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World Order

SUMMER 1976

THE CONCEPT OF THE NATION IN ISLAM

Denis MacEoin

CONSULTATION—

THE KEYSTONE OF CREATIVE ADMINISTRATION

Penelope Graham Walker

TECHNOLOGY AND THE SPECIFICALLY HUMAN

Mary Carman Rose

WORK, MOTIVATION, AND THE NATURE OF MAN

Zabih Sabet-Sharghi

INDEX TO VOLUME 10

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World Order

A BAHÁ’Í MAGAZINE • VOLUME 10 NUMBER 4 • PUBLISHED QUARTERLY

WORLD ORDER IS INTENDED TO STIMULATE, INSPIRE AND SERVE THINKING PEOPLE IN THEIR SEARCH TO FIND RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN CONTEMPORARY LIFE AND CONTEMPORARY RELIGIOUS TEACHINGS AND PHILOSOPHY

Editorial Board:

FIRUZ KAZEMZADEH

BETTY J. FISHER

HOWARD GAREY

ROBERT HAYDEN

GLENFORD E. MITCHELL

Editorial Assistant

MARTHA PATRICK

WORLD ORDER is published quarterly, October, January, April, and July, at 415 Linden Avenue, Wilmette, Illinois 60091. Subscriber and business correspondence and changes of address should be sent to this address. Manuscripts and other editorial correspondence should be addressed to 2011 Yale Station, New Haven, Connecticut 06520.

The views expressed herein are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the publisher, the National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of the United States, or of the Editorial Board. Manuscripts should be typewritten and double spaced throughout, with the footnotes at the end. The contributor should keep a carbon copy. Return postage should be included.

Subscription rates: USA, 1 year, $6.00; 2 years, $11.00; single copies, $1.60. All other countries, 1 year, $7.00; 2 years, $13.00; single copes $1.60.

Copyright © 1976, National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of the United States, World Rights Reserved. Printed in the U.S.A.

ISSN 0043-8804

IN THIS ISSUE

2 World Peace—Finding the Elemental Quality

Editorial

4 Interchange: Letters from and to the Editor

7 The Concept of the Nation in Islám

by Denis MacEoin

21 The Prophet

a poem by Olive V. Applegate

23 Consultation—The Keystone of Creative Administration

by Penelope Graham Walker

38 Technology and the Specifically Human

by Mary Carman Rose

54 Work, Motivation, and the Nature of Man

by Zabih Sabet-Sharghi

62 World Order Index, Volume 10

68 Authors and Artists in This Issue

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World Peace—Finding the Elemental Quality

THE PROBLEMS confronting modern man are many and complex. The prevention of war, the production of quantities of food sufficient for mankind’s survival, the protection of the physical environment, the stabilization of the world’s economy, the elimination of poverty, are only a few of the pressing needs that cannot be ignored without imperiling the very existence of civilization. The most elaborate philosophical, political, economic, and sociological theories seem insufficient to the needs of a harassed and frightened humanity.

Yet the solutions, though they involve a complete reconstruction of society, are simple. The difficulty of implementing them lies basically in the recalcitrance of man’s will. It is the refusal to accept the unity of mankind and to place social justice at the head of all other virtues that constitutes the chief obstacle to the creation of a peaceful and decent world community.

Observing the crisis of civilization. Bahá’u’lláh pronounced a diagnosis and offered a remedy:

Behold the disturbances which, for many a long year, have afflicted the earth, and the perturbation that hath seized its peoples. It hath either been ravaged by war, or tormented by sudden and unforeseen calamities. Though the world is encompassed with misery and distress, yet no man hath paused to reflect what the cause or source of that may be. Whenever the True Counsellor uttered a word in admonishment, lo, they all denounced Him as a mover of mischief and rejected His claim. How bewildering, how confusing is such behavior! No two men can be found who may be said to be outwardly and inwardly united. The evidences of discord and malice are apparent everywhere, though all were made for harmony and union. The Great Being saith: O well-beloved ones! The tabernacle of unity hath been raised; regard ye not one another as strangers. Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch. We cherish the hope that the light of justice may shine upon the world and sanctify it from tyranny. . . . Take heed, O concourse of the rulers of the world! There is no force on earth that can equal in its conquering power the force of justice and wisdom. . . . Blessed is the king who marcheth with the ensign of wisdom unfurled before him, and the battalions of justice massed in his rear. . . . There can be no doubt whatever that if the day star of justice, which clouds of tyranny have obscured, were to shed its light upon men, the face of the earth would be completely transformed.

Perhaps the prognosticators, the forecasters, the futurologists, should look for signs of unification and of increasing dedication to justice. These rather than conventional yardsticks of material progress will be the harbingers of universal peace.

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Interchange LETTERS FROM AND TO THE EDITOR

THE ARTICLE by Mary Carman Rose entitled “Technology and the Specifically Human” is an exciting example of philosophical reasoning applied to one of the crucial problems of our time. We have all at one time or another looked at our technological civilization with a dismay at some of its unforeseen results which threatens to overcome our admiration for its power to adapt our environment to our desires and convenience. It is a truism that technologists should be aware of the possible disadvantages attendant upon the solution of a particular problem: nuclear energy promises to give us cheap energy, but creates the hitherto nonexistent problem of the disposal of radioactive wastes. Or, as examples of a technological problem directly dependent upon the human element in the performance of technological tasks, if a certain level of competence or probity is not maintained the cost may be the bursting of a dam, or the as yet incalculable damage caused by faulty welds on a major pipe line. Dr. Rose’s philosophical analysis of this conjunction of goals and means is a surprising one: She demonstrates soberly, without fervid rhetoric or special pleading, that the basic attitude behind the scientists’ and the technologists’ scrutiny of nature and the exploitation for man of the truths thus discovered, depends ultimately upon a philosophic attitude toward Being or what out author calls the ontological attitude—realistic, skeptic, or neutral. The results of this inquiry are unexpected, for the espousal of one ontological attitude or another determines whether a scientific or technological worker will be humble or arrogant; humane or unfeeling; aesthetically sensitive or coldly “functional.” Dr. Rose’s solution to this problem gives new hope for a technology which will be increasingly successful as technology and at the same time more humane in terms of the satisfaction derived from the exercise of the professions which serve it and with respect to the environment in which its beneficiaries will live. We feel impelled to call attention to this article in terms of its ethical and future-historical implications, since the author herself hews scrupulously and modestly to her philosophical thesis and method and makes no such explicit claims or explicitly draws such conclusions.

To the Editor

THE WORD

In the Fall 1975 issue of WORLD ORDER Norman A. Bailey in his article “Science and the Bahá’í Faith” asserts on page 43 the following: [Page 5] “The biblical phrase usually given as ‘In the beginning was the Word, . . . and the Word was God’ can just as well be translated from the original Greek, and perhaps more accurately and meaningfully, as ‘Logic was inherent in the Most Ancient and that Logic was God.’”

The biblical phrase to which Mr. Bailey refers is . . . “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not made anything that was made.”

In the original Greek, it is the by now famous “Logos” that is usually rendered as “Word” in most scholarly English translations of the Bible. To suggest that “a more accurate and meaningful translation” would be the substitution of the word “Logic” while being a novel idea is somewhat inaccurate.

In Greek, the connotative meaning of logos can be rendered variously as “word,” “language,” or “speech” in general. In time, it came to denote reason as well.

Theologicaliy, when the logos was used to refer to God and the concept of the Divinity, it took on a much broader meaning. . . . Philo, the Greek-speaking Jewish philosopher of Alexandria, amplified the concept considerably in his writings. For Philo, the logos was a type of intermediary between God and man. This intermediary was thought of to be godlike in nature, which expressed or communicated the Divine Mind to man. Philosophically, the logos was equated with wisdom. At the same time, as the text of John referred to earlier indicated, the logos designated God’s acts of creating and ordering the world.

The term logos was in turn adopted by the early Christians, but it was hypostasized or personified to refer to Christ. John, the Gospel writer, in addition to its other attributes came to equate the logos with the person of Jesus: “And the word became flesh and dwelt among us full of truth and grace.” . . .

For a Bahá’í the logos concept is an interesting one since one non-Bahá’í historian of religion has translated logos as “the creative manifestation of God” (Kurt Schubert, The Religion of Post-Biblical Judaism). The term “Manifestation of God” as well as the “Word” is the one used by Bahá’u’lláh and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá to designate the condition of prophethood.

Some aspects of the logos are quite consistent with the Bahá’í understanding of the Manifestation. It should be emphasized that in the Bahá’í understanding it is not the Divinity itself which takes on human form but its Manifestation (logos). In addition, the Word in Bahá’í understanding, constitutes the reality of the higher Manifestations of God and not of Christ alone.

In view of this, to assert that “Logic was God” is a more “meaningful and accurate” translation of the word logos, in my view, restricts the Divinity to a far too narrow, objective definition. Reducing God to definitions of human formulae, be they logic or other, are nothing more than projections of our own minds, as Bahá’u’lláh and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá have explained, however scientific they may appear. . . .

JACK MCLEAN

Gatineau, Quebec

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The Concept of the Nation in Islám

BY DENIS MACEOIN

Since this essay was first written several years ago, I have had reason to modify certain of the views expressed in it. Some of my later views have been incorporated in the present text, largely those which have been developed under the influence of reading Henri Pirenne’s brilliant study Mohammed and Charlemagne. Nevertheless, I am deeply conscious of the need to elaborate on certain themes, particularly on the question of how, if at all, the ’umma concept influenced European political thought, possibly during the Carolingian period. The reader should, therefore, make allowances for any confusion which may arise from my having allowed the essay to stand much in its original form while incorporating a number of later theories into an earlier structure.

AMONG THE PROBLEMS which will face future Bahá’í historians is the formulation of acceptable interpretations of historical events which harmonize the demands of academic objectivity with the concept of human development presented in the Bahá’í Writings and expounded in the Teachings of Bahá’u’lláh. This will call for a radical and far-reaching reevaluation of many individual events and personages and for a thorough reconsideration of their significance and influence, as well as for a trenchant reappraisal of human history’s mainsprings and ends, and of the degree to which it has moved toward these ends in any given period. Indeed, the Bahá’í Faith, its theory of progressive revelation, its theocentric and theoditic view of history, and its emphasis on social and spiritual evolution call for a new and revolutionary philosophy of history.

This essay attempts to illustrate one of the dilemmas of reappraisal if the historian is to be faithful to the demands of rational investigation and to the claims of divine revelation. While not arriving at anything resembling a final solution to the problems raised, it offers a few tentative guidelines for understanding the issues raised and their long-term significance.

In its simplest form the Bahá’í view of the social aspect of progressive revelation is that, from the start of what is termed the Adamic Cycle some six thousand years ago, a series of Manifestations of God has taken mankind through many stages of organic social unity. From the family, the tribe, the city-state, and the nation they have brought the human race to the point it has reached today, the first stage of a universal convulsion out of which is destined to emerge a unified, federated world state. Framed and inspired by Bahá’u’lláh, it will be brought into existence through the operation of forces released into the world by His all-compelling Will. To a Bahá’í who surveys, on the one hand, the rapid decline of the crumbling and superannuated order of nation states and, on the other, the emergence of the institutions, agencies, and divinely ordained bodies of the new world order of Bahá’u’lláh, there is no question that “Nation-building has come to an end. The anarchy inherent in state sovereignty is moving towards a climax. A world, growing to maturity, must abandon this fetish, recognize the oneness and wholeness of human relationships, and establish once for all the machinery that can best incarnate this fundamental principle of its [Page 8] life.” The question is—when did the stage of nation-building begin?

A Bahá’í well versed in the writings of his Faith would answer: “With the appearance of Muḥammad and His creation of the Arab nation.” Shoghi Effendi clearly states: “The Faith of Islám . . . introduced as Bahá’u’lláh Himself testifies, the conception of the nation as a unit and a vital stage in the organization of human society, and embodied it in its teaching.” He goes on to say that

This indeed is what is meant by this brief yet highly significant and illuminating pronouncement of Bahá’u’lláh: “Of old (Islamic Dispensation) it hath been revealed: ‘Love of one’s country is an element of the Faith of God.’” This principle was established and stressed by the Apostle of God, inasmuch as the evolution of human society required it at that time. Nor could any stage above and beyond it have been envisaged, as world conditions preliminary to the establishment of a superior form of organization were as yet unobtainable. The conception of nationality, the attainment to the state of nationhood, may, therefore, be said to be the distinguishing characteristics of the Muḥammadan Dispensation, in the course of which the nations and races of the world, and particularly in Europe and America, were unified and achieved political independence.

On the surface, this seems to be a simple statement of an accepted historical fact. Unfortunately, further investigation shows that things are not, perhaps, as simple as they appear.

Superficially considered, the historical facts seem to make it difficult to demonstrate the validity of Shoghi Effendi’s statement that “the Faith of Islám . . . introduced . . . the conception of the nation as a unit and a vital stage in the organization of human society, and embodied it in its teaching.” The Bahá’í is faced with two options: either to retain the popular concept of what is meant by this statement and to assert that the historical data are false, or to arrive at a deeper understanding both of Shoghi Effendi’s words and of the historical facts. If he chooses the latter course, he must evolve an interpretation which will harmonize the apparent contradictions.

LET US BEGIN by raising the difficulties which occur for the orientalist when confronted with Shoghi Effendi’s statement.

The basis of the problem is that, until the nineteenth century, the ideas of nationalism and patriotism, as we understand them today, were wholly alien to the Islamic world. Referring to the Arab world at the beginning of the last century, George Antonius writes that “Patriotism in the national sense was unknown.” Such ideas were imported to the world of Islám from the West, following the rise of nation-states and the development of nationalist concepts there. According to Bernard Lewis, “it is only during the last century that, under European influence, the concept of the political nation has begun to make headway” in the Middle East.

Before the rise of Arab and, later, Turkish nationalism in the last century, society in the Islamic East was divided in religious, not secular, terms. The world itself was traditionally divided into two distinct domains— dáru’l-Islám (the “House of Islám”) and dáru’l-ḥarb (the “House of War”). The former was comprised of all those states within the pale of the true Faith, and the latter the entire non-Muslim world, against which was to be waged a perpetual jihád or Holy [Page 9] War. Within the Islamic realms Christians and Jews were regarded as aliens in a sense that a Muslim from another country was not —an Arab Muslim would look upon an Arab Christian from the same town as alien, and a Turk or a Persian as a brother Muslim. Significantly, there is no word in Arabic for Arabia; the peninsula is referred to as jazíratu’l-‘arab (“the island or peninsula of the Arabs”), while modern Turkish uses the European name to refer to the land of which Arabic is the national tongue.

Since the last century numerous political writings in the Islamic world have used the ḥadíth (“tradition”) quoted by Bahá’u’lláh —“Love of one’s country is an element of the Faith of God.” The original reads Ḥubbu’l-waṭan mina’l-ímán.

Although this tradition dates back to at least the second century of the Islamic era. the use of the word waṭan in the sense of “fatherland,” “patrie,” is extremely recent. Professor Lewis writes: “The first example known to me of the use of the word waṭan in a political sense occurs in a report of Morali Esseyyid Ali Efendi, Ottoman ambassador in Paris under the Directoire [1795-1799], where he describes the way in which the French authorities cared for disabled soldiers—men who had suffered ‘in the cause of the republic and out of zeal for the vatan’.” The earlier meaning of this word was in the sense of one’s birthplace, or the place in which one lived, but it bore no idea of identity with a wider geographical or linguistic region or with the area governed by a particular state. One may note, for example, the use of the word vaṭan in the first Persian Hidden Word which Shoghi Effendi translates as: “O messenger of the Solomon of love! Seek thou no shelter except in the Sheba of the well-beloved . . .” (emphasis added). Ḥubbu’l-waṭan did not imply, as it does today, patriotism, but rather affection for one’s home, one’s town or village, perhaps even the locality from which one came.

The semantic change in the word waṭan took place first in the Ottoman Empire, because of its close geographical and political contacts with Europe. During the nineteenth century the influence of the theories of liberal nationalism being expounded in European countries spread to Arab lands, where the phrase ḥubbu’l-waṭan mina’l-ímán became a slogan of various leaders of the growing Arab nationalist movement. In fact, Persia, since the rise of the Safavid dynasty in the early sixteenth century, and the promulgation of Shí‘ih Islám as the religion of the state, in many respects had approximated a nation-state, being geographically, linguistically, and religiously distinguished from its neighbors. In the nineteenth century the English, French, and Russian struggle over that country made the people familiar with the concept of the nation-state. In addition, the Constitutional Movement in Persia contributed somewhat to a sense of increased personal loyalty to the state, rather than to a monarch.

Interestingly, many of the early exponents of Arab nationalism were Christian Arabs, particularly from Syria and Lebanon, though Muslims later dominated nationalist movements. One major reason for this was that Christians were more prepared to receive Western ideas; many, lacking loyalty to the Caliph as head of all lands within the Turkish Islamic Empire, desired a patriotic basis for citizenship in place of the religious one. Possibly, however, the greater factor was [Page 10] many Muslims’ difficulty in reconciling ideas of national sovereignty with the concept of Islamic solidarity.

A survey of Islamic history shows that, until the last century, there were no nations, in the modern sense, in the Islamic world. Instead, there were a remarkable array of empires, successor-states, breakaway dominions, dynasties, and military regimes, competing for sovereignty over the entire Islamic world or over portions of it. Nowhere are the features of a distinctive nation-state marked out either by linguistic, racial, religious, or other recognizable characteristics: Arab dynasty fought with Arab dynasty, Seljúk principality with Seljúk principality, Persian kingdom with Persian kingdom.

Begun shortly after Muḥammad’s death, the first Islamic Empire under the first four Caliphs and the Umayyad dynasty was an Arab imperium. Non-Arabs, whether Persians, Copts, Berbers, or inhabitants of the Iberian peninsula, were subjugated by Arab arms and ruled by Arab governors, under direct control from the central government, successively located in Medina, Kúfa, and Damascus. So dominant was the concept of Arab supremacy that a non-Muslim who wished to embrace Islám could do so only by becoming a mawlá or client of an Arab tribe. Within such an Empire nationalism could only find negative forms of expression.

The Abbasid dynasty, which overthrew the Umayyads in 750, destroyed the concept of Arab supremacy, making the basis of loyalty to the state religious. However, it did not seek to create independent nations within the regions under its control. Rather it sought to strengthen and consolidate the sovereignty of the central government in Baghdád and to extend the power exercised by the Caliph as supreme head of a body politic whose bounds were defined in religious terms.

The breakdown of the Abbasid Empire brought in its wake numerous successor-states based, initially, on military strength; in some cases, on political ability; but never on a sense of national solidarity. The Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century put an end to the welter of petty states and dominions but failed to replace them with a wider loyalty or a deeper unity. Eventually, in Anatolia there arose the Gházi state of the Ottomans, whose conquests created the longest lived of the Islamic Empires. Within the Ottoman Empire the “millet” system (from Arabic milla, nation) organized Jews and Christians into distinct “nations” within the Empire; this emphasized the religious basis of identity and undermined, to some extent, national feeling based on linguistic, racial, or historical grounds.

