by Dalai Lama
Our interview that afternoon was brief. I had been fitted into the Dalai Lama’s busy schedule at the last minute, and like several of our conversations, it occurred late in the day. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, filling the room with a bittersweet dusky light, turning the pale yellow walls a deep amber, and illuminating the Buddhist icons in the room with rich golden hues. The Dalai Lama’s attendant silently entered the room, signaling the end of our session. Wrapping up the discussion, I asked, ‘I know that we have to close, but do you have any other words of advice or methods that you use to help establish empathy with others?’
Echoing the words he had spoken in Arizona many months before, with a gentle simplicity he answered, ‘Whenever I meet people I always approach them from the standpoint of the most basic things we have in common. We each have a physical structure, a mind, emotions. We are all born in the same way, and we all die. All of us want happiness and do not want to suffer. Looking at others from this standpoint rather than emphasizing secondary differences such as the fact that I am Tibetan, or a different color, religion, or cultural background, allows me to have a feeling that I’m meeting someone just the same as me. I find that relating to others on that level makes it much easier to exchange and communicate with one another.’ With that, he rose, smiled, clasped my hand briefly and retired for the evening.
The following morning, we continued our discussion at the Dalai Lama’s home.
‘In Arizona we spoke a great deal about the importance of compassion in human relationships, and yesterday we discussed the role of empathy in improving our ability to relate to one another . . .’
‘Yes,’ the Dalai Lama nodded.
‘Besides that, can you suggest any additional specific methods or techniques to help one deal more effectively with other people?’
‘Well, as I mentioned yesterday, there is no way that you can come up with one or two simple techniques that can solve all problems. Having said that, however, I think there are some other factors that can help one deal with others more skillfully. First, it is helpful to understand and appreciate the background of the people you are dealing with. Also, being more open-minded and honest are useful qualities when it comes to dealing with others.’
I waited, but he didn’t say anything more.
‘Can you suggest any other methods of improving our relationships?’
The Dalai Lama thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he laughed.
I felt that these particular bits of advice were too simplistic, commonplace really. Still, as that seemed to be all he had to say on the subject for the moment, we turned to other topics.
That evening, I was invited to dinner at the home of some Tibetan friends in Dharamsala. My friends arranged an evening that proved to be quite lively. The meal was excellent, featuring a dazzling array of special dishes and starring Tibetan Mo Mos, a tasty meat dumpling. As dinner wore on, the conversation became more animated. Soon, the guests were swapping off-color stories about the most embarrassing thing they ever did while drunk. Several guests had been invited to the gathering, including a well-known couple from Germany, the wife an architect and the husband a writer, author of a dozen books.
Having an interest in books, I approached the author and began a conversation. I asked about his writing. His replies were short and perfunctory, his manner blunt and standoffish. Thinking him rather unfriendly, even snobbish, I took an immediate dislike to him. Well, at least I made an attempt to connect with him, I consoled myself, and satisfied that he was simply a disagreeable person, I turned to conversation with some of the more amiable guests.
The following day, I ran into a friend at a cafe in the village and over tea I recounted the events of the evening before.
‘. . . I really enjoyed everyone, except for Rolf, that writer . . . He seemed so arrogant or something . . . so unfriendly.’
‘I’ve known him for several years,’ my friend said, ‘I know that he comes across that way, but it’s just that he’s a bit shy, a bit reserved at first. He really is a wonderful person if you get to know him . . .’ I wasn’t convinced. My friend continued, explaining, ‘. . . even though he is a successful writer, he has had more than his share of difficulties in his life. Rolf has really suffered a lot. His family suffered tremendously at the hands of the Nazis during World War II. And he’s had two children, whom he has been very devoted to, born with some rare genetic disorder that left them extremely physically and mentally handicapped. And instead of becoming bitter or spending his life playing the martyr, he dealt with his problems by reaching out to others and spent many years devoting himself to working with the handicapped as a volunteer. He really is quite special if you get to know him.’
As it turned out, I met Rolf and his wife once again at the end of that week, at a small strip field serving as the local airport. We were scheduled on the same flight to Delhi, which turned out to be canceled. The next flight to Delhi wasn’t for several days, so we decided to share a car to Delhi, a grueling ten-hour ride. The few bits of information that my friend had shared with me had changed my feeling toward Rolf, and on the long ride down to Delhi I felt more open toward him. As a result, I made an effort to sustain a conversation with him. Initially, his manner remained the same. But with just that little bit of openness and persistence, I soon discovered that, as my friend had said, his standoffishness was more likely due to shyness than snobbery. As we rattled through the sweltering, dusty northern Indian countryside, moving ever deeper into conversation, he proved to be a warm, genuine human being and a stalwart traveling companion.
