Hinduism Is Not a Religion: It’s a Civilization

The Fatal Misdefinition: How India’s Founders Mistook a Civilization for a Religion, The tragedy of modern India begins not with Partition, but with definition. The leaders who liberated India from the British Empire did not liberate the Indian mind from the Abrahamic framework. They replaced the colonial ruler but retained the colonial dictionary. In that dictionary, “religion” meant a creed, a book, a prophet, and an exclusive God. Hinduism has none of these and never needed them. Yet Nehru, Ambedkar, and even Gandhi accepted that India must have a “religion” called Hinduism, parallel to Islam or Christianity. That was their fatal error. They froze a civilization into a sect. They treated Sanātana Dharma, an open architecture of knowledge, as a dogma. And by doing so, they sentenced India to perpetual confusion between civilization and cult, between freedom and faith.

Hinduism is not a religion because it has no founder, no central church, and no excommunication. It is an evolving civilizational process, not a theological decree. The Vedas are not commandments but investigations; the Upanishads are not gospels but dialogues; the Gītā is not revelation but reasoning. It is a civilization of questions, not answers. In contrast, Abrahamic religions are closed systems built on divine authority and historical finality. When India’s founders equated Hinduism with such systems, they amputated its intellectual limb. They made Dharma appear like dogma and logic seem like faith. Once that illusion took root, secularism itself became a parody. For what does it mean to be “secular” in a civilization that was never “religious” in the Semitic sense?

Jawaharlal Nehru, steeped in Fabian socialism and Victorian rationalism, wanted to modernize India by divorcing it from what he thought was “Hindu superstition.” He did not see that Hindu civilization had its own rational tradition — one that produced Mīmāṃsā logic, Buddhist dialectics, and Nyāya empiricism long before Descartes or Hume were born. Ambedkar, educated in American legalism and Enlightenment rationalism, saw Hinduism through Protestant eyes — as a moral code that could be reformed by legislation. Gandhi, with his moral Christianity, thought of Hinduism as an ethical religion in dialogue with the Sermon on the Mount. Each of them, in their own way, baptized Hindu civilization into the Abrahamic category of “religion.” And from that baptism flowed every subsequent contradiction of the Indian state — secularism without theology, pluralism without philosophy, and tolerance without understanding.

The Indian Constitution reflects this confusion in its DNA. It recognizes Muslims, Christians, and Sikhs as “minorities” with special rights, as if Hinduism were a rival creed rather than the civilizational base of the subcontinent itself. It makes the majority responsible for minority welfare — a logic unknown to any civilization except one trying to imitate the West. Secularism, in this twisted framework, became not neutrality of the state but hostility toward the civilizational majority. The Constitution borrowed Western terms — liberty, equality, fraternity — but amputated the Dharmic equivalents: moksha, dharma, and sangha. It enshrined rights but ignored duties. It protected religions but neglected civilization. It built a state that could protect temples as monuments but not defend the philosophy that built them.

The word “religion” itself was imported violence. The British codified “Hindu law” as if it were a canon, freezing a fluid civilization into colonial categories. India’s leaders, instead of reversing that colonial project, sanctified it in the Constitution. They retained “Hindu” as a legal identity but stripped it of philosophical dignity. A thousand schools of inquiry — Vedānta, Yoga, Nyāya, Bauddha, Jain, Śaiva, Sāṃkhya — were reduced to one taxonomic word: Hindu. Thus, the spiritual cosmos of India was flattened into a census category. And by defining the civilization in terms of belief instead of knowledge, the framers turned the Indian mind into a tenant of its own heritage. The landlord remained the Abrahamic vocabulary.

This misdefinition explains the pathology of Indian secularism. If Hinduism is treated as a religion, then secularism means keeping it out of politics. But if Hinduism is a civilization, then removing it from politics means removing India from itself. The state can be neutral toward religion but not toward civilization. Yet India’s secular elites boast that they are “above religion,” when in reality they are merely ashamed of civilization. They ridicule the Mahābhārata as mythology but worship the Bible as history. They dismiss the Upanishads as mysticism but quote Freud and Marx as if they were new rishis. They are modern colonials wearing khadi. And their mental empire is still headquartered in Jerusalem, Mecca, and London — not in Kurukshetra, Nalanda, or Kanchipuram.

The fatal mistake deepened after independence when education became the new catechism. Textbooks taught Indians that “Hinduism” is a religion like Islam or Christianity, but with many gods instead of one. Philosophy was erased, replaced by folklore. The secular intellectual, armed with English vocabulary but starved of Sanskrit concepts, could not distinguish Dharma from religion, or Moksha from salvation. Universities that should have produced new Nāgārjunas or Śaṅkaras produced Nehruvian bureaucrats and Marxist propagandists. The Republic thus built temples of democracy on the ruins of its own metaphysics. A civilization that once argued between realism and idealism in Sanskrit now argues between Left and Right in bad English.

