Matter, Cosmic Division, and the Origin of Destruction
This perspective begins with a fundamental idea: that the human feeling of shame toward matter is not an isolated feeling, but is, in reality, a feeling of shame toward the division itself; that is, toward the way energy and existence have been distributed among beings. A person who feels ashamed of his material condition is, in fact, objecting deep within himself to his share of this division, as though his objection were not directed at matter itself, but at its distribution, and at the manner in which beings participate in existence.
From this perspective, shame toward matter is the same as shame toward the division of energy, because matter is nothing more than one manifestation of the energy shared among existing beings. If shame is a rejection of participation, then rejecting matter is, in its essence, a rejection of sharing, and a refusal for the human being to become a participant with others in existence. The person who experiences shame does not wish to share life with others, nor even to share his own self with them. Thus, all of these meanings converge upon a single origin.
To clarify this idea, a simple example from everyday life may be helpful. A student may be weak in one or two subjects at school and therefore feel embarrassed about attending those classes—not because the school itself is bad, but because he occupies a lower rank in that particular area. He is not ashamed of the educational institution itself, but rather of his position within the grading system. He feels that he belongs to the weaker category and that his share in that distribution is less than that of others.
From this example, we can move to a broader conception. A person who sees himself in the weaker portion of the cosmic division becomes dissatisfied with destiny, dissatisfied with participation, and dissatisfied with the whole itself. This is what was previously called "the first destroyer," because such a person is not content merely with being dissatisfied; rather, he seeks to disrupt the unity of others, seeing in their togetherness a constant reminder of his own deficiency, and in their harmony a declaration of a division with which he was never satisfied from the beginning.
For this reason, destruction does not begin with a desire for evil for its own sake. It begins with rejecting the division, then gradually turns into rejecting participation, then rejecting community, and finally into attempting to dismantle every successful union one encounters. The person who cannot integrate with others often seeks to prevent others from integrating as well.
A person who feels unfortunate creates within himself a current that runs against the natural current of life because he believes that destiny has wronged him. This opposing current does not oppose people alone; it opposes the cosmic division itself and stands in opposition to the order through which existence has been formed, even though it fails to realize that whoever has been granted a beautiful portion was not given it to monopolize it, but to share it with others.
A beautiful destiny, by its very nature, does not fear sharing because it does not experience deficiency. A poor destiny, on the other hand, is always reluctant to share because its owner fears that others will discover what he believes to be lacking within himself. Consequently, he hides himself, distances himself from people, and becomes increasingly convinced that his share is the worst of all.
This is why the fortunate person rejoices in the happiness of others just as others rejoice in his happiness, because joy, for him, is not a limited resource that must be defended. The unfortunate person, however, believes that others do not rejoice for him and that they envy him, while in reality he has often preceded them in envy, because he measures everyone through the lens of his own feeling of deficiency.
The individual who believes that everyone is better than he is begins by despising himself before accusing others of despising him. His inner feeling becomes the lens through which he views the entire world. Thus arises the illusion that people do not love him or rejoice in his success, whereas the root of the problem lies in the way he perceives himself.
All of this is connected with the idea of consciousness. A person who feels ashamed of matter confronts the universe without awareness, and consequently the universe becomes the force that leads him—as discussed in the previous article. It is natural for instincts, circumstances, and existing realities to lead the person who possesses no awareness of them, because one who lacks awareness does not direct events; rather, events carry him wherever they wish.
Consciousness, on the other hand, is the ability to follow signs and indications before they become actual events. A conscious person does not wait for an event to occur; instead, he reads its beginnings, understands its direction, and is able to perceive its consequences before it reaches completion. In this sense, he becomes the one who leads what exists rather than the one who is led by existence.
When we return to the idea of shame toward matter, we find that it is nothing but shame toward the cosmic division itself. The entire universe is founded upon division and sharing: white and black, tall and short, strong and weak, male and female, human and animal, lion and wolf, fish and bird. All of these are different domains that together form an immense network of divisions without end.
