"The Lamp of Umm Hshim": The Egyptian Intellectual between East
and West Author(s): M. M. Badawi Reviewed work(s): Source: Journal
of Arabic Literature, Vol. 1 (1970), pp. 145-161 Published by:
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THE LAMP OF UMM HASHIM: THE EGYPTIAN INTELLECTUAL BETWEEN EAST
AND WEST TheLamnp Umm Hashim is a collection of short stories by
the of distinguished Egyptian writer Yahya Haqql. First published
in 1944 it has been reprinted many times since.' Because of their
peculiar mixture of realismand fantasy,their humour and poetry, the
strange and haunting note of mysticism that runs through them, and
not least because of their impassioned and artisticallyfaultless
style of writing, these tales have alreadyattained the position of
a classic in modern Arabic literature.Moreover, they are all rich
in culturaland sociological significance:in this respect the most
interesting perhaps is the story which gives the collectionits
name,a novella which occupies half the volume. Besides conveying
the feel of traditionallife in Cairoat the turn of the century, and
indeed for many years to come, the tale of 'The Lamp of Umm Hashim'
belongs to the type of writing, which in the field of the novel is
known as the bildungsroman, the type that i.e., deals with the
education of the protagonist. The main character, Isma9l, is a man
who finds himself at the crossroads of civilization. He was brought
up on traditionalMuslim culture, which in its basic features
remainedlargely medieval. But as a young man of impressionable
years he was heavily subjected to the influence of modern western
culture, for he spent a number of years in England studying
medicine. The work treats in detail Isma'il's early background in
traditionalCairo, then in a brief manner his experiencesin Europe,
and finallywhat he decides to make of his life when he returnsto
his native country. It traces the spiritualdevelopment of this
young man and the changethat takesplacein his social,moraland
mentalattitudes. In so doing it indirectlyplaces one set of
culturalvalues in juxtaposition to another, illustrates the tension
and dramaticclash between them and ends up with pointing to a
possible resolution or synthesis. The work, therefore, is a deeply
moving account of the devastating effect upon the soul of a
sensitive and intelligent young man when he is caught in the clash
between two differentsets of culturalvalues.1 Yahya Haqql, Qindil
Umm Hdsbim,Iqra' series No. 18, Dar al Maarfif, Cairo, 1944. The
edition used here is that of 1954.Journal of Arabic Literature,
I10
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But although he is a psychologically convincing character, Isma
'Il is more than an individual. 'The Lamp of Umm Hashim',' as the
title itself suggests, is a symbolical work, in which the
characters, no less than the Saint's lantern which gives the work
its name, are partly designed as symbols or types of varying
degrees of abstraction. To this generalization the character of
Isma'il is no exception. Ismacil, in fact, stands for Egypt at the
turn of this century-the time during which the events of the tale
take place. The tensions and stresses to which he is subjected are
the tensions and stresses to which modern Egypt was exposed; the
agonizing choice between eastern and western values, which Isma'il
finds he has to make, is the very choice which faced modern Egypt.
Isma'il's salvation is, therefore, the kind of salvation which the
author envisaged for the whole culture of his country. To the
student of modern Arab culture it may be of some interest to
examine the way in which an enlightened Arab writer, at a
significant stage in the development of modern Arab consciousness,
conceived his own tradition, and the assumptions which he held as
regards the values of the west. He may care to analyze the precise
nature of the compromise between the two conflicting sets of values
which the author offers in order to see how valid or viable it is.
He may even fruitfully compare it with some other solutions
attempted at a later stage, e.g., the one which Najib Mahfiz,
another equally distinguished Egyptian writer, but representative
of a younger generation, suggests in his novels, both realistically
and in an allegorical form. In pursuing his investigation, however,
the student must bear in mind that here he is dealing, not with a
sociological treatise or a discursive piece of writing which
attempts a diagnosis of the social and intellectual ills of the
Arab east and suggests effective remedies, but with what is
primarily a work of art, which, as such, is concerned not so much
with offering solutions as with raising important, sometimes
ultimate questions. To prepare the ground for this discussion it is
necessary at this stage to give a detailed account of the work. At
the beginning we are given the background of Ismacil's father,
Rajab cAbdullah. He was born and brought up in an Egyptian village,
against a background of simple piety, not free from superstition
and saint worship. As a boy he used to be taken periodically to
Cairo, in order to visit the Mosque of Sayyida Zaynab and to seek
her blessing. When as a1
Umm Hashim or Zaynab was the granddaughterof the Prophet
Muhammad.