Moreover, it is misleading to aver, without serious reservations, that Muḥammad created a nation from the tribes of the Arabian Peninsula. That all of Arabia was brought under the sway of Islám and the warring tribes of the Peninsula firmly united during the lifetime of Muḥammad is an idea to which no scholar today would give serious credence. Professor Philip K. Hitti writes: “The fact is that with the lack of communication, the utter absence of organized methods of missionary activity and the short time involved, not more than one-third of the peninsula could actually have professed Islam during the life of the Prophet or recognized his rule. Even al-Ḥijáz, the immediate scene of his activity, was not Islamized until a year or two before his death.” Accounts relate that in the last year of the Prophet’s life all the tribes sent deputations to Medina to embrace Islám on their behalf. In the majority of instances these seem to have been invented in later years as a means of ensuring prestige for the tribes in question, since all wished to be considered as having come to the Faith in Muḥammad’s lifetime.

Even those tribes that had sent deputations were by no means truly converted to Islám before the death of the Prophet in 632. Within days of receiving the news of His passing [Page 11] many tribes cast off their allegiance to Islám, maintaining that they had formed a political alliance with Muḥammad Himself and, now that He was dead, owed no allegiance to any other. Only after a bitter and protracted struggle, known as the Wars of the Ridda or Apostasy, were these refractory tribes forcibly brought to submit themselves once more, in name at least, to the Faith of Islám. By that time the central authority of the Faith had passed for all time out of the hands into which Muḥammad had intended it to fall. Nor was their unwilling submission ever to result in true unity; Hitti writes that “The unsocial features of individualism and the clan spirit were never outgrown by the Arab character as it developed and unfolded itself after the rise of Islam, and were among the determining factors that led to the disintegration and ultimate downfall of the various Islamic states.”

Tribalism continued to be a source of disunity, for the true Badú (“bedouin”) never learned a higher loyalty than to the clan. A more serious disunity, a source of conflict down the centuries, was the breach between the Qays and the Kalb, the North and the South Arabs. According to Hitti, “the gulf between the two Arabian stocks was never bridged, even after Islam had apparently unified the Arabian nation.” Wherever they went, whether to Syria, to ‘Iráq, or as far afield as Spain itself, they brought with them the consciousness of this division and made it a constant cause of civil disturbance and continued rivalry.

Nation-states did not, then, appear spontaneously in the Islamic world at any stage of its independent development. It was only, as we have mentioned, when the newly powerful Western powers came to exercise unprecedented political, military, and, eventually, cultural sway over the regions of Islám, that the various Muslim states of today were born. What, however, was the origin of the nation-state concept which was borrowed from Europe by Muslim nationalists and other political theorists of the Islamic world in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries?

It was in Christian Europe that powerful nation-states first arose. The end of the barbarian invasions of the so-called “Dark Ages” was followed by increased urban prosperity in Europe; by the late Middle Ages a number of kings had sought to assert their independence from the universalist claims of the Holy Roman Empire and the Papacy and were striving to extend their influence within their realms against the decentralizing forces of feudalism and urban consolidation. England, France, and Spain were prominent in this political development. Literary and linguistic movements of the times strengthened feelings of national identity. Scholars and other writers increasingly used vernacular tongues which displaced Latin. The rise of national literatures, the growth of the universities, and the secular humanism of the Renaissance combined to put an end to the concept of a universal Christian civilization with the Catholic Church as its arbiter. This process gained momentum with the establishment of the Church of England headed by the monarch of that country and with the disintegrating and increasingly nationally determined tendencies of the Reformation.

By the mid-eighteenth century, influenced by the Enlightenment, particularly the ideas of Rousseau, and by growing commercial and imperial rivalries, the first fully developed nation-states emerged in Europe. According to a widely held opinion, the true beginnings of fully fledged nationalism are to be seen in the French Revolution of 1789. Certainly, with the decline in the absolute control of monarchies in France, England, and America and with the spread of the concepts of the rights of man, the ideas of liberté, égalité, fraternité, and the sovereignty of the people, the state became the domain of the people— the state of the nation, not of the king. Out of [Page 12] this developed the modern nation-state theory.

IN WHAT SENSE, then, can we perceive the first stirring of nationhood within Islám; and how far may we say that the rise of nations in Europe was a result of the influence of Islám on the West?

One thing is certain. It was, as Shoghi Effendi states, in the course of the Islamic Dispensation that “the nations and races of the world, and particularly in Europe and America, were unified and achieved political independence.” The effect of Muḥammad’s appearance was, in this particular respect, made manifest initially in the West rather than in the world of Islám; this should not make us ignore the reality of that influence or fail to investigate the exact nature of its origin and extent. Whether direct influence can be demonstrated or not, the Bahá’í writings state that the originating impulse, the motivating force of all developments during this period, whether spiritual, social, political, or cultural, was the Revelation of Muḥammad. Though the missions of Christ and Muḥammad interacted in such a way as to bring about the stage of political evolution and social organization prerequisite for the establishment of the new World Order of Bahá’u’lláh, it is important to realize that, with the appearance of Muḥammad in the seventh century, the Dispensation of Christ came to an end.

The teachings of Jesus were, as Shoghi Effendi points out, primarily directed toward the reformation of the individual’s life; there are in the Gospels no laws superseding those of Moses for the organization of human society. Jesus Himself stressed that He had not come with the purpose of abolishing the Mosaic laws; He said that “Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled. Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 5:18-19).

This is not to say that the Revelation of Christ was not relevant to the wider social needs of His day. In fact the appearance of Jesus in the years which saw the inception of the Roman Empire was, surely, no coincidence. The “conversion” of Constantine in 312 and the forced Christianization of the Empire marked the beginning of a symbiosis which was to dominate Christian political thought for centuries, most importantly in the concept of the Holy Roman Empire. Many Christian historians have maintained that the Roman Empire was brought into being at that epoch as a means of facilitating the expansion of the Christian religion. It is clear that the heritage of that Empire was both the concept and the reality of universal Christendom, a concept which kept alive the flame of civilization in Europe through the centuries of barbarian invasion.

The extremely close relationship between the Holy Roman Empire in the West and the Islamic Empire in the East was, however, largely ignored by European historians until the appearance in 1939 of a remarkable study by the celebrated Belgian historian Henri Pirenne. This work, Mohammed and Charlemagne, was published after Pirenne’s death and may be said to represent the culmination of his life’s work. In particular, Pirenne attempted in this work to answer that most vexing of historical questions—what brought about the end of antiquity and the beginning of the so-called Middle Ages?

Supported by an impressive array of facts relating to the social, economic, religious, and intellectual life of the fifth to the ninth [Page 13] centuries, Pirenne began by showing that, contrary to widespread belief, the invasions of the Goths, Visigoths, Vandals, Huns, and other barbarians failed to alter the basic features of the Western Roman Empire. In his summary he writes:

The Germanic invasions destroyed neither the Mediterranean unity of the ancient world, nor what may be regarded as the truly essential features of the Roman culture as it still existed in the 5th century, at a time when there was no longer an Emperor in the West.

Despite the resulting turmoil and destruction, no new principles made their appearance; neither in the economic or social order, nor in the linguistic situation, nor in the existing institutions. What civilization survived was Mediterranean. It was in the regions by the sea that culture was preserved, and it was from them that the innovation of the age proceeded: monasticism, the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons, the ars Barbarica, etc.

. . . In 600 the physiognomy of the world was not different in quality from that which it had revealed in 400.

It might appear, with the emergence of the various barbarian states in Europe at this period, that the foundations of nationalism were laid. Pirenne, however, rejects this view: “These States, which have been described as national States, were not really national at all, but were merely fragments of the great unity which they had replaced.”

It is to the emergence of Islám that Pirenne attributes the end of the Western Empire and its tradition, the destruction of the unity of the Mediterranean world, and the gravitation of European civilization to the North. Pirenne again summarizes this development:

The cause of the break with the tradition of antiquity was the rapid and unexpected advance of Islam. The result of this advance was the final separation of East from West, and the end of the Mediterranean unity. . . .

The West was blockaded and forced to live upon its own resources. For the first time in history the axis of life was shifted northwards from the Mediterranean.

This is described by Pirenne elsewhere as “the most essential event of European history which had occurred since the Punic Wars. It was the end of the classic tradition. It was the beginning of the Middle Ages . . .”

Significantly, Pirenne attributes the success of the Arabs in bringing about this change where the Germanic barbarians had failed, to nothing less than the religious inspiration of Islám: “While the Germans had nothing with which to oppose the Christianity of the Empire, the Arabs were exalted by a new faith. It was this, and this alone, that prevented their assimilation.” Pirenne goes on to say that the Arabs assimilated themselves to the civilization they had conquered without losing the identity which Islám gave them:

The German became Romanized as soon as he entered “Romania.” The Roman, on the contrary, became Arabized as soon as he was conquered by Islam. . . .

When it was converted to Christianity the Empire, so to speak, underwent a change of soul; when it was converted to Islam both its soul and its body were transformed. The change was as great in civil as in religious society.

In contrast, the displacement of the axis of Occidental civilization to the North meant that “the Germanic peoples, which had hitherto played only the negative part of destroyers, were now called upon to play a positive part in the reconstruction of European civilization.”

[Page 14] With the Carolingian “renaissance” a new force and direction entered European life. The creation of the Holy Roman Empire, with its close association of Church and State, was the first step in a process which was to flower, first in the twelfth century, the height of the Middle Ages, and again in the great Renaissance of the fifteenth century:

The Empire of Charlemagne was the critical point of the rupture by Islam of the European equilibrium. That he was able to realize this Empire was due, on the one hand, to the fact that the separation of East from West had limited the authority of the Pope to Western Europe; and, on the other hand, to the fact that the conquest of Spain and Africa by Islam had made the king of the Franks the master of the Christian occident.

It is therefore strictly correct to say that without Mohammed, Charlemagne would have been inconceivable.

With the Carolingians the new culture of the Middle Ages began to develop. Even with the disintegration of their Empire, the “international unity of culture” that was Christendom survived.

Nevertheless, it must have seemed, with the collapse of the ancient world, the disappearance of the complete Roman Empire, and the emergence of the new civilization of Islám, that Europe was destined to play a minor role in future world affairs. Hugh Trevor-Roper raises this point: “A historical philosopher of the eighth century, if such had existed—some refugee from a former Roman province precariously meditating in a bog in Donegal—might reasonably have concluded that it was all over with Europe: that the torch of civilization had been transferred to other hands, and that, from now on, it was Europe’s fate to be a continent of irredeemable barbarians supplying the rich Moslem cities of Baghdad and Cairo and Tunis and Córdoba with iron, skins and slaves.”

The same author goes on to say that Europe nevertheless recovered during the Dark Ages so that Christendom was able to launch a counterattack against Islám at the end of the eleventh century: “This counter-attack, the Crusades, is surely another of the great turning-points of history.”

The Crusades represent the highest expression of the ideal of a universal Christian civilization with the Pope as its head, an ideal which characterizes the period from the inception of the Carolingian renaissance down to the twelfth century. The first Crusade was launched by Pope Boniface in 1095, and in successive waves, with ever-fluctuating fortunes, these wars of the Cross continued for a period of some two hundred years to lay siege to the Holy Land.

Significantly, it is from the end of this period that ‘Abdu’l-Bahá dates the beginnings of European civilization: “from 490 A.H. [1097 A.D.] until 693 [1294], kings, commanders and other European leaders continually came and went between Egypt, Syria and the West, and when in the end they all returned home, they introduced into Europe whatever they had observed over two hundred and odd years in Muslim countries as to government, social development and learning, colleges, schools and the refinements of living. The civilization of Europe dates from that time.” That this was itself, however, more in the nature of a culmination of a process begun at the critical period referred to above when Islám brought about a new orientation in European affairs, is suggested by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in another passage: “In the early ages of Islám the peoples of Europe acquired the sciences and arts of civilization from Islám as practiced by the inhabitants of Andalusia [Spain].”

[Page 15] It should, in fact, be stressed that Islamic influence on Europe came less through the Crusades than through more gradual pressures exerted largely from the Muslims in Spain. “Culturally,” W. M. Watt writes, “the Crusaders in the East experienced some of the attractive sides of Islamic life, and attempted to imitate these on their return home. . . . On the whole, however, the spread of Arab material and intellectual culture in Europe came about chiefly through the Arab presence in Spain and Sicily.” Perhaps the real achievement of the Crusades is best summed up by Watt when he writes: “The fundamental significance of the Crusading movement . . . was that through this movement Europe found its soul.”

As the period of the Crusades neared its end, two other developments began which were to interact with the above-mentioned forces in bringing about the final triumph of Western European civilization. The first of these developments may be seen in the initial stirrings of national independence from the Papacy, heralded in the twelfth century by the struggle between the Emperor Frederick and the Popes, and developed in the late medieval period when England, France, and Spain led the move toward national determinism, as detailed above.

The second development was the appearance of the Mongols in the East. In two major waves, under Genghis Khan and his successors in the thirteenth century, and under Tamerlane and his descendants in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries. The Mongol invasions had two major consequences: they dealt the greatest blow to Islám that it was ever to suffer, a blow from which it never truly recovered; and they exerted an indirect pressure on Europe which was to have far-reaching consequences. “In Europe,” writes Reuben Levy, “the Mongols were an indirect cause of the Renaissance, for it was their pressure behind the Ottoman Turks which led to the fall of Constantinople and the consequent spread of Greek learning in Europe.”

The results of these forces were not immediately apparent. Until about the middle of the thirteenth century, the height of the Middle Ages, Europe was steadily advancing, but from the end of that century a decline set in which was to last until the Renaissance of the fifteenth century. While it would be erroneous to suggest that the Crusades or even Islám were the sole or even the major factors which brought about the Renaissance in Europe, it is nonetheless true that the fertilizing influence of Islamic civilization during the Middle Ages on the European mind laid a basis on which later forces, particularly the Hellenizing ideas of the Byzantines in Italy, could work, culminating in what we know as the Renaissance. It is in the Renaissance, certainly, that we can, in many ways, first observe with any clarity the exuberant and conscious expression of national identity and culture which has since characterized the peoples of Europe to an increasing degree. It was also in that period that European exploration and colonization, contemporaneous with Islamic decline, stagnation, and insularity, set the states of the Western world on the road to world supremacy and laid the foundations for the Great [Page 16] Power politics of the last three centuries.

HAVING DRAWN ATTENTION in all too brief a fashion to the influence that Islám, both directly and indirectly, had on Europe from the seventh to the fifteenth centuries, it remains for us to examine the nature of the political structure created by Muḥammad in the seventh century and destroyed immediately after his death—the ‘umma.

It is certain that Muḥammad did not establish a nation-state in the modern sense of the term; but He did lay the foundations of a unique development in human social integration and bring into being a successful model of a form of society. In the institution and development of the ‘umma (something resembling a theocratic commonwealth of believers) we may discern the first glimmerings of the concept of the nation-state and perhaps even a pattern for the Bahá’í society of the future. By virtue of its fusion of the religious and secular aspects of society, the ‘umma is more indicative of that level of social evolution preparatory to the final stage of social integration on this planet than existing nation-states with political insolvency, nationalist policies, and spiritual separation from the principles and convictions on which the world Commonwealth will be founded.

The creation of the ‘umma, both in theory and in practice, occurred in the latter part of Muḥammad’s ministry, the ten decisive, fate-laden years between 622 and 632. The first decade of Islám saw the Prophet of God undergoing severe and unrelenting persecution at the hands of the leaders of the Meccan plutocracy whose mercantile interests seemed threatened by the new religion and culminated in the Hijra or Emigration of Muḥammad and His companions (henceforth known as the Muhájirún or Emigrants) from Mecca to Yathrib (Medina) in 622. The second decade, by contrast, saw the gradual establishment of an Islamic state, with God’s Messenger at its head, combining in His Person the twin functions of Prophet and statesman.

The first step in the creation of the ‘umma at Medina was the promulgation of a Constitution or Charter made with the entire population of that city shortly after Muḥammad’s arrival. At that time the population consisted of the two main Arab tribes of Aws and Khazraj, divided into a total of eight clans; the three principal Jewish clans of Qaynuqá, Nádir, and Qurayẓah; and the Muhájirún or Emigrants—the Muslims from Mecca who had accompanied Muḥammad on His Hijra, who were regarded as a distinct clan with Muḥammad as its Shaykh or Head. Religiously, the Medinans were at first divided into three groups: the Anṣár, or Arabs of Medina who had embraced Islám and become the “Helpers” of the Prophet; those Arabs of the town who had not yet done so; and the Jews. The Charter of Medina declared that all these—the Muhájirún, the Anṣár, the pagans, and the Jews—were “‘a single community distinct from other people.’” Muḥammad was not at this stage regarded as in any sense the Leader of the city but rather as a tribal chief on a par with other tribal chiefs. The main difference was that He was to be resorted to in case of disputes as an arbiter between the various rival factions in the town.

In the years which followed, this situation became considerably modified. The continued enmity of the Jews resulted, eventually, in the forcible removal from Medina, in successive stages, of this unassimilable and increasingly subversive element which threatened to endanger the entire community. Also there was the Arabs’ gradual movement into Islám. While the distinction between Anṣár and Muhájirún remained, a third group emerged, that of the Munáfiqún or Hypocrites, Medinans who paid lip service to Islám but acted treacherously behind Muḥammad’s [Page 17] back, especially in time of war. The community, however, was now completely Arab and Muslim, and the status of Muḥammad was now that of Head of State by virtue of His being the Prophet of God. According to W. Montgomery Watt, “it was not Muḥammad’s military prestige that drew men to accept him as leader, but his prophethood.” The ‘umma in its final development during Muḥammad’s lifetime may be said, therefore, to have been a united community constituted on a religious and ethnic basis. Watt concludes in another work that “While the tribe or confederation of tribes was the highest political unit, there was also a realization of the fact that the Arabs were in some sense a unity. . . . This conception of the Arabs as a single people, with the corollary of their distinctness from other peoples (and superiority to them), came to be of considerable importance during Muḥammad’s Medinan period, as he came within sight of a greater degree of political unity among the Arabs than had been attained by any of the great leaders of pre-Islamic times.”

Bernard Lewis appears to be in error when he writes, “The Umma supplemented rather than supplanted the social usage of pre-Islamic Arabia, and all its ideas were within the structure of tribalism.” It is, rather, as Hitti states:

Out of the religious community of al-Madínah the later and larger state of Islam arose. This new community of Emigrants and Supporters was established on the basis of religion as the Ummat (congregation of) Allah. This was the first attempt in the history of Arabia at a social organization with religion, rather than blood, as its basis. Allah was the personification of state supremacy. His Prophet, as long as he lived, was His legitimate vicegerent and supreme ruler on earth. As such, Muḥammad, in addition to his spiritual function, exercised the same temporal authority that any chief of a state might exercise. All within this community, regardless of tribal affiliation and older loyalties, were now brethren at least in principle. . . . Thus by one stroke the most vital bond of Arab relationship, that of tribal kinship, was replaced by a new bond, that of faith; a sort of Pax Islamica was instituted for Arabia. . . .

Within a brief span of mortal life, Muḥammad called forth out of unpromising material a nation never united before, in a country that was hitherto but a geographical expression . . .

The distinguishing feature of the ‘umma was the unique relationship within it of religious and political aims and functions. This differed from the racially based theocracy of Israel and from the apolitical, other-worldly attitude of the early Christians, the subordination or perversion of religious ideals to political ends in the medieval Christian states, or the wholly secular basis of modern, so-called Christian nations.

