Two Decades have Passed Since the Overthrow of the Pahlavi monarchy, yet the upheavals of the post-revolutionary years have preoccupied scholars so much that the detailed and dispassionate analysis of Iran under its last dynasty is still in its infancy. To be sure, important events like the 1953 coup or the Islamic revolution and major issues such as oil or U.S.-Iranian relations have received the attention they deserve. But when it comes to the long years that separate moments of crisis, we know much more about the exertions of those who opposed Pahlavi rule, be they Mosaddeqists, leftists, or Islamists, than about the activities and policies of those who actually ran the country from 1925 to 1978. This asymmetry makes many an account of Pahlavi Iran an exercise in retrospective prediction, leading all too often to the tempting but logically flawed conclusion that the fall of the dynasty was foredoomed. Scholars’ preference for studying the exceptional rather than the routine is understandable, as the former is, almost by definition, more exciting than the latter.

It would indeed be surprising if the recent controversy over revisionist scholarship and the Cold War did not extend to Iran. For the last two decades, most American historians have asserted that United States involvement in Iran was fundamentally a response to Soviet penetration, made manifest during World War II when Russia tried to establish a puppet regime in Azerbaijan. According to the “orthodox” school of Cold War scholarship, America first took an overt interest in Persia in 1946. President Truman sent his “blunt message” to Stalin, the State Department protested sharply, and the United Nations Security Council asked for Russian withdrawal. The Soviets, after boycotting the United Nations discussions, left the territory. America, a disinterested power, had suddenly awaken to her world responsibilities and come to the rescue.

Agricultural production considered from an economic point of view has two important functions: first, to provide prime necessities for those inside and outside the agricultural sector, and second, to enable the financing of imports. In preindustrial countries like Qajar Iran, where more than 85 percent of the population was earning its living in the agricultural sector, the economic basis of the country was land and agriculture.

Agricultural production in Qajar Iran was characterized by a low level of technical specialization and labor division. The landlords showed no great interest in furthering agricultural production as indicated by a low level of investment in this sector, while the farmers were not encouraged by their masters to work for greater productivity.

The landlords were interested only in extracting the agricultural surplus, i.e., the agricultural production minus the consumption of the agricultural sector or, in other words, that part of the production that would end up outside the agricultural sector.

The rich subtlety of the Iranian political process has long defied scholarly attempts to comprehend and explain. Native Iranian writings have been stunted both by a traditional tendency to stress chronology over analysis as well as by sociopolitical deterrents that have deflected the academic searchlight away from the political system. European scholarship has seldom focused directly upon the Iranian polity but has instead preoccupied itself with history very broadly conceived. This historical discussion has closely followed the Persian sources both in method and substance. This thrust has been joined with the European concern with formal-legal structures and cultural determinants. The result has often been descriptive history in which the political component has been ultimately viewed as a by-product of cultural traits, religious heritage, or the idiosyncracies of particular political actors.

This article reconsiders the religio-ritualistic interpretations of the use of the rhyton within eighth-century CE Sogdiana. Through a close art-historical analysis, it argues that three eighth-century wall paintings from Panjikent illustrate a drinking game. This proposal expands the current breadth of meaning attributed to the imagery decorating Sogdian homes. Not only could the paintings illustrate epic narratives, religious veneration, or moral didacticism, but they could also celebrate conviviality, fun, and humor.

In the late 1950s, when Iran was witness to the withering away of social norms and everyday practices concomitant with the country's rapid urbanization, a group of young Iranian film directors embarked upon a new cinematic trend, in attempts to screen the ethereal quotidian of Iranian life. Defining itself against what was perceived to be the “cheap” and “repetitive” commercial “Film Farsi” industry of the time, this alternative (alter-)cinema fused the local and global, by incorporating international cinematic elements in socially and politically conscious national films, and projecting them on local and international screens. Problematizing a homogeneous conception of historical time that subsumes the history of cinema into a conventionalized grand narrative of the Iranian 1979 revolution, this article works with a conception of heterogeneous historical time that first interrogates cinematic temporality autonomously and then in relation to the political history of Iran, especially the events of the 1978–79 revolution. This article explores how the distinct cosmopolitan alter-cinema of pre-revolutionary Iran was born from a cinematic rupture in the 1950s, prompted by series of critiques and professional expectations that colored the attention paid to the vernacular and quotidian in film production.

