T H E J O U R NA L O F B A H Á ’ Í S T U D I E St h e j o u r na l o f b a h Á ’ Í s t u d i...

T H E J O U R NA L O F B A H Á ’Í S T U D I E SL A R E V U E D E S É T U D ES B A H Á ’ Í ES/LA REVISTA D E E S T U D I O S B A H Á ’ Í S

Volume 14 Number 1/2 March–June 2004

Contents

1 SU H E I L BU S H RU I The 21st Hasan M. B a lyuzi Memorial LectureThe Opening of the Academic Mind: The Challenges Facing a Culturein Crisis

39 PHILIP SELZNICK Civility and Piety as Foundations of Community

53 SIYAMAK ZABIHI-MOGHADDAM The Bábí-State Conflict at ShaykhT. abarsí

Book Reviews

91 DWIGHT N. BASHIR Review of Rethinking Humanitarian Intervention:A Fresh Legal Approach Based on Fundamental Ethical Principles inInternational Law and World Religions by Brian D. Lepard

97 WI L L I A M P. CO L L I N S Rev i ew of P rocesses of the Lesser Pe a c e e d i ted byBabak Bahador and Nazila Ghanea

105 Biographical Notes

Cover: MARION JACK Waiting at the Gate (oil on canvas, 64 cm. x 76 cm.,ca. 1908)

The 21st Hasan M. Balyuzi Memorial Lecture

The Opening of the AcademicMind: The Challenges Facing aCulture in Crisis

SUHEIL BUSHRUI

AbstractThis essay offers a perspective on the state of the academy. It attempts to addressreforms essential to the progress and development of society: retrieving the cen-tral place of teaching in the curriculum, inculcating humility in place of intellec-tual arrogance, protecting the academy against the intrusion of corporate andpolitical agendas, abrogating the law of “publish or perish,” and finally, wideningthe intellectual and spiritual horizon of students by introducing them to the noblemonuments of classical culture and to that “universal and unanimous tradition”represented in the spiritual heritage of the human race.

Ah love! Could thou and I with fate conspire,to grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,would not we shatter it to bits and then,remould it nearer to the heart’s desire.

—Omar Khayyam

1

It is an honor to have been invited to give this year’s Hasan BalyuziMemorial Lecture at this distinguished gathering. I have chosen as my

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Copyright © 2004 Association for Bahá’í Studies

theme the state of the academy or, in more general terms, the universityas an institution of higher learning in today’s world. I recognize that werepresent here not only academicians but also many others from a varietyof different professions and backgrounds. The question might be asked:“Why have I not chosen something more inclusive?” The answer is thatthe university has been my life.

I have been a university professor for almost fifty years, during whichtime I have served as associate dean and department head and held pro-fessorships in the fields of Anglo-Irish Studies, English Literature,Translation, Cultural Studies, Comparative Literary Studies, and ConflictResolution and World Peace. I have had the privilege of teaching at lead-ing universities in North America, Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. InDecember 2004 I shall step down as the professor holding the Bahá’íChair for World Peace to move into another field that has engaged myattention for the last forty years; I shall become the Kahlil GibranProfessor of Values and Peace at the University of Maryland.

More importantly, perhaps, the choice of my subject is on account of thefact that much can be done to improve the state of the academy. Eventoday the academy struggles with the same questions raised by Aristotletwenty-three hundred years ago when he wrote:

. . . mankind is by no means agreed about the best things to be taught,whether we look to virtue or the best life. Neither is it clear whethereducation is more concerned with intellectual or moral virtue. Theexisting practice is perplexing; no one knows on what principle weshould proceed—should the useful life, or should virt u e, or shouldthe higher know l e d g e, be the main aim of our training? (Po l i t i c s8:2:1337a35)

It is imperative that the questions posed by Aristotle be answered andthat we should meet the challenges of reforming an institution which inits origins was destined to serve the most noble of all goals: to instructand provide the young with an education concerned with character for-m ation and not the mere acquisition of q u a l i fic at i o n s. For without chara cter

The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 14. 1/2. 20042

no learning or academic achievement truly fulfils its promise. Arthur J.Schwartz, a leading authority on character education, has observed, “Thechallenge for higher education is to establish character development as ahigh institutional priority. Sustained leadership is needed to articulate theexpectations of personal and civic responsibility in all dimensions oflearning and living on a college campus” (A 68).

Allow me at the outset to make one thing very clear: my aim in thispaper is not to denigrate the university as an institution, nor is it to under-mine the importance of scientific research and rational inquiry. Theattempt here is to emphasize the importance and the necessity of restor-ing a balance, in all scholarly endeavors, between mind and spirit, naturaland divine philosophy. The restoration of this balance must also inculcatea pure motive, described by Albert Einstein as that “cosmic religious feel-ing” (39) which was the impetus of all his scientific work. Through therestoration of such a balance, an education which is virtue centered canagain become possible.

U n fo rt u n at e ly, today’s unive rsities are becoming more and moredivorced from spirituality and dependent on quantitative analysis andempirical data. This imbalance has caused the corruption and distortion ofboth science and religion, which Bahá’ís believe to be pillars established tosupport the Faith of God. There can be no greater concern in educationtoday than the division between the scientific approach, also called “nat-ural philosophy,” and divine philosophy. The division of these two noblevirtues, as ‘Abdu’l-Bahá calls them, has distorted humanity’s vision andprevented it from recognizing the fact that “civilization is itself a spiritu-al process, one in which the human mind and heart have created progres-sively more complex and efficient means to express their inherent moraland intellectual capacities” (qtd. in Bahá’í International Community 5).But there was a time when such a division had not yet occurred. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá has referred to such a time in Ancient Greece when philosophers

were devoted to the investigation of both natural and spiritual phe-nomena. In their schools of teaching they discoursed upon the worldof nature as well as the supernatural world. . . . Man should continue

The Opening of the Academic Mind 3

both these lines of research and investigation so that all the humanvirtues, outer and inner, may become possible. The attainment ofthese virtues, both material and ideal, is conditioned upon intelligentinvestigation of reality, by which investigation the sublimity of manand his intellectual progress is accomplished. (Promulgation 327)

Originally the educator acted as a physician of the soul. His concernwas to make the soul well by involving the student in a spiritually fulfill-ing way of life and participating with the student in contemplation andright action. Accordingly, at the opening of his Nicomachean Ethics,Aristotle states: “. . . we are inquiring not in order to know what virtue is,but in order to become good, since otherwise our inquiry would have beenof no use.” It is for this reason that education cannot simply consist of theacquisition of knowledge, for, as Aristotle explains, “it is by doing just actsthat the just person is produced, and by doing temperate acts the temper-ate person; without doing these no one would have even a prospect ofbecoming good. But,” he continues,

most people do not do these, but take refuge in theory and t h i n k t h e yare being philosophers and will become good in this way, behav i n gs o m ew h at like patients who listen at t e n t i ve ly to their doctors, but donone of the things they are ordered to do. As the latter will not be madewell in body by such a course of t r e atment, the fo rmer will not be madewell in soul by such a course of p h i l o s o p hy. (1103b27; emphasis added)

Therefore, if education fails to empower students with virtues of charac-ter, then, to borrow a phrase from Plato, they are left to wander aroundlike cattle on the chance of picking up virtue by luck,1 and, as Aristotlepoints out, “[t]o entrust to chance what is greatest and most noble wouldbe a very defective arrangement” (Nicomachean Ethics 1099b24).

I believe in the university and in its noble mission. I believe, also, that itis the duty of all of us who are members of the academy to uphold its tra-ditions of wisdom and morality. “Wisdom” and “Morality”: two wordsthat remind me of my visit to India in 1989 to deliver the Yeats Memorial


Lecture at a great international event, sponsored partly by the govern-ment of India. Among the distinguished guests attending the lecture wereMrs. Anne Yeats, the daughter of the poet W. B. Yeats; His ExcellencyKaran Singh, one of India’s most respected thinkers and a former Ministerof Education; and the eminent English poet Kathleen Raine.

Kathleen Raine had just come back from a visit to the Sathye Sai BabaUniversity at Puttaparti in southern India, a new university only ten yearsold at the time but where many thousands of students were attending aca-demic courses. In describing her visit to that university, Kathleen Raineshowed me a piece of paper on which she had written what was inscribedon the two main entrances of the university. The first inscription read:“The purpose of education is wisdom,” and the second: “The purpose ofknowledge is morality.” She added: “Once, such words might have beenfound inscribed on the doors of our own colleges and places of learningbut alas, we no longer find this in our own countries.” Kathleen Raine wascorrect in her assessment of the crisis prevailing in our universities in theWest. But since that time, the universities in the East have equally suc-cumbed to the temptations of materialism that have adversely affectedWestern universities.

Kathleen Raine was inspired by a vision of the ideal university.Consequently she invited a selected group of individuals who shared hervision to join her in creating the Temenos Academy.2 We came togetherto form what we believed to be the heart of the university of the future.At the inaugural meeting in 1992, Keith Critchlow publicly announced thefoundation of Temenos in the following terms:

“The first sanctuary is the World,” so said Plotinus. For those of uswho have dedicated ourselves, to the best of our abilities, to the study,promotion and revival of the sacred traditions we chose the word“Temenos” because in the world of human action it is particularlyappropriate.

Temenos is the sacred space—however, as Plotinus reminds us,there is no space that is not sacred! It is what takes place in that spacethat decides its sacredness.


In opening the Temenos Academy we call upon two words thathave a venerable history and meaning outside of time. Temenos is thesacred enclosure, the enclosure of the heart in ourselves, the enclo-sure of the Church, Temple, Mosque or Synagogue in a city. Theinner place where we as humans find our peace with that greatest ofmysteries, the unifying god. “Academy” the place of learning in thesacred traditions links us to the arcade of trees outside of Athenswhere Plato chose to found one of the longest surviving educationalestablishments in the western world. The association is with trees;the tree of life as well as the tree of knowledge. Learning whilst walk-ing and talking amongst the trees, or sitting beneath the trees are tra-ditions virtually lost to the modern world. Is it surprising we havebecome so out of touch with the web of life on the Planet? (Critchlow,Allit, and Ra i n e 1 – 2 )

Thus the Temenos Academy was created and received the providentialhelp of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, who agreed to encourageus by establishing the Academy within his new Institute of Architecturein London.

The members of Temenos, or those of us who carried the title ofFellow, were not all university professors with academic qualifications;there were many of us who had acquired their share of the “SacredKnowledge” through the learning of the “Imagination” as Kathleen Rainedescribed it, or as Yeats would have it, as that “special and indispensablekind of wisdom described by the word ‘Imagination’” (qtd. in Raine, W. B.Yeats 23). By this both of them meant not a dreamy, unrealistic approachto life that takes no account of harsh realities, but a deep and abiding innerconviction guided by the promptings of conscience and a sense of unitywhich, through empathy with the whole of the created universe, seeks thegood of all and does harm to none. According to William Wordsworth itis that Imagination

Which in truthIs but another name for absolute strength


And clearest insight, amplitude of mind,And reason in her most exalted mood.

(468)

My Arab litera ry tradition helped me to understand what bothKathleen Raine and W. B. Yeats really mean by the word “Imagination.” Itis, in fact, what the Sufi poets of Arabia called al-bas.íra (meaning insight)which is distinct from al-bas.ar (meaning sight). The “Imagination,” or al-bas.íra, for the Sufi poets, is therefore that “eye of the heart” which pene-trates the reality of all things.

We came together at Temenos to create the ideal university, and todaywe are as committed as ever to continuing what we had started then. Wehad a holistic approach, we were interdisciplinary, and above all we werebelievers in the unity of God and the unity of religion. We belonged todifferent faiths and came from different nationalities, but we recognizedTruth as being that “universal and unanimous tradition” represented inthe spiritual heritage of the human race. It is the Truth of which Ibn al-‘Arabi sang in his Tarjumán al-Ashwáq, a collection of mystical odes inwhich he celebrates the vision of God as witnessed in all created things:

He saw the lightning flash in the east [so] he longed for the east,but if it had flashed in the west he would have longed for the west.My desire is for the lightning and its gleam, andnot from whence it flashes on earth.3

We were all aware of the sanctity of our trust, and the unity of theTruth we sought. There was a complete absence of any kind of intellec-tual pride or arrogance, and we all felt that we were a part of that greatturning of the tide that has now enveloped the world.

When we came together we understood that our success in creatingTemenos depended on an important quality, which T. S. Eliot called the“the wisdom of humility”: “The only wisdom we can hope to acquire / Isthe wisdom of humility: humility is endless” (“East Coker” 14).

Every one of us understood that true humility is reflected, as Gandhi


had suggested, in a “supreme state of total surrender” (48) to almightyGod and through an absolute abnegation of the self and its worldlydesires. Our discussions, therefore, had always been the opposite of thetypically belligerent and discourteous style of contemporary scholarship.It seemed as though we were following the example of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá,whose discourses were amiable, courteous, and magnanimous. We wantedvery much to raise the level of scholarly discourse from the degenerationinto which it had fallen.

When I entered the “English literary world” as a Yeats scholar in thelate fifties and early sixties, I realized that my whole approach and inter-est in Yeats and English literature had carried me on a course that divid-ed me from the conventions of contemporary criticism. My main interestswere very different from those nurtured by the critics of the time. I wasinterested in the Perennial Philosophy and the Western esoteric tradition.My work on Kahlil Gibran, in similar ways, was a mystical journey of dis-covery inspired by Gibran’s profound belief in the unity of the human raceand the oneness of all religions. I was struck by the cynicism, the spiritu-al illiteracy of the time, and by the bitterness and discourtesy of academ-ic discourse as reflected in literary criticism.

I found my s e l f in the midst of a situation that is best described by Ja c o bI s a a c s, an astute critic, who in 1951 provided us with the fo l l ow i n gassessment: “Our own preoccupations are shown by the frequency withwhich we talk of f ru s t ration, bew i l d e rment, maladjustment and disinte-gration, the intensity with which we discuss and are aware of c ru e l t y,violence and sadism, the all-pervading sense of a n x i e t y, and in the back-ground a feeling of guilt, sin, humiliation and despair. Never faith, hopeor charity” (45). Somehow I found myself, as the Sufi poet did, when hesaid of the world: “I am in it, but not of i t . ” I was not alone in facing sucha predicament; James Moore, in introducing his biogra p hy of G e o r g eI va n ovitch Gurdjieff, the remarkable Russian thinker in search of a u t h e n-tic spiritual teachings, complained bitterly about what had happened tob i ographical studies by saying: “Modern biogra p hy is we a r i s o m e ly icon-o c l a s t i c, and tends to pivot on the sexual exposé. The defenseless subject


is presented horizontally—his or her sexual proclivities, perfo rm a n c e,and perve rsions gra p h i c a l ly detailed in service to contempora ry candorand to book sales. ”

The ethos of civility and respect for colleagues, whether contemporaryor historical, is truly lost to the world of letters in both Britain andAmerica. This state of affairs was illustrated to me in a very personal waywhen Samuel Beckett granted me one of his very rare interviews. A fewyears later, I wrote in the Temenos journal an account of my conversationwith Beckett:

I met Samuel Beckett at a cafe on the Boulevard Saint-Jacques in Parison 23 May 1987. During the two hours I spent with him, our discus-sion was not confined to either Irish or English literature, but coveredliterature in general. . . . When he talked about Yeats and Joyce, hespoke with reverence and with great loyalty to their tradition andwhat they stood for. The greatness of Beckett seemed to comethrough by the way he regarded his great predecessors, and as he wasexpounding his views I could not help but compare his courtesy as awriter with the flippancy and unjustifiable arrogance of most con-temporary professional critics. (“Samuel Beckett” 88)

2

At Temenos we were all convinced, then as we are now, that the unive rs i t yas an institution was in deep crisis. It was being assailed by the fo rm i d abl en egat i ve forces resulting from an overemphasis on modern technology, theprofit motive, the rise of the sports industry, and the influence of politicalideology. That the university was in deep trouble seemed to be the con-clusion recently reached by a number of researchers who published theirfindings in several well-documented books, which provided all the evi-dence needed to prove the point.4

At Temenos we felt that we could, in our modest way, begin to addresstwo things: the core curriculum which is really the heart of any university


program, and a code of ethics that inspired both our structure and ourwork. In our manifesto, entitled Temenos Academy of Integral Studies, themission of the Academy was clearly stated as follows:

The purpose of this Academy will be to teach the humanities from aunitary point of view—that is to say those subjects rooting valuesand meanings in the basis of human consciousness which is fulfilledonly in integrality. We do not propose to teach the empirical sciences,nor the arts from the standpoint of practice, rather their principlessince these practices are adequately taught in Universities and else-where. Where the existing Universities have increasingly failed is torelate human studies to the unifying perspective of the PhilosophiaPerennis, or to ask the question, “What is Man?” The essence of thee d u c ation we propose would be the integral approach, and specific a llyfrom the standpoint of the Platonic trinity of values, the Good, theTrue and the Beautiful. This integral approach was the originalintent of the older Universities both in Christian Europe and inIslamic countries. Modern Universities in abandoning this unifyingperspective have ceased to be universal, and become schools rather of“diversity,” each subject being taught as a specialization according tothe individual standpoint of the teacher.

We were acutely aware that it was time to return to that sacred knowledgethat had been ignored by the universities for so long—“the sacred heritagefrom our ancestors from time immemorial which it is our duty to transmitunimpaired—and enriched—to future generat i o n s ” ( Ra i n e, Te m e n o sAcademy Appeal).

Our code of ethics, however, was simply expressed in Ten Basic Prin-ciples that have inspired our work at Temenos:

1. Acknowledgement of Divinity2. Love of Wisdom, as the essential basis of civilization3. Spiritual Vision as the life breath of civilization4. Maintenance of the revered traditions of mankind


5. Understanding of tradition as continual renewal6. The provision of teaching by the best teachers available in their

disciplines and of publications which set the highest standards in both content and design

7. Mindfulness that the purpose of teaching is to enable students to apply in their own lives that which they lear n

8. To make Temenos known to all those who may benefit from its work

9. Reminding ourselves and those we teach to look up and not down10. Governance of Temenos Academy itself in the light of the above

principles

Much can be learned from the Temenos ex a m p l e. But we must notu n d e r e s t i m ate the enormity of the crisis facing all unive rsities in the Eastand in the West. Professor Stanley N. Katz, director of Princeton Unive r-sity’s Center for Arts and Cultural Policy Studies, writing in The Chro n i cl eo f Higher Educat i o n in the afterm ath of t e rrorist attacks of S eptember 11,2001, laments the fact that since the end of the war in Vietnam “j u s t i c e h a sseldom been the principle term of reference for campus debat e. ” He alsoasks the question “Wh at would it mean, in 2002, to be a just unive rs i t y ? ”The answer of c o u rse is simple enough: restore wisdom and morality to thea c a d e my. In commenting on Bill Readings’s brilliant but eccentric bookentitled The Univ e rsity in Ru i n s, Professor Katz summarizes Readings’s the-sis and highlights the crisis facing all unive rsities as fo l l ow s :

Readings begins by arguing that “the wider social role of the univer-sity as an institution is now up for grabs. It is no longer clear whatthe place of the university is within society nor what the exact natureof that society is.” [Readings’s] basic argument is that the universityhas become “a transnational bureaucratic corporation. As a resultthose disciplines—the humanities, in particular, that do not have adirect economic benefit no longer seem central. Excellence becomes amatter to be judged by market capitalism. And achieving and main-taining excellence depends on an ever-expanding market” (B8–9)5


3

To overcome the crisis, which is referred to by both Katz and Readings,requires enlightened leadership. In his Laws, Plato attached immenseimportance to the role of Minister of Education:

This is by far the most important of all the supreme offices in thestate. That is why the legislator should not treat the education of chil-dren cursorily or as a secondary matter; he should regard the rightchoice of the man who is going to be in charge of the children assomething of crucial importance, and appoint as their Minister thebest all-round citizen of the state . . . each man voting for whicheverGuardian of the Laws he thinks would make the best Minister ofEducation. (765–766)

In view of what Plato has said, it is startling to read a recent pro-nouncement by the holder of this office in Great Britain, Charles Clarke,that education for education’s sake is “a bit dodgy,” and that study of theclassics, for example, should be phased out because it serves no practicalpurpose. This, not surprisingly, provoked a lively response. RichardIngrams, for example, commented that Clarke “might have similar doubtsabout the merits of studying philosophy because it is not, at first sight, anactivity which is going to help increase the gross national product in anobvious way” (28).

Ingrams, however, emphasizes the need for those in authority to be“alert to philosophical issues,” with warnings of the grave consequences ifthey were not. In this respect, he is in tune with Plato’s conviction, repeat-ed throughout the Republic and other dialogues, that nobody willinglyacquires a malevolent character and does wrong willingly. For Plato, if aperson does wrong this is attributed to a large extent to bad educators.Plato believed that a holistic and philosophical education benefits not onlythe individual spiritually but the whole of society in far-reaching ways.6

Yet in the Laws Plato was not merely a dreamy theorist far removed from


practical concerns. This dialogue was written after he had been invited toSicily by Dion of Syracuse and given a free hand to reshape the govern-ment on philosophical principles. Plato returned a wiser man with agreater understanding of the harsh realities of political life and the needto modify his theories to take account of them.

The study of p h i l o s o p hy, as exe m p l i fied by Plat o, Aristotle, and Plotinus,and not as it is curr e n t ly expounded in most philosophy dep a rtments of t h ea c a d e my, is cert a i n ly relevant today despite the fact that we now live in anage of increasing technological sophistication in which it is claimed thatmany thought processes can be carried out by computers. Kathleen Ra i n es p o ke fo r c e f u l ly of the drab bleakness of a world where such assumptionsgo unchallenged:

The schoolchildren do not want to be trained for the kind of “jobs”that the machines provide, in the technological Utopia where think-ing is something computers do, where “the brain” is synonymouswith mind and thought. We have even had it claimed that a comput-er can write poems, and truth to say the samples given were all toolike many produced by human beings who conceive themselves interms of a mechanistic science. (Inner Journey 3)7

An emphasis on material needs and their satisfaction at all costs increas-ingly pollutes humanity’s deeper spiritual longings and the world itself.“Towards the end of his life,” writes Brian Keeble in his book Art: ForWhom and For What?, “[the distinguished craftsman] Eric Gill concludedthat it was not on the grounds of its general ‘beastliness, vulgarity, ineffi-ciency, anti-socialness [and] ugliness’ that the industrial commercial worldshould be denounced but because of its ‘fundamental unholiness’” (7). Itseems to me that the time has come for us to restore those values inher-ent in the meaning of holiness to scholarly research and academic learn-ing. Materialism also taints the world of the intellect when education isr egarded, in Charles Clarke’s view, as a means to an end—that of i n c r e a s e dproductivity with qualific ations supplying a passport to an enhanced


s t a ndard of living in material terms, whether the wants which it impliesare genuine or not. “Degree inflation” leads to a proliferation of collegecourses whose content is debased and diluted to meet the requirements forthose unequal to more taxing studies.8

This lowering of standards imposes a double strain on those who teach.On the one hand, it encourages a competitive, adversarial approach to aca-demic life in which a professor’s merit is measured not by his teachingskills or originality of thought but by the number of his publications,regardless of quality. On the other, the compulsion to produce ever morebooks and articles, many of them unreadable by anyone outside a narrowand highly specialized field, leaves teaching staff so pressed for time thatthey are forced to shift the burden of much of their teaching onto researchassistants and young scholars at the beginning of their careers, when theyare usually inexperienced and not yet capable of d e l i vering the high-q u a lity tuition which students need and are entitled to expect.

