Abdul Baha in London (1912)/An Interview given to the Weekly Budget
From an Interview given by Abdul Baha to the Weekly Budget. [edit]
IN an apartment in Cadogan Gardens sits a. spiritually illumined Oriental, whose recent advent in London marks the latest junction of the East and West.
The teaching of Abdul Baha has already brought about the commingling of thousands of Englishmen and Englishwomen with. Orientals from every quarter of the East. Upon the basis of mutual help and friendship and the worship of God, regardless of creed and denomination, they have joined hands with an earnestness and brotherly love contrary to the theories of certain cynical poets and philosophers.
Most of Abdul Baha’s life has been spent
in an Eastern prison, which he gladly endured
rather than abjure his faith, one of the tenets
of which is the absolute equality of souls
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regardless of physical differences, such as sex
and colour. He recognises no class distinctions
except those conferred by service and
the spirit of brotherly love. For this and
other like doctrines he was held prisoner for
forty years in the fortress city of Akka, in
Palestine. When I requested a talk with
him, I was told to come early, and called,
accordingly, at nine o’clock, for an interview.
It was already mid-day to Abdul Baha who
rises at four, and who had seen eighteen
people before his breakfast at half-past six.
Representatives of many languages and nationalities
awaited him in the drawing room.
We sat in a circle facing Abdul Baha who inquired if there were any questions we would like to ask. I said my editor had sent me to ascertain something of his prison life, and Abdul Baha at once related in a simple impersonal way one of the most remarkable stories conceivable.
“At nine years of age, I accompanied my
father, Baha’u’llah, in his journey of exile to
Baghdad, seventy of his disciples going with
us. This decree of exile, after persistent
persecution, was intended to effectively stamp
out of Persia what the authorities considered
a dangerous religion. Baha’u’llah, with his
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family and followers, was banished, and travelled
from one place to another. When I was
about twenty-five years old, we were moved
from Constantinople to Adrianople, and from
there went with a guard of soldiers to the
fortressed city of Akka where we were
imprisoned and closly guarded.”
THE FIRST SUMMER
“We had no communication whatever with
the out-side world. Each loaf of bread was
cut open by the guard to see that it contained
no message. All who believed in the Bahai
manifestation, children, men and women, were
Imprisoned with us. There were one-hundred-and-fifty
of us together in two rooms and no
one was allowed to leave the place with the
exception of four persons, who went to the
bazaar to market each morning, under guard.
The first summer was dreadful. Akka is a
fever-ridden town. It was said that a bird
attempting to fly over it would drop dead.
The food was poor and insufficient, the water
was drawn from a fever-infected well and the
climate and conditions were such, that even the
natives of the town fell ill. Many soldiers
succumbed and eight out of ten of our guard
died. During the intense heat, malaria, typhoid
and dysentry attacked the prisoners, so that
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all, men, women and children, were sick at one
time. There were no doctors, no medicines,
no proper food, and no treatment of any kind.”
“I used to make broth for the people, and as I had much practice, I make good broth,” said Abdul Baha laughingly.
At this point one of the Persians explained to me that it was on account of Abdul Baha’s wonderful patience, helpfulness, and endurance that he was always called “The Master.” One could easily feel his mastership in his complete severance from time and place, and absolute detachment from all that even a Turkish prison could inflict.
BETTER CONDITIONS
“After two years of the strictest confinement
permission was granted me to find a house so
that we could live out-side the prison walls
but still within the fortifications. Many
believers came from Persia to join us but
they were not allowed to do so. Nine years
passed. Sometimes we were better off and
sometimes very much worse. It depended on
the governor, who, if he happened to be a
kind and lenient ruler, would grant us
permission to leave the fortification, and
would allow the believers free access to visit
the house; but when the governor was more
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rigorous, extra guards were placed around us,
and often pilgrims who had come from afar
were turned away.”
I learned, afterward, from a Persian, who, during these troublous times, was a member of Abdul Baha’s houshold, that the Turkish government could not credit the fact that the interest of the English and American visitors was purely spiritual and not political. Often these pilgrims were refused permission to see him, and, many times, the whole trip from America would be rewarded merely by a glimpse of Abdul Baha from his prison window.
The Government thought that the tomb of the Bab, an imposing building on Mount Carmel, was a fortification erected with the aid of American money, and that it was being armed and garrisoned secretly. Suspicion grew with each new arrival, resulting in extra spies and guards.
