The Politics of the End: Political Theology and Resistance in Iran
by Mahdi Panjalipour
The belief in a savior, ultimate salvation, and the final battle between good and evil has deep roots in Iranian cultural imagination, even before Islam. This is particularly evident in late Zoroastrian eschatological traditions surrounding the figure of the Saoshyant and the final renovation of the world (Frashokereti).1 The “horizon of the end” in Iranian political theology cannot be solely reduced to Shi’a theology or its later political formulations. Over the centuries, in conjunction with Shi’a messianism, this developed a distinct form of religious and historical imagination that can be understood as a type of “Iranian Shi’ism.” This outcome is not merely an achievement of the modern state or ideology but a result of the historical sedimentation of two traditions in the collective consciousness of the people. Consequently, apocalyptic concepts in Iran typically intensify during times of crisis, instability, and disorder, becoming a language for interpreting the situation and the possibility of rupture. The reflection of this convergence can be found not only in official texts but also in popular narratives—for example, in the Rostam-nāmeh, an anonymous epic poem where Rostam, the legendary hero of the Iranian epic tradition, eventually converts to Shi’ism upon encountering Ali, the first Imam of the Shi’a.2 Its significance lies not in historical authenticity but in its cultural implications: the link between Iran’s mythical hero and the central figure of Shi’ism, and the fusion of Iranian epic imagination with the messianic eschatological horizon.
It is precisely this deep-seated cultural and symbolic grammar that structures contemporary Iranian politics, presenting a scene of “unequal symmetry” between state power and popular resistance. Power has co-opted this eschatological grammar, transforming it into a “katechonic” logic of deterrence and delay to preserve the existing order and postpone the end. Conversely, resistance draws on this same horizon—often secularized as demands for justice, dignity, and truth—to urge a decisive “rupture” and “acceleration” toward that very end. Though vastly unequal in means—pitting state violence against popular vulnerability—both sides are bound by a shared, end-oriented semantic framework within their historical imagination. This distinguishes Iranian politics from mere power calculations, turning it into a stage for realizing or postponing a final moment.
This linguistic horizon extends beyond religious or revolutionary discourses, permeating modern Iranian politics. For instance, during the Iranian Constitutional Revolution (1905–1911)—a period when messianic groups like the Shaykhis, Babis, and Azalis actively blended political reform with apocalyptic zeal—the naming of certain newspapers, such as Sur-e Esrâfil (The Trumpet of Israfil), Sobh-e Sadegh (The True Dawn), and Habl al-Matin (The Firm Rope), attests to a similar presence of religious-eschatological language in the public sphere. In 1974, Mohammad Reza Shah’s establishment of the “Rastakhiz Party” (Resurgence Party) articulated a political project laden with resurrectionist overtones, indicating that the Pahlavi state’s political imagination retained a revivalist language. This experience was, of course, not unprecedented. Such examples demonstrate that the language of the end, resurrection, and impending collapse becomes part of the common articulation of political action in Iran during periods of political crisis, whether in the guise of the state or resistance.
When this fertile intellectual terrain encountered modernity, it confronted the fundamental concept of “revolution.” From the moment of its arrival, the concept appeared structured by a temporal tension. From the Latin revolvere—to roll back or return—the term evoked restoration of an original principle. Yet within modern political language, it simultaneously signified rupture, transformation, and the opening of a new historical horizon. The concept thus carried a Janus‑faced orientation: toward return and restoration, and toward rupture and the creation of the new. When it entered the Iranian context, this tension did not disappear; the concept arrived already bearing this dual temporal structure. Rather, it intertwined with deep layers of ethics, theology, and ritual.3 In the Iranian experience, “revolution” was not merely a political upheaval but became an event that promised a new future while simultaneously demanding a return to an authentic, primordial, or suppressed truth. Consequently, it was able to link the modern concept of progress with an apocalyptic, messianic, and eschatological imagination, securing a distinguished position in Iranian politics in relation to the horizon of the end.
A significant example of this intersection is evident in Mirza Fath-Ali Akhundzadeh’s engagement with the concept of revolution. Akhundzadeh, an early socio-historical critic of Iran in the modern era and likely one of the first to introduce the modern connotation of this concept into the Iranian intellectual sphere, uses the word “révolution.” However, his significance lies not merely in transmitting a word. Within the framework of what he understood as a form of “Islamic Protestantism,” Akhundzadeh found a historical model for such a rupture in the medieval Isma‘ili declaration of Qiyama (Resurrection) at Alamut, which he interpreted as a symbolic abolition of religious law in favor of absolute freedom and the beginning of a new historical order. The importance of this narrative for the present discussion lies not in its historical authenticity but in Akhundzadeh’s use of it: he employs a model where freedom passes through the declaration of the Qiyamah and the eschatological moment to formulate his reformist ideals. Modern rupture in Iran is born not from the philosophy of progress but from an apocalyptic moment, where freedom, the abrogation of Sharia, and the establishment of a new order are linked to the declaration of the end of an era. Thus, the concept of “révolution” was shaped from its inception at the crossroads of the modern future and the symbolic apocalypse, a connection whose resonance reached its peak political dynamism in the twentieth century, in the views of figures like Ali Shariati and the activists of the 1979 Revolution.
