In time these three subjects, indeed each of the social sciences and humanities which I feel some level of confidence to discuss, as a non-specialist, will have their own special section on this website. Such is my hope after more than ten years of having my own website. These are disciplines which captured my interest as an adolescent and in the years of my early adulthood(20-40) and the interest has remained. Although my knowledge deeepened in these fields in my middle and late adulthood, helped along by teaching them in technical and further education colleges as well as colleges of advanced educaton and, for a short time, in two universities, I always remained far, far from any sense of having attained to what one might call a reasonable degree of "comprehensive knowledge" in any of these fields. They became fields that burgeoned in the 20th century, in my time and before. Even if one sat around reading from dawn to dusk and had a photographic memory one could never achieve any comprehensive knowledge, except in a very limited sense, in just one of the fields. And so, this particular section will serve as a bit of a catch-all, at least for these three disciplines.

At the core of any of my understandings in philosophy, sociology, psychology as well as the social sciences and humanities in general, is a life of activity in the Baha’i Administrative Order. As the Universal House of Justice expressed it in a letter to the American Baha’is in 1988 about freedom and authority in the Baha’i community, this Order provides the very "structure of freedom for our Age," albeit for a still small section of humanity, about one in one thousand. At the core of my understandings of these disciplines is also a lifetime--some forty years--of work as a teacher and half a century of an extensive personal reading program: 1958 to 2008, puberty to the early years of my late adulthood.

Here are some prose-poems very broadly related to social science perspectives and some of my understandings of the Baha'i Faith in relation to these perspectives.



Since first coming in contact with the Baha'i Faith in 1953 I have seen much that was impressive and much that brought delight, as well as a long list of weaknesses and shortcomings, in its adherents. I have come to experience them as a fascinating mixture of humanity. This, of course, is true both of those I have known in this Cause and out. I have seen a certain charm and genius in her beautiful and commodious temples and administrative buildings around the world; I have enjoyed the hospitality and human contact with many of her believers in their homes across two continents; I have come to enrich my life through reading the literature of this Faith and appreciating its beauty and wisdom. In the process I travelled across wide rivers, seas and oceans, enjoyed fertile fields, boundless forests and mountains, and experienced the pleasures of many of the world's cities and towns. But not until I ceased to look at the words and deeds of my fellow mortals as a standard for the true understanding of the nature of God and of ultimate reality; not until I began to see the metaphorical nature of spiritual and physical reality, did I even begin to acquire a sense of certitude, a sense of a home, a home that was not always comfortable, for my doubts, my questions and my ponderings on the enigmas and pardoxes of life. I felt, as I approached the age of sixty and the years of my late adulthood(60 to 80), after more than half a century of an association with a Movement that claimed to be the newest of the great religions of history, that I had, indeed, become the recipient of a "grace that is infinite and unseen."1 Was it an unmerited grace that I felt, that was the source of these inner feelings and thoughts? I suppose it was many things; it was certainly a mysterious, a wondrous, process. -Ron Price, Pioneering Over Four Epochs, 8 October 2002; and 1Baha'u'llah, The Book of Certitude, Wilmette, 1950, p.3.


Was it grace that brought years of success

and a power beyond anything I had known?

Was it grace that brought more anxiety and

pain than I had thought life could ever give?


Was it grace, infinite and unseen, that brought

these effulgent glories and that will take me,

one day, to the abode of an immortality that

is so utterly mysterious and that, all being well,

will flood my heart with light and will refresh my

spirit with musk-scented winds from that Realm?

Ron Price

7 October 2002


Sociologist Zygmunt Bauman writes that "the point of gravity in spatial organization has been shifted from the question 'Who?' to the question 'From what point in space?'…There must be or should be, therefore, a certain privileged point from which the best perception can be attained…..the best mean(ing)…..supra-personal…capable of accomplishing the miracle, of rising above, and overcoming, its own endemic relativity."1 Bauman's words reminded me of Canadian sociologist Hoonaard's closing two sentences in his history of the Baha'i community of Canada. He wrote that we need to see new religious movements from an international perspective not from the point of view of their local strength.2 -Ron Price with thanks to 1Zygmunt Bauman, Globalization: The Human Consequences, Polity Press, Oxford, 1998, p. 32 and Will van den Hoonaard, The Origins of the Baha'i Community of Canada, 1898-1948, Wilfred Laurier Press, 1996, p.296.


The artistry of God beginning with holy dust

at the centre of nine concentric circles,

supra-personal, intimately spiritual,

holy-of-holies, awe-inspiring and yet,

paradoxically, with immense obscurity,

complexity, paralysis, tyranny and anarchy.

Freshness of vitality, coherence of understanding,

dynamic links, a change of time, a new state of mind,

the earth astir with deeper penetration, greater synchronizing,

crystallized sharing of a divinely driven enterprize and this Bread of Life.

Ron Price

14 September 2002



The nineteenth century philosopher Arthur Shopenhauer thought that the experience of the sublime could be obtained only at times of contemplation when the will was made to stand still and be quiet. Since so many millions are not capable of achieving the sublime in this way and need some kind of "stimulation" or "activity," civilization results in heightened barbarism. Some thinkers thought this tendency to barbarism and its violence could be countered by heightened sympathy and love. Perhaps this dichotomy is part of the basis for what Shoghi Effendi calls the integrating and disintegrating forces of our age. I'm not sure. Certainly the question of social control or social order is the primary problem presented to the social sciences by society for solution. The 'answer' to this issue, for Shopenhauer among others, can be found in their total vision of the human being and in the sociological and psychological, the distinctive and compelling, landscapes they create. -Ron Price with thanks to Stjepan G. Mestrovic, The Barbarian Temperament: Toward a Postmodern Critical Theory, Routledge, London, 1993.

This poetry creates a landscape

viewed at distance or close hand.

I wonder if my soul is here amidst

these words like sand they stand.


Belief creates a river and a mountain range,

viewed at distance their size is small, but close

they're rich, mysteriously deep and wondrously tall.

The days of life add up to make a painting or a book

and their loudest place I fill in the cellars of my soul

where they still take their toll, though long licensed....

to be still.


Ron Price

21 September 2002


I first came across the ideas of sociologist Emile Durkheim while studying sociology at university from 1963 to 1967. Many of his ideas I have always thought were relevant to a Baha'i perspective. One thing he wrote certainly reflects my experience of intellectual, artistic and literary pursuits, what 'Abdu'l-Baha called "learning and the cultural attainments of the mind." Just as Baha'i administration was taking its first form under the guidance of Shoghi Effendi in the 1920s, Durkheim wrote that "the love of art, the predilection for artistic joys, is accompanied by a certain aptitude for getting outside ourselves, a certain detachment or disinterestedness….We lose sight of our surroundings, our ordinary cares, our immediate interests. Indeed, this is the essence of the healing power of art. Art consoles us because it turns us away from ourselves."

After forty years of pioneering

I find here my peace and supper

as if after a long day's work. Yes,

Emile, this is its own reward, yes!


Just a simple artistry in these poems,

part of my search for the right idiom

and the best ways of meet life's lot.


I do not feel like Frost, stricken,

intensely conscious, suspicious of

my struggle. A healing came, to me,

at last, and all that gloom, obsession,

temper, rage, depression softened

with the years and easy sleep

without the pain dulled, at last,

life's sharp and ragged edges.


And my style could lighten, take an easier road

without that heat and the tortuous heavy load.

