“There are two things in this world one should never look at directly: the sun, and the human heart.” —Higashino Keigo
I recently came across this story online, and it deeply moved me. It reminded me that trust and kindness are fragile treasures—once broken, they are hard to mend. I would like to share this wisdom with everyone who reads my blog, especially in times when misunderstandings and suspicion can so easily damage the relationships we cherish most.
Once, there was a newly married couple deeply in love, inseparable and affectionate. But the wife began to doubt her husband’s loyalty. Her suspicion grew stronger each day until she asked her best friend to “test” her husband’s faithfulness.
To her shock, the two fell in love with each other. What started as a test ended in betrayal. In the end, the marriage was destroyed—not by infidelity itself, but by mistrust and the reckless act of testing love.
🧬 The Scientist Who Refused to Test
Finsen, the world-renowned Danish medical scientist and Nobel laureate, once chose a young man named Harry as his successor.
Some colleagues worried that Harry might not endure the long, tedious years of research. Finsen’s assistant suggested testing him by having a wealthy friend offer him a high-paying job to see whether Harry would stay or leave.
But Finsen firmly rejected the idea, saying:
“Never stand on a moral high ground to look down on others, and never test human nature. Harry was born in poverty and naturally desires financial security. If we place him between an easy, well-paid job and the hardship of research but expect him to choose sacrifice, we are demanding him to be a saint. That would be unfair.”
Years later, Harry became one of Denmark’s most respected medical scientists. When he learned that Finsen had refused to test him, he wept and said:
“If my mentor had tested my integrity with a lucrative offer, I would likely have failed. At that time, my mother was ill and my younger siblings depended on me for their schooling. If Finsen had set that test for me, there would be no me as I am today.”
🌿 The Truth About Human Nature
Indeed, ordinary people are not saints—everyone has weaknesses. If we constantly test others—our spouse’s loyalty, our friends’ sincerity, or our coworkers’ honesty—we will often end up with disappointment and broken trust.
In the first story, had the wife trusted her husband instead of testing him, the marriage might have survived.
Finsen understood that human nature is fragile. True wisdom lies not in setting traps to measure others’ virtue, but in tolerating uncertainty with compassion.
Testing human nature is like striking a porcelain bowl—it will only reveal its fragility by breaking it. Trust, on the other hand, is like holding that bowl gently in your hands—preserving its wholeness, beauty, and purpose.
In life, love, and friendship, may we learn to trust with kindness and lead with understanding. After all, it is not the test that reveals the truth of a heart, but the grace with which we choose not to test it.
There are few relationships as powerful—and as quietly transformative—as the one between a father and a son. Yet in modern life, it’s often overlooked. We talk about mothers and children, but the emotional depth between fathers and sons remains one of the least explored terrains of the human heart.
In My Father Before Me: How Fathers and Sons Influence Each Other Throughout Their Lives, psychoanalyst Michael J. Diamond takes us into that emotional landscape with remarkable sensitivity. Through vivid stories, psychological insight, and tender reflection, he reveals how fathers and sons shape, challenge, and heal each other across a lifetime.
Most people think of fatherhood as a one-directional journey: the father influences the son. But Diamond turns that idea around. He shows that the father–son relationship is mutual, not hierarchical.
A father helps mold his son—but the son also transforms the father. Each becomes a mirror for the other’s hopes, fears, and hidden strengths.
Diamond writes about how fatherhood can awaken parts of a man he never knew existed. When a son is born, the father doesn’t just gain a child—he also gains a deeper understanding of himself. The baby’s presence demands patience, tenderness, and emotional openness. In nurturing another, the father learns to nurture himself.
Moments That Change Everything
Diamond fills the book with moving, relatable stories that show this mutual transformation.
One story tells of a man who, having grown up with a distant father, vows to be emotionally present for his own son. Yet when his son enters adolescence and begins to push back, the man feels rejected and hurt—just as he once felt with his own father. Through reflection, he realizes that this is his chance to break the cycle: to stay connected even when it’s uncomfortable. In doing so, both he and his son begin to heal wounds that stretch back generations.
In another example, a father describes watching his young son struggle to build a toy tower. His first instinct is to step in and fix it, but he resists. Instead, he watches quietly, offering small words of encouragement. When the tower finally stands, he sees not just his son’s triumph—but his own growth in learning to let go.
These moments, Diamond suggests, are not small. They are the foundation of how love, trust, and resilience are built between generations.
The Phases of the Father–Son Journey
Diamond explores how this relationship evolves through every stage of life:
Early Childhood: The father is a protector and guide, introducing the child to the outside world. But he also begins to sense his son’s individuality—someone both familiar and mysterious.
Adolescence: As the son seeks independence, conflict can arise. Here the father’s challenge is to stay connected without controlling—to allow the son to become his own person.
Adulthood: When the son grows up, both men must renegotiate their roles. Often, the adult son begins to understand his father with new empathy, and the father learns to accept his son as an equal.
Later Years: In time, roles may reverse—the son becomes the caregiver, the listener, the one offering strength. This reversal, Diamond suggests, completes the circle of life.
Through each phase, fathers and sons are constantly exchanging something precious: understanding, forgiveness, and love.
Redefining Masculinity
A core theme in My Father Before Me is emotional honesty. Diamond challenges old stereotypes of men as stoic and distant. True masculinity, he argues, is not about dominance or silence—it’s about being open, authentic, and emotionally present.
