Service Before Self: A Timeless Ideal in a Changing World

 

Service Before Self: A Timeless Ideal in a Changing World

To a hard-nosed pragmatist, phrases like “service before self” or “selfless service” can sound like outdated sermons, disconnected from modern realities. In today’s marketplace, the word *service* is often borrowed by clever businesses as a marketing mask—used to disguise the single-minded pursuit of profit by any means. In such a climate, genuine selflessness appears rare, almost naïve. Yet this view tells only half the story. Just as night exists alongside day, exploitation coexists with sincerity. Beneath the noise of commercial language, authentic service still survives.

Indian thought has long illustrated this deeper meaning of service through stories that speak to the heart rather than the ledger. One such episode comes from the life of **Sri Krishna**. When Krishna fell gravely ill, he declared that he would recover only if someone placed the dust from their feet upon his head. Those around him hesitated, fearing sin in offering foot-dust to a divine being. Yet the Gopis, moved by love rather than calculation, stepped forward without a second thought. Their act was not driven by reward or fear, but by pure concern for the one they loved.

The Gopis’ gesture captures the essence of selfless service: acting without weighing personal gain or loss. They did not pause to measure consequences, social judgment, or spiritual risk. Their devotion was complete because it was unburdened by self-interest. In that moment, service was not a duty imposed from outside but an inner impulse flowing naturally from love. This is why such stories endure—they reveal a moral clarity that transcends time.

India’s cultural memory is rich with similar examples. Hospitality elevated to sacrifice, compassion placed above comfort, and service regarded as sacred duty have shaped the ethos of this land. Many of its greatest figures shared a single ideal: service to society before concern for self. They gave their energy, their comfort, and often their lives for the good of others. Their immortality lies not in monuments, but in the values they embodied and passed on.

In the modern era, this spirit found renewed expression through **Swami Vivekananda**. He reminded the world that love for humanity is the highest form of devotion. His message was simple yet radical: serving fellow human beings is serving the divine itself. By reconnecting spirituality with social responsibility, he restored dignity to the idea of sacrifice in an age moving toward material ambition.

Skeptics may still question the relevance of selfless service today. Yet a society built solely on selfishness cannot sustain itself. While personal ambition can drive individual progress, it cannot by itself create harmony or collective well-being. True growth requires moving beyond the narrow shell of self-interest. In Indian philosophy, the highest stage of self-development—liberation or *moksha*—is impossible without transcending selfish motives.

There is also wisdom in recognizing the role of age and perspective. Youth, by nature, is more open to ideals and collective dreams. A Chinese saying captures this balance: if a young person never thinks of society, he lacks vision; if an old person thinks of nothing else, he lacks perspective. Early life is the season of dedication, when the seeds of selfless service can be sown. If nurtured then, the principle of service before self remains not an outdated slogan, but a living force shaping individuals and societies alike.

When Reason Trips Over Itself

Paradoxes are the mischievous tricks the mind plays on itself. Write on one side of a paper, “The statement on the reverse is true,” then flip it and write, “The statement on the other side is false.” Instantly, you are trapped in a loop. Neither side can settle the matter, and logic ties itself into a knot with no exit.

Classic examples sharpen this confusion. Consider the claim: all men are liars. If I am a man and say this aloud, then I must be lying—which means the statement cannot be true. Yet if it is false, then not all men are liars, which brings us back to questioning the original claim. The argument spirals endlessly, mocking our desire for clear answers.

Despite such traps, reason has been humanity’s greatest tool. Through it, *Homo sapiens* built civilizations, explored oceans and galaxies, and unlocked the atom’s power. Rational thought gave us science, technology, and progress. Yet hidden within reason itself is a flaw that occasionally turns it against its own foundations.

This self-negation is symbolized by the ancient image of the Ouroboros, the serpent that devours its own tail. Reason, when pushed to extremes, can erase itself through paradox. When thought cancels thought, some traditions see not failure but transcendence—a doorway into mysticism, where the mind steps beyond logic.

As **Søren Kierkegaard** observed, when the ship of reason breaks on the rocks of its own limits, one must take a leap—not of logic, but of faith. Similarly, Zen teachers confront students with koans, riddles that defy rational solution, forcing insight beyond analysis.

Ancient thinkers also delighted in such puzzles. **Zeno of Elea** argued that motion itself is an illusion, while playwright **Tom Stoppard** humorously suggested that **Saint Sebastian** must have died of fear, since Zeno’s logic implies no arrow could ever reach him.

In the *Critique of Pure Reason*, **Immanuel Kant** framed the ultimate paradox: did the universe begin in time, or has it always existed? Both answers collapse under scrutiny. The lesson is humbling—reason is not always reasonable about itself. Trust reason completely? Paradoxically, you just can’t. A paradox may be a game, a philosophical doorway, or a path to insight—worthy of applause, even if only with one hand.

IF HE EXIST

I drive joy there was a doctor in Benaras who spent 7 minutes in the morning and evening for mediation on God. Knowing this, his colleagues and friends laughed at him. One day they argued that he was wasting 7 precious minutes on something, which he had been misled into believing. The doctor replied, “Well, if God does not exist, I agree that I am wasting 7 minutes a day. But, if He exists? I am afraid you are wasting your entire lifetime. I prefer to waste 7 minutes rather than a lifetime. Why should you grudge me the 7minutes joy that I derive 4m.-

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