FOn the occasion of the Lifetime Achievement Award ceremony for Dr. Shehzad Saleem.
irst of all, let me confess with complete honesty that at this moment I am utterly overwhelmed with a sense of embarrassment. Listening here today to all that has been said about me, I am reminded of a statement by Imam al-Ghazali which seems entirely apt for my situation. He once said: Allah has veiled my faults—though I have many—and out of His special grace has allowed one or two of my virtues to appear prominent before people. My case is no different. My shortcomings have been concealed, and whatever little good there is has been highlighted.
The reality is that a person is not what others say about him, but what he manifests in his moral existence— especially in the eyes of his family and closest companions. My wife is attending this program online, and she too spoke a few words about me, with generosity and restraint. But if I may speak on her behalf, she often tells me candidly—and even if she hadn’t, I would still affirm it myself—“As a human being you are good, but as a husband you are quite poor.” With complete frankness I admit: as a son, as a brother, and as a father, I have failed to live up to the responsibilities of these relationships. I did not expend the effort and dedication that they deserved. Now, as I approach sixty years of age, I openly acknowledge that I have not done justice to these ties. This will remain a source of regret for me, and I can only pray that Allah, in His mercy, forgives me for this shortcoming.
As for what you are today calling my achievement—if indeed there is any—it is not my personal doing. It is the product of a culture, a nurturing environment which I call the “Al-Mawrid Culture.” And so, I dedicate this award to the institution of Al-Mawrid, which reared me, gave me opportunities, and allowed me to bring forth whatever capabilities Allah had placed within me.
Al-Mawrid was founded in 1983, and by the grace of Allah, after 2015 its presence spread to the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and Germany. It embodies a distinct culture—one I wish to briefly describe before you.
I first became acquainted with Javed Ahmed Ghamidi in 1988. Even before that, I had resolved to become a student of religion. But there was no suitable platform for me—neither the traditional madrasa nor the Islamic International University in Islamabad was a viable option. When I met Javed Ahmed Ghamidi, the most delightful realization was that Al-Mawrid offered precisely such a place: a space where a seeker of knowledge could express his abilities and passion in the service of faith. Here, no one was forced into blind imitation. Whether in Quran, Hadith, jurisprudence, history, or dawah—each individual was free to choose his field of interest and pursue it.
This gave me great courage. I chose the Quran as my primary focus, while also engaging with other disciplines, and for the past 35 years I have striven in this path. All of this was possible only because the institution facilitated me at every step, allowed me to make choices in line with my aptitudes, and assured me that its resources would be there to support my endeavors.
When seen against the wider backdrop of Pakistan’s cultural and religious landscape, this is extraordinary. Where else can one find an institution of religion that stands not to impose but to facilitate; that nurtures your passion rather than stifling it; and that provides you a platform to serve in the way your abilities allow? For me, Al-Mawrid has been precisely that platform, and it is to this culture that I owe everything.
Furthermore, I was always the recipient of Javed Ahmed Ghamidi’s affection and encouragement. I still recall how he deputed his senior students to instruct me, so that I might learn the Arabic language and other sciences from them. This, too, gave me great strength and confidence.
Indeed, the greatest blessing is the provision of opportunity—and that is precisely what I found here. At times, a person harbors deep aspirations within, yet is deprived of the platform to realize them. In my understanding, the hallmark of our institution is that it brings together both passion and opportunity, and extends this to everyone. All of our colleagues—some of whom are present here today, while others are attending online—will testify that wherever they sensed their potential to grow, or in whichever field they felt capable of serving—whether in research, teaching, education, or writing—the institution opened that path before them and stood in full support of their endeavors.
For me, this has played an extraordinary role. And this is not the experience of one individual alone; rather, without fear of contradiction, every member of this institution will affirm it. You have seen their work, you will continue to see more, and they too have been blessed with the opportunity to express themselves in accordance with their passion. This passion culture is the first hallmark of this institution.
The second distinctive feature is the realization that the true essence lies in a person’s morality and character. If this dimension is deficient, the possession of religious knowledge cannot compensate for it. One must first and foremost become a good human being. This was the lesson our teacher impressed upon us again and again—with great detail and at numerous occasions, both in public and in private. He repeatedly hammered into us the principle that the foundation of everything is character and morality, which we must cultivate within ourselves. I refer to this as the Moral Culture.
