PERSPECTIVE
A JOURNEY OF SELF-DISCOVERY
BY DAVE BALDSCHUN
LA TUNA CANYON, CALIF.
Expectations—we can't avoid them. Whether we try to live up to them or not is up to us.
One of the things we hear in the SGI is that we should reply to President Ikeda's
expectations. As children, we strive to live up to our parents' expectations, to reply to their
love for us. If we are lucky enough to have teachers who care, we strive to live up to their
expectations. In becoming adults, we leave the realm of our parents' expectations. As the
American poet and author Robert Bly says in Iron John, we search for a "second father"
or "a second king."
Once we leave the realm of our parents' expectations, whose expectations do we live up
to? Our own? Our friends? We tend to set our expectations just within the limits of our
comfort zone and do not realize our own potential or genius. It is the mentor who sees the
greatness in us that we don't see ourselves who spurs us beyond our self-prescribed
boundaries. Bly says that through a mentor "a hint will come to us as to where our genius
lies." A mentor helps us "rebuild the bridge to our own greatness or essence."
As Bly explains, living up to the expectations of a mentor is not about pleasing someone
else or feeling burdened. It is about the process of self-discovery through the
mentor–disciple relationship. President Ikeda, as a mentor and teacher, is encouraging us
to realize our potential.
In early Europe, craft guilds were opportunities for youth to leave the realm of their
parents and apprentice under master craftsmen—and become masters themselves as
masons or carpenters. In the artists' studios, students would paint some of the less important background scenes. Under the guidance of masters of various fields, youth
developed their skills.
In The Human Revolution, the character Shin'ichi Yamamoto, representing a young
President Ikeda, left the realm of his father's expectations and entered into that of his
mentor in life, Josei Toda. As depicted in the book, Toda visits Shin'ichi's father one day
and asks, "Will you entrust Shin'ichi to me?" After contemplating Toda's character, and
acknowledging Shin'ichi's feelings for Toda, his father consents. Toda exclaims: "How
splendid! I, Toda, will be entirely responsible for Shin'ichi. Please set your mind to rest"
(vol. 6, pp. 106–08).
Shin'ichi chose Toda as his mentor at their first encounter as depicted earlier in the
book. It is important to note that the disciple chooses the mentor. A mentor does not recruit disciples or say, "Follow me." We must see the greatness in the mentor and decide for ourselves. Bly states: "We can each ask ourselves: Is there anyone we know or have heard of who possesses true greatness? If so, we should leave with him or her."
Early in my youth I faced a huge test in my relationship with President Ikeda. I loved
him from the first and considered myself his disciple. But I was very young and had no
clue about the obstacles that I would face in the future.
After a particularly severe setback in my life, I felt that I had failed as a disciple. Before
I realized it, I was overcome with negativity. "I have failed him," I thought. And my heart
broke. I had to think deeply about what he really meant to me. What is a disciple? What
does a mentor think about a disciple?
I came to understand that I had a very shallow view of the mentor–disciple relationship.
When I realized that President Ikeda's belief in me, his belief in my potential, was
unconditional, I was able to pull myself out of the depths of that hell.
One reason I like the book The Eternal City is because the mentor–disciple relationship
between Bruno and his mentor, David Rossi, is tested. Although he believed himself to be
a strong disciple, Bruno is forced to wrestle with doubts over his relationship with his
mentor.
In his case, he was faced with doubts about the character of his mentor. In my case, I
was faced with doubts about my capacity as a disciple. Bruno was also forced to examine
his relationship with his mentor on a deeper level. Malicious and false accusations about
Rossi had come to Bruno's attention while he was in jail. He asked himself: "Really, what
kind of man is he? What do I really know about him?" Through profound contemplation,
he awoke to the true character of his mentor and dispelled his doubts. He came to
understand what his heart already knew.
In my own examination of my relationship with President Ikeda, I realized that, by
assuming that he would give up on me or be forever disappointed in me, I was discounting
his capacity and compassion. He doesn't expect that we won't stumble at times, but he
does expect that we will stand back up and carry on.
We can get focused myopically on what others think of us. "He doesn't believe in me,"
or "She doesn't like me," or "I wasn't appointed to this position because they are against
me." But we are all comrades in faith, standing shoulder to shoulder, not front to back,
following our mentor, President Ikeda, not one another.
Many years ago, I happened to be in Tokyo when a journalist was interviewing President
Ikeda. This reporter was marveling at the extensive organizational powers of the Soka
Gakkai. As he was asking President Ikeda how he had achieved this, the reporter started
describing the typical organizational pyramid—all the members at the bottom and layer
upon layer of leaders up to President Ikeda at the top. President Ikeda stopped him and
said that is not how he views the Soka Gakkai.
He took out a pen and drew a straight line with a point in front of it like this:
.
He explained that the line represents all the members of the Soka Gakkai and the point
is himself. There is no separation between President Ikeda and each member. He is no
closer to top leaders of the organization than he is to the newest member. There is no one
between our mentor and us. When we obsess on our organizational position or the
opinions of others, we are viewing ourselves in that mythical pyramid.
President Ikeda has said that he writes so much because one-to-one dialogue can only
reach so many people. I believe that is why SGI-USA General Director Nagashima says
that President Ikeda wrote the July 21 poem, "Soar—Into the Vast Skies of Freedom! Into
the New Century," to each of us. President Ikeda doesn't write for a mass audience. I think
he feels he is indeed writing to—touching—each of us. I heard the mentor–disciple
relationship explained once as the mentor being like a transmitter and the disciples like
receivers. President Ikeda is always transmitting. It is up to us to receive the message.
Several months ago I heard a young woman describe her struggle with the
mentor–disciple relationship. She was devoted to her practice, to kosen-rufu and her
members. She was acting as a person of the same mind as the mentor. But although she
respected President Ikeda and thought he was "a great guy" as she put it, her heart was
closed to him. And this troubled her. She was frustrated by the fact that she "just didn't get
it." This was something she pondered through many prayers.
Then one night as she was standing alone out under the stars at the Florida Nature and
Culture Center, she had an awakening, a realization. It was a matter of trust. It wasn't
President Ikeda; it was her ability to open her heart to him. Her father had been a very
respected professional, but behind closed doors he was an abuser feared by the family.
She realized that this was the "wall" between herself and President Ikeda. All of her chanting and prayers had led her to see this and suddenly she "got it" and tears began to flow down her cheeks. Her receiver was turned on.
When a mentor touches our hearts, when we are confident that he truly cares for us, we
are motivated to reply to his expectations.
How could you not want to reply to someone who says to you—as he once said to me:
"Tell me what I can do for you. I will do anything for you," and mean it with all his heart. |
