Showing posts with label Ambedkar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ambedkar. Show all posts

Friday, March 20, 2026

Conscience at the Crossroads II: From Fear to Dialogue — A Path of Mutual Trust


 

Savio Saldanha

DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.19116985

                      19-03-2026         

 

            In my previous reflection, Conscience at the Crossroads: Faith, Freedom, and Fear in the Shadow of Anti-Conversion Laws, dated 18-03-2026,(https://conscienceatcrossroads.blogspot.com/2026/03/conscience-at-crossroads-faith-freedom.html) , I spoke from a place of concern—about freedom, dignity, and the danger of the state entering the sacred space of conscience. I argued that faith is meaningful only when it is freely chosen and that the state lacks the competence to govern the "matters of the heart".

            I thank several people who have written to me expressing encouragement and also their concerns. Some of you support the law, while others expressed doubts and fears about its misuse. So today, I want to speak particularly to you all.

Because a conscience that speaks must also learn to listen. And today, I want to listen.


Listening Before Judging

            It would be intellectually dishonest—and morally insufficient—to dismiss the concerns of many in the Hindu community as mere “fear” or “propaganda.” Beneath the heated debates, there are real anxieties:

  • That vulnerable communities may be exploited in the name of religion.
  • That material inducements may blur the line between service and persuasion.
  • That religious identity, deeply tied to community and heritage, may be destabilized.

            These concerns cannot simply be brushed aside. Even though official Census data shows that the Christian population has remained strikingly stable at approximately 2.3% for over seventy years (1951–2011), numbers alone do not dissolve lived perceptions. Where perception is ignored, distrust grows. And when distrust grows the social structure fails.


The "Argumentative" Tradition: Dialogue as Our Shared Heritage

            To address this distrust, we must look to what Nobel laureate Amartya Sen calls the "Argumentative Indian" tradition. Our history is not defined by a monolithic culture, but by a long-standing practice of public reasoning and heterodoxy.

  • Communitarian Dialogue: From the ancient Buddhist Councils to Emperor Akbar’s formal interfaith dialogues, India has reached conclusions through collective deliberation, not top-down decrees.
  • The Reach of Reason: True "Indianness" involves listening to the Vitaraka (the questioner). A social conclusion is only legitimate if it survives the scrutiny of a diverse public forum.

            The current spectacle of "shouting matches" on social media and television is a departure from this heritage. We must return to a model where we argue with one another to find common ethical ground, rather than to silence the opponent. A debate is meant to reach a mutually beneficial consensus while maintaining the dignity of all the parties involved. This means moving away from the ad hominem culture, which is an attempt to discredit someone's argument by personally attacking them. Instead of discussing the argument itself, criticism is directed toward the opponent's character, which is irrelevant to the discussion.


Towards a Shared Ethical Ground: The Panchsheel of Faith

            To elaborate on this segment, we must see Panchsheel not merely as a diplomatic treaty from 1954, but as a living philosophy that bridges the gap between different faiths. By reframing these five principles, we move from a "legal" mindset to an "ethical" one, grounded in the shared values of Indian philosophical traditions and Catholic social teaching.

1. Mutual Respect: The Recognition of Shared Light

            This principle moves beyond "tolerance," which implies merely putting up with someone. Instead, it adopts the Sikh and Upanishadic wisdom that "The One Light is the light in all bodies". From a Catholic perspective, this is the recognition of the imago Dei—that every person, regardless of their creed, is a bearer of divine dignity. Mutual respect means looking at a person of another faith and seeing a brother or sister, not a competitor nor an enemy.

 

2. Non-Aggression: Rejecting the "Spectacle" of Hate

In the modern context, aggression is rarely just physical; it is digital and rhetorical. Non-aggression means:

  • Rejecting Coercion: Acknowledging, as both the Catechism and the Second Vatican Council do, that faith can never be compelled or forced.
  • Silencing Diatribes: Consciously choosing to end the "vicious diatribes" and hate comments that have become normalized on social media and the national television debates.
  • Witness over Strategy: Prioritizing "witness"—living truthfully and serving freely—over aggressive attempts to increase "numbers".

 

3. Non-Interference: Protecting the "Inner Sanctuary"

            This is the most critical principle regarding anti-conversion laws. It demands that the state and religious institutions respect the "inner sanctuary" of the human conscience.

  • Interiority: Recognizing that faith is a personal orientation toward truth that belongs to the interior life, as Mahatma Gandhi taught.
  • The Limits of Authority: Accepting that the state lacks the competence to govern matters of the heart. To interfere in this space is to "legislate conscience," which only serves to diminish it.

 

4. Equality: Human Dignity Beyond Hierarchy

            This principle challenges the "Varna" divisions or any system that suggests one group is inherently superior to another.

  • Universal Standing: Acknowledging that no religion or nation stands "outside the horizon of divine concern".
  • Social Justice: Following B.R. Ambedkar’s lead, equality means the freedom to reject structures that deny dignity. It insists that every type of discrimination is contrary to the Creator’s intent.

