^{page 382 note 2} Safran, , Egypt in Search of Political Community (Cambridge, Mass., 1961), p. 140.Google Scholar In view of the frequency of citation for this source, we will refer simply to the author's name. The most obvious example of confusion in interpreting this period is found in Vatikiotis, P. J., The Modern History of Egypt (New York, 1969). Vatikiotis first states (p. 309, note 21),Google Scholar with reference to Taha Husayn, Muhammad Husayn Haykal, Taufîq al-Hakîm, and ‘Abbâs Mahmûd al-‘Aqqâd that ‘until the end of World War II, practically all of the modernists with varying degrees of intensity argued in favor of Egypt's essentially European cultural link’. He then contradicts himself (p. 323) by saying that the ‘attack of the modernists upon tradition was a short-lived affair’ and that ‘by the 1930s such leading modernists as Taha Husayn, Haykal, and Ai-‘Aqqâd were already in hasty retreat from their earlier positions of secular liberalism and the adoption of European culture. Their reverential studies of the early fathers of the Islamic community smacked of frantic and solicitous apologia for their earlier rationalistic attacks on the religion and its cultural heritage’. Later (p. 326) he observes that ‘the political leaders of liberal-constitutionalism and the emulators of Western culture…felt the need to prove their respect for Islamic history and culture and to prove its relevance to their modernist ideas and programs’ and (p. 441) talks of ‘the secularization of religious history begun by Taha Husayn and Husayn Haykal in the thirties’. Johansen, Baber, in his interesting biography of Haykal, Muhammad Husain Haikal: Europa und der Orient im Weitbildeines Agyptischen Liberalen (Wiesbaden, 1967),Google Scholar considers Haykal to have ‘embraced’ Islam in the 1930s and follows Safran in arguing that he sought to harmonize reason and revelation, with reason being subordinated as a result, while Cachia, Pierre, in his Tâhâ Husayn: His Place in the Egyptian Literary Renaissance (London, 1956),Google Scholar argues that Taha never changed his views on the value of Western culture. Jacques Berque, while giving an excellent general survey of the socio-political issues affecting Egypt in the late 1920s and 1930s, sees Haykal, as becoming defensive about Islam and seeking inner meaning in religion in his L'Egypte, impérialisme et révolution (Paris, 1967).Google Scholar The best account of the period in question and the reasons behind the shift of the intellectuals to Islamic subjects is still Colombe, Marcel, L'Évolution De L'Egypte: 1924–1950 (Paris, 1951), ch. 5, and especially pages 146–54.Google Scholar

^{page 383 note 1} Safran, p. 144.Google Scholar

^{page 383 note 2} Ibid. p. 211. This perplexity did exist and was one reason for the return to Islamic themes, but it signified a search for social order rather than a desire for a personal reorientation. We will return to this point at the end of the article.

^{page 383 note 4} Cf. Safran, p. 180.

^{page 384 note 4} Safran, in one of his theoretical propositions, defines ‘human orientation’ as being a consideration of ideas and values as based on truths which can be ascertained by human reason; opposed to this is the theologically oriented belief-system whose values are seen as revealed or given by a transcendental source. A human orientation can deny or include ideas on God and religion; the criterion is whether they are defined on the basis of ‘human faculties’ rather than being accepted unquestioningly. When referring directly to Egypt, however, Safran proposes that it had either to readjust its traditional belief system or form a new one (pp. 2–4). The problem is that while a society's reformulation of its belief-system to a human orientation, stated as a general hypothesis, can embrace by definition either a readjustment of the traditional system or the creation of a new one (the alternatives seen as open to Egypt), a readjustment of the traditional belief-system did not have to lead to a definition of all truths as rationally conceived and could include certain truths assumed to be ‘given’. Such a system could allow the intrusion of a rational approach to a great extent, even to the point of explaining or justifying much of what formerly had been simply revealed, but certain aspects could still be left unquestioned and unable to be defined. This possibility does not exist within Safran's concept of a ‘human orientation’ and it creates a problem with respect to these definitions when he discusses ‘Abduh. He approaches ‘Abduh initially as seeking a ‘practical’ purpose which can be seen as a readjustment which allows the existence of certain revealed truths, but he judges him in light of his theoretical proposition, which demands a rational approach to all aspects of religion, and consequently sees ‘Abduh as a failure. By denying the possibility of a human-oriented belief-system accepting revealed truths, Safran evaluates attempts at a readjustment of the traditional system within a framework in which all are found wanting. We shall discuss this issue in detail with respect to 'Abduh.Google Scholar

^{page 385 note 1} Ibid. p. 43.

