He had a special devotion to Ja'far-i-Ṣadiḳ, [Footnote: TN, p. 297.] the sixth Imām, whose guidance he believed himself to enjoy in dreams, and whose words he delighted to quote. Of course, 'Ali was the director of the council of the Imāms, but the councillors were not much less, and were equally faithful as mirrors of the Supreme. This remains true, even if 'Ali be regarded as himself the Supreme God [Footnote: The Sheykh certainly tended in the direction of the sect of the 'Ali-Ilabis (NH, p. 142; Kremer, Herrschende Ideen des Islams, p. 31), who belonged to the ghulat or extreme Shi'ites (Browne, Lit. Hist. of Persia, p. 310).] identical with Allah or with the Ormazd (Ahura-Mazda) of the Zoroastrians. For the twelve Imāms were all of the rank of divinities. Not that they were 'partners' with God; they were simply manifestations of the Invisible God. But they were utterly veracious Manifestations; in speaking of Allah (as the Sheykh taught) wer may venture to intend 'Ali. [Footnote: The Sheykh held that in reciting the opening sura of the Ḳur'an the worshipper should think of 'Ali, should intend 'Ali, as his God.]
This explains how the Sheykh can have taught that the Imāms took part in creation and are agents in the government of the world. In support of this he quoted Ḳur'an, Sur. xxiii. 14, 'God the best of Creators,' and, had he been a broader and more scientific theologian, might have mentioned how the Amshaspands (Ameshaspentas) are grouped with Ormazd in the creation-story of Zoroastrianism, and how, in that of Gen. i., the Director of the Heavenly Council says, 'Let us make man.' [Footnote: Genesis i. 22.]
The Sheykh also believed strongly in the existence of a subtle body which survives the dissolution of the palpable, material body, [Footnote: TN, p. 236.] and will alone be visible at the Resurrection. Nothing almost gave more offence than this; it seemed to be only a few degrees better than the absolute denial of the resurrection-body ventured upon by the Akhbaris. [Footnote: Gobineau, pp. 39, 40.] And yet the notion of a subtle, internal body, a notion which is Indian as well as Persian, has been felt even by many Westerns to be for them the only way to reconcile reason and faith.
SEYYID KAẒIM—ISLAM—PARSIISM—BUDDHISM
On Aḥmad's death the unanimous choice of the members of the school fell on Seyyid (Sayyid) Kaẓim of Resht, who had been already nominated by the Sheykh. He pursued the same course as his predecessor, and attracted many inquirers and disciples. Among the latter was the lady Kurratu'l 'Ayn, born in a town where the Sheykhi sect was strong, and of a family accustomed to religious controversy. He was not fifty when he died, but his career was a distinguished one. Himself a Gate, he discerned the successor by whom he was to be overshadowed, and he was the teacher of the famous lady referred to. To what extent 'Ali Muḥammad (the subsequent Bāb) was instructed by him is uncertain. It was long enough no doubt to make him a Sheykhite and to justify 'Ali Muḥammad in his own eyes for raising Sheykh Aḥmad and the Seyyid Kaẓim to the dignity of Bāb. [Footnote: AMB, pp. 91, 95; cp. NH, p. 342.]
There seems to be conclusive evidence that Seyyid Kaẓim adverted often near the close of life to the divine Manifestation which he believed to be at hand. He was fond of saying, 'I see him as the rising sun.' He was also wont to declare that the 'Proof' would be a youth of the race of Hashim, i.e. a kinsman of Muḥammad, untaught in the learning of men. Of a dream which he heard from an Arab (when in Turkish Arabia), he said, 'This dream signifies that my departure from the world is near at hand'; and when his friends wept at this, he remonstrated with them, saying, 'Why are ye troubled in mind? Desire ye not that I should depart, and that the truth [in person] should appear?' [Footnote: NH, p. 31.]
I leave it an open question whether Seyyid Kaẓim had actually fixed on the person who was to be his successor, and to reflect the Supreme Wisdom far more brilliantly than himself. But there is no reason to doubt that he regarded his own life and labours as transitional, and it is possible that by the rising sun of which he loved to speak he meant that strange youth of Shiraz who had been an irregular attendant at his lectures. Very different, it is true, is the Muḥammadan legend. It states that 'Ali Muḥammad was present at Karbala from the death of the Master, that he came to an understanding with members of the school, and that after starting certain miracle-stories, all of them proceeded to Mecca, to fulfil the predictions which connected the Prophet-Messiah with that Holy City, where, with bared sabre, he would summon the peoples to the true God.
This will, I hope, suffice to convince the reader that both the Ṣufi Order and the Sheykhite Sect were true forerunners of Bābism and Bahaism. He will also readily admit that, for the Ṣufis especially, the connexion with a church of so weak a historic sense was most unfortunate. It would be the best for all parties if Muslims both within and without the Ṣufi Order accepted a second home in a church (that of Abha) whose historical credentials are unexceptionable, retaining membership of the old home, so as to be able to reform from within, but superadding membership of the new. Whether this is possible on a large scale, the future must determine. It will not be possible if those who combine the old home with a new one become themselves thereby liable to persecution. It will not even be desirable unless the new-comers bring with them doctrinal (I do not say dogmatic) contributions to the common stock of Bahai truths—contributions of those things for which alone in their hearts the immigrant Muslim brothers infinitely care.
It will be asked, What are, to a Muslim, and especially to a Shi'ite Muslim, infinitely precious things? I will try to answer this question. First of all, in time of trouble, the Muslim certainly values as a 'pearl of great price' the Mercifulness and Compassion of God. Those who believingly read the Ḳur'an or recite the opening prayer, and above all, those who pass through deep waters, cannot do otherwise. No doubt the strict justice of God, corresponding to and limited by His compassion, is also a true jewel. We may admit that the judicial severity of Allah has received rather too much stress; still there must be occasions on which, from earthly caricatures of justice pious Muslims flee for refuge in their thoughts to the One Just Judge. Indeed, the great final Judgment is, to a good Muslim, a much stronger incentive to holiness than the sensuous descriptions of Paradise, which indeed he will probably interpret symbolically.
The true Muslim will be charitable even to the lower animals. [Footnote: Nicholson, The Mystics of Islam, p. 108.] Neither poor-law nor Society for the Protection of Animals is required in Muslim countries. How soon organizations arose for the care of the sick, and, in war-time, of the wounded, it would be difficult to say; for Buddhists and Hindus were of course earlier in the field than Muslims, inheriting as they did an older moral culture. In the Muslim world, however, the twelfth century saw the rise of the Kadirite Order, with its philanthropic procedure. [Footnote: D. S. Margoliouth, Mohammedanism, pp. 211-212.] Into the ideal of man, as conceived by our Muslim brothers, there must therefore enter the feature of mercifulness. We cannot help sympathizing with this, even though we think Abdul Baha's ideal richer and nobler than any as yet conceived by any Muslim saint.