Heroes and Hero Worship

T >> Thomas Carlyle >> Heroes and Hero Worship

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To the idolatrous Arabs one of the most ancient universal objects of
worship was that Black Stone, still kept in the building called Caabah, at
Mecca. Diodorus Siculus mentions this Caabah in a way not to be mistaken,
as the oldest, most honored temple in his time; that is, some half-century
before our Era. Silvestre de Sacy says there is some likelihood that the
Black Stone is an aerolite. In that case, some man might _see_ it fall out
of Heaven! It stands now beside the Well Zemzem; the Caabah is built over
both. A Well is in all places a beautiful affecting object, gushing out
like life from the hard earth;--still more so in those hot dry countries,
where it is the first condition of being. The Well Zemzem has its name
from the bubbling sound of the waters, _zem-zem_; they think it is the Well
which Hagar found with her little Ishmael in the wilderness: the aerolite
and it have been sacred now, and had a Caabah over them, for thousands of
years. A curious object, that Caabah! There it stands at this hour, in
the black cloth-covering the Sultan sends it yearly; "twenty-seven cubits
high;" with circuit, with double circuit of pillars, with festoon-rows of
lamps and quaint ornaments: the lamps will be lighted again _this_
night,--to glitter again under the stars. An authentic fragment of the
oldest Past. It is the _Keblah_ of all Moslem: from Delhi all onwards to
Morocco, the eyes of innumerable praying men are turned towards it, five
times, this day and all days: one of the notablest centres in the
Habitation of Men.

It had been from the sacredness attached to this Caabah Stone and Hagar's
Well, from the pilgrimings of all tribes of Arabs thither, that Mecca took
its rise as a Town. A great town once, though much decayed now. It has no
natural advantage for a town; stands in a sandy hollow amid bare barren
hills, at a distance from the sea; its provisions, its very bread, have to
be imported. But so many pilgrims needed lodgings: and then all places of
pilgrimage do, from the first, become places of trade. The first day
pilgrims meet, merchants have also met: where men see themselves assembled
for one object, they find that they can accomplish other objects which
depend on meeting together. Mecca became the Fair of all Arabia. And
thereby indeed the chief staple and warehouse of whatever Commerce there
was between the Indian and the Western countries, Syria, Egypt, even Italy.
It had at one time a population of 100,000; buyers, forwarders of those
Eastern and Western products; importers for their own behoof of provisions
and corn. The government was a kind of irregular aristocratic republic,
not without a touch of theocracy. Ten Men of a chief tribe, chosen in some
rough way, were Governors of Mecca, and Keepers of the Caabah. The Koreish
were the chief tribe in Mahomet's time; his own family was of that tribe.
The rest of the Nation, fractioned and cut asunder by deserts, lived under
similar rude patriarchal governments by one or several: herdsmen,
carriers, traders, generally robbers too; being oftenest at war one with
another, or with all: held together by no open bond, if it were not this
meeting at the Caabah, where all forms of Arab Idolatry assembled in common
adoration;--held mainly by the _inward_ indissoluble bond of a common blood
and language. In this way had the Arabs lived for long ages, unnoticed by
the world; a people of great qualities, unconsciously waiting for the day
when they should become notable to all the world. Their Idolatries appear
to have been in a tottering state; much was getting into confusion and
fermentation among them. Obscure tidings of the most important Event ever
transacted in this world, the Life and Death of the Divine Man in Judea, at
once the symptom and cause of immeasurable change to all people in the
world, had in the course of centuries reached into Arabia too; and could
not but, of itself, have produced fermentation there.

It was among this Arab people, so circumstanced, in the year 570 of our
Era, that the man Mahomet was born. He was of the family of Hashem, of the
Koreish tribe as we said; though poor, connected with the chief persons of
his country. Almost at his birth he lost his Father; at the age of six
years his Mother too, a woman noted for her beauty, her worth and sense:
he fell to the charge of his Grandfather, an old man, a hundred years old.
A good old man: Mahomet's Father, Abdallah, had been his youngest favorite
son. He saw in Mahomet, with his old life-worn eyes, a century old, the
lost Abdallah come back again, all that was left of Abdallah. He loved the
little orphan Boy greatly; used to say, They must take care of that
beautiful little Boy, nothing in their kindred was more precious than he.
At his death, while the boy was still but two years old, he left him in
charge to Abu Thaleb the eldest of the Uncles, as to him that now was head
of the house. By this Uncle, a just and rational man as everything
betokens, Mahomet was brought up in the best Arab way.

