Iraj Parsinejad
Audio of the Entire Interview
Interview Transcript
Part01
I was born on the 23rd of February 1939 in the city of Abadan. My father Mirza abd al-Rahim was from Shiraz, who had travelled to Mumbai, India, at the age of 23, to visit his uncle to find a career and stays there. He became in close contact with the circle of Parsis of India, who were a community of Zoroastrians that left Iran after the advent of Islam, either by their own will or forced to exile.
They were and still belong to a wealthy and intellectual class of society. My father got to know the newspapers such as Akhtar, published in Mumbai, and gradually became interested and attracted to the thoughts of this community about the pre-Islamic period, without changing his religion of course. However, he gets very attracted to historical subjects of the pre-Islamic period.
He stays there, until after few years he becomes tired and willing to return to his hometown city of Shiraz. On his way back home, he comes to a port called Mohammareh, the present Khorramshahr in Iran. In Mohammareh he is told that the British Petroleum Company is planning to construct an oil refinery in Abadan.
The refinery is built, and my father who besides being fond of books and history and intellectual matters, was also a good tradesman, gradually becomes involved in business and settles there. He becomes influential to the extent that he becomes elected Mayor of the city by the people, who trusted him, for instance Captain Khalaf the father of Najaf Daryabandari would leave his money with my father whenever he was going on sea missions, the same for other close friends. For this reason, our very long term and close friendship with Najaf Daryabandari goes back to our childhood, because his father Captain Khalaf was a close friend of my father.
I was born there in the city of Abadan, and attended Kamal al-Molk Primary school in Bavardeh district of the city. I had to go on a balam (small rowing boat) to cross the river going to school and back.
My father was not an employee of the Oil Company. But as he was a distinguished person, we could use the leisure facilities for the employees such as tennis courts, the swimming pool and the Gulf Course etc.
My childhood was a happy and relaxed period, which unfortunately wasn’t the case for some others of my generation who had been living in a shadow of poverty and deprivation. My father had the blessing of being a wise man, and as a result we didn’t have financial problems. I remember that in our large house in Abadan with many rooms, there was storage room full of big sacks of rice and many cooking oil tins. In the very warm weather of summer, my father would get various loads of watermelon and melon.
He was also conscious of what we loved as he was an emotional person. For example, when he found out that I love pigeons, he said to me, “Iraj, do you want me to make a pigeonhole for you? And I replied, yes dad. On the staircase of our house he made the pigeonhole, and I was very happy and enjoyed their cooing sounds and seeing them fly into the staircase.
Later on, when reading the poetry of Akhavan Saales, and Shafiei Kadkani about the flight of pigeons, it reminded me of my childhood memory.
My childhood memories are cheerful, because Abadan was like a British city. Later on, when I went to Oxford in England, I saw the similarity of town-planning and city layout there with their colony cities, e.g. same courtyards, parks, spaces, sports, and cultural entertainment, such as cinema theatres. Movies in Abadan cinema theatres were in English, of course, hence we got more or less familiar with the English language and vocabulary. My friend Najaf Daryabandari learned English in this way. The environment was very lively and Western-style.
A friend of my father who was a Jew, named Ezra Alfi was a news agent for papers and magazines such as Time, Life and so on. We had an elder friend Najaf Daryabandari who used to read these magazines and got to know the foreign culture and Western way of life. Therefore, it was not an unfamiliar or exotic environment for native Abadanis like us when we visited later.
I have a memory of the time I attended Kamal al-Molk school, which still annoys me. We had a History and Geography teacher, Mr. Iravani ,who was a modest and knowledgeable man, and were 10 -12 years old at the time. He was teaching the history of the Sassanian Dynasty, discussing the reason of its fall, and other topics beyond our understanding. But he would feel obligated to mention them. One day on my return home from school in the afternoon to get on the balam and get to the other side of the river, I saw two strong and stout men attacking the teacher and beating him badly within death. I was shocked and frightened, crying out why they were beating him. But apparently, it was their job to carry out. Later, it became known that Mr. Iravani was a member of the Tudeh (Communist) party, and he was to be punished to stop speaking outside the class subjects.
I also witnessed soldiers beating Najaf Daryabandari and his sister, breaking Najaf’s glasses, and throwing them into a security van. I was around 12 years old. But, I found how rough and harsh our society was for no reason.
