Maazi Ke Adab-e-aaliya Se Mutalliq

In times when the class struggle intensifies, emotional excess can sometimes lead to errors in literary evaluation. This is not a matter of political extremism, because politics is inherently intense. As the contradictions of the bourgeois system continue to emerge, the intensification of the class struggle is inevitable. History demands that these contradictions be highlighted and accelerated as much as possible. However, when the laws of social evolution are applied to literature in a crude and mechanical manner, it not only damages literature but also weakens revolutionary forces.

In Marxist criticism, the primacy of the economic base and the class struggle serve as the best tools for literary evaluation. However, when these tools are applied mechanically—without a thorough examination of all circumstances and fields of knowledge—they become instruments of anti-intellectualism and ignorance. Before and after the socialist revolution, not only in Russia but also in Germany during the time of Marx and Engels, there were critics who reduced Marxism to a mechanical science and attempted to evaluate the literature of the past through this narrow lens. On such occasions, both Marx and Engels took up their pens in response. Similarly, Lenin not only wrote extensively against dogmatic pedants but also guided us through practical criticism. We must strive to keep their teachings in mind when establishing a standard for evaluating our classical literature. Before tackling such a vast subject, I will first introduce the concept of social progress and outline a few fundamental issues concerning classical literature.

What we call progress is connected to various dimensions of development. If economic and political progress is not accompanied by the emergence of a material, worldly perspective and the concept of human unity, we must realize that our progress is not only incomplete but also flawed. This is because social consciousness is a moral force that, in turn, influences economic foundations. If social consciousness is not sufficiently robust, it may lead us toward a flawed economic system. This very danger compels us not to limit ourselves to the immediate impact of literary works, but makes it essential to study their long-term effects as well. A literary work from a particular era might have a weak immediate impact, yet possess enduring significance for social progress. Naturally, the reverse of this reality is also true.

It is an accepted fact that the development of literature and civilization occurred within class-based societies. Consequently, both literature and culture bear the imprint of class influences. However, when considering this, we must also keep the true meaning of social progress in mind. The era of slavery is considered a dark period because it brought an exploitative system into existence. Yet, compared to the tribal system, humanity made greater strides during this time; therefore, a part of this era was also progressive. All of Greek knowledge and literature flourished during this period. The intellectual and literary output of that time represented both progressive and reactionary forces. Not everything in a given era is progressive, nor can reactionary elements simply be dismissed as the inevitable result of historical demands. The traditions of progress and reaction have continuously been locked in conflict with one another.

Social evolution has consistently advanced ancient progressive traditions, transforming them into new forms. It has also continuously rejected flawed and unscientific traditions. This process continues today and will persist in the future. Fundamentally, this progress boils down to two main points: first, enhancing the modes of production and allowing the maximum number of people to benefit from them; and second, continuously advancing the struggle for human liberation. These forces have operated simultaneously in different countries, taking on various forms dictated by local conditions. We cannot mechanically apply the example of one country to another. Furthermore, in a class-based system, the relationship between knowledge, literature, and economic foundations has not been as direct as it was in the tribal system.

In a class-based system, these elements—once shaped by the economic base—have often taken on an independent life of their own. Often, this autonomy is so strong that they develop their own specific laws and logic of evolution. When evaluating intellectual movements, we must not only look at the class struggle but also trace their continuity, logic, and internal laws. Since intellectual movements leave a profound impact on literature, studying them alongside their underlying logic is essential. Intellectual movements are also crucial because they reveal the perspective and the perception of reality of a specific era. They make it significantly easier to understand literature. Lenin defined literature not merely as a mirror of external reality, but also as a tool that aids in the perception of that reality. In this sense, literature is a portrait of our physical, mental, and emotional lives, through which the history of any era can be reconstructed.

History is the record of the life of an entire society, which, in reality, is the history of the struggle between the new and the old. A progressive writer is, in one way or another, aligned with the new. However, it is not necessary for them to be entirely aligned with the new. Just as the tangled web of an era's contradictory values is reflected in the minds of the masses, the writer's mind, too, remains entangled. This is why a writer often expresses contradictory ideas. The crucial point to examine is what new elements the writer fundamentally seeks to introduce by fighting against the old. If they are merely attempting to bring back elements of the past, we must consider them reactionary, even if they are fighting against the obsolescence of a specific era.

I mention this because when a declining ruling class attempts to survive, it often adopts many new concepts, but it uses these concepts solely for its own class interests. In reality, this effort is merely an attempt to keep the old order alive. A clear example of this in Islamic history is the era of Imam Ghazali. At that time, the Islamic Sharia-based governance was in a state of complete decline. Sharia and Islamic jurisprudence were under attack from all sides. The opponents of Sharia were armed with Greek sciences. Ultimately, Imam Ghazali himself had to borrow from Greek scholasticism. However, the purposes for which he utilized it were entirely reactionary. In the modern era, a similar example can be found in the intellectual endeavors of Allama Iqbal. Iqbal attempted to revive the spiritual democracy of Islam. In this pursuit, he also sought to employ the very means that had driven progress in Europe. However, he subordinated all such means to his own specific objective, and this is precisely what creates a contradiction in his work. Material means simply cannot be harmonized with immaterial goals.

