The Artist and the Grammarian
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Source: Bahá'í Library Online (bahai-library.com), curated by Jonah Winters. Used by permission of the curator. Original citation: Otto Donald Rogers, The Artist and the Grammarian, bahai-library.com.
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The 27th Hasan M. Balyuzi Memorial Lecture

The Artist and the Grammarian
OTTO DONALD ROGERS

I would like to express my appreciation for the opportunity given to me
by the Association for Bahá’í Studies to present the Balyuzi Lecture. After
giving a lot of thought to what I might say in this lecture, I decided to
make a commentary—rather than offer what you might call a thesis—
about two things that have concerned me, that is, the “mystic wayfarer”
and the “grammarian.” We all have aspects of both of those conditions in
each of us: on the one hand, we want to enthusiastically and with great
zeal embrace the unknown, wandering a kind of invisible path in the hope
of being confirmed in the living of our life; and on the other hand, we place
limits on what life can manifest, afraid of going over the edge.
First, however, I want to make mention of my parents Otto Victor and
Mary Jane Rogers. Although their cultural background was limited, as
was their knowledge of religion, they nevertheless made it possible for me
to have an education in art and ultimately to embrace the Teachings of
Bahá’u’lláh. My father was a prairie wheat farmer in western Canada and
he related to the land as a poet would. He placed a loving hand on nature
and he longed for a beautiful return. My mother, on the other hand,
labored to achieve order in the unpredictable environment of dry-land
farming. They had a good marriage and, so, as a youth, I came to under-
stand that if you married poetry and order you would be in very good
hands. Thus when I embraced my gift as an artist, it seemed quite logical
because it consisted of striving for order and being poetically intoxicated.
That was my beginning and, naturally, when I discovered the Bahá’í

2             The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

Teachings, there was a confirmation of the majesty and beauty—the
artistry—of Bahá’u’lláh’s Writings. His Revelation impressed me as being
all-embracing and of such aesthetic potency, and it also embodied the idea
of order, which appealed so much to my mind and my soul. I experienced
the Sacred Writings as also embodying the language of art, so I came to
understand that art was necessary for the development of higher con-
sciousness. I am not sure that this fact is as fully appreciated as it might
be. For example, we think of art as a decorative thing, but not necessarily
as a means of education, as a means of elevating consciousness.
As I speak, images of some recent paintings will appear on the two
screens before you. I don’t intend to speak about them directly, but I
thought it would be interesting for you to see them as a backdrop to the
thoughts being advanced. There will be altogether four sets, and each set
will remain on the screen for fifteen minutes. Now, if you don’t like the
works, this may seem like a bit of a torture. However, we artists often
lament the fact that people go to the gallery and look at the title of a work
then glance at the work and walk on. We may be losing our ability to
appreciate the static art form, the form that is still.
I am very much moved by some of the statements in the Writings of the
Báb where He speaks about motion as one condition of the divine creative
act and stillness as another condition of that divine creative act; and then
He says that, in reality, motion and stillness are one. This is one of the
great beauties of pictorial art, of static art, because such art symbolizes
and actually presents you with motion and stillness simultaneously. But
you have to spend some time with it and take it in and allow that motion
to begin to enter your consciousness, and you must also begin to appreci-
ate its stillness. I sometimes think of the statement of Christ referring to
the peace that passes beyond all understanding (Phil. 4:7). The whole
nature of pictorial art has to do with the creation of a reality suspended
between the material and spiritual realms, with the sense of peace being
the inner condition reflective of the attributes of the soul. I am constantly
amazed (and no doubt this is true of every discipline; I know it certainly
is true of my discipline of painting) that the Revelation of Bahá’u’lláh sim-
ply surrounds it, elevates it, and pushes it forward into the future. The
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principles of compositional order that are sought in art can be experienced
in the Sacred Writings, thus confirming the relationship of the arts to
spiritual development.
I want to briefly touch on four commonly shared parts of any endeav-
or, and illustrate how my experience as an artist and as a Bahá’í has
become an interwoven pattern. I think it would be very good for people
to understand that the artistic process is encompassed by Bahá’u’lláh’s
Revelation. And, indeed, our Plans are artistic in nature as conceived by
the Universal House of Justice. They are, really, an attempt to develop the
kind of understandings that lead to activity, an objectification of a new
consciousness, as can be seen in the four core activities. So you could say
that the Bahá’ís have a plan at work in the world for creating visible
forms, striving for what in the art world we call “high art.” It goes beyond
that, of course, because this is the Plan of God, but it is interesting to
reflect on the similarities.
The first of these four parts, or realities, that I want to touch on is the
tremendous gift that we have: that of the intellect. I don’t know if we con-
template often enough how amazing this gift is. We couldn’t appreciate it
enough if we got down on our knees every day and thanked our loving
Creator for providing us with the mind.
The second of these realities is the opening, or—you could think of it in
many ways—the invitation. We are given an intellect, but, immediately
after having received it, we find that embedded in this phenomenon is a
desire to move into the unknown, to embrace the unknown, to be attract-
ed to the invisible, to the spiritual world. It is almost as if we are given the
means and the capacity whereby to move through infinite space—which is
an unknown kind of space—and it takes an enormous amount of courage
just to go through the very first veil, let alone all the other veils that inter-
vene over the course of our life. So I want to speak a little bit about space.
For the artist, the way compositional elements are ordered in the rectan-
gle of the canvas, called the “pictorial plane,” becomes the means of devel-
oping a metaphor of life itself. Spatial relationships are of primary concern
to pictorial art.
The third reality is that of process. I was very moved by the new book by
4             The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

