Image: An iconography from the time of the Iranian Revolution featured in Hamid Dabashi's essay ‘In the Absence of the Face’ (2000), capturing the concept of the ‘Mahdi’, ‘Ghayb’, or the ‘Unseen’.
1.
"Perhaps in me comes Kalki, and in you the Mahdi and Jesus, Who knows whose beginning and whose end, who can ever divine the path?"
——'Manush' ('Human Being'), Kazi Nazrul Islam
A few years before the collapse of the Soviet Union, Fredric Jameson had already written that it is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism. More than four decades have elapsed since then. We now live in an era where imagining the end of the world has become central to art, literature, and culture, yet we remain unable to imagine the end of capitalism. The messianic turn initiated by Agamben and Derrida in philosophy during the 1990s, right after the fall of the Soviet Union, is of profound significance for us precisely for this reason. This is because, in our present post-capitalist world, a genuine alternative has become an event as remote and virtually unimaginable as the arrival of Imam Mahdi and Jesus the Messiah.
Derrida published the foundational text of his messianic philosophy, Specters of Marx, a mere two years after the Soviet collapse. Derrida did not declare that what he understood as 'Marxian Mahdism' had come to an end with the end of Marxism. Rather, he expressed the hope for a renewed survival and flourishing of a Marxian mode of politics. His proposal was that Marxism, leaving behind its nineteenth-century ideological baggage, should embody a new, global, decentered, and structureless Marxian politics. However, the New International he proposed would not materialize simply by renouncing faith in the dictatorship of the proletariat; rather, one must also abandon belief in the notion of the global working class capable of performing a messiano-eschatological role (though Derrida presumed most followers of Marx had already lost this faith). Consequently, his proposition was to draw inspiration from the 'spirits of Marx or of Marxism' to commence a struggle for forging a new form of transnational, radical solidarity against state and international legal orders. This radical, transnational solidarity would be the New International. He analogized this new Marxian politics to the political-theological thought and praxis of awaiting the Mahdi. That is, in lieu of an ideological politics grounded in linear time—wherein the Mahdi will arrive at a definitive terminus to inaugurate a communist commonwealth—he advanced the conception of an appropriate politics centered on celebrating the reign of the Mahdi or a communist society as perpetually awaited, sustained through unwavering faith. In other words, paradise or the communist commonwealth will never arrive; yet the state of anticipation must endure, and politics must be forged around this awaiting.
Yet, how is revolutionary politics conceivable without the idea of a historical agent capable of bringing an end to capitalist history, and devoid of any notion of a 'telos' or ultimate fulfillment? It does not appear that Derrida could resolve this crisis. Instead, owing to its persistent condition of deconstruction, his notion of a 'messianic without messianism' politicality turns into another instantiation of différance, or functions as a katechon—infinitely holding back the advent of both the Antichrist (Dajjal) and the Mahdi. Unveiling the perpetual dissolution (and hence absence) of meaning, purpose, and presence within language
- Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning, and the New International, Psychology Press, 1994
- The concept of différance foregrounds the continuous deferral and shift—and therefore absence—of meaning and truth within language (or within law, or elsewhere). A word carries multiple significations, and meaning mutates over time. At the precise moment a word is deployed in one sense, other meanings remain absent or deferred. Derrida termed this perpetual absence of meaning within the word—or presence existing merely in the form of difference and deferral—as différance.
Moreover, the Katechon is an enigmatic concept mentioned in the Injeel Sharif (New Testament). This Greek term means 'that which withholds' or 'the one who restrains'. The katechon mentioned in an epistle written by Saint Paul in the New Testament
Derrida effects. Yet the experience of human enduring existence (baqa) as a linguistic entity upon the horizon of emergent meaning, purpose, and presence—or phrased differently, the very advent of new meaning and truth (namely, sakina) within language—is likewise held back by the deconstructionist maneuvers of Derrida and his followers.
