Allama Muhammad Iqbal (1877-1938), more commonly known to people of the subcontinent as the spiritual architect of Pakistan, was a philosopher, thinker, and poet, whose writings aimed to awaken within Muslims around the world a sense of dignity and self-respect. His extensive work, written primarily in Urdu and Farsi, continues to act as an inspiration to Islamic movements and intellectuals globally. Among the many profoundly influenced by Iqbal’s vision is Ayatollah Sayyid Ali Khamenei.
The speech below was given by Ayatullah Khamenei at the opening ceremony of an international congress in commemoration of Allama Muhammad Iqbal on March 10, 1985 (19th of Jumada al-Thani, 1405), in the city of Tehran. In his speech, Ayatollah Khamenei highlights Iqbal’s genius as both a philosopher and poet, emphasizing the concept of khudi that Iqbal believed was integral for the renewal of a Muslim identity. Ayatullah Khamenei also delves into Iqbal’s critiques of colonialism, his desire for an Islamic renaissance, and his global call for a spiritual and intellectual revival.
Ayatollah Khamenei’s admiration for Allama Iqbal is not solely academic or abstract, in fact in the 1980s, during one of these annual conferences on Iqbal, Javed Iqbal (the son of Muhammad Iqbal) spoke of Ayatollah Khamenei’s deep understanding with his father’s work’s saying, “I was surprised when I found out that Ayatullah Khamenei had memorized about two thousand verses of Iqbal’s poetry. Even I, as the son of Iqbal, do not remember such a huge chunk of my father’s poetry.”
This reflects the depth of Ayatullah Khamenei’s commitment to Iqbal’s works and ideas. In this speech, you will also find a powerful emphasis on the connection between Iqbal’s critique of Western secularism and materialism, with the contemporary struggle for Muslim dignity and self-determination, a theme that is present throughout The Islamic Republic of Iran’s post-revolutionary discourse.
In the following speech, you will see how Ayatullah Khamenei places Iqbal and his ideas within the broader Muslim intellectual history, and advocates for a renewed appreciation for his life and literary works. The translation keeps the original Farsi where Iqbal’s poetry has been recited, with an English translation right below it. I hope this can provide a clearer picture of Iqbal’s thought, and a deeper understanding of why he holds such an important place in the modern Muslim conscience, as his writings are as applicable to Muslims today, as they were when they were written a century ago.
Speech at the Opening Ceremony of the International Congress Commemorating Allama Muhammad Iqbal Lahori¹
In the Name of God, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful
Today, as I witness this gathering in our country in honour of the dear Iqbal, it will be one of the most moving and memorable days of my life. That bright spark—whose memory, poetry, advice, and lessons removed despair from our hearts during the dark days of oppressive tyranny and painted a bright future before our eyes—has today become a shining torch, fortunately drawing the attention of our nation.
Our people, who are truly Iqbal’s first audience on a global scale, unfortunately, came to know him very late. The specific conditions of our country—especially the domination of malicious colonial policies in the final years of Iqbal’s life over his beloved Iran—meant that he never saw Iran. This great Persian-speaking poet, who composed most of his poetry not in his native tongue but in Persian, never got the chance to set foot in this cherished and longed-for land. Not only did Iqbal not come to Iran, but those very policies Iqbal spent a lifetime fighting prevented his ideas, his path, and his lessons from reaching the ears of the Iranian people—those who were the most ready to hear his message.
I have an answer to the question of why Iqbal never came to Iran. At a time when Iqbal was living at the peak of his fame and reputation—when, in various corners of the subcontinent and in world-renowned universities, he was regarded as a thinker, philosopher, scholar, anthropologist, and a great sociologist (though none of these titles precisely matched the identity Iqbal himself preferred)²—our country was ruled by policies that simply could not tolerate him in any capacity. He was never invited here; no opportunity was offered for him to visit. For many long years, his books were not printed or introduced in Iran. During that same period, when the works, literature, and culture of foreign thinkers—far removed from the identity of the Iranian and Muslim individual—were flooding our country like a destructive torrent, not even a single poem or work of Iqbal was placed in front of the general public.
