Introduction
Like many other world religious and spiritual traditions, the Sikh tradition is philosophically rich. The primary Sikh scripture, Sri Guru Granth Sahib, contains a comprehensive philosophical system, with an integrated metaphysics, epistemology, philosophy of mind, and ethics. My focus in this work is on the ethics, though it is also necessary to say some things about the other aspects of Sikh philosophy in the process. It is meant for a variety of audiences: Western philosophers looking to better understand other traditions, Sikhs interested in an academic philosophical approach to understanding their own tradition, and anyone else intrigued by Sikh thought. On the interpretation I present, the Sikh ethical theory is an ethic of truthful living – living in a way that is true to the fundamental Oneness of all existence.
Despite containing a comprehensive philosophical system, Sikh philosophy has received almost no attention in Western analytic philosophy. This remains so even amid increasing engagement with other non-Western traditions. Though analytic philosophy is still predominantly a Western, Anglophone tradition in its demographics and practice, it aims to be defined not by its parochial intellectual history but by a methodology that focuses on clear and precise arguments and definitions of terms. In recent years, this analytic methodology has increasingly been used to draw out systematic philosophical theories from a variety of traditions. There is now significant work in analytic philosophy on a variety of non-Western traditions, including Islam, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Vedic traditions.
This diversification in the application of analytic methodology faces significant obstacles when it comes to Sikh philosophy. The primary text, Sri Guru Granth Sahib (hereafter SGGS), is not presented in a form that is familiar to Western audiences. It is comprised entirely of poetry written in an unfamiliar language, and its conceptual repertoire does not always correspond to that of Western thought, making accurate translation difficult.
As a result, non-Sikhs usually know very little about Sikh thought. Moreover, there are almost no Sikhs in philosophy departments in the West. As a result, there is virtually no one in philosophy departments in the West qualified to write about Sikh philosophy. Outside of philosophy departments, such as in the field of Sikh Studies, there have been attempts to engage philosophically with the Sikh tradition, but not using the analytic methodology.
Even in analytic philosophical texts that claim to broadly represent the philosophical history of South Asia, Sikh thought is completely absent. For example, Jonardon Ganeri is perhaps the preeminent philosopher writing about South Asian traditions. His 2011 book, The Lost Age of Reason, focuses on philosophical developments in South Asia from 1450–1700. The entirety of SGGS was written during this period, yet there is not even a single mention of the term “Sikh” in Ganeri’s book, let alone any discussion of Sikh philosophy.
The point of this example is not to single out Ganeri but to illustrate just how dire the lack of representation of Sikh philosophy is. Even in philosophical engagement with the specific region in which Sikh philosophy originated, during the specific time period in which this philosophy originated, Sikh philosophy is completely ignored. In this way, the distinctive contributions of Sikh philosophy are erased from the narrative of history. Perhaps philosophers like Ganeri have simply overlooked the contributions of Sikh philosophy. Or perhaps they do not feel qualified to engage with it.
Either way, the erasure of Sikh philosophy is problematic. This Element is an attempt to address this problem, at least to some degree. My goal is to present a central component of Sikh philosophy, its ethics, by using the tools and methods of analytic philosophy to reconstruct it in a form that is understandable to Western audiences while still accurately capturing its distinctive, autochthonous features.
Of course, I do not expect readers to simply take my word that the Sikh tradition contains a distinctive philosophical system, including a systematic ethical theory. How can this claim be substantiated? In my view, it is to be substantiated through a rational reconstruction of the philosophical system contained in SGGS.Footnote 1 This idea can be applied to philosophical theories, in the following way: a rational reconstruction of a philosophical theory is an interpretation of it as a coherent system. If there is no coherent system to be found, the reconstruction fails. If the reconstruction succeeds, it offers proof that the theory presents a coherent system.
A rational reconstruction in this sense can be contrasted with a historical reconstruction. A historical reconstruction of a theory is an interpretation of that theory primarily in view of its historical and social context. As such, it presupposes no commitment to finding coherence or systematicity. Indeed, focusing on messy historical and social context may even push away from reconstructing a coherent and systematic theory, and toward deemphasizing the purely philosophical aspects of the development of the theory.
If there is doubt that Sikh philosophy presents a coherent and systematic ethical theory, this doubt must be addressed by engaging in interpretation of Sikh philosophy that attempts to draw out its coherence and systematicity. This is not something that has been attempted with Sikh philosophy, even by those few philosophers who attempt to address it. For example, Arvind-Pal Singh Mandair, in his 2023 book on Sikh philosophy, engages in historical reconstruction rather than philosophical reconstruction. He is, in the first instance, engaged in a project of trying to understand the development of Sikh thought in historical and social context.
This leads Mandair to conclude that there is not a systematic philosophy contained in SGGS. Instead, it is “pre-philosophical,” as he puts it (Reference Mandair2023, 21). Moreover, he describes Sikh philosophy as an “assemblage,” which developed from its “pre-philosophical roots” into a “field in its own right” through encounters with Western modernity (21). Whether or not Mandair’s historiography is sound, he seems to have no background commitment to reconstructing a coherent philosophical system in his interpretive engagement with SGGS. Moreover, his characterization of the SGGS as pre-philosophical risks feeding into a Eurocentric conception of what is truly and systematically philosophical.Footnote 2 This example illustrates the pitfalls of historical reconstruction and the need for rational reconstruction when interpreting philosophical texts.
As a rational reconstruction, my approach begins with the assumption that there is a coherent and systematic ethical theory presented in SGGS. I then engage closely with the text with an eye toward drawing out this theory and presenting it so that its coherence and systematicity is clear to the reader. As brief background, SGGS consists of 1430 ang (pages) of verse, containing 5894 sabad (compositions). These compositions were primarily written by six of the ten Sikh gurus, who collectively founded the Sikh tradition over the course of roughly 200 years. The text also contains compositions from several Sikh devotees, as well as a number of religious progressives from Hindu and Muslim traditions. As such, it is in some ways unsurprising that many would be skeptical that such a text could contain a systematic and coherent philosophy.
Throughout my textual analysis, my claims about how the relevant theses, principles, and concepts fit together are guided by the methodology of analytic philosophy. That is, I attempt to provide clear and precise definitions of all terminology and provide rigorous arguments for my conclusions about how things must be interpreted in order to be coherent and systematic. Though the methodology I use is Western and Anglophone in its etiology, I attempt fastidiously to avoid superimposing any distinctively Western ideas, especially Judeo-Christian ones, onto Sikh ethics. As many Sikh scholars have noted, this has historically been a serious problem with attempts at interpreting Sikh thought.Footnote 3
So, while I attempt to clearly and precisely explicate the conceptual repertoire of Sikh ethics, I do not assume that these concepts have strict analogues in the conceptual repertoire of Western philosophy. Correspondingly, I advert to English translations of the relevant terms only when I am confident that doing so is reasonably innocuous. Finally, I reserve any comparative discussion of Sikh and Western philosophy (except in passing) for concluding remarks, so as to avoid giving the false impression that Sikh ethics must be legitimized through such comparisons.
On the matter of translation, the lack of accurate English translations of SGGS remains a notorious problem in Anglophone academic engagement with Sikh thought. As such, I provide my own translations of the original text throughout my analysis, sometimes drawing on existing translations, but always attempting to capture the original meaning as fully as possible.Footnote 4 One issue with many existing translations is that they attempt to render in English terms that have no accurate English translation. In such cases, I preserve the original terms and attempt to explain the concepts they pick out.
My exposition of Sikh ethics proceeds as follows. In Section 1, I provide a brief primer on the metaphysical foundations of Sikh philosophy, as I understand them. In Section 2, I explain some of the foundational concepts of Sikh ethics, such as hukam, haumai, and sachiārā and explain how they serve as distinctive building blocks for the Sikh ethical theory. In Section 3, I present my reconstruction of the Sikh theory of vice and virtue. As I understand it, there is a unity of both vices and virtues in Sikh ethics. Every vice has its source in haumai, the false conception of oneself as singularly important. Every virtue is an aspect of truthfulness – the virtue of the sachiārā. In Section 4, I present the Sikh theory of right conduct as truthful living and explain how virtue and rightness are systematically related. In Section 5, I explain how a variety of Sikh ethical practices are continuous with the ethical theory presented in SGGS.Footnote 5
By drawing out a coherent and systematic ethical theory from SGGS, while remaining faithful to the text, I demonstrate that Sikh philosophy has such a theory to offer. While this conclusion will come as no surprise to many Sikh readers, it may come as a surprise to others, especially those not already familiar with Sikh thought. A further implication is the refutation of the view, prominent in the field of Sikh Studies, that Sikh ethical practices are discontinuous with what is espoused in SGGS. By showing how Sikh ethical practices function as extensions and applications of the Sikh ethical theory, I put serious pressure on the viability of this view.
My primary aim is not to directly defend Sikh ethics or convince readers of its truth. It is rather to prove that Sikh philosophy deserves a seat at the table when it comes to ethical theory, a seat which it has not yet been given in Anglophone analytic philosophy. For that to be the case, there must be a Sikh ethical theory that is coherent, systematic, and plausible. I hope the reader will be convinced that the theory of Sikh ethics presented in this Element has, at the very least, these three qualities.
1 Metaphysical Foundations
The above, known as mūl mantar (root verse), is the opening line of SGGS. In it, Guru Nanak presents the metaphysical foundations of the Sikh philosophy of Oneness. In order to understand Sikh ethics, it is necessary to understand at least the basics of this metaphysics, which I will attempt to present here. Though a deeper exploration of Sikh metaphysics is warranted, I will maintain the Element’s focus on ethics and not undertake it here.
The cornerstone of Sikh metaphysics is the identification of the Divine, and of ultimate reality, with a single, all-encompassing Oneness. This is signified immediately by ik oaʼnkār (ੴ). Ik means “one” and oaʼnkār comes from oaʼn (cosmic sound or vibration) and kār (in this context meaning roughly “source,” in the sense of the source of existence). Thus, ik oaʼnkār represents a single fundamental entity at the bedrock of all existence. As Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh puts it, ik oaʼnkār “asserts existence … and unity … of the Ultimate Reality” (Reference Singh1981, 24). This fundamental Oneness is often referred to in SGGS simply as ik or ek: the One. The Divine is this ultimate reality.
Next, it is asserted that the name of the Divine is Truth– that is, the Divine is the truth (sat) itself – in particular, the fundamental truth of the Oneness of all existence. This will be of particular importance to understanding the place of truth in Sikh ethics. It will become clearer in the following sections why the identification of the Divine with this truth is foregrounded in the way it is. But the basic idea is that the idea of truthful living enjoined by Sikh ethics is to be understood as living the truth of Oneness.
The Divine, as fundamental Oneness, is then asserted to be the creator or source of all beings. This is sometimes understood as creation in a causal sense, as a creator God might create mankind (e.g., in Abrahamic conceptions of the Divine). However, such an understanding cannot capture the unity of existence asserted throughout SGGS. This is because causal relations are temporal and imply a separation between cause and effect. In light of this, while SGGS sometimes references a personified being engaging in the act of creation in this causal sense, such references are best understood as metaphorical. Kartā purakh must be understood not causally but constitutively. This is part of why I render kartā as source rather than creator. The true meaning of kartā purakh is to assert the metaphysical priority of the Divine over the myriad existing particulars in the world of ordinary experience. This constitutive relation between part and whole will also be crucial to my interpretation of Sikh ethics.
The phrases that follow kartā purakh in the mūl mantar are sometimes thought of as enumerating the qualities of the Divine. However, it is more informative to think of them as describing the qualities the Divine lacks. The Divine is devoid of fear and enmity, timeless, unborn and uncaused. Importantly, these are all qualities that define our existence as human beings. We are subject to causation, birth and death, our lives are temporal and temporary, and we experience emotions such as fear and enmity. These are the conditions of our existence at the level of individual, embodied subjects. But as the contrast with the Divine shows, they are not the conditions of our existence at the level of ultimate reality. As I will discuss later, this contrast between the conditions of our existence at these two levels is the source of both the problems of ethics and their solutions, according to Sikh ethics.
Though the core of Sikh metaphysics is presented in the very first line of SGGS, it is important to discuss a few crucial metaphysical concepts that are not contained in the mūl mantar. These are dubidhā/dūjā (duality), māiā (illusion), and kūṛ (falsehood). Dubidhā (lit., two modes) and dūjā (lit., other) both refer in context to the duality between self and other. The duality in question is a consequence of our embodied subjectivity. Because the boundaries of ordinary human experience are that of the individual subject, the subject experiences itself as a distinct entity, separate from the rest of existence, including other individuals. Addressing the Divine, the following passage suggests that duality is part of the condition of human existence, given the nature of the reality we ordinarily experience:
Thus, dubidhā/dūjā refers to the duality between self and other that exists at the level of reality we ordinarily experience.
This duality is referred to throughout SGGS as being māiā – illusion:
This means that the duality between self and other is in some sense misleading, not deeply real. However, it does not assert that the world we experience and inhabit as individual subjects is wholly unreal, a complete illusion, as māiā is sometimes interpreted in Buddhist and Vedic thought. Rather, duality is an illusion in that, as W.H. McLeod puts it, “it is accepted for what it is not” (Reference McLeod1968, 185). However, while McLeod interprets the illusion of māiā as one that obscures the impermanence of this world, I think this is not the right focus. The illusion of māiā is that of dubidhā, a fundamental separation between self and other. What is obscured by this illusion is that individual selves, though real, are not fundamental; in ultimate reality, there is no distinction between self and other. It is in seeing the world as fundamentally structured by the duality of self and other that we accept this duality for what it is not.
This brings us to kūṛ. Kūṛ (falsehood) is the opposite of sat/sach (truth or truthfulness). The term kūṛ is used extensively throughout SGGS, both in noun and adjectival form. In noun form, it tends to describe the false perception of a fundamental separation between self and other – the māiā of dubidhā. This falsehood is contrasted with the Divine truth of Oneness:
In adjectival form, kūṛ is applied both to instances of false duality and to the falseness of those attached to false duality:
All of this will be important in coming sections for understanding why kūṛ (falsehood) is used as a term of ethical criticism, in contrast to the virtue of truthfulness.
In light of the foregoing, Sikh metaphysics can be understood as a form of priority monism (the view that there is only one concrete object at the fundamental level), as opposed to existence monism (the view that there is only one concrete object, period).Footnote 6 At the level of ultimate reality, there is but one object: the Divine, the Truth, the One. However, this does not mean that the particular objects that seem to exist in the world as we experience it, including individuals, are unreal. Rather, it means that the existence of these particular objects is non-fundamental, posterior to the whole of ik oaʼnkār.Footnote 7
The above is crucial for properly understanding passages from SGGS such as the following:
And:
Out of context, such passages could easily be interpreted as wholesale denials of the existence of discrete individual selves. But within the full context of Sikh philosophy, this cannot be correct. As I discuss in the remaining sections, this would be incompatible with the ethical injunction to remain engaged (but in a particular way) with the world at the level of ordinary experience.
