- We thank you, Dr. Adel, firstly for accepting this invitation. At the beginning of our conversation, we would like to know some details about your academic journey. How did you choose philosophy as your specialization, and which philosophers influenced you at the beginning of your academic career?
I entered university as a student in the mid-1990s, specifically at Mohammed V University in Rabat. At that time, philosophy was only taught in two cities, Rabat and Fez. There were differences between these two cities in understanding the meaning and role of philosophy, and some elements of those differences still exist today. In Rabat, the emphasis was on the interpretive dimension, which made it one of the most important strongholds of contemporary philosophy in Morocco and the Arab world. The professors in Rabat, in this sense, were more “open” to general philosophical issues and more daring in proposing analytical tools. And perhaps the most important figures in this regard, in the eyes of the general public, were Professor Abdullah Al-Arwi (who was a history professor) and Mohammed Abed Al-Jabri. As for Fez, the focus was mainly on the philological dimension or the “history of philosophy,” which revolved around textual analysis, especially texts from the Islamic period.
Of course, we cannot be satisfied with such a general division, not to mention that these matters are no longer valid today. However, they were the case at that time, and this may explain a hidden “competition” between the two branches. This competition was embodied in the debate surrounding Ibn Rushd (Averroes), and in Rabat, it was represented by Mohammed Abed Al-Jabri, and in Fez by Jamal al-Din Al-Alawi. Jamal al-Din Al-Alawi did not attach much importance to Al-Jabri’s work on Ibn Rushd and considered it mere “ideological interpretations.” He believed that dealing with Ibn Rushd should remain closely related to his text in a philological sense. On the other hand, Al-Jabri did not think that such philological work was significant, and his response to this was evident in some of his texts. In fact, I witnessed his direct response to this criticism during the defense of a doctoral thesis by a professor who studied in Fez and defended his thesis in Rabat. In the lecture hall of Sherif Al-Idrisi, Al-Jabri said to the examining professor, “When you finish this work, put it on the shelf like your predecessors, as no one will read it.” This statement was a response to the criticism from the “Fez scholars” who considered this philological inclination as nothing more than a new “textual” trend or, rather, an intensified Orientalist trend, as one could understand today.
As for my choice of philosophy, it wasn’t really a choice. I was drawn to philosophy while I was in preparatory school, and the reason behind that was what I would describe as my contemplative nature, for which I couldn’t find a direct explanation. I remember that I was devouring the texts of Khalil Gibran with great enthusiasm, and I even memorized them. By chance, I had obtained his complete works in both Arabic and translated versions, and Khalil Gibran, with his eloquent language, poetic spirit, and philosophical depth, became my dominant companion for a considerable period during my adolescence. All of this intensified during my secondary school years when, from the very first philosophy class taught by a brilliant young professor who had come from Rabat to our city, which is located in the far south of the Western Kingdom (Dakhla), I knew from the first lesson that this was my path, and my ultimate goal was to study philosophy. And that’s what happened afterwards—I pursued philosophy despite excelling in French and Arabic literature (I was still very interested in ancient poetry) and even studying biology. That’s how things unfolded.
- Your academic career culminated in a thesis about the contemporary French philosopher Gilles Deleuze, which was published in a book titled “Gilles Deleuze’s Philosophy of Existence and Difference” (Toubkal Publishing, 2012). What is the story behind this remarkable thesis, and what were the scientific and philosophical challenges of writing a research paper about a philosopher who had only been sparsely translated at that time?
This is a text exchange between me and him, spanning approximately 23 years. As you mentioned, it originally started as an academic thesis that marked the beginning of my academic journey, under the direct supervision of Professor Mohammed Sibila, who passed away a few months ago, may God have mercy on him. The thesis was, in fact, a continuation of the work of my professors in the department and the mentioned college. A group of these professors, led by Abdel Salam Ben Abdelali and Mohammed Sibila, attempted to develop specialists in contemporary philosophy, particularly in specific philosophical texts known for their complexity. Thus, we found in this department young students who dedicated themselves to studying and understanding some of the most important contemporary philosophical figures in the Arabic language, and that was the most significant aspect.
As for myself, Gilles Deleuze was the chosen figure after I had completed an in-depth postgraduate diploma on Habermas. As you can see, there was a considerable shift and transformation here, as I accomplished this work over nearly 9 years. Of course, I cannot claim that it was an easy task, as nothing in research is straightforward. The first difficulty relates to Deleuze himself, as he was and still is one of the most complex contemporary philosophers in the West. This is due to various reasons, some of which pertain to his style and language. He does not write in an academic manner, which initially caused me to be repulsed by him, especially since I was deeply immersed in Kantian philosophy at that time. The second reason is related to the nature of his philosophy. Deleuze does not engage in traditional philosophy; rather, he practices what can be called a philosophy of philosophy, or a super-philosophy. This means that he questions the entire history of philosophy. Consequently, when reading his works, you cannot help but have the entire history of philosophy unfolded in your mind.
In addition to these difficulties, there is another challenge in that Deleuze is a philosopher who cannot be “tamed” academically. He does not belong to a specific school of thought like other thinkers. You won’t find a clear “content” or “goals” that he fights for. In other words, you won’t find an ideological framework or a concise summary of the truth of things. Instead, you find a “practice” of thinking according to a Nietzschean pattern, pushed to its extreme. This requires not only mastery of the necessary methodological elements, such as the French language and knowledge of the history of philosophy, but also a mental capacity and, I dare say, a readiness and willingness to accept this mode of thinking, because you are faced with a man who speaks, writes, and thinks according to a purely pluralistic logic. Even to this day, in France and America, we still find great hesitation and reservation towards this type of philosophy. Specialists in this field are few, while the majority may do nothing more than turn it into a series of statements that may not have much relevance to the text itself, such as praising multiplicity, difference, and the creativity of concepts. This statement has little real value because the question remains open about what is meant by multiplicity, difference, and concept.
Adding to these difficulties is the complete absence of intermediate texts at the time. I remember that when I started researching this man in 2001, I found almost nothing about him in Arabic, except for some scattered references and an unsuccessful translation of one book. Even in French, there were only one or two specialized books, which made the task even more challenging. Therefore, I found myself faced with the silent, harsh books of this man, waiting for me to delve into them, and this took me many years.
In truth, I was satisfied with all this effort because what I spent with it allowed me, intellectually, to not only acquire knowledge in contemporary philosophy but also equipped me with the keys that I still plead with in order to understand some elements of our contemporary world.
