Truth is his name

Who is to say who is right or wrong when only god is perfect?

If there is one thing that I hate doing, it is admitting when I am wrong. I am comfortable compiling my finances; I can visit the dentist without fear; doing the household laundry and other domestic chores can even be positively euphoric; but, admitting when I am wrong is something that I deplore and what is more, I just can’t seem to do it as often as I should.

As a teenager, I gained something of a reputation for endlessly questioning my friends, family and peers. I just couldn’t let go of a topic that I felt inclined to know about (which happened to be just about everything!) Relentlessly, I would hound somebody as to their opinion or experience.

This in itself was fairly harmless as I had always been taught that an inquisitive nature was the very essence of learning. However, it was the manner in which I would counteract during a conversation that led to my notoriety. To share your own opinions is tolerable, but I tended to declare my own thoughts as absolute fact.

I would take a stand on a point in question and unequivocally deride others (whom I now viewed as opponents) pressing them into submission. As if that wasn’t ghastly enough, I often found myself in a position where I needed to expand my argument further, but could not as I had already limited myself when making earlier assertions!

Admitting that perhaps I had gone too far or that I had hastily made statements was tantamount to admitting defeat and I just couldn’t admit that I was wrong. With age comes wisdom and over the years I have become a better conversationalist, but the agony in admitting I may have erred remains. I often wonder why this is. Is it as simple as the stubbornness of male-pride? Or is there some part of my personality that craves confrontation? I continue to ask these questions of myself, but have already found satisfaction from the philosophy of the Sikh way of life.

Guru Nanak espoused that there is only One absolute: God. Sikhs do not think of God as a being or deity, rather we believe that God is the very fabric of all existence: The Guru said Truth is His Name. It follows that beyond this absolute, unique perfect Divinity, everything else is not without flaw. It is comforting to know that we are not perfect.

To truly believe and practice the principle that only God is perfect is humbling. It helps us to refrain from the idea that we cannot be wrong. And yet we find ourselves in that position every day because we spend our time looking at the rest of the world who like us are imperfect. If they are imperfect too, who is to say that I am wrong and they are right? Perhaps I am right and they are wrong! It is this type of thinking that I believe has led me to hate admitting when I am wrong, a belief that perhaps I could be right!

This is why the Sikh way of life emphasises the greater importance of practising an ideal. Guru Nanak declared that “Truth is the highest virtue, but higher still is Truthful living.” We recognise that we are imperfect, but when we are put to the test and should accept that we could or have been wrong we fail to follow through. Sikhs believe that everything exists at the whim of the single Creator & Destroyer. That entity alone is responsible for life and death, for war and peace. Sikh philosophy dictates that our energy is better focused on that entity and to not get caught up in the petty squabbles of the World. Guru Nanak said that in life we should be like the lotus flower, floating within the water but not becoming sullied by the murky depths: to live within the World and embrace it whole, to attempt to resolve society’s problems and enhance the spirit of its people. But we should not allow ourselves to become embroiled or overcome by the differences that exist. Truly, it is human to err, but I would like to take licence with the idiom and add that to admit when one is wrong is also divine.

Harwinder Singh is a 26-year-old Law graduate turned film and TV producer. He is also a record label boss. Born in the UK to Punjabi parents, he been practising and studying the Sikh Way of Life for about 20 years.
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The joy of only winning once: why England should be proud of 1966

We feel the glory of that triumphant moment, 50 years ago, all the more because of all the other occasions when we have failed to win.

There’s a phrase in football that I really hate. It used to be “Thirty years of hurt”. Each time the England team crashes out of a major tournament it gets regurgitated with extra years added. Rather predictably, when England lost to Iceland in Euro 2016, it became “Fifty years of hurt”. We’ve never won the European Championship and in 17 attempts to win the World Cup we have only won once. I’m going to tell you why that’s a record to cherish.