As I hope will become clear in the remainder of this Element, metaphysics and ethics are inextricably linked in Sikh philosophy. The metaphysical picture painted is one according to which the natural condition of human beings is a kind of ignorance, in which our individual subjectivities prevent us from recognizing the truth of ultimate reality. Each individual falsely experiences the world as if their own significance is sui generis, even though in reality the significance of any individual can only be grounded in the whole. This falsehood gives rise to the central problem of ethics, the ultimate source of human wrongdoing, vice, and evil. The solution, and our duty, is to grasp and practice the truth of Oneness. How to accomplish this is the fundamental ethical question.
2 Ethical Foundations
The ethical theory defended in Sikh philosophy is an ethic of truthful living. This line first asserts that truth (sacẖ) is higher than everything. And yet, higher still is truthful living (sacẖ ācẖār). What does this mean? In what sense can truth be higher than everything, if something else is higher still? The answer is that the fundamental truth of Oneness truly is the most important thing to grasp about the nature of reality. However, the sense in which truthful living is still higher is that a mere inner understanding of this fundamental truth is insufficient for living an ethical life. To live an ethical life, according to Sikh philosophy, requires not just knowing the truth of Oneness but practicing it. This is what is meant by truthful living.
Thus, the central ethical question is asked:
In other words, the central question of Sikh ethics is how to live truthfully and become truthful, tearing away the veil of falsehood. The answer given in this passage is that one must walk in accordance with hukam.
2.1 Hukam
Hukam is a central concept in Sikh philosophy. I leave it untranslated, as there is no English term that fully captures the meaning of hukam as it is used in SGGS. Following its Arabic/Persian roots and use in Islam, it is often translated as “command” or “will.”Footnote 8 Mandair (Reference Mandair2023) translates it instead as “imperative.” However, all of these translations risk being significantly misleading.
If hukam is to mean “command” or “will,” it must refer to a Divine command or will. Commands must be issued by someone, so for there to be a Divine command, the Divine must be the kind of entity that issues commands. But if the Divine is an all-encompassing Oneness that is unlike individual subjects in the various ways mentioned in the previous section, then the Divine is not the kind of entity that issues commands. Any sense in which the Divine issues commands would have to be metaphorical. Similar considerations hold for “will.” For there to be a Divine will, the Divine must be the kind of entity that has a will. But again, the will, understood as an agential capacity, seems like the kind of thing we have in our embodiment as individuals, in contrast to the Divine. So, likewise, any sense in which the Divine has a will would have to be metaphorical.Footnote 9
Similar problems arise for Mandair’s conception of hukam as “imperative.” While Mandair clarifies that hukam “refers less to the will of a deity endowed with personal consciousness than to a universal sense of being” (Reference Mandair2023, 81), the need for this clarification illustrates how it is misleading to conceive of hukam as any kind of divine prescription. This is reinforced by a central and oft-quoted (including by Mandair) line from SGGS:
If everything exists within hukam, then it looks less like an imperative and more like a kind of natural order. According to Inderjit Kaur (2025), hukam encapsulates a natural order according to which all existence is interrelated, and nothing possesses ontological autonomy. This is more accurate, especially because Kaur uses the concept of a natural order to explain hukam rather than simply translating it as “order.” On this interpretation, the order of hukam consists in the relation of all things to the ultimate reality of ik oaʼnkār, and the consequent relation of those things to each other.Footnote 10
To “walk in accordance with hukam,” then, is to live in a way that is true to this fundamental unity of reality. It is not, as might be thought from thinking of hukam as command, will, or imperative, to obey any kind of prescription. This is important to clarify, as the term can easily evoke Abrahamic conceptions of a personal God who issues commands. Despite its etymological roots in an Islamic context where such an understanding of hukam may be accurate, the conceptual role of hukam in Sikh ethics is distinct and does not imply a divine command ethical theory.
2.2 Haumai
This brings us to our next central ethical concept: haumai. Following the line quoted above, the next line of SGGS reads:
This line sets up an opposition between hukam, the divine order of Oneness, and haumai. Like hukam, haumai lacks a neat English translation. It has been translated variously as ego, egotism, self-interest, and individuation. However, each of these terms only partially captures the concept. The most accurate attempt comes from Avtar Singh (Reference Singh1970, 23), who translates it as “I-am-ness.” However, because this is not an ordinary English word, I elect to leave haumai untranslated and instead focus on elucidating its meaning.
Literally, haumai means something like “I am me.” Essentially, it is a kind of false conception of oneself as singularly important, and correspondingly, a false conception of the world as revolving around oneself, as a world of objects there for one’s use. At its extreme, it is a kind of ethical solipsism: an inability to conceive of anyone or anything but oneself as ultimately mattering. As we will see in the next section, haumai is the source of all vice and human evil in Sikh ethics.
This characterization shows how haumai relates to concepts like ego, egotism, self-interest, and individuation. In the sense referenced by translation of haumai as ego, it is a person’s sense of self-esteem or self-importance. Egotism is, essentially, a sense of undue self-importance. Self-interest is what is to one’s own advantage, without consideration of the good of others. And individuation refers to the demarcation of some discrete individual out of a larger whole. Though none of these terms fully captures the essence of haumai, each gets at aspects of it. In haumai, one foregrounds one’s own ego and self-interest, losing consciousness of others as fellow ethical subjects. At the extreme, one individuates oneself so thoroughly from others that one comes to conceive of oneself as the only thing that ultimately matters.
As Avtar Singh notes, Sikh philosophy views haumai as part of the human condition:Footnote 11
The peculiarity of the human situation, according to Guru Nanak, lies in the fact that each person, in his empirical existence occupies himself with a narrow and limited viewpoint … The problem for morality, or for that matter, for the whole of life, is how to widen or abscind this narrow or too-limited point of view …
Avtar Singh’s use of the term “empirical existence” here is helpful. A person’s empirical existence, I take it, is their existence at the level of reality they ordinarily observe and experience. This notion of empirical existence was referenced in the previous section, in the context of explaining dubidhā/dūjā (duality). There, I wrote that the experience of duality between self and other is a feature of individuated consciousness, which structures our ordinary experience.
It is out of this feature of our ordinary experience that haumai, the conception of oneself as having singular importance, arises:
As this passage indicates, it is via the “play of duality” that haumai emerges out of Divine creation. This refers not to a personal God having imbued us with certain qualities but rather to the fact that haumai is a condition of our individual subjectivities emerging from the Oneness of the Divine.
Throughout SGGS, haumai is identified with a love of or attachment to duality:
In this and several other passages, haumai is described as rōg – a malady or disease. The disease of haumai is a psychological one: an inability to supersede the vision of reality presented in ordinary consciousness, according to which the boundaries of self also mark the limits of ethical significance. Mistaking the duality of self and other for ultimate reality, the person who acts out of haumai is under the illusion that they are the sole subject in a world of objects. Because ultimate reality contains no such duality, only Oneness, the person who acts out of haumai acts out of ignorance of ultimate reality.
To sum up the picture painted so far: the central question of Sikh ethics is how to live truthfully. To live truthfully, it is said, one must follow hukam, the order of things. To follow hukam, one must transcend the natural condition of haumai. Haumai is the attachment to the self-other duality we experience in ordinary consciousness and is a natural condition of our existence as individuals with subjective experience. To mistake this self-other duality for ultimate reality is the fundamental ethical mistake.
2.3 Haumai within Hukam
The above account of haumai immediately raises two related questions. First, if haumai is the natural condition of our empirical existence, does that mean we must somehow transcend our empirical existence in order to transcend haumai? Second, if haumai is part of hukam, and hukam is the natural order of things within which everything falls, how can it be possible to transcend haumai? I will address these questions in turn.
The answer to the first question is, basically, yes. There is a sense in which we must transcend our empirical existence in order to transcend haumai. Because haumai is part of our natural condition, we cannot fully eradicate it while we remain embodied beings with individuated consciousness.Footnote 12 But we can substantially transcend haumai through connection with ultimate reality. By experiencing Oneness, however fleetingly, we can recognize the illusoriness of self-other duality and eschew haumai. But to experience Oneness, much is required, which I will explain in due course.
The details of the answer to the second question cannot be put off, if the relationship between haumai and hukam is to be intelligible. It will be helpful here to consider a slightly longer passage, which directly addresses such questions regarding the relationship between haumai and hukam:
There are two interesting and important features of this passage that do have to be set aside, as they would take me too far afield to discuss. One is the reference to the cycle of death and rebirth, and the other is the concept of sabad (lit., word). Most important at this point is the assertion that haumai is part of hukam, and it is a disease that contains its own remedy.
The basic idea expressed in this passage is that, though haumai is part of the condition of our existence as individuals, these very same conditions include the prospect for transcending haumai by experiencing reality at a deeper level. In this way, the answer to the second question is posterior to the answer to the first. We can transcend haumai by making contact with ultimate reality. Thus, for it to be possible to transcend haumai even though it is part of hukam, it must be part of the nature of our relation to Oneness (and thus our relation to other individuals as parts of Oneness) that we can connect with it in some way. If the capacities we have as conscious subjects include such a capacity, then this is the sense in which haumai, even as it arises out of our nature as conscious subjects, contains its own cure. As I hope will become clear shortly, the very condition out of which haumai originates also gives us the tools to transcend it.
2.4 Haumai as Vice
Throughout SGGS, the notion of haumai is used to elucidate a theory of vice and virtue. In particular, it is claimed that cultivating virtue involves subduing haumai and gaining the ability to act, think, and feel in ways that transcend self-other duality. For example:
The term used here for virtue is punn, which roughly means “goodness,” in an aretaic sense (i.e., relating to the quality of one’s character). The contrary term is pāp, which roughly means “evil,” correspondingly in an aretaic sense. In Sikh philosophy, as in Western philosophy, these aretaic concepts pick out sustained traits of character that are cultivated through action:
As such, unlike certain other central concepts of Sikh ethics (haumai, hukam), it is relatively innocuous to translate punn and pāp into English as goodness or virtue and evil or vice, respectively.
Virtue and vice, in these terms, are explicitly connected to duality:
In this passage, attachment to duality is invoked as the fate of those who fail to understand virtue and vice. So, virtue has to do with overcoming attachment to duality.
There is another pair of contraries that roughly corresponds to the concepts of virtue and vice. In SGGS, the term guṇ (lit., quality) – in many contexts denotes good character traits. It is contrasted with aoguṇ (lit., bad quality), which denotes bad character traits. These terms are also used to set up the opposition between haumai and virtue:
This passage makes clear that haumai is the source of vice, and that transcending haumai is the key to becoming virtuous.
At this point, it is necessary to discuss another key distinction referenced in the above passage: the distinction between gurmukh and manmukh. Essentially, the gurmukh is the virtuous person and the manmukh is the vicious person. Literally, the gurmukh is someone who is gurū-facing, while the manmukh is someone who is self-facing. How does this distinguish between the virtuous person and the vicious person? The gurmukh is gurū-facing in the sense that their focus, in thought, action, and feeling, is on the gurū. In this context, gurū (lit. teacher, spiritual guide) refers not to any human gurū but to the ultimate gurū: the Divine, the One itself.
The manmukh, by contrast, is focused on their own man (lit., mind, will). In this context, man refers to the individuated and embodied consciousness. Thus, the manmukh is self-facing in the sense that they attach importance primarily or solely to themself qua individual. To use a more familiar English term, we might call the manmukh self-absorbed.Footnote 13 As a self-facing person, the manmukh is vicious precisely in the sense that they are consumed by haumai:
This passage not only identifies the manmukh as consumed by haumai but also connects this condition to attachment to māiā. As discussed before, māiā is the illusion that self-other duality goes much deeper than it truly does. Thus, this passage further illuminates the relationship between haumai as vice, the manmukh as the vicious person, and the illusion of duality.
Moreover, the distinction between gurmukh and manmukh is explicitly identified with the virtue terms of guŋ and aoguŋ:
Recall that haumai is understood as a looking-inward to oneself as of primary or sole importance. While the virtuous understand the true nature of things, and thereby recognize the importance of others, the vicious cut themselves off from ultimate reality through their inability to transcend haumai and see outside of themselves. In the next Section, I will discuss how particular vices are rooted in haumai. But first, I must explain how virtue is illuminated by reference to the concept of sachiārā.
2.5 Truthfulness: The Virtue of the Sachiārā
Sachiārā denotes the truthful person. The adjectival form is sachiār – truthful. Among those writing on Sikh philosophy, the sachiārā is commonly recognized as one who has conquered haumai. Exploring this connection sheds further light on the systematicity of Sikh ethical concepts. The central question of Sikh ethics, presented in the opening stanzas of SGGS, is how to become sachiārā. This already suggests that truthfulness is the central virtue to which one should aspire in living an ethical life.Footnote 14 In SGGS, the terms used for truthfulness itself are the same terms used for truth – sat and sach. But it is the focus on becoming sachiārā that makes the centrality of truthfulness clear. This centrality is further substantiated by the connection with haumai. Haumai is the source of vicious action, thought, and feeling in Sikh ethics because it is based in falsehood. To act from haumai is to get things wrong; in this way, there is no gap in Sikh ethics between “wrong” understood as an ethical concept and “wrong” understood as false or incorrect.
This brings us back to the previous section’s discussion of kūṛ (falsehood). As a reminder, kūṛ is used to describe both the perception of a fundamental self-other duality, and those who are attached to such a perception. Used in this way, kūṛ becomes a form of ethical criticism:
This extended passage is illuminating because it connects kūṛ not just to the metaphysical concepts of ḏūjā (duality) and māiā (illusion) but also to the ethical concepts of gurmukh (the virtuous person) and punn (virtue/goodness). In this passage, the vicious person is criticized as attached to falsehood and practicing falsehood. Crucially, the falsehood they practice is the attachment to false duality – that is, haumai. From the perspective of the person immersed in haumai, the project of becoming gurmukh looks completely undesirable.
All of this is crucial to understanding why virtue is identified with truthfulness. Those who live falsely live in ignorance and rejection of the ultimate reality of Oneness. On the contrary, those who live truthfully live in acceptance of and connection with this ultimate reality. The sachiārā recognizes the shallowness of self-other duality and seeks to eschew attachment to this duality. They seek to live in a way that is true to the fundamental Oneness of all being. Thus, the sachiārā and the gurmukh are one and the same. By contrast, the false are trapped within their narrow, individualized point of view, deluded into seeing “I am me” as ultimate reality. This is the sense in which haumai and truthfulness are in opposition, and truthfulness is the fundamental virtue.