Corners are cut and material spun out to provide the stuff of ever moreslender publications as the staff jockey for position and fight for tenure,and junior academicians not only struggle with an unacceptable teachingload but are starved of the time and energy which they need to matureand to develop their own scholarship.9 It is, in fact, a horrifying situationwhich ultimately represents a betrayal of trust and principle in the nameof materialism or modish theories. It is a betrayal of gargantuan dimen-sions which has been documented by three studies published in recentyears: Charles J. Sykes’s ProfScam: Professors and the Demise of HigherEducation, Martin Anderson’s Imposters in the Temple: American Intellectualsare Destroying our Universities and Cheating our Students of Their Future, andAllan Bloom’s The Closing of the American Mind: How Higher Education HasFailed Democracy and Impoverished the Souls of Today’s Students.

This is not a new danger. Once again, Plato already sensed its presencein his Protagoras, where the dialogue between Socrates and the sophistwho provides its name peters out in mutual incomprehension and inabili-ty to agree on the terms of debate between the philosopher and the pro-fessional sophist who claims to be able to teach wisdom for payment. Thismisapprehension was lampooned by Aristophanes in his Clouds, where the


cash-strapped father in despair takes his spendthrift son Pheidippides offto the Phrontisterion, or “thinking-shop,” to have him taught, as he believes,how to make “the worse argument appear the better” and bamboozle hiscreditors—a plot which backfires, bringing the comedy to a chaotic con-clusion as the disgruntled father burns down the establishment andSocrates and his disciples flee in confusion. The seeds of corruption, then,were sown early. However, it was not until centuries later, at the time ofthe Enlightenment, that certain philosophical and scientific influenceswere brought to bear which caused them to spring into rank growth.

4

Within a generation of the movement, Arthur Schopenhauer was pouringscorn on uncritical accumulation of factual knowledge and its indiscrimi-nate publication. “Just as the largest library, badly arranged, is not so use-ful as a very moderate one that is well arranged, so the greatest amountof knowledge, if not elaborated by our own thoughts, is worth much lessthan a far smaller volume that has been abundantly and repeatedlythought over” (491), he declared. The Greeks, once again, had alreadyforeseen this hazard: Heraclitus had stated, “Much learning does not teachinsight” (in Cohen, Curd, and Reeve, 26), while the Jewish author of theBook of Ecclesiastes had sighed, “Of making many books there is no end;and much study is a weariness of the flesh” (12:12).

Mere quantity, then, cannot be a criterion of excellence in education,whether in the amassing of facts or their publication to display one’sknowledge. We have seen the disastrous consequences of this approachand must now ask what, in its place, educators should hope to supply toyoung people who are being so dismally ill served by the current system.In the late 1980s Konrad Lorenz, the scientist and Nobel laureate, wrote:“The predicament of young people today is especially critical. Forestallingthe threatening apocalypse will devolve on their perceptions of value;their sensibilities of the beautiful and worthwhile must be aroused andrenewed. And just these values are those being suppressed by scientismand technomorphic thinking” (6). We must consider how the situation


described by Lorenz came about, and how the ideals on which universitieswere founded were ultimately betrayed.

It may be helpful at this point to consider the case of a comparativelyrecent foundation, the University of Berlin, established in 1811 byWilhelm von Humboldt, then Prussia’s Minister of Education. The newinstitution started out with the highest ideals as a focus of excellence in acountry gradually recovering from Napoleon’s invasion of 1806; some ofthe most prominent minds of the day, including Georg Wilhelm FriedrichHegel and Friedrich Ernst Daniel Schleiermacher, were invited to take upprofessorships there. Yet less than ten years later Humboldt himself hadresigned from office in disgust. The primary reason for this was the risein the tide of politicization which had swept over Prussia. This opened theway for universities, especially if state funded, to be compromised by theneed to comply with government dictates, not least in the political viewsof teaching staff and the manipulation of the content of the syllabus tomeet the perceived needs of an increasingly industrialized society.

This process was not confined to the universities; in France, for exam-ple, the home of Auguste Comte’s positivist philosophy, the nineteenthcentury saw the increasing secularization of schools and the establish-ment of lycées techniques and écoles polytechniques to cater to the demands ofbusiness and industry, satirized by Flaubert in his novel Madame Bovarywith its portrait of the apothecary Homais, the small-town “man of sci-ence” proclaiming his belief in le progrès and scorning the superstitions ofreligion. Dickens, similarly, in his novel Hard Times, drew a harsh carica-ture of such attitudes in the person of the materialistic Mr. Gradgrindwith his insistence that education should be confined to facts and nothingelse.

Humboldt’s contemporary and friend, Friedrich von Schiller, saw farbeyond his own times in contending that the modern age, being a time ofspecialization, bifurcation, and materialism, is not the norm, but a stage inthe development of man’s cultural progress. Just as Humboldt envisagedan educational system which would provide vocational training in addi-tion to, not instead of, a firm grounding in classical culture and thehumanities, Schiller likewise aspired to balance and wholeness, proposing


an aesthetic education in which the spirit could be liberated to act as a sol-vent dissolving all contradictions. Summarizing Schiller’s analysis of thepredicament of modern humanity, the translators and editors of theEnglish edition of Schiller’s On the Aesthetic Education of Man record thefollowing:

[Schiller addresses] the evils of specialization, whether of knowledgeor skill, or of one function of the psyche at the expense of the others;the dissociation of what once was united—sensibility and thought,feeling and morality, body and mind; the cleavage between differentbranches of learning, between the sciences and the arts, between thedevelopment of the individual and the welfare of the community,between those who are too exhausted by the struggle for existence tothink for themselves and those who are too indolent to make creativeuse of their leisure; the reduction of man to a mere cog in the wheelof an over-developed society; the de-humanization of the citizen in aState where he is valued for the function he performs rather than thebeing that he is, treated as a classifiable abstraction and administeredby laws which seem irrelevant to him as person. [Schiller’s is an]analysis, in short, of problems which have become the stock talking-points of cultural Jeremiahs in our own day and age. (Wilkinson andWilloughby xii)

It cannot be denied that the nineteenth century saw many advances inscience and technology, but it was also characterized by spiritual doubtand loss of faith in conventional religion, as is apparent from the writingsof Friedrich Nietzsche and of Matthew Arnold, to name but two. Amongthose who noted the paradox of faith in a materialistic and rationalistic cli-mate was Søren Kierkegaard, who stated, “If I am capable of graspingGod objectively, I do not believe, but precisely because I cannot do this Imust believe” (215). This declaration of the limitations of reason andobjectivity was the expression of a deeply critical and unfashionable out-look.

The willful separation of the intellect from spirituality reached its


apotheosis under the preeminently evil sociopolitical systems of the twen-tieth century, fascism and communism. Those ideologies both proclaimedthe infallibility of human attributes and numbered among their mostardent proponents men who were by training or aspiration intellectuals,including Lenin, Stalin, Goebbels, and Mussolini. The Nazi death campsand the Communist gulags are terr i ble monuments to an intellect untem-pered by mora l i t y, and an intellectual impulse which values people only tothe extent that they serve The Idea, what ever political fo rm it may take; asPaul Johnson has said: “The worst of all despotisms is the heartless tyra n-ny of i d e a s ” (342). Notwithstanding the gr e at contributions that the rat i o-nal faculty can make to the progress and development of man, its powe rbereft of the divine spark of humanity is bru t a l ly dangerous and destru c-t i ve.

5

Throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, then, as what W. H.Auden termed “the age of anxiety” approached, there was an everstronger tendency for a cleft to open up between the arts and the human-ities on the one hand and science and technology on the other, resultingin C. P. Snow’s “two cultures” of mutual incomprehension between scien-tists and nonscientists, and between the intellect and the spirit. One ofthose who perceived this division most acutely was the poet W. B. Yeats,and much of his writing was concerned with attempts to capture andrehabilitate the values of myth, mysticism, and spirituality, and the conse-quences of attempting to establish a state which dispensed with them. In1924, for example, in a speech at the opening of the Tailteann Games, hedelivered these words: “The world can never be the same. The stream hasturned backwards, and generations to come will have for their task, notthe widening of liberty, but recovery from its errors—the building up ofauthority, the restoration of discipline, the discovery of a life sufficientlyheroic to live without the opium dream” (qtd. in Fryer 95).

Yeats spoke these words eight years after the failure of the EasterRising of 1916 and seven years after the outbreak of the Russian


Revolution, both of which sharpened his awareness of the importance ofspiritual values in contemporary society. The Soviet viewpoint wasincreasingly traceable to the uncritical adulation of science, mechaniza-tion, and industrial progress from the early twentieth century onwards asRussia hastened to adopt Western practice as a means of escaping back-wardness and poverty. Soviet reformers were also attempting to overcomethe consequences of the oppression of Russian universities and thinkersduring the nineteenth century. Also lost were the rich traditions ofOrthodox spirituality stretching back over many centuries. This led manyacademicians to retreat into highly specialized and desiccated work as a“safe” way of gaining prestige while remaining aloof from the challengingmoral issues and responsibilities associated with involvement in the widerworld, as exemplified in Yeats’s poem entitled “The Scholars”:

Bald heads forgetful of their sins,Old, learned, respectable bald headsEdit and annotate the linesThat young men, tossing on their beds,Rhymed out in love’s despairTo flatter beauty’s ignorant ear.

All shuffle there; all cough in ink;All wear the carpet with their shoes;All think what other people think;All know the man their neighbour knows.Lord, what would they sayDid their Catullus walk that way?

(Collected Poems 158)

The image here is one of a self-absorbed sterility which is out of touch notonly with the outside world but also with the very spirit of the poet whosework provides scholars with their livelihood. This retreat may also beinterpreted as a withdrawal from involvement with the young of the pre-sent day through failing to teach and stimulate them to think, develop, and


explore ideas for themselves and to grow in spiritual qualities which thescholars might be expected to prize above the things of this world and totransmit to their pupils. This is, in fact, symptomatic of the crisis facingmodern universities described by Bloom, Anderson, and Sykes, where theprofessors are actively shirking their duties or failing to fulfill them out ofsheer exhaustion generated by the artificial pressures of an increasinglycompetitive environment. The great scholar and teacher T. R. Henn waswell aware of the responsibilities of the “principal voice of conscience”within the educational system:

We who presume to teach literature (however haltingly and feebly)are, I believe, under bond to transmit such comment from our ownexperience as may serve to relate it, however gropingly, to the funda-mental values. So far as we have known love, war, death, in all theirpermutations, it is for us to make known our experiences, in terms ofliterature, to our pupils. If we fail to do this, whether because of somepersonal inhibition, or lack of experience, or the fear of ridicule fromthose we teach because we are not “with it”—with, that is to say, thecurrent conceptions of a world by turns empty, or absurd or irre-sponsible—then we are acting out a new Treason of the Clerks.Perhaps we are acting it even by keeping silence. (43)

Yeats summarized his own position succinctly as follows: “I have alwaysconsidered myself a voice of what I believe to be a greater renaissance—the revolt of the soul against the intellect—now beginning in the world”(Letters 211). Yet, sadly, nowadays the academic world seems to under-stand Yeats no better than his contemporaries did in the 1930s. “TheUniversities, having replaced new criticism, marxism, behaviourism, exis-tentialism, and the rest with minimalism, post-modernism, feminism,deconstructionism, political correctness and whatever other ‘original’ the-ories ingenious ignorance is able to generate,” still continue in their fail-ure to understand Yeats, because “materialism remains an unquestionedorthodoxy” (Raine, W. B. Yeats 3) fatal to comprehension of a poet who


saw that what passed for “progress” led not to utopia but to a spiritual voidand the breakdown of civilization, and whose own deepest knowledge hadas its sources mind, spirit, and imagination—not matter.

Throughout the ages, it has been the poets who, more than anyone else,have perceived the dangers of this dichotomy and sought to remedy it.Even before the Enlightenment, in 1611, John Donne had commented:

And new Philosophy calls all in doubt,The Element of fire is quite put out;The Sun is lost, and th’earth, and no man’s witCan well direct him, where to look for it.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

’Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone.(73)10

Blake wrote caustically in his Milton of “the idiot Questioner”:

To bathe in the Waters of Life, to wash off the Not Human,I come in Self-annihilation & the grandeur of Inspiration,To cast off Rational Demonstration by Faith in the Saviour,To cast off the rotten rags of Memory by Inspiration,To cast off Bacon, Locke & Newton from Albion’s covering,To take off his filthy garments & clothe him with Imagination,To cast aside from Poetry all that is not Inspiration,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .To cast off the idiot Questioner who is always questioningBut never capable of answering, who sits with a sly grinSilent plotting when to question, like a thief in a cave,Who publishes doubt & calls it know l e d g e, whose Science is Despair. . . .

(546)

F i n a l ly, and perhaps most memorably, T. S. Eliot spoke for the twe n t iethcentury:


The endless cycle of idea and action,Endless invention, endless experiment,Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,But nearness to death no nearer to God.Where is the Life we have lost in living?Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuriesBring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.

(“The Rock” 96)

What an ironically appropriate ring these words have in the age of“Information Technology”!

Eliot’s reference to the “cycles” of Heaven also has resonances of thecyclical view of history as eternal recurrence propounded by Hegel andhis successors. Yeats had no doubt of the pernicious influence Hegel’sdialectic has exerted over the development of Western philosophy:“Hegel’s historical dialectic is, I am persuaded, false. . . . Hegel in his morepopular writings seems to misrepresent his own thought. Mind cannot bethe ultimate reality seeing that in his ‘Logic’ both mind and matter havetheir ground in spirit. To Hegel, as to the ancient Indian Sages, spirit isthat which has value in itself ” (On the Boiler 22).

This was especially topical in relation to the political developments ofthe twentieth century. Deterministic methodology ignores the complex i t yof the real world by artificially reducing individual and societal circum-stances to a single favored element, as in the case of Darwin’s theory ofnatural selection, Freud’s of sexual trauma, and of course Marx’s of classs t ru gg l e. Materialism, the quintessence of Marxism, was doomed to failbecause it ignores the truth that human values are not contingent on indi-vidual or collective possessions, as witnessed by the fact t h at we a l t hy people


and affluent societies are not demonstrably more moral or happy thantheir poor counterparts.11

6

The malevolent influence of the cult of the intellect continues to linger inthe universities, manifesting itself in the skewed orthodoxies of postmod-ernism which advocate the latest reductionist “ism” rather than the read-ing of Milton, terminological inexactitude and bewildering jargon, arro-gance for the absurdities of academic publishing, and outright contemptfor teaching.

We must, as the twenty-first century begins, move beyond the intellectand its attendant cult and acknowledge that the mind, when divorced fromthe heart, is not a reliable instrument for accurate perception. One of themost lucid and urgent appeals on behalf of this position was made in 1995by Philip Sherrard, in which he calls for “the reversing of a process ofi g n o ra n c e, through which the distortion of our capacity to perceive thereality of things leads to our enslavement to an illusory world entirely ofour own inve n t i o n ” (1), requisite for our reg e n e ration and the ave rting ofa disaster threatened by technology gone mad. Sherrard comments onthe distortion of our capacity to perceive things tru ly as the origin of o u rd a n g e r o u s ly unquestioned belief in the truth of a p p e a rances and conse-quent tendency to ove rvalue what can never be more than partial andincomplete knowledge derived from these imperfect percep t i o n s. Bydoing so, those who glorify the intellect at the expense of other elementsin the human being block themselves off from any possibility of p e r c e i v-ing reality. He calls for a new approach to the reading of the book ofn at u r e, not in a materialistic or deterministic sense, as a first step ind eveloping a new habit of p e r c eption and discarding false “know l e d g e ”based on ignorance to arr i ve at a positive state of u n k n owing in whicht rue wisdom can deve l o p.

In particular, we might add, intellectuals must learn a new humility inplace of that overbearing quality identified by Paul Johnson in Karl Marx:“He was not interested in finding the truth but in proclaiming it” (54).


This overbearing quality leads us to disregard those ethical values whichallow us to be open-minded in our approach and sincere in our work andwhich encourage us not to question timeless values such as loving one’sneighbor. In this respect, the distinguished psychologist Alfred Adler inassessing Freudian techniques arrived at the conclusion that Freudianpsychology lacked a moral foundation. Adler remarked that “It is a spoiltchild psychology,” and added, “but what can be expected from a man[Freud] who asks, ‘Why should I love my neighbour?’” (qtd. in Frager andFadiman 100). In fact, the current core curriculum of psychology in theuniversity remains centered on Freudian theory, while generally ignoringthe work of, for example, C. G. Jung, whose ideas remain as an invaluableapproach to the psyche which does not dismiss religion as “neurosis.” It ispossible, therefore, to develop a more honest approach which permits oneto state categorically that one is against the cult of the intellect but notanti-intellectual, and against the deification of science but not anti-s c i e ntific (an essential distinction).

Beyond the cult of intellect, there is knowledge of another kind, taughtby sages whose works are the sacred books of all spiritual traditions, poetsand visionaries. They are united by their zeal for the truth, as Plotinusdeclared, “there is nothing higher than the truth.” Centuries later, theArab philosopher al-Kindi testified to this when he wrote:

It behooves us never to shy away from showing approbation of thetruth wherever it comes from, be it from faraway races or fromstrange and different nations. For nothing is more worthy of him whoseeks the truth than to recognise it [whatever its source]. It alsobehooves us never to degrade the truth, nor to disparage him whospeaks it or him who conveys it. For no man is degraded by the truth;all are honoured and elevated by it. (Qtd. in Bushrui, Wisdom 72)

It is that particular virtue which Plato, at the core of his philosophy,ranked with Good and Beauty and which has no place in a materialist sci-ence. Yeats evoked these sages in his writings as representatives of the“perennial wisdom” set forth by Plotinus and the Hermetics; the Gita and


the Upanishads; the Sufi philosophers; and the poets whom he reveredmost, Shelley and Blake, transmitting their own “mysterious wisdom wonby toil” (Collected Poems 184),12 a wisdom higher than the stuff of doctor-al theses, whose purpose is not academic advancement but the bestowingon humanity “whatever most can bless/The mind of man or elevate arhyme” (Collected Poems 276). How much more serious this must be in thecontext of our approach to the Sacred Writings of Bahá’u’lláh which havebeen revealed not to become the subject of academic debate or doctoraltheses, but to fulfill, in the words of Shoghi Effendi, “the divine purposefor this age, which is no less than the establishment of the reign of divinelove, justice, and wisdom in the world, under and in conformity to theDivine Law” (Guidance 110), and to bring about, as Bahá’u’lláh Himselfhas declared “the healing of all the world . . . [and] the union of all its peo-ples” (qtd. in Shoghi Effendi, World Order 40).

7

It is this same regard for the truth which is one of the most chara c t e r i s t i cf e atures of Bahá’í scholars h i p, together with its habit of c o u rtesy to thoseo f different pers u a s i o n s. Bahá’u’lláh leaves us in no doubt as to the indis-p u t able law of c o u rtesy for He states clearly that “courtesy . . . ab ove all else. . . is the prince of v i rt u e s ” (Tablets of B a h á ’ u ’l l á h 88). In K i t á b - i - B a d í ’B a h á ’ u ’lláh further adds that “he who does not possess courtesy does notpossess faith” ( 2 0 5 ) .1 3 The implications of this last statement go beyo n dthe issues of m a n n e rs of speech, behav i o r, and treatment of o t h e rs to thecore of one’s own belief in the Truth. Furt h e rm o r e, under no circum-stances should the languag e, the tone, or the style of c o n t e m p o ra ry acade-mic scholars h i p, with its total disregard for court e s y, be adopted by a Bahá’ís c h o l a r. I cannot help but remember in this respect a hadith in which theProphet Muhammad establishes a code of ethics that is echoed in many as t atement by Bahá’u’lláh and ‘A b d u ’l-Bahá: “Let him who believes in Godand the Day of Judgment either speak the good word or remain silent.”

C o n t e m p o ra ry academic scholarship is often vindictive ly vicious in at t a c k-ing an idea or an author regardless of the merit of the thesis proposed.


Bahá’ís are bound by a code of ethics not established by mortal beings bu tr evealed unto them by the Manifestation of God Himself. And let us notforget that summary of Bahá’í ethics which Bahá’u’lláh includes in theEpistle to the Son of the Wo l f in which He begins with the words, “Be gen-erous in prosperity, and thankful in adve rs i t y ” (93). In this passag eB a h á ’ u ’lláh sets the standards to be fo l l owed by all Bahá’ís, scholars andn o n s c h o l a rs alike. In another Tablet, Bahá’u’lláh’s specific instructions toBahá’í authors engaged in any scholarly activity is as fo l l ow s :

Thou hast written that one of the friends hath composed a treatise.This was mentioned in the Holy Presence, and this is what wasrevealed in response: Great care should be exercised that whatever iswritten in these days doth not cause dissension, and invite the objec-tion of the people. Whatever the friends of the one true God say inthese days is listened to by the people of the world. It hath beenrevealed in the Lawh. -i-H. ikmat: “The unbelievers have inclined theirears towards us in order to hear that which might enable them to cavilagainst God, the Help in Peril, the Self-Subsisting.” Whatever is writ-ten should not transgress the bounds of tact and wisdom, and in thewords used there should lie hid the property of milk, so that the chil-dren of the world may be nurtured therewith, and attain maturity. Wehave said in the past that one word hath the influence of spring andcauseth hearts to become fresh and verdant, while another is like untoblight which causeth the blossoms and flowers to wither. God grantthat authors among the friends will write in such a way as would beacceptable to fair-minded souls, and not lead to cavilling by the peo-ple. (Compilation of Compilations 407)

Yet at present the Bahá’í community itself is being challenged by thecult of the intellect, which is the basis of most scholarly pursuits, espe-cially in Western universities. Let us not forget that every religion of Godhas faced such challenges at some phase of its development; indeed, itmight be said that the chief source of schism and disunity in the historyof religion has been the learned.


Two dangers, in particular, call for special attention. The first is thetendency to foment dissension and disunity. Scholarship in the non-Bahá’íworld, like so many other aspects of the old world order, is based on a per-version of Darwin’s theory: that one’s success in life depends upon thedefeat of others. In such a world, disunity is regarded as natural within atradition that fosters distrust and places a high value on stubborn mutu-al opposition between individuals and groups, reducing scholarship to anadversarial process like a court case with one winner and one loser. Suchantagonism, which has devastated academia, cannot be allowed to takeroot in the Bahá’í community, despite indications that it is attempting todo so, as discussed in the statement issued by the Universal House ofJustice entitled Individual Rights and Freedoms in the World Order ofBahá’u’lláh (25–26).

As Bahá’u’lláh wrote in the Kitáb-i-Aqdas:

Weigh not the Book of God with such standards and sciences as arecurrent amongst you, for the Book itself is the unerring Balanceestablished amongst men. In this most perfect Balance whatsoeverthe peoples and kindreds of the earth possess must be weighed, whilethe measure of its weight should be tested according to its own stan-dard, did ye but know it. (Par. 99)

In a letter dated 27 May 1966, the Universal House of Justice makesclear the grave danger of applying the standards of a corrupt age toBahá’í scholarship:

In past dispensations many errors arose because the believers inGod’s Reve l ation were ove ranxious to encompass the DivineMessage within the framework of their limited understanding, todefine doctrines where definition was beyond their power, to explainmysteries which only the wisdom and experience of a later age wouldmake comprehensible, to argue that something was true because itappeared desirable and necessary. Such compromises with essentialtruth, such intellectual pride, we must scrupulously avoid. (87–88)


When Bahá’í scholars compare their own tradition with the theories ofmodern social thought as exemplified by Darwin, Freud, and Marx, theywill understand that the latter are the limited products of mere mortals,based on a tragically mistaken deterministic view of science, and that thestandards set by Bahá’u’lláh, to which we are all privileged in this Day ofGod to give allegiance, transcend the entire history of human thought andbeing. Chief among these is His revolutionary attitude to the concept of“the learned,” based on wholly new and unique ideals. He has decreed thatthe world as a whole has been recreated by His revelation; in the Kitáb-i-Aqdas itself He revealed: “The world’s equilibrium hath been upsetthrough the vibrating influence of this most great, this new World Order.Mankind’s ordered life hath been revolutionized through the agency ofthis unique, this wondrous System—the like of which mortal eyes havenever witnessed” (par. 181).