If humanity gains control over the elements of nature, its purpose will remain purely material. This is why the progressive elements in Iqbal's poetry begin to contradict themselves. On the surface, Allama Iqbal's philosophy of *Khudi* (selfhood) appears highly dynamic. But when it becomes bound by the *Shariah*—that is, divine vicegerency (*Niyabat-e-Ilahi*)—the boundaries of its rebellion are also fixed. I am not among those who treat the *Shariah* as a fluid concept, adapting it to fit every new system. The ideological foundations of the *Shariah* are strictly defined, and the history of its implementation spans a vast era. If we examine Islamic history, we must concede that the *Shariah* was exploited by the ruling classes. When the time came to write exegeses, the jurists consistently put forward interpretations that fortified the ruling class's position. Ultimately, the Caliphate (the religious state) devolved into an institution whose opposition came to be regarded as a sacred duty.

Opposing the *Shariah* stands as a monumental feat in Islamic history. This rebellion was spearheaded by the *Wahdat-ul-Wujoodi* (pantheistic) Sufis, who were influenced by the Greek philosophy of pantheism. This philosophy belonged not to Plato, but to Plotinus, who attempted to synthesize Plato's idealism with Democritus's materialism. The voice of this rebellion was raised by Dhul-Nun al-Misri, Bayazid Bastami, and Mansur al-Hallaj. It would have been impossible for them to raise this voice had the Greek philosophy of pantheism not achieved precedence over the philosophy of absolute monotheism (*Tauheed-e-Mutlaq*). In the philosophy of absolute monotheism, matter is a created entity, bound by specific time and space. It has a beginning and an end. It possesses no autonomy in its movement or formation, as its prime mover and creator is an entirely separate power.

In the philosophy of *Wahdat-ul-Wujood*, matter coexists with the spirit. Like the spirit, matter is eternal and everlasting; it has no creator. Instead, matter and spirit are inextricably linked. Consequently, human action and will become integrated with the Divine Will. If a human being creates or destroys something, the Divine Will is inherently involved, because the Divine Will can only manifest itself through the medium of matter—that is, through human action. Based on this logic, the *Wahdat-ul-Wujoodi* Sufis liberated Islamic ethics from the binary of reward and punishment, translating it instead into practical action. They sought to dismantle all the religious barriers erected between human beings. Given these factors, it is hardly surprising that the Sufis were immensely popular among the masses. They shunned courtly life and actively opposed the establishment of a religious state throughout Islamic history.

As the Greek philosophy of pantheism and the materialist philosophical traditions of the *Gabr* and *Tarsa* (Zoroastrians and Christians) increasingly merged with the philosophy of absolute monotheism, the revolutionary fervor of the Sufis began to wane. This philosophy pledged its first allegiance at the hands of Imam Ghazali, and its second at the hands of Mujaddid Alf Sani Sirhindi. Imam Ghazali completely stripped *Wahdat-ul-Wujood* of its material component. By rejecting the philosophy of empirical senses, he reduced Sufism to a mere esoteric exercise and internal discipline. Simultaneously, he attempted to reconcile the *Shariah* (Islamic law) with the *Tariqah* (the spiritual path). Similarly, when Mujaddid Alf Sani Sirhindi transformed the concept of *Hama Oost* (All is He) into *Hama Az Oost* (All is from Him), he reduced matter entirely to the status of a created entity. This is not to say that the inherently idealistic philosophy of *Wahdat-ul-Wujood* itself, which synthesizes matter and spirit, did not prove detrimental in many respects.

Although the proponents of *Wahdat-ul-Wujood* made an unsuccessful attempt to reconcile the duality of matter and spirit, they could not entirely free themselves from idealism. They were ultimately forced to render the spirit as the active subject and matter as the passive object. This is why this philosophy prioritizes contemplation over action. The inclination toward deep reflection, silence, and seclusion in the lives of the Sufis stemmed from these very concepts. However, this philosophy also possessed a beautiful dimension. The Sufis recognized the human being as the macrocosm (*Alam-e-Akbar*) and believed that within the laws of nature, only humanity truly manifested itself. Even a world-weary individual like the poet Mir Taqi Mir was privy to this profound secret:

Hum aap he ko apna maqsood jaante hain

Apne siwaaye kis ko ma'bood jaante hain

Apni he sair karne par jalwa-gar huay thay

Iss ramz ko wa-lekin ma'dood jaante hain

[We consider our own selves to be our ultimate destination,

Who else besides ourselves do we recognize as a deity?

We manifested ourselves only to witness our own spectacle,

Yet, only a select few are aware of this profound secret.]

