| SPIRITS REBELLIOUS
by Khalil Gibran
Contents
EDITOR'S PREFACE v
MADAME ROSE HANIE I
THE CRY OF THE GRAVES
KHALIL THE HERETIC
Editor's Preface
SOON after publication
of the original Arabic of Spirits Rebellious
at the turn of the century, considerable
agitation and intrigue developed. The book
was publicly burned in the Beirut market
place by furious church and state officials
who adjudged it poisonous, and fiercely dangerous
to the peace of the country. Lebanon was
then suffering virtual slavery under oppressive
Turkish rule.
Gibran's bitter denunciation of both religious
and political injustice prevailing at the
time, brought also his anticipated exile
from the country and excommunication from
the church, although his parents were staunch
Maronites. It was the story Khalil the Heretic,
in particular, which drove the Sultan and
his Emirs into trepidation, and caused nervous
authorities in the entire Middle and Near
East to examine into their governments.
Gibran was quietly pursuing painting with
his friend Rodin in Paris when he learned
of the ceremonial destruction of his book,
and he merely expressed the thought that
it was excellent cause for the issuance of
a second edition.
In 1908 his exile was remanded, and the church
embraced him without conciliation on his
part. A mourner who witnessed the Gibran
funeral procession in 1931, states that the
ecclesiastical pageantry of the event was
beyond description. Hundreds of priests and
religious leaders, representing every denomination
under Eastern skies, were in solemn attendance.
Included were Maronites, Catholics, Shiites,
Protestants, Mohammedans, Greek Orthodox,
Jews, Sunnites, Druzes, and others. And to
render complete Gibran's restoration to the
fold of religion, he was buried in the grotto
of the Monastery of Mar Sarkis in Bsherri,
his childhood church.
M. L. W.
 |
|
Bcharre (Buissera during Crusaders time)
profits from a privileged
situation above the Kadisha valley,
in the middle of the orchards,
and at the foot of Qornet el-Saouda.
Bcharre is the birthplace of
Khalil Gibran (1883-1931), it
lives in the worship and the memory
of the writer.
|
Khalil the Heretic
I
SHEIK ABBAS was looked upon
as a prince by the people of a solitary village
in North Lebanon. His mansion stood in the
midst of those poor villagers' huts like
a healthy giant amidst sickly dwarfs. He
lived amid luxury while they pursued an existence
of penury. They obeyed him and bowed reverently
before him as he spoke to them. It seemed
as though the power of mind had appointed
him its official interpreter and spokesman.
His anger would make them tremble and scatter
like autumn leaves before a strong wind.
If he were to slap one's face, it would be
heresy on the individual's part to move or
lift his head or make any attempt to discover
why the blow had come. If he smiled at a
man, the villagers would consider the person
thus honoured as the most fortunate. The
people's fear and surrender to Sheik Abbas
were not due to weakness; however, their
poverty and need of him had brought about
this state of continual humiliation. Even
the huts they lived in and the fields they
cultivated were owned by Sheik Abbas who
had inherited them from his ancestors.
The farming of the land and
the sowing of the seeds and the gathering
of wheat were all done under the supervision
of the Sheik who, in reward for their toil,
compensated them with a small portion of
the crop which barely kept them from falling
as victims of gnawing starvation.
Often many of them were in need
of bread before the crop was reaped, and
they came to Sheik Abbas and asked him with
pouring tears to advance them a few piastres
or a bushel of wheat, and the Sheik gladly
granted their request for he knew that they
would pay their debts doubly when harvest
time came. Thus those people remained obligated
all their lives, left a legacy of debts to
their children and were submissive to their
master whose anger they had always feared
and whose friendship and good will they had
constantly but unsuccessfully endeavoured
to win.
II
Winter came and brought heavy snow and strong
winds; the valleys and the fields became
empty of all things except leafless trees
which stood as spectres of death above the
lifeless plains.
Having stored the products of the land in
the Sheik's bins and filled his vases with
the wine of the vineyards, the villagers
retreated to their huts to spend a portion
of their lives idling by the fireside and
commemorating the glory of the past ages
and relating to one another the tales of
weary days and long nights.
The old year had just breathed its last into
the grey sky. The night had arrived during
which the New Year would be crowned and placed
upon the throne of the Universe. The snow
began to fall heavily and the whistling winds
were racing from the lofty mountains down
to the abyss and blowing the snow into heaps
to be stored away in the valleys.
The trees were shaking under the heavy storms
and the fields and knolls were covered with
a white floor upon which Death was writing
vague lines and effacing them. The mists
stood as partitions between the scattered
villages by the sides of the valleys. The
lights that flickered through the windows
of those wretched huts disappeared behind
the thick veil of Nature's wrath.
Fear penetrated the fellahin's hearts and
the animals stood by their mangers in the
sheds, while the dogs were hiding in the
corners. One could hear the voices of the
screaming winds and thundering of the storms
resounding from the depths of the valleys.
It seemed as if Nature were enraged by the
passing of the old year and trying to wrest
revenge from those peaceful souls by fighting
with weapons of cold and frost.
That night under the raging sky, a young
man was attempting to walk the winding trail
that connected Deir Kizhaya* [* One of the
richest and most famous convents in Lebanon.
Kizhaya is a Syriac word meaning "Paradise
of Life." -- Editor's note.] with Sheik
Abbas' village. The youth's limbs were numbed
with cold, while pain and hunger usurped
him of his strength. The black raiment he
wore was bleached with the falling snow,
as if he were shrouded in death before the
hour of his death had come. He was struggling
against the wind. His progress was difficult,
and he took but a few steps forward with
each effort. He called for help and then
stood silent, shivering in the cold night.
He had slim hope, withering between great
despair and deep sorrow. He was like a bird
with a broken wing, who fell in a stream
whose whirlpools carried him down to the
depths.
The young man continued walking and falling
until his blood stopped circulating and he
collapsed. He uttered a terrible sound .
. . the voice of a soul who encountered the
hollow face of Death . . . a voice of dying
youth, weakened by man and trapped by nature
. . . a voice of the love of existence in
the space of nothingness.
III
On the north side of that village, in the
midst of the wind-torn fields, stood the
solitary home of a woman named Rachel, and
her daughter Miriam who had not then attained
the age of eighteen. Rachel was the widow
of Samaan Ramy, who was found slain six years
earlier, but the law of man did not find
the murderer .
Like the rest of the Lebanese widows, Rachel
sustained life through long, hard work. During
the harvest season, she would look for ears
of corn left behind by others in the fields,
and in Autumn she gathered the remnants of
some forgotten fruits in the gardens. In
Winter she spun wool and made raiment for
which she received a few piastres or a bushel
of grain. Miriam, her daughter, was a beautiful
girl who shared with her mother the burden
of toil.
That bitter night the two women were sitting
by the fireplace whose warmth was weakened
by the frost and whose fire-brands were buried
beneath the ashes. By their side was a flickering
lamp that sent its yellow, dimmed rays into
the heart of darkness like prayer that sends
phantoms of hope into the hearts of the sorrowful.
Midnight had come and they were listening
to the wailing winds outside. Every now and
then Miriam would get up, open the small
transom and look toward the obscured sky,
and then she would return to her chair worried
and frightened by the raging elements. Suddenly
Miriam started, as if she had awakened from
a swoon of deep slumber .
She looked anxiously toward her mother and
said, "Did you hear that, Mother? Did
you hear a voice calling for help?"
The mother listened a moment and said, "I
hear nothing except the crying wind, my daughter."
Then Miriam exclaimed, "I heard a voice
deeper than the thundering heaven and more
sorrowful than the wailing of the tempest."
Having uttered these words, she stood up
and opened the door and listened for a moment.
Then she said, "I hear it again, Mother!
" Rachel hurried toward the frail door
and after a moment's hesitation she said,
"And I hear it, too. Let us go and see."
She wrapped herself with a long robe, opened
the door and walked out cautiously, while
Miriam stood at the door, the wind blowing
her long hair.
Having forced her way a short distance through
the snow, Rachel stopped and shouted out,
"Who is calling. . . where are you?"
There was no answer; then she repeated the
same words again and again, but she heard
naught except thunder. Then she courageously
advanced forward, looking in every direction.
She had walked for some time, when she found
some deep footprints upon the snow; she followed
them fearfully and in a few moments found
a human body lying before her on the snow,
like a patch on a white dress. As she approached
him and leaned his head over her knees, she
felt his pulse that bespoke his slowing heart
beats and his slim chance in life. She turned
her face toward the hut and called, "Come,
Miriam, come and help me, I have found him!"
Miriam rushed out and followed her mother's
footprints, while shivering with cold and
trembling with fear. As she reached the place
and saw the youth lying motionless, she cried
with an aching voice. The mother put her
hands under his armpits, calmed Miriam and
said, "Fear not, for he is still living;
hold the lower edge of his cloak and let
us carry him home."