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young man he moved to Cairo in search of work he chose to live
near his cherished mosque. In the mosque square he set up a grain
shop and lived with his family within the precincts of the Saint's
mosque and under her protection. The Saint's feasts became their
feasts and the calls of the muezzin their only clock.' Of the three
sons Rajab 'Abdullah had, two received the inexpensive traditional
religious education, but by the time the youngest, Isma'il, was
ready for school, his father could afford the high cost of secular
education. Before sending him to a secular school, however, Rajab
CAbdullahmade sure that the boy had first received a solid
religious grounding and had learnt the whole of the Koran by heart.
Since secular education was regarded as the gateway to social and
financial success Isma'il soon became the centre of his family's
hopes, and for the sake of his well-being no sacrifice by the rest
of the family was considered too great. Isma'il's whole life was
encompassed by the district and the Square of Sayyida Zaynab which
left their deep imprint upon the mind of the growing boy. He was
familiar with every nook and cranny of the square, with all its
sights and sounds and smells, e.g., the 'school' of male and female
beggars, the blind condiment seller who would never sell to anyone
before reciting the religious formula of buying and selling, the
pot-bellied seller of pickles with his barrels, the street-car
which seemed like a carnivorous monster that exacted its daily toll
of innocent lives, the clatter of weighing scales, the laughter
from the coffee-houses, the rough guffaws of hashish smokers, the
rows of men, women and children, who sat on the ground leaning
against the wall of the mosque, or lay asleep on the pavement, and
above all, the Mosque itself, with all the beautiful tales of
mystery and supernatural power which the pious imagination of
succeeding generations had woven round it. Most of these tales were
told to Isma'il by the Mosque attendant, Sheikh Dardirl, whose
character is delineated by the author with exquisite humour and
deep affection. To Sheikh Dardiri men and women flocked to ask him
for a drop of the oil from Umm Hashim's lantern to treat their eyes
or the eyes of some loved one. But the consecrated oil, Isma'il was
told, would cure only those whose perception shone bright with the
light of faith. On certain hallowed occasions, when the Saint was
visited by a number of other saints, all arriving on horseback with
green banners" Ibid., p. 6.lO*
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flying over their heads, and the perfume of roses and musk
arising from the cuffs of their sleeves, in order to hold court and
look into the complaints of men-the mosque lantern would shine with
a blinding light and its oil would then possess the secret of
curing all disease. So much for the background of Isma'il's early
childhood, which, as we shall see, was to play a dramaticpart in
his life. Although his religious upbringing and his simple peasant
origin seem to have helped him to do much better at school than the
pampered children of the bourgeois, Isma'il failed to obtain a good
enough result in the final school examinationto enable him to enter
the school of medicine on which he and the whole of his family had
set their hearts. Since Rajabwas determinedto push his son to the
front rank, he acted, but not without much hesitation, heart
searchingand loss of sleep, on the advice of a friend who suggested
that Isma'il should go abroad to study medicine in Europe.
Significantly his final decision was made as a result of a dream in
which he heard 'a soft voice advising him to trust in God and go
forward with His blessingl I In an amusing manner the author
describes briefly the diverse reactionsof the membersof the family
to the idea of Isma'il's departurefor Europe, their fears and
anxieties and the naive but charming picture each of them had
formed of 'abroad'. The mother, for instance, 'imagined the strange
lands of 'abroad' to be like the top of a high flight of steps
leading to a land covered with snow and inhabited by people who
possessed the cunning and tricks of the devil.' 2 Before the fixed
date of departurethe family assembled, gloomy and silent, and with
tearful eyes. The father advised his son to observe strictly his
religion and warned him especially against the dangers of
associating with European women. He also declaredhis and his wife's
intention to marryhim to Fatima al-Nabawiyya,his orphaned cousin
who lived with them, and they did in fact go through the ceremony
of engagement. Later Isma'il went out to bid farewell to his
friends, passing through the Square on his way. His feet led him to
the shrine in the mosque, where he found Sheikh Dardiri standing
with his head bent, as if completely overcome. 'The image of this
man, standingby the silent shrineunder the light of the oil lamp,
his hand resting on the railing or wipingI Ibid., p. 20. 2 Ibid.,
p. 20.