Now, under the Islamic Republic—which is the embodiment of Iqbal’s ideals—his vision has become reality here. Iqbal, who was pained by the lack of dignity in the Muslim peoples, by their defeatism, their spiritual self-effacement, and despair, and who devoted his vast talents to eradicating that debilitating weed from the soul of Eastern, particularly Muslim, human beings—if he were alive today, he would see a nation standing firmly on its own feet, watered by its rich Islamic resources, relying on and trusting itself, indifferent to the deceptive trappings of the West and its value system, living powerfully, creating lofty goals, advancing toward those goals with ardour, and refusing to be confined by ethnic or nationalist boundaries. He would see people realizing many of the other aspirations scattered throughout Iqbal’s valuable works.
I am pleased that, praise be to God, we now see Iqbal’s aspirations fulfilled in our own milieu—though somewhat late—and we have at last found the opportunity to introduce this great thinker, this eminent reformer of the modern era, and this tireless revolutionary and fighter to our people.
Certainly, I would have preferred that my presence at this event be informal so I could personally draw more inspiration from this beloved commemoration and I could share, more fully, my feelings toward Iqbal with the participants. Even in this formal setting, I ask my brothers and sisters to let me speak sincerely, as someone who has for years been a devotee of Iqbal and, in his own mind, has lived with him. In this large gathering—and ultimately in the minds of our dear nation—I wish to repay just a fraction of the great debt I owe him.
Iqbal is one of the outstanding figures of Islamic history. He has a deep, elevated personality, and we cannot do him justice by highlighting just one of his traits or aspects of his life. Indeed, Iqbal is a scholar, a philosopher—but the other dimensions of Iqbal’s life shine so brilliantly that if we say simply “he is a philosopher” or “he is a scholar,” we feel we have diminished him and not fulfilled his due.
Undoubtedly, Iqbal is also a major poet—one of the greats. Those who understand the Urdu language and have written about him assert that his Urdu poetry is the best in Urdu literature. One might say, given Urdu’s relatively shorter literary history, that may not be the highest praise; yet there is no doubt that in the early twentieth century, Iqbal’s Urdu verse had a profound effect on the masses of the subcontinent—Muslim and Hindu alike—urging them on in the struggle that was then gaining momentum. Iqbal himself refers to this at the beginning of the Masnawi;
Asrar-e Khudi (The Secrets of the Self):
باغبان زور کلامم آزمود
مصرعی کارید و شمشیری درود
“The gardener tested the power of my speech:
He sowed a single line, and a sword he reaped.”
I interpret this as referring to his Urdu poetry, which by that time was widely known throughout the subcontinent.
As for his Persian poetry, in my opinion it is truly miraculous. We have many non-Iranians in our literary history who wrote in Persian, but I cannot point to anyone who had the qualities Iqbal displays in Persian composition. Iqbal did not speak Persian conversationally—he spoke Urdu or English at home. He did not write Persian prose, and his existing Persian prose (the brief introductory notes in Asrar-e Khudi and Rumuz-e Bekhudi (The Mysteries of Selflessness)) is difficult for native speakers to comprehend. He never formally studied Persian in any school; in his paternal home, Urdu was spoken. He chose Persian simply because he felt his ideas could not be adequately conveyed in Urdu. So, he immersed himself in Persian, studying the collected works of Saadi, Hafez, Rumi’s Mathnawi, and the Indian-style Persian poets such as ‘Urfi, Naziri, and Ghalib Dehlavi. Thus, despite never living among native Persian speakers or socializing extensively with them, he was able to express the subtlest, most intricate, and most elusive concepts in high-level poetry—some of which is truly magnificent. This, in my opinion, is sheer poetic genius.
By comparing the Persian poetry of non-native speakers to Iqbal’s Persian poetry, one finds none who can match him. Some of his lines are so rich that if we try to explain them in Persian prose—our own language—we can barely do them justice; yet he did so effortlessly in verse. It is remarkable. I am grateful to Dr. Mojtabavi³ for reciting some of Iqbal’s poems here, and I request that over the course of these few days you continue to keep Iqbal’s poetry alive by reciting it. His poems themselves are the best introduction to his personality. No explanation can match Iqbal’s own verse.