Confronted with the strong wind and heavy
snow, the two women carried the youth and
started toward the hut. As they reached the
little haven, they laid him down by the fireplace.
Rachel commenced rubbing his numbed hands
and Miriam drying his hair with the end of
her dress. The youth began to move after
a few minutes. His eyelids quivered and he
took a deep sigh - a sigh that brought the
hope of his safety into the hearts of the
merciful women. They removed his shoes and
took off his black robe. Miriam looked at
her mother and said, "Observe his raiment,
Mother; these clothes are worn by the monks."
After feeding the fire with a bundle of dry
sticks, Rachel looked at her daughter with
perplexity and said, "The monks do not
leave their convent on such a terrible night."
And Miriam inquired, "But he has no
hair on his face; the monks wear beards."
The mother gazed at him with eyes full of
mercy and maternal love; then she turned
to her daughter and said, "It makes
no difference whether he is a monk or criminal;
dry his feet well, my daughter." Rachel
opened a closet, took from it a jar of wine
and poured some in an earthenware bowl.
Miriam held his head while the mother gave
him some of it to stimulate his heart. As
he sipped the wine he opened his eyes for
the first time and gave his rescuers a sorrowful
look mingled with tears of gratitude - the
look of a human who felt the smooth touch
of life after having been gripped in the
sharp claws of death - a look of great hope
after hope had fled. Then he bent his head,
and his lips trembled when he uttered the
words, "May God bless both of you."
Rachel placed her hand upon his shoulder
and said, "Be calm, brother. Do not
tire yourself with talking until you gain
strength." And Miriam added, "Rest
your head on this pillow, brother, and we
will place you closer to the fire."
Rachel refilled the bowl with wine and gave
it to him. She looked at her daughter and
said, "Hang his robe by the fire so
it will dry." Having executed her mother's
command, she returned and commenced looking
at him mercifully, as if she wanted to help
him by pouring into his heart all the warmth
of her soul. Rachel brought two loaves of
bread with some preserves and dry fruits;
she sat by him and began to feed him small
morsels, as a mother feeds her little child.
At this time he felt stronger and sat up
on the hearth mat while the red flames of
fire reflected upon his sad face. His eyes
brightened and he shook his head slowly,
saying, "Mercy and cruelty are both
wrestling in the human heart like the mad
elements in the sky of this terrible night,
but mercy shall overcome cruelty because
it is divine, and the terror alone, of this
night, shall pass away when daylight comes."
Silence prevailed for a minute and then he
added with a whispering voice, "A human
hand drove me into desperation and a human
hand rescued me; how severe man is, and how
merciful man is!" And Rachel inquired,
"How ventured you, brother, to leave
the convent on such a terrible night, when
even the beasts do not venture forth?"
The youth shut his eyes as if he wanted to
restore his tears back into the depths of
his heart, whence they came, and he said,
"The animals have their caves, and the
birds of the sky their nests, but the son
of man has no place to rest his head."
Rachel retorted, "That is what Jesus
said about himself." And the young man
resumed, "This is the answer for every
man who wants to follow the Spirit and the
Truth in this age of falsehood, hypocrisy
and corruption."
After a few moments of contemplation, Rachel
said, "But there are many comfortable
rooms in the convent, and the coffers are
full of gold, and all kinds of provisions.
The sheds of the convent are stocked with
fat calves and sheep; what made you leave
such haven in this deathly night?" The
youth sighed deeply and said, "I left
that place because I hated it." And
Rachel rejoined, "A monk in a convent
is like a soldier in the battlefield who
is required to obey the orders of his leader
regardless of their nature. I heard that
a man could not become a monk unless he did
away with his will, his thought, his desires,
and all that pertains to the mind. But a
good head priest does not ask his monks to
do unreasonable things. How could the head
priest of Deir Kizhaya ask you to give up
your life to the storms and snow?" And
he remarked, "In the opinion of the
head priest, a man cannot become a monk unless
he is blind and ignorant, senseless and dumb.
I left the convent because I am a sensible
man who can see, feel, and hear."
Miriam and Rachel stared at him as if they
had found in his face a hidden secret; after
a moment of meditation the mother said, "Will
a man who sees and hears go out on a night
that blinds the eyes and deafens the ears?"
And the youth stated quietly, "1 was
expelled from the convent." "Expelled!"
exclaimed Rachel; and Miriam repeated the
same word in unison with her mother.
He lifted his head, regretting his words,
for he was afraid lest their love and sympathy
be converted into hatred and disrespect;
but when he looked at them and found the
rays of mercy still emanating from their
eyes, and their bodies vibrating with anxiety
to learn further, his voice choked and he
continued, "Yes, I was expelled from
the convent because I could not dig my grave
with my own hands, and my heart grew weary
of lying and pilfering. I was expelled from
the convent because my soul refused to enjoy
the bounty of a people who surrendered themselves
to ignorance. I was driven away because I
could not find rest in the comfortable rooms,
built with the money of the poor fellahin.
My stomach could not hold bread baked with
the tears of orphans. My lips could not utter
prayers sold for gold and food by the heads
to the simple and faithful people. I was
expelled from the convent like a filthy leper
because I was repeating to the monks the
rules that qualified them to their present
position."
Silence prevailed while Rachel and Miriam
were contemplating his words and gazing at
him, when they asked, "Are your father
and mother living?" And he responded,
"I have no father or mother nor a place
that is my home." Rachel drew a deep
sigh and Miriam turned her face toward the
wall to hide her merciful and loving tears.
As a withering flower is brought back to
life by dew-drops that dawn pours into its
begging petals, so the youth’s anxious heart
was enlivened by his benefactors' affection
and kindness. He looked at them as a soldier
looks upon his liberators who rescue him
from the grip of the enemy, and he resumed,
"1 lost my parents before I reached
the age of seven. The village priest took
me to Deir Kizhaya and left me at the disposal
of the monks who were happy to take me in
and put me in charge of the cows and sheep,
which I led each day to the pasture. When
I attained the age of fifteen, they put on
me this black robe and led me into the altar
whereupon the head priest addressed me saying,
"Swear by the name of God and all saints,
and make a vow to live a virtuous life of
poverty and obedience." I repeated the
words before I realized their significance
or comprehended his own interpretation of
poverty, virtue and obedience.
My name was Khalil, and since that time the
monks addressed me as Brother Mobaarak,*
[*Coincidentally, Mobaarak was the name of
the Right Reverend Maronite Archbishop who
officiated at Kahlil Gibran's last rites.
-- Editor's note.] but they never did treat
me as a brother. They ate the most palatable
foods and drank the finest wine, while I
lived on dry vegetables and water, mixed
with tears. They slumbered in soft beds while
I slept on a stone slab in a dark and cold
room by the shed. Oftentimes I asked myself,
"When will I become a monk and share
with those fortunate priests their bounty?
When will my heart stop craving for the food
they eat and the wine they drink? When will
I cease to tremble with fear before my superior?"
But all my hopes were in vain, for I was
kept in the same state; and in addition to
caring for the cattle, I was obliged to move
heavy stones on my shoulders and to' dig
pits and ditches. I sustained life on a few
morsels of bread given to me in reward for
my toil. I knew of no other place to which
I might go, and the clergymen at the convent
had caused me to abhor everything they were
doing. They had poisoned my mind until I
commenced to think that the whole world was
an ocean of sorrows and miseries and that
the convent was the only port of salvation.
But when I discovered the source of their
food and gold, I was happy that I did not
share it." Khalil straightened himself
and looked about with wonder, as if he had
found something beautiful standing before
him in that wretched hut. Rachel and Miriam
remained silent and he proceeded, "God,
who took my father and exiled me as an orphan
to the convent, did not want me to spend
all my life walking blindly toward a dangerous
jungle; nor did He wish me to be a miserable
slave for the rest of my life. God opened
my eyes and ears and showed me the bright
light and made me hear Truth when Truth was
talking." Rachel thought aloud, "Is
there any light, other than the sun, that
shines over all the people? Are human beings
capable of understanding the Truth?"
Khalil returned, "The true light is
that which emanates from within man, and
reveals the secrets of the heart to the soul,
making it happy and contented with life.
Truth is like the stars; it does not appear
except from behind obscurity of the night.
Truth is like all beautiful things in the
world; it does not disclose its desirability
except to those who first feel the influence
of falsehood. Truth is a deep kindness that
teaches us to be content in our everyday
life and share with the people the same happiness."
Rachel rejoined, "Many are those who
live according to their goodness, and many
are those who believe that compassion to
others is the shadow of the law of God to
man; but still, they do not rejoice in life,
for they remain miserable until death."