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his face, was his last memory of Cairo before leaving.' 1 The
author describes Isma'il diffidently climbing up the gangway of the
boat, a young man with the gravity of age, slow and slightly
corpulent, everything about him suggesting that he was a peasant,
lonely and ill at ease in these strange surroundings. Among the
luggage he carried was a pair of wooden clogs, which his father had
insisted he should take with him, for he had heard that ritual
ablution was difficult in Europe because of the practice of wearing
shoes indoors. This clumsy and awkward figure of a peasant is
contrasted with the neat and sophisticated young man who, with a
bright face and head held high, was briskly making his way down the
gangway of the boat seven years later. Now Isma'il is a qualified
doctor-an eye specialist, and much has happened to him in the
meantime. A great transformation has taken place in his character
and outlook. Even his physical appearance has changed: his face has
lost its roundness and his cheeks have grown a little hollow. His
flabby lips that hardly closed before are now compressed with
determination and selfconfidence. Much of the change that had
occurred in his character was due to the influence of Mary, a
fellow student who for some time was infatuated with the dark young
man from the east. Mary is obviously a symbol of western
civilization. She stood for lust for life, constant activity,
freedom from the shackles of tradition, individuality, complete
self-confidence, science and humanism, realistic thinking about
concrete problems, belief in this world and appreciation of art and
the beauty of nature. In short, she represented the complete
opposite of the values that had been operative in his life: he was
dull, inactive, weak and sentimental, with an inordinate respect
for authority and tradition, for social ties like marriage,
divorced from reality and given to 'other-worldly' pursuits like
the contemplation of heavenly things, instead of natural beauty,
and inhabiting a world of religious superstition. This change in
Isma'il's attitudes, however, did not occur easily or without a
high price. As the author puts it, in the beginning, 'Ismacil's
soul used to wince at Mary's sharp words and groan under her
attacks.' 2 One day he woke up to find his soul completely in
ruins. Religion appeared to him to be no more than a superstition
designed to subjugate the masses, and man incapable of finding
his12
Ibid., p. 24. Ibid., p. 32.
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strength and hence his happiness except by detaching himself
from the crowd. His nerves could not stand the shock of finding
himself alone and utterly lost. He fell ill and stopped attending
college. But it was Mary who saved him from disintegration. She
took him on a holiday to Scotland, and he managed to weather the
crisis, emerging from it with a new self, confident and secure. His
lost religious faith was replaced by a stronger faith in science.
Instead of thinking of the beauty and bliss of Heaven he now
thought of the beauty of nature and of its secrets. Perhaps the
greatest proof of his recovery was that he now began to shake off
Mary's domination. He ceased to behave like a pupil towards his
master, but treated her on equal footing. Later he was neither
surprised, nor unduly pained, when he saw her turn from him to
another fellow student, one of her own race and colour. Like all
artists she was bored with her work once it was completed. Isma'il
was full of idealism and enthusiasm when he returned to Egypt. His
love for his country had grown during his absence. But the stronger
his love for Egypt grew, the more impatient he became with the
Egyptians. Yet he felt they were his own people and they were not
really to blame. They were the victims of ignorance, poverty,
disease and age-long oppression. He had vowed to try to remove the
wrongs he could see. Mary had taught him to be independent and
never again would they be able to feed him on their superstition,
illusions and outworn customs. He knew that his relationship with
his people would be one long struggle, and he was already eager to
plunge into the first battle. But Isma (1ldid not plan to devote
his life entirely to the disinterested service of his country. He
felt that he owed an enormous debt to his father and that he ought
to pay back at least part of that debt. He had made up his mind to
turn his back on Government service and to set up a private clinic
in the best residential district of Cairo. When he had acquired
enough money, he was going to let his father retire and buy some
land for him in their native village so that his father might spend
the rest of his days there, quietly and without any more drudgery.
But what about Fatima al-Nabawiyya? He felt a little disturbed at
the thought of marrying her, but he decided that the matter had
better be left for the time being. Ismacil did not have to wait
long for the first battle. As soon as he arrived and saw his mother
he was shocked by her apparent lack
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of personality: 'she is simply a mass of negative goodness'.'
Fatima al-Nabawiyya's two plaits of hair, her cheap glass
bracelets, her movements and indeed everything about her proclaimed
loudly that she was a peasant girl from the heart of the country.
Was that the girl he was going to marry? He knew at once that he
would have to go back on his word. He also understood from the
bandage she was wearing that her diseased eyes had grown much worse
since he left. A glance at his father was sufficient to show him
that he was a man full of cares, he had in fact fallen upon evil
days, even though he never mentioned his financial worries in his
letters to his son, but continued to send him his allowance while
they were almost starving at home. Isma'il looked from the corner
of his eyes at the interior of the house: it was much smaller and
darker and less comfortable than he could remember. Did his people
still use an oil lamp? he asked himself. He could not help
wondering how on earth he was going to bring himself to live with
his people in that house. Before retiring to bed his mother decided
to put some drops in Fatima's eyes. Hearing Fatima groan with pain
as she felt the drops, he asked his mother what was in the bottle.