When a father shows vulnerability, it doesn’t make him weak—it makes him real. And when a son witnesses that authenticity, he learns that being a man means embracing both strength and tenderness.
In one memorable story, a son recalls seeing his father cry for the first time—after the death of the grandfather. “That day,” he says, “I stopped fearing emotion. I realized that love and grief are part of the same heart.”
A Relationship That Never Stops Evolving
Even when fathers and sons grow older, the dialogue between them continues. Diamond describes adult sons helping aging fathers find meaning and dignity in later life. Some reconcile after years of distance. Others simply learn to say what was once left unsaid: “I love you,”“I understand you,” or even “I forgive you.”
These late-life moments, he writes, can be profoundly healing. They remind us that it is never too late to reach across the years—to understand, to listen, and to love.
A Mirror for All of Us
Whether you’re a father, a son, or simply someone reflecting on your family history, My Father Before Me offers both insight and comfort. It reminds us that every father carries the echoes of his own father within him—and that every son, in turn, shapes what fatherhood will mean for the next generation.
Ultimately, Diamond’s message is one of hope: that through empathy, self-awareness, and courage, fathers and sons can support each other’s growth, forgive each other’s shortcomings, and honor the love that lies beneath it all.
This is a true story, personally recounted by a monk.
He said that before he became a monk, he was a hunter, specializing in capturing foxes. One day, he caught a large fox as soon as he left home. After skinning it for its valuable fur, he left the animal—still barely alive—hidden in the grass.
By evening, when the hunter returned to retrieve the fox, it was gone. Looking more carefully, he noticed faint traces of blood on the ground, leading toward a small cave nearby.
Peering inside, he was stunned by what he saw: the fox, in excruciating pain and skinned alive, had struggled back to its den. Why?
When the hunter dragged out the now lifeless body, he discovered two tiny, blind cubs tightly suckling their dead mother’s withered breast.
The sight struck him to his very core. Never before had he realized that animals, too, share the same bonds of maternal love as humans. Even in her dying moments, the mother fox had thought only of feeding her children, afraid they would go hungry. At that realization, an overwhelming wave of grief, shame, and remorse consumed him. He was devastated, unable to forgive himself.
From that moment, he laid down his weapons, abandoned hunting, and chose the path of monastic life.
Many years later, whenever this monk recalled that experience, his eyes would still well up with tears.
The Selfless Leap: A Lesson from the Bharal
There are moments in life when a single experience reshapes the way we see the world forever. The extraordinary sacrifice of animals that opened a hunter’s heart and made him vow never again to take a life.
It happened during a hunt many years ago. Our party had driven a herd of more than sixty bharal—also known as blue sheep—to the edge of a cliff on Mount Bulang. The plan was cruel but simple: trap them on the precipice, and force them to fall to their deaths so we wouldn’t waste bullets.
The herd panicked, but then something astonishing happened. At the sound of a cry from a large male, the bharal divided themselves into two groups—young and old. Out of the elders stepped a weathered male, his horns broken, his face lined with age. He bleated once, and a half-grown bharal emerged from the younger group to join him.
Together they approached the cliff’s edge, then charged forward. The young one leapt first, soaring into the abyss, but it quickly began to fall. At that very moment, the old male followed, placing himself directly beneath the younger in midair. The youth’s hooves struck the elder’s back, using it as a springboard for a second leap. Miraculously, it landed safely on the opposite cliff.
The old one, having given all he had, plummeted to his death.
And then, pair after pair followed. The sky above the gorge was filled with arcs of courage—each elder laying down its life so a younger one might live. By the end, countless old bharal lay broken on the rocks, but the youth had crossed to safety.
I was stunned beyond words. At the edge of extinction, this herd had discovered a way to save itself—by sacrificing half to preserve half. But what shook me even more was not the strategy itself, but the spirit behind it. These elders did not resist, did not hesitate. They walked calmly toward death, offering their bodies so their children might have a future.
In that moment, my heart broke open. I realized that animals, too, embody wisdom, love, and a willingness to sacrifice that rivals, and perhaps even surpasses, our own. I could no longer see them as mere prey. That day, I made a vow: I would never again take life.
✨ The story of the bharal is more than just a tale of survival. It is a mirror for us as human beings. Would we, when faced with the survival of our families, communities, or world, have the courage to lay ourselves down for the next generation? Would we live not only for ourselves, but for those who come after us?
The bharal taught me that true strength is not in holding on, but in letting go—for love. And from that lesson, my heart turned toward compassion.
During recent years, we at the World Buddhism Association Headquarters have been continuously receiving inquiries regarding upright masters and evil masters, asking for replies in this regard. However, WBAH has given replies to such questions many times publicly through announcements. Furthermore, H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III also clearly explained many times the distinctions between what is upright and what is evil and between what is true and what is false. Yet, many of you still act blindly and without a direction in the matter of recognizing and distinguishing whether a master is upright or evil and are unable to decide on whether to continue following your current master or to find and choose another excellent master. Simply speaking, if you do not make recognition according to the announcements and are satisfied with devolving, even all Buddhas in the ten directions are unable to save you!
Now, WBAH provides you with three demon-detecting mirrors, which can enable you to easily see the original forms of such evil persons, regardless of whether they are masters or disciples.