Khalil replied, "Vain are the beliefs
and teachings that make man miserable, and
false is the goodness that leads him into
sorrow and despair, for it is man's purpose
to be happy on this earth and lead the way
to felicity and preach its gospel wherever
he goes. He who does not see the kingdom
of heaven in this life will never see it
in the coming life. We came not into this
life by exile, but we came as innocent creatures
of God, to learn how to worship the holy
and eternal spirit and seek the hidden secrets
within ourselves from the beauty of life.
This is the truth which I have learned from
the teachings of the Nazarene. This is the
light that came from within me and showed
me the dark corners of the convent that threatened
my life. This is the deep secret which the
beautiful valleys and fields revealed to
me when I was hungry, sitting lonely and
weeping under the shadow of the trees.
This is the religion as the convent should
impart it; as God wished it; as Jesus taught
it. One day, as my soul became intoxicated
with the heavenly intoxication of Truth's
beauty, I stood bravely before the monks
who were gathering in the garden, and criticized
their wrong deeds saying, 'Why do you spend
your days here and enjoy the bounty of the
poor, whose bread you eat was made with the
sweat of their bodies and the tears of their
hearts? Why are you living in the shadow
of parasitism, segregating yourselves from
the people who are in need of knowledge?
Why are you depriving the country of your
help? Jesus has sent you as lambs amongst
the wolves; what has made you as wolves amongst
the Iambs? Why are you fleeing from mankind
and from God who created you? If you are
better than the people who walk in the procession
of life, you should go to them and better
their lives; but if you think they are better
than you, you should desire to learn from
them. How do you take an oath and vow to
live in poverty, then forget what you have
said and live in luxury ? How do you swear
an obedience to God and then revolt against
all that religion means? How do you adopt
virtue as your rule when your heart is full
of lusts? You pretend that you are killing
your bodies, but in fact you are killing
your souls. You feign to abhor the earthly
things, but your heart is swollen with greed.
You have the people believe in you as a religious
teacher; truly speaking you are like busy
cattle who divert themselves from knowledge
by grazing in a green and beautiful pasture.
Let us restore to the needy the vast land
of the convent and give back to them the
silver and gold we took from them. Let us
disperse from our aloofness and serve the
weak who made us strong, and cleanse the
country in which we live. Let us teach this
miserable nation to smile and rejoice with
heaven's bounty and glory of life and freedom.
The people’s tears are more beautiful and
God-joined than the ease and tranquility
to which you have accustomed yourselves in
this place. The sympathy that touches the
neighbour’s heart is more supreme than the
hidden virtue in the unseen corners of the
convent. A word of compassion to the weak
criminal or prostitute is nobler than the
long prayer which we repeat emptily every
day in the temple."
At this time Khalil took a deep breath. Then
he lifted his eyes toward Rachel and Miriam
saying, "1 was saying all of these things
to the monks and they were listening with
an air of perplexity, as if they could not
believe that a young man would dare stand
before them and utter such bold words. When
I finished, one of the monks approached and
angrily said to me, 'How dare you talk in
such fashion in our presence?' And another
one came laughing and added, 'Did you learn
all this from the cows and pigs you tended
in the fields?' And a third one stood up
and threatened me saying, 'You shall be punished,
heretic!' Then they dispersed as though running
away from a leper. Some of them complained
to the head priest who summoned me before
him at eventide. The monks took delight in
anticipation of my suffering, and there was
glee on their faces when I was ordered to
be scourged and put into prison for forty
days and nights. They led me into the dark
cell where I spent the time lying in that
grave without seeing the light. I could not
tell the end of the night from the beginning
of the day, and could feel nothing but crawling
insects and the earth under me. I could hear
naught save the tramping of the feet when
my morsel of bread and dish of water mixed
with vinegar were brought to me at great
intervals.
When I came out of the prison I was weak
and frail, and the monks believed that they
had cured me of thinking, and that they had
killed my soul's desire. They thought that
hunger and thirst had choked the kindness
which God placed in my heart. In my forty
days of solitude I endeavoured to find a
method by which I could help these monks
to see the light and hear the true song of
life, but all of my ponderings were in vain,
for the thick veil which the long ages had
woven around their eyes could not be torn
away in a short time; and the mortar with
which ignorance had cemented their ears was
hardened and could not be removed by the
touch of soft fingers."
Silence prevailed for a moment, and then
Miriam looked at her mother as if asking
her per mission to let her talk. She said,
"You must have talked to the monks again,
if they selected this terrible night in which
to banish you from the convent. They should
learn to be kind even to their enemies."
Khalil returned, "This evening, as the
thunder storms and warring elements raged
in the sky, I withdrew myself from the monks
who were crouching about the fire, telling
tales and humorous stories. When they saw
me alone they commenced to place their wit
at my expense. I was reading my Gospel and
contemplating the beautiful sayings of Jesus
that made me forget for the time the enraged
nature and belligerent elements of the sky,
when they approached me with a new spirit
of ridicule. I ignored them by occupying
myself and looking through the window, but
they became furious because my silence dried
the laughter of their hearts and the taunting
of their lips. One of them said, 'What are
you reading, Great Reformer?' In response
to his inquiry, I opened my book and read
aloud the following passage, 'But when he
saw many of the Pharisees and Saducees come
to his baptism, he said unto them, "O
generation of vipers, who hath warned you
to flee from the wrath to come? Bring forth
therefore fruits for repentance; And think
not to say within yourselves, 'We have Abraham
to our father;’" for I say unto you,
that God is able of these stones to raise
children unto Abraham. And now also the axe
is laid unto the root of the trees; therefore
every tree which bringeth not forth good
fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.'
As I read to them these words of John the
Baptist, the monks became silent as if an
invisible hand strangled their spirits, but
they took false courage and commenced laughing.
One of them said, 'We have read these words
many times, and we are not in need of a cow
grazier to repeat them to us.' I protested,
'If you had read these words and comprehended
their meaning, these poor villagers would
not have frozen or starved to death.' When
I said this, one of the monks slapped my
face as if I had spoken evil of the priests;
another kicked me and a third took the book
from me and a fourth one called the head
priest who hurried to the scene shaking with
anger. He cried out, ‘Arrest this rebel and
drag him from this sacred place, and let
the storm's fury teach him obedience. Take
him away and let nature do unto him the will
of God, and then wash your hands of the poisonous
germs of heresy infesting his raiment. If
he should return pleading for forgiveness,
do not open the door for him, for the viper
will not become a dove if placed in a cage,
nor will the briar bear figs if planted in
the vineyards.'
In accordance with the command, I was dragged
out by the laughing monks. Before they locked
the door behind me, I heard one saying, 'Yesterday
you were king of cows and pigs, and today
you are dethroned, Oh Great Reformer; go
now and be the king of wolves and teach them
how to live in their lairs.' "
Khalil sighed deeply, then turned his face
and looked toward the flaming fire. With
a sweet and loving voice, and with a pained
countenance he said, "Thus was I expelled
from the convent, and thus did the monks
deliver me over to the hands of Death. I
fought through the night blindly; the heavy
wind was tearing my robe and the piling snow
was trapping my feet and pulling me down
until I fell, crying desperately for help.
I felt that no one heard me except Death,
but a power which is all knowledge and mercy
had heard my cry. That power did not want
me to die before I had learned what is left
of life's secrets. That power sent you both
to me to save my life from the depth of the
abyss and non-existence."
Rachel and Miriam felt as if their spirits
understood the mystery of his soul, and they
became his partners in feeling and understanding.
Notwithstanding her will, Rachel stretched
forth and gently touched his hand while tears
coursed down from her eyes, and she said,
"He who has been chosen by heaven as
a defender of Truth will not perish by heaven's
own storms and snow." And Miriam added,
"The storms and snow may kill the flowers,
but cannot deaden the seeds, for the snow
keeps them warm from the killing frost."
Khalil's face brightened upon hearing those
words of encouragement, and he said, "If
you do not look upon me as a rebel and an
heretic as the monks did, the persecution
which I have sustained in the convent is
the symbol of an oppressed nation that has
not yet attained knowledge; and this night
in which I was on the verge of death is like
a revolution that precedes full justice.
And from a sensitive woman's heart springs
the happiness of mankind, and from the kindness
of her noble spirit comes mankind's affection."
He closed his eyes and leaned down on the
pillow; the two women did not bother him
with further conversation for they knew that
the weariness caused by long exposure had
allured and captured his eyes. Khalil slept
like a lost child who had finally found safety
in his mother's arms.
Rachel and her daughter slowly walked to
their bed and sat there watching him as if
they had found in his trouble-torn face an
attraction bringing their souls and hearts
closer to him. And the mother whispered,
saying, "There is a strange power in
his closed eyes that speaks in silence and
stimulates the soul's desires."
