I.J. Singh

[Wales85]

The Symbols of a Heritage

by I.J. Singh

“History”, as T.S. Eliot said “has many cunning passages, contrived corridors and issues . . .”. Insofar as religions deal with people, places and events, they are amenable to historical analyses. But religions deal with a reality that transcends history — a reality that the senses cannot perceive and the intellect cannot fathom, yet with which the soul can commune. At that point in awareness one is in the domain of faith. Faith is better than belief. In belief someone else does the thinking for you; in faith, you accept the truth not at someone else’s say so, but because you have internalized it and endorsed it. Belief can mature into faith. From belief comes dependency; from faith, strength. The intangible realm of faith is a symbolic reality that is best expressed through symbols.

It is well to remember that the dimension of faith is not that of science. Of Man’s many concerns, the deepest — faith — is symbolically expressed. By definition symbols and signs signify something else beyond themselves, yet a symbol participates in defining the reality to which it points. A flag is not a nation but a symbol of it and attests to the shared history and dignity of a nation. That is why good people will fight and die for a flag but not let it be desecrated; it becomes significantly more in worth than the price of the cloth from which it is cut. A symbol therefore, can’t be easily replaced by another, or be subjected to scientific logic, nor can it be judged by the criteria of the marketplace.

Symbols are seen in every act of faith. They live and die but only after a historical catastrophe which greatly alters a people’s perception of self and their destiny. The death of existing symbols constitutes devastating events no less important than the phenomena that give them birth and shape. Symbols cannot be invented at will or intentionally produced by committees like business logos. They grow out of the collective consciousness of a people and have to be accepted by the subconscious dimension of their being. Their majesty and power lies in their symbolic character, not in any utilitarian value they might possess. Symbols are found in most aspects of man’s creative activity — art, music, mathematics, history, religion. In fact, man’s cultural history is often symbolically expressed. A cross is a symbol of Christ’s suffering, not the reality of it. After 2000 years of diaspora, the Jews seem to have recognized how symbols connect people to their roots; witness the growing popularity of the Lubavitchers.

India has produced many new religions — Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism among others. Of these only Sikhism remains as a visible, active and distinct entity; others have reverted into the uneasy but comforting fold of Hinduism. Buddhism remains a powerful presence in Sri Lanka, Thailand, Myanmar, Vietnam, China and Japan, but not in the land of its birth, India. Galbraith is correct in his somewhat facetious observation that anything that goes to India or develops there eventually gets Hinduized. He was talking of industry but it is equally true of religions. Islam in India is not quite the same as it is elsewhere, nor is Christianity. Sikhism too has lost some of its luster and much of its pristine purity by its constant brushing with Hinduism. If Sikhism has not been absorbed into the Hindu fold entirely it is not for want of trying by Hinduism, but due to two reasons: 1) Its distinct philosophy which is at odds with and bluntly scornful of many Hindu practices, but that is a minor factor in its survival since most Sikhs are not well versed in it, and 2) The distinct external symbols of Sikhism which set the Sikhs apart in appearance and behavior.

Sometimes, I think that the rot in Sikhism had set in, but has been checked somewhat by the dramatic trauma to their psyche that occurred when the Indian army attacked the Golden temple and many other gurudwaras in 1984. In many ways, those events and the subsequent continuous state of war between India and the Sikhs has forced most Sikhs to reexamine their values and their sense of self. Many Sikhs who were no longer recognizable, became so by readopting the symbols of their faith. It was a horrendous price to pay for the Sikhs, but in the longer historical perspective, the benefits may be increased self-awareness.

The most visible aspect of Sikh tradition, and the most controversial are the external symbols. Not surprisingly, they generate the most intense internal debate and external concern. The interesting point is that only in Sikhism are such weighty and important matters debated by the laity. It is like “war being too important to be left to the Generals.” The theologians and the clergy may preach and teach but the discussion is led and fueled by the ordinary folks who have to live the religion in the modern world; these people are on the front lines and know the price, the problems, the frustrations as well as the rewards. And many of the people have never even taken the final vows (Amrit) of becoming Sikhs. It was just as true at the time of Guru Gobind Singh as it is now that many Sikhs never adopted all of the symbols of Sikhism but — like the Marrano Jews — kept their faith. Such “Sehajdhari” Sikhs have occupied an important and honorable place in Sikh history. But more about them another time.

There are many ways to look at Sikh symbols, the most popular way is to say: The Guru ordained them, ours is not to question why or what he meant by them. There is merit in that position. But the Guru did not bar us from thinking; so let us see what history can tell us. If symbols emerge out of shared history, how did we come to these five? And how has history affected them?

The Sikh with his external uniform and symbols is a Khalsa, a soldier in the army of God. This army created by Guru Gobind Singh was not made to rule over others or to shepherd a flock of sheep-like devotees. Unlike the army of Christ where only the clergy were to be in uniform, in this army of the Khalsa all followers were to join, all were to wear the uniform, everyone was always on call.