The First Demon-Detecting Mirror: An absolute criterion is to see whether a master makes a big effort to facilitate the disciples to study and broadly propagate the announcements, such as the “Important Replies from Holy Virtuous Ones and Eminent Monastics” from WBAH (the 35 questions with the answers), or not. Any master who does not take measure to enable the disciples to study the announcement well and, rather, only makes propaganda about his/her own articles, writings, books, or other types of undertaking that not only do not refer to the specifics of the announcements but also violate the stipulations in the announcements is definitely an evil master!!!
The Second Demon-Detecting Mirror: Regardless of what status or title the person you follow as your master has, as long as this master’s level obtained from the holy test is not a level within the ranks of holy virtuous persons and yet this master poses as a holy person or instructs the disciples to falsely brag or praise him/her as a holy person, this master is not a holy person. Since such a master imposes rules on the disciples to prevent them from doubting the master and to force them to correspond their three karmas to the master, this is absolutely an ordinary person and is a charlatan!!!
The Third Demon-Detecting Mirror: This is about how to recognize and distinguish holy persons. Holy persons of ancient times have long been known through historical records. Regarding holy persons of the current time, only those who attained the Gold Button levels from taking the written test and the holy exam are holy ones!!! On the other hand, those who did not attain a Gold Button level after taking the examination are not holy ones!!! Anyone who scored a high level of blue buttons can only be an eminent monastic or a great virtuous one.
All those who oppose or persecute holy persons will be included in a name list of malicious persons and will not be conferred an inner-tantric initiation in this entire lifetime!!! If you have already done things that harm holy persons under the instruction of an evil master, then the only way you have is to repent immediately and publicly expose the malicious and demonic evil person who instructed you to create the sin. Then your record will be deleted from the list of malicious persons and you can immediately return to your original status of a cultivator.
These three demon-detecting mirrors can correctly and accurately show the true faces of all evil, malicious, and demonic persons and swindlers!
A single father had just lost his job. All day, he wandered the streets, clinging to the hope that he might find work. But as the sun set, he returned home empty-handed.
Defeated and exhausted, he stepped into a small tavern, spent his very last coin, and finally stumbled back to his modest home.
That evening, he discovered that his son’s grades had slipped. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he shot the boy a harsh glare before collapsing into bed without another thought.
The next morning, out of habit, he opened his diary and wrote:
March 7, Tuesday. This is the worst day ever. Lost my job, out of money, no work to be found, and my son is a disappointment. A day of utter discouragement.
After his son left for school, he happened to notice the boy’s diary lying open on the table. Curious, he began to read:
March 6, Monday. Today, on my way to school, I helped a blind man cross the street. I was so happy. My grades weren’t good this time. I told Dad, and he didn’t scold me. He looked at me with such deep affection. I felt so encouraged. I’m determined to study hard so I won’t let him down.
Affection? the father thought, bewildered. I was glaring at him in frustration. How could he have seen that as love?
He turned another page:
March 5, Sunday. The old grandpa next door is playing the violin better and better. He’s so old but still practices so diligently. I really want to learn from him.
His heart sank as he flipped to his own entry from that same day:
March 5, Sunday. That annoying old man next door is playing that wretched violin again. On my only day off, he won’t even let me sleep in peace. So hateful—I wish I could smash that stupid instrument.
In that moment, the father felt the weight of shame press him down onto the bed. He was in his fifties, yet his spirit had been broken by hardship—his mindset darker and more defeated than that of his young child.
He realized, with painful clarity, that he had been looking at life through a lens clouded by bitterness. And that lens had distorted everything.
Deeply remorseful, he resolved to learn from his son—to face every trial with acceptance and gratitude instead of resentment. He knew he could no longer wear the mask of anger while searching for work. No matter how difficult life became, he would choose a sunnier disposition.
And when your mindset changes, everything changes.
The very next day, he found a suitable job. He began to meet life’s challenges with a heart full of gratitude.
Life is like a mirror: when you smile at it, it smiles back. When you cry, it weeps with you.
The human heart is also a mirror, reflecting the world within us. It reveals whether we carry kindness or bitterness, whether we live in light or in darkness.
With a single thought, we can create heaven or hell. Everything depends on whether we imprison or liberate our own hearts.
In the end, we are the creators of our own destiny.
During the Great Depression, a wealthy baker summoned the twenty poorest children in town and said to them, “Until God brings better times, you may each come here every day and take a loaf of bread.”
Every morning, these hungry children would rush forward, crowding around the basket of bread, pushing and shouting, each one trying to grab the biggest loaf. After snatching their bread, they would dash off without even a word of thanks to the kind-hearted baker.
But there was one girl, a poorly dressed little girl named Gretchen, who stood out from the rest. She never pushed or shouted, nor did she fight for the largest loaf. Instead, she quietly waited at the side until all the other children had taken theirs. Then she would humbly pick up the smallest loaf left in the basket. Without fail, she would gently kiss the baker’s hand in gratitude before happily heading home with her bread.
One day, after the others had left, shy little Gretchen received a loaf even smaller than usual. Still, she kissed the baker’s hand and thanked him sincerely as always. When she returned home, her mother cut the bread open—and to their amazement, found several shiny silver coins hidden inside.
