Nowruz in esoteric Shi'ism

From March 19 to the 22nd, the Iranian community, the greater Iranian cultural continent as well as numerous ethno-religious and esoteric communities celebrate the coming of spring and a new year, as epitomised in the observation of Nowruz, that is the Iranian new year. The word is derived from the Persian words Now (New) and  rōz (day, but can sometimes be used to denote light) and marks the beginning of the Iranian calendar. Originally a Zoroastrian festival, the emergence of the commemoration of Nowruz is shrouded in myth, often attributed to the prophet Zoroaster himself, yet it has origins in various Mesopotamian festivals commemorating the arrival of spring and the renewal of nature. These festivals were usually strongly associated with the creation myths pertaining to the culture observing and this was no different in the case of Iran, in which the Zoroastrian creation myth plays an important role as the archetypal religious symbology behind the beginnings of the cycle of life, and the commemoration of the seasons.

 In what is sometimes interpreted as dualistic, the Zoroastrian belief explains the existence of Ahura Mazda (the lord of wisdom), residing in eternal light who evoked the hostility of Angra Mainyu (Ahriman), which led to an intrusion into creation (previously within the domain of light) by those residing in eternal darkness. Ahura Mazda created several immortals to protect his creation, to which Ahriman responded to causing the cataclysmic conditions which led to the visage of our world as it is. The cycle of life began as the result of the sacrifice of the three prototypes of life, and this was the first Nowruz. In a cyclical process, several saviours in four periods, one for each 3000 years will descend upon creation until the arrival of Saoshyant, the final messiah. What is interesting is that this figure is strongly associated with the 12th Imam in Twelver Shi'ism, and the process in which he leads the dead across the bridge of Chinvat mirrors the day of resurrection in the Qur'an. How is it that a seemingly secular celebration of spring, with origins in ancient Mesopotamia be infused with such a potent spiritual expression of a religion which came long after it's founding and practice? Let us look to another example for our answer.

Nowruz is celebrated by various esoteric Islamic communities including the Ismailis, Alawites, Alevis and Bektashis. But it is in the Bektashi case where this celebration takes on a particularly mystical form, that is in it's dual association with the beginnings of the cycle of life and the birth of Imam Ali. Baba Rexhab explained the reasons for the celebration to an Albanian audience in New York in 1952:

"It is known that the Arabs did not calculate their months using the sun, but rather by the moon. However, later when we started to calculate months the 13th day of the lunar month of Rajab, which is the lunar birth date of the exalted Imam ‘Ali (may God’s blessings be upon him!), it was found to coincide with the 22nd of March, 600 CE. Thereafter the day of Nevruz received special importance and it remained unforgettable in the memory of generations and generations, not as the “new day” in the old Persian understanding, but as the birthday of this illustrious man, the strongest pillar of Islam, the exalted Imam ‘Ali." 

How is it then that a believer can find such power esoteric resonance in what appears to be coincidence, or look to the saviour of two separate religious traditions as one in the same? We are dealing here with what Henry Corbin termed Imaginal history, that is the history of the mundus imaginilis. It is in Ibn Arabi's division of the imaginative sphere into two forms, the absolute and the captive from which we understanding the metaphysical symbolism being utilised in the above cases. The absolute resides in the world of the soul and exist as manifestations of the pure intellect while the captive are the manifestations of the Imaginal form in mans imaginative consciousness, accessible only by a spiritual faculty.

Access to the imaginary history of the mundus imaginilis is accessible through the process of ta'wil, that is to reinterpret the exoteric by reconducting something towards it's source. Orthodox theology is reversed, the esoteric is not a metaphor of the apparent and literal but vice versa. It is in this sense that we should perhaps seek to understand the above practices, as one dealing entirely with the epoch of the transcendental real, for which the exterior world is merely a shadow.

 For when the Bektashi's speak of divine reality as manifested in Haqq-Muhammad-Ali; or Iranian Shias see the 12th Imam as the final cyclical zorastrian saviour figure, or imagine Fatima as the first principle or the Insan-i-Kamil as the highest spiritual attainment, it is in refrence to a highly complex archetypal realm where the subtle bodies we immediately encounter are merely reflections. That the coming of spring, the presence of the illuiminational presence of the divine and the cyclical beginning of life should be associated with Imam Ali is no mere coincedence. For the archetypal Imam Ali, always irreversibly a part of Muhammad in esoteric Shia mysticism, is nothing more than the Nur of Insan-i-Kamil as embodied in the figure of Muhammad.