 

5. Peaceful Coexistence: The Reality of One Human Family

            This is the final goal: moving from a collection of suspicious groups to a single "human family".

  • Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam: Embracing the Hindu and Sikh ideal that the whole world is one family.
  • Fratelli Tutti: Echoing Pope Francis’s call that fraternity is not an "optional charity" but a demand of justice.

Reclaiming Universal Brotherhood

            India is a civilizational conversation, once characterized by the "mechanical" kindness of strangers without asking for religion or caste. This Universal Brotherhood is not a poetic metaphor; it is a theological and social demand. When we choose dialogue over state-enforced suspicion, we protect everyone:

  • Hindus are protected from genuine coercion.
  • Christians and Muslims are protected from being viewed as "foreigners" or "invaders".
  • Individuals are protected in their dignity to seek truth and to make choices based on their decisions.

A Word to My Christian Community: The Path of Integrity

            For Christians in India, this is a time not for fear, but for clarity and integrity. The Church must return to its deepest identity: as a community that witnesses quietly and faithfully to the Gospel.​

 

  1. A call to humility and transparency

            Anti-conversion debates can tempt Christians either to become defensive or to retreat into silence. Both responses miss the point. The Catholic tradition itself insists that faith must always be a free response to divine grace, never compelled by force, fear, or manipulation. If there are any practices—however rare—that blur this line, we must name them honestly and reject them.​

            This means embracing complete transparency in our ministries: being clear about who we are, why we serve, and what we believe, without hidden agendas. It also means being willing to listen when others express discomfort, and to ask whether anything in our attitudes feeds suspicion.​

 

  1. Service without strategy

            For many Christians in India, everyday life is marked by small, quiet acts of service: teaching in schools, working in hospitals, accompanying the poor, and standing with those whom society forgets. These actions arise from a conviction that every human being bears an inviolable dignity, not from a strategy to “increase numbers.”​

            At the same time, we must recognize how easily service can be misread as a kind of bargaining chip—especially when anti-conversion rhetoric is strong. The call, then, is to continue serving without resentment, without calculation, and without turning compassion into propaganda. Our task is to “live truthfully,” to love without conditions, and to let our works speak for itself. If we are misunderstood, we respond not with anxiety, but with even greater patience and openness.

​

  1. Recognizing God beyond the Church

            One of the most important theological insights of the Second Vatican Council is that the Spirit of God is at work beyond the visible boundaries of the Church. Rays of truth and holiness are present in other religions, in diverse cultures, and in the lives of people who may never call themselves Christian.​

            To take this seriously means that Christians in India must approach other communities and persons as partners on a shared journey toward truth and justice, learning from their wisdom and allowing ourselves to be challenged by their witness.

 

  1. Integrity over numbers

            India’s own census data shows that the proportion of Christians in the country has remained remarkably stable over the last seventy years, with no sign of large-scale demographic shifts. Yet public discourse often speaks as if there were an aggressive “Christian expansion” happening across the land.​

            In this context, Christians must refuse both triumphalism and victimhood. Our credibility will never come from statistics or growth curves; it will come from witness—how we live, how we serve, how we defend the freedom of conscience for all. To stand for this freedom is not merely to protect “our rights”; it is to remain faithful to the heart of the Gospel.​


A Word to My Hindu Brothers and Sisters: Moving from Suspicion to Encounter

            To my Hindu brothers and sisters, I want to speak not as an opponent, but as a fellow citizen who loves this land and its people. I recognize that for many, the question of religious conversion is not just about law. It touches deep anxieties about cultural memory, civilizational continuity, and the protection of vulnerable communities.​

 

  1. Taking concerns seriously

            It would be shallow—and disrespectful—to simply dismiss fears about “mass conversions” or cultural erosion. In a country with a long history marked by colonization, exploitation, and social fragmentation, any perception of religious imbalance can feel threatening.​ Concerns about exploited communities are also real. There have been moments, in different times and places, where religion has been used to take advantage of poverty, ignorance, or social vulnerability. These anxieties deserve to be heard carefully, not brushed aside as mere “propaganda.”

 

2.                  2.  Weaponising History

            We are aware of the historical wounds and acknowledge that these have not been healed completely. Years of colonization, oppression and a bloody partition has left permanent scars on the social fabric of this nation and has wounded the feeling of trust which took decades to rebuild. However, we must also be careful when this history is weaponised to turn a community of Indian citizens into enemies. We must remember that the Nazis used the similar modus operandi with the Jews and if history has taught us anything, we must remember how it ended.

            Hence, whenever we are fed propaganda - by media, political, social and religious leaders – we need to stop and reflect, ‘whom does this benefit?’ also, ‘how long can we dwell on the past atrocities without destroying our present and future?’ Social awakening begins from a single individual who reflects and does what is right.