On being told that it was oil from Umm Hashim's lamp, which his
friend Sheikh Dardiri had kindly brought for them, he jumped to his
feet at once, as if stung by an adder. He went up to Fatima,
removed her bandage and examined her eyes. He found them badly
damaged by trachoma, but if given the right kind of treatment, he
thought they would be cured, and this hot burning oil was sure to
make them worse. Then follows a scene which turned the joyful
occasion of the reunion of the family into a cause for mourning and
grief. Horrified at the state of Fatima's eyes Isma(il screamed at
his mother, accusing her of ruining the girl's eyes with her
superstitions. Enraged by his mother's utter lack of comprehension,
he spoke most disrespectfully of the Saint. Silence fell on the
house at once. The distressed father, who had come out of his room
to find out the cause of the shouting, and heard Isma'il's words,
simply said to him: 'Is that all you have learnt abroad? Is all our
reward that you should come to us an infidel?' 2 Ismalil's nerves
could not stand much more, especially as everyone around him looked
at him pityingly, as if he had gone out of his mind. Picking up his
father's stick, he ran out of the house, determined to deal
ignorance and superstition a mortal blow, even if that should cost
him his life.12
Ibid., p. 37. Ibid., p. 42.
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On his way to the Mosque Isma'il had to cross the Square, which
as usual swarmed with people. These, he now felt, could not
possibly be human beings. In a passage, which possesses the
satirical intensity, the savage indignation of Swift, the author
describes Isma'il's feelings towards them: "they were like vacant
and shattered remains, pieces of stone from ruined pillars in a
waste land: they had no aim other than standing in the way of a
passer-by. And what were those animal noises they made and that
miserable food which they devoured? Isma'il examined their faces,
but he could only see the masks of a profound torpor, as if they
were all the victims of opium. Not a single face wore a human
expression. Those Egyptians, he thought, were a chattering
revolting race, hairless and beardless, naked and bare-footed, with
blood for urine and worms for stools. They received blows on their
elongated napes with but a smile of humility that distorted the
whole of their faces. Egypt herself was nothing but a sprawling
piece of mud, lying senseless in the middle of the desert. Above it
clouds of flies and mosquitoes were buzzing and on it a herd of
lean buffaloes moved knee-deep in mud." 1 Quickly he escaped from
the stifling crowd and ran into the mosque. This is how the shrine
of the Saint appeared to him now: "Instead of fresh air, rose thick
vapours of barbaric perfumes. There was the lamp hanging above,
dust sticking to its glass and soot having turned the chain into a
black line. It gave off a stifling smell of burning. It emitted
more smoke than light, and even the faint ray of light it did give
was only a sign of ignorance and superstition. Near the ceiling
hovered a bat, which made his skin creep. Around the tomb leaned
people like logs of wood, propped up against it. They stood there
paralyzed, clutching at the railing. Amongst them was a man begging
of the Saint to do something for him, which Isma'il could not fully
understand, but he gathered that the man wanted her to punish an
enemy of his, to bring destruction on his home and to orphan his
children. Turning to a corner Isma'il saw Sheikh Dardirl
surreptitiously hand to a man, wearing a woman's handkerchief for a
bandage on his head, a small bottle, as if he were smuggling
something. Unable to bear it much longer, and hearing the clangour
of innumerable bells in his head and his eyes swimming, Isma'il
stood up on his toes and, aiming the stick at the lamp, he with one
blow, broke it to pieces, the bits of glass flying all over
theI
Ibid., pp. 43-44.
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place, while he cried: I.. I.. I.." 1 He could not finish his
sentence. The crowd rushed at him, he was beaten up and trodden on.
