Life & Wisdom Quote by Thomas Kempis

A quiet indictment disguised as a gentle observation: we demand precision and mercy for ourselves, then appraise other people with a crude, crooked scale. Thomas a Kempis, the devotional writer behind The Imitation of Christ, is working in the moral universe of late medieval Christianity, where the drama isn’t self-expression but self-scrutiny. The line aims less to shame than to recalibrate, pulling the reader back toward an interior discipline that treats judgment as a spiritual hazard.

Its intent is surgical. “Weigh” implies deliberation and fairness, not the reflexive snap verdict that social life runs on. “Balance” is the key metaphor: justice as measurement, but also as symmetry. The subtext is that our moral math is rigged. We treat our own flaws as complicated stories (fatigue, fear, upbringing, bad timing) while treating our neighbor’s flaws as proof of character. Kempis doesn’t name hypocrisy outright; he lets the reader supply it, which makes the recognition more personal and harder to dodge.

Context sharpens the bite. In a world of monasteries, confessional practice, and tight-knit communities, one person’s small failures were easy to notice and easier to narrate. Kempis offers a counter-habit: apply to others the same interpretive generosity you reserve for yourself. It’s not just about being “nice.” It’s about salvation as a project of perception: if you can’t judge fairly, you can’t love properly, and if you can’t love properly, the whole religious enterprise collapses into performative piety. The line lands because it targets the hidden place where moral certainty feels most righteous: the comparison.