Chapter I
Zoroastrians Present and Past
This I ask you, tell me truly, O Ahura
Who was the first father of Order and gave it birth?
Gathas 2.44.3â41
âThere is lately published in Paris, a Work intitled Zend-Avesta, or the Writings of Zoroaster, containing the Theological, Philosophical and Moral Ideas of that Legislator, and the ceremonies of Religious Worship that he establishedâŚ. I have cast my Eye over the Religious Part; it seems to contain a nice Morality, mixâd with abundance of Prayers, Ceremonies and Observations.â
A letter from Benjamin Franklin, London, 17722
Zoroastrians Now: A Living Faith
Our exploration of Zoroastrianism begins with the question, âWho is a Zoroastrian?â This is a question that in recent years has divided Zoroastrians to the extent that some consider there to be at least two, if not more, forms of the religion today, each one considering itself to be authentic. Opinions diverge on correlated issues of theology, including textual translation and interpretation, conversion, interfaith marriage and disposal of the dead. The range of attendant selfdefinitions will be considered in more detail later, but for the purposes of introducing Zoroastrianism as a lived and living faith, the immediate focus will be on normative praxis. I have chosen this approach because it spotlights an area of the religion that remains vital to its adherents and that addresses in a pragmatic way those ultimate, existentialist questions to do with the purpose and meaning of life: Where do we come from? Why are we here? What happens when we die? What powers do we have to shape our own existence and ending? The answers to such questions enable humans to make sense of the world in which they find themselves.
Such answers as religion provides tend to be couched within a cosmology that establishes an order to existence. Although a clear moral philosophy underpins all Zoroastrian âfaith in actionâ, it is the pattern of daily prayers, seasonal rituals, social celebrations and acts of philanthropy that gives a concrete sense of cohesion and continuity for most Zoroastrians, and is their main form of public religious expression. Such concrete expression is an example of the concept that moral understanding has a social reference extending beyond individual rights to the wider community. The notion of a âconnectedness in prayerâ among co-religionists is articulated in the Parsi-Gujarati term hambandagi (literally, âbondedness togetherâ),3 which embodies the sense that the pursuit of goodness is not just a means but an end, leading to cooperation and harmony.
I experienced this âcommunity unityâ for myself when, in the late spring of 2009, I spent a few days in the central Iranian province of Yazd. A Zoroastrian colleague from California was also in the area at the time, and together we visited some of the small villages on the outskirts of the city of Yazd. As we wandered past the adobe-covered buildings of one village, we encountered a couple of elderly women wearing colorful headscarves. My colleague, Jamshid, used the Dari greeting âRujkoryakâ, a variant on Persian âRuzgar-e nikâ meaning âGood Dayâ, rather than the pan-Islamic âSalaam aleikumâ. This brought an instant recognition that Jamshid was of the same faith, and an invitation to follow the women down the road to the village hall, where a community seasonal celebration â a gahanbar â was taking place.
In a plain, whitewashed room, a mobedyar4 sat on the floor, his knee nudging a folded cloth filled with seven kinds of dried fruits, dates, chickpeas and nuts, which constitute the lork â the festival food shared among the community at the end of the recitation of the gahanbar prayers (Fig. 1). Members of the community either sat in the hall or chatted quietly together in a reception room just outside, counting off the prayers as they were recited.
This was the second gahanbar we had been invited to in as many days, and we encountered another in a neighboring village on the following evening. These successive gahanbars celebrated the midspring season traditionally called Maidhyoi-zaremaya, a (Young) Avestan word meaning âmid-greeningâ, in allusion to the growth of crops sown in late winter or early spring. That such pastoral references have endured for over 2,500 years is attested in the farmersâ calendar of Old Persian (OP) inscriptions. A sixth century CE Middle Persian (MP) text advocates the importance of observing gahanbars as an integral part of âthe ordered existenceâ,5 and they are recommended in a later New Persian (NP) text as being among the duties prescribed for all Zoroastrians.6 Participation in such community festivals provides a sense of being part of an unbroken chain of practice that is constantly acting to revitalize the elements of the created world, including the humans who participate. This holistic conception of humans as agents of healing in the world is an ancient notion that is expressed in the Gathas, the earliest texts of the religion, and it remains integral to the Zoroastrian ethos.
Most Zoroastrian praxis can be viewed in this way â as activity intended to strengthen both adherents and the cosmos. A Middle Persian text proposes the idea that each personâs thoughts, words and actions have profound repercussions in the wider world.7 The individual is formally recognized as a participant in the work of reenergizing the world when he or she chooses to adopt the ethical outworking of the code of âGood Thoughts, Good Words, Good Deedsâ at an initiation ceremony. For many Parsi (Indian) Zoroastrians, the post-initiation practice of wearing the sudreh (white cotton shirt worn under clothing) and kusti (cord worn around the waist over the shirt) acts as a constant reminder of this ethical imperative. The sudreh has a small pocket at the front to encourage the accumulation of good deeds, and the kusti is wrapped around the waist three times to remind the wearer to generate good thoughts, good words and good deeds at all times. In a passage from the Chimi Kustig (âReasons for the kustiâ), a father explains to his âknowledgedesiringâ son that the reason for tying the cord around the waist is that the body of a human is âa world in miniatureâ.8 In other words, humans are a microcosmic representation of the macrocosm. The three tassels on each end of the kusti are said to remind the wearer of the six gahanbars, the seasonal festivals celebrating the cycle of growth and the order of the year. So, the person who wears the kusti affirms his or her part in sustaining that growth and order.