Her mother gasped, “Gretchen! Take the money back immediately. The baker must have accidentally dropped it into the dough while kneading. Hurry, return it and give it back to that kind man yourself!”
When Gretchen returned the coins, the baker gently told her, “No, my child, this was no mistake. I placed the coins there on purpose. I wanted to teach you something: Those who are humble and considerate will be blessed by God. May you always keep a peaceful and grateful heart. Go home and tell your mother—this is God’s reward.”
A heart of humility is like the sky above, the sea upon the earth, and the valleys between the mountains— Humble people are vast because they are tolerant, and powerful because they are generous.
Those who are eager to fight will find Heaven itself contending against them. But those who yield and show humility will find that Heaven yields to them.
“Those who genuinely help others always end up helping themselves.” This powerful truth was the headline of a Washington Post article recounting the inspiring life story of Carlos Gutierrez. From humble beginnings as a working-class youth, he rose to become one of the most respected figures in American business and government. His secret? A simple yet profound practice: doing one good deed a day.
Carlos Gutierrez is best remembered for saying: “A person’s destiny is not necessarily shaped by a single great act. I believe that more often, it is shaped by small acts of kindness in everyday life.”
Born into a privileged family, Gutierrez’s early life was marked by comfort and stability. But everything changed after a revolution forced his family to flee their island home. They arrived in Miami with nothing. At the age of fifteen, to help support his family, Carlos took his first job as a waiter in a small seaside restaurant.
He was diligent, eager to learn, and even willing to work without pay. His commitment caught the eye of the restaurant owner, who invited him into his home and introduced him to his children to help Carlos improve his English.
Thanks to his strong work ethic and positive attitude, Gutierrez was soon recommended for a second job—this time as a salesman and delivery driver at a food company. Before he began, his father passed on a simple family principle: “Do one good deed a day.” He explained that this habit had helped build their once-successful life, and urged Carlos to live by it.
Carlos took that lesson to heart. While delivering oatmeal to mom-and-pop shops around the city, he went out of his way to help others—carrying letters to nearby towns, giving children rides home from school, offering small kindnesses without ever expecting anything in return. He did this joyfully, for four years.
In his fifth year, the company recognized his contributions in a remarkable way. They promoted him to lead marketing operations for Latin America from their Mexico office. His performance review noted: “This employee, over the past four years, has personally accounted for 40% of Florida’s total sales volume. He should be promoted.”
From there, his rise was meteoric. He took on leadership across Canada and the Asia-Pacific region, eventually becoming CEO of the company.
Later, as top American corporations like Coca-Cola and Colgate considered him for their CEO positions, President George W. Bush nominated him as Secretary of Commerce in the United States government.
Carlos Gutierrez’s story reflects a timeless truth found in Buddhist teachings. A Buddhist master once shared how, in the early days of his Dharma teaching, only a few rural housewives followed him. He taught them to practice kindness in the simplest way: “Take a small coin from your grocery money—just a dime—and use it each day to do a good deed.” At the end of the month, they would have performed thirty selfless acts from the heart. One good deed a day, and one’s merit grows.
The practice may seem simple, but when carried out with sincerity and perseverance, it awakens our inner awareness. Like a stream that flows quietly but never ceases, daily kindness trains the mind to stay rooted in goodness and deepens our spiritual cultivation—from surface-level thoughts to the very heart of intention.
Traditional Chinese culture also upholds the principle of “doing one good deed a day.” This value is deeply reflected in the classic text The Four Lessons of Liaofan, where Yuan Liaofan outlines a path of self-transformation through the active cultivation of virtue. By committing to perform a thousand good deeds, he not only benefited others but also profoundly changed his own destiny.
Even a single kind thought toward others is an act of goodness. A word that uplifts or benefits someone is a good deed. And a small action—no matter how minor—that helps another person is still a meaningful expression of kindness.
Whether through our thoughts, speech, or actions, if we put others first, we are cultivating virtue. That is the essence of being a good human being.
And importantly, we must remember: never withhold kindness just because it seems too small. Do good whenever the opportunity arises. Act from the heart, with sincerity and joy—not for show, not for praise—but naturally and spontaneously, with the intention to benefit others. This is the foundation of true bodhisattva conduct.
Goodness does not need an audience. “Virtue does not require recognition; Heaven always sees our good deeds.” A seed of kindness, planted in silence, will one day bloom with beautiful results—often when we least expect it.
So let us each begin with just one small act of kindness a day. It may seem simple, but over time, it has the power to change not just our lives—but the world.
I have always heard certain quotes attributed to Albert Einstein concerning what he believed about Buddhism including one that implied that if he were a religious man he would be a Buddhist. There does not seem to be any evidence that he said that, but I found the following to be useful. The first part is an article by Kang Na, Assistant Professor of Religion at Westminister College that provides context for the essay and additional quotes by Einstein.
Certainly no one in 1879 in Ulm, Germany, could have guessed that one of their own born that year would someday receive global praise for his undisputed genius, meriting recently the coveted title “person of the century” (Time magazine). Likewise, international fame was probably not what Albert Einstein himself anticipated in 1895 when he failed the entrance exam for the Federal Polytechnical Institute in Zurich, Switzerland. Even as he worked and was being promoted at the Swiss Patent Office in Bern, Switzerland (1902–08), Einstein was far from becoming a household name, let alone the most renowned Nobel Prize winner in physics, which he received in 1921 not for his special theory of relativity (of E=MC2 fame) that inaugurated the atomic age in 1905, but for his discovery of the photoelectric effect (the hypothesis he proposed also in 1905 that electromagnetic radiation interacts with matter as if the radiation had a granular structure or particles).