Because the sachiārā has conquered haumai and so achieved a form of higher being, some scholars explicate the sachiārā as the self-realized person, rather than the truthful person.Footnote 15 However, I think this is misleading for two reasons. First, this less literal translation obscures the centrality of the concepts of truth and truthfulness to Sikh ethics, and to Sikh philosophy in general. Second, conceiving of the sachiārā as self-realized conflates self-realization and self-transcendence. To be sachiār is to have transcended the narrow boundaries of the individual self. Understanding the sachiārā as self-realized instead evokes a conception of higher being as a perfected individual self. However, to seek individual self-perfection would involve its own form of haumai.Footnote 16 As such, it is crucial to understand the sachiārā as truthful to the ultimate reality of Oneness, rather than as self-realized.
2.6 Conclusion
So far, I have attempted to draw out some of the distinctive foundations of the Sikh ethical system, focusing on three notions: hukam – the Divine order, haumai – the false sense of self-importance, and sachiārā – the truthful person. These concepts, along with the metaphysical foundations discussed in the previous section, are the starting points of Sikh ethics. Out of these concepts are built various further features of the Sikh ethical system: accounts of the particular vices and virtues, and of right and wrong action. These accounts are the focus of the next two sections.
3 Vice and Virtue
In this section, I will argue that there is both a unity of vices and a unity of virtues in Sikh ethics. All of the particular vices can be explained as manifestations of haumai, and all of the virtues can be explained as aspects of truthfulness. I discuss each of these unities in turn.
3.1 The Unity of the Vices
In discussion of the particular vices, Sikh ethics focuses on what are called in SGGS the “five thieves” (panch chor) – also sometimes the “five enemies” or “five evils.” They are the vices of kām (lust), krodh (wrath), lobh (greed), moh (attachment), and ahankār (arrogance). Though I have presented translations for each of these vices for ease of explication, this is not because the English terms perfectly capture their exact nature. In this case, the English terms should be taken as close-enough counterparts, rather than precise equivalents. In fact, the exact meaning of these terms in Sikh ethics cannot be fully understood except by exploring what is said in SGGS about their connection to haumai.
That haumai is the source of these five vices is commonly assumed both in communal understanding, and in scholarly work on Sikhism. For example, Pashaura Singh writes:
Traditionally, haumai is the source of five evil impulses: lust, anger, covetousness, attachment to worldly things, and pride. Under its influence humans become “self-willed” (manmukh), so attached to worldly pleasures that they forget the divine Name and waste their lives in evil and suffering.
Indeed, it seems fairly uncontroversial in both the community and the literature that haumai is the source of these five primary vices in Sikhism.Footnote 17 However, perhaps precisely because it is so uncontroversial, textual evidence for this claim is rarely provided. Unfortunately, this leaves it obscure to those who are not already familiar with the Sikh tradition. Thus, as with all of the central theses of Sikh ethics, I present key passages from SGGS as textual support. These passages illuminate how each vice has its source in haumai.
Several passages in SGGS make explicit the connection between haumai and these five vices. For example:
And:
Though these passages do not go so far as to overtly assert that haumai is the source of the five vices, they illustrate it in the poetic fashion characteristic of SGGS. For example, the “home” that is plundered is a poetic reference to the self. And it is made explicit in these passages that haumai is not to be understood as just another particular vice.
The first passage asserts plainly that those who manifest particular vices are “acting out of haumai.” The second passage more metaphorically expresses the same thing. Thus, it is fair to infer from these passages, as well as the ample scriptural evidence linking haumai to vice in general, that haumai is to be understood as the source of the five vices. It is less straightforward to glean how in particular each vice is thought to manifest haumai. Nevertheless, such an explanation can be reconstructed through further textual examination, taking each of the five vices in turn.
3.1.1 Kām
I have translated kām as lust. It is also sometimes translated as “sexual desire,” or “concupiscence,” but these are poor translations. The former is straightforwardly inaccurate, as not all sexual desire is considered vicious by Sikhism, and the latter is too closely tied to Catholic theology.Footnote 18 Lust, though not perfect, is much more accurate to the meaning of kām, because of how it is contrasts with love. Sikhism does not in any way reject healthy, loving sexual desire; in fact, as I will discuss later, Sikhism eschews asceticism and self-denial. When kām is criticized, it is clear from context that it denotes a kind of sexual obsession or objectifying sexual desire:
And:
These passages are typical of how kām is discussed in SGGS. What they describe is not just any sort of sexual desire but an obsessive, objectifying lust.
The first passage describes kām as something the addressee is “continuously engrossed in,” to the point that they are not able to keep the Divine Name in view. The mention of the Divine Name here is important, because it refers to the name of the ultimate truth (sat nām) of Oneness (ik oaʼnkār). Therefore, what is said here is that kām is the kind of desire that is incompatible with a recognition of Oneness. This is because kām is the kind of desire that is held toward something as an object – a thing that exists to gratify the subject. This is the sense in which kām is specifically objectifying sexual desire.
The second passage reinforces this message with a concrete example: the lecher who peeks into women’s homes clearly desires them merely as objects of his sexual gratification. Such objectifying sexual desire, which I mean to pick out by translating kām as “lust,” manifests an attachment to self-other duality. The lustful person conceives of himself as the sole subject, and the object of his desire as a mere object. This explains how the lustful person is manmukh. He is self-facing in the sense that he attaches importance to himself qua individual, but in viewing the other as a mere object attaches no real importance to the other.
Once we attend to the objectifying nature of kām, it becomes clear how it manifests haumai. Haumai, at its extreme, is essentially a false conception of oneself as the only real subject in a world of objects there for one’s use. It is in its objectification that lust manifests haumai.Footnote 19 Connecting kām to objectifying sexual desire in particular not only illuminates its nature and relationship to haumai but also provides a blueprint for understanding how the other vices manifest haumai. Using this blueprint to analyze the other vices illuminates a unified explanation of the vices in terms of haumai. Not only do all the vices manifest haumai but how they manifest it is, at a general level, the same.
3.1.2 Krodh
I have translated krodh as “wrath.” It sometimes gets translated as “unresolved anger,” or simply “anger,” though neither of these is quite right. In SGGS, kām and krodh are often discussed together:
This passage is from a composition describing people who go on fasts, take pilgrimages, and practice ritualistic postures. We might wonder why these people would be filled with wrath. This will become clear in the next section, when I discuss Sikh ethics’ rejection of asceticism. For now, it is further evidence that the vices at issue here are more specific than simply “anger” or “sexual desire.”
In the above passage, kām and krodh are connected not just to haumai but also to trisnā (lit. thirst, yearning), which refers to appetitive desire. Thus, the focus here is on kām and krodh as appetitive desires. That kām is an appetitive desire has already been made clear in the previous discussion. But examining how krodh refers specifically to an appetitive desire is helpful for illuminating its nature, and why it is seen as similarly related to haumai.
Like sexual desire, not all anger is considered vicious in the Sikh tradition. For example, there is nothing necessarily wrong with righteous anger at injustice.Footnote 20,Footnote 21 As loving sexual desire is to be distinguished from objectifying lust, so righteous anger at injustice is to be distinguished from appetitive wrath. Consider what it means for wrath to be an appetite: it must consist in a desire for some kind of gratification (like sexual gratification in the case of lust). The wrathful person is gratified when the object of their desire suffers. Wrath is an appetite for the suffering, usually through some kind of retribution or punishment, of its object. It is because descriptions of krodh in SGGS fit with this conception of wrath that I take it to be the most appropriate translation.
Throughout SGGS, krodh is contrasted with both compassion and forgiveness. For example:
And:
These descriptions paint a picture of krodh as the kind of wrath referenced above, in which one would be gratified by the suffering of the offender in the form of retribution or punishment. Moreover, this gratification seems to reflect the false perception that one has been somehow made lower than the offender, and the offender needs to suffer to correct this. This understanding of wrath helps make clear how it manifests haumai: the wrathful person wants to hurt others to improve his own status or make himself feel better.Footnote 22 Insofar as he is concerned with his own status as compared to others, he is attached to self-other duality.
This understanding of krodh also illuminates why righteous anger at injustice is not necessarily vicious. From a Sikh perspective, anger can only be righteous if it is not born of haumai. This means righteous anger cannot consist in the desire to improve one’s own status, or for the offender to suffer in order to be brought down in relative status. Nor can it consist in any kind of appetite that aims at its own gratification. Righteous anger can only consist in a strong motivation to correct injustice and must be born out of the subject’s care for all beings as One. There is nothing false about being motivated by the perception of injustice, and such motivation may even be necessary for fighting injustice. As I will return to later, this is a form of engagement with the world that is seen as obligatory in Sikh ethics. So, not all anger can be vicious. Importantly, however, krodh is seen as the default, vicious form of anger, while virtuous anger is a kind of reformed emotion of the sachiārā.
3.1.3 Lobh
Lobh, which I have translated as greed, is relatively straightforward as a manifestation of haumai. It is understood not just as the desire to have more possessions but also the desire to take things from others. The avaricious person sees the world around him as a world of objects for his use; he fails to take into account the needs of others. At its extreme, his greed makes him see other people too as mere objects – he becomes an ethical solipsist:
One instructive feature of this line is that it connects greed to ignorance of karam (good deeds) and dharam (right conduct), making explicit the connection between the aretaic (vice, virtue), the evaluative (good, bad), and the deontic (right, wrong). The avaricious person, consumed by the desire for material possessions, is ignorant of what he ought to do. Moreover, what he chases is illusory (māiā), because his desire is predicated on self-other duality. Acting in haumai, the manmukh can only look inward to his own appetites and selfish desires.
3.1.4 Moh
Unlike lobh, moh is somewhat less straightforward. I have translated it as “attachment,” which is the standard translation. However, this is imperfect given the broad meaning of “attachment” in the English language. Immediately evoked is the idea that all worldly entanglements are vicious, and that the virtuous person must eschew them. While this plays into a conception of Eastern philosophical traditions that is common in the West, it is particularly important to avoid in the case of Sikhism, which explicitly denies this conception of virtue. Sometimes moh is instead translated as “emotional attachment” in particular, which does a somewhat better job of picking out the phenomenon in question. But this still risks suggesting the inaccurate view that one should eschew all worldly entanglements, such as love for family and friends.
Sikh ethics does not prescribe ascetic self-denial, or enjoin us not to live in the world. Caring about worldly things, especially other people, cannot be the kind of emotional attachment that moh refers to. To understand what kind of attachment moh refers to, we must understand its object. The most common object of moh mentioned in SGGS is māiā itself – the illusion of self-other duality:
The message of passages such as this one is that emotional attachment to māiā keeps one in ignorance of the ultimate reality of Oneness. As a reminder, the concept of māiā in Sikh philosophy tends to refer specifically to the illusion that the world as we experience it, with all of its self-other duality, is all there is to reality.
The above helps to make sense of various other passages in SGGS where the apparent object of moh is not māiā itself but things like household and family. Taken in isolation, such passages may seem to be in conflict with Sikh ethics’ rejection of asceticism. However, if we understand the problematic kind of attachment to things like household and family as attachment under the aspect of māiā, the apparent conflict vanishes. What is vicious is not caring about one’s family but rather being emotionally attached to them as things, as objects. The manmukh sees their significance as being apart from his, and thus they can be treated as extensions of his individual will and desire. Thus, he substitutes the priority of himself over others for the priority of the Divine over all individuated selves. This shows how moh, in creating a false duality between oneself as subject and the world as one of mere objects, manifests haumai.
3.1.5 Ahankār
Finally, we come to ahankār, which I have translated as “arrogance.” It is sometimes translated as “ego” or “egotism” as well, but this is too general and risks simply identifying ahankār with haumai. Nevertheless, ahankār has a particularly close relation to haumai. It does not require much explanation to see how inflated self-regard and a tendency to view things in terms of one’s own status and recognition manifest a false conception of one’s own importance. So, it will not be necessary to say much in defense of the claim that arrogance manifests haumai.
Indeed, ahankār is so closely related to haumai that it can sometimes help illuminate how other vices, like krodh and lobh, have their source in haumai. One might point out that krodh and lobh manifest haumai because they involve a desire for status and recognition, a desire to be above others. However, this is less clear when it comes to kām and moh, neither of which necessarily has to do with status and recognition. In some cases, both kām and moh seem to be motivated by something more like insecurity or lack of healthy self-esteem, rather than by arrogance. Perhaps this is even true of some cases of krodh and lobh as well. This helps to show why ahankār is not the same as haumai. While vices can be always explained in terms of haumai, they cannot always be explained in terms of ahankār, even if they are sometimes closely related to it. Though arrogance is perhaps the paradigm case of misunderstanding one’s own significance in relation to others, it is not the only one.
3.2 The Unity of the Virtues
I now turn to the unity of the virtues in Sikh ethics. This is a somewhat more complex issue than that of the unity of the vices. In the case of the vices, there is near universal agreement among scholars and practitioners that they have their source in haumai. Thus, establishing the unity of the vices has been a matter of providing textual evidence and further explanation for an uncontroversial thesis. Moreover, SGGS itself delimits the task by providing, in the form of the five thieves, a set of particular vices that haumai is supposed to explain.
There is no corresponding list of virtues presented so neatly in SGGS, which makes understanding the unity of the virtues more of an interpretive undertaking. As a result, there has not been as much scholarly consensus about the virtues as there has been about the vices. As I argue, the particular virtues are unified by their relationship to truthfulness – the virtue of the sachiārā. In this way, truthfulness is contrary to haumai, which unifies vice. While haumai reflects attachment to self-other duality and disconnection from ultimate reality, to be truthful is to transcend self-other duality and connect with ultimate reality. Though I am not the first to hold that truthfulness is the fundamental virtue in Sikh ethics, my novel contribution is a comprehensive explanation of how truthfulness unifies the particular virtues.
One obstacle to such an explanation is the prominence of the mistranslation of sachiārā as the self-realized person rather than the truthful person. This can be set aside, as it has already been discussed. However, there is another obstacle, which is that truthfulness itself is sometimes identified with the much narrower, particular virtue of honesty or veracity. For example, in Avtar Singh’s discussion of the virtues, he identifies truthfulness as but one of several particular virtues. In doing so, he argues that the virtue of truthfulness “ought to be distinguished from ‘Truth’ in the metaphysical sense” (Reference Singh1970, 89). The upshot of this claim is that truthfulness as a virtue has nothing to do with the fundamental truth of Oneness in Sikh philosophy.
