Professor: A Tribute to Dr. 'Ali-Murad Davudi
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Source: Bahá'í Library Online (bahai-library.com), curated by Jonah Winters. Used by permission of the curator. Original citation: Farideh Sobhani-Matejko, Professor: A Tribute to Dr. 'Ali-Murad Davudi, bahai-library.com.
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Introduction by the Translator
Though it appears to have been published anonymously, the author of this essay was a young
psychology student by the name of Farideh Sobhani (now Dr. Farideh Sobhani-Matejko), and
while he is never named explicitly, the professor to whom this tribute was dedicated is Dr. ‘Alí-
Murád Dávúdí, a brilliant philosopher and intellectual giant of the Bahá’í Faith who was eventually
kidnapped by the Islamic regime and never heard from again.

In this essay, the young Sobhani fondly recalls her then-recent experience as a student in one of
Dr. Dávúdí’s classes, shinásá’í va hastí (“knowledge and existence”),1 which he taught at the
University of Tehran as an associate professor in the department of philosophy. Dr. Sobhani took
this class in 1968, and she would go on to graduate from the university that same year.

This essay was originally published in Áhang-i-Badí‘, a Persian-language Bahá’í magazine that
was circulated in Iran from the mid-1940s up until the end of the 1970s with the advent of the
Islamic Revolution. Dr. Sobhani was herself a member of the magazine’s editorial committee at
the time and arranged for it to be printed in its July–August 1969 joint issue.2

I am grateful to Naeem Nabiliakbar for acquainting me with this article many years ago, and also
for preparing the Persian typescript below, which served as the basis for this translation.

—Adib Masumian
27 July 2022

***

Table of Contents
I. English Translation.................................................................................................................. 2
II. Original Persian ..................................................................................................................... 5

The focus of this class may have been La connaissance: classe de philosophie et propédeutique, a
book written by Léon Meynard and published in 1963, which Dr. Dávúdí himself later translated into
Persian under the same title of this course he taught at the University of Tehran.
Áhang-i-Badí‘, year 24, nos. 5 & 6 (Murdád–Shahrívar, 1348 Shamsí), pp. 169–170; available online
here: https://bahai-library.com/bahailib/1139.pdf#page=56

I. English Translation

Professor:
A Tribute to Dr. ‘Alí-Murád Dávúdí

Farideh Sobhani
Translated by Adib Masumian

The school song begins to play. A heavy silence takes the place of the noise of the crowd. All
of a sudden, a strange feeling washes over me. From behind the trembling curtain of tears that
has welled up, I shoot a glance around me. As far as my eyes can see, the graduates are seated
next to each other, dressed in their special uniforms. In this moment, their familiar faces seem
a bit vague to me.

I look at myself again. “Am I part of this group, too?”

How very quickly these college years passed. Their final moments draw to a close with the
conclusion of the ceremony. Gradually, I start to forget time and place. Familiar faces fade
away from my sight, and I take flight to episodes from my past. The days and hours I have
spent at college—their moments of dread and hope alike, all the things that both excited and
agitated me—are brought back to life in my mind.

I think back to our friendships and mutual affections, to the things we have learned and the
discussions we have had, and eventually to the students and professors. One by one, I bring
the faces of the professors to mind; I conjure up their qualities and picture all the features
that the passage of time has etched on their faces.

As I go through them, I stop at a certain familiar face. I call him to the forefront of my mind,
with his silvery hair and immortal dignity.

I find him in the midst of his classroom. Our class of three hundred is bustling. Everyone is
going from one direction to another, every group is engaged in conversation, and he quietly
enters the room. The class rises to their feet. Still quietly, he heads to his desk. Absolute silence
overtakes the class.

He begins. Not a sound can be heard now apart from pens being put to paper.

I look at him. When he speaks, he seems to grow distant from our world. Every now and then,
he pauses for a moment and starts to walk to and fro once again.

I peer into his face. It is as if the words he is saying are rooted in the depths of his soul. His
entire being has become a spirit personified from head to toe.