Having acknowledged, however, that the realm of human scholarshipfalls within the terms of this decree, we must neither reject the vast trea-sury of knowledge we have inherited from our ancestors, nor fail to com-municate with non-Bahá’í colleagues, many of whom are outstanding bothmorally and intellectually. Yet in doing so, we must bear in mind severalstandards of Bahá’í scholarship. The first is that knowledge is of twokinds, man-made and divine; while human knowledge is of great benefitto the world and must be diligently pursued by all, divine knowledge isthe ultimate purpose of the learning process. It is, however, in the finalanalysis, beyond understanding.

The Word of God is not subject to human reason, log i c, rational argu-ment, or scientific analy s i s. It transcends the powe rs of the mind, which,h owever gr e at they may be in this world, are as nothing in the realm ofGod’s Manifestat i o n s. It is for this reason that the seat of God’s reve l a-tion is not the mind but the heart .1 4 While both the mind and the heartare intimat e ly invo l ved in the individual’s experience of the divine teach-i n g s, it is of the utmost importance that their roles should not be con-fused, and that the rational mind should not mistake n ly believe itself t obe superior to the mystical qualities of spiritual life. In this context allk n ow l e d g e, in the Bahá’í point of v i ew, is measured by its benevo l e n t


i n fluence and contribution to the unity and prosperity of the human ra c e.Acquiring such knowledge is incumbent upon eve ryone and is rega r d e dby Bahá’u’lláh as the “wings to man’s life, and a ladder for his ascent”(E p i s t l e 26). But He also warns us against that knowledge which serve sulterior motives and is of no benefit to humanity, describing it as “‘themost g r i evous veil between man and his Creat o r ’ ” (K i t á b - i - Í q á n 44). Hef u rther warns of the consequences of being deluded by the wrong kindo f k n owledge: “When a true seeker determines to take the step of s e a r c hin the path leading to the knowledge of the Ancient of D ay s, he must,b e fore all else, cleanse and purify his heart, which is the seat of the reve-l ation of the inner mysteries of God, from the obscuring dust of a l lacquired know l e d g e, and the allusions of the embodiments of s at a n i cf a n c y ” (K i t á b - i - Í q á n 1 2 3 ) .

Second, the function of Bahá’í scholarship is to serve humanity by con-ve y i n g, accurat e ly and lov i n g ly, the spirit and guidance of the divine teach-i n g s, through scholars engaged not with esoteric issues but with the ful-fillment of the deepest human needs of the soul and the community. As thesoul is a divine my s t e ry which “no mind, however acute, can ever hope tou n rave l ” (G l e a n i n g s 158–59), the scholar must necessarily base his vision onthe healing message and spiritual nourishment provided by the SacredTex t s, not on his own ideas and imaginings; he must become a faithful ve s-sel for the spreading of the divine teachings. By upholding the fundamen-tal principles of their Faith while adhering to the highest standards ofs c h o l a rs h i p, Bahá’í academicians can help bridge the divide between secu-lar and religious view p o i n t s. The urgency of this task should not be under-e s t i m ated. Writing in the pages of the New Yo rk Times, a columnist recent-ly noted that “[o]ne of the most poisonous divides is the one between intel-lectual and religious America” (Kristof). In helping to bring together thereligious and secular communities of America, Bahá’í scholars will indeedbe serving the cause of u n i t y. In addition to this, a major contribution ofBahá’í scholars to today’s world is to address pressing global issues such ase nvironmental degra d ation, widespread pove rt y, the decline in public andp r i vate mora l i t y, the need for new educational standards, and the necessityfor comprehensive disarmament and the establishment of u n i ve rsal peace.


While engaging colleagues of all perspectives, it is essential for Bahá’íscholars to render their services by maintaining the unity and sanctity ofthe Word of God. Shoghi Effendi notes in his account of the World Orderof Bahá’u’lláh that it includes aspects of older forms of government yet isidentical to none of them; similarly, Bahá’í scholarship takes advantage ofthe strengths of older forms and methods of scholarship but transcendsthem all. It is this precious tradition which must be guarded against thetemptation to mix its concepts with the methods, theories, and standardsof the society around us. Shoghi Effendi expressly warned against “com-promise with the theories, the standards, the habits, and the excesses of adecadent age” (Advent 30). Rather, the task of the Bahá’í scholar is to helpcreate a new world order and to follow its lofty standards, not to bring theBahá’í community into conformity with the dying civilizations around us.

This is a unique task, and can never be an easy one, not least because ofits unprecedented nature and its differences from the scholarship of Islam,Christianity, Judaism, or the academies. Bahá’í scholarship is not only opento all, regardless of birth or background, but is the duty of all, as stated ina letter written on behalf of the Universal House of Justice: “there shouldbe room within the scope of Bahá’í scholarship to accommodate . . . thosebelievers who may lack formal academic qualifications but who have,through their perceptive study of the Teachings, acquired insights whichare of interest to others. . . .” (Scholarship 7). This approach prevents schol-arship from becoming a platform for leadership in the community, andpromotes a spirit of humility among scholars.

“Bahá’í scholarship,” as most of us use this term, does not fully encom-pass the community of Bahá’í scholars worldwide. Most often, “Bahá’íscholarship” is a descriptive category applied to two sets of qualifyingresearchers: a group of scholars working within the Western tradition,and another group of scholars working within the Iranian tradition.However, as Bahá’ís with a global perspective, we must always ask: Whatis happening under the rubric of “Bahá’í scholarship” in other parts of theworld such as India, Pakistan, and Africa? At the moment, Western schol-ars dominate the field of Bahá’í scholarship and the language in which thisscholarship is expressed is predominantly English. Even if Bahá’í research


in parts of the world other than the West and Iran is not yet fully devel-oped, we as Bahá’í scholars must be welcoming and supportive of all suchendeavors. The Bahá’í Faith itself is neither of the East nor of the West;similarly, Bahá’í scholarship must be inclusive in its scope. Just as we mustresist any form of separation between “Western” and “Iranian” Bahá’íscholarship, so must we make every effort to remain unified with Bahá’íscholars working throughout the world and within many diverse intellec-tual contexts. For in the final analysis, the greatest contribution thatBahá’í scholars can make is to uphold the unity of the wider Bahá’í com-munity.

As yet, with only a limited portion of the Sacred Texts ava i l able in trans-lation, it is still too early to have an accurate vision of the potential of thelearned in the Bahá’í community. No doubt the noble aim of establishinga tradition of its scholarship will eventually be achieved, but only throughpatience, perseverance, and humility based on the understanding that theTexts in question convey the sacred Faith of God. This understandingprotects the scholar from producing, solely to promote their academiccareers, work which conforms to the cynical, amoral, and godless stan-dards of the prevailing system. Or as Eliot reminds us:

Servant of God has chance of greater sinAnd sorrow, than the man who serves a king.For those who serve the greater cause may make the

cause serve them.(Murder 45)

To compromise one’s integrity and most sacred beliefs for the sake ofgaining glory in a profession which tends to denigrate all religious lifeand spirituality can only lead to regrettable results. On the other hand, thebenefits of conducting scholarship in this Day of God are beyond calcula-tion. In making His supreme revelation, Bahá’u’lláh has disclosed the hid-den treasuries of God’s mysteries and released us from the oppression ofclerical orders and of religious and intellectual prejudices, while at thesame time providing us, in the form of the Universal House of Justice,


with a guide who can prevent the believers from going astray. To us isgiven the inestimable privilege of continuing the projects which ShoghiEffendi would have brought to fulfillment had it not been for the burdenswhich oppressed him. In the spirit of love and humility, let us concludewith the incomparable words of that beloved Guardian himself, who rec-ognized that under God’s inviolable Covenant there is no exclusion fromcloser knowledge of Him for any of His creatures:

How often—and the early history of the Faith in the land of its birthoffers many a striking testimony—have the lowliest adherents of theFaith, unschooled and utterly inexperienced, and with no standingwhatever, and in some cases devoid of intelligence, been capable ofwinning victories for their Cause, before which the most brilliantachievements of the learned, the wise, and the experienced havepaled. (Advent of Divine Justice 45–46)

The state of the academy is in disarray, the world is in great travail, andwe who are the bearers of the “name of God in this day” are faced with agreat challenge. Are we to succumb to the transient fads and fashions ofan ephemeral world and impose the values of that world on our Faith, orare we instead able to bring the values of our Faith to enrich, transform,and spiritualize not only the academy, but also the world itself ?

NOTES

Presented at the 27th Annual Conference of the Association for Bahá’í

Studies–North America, San Francisco, California, 31 August 2003.

1. See Plato, Protagoras 320.

2. These included Karan Singh and Ramanchandra Gandhi from India;

Wendell Berry and Jocelyn Goodwin from the United States; Madame Stella

Corbin, the widow of the distinguished French scholar Henri Corbin from

France; Sayyed Hussein Nasr from Iran; Keith Critchlow, John Allitt, John Carey,

Brian Keeble, Philip Sherrard, and Noel Cobb from the U.K.; Laurens van der Post

from South Africa; and myself from the Arab world.


3. Based on Nicholson’s translation in Bushrui, Wisdom of the Arabs 71.

4. These books included the following titles: Arthur M. Cohen, The Shaping of

American Higher Education; Julie A. Reuben, The Making of the Modern University;

Bill Readings, The University in Ruins; Sheila Slaughter and Larry L. Leslie,

Academic Capitalism: Politics, Policies, and the Entrepreneurial University; and Stanley

A r o n owitz, The Know l e d ge Fa c t o ry: Dismantling the Corp o rate Univ e rsity and Creating

True Higher Learning .

5. See also Readings 2, 4, 10–11. It would, howeve r, be both unfair and unjust

to say that in the midst of such a crisis there are no unive rsities that are exe rt-

ing eve ry effo rt to promote those values of the spirit that restore the balance and

uphold the tradition of wisdom and mora l i t y. I have been ve ry fo rt u n ate to fin d

my s e l f at the Unive rsity of M a ryland, where eve ry assistance was given me to

e s t ablish the Bahá’í Chair for World Pe a c e. The president of the unive rs i t y, the

deans of my colleg e, the directors of the Center for Intern ational Deve l o p m e n t

and Conflict Management, and a team of m a rvellous colleagues and students

who recognized the noble ideals expressed in the Chair’s mission, must receive

all the credit for the Chair’s successes. The effo rts of my colleagues and friends

at the Unive rsity helped to consolidate the Chair, win the respect and credibil-

ity it needed, and establish its academic rep u t ation and standing in the unive r-

s i t y.

6. See Plato: Timaeus and Critias 118.

7. On the same page she points out the inevitable cynicism and dissatisfaction

bred by advertisements which delude “the purchasers of cigarettes and conve-

nience foods, underwear and insurance policies” with specious images of material

utopias.

8. T .S. Eliot had already sounded a warning about this: “The culture of Europe

has deteriorated visibly within the memory of many who are by no means the old-

est among us. . . . For there is no doubt that in our headlong rush to educate

everybody, we are lowering our standards, and more and more abandoning the

study of those subjects by which the essentials of our culture—or that part of it

which is transmissible by education—is transmitted; destroying our ancient edi-

fices to make ready the ground upon which the barbarian nomads of the future

will encamp in their mechanised caravans” (qtd. in Kathleen Raine, Defining the

Times 47).


9. Compare, for example, Philip Roth’s portrayal of such a campus community

in his novel The Human Stain.

10. Spelling in the quoted text is modernized.

11. In economic terms India is certainly poorer than the post-industrial democ-

racies of the West, yet in spiritual terms it is surely richer.

12. See also Raine, Yeats 5–6.

13. Author’s paraphrasing from the Arabic text.

14. See Bahá’u’lláh, The Hidden Words Arabic no. 59, p. 17.

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Civility and Piety as Foundations ofCommunity

PHILIP SELZNICK

Good morn i n g, eve ry b o dy. I must say it gladdens my heart, if I can usesuch a timew o rn phra s e, to be part of these proceedings. I have readquite a few of the Bahá’í documents, and I found my s e l f ve ry much ins y m p at hy with a gr e at deal that has been said. I cannot claim to be “spir-i t u a l ly learn e d , ” but perhaps I can suggest that in a small way I havebeen “spiritually musical”—that’s not quite the same thing.

I have tried, through most of my work in sociology, to connect up thep ractical side of life—the way orga n i z ations are run, the way our lega lsystems are constructed, the way our theories of human nature areu n d e rs t o o d — I ’ ve tried to connect all these things up with the animat-ing principles, the va l u e s, the moral commitments that people can andshould make. And it is by ke eping in the forefront these moral commit-ments that we can better understand all of these aspects of l i f e. It seemsto me—not eve ryone would agree with this, of c o u rs e — t h at this hasmade me a better sociologist, better able to see what goes on in people’sl i ves: what moves them, what troubles them, what makes our institu-tions work properly, and what makes them fail dismally as they so oftend o.

Perhaps I could lighten this discourse a bit by telling a little story, nota long story. It’s about a young man who was twenty-two ye a rs old in1941—an intense, somew h at skinny young man. He was alw ays wasa lw ays asking people to “Be serious!” And of c o u rse his young acquain-tances and comrades were not going to be all that serious, but he wouldw ag his tongue and his finger a bit at them and sometimes they would

39

listen to him. Now this young man, at the age of t we n t y - t w o, was go i n gthrough a rather intense moral ex p e r i e n c e. He had been associated fo rs eve ral ye a rs with a young socialist orga n i z ation, and he had left andwas more or less on his own in 1941 and was trying to solve the riddleo f socialism: the difficulties that socialist ideals represent in a world thatwas so full of greed and power and self-aggrandizement. He turn e dfrom the ort h o d oxies of Marxism, and even of l i b e ral thought, to mucht h at he found useful in modern theology.

The secret is out: that young man was named Philip.I was ve ry yo u n g, but I thought that I ought to take ideas ve ry seri-

o u s ly. I loved ideas; perhaps I was a bit intox i c ated by them. But int rying to understand, in trying to deal with this, the dilemmas ofsocialist idealism, I turned to some theological writings, especially thework of the gr e at Christian theologian of the twentieth century,Reinhold Niebu h r, also Paul Tillich, and a few others, all of w h o mwere trying to say something important about the dilemmas of h u m a nex p e r i e n c e.

I ’ll just mention a couple of the things that I learned from this theo-l ogical unders t a n d i n g. One was—and this seemed to be really releva n t —it was ve ry easy for human beings to do evil in the name of the good, todo things that were wrong and hurtful and oppressive, while also plead-ing that they belonged to a noble world and they were pursuing a nobl ec a u s e. These writings pointed up the danger of doing evil in the name ofthe good, and they associated it with the sin of i d o l at ry, “idolat ry ” b e i n g,r o u g h ly speaking, the association of absolute good with a movement, ap a rt y, oneself—as a young person or as a parent or what have yo u — t h ew o rship of something that is contingent and limited as if it we r eab s o l u t e.

One of the things we learned was that this failure to understand limi-t at i o n s, this failure to understand the likelihood of doing evil, of m a k i n gt e rr i ble mistake s, moral mistake s, in the course of t rying to do somethinggood—all that was ordinary theological unders t a n d i n g, unders t a n d i n gthat had been going on for a long time. And I took it to my heart. A n o t h e r


t h e o l ogical principle—and I’ll mention only this one—has to do with ther e l ationship between power and perfection.

It came to me gra d u a l ly, not as in a blinding light, but only over time,t h at one had to understand the ways of God to man, and that way ism a i n ly this: to see that only in God can there be a union of p ower andperfection. Only in God, or at least the idea of God, is there a sense thatthere are no limits, that there is ab s o l u t e ly disinterested love, that thereis perfection in motivation, and that therefore unlimited power can bea s s u m e d .

The corollary of t h at is that no h u m a n being and no h u m a n i n s t i t u t i o ncan represent the union of p ower and perfection. It is not given to us ashuman beings to be all-powerful or to presume that we are all-perfect.Rat h e r, we recognize that all human institutions must be limited in somew ay, and ab ove all limited by our understanding of w h at moral idealscall fo r.

And so when we speak of d e m o c ratic majorities, or when we say that“ we should fo l l ow the will of the people , ” it is for us to ask, How shouldt h at will be gove rned? Is not the will of the people also something thatis subordinate to some higher law, some higher principle which will crit-icize that will and which will limit that will? So, too, in my thinking andwritings on the sociology of l aw, I have taken it for granted that law isnot its own justification, that no act of a leg i s l at u r e, no judicial opinion,can ever really have the last word; that there is alw ays something else tobe said, some principle to be invo ked, some way of thinking that willpoint us to some new road, some new path, some new way of t h i n k i n gabout justice. The work of justice is never done and that means also thatthe power of people who say they speak in the name of justice is neve ran unlimited power; it is alw ays limited by some appeal to the higherprinciples of j u s t i c e.

These are some of the things that this young man learned from hisreading of t h e o l ogy, from his effo rt to think seriously about the limits ofsocial idealism, the limits of any effo rt to try to change the world. Now,o f c o u rs e, this does not mean that a twe n t y - t w o - year-old would fail to

Civility and Piety 41

t a ke seriously all of his ideas. He took those ideas ve ry seriously indeed.He was skinny but he thought he had broad shoulders, and he thoughthe could carry the world on those shoulders. In time, I’m happy to say,he mellowed. In time, he came to see his own limitat i o n s. In time, hecame to see that he ought to stop and think before he speaks. He doesn’ta lw ays do that even now, but he tries it sometimes.

Wh at I’m trying to say with this little story is that my effo rts to bes p i r i t u a l ly musical, to take seriously the thinking that has gone on ab o u tthe vindication of, as Alexander Pope said, the ways of God to man, ofthe implications all that has for the way we think about morality andsociety—this is not something that is new to me, not something that hasnot become part of my life. Now it may seem ve ry strange indeed to heara Berkeley sociologist—a B e rke l ey s o c i o l og i s t ! — s ay things like this, andyet, thank God we have had academic freedom, we have been able to pur-sue the truth as God gives us to see the tru t h .

In recent ye a rs I have been trying to understand better the phenome-non we call c o m m u n i t y—this is a word that is familiar to all of yo u — a n dI ’ ve tried to understand this in a way that takes account of both thechanges in social reality, the ways social life is organized, and the idealst h at we associate with community.

I have resisted the temptation to answer the question, Is t h i s a com-munity? Is t h at a community? but rather to say that all groups are com-munities i n s o far as they do certain things: insofar as they are, they takeaccount of, and try to deal with a broad range of interests and ideals;insofar as they take account of and respond to people as whole per-sons—as living, responding individuals who have their own needs andtheir own problems; insofar as we can see ideals of caring and mutualc o n c e rn manifested in the experience of the g r o u p. So the idea of c o m-m u n i t y, as we say in social science, is va r i abl e. It’s not all or none. Andt h at has ve ry important implications because it suggests that the idea ofcommunity and the values that we associate with community can befound in many different settings. We can look for community in a con-ference of this kind; we can look for community in a family; we can look


for community in a Boy Scout troop; we can look for community in theclassroom; we can look for community in a law school or unive rs i t y, orw h at have you; we can look for community in a nation, and we may findit only to some extent.

Our problem is how to deepen and enrich the experience of c o m m u-n i t y. Therefore the idea of c o m m u n i t y, like the idea of l ove, can beapplied in many different settings. And we say that human beings oughtto obey the law of l ove not because they can love eve rything in the samew ay but because the ideals we associat e, we ex p e r i e n c e, with lov i n g — o fc o n c e rn, of c a r i n g, of i n t e r d ependence—these ideals can be found andmade manifest in many different ways and in many different aspects ofl i f e.

I would venture to say that if there is a public philosophy associat e dwith the intellectual discipline we call sociology, that public philosophyis this one: it is the public philosophy of enriching and enhancing com-m u n i t y, of t rying to discover ways of reconciling differences. It is a pub-lic philosophy that says you have to do the best you can to see that peo-ple live together in harmony and mutual concern and respect. And so Ih ave come up with something I call the principle of c o m m u n i t y, which Ih ave fo rm u l ated as the union of solidarity and re s p e c t.

It is not solidarity alone that makes for community because we canh ave solidarity enforced by commands that really have contempt for thepeople who are commanded. On the other hand, we can have a solidari-ty which takes seriously the individuality and dive rsity and uniquenesso f all of the components of the community, whether they are part i c u l a rgroups or families or whether they are individuals. It is this principle ofcommunity that seems to be what we have to try to pursue and to seeh ow far we can pursue it in the various contexts of our live s. In think-ing about community, I’ve tried also to understand some dilemmas ofc o m m u n i t y, dilemmas and ambiguities we sometimes turn aw ay from,but which we must recognize fo rt h r i g h t ly and try to deal with.

These thoughts have led me to consider the connection between twoideas I’d just like to spend a few minutes on today. One is the idea of


c iv i l i t y, and the other is p i e t y. These are not unfamiliar ideas: we all usethem from time to time. But it’s important to see how they are sep a rat eand how they are connected. Civility can have a ve ry narr ow meaning: itcan mean simply that someone else is speaking and we ought to be quietand listen. And it might mean just being quiet and n o t l i s t e n i n g — j u s ttaking turn s. You have your turn and I have my turn and that doesn’tmean we listen to each other.

T h at kind of civility is an aspect of p u blic life which asks us to takeaccount of our dive rs i t y — o f potential conflict—which asks us, ab ove all,to honor a principle of respect, so that we say we respect other peoplewhen we don’t ask them too many embarrassing questions; we respectother people when we are reticent and quiet and withhold criticisms andwe don’t say eve rything that comes into our heads. We say, well, the sit-u ation requires that we be polite and show good manners: that’s beingcivil. Or it may be, being civil is an aspect of our lives as public citizens,so that being civil means that we take seriously the principles of o u rcommunity and relate to them. But you can be civil and you can honorcivility and be respectful in a somew h at cool way, and you might say thatcivility is a principle that is rather more cool than hot. It’s not so muchan expression of passion; it’s more an expression of r e s t raint: don’t talktoo much, don’t talk out of t u rn; line up; be good for goodness’ sake s. Allthese things are part of c i v i l i t y.

But think again more seriously about civility. Suppose we go from try-ing to take turns to really understanding one another. The more wee m b race the principle of shared unders t a n d i n g, the more we try to seeother people as people to whom we must communicate in some deepw ay — at the ex t r e m e, of c o u rs e, is the experience of l oving someonee l s e, of u n d e rstanding that other person in a deep way, of responding tot h at other person’s needs and concerns and feelings, of c a r i n g ab o u tthose feelings and not just “respecting” them. Once you move in thatdirection and you move from listening to re a l ly l i s t e n i n g, then we seet h at civility asks much more of u s, and indeed may be also a deeper fo u n-d ation of c o m m u n i t y.


E ven civility in the sense in which I talked about it a moment ago, then a rr ow sense of taking turns and watching your tongue and not embar-rassing people, and so on—even that can help us fo rm communitiesbecause it can say we aren’t going to say things or do things that willcast people out or that will make them uncomfo rt able and unhappy inour presence and therefore they will say, “I don’t belong here; I’m go i n gto go somewhere else. ” N o, the more we show respect for people, themore like ly it is that they will stand with us and feel that they belong,and if not belong, at least they are tolerated, and if they are tolerat e dthey can be members. And so we say that all m e m b e rs o f the Americanc o m m u n i t y, all p e rs o n s, are entitled to the equal protection of the law; allp e rs o n s are entitled to due process of l aw; all p e rs o n s are entitled to therespect and good will of their fellow citizens. It’s still just civility.

