IN THE LIGHT OF EXPERIENCES
Studying in a religious seminary does not mean that one must remain ignorant of worldly matters. It is entirely possible for a person to formally study only in a religious institution and yet become acquainted with the knowledge and sciences referred to as secular. I am an example of this. My formal education took place in a religious seminary, but after that, by the grace of God, I have studied a wide range of secular disciplines. From palmistry to astronomy, there is scarcely a field I have not explored.
The key to this achievement was that, after graduating from the madrasa, I made a personal effort to thoroughly learn the English language. Once I had mastered English, the doors to all branches of knowledge opened for me. At the same time, following the Prophetic guidance to spread the light of divine wisdom, I began to travel extensively—both within the country and abroad. In this way, my proficiency in English, along with frequent interaction with people, enabled me to gain familiarity with a wide range of fields and disciplines. The history of madrasas shows that in every era, there have been a large number of individuals whose primary education was in a madrasa, but who later, through personal effort, also attained mastery in worldly sciences.
It is a fact that the most critical factor in acquiring knowledge is having an open mind. If a person avoids mental rigidity and observes and studies everything with an open heart and mind, the entire world becomes a vast classroom. Such a person learns new things every moment and gains fresh knowledge every day. Academic degrees are merely a form of recognition; true knowledge is acquired through personal effort. The door to personal effort is never closed for anyone.
In other words, the essence of expanding one’s knowledge lies in adopting the mindset exemplified by Umar ibn al-Khattab, about whom it was said: “He would learn from everyone.” It is one of the goals of seminaries to cultivate such a learning attitude in their students, beyond formal education.
What is education? Setting aside technical discussions, the primary purpose of education is the development of the human personality. Earning a professional or vocational degree through education is an additional aspect. The true goal of education is to awaken human consciousness and make individuals aware of the realities that are applicable in broader life.
Based on my personal experience, I can confidently say that religious seminaries, like other educational institutions, meet high standards. I am entirely a product of the seminary system. The seminary gave me the awareness and values that guided me at every step of my life’s journey.
Whether it is a madrassa, college, or university, no institution can provide a person with complete knowledge, nor can it ever do so. A person reaches full maturity after the age of 35, whereas education in a madrassa or university is usually completed before this age. In such a scenario, it is impossible for any educational institution to impart complete knowledge, just as it is impossible to fit ten kilograms of milk into a one-kilogram container. Similarly, complete knowledge cannot be given to someone during their student years.
Here, I would like to quote H. A. Krebs, a Nobel laureate in chemistry. He wrote that winning a Nobel Prize does not depend on the sheer volume of information a person accumulates during their education. Instead, the most critical factor is finding an institution or teacher that instills the correct attitude of mind. Guided by this initial perspective, an individual progresses through personal effort and eventually reaches the level of earning a Nobel Prize.
The same principle applies to seminary education. A seminary, in itself, does not make someone a great scholar. Its role is to provide an individual with the right mindset, enabling them to continue their academic journey in a meaningful direction, ultimately reaching the highest levels of knowledge.
A person’s capacity for learning continues to grow throughout their life, and thus their pursuit of knowledge is also a lifelong journey. In this context, the most important aspect is that, during their formative period, they are given the proper direction for study and reasoning. This direction comes from both teachers and institutions. A competent teacher acts like a living library, offering the student the best guidance. Similarly, if the institutional environment is constructive and healthy, it, consciously and subconsciously, contributes to the development of the student’s intellectual personality.
Here, I will symbolically mention a few personal experiences. However, this is not merely my story but the story of countless others like me who benefited from seminaries and went on to live successful lives in the world.
1. At Madrasa Al-Islah, the Quran was a special part of the curriculum. I had the opportunity to learn directly from the renowned scholar Maulana Amin Ahsan Islahi (author of Tadabbur-e-Quran). At that time, Maulana Islahi served as both the teacher of Quranic exegesis (tafsir) and the head of the madrasa.
One day, during a Quran lesson, we came across this verse from the 30th part of the Quran:
“Do they not look at the camels—how they are created?” (Quran, 88:17)
On this occasion, Maulana Amin Ahsan Islahi (d. 1998) asked the students whether a camel’s hooves are split or solid, like those of an ox or a horse. There were about 20 students in our class, but no one could answer with certainty. Everyone gave speculative answers, sometimes one and sometimes another.