Nader Saiedi, Gate of the Heart: Understanding the Writings of the Báb. I
found it enlightening, in part, because he has an entire section explaining
the Writings of the Báb that have to do with divine creative action, and I
want to make mention of that. Much of what the artist does has to do with
the outcome of a particular process of creative action initiated in a given
set of paintings.
The fourth reality is that of form. In the art world many individuals
speak about “significant form” or “high art.” Significant form is the kind
of form that is like an archetype: it has the capacity to generate all sorts
of other works of art and it raises consciousness: it elevates the human
soul and it is timeless. You look at it and you think: “This was done yes-
terday.” You blink and you look and you think: “No, this is something
ancient; it is something that has always been.” These are the four parts of
my presentation.
I want to first touch on mind. I know that, as Bahá’ís, we all know these
things. But it doesn’t hurt to come together on different occasions such as
this one to be reminded of concepts and experience them once again while
together. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá says that “[t]his supreme emblem of God stands
first in the order of creation and first in rank, taking precedence over all
created things. Witness to it is the Holy Tradition, ‘Before all else God,
created the mind.’ From the dawn of creation, It was made to be revealed
in the temple of man” (Secret 1). Mind is what is essential in the human
spirit, but it is very interesting that, even with this tremendous gift, it
does not accomplish very much unless it is married to the spirit of faith.
Then it can move mountains. This tremendous gift of God can remain
static, or have limited movement, or perhaps produce some material result,
but in the end it does not fulfill its potential unless it is combined with the
spirit of faith. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá said that “[t]he first attribute of perfection is
learning and the cultural attainments of the mind. . . .” (Secret 35). This is
why I really want to stress—not that I necessarily need to prove it to
you—the importance of aesthetics in the development of the mind, to
study and create that which is beautiful. We know this, of course, from the
Revelation itself because it is pure beauty.
“From the dawn of creation it was made to be revealed in the temple of
The Artist and the Grammarian                          5

man.” That is an amazing statement because it would appear from that
statement (unless I am misunderstanding it) that mind was something
created by God and then associated with, or deposited in, the human tem-
ple. So, it has a reality as a creation of God, and it is the moving force in
the spiritual, intellectual, and social evolution of humanity. And then, of
course, physically the brain was given to us as an instrument of that
mind, so long as we exist on this plane. And let it be stressed again that
this mind without the spirit of faith cannot move mountains, but with the
spirit of faith it can. And that is why the power of the Creative Word is
so great: because the Creative Word fires the imagination and quickens
the mind.
I really think that it restructures the mind. I think that this wonderful
prayer, the Tablet of Ah.mad that we heard so beautifully sung and recited
before our session began, was so moving. I really felt as if the very fiber of
my being had been taken apart and reconstituted. And, of course, that is
what the Creative Word of God does: it clarifies thought, and as ‘Abdu’l-
Bahá said, “The reality of man is his thought.” And that is why I think we
are encouraged to commit the Word to memory, because the mind needs
spiritual nourishment. I want to touch on that later—it is evolving and
changing; its very architecture is capable (they believe now) of renewal
over time, over our life span. We know that the House of Justice in 1989
said to us: “The Holy Word has been extolled by the Prophets of God as
the medium of celestial Power and the wellspring of all spiritual, social
and material progress.” Just think of that: “the medium of celestial Power.”
Think of all the things that humanity does to gain power, when in our
very hands we have the medium not just of physical power, but we also
have the medium of celestial power: the Holy Word of God. And they went
on in this letter to explain that it was vital, of course, to personal trans-
formation and to the emergence of divine civilization.
A couple of decades ago, some very interesting experiments were made
on the brain capacity of birds. The first researcher did his research with
the birds locked up in cages. He was trying to discover whether or not
brain cells could be regenerated, whether there was neurogenesis, because
it was thought that creatures were born with a certain finite number of
6              The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

brain cells—you had to make do with those for the rest of your life—and
that brain cells did not regenerate. His research actually proved that brain
cells did not regenerate; however, another researcher came along and did
his research with birds in a supportive and natural environment and dis-
covered that not only did the neurons regenerate, but also the rate at
which they regenerated was quite amazing: something like 3 percent of
the total number of cells regenerated every day. And this, in fact, made it
possible for the birds to sing. After a certain period of time, the birds in
the cages lose their capacity to sing because their brain cells are not being
regenerated. I think that this is an interesting metaphor or analogy. Many
of the things I want to mention tonight are in the sense of a metaphor.
They do not complete the argument as a dissertation would—I don’t nec-
essarily have all the scientific evidence—but they stand as quite convinc-
ing metaphors. I was thinking of this in relationship to the Creative Word
of God: how the Word creates an environment and an atmosphere (I
would imagine that in the future science will be able to prove the regener-
ative power of the Sacred Word). The brain is the instrument for the mind,
and that instrument can only be effective as the mind becomes enlight-
ened. This is very important so long as we function in the material world.
Thus we should be appreciative and careful of this trust of the intellect. In
fact, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá says:

O ye that have minds to know! Raise up your suppliant hands to the
heaven of the one God and humble yourselves and be lowly before
Him and thank Him for this supreme endowment and implore Him to
succor us until, in this present age, God-like impulses may radiate
from the conscience of mankind and this divinely kindled fire, which
has been entrusted to the human heart, may never die away. (Secret 2)

It is of interest to note that this passage connects the gift of intellect to
the human heart and thus instructs us that the two are a single reality.
I want to mention briefly, then, the relationship of mind to art, because
sometimes people have felt that art is just “self-expression.” Even artists
are sometimes excused for not thinking very clearly because they are
The Artist and the Grammarian                          7

