Hindu Nationalism Is Not India’s Version of Christian Nationalism

Understanding a society as vast and complex as India’s has never been easy, but in recent years the meteoric rise of Hindu nationalism in the world’s largest nation has compounded that challenge for most Americans. The gargantuan mass movement behind Prime Minister Narendra Modi has championed a vision of India that places Hindu heritage at the center of the nation’s identity. With this formidable force remaking Indian society, reconstructing the country’s monuments, and rebranding its civilization, it is only natural to grasp for the closest analogues that come to mind to understand these rapid transformations.

The most obvious association in the American context—Christian nationalism—is a poor lens through which to view the movement behind the new India, lending itself to over spiritualizing and underestimating Hindu nationalism’s mass appeal. Even if Christian nationalism—which seeks to formally establish the United States as a Christian nation with biblically grounded laws—appears ostensibly similar, applying this more familiar American template is likely to lead astray anyone who wants to understand the political culture behind an emerging global power and, very soon, the world’s fourth largest economy. But as a counterpoint rather than a comparison, Christian nationalism can serve as a revealing foil—illuminating Hindu nationalists’ ideas, institutions, and impacts on their own terms.

To be sure, Hindu nationalism and Christian nationalism do share some meaningful parallels. Both are breeds of cultural nationalism, emphasizing shared heritage and traditions as the key determinant of national coherence. Both seek to revise the relationship between church (or temple) and state, moving beyond promoting appreciation for—or even rootedness in—“Judeo-Christian” heritage or “Indic civilization” toward a system that explicitly privileges their nation’s largest religious traditions. And at their worst, both are infamous for identitarian chauvinism and intolerance to minority groups, especially Muslims. Even if they ultimately serve as poor metaphors for one another, it is fair to say that they resemble each other more than any other major political paradigms in either country.

But move beyond these external similarities toward their motivating beliefs, and major divergences start to appear—starting with each movement’s ideological roots. Observers familiar with the highly defined Protestant faith commitments of Christian nationalist leaders may be surprised to discover that the father of contemporary Hindu nationalism, V.D. Savarkar (1883-1966), was an unabashed atheist who refused to allow Hindu religious rites at his wife’s funeral and publicly encouraged Hindus to give up religiously motivated vegetarianism. What’s more, he was critical of the very concept of “Hinduism”—arguing that the term was akin to lumping together the conflicting beliefs of England’s Jews, Jacobins, Utilitarians, and Trinitarians and calling it “Englishism.” 

Savarkar’s metaphor may be apt. Scholars of religion endlessly debate how to reckon with Hinduism’s mind-bogglingly diverse beliefs, practices, and rituals. While Protestantism stands as perhaps the most stringently defined major religious tradition, with its emphasis on doctrinal precision and scriptural authority, Hinduism represents the opposite end of the spectrum—easily the least systematized of the world’s major faiths. Regardless of where one falls in the debate about Hinduism’s coherence, there is no doubt that it contains far more theological diversity than Christianity’s many denominations, or Abrahamic religions as a whole. Religious Hindus often disagree, for instance, as to whether there are many gods (millions, by some estimates), one, or none—the latter even having several independent sects championing different variants of atheism. That’s just one example. Hinduism writ large also contains multiple, sometimes contradictory paths to enlightenment that Hindu swamis teach—from devotion to personal deities, to philosophical contemplation, to ritual practice, to mystic yoga. Crafting social and political movements from religious traditions as different from one another as Hinduism and Christianity was bound to create coalitions that look and operate differently.

Sidestepping the complexities of reconciling disparate Hindu creeds and traditions, Savarkar instead argued that Hindus are better viewed as the ethnic group that has carried forward the tangle of interrelated streams of faith and philosophy that make up Hindu civilization. The proper comparison, in Savarkar’s estimation, was not so much to what we today may refer to as Christian nationalism as it was to Zionism. That vision of nationalism was connected primarily to ethnic Jews, even as they were bonded by a common faith tradition and its historical geography. In Savarkar’s 1923 canonical work defining Hindu nationalism, Essentials of Hindutva, he even goes so far as to claim that the Jews may be the only other people in the world that can claim national coherence on par with the Hindus, for this reason. Still today, many Hindu nationalists have a special affinity for Zionists, whom they see as their closest ideological counterparts. Likewise, the usage of “Hindu” in “Hindu nationalist” may be best understood as similar to the use of “Jew”—an identity usually employed more ethnically than religiously, though it is often both.

