THE image of a captivating human being rises before the eyes, fades amid the noise of life and then, in a quiet moment, suddenly becomes vivid again.
A whisper follows: “Knowledge that is easily understood is hardly knowledge at all.” These words belong to the master scholar, Professor Dr. Manzoor Ahmad, spoken during one of his lectures. With his characteristic elegance, he first untied a subtle philosophical knot and then looked at the students with questioning eyes. A young man hesitantly raised his hand and said, “Sir, I didn’t understand this.” Dr. Sahib replied calmly, “That is a good thing—knowledge that is easily understood is no knowledge.” He then explained the point once more, in a different manner.
The world knows Dr. Manzoor Ahmad as a philosopher, but for me this description is incomplete. I was his listener. He would speak continuously and I would listen with bated breath, until I felt myself carried far away, as if flowing with a gently rippling river. I often wondered why no one else could speak the way Manzoor Sahib did. Once I asked this question of my respected teacher, Professor Dr. Tahir Masood. He smiled and said, “My dear, you are not the only one enchanted by this magician.” He recalled that when the late Saleem Ahmed once heard him speak, he remarked in wonder, “This man expresses his thoughts with extraordinary grace.”
During my student days, Dr. Manzoor Ahmad was the Dean of the Faculty of Arts at the University of Karachi. Whenever we organized an academic event, we invited the late Dr. Jameel Jalibi and Dr. Manzoor Ahmad. After Dr. Jalibi’s tenure as Vice Chancellor ended, we continued inviting only Dr. Manzoor Ahmad for as long as we remained at the university.
What was it about Dr. Manzoor Ahmad that so deeply captivated us? This question opens what may be called a Pandora’s box. When he migrated from Rampur to Lahore, he carried two things with him. One was Pakistan, for whose love he left his homeland. The second was an aspiration: that the purpose for which this country had been created should advance meaningfully. To fulfill this aspiration, he aligned himself with Syed Abul A‘la Maududi and remained active in Islami Jamiat-e-Talaba during his student years. Along with Professor Khurshid Ahmad, he published Students’ Voice, cyclostyled and sold by students themselves.
The magazine quickly gained wide circulation and attracted distinguished readers such as A.K. Brohi. While much credit belongs to Professor Khurshid Ahmad, Dr. Manzoor Ahmad was also part of its editorial team, reflecting the intellectual vitality of that era. Some believe that Dr. Manzoor Ahmad later diverged from his early path, but such a view oversimplifies his intellectual journey. I recall an occasion when he praised our student journals and remarked, “You are good because your teachers are good.” Such statements, when uttered by him, became guiding principles.
On the same occasion, he made a remark that now appears prophetic. He said that while meeting the demands of one’s own time was essential, one must keep an eye on the future. Journalism, he warned, would soon become unrecognizable and only those who understood change in advance would survive professionally. This foresight defined him. Dr. Manzoor Ahmad was always ahead of his time, thinking and speaking about issues that others either ignored or failed to comprehend.
His ideological evolution followed the same pattern. Raised in a religious milieu, he believed deeply in the idea of Pakistan and sought an Islamic ideological state. However, he soon realized that religious circles were falling into stagnation. Instead of engaging in polemics, he began examining the causes of this stagnation. His book Islam: A Few Intellectual Debates reflects this inquiry. The book invited criticism and he was accused of deviation. Yet, two decades later, it appears that he had foreseen developments that would only become evident at the turn of the century. He welcomed disagreement and often said, “Only one thing must always remain alive—and that is the question.”
To keep this spirit alive, he organized regular scholarly gatherings at his home, encouraging open discussion and summarizing debates with clarity. He later served as Vice Chancellor of Hamdard University and Rector of the International Islamic University and Usman Institute of Technology. Yet positions never defined him; his thought did. His mind remained in constant motion. He never rested on conclusions but continued his journey of inquiry—always moving forward.
—This writer is former advisor to the President of Pakistan, author & mass media theorist.
(farooq.adilbhuta@gmail,com)
