TERRIBLE LIE
I needed to know everything there was to know about the beliefs, customs and devotional worship of the Zoroastrians. I needed to know whether it had been their teachings, or those of the Magi priesthood of Media, that provided the knowledge for the Judaic understanding of angelology, and in particular the story concerning the fall of the Watchers.
Books could provide me only with background information, and I realized I needed much more. I also needed direct contact with this living religion, which still existed as a faith in certain parts of India, mostly around Bombay. It was to here that tens of thousands of Zoroastrians migrated from Persia during the ninth century AD in the hope of escaping the increasing persecutions of the Arab invaders. In India the Zoroastrians were called Parsees – the people of pars, or Persia – and it is by this name that they are still known to the outside world.
I also discovered that at the beginning of the twentieth century a community of Zoroastrians established themselves in London, and here erected a temple of worship which remains in use today. I had obtained their address from a friend, and, after .various letters and telephone calls in which I put forward my interest in the subject, was rather reluctantly invited to attend one of their seasonal services at the London address. The Zoroastrians' cloak of secrecy was totally understandable. The ignorant had always seen their beliefs, customs and worship as, at best, non-Christian, pagan and archaic in the extreme, while over the centuries the Muslims of both Iran and India had systematically attempted to eradicate their faith completely. Since the fall of the Shah's Pahlavi regime in 1979, those Zoroastrians still remaining in Iran had been forced either to flee the country or to worship in seclusion away from the eyes of the Islamic authorities. This was why Zoroastrian House in London was surrounded by so much secrecy.
There was much I had already learnt about both the Zoroastrians of Persia and the Magi of Media, but the relevance of this historical information still needed to be assessed in my own mind. Any queries could be put to the elders of the temple, who had agreed to speak to me once the service was over.
The journey to the quiet London suburb was by tube. With me was my research assistant Richard Ward, and a female colleague named Debbie Benstead. Once out of the underground, we quickly found the address I had scribbled hastily on a piece of paper the previous week, and looking up saw a large stone building, with an appearance not unlike a late Victorian church and hall combined. Ascending the front steps we entered a stone-floored lobby, already bubbling with activity. Groups of Asians chatted together in their native Persian and Indian tongues – the men dressed in working suits with white skullcaps on their heads, the women in colourful saris and bright headscarves.
Our white appearance and foreign presence easily revealed us as outsiders, prompting a few nervous glances. In response, we smiled politely and attempted not to contravene any temple etiquette. Dressed as formally as our tastes would allow, we waited for someone to approach, until finally, after one or two almost suspicious looks, a well-to-do Asian broke away from his conversation and moved towards us. He introduced himself as the secretary of the society and, having welcomed us to the temple, checked to make sure that Richard and I had brought skullcaps to wear, and that Debbie had a scarf to cover her hair. Cleanliness and purity was of the utmost importance to their faith, for which reason the head must always be suitably veiled to prevent loose hairs from contaminating the sanctity of the temple.
With our headcovers firmly in place, I engaged the secretary in conversation and foolishly referred to Zoroastrians as 'fire-worshippers'. The man looked sternly towards me and replied curtly: 'We are not "fire-worshippers". Many people make this mistake. We venerate fire as a symbol of our father, Ahura Mazda.'
I felt like sinking into the ground, and apologized profusely. I should have been more careful with my words. Fire in all its aspects had been sacred to Iranians, before even the birth of Zoroaster, its great prophet whose history was shrouded in mystery and imagination. According to classical sources, Zoroaster lived '258 years before Alexander' – that is 258 years before Alexander the Great destroyed the almighty Persian Empire and sacked its famed whitestone city of Persepolis in 330 BC.1 This gave a date of 588 BC, although there seemed no real indication whether this was when the great teacher was born; when he received his first visionary revelation at the age of thirty; when he converted his mentor, a central Asian king named Vishtaspa, to his new faith at the age of forty; or when he died at the age of seventy-seven.2 Nor was there any good reason to suppose that this date meant anything at all, for the creed of Zoroaster, or Zarathustra as he was known to the Iranians, was purely a revitalization of a much older Indo-Iranian religion of immense antiquity, preserved in its fullest extent by the Magian priesthood of Media.
