Short story: The Heir

I thought I'd put up a short story that I wrote for my course. It is an allegory about the fate of the Baha'i revelation so far. I thought that its tragic theme was fitting for the commemoration of the martyrdom of the Bab.

The Heir

A fable by Alison Marshall

   Squire Edmond Denman stood with his back to the fire. His legs were locked back, his feet set apart and his arms crossed at the wrists behind him. He looked straight ahead at an oil painting on the opposite wall; the dark figure of his grandfather stared back with a dour face. The weak morning rays of winter filtered in through the window of the parlour, which gave sweeping views over the fields and woodland on his 600-acre estate.
   David Denman, the squire's son, sat with crossed legs in one of the two armless, high-backed chairs, which stood on each side of the fireplace. His right arm lay across his stomach, and the curved fingers of his left hand were jutted up against his bottom lip. He stared with a deep frown at the translucent flames dancing off the top of the burning logs and glowing embers.
   David let his hand drop. "I do not want to marry her, father," he said. "I have no affection for her. She is spoiled and disagreeable."
   "These things are of no conseqence," said the squire. "Isabella is from an old family. Been in the county for three centuries - almost as long as we have. She is very suitable."
   "Well, they matter to me. And it is my marriage we are talking about," said David. "At the very least, I would like to have a wife I can tolerate."
   The squire turned to look out of the window. "Your mother would be proud, you marrying into such a respectable family."
   "She would be nothing of the sort!" said David, turning to look at his father. "She would never have approved of you forcing me to marry against my will. Now that she has gone, you imagine she approves of everything you do."
   "She would understand that the important thing is to have an heir."
   "Nonsense. You and mama married for love."
   The squire walked over and sat down in the empty chair. "We were in a position to. But when your mother died, I had to think about the estate."
   "Why did you not remarry then?" said David.
   "I could not marry after your mother died," said the squire, turning away. "The image of her lying there in the bed lifeless still haunts me."
   "Pity. You could have married Isabella yourself."
   The squire looked back at the boy. "Impossible. I am three and fifty. I married your mother when she was young, as it was."
   There was silence for a while. The squire put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. David turned back to the fire.
   "I have no problem with marrying, father. I just do not wish to marry Isabella."
   The squire looked at his son. "I see. Well, you can put out of your mind the idea of marrying Catherine Stanton, if that is what you are thinking."
   David sat up. "Why? If an heir is all you want, she will do just as well as Isabella."
   "You know very well. She is the daughter of my agent. I could never look upon her as a daughter-in-law and as the mistress of this house."
   "She has worked in the house all her life. She knows how it is run."
   "It is out of the question. You know it is," said the squire, with a sideways glance.
   David stood up, paced a little, then turned back to his father. "She is more fit than Isabella, who spends excessively."
   "I will hear no more of it, boy. My mind is made up and that is the last we will speak on the matter," said the squire.
   David's brow sat low over his eyes. He threw his arm against his side and marched out of the room.