^{page 386 note 1} In disputing Safran's conception of power and its importance, pp. 42–3, we agree with Wilfred Cantwell Smith's association of Muslim protest at internal decline with fear and resentment of external encroachment. See his Islam in Modern History (Princeton, 1957), chs. I and II,Google Scholar and also von Grunebaum's, G. E. discussion of the problem of power in Modern Islam: The Search for Cultural Identity (New York, 1964), pp. 32–3.Google Scholar

^{page 386 note 2} Safran, pp. 63–4.Google Scholar

^{page 386 note 3} Ibid. pp. 68–9.

^{page 387 note 1} Ibid. n. 25. The reference to Dilthey, is derived from Dilthey's Philosophy of Existence (ed. Kluback, William and Weinbaum, Martin (New York, 1957), particularly pages 25–30).Google Scholar

^{page 388 note 1} Safran, p. 4.Google Scholar

^{page 388 note 2} Dilthey's Philosophy of Existence, p.30.Google Scholar For a brief but adequate summary of Dilthey's approach to the problem of historical relativism and related matters, see Masur, Gerhard, Prophets of Yesterday: Studies in European Culture, 1890–1914 (New York, 1966), pp. 159–72.Google Scholar

^{page 389 note 1} Mention of these influences on ‘Abduh can be found in Michel, B. and Moustapha, Le CheikhRazik, Abdel, Rissalat al-Tawhid: Exposé de la religion musulmane (Paris, 1925), pp. xx–xxvi,Google Scholar and Adams, Charles C., Islam and Modernism in Egypt (New York, 1968), pp. 30–3.Google Scholar See also Hourani, Albert, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age (New York, 1962), pp. 131–2.Google Scholar

^{page 389 note 2} Keddie, Nikki, ‘Symbol and Sincerity in Islam’, Studia Islamica, vol. 21 (1963), p. 27.CrossRefGoogle Scholar

^{page 389 note 3} See Hourani's, George F. Introduction and notes to his translation of Averroes' Kitab Fasl al-Maqal (On the Harmony of Religion and Philosophy) (London, 1961), particularly pages 33–7 for a discussion of this issue.Google Scholar

^{page 389 note 4} Keddie, ‘Symbol and Sincerity in Islam’, p. 63.Google Scholar She applies these ideas to her analysis of al-Afghânî as well with emphasis on the distinction between what the intellectual would say to the élite and to the masses, an approach which applies to Taha Husayn and Haykal in the 1930s as will be noted. See her An Islamic Response to Imperialism: Political and Religious Writings of Sayyid Jamâl ad-Dîn ‘al-Afghânî’ (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1968), pp. 18–19, 48–53.Google Scholar

^{page 390 note 1} Survival was the main goal and one usually overlooked. See the comments of Laoust, Henri, ‘Le réformisme musulmane dans la littérature arabe contemporaine’, Orient, vol. 3, no. 10 (1959), 82.Google Scholar

^{page 390 note 2} We refer to his attraction to Mu'tazilite thought. See the study by Caspar, R., ‘Le rénouveau mo‘tazilite’, Mélanges, Institut Dominicain d'études Orientales du Caire, vol. 4 (1957), pp. 141–203,Google Scholar where ‘Abduh is discussed in depth. A study which takes a dim view of ‘Abduh's Mu'tazilite tendencies is Elie Kedourie's debunking expedition entitled Afghani and 'Abduh: An Essay in Religious Unbelief and Political Activism in Islam (London, 1966). In describing ‘Abduh as being influenced by Mu'tazilitism, Kedourie distributes rather freely terms such as ‘heterodox’ and ‘free thinker’ (pp. 12–14) in a pejorative manner without relating them to the topic of his title, ‘religious unbelief’, though an association is assumed. A heterodox position is one definable within the religion in question and as opposed to that considered to be orthodox — it is not unbelief.Google Scholar

