دستور نيوز
When the lightness of the pen precedes the weight of the idea
My talk today is about Fouad Al-Aroui and his “perfect human being,” the being who emerged from his “pillar” light, elegant, fleeting, and confident in his brilliance. However, intellectual issues are not reduced to the elegance of expression, nor are they addressed in the spirit of someone who fills a journalistic corner before realizing the date of publication. I assume that academic thought does not need “perfect men” as Fouad Laroui imagines, nor does it need this “encyclopedic being” who seems closer to a wax statue than a living intellectual. The academy, in its essence, is not built on the illusion of individual perfection, but rather on the meeting of minds that knows its limits, so it transcends them through dialogue, knowledge, and accumulation. As for this perception that Al-Aroui announced, with one of his passing opinions, it contains more rhetorical display than depth: as if the ancient institution would not be complete unless a writer entered it who explained corn in the morning, analyzed the poem in the evening, and prescribed medicine before sleep.
The truth is that the glory of every academic thought is not in hosting the “complete human being,” but rather in its ability to collect specializations, not to mix them into a single entity swollen with symbolism. It is a higher thought than Fouad Laroui’s scholastic imagination. This is a space for the collective mind, not for the worship of supernatural models. Accordingly, the “perfect human being,” as Fouad Laroui understands it, is not a human being as much as he is a luxurious advertisement for a product that has not yet reached the markets: a writer with one hand, a physicist with the other, who writes a poem about the atom, then treats cancer between two commas, and ends his day with a graceful contemplation of the fate of civilization. He is too clean, too balanced, too encyclopedic to a degree that arouses pity rather than admiration. Because the know-it-all often does not reside in reality, but rather in a polished rhetorical façade. The truth is that this “perfection” is nothing but an elegant fear of the “ordinary human being”: the one who makes mistakes, specializes, stumbles, and knows that the mind does not grow by piling titles on its shoulders, but rather by having the courage to acknowledge its limitations. As for waiting for academic thought to receive these supernatural beings (as Al-Aroui imagines them), this is like waiting for Plato with a membership card, Ibn Sina with laboratory glasses, and Al-Mutanabbi while reviewing a peer-reviewed scientific article. It truly amazed me that Fouad Al-Aroui came across an intellectual issue in the window of a café, glimpsed the idea through the glass, and then wrote about it as if he had lived in its depths for an entire life.
The issue required wisdom and deliberation, not the stylistic elegance that sometimes hides poverty of contemplation under an elegant coat of sarcasm. My talk is only the first pause in front of a pen that excels at flying, but does not always land well. This will inevitably lead me to another conversation, perhaps brighter when we distinguish between the lightness of expression and the lightness of the idea. Between Fouad Al-Aroui’s lightness of speech, that lightness that delights the ear more than it awakens the mind, I find myself compelled to accompany the reader towards a conversation that is not satisfied with being pleasant on the tongue, perhaps it aspires to leave an impact on the mind, an extension of the question, and a desired benefit in contemplation.
A being who knows the galaxies but does not know his own heart
Who is the “perfect human being” in the first place? Is he that being who memorizes the names of galaxies, talks about the curvature of space-time, and then is unable to listen to a person sitting in front of him? Is he the one who collects theories, philosophies, and languages in his head, and then collapses internally in the face of a small opinion that contradicts him? Why does this person always appear surrounded by titles, microphones, seminars, and cultural banquets?
The strange thing is that advocates of perfection often do not seek to refine a person, nor do they seek to improve the spirit or reform the meaning. Above all, they are looking for a high platform, a close lens, and an audience ready to applaud. They talk about sublimity as if they were its exclusive agents, and then they measure their value by the number of glances that follow them; As if perfection, in their luxurious version, was not a virtue lived in silence, but rather a long theatrical performance entitled: Look at me as I teach you humility. It is as if the “perfect human being” is no longer a moral or spiritual project, but has become a luxurious cultural product: a limited version of humans, with a shiny cognitive facade, elegant linguistic packaging, and carefully refined narcissism. This wondrous being often comes into existence only from the imagination of intellectuals who were tired of their fragility, so they created a “perfect human being” according to their inability, and then worshiped him as an idea is worshiped when it fails to touch life. He does not make mistakes, does not hesitate, is not ignorant, he speaks about physics as he speaks about poetry, he quotes philosophy when necessary, and he comes out of every sentence as if he had just returned from an international conference on the fate of the planet. He is the man who knows almost everything, and often does not know himself.
When vanity wears the cloak of knowledge
Every era re-manufactures this myth according to its mood. In the past, the “perfect human being” appeared as an ascetic hermit, then he appeared as an encyclopedic philosopher, and today he has become a hybrid being with a doctorate, an overflowing LinkedIn account, a professional black-and-white photo, and an uncanny ability to say very ordinary things in a language that makes them seem like a cosmic discovery.
However, when perfection is exaggerated in his speech, it does not produce a superior human being, but rather it often produces arrogance wearing an intellectual suit. A person does not become deeper because he has added a new skill to his resume, sometimes he just becomes more full of himself. Therefore, some “perfect people” do not lack anything that impresses people: intelligence, culture, eloquence, and presence. They only lack what books do not create and platforms do not give: a heart that knows how to be human when no one sees it.
