Sadhvi Bhagwati Saraswati ji is a renowned spiritual leader, author, and motivational speaker based in Rishikesh, India. Originally from Los Angeles and a graduate of Stanford University, Sadhviji has been ordained into the sacred order of Sanyas by her guru, His Holiness Pujya Swami Chidanand Saraswatiji, and has been living at Parmarth Niketan Ashram for the past twenty-seven years. She oversees various humanitarian projects, teaches meditation, lectures, writes, counsels individuals and families, and serves as a unique female voice of spiritual leadership throughout India and the world.
- The author of the #1 bestselling memoir, Hollywood to the Himalayas: A Journey of Healing and Transformation.
- International Director, Parmarth Niketan, Rishikesh, one of India’s largest spiritual institutions.
- Secretary-General of the Global Interfaith WASH Alliance, an international interfaith organization dedicated to clean water, sanitation, and hygiene.
- President of Divine Shakti Foundation, a foundation that runs free schools, vocational training programs, and empowerment programs.
- Director of the world-famous International Yoga Festival at Parmarth Niketan Ashram, Rishikesh—which has been covered in Time, CNN, the New York Times and other prestigious publications and has been addressed by both the Prime Minister and Vice President of India.
- Co-President of Religions for Peace and serves on the United Nations Advisory Council on Religion and on the steering committees of the International Partnership for Religion and Sustainable Development (PaRD) and the Moral Imperative to End Extreme Poverty, a campaign by the United Nations and World Bank.
- She was also the Managing Editor for the monumental project of the 11-volume Encyclopedia of Hinduism.
Sadhvi Ji was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award by U.S. President Joe Biden for her lifelong commitment to volunteer service.
This article is based on an interview with Sadhvi Ji on the ‘Dharma Explorers platform. The complete recording of that interview can be accessed at Dharma Explorers: An Enlightening Conversation with Sadhvi Bhagwati Saraswati – Hindu Dvesha
Your autobiography “From Hollywood to the Himalayas” chronicles a remarkable journey, starting from a privileged but troubled childhood in America, excelling academically at Stanford, and then experiencing a life-changing trip to India. Could you share some highlights from your life’s journey?
My journey has been one filled with unexpected grace. My discovery of a deeper meaning in life happened quite by chance. I grew up in an affluent household, blessed with all sorts of amenities and advantages. From an early age, I had access to the best things that Western culture could offer. My family had plenty of money, resources, and opportunities to give me almost anything I could desire.
However, nobody had ever told me that life wasn’t just about material wealth or comfort. Nobody had explained that true happiness and peace didn’t come from these things. As far as I was concerned, all the luxuries and opportunities I had were just part of life. They were nice to have, but ultimately, they were just distractions. I was 25 years old at the time, and I wasn’t a religious person. Religion or spirituality didn’t really play any role in my life—I didn’t miss it, nor did I feel the need for it. I was deeply engaged in academic pursuits, working toward a PhD in pediatric neuropsychology.
My decision to travel, which eventually led me on this journey of self-discovery, was influenced by a somewhat unrelated aspect of my life: my diet. I had been a strict vegetarian since childhood, a choice I made on my own despite being raised in a non-vegetarian family. Being a vegetarian was something I took seriously, much to my mother’s amusement. Whenever we dined out, she would joke with the waitstaff about needing extra time to handle my inquiries regarding dish ingredients like soups and sauces. I was always meticulous, ensuring nothing I ate contained eggs, chicken stock, or non-vegetarian ingredients, commonly used in restaurants that aren’t exclusively vegetarian.
The idea of traveling to India came up casually. We were just beginning to think about the trip, which was still an idea, not a set plan. Though incidental at the time, this trip to India would turn out to be a pivotal turning point in my life, leading me to discover aspects of life that my privileged upbringing had never exposed me to.
But as I approached the river [Ma Ganga], something profound happened—it felt as though a veil had been lifted not just from my eyes but from every aspect of how I perceived and understood the world and myself.
When the idea of traveling was proposed, I only agreed because of my strict vegetarian lifestyle, and I had no idea what to expect beyond that. It was in 1996, and there were no online resources like Google to guide us, so we relied on a Lonely Planet guidebook, which was about 500 pages long. When we arrived in Delhi, I randomly flipped through the book and spotted Rishikesh. It seemed like a good choice because it wasn’t too far from Delhi and had mountains, a river, and yoga—all things that appealed to me. We thought we’d start there and then decide where to go next.