Now he has finished speaking. A wave of excitement comes over the students once again; their
hands fly up to ask questions. As they erupt into discussion, he stays standing right where he
is, serene as ever.

He listens carefully, responding with a refinement and majestic bearing that only he had. At
times, the questions are so out of place, so far removed from what a sound mind would
conceive, that shouts of objection start to be raised from every corner of the classroom—but
he maintains his silence.

He waits until the person asking the question has settled down. Only then does he explain the
matter at hand, and then offer his thanks with a short but meaningful sentence.

When speaking on philosophical subjects, he never gives any indication of finality. He always
leaves room for subsequent discussion and inquiry, giving us an opportunity to think deeply.

Once he leaves the classroom, he can’t be found again in the dense mass of students who have
surrounded him. This is not just about school anymore; it concerns everything, in every
possible respect. The course and purpose of their lives, their plans for the future, their views
on philosophy and other thoughts—students talk to him about all these things because they
consider him their close confidant and account him as their knowledgeable friend. He listens
attentively to these kids as they vent, becoming more and more inquisitive and dispensing the
guidance they seek.

He is also a master of witty humor, and in this regard, too, one would be hard-pressed to find
someone that rivals him. Although he never makes any pretensions to love, he does love his
students from the bottom of his heart and show them that love—and in spite of all this, not
once does he give preferential treatment to any of them. Even in special cases where he wishes
to help a student or a group of them, he makes it so that the rest of the class benefits just as
much from his kindness—a kindness that extends to everyone under all circumstances.

His anger is seldom seen and never directed universally. Only rarely does he become angry
and excited while speaking, and even then he quickly returns to his normal state and
modulates his tone accordingly.

He never shies away from a debate with his students, and no one has ever seen him ridicule a
single one of them.

Perhaps one of his most significant characteristics is his humility. He is kind and humble
toward everyone, and his name is always associated with this uniquely distinct trait.

When it comes to his exams, he has been known to give a failing grade, but few have heard
anyone object to it or not be given a logical explanation if they do protest.

To sum up, it is in this way that they truly love him with all their hearts and regard him as
their professor—possibly one of those rare professors at whose impending separation
students weep as they say their goodbyes.

I sense the salty taste of tears in my mouth. The school song has been over for some time now;
the sound of prolonged applause has broken the silence.

I look at the crowd one last time. Though there is joy in their faces, there is also a conspicuous
question: “The future . . . what am I to do in the future? Which goal should I pursue, and why?”
I feel a sense of pride and good fortune because I know my path forward and rest assured of
the future.

I look once more to where the professors are standing. Their faces are radiant and instill
confidence. A smile signaling my discernment of the truth forms on my lips. It seems to me
there is just one face missing from among them, a palpable absence—he with his silvery hair
and immortal dignity.3 Under my breath, I say to myself, “a Bahá’í professor.”

3 The author of this essay has told me she never asked Dr. Dávúdí why he was not present that day. Her

personal speculation is that, in all likelihood, there wasn’t any special reason for his absence, considering
that, while these ceremonies were obviously momentous occasions for the thousands of students who
were graduating, they were routine occurrences for the professors, and it was not as if all the faculty
members at the University of Tehran attended each and every graduation ceremony. Dr. Dávúdí’s
absence from the ceremony has nothing to do with his martyrdom, which took place eleven years later.

‫‪II. Original Persian‬‬

‫استاد‬
‫نوشتۀ فریدۀ سبحانی‬

‫سرود دانشگاه نواخته مىشود‪ .‬سکوت سنگینى جایگزین همهمۀ جمعیّت مىگردد‪ .‬در یک لحظه‬
‫احساس عجیبى مىکنم‪ .‬از پشت پردۀ لرزان اشک نیمنگاهى به اطراف مىافکنم‪ .‬تا چشم کار مىکند‬
‫فارغالتّحصیالن با انیفورمهاى مخصوص خود کنار هم نشستهاند‪ .‬چهرههاى آشناشان اینک اندکى‬
‫مبهم بنظر مىرسد‪.‬‬

