Al-Ahram: A Diwan of contemporary life: (541) Egypt's education Ahmed Ezzat Abdel-Karim, one of Egypt's most famous historians, is probably best known for his 1934 work on the history of the country's modern education which was published in Al-Ahram. Professor Yunan Labib Rizk reviews the study He was only 25 in the spring of 1934 when Al- Ahram published his five-part series, "A Study in Pedagogical History: The History of Modern Education in Egypt". Spread over two and sometimes three pages, the author of this lengthy work was Ahmed Ezzat Abdel-Karim who at the time had affixed to his name: "Licentiate summa cum laude from the Egyptian University and diploma from the Institute of Education." Eventually this young scholar would become the father of the most famous school of modern historiography in Egypt, in the University of Ain Shams, from which graduated most of the history professors in this country, including the author of the Chronicle. Abdel-Karim would first ascend a number of university positions: chair of modern history at the Faculty of Letters at Ibrahim Pasha University, as Ain Shams was first known upon its founding in 1950; the dean of this faculty, deputy director of this university and finally the director. However, all these positions did not win him the fame and esteem equivalent to that he acquired through his lengthy record of excellence and dedication as a teacher. Having paid the very least tribute possible from a former student to a professor who so influenced his own career and who passed away nearly a quarter of a century ago (in 1980), I return to the young Ahmed Ezzat whose work the Al-Ahram management deemed worthy enough to allow it to appear side-by- side with the contributions by many long- established writers and prominent intellectuals that filled the newspaper's pages. Apart from the relevance of the subject matter, the Al-Ahram management would undoubtedly have been impressed by the thoroughness, depth and insight of Abdel- Karim's study, qualities that were frequently lacking in the work of more established historians. "The History of Modern Education in Egypt" opens with an account of the religious education that prevailed in Egypt before the modern era. Like its European counterpart in the Middle Ages, this form of education "aims at spiritual refinement, which is to say to hone the moral fabric of the individual to prepare him not for this world in which he lives but for the after world that is reached only after the soul is freed of its mortal captivity. In Christian Europe this education was imparted in theological seminaries and in monasteries, and in the Muslim Orient in the mosque and the madrasa." Abdel-Karim associates this form of education with what he terms the "age of absolute faith", the evanescence of which began with the rediscovery by Muslim and Christian philosophers of Aristotle and the consequent rise of a movement to hone the intellect through the acquisition of knowledge and the application of Aristotelian logic. However, this movement, which in Mediaeval Europe was termed "scholasticism", soon lost momentum. The reason, according to the author of the study, was that it based its premises on articles of religious scripture, "which no-one could criticise or refute". As a result, "the scholastic efforts at analysis and deduction were restricted to the bounds set by religious authorities, and with the intellect thus confined, analogy became the major vehicle for discourse and debate." If the Middle Age style of education ebbed in Europe due to the scientific and religious reform movements of the Renaissance, in Egypt it persisted well into the 19th century. In Egypt, the traditional educational establishment, or the "old system" was embodied in Al-Azhar and the kuttab, or Qur'anic schools. The former, he writes, was in effect the higher educational institute. The Al-Azhar curriculum began with the rules of Arabic grammar, "all of which students must memorise by heart". This was followed by the principles of logic, rhetoric and poetry. After two or three years of study the student, if he desired, became a mugawir, or intern, and proceeded to higher studies. This programme consisted of the study of hadith (narratives relating deeds and utterances of the Prophet and his Companions), Qur'anic interpretation and exegesis, and Islamic jurisprudence. After completing these studies successfully, which could take between eight and 10 years, the mugawir would be entitled to the title sheikh or alim. Abdel-Karim did not approve of the didactic pedagogy that prevailed in Al-Azhar at the time. "The professor would sit surrounded by his students and dictate to them his lectures. This would continue for some time until the students had accumulated volumes of notes, after which they would begin to study books and attempt to fathom the purpose of the authors." Towards this end, they had to delve, not only into the text itself but into the entire accretion of scholarly explications on the text, explanatory notes to the explications and assessments of the explanatory notes to the explications. "Such was the obsession with all this marginalia that concern for substance was lost to that for form." Abdel-Karim had even fewer kind words