Upon reaching Rishikesh, our first stop was the banks of the Ganga River. At that time, I didn’t know the river was considered sacred; I only knew that I was hot, tired, and in need of refreshment. I wanted to dip my feet in the water to cool off and relax. But as I approached the river, something profound happened—it felt as though a veil had been lifted not just from my eyes but from every aspect of how I perceived and understood the world and myself.
Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I faced various struggles, leading me to feel that I was fundamentally inadequate. I believed I needed to overachieve, earn straight A’s, constantly prove my worth, and feel deserving of anything. But there, by the river, I experienced an overwhelmingly powerful sense of the Divine. Everything around me, including myself, seemed imbued with divinity. For the first time in my life, I entertained the idea that I was divine, that I was one with God, and that God was within me. It was an extraordinary moment of awakening.
This initial experience marked the beginning of a transformative week to ten days during which remarkable things continued to happen to me. These events led me to my guru, His Holiness Pujya Swami Chidananda Saraswati Ji Maharaj, and to Parmarth Niketan Ashram, where I felt an instant sense of belonging. I realized that this wasn’t just a random stop; this place was where I was meant to be.
Following this epiphany, my guru eventually instructed me to return and complete my academic semester and then my degree. But since then, I have lived here almost continuously. The blessings I’ve received here have been incredible.
In June 2000, a significant milestone occurred—I was initiated into sannyasa, a life of renunciation. I had felt a pull towards this path almost from the beginning of my journey, but Pujya Swamiji advised patience, insisting I first receive my parents’ blessings. Having secured their approval, Swamiji graciously bestowed upon me this profound blessing in 2000.
Looking back, I realize that my journey to and life in Rishikesh has been filled with unexpected turns and deep spiritual enrichment. It has truly been a journey of incredible grace and transformation, a testament to the unexpected paths life can take us on.
Can you describe your emotions and experiences when transitioning from your familiar identity to something quite alien?
I was raised in a Jewish family, but we were not particularly religious. We attended synagogue mainly because it was important to my grandmother. Our local synagogue designated the first Friday evening of every month as “family evening,” and attending these services became a routine primarily to honor her wishes. For me, Judaism was more about culture and family than faith. Everything we did was out of respect for our family, grandparents, ancestors, and the historical struggles and triumphs of the Jewish people.
Our major holidays, like Hanukkah and Passover, were observed not just as religious rituals but as moments that commemorated significant historical events for the Jewish people and Israel. These holidays were meaningful because they connected us to our past, community, and lands that held our history. However, discussions about God were almost nonexistent; it was more about history, culture, ancestors, land, and people. Whenever we went to synagogue, and the rabbi started to deliver a sermon, that was my cue—along with my friends—to sneak out. We’d usually gossip and giggle in the bathrooms, effectively missing every sermon.
This experience did not displace the Jewish conception of God with a Hindu one but expanded my understanding of divinity. No one ever suggested I should abandon my Jewish beliefs. Instead, I was encouraged to embrace an expansion of my spiritual awareness. This new understanding of the Divine filled what had previously felt like an empty space in my spiritual life.
Thus, my childhood and adolescence passed without any real spiritual or divine experiences. That changed dramatically when I found myself on the banks of the Ganga River. It was there, far from my cultural roots, that I experienced a profound sense of the Divine. This was not a result of a gradual introduction but a sudden, powerful realization during a Ganga Aarti—a ritual I did not understand at the time, as I knew neither Sanskrit nor Hindi and was unfamiliar with the mantras being chanted. Yet, the Aarti’s sheer spiritual power opened my heart inexplicably, connecting me deeply with the Divine.
This experience did not displace the Jewish conception of God with a Hindu one but expanded my understanding of divinity. No one ever suggested I should abandon my Jewish beliefs. Instead, I was encouraged to embrace an expansion of my spiritual awareness. This new understanding of the Divine filled what had previously felt like an empty space in my spiritual life. This happened in a Hindu context, yes, on the sacred banks of a river revered in Hinduism, but the impact was universal, enriching my spiritual life in a way that transcended a single faith’s boundary.
