Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

  * Baalbek, or the City of Baal, the sun god of ancient Syria; in Graeco-Roman times its name was changed to Heliopolis, the Greek term for City of the Sun. It was considered the most beautiful city in the ancient Middle East. The ruins are mainly Roman.

  * Ishtar, great goddess of the Phoenicians, was worshipped in the cities of Tyre, Sidon, Sur, Djabeil and Baalbek, and there called Burner of the Torch of Life, and Guardian of Youth. She was the counterpart of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of Love and Beauty, and of the Roman goddess, Venus.

  ** During the “Era of Ignorance,” (the period before the coming of Mohammed), the Arabs believed that if a female genie loved a human youth, she would prevent him from marrying, and if he did wed, she would bewitch the bride and cause her to die. This superstition persists today in isolated villages in Lebanon.

  * This belief recurs in Asian thought. Mohammed said, “You were dead and He brought you back to life, and He will slay you again and revive you, whereupon you shall return to Him.” Buddha said, “Yesterday we existed, and today, and we will return to this life, again and again, until we become perfect like God.”

  * The Hosseinese are an Arabian tribe, living in tents pitched in the plains surrounding the ruins of Baalbek.

  A SELF-PORTRAIT

  Gibran wrote this letter to his father in Bsharré to reassure him of the health of his two sisters, Miriana and Sultana. One of their relatives in the United States had written to Gibran’s father and told him that both of his daughters were ill and the old man conveyed his worry to his son. Gibran’s father had not noticed the date of the letter: April first, or April Fool’s Day.

  GIBRAN TO HIS FATHER

  Beirut,

  April, 1904

  Dear Father:

  I received your letter in which you express to me your anxiety over “sad and unexpected news.” I would have felt the same way had I not known the intention of the writer and the purpose of the letter. They (may God forgive them) tell you in the letter that one of my sisters is critically ill, and again they say that the illness will involve a great deal of expense, which will make it difficult for my sisters to send you money. I have immediately found an explanation in noting that the letter was written on the first day of April. Our aunt has been accustomed to such funny and gentle jokes. Her saying that my sister has been ill for six months is as far from the truth as we are from her. During the last seven months I have received five letters from Mr. Ray who assures me that both of my sisters, Miriana and Sultana, are in excellent health. He extols their fine characters, marking Sultana’s refined manners; and speaks of the resemblance between her and me both in physique and in character.

  These words came from the most honest man I have ever known; from a man who loathes April Fool jokes and dislikes any fabrication which saddens the heart of another. You may rest assured that all is well and let your mind be at ease.

  I am still in Beirut, although I might be away from home for a whole month touring Syria and Palestine or Egypt and Sudan with an American family for whom I have great respect. For this reason I do not know how long my stay will last in Beirut. However, I am here for personal benefit which makes it necessary for me to remain in this country a while in order to please those who care for my future. Do not ever doubt my judgment regarding what is good for me and for the fortification and betterment of my future.

  This is all I can tell you—with my affection to all my relatives and loving friends, and my respect to whoever inquires about me. May God prolong your life and protect you—

  Your son,

  GIBRAN

  Jamil Malouf, a young Lebanese poet-writer, was a great admirer of Gibran. In this letter, Gibran reveals his concern and admiration for the young poet who had left Paris to live in São Paul, Brazil. Gibran pictures his friend Jamil as a torch from heaven illuminating the path of mankind, at the same time expressing his amazement at learning of his friend’s move. He presses him for a revelation of the motive that prompted him to go to São Paul and place himself among the “living dead.”

  TO JAMIL MALOUF

  1908

  Dear Brother Jamil:

  When I read your letters I feel the existence of an enchanting spirit moving in this room—a beautiful and sorrowful spirit that attracts me by its undulation and makes me see you as two persons: one hovers over humanity with enormous wings similar to the wings of the seraphim whom Saint John saw standing before the Throne by the seven lamps; the other person is chained to a huge rock like Prometheus, who, in giving man the first torch of fire, brought on himself the wrath of the gods. The first person enlivens my heart and soothes my spirit because he sways with the sun rays and the frolicsome breeze of dawn; while the second person makes my heart suffer, for he is a prisoner of the vicissitudes of time….

