Finding the Middle Way: Sattva, AI, and the Ethics of Balance — Part 1

Cultivating Clarity in High-Pressure Tech Environments

Part 1 of a two-part series that explores the quality of Sattva in AI Ethics

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When I tell people about my passion for studying and sharing AI ethics through a dharmic lens, I’m often asked: how do you stay hopeful about such a complex, often discouraging field? How do you maintain optimism when facing algorithmic discrimination, privacy erosion, and the concentration of unprecedented power in the hands of a few tech giants? How do you navigate a landscape so heavily skewed toward Global North narratives and needs — one that clearly requires extensive decolonial ethics work — where before you can even advocate for the validity of a dharmic approach in AI ethics, you first have to educate people about its very existence and validity (despite its 5000 year old history and contemporary relevance)? How does a one-woman consultancy tackle this mammoth task?

There are many ways I address this, of course, but in this article I’d like to focus on the one principle that I rely upon consistently and unequivocally to keep me anchored and steadfast in my dharma — a principle that is a gift bestowed by my spiritual tradition — one that ancient Indian philosophy calls sattva.

Sattva is the trait and practice of approaching difficult problems with clarity rather than reactivity, seeking understanding rather than being right, and maintaining equilibrium even when the stakes feel impossibly high. This isn’t passive detachment; it’s active wisdom. And it’s completely transformed how I engage with the ethical challenges of our AI-driven world.

What Sattva Actually Means in Practice

In traditional dharmic philosophy, sattva (clarity, composure, balance) is one of three fundamental qualities or gunas of consciousness — alongside rajas (passion, activity) and tamas (rest, inertia).

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All of us have all three gunas or qualities, but in different measures. And thank goodness for that! A world full of only sattvic people would be insufferably contemplative, with everyone sitting around seeking truth and peace while the dishes pile up and the bills go unpaid. We need rajas to get things done, to fuel innovation and drive change. We need tamas to know when to stop, rest, and let things be. But sattva is the part of the triangle that creates balance — it softens the sharp edges of unchecked rajas and smooths the stuck corners of excessive tamas.

I think of sattva as the mental state where you can see clearly. It’s that moment in a heated debate when you suddenly understand all perspectives without losing your own centre. It’s the ability to hold complexity without rushing to premature solutions. It’s standing for truthfulness that doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

To borrow from Star Wars, sattva is like a Jedi’s lightsaber — a tool of clarity that can cut through the thickest confusion, but only when wielded with discipline and inner balance.

From Chaos to Clarity: My Personal Guna Journey

In the spirit of full transparency, I’d like to admit that I wasn’t always sattva-focused. For most of my 15+ years in philanthropy and communications, I operated from what dharmic philosophy calls rajas — that driven, passionate, always-moving energy. I was the person who said yes to everything, who thrived on deadline pressure, who measured success by how busy I was. Underneath that hyperactivity was a subtle tamas — a kind of unconscious drift, doing things because they were expected rather than because they were truly aligned.

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I remember those years of juggling multiple tasks, back-to-back meetings, constant emails. I was effective, sure, but I was also exhausted. More troubling, I started noticing how this reactive energy affected my judgment. In heated strategy sessions, I’d default to whatever position felt most urgent rather than what was most true. When facing complex professional problems, I’d gravitate toward solutions that looked impressive and were tried and tested rather than ones that challenged the status quo and therefore opened up new learnings. I was operating from habitual conditioning and a risk-averse position rather than an expansive, open-to-new-solutions mindset. Old ways are not always the best ways, I discovered.

Recognising Sattva in Real Life

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When I think of truly sattvic people I know — apart from the spiritual teachers I’ve had the good fortune to train under — two figures immediately come to mind: my late paternal grandfather (whom I called Thatha) and a dear family friend in Bangalore, Shobha Rajeev.