Many of you, I suppose, have thought something about the ideas ofl i b e ralism. If you look at much that goes by the name of l i b e ral theory,l i b e ral thought, today, the focus really is on civility. The focus is on cre-ating a world which can go forward and be sustained despite the factt h at we have differences and we have different opinions. We have differ-ent ways of thinking and yet we belong together and should be tog e t h-er as citizens, therefo r e, as it we r e, we bra c ket our own special view s. Wes ay those are not the views that will move us today, but rather we willo r ganize society in a liberal fashion so as to take account of these differ-ences and allow us to live together despite our differences. This is thel i b e ral ethos.

L i b e ralism has not done so well with the other side of the coin, theother principle I want to mention, and that is the principle of p i e t y. Pietyis a word that again can have a ve ry narr ow meaning, so that, for ex a m-p l e, we simply may say the best example of p i e t y, many people would say,is filial piety, that is, being caring about, respectful of, and indeed obey-ing your parents; filial piety is the reverence and the respect that isaccorded by children to their parents. George Santayana, the philoso-p h e r, put it this way once: he said piety in its nobler sense is the rev e re n tat t a chment a person has to the sources of his being. This means that piety has


to do with loya l t y, with attachment, with commitment in the sense of t h eunion of s e l f and other, of the union of s e l f and g r o u p, of the union ofs e l f and God, if you like.

Piety is a principle that encourages the commitment of people one toanother in a spirit of l i ke m i n d e d n e s s, in a spirit that sociologists used tocall a consciousness of kind, of belonging to one another. It begins ofc o u rse with kinship, with biology, but is extended to larger communitiesand also to the groups of which we are a part.

But you can have piety with respect to many different kinds of gr o u p sin one fo rm or another. You can have piety as a member of the faculty ofthe Unive rsity of C a l i fo rnia. You can have piety in which you take seri-o u s ly the fact of your membership and that we are, in some sense, in allthis together and we share a common history, and we share in somesense a common fat e. And this sense of sharing a common commitmentand history and fate is at the root of piety because it’s this sharing ofh i s t o ry and of f at e, and so on, that makes us feel that we know who wea r e. And knowing who we are helps us to appreciate the reach as well asthe limits of our at t a c h m e n t s. You know that some attachments are ve ryi m p o rtant to us; we give our lives for those at t a c h m e n t s. Other at t a c h-m e n t s, of c o u rs e, are less important, and yet they make a gr e at deal ofdifference to us; they define for us our authentic selve s.

Authenticity and piety and sharing of h i s t o ry—these are not aspectso f life that appeal ve ry much to the liberal mind because these areaspects of life that emphasize what we have in common, what we share,h ow we belong tog e t h e r, and the more we create in our communities asense of t h at mutual belonging, the more we will want to embrace idealso f p i e t y.

I want to say that piety and civility are not really so opposed as onemight think. I said before that if you make a transition from taking turn sand listening and then clapping—going through these ex t e rnals—to as i t u ation in which you listen seriously and intently and create an at m o s-phere and an experience in which eve ryone shares in what ever it mightbe: a spiritual, or intellectual, or for that matter a musical, ex p e r i e n c e —


i f you move in that direction, yo u ’re like ly to create communities, peoplewho think together and belong tog e t h e r.

C o n s i d e r, for ex a m p l e, how we might think about an ecumenical meet-ing of people of different religions. I don’t mean just different churches,but people of different religions, people who begin with some sharing ofan appreciation of spirituality—they may be spiritually learned or onlys p i r i t u a l ly musical but what they are is alert to the spiritual dimensiono f our live s. These people, if they get together and talk about theiru n d e rstandings of faith and God and moral truth, if they exc h a n g ev i ews about these things and do so with open hearts and open minds,t h e y ’re like ly to create communities of shared unders t a n d i n g, and sothere will be some element of piety that develops out of the ex p e r i e n c eo f c i v i l i t y. Wh at may begin as narr ow or constricted civility becomes aricher and deeper piety. And it’s the connection between those thatseems to be so important.

But there is another and perhaps darker and more chilling way ofthinking about this connection. As you can see from the way I’ve talke dabout this, I would genera l ly say that piety is a good thing, just as loveis a good thing. But it’s not an ab s o l u t e good thing. There are dangers —m o ral dangers. It is a good, but we can do evil in the name that go o d .And we can do evil in the name of piety—when piety takes the fo rm ofexc l u s i ve n e s s, when piety takes the fo rm of a claim to privileged tru t h ;when piety takes fo rm of a claim to privileged salvation, when pietyt a kes the fo rm of an attack on others as damned and outside the pale anddestined for hell. When piety takes this exc l u s i ve fo rm, when it becomesw rapped up with justifications for hatred and bigo t ry and violence, thenpiety becomes something less than a good thing. Piety becomes some-thing that threatens humanity and makes us all fearful and concern e d .And so I think that piety that is divorced from civility is like ly to lead usd own a ve ry wrong path indeed.

And I’m happy to learn, as I have learned about the Bahá’í Faith, thatthe emphasis there is precisely on resisting these potential evils of p i e t y.I don’t think it can ever be completely fo rsw o rn because it is part of t h e


dynamics of group life that we think of o u rs e l ves as somehow betterthan others and we find it difficult to embrace the virtues of h u m i l i t yand self-transcendence that seem to be so required by a better under-standing of p i e t y.

Let’s go back for a moment to George Santayana’s definition: the rev-erent attachment to the sources of one’s being. Now, it’s interesting thatthis reverent attachment generalizes the idea of piety—and of c o u rse weshould not be surprised that a philosopher would want to genera l i z e :sometimes they do it well and sometimes not so well. But as Santaya n awas say i n g, the reverent attachment to the sources of one’s being: thatcould mean, of c o u rs e, attachment to principles and not just to a part i c-ular group or institution. It might lead us to ask, Who are we? Wh at arethe principles we live by? Wh at are our articles of faith?

All that would be consistent with the idea of piety as reverent at t a c h-ment to the sources of one’s being because it still leaves open the ques-tion of w h at a re the sources of one’s being? Is it the way we were broughtup? Is it what our parents were like? Is it the books we have read? Is itthe lectures we have given, the endless classes we have met? Are theyw h at define ours e l ves as authentic human beings in the world? Is pat r i o-tism an example of this reverent attachment to the sources of o n e ’ sbeing? Well, it might be, if by “pat r i o t i s m ” we mean not necessarily “myc o u n t ry right or wrong” but “these are the principles my country is andshould be committed to, and these principles provide us with criteria fo rassessment and criticism of w h at our country has done. ”

I mentioned earlier that (I won’t say how many ye a rs ago, but that yo ucan figure that out for yo u rself), when I was twenty-two I took serious-ly some of the ideas that were being presented in at least some kinds ofChristian theology. Now, when I was writing a book called The Mora lC o m m o n we a l t h—it came out about ten ye a rs ago—a funny thing hap-pened to me. It begins brave ly with a chapter on nat u ralism and ethics,with a strong defense of the views of my intellectual fat h e r, or may b egra n d f at h e r, but perhaps father is best—John Dewe y, who alw ays tookthe view that our moral understandings are based upon our unders t a n d-ing of w h at people are like, of w h at institutions are like, what fra i l t i e s


they have, what vulnerabilities they have, what aspirations they mightp r o p e r ly have, on our understanding of w h at we must guard against inhuman affairs, and also our understanding of w h at we can aspire to inhuman affairs. For most of my life I’ve alw ays thought of my s e l f as ad evoted fo l l ower of John Dewey’s humanist prag m atism. I began thatbook with a, I wouldn’t say ringing, but an affirm at i ve ex p l i c ation ofthose ideas, and as I was coming to the end of the project—a long pro-ject indeed; too long for the patience of most people—I had a differentvision, or should I say a corollary vision. It was this: if we want to thinkabout a moral commonwealth, about the moral community, we have tou n d e rstand the difference between k n ow i n g something and a c c epting anda c t i n g on something.

We might well agree that the nat u ralist view, the view that rejectsr e a l ly all the supern at u ral claims and tries to see all of our unders t a n d-i n g s, including our moral unders t a n d i n g s, as rooted in the strivings andlimits of human ex p e r i e n c e — we see that nat u ralist claim points us tothe ways we should think about k n ow i n g, about what people sometimescall c og n i t i o n, about what it means to know and to justify certain princi-p l e s. But the more I thought and the more I scribbled—I shouldn’t sayt h at because I didn’t scribble; I used a computer and I did what mostpeople do when they write: they rew r i t e. As I wrote and rew r o t e — p e r-haps I should put it that way—I came to a better understanding of t h ei m p o rtance for human ex p e r i e n c e, and for human communities, of m a k-ing commitments, of h av i n g, if I may say so, articles of faith.

There is a difference between knowing something ab s t ra c t ly, hav i n gthe psychic competence or ab i l i t y, and having the resolve to do some-thing about it, to accept your commitment—commitment to other peo-p l e, commitment to the groups to which you belong, commitment toyour life’s work, commitment to marr i ag e, commitment to your chil-dren—commitment to all of these things—they’re all lining up, and it’san endless line, but there it is. Our lives are made up of c o m m i t m e n t s,but we have to be able to make those commitments, and communitiesh ave to make those commitments. And so I concluded this book with achapter which I called “Covenant and Commonwe a l t h . ” I find my s e l f


again going back to ideas that are rooted in religious experience andreligious thought, that is, the notion of c ovenant: the notion that weenter into solemn obl i gations—in religious imag e ry, we enter into obl i g-ations or treaties (another word for covenant), with God or what eve rm ay be the source of our moral being—such that the outcome is that weh ave embraced certain articles of faith. These articles of faith cannot bedismissed as figments of our imag i n ation or illusions that people have,because they are what drive us and organize us and help us to arra n g eour live s.

It may not alw ays be easy to explain. For ex a m p l e, perhaps the gr e at-est article of faith to which most of us here are committed might becalled moral equality—not necessarily complete social equality bu tm o ral equality, as Lincoln said in 1863 at Gettysbu r g, “dedicated to theproposition that all men are created equal.” O f c o u rse there was a bit ofs l i p p age there—by “men” he meant all men and women—but “dedicat e dto the proposition” means embracing as an article of faith that eve ryhuman being has intrinsic worth, and therefore eve ry human being hasat some point to be treated as an end and not as a means, or, as Kant said,not as a means only. Of c o u rse we do treat people as means; we treatthem as human resources in business and in the military and so on andso fo rth. But the gr e at difference between a moral institution or a mora lcommunity and one that is not one, is that, in the end, ways will be fo u n dto honor the principle of m o ral equality, to say that this person deserve sdeference and respect as a human being.

N ow it is not easy to explain ex a c t ly why we should embrace such anidea. We might say, as I my s e l f b e l i eve, that the best ex p l a n ation is real-ly a negat i ve ex p l a n ation. We think: if we don’t have such a proposition,i f we don’t have that article of faith, then some ve ry bad things happen.We unleash all kinds of potentialities for people to have contempt fo rone another, to harm one another in important way s, and it is this negat i veargument that seems to work best. We have other reasons, I suppose, thatthere ought to be moral equality because we know that all human beings,high or low, learned or not, spiritually learned or spiritually m u s ical, any


one of them, eve ry single person, is an example of f rail humanity. Eve rysuch person can know sin in one way or another, and eve ry such pers o ncan aspire to redeem himself and can do something about that fall fromgra c e, and in that sense we are all alike: in that sense we have mora le q u a l i t y. Whether or not we would still accept that as a completely con-vincing ex p l a n ation of w hy we are so dedicated is not so clear. PresidentLincoln didn’t have to answer that question as he was giving a shortspeech and he was finished in a couple of m i n u t e s. And anyway it wasn ’ tup to him to do that .

And so we don’t really have to answer that question, but we do haveto recognize that we can’t have effective human communities withouta rticles of faith: that means, without cove n a n t s, without agreements thatwe make to one another and to what ever principles we think gove rn ourl i ve s, without a sense that these are commitments we have made and willstand by—they are who we are and they are the sources of our being.

Let me put it this way: civility is naked without articles of faith, whichtell us who we are and what we live by — n a ked and empty; civility is fo r-mal, arid, unsupported by deep feelings. On the other hand, piety with-out civility is debased and out of control. I think you know what I meanby that and I don’t need to ex p at i ate upon it. Without civility, without aprinciple of respect, allows our passions to run wild and especially thepassions that we have that stem from our attachments and our speciall oya l t i e s.

I suppose the larger message that I have, if I have a messag e, is that itis important for us to recognize that this kind of d i s t i n c t i o n — t h e r emight be many others we could ex p l o r e — b e t ween civility and piety isnot just an academic exe r c i s e. Neither is it something that it is given tous to reconcile easily and without pain. It requires our most earn e s te f fo rts and our thoughts and commitments in order to see that there isa continuing source of t r o u ble and difficulty, something that we have tolook into our own hearts to deal with and to assuag e. It is a difficultywhich makes our lives not trouble free but troubl e d — n ow and, I think,fo r eve r. And it is this trouble that we all have to recognize and to accep t .


I f we aren’t willing to do that, it means we haven’t quite seen the dilem-mas and ambiguities of our human live s. I thank you ve ry much for lis-t e n i n g.

NO T E

Transcription of a presentation given at the 27th Annual Conference of the

Association for Bahá’í Studies, San Francisco, California, 30 August 2003.


The Bábí-State Conflict at ShaykhT. abarsí

SIYAMAK ZABIHI-MOGHADDAM

AbstractThe Shaykh T. abarsí episode was the first of four major clashes that occurredbetween the Bábís and the Qájár state from 1848 to 1853. It is often portrayed asa Bábí attempt to subvert the ruling dynasty. Primarily on the basis of a recon-struction of the episode from previously unpublished eyewitness accounts andother sources, and an analysis of the objectives of the Bábí participants, the paperargues that the Bábís were not intent on revolt. Rather, other background andimmediate factors leading to the conflict are examined: the atmosphere ofincreased public hostility toward the Bábís, the latter’s understanding of holywar, the political instability in the country, and the change of power that occurredshortly before the conflict.

RésuméL’épisode de Shaykh T. abarsí fut le premier de quatre affrontements majeurs quiont opposé les bábís et l’État du Qájár entre 1848 et 1853. L’épisode est souventdépeint comme une tentat i ve de la part des bábís de renve rser la dynastie régnante.S’appuyant principalement sur une reconstitution de l’épisode à partir de récitsde témoins oculaires et d’autres sources inédites, et d’une analyse des objectifsvisés par les participants bábís, l’article fait valoir que les bábís ne cherchaient pasà inciter à une rébellion. L’auteur examine plutôt d’autres facteurs contex t u e l set précipitants du conflit, à savo i r, le climat d’hostilité publique croissantee nve rs les bábís, la compréhension que ces dern i e rs avaient de la guerre sainte,l ’ i n s t abilité politique qui régnait alors dans le pays, et le changement de gouvernesurvenu peu avant le conflit.

53

Resumen El episodio de Shaykh T. abarsí fue el primero de cuatro encontronazos mayores

que ocurrieron entre los bábíes y la soberanía Qájár de 1848 a 1853. Ocurre fre-cuentemente que el hecho se represente como un atentado de subvertir la dinastíaimperante. Comenzando con la reconstrucción del episodio basado en declara-ciones de testigos oculares y otras fuentes, más un análisis de los objetivos de losparticipantes bábíes, la disertación determina que los bábíes no intentaban suble-vación. Más bien, se sondean los factores inmediatos y de fondo histórico condu-centes al conflicto; el ambiente de recrudecimiento de hostilidad para con losbábíes, la comprensión de estos últimos del significado del concepto de guerraconsagrada a fines religiosos, la inestabilidad política en el país, y el cambio delpoder que ocurrió poco antes del conflicto.

INTRODUCTION

In May 1844 a young merchant from Shiraz, Siyyid ‘Alí-Muh. ammad,made the claim that he was the Báb (Gate). To his contemporaries theterm referred to an intermediary between the community of believers andthe messianic figure of Islamic eschatology, the Mahdi. By 1848 the reli-gious movement that formed around Him had attracted tens of thousandsof adherents. The September of that year saw the beginning of theShaykh T.abarsí episode in Mazandaran, which became the first of fourmajor clashes between the Bábís and the Qájár state.

The purpose of this article is to investigate the background, immediatecircumstances, and events of the Shaykh T.abarsí conflict. It examinesthose developments, both in the political sphere and within the Bábí com-munity, that led to the outbreak of open warfare in 1848, and focuses onthe question of the objectives of the Bábí participants in the conflict. TheShaykh T. abarsí episode is often portrayed as the first of a series of unsuc-cessful attempts by the Bábís to subvert the ruling dynasty. This is theview reflected in Western diplomatic reports and contemporary statechronicles, and has since been accepted by many scholars. In an influentialstudy, MacEoin attempts to place the Shaykh T.abarsí and the later Bábí-s t ate conflicts in the context of a Bábí concept of h o ly war (“Babi Concep t ” ) .


His discussion, however, largely overlooks the implications of the devel-opment of this concept in the Báb’s later writings. More significantly, atheoretical discussion of the Bábí concept of holy war, or jihad, cannot byitself explain the objectives of the Bábís involved. Rather, to find mean-ingful interpretations of the Bábís’ intentions, it is essential to analyzecarefully what happened and how the Bábí participants themselves under-stood their situation and their own actions. Such a study has been lackingin the case of the Shaykh T. abarsí episode though there are relatively alarge number of sources available on the conflict. This article is anattempt to provide such an analysis.

There are several Bábí and Bahá’í eyewitness accounts of the clash,which are generally more reliable than other sources available. They alsoreflect the Bábí participants’ perceptions of their circumstances and theirown actions, which are crucial for understanding the event. This paperdraws in particular on these accounts. It also discusses briefly the conceptof jihad in the Báb’s later writings. The paper argues that when the Bábísfound themselves trapped in Mazandaran, they chose to fight a defensiveholy war as a testimony to the truth of their cause. It was not their objec-tive to mount an insurrection. Investigating the question of the objectivesof the Bábís at Shaykh T. abarsí also casts light on a broader and moreessential issue: the nature of the Bábí movement in the early years of itsdevelopment.1

The Shaykh T.abarsí episode constituted a turning point in the historyof the Bábí movement. It was the first time that the state, previously con-tent with the incarceration of the Báb in a remote corner of the country,resolutely moved to suppress the Bábís. Near the end of the conflict, someten thousand troops and irregulars were engaged in fighting a few hun-dred Bábís. The episode lasted eight months and left an estimated fifteenhundred dead, almost a third of whom were Bábís. After this experience,the state acted more swiftly and forcefully against the Bábís when newconflicts broke out in other parts of Iran. It was also during the conflictat Shaykh T. abarsí that half of the Letters of the Living, the core of theleadership of the movement, lost their lives. This was a severe blow, andit contributed to the almost entire collapse of the movement a few years

The Bábí-State Conflict at Shaykh T.abarsí 55

later. The episode also played a part in the government’s decision to exe-cute the Báb. Decades later its memory was still fresh in the minds of thepeople of Mazandaran.

The Bábí movement has often been interpreted in light of its later devel-opment into either Azalí Bábism or the Bahá’í movement. Although theyshare the same historical origins, and many of the doctrines and tenets ofthe early Bábí movement can be found in both of them, Azalí Bábism andthe Bahá’í Faith constitute departures, in different directions, from theoriginal Bábí movement. Treating the Bábí movement as identical witheither one displaces it from its proper historical context.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE BÁBÍ MOVEMENT

The spread of the Bábí movement in Iran and Iraq was swift and wide andprovoked immediate opposition from the clergy. The Báb was banished tothe far-off province of Azerbaijan, and some of his followers were mal-t r e ated. In October 1847 a young S hayk hí, probably assisted by twoo t hers, killed the powerful mujtahid of Qazvin, Mullá Muh. ammad-Taqíy-i-B a rag hání, who was known for his anti-S hayk hí and anti-Bábí propa-ga nda. The assassination intensified the hostility of the clergy toward theBábís, several of whom were killed. This was the first instance of Bábísbeing put to death in Iran. In April 1848 the Báb was brought to Tabriz,the provincial capital, to be interrogated in the presence of the crownprince and the clergy.2 On this occasion the Báb publicly declared Himselfto be the Hidden Imam, the Mahdi, an open challenge to the clergy forwhich He was bastinadoed.

In late June 1848, a number of Bábís gathered at Badasht, a small villagein Khurasan, and here the movement effectively broke with Islam. Shortlyafterwards, a group of Bábís, under the leadership of Mullá H. usayn-i-Bushrú’í, the Báb’s most renowned disciple, set out from Khurasan towardMazandaran, where they became involved in the conflict of ShaykhT. abarsí. In 1850, two other Bábí-state clashes occurred, in which morethan two thousand Bábís lost their lives. In July of that same year the Báb


was publicly executed. In August 1852, a group of Bábís made an abortiveattempt on the life of the shah. Simultaneously, Mírzá Yah. yá Azal,r ega r ded by many of the Bábís as their new leader, tried to stage a revoltin Mazandaran, which also failed. In the aftermath of these attempts, theremaining Bábí leadership was almost entirely wiped out. Azal’s elderhalf-brother, Mírzá H. usayn-‘Alíy-i-Núrí Bahá’u’lláh, who was amongthose imprisoned after the assassination attempt, was spared execution,but exiled to Iraq. In 1853, another Bábí-state clash occurred, in whichsome two hundred and fifty Bábís lost their lives. In about 1866,Bahá’u’lláh openly claimed to be “He whom God shall make manifest”(man yuz.hiruhu’lláh), the messianic figure of the Bábí religion. The major-ity of the Bábís came to accept His claim. Bahá’u’lláh enjoined His fol-lowers to abstain from violence, obey their governments, and shun politi-cal strife. In contrast, for some among the small band of Azal’s support-ers, religious concerns gave way to political activism, and several playedprominent roles in the Constitutional Revolution of 1906–1911.

As a challenge to the legitimacy of the existing religious ort h o d ox y,and given the speed and scale of its gr owth, the Bábí movement consti-tutes a unique phenomenon in recent Iranian history. The Bábí-stat eclashes and the attempt on the life of the shah made a lasting impact onthe monarch and the public at large. Nás.i r i ’d-Dín S háh remained alert toa perceived Bábí threat, and throughout the Qájár period alleged Bábíi nvo l vement provided a convenient means for countering calls for refo rm .During the Constitutional Revolution, the contending parties would usethe accusation of Bábí links to discredit and ra l ly support against eacho t h e r. The suppression of the Bábí movement brought the ulama tem-p o ra r i ly closer to the state and strengthened their position vis-à-vis theQájár shahs. The movement displayed some modern feat u r e s, fo ri n s t a n c e, its attitude towards women. The direct influence of these fea-tures on the wider society, howeve r, remained limited. These feat u r e swere carried on and further developed in the Bahá’í movement. The Bábím ovement’s revo l u t i o n a ry character was primarily owing to its ra d i c a lbreak with the religious past.