And Miriam rejoined, "His hands, Mother,
are like those of Christ in the Church."
The mother replied, "His face possesses
at the same time a woman's tenderness and
a man's boldness."
And the wings of slumber carried the women's
spirits into the world of dream, and the
fire went down and turned into ashes, while
the light of the oil lamp dimmed gradually
and disappeared. The fierce tempest continued
its roar, and the obscured sky spread layers
of snow, and the strong wind scattered them
to the right and left.
IV
Five days passed, and the sky was still heavy
with snow, burying the mountains and prairies
relentlessly. Khalil made three attempts
to resume his journey toward the plains,
but Rachel restrained him each time, saying,
"Do not give up your life to the blind
elements, brother; remain here, for the bread
that suffices two will also feed three, and
the fire will still be burning after your
departure as it was before your arrival.
We are poor, brother, but like the rest of
the people, we live our lives before the
face of the sun and mankind, and God gives
us our daily bread."
And Miriam was begging him with her kind
glances, and pleading with her deep sighs,
for since he entered the hut she felt the
presence of a divine power in her soul sending
forth life and light into her heart and awakening
new affection in the Holy of Holies of her
spirit. For the first time she experienced
the feeling which made her heart like a white
rose that sips the dew drops from the dawn
and breathes its fragrance into the endless
firmament.
There is no affection purer and more soothing
to the spirit than the one hidden in the
heart of a maiden who awakens suddenly and
fills her own spirit with heavenly music
that makes her days like poet's dreams and
her nights prophetic. There is no secret
in the mystery of life stronger and more
beautiful than that attachment which converts
the silence of a virgin's spirit into a perpetual
awareness that makes a person forget the
past, for it kindles fiercely in his heart
the sweet and over whelming hope of the coming
future.
The Lebanese woman distinguishes herself
from the woman of other nations by her simplicity.
The manner in which she is trained restricts
her progress educationally, and stands as
a hindrance to her future. Yet for this reason,
she finds herself inquiring of herself as
to the inclination and mystery of her heart.
The Lebanese young woman is like a spring
that comes out from the heart of the earth
and follows its course through winding depressions,
but since it cannot find an outlet to the
sea, it turns into a calm lake that reflects
upon its growing surface the glittering stars
and the shining moon. Khalil felt the vibration
of Miriam's heart twining steadily about
his soul, and he knew that the divine torch
that illuminated his heart had also touched
her heart. He rejoiced for the first time,
like a parched brook greeting the rain, but
he blamed himself for his haste, believing
that this spiritual understanding would pass
like a cloud when he departed from that village.
He often spoke to himself saying, "What
is this mystery that plays so great a part
in our lives? What is this Law that drives
us into a rough road and stops us just before
we reach the face of the sun where we might
rejoice? What is this power that elevates
our spirits until we reach the mountain top,
smiling and glorying, then suddenly we are
cast to the depths of the valley, weeping
and suffering? What is this life that embraces
us like a lover one day, and fights us like
an enemy the second day? Was I not persecuted
yesterday? Did I not survive hunger and thirst
and suffering and mockery for the sake of
the Truth which heaven had awakened in my
heart? Did I not tell the monks that happiness
through Truth is the will and the purpose
of God in man? Then what is this fear? And
why do I close my eyes to the light that
emanates from that young woman's eyes? I
am expelled and she is poor, but is it on
bread only that man can live?
Are we not, between famine and plenty, like
trees between winter and summer? But what
would Rachel say if she knew that my heart
and her daughter's heart came to an understanding
in silence, and approached close to each
other and neared the circle of the Supreme
Light? What would she say if she discovered
that the young man whose life she saved longed
to gaze upon her daughter? What would the
simple villagers say if they knew that a
young man, reared in the convent, came to
their village by necessity and expulsion,
and desired to live near a beautiful maiden?
Will they listen to me if I tell them that
he who leaves the convent to live amongst
them is like a bird that flies from the bruising
walls of the cage to the light of freedom?
What will Sheik Abbas say if he hears my
story ? What will the priest of the village
do if h~ learns of the cause for my expulsion?"
Khalil was talking to himself in this fashion
while sitting by the fireplace, meditating
the flames, symbol of his love; and Miriam
was stealing a glance now and then at his
face and reading his dreams through his eyes,
and hearing the echo of his thoughts, and
feeling the touch of his love, even though
no word was uttered.
One night, as he stood by the small transom
that faced the valleys where the trees and
rocks were shrouded with white coverings,
Miriam came and stood by him, looking at
the sky. As their eyes turned and met, he
drew a deep sigh and shut his eyes as if
his soul were sailing in the spacious sky
looking for a word. He found no word necessary,
for the silence spoke for them. Miriam ventured,
"Where will you go when the snow meets
the stream and the paths are dry?" His
eyes opened, looking beyond the horizon,
and he explained, "I shall follow the
path to wherever my destiny and my mission
for Truth shall take me." Miriam sighed
sadly and offered, "Why will you not
remain here and live close to us? Is it that
you are obliged to go elsewhere?" He
was moved by her kindness and sweet words,
but protested, "The villagers here will
not accept an expelled monk as their neighbour,
and will not permit him to breathe the air
they breathe because they believe that the
enemy of the convent is an infidel, cursed
by God and his saints." Miriam resorted
to silence, for the Truth that pained her
prevented further talk. Then Khalil turned
aside and explained, "Miriam, these
villagers are taught by those in authority
to hate everyone who thinks freely; they
are trained to remain afar from those whose
minds soar aloft; God does not like to be
worshipped by an ignorant man who imitates
someone else; if I remained in this village
and asked the people to worship as they please,
they would say that I am an infidel disobeying
the authority that was given to the priest
by God. If I asked them to listen and hear
the voices of their hearts and do according
to the will of the spirit within, they would
say that I am an evil man who wants them
to do away with the clergy that God placed
between heaven and earth." Khalil looked
straight into Miriam's eyes, and with a voice
that bespoke the sound of silver strings
said, "But, Miriam, there is a magic
power in this village that possesses me and
engulfs my soul; a power so divine that it
causes me to forget my pain. In this village
I met Death to his very face, and in this
place my soul embraced God's spirit. In this
village there is a beautiful flower grown
over the lifeless grass; its beauty attracts
my heart and its fragrance fills its domain.
Shall I leave this important flower and go
out preaching the ideas that caused my expulsion
from the convent, or shall I remain by the
side of that flower and dig a grave and bury
my thoughts and truths among its neighboring
thorns? What shall I do, Miriam?" Upon
hearing these words, she shivered like a
lily before the frolicsome breeze of the
dawn. Her heart glowed through her eyes when
she faltered, "We are both in the hands
of a mysterious and merciful power. Let it
do its will."
At that moment the two hearts joined and
thereafter both spirits were one burning
torch illuminating their lives.
V
Since the beginning of the creation and up
to our present time, certain clans, rich
by inheritance, in co-operation with the
clergy, had appointed themselves the administrators
of the people. It is an old, gaping wound
in the heart of society that cannot be removed
except by intense removal of ignorance.
The man who acquires his wealth by inheritance
builds his mansion with the weak poor's money.
The clergyman erects his temple upon the
graves and bones of the devoted worshippers.
The prince grasps the fellah' s arms while
the priest empties his pocket; the ruler
looks upon the sons of the fields with frowning
face, and the bishop consoles them with his
smile, and between the frown of the tiger
and the smile of the wolf the flock is perished;
the ruler claims himself as king of the law,
and the priest as the representative of God,
and between these two, the bodies are destroyed
and the souls wither into nothing.
In Lebanon, that mountain rich in sunlight
and poor in knowledge, the noble and the
priest joined hands to exploit the farmer
who ploughed the land and reaped the crop
in order to protect himself from the sword
of the ruler and the curse of the priest.
The rich man in Lebanon stood proudly by
his palace and shouted at the multitudes
saying, "The Sultan has appointed me
as your lord." And the priest stands
before the altar saying, "God has delegated
me as an executive of your souls." But
the Lebanese resorted to silence, for the
dead could not talk.
Sheik Abbas had friendship in his heart for
the clergymen, because they were his allies
in choking the people's knowledge and reviving
the spirit of stern obedience among his workers.
That evening, when Khalil and Miriam were
approaching the throne of Love, and Rachel
was looking upon them with the eyes of affection,
Father Elias informed Sheik Abbas that the
head priest had expelled a rebellious young
man from the convent and that he had taken
refuge at the house of Rachel, the widow
of Samaan Ramy.