---

   The thick linen gowns of Isabella and her mother hung in folds over the cream tapestry sofa in the squire's drawing room. The large window to their left gave a view onto the mansion's stone steps, which Lord Armstrong gazed on as he sat relaxed in his chair. On a sofa opposite were the squire, his dark eyes radiant with a ready smile, and his son, on the edge of his seat, looking no place in particular.
   "We are very desirous that everything should be to your liking," said the squire to Lord Armstrong.
   "Capital, capital," said Lord Armstrong, waving his arm dismissively. "I am sure everything will be to our satisfaction."
   The squire motioned in Isabella's direction and raised his eyebrows. "We were wondering if Miss Isabella would like to see the rooms we have set aside for her use. She is welcome to order changes to the furnishings as she pleases." He turned toward his son. "David here can show her the rooms."
   Isabella's eyes widened. "Oh yes, father, I should like very much to see the rooms and decide what to do with them."
   "Very well," said Lord Armstrong, smiling across at his daughter. He turned back to the squire and winked. "It is a chance for the new lovers to have a little tête-à-tête, no doubt."
   "I should like to see the rooms too," said Lady Armstrong.
   "Later, my dear," said Lord Armstrong, raising his arm. "Let the lovers have a little time together."
   Lady Armstrong placed her hand on her daughter's arm. "No decisions are to be made without me."
   "No, mother."
   David stood up, bowed stiffly to Lord and Lady Armstrong and walked to the door to open it for Isabella. Outside, he offered her his arm and, in silence, they made their way up the wide, wooden staircase that lead from the main entrance to the first floor. At the top, David led Isabella to the right, along a corridor lined with windows, down a few stairs and into a small alcove with three doors off it.
   "These rooms are to be yours," said David. "It is a private area. We thought you might like it."
   Isabella looked around her as if to map in her mind where she was.
   David stepped forward to open the middle door. He turned the handle, pushed the door open and stepped back to allow Isabella to enter. As the door swung open, two faces, eyes wide and mouths open, stared back at them from inside the room. One glanced at David and coloured deeply. David jerked his head away and looked down. Isabella halted. The two women curtsied, put down the linen in their hands and edged their way out of the door.
   David motioned for Isabella to enter.
   "Was that Catherine Stanton, the daughter of your father's agent?" she asked.
   "Yes," said David, following Isabella in. "As you can see, she has been helping with the wedding preparations."
   David showed Isabella the rooms and discussed the alterations with her. After final arrangements were agreed with Lady Armstrong, the family left in their carriage.
   That evening, when Isabella was at home changing for dinner, she said to her maid, "Keep an eye on Catherine Stanton, John Stanton's daughter. I want all news of her brought to me immediately."
   "Yes, miss," said the maid. "I can ask Sarah Farmer. Her father works in the fields for Mr Stanton."

---

   John Stanton dug in his heels and rode off through the heavy spring dew toward the beech grove. On the far side of the trees, he opened the old wooden gate, and walked his horse up over the rise. Squire Denman was sitting on his black saddle horse, overseeing workmen plowing in the field below. John strode down the hill to join him.
   "Ah, John," said the squire, getting off his horse. "Work is coming along well, I think. We're getting the potatoes in in plenty of time this year."
   "Aye," said John. "If the rains don't come upon us unexpected, we'll be right. Too much rain and they'll rot where they lay."
   "Come on over to the house," said the squire, motioning to his agent. "I have the plans ready."
   The two men climbed on their horses and rode slowly in the direction of the squire's mansion.
   "Nice to see young David married, sir. It'll be a load off your mind."
   "Yes. It is good to have the house quiet again. I am not much bothered with formal occasions. But I warrant I will have to change my ways with Isabella about."
   "She's a lively one, to be sure. I expect she'll be entertaining a great deal now she's married and able."
   The two men rode on, turning to watch the workmen in the field.    "What is this I hear about your Mary?" said the squire.
   "Aye," said John. "It has been an awful shock. A little one at her age. We've decided it is best she goes north to her sister's. Our Catherine's going too, to see to her mother's comfort."
   "How will you manage without them?" said the squire.
   "We've got Thomas' daughter, Sarah, coming. She's a good girl and can see to the house. Her younger sister'll help mind the little ones. We'll get by, no doubt."