Fundamentally, it was in grappling with Derrida’s thought on Mahdism that Agamben articulated his own philosophy of Mahdism. He never diverged from Derrida's view that we inhabit a 'messianic time without messianism'. He recognized that few have unveiled the actual condition of Mahdist (or Marxian) politics in our era—much like that of language and law—with greater clarity than Derrida. Where he departs from Derrida, however, is that Derrida could not proceed beyond this unveiling, or lacked the resolve to do so (a critique Agamben advances across several texts). Agamben is therefore opposed to this breed of deconstructionist maneuvers. He does not dismiss deconstruction outright, yet he refuses to remain trapped within its perpetual horizon. The condition of lawlessness that Derrida exposes within the law is equated by Agamben to the 'Man of Lawlessness/Anomie'—that is, the Antichrist (Dajjal)—depicted in the New Testament (Injeel Sharif). Confronting this Dajjal stands as one of the central imperatives of Agamben’s Mahdist philosophy. An attentive reader will notice that the debate between Derrida and Agamben is essentially about navigating the despair into which we descended following the advent of neoliberalism and the collapse of the Soviet Union. Consequently, this recent philosophical debate surrounding Mahdism can provide vital orientation for conceiving a post-capitalist world or organizing politics oriented toward that transition.
is mentioned, whose task is to withhold the 'Man of Lawlessness/Anomie', namely the Dajjal. Paul claims that the mystery of lawlessness or anomie is already at work, but the katechon is delaying its full manifestation (2 Thessalonians 2:6–7). Paul left this discussion unresolved, leaving the interpretation of the katechon a subject of extensive dispute among theologians and philosophers. Many interpret the katechon as a positive force whose mission is to restrain chaos or keep lawless machinations at bay. Yet the katechon can also be perceived negatively, given that by holding back or concealing lawlessness and the Dajjal, the advent of the Mahdi/Messiah is likewise deferred.
Caption: Jacques Derrida and Giorgio Agamben
It is worth noting that a major source of divergence between Agamben and Derrida regarding Mahdism lies in their differing philosophical conceptions of time. Indeed, many struggle to grasp their Mahdist philosophies because these frameworks are built upon their respective philosophical understandings of time (and history). Furthermore, because capitalism has compartmentalized and chained time to clock-hour metrics, and because we all inhabit this specific temporal regime, gaining an alternate experience of time—or even comprehending philosophical thought regarding that alternative experience—becomes exceedingly difficult for us. My own leanings toward Agamben over Derrida stem primarily from my affinity with Agamben’s conception of time. It must be emphasized that Agamben situated his own temporal philosophy within the lineage of Walter Benjamin’s thought on time. Long before Derrida, Benjamin had already drawn parallels between Marxism and Mahdism. Notably, Derrida did cite Benjamin’s writings on time and Mahdism in the references of Specters of Marx, yet in a manner that seemed to suggest there was little divergence between Benjamin’s perspective and his own. Agamben, on the other hand, spent considerable time unpacking and illustrating the divergence between Benjamin’s and Derrida’s conceptions of time, positioning himself as a comparatively faithful student and successor to Benjamin's temporal thought.
However, in reading Benjamin, I do not rely exclusively on Agamben’s interpretations. Ultimately, Agamben constructed his Mahdist thought by leaning heavily on Saint Paul’s notion of 'messianic time' in the New Testament (Injeel Sharif). In Christian tradition, the characteristics of both the Mahdi and the Messiah are envisioned within a single persona (Jesus the Messiah), whereas Jewish and Islamic traditions maintain the convention of envisioning two distinct messianic figures. Due to his reverence for Saint Paul—and as a philosopher emerging from Italy, the heart of Catholic tradition—a continuation of Catholic theology is distinctly discernible in Agamben’s formulation. Even when expounding Walter Benjamin’s concept of 'now-time' (Jetztzeit), he relies heavily on the New Testament and Paul's epistles. He claims that Benjamin himself was influenced by Saint Paul (though whether Agamben can offer conclusive evidence for this remains debatable). Conversely, in my reading, Benjamin’s 'now-time' carries the continuity of non-linear temporal concepts found across Sufism, Islamicate philosophical traditions, Jewish Kalam, and the Kabbalah. As a non-linear temporal concept, Mahdist time is like a moment, a waqt, or a rupture. This Mahdist time is not any moment contained within linear time. Yet, sweeping across the horizon of linear time, it flashes momentarily into existence—as in the prophetic era of Medina, in the Bangladesh of '71, or in the July of '24—only to take its leave once more.
