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"The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens."
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"The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens."
18 stories on this theme.
A gentle young man who loved comfort gave up everything — his home, his ease, even his health — just to stay close to Bahá'u'lláh on a long and difficult road.
A clever man searched school after school looking for joy and never found it — until he found a faith worth being brave for, no matter who laughed at him.
Brought before the most powerful judges in the land, the Báb was asked who He claimed to be — and He answered with three brave words that no one could forget.
When Bahá'u'lláh ascended, His Covenant was at once attacked from within. His younger son, Mírzá Muḥammad-'Alí, refused 'Abdu'l-Bahá's appointed authority and set himself against the Centre of the Covenant — even carrying false accusations to the Ottoman court that nearly cost the Master His life. In The Chosen Highway, the women of the household remember how, through years of danger, they stood utterly firm at His side.
Mullá ʻAlí-Akbar of Shahmírzád — known as Ḥájí Ákhúnd, and later named a Hand of the Cause — taught the Faith so openly in Ṭihrán that he was the first to be seized whenever trouble broke out. Again and again he was chained, jailed, and threatened with the sword; a famous photograph shows him sitting in his fetters utterly composed. 'Abdu'l-Bahá remembered him in a single unforgettable line: openly at odds with his oppressors, he defied them, and he was never vanquished.
Quddús was the youngest and the last of the Báb's first eighteen disciples, the Letters of the Living — and the one He raised highest. A youth of luminous refinement, learning, courtesy, and serenity, Quddús was chosen as the Báb's sole companion on the pilgrimage to Mecca, poured out commentaries of astonishing depth even under arrest and siege, and bore himself through every ordeal with a perfection of character that his companions never forgot.
Besieged with a few hundred companions in the forest fort of Shaykh Ṭabarsí, Quddús held the failing band together not chiefly with the sword but with his voice — composing a commentary whose verses made the hungry forget their hunger, and rising under the roar of the enemy's cannon to bid his companions fear neither the threats of the wicked nor the clamour of the ungodly.
In Ṭihrán in 1850, seven believers of utterly different stations — a great merchant, a beloved dervish, a learned theologian among them — were each offered their lives, and more than their lives, if they would deny the Báb. To the very last, with the sword before them, every one refused. A story of the power of God to make ordinary souls unbreakable.
An austere and revered cleric of Khurásán recognised the Báb and, with Quddús, became one of the first believers ever to be publicly tortured for the new Faith. Through the bastinado, repeated imprisonments, and a lifetime of banishment, a strange power sustained him — and 'Abdu'l-Bahá, who knew him, remembered him among the heroes of the dawn.
A few hundred students, merchants, and craftsmen — most of whom had never held a weapon — were besieged in a makeshift fort in the forests of Mázindarán by the trained regiments and artillery of an empire. For eleven months they held, not by numbers or arms, but by a power their enemies could not understand and could not break.
'Abdu'l-Bahá spent forty years a prisoner in the fortress-city of 'Akká — exiled as a child, freed only as an old Man when the empire that held Him at last fell. Asked in London how He had borne it, He answered that He had been happy the whole time; that prison had been freedom to Him; and that there is no prison anywhere but the prison of the self.
Bahá'u'lláh and His companions were banished to 'Akká as the worst of criminals, shut in a foul barracks where nearly all fell sick and several died. The empire meant to strip them of every dignity and let the Cause rot behind those walls. Instead, as Shoghi Effendi recounts in God Passes By, the exiles bore their degradation with such serenity that the prison itself became a place of honour, and the city that had cursed them came at last to revere them.
In an age when a Black man in America was offered little honour, Robert Turner — a butler in a wealthy household — became the first of his race in the West to embrace the Faith of Bahá'u'lláh, and 'Abdu'l-Bahá rose to greet him, telling him that God had given him a black skin but a heart white as snow.
In A Traveler's Narrative, 'Abdu'l-Bahá looks back on the rise of the Faith and observes a strange law its enemies never understood: every blow the thrones rained down upon it only made it stronger. Persecution bred constancy, suppression bred eagerness, and the more the powers of the age tried to extinguish the Cause, the faster it spread. A reflection on the sovereignty of a Cause that no earthly power could quench.
When Bahá'u'lláh rode out of the Garden of Riḍván on the twelfth day, He did not step into freedom but onto a road — more than a thousand miles of mountain and plain, north and then west, to the Ottoman capital. With His family and twenty-six companions He set out on a march of more than three months, and at every stage along the way the people met Him not as a banished prisoner but as an honored guest.
Not everyone could follow Bahá'u'lláh onto the road of exile. When the convoy of the Beloved left Baghdád for Constantinople, believers remained behind in a city now empty of His presence and full of His enemies. In His memorial to Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá Baghdádí, 'Abdu'l-Bahá preserves what faithfulness looked like in those who stayed — loyal, staunch, and openly teaching the Faith after the great separation.
In the very days of the Riḍván festival, on the eve of His banishment from Baghdád, Bahá'u'lláh revealed one of the great Tablets of His early ministry — the Súriy-i-Ṣabr, the Tablet of Patience, also called the Tablet of Job. Sent in honor of a survivor of the Nayríz upheaval whom He named Ayyúb, it lifts up the steadfastness of those who suffered for the Báb and crowns the Festival of joy with a hymn to patient endurance.
One brief incident that made a lasting impression on Leroy illustrates this power of the Master. It occurred one evening when ‘Abdu’l-Bahá spoke at the Masonic Temple [in Chicago]. More than a thousand people were present. The Ioas and…