 

  1. The danger of building on control

            At the same time, there is a danger in responding to fear with control. When a nation begins to organize itself around the control of conscience—through registration requirements, surveillance, or the threat of criminalization—it takes a dangerous step. It slowly trains its citizens to live in suspicion of one another.​

            India’s own history shows that for many, especially Dalits and other marginalized communities, changing one’s religion has sometimes been an act of protest against entrenched injustice. When the state makes it extremely difficult to change religion, using the fear of punishment or public shaming, it risks locking people into the very systems they are trying to escape. In practice, such laws can end up protecting old Varna divisions more than protecting vulnerable persons.​

 

  1. Freedom as a moral foundation

            A healthy society is not one in which everyone stays within the community of their birth because they are too afraid to do otherwise. It is one in which people freely choose their spiritual path, and where that freedom is protected even when it is uncomfortable.​

            Freedom of conscience is not a Western import. It is deeply resonant with the Indian traditions that emphasize interiority, personal responsibility, and the search for truth. Gandhi understood religion as something fundamentally interior, beyond the competence of the state to regulate. Ambedkar’s own act of conversion was, among other things, a powerful statement that the human person must be free to step away from structures that deny dignity.​ If we build a system where conscience is controlled by fear, we may preserve outward uniformity, but we will slowly erode the inner moral strength that a true civilization requires.


A Word to Every Citizen: Choosing to Live Together

            Ultimately, this is not only a Christian question, nor only a Hindu question. It is a civic and human question: What kind of people do we want to become together? and What world do we leave as inheritance for our future generations?

 

  1. Law or trust?

            Laws are necessary. They protect us from violence, fraud, and exploitation. No one—Christian, Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, or atheist—wants a society where the weak can be manipulated or pressured into religious acts they do not understand. But once law begins to move from protecting the vulnerable to policing inner convictions, something essential is at risk.​

            A democracy worthy of the name depends on a certain amount of mutual trust: trust that our neighbor is more than their religious label, trust that the state will not intrude into the most intimate spaces of our conscience. When suspicion and surveillance become normal, we may still have elections and courts, but the moral atmosphere of freedom begins to thin.

 

2.      Role of Government

            In India's democracy, the government's role mirrors that of a service provider. Citizens pay taxes, expecting essentials like education, healthcare, food security, housing, jobs, and infrastructure in return.​

            This mandate aligns with the Constitution, which enshrines political non-interference and freedom of religion as core rights under Articles 25-28. The state has no business dictating personal choices—be it diet, attire, marriage, or faith—each a fundamental liberty no law or mob vigilantism (evoking authoritarian echoes like the SS) can override. The elected government exists to serve its people not dictate its propaganda, and definitely not to ‘divide and rule’.

 

3.      The conversion of conscience

            The real “conversion” our country needs right now is not from one religion to another. It is a conversion of conscience—from fear to responsibility, from suspicion to encounter, from indifference to costly solidarity.​ This means learning to see the “One Light” refracted in many forms—in different religions, languages, and cultures—without feeling threatened by that diversity. It calls us to build spaces where people can speak honestly about their faith, their doubts, and their hurts, without fear of legal consequences or social revenge.​


 

Conclusion: Choosing to Live Together

            We stand at a quiet but decisive crossroads. One path leads toward a society where conscience is free, where dignity of choice is respected, and where the state recognizes limits to its authority. The other path leads toward routine suspicion, slow erosion of liberty, and a future in which our children may think twice before speaking openly about what they believe.​

            The choice before us is not abstract. It will be made in our conversations, our votes, our religious communities, and our willingness to stand up for the freedom of those with whom we disagree. To choose wisely is to embrace a “costly solidarity”—to refuse the comfort of retreating into our own religious or social enclaves.​

            We can continue walk on this dangerous road of self-destruction or we can stop, reflect and dialogue as communities as our ancestors did – from Buddha to Ashoka and from Ashoka to Akbar. We must bring back the forgotten art of argumentation, of dialogue and learn from each other and from our past mistakes. We must accept what is good and reject vehemently the destructive policies, agendas, propagandas of hatred and suspicion.

            In the spirit of this shared responsibility, I end with a prayer that belongs to India’s ancient wisdom and yet resonates with every conscience that longs for peace:

Sarve Bhavantu Sukhinah — May all be happy.
Sarve Santu Niramayah — May all be free from illness.
Sarve Bhadrani Pashyantu — May all see what is auspicious.
Ma Kashchid Dukha Bhag Bhavet — May none suffer.

           

            May this not remain only a Sanskrit verse we quote, but a moral horizon we choose together.