Mahomet, as he grew up, accompanied his Uncle on trading journeys and such
like; in his eighteenth year one finds him a fighter following his Uncle in
war. But perhaps the most significant of all his journeys is one we find
noted as of some years' earlier date: a journey to the Fairs of Syria.
The young man here first came in contact with a quite foreign world,--with
one foreign element of endless moment to him: the Christian Religion. I
know not what to make of that "Sergius, the Nestorian Monk," whom Abu
Thaleb and he are said to have lodged with; or how much any monk could have
taught one still so young. Probably enough it is greatly exaggerated, this
of the Nestorian Monk. Mahomet was only fourteen; had no language but his
own: much in Syria must have been a strange unintelligible whirlpool to
him. But the eyes of the lad were open; glimpses of many things would
doubtless be taken in, and lie very enigmatic as yet, which were to ripen
in a strange way into views, into beliefs and insights one day. These
journeys to Syria were probably the beginning of much to Mahomet.

One other circumstance we must not forget: that he had no school-learning;
of the thing we call school-learning none at all. The art of writing was
but just introduced into Arabia; it seems to be the true opinion that
Mahomet never could write! Life in the Desert, with its experiences, was
all his education. What of this infinite Universe he, from his dim place,
with his own eyes and thoughts, could take in, so much and no more of it
was he to know. Curious, if we will reflect on it, this of having no
books. Except by what he could see for himself, or hear of by uncertain
rumor of speech in the obscure Arabian Desert, he could know nothing. The
wisdom that had been before him or at a distance from him in the world, was
in a manner as good as not there for him. Of the great brother souls,
flame-beacons through so many lands and times, no one directly communicates
with this great soul. He is alone there, deep down in the bosom of the
Wilderness; has to grow up so,--alone with Nature and his own Thoughts.

But, from an early age, he had been remarked as a thoughtful man. His
companions named him "_Al Amin_, The Faithful." A man of truth and
fidelity; true in what he did, in what he spake and thought. They noted
that _he_ always meant something. A man rather taciturn in speech; silent
when there was nothing to be said; but pertinent, wise, sincere, when he
did speak; always throwing light on the matter. This is the only sort of
speech _worth_ speaking! Through life we find him to have been regarded as
an altogether solid, brotherly, genuine man. A serious, sincere character;
yet amiable, cordial, companionable, jocose even;--a good laugh in him
withal: there are men whose laugh is as untrue as anything about them; who
cannot laugh. One hears of Mahomet's beauty: his fine sagacious honest
face, brown florid complexion, beaming black eyes;--I somehow like too that
vein on the brow, which swelled up black when he was in anger: like the
"_horseshoe_ vein" in Scott's _Redgauntlet_. It was a kind of feature in
the Hashem family, this black swelling vein in the brow; Mahomet had it
prominent, as would appear. A spontaneous, passionate, yet just,
true-meaning man! Full of wild faculty, fire and light; of wild worth, all
uncultured; working out his life-task in the depths of the Desert there.

How he was placed with Kadijah, a rich Widow, as her Steward, and travelled
in her business, again to the Fairs of Syria; how he managed all, as one
can well understand, with fidelity, adroitness; how her gratitude, her
regard for him grew: the story of their marriage is altogether a graceful
intelligible one, as told us by the Arab authors. He was twenty-five; she
forty, though still beautiful. He seems to have lived in a most
affectionate, peaceable, wholesome way with this wedded benefactress;
loving her truly, and her alone. It goes greatly against the impostor
theory, the fact that he lived in this entirely unexceptionable, entirely
quiet and commonplace way, till the heat of his years was done. He was
forty before he talked of any mission from Heaven. All his irregularities,
real and supposed, date from after his fiftieth year, when the good Kadijah
died. All his "ambition," seemingly, had been, hitherto, to live an honest
life; his "fame," the mere good opinion of neighbors that knew him, had
been sufficient hitherto. Not till he was already getting old, the
prurient heat of his life all burnt out, and _peace_ growing to be the
chief thing this world could give him, did he start on the "career of
ambition;" and, belying all his past character and existence, set up as a
wretched empty charlatan to acquire what he could now no longer enjoy! For
my share, I have no faith whatever in that.