It reminds one of a conversation between Kumayl Ibn Zaid and Imam Ali in which Kumayl inquires as to the nature of Al-Haqiqa (the truth) to which the Imam replies in a series of convoluted gnostic explanations which Kumyal demands be further elaborated until the Imam settles for the much simplified answer; "Quench the Lamp, for the dawn has indeed arisen". It is for this reason I light a candle on Nowruz, to Imam Ali, the divine light and it's sacred source.  

Qabbani's "Five letters to my mother"

In honour of Mother's day in the Arab world, I'll leave you with an excerpt from "Five letters to my mother", from a shared love between myself and my own mother, the great Syrian poet, Nizar Qabbani. If there is a single intrinsic symbolic experience at the heart of mankind, it is undoubtedly the overwhelming desire for return, and what better way to express this theme than by the hauntingly nostalgic adoration of the sacred source inherent in Qabbani's poetry.


"Good morning sweetheart.
Good morning my Saint of a sweetheart.
It has been two year mother
since the boy has sailed
on his mythical journey.
Since he hid within his luggage
the green morning of his homeland
and her stars, and her streams,
and all of her red poppy.
Since he hid in his cloths
bunches of mint and thyme,
and a Damascene Lilac. 
    
I am alone.
The smoke of my cigarette is bored,
and even my seat of me is bored
My sorrows are like flocking birds looking for a grain field in season.
I became acquainted with the women of Europe,
I became acquainted with their tired civilization.
I toured India, and I toured China,
I toured the entire oriental world,
and nowhere I found,
a Lady to comb my golden hair.
A Lady that hides for me in her purse a sugar candy.
A lady that dresses me when I am naked,
and lifts me up when I fall.
Mother: I am that boy who sailed,
and still longes to that sugar candy.
So how come or how can I, Mother,
become a father and never grow up."

A nation without a flag?

Part 1

As a result of an unfortunate provocation by a well meaning but fiery young advocate of the Syrian opposition, I became embroiled in an argument over the proposition that the flag of Syria as displayed on a University's Arab society's logo should be changed to reflect the contested nature over which political body is the legitimate government of Syria. I challenged the assumption that we, as Arab expats or members of the Arab diaspora had an inherent right to dictate what does or doesn't represent the Arab people. On what basis, I asked, do we decide whether a national symbol as emotive as the flag be said to exclusively belong to the realm of the government or people? In any case, probably due to a misunderstanding, some interpreted in my concerns, a tone of accusation towards the motives of those in charge and I've since learnt to keep my mouth shut and instead leave what may be interpreted as passive aggressive commentary to my newly founded blog! But the unfortunate incident wasn't all in vain, for it fuelled what was to become a discussion on what, if any flag could represent the society, and potentially the Arab people.

 I've been thinking about the Arab people as a nation for a while; as a result of my recent readings of key Arab nationalist thinkers, having undertaken numerous sociology courses on nationalism as well merely following the unrest throughout the region in current years. Thinking about the Arab nation is nothing new. In fact, if we accept Anderson's Imagined communities theory, then the Arab people are bringing their nation into existence everyday, by means of a common language, mutual concerns, hopes and affinities are read, consumed and articulated in a manner that is far more prevalent than any mode of religious expression. But this kind of modernist understanding must be applied with caution when approaching the Arab world. After all, theories of print capitalism don't quite correspond to the experience of national awareness among the Arabs who have shared a single language for over a thousand years. Al-Arsuzi and Aflaq both stressed the uniqueness of Arabic as an organic language, in conformity with nature and vitality of the vernacular to the awakening of the Arab people. A sense of "Arabness" cannot be reduced to a practical need to structurally reorient society into harmony with a new economic order. But whether or not the modernist interpretation is legitimate, an interesting dilemma remains. Imagining the Arab people isn't new but imagining the Arab people as reduced to a vexillological symbol?

