# Mirza Abu'l-Fadl in America

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-21 — 1 clipping.*

---

> Source: Bahá'í Library Online (bahai-library.com), curated by Jonah Winters. Used by permission of the curator. Original citation: Ali Kuli Khan, Mirza Abu'l-Fadl in America, Haifa: Bahá'í World Centre, 1945, bahai-library.com.
> ──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
> 
> MÍRZÁ ABU'L-FADL IN AMERICA
> By Ali-Kuli Khan and Marzieh Gail
> 
> [Written by Marzieh Gail on the basis of conversations with her father, Ali-Kuli Khan.
> Extracted from Bahá’í World Vol IX (1940-44), pp. 855-60
> Later reprinted in Dawn Over Mount Hira and other essays, pp. 105-114]
> 
> AFTERNOONS, he and I walked in the old cemetery in up-town New York. We
> walked up and down under the trees, with the gravestones around us. I would ask him about
> life after death, and he would not answer. One day I burst out:
> "The Master told me that I would learn things from being with you, and now I am not
> learning. ... I ask you again: In this world we are known by our physical forms; how will we
> he known in the next? The Master told me you would teach me."
> He said: "Since you force me, I must answer. But you will not like what I shall say."
> "Why not?"
> "Because the answer is this, that you would not understand how life after death will be."
> I said, "But I understand Schopenhauer, and Kant. I understand the Greeks. Why do you
> say I would not understand?"
> He answered: "The proof that you would not understand is this: that you ask"
> Then he told me that on every plane of existence, one needs the use of a language to
> describe that plane. On earth, he said, there is no language that will tell of the soul's condition
> on a higher plane. Then he tried to describe immortality for me, in various ways. One
> example he used was maturity: There is no language, he said, by which you can describe the
> conditions of maturity to a child. The child must evolve into maturity before he can
> understand it.
> "How can we evolve into the understanding of immortality?" I asked.
> "Through sustained devotion to the Cause," he said. "One gradually becomes aware.
> You are serving; you are on the way. I pray Bahá'u'lláh to assist you to understand that
> station. But it is not to be grasped through study. A man's knowledge of that condition is
> expressed through his deeds. People feel that he has attained that knowledge. But no words
> can describe it."
> This journey to America was not by any means the first of Mírzá's travels. Born at
> Gulpáygán, Persia, in 1844, Abu'1-Fadl was to spend some thirty years of his life in going
> from place to place, at the behest of Bahá'u'lláh and the Master, to spread the Faith. Eastern
> renders will not need to be reminded that he was an outstanding scholar; that he beaded one
> of Tihrán's leading Arabic universities, the School of Hakím-Háshim, where he also lectured
> on philosophy; that he was referred to as an authority by professors at the famed Al-Azhar in
> Cairo—the thousand-year-old seat of Muslim learning—who brought him their works to
> revise; that he was unexcelled in both old and modern Persian, was a master of Arabic, was
> thoroughly versed in the cultures of both East and West. Following his conversion, the result
> of eight months of debate in 1876, he became so fearless an exponent of the Teachings that
> he was several times imprisoned and threatened with death. Before coming to the United
> States, he had traveled, taught and written in Persia, Turkey, Russia, the Caucasus, Tartary,
> Syria and Egypt; and he had even taken the Faith as far as the confines of China, He
> attributed his teaching gift to a prayer revealed for him by Bahá'u'lláh: "I beg of God to
> enable Fadl to teach His truth, and to unveil that which is hidden and treasured in His
> knowledge, with wisdom and explanation. Verily He is the Mighty, the Bestower!"
> If I had never seen ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and Shoghi Effendi, I would consider. Mírzá
> Abu'1-Fadl the greatest being I ever laid eyes on. When the Master told me I must leave Him,
> and go to America, I sobbed. My grief took hold of me in the Persian way, and I beat my
> head against the wall of the Master's house in 'Akká. Then 'Abdul-Bahá said "It is a real
> opportunity for you to be with Mírzá, because of his great learning and his great devotion to
> the Cause."