He would have been lynched, had not Sheikh Dardiri recognized him
and delivered him from the wild and furious mob, telling them that
he was the son of Sheikh Rajab cAbdulla, a child of the
neighbourhood and that he was obviously possessed. Ismacil was
carried to his house. He spent a number of days in bed, talking to
nobody. When he recovered a little from his injuries, he toyed with
the idea of going back to England and settling there, away from
"this accursed land." But he felt as if his body was tied to this
house which he could not bear and to the Square he loathed. One
morning, however, he woke up to find himself resolved to treat
Fatima's eyes. He had treated successfully many similar cases in
Europe before. He applied his medicine to Fatima's eyes for some
time without seeing any noticeable improvement. He doubled his
care, took her for consultation to his colleagues at the school of
medicine, who all approved of his method of treatment. But Fatima's
eyes became much worse and finally one day she woke up to find
herself completely blind. Isma'il ran away from home: he could not
stay there facing Fatima, whose blindness, the author says, "was a
proof of his own blindness." 2 "Nor could he bear the reproachful
looks of his parents. He sold his books and some of the equipment
he had brought with him from England, and rented a room in a
boarding house, run by a Greek woman, to whom only money mattered.
Certainly, Europeans in Egypt, he thought, were made of a different
stuff from those he had encountered in Europe. She exploited him
and made his life generally so difficult that he was driven to roam
about in the streets from morning to midnight. It was during his
wanderings that his reconversion took place. It happened gradually.
At first he found himself in the evenings gravitating towards the
Mosque Square near his parents' house. He began to feel some
sympathy for the people in the square, who, he thought, were more
sinned against than sinning. Although every night, before going to
sleep, he thought of some device to escape back to Europe, the
following day he would find himself back in his usual spot in the
Sayyida Square. When the holy month of Ramadan came it did not
occur to him to fast. Yet he feltI2
Ibid., pp. 44-46. Ibid., p. 49.
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an unusual atmosphere in the Square, something new in the air;
it was as if the world had cast off its old robes and put on new
ones. Isma'il wondered why he had failed, but could not find an
answer that would satisfy his intellect. However, he found himself
spending more of his time in the Square, gradually accepting its
people, enjoying the jokes he could hear, and, in general, feeling
the ground becoming more solid under his feet. He could now detect
a virtue in the ability of the Egyptians to keep their distinctive
character and temperament, despite the change of rulers and the
vicissitude of events. Here, he thought, were no separate
individuals, but a whole people united by a common faith tempered
by time. Far from being devoid of all human expression, their faces
now acquired a meaning hitherto unnoticed by him. Moreover, he
found in his people the peace and tranquillity which appeared to
him to be lacking in the west, where 'there were only hectic
activity and anxiety, an unflagging war and the sword ever drawn.'
1 He reached a stage in his acceptance of his own people where
comparison with the west was not only unnecessary, but also
meaningless. 'But why compare at all?' he thought, 'Surely a lover
does not draw comparisons?' 2 It was not long now before the moment
of full revelation came. It occurred on the Night of Power (the
night on which, according to Muslim belief, the Koran was sent
down), which he had been brought up from childhood to cherish and
venerate. While he was loitering in the Square his attention was
suddenly drawn to the sound of deep breathing echoing throughout
the Square, which as a child he was told only those blessed with a
clear conscience could hear. When he raised his eyes he beheld the
dome of the Mosque flooded with a bright light emanating from the
lantern of the Saint. He saw at once that the light of which he had
been deprived for years had come back. Now he realized why he had
failed. He had nursed his pride and rebelled; he attacked and,
overreaching himself, he fell. Now he knew that 'there could be no
science without faith.' 3 Fatima had never really believed in him,
but in the power of the Saint. Isma'il entered the mosque, walked
reverently to the shrine which had now regained the beauty he used
to see in it, asked Sheikh Dardirl for some of the lamp oil which
the Sheikh gladly gave him, telling him that it was particularly
holy, because it was not only the12
3
Ibid., p. 53. Loc. cit. Ibid., p. 54.
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Night of Power, but the night of the Visitation as well. Ismacil
took the oil straight to his parents' house, and went up to Fatima
and told her never to despair of being cured, since he had brought
her the blessing of Umm Hashim. Once more he applied his science of
medicine, but this time fortified by faith. He did not despair when
he found that the disease had become chronic, but persisted and
persevered and fought tenaciously until he could see a ray of hope.
Vhen she had completely recovered, the writer says, 'Isma'il sought
in vain both in his mind and heart for any feelings of surprise he
was afraid he might find.' 1 From now on the story of Isma'il
becomes one of cultural and moral integration, but not perhaps one
of financial success. He no longer felt uprooted in his own
society. He later set up a clinic, not in a residential area but in
a poor district, in a house that was fit for anything but receiving
eye patients. His fee never exceeded a piastre at a time. His
patients were the poor and the bare-footed, not the elegant men and
women he had hoped to get when he returned from England. His clinic
swarmed with peasants, who brought him gifts of eggs, honey, ducks
and chickens. We are told that he performed many a difficult
operation successfully, using means which would have made a
European surgeon gasp in amazement: he held only to the spirit and
principles of his science, abandoning all elaborate instruments and
techniques. He relied first upon God and secondly on his learning
and the skill of his hands. He never sought to amass wealth, buy
land or own huge blocks of flats. His sole aim was to help his poor
patients recover at his hands.2 We also learn that he married
Fatima, whom he taught to dress, eat and behave generally like a
civilized woman, and she bore him five sons and six daughters.
Towards the end of his days he grew very corpulent, had a huge
appetite, was given to laughter and joking. His clothes were
untidy, with cigarette ash scattered all over his sleeves and
trousers. Until this day, his nephew, the narrator, says, the
people of al-Sayyida district remember him with kindness and
gratitude, and then pray that God may forgive him his sins, the
nature of which, however, they would not disclose because of the
great love they bore him. But the nephew gathers that it is his
uncle's fondness for women that they have in mind. After this crude
account, which can hardly do justice to a work12
Ibid., p. 56. Ibid., p. 57.
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written with great artistry and deep feeling-we may now proceed
to ask a number of questions. Exactly what is the natureof the
crisis Isma'il goes through and from which he emerges
triumphant?Here, as in the case of many other literaryworks of
merit, it is by no means easy to find one clearand
neatanswer.Thereare,however, a numberofpossible answers which,
taken together, seem to me to give an adequate account of the work.
On one level one can say that what the author is depicting here is
the age-old problem of religious faith and doubt. The experience
Isma'il undergoes is that of a sensitive religious nature,
temporarily and not irrevocably robbed of its faith, and although
the faith is lost through an overexposure to reason and science, it
is regained mysteriously. Isma'il did not face a Pascal-like type
of wager. And indeed, in spite of the mystical vision that brings
him back his lost light, the dominant element in Isma 'il's nature,
the element emphasized by the author, is his gregariousness. The
problem, therefore, is set in social terms. It is not the eternal
silence of the infinite spaces that terrifies Isma'il, but the
silence of people around him, the absence of communication with his
own family, the discovery that he is an outsider among his kith and
kin. With Isma(il, therefore, religious faith and acceptance of his
own people went hand in hand, each of them was a manifestation of
the other; it is only when he recovered his faith that he fully
accepted his people, found purpose in life and meaning in the
lowliest human being in the Mosque Square. But it surely would give
only a partial view of the problem to claim that it is simply one
of faith and doubt expressed in social terms. After all Isma(il did
not spontaneously or independently lose his faith and turn his back
on his own culture. He did that only after he had fallen under the
influence of an alien culture. The contrast between his behaviour
and attitude before and after is brought out most clearly in the
neat structure of this work, namely through a number of almost
symmetrical and parallel themes and situations, all centred on the
mosque and the square. This aspect of the work, which presents the
clash between the cultural values of East and West, places The
Lamnpof Umm Hashim within the context of a larger literary
tradition in Egypt. This tradition, where serious literature is
concerned, goes as far back as al-Muwailihi's Hadith 'Isd Ibn
Hishdm (1907), a work which, in spite of its shortcomings, holds in
many respects a crucial position in modern Egyptian literature.'
Al1 The original version of this work first appeared serially in
the periodic.il al-Sharqbetween 1898 and 1900. Mi.rbdh
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Muwailihi's standpoint was a relatively simple one: it was
mainly ethical. He realized the enormous material and technological
superiority of the West, recommended the use of some of its
technology, but gave a strong warning against the bad moral effects
that would and did result from a blind imitation of the West.
Obviously in The Lamp of Umm Hdshim, Yah.yai Haqqi's attitude is
much more sophisticated. What he was most concerned about was the
spiritual issues involved in dealing with the West. Half way
between the two comes a novel by the well known writer Tawfiq
al-Hakim, Bird of the East (1938), which, despite the highly
westernized nature of the author's education, represents a violent
reaction against Western culture, and against the apparently
ineradicable effects of this culture in the East.' This novel by
al-Hakim, in fact, invites comparison with the work under
consideration. In both works of fiction alSayyida Zaynab appears as
a major factor, although the mystical feeling is undoubtedly much
more genuine in the greater work The Lamp of Umm Hdshim than in
Bird of the East, in which the treatment is more abstract and the
ideas insufficiently realized in concrete and individualized
situations and characters. However, al-Hakim dedicates his novel to
Saint Zaynab whom he describes as his 'Chaste Patron'.2 The novel
is set in Paris where a young Egyptian student, Muhsinobviously
al-Hakim himself-is studying French culture. He falls in love with
a French woman, lives in a state of ecstasy for a few days, after
which he is rudely shaken from his dream, when she leaves him to
return to the Frenchman she really loves and with whom she seems to
have had a quarrel lasting those days she spent with Muhsin. The
story, presumably designed to show the contrast between the
infinite devotion of the man from the East and the calculated
utilitarianism of the woman from the West, forms only a small part
of the book, most of which is taken up with the meditations of the
hero's friend, the self-exiled dying Russian Ivanovich, on the
respective merits of East and West. Western civilization is
regarded as a curse, glorifying materialistic values, Europe's
contribution lies in science and technology which makes life much
poorer, for real life is the life of the spirit. Through the lips
of Ivanovich al-Hakim asserts the real superiority of the East, the
cradle of all religions,1 The Arabic title is 'U.sfir minal-Sharq.
