There was a series of podcasts from the ABC series ‘The Minefield’ recently about ‘Unfashionable Virtues’. In it, Waleed Aly and someone who isn’t Waleed Aly talk about different human qualities that, as the title suggests, might traditionally have been considered virtuous but that in contemporary society have gone somewhat out of fashion. The discussions, while not without a fair degree of academic pontificating that I have decreasing tolerance for, serves to reveal the complexity of virtues: how creating a shared understanding of what constitutes the core of every virtue is necessary before it can be applied successfully to negotiate social issues; that many virtues have become corrupted or coopted for particular social and political causes or personal gain, hence leading to their ‘unfashionability’; and also the limitations of discussing virtues in isolation from each other. Virtues included restraint, forbearance, frankness, steadfastness and humility. I recommend it, although it may depend on your tolerance of said pontification, and Waleed Aly.
As a Bahá’í, especially one involved in children’s classes, it is natural to get excited but also somewhat protective about virtues. The core curriculum of Bahá’í children’s classes is based around 24 virtues, working on the theory that the knowledge and practice of these virtues in the lives of children at an early age provides the framework to negotiate life’s increasingly complex moral hazards.
Each lesson is centred around a single virtue, which is explained and then reinforced through stories, memorisation, and various art and drama activities. The basic explanation of each virtue and the majority of related activities are planned out for you, which would lead one to assume that the classes might be fairly straightforward (aside from the general challenges of children being children). But that is until the kids start asking questions. Dealing with (I’d like to say ‘answering’, but often they aren’t answered) these questions has always been the hardest part of these classes for me (case in point from a girl in year 5: “why have their never been any female Manifestations?” Well, yes. Well played. Don’t ask why there are no women on the Universal House of Justice, please.) However, through these questions, children are able to do what the Minefield does but in vastly fewer words: basically show that virtues, or at least many of them, are not particularly straightforward.
Let’s take forgiveness. How do we show forgiveness? Should we always show forgiveness? It is easy to explain forgiveness as a necessary quality to show someone if they make a mistake and are sorry. You can start by getting them to think about how bad they would feel if they made a mistake, but they were not forgiven for it. This gets them thinking about how they should react when the tables are turned, such as if their brother or sister accidentally breaks one of their toys: should they ignore them for a week, break one of their toys back (chucking in a savage option is always fun), or accept their apology and move on? But what about unconditional forgiveness, when people hurt us, knowingly and even unrepentantly? Is it reasonable to expect children to understand this concept?
This is where it is tricky. The example we are given is of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, and the mercy, compassion and kindness he shows to man who until recently was basically trying to destroy the lives of Bahá’ís. But: this is the perfect example. We can try and relate it to a more tangible example: say a bully says a bad word to you one day, but the next day you see him sitting by himself looking sad. This can encourage them to think about the reasons why someone might deliberately and remorselessly hurt someone else. But this is still an idealised example. More common would be a bully who the next day continues to be a bully. A mindset of forgiveness might help here, but, taken literally and in isolation, it might also perpetuate the situation when other virtues (courage, justice, for example) may be needed. At this point, the application of forgiveness fails as a means to fully negotiate the situation.
There are a few things this shows about teaching virtues. Fundamental is the nature of virtues, and in turn our limitations as imperfect teachers. We actually aren’t teaching children these virtues at all, not in the traditional sense of teaching (‘filling the cup’). The capacity to demonstrate the human quality that lies at the core of each virtue is inherent: to paraphrase one of the great Bahá’í quotes, they are gems buried within us that we are trying to firstly mine, and then shine. Thus, at some stage, ‘teaching’ a virtue becomes redundant, and even counter-productive: our job is to explain as best we can, using the tools we have at our disposal, and hope that it has left the child in a better position to understand their own inherent nature and use it to negotiate successfully the situations they find themselves facing, the tests that they are given. Through the prism of virtues, life becomes a whole series of sequential tests, for which to pass we have to draw on these gems that we hope we have dug up and shone well enough to get us through.
Also, there is the interrelationship of the virtues, which can be seen with virtues like forgiveness that can easily be taken the wrong way or misused or discussed in isolation. Another example: how do you explain detachment so that it isn’t interpreted as disinterest, coldness or uncaring? Primarily by keeping the virtue as interrelated to other virtues: compassion, love etc. When you are faced with a test, you aren’t just applying one virtue, but drawing on a whole range of spiritual resources: different combinations of which, with the knowledge gained from practice and reflection, can allow us to come out victorious, or at least unscathed, from each mini spiritual battle.
