The Secrets of the Self E-Book

Muhammad Iqbal

• Herausgeber: FILROUGEVICEVERSA
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 90

Beschreibung

When the world-illuming sun rushed upon Night like a brigand, My weeping bedewed the face of the rose. My tears washed away sleep from the eye of the narcissus, My passion wakened the grass and made it grow. The Gardener taught me to sing with power, He sowed a verse and reaped a sword. In the soil he planted only the seed of my tears And wove my lament with the garden, as warp and woof. Tho' I am but a mote, the radiant sun is mine: Within my bosom are a hundred dawns.

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Muhammad Iqbal

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Table of contents

INTRODUCTION

FOOTNOTES:

PROLOGUE

FOOTNOTES:

I

FOOTNOTES:

II

FOOTNOTES:

III

FOOTNOTES:

IV

FOOTNOTES:

V

FOOTNOTES:

VI

FOOTNOTES:

VII

FOOTNOTES:

VIII

FOOTNOTES:

IX

FOOTNOTES:

X

FOOTNOTES:

XI

FOOTNOTES:

XII

FOOTNOTES:

XIII

XIV

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XV

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XVI

FOOTNOTES:

XVII

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XVIII

FOOTNOTES:

COLOPHON

INTRODUCTION

The Asrár-i Khudí was first published at Lahore in 1915. I read it soon afterwards and thought so highly of it that I wrote to Iqbal, whom I had the pleasure of meeting at Cambridge some fifteen years ago, asking leave to prepare an English translation. My proposal was cordially accepted, but in the meantime I found other work to do, which caused the translation to be laid aside until last year. Before submitting it to the reader, a few remarks are necessary concerning the poem and its author.[1]Iqbal is an Indian Moslem. During his stay in the West he studied modern philosophy, in which subject he holds degrees from the Universities of Cambridge and Munich. His dissertation on the development of metaphysics in Persia—an illuminating sketch—appeared as a book in 1908. Since then he has developed a philosophy of his own, on which I am able to give some extremely interesting notes communicated by himself. Of this, however, the Asrár-i Khudí gives no systematic account, though it puts his ideas in a popular and attractive form. While the Hindu philosophers, in explaining the doctrine of the unity of being, addressed themselves to the head, Iqbal, like the Persian poets who teach the same doctrine, takes a more dangerous course and aims at the heart. He is no mean poet, and his verse can rouse or persuade even if his logic fail to convince. His message is not for the Mohammedans of India alone, but for Moslems everywhere: accordingly he writes in Persian instead of Hindustani—a happy choice, for amongst educated Moslems there are many familiar with Persian literature, while the Persian language is singularly well adapted to express philosophical ideas in a style at once elevated and charming.Iqbal comes forward as an apostle, if not to his own age, then to posterity— “ I have no need of the ear of To-day,I am the voice of the poet of To-morrow”—and after Persian fashion he invokes the Saki to fill his cup with wine and pour moonbeams into the dark night of his thought, “ That I may lead home the wanderer,And imbue the idle looker-on with restless impatience,And advance hotly on a new quest,And become known as the champion of a new spirit.”Let us begin at the end. What is the far-off goal on which his eyes are fixed? The answer to that question will discover his true character, and we shall be less likely to stumble on the way if we see whither we are going. Iqbal has drunk deep of European literature, his philosophy owes much to Nietzsche and Bergson, and his poetry often reminds us of Shelley; yet he thinks and feels as a Moslem, and just for this reason his influence may be great. He is a religious enthusiast, inspired by the vision of a New Mecca, a world-wide, theocratic, Utopian state in which all Moslems, no longer divided by the barriers of race and country, shall be one. He will have nothing to do with nationalism and imperialism. These, he says, “rob us of Paradise”: they make us strangers to each other, destroy feelings of brotherhood, and sow the bitter seed of war. He dreams of a world ruled by religion, not by politics, and condemns Machiavelli, that “worshipper of false gods,” who has blinded so many. It must be observed that when he speaks of religion he always means Islam. Non-Moslems are simply unbelievers, and (in theory, at any rate) the Jihád is justifiable, provided that it is waged “for God’s sake alone.” A free and independent Moslem fraternity, having the Ka´ba as its centre and knit together by love of Allah and devotion to the Prophet—such is Iqbal’s ideal. In the Asrár-i Khudí and the Rumúz-i Békhudí he preaches it with a burning sincerity which we cannot but admire, and at the same time points out how it may be attained. The former poem deals with the life of the individual Moslem, the latter with the life of the Islamic community.The cry “Back to the Koran! Back to Mohammed!” has been heard before, and the responses have hitherto been somewhat discouraging. But on this occasion it is allied with the revolutionary force of Western philosophy, which Iqbal hopes and believes will vitalise the movement and ensure its triumph. He sees that Hindu intellectualism and Islamic pantheism have destroyed the capacity for action, based on scientific observation and interpretation of phenomena, which distinguishes the Western peoples “and especially the English.” Now, this capacity depends ultimately on the conviction that khudí (selfhood, individuality, personality) is real and is not merely an illusion of the mind. Iqbal, therefore, throws himself with all his might against idealistic philosophers and pseudo-mystical poets, the authors, in his opinion, of the decay prevailing in Islam, and argues that only by self-affirmation, self-expression, and self-development can the Moslems once more become strong and free. He appeals from the alluring raptures of Hafiz to the moral fervour of Jalálu´ddín Rúmí, from an Islam sunk in Platonic contemplation to the fresh and vigorous monotheism which inspired Mohammed and brought Islam into existence.