> In those days the Master's helpers were few, and the burdens of the Faith increasingly
> heavy. My services as amanuensis and English translator were urgently needed, and I worked
> for Him night and day, but because He felt the American mission to be of supreme
> importance, He gave me up to that work. In the spring of 1901, I reached Paris with Lua and
> her husband, and found Mírzá there, with May Bolles (later Mrs. May Maxwell), Laura
> Barney, Juliet Thompson, Charles Mason Remey, little Sigurd Russell and other believers.
> The Master cabled me to go on to the United States immediately. In New York, I received a
> second cable from Him, to go on to Chicago. Two months later Mírzá joined me there.
> What had happened in Chicago was this: the Syrian, Khayru’lláh, had been teaching the
> Cause, adding to the Faith many beliefs of his own, such as reincarnation, dream
> interpretation, occultism and the like. He had written a book incorporating these beliefs with
> the Teachings, and had gone to 'Akká and asked permission to publish it. The Master told
> him to abandon his superstitious beliefs, saying further that he would become a leading
> teacher if he would give them up and spread the Faith. But he returned to America and
> published his book. A rift resulted among the believers; Mírzá Abu’l-Fadl and I were sent to
> heal the rift.
> In Chicago we found Asadu'lláh, who had come to America with the two devoted
> Bahá’í merchants of Egypt, Haji 'Abdu'l-Karim and Hji Mírzá Hasan-i-Khurásání; although
> still a recognized teacher he was busily interpreting dreams for the believers and hemming
> them in with superstition. After listening to Mírzá for awhile, some of the believers said he
> was "cold and intellectual." They said Asadu'lláh was "spiritual," because he interpreted their
> dreams. They would walk down the hall, past Mírzá's door, and go on to Asadu'lláh. They
> would come and tell us that they were personally led by the spirit, or had had a vision
> warning them against a fellow-believer, and so forth. (Mírzá's name for them was
> jinn-gir—"spook chasers.")
> We saw that all this occult confusion would lead to divisions among the Friends,
> especially as many of them were not yet well grounded in the Cause. We talked the matter
> over and decided on the following procedure: when anyone came to us, saying he was guided
> by the spirit to do thus and so, we would answer, "The Universal Spirit is manifested today in
> Bahá'u'lláh.. If you have visions or experiences urging you to some action, weigh this action
> with the revealed Teachings. If the act conforms with the Teachings, it is true guidance. If
> not, your experience has been only a dream."
> Mírzá held classes three times a day in Chicago, and in addition we taught once a week
> at the Masonic Temple. Our house, a headquarters for Eastern Bahá’í teachers, was on West
> Monroe Street. Some o£ the firm and devoted believers whom we met there were Thornton
> Chase, his secretary, Gertrude Buikema, Miss Nash, Dr. Bartlett, Dr. Thatcher, Arthur
> Agnew, Mr. Leish, Albert Windust, Mrs. Brittingham, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Toas, Greenleaf,
> the brilliant attorney, and his young wife, Elizabeth. At the Master's written direction, Mr.
> Peter Dealy came up from Fairhope, Alabama, to study scriptural prophecies and other
> aspects of the Cause with Mí rzá.
> My first memory of Thornton Chase, America's first Bahá'í, is his taking me to the
> corner drugstore opposite our house and introducing me to Coca-Cola, which I hated. "This is
> medicine," I told him. "No," he said, "this is a good drink; you will like it later on." His
> prophecy has since been realized.