^{page 391 note 1} Safran, p. 85 notes these distinctions.Google Scholar

^{page 391 note 2} Haykal recounts his experiences with al-Sayyid, Lutfî in his Mudhakkirât fî al-Siyâsa al-Misriyya (Memoirs of Egyptian Politics), vol. 1 (Cairo, 1951), pp. 30–4.Google Scholar Volume I of Taha Husayn's al-Ayyâm (Cairo, 1929) deals in detail with his early life.Google Scholar It has been translated by Wayment, Hilary as The Stream of Days (London, 1948).Google Scholar The best study of Taha Husayn is Cachia's Tâhâ Husayn. See also Hourani, Albert, Arabic Thought, pp. 324–40.Google Scholar In addition to Johansen's Muhammad Husain Haikal, a more detailed discussion of Haykal's ideas on these and other issues can be found in my dissertation, Muhammad Husayn Haykal: An Intellectual and Political Biography (The University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1968), which is being revised for publication.Google Scholar

^{page 392 note 1} Yawmiyât Bârîs (Paris Days). Unpublished Diaries of Muhammad Husayn Haykal, April 1909 to June 1910.Google Scholar

^{page 392 note 2} The best source for these arguments is Haykal's, Fî Awqât al-Farâgh (In Leisure Moments) (Cairo, 1925).Google Scholar

^{page 392 note 3} Ahmed, J. M., The Intellectual Origins of Egyptian Nationalism (London, 1961), p. 91, quotes Lutfî al-Sayyid as saying the best leaders were those who ‘though they are of ‘the élite, can descend to the level of the masses and share their crude sentiments in order to gain their confidence and lead them unawares in the direction of their real interests’.Google Scholar

^{page 393 note 1} (Wednesday Conversations), three volumes (Cairo, 1964). See particularly volume II and the series of articles entitled ‘al-Qudamâ’ wa al-Muhâdithûn’ (The Traditionalists and the Modernists), pp. 3–57, and ‘Radd ‘alâ Naqd: Kîf Nafham al-Târîkh’ (An Answer to Criticism: How We Should Understand History), pp. 63–70, all of which were originally published in al-Siyâsa at- Yawmiyya in 1922–3. See also Safran, pp. 158–9.Google Scholar

^{page 393 note 2} (The Leaders of Thought) (Cairo, 1925).Google Scholar

^{page 393 note 3} ‘Radd ‘alâ Naqd’, p. 64.Google Scholar

^{page 393 note 4} (On Pre-Islamic Poetry) (Cairo, 1926).Google Scholar

^{page 393 note 5} Safran, p. 156.Google Scholar

^{page 393 note 6} Fî al-Shi'r al-Jâhilî, p. 16.Google Scholar

^{page 394 note 1} Ibid. p. 26. Safran, p. 249, sees Taha's treatment of the story of Ishmael as having ‘involved the crucial step of making critical distinctions with respect to what in the Quran is to be seen as divinely sanctioned and what is to be taken casually and without elaboration, so that he was able to drop it from subsequent editions without affecting at all the argument of the book’. We fail to see just what distinctions Taha actually made in the book although he did not question the nature of the Quran directly. By noting that Taha did adhere to his basic position in later editions, once the references to Abraham and Ishmael were deleted, Safran raises questions about his own view that Taha modified his opinions as well as his approach. See Hourani, Albert, Arabic Thought, pp. 184–8, for further discussion of this work. We will discuss its impact on Haykal below.Google Scholar

^{page 394 note 3} ‘Aiâ Hâmish ai-Sîra, pp. 5–12.Google Scholar

^{page 394 note 4} Tâhâ Husayn, p. 198.Google ScholarSafran, pp. 282–3, n. 4, takes issue with Cachia and sees Taha's refusal to touch any material relating to the Prophet's life other than to restate traditional accounts of it as showing that he ‘made a point to pay his respects to traditional beliefs’. This interpretation misses the point recognized by Taha's contemporaries that the approach was a device to avoid controversy. An article in al-Jâmi'a, ‘Taha Husayn: Târîkh Hayâtihi wa Tahlîl Shakhsiyatihi’ (Taha Husayn: A History of His Life and an Analysis of his Personality) (5 May 1938) noted that the shift was only ‘superficial’ and intended to show the people that these ‘fables’ did not fit the ‘spirit of the age’.Google Scholar

