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Zahir said, ‘I am not hurt.’
Zahir’s
mother said, ‘Who has stitched this wound together?’ Zahir had no recollection
of the king or his surgeons, knew nothing of his wound or of the arrow still lodged
between his ribs.
As
Zahir grew older, a pain in his ribs grew worse every year. And in his old age,
the agony became unbearable. He went to doctors who examined him but could find
no sign of injury.
‘This
is a mystery to us,’ the doctors declared. They prescribed worthless medicines
to combat the pain that he endured day and night.
At
last, Zahir found a surgeon
who would treat him. The surgeon opened up
Zahir’s flesh and was amazed
to find
the golden arrow. But as he withdrew the object from Zahir’s body, the
old man died, never gazing for a moment on the true source of his sorrows.”
John
said, “That your disbelief pains you and that you suffer for it and long to be
released from it is sufficient proof. Separation from God has scorched you and
you look upon your burned body and ask for proof of the fire.
The
faithless man is lost in the desert. Thirst and heat unhinge his mind. He sees
nothing but desert, imagines nothing beyond desert, though in
truth his very subsistence
depends on that which he does not see and which he
cannot conceive.
‘There
is only desert,’ he says, even as he seeks out the sweet fruit of trees from
beyond the desert and drinks water from mountains whose peaks he will never
glimpse.
And
among the teachers and philosophers are those who deny God and who are proud of
their knowledge. But their knowledge is like a spider’s web and their pride is
the pride of flycatchers.
Their
webs, however great, cannot catch a lion. And it does no credit to their
knowledge that they believe, because
they have never caught a lion in their webs, that lions do not exist.
Men
are wholly blind, yet insist that they perceive the world through their own eyes. They stumble and tremble, taking in their hands all manner of
objects to determine the truth of them, for they see nothing. Yet by judging
the world according to their feeble standards, they are led into the error of
disbelief and into the wilds of perdition.
A
blind man was offered a drink of the sweetest wine. He drank it and smiled,
appreciating its savor. But when offered a second draught, the blind man said,
‘Let me feel the bottle from which you have poured this bounty, that I may know
whether it is sweet or sour.’
Such
are the minds of men who demand proof of God’s bounty. His bounty alone is His
proof, and no other proof can suffice you.
The
Sun one day spoke thus to himself, ‘All the worlds cry out, “Why glow so
brightly if none can look at you even for a moment?” I glow for my love of
mankind.
Every
day I look down upon the wide blue earth, upon the seas on which I dance, upon
the mountains that stretch vainly to reach me, and I see men
pray and sacrifice to me.
They
know I am their provider. They see me and know that warmth and light and life
come from me. What
man living in the world could be without knowledge of me? Who could deny me in
the face of these binding and conclusive proofs?’
Musing
on this, the Sun undertook to examine all mankind in search of one who
disbelieved in him. To his surprise, he found such a man immediately, an old
man who lived alone in a cave by the sea.
He
grew corn and squash to eat and he drew water from a nearby stream and lived
his life in isolation from other men. This old man was entirely blind, unable
even to perceive shades of light and shadow; his eyes were ruined from birth.
While
the old man was tending his little garden, he heard a voice calling out to him. The
voice said, ‘I am the Sun, suspended in the heavens above. Look upon me and
know me, for I am the giver of all life. All the things on earth I have
provided for your sustenance and pleasure. I have given you life also; you owe
me belief at least for that.’
The
old man replied, ‘Sun? I have heard this word before, stranger, but
have never comprehended the
meaning. People speak to me as
though the existence of this sun were miraculously evident in itself.
Well,
it is not evident to me. And if you, who speak for this sun, claim to be the
giver of my life and the provider of all things on earth, then I have to respond that I
lack any evidence to believe you. Describe your nature to me that I may
understand you, if indeed there is such a thing as the sun and you are him.’
The
Sun said, ‘I should not be put to proof by you, you who are but an insect to
me. In any event, I cannot describe myself to you who have never seen with
eyes. How would you understand? My words would be meaningless. At least,
however, you are capable of feeling my heat, for my fire warms the world. When
I am absent, how much colder life becomes.’
The
old man said, ‘I have known both heat and cold.’
‘Then
you must know that I am the source of heat.’
‘Hardly,’
the old man replied. ‘I feel heat; but I do not pretend to know the source of it.
Perhaps the air produces heat. Perhaps the ground sometimes does, for the sand
feels hot to me.’
The
Sun said, ‘No, I produce it. The tongues of my fire warm you. The rays of my
heat touch you, your face, your hands, the ground and the sky.
I
embrace the world with the essence of me.’ The old man responded, ‘Then present yourself to me that I may touch your face.
Then I will know and believe.’
‘I
am exalted well above your ability to touch me.’