In the Qur’án the word ‘umma is used, with reference to the past, for two concepts: (a) that of the group of people, however defined, to whom a Divine Messenger is sent and among whom only a few believed in Him; and (b) that of the true believers among the People of the Book (Ahlu’l-Kitáb), the Jews and Christians, a small number not outwardly distinguished from the much larger community of which they are a part. “And among the people of Moses there is a certain number [‘umma] who guide others with truth, and practise what is right according to it.” (7:159) “Yet all are not [Page 18] alike: Among the people of the Book is an uptight folk [‘umma], who recite the signs of God in the night-season, and adore: . . .” (3:109)

The Islamic conception of the ‘umma represents a radical departure from these previous situations. The exercise of power is no longer in the hands of secular or falsely religious leaders. Instead, it is held by the Prophet and His Successors and is based on laws, ordinances, principles, and regulations revealed by God Himself. David de Santillana, in The Legacy of Islam, writes that “The principle of unity and order which in other societies is called civitas, polis, State, in Islam is personified by Alláh. . . . Thus the public treasury is ‘the treasury of Alláh’, the army is the ‘army of Alláh’, even the public functionaries are ‘the employees of Alláh.’”

National and religious identity became one in the ‘umma, non-believers being grouped as dhimmís, “protected peoples” (if Jews or Christians—People of the Book— and, later, Zoroastrians), polytheists being compelled on pain of death to become Muslims. The dhimmí peoples constituted, in certain respects, nations within a nation, or, more precisely, held a position similar to that of foreign nationals following their own laws and customs on all matters of personal status, as seen in the Ottoman “millet” system. A well-known tradition states, “al-kuffár millatun wáḥidatun”—“the unbelievers are a single nation.”

In the ‘umma we unmistakably have a religiopolitical system differing in many notable ways from any system of the ancient world. The most widely based political systems in the world up until the advent of Islám had been the Persian, Chinese, Hellenistic, and Roman or Byzantine Empires; but these represented artificial structures, as opposed to organic, sociopolitical ones, superimposed upon less highly developed but organically united entities, such as religious, racial, linguistic, urban, or tribal units; thus they were inevitably doomed to fragment once again into the smaller, organic parts which they bound together in a single political structure by means of military or economic coercion. Although many of these Empires—notably the Roman, Byzantine, and Sassanid Persian Empires—propagated an imperial cult or religion in an attempt to create an active loyalty higher than the lesser loyalties of tribe or race or national religion, they ultimately failed. Inability to establish a suitable modus vivendi with other cults or sects within the imperial domains, the generally corrupt and simoniacal ecclesiastical orders of the state religions, and the irreligious and hypocritical behavior of emperors, statesmen, and imperial officials, made it impossible to base unity and cooperation on such a cult. Islám, on the contrary, as Watt demonstrates at length in his penetrating study Islam and the Integration of Society, proved capable of providing a focus for group loyalty on a wide scale. In addition, it genuinely united in a homogeneous culture and, initially, a centralized and coordinated political organization, the most disparate elements, including some mutually antagonistic groups.

However, after the death of Muḥammad, we are faced, not with a development of the ‘umma but with the creation of an Empire. In the end this Empire succumbed to those same forces which destroyed former (and later) Empires, and its decline was balanced by the rise to dominance of world affairs of the politically, militarily, and intellectually superior Western civilization.

[Page 19]

NUMEROUS EXPLANATIONS of why the Arab conquests took place and the Islamic Empire was created have been elaborated by scholars. Factors such as economic necessity, pressures of population growth, and the weakness of the Byzantine and Persian Empires which so readily collapsed at the Arab onslaught have been adduced as contributing to those developments; no historian would deny the importance of these and other socioeconomic factors.

However, to a Bahá’í, none of these explanations can account for the replacement of the ‘umma by the Arab Empire of the Umayyads and the later so-called Islamic Empire of the Abbasids. Under these systems there arose political theories and practices, principles of jurisprudence, theological concepts, and social customs, often wholly at variance with the spirit and opposed to the practice of the Islamic state in its pristine form under the guidance and direction of the Prophet Himself. Something clearly went wrong with Islám; and social, political, and economic factors already present in Muḥammad’s lifetime can hardly account for this. The real explanation, unfortunately, is one which no scholar would risk his reputation to defend.

With, perhaps, the sole exception of the French writer Henri Corbin, whose chief interest lies in metaphysics rather than in history, I know of no Western scholar of Islám who has, as yet, even to a limited degree, paused to consider seriously the claim that Muḥammad appointed His son-in-law ‘Alí to be His Successor. One can, of course, readily appreciate why this is so. Shí‘ih Muslims, who uphold this belief, have seriously harmed their own case by incorporating much legendary material into their accounts of ‘Alí and his Successors, the Imáms; by falsifying traditions; and by naively accepting as facts manifest falsehoods. If this claim is ever to be demonstrated on purely historical grounds (which is by now extremely unlikely), it will be on the basis of fresh research by independent scholars or Bahá’ís prepared to investigate all the available data on their merits.

Nevertheless, it remains a matter of conviction to Bahá’ís on the testimony of the Báb, Bahá’u’lláh, and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá that Muḥammad did indeed appoint ‘Alí but that a series of recalcitrant individuals—Abú-Bakr, ‘Umar, and ‘Uthmán—successfully arrogated to themselves the fictitious title of Khalífah (“Caliph”) or Successor (of the Prophet). On the assassination of ‘Uthmán in 656, ‘Alí was elected Khalífah but by then the damage had been done, and Islám was irrevocably split into a number of opposing factions. After his suppression of the rebellion of Talḥa, Zubayr, and ‘Á’ishah (the wife of Muḥammad), ‘Alí was faced with the insurrection of Mu‘áwíyah, the Governor of Syria. The assassination of ‘Alí in 661 left Mu‘áwíyah free to take control of the growing Empire. Mu‘áwíyah’s appointment of his son Yazíd as his heir made the title of Khalífah hereditary. Thus the destinies of Islám for the next hundred years were in the hands of his family, the Banú-Umayya, inveterate enemies of Muḥammad during His lifetime and shameless traitors to Islám until their overthrow by the Abbasids in 750. Yazíd was a habitual drunkard, al-Walíd I, Hishám, ‘Abdu’l-Málik, and others confirmed tipplers; al-Walíd II, who is said to have bathed in a pool of wine, used the Qur’án for archery practice. Indeed, Muslim historians refuse to call these rulers by the title of Khalífah (excepting the “pious” ‘Umar II—in reality a religious fanatic), referring to their rule not as a Caliphate, but as a Kingdom (Mulk). Shoghi Effendi, referring to the early expansion of Islám, speaks of “the damaging effect of the excesses, the rivalries and divisions, the fanatical outbursts and acts of ingratitude that are associated with . . . the militant career of the ruthless pioneers of the Faith of Muḥammad.”

The brotherhood of early Islám was for [Page 20] ever destroyed by a deliberate effort to replace it with the old tribalism which Muḥammad had sought to eradicate. Of this there is ample evidence. Hitti writes that Abú-Bakr’s elevation as the firstKhalífah was “probably in accordance with a previously arranged scheme between himself, ‘Umar ibn-al-Khaṭṭáb and abu-‘Ubaydah ibn-al-Jarráḥ—the triumvirate who presided over the destinies of infant Islam.” The usurpation of power by these self-appointed arbiters of the fate of the religion of God arose quite certainly from a refusal to relinquish the ancient tribal prejudices which had no place in the concept of the ‘umma. A famous ḥadíth states, “‘O Quraysh, God has suppressed among you the pride of nobility and the arrogance of the times of ignorance. All men are descended from Adam, and Adam was built up from clay.’”

Some, however, were not prepared, it seems, to accept such a broad notion of brotherhood. The following is a report, on the authority of ‘Á’ishah, the wife of Muḥammad (and no friend of ‘Alí), in al-Bukhárí (the most reliable compilation of traditions) concerning the seizure of power by ‘Umar, Abú-‘Ubaydah, and Abú-Bakr:

The Prophet of God died . . . and the Anṣár assembled with Sa‘d ibn ‘Ubáda (a Medinan chief) in the portico belonging to the Banú Sá‘da. They said, “Let us choose a prince (amír) from among us and a prince from among you (the Quraysh).” At this point, Abú-Bakr, ‘Umar, and Abú-‘Ubaydah arrived. ‘Umar made to speak to them, but was silenced by Abú-Bakr. . . . Then Abú-Bakr spoke with the greatest eloquence, saying, “We (the Quraysh) are the princes, while you (the Anṣár) are our ministers (wuzará, pl. of wazír).” But Ḥubáb ibnu’l-Mundhir said, “No. By God, we shall not do this. Let there be a prince from among us and prince from among you.” Abú-Bakr said, “No. On the contrary, we are the princes and you the ministers. They (the Quraysh) are the most distinguished of the Arabs in their rank and the purest in their lineage. Wherefore, swear fealty to ‘Umar or to Abú-‘Ubaydah.” But ‘Umar said, “Nay, it is we who should swear fealty to you, for you are our lord (sayyid), the best among us, and the best beloved of us all to the Prophet of God.” Whereupon ‘Umar grasped his (Abú-Bakr’s) hand and swore fealty to him. The people likewise swore fealty to him.

Tragically. such tribal prejudices still persist to this day.

While all this took place, ‘Alí was busy preparing the body of Muḥammad for burial. By the time he had completed his mournful task, the takeover of power was a fait accompli; and he was forced to exercise patience in a bid to preserve the unity of the believers. The ease with which these men carried out their usurpation of the succession, their readiness with relevant quotations from the Qur’án (a Book existing at that time only in scattered fragments) in support of their claim, their refusal to inform ‘Alí, the closest male relative of the Prophet and His lieutenant, of their actions combine to give the appearance of a preconceived plot, the consequences of which were wholly disastrous for the future development of Islám.

The independent scholar might describe the development as being inevitable. The Quraysh, already dominant in the Ḥijáz by virtue of their trading monopoly in Mecca and following the policy of “if you can’t beat them, join them,” used the rallying force of Islám as a means for acquiring a hegemony over all the Arabs and, for a time, over the [Page 21] whole Empire. The Bahá’í scholar may add that what was involved in this act was the deliberate breaking of God’s Covenant. But both would agree as to its results. The unity of the ‘umma was destroyed; the scarcely dormant tribal consciousness was reawakened; tribal divisions and rivalries were reactivated; the foundations for an Empire in which Arab descent took precedence over belief in Islám were laid; and the earliest schisms in the body of the Faith, most importantly that of Sunní and Shí‘ih, were created.

It would seem, therefore, that in direct terms, the Mission of Muḥammad was frustrated within Islám itself: “. . . He Who hath been the Manifestation of Power amongst men was withheld from achieving His purpose, by reasons of what the hands of the ignorant physicians have wrought.” But, as we have tried to show, the purpose of God was brought to a satisfactory resolution in the emergence of nations in Europe. It is this interaction between the religions and cultures of Islám and Christianity which constitutes the most remarkable feature of the Dispensation preceding the Bahá’í Dispensation. A failure to recognize that interplay must lead us to conclusions which are unbalanced in one way or another. We have only tried to hint at the factors involved; it will be for generations of scholars to analyze and explain these forces in detail and with clarity.

The Prophet

He possessed a nature

So rare,

It was tuned to the hurts

Of all creatures.

The scream of a moth

When its wings were crushed

Did not go unheard.

—OLIVE V. APPLEGATE

[Page 22]

[Page 23]

Consultation—The Keystone of Creative Administration

BY PENELOPE GRAHAM WALKER

ONE of the most widely used and frequently misused words in our language is administration. It is something we associate with “organizations,” and organizations seem to be the mark of modern life. For some, administration conjures up a person behind a desk shuffling papers; to others, it suggests systematic procedures and efficiency, and to many, it implies hierarchical structures and authoritarian practices.

Simply put, however, administration may be defined as the process of guiding an organization toward the fulfillment of its purpose. Whatever associations we may have with respect to good or bad administration —creative or restrictive, effective or inefficient —have to do with the methods of administration which are used to carry out the organization’s goals.

In every discipline there are figures who raise their voices, offering concepts which are more advanced than those of their contemporaries and which appear to be well ahead of their time. History is replete with examples of thinkers whose insights have spurred those in their field in a new direction, and the effect of their contributions is often felt long after the visionaries have left the scene. They seem to be in tune with the greater forces which are reshaping the thinking of their age. One such person in the field of administration was Mary Parker Follett.

Chronologically, Mary Follett belonged to the era of scientific management. This school of administrative thought, which originated in the latter part of the nineteenth century and dominated management practice through the 1930s, sought to calculate scientifically how much managers could expect their workers to produce. Mary Follett, however, was philosophically attuned to the social and psychological aspects of administration. When scientific management and “authoritarian” administration were in their heyday, she wrote about group consultation as the integrative approach to the administration of organizations.

Henry C. Metcalf and L. Urwick, the compilers of her collected papers, described her as “a person of universal mind and viewpoint,” who devoted her lifetime to searching for the principles which would ensure a stable foundation for the ordered progress of human development.

Follett saw “conscious organization as the great spiritual task of man.” She wrote that the world needed new relationships among its constituent groups. To her this was a fundamental challenge, not merely to industry, but to all spheres of human affairs: “I believe that the end of the wars of nations and of the war between labor and capital will come in exactly the same way: by making the nations into one group . . . then we shall give up the notion of ‘antagonisms,’ which belong to a static world, and see only difference—that is, that which is capable of integration.”

[Page 24] In The New State: Group Organization and the Solution of Popular Government (1918) and Creative Experience (1924) Follett called attention to the great creative forces operating within a group, as well as to the sense of individual fulfillment which is found in the group discussion. Her theme was that in group consultation people could draw out each other’s latent ideas and make manifest their unity in pursuit of common goals. Follett’s thinking laid a foundation for subsequent study in human relations and group dynamics. She herself stated that she was “moving in harmony with the deeper and more vital forces of human progress.” Continued research and administrative practice have confirmed her intuition.

The orientation Mary Parker Follett gave to the field of administration should hold special interest to those familiar with the administrative principles of the Bahá’í Faith. In the first place, Bahá’ís are very much aware of the role which administration plays in the organization of community life. For the first time in religious history a Prophet has established in unequivocal terms the administrative structures through which the divine spirit of His religion can accomplish its aims. The specific organizational framework and principles of operation are part of the docrtine itself. Because Bahá’u’lláh Himself outlined its features, the Administrative Order of the Bahá’í Faith is perfectly consistent with its spiritual and social aspirations. Moreover, the position of collective decision making in Bahá’í administration is made indubitably clear in the Writings of the Faith. Bahá’u’lláh established consultation as one of the fundamental principles of His religion. He describes it as “‘the lamp of guidance’” and as the “‘bestower of understanding.’” Another Bahá’í source states that “‘In this day, assemblies of consultation are of the greatest importance and a vital necessity.’”

The aim of Bahá’í consultation is the development of a group decision and a collective will through a discussion which takes place in a spiritual atmosphere, is guided by the behavioral teachings of the Faith, and is conducted according to agreed upon broad procedural principles. It is the process by which decisions are reached in all departments and at all levels in the administration of the Bahá’í Cause:

The principle of consultation, which constitutes one of the basic laws of the Administration, should be applied to all Bahá’í activities which affect the collective interests of the Faith, for it is through cooperation and continued exchange of thoughts and views that the Cause can best safeguard and foster its interests. Individual initiative, personal ability and resourcefulness, though indispensable are, unless supported and enriched by the collective experiences and wisdom of the group, utterly incapable of achieving such a tremendous task.

In this essay I would like to consider several of the conclusions about group problem solving reached by some notable specialists in the field. This will serve to some extent to substantiate teachings on consultation found in the Bahá’í texts. As with many of the far-reaching principles enunciated in the last century by Bahá’u’lláh, the world is beginning to recognize through independent experience and to accept the merits of consultation as an instrument of administration. I would also hope to present the observations of researchers in the field so that the material could complement Bahá’í guidelines on the subject and possibly suggest ways to improve the practice of consultation.

[Page 25] IN ASSESSING the way groups functioned, Mary Parker Follett saw that most solutions were reached through domination—by some individuals forcing their idea on others through direct or indirect coercion—or by compromise—with each side giving up something in order to have a resolution. Domination was clearly undesirable and compromise, too, was usually inadequate, because it implied a rearrangement of existing material and not a creative adjustment. Follett advocated the process of integration as the only creative approach to group problem solving.

Integration in the group conference meant throwing ideas into the discussion “in order that from all the intermingling a new thought may be evolved.” It meant transcending the boundaries of mutually exclusive alternatives. Follett used to give an example of integration from everyday life:

In a library, in one of the smaller rooms, someone wants the window open, the other occupant wants it shut. They decided to open the window in the next room where no one was sitting. This was not a compromise because there was no lopping off of desire; both got what they really wanted. For the one person did not want the north wind to blow directly on him; likewise the other person did not want that particular window open, he simply wanted more air in the room.

Her theory of integration also held that in social relations the interactions always had a plus value—relations between people produced responses not just to each other but to the environment and the interrelationships between the people and the environment. In other words, the potential in cooperative experience was always more than the sum of one plus one. There was the “interacting” and the “unifying,” which made up the integration, and there was a third element— the “emerging.” The emerging was the something new, the progressive feature in the consultation process. Follett referred to this new emergent in group consultation as the creative synthesis and concluded that mankind advances “by progressively evolving unities.”

From about 1920 through 1930 Follett worked with groups in industry, government, and education to help them implement her theory of integration in their conferences. She recognized that it was no easy process, for it required the development of new attitudes and skills. Most people, she observed, were brought up to seek domination and were sometimes disappointed if the discussion ended without the “thrills of conquest.” This attitude was the great obstacle to creative, progressive group conferences.

Up until this century, and in some areas still to the present day, our society’s institutions have been “authoritarian” in their approach to administration. At each step in the functioning of an organization the will of one man has been the actuating force when a decision has to be taken. Moreover, managers have not wanted to dilute their authority in any way; therefore, traditional administration has left little room for the practice of group participation.

In the late 1920s behavioral scientist Elton Mayo and in the 1940s psychologist Kurt Lewin diagnosed the alienation and dissatisfaction of industrial society and advocated worker participation in management planning and decision making. Out of their findings sprang the human relations movement; and “employee-oriented,” “democratic,” “participatory” forms of management practice [Page 26] became a trend in administration. Human relationists saw it as a way for a worker to fulfill his desires for responsibility, to make his work more meaningful, and ultimately to affirm his nature as a creative, responsible human being. Their approach rested on a faith in people and a respect for their attributes and abilities.

But the importance of group consultation in administration goes beyond even this “human” dimension. Administrative theorists of recent years, such as Douglas McGregor, Edgar Schein, and Warren Bennis, who view an organization as a total life system, regard group participation and group problem solving as essential to an organization’s healthy development. This approach, they feel, combines a scientific attitude of investigation with the creative group experience. Both elements are essential in facilitating the release of an organization’s potential. Another factor which modern theorists stress as indispensable to sound administrative practice and to an organization’s development is clarity of purpose. It serves to integrate the efforts of an organization; therefore, the leadership must be responsible for articulating the purpose and unifying members around it.