Now, I have no comments on the Communist party nor any sympathy, but parties and groups like Tudeh, Fadaian Eslam, Iran, and Nehzat Azadi, all had different ideas so why was there no tolerance? This was what I found out then at childhood that Iranian society has no tolerance for opposing ideas.
During Dr. Mosaddeq’s prime minister-ship, unprecedented freedom of press was granted for all papers, ranging in ideology from extreme right to the left, proponents of and against the Shah, and religious papers. There were many comments attributing the Prime Minister to atheism and Communism, but he warned that he would not let the voice of any idea to be silenced. Unfortunately, that period was short-lived. If it would have lasted any longer, we would have become more familiar with the principles of democracy.
I attended Razi high school in Abadan until the second grade. Following my father’s passing, I moved to Tehran. As a result, my elder brother, a tradesman of Chinaware from China and Japan, took charge of the family. I was 14 at the time, and went to Hadaf Education Group, No. 1 High School. Hadaf had a great reputation there and was known to employ the best teachers for all subjects. My classmates included Cyrus Tahbaaz and Amir Taheri, who later went to England and became a well-known journalist. Amir’s father Assad allah was our English teacher. Originally from the city of Shushtar, he was very witty and made lessons fun. For instance, to teach English prepositions like “on” and “in”, saying: tooye chizi (in a thing). Rooye chizi (On a thing), rhyming so that we can easily memorize. Khatib Rahbar was our literature teacher and was a member of a traditional Literary Society. He was a very serious and disciplined person, and not at all interested in modern poetry and literature. I remember that on my free time, I would sometimes escape school with Cyrus and go to Café Naderi. On those days, Café Naderi was the hangout spot for the depressed and frustrated intellectuals of Iran; after the Coup d’état of 1953, they would all gather there. Unfortunately, some of these intellectuals had become addicted to narcotics. I remember that I saw the poet Nosrat Rahmani in Café Naderi for the first time when I was with Cyrus. We used to go and sit there, curious and willing to meet these poets. I also met Mohammad Zohari and Manouchehr Neiestani there. Unfortunately, they have all passed away.
We did not think that classic literature is enough, and we wanted to get acquainted with the poets of prior generations. I wanted to know about the current affairs, what was going on in the West, and about the writers.
We were eager to learn from the leftists of that time, who knew more and were more aware of daily news. You know they were influenced by individuals such as Ehsan Tabari, who was knowledgeable of Western literature. We wanted to construct a bridge to modernity.
After our generation, these gathering places became less frequented. Café Naderi and Café Firouz on the same street, later became the hangout spot for al-Ahmad. Café Naderi was first as it reminds us of Sadeq Hedayat and Bozorg Alavi, who hung out there.
We were happy and enthusiastic to talk and discuss matters with the writers and poets. I had a poetry book titled Termeh in my bag, and with shyness asked the Nosrat Rahmany, a famous poet of the time and friend later, if he would autograph it for me. He looked at me and asked me for my name. I replied Iraj. He wrote down, “Dear Iraj, I like you as much as you appreciate my work. I still have the book. We became friends for over a lifetime. He later moved to the city of Rasht and passed away there.
- Interviewer: It was a very nice quote
Yes, he was a witty man who was good at rhetoric.
Interviewer: Where did all your interests come from?
From my father, he was a open-minded person, keen on books, and interested in current affairs. I remember he had the collection of Ruzegar Now (published in London), Iran Bastan, and Habl al-Matin; he subscribed to all these publications and separately bound all of these publication series together. When I was working on my research for Ph.D. dissertation on Enlightened Thinkers of Iran in 19th Century, I benefitted a lot from them. I had access to all the works of Mirza Fath ‘Ali Akhundzadeh, Mirza Aqa Khan Kermani, Zayn al-‘Abedin Maraghe’i, and ‘Abd al-Rahim Talbof. I used to read page by page with enthusiasm.
I should mention that even at that time, I was very interested in cultural activities. My father was interested in these literary figures and I naturally became familiar with those type of figures.
There was a journal titled Now Bavegan Iran, which was probably the first of its kind for children. It contained cartoons, crossword puzzles, drawings, and some short stories translated into simple language, such as Conte de Monte Cristo.