Upon returning to America, I found that this newfound connection to the Divine accompanied me, even into the synagogue during Jewish holidays. The divine presence I had encountered on the Ganga was not confined to one location or religion; it was always with me everywhere.
In Hinduism, particularly in the traditions I was learning about, there is an understanding that the Divine is infinite—that there is nothing but God. I discussed this concept often, especially during the evening Aarthi. Hindu Dharma, as I came to understand, does not strictly conform to labels of polytheism or monotheism. Instead, it embraces an all-encompassing divinity.
Having been raised in a tradition where imagining God in any form is considered almost sacrilegious, the ability to visualize and connect with God through various forms and deities in Hinduism—like Krishna, Ram, Hanuman, Shiva, and the Goddess Ganga—was transformative. It allowed me a tangible connection to the Divine that was deeply fulfilling. To be able to close my eyes and visualize these deities, to feel their presence and to relate to them not just as abstract concepts but as personal and accessible entities, was an incredible blessing.
Moreover, participating in Hindu practices like singing the Hanuman Chalisa, meditating at the feet of deities like Shankar Bhagwan, and engaging in devotional activities brought me profound joy and a deeper sense of spiritual ecstasy. These experiences enriched my spiritual journey, showing me the beauty of connecting with the Divine in multiple forms and through various expressions of devotion.
In summary, my spiritual journey has been a remarkable evolution from a cultural adherence to Judaism to embracing a broader, more inclusive understanding of the Divine through Hindu practices. This journey has profoundly impacted my understanding of spirituality, making it a deeply personal and transformative part of my life.
How did your family and friends react to your transformation?
Initially, my family and friends were extremely worried when I decided to travel to India. They were concerned because it seemed so sudden and unexpected. The idea that I had just gone off to another country, leaving behind everything familiar, made them think the worst. They feared that I had been brainwashed or even kidnapped by some cult. This worry was compounded by the fact that back then, communication wasn’t as easy as today; there was no video calling or FaceTime to show them that I was alright. We had agreed that I would call home every Sunday evening to check-in.
During the first call, I spoke to them from Delhi. I told them about visiting the Red Fort and finding a place that served decent filtered coffee and that we hadn’t had any stomach issues. It was a normal conversation, nothing out of the ordinary. However, by the following week, my tone had completely changed. I was excitedly talking about my experiences with God and the Ganga River. From their perspective, my sudden intense spirituality must have sounded alarming, considering I had never expressed such thoughts before.
My mother was particularly concerned. She was ready to hop on a plane with a team specialized in deprogramming people from cults to rescue me. She even contacted a friend in Pune for help. She explained to him that she believed I had been kidnapped and brainwashed, and she needed his assistance to arrange for police help when she arrived to carry out the rescue.
Her friend, naturally worried, agreed to help but needed more details. He asked for the name of the ashram and the Swami in charge to coordinate with the police. My mother only knew the ashram as Parmarth Niketan and referred to the spiritual leader as Swamiji, not knowing his full name. On learning the ashram’s name, her friend in Pune responded unexpectedly. He told her that if the Swamiji running Parmarth Niketan had allowed me to stay, it would be a blessing for not just me but for our entire family for generations. This statement from her friend significantly calmed her down.
This episode wasn’t revealed to me until about 15 years later when my mom finally shared the story. Initially, everyone was understandably concerned, but the reassurance from her friend made a big difference. Later, Pujya Swamiji, the leader of the ashram, further eased everyone’s worries. He insisted that I return home temporarily.
Swamiji’s condition for my stay at the ashram was that I had to return to my life in the U.S. and continue my education, achieving high grades. He explained that if I chose a spiritual path over a conventional life, it couldn’t be seen as running away or failing. He stressed that opting for spirituality should come from a position of strength and success, not from a lack of options or failures in life. This approach, he said, would ensure that my choice was respected and taken seriously rather than being dismissed as an escape from problems.
Following his advice, I went back and completed my semester, maintaining my straight-A record. This achievement demonstrated to my family and friends that I hadn’t been coerced or brainwashed; I had consciously chosen a spiritual path while still excelling in my secular life.
Over the years, the support from my family and friends has only grown. Many who were just classmates or acquaintances before have become close disciples and followers, deeply touched and transformed by the spiritual journey I embarked upon. My relationship with them has evolved into one where they not only understand but also respect and cherish the spiritual path I have chosen. It’s been an incredible blessing to be a channel and reflector of the light and wisdom I found on this journey, sharing it with others and seeing its positive impact on their lives as well.
