environment and the
social setting to which this gave rise came to the fore as a site of full
intellectual elaboration later, mainly in the 1920s and early 1930s. The
contribution of Muhammad Husayn Haykal (1888–1956)3 to the development of this
aspect of Egyptian nationalism was of paramount importance in giving it wide
currency, princi- pally through the newspaper al-SiyÅsa al-usbËÆiyya, which started to appear in 1926. Other
intellectuals participated in this enterprise, as we shall see in the next two
sections.
My aim in this section is a limited one: it is to outline the main
themes which dominated the articulations of Egyptian nationalism in its
territorial form in the period mentioned above. In carrying out this task, I
will concentrate on the way language was dealt with in these articulations,
painting as much of the socio- cultural context as necessary. It must be noted,
however, that the advocates of Egyptian nationalism did not all speak with one
voice. Variations existed among them, but they were all agreed that the
Egyptian national character was culturally distinct, historically unique and
environmentally determined, and that only by accepting this characterization of
their collective personality could the Egyptians determine a course of action
which, if followed, would lead to the realization of their aspirations of
comprehensive and sustainable modernization. Clearly, the task of these
advocates was twofold. First, they sought to chisel out of the data available
to them a blueprint of the Egyptian national character which responded to the
cultural politics of the day, as represented in the 1919 popular revolution,
the creation of parliamentary democracy in 1922–3 and the enormous pride which
the Egyptians felt in their past (Pharaonic) history as a result of the
discovery of the tomb of Tut-Ankh-Amon in 1922.4 The ending of the Caliphate by
the Turkish leader Mustafa Kemal Atatürk in 1923, and the strong advocacy of a
Turkish territorial nationalism, aided the cause of the Egyptian nationalists
(1) directly by ringing the death knell of the idea of an Islamic nation, and
(2) indirectly by giving credence to the ideology of Egyptian nationalism in
its territorial mode. Second, the advocates of Egyptian nationalism sought to
popularize their brand of national identity as the basis of task-orientation
among Egyptians. Their aim here was to convert the ideo- logical into a
motivating task-orientated force in the service of the nation and that of
state-building.
The principle of environmental determinism is a central premise in
Egyptian nationalism. Broadly speaking, the main thesis in this principle
revolves around the idea that the physical and climatic conditions of the Nile
Valley have endowed the Egyptians with group characteristics which made them
distinct
the arabic language and national identity
from those who surround them. In Egyptian nationalism, this
principle was employed as an instrument to underpin the following claims: (1) a
direct psychological and racial link exits between modern-day Egyptians and
their ancestors, whose civilization came into pre-eminence under the Pharaohs six
millennia ago; (2) the Egyptians are different from the Arabs, with whom they
share a common language, Arabic; (3) the Egyptians are different from their co-
religionists, mainly Muslims; (4) Egypt’s great powers of assimilation have
enabled it to absorb waves of immigrants and to stamp their mental make-up with
the indelible imprint of its character. The popularization of this image of
Egypt was channelled through the press. It was also channelled through the
school system, particularly in civics books.
The point of interest for us in all of this is the way in which the
above constellation of ideas was applied to the role of Arabic in the
conceptualization of Egyptian nationalism. The first and most fundamental
strategy was to argue that language is not a valid marker of national identity,
by citing examples where this is presumed not to be the case. In this context,
Muhammad Amin Hassuna pointed out that Arabic is not the language of one Arab
nation/people (shaÆb) but of
different Arab nations (see Husayn 1983, vol. 2: 151). Muhammad ÆAbdalla ÆAnan
expressed the view that Arabic came to Egypt with the invading Arabs and that,
as such, it does not make Egypt an Arab country (ibid.: 152–4). Arabic in this
context was sometimes thought to be similar to Latin, which gave birth to the
Romance languages, the implication being that the different Arabic dialects
could develop fully in the same direction if they were allowed into writing.
This point is reflected in an item by Tawfiq ÆAwwan in SiyÅsa al- usbËÆiyya in 1929 (cited in Gershoni and Jankowski 1986:
220):
Egypt has an Egyptian language; Lebanon has a Lebanese language;
the Hijaz has an Hijazi language; and so forth – and all of these languages are
by no means Arabic languages. Each of our countries has a language which is its
own possession: so why do we not write it as we converse in it? For the
language in which the people speak is the language in which they also write.
The point behind this is a simple one: even if language could be
admitted as a marker of the nation in abstract terms, Arabic could not play
this role because it is not a single language but a set of related languages
which ought to be inscribed in writing. Furthermore, owing to the fact that
Egypt has its own environmentally determined national character, and since
language is an attri- bute and instrument of this character, it logically
follows that the Arabic of Egypt must perforce be different from the Arabics of
other environmentally determined nations in the Arabic-speaking world. That
ÆAwwan does not recognize the distinction between language and dialect above is
not the issue here, for what is important in what he says is the fact of his
asserting the claim he puts forward, not its factual truth. This mode of
argumentation by formal
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
logic, of claiming that something is true by definition, is the
second strategy of dissociating language from nation in discussions of
self-identity in Egyptian nationalism.
A third strategy in this field consists of adducing empirical
evidence, or interpretations of such evidence, which purport(s) to show that
the special character of Arabic in Egypt is the result of the interference made
by the linguistic substratum in the language (see ÆUmar 1970, 1998).5 This
substratum is made up of Coptic, which is said to represent a demotic form of
the language of the Pharaohs, ancient Egyptian. The argument runs that Egypt’s
powers of assimilation ensured that the spoken Arabic of Egypt was impregnated
with structural (phonological and grammatical) and lexical properties that
reflect this substratum, and that it is these properties which explain the
difference between the Arabic of Egypt and that of other Arabic-speaking
regions which, by the same token, reflect their own linguistic substrata. It is
not difficult to see in this a reflection of the claim made by some Coptic
Egyptian nationalists, for example Murqus Samika, that all Egyptians are Copts,
but some happen to be Muslims and others Christians (see Husayn 1983, vol. 2:
148).6 Some Coptic nationalists went beyond this, calling for the revival of
the Coptic language to replace Arabic among the Copts and, it seems, non-Copts.
One such writer expressed the view that, in the same way that a person cannot
belong to two churches, a true Egyptian cannot be loyal to two languages (see
Kilani, n.d.: 51– 4). This view did not go unchallenged. Some Copts countered
it by pointing out that Coptic should be restricted to the monasteries, and
that the Copts should devote their attention to mastering the Arabic language
as the national language of Egypt. Some writers of this persuasion believed
that the danger to the Copts came not from Arabic but from European languages,
which the missionaries used as a bait to convert the Copts to their churches.
The place of Arabic in Egyptian nationalism was a major issue in
discussions
of the kind of literature which the Egyptian writers must develop
to reflect and mould the Egyptian national character and Egyptian national
culture. The debate over this issue was based on four premises. The first
stipulated that literature is the marker (ÆunwÅn)
of a nation’s culture and civilization (Haykal 1986: 112). The second
stipulated that, although science and philosophy are the means of knowledge par
excellence, literature represents the spirit or “nectar” of these two domains
and all other domains of human knowledge (ibid.: 24). The third premise
stipulated that the political and the literary-cum- cultural go hand in hand in
all national movements, and that the latter provides a guarantee of
survivability to the former. As Husayn points out, unlike political
revolutions, literature cannot be easily eliminated in society (ibid.: 12). The
fourth premise stipulated that while Egyptian national literature cannot and
must not ignore its roots, it nevertheless must reflect and seek to develop the
the arabic language and national identity
new national spirit. To do so, Egyptian literature must be rooted
in its Egyptian environment, both physical and social. It must seek to describe
the beauty of Egypt and the effect of the Nile environment on the Egyptian
people. It must also mine the greatness of ancient Egypt for motivational
effect. It must additionally seek to achieve this by espousing a realist and a
naturalist approach which extols the virtue of the peasant and reflects the
uprightness of his moral character as accurately as possible.
The debate about realism and naturalness brought to the fore the
question of the kind of language which this literature must adopt. Some
nationalists put forward the view that the desired realism and naturalness of
the content of this new literature must be reflected in the realism and
naturalness of its language. The point was made that the literary plausibility
of the fellah (peasant) would be
severely compromised if his normal speech was replaced by the formal register
of the written language.7 Niqula Yusuf raised this issue in 1929 in al-SiyÅsa al- usbËÆiyya, particularly
with respect to the language of the theatre (see Muhammad 1996: 163). Some
nationalists advocated the wholesale use of the colloquial in all literary
genres as a solution to this problem. Witness the views put forward on this
matter by Tawfiq ÆAwwan which I mentioned earlier. Similar views were expressed
by Ibrahim JumÆa, who was mainly interested in developing an Egyptian
children’s literature (ibid.: 162). JumÆa held the view that Egyptian writers
must abandon their traditional attitude of favouring the standard form of the
language over the colloquial, and that this change must go hand in hand with
the rejection of the traditional styles and themes of Arabic literature. Egypt,
it was pointed out by Niqula Yusuf (ibid.: 163), had its own environment which
differed radically from the desert environment of the Arabs, and this
difference was reflected in its language. Implicit in this view is the claim
that, as a desert language, Arabic was and remains a Bedouin language, and as
such it cannot be suitable for the modern needs of Egypt.8
Other writers were far less radical in their attitude towards the
language issue. Haykal in particular did not condemn the use of the colloquial
on the stage, although he did not wish to see it as the only medium in this
literary genre. He believed that the use of the colloquial on the stage would
prove to be a stopgap measure which, by analogy, would also be the case
vis-à-vis the use of this variety for dialogue in the novel and the short
story. The standard language, he believed, would eventually have the upper hand
in the contest with the colloquial, owing to the spread of literacy and to the
development of a simpli- fied form of the written language. The fact that
Haykal’s prediction for the language of the stage has proved to be inaccurate
is not the issue here. What matters is his attitude towards the standard, which
was very favourable and rooted in an awareness that Arabic is not just a means
of literary expression but also an instrument of cultural defence against
foreign influences which may
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
dilute the authenticity of the Egyptian national character. This
fear was expressed most vociferously by a group of nationalist writers who
called for a reduction in the reliance on translation and foreign literatures
(Muhammad 1996: 164–6). Haykal believed that, although Arabic needed lexical,
grammatical and stylistic modernization, it still represented the best link
between the Egyptians and their literary and religious heritage. A national
literature cannot ignore its literary past. It also cannot ignore the
contribution made by the founding texts of its culture, including the Qur’an,
to its evolution and development. Not even French, English or German
literatures were able to sidestep their own heritage or history. Hence the
continued relevance of Christianity, Greece and Rome to these literatures.
Egypt must take heed of that.
The above discussion shows that, although language was not
considered a definitional ingredient of Egyptian nationalism, it was
nevertheless an issue of great importance for the Egyptian nationalists in the
1920s and the early 1930s. Some wished to bring to an end the identity
association between Egypt and other Arabic-speaking countries by promoting the
colloquial as the medium of writing and wider communication. In putting this
forward, the proponents of this view invoked the environmentally determined
character of this dialect. The majority of the nationalists, however, adopted a
solution similar to that advocated by Lutfi al-Sayyid (see section 3). It
consisted of modernizing the Arabic language by making it more receptive to
lexical borrowings from the colloquial and foreign (mainly European) languages.
The aim of this suggestion was to bridge the difference between the language of
speech and writing by creating a middle language that can serve the two
functions. It was envisaged that the new language would be closer to the
standard than to the colloquial, and that the creation of an Arabic Language
Academy would be a significant step in achieving this goal (see al-JamiÆi
1983).9 In addition to proposing new terminologies, it was suggested that such
an academy would spearhead the compilation of dictionaries of a general and
specialized nature. It was also thought that the Academy would bring forward
suggestions for various language reforms, including those of the script (see
Eliraz 1986).
By the late 1930s, the tide of Egyptian nationalism had started to
turn in a
more Arabist direction (see Gershoni and Jankowski 1995). The
movement in this direction was gradual and, sometimes, mediated through an
enhanced appreciation of the role Islam plays in the constitution of Egyptian
society. Muhammad Husayn Haykal contributed to this by recanting most of his
earlier views on Egyptian nationalism, particularly his earlier enthusiasm for
the Pharaonic past of Egypt, which was now replaced as an object of study by
Egypt’s Islamic and Arab past (see Husayn 1983, vol. 2: 170–2).10 A similar
change occurred in the thinking of Muhammad ÆAlluba, who declared that Egypt
was an Arab country by virtue of, among other things, the Arabic language
(ibid.:
the arabic language and national identity
173–5). This move was represented symbolically in the layout of al-SiyÅsa al- usbËÆiyya itself (see
Husayn 1983, vol. 2: 172). In its early years, the cover page of this newspaper
appeared with Pharaonic decorations and the Common Era date only. The Islamic
date was included in the inside pages only, alongside the Common Era date.
Later, the newspaper omitted the Islamic dates completely. In the early 1930s,
the Pharaonic decorations were dropped and replaced by caricatures. In its last
stage, the newspaper had developed an Islamic visual identity, which it
signalled by stating the Islamic date of publication only on the front page.
The strength of the Arabist idea as an alternative form of national
identi- fication did not, however, succeed in expunging Egyptian nationalism
from the Egyptian cultural and political scene. My aim in the following three
subsections is to show the sustained pull of this nationalism by examining the
work of three Egyptian intellectuals who have contributed significantly to
elucidating the relationship between language and nation in Egypt in the
twentieth century: Salama Musa (1887–1958), Taha Husayn (1889–1973) and Luwis ÆAwad
(1915– 90).
4.1 The Arabic Language and Egyptian Nationalism: Salama Musa
Many of the ideas raised in the preceding section received the
sustained attention of Salama Musa, whose hard-hitting style is characterized
by a simpli- city and clarity designed to motivate his Egyptian readers to
espouse the ideals of modernization and nation-building he sought to promote.
Salama Musa was a prolific writer who, like other Egyptian nationalists,
understood the power of journalism in popularizing their nationalist cause. He
wrote more than forty books, not all of which are directly relevant to the
theme of the present work. Of these books, I will concentrate on al-Yawm wa-l-ghad (Today and Tomorrow, first published in 1928), Mißr aßl al-˙a∂Åra (Egypt is
the Source of Civilization, first published in 1935) and al-BalÅgha al-Æaßriyya wa-l-lugha
al-Æarabiyya (Modern Rhetoric and the
Arabic Language, first published in 1945, with revised and expanded
editions in 1953 and 1958). Although the ideas in these works show some slight
variations, they are nevertheless consistent in ideology and zeal in spite of
the thirty-year period separating the first publication above from the second
revised edition of the last publication in the list.
Salama Musa conceives of the last chapter of al-Yawm wa-l-ghad as an investi-
gation into the identity of the Egyptian nation; in particular,
whether Egypt belongs to Europe and shares with it its culture, or whether it
belongs to the East, to whose heritage it must remain true. He observes that,
in the nineteenth century and the first two decades of the twentieth century,
Egypt seemed to be unsure as to whether it belonged to Europe or to the East.
Having considered the issue, Salama Musa dismisses out of hand the idea that
Egypt belongs to the
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
East. He declares emphatically that the ascription of an Eastern
identity to Egypt is an absurdity which must be resisted and ridiculed (al-rÅbi†a al-sharqiyya sakhÅfa, 1998:
660). Egypt belongs to Europe, not the East; and, if it belongs to the East, it
does so only in the sense that it was once part of the Byzantine Empire, which
to all intents and purposes is the bedrock of European civiliza- tion. He
further points out that even Arabic, which might be thought of as an Asiatic
and therefore Eastern language, contains well over 1,000 words from Greek and
Latin. Similarly, al-Azhar, which is often considered the bastion of Islamic
learning in Egypt and the rest of the Muslim world, was itself established by a
European, Jawhar al-Siqilli, who was of Slav origin. Also, medieval Arabic
culture was not different from ancient European culture, since both took their
impetus from Greek philosophy. Salama Musa goes even further, claiming that
Islam itself is almost a branch (madhhab)
of Christianity (ibid.: 668). In Mißr aßl
al-˙a∂Åra, Salama Musa declares that Egypt is the fountainhead of human
civilization, and that European civilization and culture owe a great deal to
Egyptian civilization and culture. Furthermore, the Egyptians are more bio-
logically or racially related to the Europeans than to other Eastern nations.
For all of these reasons, none of which Salama Musa substantiates, Egypt cannot
be said to be part of the East. It should be noted here that the East which
Salama Musa has in mind above is the Far East, as his references to China and
Japan in al-Yawm wa-l-ghad indicate.
In seeking to deny the claim that Egypt belongs to the East, Salama Musa sets
out to counter the idea promoted by some Egyptian intellectuals to the effect
that, by banding together, the nations of the East can resist European power
and encroachment, and that they can enlighten Europe about the spirituality it
had lost in its rush for industrialization.
Salama Musa is no less dismissive of the attempts to build Egyptian
national
identity on religious grounds. He declares that the religious bond
in nation- building is a “gross impertinence” (al-rÅbi†a al-dÈniyya waqÅ˙a shanÈÆa, ibid.: 662) which is
unbecoming of civilized nations in the twentieth century. Religion clashes with
science and offers views of the world that are antithetical to progress.
Religion, points out Salama Musa, is a matter for the individual, who may not
believe what others believe. In their attitude towards religion, the Egyptians
should emulate the Turks, who discovered during the First World War that the
Islamic bond is meaningless politically and otherwise. What is needed in Egypt
is a secular outlook based on scientific socialism, a favourite concept of
Salama Musa, rather than the futile harping on the religious bond which is
ineffective and divisive as a form of national identification. As a Christian
Copt, Salama Musa was aware that a religiously anchored national identity in
Egypt was bound to split the Egyptian body politic along religious lines into,
mainly, Muslims and Christians. To avoid this, a bond other than religion must
be established as the basis of the national identity of Egypt.
the arabic language and national identity
In a manner reminiscent of the position in extreme forms of
Egyptian nationalism, Salama Musa dismisses as misguided all the attempts to
base Egypt- ian identity on Arab foundations. He declares that the Egyptians
owe no loyalty to the Arabs. The Arabs are said to be less advanced than the
Egyptians, thus making their culture unsuitable as a model for modern
Egyptians, although it may be of archaeological interest similar to that which
some people evince in the civilization of ancient Mesopotamia. In literature,
Egyptian writers must eschew the temptation to emulate Arabic style and Arab
themes. Interest in Arabic literature is time-wasting and leads to dissipating
the creative energies of these writers. Arabic literature is said to contain
obscene elements which can corrupt the morality of those Egyptians who may be
exposed to it. This litera- ture is also said to reflect the ethos of a society
which was steeped in Bedouin life, bloodthirsty and dictatorial – so
dictatorial, in fact, that even the Pope appears to be a model of democracy in
comparison with Arab and Muslim rulers. Emulation of Arabic literature on the
linguistic level may also lead to favouring form over content among Egyptian
writers. It may also encourage the adoption of a style of writing in which
linguistic pomposity and ornate rhetoric replace content as the standard by
which an artwork can be judged. Should this happen, Egyptian literature would
be shunted into the culture of the dark ages to which Arabic culture is said to
belong.
Emulating classical Arabic literature is also dangerous because it
bestows on the defective Arabic language the mantle of literary legitimacy
which it does not deserve. As a lexically defective and grammatically unduly
complex language, standard Arabic cannot serve as the medium of the national
literature of Egypt. It should therefore give way to a refined colloquial
language, which is living and authentic. Asserting this point, Salama Musa
declares that standard Arabic is a dead language which cannot compete with the
colloquial as the true mother- tongue of the Egyptians. What is, however,
interesting is that Salama Musa himself did not use this language in his
writings. In this respect, he is similar to the proponents of the standard
language who hardly use it in everyday speech.
Salama Musa believes that the alternative to the Arab bond in the
formation of national identity cannot be the link which the modern Egyptians
have with their ancient ancestors, dubbed Pharaonism in the literature. In
spite of this, Salama Musa believes that the Pharaonic legacy is far more
beneficial to the modern Egyptians than the Arab legacy in the formation of
their identity and the building of their nation. To begin with, the Pharaonic
legacy belongs to the forefathers of the modern Egyptians, who still carry in
their blood the genetic make-up of these ancestors. Modern Egyptians can take
pride in this legacy which, Salama Musa declares, makes Egypt the source of
human civilization (Mißr aßl al-˙a∂Åra being
the title of one of his books). By studying ancient Egypt, modern Egyptians
will provide their nationalism with the “nourishment”
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
it needs (1947: 31 and 90). This is why every attempt should be
made to train Egyptians in Egyptology, to write books on ancient Egypt in
Arabic, to expand the Pharaonic history offerings in Egyptian schools, to make
films which display the splendour that was Egypt, to erect Pharaonic-style
statues in Cairo and to transport some of the Pharaonic monuments to the city
to give it an ancient Egyptian atmosphere. Salama Musa is aware of the
symbolism of these recom- mendations, which he exploits in his book Mißr aßl al-˙a∂Åra by including figures
that display aspects of ancient Egyptian art and items of material culture.
Being aware of the importance of language in nation-formation and
nation-building, Salama Musa states that Coptic, the demotic partner of the
ancient Egyptian language, is not dead but is embedded in features which it has
injected into Arabic. Coptic is alive in the monasteries of the Coptic Church;
all it needs to regain its authentic textual identity is for a patriotic monk
to devise an ancient Egyptian script to replace the Greek alphabet used in
writing it.
Armed with this spirit of renewal provided by the Pharaonic legacy,
modern Egypt must seek its modern identity by aligning itself with European
culture to which it properly belongs. This orientation carries with it certain
obligations on the cultural and political level. By hankering after the East,
points out Salama Musa, the Egyptians must accept that the Europeans have every
right to be contemptuous of them, and that they have no right to hate the
Europeans (inna al-ajÅnib ya˙taqirËnanÅ
bi-˙aqq wa-na˙nu nakrahuhum bi-lÅ ˙aqq, 1998: 671). The way out of this is
for the Egyptians to espouse European culture completely, as the Turks have
done under Atatürk. Being aware of the power of symbols in nation-formation,
Salama Musa calls on the Egyptians to replace the fez by the European cap, as
the Turks had done. In addition, the Egyptians must seek to Egyptianize the
foreigners living among them, thus giving them a stake in the future of the
country which will help release their creative energies in the project of
modernization. Egypt must also shed all the institutions of the past, including
al-Azhar. Egypt must additionally develop its own literature and language to
reflect its own unique national identity. And, in an obvious inter- textual
reference to the Qur’an, Salama Musa calls on the Egyptians to turn their faces
towards Europe in fashioning for themselves a new identity: fa-l- nuwalli wujËhanÅ sha†r ËrËbÅ (“Let
us turn our faces in the direction of Europe”, ibid.: 675), which recalls God’s
order to the Prophet Muhammad and to all his followers in the Qur’an to turn
their faces in prayer in the direction of the Sacred Mosque in Mecca: fa-walli wajhaka sha†ra al-masjid al-˙arÅm
wa-˙aythu mÅ kuntum fa-wallË wujËhakum sha†rah (“Turn then thy face in the
direction of the Sacred Mosque, and wherever you are turn your faces in that
direction”, Qur’an 2:144).
Clearly, Salama Musa
believes that the
modernization of Egypt along
European lines should be the goal of Egyptian nationalism. In its
broadest
the arabic language and national identity
characterization, this modernization must have as its aim moving
Egypt from an agricultural mode of life and the preoccupation with literature,
to an industrial age in which science, not literature, has pride of place.
Language is seen as an important element in this modernization, but this does
not elevate it to the status of a defining marker of the nation. Most of Salama
Musa’s ideas on this issue are found in his book al-BalÅgha al-Æaßriyya wa-l-lugha al-Æarabiyya (Modern Rhetoric and the Arabic Language),
which, by fronting modern rhetoric in the title, indicates where the author’s
interests and sympathies lie. This ordering of the two components of the title
suggests an oppositional relation between them which the book seeks to resolve
in favour of the “modern rhetoric”.
Salama Musa’s thesis in this work is that the Arabic language in
Egypt is one of the most important factors behind the backwardness of the
country in social and other spheres. The lexical poverty of the language in
designating modern objects and concepts means that the Egyptians continue to
live in a pre- industrial age of agricultural practices and habits, and that
their mentality as a result is “ancient, fossilized, dull and backward-looking”
(Æaqliyya qadÈma, jÅmida, mutaballida
tanΩur ilÅ al-mÅ∂È, 1964: 8). This mentality is reflected in fossilized
modes of expression, and the tendency to replace logical argumenta- tion by
linguistic gymnastics, in traditional Arabic rhetoric. Language in this case is
the outcome of its social milieu. But it is also the case that the social
milieu is the outcome of language. The reform of society and its modernization
cannot therefore proceed without reforming and modernizing the language of the
society concerned. Similarly, the reform and modernization of the language is
bound to lead to the reform and modernization of the society to which it
belongs. By explaining where the backwardness of Arabic lies, and by providing
ideas for dealing with this backwardness, Salama Musa aims to contribute to the
project of Egyptian modernization and nation-building.
Salama Musa states that traditional Arabic rhetoric (al-balÅgha al-taqlÈdiyya) pushes Arabic
discourse towards sentimentality and emotionalism. It also encourages a kind of
linguistic arrogance which leads to assigning the highest value in stylistic
expression to linguistic artistry and the use of outlandish meta- phors, ornate
figures of speech and skilfully crafted but artificial metonymies. The
application of this style in literature makes the writer a slave to these
outmoded norms of rhetorical expression, thus yielding a literature of slavery
(adab ÆubËdiyya, 1998: 559) and one
full of hot air and linguistic bubbles (adab
al-faqÅqÈÆ, ibid.: 560). What is needed in Egypt according to Salama Musa
is a different kind of literature, a literature in which language is the means
of rational expression rather than the end of artistic achievement. This new
literature must also be able to address the ordinary people of Egypt in a
language which they can understand and consider as their own. For this to
happen, Egyptian writers must fashion a language in which words say what they
are intended to say, a
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
language in which vagueness is reduced to a minimum. To achieve
this, an attempt must be made to purify this language from the over-abundance
of syno- nyms and near-synonyms which are so characteristic of Arabic. In
addition, the new language must be fit for expressing the modern needs of the
Egyptians and capable of releasing their creative energies. Following the
suggestion made by Sir William Willcocks in 1893 in a lecture he delivered at
the Azbakiyya Club in Cairo (see SaÆid 1964: 32–40), Salama Musa held the view
that this ideal language was the colloquial, not the standard.
Willcocks argued that the ornate style of standard Arabic works
like a drug on the Egyptians, depriving them of their creativity and critical
abilities. He also argued that, being a second language to the Egyptians,
standard Arabic requires years of learning and formal instruction, and more
often than not the process ends without the full mastery of the language. Very
few writers in Egypt can write Arabic correctly, and many Egyptians cannot
understand it at all. Some industrial accidents in Egypt were the result of
this defective competence in the reception and processing of written documents.
Egyptians live in a world of translation involving their mother-tongue and
standard Arabic. This linguistic duality (or diglossia) slows the Egyptians
down intellectually and mentally, and it is the single most important factor in
the absence of scientific creativity and innovation among them. Having
established the problem facing Egypt on the linguistic front, Willcocks argued
that the solution to this problem is a simple one: it consists of turning the
spoken language of Egypt into its language of science and culture. By adopting
this course of action, Egypt would only be replicating the process in Europe
which turned the vernaculars into the languages of writing, reading and high
culture. And, in a manner reminiscent of this process in Europe, Willcocks
produced a translation of the Bible into colloquial Egyptian. Salama Musa
praises this translation, pointing out that the simplicity of its style and its
rootedness in Egyptian life and culture make it superior to the translation of
the Bible into standard Arabic. For all these reasons, Salama Musa believes
that Egypt is indebted to Willcocks, who, by implication, provides an excellent
argument for the call to Egyptianize foreigners in Egypt so that the nation can
avail itself of their expertise and innovative spirit.
Salama Musa also argues that the artificiality of standard Arabic,
its difficulty
and the fact that its adoption dissipates the force of Egyptian
nationalism in identity and modernization terms by creating links with other
Arabic-speaking countries are but part of the problem facing Egypt on the
linguistic front. In addition, the fact that the language is stamped by the
indelible imprint of the desert environment which nurtured it in its early
stages of development means that Arabic is unable to handle the needs of modern
life. In the Arabic-speaking world, words have such a hold on speakers that
they often base their linguistic and non-linguistic practices and behaviour on
the effect these words have on
the arabic language and national identity
them. We are told that by using the word thuÆbÅn (lit. snake) in Arabic to designate the eel, the Egyptians
have deprived themselves of a great source of food because of the negative
connotations of the word thuÆbÅn (1964:
36). Also, the absence of any poetry on the swan in Arabic – although it is the
subject of fabulous poetic and musical compositions in other cultures – is said
by Salama Musa to be the result of the ugly-sounding name, bajaÆa, it has in Arabic (ibid.). Arabic also contains a set of
words which are said to have been responsible for many crimes, including the
so-called crimes of honour, in Egypt. These are first and foremost “linguistic
crimes” (jarÅ’im lughawiyya lÅ akthar,
ibid.: 60). Salama Musa states that words of this kind have an intoxicating
effect on their users, both speakers and hearers, owing to the fury (junËn, ibid.: 61) they generate in them.
This set of words includes damm (blood),
tha’r (revenge), intiqÅm (vengeance) and Æir∂ (honour).
These and similar words belong to a socially harmful archaeology of linguistic
signification (a˙Åfir lughawiyya,
ibid.: 47), which further includes terms that designate and sanction superstitions,
the abuse of others and the promotion of war and oppression in society. Salama
Musa claims that the hypnotic effect of these words on their users (tanwÈm mighnņÈsÈ, ibid.: 63) is such
that they correlate with the prevailing social conditions and practices of
Arabic-speaking communities. Living under the spell of Arabic, the Egyptians
are locked into a world of meanings which is inimical or, to say the least, not
conducive to modernization. To argue the point, Salama Musa corre- lates the moral
values of a society with the number of words it has to designate aspects of
these values, the implication being that the larger the stock of words which
designate these aspects in a language, the greater their preponderance in
society. He presents his conclusions in a list format which I reproduce here to
keep the visual effect (ibid.: 62):
We are as virtuous as the number of words which designate virtue in
our language.
We are as depraved as the number of words that designate depravity
in our language.
We are as logical in our behaviour as the number of words that
designate logic in our language.
We are as muddleheaded as the the number of words that designate
muddleheadedness in our language.
Egypt, points out Salama Musa, must take heed of the above correlations
by acting in a way which can increase its fund of positive and morally
uplifting terms while, at the same time, weeding out the negative and morally
corrosive ones which act like a poison in society. By so doing, the Egyptians
can purify their language, raise it to a higher status and harness its power in
the modern- ization enterprise. Words are not just emblems (shiÆÅr, ibid.: 103), but a form of
action which the Egyptians must exploit to move forward on the social,
political
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
and religious fronts. Clearly, language is the key to modernization
and develop- ment in Salama Musa’s thinking. But it also reflects this
modernization and development on the lexical and other fronts. What Egypt
needs, therefore, is a double movement whereby modernization and development in
the linguistic and non-linguistic spheres can proceed together and aid each
other. If so, the question arises as to the kind of modernization and reform
which Arabic must undergo to be able to participate fully and positively in
non-linguistic modern- ization.