  You have always been and still are capable of causing the torch of fire to come from heaven and light the path of mankind, but tell me what law or force has brought you to São Paul and fettered your body and placed you among those who died on the day of their birth and have not yet been buried? Do the Greek gods still practice their power in these days?

  I have heard that you are going to return to Paris to live there. I, too, would like to go there. Is it possible that we both could meet in the City of Arts? Will we meet in the Heart of the World and visit the Opera and the French theatre and talk about the plays of Racine, Corneille, Molière, Hugo, and Sardou? Will we meet there and walk together to where the Bastille was erected and then return to our quarters feeling the gentle spirit of Rousseau and Voltaire and write about Liberty and Tyranny and destroy every Bastille that stands in every city in the Orient? Will we go to the Louvre and stand before the paintings of Raphael, Da Vinci and Corot, and write about Beauty and Love and their influence on man’s heart?

  Oh, brother, I feel a gnawing hunger in my heart for the approach of the great works of art, and I have a profound longing for the eternal sayings; however, this hunger and longing come out of a great power that exists in the depth of my heart—a power that wishes to announce itself hurriedly but is unable to do so, for the time has not come, and the people who died on the day of their birth are still walking and standing as a barrier in the way of the living.

  My health is, as you know, like a violin in the hands of one that does not know how to play it, for it makes him hear harsh melody. My sentiments are like an ocean with their ebb and flow; my soul is like a quail with broken wings. She suffers immensely when she sees the swarms of birds hovering in the sky, for she finds herself unable to do likewise. But like all other birds, she enjoys the silence of Night, the coming of Dawn, the rays of Sun, and the beauty of the valley. I paint and write now and then, and in the midst of my paintings and writings, I am like a small boat sailing between an ocean of an endless depth and a sky of limitless blue—strange dreams, sublime desires, great hopes, broken and mended thoughts; and between all these there is something which the people call Despair, and which I call Inferno.

  GIBRAN

  In the month of May, 1903, Ameen Guraieb, editor and owner of Almuhager, daily Arabic newspaper published in New York, visited the city of Boston. Among the people who received Ameen was the young Kahlil Gibran who captured the journalist’s regard with his kind manner and intelligence.

  The following day Gibran invited Guraieb to his home. He showed him his paintings and presented him with an old notebook in which he had set down his thoughts and meditations. When Ameen saw the paintings and read the poems in the notebook he realized he had discovered a genius artist, poet, and philosopher. Thrilled by his discovery, the journalist offered to Gibran a position as columnist on his daily newspaper.

  Thus Ameen Guraieb extracted Kahlil Gibran from his retreat in Boston and introduced him to his Arabic readers. “This newspaper is very fortunate,” said Guraieb in one of his editorials, “to be able to present to the Arabic-speaking world the first literary fruit of a young artist whose drawings are admired by the American public. This young man is Kahlil
Gibran of Bsharré, the famous city of the braves. We publish this essay without comments under the caption of Tears and Laughter, leaving it up to the readers to judge it according to their tastes.” This was the first time that Gibran saw his name in print in a daily Arabic newspaper.

  When Gibran wrote Spirits Rebellious, the book containing the story of Rose El Hanie which caused Gibran’s expulsion from Lebanon and excommunication from the Church, it was his friend Ameen Guraieb who wrote the preface for the book.

  As revealed in the following letter, Gibran’s appreciation and love for Ameen went very deep. He wishes his friend bon voyage—Ameen was preparing for a trip to Lebanon—and confides in his friend traveling plans of his own.

