The True Bahá’í
“I have never heard of Bahá’u’lláh,” said a young man. I have only recently read about this movement, but I recognize the mission of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and desire to be a disciple. I have always believed in the brotherhood of man as the ultimate solvent of all our national and international difficulties.”
“It makes no difference whether you have ever heard of Bahá’u’lláh or not,” was the answer, “the man who lives the life according to the teachings of Bahá’u’lláh is already a Bahá’í. On the other hand a man may call himself a Bahá’í for fifty years and if he does not live the life he is not a Bahá’í. An ugly man may call himself handsome, but he deceives no one, and a black man may call himself white yet he deceives no one: not even himself!”
The Coming of Peace
“By what process” continued the questioner, “will this peace on earth be established? Will it come at once after a universal declaration of the Truth?”
“No, it will come about gradually,” said ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. “A plant that grows too quickly lasts but a short time. You are my family” and he looked about with a smile, “my new children! if a family lives in unison, great results are obtained. Widen the circle; when a city lives in intimate accord greater results will follow, and a continent that is fully united will likewise unite all other continents. Then will be the time of the greatest results, for all the inhabitants of the earth belong to one native land.”
The Pure Heart
When asked for a definition of a pure heart, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá said, “The pure heart is one that is entirely cut away from self. To be selfless is to be pure.”
True Spirituality
Another morning ‘Abdu’l-Bahá began at once to speak as he joined the group of seekers. He said: “Praise be to God, this century is a glorious century; may love increase every day; may it strike fire to light the candle in the darkness, like a gift and mercy of God.
“Know, O thou possessors of insight, that true spirituality is like unto a lake of clear water which reflects the divine. Of such was the spirituality of Jesus Christ. There is another kind which is like a mirage, seeming to be spiritual when it is not. That which is truly spiritual must light the path to God, and must result in deeds. We cannot believe the call to be spiritual when there is no result. Spirit is reality, and when the spirit in each of us seeks to join itself with the Great Reality, it must in turn give life. The Jews in the time of Christ were dead, having no real life, and Jesus actually wafted a new breath into their bodies. Behold what has been accomplished since!”
Knowledge Must Result in Action
A representative from a well known society made reference to its meetings for the purpose of a search into the reality of truth, and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá said “I know of your work. I think a great deal of it. I know your desire is to serve mankind, and to draw together Humanity under the banner of Oneness; but its members must beware less it become only a discussion. Look about you. How many committees have been formed, and living for a little while, have died! Committees and Societies can not create or give life.
“People get together and talk, but it is God’s Word alone that is powerful in its results. Consider for a moment: you would not trade together if you had no income from it and derived no benefit! Look at the followers of Christ. Their power was due to their ardour and their deeds. Every effort must have its result, else it is not a true effort. You must become the means of lighting the world of humanity. This is the infallible proof and sign. Every progress depends on two things, knowledge and practice. First acquire knowledge, and, when conviction is reached, put it into practice.
“Once a learned man journeyed to see me to receive my blessing, saying he knew and comprehended the Bahá’í teachings. When I told him that he could receive the blessings of the Holy Spirit at any time when he put himself in a receptive attitude to accept them, he said he was always in a receptive attitude.
“‘What would you do,’ I asked ‘if I were to suddenly turn and strike you?’ He instantly flared with indignation and strode angrily about the room.
“After a little I went over and took his arm, saying, ‘But you must return good for evil. Whether I honoured you or despised you, you should follow the teachings; now you merely read them. Remember the words of Jesus who said, ‘The first shall be last, and the last first.’ The man turned, shook my hand and departed, and I have since heard of many kind acts he has done.”
When ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was addressed by the name of prophet, he answered, “My name is ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, the Servant of God” [literally, the Slave of Glory.]1
Visit to the Lord Mayor
At the express wish of the Lord Mayor, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá paid him a visit early one morning at the Mansion House. The talk turned chiefly upon the social conditions of great cities, and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá said that London was the best regulated city he had seen.
He said: “Every man walking in the street is free as if he were in his own kingdom. There is a great spiritual light in London. The effort made for justice is real and in this country the law is the same for the poor as for the rich.” He took great interest in hearing of the care that is taken of prisoners as they leave jail, and spoke of the land being happy where the magistrates are as fathers to the people.
Before ‘Abdu’l-Bahá left London, he went to an East-end hospital to visit there a young writer lying seriously ill, who was very anxious to see him.
Some Personal Characteristics
There is a note in ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s character that has not been emphasized, and with which no idea of him is complete. The impressive dignity which distinguishes his presence and bearing is occasionally lighted by a delicate and tactful humour, which is as unaffected as it is infectious and delightful.
On his last afternoon in London, a reporter called to ask him of his future plans, finding him surrounded by a number of friends who had called to bid him good-bye. When, in answer to this query, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá told in perfect English of his intention to visit Paris and go from there to Alexandria, the press representative evinced surprise at his faultless pronunciation. Thereupon ‘Abdu’l-Bahá proceeded to march with a free stride up and down the flower-scented drawing room, his Oriental garb contrasting strangely with his modern surroundings; and, to the amusement of the assembly, uttered a string of elaborate English words, laughingly ending, “Very difficult English words I speak!” Then, a moment later, with the swift transition of one who knows both how to be grave and gay, he showed himself terribly in earnest.
He had left orders that none were to be turned away, but one who had twice vainly sought his presence, and was, through some oversight, prevented from seeing him, wrote a heartbreaking letter showing that he thought himself rebuffed. It was translated by the Persian interpreter. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá at once put on his coat, and, turning towards the door, said, with an expression of unspeakable sadness, “A friend of mine has been martyred, and I am very grieved. I go out alone.” and he swept down the steps. One could then see how well the title of “Master” became him.
Another phase of his character which none who saw him could ever forget was his attitude towards children who were brought to him. Many of his talks were given as he sat with his arm encircling one of them.
He invariably admonished the parents thus: “Give this child a good education; make every effort that it may have the best you can afford, so that it may be enabled to enjoy the advantage of this glorious age. Do all you can to encourage spirituality in them.”
One who sought the presence of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá realized the father-like sympathy which is his. Speaking of his and others’ love for ‘Abdu’l-Bahá the reply was: “I know that you love me, I can see that it is so. I will pray for you that you may be firm and serve in the Cause, becoming a true servant to Bahá’u’lláh. Though I go away I will always be present with you all.” These words were spoken with the greatest loving sympathy and understanding of difficulties; during the moments of this little talk ‘Abdu’l-Bahá held and stroked the speaker’s hands, and at the end took his head and with a gentle touch drew it to him kissing the forehead of the young man, who felt that he had found a father and a friend.
The Farewell
On the last morning of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s stay in London many friends gathered both at Cadogan Gardens and at the station to bid him farewell. An impressive and interesting ceremony was performed at the house by a Zoroastrian (a physician), who sent an elaborate telegram to some Parsis in Bombay, saying: “The Torch of Truth has been lighted again in the East and the West by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.” Instructed by his brethren, this follower of one of the most ancient religions in the world had brought with him a sacred oil of a rare perfume, with which he anointed the head and breast of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, afterwards touching the hands of all present. He then placed around ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s neck and shoulders an exquisite garland of rose-buds and lilies.
The last glimpse which the friends had at Victoria Station was that of the venerable face and form standing at the window, gazing out with a look of benevolence and wonderful tenderness on those he was leaving.
From an Interview given by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá to the Weekly Budget
September 23rd, 1911
SOME OF THE EXPERIENCES OF HIS FORTY YEARS IMPRISONMENT
In an apartment in Cadogan Gardens sits a spiritually illumined Oriental, whose recent advent in London marks the latest junction of the East and West.
The teaching of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá has already brought about the commingling of thousands of Englishmen and Englishwomen with Orientals from every quarter of the East. Upon the basis of mutual help and friendship and the worship of God, regardless of creed and denomination, they have joined hands with an earnestness and brotherly love contrary to the theories of certain cynical poets and philosophers.
Most of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s life has been spent in an Eastern prison, which he gladly endured rather than abjure his faith, one of the tenets of which is the absolute equality of souls regardless of physical differences, such as sex and colour. He recognizes no class distinctions except those conferred by service and the spirit of brotherly love. For this and other like doctrines he was held prisoner for forty years in the fortress city of Akká, in Palestine. When I requested to talk with him, I was told to come early, and called, according, at nine o’clock, for an interview. It was already mid-day to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá who rises at four, and who had seen eighteen people before his breakfast at half-past six.
Representatives of many languages and nationalities awaited him in the drawing room.
We sat in a circle facing ‘Abdu’l-Bahá who inquired if there were any questions we would like to ask. I said my editor had sent me to ascertain something of his prison life, and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá at once related in a simple impersonal way one of the most remarkable stories conceivable.
“At nine years of age, I accompanied my father, Bahá’u’lláh, in his journey of exile to Baghdád, seventy of his disciples going with us. This decree of exile, after persistent persecution, was intended to effectively stamp out of Persia what the authorities considered a dangerous religion. Bahá’u’lláh, with his family and followers, was banished, and travelled from one place to another. When I was about twenty-five years old, we were moved from Constantinople to Adrianople, and from there went with a guard of soldiers to the fortressed city of Akká, where we were imprisoned and closely guarded.”
The First Summer
“We had no communication whatever with the out-side world. Each loaf of bread was cut open by the guard to see that it contained no message. All who believed in the Bahá’í manifestation, children, men and women, were imprisoned with us. There were one-hundred and fifty of us together in two rooms and no one was allowed to leave the place with the exceptions of four persons, who went to the bazaar to market each morning, under guard. The first summer was dreadful. Akká is a fever-ridden town. It was said that a bird attempting to fly over it would drop dead. The food was poor and insufficient, the water was drawn from a fever-infected well and the climate and conditions were such, that even the natives of the town fell ill. Many soldiers succumbed and eight out of ten of our guard died. During the intense heat, malaria, typhoid and dysentery attacked the prisoners, so that all, men, women and children, were sick at one time. There were no doctors, no medicines, no proper food, and no treatment of any kind.
“I used to make broth for the people, and as I had much practice, I make good broth,” said ‘Abdu’l-Bahá laughingly.
At this point one of the Persians explained to me that it was on account of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s wonderful patience, helpfulness, and endurance that he was always called “The Master.” One could easily feel his mastership in his complete severance from time and place, and absolute detachment from all that even a Turkish prison could inflict.
Better Conditions
“After two years of the strictest confinement permission was granted me to find a house so that we could live outside the prison walls but still within the fortifications. Many believers came from Persia to join us but they were not allowed to do so. Nine years passed. Sometimes we were better off and sometimes very much worse. It depended on the governor, who, if he happened to be a kind and lenient ruler, would grant us permission to leave the fortification, and would allow the believers free access to visit the house; but when the governor was more rigorous, extra guards were placed around us, and often pilgrims who had come from afar were turned away.”
I learned, afterwards, from a Persian, who, during these troublous times, was a member of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s household, that the Turkish government could not credit the fact that the interest of the English and American visitors was purely spiritual and not political. Often these pilgrims were refused permission to see him, and, many times, the whole trip from America would be rewarded merely by a glimpse of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá from his prison window.
The Government thought that the tomb of the Báb, an imposing building on Mount Carmel, was a fortification erected with the aid of American money, and that it was being armed and garrisoned secretly. Suspicion grew with each new arrival, resulting in extra spies and guards.
‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd’s Committee
“One year before ‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd was dethroned, he sent an extremely overbearing, treacherous and insulting committee of investigation. The chairman was one of the governor’s staff, Árif Bey, and with him were three army commanders varying in rank.
“Immediately upon his arrival, Árif Bey proceeded to denounce me and tried to get proof strong enough to warrant sending me to Fizán, or throwing me into the sea. Fizán is a caravan station on the boundary of Tripoli where there are no houses and no water. It is a month’s journey by camel route from Akká.
