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Winter ‎1982 1981‎

World Order

The Healing of the Nations

Donald F. Keys

Principles of Freedom and

Authority in American and

Bahá’í Philosophy

Paul Glist

Longing Hands

Alice Fitzgerald

Bahá’í Bhajans

William N. Garlington

Homage to Lyal Buffington

Michael S. Harper

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World Order

A BAHÁ’Í MAGAZINE • VOLUME 16, NUMBER 2 • 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

GLENFORD E. MITCHELL

Consultant in Poetry:

WILLIAM STAFFORD

WORLD ORDER is published quarterly by the National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of the United States, 415 Linden Avenue, Wilmette, IL 60091. Application to Mail at Second-class postage rates is pending at Wilmette, IL. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to WORLD ORDER, 415 Linden Avenue, Wilmette, IL 60091.

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 © 1982, National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of the United States, All Rights Reserved. Printed in the U.S.A.

ISSN 0043-8804

IN THIS ISSUE

2 In Memoriam

Editorial

6 Interchange: Letters from and to the Editor

11 The Healing of the Nations

by Donald F. Keys

18 Homage to Lyal Buffington

poem by Michael S. Harper

21 Principles of Freedom and Authority in

American and Bahá’í Philosophy

by Paul Glist

30 Longing Hands

by Alice Fitzgerald

35 Abdú’l-Faḍl Gulpáygání on Revelation and

History, translated and introduced by

Juan Ricardo Cole

43 Bahá’í Bhajans

by William N. Garlington

50 The World According to an Auschwitz Survivor

book review by Muhammad Ali Mazidi

Inside back cover: Authors and Artists in This Issue

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In Memoriam

THE SAVAGE ASSAULTS on the Bahá’ís of Iran continue. Abductions, disappearances, executions, lynchings, torture have lost their power to shock. The goal of this terror is the total destruction of the Bahá’í community and the eradication of the Faith itself.

We pay tribute to those who made the supreme sacrifice, whose courage and steadfastness in the hour of death assures the ultimate triumph of the life-giving principles of the Cause of Bahá’u’lláh.

Aḥmad Ismá’ílí

Ḍíyá’u’lláh Ḥaqíqat

Naw-Rúz-‘Aí Abarnúrí

Akhaván Kathírí

Ḥájí-Muḥammad ‘Azízí

Ḥátam Rúzbihí

Ján-‘Alí Rúzbihí

Shír-Muḥammad Píshdast

Ṣifatu’lláh Fahandizh

Mugaddas Fahandizh

Parvíz Afnání

Khusraw Afnání

Ibráhím Ma’naví

Ḥusayn Shakúrí

Bahár Vujdání

‘Alí Sattárzádih

‘Azamatu’lláh Fahandizh

Ḥabíbú’lláh Panáhí

Ghulám-Ḥusayn A’azamí

Badí’u’lláh Yazdání

‘Alí-Akbar Mu’íní

‘Alí-Akbar Khursandí

Parvíz Bayání

Mír-Asadu’lláh Mukhtárí

Ḥasan Ismá’ílzádih

Yúsuf Subḥání

Farámarz Samandarí

Yadu’lláh Ástání

‘Alí Dádásh-Akbarí

Yadu’lláh Maḥbúbíyán

Dhabíḥu’lláh Mu’miní

Núru’lláh Akhtar-Khávarí

Maḥmúd Ḥasanzádih

‘Azízu’lláh Dhabíhíyán

Firaydún Farídání

‘Abdu’l-Vahháb Káẓimí-Manshádí

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Jalál Mustaqím

‘Alí Muṭahharí

Riḍá Fírúzí

Muḥammad-Ḥusayn Má‘ṣúmí

Shikkar-Nisá Má‘ṣúmí

Bihrúz Saná’í

Manúchihr Ḥakím

Mihdí Anvarí

Hidáyatu’lláh Dihqání

Núráníyyih Yársháṭir

Yadu’lláh Vaḥdat

Sattár Khushkhú

Iḥsánu’lláh Mihdízádih

Suhráb (Muḥammad) Ḥabíbí

Ḥusayn Khándil

Ṭarázu’lláh Khuzayn

Fírúz Na‘ímí

Náṣir Vafá’í

Suhayl (Muḥammad-Baqir) Ḥabíbí

Ḥusayn Muṭlaq

Buzurg ‘Alavíyán

Háshim Farnúsh;

Farhang Mavaddat

Masíḥ Farhangí

Badí‘u’lláh Faríd

Yadu’lláh Pústchí

Varqá Tibyáníyán (Tibyání)

Kamalu’d-Dín Bakhtávar

Ni‘matu’lláh

Kátib-púr-Shahídí

Alláh-Virdí Mítháqí

Manúchihr Kháḍi’í

‘Abdu’l-‘Alí Asadyárí

Ḥusayn Asadu’lláh-Zádih

Ismá‘íl Zihtáb

Parvíz Fírúzí

Mihdí Báhirí

Ḥabíbu’lláh Taḥqíqí

Masrúr Dakhílí

Ḥusayn Rastigár-Námdár

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Ḥabíbu’lláh ‘Azízí

Bahrám ‘Aṭifí

‘Izzat ‘Aṭifí

‘Aṭá’u’lláh Rawḥání

Aḥmad Riḍvání

Gushtásb Thábit Rásikh

Zhínús Maḥmúdí

Mihdí Amín Amín

Sírús Rawshání

‘Izzatu’lláh Furúhí

Qudratu’lláh Rawḥání

Kámrán Ṣamímí

Maḥmúd Majdhúb

Jalál ‘Azízí

Kúrush Ṭalá’í

Khusraw Muhandisí

Iskandar ‘Azízí

Fatḥu’lláh Firdawsí

‘Aṭá’u’lláh Yávarí

Shivá Maḥmúdí Asadu’lláh-Zádih

Shidrukh Amír-Kiyá Baqá

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Interchange LETTERS FROM AND TO THE EDITOR

MAN’S QUEST for peace and unity forms a theme that runs through a number of the articles in our Winter issue—a theme that takes many forms and underscores the noble impulse that impels man to seek ways to break down barriers that diVide.

“The Healing of the Nations” by Donald F. Keys, president of Planetary Citizens, offers an approach to world peace, practical in that it takes human realities into account: the consciousness of human beings all over the world can be expanded from the borders of self, family, race, and nation to include all members of the human race. Though this goal is more easily stated than attained, there is reason for hope, accompanied by well-directed energy for its attainment.

Particularly touching is the review of a chronicle of life in a concentration camp by a survivor of Auschwitz, Of Blood and Hope by Samuel Pisar. That this sensitive appreciation of the travails of a Jew in Nazi Germany comes from the loving hands of a man named Muhammad Ali Mazidi is a sign that the hope of world consciousness expressed by Mr. Keys is met a vain one; differences in background and culture do not constitute permanent barriers between men and women of good will.

William N. Garlington’s “Bahá’í Bhajans” brings the will to communicate across cultural barriers down to the everyday level. While the Bahá’í Faith’s belief in the prophethood of Buddha and Krishna makes it somewhat easy to teach the Faith in India (and large numbers of Indians have become Bahá’ís), still certain teachings of the Bahá’í Faith are very different from those of Krishna and Buddha and thus require the believer to be able to accept a “reformist” view of concepts and symbols that are part of his culture. Since the early 1960s, however, Bahá’í teachers have turned to bhajans, rhythmic songs long popular among devotional sects in India, to teach precepts of the Bahá’í Faith. The Bahá’í bhajans make use of traditional motifs that have allowed them to evolve into a primary vehicle of cross-cultural communication. Hence they serve two purposes: they break down barriers between cultures, and they are excellent examples of the Bahá’í concept of the oneness of religion being put into practice.

WILLIAM STAFFORD, a well-known and much-respected poet, has become our consultant in poetry. Professor Emeritus at Lewis and Clark College in Oregon, Mr. Stafford’s poems have appeared in various literary magazines. Harper and Row has published a number of collections his poems—Traveling Through the Dark; The Rescued Year; Allegiances; Some Day, Maybe; and Stories That Could Be True: New and Collected Poems—and in fall 1982 will publish A Glass Face in the Rain. BOA Publications, in 1980, brought out a small collection of Mr. Stafford’s poems entitled Things That Happen Where There Aren’t Any People; in 1981 Copper Canyon Press published Sometimes Like a Legend. In a different vein, there is his Writing the Australian Crawl: Views on the Writer’s Vocation from the [Page 7] University of Michigan Press (1978).

In 1974 Mr. Stafford was named Poet Laureate of the State of Oregon. Other honors include a National Book Award and a Guggenheim Fellowship. In 1970-71 he served as consultant in poetry at the Library of Congress. In February of this year he was one of five recipients of the 1982 Governor’s Arts Awards, presented by the governor of Oregon and the Oregon Arts Commission. The awards nominating committee stated that Mr. Stafford “is an inspiration to all generations not only in his gift of time to others but in his visions of the present, past and future.” We are all—editors and readers—most fortunate to have Mr. Stafford with us.

To the Editor

DIALOGUE

I have always enjoyed WORLD ORDER immensely, and it is truly a breath of fresh air in the polluted atmosphere of journalism. However, in your Spring/Summer issue of 1981 an editorial oversight has unfortunately allowed some unworthy material to creep in.

In the section of interchange, Mr. Jeff Williams’ letter could at least be edited to be (more?) comprehensible.

The article “A Dialogue on the Bahá’í Faith” by Juan Ricardo Cole should have been thrown away. . . . I am sorry for such a strong statement; however, the author leaves no choice. How could a Bahá’í ascribe to Bahá’u’lláh that He “transformed Bábism from an eschatological protest movement into a religion aimed at reforming world society to accord with the new social, economic, and political realities then making their impact on the parts of the Ottoman Empire closest to Europe”?

How could he spend the valuable space in WORLD ORDER to expand and compare the opinions of obscure political activists and agitators and archenemies of the Faith? . . .

Mr. Cole knows some Persian and Arabic, and it is a pity that he chooses to present the East through the eyes of such people instead of truly worthy and accomplished thinkers and authors within and without the Faith that have dazzled the eyes of the East and West.

FIROOZ R. OSKOOI, M.D.

Peoria, Illinois

DRUG ABUSE

Abdu’l Missagh A. Ghidirian’s recent article on the dilemma of drug abuse [Spring/ Summer 1981] was most informative and thought provoking, especially the sections dealing with the interrelationship of sensory and spiritual powers. The one area, however, where I must take issue with Dr. Ghidirian is on the subject of psychedelics.

Such terms as “insane,” “morbid,” “delusion,” “unreality,” and “toxic” are very misleading and show an apparent misunderstanding of the nature of the psychedelic experience.

The motivations compelling a person to drown his sorrows in alcohol, or deaden his senses with depressants or narcotics, are far removed from the ideals which encouraged inner-space adventurers to pursue their spiritual quest with chemical assistance.

Many are those who, through the psychedelic experience, had a vision of spiritual reality, which was later validated, consolidated, expanded, explained and institutionalized by Bahá’u’lláh.

There are many paths leading to the knowledge of God, and many doors to the [Page 8] Dawning Place of His Light. Walter Stace, professor emeritus at Princeton University said of the LSD experience, “It’s not a matter of its being similar to mystical experience; it is mystical experience.” For numerous young people in the 1960s, LSD threw wide the doors of perception and allowed an ecstatic glimpse into the realm of human spirituality. Perhaps that glimpse helped them recognize the vision in its full glory —the revelation of Bahá’u’lláh.

Future social historians may unravel the intricate interrelationship between the mind- and culture-altering effects of LSD, the Nine Year Plan, the Easternization of Western minds, the postwar baby boom, and the evolution of consciousness stimulated by the unfoldment of the Divine World Order. We are learning more every day about the brain chemistry of mystical experiences. Perhaps we shall also learn more regarding the effect of the Revealed Word on brain chemistry, and how those effects relate to brain chemistry changes resulting from psychoactive agents.

For Bahá’ís, spiritual stimulation comes from turning one’s heart to Bahá’u’lláh, and not through LSD, mescaline, or peyote. The Bahá’í revelation is The Most Great Ocean, but you often must travel the river to get to the ocean. For many, the journey to the ocean would not even be undertaken if they had not first learned to float downstream.

BURL R. BARER

Walla Walla, Washington

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The Healing of the Nations

BY DONALD F. KEYS

This essay is printed by permission of Branden Press, Inc., from the forthcoming book Earth at Omega: Passage to Planetization by Donald Keys. Copyright © 1982 by Branden Press, Inc.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in the earth’s history humanity has an opportunity to become whole. The earth’s shrinkage has amounted to a geographical implosion. To all reasonable intents and purposes, space and time are no more of any consequence in the relations of the human family.

This novel situation has, of course, sharply increased psychosocial tensions and frictions among the constituent nation-states and peoples of the world, which are not yet fitted into an organic, smoothly functioning pattern. Our sharply increased awareness of each other has also seemed to have caused a great increase in the problems facing humanity. I say, “seemed,” since the problems, for the most part, have existed for some time, although their intensity has deepened greatly in recent years. We have become sensitized to problems of poverty, pollution, population, and peace on a global scale and have come to realize that solutions likewise must be planetary in scope if they are to be effective.