---

   David Denman lay resting in the chair next to the fire in the parlour, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The late afternoon light of the spring day made pale work of the cheek not turned to the heat. His eyes glazed over from the warmth, as he peered at the fire.
   Squire Denman stood at the window, his hands behind his back. Hints of red and gold were disappearing over the horizon, leaving tree tops silhouetted against the glowing sky. He suddenly spoke into the silence.
   "You have been married a year now, David, and I do not see any sign of an heir."
   David continued looking into the fire and did not reply.
   The squire turned abruptly and walked over to the fire. "Why have you allowed Isabella to go to London?"
   "I will ride up and see her when I can. She is used to going to London with her family and I have no interest in keeping her prisoner."
   "Are you mad? A young bride in London without her husband? It will be a scandal," said the squire, sitting heavily in the empty chair.
   "Frankly, father, I do not care. I will do as I please – without reference to you."
   The squire sat still for several minutes, staring across at his son without blinking. He then looked down and crossed his fingers, squeezing them tightly until the back of his hands went white. "If you will not do your duty, then I will do it for you," he said quietly, not looking up.
   David turned on his father with a scowl. "You disgust me." He looked away into the fading light; the legs of the writing table were disappearing into the darkness. It was time for the servants to light the candles. "What would mother think?" he said, looking at his father. "Oh yes, I forgot, she would approve of that too."
   The squire put his head down, rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. The butler came in and lit the candles; David reached for his book from the small table beside him. The two men sat in silence for a long while.
   There was a sudden knock at the door and the butler came in again. "Sorry to disturb you sir," he said.
   "What is it, Fawcett?" said the squire.
   "I am afraid I have unpleasant news, sir."
   "What is it? Is that scoundrel poaching on my land again?"
   "No, sir. It seems the young son of John Stanton has died, sir. It is possible he has been killed."
   The squire sat up. "Killed? The devil he has."
   "It seems the young girl, Sarah, was charged with looking after the child but went off for a few minutes, leaving the boy in the yard. When she returned the child was dead, sir. It looks as though he may have been suffocated. There is no other explanation for why the child should have died so suddenly."
   "What a damnable business," said the squire, tightening his forehead and turning to his son. "What do you make of it?"
   David was pale and staring at his father as if he'd been struck. His book lay on his lap where he'd dropped it.
   "What is the matter?" said the squire.
   David shook his head.
   The squire turned back to Fawcett. "Let me know if you hear anything further, Fawcett. I shall ride out tomorrow and see the family."
   "Very good, sir." He bowed and went out of the room.
   "Extraordinary business," said the squire, turning to David. "Surely, there can be nothing sinister in this. Why would anyone want the boy dead?"
   "You might be surprised, father," said David.
   The squire leaned back in his chair. "It is just as well Isabella is in London. She will be spared the unpleasantness of it."

---

   Edmond David Denman lay in the arms of Isabella, wriggling and gurgling in the fine woollen blanket that spilled out over his mother's arms. The warm spring sunshine drifted in through the large windows of the drawing room and fell on the cream carpet that lay beneath Isabella's feet. She stroked her son's face with her forefinger and touched his lips gently with the tip of her little finger.
   "Hello, beautiful," she said, peering with a broad smile close to his face. "You are a handsome boy, are you not?"
   David and the squire sat on the sofa opposite, their eyes intent on the child.
   "Come, father, you must be delighted," said David. "It is just what you wanted."
   The squire pierced his lips and drew his forehead in at the middle. "He doesn't look much like you, boy," he said.
   "Why should he?" said David. "Perhaps he looks like his mother."
   "Oh yes," said Isabella, sitting up straight as if to examine the child from a distance. "He's got my father's mouth. See? See his smile?" She gently wiped the top of his lips with her little finger. "Perhaps he'll have my father's sense of humour too." She turned to her husband and father-in-law and smiled gaily. "Hasn't everything turned out prettily?"

---

© Alison Marshall 2009

Post-course rave

It's Thursday night; I submitted my stories for my course exactly a week ago. As always, when I finish a course of study, I have loads of plans about what I will do when I'm free, but fail to get onto them for at least a week - if at all. This time, my plans were to start selling stuff out of the house in preparation for our move north, but I couldn't muster much enthusiasm. I've done some cleaning up, but mostly have enjoyed reading. Ironically, although the course encouraged reading, I did less and less as the course went on because I was so busy trying to write the stories.

Now, I think that I'd like to write some short stories and put them up on my blog. I'm just not sure though, with the move north and work, when I'll get time in the foreseeable future. There are other things I want to write about too; and the trouble is that I have so many things I want to write about that the ideas make a knot in my head. I'm going to have to work with Baha'u'llah on a strategy for untangling it so that I can actually produce something.