THE BÁBÍS, THE STATE, AND THE ULAMA

The writings of the Báb reflect His view of temporal power. The legiti-macy of Muh. ammad Sháh’s rule, it is implied, is dependent on his accept-ing the Báb’s claim. In the Qayyúmu’l-Asmá’, the earliest work writtenfollowing the announcement of His claim, the Báb maintains that, as therepresentative of God, He is the source of sovereignty. He summons theshah to embrace His religion and instructs him to wage jihad in order tobring people into His faith. The Báb also addressed several letters to theshah and requested an audience with him, but to no avail. In His letters,the Báb warned the shah of the punishment that awaited him if he did notchange his attitude toward the Báb, and at the same time disclaimed anymaterial interests. Toward the end of Muh. ammad Sháh’s reign, the toneof the Báb’s letters to him, and especially to his premier, H. ájí Mírzá Áqásí,became more severe. It was the premier who had control over the affairsof the kingdom.

H. ájí Mírzá Áqásí had apparently early on seen in the Báb a threat to hisposition. Muh. ammad Sháh’s mystical leanings tied him closely to Áqásí,who was his former tutor and acted as his spiritual guide. The Báb was adescendant of the Prophet and a charismatic figure who had proved Hisinfluence by winning over some of His potential clerical adversaries.Apparently due to such considerations, Áqásí persuaded the shah not togrant the Báb an interview, and instead to order His banishment to thefortress of Mákú in Azerbaijan. As the Bábí movement spread, and theopposition of the clergy mounted, the government complied to a greaterextent with their wishes. Following the assassination of Baraghání, hisheirs and other clerics forced the government to imprison several Bábís, afew of whom, although apparently innocent, were subsequently killed. Onthis occasion the state failed to shield the Bábís, though it did not volun-tarily engage in persecuting them.

The clergy had an obvious interest in involving the authorities in thepersecution of the Bábís. In the period prior to the Mazandaran conflict,the clergy more than once had called on the authorities to suppress theBábí movement, which they regarded as a heresy that threatened the


fo u ndations of the religion. They also ascribed subversive intentions tothe Bábís. The Báb probably viewed a confrontation with the religiousestablishment as inevitable. It seems, however, that He did not consider anunderstanding with the state impossible, since He continued sending let-ters to the shah as late as 1848. Several times the Báb and His followerschallenged the shah and the authorities to summon them and the ulama toa meeting where the “truth” could be established.

The Báb’s claim to mahdihood, publicly announced during the interro-gation in Tabriz, had significant repercussions for the movement, for itposed too serious a challenge to the clerical establishment to be ignored.After all, had “the Báb in fact been acknowledged as the Hidden Imam, thefunction of the ulama would have ceased to exist” (Algar 148). Apart fromthis, the Báb did not fulfill the expectations of the ulama about theMahdi’s appearance. As for the state authorities, even though the Báb didnot make any claims to the throne, His claim to mahdihood could be per-ceived as a challenge, since in the context of Shí‘í theology the promisedMahdi was the ultimate source of power, whether religious or secular. Onthis basis, it has been argued that the Bábís’ belief that the Báb was theMahdi constituted “a permanent bar to any real coexistence of the Babisand the State,” and that once the government understood the nature of theBábí movement, it “moved systematically and implacably to destroy it”(Walbridge 359). It is difficult, however, to find evidence that could sub-stantiate this view in the contemporary sources written up to and duringthe Mazandaran conflict. At the time, the state authorities did not take theBáb’s claim to mahdihood seriously. The young crown prince, Nás.iri’d-DínMírzá, in his report to Muh. ammad Sháh about the interrogation, simplyridicules the claim voiced by the Báb during the proceedings.3 The cam-paign against the Bábís at Shaykh T. abarsí was not directly linked to thisclaim. In general, there was much confusion in the early years among theauthorities and the public about the exact nature of the Báb’s claims andHis and the Bábís’ objectives. It seems that the dominant view was that theBáb claimed charismatic religious authority in order to gain power.Clearly at the time of the Mazandaran conflict, which began just a fewmonths after the interrogation of the Báb, the view that the Bábís used


religion as a cover for political ends had gained some currency among theauthorities. Lt.-Col. Farrant, the British chargé d’affaires, remarked aboutthe motives of the Bábís at Shaykh T.abarsí, “It is supposed their trueobject is not in any way relative to religion, but to create a revolutionarymovement against the Government.”4

Though the authorities failed to notice the implications of the Báb’sclaim to mahdihood, it neve rtheless worsened an already tense situat i o n .There had been sporadic cases of p e rsecution of the Bábís prior to April1848. Such incidents seem to have occurred more frequently, as the clergy,i n f u r i ated by the open challenge of the Báb and encouraged by the punish-ment imposed on Him, stepped up its attempts to incite the authorities andthe populace to persecute the Bábís. An early account by Dr. Au s t i nWright, an American missionary stationed near C hihríq, where the Báb w a sheld in confinement, states that “fierce quarr e l s ” had already taken placeb e t ween the Bábís and “the so-called ort h o d ox part y, ” when, fo l l owing thebastinado inflicted on the Báb, the gove rnment issued orders that the Bábís“should be arrested wherever they were found and punished with fines andb e at i n g s ” (qtd. in Momen, Bábí and Bahá’í Religions 73). The Báb’s assump-tion of the role of an independent prophet through the advancement ofclaims to religious authority and the fo rm u l ation of a new set of l aws wash a r d ly less revo l u t i o n a ry than His claim to mahdihood. His fo l l owe rs ’r e s o l ve to announce His claim and to effect the annulment of Islamic lawo n ly increased tensions. The episode of M as hhad and the attack on theBábís after the conclave in Badas ht should be viewed in this light.

In Mashhad, following a fight between a young Bábí and a servant ofone of the local religious leaders, the Bábí involved was beaten anddragged through the streets by a string through his nose. About seventyBábís, armed with swords, attempted to rescue him, and in the clashes thatoccurred a few of the townspeople and Bábís were injured.5 It was thisepisode that led to Mullá H. usayn’s expulsion from Mashhad, upon whichhe set out on his march to Mazandaran. In Badas ht, Qurrat u ’l - ‘Ay nT. áhirih, the only woman among the Letters of the Living, appearedu nveiled in a gathering of B á b í s, signaling the ab r ogation of Islamic law,and the commencement of the qíyámat (resurrection). On hearing the


news that the Bábís had discarded the sharí‘at, and rumors of immoral actscommitted, the inhabitants of Níyálá, a village in Mazandaran, attackedthe Bábís who had arrived there from Badasht, killed and injured some,and plundered their belongings.6

It was shortly after these events that Muh. ammad Sháh died, and withthe accession of Nás.iri’d-Dín Mírzá, power fell into the hands of the newpremier, Mírzá Taqí Khán, entitled Amír-Kabír. This radically changedconditions for the Bábís, as he gave high priority to exterminating them.Amír-Kabír was a secularist reformer, determined to achieve his aims atany cost. He apparently regarded the Bábí movement as religious innature and not political, but saw it as a threat to public order. WhenMuh. ammad Sháh finally succumbed to his illness, the country wasalready in a state of turmoil. Gross mismanagement in the later years ofÁqásí’s premiership had caused much discontent. The state treasury wasalmost empty and the government was on the verge of bankruptcy. Afterthe shah’s death, disorder broke out in many parts of the country, and therebellion in Khurasan gained support. To stabilize the position of the newgovernment and to proceed with his reform plans, Amír-Kabír needed torestore order in the country. Such concerns seem to have motivated Amír-Kabír’s determination to crush the Bábís. His alarm about the swift spreadof the Bábí movement is reflected in a contemporary report by PrinceDolgorukov, the Russian minister in Tehran. On 7 March 1849, at theheight of the Mazandaran upheaval, Dolgorukov wrote,

However, no matter how serious this question may be [that is, the suc-cess of Sálár’s rebellion in Khurasan], it has not preoccupied societyto the same extent ever since the sectaries of the Bab have apparent-ly had the tendency to grow in all parts of the Kingdom. The Amirconfessed to me that their number can be already put at 100,000; thatthey have already appeared in southern provinces; that they are foundin large numbers in Tihran itself; and that, finally, their presence inAdhirbayjan is beginning to worry him very much. (19)

Commenting later on Amír-Kabír’s harsh policy toward the Bábís, Ferrier,


the French agent, wrote in a report dated 25 July 1850, “The Amír hadthought to strike the evil at its root in showing himself pitiless towardsthem; but the bloody executions that he ordered have not arrested theprogress of the evil” (qtd. in Momen, Bábí and Bahá’í Religions 71).

THE QÍYÁMAT: A BÁBÍ PERSPECTIVE

A discussion of the background of the S hayk h T. abarsí episode would notbe complete without reference to the ex p e c t ations of the Bábís rega r d i n gthe events associated with the Mahdi’s appeara n c e. Their view s, like thoseo f the populace, were shaped by S hí‘í tra d i t i o n s. According to the dominantv i ew, the Mahdi, accompanied by an army, would wage a holy war aga i n s tthe forces of unbelief, restore justice in the world, and establish his ru l e.The Báb’s claim to b á b í y yat ( gatehood) was linked to the imminent adve n to f the Mahdi himself, which implied the beginning of the final jihad. TheQ ay y ú m u ’l-Asmá’ contains many references to qitál ( b attle), ke eping theBábís alert to a coming stru gg l e. According to the tra d i t i o n s, the Mahdiwould begin his k hu r ú j ( i n s u rrection, litera l ly “coming out”) from Mecca.When the Báb instructed His fo l l owe rs to go to the S hí‘í shrine cities inI raq (the ‘A t abát), where He would meet them after His pilgr i m age toMecca, many thought that the k hurúj was to begin there. As it happened,h oweve r, the Báb failed to appear at the ‘A t abát. The activities of his emis-s a ry to the ‘A t abát had created tensions in the area (Momen, “Trial”116–18). With thousands of p i l grims in Karbala, it was like ly that thea p p e a rance of a large number of Bábís would have resulted in a confronta-tion with the local population and the pilgr i m s. The Báb later said that itwas because of the disbelief o f the ulama and to avoid “strife” t h at Hechanged His plans and did not appear at the ‘A t abát (qtd. in Afnan 184).After this sudden change of p l a n s, termed b a d á ’ (change in the divine will),the expected stru ggle appeared to have been postponed to an unspecifie df u t u r e. The Báb also referred to q i t á l o c c a s i o n a l ly in His later writings, andthere is evidence of Bábí armament in Khurasan and Qazvin, apparently inp r ep a ration for the expected bat t l e. It is even rep o rted that the Báb hadalluded to the S hayk h T. ab a rsí episode one or two months before it bega n .7


C e rtain factors created uncertainty in the Bábís’ ex p e c t ations ab o u tfuture eve n t s. Apart from the possibility of b a d á ’, allegorical reading of t h ee s c h at o l ogical traditions left room for different interp r e t at i o n s. There arealso many contra d i c t o ry tra d i t i o n s. Rather than depicting the Mahdi’s vic-t o ry over his enemies, some traditions refer to his martyrdom and theh u m i l i ation and martyrdom of his companions (Amanat 196). The Báb andHis fo l l owe rs were aware of these tra d i t i o n s, and in their writings referr e dto them.8 The Báb had hinted at His own martyrdom in some of His writ-ings and in conve rs ation with His fo l l owe rs. According to some sources,He had anticipated Mullá H. u s ay n - i - B us hrú’í’s martyrdom and hadi n fo rmed him of it. H. ájí Mullá Muh. a m m a d - ‘A l í y - i - B á r f u r ús hí, later calledQ u d d ú s, the Báb’s foremost disciple, is likewise rep o rted to have predictedMullá H. u s ayn’s martyrdom a few ye a rs before the Mazandaran ep i s o d e.9

P r o b ably only a few understood their hints at the time. Yet these rep o rt si n d i c ate that the Bábí leadership anticipated trials ahead.

As the confinement of their leader continued, and tensions surr o u n d-ing them gr ew, the Bábís were increasingly compelled to revise theirv i ews about a decisive victory fo l l owed by the reign of the Mahdi. TheBáb and the Bábí leaders addressed such issues in their writings. In HisD a l á ’ i l - i - s ab‘ih, written in 1847, the Báb rejects the idea that the fa ra j( d e l i ve rance) of the Mahdi implies sove r e i g n t y, an army, and a kingdom( 3 3 ) .1 0 L i kew i s e, the Báb’s amanuensis, Áqá Siyyid H. u s ay n - i - K á t i b, in aletter to one of the Báb’s uncles, comments on the common unders t a n d-ing of the faraj. He states that its true meaning is the revelation of verses(n u z ú l - i - á y á t), and not “the ascension on the throne of s ove r e i g n t y(s a lt.a n at) or other vain imaginings current among people” ( A f n a n3 2 0 ) .1 1 It is quite plausible that by the time the Mazandaran ep i s o d eb egan, the belief among the generality of the Bábís that the Mahdiwould establish his temporal rule through the power of his sword hadbeen shaken.

AN OUTLINE OF THE CONFLICT AT SHAYKH T. ABARSÍ

The Shaykh T. abarsí episode lasted from September 1848 to May 1849.


The prelude to the conflict was the march of a group of Bábís led byMullá H. usayn-i-Bushrú’í from Khurasan to Mazandaran (July–Septemb e r1848). Initially, the band numbered about two hundred, some of w h o mwere armed. On 12 Shavvál 1264/11 September 1848, the party r e a c h e dB á r f u r ús h, the chief commercial town in Mazandara n .1 2 Muh. ammad S há hhad died just shortly before that (4 September). On their arrival, the Bábíswere met by a mob of three to four thousand townspeople and villagerswho refused to let them enter the town. Mullá H. usayn instructed theBábís to turn back, but meanwhile the mob shot and killed two of them.He and a few others counterattacked and routed the mob. In the mean-time, the Bábís who arrived later took lodging in the caravansary of thetown. They were exhausted from the long trip, during which several hadfallen ill and one had died. In the following days, hundreds of people fromnearby villages joined the mob and several times attacked the Bábís. Theattacks stopped with the arrival of ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán-i-Láríjání, a promi-nent Mazandarani chief (sarkardih), and it was agreed that the Bábísshould leave the area.

When the Bábís left Bárfurúsh, a crowd of townspeople followed them,and Khusraw-i-Qádí-Kalá’í, a tribal brigand, forcibly joined the Bábís withhis armed men, ostensibly to protect them. Khusraw, whose intent wasactually to loot the Bábís, led them around the countryside while his menand other local people began secretly killing them off. When the Bábísdiscovered this, they killed Khusraw, drove off his men, and took refuge inthe nearby shrine of Shaykh T. abarsí (22 Shavvál 1264/21 September1848) (Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 52–53). The shrine consisted of a building housingthe shaykh’s tomb and a grassy enclosure surrounded by a wall twometers high. Browne, who visited Shaykh T. abarsí years later, wrote thatit was “a place of little natural strength” (A Year 617). The site was notchosen for strategic reasons. As the Bábís expected to be attacked, theybuilt four small towers around the shrine, from which they kept watchover the area. Quddús and others joined the Bábís, and their number roseto about five hundred.

When Nás.iri’d-Dín Sháh heard that the Bábís were entrenched atShaykh T. abarsí, he gave orders to the chiefs of Mazandaran to wipe themout.13 A number of local chiefs soon arrived with a militia nearly four


thousand strong. On 25 Muh. arram/22 December, the Bábís made a sor-tie in daylight, surprised and routed their enemies, and killed seventy ormore, including the commander of the army. They also captured a hugeamount of ammunition, provisions, and about a hundred horses.14 Thiswas of great importance to the Bábís as their own equipment was com-pletely inadequate. On their arrival at Shaykh T. abarsí, the Bábís had prob-ably many swords and daggers, but only seven muskets, and perhaps fivehorses (Lut. f-‘Alí Mírzá 43–44, 75).

After this defeat, the shah gave emphatic orders to his uncle, PrinceMihdí-Qulí Mírzá, the newly appointed governor of Mazandaran, to erad-icate the Bábís. His edict, dated 3 S.afar 1265/30 December 1848, referredto the Bábí movement as a “fresh heresy” (bid‘at), the extermination ofwhich was required by the religion and Shí‘í doctrine. A note in the shah’sown handwriting read: “It is true . . . you must exert yourself to theutmost in this affair. This is not a trifling amusement. The fate of our reli-gion and of Shí‘í doctrine hangs in the balance.”15 The edict reveals a sig-nificant measure of religious motivation on the part of the young shah forthe suppression of the Bábís.

Sometime during the first half of January 1849, the prince-governorarrived at a village near Shaykh T. abarsí. He did not launch an attackimmediately, as he was waiting for reinforcements. The Bábís had starteddigging a ditch around the shrine on 1 S. afar 1265/28 December 1848 andwere building a fort. They also began storing provisions in preparation fora siege. When the Bábís discovered that the prince was waiting for ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán-i-Láríjání and his forces, they decided to strike first. On thenight of 29 S.afar 1265 (the night of 24–25 January 1849), some two hun-dred Bábís sortied from their fortifications and routed the governmentforces (Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 91).

Three days later, ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán arrived with his forces, whose num-ber gradually rose to about six thousand.16 On the night of 9 Rabí‘u’l-Avval 1265 (the night of 2–3 February 1849) over two hundred Bábísattacked ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán’s troops. In the clash, some four hundred of thetroops, including many chiefs, lost their lives. The high casualties amongthe troops were partly due to their shooting and slashing at each other inthe dark in the confusion following the Bábís’ attack. This time the Bábís


suffered many casualties. More than forty of them, including MulláH. usayn-i-Bushrú’í, were killed during the battle or died later of theirinjuries. On the following day, the government troops attacked the fort,apparently in order to collect the wounded and some of their dead andbury other bodies where they had fallen. When they retreated, the Bábíswent out to the battlefield to fetch their own dead. They found that theBábí corpses had been decapitated, burned, or both. On seeing this, theBábís exhumed and decapitated the bodies of the soldiers, and mountedtheir heads on poles near the fort.17

Soon the prince-governor returned with a new army, and ‘Abbás-QulíKhán joined forces with him, the number of troops and irregulars totalingten to twelve thousand.18 The fort was now completely surrounded, andsupplies were cut off. In late February or early March, the troops stormedthe fort but were repelled. At about this time, a detachment of soldierswith four batteries of cannons and mortars, and two howitzers, arrived atShaykh T. abarsí, and a heavy bombardment of the fort began in the secondhalf of March.

By early April the Bábís had used up all their supplies of rice and grain,and had already slaughtered and consumed the thirty or so horses thatwere left, living on grass from then on. Since ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán and theMazandarani chiefs had failed to capture the fort in spite of their superiorforces, the government in Tehran dispatched Sulaymán Khán-i-Afshár(about 9 April).19 Under Sulaymán Khán’s command, galleries were dug tothe fort, and mines were placed under two of its towers. When prepara-tions were completed, the mines were ignited and the fort was stormedfrom four directions. This second general assault also failed. Shortly after-wards, thirty or more Bábís deserted the fort, but their leader and perhapsa few others were killed and the rest captured by the troops and killedlater. By this time the troops had discovered that the Bábís left the fort atnight to collect grass, so they kept up their firing on the area around thefort through the night. From then on, for the last nineteen days of thesiege, they were reduced to eating the putrefied meat, skin, and bones oftheir dead horses, and even the leather of their saddles.

The siege was brought to an end when the prince-governor resorted to


treachery. The Bábís were promised safety if they left the fort. Copies ofthe Qur’án were sealed and sent to confirm the pledge. On the afternoono f 15 Ja m á d í y u ’t h-T hání 1265/9 May 1849, the surviving Bábís, some 220in number, evacuated the fort. Once outside, they were disarmed and mas-sacred (10 May 1849).20

AN ANALYSIS OF THE NATURE OF THE BÁBÍ MOVEMENT

The Bábí clashes with the state have often been portrayed as uprisingsagainst Qájár rule. In his 1939 thesis, M. S. Ivanov proposed that the Bábímovement was “a popular mass movement . . . directed against the rulingc l a s s ” ( M i n o rs ky 878). In his analy s i s, the economic crisis in Iran accountedfor the emergence of the movement. In a more recent paper, KurtGreussing argues for a similar view. According to his study, the Bábímovement was initially a religious reform movement, which sought con-verts among urban elites. However, when the Bábís failed to make anyheadway among the elite, they gradually turned to the urban poor and thepeasants, and after 1848, under the pressure of the economic crisis, themovement turned into a social revolution.

There were certainly economic problems in Iran in mid-nineteenth cen-t u ry. A study of the social background of the Bábís invo l ved in the clasheswith the state, however, does not indicate any large representation of peas-ants or urban craftsmen and artisans, that is, the groups that would bemost affected by an economic crisis.21 In the case of Shaykh T. abarsí, ofsome 360 identified Bábí participants, the occupational background ofabout 220 is known. Of these, more than sixty percent belonged to theulama class, while craftsmen, skilled and unskilled urban workers, andpeasants together accounted for some twenty-five percent.22 Of all theparticipants, however, craftsmen, laborers, and peasants probably consti-tuted more than twenty-five percent, as they are more likely to haveremained unidentified. The villagers who joined the Bábís at ShaykhT. abarsí seem to have been motivated by religious concerns, and not by adesire to revolt against the government. For instance, in the case of thevillages Sangsar and Shahmírzád, it was the acceptance by one of their


ulama of the religious claims of the Bábís, which he had been appointedto investigate, that prompted the villagers to go to Shaykh T. abarsí. Ingeneral, the picture that emerges from the eyewitness accounts of theShaykh T. abarsí conflict does not reveal a radical social outlook on the partof the Bábís, but rather their deep religious concerns.

Browne and other scholars, such as Algar and MacEoin, propose inter-pretations of the Bábí-state clashes that emphasize the religious, asopposed to the socioeconomic, grounds for the conflict. According toBrowne, the Bábís aimed to replace Qájár rule with a Bábí theocracy in theimmediate future, and to establish a reign of the saints.23 Algar sees theBábí movement as a heresy of Shí‘í origin that sought to overthrow ortho-doxy by force. He writes that the Bábí rebellion began with the march ofMullá H. usayn and his party toward Mazandaran, but this “fact wasobscured by the death of Muh. ammad Sháh, and the Bábí revolt becameone element in the chaos surrounding the succession” (144). More recent-ly, MacEoin has expressed the view that “[b]etween 1847 and 1850, fol-lowing the Báb’s announcement that he himself was the Qá’im, his fol-lowers took up arms to begin the last crusade or share in the messianicwoes in the hope of hastening the final restitution of things” (“FromBabism” 222). Like Browne, MacEoin states that the Bábís intended toestablish a “Bábí theocracy” (“Bahá’í Fundamentalism” 70) and “the imme-diate rule of the saints on earth” (“From Babism” 222). He links the clash-es between the Bábís and the state to the Bábí concept of an “offensive”jihad (“Babism” 3:316), but maintains that at Shaykh T.abarsí and else-where, the Bábís proclaimed a “defensive” jihad against the Qájár state andits forces. MacEoin suggests that the Bábís attempted unsuccessfully totransform these local upheavals into “a more widely-based revo l u t i o n a rys t ru ggle against the forces of u n b e l i e f ” ( “ B abi Concept” 121), and he givesa number of factors for their failure.24

The theme of jihad is treated extensively in the early writings of theBáb. In different passages of the Qayyúmu’l-Asmá’, warfare is conditionedon God’s leave and on the command of the Báb and of the Imam, and thebelievers are instructed to purchase arms in expectation of a struggle.The concept of jihad in this work and others written before the Persian


Bayán resembles the Shí‘í concept of jihad (MacEoin “Babi Concept” 107).There are also references to, and regulations regarding, jihad in some laterwritings by the Báb, including the Bayán, written in late 1847. The con-cept of jihad in these writings clearly centers round the authority of aBábí king. For instance, the Bayán instructs the Bábí kings that peopleshould be brought into the faith in the same way that it was done in Islam.They may use conquest to conve rt people, although, if p o s s i bl e, other meansshould be used, such as the seizure of p r o p e rt y. There are also some hars hr eg u l ations in the Pe rsian Bayán regarding nonbelieve rs. Howeve r, there isan instruction that gentleness, not violence, should be used in pers u a s i o n .2 5

References to Bábí kings in the Persian Bayán seem to anticipate theappearance of some form of a Bábí state (or states). The laws of the Bayánregarding holy war, however, are given as instructions to Bábí kings,implying that a Bábí king must be in power before offensive jihad can becarried out. There are no provisions here for rank-and-file Bábís to declareoffensive jihad without a Bábí king. Neither are there provisions for theBábís to wage a jihad in order to put a Bábí king into power. In the Dalá’il-i-sab‘ih, the Báb states that when the believers see that people are notguided by proofs, then there is no way for unbelievers to be guided otherthan through the Bábís asking God to raise up one who would bring allmen into the true faith. He adds that today there is no way of guiding thefollowers of various prophets except through a strong king who wouldbring them into the true faith (42–43). The argument that the Bábís want-ed to establish a “Bábí theocracy” through a “holy war” is primarily basedon references to Bábí kings in the Báb’s “later” writings (MacEoin “Bahá’íFundamentalism” 70). However, these same writings, in effect, precludedthe possibility of waging an offensive jihad, as only a Bábí king could con-duct an offensive jihad, and such a king did not exist.

