Mahatma Gandhi
Page 7
• CHAPTER TWO
Gandhi as Leader: Nonviolence in Power
The task before nationalists is clear. They have to win over by their genuine love all minorities including Englishmen. Indian nationalism, if it is to remain non-violent, cannot be exclusive.
—Gandhi, 19211
By 1920, Gandhi’s confidence in his method and mission had reached a high peak and on September 4, at a Special Session of the Indian Congress in Calcutta, he presented for adoption his idea of satyagraha against the Government. This method, set forth in the “Resolution on Non-co-operation,” signified far more than just another Congress attempt at redress of grievances. It meant open rebellion.2 As he said in moving the resolution, the step marked “a definite change in the policy which the country has hitherto adopted for the vindication of the rights that belong to it, and its honor.”3 The resolution was approved, and with it not only was a radical shift in national policy sanctioned but also a new leadership was created. Gandhi directed the satyagraha: it embodied, he told the Congress, “the results of my many years’ of practical experience in non-co-operation.”4
Mobilization of the Movement
Gandhi’s consolidation of power at this point deserves study from the perspective of political movements. The twentieth century has given birth to mass political movements around the world. Whether Lenin’s Bolshevik movement, Mao’s Communist movement, Hitler’s Nazi movement or Gandhi’s nationalist movement, these political phenomena have all been characterized by at least three major forces: charismatic leadership, mass organization, and an ideological mode of thought that demands expression of ideas in action.5 The success of each has depended upon how effectively these three elements have been combined. In Gandhi’s case, the practical nature of the ideology of nonviolent noncooperation was stressed as the movement surged in 1920. India, Gandhi declared,
must follow her own way of discipline and self-sacrifice through non-cooperation. It is as amazing as it is humiliating that less than one hundred thousand white men should be able to rule three hundred and fifteen million Indians. They do so somewhat undoubtedly by force but more by securing our cooperation in a thousand ways and making us more and more helpless and dependent on them as time goes forward. Let us not mistake reformed councils, mere law-courts and even governorships for real freedom or power. They are but subtler methods of emasculation. The British cannot rule us by mere force. And so they resort to all means, honorable and dishonorable, in order to retain their hold on India. They want India’s billions and they want India’s manpower for their imperialistic greed. If we refuse to supply them with men and money, we achieve our goal, namely, swaraj.6
Gandhi succeeded in a remarkably short period, from 1919 to 1922, in forging a mass movement “for real freedom or power” that was entirely unprecedented in India. This may be attributed to the way that he fulfilled the movement’s needs of organization, leadership, and ideology. His most dramatic political achievement at this time was the transformation of the Indian National Congress into a political organization with a mass base. “I do not rely merely on the lawyer class,” Gandhi said, “or highly educated men to carry out all the stages of non-co-operation. My hope is more with the masses. My faith in the people is boundless. Theirs is an amazingly responsive nature. Let not the leaders distrust them.”7
And Gandhi knew that his faith was well founded. The one man who, before Gandhi, had combined mass appeal with power within the Congress had suddenly slipped from the scene. A month before the Special Calcutta Session Bal Gangadhar Tilak, formidable leader of the Extremist faction, died. This left the field open to Gandhi, and he quickly gained a hold on both the Congress and the masses that Tilak never approached. By 1921 there was, according to one study, “a spectacular growth of the Congress organization”; its recorded membership “increased enormously.” Gandhi’s extraordinary ability as a fund-raiser “made it possible to expand Congress activity on a scale hitherto inconceivable,” and social reform programs flourished.8 As Judith Brown has observed in her analysis of the organization of the country at this time, “Gandhi saw non-cooperation as a way of involving the whole spectrum of Indian society in a political movement.” This worked through three distinct levels or “tiers of followers”: the Western-educated elite; the “power brokers” or middle-level political operators in law, business, and agriculture; and, finally, the “dumb millions” (as Gandhi called them) or the silent majority of people without property.9
