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Brahmaviharas: Compassion (5 of 5)

So this is the last talk on compassion and the Buddhist concept of karuṇā^[1]. In the early Buddhist tradition, the reference point for this karuṇā is meditation practice—meditation where we become free of the hindrances, where we become free of clinging and hatred, and where we become free of preoccupation. With that, we become free of obligation, free of idealism, and free of all these things that keep us locked in, limited, closed down, or agitated.

What is it that gets born out of that? What has to do with caring for the suffering of oneself and the suffering of the world? With that reference point, what is the flavor and the character of compassion that has a quality of freedom within it? Many of us can have the experience of being touched in a compassionate, caring way by others. In the very movement of compassion, we feel something open up—something different than self-concern or the usual reference points from which a "me," a "you," a "self," and an "other" operate.

I don't know if this story touches this for you, but it does for me. I don't know if it's a true story, but maybe that doesn't matter. It was in Washington, D.C., on a very beautiful spring day. Some of the great trees were flowering with big, beautiful white flowers. There was a beautiful blue sky and crisp, clear air, and everyone was delighted by the freshness of it all. A person who goes to work every day walked by a blind man who sat on the sidewalk with a begging cup, hoping for some spare change.

On that day, the person who was walking by noticed that there was no money in the person's cup. The passerby asked, "Can I make a sign for you?" and the blind man said yes. So he wrote a sign, propped it up against the cup, and went on to work. Coming back at the end of the day, the man was still sitting there, and now there was money in the cup. The passerby stopped and said, "How is it going?" The blind man said, "Oh, it's going great. I've never received so much before. What did you write on the sign?" The passerby said, "I wrote: 'Today is a beautiful day, and I'm blind.'"

For some people, our sense of common humanity, our empathy, and our understanding means recognizing that many people who have sight are enjoying something special, unique, vibrant, and alive on an uplifting, beautiful day. A person who is blind can maybe smell the freshness of the day, but can't see the blue sky or the flowers. It touches something in us. Wanting to extend ourselves to support such a person—to write a sign, to offer some money—something about that movement is no longer about self. Especially if we're coming out of meditation, when we're not so busy, self-preoccupied, and caught up in thoughts of what should and shouldn't be, something opens in us: "Of course I feel for this person. I have compassion. I am with this person."

I would like to propose that caring for a situation like this, for it to truly be karuṇā, comes out of meditation or similar places. That way of caring is nourishing for the person it is offered to, and it is nourishing for the person who gives it. Nourishing and being nourished are the same thing. We should have that as the reference point for compassion. We look for that, and we are careful if it is missing. If we don't feel nourished, then we are probably operating under obligation, duty, a big "should," or maybe even a harshness inside: "Gil, you're supposed to be compassionate, you better do it now, otherwise you'll be a bad person."

Instead, we learn to recognize and know deeply in ourselves what it is like to be nourished and nourishing. That can be for oneself, but also in our relationship to the world around us. To be generous, and to have that be a kind of nourishment for ourselves. To have goodwill, and to have that be nourishing for ourselves. To have compassion, and to have that be nourishing for ourselves.

Compassion and Liberation

This karuṇā has a very close relationship to liberation or freedom in Buddhism. The more free we become in meditation or in other ways, the more we have a reference point for understanding the simplicity, the clarity, and the beauty of compassion that helps us become happy. It is a certain kind of happiness. Because the tragedies of the world are so big, there is a response to that tragedy where maybe we don't feel "happy," but there is a nourishment in it. There is a radiance of goodness that is there when we don't get caught up in thoughts of horror, dismay, anger, or agitation. It doesn't land on this place of self that says, "Oh, I have to do something, but I'm confused, what should I do?" It simply lands on this place that sees, "Today is a beautiful day, and I am blind," and something in us opens up. "Let me offer something here. Let me share something with this person."

Compassion practice, which I think Diana taught you yesterday, can be a formal meditation practice as well, so we don't leave the cultivation of our compassion to chance. We can intentionally cultivate it, develop it, and let it grow. It has been one of the great gifts of my life to watch and develop my sense of compassion. I had no idea when I started meditation that it was such a fantastic thing to have compassion be awakened in me. It is possible to do that intentionally.

An important part of that is the way in which compassion both becomes a form of freedom and also teaches us more about freedom: freedom from self, freedom from clinging, freedom from hatred, freedom from sensual desires and comfort, freedom from our opinions and stories, and freedom from self-preoccupation and self-attachment. The deeper we go with this meditation and compassion, and the more we are nourished by it, the more we experience a nourishing alternative to the pursuit of sensual pleasure. We find a nourishing alternative to being caught in our opinions and stories, and an alternative to self-preoccupation. It isn't that we let go of self-preoccupation and are left with nothing; rather, we find this place of tenderness and nourishment within.

The Path to Deep Release

The deeper our compassion gets, the stronger it becomes, and the more concentrated we become. It sets the stage for the deepest liberation that Buddhism points to. That is when the mind is truly peaceful, at ease, and settled on itself. Then there can be insight into the nature of things, including insight into the nature of compassion. There is the insight that even compassion is impermanent, inconstant, and changing. Even compassion is something that arises out of the constructing forces of the mind and the heart.

There is something that is beyond the constructing forces of the heart and the mind, something outside of what is inconstant and impermanent. That which is beyond and outside of it is not a thing, but the absence of all clinging and the absence of all self-preoccupation. It is such a radical absence that it really gets our attention. We realize, "Wow, it really is possible after all to live this life without any clinging or attachment whatsoever." It's a phenomenal thing to know that.

That freedom from clinging itself clears the dust from the windows of our hearts. When that happens, it is so much easier to have compassion and love, because there are no smudges or dust in the way of that tenderness and warmth. We are touched by the world, and the heart touches the world. We find there is a whole new level of what compassion can be after some really deep letting go. Compassion can be part of the path to letting go because it is supportive, helps us relax, and provides a compelling foundation to settle into. Then, it can become the stepping stone for the profound releasing that follows.

Going Forth and Acting on Compassion

For the Buddha, once a person has experienced deep release, the heart is open, and compassion is awakened in a greater way. His instruction is then to go forth out into the world for the welfare of humans and gods, for the welfare and happiness of all beings. In other words, live to care for this world. Live for the welfare of the world—not because we feel we should, but because that is what the heart wants to do.

Acting on our compassion is extremely important. To not act on our compassionate impulses is a kind of restriction, a closing down, a diminishing, and sometimes even a kind of wounding of ourselves. If we have an impulse for compassion, act on it. There is a feedback loop there, too. The more we act on compassion—with as pure a compassion as we can muster—the more that compassion feeds back to us and supports us.

Just holding onto the idea of compassion, or thinking "I am compassionate" solely through meditation, really shortchanges us. It is in the enactment of compassion that compassion truly comes to fulfillment and completion. Sometimes the practice of compassion involves acting as if you have compassion, knowing very well you are acting. But sometimes acting "as if" evokes, wakes up, and clears a space for an innate capacity of compassion to grow, develop, and catch up to what we are actually acting out.

The brahmavihara^[2] of compassion is one of the great gifts and treasures of this tradition of practice. May you treasure whatever capacity for compassion—karuṇā—that you have hints of and have touched into. Treasure it, value it, and make room for it. May it take a strong place in your life. May you benefit from that, and may you benefit all beings from that. Thank you.