The Ocean’s Golden Rule

I have been thinking differently about the Golden Rule:

Treat others as you would want to be treated.

I was taught it primarily as a moral principle—a rule about how good people should behave toward one another.

Lately, however, I have wondered whether it might also point toward something deeper about consciousness.

Because before anything I generate toward another person reaches them, it has to pass through me first.

The Driver Who Cuts Me Off

Imagine I am driving down the freeway.

Traffic is moving quickly when a car suddenly cuts in front of me.

No signal.

No courtesy.

Just an abrupt lane change that forces me to react.

My anger appears almost instantly.

What an asshole.

I may honk, tighten my grip on the steering wheel or feel the impulse to accelerate and catch him. Perhaps some part of me wants to offer that universally understood one-finger review of his driving abilities.

Then the driver weaves through traffic and disappears.

Maybe he never noticed my expression. He certainly didn’t hear the argument I was having with him inside my head.

He may already be three miles down the freeway thinking about lunch.

But where is the anger?

Still inside my car.

More specifically:

Still inside me.

The First Surge and What Comes Next

The initial flash of anger is not necessarily a failure of consciousness.

It is an automatic response to danger. My body recognizes the threat before I have time to calmly evaluate it. The surge of energy may help me brake, move away or protect myself.

I may not control that first reaction.

But once the danger has passed, another question appears:

Am I going to keep feeding it?

The other driver created the initial danger. My mind can continue the experience long after he is gone.

I can replay what happened.

Imagine confronting him.

Construct a personality around five seconds of behavior.

Hope that something bad happens to him.

The event may have lasted moments, but I can carry it for the next half hour.

Whatever story my mind tells about why my anger is justified, my body still participates in the anger I generate.

My muscles remain tight.

My attention narrows.

My mood changes.

Perhaps I begin driving more aggressively myself.

The anger may be directed toward someone else, but I am its first recipient.

What Am I Pouring Into the Ocean?

This is where my ocean metaphor becomes interesting to me.

If consciousness is something like water—if beneath our temporary boundaries there is some deeper interconnectedness—then the Golden Rule may be more than a commandment about good behavior.

It may also suggest something about how consciousness works.

What I pour into the ocean, I am already swimming in.

I don’t have to accept any metaphysical theory to see the practical truth in this.

My internal state affects what I do next.

Anger changes how I drive, how I speak and how I treat the next person I encounter. Fear, impatience and resentment can move through relationships in the same way.

No mystical explanation is required.

Human states spread through human behavior.

The ripple moves outward.

The Ego Wants Justice

My ego has an understandable objection:

But he was wrong.

Maybe he was.

The Golden Rule doesn’t require me to pretend dangerous behavior is acceptable. Compassion does not require stupidity, passivity or the abandonment of consequences.

I can honk.

I can create distance from a dangerous driver.

I can call the police if someone presents a serious threat.

In other circumstances, I can say no, establish boundaries, walk away or defend someone I love.

Compassion does not mean approving dangerous behavior.

It means responding to danger without becoming internally identical to it.

My ego asks:

What does this person deserve from me?

What I call my soul asks:

What kind of consciousness do I want to inhabit while responding?

That question does not determine whether I act.

It influences the state from which I act.

The Person Inside the Other Car

There is another possibility my ego rarely considers in the first few seconds after being cut off:

I know almost nothing about the other driver.

Maybe he is inconsiderate and drives that way every day.

Maybe he is angry.

Maybe he is rushing to the hospital.

Maybe he just received terrible news.

Maybe he is distracted by something happening in his life.

Or maybe he really is simply driving like an asshole.

I don’t know.

And that is the point.

My mind can construct an entire person from five seconds of behavior. Then I can become angry at the person I constructed.

Recognizing that does not excuse the behavior. It simply reminds me how little information I possess.

That creates space.

Not necessarily forgiveness.

Just space.

Enough space to breathe.

Enough space to let the car disappear down the freeway without allowing it to take my peace with it.

The Consciousness I Inhabit

This may be one reason resentment and hatred become so exhausting.

I imagine I am sending them toward someone else.

But I experience the resentment while carrying it.

I experience the hatred while generating it.

The intended recipient may never receive any of it.

But I do.

That gives the Golden Rule a different meaning for me.

Treating another person with patience, compassion or basic humanity isn’t only something I do for them.

It also determines something about the consciousness I inhabit while responding to them.

When I generate hatred, I am standing in hatred.

When I generate fear, I am standing in fear.

When I generate compassion, I am already experiencing compassion.

When I create love, some part of me experiences that love before it ever reaches anyone else.

Water Recognizing Water

The people passing me on the freeway appear separate.

And in many important ways, they are.

Different bodies.

Different histories.

Different fears.

Different destinations.

Different lives unfolding behind different windshields.

But perhaps underneath the personalities, stories, defenses and boundaries, there is something familiar.

Water recognizing water.

The wave recognizing the ocean.

I cannot prove that consciousness is ultimately interconnected in this way.

But I don’t have to prove the metaphysics to test the principle.

The next time someone cuts me off, I can notice the anger.

Notice my body preparing to react.

Notice the ego demanding justice.

Notice the story beginning to form.

Then I can ask:

Do I really want to let a stranger who disappeared down the freeway thirty seconds ago determine the consciousness I inhabit for the next thirty minutes?

Perhaps one of the deepest reasons to treat another person with love is not simply that some authority commanded us to.

Perhaps it is because whatever I generate toward another human being must first arise within me.

And if there really is an ocean beneath these temporary waves, the distinction becomes even more interesting.

What I pour into the ocean, I am already swimming in.