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Brahmavihāras: Compassion (2 of 5)

So now, in continuing with this second talk on compassion, karuṇā^[1].

As I said yesterday, there are many different definitions of compassion, and maybe there are as many forms of compassion as there are people. Compassion, as wonderful and profound as it is, should not be reduced to just one thing where we think, "We know what compassion is." In the range of what compassion can be, the Buddhist idea of karuṇā has its own flavor. It has its own particular way of being, or aspect, that is quite worthwhile to learn and understand.

I don't know exactly if it's the case, but I have been told or read that the word karuṇā comes from the same root as the word karma^[2], meaning action. Somehow in pre-Buddhist times, karuṇā referred to something called "sacred action"—a kind of special action which the Buddha or the religious world of his time utilized to refer to something close to what we call compassion. But one of the characteristics of the Buddhist discussion about karuṇā is that the Buddha primarily talked about it as something cultivated and experienced in meditation. He had another word, anukampā^[3], which was the expression of care—maybe compassion—that is translated into how we act in the world: act with care, act with compassion. But this very important word, karuṇā, is primarily something cultivated and discovered in meditation for many of us.

What makes that special, I think, is that meditation is a place where we're settling in to discover how to be free of the hindrances^[4]. Among other things, we learn to be free of ill will, free of compulsive desire, free of sloth, torpor, restlessness, anxiety, regrets, and doubt. We discover how not to have any clingings, to be deeply at ease and at peace here.

The whole experience of encountering suffering, or being concerned with the suffering of oneself and others, gets a very unique flavor when the hindrances and clinging are not there—or not in the forefront, not complicating it. It is a compassion that is free of tension, free of clinging, free of the distress that arises because of clinging.

In particular, one form of distress that can be born together with compassion—out of contact with suffering—is related to all the ways in which we cling to self. It is related to all the ways the self is wounded, hurt, easily triggered, or frightened. When the sense of self gets rectified, harmonized, softened, and dissolves in this wonderful field of goodwill in meditation, then self-concern, self-preoccupation, and egotism don't get tied up in the compassion. Compassion then becomes free of what's called the "near enemy" of compassion.

A near enemy^[5] is something that looks like a quality but isn't. Sometimes it's pity—that we feel pity for people—or a certain kind of distressed feeling of horror or alarm. We might feel strongly motivated, concerned, and caught in the experience of others' suffering. We worry about people and we might call that compassion. But maybe it's not quite compassion. It looks like it, but it isn't the kind of karuṇā where the reference point is this deep sense of inner well-being.

If we have that sense of well-being and happiness within that comes from letting go of clinging and self-preoccupation, then we avoid one of the confusions around compassion: the idea that if we're compassionate, we're entirely altruistic. This is the belief that we don't have any concern for ourselves, and we just give ourselves completely over to caring for other people as if we don't matter. It suggests it's fine for us to stay up all night, exhaust ourselves, and do whatever we can because we're supposed to be compassionate. But when the reference point is the sense of well-being from meditation, it becomes obvious that we're harming ourselves when we don't give any attention to ourselves.

So the compassion in Buddhism, this karuṇā, is not an altruistic compassion, but it's also not a selfish compassion. It's a compassion that is like a glow—I like to think of it as glowing from the inside, from our heart outwards. It takes care of the first human being that it encounters. Glowing from the heart, the first human being that this compassionate care encounters will be yourself—everything from the center of your heart outwards. So that also warrants this care, this love, this goodwill, and wanting well-being for yourself.

It flows out from there. Because as we get centered, nothing gets stuck, nothing gets limited. In these feelings and attitudes, there is an openness that is inclusive of the world around us and others. But it's not an inclusion and concern for others where we lose touch with what's here, because this karuṇā flows from the heart, through us, out into the world. The sense of well-being in meditation that allows us to connect to the heart is the very well-being and openness that allows compassion to flow outwards.