> When my father, the early believer 'Abdu'r-Rahim Khán, was Lord Major (kalántar) of
> Tihrán, and also head of the police, Mírzá had known him well. Once he told me the
> following story: when he, Abu'1-Fadl, became a believer, he was on fire with the Faith. He
> used to go to a coffee shop in the afternoons, sit there in an alcove a few feet off the ground,
> and publicly teach the Cause. One day an Armenian convert to Protestantism, who was
> connected with the Protestant Mission at Tihrán, entered the coffee shop and said some evil
> thing of Bahá’lláh. Mírzá was so incensed that he jumped down out of his alcove and struck
> the Armenian. The man appealed to the Board of Foreign Missions, who sent to the Police
> and demanded that Mírzá be punished. My father, the kalántar, said, "This is the sort of case
> which I must handle myself." He then took Mírzá into his own custody; he told him that the
> offense was serious; that he appreciated the nature of Mírzá's faith, but that the times were
> dangerous and that in any event a man should control himself. He placed Mírzá in his own
> office and sent for the Armenian. "Do you remember," he said to him, "how His Majesty
> closed the Catholic Mission just a little while ago? Now you know what a high position
> Mírzá Abu’l-Fadl enjoys among the clerics of Islám. His Majesty might well be angered at
> any complaints against him, and then he would surely close the Protestant Mission as well,
> and you would lose your job. Which do you prefer? That I punish Mírzá Abu'l-Fadl or that
> you keep your job?" The charges were hastily withdrawn.
> One day Mírzá called me to him and spoke to me in a very humble way. He said that,
> being acquainted with my family and background, it was only with the greatest hesitation that
> he was going to exact a promise from me: that I would cooperate with him in all matters
> pertaining to the Cause, but that I would never interfere in his private affairs. I said, "Dear
> Mírzá, since you know my family, you know well that none of its members would interfere
> in the private concerns of such a glorious being as yourself." He answered, "Anyhow,
> promise." So I promised, but I did not know what was coming.
> In December, 1901, we left for Washington where Miss Laura Barney had arranged
> quarters for Mírzá and myself. Our rooms were on the top floor of a four-story apartment
> house. He could not endure noise; in fact, during the three or four years when we spent the
> fall, winter and spring in Washington, he changed his residence many times, escaping from
> noise. He had to concentrate on the book he was writing, and dreaded the downstairs, where
> there might be dogs (he was very fond of cats, however) or other confusion.
> His meals were to be provided by the landlady, but as time went on I discovered he was
> living on practically nothing at all. He brewed, and drank all day long, a delicate Oriental tea;
> he smoked Egyptian cigarettes (later he gave these up because some of the Friends criticized
> his smoking and he did not wish to be a test to them); once in a while he ate a thin biscuit.
> This was his nourishment. Naturally, in the unaccustomed cold and the strange surroundings,
> he grew frailer and frailer. I had to beg him to keep on with his book—the Bahá'í
> Proofs—which the Master had commanded him to write; but it was obvious that he was
> getting too weak for the task, and meanwhile, since I had promised to keep out of his private
> affairs, there was nothing I could do.
> Mírzá was almost continually in a state of prayer. His mornings, noons and evenings
> were taken up with devotions. Once I went to his door and found it locked. I rapped, there
> was no answer. We forced the door, and found that Mírzá had fainted
> away as he prayed, and that his jaws mere locked together. The reason he prayed with such
> fervor, and such weeping, was his concept of the greatness of God and his own nothingness;
> his belief that his very existence, bestowed on him by Divine mercy, was a sin in this Day
> "whereon naught can be seen except the splendors of the Light that shineth from the face of
> Thy Lord. . . ," I would say to him, "You, a holy being, weeping like this. If you are a sinner,
> then what hope is there for the rest of us?" He would answer: "The day "will come when you,
> too, will know the degree of devotion worthy to serve as a language by which we can praise
> Hahi'u'llih."
> Finally, a time came when Mírzá was dying. I went to Mrs. Barney, Laura's mother, for
> whom Mírzá had great respect. I told her of my promise, explaining that I had not understood
> why he exacted it; she promptly had a chicken cooked, and brought it to the house on De
> Sales Street. On arriving, she asked the landlady if Mírzá had been accepting any food. "No,"
> was the answer, "he pays for it but does not eat." She then went up to Mírzá. "They tell me
> downstairs," she said, "that you arc refusing food. How can yon write your important hook
> unless you eat?" From under his eyebrows, Mírzá darted his very small, very keen black eyes
> at me.