Beneath all that activity is a spiritual current that flows through me concerning the issue of suffering in this world. I realise that there is hardly a day goes by when I am not thinking about it. Perhaps the issue was driven home when I was expelled and, in addition, lost a lot of friends for various complex reasons. The whole experience taught me how alone I was in the world. Around the same time, my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and now, looking back after her death, I see that the last decade has been a very lonely and sad one for me.

During this time, I began to notice particularly passages in the writings where Baha'u'llah says things like this:

"Do not grieve over any matter, and be not perplexed at the adversities of this world. God shall send you forth in a station that is, in truth, exalted. For the world, its adornments and finery, shall pass away in less than the blink of an eye. Therefore, exert yourself in what will be everlasting for you in the highest kingdom, so that you will be safeguarded in the worlds of the spirit that revolve around the tree of immortality." Countenace of Love

And this was why I started talking about detachment. Baha'u'llah says here, and in many other places, that we shouldn't focus our attention on the ills of the world but on an eternal spiritual reality that floats beyond suffering and, indeed, all the qualities of this world. Suffering eventually passes away and what lives on is the effort we put in in the world of the spirit.

I find it impossible, though, not to grieve. The feeling came flooding back a couple of days ago (and hasn't completely gone), when I received a letter in the mail informing me that my dentist has been diagnosed with motor neurone disease. I wanted to cry, and still do if I let myself think about it. I also know that Baha'u'llah grieved, despite what he says above. There is one passage where he says he cried so much that his bed was drenched. ("Mine eyes have rained down tears until My bed is drenched" (Summons p132)) So I think his words aren't to be taken literally, for I think it is impossible not to feel sad about things that happen. I understand Baha'u'llah's point to be that we should keep our focus on the eternal and not allow ourselves to get lost on this world's stage by its dramatic forces. The eternal gives the finite a context and that context and its lesson is what we're here to learn.

I had a dream about my mother recently, which helped a lot. The dream was very simple: I watched my mother walk down the hallway of our old house, reading a book and holding a cup of tea. She didn't see me; she was engrossed in the book. Two things about the image were powerful and healing: first, mum could walk - I had not seen her walk for years; and second, she could read - I had not seen her read for years. In seeing her like that, I knew that she was healed from the Alzheimer's - something I needed because it tore my heart out seeing her so incapacitated. The image made me see the impermanence of what happens in this world, just as Baha'u'llah says. It was an image of the life beyond suffering, which he wants us to keep our eyes focused on.

Accepting one's own shortcomings

I think I've found a new theme to dwell on - accepting one's own shortcomings and limitations. Last week, I got, or thought I got, a parking ticket (I'm still not sure!). The meter maid was standing at the front of my car punching information into her black box when I walked up to the car. She had a stern look on her face. I smiled at her, taking it lightly, and used one of Steve's favourite expressions: "Missed it by that much!" But she was in no mood for laughing and preached to me about parking on clear ways. I missed out on being towed away. As I was driving home, I could see the meter maid's stern look in my mind's eye and thought: Surely, it should have been me looking sad and her smiling. But, I guess, she's been doing her job long enough now that it's got to her and she has taken on the persona of the gruff mistress.

As for me, I'm trying to shed thick layers of guilt. As I drove home, I thought about how I used to be, how I would once have reacted in that situation. I would have beaten myself up. I've spent 40 years beating myself up for pretty much anything that has gone wrong. But this time, I thought: No, I'm not going to do that. I know I'm not perfect; things go wrong; sometimes they can be helped and sometimes not. But I'm not going to get down about it. I am going to be happy and stay that way. So there! This new way of looking at things is made a whole lot easier by having a husband who has this attitude to life already. Steve is certainly an important influence on me over this issue. In fact, he likes to make fun of me and my self-flagellating states. (He also has a hoot over my spelling.)