Drawing on prior anti-colonial Hindu revivalist movements from across India, Hindu nationalism ignited in the mid-1920s, disproportionately led by Brahmin Hindus from the western region of Maharashtra. Though the Brahmin caste traditionally performs priestly duties at the top of the caste hierarchy, these early leaders of Hindu nationalism echoed the unusually political role of Brahmins in the region’s Maratha Empire (1674-1818), a Hindu polity that left the area with a pronounced sense of cultural pride. 

Like early 20th-century Zionists and other nationalist movements of the time, the first self-described Hindu nationalists were much more modernist than mystic. Their guiding pursuit was not nirvana, but a muscular state driven by scientific rationality—so much so that they even drew some inspiration from the strident statism of fascist movements in Europe, which were emerging contemporaneously (and whose full horrors had yet to unfold). Their “rituals” were not centered on worship, but on building an ethos of martial discipline, collective memory, and social service, with regular gatherings to exercise, sing patriotic songs, and study Hindu history—in addition to mobilizing for disaster relief and community aid. This state-building character remains deeply ingrained in the DNA of Hindu nationalism, and for many Hindu nationalists, religion is secondary or even incidental to their primary goal: strengthening Hindu society.

This is not to say the first iterations of Hindu nationalism ignored spirituality. Even Savarkar defined ethnic Hindus as anyone for whom India is fatherland and holy land—regardless of specific creed or lack thereof—and elements of Hindu religion have been integral to Hindu nationalist organizations from their earliest beginnings. As the movement has evolved from its initial stages, it has also embraced a pronounced sense of religiosity. Indeed, a primary catalyst in Hindu nationalism’s recent ascent was a successful campaign to construct a Hindu temple in the place of a 16th-century mosque purportedly built over the Hindu deity Ram’s birthplace, opened to the public in January 2024. Devotional Hindu groups now form a central pillar of the Hindu nationalist coalition, and the religious wing of the Hindu right in India is likely to continue to play a prominent role in the broader movement for the foreseeable future.

But while Christian nationalist leaders often present themselves as theological purists with unyielding fidelity to holy writ, Hindu nationalist leadership has emerged primarily from grassroots organizers—focusing on unifying and mobilizing community groups rather than parsing doctrine. Put differently, if Christian nationalism is about christianizing the nation, Hindu nationalism is more about nationalizing the Hindus. These fundamentally different approaches have produced dramatically different outcomes—and help explain Hindu nationalism’s remarkable success in contemporary India.

Fast-forward to the present day, and the ideological differences between Christian nationalism and Hindu nationalism have grown into striking institutional disparities. Today’s Christian nationalism exists as a diffuse patchwork of leaders and institutions, spinning off from theological and institutional legacies of prior waves of Protestant political fervor: Centuries-old allegiances to Protestant Christendom, Puritanism, Manifest Destiny, and Cold War Christian anti-communism have left traces, to varying degrees, on the diffuse set of Christian nationalist thinkers and organizations that exist today. And while many American evangelicals desire a more pronounced role for their faith in public life, they have typically gravitated toward other approaches for bringing religious values into society: “common good” public engagement, issue-based advocacy, or moral majority campaigning, to take a few examples. As such, Christian nationalism has lacked the institutional coherence needed to be a major force in American politics and was functionally relegated to being merely one among many factions of the religious right. Even if reenergized in recent years, it remains an inclination more than a movement.