As a first step towards answering this question, Salama Musa begins
by outlining some of the problems which face the language lexically,
stylistically, pedagogically and orthographically. On the lexical front, Salama
Musa declares that Arabic as a means of scientific expression is dead (lughatunÅ al-Æarabiyya min nÅ˙iyat al-ÆulËm
mayyita, ibid.: 94). The answer to this problem lies in borrowing new terms
from other languages, rather than coining equivalent terms from the native
stock of the language itself. Borrowing can bring Arabic closer to other
languages, which, in this case, are bound to be the European languages of
learn- ing and science. The injection of these borrowed terms will spread the
spirit of modernity in the language. On the cultural level, this can be
justified by the fact that other languages borrowed from Arabic in the past. On
the stylistic front, the challenge facing Arabic is one of replacing the
traditional Arabic rhetoric by modern rhetoric. In particular, the main task
here is one of replacing the artificial artistry of the former by the precision
of the latter. Salama Musa expresses this point by considering logic as the
greatest quality in the modern rhetoric he is advocating. Meaning and the
clarity with which it is conveyed must be promoted over form and whatever
artistry may be moulded into it as per the traditional norms of expression. On
the pedagogic front, grammar-teaching must be simplified, at least in the
initial stages of the curriculum. This simpli- fication may encompass
eliminating those features of the language that are known to cause problems to
the learners, for example the desinential inflections, the dual, and some forms
of the broken plural. It may also take the form of promoting only reading at
the primary-school level, leaving the far more complex skill of writing until
later. This would equip the learners with the essential literacy skills they
are most likely to need in their adult life. A more imaginative teaching
approach than that practised in the schools is also needed. But this will
require an organizational change of policy, whereby the traditional restriction
of Arabic-language teacher-training to the conservative and Azhar-led Teacher
Training College (Kulliyyat Dar al-ÆUlum) is lifted in favour of allowing other
agencies to provide the needed teachers (see next section for a discussion of
this point). To enrich the pool of available teachers, non-Muslim Egyptians
must be allowed to teach the language in state schools, contrary to the
practice in force at the time which restricted it to Muslims.
the arabic language and national identity
On the orthographic front, the Arabic script is charged with being
too unwieldy to apply in teaching and learning the language in a grammatically
correct manner, owing to the absence of the short-vowel diacritics in normal
writing. It is also considered as one of the causes for the backwardness of
Egypt in the pure and applied sciences, the acquisition of which is essential
if Egypt is to enter the industrial age with confidence. To deal with these
problems effectively, Egypt must, first, overcome its linguistic conservatism
which ascribes to language a sanctity it does not merit. Second, Egypt must adopt
the Roman alphabet in its capacity as a condition of modernity (1964, 1955).
The advantages of adopt- ing this solution are manifold. It will enable Egypt
to shake off the legacy of the past and to orientate itself towards the future,
as happened in Turkey, which took the initiative in this regard. The
application of this solution will also ensure that the Arabic of Egypt will
become truly Egyptian, thus taking Egypt outside the orbit of the Arab
nationalist idea on the cultural and political spheres. The adoption of the
Roman script will additionally have the effect of bringing Egypt closer to
European culture by eliminating the psychological distance which the Egyptians
feel exists between their culture and that of Europe. And, by virtue of the
fact that European culture is the dominant culture of the modern world, the
Egyptians will become part of this culture instead of continuing to stand
outside it. As a result, the dichotomous distinction between East and West (sharq wa-gharb, 1964: 144) will lose its
hold on the minds of the Egyptians.
As far as the sciences are concerned, the Roman alphabet will
enable the Egyptians to borrow scientific terms from Europe more easily, and in
a way which makes the internal composition of these terms transparent and more
amenable to exploitation in generating new terminologies. The adoption of this
alphabet is said by Salama Musa to be a condition for Arabizing and Egyptian-
izing the sciences. So, convinced of the validity of this assertion, he
declares that without Romanizing Arabic writing the sciences will never be
Arabized (lan tastaÆrib al-ÆulËm illÅ
idhÅ istaltan al-hijÅ’ al-ÆarabÈ, ibid.: 166). The borrowing of terms from
European languages in all spheres of human knowledge will additionally have the
effect of making the learning of these languages easier to accomplish by the
Egyptians. For all these reasons, the adoption of the Roman alphabet would
constitute an “enlightened leap into the future” (wathba fÈ al-nËr na˙w al-mustaqbal, ibid.: 145).
The above discussion shows the centrality of language in Salama
Musa’s thinking. Two features of this thinking are important from the
perspective of the present work. First, language is not considered as a
criterion of national self- definition on the Egyptian political or cultural
scene. This precludes the possibi- lity of launching a national identity for
Egypt which exploits the affiliative bonds that Arabic may create on a pan-Arab
level. To ensure that such a link
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
could not be activated, Salama Musa calls for turning the
colloquial into the national language of Egypt. Second, the importance of the
language issue in the thinking of Salama Musa is part and parcel of the
importance he attaches to modernization in all spheres of life in Egypt.
Language here is the instrument through which modernization can be
communicated. But it is also one of the instruments though which modernization
can be induced and effected. To carry out this latter function, language itself
must become the subject of moderniza- tion. And, since the modernization
project Salama Musa advocates seeks to bring Egypt into the orbit of European
culture, Arabic must be brought into this orbit by replacing the Arabic script
by the Roman alphabet.
As has been said above, Salama Musa expresses his ideas in a
hard-hitting style which reveals an unrivalled commitment and zeal for the
modernization of Egypt as the national project par excellence. For him,
modernity not tradition is the name of the game. However, tradition for Salama
Musa is not the same thing as the past in all its accumulations, although the
two are related. This explains his enthusiasm for the culture of ancient Egypt
and its potential for taking the country outside the Arab and Islamic orbits
into a terrain that is more sympathetic to European ideas.11 Salama Musa
reiterates these ideas in several of his publications, and in different places
in each publication. Some of the articles setting out these ideas were
initially published in the press over a long period of time. The net effect of
these factors on the epistemological level is one of eclecticism rather than
one of systematic treatment and thought. Salama Musa is not a theoretician of
modernization but a popularizer of it. He is therefore not concerned if his
ideas are not always consistent. Witness the fact that, although he calls for
replacing standard Arabic by Egyptian colloquial as the national language of
Egypt, he nonetheless seems to direct most of his linguistic-reform proposals
towards the former. Witness also the fact that he himself does not use the
colloquial in writing. This lack of consistency further characterizes his view
of human language. On the one hand, he believes that language is not just a
component of culture but is its creator. Most of his argu- ments about the harm
which Arabic causes to Egyptian society (∂arar
al-lugha, ibid.: 51, 55) are based on this premise. However, when it suits
him, Salama Musa (ibid.: 171) claims that language is no more than an
instrument of communication, referring to it as adÅ (instrument) and wasÈla (a
means of). As such, language may be subjected to deliberate changes and
modifications without infringing its cultural character and the system of
symbolic values it serves in society (cf. section 5.2). One such modification
is the use of the Roman alphabet in place of the Arabic script in writing.
Salama Musa shares with other Egyptian nationalists the belief that
Egypt has its own national identity which it does not share with other
countries surrounding it. Egypt is not Arab, although Arabic is its language
and the
the arabic language and national identity
language it shares with others in the Arabic-speaking world. Egypt
is not Islamic, although Islam is the religion of the majority of its population
and the faith they share with their co-religionists outside Egypt. Egypt is
Egyptian and European. Its Egyptianness derives from its physical environment
and the effect this has had on its people since the times of the Pharaohs. Its
Europeanness derives from the long-lasting contacts it has had with Europe, and
the fact that the culture of ancient Egypt informed the cultures of ancient
Greece and Rome. Modernization in the linguistic and non-linguistic spheres
must reflect the confluence of these factors. This will ensure its authenticity
and sustainability. It will also ensure the revival and survival of Egypt as a
worthy heir to its glorious past.
4.2 The Arabic Language and Egyptian Nationalism: Taha Husayn
Commonalities of thought exist between Taha Husayn and Salama Musa.
Both writers believe that Egypt must form the focus of national loyalty and
socio- political solidarity among all Egyptians, regardless of their religious
beliefs or ethnic backgrounds, and that this is a precondition for achieving full
national independence. Both writers also believe that European civilization and
culture represent the standard by which other civilizations and cultures are
judged in the modern world. Egypt therefore has no interest in staying outside
the realm of European civilization and culture in its progress towards full
independence. As a matter of fact, Egypt would betray its own history and
civilizational legacy to the world if it were to stay outside the scope of
modern European culture, owing to the fact that the very foundations of this
culture were influenced by ancient Egypt itself (see sections 5.1–2 below for a
similar view). Under this scheme of thought, espousing European culture on the
personal and national level in Egypt is no more than a return to the roots of
Egyptian culture itself. Finally, both Salama Musa and Taha Husayn agree that
language is an impor- tant element in the national life of Egypt. They
passionately believe that the modernization of Egypt must include the
modernization of the language itself, if not actually begin with it. However,
there are important differences between these two writers on this and other
matters, as we shall see below.
In outlining Taha Husayn’s thinking on the connection between
language
and Egyptian nationalism, I will base my argument principally on
his key publication Mustaqbal al-thaqÅfa
fÈ mißr (The Future of Culture in
Egypt (1944), first published in 1938), which Hourani (1983: 327) describes
as “his most important work of social thought [if not possibly] his only work
of systematic thought”. To understand the context for this work, it may be
pointed out that it was written in the wake of the 1936 Anglo-Egyptian treaty
which officially ended the British occupation of Egypt, and the 1937 Montreux
Convention which ended the system of legal privileges given to foreigners in
Egypt, known
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
as the Capitulations. This context is highlighted in the opening
sentence of The Future of Culture (1944:
5). Its implications for Egypt are set out in the intro- duction to the book as
follows (cited in Hourani 1983: 327):
I felt, as other Egyptians did … that Egypt was beginning a new
period of her life: she had obtained some of her rights, and must now set
herself to important duties and heavy responsibilities … We live in an age
which can be defined as one in which freedom and independence are not an end to
which peoples and nations strive, but a means to ends higher, more permanent,
and more comprehensive in their benefits.
The first problem facing Taha Husayn in meeting this challenge is
that of defining the national identity of a territorially distinct and
officially indepen- dent Egypt. The starting point in this process consists of
acknowledging that Egypt is linked to the countries surrounding it with ties of
language, religion, geography and history. But this is soon followed by denying
that unity of language and religion can serve as the basis of political unity.
Taha Husayn declares this to be a historical truth which receives support from
Islamic history itself. He points out that, beyond the initial stages of
Islamic history, no attempt was made in the lands of Islam to base political
unity on religion or language. The Muslims were divided between different
polities which viewed each other with suspicion and which vied with each other
for political and economic interests. Muslims (more accurately, Muslim rulers
and elites), declares Taha Husayn, understood that “religion is one thing and
politics is another” (1944: 21), and that the first basis for establishing
political unity is common interests. Egypt absorbed this lesson well before
other Muslim nations, and was quick to restore its status as an independent
political entity in the first few centuries of Islam.
The second step in fashioning an Egyptian national consciousness on
the
part of Taha Husayn consists of rejecting the belief, held by some
Egyptians, that Egypt is part of the East. In this respect, he is similar to
Salama Musa, with whom he shares the view that Egypt belongs to Europe and not
to the East in cultural terms. This similarity extends to the belief on the
part of these two authors that talk about an Eastern identity for Egypt is an
absurdity. Taha Husayn goes so far as to say that this talk represents the
ultimate absurdity in the definition of the national character. To make this
argument stick, Taha Husayn defines the East, as does Salama Musa, in terms of
the paradigmatic cultures of China, Japan and India. Under this definition,
Egypt and the countries of the Near East are said to belong to Europe
culturally, since they share very little with these cultures. This linkage is
justified by the interactive influences throughout history between Greek and
Roman cultures, on the one hand, and the cultures of the Near East, including
that of Egypt, on the other. Under this view, geography as a determining factor
in nation-formation is subordinated to culture and common interests in shaping
national identity. There is, however,
the arabic language and national identity
some ambiguity in this position, for elsewhere in The Future of Culture (1944:
55) Taha Husayn fronts geography as a primary factor in defining
the Egyptian national identity, alongside language and history. The influence
of geography is further invoked by Taha Husayn to allay the fears of those
among his com- patriots who feel that, by aligning itself culturally with
Europe, Egypt may end up losing its own cultural uniqueness. In response, Taha
Husayn argues that this is unlikely to happen. The Egyptian character is known
for its moderation, and this forms the ultimate guarantee that the espousal of
European culture by the Egyptians will aim at integration and not assimilation.
This moderation of the national character was formed by the moderate climatic
conditions which Egypt enjoys (ibid.: 392), although we are not told how this
was brought about. The Egyptians therefore have nothing to fear from European
culture, especially as Egypt at the time of the publication of The Future of Culture in 1938 was moving
in the direction of full independence.
Education is posited as the most secure basis for bringing about
this cultural redefinition of the national identity in a manner which preserves
and enhances the national unity of Egypt. But, to do so, the educational system
in Egypt must be subjected to close scrutiny at all levels, and to targeted
reforms which encompass structures, curricula and the provision of a
teacher-training regime that is in step with the modern aspirations of the
country. The issue of language is placed at the heart of this national project,
which Taha Husayn sketches out with passion and bold determination. As a matter
of fact, the predominance of the language issue in this project warrants
considering The Future of Culture in
part as a book about the modernization of Arabic and the teaching of Arabic
language in the context of a project of national self-definition. The
importance of language in this project springs from its being the medium of
thought and socialization. In this capacity, language serves as a
boundary-setter and as a criterion, among others, of inclusion and exclusion.
Language is also important because it is the vehicle which creates the links
between the present and the past, and between these two and the future, thus
ensuring the continuity of the nation. Because of this, language education must
be brought under the purview and control of the state, which must ensure that
the language of the people is taught to the people in all schools in Egypt. In
particular, Taha Husayn considers it as one of the duties of the state to
insist that Arabic is taught in all the foreign schools in Egypt, and that this
should be supported by putting in place a strict regime of inspection and
assessment to guarantee that the policies set out by the state are vigorously
pursued and implemented.12 The importance of the national language in his
thinking is further reflected in the call he made to eliminate all teaching of
foreign languages in the primary stage in state schools. He argued that this
step will ensure that maximum time is devoted to the teaching of Arabic, which
is not an easy task owing to the diglossic nature of the language
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
and the pedagogic burden this imposes on both learners and
teachers. We are told that this step will have the additional virtue of (1)
eliminating the competition which the foreign languages pose for the national
language, and (2) removing the socially determined lure these languages have
for Egyptians at such a young and impressionable age.
The success of this policy will ultimately depend on the kind of
teaching of Arabic language offered in the schools. Taha Husayn points out
that, for many learners, Arabic is a dreaded subject which excites a lot of
antipathy and very little enthusiasm. The reason for this is partly located in
the undue concentra- tion on grammar as a means of teaching the language. Taha
Husayn criticizes this approach as one which substitutes teaching about the language for teaching of the language per se. By turning grammar into the object of language-teaching and
learning, the Egyptian schools dangerously confuse the means with the ends in
this endeavour. Language-learning becomes a matter of parroting grammatical
rules in artificial language settings. This fossilized attitude towards the
language is said to be allied with a view of rhetoric which encourages the
learners to imitate high style slavishly. Rhetoric under this scheme ceases to
be an instrument of stylistic creativity and turns into an exercise in
linguistic embellishment which pursues the sound of the word at the expense of
its meaning. As a result, Taha Husayn points out, learners often say things
which they do not under- stand, simply because what they say seems to satisfy the
demands of this false rhetoric. As a form of “linguistic absurdity” (ibid.:
248), traditional rhetoric must therefore be assigned to the dustbin of
history. In this respect, he is at one with Salama Musa.
Taha Husayn also argues that part of the problem of teaching Arabic
is not
the grammar of the language itself but the complex way it is set
out in the manuals devoted to it. Making an implicit distinction between the
grammar of the language in the predescriptive
sense and its grammar in the postdescriptive
sense, Taha Husayn assures his readers, who may be inclined to treat his
ideas with suspicion, that simplifying the latter in no way infringes the
linguistic integrity of the former. Grammar in the predescriptive sense is inherent in the language itself, whereas
grammar in the postdescriptive sense
is the creation of the grammarians, and as such it is open to critical
evaluation and modification. The early Arabs understood this distinction, which
is reflected in the differ- ences between the various schools of grammar in the
Arabic linguistic tradition. It is also reflected in some of the calls for
simplifying or reforming this grammar. Taha Husayn points out that failure to
reform the grammar, under the pretext that any reform of this kind would
willy-nilly constitute an infringement of the integrity of the text of the
Qur’an, will inevitably lead to depressing literacy in the schools and to
heightening the danger which the colloquial poses to the standard form of the
language in Egypt.
the arabic language and national identity
However, Taha Husayn is at pains to point out that his call to
simplify Arabic grammar is intended not to bring the standard closer to the
colloquial or to insinuate that the former should replace the latter – a
position adopted by Salama Musa and other Egyptian nationalists – but to
protect the standard against linguistic corruption and the challenge which the
colloquial poses to it. As one of the most ardent supporters of the standard,
in which he revelled as a student and as an accomplished writer, Taha Husayn
never wavered in his support for it. Thus, he rejected the call to use the
colloquial in writing in a most forceful manner, pointing out that its use in
this domain will lead to destroying the cultural links which bind Egypt to
other Arabic-speaking countries (1982). Later in his career, when the Arab
nationalist idea started to be given official backing in Nasser’s Egypt, Taha
Husayn considered the above call as tantamount to an attack on the very basis
which underlies the project of Arab unity (1957). This partly explains why he
took strong exception to those critics from Syria who accused him of being more
interested in Egypt’s Pharaonic past than in its Arab heritage (1985). Taha
Husayn’s rejection of the colloquial is further motivated by his conviction
that it is unfit for literary expression, and that its adoption would deprive
the Egyptians of a link with their literary heritage. And, since literature is
an important element in nation- building, Egypt cannot afford to let go of its
standard language.
This protectionist attitude towards the standard extended into
opposition to the proposals to replace the Arabic script by the Roman alphabet,
as was suggested by Salama Musa and other radical Egyptian nationalists.
However, Taha Husayn was careful not to let his support for the Arabic script
be translated into a rejection of the much-needed reforms of the script
concerned. Reforms were needed, but these should not aim at solving the
problems of the desinential inflections by dropping them altogether from the
language. Taha Husayn believed that this problem can be solved by combining
orthographic reforms with grammatical reforms of the kind suggested by Ibrahim
Mustafa in his book I˙yÅ’ al-na˙w (The Revival of Grammar), first published
in 1937. In the introduction he wrote to this volume, Taha Husayn praises the
author for his courage in tackling a subject which excites strong emotions
among specialists and lay people alike. He also compliments him on equating the
revival of grammar with a kind of reform whose aim is (1) to promote the
correct use of the language in speech and writing, and (2) to encourage the
interest in grammar as a scholarly enterprise. In The Future of Culture, Taha Husayn pushes these two arguments
further, pointing out that the reform of grammar is needed to turn standard
Arabic from a near-foreign language in Egypt to a fully func- tioning native
one. It is also needed to ensure the survival of grammar itself as a living
discipline of inquiry. The Egyptians, he says, have a choice: they either
reform the sciences of the Arabic language to ensure its survival and the
survival
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
of these sciences; or they preserve these sciences as they are,
thus causing their death and the death of the language they are intended to
serve. The reform of grammar is also necessary because, without it, the reform
of the system of education in Egypt itself will not be possible. And, since
education constitutes the backbone of culture, it follows that the failure to
reform grammar will compromise the very foundations upon which this culture is
based. Further- more, since the material progress of a society is dependent on
the extent to which this progress is rooted in a strong and secure culture, it
follows that the failure to reform grammar will compromise the very foundations
upon which this progress is premised. This chain of arguments, exaggerated
though it may be, demonstrates the extent to which Taha Husayn regards the
language issue as a core ingredient in the life of Egypt and the modernization
project it ought to follow. It also explains his conviction that Egypt has the
right to reform its national language without formal consultation with, or the
agreement of, other Arabic-speaking countries.
It is this centrality of the language in Taha Husayn’s thinking
which explains his aggressive attitude towards al-Azhar, the most famous
institute of Islamic learning in the Muslim world. Taha Husayn considers it
dangerous that al- Azhar, as one of the bastions of bigoted conservatism in
Egypt, had acquired for itself the mantle of the guardian of Arabic, and that
it had managed to promote itself as the body with sole authority over it in
matters of grammatical reforms and teacher-training. The view of Arabic as the
language of Islam underlies this acquisition of cultural and political hegemony
on the part of al-Azhar. Taha Husayn considers the basis upon which this
hegemony is based to be bogus: it is both historically unwarranted and out of touch
with the modern conceptual- ization of the language. In arguing this point,
Taha Husayn acknowledges that Arabic is the language of Islam par excellence,
but he refuses to translate this fact into an admission that this is the sole
or most important function of the language. Arabic is additionally the language
of daily interaction, the vast intellectual heritage of the Arabs and the
national language of Egypt in the modern world. Taha Husayn uses this to argue
that there is no reason why al- Azhar should have the right of veto over any
proposed reforms of Arabic grammar. There is also no reason why it should
continue to have the final say in how the provision of Arabic-language
teacher-training is delivered in the Egyptian schools. Control of these and other
matters related to Arabic must therefore be wrested from the hands of al-Azhar
and allocated to the state, where they properly belong.
To underpin this conclusion, Taha Husayn argues that the linking of
Arabic to Islam, while doctrinally valid and culturally significant, obscures
the fact that many nations operate with a linguistic duality in which the
language of faith is different from the language of everyday life and culture.
This is as much true of
the arabic language and national identity
Christianity as it is of Islam. The coincidence of the two
linguistic functions in the case of Arabic must not therefore be used to outlaw
its reform, since the reform concerned aims at the language in its capacity as
the medium of culture, national identification and everyday life only. It
follows from this that al-Azhar as a religious institution has no right to
impose its authority on the speakers of the language. This is particularly true
since the authority al-Azhar claims for itself is not historically sanctioned.
Arabic was codified centuries before al- Azhar came into existence, with
participation from scholars of different ethnic and linguistic backgrounds,
most of whom came from outside Egypt. Attempts to reform the Arabic language in
the early periods of Islam proceeded with little or no interference from the
political authorities of the day. In addition, al-Azhar is not qualified to act
as the authority in matters of language-maintenance and reform in the modern
world. It lacks the freedom of opinion which the debate over these matters
requires. It is out of touch with the modern sciences. It has no knowledge of
historical and comparative linguistics. It has no knowledge of the Semitic
languages. For all these reasons, Taha Husayn declares that the policy of
assigning Arabic-language teacher-training to al-Azhar and its asso- ciated
institutions, principally Kulliyyat Dar al-ÆUlum, must be abandoned (compare
section 4.1 above). Other institutions of higher education, including the
University of Cairo, must be given a role in the delivery of this policy. Being
modern and more attuned to the full range of the linguistic sciences, these
institutions can serve as the channel of implementing the desired reforms. They
can also serve to break the monopoly of power, functionally and symbolically,
which the conservative al-Azhar holds over the cultural life of Egypt. In this
new situation, al-Azhar will no longer be able to enforce its authority by
accusing its opponents of being unbelievers and enemies of Islam. By denying it
this coercive instrument, al-Azhar will learn to realize the limits of its
power. In the long run, this will be to the benefit of al-Azhar and Egypt.
Arabic for Taha Husayn is the language of all the Egyptians,
regardless of
their religious affiliations. It is as much the national language
of the Muslims as it is the language of the Christian Copts. He therefore
believes that it is incumbent on the Coptic Church to ensure that its ministers
are competent in the language, which is not always the case. It is also the
duty of the Coptic Church to make sure that its followers have available to
them worship materials in correct and elegant Arabic. Taha Husayn regrets the
fact that the Arabic used in Coptic worship does not meet with this standard.
He refers to the language used in this domain as “broken Arabic which is not in
keeping with the dignity of Christianity” (ibid.: 360–1). He also regrets the
fact that the Arabic translations of the Bible used in the Coptic churches do
not rise to the standard attained in the English, French or German
translations. This demands that this be rectified. So desperate was Taha Husayn
to see this happen in Egypt
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
and elsewhere in the Arabic-speaking world that he is reported to
“have offered to help in rewriting [the liturgies] so that the Arab Christians
could worship in good Arabic” (Hourani 1983: 334).
In assessing The Future of
Culture, Hourani observes that “this book, while being a final statement of
a certain type of purely Egyptian nationalism, marks the first step towards the
merging of Egyptian in Arab nationalism” (ibid.: 335). This perceptive
observation may help explain Taha Husayn’s uncompromising support for the
standard, and his dismissive attitude towards the colloquial as a corrupt
variety which cannot be dignified with the term “language”. It may also explain
the fact that, although he once or twice calls Arabic the “Egyptian language”
(1944: 68, for example), he generally refers to it as the Arabic language or,
sometimes, as “our Arabic language” (ibid.: 197 for example). Thus, although
Taha Husayn declares that Arabic is one of the defining features of Egyptian
national identity, he does not seek to define it in such a way as to make it
distinct from the same language in other Arabic-speaking countries, as did
Salama Musa and other Egyptian nationalists (see section 3). The Egypt-
ianization of Arabic called for by other Egyptian nationalists is definitely
off the agenda for him, but its modernization is not. Also, unlike other
Egyptian nationalists, Taha Husayn does not see Egypt as distinct from the
surrounding countries. He believes that an independent Egypt has a duty towards
its Arab neighbours, and that it can execute this by inviting Arab students to
come to study in Egypt or by opening Egyptian educational institutes in these
countries. This correlates with his pride in the literary heritage of the
Arabs, and in the lip service he pays to the Pharaonic legacy of Egypt as a
factor in defining its national identity (1985). The cumulation of these
ingredients in his thinking does not, however, amount to an espousal of Arab
nationalism, even when Egypt under Nasser championed this ideology. In spite of
this, Taha Husayn’s name is sometimes reviled by his opponents on the Islamic
side. His statement that religion and the state are two different things, and
his stinging attack on al- Azhar, have contributed to this in no small
measure.13
4.3 The Arabic Language and Egyptian Nationalism: Luwis ÆAwad
Although the 1920s and early 1930s constituted the heyday of
Egyptian terri- torial nationalism, it would be wrong to conclude that
articulations of this phenomenon disappeared from the Egyptian political and
cultural scene as a result of the strengthening of the Islamic mood and the
ties of Arabism towards the end of this period. In the latter sphere, Arabic
started to emerge as the factor which binds Egypt in ties of identity with other
Arabic-speaking countries. The idea that Egypt is Arab because its people speak
Arabic assumed the same importance in this new vision of the nation, as did the
environment in earlier articulations of Egyptian nationalism. The following
statement by the writer
the arabic language and national identity
Ibrahim ÆAbd al-Qadir al-Mazini (1890–1949), published in 1937,
illustrates this vision (cited in Gershoni and Jankowski 1995: 118–19):
Nationalism is nothing but language. Whatever the nature of a
country may be, and however deeply embedded in antiquity its origins may be, as
long as peoples have one language, they are only one people … Every language
has its own modes and methods, modes of thought and methods of conception … In
this regard, the sons of each language conform to and resemble each other and
are distinguished from the sons of every other language.
In this context, it may be pointed out that the work of Luwis ÆAwad
(hence- forth Lewis Awad) represents an attempt to challenge, or even deny,
this link between language and national identity as the criterion of national
self- definition for Egypt. He sets out his views on this topic in two books.
The first, Plutoland, was published
in 1947. In the introduction to this experimental collection of poetry, Lewis
Awad advocates the adoption of Egyptian colloquial Arabic as the language of
literature in Egypt. And he does so with a vehemence that is reminiscent of the
forceful views on the topic expressed by Salama Musa two decades earlier (see
section 4.1 above). The second work is Muqaddima
fÈ fiqh al-lugha al-Æarabiyya, (Introduction
to the Foundations of the Arabic Language), which was published in Egypt in
1980. In 1981, this book was the target of censorship as a result of a court
case which found against its author.14 Its critics charged that Lewis Awad
expressed views that were inimical to some of the deeply held beliefs of the
Muslim community, mainly the inimitability of the Qur’an. The main point of
interest for us in the present work, however, is the range of views which the
author advances to decouple the language factor from that of national identity
in the Egyptian cultural and, by implication, political sphere. It is not
insignificant in this regard that the Introduction
was published during the Sadat period (1970–81), when Egypt veered towards
an “Egypt first” policy in response to the Arab boycott following its peace
treaty with Israel in March 1979.
Let us consider the above two works, starting with Plutoland. In the first
sentence of the introduction to this collection, Lewis Awad
declares that Arabic poetry died a death in Egypt with the demise in 1931 of
the Poet Laureate Ahmad Shawqi, whose neo-classical style was out of tune with
Egyptian modernity and Egypt’s sense of enduring identity. He later develops
this theme by stating, triumphantly, that it would be more accurate to say that
Arabic poetry in Egypt never died because it was never alive there. The
evidence for this, he declares, lies in the fact that Egypt had failed to
produce one poet of repute between what he refers to as the “Arab occupation”
of Egypt in 640 and the “British occupation” of the country in 1882. The reason
for this, we are told, is the status of Arabic as an external attribute and
artificial tongue of the Egyptians, who failed to digest it in the way that
living creatures naturally digest
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
their food. Instead, the Egyptians developed a language which, in
spite of its Arab roots, is different from pure Arabic in its phonology,
morphology, syntax, lexicon and prosody. The problem for Egypt, however, is
that its own sons do not seem to accord this language – the people’s language –
and the poetry produced in it the status and cultural significance they
deserve. By equating the British occupation of Egypt with the Islamic conquest
of the country, Lewis Awad aims to underline what he sees as the foreignness of
Arabic in Egypt. He also aims to say, in a manner reminiscent of the claim made
by Willcocks (see section 4.1 above), that the creativity of the Egyptians
cannot be unlocked without their relying on their native tongue, this being the
colloquial.
Behind this constellation of ideas is a clear political message:
the struggle for full political independence in Egypt must proceed together
with the struggle to rid the Egyptians of the hegemony which Arabic exercises
over their cultural life. Hence the references to Arabic culture in Egypt as a
colonizing culture whose language the Egyptians must seek to destroy and
replace by what Lewis Awad calls, tongue in cheek, the “base” or “vulgar”
language of Egypt (mun˙a††a, 1947: 9)
which the colloquial epitomizes. This linguistic revolution is necessary if
Egypt is to escape from the rotten cultural influences it has suffered for
4,000 years at the hands of successive foreign rulers, the Arabs included. It
is only by returning to its Pharaonic past that Egypt can regain that sense of
creativity which it so badly needs in the modern age. It is also by recognizing
that Arabic and the colloquials will inevitably go the way of Latin and the
Romance languages that the Egyptians will take the necessary steps to aid the
progress of this development. As a contribution to this enterprise from someone
whose feel and command of standard Arabic are very weak (1947: 19), Lewis Awad
wrote his memoirs of his student days in Cambridge (MudhakkirÅt
†Ålib baÆtha, 1965) in colloquial Arabic. In the introduction to Plutoland, Lewis Awad also relates how
he promised himself never to use standard Arabic in writing, but points out
with feelings of remorse and shame that he failed to keep this promise.15 In
the introduction to his memoirs, he adumbrates that he had not actually failed,
for the promise he made was intended to refer to creative writing only (1965).
