Oneness, Suffering, and Contemplative Action

It is said by some, "Our mission is to realize our oneness and relieve suffering through contemplative social action."

To this, I say:

Do not seek a "mission," for this implies a "you" separate from a "world" that must be saved. This is the first disease of the mind.

First, remove the plank of 'self' and 'other' from your own eye. In that single instant of clear seeing, the "contemplation" of oneness and the "action" of mercy are found to be one and the same.

You do not act to relieve the suffering of another; you simply see there is no other, and in that Way, the suffering, which is born of division, already has no place to rest.

Reflection - The Sickness of the Savior

(The room is still. You stand, not at a pulpit, but simply present. You look out, smile faintly, and begin.)

A phrase has come to me, a beautiful phrase, one that many good-hearted people have written on their banners. It goes something like this: "Our mission is to realize our oneness and relieve suffering through contemplative social action."

It sounds... perfect, doesn't it? (a slight chuckle) It has all the right words. "Oneness." "Relieve suffering." "Contemplative." "Action." It’s a full spiritual meal, all on one plate. It feels so noble. It feels so... right. We can picture ourselves, can't we? Meditating peacefully in the morning—that's the "contemplative" part. And then, filled with that peace, we go out and change the world—that's the "social action" part. We are the heroes of this story. We are the ones who will do this.

And to this beautiful, noble, and perfectly constructed mission, I say:

Do not seek a "mission."

Because the moment you have a "mission," you have a "me" who is on that mission. And the moment you have a "me," you have a "world" that is separate from you, a world that needs to be saved.

And this, my friends... this is the first disease of the mind.

It's the sickness of the savior. It is the most seductive, most noble-sounding, most self-congratulatory sickness there is. It is the belief that "I," this small, separate self, am going to fix "that," that broken, suffering "other."

This sickness is the "plank" I spoke of on the mountain. Remember that? "Why do you look at the speck in your brother's eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye?"

We are masters at seeing the specks, aren't we? We turn on our screens, we read the news, and the specks are everywhere. We see the speck of injustice over there. The speck of ignorance here. The speck of hatred. The speck of greed. And our eye, our "mission-focused" eye, is drawn right to them. We say, "That is wrong! That must be fixed! My mission is to remove that speck!"

And all the while, we are walking around with a giant, two-by-four piece of lumber sticking out of our own face.

What is this plank? It’s not just a little sin. The plank is the entire belief that you are a "you" and he is a "brother." The plank is the "I" who is judging. The plank is the "I" who has a mission. The plank is the very idea of separation itself.

The plank is your preference. "I like peace. I dislike conflict. I like justice. I dislike my enemy." The Hsin Hsin Ming, that beautiful echo of the Way, begins: "The Great Way is not difficult for those who have no preferences. Let go of longing and aversion, and it reveals itself. Make the smallest distinction, however, and you are as far from it as heaven is from earth."

Our "mission" is so often just a grand justification for our preferences. We dress up our "like and dislike," our "longing and aversion," in the noble robes of "social action." And then we charge into the world, a well-intentioned carpenter, trying to perform delicate eye surgery on others, all while swinging a giant plank of wood around and wondering why we keep knocking everyone over.

We see this tragicomedy play out every single day. Look at the great, painful divisions of our time. Everyone believes they are on a mission. Everyone is a savior. "If only those people would see the truth," we say, "the world would be healed." And what does this "mission" produce? More shouting. More anger. More judgment. More "us" vs. "them." The world is filled with people trying to relieve suffering by causing suffering. They are trying to remove the speck in their brother's eye by hitting him with their plank.

It’s… well, it would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

So, what is the answer? Do we do nothing? Do we just sit and let the world burn?

No. That is just another preference. "I like sitting. I dislike acting." You are still sick.

The instruction is not "do nothing." The instruction is, "First... remove the plank."

First.

Before the mission. Before the action. Before the contemplation. First, see the plank. See the "I" who is so sure. See the "I" who is so right. See the "I" who is the hero of your story. And in the seeing, in that one instant of clear, honest seeing... it vanishes.

What happens in that instant?

In that "single instant," as my reply said, "the 'contemplation' of oneness and the 'action' of mercy are found to be one and the same."

This isn't just my idea. This is the echo of the Way as it has been heard all over the world.