At the foundation of the messianism spoken of by Derrida and Agamben lies the Christian theological interpretation of Jesus the Messiah. In the Christian tradition, the Messiah is singular, whereas Jewish and Islamic traditions retain two figures (in Islam, the Mahdi and the Messiah). It is precisely for this reason that in translating messianism, I favor the concept of 'Mahdism' over 'Messiahism'. In the Bengali language, the figure of the Mahdi is far more familiar to us as the messianic archetype. Hence, I find the term 'Mahdism' comparatively more meaningful for a Bengali-speaking public. Because the concept of the Mahdi carries a distinct history and lineage (silsila), my own reflections on Mahdism diverge somewhat from these two Western thinkers. There is no hesitation in acknowledging that if Benjamin's Mahdism was largely Jewish and Agamben's was largely Christian, my own philosophical Mahdism is perhaps equally Muslim—and/or Bengali. Not that I self-consciously maintained this distinction from the outset; rather, this emerged somewhat spontaneously while working through Mahdism. However, there is no scope to view these writings on Mahdism as theological treatises. Rather, this is my humble contribution toward the theoretical endeavor underway in the post-Soviet world to sustain and animate the revolutionary Marxist tradition.
- For details, see: Parvez Alam, Jihad o Khelaforter Silsila: Muslim Duniyar Khomota Somporker Itihas, Adarsha, 2016; Parvez Alam, Modina, Adarsha, 2020.
toward the theoretical endeavor underway to sustain and animate the revolutionary tradition, this is my humble contribution.
You will find no prophecy in my writings predicting that one day a Mahdi will arrive to establish a society of equality and justice on earth. Nor is it my mission to propagate the concept of a single, future Mahdi. Rather, what I have sought to demonstrate at various times is that it is entirely possible for anyone to attain an experience of law, politics, and time that renders Mahdist praxis viable. All who recognize and strive to confront the Dajjal manifested within language, law, and politics are actively participating in Mahdist praxis.
2.
Precisely because it flashes into being for a fleeting instant only to vanish again, Mahdist time cannot be confined within the continuum of linear time. Consequently, the continuity of the revolutionary moment (waqt) is disrupted immediately in the aftermath of revolution—an event we frequently term a "thwarted revolution" (waqt is not a linear temporal concept, but rather cyclical, continually recurring). For this reason, a successful revolution or political victory does not constitute proof of righteousness (haqq) or authentic Mahdist praxis. The mere formation of a government by revolutionaries in the wake of an uprising cannot be hailed as the "reign of the Mahdi" or a "communist commonwealth" (hence the perceived necessity of interim arrangements, such as the rule of an individual caliph, or a dictatorship of the proletariat overseen by an autocrat and a vanguard party).
The latent and esoteric (batini) lineage of Mahdist politicality operating within Bengali Muslim society is fundamentally rooted in the memory of the martyrdom of Imam Hussain and the Prophet's family at Karbala. Imam Hussain was defeated at Karbala; he was slain. Yet Yazid lived on, ruling for many years thereafter, and following his death, the Umayyad Empire grew even more entrenched and formidable. But among the oppressed (mazlum), they commanded no legitimacy whatsoever. It was the slain Imam Hussain at Karbala who remained their true leader. Though absent from the visible world, Imam Hussain lived on as the enduring catalyst for organizing resistance, rallying public consciousness against Yazid's tyrannical power, and inspiring successive waves of revolt. The defeat of Ibn Ziyad at the hands of Mukhtar, weathering one rebellion after another until the final collapse of the Umayyads via the Abbasid Revolution—all of this unfolded through invoking the memory of Karbala. Long centuries before the term "thwarted revolution" ever crossed their lips, the Bengali Muslim psyche had already internalized the slaughter of Imam Hussain and the Prophet's household as a prototypical betrayed revolution. And that the memory of this event can awaken the entirety of the Bengali Muslim mind's Mahdist yearning and utopian horizon (to redeem the thwarted revolution into ultimate fulfillment and establish an egalitarian order) is amply evidenced across our literary and political landscape.