Lewis Awad considers the link between Arabic and Islam to be the
main obstacle on the way to achieving the above goal of creating out of the
colloquial an autonomous Egyptian language (lugha
mißriyya, 1947: 12). He argues that the creation of such a language will
not undermine Islam as a religion, although it may help bring about the
much-desired outcome of depriving orthodoxy of its linguistic power and
authority in society. Also, the creation of an Egyptian language will not
necessarily lead to the diminution in the status of standard Arabic. The two
languages and their literatures can exist side by side. Being, however, aware
of the religious significance of Arabic and of his status as a
the arabic language and national identity
Christian Copt, Lewis Awad considers it more appropriate and
effective if the banner in this enterprise be carried by a Muslim Egyptian
rather than himself. By putting forward this view, Lewis Awad displays a clear
understanding of the role of Arabic in moulding Egyptian subjectivity. This
view also highlights a clear understanding of the sectarian-based link between
language and subject- ivity, at least at the symbolic level, in the life of
Egypt and among intellectuals of the same mindset and inclinations as Lewis
Awad.
Let us now turn to the Introduction,
which was published more than thirty years after Plutoland. In spite of the fact that the findings of this book –
often speculative and controversial, as will be shown below – are radically
different from those of any other work on Egyptian nationalism, it is still
primarily dedicated to negating the link between Arabic and Egyptian national
identity. The starting point for this work revolves around the assumption that
most of the similarities between Arabic and other Indo-European languages are
not the result of lexical borrowing, important though this was in the history
of relations between them, but are the outcome of the genealogical relationship
which holds between them. The same is also true of the similarities between
Arabic and ancient Egyptian, which is a member of the Hamitic family of
languages. If this is the case, then all of these languages are cognates. To
support this conclusion, Lewis Awad applies what may be construed in very broad
terms as a glottochronological approach, the aim of which is normally to
calculate the point in time at which cognate languages have started to diverge
from each other. The fact that Lewis Awad does not seem to be aware that this
is more or less what he is trying to do – in spite of the fact that
glottochronology is a highly controversial methodology in historical
linguistics – should not detain us here. What matters from the perspective of
the present research is the way in which Lewis Awad deploys the above
assumption to argue (1) that the Arabs originated from outside the Arabian
Peninsula, (2) that Arabic is not unique, and (3) that Arabic cannot be used as
an instrument of national identification. Concerning the first point above,
Lewis Awad believes that the similarities between Arabic and the Indo-European
languages, which he sets out at some length in his book (pp. 139–459), belong
to the core of the language (ßulb al-
aßlÅb, 1993: 52) rather than to its periphery. And, in view of the fact
that the recorded history of the Arabs goes back to between c. 800 BC (in
Southern Arabia) and 328 BC (in Northern Arabia), it follows that, in
comparison with the ancient Egyptians, the Arabs are a recent nation in the
area. The combina- tion of these two observations raises the question as to the
origin of the Arabs. To answer this question, Lewis Awad rejects the
traditional view which suggests Arabia as their original home, simply because
it fails to account properly for the similarities he posits between Arabic and
the Indo-European languages. Instead of asserting that the similarities
concerned are genealogical in nature, this
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
theory considers them as the outcome of linguistic contact. A more
plausible interpretation of the above two observations therefore demands that
the original home of the Arabs be placed elsewhere, outside Arabia itself.
Lewis Awad specifies this home as the Caucasus, to which the Arabs arrived from
Central Asia on their way to Arabia via the Caspian Sea area. This would help explain
the linguistic similarities mentioned above as the outcome of a linguistic
archaeology in which the deepest substratum is neither Semitic nor
Indo-European, but a mixture of both. The spread of Arabic under this view can
no longer be regarded as a matter of out-migration from the Arabian Peninsula,
but as a matter of in-migration into it by people who preferred the nomadic
existence – which they inherited from their ancient fathers – to settled life.
This is a highly speculative view, but it does serve the purpose of
claiming that the Arabs lack the historical pedigree which other nations in the
Middle East can claim for themselves. In comparison with these nations, the
Arabs are said to be outsiders and not insiders in geographical terms. They are
in this respect unlike the ancient Egyptians, or the Hebrews and the
Phoenicians who receive mention in ancient Egyptian documents. However, coming
into contact with these and other peoples, the Arabs absorbed aspects of their
linguistic repertoire, thus adding further strata to the linguistic archaeology
of their language which, Lewis Awad suggests, consists of seven layers. Under
this inter- pretation, Arabic must be viewed as a mixture of core and acquired
features. This hybrid structural compositionality must be taken to deny the
claim of uniqueness attributed to the language in the Arabic intellectual
tradition. It also suggests that Arabic did not emerge on the scene of human
history fully formed and perfect, as is sometimes claimed to be the case in this
tradition. Under this set of interpretations, Arabic is a language like all
other languages. It is to this aspect of Lewis Awad’s thinking that I will turn
next.
The claims of uniqueness and superiority attributed to the language
in the Arabic intellectual tradition derive primarily from the fact that Arabic
was the medium of the Islamic revelation (cf. Chapter 3). And, since this
revelation says of itself that it is inimitable, and since it also asserts that
this inimitability lies in the linguistic domain, Arabic acquires connotations
of doctrinally impreg- nated uniqueness. It is therefore claimed by some
scholars that Arabic is the language of Heaven, that it was fully formed before
its manifestation on earth came about or that the revelation did not contain
any foreign terms – in spite of the fact that some of the words in the Qur’an
patently belong to this category. Claims of this kind are said to be
responsible for the almost complete lack of interest in the Arabic linguistic
tradition in the history of Arabic or in its genealogical relationships to
other languages. Moreover, if taken seriously, the above claims and their
linguistic consequences would deny the conclusion, outlined above, that Arabic
is a human phenomenon which is subject to the
the arabic language and national identity
same forces of formation and change, and to the same methods of
scholarly scrutiny, that apply to other languages.
Although the above views are not espoused by all Islamic scholars
or schools of thought in Islam, as Lewis Awad himself avers, he nevertheless
goes on to say that they serve a political agenda whose aim was to legitimize
Arab hegemony over other races. The uniqueness of Arabic therefore was an
instrument of power which allocated the authority of interpreting the
revelation and that of conducting the affairs of state to the Arabs, or
grudgingly to those among the non-Arab Muslims who mastered Arabic and
therefore became Arabized. Under this scheme of things, Arabic became an
instrument of inclusion and exclusion, in which the Arabs – whose language Arabic is – had the upper
hand. The association of language, people and power in this context is said to
have given the Arabs advantages that far outweighed their status among the
other older and more distinguished nations in the area. The feeling of
superiority this generated among the Arabs is therefore not only unjustified,
but is also the “Semitic equivalent of Aryan racism in Europe” (al-muqÅbil al-sÅmÈ li-l-Åriyya al- ËrËbiyya,
ibid.: 95). Under this view, Arabic must be branded an instrument of race and
racial purity (ibid.).
Although not explicitly cast in shuÆËbiyya-orientated
terms (see Chapter 3,
section 5) or in an Egyptian nationalist framework (section 4), the
arguments set out in the preceding paragraph build on these two ideological
articulations. What matters for us here is the connection with the latter. As
Gershoni and Jankowski (1986: 96–129) convincingly argue, constructions of
Egyptian national identity in the 1920s and 1930s did invoke an anti-Arab
feeling which sought to depict the Arabs as different and separate in
personality and mentality from the Egyptians.16 For some, the Arabs were
depicted as aliens whose language and literature must be resisted in favour of
an explicitly and uniquely Egyptian language and literature, as Lewis Awad
himself did in the introduction to Plutoland
which has been discussed above.
Although Lewis Awad declares that language cannot serve as the
basis of racial identity, a view which most scholars would find unproblematic,
he never- theless undermines his case when he claims that the differences
between Egyptian colloquial Arabic and standard Arabic are caused by the
racially bound physical constitution of the Egyptian vocal tract. Without
producing any evidence for it, he states that the use of the glottal stop in
Egyptian Arabic instead of [q] in the standard – ’Ål = qÅl (he said), or
[g] instead of [j]: gamal = jamal (camel), or [t] instead of [th]: tÅnÈ = thÅnÈ (second), or [z] instead of [dh]: izÅ
= idhÅ (if), and so on –
reflects the peculiarities of the Egyptian vocal tract, including the shape of
the tongue, the jaws, the hard and soft palates and the pharynx. Coupled with
this physiologically induced racial difference in the production of speech
sounds within the spectrum of Arabic phonetics, the
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
theory of linguistic archaeology is implicitly employed to state
that both ancient Egyptian and Coptic are important strata in the make-up of
Arabic in Egypt. These two factors are said to give Egyptian Arabic a special
character which distinguishes it from standard Arabic and other Arabic
colloquials, although it may be pointed out in response that all the phonetic
correspondences given above are attested elsewhere within the totality of the
Arabic language. Lewis Awad expresses this special character of Egyptian Arabic
by saying that its “skeleton is Arabic and its flesh is ancient Egyptian”
(1993: 42). This view of Egyptian Arabic as a unique entity in the realm of
Arabic varieties is consistent with the call in Egyptian nationalism to
Egyptianize Arabic. It is, however, different from it in intent. Its aim is not
to advocate a path of linguistic Egyptianization, a project whose realization
Lewis Awad allocates to the future, but to assert that the Egyptian character
of the colloquial in Egypt is a fact given by physiology and linguistic
archaeology. Overt and interventionist Egyptian- ization would under this
interpretation be no more than a reflection of the latent forces which have
always conspired to make Egyptian Arabic truly Egyptian. If so, and since it is
this variety of Arabic which is the mother-tongue of the Egyptians, Arabic
cannot serve as a bond of identity with other Arabic- speaking peoples.
The above reading of Lewis Awad’s views on language and national
identity
combines aspects of what he himself states explicitly and an
element of construction in which what is implicit and inferred is made overt.
There is, however, no doubt that these views, as I have tried to show above,
are consistent with some of the major themes of Egyptian nationalism in the
1920s and 1930s. In some respects, these views are intended to push further the
boundaries of these themes, or to excavate deeper into the foundations upon
which they may be based. The problem with this project, however, is its lack of
consistency and its highly speculative nature. Thus, while race and its identi-
fication with language are condemned in the Introduction,
Lewis Awad does not hesitate to refer to the Egyptian race (ibid.: 41) and, as
I have shown above, to the role played by the physiological features of this
race in modifying Arabic phonology and phonetics among the Egyptians.
The highly speculative nature of Lewis Awad’s ideas may be exemplified
by his identification of Remnen in
ancient Egyptian with Lebanon (ibid.:
23) via the intermediate derivative form Lebnen.
This he does by applying a set of conversion rules which relate r and m in ancient Egyptian to l and
b in Lebanon respectively. While this may be intuitively appealing, it
cannot stand rigorous linguistic scrutiny. Thus we are not told under what
conditions the above phonological conversions apply or what triggers them
should such a trigger be involved. We are also not told whether these
conversions between the two languages are obligatory or optional. We are also
left in the dark as to the
the arabic language and national identity
domain of the above conversion rules. Without this information, we
cannot have any confidence in these conversions. They must therefore remain in
the realm of speculation rather than that of assessable descriptive rules.
There is indication, however, that Lewis Awad is aware of this serious
shortcoming in his approach, although he fails to act on it. This is evidenced
by the use of terms which signal the highly tentative nature of his findings: rubbamÅ (perhaps, ibid.: 26, 44, 46), yajËz an (it is possible, ibid.: 27), naΩunn (we believe, ibid.: 28), yabdË anna (it seems that, ibid.: 32), ÆalÅ al-arja˙ (probably, ibid.: 36), laÆalla (perhaps, ibid.: 36, 51), qad (it is possible that …, ibid.: 54),
and so on. These and other examples are used in connection with conclusions
Lewis Awad draws from his investigation. Their utilization in this context
lends further support to what has been said above concerning the speculative
nature of his conclusions.
5.
the arabic
language and lebanese nationalism: a general introduction
There have been very few studies (at least in English) of the
language situation in Lebanon, in spite of the enormous promise this subject
holds for socio- linguists and the light it can shed on questions of
colonialism and national identity in this country during the last half-century.
The complexity and sensitivity of this issue in its political context is the
main reason for this lacuna. It is not my intention in this research to rectify
this deficiency or to consider the sociolinguistic reflexes of political
conflict in Lebanon, a subject I hope to return to in a future project on
language and sociopolitical conflict in the Middle East. Rather, my aim here
will be to investigate how standard Arabic is used as a marker of Lebanese
national identity by considering two contributions in this area, one based on
historical and pragmatic advocacy and the other on philosophical grounds.
However, before launching into this discussion, I will present a general sketch
of the language situation in Lebanon in the context of the conceptualisation of
national identity.
Broadly speaking, four languages share the linguistic space that
makes up the
Lebanese cultural scene. Two of these languages, English and
Armenian, will not concern us here owing to the fact that they do not impact
significantly on the conceptualizations of national identity for Lebanon. The spread of English in
Lebanon is attributed to its role as the global language of business and
international relations, although its presence in the country goes back to the
nineteenth century. Armenian is restricted to the small Armenian community in
Lebanon, who promote it as an instrument of keeping alive their cultural
identity and their links with their country of origin. The other two languages,
Arabic and French, are intimately interwoven with issues of national identity
in Lebanon. Advocacy in favour of standard Arabic tends to be associated with
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
pan-Arab nationalism, but not exclusively so, as I shall show
below. It is generally believed that Muslims in particular are the main
supporters of this variety and the nationalist ideology it underpins (cf.
section 2). In contrast, promotion of colloquial Arabic as a marker of national
identity tends to be associated with inward-looking Lebanese nationalism which
sees in standard Arabic an instrument of pan-Arab cultural and, indirectly,
political hegemony. A general perception exists that the supporters of this
variety tend to be drawn from among the ranks of the Christian, particularly
Maronite, segments of the population (cf. section 2). One of the strongest supporters
of this variety is the poet SaÆid ÆAql who, after a long literary career in
standard Arabic, published a collection of poems (Yara) in colloquial Lebanese using the Roman alphabet (see
al-Naqqash 1988: 101). However, the use of the Roman alphabet is not
universally advocated by the Lebanese nationalist colloquialists. Witness the
fact that SaÆid ÆAql himself used the Arabic alphabet to render this dialect in
his introduction to Michel Tarrad’s collection of poems GulinnÅr (see al-Hajj 1978: 242).
Support for French on the Lebanese cultural scene is generally
linked to conceptualizations of Lebanese national identity which propel it
outside the Arab orbit and lodge it in the sphere of a Western or non-Islamic
Mediterranean culture. Under this interpretation, Lebanon is in the Middle East but is not
exclusively of it. Lebanese national
identity is therefore not purely Arab or purely Western, but must partake of
both to remain genuinely authentic and true to its roots. The presence of
French is seen now as part of a long-established multilingual tradition in
Lebanon which takes the country back to the times of the Phoenicians, for whom
multilingualism was a fact of life (see Skaf 1960). Educational and other
contacts with France and the presence of French in Lebanon are said to predate
the French Mandate (1918–43), although the language received a boost when the
mandatory authorities declared it to be an official language alongside Arabic,
and then proceeded to provide the resources to give effect to this policy
through the educational system and the institutions of the state. The presence
of French in Lebanon was also justified on what appeared to be pragmatic
grounds. It was argued that, by arming itself with French, Lebanon can fulfil
its civilizing mission in and to the East – read the Arab world – by
interpreting the West to the Arabs and by advocating Arab causes in the West on
behalf of the Arabs. Under this vision of Lebanon, the point is made that it is
in the interest of those Lebanese who value Lebanon’s connections to the Arabs
to support the presence and spread of French in the country. Some proponents of
French stressed its function as a medium of cultural, even spiritual,
expression which enables the Christians, mainly the Maronites, to keep their
contacts with the Christian West, mainly France.
It is clear from the above set of arguments that the presence of
French in
the arabic language and national identity
Lebanon is endowed with political, religious and cultural
connotations that bear directly on questions of the conceptualization of
national identity, in spite of the fact that the official status of the
language was dropped after indepen- dence in 1943. Politically, French
underpins a concept of Lebanese national identity which sees it as irrevocably
separate from Arab nationalism and Syrian Nationalism (see section 3 above).
Religiously, French gives prominence to a specifically Maronite confessional
identity within the Lebanese body politic, in spite of the fact that the
language is used by Muslims and members of other Christian denominations for
cultural and social interchange. Culturally, French signifies Lebanese
linguistic and literary hybridity as a way of supplanting any monolinguistic or
monoliterary articulations of the national self. Hence the use of this language
as a medium of literary expression in Lebanon, and the pride shown by the
Francophiles in literary works of this kind. These arguments, which are part of
the cultural politics of Lebanon, have been given strong advocacy in a book on
the subject by Selim Abou (1962). In an excellent review of this book and the
wider issues it raises, Rosemary Sayigh summarizes its main conclusions – which
at the same time serve as its implicit premises17 – as follows (1965: 126–7):
1.
French embodies the highest expression of Western civilisation,
which is now to all intents and purposes world civilisation;
2.
the renaissance of Arab civilisation depends on its openness to
Western civilisa- tion, and it is Lebanon’s role to provide the channel through
which Western ideas and techniques can pass to the Arab world;
3.
Lebanon, geographically and traditionally, has two further
functions: to interpret the Arabs to the West and the West to the Arabs, and to
provide the site for the dialogue between Islam and Christianity;
4.
[Arabic-French] bilingualism is essential to the fulfilling of
these missions;
5.
Lebanon has always been polyglot; French, historically speaking,
has merely replaced Syriac as the “national” language of the Maronites;
6.
Lebanese bilingualism must be studied anthropologically as an
“existential” fact, not subject to scientific criteria, whether linguistic or
sociological;
7.
French is a “fundamental part of Lebanese reality”, essential to
the spiritual needs of the population; it is implicit in the National Pact, and
to attack it implies an attack on the National Pact;18 [and] far from creating
problems, it is “the principle of solution to the problem of an already divided
society”;
8.
Lebanon’s possession of French has been the means of putting the country
on the map culturally – or “inserting it in the historical present”, as Abou
puts it; if French is lost the country’s relatively high educational and
cultural level will decline, to the detriment not only of Lebanon but also of
her Arab neighbours.
Although it is not the aim of this study to examine the above
arguments in favour of the role of French, or those in favour of the Lebanese
colloquial in constructing Lebanese national identity, it will be seen below
that this role is
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
questioned and rejected by other Lebanese nationalists. The fact
that some of these nationalists are staunch supporters of standard Arabic, and
that they are Maronites and French-educated, is very significant. First, the
combination of these facts undermines the impression that the supporters of
standard Arabic on the Lebanese cultural scene are from the Muslim segment of
the population. Second, the association of standard Arabic with Lebanese
nationalism provides an interesting case against the almost exclusive linkage
of the language with Arab nationalism. This association shows that territorial
or state nationalism does not have to distance itself from standard Arabic to
be authentic or completely independent. Subscription to the one does not have
to imply the negation of the other. The starting point for this argument, as
will be seen below, is the acceptance of the state as the legal entity which
gives legitimacy to Lebanese nationalism. Without it, the above linkage between
language and national identity cannot proceed. To show how this is done, I will
consider the contribution of two Lebanese nationalists, ÆAbdalla Lahhud
(1899–?) and Kamal Yusuf al-Hajj (1917–76).
5.1 The Arabic Language and Lebanese Nationalism: ÆAbdalla Lahhud
Asserting his identity as a Christian and as a Maronite, Lahhud
addresses himself to the colloquialists and Francophiles in Lebanon by
declaring that support for Arabism in no way constitutes a denial of Lebanese
nationalism or threatens the status of Lebanon as a fully independent state,
for which – he says
– he is prepared to die if necessary (1993). He points out that,
being a cultural phenomenon and a loose association between the Arabic-speaking
countries, Arabism poses no political threat to Lebanon or to the Lebanese
national identity. The fear of Arabism among Christian Lebanese nationalists
out of the belief that it is irrevocably and organically linked to Islam is
therefore unjustified. To support this, he reminds his colleagues that the first
stirrings of Arabism emerged and were promoted, culturally and otherwise, by
the Christians of Lebanon in the nineteenth century. Also, the proponents of
Arabism as a cultural idea among the Muslims were at pains to distance it, even
dissociate it, from Islam. Arabism is not a licence to promote Islam, for had
this been the case the proponents of this idea would have sought to forge links
and bonds of identity with non-Arabic-speaking countries. The fact that this
has not been done indicates the secular roots of Arabism, a secularism which
Lahhud wishes to promote in Lebanon to counter the confessional basis of
Lebanese politics and conceptualizations of national identity. Support for the
Arabist idea would also enable Lebanon to fulfil its leading cultural role in
the area, as well as to facilitate the discharge of its civilizing mission to
the Arabs. This is important for Lebanon’s own identity if it is to continue to
be true to its distant and near past. Lebanon is a small country with little
potential or ability to fashion for
the arabic language and national identity
itself a similar mission to the West. Lahhud stresses that the
Arabs have a role for Lebanon which the Lebanese would be ill-advised to forgo.
Without the Arabs, Lebanon would be culturally and politically far smaller than
it geograph- ically is. It therefore behoves the colloquialists and
Francophiles among the Lebanese nationalists to give up their ideological
opposition to standard Arabic, because that would lead to a massive diminution
in the stature of Lebanon among other nations. Enmity to standard Arabic in
Lebanon, declares Lahhud, must therefore be regarded as a crime (lawn min alwÅn al-ijrÅm, ibid.: 52).
The above arguments in support of standard Arabic are mainly based
on pragmatic grounds of national self-interest. But this is not the only basis
for this support in Lahhud’s thinking. He believes that a non-blinkered and
fear-free reading of Lebanese history would unearth evidence which shows that
Arabic and the Arabs are not recent newcomers to Lebanon. He points out that
Arabic is a sister language to Phoenician and Aramaic, which dominated Lebanon
before the final triumph of the language in the Levant. This linguistic triumph
after Islam built on earlier contacts between the people of Lebanon and the
Arabs through trade and emigration, and it was accomplished willingly and
without subjecting the Lebanese to any coercion. This explains the fact that
many of the leading families of Lebanon trace their origins to pre-Islamic Arab
tribes which embraced Christianity before the rise of Islam. Lahhud concludes
that the idea that Arabic was a foreign language to Lebanon is therefore
ludicrous.
Furthermore, the idea that Arabic did not manage to supplant Syriac
as the
language of the Maronites in Lebanon until the end of the
eighteenth century cannot withstand scrutiny. To begin with, Lahhud points out
that history in Lebanon has not bequeathed any written documents in Syriac –
apart from the liturgy – for over 1,000 years. Also, the fact that the main
book of Maronite law, KitÅb al-hudÅ,
was produced in Arabic in 1058/9, and that no other copies of this book exist
in any other language, surely indicates that Arabic was the main language among
the Maronites. This is acknowledged by the author of this book in the
introduction he wrote to it, in which he states that he used Arabic in
rendering the book because the language was widespread among the Maronites.
Also, the existence of a set of major Maronite figures from the fourteenth
century with Arabic names (for example, Khalid, Sinan, Qamar, Badr) shows that
Arabic was deeply embedded in Maronite culture. The existence of popular poetry
in dialect form supports this conclusion. In the sixteenth century, the
Maronite cleric Jibrayil al-QilaÆi from Lahfad in the Maronite hinterland
composed a set of such poems in which he extols the virtues of the major
families in the area, pointing out that they took pride in tracing their
genealogy to the Arab tribe of Ghassan. Towards the end of the seventeenth century,
an Italian cleric visited the Maronite areas and wrote in his account of his
journey
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
that Arabic was the language of literacy among them, and that the
use of Syriac was restricted to the liturgy, as in the case of Latin in Europe.
Lahhud further points out that the relationship between the
Maronite Church and Rome, which officially goes back to the sixteenth century,
provides further evidence in support of the embeddedness of Arabic in Maronite
society and culture. It is reported that, on the occasion of a visit by a
Maronite envoy to Rome in 1515, the Pope ordered that the Maronite Patriarch’s
letters brought by the said envoy be read in public in their Arabic and Latin
versions. Also, starting in the fifteenth century, the minutes of the council
meetings between Rome and the Maronite Patriarchate were recorded in both
Arabic and Latin. When disagreements occurred between the two parties, the
Maronites used to invoke the Arabic version of the minutes in support of their
position. This shows, Lahhud tells us, that Arabic was deeply rooted in
Maronite culture and society. The same is true for other churches, for example
the Greek Melchites, whose move to Arabic dates back to the beginning of the
eighth century. History therefore shows that Arabic is not foreign to Lebanon,
and that “he who serves Arabic serves Lebanon” (man khadam al-Æarabiyya fa-qad khadam lubnÅn, ibid.: 41). Lahhud
counts in this category of the servants of Arabic a galaxy of Maronite scholars,
including Bishop Jermanus Farhat (1670–1732), who was instrumental in promoting
grammatical literacy among the Maronites. He also points to the contribution of
Islamic scholars from Lebanon in the development of Islamic law, in particular
the jurist ÆAbd al-Rahman al-AwzaÆi (AD 707–74), whose reputation travelled far
beyond his native town of Beirut.
Lahhud concludes that the above arguments show that the status of
standard
Arabic as the “national language of Lebanon” (ibid.: 42) is
supported by history and justified by considerations of enlightened
self-interest. Standard Arabic must therefore be protected against the
colloquial. This will, however, require simplifying its pedagogic grammars and
promoting it vigorously throughout the school and higher-education systems.
Arabic must also be protected against French, which competes with it in this
system. However, a protective policy of this kind should not discourage the
learning of foreign languages. Any such policy would cripple Lebanon’s ability
to perform its civilizing mission to the East.
It is clear from the above discussion that Lahhud is not an
ideologue of Lebanese nationalism. His comments on the subject tend to be
journalistic and popularizing, rather than analytic or part of a fully worked-out
ideology. He begins with the Lebanese state as the basis of this nationalism,
and then seeks to construct a view of standard Arabic which treats it as an
attribute of the Lebanese national self in the past, and promotes it as one in
the present and the future. What makes Arabic serve in this capacity is
therefore the existence of the state. There is no talk about the Lebanization
of this language along the
the arabic language and national identity
lines advocated for Arabic in the context of Egyptian nationalism
(see section 3 above). The fact that the standard Arabic Lahhud is interested
in is more or less the same as the Arabic of al-ÆAlayli, al-Husri and al-Arsuzi
does not seem to bother him. What makes this language different in
politico-linguistic terms is the existence of the Lebanese state. This takes
precedent over everything else. A more systematic outlook on this issue of
language and national identity from this angle is provided by Kamal Yusuf
al-Hajj, to whom I shall turn next.
5.2 The Arabic Language and Lebanese Nationalism: Kamal Yusuf al-Hajj
Although the views of Kamal Yusuf al-Hajj (1917–76) on the link
between standard Arabic and Lebanese nationalism are not devoid of a strong
element of advocacy and intellectual justification of the status quo of the
Lebanese political system, there is no doubt that he is the foremost proponent
of this link in Lebanon, particularly among the Maronites. What makes him
different from others who advocated the same position, for example Lahhud, is
the systematic way in which he deals with this link and the attempt to premise
his discussion of it on philosophical or semi-philosophical grounds. Al-Hajj is
also different from these scholars in his total support for confessionalism in
Lebanon,19 treating it as the country’s raison d’être in civilizational terms.
If we add to this that he was thoroughly educated in French, then we have
before us a character profile which – common wisdom about Lebanon would suggest
– should show little sympathy for standard Arabic in national-identity terms.
The fact that he is one of the staunchest defendants of this language in
Lebanon, and that he treats it as one of the four ingredients – in conjunction
with political geography, political economy and history – which mould the
Lebanese national identity, makes his contribution to the debate about this
identity a particularly significant inter- vention. From the perspective of the
present work, al-Hajj is also important because his views about Lebanese
nationalism emerged from his interest in the philosophy of language rather than
the other way round. In the annals of the history of language and nationalism
in the Arab Middle East, al-Hajj is there- fore on par with al-Husri and
al-Arsuzi, although the latter two are pan-Arab nationalists and he is a
stalwart Lebanese nationalist who ignores the contri- bution of these two
thinkers – in spite of the fact that he shares with al-Arsuzi a common
fascination with the work of the French philosopher Henri Bergson (1859–1941).
He is, however, different from al-Husri and al-Arsuzi in that he writes in a
style which draws on the creative and evocative capacities of the language. The
fact that he writes in such a style, emulating in this regard Bergson, on whom
he wrote his doctorate at the Sorbonne, led some of his critics to deny him the
title of philosopher of which he was very proud (see Nassar 1981, 1994). The
fundamental building block upon which al-Hajj erects his philosophy is the
duality of essence (al-jawhar) and
existence (al-wujËd), in which the
latter is
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
a manifestation or realization of the former, albeit not always in
a completely perfect manner. Applying this duality to Lebanon, religion is a
matter of the essence, whereas confessionalism is a matter of existence.
Al-Hajj argues that the fact that confessionalism through blind fanaticism
distorts religion is an argument not against religion per se, but against the faulty practice of confes- sionalism. And,
since religion is a matter of doctrine, it follows that no society or nation
can exist without doctrine, for the very denial of doctrinal belief is in
itself doctrinal. Under this logic, atheism itself is doctrinal. There is
therefore no escaping the fact in Lebanon that religion must be a core element
of society and the state. This core element he calls naßlÅmiyya, a relative adjective that concatenates the first part
of naßrÅniyya (Christianity) and islÅm (Islam). The challenge facing
Lebanon therefore is not just how to defend itself against secularism, but how
to construct a positive confessionalism (tÅ’ifiyya
bannÅ’a) which can reflect the essence of religion that is common to both
Christianity and Islam (al-Hajj 1966).
Linking the above dualism to another between the state and the
government, whereby the former is declared to be a matter of essence and the
latter one of existence, al-Hajj now associates religion with the state, and
confessionalism (in its negative manifestations) with the government. This
enables him to sanction the National Pact of 1943 in Lebanon as a matter of the
state and therefore of the essence, and to condemn the excesses of
confessionalism in Lebanon as a matter of government and therefore of existence.
What is wrong in Lebanon therefore is not the formal structure of the state as
envisaged in the National Pact, but the defective realization of this state in
the negative confessional practices of the government in the administrative and
political sphere. To put this right, the Lebanese must be motivated to practise
positive confessionalism. But this requires an involvement in politics which
can activate religion. Al-Hajj states that the Muslims have no problems with
this, since Islam does not call for separating religion from the state. The
Christians, however, have a problem because they have been exposed to the
Western idea of the separation of the church and the state, which, he says,
they tend to treat as a political doctrine. To counter this, al-Hajj sets up an
elaborate argument to prove that Christianity cannot be separated from
politics, drawing from this the conclusion that the Christians in Lebanon must
always be politically involved if they are to resist secularism or Muslim
dominance. Positive confessionalism now emerges as the moral equivalent of the
philosophy of the National Pact, which is the main title of his book on the
subject: al-ÊÅ’ifiyya al-bannÅ’a aw
falsafat al-mÈthÅq al-wa†anÈ (1961). The sub-title spells this connection
out, declaring the book to be a “philosophical, theological and political study
of confessionalism in Lebanon in the context of the National Pact”: mab˙ath falsafÈ lÅhËtÈ siyÅsÈ ˙awl
al-†Å’ifiyya fÈ lubnÅn ÆalÅ ∂aw’ al-mÈthÅq al-wa†anÈ.
the arabic language and national identity
The duality of greatest interest to us in the present work,
however, is that between human language as a universal phenomenon that is
inseparable from thought, and the mother-tongue (al-lugha al-umm) as an instantiation of that language. The former
belongs to the world of the “essence” and the latter to that of “existence”.