This interpretation cannot be correct. While Avtar Singh is surely correct that honesty or veracity can be understood as a particular virtue, this cannot be what is meant when discussing the virtuous person as sachiārā. To understand truthfulness in that way would foreclose the integration of metaphysics and ethics that is crucial to Sikh philosophy. Contrary to such an interpretation, truthfulness must be understood in the broad metaphysical sense of living in a way that is true to Oneness.
The problem with Avtar Singh’s interpretation can be seen in how it handles the important line quoted in the previous section:
Though he also quotes this line, he treats it as if it espouses truthful living (sacẖ ācẖār) merely in relation to a particular virtue. This is difficult to make sense of, given that the whole point of this line is to say that truthful living is the highest ideal. This would be incoherent if truthfulness were just another virtue on the same level as all the particular virtues.Footnote 23 We can only make sense of the fundamentality of the question “how does one become truthful?” and the assertion of truthful living as the highest ideal, if we interpret truthfulness as the fundamental virtue. Moreover, as I show in the following sections, truthfulness understood in this way unifies the particular virtues that receive most attention in SGGS.
Again, there is no neat list of virtues in SGGS to parallel the five thieves. This leaves scholars of Sikh ethics to glean a list from the many verses that discuss particular virtues. Avtar Singh, for example, lands on “wisdom, truthfulness, temperance, courage, justice, humility and contentment” as the particular virtues to be discussed, though he does not claim this list is exhaustive (Reference Singh1970, 81). Following him, Gurnam Kaur Bal (Reference Bal and Mandair2017) employs an identical taxonomy of virtues in Sikh ethics.Footnote 24
The list of particular virtues I discuss is similar, but not exactly the same. First, as I have explained, I take truthfulness to be the fundamental virtue in Sikh ethics, rather than one of the particular virtues. Second, I set aside courage (sūrā) and justice (niāo). Though both can be seen as virtues in Sikh ethics, my goal is for this discussion to reflect the focus of the primary text. Courage and justice are discussed in SGGS, but not generally in the context of ascribing virtues. Courage is mostly invoked in the course of using the metaphor of the brave warrior to describe those who conquer haumai. Justice is largely discussed as a property of states of affairs, rather than as a character trait. However, I will return to justice in Section 5, when discussing Sikh ethical practices. Finally, again attempting to follow the focus of SGGS, I will discuss the virtue of daiā (compassion), as well as focusing specifically on bibek (discernment) rather than the more general giān (wisdom).
This leaves me with five particular virtues to discuss: daiā (compassion), santokh (contentment), sanjam (self-control), saram (humility), and bibek (discernment). As with the particular vices, these English terms should be taken as close-enough counterparts, rather than perfect equivalents. As the nature of the particular vices was illuminated by drawing out their connection to haumai, so too the nature of these particular virtues is illuminated by drawing out their connection to truthfulness. I contend that all of these virtues can be understood as aspects of truthfulness to the ultimate reality of Oneness.Footnote 25
3.2.1 Daiā
Daiā is standardly translated as compassion, kindness, or benevolence.Footnote 26 This virtue is also sometimes referred to in SGGS using the term karuṇā, including in a passage quoted in the earlier discussion of krodh, which sets wrath up in opposition to compassion. Daiā is mentioned early in SGGS, where it is made clear that it is an important virtue:
This passage asserts that dharam (right conduct) is the son of compassion. I take the filial relation here to be a metaphor for motivation: what is being said here is that right conduct is motivated by compassion. Compassion, through motivating right conduct, keeps the order of the world (i.e., hukam).Footnote 27 Linking daiā to dharam in this way makes its importance clear. The passage then explicitly connects daiā to being sachiār: those who understand the importance of compassion become truthful.
Compassion is explicitly connected to truthfulness elsewhere as well:
This passage links compassion not only to truth (sach) but also to virtue in general (punn). It is not difficult to see how being compassionate is a component of being true to ultimate reality in Sikh ethics. To be compassionate is to care for others as one cares for oneself. If all dualities of self and other are illusory at the level of ultimate reality, then compassion is a way of recognizing this ultimate truth and living it in one’s actions. Whereas the manmukh, engrossed in haumai, selfishly directs his care and concern inwards, the gurmukh has care and concern for everyone, as all are ultimately One. Thus, daiā in Sikh ethics is compassion in the sense of universal care and concern for others. It is not only explicitly contrasted with the particular vice of krodh as in the earlier passage but also in other places with kām and ahankār.Footnote 28
3.2.2 Santokh
Santokh is standardly translated as contentment, though it can also mean satisfaction or even patience. It often appears alongside daiā in discussions of virtue in SGGS. For example:
Here, the connection between the virtues of contentment and compassion, and the worth of actions is made clear, as is the connection with truth (sat). Moreover, the fact that these two virtues are often discussed together is instructive. There is a relation between the compassionate person and the contented person. The contented person is contented because they lack excessive appetites, which in Sikh ethics are always fueled by excessive self-regard (i.e., haumai). As a result, the contented person has plenty of room in their consciousness for care and concern for others.
By contrast, if one has excessive appetitive desire, this crowds out one’s ability to care for others as one cares for oneself. This is why the person without santokh is manmukh according to SGGS:
Here, santokh is explicitly contrasted with appetitive desire (trisnā) and attachment to the illusion of duality (māiā moh). As discussed in relation to the vices, unrestrained appetitive desires are vicious because they reinforce duality between the self as subject and the objects of one’s desires. Without santokh, the appetites grow out of control, manifesting as kam, krodh, and so on. Santokh is an antidote to the constant “I want … ”, “I want …, ” which reinforces the “I am me” of haumai. This is necessary for becoming sachiār – truthful to Oneness.
3.2.3 Sanjam
Sanjam is a virtue that is closely related to santokh, in that it has to do with keeping oneself from being ruled by one’s appetites. It is usually translated as “temperance,” but could also be translated as “discipline,” “restraint,” or “self-control.” The concept of temperance will be familiar to Western philosophers, but parallels with Aristotelian conceptions should not be overstated.Footnote 29 Sanjam is neither in the first instance a form of moderation nor a mean between an excess and deficiency of appetite. Rather, it is the ability to control one’s appetites instead of being controlled by them.
Another important clarification is that sanjam is not always used to refer to a virtue in SGGS. While sanjam often refers to the virtue of self-control, the same term can also refer to the kind of self-denial practiced by ascetics, which is rejected in Sikh ethics:
Here, sanjam is used to describe the conduct of the manmukh, the vicious person. When discussed in the context of ascetic practices such as ritual fasting, sanjam refers to an austere self-denial that is seen as misguided and lacking in virtue.
By contrast, when sanjam refers to the virtue of self-control, it is usually explicitly connected to the idea of truthfulness by way of the phrases sat sanjam or sach sanjam – true self-control, as opposed to the falsehood of ascetic self-denial:
A full explanation of why ascetic self-denial is false must wait until the next section. The important point here is that when used as part of the phrase sach sanjam, sanjam describes the gurmukh, the virtuous person. The focus on true self-control as opposed to the falsehood of ascetic self-denial brings out what the point of self-control is supposed to be in Sikh ethics. The point is not to punish oneself for having appetites in order to try to eradicate these appetites. The point, instead, is to be the master of one’s appetites. Sanjam refers to self-control in the sense of self-mastery rather than self-denial.
In this way, sanjam and santokh are closely related. Santokh has to do with not letting one’s appetites multiply unchecked. The person without santokh is never satisfied, always wanting more. Sanjam has to do with maintaining control over the appetites one does have. Thus, both are about not being ruled by appetitive desire (trisnā) and instead being ruled by truth. This is further illuminated when they are discussed together:
In Sikh ethics, the problem with excessive appetitive desires is that they engross one in duality, crowding out the Divine Name – ik oaʼnkār – the Oneness of all. For the gurmukh, both contentment and self-control are essential components of truthfulness.
3.2.4 Saram
Saram can be translated as humility or modesty. Humility in SGGS is sometimes also referred to by the terms maskīnī and garībī (lit. poverty). All three of these terms are used in context to refer to the trait that is contrary to the vice of ahankār (arrogance). For example:
If arrogance consists in having excessive self-regard, then humility consists in having appropriate self-regard. But what is an appropriate level of self-regard can only be understood by reference to what it is to be sachiār. To be sachiār is to be true to the ultimate reality of Oneness, in which there exists no self-other duality. Though our experience is structured by this self-other duality, we must understand its shallowness in order to become sachiār.
Those who are arrogant think they are better than others, and that they matter more as a result. But the truth is that no one matters more than anyone else, and any appearance as such is an illusion. Thus, those who are humble recognize that we all matter in the same way, to the same degree, and so it is foolish to be concerned with being above others. While the arrogant person, always concerned with their own status, is “consumed by their own pride,” the humble person “achieves bliss.” Moreover, the humble person “subdues self-regard from below.” Only from the standpoint of recognizing their own flaws and not estimating themselves too highly can self-regard be subdued. It cannot be subdued from above, so to speak (hence the self-undermining nature of crediting oneself with humility).
Humility (as saram) figures in multiple passages that are instructive for understanding the virtues in general, often in conjunction with santokh. In one, the ascetic is told:
Here the emphasis is on cultivating virtue rather than adorning oneself with the ascetic’s outward signs of piety. In another passage, the cultivation of virtue is explained using the metaphor of farming:
In this metaphor, the mind is the farmer and the body is the field. The field of the body is farmed with good deeds, watered with humility, and plowed with contentment. This is instructive in part because it shows that virtues like humility and contentment are not solitary, inward-looking virtues. That is, one does not subdue haumai by renouncing the world and retreating to solitude. Instead, one accomplishes this through good deeds in the world.
3.2.5 Bibek
Bibek, in Sikh philosophy, is an aspect of wisdom (giān). Though wisdom in general is often listed by scholars as a particular virtue, I think it is too broad to function in this way. The wise person (giānī or brahmgiānī) is one who understands the whole truth of ultimate reality, not some particular aspect of it. Now, it might be thought that wisdom is still insufficient for truthfulness because it is an intellectual rather than a moral virtue. However, this distinction cannot ultimately be sustained in Sikh philosophy. Because the truth cannot be fully apprehended without practicing it, there is no possibility of a truly wise person who apprehends the truth but does not practice it. Thus, I agree with Avtar Singh that “wisdom in Sikhism is considered to be inextricably linked with practice” (Reference Singh1966, 88). But what he does not realize is that this means that wisdom cannot be a particular virtue. If it requires practical in addition to intellectual understanding of the truth, then wisdom encapsulates all virtue and is nothing over and above truthfulness.
Bibek, on the other hand, is a particular virtue. It is standardly translated as discernment or discrimination. Self-examination, self-reflection, and self-awareness may also be helpful English terms. Bibek is considered a particularly important aspect of wisdom (and thus of virtue) in Sikh ethics because of the nature of haumai and our empirical existence in the world of self-other duality. Given that haumai is both the source of all vice and a natural condition of our existence as individuated selves, it is impossible for the virtuous person to completely eradicate haumai. To do so would be to permanently and irrevocably transcend one’s consciousness as an individual self, which is not humanly possible. The virtuous person, by understanding and practicing Oneness, does not eradicate haumai but rather subdues it.Footnote 31
The fact that haumai cannot be eradicated raises an epistemological challenge for the practice of Oneness. Given that haumai always resides within a person, even the gurmukh, how can anyone be sure they are not being influenced by haumai? Here lies the importance of bibek. The person with bibek is self-aware in the sense that they are able to discern the influence of haumai. Given that haumai is a kind of ignorance and falsehood, its nature is to disguise its own operation. This makes bibek crucial for virtue:
This line is from a larger passage about subduing haumai. The message, in context, is that haumai can only be subdued if one has bibek. In other words, given the nature of haumai, one can only subdue it if one can discern it. This is why the virtuous person is described in SGGS as having a self-aware or discerning intellect (bibek budh). Moreover, discernment is clearly a component of truthfulness, as one cannot be truthful without being able to discern truth from falsehood.
Given the focus in SGGS on how easy it is for us to fall into ignorance, illusion, and delusion, bibek seems to be a particularly important virtue. This is not to say that other aspects of wisdom are not important virtues in Sikh ethics. I have chosen to focus on it in part because it is importantly similar to the other virtues discussed. What daiā, santokh, sanjam, saram, and bibek have in common is that examining each of these virtues shows them to play distinct roles in subduing haumai so that we may become sachiār – truthful to Oneness. This does not entail that there are no other important virtues. It is just that these five are clearly identified in SGGS as particular aspects of the fundamental virtue of truthfulness.
3.3 Conclusion
I have presented an interpretation of vice and virtue in Sikh ethics on which each is unified. Vice is unified by haumai, which structures one’s actions, thoughts, and feelings around a false conception of oneself as singularly important and fundamentally separate from others. The five thieves of kām (lust), krodh (wrath), lobh (greed), moh (attachment), and ahankār (arrogance) all manifest this tendency. Virtue is unified by truthfulness, which structures one’s actions, thoughts, and feelings in ways that are true to the ultimate reality of Oneness. I have discussed how five important virtues, daiā (compassion), santokh (contentment), sanjam (self-control), saram (humility), and bibek (discernment), all manifest this tendency.
In discussing the particular vices and virtues, I have also tried to bring out the relationship between vice, virtue, and appetitive desire. Unchecked appetitive desires are considered a great danger in Sikh ethics. The more one is ruled by one’s appetitive desires, the more one comes to see others as mere objects who exist for one’s gratification. In this way, unchecked appetitive desires are closely related to haumai and the particular vices that manifest it. Correspondingly, the particular virtues are closely related to control over one’s appetitive desires. It is a recurring theme in SGGS that one can only live truthfully if one’s appetites (which present the world as structured by self-other duality) can be put in their place. But what kind of conduct does truthful living consist in? This is what I now turn to.
4 Right Conduct
So far, I have presented some of the foundational concepts of Sikh ethics and used them to reconstruct a systematic and unified theory of vice and virtue. The theory presented in the previous section is necessary for answering the central ethical question “How can one become truthful?” But it is not sufficient. To become truthful (sachiār), one must know what it is to be truthful. But knowing what it is to be truthful is not the same as knowing how to become truthful. The answer immediately given to the central ethical question in SGGS is that we become truthful by following hukam – the Divine Order of Oneness and the relation between all things. How do we follow hukam? That is the question of right conduct.
It is tempting to infer from the emphasis on becoming virtuous that Sikh ethics is a form of virtue ethics, where right conduct is a matter of doing what the virtuous person would do. It is true that in Sikh ethics, one ought to do as the truthful person would do, given that one ought to live truthfully. However, this does not entail a priority of virtue over right conduct. The more accurate interpretation of the relationship between virtue and right conduct in Sikh ethics is one on which neither is explained in terms of the other. Instead, each is explained in terms of more fundamental notions such as hukam and truthful living (sach āchār).
