Before Iran’s Islamic Revolution, the 19th and early 20th centuries witnessed the rise of Islamic political movements that ranged from reformist currents to traditionalist ones. But the leader of Iran’s revolution, Imam Ruhollah Khomeini, introduced a comprehensive political project that amounted to an entirely new model addressed to the entire Muslim nation. It was neither monarchic in the classical sense nor liberal or democratic; rather, it resembled a hybrid between a “caliph” and a “spiritual father,” forming a geopolitical force under the banner of “Neither East nor West.”

Khomeini transitioned from spiritual Islam to opposition, confrontation, and ultimately revolution. In the 1930s, his writings were steeped in spiritual and existential themes, calling for detachment from the material world. But beginning in 1963, his discourse shifted toward political opposition to the monarchy and to imperial power. From Najaf, he published his seminal work, Islamic Government, which compiled his lectures in “Wilayat al Faqih” - “Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist” as the framework capable of ensuring the implementation of Islam. With his now-famous slogan “No to America, No to Israel,” he defined his adversaries. He called for resisting tyranny under a conception of jihad that he made a central pillar of his political project, arguing that the blood of fighters was “worth no more than that of Imam Hussein.” By invoking Ashura, he reinforced a revolutionary ethos that, in his view, outweighed ritual worship such as prayer and fasting.

In this book, he articulated the doctrine of Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist. The concept provoked strong objections from many clerics inside and outside Iran, particularly regarding the scope of the jurist’s authority over politics and governance. Some argued that no political legitimacy could exist before the reappearance of the Imam, while others insisted that this “interim period” must be filled—that the occultation of the Twelfth Imam could be long, so why remain idle in waiting? Some of Khomeini’s critics even supported him in leading the revolution once he declared himself the supreme jurist. For Khomeini, the jurist under Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist was both spiritual and temporal sovereign heir to managing the affairs of the nation during the major occultation. His authority flowed from expertise in religious and legal sciences, making him capable of “legalizing Islam” through its application by “the most learned and most righteous.”

In Lebanon, the 1980s saw the public emergence of a group loyal to the Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist, born from the margins of society. Its rise coincided with the spread of books, lectures, and social, cultural, educational, and media institutions that supported this new ideology in a landscape torn by local, regional, and global conflict between right and left. This phase created a rupture between “pre-” and “post-” revolution Shiism in Lebanon, as certain practices became standardized in ways previously unknown. With the state weak along its peripheries, these ideas seeped in and deeply took root—especially with the presence of a “single enemy” that strengthened and legitimized the discourse of guardianship. The result was a widening, vertical divide inside the Shiite community—less doctrinal than political and identity-based.

Amid these shifts, Hezbollah issued its foundational political statement in 1985: the “Open Letter” from its first Secretary-General, Ibrahim al-Amin al-Sayyid, addressed “to all the oppressed,” declaring that “our jihad against Israel is a religious duty, a humanitarian duty, and a national duty.” Lebanese Shiites then found themselves facing a complex duality: a fragile wartime state incapable of defending itself—like a house with no roof—versus a rigid, coherent framework that endowed the jurist under Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist with vast political, military, financial, and religious authority, offering a sense of belonging many felt they lacked.

This raises an essential question:

How can a pluralistic and deeply complex society like Lebanon safeguard freedom of belief and opinion—and separate religion from politics—when a segment of its citizens believes that “Islam is politics”?

It is noteworthy that Khomeini himself did not grant Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist absolute sanctity; he considered it an interpretive theory, subject to development and modernization in line with the evolution of time. Yet in his final instructions, he stressed that his followers must respect the laws of the countries in which they live—not those of any external state, a point affirmed by a prominent figure close to this school of thought. This opens further questions:

Is the “modest jihad” that Khomeini promoted still relevant in Lebanon’s current reality?

In Islamic Government, he wrote: “Fighting in Islam is not a goal in itself, but a means to preserve the Islamic order and prevent injustice. The objective is establishing justice, and jihad was legislated for this purpose.” He also emphasized that “the struggle of the soul is the greater jihad, the foundation for anyone seeking to reform society or assume responsibility for the affairs of the nation.”

Can Lebanon transition from the model of Imam Hussein—centered on confrontation—to that of Imam Hassan, grounded in compromise to preserve society?

And can Hezbollah, amid shifting Lebanese, regional, and international dynamics, transform from an ideological military organization into a political party functioning fully inside Lebanon’s democratic system?

If so, what is Hezbollah’s internal vision and political program as a political party? And how compatible is it with the Lebanese Constitution and governing laws? After entering formal politics in 1992, the party presented a comprehensive domestic vision of a capable state that “protects its citizens,” manages a productive economy, and is shielded from corruption and sectarian patronage. In its 2009 manifesto, it affirmed that it does not seek to establish an Islamic state in Lebanon, given the social and confessional realities and because “the will of the Lebanese does not lean in that direction.”

Today, Lebanon stands before two bitter options. The first is a political arrangement branded as a “stable truce” or “settlement”—but lacking the qualities of equitable negotiation. The second is “death,” as an enemy continues to hover over land and sea day and night, striking when it chooses under the pretext of maintaining security, in a region where geopolitical equations have been fundamentally upended.

If the Lebanese move toward settlement—not out of conviction but from choosing the lesser of two evils—and in deference to the people’s will, such a decision could open a window for a diplomatic opportunity where Eastern and Western economic interests intersect and rest on the complete neutrality of Lebanon. Perhaps, if the truce is not obstructed, the Lebanese may finally enjoy some measure of security and stability.