Gandhi’s influence on this last group, particularly the vast poor peasantry, was substantial. A close analysis by Shahid Amin of how the peasants of Gorakhpur District viewed Gandhi reveals how quickly he was transformed into the Mahatma. By 1921 his message of swaraj as a personal as well as social and political revolution had dug deeply into the popular consciousness. Self-purification along with social reform merged into the “Constructive Program” that Congress promoted through its pervasive organization. Swaraj was interpreted as demanding changes in personal behavior that extended to family planning and diet. In Gorakhpur District, for example, an entire village altered its eating habits by giving up meat and fish as a step toward swaraj. Not only from the poor peasants, but also from all castes and classes in this region, the popular responses to Gandhi “were truly phenomenal.”10 The unprecedented quality of the Congress organization was matched by the consolidation of Gandhi’s charismatic leadership. Some of the peasantry imagined the Mahatma having fantastic powers to defeat the Raj and envisaged swaraj as an imminent “millennium,” the dawning of an age of absolute justice and social equality.11
At least part of this charisma came from Gandhi’s skill as a communicator and especially his ability to use symbols and images in a language for and of the Indian people. Like a poet, Gandhi treated his past with affection, drawing from the Indian classics old words—ahimsa, karmayoga, Ram Raj, tapasya, moksha—and charging them with fresh meaning, until they became symbols of both past and future. Gandhi drew from Hinduism the core ideas that gave his thought continuity and coherence, yet he repeatedly reexamined that tradition for purposes of social reform. He sought to change through reinterpretation some of the main articles of faith in Hinduism. No Hindu text provided him more grist for this effort than his favorite source of sacred wisdom, the Bhagavad Gita. In a comment on the Gita that is characteristic of Gandhi’s purpose as a reformer, he wrote:
What, however, I have done is to put a new but natural and logical interpretation upon the whole teaching of the Gita and the spirit of Hinduism. Hinduism, not to speak of other religions, is ever evolving. It has no one scripture like the Quran or the Bible. Its scriptures are also evolving and suffering addition. The Gita itself is an instance in point. It has given a new meaning to karma, sannyasa, yajna, etc. It has breathed new life into Hinduism.12
The Gita is not an aphoristic work; it is a great religious poem. The deeper you dive into it, the richer the meanings you get. It being meant for the people at large, there is pleasing repetition. With every age the important words will carry new and expanding meanings. But its central teaching will never vary. The seeker is at liberty to extract from this treasure any meaning he likes so as to enable him to enforce in his life the central teaching.13
“The seeker is at liberty to extract from this treasure any meaning he likes …” These words underline the whole nature of his approach. He went to his tradition with a purpose, to uncover ideas that would meet the demands of a modern India. He was engaged in a consciously selective effort; and no one was more aware than he of the extent of this selectivity. None of Gandhi’s terms were infused with richer traditional Indian symbolism than the two key concepts of his thought, swaraj and satyagraha, and no one remained more sensitive to their meaning. When the members of Congress proposed, for purposes of greater clarity, to substitute the word “independence” for “swaraj” in future resolutions, Gandhi countered:
I defy any one to give for independence a common Indian word intelligible to the masses.