The mistake begins, however, when a person reduces this vast division to a single standard, measuring all of life solely by wealth, status, beauty, skin color, intelligence, or any other isolated criterion. When a person confines the whole of existence to one scale, he has wronged himself before wronging anyone else, because he has ignored the thousands of other divisions in which his share may in fact be far greater.
Division is not a single doorway but countless doorways. Therefore, it is impossible for one person to excel in everything or to be deprived of everything. What appears to be deficiency in one aspect may be balanced by abundance in another, yet the individual fails to perceive it because he has confined his vision to the single criterion he has chosen.
For this reason, true fairness does not begin by changing the division itself. Rather, it begins by expanding one's vision of it until the individual realizes that his share already exists, but is distributed across places to which he has perhaps not yet paid attention.
Division, Boundaries, and the Illusion of Control
Reflecting upon division, however, leads to a deeper question: Who divides? And why do boundaries appear in the first place?
Human beings assume that boundaries are natural, yet they overlook the fact that every boundary is a declaration that a division exists, and every division reveals that there is someone who perceives things as separate from one another. Whenever it is said, "This is your share, and that is someone else's share," consciousness has already moved from abundance to limitation, and from openness to restriction.
Had abundance been absolute, people would never have needed division in the first place. That which is unlimited requires no one to divide it, because everyone can benefit from it without diminishing anyone else's portion. But once boundaries appear, and discussion begins about this part and that part, this reveals a fear of scarcity or the belief that goodness is limited, and that each person must defend his own share.
A wealthy person does not fear sharing because he does not believe that what he possesses will be exhausted. A person who feels poor, however, clings tightly to what he has and fears losing it. He therefore begins by establishing boundaries, then guarding those boundaries, and eventually enters into an endless struggle to preserve them.
When this idea is transferred from the individual level to the cosmic level, another image emerges: the image of the controller who stands between the various divisions. This controller does not place himself within one of the divisions; rather, he places himself above them, deciding who receives, who is denied, who rises, and who falls, as though he had stepped outside the division itself in order to become the divider.
Here illegitimate control comes into existence. Genuine authority has no need to proclaim itself, whereas authority founded upon deception works behind the scenes. It intervenes between people and themselves, between the individual and his destiny, and between an event and its outcome, until the controller becomes the hidden link through which every decision must pass.
Thus it may appear as though certain people create the destinies of others, whereas the reality is more profound than that. The point is not that they create fate itself, but that they impose boundaries, construct restrictions, and distribute opportunities in ways that compel others to move only within the framework they have designed for them.
From this perspective another meaning of evil can be understood. Evil does not appear only in the form of direct aggression; it also manifests itself through confinement, limitation, and enclosure. Whoever seeks to confine a human being, restrict him to a single mold, or prevent him from expanding is exercising a form of domination rooted in the desire to possess.
A truly free human being has no need to seize others or imprison them within boundaries he has drawn for them, because freedom naturally creates room for expansion, whereas domination always seeks to narrow that space.
This is why the person who insists upon controlling the destinies of others is often the one who feels the greatest sense of inner deficiency. He does not seek control because he is inwardly fulfilled, but because he is attempting to compensate for what he believes he has lost. Control thus becomes an attempt to reconstruct his own self-image through domination over others.
The individual who sees himself as unfortunate may attempt to redistribute fortune—not because he seeks justice, but because he wishes to transfer his own feeling of deficiency onto others, or to seize from them what he believes was denied to him.
Thus the entire picture is reversed. He gives others the image he once carried of himself, while simultaneously attempting to appropriate the image they once held of themselves. He is not satisfied with changing positions; he strives to alter identities as well, so that he may occupy the place of fullness while the other occupies the place of deficiency.
This is why the truly fortunate person is the one least concerned with convincing others of his worth. He does not live in a constant struggle to prove his value, nor does he feel compelled to defend his position continuously, because his inner fullness makes such efforts unnecessary.
The individual who feels deficient, by contrast, constantly seeks to convince others and continually searches for external recognition to compensate for the absence of inner recognition. His life therefore becomes a succession of masks, presenting a different face in every situation because he fears that his original face may be exposed.