Unlike the Iranians or Turks, the very definitional condition of Arab as pan-ethnic and comprising a wide array of disparate cultures, as well as religious, social and political differences makes the task of infusing a highly symbolised appeal to political unity, as manifested in a flag rather difficult. The sort of banal nationalism that neighbouring middle eastern nations taken for granted is reduced to the domain of the twenty two individual political entities that make up the Arab league. Even during the heyday of Arab nationalism, the flags employed by the various unified regimes such as the United Arab Republic and the Arab Federation, were primarily political and never extended beyond the reach of their territorial dominion. Nasser famously abolished the All-Palestinian government and the Arab revolt flag they had employed upon the founding of the UAR and imposed the flag of unity over Gaza which remained until the formation of the PLO to which it was abandoned in favour of a modified flag of the All-Palestine government which neatly brings us to our next point, the initial popularity of the flag of the Arab revolt.

Nobody knows exactly when the Flag of the Arab revolt (علم الثورة العربية الكبرى) was founded, or by who exactly it was designed. Several theories exist attributing it to various Arab secret societies active during the final years of the Ottoman Empire, modelled after the Young Turks who successfully pressured the Empire into a constitutional model before sowing the seeds for the Turkish nation following the failure of that enterprise. One of these societies were the Arab literary club, based in Constantinople during the early years of the 20th century who formulated the Pan-Arab colours based on a poem by Saif al din al Hilli;

بيــض صنائعنا سود وقـائعـنا خضر مرابعنا حمر مواضينا


White are our deeds, black are our battles,
Green are our fields, red are our swords.


Other sources attribute the foundation of the flag to Al-Fatat, another Arab nationalist society within the Empire which developed close connections with Iraqi officers within the Ottoman military, many of which would join Faisal's Arab revolt which brings us to our third candidate, Sir Mark Sykes himself who supposedly created the colours to bestow a sense of nationalism among the Arabs. The last of course many simply be claims as a result of the obsessive, parental impulse of the coloniser to take credit and subdue any sense of autonomy among his subjects. That being said, it became extremely popular among Arabs who had no part in the revolt, specifically the Palestinians who readily adopted it despite having sided with the Ottomans in the conflict. It briefly served as the Lebanese flag as well as laying the foundations for the Pan-Arab colours which have been adopted by most nations in greater Syria as well as Egypt and a few gulf countries. The enthusiastic adoption of the colours coincided with the national anthems adopted by many of these newly founded nations, which often shared a common lyricist or musician such as those by Mohammad Flayfel who composed the anthems of Palestine and Syria. It's indicative of a very unique component of Arab nationalist sentiment which retains diversity under the threats of uniformity, organic and fluid, permeating the seemingly manufactured structure of modern Arab political boundaries.       

Esoteric-Ethnicisation

Part 1

For those with a familiarity of the Sufi orders which existed throughout the lands of the former Ottoman Empire, esoteric manifestations of Shi'ism among the Turkic communities of Iran and Anatolia, or even a passing knowledge of what are often erroneously called the "ghulat" sects of Islam, the Bektashi's may initially appear to the layman as a largely turkified expression of more traditional Sufi orders, syncretising elements of Anatolian folk beliefs with heterodox Shi'ism. It's an order I've become particularly attracted towards in recent years, and through which I've been alerted to a curious phenomena concerning the relationship between ethnic or national identity and religion in the Islamic world. Although existing primarily in Albania as a result of the Tanzimat modernising reforms of the 19th century which sought to break the powerbase of the traditional and military elites to which the order was strongly associated with; as well as the subsequent banning of Sufi orders by Mustafa Kemal Ataturk upon the founding of the Turkish republic, there nevertheless exists a perception (from both westerners and often non-Bektashi Turks) that the teachings of the patron saint Haji Bektash Veli are something of a Turkish redemption of Islam, cleansed from a dogmatic Arab praxis and reoriented towards a Turkish understanding of spirituality.

 While in Antakya (Hatay), I was even told that the Bektashi-Alevi faith in Turkey is used as a legitimiser by Turanian advocates to appropriate Bektashi traditions as modernist concepts (feminism, humanism etc.), both to decisively sever any cultural association with Arabs and Iranians, as well as infusing what they interpret as authentic Turkic religious expressions, such as that of the animalist faith, Tengrism. As I conducted more research into the faith, I noticed this trend, being raised by orientalist scholars who have unfortunately been responsible for much of the misinformation about the order, as well as by Bektashis and Alevis themselves. This is no doubt similar to claims by Iranian nationalists that reinterpret Shi'ism as a distinctly Persian phenomena, Neo-Zoroastrianism in a thinly veiled Islamic visage, imagining and encouraging a false sectarian dichotomy between Arabs and Persians based on a supposedly ethnic understanding of Islam. The same could be said of the existing accusations in Arab discourse of the cultural customs (often the finger is pointed towards Pakistani and Indian communities) which have supposedly been confused with the purity of Islamic doctrine as exemplified by the Arabs.