- It is apparent to those who observe your work that you have a broad interest in numerous philosophers. You have written about Aristotle, Machiavelli, Nietzsche, and Deleuze, undoubtedly. Also, you have delivered a series of lectures on many philosophers like Spinoza, Hegel, and others. What is the cohesive thread behind these varied interests? And how have you managed to bring together this extensive array of philosophers?
There are two ways to consider this issue: subjectivity and objectivity. I only want to speak from an objective standpoint here. So, what can be the benefit today of paying attention to philosophers like these?
This leads us to a broader and more general question: what can philosophy, in general, be useful for? To answer this question, we need to delve a little deeper. It seems to me that it is impossible to establish any practical action, whether it is ethical, political, or even economic, without an underlying idea. There is no existence of an “enlightened” action without it being governed by a preconception, which is closest to the “unconscious,” i.e., an implicit conception of the purpose, result, and significance of that action. Therefore, we cannot embark on a specific “action” without a “philosophy” that ultimately makes it possible, no matter how much that action claims to be liberated from preconceptions. Perhaps I need closer examples to clarify. Let’s look at the behavior of the most practical individuals today, let’s say they are the masters of the market, global trade, and international stock exchanges. Regardless of their claims of liberation from theoretical assumptions and pure attachment to what is practical, they ultimately remain governed by a specific theoretical foundation that may be something like the phrase “the pursuit of utility is the driving force behind every human action.” Based on this implicit assumption, two elements emerge: an economic one and a political one. From an economic perspective, we find the implicit belief that the market is capable of organizing people’s interests better than any political entity, which leads us, from a political perspective, to another belief that may be “in order to achieve the power of the ‘market-reference,’ we must support privatization and strive to minimize state intervention as much as possible.” This is the essence of what we philosophically call utilitarian or instrumental, which gives rise to the pragmatic direction. I say this without raising philosophical objections because that would take us too far.
If that is the case, and behind every practical behavior, there is an underlying philosophical conception, regardless of claims of liberation from it, then the role of philosophy would be to articulate the theoretical assumptions, which are not consciously reflected upon, that inhabit a practical behavior. From there, it exposes the cultural, political, and behavioral assumptions that govern the civilizational proposals of nations. There is no system, no matter what it is, as we have said, that is not based on a vision of the meaning of human beings, their role, and their value in the world, i.e., it is not based on a “philosophy” of existence, society, and life. In this context, here comes the self aspect. It seems to me that what has always captured my attention and appeared worthy of endorsement are the philosophical conceptions that say “yes” to life, that is, those that advocate for life. Here, I do not mean the consumerist and simplistic discourse of triumph, but rather the deep, vital, and tragic meaning at the same time. Based on this foundation, philosophers differentiate for me, and based on this foundation, some of them, both objectively and subjectively, seem more deserving of attention than others.
Let’s take a practical example of all this and consider two philosophers, Descartes and Spinoza, who are similar in many ways. I have good knowledge of Descartes, but I find that, beyond the academic level, he is not a philosopher who adds much. Why? Because he is not radical enough. The celebration of the mind, the limitations of the mind according to Descartes, and the glorification of human freedom and superiority have only resulted in what we see today: a war against nature and beings, a war that threatens the very existence of humanity in the world today, as we know it.
But another philosopher, like Spinoza, interests me more. Why? Because his rationality is not superficial, formal, or partial. He does not settle for the “standard” dimension of the mind, meaning that he does not stop at the boundaries of saying what is a mind and what is not. Instead, he pushes rationality to the point of seeking out what we consider “non-mind.” In the fourth book of the Ethics, he says: “We must consider emotions as existing geometrically and not merely condemn them as Descartes did. Criticizing emotions, while morally satisfying, hinders theoretical understanding and, therefore, does not solve the problem practically.”
Based on this basis, I can answer and say that the common thread that unites all those I admire is their radical “rationality.” They were philosophers in the strong sense, philosophers who established ontologies that go beyond the limits of philosophy and the mind itself. They were philosophers who did not succumb to moral or rhetorical tendencies that merely say, “one should,” which ultimately means “one should stop,” rather than pushing thought to its maximum limits. I am not at all enthralled by this discourse, nor do I consider it philosophy. It is just a kind of ideology that creates a superimposed system of how one should think and, consequently, how one should live. Every ideology ends up in oppression, even if adorned with shiny theoretical slogans like “commitment,” “rationality,” “responsibility,” and others. We know what all these commitment discourses have led to, both in our country and in the world. In the name of this commitment, whether racial in Nazi Germany or revolutionary in the Soviet Union, hundreds of thousands, even millions, of people were killed. And in the name of national, religious, or revolutionary commitment in our country, especially in the 1960s and 1970s, and even today, people’s freedoms were violated, and this region and its peoples were involved in military and populist adventures that are responsible for a significant part of our wounds today. All of this happened because certain individuals, sometimes in the name of revolutionary commitment, and other times in the name of national, moral, or religious commitment, believed that they knew better than others what they should do with their lives.
- The Arab philosopher faces a persistent question regarding the legitimacy of his designation on one hand, and his existence on the other. How do you define the Arab philosopher and who is the philosopher from your perspective?
This is an old issue in our culture, and I would even say that it is much less pronounced today than it was in the past. In general, anyone engaged in philosophy or illegitimate sciences, whether it be logic, chemistry, astrology, or others, has always faced some form of rejection in our traditional society. This is exemplified by various cases, the most famous of which is the persecution of Ibn Rushd (Averroes), which was an extension of his debate with Al-Ghazali. This had another consequence, namely that all those engaged in philosophy in the Islamic world had to dedicate part of their effort and time to prove the “permissibility” of engaging with philosophy or wisdom in their own terms, and the permissibility of pursuing the sciences of the ancients. This even affected those who engaged in the most abstract sciences such as mathematics, contrary to popular belief.
But why was the issue posed this way? The answer is very simple: the questions that philosophy addresses, especially foundational and existential issues in their primary sense, are questions that have been religiously settled. The matter of the origin of existence and its purpose, and consequently how individuals should conduct their lives, are matters in which religious belief holds final answers. Therefore, any claim to question them, let alone claim to provide alternative answers different from the religious ones, is initially rejected. In religion, the answers always precede the questions, so all that remains is to examine how we “apply judgments to facts.” In philosophy, the answers always come after the questions, which is why philosophers often emphasize doubt, questioning, and inquiry, while religion emphasizes the importance of tranquility, certainty, and faith. My intention here is not to say that one of these two activities, faith and thinking, is correct and the other is wrong. Otherwise, one could argue that religion has a “stronger” authority than philosophy in metaphysical matters, especially considering that philosophy has moved away from questions of the unknown for three centuries, when it was considered that reason has no authority over what cannot be measured, i.e., what goes beyond “sensibility” in Kant’s language. Rather, my aim is to clarify the methodological and foundational differences between these two fundamental activities.