The
old man shouted, ‘Ah, you contradict yourself, you liar! If I cannot touch your
face, then how do you presume to touch me and, indeed, embrace the world?’
The
Sun did not answer this, but chose another argument. ‘Tell me, how do you
account for the corn and squash growing in your garden? You must know that they
have a source and that they derive from me the ability to grow and prosper for
your benefit.’
The
old man was adamant in his rejection of the Sun’s claims. ‘I
know nothing of the sort. I know that they grow from seeds I carefully plant
and by virtue of watering. Water is all they require and, perhaps, heat to warm
them.’
The
Sun said, ‘Yes, but what is the source of this heat?’
‘I have told
you, the ground or the sky perhaps.
I do not pretend to know exactly.
But I suspect it is not the product of
some inscrutable celestial orb. Perhaps these things are derived by accident.
Perhaps their existence is fortuitous and arbitrary.’
Hearing
this, the Sun grew angry and berated the man. But the old man would listen no
more. Although he was convinced that no sun even existed, he finally spoke to
the Sun, saying, ‘Assuming that there is a sun that invisibly performs all
these miracles, why should I believe that you are him?’
Exasperated,
the Sun finally answered, ‘Go then and deny me all the rest of your days. I am
exalted well above either your belief or disbelief.’”
Herod
said, “But I do not feel his presence nor do I hear his voice.”
John
said, “If your hands are soiled with dirt and your master approaches, do you
grasp his skirt, or do you first wipe your hands against your own?
An
old woman was slowly going blind but, in her vanity, she stubbornly refused to
admit it. Every day in the marketplace, she would invariably stumble in the
paths of others. But rather than asking their pardon, she accused them of blindness. When she
complained of this to her family, her daughter replied, ‘Which is it, mother?
Is all the world losing its sight, while you retain yours? Or is their vision
fine and yours at fault?’
One
evening, the old woman called for her son to bring her a fresh lantern, for the
one by which she was reading was too dim in her eyes. The son did as his mother
told him and brought a second lantern.
His
mother scolded him, saying, ‘The light of that lantern is also too weak! Fetch
me a lantern with a brighter flame.’ The son said, ‘Mother, were I to bring you
the very sun in my arms, you would account it insufficient. Do not berate the
flame for your incapacity to profit by it. The lantern is not dim, rather it is
your vision!’
”Herod
considered what John had said to him and, for a number of days, sought to refute
him. He said to John, “If I accept your arguments for the existence of god,
then I am prepared to judge him according to his deserts. You call him
all-powerful and all- good and nothing can withstand him.
Yet
if he is all-powerful, then the misery that is in this world is partly his
responsibility and he cannot therefore be all-good. And if he is all-good then
he cannot be all-powerful, for he
suffers evil to exist in the world. Therefore, your god is either
capricious and cruel or he is a weakling.”
John
replied, “There is evil in the world.
But even this is a sign of God. Turn away from the sun and the world becomes dark. He permits evil to persist so that we may know ourselves and, on the day we are brought before Him, we will bear ourselves witness and nowhere will we have to turn except to Him.
But even this is a sign of God. Turn away from the sun and the world becomes dark. He permits evil to persist so that we may know ourselves and, on the day we are brought before Him, we will bear ourselves witness and nowhere will we have to turn except to Him.
A
blacksmith was working one day on a stubborn piece of metal. The metal refused
to yield, and it cried out to the blacksmith, ‘Why
are you torturing me?’ It despaired, ‘Why do you burn me? Why do you stretch me
out naked on your anvil and strike me with your hammer?’
The
blacksmith did not answer the pleading one before him, but continued as before. The
metal wailed unceasingly, between pleas and curses, calling out, ‘I cannot bear
it! Destroy me!’
Again
the blacksmith did not answer, but continued his work until the metal at last
began to yield, as it always did, and its shape became appropriate to the end
for which he forged it.
After the
blows ended, the blacksmith,
with loving care, sharpened the shining blade. He fitted
its handle with jewels and rubies of exquisite carving. The scimitar beheld
itself and found itself beautiful beyond compare.
The
scimitar declared, ‘I should never have cursed you, and for cursing you I
deserved to be cast into the
fire and never withdrawn. Yet you
made of me, who was once a lump of useless ore, a sword of abiding beauty.
I
should have blessed you; I did not understand. Why didn’t you tell me the end
to which you worked me? Why didn’t you explain the reason for which you refused
to hold back these agonies?’
The
blacksmith answered, ‘Had I reasoned with you, you would never have comprehended. Your
little mind understood only unceasing pain. You could not know that
my tyranny was in fact my bounty, and that my cruelty was in truth mercy.