Of course, such postulations are preposterous and completely ignorant of actual historical (probably deliberately so) circumstances surrounding the evolution of those varying expressions of faith as well as an overstating of the cultural boundaries and the translatability of those theological innovations between Arab, Turk, Iranian and beyond. After all, how is it that an order founded by a Persian born mystic, though liturgically Turkish and theologically Arab be explained within a pan-ethnic understanding? The ethnic nationalist will no doubt stress the supposed Turkic roots of the patron saint but the ideas that are supposedly so cherished as unmistakably Turkish are in reality a synthesis of already existing doctrinal Islamic traditions with origins from South Asia and the Qalandarriyya as well as the Iranian Hurufis. Indeed, even the identity of the Bektashi order during it's time under Ottoman patronage is one of constant fluctuation and resistant to definite identities, being presented at times as a Sunni order, heterodox Shia-Sufi movement and an essentially syncretic religious ideology. The idea of Shi'ism as an Iranian answer to Islam also fails to account for the long period prior to the Safavid conversion of the region, whereby Iranian remained a stronghold of Sunnism while those lands often associated with Islamic orthodoxy, namely Egypt and Syria were at times under the banner of what would today be described as the heterodox Ismailis.       

These unfortunate reconstitution of the symbolic identifications of faith is no doubt the result of the paradigmatic shift brought about by rapid modernisation, new ideological developments  and the looming spectre of the dominant European example of statehood, all of which contained an implicit rejection of religion as a fluid phenomena, existing in an impenetrable sacred space, for use at the sovereigns own peril. The exact moment in which variations of Islamic esotericism were selected and segregated into individual national or ethnic models is difficult to pinpoint. One could see the national awakenings during the fragmentation of the Ottoman Empire as necessitating a nationalist individuation of a now dominant belief, using the European national churches as a model to emulate, or as a product of bio-power and the manipulation of faith as a means to subjugate a population and reorient them towards nationalist goals. Both these theories have merit but what I intend to argue, is that segregation, labelling and defanging of spiritual movements by mostly secular-nationalist regimes in the Islamic world was the result of a neurotic crisis of identity brought about by the realisation that those newly established states, rested upon precarious and often contradictory internal factors.              

Dracula as an Islamicate other?

 

Now that I have your attention, I must apologise for that ruse of a title and admit I have no intention in bringing forth evidence for the reconsidering of Bram Stoker's dark prince of Wallachia as Islamic in any tangible sense. That being said, I wish to have the reader consider the character, Dracula as a sort of personality paradox, navigating the boundaries of life and death through the embodying of largely protestant eschatological manifestations of good and evil. Of course there is no denying that Dracula is portrayed as an undead monster, conditionally devoid of redemptive features (which is a part of his tragic existence), and utterly averse to sanctification. While it's credible to consider the tragedy of the character, Dracula doesn't exhibit any semblance of heroism. But why then has the character not only been based on an existing historical figure, and a reputably brave warrior at that but also one of an undeniably Christian inclination? It is through the paradigm of the savage noble which I'd like to interpret the Count, both as the Eastern European Christian other (in the sense that Gothic fiction utilised Catholic aesthetics to stress the maliciousness of the Church) and the Undead anti-Christian, exhibiting many 19th century Western conceptions of Islam.          

 