For Shariati, an intellectual influential among many revolutionaries, revolution is not reducible to a mere transfer of political power; rather, it is a form of historical, ethical, and existential awakening. Concepts such as “return to the self,” “resurrection,” “Alavi Shi’ism,” “martyrdom,” and “waiting” (Entezar) are interconnected in his works, transforming politics into an arena for the revival of a suppressed truth. While criticizing passive and fatalistic waiting, Shariati does not abandon Mahdist waiting; instead, he transforms it into a negating, historical, and revolutionary force:
belief in waiting, belief in the period of occultation, and belief in the inevitability of salvation in the end times, is not a sedative but rather the greatest negating force…the most powerful weapon for the destruction of corruption, the greatest blow for crushing oppression, and the greatest energy for moving toward the future.4
Within this framework, waiting is not a sign of stagnation but a source of historical energy and will directed toward the future. Occultation (Ghaybat) also does not mean the suspension of politics, but a state in which the believing and revolutionary subject becomes active. From this perspective, Shariati’s conception of revolution, while possessing that same Janus-faced aspect, also entails an eschatological imagination. History becomes the field of confrontation between truth and falsehood, uprising acquires a sacred meaning, and martyrdom is linked to the possibility of collective revival and the opening of a new horizon for history.
Following the 1979 Revolution, the eschatological horizon did not disappear but continued in a different logic within the governmental formulation. In Ruhollah Khomeini’s thought, politics finds meaning in the era of occultation: society cannot remain in suspension until the advent, so a vicegerent order must be established to preserve Sharia and prevent chaos. Hence, Wilayat al-Faqih is understood as a mechanism for managing the interval between occultation and advent. Here, too, the trace of the Janus-face is visible: while Khomeini understood the revolution within the horizon of a religious and promised future, he simultaneously spoke of reviving and returning to Islamic civilization; as if opening the future were only possible through rediscovering an authentic past.
This logic is reinforced by the famous principle that “preserving the system is the most necessary of obligations,” now central to the political discourse of the Islamic Republic. Khomeini gave this principle one of its most radical formulations when he stated that “preserving the Islamic Republic is more obligatory than the life of the Twelfth Imam.”5 In this sense, the Islamic Republic may be said to possess a katechonic temporality: power understands itself not as the actualizer of the end times, but as the guardian of the order that precedes them. In Christian political theology, the katechon names the force that restrains the end and preserves historical order before the apocalypse. This comparison neither equates Shi’ism with Christianity nor simply transfers a Christian concept into Shi’a jurisprudence; rather, it clarifies a temporal logic in which “preparing the ground for the advent” becomes tied to “preserving the system,” and Mahdist waiting shifts from rupture to continuity and delay. Within this official interpretation, the system is represented as protected from ultimate harm, even endowed with a kind of divine guarantee, as reflected in Ayatollah Araki’s claim that “Imam Mahdi pays attention to this country.”6 Power thereby casts itself under the protection of the promised savior, rendering survival and delay natural and legitimate.
This logic can be linked to the broader discussion of political theology in Iran: as Shahin Nasiri emphasizes the political theology of Iranian despotism,7 resistance against despotism also does not stand entirely outside this horizon. If power formulates itself in a sacred, salvific, historical, and sometimes apocalyptic language, many forms of resistance operate within the same semantic reservoir. Therefore, political conflict in Iran is not merely a confrontation between religion and secularism or two secular forces, but rather a clash of two theological imaginations that both define politics in relation to salvation, the end, and the possibility of a new foundation. However, emphasis must be placed on the concept of “unequal symmetry”: the shared horizon of language between power and resistance does not mean their equality, because the state possesses the instruments of repression, prisons, law, media, and the official organization of power, while resistance usually operates from a vulnerable, scattered, and costly position. Nevertheless, both can draw from common concepts such as the end, salvation, martyrdom, purification, standing to the end, and the moment of judgment at the level of language, imagination, and temporal relation.
If the political theology of power in Iran is linked to preserving order, delaying the end, and managing the era of occultation, the political theology of resistance often operates differently: by constructing a subject who prepares themselves for danger, suffering, rupture, and steadfastness. However, this logic should not be sought solely at the level of abstract concepts; the language of the streets, media, and contemporary protest actions also shows that the apocalyptic mindset has permeated the public political culture. Expressions such as “We will stand to the end” on the walls of Khamenei’s supporters, “the last battle” in the slogans of Pahlavi supporters, and “the last chance” in the discourse of some diasporic Iranian media, all indicate that political crisis is often understood not as a problem for governance, compromise, and gradual organization, but within the horizon of rupture, judgment, and final confrontation. In such a horizon, politics slides from the logic of mechanism to the logic of revelation: a moment when truth must be revealed, evil must be eradicated, and a new order born.