Ah no: this deep-hearted Son of the Wilderness, with his beaming black
eyes and open social deep soul, had other thoughts in him than ambition. A
silent great soul; he was one of those who cannot _but_ be in earnest; whom
Nature herself has appointed to be sincere. While others walk in formulas
and hearsays, contented enough to dwell there, this man could not screen
himself in formulas; he was alone with his own soul and the reality of
things. The great Mystery of Existence, as I said, glared in upon him,
with its terrors, with its splendors; no hearsays could hide that
unspeakable fact, "Here am I!" Such _sincerity_, as we named it, has in
very truth something of divine. The word of such a man is a Voice direct
from Nature's own Heart. Men do and must listen to that as to nothing
else;--all else is wind in comparison. From of old, a thousand thoughts,
in his pilgrimings and wanderings, had been in this man: What am I? What
_is_ this unfathomable Thing I live in, which men name Universe? What is
Life; what is Death? What am I to believe? What am I to do? The grim
rocks of Mount Hara, of Mount Sinai, the stern sandy solitudes answered
not. The great Heaven rolling silent overhead, with its blue-glancing
stars, answered not. There was no answer. The man's own soul, and what of
God's inspiration dwelt there, had to answer!

It is the thing which all men have to ask themselves; which we too have to
ask, and answer. This wild man felt it to be of _infinite_ moment; all
other things of no moment whatever in comparison. The jargon of
argumentative Greek Sects, vague traditions of Jews, the stupid routine of
Arab Idolatry: there was no answer in these. A Hero, as I repeat, has
this first distinction, which indeed we may call first and last, the Alpha
and Omega of his whole Heroism, That he looks through the shows of things
into _things_. Use and wont, respectable hearsay, respectable formula:
all these are good, or are not good. There is something behind and beyond
all these, which all these must correspond with, be the image of, or they
are--_Idolatries_; "bits of black wood pretending to be God;" to the
earnest soul a mockery and abomination. Idolatries never so gilded, waited
on by heads of the Koreish, will do nothing for this man. Though all men
walk by them, what good is it? The great Reality stands glaring there upon
_him_. He there has to answer it, or perish miserably. Now, even now, or
else through all Eternity never! Answer it; _thou_ must find an
answer.--Ambition? What could all Arabia do for this man; with the crown
of Greek Heraclius, of Persian Chosroes, and all crowns in the Earth;--what
could they all do for him? It was not of the Earth he wanted to hear tell;
it was of the Heaven above and of the Hell beneath. All crowns and
sovereignties whatsoever, where would _they_ in a few brief years be? To
be Sheik of Mecca or Arabia, and have a bit of gilt wood put into your
hand,--will that be one's salvation? I decidedly think, not. We will
leave it altogether, this impostor hypothesis, as not credible; not very
tolerable even, worthy chiefly of dismissal by us.

Mahomet had been wont to retire yearly, during the month Ramadhan, into
solitude and silence; as indeed was the Arab custom; a praiseworthy custom,
which such a man, above all, would find natural and useful. Communing with
his own heart, in the silence of the mountains; himself silent; open to the
"small still voices:" it was a right natural custom! Mahomet was in his
fortieth year, when having withdrawn to a cavern in Mount Hara, near Mecca,
during this Ramadhan, to pass the month in prayer, and meditation on those
great questions, he one day told his wife Kadijah, who with his household
was with him or near him this year, That by the unspeakable special favor
of Heaven he had now found it all out; was in doubt and darkness no longer,
but saw it all. That all these Idols and Formulas were nothing, miserable
bits of wood; that there was One God in and over all; and we must leave all
Idols, and look to Him. That God is great; and that there is nothing else
great! He is the Reality. Wooden Idols are not real; He is real. He made
us at first, sustains us yet; we and all things are but the shadow of Him;
a transitory garment veiling the Eternal Splendor. "_Allah akbar_, God is
great;"--and then also "_Islam_," That we must submit to God. That our
whole strength lies in resigned submission to Him, whatsoever He do to us.
For this world, and for the other! The thing He sends to us, were it death
and worse than death, shall be good, shall be best; we resign ourselves to
God.--"If this be _Islam_," says Goethe, "do we not all live in _Islam_?"
Yes, all of us that have any moral life; we all live so. It has ever been
held the highest wisdom for a man not merely to submit to
Necessity,--Necessity will make him submit,--but to know and believe well
that the stern thing which Necessity had ordered was the wisest, the best,
the thing wanted there. To cease his frantic pretension of scanning this
great God's-World in his small fraction of a brain; to know that it _had_
verily, though deep beyond his soundings, a Just Law, that the soul of it
was Good;--that his part in it was to conform to the Law of the Whole, and
in devout silence follow that; not questioning it, obeying it as
unquestionable.

