Can We Really Love Everyone?
It is said that when Jesus of Nazareth reminded his followers to love their neighbors as they loved themselves, he was asked “Who is my neighbor?”
Then Jesus told the parable of the good Samaritan, who helps a battered Judean man after two clerics pass him by. Back then Samaria, which separated Judea from Galilee, was caught up in an often violent conflict with Jerusalem over the location of their God’s true shrine, among other things, so everyone’s identity in the story is significant.
You neighbor, he was saying, includes those with whom you are in conflict, even war. It includes people in groups you consider to be apostates and terrorists.
Thích Nhất Hạnh asks if we can love a pirate who rapes a 12-year-old girl, resulting in her suicide, in the same way that we find love and compassion in our hearts for the girl. It’s easy to feel that, somehow, to do so would be barbaric. How could one possibly love that man and have compassion for that girl and her family?
Is universal love some sort of metaphor, or a Platonic ideal, a symbol? Or is it a possibility?
If we are asking ourselves this question, we may have too narrow a view of love, one based on our own limited experiences of loving our families, our closest friends, our spouses and life partners, all of whom we love in a very intimate way. Obviously, we can’t love the entire world with that kind of closeness and mutual experience and understanding.
But when we think about it, we realize that these loving relationships are themselves not all identical. We do not love our spouses, parents, children, friends, and pets all in the same manner. So why should we expect to love acquaintances and strangers in the same form as any of these?
There is a saying: I cannot single-handedly bring about world peace, but I can single-handedly prevent it. Something similar may be said for all our relationships with others, from the closest to the most tangential: I cannot single-handedly create a kind, respectful, loving relationship; but I can single-handedly prevent it, just by not going first.
If I do not go first, regardless of who the other person is, then there is no option for them to join me. There is no door they can open to find me. Only if I go first will the possibility of a mutually caring relationship be there for the taking, at every moment, in every encounter.
But this scenario can be frightening — again, because of our too-narrow view of love. When we only love in our intimate relationships, we perceive love as a vulnerability. We worry that if we are open to caring about everyone, we will expose ourselves to pain and exploitation.
The truth is, love does not have to make us vulnerable or stupid. We can love and still not be blind to manipulation and falsehoods and violence. In fact, when love does not depend on what the other person does, we are free to act appropriately to any situation with clarity, considering what is best for all. We don’t require the other person to feel anything, nor do we feel uncomfortable if they reject us or dislike us or fail to be honest.
But how can we create that? We cannot simply flip a switch and decide “Now I will experience universal love for others”. What we can do is to be open to the possibility. We must not fall into the trap of believing “No, that’s not possible.”
Zen practice leads us to a direct experience and an embodied understanding that our notions of a separate self are fundamentally delusional. When we come to this realization for ourselves, then if we are open to them, love and compassion bloom as naturally as a flower in its season. It’s nothing we can make happen, either by wanting or trying or thinking. All we can do is cultivate the ground, pull the weeds, and await the spring rains.
And when those rains come, and wash off the dust, it makes us want to laugh, how simple it can be. There was nothing we needed to do or to accomplish. There was no superpower to attain. Nothing to be afraid of.
The weight of our own fear is lifted. We become free to love. And that is when love comes to us, and becomes us.
Image: Creative Commons via Pixabay