 

References:

Primary Sources

  • Sen, A. (2005). The argumentative Indian: Writings on Indian history, culture and identity. Allen Lane (Penguin).​

 

Demographic Data

  • Census of India. (1951–2011). Religion data (Tables on Christian population percentages: ~2.3% stable from 1951–2011). Office of the Registrar General & Census Commissioner, Ministry of Home Affairs, Government of India. Retrieved from https://censusindia.gov.in
  • Pew Research Center. (2021, September 21). The religious composition of India. 

https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2021/09/21/religious-composition-of-india/​

 

Catholic Teachings

 

Indian Thinkers

  • Gandhi, M. (1958–1994). The collected works of Mahatma Gandhi (Vols. 1–100). Publications Division, Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Government of India. (Relevant: Discussions on interior faith and limits of state authority.) https://www.gandhiheritageportal.org​
  • Ambedkar, B. R. (1936). Annihilation of caste. (Undelivered speech; self-published). Bombay: Bharat Bhushan Press. (Later editions: Columbia University Press, 2014.) 

https://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ambedkar/ambedkar_caste.html​

 


Thursday, March 19, 2026

Conscience at the Crossroads: Faith, Freedom, and Fear in the Shadow of Anti-Conversion Laws


Savio Saldanha SJ

DOI - 10.5281/zenodo.19101967

18-03-2026

            There are moments when a law does more than regulate behavior. It quietly reveals what we are afraid of. The Maharashtra Freedom of Religion Bill, 2026 feels like one of those moments—less because of what it openly says and more because of what it begins to do beneath the surface. At first glance, the intention appears reasonable. It speaks of preventing forced conversions, stopping fraud, and protecting the vulnerable. No Indian of any religious affiliation or an atheist can object to that. Faith, if it is real, cannot be forced, it cannot be bought and it cannot be negotiated like a contract. The Catholic tradition itself is clear on this. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that the human response to God must be free, never compelled. Likewise, the Second Vatican Council’s declaration Dignitatis Humanae insists that no one should be forced to act against their conscience. Faith is meaningful only when it is freely chosen. And yet, despite this shared commitment to freedom, something about this law creates unease because slowly, almost quietly, the focus shifts—from preventing coercion to examining conscience.


The Myth vs. Reality: Are Mass Conversions Even Happening?

            Much of the urgency behind anti-conversion laws rests on a widely repeated claim: that India is witnessing large-scale, aggressive conversions. But when we step away from rhetoric and look at data, the picture becomes far less dramatic. According to India’s official census, Christians make up a small minority, and that proportion has remained strikingly stable for decades. There is no visible surge, no demographic shift that would suggest widespread conversion.

Official Census Trend of Christianity in India

            I will use the data from the official Indian government website regarding the percentage of Christians in India.  

Year

Christian Population (%)

1951

2.3%

1971

2.6%

1991

2.3%

2011

2.3%

 

            The data is almost uneventful. Over more than seventy years, the proportion has barely changed. If anything, it reflects continuity rather than expansion. If large-scale conversions were truly occurring, the demographic pattern would show a clear upward trajectory which it does not. This raises a question that cannot be avoided: Are such laws responding to a real, measurable problem—or to a perception shaped by fear?


The Shift from Protection to Suspicion

            The deeper concern lies not in the stated intention of the law, but in its internal logic. Laws like this begin by protecting individuals from coercion, but they risk evolving into mechanisms that scrutinize belief itself. One of the most troubling aspects is the shifting burden of proof. Instead of the state demonstrating wrongdoing, individuals may be required to prove that their conversion was neither forced nor induced. But how does one prove belief? Faith is not an observable object. It cannot be measured, quantified, or externally verified in any meaningful sense. The moment the state asks for evidence of sincerity, it enters a domain that is, by its very nature, interior. At that point, faith is no longer simply lived—it is something to be justified.

            Also it goes against the very ethics and morality of a law that an individual is ‘guilty until proven innocent’ and not otherwise. Given the lengthy procedures and duration of cases in India, an innocent individual can be imprisoned for years based on a fallacious or malicious complaint. Finally how does one shift the onus of providing proofs from the accuser to the accused?      These are questions worth reflecting by every citizen of this nation.


Lessons from Indian Philosophical Traditions

            This tension between authority and conscience is not new, nor is it merely a legal problem. It is a deeper question about the nature of the human person and the limits of external authority.

            Mahatma Gandhi understood religion as belonging fundamentally to the interior life. For him, faith was not primarily about institutional affiliation but about a personal orientation toward truth and non-violence. Any attempt to impose or regulate religion externally failed to grasp this essential character. The state, in Gandhi’s view, lacks the competence to govern what is ultimately a matter of the heart.

            B. R. Ambedkar approached the issue from the standpoint of justice and dignity. His conversion to Buddhism was not simply a spiritual decision but a moral act—an assertion that the human person must be free to reject structures that deny equality. Conversion, in this sense, becomes an exercise of conscience against inherited injustice. To restrict that freedom is to undermine the very agency that makes moral responsibility possible. Taken together, these voices converge on a shared insight: conscience cannot be legislated without being diminished.


Faith Cannot Be Policed

            At its core, faith is not a public transaction. It is not a contract, nor a bureaucratic process. It is a response—often quiet, often deeply personal—to what one perceives as truth. Within the Christian tradition, faith belongs to the inner forum of conscience. It is a free response to divine grace, not an externally verifiable act. To treat it as something that can be regulated administratively is to misunderstand its very nature.      When the state begins to require prior notice, official approval, or public scrutiny of religious conversion, it crosses a critical boundary. It moves from governing external actions to examining internal convictions. This is not a minor procedural shift. It represents a fundamental redefinition of the limits of authority.