I say, this is yet the only true morality known. A man is right and
invincible, virtuous and on the road towards sure conquest, precisely while
he joins himself to the great deep Law of the World, in spite of all
superficial laws, temporary appearances, profit-and-loss calculations; he
is victorious while he co-operates with that great central Law, not
victorious otherwise:--and surely his first chance of co-operating with it,
or getting into the course of it, is to know with his whole soul that it
is; that it is good, and alone good! This is the soul of Islam; it is
properly the soul of Christianity;--for Islam is definable as a confused
form of Christianity; had Christianity not been, neither had it been.
Christianity also commands us, before all, to be resigned to God. We are
to take no counsel with flesh and blood; give ear to no vain cavils, vain
sorrows and wishes: to know that we know nothing; that the worst and
cruelest to our eyes is not what it seems; that we have to receive
whatsoever befalls us as sent from God above, and say, It is good and wise,
God is great! "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." Islam means
in its way Denial of Self, Annihilation of Self. This is yet the highest
Wisdom that Heaven has revealed to our Earth.

Such light had come, as it could, to illuminate the darkness of this wild
Arab soul. A confused dazzling splendor as of life and Heaven, in the
great darkness which threatened to be death: he called it revelation and
the angel Gabriel;--who of us yet can know what to call it? It is the
"inspiration of the Almighty" that giveth us understanding. To _know_; to
get into the truth of anything, is ever a mystic act,--of which the best
Logics can but babble on the surface. "Is not Belief the true
god-announcing Miracle?" says Novalis.--That Mahomet's whole soul, set in
flame with this grand Truth vouchsafed him, should feel as if it were
important and the only important thing, was very natural. That Providence
had unspeakably honored him by revealing it, saving him from death and
darkness; that he therefore was bound to make known the same to all
creatures: this is what was meant by "Mahomet is the Prophet of God;" this
too is not without its true meaning.--

The good Kadijah, we can fancy, listened to him with wonder, with doubt:
at length she answered: Yes, it was true this that he said. One can fancy
too the boundless gratitude of Mahomet; and how of all the kindnesses she
had done him, this of believing the earnest struggling word he now spoke
was the greatest. "It is certain," says Novalis, "my Conviction gains
infinitely, the moment another soul will believe in it." It is a boundless
favor.--He never forgot this good Kadijah. Long afterwards, Ayesha his
young favorite wife, a woman who indeed distinguished herself among the
Moslem, by all manner of qualities, through her whole long life; this young
brilliant Ayesha was, one day, questioning him: "Now am not I better than
Kadijah? She was a widow; old, and had lost her looks: you love me better
than you did her?"--" No, by Allah!" answered Mahomet: "No, by Allah! She
believed in me when none else would believe. In the whole world I had but
one friend, and she was that!"--Seid, his Slave, also believed in him;
these with his young Cousin Ali, Abu Thaleb's son, were his first converts.

He spoke of his Doctrine to this man and that; but the most treated it with
ridicule, with indifference; in three years, I think, he had gained but
thirteen followers. His progress was slow enough. His encouragement to go
on, was altogether the usual encouragement that such a man in such a case
meets. After some three years of small success, he invited forty of his
chief kindred to an entertainment; and there stood up and told them what
his pretension was: that he had this thing to promulgate abroad to all
men; that it was the highest thing, the one thing: which of them would
second him in that? Amid the doubt and silence of all, young Ali, as yet a
lad of sixteen, impatient of the silence, started up, and exclaimed in
passionate fierce language, That he would! The assembly, among whom was
Abu Thaleb, Ali's Father, could not be unfriendly to Mahomet; yet the sight
there, of one unlettered elderly man, with a lad of sixteen, deciding on
such an enterprise against all mankind, appeared ridiculous to them; the
assembly broke up in laughter. Nevertheless it proved not a laughable
thing; it was a very serious thing! As for this young Ali, one cannot but
like him. A noble-minded creature, as he shows himself, now and always
afterwards; full of affection, of fiery daring. Something chivalrous in
him; brave as a lion; yet with a grace, a truth and affection worthy of
Christian knighthood. He died by assassination in the Mosque at Bagdad; a
death occasioned by his own generous fairness, confidence in the fairness
of others: he said, If the wound proved not unto death, they must pardon
the Assassin; but if it did, then they must slay him straightway, that so
they two in the same hour might appear before God, and see which side of
that quarrel was the just one!