Shortly thereafter, when Einstein’s reputation in academia waxed toward worldwide celebrity, no one could have presaged that in 1952 the newly established state of Israel would offer him the presidency, which he declined. That invitation, however, points out that he was not only perpetually engaged in the subtle mysteries of the universe but also as outspoken in the political arena as a Zionist who detested the Nazis’ rise to power, as a prophet who insisted that Jews make peace with Arabs, and as a pacifist, who, in his famous letter to President Roosevelt (1939), warned against the potential abuses of atomic energy, despite his support for the development of the A-bomb. Even days before his death on April 18, 1955, he wrote his last signed letter to the philosopher Bertrand Russell expressing his intention to sign a joint manifesto insisting that all nations renounce nuclear weapons. By then his brilliant mark on human history was as unquestionable as his unkempt hair was uniquely recognizable.
It is this larger-than-life Einstein who wrote the following essay on the proper relationship between science and religion, part one in 1939 and part two in 1941. It is also here in the latter part of the essay that we find his often quoted dictum, “Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.” He wrote “Science and Religion” as a contribution to a symposium held in New York in 1941 on what roles science, philosophy, and religion played in the cause of American democracy. Thus, the essay recommends itself to the multi-disciplinary approach that Inquiry takes within the liberal arts program at Westminster.
Although Einstein read the Bible often, spoke quite freely about God, and was unapologetically religious, the essay discloses a religious disposition not quite like that of an ordinary religious person. He believed “in Spinoza’s God who reveals himself in the harmony of all that exists, but not in a God who concerns himself with the fate and actions of human beings” (Einstein Archive 33-272). Hence Einstein declared, “My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble minds. That deeply emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reasoning power, which is revealed in the incomprehensible universe, forms my idea of God” (quoted in the New York Times obituary, April 19, 1955). Furthermore, as the essay makes clear, Einstein’s emphasis on the moral and altruistic dimensions of religion was unequivocal: “Humanity has every reason to place the proclaimers of high moral standards and values above the discoverers of objective truth. What humanity owes to personalities like Buddha, Moses, and Jesus ranks for me higher than all the achievements of the inquiring constructive mind” (Dukas and Hoffmann, Albert Einstein, the Human Side, 70). Perhaps it is only ironically fitting that it is precisely the inquiring constructive mind of Einstein that destined him for the cover of Time and for an honored place among those rare spirits whose extraordinary genius and creativity punctuated and graced the progression of human history.
(Biographical information taken from Alice Calaprice’s The Quotable Einstein, 1996)
Essay on Science and Religion
Albert Einstein
PART I (1939)
During the last century, and part of the one before, it was widely held that there was an unreconcilable conflict between knowledge and belief. The opinion prevailed among advanced minds that it was time that belief should be replaced increasingly by knowledge; belief that did not itself rest on knowledge was superstition, and as such had to be opposed. According to this conception, the sole function of education was to open the way to thinking and knowing, and the school, as the outstanding organ for the people’s education, must serve that end exclusively.
One will probably find but rarely, if at all, the rationalistic standpoint expressed in such crass form; for any sensible man would see at once how one-sided is such a statement of the position. But it is just as well to state a thesis starkly and nakedly, if one wants to clear up one’s mind as to its nature.
It is true that convictions can best be supported with experience and clear thinking. On this point one must agree unreservedly with the extreme rationalist. The weak point of his conception is, however, this, that those convictions which are necessary and determinant for our conduct and judgments, cannot be found solely along this solid scientific way.
For the scientific method can teach us nothing else beyond how facts are related to, and conditioned by, each other. The aspiration toward such objective knowledge belongs to the highest of which man is capable, and you will certainly not suspect me of wishing to belittle the achievements and the heroic efforts of man in this sphere. Yet it is equally clear that knowledge of what is does not open the door directly to what should be. One can have the clearest and most complete knowledge of what is, and yet not be able to deduct from that what should be the goal of our human aspirations. Objective knowledge provides us with powerful instruments for the achievements of certain ends, but the ultimate goal itself and the longing to reach it must come from another source. And it is hardly necessary to argue for the view that our existence and our activity acquire meaning only by the setting up of such a goal and of corresponding values. The knowledge of truth as such is wonderful, but it is so little capable of acting as a guide that it cannot prove even the justification and the value of the aspiration towards that very knowledge of truth. Here we face, therefore, the limits of the purely rational conception of our existence.
But it must not be assumed that intelligent thinking can play no part in the formation of the goal and of ethical judgments. When someone realizes that for the achievement of an end certain means would be useful, the means itself becomes thereby an end. Intelligence makes clear to us the interrelation of means and ends. But mere thinking cannot give us a sense of the ultimate and fundamental ends. To make clear these fundamental ends and valuations, and to set them fast in the emotional life of the individual, seems to me precisely the most important function which religion has to perform in the social life of man. And if one asks whence derives the authority of such fundamental ends, since they cannot be stated and justified merely by reason, one can only answer: they exist in a healthy society as powerful traditions, which act upon the conduct and aspirations and judgments of the individuals; they are there, that is, as something living, without its being necessary to find justification for their existence. They come into being not through demonstration but through revelation, through the medium of powerful personalities. One must not attempt to justify them, but rather to sense their nature simply and clearly.