            There is also a deeper paradox at work. The more the state attempts to guarantee the authenticity of faith through regulation, the more it risks undermining that authenticity. Faith that must justify itself before authority is no longer fully free. It becomes conditioned, shaped by external expectations rather than interior conviction. And that is a space no external authority can fully enter without distorting it.


The Deeper Question

            If conversions are statistically rare, and if religious composition has remained stable over decades, then the intensity of legislative focus invites deeper reflection. Why does this issue command such attention? In societies facing structural challenges—economic inequality, unemployment, gaps in healthcare and education—there is often a tendency to focus on issues that are more visible and emotionally charged. Religion, with its clear identities and boundaries, becomes one such space.

            This shift is not neutral. It risks transforming religion into a site where broader anxieties are negotiated, rather than addressing the underlying causes of those anxieties. The danger lies in allowing such focus to substitute for more difficult, structural work. In doing so, we risk normalizing a mode of governance where suspicion becomes routine and deeply personal aspects of life are drawn into the sphere of regulation.

            Looking at society as a whole, these new legal hurdles could end up trapping people in old social classes. For many in India, changing one's religion has historically been a way to claim dignity and leave behind the unfairness of the caste system. When the government makes it nearly impossible to change faith—using the fear of punishment or public shame—it risks locking people into the very systems they are trying to escape. In a way, by making the paperwork so difficult, the law quietly protects the old 'Varna' divisions instead of protecting individual freedom.


A Word to Christians

            For Christians, this moment calls for clarity and integrity. Yes, coercion in matters of faith must always be rejected. It contradicts both the Gospel and the teaching of the Church. Faith cannot be forced, and any attempt to manipulate belief undermines its authenticity. But it is equally important to resist a climate where service is viewed with suspicion, compassion is misinterpreted, and conscience is subjected to scrutiny.

            The mission of Christianity has never been about numbers. It has always been about witness—living truthfully, serving freely, and affirming the dignity of every person.       To defend freedom of conscience is not merely to protect the Church. It is to remain faithful to its deepest identity.


A Word to Every Citizen

            Ultimately, this issue extends beyond any single religious community. It raises a fundamental civic question about the relationship between the individual and the state. Do we want to live in a society where personal belief must be explained to the state?        Modern democratic life depends on the recognition that certain dimensions of human existence—thought, belief, conscience—must remain beyond coercive control. Once these are subjected to approval or verification, their freedom is no longer intact.

            And once that shift occurs, it rarely remains confined to one domain.


Conclusion: At the Crossroads

            We find ourselves at a quiet but decisive crossroads. One path affirms freedom of conscience, dignity of choice, and trust in the individual. The other path risks suspicion, surveillance, and the gradual erosion of liberty. These changes do not happen dramatically. They unfold slowly—through laws, administrative practices, and shifting assumptions about what the state is entitled to regulate. And that is precisely why this moment matters. Not because of what is loudly declared, but because of what is quietly changing.


References

  • Catholic Church. Catechism of the Catholic Church. Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1993.
  • Vatican Council II. Dignitatis Humanae: Declaration on Religious Freedom. 1965.
  • Government of India. Census of India 2011: Religion Data. New Delhi: Office of the Registrar General.
  • Pew Research Center. Population Growth and Religious Composition in India. Washington, DC, 2021.
  • Mahatma Gandhi. The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi. New Delhi: Publications Division.
  • B. R. Ambedkar. Annihilation of Caste. 1936.

 

Friday, January 9, 2026

At the crossroads of ancient Indian philosophy and how it has shaped India’s evolving social thought.


-          Savio Saldanha SJ

DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.18199195

Date: 09-01-2026

 

Ancient Indian Philosophy, Caste, and Conscience at the Crossroads

            As I reflect on my philosophical studies, I often find myself returning to the question of what it means to study Indian philosophy today—both as an academic pursuit and as a personal search within a society undergoing rapid change. Writing for my blog Conscience at Crossroads, I wanted to explore how these ancient schools of wisdom shape my own thinking and continue to influence India’s collective imagination. 

            Reflecting on the Indian philosophical schools and their influence on Indian culture and the collective memory of its people is a complex task. I am also interested to understand how the concept of casteism came into being through this culture and became what it is today. In this regards, I feel blessed to pursue my theological studies in France, as this distance has given me the chance to view these influences from the outside. Philosophically, there are two ways of looking at any system: from within, as one who belongs to it and therefore shares its limits and constraints; and from without, where a certain distance allows greater freedom, neutrality, and critical clarity, since one is not bound by the system’s internal pressures or expectations.

