Oxford, Fez, or the Enigma of Decline... 396
It has now been nearly ten days since I have been walking through Oxford. What a pleasure it is to wander here. Ten days roaming its narrow streets, brushing against its stone walls, breathing in its immaculate gardens and its centuries-old colleges with their majestic façades. Ten days entering libraries where silence feels like a religion. Ten days visiting museums that are free, open to all, rich with objects, ideas, and the memory of humanity. Here, knowledge is not confined. It circulates. It is shared. It is breathed in. It lives.
Each museum is a lesson in humility. The story of humanity is told with care, delicacy, patience, and pride. One can spend hours there without fatigue. Upon leaving, one already longs to return. Even the botanical garden feels like a constant invitation to understand the earth, plants, life, the universe, and the distant unknown.
But for ten days now, a question has also been following me.
It struck me suddenly at the Science Museum when I discovered astrolabes from our lands, from Morocco, from the Muslim world, displayed with respect, as symbols of a time when we were among the producers of global knowledge.
And so a question becomes an obsession: how did we lose that lead?
It is important to recall a historical truth that is often forgotten: the University of Al Quaraouiyine in Fez was the first university in the world. At a time when much of Europe was still in the shadows of the Middle Ages, Fez was already radiating through theology, mathematics, astronomy, medicine, philosophy, and the sciences of language. Scholars taught there while Europe was still learning how to structure its institutions of knowledge.
On world maps tracing the history of human knowledge, Fez clearly appears as one of humanity’s great intellectual centers.
So what happened?
At what point did Oxford and Cambridge take the lead? Why did science continue to progress here while, in our lands, the momentum gradually stalled?
Why did Europe transform universities into permanent engines of innovation and development, while we ended up sanctifying the past instead of building the future?
The answer cannot be simplistic. No people decline overnight by accident. No civilization collapses by chance.
The divergence of the Muslim world, and particularly Morocco, is the result of a long historical process in which powerful forces played a role.
First, there was the gradual closing of the critical mind. For centuries, the Muslim world had made intellectual curiosity a central value. Greek, Persian, and Indian works were translated. People debated. They experimented. They wrote and taught. Scholars held prestige. Doubt was permitted, admired, even. Then, little by little, fear of change and conservatism replaced intellectual dynamism. Scholars were condemned, killed, persecuted; their books burned. Teaching was reduced to repetition rather than invention.
Meanwhile, Europe experienced the Renaissance, then the scientific revolution, then the Enlightenment. Oxford and other European universities understood something essential: a university is not merely a place for transmitting fixed knowledge, it is a place where knowledge is produced and innovation is born.
There, libraries became modern cathedrals. Here, books are still too often seen as secondary objects. There, research was funded, protected, encouraged. Here, even today, how many researchers still live in precarity and indifference?
But there is something even deeper.
Oxford impresses through something rare: continuity.
Here, traditions were not destroyed in the name of modernity; they were integrated into it. Students still proudly wear black attire for examinations and carnations on their lapels. Professors continue to wear their centuries-old academic gowns. Academic rituals endure as a matter of course. And yet, no one sees this as incompatible with technological or scientific innovation. Perhaps this, too, is one of the great differences. What has become of the rituals of Al Quaraouiyine that once inspired universities across the world?
Today, we tend to believe that modernity requires a brutal break with our traditions. They have understood that identity can be a strength when it accompanies progress rather than opposes it.
Here, colleges are respected because they embody a living history. Buildings are maintained with almost sacred care. Students seem aware that they belong to something greater than themselves. They sit on prestigious benches. Knowledge is not merely a tool for social mobility; it is a collective mission.
This is reflected even in behavior. People are calm, disciplined, curious, respectful, not because they are inherently superior, but because centuries of strong institutions have shaped a culture of civic responsibility and respect for public space.
The real tragedy of the Muslim world may not be only economic or political. It is cultural. We have ceased to sustainably protect our institutions of knowledge. Too often, we have replaced merit with networks, a culture of research with a culture of diplomas, scientific patience with political urgency.
While others were building libraries, we were sometimes building certainties.
But all is not lost.
What is most fascinating about Oxford is not its material wealth. It is its enduring belief in knowledge, its willingness to invest in books, museums, laboratories, gardens, students, and teachers as one would invest in the very future of the nation.
The real question, then, is not only: why did we decline?
Perhaps the real question is: do we still have the will to become a civilization that produces knowledge, rather than a society that merely consumes it?
History shows one essential truth: no advantage is eternal, not that of empires, nor of universities, nor of civilizations.
Fez has already illuminated the world. Nothing prevents it, nor Marrakech, Rabat, or Benguerir, from doing so again.
Provided we understand that progress cannot be decreed. It is built in schools, in libraries, in intellectual freedom, in respect for teachers, in the protection of science, and in the reconciliation between identity and modernity.
The real gap did not widen only in budgets or infrastructure.
It widened in our relationship to knowledge