And the priest was not satisfied with the
little information he gave the Sheik, but
commented, "The demon they chased out
of the convent cannot become an angel in
this village, and the fig tree which is hewn
and cast into the fire, does not bear fruit
while burning. If we wish to clean this village
of the filth of this beast, we must drive
him away as the monks did." And the
Sheik inquired, " Are you certain that
the young man will be a bad influence upon
our people? Is it not better for us to keep
him and make him a worker in our vineyards?
We are in need of strong men."
The priest's face showed his disagreement.
Combing his beard with his fingers, he said
shrewdly, "If he were fit to work, he
would not have been expelled from the convent.
A student who works in the convent, and who
happened to spend last night at my house,
informed me that this young man had violated
the rules of the head priest by preaching
danger-ridden ideas among the monks, and
he quoted him as saying, "Restore the
fields and the vineyards and the silver of
the convent to the poor and scatter it in
all directions;
and help the people who are in need of knowledge;
by thus doing, you will please your Father
in Heaven."
On hearing these words, Sheik Abbas leaped
to his feet, and like a tiger making ready
to strike the victim, he walked to the door
and called to the servants, ordering them
to report immediately. Three men entered,
and the Sheik commanded, "In the house
of Rachel, the widow of Samaan Ramy, there
is a young man wearing a monk's raiment.
Tie him and bring him here. If that woman
objects to his arrest, drag her out by her
braided hair over the snow and bring her
with him, for he who helps evil is evil himself."
The men bowed obediently and hurried to Rachel's
home while the priest and the Sheik discussed
the type of punishment to be awarded to Khalil
and Rachel.
VI
The day was over and the night had come spreading
its shadow over those wretched huts, heavily
laden with snow. The stars finally appeared
in the sky, like hopes in the coming eternity
after the suffering of death's agony. The
doors and windows were closed and the lamps
were lighted. The fellahin sat by the fireside
warming their bodies. Rachel, Miriam and
Khalil were seated at a rough wooden table
eating their evening meal when there was
a knock at the door and three men entered.
Rachel and Miriam were frightened, but Khalil
remained calm, as if he awaited the coming
of those men. One of the Sheik's servants
walked toward Khalil, laid his hand upon
his shoulder and asked, " Are you the
one who was expelled from the convent?"
And Khalil responded, "Yes, I am the
one, what do you want?" The man replied,
"We are ordered to arrest you and take
you with us to Sheik Abbas' home, and if
you object we shall drag you out like a butchered
sheep over the snow."
Rachel turned pale as she exclaimed, "What
crime has he committed, and why do you want
to tie him and drag him out?" The two
women pleaded with tearful voices, saying,
"He is one individual in the hands of
three and it is cowardly of you to make him
suffer." The men became enraged and
shouted, "Is there any woman in this
village who opposes the Sheik's order?"
And he drew forth a rope and started to tie
Khalil's hands. Khalil lifted his head proudly,
and a sorrowful smile appeared on his lips
when he said, "I feel sorry for you
men, because you are a strong and blind instrument
in the hands of a man who oppresses the weak
with the strength of your arms. You are slaves
of ignorance. Yesterday I was a man like
you, but tomorrow you shall be free in mind
as I am now. Between us there is a deep precipice
that chokes my calling voice and hides my
reality from you, and you cannot hear or
see. Here I am, tie my hands and do as you
please." The three men were moved by
his talk and it seemed that his voice had
awakened in them a new spirit, but the voice
of Sheik Abbas still rang in their minds,
warning them to complete the mission. They
bound his hands and led him out silently
with a heavy conscience. Rachel and Miriam
followed them to the Sheik's home, like the
daughters of Jerusalem who followed Christ
to Mount Calvary.
VII
Regardless of its import, news travels swiftly
among the fellahin in the small villages,
because their absence from the realm of society
makes them anxious and busy in discussing
the happenings of their limited environs.
In winter, when the fields are slumbering
under the quilts 0S snow, and when human
life is taking refuge and warming itself
by the fireside, the villagers become most
inclined to learn of current news in order
to occupy themselves.
It was not long after Khalil was arrested,
when the story spread like a contagious disease
amongst the villagers. They left their huts
and hurried like an army from every direction
into the home of Sheik Abbas. When Khalil's
feet stepped in the Sheik's home, the residence
was crowded with men, women and children
who were endeavouring for a glance at the
infidel who was expelled from the convent.
They were also anxious to see Rachel and
her daughter, who had helped Khalil in spreading
the hellish disease of heresy in the pure
sky of their village.
The Sheik took the seat of judgment and beside
him sat Father Elias, while the throng was
gazing at the pinioned youth who stood bravely
before them. Rachel and Miriam were standing
behind Khalil and trembling with fear. But
what could fear do to the heart of a woman
who found Truth and followed him? What could
the scorn of the crowd do to the soul of
a maiden who had been awakened by Love? Sheik
Abbas looked at the young man, and with a
thundering voice he interrogated him saying,
"What is your name, man?" "Khalil
is my name," answered the youth. The
Sheik returned, "Who are your father
and mother and relatives, and where were
you born?" Khalil turned toward the
fellahin, who looked upon him with hateful
eyes, and said, "The oppressed poor
are my clan and my relatives, and this vast
country is my birthplace."
Sheik Abbas, with an air of ridicule, said,
"Those people whom you claim as kin
demand that you be punished, and the country
you assert as your birthplace objects to
your being a member of its people."
Khalil replied, "The ignorant nations
arrest their good men and turn them into
their despots; and a country, ruled by a
tyrant, persecutes those who try to free
the people from the yoke of slavery. But
will a good son leave his mother if she is
ill? Will a merciful man deny his brother
who is miserable? Those poor men who arrested
me and brought me here today are the same
ones who surrendered their lives to you yesterday.
And this vast earth that disapproves my existence
is the one that does not yawn and swallow
the greedy despots."
The Sheik uttered a loud laugh, as if wanting
to depress the young man's spirit and prevent
him from influencing the audience. He turned
to Khalil and said impressively, "You
cattle grazier, do you think that we will
show more mercy than did the monks, who expelled
you from the convent? Do you think that we
feel pity for a dangerous agitator?"
Khalil responded, "It is true that I
was a cattle grazier, but I am glad that
I was not a butcher. I led my herds to the
rich pastures and never grazed them on arid
land. I led my animals to pure springs and
kept them from contaminated marshes. At eventide
I brought them safely to their shed and never
left them in the valleys as prey for the
wolves. Thus I have treated the animals;
and if you had pursued my course and treated
human beings as I treated my flock, these
poor people would not live in wretched huts
and suffer the pangs of poverty, while you
are living like Nero in this gorgeous mansion."
The Sheik's forehead glittered with drops
of perspiration, and his smirk turned into
anger, but he tried to show only calm by
pretending that he did not heed Khalil' s
talk, and he expostulated, pointing at Khalil
with his finger, "You are a heretic,
and we shall not listen to your ridiculous
talk; we summoned you to be tried as a criminal,
and you realize that you are in the presence
of the Lord of this village who is empowered
to represent his Excellency Emir Ameen Shebab.
You are standing before Father Elias, the
representative of the Holy Church whose teachings
you have opposed. Now, defend yourself, or
kneel down before these people and we will
pardon you and make you a cattle grazier,
as you were in the convent." Khalil
calmly returned, " A criminal is not
to be tried by another criminal, as an atheist
will not defend himself before sinners."
And Khalil looked at the audience and spoke
to them saying, "My brethren, the man
whom you call the Lord of your fields, and
to whom you have yielded thus long, has brought
me to be tried before you in this edifice
which he built upon the graves of your forefathers.
And the man who became a pastor of your church
through your faith, has come to judge me
and help you to humiliate me and increase
my sufferings. You have hurried to this place
from every direction to see me suffer and
hear me plead for mercy. You have left your
huts in order to witness your pinioned son
and brother. You have come to see the prey
trembling between the paws of a ferocious
beast. You came here tonight to view an infidel
standing before the judges. I am the criminal
and I am the heretic who has been expelled
from the convent. The tempest brought me
into your village. Listen to my protest,
and do not be merciful, but be just, for
mercy is bestowed upon the guilty criminal,
while justice is all that an innocent man
requires.
I select you now as my jury, because the
will of the people is the will of God. Awaken
your hearts and listen carefully and then
prosecute me according to the dictates of
your conscience. You have been told that
I am an infidel, but you have not been informed
of what crime or sin I have committed. You
have seen me tied like a thief, but you have
not yet heard about my offenses, for wrong-doings
are not revealed in this court, while punishment
comes out like thunder. My crime, dear fellowmen,
is my understanding of your plight, for I
felt the weight of the irons which have been
placed upon your necks. My sin is my heartfelt
sorrows for your women; it is my sympathy
for your children who suck life from your
breast mixed with the shadow of death. I
am one of you, and my forefathers lived in
these valleys and died under the same yoke
which is bending your heads now. I believe
in God who listens to the call of your suffering
souls, and I believe in the Book that makes
all of us brothers before the face of heaven.