The highest principles for our aspirations and judgments are given to us in the Jewish- Christian religious tradition. It is a very high goal which, with our weak powers, we can reach only very inadequately, but which gives a sure foundation to our aspirations and valuations. If one were to take that goal out of its religious form and look merely at its purely human side, one might state it perhaps thus: free and responsible development of the individual, so that he may place his powers freely and gladly in the service of all mankind.
There is no room in this for the divinization of a nation, of a class, let alone of an individual. Are we not all children of one father, as it is said in religious language? Indeed, even the divinization of humanity, as an abstract totality, would not be in the spirit of that ideal. It is only to the individual that a soul is given. And the high destiny of the individual is to serve rather than to rule, or to impose himself in any other way.
If one looks at the substance rather than at the form, then one can take these words as expressing also the fundamental democratic position. The true democrat can worship his nation as little as can the man who is religious, in our sense of the term.
What, then, in all this, is the function of education and of the school? They should help the young person to grow up in such a spirit that these fundamental principles should be to him as the air which he breathes. Teaching alone cannot do that.
If one holds these high principles clearly before one’s eyes, and compares them with the life and spirit of our times, then it appears glaringly that civilized mankind finds itself at present in grave danger. In the totalitarian states it is the rulers themselves who strive actually to destroy that spirit of humanity. In less threatened parts it is nationalism and intolerance, as well as the oppression of the individuals by economic means, which threaten to choke these most precious traditions.
A realization of how great is the danger is spreading, however, among thinking people, and there is much search for means with which to meet the danger—means in the field of national and international politics, of legislation, of organization in general. Such efforts are, no doubt, greatly needed. Yet the ancients knew something which we seem to have forgotten. All means prove but a blunt instrument, if they have not behind them a living spirit. But if the longing for the achievement of the goal is powerfully alive within us, then shall we not lack the strength to find the means for reaching the goal and for translating it into deeds.
PART II (1941)
It would not be difficult to come to an agreement as to what we understand by science. Science is the century-old endeavor to bring together by means of systematic thought the perceptible phenomena of this world into as thorough-going an association as possible. To put it boldly, it is the attempt at the posterior reconstruction of existence by the process of conceptualization. But when asking myself what religion is I cannot think of the answer so easily. And even after finding an answer which may satisfy me at this particular moment I still remain convinced that I can never under any circumstances bring together, even to a slight extent, all those who have given this question serious consideration.
At first, then, instead of asking what religion is I should prefer to ask what characterizes the aspirations of a person who gives me the impression of being religious: A person who is religiously enlightened appears, to the best of his ability, liberated himself from the fetters of his selfish desires and is preoccupied with thoughts, feelings, and aspirations to which he clings because of their super-personal value. It seems to me that what is important is the force of this super-personal content and the depth of the conviction concerning its overpowering meaningfulness, regardless of whether any attempt is made to unite this content with a divine Being, for otherwise it would not be possible to count Buddha and Spinoza as religious personalities. Accordingly, a religious person is devout in the sense that he has no doubt of the significance and loftiness of those super-personal objects and goals which neither require nor are capable of rational foundation. They exist with the same necessity and matter-of- factness as he himself. In this sense religion is the age-old endeavor of mankind to become clearly and completely conscious of these values and goals and constantly to strengthen and extend their effect. If one conceives of religion and science according to these definitions then a conflict between them appears impossible. For science can only ascertain what is, but not what should be, and outside of its domain value judgments of all kinds remain necessary. Religion, on the other hand, deals only with evaluations of human thought and action: it cannot justifiably speak of facts and relationships between facts. According to this interpretation the well-known conflicts between religion and science in the past must all be ascribed to a misapprehension of the situation which has been described.
For example, a conflict arises when a religious community insists on the absolute truthfulness of all statements recorded in the Bible. This means an intervention on the part of religion into the sphere of science; this is where the struggle of the Church against the doctrines of Galileo and Darwin belongs. On the other hand, representatives of science have often made an attempt to arrive at fundamental judgments with respect to values and ends on the basis of scientific method, and in this way have set themselves in opposition to religion. These conflicts have all sprung from fatal errors.
Now, even though the realms of religion and science in themselves are clearly marked off from each other, nevertheless there exist between the two strong reciprocal relationships and dependencies. Though religion may be that which determines the goal, it has, nevertheless, learned from science, in the broadest sense, what means will contribute to the attainment of the goals it has set up. But science can only be created by those who are thoroughly imbued with the aspiration towards truth and understanding. This source of feeling, however, springs from the sphere of religion. To this there also belongs the faith in the possibility that the regulations valid for the world of existence are rational, that is, comprehensible to reason. I cannot conceive of a genuine scientist without that profound faith. The situation may be expressed by an image: Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.
Though I have asserted above that in truth a legitimate conflict between religion and science cannot exist I must nevertheless qualify this assertion once again on an essential point, with reference to the actual content of historical religions. This qualification has to do with the concept of God. During the youthful period of mankind’s spiritual evolution human fantasy created gods in man’s own image, who, by the operations of their will were supposed to determine, or at any rate to influence the phenomenal world. Man sought to alter the disposition of these gods in his own favor by means of magic and prayer. The idea of God in the religions taught at present is a sublimation of that old conception of the gods. Its anthropomorphic character is shown, for instance, by the fact that men appeal to the Divine Being in prayers and plead for the fulfillment of their wishes.