Could you share more about your magical experience in Rishikesh, where putting your feet in the Ganga felt like an out-of-body experience, and what specifically about this experience made you stay in the ashram?
It was a profound experience, and I often think about how it was all made possible by the grace of the Ganga. There’s potential for experiences like this for everyone. What set my experience apart wasn’t that it was unique but rather that I had the openness and courage to embrace the truth when it presented itself. Many encounter moments that could deeply change us, but too often, our minds interfere. We might think, “That was nice, but now I need to get back to my responsibilities—the job, the mortgage, and so on.” We don’t fully allow ourselves to be immersed in the depth of such experiences.
What’s particularly sad about this reluctance is that embracing a profound spiritual moment doesn’t necessarily mean abandoning your current life. For me, my duty—my Dharma—was to stay at the ashram. However, this isn’t the case for everyone. Not everyone who has a spiritual awakening is meant to leave everything behind. Our dharmic texts, the Shastras, mostly speak of rishis and sages who were householders. It’s relatively rare to find stories of those who were monks or lived in complete celibacy. This illustrates that profound spiritual engagement isn’t just for those who withdraw from the world.
Yet, many people resist these moments of connection because they fear the changes such experiences might bring to their lives. They worry about what it means to truly open themselves to the divine presence in everything, including within themselves. For me, the reaction was intense; I was overwhelmed with emotions, I found myself crying for weeks, I struggled to eat, and sleep was nearly impossible. It was a deeply physical as well as spiritual reaction.
I recall lying in my bed in the ashram, feeling so much heat emanating from my body that I worried about explaining to Pujya Swamiji how I might burn a hole through the wooden bed frame. If I lay on my stomach, I felt as if simply turning over could cause the walls and ceiling to crumble because of the intensity of the energy I felt. It was a tremendously expansive and divine experience.
However, I think many people start to feel something similar—the beginning of a deep, spiritual experience—but then our analytical minds kick in. We begin to label and judge the experience, try to rationalize it, or even talk about it too much. Nowadays, we might even post about it on social media, which is often the quickest way to disconnect ourselves from the depth of the moment.
If we could just let these moments of ecstatic union unfold without rushing to define or share them, more of us might fully experience them. Whether on the banks of the Ganga or any other place that might seem ordinary, the potential for profound spiritual connection exists everywhere. Allowing ourselves to truly be in that moment and delve deeply into the experience without pushing it away could open up many more of us to such transformations. I wish more people could understand and embrace this to let the divine experience envelop them as it did me, transforming their understanding of life and their place in the world.
Do you think you were chosen for this experience?
It’s an intriguing question. I don’t believe that God plays favorites, but rather that I was given the experience I needed to wake up and embrace my path truly. If such a profound experience hadn’t struck me, I probably wouldn’t have stayed on this path. Sometimes, people speak about a gentle ‘touch of God.’ I often joke that I might have missed those subtler signs, so God had to metaphorically hit me over the head with a baseball bat to get my attention. This was just how I needed to be reached to fulfill my purpose. Others might be more sensitive, open, or attuned to the spiritual, experiencing lighter, softer nudges guiding them toward their own Dharma. For me, it required something unmistakably powerful to make me see and understand my calling.
Can you tell us about the various projects you are involved in to improve the world and offer guidance to our audience on how they can contribute to making the world a better place?
The concept of ‘seva,’ or service, is central to my understanding and practice of spirituality. Seva is not just about doing good deeds; it’s about purifying our senses, thoughts, bodies, and intellect. It helps us remove the veil of ignorance and illusion that often clouds our perceptions.
Seva is a spiritual practice that serves God through serving others. When we engage in seva, we don’t do it because we see ourselves as great humanitarians or because we want to earn some spiritual brownie points. It’s not about doing it for praise or a reward. The essence of seva is to serve selflessly and see it as a spiritual discipline that allows us to be instruments of the divine.
Seva is a spiritual practice that serves God through serving others. When we engage in seva, we don’t do it because we see ourselves as great humanitarians or because we want to earn some spiritual brownie points. It’s not about doing it for praise or a reward. The essence of seva is to serve selflessly and see it as a spiritual discipline that allows us to be instruments of the divine.