Although the comparison is not directly made in al-Hajj’s main book on the
subject, FÈ falsafat al-lugha (On the Philosophy of Language, first
published in 1956), it is not unwarranted to equate “human language” with
Saussure’s langage, and the
“mother-tongue” with his langue.
Under this frame- work, standard Arabic is a realization of the phenomenon of
human language. Both are abstract, but the former is a step more removed from
the world of speech than the latter.
The second step in developing al-Hajj’s thinking on the philosophy
of language invokes the duality of maÆnÅ (meaning)
and mabnÅ (linguistic structure).
Although meaning is a matter of essence and, therefore, is universal,
linguistic structure is a matter of existence through which meanings are
realized or made manifest in a particular language. However, such is the
duality of meaning and linguistic structure that the only way of getting at the
former is through the latter. Meaning or thought, whenever we encounter them,
are willy-nilly always localized in a particular language. Translators, more
than others, are aware of this. And it is al-Hajj’s struggle with translating
Bergson from French into Arabic that led him to this set of conceptualizations
and, ultimately, to his philosophy of the relationship between standard Arabic
and the Lebanese national identity. Underlying this relationship, however, is
the total belief in the givenness of the Lebanese state as envisaged in the
National Pact. It is this state which legitimizes Lebanese national identity,
for without it this identity cannot come into existence as a political or legal
construct.
The mother-tongue for al-Hajj is more than just a means of
communication. It is an end in itself by virtue of the fact that it is
inseparable from thought and meaning, from humanity and from the construction
of human society. The problem in Lebanon, points out al-Hajj, is that language
is treated as a means of communication in the utilitarian sense of the term,
thus depriving it of its true status as one of the forces that shape the
Lebanese character and national identity (cf. section 4.1). Citing a number of
psycholinguistic studies from the 1940s and early 1950s in France, and relying
very heavily on his own experience and struggle to translate Bergson into
Arabic, al-Hajj concludes that no-one can be truly bilingual across the full
range of language functions served by the two languages he masters. Of the two
or more languages that a person knows, one will dominate, and it is this
language that qualifies for the status of mother- tongue. This applies to
Arabic as it does to all other languages, particularly in the literary domain,
where creativity of the highest order is the sought-after ideal. Evidence of
this thesis can be derived from the fact that no creative writer
the arabic language and
territorial nationalism
who writes in a language other than his mother-tongue has ever been
able to hit the highest notes of creativity achieved by indigenous writers
writing in their mother tongues. Those who write in a language other than their
mother-tongue rarely, if ever, enter the literary canon of the literature to
which they seek to belong. Writers, says al-Hajj, have always understood this,
and this is why they regard their mother-tongue as the most highly prized
possession they have. It is true that meaning belongs to all humanity and that
all languages are technically able to express it; but, when cast in a
particular mother-tongue, at least in the literary domain, it so enters into an
organic unity with the mother-tongue concerned that it is often impossible to
separate the one from the other. Herein lies the genius of every language. And
herein lies the enigma of the untrans- latability of great works of verbal art.
Shakespeare may be translated into Arabic, but his mother-tongue-based genius
can never be. He will always remain an English writer, in both the linguistic
and the national-identity sense.
There is no doubt as to who the target of this analysis in Lebanon
is: it is the Francophiles who, in their advocacy of Arabic–French
bilingualism, seem to behave as though language were the outer garment of
meaning, its fez (†arbËsh), rather
than of its very essence. Al-Hajj argues that, since complete bilingualism is
an impossibility, the Lebanese have a choice: they either opt for French or
they choose Arabic. Rational consideration of this matter makes it clear that
French cannot function as the mother-tongue of the Lebanese. First, it is a
foreign language in Lebanon, which the French mandatory authorities imposed on
the Lebanese to weaken Arabic and to create a situation of unidirectional dependence
between them and the French. The imposition of the French on the Lebanese is a
case of “linguistic colonization” (istiÆmÅr
lughawÈ, 1978: 156). In this context, al-Hajj lists the coercive measures
which the French authorities adopted to impose French on Lebanese children in
the schools. A system of naming and shaming was put in place to punish and
ostracize those who dared to use Arabic, or who used it by mistake. Being
unable to express themselves with complete facility in French, Lebanese
children studied in a linguistically deprived environment. Second, being unable
to achieve native fluency in French, Lebanese children, and adults for that
matter, developed an inferiority complex towards the French, who could speak
their language naturally. Third, the Arabic–French bilingualism advocated by
the Francophiles is more of a dream than a reality. Very few Lebanese had
near-native mastery of French, and some of those who did achieved this at the
expense of a reduction in fluency in Arabic.
Later studies confirmed this observation by al-Hajj. They showed
the
defective use of French by the Lebanese, in newspapers and in news
broadcasts, in shop signs and in other printed materials. Instead of developing
a full facility in French, the Lebanese injected Arabic elements into it,
creating what had
the arabic language and national identity
come to be known in Lebanon as franbanais,
although this term is not used by al-Hajj. The call to espouse Arabic–French
bilingualism has led not to achiev- ing it, but to promoting a state of
linguistic hybridity which dilutes the creative impulses of the Lebanese, who,
al-Hajj argues, have no choice but to stick to Arabic as their mother-tongue.
Being known by almost all the Lebanese, Arabic alone qualifies for this role.
Thus, where French can divide the Lebanese, Arabic can unite them. And, where
French can stunt the creative impulses of the Lebanese, Arabic can release
these impulses and give full rein to them. This way, Lebanon and the Lebanese
can fulfil their civilizing mission to the Arab world. Granted, knowledge of
French and other foreign languages can help in this, but not in the way the
Francophiles stipulate. They can help as foreign languages, but not as
mother-tongues.
Being aware of the emotive and motivating power of language in
task- orientation and rational persuasion, al-Hajj sets out his main thesis of
the unique linkage between a particular nation and its mother-tongue by using
aphoristic expressions that tap into aspects of Lebanese and Arab culture. The
following are a few examples: “For each heart there is a single language” (lÅ majÅl fÈ-l-qalb illÅ li-lisÅn wÅ˙id,
1978: 122); “A genius takes care of his language as a virgin does of her
chastity” (ya˙riß al-ÆabÅqira ÆalÅ
lughÅtihim kamÅ ta˙riß al-ÆadhrÅ’ ÆalÅ ÆafÅfihÅ, ibid.: 128); “When the
tongue commits adultery, thought does so too” (matÅ zanÅ al-lisÅn zanÅ al-fikr, ibid.: 131); “It is not possible
for more than one tongue to live under the same roof without fighting each
other” (inna alsina ÆadÈda lÅ yumkin an
taskun ta˙t saqf wÅ˙id bi-dËn an tatanÅ˙ar, ibid.: 132); “The mother-
tongue does not accept a co-wife under its roof” (inna al-lugha al-umm lÅ taqbal lahÅ ∂arra ta˙t saqf baytihÅ, ibid.:
139); and “A mature, alert, honourable and moral people extol the standing of
their national language” (inna al-shaÆb
al-wÅÆÈ al-sharÈf al-ÆafÈf yukbir sha’n lughatih al-qawmiyya, ibid.: 151).
Al-Hajj also points out that great leaders understand the emotional basis of
the link between language and nation, which, in the last three statements
above, is signalled by the use of the emphatic inna in Arabic. Witness also the utilization of the purity metaphor
in setting out the relationship between language and nation.20 Hence, we are
told, the refusal by Antun SaÆada, the leader of the Syrian National Party, to
speak to the court in French when he was tried by the French authorities in
Lebanon in 1936. Al-Hajj tells us that although SaÆada did not treat language
as a defining feature in his nationalist ideology, he understood that Arabic
was his mother-tongue and that French was not. This is also the reason why he
refused to respond to the French judge when he called him Antoine rather than
by the Arabic form of his name, Antun (cf. Chapter 4, section 2).
However, the idea that “the nation and its national language are
inseparable”
(al-lugha al-qawmiyya
wa-l-umma shar†Ån mutalÅzimÅn, ibid.: 154) may be thought to be negated by
the Swiss example, where three major languages are
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
believed to live under the same state roof. Al-Hajj considers the
Swiss example a red herring. First, Switzerland is a loose confederation of
self-governing entities, each with its own language. Second, the creative
writers in each of these entities use their mother-tongue as the medium of
literary expression. Third, the speakers of each language feel the bonds of
unity which link them to the speakers of the same language outside the Swiss
borders: the French- speaking with France, the German-speaking with Germany and
the Italian- speaking with Italy. But this raises the question as to why
Switzerland continues to enjoy political unity. Al-Hajj answers this by saying
that although the three languages mentioned above are related to the languages
of the surrounding countries, nevertheless they have their own special flavour
which gives them their own nuanced identities (cf. section 2 above).
Differences of this kind also apply to British English and American English.
Furthermore, Swiss political unity would have crumbled had it not been for the
fact that it is more or less guaranteed by the enlightened self-interests of
the surrounding countries whose languages are represented inside Switzerland.
For all these reasons, the Swiss case cannot be taken as a refutation of the
thesis that to every state nationalism there is one language.
As I have said earlier, the above arguments are directed at the
Francophiles
in Lebanon. There is, however, another constituency, the
colloquialists, who need to be addressed. The arguments used by the
colloquialists in support of their favoured variety are well rehearsed in the
Lebanese linguistic scene. They include the difficulty of standard Arabic, the
absence of good learner-orientated pedagogic grammars to teach it and the claim
that standard Arabic instils in the learners a conservative and old-fashioned
value system, which is out of step with the values of modernity Lebanon wishes
to absorb and promote. However, the main argument against the standard springs
from the diglossic nature of the Arabic language situation. Standard Arabic is
no-one’s mother-tongue. The colloquial is. It therefore makes more sense to
promote the latter in Lebanon. The argument goes that the adoption of this
variety of Arabic as Lebanon’s national language would give the Lebanese a
language that is unquestionably theirs, and theirs alone.
Supporters of the standard would respond by saying that the
difference between their favoured variety and the colloquial in Lebanon is not
as big as the colloquialists claim (see Abu SaÆd 1994). The difficulty of
standard Arabic is not linguistically but pedagogically induced. Pedagogic
problems require pedagogic solutions, not linguistic or sociolinguistic ones.
These solutions can be provided by simplifying Arabic grammars for
language-teaching and learning purposes, and by modernizing the language
lexically. Enhanced literacy levels and the increasing contacts between
Arabic-speakers will help solve the problem of inter-dialect communication in
due course. It is also not in the interests of the
the arabic language and national identity
speakers of Arabic to dismantle the linguistic unity that exists
between them on the standard-language front. The loss of this unity will lead
to a diminution in the cultural exchange between these speakers. Furthermore,
if it is true that Lebanon has a civilizing mission to the Arabs, which is a
recurrent theme in Lebanese cultural politics, it will be well-nigh impossible
for it to deliver this mission under this scenario.
Important as these arguments are, they fail in al-Hajj’s view to
provide the ultimate, philosophically grounded argument in favour of standard
Arabic. He points out that these arguments are born out of a concern with
utility, and the attendant limited understanding of language as a means to
something else. If language is a tool, an instrument or a means to something
else, it should in principle be possible to introduce changes in it without
affecting the system of symbolic values it carries and signifies. But, since
this is not possible, language must be treated as more than just a system of
communication. What is needed, therefore, is a philosophical engagement with
the problem of diglossia. To achieve this, al-Hajj devotes the last chapter of FÈ falsafat al-lugha (1978: 210–
93) to this task. Rather than arguing in favour of standard Arabic
against the colloquial or vice versa, al-Hajj states that each of these two
forms of the language requires the existence of the other. By failing to grasp
this idea, the supporters both of the standard and of the colloquial fail to
appreciate the ontology which binds the two forms of the language together.
Al-Hajj believes that those who think of diglossia in Arabic as a
problem fail to understand that it is the result of a more fundamental duality
which is of the very essence of man. Man’s inner psyche (wijdÅn) consists of sense (˙iss)
and mind (Æaql), without which man
cannot be complete. Each of these two com- ponents has its own domain. Feelings
in the widest sense of the term constitute the domain of sense. The intellect
in its widest sense constitutes the domain of the mind. Sense is related to
sensibility, while the mind is related to rationality. Each has its own mode of
operation. Sense is raw and spontaneous. The mind is reflective, deliberate and
calculating. Each therefore requires its own medium of expression. The
colloquial acts as that medium to sense. The standard acts as the medium of the
mind, which deploys it in the service of rationality. The colloquial partakes
of the properties of sense: it is “spontaneous and impulsive” (lugha tilqÅ’iyya [wa] infiÆÅliyya,
ibid.: 226). It is also ungrammatical and full of loose ends. The standard
reflects the measured and methodical workings of the mind: it is controlled and
regulated. It is structured and systematic. Diglossia therefore is nothing but
a reflection of the sense–mind duality in man. And, since this duality is
universal, diglossia itself must be universal. All human languages are
therefore diglossic to one extent or another. A language which does not exhibit
diglossia cannot be a human language, and if such a language existed it must be
a primitive or impoverished language. Arabic is no exception
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
to this rule. This is why it makes no sense to argue against the
standard in favour of the colloquial, or against the colloquial in favour of
the standard. The one is the ontological counterpart of the other. It is
therefore natural that they should exist next to each other, and that each
would have its own functional domain into which the other does not and should
not stray. Unsanctioned boundary- crossings between the two would result in
dissonance and the disintegration of meaning, as happened, we are told, in
SaÆid ÆAql’s musings on aesthetic sensibility in literature which he penned in
the colloquial in his introduction to Michel Tarrad’s collection of poems GullinÅr (al-Hajj 1978: 242).
Under this analysis, diglossia is not and should not be seen as a
problem in Lebanon. It is a fact of life from which there is no escape. The
colloquialists should therefore cease to undermine the standard. Even if the
Lebanese collo- quial is adopted as a national language for Lebanon, there will
soon emerge another colloquial to fill its place. This will lead to replacing
one form of diglossia with another. Supporters of the standard should also stop
their attacks on the colloquial. Even if they succeed in eliminating the
colloquial by bringing it closer to the standard, there will inevitably develop
another colloquial to fill its place. Diglossia responds to a basic human need,
emerging out of the sense– mind duality. Failure to understand this fact has led
to sterile and needlessly antagonistic debates between the supporters of the
colloquial and those of the standard in Lebanon. Rather than working against
each other, they must work together to fill the lexical gaps that exist in the
standard by taking on board some of the terminological innovations existing in
the colloquial. What, however, should not happen is to camouflage the
modification of grammar in the descriptive sense (taghyir, ibid.: 250) as a simplification of grammar in the
pedagogic sense (taysir, ibid.) in
the calls to simplify standard Arabic. The call to eliminate the desinential
inflections made by some reformers of Arabic is one such example of
ill-conceived simplification, whereby what is definitional of the standard is
presented as an attribute which can be dispensed with. This is not possible,
says al-Hajj, without interfering with the ontological structure of diglossia
and the sense–mind duality that underlies it.
It is not my aim to evaluate the validity or otherwise of the
philosophical basis upon which the diglossic nature of Arabic is valorized in On the Philosophy of Language. Such an
evaluation would belong more to philosophy than to an investigation of the
relationship between language and national identity. What matters from the
perspective of this study is the fact that al-Hajj uses philosophy to produce a
rationalization and justification for the linguistic status quo in Lebanon in
the same manner he did for confessionalism. In the process, he produced a novel
argument that transcends the polarization between the supporters of the
colloquial and those of the standard. Each party can have its cake and eat it.
But there is no doubt as to where al-Hajj’s real sympathies lie.
the arabic language and national identity
As an intellectual and, as he constantly reminds us, a philosopher,
he is more concerned with rationality and the mind than with sense and
sensibility. His enthusiasm on the linguistic scene is therefore mainly
reserved for the standard. But this enthusiasm is motivated by something far
greater than the impera- tives of the subjectivity of al-Hajj as an individual.
It is motivated by a deep concern for Lebanon as a beacon of civilization in
the East. In the past, Lebanon acted as a “teacher” (ustÅdh, ibid.: 284) in the Arab world. Lebanon had a mission to the
East where it is geographically located, and it can have none in the West which
has no need for the genius of the Lebanese. Al-Hajj therefore believes that
Lebanon must be linguistically Arab in order to deliver its mission. And, since
the language which can help it do so is standard Arabic, Lebanon has no choice
but to adopt it as its national language. This is also incumbent upon it
because it is a fact of life that no one nation or individual can master the
genius of two languages. The Lebanese must therefore stop taking pride in the
fact that they do not know Arabic as well as they do French or English. They
must realize that Lebanese culture is inseparable from Arabic. They should not
fear Arabic, since the meanings of Lebanese culture remain intrinsically
Lebanese in spite of the Arabic linguistic structure which envelops them ([thaqÅfat lubnÅn] lubnÅniyyat al-maÆnÅ Æarabiyyat al-mabnÅ, ibid.: 258). Although
al-Hajj does not believe that meaning and linguistic structure can be separated
from each other, as I have explained above, the kind of separation he envisages
here is justified by him on the flimsy grounds that the same words in the
Arabic- speaking world do not necessarily mean the same things across the whole
language community. Geography and history take care of that by adding their own
localized connotations to these words. In response to this, it may be argued
that while it is true that variations of this kind do exist, it is even more
true that far more constancies of meaning exist among Arabic-speakers. But, in
a philo- sophy of advocacy, it is what proves one’s point that matters. The
exception, which may be the rule, gets sidelined. Al-Hajj is certainly guilty
of this contri-
vance in the present context.
So, in what sense is standard Arabic a component of Lebanese
nationalism for al-Hajj? The idea that standard Arabic in Lebanon has its
flavour and unique meanings is part of the answer, since it makes of standard
Arabic in Lebanon a construct that is in one way or another uniquely related to
it (Lebanon). But the association of standard Arabic and Lebanese national
identity goes deeper, taking the form of a series of spiralling moves which
inter- lace argument with argument. The first move starts with the view that
language is inseparable from thought, and that language is a factor that shapes
the national character. Arabic is declared to be the operative language in
these domains. The second move builds on this by invoking the psycholinguistic
fact that no one individual or nation can be truly bilingual. Wherever two
languages
the arabic
language and territorial nationalism
exist, one of them tends to be dominant in one functional domain or
another. In Lebanon, this language is Arabic and not French, which is actually
foreign to the country and is a relic of French colonialism. The third move
consists of legitimizing diglossia and sanctioning the Arabic language
situation in Lebanon. The fourth move invokes an argument from internal
colonialism concerning Lebanon’s civilizing mission to the Arabs, the purpose
of which is to instil in the Lebanese a moral imperative which turns the
adoption and promotion of standard Arabic in Lebanon as one of the highest
forms of virtue. Finally, all of these moves are rooted in a political
philosophy which treats nationality as the correlate of the state. The fact
that there is a Lebanese state must therefore mean that there is a Lebanese
nationalism and a Lebanese national identity. And, since language is
traditionally thought of as an ingredient, marker or attribute of national
identity, Arabic is the only candidate
– for philosophical, linguistic, moral and pragmatic reasons –
which can fulfil this function. It is this web of ideas that al-Hajj reworks in
his other publications on Lebanese nationalism (1959a, 1959b, 1959c, 1966,
1978). These publications contain further elaborations, but they add little
that is new or not implied in what he says in On the Philosophy of Language about the relationship between the
Arabic language and the Lebanese national identity.
6.
conclusion
In this chapter, I have discussed two types of territorial
nationalism: regional nationalism, represented by Antun SaÆada’s Syrian
Nationalism, and state- orientated nationalism, represented by Egyptian and
Lebanese nationalism. In dealing with these two types of territorial
nationalism, I was interested in the way they construct the relationship
between Arabic and their own brand of national identity. Different strategies
are adopted for this purpose. The first consists of denying the thesis that
language is a criterion of national identity. This is explicitly stated by
SaÆada, who prefers to give primacy in his nationalist ideology to the role the
environment plays in shaping the national character of the nation. The fact
that language is not a definitional marker of the nation does not, however,
mean that it can be dispensed with in nation-formation. The existence of one
language in the nation helps communication between members of the nation
concerned, and this in turn can enhance the cohesiveness with which the nation
acts and imagines itself. When two or more languages exist in the same nation –
as in Switzerland, for example – the unity of that nation may come under
pressure and could, with time, lead to political fragmentation. Language for
SaÆada, therefore, is first and foremost a means to something else: it is
relevant insofar as it can aid or hinder achieving the ends it is intended to
serve in the national domain.
the arabic language and national identity
This unashamedly instrumentalist view of language is the antithesis
of the Arab nationalist idea wherein language, in both its functional and
symbolic dimensions, is projected as a definitional criterion of the national
self. It is this idea which SaÆada wishes to oppose, and whose validity he sets
out to deny, on the analytical and historical level. He accepts that language
is functionally important in nation-formation; and, judging by his insistence
on using Arabic and the Arab version of his name when he was tried by the
French in Lebanon on 23 December 1936 (section 5.2 above), we may even say that
he fully understood the symbolic significance of language in signalling both
his Syrian National identity and his resistance to the French occupation.
However, he had no choice but to deny that language is a criterion of Syrian
Nationalism, because without such a denial it would have been hard to
distinguish between this Nationalism and Arab nationalism which was the
dominant ideology at the time. Furthermore, since without this denial SaÆada
would have brought himself perilously close to Arab nationalism, thus ringing
the alarm bells among the Maronites of Lebanon, he had little choice but to
reject the idea that Arabic is a criterion of the Syrian National identity.
However, this rejection had to be watered down somewhat to avoid antagonizing
the Muslims of Greater Syria, for whom any diminution in the status of Arabic
would have rung alarm bells of a different kind. SaÆada knew he had to walk a
tightrope, and he did so with consummate ideological agility.
SaÆada could, however, have followed the second strategy in
territorial
nationalism – for dealing with the connection between language and
national identity – to get out of his dilemma. This consists of claiming that
Arabic is a criterion of national self-definition, coupling it with the
statement that although standard Arabic shares a common set of features across
the Arabic-speaking lands, it is nevertheless the case that the Arabic of each
nation is characterized by a unique flavour which brands it as that nation’s
mother-tongue alone. This view is advocated by Kamal al-Hajj (section 5.2) and
other Lebanese nationalists who were dealt with indirectly above (section 5 and
sub-sections). It is also adopted by some Egyptian nationalists who called for Egyptianizing
Arabic, thus creating an Egyptian language that is not the same as the Arabic
of the other parts of the Arabic-speaking world. One of the earliest advocates
of this strategy in Egypt was Lutfi al-Sayyid (section 3). However, the
difficulty of creating a standard Arabic that is specifically Egyptian must
have convinced some Egyptian nationalists that the real solution lies in
discarding standard Arabic in favour of the Egyptian colloquial (section 4.1).
This solution was also advocated in Lebanon. The ultimate aim behind it was the
break-up of Arabic linguistic unity, thus depriving the Arab nationalists of
the very foundations upon which their nationalism is built. This aim was
sometimes admitted openly. At other times, it was camouflaged as a measure
aimed at promoting literacy,
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
enhancing realism in literature or unleashing the scientific
creativity of the sons and daughters of the nation.
A third strategy for dealing with language and national identity in
territorial nationalism consists of obfuscation, whether deliberate or not.
Here, language is dealt with at some length, explaining how important it is in
the national literature and in keeping the links between the past and the
present. This may be coupled with informal statements to the effect that the
language of a nation is one of its emblems, but without raising this informal
statement to the status of a nationalist principle. This is the strategy
adopted by most Egyptian nationalists (section 4 and sub-sections). It is also
the practice in ÆAbdalla Lahhud’s state- ments on the topic. Being a compromise
between competing positions, this strategy tends to be associated with
journalistic articulations of territorial nationalism. In this context, the
focus is not on theoretical coherence but on persuasion as dictated by the
needs of the moment and the kind of arguments the opposition brings into play.
What principally matters here is not ideology per se, but deploying ideological positions for task-orientation
purposes. This explains the recourse to reiteration and the reliance on emotive
language as spurs to action under this strategy. Ideological shifts are
tolerated as long as the ultimate aims of a particular nationalism are
preserved. These shifts and changes of focus are also inevitable owing to the
fact that this strategy is applied by individuals working on their own or as a
part of a loose association of intel- lectuals who share a broad vision that is
not fully worked out in its details. This is particularly true of the group of
Egyptian journalists and intellectuals who worked around al-SiyÅsa al-usbËÆiyya (section 4).
The fourth strategy for dealing with language and national identity
in terri- torial nationalism consists of stressing the needs of linguistic or
extralinguistic modernization in a particular nationalism. Although linguistic
modernization, in one form or another, was called for by almost all Lebanese
nationalists, extralinguistic modernization receives little or no attention in
this nationalism. Admitting that extralinguistic modernization is a primary
concern for Lebanon was not seriously entertained because such an admission
would have meant that Lebanon was not qualified to discharge its civilizing,
and hence modernizing, mission to the Arab world. The situation in Egyptian
nationalism was different in that linguistic and extralinguistic modernization
were thought to be two sides of the same coin. In some cases, this
modernization was read emblematically into the modernization of Arabic in its
capacity as an ingredient that defines the Egyptian nation. This is the
position adopted by Taha Husayn (section 4.2). Salama Musa does not see
modernization in these terms. His instrumental view of language means that he
does not establish it as a criterion of national self- definition. But it also
means that he can be more daring and radical in the kind of modernization he
proposes.
the arabic language and national identity
The discussion in this chapter shows that territorial nationalism
is broader than state nationalism in scope and orientation. Thus, while Syrian
National- ism is regional in scope, Lebanese nationalism is state-orientated in
character. Egyptian nationalism acknowledges the existence of the state but
without giving it the ideological visibility it has in Lebanese nationalism.
This difference between Lebanese and Egyptian nationalism – insofar as it is
constructed from the perspective of language and national identity – makes
Lebanese nationalism more political than Egyptian nationalism. However, both
culture and politics interact in both nationalisms, as they also do in Syrian
Nationalism which, nevertheless, labours under the strong disadvantage of not
having its own state with its own legally recognized territory.
Although both Egyptian and Lebanese nationalism make reference to
the past in constructing their vision of the nation, there is no doubt that
this appeal to the past has greater importance in the former than it does in
the latter. Much of Egyptian nationalism is built around constructing a “golden
age” which shifts the centre of cultural definition and popular influence from
the Arabo-Islamic heritage to that of the Pharaohs.21 This attempt to reroot
the nation in a different space and time puts strain on the claims of
continuity which are necessary to make the “golden age” usable and capable of
interpretation in a way that serves the present goals of Egypt and its future
aspirations. Egypt’s Pharaonic “golden age” is punctured by another, the
Arabo-Islamic “golden age”, which resonates with a large segment of the
country’s Muslim population. To overcome this, environmental determinism is
injected into the nationalist ideology to make the discontinuous look
continuous. By locking the Egyptian character into a capsule moulded by
geography, the claim is made in Egyptian nationalism that the transition from
the Pharaonic “golden age” – when the Egyptian national character exhibited its
genius to the full and achieved its highest point of grandeur – to the present
was almost seamless. Instead of being assimilated into the culture of its
foreign rulers, Egypt assimilated them into its own culture. A similar position
is taken by Antun SaÆada in his exposition of Syrian Nationalism. Lebanese
nationalism envisages Lebanon as Janus-like. In one direction, it looks to
France and the West. In the other direction, it looks to the Arab world. Its
relationship to the West is characterized by a feeling of inferiority (dËniyya), as al-Hajj points out when he
says that Europe has no need for the cultural wares of Lebanon (1978: 283). In
contrast, the relationship of Lebanon to the Arab world is characterized by a
feeling of superiority, expressed in terms of the civilizational mission which
the former has to the latter. This feature of Lebanese nationalism is based on
a “myth of election” which endows Lebanon with a sense of moral virtue not
available to other Arabic-speaking countries. As a case of intra-Arab cultural
imperialism, this “myth of election” in Lebanese nationalism is but a
reflection of the cultural imperialism exercised by France in
the arabic language and territorial nationalism
Lebanon itself.22 In this context of cultural dependence and double
dependence, Lebanese nationalism envisages the role of Lebanon to the Arabs as
one of interpretation and translation. This is exactly what Pierre Gemayel says
when he articulates the Phalangist viewpoint of Lebanese nationalism (1968:
109): “Lebanon is necessary to the West. It is the interpreter of its ideas, of
its spiritual values to the Arabs.” This is why the maintenance of Arabic and
the promotion of French and other European languages, particularly English, is
thought by him to be so important for Lebanon.
7
1.
the arabic
language and national identity: looking back
The major aim of this book has been to show the dominance of
language in ideological formulations of national identity in the Arab Middle
East. Formu- lations of Arab nationalism, whether embryonic or fully fledged in
character, are invariably built around the potential and capacity of Arabic in
its standard form to act as the linchpin of the identity of all those who share
it as their common language. A positive and indissoluble link is therefore
established between language and national identity in discourse of this type.
This was the case in the Arab Middle East in the last few decades of the
Ottoman Empire, and in post-First World War discussions of the topic. The names
of al-Husri, al- Arsuzi and, to a lesser extent, al-Yaziji, al-ÆUraysi,
al-ÆAlayli and al-Bitar are all connected with identitarian formulations in
this mode. The nation in this mode is cultural in character, although in
practice culture cannot be separated from politics, particularly in the high
sense.
So dominant was this mode of defining the Arab national self that
(alter- native) territorial modes of imagining the nation in the Arab Middle
East could not but respond to it. Antun SaÆada’s answer was to argue that
language cannot play a defining role in conceptualizing the Syrian nation.
Instead, he proposed environmental determinism as the principle which acts in
this capacity, with language playing no more than an assisting role in this
regard. Similar formula- tions existed in Egyptian and Lebanese nationalism.
