Tao and Zen

A little over a decade ago, someone dear to me said something that really changed the way that I look at human interaction. This friend was involved in a sort of self-help/enlightment program at the "Master" level. To get to this level meant investing a lot of time and money, and my friend took his role very seriously, as a sort of sacred trust.

At one point, he mentioned to me that he was having to re-take the "Master" courses, because he had been accused by a student of some sort of abuse of the system. When I asked him, he said that he felt that he had not, in fact, done what he'd been accused of, but he had to recertify or whatever anyway. I told him I felt that this was unfair, if he hadn't really done anything wrong.

My friend's response was that the student's perception mattered as much as his own belief in his innocence. Basically, he said, it didn't matter if she was right or not; what mattered was that she felt justified in accusing him. He said something like, "If she's right, then I needed to retake the training. If she's wrong, it won't hurt to do so anyway; I'll still derive benefit from it, and I'll so obviously be doing the right thing in response to the situation that it will make her feel better and an understanding can be reached." Those weren't his exact words, but that was the gist.

This conversation had a profound effect on me. I was raised as a Christian, and I knew all about the "stumbling block" that Paul presents in I Cor regarding eating food offered to idols. Basically, Paul was saying that eating food offered to idols isn't an actual spiritual problem to the eater, because the idol the food was offered to has no actual power from his point of view. However, Paul says, you shouldn't do it because a person who is less strong in his faith might be confused by what you are doing. In other words, you're not doing anything wrong, but the perception of another that you are or might be doing something wrong matters as much as your own innocence. I knew this, intellectually, but somehow I had never internalized it. I had felt that one's intentions, one's own innocence, was what mattered. What changed my mind was seeing someone who did not, at the time, identify as a Christian, saying something similar to me. This person wasn't, at the time, familiar with the passage of the Bible that I mention above, but here he was saying the same thing to me...and it made me really think.

Obviously, there are things that one can be accused of where the most important thing is to establish one's innocence. For instance, if someone accuses me of a felony, I'm going to care a lot less about that person's perceptions than about establishing my innocence. That's just a matter of survival.

But let's say that what I was accused of is something that is both less damaging and less provable. As an example, let's say that I am being accused of having been less than honest: not in general, but in a specific situation. Now, naturally, I do not want my honesty impugned. And naturally, I am going to feel the situation is black and white: either my accuser is right and I was dishonest, or I am right and I was totally honest. So let's look at the situation:

1. My accuser is right: I was dishonest.
2. I am right: I was totally honest.

Let's stop right there and examine the situation:

1. My accuser is right: I was dishonest.
This is, from my point of view, tremendously unlikely. If I'm a good person, which of course I am, I'm not going to be intentionally dishonest, nor am I going to tend to be dishonest by accident.

But what if I was? What if there was some reason in my mind, some justification for dealing dishonestly in this particular case? Perhaps I didn't trust her for some reason that seemed good at the time. Perhaps she had hurt me in the past, or I had some reason to think that she would hurt me in the future. Perhaps she was dishonest to me first. Perhaps, while I always mean to be honest, I find that the way I look at the world results in other people finding me dishonest on a regular basis, and this is one of those situations from what I can see.

Is it really dishonesty if I meant to be honest? From my point of view it isn't, but my accuser doesn't see my intentions or reasoning; she only sees the result. In a situation where I am dealing with another person, my intentions and reasoning cannot be the only important consideration; the other person's perceptions must matter too, just as I'd want my perceptions to matter in the opposite scenario. In other words, her perception matters as much as my intent and reasoning, and therefore, it makes sense for me, far from becoming indignant about my honest intentions, to find a common ground.

2. I am right: I was totally honest.
Of course I wasn't dishonest! How could she think that! I utterly reject that viewpoint. And well I should: nobody else has ever found me to be dishonest; all my dealings with other people have always been rated as entirely honest; my honesty is in fact the stuff of legends. Well, then, it should be obvious to everyone who ever has and ever will come into contact with me that my honesty in this situation, as in all others, could not possibly be called into question. Therefore, my accuser's words should not matter to me. I don't need to get upset about this, because it's completely obvious that it's not the case. I don't need to attack my accuser or try to show how she's wrong because it's very clear that I was, in fact, honest. If it's not, in fact, clear, then perhaps scenario 2 does not apply.

Any other possibilities or shadings end up being not so different from my point of view of scenario 1. I intended honesty, as my usual mattter of course; my accuser, based on her perceptions, assumed dishonesty; if we communicate about the situation, we can come to an understanding. The only case in which scenario 1 is going to be as black and white as originally stated is if I did, in fact, intend to be maliciously dishonest. In reality it's rarely if ever that simple; even if my actions were wrong, they felt justified to me at the time, and if my accuser and I are both willing to discuss the matter, we can probably come to an understanding.

The next question, then, is whether or not I really want to come to an understanding with someone who has accused me. If I truly believe that my actions are justified, why would I want to entertain her thoughts? If she were really interested in discussion, why would she accuse me?

There's nothing, really, in most situations, that obligates a person to try and work things out with his accuser. In my dear friend's case, he was obligated to do so because he was a teacher, and she a student, in the same organization; by the organization's rules, he had to respond and attempt to mitigate. Outside such structures, however, there is no such obligation. When accused, then, I have to ask myself: is it worth it to me to attempt to mitigate the situation? What are my possible responses?

1. I can ignore my accuser, refusing to address her accusations at all in hopes she will go away. Sometimes this works, but often either the accuser or her sympathizers will continue to accuse.

2. I can attempt to discredit my accuser, not responding to her directly but accusing her in turn to all who will listen. This creates further division and hurt for all parties.

3. I can ask my accuser, either directly or indirectly, to discuss the situation and attempt to mitigate the issues. This will work only if both parties are, in fact, willing to be reasonable and have a calm discussion.

So I have to ask myself: do I think my accuser is willing to be reasonable? There may be some evidence that she is not, since she accused me in the first place. However, given that ignoring often doesn't work and counter-accusations make the situation worse, doesn't it behoove me, if I myself am a reasonable person, to try to discuss the situation with my accuser?

To sum up, sometimes people say mean things, and it's natural for the first reaction to that to be hurt and anger. But when time passes, and the anger doesn't, perhaps then it's time to seek a common ground so that both sides can, finally, have peace. My accuser, in this hypothetical situation, has had her say; what happens next is up to me. It's a chance, perhaps, to show my quality.