Indeed, if one were to praise Iqbal merely as a poet, that would diminish him. He is a great reformer and a champion of freedom; but even calling him a social reformer falls short. In British India, many contemporary Hindu and Muslim reformers—Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, Maulana Muhammad Ali, Maulana Shaukat Ali, Muhammad Ali Jinnah (Quaid-e-Azam), and others, roughly Iqbal’s peers—were freedom fighters who achieved noteworthy feats. Yet none can compare to the towering greatness of Iqbal or the scope of his efforts. The most we can say about these other figures is that they struggled for the independence of their homeland, whereas Iqbal’s concern was not only India but the entire Muslim world—and even more broadly, the East. In his mathnawi Pas Che Bayad Kard, Ay Aqwam-e Sharq? (What Should Be Done, O Nations of the East?)⁴, he clearly shows how his penetrating vision encompassed all oppressed peoples and focused especially on the Islamic sphere. For this reason, calling him merely a social reformer or a freedom fighter is inadequate. I cannot find a single phrase that fully captures Iqbal’s scope.
Look at the lofty personality and profound meaning in the soul and intellect of this great man—and see how little our people know of him! We are, admittedly, still far from him. Hence, this congress is among the best initiatives that could have occurred.⁵ Of course, we must not stop here. I ask that our Ministry of Culture and Higher Education, our university colleagues, the Ministry of Education, and the Ministry of Islamic Guidance each, in its own capacity, strive to perpetuate Iqbal’s name—by establishing foundations, naming universities, lecture halls, and cultural institutions after him. Iqbal belongs to us. He belongs to this nation and this land. In the ghazal recited earlier—expressing his longing for the Iranian people—he says:
چون چراغ لاله سوزم در خیابان شما
اى جوانان عجم جان من و جان شما
…
میرسد مردى که زنجیر غلامان بشکند
دیدهام از روزن دیوار زندان شما
“Like a tulip’s lamp, I burn upon your path,
O young Persians—my life and yours are one.
…
A man shall come to break the bonds of slaves:
I have glimpsed him through the prison’s cracks in your wall.”
This affirms what I said before about why Iqbal did not come to Iran: he saw this place as a prison and addressed its people as though they were inmates. Many passages in Iqbal’s collected works reveal that, at least during his time, he felt disillusioned with India, turning his gaze instead to Iran and wishing that the flame he was kindling would burn brightly here. He expected a miracle to occur here. That is the right Iqbal holds over us, and we must honor that obligation.
The Historical Context of Iqbal’s Message
If we wish to understand Iqbal and the depth of his message, we must know how the subcontinent fared during his lifetime—and in the period leading up to it. Otherwise, we will fail to perceive the essence of his appeal and the inner fire that drove him. At that time, India was in dire straits. Iqbal was born in 1877, merely twenty years after the British suppressed the 1857 uprising. In 1857, the British dealt the fatal blow to Islamic governance in the subcontinent. A major uprising had persisted for some time—particularly four intense months in 1857—but the British saw their opportunity and toppled the already weakened Muslim-ruled state in India.
Once Britain formally annexed India, calling the territory the “British Empire in India,” they resolved to eliminate any chance for future rebellions or any revival of indigenous or religious grandeur. Their solution was to uproot the Muslims entirely, having learned from experience that Muslims were their most persistent foes.⁶ From as early as the early 19th century—and even the late 18th in the case of Tipu Sultan—Muslim scholars, tribes, and others had risen to resist British authority and their Sikh⁷ allies. The British responded with a ruthless plan to crush the Muslims economically, culturally, and socially, killing and imprisoning them at will, expropriating endowments, and denying them employment—an unrelenting wave of repression that lasted for decades.