Here, God does not even need to ask His servant, Tell me, what is your will? The debate between determinism and free will only persists as long as we consider matter to be a created entity; this conflict is a direct byproduct of absolute monotheism. How, then, could the decadent Sufism of the seventeenth century escape its impact? Ultimately, even Mir lost faith in his own autonomy and self-determination.

Similarly, Mansur al-Hallaj’s philosophy of *Baqa Billah* (subsistence in God) faded away during the era of decadence. Only the term *Fana Fillah* (annihilation in God) remained in memory. According to Hallaj’s principle of *Baqa Billah*, a human being merges with the creative attributes of the Divine and becomes capable of individuation and creation. It is under this very concept that Allama Iqbal also described the human being as a creator. *Fana Fillah* is the stage where one annihilates their individuality for the sake of a new creation. Because the concept of *Baqa Billah* weakens the idea of man remaining a mere subservient creature, the proponents of absolute monotheism fiercely opposed it, equating it with *Kufr* (blasphemy). The inevitable consequence was that Muslim Sufis predominantly popularized the concept of *Fana Fillah*. Furthermore, the decline of the feudal system proved instrumental in fueling this mindset.

In life, no new creation is possible without the material sciences. Here, both the *Ahl-e-Shara* (the orthodox jurists) and the *Ahl-e-Safa* (the Sufis) excluded the material sciences from the realm of perceiving reality. While the Sufis still maintained some connection to empirical senses, the orthodox jurists opposed even that. More importantly, while the proponents of *Wahdat-ul-Wujood* fundamentally believed in the unity of nature's manifestations on the one hand, they also acknowledged the universal significance of cosmic creation on the other. Their view of society was not based on the idea of a social contract where an individual delegates their rights to society; rather, they viewed human society as a distinct realm, much like the botanical or mineral worlds. Their conception of society was not merely civic, but universal. This is why the concept of the unity of humankind is so powerfully expressed in their poetry. As Mirza Ghalib’s couplet illustrates:

Ba-rozay ke mardum shawand anjuman

Shawad taaza paiwand-e-jaanha ba-tan

[On the day when mankind gathers as a unified assembly,

The bond between souls and bodies shall be renewed.]

However, because they were unaware of the evolution of matter and its dialectical process, they could not perceive social evolution through the lens of class struggle. This secret was only unveiled in Europe following the Industrial Revolution. How, then, could we possibly expect such an understanding from the Sufis?

It is a somewhat tangential point, but there is no harm in mentioning it. Goethe was the first to give Europe the concept of universal literature, and consider it a mere coincidence that Goethe was also a pantheist (*Wahdat-ul-Wujoodi*). Regarding Goethe, Engels wrote: Goethe did not want to play with the concept of God. The very word made him uncomfortable. He was only intimately connected with human beings. This humanism of his, this attempt to exclude religion from literature, was Goethe's greatest achievement. In this respect, even Shakespeare is not his equal. However, I do not consider it a coincidence that in Persian and Urdu literature, only the pantheistic Sufis challenged the concept of God. I do not wish to present the verses of Faizi and Ghalib; instead, I will present a verse by Maulana Rumi, which will help you understand the philosophy of *Wahdat-ul-Wujood*.

Me guft dar biyabaan rind-e-dohol dareeda

Sufi khuda na daarad, o neest aafeereeda

[A rebel with a torn drum was proclaiming in the desert:

The Sufi has no God; he is uncreated.]

Here, Rumi has explicitly clarified that since matter has no creator, humanity, too, has no creator. This was the very logic that led Hallaj to declare *Ana al-Haq* (I am the Truth), and it was under this logic that countless Sufi poets fell silent, uttering *khakam ba-dahan* (may there be dust in my mouth). I have no hesitation in stating that in Persian and Urdu poetry, right up to the era of the feudal system, songs of human greatness were inspired by this very philosophy. Even those Sufi poets who pledged allegiance to the Sharia acknowledged human greatness to a certain extent, but they were unwilling to go any further. At most, they adopted a middle path of reform. To the extent that Allama Iqbal was influenced by Hallaj's philosophy, he elevated humanity to the very sanctuary of the Divine. However, to the extent that he was influenced by the mysticism of Imam Ghazali and Sheikh Ahmad Sirhindi, he negated the material perspective and, consequently, human greatness.

It was in an attempt to reconcile the opposing poles of absolute monotheism (*Tauheed-e-Mutlaq*) and pantheism (*Wahdat-ul-Wujood*) that Allama Iqbal described God Almighty as both infinite and finite. This same effort also sustains the contradiction between *Ijtihad* (independent reasoning) and *Taqlid* (conformity). He argued that *Ijtihad* should be practiced during times of progress, and *Taqlid* during times of decline. Whenever a leader elevates humanity to a divine status only to subsequently label it a mere creation, he inevitably reduces humans to subjugated servants. To shed further light on this, I present an excerpt from Lenin's writings: In reality, it was not the concept of God that suppressed bestial individualism. That was achieved by early communal life. The concept of God has always weakened the social spirit. The concept of God has never allowed the bond between the individual and society to strengthen; rather, it has kept the oppressed classes bound in the chains of slavery through the devout belief that the ruling class is shadowed by God.

