When pur­chased goods are placed on a tra­di­tion­al scale, it tips under the sud­den impact, then slowly, swinging to and fro, draws near the exact value, and at last comes to rest. True, a few con­di­tions must be met – the scale must be lev­elled and cal­ib­rated – but bey­ond that, by earthly rules, it should work well. We may say, then, that it is the swinging that makes a scale truly usable. A moral scale also exists, whose degrees are the eth­ic­al norms and whose work­ing prin­ciple is swing and adjust­ment, and this spir­itu­al scale, too, is made dynam­ic by change. It is in a crisis that man's true self, his back­bone, is revealed. Without con­flicts we might believe we were already past every obstacle, that we had reached spir­itu­al peace and bal­ance, but the slight­est dis­turb­ance is enough, and at once the equi­lib­ri­um is upset. It is said that at times even a great saint loses his self-restraint, but what sets him apart from the aver­age man is that he soon regains his bal­ance.

Order can not only bring cos­mos, order­li­ness, out of chaos, but also give struc­ture to human life. At the same time, order­li­ness can be dull too, and bal­ance may grow mono­ton­ous. Sta­bil­ity may even tip over into ster­il­ity, when duty weighs life down, order kills play and the law treads on the neck of love. An abstract, sterile, con­cep­tu­al bal­ance is hos­tile to life, which is why many hold doubt to be dynam­ic and alive. Bal­ance is not dynam­ic – they say – and if bal­ance were good in itself, there would be no change, no growth, no sprout­ing. Yet without prun­ing the garden runs wild, and without rules there is no play. Rather, let sta­bil­ity be like the pres­ence of water, for the water level always adjusts to its cir­cum­stances, fills the space avail­able and, what is more, takes part in the great plan­et­ary cycle. Thus man's inner order, ful­filling his duties, run­ning the full course of his life by play­ing the part allot­ted to him, in fact con­trib­utes to the bal­ance of the uni­verse. Yet this part is not always a pleas­ant one, for without Judas there is no Christ, but without light there is no shad­ow either.

If a man has no inner moral scale, he will be steered by extern­al instru­ments of dis­cip­line, such as the com­pel­ling force of the laws, fate or karma. In the long run and on a cos­mic level, karma is the means of main­tain­ing moral bal­ance. It is karma that plays the bal­an­cing role between injustice and justice. As a man calls out into the world, so it echoes back to him. In other words, karma is not a pun­ish­ment from fate, still less a scourge from God, but a neces­sary cor­rec­tion in the course of life.

Bal­ance is also a term used in philo­sophy, and it denotes the state in which the motives of the will are equal and none of them can act as the decis­ive impulse. Some hold that in this case the will chooses freely. The help­less­ness that arises from such a situ­ation is the sub­ject of the par­able of Bur­id­an's ass, which, stand­ing between two equal bundles of hay at equal dis­tances, starves to death.

Some sup­pose that on plan­et Earth only a fixed store of spir­itu­al resources is avail­able: a fixed meas­ure of know­ledge, of suf­fer­ing, of love. The more people these are shared among, the less would fall to each indi­vidu­al. Even if we accept this egal­it­ari­an notion, let us apply it just to suf­fer­ing: the more people share in the suf­fer­ings of oth­ers, indeed of one anoth­er, the less weight will bear down on any one per­son's shoulders. Yet sci­ence holds that the dis­tri­bu­tion of mat­ter, too, though iso­trop­ic and homo­gen­eous, still has points of con­dens­a­tion, and this is true in a moral sense as well: bey­ond the aver­age eth­ic­al norms there are truly upright people, there exists pure good­ness and con­cen­trated hap­pi­ness. Two facts, how­ever, can cer­tainly be estab­lished: moral bal­ance depends on many factors, and false bal­ance is no bal­ance.