^{page 395 note 1} Safran, pp. 166–7.Google Scholar

^{page 395 note 2} (On Pre-Islamic Literature) (Cairo, 1927).Google Scholar

^{page 395 note 3} Ibid. pp. 52–5.

^{page 395 note 5} Rather they reflect completely the views attributed to the ‘Liberal-Nationalists [who] sought to reduce religion to the role of mentor of the intellectual conscience and a medium of personal relationship with the divinity…’ (Safran, p. 8).Google Scholar

^{page 395 note 6} We will discuss Sidqî and the politics of the 1930s below.Google Scholar

^{page 396 note 1} ‘Bayn al-‘Ilm wa al-Dîn’, and republished in Taha's, Min Ba'îd (From A Distance) (Beirut, 1967), pp. 205–55. The original edition was published in Cairo in 1935.Google Scholar

^{page 396 note 2} Ibid. pp. 219–24.

^{page 397 note 2} Ibid. pp. 241–2.

^{page 397 note 4} Ibid. p. 253.

^{page 398 note 2} Ibid. p. 8.

^{page 399 note 1} For example, the article entitled ‘al-Wafd al-Muta 'asibi min al-Aqbât’ (The Wafd is a Fanatical Group of Copts), al-Siyâsa al- Yawmiyya (17 September 1929).Google Scholar

^{page 399 note 2} In his Tarájim Misriyya wa Gharbiyya (Egyptian and Western Biographies) (Cairo, 1929), pp. 8–9.Google Scholar

^{page 399 note 3} ‘al-’Aql wa al-Rûh’ (Reason and Spirit), al-Siyâsa al-Usbu^'iyya, 18 May 1929, and republished in al-Imân wa al-Ma'rifa, pp. 104–14. Cf. Taha Husayn's comments in his Introduction to 'Alâ Hâmish al-Sîra, particularly pages I and II, where he states he is not writing for scientists or historians, but for the people for whom ‘reason is not everything’, for they have other properties which need nourishment given by the illogical fables he will treat.Google Scholar

^{page 399 note 4} Thawrat al-Adab (The Revolt of Literature) (Cairo, 1933), p. 149.Google Scholar

^{page 400 note 1} The expulsion of the ‘ulamâ’ is mentioned in al-Sa'îdî, 'Abd al-Mut'âl, Târîkh al-Islâh fî al-Azhar (The History of Reform in al-Azhar) (Cairo, 1943), pp. 128–9.Google Scholar

^{page 400 note 2} An example of the campaign is the article ‘al-Jâm’ia al-Amrîkiyya: Hal Hiyya liltabshîr aw lilta‘lîm’ (The American University: Is Its Purpose Missionary Activity or Education), al-Siyâsa al- Yawmiyya (31 May 1932). A Committee for the Defense of Islam was formed in 1933 under al-Marâghî's leadership to deal with the missionary threat, but it directed criticism at the government and al-Zawâhirî as part of its campaign.Google Scholar

^{page 400 note 3} (The Life of Mubammad) (Cairo, 1935). We will refer to the 1964 edition. Berque, L'Égypte, pp. 526–7,Google Scholar presents Haykal as writing the initial articles of this series for the sake of refuting views expressed in Dermenghem's, EmileLa Vie de Mahomet (Paris, 1929) and thereby defending Islam against Christian attacks. Actually, Haykal relied upon Dermenghem rather than refuted him and chose the book haphazardly as a means of embarking upon his work. See his account in his Mudhakkirît, vol. I, p. 329.Google Scholar

^{page 400 note 4} Hayât Muhammad, pp. 17–18.Google Scholar

^{page 401 note 1} Ibid. pp. 14, 21.