> As soon as Mrs. Barney left he began: "You promised—"
> I said, "The landlady told her." Mírzá said, "You had a hand in it." I answered, "I can't
> see you die." Mírzá said, "I shall ask you a question: which of two people would know better
> about a house? The man who has lived in it sixty years, or the one who has just come upon
> it?"
> I answered, "Yes, the man may have lived in it sixty years, but he has never had any
> repairs made, and the roof and walls are falling to ruin, and the house is now almost
> unlivable,"
> That is how it was. Mírzá sick from not eating, and unable to adjust to American food
> and American life. He would not let me serve him in any way. If we went shopping, he
> would not even let me carry the packages. Finally I wrote to the Master, because the
> responsibility for his life and work was more than I could bear, and I told of the difficulty of
> expediting Mírzá's book and described everything just as it was. Then I added that it might be
> a Persian attendant, who could prepare food for Mírzá and look after his needs, would solve
> the problem. When I had come through Port Sa'id on my way to America, there was a hoy
> around fifteen who worked in Ahmad Yazdi's store there. His name Was Ahmad-i-Isfáhání
> (later he took the name of Sohrab). This boy had begged me to request the Master to send
> him to America. I now suggested that he come here to look after Mírzá. The Master sent him
> here, to serve Mírzá and return with him to the East. However, when Mírzá sailed for home
> in 1904—with the MacNutts, Mrs. Julia Grundy, and the Woodcocks and their
> daughter—Ahmad-i-Isfahan í did not accompany him. He remained in the United States until
> 1912, when the Master Himself took him hack to the East, although he seemed loath to go.
> Somehow, our work went on, Besides our classes, we would address Bahá'í gatherings
> in the old Corcoran Building opposite the Treasury Department. Mírzá would stand as he
> spoke, with me at his side. He was a great, spontaneous speaker; he talked with ardor, his
> voice varying according to his subject, and sometimes very loud. He knew no English, but
> had an uncanny way of finding out whether my translation was as he wished, and whether it
> was clear; he could tell from my gestures, and from the effect on the audience. He would
> speak perhaps five minutes at a time, before pausing for the translation.
> When explaining a difficult point, he would repeat himself, to drive it home. One day a
> young believer came to him and said, "You know, dear Mirzl, we are an intelligent people. If
> you tell us a thing once, we grasp it. But if you keep repeating yourself, the way you did last
> night, people will surely criticize you, and us." He thanked her, very humbly. "It was only to
> make the matter clear," he said. "Hut I appreciate what you have told me. Now, just one
> question. What was I repealing, last night?" The young woman thought for a while; then she
> said, "I don't remember." "That is why I repeat myself," said Mírzá.
> Mírzá was a master of reasoning—he built a wall around people and trapped them so
> that they had either to accept his statements or acknowledge their ignorance. All kinds of
> scholars matched their minds with him here, but I never saw him defeated. He was deeply
> read in Church history, European theology and metaphysics, works on which he had studied
> in Arabic at Al-Azhar. 1 remember once a churchman came to him and violently attacked the
> Prophet Muhammad. Mírzá said to him: "Your leading authorities state that none of the
> Jewish or Roman historians of the First Century even mention Jesus, and many do not
> believe in the historicity of Christ. Certain Christians inserted a reference to Christ in the
> writings of Josephus, but the forgery was exposed. Others buried a tablet in China, which
> said that Christianity had been brought to that country in the First Century. This, too, was
> exposed. But as for the Prophet Muhammad, He not only proclaimed the existence of a
> historical Christ, but He caused three hundred million people to believe in Him; to accept
> Him not only as a historical figure but also as the Spirit of God (Rúh’u’lláh). Was not
> Muhammad, whom you condemn, a more successful Christian missionary than your own?"