In the Moral Culture, one is tasked with building one’s inner character. The gaze must be turned inward, not outward—don’t look outside, look within. It is the very principle Socrates emphasized when he said: Know thyself. Only after this self-awareness does it become possible to reform the inner human being. And there is but one path to this: self-criticism. It is through constructive criticism of oneself that one attains moral refinement.
To achieve this, it is essential to establish a deep connection with the Quran. One must not be distracted by the behavior of others, nor justify one’s own negligence by citing their waywardness; rather, one must concern oneself with one’s own inner state. The Quran enjoins: ْعَلَیْكُم ْأَنْفُسَكُم — “Upon you is [the responsibility of] your own selves.” Our teacher always reminded us that true success lies in reforming the inner human being, and this reformation is brought about by the Quran.
I would like to share with you a verse of Iqbal, which I first heard from our teacher’s tongue:
ِکشتن ابلیس ِکار مشکل است
زانکہ او گم اندر ِاعماق دل است
خوش تر آن باشد مسلمانش کنی
کشتہ ِشمشیر قرآنش کنی
To slay the Devil is a most arduous task,
For he lies concealed in the depths of the human heart.
Better it is to convert him into a Muslim—
To subdue him with the sword of the Quran.
From this institution we have learned that knowledge, if unaccompanied by character and morality, becomes nothing but a burden. Self-criticism, self-accountability, and attachment to the Quran constitute the true path of growth. This is why the Quran alone is the ultimate fountainhead, and piety and moral excellence are the true fields of competition: وَفِي َذََٰلِك ِفَلْیَتَنَافَس َالْمُتَنَافِسُون — “In this, then, let those who aspire, compete with one another.”
If there is any arena worthy of striving, it is the arena of piety, morality, and character. When we advance in this sphere, God Himself aids us therein. From our teacher I learned that if our inner vessel is sound and pure, God will pour knowledge into it; but if in His sight the vessel is unclean, He will not bestow knowledge upon it. Thus, under all circumstances, it is incumbent upon us to keep our moral being pure and untainted. This is the second lesson I learned from the Al-Mawrid culture.
The third lesson I derived from the Al-Mawrid culture is what I call the Dialogue Culture. Placed in the context of thirty or forty years ago, this was an utterly novel phenomenon. In Pakistan—even today—most religious institutions are dominated by blind conformity: whatever the head of the institution declares must be accepted without question. At Al-Mawrid, what held us back from such a mindset was the principle that discourse must rest upon evidence and reasoning. On that very basis of reasoning, we both agree with our teacher and, at times, disagree with him—openly and candidly.
The natural outcome of this Dialogue Culture is that discussion and even disagreement must be grounded in argument. Agreement and disagreement are ordinary matters; what truly matters are the etiquettes of disagreement. One must allow the other person the leverage of possibly being correct, while placing oneself in the position of possibly being mistaken. The benefit of this disposition is that dialogue can continue even amidst sharp differences, even with those who outright deny the existence of God or hold false notions about Him.
In genuine dialogue, the goal is not that the other must necessarily abandon his stance and adopt yours. Rather, one presents one’s findings before the other, while respecting the findings that he presents. Convincing the other party is not, in itself, the purpose of dialogue. Regrettably, this element is absent in most religious institutions, where blind following still dominates. In Al-Mawrid, however, discourse is rooted in reason. It is this which has taught us patience, tolerance, and the etiquette of respectful disagreement.
The fourth lesson is what I term the Critique Culture. Our teacher would always emphasize: first subject yourself to criticism, and then listen to the criticism of others with an open heart. Never regard criticism directed at you as insignificant.
There are two kinds of criticism:
The first is self-criticism, which leads to personal growth. Whenever one realizes a mistake, it must be corrected without hesitation.
The second is criticism from society. This, too, is immensely valuable. Whether it comes through journals, the media, or any other channel, one must examine it carefully, understand it, and reform oneself accordingly.
