Secrets of the Heart
KAHLIL GIBRAN
Secrets of the Heart
Translated by Anthony Rizcallah Ferris
Edited by Martin L. Wolf
Philosophical Library
Editor’s Preface
PURSUING the same fascinating style of his now famous Tears and Laughter and Spirits Rebellious, Kahlil Gibran conveys a strong and beautiful message in this, another of his earlier works.
The very heart of the mystic East emerges in this volume, and from the outset one feels the tremendous mood, the electrifying boldness, the terrible magnetism of the immortal Gibran.
This ancient wisdom, set forth in the form of a simple yet profound philosophy of life, applies dynamically and with amazing timeliness to present human problems. But for all of his preoccupation with momentous subjects, Gibran is far from the modern school of poetry, and his style inclines to Victorian lyricism when not catapulting toward Dante or Goethe. It is at the same time powerful and tender; frightening and delightful; joyous and funereal; simple and tremendous. However, diametric opposites in substance apparently presented no difficulty in style to this master of simple, effective communication of subtle thought. Gibran’s style is incomparable in both poetry and prose, and his prose carries a lyric beauty rich in magnificent simplicity—the simplicity which Gibran continually sought as the identifying characteristic of true beauty in any form.
Yet, in employing the soft phraseology of the Psalms, he nevertheless releases an unrestrained vituperation when execrating the usurpation of human rights by tyrannical church and state officials. It was of little surprise—or importance—to Gibran’s multitude of followers that he was exiled from his country and excommunicated from his church in consequence of his fearless, knife-edged attacks. Indicative of his literary artistry, the flowing beauty of his lyrics does not palliate the strength of his indictments, nor does his bitterness invade the exquisite delicacy of his lacy poetry which has an appeal comparable to that of rich music.
Although these atmospheric writings appear to be autobiographical in nature, they clearly reveal Kahlil Gibran as a prophet of penetrating vision and objective understanding. This seer warns ominously of the grave and unseen dangers yet to befall this world on its stony path of intrigue, maladjustment, and border consciousness. His clarity of perception is not confined to recognition and condemnation alone, but with a sincere constructive purpose motivated by his intense artist’s faith in ultimate perfection, he offers strikingly logical methods for curing “the gaping wounds in the side of society.” His warnings are neither crusades nor preachments, yet his thoughts are conveyed completely, clearly, powerfully. He muses over the beautiful, not the ugly, and his criticisms are heavily imbued with a gentle melancholy. All, however, are subordinated to his magnificent descriptive powers, abounding with fine metaphorical terseness.
On the ecclesiastical side, he displays a brilliance of spiritual insight and a determination of dedication that persist and probe until they pierce the outer self. His millions of followers in dozens of languages absorb Gibran’s writings practically as religious devotions, and his excommunication served to fortify and augment his literary parish. His views of the church are more denunciatory than complimentary, but his love for its teachings and his fury over its methods are sharply defined, and bespeak no ambiguity or paradox in his meaning.
The book burners and clergy lived to rue their acts, and shortly before his death in 1931—perhaps when he was too weak to resist—Gibran submitted to the uninvited overtures of the church to reclaim him after the hasty excommunication. Despite the fact that “The Beloved Master” brought down the unconcealed wrath of religious and state authorities, any apology on his part was of little concern to him, for he had long since reached a spiritual plane far above petty rote, law, and doctrine.
Gibran’s doctrine is of kindness, of brotherhood, and of charity, and he requires but few words to transmit great thoughts. On charity he discloses:
I sing the praise of my home and long to see again my birthplace; but if it refused shelter and food to the needy wayfarer, I would, in my inner voice, convert my praise into eulogy, and my longing into forgetfulness.
And again:
Remember, my brother, that the coin which you drop into the withered hand stretching toward you is the only golden chain that binds your rich heart to the loving heart of God.
On brotherhood:
Love is stronger than death, and death is stronger than life; it is sad that men divide amongst themselves.
He adds:
Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and humanity is standing amidst unseen ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, calling for its children in pitiful voice. But the children are busy singing the anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cries of their mothers.