From the Bhagavad Gita, we learn a powerful lesson from Lord Krishna, who teaches us to offer everything we do to God. He advises us to see ourselves merely as instruments in the divine plan and to keep offering our actions without attachment to the outcomes. This teaching is crucial because, without this mindset, even good deeds can become a source of ego. We might start thinking we’re better than others because we’re doing more or feel entitled to some recognition or reward. This isn’t just unhelpful; it’s spiritually regressive. It leads us away from the true path of spiritual progress and gets us caught up in self-importance and separation.
Seva should be approached from the perspective of ‘self serving self.’ When one part of your body hurts, another part compensates automatically. For instance, if you injure your right leg, your left leg naturally takes on more weight to help you keep moving. This isn’t because the left leg wants praise or recognition; it does so because it’s all part of the same body. This understanding of interconnectedness and selfless service is what we aim for in Seva.
At our foundation, led by Pujya Swamiji, we don’t sit around deciding what good project to take on next based solely on our ideas. Instead, we respond to the needs that arise, guided by what we perceive as divine will. Our projects include running free day schools and residential Gurukul programs. We focus on women’s empowerment through vocational training and offer a wide range of free medical care services at our clinic in Parmarth Niketan and rural villages. Our environmental initiatives address water, sanitation, hygiene, climate change, and tree plantation. We’re also deeply involved in disaster relief, responding to emergencies as needed, from rebuilding villages after tsunamis to establishing orphanages and women’s centers.
For instance, during a visit to the sacred lands of Mansarovar and Mount Kailash in 1998, Pujya Swamiji noticed the dire conditions people faced. There was a lack of basic facilities, and people were suffering. Observing this need, he initiated the construction of ashrams and a medical clinic to provide immediate assistance. This wasn’t planned; it was a response to an urgent need he saw during his visit.
Another significant project that arose from a need to clarify and share our religious traditions was the creation of the first Encyclopedia of Hinduism. This massive undertaking was inspired by the misunderstandings and misinformation about Hinduism that Pujya Swamiji encountered in the West. He realized the importance of having a comprehensive resource that could educate people about the vast aspects of Hinduism, not just the theological but also the cultural aspects like art, architecture, dance, and music. The encyclopedia, which involved a thousand scholars worldwide, took 25 years to complete and is a testament to our commitment to spreading knowledge and understanding.
Our approach to service and projects is simple: We say ‘yes’ to whatever the divine places before us. We don’t have a rigid five-year plan; we plan to remain open and responsive to the needs that arise. This way of living and serving ensures that our actions are aligned with our spiritual values and that we continue to serve as true instruments of the divine without ego or attachment getting in the way.
In essence, seva is about letting go of our individual desires and focusing on the bigger picture, recognizing that we are part of a larger divine play. It’s about continually offering ourselves up to serve, help, and heal in whatever way we can, according to the needs that present themselves. This is the heart of our spiritual practice and the foundation of our community’s work.
How do you think society is impacted when modern pressures emphasize the pursuit of wealth (artha) and pleasure (kama) at the expense of Dharma (duty) and Moksha (liberation), which are traditionally supposed to guide our lives?
Certainly, understanding our spiritual journey is essential, and recognizing the context we’re in helps a lot. First, we are living in the Kali Yuga, an era marked by materialism and spiritual struggle. Even though this age is challenging, our spiritual teachings consistently remind us of our true purpose.
Our scriptures frequently mention that our lives aim to fulfill our Dharma and ultimately attain Moksha, or liberation. They also caution us about getting entangled in Maya, the illusion that the material world is all there is. We shouldn’t be surprised that we often find ourselves wrapped up in this illusion, but it serves as a reminder of why we practice spiritual disciplines like meditation, prayer, seva (selfless service), and studying holy texts.
The human mind, especially in the Kali Yuga, naturally gravitates towards desires and the pursuit of more wealth, pleasure, and everything. This inclination isn’t just a simple preference; it’s deeply rooted in our basic, almost animalistic instincts. These instincts push us towards hedonism, the pursuit of sensual pleasures and immediate gratification.
