This chapter is a detailed recollection of aspects of my birth and upbringing as a platform to think through the theoretical issues of memory and history and amnesia and loss. The dialectic between memory and forgetfulness here becomes the plane of authorial subjection. I explore a detailed exposure of how polyphonic voices become definitive to such recollections. As I recall such flashes of my early childhood, I realize in recounting the memories of our childhood that we are drafting entirely different, imperceptible, otherwise forgetful accounts of history – a history that has in fact not left its traces, as Gramsci had surmised, in us in cognitive and transcendental terms but in entirely fleeting and emotive terms on a plane of immanence that is in need of detection and discovery. Every shared memory, a memory I share and one that, in turn, triggers my readers’ similar memories, initially provokes a social, political, or cultural event beyond the reach of such memories, and as such it becomes a microcosm of something larger, something other than itself. But that is not all that there is to such memories. In fact, such allusions might be an impediment to a much more precious discovery. This triggering may first suggest itself as the social history of childhood, which we eventually lose in our adulthood, but every single such memory is also the microcosm of something other than itself, something other than history, something larger, more immanent, and thus, soon we realize what appears as social history is in fact an emotive history, a worldly history pointing to an ethereality other than itself, marking the moment when the world was being born anew, piece by piece, when we as a child for the first time realized there is a larger world, of which we had little to no awareness, over which we had no control.

What does it mean to be a person, a persona, a knowing subject? When a philosopher of bygone age like Suhrawardi puts his own knowing subject at the epicenter of his unknowing world, I find in that moment a moral and philosophical momentum in which I too can locate my own knowing subject at the epicenter of my own unknowing world. I therefore begin this book with a reading of Suhrawardi’s allegorical prose, where we see him telling us when the Former of Truth (Musavver-e beh Haghighat) wanted to create him; let us just say God wanted to create him. Suhrawardi is an Illuminationist philosopher and he speaks his own peculiar language. He created Suhrawardi as a falcon. Have you ever heard anything stranger, more astonishing, more beautiful, more miraculous? Who is talking here? By what authority, what audacity, does he talk this way? A falcon? Really? What happened to that authorial voice, that agential power with which philosophers like Suhrawardi talked? How did we get from there to here, when we are afraid of our own shadow, as my late mother used to say – may she rest in peace? I write as a product of a colonial world, with a postcolonial claim to my subjectivity, reclaiming the moment when I was de-subjected to re-subject myself, at the receiving end of a brutal history of domestic tyranny and foreign domination, who has still managed to stand up and say “I” and place a meaningful sentence in front of that authorial “I.” I wish to find out how did that happen. The fact that Suhrawardi said “I” long before I did has something to do with my “I” too – even or particularly when I write “I” in English in the shadow of his Persian “Man/I.” This book is about “Man/I.”

At the end ofthis book I place my prose of historicality somewhere between Suhrawardi’s and Walter Benjamin’s respective angelology. What do we get when we do that; a transhistorical theology of their respective Islam and Judaism, where history is seen as the interface either between the left and the right wing of Gabriel or between the front and back of Angelus Novus. That is where memory and history come together. Suhrawardi’s Gabriel has one wing turned toward Divine Truth as its Necessary Being and one wing tilted toward the shaded history of humanity as his Contingent Being, while Benjamin’s Angelus Novus has his face facing the troubled past as the storm from paradise is propelling him toward a frightful future. Benjamin’s angel goes backward; Suhrawardi’s sideways. One is teleological, the other contemporaneous. There is no teleology in Suhrawardi and there is no spontaneity in Benjamin’s respective historical theologies. But read together, Suhrawardi’s and Benjamin’s become a prophetic vision of history in which reality becomes unreal in face of a Divinity neither of them could ignore. Like the rest of you, I stand in between Suhrawardi’s and Benjamin’s angelology, with all our history and all our humanity fragmented, just like these stories I have shared, between a necessary past we cannot ignore, and a contingent future we cannot see.

In this chapter I give an account of how I remember my childhood in the melodious echoes of songs my mother continues to sing in my mind, punctuating the crucial decades of the 1950s and 1960s, or 1330s and 1340s, to be more precise on our own calendar, in conjunction with historic events that stormed my homeland during this fateful time and then by extension much deeper and longer into history, culture, context – into religion, art, poetry, philosophy, and mysticism. I remember and I forget and I write and I wonder. I do all of these as an adult looking back. I detail how I wrote this book in the early hours of the morning, when most of the world around me was fast asleep, and as the sun rises and the room becomes bright, only the reflections of those memories linger about me. In the darkness of my room and the brightness of the laptop screen on which I wrote, I was reassured of a window that has opened into the womb into which I was conceived.

“Rational Shariah” is the name associated with Qābel’s worldview, which is explained in this chapter in the context of New Religious Thinking in Iran. The salient points of this worldview are examined, including the contextualization of Qurʾānic revelation, the“changeability” of verses, the sira ʿoqalā (or way of the wise), and contentious issues such as eating pork and drinking alcohol, and the criticism of contemporary juristic theory in Iran. This is conducted by a minute examination of his e-book and seminal work named Shariʿat-e ʿaqlāni, and it assesses the extent to which it is correct to label Qābel “excessive” in his jurisprudential worldview.

