As humans, we begin life as highly dependent creatures. Even before we adequately grasp the precariousness of our condition, other humans reliably supply us with the basic necessities we need to survive. Much of growing up is a matter of learning how to provide for ourselves, but unlike many plants and animals whose relationship to nature is more immediate, for people, this largely involves learning how to satisfy our needs in cooperation with other humans within society. From an early stage in our development, the society in which we live thus establishes itself as an important school of life, shaping our actions and expectations. The social relations within enduring human communities give rise to and reveal passions and desires besides, and even beyond, the dictates of bodily preservation, for the sake of which humans willingly risk their lives. Language, religion, art, politics, myth, law, philosophy, literature, science, trade, play, war, and marriage—in addition to their distinctive functions—number among the symbolic domains through which humanity transmits, understands, and modifies itself.
Despite the innumerable differences between societies across the vast expanses of space and time, there nonetheless exist remarkably invariable problems human communities must answer. These arise from the general nature of things and our particular needs as humans, which in turn limit the range of workable solutions. The human category types named above serve as fundamental activities through which humanity addresses these inescapable questions. Since knowledge is difficult to come by and survival demands action, opinion sanctioned by experience often takes on the authority of custom within societies. The presumptive deference to custom is supported by the demonstrated adequacy of the extant for survival, the ease its familiarity lends to planning around it, and the considerable social cost of adjudicating what is to happen next coming prepaid. Given the difficulty in disentangling the causal contributions of different elements in supporting particular social conditions, the incentive of incumbents to perpetuate their advantages, and the challenges of coordinating across heterogeneity, social arrangements on the whole are fairly stable where the people at large are sufficiently content or lack the power to alter them.
These anthropological preliminaries describe some basic features of the topology of human events. As such, they are equally true of Socratic Athens, Caesar’s Rome, Gurū Nanak’s Punjab, or the Framers’ Philadelphia—and so constitute the natural horizon, as the American tradition constitutes my local horizon, for considering mīrī, the principle of GurSikh statesmanship and its task. Of particular importance for our reflections is the notion of human dependence on other humans in society. As a school of life, society habituates humans into modes of being that are quite literally ‘second nature’ for us. This was well understood by ancient Greek political philosophy, as in Plato’s recognition that different regime types are dependent on and productive of corresponding types of souls. At the very least, we might liken society’s power to guide human lives to the force of a river’s current: it is possible to swim upstream, but absent overpowering resolve to the contrary, one will be led along its default course. Without denying the possibility of swimming upstream, which represents the inextricable principle of pīrī or spiritual agency, the task of mīrī or statesmanship is to determine whither the river runs.
Our bearings are revealed by the Gurū. What is most significant about every human life is our extraordinary capacity to walk in perfect harmony with the One from whom we all originate. There exists no lasting peace, happiness, or satisfaction absent progress along this most demanding of vocations, which furnishes life’s perennial objective and ultimate criterion. It is noteworthy that GurSikh tradition at once holds this to be universally true and rejects all claims to exclusivity, viewing the different faiths as vessels seeking this common shore. To claim otherwise would be to mistake sufficiency for necessity, but this does not preclude differences between vessels in speed, congeniality, or relative seaworthiness at different points in time. Revered and followed by Hindus and Muslims alike, Gurū Nanak consistently underscored the importance of ceaseless piety, righteous industry, and perfect charity over credal affiliation and ritual performance. Gurū Nanak sang movingly to Hindus about the characteristics that truly distinguish a Brāhmin and to Muslims about the calling of a true Qāzī.
Charlatans, flatterers, and demagogues may sever peoples from their roots, sowing destructive half-truths and false hopes, but it requires genuine leadership to recall peoples to themselves and fortify their resolve. It is a sign—and a lesson to us—of Gurū Nanak’s extraordinary pīrī and mīrī alike that he could see past the rank spiritual enervation, discerning instead what is best in the traditions he encountered. Rather than dismissing Hinduism and Islam wholesale for the pernicious flaws of some corrupt leaders in their folds, the authority of Gurū Nanak’s radiant example renewed the forms, inspiring the faithful to rediscover the rich essences of their respective traditions. Notably, as his universalism was not accompanied by exclusivism, neither did his non-exclusivism descend into relativism. Gurū Nanak’s regard for the variety of the One’s creation was inseparable from his awareness of the divinity pervading it. Diversity on this conception does not mistakenly hypostasize the incidental snakeskins of ego into the essential, terminating in the degrading stasis of group solipsism. Rather, it foregrounds the ultimate and sublimely challenging purpose that unites everyone, celebrating the multifarious expressions of our common humanity as revelations of the One’s creative prowess and as clues into the mysteries of being.