I believe in the teachings that make us all
equal, and that render us unpinioned upon
this earth, the stepping place of the careful
feet of God.
As I was grazing my cows at the convent,
and contemplating the sorrowful condition
you tolerate, I heard a desperate cry coming
from your miserable homes - a cry of oppressed
souls - a cry of broken hearts which are
locked in your bodies as slaves to the lord
of these fields. As I looked, I found me
in the convent and you in the fields, and
I saw you as a flock of lambs following a
wolf to the lair; and as I stopped in the
middle of the road to aid the lambs, I cried
for help and the wolf snapped me with his
sharp teeth.
I have sustained imprisonment, thirst, and
hunger for the sake of Truth that hurts only
the body. I have undergone suffering beyond
endurance because I turned your sad sighs
into a crying voice that rang and echoed
in every corner of the convent. I never felt
fear, and my heart never tired, for your
painful cry was injecting a new strength
into me every day, and my heart was healthy.
You may ask yourself now saying, 'When did
we ever cry for help, and who dares open
his lips?' But I say unto you, your souls
are crying every day, and pleading for help
every night, but you cannot hear them, for
the dying man cannot hear his own heart rattling,
while those who are standing by his bedside
can surely hear. The slaughtered bird, in
spite of his will, dances painfully and unknowingly,
but those who witness the dance know what
caused it. In what hour of the day do you
sigh painfully? Is it in the morning, when
love of existence cries at you and tears
the veil of slumber off your eyes and leads
you like slaves into the fields? Is it at
noon, when you wish to sit under a tree to
protect yourself from the burning sun? Or
at eventide, when you return home hungry,
wishing for sustaining food instead of a
meager morsel and impure water? Or at night
when fatigue throws you upon your rough bed,
and as soon as slumber closes your eyes,
you sit up with open eyes, fearing that the
Sheik's voice is ringing in your ears?
In what season of the year do you not lament
yourselves? Is it in Spring, when nature
puts on her beautiful dress and you go out
to meet her with tattered raiment? Or in
Summer, when you harvest the wheat and gather
the sheaves of corn and fill the shelves
of your master with the crop, and when the
reckoning comes you receive naught but hay
and tare? Is it in Autumn, when you pick
the fruits and carry the grapes into the
wine-press, and in reward for your toil you
receive a jar of vinegar and a bushel of
acorns? Or in Winter, when you are confined
to your huts laden with snow, do you sit
by the fire and tremble when the enraged
sky urges you to escape from your weak minds?
This is the life of the poor; this is the
perpetual cry I hear. This is what makes
my spirit revolt against the oppressors and
despise their conduct. When I asked the monks
to have mercy upon you, they thought that
I was an atheist, and expulsion was my lot.
Today I came here to share this miserable
life with you, and to mix my tears with yours.
Here I am now, in the grip of your worst
enemy. Do you realize that this land you
are working like slaves was taken from your
fathers when the law was written on the sharp
edge of the sword? The monks deceived your
ancestors and took all their fields and vineyards
when the religious rules were written on
the lips of the priests. Which man or woman
is not influenced by the lord of the fields
to do according to the will of the priests?
God said, 'With the sweat of thy brow, thou
shall eat thy bread.' But Sheik Abbas is
eating his bread baked in the years of your
lives and drinking his wine mixed with your
tears. Did God distinguish this man from
the rest of you while in his mother's womb?
Or is it your sin that made you his property?
Jesus said, 'Gratis you have taken and gratis
you shall give. . . . Do not possess gold,
nor silver, neither copper.' Then what teachings
allow the clergymen to sell their prayers
for pieces of gold and silver? In the silence
of the night you pray saying, 'Give us today
our daily bread.' God has given you this
land from which to draw your daily bread,
but what authority has He given the monks
to take this land and this bread away from
you?
You curse Judas because he sold his Master
for a few pieces of silver, but you bless
those who sell Him every day. Judas repented
and hanged himself for his wrongdoing, but
these priests walk proudly, dressed with
beautiful robes, resplendent with shining
crosses hanging over their chests. You teach
your children to love Christ and at the same
time you instruct them to obey those who
oppose His teachings and violate His law.
The apostles of Christ were stoned to death
in order to revive in you the Holy Spirit,
but the monks and the priests are killing
that spirit in you so they may live on your
pitiful bounty. What persuades you to live
such a life in this universe, full of misery
and oppression? What prompts you to kneel
before that horrible idol which has been
erected upon the bones of your fathers? What
treasure are you reserving for your posterity
?
Your souls are in the grip of the priests,
and your bodies are in the closing jaws of
the rulers. What thing in life can you point
at and say 'this is mine!' My fellowmen,
do you know the priest you fear? He is a
traitor who uses the Gospel as a threat to
ransom your money . . . a hypocrite wearing
a cross and using it as a sword to cut your
veins . . .
a wolf disguised in lamb-skin . . . a glutton
who respects the tables more than the altars
. . . a gold-hungry creature who follows
the Denar to the farthest land . . . a cheat
pilfering from widows and orphans. He is
a queer being, with an eagle's beak, a tiger's
clutches, a hyena's teeth and a viper's clothes.
Take the Book away from him and tear his
raiment off and pluck his beard and do whatever
you wish unto him; then place in his hand
one Denar, and he will forgive you smilingly.
Slap his face and spit on him and step on
his neck; then invite him to sit at your
board. He will immediately forget and untie
his belt and gladly fill his stomach with
your food.
Curse him and ridicule him; then send him
a jar of wine or a basket of fruit. He will
forgive you your sins. When he sees a woman,
he turns his face, saying, 'Go from me, Oh,
daughter of Babylon.' Then he whispers to
himself saying, 'Marriage is better than
coveting.' He sees the young men and women
walking in the procession of Love, and he
lifts his eyes toward heaven and says, 'Vanity
of vanities, all is vanity.' And in his solitude
he talks to himself saying, 'May the laws
and traditions that deny me the joys of life,
be abolished.'
He preaches to the people saying, 'Judge
not, lest ye be judged.' But he judges all
those who abhor his deeds and sends them
to hell before Death separates them from
this life.
When he talks he lifts his head toward heaven,
but at the same time, his thoughts are crawling
like snakes through your pockets.
He addresses you as beloved children, but
his heart is empty of paternal love, and
his lips never smile at a child, nor does
he carry an infant between his arms.
He tells you, while shaking his head, 'Let
us keep away from earthly things, for life
passes like a cloud.' But if you look thoroughly
at him, you will find that he is gripping
on to life, lamenting the passing of yesterday,
condemning the speed of today, and waiting
fearfully for tomorrow.
He asks you for charity when he has plenty
to give; if you grant his request, he will
bless you publicly, and if you refuse him,
he will curse you secretly.
In the temple he asks you to help the needy,
and about his house the needy are begging
for bread, but he cannot see or hear.
He sells his prayers, and he who does not
buy is an infidel, excommunicated from Paradise.
This is the creature of whom you are afraid.
This is the monk who sucks your blood. This
is the priest who makes the sign of the Cross
with the right hand, and clutches your throat
with the left hand.
This is the pastor whom you appoint as your
servant, but he appoints himself as your
master.
This is the shadow that embraces your souls
from birth until death.
This is the man who came to judge me tonight
because my spirit revolted against the enemies
of Jesus the Nazarene Who loved all and called
us brothers, and Who died on the Cross for
us."
Khalil felt that there was understanding
in the villagers' hearts; his voice brightened
and he resumed his discourse saying, "Brethren,
you know that Sheik Abbas has been appointed
as Master of this village by Emir Shehab,
the Sultan's representative and Governor
of the Province, but I ask you if anyone
has seen that power appoint the Sultan as
the god of this country. That Power, my fellow-men,
cannot be seen, nor can you hear it talk,
but you can feel its existence in the depths
of your hearts. It is that Power which you
worship and pray for every day saying, 'Our
Father which art in heaven.' Yes, your Father
Who is in heaven is the one Who appoints
kings and princes, for He is powerful and
above all. But do you think that your Father,
Who loved you and showed you the right path
through His prophets, desires for you to
be oppressed? Do you believe that God, Who
brings forth the rain from heaven, and the
wheat from the hidden seeds in the heart
of the earth, desires for you to be hungry
in order that but one man will enjoy His
bounty? Do you believe that the Eternal Spirit
Who reveals to you the wife's love, the children's
pity and the neighbor's mercy, would have
upon you a tyrant to enslave you through
your life? Do you believe that the Eternal
Law that made life beautiful, would send
you a man to deny you of that happiness and
lead you into the dark dungeon of painful
Death? Do you believe that your physical
strength, provided you by nature, belongs
beyond your body to the rich?
