Sikhs are fond of history, but I don’t know if they have learned much from it. Their reverence for history is clearly seen in the fact that about two-thirds of their daily prayer is a recounting of their history.
Sikhs are also inordinately proud of their past. They never tire of telling themselves and others of their glorious tradition — of the bravery of the Gurus and the early Sikhs, and of their wisdom, mercy, generosity, compassion and kindness. There are many people who point to a remarkable past. The Arab world was the cradle of science and civilization once. The Chinese invented gunpowder, were great traders and speak of an awesome past. The French and the British at one time ruled better than a third of the known world. Jews sing of their glory of 2000 years ago. The Hindus of India too have a past that scholars can spend lifetimes researching, and many do. All had their day in the sun.
I don’t know if that is the best lesson history has to teach us. The past has more inherent worth than being something to crow and sing about. Just remembering how great we were yesterday does not automatically translate into how great we are today. If all we can do is to praise our past, so can others praise theirs; children and insecure adults routinely exalt their fathers. What is so satisfying in that?
There is also the question of the accuracy of history. As an example, consider a recent event that will occupy historians for generations — the American experience and involvement in
Events that are not as emotionally charged as the Vietnam War, occurred a few generations ago, or are of limited significance to a nation’s sense of self are not any easier to resolve. After his wife died, did Thomas Jefferson have a black slave woman as his mistress or did he not? Historians have discussed this question in voluminous tomes but have not come to any agreement.
Recent history is often suspect because dramatis personae with vested interests are still alive and influential events are wrapped up in emotions too intense to be clearly seen. Old history is not much better because with time evidence usually gets tarnished. History is rarely clear in detail, but it doesn’t usually lie about general trends, patterns or results. This is what we need to learn from and about history. Quibbling over historical detail is the bailiwick of professional historians, as well as their obligation, but is of peripheral interest or significance to the nonscholar . Of course, nonscholars must remain cognizant of the scholarly debate on fine points of their history.
It is only in Sikhism that fine differences in historical detail are dissected in gurdwaras and not just in universities. Such debate remains our strength, though it is not without a drawback. The benefit is that through this process an educated, self-aware people are produced. To remain curious about historical debate is good; it is too important to be left to an academic elite. The weakness lies in the fact that often unprepared minds dominate and hijack the debate.
For instance, in Sikh history, whether the dramatic event of the initiation of the Khalsa occurred in 1699, as we believe, or in 1698, as some contend, is of little meaning except to a historian. Whether the electrifying call for a head occurred precisely as we believe or in some slight variation is best left to professional analysts of history. For those who look for meaning and lessons in history, for the philosopher of history and for us, it is sufficient to know that these dramatic events forever altered a people’s consciousness and built a nation. These are the lessons of history; historical detail remains the method that is rarely settled unequivocally.
Historians have to depend for their reconstruction on documents and fragmentary evidence usually long after an event has unfolded. Documents are often incomplete or written by self-serving bureaucrats while time destroys or alters much of the evidence. Historians also bring their own biases to their analysis. Years of doing and examining scientific research have convinced me that there is no such thing as complete objectivity. It is a goal that is never attained. At best we deal with lesser (or greater) degrees of subjectivity. T.S. Eliot reminds us:
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities.
Historians, like Hew McLeod, for instance, often attempt to draw a distinction between their “historical” method and the approach of the believers of a religion. The implication is that the traditionalist-follower of the religion is perhaps not intellectually rigorous enough. This is a bad distinction and not good science. Historians, too, are a product of their social milieu, limited in their vision of the truth by the fragmentary records available to them and by their own biases. Complete objectivity is an ideal that simply does not lie within any scientist’s or historian’s grasp. That is why every generation must reinterpret history and redefine it. (McLeod recognizes this when he says “history is constantly being rewritten and no interpretation is fixed.”)
I submit, and as emphatically as I can, that it is possible to be intellectually rigorous without assuming a priori that all tradition is false unless proved otherwise. This position is tantamount to claiming that everyone is assumed guilty unless proved innocent or that everyone’s fatherhood is in doubt unless direct proof accompanies the birth certificate. (Usually motherhood needs no independent corroboration.)
