If there is one thing that I learnt from studying Arabic language and literature during my secondary school years, it was that there is a direct link between political strength and linguistic prowess. Centuries of political and economic frailty and a lack of interest in Arabic language by the ruling elite during Ottoman rule rendered Arabic literature into a tacky and dull baroque. Great efforts were made to ensure that every line of prose or poetry amounted to stylistic perfection. Almost no effort was exerted on meaning.
Language was a perfect but tedious painting that was brushed over and over only to remain the same. There was no Picasso to turn the language on its head, to redraw it in a primitive but innovative form. Arabic newspapers today retain some unmistakable traces of the Ottoman era. Now, a lot of energy is placed on filling the pages with meaningless quotes, badly translated articles from the wire services and reproductions of poorly written press releases. Once again, there is more focus on style than on substance and meaning.
Arabic language has an excellent track record, not only for survival but also for its ability to adapt. Arabic expresses concepts in natural sciences and philosophy in ways that were unimaginable for its early nomadic speakers. However, being able to express oneself precisely, especially in formal writing and speaking, also requires having the right vocabulary and, more importantly, a set of well-defined idioms and terminology that are recognisable.
In most European languages this problem was solved centuries ago by relying on Latin and Greek roots to coin scientific, philosophical and diplomatic idioms. In Arabic, this process is still excruciating for many scholars. In linguistics, for example, a single English or French term would in some cases have over a dozen Arabic equivalents. No proper work is being done to standardise existing terms, let alone the new ones that enter the language each year. Some specialised dictionaries have been produced for medicine, military sciences and politics by several national or pan-Arab organisations. But these guardians of language have not been able to standardise scientific language and help it spread, revealing that their best efforts are not good enough.
One of the bigger problems is a lack of Arabic language resources, including dictionaries and specialised language resources that are relevant to daily life. The irony is that if someone living in 12th century Baghdad or Cairo went to a public library, he or she would be more likely to encounter more resources that would help him write a business contract, a business letter or even a love letter than a contemporary Arab. The Arabic language has produced fewer than a handful of dictionaries in the past 200 years and at least one of them is a reworked summary of a classical dictionary compiled in the 14th century.
Foreign words, mostly from the English language, invade Arabic from every corner. There is nothing wrong with borrowing words when a synonym does not exist or translation reaches a dead end. In fact, borrowing is part of the process of enriching languages. The Quran itself contains hundreds of words of foreign origin, many of which are Persian. Farsi also borrows extensively from Arabic. But excessive and unmindful borrowing can cause an ugly metamorphosis, confusing a language's identity. This is dangerous since there remains an inseparable link between language and one's sense of identity.
It is the time for the numerous Arabic language academies to work more concertedly to bring the rising tide of foreign words under control. There are words that would be nonsensical to try and find an equivalent for, such as those for democracy or television, but there are dozens if not hundreds that Arabic language has equivalents for, such as the words for radio and computer. The media, in all of its forms, should carry the responsibility to disseminate new terminology.
The bottom line is that we should not blame the language itself for its shortcomings. Language is made, developed and refined by its speakers. The future of Arabic lies in the mindset of Arabs, their way of thinking, and their sense of self. All of these need to change fundamentally. The effort begins with retaining confidence in our ability to create, a confidence that once existed naturally. Some of the greatest contributors to scientific and intellectual history wrote in Arabic. These works gave birth to algebra, contained the first accurate description of pulmonary circulation and gave rise to modern scientific methodology. In order to produce such groundbreaking works again, we must have the language to do so.
mhabboush@thenational.ae