Ron Price

22 September 2002



Without life's struggle and its sharp edges, there would often be no poetry. Paglia writes about this in her analysis of Emily Dickinson and her poetry. Dickinson's struggle, Paglia writes, is with God and with society.1 The following poem takes the theme of struggle from Dickinson's poem number 928 and turns it into a product of my own experience, understanding and struggle. My poetry, without doubt, profits from the great disparity between the Baha'i ideals and practice both personal and community, on the one hand, and between the immense beauty and complexity of this religion I have been associated with for half a century and the discouragingly meagre response of my society. I have whisked this discouragement and disillusionment into abstract and not-so-abstract poetry. I whisk it, not into the frigid, godless universe that the great poet Wallace Stevens conceived it, nor into the empty and absurd one as Kafka defined it. I whisked these and other tensions of life into a form that Baha'is all around the world are creating--a new world Order. I try to sort it all out drawing on "new faculties"2 created by the writings of Baha'i Scripture. While I do this whisking, I sometimes feel a great weight and a fatigue and sometimes feel a sense of wonder and awe. -Ron Price with thanks to 1Camille Paglia, Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson, Vintage Books, NY, 1991, p.653; and 2 Horace Holley quoted in The Ocean of His Words, John Hatcher, Wilmette, 1997, p.3.


The heart sits quietly on the shore

just above the waves. Sometimes

it's calm; it does not stir.

There is a peace it saves.


It saves that peace for troubled times

when devastation hits the heart and then

one waits mysteriously for a divine power

to impart.1 With this aid one reconstructs

that place along the shore. To heal a heart

convulsed, is often like trying to win a war.


Often on one's journey long a tempest

violence heaves, demolishing all calm

walls like a pile of wind-blown leaves.

 For divine power does not leave the soul

beyond turmoil; wind-blown leaves and

life's fatigue is part of soul's good soil. 

1 Shoghi Effendi, God Passes by, Introduction.

Ron Price

24 February 2002



In the early years of my pioneering life, beginning perhaps as early as 1964 living in Hamilton Ontario at the far west end of Lake Ontario, until my second or third year in Ballarat Victoria in 1977-8, I read every book written by Eric Fromm. He was a theorist that brought other theories together: Freud, Adler, Horney, Marx. He was part humanist, part Marxist, part Freudian, a large part existentialist. I read at least seven of his books, perhaps more, during these years. I remember trying to connect the Baha’i teachings to the ideas of this eclectic, synthesizing psychologist who argued that, among other things, one’s identity and rootedness come from one’s religion, one’s development as a person comes from a religious framework and philosophy, one’s choices not one’s memories block one's development and the aim of one’s life is to live intensely. I read and reread this stimulating psychoanalyst. He seemed to be saying so many things that my religion espoused in different ways with different words; things like: the psyche adapts to the dominant sociopolitical structure of society; character is the result of our solution to and resolution of existential needs for survival, relatedness, expression and meaning, character shapes instincts; and we need hope as well as spiritual teachers. -Ron Price with thanks to Michael Maccoby, "The Two Voices of Erich Fromm: The Prophetic and the Analytic," Society, July/August, 2001, Internet, 25 November 2001, pp. 1-16.


We have the inverse of Christianity here:

not the individual changing society,

but society changing the individual.

I knew he was on to something;

it was just too good to be true.


The messianic view of history was here;

many words about liberation, the paradox

was kept before our eyes: that we were

the most important thing in the universe

but powerlessness, humility was our reality

before that utterly Unknowable Essence.


There was a great split between

the ideal and the actual in life,

much of which we had to accept.

There was a dialogue with Fromm,

with the Central Figures of my Faith

for a dozen years in hot Canadian summers

and hotter Australian summers as I tried to

sort out the dynamics, the intellectual parameters,

the paradigmatic shifts and bases of a new religion

that was emerging slowly from its chrysalis, from its

obscurity into the glaring light of public recognition.

Ron Price

26 November 2001



Some of the last writings of Erich Fromm were published in 1994 in a book The Art of Listening, some fourteen years after he died and nearly forty after I first read his writings. I came across this book just the other day and I gobbled it up. I'd always loved Erich Fromm. He'd been with me for most of my pioneering journey, but I had not read one of his books for twenty years, since the late 1970s with his To Have or To Be. The following poem is a reflection on some of Fromm's ideas in this new book. In particular, he tells me in his clear and easy prose, that I should not take an inordinate interest in myself. Interest in oneself, concentration on one's own problems, "should and must go together with an increasing enlargement and intensification of one's interest in life,"1 in music, the arts, walking, the great ideas, the best of what has been written and thought. Only then do we come to form a set of directions, goals, values and convictions "which are not put in oneself by others."2 For the general goal is to penetrate through the surface of life "to the roots of existence."3 -Ron Price with thanks to Erich Fromm, The Art of Listening, Constable, London, 1994, 1p.166, 2p.167 and 3p.171,

We all must overcome our narcissism;

we must struggle with it, understand it;

it's a lifelong task this battle with self,

the insistent self, He called it. And I'm

not talking about that affirmative, loving,

attitude towards oneself called self-love.


And one must recognize the non-experiences

that people, here, call parties1 where there is

no closeness, just a three-ring-circus, short

conversational concentrations, throw-away

one-liners, smiles and chuckles, endless edibles

and drinks, enough to float away on, leaving

your brain completely drained, a deep-emptiness,

as if you've been to a war, not of guns and swords,

but words, popping all over like those cap-guns

you used to buy as a kid which never made

anything happen, just a lot of strikes and sounds

signifying nothing at all to the last syllable of

recorded time—making our yesterdays just

lighted fools on the way to dusty, arid death.

1 Fromm describes this 'American habit'(ibid., p. 178), but it is found here in Australia and approached with the same enthusiasm.

Ron Price

8 December 2001



The sociologist, philosopher, Jurgen Habermas, the major writer, the inheritor of the mantle of the tradition of 'critical theory' in sociology, writes in a useful way for the poet, at least this poet. Habermas says that narrative makes it possible for people to create coherent scenarios, for groups and individuals to define themselves. I do this in my poetry and in my prose. There is, too, he writes, an emancipatory potential in social analysis. Much of my writing is social analysis. Habermas argues that our "lifeworld" is "colonized through rational, purposively organized, system imperatives." My lifeworld, as expressed in my poetry, is colonized by the system imperatives of my own life, my society and my religion. "The exercise of our ability to communicate," Habermas says, "is part of and constitutes our consciousness." I see my writing as a form of this "exercise of my ability." -Ron Price with thanks to Jurgen Habermas, "The Tasks of A Critical Theory," Notes from 'Sociology for Human Service Workers,' Ron Price, Thornlie Tafe, 1998.

The project of the Enlightenment:

to ground our world, our society,

in a secularized, non-metaphysical,

non-religious ethic--has failed.

Still, you1 are trying, passionately,

in your massive corpus, your science

for a crisis, your sociology’s interpretive

schemata with your dialogue partners

all the way back to Marx, to overcome

this problem......so am I, passionately,

in my own massive corpus, my religion

for a crisis, my poetry par excellence,

my interpretive schemata, with my dialogue

partners going all the way back to Shaykh

Ahmad and the Bab, to overcome the crisis

of our times and set the foundation

for the Kingdom of God on earth.

1 Jurgen Habermas

Ron Price

19 October 2001



The philosopher Ayn Rand(1905-1982) had a conception of art that has some parallels to my view of poetry. Both of us see artistic expression, and hence poetry, as the concretization of the widest metaphysical abstractions and of our own particular philosophy; as broad brush strokes that assist in developing an integrated world view; as an exercise in contemplation; as an art form which depends not on the extent of our knowledge but on the means by which we acquire it; as a form whose value lies primarily in the process of cognitive integration it affords, as the mechanism, the means, for providing an integrated view of existence; as an art form whose sense of life is the product of philosophic conclusions; as an art which offers "life-giving fact" and "moments of metaphysical joy and of love for existence," which confirms our view of existence;" as something which satisfies the needs of our cognitive faculty; as an indispensable medium for the communication of a moral ideal; as an activity in which one can learn a great deal about life; as something that induces a sense of life through the work itself; as an act whose roots lie in the nature and requirements of our mind and in an objectification of our view of man and of existence. -Ron Price with thanks to Michelle Marder Kambi and Louis Torres, "Critical Neglect of Ayn Rand's Theory of Art," The Journal of Ayn Rand Studies, Vol.2 No.1, Fall 2000, pp.1-46.

