The religion of God

Academic and human rights campaigner Nazila Ghanea explains the basic tenets of Bahá’í belief

Despite its relatively brief history of some 165 years, the Bahá’í faith is the second most geographically widespread religion in the world after Christianity. The Bahá'í community numbers some six million followers living in more than 100,000 localities around the world.

As a Bahá’í, I believe that there is but one God, a Supreme Being that has continually sent divinely-inspired ‘Messengers’ – or 'Manifestations of God' - to impart to humanity the knowledge and spiritual impetus for its social evolution.

Therefore, Bahá'ís believe that there is only one religion – the religion of God – and the various Manifestations who have appeared throughout history are equally valid, but different.

They are teachers in the same school, providing the world with the lessons it needs to learn to move to the next stage of its development. The Bahá’í faith sees itself as the latest in this ongoing unfolding of knowledge, known as 'progressive revelation'.

In Persia, in 1844 and then 19 years later, two such Manifestations, known to history as the Báb and Bahá’u’lláh, claimed to be the recipients of revelations from God and founded the Babí and Bahá’í faiths, respectively. As Bahá’ís we consider both as twin revelations bearing the same essential message for this age.

What this understanding of progressive revelation means for me is that I see no conflict in the essential purpose of any of the religions. They are fundamentally one and the same. It is not some kind of gimmick - it is part and parcel of our very religious belief: that God is one, and as such the religious messages he has conveyed to humanity are also one.

This does not mean that any claim to ‘religious truth' is necessarily authentic, however. Nor does it mean that Bahá'ís have somehow taken the 'best bits' of the other faiths and syncretised a new one. There are two essential aspects to religious truth: one, spiritual truths - which the great religious traditions have in common and are unchanging over the centuries and two, social teachings - which change according to the needs of the age.

My religion has a clear response to the challenges of our times. Bahá'u'lláh's writings – and those of his authorised successors - provide the principles by which pressing problems such as civil war, famine, nuclear power, religious extremism, birth control, penal reform, environmental degradation, racism, adoption and surrogacy can be addressed.

The Bahá'í faith has no clergy and very few formal rituals. Bahá’í communities worship, socialize and hold activities either in purposely-acquired buildings, or in believers' homes or in hired facilities.

There are currently Bahá’í Houses of Worship in Sydney-Australia, New Delhi-India, Apia-Samoa, Kampala-Uganda, Frankfurt-Germany, Panama City-Panama, Chicago-USA and one currently under construction in Santiago-Chile. These Houses of Worship are open to all people.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war