[2] Here, perhaps, I should guard against a possible misunderstanding. Iqbal’s philosophy is religious, but he does not treat philosophy as the handmaid of religion. Holding that the full development of the individual presupposes a society, he finds the ideal society in what he considers to be the Prophet’s conception of Islam. Every Moslem, in striving to make himself a more perfect individual, is helping to establish the Islamic kingdom of God upon earth.[3]The Asrár-i Khudí is composed in the metre and modelled on the style of the famous Masnaví. In the prologue Iqbal relates how Jalálu´ddín Rúmí, who is to him almost what Virgil was to Dante, appeared in a vision and bade him arise and sing. Much as he dislikes the type of Súfism exhibited by Hafiz, he pays homage to the pure and profound genius of Jalálu´ddín, though he rejects the doctrine of self-abandonment taught by the great Persian mystic and does not accompany him in his pantheistic flights.To European readers the Asrár-i Khudí presents certain obscurities which no translation can entirely remove. These lie partly in the form and would not be felt, as a rule, by any one conversant with Persian poetry. Often, however, the ideas themselves, being associated with peculiarly Oriental ways of thinking, are hard for our minds to follow. I am not sure that I have always grasped the meaning or rendered it correctly; but I hope that such errors are few, thanks to the assistance so kindly given me by my friend Muhammad Shafi, now Professor of Arabic at Lahore, with whom I read the poem and discussed many points of difficulty. Other questions of a more fundamental character have been solved for me by the author himself. At my request he drew up a statement of his philosophical views on the problems touched and suggested in the book. I will give it in his own words as nearly as possible, it is not, of course, a complete statement, and was written, as he says, “in a great hurry,” but apart from its power and originality it elucidates the poetical argument far better than any explanation that could have been offered by me. “ 1. The Philosophical Basis of the Asrár-i Khudí “‘ That experience should take place in finite centres and should wear the form of finite this-ness is in the end inexplicable.’ These are the words of Prof. Bradley. But starting with these inexplicable centres of experience, he ends in a unity which he calls Absolute and in which the finite centres lose their finiteness and distinctness. According to him, therefore, the finite centre is only an appearance. The test of reality, in his opinion, is all-inclusiveness; and since all finiteness is ‘infected with relativity,’ it follows that the latter is a mere illusion. To my mind, this inexplicable finite centre of experience is the fundamental fact of the universe. All life is individual; there is no such thing as universal life. God himself is an individual: He is the most unique individual.[4] The universe, as Dr. McTaggart says, is an association of individuals; but we must add that the orderliness and adjustment which we find in this association is not eternally achieved and complete in itself. It is the result of instinctive or conscious effort. We are gradually travelling from chaos to cosmos and are helpers in this achievement. Nor are the members of the association fixed; new members are ever coming to birth to co-operate in the great task. Thus the universe is not a completed act: it is still in the course of formation. There can be no complete truth about the universe, for the universe has not yet become ‘whole.’ The process of creation is still going on, and man too takes his share in it, inasmuch as he helps to bring order into at least a portion of the chaos. The Koran indicates the possibility of other creators than God.[5] “ Obviously, this view of man and the universe is opposed to that of the English Neo-Hegelians as well as to all forms of pantheistic Súfism which regard absorption in a universal life or soul as the final aim and salvation of man.[6] The moral and religious ideal of man is not self-negation but self-affirmation, and he attains to this ideal by becoming more and more individual, more and more unique. The Prophet said, ‘Takhallaqú bi-akhláq Allah,’ ‘Create in yourselves the attributes of God.’ Thus man becomes unique by becoming more and more like the most unique Individual. What then is life? It is individual: its highest form, so far, is the Ego (Khudí) in which the individual becomes a self-contained exclusive centre. Physically as well as spiritually man is a self-contained centre, but he is not yet a complete individual. The greater his distance from God, the less his individuality. He who comes nearest to God is the completest person. Not that he is finally absorbed in God. On the contrary, he absorbs God into himself.[7] The true person not only absorbs the world of matter; by mastering it he absorbs God Himself into his Ego. Life is a forward assimilative movement. It removes all obstructions in its march by assimilating them. Its essence is the continual creation of desires and ideals, and for the purpose of its preservation and expansion it has invented or developed out of itself certain instruments, e.g. senses, intellect, etc., which help it to assimilate obstructions.[8] The greatest obstacle in the way of life is matter, Nature; yet Nature is not evil, since it enables the inner powers of life to unfold themselves. “ The Ego attains to freedom by the removal of all obstructions in its way. It is partly free, partly determined,[9] and reaches fuller freedom by approaching the Individual who is most free—God. In one word, life is an endeavour for freedom. “ 2. The Ego and Continuation of Personality “