Long before group decision making became a vogue in administrative thought, Bahá’ís recognized the significance which a spirit of inquiry and unity of purpose held for successful consultation and ultimately the achievement of the Faith’s objectives. It is explained in the Bahá’í Writings that “consultation must have for its object the investigation of truth.” Furthermore, before members of a Spiritual Assembly, the governing body of a Bahá’í community, begin their meeting, they recite a prayer which plants the second condition in their hearts: “We have gathered in this spiritual assembly . . . with our purposes harmonized to exalt Thy Word amidst mankind” and “that our thoughts, our views, our feelings may become as one reality . . .”

To the theoretical support given to the Bahá’í teachings on group administration has been added empirical support. Social psychologists through controlled experiments have begun to establish these principles on a scientific foundation. University of Michigan psychologist Norman Maier, known for his comprehensive work Principles of Human Relations (1952), has spent the last fifteen years trying to isolate the variables and discover the causal factors which operate in group problem solving. His aim is to refine the process so that out of it comes satisfied participants and the best decision. This outcome is the substance of what Follett called integration.

Early studies, such as those by Lester Coch and John R. P. French in 1948, showed that when groups of workers were allowed to formulate plans in their company their commitment to carrying out these plans was significantly increased. Experiments by V. H. Vroom (1960) indicated that participation in decisions by subordinates assured more effective and supportive implementation of those decisions and seemed to confirm the motivational merit of group decisions. [Page 27] Norman Meier’s research has proceeded a step further. He has concluded that, in addition to decisions having higher acceptance when there was genuine group participation, they also stimulated creativity, fostered active learning, and provided for higher quality in decisions. They also required special leadership skills.

The creative process for the individual is not necessarily the same as that for an organization. The question we face when considering principles for effective administration is how to enhance personal creativity and freedom within the context of social interdependence. In organizations people cooperate to achieve goals; there the context for creativity is to a large extent a social one. Consequently, the group becomes a primary arena for the creative process in organizational life. Maier observed a particular characteristic of groups which contributed to this creative potential: “Groups have a unique advantage in thinking because the potentiality for disagreement is greater . . .”

Maier’s concept has its parallel in the Bahá’í Writings where one finds that “‘The shining spark of truth cometh forth only after the clash of differing opinions.’” The expectation of Bahá’í administration is that through consultation individuals will elicit each other’s views, understand each other better, integrate those views, and become united in the pursuit of their common goal. Diversity is an essential feature of life. An appreciation of diversity and opportunities for its expression will give human interaction a firmer and more complete unity. As Mary Parker Follett perceptively wrote, the basis for a new social order would be the continuous striving of nations and peoples to integrate their diverse views.

According to Maier the need for free expression lies at the basis of achieving creative, unified solutions. The Bahá’í Writings are unequivocal on this subject: “Let us also remember that at the very root of the Cause lies the principle of the undoubted right of the individual to self-expression, his freedom to declare his conscience and set forth his views.” This principle is carried still a step further in another passage on Bahá’í administration: “it is not only the right but the sacred obligation of every member to express freely and openly his views . . .” This emphasis in Bahá’í consultation on the right of the individual to express freely his views coupled with an awareness of the importance of putting group goals before individual preferences has now also become the essential orientation of group problem solving in organizational behaviorist circles.

After careful observation of experimental groups in laboratory and real-life settings, Maier concluded that “The distinctive feature of democratic decision making is in having one’s say, not in having one’s way.” Group members, he goes on to explain, must understand that their purpose is not to win support for this or that individual opinion but to develop a collective judgment (which can be something more than the sum of the individual views represented). This conjoint thinking is only possible when members collectively and individually appreciate the importance [Page 28] of disassociating self from opinion. We see this point made in the Bahá’í literature:

They must in every matter search out the truth and not insist upon their own opinion, for stubbornness and persistence in one’s views will lead ultimately to discord and wrangling and the truth will remain hidden.

The Bahá’ís must learn to forget personalities and to overcome the desire—so natural in people—to take sides and fight about it.

A challenge to effective group decision making then is not the presence of disagreement but the method of dealing with it. Maier’s experiments with groups revealed that “Dissidents usually set aside their individualistic views and support group decisions for the sake of group goals, mutual respect, and responsible cooperation?”

Mutually agreed-upon restraints, he points out, do not infringe on the legitimate freedoms which are prerequisite to responsible behavior and creative achievement. To submit to restraints there must exist among group members mutual respect and a basic harmony of purpose. The Bahá’í writings on this subject raise high the sights of the Faith’s members so that their deliberations can produce the best possible results:

The believers and maid-servants of the Merciful must all consider how to produce harmony, so that the unity of the human world may be realized, not that every wholly unimportant subject become conducive to differences of opinion.

Patience and restraint, however, should at all times characterize the discussions and deliberations of the elected representatives of the local community, and no fruitless and hair-splitting discussions indulged in, under any circumstances.

A general survey of the social psychologists and management specialists in the field of group problem solving shows agreement among them that consensus should be the aim of group consultation. A secondary commitment to majority rule, Maier explains, is a useful resolution, provided all have had adequate opportunities for expression. This approach is certainly supported in the Bahá’í teachings:

The members thereof [Assemblies] must take counsel together in such wise that no occasion for ill-feeling or discord may arise. This can be attained when every member expresseth with absolute freedom his own opinion and setteth forth his argument. (italics mine)

If after discussion, a decision be carried unanimously, well and good; but if, the Lord forbid, differences of opinion should arise, a majority of voices must prevail.

There is only one principle on which to conduct the work of an assembly, and that is the supremacy of the will of the majority.

But Bahá’í administration takes this principle a step further in that after all the members of the group agree upon a decision they support it wholeheartedly no matter what previous views they held. For all practical purposes dissent ends at this point. As [Page 29] the Writings instruct: “‘It is again not permitted that any one of the honored members object to or censure, whether in or out of the meeting, any decision arrived at previously, though that decision be not right, for such criticism would prevent any decision from being enforced.’” There is, of course, provision for reconsideration of decisions and even for formal appeals throughout all levels of the Administrative Order of the Bahá’í Faith, but Bahá’ís strive to cultivate a fundamental attitude that criticism of decisions, and, as an extension of that, division and factionalism, will undermine Bahá’í administration and community life. Let an idea stand on its own merits and not be rendered inadequate or incorrect because of organized opposition. Moreover, Bahá’ís believe that it is more important to be united on a wrong decision than to be divided over the rightness of another decision. Because of the common values and goals Bahá’ís hold and because of the prayerful atmosphere of Bahá’í consultation, consensus is usually the rule. Nevertheless, Bahá’ís are taught to regard the voice of the majority as “the only means that can insure the protection and advancement of the Cause.” “For where a united will exists, nothing can effectively oppose and hamper the forces of constructive development.”

When Bahá’u’lláh said, “‘Verily, God loveth those who are working in His path in groups, for they are a solid foundation,’” He might have been pointing to a characteristic of groups which modern students of organizational behavior have hailed as one of the chief advantages of the group. A whole group possesses more resources for decision making than any of its individual components. Groups have more knowledge. They “think” in a greater variety of ways and explore more angles and implications. Different personalities approach problems in different ways. Some are conservative; some take chances. Some look at details; others take a more global approach. Some like facts, others feelings. Group discussion also provides a mechanism for correcting errors which result from purely individual thought.

Social psychologists have tried to point out that groups are not merely collections of individuals. They have their own properties and their own unique potentiality. It is possible, for example, to create relationships between individuals in a group which would be quite different from the way they would behave in other settings.

Moreover, group discussion stimulates thought and promotes insight. Insight comes about when previously unrelated points of view or facts become integrated into a new perspective. Through the differentiation of opinions which occurs readily in group discussion, this process is often set in motion.

Those who have analyzed group problem solving usually recommend a certain order for the process. It involves the statement of the problem, the presentation of the facts and other relevant data, discussion with consideration of the available alternatives, agreement on a decision and follow-up or evaluation. It is remarkable how closely this general procedure, which has been suggested by many authors, parallels the approach Bahá’ís have used for decades in their consultation.

1. Ascertainment and agreement upon the facts

2. Agreement upon the spiritual or administrative teachings which the question involves

3. Full and frank discussion of the matter, leading up to the offering of a resolution

4. Agreeing upon the resolution

[Page 30] The importance of the fact-finding phase cannot be overestimated. This is the stage in consultation to which Bahá’ís refer as ascertainment of the facts. The experience of many organizations has shown that the quality of a decision rests directly on the quality of information available to the decision makers. The rationale for reviewing the facts cooperatively is that it establishes a base for unity. When group members agree on the facts of a case, they begin their discussion from the same vantage point and do not end up with one set of facts pitted against another and with irreconcilable differences. The second step in Bahá’í consultation —considering the spiritual principles involved —could still fall into the secular classification of the presentation of relevant data. Organizations find it necessary to consider their decisions in the light of broader institutional policies and goals. For Bahá’ís the consideration of the appropriate spiritual principles is one of the most important steps of the consultative process. It provides not merely a statement of the relevant Bahá’í teachings but the conceptual foundation for the whole group discussion. If the object of consultation for Spiritual Assemblies is to apply the Teachings of Bahá’u’lláh to community living and to reach wise and just decisions, it is essential that their deliberations be guided by the Faith’s Teachings.

The next phase of consultation (no matter whose order one follows) is the voicing of various ideas and alternatives. In this free discussion Bahá’ís are enjoined to be both frank and loving. The restraint and detachment required for effective consultation are amply described in the Bahá’í writings which set a level of maturity to which we all must continuously strive. Bahá’ís are not the only ones aware of the necessity of high standards of interpersonal relations in group problem solving. Most of the administrative theorists stress the same criteria. Norman Maier has emphasized that successful group problem solving depends on a positive view of man’s being held by all members, on a climate of honesty, trust, and cooperation. Lyndall Urwick, a noted administrative theorist, identifies “patience” and “self-control of egotism” as attributes needed for effective committee functioning. The literature stresses that group members should not persist in a point of view if it fails to be productive. Moreover, as Maier has concluded from observing experimental groups, members should always look at the merit of an idea and not its source. Another theorist points out that the most important skill in administration is to “oppose an idea without opposing the man . . .”

These admonitions very much echo the behavioral guidelines set out in the Bahá’í writings over a half century ago. Bahá’ís have for their general aim “dispassionate, anxious, and cordial consultation,” and they know from the Writings that to achieve this

They must then proceed with the utmost devotion, courtesy, dignity, care and moderation to express their views.

The honored members must with all freedom express their own thoughts, and it is in no wise permissible for one to belittle the thought of another, nay, he must with moderation set forth the truth . . .

Should any one oppose, he must on no account feel hurt for not until matters are fully discussed can the right way be revealed.

The description of Bahá’í consultation by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in a talk given in 1912 reads like a summary of the main conclusions reached by psychologists who have done research [Page 31] on group problem solving. It could serve as the credo for any training program in the techniques of making group decisions.

In this Cause, consultation is of vital importance; but spiritual conference and not the mere voicing of personal views is intended. . . . Antagonism and contradiction are unfortunate and always destructive to truth. . . .

The purpose is to emphasize the statement that consultation must have for its object the investigation of truth. He who expresses an opinion should not voice it as correct and right but set it forth as a contribution to the consensus of opinion: for the light of reality becomes apparent when two opinions coincide. . . . Man should weigh his opinions with the utmost serenity, calmness and composure. Before expressing his own views he should carefully consider the views already advanced by others. If he finds that a previously expressed opinion is more true and worthy, he should accept it immediately and not wilfully hold to an opinion of his own. . . . true consultation is spiritual conference in the atmosphere of love. Members must love each other in the spirit of fellowship in order that good results may be forthcoming. Love and fellowship are the foundation.

In the secular literature the requirements of “fellowship” and “love” are stated as the “need for mutual respect” and a “unified purpose.” These two criteria can be difficult for problem solving groups in organizations to attain. Often the members have opposing philosophies, are competing with each other for advancement, or have unresolved antagonisms and prejudices. Bahá’í consulting bodies have an advantage over other decision-making groups in that their religion gives them a common purpose and a view of each other as brothers and sisters. Yet many Bahá’ís have experienced Bahá’í discussions which were disunited and unproductive, and many others have had the opportunity of being in group consultations outside the Faith which seemed to be more effective. Since Bahá’ís begin with such an apparent advantage, how is this possible? Beyond the atmosphere of good feeling, effective consultation requires that each discipline himself to act as a mature participant and that each be committed to the process which must be followed. Many individuals in organizational settings outside the Bahá’í Faith are willing to try seriously the group approach, often because other methods of administration have proved inadequate to the task, and they are reinforced in this commitment when they experience success.

CONSULTATION in Bahá’í administration does not happen simply because Bahá’ís say they practice it. It calls for new qualities and skills, ones which Bahá’ís anticipate will be the hallmark of the new world order. A spirit of love and the ideal of unified action help to maintain the spiritual character of consultation, but the skills and principles which ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and Shoghi Effendi outlined cannot be overlooked. Secular groups undergoing training in group problem solving are being taught and encouraged to acquire these very skills. John Keltner, who during the 1960s researched and analyzed discussion and decision-making groups, identified skills the individual participant should develop in order to be an effective consulting member. An abridged version of his classification demonstrates the comprehensive analysis to which the process has been subjected, as well as the attention given to comparable points raised in the Bahá’í writings.

FORMAL LOGIC SKILL

• Skill in making reasonable conclusions and judgments on the basis of evidence and facts presented
• Skill in avoiding hasty generalizations and in testing the judgments and decisions of others in the group

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• Ability to make sound evaluations of proposed solutions and ideas as they are presented

SKILL IN ANALYSIS

• Ability to select the vital matters which need discussion and to avoid those less important matters which diverge from the problem in question
• Ability to bring in factual information and relate it to the problem as a whole

PROBLEM-SOLVING THINKING

• Skill in relating contributions to the overall problem in relation to the problem-solving pattern
• Skill in staying on the track and avoiding argumentative and debating procedures
• Evidence of an attitude of “objective inquiry” rather than “special interest” or preconceived conclusions

INTRODUCING PERTINENT INFORMATION

• Ability to bring in facts and evidence at the time they are most needed
• Ability to verify the validity and reliability of the facts and evidence thus presented

GROUP CENTEREDNESS

• Willingness to work with the group as a whole rather than to push individual ideas and arguments to the exclusion of the group progress
• Indication of a feeling that one is a member of the group rather than an individual trying to surpass the other members in his skill

SHARING AND COOPERATION

• Ability to compromise and to adjust to differences of opinion and majority feeling in the group
• Willingness to help other members of the group understand and see the ideas and problems being presented

RESPONSIBILITY FOR PROGRESS

• Evidence that the individual assumes a vital role in helping the group move forward in its deliberations
• Evidence that he helps the group to avoid or solve conflicts so that it may make progress toward its decisions

CONVERSATIONAL SPEAKING

• Ability to maintain clear accurate diction, good usage, and informal and friendly direct communication
• Ability to avoid giving long extended “speeches”
• Ability to avoid argumentative and oratorical display

COURTESY

• Ability to avoid unnecessary interruptions and to avoid indiscreet dealings in personalities
• Ability to maintain high standards of courteous behavior in every respect

Keltner has broken down the behaviors necessary to the functioning of the group leader as well as the individual members. In Bahá’í consultation the group leader is the elected chairman. This person does not possess any higher position or greater authority but does have the responsibility of guiding the flow of consultation. The chairman is a facilitator, not a law-giver or prime center of knowledge. His methods can do a great deal to upgrade the quality of a discussion and ultimately the decision. A summary of Keltner’s classification of skills for leadership in group decision making illustrates the valuable contribution a chairman can make:

ADJUSTABILITY

• Ability to adjust quickly to the progress of the group when serving as leader
• Ability to move along with the group and to avoid hanging on to a topic after the group has logically moved forward

DEMOCRATIC ABILITY

• Ability to guide the group rather than to dominate it
• Willingness to accept the group’s decision and the consensus
• Willingness to get the consensus of the group without forcing it to vote
• Ability to carry on informal group decision [Page 33] making without the necessity of parliamentary procedure

TACTFULNESS

• Skill in solving conflicts
• Ability to move discussion forward without injuring the sensibilities or the positions of the members of the group
• Ability to get all sides of a question represented without allowing the discussion to degenerate into an argument

SUMMARY SKILL

• Ability to summarize ideas and materials at the most opportune time in order to help a group move forward

GETTING FULL PARTICIPATION

• Ability to get everyone in the group participating to the greatest extent possible
• Skill in getting the shy members involved in the discussion and the over-dominant members to become more group centered

QUESTIONING SKILL

• Ability to ask questions which stimulate discussion
• Ability to ask questions which help the group evaluate itself

To carry out this role effectively a chairman must sincerely see the group as a source of ideas and solutions and not as persons to be manipulated and won over to his way of thinking. This is a concept with which Bahá’ís should be imbued, because the writings of their Faith place the group at the center of all administrative decision making. In industry, educational institutions, and other large organizations, such an orientation requires more attention. In that context administrators usually see group conferences as settings for “sharing their power,” something which they are reluctant to do. Because of this, “pseudo-democratic” consultations are organized. The leader wants the guise of participation but plans to retain control of the decision. Immediately after the problem is stated, he introduces his preconceived ideas, welcoming some suggestions from group members while ignoring or quietly vetoing others and holding the line against any change in the final solution which he was predisposed to accept. Even though Bahá’ís are committed to uphold wholeheartedly a final decision, if the chairman of a Spiritual Assembly indulges in this kind of manipulation, he or she will be violating the principles of consultation which in the end will erode the members’ support and their confidence in the process.

Social sensitivity and a readiness to listen are essential for a group chairman if he or she is to draw out the problem-solving potential of a group and to assure the harmonious flow of discussion. A statement from ‘Abdu’l-Bahá on the character of Bahá’í consultation provides challenging guidelines for the chairman, in particular: “In short, in all the meetings . . . nothing should be discussed save that which is under consideration. . . . Promiscuous talks must not be dragged in and contention is absolutely forbidden.” To elicit the opinion of the reticent, to subdue the garrulous one without giving offense, is the mark of a skillful chairman.

Norman Maier, who, like Keltner, has also painstakingly analyzed the mechanics of effective group chairmanship, sees the chairman as a “facilitator” with the principal responsibilities of clarifying the problem, encouraging discussion, promoting communication, providing information which may be at his disposal, and making appropriate summaries. In addition to the tact required in drawing out opinions and in keeping the group from becoming sidetracked, Maier emphasizes the restraint necessary to react acceptingly to diverse points of view and not to respond to negative points with defensive or punitive rebuttals which might lead to polarization [Page 34] of positions. The approach is to allow group consultation to show which ideas stand up. In non-Bahá’í organizations it is especially critical that the group chairman not enthusiastically endorse or emotionally veto an idea before all points are fully aired, because frequently he or she occupies a special position of power—such as supervisor of a department—and the other members may be inhibited from stating their views or freely evaluating those which were expressed.

Size has been shown to be a very important variable influencing a group’s functioning. Thus a major concern of administrators is how the size of a group affects its working efficiency. The first consequence of increased size, Bernard Bass pointed out, is a reduction in the “interaction potential” of the set of members.

Studies by R. F. Bales on the number of participants in group conference indicate that the increase of size tends to result in the centralization of communication; low participators stop talking. In large groups informality is lost, and members feel less responsible for the success of the group. The question then is, what number of participants will best implement the consultation process?

Naturally the objective of the group conference is the determining factor in size. If the discussion is solely for making recommendations or “brainstorming,” the number of participants might be as many as twenty-five. For problem solving, however, when the aim is to produce a group decision, the ideal number appears to be from four to twelve. Yet research in this area is not conclusive.