ABDUL HAMID’S COMMITTEE
“One year before Abdul Hamid was dethroned, he sent an extremely overbearing, treacherous and insulting committee of investigation. The chairman was one of the governor's staff, Arif Bey, and with him were three army commanders varying in rank.
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“Immediately upon his arrival, Arif Bey
proceeded to denounce me and tried to get
proof strong enough to warrant sending me to
Fezan, or throwing me into the sea. Fezan
is a Caravan station on the boundary of Tripoli
where there are no houses and no water. It
is a month's journey by camel route from
Akka.
“The committee twice sent for me to hear what I had to say in my own defence and. twice I sent back word: ‘I know your purpose, I have nothing to say.’
“This so infuriated Arif Bey that he declared he would return to Constantinople and bring back an order from the Sultan to have me hanged at the gate of Akka. He and his committee set sail with their report containing the following accusations:— ‘Abdul Baha is establishing a new nation of which he is to be the king; Abdul Baha is uplifting the banner of a new religion; Abdul Baha has built or caused to be built fortifications in Haifa, a neighbouring village, and is buying up all the surrounding lands.’
“About this time an Italian ship appeared
in the harbour sent by order of the Italian
Consul. It had been planned that I was to
escape on it by night. The Bahais in Akka
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implored me to go but I sent this message to
the captain: ‘The Bab did not run away:
Baha’u’llah did not run away; I shall not run
away’; so the ship sailed away after waiting
three days and three nights.
“It was while the Sultan’s committee of investigation was homeward bound that the first shell was dropped into Abdul Hamid’s camp and the first gun of freedom was fired into the home of despotism. That was God’s gun,” said Abdul Baha, with one of his wonderful smiles.
“When the committee reached the Turkish capital, they had more urgent things to think of. The city was in a state of uproar and rebellion, and the committee, as members of the government staff, were delegated to investigate the insurrection. Meanwhile the people were establishing a constitutional government and Abdul Hamid was given no chance to act.”
THE RELEASE
“With the advent of the Young Turks’
supremacy, realized through the Society
of Union and Progress, all the political
prisoners of the Ottoman Empire were
set free. Events took the chains from
my neck and placed them about Hamid’s;
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Abdul Baha came out of prison and Abdul
Hamid went in!”
“What became of the committee?” asked someone, breaking the deep silence that followed the recital of this thrilling page of history. “Arif Bey,” continued Abdul Baha, “was shot with three bullets, the general was exiled, the next in rank died, and the third ran away to Cairo, where he sought and received help from the Bahais.”
“Will you tell us how you felt while in prison and how you regard your freedom?” I asked. “We are glad that you are free.”
“Thank you,” he said graciously, and continuing—
“Freedom is not a matter of place. It is a condition. I was thankful for the prison, and the lack of liberty was very pleasing to me, for those days were passed in the path of service, under the utmost diffculties and trials, bearing fruits and results.
“Unless one accepts dire vicissitudes, he
will not attain. To me prison is freedom,
troubles rest me, death is life, and to be
despised is honour. Therefore, I was happy
all that time in prison. When one is released
from the prison of self, that is indeed release,
for that is the greater prison. When this
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release takes place, then one cannot be outwardly
imprisoned. When they put my
feet in stocks, I would say to the guard,
‘You cannot imprison me, for here I have
light and air and bread and water. There
will come a time when my body will be in
the ground, and I shall have neither light nor
air nor food nor water, but even then I shall
not be imprisoned.’ The afflictions which
come to humanity sometimes tend to centre
the consciousness upon the limitations, and
this is a veritable prison. Release comes by
making of the will a Door through which
the confirmations of the Spirit come.”
This sounded so like the old theology that the modern in me rose doubting if the discipline could be compensated for by the effort. “What do you mean by the confirmations of the Spirit?”
“The confirmations of the Spirit are all those powers and gifts which some are born with and (which men sometimes call genius), but for which others have to strive with infinite pains. They come to that man or woman who accepts his life with radiant acquiescence.”
Radiant acquiescence—that was the quality with which we all suddenly seemed inspired as Abdul Baha bade us good-bye.
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It was a remarkable experience, hearing one
who had passed along the prison path for
forty years declare “There is no prison but
the prison of self;” and it drove conviction to
one’s mind as this white-robed messenger from
the East pointed the way out,—not by the
path called ‘Renunciation,’ but ‘Unattachment;’
Radiant Acquiescence—the Shining
Pathway out of the “greater prison of self”
as Abdul Baha so beautifully terms those bars
that keep us from our fulfilment.
ISABEL FRASER.