Seeking a quiet place

and, then, a quieter place

for this profoundly satisfying

bit of philosophy made concrete,

point of sanity in an anarchic world.

With my broad and fine brush strokes

trying to bring it all together

in what you might call

cognitive integration,

with a sense of finding


moments of metaphysical joy,

of love for existence,

satisfying my cultural sensibilities

and the requirements of my mind

defining that integrated world view

that I became associated with

insensibly in those years

when Lenny Bruce was writing

about how to talk dirty and influence people.1

and the average American family

was consuming about 1000 cans

of food each year and new teflon pans.2

1 Bruce, a popular commedian of the time, published a book by this name in 1962.

2 Teflon pans went on sale in December 1960.


Ron Price

25 October 2001



A 'critical theory' of society emerged in June 1844 with the Economical and Philosophical Manuscripts of Karl Marx. Marx had been working on his Manuscripts in the months before and after the Bab's declaration to Mulla Husayn in May 1844. Critical theory lay dormant after 1848 until 1917. The term 'critical theory' was not coined, though, until 1930 by Max Horkheimer. The first systematic philosophy of history or social theory, the precursor to Marx's critical theory, was Hegel's. Put another way, "the methodological basis of the critical theory of society" is to be found in "the dialectical logic of George F. Hegel."1 Hegel's first major works in philosophy were composed after Shaykh Ahmad had arrived in Iran to continue his work as a precursor of the Bab. Hegel died in 1831, five years after Shaykh Ahmad's passing.

The entire history of critical theory, one of modern sociology's major theoretical orientations, has, for me, an interesting comparison and contrast, an interesting juxtaposition, with the history of the Babi and Baha'i religions and their precursors -Ron Price with thanks to 1R. George Kirkpatrick, George N. Katsiaficas, Mary Lou Emery, "Critical Theory and the Limits of Sociological Positivism," Transforming Sociology Series, Red Feather Institute, 1978, pp.1-21.

You1 got a new lease on life

in the late teens,

say 1917 to 1921,

when George Lukacs' work

History and Class Consciousness,

was published and promulgated,

when the Frankfurt School

was born with its centre

at Columbia by 1934.


We, too, were articulating

our architectural ediface,

our institutional framework

in these years up to the mid-'30s,

not on a Marxian foundation

as it was with you, with your critique,

but on an ediface of some 75 years

of infallible, authoritative, guidance.


Yes, our world collapsed in the trenches.

Liberalism had proved useless

and socialism's death knell

would be wrung.2

When all hope seemed lost

in that decade of disillusionment,3

critical theory was born anew.


And we had found our

institutional form, then.

In time, you had your Habermas4

and we had our House of Justice

to provide the context for the search,

the adequacy of perspective,

the blending and harmonizing

of salutary truths, the generation

of spiritual nerves and sinews,

tapping as they do

the roots of motivation

and the meaning of this Revelation.


1 Critical Theory

2 many sociologists have pointed out the end of socialism and liberalism, some say by the end of WWI, others by the end of WW2 and still others at various stages in the post-WWII period. Of course, there are many who still find hope in these 'isms. Perhaps what I say here is said in the booklet Baha'u'llah(p.1) a little differently: "a succession of ideological upheavals.....have exhausted themselves."

3 1930s

4 leading writer in 'critical theory.'


Ron Price

18 October 2001


In 1959, Alfred Ayer, the foremost advocate of logical positivism, published an anthology of essays written by bright men earlier in the century who had committed themselves to reconstructing philosophy uncontaminated by metaphysics. The book was called Logical Positivism. In the next three years several books were published demolishing the pretensions of positivism. Karl Popper's The Logic of Scientific Discovery, Thomas Kuhn's The Structure of Scientific Revolutions were two of these books. Philosophy swims in metaphysics like a fish swims in water. At the time, the years 1959 to 1962 being my first three as a Baha'i, I was beginning to swim in new metaphysical waters. I knew nothing of logical positivism or metaphysics, but I was clearly attracted to the poetry and the narrative I found in the Baha'i Faith. It was poetry and narrative that invited reflection on the nature of my culture and humanity itself. -Ron Price with thanks to Evan Cameron, "Post-Theory: Reconstructing Film Studies," Philosophy and Literature, Vol. 21, No.2, pp.492-494; and Hayden White, "The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality," Critical Inquiry, Summer 1981.

The story was simply there,

like life itself:




not really a problem,

rather--a solution.

Helped me translate

knowing into telling,

took my life, what I'd done

and fashioned a form,

structures of meaning,

but slowly, faintly, like a star.


The story was translated

into my world in southern Ontario

by the lake on Seneca Street

where I played baseball

without fundamental damage

to me or the story.


And so it was that I began that drama,

only possible with those whom

you share a common history,

a drama of the invisibility

of interior experience,

the place where feelings lie hidden

and we have few words, if any,

for what happens inside us,

where we feel defeat

at the problem's enormity,

where we have trouble naming what we see. ....Ron Price 7 September 2001 



Given the failure of humanity to respond to Baha’u’llah’s message or to respond only meagerly in Europe, North America and Australasia-those places where I have been involved in promulgating its teachings, I am inclined to agree, at least in part, with Wittgenstein who wrote in 1930 of "the terrible degeneration that had come over the human spirit in the previous century." Wittgenstein says his book is written to ‘the glory of God’, in order to have ‘a perspicuous view of the foundations of possible buildings’ and to help people acquire ‘the understanding that consists in seeing connections.’-Ron Price with thanks to Ray Monk, Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius, p.301.


Nearly all your writing-and mine-

are private conversations with ourselves;

and that degeneration you spoke of

has continued apace these past seventy years

in the midst of a rebirth, a regeneration.


And so I write, too, to the glory of God

in the midst of a series of testing experiences

needed, apparently, to weld the world

into a single people.


I write of a recreation and a reckoning.


Ron Price

18 September 1999



It’s been developing as a field of psychology along complex lines since Baha’u’llah passed away and His soul was able to "henceforth energize the whole earth to a degree unapproached at any stage in the course of its existence on this planet."1 The stress in this sub-field of psychology, this area of theory, is on: organic wholes, patterns, shapes, organizing perceptual patterns, the determining or causative nature of perception, perception’s central role in increasing awareness and hence energy and poetic insight, as far as this writer is concerned. Mental processes and organic wholes in Gestalt theory are seen as dynamic, structural units unique to each individual and much more than the sum of their parts. Complexity derives from differentiation not summation.-Ron Price with appreciation to Harry Helson, Collier’s Encyclopedia.Vol.11, pp.75-6; and 1 Shoghi Effendi, God Passes By, p.244.