There is no doubt that Lenin wrote this with Western history in mind, but it is not incorrect. The concept of *Zill-e-Subhani* (the Shadow of God) has been prevalent in our society as well. This concept can only exist as a component of absolute monotheism. There was simply no room for it in *Wahdat-ul-Wujood*. However, once influenced by the philosophy of absolute monotheism, even the Sufis established a hierarchy of saints (*walis*) who either withdrew from politics entirely or became dependent on the patronage of the Shadow of God. From the perspective of materialist philosophy, both absolute monotheism and *Wahdat-ul-Wujood* are idealistic philosophies. Yet, we cannot ignore the battle that pantheistic monotheism (*Tauheed-e-Wujoodi*) waged against political absolutism, dogmatic fanaticism, and theological logic throughout the history of the feudal system. In this struggle, it grounded the rational in the sensory. It did not condemn the pleasures of the eyes, ears, and palate, and it infused poetry and literature with all the splendors of sensory experience. It did not forbid painting, sculpture, music, dance, poetry, or song.

It is another matter that it treated everything as a veil, but the truth is that it could never actually lift that veil, because the human mind simply cannot conceive of ideas that transcend matter. If some people in the East read the *Diwan* of Hafiz through the lens of divine reality (*Haqeeqat*), whose fault is that? If Goethe and Heine viewed Hafiz solely through the lens of worldly metaphor (*Majaz*), Allama Iqbal should have been pleased that, at least in one part of the world, the spirituality of the Platonic sheep was ineffective. Yet, he was troubled by this as well. He wanted Hafiz to be read exclusively in a religious light so that the Christian West and Asian Muslims would oppose his Iranian pantheism. As for the concept of the world's annihilation (*Fana*), no one who believes that matter is a creation can oppose it; for if matter is created, it must have both a beginning and an end.

At the very least, the followers of the Sharia should not lament the annihilation of the world. Among Muslim Sufis, this concept emerged under the philosophy of absolute monotheism, whereas the voice of the pantheist has always proclaimed: There is no eternity-without-end (*Abad*) before us, nor is there an eternity-without-beginning (*Azal*) after us (Hallaj). Why, then, was this concept attributed solely to the Sufis? The fact is that, in accordance with the philosophy of Heraclitus, pantheists also believed that everything both is and is not—meaning that everything is in a constant state of transformation from one form to another.

Har qita par chaman ke tuk ghaur se nazar kar

Bigreen hazaar shaklein tab phool yeh banaye

Mir

[Gaze thoughtfully at every patch of the garden;

A thousand forms perished before these flowers were fashioned.]

Mat sehal hamein jaano phirta hai falak barson

Tab khaak ke parde se insaan nikalte hain

Mir

[Do not take us lightly, the heavens revolve for years;

Only then do humans emerge from the veil of dust.]

Sab kahan kuch lala-o-gul mein numayan ho gayeen

Khaak mein kya sooratein hongi ke pinhaan ho gayeen

Ghalib

[Not all, but some have manifested in the tulip and the rose;

What wondrous faces must lie hidden in the dust.]

Perhaps this is why many Sufis were accused of believing in incarnation (*Hulool*). However, to understand this point of Heraclitus scientifically required natural science, which Asia lacked for centuries. Consequently, change and motion were mistakenly made synonymous with annihilation. It is true that everything is subject to decay, but it is constantly transforming into new forms. Continuity belongs to life, not to annihilation. This crucial point was obscured by the concept of the Day of Judgment and the division of time and space into earthly and celestial realms. Sufi poets, too, fell victim to this misconception. Thus, in the works of both Mir and Ghalib, we see this process inverted. Both forget the secret of permanence (*Baqa*) and give precedence to annihilation (*Fana*).

Meri tameer mein muzmir hai ik soorat kharaabi ki

Hayoola barq-e-khirman ka hai khoon-e-garm dehqaan ka

Ghalib

[Within my very creation lies the blueprint of my ruin;

The warm blood of the farmer is the very essence of the lightning that strikes the harvest.]

Phirti hai apne saath lagi muttasil fana

Aab-e-rawaan se hum hue naabood har jagah

Mir

[Annihilation wanders with us, constantly attached;

Like flowing water, we fade into nothingness everywhere.]

Meri namood ne mujh ko kiya barabar-e-khaak

Main naqsh-e-paa ki tarah paaimaal apna hoon

Mir

[My very manifestation has reduced me to dust;

Like a footprint, I am trampled by my own existence.]