Blandishments
would have caused you to resist me more, therefore I offered none. Rare is the
occasion when, from the ore, a sword is ready-made. You were insensible metal;
now you are the companion of the king.
Go in peace, blessing when once you cursed, knowing when once you were
ignorant.’”
Herod
said, “You may consider him all-good this way, but you cannot deny that
innocent men suffer in abject misery—and all this to no good end!”
John
answered, “Even in Hell are the signs of the Lord.
When
the brothers of Joseph, on account of their pettiness and envy, sold Joseph into
slavery to be rid of him, they sought to conceal their crime. Therefore, they
took Joseph’s robe, which their father had given him as a token of his love for
the boy, and spattered it with goat’s blood.
They
brought this back with them from Dothan, where they had forsaken Joseph while
pasturing their father’s flock. They
carried it to their father’s tent, as a testimony to the lie they told their
father, Jacob.
‘Father,’ they
cried, ‘we have returned
with this remnant of Joseph. While we went racing one
another and left Joseph to care for our
things in our absence, a wolf came upon
him and devoured him.’
And
in the tent of their father, three of the brothers, Judah, Reuben and Simeon,
presented their brother’s robe to Jacob. And when Jacob saw the robe of his
favorite son, which was dirty and soaked in blood, he took it in his arms and
wept.
Jacob
mourned the loss of his son, and none of
his family, neither his wives, nor his daughters, nor yet his sons could
console him. The only comfort he took was in Joseph’s blood-spattered robe.
Reuben, pained at the sight of his father’s sufferings, said to him, ‘Father,
let me take that robe from you, the robe which you gave to him, and I will bury
it or burn it.’
Jacob
said, ‘No, I will keep it to remember him.’
Reuben
said, ‘But father, it reeks with filth and blood. It is unclean.’
Jacob
agreed, saying, ‘This is true, but still I scent the sweet fragrance of Joseph
on it.’”
John
said, “They pretended him dead, but they did not perceive. They fell into
despair, not knowing the end to which all things, even despair, are wrought.
The
brothers of Joseph returned from Egypt
with grain, but were dejected. When their father, Jacob, met them, he said to
them, ‘Why are your faces downcast?’
Levi
said, ‘Father, the Egyptian lord who sold us this grain accused us as spies and
took your son Simeon and locked him up. The lord asked after you and after
Benjamin, saying, “Come back with Benjamin that I may see his face and know you
are not liars and spies. If you do this, I will release Simeon.”’
Jacob
rent his shirt. He said, ‘I will not let you take Benjamin to this Egyptian
lord. Already I have lost Rachel’s first son. Would you have me risk the life
of her second?
Where
else will I find another remembrance of Joseph in the faces of my sons but in
Benjamin, Joseph’s only brother? This Egyptian lord will take Benjamin from me.
Already he has stolen Simeon away. I have lost two sons to your keeping. I will
not risk more.’
Tears
rolled over Jacob’s face and he wept
over the loss of Simeon, counting him
already among the dead. But Jacob took comfort in Benjamin, Joseph’s brother,
and said to him, ‘I cannot bear to lose you, for to lose you is death to me.
When I lost Joseph I went down into Sheol that very day.’
Now
the months passed, and the drought did not end. Jacob said to his sons, ‘Be of
some use. Go to Egypt and purchase more grain before we die.’
But
his sons said, ‘Father, remember the Egyptian lord. We must take Benjamin with
us, or that lord will surely know us and cast us all into prison with Simeon.
We will be no use to you then. Let us take Benjamin and we will return with
grain.’
Jacob
said, ‘How can I trust you a third time with that which you have lost twice
before? Were I to do this, you would be right in thinking me mad. But if you do
not go, we will starve, and I will lose Benjamin.
And
if you go, but without Benjamin, you will be imprisoned and we will starve and
I will lose Benjamin. Indeed, I am already in Sheol, bereft of Joseph and of
Simeon, of Benjamin and of all my sons. I have lost everything, all my
possessions, my
wives and my grandchildren. Take Benjamin with you.
And
do not think that by losing him you will gain a father, as you thought when you
took Joseph from me. No father am I, no son, no brother. But I place my whole
trust in God, knowing that even in the dust I will find Him.
And
if I have loved any one of you, it is because I have seen in you the signs of
God. I seek no other friend than Him, but find Him always in my company.’
Do
not grieve in humiliation, for the blessings of the Lord are soon upon you. And do not rejoice in affluence, for He
curses whom He will. But even this serves His purpose, though you do not know.
And the tears of Jacob were rewarded and the crimes of Joseph’s brothers were
repaid.
When
Jacob died, the brothers of Joseph wrung
their hands and spoke balefully to one
another: ‘Joseph will hate us
now, remembering the wrong we did him. He has spared us only for our father’s
sake.’ They invented a story to trick Joseph.
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