A simple observation demonstrates that what we habitually call ourselves is nothing more than a confused or haphazardly arranged mass of sensations, information, reactions, desires, impulses, suggestions with a limited idea-force and emotion driving it with a weak will, helpless against every passing current. To this pell-mell, we give the name ‘me’ and somehow try to relate it to the world. And what do we find there? Only the same disorder.
This is the reality of the surface life of man. So long as we choose to accept this as the sole truth, all our reactions to others proceed from it. We assume, in our ignorance, that others too are like us — physical frames, slaves of habits and nervous sensations. We motivate them. We give them money as reward and punish the body for an act the mind has planned and life committed. Or we attribute motives that never existed, throwing our fear and suspicion onto others. And once we have succeeded in corrupting man’s consciousness, we say, we have succeeded. Yet, if we so choose, we can reverse the balance, by removing these measures. We begin to see in others a concealed possibility of which they themselves are not aware. We see behind the mask of error, the imminent birth of a good. Not only can we see and feel it by an inner sense, but we can also have the joy of assisting its delivery, for it is a great mistake to believe that character is something fixed and can never be changed. In fact, much of our evaluation of character is itself very wrong. Often, we merely notice outer habits of response which are nothing more than nervous conditioning. This is due to our own conditioning in terms of moral values. So we may erroneously regard that all who sink are debauchees and all who take drugs are junkies. At the other extreme too, we may equally fallaciously conclude that all who visit religious places or observe penance are good people. We forget the lesson that Ravana’s thousand years of penance created only a gigantic asura (demon). Whereas the thrice married Arjuna was favoured and privileged to receive the Gita.
Our values are not what they appear. We see a reflection distorted by Nature and not the real thing. Another difficulty occurs when our judgment of people is not rational and ethical but emotional. We have certain preferences, something to which we are habitually attached, say for instance vegetarianism. Now, in the totality of man, it is a minor issue. But we may be emotionally enthusiastic proponents of vegetarianism. And we may instantly start liking another vegetarian even if he indulges in horrors that mortify the flesh.
The list is long. At one extreme, it may be food-fads, place of birth, language and dress, at another it may be those known and closely related to us or associated in a common work or cause.
We find, therefore, that our judgment of people and things is largely distorted and limited by our own imperfection. Added to this, is the error of seeing oneself as the centre of the universe. ‘I am the best’, we believe. ‘I am the reference point’, we think. ‘All that conforms to my thought, my way of living or my opinion is necessarily the best’. ‘All that is different, contrary and opposite is certainly wrong or a fictitious myth. All that is outside the range of my own experience has to be false.’ It cannot be true. At best we tolerate these contraries, at worst we forcefully suppress or try to eliminate them. It is little wonder then that things go wrong and misunderstandings arise. Rather, it is a wonder that, in spite of all our distortions and prejudices, opinions and assumptions, preferences and prejudgements, love, friendship, sacrifice and sympathy can thrive and grow. If nothing else, it is a sign that man is not just what we believe him to be. He is something more. If a hardened criminal can love even one human being, if a weakling can show even one moment of courage, we can say that the doors of possibility cannot be shut. Irrespective of our dealings and experience of the person, there is a truth in him. If I am not able to bring it out, it is my own limitation as much as his. It is frequently observed that all great leaders, truly worth that name, inspired much more than ordered. Their lives were an example for men to exceed themselves. Their influence helped men to open to their own deeper possibilities. ‘Swarat’ (self-possessed) they went on to become ‘Samrat’ (world-possessed). Even after death, their consciousness continued to uplift human life to vistas beyond our mortal state. What made this huge difference possible but the fact that they lived and acted from their own highest self?