The edition used is that of Kitab al-Hilal, No. 77, Cairo, 1957. 2
In Arabic: ila hdmiyati Zaynab. al-ldbiraal-Sayyida
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for even in the sphere of religion Europe is a bad influence:
e.g., it corrupted Oriental Christianity, although by some strange
kind of reasoning the author wishes us to believe that Western art
(e.g., Beethoven's music) came from the same source as Eastern
religion.' The dying Russian preaches a return to the East as the
only salvation for mankind. Al-Hakim's antithesis between the
spirituality of the East and the materialism of the West is by no
means original, and is itself partly influenced by the West's own
denunciation of its culture (which for well known political and
philosophical reasons was fashionable in the thirties) and in fact
has been repeated ad nauseam since. Likewise, the superiority of
the East to the West, which is the corollary of this antithesis,
has been repeated by many Egyptian writers, from Dr. Muhammad
Husayn Haykal to Ahmad Amin, although there are honourable
exceptions who, like Taha Husayn, exploded this fallacy.2 Recently
Dr. von Grunebaum claimed that this reaction against the West, or
as he puts it, this hostility to the West marks a distinct typical
phase, the final phase of Westernization in which the Arab Middle
East 'with westernization very largely completed in terms of
governmental reforms, acceptance of the values of science, and
adoption of Western literary and artistic forms, regained
self-confidence expresses itself in hostility to the West and in
insistence upon the native and original character of the borrowed
product.'3 Dr. von Grunebaum and others draw parallels to the
modern Arab situation from the intellectual history of Russia in
the 19th century. Clearly there is some truth in this. But, we may
ask, is TheLamp of Umm Hdshim merely a product of this cultural
trend? I think not, for, unlike al-Hakim, HJaqqidoes not use, as
his chief theme, the relative merits of East and West. He does not
set out to prove the superiority of Eastern to Western values, or
to preach to the whole of mankind the need to choose this or that
set of values, or a combination of them. For one thing, IHaqqi's
work, in spite of its symbolism, which at times is by no means
subtle, is far less impure than al-Hakim's. Ilaqqi does not
directly preach at us. His primary concern is hisCU4ffr min
al-Sharq, pp. 172-173 and p. 192. See Muhammad Husayn Haykal,
A/-Sharq al-Jadid, Cairo (1962), Ahmad Amin, A/-.Sharq wa'l
Gbarb,Cairo, 1955 and Taha Husayn, Mustaqbal al-thaqdfa fi Misr,
Cairo, 1938. On this point see Albert Hourani, Arabic T1/oughtin
the2
1
Liberal Age 1798-1939, O.U.P., 1962, pp. 330 ff.3
G. Von Grunebaum, Modern Islam, the Search for Cultural
Identity, London,
1962, p. 248.
