Super Hooper

In recent years, various members and ex-members of the Universal House of Justice have blessed the Bahá’í World with the fruit of their own personal experience and learning from serving in the inner core of the ring of fire in the form of books for us to ponder. One of these is Hooper Dunbar’s Forces of Our Time – The Dynamics of Light and Darkness, published by George Ronald in 2009. Bahá’ís have a view of this topic diametrically opposed to the view of the rest of humanity, and is the reason why in these days of unprecedented anxiety even worse than in the days of the Cold War when The Bomb hung over all our heads whether waking or sleeping that Bahá’ís remain cheerfully and unremittingly optimistic about the future. Are the Bahá’ís out of touch with reality or do they see what virtually all the scientists, economists, politicians, military leaders, NGOs, journalists, mavens and gurus, the Information Highway, and Hollywood to Bollywood have somehow missed? Is it yet another desperate utopian dream among the myriads that have been foisted upon an increasingly skeptical world that scornfully heaps each failed ideology into the same dustbin marked “forget these embarrassingly deluded fools”? Mr. Dunbar says: “We cannot help but perceive and be touched by the pain, sorrow, anxiety, and fear all about us but must strive to see the tumult of the world through God’s vision instead of our own. This will give us courage and power.” (pg. 51)

Certainly the part of the world that is aware of this still apparently insignificant and impotent yet ubiquitous and insistent community is watching – watching to see if the Bahá’ís are truly serious and can not only embody but foment these ideals the whole world wants yet is utterly incapable of realizing. Some may secretly be cheering them on, others ready to chortle with evil glee the moment they find a stray unraveling thread in its seamless royal robe; in the meantime, numbers in every clime, after considering the options, are signing on the dotted line and affirming their wish to become part of the solution Shoghi Effendi has enunciated:

Let there be no mistake. The principle of the Oneness of Mankind -- the pivot round which all the teachings of Bahá'u'lláh revolve -- is no mere outburst of ignorant emotionalism or an expression of vague and pious hope. Its appeal is not to be merely identified with a reawakening of the spirit of brotherhood and good-will among men, nor does it aim solely at the fostering of harmonious cooperation among individual peoples and nations. Its implications are deeper, its claims greater than any which the Prophets of old were allowed to advance. Its message is applicable not only to the individual, but concerns itself primarily with the nature of those essential relationships that must bind all the states and nations as members of one human family. It does not constitute merely the enunciation of an ideal, but stands inseparably associated with an institution adequate to embody its truth, demonstrate its validity, and perpetuate its influence. It implies an organic change in the structure of present-day society, a change such as the world has not yet experienced. It constitutes a challenge, at once bold and universal, to outworn shibboleths of national creeds -- creeds that have had their day and which must, in the ordinary course of events as shaped and controlled by Providence, give way to a new gospel, fundamentally different from, and infinitely superior to, what the world has already conceived. It calls for no less than the reconstruction and the demilitarization of the whole civilized world -- a world organically unified in all the essential aspects of its life, its political machinery, its spiritual aspiration, its trade and finance, its script and language, and yet infinite in the diversity of the national characteristics of its federated units. (The World Order of Bahá'u'lláh, pg. 42-43)

Dunbar’s book was not written as such, nor is it a compendium of speeches, but is an arrangement of themes taken from recorded Monday night classes he gave on Mount Carmel in the 1980s. The style is appealing as it retains much of the conversational style in which he delivered them. For example:

Through divine revelation the forces of the higher world penetrate the realities of this world. There is a kind of pulsation, a moving from the spiritual plane to the physical and back again. Bahá’ulláh would receive a spiritual power from the higher invisible realm, which was His animating principle. It would stir His whole being. He would communicate that spiritual power in the form of divine verses, which He would recite or chant. Those verses would this become physical; through His chanting they would becoming sound that would reverberate out into space, influencing every atom of existence. They would also be noted down in a written form on a tangible, material page. They reach us in printed form a hundred or more years later. We read them and are able through their influence to connect with the impulses of the original spiritual Revelation of Bahá’ulláh. These energies compel us to act in conformity with the verses we read. Yet to outward seeming they are no more than black scratching on a sheet of paper. Spirit has become matter and yet somehow retains and conveys its original spiritual impact. This is indeed a mysterious process. (pg. 15)

One of Dunbar’s most obvious gifts in this book is his ability to delineate processes, satisfying those who want to know not only principles, but how things actually work. And this is done systematically throughout the book and is no doubt the work of the compilers, chiefly Holly Hanson, a student of the Mount Carmel Monday night sessions. Ergo the titles of the various sections:

