The more you know yourself, the more patience you have for what

Hear, O seeker of truth, the words of Erik Erikson, a sage of the human soul: “The more you know yourself, the more patience you have for what you see in others.” In these few syllables lies a wisdom deep as the roots of the earth. For the man who does not know himself is quick to judge, swift to anger, and blind to the struggles of his neighbor. But the one who has journeyed inward, who has wrestled with his own fears, shadows, and frailties, becomes gentle toward others, seeing not enemies in their faults but mirrors of his own humanity.

The origin of this wisdom is the lifelong study of the human heart. Erikson, a master of psychology, understood that the path of self-knowledge is not an ornament for the wise, but the foundation of compassion. For when you have uncovered the frailties within your own soul—your envy, your doubt, your restless longings—you cannot despise another for stumbling, for you too have stumbled. The arrogant strike quickly because they are strangers to themselves. But the humble, who know the weight of their own imperfections, learn patience, and in patience, they learn mercy.

The ancients proclaimed this truth in their tales. Recall the story of the Stoic emperor Marcus Aurelius, who in his Meditations wrote that when confronted by the faults of others, he must remember that he himself has erred. His practice of self-reflection gave him the strength to govern with restraint, not lashing out in scorn but bearing the burdens of empire with calm forbearance. He knew himself, and therefore he could endure others. His reign shone not with cruelty, but with dignity, for the man who conquers himself no longer needs to conquer his fellows.

Consider also the life of Mahatma Gandhi. In his struggle against injustice, he faced insult, imprisonment, and violence. Yet he did not return hatred for hatred. Why? Because he had walked the long inward road of self-knowledge, learning to master his own anger, his own despair. And because he knew himself, he could see the oppressor not as a monster but as a man lost in ignorance. His patience was born not of weakness, but of strength, and it became the weapon by which empires were undone.

Thus the meaning of Erikson’s words is clear: the path to tolerance does not begin with the other, but with the self. He who refuses to look inward will always be offended by the outward world. But he who has stood in the mirror of his own heart, who has seen both his light and his darkness, will find compassion springing forth like water from a deep well. This is the secret: that self-knowledge is the root of peace with others.

What lesson then must future generations carry? It is this: if you would live in harmony with men, do not spend your days dissecting their flaws. Instead, enter the chambers of your own soul. There, confront your weaknesses and embrace your humanity. Once you see yourself clearly, you will cease demanding perfection from your brothers and sisters. Instead, you will walk among them with the steady gift of patience, knowing that all are fellow travelers, stumbling toward the same horizon.

Therefore, let your actions be thus: cultivate reflection, whether in silence, in writing, or in prayer. Acknowledge your own failings without despair, and learn from them. Practice patience when others falter, reminding yourself that you too have fallen. And above all, remember Erikson’s teaching: the more you understand your own depths, the gentler and more steadfast you will become toward the world. For in knowing yourself, you learn to love others—not with blind passion, but with wise patience, which is the crown of the soul.