^{page 401 note 3} 'Uthmân Ibn ‘Affân: Bayn al-Khilâfa wa al-Mulk (The Life of ‘Uthmân Ibn ‘Affân: Between Caliphate and Kingship), ed. Haykal, Ahmad Muhammad Husayn (Cairo, 1964).Google Scholar The subtitle indicated Haykal's intention of portraying the Umayyad period as the beginning of kingship when the true, spiritual Caliphate ended and a concern for political authority began. Other biographies were al-Siddîq Abû Bakr (The Life of Abú Bakr) (Cairo, 1942),Google Scholar and al-Fâriûk 'Umar (The Life of 'Umar), two volumes (Cairo, 1944–1945).Google Scholar In addition, Haykal published Fî Manzal a1-Wahy (In the Birthplace of the Revelation) (Cairo, 1937), to which we will refer below.Google Scholar

^{page 401 note 4} Hayât Muhammad, pp. 149–50.Google Scholar

^{page 401 note 5} Ibid. pp. 140–3.

^{page 402 note 2} Ibid. p. 230.

^{page 402 note 4} Ibid.

^{page 403 note 1} Ibid. pp. 475–6.

^{page 403 note 3} Safran, p. 173.Google Scholar

^{page 403 note 4} In the Introduction to Jân Jâk Rûsaw (Jean-Jacques Rousseau), vol. I (Cairo, 1921), k.Google Scholar

^{page 403 note 5} ‘Hihârat al-Sharq al-Awsat: Matâ Tab’ath min Jadîd?’ (The Civilization of the Middle East: When Will It Arise Again ?), al-Siyâsa al-Usbû'iyya (29 December 1928)Google Scholar and reprinted in al-Sharq al-Jadîd (The New East), ed. Haykal, Ahmad Muhammad Husayn (Cairo, 1962), pp. 129–37.Google Scholar See particularly page 133. It is unlikely that Haykal had ever read Bergson, as a 1912 edition of L'Évolution créative in his library was unmarked. Bergson did receive the Nobel Prize for literature in 1927 and it is possible that Haykal became more aware of his ideas at that time. Haykal speaks of Bergson in the present tense as if he were combating Positivism at that moment when, in actuality, Bergson had been most prominent at the turn of the century.

^{page 403 note 6} An argument initially presented in Jân Jîk Rûssaw, vol. 1, k, and repeated in ‘Athar al-Harakât al-Fikriyya fî Banâ’ al-Umum’ (The Influence of Intellectual Movements on the Growth of Nations), al-Siyâsa al- Usbû'iyya (9 April 1927), and republished in al-Sharq al-Jadîd, pp. 78–207.Google Scholar

^{page 404 note 1} Translated in Safran, p. 174.Google Scholar

^{page 404 note 2} Ibid.

^{page 405 note 2} In Fî Manzal al-Wahy, p. 29, Haykal compared himself to Bergson and the ‘Metaphysicians’, who opposed the Positivist assumption that science could discover everything as a means of defending himself against Egyptian critics, whom he accused of still adhering to Positivism. Haykal was far more concerned with justifying himself to his Western-oriented critics than to those from the religious community.Google Scholar

^{page 405 note 3} Safran, pp. 210–11.Google Scholar

^{page 405 note 4} Ibid. p. 240.