However, our Dharma offers numerous ways to transcend these base instincts. At Parmarth, for example, we perform yagna (a fire ceremony) twice daily. This ritual is not just a physical act; it’s a profound spiritual practice. The term ‘yagna’ in Sanskrit means ‘sacrifice,’ but unlike other traditions where sacrifice might involve offering an animal or other beings, our concept of sacrifice is about surrendering the lower, animalistic aspects of ourselves. This includes our primal fears, desires, and reactive instincts—the parts of us that operate in a survival mode, which are remnants of our evolutionary past.
During these yagna ceremonies, we symbolically offer these lower qualities into the fire, asking the Divine to purify us and remove these impulses that are not our true selves. At the core, we recognize that we are already divine (‘Aham Brahmasmi’—I am the Divine), but our daily practices help us live out this truth, free from the pull of our lower natures.
These rituals are constant reminders to keep the divine at the center of our lives. For instance, sitting around the sacred fire during yagna or placing a Tilak on the forehead is not merely ceremonial. Placing the Tilak at the Ajna Chakra (the space between the eyebrows) is meant to activate our ‘third eye’—the spiritual eye that sees beyond the physical and dualistic world that our two physical eyes perceive. This third eye perceives the divine essence in all things, transcending greed, lust, jealousy, and other base emotions triggered by viewing the world as merely a collection of objects to be used or conquered.
By engaging in these practices—be it yagna, Aarthi, Kirtan, or attending temple services—we remind ourselves to view life and its challenges through a spiritual lens rather than a materialistic one. These practices are designed to keep us connected to our spiritual goals of Dharma and Moksha, liberating us from constant slavery to our desires and fears.
If we neglect these spiritual practices, we risk losing ourselves in the metaphorical forest of illusion and materialism. Just as a person lost in an actual forest can become disoriented and fearful, losing sight of our spiritual path can lead us into confusion and suffering. Therefore, engaging in these practices is not just beneficial; it’s essential for navigating the complexities of life in the Kali Yuga and staying aligned with our true purpose.
In essence, our spiritual practices are not optional extras; they are necessary tools that guide us, keep us on the path of righteousness, and help us achieve a state of peace and liberation from the world’s materialistic traps. By continually engaging in these practices, we remind ourselves of what’s truly important and keep our spiritual goals in focus, even amidst the distractions of modern life.
After more than a thousand years under foreign rule, the Hindu soul is reconnecting with its ancient heritage. However, we face a significant challenge with the loss of epistemology; terms critical to our culture and civilization have been poorly translated. What advice would you give to help recover our civilizational narrative?
I find myself pondering deeply on this topic, and I’ve arrived at two distinct viewpoints. Firstly, there is a compelling reason to revert to traditional Sanskrit terms in our discourse. With its profound semantic richness and depth, Sanskrit isn’t just a language; it’s a vessel of our heritage, much like how one’s mother tongue is a core part of one’s identity. Using Sanskrit terms, we connect more authentically with our culture and allow others, including non-Hindi speakers and non-Indians, to immerse themselves in the experience fully. This immersion into Sanskrit is more than just theoretical. Take, for instance, our annual International Yoga Festival held on the banks of the Ganges. It attracts participants from nearly 100 countries, sometimes more. During the festival, attendees from diverse backgrounds enthusiastically embrace and use Sanskrit words as they integrate these into their yoga practices. This shows that people from all over the world can indeed learn and love to use them.
…there is a compelling reason to revert to traditional Sanskrit terms in our discourse. With its profound semantic richness and depth, Sanskrit isn’t just a language; it’s a vessel of our heritage, much like how one’s mother tongue is a core part of one’s identity.
However, while there’s a strong case for preserving the purity of Sanskrit in our spiritual and cultural expressions, we also need to consider the practical aspects of communication, especially when sharing our spiritual truths globally. ‘Sanatan,’ often translated simply as ‘eternal,’ does not just imply unbounded by time but also by space. What is true in one part of the world—Kurukshetra or Tokyo—is universally true, transcending geographical boundaries. Our teachings, which I believe hold the keys to addressing many of the world’s pressing issues, must be understandable to everyone, regardless of their cultural or linguistic background.
The principle of ‘Sanatana Dharma’ encompasses far more than can be captured in simple translations. It’s about realizing the oneness that underlies all existence—a concept that directly counters the myriad forms of suffering in the world today, such as depression, anxiety, addiction, societal conflicts, and even environmental issues like climate change. These problems often stem from a perceived sense of separation: from each other, from the divine, from nature. Recognizing our inherent unity—the core tenet of Sanatana Dharma—can lead to profound healing and transformation, encouraging us to live in harmony with the world around us.
