Daniel: The Golden Rule—'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'—is probably the most famous ethical guide in the world. But what if it’s actually a recipe for colonialism and a 'savior complex'? What if there's a better, more profound way to connect? Sophia: Hold on, what's wrong with the Golden Rule? It sounds so... golden! It’s the bedrock of, like, every major religion and kindergarten classroom. Are you saying we should throw it out? Daniel: Well, maybe not throw it out, but see its limitations. That provocative thought is at the heart of the book we’re diving into today: The Light We Give: How Sikh Wisdom Can Transform Your Life by Simran Jeet Singh. Sophia: And this isn't just a spiritual guide. Singh is a PhD from Columbia, a visiting lecturer at Union Theological Seminary, and was named by TIME Magazine as one of sixteen people fighting for a more equal America. He’s living these ideas on the front lines. Daniel: Exactly. He weaves his own story of facing racism as a turban-wearing Sikh in Texas with these profound teachings. And the book has been widely acclaimed for making this ancient wisdom so accessible. It all starts with this fundamental question of how to respond when the world shows you its ugliest side.

Daniel: He shares this story from a few years ago in New York City. He's outside his apartment, and he sees an elderly white woman trip and fall in the street. He rushes over to help her up, extending his hand. Sophia: A classic New York moment. A small act of kindness. Daniel: You'd think. But as she looks up and sees him—a man with a beard and a turban—she recoils and spits out, "Go back to where you came from!" Sophia: Oh, that's just brutal. Especially from someone you're trying to help. What did he do? I think my first instinct would be to just walk away, hurt and angry. Daniel: And that's the trap he explores. His whole life has been a series of these moments. He tells this story from when he was eleven, at a soccer game in Texas. The referee singles him out during the pre-game check and says, "Hey, little terrorist! You’re not hiding bombs or knives in there, are you?" while demanding to pat down his turban. Sophia: An eleven-year-old. That's heartbreaking. Daniel: As a kid, he just complied because he wanted to play. But he seethed with anger and regret for days, wishing he’d stood up for himself. So, a year later, when a friend in the locker room makes a racist joke and yanks his turban off, he remembers that regret and reacts. He punches the kid. Sophia: The fight response. Did that feel better? Daniel: Not at all. He felt even more confused. He'd hurt a friend, and the violence didn't solve anything. It just left him feeling empty. He was caught in this classic bind: fight or flight. And both options felt like a loss. Sophia: So he's caught in this trap, right? If he stays silent, he feels shame. If he fights back, he feels regret. What's the third option? What did he do with the woman who fell? Daniel: That's where the wisdom comes in. Instead of walking away or yelling back, he chose something different. He called over to some other people on the sidewalk to help, and he stayed with her until she was safe. He writes, "I decided instead to double down on her humanity—and my own." He refused to let her hate define the moment. Sophia: Wow. That's a level of grace I'm not sure I could muster. It's not fight, it's not flight... it's something else entirely. It's a conscious choice to stay and care, even for someone who despises you. Daniel: Exactly. And to find that third way, he had to look deep into his Sikh faith, which offers a completely different framework for understanding our relationship with others, even our enemies.

Daniel: That framework is built on a core Sikh concept: ik oankar. It’s this idea of radical oneness. Sophia: Oneness? That sounds a bit 'hippie,' no offense. How is that a practical tool against a racist referee or someone yelling slurs at you on the street? Daniel: It's a great question, because it's not about saying "we're all the same." The book makes a sharp distinction. It's about recognizing that we all originate from the same singular, divine light. This is where he challenges the Golden Rule. Sophia: Okay, I'm ready. Tell me why the Golden Rule is problematic. Daniel: The Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," is fundamentally self-centered. It assumes what I want is what you want. It puts my perspective at the center of the universe. At its worst, this can lead to a 'savior mentality'—"I know what's best for you"—which, he points out, was the logic behind colonialism. Sophia: Huh. I've never thought of it that way. You're right, it's based on my own template for the world. So what's the alternative? Daniel: The alternative is what he calls the Platinum Rule, inspired by Sikh wisdom: "Do unto others as they would want." This requires you to decenter yourself, to listen, and to connect. It leads to the practice of seva, or selfless service. And he tells this incredible 300-year-old story to illustrate it. It’s about a Sikh man named Bhai Ghanaiya. Sophia: Okay, I'm listening. Daniel: It's the early 1700s, and the Sikhs are in a brutal battle with the Mughal Empire. The battlefield is a scene of carnage. But Sikh warriors notice something strange. Bhai Ghanaiya is out there with a water skin, giving water not just to their own wounded soldiers, but to the enemy Mughals as well. Sophia: Oh, his own side must have been furious. That's treason in the middle of a battle! Daniel: They were. They dragged him before their leader, Guru Gobind Singh, and accused him of betrayal. The Guru asks him to explain himself. And Bhai Ghanaiya’s response is just breathtaking. He says, "You taught us that we all share the same light. When I look out on the battlefield, I don’t see Sikh or Mughal. I just see people who need our help. I see the same divine light in all of them." Sophia: That gives me chills. What did the Guru do? Daniel: The Guru didn't punish him. He praised him, saying, "Ghanaiya, you have learned the true meaning of ik oankar." He then gave him bandages and medicine and told him to continue his work. Sophia: Okay, the Bhai Ghanaiya story is incredible, but that's a saint! For a regular person, isn't that just... dangerous? To see the humanity in someone trying to kill you? It feels like a beautiful idea that could get you killed. Daniel: It can. And the book doesn't shy away from that. It's not a naive philosophy. He tells the modern story of Jaswant Singh Khalra, a human rights activist in the 1980s who uncovered evidence of the Indian police illegally killing and cremating thousands of Sikhs. He was threatened, his friends begged him to seek asylum in Canada, but he refused. He said, "A truly wise person knows that truth and justice are greater than fear." He returned to India and was abducted and murdered. Sophia: So he died for it. Daniel: He did. But his work didn't die with him. It eventually led to the conviction of six police officials for his murder and brought global attention to the atrocities. Khalra used to tell a parable about a single lantern in a dark world. He said, "I challenge the darkness. In my small corner, I will not let the darkness settle." His sacrifice was his lantern, and it inspired countless others to light their own. It’s about choosing to act from a place of connection, not fear, regardless of the outcome.