After twenty-odd years of this, two major currents emerged within the Indian Muslim community to cope with these hardships: one led by the ulama in places like Deoband and Lucknow, the other led by Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan. These two currents diverged sharply⁸: the ulama advocated a policy of noncooperation and struggle against British institutions, whereas Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan’s approach was to appease the British and adopt their modern educational methods. Sadly, both efforts failed to protect the broader interests of Muslims in India. The ulama kept the community aloof from modern knowledge and tools needed in a changing era, while Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan’s strategy of placating the British never alleviated the Muslims’ suffering. Rather, it left them marginalized and subjugated.⁹
Thus, around 1907–1909, when Iqbal returned from Europe brimming with modern learning, the so-called Muslim intellectuals of his day were dazzled by Western civilization. They measured their prestige by how fully they adopted Western attire, mannerisms, and even Western values. Serving the British government was considered an honor. Hindus—who had earlier adapted to Western education—were already outpacing the Muslims economically and administratively, adding to Muslims’ sense of humiliation. The common Muslims were impoverished, excluded, and ridiculed. Most religious scholars had retreated from public life, except for prominent fighters like Maulana Muhammad Ali, Shaukat Ali, Abul Kalam Azad, and others.
Iqbal stood witness to a Muslim India overshadowed by British power and overshadowed even by other local communities. Muslims had lost all hope and no longer believed in their own identity—indeed, they no longer felt they possessed one. It was in this environment that Iqbal rose up, kindling the torch of “selfhood” (Khudi).
Khudi was precisely what was missing—what the Muslims, and indeed the entire East, had lost. Although Muslims retained the Islamic value system in theory, they had effectively forgotten it, succumbing to alien notions and losing confidence in themselves. They needed to rediscover themselves—that is, rediscover Islam’s value system. This is the core of Iqbal’s mission, but how does one awaken hundreds of millions who, for so long, had been humiliated and stripped of hope? It was a monumental task. I think no one else could have accomplished it so powerfully. Iqbal envisioned a philosophical concept of khudi, yet it was not purely theoretical. He conceived it as a social and human principle, enveloped in a philosophical framework to resonate with people’s minds. Essentially, khudi is self-awareness, recognition of one’s personal identity and dignity—both individually and communally.
Iqbal’s Asrar-e Khudi (The Secrets of the Self) is his manifesto of this concept. He explains that for an individual or a nation to strengthen khudi, certain elements—foremost among them love (in the sense of ardent devotion)—are crucial. Love for what? Iqbal identifies the love of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) as the central unifying force for Muslims.
He says in Asrar-e Khudi:
نقطهى نورى که نام او خودى است
زیر خاک ما شرار زندگى است
از محبّت میشود پایندهتر
زندهتر سوزندهتر تابندهتر
از محبّت اشتعال جوهرش
ارتقای مکمنات مضمرش
فطرتِ او آتش اندوزد ز عشق
عالمافروزى بیاموزد ز عشق
در جهان هم صلح و هم پیکار، عشق
آب حیوان تیغِ جوهردار عشق
عاشقىآموز و محبوبى طلب
چشم نوحى، قلب ایّوبى طلب
هست معشوقى نهان اندر دلت
چشم اگر دارى بیا بنمایمت
عاشقان او ز خوبان خوبتر
خوشتر و زیباتر و محبوبتر
دل ز عشق او توانا میشود
خاک همدوش ثرّیا میشود
خاک نجد از فیض او چالاک شد
آمد اندر وجد و بر افلاک شد
در دل مسلم مقام مصطفى است
آبروى ما ز نام مصطفى است
“A luminous point called ‘Self’
Sparks the flame of life within our dust.
Through Love, it becomes more enduring,
More alive, burning brighter, shining more.
Love sets its very essence ablaze,
Uplifting hidden forces within.
Its nature draws fire from Love,
From Love it learns to brighten all the world.
In this world, both peace and strife are born of Love—
Love is the Water of Life, a sword with a bejeweled blade.
Learn how to love, and seek a beloved;
Ask for Noah’s vision and Job’s heart.
A hidden Beloved dwells within your heart;
If you have the sight, come, I shall show you.
His lovers surpass all other fair ones,
Far sweeter, lovelier, more beloved.
A heart that loves him grows powerful,
Even dust ascends to share the sky’s domain.
The soil of Najd was quickened by his grace,
Enraptured, it rose to the celestial sphere.
In the Muslim’s heart lies the station of Mustafa—
Our honor takes its life from Mustafa’s name.”