  TO AMEEN GURAIEB

  Boston,

  Feb. 12,1908

  Dear Ameen:

  Only my sister Miriana knows something about this bit of news which I am going to tell you and which will make you and your neighbors rather happy: I am going to Paris, the capital of fine arts, in the late part of the coming spring, and I shall remain there one whole year. The twelve months which I am going to spend in Paris will play an important part in my every day life, for the time which I will spend in the City of Light will be, with the help of God, the beginning of a new chapter in the story of my life. I shall join a group of great artists in that great city and work under their supervision and gain a lot from their observation and benefit myself from their constructive criticism in the field of fine arts. It matters not whether they benefit me or not, because after my return from Paris to the United States, my drawings will gain more prestige, which makes the blind-rich buy more of them, not because of their artistic beauty, but because of their being painted by an artist who has spent a full year in Paris among the great European painters.

  I never dreamed of this voyage before, and the thought of it never did enter into my mind, for the expense of the trip would make it impossible for a man like me to undertake such a venture. But heaven, my dear Ameen, has arranged for this trip, without my being aware of it, and opened before me the way to Paris. I shall spend one whole cycle of my life there at the expense of heaven, the source of plenty.

  And now, since you have heard my story you will know that my stay in Boston is neither due to my love for this city, nor to my dislike for New York. My being here is due to the presence of a she-angel who is ushering me towards a splendid future and paving for me the path to intellectual and financial success. But it makes no difference whether I am in Boston or in Paris, Almuhager will remain the paradise in which my soul dwells and the stage upon which my heart dances. My trip to Paris will offer me an opportunity to write about things which I cannot find or imagine in this mechanical and commercial country whose skies are replete with clamor and noise. I shall be enlightened by the social studies which I will undertake in the capital of capitals of the world where Rousseau, Lamartine and Hugo lived; and where the people love art as much as the Americans adore the Almighty Dollar.

  During your absence I shall continue to contribute to every issue of Almuhager. I shall pour upon its pages all the affections, hopes and ideas that my heart, soul and mind contain. I am not looking forward to receiving any compensation. All I want from you is your friendship. But if you feel like adding a material debt to the many moral debts which I owe you, you may tell your editorial staff to get behind my book Tears and Laughter and help me reap the harvest of the many nights I have spent on its writing. Tell them to assist me in selling the book to the Arabic readers and to the merchants in New York and other states. As you know, I cannot promote the book without the help of Almuhager.

  Be at ease and do not occupy your mind with anything other than the joy of seeing your family and beholding the beautiful scenery of Lebanon. You have worked hard enough in the last five years and you deserve a little rest. Let not your worrying about the future interfere with your tranquility. No matter what happens, Almuhager will ever remain the pride of all Arabic papers. A message from you, a poem from Assad Rustum, and an article from Gibran every week will be sufficient to open the eyes of the Arab world and direct their attention to Twenty-one Washington Street.*

  Your introduction to my book Spirits Rebellious made me happy because it was free from personal comment. Monday I sent you an article for Almuhager; has it arrived yet? Write me a few lines in answer to this letter. I shall write you more than one letter before you leave for Lebanon. Let nothing dampen your enthusiasm for your trip. We will be unable to meet and shake hands, but we will join each other in thoughts and spirits. Seven thousand miles are but one mile, and one thousand years are but one year in the eyes of the spirit.

  Miriana sends you her regards and wishes you success. May God bless you and bring you back safe to me, and may heaven shower upon you blessings, the amount of which will equal the love and respect I have in my heart for you.

  GIBRAN

  * Address of the office and publishing house of Almuhager.

  It is a custom among the people of the Near East to call each other “brother” or “sister.” Close friends and relatives other than those actually so related are often referred to in this manner.

  This letter was written to Nakhli, Gibran’s first cousin whom he addresses as brother. Gibran and Nakhli were inseparable companions in their early youth. They lived, slept, played, and ate together in their home town, Bsharré, close by the Holy Cedars of Lebanon.