Some of the characteristics embodied by Bram Stoker's villainous noble  seem (perhaps coincidentally) to be an amalgamation of western conceptions of the noble savage, particularly of the Islamic variety. In life, he is a Prince of Wallachia and member of the Order of the Dragon, a lone bastion of Christendom in the face of what was at the time a seemingly invincible Ottoman Empire. In unlife, he has ...by his very pneumatological condition, rejected Christianity. The character can't tolerate Christian iconography and symbolism, and in later manifestations is outwardly hostile to the faith. Although Stoker left his theological affiliation unaccounted for in undeath, it is stated he acheived vampirism in his study of the black arts, which interestingly enough is a recurring theme in attaining unatural immortality in Islamic mythology. It's not a stretch to imagine that Stoker was familiar with the story of Sidi Nouman, where Amine, the surreally beautiful wife of Nouman draws suspicion from her new husband upon taking notice of her lack of appetite. She is later discovered feeding on bodies in a nearby grave surrounded by ghoulish monsters (contradicting various claims that ghouls are essentially the Arab folkloric variant of the vampire mythos) to which she is confronted and seemingly killed only to return the next night at the foot of a terrified Nouman's bed, displaying inhuman feats of strength. Upon meeting her final death it is explained that Amine had in fact been a student of sorcery in life which no doubt inhibited her transition to the hereafter. 

 

It is also indicative that Stoker's choice of undead company had to take such a sexualised and perhaps even incestuous form. Although the relationship between Dracula and his brides is never explicit (interpretations vary from his sisters, spouses or sexual partners), their transgressive position within Dracula's household is somewhat disruptive to the 19th century western imagination, harkening to already existing obsessions with the sexually perceived courtly life of the Ottoman sultans. The wives are rarely seen outside the Count's embattlements (save for those unfortunate enough to wonder into Transylvania) but exercise an invisible influence which remains impenetrable and even threatening (inciting both fear and arousal) from the reader. It is in this sense I wish to direct the readers attention to Heidegger's notion of Alethia and the potential of it's applicability both in the sexualised brides and the ontological dimensions of Dracula himself. Alethia, being Heidegger's term in explaining the limits of disclosure. An example of which is light, that in it's revelation retreats and is absent. Being as a whole is impossible to consider as a total presence or absence but is at once both in that those which do not appear, or are present must be thought of as absences. Therefore, it isn't merely the sexual vulgarity which is threatening to the male-western reader but the concealment hidden within unconcealment, to which sexual mediation is reduced to a minimum. Dracula also characteristically preys of Christian women, choosing even to relocate to London to emphasis the transgressive danger posed by the noble stranger. The dichotomy between gentleman and monster, Christian and heathen, reserved and predatory condition of Dracula's character, when examined through a Heideggerian lens is truly frightening, for the reflection is not merely that of the noble savage but the noble-savage existence at the heart of being as a whole.

 

There are other comparisons to be made. In Tod Browning's adaption, there is of course the famous scene in which Dracula recoils in disgust at the sight of Mr Harker's crucifix. What is interesting about that portrayal is the reference to the first chapter of the novel, when Harker explains his acquisition of the item from a women upon hearing of his journey to the Count's estate. Harker recalls his protestant upbringing in explaining his distaste for wearing crucifix's. Political collaboration between protestant England and the Ottoman Empire following the reformation was often reinforced with appeals to the similarities between Sunni Islam and the protestant faith in general. Harker's theological objections to the crucifix were echoes of Dracula's conditional inability to come into contact with one. Could this have been an articulation of the nervousness of the English gentleman into his rare encounters with the noble other? Perhaps we're reading into this too deeply. Let us leave Dracula and the orientalised ottoman in peace, let them retreat to their respective courts to brood over their domains while enjoying a glass of......I almost forget......"They never drink........wine".  

 

 

Why Nihilism is enough

Our generation is perhaps the first where it is expected and encouraged to be a revolutionary. The tired and inappropriate regurgitation of the supposed dichotomy between establishment and disestablishment is a misleading as that between left and right. Sub-culturally alternating teenage school girls, belching liberal newspaper executives, guilt ridden teenage Trotskyite and failed presidential candidates are all equal in the expectation that their lives should amount to reeling the chaotic forces in the universe under some sort of democratic harmony. The intellectually capable among us will be able to distinguish the mass appeal of some revolutionary goals over others. All but the most gullible know Kony 2012 was a scam. The horrendous marriage of commercial strategy, youth pop culture and post-Victorian ethics should be enough to make even the likes of Bob Geldof nauseous. The less serious the subject matter the more inappropriate the means of mobilisation are. When you’re dealing with niggers it becomes perfectly acceptable to quite literally offer pre-packaged revolutionary solutions, in standard, premium and deluxe means of delivery.



