Creation is not a past event but a continuous act: the world is not a manufactured article abandoned by its maker but the ongoing expression of divine creative energy. Whether a civilisation faces the future with confidence or retreats into nostalgia depends entirely on which of these two pictures of God it inherits.
Sections 1 and 2 established that God is an individual and that His infinity is intensive rather than extensive. Now Iqbal turns from the formal attributes of the divine ego to the first of four substantive ones: Creativeness, to be followed in subsequent sections by Knowledge, Omnipotence, and Eternity. The question of Creativeness is, in one sense, the most fundamental of the four — for without a coherent account of the relationship between God and the world, the other attributes have nothing to operate on.
The section is short but philosophically explosive. Its argument advances through three tightly linked moves.
First, Iqbal diagnoses the root error that has generated centuries of 'meaningless theological controversies': the finite mind's tendency to regard the universe as a manufactured article produced at a specific past moment by a God who then stands apart from it as a spectator. This picture — creation as a datable event, the world as an artifact, God as a retired engineer — reduces God and the world to two separate entities confronting each other across an empty space. The entire framework of the question is wrong.
Second, Iqbal dissolves the problem by recalling the result established in Lecture II: space, time, and matter are not independent realities but intellectual modes of apprehending the free creative energy of God. If this is so, then there is no 'space' intervening between God and the world, because space itself is an interpretation that thought imposes on divine creative activity. The world is not something other than God's act; it is God's act, apprehended by finite minds under the forms of spatial extension and temporal succession. To drive the point home, Iqbal recruits the ninth-century Sufi master Bāyazīd of Bisṭām, whose single sentence — 'It is just the same now as it was then' — captures in the language of mystical experience exactly what Iqbal is arguing in the language of philosophy: there is no moment 'before' creation, because creation is not an event within time; time is an aspect of creation.
Third, Iqbal enlists the physicist Arthur Eddington to supply scientific corroboration. Eddington's argument that 'the mind's search for permanence has created the world of physics' supports Iqbal's contention that the apparently solid, enduring world of matter is an artefact of the mind's selective attention, not an independent reality. But Iqbal pushes beyond Eddington: the physicist has not yet recognised that the mind's construction must itself be rooted in something more permanent than either mind or matter — a Self that uniquely combines the attributes of change and permanence. The section thus ends by pointing toward the concept of the Ultimate Ego as the ground of both the physical world and the finite minds that interpret it.
The theological stakes are immense. If creation is a past event, then the world has been abandoned by its maker, and divine creativity is exhausted. If creation is a continuous act, then God is intimately present in every moment of the world's existence, and divine creativity is inexhaustible. The entire practical orientation of a civilisation's religious life — whether it faces the future with confidence or retreats into nostalgia for a lost golden age — depends on which of these two conceptions it adopts.
‘We have a world of point-events with their primary interval-relations. Out of these an unlimited number of more complicated relations and qualities can be built up mathematically, describing various features of the state of the world. These exist in nature in the same sense as an unlimited number of walks exist on an open moor. But the existence is, as it were, latent unless some one gives a significance to the walk by following it; and in the same way the existence of any one of these qualities of the world only acquires significance above its fellows if a mind singles it out for recognition. Mind filters out matter from the meaningless jumble of qualities, as the prism filters out the colours of the rainbow from the chaotic pulsations of white light. Mind exalts the permanent and ignores the transitory; and it appears from the mathematical study of relations that the only way in which mind can achieve her object is by picking out one particular quality as the permanent substance of the perceptual world, partitioning a perceptual time and space for it to be permanent in, and, as a necessary consequence of this Hobson's choice, the laws of gravitation and mechanics and geometry have to be obeyed. Is it too much to say that the mind's search for permanence has created the world of physics?’