The transformation happening today lies in the fact that the objection to philosophy comes for reasons other than religion alone, and not from the conflict over the validity of questioning in moral and existential issues. It comes from a purely “situated” standpoint. Therefore, philosophy, as a form of knowledge, is experiencing a crisis today even in its traditional strongholds, such as Germany and France. The protest against philosophy today comes in the name of a specific “philosophy,” which is the new experimental and scientific tendency. By this, I mean the conception that is based on considering that anything that cannot be “measured” is not subject to knowledge, and therefore any knowledge that does not produce a “measure” has no value. Hence, you find that all sciences that deal with meanings, values, and questions of purpose seem to be in a crisis today. Added to this is the dominance of the “applicatory” and “pragmatic” ideology, an ideology that has been criticized and analyzed by contemporary philosophers and thinkers. The opposition to this ideology has given rise to radical intellectual trends that demonstrate how the migration of questions of meaning and immersion in the pragmatic dimension are the root causes of the most dangerous threat facing the world today, which is the ecological threat. The deep-seated essence of this ideology is the view of nature as a purely reactive subject or a subject to be harnessed. It is something “empty” of meaning, merely an extension of neglect, the goal of which is to be a subject of human action. However, what becomes evident to us from what is happening today is that this vertical relationship and confrontational conception of the meaning of human and nature are erroneous, and even dangerous. Human beings are not something that acts upon nature; rather, they exist in and with nature. They are nature itself. Therefore, it is impossible, as recently happened, to alter the composition of nature without changing the composition of all life, including humans. As a result, an increase in temperature becomes a cause for tropical microorganisms to move from their “natural” habitat to other areas, leading to pandemics. What we learn from this is that humans are not “disconnected” from nature; they are connected to other organisms, even to this wild animal from which the virus originated in China, according to official reports, and which we were not aware of before the pandemic. What we learn from this is that viruses, these small “insignificant” organisms that are not even considered alive, can halt human movement, their massive machines, their jets, and their grand laboratories for months, and even kill hundreds of thousands of them, with more to come. The scientific tendency tells us that medicine can eliminate diseases. However, what we discover today is that the development of medicine itself produces diseases. The same goes for nutrition, luxury goods, and others. Our rich industrialized food may have kept us away from hunger, yes, but it brought us closer to diabetes, hypertension, and heart diseases. Even obesity, which used to be a symbol of beauty not long ago, has become the most dangerous disease of our time. Similarly, our preservatives, pesticides, chemical cleaners surrounding us in crops, products, food, clothing, and furniture have kept us away from insects, dirt, and poverty, yes, but they bring us closer to cancer and diseases of the nervous, glandular, reproductive, and genetic systems.
Returning to your question, based on all of this, what do I, as a philosopher, have to say?
Despite the difficulty of the question, considering that philosophy is not a “science,” let’s say that it is the one that possesses a different conception of truth. It is the one who can produce a question that allows us to escape from the “box” of permissible vision and provides sufficient theoretical tools to clarify the elements of this departure and how to achieve it. The rest are engaged in philosophy or are philosophy professors or diligent thinkers, and often there is confusion between them: philosophy teachers, philosophy historians, and philosophers. For me, it is completely different, just as there is a difference between an artist and an art teacher, or a scientist and a science teacher or historian.
In this sense, philosophers are rare, yes, they are also rare, but true scientists, artists, and poets are also very rare. The artists who have changed the meaning of perspective in art, and the scientists who have challenged previous assumptions that seemed automatic and “intuitive” in science, are indeed very rare. That is why I still consider myself a professor of the history of philosophy, not a philosopher.
- In this context, I would like to ask you about philosophy in the Arab world. As you know, contemporary Arab philosophy began around a century ago as an attempt to revive a long history of philosophy that had been severed from them (Arab philosophers) due to complex historical and cultural circumstances. In your opinion, what is the future of Arab philosophy? How do we connect the possibility of contemporary Arab philosophy to their past and future, especially with the developments in contemporary philosophy concerning the body, the nerves, the environment, and animals—issues and concepts that have not been extensively addressed in philosophical discourse?
I am not very optimistic about this matter, but this is not due to personal estimation or negative inclination on my part. Rather, it has clear reasons and explanatory elements. First of all, the entire world, including those who write in Arabic, is shifting away from literature and entering the realm of numbers. The written word today, whether it is poetry, literature, or philosophy, is experiencing stagnation. And this is not limited to us alone, but rather a general issue, as evidenced by the declining book sales that have reached alarming levels. I do not wish to delve into the reasons behind this matter, as they are complex and intertwined, and I have addressed them on other occasions. However, I can say at least that they are not due to ethical reasons, such as laziness or apathy on the part of readers, as some may claim. Rather, they are a result of a transformation in the meaning of communication, society, culture, and ultimately, the meaning of being itself. Great philosophers have grappled with this issue for centuries, dissecting it and offering their insights. While the pandemic and the major upheavals we’re facing may have sparked a renewed interest, these are ultimately temporary changes. The root causes of this deep issue lie much further back in time.
Returning to your question, how can we give momentum to what we call philosophy in this region of the world today?
I believe it can be achieved through connecting and familiarizing ourselves with what is happening in other parts of the world. There are extremely important issues being raised today that have not yet gained attention or been extensively studied in our region. These include the question of life in its various aspects, such as the materiality of human beings, animal issues, the environment, the body, gender, and the intersection of medicine and law. For example, the issue of animals is not at all addressed in our region. We lack universities, writers, or researchers who are dedicated to exploring this subject within a scientific framework. Meanwhile, in countries like the United States, Australia, and France, the “ethical status” of animals is the subject of extensive research and public debate. You can find renowned researchers, such as Peter Singer in the United States, who recently conducted a major study on the philosophy of animals at one of the most prestigious universities, along with other philosophers who either support or oppose his views in other universities. I do not know why this matter does not capture our interest, despite the fact that our heritage is closely connected to seriously investigating this issue. Perhaps it is because the question of human beings themselves has not been deeply explored yet.
