Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life

by Karen Armstrong

When you read the newspaper or watch the news, take note of the way the Four Fs, often cloaked in high-minded, patriotic, or religious rhetoric, still dominate public affairs and human behavior. They are not confined to the fundamentalist or conservative camp, but can also be detected in some so-called liberal discourse.

We know from our own experience that deeds have long-term consequences. We are all affected, consciously and unconsciously, by the unkindness, neglect, contempt, and violence we have endured in the past. This is also true of whole nations: persecution, chronic warfare, bad governance, exploitation, marginalization, occupation, humiliation, enslavement, exile, impoverishment, and defamation all leave psychic scars that persist long after the event. They affect the way the new generation is brought up and can infiltrate the religious, intellectual, ethical, and social development of a country. People who have been taught to despise themselves cannot easily respect others. Those who have been brutalized by hatred, persecution, or oppression cannot readily cultivate the trust that makes it possible to reach out to others. We should ask whether our own nation has contributed to the problems of a particular region and realize that, in our global world, if we ignore the pain of a people, it is likely that at some point this negligence will rebound on us.

When you get up in the morning, remember those who planted, picked, and spun the cotton of your sheets and who collected, treated, and exported the beans you grind for your morning coffee. You enjoy their products, so you have a responsibility for them, especially if they were working in poor conditions. Who baked the bread you toast for breakfast? Become aware of the labor that went into the production of each slice. As you set off to work, reflect on the thousands of workers and engineers who build and maintain the roads, cars, railroads, planes, trains, and underground transport on which you rely. Continue this exercise throughout the day.

Letting go of our “tribal” egotism can become a spiritual process, which is beautifully illustrated in the story of the Prophet Muhammad’s Night Journey (isr’) to Jerusalem and his Ascension to Heaven (mi‘rj).7 This is a mythos; it describes an archetypal process rather than an accurate occurrence.

The word hijrah itself suggests a painful rupture, its root HJR meaning “he cut himself off from friendly or loving communication or intercourse … he ceased … to associate with them.”

But Muhammad’s Night Journey reverses this pattern. Instead of ending in a tribal reunion, the journey finishes in faraway Jerusalem, the holy city of Jews and Christians. Instead of glorifying hatred and war, it is a story of harmony and transcendence of the tribal group. One night, so the story goes, when Muhammad was sleeping beside the Kabah, he was awakened by Gabriel, the spirit of revelation, and miraculously conveyed to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. There he was greeted by all the great prophets of the past, who invited him to preach to them before he began his ascent, like a Jewish mystic, through the seven heavens to the throne of God. The story falls reverently silent when Muhammad enters the divine presence, but it is clear that it was based on the surrender (islam) of the ego: “In awe, he lost his speech and lost himself—Muhammad did not know Muhammad here, saw not himself.”11

The mythos is an expression of the Prophet’s yearning to bring the Arabs, who had long felt that they were off the map of the divine plan, into the heart of the monotheistic family. Instead of shunning the newcomer as a pretender, the other prophets welcome him as a brother.

At each stage of his journey through the seven heavens, Muhammad meets and talks with Adam, Jesus, John the Baptist, Joseph, Enoch, Moses, Aaron, and Abraham. In one version of the story, Moses gives him advice about the number of times that Muslims should pray each day. It is a story of pluralism: the prophets pray together, embrace one another, and share their insights. It has become a paradigm of au...

The Sufis, the mystics of Islam, who have a particular devotion to this story, developed an outstanding appreciation of other faiths. It is quite common for a Sufi poet to cry in ecstasy that he is no longer a Jew, a Christian, or a Muslim and is equally at home in a synagogue, mosque, temple, or church, because o...

As we leave this step, we should meditate on the words of the influential Sufi philosopher Muid ad-Din ibn al-Arabi (1165–1240). His warning against religious exclusivity can also be applied to any “tribal” chauvinism. Do not attach yourself to any particular creed so exclusively that you disbelieve all the rest; otherwise you will lose much good, nay, you will fail to recognize the real truth of the matter. God, the omnipresent and omnipotent, is not limited by any one creed, for, he says, “Wheresoever ye turn, there is the face of Allah.”12 Everyone praises what he believes; his god is his own creature, and i...