I wondered how I ever got into that way of being. I put a lot of it down to my father. One of my earliest memories of him was when I was very little and he and I were on the outside step off the kitchen. The cat's saucer sat on the concrete path and had milk in it. Somehow, I managed to knock the saucer and spill the milk. My father smacked me. I have never forgotten it. It taught me that there was no such thing as a mishap, no such thing as inadvertently doing something without guilty intention. Whatever the circumstances, I was wrong and bad. You can see why I feared my father! Actually, to be fair, I think that was the only time he ever hit me. But he had a huge temper.

I know the behaviour of beating up on myself goes way back because a teacher who taught me when I was about 8 or 9 years old told me a few years ago that I was far too hard on myself and would do better in life if I lightened up. It's a paradox, I think. I have been hard on myself thinking that this was how to be righteous and how to produce excellence. But what I've ended up doing is paralysing myself with hyper-critical voices.

This is where Baha'u'llah comes in. He is my father now and what he says goes. I have been particuarly influenced by the words he uses in his Tablet on the Birth of the Greatest Name II:

"During this night, the oceans of forgiveness have surged and the breezes of divine bestowals were wafted. Therefore, rejoice with exceeding gladness, O companions of the All-Merciful! On this night, all the sins of mankind have been forgiven. This is a joyous message unto all created things!

Say: This, verily, is a night during which a pre-ordained measure of bounty and grace hath been decreed in the Scrolls of celestial glory and certitude, so that sorrow may be dispelled from all created things forever more. Therefore, rejoice in thy hearts, O ye who hath entered the realms of being and creation!"

When I read that, I know Baha'u'llah isn't interested in holding against me my petty shortcomings. What he's interested in is making everyone happy by announcing his coming and telling us that God has bathed us all in an ocean of forgiveness and joy. He wants us radiant, not mooching around miserable - especially not about little things that don't matter. Often, now, I think about the decades of my life that I have spent sunk in depression, caused by these messages I got when I was young about being responsible for everything and everyone. I felt a crushing burden that I could never be what was required of me. It's no wonder I was reluctant to take up tasks and felt as though I was not capable of carrying them out.

Actually, there is a passage in Prayers and Meditations somewhere (I'm not sure I could find it easily), where Baha'u'llah actually thanks God for our shortcomings because they are a vehicle by which we get to know God better.

Work and joy

I've been under a cloud the last couple of weeks. Steve went away for 10 days early in May and I used the quiet time to work on a story for my course. But then I was thrown when my aunt died and I had to go to Christchurch. When I came back, I felt pressured because I needed to write another story for the course, plus I was expecting a large document to edit for a client. So I knuckled under and worked on the story. But this was the third story I had written for the course and, in addition to the many writing exercises, I was running out of steam. And that's what I hated most, feeling like I had to write a story because the course required it. I felt like I was being dragged down into the same old grind that I'm desperate to keep out of. I said here last year that I felt like I'd turned my life into a chore. I'm terrified of doing that again.

But I'm feeling better now. I rain has stopped! We had non-stop misery weather for something like two weeks. Rain and snow. No sun. Then three days ago, the sun came out, all day. But it isn't just the sun. I am close to finishing the first draft of the story and I now know the course deadline for my stories - June 19. It'll be all over then.

And so now that the course is nearing the end, I want to take stock of where I am. I feel very pleased I took the course. When I started, I had no idea how to write fiction. Now I feel I've learned the basics and know what I need to do to get better. I hope to keep writing stories as my life progresses. I need an ongoing creative pursuit. It comes down to the principle Baha'u'llah gives us regarding work. He says we should have an occupation so that we do not dwell on the unpleasant things of life.