Leisure is downstream of plenty, and culture is downstream of leisure. Is it then any surprise the ruling parts of ancient societies from India to Greece assumed only the few were capable of culture? Excellence was held to be the preserve of the sagacious few, born to rule the many by reins and spurs. Scarcity in the goods of life were not unrelated to distinctions between Brahmins and untouchables, between citizens and natural slaves. While the meticulous cultivation of human potential does require a period of remove from the relentless demands of the outside world—it must in turn justify such investment to the world outside—the conflation of worth and birth is untenable in the long run . Experience refutes the view that blood is the best guarantor of ability. Where birth corresponds more closely to privilege than merit, regimes are ripe for alteration. The slogan ‘the many are the wise’ may be enough to topple a throne, but wisdom is no empty honorific. At best, such flattery comfortably enchains the people, for genuine self-rule demands self-mastery. Gurū Nanak’s revolution is to empower all humans with the wisdom needed to realize our extraordinary potential.
Put differently, GurSikhī rejects the utopianism of wishing away realities and the tragic vision on which life requires unacceptable tradeoffs between fundamental goods equally necessary to human flourishing. Equality and excellence both exist and carry legitimate claims. The tension between them constitutes one of the recurring problems all groups, institutions, and societies must face. As debasing the standards of excellence for the sake of equality vitiates not only the production of excellence, but also the value of equality, so denying equal opportunity to pursue excellence offends not only against equality, but also truncates the full expression of potential excellence. The solution is to measure excellence against the possibilities inherent in the activity at hand, leaving all equal liberty to employ their endowments to accomplish what they may absent the tyranny of arbitrary barriers. Such an ethos of just competition linked to the spirit of charity constitutes an important strand common to the GurSikh and American traditions.
It strikes me as doubly significant that ancient Indian and Greek polytheism were accompanied by deep societal inequalities and that both civilizations bequeathed us rich tragic dilemmas, such as those of Arjuna and Antigone. Beyond the heroes, if even the gods are wont to war among themselves and to exhibit moral shortcomings and doubts not unlike our own, they are less able to provide a conception of perfect goodness that may serve as a comprehensive ordering principle for individual lives and for society as a whole. Brahman and the pious interventions of Plato’s Socrates offered just this, but the ethos of warring particularities remained spiritually and societally predominant. Under such conditions, we are more likely to see tragic compromises between central principles and such tradeoffs begetting further overcorrections. While some tradeoffs are better than others, all are reactive and precarious. Perfection alone remains independent and eternally itself. It is to this state of perfect harmony with the One that GurSikhī leads us.
Unsurprisingly, our efforts to clarify mīrī have led us squarely back to pīrī, for in the final analysis, statecraft and soulcraft are inseparable. All virtues have their fount and perfection in the One, and so all virtues perfectly realized are one. The canonical vices—lust, wrath, avarice, infatuation, and hubris—are known in GurSikh scripture as the ‘five thieves,’ since they rob us of our better judgement. For the same reason, GurSikhs abstain from alcohol and other intoxicants, treasuring each moment as an opportunity to glorify the One by instantiating the divine virtues, thereby realizing what is best. Under the thrall of the five, we lose all sense of proportion and self-mastery, waking to find ourselves led astray by a part. As the holy shore is immovable, idolatrous distractions and delays are self-defeating, as is painfully all-too-obvious after the fact. Ardās, the daily prayer of the Sikhs, concludes by drawing our attention to the common good or the good of the whole, ‘sarbat dā bhallā.” In the most demanding enterprise of bringing about what is best for the whole, the five thieves represent precisely those limitations one would seek to cure in oneself as much as in one’s leaders, allies, and subordinates.
As Plato knew, the city and soul alike have their parts, and there is no justice in disregarding their legitimate claims. The statesman differs from the partisan in that the former is responsible for promoting the good of the whole, rather than for representing the interests of a part, no matter how importunate. At its best, a constitution is like the ropes binding Odysseus—at his instruction—to the mast of his ship; so a people in their prudential foresight might willingly constrain the scope of their democratic capacities against the future temptation of siren song. Drawing upon Montesquieu’s widely acclaimed teaching regarding the separation of powers, John Adams expressly forbids any mixing of the legislative, executive, and judicial powers in the 1780 Massachusetts state constitution, “…to the end that it may be a government of laws, and not of men.” A ruling faction may earnestly believe the cause it champions would benefit the whole nation, but the United States Constitution furnishes legal safeguards against the unilateral imposition of unwanted presents. The American and GurSikh traditions alike recognize the importance of securing a sphere free of compulsion, whether the tyranny arises from without or within.