Since I enjoyed reading this journal, I wished that other children could also read it. I had this instinct to share with other children. In Abadan, I asked Aqa Reza Haqayeq who was the owner of a bookstore to sell 10 issues of this journal to me to then distribute to the other children. He wondered why I was asking him to do this, because he knew my father and did not think of me as a newspaper seller. I told him that I was not doing it for the money and that I would return the entire proceeds to him. I just wanted the children to have the journal. When I took the journal to the school courtyard to distribute, the children rushed at me and grabbed the journals from me without paying. I learned my lesson for the next time. I asked the school doorman to open the classroom for me to sit by the window and sell the journals in an orderly way through the window.
Later on at the university, and at NIRTV, this experience was a source of motivation for me to present Shahr-e Aftab programs for book reviews, as well as prominent artists, literary figures, and others from Iran and around the world in a program titled Ideas and Art. I was motivated from childhood to pursue a career in art, literature, and humanities.
Part02
I obtained my high school diploma from Hadaf Education Group, No 1. I was planning to go to England.
Our house was located on Bahram Alley, 24th Esfand (present day Enqelab) Square. On my way, I ran into Hamid Shakib, my classmate in Abadan. Hamid, like other children of Oil Company senior staff members, was sent to boarding school in England to study. In less than a year, only after a few months, Hamid returned to Abadan in a depressed mood. I asked him why he returned and he replied that the weather was cloudy and rainy all the time. The cold environment and grim faces of the people he saw made him return earlier than expected.
We met that day just by chance in front of Tehran University. He asked me what I was going to do. I said I am planning to go to England. Hamid told me to not go to England as I would go crazy. It is not a good place for us he said. I told him that most of our good friends had gone to good universities. He emphasized that he did not recommend going. Hamid then let me know that he had already registered for the English language and literature department, and told me that since I love Persian literature, I should register for the Persian literature department. I told him that I have a diploma in natural sciences and I can study medicine like Cyrus Tahbaz and my other friends. He insisted that I should pursue Persian literature because of my interest. I was skeptical because of my natural sciences background. He said that I would easily pass the exam and not to worry.
I went to the registration office of Tehran University, completed the form for Persian language and literature, reluctantly signed the form, and paid a couple of tomans for the fee. I earned the second highest grade for the entrance exam. I must mention at the time in 1959 the total number of the applicants for the medical school was approximately 2500 and for Persian literature was about 200.
So I started as a faculty member of Persian language and literature. I do not regret it because the subject aligned well with my interest.
It is during my first class, when I met Professor Parviz Natel-Khanlari. He had a gentleman-like behavior and appearance in a suit and tie, like Western-style professors. He introduced the history of Persian language, then described it in detail, and finally concluded the lecture. At the end, I raised my hand and said, “Excuse me, Professor. I know that you are managing Sokhan Magazine and we are studying Persian language history from our syllabus, but can you also talk about Sadeq Hedayat, Nima Yushij, and others? He looked at me and asked, “Do you know Sadeq Hedayat and Nima Yushij? I replied, “Yes. I have been reading your magazine for years.” He surprisingly said, “Really? Very interesting. But, people who study botanical science are not interested in the beauty and scent of the plants. They learn the classification of the plants, disease, and other interactions the plants have with the environment. You can study Hedayat and Nima outside of the class. Here, I teach the history and structure of Persian language and literature. You can pursue your interest through various magazines.”
Professor Khanlari was very kind to me later on. I got so close to him that I would visit his home sometimes with my classmates. We became lifetime friends- his daughter Taraneh was our guest last night.
Besides Professor Khalanlari, there were other pioneers of Persian literature, such as Badi’oz-Zaman Forouzanfar, Jalal Homaie, Badi’oz-Zamani Kordestani, Modarres Razavi, and the second generation such as Khanlari himself, Zabihol-lah Safa, Dr. Mohammad Moein, and Hossein Khatibi. I was fortunate to benefit from the instruction of both generations. The first group established the faculty, and the second group joined them later. I was close to both groups, because I was interested in both classical and modern literature.
Professor Homaei had an old and worn-out textbook on rhetoric. He paid attention to me from the beginning- he said, “Because of your strong voice, enthusiasm, and your understanding of the subject, read this text book out loud for your classmates.”
Our class would finish at 12:10 PM and Professor Homai used to arrive at 12 with a cloak (aba) over his shoulders, and wearing special slippers (na’lain). He was a clergy who studied at a seminary in Isfahan. He would ask if I read the text for the students. The students were mostly civil servants or teachers who wanted the certificate to upgrade their employment status. They would have a 300 toman salary increase with the certificate. They therefore had no interest. At the end of the year, the class would be full and Professor Khanlari would say that it “is getting warm with many insects are coming out.”