In general, we should be wary of assimilating Sikh ethics to some familiar Western system, such as virtue ethics, consequentialism, or deontology.Footnote 32 Yet it is equally important not to conclude that Sikh ethics lacks a systematic account of right and wrong. Despite the fact that SGGS is written in the form of scriptural poetry rather than treatise, it contains evaluative and deontic claims offering systematic guidance on what it is to follow hukam by living truthfully.
4.1 Karam
Evaluative and deontic claims in SGGS are often made using the words karam and dharam, respectively. Each of these terms can mean different things depending on the context, and are sometimes used purely descriptively, rather than in a normative sense. Western readers will likely associate karam with the idea of “karma” as a cosmic system of points one accrues through good or bad deeds. But this is usually not how karam is used in SGGS. Fundamentally, karam refers to action.Footnote 33 It can be used to describe actions in general; in such contexts it is a descriptive term. It can also be used in the familiar way to refer to a kind of accounting of one’s past actions. But it is also often used evaluatively, to refer specifically to good actions or deeds. The same notion of good deeds can also be referred to by synonyms such as karṇī (lit. to act, action). In all these cases, context determines the denotation of good deeds in particular as opposed to actions in general.
A final complication with the meaning of karam is that it can also be used to refer to actions that are not actually good but are merely considered good according to religion or culture. Because karam, when used this way, often refers to various religious rituals that are seen as good, it is standardly translated as “ritual” or “religious ritual” in this context. For example:
So, depending on the context, karam can refer simply to actions, to the sum of one’s actions, to actions perceived as good, or to actions that are actually good. Only the fourth meaning is truly evaluative.
The contrast between karam as religious rituals and as truly good deeds is crucial in SGGS. This dual usage of karam is employed to criticize the prevailing notions of good action at the time and, by contrast, illustrate which actions are actually good according to Sikh ethics. In general, the comparison is drawn between rituals as outward displays of piety that are not done for the sake of others, and actions done for the sake of others. Such comparisons address both Hindu and Muslim rituals, as these were the dominant religious practices of the time and place. As reformers, the Sikh Gurus were generally critical of what they saw as a corruption of religion into hollow performances.
The following passage, for example, addresses Muslims, suggesting that praying five times a day is meaningless without good deeds:
There are many such passages in SGGS, some addressing Muslims and some addressing various Hindu sects of the time. The message throughout all of them is that religious rituals, regardless of their intended function, had become outward performances of piety. Such performances are false, and through them one obtains only falsehood. Instead, the true good deeds are identified with truthful living, honest dealings, charitable giving, and so on.
Part of the point of such passages is to criticize social norms that uphold actions as good even when they are performed out of narrow self-interest. Any attempt at personal piety that is purely self-regarding can only be an instance of haumai. Karam in the sense of good deeds, then, can generally be understood as picking out those actions that positively affect those other than the agent. However, even the performance of deeds that are good in this sense is not sufficient for right conduct. It is important not just how one’s actions affect others but also how they are motivated:
The point here is not that selfishly motivated actions are valueless. They are still good deeds in the sense that they benefit others. But the goodness of these deeds, while necessary, is insufficient for right conduct. On the Sikh conception of right conduct, it must also be motivated in the right way.
One clearly expressed condition on right conduct in Sikh ethics is that it must not be done for the sake of reward, or any other ulterior motive:
This passage addresses the Vaishnavite Hindu. It again sets up a contrast with someone who practices religious rituals selfishly, out of a desire for reward from their God. Such a desire is identified as māiā – illusion. But the one who performs good deeds unselfishly, and has no ulterior motive of personal benefit, is described as having nirmal dharam – pure right conduct. Thus, though karam is important, it is insufficient for right conduct. Right conduct in Sikh ethics is determined not just by effects but also by motive. Hence, Sikh ethics cannot be seen as a form of consequentialism.
4.2 Dharam
This brings us to further explication of the notion of dharam in Sikh ethics. Like karam, dharam can be used descriptively or normatively. Sometimes, in its purely descriptive usage, it refers to religiosity, or to the kind of conduct held up as right by various religious rules. In other contexts, it refers to the properly deontic concept of right conduct. Dharam in its deontic usage is often translated as “duty.” However, dharam applies not just to right action but also to right thought and feeling. Dharam in its deontic usage is meant to cover all of how we choose to conduct ourselves – hence, “right conduct” is a better translation.
The contrast between the descriptive and deontic usages of dharam functions similarly to the contrast between the descriptive and evaluative usages of karam discussed above. Just as religious rituals seen as good are contrasted with truly good deeds in SGGS, the deliverances of religious edicts are contrasted with true rightness of conduct. For example, here both karam and dharam are used descriptively:
Again, the message is criticism of what is uncritically accepted as right conduct. A person could be pious in all the ways prescribed by their religion, but still their conduct is not right if their minds are consumed by pride.
Compare the above passage with the following, where karam and dharam are used normatively:
It is clear from context here that karam and dharam refer to what are truly good actions and right conduct, rather than that which is merely seen as such by social or religious norms. In the metaphor, right conduct is the game board and truth is the game piece. This means that the true dharam is, at root, truthful living (sach āchār) itself. And here, truthful living is identified with the love of the Divine (of which everyone and everything is a manifestation).
So far, we have seen that Sikh ethics rejects any identification of right conduct with unquestioning adherence to religious edicts. Such acts of personal piety are largely seen as selfishly motivated attempts to gain some benefit, whether worldly or spiritual, and thus as without any moral merit. The only true dharam is to live truthfully. From what has been presented about vice and virtue, we have plenty of clues as to what living truthfully entails. To live truthfully is to be true to Oneness, which means not just appreciating the unity of ultimate reality but practicing it. This involves subduing haumai and the corresponding five thieves, and exerting control over one’s appetites. It involves caring for others as one cares for oneself. But more can be said here if we further examine what SGGS says about how to treat others.
It is an important part of the idea of truthful living in Sikh ethics that it cannot be achieved purely through intellectual apprehension, or through any solitary spiritual practice (recall the discussion in the previous section of why there cannot be purely intellectual virtues). One can try all one wants to connect with Oneness in these ways, but it will be futile:
It is part of the nature of the Divine that acquaintance with it is an ethical matter rather than a purely intellectual one.
In addition to contemplating the Divine, one must acquaint oneself with it by acquainting oneself with the whole of reality. From a Sikh philosophical perspective, everyone is a part of a whole that has been separated from that whole through being embodied as an individually conscious self. Without acquainting oneself with the true nature of others by treating them as manifestations of that very same Oneness, one cannot be truthful to ultimate reality. This is what I refer to as “practicing Oneness.” This way of orienting oneself toward others is described in SGGS as recognizing the “Divine Light” (jot) in everyone:
Oneness is practiced by treating all people as having equal worth. This sort of universality may seem commonplace in ethical theory now, but it was radical at the time. The ethics presented in SGGS were developed in a context of extreme hierarchy, as exemplified by the rigid caste system that was followed in South Asia. Moreover, the emphasis on universality and equality in Sikh ethics was radical not just by the standards of South Asia but globally, as it precedes such emphasis in European philosophy by a significant margin.
Against the hierarchical and inegalitarian social norms of the day, the message of SGGS is that caste is a delusion, part of māiā, that must be seen through in order to live truthfully:
As I interpret it, “the next world” refers not to a literal afterlife but to the world of ultimate reality. The point is that all social hierarchies are constructions of the world of ordinary conscious experience, a world structured by self-other duality. These social hierarchies are shown to be illusory at the level of ultimate reality. So, to grasp the ultimate reality of Oneness, we must eschew distinctions of caste and social hierarchy. Any attachment to caste or social hierarchy is borne out of haumai and thus constitutes a false way of living.
The above understanding of practicing Oneness places another constraint on the intentions or motives required for right conduct. Just as right conduct cannot be motivated by selfish concerns, it also cannot be motivated by parochial concerns, including concern for one’s own caste, race, gender, religion, etc. In-group bias and the construction of hierarchies based on social identity are antithetical to the practice of Oneness and thus to Sikh dharam. In addition to the above passages from SGGS, the importance of being motivated by universal concern is illustrated by an event from Sikh history which has become an important part of Sikh moral consciousness and moral education. The story concerns Bhai Kanhaiya, a follower of Guru Gobind Singh. In the aftermath of a battle against Mughal forces, Bhai Kanhaiya was seen giving water not just to the injured Sikh soldiers but also to the Mughals. When questioned about this practice, Bhai Kanhaiya famously replied that he saw no Sikh or Mughal on the battlefield, only people.
This story illustrates that truly right conduct is not just a matter of the external features of one’s actions but also a matter of the orientation toward the world they reflect. Bhai Kanhaiya’s conduct is held up as exemplary in Sikh moral consciousness precisely because, as the story goes, he literally could not see the differences between his side and another. All he saw were people in need, and he was directly moved to help without considering any divisions between them. In this way, right conduct in Sikh ethics is a mode of thought and feeling, not just action. To conduct oneself rightly is to transcend the shallow divisions created by individuated subjectivity and thereby to transcend haumai. Dharam in Sikh ethics is to see rightly, think rightly, feel rightly, and act rightly, practicing Oneness in all facets of one’s conduct.
4.3 Sahaj
In light of the above, it becomes clear that right conduct in Sikh ethics is enabled by a particular mode of consciousness, from which one is able to see, think, feel, and act rightly. This mode of consciousness is called sahaj, an important concept in Sikh philosophy that is difficult to translate faithfully into English. It has been translated variously as balance, poise, easefulness, peace, spontaneity, and intuition.Footnote 36 More precisely, sahaj refers to the state of being in which one has quelled the mental chaos of haumai and trisnā (appetitive desire) so that one can approach one’s conduct with clarity of consciousness:
As this passage tells us, sahaj is seen as the mode of consciousness that enables us to achieve virtue by living truthfully. Sahaj enables truthful living because it is a state in which haumai and appetitive desire have been subdued.
Sahaj is also the mode of consciousness in which we are able to see through duality, which is necessary for truthful living:
The illusion (māiā) of deep self-other duality produces attachment to this duality. As we have seen, this dualistic mode of consciousness is the home of haumai and unrestrained appetites. This is a tortured state, as one constantly experiences one’s own lack of gratification as privation. By contrast, when one has subdued haumai and appetitive desire, one is able to see clearly, thereby achieving a state of peace and poise (hence some of the common translations). It is claimed throughout SGGS that when one achieves the mode of consciousness that enables one to see through duality to the Oneness of all, one finally finds respite from the self-torture of one’s haumai and appetitive desires.Footnote 37 It is in this state of sahaj that one is most able to conduct oneself in ways that are truthful to this Oneness.
Sahaj is also explicitly connected to karam and dharam in SGGS, making clear its role as an enabling condition of good deeds and right conduct:
Sahaj is also highlighted as the mode of consciousness in which the Divine Light can be recognized:
As explained in the previous section, the “Divine Light” (jot) is referred to in SGGS as residing in everyone, with the implication that everyone should be treated with equality, and that social hierarchies of caste, etc., are irrelevant to a person’s worth. Taken together, the above passages regarding sahaj paint a systematic guide to right conduct. Right conduct is truthful living. Truthful living is the practice of Oneness. The practice of Oneness is the practice of universal, egalitarian concern for everyone. This practice requires subduing one’s self-centered and parochial desires, and entering a mode of consciousness where one is able to conduct oneself with this universal, egalitarian concern.
Attending to the role of sahaj in Sikh ethics also helps to bring out why neither of virtue or right conduct is explanatorily prior to the other. Sahaj is the mode of consciousness that enables right conduct, but it is itself facilitated by virtuous character traits that have to do with subduing haumai. Yet, a person who is not a gurmukh (virtuous person) can still act rightly, even if they have no stable disposition to do so, and their acting rightly need not be understood in terms of acting as the virtuous person would. Instead, one-off instances of right conduct can be explained in terms of a fleeting achievement of sahaj – the mode of consciousness in which the agent is able to apprehend and practice Oneness.
4.4 Householder and Renunciate
Many central concepts of Sikh ethics have to do with subduing and exerting control over one’s appetitive desires. It might naturally be thought, then, that Sikh ethics idealizes the renunciate: someone who has given up worldly pursuits to pursue enlightenment and connect with the Divine. But this is not quite right. In fact, the ascetic lifestyle is repeatedly (and sometimes stridently) criticized as self-indulgent and self-defeating throughout SGGS. In considering right conduct in Sikh ethics, it is instructive to consider why, and what relationship we ought to have to worldly pursuits if not renunciation.
Bits and pieces of the answers to these questions have already been presented. In this section and the previous one, we have already seen passages from SGGS that criticize ascetics for their misguided approach. One such passage criticized fasts and other rituals of self-denial as doing nothing to cure them of their love of duality. Other passages emphasize that the various external performances of piety practiced by ascetic sects are useless for achieving enlightenment, and that they should instead make good deeds and service to others their accoutrements. A fuller understanding of these criticisms will help illuminate why complete self-denial and eschewal of worldly pursuits are self-indulgent and self-defeating.
It is repeatedly made clear in SGGS that no amount of solitary contemplation or spiritual practice can connect one with the Divine:
This and many other passages criticize ascetics for performing rituals and pilgrimages that are ultimately meaningless. Practices of self-mortification, ritual bathing, and so on, which are meant to annihilate the self, or somehow transcend the flesh, are the subject of similarly harsh condemnation throughout SGGS. In fact, it is explicitly stated that such rituals do nothing to address the problem of haumai:
According to this passage, not only does the performance of such rituals fail to subdue haumai, it actually makes it worse.
By renouncing the world in order to find the Divine, these renunciates show that they lack understanding of its nature. If the Divine is the ultimate reality that unifies everything, then withdrawing from the rest of the world to search for ultimate reality is futile. If these renunciates truly knew the Divine, then they would care about other people as fellow constituents of Divine Oneness. Instead, they care only for themselves and their self-centered quest for enlightenment. Through self-indulgent attempts to cleanse and mortify themselves, these renunciates continue to act in a self-regarding, inward-facing manner. They are, quite literally, manmukh.Footnote 39
By contrast, the gurmukh makes the performance of good deeds their ritual:
The way one cleanses oneself of haumai, and thereby becomes virtuous, is through the performance of good deeds. Moreover, as we have already seen, these good deeds must be performed selflessly for them to rise to the level of right conduct. Thus, both right conduct and virtue must be achieved through living in the world with others, not through renunciation.
