Amine Jules Iskandar

Human civilization has been built upon the capacity for transmission. Tradition – from the Latin tradere , meaning “to transmit” – lies at the heart of progress. To borrow Le Corbusier’s words, it is “the unbroken chain of all innovations and, by that very fact, the surest witness to the projection into the future” (1) . In Sacrosanctum Concilium (2) , the Second Vatican Council recalls that “the liturgy expresses the faith of the Church as it has been transmitted through the centuries.” The Liturgy Tradition is transmitted through the liturgy, a true synthesis of all the arts. All the senses are involved: space, light and acoustics are conceived to serve the rite. As Father Pavel Florensky wrote, “in the church, space becomes theology” (3) . The fragrance of incense is a symbol of prayer rising to God: “Let my prayer be counted as incense before you” (Ps 140:2). The coolness of the stone in ancient churches is itself the tactile memory of the centuries. The warmth of candles embodies the light of Christ, victorious over darkness. Song is prayer; “To sing is to pray twice,” according to the phrase attributed to Saint Augustine (4) .

Syriac has been kept alive in Lebanon through Maronite hymns. They have carried the language, along with all the heritage, consciousness, and imagination it has tirelessly conveyed down the centuries. These hymns are the most fully developed and best-preserved expression among the various manifestations of Syriac heritage. Their origins date back to the fourth and fifth centuries, with Saint Ephrem and Saint Jacob of Serugh. They accompanied the birth, development, and establishment of Eastern Christianity in this land. They also carry within them an ancient Canaanite-Phoenician, Aramaic, and Mesopotamian legacy. Through their widespread use, these hymns have above all passed on the Syriac language throughout the parishes and in the hearts of the diaspora.

Language, as a vehicle of national culture, can become an instrument of liberation, as it did for Johann Fichte and Karol Wojtyla, and even a fundamental reason for being, as Charles Malek argued. It shapes national consciousness, fosters cohesion in the face of military or cultural hegemony, and makes it possible to build the future while remaining rooted in the heritage of the past. While Johann Gottfried von Herder highlighted the role of language in shaping cultural identity, Johann Gottlieb Fichte took this idea further by directly linking language to the concept of the nation. What he called Volkstum (national culture) (1) emerged as an instrument of resistance to French supremacy. It was on this same principle that Karol Wojtyla, the future Pope John Paul II, promoted the use of the Polish language in the theater as a means of preserving the soul of his people under Soviet rule.

Having examined the emergence of the Maronite Church in the aftermath of the Council of Chalcedon, we must now turn to the role of language in the formation of the nation. It is particularly noteworthy how fully the Maronite ecclesiastical hierarchy grasped the importance of this issue and how deliberately it sought to act upon it. For the Maronite patriarchs, beginning with St. John Maron, language was the expression of their culture, spirituality, faith, and identity. This conviction found particularly clear expression in the seventeenth century through Patriarch Estephanos Douaihy. He referred to Syriac as la nostra lingua syriaca (“our Syriac language”) and attributed to it an almost mystical quality, comparable to the mysteries of the Christianity. By this, he meant that no translation could ever replace the Syriac original or fully convey its meaning. Words, after all, possess a memory of their own, and every culture establishes a unique relationship between the signifier and the signified.

Leaving a Maronite recital sung in Syriac, audience members are often struck by how deeply the words and spirituality have moved them. They experience an emotional intensity that is unusual — stronger, even, than what they feel when hearing a language they actually understand. This raises a question: how can a language that has become largely incomprehensible penetrate them more powerfully than one they learned in school? The Language of the Soul Syriac lies at the very source of Maronite spirituality, as it has for other Antiochian Churches. Though largely marginalized, this language remains embedded in the essence of Maronite identity. It speaks to the spirit, nourishes the inner life, and quenches a spiritual thirst. Through its sound, its rhythm, and the richness of its poetic imagery, Syriac opens up a singular inner space.

At the heart of one of Lebanon's most densely populated regions, thousands of cubic meters of hydrocarbons are currently stored. From Antelias to Karantina, rows of tanks face a vertical suburb that rises up to 900 meters in altitude, yet remains, as the crow flies, dangerously close. It's an unbearable proximity between a highly flammable industry and overcrowded residential areas. Aerial view from 2017. Aerial view from 2024 showing the project's extension. Proximity of Coral and Unigaz facilities to the city. Two of Coral's five gas tanks, comparable to those of Unigaz, located a little further away.

Rarely in the history of humanity has the progressive assault been as preponderant as it is today. During the worst hours of Marxism, the gulags and intellectual terrorism were limited to certain countries or empires, without being able to subjugate the rest of the West. The Soviet empire could only forbid Christian faith, freedom of thought, and cultural heritage in the territories it directly controlled or through interposed vassals. Today, progressive delusion ignites souls in what Leo Strauss would define as a devastating nihilism. It is a plethora of pseudo-intellectuals who seek to deconstruct the human by cleverly questioning all the values that distinguish it. The aim is to transform the human person into an individual stripped of everything that socially and culturally constitutes them. This new man, divested of his bearings, is placed alone before the law, which itself is devoid of any sense of discernment.

Rarely in the history of humanity has the progressive assault been as preponderant as it is today. During the worst hours of Marxism, the gulags and intellectual terrorism were limited to certain countries or empires, without being able to subjugate the rest of the West. The Soviet empire could only forbid Christian faith, freedom of thought, and cultural heritage in the territories it directly controlled or through interposed vassals. Today, progressive delusion ignites souls in what Leo Strauss would define as a devastating nihilism. It is a plethora of pseudo-intellectuals who seek to deconstruct the human by cleverly questioning all the values that distinguish it. The aim is to transform the human person into an individual stripped of everything that socially and culturally constitutes them. This new man, divested of his bearings, is placed alone before the law, which itself is devoid of any sense of discernment.

By treating borders and constitutions as sacred and untouchable, today’s Lebanese politics forget that these tools exist for one purpose: the well-being of the human person — the one Your Holiness came to listen to in their suffering. Most Holy Father, During your visit to Lebanon, a grand national scene will be prepared to show prosperity and joy, where the splendor of religious sites will outshine that of state institutions. But has Your Holiness come to see the life of palaces, or the life of a people worn down by fifty years of conflict, poverty and exodus, with no light on the horizon? Allow us, Holy Father, to share words that you will not hear in official halls. Lebanon is exhausted. No society can survive endless wars and crises by treating only the symptoms without ever diagnosing the cause. There is, undoubtedly, corruption at the national level, and the expansionist ambitions of our neighbors at the regional level. But there is also a structural problem rooted in the very formation of our state.