Direct comparisons could be drawn between the material in the Zend-Avesta, the sacred writings of Zoroaster (Zend being an ancient Persian language), and the mythology and teachings found in India's oldest work of literature, the Rig Veda, which dates to c. 1750 BC – a time-frame often ascribed to Zoroaster himself.3 Other sources have suggested that there were not one but two, three, four or even more prophets of history who each bore the title 'Zarathustra', which struck me as the most sensible solution to the problem.
The Latin writer Justin wrote that Zoroaster was the inventor of magic and that he had made a study of the doctrine of the Magi, who, like their counterparts, the Brahmans of India, venerated fire as the sacred symbol of godhead.4 According to a Byzantine historian, Gregorius Cedrenus, the Magi were founded by the Hellenic hero Perseus as a cult to guard and protect the sacred immortal fire that burned perpetually in an unknown temple, for he recorded:
Perseus, they say, brought to Persia initiation and magic, which by his secrets made the fire of the sky descend; with the aid of this art, he brought the celestial fire to the earth, and he had it preserved in a temple under the name of the sacred immortal fire; he chose virtuous men as ministers of a new cult, and established the Magi as the depositors and guardians of this fire which they were charged to protect.5
Zoroaster was said to have immersed himself in the Magi's strange philosophies and teachings, which included the origin of the universe and the study of astrology and astronomy. Other traditions even claim that Zoroaster was himself a native of Media, and that he had been the restorer of the religion of the Magi,6 in much the same way that Martin Luther 'reformed' the corrupt practices of the Catholic Church.
Very little was known about the true history and religion of the Magi. Once their political power had been suitably curtailed by Darius I, they were confined to more menial duties, such as conducting religious rituals, performing animal sacrifices, interpreting dreams and omens, casting spells and communicating with the spirit world – the actions of magicians in every sense of the word, and it is from this usage that we gain terms such as magic, magician and magus. The Magi are known to have worshipped the very oldest Indo–Iranian deities, such as Ahura, an early form of Ahura Mazda, his son Mithra, and Ardvi Sura Anahita, goddess of the waters; the last two being much later incorporated into the religious festivals of Zoroastrianism, like the one we were about to witness.
As the celebrants began filing their way through to the temple, we followed up behind, smiling politely at those leading the way. Beyond the entrance door was a large auditorium with rows of chairs in two huge aisles, many already occupied by men and women idly chatting between themselves or moving around, as if waiting for the beginning of a theatrical production. Beyond the first row was a raised stage supporting a huge, polished brazier, heaped high with small pieces of dry sandalwood in readiness for the yasna festival, as it was known. Around its base were offerings of harvest fruits, milk, wine, water, as well as markers to indicate the four directions. On a beam above the front of the stage was a winged disc in which the Assyrian-style representation of Ahura Mazda stood within a dove-tail plume of feathers.
Before Debbie was able to take a seat, an Asian woman approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. With a somewhat concerned expression on her face, the woman spoke first in her own language. Then, using broken English and careful hand gestures, she conveyed her message. Debbie quickly realized that she was inquiring whether or not she was menstruating. Like all forms of impurity, menstrual blood is considered offensive to the divine presence of Ahura Mazda. Luckily for Debbie, it was not the wrong time of the month, and once she had conveyed this fact to the woman, the exchange of smiles indicated she could take a seat.
As we waited patiently, and somewhat expectantly, for the harvest ceremony to begin, I watched in disbelief as people in the auditorium continued to socialize – walking about and exchanging places as if in a public place. Surely some kind of mental stillness and contemplation ought to precede such an important religious service?
A middle-aged woman sitting in the next row smiled in our direction, as if she wished to engage us in conversation. Not quite knowing what to do or say, I asked about the significance of the festival. Understanding my question, she went and fetched a typewritten sheet containing an itinerary of the evening's proceedings. Presiding over this harvest festival was, it said, Tir, the yazata, or 'archangel', who in the Zoroastrian calendar governs the month of June, as well as the thirteenth day of each month and the influence of the planet Mercury.7
The Persian angel Tir is a prime example of how Zoroastrianism has influenced the Judaic understanding of angelology, for in Hebrew mysticism he becomes Tiriel, who, like his Persian counterpart, presides over all activities appertaining to the planet Mercury.8 Similarly to the Essene communities of the Dead Sea, Zoroastrians believe there to be an angel watching over every day, every month, every season and every planet. Indeed, these 'watches' made by the angelic intelligences in respect of terrestrial and celestial cycles of time might well explain the usage of the term 'îr, 'watcher', in both the Enochian and Dead Sea literature. The Zoroastrian understanding of angels almost certainly stemmed from the Magi, from whom Zoroaster established his own teachings.