Sometimes McLeod (and particularly his former students) suggests that this approach is Western and thus more to be admired for its intellectual integrity and rigor. That, I think, would be intellectual arrogance. I look at the writings of Karl Barth or Paul Tillich and I see intellectual rigor without any loss of faith in the message, meaning or mystery of Christianity. Similarly, I discern no peculiar loss of objectivity or honesty in the writings of Kapur Singh, Kahan Singh Nabha or Vir Singh just because they happen to be Sikhs or because they wrote in India.
I understand very well that faith unencumbered by reason can lead to dogma and superstition, but the intellectual process alone will miss facets of reality that transcend the intellect. In view of the limitations of the scientific historical method that are acknowledged by historians including McLeod, I strongly suggest that a good, equally valid and even more desirable starting point for a rigorous historian would be to assume that traditional lore is generally true unless proved otherwise by the overwhelming weight of unimpeachable evidence. Such an approach, I submit, is consistent with modern scientific method.
In Sikh history, at issue are interpretations of many historical events. Early Sikh history is a web so tangled that it is not easy to trace any strand unambiguously to its origin. Also, perusal of its sources requires a mastery of many complex languages, which imposes a barrier to most scholars. Until Ranjit Singh’s reign, Sikhs had little time or leisure to record their history and, in early Indian society, which depended largely on oral rather than a written tradition, little emphasis was placed on historical detail. Yet, intellectual historical analysis enhances our understanding of the young, vibrant and practical but complex religion of the Sikhs.
Historical truth, though desirable, is often both illusive and elusive. We often tend to remake the past into heroic tales when it may not have been heroic; it would be better to tell the sometimes sorry truth and let future generations search for a remedy or an explanation. But truth-telling sometimes makes only a small noise against cultural myth. Witness, for example, our view of Ranjit Singh, the Sikh ruler of Punjab in the first half of the 19th century. He set up an admirable system of government to serve his subjects, irrespective of their religion. But he also undermined some important Sikh institutions such as the authority of the Akal Takht and the tradition of gurmatta. We rightly laud the former but brush aside the latter, often without comment.
No matter how illogical religious beliefs and practices may appear, even the most cynical observer must concede that religions work. Religions have been a powerful presence in human affairs both for good and for bad. If religions unleashed the evil that lurks in human hearts — witness the Inquisition, the Crusades or the witch hunts of Salem — they also allowed the nobler self of man to emerge — St. Thomas, Bhai Ghanhayya, Bhagat Puran Singh of Pingalwara and Mother Teresa are obvious examples. A medieval Indian poet said it best:
Harder than a diamond,
Softer than a flower,
Who can tell?
The mind of man,
Held in religion’s power
Or spell.
Early religions may have been divorced and unconnected to ethics, but it is religion that gave man a sense of social responsibility and ultimately of right and wrong. Ethics and social responsibility form the framework of Sikhism. God is sought in service to humanity; hence the importance of sangat and langar . The mystical presence of the Guru pervades a congregation joined in mindful prayer, says Sikh teaching. The stories of heroism and sacrifice — as of Guru Tegh Bahadur — are told not to make Sikhs bloodthirsty but to teach them that man can and will transcend petty personal concerns for the sake of others and for principle.
When we apply historical tools to the examination of religions, problems soon surface. Religions talk of a reality that transcends the rational process. At least Jesus, Buddha and Nanak were historical figures; about that there is no doubt. Whether most of the Hindu pantheon — Durga, Laxmi, Shiva, Indra, Ganesh, even Rama or Krishna — had any historical reality at all is open to question. Yet their presence pervades and influences the Hindu believer across the bounds of time and space. A historian talks only of the historical Jesus or Nanak — a man who walked the earth at a certain time. Those who have accepted the way of Jesus or Nanak look beyond these men who breathed, traveled and died into the magic of their lives and teachings.