If ever we were negligent in this regard, our teacher would question us: “Have you read that critique? Have you seen what was written?” For this reason, our constant effort was to study every critique before meeting him, because he would surely inquire: “So-and-so has said such-and-such—what is your response?” This is a tremendously healthy approach, for it saves one from the delusion of self-importance. It reminds us that the world abounds with brilliant minds, and that we are neither the first nor the last of them. It positions us at a place where the only thing that matters is the pursuit of truth—wherever it may be found, from whomever it may come.
If I were to give an overarching title to all these facets of al-Mawrid culture—which I have termed “Passion Culture, Moral Culture, Dialogue Culture, and Critique Culture”—I would call it the Truth Culture, or simply: the pursuit of truth. It is a journey of constantly moving from good to better, and from better to best. On this path, one must adopt some things and let go of others.
In speaking of Al-Mawrid, I must mention one personality in particular. When the institution began in 1983, it continued steadily until 1986, when financial difficulties arose. I, along with some other colleagues, joined in 1988, and by 1991 the institution was revived. The person chiefly responsible for that revival was Mr. Altaf Mahmood—may God envelop him in His mercy. A few years ago, he passed away due to Covid. I can never forget his words; even today, whenever I recall them, I get goosebumps—my hair stands on my skin. He once said: “Look, we are starting this institution. I will divide my income into three parts: one part will go to al-Mawrid, one to my business, and one to my household. And I have made it a principle that if ever a crisis comes, the institution will be supported first.”
Because of his sacrifices, during my 25 years of administrative responsibility (1990–2015), there was not a single day when salaries were delayed. Today, when we see the institution standing firm and moving forward with such continuity, we cannot forget the pioneering role of Altaf. Similarly, there were others—Mr. Anees Mufti, Dr. Farooq Khan, Mr. Rashid Farooqi, and Mr. Ishaq Nagi. Though they are no longer in this world, they, along with many other friends, played their part—often beyond their means—for the institution. After 2015, Al-Mawrid experienced global expansion: institutions were established in five countries—USA, UK, Canada, Australia, and Germany—and our vision became institutionalized. A recurring tragedy of the Muslim Ummah has been that once a prominent individual departs, the institution collapses—it is, as they say, a one-man show. To safeguard against this, a deliberate effort was made to establish institutionalization in the truest sense, so that the departure of individuals does not mean the demise of the institution. Today, for instance, Mukaram Aziz is here with us; he now leads Al-Mawrid USA with the same passion. Likewise, dedicated volunteers in Canada, Australia, Britain, and other countries continue this mission—each of them striving beyond the call of duty.
I share all this because many among you are high achievers. Were I given the authority to nominate someone for a lifetime achievement award, the list would be very long indeed. My wish is that every person on that long list should be honored, for their contributions are invaluable. Yet in truth, ultimate praise belongs to God alone. And the worldly success He grants us ought to deepen our humility.
Let me end with this reminder: the real success is not this award. The real success is what the Quran describes:
فَمَن َزُحْزِح ِعَن ِالنَّار َوَأُدْخِل َٱلْجَنَّة ْفَقَد َفَاز Whoever is saved from the Fire and admitted into Paradise—that is the one who has truly succeeded. (3:185)
That is the true achievement: to stand honored before God, saved from the fire of Hell, and admitted into His Paradise. I would therefore say in relation to this award: whether it is given to us or not, in every case we must make it our target to become good human beings. That is the summit of humanity, and toward that summit we must strive.
Emily Brontë once said:
Twas grief enough to think mankind
All hollow, servile, insincere;
But worse to trust to my own mind
And find the same corruption there.
And Bahadur Shah Zafar expressed the same truth in these couplets:
نہ تهی حال کی جب ہمیں اپنے خبر ،رہے دیکهتے اوروں کے عیب و ہنر
پڑی اپنی برائیوں پر جو نظر تو نگاہ میں کوئی برا نہ رہا
When I was unaware of my own state, I looked only at the faults and merits of others,
But once my gaze fell upon my own flaws, then no one seemed blameworthy in my sight.
The essence of reform lies in self-reform. This is the central message I have learned from the Al-Mawrid culture.
With this prayer I take your leave: May God grant us all success in His presence, and may we be truly honored before Him.
Thank you very much.