Marna hai khaak hona ho khaak udte phirna

Iss raah mein abhi toh darpesh marhalay hain

Mir

[To die is to become dust, and as dust, to be blown about;

There are still many such stages to face upon this path.]

Regardless of the reason for this distortion, every Sufi poet from the time of Hafiz to the present day has been influenced by this kind of decadent philosophy. One cannot oppose such ideas enough; however, when a specific idea is used as a pretext to reject even the positive aspects of Sufi poets, the outcome is flawed. Take, for example, a couplet by Hafiz:

*Asaish-e-do geti tafseer-e-in do harf ast*

*Ba dostan talattuf, ba dushmanan madara*

[The comfort of both worlds is explained in these two words:

Kindness to friends, and courtesy to enemies.]

If someone were to opine that Hafiz was progressive when he composed this couplet but is now considered reactionary, it would mean either they are ignorant of the science of evaluating classical literature, or they deliberately want to alienate people from it. Class consciousness has passed through various stages, from the era of slavery to the capitalist system. If we attempt to evaluate the literature of the slave-owning or feudal eras through the lens of today's class struggle—where class consciousness is highly distinct, sharp, and intense—that literature will undoubtedly appear inferior to us. In such a scenario, to emphasize their ideological utility while completely suppressing their aesthetic pleasure is tantamount to an injustice. Karl Marx did not evaluate Greek mythological literature or Shakespeare using this approach, nor is this perspective prevalent in Russia regarding the great literature of the past. There are many examples of this.

In the novels of Dickens, the spirit of humanism triumphs over the contradictions of class struggle. You might label Dickens a class compromiser, but this does not diminish his greatness, even though he was a novelist of the capitalist system. At most, he is referred to as a bourgeois humanist, simply because his sympathy for the oppressed class is so evident. Even if one were to assume that Dickens's novels lack aesthetic pleasure, he remains immensely popular in Russia purely due to his spirit of humanism. Now, step down one more rung. There is not a single play by Shakespeare in which he does not align his hero with fate. In other words, none of his heroes appear to triumph in forging their own destiny. Shakespeare's heroes cannot awaken the consciousness of a Soviet Russian hero. Yet, Shakespeare is widely read in Russia, and with even greater aesthetic pleasure than Dickens.

Now, step down yet another rung. What utility does classical Greek literature—whose cosmic worldview is utterly infantile—hold in today's world? Yet, Karl Marx read it every year. He referred to it as the memory of humanity's childhood. Regarding this literature, Karl Marx penned this classic statement: It is not difficult to understand that Greek art and literature, and their respective eras, are bound to specific forms of social development. The difficulty, however, lies in understanding why they still provide us with aesthetic pleasure today, and why, in certain respects, they establish a standard that is exceedingly difficult to attain.

Karl Marx expressed his views on classical Greek literature in several places. Keeping all of these in mind, one must conclude that Karl Marx's perspective on the great literature of the past was fundamentally historical. Because his realistic gaze did not conflate one era with another, and because he was well aware of the various stages of social consciousness, he never shied away from deriving aesthetic pleasure from it. After all, literature possesses a beauty of its own, which Marx referred to as an eternal beauty. As Hafiz suggests, not everyone is capable of grasping this eternal beauty:

*Na har ke chehra barafrokht dilbari danad*

*Na har ke aaina sazad Sikandari danad*

[Not everyone whose face glows knows the art of capturing hearts;

Not everyone who makes a mirror knows the wisdom of Alexander.]

If Marx's theory holds true, we must concede that Hafiz's couplet was not merely progressive in the past, but remains beautiful even today. This is because it continues to be a source of aesthetic pleasure. I will now present another couplet by Hafiz:

*Hadees az mutrib-o-mey go o raaz-e-dahr kamtar jo*

*Ke kas nakshood o nakshayad ba-hikmat een mu'amma ra*

[Speak of the musician and wine, and seek less the secret of the universe;

For no one has ever solved, nor will ever solve, this riddle through intellect.]

It is indeed a highly reactionary thought to suggest that a riddle which cannot be solved by intellect could somehow be unraveled by a musician. This was likely Khayyam's philosophy as well. Nevertheless, Khayyam gave rise to a material and sensory philosophy in Iranian literature. But why should I lean on Khayyam for support? My reaction today to this reactionary philosophy of Hafiz is shaped by the ever-growing light of science and material knowledge. We live in an age where mysteries are being unraveled day by day. But was this true in Hafiz's time? If you examine Hafiz's era—dating back to the thirteenth century CE, a time when Europe was also plunged in darkness—you will find that education in the material sciences was virtually nonexistent. The madrasas exclusively taught texts on *Ma'qulat* (rational sciences) and *Manqulat* (transmitted religious sciences).