The functioning of Bahá’í consultative bodies would confirm these findings, preliminary though they may be. Bahá’u’lláh stated in His Most Holy Book that assemblies of consultation must be formed with nine members and Bahá’í institutions at the local, national, and international levels are all composed of nine individuals. This number allows frequent opportunities for participatipn while providing ideas from many points of view. It also promotes sensitivity to the different points of view and close involvement in group thinking.

Group consultation is not an easy process. As Mary Follett explained, it requires “a higher order of intelligence, keen perception and discrimination, more than all, a brilliant inventiveness” on the part of the members. Furthermore, their interrelationships should be characterized by mutual respect and responsible cooperation. Often when Bahá’ís try to put the principles of consultation into operation at their jobs or in other organizations of which they are a part, they are disappointed when the results are unsatisfactory. Group discussions in non-Bahá’í settings lack the benefits of prayer and the spirit of common faith, but Maier’s assessment of ineffective decision-making groups sheds further light on the problem: “If, however, the leader is inept, if the group is suspicious of his motives, if group members do not share a unified and cooperative experience, or if the participation process is alien to the total organizational climate, it is reasonable to suppose that the desired objective cannot be achieved.”

In spite of these difficulties, Maier’s [Page 35] painstaking research into group problem solving has confirmed him as a forceful advocate of this method of administration. He considers it the keystone of what he calls “creative management.” His numerous experiments have gone beyond demonstrating the motivational merit of group consultation to show, more conclusively, that the process can stimulate creativity and provide for quality in decisions. These were the same contentions which Mary Parker Follett held in her theory of integration decades earlier and which the Bahá’í Writings set forth in the last century.

It is worth noting here some research typical of Norman Maier’s approach. During a week-long management seminar he formed experimental groups which were to consider a problem and come to a decision. The group members thought it was a real organizational problem and were not aware that an experiment was being conducted. Unbeknown to the participants, one group chairman was to handle the meeting in a traditional authoritarian manner—that is, by communicating a decision which had already been made and “selling” the group on it. In the second group the leader conducted the discussion according to the “pseudo-democratic” approach. The third group chairman was instructed to let the solution evolve from the group. After the group meetings identical questionnaires were given to the participants and then tabulated. The data from the third group, which practiced principles of consultation, showed that its members were most willing to support and carry out the final decision. The democratic approach produced more group cohesiveness and cooperative attitudes and the members held a more positive feeling toward the conference leader. The decision of the third group was of high quality and compatible with the facts of the situation and the policies of management. Moreover, one could conclude from an analysis of the interaction pattern within the third group that this approach drew out more varied contributions and many more ideas from the members. This corresponds to Follett’s theory of the “evoking” nature of the group consultation process.

It appears that there is sufficient evidence to support the benefits of group decision making as a style of administration. Moreover, research is bringing to light valuable information on the dynamics of the consultation process and on the qualities needed for it to be effective. Bahá’ís begin with a belief in the benefits of this method first as a matter of faith and then through experience; they would do well to study further the techniques of the process. Though much contemporary material can be found validating the principles under which Bahá’ís operate, caution needs to be exercised in order not to adopt other ideas in the group consultation field which might be at variance with the teachings of the Bahá’í Faith: for example, the approach of some management training programs which encourage participants to vent their antagonisms, to “deal with their feelings,” to clear the air. Reckless, emotionally charged group discussion can lead to disastrous consequences, and Bahá’ís would do better to heed ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s injunction to proceed with “‘courtesy, dignity, care, and moderation.’”

FOR BAHÁ’ÍS it is gratifying to see that research in the behavioral sciences, or in fact in any of the sciences, is affirming the soundness of Bahá’u’lláh’s progressive teachings. However, in their enthusiasm over the contemporary parallels Bahá’ís may easily think that a current practice to which they have been exposed is Bahá’í consultation by another name. They then carry this notion [Page 36] into their Spiritual Assemblies, ultimately subverting the spiritual foundation of the principle. Shoghi Effendi warned against conforming to the “imperfect measures” and “fashionable conceptions” resorted to by a troubled age:

Let us be on our guard lest we measure too strictly the Divine Plan with the standard of men. I am not prepared to state that it agrees in principle or in method with the prevailing notions now uppermost in men’s minds, nor that it should conform with those imperfect, precarious, and expedient measures feverishly resorted to by agitated humanity.

if we desert Divine and emphatic principles, what hope can we any more cherish for healing the ills and sicknesses of this world?

The practice of group consultation is a powerful tool in human affairs. Its potential to bring forth wise and just decisions and to create unity among men is great. In one visionary statement Mary Parker Follett links group problem solving to the character of our new era:

we are now at the beginning of a period of creative energy, but that instead of being the individual creativeness of the past which gave us our artists and our poets, we may now enter on a period of collective creativeness if we have the imagination to see its potentialities, its reach, its ultimate significance, above all, if we are willing patiently to work out the method.

The patience to “work out the method” is at the core of the Bahá’í’s struggle to achieve true consultation and to administer as collective bodies. Bahá’í consultative bodies have the advantage of beginning with a commitment to the process because “its potentialities, its reach, its ultimate significance” are so clearly set forth in the teachings of the Bahá’í Faith, but each Bahá’í, as each participant in other groups and organizations, must work toward the patience, the personal discipline, and the many other qualities required to participate effectively in group decision making. The efficacy of the method ultimately depends on the individual’s ability to reorient his behavior, to refashion his attitudes —in other words, to regenerate himself. The hope for a new social order depends upon the spiritual transformation of individuals. This is the inescapable challenge. Whether we are looking for better marriages, more motivated youth, international conciliation, or sound administration, we must as a people reject the selfish, corrupt, and divisive practices of this materialistic age and put spiritual values at the center of our thinking and living. Shoghi Effendi squarely stated the challenge:

Nothing short of the spirit of earnest and sustained consultation . . .; nothing less than persistent and strenuous warfare against our own instincts and natural inclinations, and heroic self-sacrifice in subordinating our own likings to the imperative requirements of the Cause of God, can insure our undivided loyalty to so sacred a principle—a principle that will for all time safeguard our beloved Cause from the allurements and the trivialities of the world without, and of the pitfalls of the self within.

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Technology and the Specifically Human

BY MARY CARMAN ROSE

TECHNOLOGY is the use of scientific knowledge in the manipulation of means and materials supplied by nature and in the reconstruction or control of delimited aspects of nature. The manipulation, reconstruction, and control are, of course, undertaken for the sake of fulfilling specific human needs or desires—needs and desires which are in large part generated by technology itself. Radio, television, and the man-made satellites are technological achievements. The successful landing of men on the moon has been a triumph of technology, as has been the feat of preparing selected individuals for moon trips. (Insofar as the individual successfully plays a role in the technological process, he is himself a product of technology.) The vaccination of virtually all the younger members of a community as a means of controlling a particular disease is in many ways a technological operation. This point is important because vaccination is the reconstruction and control of the physiological aspect of human beings, just as the education which prepares the individual to play a part in the technological process is a technological training and conditioning of some, but not all, aspects of his mind and spirit.

The last point leads to the consideration of the character of the multiform relations between the complexities of technology on the one hand, and the many aspects of the human being on the other. Man shares with the nonliving some aspects of his total nature: his body is made of matter which, like any matter, yields to chemical analysis and is under the sway of the law of gravitation. Man shares some aspects of his total nature with animals: the many forms of animal experimentation are useful sources of data and insights concerning human physiology, physical needs, and potentialities as well as some elementary, simple form of human learning. But what of the human pursuit and appreciation of truth? What of the human devotion to aesthetic creativity and of the high value placed on the many dimensions of aesthetic experience? And what of the human capacity to be concerned with the achievement and maintenance of the well-being of others? Here I will refer to these aspects of man as the specifically human, although these are intended to illustrate the content of the specifically human rather than define or exhaust it.

What of the present adequacy of technology to illumine, sustain, and develop the specifically human? Today proponents of both neo-materialism and cybernetics are (at least implicitly) confident that technology will in the future achieve this adequacy. Yet there is another view, also important at the present time, that the specifically human cannot be successfully illumined, sustained, or developed by technology. This view is to be found, for example, in [Page 39] the works of such existentialists as Sartre, Berdyaev, and Marcel, none of whom (so it seems to me) has adequately recognized the tremendous import of science for twentieth-century understanding of man and the world. This is the thesis which is also to be found in late twentieth-century traces of Bergsonianism and Thomism, as well as in the speculative thought of Buber and Teilhard de Chardin.

At the present time we are not warranted in letting either philosophical position inform the technologist’s inquiry into the relation between his manipulative capacity and the specifically human. On the one hand, a chief danger of the view that the limits of technological adequacy are already known and that these limits do not include the specifically human is that it would seriously limit scientific as well as technological creativity and development. Moreover, the a priori restriction of technological or scientific inquiry on the grounds that the limits of their adequacy are already known is contrary to the ethos of science and of the open-ended experimental creativity which is essential to technological-development.

On the other hand, the view that the adequacy of technology to encompass the specifically human has already been established is equally unacceptable. Since this adequacy has not been demonstrated, the acceptance of the view is contrary to the technologist’s demand for decisive, public verification of the conclusions which inform his work. Paradoxically the view which looks forward to scientific and technological control and development of the specifically human is itself an intellectually imprecise and ill-grounded speculation. Further, technological creativity and planning informed by this view run the risk of engendering a society in which the development of the specifically human is severely curtailed. For when an individual is put in the situation in which his intellectual and spiritual potentialities are not comprehended and their development is not fostered, he can survive, and he can also be somewhat productive and can find a measure of satisfaction in living. Thus a community which has accepted too soon the adequacy of a technological interpretation of man might commit the individuals within it to a perpetual state of unfulfillment and yet remain unaware of its crime against man. In addition, in such a community the advance of technology itself may be severely limited, for technology is the work of the specifically human, and limitations on the fulfillment of the latter are limitations on the fulfillment of technological as well as of other forms of human creativity.

At the present time we cannot hope to understand either technology or the specifically human if we assume that the former encompasses the latter. They are, rather, related as master and servant with the mastery corresponding to the specifically human and not to technology. Moreover, in the present incommensurability between technology and the specifically human I discern another important relation between the two—a relation which even existentialism with its generous interest in the entire gamut of human concerns has not [Page 40] brought to light. I have in mind the needs and potentialities of the specifically human as revealed when the latter is brought into play in technological activity, certain novel insights concerning nature which are supplied by technology, and novel demands which technology makes upon the specifically human while providing a promising new point of departure for creativity in ontology.

Below I will examine the possible roles of the technologist’s ontological convictions in his work, examine some philosophical insights which derive from technology and which pertain to the specifically human, and provide some conclusions pertaining to the relation between technology and the specifically human.

The Effect of Ontological Convictions on the Work of the Technologist

IN THE EXAMINATION of the relation between ontology and technology it is useful to introduce the concepts of ontological realism, ontological skepticism, and ontological neutrality. Ontological realism takes the view that it is meaningful to talk about objective reality, that there is such a reality, and that some knowledge of that reality can be achieved. Ontological skepticism denies at least one of the tenets of ontological realism. The mid-twentieth century has seen the rise and wide acceptance of several forms of ontological skepticism. Though there are many important differences among Logical Empiricism, Instrumentalism, and the various developments of Heideggerian ontology, each in its own way rejects ontological realism. An activity is ontologically neutral if it is not informed by any particular ontological view and if the ontological preferences of the individuals who carry out the activity have no effect on the activity.

Perhaps there are some aspects of technological work which, if they are examined in isolation from the scientific knowledge which makes them possible [Page 41] and in isolation from their societal roles, may safely be interpreted as ontologically neutral. Perhaps this interpretation is more likely to be adequate when the technological medium is nonliving and is derived from aspects of nature which are removed from everyday experience. Thus it is not without its philosophical significance that, although atomic physics has often been given an ontological realist interpretation, it has also been a particularly fertile ground for the development of Logical Empiricism. In addition, some forms of ontological skepticism (notably Logical Empiricism), having with apparent success interpreted the advanced physical sciences and their technological developments as ontologically neutral, have fostered the conclusion that ontological realism is without a legitimate role not only in philosophical concerns but in all human concerns. The conclusion is, of course, a non sequitur. Even though any one aspect of technological work may be ontologically neutral, it loses this ontological neutrality once it is examined in its relation to the human interests it serves. During the process of working out blueprints for the construction of a new bridge, dam, or highway the technologist may safely leave out of account whatever preferences he may have for ontological skepticism or ontological realism. His ontological neutrality ceases to be adequate, however, when he turns his plans over to a builder and necessarily counts on the latter’s knowledge, precision, and integrity in the actualization of those plans. Further, even though it could be satisfactorily demonstrated that technology is throughout ontologically neutral it would by no means follow that all human concerns are to be so interpreted.

There are, however, important considerations which weigh against the ontological neutrality of technology; and in this context it is helpful to stress those which pertain to the effects of the technologist’s ontological convictions on his intellectual and valuational capabilities and hence on his technological creativity. I will discuss the importance of the technologist’s ontological convictions in relation to (1) his aesthetic experience as provided by technology; (2) his interpretation of the status of technologically useful truth; and (3) his concern for his technological media.

(1) To be sure, the aesthetic does not necessarily have a role in technological activity. Such capacities for aesthetic enjoyment as the technologist possesses need not be called into play in the course of his technological activity, and he need not find aesthetic enjoyment in the products of technology. However, if we initially restrict our attention to aspects of technology which from some perspectives can be interpreted as ontologically neutral, it is not difficult to find technological activities and products which provide aesthetic experience for some persons. For example, although aestheticians have not given to technological virtuosity as much attention as they have given artistic virtuosity, the skill of persons trained in technology and the precision of technological work are important sources of aesthetic experience. Also, current aesthetic theory emphasizes the aesthetics of the functional, while technological planning gives considerable attention to the aesthetic appeal of the products of technology. Bridge, harbor, and industrial park are planned in order to combine utility and aesthetic value; at the same time, they receive no little attention from the aesthetician. For some the sight of nature transformed by technological skill in order to serve human ends has a greater aesthetic appeal than the [Page 42] sight of nature not yet “impregnated with man’s intelligence and toil.”

Of highest importance for what immediately follows is the fact that the scientist who supplies the knowledge of the physical world requisite for technological success may take keen aesthetic pleasure both in his quest for that knowledge and in the knowledge itself. For example, whether he is an ontological realist or an ontological skeptic, he may take aesthetic delight in the complexity, order, and universality of scientific truth. Indeed, for some people the opportunities for these types of aesthetic experience are greater in technology than in science as such, since in technology there is the additional exhilaration of the manipulation of nature by scientific knowledge and the endeavor and success in the achievement of societal ends.

But what of the differences between the ontological realist’s aesthetic appreciation of technology and that of the ontological skeptic? Just as the scientist who accepts ontological skepticism interprets scientific conclusions as human creations, so the technologist who accepts that ontological position interprets technological procedures and products in their function as aesthetic objects wholly in terms of human experiences, creativity, goals, and successes. Contrariwise, the ontological realist who values technologically useful scientific truth as aesthetic object values it as an objective, intelligible structure of an objective world. If he finds aesthetic experience in some aspects of technological virtuosity, an important factor determinative of the quality of that experience is his conviction that his technological media have an objective existence and have characteristics independently of him and concerning which he has only partial knowledge. Furthermore, insofar as technologically transformed aspects of nature are aesthetic objects for him, his aesthetic experience arises in the presence of what he accepts as an objective order which dictates the need for technological precision, is to some extent a locus of the unknown, and perhaps is not to be comprehended in analogy with the specifically human. The belief in the objective world which makes complex demands on the technologist, reveals novel types of order, and is a locus of mystery is present only in the technological situation which is interpreted from the perspective of ontological realism. Such belief makes possible aesthetic experiences in connection with technological products which cannot arise in the technological situation interpreted from the perspective of ontological skepticism.

The cultivation of the aesthetic appeal of the technological situation interpreted in terms of ontological realism is not without its effects upon the technologist himself. Beginning with Plato, aesthetic theorists have stressed the effects of the individual’s aesthetic experience upon his intellectual and spiritual development. More often than not, they have prized the aesthetic not only for its own sake but also for its effects. What are the valuable effects of the aesthetic contemplation of the technological situation which is interpreted as a triumph of human creativity, precision, and knowledge over an objective world? Such aesthetic contemplation keeps before the technologist the possibility of future and as yet undiscerned potentialities for technological development of nature and natural media, potentialities which when realized will provide [Page 43] novel aesthetic objects. Here I have in mind the important but not yet explicitly emphasized role of the aesthetic as final cause—as lure—of scientific discovery and of technological achievement.

(2) Early in the development of Western philosophy, Aristotle called attention to the importance of wonder as the source and sustainer of philosophical inquiry. Little emphasized in modern philosophy, Aristotelian wonder can arise only in a situation interpreted from the perspective of ontological realism. The role of wonder in technology can best be seen if it is approached through the role of wonder in scientific inquiry. As source and accompaniment of scientific inquiry, Arisrotelian wonder has three important aspects: curiosity concerning the unknown aspects of the objective world; surprise at the character of the discovered truth; and awe before the reality which stands over against man. This curiosity is not trivial but momentous; it is not idle, because it stimulates further investigative effort. The surprise is a response to a natural order the characteristics of which could not be predicted on the basis of whatever scientific knowledge had already been achieved. The awe arises before a natural order which the realist is convinced is not a human creation.

The curiosity, surprise, and awe which arise in connection with scientific investigation have their technological analogues. In technology the curiosity becomes the challenge to determine whether new scientific discoveries can be successfully used for further human exploitation and transformation of nature. The surprise is a response to the character of new technological creativity as this is envisaged in imaginative technological planning. The awe is response to the rapport between human knowledge and technological know-how and to the unyielding, largely unknown objective order.

Like aesthetic experience, wonder is valuable not only because it is a prized human experience but also because it has important roles in technology. The curiosity which helps sustain and renew interest in scientific inquiry has an analogous function in maintaining the challenge to future technological achievements. By keeping before the technologist the fact of nature’s independence of him, it keeps him from a potentially dangerous overconfidence in human power to control nature. The technologist’s cultivation of wonder in the face of objective reality can serve to set him free from the dominance of his past successes, to enlarge his perspective on reality, and to foster his expectation of novel technological achievement of which past achievements have not been a measure.

(3) Whatever his ontological preferences the technologist is obliged to be concerned that he possess sufficient knowledge of his media and that he not err in his use of that knowledge. Clearly, in the technological situation in which human life is somehow involved, the technologist pays a high price if he proceeds without adequate knowledge or if he does not work with sufficient precision. There is a difference, though, between the ontological skeptic’s concern with his media and that of the ontological realist. The ontological skeptic is concerned with his medium only insofar as it has a role in his technological plans. What is important to him are the known properties of the medium and its usefulness for human aims. The ontological realist’s concern extends beyond this, because it derives from his convictions that technological media possess their characteristics independently of him and that [Page 44] he can never know with certainty that his scientific knowledge is free from error and that it is sufficient for his technological success. The distinctive concern of ontological realism is important in technological work with the nonliving, with the living but not human, with the human but not specifically human, and with the specifically human.