A mask is never worn by the one who is inwardly complete. It is worn by the one who fears that his true self may be seen. Whenever one mask falls away, he is compelled to create another, until he eventually becomes incapable of distinguishing between his authentic personality and the countless images he has manufactured for himself.
At this point, the discussion moves to another level of analysis—one that concerns human relationships themselves and how they can become arenas in which this conflict between fullness and deficiency, participation and domination, abundance and appropriation continues to unfold.
Masks, Relationships, and the Struggle for Light
When a person feels that his fortune is less than that of others, and that his share of the cosmic division does not satisfy him, he begins searching for a way to compensate for that feeling. If he cannot change himself, he attempts to change the image of others, or to appropriate what he believes to be the source of their strength. It is here that masks begin to appear—not merely as social behavior, but as a means of concealing the feeling of deficiency.
The inwardly fulfilled person has no need for a mask because he does not fear that his true nature will be known. The one who lives in constant conflict with himself, however, fears exposure and therefore creates for himself an image that is different from his true one. When that image is exposed, he does not seek to resolve the original problem; instead, he creates another image, then another, until his life becomes an endless succession of masks.
From here this perspective extends to human relationships, because a relationship is not merely an encounter between two people; it is also an encounter between two realities, or between two realities and two masks, or even between two masks, each attempting to conceal what lies behind it.
Here the image of the karmic relationship appears as a relationship in which a particular pattern of conflict continually repeats itself. A man may approach a woman, or a woman may approach a man, and at first the relationship appears to be based on attraction. Yet, with time, it becomes clear that one of the two was never seeking genuine participation, but rather attempting to compensate for an inner deficiency or to appropriate what he or she imagines exists within the other.
Once this reality is revealed and the first mask falls away, that individual returns with a new image, a different method, and another mask, attempting to reach exactly the same goal. Thus the problem is not the form of the mask itself, but the motive that creates it.
Within this conception, the mask becomes a means of entering another person's life—not for the sake of genuine encounter, but for the purpose of influencing that person, altering his course, or weakening the inner strength he possesses.
A person who feels that his inner spark is weak sometimes seeks closeness to someone whose spark burns more brightly—not to become more illuminated through that person, but to take from that light or extinguish it, believing that the extinguishing of another's light will compensate for his own deficiency.
Here the distinction becomes clear between the one who truly possesses an inner flame and the one who merely wishes to appear as though he possesses it. The owner of the true flame does not fear exposure because he does not live behind a mask. Nor does he need to convince anyone that he is illuminated, for his light is revealed through his actions before it is revealed through his words.
The one who lacks that flame, however, exaggerates its appearance, speaks of it constantly, and surrounds himself with symbols and images that suggest inward fullness, while that fullness is nothing more than an external appearance unsupported by any inner reality.
For this reason, his exposure comes not because others attack him, but because he is unable to continue performing the role he has chosen for himself.
The genuine flame requires no protection from masks because it is not borrowed. The false flame, however, cannot survive unless the mask remains in place. Consequently, its owner fears the moment of exposure more than anyone else.
Thus the same scene repeats itself in karmic relationships: whenever one mask falls, another appears; whenever one attempt fails, a new attempt begins using the same underlying pattern, even if its outward appearance has changed.
The ultimate objective becomes to make the other person live within the darkness of the first, seeing the world only through that person's eyes, interpreting reality only through that person's interpretation, and feeling secure only in that person's presence. Once this occurs, the individual loses his inner independence and begins living inside the image another has created for him.
At this stage, the individual no longer wears only his own mask; he begins placing his masks upon others as well, persuading them to adopt his vision and causing them to see themselves as he wishes them to see themselves rather than as they truly are.
Here domination reaches its highest point, for the most dangerous form of control is not control over the body or behavior, but control over the image a person holds of himself. Once the controller succeeds in changing that image, the other begins seeing the world through eyes that are no longer his own and thinking with a mind that is no longer entirely his.
Yet this perspective maintains that the authentic flame is not easily extinguished, and that the person who truly knows himself cannot remain for long beneath another person's mask. Genuine self-knowledge gradually exposes every false image and restores everything to its rightful place.