It is commonly acknowledged that a Bábí offensive jihad was neverdeclared. In MacEoin’s treatment of the subject, there is a tensionbetween the Bábí concept of offensive jihad, as he interprets it, and theactual defensive warfare of the Bábís. He tries to resolve this tension bysuggesting that offensive jihad was not declared, “probably because it wasregarded as wrong to declare a holy war unless there was a reasonable


chance of success—a condition clearly lacking in the case of the Bábís”(“Babi Concept” 121). Again, considering the way the concept of jihad isdeveloped in the Báb’s later writings, it seems more likely that the issuenever arose.

The above discussion about the implications of the concept of jihad inthe writings of the Báb does not consider the extent to which the Bábíswere acquainted with these texts, or how they interpreted them. Whilethe regulations about jihad and the severe laws formulated by the Báb arerelevant to the Bábí-state conflicts to the extent that they influenced theactions of the Bábís or provoked reactions from the ulama and the state,they cannot by themselves explain the Bábís’ motives. To address thisquestion, it is essential to investigate the course of the events and circum-stances of the Bábí-state clashes as well as the Bábí actors’ understandingof those events. Such an analysis will provide insight into whether or notthe Bábís were intent on insurrection or establishing a Bábí theocracy bymeans of holy war. In the next section, the events and circumstancesaround the Bábís’ march to Mazandaran and their entrenchment atShaykh T. abarsí will be analyzed to establish the context in which theBábís’ actions took place and to find possible explanations for them. TheBábís’ understanding of their situation and their actions will also be stud-ied, as this is crucial in clarifying their objectives. In this analysis, thethree Bábí and Bahá’í accounts by survivors of the event, L ut.f -‘AlíMírzáy-i-Shírází, Mír Abú-T. álib-i-Shahmírzádí, and H. ájí Nas.ír-i-Qazvíní,are particularly relevant. Of these three, Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá’s account is theearliest and most important. The history by Mahjúr-i-Zavári’í and theNuqt.atu’-Káf are also significant, since they predate the final Bahá’í-Azalíbreak of the 1860s.

THE OBJECTIVES OF THE BÁBÍS AT SHAYKH T. ABARSÍ

In his narrative, Nabíl refers to the raising of the black standard by thegroup of Bábís as they embarked on their march to Mazandaran. Thisissue has at t racted the attention of various scholars. In the S hí‘í prophetictraditions, there are references to black standards proceeding from


Khurasan, which signify the advent of the Mahdi. According to Nabíl,Mullá H. usayn unfurled the “Black Standard” on the Báb’s instruction ashe set out toward Mazandaran. Nabíl cites a tradition that refers to theblack standard, and adds that this standard “was carried aloft all the wayfrom the city of Mashhad to the shrine of Shaykh T. abarsí” (324–25, 351),where it was flown until the fall of the fort. Commenting on Nabíl’s state-ments, various scholars have drawn attention to the significance of theraising of black standards.2 6 It is argued that apart from its messianic ove r-t o n e s, fulfilling litera l ly the prophecies about the appearance of the Qá’im inK h u rasan, raising black standards also had political implicat i o n s. It wasex a c t ly by such an act that the Abbasids began their rebellion against theU m ay ya d s, which ended with the ove rt h r ow of the lat t e r. Howeve r, themain issue is what such an act meant to the Bábís, and how it was inter-preted by the authorities and the publ i c. In this respect, it is notew o rt hy thatthere is no evidence that contemporaries attached any political signific a n c eto such an act. The Qájár chronicles are silent on this issue, and there is nomention of the gove rnment being alarmed by it, or taking any notice of i tat all. An ex p l a n ation for this, that is, how a banner could be flown withoutat t racting suspicion, can be found in the custom of chá v us h-k há n í.2 7

The practice of chávush-khání (recitation by a chávush or guide) wascommon at the time and was associated with pilgr i m ag e. The chá v us h w o u l dchant poems praising the Prophet or the Imams and call on people to takehim on as a guide for pilgr i m age either to Mecca, the ‘A t abát, or Mashhad.He would hoist a special banner to announce the imminent pilgrimage(Yúsufí 5:101–2). Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá’s account indicates that the Bábís werea p p r e h e n s i ve about being at t a c ked, and attempted to conceal their iden-t ity by claiming to be pilgrims on their way to Karbala (2–4, 8–9).Considering the practice of chávush-khání, it would seem that MulláH. usayn’s party could have flown a black banner without necessarilyarousing suspicion. However, there is evidence suggesting that Nabíl’sportrayal of this event is not entirely correct.

The earlier accounts do not mention any such ep i s o d e. In fact, Lut.f - ‘A l íMírzá’s account contains evidence that makes it seem rather doubtful.L ut. f - ‘Alí Mírzá had joined Mullá H. u s ayn’s band short ly before their


e n t ry into Mazandaran. He comments in passing on Mullá H. u s ay n ’ sblack ga rment, saying that this was the meaning of the black standardfrom Khurasan rep o rted in the tradition (19). This suggests that the trav-e l e rs were not flying black standards at all at that time. There is corr o b-o rat o ry evidence in the account by Mír Abú-T. á l i b - i -S hahmírzádí, whojoined the Bábís after they entered the shrine of S hayk h T. ab a rsí. Her e f e rs seve ral times in his narrat i ve to the prophecies about the bl a c kstandards having been fulfilled. Howeve r, he implies that the Bábís“ u n d e rstood Mullá H. u s ayn to be the Standards from K hu r á s á n ” ( 3 7 ) .2 8

The N u qt.at u ’l - K á f, too, contains references to the various standards inthe prophecies. It is stated that the “K hurásání Standard” r e f e rs to “jináb-i - S i y y i d u ’s h-S huhadá, who set out from K hurásán (Mullá H. u s ay n - i -B us hr ú ’ í ) ” ( B r ow n e, N u qt.at u ’l - K á f 153). Considering this ev i d e n c e, itseems like ly that the Bábís did not carry black standards on the way toM a z a n d a ran. Even if they did, they apparently did not attach any escha-t o l ogical significance to them. Rat h e r, it was the act of Mullá H. u s ayn andhis part y, who set out on a march from Khurasan, which was viewed asthe fulfillment of the prophecies.

E l s ewhere in his narrat i ve (354), Nabíl gives the number of the Bábísat S hayk h T. ab a rsí as 313. Like the black standard, the figure 313 hase s c h at o l ogical signific a n c e. According to certain tra d i t i o n s, the compan-ions of the Mahdi number 313, which is the numerical value of the wordj ays h ( a rmy), that is, the j ays h o f the Mahdi.2 9 It is not unlike ly that anemphasis on the literal fulfillment of such prophecies led to the circula-tion among the Bábís of stories about the carrying of the black standardand the number of participants at Shaykh T. abarsí being exactly 313,which subsequently found their way into Nabíl’s narrative.

Evidence as to why Mullá H. usayn and a large number of Bábís wereheading for Mazandaran is scanty. Mullá H. usayn had just been ordered toleave Mashhad. The region was unstable due to a prolonged state of rebel-lion, and conflicts between the Bábís and the local people would haveworsened the situation. Mullá H. usayn reportedly once remarked that hispurpose in leaving Mashhad had been to “exalt the word of God” (Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 18).30 However, it seems that he had another, more concrete


aim. One of the objectives of the conference of Badasht was to deliberateon how the Báb could be rescued from prison. Ávárih, the author of a lateBahá’í history, states that it was decided there that the Bábís should go tothe prison fortress in Azerbaijan, and once there ask Muh.ammad Sháh torelease the Báb, or liberate him by force if necessary, avoiding conflict asfar as possible.31 According to Shaykh Káz.im-i-Samandar, Mullá H. usayn’sparty intended to proceed to Azerbaijan to meet the Báb (‘Alá’í 168). Thisstatement is significant, as it occurs in Samandar’s short biography of oneof the survivors of the Mazandaran conflict whom he had met. Of theQájár chroniclers, only Hidáyat states that Mullá H. usayn’s original inten-tion was to go to Chihríq to liberate the Báb.32 He also writes that theBábís intended to begin the khurúj.

The existing sources do not clarify the Báb’s attitude towards His fol-lowers’ plan to rescue Him. Some sources report that while on His way tothe prison fortress of Mákú, the Báb sent a message to a certain SulaymánKhán-i-Afshár-i-S. á’in-Qal‘i’í, asking for assistance. A group of Bábís,being informed of this, offered to rescue the Báb, but He declined theirrequest.33 Sulaymán Khán had been an admirer of the late head of theShaykhí school, from which the majority of the early Bábís were recruit-ed. He was known for his wealth, and may have been in a position toarrange for the rescue of the Báb. However, it seems that in this case, theBáb’s message was meant as a challenge to him.

The rescue of the Báb, if carried out by force, would amount to inter-fering in the affairs of the authorities. Apparently, the Bábís regarded suchan act as legitimate, as it was in response to persecution. It is difficult toconjecture the course of action that the Bábís would have taken had theysucceeded in rescuing the Báb. Nowhere in the available Bábí or Bahá’íaccounts is there any clear indication of their future plans. The only cluegiven is that they intended to go to the Shí‘í shrine cities of Iraq.34 If thisis taken at face value, it could suggest that the Bábís intended to leave thecountry. However, considering the fate of the Báb’s emissary to the‘Atabát,35 it is hard to imagine that they would have fared any better there,in the heartland of the Shí‘í world, than in Iran.

It is important to have a sense of the context in which the Bábís’ march


to Mazandaran took place. As mentioned earlier, according to Wright, thegovernment issued orders for the persecution of the Bábís at about thistime. This is corroborated by Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá’s account. He writes that,entering Mazandaran, the Bábís encountered the party of Prince KhánlarMírzá, the new governor of the province. When the prince discovered thatthey were Bábís, he said to several of them: “You are all Bábís and mufsid-i-fi’l-ard. ” (literally, “the corrupt upon the land,” from the Qur’án 18:94),and killing you is obligatory, and the shah [Muh. ammad Sháh] has orderedthat wherever they find you, they kill you” (Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 14). Othersources do not refer to Muh. ammad Sháh giving orders for killing theBábís. Still, the incident reflects the tension that surrounded the Bábís atthe time. Previously, on Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá’s advice, Mullá H. usayn hadinstructed the Bábís to stand guard at night.

When the Bábís, near Bárfurúsh, received news of the death of Muh. am-mad Sháh, they headed toward the town. The Bábís must have been awarethat trouble could break out there due to the presence of Sa‘ídu’l-‘Ulamá’,an influential cleric who was hostile toward the Bábís. However, it appearsthat they had no alternative. Shortly before this, they had been forced tol e ave the village of Arím because of complaints of some of the local peoplewho had objected to the Bábís occupying their pastureland; others hadsaid that foodstuffs had become scarce because the Bábís paid so well thateverybody went to them to sell their rice. The people of Arím had threat-ened to attack the Bábís if they did not leave (Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 20–21).Muh. ammad Sháh’s death complicated this situation radically. The Bábíscould no longer move from place to place, as they risked attacks by rob-bers exploiting the temporary anarchy or by local people or authoritieswho might take them for a band of plunderers.36 A letter, written from theprovincial capital Sárí shortly after Muh. ammad Sháh’s death, reads: “. . .Saree [Sárí] . . . is the only town not in a disturbed state in all Mazandaran,and the roads are infested by robbers in every direction.”37 Bárfurúsh wasthe major town most easily accessible from Arím. Here, the Bábís wouldbe able to find provisions sufficient for their numbers until the situationstabilized.

Describing the Bábís’ entry into Bárfurús h, neither of the two main


o f ficial histories of the period states that the Bábís were attacked. Lut.f-‘AlíMírzá’s eyewitness account clearly states that they were, as do other Bábíand later Bahá’í sources, and Shaykhu’l-‘Ajam’s account seems to confirmthis. The latter writes that news reached Bárfurúsh that five hundred Bábíshad rebelled and were intent on making a surprise attack. The people ofBárfurúsh armed themselves and waited for the Bábís in order to kill them.When the Bábís arrived, a clash occurred, during which Mullá H. usaynkilled seven or eight people (Dorn 206–7). There may have been morecasualties among the townspeople in this first clash. Nevertheless, theywere relatively few, and this suggests that the Bábís had not intended toattack the inhabitants. When Mullá H. usayn and his fellow Bábís made sor-ties on the besieging troops at Shaykh T. abarsí, they proved capable ofimposing significant casualties on their enemies.

After leaving Bárfurúsh, the Bábís reluctantly agreed that Khusraw-i-Qádí-Kalá’í and his armed men should escort them. The Bábís were fol-lowed by a vengeful mob from Bárfurúsh, and they were strangers to theinhospitable surroundings of Mazandaran, with its narrow paths, thickforests, and impassable marshland. When the Bábís discovered that theirescort intended to kill them and steal their goods, they killed Khusraw inthe middle of the night, and attacked and dispersed his men. Leavingbehind all their belongings, the Bábís pursued the escort and attacked avillage, which they thought was Qádí-Kalá. On returning, the Bábís dis-covered that none of their possessions were left. Then the Bábís madetheir way, with the help of a local guide whom they had taken prisoner, tothe nearby shrine of Shaykh T. abarsí.

The Bábís decided to stay at Shaykh T. abarsí because they could notmove on. The Bábí survivors’ accounts show that the party’s leader, MulláH. usayn, was aware that they had reached the end of their journey. Onentering the shrine, he addressed his companions, saying that this was theplace all of them would be killed (Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 54). Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzádescribes the agony of the Bábís when they heard that there was no escapefrom “martyrdom.” After Muh.ammad Shah’s death, it was no longer pos-sible for them to proceed with their initial plan of rescuing the Báb. Apartfrom the general lawlessness in the region and the risk of being attacked


by robbers, the Bábís’ enemies wanted to avenge the blood of those killedin Bárfurúsh, as well as that of Khusraw and his men. The Bábís wouldmake an easy target for their enemies if they attempted to travel the nar-row byways of Mazandaran. Their dialect as well as their dress wouldreveal that they were strangers.38 H. ájí Nas. ír’s account indicates that theBábís expected the townspeople to attack (‘Alá’í 504). It seems that wordhad also been sent to nearby villages that the Bábís were infidels, whom itwas lawful to kill and plunder (Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 36). For a time after theBábís entered the shrine of Shaykh T. abarsí, the people from Qádí-Kaláand other villages robbed all the strangers in the area and even killed afew (Abú-T. álib 3). In short, the Bábís were trapped, so they began erect-ing some rudimentary defenses around the shrine. The fact that the firstmajor attack on the Bábís did not come for three months was only due tothe absence of the chiefs and notables of Mazandaran, who had beenobliged to go to Tehran for the coronation of the shah.39 In the meantimethe inhabitants of Qádí-Kalá attacked the Bábís at the shrine.40

Under these circumstances, the motifs of jihad and martyrdom emergedfully. The Bábís, like the general Shí‘í population of Iran, were wellacquainted with these motifs. To them, the advent of the Mahdi markedthe culmination of Shí‘í history. As the struggle began, it appeared to theBábís that the episode of Karbala was being reenacted. For them, theQájárs were the new Umayyads, and their clerical enemies were the escha-tological figures who would wage war against the Mahdi. The first majorattack occurred in Muh. arram, the very month in which the Imám H. usaynwas martyred. Mullá H. usayn referred specifically to this in his interviewwith the prince’s emissary and drew a parallel to the Umayyads and theImám H. usayn.41

Certain factors indicate that the Bábís were not intent on insurrection.Their limited arms and equipment, consisting initially of swords and dag-gers, eighteen muskets, and a few horses, as well as the many children andelderly among the party, made them unfit for a struggle against a trainedarmy.42 If the actions of the Bábís at Shaykh T. abarsí were part of a Bábíplan aimed at overthrowing the state, it seems reasonable that they wouldhave sought to take advantage of the instability created by the death of the


shah. It was then that uprisings and disorder broke out in many parts ofthe country and Sálár, the leader of the revolt in Khurasan, used theopportunity to consolidate his position. For another two years, his rebel-lion engaged a substantial part of the country’s military resources.Without support from outside, the fall of the fort of Shaykh T. abarsí wasobviously only a matter of time.43 Therefore, preparing for defensive war-fare at Shaykh T. abarsí would not serve any end in itself if the other Bábísdid not conduct insurrectionary activities in other parts of the country. Itwould seem that they were in a position to do so, if that was what theyintended. Mullá Muh. ammad-‘Alíy-i-Zanjání H. ujjat, who was to lead theBábís of his town in the most severe of the Bábí-state clashes two yearslater, used the opportunity offered by the death of the shah to escape fromthe capital, apparently while the Mazandaran episode was unfolding. Hehad a large following in Zanjan and had been in contact with them duringhis confinement in Tehran. The first major attack on Shaykh T. abarsícame in late December, three and a half months after the death of theshah, and the conflict lasted until May, so it seems that the Zanjani Bábíswould have had sufficient time to organize a revolt there, had they beeninstructed to do so. Another Bábí leader, Áqá Siyyid Yah. yáy-i-DárábíVah. íd, who two years later would be involved in the first Nayríz conflict,had many followers in this town, as well as in Yazd. He, too, would seemto have been in a position to stage a rebellion. Neither H. ujjat nor Vah. íd,however, nor any of the other Bábís, attempted to organize a revolt. Inspite of His imprisonment, the Báb was in communication with His fol-lowers, and while at one point He may have instructed them to join theBábís at Shaykh T. abarsí, He never issued an order for a Bábí offensivejihad.

The early Bábí and later Bahá’í narratives of the episode do not indicatethat the participants at Shaykh T. abarsí aspired to establish a Bábí theoc-racy. The claim of the court historian Sipihr that Mullá H. usayn promisedhis fellow Bábís kingship and rulership of various lands (3:1019) stands insharp contrast to the statements in these accounts that Mullá H. usayn,soon after entering Mazandaran, warned his companions that all of themwould be killed. He told them that whoever wanted to leave had to do it


then, and that “it will not be possible to leave later. They will close theroads and spill our blood. Soon the enemies will attack from all sides”(Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 18–19).44

The eyewitness accounts show that the Bábís did not view themselvesas insurrectionists, and that in response to the authorities they deniedsuch an objective. Several sources refer to an exchange of messagesbetween the Bábís and the prince-governor. According to Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá,the prince sent a strongly worded message to Mullá H. usayn, accusing theBábís of stirring up mischief. The message also said that the Bábís wereno match for the imperial troops and that they should leave the province.Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá then gives a summary of Mullá H. usayn’s exchange withthe prince’s emissary. The emissary remarked that the Bábís should pro-duce a miracle to prove the truth of their cause, and that the prince hadsaid he would join forces with them if they did so, and attempt to over-t h r ow Nás.i r i ’d-Dín S há h .4 5 Mullá H. u s ayn answered that the greatest mir-acle, the revelation of verses, had already been performed, but that theyhad denied it. He asked why they would not, instead, gather their ulamato engage in logical arguments with the Bábís. If the ulama defeated theBábís in argument, they could kill them; otherwise, the ulama shouldaccept the cause of truth.46 The interview was interrupted when MulláH. u s ay n went to get Quddús’s response to the prince’s message. Onreturning, Mullá H. u s ay n angrily related to the emissary what the Bábíshad suffered, saying that it was their enemies, and not the Bábís, who hadcaused mischief. To the prince’s remark about the superiority of the royaltroops, Mullá H. u s ay n answered that truth always prevailed over false-hood, and that if the whole world united to assail them, he would wagejihad against it, until he either was martyred or defeated his adversaries(Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 85–88).

In response to the prince’s remark about joining forces in order to over-throw the shah, Mullá H. u s ay n said that he did not seek the sovereignty ofthe ephemeral world, and reproached the prince and his emissary forascribing such objectives to the Bábís, whom they did not even know. Healso remarked that he had left Mashhad “with the aim of spreading thetruth, in whatever way might prove possible, whether by overcoming


falsehood or by means of the sword or by suffering martyrdom.” Herefused to leave the province, saying, “I shall make manifest the cause ofGod by means of the sword,” and added that he had been deceived inBárfurúsh by the “sardár,” that is, ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán-i-Láríjání, and that hewould not be deceived again and would not disperse his few companions,until they had overcome all their enemies or had all been killed. MulláH. usayn hinted at the prince’s dishonesty and occasionally called the shaha puppy. He concluded the interview by writing a short answer to theprince (Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 88–89). Obviously, the Bábís were not begging formercy. Mullá H. usayn’s reference to ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán and his hints at theprince’s dishonesty indicate that he believed that the prince could not berelied on, and that his only intention was to get the Bábís out of the fortso that they could be killed more easily. Mullá H. u s ayn’s remarks, asr e l ated by Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá, also clearly show the Bábís’ determination todisseminate their cause and to defend themselves. Mullá H. usayn’s bold-ness also suggests that if the Bábís at Shaykh T. abarsí really aimed tooverthrow the shah, they would not have hesitated to say so.47

Some of the sources mention a letter allegedly written by Quddús to theprince. According to the Nuqt.atu’l-Káf, Quddús, in answer to the prince’sinquiry, said that their cause was religious and not worldly, and also wrote:“Nás.iri’d-Dín Sháh is a false king and his helpers shall be punished in thefires of God; we are the true sovereign, who seek for the good-pleasure ofGod” (Browne, Nuqt.atu’l-Káf 163, 166).48 The tone of this passage in theNuqt.atu’l-Káf agrees, to some extent, with the attitude of the Bábís atShaykh T. abarsí depicted above. However, it is unlikely that the author(s)of the Nuqt.atu’l-Káf would have had firsthand information about the con-tents of such a letter. The tone of this work reflects the antagonism thatmany Bábís had developed toward the authorities by the time it was writ-ten, that is, following the execution of the Báb and the death of a largenumber of Bábís in clashes with government forces. In the Nuqt.atu’l-Káf,no effo rt is made to hide animosity toward the Qájárs. It does not seem jus-t i fied to conclude on this basis, howeve r, that the Bábís at S hayk h T. ab a rs íaimed at subve rting the shah. Antipat hy developed as a result of p e rs e c u-tions is not the same as a religious position requiring the ove rthrow of an


illegitimate state. Considering the attitude expressed in the Nuqt.atu’l-Káftoward the ruling class, it is significant that the text consistently main-tains that the sovereignty referred to by Quddús was not a material one.It is stated, for instance, that ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán had heard Quddús say, “Weare the rightful sovereign, and the world is under our signet-ring, and allthe kings in the East and the West will become humble before us.” He hadbelieved that this “sovereignty” was like “the sovereignty of the people ofoppression, meaning that dominion must be obtained through oppressionand cruelty, and the blow of the sword, and covetousness for worldly pos-session, and all sorts of deception.” It is added that when ‘Abbás-QulíKhán realized that this was not the case, he turned toward Nás.iri’d-DínSháh to achieve his ends. The text goes on to explain that Quddús hadintended a spiritual sovereignty, and that the humility of the kingsreferred to would appear with the passage of time (162–63). It should bepointed out that such a revision of the idea of the Mahdi’s sovereignty wasnot necessarily a result of the severe persecutions that had taken place. Asmentioned earlier, even before the Mazandaran conflict, the Báb and theBábí leaders had engaged in revising common views regarding the Mahdi’sa p p e a ra n c e, distancing themselves from the idea of w o r l d ly sove r e i g n t y.