He elaborates that the Prophet is the best center for the love and devotion that can unite Muslims and restore their dignity.
Iqbal then illustrates, for example, the story of Hatim Tai’s daughter, captured and brought before the Prophet in a compromised state, prompting the Prophet to cover her modestly with his cloak—symbolizing Islam’s commitment to human dignity. He adds that Muslims today are like that daughter in captivity but remain unaware of their own worth.
He also warns that asking from others—extending one’s hand in beggary—weakens khudi. In Rumuz-e Bekhudi (The Mysteries of Selflessness), the sequel to Asrar-e Khudi, he lays out how individual selfhood connects to the collective community to form a genuine Islamic nation. There, his vision of an Islamic system of governance appears most clearly. The concepts in Rumuz-e Bekhudi precisely match the ideals many of us uphold: forging an Islamic society anchored in faith, devotion, and love for God and His Messenger—beyond racial or nationalistic borders.
He often emphasizes the universality of the Prophet’s mission and how the Muslim ummah must convey that mission to the entire world—never resting until the light of Islam spreads. In a stirring passage, he portrays how the creation of an Islamic community was the outcome of centuries of human striving and divine guidance, culminating in the monotheistic call of “There is no god but God.” Then he denounces modern idol-making—particularly Western-imposed nationalism—that tears humanity apart:
اى که میدارى کتابش در بغل
تیزتر نِه پا به میدان عمل
فکر انسان بتپرستى بتگرى
هر زمان در جستجوى پیکرى
باز طرح آذرى انداخته است
تازهتر پروردگارى ساخته است
کآید از خون ریختن اندر طرب
نام او رنگ است و هم ملک و نسب
آدمیّت کشته شد چون گوسفند
پیش پاى این بت ناارجمند
اى که خوردستى ز میناى خلیل
گرمى خونت ز صهباى خلیل
بر سر این باطلِ حقپیرهن
تیغ لا موجود الاّ هو بزن
جلوه در تاریکى ایّام کن
آنچه بر تو کامل آمد عام کن
“O you who hold His Book against your breast,
Step forth more boldly into the field of action.
The human mind, an idolater, forever fashions idols,
Always seeking new shapes to adore.
Once again, it has conjured an Azar-like design,
Carving a modern lord anew.
This new idol, stirred to ecstasy by bloodshed,
Goes by the names of color, nation, and lineage.
Humanity is slaughtered like sheep
At the feet of this worthless idol.
O you whose blood is warmed by Khalil’s wine,
Kindled by that fiery vintage—
Wield the sword of ‘There is none but He’
Against this falsehood dressed in truth’s attire.
Shed your light upon these dark times;
What was perfected in you, bestow upon all.”
He underscores that the foundation of the Muslim community is monotheism and the Prophet’s mission—that the Prophet’s teachings form the pivot of a single ummah. Iqbal insists that the ummah must strive, tirelessly, to spread this liberating truth, and he chastises any turn away from it.
In discussing the humiliating state of the Muslim world, Iqbal laments that many Muslims have turned toward other ideologies, failing to grasp their own rich Islamic legacy. Again and again, he calls the ummah to return to the Qur’an and the Prophet:
اى نظر بر حسن ترسازادهاى
اى ز راه کعبه دورافتادهاى
اى فلک مشت غبار کوى تو
اى تماشاگاه عالم روى تو
…
بر درت جانم نیاز آورده است
هدیهى سوز و گداز آورده است
“O you who fix your gaze upon the beauty of the West’s child,
You who have turned away from the Ka‘bah’s path—
While the heavens are but a handful of your dust,
The world itself is a spectacle to behold your face…
Here I stand, offering my life at your door,
Bringing you my burning tears.”
Iqbal pleads with the Muslim ummah—he who would bow before no worldly power—beseeching them to rediscover their own dignity and heed the Qur’an’s call.
Iqbal and the Islamic Republic of Iran
Much of Iqbal’s message finds tangible realization in our people’s revolution under the Islamic Republic. Relying on ourselves, self-sufficiency, disregarding Eastern or Western hegemony—these are precisely the principles Iqbal once proclaimed, though few at the time listened. Indeed, many Muslim nations still need to hear Iqbal’s call to khudi. Their political and cultural elites must see that Islam, in its essence, has all the resources necessary to guide societies—and has no need to submit to others.