Hindu nationalism, by contrast, has exploded in popularity over the last century from a small, politically irrelevant clique to a massive nationwide ecosystem of powerful, coordinated organizations touching nearly every aspect of Indian society. At its core is the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), or “National Volunteer Organization,” a cadre-based body founded in 1925 whose thousands of volunteers conduct daily shakhas (gatherings) focused on physical training, nationalistic education, and community service projects among its millions of members. The RSS spawned the BJP, now the world’s largest political party with 110 million members, and has produced its most successful politicians, including Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who has won more democratic votes than any other politician in history. It has also established influential offshoots like the Vishva Hindu Parishad (literally, the “World Hindu Council”); the Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh, one of the world’s largest labor unions; and dozens of other affiliated organizations spanning education, health care, rural development, and media. Collectively these are known as the Sangh Parivar, or “Family of Organizations.”

Bonded by common roots and continued cross-pollination with personnel cultivated through the RSS, the Sangh Parivar has been successful in adapting Hindu nationalist ideas and narratives to a wide range of audiences across Indian society, mostly through grassroots efforts. That, together with the electoral success of the BJP, has made Hindu nationalism a diverse and composite mass movement, dwarfing the size and influence of Christian nationalism, and absorbing varied groups and perspectives that—like Hinduism more broadly—do not always strive for strict coherence. It has also blurred the lines between who and what is Hindu nationalist, exhibiting a full spectrum of associations including everything from radicals, to hardliners, to moderates. The movement’s influence has grown so pervasive that even their political opponents tried adopting more outwardly Hindu symbols and religious displays in their campaigning—a resounding testament to the breadth of social transformation that the Hindu nationalists have achieved.

The difference between the impacts of Hindu nationalism and Christian nationalism thus brings us full circle: Christian nationalism’s leaders have tended to be poor institution-builders—preferring doctrinal purity over the many compromises needed to build and maintain broad-appeal movements. Hindu nationalists, by contrast, have made community organizing their movement’s centerpiece, assimilating and carving out space for more religiously oriented elements, but treating its project as primarily an exercise in unifying a Hindu society. 

To Christian ears, it may sound ironic that Protestant Christianity’s tendency toward sophisticated theological coherence has inadvertently resulted in a more incoherent brand of cultural nationalism. But Protestantism’s ever-increasing number of denominations tells a similar story of theological focus and institutional balkanization—a model that may work for producing well-informed disciples, but not so much for broad political appeal.

Meanwhile, Hindu nationalism’s flexibility and adaptability in absorbing sometimes inconsistent groups and ideas into its fold—even if often under the auspices of social organizing rather than religious adherence—bears an unmistakable resonance with Hindu spirituality. In that sense, for all their considerable differences in how they view religious belief, the way each operates in practice bears the unmistakable stamp of its religious roots—just not in the way most observers would expect.

In case you missed it, for our Monday Essay feature this past week, Tal Fortgang ponders the prospect of Orthodox Jews vacating elite colleges and universities in light of campus turmoil in the last 18 months. He looks at this not just through the lens of what opportunities Jewish students might lose, but what non-Jewish students (and their institutions more broadly) will lose too: “one of the last remaining bridges between the religious and secular worlds.”

Modern Orthodox Jews are told before going off to college to be a kiddush HaShem, or “sanctification of God’s name.” While they do not proselytize, they do not isolate themselves either. They invite their friends to attend Shabbat dinners at campus Hillel and Chabad houses. On some campuses, menorah lightings draw large crowds every Hanukkah. 

Perhaps most crucially, non-Jewish and non-observant Jews inevitably notice when their Orthodox peers abstain, unthinkably, from what are thought to be key components of campus life. They notice when their friends aren’t at parties on Friday night, shut off their phones and laptops for 25 hours each weekend, and can’t eat the late-night pizza provided by the debate club. They see their kippah-clad peers uncomfortably approach professors the first day of each semester to inform them that they will have to miss classes for holidays. Yes, even the esoteric ones. No, I can’t show up to class and just listen that morning; I need to be in synagogue, praying. 

Those demonstrations of forbearance are especially important. By example, they drive home the possibility that a life well-lived can be governed by restraint and obligation rather than choice alone.