Our goal at any rate may be known by an indigenous word understood by the three hundred millions. And we have such a word in Swaraj first used in the name of the Nation by Dadabhai Naoroji. It is infinitely greater than and includes independence. It is a vital word. It has been sanctified by the noble sacrifices of thousands of Indians. It is a word which, if it has not penetrated the remotest corner of India, has at least got the largest currency of any similar word. It is a sacrilege to displace that word by a foreign importation of doubtful value.14
As explained in the introduction, Gandhi liked the word swaraj because it had traditional Indian roots, and he seldom missed an opportunity to evoke the religious symbolism explicit in the ideas of both swaraj and satyagraha. “To the orthodox Hindus I need not point out the sovereign efficacy of tapasya [self-suffering]. And satyagraha is nothing but tapasya for Truth.” And of swaraj he remarked, “Government over self is the truest Swaraj, it is synonymous with moksha or salvation.”15
It seems paradoxical that while none of Gandhi’s ideas were more liberally endowed with traditional symbolism than swaraj and satyagraha, none were more thoroughly misunderstood, both by his party and his people. The Congress followed him, on the whole, for his political experience and insights; the masses revered him as a Mahatma. Gandhi wanted understanding and appreciation of his thought rather than the reverence either of a saint or a politician. Yet, he must bear some of the responsibility for losing his followers along the way. The sheer vagueness and contradictions recurrent throughout his writing made it easier to accept him as a saint than to fathom the challenge posed by his demanding beliefs. Gandhi saw no harm in self-contradiction: life was a series of experiments, and any principle might change if Truth so dictated. Truth, moreover, had a habit of positing extraordinarily high moral standards. For those who had neither conducted the experiments nor acquired an unshakable faith in the premises behind them, Gandhi’s ideas posed formidable demands.
One might worship Gandhi from afar as a Mahatma or—as the alternative that most Congressmen took—accept his judgments as “policy” but not as a “creed.” Neither path was that of the satyagrahi, nor could either lead to what Gandhi called swaraj. Indeed, each undermined Gandhi’s thought and message for neither could give him support when the going became rough. At the very end, when it was indeed the roughest, Gandhi stood, tragically, alone. He then fully realized his failure to persuade both the Congress leadership and the Indian people of the central meaning of his philosophy. “Intoxicated by my success in South Africa,” he admitted in 1947, “I came to India. Here too the struggle bore fruit. But I have now realized that it was not based on nonviolence of the brave. If I had known so then, I would not have launched the struggle.”16 It is remarkable that an individual of Gandhi’s insight did not appreciate this sooner. Indications of critical differences between his beliefs and those of Congress Extremists like B. G. Tilak and Aurobindo Ghose appear very early during his public career in India. Chief among these differences was that which concerned method; evidence of this occurs in Gandhi’s controversy with Tilak a few months before the latter’s death.
To Define Satyagraha: Gandhi’s Differences with Tilak and Ghose
In 1920, when Gandhi outlined his program of total noncooperation with the Government, several key Congress leaders, especially B. G. Tilak, objected strongly to a boycott of the Government councils. He argued that Indian nationalists should seek entry to these councils, and then “wreck them from within.” Gandhi, however, contended that it would be untruthful and therefore morally wrong to enter the councils under false pretenses. Such a deceptive move, even if politically advantageous, could only have undesirable consequences from an ethical point of view. This particular dispute reflected a broader area of disagreement on the questions of the relation of means to ends and of morality to politics. The crux of this difference came to light in the columns of Gandhi’s Young India, in a revealing exchange of views with Tilak.
Gandhi began the discussion with a brief criticism of Tilak’s view of politics: “L. [Lokamanya or “Revered of the People”] Tilak represents a definite school of thought of which he makes no secret. He considers that everything is fair in politics. We have joined issue with him in that conception of political life…. We believe that nothing but the strictest adherence to honesty, fair play and charity can advance the true interests of the country.”17
Tilak immediately took issue with the remark and in a letter to Young India replied:
I am sorry to see that in your article on “Reforms Resolution” in the last issue, you have represented me as holding that I considered “everything fair in politics.” I write this to you to say that my view is not correctly represented therein. Politics is a game of worldly people, and not of sadhus [saints], and instead of the maxim [“Overcome anger by loving kindness, evil by good.”]18 as preached by Buddha, I prefer to rely on the maxim of Shri Krishna [“In whatsoever way any come to Me, in that same way I grant them favour.”]19 That explains the whole difference and also the meaning of my phrase “responsive co-operation.” Both methods are equally honest and righteous but the one is more suited to this world than the other.20
Gandhi answered:
I naturally feel the greatest diffidence about joining issue with the Lokamanya in matters involving questions of interpretation of religious works. But there are things in or about which instinct transcends even interpretation. For me there is no conflict between the two texts quoted by the Lokamanya. The Buddhist text lays down an eternal principle. The text from the Bhagvad Gita shows to me how the principle of conquering hate by love, untruth by truth, can and must be applied. If it be true that God metes out the same measure to us that we mete out to others, it follows that if we would escape condign punishment, we may not return anger for anger but gentleness even against anger. And this is the law not for the unworldly but essentially for the worldly. With deference to the Lokamanya, I venture to say that it betrays mental laziness to think that the world is not for sadhus. The epitome of all religions is to promote purushartha, and purushartha is nothing but a desperate attempt to become sadhu, i.e., to become a gentleman in every sense of the term.
