At their core, educational institutions are intended to be ‘temples of empiricism’. Their entire legitimacy rests on a single, unforgiving premise: that truth is discovered through observation, experimentation, and peer-reviewed verification, not through revelation, tradition, or charismatic authority. The scientific method thrives on questioning, falsifiability, and rigorous doubt — virtues that stand in direct opposition to belief, spiritualism, and uncritical reverence. This is not a mere aesthetic choice or a harmless nod to cultural heritage; it is a profound philosophical contradiction. This raises a disquieting question: when an academic institute prioritises spiritual performance and political deference over intellectual rigour, does it erode the very foundation of its own mission?

Knowledge advances not by revering the past, but by challenging it. Newton’s famous “shoulders of giants” line was half-jest—not a call to worship, but to build critically on past work. History shows this: Galileo, Darwin, and Einstein each overturned once-sacred truths. This relentless, iconoclastic spirit is the engine of human knowledge.

When a university or research body such as the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) introduces feudalistic, socially hierarchical etiquette — requiring students to bow before dignitaries and formal functions such as convocations suffused with religious incantations — it transmits a deeply corrosive message. Consider the 2026 convocation ceremony, in August, at IIT Delhi, where Prime Minister Narendra Modi was the chief guest. Reports surrounding the ceremony highlighted two practices that drew criticism: students were reportedly instructed on how far to bow while receiving medals from the Prime Minister, and were reportedly asked to stand during Vedic chants.

In a secular, democratic republic, these are ideological statements with far-reaching consequences. By doing so, the institution subtly endorses the idea that the state and its functionaries operate under a supernatural mandate, a concept antithetical to the rational, evidence-based framework of a modern republic.

The bowing protocol resurrects a pre-modern, courtly hierarchy that has no place in an institution ostensibly committed to meritocracy and intellectual emancipation. It infantilises the graduating students, reducing them from autonomous, critical thinkers to supplicants seeking the favour of a political figure. Yet, it is precisely here that the ceremony reveals its deepest irony: the Prime Minister — a self-avowed votary of his religious practices — used his address to urge students to question conventional wisdom and challenge accepted traditions. The dissonance between the ritual performance and the rhetorical exhortation could hardly be more pronounced. This performative contradiction reveals the ceremony for what it is: a carefully orchestrated spectacle of power, where the substance of the message is sacrificed for the optics of reverence. The spirit of the Constitution requires us to value democratic equality over feudal submission.

By reintroducing ritualised submission into academic life, we are resurrecting an intellectual straitjacket. When a student is compelled to bow before a political figure on a dais, the message is that authority is to be obeyed, not interrogated. When a scientific convocation opens with a religious prayer, it is implied that the supernatural has a seat at the table of empirical inquiry.

Defenders will call these practices mere “cultural flourishes” — innocent tributes to India’s ancient past, meant to ground students and teach respect. But that argument falters the moment we examine it. The old guru-shishya paradigm, for all its reverence, demanded unquestioning obedience — the student absorbing the master’s word without debate. Modern pedagogy has moved on. It is built on Socratic dialectic — on the clash of ideas; on rigorous, respectful dissent.

The performative traditionalism often serves a political function. By wrapping themselves in the cloak of ancient culture, institutions deflect scrutiny and discourage dissent. Critics can be branded as “westernised”, “anti-national” or a recently added epithet, “Dimagi Naxal (intellectual extremist”) for objecting to what is, in essence, a breach of academic ethics. This rhetorical strategy is intellectually dishonest; it conflates so-called cultural pride with uncritical obedience, and tradition with truth. The result is a climate of fear — where academics and students self-censor, wary of being branded traitors for defending institutional integrity. Most Indian researchers today are too afraid to question government overreach, including their academies, for fear of retaliation.

The “Free to Think 2026” report published by Scholars at Risk (SAR) — an international network that monitors education communities worldwide — presents a comprehensive assessment of the challenges confronting India’s academic landscape. Based on data from July 1, 2025, to June 30, 2026, the report assesses academic freedom in India as “severely restricted.” The report says that India’s Academic Freedom Index score fell from 0.38 in 2022 to 0.14 in 2025, leaving it in the “severely restricted” category. This is attributed to deterioration to systematic government interference in university governance, suppression of dissent among faculty and students, and a pervasive climate of fear and self-censorship across Indian campuses.

The report says that the central government, led by the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, has expanded its authority over higher education through the University Grants Commission (UGC). Measures include relaxing academic qualification criteria for Vice-Chancellors and accelerating the casualisation of the academic workforce by removing the 10% cap on non-permanent or contract-based faculty appointments. These policy shifts eliminated the previous limit on contractual faculty positions under the 2018 regulations. The report highlights that government interference in university operations — such as exerting influence over administration, curricula, and management — undermines institutional autonomy and standards of teaching; it also cites police violence against student protests as instances of direct repression of critical voices on campuses and outside.

The presence of spiritual rituals and hierarchical protocols in research institutions is no trivial matter. It is a canary in the coal mine of academic freedom. If a scientist can be compelled to bow to a politician, or to sit through religious chants before a lecture, we must ask: what other compromises await? Will research agendas be steered by political piety rather than public need? Will funding be allocated based on ideological alignment rather than scientific merit, thereby rewarding sycophants?

If we are to preserve the integrity of scientific inquiry, we must insist that our universities remain sanctuaries of scepticism, not stages for spiritual theatre or political sycophancy. The future of knowledge, and indeed the future of a free and democratic society, depends on it.

If we truly wish to honour India’s legacy of cultural renaissance and critical thought, we need only turn to Rabindranath Tagore. His poem “Where the Mind is Without Fear” — written under British rule — is not a relic of nostalgic pride, but an invocation for a future world: one where people think with courage, seek truth fearlessly, and live without narrow walls of division. That is one traditional link worth defending — and perhaps even chanting at a convocation. It is a hymn to intellectual courage and the relentless pursuit of truth, not the hollow verse used to silence and intimidate. Let us reclaim the free spirit of inquiry, ensure our academic landscapes remain true to their secular purpose, and help resurrect an education sector currently in a shambles — largely due to doctrinaire rigidity, corruption and misgovernance.

C.P. Rajendran is a geoscientist and a communicator on science, politics, environment and education