This confusion has political consequences. When Hindu civilization is mistaken for a religion, its defense is painted as “majoritarianism.” When its memory is revived, it is called “revivalism.” When it demands equality under law, it is accused of “intolerance.” This is how the very civilization that invented tolerance was declared intolerant by those who imported the concept of blasphemy. India’s so-called secularists, in defending “minority rights,” are defending the Abrahamic definition of religion. They are protecting the colonizer’s conceptual map, not the colonized’s cultural truth. Thus, India lives in a moral schizophrenia: Dharmic in soul, Abrahamic in syntax.

The solution is philosophical, not political. India must reclaim the original distinction between Dharma and Religion. Dharma is not belief; it is law — the law of causation, action, and consequence that governs cosmos and society alike. Religion seeks salvation through obedience; Dharma seeks liberation through knowledge. Religion demands uniformity; Dharma celebrates diversity. Religion fears doubt; Dharma is born of doubt. Once this distinction is restored, Indian secularism can be rebuilt as civilizational neutrality, not theological blindness. Then, and only then, will India stop mistaking its wisdom for superstition and its civilization for a creed.

The confusion between religion and civilization became the central operating myth of Indian democracy. Once the founders accepted Hinduism as a “religion,” the state automatically turned itself into an Abrahamic referee. It began dividing citizens into “majority” and “minority” as if India were a marketplace of competing churches. But the Hindu world was never organized as a church; it was organized as a civilization with countless streams. When a civilization is compressed into a religion, pluralism appears as fragmentation and secularism becomes suspicion. This is why Indian secularism never achieved neutrality—it achieved paralysis. The government that should have defended the civilizational core instead became the custodian of theological balance. And in trying to protect “religious harmony,” it abandoned civilizational integrity. The result was a Republic terrified of its own roots.

Consider the phrase “minority rights.” It was imported from European church politics, not Indian social philosophy. In Europe, minorities were persecuted sects—Protestants versus Catholics, Christians versus Jews. In India, there were no such sectarian wars until Islam arrived. The concept of “minority” thus smuggled an alien history into Indian law. The Constitution granted special privileges to minorities as if Hindus were a religious majority oppressing them. But Hindus were never a majority in that sense; they were the civilization itself, hosting every cult, language, and deity. By adopting the minority-majority binary, the Constitution converted civilizational diversity into demographic competition. The state began counting gods instead of cultivating wisdom. The census became the new theology, and population the new scripture. This arithmetic of victimhood still defines Indian politics.

The same intellectual error infected education policy. Because Hinduism was labeled a religion, its philosophy had to be excluded from secular curricula. Children could study Islam, Christianity, or Sikhism as “minority cultures,” but not Vedānta, Buddhism, or Jainism as civilizational thought. The universities that should have been laboratories of metaphysical reasoning became seminaries of borrowed ideologies. Marx replaced Nāgārjuna; Freud replaced Patañjali; and Derrida replaced Śaṅkara. The colonial anthropology of India was institutionalized as national education. Thus the very civilization that invented logic, grammar, and medicine became a spectator to its own amnesia. No other civilization has educated its children to despise their ancestors so thoroughly. And yet this was sold as progress—proof of India’s secular maturity. In truth, it was philosophical suicide in academic disguise.

This misdefinition also crippled the judiciary. Indian courts often quote Western precedents on “freedom of religion” as if Dharma were equivalent to belief. Cases concerning temple entry, cow slaughter, or conversion are judged not as civilizational questions but as theological disputes. The courts ask: is this “essential to religion”?—a phrase that would make no sense to a Dharmic mind. Dharma has no essentials; it evolves by reasoning. When judges decide what is “essential,” they turn philosophy into liturgy and inquiry into dogma. The result is a state-sponsored theology masquerading as secular law. The judiciary, instead of being neutral, becomes the new priesthood—deciding which rituals are holy and which are superstitions. A civilization that produced the logic of Nyāya now awaits enlightenment from English benches. Thus, colonial jurisprudence continues under saffron drapes.

Politically, this confusion enabled a culture of appeasement. Parties learned that Hindu restraint could be exploited while minority identity could be weaponized. Nehru’s Congress called it “secular balance,” Indira Gandhi perfected it as “vote-bank politics,” and later leaders industrialized it. To question Islamic fundamentalism became communalism; to mock Hindu tradition became progressivism. A civilization that had tolerated atheists, agnostics, and even anti-Vedic thinkers was accused of intolerance. Meanwhile, those who followed exclusivist creeds demanded—and received—special treatment in education, law, and personal codes. Thus, the political class built a democracy without cultural self-respect. It mistook guilt for virtue and surrender for harmony. The result is a secularism that kneels before theology and sneers at philosophy. No nation can survive that contradiction for long.