Other territorial strategies of responding to the emphasis on standard Arabic
in Arab nationalism did exist. One such strategy consisted of accepting the
definitional role of the language in the formation of national identity, but
locking it into an understanding of the nation which conceives of it as a
construct that is inseparable from the state as the focus of loyalty and
solidarity. Under this strategy, the fact of sharing a common language by
people living under the jurisdiction of different states or in different
countries cannot function as the basis for a common national identity between
them. Egyptian and Lebanese nationalism provide examples of this kind. In these
examples, Arabic is given a role in defining the nation, but it is presented as
a factor among other definitional factors which operate within the
conclusion: looking back, looking forward
orbit of the state as the focus of the nation in question. Taha
Husayn and Kamal al-Hajj conceive of the role of Arabic in the formation of
national identity in these terms. A second strategy consists of accepting the
view that language is a factor in nation-formation, but assigning this role to
the colloquial as the true mother-tongue of the people who speak Arabic. This
vernacularizing strategy is designed to create for the state and the putative
nation associated with it a language that is uniquely its own. Examples of this
kind exist in Egyptian and Lebanese nationalism. A variation on this strategy
consists of calling for the creation of a middle language between the standard
and the colloquial, with strong input from the latter to deliver the same
territorially particularizing function for the envisaged language. The call to
Egyptianize Arabic by some Egyptian nationalists – notably Lutfi al-Sayyid – is
an example of this kind. A third strategy consists of promoting a linguistic
duality in a particular national- ism in which the bilingual partners are
Arabic in its generic form and a foreign language, typically French. This is
the situation in some articulations of Christian Lebanese national identity,
the best-known example being Abou’s views on the subject. A variation on this
theme consists of anchoring the linguistic duality in question to the standard
and the colloquial in their diglossic setting. This strategy is embedded, but
not fully exploited, in Kamal al-Hajj’s analysis of the language situation in
Lebanon. A fourth strategy consists of highlighting the role of language in the
formation of national identity, but without specifying whether this role is
definitional or not. Typically in this strategy, a fudge is provided whereby
language is at times conceived of as no more than an instru- ment of
communication, and at others as that medium which is inseparable from thought
and which, additionally, is directly responsible for undesirable behavioural
patterns in society. Salama Musa’s views on Arabic in Egypt provide a good
example of this strategy. This and the other strategies listed above are all
associated with a political vision of the nation and nationalism in the Arab
Middle East. However, this vision is embedded in a keen appreciation of the
role culture plays in this enterprise.
Whether directly or indirectly, the past – a resonant past – is
always present in constructions of national identity. This is true of
articulations of cultural and political nationalism in the Arab Middle East.
The role of the past in these articulations is one of valorization of a
particular ideological position, or of conferring authenticity on what a
particular nationalism claims for itself. Thus, Arab nationalism invokes in a
variety of ways the traditional esteem with which Arabic is held in Arab
societies, the aim being to promote the thesis that the language is the marker
par excellence of Arab national identity. What makes an Arab Arab in this nationalism
is his or her membership in an Arabic-speaking community that is as much
defined by its attitude of reverence towards the language as it is by actual
linguistic behaviour. This attitude towards Arabic is
the arabic language and national identity
also found in some articulations of territorial national identity,
as exhibited by Lahhud’s statements on the topic. However, being tied to the
state as an existing or imagined entity, the past here is read in a territorial
fashion which invokes factors of political history, economy and geography as
forces that imbue the language with a local flavour. This is more or less the
position taken by Taha Husayn and Kamal al-Hajj in Egyptian and Lebanese
nationalism respectively. In some articulations of territorial nationalism, the
past is excavated to derive ideas which may be used to characterize Arabic as a
construct that is symptomatic of cultural backwardness. This is the case in
those examples of Egyptian nationalist discourse where shuÆËbiyya-type ideas are deployed to characterize Arabic as a
Bedouin language that is unfit for application in the sciences or for use in
other domains of modern life. Other ideas from the same source are resurrected
to argue that a language-based Arab national identity is a form of linguism
which echoes and recreates in modern times the “chauvinistic” or “racist”
feelings the Arabs held towards the non-Arabs in the first few centuries of
Islam. The past may also be deployed or manipulated to argue against deeply
held attitudes towards Arabic, for example the doctrinally sanctioned thesis of
the uniqueness of the language as a factor in the esteem in which it is held by
its speakers. This is particularly present in some of the arguments offered by
Lewis Awad in his book Muqaddima fÈ fiqh
al-lugha al-Æarabiyya. In other cases, one past is pitted against another
to press the claim that Arabic cannot be treated as a marker of a particular
national identity. Examples of this strategy abound in Egyptian nationalism.
Here, the Pharaonic past is declared as the genuine and authentic past of
Egypt, using this as a prelude to launching the argument that all the pasts
that had succeeded this original past were more or less marginal in their
influence on the already formed Egyptian character. The intended effect of this
argument was to deny that the Arabs and Arabic had any formative effect on the
Egyptian national character in the modern period. This is often accom- panied
by references to the presumed ability of Egypt throughout its history to
assimilate into its character those who came to settle on its land. On the
lingu- istic front, this assimilative power means that Egypt was able to stamp
Arabic with the indelible imprint of its imperishable soul, thus fashioning out
of it a language that is structurally and stylistically Egyptian in character.
Being so shaped and defined, the Arabic of Egypt cannot serve as the basis of a
national
bond involving other Arabic-speakers.
Nationalism is Janus-like. It looks towards the past, a usable
past, for valoriza- tion and authentication. And it looks towards the future
for modernization on all fronts: social, economic, political, cultural and
linguistic. Modernization is part and parcel of the mission of all nationalisms
in the Arab Middle East, be they cultural or territorial in nature, although
some nationalist discourses tend to place more emphasis on modernization than
others. An example of this kind
conclusion: looking back, looking forward
of discourse is provided by Salama Musa, who treats the
modernization of Egypt as the most pressing task facing the Egyptians. Broadly
speaking, the modern- izing mission of nationalism in the Arab Middle East may
therefore be outlined as one of bringing about a significant change in the
structure of society and in the way in which the individual relates to it and
to other individuals. In this respect, nationalism aims to transcend the
present by moving towards a differ- ent kind of future. In so doing, it invokes
aspects of the past to respond to the deeply felt needs of the community it
addresses. Following Smith, these needs may be characterized as follows (Smith
1991: 163):
Transcending oblivion through posterity, the restoration of
collective dignity through an appeal to a golden age; the realisation of
fraternity through symbols, rites and ceremonies, which bind the living to the
dead and fallen of the community: these are the underlying functions of
national identity and nationalism in the modern world, and the basic reasons
why the latter have proved so durable, protean and resilient through all
vicissitudes.
It is not my intention here to discuss the domains in which
modernization as an objective of nationalism is to take place in the Arab
Middle East. Rather, my aim is to comment on one aspect of modernization that
is directly relevant to the theme of this book: linguistic modernization. There
is a commonly held belief in the nationalist discourses I have examined in this
work that Arabic is in need of modernization grammatically, lexically,
stylistically and pedagogic- ally to make it better able to participate in the
nationalist project in an effective manner. Grammatical modernization should
have as its aim the use of a syntax that is unencumbered by the outmoded and
dead rules of the past. Lexical modernization should aim at increasing the
stock of new terminologies available to the language-users. It should also aim
at culling the excesses of synonymy in the language, thus freeing some lexical
slots for use in designating new meanings. Stylistic modernization should
encourage the development of a new rhetoric in which meaning is not neglected
in favour of linguistic virtuosity, but in which the latter is made to serve
the functions of the former. Pedagogic modernization should aim at developing
new ways of setting out the facts of grammar for the effective nurturing of
grammatical competence in the learners. Some demanded that a daring approach be
adopted in this area, consisting, among other things, of dropping the
desinential inflections. Others considered any such so-called pedagogic
simplification of grammar to be an unwarranted intrusion into the very
structure – even the soul – of the language. Some nationalist thinkers
additionally argued for reforming the Arabic script. Others called for its
whole- sale abandonment as the Turks had done.
Behind the above
calls for linguistic
modernization, there existed an
immediate aim and an ulterior motive. On the one hand, the
modernization of Arabic was thought to make the language more able to deliver
the fruits of the
the arabic language and national identity
extralinguistic modernization which nationalism wishes to promote
as part of its programme. This dimension of modernization, its immediate aim,
targets the functional capacities of the language as a medium of communication.
On the other hand, the modernization of Arabic is intended to signal through
the language-as-medium the extralinguistic dimensions of modernization. In this
respect, the modernization of Arabic becomes symbolic of modernization as a
whole – this symbolism being the ulterior motive referred to above. By tapping
into these two roles of Arabic, the functional and the symbolic, nationalism in
the Arab Middle East uses the power of language in society to the full. The
fact that the functional sometimes dominates the symbolic or vice versa does
not invalidate this conclusion.
2.
the arabic
language and national identity: looking forward
Having established in this work the broad outlines of the role of
language in nationalism as ideology in the Arab Middle East, a basis now exists
for launching studies of an empirical nature to investigate how linguistic
behaviour and nationalism as movement or action interact with each other in the
Arabic- speaking world. I will suggest below some areas in which this kind of
research may be pursued. However, before doing this, I would like to highlight
two issues of language and national ideology which this study has not dealt
with, and to which I hope to return in the future. The first concerns the
attempts by some state nationalists to construct fully fledged ideologies which
treat language, history and culture in a manner that is definitionally
inseparable from the state. A good example of this, which comes from outside
the Middle East proper, is provided by al-Bashir bin Salama in his book al-Shakhßiyya al-tËnisiyya: khaßÅ’ißuhÅ
wa-muqawwimÅtuhÅ (The Tunisian
Character: Its Properties and Forma- tive Elements, 1974). The main thrust
of this book is to argue that the Tunisians form a nation proper (umma), not a people (shaÆb) as would be envisaged under Arab
nationalism. This state ideology is inscribed in discursive practices which
ascribe the term “nation” and its derivatives to all aspects of life in
Tunisia, including language but excepting religion. On the empirical level,
this ideology responds to practices in whose creation the state in the Arab
world is wittingly or unwittingly an active participant; hence the symbolic
significance to the state of the national flag, the national flag-carrier, the
national anthem, national festivals, national holidays, national museums and
galleries, passports, stamps and so on. So pervasive has been the influence of
the state in creating its own self-perpetuating dynamic that, even in the field
of high culture, Arab intellec- tuals now speak about the Syrian novel, the
Iraqi short story, the Egyptian theatre and cinema, Palestinian poetry, the
Jordanian or Kuwaiti song, Lebanese
conclusion: looking back, looking forward
cuisine and so on. In Jordan and Kuwait, the Parliament is called majlis al-umma (lit. the Nation’s
Council), but in Syria and Egypt it is called majlis al-shaÆb (lit. the People’s Council). In the constitutions
of some Arab countries, Arabic is declared as the national language (al-lugha al-wa†aniyya); in the
constitutions of other countries, it is described as the official language (al-lugha al-rasmiyya) of the state (see
Suleiman 1999d). The term Æarab or
its derivative (al-)Æarabiyya is
included in the names of some Arab states, for example Syria and Egypt, but it
is absent from the names of others, for example Lebanon and Jordan. Other
manifestations of the state in the nationalist field are present, but these
will not concern us here. The point to be made here, however, is that the
all-pervasive nature of the state in the Arab world can no longer be regarded –
as was assumed by al-Husri and other Arab nationalists in the middle of the
twentieth century – as a temporary phenomenon that is doomed to extinction on
the way to estab- lishing political unity between the Arabic-speaking
countries. The state in the Arab world is here to stay, and this is bound to
have a significant effect on how Arabic will be ideologized in various state
nationalist projects. While building on nationalist ideologies of the
territorial kind we have examined above, modern state nationalisms are better
equipped to pursue their self-centred aims in what seem to be more propitious
circumstances internally and externally (cf. Tarabishi 1982). This is why state
nationalism in its modern manifestations in the Arabic-speaking world must be
regarded as a more advanced realization of the territorial idea examined
earlier. As such, it deserves further study and analysis to establish how
Arabic may be cast as an ingredient, marker or emblem in state-orientated
national-identity formulations.
Let us now consider the second issue of language and ideology which
has not
been dealt with in this study. This is the connection between (what
may be called) Islamic nationalism and Arabic insofar as the language relates
to Arab and territorial nationalism (cf. Vatikiotis 1987). Most expressions of
the latter nationalisms tend to be secular in nature, thus giving little
visibility to the Islamic and doctrinal significance of the language. Islamic
nationalism opposes this secularizing attitude towards Arabic. It also opposes
the attempt by Arab and territorial nationalists to appropriate the language in
their ideological enterprises, arguing in response that the high status of
Arabic in sociolinguistic terms is part and parcel of its association with
Islam. The argument continues that, without this association, Arabic would
never have attained the prestige it enjoys in the modern world, and could even
lose it in the future (cf. al-Bishri 1998, al-Ghazali 1998, Husayn 1979,
al-Jundi 1982, Khalafalla 1990). It follows from this that the use of Arabic as
a marker of secular national identities, or of ones that are not infused with
the spirit and mission of Islam, is considered by Islamic nationalists to be an
aberration and an unwarranted distortion of history. According to these
nationalists, it is therefore not possible to equate
the arabic language and national identity
Arabic with any national identity in which Islam is not an
operative ingredient. This is an absolutist position. In practice, however,
some Islamic nationalists are prepared to tolerate expressions of Arab and
territorial nationalism as long as these view themselves as transitory stages
on the way to achieving Islamic unity. This would make it possible to create a
rapprochement between Islamic and other nationalists, as long as the latter are
prepared to disavow secularism and to incorporate Islam as a constitutive
element in their nationalist thinking. How this relates to Arabic is a matter
worthy of study in the future.
Let us now highlight other areas of the connection between language
and national identity that are worthy of future study. One such area is the
descrip- tion and analysis of the sociolinguistic reflexes of interethnic
conflict in the Arabic-speaking world. These reflexes may be realized
dialectally, as I have tried to show for Jordan (Suleiman 1993, 1999b; El-Wer
1999). They may also be realized through the interplay between Arabic and
another language within the state, for example Berber in Algeria or Kurdish in
Iraq. Another area is the description and analysis of the sociolinguistic
reflexes of inter-nation conflict in the Middle East. Typically, conflicts of
this kind involve another language in relation to Arabic in the context of
existing or emerging states, for example Hebrew as in Palestine and Israel (cf.
Amara and Spolsky 1996, Ben-Rafael 1994, Ibrahim 1980, Spolsky and Cooper 1991,
Spolsky and Shohamy 1999, Suleiman 1999f), or Turkish as in south-western
Turkey. Sociolinguistic reflexes of conflicts of the latter kind may also be
played out through the media of international languages, typically via
translations of place and other types of name in English (cf. Suleiman 1999b).
Future studies of language as a marker of national identity in the
Arabic-speaking world may also involve the attempts to exploit the colloquial
for this purpose; they may also involve the tug-of-war between this variety and
the standard language. Studies of the manner in which the standard is defended
against the colloquial would provide an excellent example of the principle in
some nationalist discourses that “language is worthier than territory”, the
implication being that a nation must defend its language at least as vehemently
as it does its territory. As the site of stereotypical repre- sentations of
national identity, Arabic may be studied from the perspective of social
psychology. At times, it would be necessary to refute the unwarranted
conclusions offered by studies conducted from this perspectives (cf. Patai
1973, Shouby 1951, Suleiman 1999e). Studies of code-switching between dialects
or languages may yield valuable insights into issues of language and national
identity, as would the eliciting of language attitudes among Arabic-speakers.
We may also add to this list studies of (1) the grammatical and lexical reform
proposals; (2) the use of foreign languages as the media of teaching in schools
and universities; (3) the use of these languages in shop signs and advertising
generally; (4) the position of Arabic in such Arab countries as Somalia,
conclusion: looking back, looking forward
Djibouti and Mauritania that have recently joined the Arab League
and in which Arabic is not very well rooted (cf. Abuhamdia 1995); and (5) the
Arabicization/Arabization efforts in these countries as well as in the
countries of North Africa and Sudan. The above are but some of the themes which
future research on Arabic and national identity may tackle. That they represent
a rich field for cross-disciplinary research from the perspective of identity
is not in doubt. What is required, therefore, is collaboration between scholars
from different disciplinary backgrounds to deliver the rich yield this research
does promise the students of nationalism.
chapter 1
1.
This statement by Anthony Smith is clearly aimed at Benedict
Anderson (1991), Hobsbawm (1990) and Gellner (1983).
2.
The term “attribute” (ßifa in
Arabic) is used in a specific sense by Antun SaÆada (see Chapter 6, section 2)
to distinguish it from “ingredient”. To the best of my know- ledge, this is the
only context where the term “attribute” is used in this sense.
chapter
2
1.
Max Weber (1968: 395) expresses a similar view in connection with
the two related terms “ethnic group” and “nation”: “The concept of ‘ethnic
group’, which dissolves if we define our terms exactly, corresponds in this
regard to one of the most vexing, since emotionally charged, concepts: the nation, as soon as we attempt a
sociological definition”.
2.
The differences between languages in conceptualizing the nation are
dealt with by ÆAmr Ibrahim (1981/2), although the main emphasis is placed on
Arabic and French.
3.
The term “ethnicity” is used in the literature to cover communities
exhibiting four levels of ethnic incorporation (Handelman, in Hutchinson and
Smith 1996: 6):
(1)
“ethnic category … where
there is simply a perceived cultural difference between the group and
outsiders”; (2) “ethnic network [where]
there is interaction between ethnic members such that the network can
distribute resources among its members”;
(3) “ethnic association [where]
the members develop common interests and political organizations to express
these at a collective, corporate level”; and (4) “ethnic communities, which possesses a permanent, physically bounded
territory, over and above its political organization”.
4.
This mode of defining the nation is prevalent in the literature on
Arab nationalism. See al-ÆAlayli (1996), al-Jundi (1968), al-Kharbutli (n.d.),
Khalafalla (1990) and Nuseibeh (1956).
5.
Smith (1991: 12) points out that “every nationalism contains civic
and ethnic elements in varying degrees and different forms”, and that
“sometimes civic and terri- torial elements predominate, [while] at other times
it is the ethnic and vernacular components that are emphasized”. However,
ethnic nationalism has not always been respected in the West (see Fishman 1972:
25).
6.
A good example of this tendency may be illustrated by the arguments
which surrounded the design and building of the new Museum of Scotland, opened
on 30
notes
November 1998, St Andrew’s (Scotland’s patron saint) Day. In an
article in Scot- land on Sunday (29
November 1998, p. 9), Alan Taylor explains how at “one stage it was seriously
suggested that the [new] museum should not have its own entrance and that
visitors should approach it through the old museum [Royal Museum of Scotland]”,
commenting: “such was the fear of turning it into a nationalist shrine”.
7.
Kedourie’s attack on this aspect of nationalism reveals a serious
lack of appreciation of its sociohistorical context in which literature plays a
role in developing group identity. In the context of Arab nationalism, this
role was crucial, as Tibi (1997:
104) observes: “Arab nationalism in its early phase took the form
of a literary renaissance not based on political theories, which was generated
exclusively by linguists and men of letters. This was because neither the
subjective nor the objective conditions for a political movement existed in the
Middle East in the nineteenth century. Thus the early Arab nationalists
confined themselves to emphasising the existence of an independent Arab
cultural nation without demanding a national state.”
8.
Kedourie expresses this as follows (1966: 101): “Nationalist
movements are child- ren’s crusades; their names are manifestos against old
age: Young Italy, Young Egypt, the Young Turks, the Young Arab Party”. This
generational dimension of nationalism is characteristic of Africa and Asia.
Singhal (in Fishman 1972: 33) writes: “An outstanding common feature of Asian
nationalism has been the remarkable role of its student communities. Both in
Burma and in Indonesia the major strength of the nationalist forces was
provided by their student populations. In Burma even the principal leadership
came straight from the University.” The same is to some extent true of the
early stages of Arab nationalism: “On the eve of World War I the Arab
[nationalist] movement was already, by and large, a movement of the young”
(Tauber 1993: 294).
9.
The defence of the national or ethnic language is a feature of all
nationalist movements in which language is a defining feature (see Chapter 7
for Arabic). The following example may illustrate this point: “In Assam, when
Bengalis and hill people opposed making Assamese the official language of the
state, a placard in their procession read ‘Assamese is a donkey’s language’. An
Assamese counter- procession declared Bengali to be ‘a goat’s language’”
(Horowitz 1985: 219).
chapter
3
1.
The term “manifesto” is used by Sylvia Haim in translating the
title of the declar- ation/statement of the conference. This may give the wrong
impression, particularly of a political programme adopted by a cohesive
movement, which the Conference of the Arab Students in Europe could hardly be
said to represent. Haim gives the title of the declaration/statement as al-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya: ˙aqÈqatuhÅ,
ahdÅfuhÅ, wasÅ’iluhÅ (Arab Nationalism: its tenets, objectives and
methods).
2.
The term “inventing traditions” is borrowed from Hobsbawm (1983).
It is used by him to mean “a set of practices, normally governed by overtly or
tacitly accepted rules of a ritual or symbolic nature, which seek to inculcate
certain values and norms of behaviour by repetition, which automatically
implies continuity with the past” (ibid.: 1). Invented traditions are not,
strictly speaking, subject to evaluation
the arabic language and national identity
on grounds of empirical truth or falsity, that is, on whether they
relate to a mythic or real past, but on the efficacy of the role they play in
achieving the aims they are intended to realize. Failure to appreciate this
qualification of the term “invented” in the above phrase can lead to fruitless
debate in the literature on nationalism.
3.
See ÆAmara (1984), Fajr
al-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya (The Dawn of
Arab Nationalism), al-Duri (1960), al-JudhËr
al-tÅrÈkhiyya li-l-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya (The Historical Roots of Arab Nationalism) and al-Kharbutli (n.d.), al-Qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya min al-fajr ilÅ
al-Ωuhr (Arab Nationalism from its
Dawn to its Zenith), who place the origins of Arab nationalism in
pre-Islamic times. A similar attempt is made by Sharara (1988), who traces the
unity of the Arabs to pre-Islamic times through poetry. The attempt to trace
the origins of Arab nationalism to formative impulses in premodern times is a
central thesis in Nuseibeh’s The Ideas of
Arab Nationalism (1956). Referring to the role of language in forming group
identity in pre-Islamic Arabia, Nuseibeh says (ibid.: 12): “Pre-Islamic Arabia
was not a political entity, and yet it developed a high degree of social and
cultural consciousness, akin to nationality, largely on account of its
community of language”. Nuseibeh adds (ibid.: 13): “The poems, the proverbs,
the traditions, the legends and mythologies, expressed in spoken literature and
transmitted by oral tradition, greatly influenced the development of an Arab
national consciousness; they moulded the minds of the Arabs, fixed their
character, and made them morally and spiritually a nation long before Muhammad
welded the various conflicting groups into a single organism animated by one
purpose”. Nuseibeh (ibid.: 13) sums up the “Islamic contribution to modern Arab
nationalism” as follows (ibid.: 13–14): “To Islam is due the birth of a nation,
the birth of a state, the birth of a national history, and the birth of a
civilization. These events moulded the structure of Islamic Arabism in new and
unique ways … Whereas the pre-Islamic period had witnessed the emergence of an
Arab nation- ality, the Islamic … carried the Arabs far toward the development
of a full fledged national consciousness.” Although the above factors are
important to any under- standing of the construction of Arab nationalist
discourse in the modern period, they are in themselves not sufficient to put
forward the view that nationalism or even nationality in the modern sense was a
feature of pre-Islamic and Islamic societies.
4.
Evidence for this retrospective Arab nationalism is found in
Qunstantin Zurayq’s
work, in spite of the fact that he is fully aware of the rootedness
of this notion in modernity (1962: 170): “We do know that nationalism, in its
true sense, is the offspring of the modern age, and of the political, economic
and social factors which it has brought to birth. However, even in spite of
this we still find a strong Arab feeling in the first age [of Islam], when the
Islamic religious emotion was still in full effervescence. The Muslims treated
the Banu Taghlib and other Arab Christians quite differently from the way they
treated non-Arab Christians; some Christian tribes took part in the early
conquests and fought side by side with the Muslims. This Arab feeling grew in
strength with the introduction of the foreigners and the growth of shuÆËbiyya; the Arabs became more united
in order to fend off the attacks of the Persians, the Turks and others.” See
section 5.
5.
The following quotations cited in Fishman (1972) illustrate the
general tendency to eulogize the group’s language; they are given here to
contextualize the claims made
notes
about Arabic in this chapter. Bonald (cited in Fishman 1972: 63)
describes French as “a language which is simple without baseness, noble without
bombast, harmon- ious without fatigue, precise without obscurity, elegant
without affection, meta- phorical without conscious effort; a language which is
the veritable expression of a perfected nature”. Fichte declares that the
Germans were “honest, serious, sober and speak a language which is shaped to
express the truth” (ibid.: 65). Writing in Latin in 1751, Ribinyi extols the
virtues of his native Hungarian as follows: “Italian is pleasant, French
beautiful, German earnest; but all these qualities are so united in Magyar that
it is difficult to say wherein its superiority consists” (ibid.). The Greek
scholar Korai has the following to say about his language: “It is a rare thing
for one to submit to … slavery if one has once managed to drink to the full the
charm of the Hellenic language” (ibid.).
6.
This is reflected in the ˙adÈth
literature. ShuÆba (a ˙adÈth transmitter,
d. 160/776) relates that the Prophet likened a ˙adÈth specialist who does not devote himself to the study of
Arabic grammar to a hooded cloak (burnus)
without a hood, or to a donkey with a nosebag but without fodder (al-Tufi 1997:
248–9). It is also related in the ˙adÈth literature
that some of the Prophet’s companions said that they would not hesitate to
travel forty days and nights to learn the correct vowelling of a verse of the
Qur’an (ibid.: 243).
7.
See ÆArafa (1985) and al-RafiÆi (1974) for a general discussion of
the inimitability of the Qur’an.
8.
Ibn al-Qayyim (n.d.: 3) expresses this point as follows: “anzalahu bi-lisÅn al-Æarab li- yakËn ˙ujja
Æalayhim”.
9.
Hourani (1983: 260) expresses this linkage as follows: “In the
history of Islam, and indeed in its essential structure, the Arabs had a
special part. The Qur’an is in Arabic, the Prophet was an Arab, he preached
first to Arabs, who formed the ‘matter of Islam’, the human instrument through
which the religion and its authority spread; Arabic became and has remained the
language of devotion, theology and law.”
10.
For a general discussion of al-Khafaji’s views on this and related
topics, the reader may refer to Suleiman (1996a).
11.
This view of the superiority of Arabic is opposed by al-Khafaji’s
contemporary and compatriot, the Andalusian scholar Ibn Hazm (456/1064), in the
first volume of his book al-I˙kÅm fÈ ußËl
al-ahkÅm (1984: 32–7). As a Zahirite (literalist), Ibn Hazm believes that
the superiority-of-Arabic thesis cannot be supported by a careful inter-
pretation of the surface – and therefore legitimate – meaning of the text of
the Qur’an. He goes even further, claiming that a literalist interpretation of
the text of the Qur’an with respect to the superiority thesis of Arabic can
lead to conclusions which contradict this thesis. Ibn Hazm also refuses to
assign any superiority to any language over another. It is this linguistic
egalitarianism which causes Ibn Hazm to reject deprecating references to other
languages by the Greek philosopher Galen. He also decries the practice among
some Jews of swearing falsely in languages other than Hebrew because of the
belief that the angels speak Hebrew only.
12.
For a general treatment of the principle of lightness, the reader
may refer to Suleiman (1999c).
13. See al-Tufi (1997: 243).
the arabic language and national identity
14. Ibid.: 250.
15. Ibid.
16. Ibid.: 251.
17.
See Suleiman (1999c: 75–80) for an extensive discussion of these
arguments.
18.
The term la˙n has a
multiplicity of meanings. It is used to refer to (1) singing and chanting, (2)
allusion, (3) solecism, incorrect or corrupt speech, (4) dialect or sociolect,
(5) gist of an utterance or a text, and (6) acumen or intelligence (cf. Matar 1967:
19–28). The reader may also refer to al-Qali (1978, vol. 1: 6–9) and Matlub
(1987, vol. 3: 166–9).
19.
For a general survey of the major works on la˙n and the general aims which these works set out to serve, the
reader may refer to Matar (1967: 29–70).
20.
See Ibn ÆAbd Rabbih (1928, vol. 1: 18) for further reports of this
kind.
21.
See Blau (1963) for the role of the Bedouins as arbiters in
linguistic disputes.
22.
The term “status-planning” refers to the allocation of languages to
functional domains which, on a more practical level, involves the setting up of
“laws and norms for when to use a language” (Spolsky 1998: 125). See also
Cooper (1989) and Suleiman (1999d).
23.
See Ibn ÆAbd Rabbih (1928, vol. 2: 18).
24.
See Naqd al-nathr – which
is wrongly, but famously, attributed to Qudama Ibn JaÆfar (1982: 143) – for
this and other stories.
25. See Anis (1960: 17).
26.
See Fück (1980: 38) for this and other reports on solecism.
27.
See Lewis (1970) for a discussion of the meaning of the term “Arab”
in history.
28.
See al-I˙kÅm fÈ ußËl al-a˙kÅm
(1984, vol. 1: 36) for Ibn Hazm’s views.
29.
See Gabrieli (1979: 206) for a similar treatment; see also the
entry on Æajam in Lane (1980, Part 5)
for the meaning of this term in Arabic.
30.
An example of this attitude in pre-Islamic discourse is the
reference to the Persian and Christian monks as “stuttering barbarians” because
of their language (Goldziher 1966, vol. 1: 99). In the Islamic period, a
Bedouin is reported to have referred to Persian as “kalÅm al-khurs, the language of the dumb” (ibid.). The bodyguards
of the Umayyad rulers of al-Andalus (known usually as the ÍaqÅliba) were also called khurs
because of their inability to speak Arabic properly (I am grateful to
Carole Hillen- brand for pointing this out to me).
31.
Not all instances of this phenomenon are framed in the context of
contrastive self- identification at group level (cf. Ibn Hazm 1984, vol. 1:
34).
32.
Anis (1970: 198–201) argues that the ˙adÈth upon which this view is based – anÅ afßa˙ man na†aq bi-l-∂Åd (I am the most eloquent speaker of ∂Åd) – is apocryphal. However, what
matters in this connection is not the factual truth of this ˙adÈth but the fact that it is
consistent with a trend which considers eloquence in pure Arabic (∂Åd) as a mark of distinction. Anis
further argues that the term lughat
al-∂Åd is a fourth/tenth-century invention, and that it came to signal
group difference between the Arabs on the one hand and the Persians and Turks
on the other.
33.
See Shar˙ dÈwÅn al-MutanabbÈ
(1938, vol. 2: 56). See also vol. 4: 230, in which al- Mutanabbi declares
that the Arabs can never succeed if they are ruled by Æajam. Other references to Arabs and Æajam exist in al-Mutanabbi’s DÈwÅn,
but these will not detain us here.
notes
34.
One of the anonymous readers of the book suggested that “Another
explanation of why [Arabic] is called lughat
al-∂Åd is that this consonant originally had a lateral release (which still
survives in some Yemeni dialects), and this really is pretty unusual”. I am
grateful to this reader for this suggestion and for other useful comments on
the text.
35.
For our purposes here, the term mawÅlÈ
is taken to designate “people descended from foreign families whose
ancestors, or even they themselves, on accepting Islam, have been adopted into
an Arab tribe, either as freed slaves or free-born aliens” (Goldziher 1966,
vol. 1: 101).
36.
The fact that ∂ is often
mixed with Ω by putative
Arabic-speakers (cf. al-Hariri, Maqama 46, in al-Suyuti 1986, vol. 2: 288; and
ÆAbd al-Tawwab 1971) is not considered falsifying evidence of the role of ∂ as a group-identity symbol. This shows
the extent to which the linguistic criterion as a signifier of identity is
rooted in the Arabic intellectual tradition.
37.
The term Æarab was used
to cover both people of Arab lineage and Bedouin (aÆrÅb) in Bukhari’s Sa˙È˙.