‫یکبار دیگر به خود مىنگرم؛ آیا من هم جزو این دسته هستم؟‬

‫راستى سالهاى دانشکده چه زود سپرى شد‪ .‬آخرین لحظات آن هم با اتمام جشن به پایان مىرسد‪.‬‬
‫کمکم زمان و مکان را از یاد مىبرم‪ .‬چهرههاى آشنا از نظرم محو مىشود و به گذشتهها پرواز‬
‫مىکنم‪ .‬روزها و ساعاتى را که در دانشکده گذرانیدهام؛ لحظات بیم و امید و تمامى هیجانها و‬
‫اضطرابها در خاطرم جان مىگیرد‪.‬‬

‫به دوستیها و محبّتها‪ ،‬به آموختهها به بحثهائى که داشتهایم و باالخره به شاگردان و به استادها می‬
‫اندیشم‪ .‬قیافۀ استادان را یک یک به خاطر مىآورم‪ ،‬با تمام خصوصیّاتشان و با تمام آنچه که گذشت‬
‫زمان بر سیماى آنها نقش کرده‪.‬‬

‫و از آن میان در مقابل یک چهرۀ آشنا متوقّف مىمانم‪ .‬او را به خاطر مىآورم با موهاى خاکسترى و‬
‫وقار همیشگیش‪.‬‬

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‫او را در جمع کالس مىیابم‪ .‬کالس سیصد نفرى ما در تب و تاب است‪ .‬هرکس از جانبى به سمتى‬
‫مىرود و هر دسته سرگرم بحث و گفتگوئى است؛ و او آرام وارد مىشود‪ .‬جمعیّت به پا مىخیزند‪.‬‬
‫همچنان آرام به سمت میز خود مىرود‪ .‬سکوت محض کالس را فرا مىگیرد‪.‬‬

‫او آغاز مىکند‪ .‬دیگر جز صداى سائیده شدن قلم بر کاغذ صداى دیگرى شنیده نمىشود‪.‬‬

‫به او نگاه مىکنم‪ .‬وقتى که سخنرانى مىکند‪ ،‬گوئى از دنیاى ما فاصله مىگیرد‪ .‬گاه لحظهاى مکث‬
‫مىکند و باز به راه رفتن آغاز مىکند‪.‬‬

‫به چهرۀ او نگاه میکنم‪ .‬گوئى سخن از عمق جانش ریشه مىگیرد؛ وجودش سراپا روح مجسم‬
‫شده ‪....‬‬

‫اکنون سخن او به اتمام رسیده‪ .‬یک بار دیگر جنب و جوش دانشجویان از سر گرفته مىشود و‬
‫انگشتها براى پرسش باال مىرود‪ .‬بحثها آغاز مىشود و او همچنان متین و آرام بر جاى ایستاده‪.‬‬

‫با دقت گوش فرا مىدهد و با ادب و وقار مخصوص خود پاسخ مىگوید‪ .‬گاه پرسشها آنقدر‬
‫بىمناسبت و دور از ذهن سلیم است که از هر سوى کالس بانگ اعتراض برمىخیزد‪ ،‬ولی او همچنان‬
‫سکوت مىکند‪.‬‬

‫آنقدر صبر مىکند تا پرسشکننده آرام بماند‪ .‬آنگاه به توضیح مطلب مىپردازد و با یک جملۀ کوتاه‬
‫و پرمعنى تشکّر مىکند‪.‬‬

‫در بحثهاى فلسفى هیچگاه مطلب را به پایان رسیده نشان نمىدهد‪ .‬همیشه جائى براى بحثها و‬
‫پرسشهاى بعدى باقى مىگذارد و مجالی براى تفکّر ایجاد مىکند‪.‬‬