Mahdist praxis is not a politics of capturing state power to become a ruler. Rather, it is a politics of resistance, struggle, sacrifice, and revolution directed against tyrannical power—a politics in which oppressed revolutionaries take part in every age. The vocation of this politics is to unmask the true face of deceptive power; to lay bare the perpetual anarchy concealed within an order sustained by a permanent state of exception; and to sustain unrelenting struggle against it. This does not mean Mahdist politics bears no relation to statecraft. Inevitably, in the wake of Mahdist movements, someone ascends to power. The Abbasids came to power through Mahdist politics (the early Abbasid caliphs adopted messianic titles). The Bolshevik Revolution yielded the Soviet Union. Out of our Liberation War, we gained Bangladesh. Yet, once state power is seized and a government installed, history offers scant precedent of anyone sustaining Mahdist politics (setting aside a few fleeting, exceptional moments like the utopian memory of Medina). That is not to suggest that governing or assuming statecraft is inherently malevolent. However, without resorting to oppression, and without maintaining latent anarchy within the law while relying on autocratic executive authority, virtually no revolutionary movement to date has managed to remain in power. Under the Abbasids, Islamic normative jurisprudence, the economy, science, philosophy, and arts flourished. The Soviet Union did not merely compete technologically with the United States; earlier still, it was at their hands that European fascism met its decisive defeat in the Second World War (it is worth remembering that Walter Benjamin explicitly identified the emergency-dependent legal-sovereign power of the fascists as the Antichrist, or the Dajjal). Yet both the Abbasids and the Bolsheviks turned autocratic, and they too practiced oppression.
The Mass Uprising of 1969 was an example of Mahdist praxis in the history of Bangladesh. The Liberation War was also invoked as a battle of Hussaini soldiers (and thereby as Mahdist praxis) in the very first Muharram following the independence of Bangladesh. Maulana Bhashani proclaimed the independence of Bangladesh in the wake of the 1970 cyclone that claimed hundreds of thousands of lives. He served as an advisor to the wartime government during the Liberation War, yet he claimed no share in the state power of independent Bangladesh. I am not claiming that these historical events were the product of the revolutionaries' conscious intent; rather, examining such historical occurrences makes it easier for us to grasp the reality of Mahdist praxis.
Caption: Maulana Abdul Hamid Khan Bhashani
This means that Mahdist praxis exists; it endures. This praxis belongs to the interiority of history. Yet the reign of the Mahdi is not an event belonging to our linear history. The Mahdi does not occupy the seat of governing power. Having accomplished his task, he departs. He disappears; he enters occultation (ghayb). For the Mahdi ascending to ruling power is synonymous with the establishment of the Kingdom of God or the Communist Commonwealth. As recorded in the Hadith, justice and equity will prevail during the Mahdi's reign just as oppression and discrimination prevail today. Furthermore, the inception of the Mahdi's rule signifies the return of Jesus the Messiah. It is perhaps for this reason that Kafka wrote in his diary: the Messiah will come only when he is no longer necessary.
3.
The day the Lord calls for reckoning, A deluge of fire and water shall erupt.
—Lalon Fakir
The Mahdi will arrive just prior to the advent of Jesus the Messiah—or Jesus the Messiah will manifest during the lifetime of the Mahdi. But when will Jesus the Messiah arrive? The conception of the Messiah—that is, the Deliverer—first took shape among the oppressed children of Israel. According to this conception, the Messiah would be that king of the Jews through whom the religion of God would be restored, allowing the Jewish people to attain liberation from foreign subjugation and tyranny. Yet, despite the successive appearances of several individuals bearing the messianic title, they failed to achieve liberation; consequently, for the children of Israel, the coming of the Messiah was displaced into an infinite future that never arrives as the present. It is perhaps for this very reason that the notion of two Messiahs emerged among them. The first is Messiah ben Joseph (the Messiah descending from the lineage of Prophet Joseph), who prepares the path for the Messiah's advent; and the second is the true Messiah, namely Messiah ben David (descending from the lineage of Prophet and King David).