Sophia: So we have this beautiful, but incredibly difficult, ideal of seeing the light in everyone. How does a person actually do that? How do you go from being an angry kid in a locker room to being Bhai Ghanaiya? Daniel: The book's answer is surprisingly practical. It's a practice. A discipline. It's not something you just believe; it's something you do, every single day, until it becomes part of you. He uses his own life as an example, and surprisingly, it starts with running. Sophia: Running? How does running connect to all of this? Daniel: In 2011, he saw a commercial featuring Fauja Singh, a 97-year-old Sikh man who was a marathon runner. It was the first time he'd ever seen someone who looked like him portrayed positively on TV. He was so inspired, he signed up for the New York City Marathon. Sophia: I bet the training was brutal. Daniel: It was. He hated the early morning long runs. But he stuck with it. And after a few months, he noticed something strange. The discipline of running wasn't just making him a better runner. He was eating healthier, he was more patient with his wife, he was more focused at work. The discipline in one area of his life was strengthening his inner character everywhere. Sophia: That makes sense. It's like building a muscle. You train your willpower, and it gets stronger for everything. Daniel: Precisely. And he connects this directly to his Sikh identity. He says wearing the turban and keeping his hair isn't just about religious rules. It's a daily discipline. It's a public commitment to a set of values—equality, service, love. He calls it a "technology of the self." Because he's so visible, he feels a constant accountability to live up to those ideals. Sophia: It forces you to be intentional. He tells that story about stealing a Snickers bar as a kid, right? Daniel: Yes! His mom caught him, and instead of punishing him, she asked him if his actions were worthy of the turban he wore. She told him the turban was a crown that announced to the world he would always do the right thing. It made him realize that his actions weren't just about him; they were connected to a larger commitment. Sophia: Ah, so it's not about faking it till you make it. It's about how the sincere practice itself changes you from the inside out. The daily run, the daily choice to wear the turban, these are like small acts of rewiring your brain for courage and selflessness. Daniel: Exactly. It's about earning your values, not just learning them. You don't just decide to be fearless or selfless one day. You practice it in small ways, consistently, until it becomes who you are.

Daniel: And that's the real light the book gives us. It's not a magic pill or a simple platitude. It’s the insight that our deepest spiritual work and our most impactful social justice work come from the same place: the daily, disciplined practice of seeing the other not as an 'other,' but as a reflection of the same light within ourselves. Sophia: It completely reframes the goal. The point isn't to win an argument or defeat an enemy. The point is to preserve your own humanity and, in doing so, maybe create a space where they can recognize theirs too. It moves from a logic of opposition to a logic of connection. Daniel: And it’s a practice that is accessible to everyone. One of the most powerful stories in the book is about the survivors of the 2012 Oak Creek massacre, where a white supremacist attacked a Sikh temple. In the face of unimaginable grief, their rallying cry became chardi kala—everlasting optimism. Sophia: How is that even possible? Daniel: They said their optimism was sustained by rooting it in connectedness. They found gratitude in the community that supported them. They even started a 6K run in the spirit of chardi kala. It wasn't about ignoring the pain, but about choosing to focus on the love that remained. Sophia: It leaves you with a powerful question. The author says he now asks himself, "What is one thing I will do today to extend beyond myself and truly love my neighbors?" Maybe that's the only practice we really need. It's not about grand gestures, but one small, intentional act of connection each day. Daniel: A beautiful place to end. This is Aibrary, signing off.