  Peter, Gibran’s half-brother, a good singer and lute player, entertained Gibran and Nakhli and took good care of them. When Nakhli left Bsharré for Brazil in search of a livelihood, Gibran kept in close touch with him.

  In the following letter, Gibran speaks to Nakhli of his struggles and complains of the Arabic-speaking conservative class which was accusing him of heresy because of their feeling that his writings were poisoning the mind of the youth. Gibran later published a story which he called “Kahlil the Heretic.”

  TO NAKHLI GIBRAN

  Boston,

  March 15,1908

  Dear Brother Nakhli:

  I have just received your letter which filled my soul with joy and sadness at the same time, for it brought back to my memory pictures of those days that passed like dreams, leaving behind phantoms that come with the daylight and go with the darkness. How did those days undo themselves, and where did those nights, in which Peter lived, go? How did those hours, which Peter filled with his sweet songs and handsomeness pass away? Those days, nights and hours have disappeared like open flowers when dawn descends from the gray sky. I know that you remember those days with pain and I have noticed the phantoms of your affections between the lines of your missive, as if they came from Brazil to restore to my heart the echo of the valleys, the mountains and the rivulets surrounding Bsharré.

  Life, my dear Nakhli, is like the seasons of the year. The sorrowful Autumn comes after the joyful Summer, and the raging Winter comes behind the sad Autumn, and the beautiful Spring appears after the passing of the awful Winter. Will the Spring of our life ever return so we may be happy again with the trees, smiling with the flowers, running with the brooks, and singing with the birds like we used to do in Bsharré when Peter was still alive? Will the tempest that dispersed us ever reunite us? Will we ever go back to Bsharré and meet by Saint George Church? I do not know, but I feel that life is a sort of debt and payment. It gives us today in order to take from us tomorrow. Then it gives us again and takes from us anew until we get tired of the giving and receiving and surrender to the final sleep.

  You know that Gibran, who spends most of his life writing, finds enchanting pleasure in corresponding with the people he loves most. You also know that Gibran, who was very fond of Nakhli when he was a child, will never forget the man that Nakhli has become. The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remain hovering over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves. I am one of those who remembers such places regardless of distance or time. I do not let one si
ngle phantom disappear with the cloud, and it is my everlasting remembrance of the past that causes my sorrow sometimes. But if I had to choose between joy and sorrow, I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart for the joys of the whole world.

  And now let me drop the curtain upon the past and tell you something about my present and my future, for I know that you would like to hear something about the boy you have always loved. Listen to me, and I will read to you the first chapter of Gibran’s story: I am a man of weak constitution, but my health is good because I neither think about it nor have time to worry about it. I love to smoke and drink coffee. If you were to come to see me now and enter my room, you would find me behind a screen of thick smoke mingled with the aromatic scent of Yamanite coffee.

  I love to work and I do not let one moment pass without working. But the days in which I find myself dormant and my thought slothful are more bitter than quinine and more severe than the teeth of the wolf. I spend my life writing and painting, and my enjoyment in these two arts is above all other enjoyments. I feel that the fires that feed the affection within me would like to dress themselves with ink and paper, but I am not sure whether the Arabic-speaking world would remain as friendly to me as it has been in the past three years. I say this because the apparition of enmity has already appeared. The people in Syria are calling me heretic, and the intelligentsia in Egypt vilifies me, saying, “He is the enemy of just laws, of family ties, and of old traditions.” Those writers are telling the truth, because I do not love man-made laws and I abhor the traditions that our ancestors left us. This hatred is the fruit of my love for the sacred and spiritual kindness which should be the source of every law upon the earth, for kindness is the shadow of God in man. I know that the principles upon which I base my writings are echoes of the spirit of the great majority of the people of the world, because the tendency toward a spiritual independence is to our life as the heart is to the body…. Will my teaching ever be received by the Arab world, or will it die away and disappear like a shadow?