Compassion in Action
Reacting to aggression with more aggression usually creates more aggression.
The Buddha taught the Middle Way, but I don’t understand the Middle Way as an abdication of action, responsibility, or even our passions. It doesn’t mean standing back from the world or refusing to take a position. It means acting without being carried away by the momentum of extremes.
Extremes, in my experience, tend to be egotistical. The more depressed I become, the more everything becomes about me and my problems. The more elated I become, the more everything becomes about me and my ideas. At either extreme, I lose some of my ability to see other people clearly. And to be able to access what is directly in front of me.
I think the same things happen socially and politically. As situations becomes more extreme, they become increasingly about ideas, identities, and abstractions—and less about actual human beings.
But before we can heal the world we can begin by healing ourselves. By healing I mean reconnecting. Bringing ourselves together by accepting all of who we are. R.L. Wing said in his discussion of the I Ching that we are the laboratory of the universe. So, let’s begin treating ourselves as test subjects in order to
If we want to understand how aggression grows in society, we can notice how it grows within us. What happens when someone criticizes me? Do I immediately prepare my defense? Do I stop listening? Do I turn that person into an enemy? Do I become more interested in winning than in understanding what is actually happening?
What happens within a person also happens among people:
As the person, so the family.
As the family, so the community.
As the community, so the country.
And as the country, so the world.
That makes our own lives a practical place to begin.
When we come from the heart, things are rarely neat or easily defined. The heart may seem muddy when we try to grasp or explain it, but it can be like a rainbow when we allow ourselves to experience it. It reminds us:
These are the people I live with. This is my world now.
How can I promote what I believe is right without demonizing anybody, pushing anyone aside, or declaring that someone no longer belongs?
This does not mean becoming passive. It does not mean pretending that harmful behavior is acceptable. It does not mean watering down our ideals until they become pablum for the masses.
It might mean telling someone firmly that their behavior is hurting us without attacking their character. It might mean pausing during an argument long enough to ask ourselves, “What am I actually trying to accomplish here?” It might mean listening for the fear beneath another person’s anger without surrendering our own position.
It could mean correcting misinformation without humiliating the person who believes it. It could mean standing against an unjust policy while refusing to hate everyone who supports it. It could mean setting a clear boundary without trying to punish the person on the other side of it.
It can also mean noticing the aggression we direct toward ourselves. If I respond to every mistake with shame and contempt, I am practicing the very kind of violence I say I oppose. Perhaps nonviolent activism begins with learning how to correct ourselves without hating ourselves.
These may seem like small experiments, but they matter. If I can disagree without humiliating, set a boundary without hatred, listen without surrendering my judgment, and admit a mistake without collapsing into shame, then I am practicing—in a small but real way—the qualities I want to see in the world.
This is not a retreat from action. It is preparation for wiser action.
The same principle can extend into public life. I would love to see candidates in the next presidential election explain why they believe they are the right person for the job without tearing down everyone else. I would like to see people disagree clearly and passionately while still demonstrating that a broad coalition can function as a community.
That would be a form of nonviolent activism: pursuing change without creating another enemy, holding firmly to our convictions without surrendering our compassion, and showing that unity does not require uniformity.
Perhaps this is what it means to move toward the bright spots—the openings, the places where understanding and healing are still possible.
We may not be able to heal the whole world at once. But each of us has one human life close at hand in which to begin. If we can discover within ourselves how firmness and compassion can coexist, perhaps we can carry that discovery into our families, our communities, our country, and eventually our world.