Personally, I have attempted to address this on my own modest level, and I currently have students writing theses on these topics. The issues of law, bodily autonomy, torture, gender, and the brain are all extremely important issues that we do not contemplate. Science has made frightening strides in transforming the meaning of everything we know, including matter, thought, society, politics, and culture. However, science does not inherently contemplate “goals” because it is neutral and does not inquire about meaning. When a scientist is engaged in their specialization, they should not express their opinion or value judgment about what they are doing. They may do so later, when they step out of the laboratory, but even then, it is considered their personal opinion or perspective. The question of meaning is a philosophical question, and it is the philosophers’ role to undertake it, provided they have acquired the necessary knowledge and precise understanding of these matters. This requires rigorous effort and strong language skills, which, unfortunately, continue to decline among our students.
In summary, connecting with ourselves in the past is achieved through connecting with others in the present.
- You have given great attention to philosophers of life, such as Spinoza, Nietzsche, and Deleuze, and thus you have favored philosophies of life and empowerment from a philosophical and stylistic perspective over other philosophical trends such as existentialism, historicism, and hermeneutics. What is the relevance of philosophies of life and empowerment to the Arab philosopher?
I believe that what matters to me most in this matter is that it opens up a horizon for thinking and engagement, away from the pitfalls of ideology. We have spent a period of the 20th century engrossed in Marxism, followed by another period focused on existentialism, and then post-structuralism, particularly in literature. Added to all of this is the “heritage trend” that has philosophically constrained us for decades. It has become clear that all of this was not “philosophy,” but rather specific ideologies. Yes, there was the pressure of reality that imposed this, and there was and still is a desire for renaissance and liberation. However, those who engaged with these issues dealt with them according to an ideological conception that led many of them to oversimplification. Now you can see that many of these works have been abandoned because they have simply expired. Who speaks today about “objective Marxism,” for example? What seems to me is that I belong to a fortunate generation, as I always say, that did not live with ideological ambitions. This liberated us from rigid conceptions about the meaning of history, reality, and humanity, and thus freed us from the naive voluntaristic tendency that believes that a theoretically coherent discourse, which we promote as a creed, can bring about a change in reality. Today we understand that this is simplistic because reality is obstinate, solid, and indifferent by nature. As Lacan says, reality is cold, silent, hard, and inherently elusive. Therefore, what matters to me is to think about what is “being” rather than what should be, and to repeat a recurring phrase. This pushes me to think, consequently, about life from the perspective of what shapes us, rather than what we shape, because it is the general and we are the specific.
To be frank in this matter, I must say that this methodological conclusion required effort and time for me to embody and understand it because it contradicts the initial human psychological readiness, which is based on the belief in regulating and understanding what happens “as it is in itself.” However, what helped me in this matter was undoubtedly Spinoza, then Bergson, and even Clément Rosset. This great philosopher, in my opinion, has not been translated into Arabic. All of this necessarily directed me towards taking the issue of life seriously, that is, the issue of nature before culture, the issue of the brain before the mind, and the issue of the body before freedom. This is some of what I can explain regarding this inclination that appears in my modest work.
- We would like to look a little towards Deleuze and Arabic. More than twenty years ago, translations of Deleuze’s books, such as What is Philosophy? and Spinoza and the Problem of Expression, were undertaken. In recent years, this trend has intensified, with an increase in translations and writings about Deleuze. Notably, Différence et Répétition was translated for the first time in 2009 by the Arab Organization for Translation, under the title al-ikhtilāf wa al-tikrār. Another translation, titled al-farq wa al-muʿāwada, was published by Tawaa Culture in 2015. Additionally, you have contributed to the translation of Spinoza’s Practical Philosophy (Toubkal Publishing, 2017) and collaborated with Professor Abdelsalam Benabdelali on a recently published selection of Deleuzian texts. The proliferation of Deleuze’s translations in various contexts raises the question: What is the significance of Arab culture engaging with Deleuzian texts? How does Deleuze’s work help us approach the fundamental question of philosophy, and what potential answers does it provide?
Deleuze is a powerful and challenging philosopher, even when compared to his purely Western cultural context. This is due to reasons that were previously explained. We are here facing a “metaphysical” philosopher in his method of work, a philosopher who explores fundamental questions and primary possibilities. Perhaps this is why we find a significant influence of Foucault on him in his famous phrase: “Perhaps the century (the twentieth) will be Deleuzian.” With a philosopher like Deleuze, you cannot categorize him, as he is neither neo, Marxist, nor existentialist, nor anything else. However, when you read his book A Thousand Plateaus or Mille Plateaux, as it is translated, you understand that you have no chance of understanding what is happening in philosophy and in the contemporary mode of consciousness without this key. This is what the Italian Marxist philosopher, Toni Negri, clarified. Ironically, he considers Deleuze to be one of the most important keys to the world we live in.
I am not a Deleuzian, not only because I dislike classifications, but also because this type of philosophy does not recognize belonging. It is a thought that is not defined except by distances, considering that life is always a distance. However, I have found and continue to find in this man’s texts a wonderful “toolbox” for analysis. I’m not sure if it is worthwhile to translate all of this philosopher’s texts, as they may not resonate. But what I believe is that the current reality of the Arabic language and the chronological situation, if we want to call it that, in which Arab culture exists, may make it not receptive to such thinking. Therefore, I’m not sure of the usefulness of translating a work like Difference and Repetition. The evidence is that I do not see any significant discussion generated by its dual translation, nor even the translation of the book What is Philosophy? The most notable thing that remains from it and is widely discussed is the phrase “Philosophy is the creation of concepts.” In my view, this was a simplification that does not do justice to the book and its author’s thought. Why? Because we have preserved the concept in its Hegelian sense, while the author’s concept is not a collection and preservation of the essential elements of a thing, as Aristotle used to say. Rather, it is “what makes distance.” We can say that the concept is what makes something specific “be” and enter the field of vision after being veiled from us. The concept “happens” to a person, or rather, it is the meaning. That’s why he wrote another book in the late 1960s called Logic of Sense, which can only be understood in relation to traditional conceptual logic. However, awareness of this requires a return to other philosophers whom Deleuze has engaged with for a long time, the first of whom is Gilbert Simondon, whom he relies on and mentions repeatedly.
