Two Wings to Fly

A retelling for children, based on Mahmúd's Diary (entry of 22 May 1912).

Early one spring morning, a train pulled out of Boston and rolled west through the green Massachusetts countryside. On board was 'Abdu'l-Bahá, travelling with a small group of friends to a city called Worcester. They had been invited, and the person who had invited them was no ordinary host.

His name was G. Stanley Hall, and he was the president of a famous place called Clark University. In those days, Mr. Hall was one of the most respected thinkers in all of America. He studied how children grow and how the human mind works, and other scholars looked up to him. He had been reading the news of 'Abdu'l-Bahá's journey across the country, and he had sent a special request: would the Master come to his university and speak to the teachers and students?

The Master said yes.

When the train reached Worcester, there was a warm welcome waiting at the station. A carriage carried the party up to the campus, where the great hall was filling with people. And these were not just any people. The room was full of scientists — experts in chemistry, in physics, in the study of living things, and in the workings of the mind. Many of them spent their whole lives measuring, testing, and asking hard questions. Some of them were not at all sure that religion and science could ever be friends.

Then 'Abdu'l-Bahá rose to speak, and He gave them something to think about that they had perhaps never quite heard before.

The whole universe, He said, is the careful, orderly work of one Creator — like a vast and beautiful design. Science is the patient, careful work of exploring that design: how the stars move, how plants grow, how everything fits together. And religion, when it is understood rightly, explores that very same design too — only it studies the spiritual side of things. Both are searching out the same truth. So if each one stays true to itself, 'Abdu'l-Bahá explained, science and religion can never really disagree. They are partners, not enemies.

Then He said a sentence that the friends in that room would carry with them for the rest of their lives:

Religion and science are the two wings upon which man's intelligence can soar.

Think of it. A bird with only one wing cannot fly — it just flutters in circles on the ground. But with both wings working together, it lifts off and rises high into the sky. That is what science and religion are meant to be for us: two wings, lifting our minds upward together.

'Abdu'l-Bahá told them one more thing. When you are lucky enough to be educated — to learn and to train your mind — that learning is not just for yourself. It comes with a duty: to use everything you know to help other people and to serve the whole human family.

The scientists listened closely. Many of them had expected, perhaps, to hear words that argued against their work. Instead they found something that gave their work a deeper purpose. Afterward, Mr. Hall welcomed the Master into his own office for a quiet conversation, and when it was time to go, he walked Him all the way back to the railway station himself and waved the party off.

By the afternoon, 'Abdu'l-Bahá was on the train back to Boston. The whole visit to Worcester had lasted only about three hours. But years and years later, some of the teachers who had been there that morning still said it was one of the most wonderful talks they had ever heard in their hall.

That is the gift the Master left them: learning and faith are not enemies that pull us apart. They are two wings — and we are meant to fly with both.

This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see "The Discourse at Clark: 'Abdu'l-Bahá at Worcester".

Maḥmúd-i-Zarqání, M.. (1998). *Mahmúd's Diary: The Diary of Mírzá Maḥmúd-i-Zarqání*. George Ronald.