Introduction

1

Zoroastrians today constitute a small religious community with no more than around 130,000 global members (Stausberg 2002, 1:11). In Iran—the historical homeland of Zoroastrianism—around 23,000 Zoroastrians remain, the majority of which now live in the capital city of Tehran, with significant numbers still residing in the previous strongholds of Kerman and Yazd (Markaz-e Āmār-e Irān 2018, 99). As a consequence of recurring emigration waves from Iran to India, beginning after the Islamization of Iran in the seventh century, the demographic centre of global Zoroastrianism today is Bombay, where 70% of the roughly 75,000 Indian Zoroastrians live (Stausberg 2002, 1:11). Iranian and Indian Zoroastrians, the latter of which are referred to as “Parsis” (alluding to their origins in Persia), are divided by a religious and cultural gap that has developed throughout the millennia. Both Zoroastrian subgroups today moreover have considerable diasporas, primarily in North America (ca. 10,000) and the UK (ca. 5,000) as well as Pakistan, Australia, Hong Kong, and elsewhere (Hinnells 2005; Stausberg 2002, 1:12).

2

Despite the small number of its adherents, Zoroastrianism and its founding figure Zarathustra have been an enormous source of inspiration and fascination in different historical and geographical settings. Early modern European obsessions with the ancient Persian prophet are most prominently reflected in Nietzsche’s late nineteenth century work Thus Spoke Zarathustra; earlier already, European historians of religion made ample references to Zarathustra and discussed his impact on European and Christian thought (Stausberg 1998). More relevant to this article, however, are Iranian perceptions of Zoroastrianism: in the nineteenth century, Iranian nationalists re-discovered the pre-Islamic era of Iran as a supposedly golden age (Zia-Ebrahimi 2016). Zoroastrianism came to be equated with pre-Islamic—and, by extension, “authentic”—Iranian national culture. This idea was also promoted by Iranian Zoroastrians and Indian Parsis themselves, who at the time were entering a vibrant exchange (Marashi 2020; Ringer 2011). As we shall see later in this article, the notion of Zoroastrianism as a vehicle of original Iranian culture has been very popular and powerful up to the present.

3

The recent decades have witnessed a growing interest in religious conversion to Zoroastrianism, particularly among Kurds, different Central Asian populations (especially Tajiks and Uzbeks), Russians, and Iranians. Converts and their communities are labelled “Neo-Zoroastrian” or “Para-Zoroastrian” (Stausberg 2007; Rose 2011, 226–28) to distinguish them from ethnic Zoroastrians who usually do not recognize such conversions. Especially Muslim-born converts of a Kurdish, Tajik, or Iranian background understand their turning to Neo-Zoroastrianism as a “reversion” to their ancestors’ religion. While Neo-Zoroastrian movements in the Kurdish and Tajik contexts have at times enjoyed political support, conversions from Islam are prohibited and subject to legal persecution in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Recent quantitative research by Pouyan Tamimi Arab and Ammar Maleki suggests that many Iranians self-identify as Zoroastrian (Maleki and Tamimi Arab 2020). As the authors clarify in a later article, this self-identification primarily amounts to “a dream or an aspiration more than an actual alternative lived religion embedded in a religious community” (Stausberg, Tamimi Arab, and Maleki 2023, 16).

4

Drawing upon a Persian-language account of the conversion of two Muslim-born Iranians, published by the UK-based publisher Satrap in 2016 (Āriā and Āriā 2016),¹ I would like to discuss ways to conceptually frame the Neo-Zoroastrian movement and conversions to Neo-Zoroastrianism in this article. The scarce existing literature on the subject has generally used analytical frames highlighting the supposed lack of authenticity in the religious practice of Neo-Zoroastrians, using terms like “co-optation” (Foltz 2016), “appropriation” (Stausberg and Tessmann 2013), and “invented tradition” (Szanto 2018, 97). My argument takes a different tack: recent ethnographic research in the Tehran Zoroastrian community (Fozi 2014; Stewart and Moavenat 2018) accounts for vibrant discourses of modernization and the making of a reformed Zoroastrianism. If one takes this urban form of Zoroastrianism as a reference point and compares it with Neo-Zoroastrian religious practice and identity, the latter no longer appears as a “bad copy” of “authentic Zoroastrianism.” In fact, one will find a trend for coalescence between the two. This coalescence especially manifests in a modernized religious practice that is driven by “religionization,” roughly defined as the homogenization of religious practice through a liberal Protestant ideal (Dreßler 2019; Masuzawa 2007). Second, a trend towards coalescence can be observed in the critical dissociation of both Iranian Zoroastrians and Iranian converts to Neo-Zoroastrianism from their hegemonic religious environment: Shi’ite Islam as promoted by the Iranian Islamist government. Consequently, “revival” and “resistance” appear as two suitable additions to the analytical vocabulary used in the study of Neo-Zoroastrianism.