1. The Nature of Spiritual Forces

2. The Outpouring of Creative Forces

3. The Crystallization of Divine Forces

4. The Progressive Release of Divine Forces

5. Universal Fermentation and the Impact of Creative Forces on Human Society

6. Understanding Forces of Darkness

7. Combatting the Forces of Darkness

8. Custodians of the Forces of Light

Yes, these talks were given from Mr. Dunbar’s most profound understanding, but in true Bahá’í style they are based on his study of the Bahá’í Writings and peppered with quotations; furthermore, the final forty-seven pages of the book consist of the passages from Shoghi Effendi which inspired his own thoughts (compiled by him before the efflorescence of the data bases which now let us find them – prophetically -- in a flash), and which are given to us, with the humility characteristic of the members of the most august Institution of the Faith, to meditate upon them ourselves in order to draw our own unique insights therefrom. How’s that for an “interactive” book?

One may be especially intrigued by the titles of Chapters 6 and 7. Lest one be tempted to immediately associate these themes with the endless cartoonish movies of the battle of good versus evil humanity gorges itself upon, the truth as expounded in these chapters is radically different than these escapist fantasies that our race can’t seem to graduate from, but if we remain in that quagmire, we cannot advance. Chapter Eight is for fully mature adults that wish to face the future armed with a real power of which superheroes are deprived.

These books are an essential companion to studying the documents and messages of the current Plans of the Faith; the latter give us the lines of action and unfold the dramatic surging of the Faith in the united worldwide community, while each of the former expand the scope and depth of our vision of the Faith we thought we already knew and loved so well.

Fill Out the Fiends

When one reads the Middle Eastern accounts of the early days of the Faith, the protagonists are divided into heroes and villains. This division is almost cartoonish, as was the wearing of black and white hats in old TV Westerns. This does not satisfy me, as I have a novelist’s fascination with the complexities, unpredictabilities, the paradoxes of character. When I read history, I want to be there, immersed in the myriad entangled forces directing their fangs at each other’s jugulars. So I sometimes feel like howling with laughter, when studying Ruhi Book 4, at the dismissal in a couple of words of the characters who opposed the Faith. On page 31, Governor Husayn Khán of Fars is encapsulated as “a cruel and wicked man”; then on page 37, Hájí Mírzá Aqási, Persian Prime Minister in the time of The Báb is deemed and doomed as “a selfish, incompetent man.” His successor, Mírzá Taqi, is stigmatized as “as bloodthirsty as the previous one” on page 41. And in this context this is all we perhaps need to know, just as Judas Iscariot’s betrayal of Jesus and his subsequent suicide is sufficient unto us, and we need neither to know his life story and character, but only his most infamous betrayal to sum up his role in history. But some of us thirst to know more.

In 1848, the aging Muhammad Sháh died after only fourteen years on the Peacock Throne. Mírzá Taqi Khán had been a trusted adviser and perhaps even father figure to the crown prince cum teenage king Nasiri’d-din Sháh (pictured above), in juxtaposition to the latter’s domineering mother, and the boyking promptly made him Prime Minister and virtually gave him the reins of government. The process of modernization and westernization sorely needed after the disaster of the Russo-Persian War was largely Taqi’s initiative. At that time, Persia was nearly bankrupt, so he initiated sweeping reforms in both governmental and social spheres: expenditure was slashed, and central administration overhauled; foreign interference was curtailed, though foreign trade was encouraged. He established the first modern university in the Middle East with European instructors to train a new generation of administrators in Western techniques. The ornate and formal writing that sometimes seems archaic and impenetrable to many readers of the Bahá’í writings, even in Shoghi Effendi’s pyrotechnical English, was abolished by Taqi’s decree, replaced by a modern Persian prose style. Nevertheless, he will forever figure in the chronicles of the Bahá’í Faith as an archvillain for ordering the execution of The Báb and viciously attempting to eradicate the “Bábi problem,” which was a domestic thorn in the side of Nasir’id-din Sháh, who needed to focus on more pressing foreign policy concerns, like the encroachment and invasions of the Russians and British.

As it so often happens, from Oedipus to Ashoka, his greatest strength was also his Achilles’ heel. The Sháh’s mother convinced him that Taqi’s efficient and visionary statesmanship and gift for social reform was a master plan to usurp the throne. In 1851 the Sháh dismissed him and not only sent him into exile, but had him murdered there to boot. His meteoric career as Prime Minister had lasted less than four years.

