Did the Baha'i faith inspire Kahlil Gibran to write 'The Prophet'?

One figure, in particular, comes to mind – Abbas Effendi, better known as Abdu'l-Baha (1844-1921), the leader of the Baha'i Faith.

Strangely, he rarely comes up in discussions of The Prophet. And yet, the possibility that he influenced Gibran is quite high.

Abdu'l-Baha and Gibran

Gibran first crossed paths with Abdu'l-Baha in America in the spring of 1912.

Abdu'l-Baha had been hosted by renowned visual artist Juliet Thompson, one of the most prominent American Baha'i figures. Due to their shared interests and proximity, Gibran was close friends with Thompson; they lived only one street apart in Manhattan.

In Thompson's book The Diary of Juliet Thompson (1983), contributor and Iranian-American writer Marzieh Gail dedicates an entire chapter to Gibran, as told through Thompson.

"He lived across the street from here. He was neither poor nor rich – in between. Worked on an Arab newspaper; free to paint and write. His health was all right in the early years. He was terribly sad in his later years, because of cancer. He died at 49. He knew his life was ending too soon," she says.

"His drawings were more beautiful than his paintings. These were very misty, lost things – mysterious and lost. Very poetic. A Syrian brought him to see me – I can't even remember his name. Kahlil always said I was his first friend in New York."

"We became very, very great friends, and I heard all of his books – The Madman, The Forerunner, The Son of Man, The Prophet – in manuscript."

Thompson adds, "I liked The Prophet best. I don't believe that there was any connection between Abdu'l-Baha and The Prophet. But he told me that he thought of the Abdu'l-Baha all through.

"He said that he would write another book with Abdu'l-Baha as the centre and all the contemporaries of Abdu'l-Baha speaking. He died before he wrote it. He told me definitely that The Son of Man was influenced by Abdu'l-Baha."

Love of a different kind

Thompson goes on to reveal the nature of their own relationship. It was love, but not the romantic kind.

"He just loved me, and I loved him – but it wasn't that kind of love. He just wasn't a lover. He wasn't that kind of a man," she says.

She draws attention to the profound respect Gibran held among his fellow immigrant compatriots, saying, "I've seen Armenians and Syrians kiss his hand and call him Master. It was awful for Kahlil." He appeared as a religious leader within this close-knit community, she recalls.

On a more personal note, Thompson remembers Gibran's distinctive speaking voice and quirks.

"He had a high, delicate voice and an almost shyly modest manner until he came out with something thundering. I don't know how to describe him except to say he was the spitting image of Charlie Chaplin. I used to tell him so. It made him frightfully mad."

She also recounts how Gibran became familiar with the Baha'i cause.

"He got hold of some of the Arabic of Baha'u'llah. He said it was the most spectacular literature ever written, and that he even coined words. He said no Arabic could even touch the Arabic of Baha'u'llah."

The concept of direct communion with God captured his interest when he integrated himself further into Baha'i beliefs. He even came to say, "What do we need a Manifestation of God for? Each one of us can come into direct contact with God. I am in direct contact with God."

Portrait of Abdu'l-Baha

Thompson's narrative moves on to the remarkable meeting between Abdu'l-Baha and Gibran, which features a particular portrait Gibran crafted for him.

"I told him the Master was coming. He asked me if I would request the Master to sit for him. The Master gave him one hour at 6:30 one morning. He made an outstanding head. It doesn't look like the Master – very faint likeness," she says.

"Great power through the shoulders. A great radiance in the face. It's not a portrait of the Master, but it's the work of a great artist. I do consider him a great artist."

Gibran and Abdu'l-Baha grew close during his stay in New York and embarked on a joint journey to Boston. Thompson says a close friendship blossomed between the two men.

Gibran cherished Abdu'l-Baha and stood by him with unwavering devotion to the best of his ability.

"The Master went away, and Kahlil settled down into writing his books. But he often talked of Him, most sympathetically and most lovingly. But the only thing was, He couldn't accept an intermediary for himself. He wanted his direct contact.

"One night, years afterwards, the Master's motion picture was going to be shown at the Baha'i Centre... He sat beside me on the front row, and he saw the Master come to life again for him in that picture. And he began to sob. We had asked him to speak a few words that night.

"When the time came for him to speak, he controlled himself and jumped up on the platform and then ... still weeping before us all, he said: 'I declare that Abdu'l-Baha is the Manifestation of God for this day!' He kept on sobbing and sobbing and sobbing. Seeing the picture – it brought it all back. Then, he fled the hall."

Thompson also recounts Gibran's final days when his illness grew severe.

She describes how, on a snowy night, he ventured out to Central Park. There, he shared a brief exchange with a puzzled policeman who questioned why he was out in bad weather.

The policeman also lamented that his wife had transformed after reading Gibran's books, becoming increasingly defiant toward him.

Baha'i influences

American writer David Langness, editor for BahaiTeachings.org, speaks of the great impact of Abdu'l-Baha on Gibran's literary masterpiece, The Prophet.

Gibran himself confided in his friends that he commenced the writing of The Prophet in 1912, the very year he crossed paths with Abdu'l-Baha.

Langness dissects the potential connections between Abdu'l-Baha's visit and the character of the Prophet.

"He began the book with Almustafa about to leave his place of exile and take a voyage by ship, precisely as Abdu'l-Baha had done," he posits.

"In The Prophet, Gibran framed the substance of the book with the town's residents clamouring for Almustafa's wisdom, exactly as he had seen New Yorkers do with Abdu'l-Baha. In The Prophet, the villagers call Almustafa 'the Master', just like he heard the Baha'is address Abdu'l-Baha as the Master."

Langness goes further, pulling up striking resemblances between certain passages in The Prophet and key Baha'i teachings.

He spotlights a particular parallel within the third paragraph of chapter seven of The Prophet, where Gibran writes:

"And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge, and all urge is blind save when there is knowledge, and all knowledge is vain save when there is work, and all work is empty save when there is love; and when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God."

Langness contends that this passage echoes Tablet 76 from the Tablets of Baha'u'llah.

Regardless of Gibran's true muse, The Prophet, one hundred years since its release, has become its own veritable force amongst generations of thinkers. It remains stocked on the bookshelves of many scholars, literary enthusiasts, and everyday readers.

Perhaps, in another hundred years, we will wonder if this or that influential work of today was, indeed, inspired by The Prophet.