Small wonder that the present world gives heed to Gibran in its acute difficulty! His thoughts are ageless, and the real, the essential Gibran will live on and grow through the centuries.
He attacks without reservation hypocrisy in any form. Illustrative of his thoughts is the stinging reproach found in “The Crucified,” written on Good Friday:
On this one day of each year, the philosophers leave their dark caves, and the thinkers their cold cells, and the poets their imaginary arbors, and all stand reverently upon that silent mountain, listening to the voice of a young man saying of His tormentors and His killers, “Oh Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.”
But as dark silence chokes the voices of light, the philosophers and the thinkers and the poets return to their narrow crevices and shroud their souls with meaningless pages of parchment. The women who busy themselves with the splendour of life will bestir themselves today from their cushions to see the sorrowful woman standing before the Cross, washing with her tears the blood stains from the feet of a Holy Man suspended between heaven and earth; and when their shallow eyes weary of the scene they will depart and soon laugh. The torrent shall sweep away all things not fastened to strength!
* * * * *
Gibran was young at the time of these writings, but he exhibits a ripe and mature grasp on a subject that has intrigued and baffled man from the beginning—his destiny, and the “why” of his being. His youth renders all the more remarkable his unquestioned mastery of symbolism and simile, sparkling in profusion throughout “Secrets of the Heart.” His sympathetic approach to the prospect of death likewise belongs to the aged, but a knowledge of Gibran’s love for tears, which “sear and purify the soul” and his affection for fellow sufferers, offer understanding of his philosophically pleasant contemplations of death.
Generally, Gibran’s depth establishes itself at a level of complete lucidity to all who endeavor to find it, and his frequent meanderings into the field of mysticism supplement with spiritual argument the precepts of his earthly discourse. His blending of oriental and occidental philosophy is occasionally disconcerting to the Western mind. One has the feeling that the emotions expressed so plainly were too large for words, and were wrenched from him reluctantly through his soul’s compulsion. One cannot fail to recognize in Kahlil Gibran the sincere expression of a passionate urge to improve the lot of suffering, exploited humanity, an impulse that fired his mind and heart from childhood. It is a message, moreover, that emanates from painful knowledge of man’s inhumanity to man, drawn from a poignant memory of what his eyes had seen and his ears had heard in his close observance of the perpetual human tragedy.
Gibran drives these teachings forcefully to the heart, and they persist in agitating the heart to complete accord. Like Beethoven’s deathless music, of which the composer said, “From the heart it has sprung and to the heart it shall penetrate,” this Lebanese Savant, through his rich sincerity, reaches the deepest recesses of our emotional and spiritual awareness.
MARTIN L. WOLF
New York City
1947
Contents
Editor’s Preface
The Tempest
Slavery
Satan
The Mermaids
We and You
The Poet
Ashes of the Ages and Eternal Fire
Between Night and Morn
The Secrets of the Heart
My Countrymen
John the Madman
The Enchanting Houri
Behind the Garment
Dead Are My People
The Ambitious Violet
The Crucified
Eventide of the Feast
The Grave Digger
Honeyed Poison
Iram, the City of Lofty Pillars
The Day of My Birth
Contemplations in Sadness
The Cortège
The Tempest
The Tempest
PART I
YUSIF EL FAKHRI was thirty years of age when he withdrew himself from society and departed to live in an isolated hermitage in the vicinity of Kedeesha Valley in North Lebanon. The people of the nearby villages heard various tales concerning Yusif; some related that his was a wealthy and noble family, and that he loved a woman who betrayed him and caused him to lead a solitary life, while others said that he was a poet who deserted the clamourous city and retired to that place in order to record his thoughts and compose his inspiration; and many were sure that he was a mystic who was contented with the spiritual world, although most people insisted that he was a madman.
As for myself, I could not draw any conclusion regarding the man, for I knew that there must be a deep secret within his heart whose revelation I would not trust to mere speculation. I had long hoped for the opportunity to meet this strange man. I had endeavoured in devious ways to win his friendship in order to study his reality and learn his story by inquiring as to his purpose in life, but my efforts were in vain.
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