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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."
33 stories where knowledge appears.
'Abdu'l-Bahá's tribute to Shaykh Muḥammad-'Alí — the scholar of Khurásán who, after years of distinguished ecclesiastical study in Najaf and Karbalá, embraced the Cause and became, in his maturity, one of the great teachers of the Faith in eastern Persia.
Before the world knew her as Táhirih, the gifted poet-theologian of Qazvín was given one name by the teacher she never met in person — Qurratu'l-'Ayn, Solace of the Eyes — and another, years later, at the conference of Badasht, where the assembled believers proclaimed her Táhirih, the Pure One. Two names, conferred by two hands, for a woman who became the herald of a new Day.
In Baghdád, in answer to the questions of an uncle of the Báb, Bahá'u'lláh revealed in the span of two days and two nights the Kitáb-i-Íqán — the Book of Certitude — a work of such sweep and majesty that it unveils the meaning of all the Scriptures of the past and stands among the greatest doctrinal works of His entire Revelation. Adib Taherzadeh recounts the awe of its outpouring.
Shut away in remote mountain fortresses on the edge of the Persian empire, with no library, no leisure, and no help, the Báb poured forth Writings of such volume and such speed — commentaries, expositions, and prayers composed without pause or premeditation — that friends and adversaries alike recognized in the sheer torrent of His revealed Word a sign no human power could counterfeit.
On the night the Báb declared His mission in Shíráz, He took up His pen and began, with astonishing speed, to reveal the Qayyúmu'l-Asmá' — the first Book of His Dispensation. Shoghi Effendi ranks it among the greatest and mightiest of all the works the Báb left behind.
In His youth, before the Báb had declared His mission, Bahá'u'lláh paused one day to listen to a famous divine of Núr lecturing to his disciples — and resolved in a few words a question none of them could answer. The learned man was left troubled, and then was visited by two dreams that told him, in images he could not mistake, Who the young Nobleman really was.
Between 1904 and 1906, at the dinner table of His house in 'Akká, 'Abdu'l-Bahá answered the questions of an American believer, Laura Clifford Barney, on the deepest matters of God and the soul. He corrected the notes twice in His own hand — and in doing so showed the world the very office Bahá'u'lláh's Covenant had conferred on Him: the authorized, unerring Interpreter of the Word of God.
When his teacher Siyyid Káẓim died, Mullá Ḥusayn — already among the most learned of his generation — did not stay to claim the empty seat. He withdrew for forty days of fasting and prayer, purified his heart, and set out to find the Promised One whose nearness his teacher had foretold. The search ended at the gate of Shíráz, where the knowledge he carried met the Knowledge it had been seeking.
Late in His life in the Holy Land, Bahá'u'lláh answered a question put to Him by the learned Bábí scholar Nabíl-i-Akbar about the place the philosophy of Greece and Persia should hold among the believers. The reply, the Tablet of Wisdom, surveys the great philosophers by name, traces the lineage of their light, and sets out the proper relation between human inquiry and divine Revelation — a charter for the life of the mind.
Before the world knew he would be the Guardian, Shoghi Effendi went to Oxford with one private purpose: to perfect his English so that he might serve 'Abdu'l-Bahá as His translator. In quiet rooms at Balliol, with English literature, a dictionary, and a notebook, he forged the very instrument by which the Sacred Writings would later reach the Western world — a lifetime's labour of learning poured out in service.
Hippolyte Dreyfus was a brilliant young Parisian lawyer with everything the world prizes when he encountered the Bahá'í teachings. Recognising their truth, he did something few Western believers had done: he set himself to master Persian and Arabic so that he could read the Writings in their own words and carry them to the French-speaking world. He became the first French Bahá'í and one of the Faith's earliest Western scholars and translators.
Before the Báb declared His mission, two great scholars spent their lives preparing the way. Shaykh Aḥmad-i-Aḥsá'í and his successor Siyyid Káẓim-i-Rashtí turned the full force of their learning toward a single end: to read the prophecies of the past so faithfully that they could ready a generation to recognise the Promised One. Theirs is the story of knowledge used not for its own glory but to open the eyes of others to a coming Day.
A young American woman travelled again and again to the prison-city of 'Akká, sat at 'Abdu'l-Bahá's table, and asked Him question after question — about God, the soul, the prophets, the meaning of the Scriptures. Out of three years of patient asking came *Some Answered Questions,* a book that includes the Master's teaching on the four ways human beings try to know the truth — and why only one of them is sure.
An Aberdeen physician in failing health, trained to weigh evidence and trust nothing he could not examine, found a small pamphlet about the Bahá'í Faith in a sanatorium. He did not simply believe it. He studied for years, learned Persian late in life to read the Writings in the original, and wrote the careful introduction by which the English-speaking world would come to know the Cause.
He was the most favoured disciple of the foremost religious teacher of his day, the one student raised to the rank of mujtahid, "a universal man, in himself alone a convincing proof." Then Áqá Muḥammad-i-Qá'iní met Bahá'u'lláh — and the scholar who had mastered theology, philosophy, and mysticism found a knowledge before which all his learning bowed.