“Superstition” according to Qābel is any belief which does not have a logical or rational explanation. This resulted in him questioning many aspects of traditional Shiʿi belief, such as acceptance of Qurʾānic miracles. This is not to say that he denied miracles, simply that he explained them in an unconventional fashion, attempting to use cause and effect. The result was a very unusual and not entirely convincing conclusion. Moreover, his worldview of Rational Shariah also questioned traditional aspects of belief related to the Twelfth Imam in occultation. He rejected, without reservation, the claims made by President Ahmadinejād that there was some kind of contact or communication with the Hidden Imam. Moreover, he lambasted those who believed Ayatollah Khāmenei was infallible (a characteristic more commonly associated with the Imams). All of these beliefs were indicative of the superstition which the politicians attempted to use for their benefit. Qābel’s criticisms were well placed, but there is a certain incoherence in these arguments which demonstrates the limitation of Rational Shariah.

In the late 1990s and early 2000s a sociopolitical movement emerged in the Islamic Republic of Iran that flirted with notions of pluralism, democracy, and associated ideas such as freedom of thought and expression, gender equality, and choice in matters of religion and which rejected the monosemous rigidity propounded by a powerful clique known within Iran as “Principlists” (osul-garāyān).1 This reformist movement encompassed secular thinkers, lay religious intellectuals, politicians within the governmental structures, and recognized political parties which began to emerge at this time. More significantly, one of the strongest roots among reformists developed within the seminary (hawza), and clerical supporters in this movement regarded their aim as a legitimate expression of Islam. Ultimately, the various groups coalesced and became associated with the Green Movement, which emerged as a result of the perception that the presidential elections of 2009 had been rigged.

Demographic changes, globalization, and the war with Iraq (1980–88) resulted in a shift in how women in Iran articulated power relations. Qābel too added his voice to the debate about gender discrimination, and in 2004 he issued a fatwa that made the hijab desirable, rather than the state-endorsed, mandatory variety. But his espousal of women’s rights crossed other redlines; he believed in equality rather than complimentarity, that men should not beat their wives (in contradiction to common interpretations of Q. 4.34), and that women could act as prayer leaders in mixed congregations. This chapter examines how Qābel employed his Rational Shariah to make such far reaching conclusions.

Freedom of expression and freedom of belief have been burning issues in the Islamic Republic because they give an indication of the extent of support the has regime enjoyed. As a champion of reason and freedom Qābel instructed his readers to examine how sacred scripture dealt with the issues. In particular he focused on the issue of unbelief (kofr), and he argued that the original meaning was restircted, whereas it had been vastly expanded in subsequent years. His espousal of freedom of belief and expression endorsed freedom for non-Muslims, including atheists. He also discussed contentious issues suh as insulting the Prophet, and concluded that terrorist groups such as al-Qaeda were no better than those in the West who defame the Prophet with “satirical” cartoons.

There has been a long tradition of seminarians (and former seminarians) who have argued for shariah reform based on a rational reading of sacred texts. This includes Jamāl al-Din Asadābādi (popularly known as al-Afghāni (d. 1897)), Shariʿat Sangalji (d. 1944), and Ahmad Kasravī (d. 1946). In many ways the trajectory of reform based on reason and logical argumentation is the consequence of the Osuli victory over Akhbāri literalism. The trend continued with the worldview of Ahmad Qābel, who advocated reform of “traditional” interpretations of Islam that made them compatible with modern human rights and reason, and which endorsed a form of religious secularity. The significance of Qābel’s vision of Islam lies both in its immediate Iranian context and the wider perspective of shariah in the Islamic world. In the Iranian context, Qābel constantly challenged the Principlists by crossing their redlines, such as velāyat-e faqih, hijab, their politicization of Imam Hosayn, and freedom of speech and belief, among others.

Velāyat-e faqih (guardianship of the jurist) is the political system governing Iran since 1979, and it was espoused by Ayatollah Khomeini and Ayatollah Montazeri in the early years of the revolution. This chapter discusses and analyzes the implications that this doctrine has with marjaʿiyat, the ideas surrounding the highest source of emulation and spirituality within Twelver Shiʿism. This chapter analyzes Qābel’s rejection of the political doctrine, and his relationships and perspsectives of the three most influentiual Ayatollahs during his life. Once again, Qābel was to cross the redline of what was acceptable in Iran by advocating a system that endorsed religious secularity.

In this biographical chapter Qābel’s life is divided into three stages: the early revolutionary years; the middle years when he received his ejtehād from his spiritiul mentor, Ayatollah Montazeri; and his final years which witnessed his more mature thoughts over a range of social, political, and religious issues. The chapter is written by examining the ten e-books which were largely assembled after his death. The main features of his works are also highlighted.