Professor Homaie would say in Isfahani accent, “Has Parsinejad delivered the lesson? Any questions?” The students would look cluelessly, and Professor Homaie would say, “Vakhy (Stand Up) Parsinejad, they are senseless!” I would get up and accompany him from the Faculty to Pachenar District, and the Arab Quarter where his house was. I enjoyed conversing with him and hearing about his memories and talks. Then, I would return all the way by foot.
Another Professor Badi’oz-Zaman Kordestani, taught Arabic literature to such accomplished scholars such as Mahdavi Damghani, Ja’afar Shahidi, and Mehdi Mohaqeq. Badi’oz-Zaman Kordestatni was indeed a rarity of the time- his lecture was on the subject of Mu’allaghat Saba’ (Seven Arabic Old Odes). He made it mandatory for us to memorize and recite a few lines of it. It was a hard job, but we had to do it. He had an exceptional memory. On the first class, he said to us, “Stay seated in the same place for future sessions.” He had a photographic memory and remembered our names. One day, I bumped into him at the courtyard of the passport office, 30 years later. I approached him and respectfully grated him. He said “Parsinejad, Iraj.” He remembered me, even though he had 70-80 students in the class together at that time. He was such a remarkable and knowledgeable person with an incredible memory.
Modarres Razavi was a distinguished professor and editor of The Collected Poems of Sanaie and Al-Mo’jam fi Ma’eir Ashar al-‘Ajam by Sham Qeis Razi on rhetoric. The other professor was Mohammad Moein. He was a teacher by the true meaning of the word. He taught us Chahar Maqaleh by Nezami ‘Aroozi. He would teach us the various styles and artistic devices in poetry. He would write the word on the blackboard with all etymology from Sanskrit and Old Persian, filling up the entire board. He did not waste a moment. As soon as the class finished, he would go to Dehkhoda Dictionary Institute where he was in charge as a supervisor.
Dr. Khatibi was a student of Malek Shoara Bahar and appointed by him to teach Persian literature stylistics. He had a very good memory for reciting poetry by Khaqani, Moezzi, Anvari, ‘Onsori, and Malek Shoara Bahar. He would recite an ode for 20 minutes. Years later, when we went to visit Dr. Zarrinkoob together, he was reciting for a long time and Dr. Zarinkoob and his wife Dr. Qamar Aryan felt sorry for him and said that he didn’t need to continue as he was getting tired.
Professor Ebrahim Pourdavoud taught us Ancient Iranian Culture. He was a first-class, knowledgeable, and loveable professor. On the winter of 1963, when the Shah’s guard attached the students at the university campus, he came in the next morning to class heart-broken, saying that he was astonished at the police for violating the university campus. He felt very sorry that this had happened. That was the first time that the students were attacked on the campus.
I used to visit Professor Pourdavoud at his home, a modest house on Aban Avenue, at the back of Radio City Cinema. He was very kind to me. There was a magazine with the title of Enteqad-e Ketab-e Nil (Nil Book Critic) by the publishers on Mokhbered-Dowleh Avenue. Jalal Al-Ahmad had written an article criticizing “Bijan and Manijeh” text of Pourdavoud, unfairly claiming that he is taking money from the Oil Company.
Pourdavoud broken-heartedly asked me why Al-Ahmad had attacked him. I told him that it is his nature. He had attacked Dr. Khanlari and others too. I told him not to be bothered. He asked me if he had really committed a crime. The Oil Company asked him to write an introduction to Bijan and Manijeh, and I did it, and got paid. Pourdavoud was editor of the Zoroastrian text of Iran such as Avesta, Yashta, Gatha, and so on.
We had such teachers before. I don’t know the situation at the university today. But fortunately, there are still some teachers such as Shafi’i Kadkani. He studied at Ferdowsi University in Mashhad. Then for his Ph.D. he came to Tehran and benefited from teachers there like Modarres Razavi, Forouzanfar, etc.
