The Thistle and the Cedar of Lebanon

by Habeeb Risk Allah

possession of the Roman Catholics would indeed be a bright gem in the diadem of the Romish Church, the acme of their ambition, and a keystone to the hearts and affections of every Christian inhabitant in Syria; but though they have as yet failed in this, they have many other strongholds and fastnesses in the land. Look at their convents at Carmel, Jaffa, Ramlah, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Sidon, Beyrout, Acre, Damascus, and Aleppo, and which are daily increasing. In these, and many other towns, they are the chief point of attraction to the weary wayfarers; to these they flock for rest and for sustenance—to these the sick betake themselves for medical advice and medicine—and all is afforded them gratuitously. They have also schools for the instruction of children in Arabic, Italian and French; and though many poor members of the Greek

Church would gladly abstain from sending their children to be under the tuition of the priests, did any other opportunity offer itself for their education, still, in many instances, they have now no alternative if at least they desire that their children should be instructed in the European languages. At the present day, the sea-coast towns of Syria are rising into such great importance from the rapidly-increasing commerce with Great Britain and America, that to be possessed of a smattering of foreign languages is a source of gain to the rising generation of Syria; hence, all are desirous of obtaining this knowledge; and for the accomplishment of their desire, there is no choice left but to attend the Roman Catholic schools.

There is, as I have already stated, an innate enmity between the Greeks and Latins in Syria—a deadly strife in a doctrinal point of view; still the young Syrians of the Greek persuasion, and even Moslems who, from self-interest, are prompted to attend daily these Romish schools, are also compelled to submit to their rules; and the course of instruction there consists almost exclusively of books and lessons well adapted to impress upon the young imagination the doctrines and observances of that Church. What follows from this intercourse? The teacher begins to plot against the pupil; he softens down difficulties; he wins confidence by kind words, and occasionally by small gifts, whilst a strict endeavour is made to mix up with these studies as much pleasure and amusement as is admissible with the drier pursuits of knowledge. These and a hundred other methods are adopted by the Roman Catholic priests to gain over the esteem and regard of the pupils; and as a natural result, the child, perhaps innately of an affectionate disposition, feels an impulse to be

grateful—gratitude warms into friendship—friendship ripens into attachment; and then the battle is won; the child is only nominally a Greek—in principle and at heart a Romanist. The parents and friends may be long in discovering the painful truths of the case (if ever they arrive at the knowledge), for in exact proportion as the child becomes imbued with his teacher’s notions, so does he imbibe that unchristian spirit of concealment and deception, which it is the great aim of his preceptors that he should be possessed of; and having reached this point, as he grows in years so he grows deeper in cunning, and becomes a powerful instrument in the hands of his instructors, “a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” turned loose among the flock of his unsuspecting brethren, and whilst a strict adherent to the outward observances of the Greek Church, is a very Jesuit at heart, working out with secret but almost certain success, the utter slavery of all those that fall into his meshes. This is the existing evil in Syria—a growing danger—a picture of truth not at all overdrawn. This is the “wild beast” of the present day in Lebanon, which is “passing by and treading down the humble and unsupported Thistle.”

Hospitality is the prevailing feature of the East; it is a precept and practice handed down from generation to generation since the time of the patriarchs. Abraham, when he unconsciously received and waited upon the three heavenly messengers, was doing exactly what is practised by the wild Arabs of the desert to this very day. “Baëtic baetuc” (my house is your house) is, with a very few exceptions, the maxim in the heart of every inhabitant of Syria, the more refined citizens of Damascus and Aleppo placing the best rooms in their houses at the disposal of the stranger, as well as their

horses, their servants, the best fruits of their gardens, and even themselves. All is cheerfully given up to their guests; and that man is a black sheep of the flock who is wanting in courtesy to the stranger, be he Christian, Moslem or idolater, rich or poor.

The poor peasant, in his lowly hut in the village, and the Arab in his tent, will gladly share his frugal repast with the friendless stranger, and allot him a corner of his own cushion and portion of his own bed-covering, if he have nothing better to offer. In fact, the latter will not allow a stranger to pass without entering his tent-door and tasting the bread and salt of hospitality. A man without hospitality is looked upon as worthless and unnatural; but a people without hospitality—the idea is too monstrous for an Oriental to conceive. [375]

The Latin convent on Mount Cannel has a widespread fame in the East. The Hadgi from the far-distant shores of India, whom chance or speculation has brought from Mecca into Syria, has ofttimes been refreshed, and rested under the shadow of these its hospitable walls; and he naturally returns to his friends and his country full of the good deeds and the kindness

of the monks of the great deher (convent) of Mar Elias. Another, perhaps, has been sick nigh unto death, and in his sickness was nursed, kindly waited upon, restored to health, and then sent forth with a blessing, by the Hakeems of this convent. What follows? The virtues and charities of these Catholic brethren are ever afterwards the theme of his daily conversation. Again—a pilgrim, penniless and starving, has received food and raiment, with a small sum of money to carry him on his way home, from the Carmelite friars. The pilgrim, through after-life, cherishes a thankful gratitude towards his timely benefactors; and this, to a greater or less extent, is the case with all the minor convents and monasteries in Syria.

Now, while the Roman Catholics have their convents, the Greeks and Armenians their monasteries; while the Druses, Maronites, and Arabs have a corner in their humble dwellings, and a crust and a sup for the penniless pilgrim and the weary wayfarer; yet, alas! not even in Beyrout can the English boast of ever so mean an establishment for the exercises of charity—charity, that golden rule, laid down by Him whom they profess to look to as their only Saviour and Redeemer, as the great Pattern and Example of their lives. When I reflect upon the enormous sums spent in sending fleets to fill Syria with bloodshed and misery, to the ruin of many of my unfortunate countrymen, I must confess my surprise is turned into indignation.