^{page 405 note 6} As Safran claims, p. 250.Google Scholar It is interesting to consider these issues with respect to distinctions made by Gibb, H. A. R. in his Modern Trends in Islam (Chicago, 1947).CrossRefGoogle Scholar Gibb distinguishes between secularists, whom he will not discuss at all, and modernists. Secularists are characterized as having rejected the religious claims of Islam entirely (p. 52) whereas modernists are described as usually being educated laymen (pp. 48–9) whose apologetic treatment of the Prophet and Islam had a dual purpose. Its first goal was ‘to restore faith in Islam among doubting Muslims by demonstrating the supreme excellence of their religion. Its second function is to persuade the “old-fashioned” Muslims that they, by their social conservatism and their standing upon the letter of the law, are sinning against the light’ (p. 95). The modernist apologetic has distorted basic elements of Islam through its ‘disregard for all objective standards of investigation and historical truth’ (p. 77). A basic dilemma of the modernist has been that the Quran is ‘true and final’ (p. 94), meaning that his attempts at reform must lie within the scope of its acceptance as divine revelation. This dilemma is also a major issue postulated by Safran for the intellectuals – their inability to escape the Quran as divine revelation – and it illustrates the gap between our analysis and that of Safran and Gibb. The argument is true to the degree that once an intellectual, such as Haykal, decided to operate within the Islamic framework totally, he had to refer to the Quran. This necessity led Taha Husayn to avoid the Sîra so that he could avoid the Quran in ‘Alâ Hâmish al-Sîra. Nevertheless, Haykal did not accept the Quran as ‘true and final’ in the sense of its representing a truth accepted on the basis of faith which would restrict his arguments. The Quran was used by him as accepted truth in the eyes of others in order to validate his Western arguments, which meant, in practice, attributions at will in light of his own, Western perspective. While Gibb does not mention names, much of his description of the modernist approach to the Prophet is applicable to Haykal, but we would still characterize him as a secularist in Gibb's own terms, one who rejected the religious claims of Islam as personally binding upon his thought while accepting its value as a social ethic. In both cases the choice was a necessary one if progress was to continue in Haykal's eyes, but he failed to see, in contrast to Taha, that such a shift could strengthen the religious claims themselves. Safran is quite correct in noting the failure of the intellectuals, but both he and Gibb define a non-existent dilemma and establish standards which reflect their own vision more than that of the intellectuals. Haykal never sought, in light of Gibb's analysis, to restore faith among doubting Muslims. It is true that he did disregard objective standards of investigation with respect to Islamic history — while claiming the opposite – but his purpose was persuasion for the ultimate achievement of his rationalist goals, not historical objectivity, and he and others must be judged in their own terms if they are to be truly understood.

^{page 406 note 1} The story of the cleavage of the Prophet's breast by an angel is seen by Haykal as a tale symbolizing Muhammad' purity (Hayât Muhammad, pp. 110–12) and he justifies his interpretation through Western sources, including Dermenghem, and rejecting Muslim sources.Google Scholar Again, he uses the apologetic argument as he states (p. 112) that Muhammad, being the lofty example of humanity that he was, as both orientalists and Muslim sources agreed, did not need to resort to verifications of his message as had those who preceded him. The Prophet's journey to Jerusalem and ascension to heaven are explained in psychological terms (pp. 193–5) as spiritual, in that his soul communed with God but as having no ‘material’ reality. Haykal views these stories as examples of ‘Wahdat al-Wujûd’ where Muhammad's spirit became part of eternity and exemplified the spiritual unity found in the messages of Judaism and Christianity. Safran (p. 169) is misleading in claiming that Haykal sought to make these stories and the Quran as such ‘scientifically explainable’ in the sense of trying to justify them in a defensive manner. He was actually placing himself on the level of critic to suit his own purposes.Google Scholar

^{page 407 note 1} A colleague of Haykal's wrote of him that while his literary direction had changed, ‘I assure you that his methods… and his goal have not’, in an article entitled ‘Haykal Basha: Fî al-Mir'âh' (Haykal Pasha: In the Spotlight), al-Siyâsa al-Usbû'iyya (30 July 1938). Safran states (p. 209) that this paper took on a Muslim format in cover design and gave large coverage to Muslim subjects in the late 1930s and that this was indicative of Haykal's shift to a Muslim orientation. In fact, the Muslim format existed only during the period 1932–5, precisely when basic political issues were at stake, and reverted to secular covers when the paper reappeared in 1937.Google Scholar

^{page 407 note 2} (The Future of Culture in Egypt) (Cairo, 1938).Google Scholar We shall use the English translation with the same title by Glazer, Sidney (Washington, D.C., 1954).Google Scholar

^{page 407 note 3} Cachia, Tâhâ Husayn, p. 89.Google Scholar See also Hourani, Albert, Arabic Thought, pp. 327 ff.Google Scholar