Nobody, certainly, will deny that the idea of the existence of an omnipotent, just and omnibeneficent personal God is able to accord man solace, help, and guidance; also, by virtue of its simplicity it is accessible to the most undeveloped mind. But, on the other hand, there are decisive weaknesses attached to this idea in itself, which have been painfully felt since the beginning of history. That is, if this being is omnipotent then every occurrence, including every human action, every human thought, and every human feeling and aspiration is also His work; how is it possible to think of holding men responsible for their deeds and thoughts before such an almighty Being? In giving out punishment and rewards He would to a certain extent be passing judgment on Himself. How can this be combined with the goodness and righteousness ascribed to Him?
The main source of the present-day conflicts between the spheres of religion and of science lies in this concept of a personal God. It is the aim of science to establish general rules which determine the reciprocal connection of objects and events in time and space. For these rules, or laws of nature, absolutely general validity is required—not proven. It is mainly a program, and faith in the possibility of its accomplishment in principle is only founded on partial successes. But hardly anyone could be found who would deny these partial successes and ascribe them to human self-deception. The fact that on the basis of such laws we are able to predict the temporal behavior of phenomena in certain domains with great precision and certainty is deeply embedded in the consciousness of the modern man, even though he may have grasped very little of the contents of those laws. He need only consider that planetary courses within the solar system may be calculated in advance with great exactitude on the basis of a limited number of simple laws. In a similar way, though not with the same precision, it is possible to calculate in advance the mode of operation of an electric motor, a transmission system, or of a wireless apparatus, even when dealing with a novel development.
To be sure, when the number of factors coming into play in a phenomenological complex is too large scientific method in most cases fails us. One need only think of the weather, in which case prediction even for a few days ahead is impossible. Nevertheless no one doubts that we are confronted with a causal connection whose causal components are in the main known to us. Occurrences in this domain are beyond the reach of exact prediction because of the variety of factors in operation, not because of any lack of order in nature.
We have penetrated far less deeply into the regularities obtaining within the realm of living things, but deeply enough nevertheless to sense at least the rule of fixed necessity. One need only think of the systematic order in heredity, and in the effect of poisons, as for instance alcohol, on the behavior of organic beings. What is still lacking here is a grasp of connections of profound generality, but not a knowledge of order in itself.
The more a man is imbued with the ordered regularity of all events the firmer becomes his conviction that there is no room left by the side of this ordered regularity for causes of a different nature. For him neither the rule of human nor the rule of divine will exists as an independent cause of natural events. To be sure, the doctrine of a personal God interfering with natural events could never be refuted, in the real sense, by science, for this doctrine can always take refuge in those domains in which scientific knowledge has not yet been able to set foot.
But I am persuaded that such behavior on the part of the representatives of religion would not only be unworthy but also fatal. For a doctrine which is able to maintain itself not in clear light but only in the dark, will of necessity lose its effect on mankind, with incalculable harm to human progress. In their struggle for the ethical good, teachers of religion must have the stature to give up the doctrine of a personal God, that is, give up that source of fear and hope which in the past placed such vast power in the hands of priests. In their labors they will have to avail themselves of those forces which are capable of cultivating the Good, the True, and the Beautiful in humanity itself. This is, to be sure, a more difficult but an incomparably more worthy task. After religious teachers accomplish the refining process indicated they will surely recognize with joy that true religion has been ennobled and made more profound by scientific knowledge.
If it is one of the goals of religion to liberate mankind as far as possible from the bondage of egocentric cravings, desires, and fears, scientific reasoning can aid religion in yet another sense. Although it is true that it is the goal of science to discover rules which permit the association and foretelling of facts, this is not its only aim. It also seeks to reduce the connections discovered to the smallest possible number of mutually independent conceptual elements. It is in this striving after the rational unification of the manifold that it encounters its greatest successes, even though it is precisely this attempt which causes it to run the greatest risk of falling a prey to illusions. But whoever has undergone the intense experience of successful advances made in this domain, is moved by profound reverence for the rationality made manifest in existence. By way of the understanding he achieves a far-reaching emancipation from the shackles of personal hopes and desires, and thereby attains that humble attitude of mind towards the grandeur of reason incarnate in existence, and which, in its profoundest depths, is inaccessible to man. This attitude, however, appears to me to be religious, in the highest sense of the word. And so it seems to me that science not only purifies the religious impulse of the dross of its anthropomorphism but also contributes to a religious spiritualization of our understanding of life.
The further the spiritual evolution of mankind advances, the more certain it seems to me that the path to genuine religiosity does not lie through the fear of life, and the fear of death, and blind faith, but through striving after rational knowledge. In this sense I believe that the priest must become a teacher if he wishes to do justice to his lofty educational mission.
Once upon a time in a small village, an old man spread a rumor that his neighbor was a thief. The accusation quickly circulated, and the young man was arrested. However, after a thorough investigation, the truth emerged—the young man was innocent. Though he was released, the damage had already been done. As he walked home, shame and humiliation clung to him like a heavy shadow. In pain and frustration, he took the old man to court for defamation.