True protection, therefore, does not lie in excessive suspicion of others or in withdrawing from human relationships. Rather, it lies in possessing an inner light sufficient unto itself, together with an awareness capable of distinguishing truth from appearance, essence from mask, sincere participation from concealed attempts at appropriation disguised as love or closeness.
Necessity, Independence, and Liberation from Dependence
The most dangerous form of control is not merely controlling the actions of others, but making them incapable of producing from within themselves what they need. The more a person depends on an external source to generate meaning, strength, or inner peace, the more vulnerable he becomes to domination, because whoever possesses the source of supply possesses the power to direct the one who depends upon it.
For this reason, a relationship that is built upon making one party incapable of living without the other is not a relationship of wholeness but a relationship of dependence. True completeness does not require a person to lose his independence. Rather, it is the meeting of two individuals, each possessing his own inner center, so that the relationship becomes a partnership between two complete beings rather than an attempt to fill a permanent deficiency.
Accordingly, the first duty of every human being is to awaken himself, and to learn how to produce his own awareness, love, peace, thoughts, and values from within, instead of constantly waiting for someone else to provide them at every stage of life.
A person who cannot awaken himself will always remain in need of someone to awaken him. Likewise, the one who cannot generate light within himself will forever search for an external lamp, and whenever that lamp is extinguished, he will once again return to darkness.
For this reason, no human being—regardless of the extent of his strength or knowledge—can carry others upon his shoulders forever. He may help them, support them, and provide them with what they need during a certain stage of their lives, but such support should never become permanent, because its continuation transforms the other person into a dependent being rather than an independent human being.
The purpose of assistance is not to create dependence, but to lead toward independence. Whoever rescues another person today should seek to make him capable of rescuing himself tomorrow; otherwise, rescue itself becomes another form of domination.
Likewise, a society that depends entirely upon a small productive minority exhausts that minority, whereas a society in which every individual learns to produce whatever he is capable of producing lightens the burden for everyone and makes participation more balanced and just.
A human being should not remain merely a consumer of the light produced by others; he should himself become a producer of light, so that society is transformed into a network of sources rather than a single center distributing everything to everyone.
From here, this perspective moves to the concept of necessity. Necessity is not something absolute; rather, it is a condition related to the reality of each individual and to his level of awareness. What is a necessity for one person may not be a necessity for another, and what someone needs during one stage of life may become unnecessary during another—not because it has become false, but because its function has already been fulfilled.
Many of the means upon which people depend are therefore not ends in themselves, but tools that enable them to pass through a particular stage. Once that stage has been passed, their need for those tools changes because their purpose has already been accomplished.
From this standpoint, teachings, systems, and forms of guidance fulfill a necessary function for those who still require an external reference capable of regulating their conduct and directing their choices. Such guidance provides them with a framework that protects them from becoming lost, establishes the boundaries of their movement, and assists them in organizing their lives.
The person who has become capable of generating insight from within, however, no longer regards such teachings as chains, but as one stage among the stages of growth, or as means that fulfilled their purpose within a particular period of life.
Nevertheless, the transition from dependence to independence cannot occur through a sudden leap, nor by depriving people of what they still genuinely need, for doing so may itself become an injustice. Whoever has not yet completed his awareness should not be stripped of what provides him with the minimum degree of balance before he has acquired the ability to stand on his own.
Therefore, one should not call upon others to abandon what they consider necessary for their lives so long as they have not yet reached the stage of independence from it. Not everything that one individual has outgrown has been outgrown by everyone else, nor has everything from which one person has become free been transcended by society as a whole.
Wisdom does not lie in imposing a single path upon everyone. Rather, it lies in recognizing the diversity of people's stages, needs, and degrees of maturity, allowing each individual to grow according to the stage he is actually living rather than according to the stage reached by someone else.
When a person reaches the point at which he can generate his own awareness, distinguish truth for himself, and guide himself by his own insight, he becomes increasingly capable of liberating himself from dependence and increasingly prepared to bear responsibility for his own choices. Genuine freedom is never granted from outside; it is built from within and remains stable only in the person who has become capable of carrying it.