^{page 407 note 4} Hourani, Albert is in error (Arabic Thought, p. 338) in saying that Taha sought to end the monopoly held by al-Azhar of the teaching of Arabic in the state schools. He was actually trying to prevent them from regaining that right which had been taken away with the creation of Dâr al-′Ulûm in 1872.Google Scholar The best discussion of this event is in Salama, Ibrahim, L'Enseignement islamique (Le Caire, 1938), pp. 241–245 ff.Google Scholar See also Vatikiotis, The Modern History of Egypt, pp. 102–3, 107.Google Scholar Taha did not want Dâr al-′Ulûm to retain this right however, He advocated its transference to the graduates of the Faculty of Arts of the Egyptian University to make the teaching of Arabic completely scientific, i.e. without religious influence. While this concern is evident in The Future of Culture, pp. 106–14,Google Scholar Taha had advocated such a move as early as 1927 in Fî al-Adab al-Jâhilî, pp. 52–3.Google Scholar

^{page 408 note 1} These issues and others are discussed in Kedourie's, Elie ‘Egypt and the Caliphate: 1915–52’, The Chatham House Version and Other Middle Eastern Studies (New York, 1970), particularly pages 198–207,Google Scholar where it is also noted how Haykal used al-Marâghî for propaganda purposes to gain Muslim support against the Wafd. It is likely that these political concerns contributed to al-′Aqqâd's shift to Islamic themes in that he was now the chief spokesman for the Sa'adists who had broken with the Wafd. His 'Abqariyat Muhammad (The Genius of Muhammad) (Cairo, 1942) did glorify the Islamic past and the Prophet, as did later biographies of Muslim heroes, but none of them sought to interpret Islam anew either (Safran, p. 249).Google Scholar Al-'Aqqâd stated specifically in his Introduction to 'Abqariyat Muhammad that he was going to deal with Muhammad simply as a great man in the Carlylean sense, one who could be admired by non-Muslims as well. He was doing so because the people needed examples of greatness in troubled times, but he disavowed any attempt to deal with the Sîra of the Prophet or with Islam in the religious sense, a denial quite similar to that made by Taha Husayn.

^{page 408 note 2} The Future of Culture, p. 9. See pages 15–26 for his attack on those who talked of the ‘spiritual East’.Google Scholar

^{page 409 note 1} Haykal's sense of uneasiness was evident even in his novel Zaynab (Zaynab) (Cairo, 1963), originally published in 1912, where the hero, Hâmid, faced with the demands of his commitment to a Western orientation, wonders if he should not have remained in his village, where he was happy (p. 198).Google Scholar The same theme was repeated in a remarkable article ‘al-Hayât al-Mahabba’ (The Beloved Life), al-Hilâl (April 1934), pp. 641–6,Google Scholar where he looked back at his village life at the turn of the century when there was no class conflict and his grandfather's authority as Shaykh al-Balad was accepted by all — a sharp contrast with the insecurity he portrays as characteristic of the present. Taha Husayn's novels implied the same wish for stability in the present, though without Haykal's personal sense of uncertainty. See the excellent article by Milson, Menahem, ‘Tâhâ Husayn's “The Tree of Misery”: A Literary Expression of Cultural Change’, Asian and African Studies, vol. 3 (1967), pp. 69–101, esp, pp. 86–99.Google Scholar See also Safran, p. 202,Google Scholar and Hourani, Albert, Arabic Thought, pp. 333–4.Google Scholar For al-'Aqqâd, see Safran, p. 211, for a discussion of the former's perplexity over the current lack of principles to which all could refer. Al-'Aqqâd's 'Abqariyat (Genius) series of Muslim heroes can be seen as a shift to a Muslim framework to present the example of a great man in the same manner he had used in his biography of Sa'ad Zaghlûl.Google Scholar

^{page 409 note 2} This statement fits Taha Husayn most clearly. A distinction between personal preference and socio-political necessity must be made for Haykal and al-'Aqqâd.Google Scholar

^{page 409 note 3} To borrow a phrase from Hourani, Albert, Arabic Thought, p. 341. See his general discussion, pp. 341–73, as well as Vatikiotis, The Modern History of Egypt, chs. 14 and 15, and Safran, ch. 14, for treatment of the issues so briefly summarized here.Google Scholar