At the same time we are presented with opportunities that are even more significant than the problems. Buckminster Fuller states that “Humanity is going through its final examination to see if it can qualify for its universe function.” Whether it is humanity’s final examination, it is without doubt its most important in all of human history. On the one hand, human survival is at stake. On the other, so is humanity’s new role as conscious steward of evolution on this planet. Four billion years of earth’s history have brought forth a species that is not only creative, self-actualizing, and capable of compassion and empathy, but also one that is globe-girdling and globe-dominant. The immediate corollary of course is responsibility. We have become responsible for the entire earthly domain. The open question before us is, Are we wise enough to execute that responsibility?

The execution of global responsibility depends upon the grounding and demonstration of appropriate human characteristics and values. These characteristics and values are no different from those required in good relations and effective collaboration among individuals. The same are now required from our largest human collectives—the nation-states.

What are some of these values and characteristics? There is nothing new about the homely values of goodwill, caring, and sharing; of making space in which others can grow and become; of helping to create environments that maximize the expression of human potential, alleviate suffering, allow and protect individuality, take responsibility for group good, limit and then transmute aggression, curb and moderate acquisitiveness and the violent and selfish pursuit of individual desires. These are values that have been found somehow not only to be socially necessary and desirable but also intrinsic in the evolving pattern of human growth as the capacity for decentralization and for identification [Page 12] with the hopes, needs, and wishes of others develops. They are necessary for the emergence of community. They are equally necessary for the emergence of world community. There must be some minimum threshold expression of these values on a global scale before humanity can integrate as the essential subjective unity it is and successfully manage planetary affairs.

The human family has produced some very valuable “letters of intent.” Among the foremost might be mentioned the two United Nations human rights Covenants, regarded as binding treaty law, which establish planetary norms for the treatment of human beings. These are the Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and the Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights. The two Covenants are the expression in treaty form of the principles embodied in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. They establish for the first time a planetary scale of values in these areas—an unparalleled achievement.

One must quickly add and acknowledge that these Covenants are often, if not usually, still honored in the breach; that even the United States has not yet ratified them; that codification is one thing and implementation a much more difficult step. For some countries and people particular human rights seem more significant and timely than others: the West is preoccupied with civil and political rights—rights to individual freedom and liberty. The south—the Third World, is much more concerned at present with rights to food, health care, education, clothing, and housing. These differences in current emphases must be respected and acknowledged while we insist that no human right is secure in the absence of the expression of others.

We also have before us on the international agenda the dim outlines of a value pattern for a global economic system. These have been set forth in the “Declaration on a New International Economic Order” and a “Charter of Economic Rights and Duties” adopted by the United Nations. These are certainly not perfect documents, and they brought sharp opposition from the biggest industrialized countries on a few points—for example, compensation for expropriated assets. Nevertheless, we are now on the way to defining and then to implementing the economic obligations of peoples for each other.

Ecological values have been institutionalized in a new UN Environment Program agency; those concerning health, education, and welfare, in the World Health Organization, UNESCO, and the UN Development Program.

There has thus been a successful transfer to the global level of the principles of commonly held human values. I say the “principles” since these agencies are still embryonic, weak, and poorly supported. However, the value transfer in itself is not only successful but immensely significant. It represents among other things a high degree of tacit international agreement on a definition of a human being—a surprising and unplanned development.

Set against the translation of humane values to the global level must be the pursuit by many nations of goals that are incompatible with world community well-being. We must also put on the deficit side of the equation collective aberrations and shortcomings of peoples—as-nations, aberrations that have strong analogues in individual human behavior. Thus, for example, one of the main fuels of the suicidal nuclear arms race is erroneous threat perception—often based on “projection” of one’s own notions or motivations. Nations tend to accept a “worst possible case” definition of the intentions of others. This leads to actions on their part, such as deploying a new and more destructive weapons system, which result in reciprocation and confirmation by the “enemy” state or states. Thus a self-fulfilling prophecy is produced, gravely decreasing the security of all concerned. Another easily recognized psychological condition affecting the relations among states (as it also does among individuals) concerns the problem of communication. States, like individuals, tend to [Page 13] screen and to reject information at variance with that which they already have. They tend to accept information that reinforces their concepts of what is “true” and to reject contrary information as patently “untrue.” This accounts to a large extent for the tardiness with which national attitudes and policies shift and for their almost continually lagging far behind newly perceived realities.

The question arises why the largest states often appear to have the most difficult time in perceiving and accommodating to change or in directing themselves to the perceived general interest of the world community. I have speculated that one factor might simply be mass. A large mass is less mobile—in this case, in opinion formation. It may also tend to be more ego-centered and self-involved. A large state traditionally cares little about the concerns and needs of the small. It may, once it does swing into action, act overwhelmingly and immovably on the basis of filtered information, half-digested “intelligence,” and false assumptions.

In Other respects, too, states resemble individual humans. No more than individuals are states unitary or wholly integrated. Just as the human is often a “divided house” of conflicting needs, aspirations, wishes, drives, and motivations, so is a nation. Some of these divided dominions can be identified as political parties, ethnic groups, and leadership groups from various economic strata, academia, large and powerful business and labor groups, and so on. These constitute, in a sense, some of the “subpersonalities” of nations. Often national objectives and policies necessarily reflect a “lowest common denominator” resulting from the goals and desires of these constituent dominions. Sometimes a forceful and well-motivated leader can challenge these groups to their best motivational potentialities.

NATIONS differ widely in their degree of integration and self-actualization. Some are much more value-oriented planetary citizens than others. The voting records of some nations at the UN are consistently more community oriented, more expressive of responsibility and concern than others. A world community oriented scoring system that I have applied to voting at the UN General Assembly for a number of years consistently shows Australia, New Zealand, Yugoslavia, Singapore, Canada, the Nordic Group, Colombia, Venezuela, Nigeria, Ghana, and Sri Lanka among the “high” scorers.

It is interesting to observe that quite often countries maintain a forthright and community-minded international policy over a considerable time even when their internal situations contain strife and repression.

Perhaps the Scandinavian countries have an easier time than most in developing a constructive attitude toward world affairs. They have homogeneous, relatively small populations whose basic needs are met and no serious internal problems. They have developed over time a level of social concern that has now extended as a natural development to the world community as well. Sweden and Norway, for example, are among the few countries to approach or reach the UN goal for official development aid.

National personalities are very recognizable if one has the advantage of an international or non-national perspective as Planetary Citizens should. There are new, fresh nations, with idealism and growing capacities—often represented by their finest people; there are old and cynical nations with great skills, often misapplied; there are late adolescents, like the U.S. and U.S.S.R., with very different and also very difficult (and not equal) motivational and adjustment problems.

Unfortunately, very little study has been given to the psychological characteristics and [Page 14] well-being of nations as such. Political figures are not given to what they would consider irrelevancies such as psychological speculations. Psychologists and psychiatrists have largely ignored the field partly out of fear of criticism by their colleagues. Some exceptions have been Bryant Wedge with his Institute for the Study of National Behavior; Professor Jerome Frank, formerly of Johns Hopkins; Professor Herbert Kelman of Harvard University; and Professor Charles Osgood, of the University of Illinois at Urbana. One very valuable study that should be mentioned, though published in 1964, is Psychiatric Aspects of the Prevention of Nuclear War formulated by the Committee on Social Issues of the Group for the Advancement of Psychiatry.

It is unfortunate that there has been so little work done, since a clear understanding of the psychological states and stages of nations-as-entities can be crucial to understanding behavior and to initiating successful conflict-resolution measures. Serious personality, motivational, and perception differences between or among nations today can mean the expunging of the human race and the end of the human experiment on earth. I earnestly hope for the development of a new psychology of groups and collectives—most particularly of nation-states. As the concept of world community continues to develop, there is bound to be a growing recognition of the personality characteristics and problems of the primary actors in that community —the nation-states.

In regard to Western industrialized countries in particular, are there any indications of a hopeful nature suggesting a maturing of values and attitudes toward the rest of the community of which they are a part?

There is one particular and quite new indication I should like to note. A trend away from consumerism, acquisition, and satisfaction of material fancies at all costs has become sufficiently apparent in the United States to have been the subject of an important study by Stanford Research Institute, a study directed to United States businessmen. Duane Elgin and Arnold Mitchell have termed the trend “Voluntary Simplicity.” They define the core values of voluntary simplicity as material simplicity; human scale; self-determination; ecological awareness; and personal growth. The authors find a significant proportion of the American population, as well as that of some other Western countries, is beginning to opt for voluntary simplicity rather than for what some feel is an endless and mindless pursuit of material ends.

A 1977 Harris Survey supports this contention, showing that “The American people have begun to show a deep skepticism about the nation’s capacity for unlimited economic growth, and they are wary of the benefits that growth is supposed to bring. Significant majorities place a higher priority on improving human and social relationships and the quality of American life than on simply raising the standard of living. . . . The majority views suggest . . . that a quiet revolution may be taking place in our national values and aspirations. Some of these attitudes reflect the energy crunch and the realization that the supply of raw materials is not boundless; others are a legacy of all those ideas that young people pressed for in the 1960’s that have now begun to take root in the 1970’s.”

A trend toward voluntary simplicity has many implications, especially in terms of maturity and in terms of a deeper emphasis on inner growth. Elgin found a close correlation between interest in the new psychologies and the practice of some form of meditation and an opting for voluntary simplicity. For our purposes such a trend within Western industrialized nations can become part of a significant accommodation between the wealthy, northern “have” states, and the [Page 15] “have not” southern countries. Such a value trend can smooth the way to new accommodations and understandings between these two groups. Thus we are privileged to witness important and significant value formation in process.

Nor is participation in the world community ultimately antithetical to, for example, United States traditions or concerns. The U.S. concern and penchant for effective management is quite naturally going to thrust it into the forefront of efforts at satisfactory and cooperative planetary management. A national acceptance of consensual and democratic decision making could allow the U.S. to take leadership in the introduction of these approaches in international forums.

Other international personalities are more intractible and difficult, holding pet solutions for world problems in simplistic and outmoded ideological terms, while they hold their populations to regimes of sharply limited self-expression and, in a sense, to “enforced simplicity.” However, if the world will persevere in a move toward cooperative and constructive directions, hold-out nations will have little choice but to fall back on “me-too-ism.” This has, in fact, frequently occurred in UN forums, even where their initial opposition was adamant.

One must say, however, that in general world political leaders have tended to tramp on and exacerbate the raw nerves of the psychoses that nations suffer, an approach that has certainly not been found useful in treatment of individuals. They tend to respond in kind or to react in righteous indignation to the provocations of others rather than to seek the avenues that will allay suspicions, fears, and doubts and allow for the possibility of changes in attitude in morose nations-personalities. In this respect, we await our clinicians of nations.

THE UNITED NATIONS itself is a fascinating and very promising psychosocial arena. The major powers are, of course, a little disenchanted with the UN at present. This is primarily because the tight control that some of them used to exercise over the UN is no longer available to them now that the UN has become a universal instrument, and big and small nations must now compete on more equal terms for the exercise of nation-state policies. However, the intensity and continuous nature of communication at the UN provides multiple opportunities for dealing with the difficulties of interpersonal national relationships. To speak anecdotally, I have on more than one occasion been witness to skilled therapeutic handling of interpersonal problems and national policy questions by UN diplomats and secretariat people dealing with the suspicions, fears, and unreasonable doubts of diplomats from “closed-in” countries. I can say quite definitely that in many cases nations do tend to choose UN representatives who epitomize personally the condensed and specific psychological sets, difficulties, and cultural qualities of the countries they represent.

There are, of course, many levels to UN proceedings. There is the level of official government policy. There is a level of personal concerns and integrity that sometimes enters in; and then, too, “national” and “personal” are not always the same. There are the unstated policies of the UN secretariat, which as a neuter civil servant, is expected to have none. In fact, however, the UN secretariat is a reservoir of both skills and vision and can often succeed in placing before nations the next steps needed for the common good of the world community.

There are further levels. There is a level born of the simple and concrete fact that elements from all parts of humanity are gathered there in one spot: a kind of sensitive switchboard to all of humanity—unique in history, unique in human experience. Approaching universality at present with 131 member states, the UN is one of the few locations on earth where some synthetic feeling of what humanity itself is can be grasped, felt, sensed, and experienced. I should like [Page 16] to assure you that quite apart from the conflicts and problems of nations, this is an unique and elevating experience. Willy-nilly deeper levels of experience and meaning emerge at the United Nations because of this fact. The unexpected impact is often remarked upon by short-term delegates or by visitors. Some major personal reformations in attitude have been accomplished by exposure to this unique total-human environment. As is so often the case, that which appears threatening is that which has not been experienced. When one comes to know first hand the aspirations and goals of others, the unknown loses its fear.

The UN provides a unique setting in which it is possible to step outside of any particular national framework and to view the world pattern with a new and detached perspective. The pragmatic, practical idealism of many members of delegations, of unsung civil servants of the secretariat, and of nongovernmental groups (“NGO’s”) close to the UN that have achieved this perspective constitutes a considerable “natural resource” upon which the world is only beginning to draw. There exists in and around the UN an informal but tangible network of such people that Planetary Citizens has dubbed a “humanity underground” concerned with the good of the world community. They represent a group of “honest brokers” in the harmonization of competing or conflicting national goals and hold a clearer vision of world community needs than is available to persons bound by partisan national views.