The more that I learnt about Iranian mythology and religion, the more I began to realize that it was not so much Zoroastrianism that was going to provide me with any real answers but Magianism, the faith of the Magi. Unfortunately, however, since so little had been preserved of their actual myths and rituals, I could only determine this priestly caste's true significance by studying the religion it had created – Zoroastrianism.
It was known, however, that the Magi had recognized two opposing types of supernatural beings – the ahuras and the daevas. The ahuras were seen as shining gods living in a state of heavenly glory, while the daevas were looked upon as 'false gods', or 'dark and malignant genii',9 intimately associated with the affairs of humanity. Indeed, the daevas were seen as ahuras who had fallen from grace to become earth-bound devils (dev or div in Persian, from which we get the word devil), 'begotten' of Angra Mainyu, or Ahriman, the 'wicked spirit'.10 Despite the dark nature of the daevas, their name actually derives from the word devata, meaning, as in the case of the ahuras, the 'Shining Ones'.11
Once the Arabs had cut their way across Persia in the seventh century AD, Angra Mainyu became transformed into a character named Eblis, or Iblis – an angel 'born of fire', who was said to have refused to bow down before Adam at the command of God, and as a result had been cast out of heaven. Before his fall through pride, however, Eblis had been known by the name Azazel,12 the name given to one of the leaders of the Watchers in the Book of Enoch; a strange connection not explained in Islamic myth. In Arabic folklore Eblis was seen as the father of the divs, or djinn, and from him sprang the evil Peri (pari in Persian, Pairika in the Zend-Avesta), beautiful angels who disguised 'their malevolence under their charming appearance'.13
Tales concerning divs proliferate in ancient Iranian mythology, where they are portrayed as essentially human-like, yet of great height with horns, large ears and tails. They were often sorcerers or magicians who possessed 'superior power and intelligence' beyond that of mortal beings. In spite of the fact that they could vanish at will, their clear physical nature was displayed on the battlefield, where they were frequently dispatched by sword or battleaxe.14
If one takes away the horns, long ears and tails, which were undoubtedly added at a later stage in the development of these legends to demean the character of the divs, then you are left with very human-like individuals. Indeed, a div is described as 'a god, or personage of a higher class in the scale of earthly beings'.15 Although the word here is 'earthly', rather than 'mortal', in my opinion the divs' great stature, their superior intelligence and their alleged supernatural capabilities made them prime candidates for the role of progeny of the daevic race, comparable with the Nephilim of Judaic tradition.
Belief in the physical reality of divs and Peri persisted in Iran right through to the early twentieth century. For instance, in the remote border region between Iran and Afghanistan, close to the Amu Darya (Oxus) river, the Tajik tribesmen spoke of the divs, or divy, as coming 'down from their mountain lairs during winter to remain near settlements, returning only in spring'.16 Of equal mystery was the belief among the Tajik tribesmen of the lowlands that beautiful Peri could tempt mortal beings into sin and 'take the form of snakes, turtles and frogs', all creatures under the dominion of Angra Mainyu.17
More importantly, there appeared to be some indication from early Zoroastrian sources that a kind of fall of the ahuras, or 'shining ones', had preceded the appearance of Zoroaster on earth, for according to one commentator the prophet 'dashed to pieces the bodies of the angels, because they had made an evil use of them for wandering on the earth, and especially for amatory dealings with earthly women'.18 These were the words of nineteenth-century biblical scholar Franz Delitzsch, who fully recognized the extraordinary similarity between this account and the improprieties committed by the Watchers in the Book of Enoch.