Yet, to convey these deep truths effectively across cultural and language barriers, we must find ways to translate Sanskrit terms into English while retaining their nuanced meanings. If we tell someone, “You are not the body; you are Atma,” and they respond with, “What does that mean?” we must explain what it means. It’s not enough to rely solely on the original terminology, which may be lost on those unfamiliar with Sanskrit. We need to bridge the gap by offering explanations that capture the essence of these concepts, even if they cannot convey all the depth.
For instance, explaining ‘Atma’ simply as ‘soul’ might not encompass all its philosophical depth, but it’s a start in helping someone unfamiliar with the concept understand its basic premise. This approach doesn’t dilute the original teachings but makes them accessible to a broader audience. Similarly, explaining terms like ‘Karma’ as more than just ‘action’ or ‘fate’ but as a deeper law of moral causation helps people grasp the practical implications of their actions in line with spiritual principles.
Thus, while I advocate for using Sanskrit to preserve our cultural integrity and depth, we must also embrace flexibility in communicating these concepts. We should not shun English translations but use them as bridges to bring people closer to understanding profound spiritual truths. This balance between preserving our linguistic heritage and making our spiritual teachings accessible is crucial. It allows us to engage with a global audience effectively and helps them integrate these teachings into their lives, potentially transforming their understanding of the world and their place within it.
In essence, our approach should be inclusive, using language as a tool not just for communication but for teaching, sharing, and embracing all those who seek wisdom, irrespective of their linguistic or cultural background.
Considering the ongoing global conflicts and the challenges posed by religious differences, where some philosophies or sects may consider dialogue with others as blasphemy, can religion truly play a role in achieving peace? How can we realistically work towards a conflict-free world we all aspire to?
We must recognize the need to shift from dogma to Dharma in our approach to religion and spirituality. Often rigid and divisive, dogma tends to create more boundaries and borders between us. It perpetuates an “us versus them” mentality—what I believe versus what you believe. On the other hand, Dharma, particularly a dharma of oneness, encourages us to see the fundamental connections among all beings. This shift is not just philosophical but is immensely practical and necessary.
Consider the environment, which knows no religious or political boundaries. The air we breathe, the water we drink, and the soil that grows our food do not change based on who we are or where we come from. Pollution affects us all equally—rich or poor, Hindu or Muslim. It’s a universal issue that unites us in our vulnerability to the environment’s condition. This realization forms one of the core principles of the Global Interfaith WASH Alliance, which brings together religious leaders and communities to address water, sanitation, and hygiene. The underlying truth is that diseases like diarrhea and cholera don’t discriminate. A polluted river in your town affects everyone it touches.
This alliance is based on the understanding that environmental issues require us to collaborate across all types of borders and boundaries. We must work together to ensure clean water for all because our very health depends on it. This collaborative approach can be expanded to other areas of our global society. For instance, if we recognize that we share the same basic human experiences—breathing the same air, drinking the same water, and feeling the same love for our children—then we can begin to break down the barriers that divide us.
The power of shared human experience was beautifully captured in a song by Sting during the Cold War era titled “I Hope the Russians Love Their Children Too.” The song conveyed the hope that a shared love for our children would prevent nuclear war. It highlighted a universal truth: we all love our children and wish to see them safe and happy regardless of nationality or religion. This commonality can serve as a foundation for peace and cooperation.
Recognizing our shared humanity is crucial. It’s not about leveraging religion as a tool but finding common ground in our basic human values and experiences. Religion often focuses on the minutiae of our worship—our prayers and rituals. Yet, at a deeper level, all religions echo similar teachings about the sanctity of life, the importance of compassion, and the need for love.
One of the most compelling teachings, which spans many traditions, is the directive to “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” This commandment, central to Christian teachings and reflective of the core Sanatana Dharma philosophy, challenges us to define “neighbor.” Is it someone who lives nearby, or does it include all humanity? I’ve explored this question with many people from different backgrounds and have found that there isn’t a strict geographical limit to who our neighbor is. Rather, the lack of a specific definition suggests that we should consider everyone our neighbor, which aligns closely with the Sanatana Dharma view of ‘Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam’ or universal oneness.
