Comparing Religions

If found myself entirely absorbed in the service of the community, the reason behind it was my desire for self-realisation. I had made the religion of service my own, as I felt that God could be realised only through service. And service for me was the service of India, because it came to me without my seeking, because I had an aptitude for it. I had gone to South Africa for travel, for finding an escape from Kathiawad intrigues and for gaining my own livelihood. But as I have said, I found myself in search of God and striving for self-realisation. Christian friends had whetted my appetite for knowledge which had become almost insatiable, and they would not leave me in peace, even if I desired to be indifferent. In Durban Mr. Spencer Walton, the head of the South Africa General Mission, found me out. I became almost a member of his family. At the back of this acquaintance was of course my contact with Christians in Pretoria. Mr. Walton had a manner all his own. I do not recollect his ever having invited me to embrace Christianity. But he placed his life as an open book before me, and let me watch all his movements. Mrs. Walton was a very gentle and talented woman. I liked the attitude of this couple. We knew the fundamental differences between us. Any amount of discussion could not efface them. Yet even differences prove helpful, where there is tolerance, charity and truth. I liked Mr, and Mrs. Walton’s humility, perseverance and devotion to work, and we met very frequently.

If I found myself entirely absorbed in serving the community, it was because I wanted to achieve self-realisation. I had made service my religion because I felt that God could be realised only through service. For me, service meant serving India because the opportunity came without my seeking it and because I had an aptitude for it. I had gone to South Africa to travel, escape the intrigues of Kathiawad, and earn my own living. But as I have said, I found myself searching for God and striving for self-realisation. My Christian friends had awakened an almost insatiable appetite for knowledge in me. They would not leave me in peace, even if I wanted to be indifferent. In Durban, Mr. Spencer Walton, the head of the South Africa General Mission, sought me out. I became almost a member of his family. This acquaintance grew, of course, out of my contact with Christians in Pretoria. Mr. Walton had a manner all his own. I do not remember him ever inviting me to embrace Christianity. But he made his life an open book to me and let me observe all his actions. Mrs. Walton was a very gentle and talented woman. I liked the couple’s attitude. We knew the fundamental differences between us. No amount of discussion could erase them. Yet even differences can be helpful where there is tolerance, charity, and truth. I liked Mr. and Mrs. Walton’s humility, perseverance, and devotion to their work, and we met very often.

This friendship kept alive my interest in religion. It was impossible now to get the leisure, that I used to have in Pretoria for my religious studies. But what little time I could spare I turned to good account. My religious correspondence continued. Raychandbhai was guiding me. Some friend sent me Narmadashankar’s book Dharma Vichar. Its preface proved very helpful. I had heard about the Bohemian way in which the poet had lived, and a description, in the preface, of the revolution effected in his life by his religious studies captivated me. I came to like the book, and read it from cover to cover with attention. I read with interest Max Muller’s book, India—What can it teach us? and the translation of the Upanishads published by the Theosophical Society. All this enhanced my regard for Hinduism, and its beauties began to grow upon me. It did not, however, prejudice me against other religions. I read Washington Irving’s Life of Mahomet and His Successors and Carlyle’s panegyric on the Prophet. These books raised Muhammad in my estimation. I also read a book called The Sayings of Zarthustra.

This friendship kept my interest in religion alive. I could no longer find as much time for religious study as I had in Pretoria. But I made good use of what little time I could spare. I continued to correspond about religion, and Raychandbhai guided me. A friend sent me Narmadashankar’s book Dharma Vichar. Its preface was very helpful. I had heard about the poet’s Bohemian way of life. The preface described how his religious studies had transformed his life, and this captivated me. I came to like the book and read it carefully from cover to cover. I read Max Muller’s book, India: What can it teach us?, with interest. I also read the translation of the Upanishads published by the Theosophical Society. All this deepened my respect for Hinduism, and I began to appreciate its beauty more and more. But it did not turn me against other religions. I read Washington Irving’s Life of Mahomet and His Successors and Carlyle’s praise of the Prophet. These books raised Muhammad in my estimation. I also read a book called The Sayings of Zarthustra.

Thus I gained more knowledge of the different religions. The study stimulated my self-introspection, and fostered in me the habit of putting into practice whatever appealed to me in my studies. Thus I began some of the Yogic practices, as well as I could understand them from a reading of the Hindu books. But I could not get on very far, and decided to follow them with the help of some expert, when I returned to India. The desire has never been fulfilled.

In this way, I learned more about different religions. Studying them encouraged me to examine myself. It also helped me form the habit of putting into practice whatever appealed to me in my studies. So I began practicing some forms of yoga, as best I understood them from reading Hindu books. But I did not get very far. I decided to continue with an expert’s help when I returned to India. That wish has never been fulfilled.

I made too an intensive study of Tolstoy’s books. The Gospels in Brief, What to do? and other books made a deep impression on me. I began to realise more and more the infinite possibilities of universal love.