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literary creation: the character of Isma'il. For Isma'il the
only way out of the impasse was by coming to terms with the people
with whom he had to deal. Ismacil was particularly fortunate: for
he had the strong faith of his childhood, which had created a
powerful bond between him and his people and to which, in spite of
the intervening alienation, he was able to return. Whatever
generalization one can justifiably make from this one concrete
example can be no more than this: to be truly effective it is
essential for an imported remedy to be related somehow to local
culture. Moreover, Haqqi does not present the simple question of
the opposition between the spirituality of the East and materialism
of the West. Instead, we find a more sophisticated treatment in
which psychological differences, differences in patterns of
behaviour are brought out and commented upon. For instance, despite
her obvious symbolism, Mary is still a much more credible character
than the young French woman in al-Haklim's novel. But what is the
precise nature of the compromise Haqqi offers in the particular
case of Isma'il? Or, to put it in perhaps unfairly literal terms,
what does he actually do with the oil? Does he treat Fatima's eyes
with it, concurrently with his use of proper medicine? If so, does
he actually believe in the medicinal power of the oil? Do we take
that then to be the mark of atavism, of his reversion to type? Or
does he use the oil purely as a means of obtaining Fatima's
confidence and trust in him, as a means of suggesting to her that
she is after all getting the right kind of treatment? Here the
author leaves us very much in the dark. To say that there should be
no science without religion is very fine. It was Einstein, I
believe, who once said that 'religion without science is lame,
science without religion is blind'. But when it comes to the actual
case under consideration all kinds of ambiguities arise. Isma'il
can hardly believe in the medical effectiveness of the oil without
doing violence to the principles of his medical training. Nor can
he use the oil consciously as a means to win Fatima's confidence
without detracting from the spiritual significance of his moment of
illumination. But perhaps we are not meant to consider the matter
so closely and we should be satisfied with the general idea that
science needs the support of religion, even though the particular
symbol used here is rather an unfortunate one, since it stands not
so much for religion as for harmful superstition.'1 It is
interesting to note that in his book Dirdafdfi'l Riwdya al-Misrryya
(Cairo, 1964) the Egyptian critic 'All al-R5'i denies that Isma'il
has used the oil (p. 173).
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However, in emphasizing the importance of religion, Hjaqqi
differs from his younger contemporary Najib Mahfaz, who both in the
Trilogyand to some extent in the allegorical Awldd HaritndI seems
to imply that in the modern world religion has been replaced by
science, that the scientist is the prophet of to-day-although in
Mahfuz's later works there is a noticeable preoccupation with
mysticism. One final question remains to be asked. Why did the
author choose to make Isma'il study medicine, in particular? We
could say, of course, that the tradition of sending Egyptians to
Europe to study medicine is an old one, going back to
Muhammad'Ali's time, and, unlike other technical studies, the study
of medicine had an unbroken history. But there seem to be other
reasons. That Isma'il is an eye specialist has its place in the
symbolical scheme of the work, which is hinted at in the author's
remark that 'Fatima's blindness is a proof of his own blindness',
i.e., that before Isma'il could restore light to other people, it
is necessary for him to see the real light himself. Besides,
medicine, more than most professions, is closely related to the
question of values. In England Isma 'il's professor used to tell
him that his country had great need of him, for it is the country
of the blind. Here there is no question of the materialism of the
West, but a profound realization of the ethical values underlying
modern medicine. The professor's words, in fact, did not fall upon
deaf ears. For what Isma'il ultimately did was to put his training
at the service of the common people. 'He never sought to amass
wealth, buy land or own huge blocks of flats. His sole aim was to
help his needy patients recover.' 2 Herein lies an indictment of an
earlier generation of Egyptian doctors who mastered the technique
of western medicine, but failed to see the values underlying it,
and whose behaviour helped strengthen the view of the materialism
of the west. Unlike such doctors, Isma 'i became famous not in the
rich residential districts of Cairo, but in the neighbouring
villages. Unlike them, Isma'il was able to see and absorb the moral
values underlying Western techniques of medicine precisely because
of the solid moral and religious education he received at home,
because of his early background which the authorAl-Ra'i, however,
does not, indeed cannot, offer any proof for the truth of his
assertion, for the matter is kept deliberately vague by the author.
I The Trilogy, al-Thuldthbyya, written between 1947 and 1952 and
comprises was the following volumes which were first published in
this order: Baynal-Qasrayn, 1956; Qair al-Shawq, 1957 and
al-Sukkariyya, 1957. Awldd Hdritna was published in 1959.' Qindil
Umm Hdshim, p. 57.
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emphasises so much. ln other words, it is because Isma'il had a
strong sense of the values of his own tradition, that he could see
the values of the West. As Professor Gibb says in his provocative
essay, 'The Reaction in the Middle East against Western Culture,
'(Printed in his Studieson theCivilitationof Islam)'Values can only
establish relationship with other values'.1 Haqqi is careful to
point out that Isma'il does not follow the West blindly, he is not
enamoured of western techniques for their own sake. But he held
only to the spirit and principles of his science, abandoning all
elaborate instruments and techniques. He relied first upon God,
secondly on his learning and the skill of his hands. Here we are
meant to see a true marriage of the values of the East and the
West. Oxford1
M. M.
BADAWI
of H.A.R. Gibb, Studieson the Civili.Zation Islam, London, 1962
p. 333.