One of my classmates was Mohammad Fesharaki, whose father was a clergyman in Isfahan. He had full knowledge of Persian prosody. Homai’i approved him. Another classmate Dariush Saboor was a veterinarian and was interested in literature. Hassan Mazloom, who later changed his last name to Babak, was another friend. I also had a few female classmates, such as Farangis Parvizi, who later obtained a PhD in literature and was a member of Academy of Persian Language and Literature and Homa Gerami, who married Bahram Faravashi, successor of Professor Pourdavoud.
Later, Dr. Khanlari established the Iran Culture Foundation. By the request of Khanlari, I was one of the first members who joined. Khanlari wished to stay away from official positions and politics, and he established this Foundation to gather educated researchers and scholars. He had a small budget from the Oil Company and The Royal Social Services Organization. Mehrdad Bahar, Ahmad Tafazoli, Shafi’i Kadkani and some other talented young people were asked to join the Foundation to learn the method of research under the supervision of Dr. Khanlari. The Foundation published over 300 book titles on ancient Persian text and Islamic culture. We used to receive 350 tomans as monthly salary. Since Khanlari was a considerate man, he felt that we were underpaid and advised us to go find another job. We told him not to be worried for us, because we were interested in learning the research method from him. He was concerned nonetheless.
When the National Iranian Television (NIRTV) was about to be established, Farrokh Ghaffari (who was later the assistant managing director) wanted to make a TV series based on Samak Ayyar, an old folk story, which was edited by Khanlari. Khanlari introduced me to Ghaffari, and told him that Parsinejad is better able to assist you in the production of this series since he knows more about Samak Ayyar than me. I used to copy the old text of Samak Ayyar from the facsimile print of the book from Iraj Afshar who was head of Tehran University Library. I used to take the manuscript to Khanlari’s house on Ku-ye Doust in Maqsoodbeg junction in Shemiran. I also used to make notes of this text for myself.
We used to sit together and Khanlari checked the text that I had made with the manuscript copy. For ineligible points, he used to instruct me to write down “unreadable” as a footnote on each page. This is how I learned editing and correcting old texts and manuscripts.
When Khanlari got tired and wanted to take a smoking break, I asked him to tell me a little about Sadeq Hedayat and Nima. It was interesting for me to get a firsthand account, because Khanlari was a maternal cousin of Nima and a close friend of Hedayat since young adulthood.
Later when NIRTV was established, I was employed there and Samak Ayyar was never produced because Ghaffari had other engagements. He asked me to help him since he was short-staffed. He was looking for a qualified person to produce TV programs on Persian literature, culture, book review, and so on. I was fully engaged and busy with NIRTV, but in spite of this, I kept contact with Dr. Khanlari.
As I mentioned before, Najaf Daryabandari was an old family friend. When he was released from political imprisonment, he was appointed as chief editor of Franklin Publication Institute. Najaf called me and informed me that Majid Roshangar, who was a production manager at Franklin, had now left to be directing manager of Pocketbook Organization as successor to Dariush Homayoun. Najaf asked me if I was interested in this vacant position. I told him that I had no experience. He assured me that it was alright because I am familiar with book production. My job as production manager was to supervise the staff proofreading books from the print house. Later, some members such as Ali Solhjoo got valuable experience and later became editors themselves. At that time, there was no Persian word “Virayesh” so we called the process editing. When a work was translated, the translation would be checked against the original work. Cyrus Parham was a pioneer in editing and edited a volume of the series “The History of Civilization” by Will Dorant. After Parham, Manouchehr Anvar returned from England and was called by Homayoun Sanatizadeh, managing director of the Institute, to be chief editor.
When I was production manager, my colleague friends Esmail Sa’adat and Fereydoon Badrhei informed me that the faculty of Persian Language and Literature had formed the Department of Linguistics. I asked what is “linguistics?” We did not have any knowledge of the subject. They encouraged me to register for this course, regardless of this.
At the time, I already graduated from Tehran University faculty of language and literature and prepared to leave to the UK for further studies. I was 27-28 years old then and they were my seniors. They must be old now.
We went to register for the course and we found bald man with a moustache smoking a pipe. He was Dr. Mohammad Moqaddam. We asked him to explain the subject of linguistics to us. He told us that to register, we must first pass the entrance exam. He asked us if we knew English. We replied a little. At that time, there was no source or reference books for the subject of linguistics in Persian. Whatever existed at that time was in English. He told us that to use the text we needed to know English. He took some sheets out of his desk drawer about the introduction of general linguistics and asked us to translate it. Sa’adat, Badrhei, and I translated the text and we didn’t know many terms and expressions such as phoneme, morpheme, etc. that now have Persian equivalents. We used English words instead. Dr. Moqaddam looked at the translation and was somewhat satisfied and asked us to come for interview. We went to the interview. Only a few of us were selected to start the course on linguistics in Tehran University.