In court, the old man defended himself, saying, “They were just comments. I didn’t mean any real harm.”
The judge paused and then said, “Before I pass judgment, I want you to do something. Write down everything you said about this young man on a piece of paper. Then cut the paper into small pieces, and on your way home, scatter them to the wind. Tomorrow, return for your sentence.”
The old man did as he was told. The next day, he stood before the judge once again.
“Before I deliver your sentence,” the judge said, “go out and gather every piece of paper you threw away yesterday.”
“But that’s impossible!” the old man protested. “The wind has carried them far and wide—I’ll never be able to get them all back.”
The judge nodded gravely. “Exactly. Just like those pieces of paper, your careless words have been scattered beyond recall. A few simple comments have the power to destroy a person’s honor and reputation—damage that can be nearly impossible to undo.”
The old man bowed his head in shame and asked for forgiveness.
This story speaks to a deep truth: our words, once spoken, can never be fully taken back.
Benjamin Franklin once said, “Fool’s hearts are in their mouths; wise men’s mouths are in their hearts.” These timeless words caution us against speaking recklessly. A wise person thinks carefully before they speak—choosing words with care, filtering emotion through understanding, and weighing their potential impact. Such restraint not only prevents misunderstandings and harm but also reflects emotional maturity and compassion.
Think more. Speak less.
In Buddhist teachings, this idea is beautifully echoed through the precepts on right speech. Practitioners are taught to be mindful of their word karma and to avoid four kinds of harmful speech:
Lying
Harsh speech
Divisive speech
Idle chatter
Each of these can sow seeds of suffering—for others and for ourselves.
Let’s remind ourselves daily: Be the master of your mouth, so you’re not a slave to your words.
Gossip can be more damaging than theft—it steals a person’s dignity, honor, and credibility, none of which are easy, or even possible, to restore. A wise saying puts it well: “When your feet slip, you can recover your balance. But when your tongue slips, you can never recover your words.”
Let us choose silence over harm, kindness over carelessness, and wisdom over impulse. Because our words, like our actions, carry the power to build—or break—the world around us.
In the Buddhist scriptures of China, a profound story is recorded—one that illuminates the immeasurable merit of a sincere offering.
Once, there was a poor girl who survived by begging. She often watched wealthy young ladies, accompanied by attendants, visit the temple to offer alms and perform good deeds. Seeing their generosity, she felt a deep yearning to cultivate merit but had nothing to give. Determined, she worked tirelessly to save whatever she could. After much effort, she managed to save a single coin. Though small in value, it represented all she had. With unwavering devotion, she took her humble offering to the temple.
The abbot, upon learning of her sincerity, was deeply moved. He gathered his disciples and announced, “Today, I will personally preside over the offering and pray for this devout laywoman!”
Not long after, an extraordinary turn of events unfolded.
After the queen of the land passed away, the grieving king sank into sorrow. To lift his spirits, his ministers organized a hunting expedition. As the royal party rode through the forest, the king noticed a shimmering light ahead. Curious, he approached and discovered a breathtakingly beautiful young woman. Though her clothes were tattered, she radiated an ethereal grace.
Captivated by her presence, the king brought her back to the palace. Before long, she became his new queen.
Overjoyed by her newfound fortune, she reflected on her past: “This must be the reward of my small act of generosity! I only donated one coin, yet it planted the seed for such incredible merit. Now that I have wealth, I should return to the temple to express my gratitude with a much grander offering!”
Determined to make a grand gesture, she dressed in the finest attire, adorned herself with jewels, and loaded dozens of carts with silver and gold for donation. As she approached the temple, she thought, “Before, when I gave only one coin, the abbot personally prayed for me. Now that I bring such vast riches, surely the reception will be even greater!”
Upon her arrival, she expected an elaborate welcome. Yet, to her surprise, only a few monks came to receive her offerings, and the rituals were conducted in the usual manner.
Perplexed, she approached an elderly monk and asked, “Why is it that when I was poor and donated a single coin, the abbot himself prayed for me? Yet today, when I bring such wealth, only a few monks perform the prayers?”
The monk smiled gently and replied, “At that time, your single coin was all you had. You gave it with pure devotion and joy, holding nothing back. Now, though you bring great wealth, it is but a fraction of your fortune, and your heart is tainted with pride. The true merit of an offering comes not from its size but from the sincerity of the giver’s heart.”
Shakyamuni Buddha taught that for a donation to generate immense benefit, it must possess three essential qualities:
Before Giving – A Joyful Heart True generosity begins with happiness. The donor should give not out of duty, pressure, or expectation of reward, but with a heart full of joy, seeing giving as an opportunity to cultivate virtue and compassion.
While Giving – A Clear and Sincere Mind The act of giving should be free from hesitation, regret, or pride. A pure offering is made with an open heart, solely for the benefit of others, without seeking recognition or return.
After Giving – A Sense of Fulfillment Once the offering is made, the giver should not feel regret or attachment. Instead, they should feel a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing they have planted seeds of merit for the future.
This story serves as a timeless lesson: It is not the amount we give that determines the merit of our offering, but the purity of our heart. A sincere and joyful offering—no matter how small—carries boundless blessings.
So the next time you give, remember: True generosity is not measured in gold or silver, but in the depth of your sincerity.
Peace LiLy 