Although the veracity of the tradition, ascribed to the caliph ÆUmar, in which
the term Æarab is used in this sense
may be in doubt, the lexical meaning of the term concerned is not in question.
This must reflect a much earlier usage. See al-Sayyid (1990) for a discussion
of this tradition.
38.
See Anis (1970), Gibb (1962), Goldziher (1966, vol. 1), Norris
(1990) and Qaddura (1972) for more information on this movement.
39.
Cited in Anis (1970: 198).
40.
The reader may also refer to the following works by al-Jahiz: al-ÓayawÅn (1938–45), al-BayÅn wa-l-tabyÈn (1932), RasÅ’il (1964) and al-Ma˙Åsin wa-l-a∂dÅd (1969), although there is some doubt as to
whether the latter was written by al-Jahiz. The reader may also refer to Ibn
Qutayba’s two works Adab al-kÅtib (n.d.)
and KitÅb al- Æarab (1913).
41.
Goldziher (1966, vol. 1: 193) points out that the interest in names
during the fourth century was strong in the shuÆËbiyya
camp. He mentions a Persian contemporary of Ibn Durayd, Hamza Ibn al-Hasan
al-Isfahani (350/961), whose philological work included investigating “the
original forms of the Muslim-Persian nomenclature … to establish its
etymological and historical relations; to reconstruct and explain
etymologically the original Persian forms of geographical names which Arab
national philology had explained from Arab etymologies; and in general to
recover the original Persian forms from the shape they had acquired in the
mouths of the conquering Arabs”.
42.
These may be called homo-antonyms on account of their combining
homonyms with antonyms.
43.
It is quite interesting that, in spite of his anti-shuÆËbiyya position, al-Zamakhshari is
claimed by Turkists (advocates of Turkish nationalism) as a Turkish Arabic grammarian.
44. See al-Bazzaz (1962), al-Duri (1968, 1982), al-Husri (1962),
al-Kawakibi (1962),
al-Kharbutli (1968), Nuseibeh (1956), Rida (1962), Zabadiya (1982)
and Zurayq
(1962).
45.
The term shuÆËbiyya appears
in the title of Bayhum’s book al-ÆUrËba
wa-l- shuÆËbiyyÅt al-˙adÈtha, published in Beirut in 1957. In her Arab Nationalism: An
the arabic language and national identity
Anthology (1962), Sylvia Haim includes a translation of a portion of this
book (pp. 145–71) under the title “Arabism and Jewry in Syria” (pp. 128–46).
The choice of the word “Jewry” in the title of this selection is unfortunate
because of the loss of the historical reference to the concept of shuÆËbiyya, not to mention the fact that
Haim’s title deviates from the original in an ideologically motivated manner.
Al- Bazzaz’s piece in Haim’s anthology was first published in Baghdad in 1952.
Al- Fikayki’s reference to shuÆËbiyya occurs
in the title of his book al-ShuÆËbiyya
wa-l-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya, first published in Beirut in 1961. It is clear
from the translated extract from this book in Karpat (1968: 80–6) that
al-Fikayki uses shuÆËbiyya in a wide
sense to refer to all the movements which, in his view, are anti- Arab,
including the Turkification movement in the Ottoman empire and in Turkey (see
Chapter 4), Arab communism, Antun SaÆada’s Syrian Social Nationalist Party (see
Chapter 5), Egyptian nationalism (see Chapter 6) and Lebanese nationalism (see
Chapter 6). He sums up his views on this topic as follows (1968: 86): “If we
were to summarize the objectives of anti-Arabism (shuÆËbiyya) we find that it concentrates [on] attacking Arab
nationalism, perverting history, emphasising Arab regression, denying Arab
culture, being hostile to everything Arab, and being in league with all the
enemies of Arab nationalism. In all its various roles, anti- Arabism has
adopted a policy of intellectual conquest as a means of penetrating Arab
society and combating Arab nationalism.”
46.
Cited in al-Sayyid (1990: 19).
47.
The term umma in Arabic
discourse ranges over a wide terrain of meaning. Broadly speaking, this term signifies
the following meanings: (1) a group of people, (2) religion, (3) an individual
who follows the right path (in religious terms), (4) a period of time and (5)
body part. See Farhat (1983) for discussion of these meanings.
48.
The contingency of nations (as post-eighteenth-century creations)
is a funda- mental principle of the modernist approach to the study of
nationalism. As Halliday points out in his study of the formation of Yemeni
nationalism (1997: 27– 8), this approach “carries with it the implication of
the modernity of nations, i.e. that they cannot be identified prior to the
existence of the ideological and social conditions that give them meaning,
namely in the early nineteenth century. Identifiable linguistics and cultural
groups, peoples, or, in a clear pre-nationalist sense, “nations” can be
accepted, but these are not nations in the contemporary sense, nor, it is
emphasized, was it inevitable that they should become so.” One term which may
therefore be suggested as an equivalent of the term umam (plural of umma)
used by al-MasÆudi is “communities”, although this term would fall short of the
much wider collective groupings that al-MasÆudi seems to have in mind when he
talks about umam.
49. See Nassar (1992: 41).
50.
The term “myth” is used by Ferguson (1972: 375) to cover three
types of attitude:
(1)
those that are true by virtue of corresponding well to “objective
reality”, (2) those that are “involved with aesthetic or religious notions the
validity of which cannot be investigated empirically”, and (3) those which are
“partly or wholly false”. It should be clear from this that Ferguson does not
use the term “myth” entirely in its dictionary meaning.
notes
chapter
4
1.
This is the first hemistich of a well-known ode by the poet Fakhri
al-Barudi which runs as follows: (Line 1) bilÅdu
al-Æurbi aw†ÅnÈ, mina al-shÅmi
li-baghdÅni (The lands of the Arabs are my homeland, from Greater Syria to
Baghdad/Iraq). (Line 2) wa-min najdin ilÅ
yamanin, ilÅ mißra fa-ta†wÅni (And
from Najd to Yemen, to Egypt and Tetuan/North Africa). (Line 3) fa-lÅ ˙addun yubÅÆidunÅ wa-lÅ khulfun
yufarriqunÅ (Borders do not separate us, and differences do not divide us).
(Line 4) lisÅnu al-∂Ådi yajmaÆunÅ, bi-qa˙†Ånin wa-ÆadnÅni (The Arabic
language unites us with the ancient Arabs of Qahtan and ÆAdnan).
2.
Periodization of political and cultural movements is a hazardous
procedure in history. It is therefore not surprising that objections are made
to the anchoring of modernity in the Arabic-speaking countries to Napoleon’s
invasion of Egypt in 1798. The following quotation from Tibawi (1969: 39)
illustrates the general thrust of this kind of objection: “There is really no
decisive point at which we can say that the old world changed itself into the
new world in the near East and elsewhere. Long before 1798 the movement that is
variously called modernisation or reform was under way in different parts of
the Muslim world. Long after 1798 ‘medieval’ ideas held undisputed sway and
their supremacy was not fundamentally in question. The change, modernisation,
reform or renaissance was first inspired by native and internal forces; only
its more obvious and later development was in response to foreign and external
challenge.”
3.
See Feroz Ahmad (1969) for a detailed study of the politics of the
Young Turks.
4.
Turkism or Pan-Turkism must be distinguished from Turanism. Landau
(1981: 1) identifies as the guiding objective of the former the attempt to
“strive for some sort of union – cultural or physical, or both – among all
peoples of proven or alleged Turkic origins, whether living both within and
without the frontiers of the Ottoman Empire (subsequently of the Republic of
Turkey)”. “Turanism”, he explains, “is … a far broader concept than
Pan-Turkism, embracing such peoples as the Hungarians, the Finns and Estonians”
(ibid.).
5.
The list consists of the following sources (Kushner 1977: 75): “(1)
The Turkish vocabulary prevalent among all classes of population in Istanbul,
including even old women. (2) The vocabulary of the inhabitants of Anatolia and
Rumelia. (3) The creation of several new words through the use of existing
roots. (4) Old Ottoman words. (5) The old and new vocabularies of Eastern
Turkish which [is called] Chagatay. (6) The vocabulary of Azerbayjan. (7) The
dialects of the Crimea and Kazan. (8) The vocabulary of Uigur. (9) The
vocabulary of Uzbek. (10) The vocabulary of Kalmuk. (11) Dialects of other
Turkish peoples. (12) Creation of new words through the use of roots, from the
dialects … mentioned in items … 4–11.
(13) Arabic. (14) Persian. (15) European languages.”
6.
The attitude of the Turkists of the Committee of Union and Progress
(CUP) and the Young Turks
towards the Arabs
is dealt with,
albeit briefly, by
Haniog¨lu (1991: 31): “In their publications, the Young Turks claimed
that all ethnic groups of the Ottoman Empire were equal, that there was no
difference between Arabs and Turks, and that it was normal for all groups to
desire to develop their ethnic cultures. But in the confidential correspondence
of some of the important members
the arabic language and national identity
of the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP) the opposite attitude
can be seen through the use of such derogatory phrases for Arabs as ‘the dogs
of the Turkish nation’ in private letters of two key members of the Central
Committee of the CUP, Dr Nazım Bey, one of the reorganisers of the CUP in 1906,
and Ishak Süküti, one of its five founding members.” And (ibid.: 32): “although
Arabs were of the same religion as the Turks, the Young Turks viewed them as
the most inferior ethnic group of the empire”.
7.
See Landau (1993b) for the euphoria with which the Young Turk
Revolution was met in Egypt. See also Jurji Zaydan’s novel al-InqilÅb al-ÆuthmÅnÈ (The
Ottoman coup d’état, n.d.) for an expression of this euphoria in
literature. For a more historical account of the impact of the Young Turk
Revolution on the Arabic-speaking provinces, see Kedourie (1974b).
8.
See Antonius (1938: 31–4) and Zeine (1966: 40–1) for a general
discussion of this issue.
9.
In dealing with this issue, Tibawi (1969: 88) writes: “In the
literary field the Egyptian impact [in Syria] was more profound [than in the
field of formal education]. Preserved in the Egyptian archives are cumulative
lists of books printed in Cairo and supplied to various centres in Syria … The
lists include books on science, mathematics, medicine, theology, mysticism,
language, history, geography and travel. They were ordered not by civil
servants, physicians, chemists and army officers, but also by religious
functionaries, members of consultative councils, notables, teachers and private
individuals of all communities, Muslim, Christian and others.” See also
Antonius (1938: 38) on this point.
10.
Antonius (1938: 39) assesses Ibrahim Pasha’s contribution in this
area in more positive and upbeat terms: “The scholastic system introduced by
Ibrahim, although short-lived, gave a powerful stimulus to national education,
particularly among the Muslim community; and the start he gave it was all the
more far-reaching as his system aimed deliberately at awakening Arab national
consciousness among pupils”. Tibawi (1969: 87–8) offers a different and more
reliable assessment of Ibrahim Pasha’s input in the field of education, which
gives no hint of any deliberate nationalist objectives behind it.
11.
In assessing the role of missionary education, attention must be
paid to aspects of its negative impact. A representative view of this impact is
given by Antonius (1938: 92): “In a country [Lebanon] which was … a prey to
internal division, [the] very diversity [of the missionary schools] was an
added mischief, as some of the missions had become the tools of political
ambitions and brought in their trains the evils of international rivalry as
well as the benefits of education”. Tibi (1997: 100) shares this view in the
context of the French missionary schools: “In the French mission schools, Arab
Christians, mainly Maronites, were taught that they could only emancipate themselves
under the protection of France, which meant French colonial rule. In the
beginning, instruction in the French schools was in French alone, and it was
only in the face of competition from the Protestants that they began to use
more Arabic, although even then only occasionally.” See also Hawi (1982) on
this point.
12.
Butrus al-Bustani (1819–83) was a pioneer in this field. His
contribution to the development of Arabic culture, journalism and the Arabic
language in the nine- teenth century was widely acknowledged, as was his call
for unity between Christians
notes
and Muslims, whom he urged to love their fatherland. For his
contribution to the formation of Syrian nationalism in the second half of the
twentieth century, see Abu-Manneh (1980). See Tibawi (1963) for the
relationship between Butrus al- Bustani and the American missionaries in
Beirut.
13.
See Tibawi (1966) for a detailed study of the American interests in
Syria in the nineteenth century.
14.
It is interesting to note here that the establishment of the
college was championed by locally based American missionaries who wanted to
avoid the universal prescrip- tion of the use of the “vernacular” as a medium
of instruction in missionary schools. At the time (early 1880s), the American
schools were facing tough competition from other missionary schools which
taught foreign languages or used them as the medium of instruction. Tibawi
(1969: 143) refers to this obliquely in the following quotation: “By the order
of their superiors in Boston, the Americans were debarred from teaching foreign
languages, even English. This was one of the common con- siderations which led
the American mission in Beirut to seek the establishment of a Protestant high
school independent of Boston’s control. The result was the estab- lishment in
1866 of the Syrian Protestant College.”
15.
Kedourie (1974a) suggests that the decision to use the “vernacular”
in the work of the American mission was based on the experience of missionaries
in India and Ceylon. Reflecting on their work among the Mahrattas in India, the
missionaries concluded that “experience has seemed to show that such schools
are not the most efficient instruments in forwarding the great work of the
missions – that of making known the gospel to the heathen, and saving souls.
The vernacular of any people … is believed to be the most suitable language in
which to communicate truth, and through which to affect the heart” (quoted in
Kedourie, ibid.: 70). The missionaries in Ceylon encouraged the use of the
“vernacular” for the same reason, but they additionally pointed out that by
depriving their graduates of English-language proficiency they made them less
able to pursue careers in government adminis- tration, commerce and business
and, therefore, more available for use in propagating the work of the mission
itself among the indigenous population: “too often the graduate [with
English-language proficiency] went into the more lucrative service of the
government, or of some merchant planter, and thus his labours and influence
were lost to the mission and to his native village. Were our object merely to
educate and civilise the people … this might do; but the churches cannot afford
to pro- secute their work in this manner” (ibid.: 71). By contrast, the
situation in the Levant developed in the opposite direction, in spite of the
early preference for Arabic in the American mission schools. Increased contact
with Europe created a demand for foreign languages (mainly English and French),
as did emigration to North America by native Lebanese. This demand was met by
other missions, leading to a reduction in the number of students enrolled in
the American mission schools. To reverse this trend, English was later (1882)
adopted as the medium of instruction in the Syrian Protestant College to
challenge the Jesuits’ promotion of French. In this connection, Henry Harris
Jessup, a member of the mission, remarked: “Was [the teaching of foreign
languages] to be left to the Jesuits, those enemies of a pure Gospel, those
masters of intrigue and duplicity and perverters of the human conscience? This
must not be” (quoted in Kedourie, ibid.).
the arabic language and national identity
16.
Considering this policy on the part of the American missions, Tibi
(1997: 100) argues that it is “significant that the early Arab nationalists
emerged not from the French but from the American Protestant mission schools,
whose activities were less directly tied to colonial aims”. The same assessment
is offered of the work of the Russian Orthodox schools, especially the Nazareth
School in Palestine. Tibawi (1969: 172) states that in the Russian Orthodox
schools “instruction was through the medium of Arabic, and this language was
taught very thoroughly throughout the system. Russian was taught only as a
foreign language.” See Hopwood (1969: 137–58) for further information on the
role of the Russian Orthodox Church schools in the Levant (particularly in
Palestine) towards the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the
twentieth century. The reader may also consult al- Husri’s Mu˙Å∂arÅt fÈ nushË’ al-fikra al-qawmiyya (1985: 126–9) for some
interesting remarks on this topic.
17.
Eli Smith (1801–57) was a pioneer in this respect. He came to
Beirut in 1827, but started to learn Arabic in Malta before actually moving to
Beirut. Another member of the mission, the famous physician Cornelius van Dyck
(1818–95), followed in Smith’s footsteps. He came to Beirut in 1840, learned
Arabic to a very high standard and “wrote text-books in it on various
scientific subjects, some of which remained in use for two or three
generations” (Antonius 1938: 48). The titles of some of these books
(twenty-five in total), which he wrote in Arabic, are listed in al-Zarakli’s
biographical dictionary al-AÆlÅm (1995,
vol. 5).
18.
George Post came to Lebanon as a member of the American mission in
1863. He learned Arabic to a very high standard, worked as a staff member at
the Protestant College for forty-one years (since its inception) and published
many books in Arabic on medicine, biology and botany. He also published the magazine
Majallat al-†abÈb (The Doctor/Physician) before
relinquishing its editorship to Ibrahim al-Yaziji (see section 3). His
missionary zeal landed him in trouble with Muslim students at the College, who
refused to attend his lectures (see al-Zarakli 1995, vol. 2).
19.
A fourth placard or handbill, dated 17 RabiÆ al-Thani 1298/19 March
1881, was distributed in Algeria, Egypt, Greater Syria, Iraq and Sudan in the
name of the little-known Society for Watching over the Rights of the Arab
Millet (JamÆiyyat ˙ifΩ huqËq al-milla
al-Æarabiyya). The placard attacks the Turks as a corrupt nation and
addresses Muslims and Christians as members of the Arab nation, calling on them
to unite against the Turks in the struggle for liberty and independence. This
bill makes no reference to the Arabic language, restricting itself mainly to
Turkish misrule in the levying of war taxes and the conscription of Arab
soldiers. See Landau (1993a: 141–53) for the text, a translation and a
discussion of this handbill.
20.
Dozy, vol. 2, 159: includes in the cluster of meanings he lists for
this word the following item: “a coarse and unbridled man who yields to his
brutal passions”, and adds that it is applied to apostates, whether they renege
to Christianity from Islam or the other way round. I am grateful to Carole
Hillenbrand for pointing this out to me.
21.
Faris Nimr graduated from the American Protestant College in 1874.
He worked with Cornelius van Dyck at the University’s observatory and later
became its director. He established with YaÆqub Sarruf (see n. 40 below) al-Muqta†af magazine in 1876. In 1884,
he emigrated to Egypt and resumed the publication of al-Muqta†af a year later. He established al-Muqa††am magazine in Cairo in 1889. He co-
notes
translated with YaÆqub Sarruf a number of books into Arabic. He
served as a member of the Egyptian Senate and as a member of the Arabic
Language Academy in Cairo.
22.
Shaykh Tahir al-Jaza’iri was one of the prominent men of letters in
Syria in his time. He had more than twenty publications to his name on various
aspects of Arabic and Islamic culture. He was instrumental in establishing the
famous Zahiriyya library in Damascus and the Khalidiyya library in Jerusalem.
23.
It is also reported that a Christian Armenian was appointed to
teach Islamic religion in a Beirut school against his will (see al-Afghani
1971: 24).
24.
These and other terms were cited by ÆAbd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi in
his book Umm al-qurÅ (see al-Afghani
1971: 33).
25.
See Tauber (1993: 197–8) for information on this congress.
26.
For a translation of this proclamation, see Sylvia Haim (1962:
83–8).
27.
Sylvia Haim (1962: 88) translates the word ÆulËj as “contemptible creatures”. Like Tibawi (1969), Haim misses
the relevant connotations of this term in this context, mainly those of being
unbelievers and non-Arabs by virtue of their not knowing Arabic or their
speaking it with a foreign accent. See the discussion of this issue earlier in
this section.
28.
In extreme cases, the use of Turkish was frowned upon. Tauber
(1993: 337) tells us that a French diplomat writing in 1880 noted how, at a
public meeting in Damascus, a speaker warned against the use of Turkish –
“Anyone who will use a Turkish word to indicate ‘bread’ will be beaten to
death” – and how he did not encounter the “slightest protest”.
29.
Rida expresses his views on this topic in the following manner (see
Hourani 1983: 300): “One of the religious and social reforms of Islam was to
bring about linguistic unity, by making its common language that of all the
peoples who adhered to it. The religion preserved the language and the language
preserved the religion. But for Islam, the Arabic language would have changed
like others, as it had itself changed previously. But for Arabic, the different
interpretations of Islam would have grown apart from each other, and it would
have split into a number of faiths, with the adherents of each accusing the
others of infidelity; when they wished to give up following their passions and
return to the truth, they would have found no general principles to invoke.
Thus the Arabic language is not the private property of the descendants of
Qahtan [original Arabic-speakers], it is the language of all Muslims.”
30.
Khalidi sums up the contribution of al-MufÈd as follows (1981: 46–7): “Without question the most
important theme in al-MufÈd, indeed
in a sense the paper’s very raison d’être,
is Arab nationalism, whose basic ideas: political, cultural and lingu- istic,
are forcefully hammered home either directly or indirectly in virtually every
leading article. This overriding preoccupation with Arab nationalism is also
frequently evident in the choice of articles reprinted from other papers, in
the items carried from all over the Arab world, and in the political
developments in the capital [Istanbul] which are reported.”
31.
In this connection, al-ÆUraysi once said (1981: 48) that “all
affiliative bonds may disintegrate except that of religion”.
32.
This article is attributed to al-ÆUraysi by Naji ÆAllush on the
basis, it seems, of
the arabic language and national identity
similarity of content with another article (1981: 3–5) written by
the author, whose authorship is not in dispute and for which he was taken to
court and punished.
33.
Amin Abu Khatir was born in Zahla, Lebanon. He studied medicine at
the American Protestant College in Beirut before moving to Egypt, where he
died. He published many articles on a variety of topics in al-Muqta†af and other Egyptian newspapers.
34.
Ibrahim al-Yaziji was born in Beirut in 1847. He worked in
journalism and on a new translation of the Bible into Arabic before leaving for
Egypt in the 1880s to take advantage of the atmosphere of freedom available
there at the time. Al-Yaziji pub- lished three journals – al-ÊabÈb, al-Îiya’ and al-BayÅn – in which he set out his ideas
on a host of issues, including the revitalization of the Arabic language, which
occu- pied him most. In addition, he published two Arabic lexica and a volume
of poetry. He died in Egypt in 1906. His remains were brought back to Beirut in
1913.
35.
Antonius describes the content of this poem and its diffusion in
the Levant as follows (1938: 54–5): “In substance, the poem was an incitement
to Arab insurgence. It sang of the achievements of the Arab race, of the
glories of Arabic literature, and of the future that the Arabs might fashion
for themselves by going to their own past for inspiration. It denounced the
evils of sectarian dissensions, heaped abuse on the misgovernment to which the
country was a prey, and called upon the Syrians to band together and shake off
the Turkish yoke. It was all the more seditious as it was couched in stirring
terms, and it was recited in a hushed voice to eight members of the [Syrian
Scientific Society in 1868] who had assembled in a private house one night and
were known to one another to be of the same way of thinking. The poem had a
wide circulation. It was too treasonable to be safely committed to anything but
memory … It made a particular appeal to the students and stamped their minds in
their receptive years with the impress of racial pride. The poem did much to
foster the national movement in its infancy. It owed its vogue to its easy
cadence and the neatness of its rhymes, and above all to the fact that, echoing
sentiments unconsciously felt, it could awaken true emotion in the people for
whom it was intended. With its utterance the movement for political
emancipation sang its song.” The place of this poem in the history of the Arab
nationalist idea meant that it was taught in schools in parts of the Arab world
as late as the 1960s. The present writer remembers being taught it at school in
Jerusalem in the mid-1960s.
36.
Whether the Druze identify themselves as Muslims or not, or whether
they are identified by other Muslims as Muslim or not, is not something that
concerns us here. The labels Christian, Druze and Muslim are used here in
conformity with the relevant literature on the subject.
37.
In carrying out this task, I base my argument on the two
collections of magazine articles by al-Yaziji edited by Yusuf Qazma Khuri
(1993a, 1993b). I also refer to one of the articles in Jeha’s (1992)
introduction to al-Yaziji’s life and works.
38.
Cooper (1989: 31) characterizes corpus-planning as a sub-field of
language planning which refers to “activities such as coining new terms,
reforming spelling, and adopting a new script. It refers, in short, to the
creation of new forms, the modification of old ones, or the selection from
alternative forms in a spoken or written code.”
39.
Status-planning refers to the “allocation of languages or language
varieties to given functions, e.g. medium of instruction, official language,
vehicle of mass communi- cation, etc.” (ibid.: 32).
notes
40.
YaÆqub Sarruf was born in Lebanon. He studied at the American
Protestant College. He was an accomplished translator and writer of both poetry
and fiction.
41.
It may actually be argued that exaggerations in this sphere are
functionally relevant because they serve to highlight the strength of the
posited connection between language and nation.
42.
See Antonius (1938: 92–5) for an assessment of the effect of the
foreign schools on the progress of the Arab national movement. In the course of
this assessment, Antonius makes the following point, as if to give credence to
al-Yaziji’s views: “The French Government, anxious to strengthen their
influence, subsidised the French ecclesiastical missions; and these, entering
into an alliance with the Maronite and Melchite clergy, strove to give the
rising generation an education which, although well-enough in itself, aimed
also at shaping their minds in a French mould and turning their outlook and
their mental allegiance towards France. The Russians, through the agency of an
ecclesiastical mission and a richly-endowed pedagogic society, cultivated the
Orthodox Arab population and the Orthodox Patriarchates of Antioch and
Jerusalem with similar ulterior aims.” Evidence for this penetration may be
derived from a debate run by the weekly al-Nashra
al-usbËÆiyya in 1881 on the use of Arabic or foreign languages for
instruction in schools in the Levant. One of the claims made by Antonius about
the influence of Western education on the Arab national movement deals with the
transfer of the leadership of this movement from the hands of the Christians to
the Muslims (1938: 92): “It [Western education] did this mainly by its indirect
attack on the position of the Arabic language as the instrument of the national
culture”. This is an extremely interesting point whose substantiation requires
further research. To illustrate the extent to which foreign languages had
penetrated Levantine society, the editors of this weekly mention that a man had
insisted that one of the essential requirements in his wife-to-be was that she
should know English or French (in Khuri 1991: 7).
43.
Tibawi believes that educational Westernization in Greater Syria in
the latter part of the nineteenth century had a negative impact on its
sociopolitical environment (1969: 178): “The westernisation in material life
may be dismissed as superficial, but that in speech indicates mental attitudes
built up through a long process of educa- tion in foreign schools … All these
foreign influences tended to retard movements towards a Syrian Arab entity;
they militated even more against any form of Ottoman unity. Within the Syrian
Arab house, foreign cultural influences heightened and aggravated religious
divisions by giving them a cultural stamp. An observer who might have seen the
country around the year 1890 thus tossed from one ideology to another could
hardly have resisted asking the question: whither Syria?”
chapter
5
1.
This is the second hemistich of a well-known poem by the Lebanese
poet Anis al- Khuri al-Maqdisi (1885–1977), in which he says that language in
national-identity terms overrides the divisions which differences in faith may
produce: (1) in farraqa al-ÈmÅnu bayna
jumËÆinÅ, fa-lisÅnunÅ al-Æarabiyyu khayru muwa˙˙idi (Should differ- ences
in faith divide us, our Arabic language is the thing which first and foremost
unites us); (2) qarubat bihi al-aq†Åru
wa-hiya baÆÈdatun, wa-tawa˙˙adat min baÆdi fattin
the arabic language and national identity
fÈ al-yadi (Arabic shortens the distances between the Arabic-speaking lands,
and it unites the Arabs when division threatens to fragment them).
2.
ÆUmar ÆAbd al-Rahman al-Fakhuri was born in Beirut. He studied law
in Paris and served as a member of the Damascus Academy (al-MajmaÆ al-ÆIlmi
al-ÆArabi). He worked in broadcasting and published many books, essays and
translations (from French into Arabic).
3.
Salah al-Din al-Qasimi graduated in medicine from Damascus in 1914,
a profession he practised in Hijaz until his death in al-Ta’if in 1916. He
championed the cause of the Arabic language against the Turkification policies
of the Young Turks and was a founder member of the Arab Renaissance Society
(1906) in Damascus.
4.
The question as to whether or not Arab nationalism is need of
definition was hotly contested in the 1960s (see Nazik al-Mala’ika 1993a,
1993b, al-Naqqash 1993, al- Basir 1993a, Budur 1993, al-Dahhan 1993, ÆAbd
al-Da’im 1993).
5.
For a recent appreciation of SatiÆ al-Husri, see SņiÆ al-ÓußrÈ: thalÅthËn ÆÅm ÆalÅ al- ra˙Èl
(1999). See also Choueiri (2000).
6.
Cleveland’s comments (1971: 90–1) on the issue of style in
al-Husri’s writings highlight its interactive qualities with the intended
audience: “al-Husri possessed a spare but forceful literary style, one which
was quite direct in its approach to the issues which he raised, but which was
also capable of occasional imagery. He most often presented his arguments in
self-contained essays which employed the following organisation: he stated a
premise which he favoured, buttressed it with ‘historical scientific facts,’
and then said that these facts proved the irrefutable validity of the initial
premise which was forcefully repeated as a conclusion. Another device which
al-Husri often used was to recognise and predict the doubts his audience might
have concerning a statement which he had just made, and then to demolish those
rhetorical doubts with even more facts. It was an effective and convincing
method when combined with his wide reading and his ability to grasp and
manipulate what he had read.”
7.
In his book MulËk al-Æarab,
Amin al-Rihani (1929, vol. 2: 402) refers to this fact: “[al-Husri] is an Arab;
his Arabic is beyond reproach, except for his accent”. The original text, which
reads “huwa Æarabiyy lÅ ghubÅr ÆalÅ
Æarabiyyatih ghayr lahjatihÅ”, was mistranslated by Cleveland into (1971:
66): “He [al-Husri] is an Arab, irreproachable in his Arabism except for his
accent”. Cleveland misread Æarabiyyatih for
æurËbatih, the latter meaning Arabism, but not the former.
8.
See SaÆd (1979) for a study of al-Husri’s educational thought.
9.
See Cleveland (1971: 32–3) for this debate.
10. The urgency of modernization is
summed up in al-Husri’s exhortation to the Arabs to adopt as their slogan “modernization
at all times, in all places and in everything” (årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth fÈ al-tÅrÈkh wa-l-ijtimÅÆ, 1985e: 19: al-tajdÈd fÈ kull zamÅn, wa-fÈ kull shay’
wa-fÈ kull makÅn yajib an yakËn shiÆÅranÅ al-ÆÅmm).
11. See the following publications by
al-Husri for these views: årÅ’ wa-a˙ÅdÈth
fÈ al- wa†aniyya wa-l-qawmiyya, 1984a: 21; al-ÆUrËba bayn duÆÅtihÅ wa-muÆÅri∂ÈhÅ, 1985a: 73; and Mu˙Å∂arÅt fÈ nushË’ al-fikra al-qawmiyya,
1985b: 21.
12. Had al-Husri been aware of the fact,
he would undoubtedly have pointed out how “language was part of the national
heritage strenuously appealed to by the dictionary- maker Noah Webster” (Honey
1997: 68) who, “in the immediate aftermath of
notes
American Independence … was at pains to emphasize the
distinctiveness of standard American English” (ibid.: 81) against standard
British English.
13. See Faysal (1971) for al-Husri’s
views on language education in Syria.
chapter
6
1.
The Syrian and secular nature of SaÆada’s nationalist thinking is
embedded in the Constitution of the Syrian National Party (see Makdisi 1960:
173–4).
2.
See Thomas (1991) for a discussion of the notion of purity in
language.
3.