You cannot believe in all these things, because
if you do you will be denying the justice
of God who made us all equal, and the light
of Truth that shines upon all the peoples
of the earth. What makes you struggle against
yourselves, heart against body, and help
those who enslave you while God has created
you free on this earth?
Are you doing yourselves justice when you
lift your eyes towards Almighty God and call
him Father, and then turn around, bow your
heads before a man, and call him Master?
Are you contented, as sons of God, with being
slaves of man? Did not Christ call you brethren?
Yet Sheik Abbas calls you servants. Did not
Jesus make you free in Truth and Spirit?
Yet the Emir made you slaves of shame and
corruption. Did not Christ exalt you to heaven?
Then why are you descending to hell? Did
He not enlighten your hearts? Then why are
you hiding your souls in darkness? God has
placed a glowing torch in your hearts that
glows in knowledge and beauty, and seeks
the secrets of the days and nights; it is
a sin to extinguish that torch and bury it
in ashes. God has created your spirits with
wings to fly in the spacious firmament of
Love and Freedom; it is pitiful that you
cut your wings with your own hands and suffer
your spirits to crawl like insects upon the
earth."
Sheik Abbas observed in dismay the attentiveness
of the villagers, and attempted to interrupt,
but Khalil, inspired, continued, "God
has sown in your hearts the seeds of Happiness;
it is a crime that you dig those seeds out
and throw them willfully on the rocks so
the wind will scatter them and the birds
will pick them. God has given you children
to rear, to teach them the truth and fill
their hearts with the most precious things
of existence. He wants you to bequeath upon
them the joy of Life and the bounty of Life;
why are they now strangers to their place
of birth and cold creatures before the face
of the Sun? A father who makes his son a
slave is the father who gives his child a
stone when he asks for bread. Have you not
seen the birds of the sky training their
young ones to fly? Why, then, do you teach
your children to drag the shackles of slavery?
Have you not seen the flowers of the valleys
deposit their seeds in the sun-heated earth?
Then why do you commit your children to the
cold darkness?"
Silence prevailed for a moment, and it seemed
as if Khalil's mind were crowded with pain.
But now with a low and compelling voice he
continued, "The words which I utter
tonight are the same expressions that caused
my expulsion from the convent. If the lord
of your fields and the pastor of your church
were to prey upon me and kill me tonight,
I will die happy and in peace because I have
fulfilled my mission and revealed to you
the Truth which demons consider a crime.
I have now completed the will of Almighty
God."
There had been a magic message in Khalil's
voice that forced the villagers' interest.
The women were moved by the sweetness of
his words and looked upon him as a messenger
of peace, and their eyes were rich with tears.
Sheik Abbas and Father Elias were shaking
with anger. As Khalil finished, he walked
a few steps and stopped near Rachel and Miriam.
Silence dominated the courtroom, and it seemed
as if Khalil's spirit hovered in that vast
hall and diverted the souls of the multitude
from fearing Sheik Abbas and Father Elias,
who sat trembling in annoyance and guilt.
The Sheik stood suddenly and his face was
pale. He looked toward the men who were standing
about him as he said, "What has become
of you, dogs? Have your hearts been poisoned?
Has your blood stopped running and weakened
you so that you cannot leap upon this criminal
and cut him to pieces? What awful thing has
he done to you?" Having finished reprimanding
the men, he raised a sword and started toward
the fettered youth, whereupon a strong villager
walked to him, gripped his hand and said,
"Lay down your weapon, Master, for he
who draws the sword to kill, shall, by the
sword, be killed!"
The Sheik trembled visibly and the sword
fell from his hand. He addressed the man
saying, "Will a weak servant oppose
his Master and benefactor?" And the
man responded, "The faithful Servant
does not share his Master in the committing
of crimes; this young man has spoken naught
but the truth." Another man stepped
forward and assured, "This man is innocent
and is worthy of honor and respect."
And a woman raised her voice saying, "He
did not swear at God or curse any saint;
why do you call him heretic?" And Rachel
asked, "What is his crime?" The
Sheik shouted, "You are rebellious,
you miserable widow; have you forgotten the
fate of your husband who turned rebel six
years ago?" Upon hearing these impulsive
words, Rachel shivered with painful anger,
for she had found the murderer of her husband.
She choked her tears and looked upon the
throng and cried out, "Here is the criminal
you have been trying for six years to find;
you hear him now confessing his guilt. He
is the killer who has been hiding his crime.
Look at him and read his face; study him
well and observe his fright; he shivers like
the last leaf on winter's tree. God has shown
you that the Master whom you have always
feared is a murderous criminal. He caused
me to be a widow amongst these women, and
my daughter an orphan amidst these children."
Rachel's utterance fell like thunder upon
the Sheik's head, and the uproar of men and
exaltation of women fell like firebrands
upon him.
The priest assisted the Sheik to his seat.
Then he called the servants and ordered them
saying, "Arrest this woman who has falsely
accused your Master of killing her husband;
drag her and this young man into a dark prison,
and any who oppose you will be criminals,
excommunicated as he was from the Holy Church."
The servants gave no heed to his command,
but remained motionless staring at Khalil
who was still bound with rope. Rachel stood
at his right and Miriam at his left like
a pair of wings ready to soar aloft into
the spacious sky of Freedom.
His beard shaking with anger, Father Elias
said, "Are you denying your Master for
the sake of an infidel criminal and a shameless
adulteress?" And the oldest one of the
servants answered him saying, "We have
served Sheik Abbas long for bread and shelter,
but we have never been his slaves."
Having thus spoken, the servant took off
his cloak and turban and threw them before
the Sheik and added, "I shall no longer
require this raiment, nor do I wish my soul
to suffer in the narrow house of a criminal."
And all the servants did likewise and joined
the crowd whose faces radiated with joy,
symbol of Freedom and Truth. Father Elias
finally saw that his authority had declined,
and he left the place cursing the hour that
brought Khalil to the village. A strong man
strode to Khalil and untied his hands, looked
at Sheik Abbas who fell like a corpse upon
his seat, and boldly addressed him saying,
"This fettered youth, whom you have
brought here tonight to be tried as a criminal,
has lifted our depressed spirits and enlightened
our hearts with Truth and Knowledge. And
this poor widow whom Father Elias referred
to as a false accuser has revealed to us
the crime you committed six years past. We
came here tonight to witness the trial of
an innocent youth and a noble soul. Now,
heaven has opened our eyes and has shown
us your atrocity; we shall leave you and
ignore you and allow heaven to do its will."
Many voices were raised in that hall, and
one could hear a certain man saying, "Let
us leave this ill-famed residence for our
homes." And another one remarking, "Let
us follow this young man to Rachel's home
and listen to his wise sayings and consoling
wisdom." And a third one saying, "Let
us seek his advice, for he knows our needs."
And a fourth one calling out, "If we
are seeking justice, let us complain to the
Emir and tell him of Abbas' crime."
And many were saying, "Let us petition
the Emir to appoint Khalil as our Master
and ruler, and tell the Bishop that Father
Elias was a partner in these crimes."
While the voices were rising and falling
upon the Sheik's ears like sharp arrows,
Khalil lifted his hands and calmed the villagers
saying, "My brethren, do not seek haste,
but rather listen and meditate. I ask you,
in the name of my love and friendship for
you, not to go to the Emir, for you will
not find justice. Remember that a ferocious
beast does not snap another one like him,
neither should you go to the Bishop, for
he knows well that the house cloven amid
itself shall be ruined. Do not ask the Emir
to appoint me as the Sheik in this village,
for the faithful servant does not like to
be an aid to the evil Master.
If I deserve your kindness and love, let
me live amongst you and share with you the
happiness and sorrows of Life. Let me join
hands and work with you at home and in the
fields, for if I could not make myself one
of you, I would be a hypocrite who does not
live according to his sermon. And now, as
the axe is laid unto the root of the tree,
let us leave Sheik Abbas alone in the court-room
of his conscience and before the Supreme
Court of God whose sun shines upon the innocent
and the criminal."
Having thus spoken, he left the place, and
the multitude followed him as if there were
a divine power in him that attracted their
hearts. The Sheik remained alone with the
terrible silence, like a destroyed tower,
suffering his defeat quietly, like a surrendering
commander. When the multitude reached the
church yard and the moon was just showing
from behind the cloud, Khalil looked at them
with the eyes of love like a good shepherd
watching over his herd. He was moved with
sympathy upon those villagers who symbolized
an oppressed nation; and he stood like a
prophet who saw all the nations of the East
walking in those valleys and dragging empty
souls and heavy hearts.
