If we divide all of history—depending on whether the push of certain pasts or pull of possible futures is predominant—into ages of memory and ages of imagination, the latter has by and large enjoyed ascendency since the Enlightenment. Of course, the Renaissance reminds us that ages of memory can generate fresh monuments of the imagination, as the present reveals how potently vying understandings of the past may animate rival visions of the future. Yet what far-reaching social transformations have promises of progress not sanctioned? And what, but outrage, greets the claims of vestigial allegiances—those dark tidings of reaction—in all well-thinking circles?
The impulse to bisect the sweep of human experience into ages of memory and ages of imagination itself arises from the historical consciousness of the latter, further claiming to preclude the legitimacy of the former upon its discovery. History thus comes to assume a teleological and linear character for the partisans of progress, who are at once convinced of their moral superiority and inevitable triumph; defenders of the inheritance of earlier ages must learn anew to articulate the enduring wisdom of their forebears against the latest incarnation of the radical specter.
Profound changes in theoretical understandings, social relations, and technological capacities have contributed to a consequential shift away from visions grounded in accounts of a fixed human nature with an element of rationality capable of ruling and being ruled by superior reason. A shared understanding of the highest good for humans is then replaced with a denial of standards transcending individual desires in personal conduct, though the systemic consequences are sufficiently opprobrious as to necessitate radical political change—or at least to furnish permanent justification for state intervention.
Nothing is anything by its own nature under such a dispensation; we are the playthings of historical and biological processes, altogether devoid of inherent meaning. If we are to have values, they must be our creations, and can have no higher justification than our having chosen them. Failing to acknowledge any obligations and prohibitions that are not of our own choosing, it is all too easy to disown oneself and to expect too little from others.
Education has long since abandoned the labor of imparting a stock of canonical works to the memory of the young. There exists little by way of shared culture, each human siloed and fed a personalised feed of digital ephemera as if optimized for our depersonalization. We have more content at our fingertips than may be consumed in a lifetime, yet who believes it offers anything approaching genuine contentment?
How astute the GurSikh psychology of the five thieves who pursue us across our devices, plundering not only time but also our resolve to live righteously! Our real-world relationships, with all their attendant hopes and anxieties, are leveraged to attach us to pixels on screens. Bespoke advertisements appeal to our acquisitiveness, and smug half truths stoke partisan rage. Some deal in desire, and exceedingly vain is the vanity of accumulating views, followers, and interactions.
While few would deny that something has gone profoundly wrong, humanity careens towards ever greater technological entanglement. States race against one another to harness the tremendous power of artificial intelligence as well as of nuclear and biological weapons, cognizant of the destruction that such technologies, failures of collective action, and rogue actors may unleash. So much for the utopian dreams behind this age of imagination.
Against the claims of our age and some of its grimmest consequences, I would submit that a particular form of remembrance is the most vital mental faculty for humanity to cultivate. After all, upon attaining perfect bliss, Gurū Amardas instructs his mind to dwell forever with its cause: ‘O my mind, forever dwell with the immanent One/dwelling with whom—O my mind—all sorrow is forgotten’. Which Sikh does not know the original words from the second pauṛī of Ānandu Sāhib: ‘e mana meriā tū sadā rahu hari nāle…’? The third Gurū’s declaration of supreme realization—often in truncated form—plays an integral role within both GurSikh liturgy and personal devotions.
There is evidently a direct correlation between remembering the One and forgetting all suffering, but the precise nature of the causal mechanism behind these familiar words bears some reflection. It is noteworthy that the experience of supreme bliss Gurū Amardas begins Ānandu Sāhib by declaring is the result of having attained the SatiGurū. The SatiGurū is the One as the supreme enlightener whose grace grants knowledge of the fundamental nature of reality.
It is clearly in the nature of mana or the mind to be thus illuminated, because this ultimate realisation is characterized as occurring with sahaja, the mind further resounding in acclamation. Sahaja is a key term that rewards careful study. At present, it may be glossed in translation (drawing upon Monier-Williams and Chaturvedi) with words such as ‘innate, congenital, natural, instinctual, spontaneous, intuitive, easy’ or effortless, where the earlier adjectives suggesting being ‘born with’ are essentially its etymological equivalents. This conceptual cluster may be taken to intimate that mana’s illumination by the SatiGuru is effortless and productive of Ānandu because it is as much in the nature of mana to be enlightened as it is in the nature of the SatiGurū to enlighten.
The supreme illumination is itself the knowledge that grants supreme bliss. Yet this ‘knowledge’ must not be mistaken as merely a propositional ‘knowing that’ or as merely a technical ‘knowing how’. Attainment of the SatiGurū denotes mystical union in the supreme being; it may be termed a ‘knowing as’ Nanak. This knowledge is experienced in the form of Sabada—which a jewelled entourage of rāgas, their relations, and fairies comes to accompany—sung by those in whose minds the immanent One is enshrined. Such unitive recollection of our true nature is essential for dispelling our fragmentation.
Remembrance of this kind at once transcends and furnishes the most effective protection from the five thieves, the lure of screens, and temptations to defect. It yields not only the cessation of suffering, but also first-personal knowledge of the One, characterized by supreme bliss and celestial song. There is undoubtedly, then, both a ‘knowing that’ concerning the propositions the Sabada reveals and a ‘knowing how’ in their rāgic renditions; I only deny that this is all there is.
The Ardās models contemplative remembrance—simarana—of the Gurūs, in whom the Sabada took corporeal form and acted within history. Does the inner logic of GurSikhī then enjoin us to usher in an age of memory based on the ten Gurūs’ example? Their extraordinary deeds and utterances undoubtedly serve as a perennial model to inspire us, to lead us in all endeavors, both little and great. This commitment itself demands that we remember and honor the fateful decision of Guru Gobind Singh jī: we are blessed to live under the eternal Gurūship of the eleventh successor to throne of Gurū Nanak, Srī Guru Granth Sahib jī. It vital that we walk in Hukami, serving Gurū Granth and Gurū Panth with absolute devotion and resolution. In this, our allotted time, may we neither shrink from the responsibility of bearing witness to an immutable Panth nor turn a blind eye to the sovereign, ever-flowing kalama of Providence.
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Nihal Singh