Right Thought or Purpose, Cont.

There follows a terrible period of confusion and pain, of agonizing self-consciousness and reappraisal. (Without conscious confrontation there can be no progress.) Chagrined, he is forced to scrutinize his actions and reactions, to see himself as others see him, to understand that his devotion to his outer appearance has cost him the development of his inner life.

Advised to take constructive or remedial measures, the recovering devil gives away his silks and pledges not to purchase even workclothes for at least a couple of years. Now when a garment tears, he patches it as best he can.

He has long, denuding talks with his master. The leading topic is pride.

As part of his treatment he is asked to rebut all of the old arguments he once invoked in support of his strategy. He had so often told himself that people loved pageantry and were spiritually uplifted by it; that he was an inspiring role-model for those who required lessons in deportment; that he exemplified the priestly refinement and grace which characterized his religion; that the pride he took in himself was a reflection of the pride he took in his Lord, etc.

The ex-devil finally realizes that since the Buddha, himself, cast off his finery and wore the simple garments of the poor, a follower of the Buddha can hardly 'take up the cloth' in order to preen.

Right Purpose also requires that we take critical notice of our states of mind. Whether anxious, frivolous, irritable, depressed or excessively pleased with ourselves, it is necessary to investigate the cause of our mood and to make the necessary corrections.

This can be difficult. It's easy to shrink our tongues whenever we find them waxing eloquent about our master's accomplishments; but getting control of a negative emotion such as anger, jealousy or contempt is an exponentially greater assignment... by ten or twenty orders of magnitude. If we prate about our master, we merely run the risk of making ourselves ridiculous to the people who politely walk away from us, but if we fail to control our anger we can do serious damage.

Depending upon our individual anger thresholds, different sorts of situations threaten us with loss of control: Sonny fails to return a library book and the fine is $2.50. Dad shouts for half an hour about irresponsibility and money growing on trees before he gives him the cash. Then he grumbles for another hour about kids nowadays and what his father would have done to him if he had ever been so inexcusably delinquent in such a civic duty as returning a library book on time. He cools down to the point where he is able to avoid talking to Sonny for the rest of the day.

If the probable truth were known, first, the only time Dad ever went to the library was when he used his presence there as an excuse to get out of the house at night; and second, the one time he actually borrowed a book, he forgot to take it back and didn't remember it at all until a notice came in the mail. And when his dad inquired about the notice, he lied, saying that he already had taken it back. Then he sneaked the book into the library and put it on the shelf causing, ultimately, his indignant dad to inform the librarian that she was negligent. This is the probable truth because this is how the Shadow conducts its business. When we angrily scold someone we are usually accusing him of something that, more or less, we've done ourselves.

Right purpose requires a person to observe his own responses and to gauge them disinterestedly for appropriateness. The Shadow is the ego's blackplumed champion. Whenever it thinks it must ride out to slay a dragon - especially a tiny dragon - the ego has a problem.

The chronic annoyance of trivialities can be easily managed. We learn to say, "Big deal," or "So what." We tell ourselves to "Get a grip" and get over it.

Matters of a more acute nature demand serious attention. Let us suppose, for example, that Sonny borrows Dad's car to take his girl to the high school prom. He pledges ceremoniously that he will neither drink nor smoke grass nor allow anybody else in the car to do so. Then, naturally, he, his date and four other kids leave the prom early, get stoned and drunk, and, with Sonny behind the wheel, crash into another car. (You think this doesn't happen?)

His date, who was not wearing a seat belt because she didn't want to ruin her corsage, went through the windshield and will require plastic surgery into the next decade. The four in the back seat sustained injuries that will add up to six figures within a week. The two people in the other car, who are parents of three, are in intensive care. Nobody knows if they will even live to join in the eventual law suits. Sonny walked away from the accident with a few cuts and bruises.

This is a test of controlling anger.