Zoroastrians and the Vexed Question of Conversion

5

Zoroastrianism traditionally does not allow for the admission of new members. Belonging to the Zoroastrian community is exclusively defined by family descent. Similar to communities like the Druze, Yezidis, Alawites, Alevis, and the Ahl-e Haqq, Zoroastrianism may thus be referred to as an “ethno-religious” community (Smith 1991, 7; Arakelova 2010).² Such communities are non-proselytizing and strictly endogamous; according to Victoria Arakelova, endogamy serves the communities either in the “preservation of […] esoteric religious knowledge” or constitutes a reaction to a “hostile surrounding” which considers them heretics (Arakelova 2010, 5–6). In the case of Zoroastrianism, the latter argument is relatively pronounced while the religious teachings of Zarathustra, at least in theory, are thought of as universally accessible.

6

Much resembling the concept of “ethno-religious” communities, Albert De Jong (2018) proposed the concept of “spiritual elite communities” to collectively classify groups like the Druze, Yezidis, Alawites, and Zoroastrians. Alongside endogamy, De Jong mentions the existence of “a small section of specialists in whom knowledge of the tradition is vested” (2018, 127), i.e. a “spiritual elite” as a second mutual trait. The religious practice of spiritual elite communities is strongly place-bound and depends on their (usually rural) surroundings. The arrival of modernity and its inevitable by-products—such as urbanization, penetration of village life by the nation-state, and the emphasis of the national community over more local or religious identities—has presented spiritual elite communities with massive challenges (2018, 137). Endogamy is far less likely to be maintained in cosmopolitan cities than in homogenous villages, and the authority of the spiritual elites appears questionable once lay members have attained a “more valuable,” secular education.

7

Zoroastrians have equally faced these challenges and members are now increasingly questioning traditional conventions. The permissibility of conversions and of intermarriage, two issues held to be inextricably tied, “have evolved as the shibboleths of contemporary Zoroastrianism” (Writer 1994, 105). Generally speaking, the debate is more openly embraced among Parsis than among Iranian Zoroastrians, and there is a divide between “orthodox” and “reformist” opinions (1994, 105–27). As Michael Fischer has pointed out, the prohibition of conversion “is not a religiously or theologically grounded rule, but rather a pragmatic rule for survival” (1973, 67). Paradoxically, both opponents and supporters of the admission of new members cite the fear of extinction as an underlying rationale: while opponents fear harsh repercussions in the case of especially Muslim conversions to Zoroastrianism, supporters point to the dwindling numbers of Zoroastrians worldwide and argue that conversion was a necessary measure to prevent the complete disappearance of the community.

8

Negative views on the conversion question are occasionally also justified by reasons specific to the Iranian and Indian Zoroastrian subgroups. Indian Parsis, who over centuries have developed into a distinct caste, fear a “swamping” of the charitable systems established in their community by members of other, less wealthy communities (Fischer 1973, 70; Hinnells 2005, 119). As for Iranian Zoroastrians, some community members are particularly sensitive to the wish of Iranian Muslims to convert to their religion. They argue that Iranian Muslims historically betrayed Zoroastrians by converting to Islam and should therefore not be allowed back (Fischer 1973, 67; Fozi 2014, 176–77). Notions of racial purity and the fear of corrupting one’s purely Persian, “non-Arab” descent may as well play a role in these considerations. Irrespective of how Iranian Zoroastrians view the matter, conversions away from Islam are not possible according to the laws of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Nevertheless, before the 1979 Revolution, during the rule of the Pahlavi Shahs (1925–1979), intermarriages between Zoroastrians and Muslims happened occasionally and were condoned (Kestenberg Amighi 1990, 284).

9

Already in his 1971 ethnographic study of Iranian Zoroastrians, Fischer noted that “support for allowing conversion is slowly and cautiously growing” (Fischer 1973, 68). More recent studies seem to confirm this trend, at least for Zoroastrians living in Tehran. Sarah Stewart straightforwardly points out: “Urban Zoroastrians have become reformist in their outlook and, given the opportunity, would welcome converts to the religion” (Stewart and Moavenat 2018, 1). Due to the Iranian government’s lack of acceptance, Stewart’s respondents still admitted that the question was a largely theoretical issue (2018, 99). It is likely that Iranian Zoroastrians, even if they actually are in favour of admitting converts, may be hesitant to openly express this view—both out of fear of the Iranian government and conservative Zoroastrian clergy.