The centre, here, of this perceptual whole,

is partly known and partly unknown,

the one out there in the holy seat, the Word

and a thousand perspectives, on a thousand

issues; and the other inside, as mysterious as God,

perhaps it is the indwelling God, valued, precious,

so remote with an ecstacy of perception coming at

the end, after the long road. The more I pursue

the prize, the more it increases in value, with eternity

my greatest Friend and poetry, an endless experiment

in the precarious world of spiritual possessions,

their fleeting perceptions, their transience,

their formlessness and the wondrous lustre

of their distilled essence, their gestalt.1

Ron Price

9 June 1999

1 Emily Dickinson, Perception and the Poet’s Quest, Greg Johnson, University of Alabama Press, 1985, p.117.



True address from God directs man into the place of lived speech, where the voices of the creatures grope past one another, and in their very missing of one another succeed in reaching the eternal partner. We are willed to a life of communion. Part of this communion is what addresses me, what occurs to me, a concrete world reality, a creation, that reaches out to me, as part of the world-happening. It is part of my road, it is on the road, to God. It includes the body politic. It is sometimes called the world. It can never be definitely formulated for it includes so much that is and by its very pervasiveness,extent and complexity, simply beyond formulation, description and understanding.

From all this world-happening, this participation in the body politic and in a world of solitude, a unified and responsible person, a unity of a lived life, of an emerging character as an organization of self-control, a system of interpenetrating habits arises. A unity of mankind can be created from this interaction but only if some noetic integrator, some agent, some philosophy, religion, some complex system of fixed and relative truth interpenetrates the world and comes down into the everyday.-Ron Price with thanks to Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, The Fontana Library,London, 1947, pp.9-146.

Men will yearn for the pure form,

a vision of the believing and hoping

generations of humankind, genuine

community which we are only at the

beginning of as process and which

seems to involve some tension, both

within and without: we are a problem

to ourselves. And poetry comes along

to announce that, in solitude, on the

narrowest ridge, the mind of man is

thinking of the Other, of Being,

of Something-Not-Itself,

of a perplexing presence, of being

visited, of blessedness, of Thou,

of an ancient eternity of essence.

Ron Price

14 June 1999



The individual, according to Carl Jung, is possessed of a set of mythic symbols that relate to him or her alone. They are the by-products of having a unique history.(1) Another way of conceptualizing this idea is in terms of the metaphorical nature of physical reality. In this scheme we each assign a meaning to individual objects that cross our path, from their mythic meanings to their more simple, practical and often quite unadorned meanings. Success for writers and poets is not measured by the popularity of what they write, but by meaning, inward feelings and the simple desire to keep writing. A proactive stance and attitude, a taking what comes that can’t be changed, a sensitive play and utilization of the dichotomies of solitude-social, nature-nurture and activity-passivity and what can be changed all become quite significant. One does not seek a balance; one seeks what seems appropriate, timely, suitable to the spectrum of needs, wants and complex motivations in both oneself and in others in one’s immediate sphere of social interaction.-Ron Price with thanks to (1) Jay Parini, John Steinbeck: A Biography, Heinemann, London, 1994, p. 135.

In Latin fictio means ‘shaping’,

fiction’s first meaning: shaping.

And so I shape. It’s all shaping,

life’s endless material into form,

small forms, page after page,

a literary whole, so many little

things and great vistas and a future

that has only had its first shaping:

a shaping that’s called vision.

Ron Price

15 June 1999


History is philosophy teaching by experience. -Carlyle in Fabricating History: English Writers on the French Revolution, , Barton Friedman, Princeton UP, 1988, p.17.

The essential quality of poetry is that it makes a new effort of attention, and ‘discovers’ a new world within the known world. -D.H. Lawrence in Acts of Attention: The Poems of D.H. Lawrence, Sandra Gilbert, Cornell UP, London, 1972, p.5.

Historical knowledge rendered meaningful

by conformity to some teleological model,

some linguistic construct which we actualize,

reconfigure as we read, shooting the present

with chips of messianic time, my consciousness

with ever higher levels of connectedness,

shooting my life with questions which recreate

some microcosm in its depth, breadth, beyond

the narrow, distorted into vistas, multiple dimensions,

in the theatre of eternity; for written history is always

‘history-for’, never divorced from complicating contexts,

condensed, chosen, displaced, elaborated, rationalized,

structured, emphasized, extrapolated, vantage-pointed,

like the images of a dream intending some manifest content,

some knowledgework, analogous to life: far beyond some

sequence of rosary beads, some simple linearity, neutral facticity.

Ron Price

22 October 1995


Poetry was always meant to be an instrument of immense power with a scarcely foreseeable but wholly positive future.

-Elizabeth Sewell, The Orphic Voice: Poetry and Natural History, Yale UP, New Haven, 1960, p.51.

A new Orpheus has come with golden touch

to soften steel and find the mystic bone,

to tame the tiger, uncover mysterious stone,

create new leviathan, to dance on sand,

to draw all things to Him, especially man.


This new Orpheus Who sings for all

to science, philosophy and poetry,

He has come and issued His clear call,

having been raised up by some

Most Great Spirit descended,

personated by a Maiden and I

have heard this Orpheus’ call.


It is this call that makes me yearn

toward a philosophic song and

cherish those times when time is reborn,

when a certain luminosity, deep coolness,

takes me back to myself, turning the visible

into the invisible and some inner breath.


The wondrous Orpheus of this new age

urges a harmony of science and poetry.

Dear Wordsworth in his The Prelude

did strike this harmonic chord and describe

an organic growth, its unity, timelessness

and ours in the exquisite chamber, the deep

recesses of my heart, the seat of the revelation

of the inner mysteries of Vision, of God, of Mystery.

It is here that we must free ourselves of the shadowy

and ephemeral attachments, to hear the piercing

sweetness of music unloosed when we free ourselves

of love and hate, detach and renounce and free our

tongues from excess or idle speech and imbue ourselves

with such a spirit of search that Orpheus, like some

Mystic Herald from the City of God, will endow us

with a new heart , a new mind, a new eye and a new ear

and we will gaze with the eye of God.

Ron Price

24 September 1995


We have here a centre of gravity, some ideal of the rounded fullness of life in all its variety, a normality, a natural condition in which men can feel easy and at home. There is something trusted and familiar here, an inner battle but not a man divided against himself, or against others, or against nature. There is skepticism here, deep and pervasive, necessary, a collirium. There is a single doctrine, a coherent conceptual schema which explains life and offers solutions to the human condition in all its staggering complexity. But it is not easy, not simple; it demands all we have as individuals and as a society. We have here a high idealism and the essence of pragmatism, an intellectualization of practice. We have a new, richer, deeper form of collective self-knowledge of what men are and can be. It is a branching out in a new direction, tidy in some ways, messy in others, still hesitant. It is not random, haphazard or chaotic, but there is tragedy here and a solemnity beneath the joy. There are many burning issues, but within a framework of conception, of definition, of order, of choice. There is something complete and cogent, growing and illuminated by a half-light, formidable and massive, yet unobtrusive and a symptom of a basic sanity in our time. -Ron Price with apprecation to Roger Hausheer for his Introduction to Against the Current: Essays in the History of Ideas-Isaiah Berlin, Hogarth Press, London, 1979, pp.13-53.

Here is a vision so novel,

so complex; here am I

spellbound in its grip,

in its constellation of forces,

in its richly suggestive doors

of perception, engendering

a perspective for what is

distinctive here, re-examining

the bases of modernity and

its underlying philosophy.


How can one sharply, succinctly,

say what is distinctive here?

Reason and revelation in an embrace

the like of which the world has never seen.

A vision of the world, unique, sublime,

relative to our age, in the words of

an incomparable, brilliant writer

now witnessing the triumph of civility

and we watch good men being made,

albeit slowly, in institutions, at last,

blessed, in a modern oasis amidst a sea

of aridity, imprecision, suspicion, technical

virtuosity, conformity, monotony, military--

industrial complexes, bureaucracy and

a craving for a new Gemeinschaft.


The crooked timber of humanity is being made

straight before our eyes in an amazingly complex

process while the heavy weight of recent centuries

of nationalism at last is loosened while we find

a true international friend in our own home.