Finally, when I wrote the sentence about ‘everything being fair in politics’ according to the Lokamanya’s creed, I had in mind his oft-repeated quotation: [“evil unto evil”]21 To me it enunciates bad law …. In any case, I pit the experience of a third of a century against the doctrine underlying The true law is: [“truth even unto evil”]22
Tilak and Gandhi shared several aims and attributes in common and no one was quicker to observe these similarities than Gandhi himself. Nor was Gandhi sparing in his praise of Tilak’s contribution to the independence movement. Yet the difference between them remained fundamental and Gandhi concluded their controversy with the laconic remark: “I am conscious that my method is not Mr. Tilak’s method.”23 This contrast in method arising from a different way of looking at the relation of morality to politics corresponded with a different understanding of the meaning of swaraj. Tilak demanded home rule for India similar to that of Britain’s other colonies within the Empire and used the term swaraj to exploit its traditional overtones. But as a concept it meant no more than political independence.
To many Congressmen, Tilak’s definition of swaraj seemed clear and attainable. When Gandhi assumed leadership, however, it could no longer be understood in these simple terms. Nehru observed that in 1920, when Gandhi spoke of swaraj, he was “delightfully vague on the subject.”24 Other Congressmen, though, were not so delighted with Gandhi’s vagueness and they continued to regard swaraj as nothing more than the replacement of British Raj by Congress Raj. Gandhi contributed to this misunderstanding of his position. In 1920, when he assumed leadership of the Congress, he promised “swaraj in one year.” This proclamation was understandably met with a wild burst of enthusiasm among those ardent for independence. Early the following year, Gandhi tried to cool these expectations by insisting on “conditions of swaraj” or
sweeping social reforms that would have to occur before Indians could expect to win “real freedom.”25
Closely allied to Gandhi’s differences with Tilak over the meaning of swaraj were his differences with Aurobindo Ghose over the meaning of satyagraha. By 1920, Gandhi’s conceptualization of satyagraha had advanced significantly from his early formulation of the idea in South Africa. He increasingly characterized the idea as a form of power. In its most literal sense, it denotes “holding firmly to the truth,” but Gandhi emphasized that power flows from “adherence to the truth,” and so defined satyagraha as “truth-force” or “love-force.” This form of power is capable not just of neutralizing violence but of transforming a situation, liberating reserves of energy in ways that acts of love or compassion often do. Gandhi assumed that the means of nonviolence are superior, both in a moral and practical sense, to the means of violence because there is a force contained in emotions of love and compassion that can be stronger, more effective, than those in hatred or in the desire to inflict harm. Often the former are not fully realized because they are not felt in thought as well as in deed. Gandhi sought to explain the full force of satyagraha when he wrote:
The word satyagraha is often most loosely used and is made to cover veiled violence. But as the author of the word I may be allowed to say that it excludes every form of violence, direct or indirect, veiled or unveiled, and whether in thought, word, or deed. It is a breach of satyagraha to wish ill to an opponent or to say a harsh word to him or of him with the intention of doing harm. And often the evil thought or the evil word may, in terms of satyagraha, be more dangerous than actual violence used in the heat of the moment. Satyagraha is gentle, it never wounds. It must not be the result of anger or malice …. It was conceived as a complete substitute for violence.26