He raised both hands toward heaven and said,
"From the bottom of these depths we
call thee, Oh, Liberty. Give heed to us!
From behind the darkness we raise our hands
to thee, Oh, Liberty. Look upon us! Upon
the snow, we worship before thee, Oh, Liberty.
Have mercy on us! Before thy great throne
we stand, hanging on our bodies the blood-stained
garments of our forefathers, covering our
heads with the dust of the graves mixed with
their remains, carrying the swords that stabbed
their hearts, lifting the spears that pierced
their bodies, dragging the chains that slowed
their feet, uttering the cry that wounded
their throats, lamenting and repeating the
song of our failure that echoed throughout
the prison, and repeating the prayers that
came from the depths of our fathers' hearts.
Listen to us, Oh Liberty, and hear us. From
the Nile to the Euphrates comes the wailing
of the suffering souls, in unison with the
cry of the abyss; and from the end of the
East to the mountains of Lebanon, hands are
stretched to you, trembling with the presence
of Death. From the shores of the sea to the
end of the Desert, tear-flooded eyes look
beseechingly toward you. Come, Oh, Liberty,
and save us.
In the wretched huts standing in the shadow
of poverty and oppression, they beat at their
bosoms, soliciting thy mercy; watch us, oh
Liberty, and have mercy on us. In the pathways
and in the houses miserable youth calls thee;
in the churches and the mosques, the forgotten
Book turns to thee; in the courts and in
the palaces the neglected Law appeals to
thee. Have mercy on us, Oh Liberty, and save
us. In our narrow streets the merchant sells
his days in order to make tribute to the
exploiting thieves of the West, and none
would give him advice. In the barren fields
the fellah tills the soil and sows the seeds
of his heart and nourishes them with his
tears, but he reaps naught except thorns,
and none would teach him the true path. In
our arid plains the Bedouin roams barefoot
and hungry, but none would have mercy on
him; speak, Oh Liberty, and teach us! Our
sick lambs are grazing upon the grassless
prairie, our calves are gnawing on the roots
of the trees, and our horses are feeding
on dry plants. Come, Oh Liberty, and help
us. We have been living in darkness since
the beginning, and like prisoners they take
us from one prison to another, while time
ridicules our plight. When will dawn come?
Until when shall we bear the scorn of the
ages? Many a stone have we been dragging,
and many a yoke has been placed upon our
necks. Until when shall we bear this human
outrage? The Egyptian slavery, the Babylonian
exile, the tyranny of Persia, the despotism
of the Romans, and the greed of Europe .
. . all these things we have suffered.
Where are we going now, and when shall we
reach the sublime end of the rough roadway?
From the clutches of Pharaoh to the paws
of Nebuchadnezzar, to the iron hands of Alexander,
to the swords of Herod, to the talons of
Nero, and the sharp teeth of Demon . . .
into whose hands are we now to fall, and
when will Death come and take us, so we may
rest at last?
With the strength of our arms we lifted the
columns of the temple, and upon our backs
we carried the mortar to build the great
walls and the impregnable pyramids for the
sake of glory. Until when shall we continue
building such magnificent palaces and living
in wretched huts? Until when shall we continue
filling the bins of the rich with provisions,
while sustaining weak life on dry morsels
? Until when shall we continue weaving silk
and wool for our lords and masters while
we wear naught except tattered swaddles?
Through their wickedness we were divided
amongst ourselves; and the better to keep
their thrones and be at ease, they armed
the Druze to fight the Arab, and stirred
up the Shiite to attack the Sunnite, and
encouraged the Kurdish to butcher the Bedouin,
and cheered the Mohammedan to dispute with
the Christian. Until when shall a brother
continue killing his own brother upon his
mother's bosom? Until when shall the Cross
be kept apart from the Crescent* [The crescent
is the emblem of the Mohammedan flag, flown
over Syria during the Turkish rule. -- Editor's
note.] before the eyes of God? Oh Liberty,
hear us, and speak in behalf of but one individual,
for a great fire is started with a small
spark. Oh Liberty, awaken but one heart with
the rustling of thy wings, for from one cloud
alone comes the lightning which illuminates
the pits of the valleys and the tops of the
mountains. Disperse with thy power these
black clouds and descend like thunder and
destroy the thrones that were built upon
the bones and skulls of our ancestors."
"Hear us, Oh Liberty;
Bring mercy, Oh Daughter of Athens;
Rescue us, Oh Sister of Rome;
Advise us, Oh Companion of Moses;
Help us, Oh Beloved of Mohammed;
Teach us, Oh Bride of Jesus;
Strengthen our hearts so we may live,
Or harden our enemies so we may perish
And live in peace eternally."
As Khalil was pouring forth his sentiment
before heaven, the villagers were gazing
at him in reverence, and their love was springing
forth in unison with the song of his voice
until they felt that he became part of their
hearts. After a short silence, Khalil brought
his eyes upon the multitude and quietly said,
"Night has brought us to the house of
Sheik Abbas in order to realize the daylight;
oppression has arrested us before the cold
Space, so we may understand one another and
gather like chicks under the wings of the
Eternal Spirit. Now let us go to our homes
and sleep until we meet again tomorrow."
Having thus spoken, he walked away, following
Rachel and Miriam to their poor hovel. The
throng departed and each went to his home,
contemplating what he had seen and heard
that memorable night. They felt that a burning
torch of a new spirit had scoured their inner
selves and led them into the right path.
In an hour all the lamps were extinguished
and Silence engulfed the whole village while
Slumber carried the fellahin's souls into
the world of strong dreams; but Sheik Abbas
found no sleep all night, as he watched the
phantoms of darkness and the horrible ghosts
of his crimes in procession.
VIII
Two months had already passed and Khalil
was still preaching and pouring his sentiments
in the villagers' hearts, reminding them
of their usurped rights and showing them
the greed and oppression of the rulers and
the monks. They listened to him with care,
for he was a source of pleasure; his words
fell upon their hearts like rain upon thirsty
land. In their solitude, they repeated Khalil's
sayings as they did their daily prayers.
Father Elias commenced fawning upon them
to regain their friendship; he became docile
since the villagers found out that he was
the Sheik's ally in crime, and the fellahin
ignored him.
Sheik Abbas had a nervous suffering, and
walked through his mansion like a caged tiger.
He issued commands to his servants, but no
one answered except the echo of his voice
inside the marble walls. He shouted at his
men, but no one came to his aid except his
poor wife who suffered the pang of his cruelty
as much as the villagers did. When Lent came
and Heaven announced the coming of Spring,
the days of the Sheik expired with the passing
of Winter. He died after a long agony, and
his soul was carried away on the carpet of
his deeds to stand naked and shivering before
that high Throne whose existence we feel,
but cannot see. The fellahin heard various
tales about the manner of Sheik Abbas' death;
some of them related that the Sheik died
insane, while others insisted that disappointment
and despair drove him to death by his own
hand. But the women who went to offer their
sympathies to his wife reported that he died
from fear, because the ghost of Samaan Ramy
hunted him and drove him every midnight out
to the place where Rachel's husband was found
slain six years before.
The month of Nisan proclaimed to the villagers
the love secrets of Khalil and Miriam. They
rejoiced the good tidings which assured them
that Khalil would thereby remain in their
village. As the news reached all the inhabitants
of the huts, they congratulated one another
upon Khalil's becoming their beloved neighbour.
When harvest time came, the fellahin went
to the fields and gathered the sheaves of
corn and bundles of wheat to the threshing
floor. Sheik Abbas was not there to take
the crop and have it carried to his bins.
Each fellah harvested his own crop; the villagers'
huts were filled with wheat and corn; their
vessels were replenished with good wine and
oil. Khalil shared with them their toils
and happiness; he helped them in gathering
the crop, pressing the grapes and picking
the fruits. He never distinguished himself
from anyone of them except by his excess
of love and ambition. Since that year and
up to our present time, each fellah in that
village commenced to reap with joy the crop
which he sowed with toil and labour. The
land which the fellahin tilled and the vineyards
they cultivated became their own property.
Now, half a century has passed since this
incident, and the Lebanese have awakened.
On his way to the Holy Cedars of Lebanon,
a traveller's attention is caught by the
beauty of that village, standing like a bride
at the side of the valley. The wretched huts
are now comfortable and happy homes surrounded
by fertile fields and blooming orchards.
If you ask anyone of the residents about
Sheik Abbas' history, he will answer you,
pointing with his finger to a heap of demolished
stones and destroyed walls saying, "This
is the Sheik's palace, and this is the history
of his life." And if you inquire about
Khalil, he will raise his hand toward heaven
saying, "There resides our beloved Khalil,
whose life's history was written by God with
glittering letters upon the pages of our
hearts, and they cannot be effaced by the
ages."
END
|
Evans Experientialism 