The world public has yet to take the measure of the two secretaries-general, Dag Hammarskjold and U Thant, who personified this role and this view, and who, incidentally, were making concerted personal efforts at inner growth. U Thant was little known or appreciated by Westerners; his memoirs View from the UN give some profound insights but are not as revealing of his intense inner life as was Dag Hammarskjold’s spiritual diary Markings. Another reflective element has been added in recent years to the UN by Sri Chinmoy, who heads the UN Meditation Group, meeting twice weekly with the participation of secretariat members, delegates, and NGO’s.

Thus the character of the UN may be quite different from newspaper accounts of the political confrontations, which remain, of course, a consistent feature of its proceedings. The UN is gaining in centrality and importance even while it is being decried, because it represents an historical imperative. A planetary center has become essential to the conduct of human affairs. In the UN a planetary core has been established, a point for focusing human synthesis. A new awareness is emerging in the world; and humanity itself, like Rip Van Winkle, is waking up, collectively to take charge of its own affairs and of spaceship earth—and none too soon.

Mankind’s consciousness now must stretch to a new level; our inclusiveness and identification must now include the entire human community—the fellow beings of our species —and that species must share an appreciation and reverence for all planetary life, if indeed it wishes to survive and persist on this planet.

The nations of mankind are approaching a new threshold beyond which they will be integrated as components of a new and self-aware organism—global humanity. A virtual Copernican revolution in awareness confronts us, with the opportunity and the necessity for redefining our relations with each other within the species; for defining for the first time (because it is only now historically possible) the relation of the unit to the entirety; for redefining our relations with the planet, and, in a sense, with the cosmos.

Such redefinitions, or their lack, are bound to have significant impact on the state of the mental health and well-being of nations and individuals. In the same sense that in the past, family, tribe, community, state, and nation have represented new aspects of ourselves that required new identifications, and incorporation into our mental and feeling world, now another step is required. The borders of the nation-state as the ultimate [Page 17] and final boundary of identification, of “self” and repository of loyalty are becoming less sharp now, and a sense of loss, frustration, and confusion will ensue for the person who does not take the step to the final planetary loyalty and identification. There can be no more an “out group” of the human family if survival is to be assured. We must enlarge our capacities for acceptance to include all peoples.

Thus it seems quite clear that human health and wholeness will depend henceforth, in addition to other factors, in crossing this new threshold to planetary awareness. We might even say that in a very real sense humankind, facing the crisis of becoming whole, faces the possibility of being healed.

[Page 18]

Homage to Lyal Buffington

A week’s gone since the memorial,

taps played, the American

flag presented to your stablemate

knobby-nosed wife twiddling liverspotted fingers;

details of your passing,

birthdate, farm, resort cowering

in tales from six children at death hour:

a well-oiled, primed motor goes dead;

a mink ascends from weeds to dock

where a fishing pole lingers;

thud of grandson’s softball

bat ripping seams, a sodden ball.

I look to the single heron

squawking in eastward flight

at first utterance of your name

calling sun from darkness,

light, shade, raindrops

shake from sky over family;

your maple shading

the pastor’s table begins to fade:

necessity of blossom passing

to single apple in your solitary

tree; unpicked to fight amidst cedars,

the fruit will fall

to swirling coverings of oak leaves.

[Page 19]

Though your brother asks for your picture,

your mother’s mementos spartle child images

to the obit column in St. James;

six children hover in this interface

parceling things for departure;

your wife asks for nothing.

In a dream a year from now,

your accounts held

to state and government,

your renegade homestead

contracts in wallet-thin folds

of a dress shirt she will wear;

the anatomy department has sent

your urned ashes in forced march

to Fort Snelling’s opened furrow;

But I will ponder heart centered

real organ of perception

attacked and flushed in explosion

as you bled over broken teeth,

your nose phalanged into breathlessness,

the meaning of this conscious act

bypassed in love of knowledge,

unflagged blossom dying into fruit,

your single apple sweetened

in your mate’s hand,

her heart eternalized in your name.

for Ruth

—Michael S. Harper

© Michael S. Harper

[Page 20]

[Page 21]

Principles of Freedom and Authority in American and Bahá’í Philosophy

BY PAUL GLIST

Copyright © 1982 by Paul Glist

A POLITICAL and philosophical idiom that many recognize as somehow “orthodox” in American culture has recently been revitalized. Promises to free industry of government regulation and to keep the government out of the lives of the average American are rooted in beliefs about individual freedom and political authority which Americans have treated as verities for centuries and from which they have been told the government has departed. In fact, these beliefs have animated most of American culture, regardless of party, since the eighteenth century. One can gain a better understanding of the problems and prospects of these beliefs by examining their nature and origins and by comparing the supposed axiom of American culture with the philosophical bases of Bahá’í teachings.

The fundamental American charters, the Declaration of Independence (1776) and the Constitution (1787), codify some of American thinking about freedom, natural rights, and the role of government. But one must look behind the charters for unspoken premises—to John Locke’s seventeenth-century writings, which Jefferson was accused of plagiarizing, and to eighteenth-century liberal theory, to which James Madison openly subscribed. There one finds the foundations of the theories of society, property, government, and economics that most Americans still accept as true.

For Locke, society was based not on groups but on individuals. Pre-Lockean feudal theory viewed society as a divinely ordained, corporate chain of being, with all members born to inherited status, all authority vested in church and aristocracy, and all social order based on hierarchy and groups. Not so for Locke. Writing on the eve of England’s Revolution of 1688, he posited a “natural” world in which all people are born perfectly free of class, guild, and church—“empty cabinet[s]” to be invested with such prejudices and authority as society might teach and “equal one amongst another without subordination or subjection.” From this celebrated “State of Nature” he deduced principles of equality, freedom, property, and statesmanship that Americans still accept today.

From natural equality Locke deduced that deference—whether slave to master or commoner to gentleman—is unnatural because “[t]he natural liberty of man is to be free from any superior power on earth, and not to be under the will or . . . authority of man, but to have only the law of nature for his rule.” The same refrain characterizes sermons and letters of the revolutionary period, and the Constitution, in order to preserve equality, even forbids the government from “grant[ing] any title of nobility.”

Man’s natural state, argued Locke, is a state in which all people have one equal right—the right to be left alone. It is “a state of perfect freedom to order their actions [Page 22] . . . without asking leave or depending upon the will of any other man.” Within the State of Nature each may distinguish himself from his equals, not by rank, not by inheritance, but by the “empire” of property he accumulates. Locke institutionalized the right to property: “[a]s much as any one can make use of to any advantage of life before it spoils, so much he may by his labor fix a property in.” Accumulation of property distinguishes the individual, and property forms the bedrock of American thinking about the proper role of government. Men, Locke argued, volunteer to join in civil society for one end alone: “the preservation of property” from the constant threat that each man’s estate will be invaded by his equals. Government is a limited surrender of that private natural right, a “necessary evil,” as Thomas Paine described it in Common Sense, published in 1776. Legitimate government is intrinsically limited by its theoretical mandate: to protect each individual’s natural right of property. If government exceeds its mandate, it has breached its trust and has become for all intents and purposes a despot.

Europeans may recognize the Lockean State of Nature to be no more than an hypothesis from which to derive an individual right to be free of unchecked tyranny. But to American colonists it was more than an analogy. The colonists could argue that, in fact, the trackless American wilderness was a state of nature and that (British) civil government was only a limited entrustment of authority to secure their natural rights against nature’s uncivil forces. Benjamin Franklin explained that “the colonies were planted . . . at the expense of private adventurers, who . . . voluntarily engaged to remain the King’s subjects, though in a foreign country; a country which had not been conquered by either King or Parliament, but was possessed by a free people.” James Otis reiterated Lockean theory in defense of the rights of the British Colonies:

Nature has placed all [men] in a state of equality and perfect freedom, to act within the bounds of the laws of nature and reason, without consulting the will or regarding the humor, the passions or whims of any other man, unless they are formed into a society or body politic. . . . By being or becoming members of society, they have not renounced their natural liberty in any greater degree than other good citizens, and if this be taken from them without their consent, they are so far enslaved.

Thus in the Declaration of Independence Thomas Jefferson announced as “self-evident” that “Governments are instituted among men” to secure natural rights, and “deriv[e] their just powers from the consent of the governed.”

The premise of American political society is, in short, the peaceable individual accumulation of property. But Americans have inherited corollary economic premises from eighteenth-century English liberalism, the movement that challenged inherited privilege with Lockean arguments of individual rights and limited government. Liberal economics begins with the premise that men are endowed with “the desire of bettering . . . [their] condition, a desire which . . . comes with . . . [them] from the womb, and never leaves . . . [them] till . . . [they] go into the grave.” The principal theorist of [Page 23] the free market, Adam Smith, perhaps did the most to legitimize ambition by turning the right to accumulate wealth into a duty. In both his Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759) and The Wealth of Nations (1776) he redefined virtue so that the much-vaunted aristocrats of the ancien régime were censured as indolent, “prodigal . . . public enem[ies],” and each member of the nascent middle class became a “public benefactor” through his desire of bettering his condition. Self-interested industriousness, argued Smith, tends to maximize the public good by creating national wealth. “[E]very individual necessarily labors . . . intend[ing] only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention.” Such faith was so invested in laissez-faire liberal economics that Paine, the revolutionary who spurred the colonists to revolution, later wrote that commerce alone would unite the world in peace “by rendering nations, as well as individuals, useful to each other.”

Such sanctification of individual ambition and the theory that government serves to referee opposing self-interests was so accepted by the founders of the American republic that it was institutionalized in the Constitution in the form of the separation of powers and of federalism. The check of one legislative house upon the other, the veto by the executive over the legislature, and the review by the judiciary over the other branches of government are some of the constitutional counterchecks designed “to oblige . . . [government] to control itself.” Constitutional draftsmen invested separate powers in several national departments because “[a]mbition must be made to counteract ambition.” Similarly, Madison, a principal architect of the Constitution, argued that a large federal union, with its parallel state and national governments, would serve to minimize the influence of competing social factions. Madison explained that the principal divisions in society had developed around the unequal distribution of property. He contended that those economic “causes of faction cannot be removed” and that it was “vain to say that enlightened statesmen will be able to adjust these clashing interests, and render them subservient to the public good.” Accordingly, he designed the Constitution to check the consequences of faction and to minimize the risk that any one faction could victimize the rest. By dividing power among state governments and an extensive national government representing the myriad interests of competing factions from all corners of the union, one made it less likely that a majority of self-interested factions would find a “common motive to invade the rights of others” or to act in unison at the expense of others. In short, the American constitutional structure limits government to a single function: containing the conflict of self-interested factions so that the right of property will be preserved and commercial peace protected.

The founders were not naive. They realized that one force that could disrupt their careful architecture was what they called the “zeal” of religion. Many were willing to subscribe to a belief in a Creator Who endowed men with the rights of life, liberty, and property and Who set the world in motion under natural laws. But they were not [Page 24] willing to endorse the religious “fanaticism” that had brought so many centuries of war to European society. They looked for ways to minimize the influence of religion on government. As Adam Smith explained: “The interested and active zeal of religious teachers can be . . . altogether innocent where the society is divided into two or three hundred, or perhaps as many as a thousand small sects, of which no one could be considerable enough to disturb the public tranquillity. . . . The teachers of each little sect, finding themselves almost alone, would be obliged to respect those of almost every other sect. . . .” To ensure that religious zeal is divided and checked, like factions, and to ensure that religious passion cannot corrupt limited government, the American constitutional structure codifies the twin doctrines of toleration and the separation of church from state. The First Amendment’s proscription on legislative action that would either impair the free exercise of any religion or effect the establishment of any one as a state religion is designed to protect American society from religious passion interfering with stable commercial peace. Legitimate government is to be purged of religious zeal.

AS with American political orthodoxy, equality and individualism are integral components of the Bahá’í teachings. Just as American political theory frees merchants from deference to nobles, Bahá’u’lláh, the Prophet-Founder of the Bahá’í Faith, asserts that “We created you all from the same dust” in order that “no one should exalt himself over the other.” Each is endowed equally with the capacity to distinguish himself, not by birth, but by his own efforts: “Success or failure, gain or loss, must, therefore, depend upon man’s own exertions. The more he striveth, the greater will be his progress.” Enterprise is incumbent on all, and engaging “in some one occupation, such as arts, trades, and the like. . . . [is] made . . . identical with the worship of God. . . .”

But the fundamental philosophical bases of Bahá’í teachings on freedom and authority stand in stark contrast to traditional American assumptions. In the Bahá’í writings one’s progress is neither based on nor measured by his capacity to accumulate property. American theory—whether “liberal” or “conservative” by today’s standards—is based on the capacity of men to transform material resources into private wealth. Bahá’í thinking is quite the opposite. It recognizes that material advances, in wealth, science, and technology, are necessary for social progress. But Bahá’í teachings emphasize the development of the innate soul that distinguishes men from the rest of creation.

The innate soul, Bahá’u’lláh has written, reflects divine attributes, which glimmer like the sun in a rough mirror; or it is like a lamp hidden beneath the bushel of material creation. The soul sustains and animates human existence with a radiance that may be masked by mundane impediments. Because of this soul each human being is set apart from the “natural” order of animals. “Man is in the highest degree of materiality, and at the beginning of spirituality; . . . [he] is the end of the night and the beginning of day. . . .” One’s inner burden is to struggle with his dual nature and to nurture the “beginning of spirituality” toward daybreak. “[T]he aim of an educator,” writes ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, the appointed successor of Bahá’u’lláh, [Page 25] “is to so train human souls, that their angelic aspect may overcome their animal side.”

The soul is conspicuously absent from the American theory of freedom, based as it is on the natural right to prosper and on the collective protection of that right from the assaults of acquisitive neighbors. But as ‘Abdu’l-Bahá explains, it is that material nature that impedes true freedom. Freedom is instead man’s choice to draw away from his base “natural” instincts, cultivate his spirit, and draw closer to God. Freedom is realized, Bahá’u’lláh writes, through a deliberate act of will: “All that which ye potentially possess can, however, be manifested only as a result of your own volition.” It is in one’s effort to cleanse his soul of mundane dross that he will find true freedom.

He hath entrusted every created thing with a sign of His knowledge. . . . This sign is the mirror of His beauty in the world of creation. The greater the effort exerted for the refinement of this sublime and noble mirror, the more faithfully will it be made to reflect the glory of the names and attributes of God. . . .

It is not by preserving a “natural” state but by conquering the laws of nature that one is free because the state of nature is not a source of freedom but of captivity. “Consider,” writes ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, “according to the law of nature man liveth, moveth and hath his being on earth, yet his soul and mind interfere with the laws thereof, and, even as the bird he flieth in the air. . . . Verily this is a grievous defeat inflicted upon the laws of nature.” Freedom is measured not in terms of how little of his natural “rights” an individual must surrender, but in how far he may use his spiritual power to subordinate the world of nature, “to soar above the world of matter and to make it his servant. . . . God has bestowed such wonderful power upon him that he might ever look upward, and receive, among other gifts, healing from His divine Bounty.” It is not by protecting his “empires” or pursuing his ambitions that man is free but by humbly nurturing his soul, which is “the first among all created things to declare the excellence of its Creator . . . and to bow down in adoration before Him.” “True liberty,” writes Bahá’u’lláh, “consisteth in man’s submission unto My commandments, little as ye know it. Were men to observe that which We have sent down unto them from the Heaven of Revelation, they would, of a certainty, attain unto perfect liberty.”

Ambition, self-interest, and the desire to better one’s material condition are not the cornerstones of true freedom. Bahá’í teachings recognize that the world’s riches may be rightly enjoyed and that attainment of wealth, earned in service to mankind, can itself be a moral achievement. But ‘Abdu’l-Bahá notes “how wretched and contemptible [is a man], if he shuts his eyes to the welfare of society and wastes his precious life pursuing his own selfish interests and personal advantages.” Such men “have imagined that their greatness consists in the accumulation, by whatever means may offer, of worldly goods.” Man’s honor lies not in the accumulation of wealth but in his detachment from it, in his ability to treat possessions as means to facilitate spiritual progress, and not as absorbing ends in themselves. An attachment to wealth for its own sake can frustrate one’s efforts to cultivate [Page 26] his spiritual gifts. “Thou thinkest thyself rich in its possession, and I recognize thy wealth in thy sanctity therefrom,” writes Bahá’u’lláh.

Just as the Bahá’í concept of freedom emphasizes spiritual effort rather than material license, so the Bahá’í administrative order contemplates a radically different form of civil authority than does American orthodoxy. American theory considers the state to be a public trust: its authority is limited to that which is surrendered by the individual, and its purpose is essentially to referee the competition of those individuals as they pursue their self-intetest. Authority and legitimacy flow, as it were, from the bottom up, since social organization is based on the natural rights of individuals.

Bahá’í administration reverses this. The institutions of government are divinely ordained, “sent down” as “the ordinances of God.” Unlike the Messengers of the past, Bahá’u’lláh has not merely enunciated certain universal principles, but designed in detailed writings the institutions of spiritual and secular authority. As Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian of the Bahá’í Faith, wrote,

Bahá’u’lláh. . . . as well as ‘Abdu’l-Bahá after Him, has, unlike the Dispensations of the past, clearly and specifically . . . established definite institutions, and provided for the essentials of a Divine Economy. . . . destined to be a pattern for future society. . . .

The structure of popularly elected local governing assemblies, which elect national assemblies, which in turn elect the members of the international House of Justice, suggests a purely democratic government installed at the pleasure of the electorate. But although the members of Bahá’í institutions are regularly elected, the authority of these institutions comes from God. Authority is derived not so much from the act of election as from a revealed administrative structure in which the elected may be confirmed with divine authority. Authority and legitimacy flow ultimately from the top down.

Moreover, the Bahá’í institutions have been established for a purpose. They do not serve as passive referees to police the material lives of individuals. They are institutions designed to aid mankind in building a world order conducive to “True liberty”—that is, the cultivation of man’s spiritual nature. God’s purpose in revealing these institutions, as in revealing Himself, “is to lay bare those gems that lie hidden within the mine of their true and inmost selves.” Far from assuming, as did Madison, that the causes of faction cannot be remedied and that competing self-interests must be institutionalized, the Bahá’í administrative order mandates that self-interest be checked. The day-to-day business of government should not be to contain the conflict of competing factions but to seek the truth. “Parliamentary procedure should have for its object the attainment of the light of truth upon questions presented and not furnish a battleground for opposition and self-opinion. Antagonism and contradiction are unfortunate and always destructive to truth.” Bahá’í administrative institutions are based not on the belief in immutable conflict but on consultation: “spiritual conference in the attitude and atmosphere of love. . . . and fellowship. . . .”

Since the purpose of government is ultimately spiritual, the separation of religion from public life is out of the question. Indeed, Shoghi Effendi warns that without the animation of its integral spiritual principles, the Bahá’í administrative order would be “mutilated” and could not survive.

[Page 27] While American orthodoxy seeks to preserve commercial peace by minimizing the power of religion and dissociating it from government, Bahá’ís believe even the most perfect material polity would, without spirit, be moribund.

Material civilization is like the body. No matter how infinitely graceful, elegant and beautiful it may be, it is dead. Divine civilization is like the spirit, and the body gets its life from the spirit, otherwise it becomes a corpse. . . . Without the spirit the world of mankind is lifeless. . . .

Just as the individual soul glimmers through material creation to make men human, so a spiritual purpose must animate the institutions of civilization. “Material civilization is like a lamp-glass. Divine civilization is the lamp itself and the glass without the light is dark.” Material civilization can be illuminated, and our spiritual potential fulfilled, by employing divinely ordained administrative institutions. The state will be invested with spiritual purpose not by “establishing” and imposing a state religion, but after a gradually transformed society turns to divine institutions for governance.

These contrasts between American and Bahá’í theories of freedom and authority, when drawn in bold relief, might appear irreconcilable. But their reconciliation lies in America’s origins and promise.

The acquisitive, materialistic political theory that still animates American political orthodoxy is in origin a revolutionary ethic. The seventeenth- and eighteenth-century theories shaping American charter documents were designed to wrest legitimacy from the old order of aristocrats and cloak the nascent middle class with “natural law.” That theory included a radical ethic: the “natural law” of the new middle class erased the inherited stigmas of class, church, and guild by institutionalizing ambition as the central dynamo of economics, as an act of patriotism, and as more “natural” than the deference of commoner to lord. The ethical core of this “natural law” was a radical attack on the indolence and luxury of the aristocrats to whom the old regime had granted unearned privilege. At its political core it attacked the unchecked political power held by the class that had theretofore controlled the state in its own interest. Liberal theory makes the individual, self-made property holder the center of legitimacy who merely lends power to a minimalist state. If the state overreaches its trust and victimizes the interests of the common men, they may call the loan, overthrow the government, and replace it with an order that will respect their inherent rights.

It is precisely this theory that has been adopted time and time again to legitimize revolution by the middle class. For example, Locke wrote, in 1688, to justify such a revolution in England, explicitly calling for the overthrow of “all princes and rulers” left unchecked by a social compact. Eighteenth-century English liberals invoked the theory to seize the franchise for the middle class. Paine pursued the theory to spur the American colonists to revolution against England, just as he later supported the French revolution against the ancien régime. This is the theory codified in the Declaration of Independence’s charge that the British government had become despotic and that whenever any form of government became destructive of men’s inalienable rights, “it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government.”

It is somewhat surprising that a theory designed to subvert the European feudal order had such currency in a nation with no feudal tradition against which to revolt. Indeed, by the eighteenth century the American colonies suffered only a few European “feudal” vestiges, such as primogeniture, quitrents, and in some places an established Anglican church. Moreover, American colonists [Page 28] were preaching, by and large, to the already converted. Most Englishmen involved in the imperial struggle of the eighteenth century themselves accepted Locke. This political theory was enlisted by Americans not so much to install middle-class control of state as to legitimize colonial demands for limitations on Parliamentary control (and taxation) of the colonies. But with its enlistment came an idiom of “natural” freedom and a minimalist state that is still current today.

From the vantage of a complacent America two centuries later, such principles have been so long assumed as to be unquestioned. Those who espouse the “conservative” American orthodoxy frequently are unaware that the economic and political theories they hold self-evident are the direct descendants of a revolutionary philosophy designed to legitimize the vesting of power in the middle class during the middle-class revolutions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As Gunnar Myrdal has observed, “America is . . . conservative. . . . But the principles conserved are liberal and some, indeed, are radical.” Without disparaging the invaluable contributions that liberal political theory has made—toward the equality of men, toward the redistribution of wealth, toward representative government, and toward religious toleration—one should recognize that its job is done. If, in returning to “conservatism,” Americans sanctify these principles as immutable, rather than recognizing them as the tools of a revolution that has long since been perfected, they will be unprepared for the far more fundamental revolution in ethics and political administration needed today.

Today’s individuals can employ transnational enterprises and instant communications to bypass the representative institutions and federalism that the framers of the American Constitution hoped would check invidious designs. Today’s self-interested few can harness such vast wealth and power at the expense of so many that a conflict of competing ambitions can reduce entire nations to ruin. Governments that continue to enshrine individual self-interest, in the name of orthodoxy, do so at their common peril.

One can make a start toward separating current American political orthodoxy from American destiny by looking back beyond American charter documents and their theories to an earlier era before the revolutionary ambitions of the colonists changed their philosophy. The hopes and prayers of the early European settlers of North America in the seventeenth century shaped the American character at least as much as the latter-day revolutionaries. These settlers anticipated that America, when invested with the spirit of worship, would serve as the cradle of a divine civilization:

We must delight in each other, make others’ conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together: always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, our community as members of the same body. So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace, the Lord will be our God and delight to dwell among us, as His own people and will command a blessing upon us in all our ways, so that we shall see much more of His wisdom, power, goodness, and truth than formerly we have been acquainted with. . . . He shall make us a praise and glory, that men shall say of succeeding plantations: “The Lord make it like that of New England.” For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill, the eyes of all people are upon us.

These hopes and prayers that America has a special mission in inaugurating a new [Page 29] world order are, in every way, shared by Bahá’í teachings that America has a glorious destiny to “lay the corner-stone of a universal and enduring peace, proclaim the solidarity, the unity, and maturity of mankind, and assist in the establishment of the promised reign of righteousness on earth.” By understanding the roots of the prevailing American belief one can appreciate its enormous contributions to the cause of human emancipation and progress and yet see the way in which this nation can fulfill its seventeenth-century dreams. On those dreams rest America’s foundation and its future, as ‘Abdu’l-Bahá confirms in His prayer for America:

O God! . . . Confirm this revered nation to upraise the standard of the oneness of humanity, to promulgate the Most Great Peace, to become thereby most glorious and praiseworthy among all the nations of the world. O God! This American nation is worthy of Thy favors and is deserving of Thy mercy. Make it precious and near to Thee through Thy bounty and bestowal.

[Page 30]

Longing Hands

BY ALICE F ITZGERALD

Copyright © 1982 by Alice Fitzgerald

ALL AROUND ME, everywhere I look, there are hands reaching, hands stretching out, trying to grasp at something . . . but it isn’t here.

Sometimes the hands are thin, bony, gnarled with lifetimes of work and poverty and loss. Those hands belong to people who have never had much. But some of the hands are well kept and polished. They wear rings, and sliding up their arms are watches and bangles. Their skin is firm. Their nails are manicured. These hands are clean and have been protected from hardness. And they are reaching, stretching, trying to grasp at something. And it isn’t there.

All around me, everywhere I turn, there are sounds calling. I can hear them now: the rush of wind; an airplane; rain. And sirens. There are sounds blasting me with promises: Buy something; try something; live the exciting life. Go somewhere; be someone. Wear this kind of cloth, this kind of hairstyle; say this kind of word, this trendy word, this cool-man word, this word of science, of wine, of money in the bank.

Think this kind of thought; think no kind of thought; you think too much; don’t ask questions; everyone is like this; be like this; think like this.

Love. That’s the answer, they tell me. The answer is love, a lover. But love is only for those people who dress like this, who look like this, who buy the right things in the right places. Love and lovers know everything, they tell me. Love and lovers are thin and wear the right clothes. Lovers are seen in the right places. They use the right words. They don’t have to think any more; they have everything.

They drink out of cans and borrow money and buy the rest on credit cards. And they are so happy. They never get old. They are always about to get married—especially if they drive the right cars. Lovers never get a toothache. They are always holding hands and swinging in slow motion to the music of this week’s hit parade, on a beach where nobody else goes.

And they live only for each other: providing they keep drinking the right drinks, and don’t have children.

But all those hands stretching out . . . there’s something funny, something not quite right. Those hands, most of them, they drank the right drinks; they dried themselves with the right towels; they are reaching out from the right cars that have wheels with the right tires on them. All those hands stretching out have credit cards in their hip pockets. They have been to Rome, Paris, London.

[Page 31] It wasn’t there.

It wasn’t even on the empty beaches.

They are stretching, reaching. It wasn’t even there when they were lovers. Their lovers failed them. Someone got angry. One of the beautiful, slim, odorless, colorless lovers got out of bed one day and said: Don’t lay that trip on me. I can’t make you happy. I can’t even make me happy.

There was no spray-can solution; no instant, press-button, dehydrated, fast frozen, take-away answer.

There were children somewhere. The children wanted to know. And there were old people, and older people, and they wanted to know. And some of the lovers in their beautiful clothes from the shop in the right part of town, even some of them wanted to know.

The kids were saying: Why is it like this? It isn’t fair. I want to think. It isn’t fair.

And the old people were saying: We didn’t know. We would have told you, but we didn’t know. We forgot to think; we forgot to be children.

And some of the lovers were saying: This doesn’t make me happy. I want answers. You don’t make me happy. I didn’t ask any questions. I did the right things. Why does it hurt? Why is it turning out like this?

And instant, press-button, clean, starched remarriages were made in the same toothpaste smile. It all smells right. Why aren’t we happy? We followed their formula. We made ourselves in their television image. Don’t lay that trip on me; I can’t make you happy.

So they tried politics, of course, and protest songs, and joined the movement that gave the answer to this little bit of what-was-wrong. And that went wrong. And they found themselves fighting. With each other. They said: But my side has the answer, and your side is wrong. Both sides said that.

The children were crying; and they were dirty. They were saying: It isn’t fair. We have to get dirty to grow. We have to look everywhere to find out. Why don’t you tell us? It isn’t fair.

The teachers knew the answers, of course. The teachers said: Sit up; sit down; don’t make noise; speak the words we teach you. Don’t think. Do as you’re told.

And the kids said: It isn‘t fair. We want to learn something.

And the university professors said: Science and gobbledygook. The more difficult it is to understand, the better it is for you. Truth is not simple. Truth is only for the elect, who have been initiated into our [Page 32] secret society that keeps truth hidden in words you don’t understand. Be good, and go back to sleep.

So they tried the churches. There wasn’t much left, was there? And the churches said: Resound to our voice; this church and no other. The answer is the way we tell it. If you read this book, you must remember to read it only the way we see it. Truth lies in a secret interpretation of a special word that means something that it doesn’t seem to mean. If you will understand the understandable according to our, only-one-and-no-other, interpretation, you will be unhappy, and that will make you happy. Amen.

And then, one day, someone said: Listen to this voice. And the voice said:

O SON OF SPIRIT!

I created thee rich, why dost thou bring thyself down to poverty? Noble I made thee, wherewith dost thou abase thyself? Out of the essence of knowledge I gave thee being, why seekest thou enlightenment from anyone beside Me? Out of the clay of love I moulded thee, how dost thou busy thyself with another? Turn thy sight unto thyself, that thou mayest find Me standing within thee, mighty, powerful and self-subsisting.

What could it mean?

Could it mean that the truth, the answers, the happiness are here? inside me? inside you?

The voice said:

O SON OF BEING!

Love Me, that I may love thee. If thou lovest Me not, My love can in no wise reach thee. Know this, O servant.

Could it mean that there IS God? Could it mean that somewhere there is truth, and if we look to ourselves and use the love that was given, we’ll find an answer?

Is this another trick? Is this another one of those spray-can, my-way . . . no. It said to look to myself. The voice said I’m the one, I’m the one who has to do the trying. The voice said that if I love God, God [Page 33] will love me.

It sounds like a trick. Someone is going to get me to do something again.

The voice said:

Make my prayer, O my Lord, a fountain of living waters, whereby I may live as long as Thy sovereignty endureth.

This voice is telling me that all those hands . . . those outstretched hands . . . will find what they want if they look in the place where it has always been. Inside themselves, leading to knowledge of God, of peace, so they benefit, not God. God is God, not man.

This voice is telling me to trust my own sight, my insight. But how would I know I’m not playing some trick on myself? How would I know it isn’t just another trap?

The voice says:

The best beloved of all things in My sight is Justice. . . . By its aid thou shalt see with thine own eyes and not through the eyes of others, and shalt know of thine own knowledge and not through the knowledge of thy neighbor. Ponder this in thy heart. . . .

and

the people are wandering in the paths of delusion, bereft of discernment to see God with their own eyes, or hear His Melody with their own ears.

Whose voice was it?

And then we found out. And then it became clear. And then the hands of longing that were stretching out to Him found something in their grasp. The noises were stilled, and we all listened, because this was something important. This was something that could change us, and that noise, and that clamor. This was the voice of Bahá’u’lláh. The Glory of God. The Prophet for this day. He came to deliver this clear message: “Whosoever desireth, let him turn aside from this counsel and whosoever desireth let him choose the path to his Lord.” “He who turns away from this Beauty hath also turned away from the Messengers of the past. . . .”

But who could turn away from this Beauty?

[Page 34]

[Page 35]

Abú’l-Faḍl Gulpáygání On Revelation and History

TRANSLATION AND INTRODUCTION BY JUAN RICARDO COLE

Copyright © 1982 by Juan Ricardo Cole. A version of Ad-Durar al-bahiyyah, translated and annotated by Juan Ricardo Cole, will be published under the title of Miracles and Metaphors by Kalimát Press in 1982.

MÍRZÁ Abú’l-Faḍl Muḥammad Gulpáygání (1844-1914), a son of the eminent Shí‘ite legal scholar Mírzá Muḥammad Riḍá Sharí ‘atmadár (d. 1871), was one of the most learned Iranian philosophers and historians of religion of his generation. However, his writings remain largely unstudied. Because Iran was never colonized, it never interested European scholars in the way Egypt or North Africa did, and nineteenth-century Iranian intellectual history has only in the last decade and a half begun to emerge from obscurity in the West. While Iranian scholars themselves have, of course, studied this period, Gulpáygání’s conversion to the Bahá’í Faith in 1876 meant that Muslim historians would either dismiss him as a heretic or fear to write about him.

Even Gulpáygání’s coreligionists have written little about him, and it was not until 1974-75 that Rúḥu’lláh Mihrábkhání’s pioneering biography of Abú’l-Faḍl was brought out by the Bahá’í Publishing Trust in Iran. The work was well worth waiting for and represents one of the more scholarly books produced by a modern Bahá’í scholar in Persian (the author is an expatriate living in Spain). Well-written, careful, and informative, the biography was of necessity restricted more or less to matters of historical detail and contains little analysis of Gulpáygání’s thought. It is to be hoped that other Bahá’í scholars will follow Mihrábkhání’s lead and begin exploring Gulpáygání’s scholarly contribution.

Abú’l-Faḍl was born in the small town of Gulpáygán, northwest of Iṣfahán, and studied Islamic sciences in Árák and Iṣfahán. He was twenty-eight when he completed his formal studies and returned to Gulpáygán to receive his share of the inheritance left to him by his father, Mírzá Muḥammad Riḍá, the wealthy patriarch of a large extended family. Abú’l-Faḍl’s older brothers, however, managed to deprive him of any share in the inheritance. He angrily departed from Gulpáygán, never to set foot there again. He then made his way to Ṭihrán, where he found a modest post as a teacher at a Muslim school. In the period 1873-76 he began investigating philosophy and the history of religions and debated two Buddhist scholars who were living in Ṭihrán. He also came into contact with Bahá’ís and thoroughly investigated their religion. In 1876, when the Ottoman Sulṭán ‘Abdu’l-‘Azíz was deposed and his government fell, Gulpáygání was forced to admit that Bahá’u’lláh had forecast the events in his Lawḥ-i Ra’ís, written in 1868. This prophetic ability constituted a conclusive proof for Abú’l-Faḍl, and he [Page 36] embraced the Faith of Bahá’u’lláh not long afterward.

Gulpáygání’s subsequent career as a scholar and a teacher (muballigh) of the Bahá’í Faith was to take him all over Iran, to Muslim Russia, to Palestine and Egypt, and even to the United States. His stay in Egypt was particularly fruitful intellectually, and it was there that he passed away. In Egypt he wrote and published two important works—Fará’id (Matchless Gems: Cairo, 1898) and Ad-Durar al-bahiyyah (Glorious Pearls: Cairo, 1900). He established contact with Cairene students and intellectuals and brought several into the Bahá’í Faith. His Ad-Durar al-bahiyyah was written in Arabic and was greeted with some enthusiasm by Egyptian intellectuals, such as Muṣṭafá Kámil and Shaykh ‘Alí Yúsuf.

Ad-Durar al-Bahiyyah was a very bold work for a turn-of-the-century Muslim audience, and its appearance provoked a heated controversy. One of those who subsidized its publication was a Kurdish student at the Muslim al-Azhar University, Faraju’lláh Zakí. The book began drawing fire from the conservative ‘ulamá’; and, as a consequence, he was ultimately expelled from the university.

The very first chapter of Ad-Durar al-bahiyyah is itself controversial and is of such interest that I offer a translation of it below. In the work Gulpáygání was responding to questions raised by an Indian scholar, Shaykh Núru’d-Dín al-Hindí. The first question concerned whether the Qur’án was correct from an historical point of view when it declared that Noah lived 950 years (29:14; cf. Genesis 9:29). It was a delicate question, and Gulpáygání knew it. Even two and a half decades later the important Egyptian novelist and literary critic Ṭaha Ḥusayn was to cause a major scandal by suggesting that much pre-Islamic poetry had actually been written after the Qur’án and that Abraham had not actually gone to Mecca and built the Ka‘bah. To suggest in 1900 that the Qur’án might contain things that were not entirely accurate historically was thus daring in the extreme.

Gulpáygání, therefore, answered the question in a complex fashion. First, he purported not to give his own views but simply to explain the two prevailing approaches to this problem. The first, which he terms the “religious” one, consists of a fundamentalist affirmation that whatever is in a revealed text should be accepted without question, with only the proviso that it not be rationally untenable. This argument is actually not without sophistication, and modern Christian fundamentalists have applied it to the Bible, pointing out that the inductive sort of reasoning employed by science cannot be used to rule out the occurrence of the miracles mentioned in the Bible. If one denies one’s ability to construct reliable scientific laws on the basis of inductive reasoning, there are clearly few things that are rationally untenable —even a literal understanding of the first few chapters of Genesis. From such a fundamentalist standpoint, it is better to accept whatever a revealed text asserts than to rule it out simply because a scientist would assign it a very low order of probability. There is much in Gulpáygání’s writings which would indicate that this fundamentalist argument is not representative of his own views. He probably felt constrained to present it, however, to avoid drawing fire from Muslim conservatives.

The second approach he discusses is what he calls the “scientific” point of view. He [Page 37] expands on it at great length, in contrast to the rather short presentation of the fundamentalist point of view, creating the impression that the scientific view is much closer to Gulpáygání’s own position. He boldly discusses the historical problems concerning Noah’s life from a very unbiased standpoint.

Gulpáygání puts forward four basic rational arguments as to why an historian cannot accept literally and on faith the Qur’án’s assertion of Noah’s miraculously long life. First, he points out that the assertion about Noah’s long life itself derives from the Hebrew historical tradition and that this is only one of several historical traditions about ancient times. None of the others, he notes, corroborates either the existence or the extreme longevity of Noah. Second, he argues in an Averroist vein on the basis of ḥadíth-reports from the Prophet Muḥammad that prophets are not sent by God as historians or scientists and that they often simply speak to people in their own idiom. The mere fact that a prophet told a certain story, therefore, is not proof of its factuality, since the prophet could have been reflecting the views of his audience in order to convey a spiritual truth to them. Third, he notes there is no question that some verses in the Qur’án have a symbolic rather than a literal intent and that the historian cannot, therefore, automatically assume that a statement in a revealed text must be taken literally. Fourth, he observes that the Qur’ánic story about Noah’s long life is based on the Old Testament and argues that the historical portions of the Hebrew Bible do not represent themselves as revelation and should, therefore, be taken as folk history. He points out that the Higher Criticism of the Bible established that the first five books of the Old Testament, the Pentateuch, could not have been the work of Moses, contrary to what was thought in the ancient and medieval periods. He insists a folk history that cannot be proven to have issued from an identifiable prophet simply cannot be accepted as infallible and binding revelation. The Averroist argument that prophets speak according to the tradition of their people means that even though Old Testament history is used by the Qur’án, which is a revealed text by an identified prophet, historians cannot assume that the revelation is endorsing the Bible’s factuality. Moreover, Gulpáygání concludes, biblical stories such as the drowning of Pharaoh and his troops are almos certainly not historically accurate since they are not mentioned in Egyptian history.

Gulpáygání’s four arguments could not be applied to a single text simultaneously. For example, the second argument implies that factual errors deriving from local historical traditions can become incorporated, uncorrected, into the revealed text. The third argument that some verses are symbolic, however, would seem to be excluded where the statement was clearly a reflection of the literal views of the prophet’s audience. Yet, all of these arguments have in common a dependence upon the ability of the believing scholar to use his own judgment in coming to conclusions about the meaning of a revealed text. Without such judgment, Gulpáygání argues, the historian would be reduced to accepting all revealed verses as literal statements of fact.

Gulpáygání’s discussion shows a breadth of vision, a modernity of outlook, and a depth of knowledge extremely rare in men trained as Muslim scholars in the nineteenth century. Much of what he had to say is of great relevance to contemporary Bahá’í scholars, especially now that questions of scholarly methodology are being raised. At one recent gathering the question was raised of how the work of the present generation of Bahá’í scholars is related to that of earlier Bahá’í thinkers, such as Abú’l-Faḍl. The view was expressed that Gulpáygání was engaged mainly in citing and commenting on previous authorities, whereas contemporary Bahá’í scholars are concerned with critical analysis. [Page 38] Such a view could only gain credence because aspiring Bahá’í scholars today know so little of Gulpáygání’s thought. It is hoped that the following translation will help demonstrate his continuing relevance and help dispel the notion that he was concerned with nothing more daring than citing traditional authorities.

FROM ad-Durar al-bahiyyah (Matchless Gems) (Cairo: Mawsú‘át Press, 1900, pp. 6-21):

Question: He [Shaykh Núru’d-Dín al-Hindí] asked our belief concerning Noah’s age. Did he live 950 years as it was revealed in the Holy Qur’án, or does this have another meaning?

Answer: Those who are knowledgeable concerning such matters are divided between two views, one religious and the other scientific.

The religious view is as follows: It is well-known that whoever believes in the truth of the mission of our Lord the Prophet Muḥammad, and believes that the Holy Qur’án is the Book of God revealed from heaven, necessarily accepts the validity of everything contained in that noble Book. He acknowledges the truth of whatever was revealed therein, whether or not it accords with the understanding of the people, as long as clear reason does not judge it impossible, and no decisive proof against it can be shown to exist. Anyone who has the least familiarity with rational proofs and logical analogies accepts it as self-evident that the only objection to the extremely long lives the ancients are said to have enjoyed is that such a thing is simply unlikely. However, it is not in reality rationally untenable. For not the least convincing proof exists that it is impossible for people to enjoy a greater longevity than is normal in our own times. This is especially so for human beings who lived in ancient times and past ages, so that there is no way to do research into their circumstances and the extent of their longevity, owing to the inaccessibility of their history and the disappearance of their ruins. A prudent mind will refrain from deciding against that which was revealed in the Holy Qur’án merely because it is unlikely. “It is verily a decisive word, nor is it in jest.”

As for the scientific view, it is this: It is well known that no scholarly investigator will accept the authority of such statements unless he can ascertain their original sources and the degree to which these are reliable and trustworthy. It is, moreover, acknowledged that there are only four historical traditions containing information on how the creation began that are esteemed by great nations and whose sources they find dependable. These are Buddhist history (that of China), Hindu history (that of the original inhabitants of India), Zoroastrian history (that of the first peoples of Persia and their great rulers), and Hebrew history (that of the Jews and those who accept the mission of Moses). These historical traditions differ irreconcilably in their concepts, contain the diverse beliefs of their peoples, exhibit a huge variance in chronology, and clearly differ as to the names and events to which they make reference. In spite of all this the observer will note with amazement that these historical traditions accord with one another in two ways. One is their common assertion that the ancients lived extremely long lives compared to what is normal in later times, and the other is their intermixture with stories greatly resembling myths (in the eyes of scholarly investigators) or riddles, enigmas, and symbols (in the eyes of moderates).

As for the Buddhist, Hindu, and Zoroastrian histories, they contain no mention of Adam and Eve, nor of Seth, Noah, and so on. Neither do they mention their stories and the events associated with their lives. Not even similar names occur in them. Only Hebrew history mentions these names, and from there [Page 39] they were transmitted to the Christians and Muslims.

The Prophet Muḥammad said, “We, the concourse of Prophets, were commanded to address the people according to the capacity of their minds” and, likewise, “Speak to the people of that with which they are familiar. Do you wish God and His Messenger to be accused of lying?” Thus was it related by the learned judge Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad ibn Rushd al-Andalusí (Averroës) in his book al-Kashf ‘an manáhij al-adillah fí ‘aqá’id al-millah (Exposition on Methods of Evidence concerning the Doctrines of the Muslim Community), citing al-Bulkhárí. Therefore, given this situation, it is not permissible for the scholarly investigator to depend on the verses of the Qur’án and traditions from the Prophet in historical questions.

It is well known that the Prophets and Manifestations of the Cause of God were sent to guide the nations, to refine their characters, and to bring the people nearer to their Source and ultimate Goal. They were not sent as historians, astronomers, philosophers, or natural scientists. Their position in the world of creation is like that of the heart in the world of the body and is a universal position with a general effect. The position of the learned in the world of earthly dominion is like that of a specific organ—that is, they have a particular position and a specialized effect. In view of such a position, the Prophets indulged the people in regard to their historical notions, folk stories, and scientific principles and spoke to them according to these. They conversed with them as was appropriate to their audience and hid realities behind the curtain of allusion. They secluded the heavenly maids of meaning in the palaces of holy verses, veiling them in eloquent metaphors.

A rational human being will, therefore, have no doubt that those things mentioned in the Holy Qur’án such as how the creation commenced, the debate of the angels, the stories of Adam and Satan, and Noah and the Flood are all realities. They speak of recurrent promises to renew the world and refer to the appointed times for the expiration, through the advent of the primal Holy Reality and the renewal of the divine laws, of the term allotted to the nations. From the point of view of science, it is not permissible for the historian to depend upon the literal meaning of these verses. For he cannot discount the very real possibility that they possess exalted significations and are subject to sublime figurative interpretations differing from the understanding that might be gained from their external sense.

The possibility that these verses should be interpreted figuratively is hardly a remote one, nor is it an unlikely concept to be disregarded by the eminent and learned as insignificant. For it has been revealed in the Holy Qur’án, “Nay, they deny that which their knowledge doth not encompass, though its interpretation hath not yet come to them.” Another verse says, “Do they look for aught else but its interpretation? The day [Page 40] its interpretation comes, those who forgot it before shall say, ‘Indeed, our Lord’s Messengers came with the truth.’” Moreover, the traditions and practice of the Prophet have genuinely established and made abundantly clear that the verses of the Qur’án have mysterious and profound esoteric meanings and exalted, subtle, figurative interpretations. These have been known by those who have dedicated themselves to it and are intimately familiar with it, and God has granted His steadfast servants and sincere bondsmen the ability to discover them.

By figurative interpretation is meant only the original meanings intended, which God veiled in the inner depths of the verses and hid behind the curtain of metaphors. This is not something for mere human beings, nor should every ignorant man plunge haphazardly into it, and every obscure scholar interpret the verses according to his opinion. Some of the ignorant have done this in their pride, and have gone astray and led many others astray with their interpretations. They have thus kept people from the wellspring of life and the path of salvation. Rather, this is a matter for the Manifestations of the Cause of God, the vindicators of His promise. This hath been said clearly in the Qur’án: “So when We recite it, follow thou its recitation. Then Ours it is to explain it.”

It has, then, been established that the historian cannot depend for historical knowledge upon the outward meanings of Qur’ánic verses and that Noah and his like are not mentioned in the rest of the ancient histories. Therefore, the historian is left with only the Pentateuch and the rest of the Old Testament books. If he avoids sectarian inclinations, blind traditionalism, and the fictitious opinions of his people, a critic of insight will perceive that these holy books have two distinct sorts of teachings, which deserve further attention.

The first sort is that in the book attributed to God, wherein God speaks, or that consists of revelation from God. This contains ordinances, commandments, religious law, and directions. It also contains warnings and glad tidings, the most important of which are predictions concerning the signs, portents, and circumstances signaling the advent of the Day of God. Such are the ten commandments of Moses and his hymn of blessing at the end of Deuteronomy; the Psalms of David; the book of Isaiah the prophet; and the books of Jeremiah, Daniel, Ezekiel, Zechariah, and other prophets of the Israelites. Anyone upon whom God has bestowed insight and the gift of knowledge such that he can distinguish between human compositions and the verses of God will confess that all these books are made up of divine verses and heavenly sayings, prophecies, and warnings. These flame and shine forth from the blessed Mosaic Bush like a lighted lamp in the depths of night or a star rising in the farthest heaven.

The second sort is that which contains information about historical matters, such as how the creation began; the branching off of various tribes; mankind’s spread over the earth; the history of the lives and times of the prophets; the enumeration of the kings and the events occurring during their reigns. Of this sort are the histories contained in the Pentateuch, from the beginning of Adam’s creation until the death of Moses. Likewise included are the books of Joshua, Judges, Samuel I and II, Kings I and II, Chronicles I and II, Ezra, Nehemiah, and so on, of the books of the historians. In these works there is no open statement, nor any hint, nor, indeed, the faintest sign that they are celestial revelation or divine inspiration and speech. Therefore, it is not permissible for the historian to depend on them and to assert the soundness of their contents, or to consider them revelation. This could be done only if he were sure of the identity of the authors of these books. Anyone who is aware of the degree to which scholars differ over the identities of the writers of these books, and the evidence upon which each faction depends [Page 41] in establishing its view or belief, knows that to rely on the soundness of the contents of these books is not permissible. It would be utterly foolish for a person of critical reason to rely on a book whose author cannot be established by research or to consider it divine revelation and celestial speech when, in spite of extensive examination and detailed investigation, its author and source remain unknown.

For example, when one pages through the works of the most eminent scholars on the identity of the author of the Pentateuch, the source of the Old Testament and the basis of Hebrew history, one sees that there are great differences that no one could hope to resolve through inquiry and investigation. Nor could one expect to arrive at a foundation that is, in the final analysis, at all sound. Many scholars used to think that Moses was the author of these books. However, the final passages of this book refute them and render their views worthless, as they mention the death of Moses and how the Israelites held a wake for him. There are also other pieces of evidence that clearly indicate they were composed a long time after Moses’ passing. Some have, without any evidence, asserted that everything but the last two chapters of Deuteronomy are his and that these latter are the work of Joshua. He is said to have written them and added them to the Pentateuch of Moses so as to complete it by finishing Moses’ biography and clarifying the circumstances of the people after his death. Others say that these books were composed by Jeremiah or another of the prophets of Israel. This assertion, like the preceding ones, suffers from weak justification and lack of evidence.

A group of scholars have said (and perhaps these are correct, since their argument has some power) that they are compositions of Ezra the soothsayer, referred to as ‘Uzayr in the Qur’án. After the people returned from the Babylonian exile at the order of Ardishír the Great, Jerusalem was rebuilt, the Jews were gathered together, and the House of David was revived; at that point the people asked Ezra for a copy of the Hebrew Bible. He was a learned man, a skillful writer, and a pious soothsayer. He had studied in the great schools of the city of Babylon, acquiring a wide knowledge and useful arts such as were unrivaled for his times. Babylon was at that time the sanctuary of civilization and the dawning place of the light of science and philosophy. Ezra, therefore, wrote, in answer to the people’s request, five books on how the creation began, the people split up, the tribes branched off, and mankind spread out, up till the death of Moses. He included therein the revelation given Moses by his Lord and how Moses (or Joshua, according to some of the Bible’s verses: see Joshua 24) legislated for the organization of his people’s affairs.

To sum up: it is apparent that the stories of Noah and so on are not mentioned in the histories of the great peoples of antiquity, such as the Chinese, the Persians, and the Indians. At the same time, no one would belittle the breadth of their knowledge, the antiquity of their civilizations, the earliness of their dates, the vastness of their kingdoms, or the far-flung fame of their exploits. Second, research is unable to establish the identity of the author of the Hebrew Pentateuch. Finally, it is well known that our Lord the Prophet Muḥammad and the rest of the prophets never engaged in disputes with the people about their historical beliefs, addressing them according to their local traditions. It is, therefore, necessary to conclude that interpreters and investigators may not come to a firm opinion on these matters scientifically. If the way should be barred to individual judgment, only the religious point of view would remain, which would consist in worshipful submission to the external sense of whatever issued from the prophets and messengers.

One of the most astounding things is that, so far, they have failed to find even the slightest evidence in the ancient Egyptian [Page 42] ruins that the Israelites were ever in Egypt. This has confused the scholars, attracted the attention of the wise and intelligent, brought under suspicion what used to be considered universally acknowledged, and forced historians to reexamine and investigate with the utmost care even those things they have considered self-evident. No trace has been found of Moses’ mission to the Israelites, their plea for salvation from Pharaoh’s tyranny through the former’s leadership, or their emigration to the plains of Syria under his standard. Yet the Israelites were a warlike people, numbering the warriors among them at eight hundred thousand or more. Pharaoh pursued them with his troops, all of whom drowned in the sea of their infidelity and atheism. But through the ancient Egyptian ruins, as scholars are aware, sound histories have been discovered which time had obscured and buried for a considerable period of time, until their very mention was obliterated from the history books. Centuries and cycles passed, until God revived them in this glorious age. This is the age wherein the mysteries are unraveled, the light of lights has dawned forth, and the accumulated darkness of confusion has been unexpectedly dispelled. A number of Western scholars arose and discovered the truth of Egyptian history from these ancient ruins. From these appeared the names of their kings and Pharaohs, their deeds and circumstances, the number of their houses and families, their religion and customs, and their gods and rites.

These ruins have revived the clear mention of the pharaohs, ordered the sequence of their reigns correctly, prepared a new epoch for history, and established a firm foundation for science. All of these ancient artifacts and the mummified corpses of the pharaohs are preserved in the Egyptian Museum. Travelers and learned men set out for their great temples, coming from Europe and America to discover historical information and to visit the Egyptian monuments.

They have not yet found any corroboration for the stories in the Old Testament about Moses, Aaron, and Joshua, or their circumstances. Still less have they found anything concerning their forebears, such as Adam, Seth, and Noah. Those who believe in Old Testament history are bewildered as to how to compensate for this huge gap and have been profoundly alarmed by the crumbling of the foundations of this momentous historical tradition. For it is unimaginable that the Egyptians, who depicted on walls every event, general and particular, and inscribed on stones everything that happened in Egypt, whether temporal or religious in nature, should have neglected to mention these extraordinary and stupendous events. These included Moses arising to demonstrate amazing signs and Pharaohs and his huge number of troops drowning.

Some have propped their chins on the palms of their hands in astonishment, still thinking of some way to adjust and patch things up. Others are waiting for more investigation and research so that they might find a path to corroboration and agreement. God knows best how this affair of the archeologists and those who are waiting expectantly will end up. In any case, this should suffice those with insight.

[Page 43]

Bahá’í Bhajans

BY WILLIAM N. GARLINGTON

Copyright © 1982 by William N. Garlington

ONE of the fundamental principles of the Bahá’í Faith, and one that can be found in nearly every introductory book designed to aid the movement’s propagation, is the oneness of religion. To take just one example, in a traditionally popular Bahá’í publication, J. E. Esslemont’s Bahá’u’lláh and the New Era, the following statement appears:

The religion of God is One Religion, and all the Prophets have taught it, but it is a living and a growing thing, not lifeless and unchanging. . . . So it is with the various prophetic teachings; their externals change from age to age, but each revelation is the fulfillment of its predecessors; they are not separate or incongruous, but different stages in the life history of the One Religion, which has in turn been revealed as seed, as bud, and as flower, and now enters on the stage of fruition.

It should not surprise one that the Bahá’í Faith, emerging as it did from an Islamic civilization, would hold such a belief, for the above statement is not far removed from the assertion in the Qu’rán that there have been numerous prophets who have historically played the role of mediator between God and man. The Bahá’í position does differ, however, on two significant points. One, while orthodox Islám asserts that Muḥammad was the “Seal of the Prophets,” the Bahá’í Faith claims that the revelations of the Báb and Bahá’u’lláh abrogated the Qur’án. Two (and for our purpose more important), the Bahá’í definition of prophet extends beyond the Judeo-Christian-Islamic tradition.

Historically, the orthodox Islamic (both Sunní and Shí‘ih) attitude toward Indian religions has been essentially antagonistic. While there have been specific individuals, primarily Ṣúfí mystics, who have been sympathetic to Hindu and Buddhist thought, the orthodox position has maintained that Indian religions are at best misguided. In contrast, as any perusal of current Bahá’í literature will show, the Bahá’í Faith includes within its definition of prophet the figures Buddha and Krishna. From a scholarly point of view the origin of this position is somewhat problematic, as there is no direct reference (as far as this writer is aware) in the works of Bahá’u’lláh, the Prophet-Founder of the Bahá’í Faith, to the Indian “prophets.” The references in the writings of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, the son of Bahá’u’lláh and the appointed interpreter of His writings, are at best indirect. However, regardless of the source of [Page 44] the belief, there is no doubt that Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian of the Faith appointed by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, affirmed the prophethood of Buddha and Krishna.

The acceptance of the prophethood of Buddha and Krishna has had an obvious advantage for the Bahá’í teaching work in India. Unlike other religious traditions that have sought converts in the subcontinent, primarily Christianity and Islám, the Bahá’í Faith does not demand of prospective believers that they negate their own religious traditions; consequently, “conversion” is not a traumatic psychological experience. Yet belief in the Indian Manifestations has also created a teaching problem that can best be called a “cultural gap.”

As any student of comparative religion knows, one of the fundamental differences between the religious heritage of India and that of the Near East is the cyclical as opposed to the linear view of existence. While Judaism, Christianity, and Islám have all developed a world view, both historical and cosmic, based on the progressive movement of nonrepetitive events, Indian religious thought has been dominated for at least the last three thousand years by the ideas of return and recurrence, best summed up by the concept of saṃsarā, the eternal wheel of life. Indeed, this distinction is so paramount that the renowned Indologist, A. L. Basham, has recently claimed that it puts Indian religions completely at odds with those of West Asian origin.

It is this disjunction that constitutes the “cultural gap,” and it is in this area that the Bahá’í Faith is confronted with a dilemma. The Faith claims to accept certain Indian prophets; yet it maintains doctrines that deny some of the fundamental teachings associated with those figures. To take just one example, the idea of reincarnation (or the transmigration of souls), which is an unquestioned belief of nearly all Hindus, is held by the Bahá’í Faith to be fallacious.

On one level the answer to this problem is fairly straightforward. As in its approach to other religious traditions, the Bahá’í Faith states that the “true” teachings of Buddhism and Hinduism have become obscured by time and tradition and that the teachings of Bahá’u’lláh represent a return to original teachings. In this way, although it is claimed that certain doctrines identified with Krishna and Buddha are false, the Bahá’í Faith (and this is extremely important) places itself in a relationship with Buddhism and Hinduism that is not one of superiority and alienation but one that a sociologist might term reformist. This position, however, requires that the inquirer or the new believer be able psychologically to identify it as such, which, in turn, requires a certain methodology making extensive use of indigenous religious symbols— a methodology that as the following discussion will reveal, has become central to teaching the Bahá’í Faith to large numbers of people in India.

[Page 45] Along with giving new meaning to, or more precisely, reinterpreting the meaning of, traditional symbols, the Bahá’ís in India have adopted another approach toward teaching that complements their attempts at reinterpreting symbols. This second approach might be termed nonmetaphysical, as a great deal of time is not spent discussing ultimate questions such as the nature of God, time, and life after death. Rather, by following the Bahá’í view that any human conception of such “eternal verities” is only a partial understanding, Bahá’í teachers do not consume energy negating traditional doctrines but constantly emphasize two more fundamental areas of religious concern: the prophetic and the authoritative. The first means that aspect of a religious tradition concerned with future renewal; the second refers to the accepted source of ethical behavior. Thus the metaphysical approach to religion is relegated to a place of secondary concern while the more eschatological and socio-ethical elements are brought to the fore.

THE USE of traditional Indian symbols as a means of expressing Bahá’í concepts and ideals is a fairly recent phenomenon. While Bahá’í communities have existed in the Indian subcontinent since the late nineteenth century, it was not until the early 1960s, when Bahá’í teachers began to circulate actively in rural areas, that such an approach became predominant. Before that time, the Bahá’í community in India was more closely allied with Islám; therefore, in terms of language, theology, and cultural symbols an Islamic identification was clearly evident. The mass-teaching era, however, changed this, for teachers began to realize that such symbols were meaningless to the large majority of Indian villagers.

With the need to find a means whereby Bahá’í teachings could be made comprehensible within the Indian tradition, the Bahá’í community in India began to make use of an indigenous mode of devotional activity: the bhajan. A bhajan is a rhythmic song that has long been popular among devotional (bhakti) sects in India. Even today many wandering bards and devotional singers perform such songs in towns and villages. When a bhajan is performed in a group, one of the devotees stands and sings the various verses of the song, while the entire assemblage joins in unison to sing the words of the refrain. The content of bhajan varies according to the nature of the group and the specifics of the occasion at which they are performed, but in general they extol in a devotional manner the deeds of gods, saints, and heroes. Two of the most commonly glorified figures are Rāma and Krishna, the fountainheads of Hindu devotional activity in northern India.

During the mass-teaching campaigns in India a large number of Bahá’í bhajans have been produced, many of them the creations of new village believers. It becomes quite apparent while listening to these songs that a number of traditional motifs are being used, a process that has allowed the bhajans to evolve into one of the primary vehicles of cross-cultural communication.

[Page 46] In reaching the masses of rural India, Bahá’í teachers have made extensive use of the avatār symbol. Avatār means descent, or a coming down, and is used in Hindu terminology to refer to the phenomenon of a deity incarnating itself. For example, both Buddha and Krishna (as well as Rāma) are believed by a large number of Hindus to be avatārs of Vishnu, one of the primary deities in the Hindu pantheon. It should not be surprising, therefore, that the use of these avatār figures has become one of the dominant motifs of Bahá’í bhajans. A good example of the application of this symbol can be found in a bhajan entitled “The Image of Bahá,” where one finds the following:

Having placed the image of Krishna in your heart, you worshiped him in that temple.

Today we worship this avatār’s image with the name Bahá.

An even more common theme is the listing of Krishna and Buddha together with prophets of Near Eastern origin. Thus, in reference to Bahá’u’lláh, the following lines are sung in “Cry Out the Name of the Beloved”:

Here is Muḥammad; here is Christ; here are Krishna and Buddha

Bringing the phrase Alláh-u-Abhá; He has united all religions.

And in “The Manifestation of the Name Bahá” one finds:

He is Christ; He is Buddha; He is called Muḥammad;

Cause all men to sing the name Bahá, the embodiment of Krishna lilā.

In several instances one can also find the avatār Rāma utilized. For example, in “Cry Out the Name of the Beloved,” Rāma’s name is used in connection with that of Krishna:

He [Bahá’u’lláh] brought the holy promise of Rāma;

He brought the justice of Krishna.

The inclusion of Rāma in the avatār-prophet identification is an excellent example of the process of cross-cultural communication taking place in Bahá’í bhajans, for although, in a strict sense, Rāma does not possess the same station as Krishna or Buddha, he is so inextricably affixed to the avatār symbol and its historical expression that its use almost implies his sanctity; therefore, the scope of prophethood has been broadened in order to embrace his personage. Officially, this is provided for by identifying him as a “minor prophet” who is “like the moon, which is not luminous and radiant in itself, but receives its light from the sun.” However, in the bhajans (as shown above) he often takes his place equally alongside Buddha and Krishna.

The avatār symbol is not only used in reference to hisrorical Indian religious figures; it is also employed in its prophetic sense where it becomes a means of identifying Bahá’u’lláh with the Vaishnavite eschatological figure the kalkin avatār, commonly believed to be the avatār who will appear at the close of the kali-yuga, the last of the four great ages in each cosmic aeon. Perhaps the best example of this usage is found in the following verses from a bhajan entitled “The Kalkin Avatār”:

Refrain—Arise O children of India, the kalkin avatār has come; Vishnu’s [Page 47] avatār has come with the name Bahá’u’lláh

1. Nowhere in the entire world can the influence of religion be seen. The wicked have obtained everything; the truthful have lost all; According to the Gītā the time of Vishnu’s avatār has come. (Refrain)

2. The Gītā has said when circumstances are such, religion is again established just as it has happened today. In order to save the righteous the kalkin avatār has come. (Refrain)

This bhajan presents Bahá’u’lláh strictly within a Vaishnavite eschatological framework. He is not only referred to as the kalkin avatār but also identified with Vishnu and the Bhagavad Gītā rather than with Alláh and the Qur’án. Thus we find one of the principal concepts of the Bahá’í Faith—namely, the concept of progressive revelation—being expressed in imagery that is meaningful to a listener from Hindu rather than Islamic background.

In addition to being a useful cross-cultural communicative link, the employment of the avatār symbol also demonstrates the second, or nonmetaphysical, aspect of mass teaching. As noted above, the traditional avatār doctrine implies the incarnation of a deity and is, therefore, essentially antagonistic to the Bahá’í concept of manifestation that denies the possibility of God’s taking human form. However, on the existential level, on a plane of meaning that is significant to the hopes and expectations of the majority of men who are not involved in intellectualizing concepts into mere abstractions, these differences diminish in importance. The fact that the sacred has communicated with the profane, displayed concern for man, and preached a message of love and hope, is the real issue—not the technicalities of how this communion occurs. Thus one is drawing on the prophetic impact that such a term symbolizes when placing Bahá’u’lláh within its scope.

In conjunction with the parallel usage of the Indian avatārs and Near Eastern prophets, Bahá’í bhajans make similar comparisons between non-Indian scriptures and the Bhagavad Gītā. In making this comparison one once again finds the use of the prophetic dimension, as can be seen in the bhajan entitled “The Call of Bahá’í”:

How can I cause awareness of the Gītā’s prophecies?

How can I spread the knowledge of the Bible’s stories?

In the Qur’án it says, “show the light to the world.”

The essence of all of these I call the path of Bahá’í.

In fact, it is fair to say that nearly all Bahá’í references to the Bhagavad Gītā are ones that play on its allusions to destruction and regeneration, while other components such as the saṃsara-karma-mokṣa paradigm are rarely, if ever, mentioned. Consequently, one of the most frequently quoted passages from the Gītā, whether in song or in literature, is the following:

Whenever there is a decline of righteousness and rise of unrighteousness, O Bharata, then I send forth (create, incarnate) Myself. For the protection of the good, for the destruction of the wicked and for the establishment of righteousness, I come into being from age to age.

[Page 48] Thus, because of the eschatological themes it shares with the Bible and the Qur’án, the Bhagavad Gītā is given a status similar to theirs. That status the Bahá’í bhajans utilize as a bridge for cross-cultural understanding.

Historically, one of the biggest problems for Bahá’í teachers in India has been the movement’s close cultural ties with Islám, a bond that has often resulted in its being falsely identified as a sect of that religion. Given the antipathy that has on numerous occasions shown its face between Hinduism and Islám, emphasis on the Bahá’í Faith’s Islamic roots is a topic Bahá’í teachers have actively avoided. Bahá’í bhajans have played an important role in the process by substituting Sanskritic Hindu terminology for terminology derived from Islám. Perhaps the best example of such a substitution is the use of the word Bhagavan for Alláh. In “Raise the Fanfare” the term is employed as a direct substitute for Alláh:

Bhagavan has said that he will return in every age to restore righteousness.

In the same bhajan it is also used in association with Bahá’u’lláh:

O spread the peace message of Bhagavan Bahá.

The word appears again in “The Shelter of Bahá”:

Manifest today the shelter of Bhagavan Bahá.

In a similar manner mandir (temple) is substituted for Mashriqu’l-Adhkár, dharm (religion) for dín, as seen above, avatār for nabí or paighambar. Moreover, although the phrase Alláh-u-Abhá is sometimes used, it is not uncommon to find a traditional greeting such as “jay jay Ram” in its place.

But it would be wrong to represent Bahá’í bhajans as being solely a means by Which non-Indian concepts are translated into Hindu-Buddhist terminology. In many instances the bhajans are a mode in which free expression is given to indigenous religious imagery. Thus, as the following examples indicate, one finds the continual appearance of such native cultural fundamentals as holy places, hero-figures, and literary images:

The temple of the heart, the abode of the name Bahá, is Benares, Mathura

—all the holy pilgrimage spots.

Foolish people have not realized that Vishnu’s avatar has come again.

Radha and Arjuna knew that the Lord had taken a new abode.

The eternal has once again manifested himself, the avatar of God.

Bahá, thy love and majesty are boundless.

Whoever comes into thy shelter, his boat crosses the shore. . . .

Look at the rumbling clouds, the flashing lightning, the falling rain.

See the koyal singing with a sweet voice a raga of love.

In the first song reference is made to two of the most holy cities in India: Benares on the Ganga, where all devout Hindus wish their funerary ashes to be deposited, and Mathura, the birthplace of Krishna. The second bhajan cites Radha and Arjuna, two personalities traditionally associated with Krishna, [Page 49] the former as his primary consort, and the latter as the recipient of his message in the Bhagavad Gītā. The third bhajan makes use of traditional imagery found in Vaishnavite poetry—notably the boat of salvation, the thunderstorm, and the koyal bird.

Bahá’í bhajans, then, provide excellent examples of the Bahá’í concept of the oneness of religion being put into practice. Unless this concept is to be no more than a sterile ideal, it must encompass the symbols and images of traditions outside the Judeo-Christian-Islamic branches of religious experience. These devotional songs do, indeed, translate images of traditions outside the familiar Western religious ones. In the process they often reinterpret traditional symbols, but they confirm their validity as meaningful manifestations of the human religious experience.

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The World According to an Auschwitz Survivor

A REVIEW OF SAMUEL PISAR’S Of Blood and Hope (BOSTON/TORONTO: LITTLE, BROWN, 1980), 311 PAGES

BY MUHAMMAD ALI MAZIDI

Copyright © 1982 by Muhammad Ali Mazidi

“MUST everyone have an Auschwitz first?” asks Samuel Pisar, himself a survivor of Auschwitz, in Of Blood and Hope, “or can those who have experienced only normal life also understand that the sacrifices required to cope with some of the world’s problems are much less than they suppose; but that the dangers involved in ignoring any of them are infinitely greater than they imagine?"

At first glance the book seems to be only an autobiography, but it does not take long for the reader to arrive at the conclusion that Of Blood and Hope is more than a personal story. It is the story of a generation that has survived the catastrophe of World War II, but with all of that generation’s much-vaunted understanding of world affairs it is still not sure whether it can escape a global holocaust that is threatening mankind.

On 22 June 1941 when Nazi troops attacked the city of Bialystok, in the eastern part of Poland, Samuel Pisar was only twelve years old. Soon instead of playing soccer or solving chess problems, he was playing a new game called “struggle for survival.”

When the whole family had to move to a new house in the town’s ghetto and he persisted in taking his toys, his father told him, “Bicycles are not allowed. Your ice skates will be useless. As for your stamp collection, take it along. We may be able to trade it for food. But that’s all.” Eventually, that stamp collection became the means of supplying food for many nights.

It was during this period that he lost his family and found a new friend, Ben, who would accompany him in his bitter course of struggle. First his father was shot for clandestine activities against German troops. Not long after that he was separated from his mother and younger sister.

His mother gave him “the second birth” by asking him to wear long pants in order to look older. She rightly understood that “a young man able to perform physical labor for Nazis had a better chance of surviving than a child classed as useless, unneeded, an extra mouth to feed.” He glimpsed the faces of his mother and sister for the last time as they were lined up to be sent to the death camp with thousands of other women and children. Samuel himself was sent from one camp to another, spending four years of early teenage life in different concentration and labor camps.

This period, on the one hand, ingrained within him pain and suffering and, on the other hand, filled him with a yearning for life and an unending capacity to endure. Samuel Pisar has portrayed it masterfully without any trace of bitterness, something the like of which may be found in a Tolstoyian protagonist or a Gandhian mentality.

After a seemingly endless succession of moves from camp to camp Samuel Pisar and his friends Ben and Niko, who remained friends for life, decided to escape. During the attempt he and his companions were caught in crossfire between Nazi and Allied [Page 51] troops. He will never forget the moment when he was looking for “the hateful swastika” on the sides of a huge tank and to his surprise saw instead the five-pointed star of the U.S. Army. Samuel Pisar ran toward it.

“I was in front of the tank,” he recounts, “waving my arms. The hatch opened. A big black man climbed out, swearing unintelligibly at me. Recalling the only English I knew, those words my mother had sighed while dreaming of our deliverance, I fell at the black man’s feet, threw my arms around his legs and yelled at the top of my lungs: ‘God bless America.’ With an unmistakable gesture, the American motioned me to get up and lifted me in through the hatch. In a few minutes all of us were free.”

After the first rescue by the Allied army came the second one by a number of relatives in France and Australia. They came just in time, saving him from sinking into the swamp of chaos that prevailed in postwar Europe.

Pisar received his much-delayed high school and college education in Australia and later went to Harvard to study international law.

Armed with a degree from one of the world’s most celebrated universities, as well as with an experience of life in its cruelest form marked on his soul and body, he continued to apply the concept of “coexistence,” not only in his own daily life, but among rival systems. He was one of the early advocates of the idea that expansion of commerce and trade among countries, especially between East and West, can break the cold war, lead to more interdependence and, consequently, less tension.

During the many years of his career as an international lawyer, he came in touch with so-called political realities of “diplomacy as currently practiced.” As witnessed by him, that diplomacy “is not dedicated to reducing tensions.” His distaste grew stronger as he became more and more involved in world affairs.

Pisar saw clearly the striking similarities between the elements that gave birth to World War II and the present conflicts that are engulfing mankind. The instinct for survival had served him long enough to distinguish panic from real danger when he confronted it. He set out to toll the bells.

I have never had the slightest wish to lick the long-healed wounds of my youth. If I have decided now to let my memory speak, to describe the blood, the tears, the pain, the joys of friendship and knowledge that have nourished my faith in mankind’s ability to endure and create, it is because our idealistic and confused youth of today need to know. They need to arm themselves against the tragedies, the hypocrisies, the false gods of history.

Even though Samuel Pisar intends to address the youth, Of Blood and Hope has much to offer old and young alike, since the task of survival involves the triumphs of more than one group or single ideology.

Throughout the book, whenever Samuel Pisar speaks of the state of the world, his words immediately pick up a quality of intense emotion that comes directly from his [Page 52] deep concern for the future of mankind. “Perhaps a man who cheated death the way I did, and learned to savor the intoxicating luxury of freedom, is fated to live his days minus an outer skin. But sometimes, at the moments of dark premonition, I see in the images of political helplessness, hysterical mobs, religious fanaticism, refugee boats, and mushroom clouds the vision of a global Auschwitz. At such times, against my profound commitment to calm reason, against my love of life, against my confidence in man, I feel as though in that indescribable period when a man-made typhoon shattered my world, my existence, and my mind, and took me lower than the slaves of ancient Egypt and Babylon, I experienced what is yet to come.”

Although many have written autobiographies since World War II, very few have looked at their own lives as a part of the whole. Such impaired vision implies either that they never attained a holistic feeling or that they have fallen into a state of mind called “schizophrenia” as described by the well-respected scholar of the idea of world order, Warren Wagar: “When one bears in mind the universal acknowledgment that humanity stands poised on the brink of total annihilation, the failure of most people to direct their attention to the problem of world order appears all but incredible. The prevailing apathy has, under the different circumstances, a psychotic quality. Most of us continue in our appointed rounds as if nothing were to happen. It is a case of mass schizophrenia. On the one hand, awareness of infinite peril; on the other hand, infinitely self-deluding indifference.”

The unique attitude of looking at one’s own life as a part of the whole is what makes Samuel Pisar’s Of Blood and Hope intellectually engaging, emotionally stirring, and spiritually inspiring.

Some readers might object that the author should have dedicated some of the pages used for repetitious materials to an analysis of the roots of problems rather than dealing with their manifestations.

The objection is valid; the book does suffer to some extent from the lack of insight into the causes and roots of the present dilemma. But this by no means impairs its value. Since Samuel Pisar never claimed to be a sociologist, such an analysis should not be expected. Rather, as an insider in the field of international affairs, he has only one message for the world: “Building bridges across the gulf that divides us is a difficult task. But our common interest in survival requires that the process go on.” That is a worthwhile lesson to take from a survivor of the last holocaust if we wish not to have another, this time a nuclear one, on a global scale.

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Authors & Artists

JUAN RICARDO COLE, who has studied and worked for several years in the Middle East and is now doing research in India and Pakistan, is completing a Ph.D. in Islamic studies at the University of California at Los Angeles. During the past several years a number of his articles have appeared in World Order. His Miracles and Metaphors will be published by Kalimát Press in 1982.

ALICE FITZGERALD, a New Yorker by birth, is the Health Education Officer of the Health Commission of New South Wales. Before becoming an adult educator in the mental health field, she wrote for radio, newspapers, advertisers, and publishers. Ms. Fitzgerald has traveled widely and is now planning a move from Australia to Tuvalu.

WILLIAM N. GARLINGTON teaches history and Asian studies at St. Clare’s College in Canberra, Australia. He holds an M.A. in history from the University of California at Los Angeles and an M.A. in Hindi and a Ph.D. in Asian Studies from the Australian National University. Born in India and raised in the United States, he has lived for ten years in Australia and has made several research trips to India. He makes a first appearance in World Order.

PAUL GLIST is a communications lawyer whose interests include history and political theory and whose publications include short stories. He holds a bachelor’s degree in American studies from Cornell University and a law degree from the Stanford Law School.

MÍRZÁ ABU’L-FAḌL MUḤAMMAD GULPÁYGÁNÍ (1844-1914), the son of an eminent Shí‘ite legal scholar, was one of the most learned Iranian philosophers and historians of religion of his generation. Although he received traditional schooling and became a teacher in the Muslim school, he began to investigate the philosophy and history of religion and around 1876 became a Bahá’í. As a scholar and teacher of the Bahá’í Faith, he traveled in Iran, Russian Central Asia, Palestine, Egypt, and the United States. In 1898 he published Fará’id (Matchless Gems) and in 1900 ad-Durar al-bahiyyah (Glorious Pearls).

MICHAEL S. HARPER is a professor of English and director of the writing program at Brown University. He holds a bachelor’s degree from California State University at Los Angeles and master’s degrees from that University and the University of Iowa Writer’s Workshop. His many publications include Dear John, Dear Coltrane, History Is Your Own Heartbeat, History as Appletree, Song: I Want a Witness, Debridgement, and Nightmare Begins Responsibility. He has edited Heartblow: Black Veils, an anthology of black poetry of the seventies, and, with Sterling A. Brown and Sterling Stuckey, New Negro Caravan. In 1970 he was a National Book Award nominee and in 1972 won the best book award from the Black Academy of Arts and Letters for History Is Your Own Heartbeat.

DONALD F. KEYS is the president of Planetary Citizens, an international nongovernmental organization based in New York City. Mr. Keys is the author of numerous articles dealing with spiritual perspectives on contemporary global social issues. He publishes an annual report on the UN General Assembly, which has become a standard reference.

MUHAMMAD ALI MAZIDI is working on a master’s degree in electrical engineering at Southern Methodist University and is a part-time instructor of electronics at the Elkins Institute of Dallas. He also holds a Master of Science degree in physics from the University of Texas at Dallas. His interests include the history of ideas of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, with emphasis on the development of the idea of world order.

ART CREDITS: Cover, design by John Solarz, photograph by David L. Trautmann; p. 1, photograph by Delton Baerwolf; p. 5, photograph by Glenford E. Mitchell; p. 9, photograph by Grace Nielsen; p. 10, photograph by Glenford E. Mitchell; p. 20, photograph by Camille O’Reilly; p. 29, photograph by Grace Nielsen; p. 34, photograph by Scott Stafford; p. 49, photograph by Camille O’Reilly.

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