>Plus c’est la meme chose, plus ça change?

>

Perusing the mini-history lesson ensconced in Safiyyah’s holiday pictures, I found her caption to one particular picture interesting, ‘The fascinating Nourias (water wheels) in Hama, from back in the day, when Muslims used to think’. What led the wheels turning the mental processes of Muslims to grind to a halt?’I wondered. Later that evening, I began reading The Measure of Reality, Quantification and Western Society, 1250-1600, and was astounded by the opening page:

In the mid-ninth century AD Ibn Khurradadhbeh described Western Europe as a source of “eunuchs, slave girls and boys, brocade, beaver skins, glue, sables, and swords,” and not much more. A century later another Muslim geographer, the great Masudi, wrote that Europeans were dull in mind and heavy in speech, and the “farther they are to the north the more stupid, gross, and brutish they are”. This was what any Muslim sophisticate would have expected of Christians, particularly the “Franks”, as Western Europeans were known in the Islamic world, because these people, barbarians most of them, lived at the remote Atlantic margin of Eurasia, far from the hearthlands of its high cultures.

(Crosby AW 1997:3)

Such were the Muslims of afore! To have held others in such censure their achievements were cetainly great. Yet today, the converse rings true.

Later in the week my interest was piqued by the headline ‘A Saudi King’s Western Dream’ on the LA Times blog, From Babylon and beyond:

Up the corniche, along the Saudi Arabian coast where boats carrying pilgrims bound for Mecca sailed for centuries, a thicket of cranes rises over whitewashed mosques along the Red Sea.
Steel flashes and blowtorches glow as 20,000 workers build a $10-billion university ordered up by a king who hopes Western ingenuity will revive the economy of this ultraconservative Muslim nation. When finished next year, the King Abdullah University of Science and Technology will offer coed classes, Western professors, a curriculum in English and other touches loathed as dangerous liberalism by Islamic fundamentalists.
The West may be dependent on Saudi crude, now as high as $145 a barrel, but this campus outside the ancient fishing village of Thuwal is a recognition that the country that is home to Islam’s holiest shrines needs the likes of USC, Oxford University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to survive globalization.

How times change! As Crosby notes in The Measure of Reality, six centuries subsequent to writings of Masudi, the Franks had not only equalled, but in some aspects also progressed ahead of the Muslims and the rest of the world. He sees the change to have been determined by a change in the pervasive mentalité of the day. The dire disregard for education, of any form, in my own Muslim community is to be lamented. The fervour with which knowledge was once sought, now serves only to drive the pursuit of the trappings of hedonism.

The first word of the Quraan revealed to the Prophet Muhammad was Iqraa, an invocation to read. The Prophet Muhammad (Peace be upon him) has said “The pursuit of knowledge is compulsory on every Muslim man and women.” The credence Islam gives to education is thus clear. In another tradition of the Prophet (Peace be upon him), he is reported to have said, “Seek knowledge, even unto China.” How sad, that a Muslim’s quest for knowledge should now be looked at as strange!

Categories
Quoting Others

Reading the world

‘The more sand that has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.’ Jean Paul

We are privileged to have learned to read, not just the signs that constitute written language but the world too, is a text, a complex system of signs, which should be read. The world is open to interpretation, we construct meaning out of just about anything, the frivolous, the mundane, the essential, they all take turns to boldly shout, ‘It’s a sign!’ But for better or for worse, our readings of the world are not fixed. As we grow older and become more proficient at reading the world, the people, images, ideas and places that constitute our individual worlds constantly invite ‘second’ readings. Our world-views then, are constantly in flux. Would it not be tragic if we looked at the world everyday with the same eyes, refusing to make sense of it? As Alvin Toffler said, ‘The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.’

“Ode to My Socks” by Pablo Neruda (translated by Robert Bly)

Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder’s hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool,
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.
They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.

 

 

Categories
Quoting Others

Getting reacquainted with my scholarly self

 

Linguistics is arguably the most hotly contested property in the academic realm. It is soaked with the blood of poets, theologians, philosophers, philologists, psychologists, biologists, anthropologists, and neurologists, along with whatever blood can be got out of grammarians.

Russ Rymer

That’s a lot of blood for me to wade through!

 

Categories
Getting Personal

The middle of the road

Standing in the middle of the road, not a child playing innocently, but an adult, an adult woman, standing in the middle of the road, searching absently for the space to take the step, that one pivotal step that assures a passage to other end of the road. It’s not middle age, at least at twenty four, I’d hope it isn’t. It is mediocrity. It’s indifference from the greater world, damnation to a place of sameness. It’s standing in the middle of the road, paralysed into a submissive stupor while the spectre of larger lives zooms past you, silently threatening all the while to knock you over.