Traditionally, the age of religious maturity for Zoroastrians is 15 years old (Vd 18.54), but initiations can take place from the age of seven. A Parsi initiate is referred to as Navjote, usually translated as ânew person who offers prayersâ, but sometimes as ânew birthâ. The Persian term for the initiation ceremony of Iranian Zoroastrians is Sedreh-Pushi, âthe putting on of the sacred shirtâ. The format and symbolism of the initiation ceremony is the same for boys and girls, and are said to date back to ancient times (Fig. 2). The kusti may be linked to the same ancient tradition as the sacred thread of Hindu initiation.
One young Parsi acquaintance of mine, Burzin, who comes from a priestly family, had his navjote ceremony performed by his father a couple of years ago. Burzin says that he has been asked many times about his religion and the sudreh-kusti he wears: âOnce I explain it to my friends at school most of them understand. I wear these garments regularly, except when I am in the gym or go swimming, I remove my kusti because I am afraid somebody might pull it by mistake and break it.â Some younger Zoroastrians in diaspora communities may decide not to wear the sacred garments for fear of taunts or teasing by their peers, while others claim that the practice has no material value, being more of a psychological prop or a symbolic gesture. On the other hand, some choose to put on the sudreh and kusti and to say the accompanying prayers as a means of focusing their intentionality, and to further their spiritual development and that sense of hambandagi.
Since his navjote, Burzin has taken the further step of being ordained as a priest in the navar ceremony, the first initiation into priesthood. Both he and his father, Poras, speak of the encouragement they receive from the community, and the sense of reward they feel through serving their Zoroastrian community in the USA. Although the Zoroastrian priesthood remains exclusively male, and the texts have been composed, transmitted and interpreted by males, women have also contributed significantly to the perpetuation of the religion throughout history. Until the mid-twentieth century, this contribution was largely within the sphere of domestic praxis, including the education of children in their daily prayers, the preparation of the home and community meeting-place for rituals, and social welfare, such as making soup for the needy. This lay activity, sustained for centuries, forms the bedrock on which much popular religious expression is founded.
One such activity is the ritual of perfuming the house with sweetsmelling herbs or incense, which is still regularly performed by Zoroastrians in Iran and India and, to a lesser extent, in diaspora. Iranian Zoroastrians use rue or marjoram, Parsis use sandalwood and loban, a tree-resin. My friend Anahita grew up in a Zoroastrian household in Karachi, Pakistan, where, no matter how hectic things were, her mother would do this ritual after saying her kusti prayers in the morning. Anahita remembers her grandmother and aunts performing the same ritual each day. In her husbandâs family, it was the father who walked through the house with the incense. In some homes, this ritual is performed at sunset as well. When Anahita arrived in America, although she lit an oil lamp on special occasions, such as birthdays or Nav Ruz (New Year: literally âNew Dayâ), she did not perform the morning incense ritual until one of her aunts gave her a small fire-holder. Now, on Sundays, or before she sits to pray with the prayer book (Khordeh Avesta), she will walk around the house with the loban and chant a prayer for the health and well-being of its inhabitants. This allows the smoke and aroma of the incense to waft through her home.
Anahita comments, âFriends who visit us within an hour of the loban will often comment how pleasant it feels.â The loban spreads fragrance both literally and figuratively: âJust as the fire burns brightly, but the sweet aroma of sandalwood and loban leaves behind a fragrance, similarly I promise to lead a useful life filled with good deeds that will leave a memorable mark on the world.â The pungent smell of the incense is intended to imbue the house and its occupants with good thoughts, and also to keep bugs away. The maintenance of the home as a physical stronghold against harm is also sustained in both India and Iran through an early morning sweeping of the house and scouring of the front porch.
Such practices incorporate the ancient understanding that both the conceptual (menog) and corporeal (getig) worlds are to be cared for and sustained by the faithful. The âdualismâ that is often attributed to the Zoroastrian religion is not so much a division between mind and matter, but rather a vertical split between good and evil (see Fig. 3). The dialectical process that engages each Zoroastrian is based on the premise that the actualities of life are intrinsically good, but that the harmony and growth of both the individual and the collective whole are threatened by chaos, confusion and destruction.
The rise of a materialist worldview that poses new challenges concerning the efficacy of any ritual has been accompanied by a correlate decline in status and nu...