By Muṣṭafā Luṭfī al-Manfalūṭī
Dāwūd Pāshā – one of the previous ministers in the Ottoman state – wanted to learn Arabic, so he brought one of the scholars to himself and he started taking lessons on it for a long time. The outcome of his study was as you’ll find below :
He asked his teacher one day: “Which crime did ʿAmr commit such that Zayd is entitled to hit him every day, and kill him, and trouble him with this painful harassment? Has ʿAmr reached, in terms of lowliness and incapability, the status of the one who is too weak to avenge himself, and too weak to hit the attacker striking upon him the final blow?!”
He asked his Sheikh this question whilst he was burning with anger and rage and hitting the ground with his feet. The Sheikh replied : ” There is neither an attacker nor a victim, rather they are examples that grammarians use to make the rules easier for the minds of the students to understand. Dāwūd Pāshā did not like this answer, and he was shocked that a sheikh was unable to understand the reality of the matter. So he became angry with him and ordered his imprisonment. Then he sent for another grammarian and he asked him just like he asked the first, and the grammarian replied with the same answer, so Dāwūd Pāshā imprisoned him too. Then he kept bringing them in for questioning one by one until the prisons were filled and the Madāris (educational institutions) were empty, and this sinister matter became his biggest concern distracting him from all the other issues and interests of the state. Then it occurred to him to invite the scholars of Baghdad, so he ordered them to be brought. They arrived and knew, before reaching him, what was wanted of them. The leader of these scholars was of a high position in terms of knowledge, merit, great insight, as well as an in-depth understanding of the sources.
So when they gathered in the presence of the minister (Dāwūd), he repeated the exact same question to them, and the leader of these scholars replied: “O my master, Indeed the crime which ʿAmr committed deserves to receive more punishment than what he has already suffered”. So Dāwūd Pāshā became happy, and his face brightened. He turned to the leader and asked him “What is his crime?”. So he said to him: ” Indeed ʿAmr attacked the name of our respected minister (Dāwūd) and forcefully took the و from it, so the grammarians appointed Zayd to beat him everyday as a recompense for his rudeness and mischief – indicating to the additional و of ‘Amr and the dropping of the 2nd و from Dāwūd in the writing.” The Minister was completely impressed by this answer, and he said to the leader of the scholars: “You are the most knowledgeable scholar amongst the stars, amongst what the greenery has shaded. Suggest to me what you want” the leader only requested releasing the path of the imprisoned scholars, so he ordered their release and honoured them and the scholars of Baghdad with prizes and gifts.
Dawūd Pāsha was correct in the first decision and incorrect in the other. If I were in his place, I would not have released these grammarians from their prison until I took a promise from them; that they would give up these old examples for new appropriate examples which comfort the students, takes away their loneliness, and prevents them from these barbaric scenarios between Zaid and ʿAmr, and Khālid and Bakr.
The student does not obtain his share of knowledge unless he is able to put it into practice , and benefit from it in different places for which it was created. He will not be able to do this, unless his teacher provides him with extensive examples and evidence appropriate to the rules of that science. He should create a variety of examples which make the connection between knowledge and practice more comprehensible and easy for the student to be able to draw these links.
The majority of teachers in Al-Azhar are far from being able to draw connections between knowledge and practice. The barrier which prevents them from making that connection is that they stick to the same example for each rule.
If you wanted one of them to get out of using:
- Manṭiq (Logic); the living and speaking examples
- Naḥw (Grammar); ضَرَبَ زيدٌ عَمْراً (Zaid beat ‘Amr) and قَتَلَ خالدٌ بكراً ( Khalid killed Bakr)
- Bayān (Rhetorical science of Arabic Grammar) with the example of comparing Zaid to the full moon, and the metaphor of nails indicating to death,
- Ṣarf (Arabic Morphology); “فعلل” and “افعوعل”.
Then you will find the teacher to be in the hardship and struggle of arrogance and culturalism. It makes you grieve for the long years that they’ve spent between ink pots and notebooks, yet did not attain any benefit after all those years.
So for what reason does the student learn Naḥw (grammar) and Ṣarf (morphology) if they are unable to read every book and extract correctly? For what reason does he learn Balāghah (The science of Rhetoric) if he is unable to identify the secrets of speech, its methods of eloquence and unable to understand the intended meanings from its different characteristics? Or, if he is unable to express himself clearly and includes whatever he wishes from its objectives and its goals? For what reason does he learn Manṭiq (logic) if he is unable to distinguish between correct and incorrect matters on each side and sect? And if the subject is not an insān (human) and the predicate is not a ḥayawān Nāṭiq (living speaking being)?
It is very strange that the illiterate craftsman understands that knowledge is to be acted upon, he does not learn carpentry except to make doors and boxes and the blacksmith except to make locks and keys. Yet the student is unaware of this serious issue, as nothing matters more to him than increasing in information and rulings even though he is unable to act upon them afterwards or benefit from them in its designated areas.
As long as Al-Azhar remains in this state in terms of the out-dated method of teaching, then it won’t be possible in the future for it to produce scholars, from whom the Ummah are able to benefit, the way they benefited from other scholars in the east and west of the earth, so woe to the knowledge of the scholars!
(This article was translated from Al-Naẓarāt of Al-Manfalūtī (v. 3 p. 203-205) by the Thālithah students at Madani Madrasah, London, 1443 AH).
Footnote:
Al-Manfalūtī was born on the 30th of December, 1876, and he died on July 25, 1924, in Cairo. He was an essayist, short-story writer, and a pioneer of modern Arabic prose. Al-Manfalūṭī was born of a half-Turkish, half-Arab family claiming descent from Ḥusayn رضي الله عنه , grandson of the Prophet Muḥammad ﷺ. He received the traditional Muslim theological education at al-Azhar University but was deeply influenced by pan-Islamism, Egyptian nationalism, and the Syrian school of writers, who introduced him to Western, particularly French, learning. It is uncertain whether he learned French, but his collected essays (Al-Naẓarāt, 3 vol., 1902–10), poems (Mukhtārāt, 1912), and short stories (Al-ʿAbarāt, 1946) were largely adapted or translated from French and other European sources. He also published Arabic versions of several French works, including Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac (1921) and Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’s Paul et Virginie (1923). Al-Manfalūṭī’s easy, flowing Arabic style, free from the then-fashionable ornamentation of rhymed prose (sajʿ), had a lustre not found in journalistic jargon; it formed the basis of the more accomplished modern Arabic narrative of succeeding generations of writers. (See, Britannica)