The first African-American Rhodes Scholar and a Harvard-trained philosopher, Alain Locke became the guiding intellect of the Harlem Renaissance. He was also a Bahá'í who put the whole of his learning to the service of human oneness — teaching that the deepest work of the mind is to discover the "common denominators" on which a united world can stand.
A Harvard-trained teacher, proud of the Latin, algebra, and geometry he drilled into his pupils, met 'Abdu'l-Bahá and was asked one quiet question that exposed the great gap in modern education. Stanwood Cobb spent the rest of his long life — he lived to 101 — trying to put back what his schooling had left out.
Mírzá Abu'l-Faḍl of Gulpáygán was among the most learned men in Persia — head of a religious college before he ever heard the name of Bahá'u'lláh. Won to the Faith by the proofs he had once tried to refute, he was imprisoned three times for it and stripped of his worldly standing. He gave the rest of his life to defending the Cause with his pen and his voice across three continents, the very power of his learning laid at the feet of the Faith he had embraced.
Late in His ministry, from the neighbourhood of 'Akká, Bahá'u'lláh revealed the Kalimát-i-Firdawsíyyih — the "Words of Paradise" — a Tablet of luminous leaves of counsel on the fear of God, the building of a just society, education, the trustworthiness that adorns the human race, and the world-renewing power of His Word.
An eminent Swiss scientist, long an unbeliever, sent his deepest questions about God and the soul to 'Abdu'l-Bahá. The reply — one of the last great Tablets of the Master's life — answered him so fully that Auguste Forel, near the end of his days, embraced the Faith whose Word had reached him.
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.
Long before she was a heroine and a martyr, Ṭáhirih was simply the most gifted mind anyone in Qazvín had ever seen in a girl — a scholar, a poet, and a debater whose brilliance made her own father lament that she had not been born a son. 'Abdu'l-Bahá's tribute in Memorials of the Faithful preserves the portrait of a soul whose God-given talents were carried to a rare perfection and then poured out wholly in the path of God.
Siyyid Yaḥyá-i-Dárábí was the most learned, most eloquent, and most influential divine in all Persia — a man who had committed thirty thousand traditions to memory and before whom whole assemblies fell silent. Sent by the Sháh himself to examine the Báb and expose Him, this perfected scholar found instead that true greatness of mind lies not in what one knows but in the humility to bow before the truth.
Mírzá Abu'l-Faḍl had perfected nearly every branch of human knowledge — theology, philosophy, history, the sciences — and headed a renowned college before he was thirty. When he became a Bahá'í, he did not lay his learning aside; he laid it at the feet of the Cause, becoming its peerless scholar and carrying its proofs from Cairo to Paris to Green Acre, where Harvard and Columbia professors came to listen.
A young American woman came to 'Akká with a notebook and a head full of questions — about God and the soul, evil and free will, the prophets and the life to come — and over visits stretching across the years 1904 to 1906 she laid them, one by one, before 'Abdu'l-Bahá at the lunch table. The answers He gave her, recorded and reviewed, became one of the best-loved books of the Faith: Some Answered Questions.
A Scottish doctor heard of the Bahá'í Faith in 1914 and did what a careful physician does with any new claim: he investigated it methodically. He read, he learned Persian, he wrote out what he understood — and then he travelled to Haifa and laid his manuscript before 'Abdu'l-Bahá Himself for correction. The book that resulted, Bahá'u'lláh and the New Era, has since carried answers to seekers in some sixty languages.
At the home of William Sutherland Maxwell and May Maxwell at 716 Pine Avenue West in Montreal on September 2, 1912, 'Abdu'l-Bahá compared the human being left to nature to a field overgrown with thorns and thistles, and the Manifestations of God to the cultivators who turn that wilderness into a garden.
Adib Taherzadeh's account, in *The Revelation of Bahá'u'lláh*, of the *Lawḥ-i-Ḥikmat* — the *Tablet of Wisdom* — addressed by Bahá'u'lláh to Nabíl-i-Akbar in Egypt, in which He surveys the lineage of Greek and Persian philosophy and the proper relation between divine Revelation and human inquiry.
In *Some Answered Questions*, 'Abdu'l-Bahá addresses Laura Clifford Barney's question on the creation of the human being — distinguishing the *species* from the *individual* and explaining the eternal pre-existence of humanity in the divine knowledge.
In *Some Answered Questions*, 'Abdu'l-Bahá addresses Laura Clifford Barney's question on the prophecies of Isaiah — identifying specific passages of the Hebrew prophet that, in His reading, speak of the Bahá'í Revelation and the age it inaugurates.
In *Some Answered Questions*, 'Abdu'l-Bahá addresses Laura Clifford Barney's question on the immortality of the human soul — explaining the soul's continuance after the death of the body and the nature of its progress in the further worlds of God.
*World Order* magazine carried, in a profile of the late twentieth century, an appreciation of Firuz Kazemzadeh — the Persian-American historian, professor of Russian history at Yale, and member of the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom, whose lifetime of scholarship and institutional service shaped the American Bahá'í community across half a century.
*World Order* magazine carried, in a 1980s issue, an appreciation of Marzieh Gail — the American Bahá'í translator whose six-decade career rendered into English a substantial portion of the Persian and Arabic Bahá'í Writings, including major works of 'Abdu'l-Bahá and Shoghi Effendi.