Following this, the teacher gave a lecture. He remarked, ‘Your responses suggest that you lack an understanding of the nature of a camel’s hooves.’ He then cited an Arabic proverb: ‘La adri nisf al-ilm,’ which translates as ‘To say I don’t know is half of knowledge.’
He explained, “If you knew that you were unaware of the nature of a camel’s hooves, then in this matter, you would already have half of the knowledge. Recognizing your ignorance would create in you a desire to complete your knowledge by finding out how a camel’s hooves actually are. If the awareness of ‘la adri’ (I do not know) had been awakened in you, then upon seeing a camel, you would carefully observe its hooves and transform your ignorance into knowledge.”
This madrasa incident had such a profound impact on me that it became my general attitude to recognize my ignorance in every matter so that I could turn it into awareness. This spirit of intellectual inquiry was instilled in me from the early days of the madrasa. Later, I read some works by Western authors on this subject, such as The Spirit of Inquiry. These works revealed to me that this sense of curiosity is the foundation of all intellectual progress.
One famous example of this is that thousands of people had seen apples fall from trees, but they were unaware of their “la adri” (lack of knowledge) in this matter, so they remained ignorant of the truth behind it. Isaac Newton was the first person who recognized his la adri in this case. As a result, he reached the level of “adri” (knowing) and uncovered the truth about gravity.
2. As part of the madrasa curriculum, one of the books I studied on poetry and literature was Diwan al-Hamasa. I studied this book under Maulana Akhtar Ahsan Islahi (d. 1985), who had exceptional mastery over pre-Islamic Arab poetry. The Diwan al-Hamasa is a renowned anthology of Arabic poetry compiled by Abu Tammam (d. 845 CE). It features poems selected from Arab poets spanning various periods, from pre-Islamic times up to around 832 CE.
During my student days, I memorized many of the poems from this collection. Some of these had a profound impact on my life. One such verse is:
“If a person fails to acquire the qualities of nobility in his youth.
It will be very difficult for him to achieve it in old age.”
The explanation of this verse by my esteemed teacher helped me understand a fundamental truth about life: the best time for productive work is during one’s youth. A person who fails to make use of their youth will struggle to achieve anything significant later in life.
As a result, from my student years onward, I developed the habit of not wasting any part of my time. I began to use every moment of the day and night effectively. Developing this habit of action and productivity from an early age proved immensely beneficial for me. Had I wasted my youth on trivial pursuits, I would have faced the same tragedy expressed by Mr. Rasheed Kauser Farooqi in one of his verses:
“The secret of life was revealed after the passage of time.
This story’s beginning came only after its ending.”
3. In the environment of the madrasa, the most significant aspect, practically speaking, is the five daily prayers. The system of congregational prayer holds a central position in the life of the madrasa. While prayer, in its essence, is about seeking closeness to God, its practical and outward framework is designed in such a way that it also serves as comprehensive training in what is called discipline. In this way, every madrasa essentially becomes a training center for order and discipline. The addition of discipline to the madrasa system significantly increases its importance.
The discipline instilled by the five daily prayers organizes an individual’s daily life. Their time, day and night, flows like the hands of a clock—punctual and orderly. The society formed by such disciplined individuals becomes so strong that no storm can shake it.
An illustrative remark on this aspect of discipline comes from Rustam, the Zoroastrian general of ancient Persia, under the principle “Al-fadhl ma shahidat bihil a‘da” (True merit is acknowledged even by adversaries). During the caliphate of Umar ibn al-Khattab, when Muslim armies entered Persia, they prayed in large congregations in open fields as there were no mosques at the time. Observing this scene of congregational prayer, Rustam exclaimed:
“Umar has pierced my heart; he is teaching discipline even to dogs!” (Muqaddimah Ibn Khaldun, p. 152).
During my time at the madrasa, the supervision of congregational prayers was entrusted to a senior teacher, Maulana Akhtar Ahsan Islahi (d. 1985). He would come to the hostel right after the Fajr adhan to wake the students. At that time, I was in my youth and found it hard to wake up. Maulana Islahi used to say about me: “He is a very deep sleeper.”