Concerning thine own affairs, if thou wouldst content thyself with whatever might come to pass it would be praiseworthy. To engage in some profession is highly commendable, for when occupied with work one is less likely to dwell on the unpleasant aspects of life. God willing thou mayest experience joy and radiance, gladness and exultation in any city or land where thou mayest happen to sojourn. (Baha'u'llah: Tablets of Baha'u'llah, p175)

This is what I'm focused on now - achieving the state Baha'u'llah describes here. As you know, I've spent years wrestling with the Protestant work ethic and have renounced it as a path that leads one away from God not toward God. I think that, at root, it sets up work as a partner to God. It says 'work is God', not 'work is worship'. For, if my experience is anyting to go by, the ethic leads to a stressful state that doesn't allow for a healthy devotional life. I'm hyper-concerned about going back to that place.

When Ridvan came in April, I began focusing on reading Baha'u'llah's joyful declaratory tablets like Tablet of Ridvan (Gleanings XIV), Tablet of the Bell, and Tablet of the Deathless Youth. It's like the Hidden Words says "Rejoice in the gladness of thine heart, that thou mayest be worthy to meet Me and to mirror forth My beauty. (AHW 36) My goal should be joy at Baha'u'llah's coming, and work should be an expression of that joy. In my view, this is the highest expression of gratitude for Baha'u'llah's sacrifice in coming and the best way to help the Cause.

And so, back to creative writing, the good thing about writing stories is that it occupies my mind all the time of the day. I think about the plot and the phrases I'm using and so on - the art of getting clear images down in words. This 'work' keeps my mind occupied and stops me thinking about how dreadful the world is. But also, it stops me going into negative thought patterns that lead me back into depressive states. Yes, when I think about what Baha'u'llah says above, I think he realises that anyone who focused on the difficulties in life would end up depressed! Hence, he has given us work as a shield from that and, at the same time, as a method of worshipping God.

Moving north

As the saying goes, man schemes and God schemes and we all know who schemes better. I had hoped to sit down for four months and enjoy a quiet period where I could focus entirely on my fiction writing course. But God schemed and as it turned out my mother died during the fast of all things and I was inundated with family. Then last week, my aunt died - my mother's sister - who was like a mother to me. And so I travelled up to Christchurch to attend her funeral last weekend, which is why I've been so quiet here on my blog.

And now I'm having new thoughts about living in Dunedin. In the past nine months, Baha'u'llah has changed entirely the layout of my world. I have lost three 'mothers' - my step mother, last year, my mother in March and my aunt in May. With the death of my step mother, our family was able to wind up my father's estate. Now, I look around and feel like I have nothing left to keep me here in Dunedin. I said so to Steve and suggested we move up north to settle close to his parents, something he always wanted to do at some stage. So it was agreed. We will go just as soon as we can clean this place up and find ourselves something suitable in Northland.

All this has unsettled me greatly. The uncertainty has got me wondering which direction I'm looking in. I am therefore looking forward to the end of the course because I'm finding it difficult to focus on the writing right now. I feel like I need to get to work and prepare for the great move north. But I expect that feeling will dissipate as time moves on and I get used to the idea of shifting.

Manifesting change and zombie mayhem

For my course on writing fiction, I've had a crash course on plot. What is plot exactly? Admittedly, I’m no literary critic, or even widely read on the subject; in fact, I've only read what Janet Burroway says about plot (chapter 7) in her book "Writing fiction" (2007). But it's very good and it has helped me understand the basic concepts, which are probably beyond dispute anyway.

In the first sections of the chapter, Janet explains the crucial elements of plot; without them, you don't have a real story in the fiction sense, more just a retelling of events (usually chronologically). The problem with the mere retelling of events is that it's boring and no one will buy your book. If you want people to read what you've written, you need a plot to keep them turning the page.

Janet summaries plot in various ways but the fundamental one she uses is: conflict, crisis, and resolution. The story introduces and develops a conflict, then the conflict winds up to a 'crisis action' - that's the very last thing that can happen before a change becomes inevitable one way or the other. The change on the other side of the crisis action is the resolution. Janet explains that some authors, such Ursula Le Guin, rejected the idea that fiction was all about conflict in the sense of a war or power struggle. Janet quotes Ursula:

"People are cross-grained, aggressive, and full of trouble, the storytellers tell us; people fight themselves and one another, and their stories are full of their struggles. But to say that that is the story is to use one aspect of existence, conflict, to subsume all other aspects, many of which it does not include and does not comprehend." (quoted on page 267)

I was hugely relieved to read that. I love movies of which most people would say 'nothing happens'. But to me, a great deal happens.