Against the claims of Hobbes and the legal positivists, the Declaration of Independence recognizes the existence of “certain unalienable Rights” of the Creator’s endowment. On this natural law understanding, human claims to just treatment have a pre-political foundation, and state legitimacy is partially a function of its ability “to secure these rights.” As in the related civic republican tradition, one’s liberties do not rely upon a ruler’s arbitrary whims. In still more classical terms, this tradition places Cato’s unyielding justice above Caesar’s self-serving clemency. The First and Second Amendment within the American Bill of Rights and their implicit relation are particularly congenial to GurSikh ideals and history; because we possess rights against the government’s “establishment” of religion and interference with the “free exercise thereof,” we hold that “the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” More explicitly, the text of the latter, cites the necessity of a “Well regulated militia […] to the security of a free State,” where the adjective “free” is arguably central to its meaning.
The head of Gurū Tegh Bahadur fell by the sword in 1675. The ninth Nanak offered it willingly at Delhi to safeguard the religious liberty of all adherents of the Hindu dharma from Mughal tyranny. The sword was among the endowments of Gurū Gobind Singh, the tenth Nanak, to the faithful on 1699’s Vaisākhī day at Anandpur. Naming it the kirpān—the sword of grace and mercy—he explained it is to remain ever-ready by the side of initiates into the then nascent Khalsā order of mystic-statesmen, to be unsheathed in defense only after exhausting all peaceful means for upholding justice. The Khalsā are further instructed to wear a kaṛā, a protective cast-iron bracelet representing the One’s unity and reminding one to perform only righteous deeds. The kaccherā—drawstring drawers—reminds the wearer to remain vigilant against temptation. GurSikhs maintain kes, or unshorn hair, throughout the body in celebratory acceptance of the Creator’s intent. A wordless proclamation of self-assurance beyond the vagaries of passing time and fashion, an unfettered beard commands salutation. Finally, the kangā—a wooden comb—helps preserve the kes in disciplined, untangled dignity.
Each morning, many GurSikhs crown their kes with a dastār or turban. With every fold and twist of the regal fabric, one recalls the blessed martyrs who paid the ultimate sacrifice to secure this crown and the beautiful legacy its bearer must uphold. One knows one will be seen differently for one’s dastār, and therein lies a great boon. Like a flag carried into the daily battle of life, the dastār inspires valor. It is a warning to tyrants and a promise to the vulnerable; justice will prevail so long as the One grants me the life to see it done. The dastār signifies one’s most sacred allegiances to the highest ideals for all the world to see. Giving outer expression to our innermost convictions, it helps the world hold us accountable to what is best in us. Not only does the Lord see all, even the humblest can tell if one shirks one’s duty in uniform. Hence the dastār ties worldly honor to a GurSikh’s ultimate commitments, encouraging the most sovereign wisdom within to help us cultivate the good of the whole.
Clearly, the task of mīrī is immense. GurSikh statecraft and soulcraft form an indivisible whole, requiring a degree of self-mastery attainable only by transcending the self’s myriad illusions. Only thus can one help navigate the river of life, traveling reliably where one intends, and not adrift. Lest this sound like a solitary venture, it is essential to recall the importance of the sangat or fellowship in the GurSikh path. We learn faster by learning together, and in sharing what we know, we are graced by more than we could have imagined. GurSikh scripture and experience constitute a mutually-illuminating treasury of possibilities, whose summative effect is to ennoble history and enrich our capacity to live with integrity. We are called on to become connoisseurs of human nature, affairs, and excellence. A word of caution: in the ‘Age of Reason,’ it was the height of unreason to demand everything be reasonable all at once, for society is a tremendously complex ecosystem rife with nature’s mysteries, and sure enough, le Tricolore soon dripped incarnadine. Thus epistemic humility, interpretive charity, and prudential restraint must grace our labors. Essential as these virtues are, let our modesty not compromise our ardor for becoming what is best, that justice may be done, and that we may see the One reign victorious forever, here and hereafter.
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Nihal Singh