            As I was reflecting on the subject, one of my Jesuit friends, Seby Varghese sent me an article by Tony Joseph on a related topic. Tony Joseph’s article is empirically grounded history of how caste emerged and evolved; while I was reflecting about its normative-philosophical and theological discernment and how to engage that legacy today. This essay grows out of that struggle for clarity. The challenge, as I experience it, is discerning what in this heritage still carries life-giving insight, and what must be critically questioned or left behind. Some elements reveal their value or their harmfulness quite clearly; others are so deeply woven into our cultural habits and shared memory that distinguishing wisdom from distortion becomes far more difficult. The question for me is, ‘How to engage pro-actively with the Indian philosophical schools and the non-negotiable demands of social-justice today?’

 

Classical Indian philosophy and the formation of caste

            The classical darśanas—Nyāya, Vaiśeṣika, Sāṅkhya–Yoga, Mīmāṃsā, and Vedānta—offered powerful visions of truth and liberation, and they continue to furnish key categories for public moral debate: dharma (interchanged between religion and duty), karma (the fruits of deeds- good or bad), saṃsāra (world), ahiṃsā (non-violence), and mokṣa (liberation). These concepts frame how many Indians still think about responsibility, suffering, and the good life. Yet the metaphysical reflections of classical texts were not socially innocent: Vedic and Dharmaśāstra traditions progressively translated them into a hierarchical order of varṇa and later jātis, sacralizing graded inequality.​

            Tony Joseph’s historical reconstruction clarifies how contingent and contested this development was. He shows that a fully articulated four‑fold hierarchy appears only late in the Ṛgveda (the Puruṣa Sūkta), that varṇa in early Vedic literature is “embryonic,” and that the first clearly definable caste is that of the Brahmins formed around a unified oral canon in the Kuru realm through gotra‑based endogamy. As agriculture expanded and surplus grew, an alliance between priestly and royal power—what Joseph calls the core of the varṇa‑jāti system—proved politically and economically convenient, and later Brāhmaṇa and Dharma texts universalized this hierarchy by mapping it onto the cosmos itself. The result, by the beginning of the Common Era, was an elaborated ideology of varṇāśrama‑dharma that kings across the subcontinent could invoke to legitimise power and extraction.​

            Ambedkar’s insight that caste is a structure of “graded inequality,” an “ascending scale of reverence and descending scale of contempt,” finds here a concrete genealogy. Ancient philosophy did not simply “discover” an eternal order; it helped construct and justify a historically contingent alliance that aligned metaphysics with privilege.​

 

Is “Indian philosophy” really pan‑Indian?

            This raises a disturbing question: whose thought is being presented when we speak of “Indian philosophy”? The classical systems are profound achievements, but they largely emerged within and often reinforced a Brahmanical social order that normalized caste hierarchy and restricted access to learning. Large sections of India’s population—Dalits, tribal communities, women, and other subaltern groups—were excluded from recognised philosophical discourse and often from literacy itself.​

            Joseph’s geography of caste strengthens this critique. He traces how the Brahmanical varṇa project arose in a specific region—Kurukṣetra and later “Āryāvarta”—and met persistent resistance in what Johannes Bronkhorst calls “Greater Magadha,” where Śramaṇa traditions such as Buddhism and Jainism rejected Vedic authority, opposed sacrificial violence, and admitted members regardless of varṇa. Gana‑saṅgha polities like the Śākyas did not easily accommodate the priest‑king alliance; Buddhist texts record Brahmin resentment when their ritual status was not honoured in such settings. Even the semantics of “dharma” became a battleground, with Aśoka’s edicts and Śramaṇa usage pressing a moral meaning centred on compassion, generosity, and non‑violence, while early Dharmasūtras rushed to re‑assert a varṇa‑ordered dharma policed by Brahmins.​

            The classical philosophical schools—Nyāya, Vaiśeṣika, Sāṅkhya–Yoga, Mīmāṃsā, and Vedānta—are undoubtedly profound intellectual achievements. They have shaped India’s metaphysical vocabulary and ethical imagination for centuries. Yet, it must be acknowledged honestly that these systems largely emerged within, and often reinforced, a Brahmanical social order. Their reflections on liberation, knowledge, and duty were frequently articulated from within a social framework that accepted caste hierarchy as normative, even sacred. As a result, large sections of India’s population—Dalits, tribal communities, women, and other marginalized groups—were excluded not only from philosophical debate but from being recognized as legitimate bearers of wisdom.

            From this perspective, the question is not whether these classical systems are valuable—they clearly are—but whether they can claim to exhaust what counts as “Indian philosophy.” For me, the answer must be no. India has always been home to multiple philosophies, many of which were philosophies of dissent rather than system-building. Dalit philosophies, tribal cosmologies rooted in land and community, women’s embodied wisdom transmitted through oral traditions, and materialist schools such as the Cārvāka tradition represent alternative ways of thinking about life, suffering, freedom, and truth. These traditions were not merely different; they were often actively suppressed because they challenged ritual authority, caste privilege, and metaphysical justifications of inequality.