The call for the “complete human being” is, in its depth, luxurious cultural narcissism. The owner is granted certificates of perfection, and the protocol officer is also granted invitation cards to elite parties. The problem does not lie in defending science against literature. Science is a great necessity. However, the negativity of this call lies in the condescending way that turns knowledge into moral authority, turns the scientist into a new priest of truth, and leaves the poet in the corner of the hall like a linguistic clown who has not yet joined the laboratory age. Whew.
Homer is raving, Shakespeare is not equal to a second-year psychology student, and poets are children chattering in the dark until the one who makes the equation enters and the mind begins. This speech does not reveal the power of science, but rather reveals an old complex among some educated people: the desire to turn knowledge into class privilege, and into a license to rise above others. Then comes the funniest irony: the plaintiff mocks the dialect of a great scientist, and then begins to preach a human being who is open to the universe, beauty, and knowledge. What amazing consistency; A complete human being, yes, as long as he speaks with a polished accent, and does not remind us of fish sellers, markets, or ordinary people. Even Sufism, when it enters this salon, turns into an elegant accessory that adorns speech, not into an experience that refines the soul. The most dangerous idea here lies in turning the ideal human into a cultural “skills package”: a little physics, a little poetry, a little philosophy, a few quotations, and a lot of social presence. It is as if human value has become a professional file with multiple boxes. One puts an equation in one hand, and a book of poetry in the other, and then asks the world to applaud this great balance.
The birth of the cultural Superman
However, a scientist does not become wiser because a physicist writes poems about the stars, nor because a novelist memorizes the terminology of quantum mechanics. This obsession with integrating everything into everything may produce an exhibitionist personality who knows little about many things, and is not deeply proficient in anything. Knowledge does not equal accumulation, culture does not mean collecting references, and a person does not grow simply by crowding his head with concepts. Then the confusion between scientific knowledge and human understanding is a grave confusion. Science explains how storms form, but it does not alone explain why a person feels lonely in the rain. Physics measures light, but it alone does not explain why a short poem moves a person’s soul more than a thousand laboratory experiments. Shakespeare did not compete with psychologists. He did something else: he exposed the human soul, exposed its confusion, exposed its greed, fear, love, madness, and fragility. Classification is not always enough; Sometimes the soul needs a mirror, not a measuring table.
There is no doubt that we live in an era that measures everything: heartbeat, number of steps, hours of sleep, calories, attention, productivity, mood, data, relationships. Yet we never see a more reassuring, compassionate, or meaningful human being. The world has measured almost everything, and has forgotten to ask: What do we do with all these numbers if the heart remains empty? As for the “temples of knowledge” that are often talked about, they are, in many cases, closed salons that reproduce the elite with bright language and luxurious humanitarian slogans. Its people talk about openness, but then they only recognize those who bear the institution’s seal, the institution’s award, the institution’s tone, and the institution’s connections.
The truth is simpler and harsher: a person does not approach perfection when he combines physics and poetry, but rather when he is freed from the illusion of cognitive superiority. How many a genius scientist carried a narrow spirit, and how many a poor poet understood man more than entire committees of experts. Knowledge that does not increase its possessor’s humility turns into mental adornment. A culture that does not make a person merciful becomes a luxurious decoration on top of internal devastation.
Hence, according to this perception, the “perfect human being” appears to be a being who can explain the theory of evolution and ascension in the morning, write a bad poem in the evening, and then take a souvenir photo between them inside an elegant salon. It is as if humanity, after thousands of years of religion, philosophy, art, wars and tragedies, has finally discovered that salvation lies in a person wearing a laboratory suit under the cloak of a poet. decent. The era loves this kind of versatile cultural Superman: half scholar, half poet, and one-quarter narcissist. He talks about universal humility as he polishes his autobiography. He attacks the elites from within the most luxurious halls of the new elite. As for the real human being, the one who does not know quantum physics, does not write sonnets, and does not have a shiny page on LinkedIn, but has a healthy heart, a free mind, and honest taste, he does not find a place in this republic of perfection. He doesn’t have enough medals. Doesn’t have enough quotes. He does not have the terminology that gives his weakness a luxurious form.
Why does the “perfect human being” always appear in places where titles shine more than lives? Why does His perfection need an audience, a pulpit, applause, and a swollen language to prove its existence? Is perfection a silent virtue that a person lives by, or a luxurious identification card that he pins on his chest whenever he enters a cultural salon?
Perhaps a person approaches completion when he acknowledges his shortcomings, not when he covers them up with knowledge. Perhaps fragility can be understood by someone who has lived it, not by someone who explained it in a lecture. If we strip the “perfect human being” of his resonant titles, his borrowed quotes, and his canned prestige, we will often find nothing but a human being who is ordinary to the point of embarrassment, afraid that people will see him as he is, so he dresses his ordinaryness with a luxurious name, which does not open a path or create a horizon, but only raises one thing: dust.
Let us contemplate; And to another talk.
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Fouad Al-Aroui: The magic of language and the problem of the elitist perception of the perfect modern human being
– الدستور نيوز
اخبار منوعه – Fouad Al-Aroui: The magic of language and the problem of the elitist perception of the perfect modern human being
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