Dharma—or duty in the interest of balance—is an interesting subject that brings up a lot of complicated issues. By the way, that definition—“duty in the interest of balance”—is mine, but it’s taken from the ideas put forth in Chu’s book, Thick Face, Black Heart. Chu just defines it as “duty,” but all the examples she gives illustrate how duty, performed rightly, leads to balance.
In explaining the dictates of dharma, she gave one particularly good example. She was a manager in a manufacturing firm and had to travel to one of the firm’s branches, which was performing poorly. The manager of this branch was her friend, so she felt very torn in terms of whether she should come down hard on the company or be casual and friendly. In the end, she realized her dharma. (Remember it’s your duty, but always in the interest of establishing balance). Her dharma was to ask the company how she, as a representative of the parent company, could help them improve their sales. It required the company to work hard to come up with a plan for improvement, but offered all the support that was needed. In other words, a win-win solution.
Another good example of the concept was given to me once by a college professor.
He taught a philosophy class that seemed, well, purposefully confusing. I thought it was badly taught and that it frankly favored students who were total bullshit artists versus those who actually did the reading. About three out of ten students were the bullshit artists who enjoyed the class and the rest of us sat there dumbfounded every single class, utterly befuddled by what was being (supposedly) discussed.
After many weeks of this, the professor addressed the class one day, saying that several students had approached him and very frankly stated that they knew they would never excel at the class but wanted some directive as to how to simply pass. Their goal was to pass, not to excel, and they asked him what these basic requirements would be. He told the class that the only way to pass was to attempt to excel. That there was no shortcut. He then stated that graduate students were expected to be able to bullshit. That it was an art and a skill and that we would all do well to cultivate it. He basically admitted that it was a class in “how to bullshit your way through when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I have to admit I didn’t agree with his philosophy, but I did respect that he was being perfectly frank about it. I do agree, however, that the only way to get through something painful with the least amount of pain is to attempt to excel, rather than to attempt to squeak by. I had to take the class to graduate, and it was my dharma to do my best in it, so that’s what I did. As someone famous once said, “If you’re going to be a whore, be the best one in the house.”
It’s not easy for anyone to understand his or her dharma. We all make mistakes and discover our true dharma through trial and error. And, of course, this dharma changes as life changes and our duties change. But if we keep this philosophy in mind—that solutions to problems are based on each individual’s duty or role in their company, their family, their friendship clique, or any organization—then we begin to be able to answer the age-old question of what is “the right thing to do” (morally, professionally, etc.). For those who are self-employed, their dharma is to serve their clients. For those who are unemployed or destitute, their dharma is to preserve and improve themselves without harming others, thereby preserving balance in all things. Everyone has a dharma.
When discussing the idea of dharma—or duty with a view toward establishing balance—in the business world, it is inevitable that the subject of the disgruntled employee should come up. In Thick Face, Black Heart, Chu talks about this common dilemma: when one is duty-bound to serve a manager who is fool, then what do you do?