            The case of the Cārvākas is particularly revealing. As my paper on this subject (2023) shows, Cārvāka philosophy represents one of the earliest traditions of philosophical dissent in India. Rejecting Vedic authority, ritual sacrifice, and the metaphysics of karma and rebirth, the Cārvākas grounded ethics in lived experience, material reality, and human flourishing in this world. Their near-erasure from mainstream philosophical curricula is not accidental; it reflects a long history of privileging metaphysical systems that aligned with Brahmanical power over philosophies that questioned its foundations. Similar dynamics can be observed in the marginalization of Dalit and tribal philosophies, whose critiques of caste and hierarchy were often dismissed as “non-philosophical” precisely because they threatened the dominant order.

            These philosophies are not aligned with the mainstream darśanas—and they do not seek to be. They are philosophies of rebellion, resistance, and survival. Yet they are no less philosophical for that reason. On the contrary, they engage some of the most fundamental philosophical questions: What counts as a good life? Who has the authority to define truth? How should power, suffering, and dignity be understood? In many ways, they speak more directly to the lived reality of the majority of Indian people than the abstract metaphysical systems that dominate textbooks.

 

Contemporary Indian thought: argument, dissent, and liberation

            Among modern thinkers, B. R. Ambedkar engages this legacy with unmatched moral urgency. In Annihilation of Caste, he argues that caste is not an abnormality but a structural outcome of key scriptural and philosophical resources, and that doctrines of divinely sanctioned varṇa‑dharma and ritual purity are incompatible with constitutional ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. Any philosophy adequate to a democratic India must therefore be measured by its capacity to dismantle caste rather than sacralise it.​ This is where Hindutva philosophy fails as it struggles to uphold the varna system rather than the ideals of the Indian Constitution, but that is a topic for another discussion.

            Amartya Sen, in The Argumentative Indian, insists that India’s past is not only metaphysical but deeply argumentative: Buddhist councils, epic dialogues, and scholastic disputations embody a tradition of public reasoning that can nourish democratic dissent today. Sen’s retrieval of an indigenous culture of argument complements Ambedkar’s call to annihilate caste: both refuse the image of an inherently “hierarchical” India and highlight counter‑traditions of critique and debate.​ Dialogue and rebellion against injustice are the soul of Indian cultural and philosophical heritage, and not reverence of unjust hierarchies which regard certain class of individuals, castes and groups as superior and others inferior in a societal system.

            Daya Krishna pushes this further by challenging the closure of “Indian philosophy” itself. In Indian Philosophy: A Counter Perspective and The Future of Indian Philosophy, he argues that concepts like dharma, karma, and mokṣa must be reopened to contemporary questioning rather than treated as frozen authorities. In his view, genuine Indian philosophy is not the repetition of classical positions but an ongoing, dialogical interrogation that must make room for subaltern and dissenting voices.​ In other words, these ideas should be revisited and reviewed from the modern perspectives of social justice and humanism.


A Catholic Perspective

            The Catholic social teaching provides a convergent yet distinct critique. Gaudium et Spes insists that every form of discrimination based on “sex, race, color, social condition, language, or religion” contradicts God’s intent, thereby implicitly condemning caste‑based exclusion. Fratelli Tutti calls for social friendship and universal fraternity, offering a theological language for solidarity that resonates with constitutional morality and Ambedkar’s fraternity. In India, the Church’s schools and social apostolates can embody practices of inclusion that challenge caste boundaries, even as the Church must repent of having sometimes mirrored those very hierarchies. In this regard, strict internal assessment of practices which harbor and encourage casteism and other related forms of injustices must be identified and rooted out. Only when this is done can the Church in India truly stand up for the protection of those oppressed for millennia by the unjust social order.

 

Ignatian discernment and the limits of inculturation

            At this stage of my reflection, the question is no longer simply what Indian philosophy offers, but how one should engage it responsibly. Here Ignatian discernment has become an indispensable guide for me—and, I believe, for others who stand at similar crossroads of culture, faith, and conscience. Ignatian spirituality does not ask us to accept traditions wholesale, nor does it encourage a posture of suspicion toward everything inherited. Instead, it invites a disciplined freedom: the freedom to receive with gratitude what leads to life and the courage to refuse what diminishes human dignity, even when such elements come wrapped in the language of tradition, sanctity or inculturation.

            Ignatius of Loyola’s insistence on discernment of spirits—attending carefully to movements that lead towards greater faith, hope, love and justice and resisting those that foster fear, domination, or exclusion—offers a powerful framework for engaging Indian philosophy with partiality. By partiality, I do not mean arbitrariness or cultural disdain, but a morally responsible selectivity. Not every insight that is ancient is therefore liberating; not every cultural form is automatically compatible with the Gospel or with the demands of justice. Ignatian discernment teaches us to “test” traditions by their fruits, especially by how they affect the most vulnerable.