My M.A. dissertation in the subject of linguistics was on the Persian terms of “Khan al-Ekhvan,” which was a philosophical text from the 11th century by Nasser Khosrow. This poet, writer, and philosopher created many authentic Persian words for philosophical terms. Bear in mind, Moqaddam and his colleague Sadeq Kia were followers of Zabih Behrooz, who was a fanatic of ancient Persian history and culture. They intended for us to gain knowledge of this subject. However, it was an opportunity for us to learn about the basics of linguistics.
Mohammad-Reza Bateni was another member of the department of linguistics and was educated in London in linguistics. He was a student of Fred Holiday. He lectured us on Holiday’s theory of Scale and Category in linguistics, using a very scientific and academic method. He would explain the theory, develop it through discussion, and conclude the subject. He would then apply the theory to the structure of Persian grammar.
Another member, Dariush Shayegan was an open-minded man in his 30’s with long hair. Later, we found out that he came from India. His thesis subject was “Hinduism and Islamic Sufism.” He was a very knowledgeable young man who taught us the mythological transformation in Iran and India and comparisons between the two cultures. His lectures were very useful. Later, when I went to Oxford University, at the entrance of Wolfson Post-Graduage College, a young Englishman approached me and asked me if I knew an Iranian named Dariush. I presumed that he meant Dariush the Great, Achamenid king of kings. He replied, “Our Dariush is also great, Dariush Shayegan.” He spoke about him with respect. I asked him how he knew Dariush Shayegan and he said that they were classmates here in English boarding school. He was a genius even then and would discuss Zen Buddhism and religions in India and Islamic cultures; at 14 years old he was more like a scholar. I agreed that he is a scholar indeed, but he said he considered him as a thinker. Later when I went to Japan, and met Professor Toshihiko Izutsu he mentioned Shayegan’s name with respect. At the beginning of the entrance exam at Oxford, Robin Zaehner, professor of Eastern religions, asked me if I knew Shayegan. Knowing Professor Shayegan was a reason for me to enter an academic circle and gain reputation. Unfortunately, we Iranians did not appreciate these elite scholars and received second-hand knowledge through their Persian translation. Some of Shayegan’s books are not translated yet and there is no possibility for translation today like “Patchworks and Religious Revolution” due to their criticism of the current regime.
In cultural events organized by Bukhara Magazine, I used to see Mr. Shayegan but did not have an opportunity to talk with him, until I reviewed his book. At this talk, I shared the background of my knowledge of his work, and other times his name was mentioned around the world. He called me that night and said that he was going to Paris, but wished to see me to thank me for my talk. We got closer later and I would visit him at his house. I read most of his books. His book “Asia against The West” displayed anti-Western sentiment. He influenced some young people to have pride in Asian culture as opposed to Western culture that dominated at that time. Others such as Al-Ahmad, Ehsan Naraqi, and Shariati all shared Shayegan’s view. It should be known that the Shayegan’s work has more depth than that of Al-Ahmad and Shariati in my view. Shayegan himself mentioned at the end of “Asia against The West” that his point was not the denial of Western civilization and culture, but simply an appreciation of the Asian culture. His recent works “Modern Enchantment,” “Patchwork,” “Iranian Revolution,” and “Broken View” did not obtain permission for translation because of they go against the ideology of the Islamic Republic. Some interpret this change of view of Shayegan as opportunistic, but as a matter of fact, he is a thinker and by definition is someone who challenges and changes their own thoughts. He does not call himself a “philosopher,” and does not like to be thought of as one. He believes that a philosopher is someone who represents a philosophy. He has always said that he has not presented any philosophy. He is a thinker who always focused on Eastern culture and religions. It is therefore natural to see his thinking change over time.
In my view, Shayegan was an original and noble man, and his works remain for us and future generations. We can call him a spiritual person. He had some memories of polymath Allameh Tabatabaei and used to mention the mystical moments he had shared with Shayegan. Therefore, we cannot interpret that Shayegan was an atheist nor a materialist. Shayegan is not totally known in our society and the readers of his works do not fully appreciate the different dimensions of his thoughts.