The social consequences have been equally corrosive. By misdefining Hinduism as a religion, Indian elites divided the people from their civilization. A Hindu child today knows the name of Jesus or Allah but not the meaning of Dharma or Karma. He learns about the Crusades and the Holocaust but not the debates of Nalanda or the councils of Pataliputra. He is taught to be ashamed of rituals without understanding their rational symbolism. He learns that “religion causes conflict” without learning that Dharma produced coexistence. Thus, an entire generation confuses modernity with mimicry. They wear the secular mask but speak in Abrahamic syntax. And behind that mask, the civilizational self gasps for air, reduced to tourist festivals and television gods. A civilization that once measured time in kalpas now measures itself in election cycles.

The fatal irony is that this borrowed secularism has failed even on its own terms. Far from reducing religious conflict, it has intensified it. By privileging theology over philosophy, the state empowered the most dogmatic voices within every community. Reformers and rationalists are marginalized, while clerics and mullahs thrive on state patronage. The politics of minority protection became the economics of clerical control. When religion becomes currency, fanaticism becomes investment. India’s founders imagined secularism as peace; it has delivered perpetual tension. They mistook tolerance for submission and pluralism for partition of privileges. The Abrahamic lens that once divided Europe now divides India from itself. Every riot, every law on conversion or reservation, is an echo of that original definitional sin.

Yet the remedy is still available, written in the DNA of the civilization itself. The Indian mind must return to its own categories. Instead of “religion,” speak of Dharma. Instead of “secularism,” speak of Sarva-Dharma-Sambhāva—not equality of religions, but recognition of all paths as expressions of one law. Instead of “minority rights,” speak of Nyāya—justice that arises from context, not census. Instead of “freedom of belief,” speak of Moksha—liberation from ignorance, not allegiance to creed. These are not poetic replacements; they are philosophical revolutions. To decolonize India is to de-Abrahamize its language of self-understanding. Only then can the Republic evolve from mimicry to maturity. Only then can freedom become more than the British exit—it can become the Indian awakening.

Every civilization is ultimately defined by the vocabulary through which it explains itself. India’s tragedy is that it explains itself in borrowed words. “Religion,” “secularism,” “minority,” “majority,” “blasphemy,” and even “tolerance” are linguistic fossils of Europe’s theological wars. They carry the smell of papal decrees and desert prophets, not the rhythm of the Upanishads. The Republic speaks in a grammar of guilt, not of wisdom. It quotes Jefferson but forgets Janaka, reads Locke but ignores Yājñavalkya, and mistakes church–state separation for spiritual maturity. This linguistic colonization is deeper than economic or political dependence; it is metaphysical servitude. As long as India defines itself by Abrahamic categories, it will continue to behave like a convert civilization—pretending to be secular while subconsciously apologizing for being Hindu. De-colonization must therefore begin not in textbooks or politics, but in the very syntax of the Indian mind.

A true Dharmic secularism would not fear civilization; it would arise from it. It would treat the state as a moral institution rooted in Rita—cosmic order—not as an atheist bureaucracy. It would see pluralism not as the coexistence of rival truths but as the unfolding of one law in many forms. The Rig Veda’s declaration, Ekam Sat Vipra Bahudha Vadanti (“Truth is one, the wise call it by many names”), is a statement of metaphysical democracy, not religious relativism. That principle, and not European secularism, is the foundation of Indian freedom. A Dharmic republic would recognize every path—atheist, theist, materialist, spiritual—as legitimate explorations within civilization. It would reject both the theocratic state and the nihilistic state. It would place philosophy above prophecy, knowledge above belief, and inquiry above obedience. In short, it would return to the civilizational DNA of India before Abrahamic infection.

What would this look like in practice? It would mean dismantling the legal architecture that defines Indians primarily by religion. Personal laws would yield to universal civil codes based on justice, not scripture. Education would teach comparative philosophy instead of comparative theology. Temples, mosques, and churches would exist, but none would claim veto power over reason. State policy would draw inspiration from Artha Shastra and Dhamma, not from imported Marxist or missionary economics. The goal of governance would shift from managing diversity to cultivating wisdom. Instead of appeasing communities, the state would empower citizens as seekers. Instead of policing faith, it would protect freedom of inquiry. Such a state would not be “Hindu” in the sectarian sense; it would be Dharmic in the civilizational sense. That is the only secularism compatible with India’s soul.