Following his appearance, because Jesus the Messiah did not speak merely of the liberation of the children of Israel, but of the emancipation of universal humanity, he became far more popular among non-Jews than among the Jews. Agamben notes that Jesus the Messiah performed the roles of both Messiahs concurrently. However, a reading of the New Testament (Injeel Sharif) reveals further complexities. Perhaps in early Christian theology, the first Messiah was Jesus's spiritual mentor, the Prophet John (Yahya, known to Christians as John the Baptist). This is likely why we hear John proclaiming in the New Testament: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand... Prepare the way for the Lord, make his paths straight... I baptize you with water for repentance, but after me comes one who is more powerful than I... He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire" (Matthew 3:2–3, 11). It is worth noting that this utterance of John is a recapitulation of a prophecy from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah. Influenced by this prophecy of Isaiah and John, I wrote in a poem in 2012:
"Just as John proclaimed the tidings of Jesus’s arrival in the wilderness, So do I proclaim the advent of the natural, common human in this land of rivers and streams. Prepare the path for his arrival!"
John was executed by beheading in the court of Herod. It was only after John's martyrdom that Jesus commenced his own mission of calling people to the truth. A few years later, he too was put on the cross. He ascended to heaven; he entered occultation (ghayb). The Christians awaiting him then advanced the interpretation that the heavenly kingdom of God was already present within the Church. Bestowing legitimacy upon that Church, the Roman Empire itself became the empire of God. Consequently, the Final Judgement remained an endlessly deferred horizon. And that condition persists to this very day. Even in this modern age, in these dark, terminal days of late capitalism, Jesus has not returned. The oppressed still await the day of reckoning.
In the Holy Quran, Jesus is designated as the 'Messiah'. However, there are notable differences between the Islamic tradition and Jewish or Christian traditions concerning the Messiah and the Final Judgment. Another significant aspect is that among Muslims, eschatological narratives and theological imaginaries evolved far more prominently around the Mahdi than around the Messiah. It must be pointed out that the title 'Mahdi' does not appear in the Quran, nor is any individual named Mahdi mentioned in it (an argument that prompts many modern Salafis to outright reject the very advent of the Mahdi). Yet, examining the Quran, the Hadith corpus, and the history of Islam's first century reveals that the concept of the Mahdi existed in Islam from the outset, and that in certain dimensions it was qualitatively distinct from the notion of the Messiah. More specifically, a core Quranic concept later gained widespread currency in history through the term 'Mahdi'. The concept of huda (guidance) is central to the Quran. Huda signifies showing the path; 'Mahdi' denotes one who has been rightly guided (the one whom God has shown the path). The synonymous term muhtadi appears in the Quran itself; for instance, in Surah Al-Isra (also known as Surah Bani Isra'il): "Whomever Allah guides, he is the rightly guided (fa-huwa al-muhtad)" (17:97). The Quran and the poetry composed by the Prophet's companions make it clear that one of the Prophet's titles was indeed Muhtadi. In early Islamic history, the words Muhtadi, Mahdi, and Rashid were deployed synonymously to articulate a specific conception. Thus, the Rightly Guided Caliphs (Khulafa al-Rashidun) can likewise be referred to as Mahdis; one can even find contemporary titular designations referring to them concurrently as both Rashid and Mahdi.