Between the lawyer and the bail bond, Dad spends Sonny's college tuition money. (The lawyer wants his money up front because he knows that Dad will be wiped out long before the case is adjudicated.) He looks over Dad's insurance policy and financial statement, takes out a calculator, tells Dad to prepare for the possibility that Sonny will be tried for manslaughter, and adds that in any case, Dad faces penalty fines and an inevitable host of civil suits any one of which will result in bankruptcy. "Say 'adios' to your assets," says the lawyer. "You have just lost everything."

Sonny, newly sprung from jail by Mom, walks up the path as Dad watches from the living room window. How should Dad greet him?

What would the Buddha do? Let's suppose that the Buddha's son, Rahula, had taken the Buddha's favorite stallion, Kantaka, to a party after promising his dad that he would stay perfectly sober and would take excellent care of the horse. Then Rahula got stoned, hitched Kantaka to a chariot, jammed four of his friends into the chariot and drove the horse, chariot and friends into a crowd of people. The injuries were many and serious. Kantaka was totalled.

Nobody should imagine that the Buddha would remain His Serene Self when first informed of the 'accident.' Rather, it would be all the disciples could do to pry his hands off the kid's throat. The Buddha was a man and a man can get angry. Jesus threw the money changers out of the temple and he wasn't calm when he did it.

So Dad is allowed to get angry. It is then, while he is considering various ways to execute his firstborn, that he sees Sonny walk towards the house.

If Dad is smart he will go down to the basement and avoid Sonny until his rage has abated. (Physical removal is to outrage what a tourniquet is to a severed vein.) Dad should go to the basement because, unfortunately, he can't go for a long drive since he doesn't have a car anymore; and he can't go for a long walk because he is too ashamed to face anyone and too afraid of being beaten or shot at. The victims were after all his neighbors. So the basement or a closet is a good place to go at least until Sonny is safely sequestered in his bedroom. Now is the time for Dad to try to get control of himself.

Incredibly, we gain control of ourselves at such times by resorting to those old cliches that always leap so gracefully from our lips whenever we attempt to console someone else. We have an extensive repertoire of sagacious remarks - some pro and some con on the very same issue - which truly comfort and illuminate. (We should think of these sayings as balm which the Self uses to heal anger or grief.) Dad should therefore reach down into himself and withdraw for conscious consideration such maxims as:

1. There but for the grace of God, go I. (Dad must remember all the times he drove when he was swacked. He got away with it. Sonny wasn't so lucky.)

2. Boys will be boys. (This was a high school prom Sonny was attending, not a meeting of the Security Council. He knew Sonny was a kid and kids by definition are immature. Many adults promise to stay sober but still drink and drive. What should he expect from a kid who is carried away by the excitement of his first formal dance?)

3. If you want to dance, you've got to pay the piper. (Nobody held a gun to Dad's head and forced him to get Mom pregnant. That was his own idea. If he didn't want the burden of raising children, he shouldn't have had any.)

4. You've got to take the bitter with the sweet. (Sonny is not a bad kid. In fact, he's a pretty good kid. He's done a thousand things right. True, this one thing that he's done wrong more than offsets the right things... but, after all, he didn't plan to have the accident. He didn't harm anyone maliciously. He made a mistake. Dad stood proudly by him in the good times. Can he abandon him in this time of shame?)

5. I cried because I had no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet. (It could be worse. Sonny could have been killed. The tears Dad's shedding could be shed over a coffin that contained the remains of his pride and joy, that once and former great kid and namesake.)

6. Why pour water on a drowning man? (What good would screaming at the boy or beating him accomplish? It would only make things worse. A rift between him and Sonny won't get either one of them out of the trouble they're both in. Think about what this has done to Sonny's life. Give the kid a break, for God's sake!)

Dad finally begins to sympathize with Sonny. How is the boy going to face people? Kids are so cruel. Dad can survive the notoriety. His friends and associates will pretend to commiserate. They'll withhold criticism until Dad makes the mistake of criticizing one of them for something. (Dad makes a mental note never to criticize anybody for anything ever again.) But kids are different. They will torment Sonny about the accident for years to come. Poor Sonny! He's got to face his victims and his friends. And he's as isolated in his guilt as any human being can possibly be.

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