Násiri’d-Dín Sháh himself, (literally and ironically “defender of religion” -- the younger generation may know this name only as a Bollywood film star, much as Mark Antony is only known as a popular singer) Ruhi 4 tells us on page 91, “was far more ruthless than his father.” He danced with Western Europe, making a famous trip to England and publishing his diaries from that journey, and was not only the first Persian monarch to be photographed (dozens, if not hundreds of times), but set up the first photography studio in the land. He established the first real Persian newspaper, telegraph, and postal service; he was a patron of the arts and also dabbled in painting, drawing, and languages, reportedly doing rather poorly at all of them. But ultimately his Westernization and modern reforms had the taint of insincerity, as his personality remained deeply conservative and despotic. His concessions to the West were motivated chiefly by economic and not visionary impulses, at times making him look ridiculous, as with a tobacco patronage scandal than ran him afoul with the clergy, his subjects (tobacco boycott), ending with his own eighty-four wives forbidding him to smoke. In 1852, some Bábis, contrary to the explicit wishes of Bahá’u’lláh, made an inept attempt at the life of the Sháh, causing an inhuman backlash against the Bábis all over the country.

An almost equally botched attempt, forty-four years later, by Mírzá Reza Kermani, (a member of a movement that has in the present day become known as the Islamic Brotherhood in Egypt), this time in the shrine of Sháh ‘Abdu'l-'Azím just barely achieved its objective. And this on the very eve of magnificent celebrations that had been long planned to mark his 50 years (by the lunar calendar) on the throne -- apparently to pre-empt Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee planned for one year later. What to do? To give them time to think, his dead body was propped up in the carriage to make it look like he was still alive as they took him back to the palace. His death was no more dignified than his life, and the whole country burned with shame. His successors did even worse, finally bringing to an end the Qajar Dynasty.

Mírzá Yahyá (“Mister John”), the much younger half-brother of Bahá’u’lláh, lived only as a foil to test the true adherents of the Faith, and would otherwise best be forgotten; nevertheless he makes as much a fascinating (and disgusting) study in villainy as Iago or Richard III, rating more than simply “ambitious and cowardly” (Ruhi 4, pg. 109), as does his evil genius/sidekick Siyyid Muhammad, who was “more shameless than himself.” The former’s evil deeds, as attested in God Passes By, include: ordering the murder of several eminent persons; perverting the text of God; poisoning Bahá’u’lláh and His family; marrying the Báb’s widow, divorcing her, and passing her on to another man; making lying and indecent accusations about Bahá’u’lláh to the Sultán (resulting ultimately in the further exile of the entire Bábi – by now Bahá’í – community in Adrianople); and even claiming himself to be a manifestation of God – yikes! The juxtaposition of Bahá’u’lláh’s über-Job forbearance of him -- resulting at times in the indignity and deprivation of His own family -- with Mírzá Yahyá’s cloak-and-dagger disguises, chicanery, and aliases until the final “Most Great Separation” in Adrianople, is the stuff of drama of Shakespearean proportions. Yahyá ended his rather long days in exile in Cyprus, nowhere to swim or paddle to, his application for British citizenship refused, and now dust blows over his weedy resting-place without a marker.

Huff, Puff, and Blow

It is not a new ruse to adapt easy-to-sing melodies for congregational singing in churches. One of the oldest and most familiar examples of this practice is the Christmas carol “What Child is This?” sung to the tune of “Greensleeves,” the carolers blissfully unaware that the older title refers to a prostitute. At a funeral in a Catholic church in Honduras recently I heard them first sing a well-known hymn to a slowed-down version of “The Sound of Silence” a Paul Simon song about depression, of all things. This was followed a few minutes later by another I had heard previously, to the tune of “Blowin’ in the Wind,” a protest song from Bob Dylan. But minutes later I could barely contain my laughter; I came perilously close to committing a major social blunder as I watched those beatific faces innocently and solemnly intoning a hymn of praise to Peter, Paul, and Mary’s (appropriate names, no?) “Puff the Magic Dragon.” Now I will laugh: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha HAHAHA!!! Whew, that felt good.