This does not mean rejecting all foreign knowledge; rather, as Iqbal repeatedly says, one may learn science and technology from the West, but spiritual fervor—the real vitality of life—cannot be found there. We can adopt whatever is beneficial, but from a position of strength, not servility.
In Iran, we already understand we must stand on our own feet, relying on our culture, our identity, and our own firm Islamic pillars. Economically and politically, we still grapple with vestiges of imposed dependency, but we are gradually cutting those cords and tying ourselves to our own foundations.
Nonetheless, other Muslim nations greatly need to rediscover this sense of khudi—to realize that Islam is inherently capable of nurturing and guiding their peoples. Indeed, Iqbal’s clarion call—barely heeded in his day—remains vital for Muslims around the globe. His works are filled with laments that few understood him, that so many remained mesmerized by the West.
Hence, one of the most valuable services we can render—here in Iran as well as in Pakistan and Afghanistan, and any other Persian-speaking communities—is to publish, study, and clarify Iqbal’s works, especially in Persian. Of the fifteen thousand lines of poetry he composed, nine thousand are in Persian—and those, arguably, are the most profound in meaning. A Kulliyat (Collected Works) of Iqbal was printed decades ago, but comprehensive commentary is scarce. I recall, from my earliest acquaintance with Iqbal’s poetry, longing for a thorough explanation to illuminate his concepts.
Many of Iqbal’s messages perfectly align with our context; and some apply to those who have not yet entered our path. Our nation has, in practice, brought his concept of khudi to life. We no longer need someone to say “rely on your own identity”; that sense is already embedded in us. But the broader Muslim world still desperately needs it.
When we say we are neither East nor West, that is exactly what Iqbal wished for. Our policy of self-sufficiency is what Iqbal demanded. Our love for the Prophet, our devotion to the Qur’an, our call to build revolutions on Islamic and Qur’anic foundations—these are all precisely what Iqbal urged. At that time, there was hardly an ear to hear him. The entire body of Iqbal’s work is full of laments—he saw his contemporaries ignorant of his call, still looking westward. In the introduction to Rumuz-e Bekhudi, he offers these lines dedicating it “to the Islamic Nation,” expressing frustration that people around him, enthralled by foreign ideals, would not heed his message.
Conclusion and Recommendations
This, then, is only a glimpse of our dear Iqbal, undeniably the towering star of the East’s fortune. We could certainly call him the lofty star of the East’s good fortune. I hope we can know him properly and make up for the delay in recognizing him that has persisted from his death in 1938 until now. Though gatherings have been held and books have been written in his memory, the approach has often been distant. Our nation still does not truly know Iqbal’s essence, his soul, and his ardor. That must be remedied.
All who can—poets, writers, journalists, relevant state agencies (the Ministry of Culture and Higher Education, the Ministry of Education, the Ministry of Islamic Guidance)—should strive, in their own way, to revive Iqbal in his true light. Let us feature his poetry in textbooks; let us separately publish his books—Asrar-e Khudi, Rumuz-e Bekhudi, Golshan-e Raz-e Jadid, Javidnama, and so forth. Some of this has been done in Pakistan, but regrettably the Persian language there no longer holds the status it once had, so the people cannot fully benefit from his Persian poetry. We hope this gap will be filled, and that our Pakistani brothers and sisters here—as well as all literary scholars in the subcontinent—will consider it their duty to stand against the malicious colonial campaign to marginalize the Persian language in that region. Persian carries a vast portion of Islamic culture; indeed, so many Islamic works and resources are preserved or enriched by Persian. In Pakistan in particular, this task is especially imperative.
In our own country, we must print new editions of Iqbal’s work as well. Artists should create artistic pieces inspired by Iqbal, and singers could set his poetry to music, popularizing it and bringing it into the hearts of young and old. May God grant us the success to repay, even slightly, the great debt that the Muslim ummah owes to Iqbal. I apologize for the length of my remarks.