The Matrix, the Images of Good and Evil, and the Recovery of Consciousness
After everything that has been presented, it becomes possible to view the world as an arena in which not only bodies struggle, but also the images through which every human being presents himself to others. The real danger does not always lie in openly declared evil, for open evil is easy to guard against. Rather, it lies in evil that wears the image of goodness, and in the mask that hides behind virtue in order to achieve an end that contradicts it.
Human beings have become accustomed to judging things by their outward appearance and to associating the image with reality, even though the image is not necessarily a mirror of the essence. A person may appear exceptionally gentle and kind while concealing within himself a desire for domination or exploitation. Another may appear harsh, blunt, or unlike the familiar image, while in truth being more sincere and pure than many who surround themselves with attractive appearances.
For this reason, consciousness does not begin by judging appearances, but by discerning the motives hidden behind them. Not every bright image is evidence of light, just as not every dark image is evidence of darkness. Appearances may deceive, but the essence cannot remain hidden forever.
Therefore, a human being is called upon to learn to read actions before words, and results before slogans, because truth reveals itself over time no matter how much masks attempt to conceal it.
It may happen that an oppressor appears in the image of a savior, presenting himself as the only reformer, the only guide, or the one without whom others cannot survive. Conversely, a person of sincere intention may be accused of wrongdoing, misunderstood, or rejected because of his appearance or manner, even though his true essence bears none of the qualities attributed to him by appearances.
The greatest danger into which a person can fall is to allow his judgment to depend solely upon outward appearances, because appearances can be fabricated and staged to serve a particular purpose. Truth, however, requires an awareness capable of going beyond appearances and penetrating the inner structure of things.
Accordingly, one should not grant trust merely because an image is attractive, nor withdraw trust merely because an image is unpleasant. Trust should be built upon knowledge, experience, and consistency between word and action—not upon first impressions.
From here emerges the idea that a person may set "a trap of light" for others, employing beautiful words, noble slogans, and an ideal image, not because they express his true nature, but because they are the quickest means of gaining the confidence of others. Once that confidence has been obtained, he begins directing them toward the destination he desires.
This does not mean that every beautiful image is false, nor that every pleasant-looking individual is deceitful. It simply means that appearance alone is not a sufficient criterion for judgment.
Likewise, a righteous person may be defamed or presented before people in a negative image while, in reality, he is closer to truth than many who surround themselves with dazzling appearances. Consequently, consciousness does not permit a person to become a prisoner of impressions, but instead invites him to be patient and to observe the genuine effect each individual leaves upon the lives of others.
When a human being reaches this degree of awareness, he becomes far less susceptible to deception—not because he has begun to distrust everyone, but because he no longer surrenders his awareness to anyone else. He listens, observes, reflects, and then judges for himself, without allowing the images presented by others to replace his own insight.
Thus the article returns to its original idea: the problem does not lie in matter, nor in the division, nor in other people, but in the way the human being perceives all of these. A person who sees himself as deficient will always search for something to compensate for that deficiency. That search may become envy, domination, the desire to take from others what they possess, or the construction of masks behind which he hides his true self.
The individual who realizes that the cosmic division is far broader than any single criterion, and that the share of every existing being cannot be reduced to only one aspect of existence, gradually frees himself from comparison. His attention shifts from watching what others possess to discovering the potentials that have been placed within himself.
When he reaches this stage, he becomes capable of sharing without fear, giving without feeling diminished, and rejoicing in the happiness of others without imagining that their joy reduces his own portion, because he no longer measures life according to the logic of scarcity, but according to the logic of abundance.
Accordingly, this perspective concludes that the true origin of destruction does not lie in the scarcity of resources, nor in the injustice of matter itself, but in the human conviction that existence has wronged him, in his rejection of the division within which he finds himself, and in his attempt to resolve that rejection by controlling others instead of rebuilding himself.
Conversely, the beginning of true civilization arises when the human being moves from seeking external compensation to building inner fullness, from waiting for others to awaken him to awakening himself, and from searching for light outside himself to producing light within his own depths. At that point, he becomes capable of participation without fear, freedom without chaos, and community without the desire for domination, because the one who has become full from within no longer needs to take from others what he imagines himself to lack.
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment