Tagore's Works: Why is there suffering in the world?

Why there is suffering in the world: Tagore

Only those who have experienced hellish grinding,

in order to cultivate the power to create heaven;

Only bloodied fingers,

In order to pop out the world's absolute noise.

- Tagore

When we think seriously about the laws of the world, "Why is there suffering in the world?" "This question most confuses us and is restless. Some among us say it is a punishment for the original sin of the distant ancestors of mankind, and some call it karma in past lives. But no matter what they say, pain is still pain.

It is practically impossible not to be without pain. The theory of suffering and the theory of creation are closely linked. For imperfection is suffering, and creation is always imperfect.

Why is there imperfection? It is a long story, it originated from the flood era. "Creation is not imperfect, it is inseparable in time and space, it is not limited to antecedents and consequences." This is probably an absurd extravagance, and it should not arise in our hearts.

The world is imperfect and therefore active. Human society is imperfect, so it is the struggle that continues. Our self-perception is imperfect and therefore understands the soul and everything else in different ways. However, there is tranquility in activity, success in hard struggle, and love in differences.

Therefore, it should be remembered that the opposite of perfection is emptiness. But "imperfect" and "perfect" are not opposites, not antagonistic, but a manifestation of "perfection.". A song sung, which does not reach the highest scale, does not end, is indeed not a complete song, but it is not opposed to this song, and the joy of this complete song surges in each part.

If not, how can it be intentional? He is the meaning of the image. He transforms "imperfection" into "perfection" every moment, and therefore he is the implication. In his midst, everything grew fuller. This is the form of the meaning, this is the nature of the meaning. Therefore, the presentation of the world is the image of happiness, the sweet image of happiness.

So, this imperfect world is not empty, it is not false. So in this world, there are non-forms in form, sensations in sounds, and restlessness in smells, let us render in an indescribable situation. So, the sky not only surrounds us, but also makes our hearts flutter. Sunlight not only helps our eyes reach their goals, but also awakens our hearts. Everything that exists not only exists, but also fills our minds with intellect and our souls with reality.

What we see in the crowd is also far beyond people. We can't find the edge of mystery. The strength and love of man, in the history of how many people and how many nations, how many strange forms have been formed, how many incredible events have passed, after difficult struggles, breaking through the limits of boundaries, showing the supreme soul. In the crowd, this is the immortal image of happiness.

We resist pain and many times want to say, "We must feel bitterness equally." "It may not be possible for someone to numb the mind in a certain way, to be so indifferent. But bitterness does not belong only to the individual, it is closely related to everyone in the world. Just because I don't feel pain doesn't mean there is no pain in the world.

Therefore, it is necessary to examine "suffering" not only among individuals, but also in a wide range of areas. There, with the burning of its own flames and the blows of thunder and lightning, it has created many nations, many kingdoms, and many societies. There, it makes people's "inquiry" run on the rough road, let people's will pass through the impenetrable barrier, flash one by one, and do not let people's struggle end in a small victory.

Human pain is not only covered with soft teardrops, but also flashes with fortitude. The pain in the human heart is like a sharp weapon in the world. It is light, it is heat, it is movement, it is life. It wanders through the corners, creating a new world of labor and beauty in human society. This fiery pain is revealed in some places, hidden in some places, and all the air currents of the human world are constantly circulating.

We do not underestimate or look at this suffering of people psychologically fragile. We will admit it with our heads held high. We will not destroy ourselves with the power of pain, but we will make ourselves more determined. To sublimate oneself without suffering, but to let pain defeat oneself and fall into the abyss is an insult to pain. Something, if properly acknowledged, has meaning in life, and if it is used to kill oneself, it must become a sinner before the God of Suffering. May we not despise the soul with suffering, but understand the dignity of the soul through suffering. There is no other way to recognize that dignity than to suffer.

For, as I have hinted earlier, only suffering can embody the value of everything in the world. Everything that man creates is created with suffering. Something not created with pain, not all his own.

So, not through ease, not through enjoyment, but through renunciation, through giving, through practice, through suffering, we can deeply acquire the soul. There is no other way for us to understand our own power than to suffer. The less we know our own power, the less we understand the glory of the soul, and the less superficial our true happiness becomes.

Struggle exists in the world in the form of suffering. Everything we create inside and outside the body and mind is created while striving. All our births, all our sufferings, all our gains come from the road of renunciation, and all our eternal lives climb on the ladder of death.

The emperor established the empire, endured great suffering, and enjoyed great happiness. Patriots sacrificing their lives for the founding of the country is the greatest pain and the greatest joy. The same is true of scholars gaining knowledge and lovers pursuing sweethearts.

On days of depression, I beg my pen: don't make me feel guilty; don't let works that shake everyone's heartstrings fall into anyone's eyes; don't cover your face in the dark; don't close the door. Light up the colorful lanterns, ah, don't be stingy!

The world is vast, its honor never fades, and its character is very gentle. Held high in the invisible sunlight, its unblinking gaze is serene and firm, and its chest is covered with rivers, mountains, and plains. It doesn't belong to me, it belongs to countless people. Its drums sounded in all directions, and its flames illuminated the dim light. Its flag flutters in the sky hunting. In the face of the world, do not make me feel guilty, my loss, my suffering, for it is a dust particle of dust.

When I rely on self-control to forget my own suffering, the pain appears as the world. Then I saw that the torrent of sorrow flowed through the dense tributaries on the chest of the years; the mighty river of hearts flowed in the riverbed where millions of families lived; the tearful Bramaput River was choppy, brewing vicissitudes on the river banks of families in various countries. The sorrows of the eternal people fell on my chest in a flash, like a flood that made my ribs tremble and then disappear into "infinity" in a cry of the earth, the motive of which is unknown.

I work all day and I have people all around. During the day I felt that, thanks to the labor of the day and the negotiations of the day, all the work of the day was completed at the end of the day. I don't have time to wonder if there are still words left in my heart.

Today, I beg my pen: Don't make me feel guilty. Let your contributions be like a river soaking out of the banks; let my sorrows be overshadowed by your gifts; let my weeping of sorrow melt into the world's thousands of pieces of music.

The pain in my heart is draped in an ochre robe today. It longs to go outside, to the road away from all labor; this road is like the strings of a monolycles, humming under the footsteps of the figure hidden in the heart.