I recall one instance in the mosque’s open courtyard during the rows for prayer—likely during the Isha prayer—when a snake suddenly entered the mosque. It passed through the rows, heading toward the back where shoes were placed. Although the snake was not very large, it was still a snake. Yet, I observed that there was no panic or commotion in the congregation. Everyone remained in their positions, and the snake passed through and exited. This incident gave me firsthand experience of how prayer instills discipline in individuals.
One time, after prayer, the head of the madrasa, Maulana Amin Ahsan Islahi stood up in the mosque to deliver a speech. He said, “In prayer, you are taught to act collectively. This teaching is not limited to the mosque; your life outside the mosque must also be lived with the same discipline and unity.” He was an exceptional speaker. During his speech, he used several verbs from the Bab Tafaa‘ul (a form in Arabic grammar that conveys the meaning of cooperation and participation), such as tawaafuq (agreement), tashaark (partnership), and ta‘aamul (interaction).
In this way, the practice of congregational prayer five times a day in every madrasa teaches unity and discipline. Thus, every madrasa functions as a training center for order and discipline in practical terms.
Those who know me are aware that I possess an exceptional degree of order and discipline in my temperament. Discipline has become my second nature. This trait is likely the result of the consistent training I received during my madrasa years. The discipline of worship instilled in the madrasa became so deeply embedded in my nature that it has never left me.
In this context, it would be accurate to say that every madrasa is essentially a training center for discipline. It serves as a lifelong institution for teaching individuals how to live life in an organized and disciplined manner.
4. An incident from my time at the madrasa remains profoundly instructive. I wrote about this in one of my essays titled Haalaat Badal Sakte Hain (“Circumstances Can Change”), which was published in the Dhul-Qadah–Dhul-Hijjah 1383 AH (estimated March-April 1964 CE) issue of the Urdu monthly Al-Furqan (Lucknow). The incident is reproduced here from the pages of Al-Furqan:
“It was around 1940. A severe drought had struck our region. The monsoon season was passing, but there was no sign of rain anywhere. Farmers would look to the sky every morning, hoping for clouds, but not a single one appeared. Eventually, when despair reached its peak, the idea arose to offer the Salat al-Istisqa (prayer for rain). About two kilometers from Madrasa Al-Islah, a field was chosen, where the madrasa students, teachers, and Muslims from the surrounding villages gathered. The late Maulana Muhammad Saeed, who was then a teacher at Madrasa Al-Islah and from whom I studied Hadith, led the Salat al-Istisqa and offered supplications for rain.”
“I clearly remember that day. We traveled under the scorching sun to reach the field and performed the prayer drenched in sweat. However, as we returned, it started raining on the way. Some people sought shelter under trees, while others ran home, getting drenched. (Al-Furqan, p. 44)”
This experience made me feel as though I was witnessing divine assistance with my own eyes. For me, it became a tangible demonstration of the belief: “Ask, and it shall be given to you; knock, and it shall be opened for you.” At the time, I was about 15 years old, an age when experiences leave a profound and lasting impression. Consequently, this experience became a permanent part of my consciousness, deeply embedded in my personality and never to be separated from me.
Such experiences are unique to the environment of religious seminaries. A madrasa not only serves as a place for acquiring knowledge but also as a means of spiritual training. In the madrasa environment, a person repeatedly receives nourishment in the form of trust in God and awareness of the Hereafter. The result is that individuals moulded in the madrasa environment become a blend of knowledge and spirituality, unlike the one-dimensional individuals often produced by secular educational institutions.
The training I received at the madrasa remained my greatest asset in the later phase of my life. No great task can be undertaken without trust in God—and this was the very treasure I gained from the madrasa. In terms of my life’s purpose, I had to rely more on God than on material resources. Remaining firm on such a difficult decision was, for the most part, made possible by this madrasa training.
The revival of the prophetic mission that I adopted in my life meant, in the language of Hadith, standing for the unfamiliar religion as opposed to the commonly practiced and widely accepted version. Without doubt, this is the most difficult mission under the sky. In such a journey, one must walk alone. It is easier to cross mountains and oceans than to carry forward a path based on unfamiliar religion.
By the grace of God, I remained steadfast on this most difficult mission, despite every kind of obstacle and unfavourable condition. Until finally, the atmosphere began to change. To witness this outcome, I had to undergo a long and testing wait of nearly 40 years, until the launch of the Al-Risala monthly in 1976. And such waiting would not have been possible without complete trust in God.
