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Dharmic Values and Semitic Values

Celibacy, non-violence, and renunciation: these are the dharmic values that have shaped the Indian mind, and they stand immeasurably higher than the commandments of the desert, the jealous God of the Semites, or the rigid theologies of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. The contrast is stark. On the one side, we see the Buddha under the Bodhi tree, Jain monks sweeping the ground before their feet so as not to harm even an ant, and Hindu renouncers walking away from palaces and kingdoms in search of truth.
 On the other hand, we see Moses on Sinai, a people trembling before a thunderous God who hands down prohibitions as if they were military orders: ‘Thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not covet, thou shalt not murder.’ The first transforms the self; the second controls the tribe. One is liberation, the other submission.

What is celibacy if not the complete mastery of desire? To restrain the body, to channel its energies into contemplation, to turn lust into creative force—this is not a mere prohibition against adultery, it is an exalted spiritual conquest. The Semitic commandment says: “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” That is the law. The dharmic sage says: “Go beyond lust itself, conquer desire at the root, attain brahmacharya.” That is liberation. Law can only police the surface of human behavior; liberation transforms the human being from within.What is non-violence if not the highest ethic? In Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the rule is “thou shalt not kill”—but history shows otherwise. These religions are saturated with war. The Bible is drenched in blood: conquests, massacres, genocides committed in the name of Yahweh. Christianity unleashed crusades, inquisitions, and colonial violence. Islam expanded through jihad, conquest, and enslavement. Even the prohibition against killing is swallowed up in endless exceptions—wars of God, holy wars, divine punishments.
 Non-violence in dharma, by contrast, is not a legal rule, but a universal principle: ahimsa. It is not merely the absence of killing; it is compassion toward all beings, human and non-human alike. The Buddha did not command armies; he preached kindness. Mahavira did not call down fire from heaven; he taught the practice of restraint. Gandhi, standing in this dharmic lineage, wielded non-violence not as passivity but as the most potent weapon of human conscience. What Semitic prophet ever taught this?And what is renunciation if not the noblest answer to greed? The Semitic religions organize themselves around acquisition—land, cattle, power, and kingdoms. Even heaven is pictured as a reward of pleasures and abundance. The commandments forbid coveting your neighbor’s property, but they do not question property itself. They forbid lying, stealing, and murder, but not the lust for power or the addiction to conquest. Dharmic renunciation goes deeper. To walk away from possessions, from wealth, from the craving for status and domination—that is not mere law, that is spiritual victory. The sannyasi does not need tablets of stone. He dissolves the very hunger that tablets attempt to restrain.
The historical record reinforces the contrast. From India, we inherit the towering figures of renunciation and non-violence: the Buddha, who abandoned his princely palace; Mahavira, who practiced compassion to its absolute degree; Shankara, who renounced the world at eight to defend philosophy; and Gandhi, who faced an empire with nothing but truth and non-violence. 
From the Semitic world, we inherit prophets of conquest, men of war, and commandments enforced by fire and sword. Yahweh orders the extermination of whole tribes; Joshua slaughters Canaanites; Muhammad raises armies and spreads faith by jihad; Christian crusaders march with crosses on their shields and swords in their hands. Which legacy speaks more profoundly to human freedom and dignity? Which produces a universal ethic of compassion?

The dharmic path is not about obedience to an external law but about internal transformation. Celibacy is not repression; it is redirection. Non-violence is not weakness; it is moral strength. Renunciation is not poverty; it is freedom. The Semitic commandments are applicable for policing a tribe of shepherds, but they remain primitive. They are negative prohibitions: do not kill, do not steal, do not covet. Dharmic values are positive ideals, including cultivating compassion, conquering desire, and renouncing greed. They are aspirational, not prohibitive; liberating, not restricting.

One God is not a liberation. It is a monopoly. It is theology modeled on despotism: one ruler, one law, one people. It is politics in disguise, sanctifying power and obedience. The dharmic tradition, by contrast, never insisted on one God, one book, one prophet. It tolerated many paths, many gods, even no gods at all. A Buddhist can be an atheist, a Hindu can be a polytheist, a Jain can reject gods entirely, yet all participate in the same great civilizational conversation. That is freedom. That is pluralism. That is human dignity.

It is no accident, then, that the dharmic world has contributed sages of peace and renunciation, while the Semitic world has given us centuries of holy war. One tradition seeks to transform desire; the other attempts to regulate it through command. One tradition tries to overcome violence; the other blesses violence if it is in God’s name. One tradition asks us to conquer ourselves; the other demands we submit to another.

The choice is stark: tribal law or universal compassion, prohibition or transformation, obedience or freedom. Celibacy, non-violence, and renunciation stand higher, immeasurably higher, than the Ten Commandments, one God, or the desert religions. They belong not to one people but to humanity itself, for they speak to the universal human struggle against desire, violence, and greed. They are not decrees carved into stone, but truths discovered in the depths of the human spirit. And they remain humanity’s greatest hope for peace.