Kahlil Gibran guides the reader on an unforgettable journey of the soul and spirit in this 1923 classic. As I am sure many readers have done before me, I read The Prophet with a mixture of wonder and appreciation. Each page was like another step forward into uncharted land, the reader accompanied throughout by Gibran’s wisdom, generosity, and grace.
A major theme in this work is how togetherness emerges through acknowledgment of what we share with others. The Prophet sees each person as a leaf on a tree, each connected to another through shared roots, rather than as a tree in a forest that could easily stand alone without the direct support of others. With such a worldview, the wrongdoer will always contains a trace of our hidden will and the righteous must always recognize complicity in their neighbor’s worst deeds. Just as a turning leaf speaks with knowledge about every neighbor on the tree, each person who falls out of line with the rest should be looked at not as a villain but rather as a symptom of the dormant societal disease that waits for its moment to ambush us all.
The thought works directly against the pressure from society to glorify individual accomplishments, isolate bad deeds as singular acts, and move on quickly from those who have stumbled or fallen. A society must exercise this ‘quarantine’ thinking to some degree in order to continue its proper functions in the presence of a bad apple. However, if each person took the time to help the coming generation by removing every known obstacle from the path, we can start building a better future where we learn from each other’s missteps and take responsibility for making sure no others repeat our errors.
Of course, even with an identifiable theme or two, a book like this is always difficult to write about because I never quite feel like what I can say will ever do justice to the work. There is also the question of how well I can articulate my own thoughts about the work – as Gibran notes, sometimes our words strangle the life out of our thinking and feeling.
The meandering, spirited journey of The Prophet is like a bird in full flight; I feel there is only so much I can say before I risk my words becoming like the cage that forever strips the book of its soaring qualities. The Prophet reminds us that our words are never more than mere shadows for our thoughts, a truth hammered home for me in this very process of trying to write about the book.
One up: One of the important messages from The Prophet centers around the difference between giving of the self and giving of a possession. Though a possession can be given away with great meaning or symbolism, it rarely happens with the same significance as giving of the self.
For Gibran, the truth in giving means simply giving – giving without being mindful of debt, giving without seeking a return of joy or self-baptism, giving without first confirming that there is plenty to give. The difference in giving the self and giving a possession is that giving of the self is always simply giving.
One down: The Prophet is the type of work where the mood created by the writing makes it feel like almost any kind of metaphor is plausible. For the most part, this is OK. But as I reviewed my notes just now, I struggled to fully buy into the idea that ‘the best place to start climbing is from the mountaintop’. Climb where? Maybe I should consider coming back down instead – I’m sure someone down there is worried about me – and I’ll be in better position to help others get up the mountain the next time I decide to try another ascent.
Another such thought was about how although they (‘they’) say we humans are like chains in the way we are as strong as our weakest link, why can’t we also be as strong as our strongest link? I like the spirit of the thought, even in my post-reading state of mind, but I must point out that this is not how chains work – chains break at the weakest link, no matter how a clever, poetic, or big-hearted counter-analogy might dispute the notion.
Just saying: As I briefly alluded to above, one of Gibran’s best insights was about the relationship between thoughts and words. This idea suggests something important about The Prophet – although it is a written work, there are qualities about it that remind me of other forms of art. Like with a great painting or a moving song, I felt there was a part of this book’s masterpiece that happened in me as I read thanks to how The Prophet stirred up the truths I cannot yet express in words.