10

In summary, it can be assumed that the uprooting from the community’s original locality and its encounter with new environments, whether it is the urban centre of Tehran or a diasporic setting, may prompt Zoroastrians to re-consider the traditional prohibition of conversion. Many Zoroastrians as a principle are not opposed to outsiders engaging with the teachings of their religions. While some may point to the obvious fact that Zoroastrianism, like any ethno-religious community before its “closing” (Arakelova 2010, 4), at some point must have been open to the admission of new members (for how else would it have come into being?), others separate the Zoroastrian religious teachings from Zoroastrianism as an ethnic identity. Accordingly, one of Stewart’s respondents explained that “[a] good Muslim who is living in an honest way is also a Zoroastrian, he is a Muslim Zoroastrian” (Stewart and Moavenat 2018, 155). Following the same logic, members of the Indian Parsi community may argue for a distinction between a religious Zoroastrianism and an ethnic “Parsism” (Niechcial 2020, 14–16).

11

The diversity of views ethnic Zoroastrians hold regarding the question of conversion reverberates in their perceptions of Neo-Zoroastrians. For as early as the 1970s, Navid Fozi relates an anecdote conveyed to him by anthropologist Janet Kestenberg Amighi: when a number of Iranian Muslims desired to convert to Zoroastrianism, an Iranian Zoroastrian priest (mowbed) “in fear” refused to initiate them (Fozi 2014, 156). They then found an Indian Zoroastrian cleric who initiated them before they returned to Iran, propelling their new “co-religionists” into an ambiguous state: “Several Zoroastrians seemed very proud of this; others worried about the impact” (2014, 156). As for the present, Paulina Niechcial’s field visit to the eleventh World Zoroastrian Congress, held 2018 in the Australian city Perth, accounts for a similar ambiguity. That the congress hosted a number of Kurdish Neo-Zoroastrians was met with dismay by conservative-minded Zoroastrians, especially those following the line of the orthodox Parsi clergy of Bombay (2020, 15). For Neo-Zoroastrians themselves, such reservations are largely irrelevant. The Iranian account studied for this article, for instance, blames the prohibition of conversions exclusively on the Iranian government’s Islamism and, perhaps unsurprisingly, does not distinguish between Neo-Zoroastrianism and Zoroastrianism (Āriā and Āriā 2016).

“Returning to the Religion of our Ancestors”: Neo-Zoroastrianism and “Reversion”

12

The book The Displacement of Iranians: Taking Courage—Travelogue of Tārā and Mazdak Āriā, from Leaving the Homeland to Seeking Asylum in the West³ tells the story of a young Iranian woman who, born to a Neo-Zoroastrian⁴ father and a Muslim mother, embraces Neo-Zoroastrianism and together with her husband (a fellow Muslim-born convert) emigrates from Iran in pursuit of religious freedom (Āriā and Āriā 2016). Throughout the book, conversions of Iranians to Neo-Zoroastrianism are exclusively framed as a “return to the religion of our ancestors” (bāzgasht beh āyin-e niākān) (2016, 7, 11, 15). This idea of a “reversion” to the “original religion” of Iranians is equally present among Neo-Zoroastrians with other ethnic backgrounds, most notably Kurds (Foltz 2016, 2017; Niechcial 2020; Raßbach 2021; Szanto 2018) and Tajiks (Foltz 2016). Notably, the Russian Neo-Zoroastrian movement, although claiming Zoroastrianism “to be part of Russian cultural heritage and history” (Stausberg and Tessmann 2013, 454), is less concerned with the idea of “reversion” (Tessmann 2012; Stausberg and Tessmann 2013).⁵

13

Kurdish Neo-Zoroastrians believe that Zoroastrianism was the “original” religion of the Kurdish people (Foltz 2017; Szanto 2018). Historian of Iranian religions Richard Foltz dismisses this claim as “the product of modern nationalist ideology with little in the way of unambiguous historical support” (Foltz 2017, 102). Rooted in an equally ahistorical conflation of Zoroastrianism with Yezidism, the promotion of Zoroastrianism as the supposedly original religion of Kurds was largely advanced by the Marxist-Leninist Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) and its leader Abdullah Öcalan (Foltz 2017, 94; Raßbach 2021; Szanto 2018, 98). For Öcalan, Zoroastrianism was an ideological tool to foster secularization and the dissociation from Islam that was ultimately void of any religious implications. In contemporary Iraqi Kurdistan, however, Neo-Zoroastrians are currently developing a religious infrastructure to accommodate “reverts.” As Edith Szanto succinctly put it: “For Öcalan, Zoroastrianism is a crucial part of the Kurdish past, while [for; sic!] the founders of the two Zoroastrian centers in Sulaimani, it is part of a bright future” (2018, 98).

14

Neo-Zoroastrianism is not the only religious context in which the concept of “reversion” plays a role. Taken literally, one could argue that “reversion” denotes the re-embracing of a religion an individual was original affiliated with and at some moment turned away from. Some Muslims, especially those with Salafi leanings, contend that any conversion to Islam actually constitutes a “reversion,” claiming that all human beings by their natural instinct were born Muslim (Hermansen 2014, 633; van Nieuwkerk 2006, 2014).⁶ Interestingly, as Karin van Nieuwkerk notes, the “reversion” discourse among Muslims appears to have originated with conversions to Islam by Black Americans who considered themselves to be reverting to their ancestors’ religion (2006, 161).⁷ Their conceptualization of “reversion” thus bears a striking resemblance with that of Kurdish, Tajik, and Iranian Neo-Zoroastrians.

15

Enrico Pace points to other instances in which a “reversion” discourse is pronounced (2009). Taking the examples of the Neo-Hindu movement in India and the Haredi Jewish Chabad Lubavitch movement, Pace is concerned with cases in which religious actors endeavour to purify and “revert“ spaces and individuals they consider to theoretically belong to their communities but to currently linger in a somehow converted (or “perverted”) state. Accordingly, Neo-Hindus may try to “revert” an Indian mosque into a Hindu temple (2009, 197), and Haredi Jews seek to persuade secular Jews to strictly abide by Jewish law (2009, 207). At least the Neo-Hindu example displays a certain parallel logic to Neo-Zoroastrianism: it seeks to safeguard an “authentic” national-religious identity perceived to be threatened. Just as Indian Neo-Hindus accuse Indian Muslims and Christians of “being responsible for the Hindu people’s loss of traditional values and identity” (2009, 200), Iranian Neo-Zoroastrians harbour a bitterness regarding the Islamization of Iran and its loss of original identity, as they would see it.⁸

16

No matter how “reversion” is understood in a particular context, it is crucial to highlight that it fundamentally is an emic concept, the analytical value of which is highly questionable. To use it as a conceptual tool would essentially mean to copy the insider discourse and uncritically accept its ideological narratives. To assume, for example, that Islam was a sort of “natural religion” instilled into any human being is, to say the least, highly patronizing. Van Nieuwkerk therefore is right when she argues that “[r]eplacing conversion by reversion as a general analytical concept does not appear to be very useful,” given it is “a specifically ideological concept” (2006, 163). Nonetheless, any analysis of conversions to Neo-Zoroastrianism would be weak if it failed to acknowledge the converts’ claim to being “reverts.” This notion lies at the heart of the self-perception of converts. Scholarly analyses can take these claims to, for instance, further inquire into what nationalist presumptions the notion of “reversion” is based upon, and why the notion of “reversion” becomes particularly prominent at a specific time and place. In this article, however, I will foreground two different perspectives arising from the mentioned book by Tārā and Mazdak Āriā and recent literature in the study of Zoroastrianism.

Neo-Zoroastrianism as Religious Revival

17

Existing scholarship implies that there is a lack of authenticity in Neo-Zoroastrian religious practice. Referring to two Neo-Zoroastrian centres opened in Sulaimaniyya (Iraqi Kurdistan), Szanto writes that “neither is trying to recreate Zoroastrianism the way it is currently and has been historically practiced in Iran and South Asia” (2018, 97). Participating individuals rather create “their own versions of Kurdish Zoroastrianism” which are “nationalist, postmodern, and liberal” and foreground “questions of Kurdish nationalism and women’s rights” (2018, 97). Szanto furthermore observes:

18

Despite the emphasis on the continuity of Zoroastrian rituals in contemporary Kurdish life, modern Kurdish converts are generally not interested in either learning Zoroastrian texts or following historically documented Zoroastrian rituals as they are practiced in Iran and India today. They generally strip Zoroastrianism of its ritual and legal aspects and reduce it to the ethical imperative: “Good thoughts, good speech, good deeds”. (Szanto 2018, 104)