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One virtue (or what might assumed to be a virtue — it is a derivation of the word ‘sacred’ after all) not included in these 24 is sacrifice. Different aspects of what we would commonly understand to be sacrifice are explored — selflessness and preferring others to ourselves, showing courage to do what is right even to our own detriment — but the concept is not introduced directly. This is interesting given the obvious importance placed on sacrifice in the Bahá’í Writings. Sacrifice first pops up in Book 2 of the (adult) sequence of Bahá’í Ruhi books. Here, sacrifice is framed more as a spiritual calculation: to give up something lower for that which is higher. It acknowledges that sacrifice requires giving up things that we have become attached to, and which thus necessitates some degree of pain, but that is ultimately spiritually rewarding — in fact, it is spiritually essential:
Until a being setteth his foot in the plane of sacrifice, he is bereft of every favour and grace; and this plane of sacrifice is the realm of dying to the self. (‘Abdu’l-Bahá, Selections from the Writings of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, p. 33, #36)
Not that I’m saying sacrifice should be included in children’s classes. When I have children (inshallah), I’m not actually sure how I would I start by explaining sacrifice to them (Open question: how would you explain sacrifice to a child?). Sacrifice is a concepts that when you start to think hard enough about — in a abstract, theoretical sense at least — seems to disintegrate before your eyes, or even completely inverse itself to a form fundamentally opposed to how it is commonly understood. We generally think of it as a selfless, altruistic act. But, in reality, are we the ones who ultimately benefit?
… to make a sacrifice is to receive a gift, and whatsoever may come to pass hath issued from God’s grace. (‘Abdu’l-Bahá, Selections from the Writings of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, p. 103, #200)
Pioneering is a good example. We are told as Bahá’ís that pioneering is a sacrifice. You are giving up your home, your job, your friends, your comfort zone, to start everything again in a new place. So it seems like a sacrifice, and many aspects of it, right now, do feel like a sacrifice, but in the long term, as an altruistic act, is it really, when you have guidance such as this from Shoghi Effendi:
“The Guardian is well aware of the great sacrifices required of the devoted pioneers… While it (pioneering) carries great responsibilities and difficulties, yet its spiritual blessings are so great, they overshadow everything else; and the opportunities for special victories of the Faith so abundant; the soul who once tastes the elixir of pioneering service, seldom will do anything else.” (From a letter written on behalf of Shoghi Effendi to an individual believer, June 5, 1954 [Lights of Guidance, p. 579, #1954])
Questionable semi-colon use aside (am I allowed to say that?), this quote pretty much sums up the paradox that is sacrifice. Perhaps this is one reason why sacrifice is also described in the Writings as a mystery… the mystery of sacrifice:
“As long as one has not taken a portion of the mystery of sacrifice, it is impossible for him to attain to the Kingdom of God. So long as you do not have the cup free from every sort of liquor, is it possible that you can put good and pure water therein?” (‘Abdu’l-Bahá, Bahá’í Scriptures, p. 497, #958)
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Where to start teaching something that is a mystery? I’m not sure, but here is a theory.
A lot of the virtues are given their own ‘stations’. For example, did you know that courtesy is described as the ‘prince’ of virtues? In children’s classes, truthfulness is taught as the foundation of all virtues. Interestingly, and convincingly, the chaps on the Minefield argue that humility is the ‘meta’ virtue, which underlies all virtues and to which all other virtues are conditional on. On the other end of the spectrum, perhaps sacrifice is the final, the ultimate, the most sacred (literally) virtue: the end point of our virtuousness journey; the quality that can only be properly demonstrated, or perhaps which emerges naturally, once we have all the other virtues mastered. Hence, to revisit the above analogy, why the ‘cup’ has to be completely free from all other ‘liquor’; to mix analogies, if any of the virtues in the cup aren’t fully shined, the water that flows forthwith shall be tainted accordingly.
From an academic perspective, for which my brain is still hardwired: tests of sacrifice are more like final exams to see how well we have been learning the whole curriculum of virtues. If there are any virtues we are deficient in, they will be, um, identified in our marks and feedback.
This would explain why sacrifice, despite its importance, doesn’t even make the top 24 list. Sacrifice, more than any other virtue, seems to have the potential to be misused; you don’t have to think too hard, or look too far beyond one’s self, to come up with examples of sacrifice being practiced ineffectively. I think of people sacrificing themselves for people who don’t deserve it, or for a cause that isn’t serving to bring about good in humanity, which might ultimately lead to disillusionment in the virtue of sacrifice itself. It seems that these people are simply acting on their inherent urge to enter the plane of sacrifice, but have gone about it in the wrong way or in the wrong situation. This might also include people who think they are engaging in sacrifice, but are really practicing a watered down version that emerges primarily from the cynical motive of improving one’s own self interest. I’m sure we have all been there.