Thus, as much as one may be happy for every effort exerted in translating a work, one may also fear that this effort may not be of great benefit. On this basis, I tried to make my first work about the man a “gateway,” but only a gateway, not an absolute summary or collection. I followed it with other subsequent books that are translations, but in these translations, I tried to choose what may not require a “Deleuzian” culture to understand. Thus, the first translation Spinoza: Practical Philosophy was a text written by Deleuze about a philosopher that can be read even by those who do not possess a purely philosophical culture, except for the fourth section. This was an opportunity for me to see how a great philosopher simplifies and explains another great philosopher who preceded him. As for the recently published translation with Professor Benabdellali (Outside of Philosophy), the idea was to choose “selected texts.” The motivation behind this was the element I mentioned earlier, namely, not to translate Deleuze from a perspective that is in itself a text. I find this to be of little benefit. Instead, in accordance with the esteemed Professor Abdel Salam Benabdellali, who translated and selected these texts with me, it was a translation of what can “pass through” and have an impact on the current Arab cultural discourse.
Of course, this has its limits, but they are less harmful than translating texts that are bought to be placed on the shelf, even if the effort put into them is immense. And even to give credit where it is due, I must say that I personally learned this matter and this vision from Professor Benabdellali, whether in our direct discussions, or in what I have read of his texts about his theory of translation, or even in his previous translations, especially those that were “jointly” done, with the late Mohammed Sabila (such as the series Philosophical Notebooks, for example).
- In this context, we might consider the following: Since the 1980s, Mutaa Safdi has endeavored to define what is known as “postmodernism.” He has attempted to present thinkers he refers to as the “philosophers of difference,” including Foucault, Deleuze, Derrida, and others. Through translation, explanation, and presentation, how do you think an Arab philosopher can balance multiple tasks, such as interpretation, translation, and presentation, without simply becoming an advocate for a particular philosophy? And, most importantly, how can we engage with a thinker without being merely uncritical readers of their work?
I am not familiar with Professor Safdi’s writings or experiences, so I can only provide a general perspective on your questions. Firstly, I prefer to avoid using derogatory language, so I don’t find the term “postmodernism” to be particularly meaningful. It is a broad classification in which some individuals categorize anything they do not understand in the contemporary world, including art, architecture, fashion, music, values, and even philosophy. The purpose of philosophy, according to previous philosophers, is to “attain consciousness of what is happening in reality.” It involves the philosopher’s attempt to understand themselves, their components, and the reasons behind their existence.
To gain awareness of reality, one must describe it as it truly is. When we turn to describe the reality of the present world, we observe that it is different from anything that came before. Concepts such as identity, belonging, essence, unity, and coherence are no longer sufficient to describe what is happening. The consciousness of contemporary human beings and their mode of existence are no longer unified or coherent. For example, a contemporary individual can be a global citizen, engaging in thought and communication in overlapping languages with people of multiple virtual or real nationalities and affiliations. They may write Arabic using Latin letters, eat Japanese sushi in Rabat, or enjoy Chinese chow mein in Riyadh. Today, we are hybrids and cosmopolitans in a globalized Babylon, and this has disrupted “traditional” notions of belonging, culture, and values. My son, born in the mid-2000s, may have more in common with a child of the same age living in South Korea today than me, being born in the 1970s. This represents a significant shift compared to previous generations, where the son was essentially “his father’s secret,” and the grandson would simply repeat the way of life, thinking, values, beliefs, and tribal affiliations of his ancestors. This sort of repetition would apply to everything. In seeking to describe and analyze this phenomenon, the philosopher is not “preaching” on a theoretical level, but simply documenting a practical, real-world transformation. To suggest that the philosopher “intends” for this phenomenon to occur is akin to saying that a doctor who informs you of your illness is the “cause” of your illness.
Yes, we may love or not love this reality, and we may even oppose it and call for “resistance” to it. However, describing it as it is has no relation to love or hatred. “Reality does not rise.” Loving or hating it does not change its objective truth, no matter how much this truth may hurt our beliefs and break our self-imposed frameworks. This is why describing a philosopher’s ideas as a mode of existence that transcends and explodes the traditional modernist conception of reason, identity, and belonging can be apt. To understand such a thinker, we might need a different framework, like the “postmodern” mode of existence. Lyotard’s famous work, The Postmodern Condition, exemplifies this approach. To then say of this philosopher, or of Lyotard himself, “he is postmodern” is akin to saying of someone who tells you the earth is round that he is “round.” Similarly, disliking the implications of these ideas on your own beliefs wouldn’t be about the earth’s roundness itself, but rather the challenge it poses to your established views.
When a philosopher works on “naming” reality, he seeks to understand what is happening with the tools available to him, and he does not call for anything unless he becomes an ideologue, which is different from philosophy. The true philosopher, at the level of pure philosophy, is a man who does not “desire” anything from reality, or rather, he “knows nothing” in advance. He is a man who constantly reviews, revisits, and changes his questions before the answers. This is far removed from the preacher who ends up with an answer and considers it the conclusion. All he can do is defend it. Here lies the main difference between the logic of preaching and the logic of philosophy. Therefore, in principle, I do not think it is correct to proclaim something called Derrida, for example, or Deleuze, because they are not “dogmatists,” or rather, the only content of their possible creed is what we find in Nietzsche’s famous fragment, “I hate to lead others, my hatred because others lead me.” Therefore, it seems to me that the most appropriate way to approach this kind of thought is to think about it, not to think with it. As for believing that these are “doctrines” that should be proclaimed, this means that we have not understood the essence of such thought. We are facing a thought and philosophy that starts with the premise that the era of “grand narratives” and universal metaphysical narratives and the logic of “bees and ants” that correspond to reach one truth is an era that has ended.
As for the term “philosophy of difference,” in the plural, which you mentioned, personally I do not find great value in such a term. There are many differences among the names you mentioned, and it is not useful to say that they are “postmodern philosophy” or “philosophy of difference.” Between Derrida and Foucault, for example, there are deep differences in methodology, vision, and purpose. In fact, there are differences that have reached the limits of aversion and absolute contradiction, as happened in their interpretation of a text by Descartes mentioned in the book Meditations. This can be extended to many other names. Therefore, it seems to me that it is not correct to gather such names under one term, unless the context is the desire to avoid the effort of understanding, which, as you know, is favored by the thoughtful thinker.
- For anyone who is familiar (even to a small extent) with the texts of Deleuze, the importance of the concept of desire is evident. Can you please explain to us the significance of this concept and how it operates within Deleuze’s framework in his works, and how Deleuze’s understanding of desire differs from psychoanalytic analysis?
It will not be easy to elaborate on such a matter because it requires a preliminary knowledge of the history of thought and moral philosophy, and it may make our discussion become academic. In this dialogue, I am keen to use simple and non-specialized language. However, if necessary, let us at least mention some general aspects.