The Amesha Spentas of Iranian lore are undoubtedly to be equated, not just with the seven archangels, but also with the seven adityas, or suryas, found in the Hindu Rig veda; one of whom, the sun god, is named as Surya. Ancient Indian myth and legend records that the suryas' evil enemies were the ahuras (spelt asuras), who were giants, skilled in the magical arts. Like the Watchers of the Book of Enoch, the Vedic ahuras were condemned for having misused the secret wisdom of the gods – casting them in the role of malevolent spirits comparable with the fallen angels of Judaeo-Christian tradition.19 By coincidence, Surya also happened to be one of the names of Metatron, the angelic form adopted by Enoch after his translation to heaven.20 Moreover, some Ethiopian manuscripts of the Book of Enoch give the archangels prefixes such as 'Asarya, 'Asurye and Suryân,21 clearly confirming the powerful relationship between Judaism and the Indo-Iranian myths found in both the Zend-Avesta and the Rig Veda.22
I was getting closer, but I still needed further evidence of the relationship between the concept of Watchers and the ancient Iranian belief in the fallen ahuras, or daevas, corrupting humanity. Perhaps the answers I was looking for could be found within the sacred books of the Zoroastrians.
Suddenly my thoughts were distracted. The constant, low babble permeating the busy auditorium had been broken by the sound of tinkling bells, played in specific sequences. The strange cacophony came from a closed room positioned behind the seated audience. Soon afterwards five priests entered into view, all dressed in long, white linen robes, with white waist cords, white skullcaps and long white muslin masks across their noses and mouths. They walked briskly in single file towards the stage, continually chanting prayers as they went. Having ascended to the level of the fire brazier, a huge overhead extractor fan was switched on by unseen hands. One priest immediately began to kindle a low fire in the enormous brass container, as further pieces of sandalwood and spoonfuls of frankincense were added to the flickering flames. The thick, wafting incense charged the air with a sharp, overbearing aroma that was both unique and vibrant.
Having sat in a circle on the floor around the blazing fire, the fire priests joined hands and began saying prayers and hymns taken from the Zend-Avesta. Each one chanted over the voices of his fellow supplicants, without co-ordination or harmony, to produce an enchanting yet discordant babel I had never before experienced in a religious ceremony.
Every so often the priests would pass a small white flower between themselves. It was offered with both hands, which were then grasped by a neighbour's hands. The first priest would then remove his hands to leave behind the flower, before completing the gesture by briefly cupping the second priest's hands with his own. On other occasions all five supplicants would join hands and link with the flame of truth by means of a ritual poker placed in the fire by one of the priests; a connection that seemed essential to the success of the ceremony.
Once in a while members of the audience would reach for their own battered copies of the Zend-Avesta and begin half-heartedly reciting certain gathas, before giving up and talking with their neighbours.
The Zend-Avesta is the Zoroastrians' most sacred text, but there are other books of equal importance. One of these is the Bundahishn, a sacred text written in the late Persian language of Pahlavi. Among its many themes is a unique creation myth, in which the stalk of the sacred rhubarb plant grows and grows until it divides to form two separate human beings – Masya and Masyanag, the father and mother of the mortal race.23 The couple exist in a state of purity, but are then seduced by Angra Mainyu24 (the daevas in one account25). As a consequence of this seduction, the first couple give worship to him (or them) and not Ahura Mazda, named in the text as 'Ormuzd'. In so doing these first mortals are deprived of their original purity, which neither they, nor any of their descendants, are able to recover unless through the aid of Mithra, the deity who presides over the salvation of the soul.
The Zoroastrians believe that since the first couple committed the carnal sin in thought, word and deed, both they and their descendants became tainted for ever. In spite of the fact that the Bundahishn dates only to a time when their forebears first migrated from Iran to India in the ninth century, the text is thought to be based on a now lost Zend original of great antiquity.26
In many ways the creation story presented in the Bundahishn might be compared directly with the story of the Fall of Man found in the Book of Genesis. Yet even more remarkable is the knowledge that, in some Persian teachings, Angra Mainyu is known as 'the old serpent having two feet',27 words that immediately conjured an image of Belial, the Watcher with a 'visage like a viper' found in the Testament of Amram.