One of the characteristics of karuṇā that I mentioned yesterday is that it is not tied up in sorrow or distress. We don't take it on as a burden. Actually, there's a feeling of lightness or sweetness in this, even though the heart might be broken. There are things that break my heart regularly—with the suffering of the world, what people tell me they've experienced in their life, what I read in the news, or anything. There have been times when I've sobbed after reading the news because of what I see there. But I don't feel distressed, I don't feel upset, and I don't feel sorrow exactly. I just feel deeply heartbroken and maybe sad without sorrow, or sorrow without sadness. It's a poignant feeling that has no clinging to it. It has no self-preoccupation; it's not feeling sorry for myself or distressed within myself.

I'm quite welcoming and willing to have my heart broken and feel this poignant sadness for the world. But it has no weight to it, and I don't feel like I'm suffering with it. This compassion, this karuṇā, is not altruistic, but it is not self-centered; we ourselves are as important to care for as anyone else.

There's a balance then in compassion, with self-care and other-care. Though Buddhists tend not to like using the word "self-care," because it's such a magnet for self-preoccupation. The idea of self-centeredness is so powerful that even with our language, we should probably be a little careful so it doesn't become a magnet for self-concern. But as we begin to discover this inner capacity for karuṇā that comes from letting go of distraction, clinging, and the hindrances—and as I keep saying, for many of us it starts in meditation—then compassion arises in a field of freedom, ease, and absence of clinging that itself supports all kinds of transformations.

With compassion, and this deep letting go of the hindrances and selfishness, resentment can turn to forgiveness. Hostility can turn into friendliness, and anger can turn into kindness. Compassion is a force that prompts or encourages the movement of letting go of further clinging. Why hold on to anything when we keep hurting ourselves if we hold on to it? Jealousies are holding on, hostilities are holding on, ill will is holding on. The connection to this deeper well-being and compassion is like a medicine or a balm that transforms the places that are tough and hard inside of us.

Whether that's hostility toward ourselves or others, whether it's being angry and critical of ourselves or others, or all the different ways we suffer when we're deeply afraid or hurt, we can meet that with softness, compassion, kindness, and non-clinging. We can meet our own suffering with that part of us that is not self-preoccupied, to be present in a loving and careful way.

One of the things that meditation does for many of us is that it helps us meet our own suffering. Really knowing our own suffering helps us understand the suffering of others better, which helps us have compassion for them. But also, as we understand ourselves better, we understand the complications that might arise when we encounter others—when we give birth to the near enemies of compassion, or what's called the "far enemies" of compassion. The far enemy^[6] is horror or deep distress, or even cruelty. Some people respond to distress in the world—when it's so painful and unacceptable to be present for it—by just wanting to push it away, sometimes even in forms of cruelty.

So the reference point for karuṇā, this particular kind of compassion in the teachings of the Buddha, is meditation practice. Hopefully, over time as we discover the freedom that comes with meditation, it can give rise to a certain kind of clean compassion. It's like purified gold—purified of all the dross and impurities that can come along with it. Then we understand that compassion doesn't diminish us. Compassion is not stressful in and of itself. It's not sharing in the suffering of others in the sense of feeling their suffering exactly the same way. Rather, it's being with their suffering with tenderness, care, concern, and empathy. We are bringing this soft, tender attitude of care and love to meet them, to care for people, support them, and be their friends.

In this way, it is said that if you want to be happy in your life, be compassionate. Easier said than done, but the reference point for this little saying is this karuṇā that we discover, evoke, or develop in the freedom from clinging and the hindrances that meditation can lead to—if we can really be present here.

And if we can't be fully present here, then it's a wonderful thing to be compassionate for that. To be caring and loving for all the challenges we have, because sometimes it's through compassion that we finally learn how to really be present here for lived experience.

So I hope you will spend some time exploring and reflecting on the relationship between compassion and the absence of clinging, the absence of self-centeredness, but with the presence of self-love.

Thank you all very much.