19

Along similar lines, Foltz points out that Kurdish “Zoroastrianizers” are “stripping the religion of its legal and ritual aspects while emphasizing the ethical core of ‘good thoughts, good words, good deeds’” (2017, 97). While Szanto and Foltz are certainly right in pointing this out, there is a danger of basing one’s image of “historically documented Zoroastrian rituals as they are practiced in Iran and India today” solely on the classical scholarship in the field, especially the pioneering ethnographic works of Fischer (1973) and Mary Boyce (1977).⁹ Readings in more recent scholarship, such as the insightful studies by Fozi (2014) and Stewart (2018)—both of which this article will extensively draw upon—attune us to the fact that “[t]oday one will find only a pale reflection of the village Zoroastrianism that was described by Mary Boyce and Michael Fischer” (Stewart 2016, 354). Urban Iranian Zoroastrians are moving towards reform and religious revival.

20

I argue that the religious practice of both reform-minded urban (ethnic) Zoroastrians and Neo-Zoroastrians are shaped by the necessity of modernization and, as a result, are subject to a process of “religionization.” Dreßler uses the term religionization to heuristically denote “practices through which religion is homogenized and reified” (2019, 2). This homogenization is not arbitrary but follows a very concrete pattern: critical scholarship in the study of religions for over two decades has pointed to a “world religions discourse” that, while superficially speaking the language of diversity, possesses a very narrow image of what defines the core of religion (Masuzawa 2007). Taking liberal Protestant ideals as a template, the importance of one clearly defined holy scripture, the emphasis of personal belief over public rituals, religious individualism rather than adherence to clerical authority, and the necessity of a universalist message, among other aspects, are emphasized (McCutcheon 1997; Nongbri 2013). When entering a process of religionization, discourses and practices are streamlined towards these ideals.

21

The individuals speaking through Fozi’s ethnography of Tehran Zoroastrians repeatedly aver that their religious practice is in need of “a contemporary interpretation corresponding to the exigencies of modern life” (Fozi 2014, 68). Contemporary Zoroastrians “had to follow a more modern religion and get rid of burdensome customs” (2014, 87); they were stressing “aspects of Zoroastrian religion that are more appealing to present-day Zoroastrians” (2014, 123) and “abandoned some religious ordinances” while simplifying others “in response to the necessities of modern life” (2014, 152). In what follows, I will briefly exemplify this trend through three aspects: the opening of the clergy to lay people, the utilization of the Gathas as the holy scripture of Zoroastrianism, and the emphasis of the belief in simplified ethics at the expense of lengthy rituals. By juxtaposing these aspects with the Neo-Zoroastrian primary source, I shall point to the growing parallels and coalescence in the religious practice of the two groups.

Neo-Zoroastrianism as Resistance

37

Conversions to Neo-Zoroastrianism in many cases appear as a reaction to negative experiences with Islam and/or Islamism. As Szanto illustrated, the Neo-Zoroastrian movement among Kurds gained momentum after the horrors of Jihadi violence by the Islamic State (2018, 96). A conversion then becomes an act of resistance to an “imposed” religious identity that converts identify with violence, oppression and, following the “reversion” narrative, with an attack on their original religious identity. The Kurdish case here resembles the Iranian context: in the conversion account of Tārā and Mazdak Āriā, the injustices of the Islamic Republic of Iran (seemingly identified with Islam as a whole) are constantly referenced and contrasted with an idealized Zoroastrianism. Impossible on the official level, conversions away from Islam constitute a subversive act in Iran and, if they become publicly known, are legally persecuted.

38

Because Tārā and Mazdak Āriā are writing in exile, they can freely express their views on the Islamist regime in Iran and the Islamic religion. Zoroastrians living in Iran, like other Iranians, need to attune the criticism they might have to the drastic limits dictated by the Iranian government. In his insightful study, Fozi portrays the ambiguities resulting from these circumstances. A most striking example, he illustrates how Iranian Zoroastrians blame their historical suffering at the hands of the Muslim conquerors on “misguided Sunni Arabs”, thus vindicating their Shi’ite Iranian compatriots (2014, 125). Criticism of Islam can consequently be framed as criticism of the supposed “infringements” of “Arab culture” on the true nature of Islam—a notion the Iranian government can stomach much easier than an outright attack on its own hegemonic understanding of Shi’ite Islam.