By conceiving two emergent nation-states as a single region linked by conjoining roads, shared technologies and circulating researchers, this essay traces the emergence of a common “intellectual infrastructure” that during the interwar decades enabled European, American, Iranian, Afghan and Indian scholars to promote archeological and architectural interpretations of the Iranian and Afghan past. Taking Robert Byron’s Road to Oxiana as a fixed point of reference, the following pages survey the motor-linked sites where these new disciplinary approaches were developed and disseminated. By positioning Byron amid a larger cadre of investigators publishing in Farsi, Dari and Urdu no less than English, French and German, the essay shows how shifts in Iranian perceptions of the ancient and medieval past were part of a larger regional development, unfolding not only in familiar dialogue with Europe, but also in conversation and to some degree competition with nationalist scholarship in Afghanistan and India. Together with the journals, museums, learned societies and congresses which were launched in the 1920s and 1930s, cars and cameras—those key tools of the “age of speed”—were central to these learned ventures. Far from generating uniformity, this shared intellectual infrastructure enabled multiple interpretations of the archaeological and architectural past that were nonetheless mutually intelligible and methodologically consistent.

The history of Iranian metalwork has yet to be written. Published material is scanty compared with the number of pieces on record in public institutions, not to mention private collections. But no period has been so blatantly neglected as the Safavid period and the half century of Timurid rule during which the foundations of much of Safavid art were laid.

The first substantial body of material was if not published stricto sensu, at least illustrated in the Survey of Persian Art. Fourteen bronze, brass, and tinned copper vessels, plus a number of “steel” implements and weapons, a couple of bronze ensigns and astronomical instruments which will not be considered in this paper, were dealt with in a short text of general content. Alas not a few errors, which crept into the text as well as the brief captions, marred the reader's pleasure. There was no attempt to read the Persian and Arabic inscriptions except for dates.

The fascination for the Western world with Iranian cinema lies primarily with the fable-like developments of its stories which often plunge us into a world of exoticism and lured us with its singularity. Iranian war cinema born during the war between Iran and Iraq is not as well distributed in Europe and films with English subtitles are difficult to get hold of. Whether it is interpreted as an anthropological document which opens a dialogue between the protagonist and the spectators, the “I” and the other, Iranian war cinema by Tabrizi, Sinayi, Hatamikia and Ghobadi, among many others, can be seen as a spiritual voyage where the soul hovers between absence and presence. In the wake of war cinema in general, one can draw parallels with mythology, the Judeo-Christian tradition, literature and art. Its function is not only didactic but cathartic, and the particularity of Iranian war cinema like no other is that it participates in the mourning process of a whole nation fighting against its own ghosts and in search of its identity. This article attempts to decipher the myths hidden behind the images presented by Iranian war cinema, paradoxically interweaving the traumatic with the aesthetic.

This article discusses the reasons why Ferdowsi does not begin the Shahnameh with the episode of Zoroaster, which he quotes from the version of Daqiqi, but rather with an account of the creation of the world that, in contrast to Islamic historians writing before Ferdowsi, does not attempt to accommodate a Qur'anic view of creation and human history, but neither does he give a cosmology dominated or well informed by Zoroastrian theology. Similarly, Ferdowsi tends to present pre-Islamic Iran as having a consistent religious history, and perhaps avoids beginning with Goshtāsp's conversion to the religion of Zoroaster, as he makes Daqiqi appear to do, in order to minimize the role of religious conflict in Iranian history, again diverging from historians of the Islamic period writing before him. The article also explores the role of God in the Shahnameh and the absence of theodicy.