            In this sense, Ignatian discernment resonates strikingly with the Buddha’s advice to the Kālāmas: not to accept teachings merely because they are ancient, authoritative, or widely revered, but to examine whether they lead to compassion, wisdom, and the reduction of suffering. This convergence is significant. It suggests that critical discernment is not a foreign imposition on Indian thought, but a practice deeply consonant with some of its most ethical and emancipatory strands. Both traditions resist blind conformity and invite a reflective, experience-tested commitment to truth.

            This approach also helps clarify the limits of inculturation. Inculturation, when rightly understood, is not the uncritical baptism of cultural practices, but a discerning encounter between faith and culture. History offers sobering lessons here. In the Indian context, the misplaced zeal of certain early missionaries—who equated cultural accommodation with Gospel fidelity—allowed caste distinctions to enter ecclesial life, sometimes even being justified as “Indian” expressions of Christianity. What was presented as inculturation often amounted to the sacralization of social hierarchy. The result was a Church that, at times, mirrored the very structures of exclusion it was called to challenge.

            Ignatian discernment exposes this failure not as a lack of cultural sensitivity, but as a failure of conscience. It reminds us that the ultimate criterion for inculturation is not cultural continuity but the promotion of greater justice, equality, and human dignity. Any philosophical or cultural element—whether Brahmanical metaphysics, ritual purity codes, or inherited social hierarchies—that normalizes exclusion must be subjected to critical scrutiny, regardless of its antiquity or prestige.

            For me, then, Ignatian discernment offers a way of inhabiting Indian philosophy without being captive to it. It allows me to learn from Nyāya’s rigor, Yoga’s discipline, Vedānta’s depth, and Buddhism’s compassion, while simultaneously standing in solidarity with Dalit, tribal, and dissenting traditions that expose the violence hidden beneath certain metaphysical ideals. It resists both romanticization and rejection. Most importantly, it places conscience—not tradition, caste, or cultural pride—at the center of philosophical engagement.

            This discerning posture prepares the ground for the conclusion that follows. If ancient Indian philosophy is to contribute meaningfully to India’s evolving social thought today, it must be approached neither as untouchable scripture nor as a relic to be discarded, but as a field of moral testing. Ignatian discernment equips us for precisely this task: to walk with our traditions, question them honestly, and allow them to be transformed in the light of justice, compassion, and the common good.

 

Conscience at the crossroads

            The distance afforded by studying in France has sharpened, rather than resolved, the tension between reverence and critique. From outside, it becomes clearer that what is presented as “Indian philosophy” is often a curated Brahmanical canon whose transmission has systematically marginalised other voices. From within, as a Jesuit trained in discernment, it becomes impossible to accept any philosophical claim without asking about its ethical and social consequences.

            Ancient Indian philosophy shapes contemporary Indian social thought in an ambivalent way. On the one hand, it offers resources for rational inquiry, inner freedom, ecological sensitivity, and inter‑religious dialogue. On the other hand, it provides narratives that have justified caste hierarchy, gender inequality, and ritualised exclusion, often by presenting a contingent social order as a cosmic necessity. Joseph’s notion of Homo opportunisticus—political and economic actors who build sacralised orders to entrench their power—reminds us that philosophy and theology can become instruments of this opportunism when they lose contact with the victims of the systems they justify.​

            For a society committed to constitutional morality and social justice, nostalgia for a putatively golden past or outright rejection of tradition are equally inadequate. What is needed is discernment. Sen’s “argumentative” heritage, Ambedkar’s uncompromising critique, Daya Krishna’s call to reopen canonical concepts, Śramaṇa and Dalit resistances, and Catholic social teaching on human dignity can together form a kind of ecumenical “school of conscience.”

            Hence for me, my engagement with Indian philosophy is therefore not merely academic but moral and spiritual. It asks which philosophies help me see the human person more fully/completely, and which normalize domination. It asks whose voices have shaped the canon, and whose have been erased. The path forward is not to abandon India’s philosophical past, but to walk with it critically: retrieving what gives life, resisting what dehumanizes, and welcoming suppressed traditions of dissent as equal partners in imagining India’s social future. Only such a discerning engagement can honour both the depth of India’s ancient wisdom and the non‑negotiable demands of social-justice today.


Key references

  • Ambedkar, B. R. Annihilation of Caste.
  • Bronkhorst, Johannes. Greater Magadha: Studies in the Culture of Early India.​
  • Daya Krishna. Indian Philosophy: A Counter Perspective; The Future of Indian Philosophy.
  • Gaudium et Spes (1965), Vatican II.​
  • Francis, Pope. Fratelli Tutti (2020).​
  • Joseph, Tony. “Homo opportunisticus: The contingent, contested evolution of caste.” The Hindu, 2025.​
  • Sen, Amartya. The Argumentative Indian.
  • Saldanha, S. “Cārvāka philosophy, the first philosophy of dissent.” 2023.​ https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.8167185

Before the Facts Arrive: On the power of the first frame

  Before the Facts Arrive: On the power of the first frame Savio Saldanha SJ 22-September-2026 DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.22883874       ...