I was seven in 1966. Our telly was broken so I had to watch the World Cup final with a neighbour. I sat squeezed on my friend Colin’s settee as his dad cheered on England with phrases like “Sock it to them Bobby”, as old fashioned now as a football rattle. When England took the lead for the second time I remember thinking, what will it feel like, when we English are actually Champions of the World. Not long after I knew. It felt good.

Wembley Stadium, 30 July 1966, was our only ever World Cup win. But let’s imagine what it would be like if, as with our rivals, we’d won it many times? Brazil have been World Champions on five occasions, Germany four, and Italy four. Most England fans would be “over the moon” if they could boast a similarly glorious record. They’re wrong. I believe it’s wonderful that we’ve only triumphed once. We all share that one single powerful memory. Sometimes in life less is definitely more.

Something extraordinary has happened. Few of us are even old enough to remember, but somehow, we all know everything that happened that day. Even if you care little about the beautiful game, I’m going to bet that you can recall as many as five iconic moments from 50 years ago. You will have clearly in your mind the BBC commentator Kenneth Wolstenholme’s famous lines, as Geoff Hurst tore down the pitch to score his hat-trick: “Some people are on the pitch. They think it’s all over. It is now”. And it was. 4 - 2 to England against West Germany. Thirty minutes earlier the Germans had equalised in the dying moments of the second half to take the game to extra time.

More drama we all share: Geoff Hurst’s second goal. Or the goal that wasn’t, as technology has since, I think, conclusively proved. The shot that crashed off the cross bar and did or didn’t cross the line. Of course, even if you weren’t alive at the time, you will know that the linesman, one Tofiq Bakhramov, from Azerbaijan (often incorrectly referred to as “Russian”) could speak not a word of English, signalled it as a goal.

Then there’s the England Captain, the oh-so-young and handsome Bobby Moore. The very embodiment of the era. You can picture him now wiping his muddy hands on his white shorts before he shakes hands with a youthful Queen Elizabeth. Later you see him lifted aloft by his team mates holding the small golden Jules Rimet trophy.

How incredible, how simply marvellous that as a nation we share such golden memories. How sad for the Brazilians and Germans. Their more numerous triumphs are dissipated through the generations. In those countries each generation will remember each victory but not with the intensity with which we English still celebrate 1966. It’s as if sex was best the first time. The first cut is the deepest.

On Colin’s dad’s TV the pictures were black and white and so were the flags. Recently I looked at the full colour Pathe newsreel of the game. It’s the red, white and blue of the Union Jack that dominates. The red cross of Saint George didn’t really come into prominence until the Nineties. The left don’t like flags much, unless they’re “deepest red”. Certainly not the Union Flag. It smacks of imperialism perhaps. In 1966 we didn’t seem to know if we were English or British. Maybe there was, and still is, something admirable and casual about not knowing who we are or what is our proper flag. 

Twelve years later I’m in Cuba at the “World Festival of Youth” – the only occasion I’ve represented my country. It was my chance to march into a stadium under my nation’s flag. Sadly, it never happened as my fellow delegates argued for hours over what, if any, flag we British should walk behind. The delegation leaders – you will have heard of them now, but they were young and unknown then – Peter Mandelson, Trevor Phillips and Charles Clarke, had to find a way out of this impasse. In the end, each delegation walked into the stadium behind their flag, except the British. Poor Mandelson stood alone for hours holding Union Jack, sweltering in the tropical sun. No other country seemed to have a problem with their flag. I guess theirs speak of revolution; ours of colonialism.

On Saturday 30 July BBC Radio 2 will commemorate the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final, live from Wembley Arena. Such a celebration is only possible because on 16 occasions we failed to win that trophy. Let’s banish this idea of “Fifty years of hurt” once and for all and embrace the joy of only winning once.

Phil Jones edits the Jeremy Vine Show on BBC Radio 2. On Saturday 30 July the station celebrates the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final live from Wembley Arena, telling the story of football’s most famous match, minute by minuteTickets are available from: www.wc66.org