The psychological transformation required is immense. For centuries, Indians have been trained to think of self-assertion as communalism and self-respect as chauvinism. This inferiority is the final victory of colonial theology. When a Christian defends his faith, it is called conviction; when a Hindu defends his civilization, it is called fanaticism. When Muslims demand sharia, it is cultural rights; when Hindus demand equality, it is fascism. Such double standards persist because India still operates inside the Western moral frame. The antidote is not imitation but inversion: to restore the intellectual confidence that reason and compassion are native to Dharma, not imported from Europe. India must learn to critique its traditions through philosophy, not through colonial psychology. Reform is not rejection but reinterpretation. And liberation begins with the courage to define oneself without borrowed shame.

The economic dimension of this error is rarely noticed but equally fatal. When a civilization is misdefined, its productivity and innovation are also misdirected. The Dharmic worldview sees wealth (Artha) and desire (Kama) as legitimate pursuits, balanced by duty (Dharma) and liberation (Moksha). The Abrahamic worldview, in contrast, views wealth with suspicion or sanctifies it through divine approval. Post-colonial India inherited the guilt of wealth without its discipline. Nehru’s socialism fused biblical morality with Marxist envy, producing decades of bureaucratic poverty. A civilizational economics rooted in Dharma would treat creation of wealth as a sacred duty, not as sin. It would revive the idea that prosperity is the natural companion of virtue when guided by wisdom. By redefining itself as a civilization rather than a religion, India can rediscover the spiritual basis of material success.

Equally urgent is the intellectual revolution. The restoration of Indian thought must begin with language. Sanskrit should not be worshipped; it should be used. English can remain a tool, but it must stop being the master. Philosophy departments should teach Nyāya alongside Aristotle, Śaṅkara alongside Hume, Nāgārjuna alongside Kant. The civilizational debate between realism and idealism, reason and perception, logic and intuition—all of which flourished in India—must re-enter global discourse. A nation that forgets its philosophers becomes a nation ruled by clerks. The rediscovery of Indian reason is not nostalgia; it is necessity. For without intellectual sovereignty, political sovereignty is cosmetic. A colonized mind cannot defend a free nation. India’s independence remains incomplete until it liberates its categories of thought.

The cultural renewal must accompany moral courage. For too long, India’s elites have practiced selective pride: quoting the Gītā on stage but sneering at it in classrooms. They chant “Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam” in speeches while appeasing theocrats in policy. This schizophrenia must end. Pride is not arrogance; it is acknowledgment of inheritance. The world does not respect nations that apologize for their civilization. Europe celebrates Athens and Rome; China venerates Confucius and Lao Tzu; only India blushes when it names Krishna or Buddha. The way forward is not militant religiosity but confident civilization. To say that Hinduism is a civilization is not exclusion—it is expansion. It invites all who live on this soil to partake in its evolving rational humanism. The future of India is not theocracy; it is philosophy as public life.

Ultimately, this debate is about freedom. The founders of modern India sought political freedom but accepted intellectual captivity. They freed the body but chained the mind to alien categories. To correct that error is to complete the independence movement. The next revolution must therefore be philosophical—a revolution of vocabulary, education, and self-definition. To be truly secular is to transcend the need for religion altogether, not to persecute civilization. The Republic must not merely tolerate Dharma; it must understand it as the grammar of its own existence. Only then will the Indian state stop being an embarrassed imitator of Europe and become a confident continuation of its own lineage. Only then will liberty regain its metaphysical foundation in knowledge, not creed.

If India fails to correct this definitional error, it will remain a nation in permanent exile from itself. Its politics will continue to oscillate between guilt and grievance, its intellectuals between imitation and inferiority, and its civilization between memory and mimicry. But if it succeeds—if it reclaims the right to define itself as a civilization—it will achieve what no country since ancient Greece has achieved: the reunion of reason and reverence. Then, at last, the tricolor will fly not over a territory still haunted by colonial theology, but over a civilization finally conscious of its own eternity.

Citations

1. Romila Thapar, Cultural Pasts: Essays in Early Indian History (Oxford University Press, 2000).
2. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, The Hindu View of Life (Harper Collins, 1990 reprint).
3. B. R. Ambedkar, Annihilation of Caste (1936).
4. Jawaharlal Nehru, The Discovery of India (1946).
5. Patrick Olivelle (ed.), Upaniṣads (Oxford World’s Classics, 1996).
6. Werner Menski, Hindu Law: Beyond Tradition and Modernity (Oxford University Press, 2003).
7. A. L. Basham, The Wonder That Was India (Sidgwick & Jackson, 1954).
8. Amartya Sen, The Argumentative Indian (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2005).
9. P. V. Kane, History of Dharmaśāstra (Vols. 1–5, Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1930–1962).
10. S. N. Balagangadhara, The Heathen in His Blindness… (Brill, 1994).