I would not be the first person to spot the obvious comparisons between the Persian and Hebrew accounts of the Fall of Man. As early as 1888 C. Staniland Wake, in his ground-breaking work, Serpent-Worship and Other Essays, admitted, after discussing the similarities between the two quite separate myths, that:
The Persian account of the fall and its consequences agrees so closely with the Hebrew story when stripped of its figurative language that we cannot doubt that they refer to the same legend. and the use of figurative language in the latter may well lead us to believe that it was of later date than the former [i.e. the Bundahishn].28
There is every reason to believe that the Judaic concept of the Fall of Man, the Serpent of Temptation and the fall of the angels derive either directly or indirectly from Zoroastrian or pre-Zoroastrian sources. The serpent of the Bundahishn is Angra Mainyu, who is therefore the figurative form of the daevas (or fallen ahuras) who seduce humanity at the time of the Fall, just as the Serpent of Temptation is the personification of Belial, Shemyaza or Azazel, the names given to the leader of the Watchers in Enochian and Dead Sea religious literature.
The Law of the Daevas
It was intriguing to think of the prophet Mani rediscovering the Book of Enoch, as well as other lesser-known Enochian literature, during the third century of the Christian era and then reintroducing it back into the newly resurrected Persian Empire both in translation and within his own heretical teachings. These he had carried as far east as central Asia, one of the traditional homes of his predecessor, the prophet Zoroaster. If the legends of the Watchers had originated in ancient Iran, then Mani was taking them back to their own heartland some seven hundred years after they were originally carried into Judaea by the returning Jewish exiles. Could Mani have been aware of the Persian origin of these traditions? Might this have been why he recognized in them the doctrine of truth? If so, then why were Mani and his Manichaean followers so horrendously persecuted by fanatical Zoroastrians, who publicly humiliated his body following the prophet's inevitable death at Jund-i-Shapur, near Susa in south-west Persia, during the year AD 277?
The answer almost certainly lay in the fact that during his ministryon earth Zoroaster is said to have preached out fervently against the daevo-data, 'the law according to the daevas'.29 This was the 'law' accepted and promoted by those individuals who, instead of choosing the true path of Ahura Mazda, adhered to the deceitful ways of the karapans (priests) and the kavis (prince-priests). Although these terms were loosely used to refer to any non-Zoroastrian priest, they especially denoted the Magi priests of Media,30 whose principal philosophies featured the eternal struggles between the ahuras and the daevas. Although the Magi accepted the supremacy of Ahura, the prototype of Ahura Mazda, they also made sacrifices to Angra Mainyu, showing their spiritual allegiance to the Prince of Darkness as well.31
Such blasphemies made the Magi and their followers the children of Angra Mainyu, supporters of the druj – 'falsehood' or 'the Lie'. In effect, they were accused of being liars for accepting and preaching such unholy matters. So vehemently did Zoroaster, and presumably all orthodox Zoroastrians, hate followers of the Lie, that in one ancient text the prophet had this to say about those who accepted the law of the daevas:
Whether a man dispose of much or little wealth, he should show kindness to the follower of Truth, but should be evil to the follower of the Lie . . . 32 (for the man) who is most good to the follower of the Lie is himself a follower of the Lie.33
In other words, those who dared even to listen to the Lie taught by the Magian priests would themselves become followers of the Lie. It was almost as if the Zoroastrians wanted to make sure that no one should even want to listen to the terrible Lie being told by the Magi, for fear that it might corrupt their opinions, and in so doing make them followers of the Lie themselves. Such an extreme, fundamental attitude towards the teachings of a rival faith is quite bizarre. It almost conjures up the image of a Magi priest approaching a Zoroastrian who, in fear that he might be told the terrible Lie, covers his ears and says: 'No, I don't want to hear it – it's a lie. I know it's a lie.'
Exactly what sort of 'Lie' could have made a great prophet like Zoroaster so want to prevent his followers from even hearing it? Was it something he had heard the Magi say when he himself had studied their religion, before embarking on his own career as a teacher of righteousness?
What was it that Zoroaster had tried to hide?
What was the terrible Lie?