Ron Price

1 December 1995


The act of intuition is...an act of perception whereby the content is formed....turned into form.....a work of art is essentially in the artist’s mind...there is an intuited Gestalt...there is contemplation of the complexities, simplicities, import....meaning is synthetically construed...there is candid envisagement....there is clarification and organization of the intuition.....In the process the reader’s imagination of external reality can, in fact, be shaped...a revelation can occur to the reader’s inner life....because of some fresh formulation of their felt life, life which is at the heart of their own culture.

-Susanne K. Langer, Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art Developed from Philosophy in a New Key, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, 1953, Chapters 20 and 21.

Thank you, Susanne, for helping me define

just what I am doing, trying to do,

as I write all these poems, trying to

express all this trying, this doing,

this feeling, this thinking, this imagining,

this memory, this intuiting, this defining,

this clarifying, this organizing, this shaping,

this formulating: to see with my own eyes

hear with my own ears know of my own

knowledge1, so that others may do the same.

1 Baha'u'llah, Hidden Words.

Ron Price

November 2001



By its definition, a world view and its complex of ideas, aspirations and feelings is necessarily highly unified and coherent: yet art is frequently the exact opposite, striving to depict the complexity and plenitude of life through an open-ended form saturated with different levels of meaning. This tension between a unity of world view and a richness of multiplicity finds expression in social life, in history, in philosophy. Much of the estrangement and alienation, the suffering, in our experience of everyday life finds its origins in this tension, this tension between world vision and coherence on the one hand and the bewildering variety of stuff in the everyday on the other. -Ron Price with thanks to Alan Swingewood, "Theories of Aesthetic Form", Sociological Poetics and Aesthetic Form, St. Martins Press, NY, 1987, pp.3-76.

There’s an act of confidence here

in the birth of this writer, this writing,

which is never born in the minds of

most men, but in that still-birth a breath

of freedom is still-born for me through others,

through the interpretive meaning and consumption

of the few, a precious few. Here lies its destination,

its real unity in a field of complex social forces,

out in the collectivity, complete at last, living,

used in one great swarm of culture, history

and individuality intersecting and creating

great art or nothingness in tradition’s acute

defining consciousness which is impossible

to assess except in a very limited way.


Here the reality of contemporaneity

places its poetry, seeks to rise above

any spurious unity and closure of an

official culture, and lives in a struggling,

striving community of doing, being and having.

Ron Price

14 September 1996



History, for the poet, is a series of snapshots with the poet in every scene.....Genuine narrative must (i) respect time, (ii) locate elements of private or collective struggle and (iii) observe without sentiment, escaping if it can the unconscious conventions of society. These are the basic elements of a genuine political consciousness. This consciousness is sensitive and enriched by a great wealth of science, philosophy, religion, in a word, culture. In this wondrous milieux is found the new poet. His home is one of solitude and inwardness, emotion and reason, many selves and many moods. -Ron Price with appreciation to Frederick Pollack, "Poetry and Politics" in Poetry After Modernism, Robert McDowell, editor, Story Line Press, Brownsville, Oregon, 1991.

Poetry is, in essence about something;

this poetry seeks a public voice

commensurate with its political

subject-matter. And, so, I try to connect

with other stories. What I create is a record

of oblique, hesitant approaches to a new politics,

a new stance and withdrawals from that stance.1

Ron Price

26 November 1996

1 Robert Lowell, major American poet of the 1950s and 1960s, wrote poetry that tried to be political in this way. See ibid., p.9. This describes, in some ways, my own poetics of the political and so I include Lowell’s view/words here.



Know thou of a truth that the soul, after its separation from the body, will continue to progress until it attaineth the presence of God, in a state and condition which neither the revolution of ages and centuries, nor the changes and chances of the world, can alter. -Baha’u’llah, Gleanings, p.155.

How is it that the same looking cells-

with the same genetic blueprint-

early in the development of the human

embryo become different tissues?

It’s one of the greatest puzzles in biology.

The recipies are genes; the cookbook

is the chromosomes and the chefs the

protein molecules on DNA which switch

genes on and off—so the story goes which

I read in some biology text—but I understand

it not....does anyone?


How is it that the same looking people

with the same basic human physiology

for the first phase of their existence-

some four score years and ten-

have such different soul experiences

after their separation from the body?

It’s one of the greatest puzzles in

the history of religion, philosophy

and theology. The recipies are the

specific theologies of the afterlife;

the cookbooks the Holy Writings

of the great religious traditions

and the chefs the prophetic Teachers.

Ron Price

4 January 1996



....the compound eye of the male horsefly....arrays about 7000 lenses in crystalline rows like a microscopic honeycomb....they register the movement of any visible object passing from lens to lens with such efficiency that a fly may accurately judge the speed of anything from the minute hand on a watch to a swooping bird or a flashing tail....This also explains why honeybees are particuarly attracted to flowers swaying across their line of sight. -Guy Murchie, The Seven Mysteries of Life: An Exploration in Science and Philosophy, Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston, 1978, p.184.

Have you ever wondered why

the cat and owl look straight ahead

and the rabbit and dear see sideways?

Their eyes are set stereoscopically

coorindinated ensuring 360 degree vision.


Have you ever wondered why

some human beings see truth

everywhere they look and others

seem to be blind as well as deaf?

They seem to have turned on the

lamp of search and striving, even

devotion to learning, turned on....


The owl can swivel its neck more

than a full circle in a tenth of a second.

The much-hunted woodcock has eyes

in the back of its head; a gecko’s eyes

look like four diamonds and kingfishers

have eight times as many cells in their

retinas to notice fish or mice for the great

downward swoop and the great catch.


Humankind is endowed with the

greatest of tools for the rational

faculty: the eye. He has eyes to

see but sees not and ears to hear

but hears not. He sees with the eyes

of his neighbour, but not his own eyes;

and knows from the knowledge of

others but not his own knowledge.

Ron Price

5 January 1996



We make these observations.....to open up lines of thought, to encourage a re-examination of the bases of modern society, and to engender a perspective for consideration of the distinctive features of the Order of Baha’u’llah. -The Universal House of Justice, Letter to the Baha’is of the United States of America, 29 December 1988, p. 6.

I have thought, for years, read and read

and read about the bases of society---

ancient and modern, stone age and

middle age---I’d like to summarize,

as difficult as that is, in a short poem

the fruit of many years of that labour:


It seems to me, there are two lines,

two pillars, two great edifaces,

of thought on which the whole

of society is based: traditional religious

and political thought. These traditions

are the bases of society everywhere

on earth---now, then and in future.


The perspective this basic understanding

engenders in considering the features of

the Order of Baha’u’llah is to see it as

grounded entirely in the Writings of its

Twin-Founders and Their appointed

Successors over a century and a half.


All the world of writing in political and

religious philosophy over the last two to

three millennia serves to help us examine

the bases of modern society and sharpen

our insights into the nature of this distinctive

Order and our own complex global world.


When one begins to look at these great systems

of political and religious thought one is faced with

an enormous corpus of material, enough to spend

one’s whole lifetime pouring over for points for

comparison and contrast with this new Order for

our day and for our survival into humankind’s future.

Ron Price

4 December 1996



Life is a dangerous bridegroom and to survive we need to approach each day as if we were going to war. We must take our battle to the very centre of the earth and defeat the right and left wings of the hosts of all the countries. We must be faithful to our principles. In these three sentences I have drawn on John Cowper Powys, ‘Abdu’l-Baha and Carl Von Clausewitz in an attempt to synthesize their attitude to life insofar as it is a struggle, as it is a war.-Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, December 15, 1996.