The domain of *Ma'qulat* was confined to theology, while the domain of *Manqulat* was restricted to Hadith. Material sciences had been entirely expelled from the realm of theology. This war against the material sciences had been raging for three hundred years prior. It began during the reign of Al-Mu'tasim Billah. During his era, materialists (ironically, at that time, even the proponents of *Wahdat-ul-Wujud* or pantheism were classified as materialists) were put to the sword, and a complete ban was imposed on the teaching of all material sciences. From that point onward, Iran became increasingly alienated from the material sciences. By Hafiz's time, education had been reduced to pure jurisprudence. In such a stifling environment, if Hafiz rebelled against jurisprudential intellect, what wrong did he commit?

Here, when Hafiz reacts against this rigid intellect and turns toward the musician and wine, he is merely pointing toward sensory experiences—and sensory experiences are the foundational steps of scientific knowledge. It is in this sense that Khayyam and Hafiz introduced a sensory philosophy into Iranian literature. This was an echo of Iranian Paganism, which was inherently a material philosophy.

*Gabr me goyad ke hast aalam, neest Rabb* (Rumi)

[The pagan says: The world exists, God does not.]

To establish the foundations of materialism, one must first engage the faculties of the senses; material sciences are not born from the womb of theological logic. The material philosophy of Greece emerged from Greek Paganism. Similarly, during the Renaissance in Europe, intellectuals and writers expressed an unyielding devotion to Paganism, because the ideology of materialism cannot take root without celebrating the joys of material life. Hafiz did not have access to the material sciences; he had intellectually submitted to the teachings of Imam Al-Ghazali. Nevertheless, Iranian Paganism surfaced in his poetry in the form of sensory realism. Material realism cannot come into existence without sensory realism. It is a monumental achievement of Hafiz that he rebelled against the dry, deductive methods of theological logic, thereby enriching Iranian literature with the sensory expression of reality.

At this juncture, I am also reminded of the verses Allama Iqbal once wrote about Hafiz. I do not agree with his critique. As far as Hafiz being a Platonic sheep is concerned, anyone who considers matter to be a created thing is a Platonic sheep. Furthermore, who can explain the difference between the wine-drinking Hafiz and Maulana Rumi? One is portrayed as a threat, while the other is revered as a spiritual leader. Is this simply because Hafiz is perceived as more Iranian and ornate? The third point appears even more complicated. Allama Iqbal advises us to emulate Urfi, yet Urfi himself places his absolute faith in the poetry of Hafiz:

Gar khudawandi hawas dari dar iqleem-e-sukhan

Bandagi-e-Hafiz Shirazi bayad kard

[If you desire mastery in the realm of poetry,

You must submit in servitude to Hafiz Shirazi.]

Amidst all this, Allama Iqbal did make one highly perceptive observation: he acknowledged Hafiz’s magical eloquence. There is no doubt that while such eloquence is difficult to attain, its gift is also dangerous. It prevents future generations from falling into complacency. It constantly reminds them that merely versifying thoughts does not constitute poetry. A poem is a creative entity that emerges from the dialectical interplay of form and meaning.

Now we must examine the fundamental cause of these errors. The first mistake lies in how we understand the social evolution of different countries. The social evolution of the West, along with its class consciousness, has historically outpaced that of Asia. We cannot mechanically apply the evidence of Western history to the East, nor can we compartmentalize different historical periods as if they had no connection to one another. Too often, we mechanically stack the feudal system on the back of a slave-owning civilization, and then place the capitalist system on top of that, failing to realize that, in a broader sense, these three periods constitute a single epoch.

Undoubtedly, as far as the growth and development of the means of production and the material resources of civilization are concerned, each successive period holds an advantage over the previous one. It is also true that the relative freedom of a farm laborer is greater than that of a slave, just as a factory worker's freedom is greater than that of a farm laborer. However, a specific class seizing control of the means of production does not bring the era of slavery to an end, not until that class dismantles the very foundations of exploitation. This is why Marx referred to all three of these periods as a single epoch. This entire era is an epoch of slavery. While the forms of exploitation have certainly evolved, exploitation itself has not ceased. In this sense, the socialist revolution is vastly different from the revolutions that preceded it. This difference represents a fundamental transformation. This core characteristic of the socialist revolution is the product of a class consciousness that the bourgeois system has sharply intensified. If you attempt to evaluate the class consciousness of the feudal system using the intense and fierce class consciousness of today's bourgeois system as a benchmark, you will fail miserably. However, this does not mean that class struggle or class consciousness did not exist within the feudal system.

It simply means that class consciousness at that time was not as advanced as it is today, because the contradiction between the exploiting and the exploited classes had not yet fully surfaced. The capitalist system brought many of the suppressed contradictions of the feudal system to light, just as the socialist system exposed many of the suppressed contradictions of capitalism. To clarify this, I would like to offer an example from Indian history. Before the arrival of the British, village lands were in the possession of the peasants. On the surface, control over the means of production was individual, yet they were able to derive substantial benefit from their labor. Even though they had to give a third or a fourth of their harvest to the feudal lords—who were not the actual landowners—the lords lacked direct control over the means of production. Consequently, the class conflict between the feudal lords and the peasants was not as intense as it later became under British rule.