Evidence about the way the Bábís at Shaykh T. abarsí understood theirsituation and actions, the circumstances that forced them to stay and fight,the fact that other Bábís did not use the opportunity that the death of theshah offered to organize rebellions in other parts of the country as well asthe insufficient armaments and the composition of Mullá H. u s ay n’s party,all support the view that they were not intent on insurrection and thatthere was no such plan of a general Bábí insurrection. Mullá H. u s ay n andhis companions knew that they were fighting a war they could not win. Intheir view, it was a defensive jihad that would be a testimony to the truthand power of the Bábí cause.

CONCLUSION

The Shaykh T. abarsí conflict was seen by contemporaries as the result ofa Bábí revolt. When the Bábís later became involved in warfare with the


local authorities in other places, their actions were also interpreted asinsurrectionary. This view was confirmed in the minds of the authoritiesand the public by the plot to assassinate Nás.iri’d-Dín Sháh and theabortive attempt at rebellion in Mazandaran in 1852. Though scholarshave differed on whether to emphasize socioeconomic or religious aspectsof the Bábí-state conflicts, they, too, often interpret them as uprisings. Yeta close analysis of the background, the immediate circumstances, and thecourse of events of the Shaykh T. abarsí clash, as well as the Bábí partici-pants’ understanding of their actions does not substantiate the view thatthe conflict was the result of an attempted insurrection. Rather, the analy-sis points to a combination of other factors: the build-up of tensionsbetween the Bábís and the surrounding Muslim community, and a criticalconcurrence of events immediately before the conflict.

The Bábís’ struggles cannot be interpreted as a simple reaction to fac-tors outside their control. They were active supporters of doctrines andideas that constituted a challenge to the establishment. The Báb advancedclaims to charismatic religious authority, the most radical ones being theclaims to mahdihood and prophethood. Likewise, the Bábís publicly pro-claimed their cause in the mosques and elsewhere. In doing so, they pro-voked attacks from the clerical establishment and the public. As it hap-pened, these confrontations led to the intervention of the state. The con-flict of Shaykh T. abarsí began only a few months after the Báb publiclyclaimed to be the Hidden Imam. The advancement of this claim was fol-lowed by the conference at Badasht, and from there, news spread that theBábís had broken the sharí‘at. The Bábís’ determination to announce thecoming of the Mahdi, the clergy’s resolve to eradicate this heresy, and theescalating climate of hostility toward the Bábís were the backgroundcauses of the Shaykh T. abarsí conflict.

Against this background, certain crucial events coincided to precipitatethe conflict. Mullá H. usayn-i-Bushrú’í and his fellow Bábís were on amarch through Mazandaran in pursuance of their plan to rescue the Bábfrom prison when the country was thrown into chaos by the death ofMuh.ammad Shah. Under these circumstances, the Bábís were regarded asinsurrectionists, though they were hardly outfitted for battle. The fact that


their fellow Bábís did not attempt to create uprisings when they had theopportunity indicates that there was no Bábí plan of insurrection at thetime. Soon the new premier and the young shah, motivated by politicalconsiderations—the latter also motivated to a great extent by religiousbigotry—gave orders for the extirpation of the Bábís. The Bábís, on theirpart, were determined to defend themselves in what they saw as a holywar and a testimony to the truth of their cause.

NOTES

This article was first published in I ranian Studies , volume 35, numbers 1–3,

Winter/ Spring/Summer 2002. It is reprinted here by permission.

The present study is part of the author’s MA thesis which he submitted to the

University of Copenhagen in the summer of 2002.

1. For the Bábí movement in general, see Amanat, R e s u rrection and Renewal. Wi t h

respect to the Mazandaran conflict, a good number of p r i m a ry sources are ava i l-

abl e. The Bábí-Bahá’í sources include three eyewitness accounts, two narrat i ve s, as

well as sections on the episode found in general histories of the Bábí and Bahá’í

r e l i g i o n s. Of the eyewitness accounts, Lut. f - ‘Alí Mírzáy-i-S hírází’s untitled chroni-

cle is the earliest and most ex t e n s i ve. The author was executed in 1852. His chron-

icle was therefore written within three ye a rs and three months of the conclusion of

the Mazandaran ep i s o d e. Mír Abú-T. á l i b - i -S hahmírzádí’s untitled narrat i ve was

written much lat e r, but before 1888. H. ájí Nas.ír-i-Qazvíní’s eyewitness account

( “ T á r ík h- i - j i n á b - i -H. ájí Nas.í r - i -s ha h í d , ” in ‘Alá’í) is much shorter than the other two.

He wrote his narrat i ve not long before he died in prison in 1300/ 1882–83.

The “Va q á ’ i ‘ - i - m í m í y y i h ” by Siyyid Muh. a m m a d -H. u s ay n - i - Z avári’í Mahjúr is an

e a r ly account of the S hayk h T. ab a rsí conflict. Mahjúr seems to have written in

1278/1861–62. The account by Áqá Siyyid Muh. a m m a d - R id. á S hahmírzádí also

contains some info rm ation about the Mazandaran conflict. He was the yo u n g e s t

brother of Mír Abú-T. á l i b - i -S hahmírzádí. His account seems to have been written,

at least in part, in the 1890s. Of the general histories of the Bábí and Bahá’í reli-

g i o n s, the K i t á b - i - N u qt.at u ’l - K á f is the earliest so far published. The T á r ík h- i - Ja d í d

by Mírzá H. u s ayn-i-Hamadání adds almost no new info rm ation on the Mazandara n


c o n flict to what is ava i l able in the K i t á b - i - N u qt.at u ’l - K á f. Nab í l - i - Z a randí’s narra-

t i ve, completed in 1890, is much more ex t e n s i ve than the other two. The part deal-

ing with Bábí history has been published in an edited and abridged English tra n s-

l ation under the title The Daw n - B re a ke rs.

The most important Muslim accounts of the clash are in the two main offic i a l

histories of the period—Mírzá Muh. a m m a d - Taqí Lisánu’l-Mulk Sipihr, N á s ik hu ’t -

t av á r ík h, and Rid. á-Qulí K hán Hidáyat, R awd. at u ’s. -s.a f á y - i - N ás. i r í—as well as the

b r i e f account by a certain S hayk hu ’l - ‘Ajam, “Min kalám-i-S hayk hi ’l - ‘A j a m - i -

M á z a n d a r á n í ” in B. Dorn, “Nachträ g e. ” The N á s ik hu ’t - t av á r ík h and R awd. at u ’s. -

s.a f á y - i - N ás. i r í record the history down to the year 1274/1857–58. The account by

Shaykhu’l-‘Ajam was probably written in 1860.

A wide collection of contemporary d i p l o m atic rep o rts and accounts by We s t e rn

t rave l e rs and missionaries is published in Moojan Momen’s Bábí and Bahá’í

R e l i g i o n s. A number of r ep o rts by the Russian Minister in Tehran and one by the

Russian consul in Astarábád are available in Dolgorukov, “Excerpts from Dis-

patches.” A document of singular importance is the edict of Nás. i r i ’d-Dín S háh to

the gove rnor of M a z a n d a ran, a facsimile of which is published in The Bahá’í Wo rl d

5:58. Ru h u ’llah Mehrabkhani gives an English tra n s l ation of this edict in his M u l l á

H. u s ay n (249–51).

2. Nabíl 301. According to Nabíl, the trial of the Báb took place toward the end

of July 1848. However, recently published evidence indicates that the trial

occurred in the second half of April 1848. See letters from Áqá Siyyid H. u s ay n-i-

Kátib and Khál-i-As.ghar in Abu’l-Qasim Afnan 337–39.

3. A later report ascribed to Niz.ámu’l-‘Ulamá’, who led the interrogation, like-

wise does not indicate that anyone paid attention to the political implications

inherent in the claim to mahdihood. For the text and translation of Nás. iri’d-Dín

Mírzá’s rep o rt, see Brow n e, M at e r i a l s 249–55. For the rep o rt ascribed to Niz. á m u ’l -

‘Ulamá’, see Hidáyat 10:423–28. See also Sipihr 2: 909–13; and Browne, Traveller’s

Narrative 2:277–90, note M.

4. Dispatch of 30 January 1849, qtd. in Momen, Bábí and Bahá’í Religions 92.

5. Mahjúr 6–8. Abú-T. álib 23, 46–47; ‘Alá’í 168; see also Nabíl 288–89.

6. Nabíl 298–300; Munírih Khánum 15–16.

7. Amanat 279; Fád. il-i-Mázandarání 3:374; Browne, Nuqt.atu’l-Káf 139; Ávárih

1:133.


8. See Báb, Dalá’il-i-sab‘ih 47–48, and the treatise by Ibn-i-Karbalá’í, in Fád. il-

i-Mázandarání 3:514, both written in 1263/1846–47, about a year before the

Shaykh T. abarsí conflict.

9. Browne, Nuqt. atu’l-Káf 139; Nabíl 262; Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 118.

10. See also the Báb’s letter to the ulama of Tabriz, qtd. in Afnan 334.

11. This letter was apparently written some time after Muh. ammad Sháh’s

death.

12. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 24. In this paper, the observation-based lunar calendar cur-

rent in Iran, instead of the regulated, fixed Islamic calendar, has been used to

determine the corresponding dates in the Gregorian calendar.

13. Sipihr 3:1019; Hidáyat 10:433.

14. Sipihr (3:1021) and Hidáyat (10:434) write that in this attack the Bábís mas-

sacred the people of the village where the militia of the Mazandarani chiefs had

entrenched themselves. The Bábí and Bahá’í sources do not refer to any such mas-

sacre. Browne is obviously mistaken in stating that according to the author of the

Nuqt.atu’l-Káf, the Bábís, on this occasion, killed “the soldiers and villagers alike”

(Hamadání 362). The Nuqt. atu’l-Káf, 161–62, only refers to the demolition of the

village, and the appropriation of provisions. The text indicates that it was in

retaliation for the villagers permitting the militia to use their village. Had the

Bábís killed the inhabitants, it would not make sense to refer only to the destruc-

tion of their village and appropriation of their property as the punishment

i n fli c ted on them.

15. See Bahá’í World 5:58; Mehrabkhani 250–51.

16. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 99; Semino’s letter of 16 June 1849, qtd. in Ettehadieh and

Mir Mohammad Sadeq 192.

17. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 112; Abú-T. álib 16; ‘Alá’í 510–11; Mahjúr 64–65; Browne,

Nuqt.atu’l-Káf 177; Sipihr 3:1027; Hidáyat 10:439–40.

18. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá, 119; ‘Alá’í 515; Ferrier to de LaHitte, 21 February 1950,

qtd. in Momen, Bábí and Bahá’í Religions 95.

19. It seems that ‘Abbás-Qulí Khán was suspected of having become a Bábí. See

Semino’s letter of 16 June 1849 in Ettehadieh and Mir Mohammad Sadeq 192.

20. Abú-T. álib 21, 32–33, 36; see also Browne, Nuqt.atu’l-Káf 192; Nabíl

399–400; Sipihr 3:1035–36.


21. See Momen, “Social Basis.” Momen has discussed Ivanov’s analysis, but

many of the points he raises apply equally to Greussing’s article.

22. Smith and Momen 72; cf. Amanat 359.

23. Materials xv; Hamadání xvi.

24. Cf. MacEoin, “Babism” 316; “Bahá’í Fundamentalism” 70.

25. Báb, Bayán 158, 120, 63. For regulations of the Bayán concerning jihad and

nonbelievers, see MacEoin, “Babi Concept” 108–109.

26. Momen, “Social Basis” 161; MacEoin, “Babi Concept” 115.

27. I am grateful to Mr. Saleh Molavinegad for drawing my attention to the

practice of chávush-khání.

28. Cf. 9, 10, 11. Nabíl had access to a different manuscript of Mír Abú-T. álib’s

account. In his rendering of the passage in question, Mullá H. u s ayn is “the bearer”

of the “Black Standard” (407).

29. See Amir-Moezzi 8:578.

30. Cf. 88.

31. 1:129. Ávárih err o n e o u s ly writes Mákú instead of C hihríq. Probably due to

the bastinado inflicted on the Báb, the Bábís determined to rescue their leader. See

Hidáyat 10:428.

32. 10:422, 428–29; cf. Browne , Traveller’s Narrative 2:189.

33. Nabíl 235–36; Fád. il-i-Mázandarání 3:75. MacEoin refers to this incident

but confuses Sulaymán Khán-i-Afshár-i-S. á’in-Qal‘i’í with Sulaymán Khán-i-

Afshár, later entitled S. áh. ib-Ikhtíyár, who, as he writes, was “one of the country’s

leading military men” (“Babi Concept” 106). It was this Sulaymán Khán who

fought against the Bábís at Shaykh T. abarsí. For S. áh. ib-Ikhtíyár, see Bámdád

2:116–18; for Sulaymán Khán-i-S. á’in-Qal‘i’í, see Fád. il-i-Mázandarání 3:74–75.

34. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 88; cf. Browne, Nuqt.atu’l-Káf 166; Sipihr 3:1014; Hidáyat

10:431.

35. See Momen, “Trial.”

36. Cf. ‘Alá’í 504.

37. Anonymous letter dated 12 September 1848, “Translation: Extract of a let-

ter from a person sent to M. [Mazandaran] by Colonel F. [Farrant],” “Enclosed

Farrant’s No. 85 of 1848,” Public Record Office, FO 60/138, London; cf. Lut.f-‘Alí

Mírzá 25–26.

85


38. Cf. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 61; Mahjúr 37.

39. Sipihr 3:1017; Hidáyat 10:433.

40. Browne, Nuqt.atu’l-Káf 160; cf. Nabíl 345.

41. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 87; Mahjúr 42.

42. Cf. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá 43–44, 80.

43. It is always factors outside the fortress that decide the success or failure of

the defenders in a siege. “In war history, there is no known case of a defender,

once encircled in a fortress, being able to compel the attacker to call off a siege

alone and with his own resources. Defense of a fortress is always a battle to gain

time” (Bode 5:2417).

44. Cf. Browne, Nuqt. atu’l-Káf 155–56; Nabíl 326.

45. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá, 83–84. This indicates that the prince-governor believed the

Bábís were intent on insurrection.

46. Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá, 84–85. The request of the Bábís at Shaykh T. abarsí for a

meeting with the ulama is also reported in Mír Abú-T. álib’s eyewitness account

(12). See also Browne, Nuqt.atu’l-Káf 163.

47. In his paper “The Babi Concept of Holy War” (115–17), MacEoin provides

an analysis of the objectives of the Bábís at Shaykh T. abarsí. He cites passages of

Lut.f-‘Alí Mírzá’s history regarding this exchange, and comments that Mullá

H. usayn refused to leave Mazandaran as “requested ”by the prince (116). MacEoin

gives the impression that the Bábís would not listen to reason. To call the prince’s

demand that the Bábís should leave Mazandaran a “request” is misleading. The

prince had received emphatic instructions from Nás. iri’d-Dín Sháh in person to

eradicate the Bábís, and shortly afterwards the shah had issued a royal decree

ordering him to “cleanse the realm of this filthy and reprobate sect, so that not a

trace of them remains” (qtd. in Mehrabkhani 251). The Bábís had heard about the

prince’s mission and knew that Mazandarani troops had been ordered to assist

him.

Some of the local people who had initially expressed their support for the

Bábís had now reneged. The prince’s message was phrased in harsh languag e

and accused the Bábís of s t i rring up mischief ( L ut.f - ‘Alí Mírzá 82–83). This can-

not be called a “request.” MacEoin refers to Mullá H. u s ayn’s statement about not

d ep a rting from Mazandaran “until the cause of God is manifested,” ( “ B ab i

C o n c ep t ” 116) but leaves out his remark that he had once been deceived by


‘A bbás-Qulí K hán in Bárfurús h, and that he would not be deceived again (Lut.f -

‘Alí Mírzá 89). All this makes it clear that Mullá H. u s ayn believed that the

prince’s “request” was a trick, and that if the Bábís agreed and left the fo rt, they

would be killed.

48. The translation is quoted from MacEoin, “Babi Concept” 116.

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Algar, Hamid. Religion and State in Iran, 1785–1906: The Role of the Ulamain the Qajar Period. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969.

A m a n at, Abb a s. R e s u rrection and Renewal: The Making of the Bab iM ovement in Iran, 1844–1850. Ithaca: Cornell Unive rsity Press, 1989.

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Ávárih, ‘Abdu’l-H. usayn. Al-Kavákibu’d-Durríyyih. Vol. 1. Cairo: Sa‘ádat,1923.

The Báb. B ay á n. N. p., n.d.———. D a l á ’ i l - i - s ab ‘ i h. N. p., n.d.The Bahá’í World: A Biennial International Record. Vol. 5. New York: Bahá’í

Publishing Committee, 1936.Bámdád, Mihdí. S ha rh.- i -h.ál-i-rijál-i-Írán dar qarn-i-12 va 13 va 14 hijrí.

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B r ow n e, Edward G., ed. K i t á b - i - N u qt.at u ’l-Káf: Being the Earliest History ofthe Bábís compiled by H. ájjí Mírzá Jání of Káshán between the ye a rs A.D.1850 and 1852. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1910.

———, ed. and tra n s. A Trav e l l e r ’s Narrat ive Written to Illustrate theEpisode of the Báb. 2 vo l s. Cambridge: Cambridge Unive rsity Press,1 8 9 1 .

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D o rn, B. “Nachträge zu dem Verzeichniss der von der Ka i s e r l i c h e nöffentlichen Bibliothek erworbenen Chanykov’schen Handschriftenund den da mitgetheilten Nachrichten über die Baby und deren Ko ra n ,von B. Dorn . ” Bulletin de l’Académie Impériale des Sciences de St-P é t e rs b o u rg 9 (1866): 202–31.

Ettehadieh (Nezam Mafi), Mansoureh, and S. Mir Mohammad Sadeq,e d s. Z hinirál Semino dar k hi d m at - i - Í r á n - i - ‘ as.r-i-Qájár va jang-i-Hirát:1236–1266 hijríy-i-qamarí. Vol. 3. Te h ran: Nas hr - i - t á r ík h-i-Írán, 1997.

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G r e u s s i n g, Ku rt. “The Babi Movement in Iran 1844–52: From MerchantProtest to Peasant Revo l u t i o n . ” Religion and Ru ral Revo l t. Ed. János M.Bak and Gerhard Benecke. Manchester: Manchester Unive rsity Press,1984. 256–69.

Hamadání, Mírzá H. useyn. The Táríkh-i-Jadíd or New History of M í r z á‘Alí Muh. ammad the Báb by Mírzá H. u s eyn of H a m a d á n. Ed. and tra n s. E.G. Brow n e. Cambridge: Cambridge Unive rsity Press, 1893.

H i d á yat, Rid. á-Qulí K hán. R awd. at u ’s.-s. afá y - i - Nás. i r í. Vol. 10. Qum:M a r k a z í -K hayyám-Pírúz, 1960–61.

L ut.f - ‘Alí Mírzáy-i-S hírází. Untitled Chronicle. Cambridge, Brow n eM a n u s c r i p t s, Or. F. 28, item 3. <http://www2.h-net.msu.edu/~bahai/a rab i c / vo l 5 / l u t f a l i / l u t f a l i . h t m > .


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and Conflation in the Construction of a Re l i g i o n . ” R e l i g i o n 13 (1983):219–55.

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M e h rabkhani, Ru h u ’llah. Mullá H. u s ayn: Disciple at Daw n. Los Angeles:Kalimát Press, 1987.

M i n o rs ky, V. Rev i ew of B abidskie Vo s s t a n i ya v Irane (1848–1852) by M. S.I va n ov. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 11 (1946):8 7 8 – 8 0 .

Momen, Moojan. The Bábí and Bahá’í Religions, 1844–1944: Some Contem -porary Western Accounts. Oxford: George Ronald, 1981.

———. “The Social Basis of the Bábí Upheavals in Iran (1848–53): AP r e l i m i n a ry Analy s i s.” I n t e rn ational Jo u rnal of Middle East Studies 1 5(1983): 157–83.

———. “The Trial of Mullá ‘Alí Bast. ámí: A Combined Sunní-Shí‘í Fat w áagainst the Báb. ” I ra n 20 (1982): 113–43.

M uh. a m m a d - R id. á y - i -S hahmírzádí, Áqá Siyyid. Uncat a l ogued photocopyo f a u t ograph manuscript. London, Afnan Libra ry.

Munírih K hánum. Munírih K hánum: Memoirs and Letters. Tra n s.Sammireh Anwar Smith. Los Angeles: Kalimát Press, 1986.

N ab í l - i - Z a randí. The Daw n - B re a ke rs: Nab í l ’s Narrat ive of the Early Days ofthe Bahá’í Rev e l at i o n. Tra n s. and ed. Shoghi Effendi. Wi l m e t t e, Ill.:Bahá’í Publishing Trust, 1932.

S i p i h r, Mírzá Muh. a m m a d - Taqí Lisánu’l-Mulk. N á s ik hu ’t - t av á r ík h:T á r ík h- i - Q á j á r í y y i h. Ed. Ja ms híd Kíyánfar. Te h ran: Asát.í r, 1998–99.

Smith, Pe t e r, and Moojan Momen. “The Bábí Movement: A Re s o u r c e


M o b i l i z ation Pe rs p e c t i ve. ” In Ira n. Studies in Bábí and Bahá’í Historyvol. 3. Ed. Peter Smith. Los Angeles: Kalimát Press, 1986.

Wa l b r i d g e, John. “The Babi Uprising in Zanjan: Causes and Issues. ”I ranian Studies 29 (1996): 339–62.

Yúsufí, G hu l á m -H. u s ayn. “C há v us h. ” E n cyclopædia Ira n i c a 5 : 1 0 1 – 2 .


Book Rev i ew s

Rethinking Humanitarian Intervention: A Fresh Legal Ap p ro a ch Based onFundamental Ethical Principles in Intern ational Law and Wo rld Religions.By Brian D. Lepard. Unive rsity Park: Pe n n s y l vania State Unive rs i t yP r e s s, 2002. xix + 496 pag e s, including notes, glossary, selected bibl i og-ra p hy, index .