Religions deal with a reality that our senses cannot perceive and that our intellect alone cannot fathom. Clearly, then, such a reality cannot be attained by intellectual tools alone. The desperate quality of people’s lives makes it inevitable that, in trying to grasp that deeper reality, its description would get wrapped in an aura of mystery and described in a language that baffles the uninitiated. When difficult to articulate concepts and religious experiences are captured in words, fanciful imagery and symbolism take over. Historical events, which could be simply dealt with, become difficult to reconcile. The only way out of this impasse seems to be either an attitude of unquestioning acceptance or one of complete cynicism. To a degree unquestioning obedience may be possible, but the mind soon rebels. The other side of the coin — the life of the bitter cynic — is equally unsatisfactory.
An attitude of unquestioning obedience and acceptance seems alien to Sikh teaching. I say that because the Sikh daily prayer asks for the boon of critical thinking. If such ability is so high in Sikh consciousness, one can’t believe that it should or would be suspended when dealing with religious reality. Yet I recognize that an attitude of acceptance is also necessary. As in acquiring any skill or knowledge, a student must first identify a source of knowledge or teacher who can be trusted and then must acknowledge an acceptance of what the teacher has to offer.
Until a certain amount of information and skill has passed to the student, he or she cannot even know how or what to question. Certainly language skills have to be learned before one can communicate in that language. Similarly the fundamentals have to be accepted so that one can gain the sophistication to question. To examine something one must first have found it. To explore one must walk the path.
Most of us clearly see that people like Jesus, Buddha and Nanak were no ordinary men. They left their imprint on our lives and this world for ages to come. We also clearly see — at least sporadically — the ordinary and desperate qualities of our own lives. So we recast the lives of such men in terms that are extrahuman . I point to the stories about the birth and resurrection of Jesus as examples. Similar magical stories appear in the telling of the lives of all religious prophets. Obviously such matters remain historically unverifiable. To my mind they are also unnecessary, and to discard them would neither rob any religion of its glory nor diminish any prophet.
It doesn’t say much for me if all I can do with history is to point out how great my ancestors were. The point is, if they were so great that they are remembered now, how long will I be remembered if my only accomplishment is remembering those who are memorable? I think
Clearly a child must excel the parent just as a student must excel the teacher and a new edition of a book must be better than the old. Otherwise there is no progress and at best what we have is a reprint, not a new edition. What good is it to know that you are descended from a Rockefeller if you are a pauper? What good is it to know that you are the son of a son of a son of a son of a Guru or a memorable Sikh martyr if you have never discovered the spirit of Sikhism? It is not enough to know that your father was a great man. It is more important that he and his life have put you on a path of being greater.
To my mind the right attitude to history is found in gurbani : “ babaania kahaania put saput krein ” ( Guru Granth, p. 951), meaning “historical narratives of forefathers (delving into history) transform biological sons into true (better) sons.” It is a reiteration of the truism that we are what we are because of what we were and that the past speaks and lives through the present.
History leads one toward self-understanding. That is why the novel Roots was so important to black self-awareness in the
We shall not cease from exploring
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive at where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Traditions are rooted in history providing continuity between the past and the present, and history speaks to a people through their traditions. We remember our history because the past is wrapped up in the present and because it points to the future. If we remain aware of the past, the future can be no less.
There is no point remembering the past only to glorify it. The glorification of the past amounts to ancestor worship and that has no place in the Sikh view. For a Sikh, to recount the heroes of yesteryear in his daily prayer is meaningless if the only purpose is to praise them.
The martyrs who died 300 years ago are just as dead as those who died yesterday or will die tomorrow. The purpose is to know that the martyr is you and me, not someone who lived and died hundreds of years ago. If you remember Bhai Taru Singh or Baba Deep Singh or if you remember the sacrifices of the sons of Guru Gobind Singh, it is because now they live through you.
If traditions are the accumulated knowledge of generations past, the study of history makes that knowledge portable and makes it available to the present. Keep in mind that no man is dead until he is forgotten and that history speaks through you and me. We too make history whether or not we like the history we make.
Nuances and fine points of history should be parsed, debated and discussed, but that is better left to academicians. When history speaks through the lives of ordinary people, it becomes their heritage that shapes and sustains them. That is why we should remember history. And that is the purpose of the first two-thirds of the daily prayer of the Sikhs. Let the past fire your imagination. History is to turn you on, not to wallow in. Santayana reminds us that those who do not remember their past are condemned to repeat its mistakes.