39

Nevertheless, Iranian Zoroastrians occasionally reference Islam in a negative way to set themselves positively apart. Similar to what I have described in the preceding section, we can again observe a coalescence between discourses promoted by Iranian Zoroastrians, albeit cautiously, and the Neo-Zoroastrian primary source written by Tārā and Mazdak Āriā. In the following, I draw upon three aspects to exemplify this observation: the emphasis of gender equality in Zoroastrianism, the contrasting of a “cheerful” Zoroastrianism with a “mournful” Shi’ite Islam, and the framing of Zoroastrianism as an authentically Iranian religion (as opposed to Islam).

Conclusion

55

Scholars from the study of religions and neighbouring disciplines may approach the growing interest in religious conversion to Neo-Zoroastrianism, especially among Kurds and Iranians, from multiple perspectives. Previous works have tended to portray Neo-Zoroastrian religiosities as fundamentally different from “authentic” Zoroastrian religious practice. In this article, I have endeavoured to offer an alternative perspective by pointing to aspects of coalescence between the religious practice and self-image of Neo-Zoroastrians and reform-minded, urban Iranian Zoroastrians. By shifting the focus this way, Neo-Zoroastrianism appears as a vehicle for religious revival (in a “religionized” pattern) and for resistance against the Islamic Republic of Iran’s version of Shi’ite Islam.

56

Ethnic Zoroastrians traditionally have constituted a “spiritual elite community,” shaped by endogamy, a non-missionary attitude, place-bound rituals, and a clear divide between priestly and lay families. However, recent ethnographic research on Iranian Zoroastrianism has pointed out that earlier religious conventions are gradually loosening up as a consequence of large-scale migration to the urban centre of Tehran. Confronted with the challenges of life in a modern nation-state, urban Iranian Zoroastrians are prompted to re-consider their religious practice and accommodate it to the lifestyle especially of the younger generations.

57

Meanwhile, a number of Muslim-born Iranians identify as converts (or “reverts”) to Zoroastrianism and join a growing Neo-Zoroastrian community. In the Islamic Republic of Iran, this community is forced to remain invisible; for some, the cyberspace becomes a religious home. In emigration, Iranian Neo-Zoroastrians can openly express their religious views. Generally, there is very little and cautious contact between Neo-Zoroastrian and ethnic Zoroastrian communities. Conservative ethnic Zoroastrians, especially those following the Orthodox Indian Parsi priesthood, vehemently oppose conversions to Zoroastrianism and disapprove of the Neo-Zoroastrian movement.

58

Reform-minded Iranian Zoroastrians are more open to the idea of conversion. Moreover, there is a trend for coalescence between their modernized religious practice and that of some Neo-Zoroastrians. The priesthood now to some degree is accessible to members of lay families (including women), the vast canon of ritual texts is re-assessed and rendered more concise, and lengthy rituals abbreviated. As a result, Zoroastrianism appears in a shape conforming with the hegemonic “world religions discourse,” moving towards an ideal of religion that is normatively shaped by a liberal Protestant template. Neo-Zoroastrians too move towards this ideal; for them it is taken for granted that their religion is a universally accessible one and not defined by ethno-religious boundaries.

59

Both ethnic Iranian Zoroastrians and Neo-Zoroastrians react to their encounter with Shi’ite Islam as promoted and imposed by the post-1979 Islamist government of Iran. They dissociate from Iranian Shi’ite Islam by emphasizing gender equality in Zoroastrianism, framing Zoroastrianism as a “joyful” religion (unlike “mournful” Shi’ism), and claim to adhere to the religion most suitable to the Iranian nation. Similar discourses are notably found in the Iranian Evangelical Christian movement (Römer 2024). At times, the dissociation from Islam both of ethnic Iranian Zoroastrians and Iranian Neo-Zoroastrians appears in a racialized form by pitting a supposedly “Arab” Islam against the character of Persian (or “Aryan”) Iranians, thus following a broader tendency among anti-Islamist Iranians.

60

In the future, encounters between ethnic Zoroastrians (especially those pushing for reform) and Neo-Zoroastrians may become more frequent and stir further debates in the ethnic Zoroastrian communities. If ethnic Zoroastrians are willing to give up traditional conventions, especially that of strict endogamy, the religious interest of Iranians and others in Zoroastrianism has the potential of becoming an opportunity for actual revival. Other “spiritual elite communities” are confronted with the same questions, although the fascination stirred by Zoroastrianism is quite unique. Eventually, ethnic Zoroastrians may find a “middle way,“ allowing for conversions while maintaining their distinct ethno-religious identity, not unlike the modus vivendi that has historically developed in Judaism.