Yet those who live in a democracy may find themselves voting for politicians who have a partial or even tribal worldview. We owe it to our own nation and to others to develop a wider, more panoptic knowledge and understanding of our neighbors.

After the atrocities of September 11, 2001, I was often taken aback by the way some Christians berated the violence and intolerance they attributed to Islam, showing not only an embarrassing ignorance of Muslim history but a surprising blindness to the crusades, inquisitions, persecutions, and wars of religion that had scarred their own faith. I often felt that alongside programs titled “Understanding Islam” there should be a parallel course called “Understanding Christianity.” There was also a worrying lack of awareness about Western behavior during the colonial era, which had contributed to some of our current problems. A double standard, albeit unintended, violates our integrity and damages our credibility.

Christina found that the way to transcend the overwhelming memories of her appalling childhood was to work practically to alleviate the pain of others. If we hug the memory of our own grief to ourselves, we can close our minds to other people’s wretchedness. We may even think that our unhappy experiences give us special privileges.

We cannot allow ourselves to feel paralyzed by the immensity of global misery. Christina’s story reminds us of the significant difference that one person can make.

In the ancient world, foreigners were dangerous; because they were not bound by the local vendetta, they could kill and plunder with impunity. Even today, very few of us would willingly bring three total strangers off the street into our own homes.

During the third century BCE, shortly before the terrible conclusion of the Warring States era, the anonymous Chinese author we know as Laozi pointed out that no matter how good his intentions, violence always recoils upon the perpetrator.

“Bring it to a conclusion, but do not boast; bring it to a conclusion, but do not brag; bring it to a conclusion, but do not be arrogant; bring it to a conclusion, but only where there is no choice; bring it to a conclusion, but do not intimidate.”4

The only person who is fit to rule is the man who has overcome the habit of selfishness: The reason there is great affliction is that I have a self. If I had no self, what affliction would I have? Therefore to one who honours the world as his self The world may be entrusted, And to one who loves the world as one’s self The world may be consigned.7

Jesus was asking us to show courage when he told his disciples, “Offer the wicked man no resistance.”9 But I say this to you who are listening: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who treat you badly. To the man who slaps you on one cheek, present the other cheek too; to the man who takes your cloak from you, do not refuse your tunic. Give to everyone who asks you, and do not ask for your property back from the man who robs you. Treat others as you would like them to treat you.10

At the end of his life, Gandhi claimed that he no longer hated anybody. He might hate the oppressive system of British colonialism, but he could not hate the people who implemented it. “Mine is not an exclusive love. I cannot love Moslems or Hindus and hate Englishmen. For if I love merely Hindus and Moslems because their ways are on the whole pleasing to me, I shall soon begin to hate them when their ways displease me, as they may well do any moment. A love that is based on the goodness of those whom you love is a mercenary affair.”12 Without any feelings of recrimination, Nelson Mandela walked out of the South African prison in which he had been confined for twenty-seven years, and when he came to power initiated a process of reconciliation rather than seeking revenge. The Dalai Lama was exiled from Tibet by the Chinese as a young man, and although he saw his monasteries destroyed and his monks massacred, he has persistently refused to condemn the Chinese. Martin Luther King Jr. believed that the highest point of Jesus’s life was the moment when he forgave his executioners, when instead of attempting to defeat evil with evil, he was able to prevail over it with good: “Only goodness can drive out evil and only love can overcome hate.”

A life that consistently refuses to succumb to the temptation of hatred has an enduring power of its own.

During the Vietnam War, Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk, performed the meditation on the Immeasurables for the soldiers of his country—but he contemplated the plight of the American troops too, and made himself desire their safety and well-being. Once you realize that your enemy is also suffering, you look into his eyes and see a mirror image of your own distress. In this way, you realize that he too deserves compassion.

As he contemplated these marvelous old trees, the king was reminded of the Buddha: his inner quiet had raised him above petty disturbances in a world of clamorous egotism, and you could shelter with him in a crisis.1