This is an ambitious book that grew out of a rather simple
question. Around the turn of the nineteenth century, two Hindu leaders on
either side of the subcontinent created new religious organizations. Each
transformed their local contexts and also transcended them to become influential
on the global stage. The strange thing is, only one of these leaders, Rammohun
Roy (1772-1833), would go on to figure prominently in the literature on modern
Hinduism. The other, Sahajanand Swami (1781-1830), has been largely overlooked by
scholars. Why is that?
The answer boils down to a single word, “reform.” Reform is
an interpretive category and narrative trope that has structured modern
accounts of Hinduism since the moment Rammohun and Sahajanand first came to the
attention of western observers. Even though both men were labelled reformers
during their careers, it was Rammohun alone who became the face of Indian reform.
To appreciate why, it helps to know that Rammohun was active at the epicenter
of British rule in Bengal, while Sahajanand promulgated his teachings far from
the cosmopolitan salons of Calcutta. Within the discursive chronoscape of
reform, Rammohun figures as central and progressive, while Sahajanand is
rendered peripheral and backward looking. And so the dominant narrative of
modern Hinduism takes shape.
As a scholar of modern Bengal there was much to recognize in
this story. And yet as a scholar of modern India, it is also clear how radically
the landscape of religion is shifting. The current Prime Minister represents a
political party committed to a brand of Hindu majoritarianism at odds with the
vision of Rammohun. He also hails from Gujarat and represents the face of
post-liberalization India, with its middle-class aspirations. Today Rammohun’s
Brahmos are a vanishing community, while the followers of Sahajanand have built
a massive temple-museum-theme park in India’s capital. It all strains the seams
of the familiar narrative.
Clearly the time has come to rethink the accomplishments of Rammohun
and Sahajanand and to search for new ways to tell the story of modern Hinduism.
To do that we need to step back “before” the concept of reform came to exercise
its critical pull on modern accounts of Hinduism. This requires, to begin with,
attending more closely to the early colonial moment when Rammohun and
Sahajanand were both active. This was a distinctive moment and must not be too
quickly conflated with the later era of high imperialism. Equipped with a
better understanding of their times, we then need to adopt a new set of tools
for making sense of what they accomplished and how; we need tools not already shaped
by the presuppositions of reform. I therefore buck convention and treat
Rammohun and Sahajanand not as reformers but as religious lords at the head of
two new religious polities—the Brahmo Samaj and the Swaminarayan Sampraday,
respectively.
One could rightly say this is not a book about modern Hindu
reform movements; it is a book about two colonial religious masters, each of
whom embodied—and traded on—a distinctive mode of religious sovereignty. To
think of Rammohun and Sahajanand as lords in this way is unsettling, not least for
those accustomed to viewing Rammohun at the vanguard of India’s march toward
enlightenment and freedom. Nonetheless, I take the risk because we do not need
another history of Hindu reform; we need to revisit the period and their lives
in a way that can help us reckon better with the India we see today. It may be unsettling,
but much can be done by bringing together Bengal and Gujarat, Rammohun and
Sahajanand, in ways that have not been done before.
[T]he Holocaust transformed our whole way of thinking about war and heroism. War is no longer a proving ground for heroism in the same way it used to be. Instead, war now is something that we must avoid at all costs—because genocides often take place under the cover of war. We are no longer all potential soldiers (though we are that too), but we are all potential victims of the traumas war creates. This, at least, is one important development in the way Western populations envision war, even if it does not always predominate in the thinking of our political leaders.Carolyn J. Dean, Interview of February 01, 2011
The dominant premise in evolution and economics is that a person is being loyal to natural law if he or she attends to self’s interest and welfare before being concerned with the needs and demands of family or community. The public does not realize that this statement is not an established scientific principle but an ethical preference. Nonetheless, this belief has created a moral confusion among North Americans and Europeans because the evolution of our species was accompanied by the disposition to worry about kin and the collectives to which one belongs.Jerome Kagan, Interview of September 17, 2009
In a nutshell
This is an ambitious book that grew out of a rather simple question. Around the turn of the nineteenth century, two Hindu leaders on either side of the subcontinent created new religious organizations. Each transformed their local contexts and also transcended them to become influential on the global stage. The strange thing is, only one of these leaders, Rammohun Roy (1772-1833), would go on to figure prominently in the literature on modern Hinduism. The other, Sahajanand Swami (1781-1830), has been largely overlooked by scholars. Why is that?
The answer boils down to a single word, “reform.” Reform is an interpretive category and narrative trope that has structured modern accounts of Hinduism since the moment Rammohun and Sahajanand first came to the attention of western observers. Even though both men were labelled reformers during their careers, it was Rammohun alone who became the face of Indian reform. To appreciate why, it helps to know that Rammohun was active at the epicenter of British rule in Bengal, while Sahajanand promulgated his teachings far from the cosmopolitan salons of Calcutta. Within the discursive chronoscape of reform, Rammohun figures as central and progressive, while Sahajanand is rendered peripheral and backward looking. And so the dominant narrative of modern Hinduism takes shape.
As a scholar of modern Bengal there was much to recognize in this story. And yet as a scholar of modern India, it is also clear how radically the landscape of religion is shifting. The current Prime Minister represents a political party committed to a brand of Hindu majoritarianism at odds with the vision of Rammohun. He also hails from Gujarat and represents the face of post-liberalization India, with its middle-class aspirations. Today Rammohun’s Brahmos are a vanishing community, while the followers of Sahajanand have built a massive temple-museum-theme park in India’s capital. It all strains the seams of the familiar narrative.
Clearly the time has come to rethink the accomplishments of Rammohun and Sahajanand and to search for new ways to tell the story of modern Hinduism. To do that we need to step back “before” the concept of reform came to exercise its critical pull on modern accounts of Hinduism. This requires, to begin with, attending more closely to the early colonial moment when Rammohun and Sahajanand were both active. This was a distinctive moment and must not be too quickly conflated with the later era of high imperialism. Equipped with a better understanding of their times, we then need to adopt a new set of tools for making sense of what they accomplished and how; we need tools not already shaped by the presuppositions of reform. I therefore buck convention and treat Rammohun and Sahajanand not as reformers but as religious lords at the head of two new religious polities—the Brahmo Samaj and the Swaminarayan Sampraday, respectively.
One could rightly say this is not a book about modern Hindu reform movements; it is a book about two colonial religious masters, each of whom embodied—and traded on—a distinctive mode of religious sovereignty. To think of Rammohun and Sahajanand as lords in this way is unsettling, not least for those accustomed to viewing Rammohun at the vanguard of India’s march toward enlightenment and freedom. Nonetheless, I take the risk because we do not need another history of Hindu reform; we need to revisit the period and their lives in a way that can help us reckon better with the India we see today. It may be unsettling, but much can be done by bringing together Bengal and Gujarat, Rammohun and Sahajanand, in ways that have not been done before.