Though symbols are not to be judged by their utilitarian value, some of the Sikh symbols seem to be more functional than others. If long hair is de rigueur, a comb is essential for grooming, particularly for a people who knew no peace and lived on horseback. For a people fighting for survival, a sword as a weapon ensured survival. Again, befitting their life-style and India’s terrain and weather, knee length drawers were appropriate. A steel bracelet spoke of the strength of steel; its circle, of a life with no beginning and no end. This strong wide band of steel could also protect or be used as a weapon. In seventeenth century India, when there was a price on every Sikh’s head, when a non-Muslim could not wear a turban, carry a weapon or ride a horse, when it was easier and more tempting to join the faceless anonymous hordes, the long haired Khalsa boldly asserted their presence through their visible symbols. These symbols were a uniform of the Khalsa and still remain so. The philosophy of the Khalsa is eternal and the symbols represent it.

When I look at these symbols nearly three hundred years later, I see that most Sikhs have made a distinction even though at a subconscious level and look at symbols in two different tiers. Circumstances and times have indeed changed. The sword, the comb and the knee length drawers were primarily utilitarian and seem to have changed the most with time. The sword that most Sikhs carry nowadays has been reduced to a symbolic level. Sometimes it is a dull blade a few inches long, more often it is a symbolic sword no more than an inch or two long attached to a comb or a pendant; at times it is only an impression of the sword inlaid into the wood of the comb. The sword has changed from a practical instrument of defence to a symbolic presence of that principle, of strength and resoluteness in action. Similarly, the knee length drawers which were the only garment worn below a loose, long shirt have been modified by most Sikhs who wear the conventional underwear to go with other street attire. The comb though utilitarian has not changed all that much because it is still necessary for the long hair, although many Sikh women now carry only a small non-functional miniature.

The steel bracelet and the long hair remain what they have always been — strictly symbolic. Professor Puran Singh likened the steel bracelet to a wedding band signifying the marriage of the Sikh to the Guru. However, a marriage is a sacrament only where there is real love; for many philanderers the bracelet, like the wedding band, can come on or off with equal ease. Others would rather lose a finger, a hand or a head than a wedding band. A Sikh surgeon would need to remove it and pocket it lest it tear the gloves. If the identity of a Sikh depended only on a visible bracelet, it would be easy for one to hide and that is not what Guru Gobind Singh intended. The long unshorn hair, strictly symbolic, with no pragmatic use or value in the marketplace remains the centerpiece of Sikh identity. It was true 300 years ago and remains equally true now.

One wonders what circumstances in history mandated that only the men adopt the turban to cover the long hair and not the women. The women do maintain all the Sikh symbols including the long unshorn hair. But in the Indian cultural milieu, without a turban they are not easily distinguishable from the millions of Indian women who are not Sikh. Certainly there is no bar to women wearing a turban and some Sikh women in India do; almost all of the Western converts to Sikhism do.

For women, wearing of the turban over their long hair appears to have less to do with their understanding of Sikhism and more to do with the cultural constraints or with the particular school of thought or teacher who has influenced them. One need also remember that around the time that the Sikh symbols evolved, the Muslim rulers had barred non-Muslim men from wearing a turban. In the Indian culture the turban for a man signified respect irrespective of religion, women did not wear it. It was worn by a man who mattered and at that time, the emphasis of the rulers was to debase the subjects and deny them basic human dignity, self worth and self respect. The Gurus reversed this process and the turban though not one of the five basic symbols of Sikhism became inseparable from them, at least for the men.

To serve well symbols must remain visible. Sometimes they are hidden much as the Marrano Jews found it necessary to hide their Jewishness when survival demanded it. Sikh symbols too can be easily concealed — all except the long, unshorn hair. That is precisely why in the annals of Sikh history the unshorn hair have commanded the highest value. I don’t know if Guru Gobind Singh so intended but in the subconscious dimension of their being, the Sikhs have somehow created a hierarchy of their symbols; the long unshorn hair have come to occupy the place of first among equals. A Sikh historically and now, declares his presence by this gift of his Guru. This is wholly consistent with the philosophic significance of a Sikh, and I venture to say that no matter how Sikhs change and what demands are placed upon them, as long as there are those who call themselves Sikhs, there will be long-haired Sikhs in the form that Guru Gobind Singh gave them. The dictum on the interdependence of form and function is significant and worthy of our attention.

A person gets from a symbol what he puts in it. It can be one man’s comfort and inspiration as easily as another’s jest and scorn. In the final analysis, symbols are an embodiment of history, not sentiment.

[Extracted from the author’s book “Sikhs and Sikhism- A view with a bias” (pp. 29-34) published in 1998 by Centennial Foundation, Mississauga, Ontario, Canada]