I also studied Tolstoy’s books closely. The Gospels in Brief, What to do? and other books deeply impressed me. I began to see more and more the infinite possibilities of universal love.

About the same time I came in contact with another Christian family. At their suggestion, I attended the Wesleyan church every Sunday. For these days I also had their standing invitation to dinner. The church did not make a favourable impression on me. The sermons seemed to be uninspiring. The congregation did not strike me as being particularly religious. They were not an assembly of devout souls; they appeared rather to be worldly-minded people going to church for recreation and in conformity to custom. Here, at times, I would involuntarily dose. I was ashamed, but some of my neighbours, who were in no better case, lightened the shame. I could not go on long like this, and soon gave up attending the service.

Around the same time, I met another Christian family. At their suggestion, I attended the Wesleyan church every Sunday. They also invited me to dinner every Sunday. The church did not make a good impression on me. The sermons seemed uninspiring. The congregation did not seem particularly religious. They did not seem to be devout people. Rather, they seemed to be worldly people who went to church for recreation and out of habit. During services, I sometimes fell asleep without meaning to. I was ashamed, but some of the people sitting near me did the same, which made me feel less ashamed. I could not go on like this for long, and I soon stopped attending services.

My connection with the family I used to visit every Sunday was abruptly broken. In fact it may be said, that I was warned to visit it no more. It happened thus. My hostess was a good and simple woman, but somewhat narrow-minded. We always discussed religious subjects. I was then re-reading Arnold’s Light of Asia. Once we began to compare the life of Jesus with that of Buddha. ‘Look at Gautama’s compassion!’ said I. ‘It was not confined to mankind, it was extended to all living beings. Does not one’s heart overflow with love to think of the lamb joyously perched on his shoulders? One fails to notice this love for all living beings in the life of Jesus.’ The comparison pained the good lady. I could understand her feelings. I cut the matter short, and we went to the dining room. Her son, a cherub aged scarcely five, was also with us. I am happiest when in the midst of children, and this youngster and I had long been friends. I spoke derisively of the piece of meat on his plate and in high praise of the apple on mine. The innocent boy was carried away and joined in my praise of the fruit.

My connection with the family I used to visit every Sunday came to an abrupt end. In fact, one might say that I was warned not to visit again. This is how it happened. My hostess was a good and simple woman, but somewhat narrow-minded. We always discussed religion. At the time, I was rereading Arnold’s Light of Asia. One day, we began to compare the lives of Jesus and Buddha. ‘Look at Gautama’s compassion!’ I said. ‘It was not limited to humankind. It extended to all living beings. Doesn’t your heart overflow with love when you think of the lamb perched joyfully on his shoulders? One does not see this love for all living beings in the life of Jesus.’ The comparison hurt the good lady. I could understand her feelings. I ended the discussion, and we went to the dining room. Her son was also with us, a cherub not yet five years old. I am happiest among children, and this little boy and I had long been friends. I made fun of the piece of meat on his plate and praised the apple on mine. The innocent boy was carried away and joined me in praising the fruit.

But the mother? She was dismayed.

But what about the mother? She was upset.

I was warned. I checked myself and changed the subject. The following week I visited the family as usual, but not without trepidation. I did not see that I should stop going there, I did not think it proper either. But the good lady made my way easy.

I took the warning, stopped myself, and changed the subject. The following week, I visited the family as usual, though I was nervous. I saw no reason to stop visiting, and I did not think it would be right to stop. But the kind lady made things easier for me.

‘Mr. Gandhi,’ she said, ‘please don’t take it ill if I feel obliged to tell you, that my boy is none the better for your company. Every day he hesitates to eat meat and asks for fruit, reminding me of your argument. This is too much. If he gives up meat, he is bound to get weak, if not ill. How could I bear it? Your discussions should henceforth be only with us elders. They are sure to react badly on children.’

‘Mr. Gandhi,’ she said, ‘please don’t take offense, but I feel I must tell you that your company is doing my boy no good. Every day he hesitates to eat meat and asks for fruit, reminding me of your argument. This is too much. If he gives up meat, he is sure to grow weak, if not ill. How could I bear that? From now on, you should discuss such things only with us adults. These discussions are sure to have a bad effect on children.’

‘Mrs.—,’ I replied, ‘I am sorry. I can understand your feelings as a parent, for I too have children. We can very easily end this unpleasant state of things. What I eat and omit to eat is bound to have a greater effect on the child than what I say. The best way, therefore, is for me to stop these visits. That certainly need not affect our friendship.’

‘Mrs.,’ I replied, ‘I am sorry. I understand how you feel as a parent, because I have children too. We can easily put an end to this unpleasant situation. What I eat and what I choose not to eat will have a greater effect on the child than what I say. So the best thing is for me to stop visiting. That certainly does not have to affect our friendship.’

‘I thank you,’ she said with evident relief.

‘Thank you,’ she said, clearly relieved.