Fortgang concludes the essay by drawing on his own experience as a Jewish student at Princeton University.

We believed, rather, in the power of a covenantal community. We are obligated to do certain things, and if you want to be a full member of our community, you fulfill your obligations. Not out of fear of punishment, but out of conviction that it is the right thing to do—even if it is difficult to explain without reference to ancient rabbinic teachings, or hard to balance with coursework and extracurriculars. That is what binds Jews as a people, we believe. And that is more important to living a meaningful, fulfilling life than all the choices—all the bacon, all the sex, all the freedom—in the world.

Read the whole thing on our website.

• The streaming show The Chosen, which depicts the life of Jesus Christ, has become a runaway hit with Christian viewers since its debut in 2017. For Christianity Today, Christopher Kuo reports on its popularity among non-Christians too (or at least those who used to be non-Christians). “Sabi Ali, a 26-year-old office administrator in London, grew up Muslim and would often debate with her Christian cousins about faith. Last year, her cousins convinced her to start watching The Chosen. After the first episode, Ali was skeptical. But by the end of the second, she was in tears, and she ended up binge-watching the show in a week and a half. One scene in particular resonated deeply with her. ‘It was when Jesus came to the boats with Simon Peter and Andrew and none of them were getting any fish,’ Ali said. ‘Jesus said, Throw the net again. I had goose bumps all over my body, and I didn’t know why but I felt so emotional.’ Ali began to doubt the teachings of Islam and the Quran, which says that Jesus was a miraculous prophet but not the incarnate Son of God. … She began going to church regularly and now identifies as a Christian.”
• With so much of the political world’s attention on the use of senior Trump administration officials’ use of the Signal messaging app, our friends at The Pillar published an explainer on how the Holy See handles so-called “pontifical secrets.” As one commenter on the piece remarked, it’s the kind of explainer you didn’t even know you wanted until you can’t stop reading. “Depending on the department, cracks about phone taps and electronic sweeps may be more or less jokes — though in some offices, like the Secretariat of State, the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, or even the Dicastery for Bishops, few are laughing about it. You only have to look back through the last few years of Vatican City scandals and trials to see that wire tapping is, if not ‘normal’ in the curia, certainly not unheard of. Cardinals have recorded private calls with the pope, auditors have claimed their offices were bugged, and senior officials have gone on record, admitting to using ‘electronic surveillance’ experts to look into their rivals … Indeed, when Vatican prosecutors come knocking to serve a warrant, they tend to check a suspect’s phone quickly, to get a look at back-and-forth messaging. WhatsApp exchanges featured prominently in the recent London financial scandal trial, and before that they provided some of the most eye-catching evidence in the so-called Vatileaks trials.”

This April 20 will mark one of the few times that both eastern (Orthodox) and western (Catholic and Protestant) Christians will celebrate Easter on the same day. For Religion Unplugged, Clemente Lisi writes about a movement to encourage the world’s Christians to unify on the day they celebrate Chris’s resurrection. “The World Council of Churches, a global Christian organization founded in 1948 to work for the cause of ecumenism, has urged churches to find a common date for Easter. ‘Eastern and Western churches have used different calendars to calculate the date of Easter since the 16th century, and only rarely do they coincide,’ said the Rev. Martin Illert, WCC’s program executive for faith and order. … ‘The Julian calendar was used in the West until 1582, when the Gregorian calendar was adopted. The Julian calendar’s method of calculating Easter was standardized in the year 325 at the First Council of Nicaea. We hope that the anniversary of Nicaea will help create a momentum so that in the future, all Christians can celebrate Easter together,’Illert said. The Vatican has also called for Christians to unite on a common date. Last year, Pope Francis encouraged the work of the Pasqua Together group — an ecumenical initiative that encourages Christians of various denominations to celebrate Easter together — and invited them not to let this unique opportunity ‘pass by in vain. I encourage those who are committed to this journey to persevere,’ he said, ‘and to make every effort in the search for a shared agreement, avoiding anything that may instead lead to further divisions among our brothers and sisters.’”