Surely it cannot have concerned the Magi's religious practices, or their knowledge of astrology and astronomy. These would not have caused the type of consternation implied by Zoroaster's fanatical attitude towards their teachings. It seems more likely that he was directing these accusations at their belief in the daevo-data, 'the law according to the daevas'. The fact that the Magi had sacrificed animals in the name of Angra Mainyu must have meant that they never denounced his progeny, the daevas, as evil. Far from it, for it would appear that they saw them as equal in power to the ahuras, with a role to play in both the religion of Iran and the affairs of humanity.
Even if this solution is correct, then surely such dualistic principles should never have posed such a terrible threat to the teachings of Zoroaster and his followers. There must have been more to it than this – something that made them want to persecute anyone who even contemplated listening to such 'falsehood'. Might the Lie have been more shocking than history has implied?
Was it possible that the Magi believed the material world to be the domain of Angra Mainyu, because the daevas had planted their seeds of evil among humanity by revealing the secret wisdom of the ahuras? The story in the Bundahishn of the corruption of the first couple confirms the existence of such a view in Zoroastrian thought. Even further supporting this supposition is the knowledge that the mark of the Magi is to be found in many parts of the Bundahishn, showing their influence on its final construction, either in its lost Zend original or in the surviving Pahlavi version.34
The fanatical persecution of Mani and his followers seems to be a revealing example of how fundamental Zoroastrians reacted to someone resurrecting the terrible Lie once told by the Magi priests, the followers of daevo-data.
I wondered just how many Zoroastrians participating in this seasonal festival were aware of the transgressions of the daevas, or of the persecution of those who had once taught about their corruption of humanity? As in the case of Jews, Christians and Muslims, such matters did not feature in their day-to-day worship, and so are unlikely to have been known to them.
The yasna festival we attended continued for over an hour and a half, with no real change in the proceedings. Occasionally men and women would approach the stage, pick up a small piece of cut sandalwood from a low pile supplied for this purpose, then hand it to the fire-priest. He would acknowledge their presence before placing their offering among the lapping flames. It appeared to be a means of ensuring good fortune, in much the same way as a Catholic or Orthodox Christian might light a small candle and leave it burning in a church.
At other times, members of the audience would walk around, talking to each other and doing their own thing, seemingly oblivious to what was taking place on the stage before them. This apparent irreverence was most disconcerting, especially as we ourselves could do little more than sit in silent awe for the duration of the service. Yet simply being here instilled in us an overwhelming sense of privilege and humility. Here was a fire ritual that probably dated beyond the origins of the Magi to the mists of antiquity, perhaps even to a time when the fallen ahuras, the Shining Ones of Indo-Iranian myth, once walked the earth.
With the festival over, Richard, Debbie and myself were taken into the society's library room and asked to put our questions to the secretary and an Iranian scholar, who was a member of the respected Royal Asiatic Society. They listened carefully to my queries concerning Zoroastrian angelology and directed me to various rare out-of-print books on the subject. Unfortunately, they themselves were unable to help me with my research, though they did speak of traditions connecting the prophet Enoch with the region of Cappadocia in eastern Anatolia, the details of which they promised to send me by return post (they never arrived).
Afterwards the three of us were invited to join a communal meal in a canteen area on the same floor as the temple. We were provided with a welcome vegetarian curry and listened to stories of clandestine Zoroastrian services currently taking place within underground temples in Iran. At one point an over-zealous woman approached our table and began sprinkling holy water in our direction – a sign, it would seem, that we had been accepted into their fold, for one night at least.
We left Zoroastrian House, our heads buzzing with the rich imagery surrounding the strange religious festival we had been allowed to witness. We were not invited back, and in many ways there has never been any need for a second visit.
Somehow I felt I was correct to compare the dualistic elements of the Magian faith with the story of the Watchers. Yet to investigate the matter more fully I needed further evidence of the apparent trafficking between the semi-divine daevas and mortal kind, like that so vividly described in Hebrew myth and legend. If this could be found, then it would strengthen the case in favour of an Iranian origin for the Judaic legends of the fall of the angels, and help to explain why the Zoroastrians had become so terrified of the sheer potency of the Lie. This I was to eventually discover; not, however, in the holy books of the Zoroastrians, or among the lost teachings of the Magi, but in a place that I would have considered to be a most unlikely source indeed – in the Shahnameh, the legendary history of the Iranian kings.