The weight of the book in gold

A writer friend confided in me that he feared for his venerable library, which he had collected over more than sixty years. He feared that these treasures would end up as scrap or trash on the side of containers. He confided that he regretted spending most of his life reading, writing, researching, and taking life seriously. He asked me sadly: What have my books given me? They haven’t even fed me bread or onions.

I remembered Al-Jahiz with the whisper of a friend. Al-Jahiz who died after his library fell on him with its shelves and heavy books. But I do not believe that his death was a coincidence. Rather, I am certain that it was a planned suicide, after he felt in a moment of anger that his fatigue and sleepless nights reading, writing, composing and researching would not find an echo in others.

Perhaps this is the same reason that prompted the philosopher of poets and poet of philosophers, Abu Al-Ala Al-Maari, to burn his books, thinking that they were against people who did not appreciate his efforts. Many did the same thing to their books. Yusuf bin Asbat put his books in an unknown cave and then closed its door. Abu Sulayman Al-Darani gathered his many books in an oven and lit them on fire, saying: By God, I did not burn you until I almost burned myself with you. The crown of the nation, Dawud Al-Ta’i, threw his books into the sea so that they would not reach the people who did not take him by the hand. Sufyan Al-Thawri tore them up and threw them in the wind, saying: I wish my hand had been cut off from here, or rather from there, and I had never written a single letter!

I was not convinced by the incident of one of the Abbasid caliphs, when he wanted to encourage science and literature, so he ordered that the writer who wrote or translated a book be given the weight of that book in gold. But what I liked very much was that one of the opportunists thought more about gold; so he engraved his book on a heavy rock, and rolled it to the caliph’s court, so that he would be given gold for it.

I do not dream that a writer will be given the weight of his book in gold, but I wish that writers in our country could eat their bread from the proceeds of their books. But we have contented ourselves with lamenting our situation and have not done anything that would restore the book to its true value.

Of course, I do not like it when a writer despairs or offers his books and efforts as a sacrifice to the unknown or to the fire of hell, on the pretext that others do not deserve it, and that time is unfair. I do not like it when readers despair either, and it pains me when they get rid of books that may be their last resort in a time when friends are scarce.