Thus the ontological realist respects his nonliving media and his tools, a respect analogous to the artists respect for his media and tools. Insofar as their work is conditioned by ontological realism, both artist and technologist emphasize how important it is that they genuinely comprehend the objective character of their media, that they be precise in the use of that comprehension, and that they always have sufficient acquaintance with the particular situation in which they work. The foregoing pertains also to plants as technological media, although, since they are living media, they introduce additional complexity into technological work and into the technologist’s concern for his media. The ontological realist’s concern for his nonliving and plant media has two aspects. He is, of course, eager to possess knowledge of the media for the sake of the success of his work. At the same time, the curiosity, surprise, and awe which comprise the wonder of ontological realism are an earnest that the realist’s concern includes an interest in the very being of his media apart from their technological usefulness. This distinctiveness and importance of the concern of ontological realism is eloquently affirmed by Martin Buber in his extension of the I-Thou relation to trees.

The importance of the role of the concern of ontological realism in technology is greatly increased when animals and man are technological media. Animals (for example, cats, monkeys, or dogs) constitute technological media which may be sentient, and sentience as a feature of the media introduces two factors into the technological situation which are not present in the case of the nonliving and plants. First, there is the animal’s state of sentience— his fear or absence of fear, his physical comfort or discomfort, his pain or freedom from pain. Second, there is the technologist’s attitude toward the animal. It is only the ontological realist who unequivocally thinks of the animal as being in its own right a locus of needs, experiences, preferences, and potentialities within the technological situation. For only when the animal is viewed in this way can there be the ontological realist’s concern with achieving for the animal the maximal freedom from fear, discomfort, and pain.

Perhaps the ontological realist’s concern with his animal media is of two-fold significance in his technological activity. First, there are the possible effects of this concern on the welfare and the awareness of the animal and, in turn, the possible effects of the latter on the technological project. In most cases, it is not known to what extent the animal’s state of awareness is a factor in the particular scientific or technological activity; and, further, perhaps the question of its possible importance is not often raised. Nonetheless, some persons would argue that even now there is no lack of evidence that the attitude with which animals are approached makes a difference in their response and that the manner of the approach to the animal sometimes might be an important factor in science and technology. Second, there are the possible effects of the cultivation of this concern on the technologist himself. For ontological realism alone unequivocally provides a rationale for the cultivation of the ability to take an [Page 45] interest in others than oneself. The development of this ability and its accompanying humaneness can be expected to have effects—perhaps important effects —on the personality of the technologist. Given the unity of the human personality, what affects the technologist’s personality must also affect his technological creativity, courage, and integrity.

A fortiori, it may be that the technologist’s concern for his human media is a significant element in technology. It is important here to call attention to the ontological realist’s awareness of the not-yet-known aspects of man and of the mystery of the particular human being who in some sense becomes the medium of technological work, to his concern for the well-being of his human medium, and to the effects on the technologist of his sustained cultivation of this concern.

First, man’s nature at the present time is not extensively illumined by scientific knowledge; and, of course, it is at least a possibility that science as we know it cannot fully explore and illumine the human self or the human mind. At any rate, we do not possess scientific knowledge about what the human self is, about how the mind is related to the body, or about the various senses in which man may be said to be free. Of course, there are numerous opinions on these subjects, but the achievement of scientific knowledge is marked by the verification of one view and the rejection of competing views, until such time as the received opinion gives way to another. Moreover, it is not only the fact that the nature of man is still largely unknown which the concerned realist is obliged to emphasize. He will also emphasize the individual differences among the human beings who are his technological media. It is not a question whether these individual differences will be factors in the technological situation. They will necessarily be present, and it cannot be known a priori to what extent they will affect technological work. What the ontological realist will bear in mind is that he may err concerning these individual differences and that his knowledge of them may be necessary either for his technological success or for the fulfillment of his desire to safeguard the well-being of his human media.

We now come to the important topic of the ontological realist’s attitude toward human technological media. Although Western philosophies of interpersonal relations have not always stressed the importance of mutual respect, of the willingness to be concerned with the well-being of our fellowman, and of love, certainly the importance of these has been stressed in the present century. Earlier in modern philosophy, for example, there were the widely (but not universally) accepted selfish psychology, the Hobbesian interpretation of interpersonal relations in terms of competitiveness, and Bentham’s hedonistic interpretation of human nature. Although twentieth-century philosophy has produced analogous views, these latter have had proportionately fewer exponents than have the views which have stressed respect, love, and concern in interpersonal relations. One thinks, for example, of John Dewey’s interpretation of philosophy as the cooperative attempt to solve social problems for the sake of fostering the development and well-being of the individual, of Alexander’s assertion that deity is an aspect of human nature yet to be achieved, and of Erich Fromm’s emphasis on the “art of loving.” What these and numerous other thinkers have asserted is that there is ample evidence that the individual is [Page 46] helped toward the discovery of his intellectual and spiritual capacities if he is treated with respect, if his physical and spiritual well-being and development are fostered, and if he is loved and learns to love. Further, if there is justification for this conclusion, there is justification for the hypothesis that when the technologist encounters other human beings as his technological media his attitude toward them may be an important factor in the success or failure of his project.

Of course, the technologist who is an ontological realist need not wish, or be able, to introduce into his work a concern with the well-being of his human media. Yet the technologist who brings this concern to his work must at least in this respect be an ontological realist. Moreover, the ontological skeptics have implicitly accepted this point. They have not intended to defend solipsism, and some have been at great pains to clarify the meaning of “other minds” and the manifold importance of other human beings in each person’s existential situation. Indeed, there is no lack of ontological skeptics who have turned their attention to a phenomenology of love, rejecting Sartre’s dictum that love is a game and that “Hell is—other people.” A phenomenology of love, however, only traces the existential loci of love, its sources, effects, and relations to other human concerns. It can have great value to philosophical inquiry by demonstrating the differences between the character of love and concern in the situation interpreted in terms of ontological realism, and their character in the situation interpreted in terms of ontological skepticism. But even a phenomenological analysis of the love and concern of ontological realism cannot take the place of an articulation, defense, and appropriation of ontological realism.

It is to be expected that the technologist’s appropriation of either ontological skepticism or ontological realism will have its effects upon his character and, in particular, upon his capacities for concern for his human media. Given the interrelatedness among the various aspects of the human personality, it is also to be expected that what affects the character of the technologist will affect his mode of reflection upon technological media, methods, and goals and, hence, his technological work and the culture it helps to form. The values which the individual cultivates; the ideals with reference to which he makes his decisions and chooses his goals; the experiences he eschews, criticizes, enjoys, condones, or aspires to—all these serve to effect changes in his valuational nature—that is, to develop some of his valuational capacities and to atrophy others. The individual who habitually makes choices and cultivates goals on the basis of ontological realism will introduce into his intellectual, aesthetic, and moral activities specific experiential, conceptual, and dynamic elements which are not present in those of the ontological skeptic.

To be sure, the ontological skeptic may, albeit inconsistently, cultivate a concern for the human technological medium which is akin to the concern of the ontological realist. Recent work in the phenomenology of love provides examples of concern for human beings in situations understood in terms of ontological skepticism. The latter, however, is necessarily anthropocentric; and [Page 47] within creative work understood in terms of ontological skepticism, the concern of ontological realism is not extended to the animals. Nor is the ontological skeptic’s concern for human beings accompanied by the ontological realist’s wonder before the unknown and before the aspects of nature to which the specifically human has not been a clue. In contrast, the ontological realist’s desire to foster the well-being of animals and his wonder before the unknown and before the novel aspects of the other-than-human all serve to expand his capacities for wonder as well as for concern with what is not himself. For example, many a person has found that the development of his capacities to respect animals and to be concerned with their needs has had the effect of developing his capacities to respect and to care for human beings.

If, however, the technologist’s ontological convictions and capacities for the concerns of ontological realism have roles in his technological reflection, creativity, and encounter with his media, his work will be in part a product of these capacities. The technologist who develops these capacities and brings them into play in his work will introduce into the latter factors which may be important for the creative development of technology and its fulfillment of human needs. It may be that the technologist who does not introduce into his work a concern for the well-being of his technological media is cultivating an attitude which vitiates maximal development of his technological creativity.

In the foregoing I have pointed out that technology does not at present explicitly demand that the technologist bring to his work the development of what I have called the specifically human capacities—for example, his capacities to take aesthetic delight in the various aspects of technology, his capacities for wonder before human technological achievement and also before the complexities of nature, and his capacities for concern with his media. Also I have suggested that although technology does not explicitly value these capacities, it often, in fact, benefits when the technologist brings them to his work and that perhaps in the future their important role in technology will become clear. Corollaries of this suggestion are that technology is not ontologically neutral and that ontological realism provides a more adequate interpretation of the technological situation than does ontological skepticism.

Technology and the Other-Than-Human

IT IS CLEAR that the physical and biological sciences have been the source of numerous insights into the character of other-than-human aspects of nature. It is also clear that through its appropriation of these insights technology has provided additional insights concerning some aspects of our encounter with nature and manipulation of natural media. I will examine some aspects of the scientific knowledge of the other-than-human aspects of nature which have made technological achievement possible, the character of technological precision, and the natural milieu of technological activity.

(1) Technology and technological society are products of a burgeoning scientific knowledge of some aspects of the natural world which are exclusive of the specifically human; and the character of some of this knowledge suggests a shift from a traditional and perennially widely accepted philosophical view of the relation between the specifically human and the objective world. This philosophical view has been variously articulated as “Man is the measure of [Page 48] all things”; “Man bears within himself the secret of reality”; “Man is the microcosm”; and “The way of anthropology is the only way of knowing the world.” The scientific knowledge which appears to be at variance with this view pertains to the depths of nature in which there have been discerned structures and processes which cannot be conceived in positive analogy with the specifically human. For example, the presently accepted conclusions about the internal structure of the atom are not derived from, do not illumine, and do not describe either specifically human experiences and concerns or the everyday world. Thus we have discerned and technologically exploited aspects of nature whose characteristics could not have been predicted on the basis of our acquaintance with the specifically human. To be sure, in the twentieth century there has been an emphasis on man as the unpredictable emergent from matter and animal life. It is also fruitful, however, to view matter and animal life as possessing a degree and type of complexity which could not have been predicted on the basis of our acquaintance with the specifically human. In the present context the important point is that technology derives from knowledge of nature to which the specifically human has not been a key.

(2) In order to appropriate scientific knowledge the technologist must himself become a tool of technology. There are, of course, many ways in which man is master of both science and technology: human creativity has achieved the scientific knowledge which makes technology possible, while technology is developed in answer to man’s need and is the product of human ingenuity. Moreover, man must claim his freedom to assess, modify, develop, reject, and supplement all technological goals, processes, and products. Yet within technology man has another role: as a knowledgeable, skilled individual who is committed to his technological project, he is an essential part of the technological situation. He must become the servant of that situation just as the scientist must become the servant of his empirical method and of the aspect of nature which is his chosen object of inquiry. To become the servant of technology the individual must undergo a prolonged preparation which has at least three aspects: he must acquire sufficient knowledge to play his role; he must acquire the technological skill to relate himself to nature in terms of that knowledge; and he must be unfailingly committed to the playing of his technological role with precision.

Although precision is essential in virtually all human activities, technology requires a distinctive degree and type of precision. It requires the precision of the natural sciences, as well as precision in the manipulation of nature with reference to that knowledge and in pursuit of specific societal ends. It is, for example, man’s precise manipulation of matter in terms of precise knowledge which has made possible space travel, the release of atomic energy, and medical science. The technological demands of precision are so great and so distinctive that they suggest the possibility of developing a philosophy of precision— that is, a creative inquiry into the types, loci, and rationale of the precision of which we have discovered man to be capable and which diverse human activities [Page 49] require for their success. Perhaps Aristotle, who deserves credit for many philosophical “firsts,” explicitly initiated the philosophy of precision when he warned us not to seek in our comprehension of the specifically human the precision which it is appropriate to seek in the other-than-human aspects of nature. Technology with its unique requirements of precision has provided a new perspective on Aristotle’s suggestion, since distinctions exist between technological precision and the precision which is relevant to the humanities and to human spiritual and moral development. These differ, for example, in the diverse roles within them of the quantitative versus the qualitative, of the characteristics which the individual shares with those others with which for technological purposes he is classed versus those characteristics by virtue of which he is distinctive, and of the determinacy of efficient causality versus the free creativity of the individual. Probably the distinction between technological precision and the precision requisite for the comprehension of the specifically human will be an important factor in the future exploration of the limits and areas of usefulness of technology.

(3) Technology provides a distinctive illumination of the unyielding character of the natural setting in which technological projects are developed, put to use, and either succeed or fail. The natural setting is properly said to be unyielding since technological goals are achieved only if the technologist has the requisite scientific knowledge and training and is committed to the use of that knowledge with the requisite precision. Insufficient precision or insufficient knowledge bring technological error, and the latter brings inconvenience and perhaps tragedy. Also relevant to technological planning are the many aspects of man concerning which scientific knowledge has not yet been achieved. At the present time even the simplest organism is a locus of the unknown, while a fortiori this is true of the specifically human. Since technological creativity requires scientific knowledge, the unknown aspects of nature constitute a limit beyond which technological development cannot go.

Also, there are aspects of the physical world which are not objects of technological manipulation but which are of central importance in some of our nontechnological concerns. Human technological skill sends satellites into the heavens where they are seen along with stars which we did not “put up there.” Although this distinction between the objects in the sky which are human creations and those which are not is a timely example, the fact is that every technological project is carried out in a milieu which (though it may to some extent be modified by technological activity) has no role in that or any other technological project but may have tremendous importance for human intellectual, aesthetic, or moral concerns. Thus in its presence we may experience wonder. We may cherish it for its leavening effects upon our spirit or prize it as an aesthetic object. We may respect it or love it. Or we may be profoundly concerned for its continued existence and well-being.

A promising interpretation of the foregoing is that technology is not ontologically neutral and, in addition, that ontological realism provides a [Page 50] more adequate interpretation of all technological activities than does ontological skepticism. This hypothesis is based on the importance of the unyielding natural milieu of all technological work; the role of precision as a sine qua non of technological work; and the fact that while all science and technology are the work of the specifically human, their greatest achievement derives from scientific and technological knowledge and manipulation of aspects of nature to which the specifically human has not been a clue. These facts suggest the meaningfulness, reality, and decisive importance of an independent reality which stands over against man, on which he is dependent, and knowledge of which he discovers and does not create.

Technology and the Specifically Human

WE MAY now draw together the foregoing observations and suggestions in order to demonstrate the present insufficiency of technology to illumine, sustain, and foster the specifically human. Technology illumines an entity, situation, or process if it demonstrates that its structure and goal can be understood in terms of current scientific and technological principles and capabilities. What technology sustains it maintains at its present level of development. When technology develops an entity, situation, or process, it actualizes some of its potentialities.

Clearly, technology illumines some aspects of nature—both human and nonhuman. The technologist might explain the interrelations of the mutually supportive and telic aspects of, say, the beaver’s dam or the oriole’s nest, while medicine interprets the relations between heart and lungs along technological lines. Also, it is clear that technology sustains and develops many aspects of nature, including the human. Thus heart surgery is an example of the technological sustaining of human physiological processes; and a scientifically planned regime of exercise and diet constitutes an attempt at the technological development of the human body.

What, however, of technology in relation to the specifically human? The inadequacy of technology to illumine, sustain, or develop the specifically human can be approached through attention to the ways in which and the degree to which technology is not self-sufficient.

Technological work arises in response to goals which do not derive from technology and by virtue of knowledge which technology does not supply. Further, this observation is not invalidated by the fact that in many ways technology makes possible and determines both those goals and that knowledge. There is, in fact, a complex interdependence between technology and the culture it serves. Not only does technology help to achieve cultural goals; it sometimes calls attention to or helps to create feasible new goals. For example, although successful space travel is as dependent on technological skills and precision as on scientific knowledge, its goal is knowledge of the physical world and not technological skill. Technology is virtually never an end in itself; and in however large a measure technology serves present-day culture, the goals technology achieves are generated by nontechnological concerns. Also, while science relies on instruments created, assessed, and maintained by technology, technological power over nature is not the only goal of scientific work. Science also arises from the human wonder concerning nature and satisfies the human [Page 51] desire for truth concerning nature.

Furthermore, technology is not self-sufficient in its cultivation of the capabilities and attitudes which the technologist must possess. It is clear that these include precision, courage, and imaginative creativity; and I have suggested that it may soon become apparent that the degree and type of concern for his media which the technologist brings to his work also have an important role in it. Moreover, this suggestion is supported by the fact that whatever concern the technologist introduces into his work will have an effect on his other capabilities and attitudes. For example, when the concern of ontological realism is present, technological precision includes careful attention to the needs and the objective nature of the animal or human medium. And, while, on the one hand, creative technological imagination may be limited by the conviction that the needs and objective nature are not to be violated, on the other hand, attention to these needs and that nature may open the door to new creative advance.

The important point here is that technology does not by itself provide all that is requisite for the development and maintenance of the capabilities and attitudes which the technologist must possess for successful work. To be sure, technology fosters their development and, moreover, achieves a type of this development which can be achieved in no other way. That is, technological precision, courage, and imaginative creativity are not identical with their analogues which are known by the same name and which are generated within such activities as artistic creativity, social reform, and religious commitment. But it is not yet clear that technology can by itself develop the requisite capabilities and attitudes in the technologist: they are a part of the specifically human, and the commensurability between technology and the specifically human is the moot point with which this essay is concerned. At any rate, it is not only through his technological training that the technologist develops and maintains these capabilities and attitudes. Through his nontechnological concerns —for example, his moral, aesthetic, scientific, social, philosophical, and religious concerns—he also learns of their content and significance and develops the power to appropriate them. One important aid in the development of courage, precision, integrity, and creative imagination is the comprehension of their content and significance, and of the means whereby they may be developed; this understanding technology cannot supply. In addition, technology cannot by itself illumine those aspects of the specifically human which have a necessary role in technology. In the first place, the requisite scientific knowledge for such illumination is not available; and, in the second place, it is not the role of technology to supply such knowledge. What technology does possess in this area may profitably be thought of as empirically derived modes of technological development of whatever aspects of the self have a role in technology. But this is empiricism in the Baconian sense of manipulation (that is, manipulation of human nature) without understanding.

Finally, the time may not be far off when we must explicitly opt for or against the ontological realist interpretation of the activities, media, and milieu of technology. I have suggested that there are ample evidence and cogent arguments supporting the view that the issue is an extremely important one. We may vitiate the work of technology and prevent its development if we make the wrong choice or make no explicit choice at all. Yet, as I have attempted to show, [Page 52] at the present time technology does not provide a vantage point from which the relevance of this ontological choice to technology can be discerned. To find such a vantage point we must go outside technology and, in particular, to the specifically human.

While the specifically human is in many ways served by technology, it is the specifically human which makes technology possible. It is the specifically human and for the most part its nontechnological concerns, commitment, and needs which are the indispensable conditions of technology—that is, they are the source of the goals and knowledge of technology as well as of the trained technologist himself. Moreover, there are many aspects of the specifically human which are essentially nontechnological. They require a different development of the specifically human from that required by technology, and the rationale and goals of that development are more often at variance with those of technology. Examples of these are the love of beauty, the cultivation of Aristotelian wonder, and the concern of ontological realism as a fundamental and cherished commitment.