By contrast to the renunciate (udāsā), many verses of SGGS hold up the householder (girhī) as an ideal:
According to the above passage, there is a way of being a householder that is “within the gurū’s wisdom.” This involves practicing nām dān isnān, a trio of pillars of conduct invoked several times in SGGS. Nām refers to contemplation of the Divine Name, which can take the form of recitation of scripture and singing of sacred songs. Dān refers to beneficence (especially the sharing of resources), and isnān refers to purity of conduct.
Purity has to do with negative duties – what one must refrain from doing. Isnān (lit. cleansing) involves refraining from those actions that are done out of haumai.Footnote 40 By contrast, beneficence is a paradigmatic positive duty – it must be fulfilled by taking action, not just refraining from certain conduct. Dān involves acting in ways that reflect the Oneness of all through doing good deeds for others. The injunction to practice dān and not just isnān shows that one must engage in worldly actions despite the risk this poses to the control of one’s appetites. One must learn to live in the world while subduing haumai; to renounce the world is, in short, a cop out.
Though nām may seem solitary in contrast to dān and isnān, it too has a social component. Since its inception, a crucial part of Sikh practice has been contemplation of the Divine Name in community (sādh sangat). Reciting scripture (nām simran), singing sacred songs (sabad kīrtan), engaging in philosophical discourse (kathā), and communal dining (langar) are all to be done in community. This collective and communal aspect of nām is seen as having great ethical importance. As Inderjit Kaur puts it:
For Sikhs, the paired rituals of open- house sabad kīrtan (collective singing, pronounced “keertan”) and langar (communal dining) negate social hierarchies and exclusion; this practice of regularly transcending social boundaries (particularly caste and class) aims to habituate equal treatment of all human beings.”
Kaur emphasizes that the root of these ethical obligations in Sikhism is the ultimate unity or Oneness of all. So, even the practice of nām is incompatible with renunciation.
Right conduct in Sikh ethics, then, requires living in this world of haumai and duality, but while also trying to transcend those features of it, which itself can only be done by living in this world. Any attempt to transcend haumai through ascetic practices is self-defeating, because the attempt to achieve enlightenment through self-annihilation is just another form of self-indulgence. Though there is a sense in which one ought to renounce haumai and attachment to duality, this cannot take the form of renouncing the world and worldly pursuits without itself becoming a form of haumai. This makes sense of passages in SGGS that may be otherwise perplexing. For example, it is at one point said of wandering ascetics:
By contrast:
These passages seem to contradict the earlier description of ascetics as renunciates as opposed to householders, and of the virtuous as householders as opposed to renunciates. Moreover, the second passage seems to ascribe the contraries of householder and renunciate to the same person.
How can someone be both householder and renunciate? The answer is that the gurmukh is both householder in the sense that they participate in worldly pursuits and renunciate in the sense that they renounce haumai and attachment to duality. But the gurmukh does not renounce the world as the ascetic does. The ascetic is not a householder because they renounce worldly pursuits but also not a renunciate in the positive sense, because they are still filled with haumai and attached to duality.
Still, one might still wonder to what degree this notion of a householder permits one to engage in worldly pursuits. One might point to the injunction to be a householder as justification for accumulating substantial wealth and personal possessions. But I do not think this can be justified by what is said in SGGS. Of course, being a householder must be compatible with possessing some amount of personal property. A modestly comfortable life, unlike the self-denial of the ascetic, does not seem incompatible with subduing haumai and practicing Oneness. But the accumulation of vast wealth and property, especially at the expense of others who are suffering, does seem incompatible with truthful living.
In an instructive passage, Guru Nanak addresses a hypothetical “merchant friend” who is focused on the accumulation of wealth and vain pursuits:
In SGGS, the four watches of the night are metaphors for stages of life, with the third representing the bulk of adulthood, before old age. Here, the merchant friend is told that his focus on “wealth and youth” leaves him stupefied by māiā. Moreover, this has prevented him from focusing adequately on right conduct and the performance of good deeds. Right conduct, as the practice of Oneness, is described throughout SGGS as the “true business” (sachā saudā), in contrast to the accumulation of wealth and property:
I conclude that the conception of right conduct in Sikh ethics puts significant limits on the degree to which wealth and property may be pursued. In particular, any accumulation of wealth and property that is incompatible with others having enough can only enforce self-other duality and can only express the view that oneself is more important than others. Thus, even though a Sikh is enjoined to be a householder, they must live modestly and are not to go beyond what is necessary for a comfortable life, especially while others are suffering. If society is set up so that some people accumulate too much, it is made clear in SGGS that their duty is to give it away or otherwise use it to benefit others.
4.5 Conclusion
I have presented an interpretation of right conduct in Sikh ethics on which it is to be understood in terms of truthful living. In the previous section, I argued that virtue in Sikh ethics is to be understood in terms of truthfulness. This shows how virtue and right conduct are integrated. Instead of explaining either of virtue or right conduct in terms of the other, Sikh ethics explains both in terms of the fundamental importance of living in ways that reflect the ultimate reality of Oneness.
As I have explained, right conduct in Sikh ethics is not just about what one does but how one does it. Moreover, it is not just about action but also thought and feeling. To conduct oneself rightly, one’s actions must reflect the equal worth of everyone not just in their outward manifestation but also in the thoughts and feelings that motivate them. This is why right action par excellence requires achieving sahaj – the mode of consciousness in which one is able to see through duality to the Oneness of all.
Finally, I have explained how right conduct in Sikh ethics requires striking a balance between living as householder and renunciate. Those who are focused on the accumulation of wealth and personal property fail to practice Oneness because they are motivated by their appetites, which are self-regarding and reinforce self-other duality. But those who attempt to achieve enlightenment through self-denial and self-mortification also fail to practice Oneness. By ignoring the importance of others, their conduct is equally self-regarding and reinforcing of self-other duality. Only those who are able to live in the world while fully recognizing the significance of others are able to transcend self-other duality and conduct themselves rightly.
5 Sikh Ethics in Practice
So far, my reconstruction of Sikh ethics has focused on the primary text of Sikh scripture. I have tried to show that there is a coherent and systematic ethical theory whose essential features are fully contained within SGGS. That it requires reconstruction to be understood does not impugn the status of this theory. After all, all such systematic theorizing in the history of philosophy requires reconstruction in order to elucidate how a coherent system is presented. The need for these features to be drawn out and explained through close textual analysis should no more be seen as a problem for Sikh ethics than it is for any other system of ethics.
In this final section, I explore central Sikh ethical practices that have developed since the enshrinement of SGGS as scripture. In particular, my goal is to show how these ethical practices function as extensions and applications of the ethical theory found in SGGS. In doing so, I put philosophical pressure on an interpretation, popular in the field of Sikh Studies, on which Sikh practices post-SGGS are reformatory of, or otherwise discontinuous with, the philosophy presented in SGGS.
I focus on the panj kakār (five Ks), the three pillars of conduct (nām japnā, kirat karnī, vanḍ chhaknā), and the congregational practices of sabad kirtan (collective singing) and langar (communal dining). I endeavor to explain how, with the Sikh ethical theory presented in the previous sections in view, all of these practices can be interpreted as extensions and applications of that theory. Thus, I argue, these Sikh practices remain fully continuous and coherent with the philosophical message of SGGS.
5.1 Panj Kakār
The panj kakār, or five Ks, so named because they all begin with the letter K, are arguably the most significant development in the institutionalization of Sikh practice post-SGGS. They are kes (uncut hair), kanghā (comb), kaṛā (steel bracelet), kachherā (undershorts), and kirpan (sword or dagger). According to Sikh communal history, the five Ks were instituted by the tenth and final mortal Sikh Guru, Guru Gobind Singh, when he created the Khalsa panth (order) in 1699. The Khalsa is the order of Sikhs who have formally pledged to live in accordance with the institutionalized Sikh code of conduct known as rahit. The creation of the Khalsa is widely considered by Sikhs as the final step in the codification of the Sikh way of life.
There is significant historiographical disagreement on whether the five Ks were really instituted by Guru Gobind Singh.Footnote 41 My contribution as a philosopher is not to sort out this complex historiography but rather to attempt to bring some philosophical clarity to questions about the role and significance of the five Ks. However, this historiography is still important to mention. For one thing, those who claim that the five Ks are a later development also tend to infer that this makes them discontinuous with the philosophy of SGGS itself. In this way, a central component of Sikh practice is presented as a kind of add-on, part of a nineteenth-century philosophical transformation of Sikh thought and practice. But this inference is not justified. Whether the five Ks were truly instituted by Guru Gobind Singh in 1699 does not settle whether their distinctively ethical significance in Sikh practice is continuous with the Sikh ethical theory espoused in SGGS.
On my interpretation, the ethical significance of the five Ks is as commitments to living in accordance with the Sikh ethical theory espoused in SGGS. Community understanding of the significance of each of the five Ks is already conducive to this interpretation. My contribution is to draw out the philosophical connections to the Sikh ethical theory. Of course, for many Sikhs, the significance of the five Ks is highly personal, so I cannot hope to provide an interpretation that captures every aspect of this significance for everyone. Nevertheless, I think my interpretation is helpful for understanding the place of the five Ks in Sikh ethics.
This interpretation is meant to capture several related thoughts that are uncontroversial in the community understanding of the general significance of the five Ks. One such thought, expressed by many who bear the five Ks, is that these articles (bānā) are an outward reflection of the philosophical teachings they follow (bānī). Another is that the visible form (rūp) of those who carry the five Ks identifies them publicly as following a certain set of values, and dependable to uphold those values. Finally, there is the idea that the five Ks, as physical objects placed on the body, serve as corporeal reminders, with physical weight, of the weight of one’s commitment to Sikh values.
Two questions remain. First, what commitments do each of the five Ks represent? Second, how are these commitments related to the Sikh ethical theory? Here my contribution is most novel, as I take the answer to the first question to be guided by the answer to the second.
5.1.1 Kes
Kes is undoubtedly the most significant of the five Ks, and the most definitive of what it is to be an observant Sikh. Keeping kes involves refraining from cutting the hair on one’s head and from shaving one’s facial hair. Sikh men who keep kes generally keep their hair tied up and covered with a dastār (Sikh turban), giving them a distinctive appearance. The dastār is less commonly worn by Sikh women, who generally keep their uncut hair in a braid or bun, covered with a chunni (headscarf), but in some Sikh communities, wearing the dastār is standard for women and men alike.
If each of the five Ks represents a commitment, what commitment does kes represent? One commonly expressed thought is that kes represents a commitment to respecting our natural form, as the Divine created us, rather than altering that form. However, this picture faces significant difficulties. For one thing, it is not clear why refraining from altering our natural physical form would be important. While we have been in a sense “created” with this form by the Divine, we have also been “created” with the natural condition of haumai. And yet, haumai is something to be subdued, and so one aspect of our natural condition is to be altered. Thus, it cannot be that the bare fact of being part of our natural condition is ethically significant. For another, this justification for keeping kes inevitably devolves into inane questions of where to draw the line, such as why Sikhs still trim their fingernails, even though this alters their natural form.
Another thought has to do with the significance of the dastār. Sikhs will often describe the dastār as the crown of a king, given to all Sikhs by Guru Gobind Singh to show that all are equal. The emphasis on equality is definitely on the right track, but this does not directly attribute any significance to kes itself, only to the dastār. A Sikh who wore a dastār on top of cut hair would not thereby keep kes, so this cannot quite be correct either.
But there is something right in both of these thoughts. I suggest that the significance of kes does have to do with a commitment to the natural order, but a more specific one. What the natural growth of kes represents, more specifically, is a commitment to living in accordance with hukam – the natural order of interrelation between all things and the Divine. If the meaning of kes is interpreted in this way, then its ethical significance is no mystery. Recall the passage discussed in Section 2:
If kes is the outward reflection of a commitment to walking in accordance with hukam, then it represents the most general commitment one can make to following Sikh ethics: to be true the ultimate reality of Oneness.
This also explains what kes has to do with equality. As discussed in the previous section, truthful living involves treating all with equality and eschewing social hierarchies. If kes represents a general commitment to being truthful to ultimate reality, this includes a commitment to equality. This explanation of the significance of kes (and by extension, dastār) fits with the idea that it is an outward expression of the gurū’s teachings. It also fits with the ideas that it makes one answerable publicly for upholding one’s values, and that it serves as a physical reminder of the weight of one’s commitment. Finally, this way of understanding the significance of kes in Sikh practice makes sense of why kes is the most important of the five Ks: it is the most important because it is an outward reflection of the most general commitment to following the Sikh ethic of truthful living.
5.1.2 Kanghā
The kanghā is a small wooden comb, which is not only used to comb the hair but also tucked into the hair to keep it tied up. Academic discussions of the significance of the kanghā almost always connect it to the rejection of ascetic self-denial in Sikh thought. Recounting Kapur Singh’s (Reference Singh1959) interpretation of the five Ks, Bhupinder Singh writes that the kangha is “an obvious complement to unshorn hair, is an injunction against matted hair or dreadlocks symbolising asceticism and renunciation of the world” (Reference Singh2014, 131). Similarly, N.G.K. Singh writes that the function of the kanghā is “to keep [one’s hair] tidy, in contrast with the recluses who kept it matted as a token of their having renounced the world” (Reference Singh2011, 51). While this is correct, it must be added that the kangha is not just a symbol but the outward reflection of a commitment.
Recall this line from SGGS, quoted in the previous section:
Here we can see that, matted hair is used to represent the misguidedness of ascetic self-denial in Sikh ethics. Now recall another line discussed in the previous section:
Sikh ethics enjoins one to be both householder and renunciate: a person who lives in the world of ordinary experiences while also renouncing the false duality that structures it. Thus, the kangha can be seen as the outward reflection of a commitment to living in this way. This illuminates how kangha is related to kes. The kangha represents a commitment to practicing Oneness without renouncing the world. By keeping one’s kes combed and tidy, one prevents one’s general commitment to truthful living (represented by kes) from being transformed into a self-indulgent renunciation of the world (represented by matted hair).
In this way, kangha can be seen as having ethical significance that is auxiliary to that of kes. While it is not necessarily outwardly visible, it makes up a part of the overall form (rūp) one presents to the world, and thus one’s answerability, both to oneself and others, for living up to one’s commitments.
5.1.3 Kaṛā
The kaṛā is a steel bracelet worn on the wrist of the dominant hand. It has been ascribed a variety of meanings by Sikhs, but the most common is that the kaṛā, being felt always when one moves one’s dominant hand, is a constant reminder to be aware of what one does by one’s own hand. In this way, it can be seen as the outward reflection of the commitment not to let oneself be ruled by one’s appetites, and to always exercise self-control. Thus, it is closely related to the virtue of sanjam discussed in Section 3. To have sanjam is to be the master of one’s appetites, rather than the other way around. By reminding one to always be in control of one actions, the kaṛā represents and reminds the Sikh of their commitment to self-control.