‫وقتى کالس را ترک مىکند‪ ،‬در انبوه شاگردان دیگر نمىتوان او را یافت‪ .‬دیگر اینجا تنها مسئلۀ‬
‫درس مطرح نیست‪ .‬از همه چیز و از همهجا‪ ،‬از راه و هدف زندگى‪ ،‬از نقشههاى آیندۀ خود‪ ،‬از افکار‬

‫‪6‬‬
‫فلسفى و اندیشههاى خویش با او مىگویند‪ ،‬زیرا که او را محرم و همراز خود مىدانند و آشناى داناى‬
‫خود محسوب مىدارند‪ .‬به درد دل بچّهها گوش فرا مىدهد و بیشتر و بیشتر جویا مىشود و راه‬
‫مىنماید‪.‬‬

‫در بذلهگوئى و شوخطبعى نیز استاد است و در این جهت نیز کمتر میتوان نظیر او را یافت‪ .‬با اینکه‬
‫هیچگاه تظاهر به محبّت نمىکند‪ ،‬اما از صمیم قلب شاگردان خود را دوست دارد و به آنها مهر‬
‫مىورزد‪ ،‬و با اینهمه هرگز بین آنها تبعیض قائل نمىشود‪ ،‬حتّى اگر موردى استثنائى پیش آید که‬
‫بخواهد به یکى یا دستهاى از آنها کمک کند‪ ،‬دیگران را نیز به همان نسبت از لطف خود بهرهمند‬
‫مىسازد‪ .‬لطفش در هر حال شامل حال است و خشمش به ندرت دیده مىشود و هرگز تعمیم نمى‬
‫یابد‪ .‬به هنگام سخنگفتن به ندرت عصبانى مىشود و حالت هیجانى پیدا مىکند‪ ،‬امّا به سرعت به‬
‫حالت عادى باز مىگردد و لحن خود را تغییر مىدهد‪.‬‬

‫هرگز از زیر بار بحث شانه خالی نمىکند و هیچگاه دیده نشده که کسى را مورد تمسخر قرار دهد‪.‬‬

‫شاید یکى از مهمّترین خصوصیّات او تواضع و فروتنى است‪ .‬نسبت به همه متواضع و مهربان است و‬
‫نام او همیشه با این صفت مشخصه همراه است‪.‬‬

‫در امتحانات او نمرات مردودى نیز به چشم مىخورد امّا کمتر شنیده مىشود که کسى اعتراض کند و‬
‫یا اگر اعتراض کند‪ ،‬جواب منطقى به او داده نشود‪.‬‬

‫خالصه آنگونه است که بهراستى و از صمیم قلب دوستش دارند و استادش مىدانند و شاید از اساتید‬
‫نادرى است که به هنگام وداع دانشجویان از جدائیش مىگریند‪....‬‬

‫مزۀ شور اشک را در دهانم حس مىکنم‪ .‬سرود دانشگاه مدّتی است به پایان آمده‪ .‬صداى‬
‫کفزدنهاى ممتدّ سکوت را در هم شکسته‪.‬‬

‫‪7‬‬
‫یکبار دیگر به جمعیّت نگاه مىکنم‪ .‬در چهرۀ همۀ آنها در عین شادى و سرور یک سؤال مشخّص‬
‫است آینده‪ ...‬در آینده چه باید کرد؟ به سوى کدامین هدف باید رفت و چرا؟ احساس غرور و‬
‫خوشبختى مىکنم‪ .‬آخر من راه خود را مىدانم و به آینده مطمئن هستم‪.‬‬

‫یکبار دیگر به جایگاه اساتید نگاه مىکنم‪ .‬چهرهشان روشن است و اطمینانبخش‪ .‬لبخندى حاکى از‬
‫حقّشناسى روى لبانم نقش مىبندد‪ .‬تنها جاى یک چهره در آن میان خالی به نظر مىآید‪ -‬جاى او با‬
‫موهاى خاکسترى و وقار همیشگىاش‪ .‬زیر لب زمزمه مىکنم «یک استاد بهائى‪».‬‬

‫‪8‬‬
-- Professor: A Tribute to Dr. 'Ali-Murad Davudi (Used by permission of the curator)