From Nalanda to Gaza and Uttar Pradesh; The Enduring Assault on Learning

The history of human civilisation cannot be understood merely through the rise and fall of kingdoms, wars or imperial expansion. A civilisation is ultimately judged by a deeper measure: how it treated knowledge, how it responded to dissent, and how much freedom it allowed its institutions of learning. Fortresses crumble, armies disappear and empires dissolve. Knowledge, however, survives generations. It is precisely for this reason that every authoritarian system seeking permanence comes to view questioning minds as a threat.

The conflict between political authority and intellectual freedom is as old as civilisation itself. Throughout history, rulers have often recognised that universities, libraries and centres of scholarship are not merely repositories of books but incubators of independent thought. Where ideas flourish, unquestioned authority weakens.

Nalanda remains one of the earliest and most compelling examples of this enduring struggle. Established in the fifth century CE in present-day Bihar, the great Buddhist University evolved into one of Asia's foremost centres of learning. Beyond Buddhist philosophy, scholars pursued studies in logic, grammar, medicine, astronomy, mathematics and linguistics. Thousands of students and teachers from across Asia transformed Nalanda into a truly international intellectual community.

Its destruction is frequently attributed to a single military invasion. Yet historical scholarship presents a far more nuanced picture. Military campaigns, political upheaval, the gradual weakening of Buddhist institutions and the erosion of systems that sustained the university collectively contributed to its decline. Nevertheless, one question continues to resonate: why do victorious political or military forces so often target centres of knowledge?

Universities Preserve the Freedom to Question

A university is far more than a collection of buildings. It is a space where alternative ideas emerge, where philosophers challenge rulers, where scholars scrutinise religious doctrines through reason, and where archives preserve the memory of civilisations while researchers imagine the future. To destroy such an institution is not merely to demolish physical structures; it is to weaken a society's collective memory and diminish its capacity to think independently.

The history of Taxila offers a similar lesson. Its decline resulted not solely from invasion but from changing political fortunes, shifting trade routes, economic deterioration and the collapse of the institutions that sustained scholarship. Centres of learning perish not only through violence but also through the gradual erosion of the political and social ecosystems that nurture them.

The celebrated Library of Alexandria presents another instructive case. Contrary to popular imagination, historians increasingly view its destruction not as a single catastrophic event but as the cumulative consequence of wars, political instability, accidental fires, institutional neglect and diminishing patronage. The modern lesson is unmistakable: knowledge need not always be destroyed by armies. It can be suffocated by withdrawing financial support, discouraging research, banning books, intimidating scholars or treating independent inquiry with suspicion.

When Knowledge Becomes a Casualty of Power

The Mongol conquest of Baghdad in 1258 remains another tragic chapter in the history of learning. Baghdad had emerged as a global centre of mathematics, medicine, astronomy, philosophy and translation. Libraries and scholarly institutions suffered immense destruction. Yet historians caution against reducing the episode to a simple narrative of religious hostility. Imperial conquest, political domination and military strategy formed the principal context. Even so, the broader truth remains: institutions of knowledge frequently become casualties in struggles for power.

Modern history offers equally sobering examples. During the Nazi occupation of Poland, professors of the Jagiellonian University were arrested not because of buildings but because they represented intellectual independence. Universities derive their strength not from walls but from the people who think, teach and question within them. Silencing scholars is therefore another way of dismantling a civilisation's intellectual inheritance.

The destruction of the National Library of Sarajevo, attacks on the manuscripts of Timbuktu, and the devastation inflicted by the Islamic State on Mosul University and its libraries all reinforce the same principle. Extremism fears books because books encourage inquiry rather than unquestioning obedience.

Gaza and Uttar Pradesh: Contemporary Questions

The ongoing conflict in Gaza reflects the contemporary relevance of these historical patterns. Since October 2023, schools, universities and educational infrastructure have suffered widespread destruction. Israel maintains that its military operations are driven by security imperatives and alleges that Hamas has used civilian infrastructure, including educational facilities, for military purposes. International organisations, meanwhile, have raised concerns regarding the protection of civilians, the right to education and compliance with international humanitarian law. Questions concerning intent, proportionality and military necessity remain matters of continuing international debate. Yet one humanitarian reality is beyond dispute: when educational institutions are destroyed, the future of an entire generation is imperilled.

A different but equally significant debate has emerged in Uttar Pradesh over the state's action against the Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar University established by Samajwadi Party leader Azam Khan in Rampur. The Rampur Development Authority has alleged that 38 of the university's 40 buildings were constructed without approved building plans, while the university has advanced its own legal arguments concerning permissions obtained under earlier administrative arrangements. The dispute raises questions extending beyond technical compliance. Are planning laws being enforced uniformly? Are administrative decisions entirely insulated from political considerations? These questions naturally arise whenever action is taken against institutions of higher learning.

Protecting educational institutions does not imply placing them above the law. Equally, the rule of law must never become an instrument of selective or politically motivated action. Legal accountability and institutional autonomy must coexist within a constitutional democracy.

The Real Divide

History's deepest divide has never been Hindu versus Muslim, Christian versus Muslim, or East versus West. The more enduring divide is between societies that encourage questioning and authorities that fear it.

A questioning society asks why rulers should remain beyond criticism, why ideologies should escape scrutiny, why religious interpretations cannot be examined, and why governments should not be held accountable. Such questions constitute the foundation of democratic life.

Authority that fears knowledge often follows a recognisable pattern. It first brands uncomfortable questions as disloyalty, then dismisses criticism as conspiracy, proceeds to ban books, intimidate scholars, regulate research and eventually seeks to transform universities into instruments of political conformity.

History, however, also demonstrates that knowledge ultimately proves more resilient than power. Nalanda has risen again as a university. Many of Timbuktu's manuscripts were preserved. Mosul's libraries are being rebuilt. Sarajevo's National Library has been restored.

Those who burned books remain historical footnotes; the ideas they sought to extinguish continue to shape successive generations.

Knowledge Is the Ultimate Test of Civilisation

The true measure of civilisation is not the number of monuments it builds or the territories it conquers. It is whether it protects dissent, tolerates disagreement and allows universities the freedom to think without fear.

The enduring struggle in human history is therefore not between competing religions or competing civilisations. It is between authority that fears knowledge and societies that value inquiry.

History's verdict has remained remarkably consistent. Power may appear victorious for a time, but it is the question that ultimately endures. Where questions survive, knowledge flourishes. Where knowledge flourishes, freedom becomes possible. And where freedom exists, civilisation retains the capacity to renew itself.