Ian asks:
> Is the will to love more interesting than the will to power?
One possible response below.
Brian Dauth Queer Buddhist Resister
Violence, Power, and Love
Nagabodhi ponders on the Buddhist's response
"Moreover, brethren, though robbers, who are highwaymen, should with a two-handed saw carve you in pieces limb by limb, yet if the mind of any one of you should be offended thereat, such an one is no follower of my gospel." Kamcupamasutta, Majjhima-Nikkaya I ~28-29, trans F.L. Woodward
It must be more than twenty years since I first read these words, yet I can still recall the enormous force with which their unambiguous conviction hit me. The sentiment behind them was hardly new; I had grown up in a culture where the idea of 'loving your enemy' was a stock platitude. But there was, and is, something about the specific - and uncomfortably graphic - detail in which the Buddha chose to express himself that demanded an entirely new kind of attention, reflection, and response. Did the Buddha really mean what he was saying, or was he exaggerating a little to make a point - the nice familiar one about loving your enemies, and perhaps occasionally 'turning the other cheek'?
There seem to be two aspects to the problem. To put up with enemies, and even to meet their assaults with an attempt at positive thought, feeling, and action, is one thing. But to be able, in the heat - and perhaps the agony - of the moment, to feel nothing but love for them demands a state of such profound and complete preparedness that the mind staggers at the prospect of the work involved. Then there are the enemies themselves. Like countless people with whom I've spoken after their first attempt at the Metta Bhavana meditation practice (the development of loving-kindness), I have sometimes wondered whether there might not be a few 'enemies' who deserve to languish forever in that category: 'Should one really try to develop metta for someone like Hitler?' 'What about the South African Apartheid government?' 'And what about Saddam Hussein?'
Regarding my first problem, there seemed to be no getting away from the fact that the Buddha really did mean what he was saying. Had he not confronted Devadatta, Angulimala, and other villains with tolerance and love? Had he not offered the full benefit of his teaching to Ajatasattu, a man who had taken the throne by killing his own father?
The preparatory work involved was the path he had discovered and shared. In offering this precept, therefore, he was not inviting us to pretend that we felt love when we did not, or to try to ignore the malice in the world - and our suffering - by an effort of sheer will: a two-handed saw, I fear, would cut its way as efficiently through to the truth of one's fundamental emotional state as it would to one's bones! But this is the very point of the Buddha's message. In choosing such a powerful image he was not only guarding against the possibility of a purely sentimental or superficial response: he was implicitly assuring us that a point is reached, somewhere along the spiritual path, where our identification with, and experience of, the universe, others, our bodies, and even our 'selves', will be dramatically different. As the Mahayana scholar/poet, Shantideva, says when talking of self-sacrifice:
At the beginning, the Guide of the World encourages the giving of such things as food. Later, when accustomed to this, one may progressively start to give away even one's flesh. At such a time when my mind is developed to the point of regarding my body like food, then what hardships would there be when it comes to giving away my flesh?
from A Guide to the Bodhisattva's Way of Life
Kshanti, 'patient forbearance', is to be practised at all times, right from the beginning of our spiritual career, but it will only be 'perfected' when it is infused with the highest wisdom. And that wisdom is the fruit of all our practice. So practise we must.
The solution to this first problem naturally goes some way towards providing a solution to the second. When we no longer see things in a deluded, ego-centred way; when we see the universe and all it contains, including our bodies, moods, thoughts, feelings, and selves - and those of others - as a dynamic interplay of ephemeral conditions, then, naturally enough, we will no longer see enemies as enemies in quite the way we do now. To come down to earth a little, we may see them as helpless beings trapped in webs of their own conditioning, their own delusions, their own impulses - perhaps even causing themselves far more suffering than they are capable of inflicting upon others. And our spontaneous response towards them can only be metta, in the form of compassion.
But, meanwhile, while we do not yet see them in that new way, and while their actions continue to cause very tangible suffering, what are we to make of them? And what are we to do? What are we to do about the Adolf Hitlers and the Saddam Husseins, or, for that matter, the noisy neighbour and the vindictive colleague?
If the emotional reflex, or aspect, of wisdom is a love born of selflessness, and its dynamic fruits are disinterested actions rooted in that love, then it is perhaps worth wondering what might be the emotional reflex, and what the fruits, of ignorance. The reflex, surely, is none other than the well-known triad of greed, hatred, and delusion born of self-centredness, while the dynamic fruits are ego-bolstering acts rooted of course in greed, hatred, and delusion, but dependent on the power contained in those emotions, and in our bodies, for their accomplishment.
No matter how far we may be from Enlightenment, we would do well to try to see the difference between the exercise of love and of power, whether in others or in ourselves. Sangharakshita has spoken of a love mode and a power mode, and in gaining some clarity over this distinction we can move towards a recipe for Buddhist action.
By and large, the world - both metaphorical and actual - is driven by power. To get what they want, and to avoid what they do not want, people use physical force, moral blackmail, manipulation gross and subtle, economic pressure, political platforms; play seduction games, offer threats, make false promises, and so on. They deploy whatever power they have, either by exercising it or by withholding it. With such forces constantly at play, is it surprising that things sometimes get out of hand?
In such a world, a Buddhist has two major responsibilities. Firstly, he or she must practise the Dharma in its fullness so as to become, eventually, a beacon of wisdom and love in the midst of darkness. Secondly, by applying awareness and discrimination, every effort should be made to refrain from functioning in the power mode and to function instead in the love mode. This means, among other things, abandoning all forms of coercion for reasoned discussion and dialogue, abandoning manipulation for direct and truthful communication, abandoning resentment and grudges for honest self-examination, abandoning undermining gossip for constructive criticism and - when appropriate - a wholehearted rejoicing in merits.
Actions issuing from the love mode are creative, energetic, and far more effective than most people probably realize. Arguably, however, there might be times, despite one's best efforts, when the love mode does not seem to be getting through, and when an excursion into the power mode might seem likely to avert great harm: with the best will in the world, we cannot always answer for the intransigence of others. Again arguably, at such a time one might, reluctantly, resort to the power mode - but only as a last resort. In taking such a step, we must above all be certain that we are not giving way to our own ignorance, greed, or hatred, and that we are using the power mode only in the service of the love mode. Thus, a caring parent might smack a child when reasoned discussion on the wisdom of pulling his sister's hair, or of placing his hand in the fire, has foundered. In a broader arena, it may be that the power mode can be most safely deployed by withholding one's power (Note: similar to what Jon J. posted about non-cooperation. A person cooperates with violence and perpetuates it by returning violence when it is encoountered.). Gandhi, actually a very shrewd and manipulative politician, made great, and often benign, use of non-violent, 'passive' resistance. This must be preferable to violence itself, but any resort to the power mode carries the seeds of danger, and should be forsaken as quickly as possible.