Ruthless Compassion
February 22, 2010
by Brad Arnold
Bookmark and Share

This is part one of a two part series in which I will examine an alternate point of view in contrast to the approach of many, if not most, spiritual seekers. Please note and understand that I do not necessarily espouse, support, or endorse any of these points of view or approaches; I mean these articles merely as an exploratory analysis of "the other side of the coin," as it were.

Sometimes, as painful as it may be to watch, the kindest, most compassionate thing we can do is let someone bump their nose a few times in order to learn the lesson that's being presented... Think of it as teaching a man to fish, versus giving him fish, on a cosmic scale.

In Buddhism, there is a phenomenon refered to as Ruthless Compassion. The idea is that the compassionate part of one's nature may lean one toward helping other seekers with their problems and misfortunes... but is that really the compassionate thing to do? We're all here, in this life, on this planet, because we have things to learn, trials to face, and karma to work off; sometimes, the TRULY compassionate thing to do when you see someone struggling with some life lesson is... nothing.

That's right. I said nothing.

If someone has a lesson to learn, and you do the work for them, essentially, you have robbed them of the opportunity to learn that lesson... in extreme cases, this could even lever a person into an unnecessary additional incarnation, leading to a negative impact on your own karma! Sometimes, as painful as it may be to watch, the kindest, most compassionate thing we can do is let someone bump their nose a few times in order to learn the lesson that's being presented. Granted, some people enter the world better equipped to deal with these challenges than others, but nonetheless, we all deserve the opportunity to deal with them ourselves before someone else steps in. Think of it as teaching a man to fish, versus giving him fish, on a cosmic scale.

Extending this notion a bit further, I present to you an idiom that I use rather often, but which I loathe to my core: "I was biting my tongue."

When do we use this idiom? We use it when we have something to say which we, for whatever reason, believe either will be received badly, or is simply inappropriate. Now, I understand that when someone in the workplace leaves themself open for a poignant off-color joke, biting one's tongue is a survival skill. No one needs to get fired over a crude joke. These are not the circumstances that irk me. What bothers me are the circumstances when someone leads with their chin, leaving themselves open for scathing rebuttal, or, worse, when someone has said or done something to raise the ire of someone else, and the rebuttal or the ire must be clamped down upon, for fear of causing conflict or confrontation.

My question is this: WHY do we as a species feel that anger is an inappropriate reaction? Why do we bite back on the feelings that arise natuarally, choosing instead to simmer in our own anger, and let the people that bring it forth go on their merry way? Who among us has not been angry at someone in this manner, and then snapped savagely at some other, undeserving person, when "the straw that broke the camel's back" finally arrived, and our control finally gave way? I think we've all been there. Granted, there are healthy and unhealthy ways to express anger, and I certainly to not believe that we should lash out at will whenever we feel put upon... but as in the example above about compassion, is it not a disservice to others to protect them from the fact that they have made us angry? Do they not deserve the honesty of communication to be allowed to know that something they said was received less than well?

In the end, we must each decide what types of intervention and reaction are appropriate to each situation... but it is my assertion that the filter through which we edit said behaviours deserves another, more critical look.

home | articles

All writings, video, and photographs are Copyright © 1997 - 2010 Jeffrey Pierce