The arrival of the British triggered a fundamental shift in the region's class relations. The British dismantled the communal life of the villages and handed the land over to the tax-collecting class, namely the *zamindars* (landlords). Now, direct control over land as a means of production rests with the landlords, as they possess the power to evict the peasants. This is why their struggle has escalated today, and their class consciousness is highly awakened. The level of conscious awareness we see today did not exist under the feudal system, though class struggle certainly did. It is true that, at the time, this struggle manifested itself through royal politics. Engels notes that all the revolutionary elements brewing beneath the surface of the feudal system gravitated toward royal power, and the latter, in turn, gravitated toward them.

Given this context, when we attempt to trace the politics and class consciousness of the feudal system, we must not overlook the politics of the monarchs. This is a rather difficult path that requires deep intellectual effort. We should not hastily accept the critiques offered by thinkers from the exploiting class; while they may be highly successful in exposing the flaws of their opposing class, they fail to reach the underlying depths of reality. Their exploitative bias acts as a veil that obscures the truth. Regardless, this is a tangential point. The real irony begins when poets like Mir and Ghalib are dismissed as reactionaries simply because their poetry does not mention peasant uprisings or the Battle of Plassey. This mechanical view of history leads us into a different set of misconceptions. Sometimes, we place the socialist and feudal systems on opposite sides of a scale to compare them, and when the feudal side appears lighter, we begin to view even the healthy traditions of the past with contempt.

This tendency to look down upon the healthy traditions of the past is, in essence, a desire to erase history—and history is only erased by those who harbor a sense of inferiority. All those writers and poets who have been unable to polish their craft enough to infuse their own work with eternal beauty attempt to obliterate the beautiful traditions of the past, hoping to destroy the very concept of literary beauty altogether.

This eternal beauty is found not only in classical Greek literature but in the finest literary creations of every era. While both the content and the form of literature change from one era to the next, the beauty born from their synthesis is something that form alone could never achieve. We must acknowledge this reality, and to fully grasp it, we need to identify the various elements of literature. It is true that literature propagates specific values and ideas, but the real question is whether the impact of this propagation is fleeting or enduring. Does it stir our emotions and thoughts to inspire sustained action, or does it merely provoke a temporary surge of passion and leave it at that? Does it resonate with the responsive capacities of our feelings and psyche? Does it possess the power to influence our psyche, helping us transform both our circumstances and ourselves? Can it align our minds with new values to forge a new emotional order?

If a poet’s work lacks this power and solidity, we must admit that the fault does not lie with the beautiful traditions of the past. Rather, it is the poet's own inadequacy. They lack the ability to mold their thoughts and emotions into living, dynamic forms—forms that, when recreated, breathe new life into us, dispel the doubts of our observations and experiences, and validate the truth at every step. This is the only path through which we can introduce the masses to new ideas and inspire them toward new struggles. This inspiration can only be enduring when the people feel the truth of the poet's observations and thoughts on the level of their own personal experience, rather than merely perceiving them through the familiar words, similes, and imagery to which their senses are already accustomed.

Here, we will have to borrow heavily from folk literature and the traditions of the past. This task is less about shouting and roaring, and more about enduring the fire and tempering the spirit. The impact of a speech is temporary, but the effect of a literary masterpiece is enduring. It lingers in the human mind, repeatedly provoking us and striving to win us over to its perspective. Its call to action possesses a resilience that can withstand even the heaviest of mountains. It is this kind of literature that grants one the courage to face the gallows. A mere speech can never achieve this status. The creation of poetry and literature is not merely the reproduction of concepts, but the act of recreating experiences anew.

This methodology can be understood in detail; in this sense, it is no miracle. Studying the works of literary and intellectual giants is immensely helpful in understanding this process. Gorky’s literature is fundamentally different from Flaubert’s, yet Gorky learned the art of writing from Flaubert. Chekhov’s art is, to some extent, steeped in feelings of sorrow, despair, and melancholy. Nevertheless, Gorky was compelled to admit to him: When I compare my work to yours, I feel as though I am writing not with a pen, but with a piece of bamboo.

These examples can serve as milestones in the creation of poetry and literature. If one continues to work diligently, they can certainly polish their craft. Even so, a writer cannot achieve true literary creation through this path alone; they must also draw lessons from the lives of the common people. And when they undertake this task at a revolutionary turning point in life, they must also awaken the traditions of the past. The writer borrows slogans, names, and garments from the past so that the new reality can be presented to the masses in an attire they already cherish. The further today’s revolutionary poet distances themselves from this reality, the further they will drift from the people.

In times when the class struggle intensifies, emotional excess can sometimes lead to errors in literary evaluation. This is not a matter of political extremism, because politics is inherently intense. As the contradictions of the bourgeois system continue to emerge, the intensification of the class struggle is inevitable. History demands that these contradictions be highlighted and accelerated as much as possible. However, when the laws of social evolution are applied to literature in a crude and mechanical manner, it not only damages literature but also weakens revolutionary forces.