The ethical significance of the kaṛā can also be connected to the virtue of bibek (discernment). Though she does not draw this connection explicitly, it is evoked by N.G.K. Singh (Reference Singh2011) in a brief discussion of the significance of the kaṛā, where she quotes the following line from SGGS:
The importance of a steady consciousness in Sikh ethics is captured by the virtue of bibek. As discussed in Section 3, bibek is necessary for subduing haumai, because it is the virtue that allows one to discern when one is acting out of haumai. The kaṛā, insofar as it functions as a reminder to be aware of, and thus reflect on, one’s own actions, can be related to bibek in addition to sanjam.
More generally, the kaṛā, with its weight on one’s arm, seems to represent a commitment to ensuring that one does not act out of haumai. Given that haumai is the condition of our existence, such a commitment is clearly one of which we would need constant reminding. As an outward reflection of this commitment, the kaṛā makes Sikhs answerable, both to themselves and others, for living up to their commitment to ensure they do not act out of haumai. In this way, the ethical significance of the kaṛā is clearly continuous with the ethical theory presented in SGGS.
5.1.4 Kachherā
Kachherā are an undergarment similar to boxer shorts. Like the kaṛā, kachherā are often connected to ideas of self-control and restraining one’s appetites. Given their proximity to the sexual organs, kachherā are seen as especially representative of the importance of controlling or restraining one’s sexual desire, and thus to avoiding the vice of kām. While there is something to this, I think there is a more general commitment represented by kachherā, which can be drawn out by focusing on the fact that it is an undergarment and thus not generally visible, unlike the kaṛā.
I have connected the kaṛā to self-control over one’s appetites. Because excessive appetites, as a manifestation of haumai, are a fact of life, the virtue of sanjam or self-control is of great importance. But, as previously discussed, it is also of great importance to attempt to prevent one’s appetites from multiplying in this way in the first place. This is where the virtue of santokh (contentment) comes in. While sanjam is the virtue of controlling the appetites one has, santokh is the virtue of limiting the growth of one’s appetites in the first place. In this way, santokh operates as a check on the influence of haumai at an earlier stage than sanjam does. For example, to avoid the vice of kām requires not just that one refrain from acting out of objectifying lust but also that one refrain from having the objectifying thoughts and feelings that would give rise to such action. This requires not just sanjam but also santokh.
Now return to the comparison between kaṛā and kachherā. While the kaṛā, always visible on one’s wrist, is the most outward and public reflection of one’s commitment to subduing haumai, the kachherā are the most inward and private reflection of this commitment, only visible in intimate settings. What I suggest we take from this is that, as the kaṛā is related to sanjam, the kachherā are related to santokh. That is, while the kaṛā represents in the first instance one’s commitment to controlling one’s appetites, the kachherā represent in the first instance one’s commitment to preventing these appetites from growing and multiplying. Thus, as an undergarment, the kachherā represent what is in some ways the most private virtue – one that operates much earlier in the explanation of one’s conduct – not at the stage of action but at the stage of thought and feeling.
5.1.5 Kirpān (and a Note on Justice)
The kirpān is in many ways the most difficult of the five Ks to connect to the ethical theory presented in SGGS. This is because the kirpān is the only one of the five Ks that is a weapon. As such, it seems much more obviously connected to the martial direction of Sikhism under the later gurūs than it does to the message of SGGS. However, Guru Gobind Singh clearly saw the martial direction of Sikh practice, as begun by Guru Hargobind, with its ideal of the sant sipāhī (saint-soldier), as continuous with the philosophy of SGGS. In order to connect the kirpan to the Sikh ethical theory, we must return to a virtue I set aside in Section 3: justice.
As a reminder, I set justice (niāo) aside because its role in SGGS is not analogous to that of the virtues discussed in Section 3. Niāo is referenced many times in SGGS, but it is not usually ascribed to humans as a character trait along with other virtues. Instead, niāo is largely referenced in association with the Divine:
This passage sheds light on justice (niāo) in two ways. First, justice is said to be determined from the vantage point of ultimate reality. Second, the determination of justice is connected to honoring and accepting the practice of truth, which connects justice to truthful living in general.
I contend that justice is not meant to be a particular virtue, in the sense of a particular aspect of truthfulness. Instead, like wisdom, justice seems more like a particular guise of truthfulness. The truthful person practices truth, and true justice is determined to be nothing but the practice of truth. But then what is the point of understanding truthful living under the guise of justice? The answer seems to lie in the fact that, at the level of ultimate reality, all social hierarchies and divisions vanish. Recall the discussion of dharam from the previous section. SGGS lays out a stringent moral obligation to treat everyone with equality, and to reject caste and other social hierarchies. This, I think, has always been the Sikh conception of justice: truthful living under the guise of fighting for the equal standing of all.
Almost all of SGGS was compiled by the fifth Sikh gurū, Guru Arjan Dev as the Adi Granth. At that point, Sikhs had lived relatively peacefully within the Mughal Empire, which had been mostly religiously tolerant. That changed when the emperor Jehangir ordered the execution of Guru Arjan Dev. The historical scholarship on this event is fraught, but it is widely agreed that the execution was at least partly motivated by the increasing prominence of the Sikh movement, which Jehangir saw as a threat.Footnote 42 According to Sikh communal history, before his execution, Guru Arjan Dev instructed his son and successor, Guru Hargobind, to take up arms and resist persecution. This is seen as a crucial turning point in the relationship between Sikh thought and ethical practice, at which it became clear that Sikhs would not be left in peace to pursue their way of life. Instead, martial and political organization was necessary to combat injustice.
Because the ethical theory laid out in SGGS was already basically complete, this increasingly explicit focus on justice as a virtue is not present in SGGS. But the political reality laid bare a central truth already contained in that theory: if Sikhs are serious about practicing Oneness, then they cannot acquiesce to the injustices of religious persecution. Moreover, it becomes clear that, whether it was done to them or to others, injustice to anyone could not be countenanced as part of a commitment to practicing Oneness. If all are One, then injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. This thought is embodied in the decision of the ninth Sikh gurū, Guru Tegh Bahadur, to subject himself to martyrdom in the course of attempting to protect other oppressed groups from persecution.
Though this more political understanding of justice is less explicitly emphasized in SGGS, it is a direct extension of the ethics presented therein. The injunction to fight against injustice wherever it is found can be derived straightforwardly from the injunction to look upon all with equality, combined with the existence of manifestly unjust political and social conditions. Moreover, SGGS does criticize unjust political authorities and institutions, even when the language of justice (niāo) is not explicitly used.Footnote 43 Finally, it must not be overlooked that SGGS harshly condemns unjust social practices such as the caste system and satī (widow-burning). Thus, though it was a result of increasing martial and political organization, the more explicit emphasis on justice as a virtue for Sikhs is fully continuous with the message of SGGS.
This brings me back, finally, to the ethical significance of the kirpān. The kirpān is widely understood by Sikhs to be the outward reflection of a commitment to justice. Moreover, the commitment to justice is thought to be manifested by a sword precisely in light of the realization that justice must be fought for. Though the kirpān is less often carried by present-day Sikhs as a functional weapon, it was originally meant to be a real means of standing up for justice, to be wielded in self-defense or in defense of others (but never in aggression). Whether it is worn as a functional weapon or not, the kirpān for Sikhs represents a commitment to standing up not just for oneself but for those who are unable to stand up for themselves. Moreover, Sikhs who carry the kirpān are answerable both to themselves and to others for living up to this commitment.
In this way, the ethical significance of the kirpān is unified with that of the other kakār. All of the five Ks, I have argued, are outward physical reflections of inner ethical commitments. Moreover, these ethical commitments are completely continuous and coherent with the ethical theory presented in SGGS. Before moving on, however, a clarification is important. As outward reflections of inner ethical commitments, the five Ks reinforce these commitments by constantly reminding the wearer of them, as well as adding a layer of answerability for living up to them. But this by no means implies that only those who wear the five Ks live up to these commitments (or even sincerely make them). Though the five Ks have great significance in Sikh ethical practice, wearing the five Ks is neither necessary nor sufficient for being a good Sikh. Indeed, a person who practices Oneness without keeping the five Ks would be a better person than one who wears the five Ks but constantly acts out of haumai. Moreover, it could be seen as a kind of dishonesty or hypocrisy to wear the five Ks without having a sincere commitment to practicing Oneness.
5.2 The Three Pillars
In the communal understanding of Sikh ethics, Sikhs are enjoined to live according to three pillars of conduct: nām japnā (meditate on the Divine name), kirat karnī (earn an honest living), and vanḍ chhaknā (share what one has). Scholars attribute these three pillars to a 1907 novel of Bhai Vir Singh, where they are thought to be inspired by the three pillars of conduct that appear in SGGS as nām dān isnān.Footnote 44 As discussed in the previous section, nām refers to contemplation of the Divine Name, which takes the form of scriptural recitation and devotional singing. Dān refers to beneficence (especially the sharing of resources), and isnān refers to purity of conduct. Though this connection between scripture and practice has long been drawn, my goal here is to present it in a systematic form.
5.2.1 Nām japnā
The relationship between nām in nām dān isnān and the pillar of nām japnā is obvious. Nām japnā is the more contemplative aspect of the practice of Oneness. It is meditation on the Divine Name. Recall what is said in the mūl mantar (root verse) of SGGS: the name of the Divine – the One (ik oaʼnkār) – is Truth. Thus, to meditate on the Divine Name is to meditate on the fundamental truth of the Oneness of all existence. To live truthfully, one must contemplate this truth, understand it, and take it to heart.
Moreover, there is a mystical component to nām japnā. By meditating on the Divine Name, one is thought to achieve a kind of temporary attunement and direct access to ultimate reality. For example, through repeated chanting of the phrase vāhigurū satnām (wonderous Guide, whose name is Truth), it is thought that one can achieve a kind of consonance between the vibration of one’s utterances and the One cosmic vibration (ik oaʼnkār).Footnote 45 Because Oneness is the foundation of all ethical truths, nām japnā can be seen as enabling a kind of direct access to these ethical truths. Thus, while the role of nām japnā in practicing Oneness can be seen as in part epistemic, it is not purely intellectual or cognitive.
The ethical significance of nām japnā also goes beyond its epistemic role in attaining access to the Divine. Nām japnā is also seen as central to achieving sahaj. As discussed in the previous section, sahaj is the mode of consciousness in which one is able to see through duality to the Oneness of all. Part of the role of nām japnā is to effect a kind of centering – a quieting of the chaos of the individuated self. By meditating on the Divine Name, one can put oneself in a position to structure one’s agency through Oneness rather than self-other duality. In this way, the role of nām japnā in practicing Oneness is not just epistemic but also practical.
5.2.2 Kirat karnī
Kirat karnī means roughly, to earn an honest living. Recall that the theory of right conduct in SGGS enjoins one to be a householder, but to engage in worldly pursuits within the gurū’s wisdom. If one is to be a householder, it cannot be that all accumulation of resources such as wealth and property is prohibited. Ordinary personal pursuits, such as a well-paying job that can support homeownership and financial stability, are not seen as necessary incompatible with practicing Oneness. But the qualifier “within the gurū’s wisdom” places significant limitations on such pursuits. These are the limitations referred to in kirat karnī’s enjoinder to earn an honest living. In the original three pillars of nām dān isnān, kirat karnī is therefore an extension of isnān.
As discussed in the previous section, isnān (purity) refers to refraining from conduct that pollutes one’s consciousness with haumai. Isnān thus picks out negative duties: constraints on what we may permissibly do. Kirat karnī says that it is permissible to earn a living but that this is constrained by what is honest. Clearly, this rules out certain methods of accumulation of resources that plainly go against the principles of Sikh ethics. This includes actions that manifest lobh (greed), as well as any other methods that manifest haumai, including deception, coercion, and exploitation. These are already significant constraints on the permissible accumulation of resources.
Is there anything more specific to be gleaned from Sikh ethics about earning an honest living? To answer this question, we can further examine the fact that some accumulation of resources is taken to be compatible with practicing Oneness. Here, an important implication of Sikh ethics becomes clear: whatever is compatible with my practicing Oneness must be compatible with anyone else’s doing the same. The practice of Oneness is, by its nature, constrained by a kind of universalizability. This is because a nonuniversalizable practice would necessarily involve making an exception of oneself, and thereby according to oneself a significance one denies to others. But this is just to act out of haumai. So the practice of Oneness cannot be nonuniversalizable.
The above entails that whatever accumulation of resources is compatible with practicing Oneness cannot be incompatible with a similar accumulation of resources by others. This builds on the discussion of the significant limits placed by the theory of right conduct in SGGS on the accumulation of resources. Whatever one accumulates for oneself cannot constitute the earning of an honest living if it is at the expense of others’ ability to earn an honest living. Though this principle is compatible with a certain amount of inequality in wealth and property, it also places significant limits on this inequality. Indeed, it is difficult to see how the hoarding of vast capital can be compatible with the pillar of kirat karnī, given the vast suffering and exploitation on which it depends. Indeed, kirat karnī can be understood not just as placing limits on how one may personally pursue the accumulation of resources but on what kind of social system one may support and benefit from. For example, it is difficult to reconcile kirat karnī with support for our global economic system and the massive disparities it maintains.
5.2.3 Vanḍ chhaknā
Vanḍ chhaknā means roughly to share what one has. Just as dān picks out positive duties of beneficence as the flipside to the negative duties picked out by isnān, so vanḍ chhaknā can be seen as the flipside of kirat karnī. While kirat karnī places constraints on the accumulation of resources such as wealth and property, vanḍ chhaknā shows that this is not sufficient for right conduct. While it is true that the practice of Oneness is compatible with some accumulation of resources, there is a sense in which these things should not be seen as truly and deeply one’s own. To see them this way would be to mistake the surface level individuation of selves for a deep division in ultimate reality, and thus to enforce the shallow self-other duality of ordinary empirical existence.
Just as haumai involves the repeated assertion of the ego, “I am me,” so too it involves the repeated assertion of possession, “this is mine.” To be too attached to one’s own possessions is the vice of moh. The addition of vanḍ chhaknā to kirat karnī suggests that even that which has been earned honestly must not be held with too much attachment, lest one mistake the shallow truth of “this is mine” for some deep reality. This is why, in order to practice Oneness, we must generously share what we have with others, rather than hoarding it protectively.