“The committee twice sent for me to hear what I had to say in my own defence and twice I sent back word: ‘I know your purpose, I have nothing to say.’
“This so infuriated Árif Bey that he declared he would return to Constantinople and bring back an order from the Sulṭán to have me hanged at the gate of Akká. He and his committee set sail with their report containing the following accusations:—‘Abdu’l-Bahá is establishing a new nation of which he is to be the king; ‘Abdu’l-Bahá is uplifting the banner of a new religion; ‘Abdu’l-Bahá has built or caused to be built fortifications in Haifa, a neighbouring village, and is buying up all the surrounding lands.’
“About this time an Italian ship appeared in the harbour sent by order of the Italian Consul. It had been planned that I was to escape on it by night. The Bahá’ís in Akká implored me to go but I sent this message to the captain: ‘The Báb did not run away: Bahá’u’lláh did not run away; I shall not run away, so the ship sailed away after waiting three days and three nights.
“It was while the Sulṭán’s committee of investigation was homeward bound that the first shell was dropped into ‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd’s camp and the first gun of freedom was fired into the home of despotism. That was God’s gun,” said ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, with one of his wonderful smiles.
“When the committee reached the Turkish capital, they had more urgent things to think of. The city was in a state of uproar and rebellion, and the committee, as members of the government staff, were delegated to investigate the insurrection. Meanwhile the people were establishing a constitutional government and ‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd was given no chance to act.”
The Release
“With the advent of the Young Turks’ supremacy, realized through the Society of Union and Progress, all the political prisoners of the Ottoman Empire were set free. Events took the chains from my neck and placed them about Hamíd’s; ‘Abdu’l-Bahá came out of prison and ‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd went in!”
“What became of the committee?” asked someone, breaking the deep silence that followed the recital of this thrilling page of history. “Árif Bey,” continued ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, “was shot with three bullets, the general was exiled, the next in rank died, and the third ran away to Cairo, where he sought and received help from the Bahá’ís.”
“Will you tell us how you felt while in prison and how you regard your freedom?” I asked. “We are glad that you are free.”
“Thank you,” he said graciously, and continuing—
“Freedom is not a matter of place. It is a condition. I was thankful for the prison, and the lack of liberty was very pleasing to me, for those days were passed in the path of service, under the utmost difficulties and trials, bearing fruits and results.
“Unless one accepts dire vicissitudes, he will not attain. To me prison is freedom, troubles rest me, death is life, and to be despised is honour. Therefore, I was happy all that time in prison. When one is released from the prison of self, that is indeed release, for that is the greater prison. When this release takes place, then one cannot be outwardly imprisoned. When they put my feet in stocks, I would say to the guard, ‘You cannot imprison me, for here I have light and air and bread and water. There will come a time when my body will be in the ground, and I shall have neither light nor air nor food nor water, but even then I shall not be imprisoned.’ The afflictions which come to humanity sometimes tend to centre the consciousness upon the limitations, and this is a veritable prison. Release comes by making of the will a Door through which the confirmations of the Spirit come.”
This sounded so like the old theology that the modern in me rose doubting if the discipline could be compensated for by the effort. “What do you mean by the confirmations of the Spirit?”
“The confirmations of the Spirit are all those powers and gifts which some are born with (and which men sometimes call genius), but for which others have to strive with infinite pains. They come to that man or woman who accepts his life with radiant acquiescence.”
Radiant acquiescence—that was the quality with which we all suddenly seemed inspired as ‘Abdu’l-Bahá bade us good-bye.
It was a remarkable experience, hearing one who had passed along the prison path for forty years declare “There is no prison but the prison self;” and it drove conviction to one’s mind as this white-robed messenger from the East pointed the way out,—not by the path called “Renunciation,” but “Unattachment;” Radiant Acquiescence—the Shining Pathway out of the “greater prison of self” as ‘Abdu’l-Bahá so beautifully terms those bars that keep us from our fulfillment.
Isabel Fraser.