John Cowper Powys wrote a book

that came out in that Holy Year1

with a beautiful articulation of much

that is a Baha’i philosophy about:

driving off the evil of self-worship,

being a good companion to ourselves

accepting our loneliness, the power of

belief and wishful thinking, never getting

angry, laughing at life and ourselves,

travelling lightly and simply, keeping our

spirit up, as far as possible, drawing on

poetry to deal with those slings and arrows

of outrageous fortune and as a natural gesture

of both defiance and enjoyment, but still---

we must all decide what is this whole business.

Ron Price

15 December 1996

1 He finished the book in 1952 and it was published in 1953---In Spite Of: A Philosophy for Everyone. That Holy Year spanned November 1952 to November 1953.



Dante had at his disposal a comprehensive and intellectually consistent image of the cosmos and its relationship to God.

-Harold L. Weatherby, The Keen Delight: The Christian Poet in the Modern World, University of Georgia Press, Athens, 1975, p.5.

In an age profoundly infected with philosophical scepticism the problem of writing sacred poetry, the great song, requires that we recapture a genuine science of invisible things. This can be done through a grasp by the poet of both the external and internal worlds. The poet conveys his creative intuition into a receptive intuition -ibid. pp.123-149.

The poet, who is a member of the Baha’i community, has before him every atom in existence and the essence of all created things1. There is no break between nature, art, poetry, science, religion and personal life. It is all one, a dynamic unity amidst multiplicity, amidst an organic body of ideas. On the basis of a vast corpus of sacred Writings this same poet has before him a massive body of literature. Individuals who possess fully developed and comprehensive knowledge of the major issues of many fields like: systematic theology, philosophy, epistomology, ontology, aesthetics, theophanology, history and psychology are, for the most part, rare in our present age and hard to come by and expertise must be narrowed. The foundation exists for a rich and fertile global literature to evolve within a fusion of opposites, within a fusion of perspectives on some ladder of reflection and, inevitably, amidst a complex cross-fertilisation. -Ron Price, The Emergence of a Baha’i Consciousness in World Literature, Unpublished Manuscript, 1996.

You get enough principles here

to build a cosmos in your brain,

to wander with Dante through

his world of keen delight,

to rebuild his model,

a reconstructed universe.


This is far more than mere living,

of simply amusing oneself, more

than some restless dilettante spectator

on the lounge room couch; this is

appreciation, deep and full, far beyond

a momentary touch of sorrow; this is some

vortex spinning with ideas, driving, hopefully,

its readers into their own memory, back into

a reverie, past depths and the vagueness of

past-times into a oneness that is slowly sweeping

the face of the earth, a search that is one’s own

self-expression in the deepest of deep wells.....


This universe, this cosmos, this self, its likes and dislikes,

comings and goings, faults and weaknesses are one entity,

even in its contradictions: the oneness of a microcosm in its

egotism and limitations, walking backwards or forewords,

in some new Rome at the crossroads, in some solitude and

aloneness which is necessary and unavoidable, it seems,

bringing the past and the future into now, with delicate scents,

pulsations, unnameable tactile sensations, with an anxiety

surrounding my moments of tranquillity but with light as the

basis of structure and darkness always at the periphery

on an inner lifeline of such complexity, such a seismographic

record and sensibility, such a breadth of compass within the

distilled sphere of these words and their fusion of opposites.

Ron Price

18 August 1996

1 Baha’u’llah, Hidden Words.


No summation of the field of psychology and the Baha’i Faith, insofar as both this academic discipline and this new world Faith relate to my experience and my years of study, would be a faithful record of what has been especially meaningful to me through their cross-fertilization, if I did not include the psychological theories of Carl Rogers, Abraham Maslow and Carl Jung. This new world religion emerged at the spiritual low-water mark in human history just as the field of psychology was itself emerging out of a long history of philosophy and what might be generally called ‘the history of ideas’ for convenience. I do not want to attempt even a summary of the contribution of these three theorists in psychology: such a summary would itself lead to prolixity. Although the Baha’i writings are themselves silent concerning particular psychological concepts, there is much room for common ground, for further study, for comparison and contrast and, in the process, illumination of the lives of human beings.-Ron Price with thanks to Laura M. Herzog, "A Preliminary Analysis of the Baha’i Concept of Mental Health," A Clinical Research Project for The School of Psychology Chicago Campus, May 1998.

I’ve always liked the idea of salvation

as motion rather than a spiritual homeo-

stasis, a steady-state-theory. I’m saying:

some kind of individual and collective reflection

where I am a process not some thing, entity,

but a flow, a life-changing-not-fixed down--

a river to the sea, part of a whole and yet

separate, a yin-and-yang idea here folks---

some other world stretching-out and all this

stuff here reflecting another world....a using

this world to understand another...the next,

to explain the unfamiliar by the familiar......

abstract in terms of the concrete, extracting

our own meaning, no imposition thank you

very much—had enough of that!—a self-

choosing, independent search in context,

a dramaturgical, metaphorical exercise--

high and low drama, for that is our life

and light, our discomfort, tests, our growth.1

1John Hatcher, The Purpose of Physical Reality, Wilmette, 1987.

Ron Price

11 June 2007

--------------------------SOME PHILOSOPHY OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY--------------------------

However changeable, new and wonderful configurations, an ever-varying splendour intimately connected with the power of thought and associated with a mysterious core of self or personality, has come into my life over the decades and it’s story is here, however obscurely narrated and however set in a context of change and mystery. It is found in my prose-poetry, my prose, my essays, my memoirs and my personal life. Some readers may enjoy reading this material and some may not. Most human beings on this planet, I’m sure, will never even see what I have written. The circumstances of life are always changing and truths seem to constantly need restating to maintain their grip, their purchase of truth. Perhaps that is why re-reading is as important as reading, rewriting is as important as writing and reliving every day is critical to our personal growth and development. Perhaps that is why, too, that, as Nietzsche said: "every great philosophy so far has been . . . the personal confession of its author and a kind of involuntary and unconscious memoir." What Nietzsche says here is but part of the recognition that anything a person says or writes tells us something essential about the speaker or writer. This is a commonplace notion which extends to all areas of discourse. Not only literature but philosophy and science can also be seen as forms of self-expression, types of autobiography. Self-portraiture is very difficult to avoid when you write, indeed when you live and breath and have your being. As soon as readers accept that a literary text expresses, or makes exterior, something within its author, then it becomes inevitable that they will use that text as a key to that interior, that biography, that autobiography. As a man is, so he sees and so he writes—and lives.

The activism that has been part of my life over these four epochs has many facets. It is not like a journey to the corner store, not the occasional donation to some organization like amnesty or a save the whale or the tree campaign, or a periodic march in the name of some cause or an endless series of criticisms of government, institutions and prominent people in public. It is a plunge into the dark with a commitment, a commitment for life and with many strings attached. The plunge into the world of light, I have come to think, is something one must wait for when one has left this mortal coil, at least in terms of this form ofactivism that concerns me here. Of course, all is not darkness and all is not light. That is true here and may be true in the world beyond. The history of the activism I have been associated with since the 1950s is more like the weather than like checkers or chess or something that ends after an afternoon of protest or a vote in an election after weeks of advertising’s sloganizing and simplifying or after a job comes to an end or a bad marriage. Games, elections and protests, jobs and many marriages, all end, but the weather you always have with you. At the end of a game, you add up the scores, sort out the winners and losers, close up the board and go on to something else.

But with the social activism in this Cause, one can pause, take a break, pack up your bags and move to another town or even another marriage, but you can never add up the score. It’s part of your mental set until you resign, stop believing in its truth, get converted to some secular or other cause like pessimism, skepticism, nihilism, cynicism, one of the many wasms and isms that occupy people’s minds and hearts and that also can change with the seasons. You can’t tote up the score, close up the board, and go home unless, as I say, you lose your sense of commitment, your sense of belief.