Supporters of the increased tendency of today’s youth to “think about the world”, will often acknowledge the potential for manipulation and opportunism of those who would use further their own geo-political agenda under the guise of altruistic motives, but will regulate such phenomena as the natural expected backlash against the previous all pervasiveness of  post-modern  cynicism. Its detractors such as Badiou and Zizek would challenge the assumption that such a movement represents a clear break from post-modernism at all, merely amounting to the reformulation of disparate failed phenomena, stripped of their contexts and revitalised in a shallow momentary aesthetic. I would not be so dismissive when considering the increasing optimistic (and misplaced) desire among today’s youth to save the world, especially in relation to a very real and conscious retaliation against the remnants of post-modernist ideals which have degenerated into the almost universally lamented hipster movement. Instead, I believe that the emergence of the likes of the “New Sincerity” movement represent nothing more than a militant revitalised positivism that potentially justifies unwarranted transgression against the individual, group and nation in the name of a poorly defined and deliberately simplified humanism.





A call to slavery: In the service of the invisible master   

 

Back in undergraduate Sociology, we were given a lamentable compulsory course on Social and Political enquiry which included a sizable portion on the call for a militant anthropology as a refreshing break from post structuralist cautionary discourses against the very dangerous game of imposing relative values on a subject deemed (on the whim of the researcher) to be anthropologically worth considering. It was interesting that the only justification for this break by the lecturer was that everyone was fed up with all this post-modern crap. Fatigue is a good enough reason as any to assume and experiment with a different strategy for approaching the social world but is it enough as the only reason? And more importantly, can it justify encouraging a potentially historically irresponsible attitude towards social research in general.



 The first thing one should make clear is that social scientists don’t set social trends, and any claim that it is the sociologists/philosophers/anthropologists mandate to change the world should be confronted. While the likes of Zizek rightfully point out the position of a philosopher as the modest interpreter, I don’t exactly believe it’s correct for the social scientist to merely jump on the bandwagon of already existing socially occurring phenomena (Wall street protests, Arab revolution) and speaking at political rallies while at the same time hiding behind the role of the modest observer.  It’s really no wonder than a philosopher of such an impenetrable school as Lacanian psychoanalysis is an international superstar among the student left. You can’t call yourself a communist, flirt with revolutionary movements, attend Marxism 2011 and then complain about misconceptions of the role of the philosopher. Infact, the danger in this fallacy was highlighted by none other than Martin Heidegger who despite (quite unfairly) being strongly associated with the political, refrained from any notion that it was the philosophers duty to bring about change in the world. In his critique of Marx’s famous praxis, “The Philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways, the point is to change it”, Heidegger points out that the call for any change in the world in predicated upon the change in the conception of the world. That is that Marx’s praxis is itself limited to his own interpretation of the world. As Zizek himself points out, “words matter, they matter because they define the contours of what we can do”. What remains modest then in appearing on Al-Jazeera during the Egyptian revolution with that modern embodiment of Islamic banality, Tariq Ramadan and rambling about a region you have little familiarity with?



I have to reaffirm that I’m not against non-experts from expressing their opinion on a region or topic they haven’t been awarded a stamp of approval by the university to dissect, what would be the point since it seems everyone is invited to the theoretical laboratory which houses the mangled, assaulted body of the Middle East. And I would argue there is definite value to Nietzsche’s distaste for the ant-like scholars who are devoid of the lightness in touch and the freedom of spirit in regarding things. But Zizek is moving beyond merely regarding things! Is there not a point when an actively partisan stance betrays the (admittedly post-structuralist) philosophical imperative to read and interpret?    



While social scientists don’t set trends, they have the potential to give an activity a stamp of intellectual approval. Beginning with Nancy Schepur-Hughes and her self-righteous crusade against the injustices she would unravel, there has been a trend for academics to engage in popular activism with little concern for the inferred values unquestionably taken to heart is always existing universal truths, to be imposed on the subjects of academia (and beyond) by pen (and by any logical conclusion, sword). Unlike Erving Goffman’s far more subtle, cynical (a key term in today’s account for the fatigue people have with post-modernism) account of psychiatric institutions in the 1950s, the likes of Hughes abandons the fortress of responsibility and allows herself to be consumed by a movement that respects no distinction between the roles that such a position affords. And like those people who take it upon themselves to save the world, the intellectual quite literally becomes unable to save him/herself. In this very Nietzschean sense, the crusading intellectual and activist is as oppressed as his/her beloved other, utterly imitable and devoid of self.