At the present time, then, technology does not illumine, sustain, or develop the specifically human. Technology and the specifically human are interdependent in many ways; but technology cannot at present explain the dynamics, goals, and potentialities of the specifically human, nor foster all the development of the potentialities which the specifically human possesses. Rather, it is the specifically human—which is not yet totally illumined by science—which illumines, fosters, and sustains technology. Investigative caution, however, precludes the making a decision at the present as to the future relation berween technology and the specifically human. It is not known what technology will become, and the ethos of scientific-technological creativity is violated when it is forgotten that, in fact, we do not know.

Nonetheless, one conclusion is clear. The time has come to reflect on the ontological needs of technology: to keep open the possibility that technology is not at bottom ontologically neutral and that the technological situation which is structured in terms of ontological realism gives a technological role to aspects of the specifically human which ontological skepticism at best does not comprehend and at worst rejects. Attention to this conclusion might make for the development of a humane technology—which is perhaps already overdue. Further, these observations call attention to an important relation between technology and the specifically human, a relation of cooperative advance in technology and, in particular, in the articulation, defense, and appropriation of ontological realism.

[Page 53]

[Page 54]

Work, Motivation, and the Nature of Man

BY ZABIH SABET-SHARGHI

IN CONTEMPORARY SOCIETY, where four out of five people spend one third of their adult lives working, a person’s relationship to his work is an important issue. The Bahá’í Writings make explicit and emphatic mention of the importance of work and of man’s attitude toward it as service to his fellowman and as a form of worship of God. Current studies of organizations show that social scientists, wrestling with the problems of improved production and of enhanced quality of life for working people, and the effects of such improvements upon society as a whole, are groping their way, on the whole quite successfully, to concepts which in their essence have been familiar to Bahá’ís in America for over half a century. We shall focus here, then, on some of the major issues arising from an individual’s relationship to his work, survey some of the recent developments in the field of motivation studies, and show how the Bahá’í Writings provide moral and psychological keys to the understanding of this complex relationship. An understanding of the Bahá’í principles, in conjunction with the results of recent and current research, will help in the formulation of an adequate theoretical basis for motivational study.

The meaning of work and the motives for working have undergone many changes over the centuries. In Greece and Rome work was primarily thought of as manual labor to be performed by slaves. The value of work underwent some dramatic changes during the Christian era. By the time of the Renaissance and Reformation new perspectives toward work began to emerge. Luther and Calvin, for example, had a significant influence on making work morally desirable, for both believed that hard work was a sign of man’s successful serving of God. Such a view of work became increasingly dominant in Western civilization, ultimately developing into what Max Weber described as the Protestant Ethic.

The Industrial Revolution in western societies was accompanied by much concern with work. From about 1880 to 1910 the United States and Western Europe underwent rapid economic expansion. Unfortunately, this expansion was accompanied by ruthless practices toward workers, whom employers still perceived as units of production, giving no consideration to their psychological wellbeing. This perception of workers as inferior beings when coupled with the doctrine of social Darwinism (survival of the socially fittest), encouraged people to think that success in one’s job entitled one to respect, and failure indicated the lack of essential personal worth. As social Darwinism, positivism, behaviorism, and similar theories began to undermine the religious basis of earlier attitudes toward work, there came to be a steady dehumanization of the worker, paradoxically at the same time as a marked, growing amelioration of the material conditions of work. We shall see in the following pages how the material and spiritual environment of the worker have been related, as cause and as effect, to the policies of his employers.

Every theory of management rests on certain assumptions about the nature of man. Only after these theories and their underlying assumptions are clearly seen and evaluated, can we fully understand the way in which a contemporary theory approaches the motivational problems of people at work.

Rational-Economic Man

ONE MOVEMENT which has had a significant [Page 55] impact on thought about work and its relation to man’s behavior was that of scientific management popularized in the early part of the twentieth century by Frederick Taylor. By applying the scientific method to the study of work Taylor arrived at the idea that work efficiency could be increased if workers followed specific methods. He developed several such methods and initiated experiments which became known as “time studies.” Although Taylor’s applications of scientific management principles were simple and specific, the effect of his ideas in shaping the motivational and work patterns of contemporary organizations was profound.

The scientific management movement coupled with the economic and technological urge toward higher productivity brought about a reassessment of the basic assumptions concerning man and work. In its simplest form the emerging basic assumption about the nature of man from the point of view of scientific management states that man is both economically motivated and mechanically oriented. The implications of such an assumption are that through proper design and techniques man can increase his productivity, and that through the use of an incentive reward system he can be induced to put more time and effort into his work.

Social Man

THE SCIENTIFIC management approach toward work organization failed to recognize fully the psychological and sociological dimensions of work. Reactions to these inadequacies in the concept of rational-economic man led some investigators in the 1920s and 1930s to develop an alternative set of assumptions more perceptive of the significance of the social and psychological needs of people at work. The pioneering studies conducted at the Hawthorne Plant of Western Electric, for example, demonstrated that social forces and interpersonal relations operating among workers were significant in shaping their behavior and productivity. Such findings showed the necessity of management’s keeping in mind the social and interpersonal relations among workers, thus giving rise to what came to be known as the human relations movement.

Hierarchy of Human Needs

ANOTHER THEORY which has had a significant impact on our understanding of human needs as related to life and work is that of the late Abraham Maslow. Maslow, a clinical psychologist, postulated that all human needs could he conceptually arranged in an ascending hierarchy, from the most basic which appear early in life to the most subtle which develop later. In Maslow’s view there are five broad sets of needs:

1. Physiological Needs. These needs, including the needs for food, air, water, and sleep, are basic to survival. As long as these needs are not satisfied to the degree necessary for the operation of the body, the majority of man’s activities will be centered on satisfying them.

2. Safety and Security Needs. When physiological [Page 56] needs are relatively satisfied, safety needs become apparent. These encompass a variety of activities related to man’s seeking of shelter and safety from physical harm. This category includes the need for economic security and the search for a stable environment in which to live and work.

3. Social and Affiliation Needs. The satisfaction of safety needs frees man for the quest of love, affection, and companionship. Such needs are most often satisfied through personal striving for meaningful relations with others as individuals and as members of groups.

4. Self-Esteem Needs. The need for esteem is apparent in such activities as the search for personal respect, prestige, and power. The satisfaction of these leads to feelings of self-confidence and worth.

5. Self-Actualization Needs. Although it is difficult to define what is meant by self-actualization, the term has become very popular. Maslow uses self-actualization to suggest one’s ability to utilize his personal capacities, to develop his potential to the fullest, and to become everything of which he is capable of becoming. Such an assumption implies an urge for self-fulfillment and psychological growth. It is noteworthy that self-actualization can never be fully completed; the more one grows, the more one strives for further growth.

Implicit in the above hierarchal ordering of needs is the notion that one cannot be primarily concerned with needs of a higher order before he achieves a relative satisfaction of those at a lower level. Satisfaction of a need at a lower level would then free the individual to concentrate on higher needs.

The effect of Maslow’s theory on industrial management is to direct attention toward the consideration of human needs at work and, it is hoped, to create a situation wherein man can find satisfaction of his higher needs through more meaningful work. Thus under humanistic working conditions work becomes a means of satisfying the employees’ needs for self-esteem and self-actualization.

Theory X-Theory Y

A SIGNIFICANT DEVELOPMENT which brought Maslow’s theory to the attention of managers was Douglas McGregor’s “Theory X-Theory Y.” McGregor suggested that the management of human resources could fall under two contrasting philosophies concerning the nature of man. Theory X posits that man is evil by nature, and, therefore, that misbehavior (such work-related behavior as absenteeism, tardiness, and laziness) is caused by man’s nature and cannot be directly prevented. The strategies in dealing with such behavior involve developing a tightly controlled system in order to ensure desirable employee behavior. Under the assumptions of Theory X man is viewed as passive and indolent by nature and, therefore, needing to be directed and persuaded. Motivational strategies would be effective only at the lower need levels (using Maslow’s need hierarchy), especially toward safety and social needs. Managers who accept the assumptions of Theory X attempt to develop highly structured and controlled work relations.

In contrast, Theory Y assumes that, man being basically good by nature, misbehavior in life and work is a reaction to poor environment rather than a manifestation of one’s inner state. Such an assumption leads one to search for and remove those variables which cause undesirable behavior, rather than attempting to alter basic human nature. The task of a manager in this instance is that of recognizing employees’ capacities (Theory Y) and allowing workers to utilize their inner abilities. Under the assumptions of Theory Y, therefore, man is seen as active, intelligent, and capable of directing his own behavior and effort toward both his own goals and organizational goals. Hence industrial management motivational strategies may be directed more toward satisfying higher-order needs, [Page 57] such as self-esteem and self-actualization.

McGregor supports Theory Y as a model for proper management and emphasizes the importance of developing a better understanding of the nature of man. Managers who accept the assumptions of Theory Y attempt to develop a less structured work environment and to allow their employees to take more responsibility for their own direction and control. Such workers should experience relatively greater fulfillment of needs for self-esteem and self-actualization.

Motivation-Hygiene Theory

FREDRICK HERZBERG, the author of the motivation-hygiene theory, also relates his empirical findings in studying modern industrial organizations to assumptions concerning the basic nature of man.

Herzberg’s original study which led to the development of motivation-hygiene theory was an attempt to investigate the sources of people’s satisfaction and dissatisfaction with their work. In their initial study Herzberg and his associates used a semistructured interview, asking a group of two hundred accountants and engineers to recall sequences of events which led to feelings of deep satisfaction and dissatisfaction with their jobs. The investigators then analyzed these interviews to determine factors related to these findings. The results of the study which appeared in The Motivation to Work indicated that there were two distinct and separate sets of factors contributing to feelings of satisfaction and dissatisfaction. Herzberg named the satisfier factors “motivators” and the dissatisfier factors “hygienes.” The findings of this study using a wide variety of populations, as well as the findings of several other studies, supported the conclusion that factors contributing to job satisfaction are different from and not merely the opposite of factors causing job dissatisfaction.

In conceptualizing people’s behavior Herzberg makes a distinction between two basic types of needs which stem from two different aspects of man’s nature. The animal aspects of man which he calls the “Adam view of man” tend to concern satisfaction of man’s biological and primary needs—that is, his built-in need systems which enabie him to avoid pain inflicted by the environment. At work the environment might include company policy and administration, supervision, physical working conditions, status, and job security. These extrinsic or environmental conditions Herzberg calls “hygiene” factors, using “hygiene” in the medical sense of removing health hazards to prevent disease. Although satisfactory removal of deficient hygiene factors at work is essential, it does not contribute to increasing satisfaction derived from the work itself and, therefore, does not deal with needs for psychological growth. In other words, although a good salary and good working conditions are necessary for eliminating job dissatisfaction, they will not necessarily produce a satisfied worker.

Distinct and separate from the animal sets of needs are the human growth needs which Herzberg refers to as the “Abraham view of man.” Herzberg states that “Man has behavioral circuits that operate beyond the mechanisms he needs for survival. It is this surplus potentiality that engenders a separate and unique force in the motivation of the human. It is the source of the Abraham characteristic; to use one’s brains is a need system of itself, divorced from any connection with, or dependence on, the basic biological stresses.”

Human needs of the Abraham nature are referred to as “motivators.” They are directly related to the satisfaction which comes from the actual doing of a meaningful task. The motivator factors intrinsic to most jobs are [Page 58] achievement, recognition for achievement, responsibility, and opportunity for growth and advancement. These factors deal with the uniquely human impulse toward self-realization and psychological growth. In Herzberg’s view, both hygiene and motivator sets of needs are equally important and should be satisfied in order to maintain optimally balanced work experiences and employee satisfaction.

Although the motivation-hygiene theory claims that motivator and hygiene factors are equally important, it is a common observation that industry has primarily attempted to motivate workers by providing better hygiene through improved working conditions, wages, and benefits, rather than by better motivators.

To overcome motivational problems at work, Herzberg has developed the concept of job enrichment. It calls for securing balanced satisfaction of worker’s needs by introducing into the job motivators which provide maximum fulfillment of the needs for autonomy and responsibility.

Bahá’í View of the Nature of Man

NOW that we have reviewed briefly the highlights of research in this field it is appropriate to compare these views with concepts drawn from Bahá’í literature. On the basis of the Bahá’í Writings, independently of the theories described above, a Bahá’í would arrive at the conclusion that human nature is indeed dual. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá states, “In man there are two natures; his spiritual or higher nature and his material or lower nature. In one he approaches God, in the other he lives for the world alone.” This duality of man means that man is capable of channeling his efforts in either direction and, therefore, can be motivated by the higher or lower nature. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá further claims that if man’s “thought does not soar, but is directed downwards to centre itself upon the things of this world, he grows more and more material until he arrives at a state little better than that of a mere animal.” Since the higher nature of man is superior, human effort should be directed toward its development.

It should be noted, however, that the Bahá’í teachings do not ignore the satisfaction of men’s lower needs but admonish men to adhere to principles of moderation in every aspect of their lives. An anonymous Bahá’í author, in discussing the topic, has written, “Moderation may be defined as the quality of keeping one’s conduct and desires within reasonable limits. While moderation implies avoidance of the excessive and the extreme, it should never be confused with mediocrity. Moderation is the guiding hand that keeps one’s energies on a balanced course conducive to efficiency, integrity. and wholesomeness.”

Bahá’í View of Work

IN THE BAHÁ’Í VIEW, work should not be directed toward economic ends alone but rather toward serving higher purposes, both social and personal. To an individual Bahá’í, rich or poor, work is an obligation rather than an option. Bahá’u’lláh writes: “It is made incumbent on every one of you to engage in some one occupation, such as arts, trades, and the like. We have made this —your occupation—identical with the worship of God . . .”

He also states: “O My Servant! Ye are the trees of my garden; ye must give forth goodly and wondrous fruits, that ye yourselves and others may profit therefrom. Thus it is incumbent on everyone to engage in crafts and professions, for therein lies the secret of [Page 59] wealth, O men of understanding! For results depend upon means, and the grace of God shall be all-sufficient unto you. Trees that yield no fruit have been and will ever be for the fire.” He further asserts: “Waste not your time in idleness and indolence, and occupy yourselves with that which will profit yourselves and others beside yourself.” Work, as viewed in the Bahá’í Faith, therefore, is considered a conscientious and productive endeavor directed toward serving mankind.

Work is already a dominant aspect of life for many people; and, as people must work within the structure of the organizations which employ them, it follows that organizations greatly influence and even determine the extent to which people will experience self-fulfillment in their lives. The organization then has a moral obligation to its members which goes beyond the management strategies for optimum production described above, however humanistic they might be.

In the Bahá’í view, the goals of any organization should include consideration of the needs of its members as well as economic survival. Organizations must be receptive to individual differences and talents and should provide opportunities for employees to utilize their abilities at work in order that work may become an extension of meaningful education and self-development. Thus future jobs should be designed to provide more opportunities for personal growth and satisfaction as well as for profit and growth of the organization.

In order to develop harmonious relations between workers and organizations, both employees and organizations should attempt to set aside differences created by self-interest in order to promote a broader concern for the good of all. The goals of both organizations and of the people who work in them should then be basically harmonious if the concepts of justice, dignity, and concern for others have been integrated into both organizational and personal philosophies. The unfortunate incidents of conflict between employees and organizations witnessed today in industrialized societies are due to the fact that this has not yet happened.

Role of Money and Economic Incentives

MONEY is a powerful incentive in our culture. Although the role which money plays in life is not the same for all, it is certainly an important motivator of work. Nor is the role of money a simple matter. In many jobs, for example, it is very difficult to establish criteria which relate pay to performance, and many business organizations often fail to tie pay satisfactorily to job performance.

From the individual’s point of view, relating pay to performance may be expressed in a structural sense as the ratio of outcome/ input. The outcome refers to both the actual pay and the fringe benefits and other values an individual draws from his work. The input refers to all the factors an individual invests in his job, such as talent, education, effort, and skills. The individual worker compares this ratio to the job situations of other people within his immediate environment. Thus an individual may see his employment as equitable if he perceives that the outcome and input are in line with those of others similarly situated. On the contrary, a worker may not necessarily consider himself equitably treated if he perceives he is being treated like the rest. Moreover, he may consider himself and his fellows inequitably treated if he considers them all underpaid. But the real sense of iniustice comes from the knowledge that some who work little are greatly rewarded, while others who do the “real” work of production live in or on the edge of poverty. Such injustices on the part of the organization [Page 60] cause dissatisfaction and anger among other workers and can only cause further strain on worker-organization relations.

In the Bahá’í teachings, the principle of profit sharing is introduced to safeguard the interests of workers. It also acts as a strong motivational force. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá states that “laws and regulations should be established which would permit the workmen to receive from the factory owner their wages and a share in the fourth or the fifth part of the profits, according to the wants of the factory; or in some other way the body of workmen and the manufacturers should share equitably the profits and advantages. Indeed, the direction and administration of affairs come from the owner of the factory, and the work and labor, from the body of workmen.”

Concluding Remarks

WORK ORGANIZATIONS represent a challenging and complex environment in which human motivation can be studied. I have viewed motivation as an inner force which directs behavior at work to accomplish certain tasks. However, work behavior may often take the form of actions which go against one’s wants and desires, because of pressures stemming from an impoverished or inadequate work environment. In such cases when the individual’s inner wants and beliefs are not sufficiently taken into consideration by employers, the motivational strategies used are of little value. In such instances, organizational and individual goals represent two opposite forces, each striving for accomplishment of its own objectives.

When one reviews human relationships at work from a Bahá’í point of view, certain critical issues become more clearly defined. The nature of man involves a distinct spiritual dimension which must be taken into account in every phase of his life, including his work relations. When we can view the purpose of work as service to humanity rather than a purely economic venture, work becomes a manifestation of the higher nature of man.

[Page 61]

[Page 62]

Index, Vol. 10, Fall 1975—Summer 1976

Articles are indexed by author and subject. Book reviews are indexed by subject and reviewer, as well as by the book’s author under the heading BOOK Reviews. Fiction, poetry, art, and photographs are indexed by author or artist and only occasionally by subject. Letters to the editor are usually included with entries for the articles to which they refer.

ABBREVIATIONS

bibliog	bibliography
bibliog f	bibliography footnotes
il	illustrated
jt auth	joint author
por	portrait
Spr	Spring
Sum	Summer
Wint	Winter

For those unfamiliar with the form of indexing used, the following example is given:

ENTRY	RELIGION and Science Science and the Bahá’í Faith. N. A. Bailey. bibliog f 10:41-6 Fall ’75; Letter. 10:4-5 Sum ’76
EXPLANATION:	An article, with bibliographical footnotes, entitled “Science and the Bahá’í Faith” by N. A. Bailey will be found in Volume 10 of World Order on pages 41-46 of the Fall 1975 issue. A letter commenting on that article appears in the Summer 1976 issue on pages 4-5.

---

AMERICA. See United States

APPLEGATE, OLIVE V.

Prophet. poem. 10-21 Sum ’76

ARCHITECTURE

Conversations with Americans. interview with Shinji Yamamoto. 10:53-61 Wint ’75-76

The ARTS

Conversations with Americans. interviews. il 10:39-75 Wint ’75-76

Toward critical foundations for a world culture of the arts. L. Tuman. bibliog f il 9:8-35 Sum ’75; Letter. 10:9-10 Wint ’75-76

AZAL, Jelal

Missionary as historian: William Miller and the Bahá’í Faith. book review. D. Martin. bibliog f 10:43-63 Spr ’76

BAILEY, Norman A.

