A Rare and Precious Talisman

           Whenever the time for Bahá’í elections comes around, the preparations always include the study of an admonition from the Guardian regarding some of the qualities one must look for in those for  whom one intends to cast a vote.  Among these qualities, one has intrigued me above all others:  a well-trained mind.  Most of the others seem more straightforward than this one – what exactly is a “well-trained mind”?  I have put this query to many a Bahá’í whom I respect, and the answers have varied from annoyance that I should have a question about something so obvious to “It is one that is well-grounded in the Writings of Bahá’u’lláh.”  The second one brought cheers from those assembled, for it sounds like a fine answer indeed, which I acknowledge.  And yet was there not in that cheer a small grain of relief that the question would not have to be explored any further?  In fact, I have never received an answer that has satisfied me fully, and such things act as fishhooks, tugging irritatingly at me when I try to ignore them.

            So here’s what I’ve come up with so far.  The fact that the Guardian mentions it suggests to me that it is an outstanding quality not possessed by all, nor perhaps even by many.  And also that it’s not something that comes automatically with age or experience, but that it is acquired through systematic rigour, ergo “trained.”  So what are minds like that do not fulfill this condition?  Frankly, our minds are messy places, gurgling miasmas of desires and disappointments, grudges and hormones, silly superstitions guilty pleasures, and memories both deep and fleeting, constantly being transmogrified by shafts of insight and reconsideration from all directions, beset by hobgoblins like street urchins appearing from  who knows where and insisting that their voices be heard.  Difficult to have a clear thought amongst all that clamour, never mind trying to express one.

            Someone who serves on an elected institution of the Faith must be able to consult with others, listen to them [HUGE], respond to them, stick to the matter at hand, be objective and dispassionate, keeping the principles and guidance of the Faith and its well-being in the forefront of one’s mind, shoving aside our petty obsessions (who, me?) and our personal agendas.  Some of us just like the sound of our own voices, and this must be tempered at times.

            We are still at the stage of human development that the vast majority of us are inclined to complaining, arguing, criticizing, and prejudging (read:  prejudice), and these have no place on assemblies. Most people repeat the same things over and over (have you noticed?) and this is an undesirable trait which hampers consultation.  We also have personal relationships with other members of these institutions, which should have no bearing with our interactions with them at meetings (good luck with that).  Many a joke has been made about husband and wife serving on the same assembly.

            There are several difficult disciplines for assembly members to which others are not subjected.  One has to wholeheartedly embrace decisions made by the body which one has not wholeheartedly endorsed.  One must not secondguess or undermine the assembly’s authority outside its meetings (whereas inside it one may argue as vociferously as one wishes within the bounds of courtesy and respect).  Discussing confidential assembly matters outside the meeting, even with one’s closest family members, is a no-no-no-no.  

            So the hallmarks of a well-trained mind are intelligence and discipline, fuelled by a love for and knowledge of the Faith, its writings and guidance.  Experience and education are not absolute requirements (as some devoted and wise souls without a dollar or certificate sometimes prove), but are valued whips and handmaidens along the way.  A well-trained mind is a rare and precious talisman indeed.

Obligatory Confessions

            There is no prayer I love more, connect with more, feel most in the presence of God when reciting, or lose myself in more than the Long Obligatory Prayer.  But wait, that’s not the confession.  Here it comes:  in spite of what I have just written, I have never, not even once, recited it unless the sun has set, rendering the recitation of the Short Obligatory Prayer invalid.  Am I a hypocrite?  You tell me.  My defense is that though I love it, it is daunting, it is spiritually and emotionally exhausting, and my blood does boil in my veins.  But soft!  It gets worse.  Circumstances are not always conducive to enough privacy at night that I can do the prayer sufficient justice, so in rare instances, I have deferred it to the following morning.  Is this allowed?  It is to be recited once in twenty-four hours, and in Islam this similar obligation is stipulated as being from one noon until the following noon.  Bahá’u’lláh says nothing to confirm or abrogate this, so only God knows whether it is accepted or not.  I confess that fear and trembling overtake me and it never happens twice in short order.

            One other confession about obligatory prayer.  On weekends I sometimes find time to recite it in beautiful natural settings, on an open road, or in private chambers, but during the week the overwhelming majority of instances find me mouthing those sublime words in, of all places, bathrooms – school bathrooms, public washrooms, and worse (I live in a third world country).  It is often the only place where I can shut out the outside world confidently enough to recite those seventy-two glorious syllables without which my day becomes abysmal.  I am reasonably certain that I am facing the Qiblih whether penetrating clean walls or with eyes closed to avoid seeing words contrary to my purpose, but again no one inside or outside that room is the judge of acceptability of those searing supplications.