In Marxist criticism, the primacy of the economic base and the class struggle serve as the best tools for literary evaluation. However, when these tools are applied mechanically—without a thorough examination of all circumstances and fields of knowledge—they become instruments of anti-intellectualism and ignorance. Before and after the socialist revolution, not only in Russia but also in Germany during the time of Marx and Engels, there were critics who reduced Marxism to a mechanical science and attempted to evaluate the literature of the past through this narrow lens. On such occasions, both Marx and Engels took up their pens in response. Similarly, Lenin not only wrote extensively against dogmatic pedants but also guided us through practical criticism. We must strive to keep their teachings in mind when establishing a standard for evaluating our classical literature. Before tackling such a vast subject, I will first introduce the concept of social progress and outline a few fundamental issues concerning classical literature.

What we call progress is connected to various dimensions of development. If economic and political progress is not accompanied by the emergence of a material, worldly perspective and the concept of human unity, we must realize that our progress is not only incomplete but also flawed. This is because social consciousness is a moral force that, in turn, influences economic foundations. If social consciousness is not sufficiently robust, it may lead us toward a flawed economic system. This very danger compels us not to limit ourselves to the immediate impact of literary works, but makes it essential to study their long-term effects as well. A literary work from a particular era might have a weak immediate impact, yet possess enduring significance for social progress. Naturally, the reverse of this reality is also true.

It is an accepted fact that the development of literature and civilization occurred within class-based societies. Consequently, both literature and culture bear the imprint of class influences. However, when considering this, we must also keep the true meaning of social progress in mind. The era of slavery is considered a dark period because it brought an exploitative system into existence. Yet, compared to the tribal system, humanity made greater strides during this time; therefore, a part of this era was also progressive. All of Greek knowledge and literature flourished during this period. The intellectual and literary output of that time represented both progressive and reactionary forces. Not everything in a given era is progressive, nor can reactionary elements simply be dismissed as the inevitable result of historical demands. The traditions of progress and reaction have continuously been locked in conflict with one another.

Social evolution has consistently advanced ancient progressive traditions, transforming them into new forms. It has also continuously rejected flawed and unscientific traditions. This process continues today and will persist in the future. Fundamentally, this progress boils down to two main points: first, enhancing the modes of production and allowing the maximum number of people to benefit from them; and second, continuously advancing the struggle for human liberation. These forces have operated simultaneously in different countries, taking on various forms dictated by local conditions. We cannot mechanically apply the example of one country to another. Furthermore, in a class-based system, the relationship between knowledge, literature, and economic foundations has not been as direct as it was in the tribal system.

In a class-based system, these elements—once shaped by the economic base—have often taken on an independent life of their own. Often, this autonomy is so strong that they develop their own specific laws and logic of evolution. When evaluating intellectual movements, we must not only look at the class struggle but also trace their continuity, logic, and internal laws. Since intellectual movements leave a profound impact on literature, studying them alongside their underlying logic is essential. Intellectual movements are also crucial because they reveal the perspective and the perception of reality of a specific era. They make it significantly easier to understand literature. Lenin defined literature not merely as a mirror of external reality, but also as a tool that aids in the perception of that reality. In this sense, literature is a portrait of our physical, mental, and emotional lives, through which the history of any era can be reconstructed.

History is the record of the life of an entire society, which, in reality, is the history of the struggle between the new and the old. A progressive writer is, in one way or another, aligned with the new. However, it is not necessary for them to be entirely aligned with the new. Just as the tangled web of an era's contradictory values is reflected in the minds of the masses, the writer's mind, too, remains entangled. This is why a writer often expresses contradictory ideas. The crucial point to examine is what new elements the writer fundamentally seeks to introduce by fighting against the old. If they are merely attempting to bring back elements of the past, we must consider them reactionary, even if they are fighting against the obsolescence of a specific era.

I mention this because when a declining ruling class attempts to survive, it often adopts many new concepts, but it uses these concepts solely for its own class interests. In reality, this effort is merely an attempt to keep the old order alive. A clear example of this in Islamic history is the era of Imam Ghazali. At that time, the Islamic Sharia-based governance was in a state of complete decline. Sharia and Islamic jurisprudence were under attack from all sides. The opponents of Sharia were armed with Greek sciences. Ultimately, Imam Ghazali himself had to borrow from Greek scholasticism. However, the purposes for which he utilized it were entirely reactionary. In the modern era, a similar example can be found in the intellectual endeavors of Allama Iqbal. Iqbal attempted to revive the spiritual democracy of Islam. In this pursuit, he also sought to employ the very means that had driven progress in Europe. However, he subordinated all such means to his own specific objective, and this is precisely what creates a contradiction in his work. Material means simply cannot be harmonized with immaterial goals.