The only way to truly love everyone—as the commandment suggests—is to first love God and see God in everyone. When we love God, we begin to appreciate all creations as manifestations of that divine presence. Just as a parent adores every scribble from their child because of their love for the child, we, too, can learn to love every individual if we see them as expressions of the divine.
This perspective is not just about accepting a theological concept but about putting it into practice in our daily lives. It challenges us to look beyond the superficial differences that separate us and to recognize the divine spark within each person. When we embrace this view, we move beyond tolerance to a deep, genuine love that sees no boundaries and makes no distinctions.
Ultimately, if we are to address the world’s most pressing problems, from social injustice to environmental degradation, we need to embrace these teachings of oneness and love in all our traditions. We need to find ways to express these truths in our actions and policies, ensuring that they guide us in making the world a safer, healthier, and more compassionate place for everyone. This approach to religion and spirituality—focused on universal love and the recognition of our interconnectedness—is not just beneficial but essential for the survival and thriving of our global community.
Before we close today’s session, we must explore the concept of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam you just mentioned. For example, Turkey’s earthquake saw prompt aid from Bharat, reflecting this principle, yet Turkey is also known for promoting Islamic radicalization in Bharat. How should one interpret the principle of Vasudhaiva Kutmbakam under such circumstances?
It’s a great question. “Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam” is a fundamental principle in Hindu Dharma; it was even highlighted as the motto of the G20 and shared globally, representing a core teaching of our spiritual sensibility. Yet, acknowledging the world as a family doesn’t mean we ignore the complexities of human behavior within that family.
For instance, think about family dynamics in your own life. If you’re a parent, you’ve likely had moments when you needed to discipline your children. Maybe there were times when you had to send them to their room to teach them a lesson about their actions. As families grow, it’s common to encounter situations where certain members might not be invited to family events. They might show up intoxicated, cause conflicts, or even become violent due to issues like alcoholism, drug addiction, or mental health challenges.
Being family doesn’t mean condoning negative behavior or avoiding necessary discipline. If a family member caused serious harm, like burning down your house, you wouldn’t simply overlook it. You wouldn’t invite them to do it again by building another house for them to burn. Instead, you would ensure there are consequences and take steps to prevent further harm.
Recognizing everyone as part of one global family [i.e., pursuing the ‘Vasudhaiv Kutumbakam’] doesn’t mean we accept or tolerate all behaviors unconditionally. It doesn’t strip us of our power or autonomy to protect ourselves.
This same principle applies on a broader scale. Recognizing everyone as part of one global family doesn’t mean we accept or tolerate all behaviors unconditionally. It doesn’t strip us of our power or autonomy to protect ourselves. In many families around the world, tragically, children and women suffer from emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. You wouldn’t advise someone to endure harm simply because the abuser is a family member like a husband, father, or brother.
For example, telling a woman to tolerate abuse because “he’s your husband, he’s family” is unacceptable. Likewise, suggesting that a child is better off in an abusive home just because it’s their family contradicts the very essence of what family should be—a source of love, support, and safety.
When it comes to dealing with destructive behavior, the response must be firm and protective. Imagine if one of your children became addicted to drugs and violent. You wouldn’t allow them to bring a weapon into your home, endangering the rest of the family. In such cases, while you wouldn’t cause them harm, you would take necessary actions to ensure the safety of everyone else in the family.
This approach is about maintaining a balance—having an open, loving heart that recognizes our oneness and shared humanity but also being wise and strong in protecting ourselves and others. Peace and compassion do not mean allowing oneself to be harmed or exploited. Being spiritual does not equate to being a doormat—no spiritual teaching advocates for self-sacrifice to the point of self-harm.
Our rich spiritual traditions, such as the Mahabharata, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Ramayana, contain exemplary stories of love and Dharma in action. These scriptures show us how to protect society and ourselves, demonstrating that strength and compassion can coexist. They teach us that while we must strive for peace and unity, we also need the courage to stand up against wrongdoing and protect the vulnerable.
Thus, in embracing the concept that the world is a family, we must also embrace the responsibility that comes with it. This means nurturing love and compassion while being vigilant and proactive in ensuring these values are upheld, creating a safe and supportive environment for all members of our global family.