Vanḍ chhaknā is often practiced through donating a significant amount of one’s income to charity. But the use of the term “charity” here should not give the impression that this is a mere recommendation. It is uncontroversial in Sikh ethical practice that donating a portion of one’s wealth is an ethical requirement. The standard interpretation of this requirement is the dasvandh, which refers to the one-tenth of one’s income one must donate to charity. However, the dasvandh should arguably be seen only as the bare minimum that everyone who is not in dire circumstances is able to reasonably give. For those of much more means, much more is arguably required in order to practice vanḍ chhaknā.
Of course, one might also take from the Sikh ethical theory that no one should be able to accumulate vast wealth in the first place. But given that this can easily happen in the actual world, charitable obligations may significantly exceed dasvandh for many. Moreover, as with kirat karnī, vanḍ chhaknā might be extended to a political principle in addition to a principle of individual conduct (e.g., to pay progressive taxes to fund social programs).
Aside from donating to charity, another important aspect of vanḍ chhaknā is the Sikh ethical practice of seva, or selfless service. In addition to wealth, another resource that is unequally distributed is time. According to Sikh ethical practice, one is required to share not only one’s wealth but also one’s time with others. This most often takes the form of volunteer work. A particularly striking example is that of Khalsa Aid, a Sikh humanitarian NGO devoted to providing support to victims of both natural and manmade disasters across the globe. But it also takes the form of simple acts of kindness and beneficence on an everyday basis, done without any reward or compensation.
Importantly, seva has not just a practical role to play in enacting Oneness but also an epistemic role. By practicing truly selfless service, one elides the boundary between self and other. According to Sikh communal thought, this creates an experience of transcendence of self-other duality. Such an experience constitutes another form of attunement and direct access to ultimate reality. In other words, this experience of treating oneself and another as One is an experience of the Divine.
This sheds further light on how there is no real separation between the epistemic attainment of truth and the practice of truth, just as there is no real separation between metaphysics and ethics in Sikh philosophy. Understanding and practicing Oneness are inextricably linked. As we have already seen, the full experience of the Divine requires both understanding and practice together and can only be achieved through doing good deeds for others, not just through solitary contemplation. This ties back in with why renunciation of the world is rejected as a pathway to experiencing the Divine in SGGS. Moreover, it shows how nām japnā is more closely related to vanḍ chhaknā and kirat karnī than it might initially seem to be. As with the original nām dān isnān, each of the three pillars of conduct is an important aspect of truthful living, and all must be integrated into a holistic practice of Oneness that suffuses thought, feeling, and action.
5.3 Kīrtan and Langar
Finally, an explanation of the relationship between Sikh ethical theory and practice is incomplete without a discussion of sabad kirtan (collective singing) and langar (communal dining). Thus far, I have only mentioned these practices in passing. Though the initial development of both practices was contemporaneous with SGGS, they have evolved to become deeply institutionalized facets of Sikh practice. In discussing the ethical significance of sabad kīrtan and langar, I attempt to show how the development of these practices is, like that of other significant Sikh ethical practices, an application of the ethical theory presented in SGGS.
My discussion here builds on that of Inderjit Kaur, who argues that the pairing of sabad kīrtan and langar constitutes an “everyday practice of non-Othering” (Reference Kaur, Morelli and Sherinian2024, 229).
As emphasized by Kaur, the practice of non-Othering is an essential aspect of the practice of Oneness. She analyzes Othering as “a fundamentally divisive and hierarchical process of constructing social groups as we/us versus they/ them, where the Other is posited as inferior and even threatening” (231). Kaur’s analysis makes clear how the process of Othering reflects an attachment to self-other duality. As such, Othering is essentially a manifestation of haumai.
Both sabad kīrtan and langar take place in the gurdwarā – the Sikh place of worship (lit. doorway to the gurū), and together make up the most central parts of the Sikh service. The site of the gurdwarā is meant to be an essentially inclusive and egalitarian one. It is a space open to all, regardless of religion, caste, race, gender, etc.Footnote 46 Furthermore, the inclusivity of this space is meant to reflect the nonexistence of social hierarchies in the Court of the Divine – that is, at the level of ultimate reality. Upon entering the gurdwarā, one is to leave all of these dualities at the gurū’s doorway before stepping into the space of Oneness.
Once in the gurdwarā, devotional practices are structured so as to reflect a commitment to egalitarianism. In both the divān hall, where sabad kīrtan is sung, and the langar hall, everyone sits on the floor together regardless of social positionality, which reflects the equal worth of all people and reinforces a lack of hierarchy. This feature of sabad kīrtan and langar was quite radical in the social context in which these practices were developed. The practice of the caste system forbade people of high caste from mingling with those of low caste and considered the former polluted if they did. Moreover, it was considered proper for ordinary people to sit on the floor, while rulers and aristocrats sat elevated on thrones and the like. This makes particularly clear how everyone sitting on the floor together is supposed to reflect and reinforce egalitarianism and the rejection of social hierarchies.
As mentioned earlier, nām japnā – meditation on the Divine Name – is supposed to facilitate a kind of direct experience of the ultimate reality of Oneness, and correspondingly enable one to enter sahaj – the mode of consciousness that eschews self-other duality, from which one is capable of practicing Oneness. Building on Kaur’s analysis, we might think of sahaj as the non-Othering mode of consciousness. Though nām japnā can be practiced through solitary meditation or chanting, sabad kīrtan is the primary form of nām japnā practiced in the social site of the gurdwarā. As an essentially social practice of collective nām japnā, sabad kīrtan is thus thought to enable a correspondingly collective experience of Oneness. In engaging in this collective spiritual activity, each individual is (ideally) able to temporarily forget their individuated self and so experience the lack of distinction between themselves and the other participants.
While sabad kīrtan relates most closely to the pillar of nām japnā, the practice of langar relates more closely to the pillars of kirat karnī and vanḍ chhaknā. The langar hall is open to all, whether they are Sikhs are not, to dine communally. No one is ever charged for dining there. In addition to sitting communally on the floor, everyone is served the same simple, vegetarian food. As Kaur emphasizes, all of these features of langar are aspects of creating an egalitarian space free of Othering. Additionally, the practice of langar is defined not just by the lack of Othering but by the positive practice of Oneness through serving as a community kitchen that exists for the benefit of all people.
In its function as a community kitchen, langar is one of the most important forms of sevā (selfless service) in Sikh ethical practice. As I have emphasized, sevā is an essential practice for Sikhs, seen as necessary for fully recognizing the Oneness of all and reflecting it in one’s conduct. The experience of acting for the sake of others also constitutes another form of direct experience of the ultimate reality of Oneness. In this way, the practices of sabad kīrtan and langar are unified as the institutionalized practice of Oneness. Together, they constitute the gurdwarā as a site of Oneness and a refuge from the unjust social hierarchies that structure the world of individuated selves. In this way, sabad kīrtan and langar are not only continuous with the three pillars of conduct but also directly continuous with the ethic of truthful living presented in SGGS.
5.4 Conclusion
I have presented an interpretation of a variety of Sikh ethical practices on which they are continuous with the ethical theory presented in SGGS. According to this theory, the ethical life is about truthful living – living in a way that is true to the ultimate Oneness of all and the shallowness of self-other duality. I have argued that for all of the most central Sikh ethical practices, the communal understanding of these practices connects them clearly to truthful living in the form of the practice of Oneness.
Much of what I have argued for will not be very surprising to practicing Sikhs (though some of my interpretation is novel, and hopefully its systematic presentation will be illuminating even for them). However, my interpretation goes against a significant thread in the academic literature on these practices, where some scholars have claimed that a variety of Sikh ethical practices are modern inventions created by reform movements in an effort to further distinguish Sikhs from other religious groups.
One thing I hope to have shown here is that such claims face a serious challenge: if Sikh practices are the result of modern reforms, then why are they so clearly and deeply continuous with the ethical theory presented in SGGS? Such claims have already been scrutinized for paying insufficient attention to Sikh communal history, as well as counterevidence in the historical record. But they also pay insufficient attention to the philosophical threads running through text and practice. Etiological and historiographical disputes aside, Sikhs’ own communal understanding of their ethical practices and institutions as applications and extensions of the ethical theory of SGGS has been basically correct, despite claims to the contrary.
Concluding Remarks
In this Element, I have presented an interpretation of the Sikh ethical theory, drawn out from close engagement with the text of Sri Guru Granth Sahib, proceeding from the assumption that it contains a coherent and systematic theory. On my interpretation, the cornerstone of Sikh ethics (and indeed, the cornerstone of all Sikh philosophy) is truth (sat/sach). In SGGS, the mūl mantar – root verse – identifies the Divine with the fundamental metaphysical truth, the ultimate reality of Oneness. Thus, Sikh ethics and metaphysics are unified: ethics is fundamentally about living in a way that is true to the ultimate reality of Oneness.
I have explained how various components of the Sikh ethical theory flow from this conception of the ethical life as the truthful life. One component is the Sikh account of the unity of vices and virtues. The fundamental source of vice is haumai, the attachment to self-other duality. It unifies the “five thieves” kām (lust), krodh (wrath), lobh (greed), moh (attachment), and ahankār (arrogance). The fundamental virtue is truthfulness, the virtue of the sachiārā. It unifies particular virtues such as daiā (compassion), santokh (contentment), sanjam (self-control), saram (humility), and bibek (discernment). All of these virtues are aspects of truthfulness. Moreover, wisdom and justice can each be understood as fully general virtues that are guises of truthfulness.
Another component is the Sikh understanding of right conduct as truthful living (sach āchār). Truthful living is the practice of Oneness. Right conduct consists in action, thought, and feeling that are structured by a recognition of and commitment to the Oneness of everyone, and the shallowness of self-other duality. This requires acting for the sake of others without regard for their separation from oneself in the world of ordinary experience. I have also argued that Sikh ethical practices, even those developed after the codification of SGGS, are extensions or applications of the ethical theory presented in SGGS. This challenges on philosophical grounds the already historically suspect view on which Sikh ethical practices are purely modern reforms.
In presenting all of this, I take myself to have proven the initial assumption that there is a coherent and systematic Sikh ethics present in SGGS. As I mentioned in the introduction, my concern is not directly with defending this theory or convincing the reader of its truth. My primary concern has been to remedy the serious problem I lamented at the outset: that in the work produced by Anglophone philosophers working in the analytic tradition, Sikh philosophy is completely ignored and erased. Even as other world philosophical traditions have gained a foothold in what has historically been an intellectually Eurocentric field, Sikh philosophy has remained totally absent.
I have tried to accomplish the delicate task of using the methodology of analytic philosophy to present the Sikh ethical theory, while also remaining true to its autochthonous features. My hope is that the existence of this Element will go some way toward giving Sikh philosophy a seat at the table, along with all the other increasingly recognized world philosophies. Moreover, I hope that it can be of use to Sikhs looking to understand their own heritage as an intellectually rich and rigorous philosophical tradition.
In presenting the Sikh ethical theory, this Element has not engaged in what is called comparative philosophy – work that puts into conversation philosophical ideas from different cultures and traditions to make philosophical progress. Instead, I have presented Sikh ethics almost entirely on its own terms, with only occasional reference to the theories of other cultures and traditions. This was a conscious choice to show that Sikh philosophy can stand on its own. But once this has been shown, it becomes clear that there is great potential for comparative philosophy that incorporates the Sikh perspective. This is work I hope to explore in the future. For example, it would be fruitful to explore similarities and differences between Sikh and Buddhist conceptions of Oneness. It would also be fruitful to compare and contrast conceptions of universality and equality in Sikh and Western ethics.
On the topic of universality and equality in Sikh and Western ethics, there is one comparative note I wish to make here. The dominant Western narrative in the history of ideas attributes the development of egalitarian philosophical principles to the Enlightenment period in Europe. Drawing attention to Sikh philosophy challenges this narrative. As my interpretation has shown, Sikh ethics has well-developed principles of universality and equality with systematic foundations.Footnote 47 Moreover, the development of these principles precedes the development of similar principles by European philosophers by some 100–200 years.
For example, there is significant affinity between Sikh ethics and Kantian ethics, though the underlying metaphysics differ considerably. Both systems hold that all people, in virtue of shared features, are of equal worth and deserve equal concern. Both systems hold that good deeds done selfishly are wholly lacking in virtue. And both systems prescribe conduct that is motivated by a regard for others that is universal and not parochial. Finally, both systems hold that it is deeply wrong to deny others the significance one accords oneself by treating them as mere objects.
Kant, however, was notoriously inept at drawing out the egalitarian implications of his own system, as is notable from his racist views.Footnote 48 The founding thinkers of Sikh ethics, by contrast, recognized the wrongness of such prejudices from the outset, by rejecting the caste system even though it was ubiquitously practiced at the time. The Sikh Gurus were radical thinkers who rejected many of the unjust social norms of their time in both theory and practice. Kant, and many other European Enlightenment philosophers, failed at this to various degrees. Even Mill, who was radical in his defense of gender equality, also defended British colonialism.
Thus, the Western narrative on which modern ethical progress is a European achievement is false. When this is laid bare, the erasure of Sikh ethics in Anglophone philosophy is even more regrettable. Not only does it problematically ignore an interesting and plausible ethical theory, but it also promulgates a false Eurocentric narrative about ethical progress. To put the point another way: some of the reasons not to ignore Sikh ethics are epistemic. By ignoring a viable theoretical option, we fail to consider the full range of candidates for ethical truth. But other reasons not to ignore Sikh ethics are reasons of justice. It is unjust to fail to recognize the important contributions Sikh ethics has made to the global history of ideas, and to global ethical progress. This is all the more reason to stop erasing Sikh philosophy and give it a seat at the table. Doing so can only enrich our philosophical resources for addressing the ethical problems of the present and future.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful to Inderjit Kaur and Nirvikar Singh for many rounds of detailed feedback on drafts of this work. Without being able to consult their deep knowledge of both SGGS and scholarship on Sikh thought, this would have been an impossible undertaking. I am also grateful to two anonymous referees for helpful comments, as well as to Yujin Nagasawa for his patience and support as series editor.
Yujin Nagasawa
University of Oklahoma
Yujin Nagasawa is Kingfisher College Chair of the Philosophy of Religion and Ethics and Professor of Philosophy at the University of Oklahoma. He is the author of The Problem of Evil for Atheists (2024), Maximal God: A New Defence of Perfect Being Theism (2018), Miracles: A Very Short Introduction (2018), The Existence of God: A Philosophical Introduction (2011), and God and Phenomenal Consciousness (2008), along with numerous articles. He is the editor-in-chief of Religious Studies and served as the president of the British Society for the Philosophy of Religion from 2017 to 2019.
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This Cambridge Elements series provides concise and structured overviews of a wide range of religious beliefs and practices, with an emphasis on global, multi-faith viewpoints. Leading scholars from diverse cultural backgrounds and geographical regions explore topics and issues that have been overlooked by Western philosophy of religion.
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