It is at this point that the political theology of resistance intertwines with discussions of subjectivity, suffering, askesis, violence, and political mysticism. The political actor within this semantic framework is not merely a claimant or organizer but a subject who prepares themselves for danger, repression, violence, and sometimes direct confrontation. Askesis—understood as practice, discipline, and self-cultivation through discipline and endurance of suffering—in the context of resistance becomes a form of self-care amidst transgression. The streets, prisons, mourning, repression, and violence can be arenas for such practice; places where political suffering finds meaning in a language close to political mysticism. In this logic, encountering violence is not merely a destructive experience but is sometimes understood as a form of catharsis: passing through pain and danger as moral purification, overcoming fear, and the rebirth of the protesting subject. Therefore, violence, whether as state violence or as the imagination of confrontation and reciprocal response, can acquire a meaning beyond political tactic within the apocalyptic horizon, becoming a sign of passage, purification, and entry into a new phase.
This form of political mysticism in Iran is shaped by a cultural background that encompasses a wide range of apocalyptic concepts, particularly the tradition of martyrdom. Hence, even in the discourse of secular forces, this language can be reproduced: suffering, blood, the names of the deceased, and collective mourning become signs of truth, authenticity, and the beginning of a new order. In the course of contemporary protests, this logic has intensified: while the Green Movement still spoke, to some extent, in the language of law, votes, reform, and a return to official mechanisms, in subsequent uprisings—and particularly in the violent situation experienced during the late December 2025–early January 2026 protests—the horizon of rupture, confrontation, and the end of the existing order became more pronounced. This shift indicates that protest politics is gradually moving from demanding the reform of mechanisms to imagining the final moment and a decisive rupture.
However, this “mysticism of resistance,” despite generating immense moral force and astonishing courage, carries a profound structural risk. The capture of the political arena by apocalyptic theology empties politics of its fundamental meaning—namely, the step-by-step management of the public sphere and the understanding of protracted temporality. When every act of protest is understood as the “last battle” and a final confrontation, the slow, terrestrial time of politics is devoured in favor of the accelerated, theological time. In this messianic horizon, the necessity of arduous work for organization, institutional building, networking, and creating stable coalitions is marginalized; for subjects who see themselves on the verge of a moment of rupture find no reason to invest in the long-term politics and representative mechanisms. Consequently, despite passionate uprisings and sacrifices, the lack of institutions and organization in Iranian resistance is not merely a tactical flaw or sociological weakness but is linked to the dominance of this very rupture-oriented theology, which ceaselessly sacrifices the long-term “strategy” before the promised moment of “salvation,” preventing the effervescent energy of revolts from transforming into stable institutional capacity.
Mahdi Panjalipour is an independent researcher focusing on political theology, political economy, and contemporary social movements in Iran. His research explores the intersection of messianic imaginaries, political mysticism, theories of resistance, and counterrevolution in the Middle East.
For studies on the Saoshyant in Zoroastrian tradition, see Mary Boyce, Zoroastrians: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (1979); and Ḥasan Reżāʾī Bāghbīdī, “Sūshiyānt dar Avesta,” Maqālāt va Barrāsīhā 64 (1377 [1998]).
Rostam-nāmeh, ed. Sajjad Āydanlu (Tehran: Markaz-e Pazhūheshī-ye Mīrāth-e Maktūb, 2008).
Reinhart Koselleck, “Einleitung,” in Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe, vol. 1, ed. Otto Brunner, Werner Conze, and Reinhart Koselleck (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1975), p. xv.
Ali Shariati, Hosayn, Vāres-e Ādam [Husayn, Heir of Adam] (Tehran: Qalam, 1361 [1982/83]), p. 285.
“Hefz-e Jomhuri-ye Eslami az hefz-e jan-e Emam-e Asr ahamiatash bishtar ast” [Protecting the Islamic Republic Is More Important Than Protecting the Life of the Imam of the Age], Tabnak, November 10, 2025.
“Ayatollah Araki: Violating the Supreme Leader’s Red Lines Is Against Sharia,” Tasnim News Agency, June 13, 2026. For a related articulation of the belief in the divinely assured survival of the Islamic Republic in Khomeini’s thought, see also “Imam Goft: In Parcham Rā be Sāḥebaš Mīsepārim,” Kayhan, October 28, 2014.
Shahin Nasiri, “The Supreme Leader and the Prince: A Political Theology Battle,” Radio Zamaneh, February 10, 2026.