Good against evil. The hero against the villain. So many of our stories are built around this struggle. We recognise the sides, invest our hopes in one of them and wait for the outcome.
Perhaps these stories hold our attention because they give an outward form to a conflict we know within ourselves.
The story of the two wolves expresses this simply. Within us are two wolves: one represents kindness, compassion and generosity; the other hatred, greed and cruelty. They struggle with each other. Which one wins? The one we feed.
I see it as 50:50. Both possibilities are present in each of us, and at any moment we have a choice about which one we feed. Having acted kindly yesterday does not prevent me from acting cruelly today. Having acted cruelly yesterday does not take away my opportunity to show kindness now.
Yet we tend to speak of good people and bad people as though the matter were settled.
Life repeatedly challenges that division. Someone we have condemned shows unexpected tenderness. Someone we admire behaves with astonishing cruelty. The villain does something good; the hero does something bad. These moments disturb our categories because they remind us that the choice remains alive in everyone.
The convenience of grey
Although our stories often divide the world into black and white, we live among shades of grey.
We know that circumstances matter. We understand that people are complicated. But we also use that complexity to explain away our own behaviour.
I was hurt. I was frightened. I had been patient long enough. They deserved it. There was no other way.
Some explanations help us understand what happened. Others allow us to avoid looking honestly at what we chose.
We are particularly generous with ourselves. We know the history behind our anger and the disappointment behind our bitterness. With someone else, we may see only the action and pass judgement on the person.
Our own behaviour has reasons. Theirs reveals their character.
In those shades of grey, almost anything can acquire a justification. Even revenge can become a moral duty when we tell ourselves that we are putting things right.
Watch what happens when the hero finally hurts the villain. We may cheer the very behaviour we condemned earlier, because now someone we support is doing it.
Which wolf are we feeding then?
What is good—and what is right?
I find Prem Rawat’s distinction between doing what is good and doing what is right particularly useful here.
What I regard as good is often shaped by my own perspective. Something may be good for me, my family, my community or my country. It may protect my comfort, strengthen my position or give me something I want.
But what happens to the person on the receiving end?
Something can appear good from where I stand while causing suffering elsewhere. My advantage alone cannot tell me whether my action is right.
The question of what is right asks more of me. It asks me to look beyond my preferences and loyalties, and to recognise a humanity that does not end at the boundary of my own interests.
That does not mean every situation is easy to resolve. It does mean that “this suits me” is insufficient grounds for calling something right.
Here the distinction between clarity and confusion becomes essential. Confusion allows resentment to look like justice, pride to look like principle and revenge to look like a necessary correction.
Clarity allows me to recognise what is moving me—even when I would prefer a more flattering explanation.
The moment of choice
The only moment in which I can make that choice is now.
The past may explain how I arrived here. The future may contain my intentions, hopes and promises. But I cannot act yesterday or tomorrow. The word I am about to say, the message I am about to send, the way I am about to treat another person: these are choices in the present.
I can spend years thinking of myself as a good person and still fail to notice the harm I am doing in this moment.
Equally, I can carry regret for years and overlook the opportunity to act differently now.
Every moment brings responsibility, but it also brings possibility. Neither my achievements nor my failures can make the present choice for me.
This is how I understand the connection Prem Rawat makes between individual peace and peace in the world. We bring what is within us into our relationships, our communities and our institutions. Peace becomes real through human beings and the way we live with one another.
I cannot make everyone else’s choices. I can become more conscious of my own.
Before the next judgement, the next angry response, the next act I feel certain is justified, there is a question worth asking:
Am I choosing what seems good to me, or can I see what is right?
The answer is expressed in what I do now.
That is how the wolves are fed.
I first wrote about the story of the two wolves in June 2020. Returning to it now, I find myself considering more closely how we justify our choices—and the distinction between what seems good to us and what is right.
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