Mahomet naturally gave offence to the Koreish, Keepers of the Caabah,
superintendents of the Idols. One or two men of influence had joined him:
the thing spread slowly, but it was spreading. Naturally he gave offence
to everybody: Who is this that pretends to be wiser than we all; that
rebukes us all, as mere fools and worshippers of wood! Abu Thaleb the good
Uncle spoke with him: Could he not be silent about all that; believe it
all for himself, and not trouble others, anger the chief men, endanger
himself and them all, talking of it? Mahomet answered: If the Sun stood
on his right hand and the Moon on his left, ordering him to hold his peace,
he could not obey! No: there was something in this Truth he had got which
was of Nature herself; equal in rank to Sun, or Moon, or whatsoever thing
Nature had made. It would speak itself there, so long as the Almighty
allowed it, in spite of Sun and Moon, and all Koreish and all men and
things. It must do that, and could do no other. Mahomet answered so; and,
they say, "burst into tears." Burst into tears: he felt that Abu Thaleb
was good to him; that the task he had got was no soft, but a stern and
great one.

He went on speaking to who would listen to him; publishing his Doctrine
among the pilgrims as they came to Mecca; gaining adherents in this place
and that. Continual contradiction, hatred, open or secret danger attended
him. His powerful relations protected Mahomet himself; but by and by, on
his own advice, all his adherents had to quit Mecca, and seek refuge in
Abyssinia over the sea. The Koreish grew ever angrier; laid plots, and
swore oaths among them, to put Mahomet to death with their own hands. Abu
Thaleb was dead, the good Kadijah was dead. Mahomet is not solicitous of
sympathy from us; but his outlook at this time was one of the dismalest.
He had to hide in caverns, escape in disguise; fly hither and thither;
homeless, in continual peril of his life. More than once it seemed all
over with him; more than once it turned on a straw, some rider's horse
taking fright or the like, whether Mahomet and his Doctrine had not ended
there, and not been heard of at all. But it was not to end so.

In the thirteenth year of his mission, finding his enemies all banded
against him, forty sworn men, one out of every tribe, waiting to take his
life, and no continuance possible at Mecca for him any longer, Mahomet fled
to the place then called Yathreb, where he had gained some adherents; the
place they now call Medina, or "_Medinat al Nabi_, the City of the
Prophet," from that circumstance. It lay some two hundred miles off,
through rocks and deserts; not without great difficulty, in such mood as we
may fancy, he escaped thither, and found welcome. The whole East dates its
era from this Flight, _hegira_ as they name it: the Year 1 of this Hegira
is 622 of our Era, the fifty-third of Mahomet's life. He was now becoming
an old man; his friends sinking round him one by one; his path desolate,
encompassed with danger: unless he could find hope in his own heart, the
outward face of things was but hopeless for him. It is so with all men in
the like case. Hitherto Mahomet had professed to publish his Religion by
the way of preaching and persuasion alone. But now, driven foully out of
his native country, since unjust men had not only given no ear to his
earnest Heaven's-message, the deep cry of his heart, but would not even let
him live if he kept speaking it,--the wild Son of the Desert resolved to
defend himself, like a man and Arab. If the Koreish will have it so, they
shall have it. Tidings, felt to be of infinite moment to them and all men,
they would not listen to these; would trample them down by sheer violence,
steel and murder: well, let steel try it then! Ten years more this
Mahomet had; all of fighting of breathless impetuous toil and struggle;
with what result we know.

Much has been said of Mahomet's propagating his Religion by the sword. It
is no doubt far nobler what we have to boast of the Christian Religion,
that it propagated itself peaceably in the way of preaching and conviction.
Yet withal, if we take this for an argument of the truth or falsehood of a
religion, there is a radical mistake in it. The sword indeed: but where
will you get your sword! Every new opinion, at its starting, is precisely
in a _minority of one_. In one man's head alone, there it dwells as yet.
One man alone of the whole world believes it; there is one man against all
men. That _he_ take a sword, and try to propagate with that, will do
little for him. You must first get your sword! On the whole, a thing will
propagate itself as it can. We do not find, of the Christian Religion
either, that it always disdained the sword, when once it had got one.
Charlemagne's conversion of the Saxons was not by preaching. I care little
about the sword: I will allow a thing to struggle for itself in this
world, with any sword or tongue or implement it has, or can lay hold of.
We will let it preach, and pamphleteer, and fight, and to the uttermost
bestir itself, and do, beak and claws, whatsoever is in it; very sure that
it will, in the long-run, conquer nothing which does not deserve to be
conquered. What is better than itself, it cannot put away, but only what
is worse. In this great Duel, Nature herself is umpire, and can do no
wrong: the thing which is deepest-rooted in Nature, what we call _truest_,
that thing and not the other will be found growing at last.

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