Religious vocabularies do not make for good politics

Neera Chandhoke

Political Scientist

INDIA is witnessing euphoria over the upcoming inauguration of the Ram Mandir in Ayodhya — at the very site where the Babri Masjid stood as a symbol of a distinctive Indian notion of secularism: all religions should be respected. So strong is the hold of politicised religion over the Indian psyche today that it prevails over pressing issues such as unemployment, inequality and repression of independent opinion. How did India make the transition from a secular democracy to a ‘Hindu electoral democracy’?

Societies do not take a U-turn so rapidly. Recollect that our mainstream freedom struggle was dominated by political vocabularies that were distinctly Hindu. They did not reflect shared histories of different communities living together. Mahatma Gandhi, for instance, transformed the struggle into a mass movement. He passionately fought for Hindu-Muslim unity. Yet, he inherited a political vocabulary that was abstract, metaphysical, Sankritised and Brahmanical — satya, ahimsa, sarvodaya and swaraj. Gandhi could give up his life to save a Muslim. But ironically, his language excluded many non-Hindus from the domain of the freedom discourse.

There is no disenchantment with Gandhi. But Nehru, summing up the task of the critical theorist, wrote: “I think it is right that we should encourage honest criticism and have as much public discussion of our problems as possible. Unfortunately, Gandhi’s dominating position has made this impossible. This is obviously wrong and the nation can only advance by reasoned acceptance of objectives and methods, and a cooperation and discipline based on them and not on blind obedience. No one, however great he may be, should be above criticism.”

Any theory that is unable to critically engage with past thought cannot understand where we come from. We must do this, for, as William Faulkner wrote in his Requiem for a Nun, “the past is never dead. It is not even past.”

Consider swaraj, which relates to both the collective and the individual. After the ‘Salt Satyagraha’, Gandhi wrote: “The outward freedom, therefore, that we shall attain will only be in exact proportion to the inward freedom to which we may have grown at a given moment. And if this is the correct view of freedom, our chief energy must be concentrated upon achieving reform from within… When this reform takes place on a national scale, no outside power can stop our onward march.” For Gandhi, swaraj meant self-control/spiritual freedom, fearlessness, ahimsa, Hindu-Muslim unity, abolition of untouchability and a simple life. “My idea of swaraj,” he wrote, “is a complete republic, independent of its neighbours for its own vital wants and yet interdependent for many others if dependence is a necessity.”

“You will not be able to understand me,” he wrote to Nehru, “if you think that I am talking about the villages of today. My ideal village still exists only in my imagination. After all, every human being lives in the world of his own imagination.”

Nehru’s predicament was acute. He loved Gandhi. We do, too, because there has not been such a man in India since the Buddha, who was so inspirational, who taught us so much and who moved so many people by his generosity, imagination and creativity.

The problem was, as Nehru remarked, “Gandhiji is always thinking in terms of personal salvation and of sin, while most of us have society’s welfare uppermost in our minds… He is not out to change society or the social structure, he devotes himself to the eradication of sin from individuals. The follower of swadeshi never takes upon himself the vain task of trying to reform the world.”

Sadly, Gandhi’s own confidence in swaraj was shaken as Independence drew near. On June 5, 1947, he wrote: “It is very difficult — practically impossible — to achieve real swaraj without self-denial... But today we are engaged in a race for positions of power. Shall I describe it as my own tragedy, the tragedy of our soldiers of truth and ahimsa?” Equally sadly, he wrote on July 25 of the same year: “Why so jubilant? Purna swaraj is far off. Have we got swaraj? Did swaraj mean only that the British rule should end? To my mind, it was not so. For me, Sabarmati is far off, Noakhali is near.”

“Like a poet,” writes author Dennis Dalton, “he used his past with affection, drawing from the Indian classics old words —ahimsa, Karma Yoga, Ram Raj, sarvodaya — and charging them with fresh meaning, until they became symbols of both the past and the future.”

That’s true, but the use of Hindu concepts like moksha appears odd in a multi-religious public sphere that had been created by the freedom struggle. Leaders of the Congress in the 1920s tried to introduce discussions on constitutionalism and minority rights through public platforms, newspapers, journals and speeches. But around these secular activities, there grew a public sphere which, in a fairly short while, was split along the Hindu-Muslim divide.

Gandhi struggled to bring Hindus and Muslims together by forging a mass coalition of leaders of religious groups, urban and rural elites, castes and the masses. He believed that solidarity between religious communities was best achieved through the use of religious symbolism.

Unfortunately, his commitment to the social transformation of Indians did not succeed. India was partitioned. History tells us that good intentions can breed disastrous consequences. Religious vocabularies, howsoever well meant, do not make for good politics.

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#Mahatma Gandhi