The Fragile Dal
There is a social phenomenon worthy of study not only in faculties of humanities but also in psychology laboratories: a phenomenon that can be termed “compensatory title inflation,” where the title becomes larger than the person it belongs to, overshadowing them, until the name itself becomes a mere small appendage dangling beneath a long chain of verbal decorations. The more genuine knowledge a person possesses, the more they feel the vastness of their ignorance. This is not merely rhetorical wisdom, but a finding repeated in cognitive psychology studies, most notably the Dunning-Kruger effect, which shows that those with less knowledge tend to overestimate their abilities, while those with more knowledge tend toward greater humility and caution in their judgments. Thus, it was no surprise that Socrates said over two thousand years ago, “I know that I know nothing.” We, however, have slightly modified the theory: we now claim to know everything, and even that we know everything, going so far as to print this on our business cards.
Consider, for a moment, the highest political authority in an Arab state. Royal decrees typically do not begin with a string of accumulated academic titles, like the cars of a long freight train, with the name first and then the position. No one reads: “Professor, Doctor, Professor, Strategic Thinker, Inspiring Genius…” Instead, they read a name stripped of verbal adornment, because the value of the position does not need a loudspeaker. Mountains do not hang signs on their peaks declaring them to be high. But as soon as we leave the peaks of power for some valleys of society, the garage of titles and epithets opens: Professor, Doctor, His Eminence the Sheikh, His Holiness the Mujtahid, The Researcher, The Thinker, The Intellectual, The Writer, The Novelist, The Author, The International Expert, The Strategic Advisor… and the rest follow in subsequent editions. An ID card almost resembles a miniature resume, bearing a green folder more than it bears a person’s name. Sometimes, one must flip the card to find the real name amidst the rubble of attributes.
The problem is not with the title itself. An academic or professional title is a legitimate functional description in its appropriate context. The problem arises when it transforms from information into identity, from definition into compensation, and from a means into an end. When the title becomes an artificial respiration device for self-confidence, some people lose half their self-respect if the signifier attached to them falls away. If you address them by their bare name, they may believe you have committed a moral offense warranting trial, as if all their years of study were reduced to a single letter. The truth is that the true signifier is not a letter preceding the name, but a cognitive and moral state: the humility of the researcher, the courtesy of the scholar, the balance of the thinker, the patience of the philosopher, and the magnanimity of the human being. If all these are absent, only the beautiful geometric shape of the signifier remains.
In British universities, even the university president, as well as research professors, inventors, and theorists, asks to be addressed by their name only and has no desire to be titled. The signifier is an elegant formality, nothing more; the substance is a separate matter. Because the Arabic language is generous and abundant, it offers the signifier wide possibilities. Not every “Doctor” necessarily means a doctor; it may sometimes mean a “Dalkha” (a term implying foolishness or pretension), a heavy-browed bear, a “Dalal” who sells illusions by the ounce, a “Dambajiya” (a jargonist) professional in the manufacture of noise, a tightly sealed intellectual “Daqma,” or a “Dandarma” that melts at the first serious discussion. It may even mean “Darbak Samah” (your path is easy) when arguments fail and proofs end. The letters are always innocent; the meanings come from their owners.
Among social anecdotes, some of these titles appear in the most unexpected places, such as wedding cards. You find the groom’s name preceded by a full academic string, as if the guests are attending a PhD defense rather than a wedding ceremony. Strikingly, the bank manager does not write his position, the company owner does not list his number of employees, and the factory owner does not print his capital size. Yet, some title-holders insist on bringing them even to the wedding hall, perhaps fearing the groom might get lost among the guests if his name is left alone.
In societies confident in themselves, achievements precede their owners. In anxious societies, however, the title sometimes precedes the achievement. This is why great scholars throughout history were the most humble in defining themselves. True knowledge makes a person see the vastness of the sea, not the size of their boat. Fragile knowledge is satisfied with a small puddle to imagine itself an ocean. A person does not grow by what they place before their name, but by what they leave behind it. A title may open a door to a council chamber, but character and knowledge open doors to hearts. People may flatter the signifier for an hour, but they respect the human being for a lifetime. Therefore, when the letter becomes heavier than its bearer, when the facade swells and the content shrinks, and when the title becomes a complete life project… do not ask about the value of the signifier. Ask first: Is it the signifier of a Doctor? Or merely a fragile signifier leaning on itself so as not to fall?