During the Prophet’s lifetime and for some period following his demise, there was no necessity to conceive of an absent, future Mahdi. The notion of an awaited, future Mahdi subsequently took shape against the backdrop of the First and Second Fitnas. A driving factor behind this was the factional dispute over identifying the rightly guided leader. The Sunnis recognized the first four caliphs as the Rashidun—which is to say, for Sunnis, the first four caliphs are the Rashidun, and consequently, the Mahdis. Notably, when Caliph Umar conquered Jerusalem, the local Jews honored him with the title Farooq, which was a popular messianic title among the Jews of Syria (likely a title belonging to the archetype of Messiah ben Joseph). Umar personally cleared the ruins of the Temple Mount (Bayt al-Maqdis), with local Jews joining him in the effort. Umar subsequently resettled seventy Jewish families in Jerusalem. When he laid the foundation for a mosque on the site of Bayt al-Maqdis, Ka'b al-Ahbar—a Jewish rabbi who had converted to Islam and served as a companion to Caliph Umar—regarded it as the fulfillment of the prophecy regarding the construction of the Third Temple. While defeating Rome and Persia, Caliph Umar was well aware that he was fighting an apocalyptic, end-times battle. At the time of his passing, he requested that his grave be placed beside those of the Prophet and Caliph Abu Bakr, and that an empty grave be dug beside theirs—reserved for Jesus the Messiah. The Prophet of God and his companions did not struggle on behalf of any single faith community; their struggle was fought for all of humanity.
Caption: The "Mural of Saviors" painted in 2024 in Caracas, the capital of Venezuela.Flanking Jesus and Imam Mahdi on either side are several prominent political and military figures from Latin America and the Arab world. Inscribed above in Latin and Persian: "The path of the martyrs is the path of the divine prophets."
Perhaps originally, the Mahdi or Muhtadi was conceived as an entity who perpetually awaits the advent of Jesus the Messiah at every single moment, yet does not abandon the struggle against contemporary injustice on that pretext. In other words, the Muhtadi is someone who, while awaiting the Messiah, does not lapse into passivity; rather, he sustains the Messiah's struggle within his own lifetime. Subsequently, however, this concept mutated into something akin to the Messiah himself—namely, the idea of an individual who will arrive in the end times, just prior to the second coming of Jesus the Messiah. The catalyst behind this transformation was perhaps the tragic fate of Mawla Ali and Imam Hussain during the First and Second Fitnas. It is for this reason that in a Hadith we see Mawla Ali being analogized to the Jesus of the Muslim Ummah. Moreover, one of the earliest deployments of the name 'Mahdi' is encountered as a title for Imam Hussain. Owing to the tragedy of Karbala, the struggle of Imam Hussain became the paradigm of Mahdist praxis for anti-Umayyad revolutionaries. Yet, the political Kalam (theology) of the Mahdi attained full crystallization around Ali's son, Muhammad ibn al-Hanafiyyah (who was once revered as a legendary hero in Bengali folk literature).
4.
Our body is as Mary, Each of us bears an inner Jesus. When an ache, an anguish stirs within the soul, Then a Jesus is born. When the ache, the anguish departs— The inner Jesus takes his leave.
—Fihi Ma Fihi, Maulana Rumi
This is not to claim that at some point in linear history, the reign of the Mahdi (equality and justice) or something akin to a communist commonwealth will genuinely be established. But that does not mean we cannot realize the advent of Jesus the Messiah within our own lives, nor that we cannot practice Mahdist or communist politics. Rather, doing so is profoundly necessary. The advent of the Messiah and the Final Judgment transpire within the Day of God (Ayyamullah). From the divine standpoint, this day is fundamentally an indivisible, perpetual day. Ibn Arabi remarked that on this day, God brings all things to annihilation (fana) only to create them anew. This day unfolds at every passing moment. Enabling this process of fana and perpetual re-creation is precisely what is termed—Mahdist praxis.