Science and the Bahá’í Faith. bibliog f 10:41-6 Fall ’75; Letter 10:4-5 Sum ’76

BÁB

Oriental scholarship and the Bahá’í Faith. D. MacEoin. bibliog f 8:9-21 Sum ’74; Letters. 10:2-3 Fall ’75, 10:10-11 Wint ’75-76

BÁB, Shrine of the

Photograph. 10:47 Fall ’75

BÁBÍ Faith

Missionary as historian: William Miller and the Bahá’í Faith. book review. D. Martin. bibliog f 10:43-63 Spr ’76

BAHÁ’Í Faith

Challenge of the Bahá’í Faith. V. E. Johnson. bibliog f 10:31-41 Spr ’76

Conversations with Americans. interviews. il 10:39-75 Wint ’75-76

Work, motivation, and the nature of man. Z. Sabet-Sharghi. bibliog f 10:54-60 Sum ’76

Administration

Consultation—the keystone of creative administration. [Page 63] P. G. Walker. bibliog f 10:23-36 Sum ’76

Criticism of

Missionary as historian: William Miller and the Bahá’í Faith. book review. D. Martin. bibliog f 10:43-63 Spr ’76

History

Missionary as historian: William Miller and the Bahá’í Faith. book review. D. Martin. bibliog f 10:43-63 Spr ’76

Oriental scholarship and the Bahá’í Faith. D. MacEoin. bibliog f 8:9-21 Sum ’74; Letters. 10:2-3 Fall ’75, 10:10-11 Wint ’75-76

Teachings

Economics and moral values. W. S. Hatcher. il 9:14-27 Wint ’74-75; Letters. 10:3-4 Fall ’75, 10:9 Wint ’75-76

Economics and the Bahá’í teachings: an overview. G. C. Dahl. bibliog f 10:19-29+ Fall ’75

Science and the Bahá’í Faith. N. A. Bailey. bibliog f 10:41-6 Fall ’75; Letter 10:4-5 Sum ’76

Unity of religion and science. W. S. Hatcher. bibliog f 9:22-9+ Spr ’75; Letter. 10:3-4 Fall ’75

BAILEY, Norman A.

Science and the Bahá’í Faith. bibliog f 10:41-6 Fall ’75; Letter 10:4-5 Sum ’76

BEARDEN, Romare

Art work. 10:47 Wint ’75-76

BETTMANN Archive

Engraving. 10:37 Sum ’76

BOOK Reviews

Fair, C. The New Nonsense: The End of the Rational Consensus. bibliog f 10:48-60 Fall ’75; Letter. 10:27-8 Spr ’76

Miller, W. M. Bahá’í Faith: Its History and Teachings. bibliog f 10:43-63 Spr ’76

BROWNE, Edward G.

Missionary as historian: William Miller and the Bahá’í Faith. book review. D. Martin. bibliog f 10:43-63 Spr ’76

Oriental scholarship and the Bahá’í Faith. D. MacEoin. bibliog f 8:9-21 Sum ’74; Letters. 10:2-3 Fall ’75, 10:10-11 Wint ’75-76

BUSINESS Administration

Consultation—the keystone of creative administration. P. G. Walker. bibliog f 10:23-36 Sum ’76

BUSINESS, Moral Aspects of

Conversations with Americans. interview with Mildred Mottahadeh. il 10:71-5 Wint ’75-76

see also

Economics, Labor relations

CAMPOS, Enrique

Art Work. 10:17 Spr ’76

CHRISTIANITY

Challenge of the Bahá’í Faith. V. E. Johnson. bibliog f 10:31-41 Spr ’76

Religion and American identity: 1609-1776. J. H. Moorhead. bibliog f 10:28-36 Wint ’75-76; Corrections. 10:6 Spr ’76

CHUNG, Joon

Photograms. 10:10, 42 Spr ’76

Photographs. 10:26 Wint ’75-76; 10:22 Sum ’76

CIVILIZATION

This age of analysis. editorial. 10:1 Fall ’75

Change

Are we doomed? editorial. 10:2-4 Spr ’76

Economics and moral values. W. S. Hatcher. il 9:14-27 Wint ’74-75; Letters. 10:3-4 Fall ’75, 10:9 Wint ’75-76

Present state of the world: some remarks. R. Muller. 10:7-13 Fall ’75

What happened to the counterculture? W. M. Heller. bibliog f il 10:11-16 Spr ’76; Editorial comments. 10:6 Spr ’76

World peace—finding the elemental quality. editorial. 10:2 Sum ’76

Future of

Economics and the Bahá’í teachings: an overview. G. C. Dahl. bibliog f 10:19-29+ Fall ’75

Ghost of the world future. R. N. Gardner. 10:14-16 Fall ’75

CONCENTRATION Camps

United States

Conversations with Americans. interview with Shinji Yamamoto. 10:53-61 Wint ’75-76

CONSULTATION

Consultation—the keystone of creative administration. P. G. Walker. bibliog f 10:23-36 Sum ’76

COUNTERCULTURE

What happened to the counterculture? W. M. Heller. bibliog f il 10:11-16 Spr ’76; Editorial comments. 10:6 Spr ’76

CULTURE

Toward critical foundations for a world culture of the arts. L. Tuman. bibliog f il 9:8-35 Sum ’75; Letter. 10:9-10 Wint ’75-76

DAHL, Gregory C.

Economics and the Bahá’í teachings: an overview. bibliog f 10:19-29+ Fall ’75

DUNBAR, Hooper

Photographs. 10:17, 40 Fall ’75

ECONOMICS

Economics and moral values. W. S. Hatcher. il 9:14-27 Wint ’74-75; Letters. 10:3-4 [Page 64] Fall ’75, 10:9 Wint ’75-76

Economics and the Bahá’í teachings: an overview. G. C. Dahl. bibliog f 10:19-29+ Fall ’75

EDUCATION

ANISA Model

Letter. 10:9-10 Wint ’75-76

EMIGRATION. See Immigration and Emigration

ETHICS

Economics and moral values. W. S. Hatcher. il 9:14-27 Wint ’74-75; Letters. 10:3-4 Fall ’75, 10:9 Wint ’75-76

FAIR, Charles. See Book Reviews

FOLLETT, Mary Parker

Consultation—the keystone of creative administration. P. G. Walker. bibliog f 10:23-36 Sum ’76

FUTURISTICS. See Civilization—Future of

GARDNER, Richard N.

Ghost of the world future. 10:14-16 Fall ’75

GAREY, Howard

Belief in nonsense. book review. bibliog f 10:48-60 Fall ’75; Letter. 10:7-8 Spr ’76

GOD

Science and the Bahá’í Faith. N. A. Bailey. bibliog f 10:41-6 Fall ’75; Letter 10:4-5 Sum ’76

GOVERNMENT, International

Are we doomed? editorial. 10:2-4 Spr ’76

GROUP Dynamics

Consultation—the keystone of creative administration. P. G. Walker. bibliog f 10:23-36 Sum ’76

HATCHER, William S.

Economics and moral values. il 9:14-27 Wint ’74-75; Letters. 10:3-4 Fall ’75, 10:9 Wint ’75-76

Unity of religion and science. bibliog f 9:22-9+ Spr ’75; Letter. 10:3-4 Fall ’75

HAYDEN, Robert

about

Conversations with Americans. interview. 10:46-53. Wint ’75-76

HELLER, Wendy M.

What happened to the counterculture? bibliog f il 10:11-16 Spr ’76; Editorial comments. 10:6 Spr ’76

HOMNICK, Janet

Mute. poem. 10:31 Fall ’75

HOUSE of Worship, Bahá’í

Wilmette, Illinois

Photograph. 10:27 Wint ’75-76

IMMIGRATION and emigration

Melting pot or boiling cauldron: the ethnic experience in America. N. Rassekh. bibliog f 10:13-26 Wint ’75-76

INDIANS of North America

Conversations with Americans. interview with David Villaseñor. il 10:62-8 Wint ’75-76

ISLÁM

Concept of the nation in Islám. D. MacEoin. bibliog f 10:7-21 Sum ’76

JAMAICA

History

Maroon identity in Jamaica: 1655-1738. R. S. Jones. bibliog f 10:18-30 Spr ’76; Editorial comments. 10:6 Spr ’76

JOHN the Baptist

Letters to the editor. 10:2-3 Fall ’75; 10:10-11 Wint ’75-76

JOHNSON, V. Elvin

Challenge of the Bahá’í Faith. bibliog f 10:31-41 Spr ’76

JONES, Rhett S.

Maroon identity in Jamaica: 1655-1738. bibliog f 10:18-30 Spr ’76; Editorial comments. 10:6 Spr ’76

LABOR Relations

Consultation—the keystone of creative administration. P. G. Walker. bibliog f 10:23-36 Sum ’76

Work, motivation, and the nature of man. Z. Sabet-Sharghi. bibliog f 10:54-60 Sum ’76

LAW

Conversations with Americans. interview with Dorothy Nelson. 10:39-46 Wint ’75-76

MACEOIN, Denis

Concept of the nation in Islám. bibliog f 10:7-21 Sum ’76

Oriental scholarship and the Bahá’í Faith. bibliog f 8:9-21 Sum ’74; Letters. 10:2-3 Fall ’75, 10:10-11 Wint ’75-76

MAROONS

Maroon identity in Jamaica: 1655-1738. R. S. Jones. bibliog f 10:18-30 Spr ’76; Editorial comments. 10:6 Spr ’76

MARTIN, Douglas

Missionary as historian: William Miller and the Bahá’í Faith. book review. bibliog f 10:43-63 Spr ’76

MASHRIQU’L-ADHKÁR. See House of Worship, Bahá’í

MILLER, George O.

Photographs. 10:5 Fall ’75

MILLER, William McElwee. See Book Reviews

MITCHELL, Glenford E.

Photographs. 10:6, 18, 47 Fall ’75; 10:back cover Spr ’76; 10:3, 6, 61, back cover Sum ’76

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MONEY

Economics and the Bahá’í teachings: an overview. G. C. Dahl. bibliog f 10:19-29+ Fall ’75

MOORE, Raymond I.

Photographs. 10:1, 53, 67 Sum ’76

MOORHEAD, James H.

Religion and American identity: 1609-1776. bibliog f 10:28-36 Wint ’75-76; Corrections. 10:6 Spr ’76

MORRISON, Gayle

Look at antifeminist literature. bibliog f il 9:40-59 Spr ’75; Editorial comments. 10:2 Fall ’75

MOTTAHEDEH, Mildred

Conversations with Americans. interview. 10:71-5 Wint ’75-76

MULLER, Robert

Present state of the world: some remarks. 10:7-13 Fall ’75

MUSIC

Toward critical foundations for a world culture of the arts. L. Tuman. bibliog f il 9:8-35 Sum ’75; Letter. 10:9-10 Wint ’75-76

NATIONS

Concept of the nation in Islám. D. MacEoin. bibliog f 10:7-21 Sum ’76

NELSON, Dorothy

Conversations with Americans. interview. 10:39-46 Wint ’75-76

NONSENSE. See Reason

PEACE

Are we doomed? editorial. 10:2-4 Spr ’76

Economics and the Bahá’í teachings: an overview. G. C. Dahl. bibliog f 10:19-29+ Fall ’75

Present state of the world: some remarks. R. Muller. 10:7-13 Fall ’75

World peace—finding the elemental quality. editorial. 10:2 Sum ’76

PERSONALITY

Belief in nonsense. book review. H. Garey. bibliog f 10:48-60 Fall ’75

POETRY

Conversations with Americans. interview with Robert Hayden. 10:46-53 Wint ’75-76

PREJUDICE, See Racism

PROBLEM Solving. See Consultation

PROGRESSIVE Revelation

Challenge of the Bahá’í Faith. V. E. Johnson. bibliog f 10:31-41 Spr ’76

PROPHETS

John the Baptist. Letter to the editor. 10:10-11 Wint ’75-76

Prophet. poem. O. V. Applegate. 10:21 Sum ’76

PURITANISM

Religion and American identity: 1609-1776. J. H. Moorhead. bibliog f 10:28-36 Wint ’75-76; Corrections. 10:6 Spr ’76

RACE Relations

Maroon identity in Jamaica: 1655-1738. R. S. Jones. bibliog f 10:18-30 Spr ’76; Editorial comments. 10:6 Spr ’76

Melting pot or boiling cauldron: the ethnic experience in America. N. Rassekh. bibliog f 10:13-26 Wint ’75-76

RACISM

Conversations with Americans. interview with Robert Hayden. 10:46-53 Wint ’75-76

RASSEKH, Nosratollah

Melting pot or boiling cauldron: the ethnic experience in America. bibliog f 10:13-26 Wint ’75-76

REASON

Belief in nonsense. book review. H. Garey. bibliog f 10:48-60 Fall ’75

RELIGION

Conversations with Americans. interviews. il 10:39-75 Wint ’75-76

Toward critical foundations for a world culture of the arts. L. Tuman. bibliog f il 9:8-35 Sum ’75; Letter. 10:9-10 Wint ’75-76

RELIGION and Science

Belief in nonsense. book review. H. Garey. bibliog f 10:48-60 Fall ’75; Letter. 10:7-8 Spr ’76

Science and the Bahá’í Faith. N. A. Bailey. bibliog f 10:41-6 Fall ’75; Letter 10:4-5 Sum ’76

Technology and the specifically human. M. C. Rose. bibliog f 10:38-52 Sum ’76; Editorial comments. 10:4 Sum ’76

Unity of religion and science. W. S. Hatcher. bibliog f 9:22-9+ Spr ’75; Letter. 10:3-4 Fall ’75

RENAISSANCE

Concept of the nation in Islám. D. MacEoin. bibliog f 10:7-21 Sum ’76

ROBERTS, H. Armstrong

Photographs. 10:1, 12 Wint ’75-76

ROSE, Mary Carman

Technology and the specifically human. bibliog f 10:38-52 Sum ’76; Editorial comments. 10:4 Sum ’76

SABAEAN Religion

Letters to the editor. 10:2-3 Fall ’75; 10:10-11 Wint ’75-76

SABET-SHARGHI, Zabih

Work, motivation, and the nature of man. bibliog f 10:54-60 Sum ’76

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SANDPAINTING

Conversations with Americans. interview with David Villaseñor. il 10:62-8 Wint ’75-76

SCIENCE. See Religion and Science; Technology

SPIRITUALITY

Conversations with Americans. interviews. il 10:39-75 Wint ’75-76

This age of analysis. editorial. 10:1 Fall ’75

STAFFORD, William

Declaration for the new world: 1976. poem. 10:37 Wint ’75-76

STUDENT Movement

What happened to the counterculture? W. M. Heller. bibliog f il 10:11-16 Spr ’76; Editorial comments. 10:6 Spr ’76

TECHNOLOGY

Technology and the specifically human. M. C. Rose. bibliog f 10:38-52 Sum ’76; Editorial comments. 10:4 Sum ’76

TEMPLE. See House of Worship, Bahá’í

THOMPSON, Richard

Photographs. 10:1, 5 Spr ’76

THORNE, Adam

Photograph. 10:back cover Fall ’75

TOBEY, Mark

Art work. 10:38, 55 Wint ’75-76

TUMAN, Ludwig

Toward critical foundations for a world culture of the arts. bibliog f il 9:8-35 Sum ’75; Letter. 10:9-10 Wint ’75-76

UNITED Nations

Present state of the world: some remarks. R. Muller. 10:7-13 Fall ’75

UNITED States

Conversations with Americans. interviews. il 10:39-75. Wint ’75-76

Ethnic Groups

Melting pot or boiling cauldron: the ethnic experience in America. N. Rassekh. bibliog f 10:13-26 Wint ’75-76

History

Interchange. Editorial comments. 10:8 Wint ’75-76

Religion and American identity: 1609-1776. J. H. Moorhead. bibliog f 10:28-36 Wint ’75-76; Corrections. 10:6 Spr ’76

Two hundred years of imperishable hope. editorial. 10:2-6 Wint ’75-76

VILLASEÑOR, David V.

Conversations with Americans. interview. il 10:62-8 Wint ’75-76

Art work. 10:63 Wint ’75-76

WALKER, Penelope Graham

Consultation—the keystone of creative administration. bibliog f 10:23-36 Sum ’76

WOMAN

Look at antifeminist literature. G. Morrison. bibliog f il 9:40-59 Spr ’75; Editorial comments. 10:2 Fall ’75

WORK

Work, motivation, and the nature of man. Z. Sabet-Sharghi. bibliog f 10:54-60 Sum ’76

WORLD Order. See Civilization; Government. International; Peace;

WORLD WAR II, 1939-1945. See Concentration Camps

YAḤYÁ, Mírzá

Missionary as historian: William Miller and the Bahá’í Faith. book review. D. Martin. bibliog f 10:43-63 Spr ’76

YAMAMOTO, Shinji

Conversations with Americans. interview. 10:53-61 Wint ’75-76

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[Page 68]

Authors & Artists

DENIS MACEOIN is working toward a doctorate at Cambridge University, where he is concentrating on the background of the Bábí and Bahá’í religions. He holds B.A. and M.A. degrees in English language and literature from Trinity College, Dublin, and an M.A. degree in Persian and Arabic from the University of Edinburgh. He has just completed a work entitled “A Critical Survey of the Sources for Early Bábí Doctrine and History” and is completing a full-length biography of Ṭáhirih, which will be published in 1977.

MARY CARMAN ROSE is Chairman of the Department of Philosophy and professor of philosophy at Goucher College. Her doctorate is from Johns Hopkins University, her bachelor and master’s degrees from the University of Minnesota. Her interests include the philosophies of religion and science, eastern philosophy and religion, metaphysics, and aesthetics. She is a published poet, who loves gardening and pets. Her publications include Essays in Christian Philosophy and some eighty articles.

ZABIH SABET-SHARGHI is an associate professor of psychology and management and Chairman of the Department of Psychology at Saint Francis College, Fort Wayne, Indiana. He holds M.A. and Ph.D. degrees in industrial psychology and management from Case Western Reserve University and B.S. and M.A. degrees from Ṭihrán University, Írán. Dr. Sabet-Sharghi has served as consultant, workshop leader, and lecturer on the management of human resources for business and government organizations.

PENELOPE GRAHAM WALKER holds a B.A. in Russian and political science from Vassar College, where she was for two years a Matthew Vassar Scholar; an M.A. in Soviet Studies from Harvard University, where she was an NDEA Fellow; and an Ed.D. from the University of Massachusetts, where she specialized in administrative theory and organizational behavior. She has served as Director of Research and Evaluation for the New York City Head Start Program and Education Director for the Springfield, Massachusetts, Model Cities Program. She is new living and working in Kathmandu, Nepal.

OLIVE APPLEGATE, who is now retired, has been a field, factory, and office worker. She is also a mother and homemaker, who has taught Engiish in Central America. In 1969 she was Poet Laureate of Monterey Peninsula in California.

ART CREDITS: P. 1, photograph by Raymond I. Moore; p. 3, photograph by Glenford E. Mitchell; p. 6, photograph by Glenford E. Mitchell; p. 22, photograph by Joon Chung; 37. engraving, courtesy Bettmann Archive; p. 53, photograph by Raymond I. Moore; p. 61, photograph by Glenford E. Mitchell; p. 67, photograph by Raymond I. Moore; back cover, photograph by Glenford E. Mitchell.

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