We must acknowledge the darkness of our moment and our world, but we also must realize that the score isn't in, that it can't be known. Not ever, not really. We play a part in a process and we must define that process and examine in what way we want to be part of that process. We have to make a wager, to take a leap into the dark, and bet on faith in our cause, hope and commitment to its future and, in the short term, we simply can't know the consequences of our acts, a point I can not make with enough force. Sure and quick victories, always delightful and always giving you the feeling the fight was worth it, worth living for, are a different genre to defeats.

Defeats are not final and, as Virginia Woolf wrote in her journal eight months into WW1, "The future is dark, which is on the whole, the best thing the future can be, I think." Dark, she seems to say, she seems to define, as something inscrutable, not as something terrible. We often lose the meaning of darkness as Woolf defines it. People imagine the end of the world is nigh because the future is unimaginable. Who twenty years ago would have pictured a world without the USSR and with the Internet?

We talk about "what we hope for" in terms of what we hope will come to pass, but we could think of it another way, as why we hope. We hope on principle, we hope tactically and strategically, we hope because the future is dark, we hope because it's a more powerful and a more joyful way to live. Despair presumes it knows what will happen next. But who, two decades ago, would have imagined that the Canadian government would give a huge swathe of the north back to its indigenous people, or that the imprisoned Nelson Mandela would become president of a free South Africa? But hope must be linked to something more, something akin to certitude, something akin to whole-hearted enthusiasm, something that invites a totality of response unchecked by any maybe, one of the characteristics of great art.

The famous film actor, Sean Connery, once said about writing his memoirs that the process was "time-absorbing and very wearing. It's the sort of thing that wakes you up in the middle of the night." I, too, found the exercise wearing for many years especially after the first edition was completed in 1993. For nearly a decade, 1993 to 2003, I could not get a sense of meaning, of perspective, that accumulation of novelty, of freshness and of vitality with respect for my memoir that would make it live, if not for others at least for me. It felt like dry dust, the transfer of dry bones from one graveyard to another. When I finally did find a fresh approach in the years 2003 to 2006 the exercise became time-absorbing, time-consuming, indeed, an obsession and an enriching one personally. I felt a sense of literary virtuosity I had never had before, an interpretive extravagance which may turn some readers off even as it turned me on. My private scaffolding, though, was not so much one of self-assurance, but rather one of striving to cross the spaces between life’s fragments and its many points of separation and experience some sense of synthesis, union and wholeness.

Whatever I achieved in this vein, with this aim and direction in my work was a gift. I was not involved so much in amassing facts and relating endless details of my life, although I could not entirely avoid this activity, as I was experiencing a precarious literary existence suspended between the past and the present hoping to touch some ice-tipped azure of my highest excellence with both moderation and balance, flexibility and elasticity. It was like my soul trying to glimpse certitude, trying to touch my life with wonder, trying to tell something of my soul’s flight if not my mind’s ease, something that reflected the motions of my heart in this twilight generation, this generation of the half-light. But whether I was responding to the capacities of some potential readership, I really had no idea. In the several years that this work had been sprinkled in varying quantities onto the internet, I slowly learned, yet again and again, to respond to criticism and misunderstanding with either silence or a in a language that is "temperate, moderate and infinitely courteous," grounded in an awareness of my own shortcomings and my own frail vulnerability and weakness, tempering my voice and training my vison. This process, this tempering, this training is slow, repeated many times on the road of life and seems to need a whole lifetime to make it part of your very nerves and sinews.

Sean Connery also admitted that his autobiography proved to be "much, much more difficult" than he anticipated. When I started writing my narrative in 1984/5 I had no idea what the process would be like. I could not and did not anticipate that I’d still be writing it nearly twenty-five years later. Connery doesn't have any glib explanations about the way his career of fame and wealth developed. My explanations about how my life developed are also far from glib, although after more than 2500 pages, some of my readers may wish they were glib.

After long continued intercourse between my many teachers, as we have been in joint pursuit of our several, our many, subjects—over these decades--suddenly, insensibly, like the light flashing forth when a fire is kindled, there has been born, created, it seems in my soul, some dazzling rays of a strange, heavenly power, which nourishes and is nourished but is just about impossible to convey in language, in writing and a fortiori in dialogue with others without sounding presumptuous, pretentious, self-righteous, even arrogant in some sense. This flashing forth, this kindling and dazzling is and has been a process not an event. The process has been so incremental, often so insensible and certainly so mysterious that to discuss it here would require a separate book.



In closing this section of my website, I would like to say a few things about Clive James’ new book Cultural Amnesia. James and his book illustrate some of what I’d like to say about this process of writing that I have referred to in the above paragraph. James’s book also conveys some things about history and philosophy and their relation to the contemporary scene. His book is also prompted by the suspicion that a new age of barbarism is indeed descending on humanity. James has lots of company in this view as he entertains us both on TV and in his books. My recent memoir is also prompted by a similar intuition. But like the barbarism of the late Roman Empire in the West in the second and third century A.D., I take the view that a new religion is growing in our midst. Like Christianity which crept, half-hidden, along the foundations and against the background of an Augustan empire, the Baha’i Faith seems, thusfar, too insigniticant to be noticed by history for it, too, is growing slowly, obscurely, insensibly in our modern and postmodern world.


In his book James also offers a steady stream of advice on how to go about the business of self-education. I offer advice, for the most part indirectly, or such is my hope, for I am all too conscious of the limitations of direct advice-giving; I do not advise any must-reads or how-tos. There are, as in James’s work, many anecdotes, but I do not see myself as exemplar. Like James in his Cultural Amnesia I launch a symphony of voices; I hope it is not a cacophony.


My life, like James's, has been richly social, but not in the world of celebrities and media. I have read a great deal, but nothing like the quantity that James has consumed. James says that most of his listening was to the authors behind the books he read; in my case, until I retired in 1999, most of my listening was to people in the raw: individuals, groups, communities and, of course, the pervasive media. For a host of reasons--the expansion of universities, of suburbs and of telecommunications, to name three--the kind of face-to-face intellectual-artistic life that was exemplified in coteries in the past, and that flourished in other twentieth-century cities before WW1, simply no longer exists or so James sees it. I agree, but not all the way. I feel as if I’ve done an aweful lot of face-to-face stuff in my life.

James's answer to this intellectual-artistic bereavement is his book Cultural Amnesia as is my memoir, partly, and my prose-poetry. In James’ book he recreates the café, the former place of the intellectual-artist; he has created it in his mind; it is a convocation of voices that respond to one another across the barriers of language, outlook, expressive form and, most of all, time. Over the decades and beginning while at university in the 1960s, I was driven away from academic institutions of higher learning and toward a more journalistic approach, to a plain speech and a style of writing that was not as esoteric as an MA thesis or a PhD dissertation. Direct observation and the necessity to entertain was absolutely crucial for James—and for me. I would never have surived in classrooms had these qualities not surfaced insensibly over the first half-a-dozen years of my teaching experience from 1967 to 1973.

Not in the mass media eye, as James was and with his immense success, I settled for a more modest achievement in the world of "the school," "the college," "the classroom." Like James, I wrote essays, reviews, sketches and squibs for students; I also wrote in longer and more conventionally prestigious forms, but always in styles that had been honed by the whetstone of conversation. Obviously, too, my writing did not engender the prestige that accrured to James, that he accumulated over the last half century.