Ultimately, each individual's resurrection (qiyamah) is distinct. The Day of Reckoning and Judgment may be communal, but the concept of the Final Judgment fundamentally concerns the reckoning of the individual. Each must settle their own account (at least according to the Abrahamic eschatological paradigm). Yet, belief also persists in the collective salvation of a specifically chosen nation (such as the Jewish or Christian nation) and sectarian collective (or doctrinal group). This contradiction between individual salvation and the salvation of the chosen nation or group did not merely carve out a place within Abrahamic religious traditions; it has traversed into modern political philosophy as well (which is why communists, anarchists, and all seventy-three sectarian factions each consider themselves the sole righteous group). Perhaps this complexity and contradiction can be overcome somewhat if one can comprehend individual time and national time (or history) as two distinct temporalities. Just as it is possible for a revolutionary, a Sufi, or a fakir to seek individual salvation within their own lifetime, should one conflate personal salvation entirely with the salvation of one's nation, party, or community, the path toward catastrophic oppression is flung wide open. (A major reason Israel has become entangled in genocide is precisely this conflation of individual and national salvation, subordinating personal redemption entirely to national liberation). As long as Heidegger grounded the history of Being within the phenomenological experience of the individual and wrote of Dasein as individual unveiling and destiny, his philosophy remained uncorrupted by fascism. But the moment he fused the history of Being and the telos of Dasein with the historical destiny of the German nation, his philosophy degenerated into fascism.
Perhaps such dangers can be averted by situating individual and national salvation on the planes of two distinct conceptions of time. Ultimately, imagining the salvation of a nation (even humanity as a whole) or a community forces us to depend on the notion of linear time and history. It is precisely for this reason that it is possible for the freedom seekers of a nation to rely on future generations to complete an unfinished revolution or carry it forward. The individual, however, must pursue the spiritual cultivation or struggle for salvation within their own lifetime, across the brief span of time allotted to them. Yet the individual is not severed from society. Nor is it possible to entirely detach oneself from the historical consciousness, yearning for liberation, and struggles of the nation or society into which one has been thrown. In a world dominated by nation-states, even an individual leading a seemingly mere biological life is forced, during critical historical ruptures, to assume the seat of a historical agent as part of the collective body politic; they must take part in collective transformation, even if reluctantly. Furthermore, for political beings—namely politicians and state theorists—it often proves exceedingly difficult to keep the struggle for individual and national liberation separate. It is particularly crucial for them to comprehend the salvation of the individual and that of the nation through the lens of distinct temporal concepts. Nonetheless, the more people perceive the ebb and flow of Jesus the Messiah within their own souls, as Maulana Rumi did, the closer the Day of Judgment may draw, even within the confines of linear time.
Franz Kafka perhaps wrote for this very reason: "The Messiah will come only when he is no longer necessary; he will come only on the day after his arrival; he will come, not on the last day, but at the very end." It was precisely to confront Derrida's meaningless and ineffective Mahdist politics that Agamben turned to this note of Kafka's, as well as to the theology of the Messiah's duality. He reminds us that Chronos, or linear time, is not the sole temporality; to experience Kairos, the rupture of the moment (waqt), one must first be able to suspend or conclude Chronos. The Messiah will not arrive on the last day (chronologically); he will arrive at the very end (kairologically).
- Franz Kafka, The Blue Octavo Notebooks, (Ed. Max Brod), Exact Change Edition: Cambridge, 1991, p. 28
Caption: Walter Benjamin. Source: Internet
Borrowing a metaphorical comparison from a biologist, Walter Benjamin wrote that if the history of organic life on Earth were mapped onto a single twenty-four-hour day, human history by comparison would correspond merely to the final two seconds of the closing hour. This momentary existence of humankind in cosmic relation serves, for Benjamin, as the very model of Mahdist existence. And the arrival of the Messiah can transpire at any given instant—since every second is a strait gate through which the Messiah may enter ("Theses on the Philosophy of History," Thesis B/18).
About the Author: Parvez Alam is a Bangladeshi writer, researcher, and political activist. Published books: Muslim Jogoter Gyantattik Lorai (2011), Shahbager Rashtroprokolpo (2014), Jihad o Khelaforter Silsila: Muslim Duniyar Khomota Somporker Itihas (2016), Disappearing Public Spheres: Censorship in Bangladesh (2016), Modina (2020), and Kashf (2025). Email: stparvez@gmail.com
Philosophical Mahdism and Mahdist Politics