Religious Charity: A Personal Reflection
When I was living in Mathigiri, a political leader once suggested that I collect money from my shishyas to engage in social service for the poor and needy in that area. My response was simple: “The poor and needy are everywhere.” Instead of centralizing charity, I encourage my shishyas to serve the people in their own localities. By doing this, we not only localize the charity but also avoid spending unnecessary time, money, and energy in organizing and administering it—resources that could otherwise directly reach the people in need.
To me, even organized social service is a concept we Indians have largely inherited from Western traditions. Malavika Kasturi, in her study of gifting practices in colonial India, notes this shift:
“The period witnessed a transformation in the meaning and purpose of dāna (gift-giving), as elites used it to assert moral and symbolic authority amid changing political circumstances. At the same time, colonial legal reforms sought to delegitimise traditional forms of gifting and recast benevolence in terms of state-sanctioned charity and utility.”1
Traditionally, philanthropic work in Indian society has been informal and personal—done by individuals and families without organizational overhead. Temples did receive land grants, but these were not necessarily for charity. Such grants, or devadāna, served religious, political, and economic purposes. While anna dāna (feeding others) occurred at temples, it was not framed as charity but as part of nara yajña—daily sacrifices where caring for others is an extension of one’s spiritual practice.
This is not to say I oppose all forms of organized social service. I deeply respect the work done by NGOs and other groups. Who wouldn’t bow in admiration before someone like Mother Teresa and the work she initiated, which is still being carried on by the Missionaries of Charity?
However, as I’ve said elsewhere, quoting someone’s sharp insight: “Throwing a bone to the dog is not charity, but sharing the same bone when you are as hungry as the dog.” This doesn’t imply that every person doing charity should give up all wealth and live in poverty. I do not advocate for that kind of socialism, which only aims at equal distribution of poverty.
But the use of social service as a profession—especially when done in the name of religion or God—raises serious ethical concerns. To me, it borders on exploitation. Charity must stem from a humanitarian concern. Any hidden agenda—religious or personal—turns the act into a means of using the vulnerability of the poor to fulfill one’s spiritual, sentimental, or promotional desires.
I have seen charity done in the name of religion, especially within Christianity, where it is often presented as a “witness to faith” or “witness to the Lord.” But does God really need such promotion through the needs of the poor? In the Old Testament, God says that true worship is caring for orphans and widows. In another instance, He declares that He hates their sacrifices, saying that if He were hungry, He would take food for Himself—after all, everything belongs to Him. If God condemns hypocritical worship so harshly, how much more would He denounce charity done with the motive of converting others or promoting a religious agenda in His name?
Even in the Mahabharata, we find a critique of superficial giving. In the story of Yudhishthira’s Rājasūya yajña, a fox whose body turns half to gold declares that all the king’s grand charity does not match the simple offering of a poor Brahmin who gave his last meal in true selflessness. This story highlights a profound truth: charity done from one’s humanity—without fanfare, without agenda—is more noble than any public display of giving. [See more on this: https://dayanandbharati.in/dhana/]
Many Hindus engage in generous charitable activities. Rarely, however, do they claim to do so as a witness to their deity or as an expression of their bhakti. While some may give in pursuit of merit (punya), to atone for sins, or even for public recognition, such giving usually remains personal and falls under the traditional idea of dāna. But when charity is done on a larger, organized scale, often humanitarian concern—manushya dharma—remains the core motive. In such efforts, fewer resources are consumed by institutional logistics, and more directly benefit those in need.
Of course, during times of natural disaster or emergency, large-scale organized charity becomes necessary. But in ordinary times, charity motivated by manushya dharma is usually localized, unstructured, and sincere.
When charity is done in the name of faith, however, a significant portion of energy and funds often go into mobilizing resources, administration, and publicity. Regrettably, much of this organized charity—though outwardly noble—is sometimes more about satisfying the religious urges or promotional needs of the donors than about serving the poor.
This is a controversial subject, and I admit I need to think more about it. I am open to changing my view if someone—especially those who engage in faith-based charity—can help me see it differently.
For readers interested in a deeper exploration of these themes and reflections on modern Christianity, you may find my extended analysis helpful [on Charity]:
Dayanand Bharati
Gurukulam, October 25, 2012
Revised on May 16, 2025, Ashram
1See Malavika Kasturi, “‘All gifting is sacred’: The Sanatana Dharma sabha movement, the reform of dana and civil society in late colonial India,” Indian Economic & Social History Review, 47:1 (2010), 107–139. DOI: 10.1177/001946460904700104.
In the colonial period, which witnessed an explosion in socio-
religious forms of gifting, dana acquired new forms and political meanings. Donors perceived Dana as a significant political and cultural field, replete with opportunities in troubled times. A number of elites, the main patrons of the exploding field of donations, asserted their moral authority and symbolic capital through flamboyant acts of public devotionalism, even as their power and position ebbed and flowed. (p.112)
Colonial laws on gifting aimed to transform the direction, forms and meanings of giving. Between 1780 and 1840, the colonial state had evolved a paradigm privileging state–sponsored charity based on the ideas of public utility, rationality and good works for the public good.34 This shift in colonial attitudes delegitimised indigenous gifting as wasteful in order to propagate the Company as ‘the effective and final source of benevolence and philanthropy’ in its territories.35 The new meanings given to dana were formalised by the Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments Acts passed between 1863 and 1920.36(p.116)
34 S Sharma, S. Famine, Philanthropy and the State, North India in the Early Nineteenth Century, Delhi, 2001. p. 173–6.
35 Ibid., p. 136.
36 Appadurai, Worship and Conflict, Koslowski, Muslim Endowments; Sharma, Famine and Philanthropy, p. 192; Birla, Stages of Capital, pp. 65–139.
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