Writing for the student and for the popular press, even at a much less successful and prestigious level of everyday journalism than James, demands both simplicity and compression, and compression, if it is of good quality, makes language glow. I felt, as the years went on, that some light was finally being emitted from the marks on the page that I was putting down. The stylistic models that James and I emulated were much different. However different, they each could "pour a whole view of life, a few cupfuls at a time, into the briefest of paragraphs." James highest hero, "the voice behind the book’s voices" and one of several exceptions to his rule of writing only about twentieth-century figures, was Tacitus.

It was Tacitus who wrote the sentence, says James, out of which the entire volume Cultural Amnesia grew: "They make a desert and they call it peace." James heard the line quoted as a young man and "saw straight away that a written sentence could sound like a spoken one, but have much more in it."

My Tacitus, was Gibbon and Gibbon saw his history as a continuation of Tacitus’ work. I felt James and I were on a similar track. I would like to think that my memoirs are what James’ book Cultural Amnesia was to the reviewer in The Nation; namely, "less a collection of great figures than of great sentences." But alas and alack, this is not the case. That same reviewer, William Deresiewicz, went on to say, "reading Cultural Amnesia feels like having a conversation with the most interesting person in the world: You're not saying much, but you just want to keep listening anyway." Well, I’m not sure I have had such a conversation in years—as a talker or a listener—expect in books. But James is, for me, one of my many, one of my crucial, mentors.

The reason James is such a good talker is that he's such a good listener. He means it literally when he says that the book took forty years to write, because its quotations are the harvest of the notebooks he has kept for all that time, and the notebooks are the harvest of his insatiable reading. Forty years of talking tired me out as did forty years of listening. Forty years of my note-taking has resulted, for me, in a small study filled with files that annoy my wife who has a penchant for the tidy and the clean, the orderly and the useful. It is a penchant I share with her but in a different modus operandi, modus vivendi. Forty years of reading and note-taking gave me an even greater appetite for print after I retired from full-time, part-time and casual-work in the years 1999 to 2005.

Ever since running into Tacitus, says James, he has been a connoisseur of aphorisms and aphorists--of writing that is both conversational and compressed and of the kinds of minds that produce it. It's no coincidence that he is also a connoisseur of music. "Echoes of a predecessor's rhythm, pace and melody are rarely accidental": That sentence contains four terms that sound like they refer to music, but it's about writing. Rhythm is central to James's understanding of style, and so are "echoes"--that is, memory. He is himself an incandescent and virtually habitual aphorist.

I, too, went down this road but not quite as passionately as James, for I was not in the media spotlight that he was, a spotlight where the aphorism is one of the kings of the sound-bite and the clever turn of phrase. I did collect quotations in my many notebooks, but clever turns of phrase and jokes always slightly eluded me. As I approached my sixty-fifth year(2009), I found there was just too much to copy into notebooks; there was too much that was useful. By then my computer directory began to come in handy. I did not have had to transcribe an entire book, entire articles, paragraphs or sentences. The internet and the computer saved an immense pile of paper and pleased my wife, a person who had become, already by the age of fifty-five when I took an early retirement, the crucial person in my life. Micro-soft and google had become the base of my new library and it was a library that was infinite in its range.

The love of the beautifully turned phrase goes far deeper than mere appreciation. The identifiable tone of voice, a tone which is a synthesis of all the voices one has ever heard, is at the core of the term "voice." The most individual style in the world is the product of a collective effort. In gathering the voices that inhabit our own, the echoes we hear in our head, are indeed produced by the growth of our mind; it is the song of ourself. I have discussed this in connection with Wordsworth’s poem The Prelude and my own poetry.

To fully participate in community life in the sense that I place at the heart of this autobiography, each Baha’i must find ways to engage in the work, the community enterprize in their own individual way. They will do some things that others do, that other community members do, but they must be able to imagine their own work as being an important part of a larger enterprise. And they must be comfortable that the larger enterprise and its smaller components as well as the many conventions of that community are compatible with the identities they envision for themselves. Being a part of the community, then, is not simply a matter of learning new skills, new attitudes and new values, but also of fielding new calls for identity construction. This understanding of identity suggests that people enact and negotiate identities in the world over time. For identity is dynamic and it is something that is presented and re-presented, constructed and reconstructed in interaction. And like the tension in violin strings which are the basis of musical harmony, life in community also possess a tension with which we must play in harmony. Of course, this is not always so. Often only noise is produced. This is true when one writes, when one talks and when one lives and works in community and in solitude.

The individual experience of power derives from belonging, but it also derives from exercising control over what we belong to, what we participate in, what we read, indeed, an entire panoply and pageantry of activity. Each individual is heterogeneously made up of various competing discourses, often conflicted and virtually always possessed of contradictory scripts. Our consciousness is anything but unified. In many ways wholeness or integration is not so much a goal as a battle, at least some kind of perpetual balancing act of dealing with unstable forces, forces which we must try to reconcile or they will tear at our psyches. These unstable forces may also cause us to withdraw and, like a planet slipping from orbit and following the dictates of its own centrifugal momentum, become ultimately so remote from the magnetic attraction of the sun that it flies irretrievably into remoteness. This can happen to both individuals and societies. Inner conflict is not so much a disorder as it is the first law of human psychic life and is part of that principle of polarity at the centre of life. This may become untrue in some future golden age; I think it unlikely, but whether it will be true or false in some future society, it seems true now and it has been true in my time and, more importantly--at least for me--, in my own inner life.

The Australian critic and raconteur Clive James made a pertinent point in this connection when he compered an ABC FM Radio program about Australian orchestras in concert. He said that large countries like Australia and the USA don't have identities. They are too diverse. I think the same is true about individuals. They are also too diverse over a lifetime to have a single identity.

There is now a great wealth of literature available to the Baha’i community, both in-house literature and the burgeoning material now available in the marketplace. My book occupies a small place, possesses no particular authority and competes for a place, for space, with a print and electronic media industry of massive proportions. In order to survive and do well in most of the print and electronic media a writer must develop the ability to put things simply and effectively, in a manner that everyone can understand. Such a writer has maybe a minute and a half to two minutes if he is talking on the TV to explain a complex subject or a series of short verbal expositions if he is involved in an interview; even a book, if it is to find a large readership in the mass circulation market, must be as simple as possible.


Many academics and intellectuals are so steeped in academic jargon that they are unable to simplify their material. I hope this book is not an example of this academic problem, an example of the problem of someone who could not pull off the simplification process. I’m afraid simplicity and brevity are not marks of my literary style. So, perhaps, I will fail here. Time will tell.

I knew of a senior academic who was asked to appear on a local TV station. She showed up with six or seven books and they had little pieces of paper stuck in the books for purposes of quotation. The whole interview was over in less than two minutes; she never read any of her quotations and she was frustrated that she just couldn’t make her points. She didn’t understand that if you’re going to play in the media ballpark, you have to play by their rules, not your own. I like to think that this book, this autobiography, has allowed me to have my six books and their quotations and that the role of this book does not include a two minute TV summary or an interview of ten minutes on an arts program. On the other hand, I could probably write a ten second autobiographical-ad grab, summarize what I’m all about in one or two minutes and be interviewed for any appropriate length of time. Maybe it will never happen before I die.


There are many different kinds of self-referential writing. I have incorporated some of them in what is for me a surprisingly large work invoking Whitman's "I am large, I contain multitudes," as an appropriate presiding spirit for the genre. Whatever largeness I claim to possess, it is the same largeness we all possess in relation to ourselves. We all must live in our own skins for all our days and the sense of our largeness--or our smallness for that matter--is a result of our bodily manifestation, our physical proximity to self. In the multitude of methods and genres of studies of Baha’i history and experience, teachings and organization, autobiography is either tentatively acknowledged, invoked by negation or simply passed over in silence. It is one genre that is, for the most part, conspicuous by its absence from any bibliography. This has begun to change in the last decade or two. This piece of writing is part of that change.