The first element we should start with here is to evoke the transformation that occurred in the meaning of desire with Spinoza. This matter finds its initial intuition in Spinoza’s thought, and this intuition relates to two things: the “value” of desire and the “nature of desire.” In the previous metaphysical perspective, we used to consider humans as rational beings, and this had consequences. Firstly, emotions became something unrelated to the “essence” of humans; they became something accidental, or rather, a deviation that affects its rational nature. Based on this, a second notion emerged, which is the perception of desire as a “lack.” On this basis, a complete moral system arose, which still governs us in our “natural philosophy.” It is based on considering desires as “evil” that should be countered with “asceticism,” that is, to rationalize them morally. This is evident in the famous Epicurean equation that distinguishes between necessary natural needs, natural needs that are not necessary, and needs that are neither necessary nor natural. These are the desires that should be rejected as much as possible.
But what if the essence of humans is not reason (and this is the first heart that Spinoza introduced)? What if the deep essence of humans is desire, considering that reason itself is constantly governed by a preceding desire that drives it towards realization? And what if desire is not a “lack” that seeks to fulfill pleasure but rather an “energy” of life that precedes all objects (and this is the second heart)? Here, objects do not become primary and desire secondary; rather, the opposite happens. This leads to a comprehensive change in the entire traditional moral system. We say with Spinoza, “We do not desire things because they are inherently good, but we consider things good because we desire them.” Desire here always becomes primary, and objects become secondary. What Deleuze will build upon this vision includes something else related to this general intuition, but it is different from it. He will view desire as “production” always, which directly puts him in confrontation with the Platonic conception, and also with other more contemporary conceptions, including Michel Foucault himself.
This results in another issue related to the image of humans, their meaning, and the nature of the mind. It shifts from the “speaking animal” or the rational Aristotelian who builds a value system based fundamentally on guilt, the negation of desire, and the affirmation of pleasure. This is the essence of Platonism. It transforms into “desiring machines” that extend, rather than build, the molecular connections that are incessant, along with the rest of the components that populate their environment, in an expansive and equalizing dispersion. There are only quantities of extension and efforts of molecular connection that occur “beyond good and evil” at all times. This is precisely what the provocative and strange initial pages of the famous book Anti-Oedipus mean.
Speaking of Anti-Oedipus and in relation to the concept of desire, we should not forget that the discourse of Deleuze and Guattari was also directed towards psychoanalysis, and specifically towards a certain interpretation of psychoanalysis, namely structural interpretation. This matter has contextual and cultural conditions related to the authority of Lacan and psychoanalysis in Western thought at that time, and these are matters that cannot be addressed here.
- After searching, we have found some musical recordings for you. Philosophy has a close relationship with music, and Deleuze had an interest in music. How does music accompany the philosopher in his thinking?
Our perception of music is often associated with “entertainment,” “pleasure,” and enjoyment, which is why the “serious” individuals among us, those who consider themselves “important” regardless of their ideology, do not believe that it is the philosopher’s task to engage with aesthetics. This mindset reflects the extent of the melancholic perception that governs our relationship with life and seeps into the consciousness of many of our intellectuals. First and foremost, it should be noted that music is a scientific discipline, a precise mathematical science. Its study requires specialization and years of dedication and contemplation, whether it pertains to music theory, which is the most challenging aspect, or practical application on instruments. This knowledge and expertise were considered almost essential by ancient philosophers. It was inconceivable for someone to engage in established sciences without having a familiarity with music or what Muslim philosophers referred to as “the science of melodies.” From Plato onwards, all philosophers had opinions on music. This continued until very recently and is evident in the history of science and among scientists until the modern era. Galileo, for instance, conducted studies on music because, in his view and the view of his contemporaries, it was, just as it was for Plato, a key to understanding the universe. The same goes for Kepler, who, based on the works of his predecessors, sought to establish musical scales for planetary movement, and so on. Of course, this is related to the theory of the ancient elements and the ambitious “universal science” of Pythagoreanism, accompanied by a “harmonious” vision of the world, which is summed up in what modern scholars refer to as mathematesis universalis. Despite the dissolution of this perception due to the disintegration of the cosmological foundations it was built upon, I believe that music remains a significant key to understanding philosophically. I am not referring to popular or even composed music, but specifically to music theory. I must confess that understanding music and elements of its history personally helped me grasp the “intuition” that underlies many philosophies. To comprehend, for example, Spinoza’s geometric conception or Descartes before him, one must listen to Lully and Rameau, especially in their compositional style governed by a “mathematical coherence” model. Thus, the linear structure of melody in Rameau and the contrapuntal texture of short phrases adopted by him remain fundamental gateways to grasp the intuition of “classical rationality” found in sculpture, architecture, and other domains. The same can be said for later eras, where, in my view, understanding the literary and philosophical spirit of Romanticism remains incomplete without assimilating the works of the so-called “Generation of 1810” in music. Nothing expresses the “tragic Romantic consciousness” more than the music of this generation, with their major compositions. And before them, Beethoven’s music, which symbolized the entrance of emotions, even the “maddest” ones, in Hegel’s words, into the realm of objectivity. This was the clearest expression of the decline of the cold, mathematical, classical spirit and the birth of the vibrant Romantic spirit. If we agree on the aforementioned, it becomes possible to draw connections between music and thought: An Essay in Method and the book Theory of Harmony by Rameau, or Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 and Rousseau’s Confessions, the works of Kant and the works of Johann Sebastian Bach, Nietzsche’s texts and the works of the Viennese Schoenberg Circle, and much more. By the way, there are important intellectual works that have sought to elucidate and study this connection, with the prominent researcher Francis Wolff’s works being among the most significant.
Returning to my simple self, what has always intrigued me in music is the attempt to achieve an “awareness” based on the “emotional” foundation upon which all these philosophies were built. Of course, this awareness was not initially present because my study of music preceded my work in philosophy. Therefore, I am very grateful for the long years I spent in the institute and thankful to my parents for encouraging me as a child to study and unravel this fascinating thing called “musical notation.” At that time, it unexpectedly became an integral part of my philosophical taste. As for playing certain instruments, especially classical ones, this is a special matter. I consider it an extension of the theoretical and cognitive foundation that has taken and continues to take a significant amount of time, referring specifically to the study of music with its three fundamental components.
- In the contemporary Arab scene, there is a prevalent focus on discussing and contemplating science using the tools and methodologies of analytical philosophy, while the perspective of continental philosophy is absent. This creates an impression that continental philosophy is nothing more than beautiful poetry or prose. From your perspective, how can Gilles Deleuze, who spoke about the brain, the body without organs, mathematics, and linguistics, enrich our understanding of science in general and neuroscience in particular?
I need to present some elements through which I understand this issue. Firstly, I don’t find much value in this division of “continental versus analytic” philosophy, simply because philosophy is philosophy. It either operates within its own tools and conditions, where geographical location is irrelevant, or it doesn’t exist as such. It is true that there is a recent criticism of European philosophy as being “linguistic,” as you mentioned, and I will come back to that. However, let’s not forget that there are also criticisms of Anglo-Saxon philosophy in return, for example, that it doesn’t acknowledge the foundations achieved by ideology. Some even consider it “not philosophy” because it empties philosophy of its critical and analytical dimension, turning it into a technical discourse on language. Marxists have been particularly vocal about this, starting with Marx himself, who referred to his English contemporaries as “grocers” whose philosophy doesn’t bother anyone or change anyone’s conception. The same applies to the extensions of Marxism, as seen with the Frankfurt School, represented by figures like Adorno and Marcuse, who criticized the foundations of this philosophy, considering it a major “misunderstanding” that confuses concepts and words to the extent that words like “freedom” become semantically equivalent to “pineapple” or “broom.”
Certainly, I acknowledge that such criticisms and counter-criticisms exist. However, I don’t believe that such criticism applies to everyone, nor do I believe that the division we mentioned, continental versus analytic, is accurate. Why? Because the connections between these two orientations are very strong. William James, the founder of the pragmatic school and one of the most influential inspirations for the practical tendency, was a voracious reader of metaphysics. His correspondence with Bergson is a testament to this. Not to mention his deep interest in the philosophy of religion. In fact, personally, he exhibited a strange kind of inconsistency with all the tenets of the “Anglo-Saxon orientation.” The same applies to those who are attributed as the founders of “philosophy of language,” such as Wittgenstein. It should be noted that Wittgenstein himself was Austrian, i.e., of a Germanic background and culture, and there is nothing more “continental” than that. Moreover, he was not absolutely against what we might call “beautiful prose.” He had multiple philosophical facets, one of which was his Sufi inclination, and another was his poetic side. People still recall how he once attended a philosophical meeting and recited a poem by Tagore, and how he categorically refused to join the positivists or head their group according to their request. There is a famous story about that. Additionally, in his texts, he presents horizons that are far from narrow technical conceptions. We find in these texts a conceptualization of the meaning of truth, the world, and the mind, a conceptualization that one specialist describes as a phenomenology of limits.
Regarding the claim that some analysts or their followers accuse what they call “continental” philosophers of being nothing more than literary figures, this is an old accusation that has been directed towards philosophy in general. We can find it even in the dialogues of Plato. It is the same accusation that many philosophers have been judged by, even in our culture, as being engaged in futile discourse. Personally, I don’t attach much importance to this accusation, as it lacks meaning. Anyone who writes in natural language is bound to produce texts, which means they are writers, whether their style is dry and direct like Wittgenstein or conceptually foundational like Heidegger. In other words, anyone engaged in philosophy writes through a certain philosophy, a certain conception of the nature of truth, even if this conception seems to be opposed to philosophy. Every negative stance towards a certain philosophy necessarily stems from within another philosophy about the nature of truth and language. To say that these philosophers are mere poets who have lost their way or that others are mere “grocers” is a simplistic and naive thought that does not understand the conditions that make their statements possible. This doesn’t concern me much.
As a final point, we had a whole movement that was adopted by the late Zaki Naguib Mahmoud, who had a very strict position and openly expressed strong hostility towards what he called metaphysics, that is, anything that does not accept the principle of empirical verification. But what has become of Zaki Naguib Mahmoud’s thought? It has become nothing more than a preacher of a philosophical sect, a sect that opposes other sects and ridicules them, but it itself is a preacher of a sect that is rejected and ridiculed by other sects. Doctrinal judgments do not matter much in thought, and sectarianism itself does not matter. What matters are the texts, the work, and the effort of understanding. In this regard, we need everything: analysts, synthetic thinkers, continental philosophers, and whatever you may call them. Otherwise, we will end up taking a dogmatic or ideological stance and impose our authority on people under the pretext of “this is good philosophy, and that is corrupt philosophy.” Who are we to do this? Who gives us the right? And is it even possible today? Can we prevent a young person from the generation of open spaces today, who wants to read Nietzsche, from reading him? Will we establish “philosophical” police? And let’s assume, by some miracle, we manage to do this, which is impossible, what model will we choose? Texts like Michel Aflaq, for example, as some Arab systems attempted to do at one point, and we have witnessed the theoretical and practical destruction that resulted from these systems and their “philosophical choices.”
Any attempt to define what should be considered philosophical will be based on an ideology and a certain inclination that contradicts the spirit of philosophy, considering that the first condition in philosophy is freedom.
- There are current tendencies that claim literature is not beneficial from a philosophical perspective. How do you respond to such a claim? And what are the connections between philosophy and literature?
The matter remains subject to our perspective and understanding of the relationship between thought and literature, and then between thought and natural language in general. It is true that literature is separate from philosophy, and that the tools employed by each are independent of the other. However, the connection between the two is present and significant, just as it exists between philosophy and science, and between philosophy and religion.
The prevailing simplistic perception is that literature is the realm of emotions and sentiments, in contrast to science, which is the realm of the rational mind and strict empirical measurement. Therefore, literature is seen as a field of producing emotions, while science is seen as a field of producing facts. Emotions are considered false and practically useless, whereas truth, even if it is not beautiful, remains honest. The truth is that this perception, promoted by many intellectuals and positivists, is actually naive. Why? Because it is binary and confrontational in its structure, and impressionistic and simplistic in its content. Let’s examine this very division, literature and science. First of all, literature is not the domain of “false emotions and sentiments,” as it may be believed. Rather, it is a different mode of producing truth, a truth that cannot be measured. Therefore, if we want to know the “truth” of the existential experience of a nation, that is, how it understood its existence and endured it, what presents this to us is its literature. Thus, we understand the tragic nature and the moral and religious conceptions possessed by the Greeks, the Mesopotamians, and even ancient humans, more through reading their myths and poetry than through their purely scientific productions. In fact, I would go so far as to say that science itself cannot become true science unless it becomes the subject of reflection and awareness. Linguistically, this is why we consider the Greeks as ancient mathematicians because they left behind Euclid’s Elements, while we do not consider the Egyptians as such, despite witnessing with our own eyes the engineering skill they possessed through the pyramids. Literature is not a matter of emotions. Andre Gide once said, “With beautiful emotions, we produce nothing but bad literature.” Literature is different in expressing the truth. It requires, among other things, a great deal of knowledge and awareness, including linguistics, grammar, semiotics, rhetoric, and eloquence. The same holds true in the opposite direction. What is science? It is the arduous human effort, the limited human endeavor that implores evidence, experiments, imagination, and individual genius to achieve its goals. What is the difference between one great scientist and another? It is their ability to create and imagine, their breadth of vision, and their capacity for “intuiting” a relationship that another scientist cannot. In science, everything begins with a hypothesis or, rather, a theory, which is a “particular” individual conception of a certain relationship. Then comes the evidence to serve as the objective carrier of this theory.
The truth is that the evidence for this is undeniable, and the entire history of science is evidence of that. This history was not a steady linear progression, moving calmly and assuredly from ignorance to enlightenment, as some people imagine. Rather, it was an effort of individuals, circumstances, and lives, with struggles, imagination, and personal endeavors. Literature and science are different modes of expressing the same thing, which is the truth of the human experience. It is not by chance that we can only comprehend the most important scientific theories from people who excel in storytelling, who can turn them into narratives. Scientists have always relied on literature and natural language to explain their ideas, whether in ancient times (such as the Greek dialogues, which continued until modern times, as seen in Galileo’s dialogue on The Two Chief World Systems where he presented his theory) or in contemporary times (Einstein in his book The World as I See It, for example, or Hawking in his essay, A Brief History of Time). If that is the case, then the connection between philosophy and literature is intimate, as is its connection with science. Thus, even returning to Deleuze’s model that I mentioned earlier, you find in it, within the same text, an engagement with Kafka and Bacon, coupled with an engagement with differential calculus and contemporary mathematics. The philosopher draws from all human activities as much as they can, of course, as long as their work does not become a scientific fabrication or linguistic babble.
- You accompanied us in this dialogue from the beginnings of your academic journey, from Spinoza to Habermas and Deleuze, and even literature and music. In conclusion, Dr. Adel, what are your current intellectual concerns? And where are you heading?
I do not predefine anything for myself that I must pursue. I do not carve a path that precedes walking because I do not believe in the idea of projects, and I do not think that “projects” are possible in philosophy. Projects stem from the idea that the thinker weaves through the details of the subject they are pursuing and that they will arrive at a “conclusive and comprehensive statement.” This contradicts my conception of thinking. Therefore, I direct myself towards anything else along the way. However, there is one thing I do not deviate from, something that accompanies me at all times. I wish I had the opportunity to write about it, and I refer to it as “the delicacy of speech.” It encompasses some elements I previously mentioned about music, along with other aspects of literature, particularly the literature of travel, and certain rare things in Arab heritage, such as the issue of animals or love, among others. I have been entrusted, at great expense, with what Al-Jabri used to call the books of “Aṣḥāb al-Muqābasāt” (the Torch-Holders), referring to the works of Ibn ʿAbd Rabbih, al-Abshīhi, Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, al-Nawawi, and others. It is an extensive heritage that has been overshadowed by the dominance of successive ideological discourses on this language and culture. Perhaps this is nothing but a return to the beginnings. In my original formation, I was oral and traditional, influenced by what my father led me to as a child in the early 1980s in the Moroccan desert, specifically in Dakhla, the southernmost part of Morocco, adjacent to the regions of Senegal and Mauritania. At that time, Dakhla was not a city as it is now. Due to the circumstances of war and geography, it was completely isolated, not only because the sea surrounded it from three sides, but also because it had no connection to the outside world for civilians, except once every two weeks through the sea. This made it resemble a beautiful and calm exile, an exile where there were no sources of entertainment, except for the rare official lessons. Fishing, going to the mosque, and sitting with friends to learn language and ancient literature in public and private gatherings were the only distractions. Those forced to settle in the city at that time due to the outbreak of war in their vast desert were known for this. Among them were people with astonishing memorization and eloquence abilities, and they excelled in the art of poetry and mastery of grammatical and linguistic sciences. The truth is that I am indebted to that period for many things. It enabled me to familiarize myself with ancient Arab culture and “root” my knowledge in heritage. My belief is that without rooting, there can be no branches. Thus, I owe a great deal to the effort I exerted in understanding some aspects of contemporary Western philosophy, starting with this initial grounding. Without possessing a certain level of command of the Arabic language, including vocabulary, morphology, and syntax, influenced by that distant upbringing, I would not have been able to write this in Arabic. It is easier for someone to write about French philosophy, for example, in the French language if they have at least a minimal grasp of that language. They would only need to summarize the thinker’s ideas in their own language. However, to do that in a completely different language, such as Arabic, is more significant to me. It means that you are presenting the host language, Arabic in this case, with the possibility of pronouncing, articulating, and comprehending one of the most important experiences of Western thought. This grants it an added essence and a greater ability to engage with the world’s current times.
Usually, we consider that the service of Arabic and heritage is achieved by focusing on and engaging with it “internally” in terms of content, and this is a significant mistake. This is because heritage “leads” to history as it is, but the most important thing is to keep the life of the carrier of this heritage and its pulsating heart, which is language. However, serving a language does not lie in stagnating in its “past,” but in revitalizing it, strengthening it, and enriching it through translations and exercises in “updating” it, by attempts to make it, as mentioned earlier, embody and assimilate the experiences and languages of contemporary thought. This is what gives a language its ability to endure. In this sense, researchers who work in translation in Arabic, both from non-Arabic texts into Arabic and within Arabic itself, are the true guardians of Arabic because they are the ones who give it its right to “contemporaneity.” Trust me, this is an extremely challenging task. It is not enough for each of us to confine ourselves to speaking within Arabic in its familiar intellectual and lexical framework, i.e., in what it has pronounced for centuries. This only serves to glorify it in its antiquity and slow death. Based on this premise, what we should understand, even if it requires a minimum level of dialectical awareness, is that those who may seem to be “moving away” from this culture and heritage are the ones who are actually approaching it in truth. This is where the importance and value lie for everyone engaged in this matter in our present time. It is not a simple ethical dichotomy between “westernization” and a traditional inclination, but rather a wager on those who can transcend this simplistic dichotomy and provide possibilities for the life of thought and language beyond their past.
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