Both possessed that rare quality of being deeply calm and soft-spoken, with a disarming and authentic humility, no anger or agitation, perpetually centred in a way that felt almost magnetic, with no self-serving egoistic agendas, coupled with the profound ability to truly touch lives with their kind and generous attention.

I tend to be naturally drawn to people like that — those who don’t deliberately seek attention or try to impress, and radiate a quiet peace and contentment from within — not the fragile peace that comes from avoiding conflict, but the unshakeable equanimity that comes from being truly at home in yourself.

My grandfather could navigate family disputes with a gentle direction that somehow satisfied everyone concerned without him taking someone’s explicit side. People flocked from far and wide for his counsel and company. He never sought any kind of attention but he naturally attracted a fan following that spanned from 8 to 80 and beyond. He was the good ancestor everyone wanted to adopt as their own!

If there is such a thing as a Supermodel for sattva, then it has to be Shobha! Her energy is pure and pristine — the kind that compels you to want to be in her presence, not for any personal gain but just to experience what it feels like to be near someone so utterly centred and content in who they are.

Having studied Vedanta formally myself, I often tell Shobha that she possesses something many of us spend years trying to cultivate through study and practice: a natural purity of heart and mind that makes profound spiritual realisation almost effortless. While some of us can understand the great teaching Tat Tvam Asi (‘You are That’) intellectually, people like Shobha and my grandfather seem to embody it naturally. They have what the tradition calls the perfect ‘qualification’ or readiness — a clarity of being that allows the deepest truths to be not just understood but lived. It’s as if their hearts and minds are already so clear that when wisdom comes, it finds a perfect, unobstructed home.

My late grandfather and Shobha embody what sattva looks like in human form: present without being pushy, wise without being preachy, strong without being forceful. These are real rarities in our hyperconnected, always-on world. But witnessing their way of being planted a seed: What if this quality of consciousness could be cultivated? What if the peace and clarity they embodied naturally could become a practice, especially in high-stakes professional environments where such qualities are desperately needed?

Benchmarking against their backdrop, I realise I possess latent sattvic tendencies — I naturally stay calm in crisis situations, tend to pause before reacting, and lean toward seeking understanding rather than being right. But all those years of intense professional pressure and competition had buried that natural clarity under layers of reactive urgency, performance anxiety, and the dreaded impostor syndrome, especially when pivoting from one demanding sector like philanthropy into another dynamic one like AI ethics. The shift toward conscious sattva wasn’t so much about becoming someone new as it was about remembering who I actually was beneath all the professional conditioning.

And while we’re on the topic, here’s something I discovered about how cultivating sattva can help address impostor syndrome: When you approach your work from authentic curiosity rather than trying to prove your expertise, the impostor feelings start to dissolve. In a predominantly sattvic state, you don’t ask “Am I smart enough to be here?” Instead, you revert to, “What can I learn? What’s actually needed? How can I be helpful?” This shift from performance to presence, from knowing to wondering, transforms impostor syndrome from a liability into an asset — because you realise the best insights on any subject often arise from a beginner’s mind, not an expert’s certainty.

In Part 2, I explore how sattva serve the cause of AI ethics, share specific scenarios where sattva can transform challenging situations, and offer practical techniques for cultivating this clarity in high-pressure tech environments. The journey from ancient wisdom to modern technology governance can be surprising, humbling, and ultimately hopeful.

About the Author: Priya Krishnamoorthy helps global and future-forward organisations develop AI systems that honour diverse cultural perspectives and human dignity. Drawing on over two decades in global philanthropy and cross-cultural communications, plus deep training in Vedantic and Buddhist thought, she integrates dharmic wisdom in technology ethics. Through her emerging consultancy, Priya works with companies on building culturally grounded, compassionate, and ethical AI frameworks and governance structures. Her insights on ancient wisdom and modern technology appear regularly on LinkedIn and Medium. Connect with Priya on LinkedIn to explore how dharmic approaches could transform your AI ethics strategy.