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All virtues are essential, but not all virtues are created essentially equal. If we are to engage in sacrifice effectively, what are the most important virtues to keep in mind? What are the prerequisites for passing, or even sitting, Sacrifice 101? There is obviously much to explore here, and this exploration I plan to do (you may have guessed, things are a bit slow down here at the moment). However, before delving any deeper, it may help as a starting point to look at sacrifice from this cynical perspective, uncomfortable as it may be, so that we can tick that box and move on. To acknowledge that there is no escaping the inherently self-interested motive to sacrifice, but also to not dwell on and overthink it too much, to the extent that the mystery of sacrifice becomes that there is no such thing as sacrifice.
To keep things grounded, the role of donations in the Bahá’í Faith is a good example. Bahá’ís have two main forms of ‘donations’: to specific funds, and to the more mysterious Ḥuqúqu’lláh (pronunciation: don’t even bother). The first — the Fund — is fairly straightforward. It is a transparent system where Bahá’ís donate a chosen amount to a specific need within the Faith. This is one quote on the spiritual payoff that comes with donating to the fund:
“Be ye assured that in place of these contributions, your agriculture, your industry, and your commerce will be blessed by manifold increases, with goodly gifts and bestowals. He who cometh with one goodly deed will receive a tenfold reward. There is no doubt that the living Lord will abundantly confirm those who expend their wealth in His path. (‘Abdu’l-Bahá, Bahá’í Prayers, p. 83)”
This is fairly clear: give, and you shall receive more. It is not hard to see how this could lead to a shallow conception of sacrifice without going about in with the proper mindset.
A good guide for what this mindset should be is the process of donating to Ḥuqúq: a good proxy for sacrifice, given it is also a bit of a mystery, and also poses a unique type of test to believers. Ḥuqúqu’lláh translates to the Right of God — essentially meaning that a certain amount of our wealth belongs to God — and is a second, separate payment Bahá’ís make that is obligatory and predetermined based on level of income. A Bahá’í tax would be a logical outtake from this description, and works to an extent. In a comparable way to tax, we know in general terms that the money collected is used for worthy causes — addressing various social and economic inequalities around the world, as well as advancing various material aspects of the Bahá’í Faith — but we have no control over and no knowledge as to where individual contributions go.
However, the tax comparison falls short in several key ways. Firstly, somewhat confusingly, and where the mystery begins, these broader social benefits are not in fact the point:
“The ordinance prescribing the payment of Ḥuqúq is but a favour vouchsafed by the one true God—exalted be His glory—and the benefits arising therefrom shall fall to the donors themselves.” (Bahá’u’lláh, Ḥuqúqu’lláh—The Right of God, p. 3, #8)
Secondly, while paying Ḥuqúq is obligatory as a spiritual law for every Bahá’í, it is not actively collected or solicited. If you don’t pay, there will be no threatening letters or heavies arriving at your door. And really, if you read the above quote, and several other passages along the same lines, and have even a half-hearted faith in God, then of course you are going to pay it. It would be self-sabotage not to. Thus, the nature of the test posed by Ḥuqúq is not in making the donation itself; it is the spirit in which you donate Ḥuqúq that is so important — in fact, it is the condition upon whether your donation, your act of sacrifice as it were, is actually accepted:
“And such benefits will indeed accrue if the Ḥuqúq is offered with the utmost joy and radiance and in a spirit of perfect humility and lowliness.” (Bahá’u’lláh, Ḥuqúqu’lláh—The Right of God, p, 2, #6)
Compare this process of donating to Ḥuqúq — where a Baha’i is able to engage in an act of sacrifice with such a level of reassurance that these acts will be rewarded — with someone who doesn’t believe in God, or even in some overarching karmic payback system, but who donates, who gives generously, who even engages in substantial acts of sacrifice, without this reassurance, but more simply from the base motivation that they want to do something good (or, perhaps, at least to feel a bit less guilty). It is easy to see why these virtues are so emphasised as prerequisites, and why there is certainly no place for self-congratulation.
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So, to finally wrap things up, what can be taken from that example in terms of the key virtues required for engaging in sacrifice? It seems a bit much to be expected to show joy and radiance when engaging in more substantial acts of sacrifice, which entail some degree of actual pain and suffering, at least until you actually see some benefit from its practice. There has to be a more accessible starting point.
Hence, in alignment not just with the words of God but with the wise minds at the Minefield, no less, I (humbly) suggest humility to be the first pre-requisite before one can even sit the final exam of Sacrifice.
Because, in short: if you are embarking on a process that is generally understood as one of selflessness and altruism, but that in essence is ultimately one of personal spiritual benefit, and to be one of a lucky few to be gifted with such a level of faith in this fact… to do this with anything other than utter humility, well then you have probably already failed.
Midsplaining 