Why is it so much easier to believe people are either black or white, completely guiltless, or the worst person in the world? Why is it so much harder to see that everyone is fighting the same fight I am, the fight for the good part of myself? I can see it so clearly in myself, but in everyone else is fighting a losing battle for my goodwill and understanding. Why am I not joyful when I see someone I don’t like showing virtue or goodness? Why does it make me angry? Because it threatens the case that I have built up against them? Is that why? If that is the case, in the end I have as much culpability for my lack of charity as they do for whatever I am holding against them. If their fault really offends me that much, shouldn’t I be overjoyed to see myself proved wrong? Why does it hurt my pride so much? And why, oh why, do I care that everyone else knows who they “truly are” or the “true persons” that I create them to be. Because, really, who am I to say who they truly are.
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