for the kuttab in which he held that the function of education was distorted by the emphasis on rote and recitation and the lack of attention to the need to hone the intellect. The result of this pedagogic approach, according to a foreign expert whom he cited, was that "no seed imparted takes root or if it does, it does not mature, and the older the boy gets the more he will forget how to read and write because he does not continue to practise these skills and because these skills were connected primarily to learning the Qur'an". In his second instalment Abdel-Karim discusses "The beginning of the new spirit". If the traditional religious establishment adhered to its age-long practices, this did not mean that new developments did not arise concurrently. The young scholar pauses at length on "education among the Mamelukes", whom he describes as "a people that remained foreign to the country, reluctant to mix with Egyptians, until they vanished from the historical stage". Expounding on an original theory, he argues that the erstwhile overlords of Egypt received a form of secular education. "They were raised in the schools of war and the institutes of peace, and at an early age they would sometimes excel in philosophy, jurisprudence and science, as well as in the arts of chivalry. They were thus equipped for positions in civil government and for rule." Abdel-Karim soon arrives at the crucial juncture of the French expedition and the impact this had on the country, a subject that remains controversial until the present. Suddenly, he writes, the Egyptians were exposed to "a people who spoke a foreign language and whose ideas provoked considerable contemplation". Specifically, the French "proclaimed their hostility to the Mamelukes and their friendship to the Ottoman Sultan, and they spoke of the equality of mankind in all matters apart from how individuals distinguish themselves in knowledge and the intellect". If Abdel-Karim's treatment of the political impact of the Napoleonic expedition is fairly conventional he contributes a distinct charm and wit. Not only did Egyptians discover that the French spoke an alien language, they quickly learned that the invaders brought with them alien social customs. "Egyptians saw the public dance halls they built, they remarked on the unusual ways they treated their women, they found themselves obliged to obey unfamiliar rules such as burying their dead outside the city, watering down the streets and hanging out lanterns at night, and they watched as they undertook perplexing and disturbing public works such as tearing down the old alley gateways and the like... It was not long before Egyptians realised that those aliens were of an entirely different make to the Ottomans and Mamelukes and they could not wait to be rid of them." However, in his discussion of the intellectual life of those curious people, Abdel-Karim adopted a more serious tone and he could not suppress his admiration for the extensive surveys and scientific explorations the French conducted in Egypt. He explains, "By this I refer to those among them who had dedicated themselves to the service of science. They had no scientific sources to aid them and the military situation frequently exposed them to danger. But those who raised science above the strife and turmoil of mankind proved that science has no national or religious identity." In an attempt to bring to life what challenges those early explorers faced, he casts himself back in time and enumerates their many tasks. "In their studies of the antiquities and vestiges of our ancient civilisation, those scientists took painstaking measurements of the length, breadth and height of the temples and transcribed the inscriptions on their walls. They took samples of the soil and the water of the Nile and analysed their composition. They observed the wildlife, recording the habits and migrations of animals and birds. They threw themselves into the study of Egyptian history across its various epochs. They published newspapers, translated documents, founded comprehensive libraries and organised the departments of the scientific academy." Unfortunately, all this academic and scientific activity had little impact on the development of the Egyptian mentality. As Abdel-Karim put it, rather caustically, the ordinary Egyptian paid little heed to those odd Frenchmen who were surveying the towns and villages, scrutinising soil and water samples and tracking bird migrations. As for the educated, "they raised their eyebrows at all this activity and in their attempt to explain it they resorted to that knowledge they had acquired within the walls of Al-Azhar. As this knowledge was of no avail in producing sensible answers, some merely shrugged their shoulders while others proclaimed that the French were engaged in the work of evil spirits. But between this camp and that, there was a third, if much less numerous contingent that began to sense that the learning they had acquired was insufficient to help them grasp these strange scientific phenomena." Abdel-Karim concludes his overview of the French expedition with the observation that in spite of the fact that the majority of the Egyptian people viewed this brief occupation as a transient nightmare, it nevertheless left an important mark; it bequeathed a spirit of change. "Egyptians were no longer content with their circumstances and with the role they had played in the theatre of events in Egypt... Therefore, if the French accomplished anything it was their success in weakening the hold of the Mamelukes and the Ottomans." At the same time, the French imparted an intellectual legacy that influenced a handful of intellectuals whose environment permitted them to grasp it. Among these were the historian Abdel-Rahman El- Gabarti and the writer Sheikh Hassan El-Attar, "as well as a group of individuals that emerged through the patronage of the French in Egypt, such as Elias Baqtar of Coptic origin, Niqola El-Turk who was Syrian by birth and Master Yaqoub, the famous Coptic leader." The third instalment of this study on the history of pedagogy in Egypt was dedicated to Mohamed Ali. Abdel-Karim opens this instalment with an observation that is indicative of his intellectual precociousness and scholastic impartiality. Modern education, he writes, "came" to Egypt rather than "arose" in Egypt. In other words, it was an imported phenomenon, not the process of a domestically based evolutionary process. It was "an entirely new page" in the history of education, "totally different, if not antithetical, to the pages that preceded it". He goes on to explain that the founder of modern Egypt had only one source to turn to -- Europe. And in Europe "there was one country whose history of relations with Egypt and whose current political and economic relations with it inspired the wali to make it his model. This country was France. Mohamed Ali thus imported a sapling from the banks of the Seine and with it the gardeners from that country to plant it on the banks of the Nile. These gardeners stayed on and with his backing they nurtured the sapling towards maturity." Unlike many historians who have tended to ignore the psychological makeup that drove Mohamed Ali and his modernisation project, Abdel-Karim dwells at length on an analysis of this prominent Egyptian ruler. He nevertheless confesses that Mohamed Ali's childhood remains cloaked in mystery and that the existing accounts were little more than fanciful attempts to project his later greatness on his behaviour as a youth. According to these stories, Mohamed Ali formed his peers into small gangs in which he honed his skills as a leader and exhibited an extraordinary intelligence and other unparalleled talents. The accounts also "exaggerate the influence upon him of his acquaintance with the French merchant, Monsieur Leone, which is said to have set the course of his life, thoughts and predilections". On the other hand, continued the 25-year-old historian, there was documented evidence that Mohamed Ali received that typically athletic upbringing of "an Albanian living in a mountainous environment overlooking the coast and who thus develops into as good a sailor as he is a runner". This sportive regime left the young Mohamed Ali little time to read and even less to hone his writing, although he compensated for this with the understanding he acquired of life and his fellow man. Indeed, according to the testimony of one of Mohamed Ali's foreign contemporaries, even though the Egyptian ruler could not speak a foreign language, "his shrewdness and perspicacity were such that he could merely look into the eyes of his European interlocutors and know what they wanted before the translator interpreted what they said." Nevertheless -- adding a little-known fact about the founder of modern Egypt -- Abdel-Karim relates that after coming to power and consolidating his rule, Mohamed Ali decided that he needed to improve his reading and writing skills. He therefore engaged one of the palace women and a sheikh who frequented the court to give him instruction. "It is said that he made considerable progress at their hands even though his comprehension of Arabic remained minimal and he never spoke it at all. He did not want his mind distracted from contact with the European world. He therefore had people translate and recite to him foreign newspapers as well as historical works and French law." The "Pasha of Egypt" continued to feel his educational shortcomings and sought to compensate for this through his sons. Both Ibrahim and Said were given intensive instruction in Arabic, Persian and Turkish, and whereas the former concentrated in history with a focus on Middle Eastern history, the latter studied mathematics and design. Abdel-Karim adds that Mohamed Ali was also concerned about Said's weight. As he put it, "It pained him to see how corpulent Said was growing and he would caution him over and over again to walk a lot and get more exercise." Abdel-Karim was not exaggerating when he extolled Mohamed Ali for setting the pace for educational development in Egypt. Among his contributions was the founding, in 1818, of a large school into which he placed Prince Abbas and his other younger sons and grandchildren, and which he opened to the children of his court officials and officers. "Nor should we forget that in 1844 Mohamed Ali sent Egypt's first education mission to Europe. The mission consisted of some of his children and those of Ibrahim. One of these was Mohamed Ali's grandson, the famous Khedive Ismail." Mohamed Ali also realised the advantages that could accrue to the nation through the education of women and "their liberation from the bondage of the harem into the light of civilisation". He, therefore, invited a number of foreign women to instruct the daughters of the royal family and other members of the court. More significantly, in 1836 the Council of Schools proposed the establishment of a school for girls. Abdel-Karim relates, "Mohamed Ali was keen to implement this project but he feared the reaction of the ignorant and fanatic and, therefore, confined himself to the founding of a school for midwives." It is commonly held that Mohamed Ali's sole purpose in establishing modern schools and sending study missions to Europe was to produce the officers, physicians and engineers he needed for his army. In his fourth instalment, Abdel-Karim takes issue with this opinion which he describes as "possessing a certain validity but lacking in precision". While he admits that building bureaucratic and military cadres may have initially been Mohamed Ali's aim, he asks the following questions: "Did Mohamed Ali work to create an elite to assist him in his reforms and relieve him of the lantern when his hands tired but ignore the rest of the people and the voice of public opinion? Or did he strive to embrace all his people in the pursuit of civilisation and reform by disseminating the light of knowledge?" Abdel-Karim was of the latter opinion, proof of which was the fact that the government founded 50 new primary schools throughout the country in order "to carry the light to the depths of the countryside". The government also established special schools for the army "in order to teach ordinary soldiers how to read and write". Mohamed Ali relied heavily on foreigners to accomplish his reforms but more often than not these proved a great disappointment. According to one source Abdel-Karim cited, Monsieur Hamont, the dean of the school of veterinarian medicine, most of the foreigners in the service of Mohamed Ali were ignorant vagabonds. In the new health department alone, when it was first established, the administration consisted of a telegraph operator and shoemaker from Marseilles and a coffeehouse waiter from Cairo. Moreover, "most of those so- called doctors had no qualifications of any sort and out of 100 pharmacists only 10 had certificates... When a European with no profession landed in Egypt he could easily find a job as a pharmacist or doctor." This reality made it all the more imperative for the government to train Egyptians to take over from unqualified foreigners. Abdel-Karim writes, "Foreign experts engaged to run a factory had two primary tasks: to manage the establishment effectively and provide instruction to a number of local youths for which he would be given recompense for each student." However, in order to hasten the day when European experts could be replaced by locals, the Mohamed Ali government instituted an educational programme for Egyptian and Turkish youth in government-supervised schools. Abdel-Karim adds, "Mohamed Ali devoted himself to the upbringing of these students as he did to that of his own sons. He ensured that they were fed and clothed and allocated funds, certain that he would be more than compensated through the services they would one day render to the state that nurtured them and certain that through his efforts he would ensure their undying loyalty. Had he not, after all, treated them like his owns sons?" Perhaps emboldened by his youth, Abdel-Karim, in the last instalment of his series, broached some rather sensitive issues. He commences with the remark made by a foreigner to the effect that Egyptians were resistant to modern education and that in this resistance "they gouged out the eyes and amputated the fingers of their children." Abdel-Karim does not discard the observation out of hand but he is quick to point out that it is grossly exaggerated. "It is possible to contend that many Egyptians were, indeed, strongly resistant to modern education. However, this phenomenon was largely restricted to the rural areas remote from the direct supervision of central government. Moreover, this resistance gradually ebbed as people discovered the advantages that would accrue to the graduates of Mohamed Ali's schools. When they realised that enrolment in school was the route to a position in the civil service and opened the avenues to wealth and fame, the demand for education soared beyond the capacity of the schools to accommodate it." A second subject Al-Ahram 's adopted historian of pedagogy in Egypt touched upon briefly but poignantly: "The government of Mohamed Ali set about to create a system of education out of nothing. It even lacked that factor so essential to the formation of the appropriate spirit: a legacy of traditions. However, now, a century after Mohamed Ali laid down the foundations of these first traditions, we still lack that vital force that breathes life into education. This is the spirit of learning, not the structures." One cannot help but wonder whether this is not still the case 70 years after Al-Ahram published Abdel-Karim's "History of Modern Education in Egypt".