This article proposes a new approach to three of the most persistent problems in the study of Iranian art and religion from the coming of Alexander to the fall of the Sasanians: the development of Iranian sacred architecture, the legacy of the Achaemenids, and the development of the art and ritual of Iranian kingship after Alexander. Canepa explores the ways in which the Seleukids contributed basic and enduring elements of Iranian religious and royal culture that lasted throughout late antiquity. Beyond stressing simple continuities or breaks with the Babylonian, Achaemenid or Macedonian traditions, this article argues that the Seleukids selectively integrated a variety of cultural, architectural and religious traditions to forge what became the architectural vocabularies and religious expressions of the Middle Iranian era.

The Persians are Obscure in the Archaeological Record, and the routes and dates of their migration into Iran are uncertain. When the Persians appear in the textual record, it is in the context of their interaction with the regional powers of Elam and Assyria. Examination of the relevant sources highlights two areas of Persian settlement in the first half of the first millennium B.C.E.: the central Zagros Mountains region and modern Fars, the latter the core of the first Persian Empire (Old Persian Parsa and Greek Persis). Since there are no extant Persian inscriptions dating before the mid-sixth century, this analysis relies upon Assyrian and Elamite sources.

The Persians may have begun their arrival in southwestern Iran as early as the mid-second millennium. During the Middle Elamite period (c. 1600-1000 B.C.E.), Fars and its primary city Anshan (modern Malyan) were part of the kingdom of Elam. Sometime around 1000 B.C.E., Anshan was abandoned. Large-scale settlement cannot be traced in Fars after that until the Achaemenid period, over four hundred years later.

This paper assesses the extent to which the modern historiography of Iran is indebted to a nationalist construction of Iran’s past, rather than proceeding from impartial and critical historical research. The paper pursues this aim by applying the distinction between history (as a scholarly discipline) and memory (as a nationalist construct) to one of the central tropes of the country’s historiography. According to that trope, Iranian history can be summarized as a succession of violent invasions by foreign “races,” which never stamped out Iran’s separate ethnic identity. This resilience is attributed to Iranian civilization’s inherent superiority, which Iranianized the invaders and thus ensured Iran’s survival as a primordial nation. The analysis shows that—counter-intuitively—twentieth-century Iranian historians, instead of subjecting this narrative to critical assessment, have in fact played a central role in developing it into a self-serving historiography. Special attention is given to Zarrinkub’s seminal Two Centuries of Silence.

No documents chart more accurately the difficult road to liberation and the arduous journey of the Iranian woman than her poetry. It is a rich, virtually unexplored record of the development of her consciousness and identity, experienced within, but not limited by, traditional Iranian culture. Furthermore, an evaluation of the Iranian woman's poetry is indispensable to an understanding of her life and the cultural pressures she experiences.

I am talking about the poetry of, among others, Tahereh, better known as Qorratol'ayn (1819-1852), ᶜAlam Taj Zhaleh Qa'em Maqami (1884-1946), Parvin E'tesami (1907-1941), Parvin Dowlatabadi (b. 1922), Simin Behbahani (b. 1927), Lo'bat Vala Shaybani (b. 1930), Mahin Sekandari (b. 1940), Forugh Farrokhzad (1935-1967), and Tahereh Saffarzadeh (b. 1936).

Unfortunately, most criticism of Iranian woman's poetry is rife with misconceptions, sexually biased assumptions, and tenacious refusals to confront this poetry on its own terms.

Zoroastrian Dari, also known as Behdini or Gavruni, is an endangered Iranian language spoken by the Zoroastrian minority who mostly live in Yazd and the surrounding areas as well as in Kerman and Tehran. Zoroastrian Dari is a unique Iranian language on account of its historical background and large number of subdialects. This language is only a spoken language and not a written one, but it seems that remnants of this language are attested in the Avestan manuscripts, particularly in the colophons. This paper provides a study of the existence of Zoroastrian Dari in the personal names in the colophons and Sālmargs of the Avestan manuscripts.