Janet goes on to examine the plot process in terms of connection and disconnection. This idea was given to her by dramatist Claudia Johnson. From this perspective, "narrative is also driven by a pattern of connection and disconnection between characters that is the main source of its emotional effect."(p267) Characters move about within the confines of the conflict, but beneath that they are forming and breaking connections with each other, and it's this "emotional tide" that keeps us linked in. Without it, the conflict-crisis process is shallow - which is what I would say about many popular movies. Characters are all attacking and plotting against each other, but who cares? What's the point? I try not to think about the fact that I'm in a minority over this one. They wouldn't make these movies if they didn't make loads of dough from them. The worst moment was finding out that someone had introduced zombies into Pride and Prejudice, and the book had shot up to the ten most popular books sold on Amazon.

“Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” — which bills itself as “The Classic Regency Romance, Now With Ultraviolent Zombie Mayhem!” — has rocketed to the Top 10 on Amazon’s best-seller list by grabbing on to two hot trends.
Mr. Darcy Woos Elizabeth Bennet While Zombies Attack

Given that the Baha'i administration is keen on getting the numbers in, above all else including being true to the revelation, perhaps they could try zombies! It's a sure thing.

I digress. The point I wanted to make about this issue of plot came to me a few pages on in Janet's book on page 272. She is discussing the crucial issue of change; there must a significant change in the main character, which is the point of the story. Without the change, well, nothing has happened. James Joyce, she tells us, described this change as an "epiphany".

"As Joyce saw it, epiphany is a crisis action in the mind, a moment when a person, an event, or a thing is seen in a light so new that it is as if it has never been seen before. At this recognition, the mental landscape of the viewer is permanently changed." (page 272)

Janet rightly goes on to point out that the dictionary definition of 'epiphany' is "a manifestation of a supernatural being".

"Ah ha!" says Alison to herself, as her eyes bulge, "we've got the Big B in here now. I knew he'd be at the heart of this fiction business somewhere."

And the crucial point Janet makes is that the crisis action of a plot must be manifested. In other words, when the character is facing the crucial moment of their lives, the life-changing event, the author commits a sin if they describe that action in summary form, and not in a scene where you get to watch it unfold; for example, if the action occurs off-stage, as in a play. Here you are, the reader, waiting for the crucial moment that's going to change this character forever and what happens, you don't even get to see it!

But what's the origin of this principle? God and the concept of manifestation. Just ask Baha'u'llah and he'll tell you that he's the origin of all knowledge. And so it is here, the archetypal story of the manifestation. God wants to renew creation periodically - in fiction terms, have the world undergo a significant change. Does God wimp out and put the crisis action off-stage? Heavens no, which is why plot is the way it is. God sends a manifestation of the Divine, who acts in the world for all to see. I would say that the whole of the life of the manifestation is the crisis action of a revelation. After that, you have permanent change, even though people don't immediately realise it.

And here's where the concept of 'recognition' comes in. The key thing we as humans have to do in life is to 'recognise' the manifestation. In doing this, we are reading God's book with God's plot, and we've recognised the change that God has brought about by it.

And, if you're keen on zombies, there's plenty in God's mega-story for you; there's even ultra-violent zombie mayhem.

The principle of virtues

Sometime back, I was raving on to Steve about a passage from Tablet to the Son, in which Baha'u'llah states what is the fundamental principle of his revelation. After reading this passage, I suddenly remembered how the Baha'is like to say that the fundamental principle of the Baha'i revelation is unity (never mind what that means). But unity isn't what Baha'u'llah identifies in this passage - he says it is virtue.