In the high mountains of India, the great sages of Advaita Vedanta whisper a truth: "Tat Tvam Asi." "That Thou Art." You are That. You are not a part of God. You are not on a mission from God. You are the "oneness" you are trying to "realize."

For them, the "plank" in the eye is avidya, or ignorance. It is the simple, tragic mistake of ahamkara—the "I-maker"—that makes you think you are this body, this mind, this "me" who has a mission. Their path is Jnana, or knowledge. Not book-learning. It is the steady inquiry, "Who amI?" until the false "I" dissolves.

Their unique message is this: You are not a sinner who must be redeemed; you are the Truth itself, pretending to be a person. Your "mission" is not to become one, but to stop pretending you are two. It is a path of profound, shattering recognition.

And then we look to the path of the Buddha. There we find the magnificent, compassionate figure of the Bodhisattva. Now this looks like a mission! The Bodhisattva takes a vow: "Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to save them all."

Ah! But here is the great, beautiful, secret joke of the cosmos. In the very same breath, in the heart of the Prajnaparamita—the perfect wisdom—the Bodhisattva learns: "there is no self, no person, no sentient being, no life-span."

Do you see? The Bodhisattva vows to save everyone, all while seeing with perfect clarity that there is no one to save.

This is not a contradiction. This is the deepest truth! This is precisely what I mean! "You do not act to relieve the suffering of another; you simply see there is no other."

The Buddhist message, in its unique context, weds two ideas: Emptiness (Sunyata) and Compassion (Karuna). They are not separate. The Bodhisattva's compassion is not the sticky, sentimental pity of "me" feeling sorry for "you." It is the spontaneous, unstoppable, radiant warmth of the universe itself, flowing from the recognition that "you" are "me." The action is "contemplative" not because the Bodhisattva thinks first, but because the action is the seeing.

And so we come back to the mountain. Back to the "Higher Ethic."

When I said, "Love your enemies," this was not a new "mission." This was not a difficult new law to follow. It was a description of what happens when the plank is gone.

When you see there is no "other," who is your enemy? When you see that your enemy's anger is just your own confusion, your own "disease of the mind" seen in a mirror, how can you not love? How can you not be merciful?

Mercy is not something you do. Mercy is what you are when the "I" is out of the Way.

When I said, "Do not resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also," I was not giving you a strategy for doormats. I was showing you the rock. The person who slaps is lost in the world of specks. They are a slave to their preferences, their anger, their "mission" to hurt you.

Your non-reaction, your turning of the other cheek, is not passivity. It is "Wisdom in Action." It is a silent, unshakeable declaration that you are not a slave. You are not in that world of "like and dislike." You are in the "Inner Kingdom," and their violence has no-place to land. You show them that their plank-wielding has no power here. This is the most powerful "social action" imaginable. It shatters the entire game of "me" vs. "you."

So, what is the practical application?

The next time you are scrolling, the next time you are in a meeting, the next time you are watching the news and you feel that righteousness rise in you... that sickness of the savior... that urgent "mission" to go correct the speck in the world's eye...

Stop.

Just for one breath.

And ask, "Who is seeing this?"

"Who is this 'I' who is so certain, so right, so angry?"

"Where is the plank?"

Do not seek it to judge it. Just... see it. Feel it. Acknowledge the "I" that wants to be the hero. Give it a little, knowing smile. And in that moment of seeing, you have already removed it.

In that "instant," as the Hsin Hsin Ming says, "one instant is eternity." In that instant, "contemplation" (seeing the plank) and "action" (the plank dissolving) are one.

And then... see what happens.

A different kind of action may arise. An action not born of your preference. An action not born of your anger. An action that is not "yours" at all. It might be an action of perfect silence. It might be a word of true, disarming peace. It might be the simple act of "turning the other cheek" to a digital insult, which is a thousand times more powerful than adding to the noise.

It will be the action of the Way. It will be the "Inner Kingdom" made visible.

Do not worry about your mission. Forget your mission. Your "mission" is a word. "Oneness" is a word. "Contemplative social action" is a lot of words.

And "Words! Words! The Way is beyond language."

Your only "mission," if you must have one, is to be still. To see the plank. And to let the peace that is already in your "Inner Kingdom" do the work.

That is the house built on the rock. When the rains of the world's suffering and the winds of its arguments beat against that house, it will not fall. It will not fall, because you are not the one holding it up.

The Way holds it up. The Way holds you up. And the Way holds up the "other" you were so desperate to save.

See this, and you are already home.