poets and poets don’t have to think: it is not really a thing of the mind, it
is “self-expression.” The philosopher Hegel said, “ Thus to be truly beau-
tiful, a thing must have an element of mind in it and indeed be a product
of the mind.” Further he says, “Insofar as works of art are produced by the
mind, they are in themselves essentially spiritual.” And then he relates it
to nature. He says, “The beauty of nature exists for us as but a reflection
of the beauty of mind, as a thing incomplete and imperfect in itself, the
real substance of which is contained in the mind” (2). And that is not too
surprising for we who are Bahá’ís because Bahá’u’lláh said: “Dost thou
reckon thyself only a puny form /when within thee the universe is fold-
ed?” (Seven Valleys 34).
The way in which our mind exists, it would appear, is along similar lines
to the principles of nature, and that is why we find nature so appealing: we
could say that the “shape” of the mind is the “shape” of nature. And for
understanding and appreciating art there is always this dilemma on the
part of the public: they expect the artist to mimic nature. It has been said
that “[a]rt is man’s nature; nature is God’s art.” The nature of man is what
is expressed in art; it is the sensuous aspect of the intellect which is pres-
ent in a visual form. And in the Báb’s Writings, apparently, from this won-
derful new book (Gate of the Heart) the Báb has made it very clear that the
entire universe was brought into existence to delight the human heart.
We talk a lot about the World Order of Bahá’u’lláh, but maybe we have not
understood the effect that will occur in the future from the Twin
Revelations, because the Báb’s Revelation has to do with the heart being
intoxicated, and you cannot have a World Order unless the hearts of its
citizens are intoxicated, at least, not a World Order as envisioned by
Bahá’u’lláh. The hearts have to have zeal and they have to be intoxicated.
The world of nature not only delights the human heart, but it also
informs the mind as to the vastness of its own potential because, as we
investigate the natural phenomena that exist, we also advance civilization
and the mind becomes more opened as a result. The other really interest-
ing relationship is to prove—if you need proof—that art is a spiritual
enterprise (of course everything we do is a spiritual enterprise if it is done
in the right spirit). ‘Abdu’l-Bahá says that “no phenomenal organism can
8             The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

be possessed of two forms at one time.” In other words, if a tree is being a
tree, it can only be a tree while being a tree. But, He says, “The reality of
man, the human spirit, is simultaneously possessed of all forms and figures
without being bereft of any of them. It does not require transformation
from one concept to another (‘Abdu’l-Bahá, Promulgation 260).
This is the spiritual nature of ourselves, and this is really interesting in
relationship to painting—and I will give the example of Mark Tobey since
some of you may know Mark Tobey’s paintings—when you look at a
Mark Tobey painting, maybe the first thing you see is the texture of the
painting, and then you blink your eyes and you see light, and then you look
again and you see form. Thus, the texture of a Mark Tobey painting is not
only composition, but it is also a means of holding the light. An effect in
one part of the composition can appear as light, while in another it can
appear as shade. We perceive in the “white writing” form, illumination, a
tactical presence; we experience pattern, movement, and space, all at the
same time, its execution convincingly rational but essentially spiritual.
This is the process of art and also, by the way (not to bring down what
we are doing and try to say it’s “nothing but art”), one could say the very
same thing about the effort that the Bahá’í world community is engaged
in. This activity is essentially spiritual in nature, so it is multiple in its
effect: a person can be embracing the Faith and learning of its history and
acquiring zest for service simultaneously. Knowledge, inspiration, and
action are one as in the act of painting. These elements become signs,
become spiritual discoveries. Every painting of Mark Tobey is a kind of
spiritual discovery. As Bahá’u’lláh says, “‘We will surely show them Our
signs in the world and within themselves’” (Gleanings 178).
And I love what ‘Abdu’l-Bahá says about the singer, because this speaks
of the mysterious connections between things: the invisible connection,
because, He says, nothing leaves the singer and enters another person that
is listening to the singer. There is no actual transfer of anything material:
“[N]othing comes forth from the singer which enters into the listener;
nevertheless, a great spiritual effect is produced. Therefore, surely so
great a connection between beings must have spiritual affect and influ-
ence” (Some Answered Questions 246). And then He says, “Although by
The Artist and the Grammarian                           9

existing rules and actual science these connections cannot be discovered,
nevertheless, their existence between all beings is certain and absolute. . . .
the beings, whether great or small, are connected with one another by the
perfect wisdom of God, and affect and influence one another” (Some
Answered Questions 247).
Relationships motivate me because a painting is simply a set of differing
qualities and quantities, and the amount of knowledge that comes about as
a result of these juxtapositions of a high visual order is profound. In fact,
the way in which we must have become conscious in the first place was by
comparing things. We saw that one thing looked this way, or we experi-
enced night and we experienced day and we took note of the difference
between night and day and that raised our consciousness. So experiencing
difference is very important to learning. At the same time, if relationships
are perceived in depth, one can begin to sense the oneness of reality.
Space is an invitation for travel in the unknown, both for the artist and
the wayfarer. The artist must carry out a physical design in space while
also incorporating space in the configurations used. The mystery of time
and space is also at play because beyond the physical a spiritual journey is
underway. Within the pictorial frame, the artist is constantly working, as
a composer orchestrates music, seeking deeply felt arrangements in the
hope that the space within which the arrangements exist will somehow
become filled with meaning. The whole idea of space—what space actual-
ly is—is fascinating. Scientists don’t know the true reality of physical
space; it was once called “ether,” and now it is called the “dark” force.
There are all kinds of investigations going on. Perhaps one day they will
actually prove what Bahá’u’lláh says, that it is in actual fact the love of
God—which is so fantastic an idea that it would be hard for the present
generation to believe. But He did say that if the love of God were to be
withdrawn, the physical universe would collapse. And I think that
although the Writings of Bahá’u’lláh are, of course, beautiful and poetic,
they are also accurate: they are not mere metaphors; they have accuracy.
Although the idea of space is, to an artist, fascinating, it is also fright-
ening because it presents infinite possibilities once one becomes engaged.
A refined discipline in the use of materials and means is critical, but to
10            The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

delay engagement in endless calculations will prevent creative evolution.
I think that this is what was being talked about in the Four Valleys when
the mystic wayfarer arrived at a great sea, which I imagine as a vast unde-
fined space. The mystic knower knew immediately that movement with-
in this space would lead him to what was desired, so he entered it with-
out delay, whereas the grammarian hesitated. Of course, we do that all
the time. I don’t think it is an “either/or”: some of the time we are hesi-
tating, and some of the time we are going over the edge. And, of course,
every time we do go over the edge, we are astounded at the results; as
confidence and courage grow, greater and greater realities are made man-
ifest. From this metaphor it is clear that, in order to move, we have to
clear the deck, so to speak, but often we are preoccupied, so filled with
concerns and anxieties and maybe even duties, or plans—maybe we can
even over-plan at times—we are so attached that movement becomes dif-
ficult; our condition blocks our movement in that infinite realm. And yet,
were we to transcend that limitation, tremendous victories are waiting
us, whether a work of art or whatever achievement in the Faith we want
to carry out.
I walk into the studio and I see an empty canvas. Recently I had some
large canvases constructed for me, 5’ x 7’, which is thirty-five square feet
of surface to keep alive, because the surface of a painting has to be sus-
tained in time and in space. And, believe me, it is not easy to fine-tune it
as a musician does with a musical instrument and to achieve what archi-
tects call “architectonic tension.” Like a good piece of music, its presence
is absolutely precise; it sings, it vibrates in just the right fashion because
all of the parts are connected, and the “whole” or “significant form” is
achieved. The philosophers of art equate this truth of form or “being at
one with a greater reality” with the highest possible achievement for the
artist as a mystic seeker. This fact is implied in what the mystic knower
said: “The death of self is needed here, not rhetoric: Be nothing, then, and
walk upon the waves” (Bahá’u’lláh, Seven Valleys 52). So, you see, it is pos-
sible, and I think of this every time I go into the studio because the way I
work I have absolutely no idea what the painting is going to look like, or
how it is going to evolve. It isn’t that I’m mindless, because I bring my
The Artist and the Grammarian                          11

mind to that edge and then I allow the process to move me forward. I run
very hard to stay behind the process, to keep up with it. I don’t try to com-
pletely control it because the process has almost a mind of its own, or it
has a motion of its own which we intelligently have to follow and enhance.
Cezanne, the great painter sometimes referred to as the father of mod-
ern painting, at least in the Western sense, said, “If I think, I’m lost.” He
didn’t mean to say that we should abandon our rational intellect, but
rather that our rational intellect brings us to the point at which we can
intelligently, in a sense, abandon it or at least set ourselves free of its lim-
itations and allow the process to educate us. And it does so every time; this
is the amazing thing. This phenomenon can be seen in the infallible guid-
ance of the Universal House of Justice because they have presented us
with a Plan that from every standpoint is “true to form.” If you were a
very educated and experienced artist and you investigated the Plan of the
House of Justice, you would be completely satisfied that it meets all the
criteria of great works of art. This is what is so confirming to me as an
artist. I don’t think that anyone’s paintings are more rational or more
intellectual than Cezanne’s but, nevertheless, he indicates that if one hes-
itates, one loses the way. Also, there is a mystery in the invitation that his
use of space offers. In Cezanne’s paintings of mountains, he was one of the
first artists to start leaving white gaps or blank spaces in between the var-
ious brush strokes or clusters; there was a lot of empty canvas, and writ-
ers have said that it made it possible for the viewer’s mind to move into
those empty spaces and occupy them, thus completing the picture and
becoming, in a sense, at one with the spiritual essence of the work.
At the same time as Cezanne was making his paintings, physicists were
beginning to discover that space wasn’t simply a curtain that hung behind
everything, that everything was in space and space was in everything. It
was an entirely new concept of space which a physicist could explain to
you better than I. My interest in the “language of space” was further
enlarged by some recent research on brain function because—again get-
ting back to neurons—it was thought that neurons (in case you don’t
know, you have something like two billion of them in your brain) were all
connected together in one way like an electrical wire and then connected
12            The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

into a central location somewhere. Then, with the development of high-
power electron microscopes, they were able to discover that each neuron
is contained within its own membrane. Every one of these two billion neu-
rons is a separate entity. The scientists were really perplexed because they
said to themselves, “Well then how do they communicate?” Every memo-
ry takes place because of a changed connection between two neurons or
one cluster of neurons and another cluster of neurons. Every memory,
every thought, requires a connection between the two, so if they are bound
by a membrane, how do they connect? If neurons do not touch each other,
how do they form memories and exchange information?
Memory is a fascinating phenomenon. By the way, you don’t actually
remember everything because, by the time you get around to remembering,
your brain has so completely changed that the memory is not exact. The
brain does not exist in a static state. Perhaps this is the reason why hus-
bands and wives can never agree on what happened in a shared experience,
when it happened, and how it happened, and who was there. Anyway, the
remarkable conclusion that was made—and this is very inspiring for me as
an artist—is that the vacant gaps between the cells are where the real
information is taking place. And they even put a word on it, as scientists
have a need to do; they called them “synaptic clefts,” and they say that these
spaces are the “secret sites” of communication: the space between things.
Look at this painting (see cover reproduction of “Appearance of Light
II”): the painting is about the space between things. It is not about a land-
scape, it is not about the sky; it is about connections made (communication
between things) throughout the space. Observe how the central pink plane
provides a space for the movement of shapes up to the top and down to the
bottom, how the cool gray at the bottom “speaks to” the warm tones at the
top, how the white shape on the lower right “communicates” with the
black shape seen on the top right, and how that black shape has a further
relationship to the parallel horizontal lines spaced from top to bottom on
the left side, and also to the dark passage on the bottom far left.
There are many other complex relationships at work in this pictorial
space, such as between the vertical, horizontal, and diagonal divisions of
the space. However, this may be enough to indicate that the “spiritual
The Artist and the Grammarian                         13

memory” or the “meaning” of this work is the result of a set of visual ele-
ments which exchange information and are mutually supportive of each
other in the compositional scheme.
If you are not educated in art, looking at pictures such as this one would
likely be less educative. You would miss opportunities, I think, to elevate
your consciousness because aesthetics is an aspect of mind. It is not an
additional thing; it is not what we might call “culture,” as in “It would be
nice to be more cultured, so let’s buy a painting and hang it above our
couch.” There is nothing wrong with that—ornamentation is fine—but the
educative need is greater than that; understanding and experiencing the
creative process as an integral part of community development is vital in
terms of the advancement of society. It has always been that way, hasn’t it?
Every culture, every civilization, elevated its people and advanced its civi-
lization and imbued its spiritual principles by means of aesthetics, and often
artistic form was one of the main means. The Universal House of Justice is
encouraging the creation of a new mind, so we have to consider the arts as
an aspect of building that new mind and do a lot more, if we can, than we
have been doing.
Another dimension the brain researchers are working on (which I don’t
understand but am fascinated by nevertheless) is that in this conversation
that is taking place between the neurons across the space, actually some
time is passing, and so they are investigating how the passage of time in
the conversation between the neurons actually begins to reconstitute the
architecture of the brain. One can imagine that in the future all such com-
plexities of the creative dynamic will impact educational programs, and
even such things as the language of high art will be more fully understood
as essential to intellectual and social progress.
What happens in a painting is that there are all of these elements and,
over time, as you work on the painting, they seem to unfold their destiny
in the pictorial scheme.
Giving a talk, by the way, is very much like making a painting. You have
a relationship between a speaker and the audience, and you have the space
between them. And, believe me, as any of you who has tried to give a pres-
entation knows, it is quite a frightening thing to pass through a kind of
14            The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

veil and engage the audience and still hold your own ground and transmit
significant meanings from your set of understanding to another set the
audience may have.
So, for the artist, space is both a physical and a spiritual process. In the
words of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, “It is said that Moses in the wilderness heard the
voice of God, but that wilderness, that holy land, was His Own heart.”
Isn’t that interesting that he would say that about Moses, that that wilder-
ness was his own heart? “All of us,” ‘Abdu’l-Bahá continues, “when we
attain to a true spiritual condition, can hear the Voice of God speaking to
us in that wilderness” (in Rabb 42). So, I think that the artist (and, I would
say, Bahá’í activity) seeks to so order a composition that one will sense the
confirmation of the Holy Spirit in it.
There is much more to be said about space, but now I want to mention
process. I think we naturally have a fear of process because we have a sense
of how majestic it is, and we are a little bit afraid that we might lose our
identity so we hold back. We do not plunge ourselves into this unknown
sea because it is a fearful leap to make, and we are quite concerned about
possibly causing harm to ourselves, as maybe we should be. It probably is
important to maintain our identity; maybe we would lose our mental fac-
ulties if we did not hang on in a certain way. But the interesting thing is
that it seems as though it is impossible to sacrifice it; you only think you
are sacrificing, so you never really do relinquish your sanity. But, never-
theless, the fear is real.
Everybody loves waterfalls, I think, because they are a symbol or a
metaphor for us: we see ourselves in the waterfall and we envy the water-
fall because when the waterfall comes to the edge, it goes over it: it does
not hold back. Fortunately it doesn’t have free will—I mean, fortunately
for it—and, fortunately for us, we do have free will because consciousness
leads us to making choices, and it is these important moments of decision
that propel life forward. If you stand on the edge and you don’t go over,
that is a choice that likely will affect your ability for future actions. Your
destiny is going to be determined by whether or not you make certain
choices, and also by the choices you do make. The waterfall just goes over
the edge and it experiences a lot of turmoil: it falls over the rocks, it foams
The Artist and the Grammarian                         15

up, it changes its form, it is quite agitated, but eventually it reaches an
entirely new form—whether it is a lake or whatever—and it realizes, “I am
the same. I am still water, but I have a new form. I have been transformed;
I haven’t lost my identity.” It is a simple analogy, but one we could think
about when confronted with the need for critical change in our life process.
I have found that with every person that I have tried to interest in the
Faith in my life as a Bahá’í teacher, there is always a moment of standing
on the edge and helping that person to take that jump, and you have to take
the jump with them. We are one with the process that engages us.
Scientist Freeman Dyson said, “The more I examine the Universe and
study the details of its architecture, the more evidence I find that the
Universe in some sense must have known that we were coming” (qtd. in
Barrow and Tipler 318). Isn’t that lovely? So, you see, if you relinquish a
little bit of control and fear and go over the barrier, you will find that the
path ahead was waiting for you, and all of the things that you need will be
there. This has been my experience. For example, I often do not know how
to move the development of a painting forward: I am fearful of losing the
good things the image already has, but as soon as I take steps that chal-
lenge the status quo, a whole new set of possibilities becomes available,
and the things that I liked are replaced by things I like even more. But the
trouble is, it has to be the result of our own thinking process, because God
does not want a bunch of zombies, people who are programmed to act
without understanding. However, understanding has limited value if it
does not bring you to the edge of greater achievement. You have to stand
on that edge, make a choice, hold your breath, and jump.
I give you another nice example. There was recent research done on a
certain kind of butterfly. These butterflies had migrated to a new region
where they had not existed before and promptly began to be eaten en
masse by the birds. Now, in that same region there was another species of
butterfly that the birds did not eat because, apparently, they tasted very
sour and the birds had learned, over time, not to eat them. The new flock
of butterflies that had migrated into the region, if you can believe it—and
they don’t know how they did it—changed their coloring completely to
imitate the butterflies that tasted sour in that region: a change that was so
16             The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

complete it went right down to a little speck of black on the underside of
the left wing that was so small you could barely see it. They mimicked the
exact coloration of that other species of butterflies, and the birds stopped
eating them even though they didn’t taste sour.
I think of ourselves in that way: we have to be careful that we are not
eaten; we had better change our colors and fit in with the guidance of the
Universal House of Justice because we are migrating. It is a new process.
But the other result of this research—which I found even more fascinat-
ing—was that evolution has the power to constantly make changes, to
adjust to whatever the requirements of the moment are. The process of
evolution has built into it the capability for endless variation and change.
However, the secret template is inalterable; it cannot be changed, it is
sacred; it can never be destroyed. So is the system, or the evolutionary
process that produced the butterflies in the first place: they radically
changed their coloration, but they could not change the way in which
species evolve: the built-in process is a divine, sacred template that is inal-
terable. I thought this was a marvelous way to explain progressive reve-
lation because religion is a phenomenon, a process, that can undergo con-
stant change and adaptation to the needs of the age, but the sacred tem-
plate is inalterable. It is still the religion of God, “eternal in the past, eter-
nal in the future,” as Bahá’u’lláh said (Kitáb-i-Aqdas par. 182). So there is
lots of evidence, even in the scientific world, that we can use to under-
stand the nature of process and what we are about in the process of entry
by troops.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá says that “[a]ll sciences, knowledge, arts, wonders, institu-
tions, discoveries and enterprises come from the exercised intelligence of
the rational soul” (Some Answered Questions 217). That is why I used that
sentence by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in an essay that was published in a book on my
paintings, because He says “The first condition of perception”—and to an
artist the whole idea of perception is very powerful because it means to see
and to be moved by—“in the world of nature is the perception of the
rational soul.” To exercise the intelligence of the rational soul indicates
the importance of engaging aesthetic awareness. The principles of beauty
do not stand apart from intellect; rather, they are part of the very nature
of intelligence.
The Artist and the Grammarian                        17

There is a very interesting thing about physical light and its compan-
ion, enlightenment, that I want to share with you. One of the great archi-
tects of America, Louis Kahn, spoke about how a beautiful form—a beau-
tiful building or any beautiful form—does not really know that it is beau-
tiful because it has no way of seeing its own beauty. But the moment it
invites light to enter in (he was talking about the importance of windows
in architecture) the window brings light into the inner form of the build-
ing, the light envelops the form, and the form becomes aware, so to speak,
of its own beauty, and the light becomes aware of its own reality because
it has a form within which to relate. Thus, even in physical relationships
of light in terms of an architectural work, there is the idea of enlighten-
ment. This wonderful duality of everything: illumination in terms of the
Creative Word of God is the equivalent of the physical light being invited
and entering into the form of ourselves and transforming the form and
telling the form how beautiful it is. Look at how beautiful this individual
was that stood before us and played his music and recited the Tablet of
Ah.mad. We saw and experienced the beauty of that soul because that soul
had invited the light to enter it and the light was entering it and describ-
ing it and we were experiencing it. That is art. We experienced art; we
wouldn’t have needed this presentation at all. However, I was invited, so
here I am.
Now, something more about process. Of course it is difficult; it is a com-
bination of order, preparation, and conscious knowledge. It has to be imag-
inative—that’s where we fall down. The beloved Hand of the Cause
Amatu’l-Bahá Rúh.íyyih Khánum used to tell us so often: “The Bahá’ís
don’t lack sincerity. They lack imagination. If they could only imagine
more, we could accomplish so much more.” The poetic aspect of every
endeavor is absolutely crucial to its success because without poetry there
is no intoxication and we seem to like to be intoxicated, or we need to be.
We’re designed to be “on fire.” Imagine, if God brought the entire uni-
verse into existence to delight the human heart, the extent to which our
loving Creator has gone to delight us, to give us zeal and enthusiasm.
That’s a tall order. The universe is rather large: two billion suns in our
galaxy, which is considered one of the smaller galaxies.
Here is another metaphorical example of process. I was inspired by
18            The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

Philippe Petit, a French tightrope walker who in 1974 strung a cable
between the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York and
walked across it. The security people rushed up to take him off the wire.
He came within three feet of the edge of one of the buildings, waved at
them, laughed, turned around, and ran back to the middle of the wire. This
was astonishing. There is a documentary about him, called Man on Wire,
and it won an Academy Award in 2008 for Best Documentary. He said he
was doing this as a symbolic gesture: he wanted to connect people’s hearts.
He had a hard time of it because there were so many times during the
preparation when he doubted that he could do it. He prepared for six
years. He had seen a drawing of the twin towers in a magazine in a den-
tist’s office, and he determined at that moment that he was going to string
a wire and walk between them. For six years he studied how this could be
done. He went to the building and visited it a number of times when it was
under construction and he examined every aspect of the building and he
tested the wind strength that would need to be factored into his approach.
It was very rigorous.
I thought about this in the same way that the Bahá’í world community
tested the process of teaching and consolidation. Over years we gathered
the information and experience that was necessary, and now we can walk
the tightrope of “entry by troops” because we are prepared. We can do it
now. And he had to suspend his disbelief. It’s a famous philosophic state-
ment, the suspension of disbelief. He had doubts. And do you know what
he said? “This is not a stunt. It’s a desire to carry my life through a diffi-
cult process by the means of art.” He was a bit of a radical, but such a
heart. He wanted to connect in a symbolic way the peoples of the world as
represented by these two buildings. They arrested him. He said the most
frightening thing about this whole experience was being arrested and
pushed down the stairs. And then later on they gave him the key to New
York and honored him and he moved to the United States.
Process must lead to something, so now let us give some consideration
to the idea of form because consciousness has to arrive at a point where it
has some kind of substance, some kind of reality that you can touch. It is
one thing to have the intellect; it is another thing to have the courage to
move through space and to adopt methodologies of process. But those
The Artist and the Grammarian                          19

three factors have to conclude by building something that will influence
civilization or that will be civilizing. After the application of mind to move-
ment and to process, a visible entity must appear: something of real sub-
stance. In art, we say that the work in the studio has resulted in the “art
object.” These concrete forms thus produced have the potential to become
the cultural archetype housed in a public space such as a museum. Once
the greater public is surrounded by significant forms, a transformational
atmosphere can emerge. When one examines historic advances in civiliza-
tion, one can see that they were brought about by new forms which
attracted the participation of the people. In the current world Plan of the
international Bahá’í community, the core activities can be understood as
concrete “units of civilization,” each designed and evolved to become a
transformational entity. No better atmosphere could be imagined for the
objectification of a process engaging large numbers of the public and lead-
ing to the renewal of civilization. The culture of learning called for is to
be a new creation made visible by devotional gatherings, study circles
which absorb the Creative Word and take action, and educational pro-
grams for children and youth which create in them capacity to become
progenitors of change.
I am inspired by the section of Nader Saiedi’s book, Gate of the Heart,
concerning the stages of divine creative action because he talks about
the treatise that the Báb wrote on grammar, where he says that in the
future children will be taught the spiritual foundation of grammar, and
he mentions the ideas of verb and noun, and the preposition which is the
connecting link between verb and noun. And then he says that the verb
is like our will and the noun is determination and the preposition is our
destiny because it is the connection between will and determination
(205–6). Without will and determination there is no connection; there is
no relationship. Will and determination connect in a space and that
space is our destiny. This is the frightening thing: if you do not move
into that space, there is no process and no object and your destiny can-
not be realized.
I remember one night, in the Pilgrim House at the Bahá’í World Centre,
member of the Universal House of Justice Hooper Dunbar saying that if
you do not make your contribution to the Bahá’í Cause, that contribution
20             The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

will never be made because no one else can make your particular contribu-
tion. Your offering is totally unique: it is a result of your will and your
determination: it is your destiny. Your destiny is what you can lay before
Bahá’u’lláh. The Faith will go on and make tremendous progress, but it
will forever be deprived of your part, and that is a sobering thought. For
human beings’ true destiny is the agreement of their own will with the
Divine Will. That is the struggle. It is also a struggle at the level of an
artist because the force generated by an act of will must be applied over
decades of time before important art objects can be determined, and that
will can only be sustained by intimate contact with the Concourse on High.
Having a given talent and the desire to witness its realization, being
unafraid to enter an unknown space, and even having a workable process
in hand, cannot guarantee progress. Harmony with the Divine Will is
essential: “O Thou Lord of all nations! I have desired only what Thou
didst desire, and love only what Thou dost love” (Bahá’u’lláh, Prayers and
Meditations 318). I would not suggest that my paintings are a result of the
direct intervention of the Divine Will—I am not so foolish as to make that
claim—but the Writings do say that it is the workings of the Celestial
Concourse that influence the coming into being of the art object. For
human beings, it is of great assurance to have guidance free from error in
the path of service to God and knowledge of spiritual principle in pursuit
of one’s profession. The realm of the heart is the throne of God, and it
must take delight in its agreement with the Divine Will. And, as
Bahá’u’lláh says, “All that which ye potentially possess can, however, be
manifested only as a result of your own volition. Your own acts testify to
this truth” (Gleanings 149).
Just another word about a “mind-set” that leads to the creation of form.
I love what the philosopher Teilhard de Chardin mentions because it
seems to me that he was describing what the Bahá’í world community is
now engaged in, as well as providing a very good definition of the process
of art. (This is out of context a bit, but I think you will get the idea very
easily.) He says, “From our experimental point of view, reflection is, as the
word indicates, the power acquired by a consciousness to turn in upon
itself, to take possession of itself as of an object. . . .” (165). This statement
The Artist and the Grammarian                          21

relates directly to the practice of art because, really, every work of art
comes into being as a result of reflection, of experience, giving shape to
the art object. The more effort you make, and the more works of art you
look at and create, the more you are able to acquire the attributes neces-
sary to transform thought into significant form, into high art, into the
greatness that characterizes true civilization. But that consciousness will
not remain with you; it dissipates very quickly without continuance in its
practice. That is why our present Plan is so beautiful: the practice is built
right into the process. It is not passive learning. I could go into the studio
every morning and stare at the canvas, and the results would be nil. I have
to act. I have to take my reflection into the field of action. Then the beau-
tiful thing is that, when the object arrives, it becomes a form by which we
can contemplate and even gain further insight.
I look at my own art—it is not an egotistical thing—but I enjoy it; I
learn from it because it has taken place as part of a process that is larger
than I am, representing more than I am able to think of at a given moment,
and so it educates me. It is back and forth, back and forth. And this is exact-
ly what our Plan is: the reflection of the cluster as a unit of consciousness,
like a work of art, is made up of all kinds of points and relationships mov-
ing in the direction of giving birth to a new world. I don’t want to over-
stress relationships of art to the present development in the work of the
Cause, but, as in art, a significant form is like a polished mirror within
which the people want to see themselves reflected. The presence in a region
of a highly developed cluster, as Teilhard de Chardin would say, “a unity
that is conscious of its own organisation” (165), becomes like a mirror
which attracts everyone. People ask about paintings, “Why do I like a cer-
tain painting?” Well, you like it because you see yourself in it. If a paint-
ing is good enough, it reflects universal principles. And when it reflects
those principles, you are able to associate with them because your nature
is constituted by God in like manner. You are being elevated from within;
you are raised to a new level because you are made aware of your own spir-
itual nature. And if these clusters are raised to the level of art, so to speak,
then people would see themselves in them and would naturally gravitate
to them. I don’t want to completely deviate from his statement because he
22             The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

goes on to say that “[b]y this individualization of himself, in the depth of
himself which heretofore had been spread out and divided over a diffuse
circle of perceptions and activities . . .” (165). This is like we were in our
stage of development before the present Plan. We were acquiring capaci-
ty for the present Plan. We were involved in a diffuse circle of perceptions
and activities—isn’t that true?—for many decades. We were acquiring
understanding about the nature of process itself so we would be able to
apply it to the process of entry by troops.
He continues with the observation that this business of being in a dif-
fuse circle of perception and activities becomes constituted as a center, in
the form of a point at which all the impressions and experiences knit
themselves together and fuse into a unity that is conscious of its organi-
zation. Doesn’t that ring a bell? And, further, he boldly states: “The con-
sequences of such a transformation are immense, visible as clearly in
nature as in any of the facts according to the physics or astronomy.” I
replaced his word “being” with “community”: “The community which is the
object of its own reflection, in consequence of its very doubling back upon
itself becomes, in a flash, able to raise itself into a new sphere.” It’s a very
beautiful analogy of what we are engaged in.
I want to conclude by asking you to think about the Plan as having this
great beauty, and to think of all of you as being artists because we are all
engaged in a creative endeavor. I did not give the title to this presentation
“The Artist and the Grammarian” to make the assumption that I, as an
artist, was somehow superior. The artist that I was speaking about is the
artist that we all are: one in possession of mind, standing at the edge of an
infinite space, not fearful of going over the edge or fearful of losing our
identity, engaged in a process leading to concrete results, and acting in
“the spirit of faith.” Pierre-Yves read a sentence from an essay of mine in
his introduction to this presentation which indicated that over my lifetime
I have experienced over and over again that within the creative act lies the
expectation of being inspired, being confirmed by knowing that you have
always been assisted. It is guaranteed. There are countless Writings that
guarantee it, so we do not need any further evidence of that.
To conclude, I would like to challenge primarily the youth. I was struck
The Artist and the Grammarian                       23

by the degree to which President Obama engaged the youth through the
use of cyberspace. Whether this movement with such great potential will
have long lasting results in the outside world is doubtful, but within the
Bahá’í Cause the implications of such an engagement of youth are consid-
erable. It is amazing to think that millions of souls responded to a vision
of change and hope and the three simple words: “yes, we can.” How could
that begin to compare to the power of the Creative Word of God, “the
medium of celestial power”? Think about the numbers of people who
would be servants of this Cause if this power of the Word were mindful-
ly employed.
Cyberspace is not my medium because I am a hopelessly old-fashioned
artist—but I am hoping that the youth will take up this new medium, and
I would urge them to initiate spiritual conversations in this space, be the
mystic knower not the grammarian, be a new kind of artist. These spiri-
tual conversations need to be elevated ones that are aesthetically merito-
rious: they have to have excellence. And they can combine words, music,
and images. I was reminded of a statement in the Four Valleys that

Every semblance, every shape that perisheth today
In the treasure-house of Time is safely stored away.
When the world revolveth to its former place,
Out of the invisible He draweth forth its face. (Bahá’u’lláh, The Seven
Valleys 56 n. 30)

I was thinking about how, in medieval times, Christianity was spread
rapidly by means of the woodcut. Most people were illiterate—a lot of peo-
ple today apparently are illiterate—but at that time the majority of people
could not be enlightened by the printed word so the visual power of wood-
cut images, easily multiplied, was a powerful teaching agent. Later on, this
form evolved to the much higher art form of illuminated manuscripts. I had
the thought that this could relate to what the passage quoted above was
saying—although it would not really matter if we made a mistake and
thought of it as applying to that and acted on it: we would not go wrong
because Bahá’u’lláh is telling us that, out of the invisible, that which is
24            The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

stored can come back. So illuminated manuscripts can “come back,” in part,
I think, by means of concrete forms within cyberspace, and be a tremen-
dous force in spreading the Revelation of Bahá’u’lláh.
I asked some people who are very much up on the cyber-network, web-
sites and so on, and I got quite a long list and I looked up all these web-
sites, but I wasn’t overly impressed—I’m sorry to say—because some-
times the artists would say, “Here I am, I’m an artist, I’m sitting in my stu-
dio and these are my paintings and I love Bahá’u’lláh so I make these
paintings.” But they weren’t very good paintings and also the site itself
was not elegant. We had a speaker this morning saying that there is a
necessity for elegance in everything we do. Even the simple presentation
of the Tablet of Ahmad as we heard it today set to music would have a sig-
nificant impact on the many thirsty souls wandering through cyberspace.
It seems to me that countless websites could be developed by the use of
that special new kind of intellect that the young people have along with
their considerable organizational and artistic skills. Millions of people
could be reached that way.
There is a young man in New Zealand who has what he calls the “Small
Man Project” and it is quite clever. He is a lovely Bahá’í, very deepened;
he is a trained artist and he makes small sculptures of men. They are only
about as high as a thimble, two inches high, and they are all red. They are
cast in plastic and he makes thousands of them, and they are grouped as
three or four people standing and they are holding a banner and the ban-
ner says, “Look into the persecution of the Bahá’ís in Iran,” and then a
website is given. He places these on park benches and on restaurant stools.
It is not a public nuisance because they are so small. People sit down on
the park bench and they see these three little red men and they read the
banner and they go look up the website. He has had seven thousand hits:
that is a lot. I know there are many others.
I was told of a young woman who has developed games that employ
spiritual principles from the Bahá’í Teachings and whose site has had a
wide response. Eventually, after such sites multiply, they would have to be
considered and guidance would be needed. We could come together in
conferences and share experience gained. Mistakes will be made. The
House of Justice says we should not fear making mistakes; our teaching
The Artist and the Grammarian                         25

approaches and our individual efforts to open a spiritual conversation with
others can be experimental. This is a plea that I wanted to take this oppor-
tunity to make, especially to the young, because we have been called upon
by the Universal House of Justice to make use of these great opportuni-
ties. Millions of souls are already having countless conversations in this
new space, and what better way to reach them than with the whole force
of the Creative Word and aesthetic excellence?
I want to leave you with a favorite passage of mine. Bahá’u’lláh says:
“That which He hath reserved for Himself are the cities of men’s hearts.
And of these, the loved ones of Him Who is the Sovereign Truth are, in
this Day, as the keys. Please God they may, one and all, be enabled to
unlock, through the power of the Most Great Name, the gates of these
cities” (Gleanings 241–42). Thank you.

NOTE

This lecture was presented at the 33rd Annual Conference of the Association
for Bahá’í Studies–North America, 15 August 2009, Washington, District of
Columbia, USA.

WORKS CITED

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———. Some Answered Questions. Trans. Laura Clifford Barney. Rev. ed.
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———. The Kitáb-i-Aqdas, The Most Holy Book. Haifa: Bahá’í World
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———. Prayers and Meditations. Trans. Shoghi Effendi. Wilmette, IL:
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———. The Seven Valleys and the Four Valleys. Trans. Marzieh Gail
26            The Journal of Bahá’í Studies 19. 1/4. 2009

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Bailey, Philip James. Festus: A Poem. London: Routledge, 1903.
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Rabb, Mary M. “The Divine Art of Living. Chapter 4: Prayer.” Star of the
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Universal House of Justice. Letter to all National Assemblies. 10 July 1989.
-- The Artist and the Grammarian (Used by permission of the curator)