See Muhammad (1996) and Zalat (1988) for a general discussion of
Haykal’s work.
4.
The potential of this discovery in linking the present with the
past was exploited to the full by Egyptian nationalists. Pilgrimages to the
tomb site were organized by these nationalists, with Muhammad Husayn Haykal
taking the lead. Pharaonic motifs were used on stamps, banknotes, the coat of
arms of the Egyptian University and the coats of arms of each of its faculties.
In 1928, a statue (Nah∂at Mißr/The
Revival of Egypt), containing a Sphinx-like figure by the sculptor Mahmud
Mukhtar (1891–1934), was unveiled in a grand ceremony (see Baron 1997). Also in
1928, the Egyptian government authorized the building of a Pharaonic-style
mausoleum to inter the remains of the Egyptian leader SaÆd Zaghloul
(1857–1927), although the reburial did not take place until 1936. Name-giving
practices reflected the national mood of the period. This mood was also
reflected in literature: Ahmad Shawqi alone composed four poems on the topic
(see Khouri 1971 for the role of poetry in the making of modern Egypt). This
pride in the Pharaonic past of Egypt has led some nationalist poets to adopt shuÆËbiyya-style themes, pointing out
that the greatness of the Arab past pales into insignificance when compared
with that of the Egyptians (see Gershoni and Jankowski 1986: 185).
5.
See Abu Sayf (1987) for the history of the Arabic language in
Egypt.
6.
See Abu Sayf (1987), al-Bishri (1982), Carter (1986), al-Fiqqi
(1985), Hanna (1994), Kilani (n.d.) and al-MiÆdawi (1978) for discussions of
the role of the Copts in the national life of Egypt.
7.
See Cachia 1990 (59–73) for a discussion of the use of the
colloquial in modern Arabic literature.
8.
See Anis (1969) for a discussion of the issue of the Bedouin nature
of Arabic.
9.
The idea of establishing a language academy was mooted as early as
1892. Several attempts were made to establish it, but it was finally
established in 1932 and took as its name MajmaÆ
al-Lugha al-ÆArabiyya al-MalakÈ (The Royal Arabic Language Academy). Its
name was changed to MajmaÆ Fu’Åd
al-’Awwal li-l-Lugha al-ÆArabiyya (King Fu’ad’s Arabic Language Academy).
Its name was finally changed to MajmaÆ
al-Lugha al-ÆArabiyya (The Arabic Language Academy) in 1954. See al-JamiÆi
(1983).
10.
For the history of the Arabist idea in Egypt, see ÆAbdalla (1975),
ÆAmara (1997), al- Barri (1992), Burj (1992), Coury (1998), Gershoni and
Jankowski (1995), Jalal and al-Mutawalli (1997), Khatir (1985), Muhammad
(1978), Nassar (1980), Qarqut (1972) and Zaki (1983).
11.
See ÆAmara (1995) for an attack on this dimension of Salama Musa’s
thinking. For a more balanced assessment of Salama Musa’s thinking, the reader
may refer to Shukri (1983).
the arabic language and national identity
12.
Taha Husayn states that the same must apply to the teaching of the
geography and history of Egypt as the two other components which make up the
Egyptian national identity on the cultural level. The teaching of Islam and
Christianity must also be provided to their followers in all schools, whether
state or non-state schools.
13.
For criticism from this angle, see al-Jundi (1977, 1984) and
al-Muhtasib (1980). See Rukaybi (1992) for a more balanced assessment of Taha
Husayn’s thinking.
14.
For views on this matter, see al-Alfi (1990), ÆAyyad (1992), Faraj
(1992), Hashim (1992), Khalafalla (1992), Mijli (1995), Qandil (1992), Salim
(1992), al-Tawil (1992) and Zahran (1985). For some of the court documents, see
the appendix to ÆAwad (1993).
15.
Lewis Awad’s bold pronouncements on this and other matters in the
introduction to Plutoland have made
him the subject of vitriolic attacks by a band of critics. Shakir (1972)
describes him as “wicked charlatan, impostor, transgressor, puppet, trash,
insane, odious, rotten, depraved, useless thing, missionary errand boy” (cited
in Suleiman 1997: 130). ÆAttar (1965) refers to him as “a communist and
Christian zealot, an enemy of Islam, the Qur’an, Islamic culture and heritage,
and the Arabic language and literature” (ibid.). ÆAttar also refers to him as
an “atheist Marxist Leninist Stalinist radical communist lefty” (ibid.). For a
more balanced evaluation of Luwis ÆAwad’s ideas, see al-Naqqash (1988) and
Raghib (1989).
16.
Views to this effect were voiced during the Sadat regime (1970–81),
when
Muqaddima fÈ
fiqh al-lugha al-Æarabiyya was first
published.
17.
For a criticism of the conceptual framework of this book, see
Shahin (n.d.: 175–84).
18.
The National Pact (1943) was an unwritten understanding between
Bishara al- Khury, a Maronite Christian, and Riyad al-Sulh, a Sunni Muslim, to
regulate the division of political power among the various confessional
communities in Lebanon. Under this understanding, the presidency was allocated
to the Maronites and the office of prime minister to the Sunnis.
19.
For a discussion of confessionalism in Lebanon, see ÆAmil (1989),
Dahir (1986), Ghalyun (1979), Hallaq (1988), Khalifa (1985), Nassar (1981),
Phares (1995), Rondot (1984) and Shahin (n.d.).
20.
See Douglas (1966) and Thomas (1991) for an analysis of the concept
of purity in social practices. The latter is devoted to this concept in
discussions of language reform.
21.
See Smith (1997) for an excellent discussion of the notion of the
“golden age” in national renewal.
22.
See Schöpflin (1997) for other contexts in which what he calls the
“myth of election” obtains.
works
in arabic cited in the text
ÆAbd al-DÅ’im, ÆAbdalla (1993), “al-Qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya bayn
al-shuÆËr wa-l- Æaql”, in QirÅ’Åt fÈ
al-fikr al-qawmÈ, vol. 1: al-Qawmiyya
al-Æarabiyya, fikratuhÅ wa- muqawwimÅtuhÅ (Beirut: Markiz DirÅsÅt al-Wa˙da
al-ÆArabiyya), pp. 455–63. (First published in al-ådÅb, 9 (1960): 4–6, 76–8.)
ÆAbd al-Malik, Anwar (1983), Nah∂at
mißr (Cairo: al-Hay’a al-Mißriyya al-Æåmma li-l-KitÅb).
ÆAbd al-Mu’min, Mu˙ammad al-SaÆÈd (1990), “al-ShuÆËbiyya
al-˙adÈtha”, in WaqÅ’iÆ al-nadwa
al-qawmiyya li-muwÅjahat al-dass al-shuÆËbÈ (Baghdad: DÅr al- Óurriyya
li-l-ÊibÅÆa), vol. 3, pp. 31–50.
ÆAbd al-TawwÅb, Rama∂Ån (1971), “Mushkilat al-∂Åd wa-turÅth al-∂Åd
wa-l-ΩÅ’”,
Majallat
al-majmaÆ al-ÆilmÈ al-ÆirÅqÈ, 21: 214–40.
—— (1990), “al-ShuÆËbiyyËn al-judud wa-mawqifuhum min al-Æarabiyya
al-fuß˙Å”, in WaqÅ’iÆ al-nadwa
al-qawmiyya li-muwÅjahat al-dass al-shuÆËbÈ (Baghdad: DÅr al- Óurriyya
li-l-ÊibÅÆa), vol. 1, pp. 353–73.
æAbdalla, NabÈh BayyËmÈ (1975), Ta†awwur
fikrat al-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya fÈ mißr
(Cairo: al-Hay’a al-Mißriyya al-Æåmma li-l-KitÅb).
AbË-Khņir, AmÈn (1913), “al-Jinsiyya wa-l-lugha”, in YËsuf QazmÅ
KhËrÈ (ed.), NajÅ˙ al-umma al-Æarabiyya
fÈ lughatihÅ al-aßliyya (Beirut: DÅr al-ÓamrÅ’, 1991), pp. 136–43.
AbË SaÆd, A˙mad (1994), “al-Lahja al-lubnÅniyya fÈ ußËlihÅ
al-Æarabiyya”, al-Fikr al- ÆArabÈ,
277: 7–19.
AbË Sayf, YËsuf (1987), al-Aqbņ
wa-l-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya: dirÅsa isti†lÅÆiyya
(Beirut: Markiz DirÅsÅt al-Wa˙da al-ÆArabiyya).
al-AfghÅnÈ, SaÆÈd (1971), Min
˙Å∂ir al-lugha al-Æarabiyya (Damascus: DÅr al-Fikr). (Second printing.)
ÆAflaq, Michel (1993a), “FÈ al-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya”, in QirÅ’Åt fÈ al-fikr al-qawmÈ, vol. 1: al-Qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya, fikratuhÅ
wa-muqawwimÅtuhÅ (Beirut: Markiz DirÅsÅt al-Wa˙da al-ÆArabiyya), pp. 78–80.
(First published in 1940.)
—— (1993b), “al-Qawmiyya ˙ubb qabl kull shay’”, in QirÅ’Åt fÈ al-fikr al-qawmÈ, vol. 1: al-Qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya, fikratuhÅ wa-muqawwimÅtuhÅ
(Beirut: Markiz DirÅsÅt al-Wa˙da al-ÆArabiyya), pp. 74–5. (First published
in 1940.)
—— (1993c), “al-Qawmiyya qadar mu˙abbab”, in QirÅ’Åt fÈ al-fikr al-qawmÈ, vol. 1:
al-Qawmiyya
al-Æarabiyya, fikratuhÅ wa-muqawwimÅtuhÅ (Beirut: Markiz DirÅsÅt
the arabic language and national identity
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A˙mad, KhalÈl (1981), Dawr
al-lisÅn fÈ binÅ’ al-insÅn Æind ZakÈ al-ArsËzÈ (Damascus: DÅr al-Su’Ål).
ÆAlÅ’ al-DÈn, BakrÈ (1971), “Tajrubat al-lugha ladÅ al-ArsËzÈ”, al-MaÆrifa, 13: 127– 45.
al-ÆAlÅylÈ, ÆAbdalla (1938), Muqaddima
li-dars lughat al-Æarab (Cairo: al-Ma†baÆa al- ÆAßriyya).
—— (1954), al-MuÆjam (Beirut:
DÅr al-MuÆjam al-ÆArabÈ).
—— (1963), al-MarjiÆ (Beirut:
DÅr al-MuÆjam al-ÆArabÈ).
—— (1996), DustËr al-Æarab
al-qawmÈ (Beirut: DÅr al-JadÈd). (First published in 1938.)
al-AlfÈ, ÆAlÈ (1990), “LuwÈs ÆAwa∂ widÅÆan”, Adab wa-naqd, 65–75.
ÆAlÈ, SaÆÈd IsmÅÆÈl (1995), Dawr
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al-Hay’a al-Mißriyya al-Æåmma li-l-KitÅb).
al-ÆAlÈ, ÍÅli˙ A˙mad (1986), “al-ShuÆËr al-qawmÈ al-ÆarabÈ Æabr
al-tÅrÈkh: muqawwimÅt al-qawmiyya al-Æarabiyya wa-maΩÅhiruhÅ Æabr al-tÅrÈkh”,
in Ta†awwur al-fikr al- qawmÈ al-ÆarabÈ (Beirut:
Markiz DirÅsÅt al-Wa˙da al-ÆArabiyya), pp. 19–51.
ÆAmÅra, Mu˙ammad (1976), al-JÅmiÆa
al-islÅmiyya wa-l-fikra al-qawmiyya Æind Mu߆afÅ KÅmil (Beirut:
al-Mu’assasa al-ÆArabiyya li-l-DirÅsÅt wa-l-Nashr).
—— (1984), Fajr al-qawmiyya
al-Æarabiyya (Beirut: DÅr al-Wa˙da).
—— (1995), SalÅma MËsÅ:
ijtihÅd khņi’ am ÆamÅla ˙a∂Åriyya? (Cairo: DÅr al-Ía˙wa).
—— (1997), ÆIndamÅ aßba˙at
mißr Æarabiyya islÅmiyya (Cairo: DÅr al-ShurËq).
Æåmil, MahdÈ (1989), FÈ
al-dawla al-†Å’ifiyya (Beirut: DÅr al-FÅrÅbÈ). (First published in 1988.)
al-AnbÅrÈ, AbË al-BarakÅt KamÅl al-DÈn ÆAbd al-Ra˙mÅn Ibn Mu˙ammad
(n.d.), LumaÆ al-’adilla fÈ ÆußËl al-na˙w,
ed. ÆA†iyya Æåmir (Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell).
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æAbd al-Malik Ibn MarwÅn, caliph, 40, 53–4 Abdul Hamid, sultan, 89,
90
Abou, Selim, 206, 225
AbË al-Aswad al-Du’alÈ, 51, 107
AbË-Khņir, AmÈn, 92, 94–6
a∂dÅd (homo-antonyms), 61–2 al-AfghÅnÈ, JamÅl al-DÈn, 89–90 al-AfghÅnÈ,
SaæÈd, 89
æAflaq, Michel, 119
Ahmed, Jamal Mohammed, 171, 172
Æajam (non-Arab), 56–63, 69, 106, 110, 125, 156,
157
and solecisms, 51
and ÆulËj, 83
al-Akh†al, 40–1
al-æAlÅylÈ, al-Shaykh æAbdalla
and definition of nationalism, 36–7, 118–19
and language and nationalism, 117–24, 126,
128, 159, 162, 224
and territorial nationalism, 122, 161
æAlÈ, caliph, 43, 51
æAllËba, Mu˙ammad, 179–80 æAllËsh, NajÈ, 243–4n æAmÅra, Mu˙ammad,
234n
American Protestant College (Beirut), 81–2, 108, 244n, 245n
ÆÅmiyya (vernacular), 63 æAmr Ibn DÈnÅr, 46
æAnÅn, Mu˙ammad æAbdalla, 176
al-AnbÅrÈ, AbË al-BarakÅt KamÅl al-DÈn æAbd al-
Ra˙mÅn Ibn Mu˙ammad, 60
al-AnbÅrÈ, Mu˙ammad Ibn al-QÅsim, 61 Anderson, Benedict
and definition of nationalism, 16, 17, 24
and language, 28, 30, 32, 35–6, 40 and myths and symbols, 27
and the past, 39, 40
and print culture, 10, 80
AnÈs, IbrÅhÈm, 40–1, 59, 60, 236n
AnÈs al-KhËrÈ al-MaqdisÈ, 245–6n Antonius, George, 68, 79, 80, 240n
and al-YÅzijÈ, 96–7, 100, 108, 109
æAql, SaæÈd, 205, 217
al-AqqÅd, æAbbÅs Ma˙mËd, 149
Arab nation (umma), 64–6,
68, 87–8, 92–3, 104,
111, 124–6, 128
in al-ArsËzÈ, 148, 154–7
in æåzËry, 116–17, 126, 159
Christians in, 92, 97, 106, 110, 125, 141
and Egypt, 101–2, 114–17, 126, 175–6, 179–
80, 182, 189–90
in al-ÓußrÈ, 30, 34, 131–4, 140–2, 159
in al-MarßafÈ, 115–16
and wa†an, 18, 113, 114
in al-YÅzijÈ, 99–102 Arab nationalism
and al-æAlÅylÈ, 117–22, 126
and al-ArsËzÈ, 146–58, 160–1, 162
and al-BÈtÅr, 122–4
definition, 118–19
and al-ÓußrÈ, 126–46, 147, 159–60
and ideology, 126–8
and Islam, 12, 62, 68, 89–91, 110, 141, 165, 234n
and language, 3, 62, 84–5, 90, 100, 110–11,
116–19, 134, 142, 156, 162, 167, 204–5,
225; as symbol, 66–8
and names, 61, 125
and nation-formation, 93, 100, 116–17
origins, 68, 69–70, 79–80, 96–7, 111
and Ottoman empire, 8, 11, 37, 70, 83–7, 92–
3, 111, 162–3
and the past, 39–42, 66–7, 160
and pre-Islamic Arabia, 40, 148, 234n
secular, 140–2, 146, 157–8, 159, 165, 181, 228
and standard Arabic, 9–10, 88–9, 98, 117–18,
125–6
and supra-nationalism, 18
and al-YÅzijÈ, 96–109, 123
see also cultural nationalism; political nationalism; territorial
nationalism
Arab renaissance, 79, 102, 110, 113, 159 Arab Renaissance Society,
246n
Arab Revival Society, 88
Arab Revolutionary Society, 87
Arab Student Congress, First (1938), 39 Arabia, pre-Islamic, 68,
234n
Arabic
and Arab renaissance, 79, 102, 110, 113, 159
index
as boundary marker, 35, 79–80, 100, 123,
141, 192; in al-æAlÅylÈ, 121; and Arabs
and non-Arabs, 57–9, 66, 69, 110; and
script, 33; and solecism, 51–2, 55
colloquial, 4, 15, 123, 156, 230; and Egyptian
nationalism, 9, 172–4, 177–9, 193–4,
198–9, 201–3, 220, 225; and Lebanese
nationalism, 9, 126, 205, 208–9, 215–17,
220, 225; and modernization, 10; and
MËsÅ, 182, 185, 189, 194, 198; and al-
YÅzijÈ, 104–5, 108–9
communicative function see communication
and competing languages, 11–12
and contiguity of sound and meaning, 149– 52, 192
as “homeland”, 113
and Óusayn, 193–4
and language academies, 90–1 and language of heaven, 154, 201 as
language of Qur’an see Qur’an
and linguistic borrowing, 69, 88, 102–3, 125,
170, 172–3, 179, 181, 187–8, 200
and linguistic interference, 58–9, 148, 152,
177
as lughat al-∂Åd, 59–60,
106, 110
and middle language, 143, 145, 172–3, 179,
225
as official language, 10, 82–4, 86–7, 90, 93,
95, 170, 229
as original language, 158
and other Semitic languages, 153–4, 196
and the past, 40–1, 102–3, 156
and political unity, 8, 115, 123–5, 128, 138,
140, 142–4, 191, 194
pre-Islamic, 148, 153–4, 157, 158 and reforms see modernization
revival, 97–9, 101, 102, 105, 107, 148, 154–7
and science, 103–6, 108, 141, 145, 172, 184,
187–8, 226
and shuÆËbiyya, 37, 60–3,
64, 91, 123, 201,
226, 247n
standard, 9–10, 15, 46, 91, 117–18, 172–3;
and al-ArsËzÈ, 108–9, 224; and
authenticity, 10, 59, 99, 178–9, 207; and cultural nationalism,
34–6; and Egyptian nationalism, 9, 193–4, 196–7, 220; and
al-ÓußrÈ, 142–6, 224; and Lebanese
nationalism, 9, 204, 207–10, 212, 215–
20; and al-MarßafÈ, 115; and modernization, 35; and national
identity, 224; and Syrian nationalism, 88–9; and
al-YÅzijÈ, –98, 100, 105, 108
as superior, 42–6, 47–9, 60, 66–7, 121, 155,
200–1
symbolic role see symbol
in Syria, 83–9, 142, 168
systematicity, 104
and territorial nationalism, 10, 79–80, 162–
223, 224–6
and Turkish, 60, 71, 73–8, 83, 88, 91, 127,
143, 157, 170
as unique, 199–202, 226
varieties in, 4, 15, 35–6
see also grammar; ˙ikmat al-Æarab;
Islam; language; lexicon, Arabic; modernization; names; resonance; solecism
Arabists
Christian, 78, 207–10
and Ottoman Empire, 78–9, 89, 91–2, 128–9 Arabs
and Arabic, 44–9, 64, 66, 78–80, 89–90, 93–
4, 131, 200
“awakening”, 68
Christian, 56–7, 76, 83, 84, 92, 97, 106–7,
110, 125, 141, 205
and Egypt, 200–1
and lineage, 64, 200–1
as nation see Arab nation
and non-Arabs, 56–63, 69, 83
in Ottoman Empire, 73–4, 75, 77–9, 82–6,
91–3, 143
as superior, 45–6, 78, 148, 202
and Turkification, 77, 84, 85–9, 90–6, 101,
110
Armbrust, Walter, 111 Armenian, in Lebanon, 204 Armstrong, John A.,
22, 56 Arndt, Ernst Moritz, 131
al-ArsËzÈ, ZakÈ, 37, 120, 146–58, 162, 168, 210
and Arab nation, 146, 148, 154–7, 159–61
and colloquial Arabic, 156, 224
and contiguity of sound and meaning, 149– 52
and al-ÓußrÈ, 147–8, 156
and linguistic interference, 148, 152
and race and language, 147–9, 158, 161
and standard Arabic, 108–9, 224
and word-formation, 152–3 Atatürk see Mustafa Kemal Atatürk
al-æA††År, A˙mad ÆAbd al-GhafËr, 248n al-æAttar, Shaykh Hasan, 170
attribute, and identity, 232n authenticity
and cultural nationalism, 25, 73, 75, 79, 157–8
and the past, 7, 38, 40, 102–4, 146, 225
and standard Arabic, 10, 59, 99, 178–9, 207
and territorial nationalism, 169, 190
æAwa∂, LuwÈs (Lewis), 197–204, 226
æAwn, MÈkhÅæÈl, 109
æAwwÅn, TawfÈq, 176, 178
al-AwzÅæi, æAbd al-Ra˙mÅn, 209 al-Azhar, 181, 183, 195–6, 197
æåzËry, NajÈb, 116–17, 126, 159
Badawi, M. M., 35 Balibar, Étienne, 30
Balkans, language and nationality in, 71, 135–6, 140, 146
index
Banu Taghlib tribe, 56, 83
Baron, Beth, 111
Barth, Fredrik, 22
Bartlett, Robert, 28
al-BaßÈr, æAbd al-RazzÅq, 125 Ba’th party, 64, 119, 124–5
al-BayÅn, 99–100, 103, 106
bayÅn (clarity, purity), 156 Bayhum, Mu˙ammad JamÈl, 237n
al-BazzÅz, æAbd al-Ra˙mÅn, 102, 125, 237–8n
Bedouin tribes, and Arabic, 48, 52, 53, 69, 178,
226
beggars, and standard Arabic, 54, 88
Belgium, as multilingual state, 137, 139
Bergson, Henri, 210, 212
Bible, translations into Arabic, 69, 81, 141, 185,
196–7, 244n
Bin SalÅma, al-BashÈr, 228 al-BȆÅr, NadÈm
and language and identity, 122–4, 224
and language and nationalism, 122–3, 126,
159, 162
and the state, 124, 128
and subjective definition of nationalism, 36–7 and territorial
nationalism, 123–4, 161
Bohas, Georges et al., 48 Bonald, 234–5n
Boon, J. A., 8
borrowing, linguistic, 29
and Arabic, 69, 88, 102–3, 125, 170, 172–3,
179, 181, 187–8, 200
and Turkish, 73–5
boundaries, linguistic, 35, 79–80, 100, 121, 123
and ingroup and outgroup, 56–9, 66, 69, 192
and national identity, 22–3, 32, 37, 66, 110,
141
and solecisms, 51–2, 55
and symbolic function of language, 32–3, 57, 58–9, 66
and Turkish, 74
Bourdieu, Pierre, 58
Brass, Paul, 31
Breuilly, John, 18, 29, 40
Brubaker, Rogers, 25
Bulgaria, and language and religion, 136 BËluß, JawÅd, 163
al-BustÅnÈ, Butrus, 164, 240–1n
Catalonia, language and nationalism, 31 causation (ta’lil), and grammar, 47–9, 62
Christians
and Arab nationalism, 12, 97, 110, 125, 141,
165, 196–7, 205–6
and the state, 211 citizenship
and language, 95
and nationality, 93, 106
Cleveland, William, 97, 129, 246n
code-switching, 114, 230
cohesion, 23, 35, 38, 42
and territorial nationalism, 164, 219 colonialism
and education, 130, 213
and language, 11–12, 152, 204, 213
and territorial nationalism, 123, 165, 204 Committee of Union and
Progress (CUP; Turkey),
239–40n
communication as language function, 3, 27, 32,
37, 62–3, 66, 156, 212, 225, 228
and Arabic, 4, 82, 103, 125, 134, 146, 147,
159, 170–1
and spread of nationalism, 79, 98–9, 103,
115, 119–21, 123, 133, 134–40
and Turkish, 71, 75, 76–7
confessionalism, Lebanon, 163, 165, 206, 207,
210–11
conflict, interethnic, 12, 204, 230
Connor, Walker, 18, 21, 27
consciousness, national, 6–7, 18, 20–1, 23, 72,
81, 131, 171
construction, social, and national identity, 7, 18, 22–3, 26, 72–3,
134
contact, linguistic, 77, 201
and solecisms, 51–2, 55, 64, 106
contiguity principle, 149–52
continuity, and the past, 38, 72–3 Cooper, Robert L., 98, 244n
Coptic language, 177, 183, 203
cultural nationalism, 10, 24–6, 34, 41, 224
Arab, 34, 70, 96–109, 110–12, 113, 127, 161,
225
and authenticity, 25, 73, 79, 157–8
and elites, 25, 72
and modernization, 25–6, 35, 226 and political unity, 8
and tradition, 25–6, 35, 39–40, 67, 104
Turkish, 70–8, 79, 129, 135, 161
culture
Arabic, 88, 102, 105, 125, 143, 199
Egyptian, 175, 181, 199
European, 180–1, 183, 188–90, 191–2
folk, 34–5, 73
and language, 31, 97, 100, 134, 139–40, 167,
189
Lebanese, 218
and nationalism, 2–3, 8, 10, 20, 22, 23–7, 34,
41
Davids, Arthur Lumley, 72 Dawn, Ernest, 97
Decentralization Party, 86–7
descent, common, 24, 31, 120, 182 determinism, environmental
in Egyptian nationalism, 163, 164, 175–9,
190, 191–2, 222, 224
and history, 166
in Lebanese nationalism, 163, 164, 165–6,
169, 219, 224
index
Deutsch, Karl, 21, 24, 31, 79
Dickson, John, 84
diglossia, Arabic see Arabic,
colloquial; Arabic, standard
al-ÎiyÅ’, 99–100, 105–6
Dozy, 105, 242n
Druze, 19, 97
al-DËrÈ, æAbd al-æAzÈz, 234n
Eastman, Carol and Reese, Thomas C., 33 education
and Arabic, 10, 11, 86–7, 93, 143, 170, 174,
209, 227
and the civic nation, 24
and foreign languages, 81–2, 108–9, 129–30,
192–3, 207
in Óusayn, 192–3, 195
in al-ÓußrÈ, 128–30
and language, 29, 86, 100, 105, 108, 110, 174,
213
missionary, 80–2, 97, 110, 141
and nationalism, 79–80, 97, 128–30, 136,
171–2, 192
and scientific approach, 105 in Turkish, 73, 76, 85
Edwards, John, 4, 16–17, 22, 31, 32–3
Egypt
and Arab nation, 101–2, 114–17, 126, 139–
40, 175–6, 182, 189–90
and Arabic, 79–80, 101–2, 104–5, 170, 172–
3, 197–204
and Arabism, 78, 179–80, 197
and European culture, 180–1, 183, 188–90,
191–2
and foreign languages, 130, 192
and identity, 180–1, 189–90, 191–2, 197–204
and Islam, 164, 174–5, 179, 190, 199–200
and modernization, 69, 104–5, 109, 115, 130,
169–74, 183–90, 195–6, 221, 227
Napoleonic invasion, 69, 131–2, 169
and Ottoman empire, 164, 175
and religion, 181–2
School of Languages, 169–70, 179 Egyptian nationalism
and Arab nationalism, 8, 37, 163, 174, 188,
194, 197, 226
and Arabic, 104–5, 169–204, 224; colloquial,
9, 104–5, 172–4, 177–9, 182, 185, 189,
193–4, 198–9, 201–3, 220, 225; standard,
193–4, 196–7, 220
and Christians, 196–7
and history, 170–1, 174, 175
and language, 3, 11–12, 37, 169–204
and al-MarßafÈ, 114–16
origins, 11, 69, 79–80, 169–70
and the Other, 8, 37
and the past, 170–1, 222
and territorial nationalism, 78, 114–15, 169–
204, 219, 220–2, 226
see also determinism, environmental;
Pharaonism
elites
and construction of identity, 7, 11, 18, 24,
72–3, 77–8, 109, 132
and cultural nationalism, 25, 72
and language, 58, 82, 87, 89–96, 98, 101,
103, 106, 143
and political nationalism, 89–96, 97
Enderwitz, S., 60
English, in Lebanon, 81, 82, 108, 157, 204, 223 essence, and
existence, 210–12
ethnicity
and labelling, 55–7
and language, 71
and levels of incorporation, 232n and national identity, 6–7, 55,
64
and nationality, 17–18
and the past, 46, 123
and religion, 19
existence, and essence, 210–12
FakhrÈ al-BÅrËdÈ, 239n
al-FÅkhËrÈ, æUmar æAbd al-Ra˙mÅn, 116 al-FÅrÅbÈ, AbË Naßr, 51,
65–6, 148
Farhat, Jermanus, 209
FÅris Nimr, 84, 99
al-FÅrisÈ, AbË æAlÈ al-Óasan, 49
faßÅ˙a (eloquence; purity of speech), 51, 52 fatherland, and nation, 18,
114, 164, 171 Ferguson, Charles A., 67
Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 9, 28, 131, 147, 234–5n al-FikÅykÈ, æAbd
al-HÅdÈ, 237–8n
Finland, language and nationalism, 31 Fishman, Joshua, 2, 14, 29,
38, 39–40, 53, 234–
5n
France
as civic/political nation, 23, 25, 30, 93, 128,
157
and language, 11, 59, 130, 234–5n
and Lebanese nationalism, 121–2, 126, 152,
157, 222–3
French, in Lebanon, 11, 94, 121, 152, 204–7,
208, 209, 210, 213–15, 219, 223, 225
Freud, Sigmund, 21
Fu’Åd al-Kha†Èb, 89
fundamentalism, linguistic, 50, 51, 158
Galen, 56, 235n Gellner, Ernest
and cultural nationalism, 25, 34, 41
and definitions of nationalism, 18, 19, 22 and folk culture, 34
functionalist approach to nationalism, 1 and myths, 41
and nationalism as ideology, 26–7 and symbolic function of
language, 33
Gemayel, Pierre, 223
geography see determinism,
environmental
index
Germany
as cultural/ethnic nation, 23, 25, 71, 161
and language and nationhood, 29, 92, 127–8,
131–2, 146, 152, 157, 162, 167–8, 234–5n
see also Romantic movement
Gershoni, Israel and Jankowski, James, 11, 42, 171, 176, 201
al-Ghazali, Abu ÓÅmid Mu˙ammad al-ÊËsÈ, 148 Gökalp, Ziya, 30, 71,
76, 103–4, 129
Goldziher, Ignaz, 45, 58, 59, 60, 62, 237n
grammar, Arabic, 44, 46, 56
and al-ArsËzÈ, 62, 148–55, 158, 160
and causation, 47–9, 62
in education, 10, 170, 187, 192, 209, 227
and ˙ikmat al-Æarab,
47–9, 50, 52, 61–3, 148
and al-ÓußrÈ, 144, 145
and law, 44, 63
and modernization, 159, 227
and shuÆËbiyya, 64
and simplification, 10, 36, 81, 94, 115, 121,
178, 187, 193–5, 209, 215, 217, 227
and solecism, 51–5, 64, 148, 174
and Turkification, 85
and al-YÅzijÈ, 98, 99
Greeks, and language and Orthodoxy, 135–6 Greenfeld, Liah, 17, 21
Grew, Raymond, 7, 8 Guignes, Joseph de, 72
˙adÈth literature
and Arabic, 43–4, 50, 51, 60, 141, 235n
and the Arabs, 92 Hafni Mahmud Pasha, 139
Haim, Sylvia, 39, 89–90, 233n, 237–8n, 243n.
