- Some perennial criticisms
Much is said on the media (often justifiably so) about the Muslims’ unhealthy nostalgic yearnings and reverence for their past heroes. On the other hand, mention of the opposite phenomenon – the tendency to feel ashamed of and having nothing to do with one’s past – isn’t nearly as fashionable, especially in the English press. So it is that more than eighty years after his death, Allama Iqbal (who is probably one of the last of those heroes) remains one of the liberals’ favourite punching bags, especially on the social media.
It was the message-boards era when I first became a part of such debates. I distinctly remember that even in that pre-Facebook age it was de rigueur to malign Iqbal. In any discussion featuring Iqbal, sooner or later some enlightened soul, by way of ending the debate, was sure to point out (for example) that Iqbal’s perfect-man (insaan-e-kaamil or mard-e-momin) was plagiarised from Nietzsche’s Superman (Übermensch).
Which could have made for an interesting debate – provided the detractors had studied Iqbal. What turned out again and again however was that they hadn’t studied Iqbal at all; and still less Nietzsche. Most of those who pretended to feel strongly about Iqbal had probably heard some liberal criticise him, and that had seemed to them to be reason enough to parrot the sentiments. (Which makes a certain kind of sense too, because experience tells that it’s easiest to issue categorical statements on subjects one has absolutely no idea about).
Cut to 2018, and it’s obvious that the more things change the more they remain the same. For the other day somebody on the social media ‘broke’ the news that Iqbal had ‘stolen’ Matilda Edwards’s Child’s prayer and had passed it off as his own (the famous Lab pe aati hai dua). Obviously, it wasn’t a matter of the critic not having understood Iqbal (which is forgivable) but of his not even reading him first hand (which isn’t). For Iqbal was careful to indicate right under the title that the poem was inspired. When the fact was pointed out, the critic retorted that while that may be so, the common man still believes it’s Iqbal’s. That’s probably true because the common man has probably never opened Bang-e-Dara either. Hardly Iqbal’s fault.
The common man and the critic need not feel too bad however. For the people that run PTV – the only channel that has traditionally ‘patronised’ Iqbal – have consistently been guilty of the same: that is, not bothering to read him first hand. Some of his best work was never broadcast, fearing that it could cause a law and order situation. They needn’t have worried. ‘Jis khet se dehqan ko muyassar naheen rozi – us khet ke har khosha e gandum ko jala do’ (for example) was no Marxist/anarchist call to arms for the poor, but a message from God to the angels – the title, Farmaan e khuda: farishton se, ought to have been a giveaway – hence there was no immediate (or even intermediate level) threat to the fabric of society.
The other day somebody on the social media ‘broke’ the news that Iqbal had ‘stolen’ Matilda Edwards’s Child’s prayer and had passed it off as his own (the famous Lab pe aati hai dua)
Many critics of Iqbal also (understandably) have a problem with the way his work was posthumously used by traditionalists and the regressive forces for their advantage. It would be unfair to condemn Iqbal for it though: He undoubtedly had a mission (renaissance of Islam), but it was his own – he was no mouthpiece or propagandist for anybody. It’s his distinction that despite having an agenda (so to speak) he produced great, enduring poetry – an impossible combination. For while any poet can become instantly famous, all poetry that has stood the test of time has been devoid of agendas (barring Iqbal). Ghalib – the greatest of them all – had absolutely no mission. Faiz affords a good illustration: his later poetry (where he was supposed to toe a certain party-line) is vastly inferior to his earlier work when he wasn’t so shackled. Jalib was a poet with an agenda throughout (without doubt highly commendable in itself), but his poetry – immensely popular though it was under certain circumstances – has already failed the test of time. Iqbal is probably unique in this respect. It’s testimony to his immense skill, regardless of how one feels about his chosen mission.
Of course, there have been other criticisms of Iqbal. Some critics accuse him of not having his money where his mouth was: a reference to the gulf between his exhortations in favour of a strenuous existence and his own life that was more synonymous with the ultimate symbols of leisure: huqqa andcharpayi. Iqbal (if he were alive) would plead guilty to the charge. However, I must humbly enquire since when is it legitimate to judge literature by the personal life of its author? Besides, Iqbal wasn’t altogether an antithesis of his teachings either. Writing Shikwa and Jawab-e-shikwa, for example, would have taken more courage than most of us display during a lifetime. And again, it’s hard to downplay their literary excellence. In fact, one would be hard pressed to find anything of that nature elsewhere.
Iqbal must have done something right if for some of his detractors he was too devout; while for others he wasn’t devout enough (he is sometimes accused of being soft on Ahmadis); and if for some he glamorised the past, while for others he was too revolutionary. That said, whether one likes his message or not, it would take a brave man indeed to deny Iqbal’s literary genius and his unique standing among poets.