"Note that what appeared was virtues, of which all remained ignorant." para 8, Tablet of the Son

This statement comes in the middle of a fascinating passage, which most Baha'is are, unfortunately, unfamiliar with. In paragraph 6, Baha'u'llah is lamenting the fact that the world is full of people who imagine they have attained mystical insight into God and then imagine that God is like them. He prays that God might cause the people to recognise themselves, which would enable them to distinguish themselves from God. If they could distinguish God from themselves - which, presumably, would enable them to see God better - they would be able to work out the purpose behind the verses, and hence recognise each new manifestation.

"The people have been stricken with an illness... This epidemic consists in people believing that they have attained mystical insight, and then supposing that God is like them. Today, most are afflicted with this disease... Beseech God to render hearts pure and eyes sharp, so that they might perhaps recognize themselves, and distinguish between themselves and God. Thus might they discern God's purpose in the revealed verses. If the peoples had understood the divine purpose, they would not have remained veiled at the moment of revelation." (para 6)

Baha'u'llah goes on in paragraph 7 to say that the Muslims never understood their scripture and this meant that they did not recognise the Bab when he appeared in the year 60. But then he, Baha'u'llah, came and washed everyone clean in a great celestial river.

"The dust of misconceptions and the clay of illusions prevented all humankind from attaining the panorama of divine unity, until the greatest purifier arrived and washed the people with the most cleansed of celestial rivers, calling them to the radiant countenance and informing them of the good news."

This leads into the first sentence of the next paragraph (para 8), which I quoted above. "Note that what appeared was virtues, of which all remained ignorant." In other words, what appeared with Baha'u'llah was virtues. He explains that it is true that virtues were also a part of previous revelations, but they gain a new meaning when they are renewed with a new revelation. This principle applies to all concepts associated with religion. He gives the example of the concepts of "mystical insight" and "monotheism". They all gain a new meaning with each new revelation. "For if God speaks a word today that comes to be on the lips of all the people, before and after, that word will be new, if you only think about it." (para 9)

In the first sentence of paragraph 12, Baha'u'llah says that we must look at the basic principle of each revelation and not allow ourselves to be distracted over this by the opinions of those held out by the people to be wise. "One must look at the basic principle of the cause of God, not at the high or low levels of verbal insight that have been achieved among the people." And so, as stated above, Baha'u'llah clearly states that the principle that arose with the Baha'i revelation was virtues. He also tells us that the principle favoured by God in the Muhummadan revelation was the state of transcendence and abstraction.

"In the dispensations of the Qur'an and the Bayan, the divine will preferred pure transcendence and absolute sanctification. For this reason, the brilliance of these utterances has established itself and become apparent in the hearts of the believers." (para 11)

When I think about virtues, I recall that, right up into the 1990s, Baha'is would say that what believers must endeavour to do is reflect the virtues of God. I don't hear talk like that any more. It's all about unity, and that's interpreted to mean that believers must reflect the attributes of their religious leaders - good or bad - for the sake of unity. Talk about having the disease of thinking that God is like you!

I get an idea of what Baha'u'llah means by 'virtues' from the following Persian hidden word:

"O son of my handmaid! Guidance hath ever been given by words, and now it is given by deeds. Every one must show forth deeds that are pure and holy, for words are the property of all alike, whereas such deeds as these belong only to Our loved ones." (PHW 76)

As I understand it, the new principle of virtues is the death-knell for hypocrisy. That's why I think President Obama is likely to find solutions that seemed intractable to President Bush. President Bush's motive was always expediency, not virtue for virtue's sake. And he achieved nothing, for nothing is achieved without the permission of God, and God has set the standard if you want to achieve things in this day.

It may be that those with questionable motives used to achieve their goals in previous revelations, I don't know. Perhaps, back then, one could get somewhere by sheer force of will, rather than by virtue. But I understand Baha'u'llah to be saying that he has put an end to that state of things. Now, if you want to prevail, you must do the inner work. This is the fundamental flaw of the new global teaching campaign. It is run on the force of will and numbers, not on the power of virtue and quality.