al-ÓÅjj, KamÅl YËsuf
and diglossic nature of Arabic, 210, 212, 215–19
and language and identity, 210–19, 220, 222,
225–6
and religion and nationalism, 120, 163, 210–11 al-ÓajjÅj Ibn YËsuf
al-T˙aqafÈ, 54
Halliday, Fred, 238n ÓamdÅn, JamÅl, 163 Handelman, 232n
Haniog¨lu, M. Sükrü, 239–40n al-Óasan al-BaßrÈ, 50
ÓassËna, Mu˙ammad AmÈn, 176 Hayes, Carlton J. H., 25
Haykal, Mu˙ammad Óusayn, 175, 177, 178–9, 247n
Hebrew, revival, 32–3
Hebrew nationalism, 3
Hechter, Michael, 55
Herder, Johann Gottfried, 28, 131
Heyd, Uriel, 71, 103–4
˙ikmat al-Æarab
(wisdom of the Arabs), 47–9, 50, 52,
61–3, 64, 148
history
and environmental determinism, 166
in al-ÓußrÈ, 36, 120, 128, 131, 134, 137, 148,
162, 168
and language, 121, 148
and modernity, 69, 190
and myth, 41
and nationhood, 20, 67–8, 72, 95, 160, 170–1
and territorial nationalism, 170–1, 174, 175
see also past Hobsbawm, Eric
and definition of the nation, 17, 21
and definition of nationalism, 16, 17, 18, 27 and invented
tradition, 233n
and language, 29, 30–3
and retrospective nationalism, 40 Honey, John, 246–7n
Horowitz, Donald, 23, 233n
Hourani, Albert, 57–8, 67, 90, 171, 190, 196, 235n
Hudson, Michael C., 19 Óusayn, ÊÅha
and Arabic Bible translation, 81, 196–7 and colloquial and standard
Arabic, 193–4,
196–7
and education, 130, 192–3, 195
and environmental determinism, 191–2 and European culture, 190,
191–2
and grammar, 194–6
and language and nationalism, 139, 140, 190–
1, 194, 221, 225–6
and national literature, 177, 194, 197
al-ÓußrÈ, Sņiæ, 126–46, 210
and the Arab nation, 30, 34, 131–4, 140–2,
159
and al-ArsËzÈ, 147–8, 156
and education, 128–30
and history, 36, 120, 128, 131, 134, 137, 148,
162, 168
and ideologization of language, 134–40
and ideology of Arab nationalism, 126, 160 and language and
religion, 140–2, 160, 162 and objective definition of nationalism, 36–7 and
populist nationalism, 126–8, 159–60, 161
and standard Arabic, 142–6, 224
and state and nation, 128, 131, 229
Hutchinson, John, 25
Hutchinson, John and Smith, Anthony D., 23
Ibn Durayd, AbË Bakr Mu˙ammad Ibn al-Óasan, 60–1
Ibn FÅris, AbË al-Óusayn A˙mad, 60, 62
Ibn Hazm, AbË Mu˙ammad æAlÈ Ibn A˙mad, 56, 235n
Ibn JinnÈ, AbËal-Fa† æUthmÅn, 48–9, 59, 149–51,
155
Ibn KhaldËn, æAbd al-Ra˙mÅn, 102–3, 115 Ibn al-SarrÅj, AbË Bakr
Mu˙ammad Ibn Sahl,
47, 48
IbrÅhÈm, æAmr, 21, 30, 232n
Ibrahim Pasha, 79–80
index
identity, national
Arab, 6, 64–6, 80, 90, 162
as construct, 7, 18, 22–3, 36, 72–3, 134
contrastive, 55–63, 65, 113, 123
definition, 4–9, 18–19
ethno-symbolic approach, 23
and ideology, 7–8
and language see Arabic;
Germany; language and identity
and lineage, 64
and modernization, 108–9, 110
and the Other, 8, 22, 55–8, 123, 131, 148
political, 7, 71
Turkish, 37, 71–4, 76–8
see also Arabic; determinism, environmental; ethnicity; language and
identity; nationalism
identity, religious, 93, 135–6, 140–2, 159–60, 191 and Arab and
non-Arab, 55–63
and Egyptian nationalism, 170–1, 181–2,
195–6
and Lebanese nationalism, 164, 165, 206 and multiple identities,
18–19
and standard Arabic, 10, 55
and Turkish nationalism, 71, 78 as unifying factor, 12
identity, social, 18–19 ideology
and Arab nationalism, 97, 126–8, 160, 228–31
as discourse, 8
and Egyptian nationalism, 175 and language, 134–40
and movement, 18
and nationalism, 7–8, 10, 18, 23, 26–7
Æilj, 110
inflection, desinential, 187, 194, 217, 227 intellectuals see elites
interference, linguistic, 58–9, 148, 152, 177
Iraq 129,142
Ireland, language and nationalism, 31, 33, 168 Islam
and Arabic, 10, 43–6, 52–3, 78, 88–9, 92,
143, 195–6, 199–200, 228–9
and Arabism, 62, 91, 207
and Arabs, 89, 91–2, 115
and Christianity, 181
and Egypt, 164, 174–5, 179, 190
and nationalism, 12, 62, 64, 68, 110, 135,
140–1, 146, 234n
and Turkish nationalism, 76–8
Italy, and language and nationalism, 29, 92
JabbËr, æAbdalla, 81–2
al-JÅ˙iΩ, AbËæUthmÅn Ibn Ba˙r, 156, 237n
al-JarÈda, 172
al-JazÅ’irÈ, Shaykh ÊÅhir, 85 Jeha, Michel, 244n journalism
Arab, 69, 99, 103, 110, 113, 121, 172, 180, 221
and Lebanese nationalism, 81, 92–5 and Turkish nationalism, 79
Jumæa, IbrÅhÈm, 178
Karpat, Kemal H., 237–8n
al-KawÅkibÈ, æAbd al-Ra˙mÅn, 89–90, 91, 243n
Kedourie, Elie, 26–7, 28, 131, 148, 233n, 241n al-KhafÅjÈ, Ibn
SinÅn AbË Mu˙ammad æAbdalla
Ibn Mu˙ammad Ibn SaæÈd, 44–6, 62
Khalidi, Tarif, 65, 77–8, 243n
al-KhalÈl, Ibn A˙mad, 48, 61, 149 al-Kharbu†lÈ, æAlÈ ÓusnÈ, 234n
al-KhËri, RashÈd SalÈm, 149 KhËrÈ, YËsuf QazmÅ, 244n Kohn, Hans, 25
Korai, 234–5n
Krejcí, Jaroslav and Velímsky, Vítezslav, 20 Kurd æAlÈ, Mu˙ammad,
100
Kurdish, and Arabic, 12 Kushner, David, 72, 77
Labov, William, 4
La˙˙Ëd, æAbdalla, 207–10, 221, 226
La˙n see solecism
Landau, Jacob, 239n, 240n language
as boundary-marker see boundaries
colonial, 11–12, 152, 204, 213
and culture, 97, 100, 134, 139–40, 167, 189
dead languages, 63, 122, 133, 182, 187
and diglossia, 15, 216–17 functional role see communication ideologization, 134–40
instrumental role, 87, 219–20, 221 and linguistic norms, 49–55
modernization, 73, 98, 110, 227
and the past, 29, 40–6, 64–6, 102–3, 106,
109, 123, 146, 156, 170–1, 192
and race, 28, 100, 120, 131, 147–9, 158, 161,
201–3
and science, 106, 172 and social change, 98–9 and style, 126–8
symbolic role see symbol
and territory, 71, 72–3, 78, 79–80, 109, 115,
119, 140
and thought, 28, 192, 212, 218, 225
see also communication as language function language and identity, 9, 11–12,
27–33, 36–7,
41–2, 50, 64–5, 224–31, 234n
in AbË-Khņir, 92, 94–6 Arab and non-Arab, 55–63 in al-ArsËzÈ,
156–7, 224
in æAwa∂, 198–204
in al-BȆÅr, 122–4, 224
and dialects, 142–6, 176–7
and Egyptian nationalism, 176, 188–9, 197–
204, 221–2
and German Romanticism, 28–9, 162
index
in al-ÓÅjj, 210–19, 225–6
in Óusayn, 139, 140, 190–1, 225–6
in al-ÓußrÈ, 132–6, 141, 142–6, 162, 224
and Lebanese nationalism, 204–19, 221–2
and race, 26, 95, 117, 226
and religion see identity,
religious; language and religion
and sociolinguistics, 4
and Syrian nationalism, 114, 152, 157, 167–
8, 220
and Turkish, 37, 71–4, 76–8, 96, 160–1
in al-æUraysÈ, 92–4
in al-YÅzijÈ, 106–7, 224
language and nationalism, 2–4, 8–9, 11–12, 22–3,
26–7, 31–2, 66–8, 110–11
in al-æAlÅylÈ, 117–24, 128, 159, 162
in al-ArsËzÈ, 146–58, 159–60, 162
in æAzËry, 116–17
in al-BȆÅr, 122–3, 128, 159, 162
in al-ÓußrÈ, 126–8, 132–3, 134–40, 159, 162
and Ireland, 31, 33, 168
and Italy, 29, 92
and territorial nationalism, 162–3, 167–9
see also Germany
language and religion, 35, 120, 144
in Egyptian nationalism, 115, 170–1, 181–2,
191, 195–6
in al-ÓußrÈ, 140–2, 160, 162
and Islam, 78, 88–9, 90–2, 143, 195–6, 199–
200, 228–9
and people, 20, 44–9, 53–4, 55–63, 64, 76,
88, 89–90, 170–1
in Turkish nationalism, 75–6 in al-YÅzijÈ, 100, 106
see also identity, religious language-planning, 79
corpus, 32, 98–9, 107, 110
status, 32, 53, 95–6, 98, 108–9, 110, 236n
underlying motives, 99–100, 104–6, 110
law, and language, 63, 91 Lebanese nationalism
and Arab nationalism, 8, 163, 206
and Arabic, 3, 9, 204–19, 224, 225
and Arabism, 207–10
and Christians, 97, 141, 165, 205–6, 207–11,
225
nd foreign languages, 121–2, 126, 207–9,
213–14, 223
and language, 11–12, 81–2, 84, 117–23, 204–5
and La˙˙Ëd, 207–10
and religious diversity, 120, 206
and Syrian nationalism, 165, 206
and territorial nationalism, 122, 163, 204–19,
220–1, 224, 226
see also determinism, environmental; Syrian nationalism
Lebanon
civilising mission, 205–6, 207–9, 216, 218,
219, 221, 222–3
National Pact, 206, 211–12
legitimacy, and the past, 38–9, 40, 182 Levant, and contact with
Europe, 69–70 lexicon, Arabic
and contiguity principle, 150–1, 152, 154,
158, 160
deficiency, 98, 145–6, 184, 187
elaboration, 82, 98–9, 101, 170, 172–3, 227
richness, 45, 61, 62, 67
and Turkish, 73, 75–6 lightness (khiffa), in Arabic, 45 lineage, and identity, 64
linguism, 26, 120, 131, 148, 165–6, 168, 226
linguistics
and glottochronology, 200 and national identity, 4
literacy
and the civic nation, 24
spread, 36, 69, 178, 187, 193, 215
literature, 2–3, 27, 79, 96–7, 233n
and Egyptian nationalism, 177–9, 182, 184,
194, 198, 221
and Lebanese nationalism, 206
and literary revival, 82, 102, 110, 113, 141 and mother tongue,
212–13
oral, 35, 73
and Turkish nationalism, 76
lughat al-∂Åd, 59–60, 106, 110
Lu†fÈ al-Sayyid, A˙mad, 139, 171–4, 179, 220,
225
al-ManÅr, 90, 91 Maronites
and Arabic, 81, 207–9, 210, 220
and Lebanese nationalism, 165, 205–10
and Syriac, 208–9
Marr, Andrew, 22
al-MarrÅkishÈ, Mu˙ammad Íali˙, 90–1 al-MarrÅsh, Francis, 114, 126
al-MarßafÈ, Óasan, 114–15, 126, 158
al-MasæËdÈ, AbË ’l-Óasan æAlÈ Ibn al-Óusayn, 64 al-MÅzinÈ, IbrahÈm
æAbd al-QÅdir, 198
meaning
and sound, 149–52, 154–6, 192
and structure, 212, 213, 218, 227 Middle East
and Arabic language, 3, 8–12 and national identity, 6–8
and studies of nationalism, 1–3 missionaries, and education, 80–2,
97, 110, 141 modernization
of Arabic, 98–9, 109, 117, 142–7, 156, 159,
170, 172, 174, 179, 184–7, 189, 196–7,
215, 221, 227–8
and cultural nationalism, 25–6, 35, 226
and education, 128, 130
and Egyptian nationalism, 69, 104–5, 109,
115, 130, 169–74, 183–90, 221, 227
and Lebanese nationalism, 81–2, 221
index
and national identity, 108–9
and nationalism, 73, 79, 110, 146, 159, 226–7
and the past, 10, 25, 39–40, 67, 102–3, 227
and role of Arabic, 35, 93, 99, 102–4, 108–9,
141, 147, 156–7, 159, 170, 174, 228
and science, 103–6, 108, 172, 184
and Syrian nationalism, 81–2, 84, 89
and territorial nationalism, 10, 226–7
and Turkification, 70, 89
of Turkish, 73–7
al-Mubarrad, AbË ’l-æAbbÅs Ibn YazÈd al-AzdÈ, 49
al-MufÈd, 92–4, 113
Mu˙ammad æAbdu, 171
Muhammad Ali (governor of Egypt), 79–80, 169–70
Mu˙ammad RashÅd, sultan, 89 MukhtÅr, Ma˙mËd, 247n Müller, Max, 28
multilingualism, 31, 130, 137, 138, 139, 144, 205
al-Muqta†af, 95–6, 99
MËsÅ, SalÅma, 180–90, 225, 227
and colloquial Arabic, 182, 185, 189, 194,
198
and European culture, 180–1, 183, 188–90,
191
and modernization of Arabic, 184–9, 193,
197, 221
and religion and national identity, 181–2 Muslims
and Arabic, 91
non-Arab, 51, 69
as one nation, 89–90 Turkish, 75
MustafÅ, IbrÅhÈm, 194
Mustafa Kamil, 116, 174–5
Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, 135, 140, 175, 183 al-Muætamid æAlÅ AllÅh,
caliph, 58
Al-MutanabbÈ, AbË al-Êayyib A˙mad, 59 myths
and language, 67
and nationalism, 7, 23, 24, 27, 41, 46
Murras, Charles, 59
al-NadÈm, æAbdalla, 174 names
Arabic, 60–1, 125, 247n
foreign, 102, 125
Nash, Manning, 23, 29, 39
al-Nashra
al-usbËÆiyya, 81, 108 NÅßir
al-DÈn, AmÈn, 89 NaßßÅr, NÅßÈf, 65
Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 124–5, 194, 197 nation
Arabs as, 64–6, 68, 87–8, 89–90, 92–3, 97,
99–101, 104, 106, 111, 115
civic/political, 23–4, 30, 34, 65, 70, 84, 86,
128, 165–6, 168
cultural/ethnic, 23–7, 34, 71, 106, 108, 128,
129, 131–4, 224
and fatherland, 18, 114, 164, 171 as imagined community, 30
and language, 30, 65, 76, 93, 99–100, 115,
116, 131, 134–5, 158, 162, 167–8, 214
objective definitions, 17, 20–1, 36–7, 65,
131–4, 147, 159
problems of definition, 17–18, 65–6, 114–15
subjective definitions, 20, 22–3, 36, 118,
134–5, 159, 165, 166, 168
unity and diversity in, 38, 138
voluntarist view, 22, 93, 128, 129, 134–5,
159, 165, 166, 168
see also state, and nation nationalism
as construct, 18, 22–3, 26
critiques of, 26–7
and culture, 2–3, 8, 10, 22, 23–7, 41
as ideology, 7–8, 10, 18, 23, 26–7, 97, 126–8,
160, 175, 228–31
intuitive, 118–19
Islamic, 12, 165, 175, 228–9
“philological”, 29, 73
populist, 126–8, 159
and problems of definition, 16–19 regional see Syrian nationalism
and religion, 12, 32, 93, 120, 135–6, 140–2,
159–60, 165, 181–2, 197, 206
retrospective, 40–2, 234n
theoretical approaches to, 1–4, 26–7 and youth, 233n
see also Arab nationalism; cultural nationalism; Egyptian nationalism;
identity, national; language and nationalism; Lebanese nationalism; political
nationalism; Syrian nationalism; territorial nationalism
nationality
and ethnicity, 17–18
and language, 29, 71, 76, 90, 93, 115 Norris, H. T., 62–3
North Africa
and nationalism and language, 11–12, 101,
116–17
and nationalism and religion, 12
see also Egypt
Nuseibeh, Hazem Zaki, 39, 67, 234n
Orientalism, 72
Other, and national identity, 8, 22, 27, 37, 55–8,
73, 123, 131, 148
Ottoman empire, 70–9
and Arab identity, 68, 77–8, 92–3, 95, 113–
14, 162
and Arab nationalism, 8, 11, 37, 70, 83–7,
92–3, 111, 162–3
and Arabic, 82–7, 90–1, 93, 96, 101, 113,
143
and Arabists, 73–4, 89, 91–2
break-up, 113–14, 127–8, 129, 140
index
and citizenship, 93, 95
as composite state, 95–6, 128
and Egypt, 164, 175
and elites, 89–96
Tanzimat reforms, 70, 73
and Turkification, 70, 72, 79–96, 109–10, 113,
135
see also Lebanese nationalism; Syrian nationalism; Turkish language; Turkish
nationalism; Young Turks
Ottomanism, 70–1, 75–6, 78–9, 91–2
Overing, Joanna, 41
Palmerston, Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount, 80
pan-Arab nationalism see Arab
nationalism Paris Congress (1913), 87, 92–3, 95
past, 38–68, 225–6
and civic/political nation, 24 continuity with, 38, 72–3, 222 and ˙ikmat al-Æarab, 47–9
and language, 29, 40–6, 64–6, 102–3, 106,
109, 123, 146, 156, 170–1
and linguistic norms, 49–63
and myths and symbols, 41, 63, 66–7, 172
and nationalist discourse, 53, 64–5, 66–8,
102, 139, 160
and territorial nationalism, 162, 188, 192,
199, 226
see also history; Pharaonism; tradition Patriarchate School, Beirut, 99, 105
patriotism, territorial, 171
peasants, language of, 53, 178
people, and language and religion, 20, 44–9, 53–4,
55–63, 64, 76, 88, 89–90, 170–1
Pharaonism
and Egyptian nationalism, 122, 175–6, 180,
199, 222, 226
in Haykal, 179, 247n in Óusayn, 194, 197
in al-ÓußrÈ, 139
in MËsÅ, 182–3, 190
in al-Êah†ÅwÈ, 170
philology, nationalist, 29, 73
placards, 82–5, 97, 110
poetry, 35
Egyptian, 198–9
Lebanese, 208
role, 40–1, 44, 89, 108, 110, 159, 234n
political nationalism, 113–15
Arab, 25, 70, 84, 86–9, 90–2, 97, 110–12,
113, 124–6, 127–8, 225
Syrian, 34, 84, 86, 165, 168
Turkish, 70, 79–96, 135
see also territorial nationalism politics, and religion, 211 populism,
126–8, 159
Post, George, 82, 103
power, and language, 32, 202
present
and linguistic solecisms, 50
and past, 24, 38, 66–8, 106, 156, 192
print technology
impact on languages, 36, 69, 73, 110
and spread of nationalism, 10, 79–81, 123
al-QÅsimÈ, Íala˙ al-DÈn, 116 Qur’an
and Arabic, 76, 88, 89, 91, 115, 125, 141,
143, 179
and Arabs and non-Arabs, 57–8, 84, 109 and cohesive role of Arabic,
35–6
and grammar, 193
inimitability, 44, 198, 200
and linguistic borrowing, 172, 200 and literalism, 235n
and prestige of Arabic, 15, 42–4, 58, 120
and solecism, 50–1, 54
as untranslatable, 123
and al-YÅzijÈ, 107–8, 109, 123
race
and language, 28, 100, 120, 131, 147–9, 158,
161, 201–3
and national identity, 26, 95, 117, 226
rationalism, in al-YÅzijÈ, 104–5, 108 Reform Society (Basra), 86–7
Reform Society (Beirut), 86 religion
and confessionalism, 163, 165, 206, 207, 210–
11
and ethnicity, 19
and language and people, 20, 44–9, 53–4, 55–
63, 64, 76, 88, 89–90, 170–1
and nation, 93, 170–1
and nationalism, 12, 32, 93, 120, 135–6,
140–2, 159–60, 165, 181–2, 195–6, 197
and politics, 211
and solecism, 50
see also language and religion Renan, Ernest, 22, 27, 67, 93, 134 resonance
of Arabic, 66, 69, 132
of the past, 7, 42, 63, 106, 225
revelation, and Arabic, 42–4, 123, 200–1
Reynolds, Susan, 21
rhetoric, and Arabic, 45, 62, 182, 184, 187, 192,
227
Ri∂Å, Mu˙ammad RashÈd, 90–2 al-RÈ˙ÅnÈ, AmÈn, 246n
Romantic movement, 131–2, 146, 152, 157,
162
and cultural/ethnic nation, 28–9, 131 and high and low culture, 35,
73
and religion, 76
Saæd Zaghloul, 247n
SaæÅda, An†Ën, 119, 214, 232n
index
and environmental determinism, 166, 169,
219, 224
and territorial nationalism, 34, 142, 163,
164–9, 219–20, 222
Sami, Shemseddin, 71–2, 74
SamÈka, Murquß, 177 ÍarrËf, YaæqËb, 99, 242–3n
Saussure, Ferdinand de, 151, 212
Sayigh, Rosemary, 206
Schöpflin, George, 7
science, and Arabic, 103–6, 108, 141, 145, 172,
184, 187–8, 226
script, Arabic, 33, 73, 102–3, 117, 179, 188–9, 227
and Roman, 104, 143–4, 188–9, 194, 205
secularism
and Arab nationalism, 140–2, 146, 157–8,
159, 165, 181, 228–9
and Arabism, 207
Seton-Watson, Hugh, 23, 41
ShaÆb (people), 34, 93, 228–9
al-ShÅfiæÈ, al-ImÅm AbË æAbd AllÅh Mu˙ammad Ibn Idris, 64, 91
ShÅkir, Ma˙mËd Mu˙ammad, 248n SharÅra, æAbd al-La†Èf, 18, 234n shariÆa, and Arabic, 91
al-ShņibÈ, AbË Is˙aq, 64 ShawqÈ, A˙mad, 113, 198, 247n Shivtiel,
Shraybom Shlomit, 63 Shuæba b. al-HajjÅj, 235n
ShuÆËbiyya, 37, 64, 91, 123, 201, 226, 247n
and rebuttals, 60–3
Sibawayhi, AbË Bishr æAmr Ibn æUthman, 149 al-SijistÅnÈ, AbË ÓÅtim,
49
al-SiyÅsa
al-usbË’iyya, 175, 176,
178, 180, 221
Smith, Anthony D., 5–7, 16, 17, 18, 19, 23–4,
227, 232n
Smith, Eli, 242n Snyder, L. Louis, 16, 17
socialization, and language, 28, 29, 115, 121, 134,
192
Society of Eloquence (Jam’iyyat
al-IfßÅ˙), 88–9 sociolinguistics
and corpus-planning, 32, 98–9, 107, 110
and identity, 4
and interethnic conflict, 204, 230
and status-planning, 32, 53, 95–6, 98, 108–9,
110, 236n
solecism (lahn), 49–55,
64, 106–7, 115, 148, 174, 236n
Stalin, Joseph, 20 state
and Arab nationalism, 25 composite, 95–6
and government, 211
and language, 74–5, 79–80, 207–10, 211–12,
228–9
multilingual, 31, 130, 137, 138, 139, 144, 205
and nation, 18, 114–15, 119, 123–5, 161,
164, 169
civic/political, 23, 25, 34, 128, 166, 168
ethnic/cultural, 24–5, 34, 128, 131
and national identity, 6–7, 94, 228
and territorial nationalism, 163, 211–12, 219,
222, 224–5, 228
style, linguistic, 126–8 SulaymÅn al-TÅjÈ al-FÅrËqÈ, 89 Suleiman,
Yasir, 5, 52, 111, 154
Switzerland, as multilingual state, 137, 139, 214–
15, 219
symbol, 3, 27, 56, 63, 123, 159
Arabic as, 4, 37, 50, 64, 108, 111, 133, 174,
228
and boundary markers, 32–3, 58–9
and nationalism, 23, 24, 27, 66–8, 119–20,
147, 183, 228
and the past, 38, 39, 41, 46, 66–7, 172
Turkish as, 71, 74, 103–4
see also Arabic; myths; Turkish language synonyms, in Arabic, 45, 61, 62,
185, 227 Syria
and Arab nationalism, 80
and Syrian Arabic, 83–9, 142, 168, 178 Syriac, in Lebanon, 208–9
Syrian National Party, 25, 119, 142, 169, 214, 247n
Syrian nationalism
and Arab nationalism, 163, 165, 167, 169,
220
and Arabic, 83–9, 93–4, 96–100, 129, 168
and civic-political nation, 34, 84, 86, 165,
168
and education, 129
and language and identity, 114, 152, 157,
167–8, 220
and Lebanese nationalism, 165, 206
origins, 70, 79–80
and other languages, 122 and placards, 82–5, 97, 110
and territorial nationalism, 163, 164–9, 219,
222, 224
and Turkification, 85–9, 101 Syrian Revival Society, 88 Syrian
Scientific Society, 97
al-ÊabÈb, 103–5
al-Êah†ÅwÈ, RifÅæa RÅfiæ, and territorial nationalism, 164, 170–1
taÆlÈl (causation), and grammar, 47–9, 62
tamßÈr al-lugha, 173
taÆrÈb (Arabization/Arabicization), 11, 102
ÊarrÅd, Michel, 205, 217 Tauber, Eliezer, 233n, 243n Taylor, Alan,
232–3n
teacher training, 187, 192, 195–6
territorial nationalism, 34, 111, 162–223, 224
and Arab nationalism, 10, 122, 123–4, 162–
223, 226
and Arabic, 10, 79–80, 162–223, 224–6
index
and colonialism, 123, 165, 204
and Egyptian nationalism, 78, 114–15, 169–
204, 219, 220–2, 224, 226
and language, 71, 72–3, 78, 109, 115, 119,
140, 167–9
and Lebanese nationalism, 122, 163, 204–19,
220–1, 224, 226
and modernization, 10, 226–7
and the state, 163, 211–12, 219, 222, 228
and Syrian nationalism, 164–9, 219, 222, 224
and Turkish nationalism, 70, 72, 79–96, 135,
175
see also determinism, environmental territory, and nation, 20–1, 24, 31, 65
al-Tha’ÅlibÈ, AbË ManßËr, 44
Tibawi, A. L., 83, 239n, 240n, 241n, 242n, 243n, 245n
Tibi, Bassam, 82, 233n, 240n, 242n Tonkin, Elisabeth et al., 19, 55
tradition
and cultural nationalism, 25–6, 35, 39–40,
67, 104
invented, 7, 39, 41, 233–4n
and territorial nationalism, 164, 189 Tunisia
as nation, 228
and religion and identity, 12 Turanism, 239n
Turkification, 109–10, 113, 135
of Arabs, 77–8, 84, 85–9, 90–6, 101, 110
of Ottoman Turks, 70–7, 79–96
resistance to, 87–9, 92–3, 95–6, 116 Turkish language
and Arabic, 60, 71, 73–8, 88, 91, 127, 143,
170
communicative role, 71, 75, 76–7
modernization, 73–6
and national identity, 37, 71–4, 76–8, 96,
160–1
as official language, 76–7, 85–6
and “Sun Theory”, 157, 162
symbolic role, 71, 74, 103–4
Turkish nationalism, 3, 70–9, 109, 162–3
cultural, 70–8, 79, 129, 135, 161
and identity, 71–3
and language, 37, 71–6, 82–3, 103–4, 157,
160–1
and names, 61
and the Other, 8, 73
and religion, 140, 181
territorial, 70, 72, 79–96, 135, 175
Turkism, 70–9, 83, 86, 88–9, 91, 94, 239n
Tütsch, Hans E., 25
Æujma (foreignness), 106
ÆulËj (unbeliever), 83, 87
ÆUmar, caliph, 46, 50–1, 56–7
æUmar Ibn ÆAbd al-æAzÈz, caliph, 54, 88
umma, 18, 34, 228–9
Arabs as, 64–6, 92–3, 99–101, 104, 115–17,
124–6, 128
Muslims as, 89–90
as superior, 45–6
and wa†an, 18, 113, 114
see also Arab nation; nation
United States of America, language and nationhood, 137, 138
unity, political, and Arabic, 8, 115, 123–5, 128,
138, 140, 142–4, 191, 194
al-æUraysÈ, æAbd al-GhanÈ, 113, 122, 224 and language and identity,
92–4
and Turkification, 92
van Dyck, Cornelius, 82, 242n vernaculars
in education, 81, 86–7
European, 34, 35–6
al-WalÈd Ibn æAbd al-Malik, caliph, 52, 54 wa†an (fatherland), 18, 114, 164, 171 Weber, Max, 30, 232n
will see nation,
voluntarist view Willcocks, Sir William, 185, 199
al-YÅzijÈ, IbrÅhÈm, 84, 96–109, 122, 242n
and Arab nation, 100–1
and language and identity, 106–7, 224
and language-planning, 95–6, 98–100
and linguistic borrowing, 102–3, 106–7
and modernization, 98–9, 102–4, 106, 108–9
and the Qur’an, 107–8, 109, 123
and rationalism, 104–5, 108
and revival of Arabic, 97–9, 101, 102, 105,
107, 159, 224
and science, 103–6, 108
and solecism, 106–7 Young Turks, 77, 239–40n
resistance to, 87–9, 92–3, 95–6, 110–11
and Turkification, 70, 79, 82, 84, 85–9, 91–2,
95, 116
youth, and nationalism, 233n
Yugoslavia, language and nationhood in, 136–7 YËsuf, NiqËlÅ, 178
al-ZajjÅjÈ, AbË al-QÅsim, 47–8
al-ZamakhsharÈ, AbË al-QÅsim Ma˙mËd Ibn æUmar, 60, 62–3
ZaydÅn, JurjÈ, 240n Zeine, N., 68, 78, 90, 97
ZiyÅd Ibn AbÈh, 51 ZiyÅd al-Aæjam, 83
ZiyÅda, NiqËlÅ, 125
Zurayq, Qunstan†Èn, 66, 234n
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