Peace and God’s mercy and blessings be upon you.
Footnotes
¹ This speech was delivered at the opening of the International Congress Commemorating Allama Muhammad Iqbal Lahori.
² Iqbal was widely recognized internationally as a philosopher, scholar, and sociologist, though he personally preferred to be known foremost as a poet-messenger of Islamic revival.
³ Dr. Mojtabavi was a scholar who recited some of Iqbal’s verses during the event.
⁴ Pas Che Bayad Kard, Ay Aqwam-e Sharq? (“What Should Be Done, O Nations of the East?”) is one of Iqbal’s major Persian masnawis.
⁵ The reference is to the congress held in Iran to introduce Iqbal’s thoughts and writings to Iranian audiences.
⁶ Muslims had repeatedly resisted British expansion in the subcontinent—from Tipu Sultan in the late 18th century to the widespread uprising of 1857.
⁷ Sikhs were a regional power in Punjab; the British sometimes allied with them against Muslim principalities.
⁸ These two movements, represented by the ulama (e.g., Deoband) and by Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan, had sharply divergent views on education, cooperation with the British, and preserving Islamic identity.
⁹ Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan’s emphasis on appeasing the British and adopting Western education did not lessen British oppression of Muslims.
¹⁰ This refers to Iqbal’s insight that many purported “Islamic scholars” working under colonial auspices were influenced by political agendas—for instance, certain British Orientalists who wrote about Islam.
¹¹ The Arabic word مُفْقِع (mu-faqi) connotes severe or shocking poverty and suffering.
¹² Muhashshin (مُحشّین) are commentators or editors who add explanatory notes in the margins of a text.
¹³ Iqbal adopts a style akin to mystical or philosophical discourse, reminiscent of Sufi teachings, to elucidate the concept of khudi.
¹⁴ “Headings” refers to the section titles in Iqbal’s masnawis and his elaboration on each concept.
¹⁵ Makman (مکمن) means “a locus of hidden potential,” used in Iqbal’s philosophical exposition of khudi.
¹⁶ Iqbal uses the idea of “survival of the fittest” (or “superior selfhood”) poetically to describe how stronger khudi can outlast weaker forms.
¹⁷ Maqūl bi’l-tashkīk (مقول به تشکیک) is a philosophical notion that a concept may have varying intensities or degrees.
¹⁸ Verses in Asrar-e Khudi discuss how selfhood can develop and expand.
¹⁹ The line “اِنَّ الحَیاةَ عَقیدَةٌ و جِهاد” means “Verily, life is faith and struggle,” paraphrasing a hadith that resonates with Iqbal’s call for active striving.
²⁰ “We live by creating purposes; from the rays of aspiration we shine.” A motif throughout Iqbal’s poetry.
²¹ “Blood is warmed by the heat of aspiration; the world is lit by the lamp of aspiration.” Another Iqbal reference to purposeful striving.
²² Extended lines praising the Prophet (peace be upon him) appear frequently in Iqbal’s Persian works, especially Asrar-e Khudi and Javidnama.
²³ This refers to a contemporary Pakistani scholar who wrote about Iqbal’s affinity with Mawlavi (Rumi).
²⁴ Ayatullah Khamenei acquired one such book on Iqbal during a trip, noting Iqbal’s strong caution regarding colonial agendas.
²⁵ More lines reflecting Iqbal’s deep love for the Prophet (peace be upon him).
²⁶ Lines excerpted from Rumuz-e Bekhudi, in which Iqbal warns Muslims against modern forms of idolatry (nationalism, racialism, etc.).
²⁷ Iqbal’s verses describe how oppressive rulers—kings, priests, popes—exploited the masses until Islam liberated them.
²⁸ Qur’an 49:13: “Verily, the most honored of you in the sight of God is the most righteous among you.”
²⁹ Iqbal often reiterated that one may learn “knowledge” or “disciplines” from the West but not spiritual fervor or moral guidance.
³⁰ Possibly referring to Mr. Sa‘idi, an Iranian figure who—according to Ayatullah Khamenei—was among the earliest Iranians acquainted with Iqbal’s works.