> Mírzá never encouraged any talk which might lead to inharmony. Once, a friend came
> to him and said that another believer was doing harm to the Faith. Mírzá listened carefully.
> Then he told me to translate his answer word for word:
> "Do you believe that Bahá’u’lláh is the promised Lord of Hosts?"
> "Yes."
> "Well, if He is that Lord, these are the Hosts. What right have we to speak ill of the
> Hosts?"
> I had a hard time of it, getting Mírzá to write the Bahá’í Proofs. It seemed to me that I
> had to extract every line and every page of it by force. The American Friends wonder why it
> consists of "Introductions." This is not only the classic convention of Eastern scholars, but in
> addition, Mírzá contemplated a greater book. What we have here is nothing compared to the
> flow of his knowledge. The Master directed Mírzá to write the book and me to translate it,
> and in spite of failing health and every difficulty he did not leave America until it was
> finished. He was a careful, painstaking stylist, and yet he wrote very rapidly, with no
> corrections, no crossing out. He would put up one knee, and lean his paper on it in the
> Persian way, and write with a reed pen.
> Mírzá was truly a divine scholar. He told me that he had read the Iqán. with "the eye of
> intellect" seventeen times through, and it had seemed to him a meaningless string of words.
> That later, he had read it with "the eye of faith," and had found it the key with which he could
> unlock the secrets of all the sacred books of past religions. His work, the Fará’id, which deals
> with these subjects, has not yet been translated into English. The Master, in a tablet to the
> Washington believers written after Mírzá's death in 1914, says of him, "His blessed heart was
> the spring of realities and significances, allaying the thirst of every thirsty one."
> That the work went forward slowly was not always Mírzá's fault. We had a great deal to
> do—classes—meetings—innumerable visitors to see. Speaking of visitors, whenever they
> brought flowers and fruit to him, he was violently displeased. He would say: "Why do they
> bring these things for me? I am only the slave of the slaves of Bahá’u’lláh!" I would not
> translate these expressions of his humility, because I knew that our guests would only
> attribute them to pride. I would thank the givers, and explain to Mírzá why I could not
> translate what he had said.
> On trains and in other public places people would look at Mírzá and he would smile at
> them, with those keen, deeply set, jet-black eyes. I never knew a man who saw every corner
> of a thing the way he did. And he was never mistaken. I remember one year I was reading
> Lavater, the German physiognomist, although I knew that Goethe himself had given the
> subject up, saying it was not a science. That year I saw an old man at Green Acre who looked
> something like Emerson; lie had the same high forehead and projecting nose, although his
> jaw was weak. I told Mírzá that according to the principles of Lavater the man was a genius.
> Mírzá looked at me and smiled. "He is far from being a genius," Mírzá told me. "He does not
> even Have the intelligence of an average man." "How do you know?" "By my knowledge of
> physiognomy." "Well, judging by my knowledge of physiognomy, he has both high
> intelligence and philosophic grasp." The next morning, following our class, the man asked a
> question which at once exposed his remarkably low mental level.
> The future must evaluate what Mírzá brought to the Cause in America. I have written
> these lines only to suggest a little our life here together; only to set down phases of his
> journey that hardly anyone else was aware of. The future will appreciate how, when Mírzá
> returned East, I was overwhelmed by the Master's command to carry on his work in this
> country.
> It is a long time now since he died, and the Master and the believers mourned his going.
> But I can see him still, as if he were here before me. A rather tall, spare figure, in a white
> turban and light-brown robes. Beautiful hands—artistic and sensitive, but at the same time
> intellectual and executive hands. A high forehead, somewhat high cheek bones, an ascetic
> look, a faint smell of rose water. And then the small, very black, very keen eyes.
> Yes, but really to know his greatness, you had to watch him when he was in the
> presence of 'Abdu'l-Bahá. Then his knowledge reduced him to nothingness, and you thought
> of a pebble on the ocean shore.
>
> — *Mirza Abu'l-Fadl in America (Used by permission of the curator)*