Indulge me while I point out the obvious. Songwriters are constantly raving about self-expression, and even the greatest among them strive to use musical language to enhance, embellish, or outrightly parallel the content of their lyrics (I refer you to Franz Schubert’s “Erlkönig” or Richard Strauss’ tone poems for some of the most successful examples of this), but the fact is that musical language by itself is too abstract to paint specific pictures or narrate specific events in the mind of the listener. Try, for example to make a musical rendition of “Casey at the Bat” without words or a title, and the listener is as likely to imagine Shrek or a visit to the supermarket as they would the baseball legend that is intended. Beethoven loathed poetic subtitles to his music, partly because they limited the audience’s imagination. “Moonlight Sonata” was not his appellation, but was added later, and virtually all modern listeners associate this sublime music with moonlight, unintended by the composer. If the first movement of his Fifth Symphony was telling a story, what story would it be? No two answers to this question would be the same.

It is this “association” that is the key. Throughout the musical history of the Christian church, even though its music inevitably evolved and changed, a constant feature of it was a style that was reserved for worship, so that the very sound of it elicited reverence and spirituality. There is no mistaking what Händel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” is about, and it could never be used properly as a graduation march or deodorant commercial. This phenomenon of melding holy or devotional words with popular music styles is a very recent one, and reveals more than anything the desperation of churches over dwindling congregations. The popularity of “Christian” music, however, has not swelled the pews.

During his own lifetime, the Guardian discouraged artists and musicians to try too consciously to develop distinctly Bahá’í music, but rather produce their finest work, which would presumably eventually become identifiably Bahá’í by the stamp the light of faith that would transform their souls and their art. Therefore it behooves Bahá’í musicians to develop a musical style that is commensurate with the loftiness, majesty, and sublimity of the words or sentiments. In the matter of translating the Bahá’í writings into English, for instance, the Guardian chose the style of King James Version of the Bible in order that any English-speaking person of Christian background would immediately identify these words as holy scripture. He was pressured to simplify them but maintained that we should rise to its level, and not drag it down to ours.

The guidance so far from the Universal House of Justice is to observe dignity; we can certainly argue endlessly as to what that entails, but if we are honest with ourselves, we will often find that our arguments are constructed to justify our own musical tastes. Since the Bahá’í Faith is global, it can be speculated that there may not emerge a single dominant style of musical worship, perhaps rather a canon of work to which many cultures will contribute. But in any case the striving for excellence and refinement will necessarily be the hallmarks of the Bahá’í art that will be worthy of the name.

Irony to the World

To date and to the best of my knowledge, the best Bahá’í music has come from non- Bahá’í sources. This must inevitably change, but it is the present state of affairs. I’ve often thought, for instance, that Joy to the World (the Christmas carol, not the Three Dog Night song) is as soul-stirring a Bahá’í song as it gets when you view the lyrics from a Bahá’í perspective.

It turns out I couldn’t be more wrong, though quite from the opposite direction. Joy to the World is a Bahá’í song, plain and simple, and not even a Christmas carol at all. It is the brainchild of Isaac Watts (1674-1748), the “father of English hymnody.” His own father was a Non-Conformist, so he came by creative thoughts honestly. Here’s the scoop on what actually happened and what the song actually is.

John Calvin had previously initiated the practice of creating verse translations of the Psalms for congregational singing, but Watts took this a step further by introducing Psalm-inspired lyrics for songs. He also thought the Psalms should be updated, because though King David (author of many of the Psalms) was divinely-inspired, his religious understanding could not possibly have fully apprehended the truths later revealed by Jesus Christ. Therefore the Psalms, in Watts’ thinking, should be “renovated” to imitate the language of the New Testament rather than the Biblical Hebrew.

Joy to the World is based on Psalm 98 which begins, in the King James version, “O sing unto the Lord a new song, for he hath done marvelous things,” and includes the famous line “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” Lines such as “Let the floods clap their hands: let the hills be joyful together” are easily seen to inspire this hymn. The music was then adapted and arranged by Lowell Mason from an older melody which was believed to have originated from Händel because of obvious similarites to snatches of phrases from The Messiah.

All fine and good, but here’s the clincher – are you ready for this? Even if today “Joy to the World” is commonly thought of as a Christmas song, its lyrics were originally written by Isaac Watts as a hymn glorifying Christ's triumphant return at the end of the age! Ha!

For those of us who have to pull out our carol sheets every Christmas, here follows the complete lyrics to Joy to the World. Bahá’ís are invited to sing this silently or out loud with Isaac Watts’ intention in mind.

Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And heaven and nature sing,
And heaven and nature sing,
And heaven, and heaven, and nature sing.

Joy to the world, the Saviour reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.

He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, wonders, of His love.