DWIGHT N. BASHIR

Rethinking Humanitarian Interv e n t i o n t a kes the reader on a journ e ythrough the intricacies and legalities invo l ved in humanitarian interve n-tion, which Brian Lepard defines as “the use of m i l i t a ry force to protectthe victims of human rights violat i o n s ” (xi). His most notew o rt hyaccomplishment is his application of a new ly created methodology tov i ew the often erratic and controve rsial issues associated with humani-tarian intervention. He attempts to apply this “fresh legal approach,” a sthe title of the book so aptly refl e c t s, in exploring complex issues ini n t e rn ational law such as state sovereignty ve rsus the use of fo r c e, them o ral and ethical obl i gation of i n t e rvention where egr egious humanrights violations occur, the role and decision-making process of t h eUnited Nations Security Council, and problems of consent and impar-tiality in humanitarian intervention, to name a few.1

H i s t o r i c a l ly, one of the main obstacles to humanitarian intervention isthe concept of s ove r e i g n t y, which prohibits the ex t e rnal use of force bys t ates within the borders of another autonomous stat e. The principles ofi n t e rn ational law, which ostensibly reg u l ate humanitarian interve n t i o n ,h ave further come into question in the afterm ath of the September 11,2001, attacks on the United Stat e s. Subsequent military interventions inAfghanistan (2001) and Iraq (2003) by the United Stat e s, without ex p l i c-it UN Security Council authorization, have taken the debate to anotherl evel. On another front, the actions of n o n - s t ate actors, such as tra n s n a-tional terrorist networks and vigilante groups that transcend state affil i at i o n

91

and commit serious human rights abuses in multiple stat e s, raise furt h e rquestions about the applicability of i n t e rn ational law which only gov-e rns state action or inaction. Moreove r, in a world where religion is sof r e q u e n t ly being distorted and defiled to serve misguided political andi d e o l ogical go a l s, there is an increased need for further elucidation ofh ow moral teachings from the Sacred Scriptures of the world’s religioust raditions can apply to the advancement of human rights and confli c tresolution. It is with this backdrop in mind that Lepard’s book m a kes at i m e ly, if not ove r d u e, entrance onto the scene, despite being writtenb e fore the September 11 at t a c k s. Its relevance may be even more signif-icant in a post-September 11 world.

L epard’s approach centers on “the identification and interp r e t ation ofl egal norms relevant to humanitarian intervention . . . based on funda-mental ethical principles . . . that can be understood as endorsed by con-t e m p o ra ry intern ational law. . . .” (33). He identifies what he calls his“preeminent ethical principle” as “the unity of all human beings ase q u a l ly dignified members of one human family, who in turn can, with-in a fra m ework of u n i t y, develop and take pride in individual, nat i o n a l ,e t h n i c, or religious identities” (33–34). He refers to this principlethroughout the book as the principle of “unity in dive rs i t y. ” His approachconsists of the identific ation and application of r e l evant ethical principlesgleaned from intern ational law and consistent with and supported by“ p a s s ages from the revered moral texts of s even world r e l i g i o n s. . . .”(34). Because of the limited scale of his rev i ew, he admittedly selectsthese world religions (Christianity, the Bahá’í Faith, Islam, Ju d a i s m ,Buddhism, Hinduism, and Confucianism and Chinese “folk religions”)based on a survey he cites which ranks the top seven most widespreadfaiths globally (42).

L epard’s second chapter is where he makes a most creat i ve and signif-icant case to further the discourse in the field, selecting those releva n tethical principles that apply to humanitarian intervention and intern a-tional law. The two criteria that he bases his selection on are (1) thee n d o rsement of the principles by the UN Charter and intern at i o n a l


Book Reviews 93

human rights and humanitarian law and (2) those principles that are“ l og i c a l ly related to the preeminent ethical principle of unity in dive rs i-t y ” (39). Although Lepard discloses that he was “raised as a Bahá’í tob e l i eve that all religions teach the same eternal spiritual tru t h s ” (xii), nobias is evident as he does a masterful job of eve n - h a n d e d ly applying reli-gious texts from the world’s major religions that support intern at i o n a ll egal norm s. Wh at he does not address, howeve r, are those religiousi n t e rp r e t ations of scriptures that may indeed counter his argument orh ow divergent exegeses within religious traditions may completelyundercut his entire premise of “unity in dive rs i t y. ”

L epard classifies the principles by the extent to which they are relat-ed directly to “unity in dive rs i t y. ” He identifies them based on his deter-m i n ation of their level of i m p o rtance: (1) essential (“highest”), (2) com-pelling (“high”), and (3) fundamental (“significant”) ethical principles(58), respective ly. He then gives most attention to a list of the “essentialethical principles” which include most of the rights contained in theU n i ve rsal Declaration of Human Rights (1948), such as the right to lifeand physical security, the right to subsistence, the right to freedom ofspeech, expression, and religion, and the right to protection from ille-g i t i m ate uses of fo r c e.

He spends a significant amount of time proposing new methodolog i e s“ for identifying and interpreting norms of i n t e rn ational law relevant tohumanitarian intervention . . . to help reconcile potentially confl i c t i n gl egal norms under the UN Chart e r ” (146). This provides the fra m ew o r kwith which he addresses meticulously, over the next seve ral chapters, aseries of c o n t r ove rsial dilemmas in humanitarian intervention. One par-t i c u l a r ly engaging argument in chapter 4 is his analysis of w h at consti-tutes a “threat to” or “breach of” peace as defined in the UN Chart e r. Hef u rther applies this fra m ework to other complex dilemmas in humani-tarian intervention surrounding consent, impart i a l i t y, the use of fo r c e,o bl i gations to interve n e, command and composition of m u l t i n at i o n a lfo r c e s, and the Security Council’s decision-making process. At the end ofeach of these analy s e s, Lepard makes recommendations for change based

on the congruence of the moral and ethical principles with intern at i o n-al legal norm s. As I am not trained as a law ye r, I find my s e l f u n able tocomment on his technical legal analysis throughout the book. Howeve r,I did find my s e l f in awe at the manner in which he painstakingly debat e sthe legal issues then identifies and applies relevant moral and ethicalprinciples to each and eve ry one of t h e m .

L epard’s book succeeds in more ways than one. Aside from his cre-ation of an ambitious methodology, or “fresh legal approach,” he con-s t ructs a new lens to view humanitarian intervention and intern at i o n a ll aw. He also is highly effective in demonstrating that global adherenceto the rule of l aw, by states and their citizens, is a prerequisite and nec-e s s a ry step to achieving world peace. In this vein, Lepard successfullyd e m o n s t rates the limited role of humanitarian intervention by prov i n g,through numerous case studies during the 1990s, that while the use offorce “can mitigate some of the worst violat i o n s, it cannot remedy theirroot causes, which are to be found in human minds and heart s ” ( 2 5 5 ) .O n ly time will tell if s c h o l a rs will adopt or at least debat e, as he hopes,his proposals in subsequent ex a m i n ations on the subject.

In terms of the book’s impact on the practical and policy aspects ofhumanitarian intervention, I wish Lepard had provided more substancefor policy make rs to take aw ay from the book, for ex a m p l e, specific rec-o m m e n d ations on how his approach could impact the political consider-ations and interests of individual states with regard to interve n t i o n .L e a d e rs and policy make rs will be hard pressed to find practical appli-c ations to the existing structure in which they work. While Lepard isc l e a r ly suggesting that policy make rs change their thinking altog e t h e r,he does not necessarily conceive of a bridge to get there.

As someone who works to fo rm u l ate and make policy recommenda-tions to gove rnment officials in the human rights arena, I found my s e l fwishing Rethinking Humanitarian Interv e n t i o n p r ovided the reader withmore concrete, identifiable policy options. At this transitional period inh i s t o ry, it is not sufficient to admonish political leaders and policy mak-e rs to take seriously and apply moral and ethical principles to humani-


Book Reviews 95

tarian intervention, or any other issue for that mat t e r. Wh at is needed isdirect advice and counsel on how to tra n s l ate theory into practice at thepolitical level. To Lepard’s credit, this is not the primary focus of t h ebook, and he does indeed suggest some ove rarching recommendat i o n st h at warrant attention by policy make rs, par t i c u l a r ly his recommenda-tions in chapter 11 on humanitarian intervention not authorized by theUN Security Council. For the most part, howeve r, it is left to policy mak-e rs to sift through the ambiguity of his recommendat i o n s.

In his final chapter, Lepard posits that it is quite possible that somel egal professionals could accept his legal methodology and conclusions.He conjectures that policy make rs “might” a c c ept the fundamental ethi-cal principles that his approach identifies and likewise “might” c o n s i d e rthese principles in fo rm u l ating policy on humanitarian intervention. Ina c k n owledging that the latter will be a difficult task yet most vital toh ave any practical impact, Lepard puts fo rth the conclusion,“unless anduntil gove rnment leaders accept and pursue fundamental ethical princi-ples in their policies, the prospects for consensus . . . will be dim” ( 3 7 4 ) .Rather than concluding with a sense of pessimism, perhaps he couldh ave provided a more explicit set of policy tools for ways political lead-e rs and policy make rs could pra c t i c a l ly pursue this line of t h i n k i n g.M aybe this focus could constitute the basis of a future scholarly endeav-or by Lepard; a fo l l ow-up many in the intern ational policy communitywould most like ly welcome and consider with gr e at interest.

I recommend this book to those scholars working in the fields ofi n t e rn ational human rights and humanitarian law, intern ational rela-t i o n s, political science, and comparat i ve religion. The book’s originalityalone makes it worth the read, not to mention its successful fusion ofreligion and law.

NO T E

1. It should be noted that humanitarian intervention does not resolve deep -

rooted, protracted social and political confl i c t s. It can only ameliorate the suf-


fering and killing of individuals tempora r i ly and ve ry ra r e ly addresses the root

causes of v i o l e n c e. Resolving deep-rooted conflicts requires a committed and

sustained effo rt by both state and non-state actors.

Processes of the Lesser Peace. Edited by Babak Bahador and Nazila Ghanea.Oxford: George Ronald, 2002. xii + 276 pages. George Ronald Bahá’íStudies series.

WILLIAM P. COLLINS

Bahá’u’lláh envisioned a two-stage emergence from the era of state sov-ereignty to the golden age of peace. He offered the rulers of His time theopportunity to embrace His message and establish a spiritualized world.When they rejected this Most Great Peace, he set before them the LesserPeace, a stage of world development to be engineered by the rulers andpeoples themselves, based on certain spiritual and operational principlesarticulated by the successive leaders of the Bahá’í Faith. After more thana century the world is now coming close to the Lesser Peace, and manyare hopeful that new international systems will resolve problems byrecourse to global institutions.

While some expected this peace to appear suddenly during the twenti-eth century, as that century ended, the Universal House of Justice empha-sized that the Lesser Peace is a process beset by struggle, triumphs, andoccasional setbacks. The present volume is an attempt to review andreflect upon the processes that are moving the planet inexorably towardglobal law and governance.

The eight essays in this volume, presented from 1995 to 2000 at gath-erings of the Bahá’í Politics and International Law Special Interest Groupof the Association for Bahá’í Studies–English-Speaking Europe, coverBahá’í proposals for reforming international institutions and legal struc-tures, the environment, the spiritual destiny of America, collective secu-rity, international legal systems, and thinking about global governance.They amply demonstrate the involvement of Bahá’ís in issues of UNreform, global governance, and international law, and their willingness toaddress thorny issues.

Jeffrey Huffines offers a historical overview of evolving Bahá’í propos-als for global governance, juxtaposing these proposals with actions taken

Book Reviews 97


by governments. He outlines Bahá’u’lláh’s and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s collectivesecurity and disarmament proposals, historic events outside the Bahá’ícommunity, and the Bahá’í external affairs strategy, and summarizes spe-cific Bahá’í proposals for UN reform. Although the presentation of pro-posals is not itself adequate to effect changes, the Bahá’í InternationalCommunity has been sufficiently respected to be offered a lead role inarticulating the applicable principles for international organizations tobuild something like the Lesser Peace. Babak Bahador, in “The Establish-ment of the Lesser Peace,” considers how the Bahá’í writings infuse glob-al processes with prophetic significance, ensuring a Bahá’í fascinationwith how and when the Lesser Peace will emerge. Bahador considers itpossible to relieve confused speculation by differentiating between theunderlying conditions necessary for the Lesser Peace and the outwardmanifestation of that peace. Monumental historical changes are initiatedby a change in condition, imperceptible at first, but ultimately completeand visible before our eyes.

Bahador rev i ews the thinking of three inter n ational relations ex p e rt swho demonstrated that the world has entered a new state of a f f a i rs. Heoutlines the major outward conditions Bahá’ís foresee as signs of the estab-lishment of the Lesser Peace—a unive rsal conference, collective security,and disarmament. He demonstrates that the transition from underly i n gcondition to outward manifestation invo l ves addressing the obstacles topeace and reinforcing the realization of our deep interdep e n d e n c e.

Arthur Lyon Dahl, in “The Environment and the Lesser Peace,” pro-poses that science has demonstrated an increasing planetwide threat tothe environment, capable of a d ve rs e ly affecting human life, which demandsa multilateral global response. Such a response inevitably requires a levelof cooperation that contributes to strengthening underlying conditionsfor the Lesser Peace—including political cooperation to address environ-mental problems, adoption of environmentally friendly d evelopment prin-c i p l e s, and reconciliation of c o n flicting global leg i s l ation. The resolutionto this problem is the establishment of global institutions empowered toreconcile disparate national laws and to enforce environmental agree-ments internationally.

America’s role in establishing the Lesser Peace is the subject of JohnHuddleston’s essay. America has a well-developed sense of mission, deriv-ing from its history and its current position as the only truly global super-power. But people around the world are responding to the United States’leadership role with increasing skepticism, focusing on the negativeaspects of America’s worldwide influence. This skepticism grows in partfrom the American over-reliance on material power.

America possesses tremendous moral power because of its dive rs i t y,f e d e ral democra c y, and religious ex p e r i e n c e. But these features arosefrom both idealistic and selfish historical circumstances. For ex a m p l e,f e d e ral democracy was based on idealism about equality before the law,but the United States Constitution also enshrined moral contra d i c t i o n swhich were not removed until the passage of the Fo u rt e e n t hAmendment. The positive aspects of America’s achievements includea d vocacy of d e m o c ratic ideals in world affairs and global leadership inbuilding international institutions. Huddleston considers America to h avee s t ablished a kind of Pax Americana, in which it has taken the lead tocounter aggression. The United States is prepared for its next step s —a d vo c ating world federal democra c y, decreasing materialism, and fo s t e r-ing a new religious aw a ke n i n g..

Danesh Sarooshi, in his article, examines collective security in interna-tional law. The power of collective security lies with nations who becomeparty to and invoke international treaties. When the League of Nationscame into being, it was a partial and largely ineffective organization, yetShoghi Effendi praised the League’s censure of Italy’s attack on Ethiopiain 1936 as the first exercise of Bahá’u’lláh’s system of collective security.The United Nations Charter created an international organization explic-itly to maintain global peace. Collective security is enshrined in the UNCharter under Chapter 7, which gives the Security Council broad powersto deal with threats to peace.

The Bahá’í International Community has proposed several innovationsto the UN system. Collective security is understood to be only one part ofmaintaining peace. Peace also requires the implementation of other spiri-tual principles such as gender equality, racial unity, and economic justice.

Book Reviews 99


The nations are called upon to make a binding covenant fixing nationalfrontiers, limiting armaments, and removing governments that violate itsprovisions. The veto power should be eliminated from the SecurityCouncil in favor of majority decision.

An international judiciary and a single code of international law form asignificant part of the Bahá’í vision of world order. In “An InternationalLegal Order,” Rod Rastan considers the historic development of interna-tional judicial institutions. The development of these institutions hasa lw ays reflected nations’ relat i ve level of willingness to relinquishabsolute sovereignty. Initially, nation-states limited the judicial authorityof such institutions to eviscerate their power. Rastan reviews develop-ments since the Hague International Peace Conference of 1899 throughthe International Court of Justice established after World War II. TheInternational Court remains a forum for voluntary adjudication of dis-putes that have, in practice, been relatively minor ones. The Charter doesnot expressly empower the court to rule on the legality of actions takenby UN organs, and it has generally avoided doing so.

In contrast, the binding and enforceable nature of the rulings of theEuropean Court of Justice and the European Court of Human Rightsmore closely meets the requirements set forth in Bahá’í scripture. Thejudicial and executive remain blunted however, so long as the internation-al system remains one founded on sovereign discretion of nation-states.

The implementation of international legal norms and the mechanismsfor their enforcement are more a matter of leadership and will than of law.In Rastan’s view, the hesitancy to commit to upholding internationalorder with force is to conceive a static global order rather than oneresponding to the demands of justice.

Daniel Wh e at l e y, in his art i c l e, inve s t i gates world gove rnment theorysince the Second World War and asks whether the new focus on “globalgove rn a n c e ” is a shift in unders t a n d i n g. He discusses various proposals fo rworld gove rnment and considers the writings of critics of world gove rn m e n ti n i t i at i ves who thought that world gove rnment might emerge from coer-cion by a powerful state or as a result of a cat a s t r o p h e. Some thought thats overeign nations would not choose to subordinate themselves to a world

gove rnment founded on consent. European stat e s, howeve r, have doneex a c t ly that. Large numbers of n ations subscribe to treaties that obl i gat ethem to higher authority.

Since 1995 there has been a new formulation of the concept of worldgove rnment called “global gove rn a n c e. ” Despite disavowals that this equat e sto world government, it becomes clear that many proposals do resemblethose promoting world government. The newly emerging mechanisms ofinternational organization signal the early days of the Lesser Peace. Therenevertheless remains a question of why many agencies have been at suchpains to deny their proposals’ relationship to world gove rn m e n t .Wheatley primarily sees this denial as representing a willingness to workincrementally over a longer period of time. Governance as an umbrellaterm for the growth of new international cooperative efforts may be lessthreatening to those who fear world government. But the continued exis-tence of such fear should remain a source of concern to those who advo-cate global governance.

Charles Lerche, in the book’s final essay, catalogues the movementtoward global governance. The essay effectively summarizes the majorcritiques of globalization, especially its blindness to issues of social andeconomic justice. Lerche reviews the writings of thinkers who see globalgovernance as the most likely scenario for the future even as they expressconcern about the elitist, interventionist, and coercive nature of a globalorder inordinately influenced by powerful nations. He considers the shiftin thinking about global interdependence to be a parameter shift, not aparadigm shift—the same players are playing the same game, but in awider field. Economic, political, and national self-interests are exercisedplanetwide in an interactive environment to pursue wealth and power.

People do not believe global decisions are made with their best interestsin mind. They will support proposals and initiatives for global governancethat are perceived as not threatening people’s need for security, identity, orc o m m u n i t y. The gr e atest threat to globalism is the lack of a unifyingvision. Lerche suggests that perennial questions of “justice, community,and obligation” have to be reopened and reformulated for a single planet.Global governance is as much about values as it is about interests and

Book Reviews 101

institutions. The highest value, according to the Bahá’í community, is theunification of the world’s peoples. We can therefore judge aspects of glob-al governance on how well they further this value.

These essays distill many complex issues that contribute to the process-es of the Lesser Peace, but with the pace of international developmentssince publication, they are already out of date and require updating to dealwith several issues. Notably, noninterference in the internal or domesticaffairs of another state has been found to be bankrupt in practice. In inter-national law, moral obligations exist, but there are few effective methodsfor intervening within a country when an ethnic group or regime is abus-ing a population. The recognition of the colossal failure of this sover-eignty principle should be an argument for global governance.

The book blurs the distinction between globalism and globalization.This oversight has profound implications for communication of Bahá’íideas. Globalism means thinking in global terms and solving problemsglobally. It carries a connotation of justice. Globalization, on the otherhand, is the worldwide spread and coordination of economic, social, polit-ical, or other enterprises. Globalization, particularly in the economicsphere, where multinational corporations and Western-dominated insti-tutions act in their own interest on a global scale, carries a connotation ofmoral blindness and self-interest.

These essays were written before September 11, 2001, cast its shadowacross the world. The problem of terrorism and its influence on worldgovernance has rapidly emerged as a critical issue, but references to ter-rorism in the text are cursory. Under the cloud of terrorism, securitybecomes impossible, undermining one of the nation-state’s rationales.Terrorism may be one of the forces that will impel the nations of theworld to create supranational methods for combating its causes andeffects.

Since 2000, when these essays were presented, we have learned thatbeing global does not make something necessarily positive. Organizedcrime, terrorism, arms trafficking, and slavery are global. This globalreach of the dark side of human endeavor cries out for world governanceand the Lesser Peace. Without planetwide structures to regulate human


affairs, the world is helpless to defend against destructive actions beyondthe reach of national law and becomes a playground for disintegrativeforces. Terrorism is forcing an examination of the constitution of thenation-state, the application of national power, the connections betweenreligion and violence, the international legal framework, and the UN’sstructural focus on the nation-state.

One can see, in the past century, steady movement toward gr e ater glob-al order and interaction. In the end, howeve r, the structures are a responseto a wider Z e i t geist which is the fact of human oneness at the biological andp s yc h o l ogical level. It awaits humanity’s choice to accept and act on it.

The processes that will lead to the Lesser Peace are not simply incre-mental processes of structure and law in international affairs. Suchprocesses also embody a fundamental change in the spiritual “order” with-in individuals and religious communities. The outward movement towardbroader planetary governance mechanisms surely must mirror the innerepiphanies that individuals and religious communities experience as theyrealize that limited conceptions of God’s justice and good-pleasure mustwiden to embrace His boundless love for all humanity, and that the evilswe see in the world are not outside of ourselves.

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Biographical Notes

DWIGHT N. BASHIR is a foreign policy advisor for a United States gov-ernment agency that advises the President, Secretary of State, andCongress. He has previously worked with various nongovernmental orga-nizations and as a consultant to the United Nations. He has lived and trav-eled in more than thirty countries and has published and lectured on anarray of topics in international affairs, including peace and security, reli-gious extremism, human rights, and freedom of religion. He did his doc-toral work in international politics and conflict resolution.

SUHEIL BUSHRUI was appointed as the first holder of the Bahá’í Chairfor World Peace at the University of Maryland in 1992. A distinguishedauthor, poet, critic, and translator, and the recipient of many awards, he iswidely recognized for his seminal studies in English of the works of W. B.Yeats and for his translations of Yeats’ poetry into Arabic. ProfessorBushrui is also the foremost authority on the works of Kahlil Gibran. Hispublications include The Style of the Kitáb-i-Aqdas: Aspects of the Sublime;Kahlil Gibran, Man and Poet (co-authored with Joe Jenkins); and TheWisdom of the Arabs.

WILLIAM P. COLLINS has master’s degrees in librarianship and socialsciences. He is the former director of the Bahá’í World Centre Library andis currently at the Library of Congress. He is the author of a major Bahá’íbibliography and numerous articles and specializes in millennialism andMormonism in relation to the Bahá’í Faith.

MARION JACK (1866–1954) was born in New Brunswick, Canada. In theearly 1880s she began to study painting with John Hammond, later direc-tor of the School of Art at Mt. Allison University in Sackville, NewBrunswick, and she took classes at the Women’s Art Institute in SaintJohn. In 1885 she went to Europe, studying at the Lambeth School of Artin South London, and in Paris under Charles Lazar. She painted in Ireland,

105

England, France, Germany, Belgium, and Italy, and exhibited paintings inParis and London. She spent some time in ‘Akká in 1908, where she con-tinued her painting and taught English to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s grandchildren.She spent the last twenty-four years of her life as a Bahá’í pioneer inBulgaria, where she died in 1954.

PHILIP SELZNICK is Professor Emeritus in law and sociology at theUniversity of California, Berkeley. Among his most important publica-tions are TVA and the Grass Roots; The Organizational Weapon; Leadership inAdministration; Law and Society in Transition: Toward Responsive Law (withPhilippe Nonet); and The Moral Commonwealth: Social Theory and thePromise of Community. His most recent book is The CommunitarianPersuasion.

SIYAMAK ZABIHI-MOGHADDAM has a BS in electrical engineeringand a BA and MA in history from the University of Copenhagen. He is theauthor of Váqi‘iy-i-Qal‘iy-i-Shaykh T. abarsí (Darmstadt: ‘As.r-i-Jadíd, 2002).He currently serves as a researcher at the Research Department, Bahá’íWorld Centre, Haifa, Israel.


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