Valson Thampu

We are going through a period of apprehensive religious bewilderment. It is unhelpful to deny this. Denial breeds disability. Those who refuse to read the ‘writings on the wall’ are sure to be overwhelmed by what they refuse to read. They are caught off-guard in the hour of crisis.

I have been engaged for long with the challenges and opportunities of religious plurality, of which India is the richest domain in the world. Something that used to amaze and disappoint me is the extent to which they are excluded from the inter-faith purview. What does it mean to live truthfully in religious plurality? What should be the extent of give–and-take in this process? If there is nothing that we can take, and all we want is to give, can we be honest in dialogue? Can we, in this regard, obey the dictum of Jesus, ‘Do to others what you would that they should do to you?’

Let us start with the obvious. Every religious group is keen to emphasise how its religion is different from, and is superior to, other religions. The more inclined a religious outfit is towards proselytisation, the more this tends to be the case. In interfaith theory, though, the exact opposite is the case. Attention is focused on spiritual common grounds. So, it is religious differences in practice, but spiritual commonalities in theory. Mercifully, the rank and file in religious communities stay barriered from this. For them, only religious exclusivity is real. Other religions either do not exist, or exist as pockets of darkness and error. So, religions quarrel in the normal course; but they choreograph amity on inter-faith stages.

The reason for the above can be stated simply. Every religion justifies itself on its own terms. It is sufficient that I believe it, for something to be so. My beliefs are self-evident to me. So, it must be for all else. I have no need, or duty, to see my claims with any measure of objectivity. If I am a public speaker, I have to persuade my listeners. But, if I am a preacher, provided with a captive audience, I only have to proclaim and declaim. As the Anglicans used to say, ‘A preacher stands six feet above contradiction,’ six fee being the elevation of the pulpit. No preacher encounters dissent.

I find this changing now, at least apparently. The credit for this goes to the SanghParivar. An unprecedented extent of willingness to regard what Christianity shares in common with Hinduism is gaining ground. I can only hope that this promises something more than a tactical concession to exigency. My anxiety here is based on the compensatory animosity, so to speak, exhibited towards Islam; a sentiment that the self-appointed defenders of that faith reciprocate with much heat, and no light. If greater openness towards one religion is welcome, it should be so with others too.

I am reminded, in this context, of the words of St Peter. ‘But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect (1 Peter 3:15). So we are to be, especially in relation to those disposed differently to our persuasions, reasonable in our claims and assertions. To be rational is to be universal. It is to shift from subjective assertions to shared frameworks. This does not mean that one has to abandon the core of one’s faith in order to get along peaceably. It does imply, on the other hand, the need to be objective in what one advocates and, in particular, with regard to the modes of such advocacies. If I am dishing out a doctrinal theme to the converted, the duty to be reasonable may not be as basic as it is while doing the same with people of other faiths.

Consider, for an illustration, the core Christian dogma: ‘Jesus is the way’ (Jn. 14: 6). What are we to do with this creedal affirmation in a religiously plural context? Pushed literally, it makes the proselytisation an imperative duty. But proselytisation jangles on inter-faith amity. Given that, there are the possibilities. (i) assert it with vehement conviction (ii) disown or sidestep it, or (iii) evolve better spiritual ways to incarnate, rather than verbally assert, this core article of faith. Offence arises when our way of life is contradicts our proclamations. It is obnoxious to trumpet to the world ‘Jesus is the way’,  while our way of life proclaims even more loudly, ‘Mammon alone is the way’?

There is a further issue that should bother us even more.  Hinduism had its Rishis. Buddhism had its Tattagata. Christianity, Jesus Christ. Islam, Prophet Mohamed. Parsis, Zoroaster. Sikhism, Guru Nanak, and so on. But they were the lights of bygone epochs.  Why has the flow of divine light stopped altogether for centuries since then? We need spiritual regeneration anew. God’s promise is: ‘Behold, I shall make all things new’. Why is it that, for all our massive religious efforts and mounting religious fervour, spiritual light for humanity goes on receding farther and farther from us?

Perhaps, here’s a clue. (Well, I nearly wrote ‘the clue’!) The spiritual luminaries cited above lived and accomplished their mission in a context virtually free from the dominance of formal religion. At the very least, they were not conditioned, or inhibited, by religious orthodoxy. The prime source of their strength and spiritual authority was their direct experience of God. Neither of them based their idea of God, or the substance of their divine mission, on hearsay or inherited dogmas.

Assertive exclusivity, which perpetuates fragmentation, is the defensive shield adopted on account of insecurity. None of the spiritual luminaries we know needed it. They were untouched by hate. To their fanatical followers, who understand them not, other-directed hate is the best medium for loving one’s god!  This religious Frankenstein is now staring us in the face. Look closely at it, and we will see our own lineaments reflected in it, in a palimpsest of past omissions and commissions.