April 2022

Why is it that in a country where nearly everyone seems to believe in something bigger than themselves—where shrines and temples dot every other street corner—we still grapple with everyday corruption, casual discrimination, and even violence? You’d think all that prayer, chanting, and pilgrimage would leave less room for wrongdoing. But it doesn’t always work that way.

Take the concept of Sanatan Dharma, for instance. It’s often spoken of as eternal, the ultimate moral compass stretching across generations. In theory, it’s about aligning ourselves with universal truth. In practice, though, people citing the Sanatan tradition aren’t automatically above lying, cheating, or harming others. That raises a question: If religion (and all the theistic fervor that comes with it) is supposed to set moral boundaries, why do these boundaries get crossed so often?

Maybe it’s because morality isn’t just about allegiance to a higher power. People can find loopholes in anything—sacred texts included—especially when it suits them. After all, scripture is complex, ancient, and open to endless interpretation. Humanity moves forward; moral codes, even ones referred to as “eternal,” need to keep up. And that means we sometimes have to step back from dogma, look around at what’s happening in real life, and ask: “Is this okay?”

It helps to remember that religious faith is only one of many tools in our ethical toolbox. Reason, empathy, and genuine concern for others work just as well—and sometimes better—at guiding us toward decent behavior. A constitution that promotes human rights and justice doesn’t have to cite a single verse from any holy book to protect citizens from harm. It simply stands on the premise that everyone deserves dignity and fairness. That’s a moral stance, but it’s not a theistic one.

Of course, none of this is meant to dismiss religion outright. For countless people, faith is a source of comfort and community. It can inspire individuals to be compassionate, altruistic, and patient—virtues the world could always use more of. But religion alone doesn’t guarantee any of this. We’ve all seen devout folks break the very rules they hold sacred, all the while asserting their piousness in public. So the next time someone claims a monopoly on virtue because of their faith—or because they follow Sanatan principles, or any other spiritual path—maybe it’s worth asking them to walk the talk, too.

What if we built our collective sense of right and wrong on something broader and more flexible than one particular scripture or tradition? Something that could welcome critique and evolve alongside society? We’d have less time spent squabbling over whose beliefs are correct and more time actually doing the right thing. Maybe that’s the sweet spot: a shared moral plane where faith can still be meaningful, but where we also trust our capacity for empathy and reason. We would still pray, chant, or meditate, but also think, question, and listen.

India’s diversity—and the swirl of ideas born from it—offers an ideal sandbox for such experiments. Faith is everywhere, but so are people hungry for fairness, dignity, and justice. When religion acts as a companion to those goals rather than a rigid ruler, it shines. And when we realize that morality needn’t hinge on religion alone, we free ourselves to root out injustice wherever it’s hiding—be it behind a deity’s idol or behind a desk in a government office.

Maybe that’s the real eternal truth: decency thrives when we agree to keep questioning, keep caring, and keep each other honest—no divine sanction required.