By the time we reached Delhi, I realized that the Dalai Lama’s advice to ‘understand the background of people’ was not as elementary and superficial as it first appeared. Yes, it was simple perhaps, but not simplistic. Sometimes it is the most basic and straightforward of advice, the kind that we tend to dismiss as naive, that can be the most effective means of enhancing communication.
Several days later I was still in Delhi on a two-day stopover before returning home. The change from the tranquility of Dharamsala was jarring, and I was in a foul mood. Besides battling the stifling heat, the pollution, and the crowds, the sidewalks swarmed with a common species of urban predator dedicated to the Street Swindle. Walking the scorching Delhi streets, a Westerner, a Foreigner, a Target, approached by a half-dozen hustlers per block, it felt as if I had ‘CHUMP’ tattooed on my forehead. It was demoralizing.
That morning, I fell for a common two-man street scam. One partner splattered a splotch of red paint on my shoes while I wasn’t looking. Down the block, his confederate, an innocent looking shoeshine boy, brought the paint to my attention and offered to shine my shoes at the usual going rate. He deftly shined the shoes within minutes. When finished, he calmly demanded a huge sum – two months wages for many in Delhi. When I balked, he claimed that that was the price he had quoted me. I objected again, and the boy began to bellow, drawing a crowd, crying that I was refusing to pay him for services already rendered. Later that day I learned that this was a common scam played on unsuspecting tourists; after demanding a huge sum, the shoeshine boy deliberately raises a fuss, drawing a crowd, with the intention of extorting the money from the tourist by embarrassment and the desire to avoid a scene.
That afternoon I lunched with a colleague at my hotel. The events of the morning were quickly forgotten as she inquired about my recent series of interviews with the Dalai Lama. We became engrossed in a discussion about the Dalai Lama’s ideas regarding empathy and the importance of taking the other person’s perspective. After lunch we jumped into a cab and set off to visit some mutual friends. As the cab pulled away, my thoughts returned to the shoeshine scam that morning, and as dark images rustled in my mind, I happened to glance at the meter.
‘Stop the taxi!’ I yelled. My friend jumped at the sudden outburst. The taxi driver scowled at me in the rearview mirror but kept driving.
‘Pull over!’ I demanded, my voice now quivering with a trace of hysteria. My f
riend appeared shocked. The taxi stopped. I pointed at the meter, furiously stabbing at the air. ‘You didn’t reset the meter! There was over twenty rupees on the meter when we started!’
‘So sorry, sir,’ he said with a dull indifference that further infuriated me, ‘I forgot to reset . . . I will restart . . .’
‘You’re not restarting anything!’ I exploded. ‘I’m fed up with you people trying to pad fares, drive around in circles, or do whatever you can to rip people off . . . I’m just . . . just . . . fed up!’ I sputtered and fumed with a sanctimonious intensity. My friend looked embarrassed. The taxi driver merely stared at me with the same defiant expression found most often among the sacred cows that strolled out into the middle of a busy Delhi street and stopped, with the seditious intent to hold up traffic. He looked at me as if my outburst was merely tiresome and boring. I threw a few rupees into the front seat, and without further comment opened the car door for my friend and followed her out.
Within a few minutes we hailed another taxi and were on our way again. But I couldn’t let it drop. As we drove through the streets of Delhi, I continued to complain about how ‘everyone’ in Delhi was out to cheat tourists and that we were nothing but quarry. My colleague listened silently as I ranted and raved. Finally she said, ‘Well, twenty rupees is only around a quarter. Why get so worked up?’
I seethed with pious indignation. ‘But it’s the principle that counts!’ I proclaimed. ‘I can’t see how you can be so calm about this whole thing anyway when it happens all the time. Doesn’t it bother you?’
‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘it did for a minute, but I started thinking about what we were talking about at lunch, about the Dalai Lama saying how important it is to see things from another’s perspective. While you were getting worked up, I tried to think about what I might have in common with the cabdriver. We both want good food to eat, to sleep well, to feel good, to be loved, and so on. Then, I tried to imagine myself as the cabdriver. I sit in a stifling cab all day without air conditioning, maybe I’m angry and jealous of rich foreigners . . . and the best way I can come up with to try to make things “fair,” to be happy, is to derive ways to cheat people out of their money. But the thing is, even when it works, and I squeeze a few extra rupees out of an unsuspecting tourist, I can’t imagine that it’s a very satisfying way to be happier or a very satisfying life . . . Anyway, the more I imagined myself as the cabdriver, somehow the less angry I was at him. His life just seemed sad . . . I mean, I still don’t agree with what he did and we were right to get out of the cab, but I just couldn’t get worked up enough to hate him for it . . .’
I was silent. Startled, in fact, at how little I had actually absorbed from the Dalai Lama. By that time I was beginning to develop an appreciation of the practical value of his advice, such as ‘understanding another’s background’ and of course I found his examples of how he implemented these principles in his own life to be inspiring. But as I thought back over our series of discussions, beginning in Arizona and now continuing in India, I realized that right from the beginning our interviews had taken on a clinical tone, as if I were asking him about human anatomy, only in this case, it was the anatomy of the human mind and spirit. Until that moment, however, somehow it hadn’t occurred to me to fully apply his ideas to my own life, at least not right now – I always had a vague intention of trying to implement his ideas in my life at some point in the future, perhaps when I had more time.
Examining the Underlying Basis of a Relationship
My conversations with the Dalai Lama in Arizona had begun with a discussion about the sources of happiness. And despite the fact that he has chosen to live his life as a monk, studies have shown that marriage is a factor that can, in fact, bring happiness, providing the intimacy and close bonds that enhance health and overall life satisfaction. There have been many thousands of surveys of Americans and Europeans that show that generally, married people are happier and more satisfied with life than single or widowed people – or especially compared to divorced or separated people. One survey found that six in ten Americans who rate their marriage as ‘very happy’ also rate their life as a whole as ‘very happy’. In discussing the topic of human relationships, I thought it important to bring up the subject of that common source of happiness.
Minutes before one scheduled interview with the Dalai Lama, I sat with a friend on an outdoor patio at the hotel in Tucson enjoying a cool drink. Mentioning the topics of romance and marriage which I was intending to bring up in my interview, my friend and I soon began commiserating about being single. As we talked, a healthy-looking young couple, golfers maybe, happily vacationing on the cusp of the tourist season, sat down at a table near us. They had the look of a midrange marriage – no longer honeymooners perhaps, but still young and no doubt in love. It must be nice, I thought.
No sooner had they sat down, than they began to bicker.
‘. . . I told you we’d be late!’ the woman accused acidly, her voice surprisingly husky, the rasp of vocal cords pickled by years of cigarette smoke and alcohol. ‘Now we barely have enough time to eat. I can’t even enjoy my food!’
‘. . . If you didn’t take so long to get ready . . .’ the man shot back automatically, in quieter tones, but every syllable laden with annoyance and hostility.
Rebuttal. ‘I was ready a half-hour ago. You’re the one who had to finish reading the paper . . .’
And on it went. It didn’t stop. Like the Greek dramatist Euripides said, ‘Marry, and it may go well. But when a marriage fails, then those who marry live at home in hell.’
The argument, rapidly escalating, put a quick end to our lamentations about the single life. My friend merely rolled his eyes, and quoting a line from Seinfeld, said, ‘Oh yeah! I want to get married real soon!’
Only moments before, I had every intention of starting our session by soliciting the Dalai Lama’s opinion about the joys and virtues of romance and marriage. Instead, I entered his hotel suite and almost before sitting down, asked, ‘Why do you suppose that conflicts seem to arise so often in marriages?’
‘When dealing with conflicts, of course it can be quite complex,’ the Dalai Lama explained. ‘There can be many factors involved. So, when we are dealing with trying to understand relationship problems, the first stage in this process involves deliberately reflecting on the underlying nature and basis of that relationship.
‘So, first of all, one has to recognize that there are different types of relationships and understand the differences between them. For example, leaving aside the issue of marriage for a moment, even within ordinary friendships we can recognize that there are different types of friendships. Some friendships are based on wealth, power, or position. In these cases your friendship continues as long as your power, wealth, or position is sustained. Once these grounds are no longer there, then the friendship will also begin to disappear. On the other hand, there is another kind of friendship. Friendships that are based not on considerations of wealth, power, and position but rather on true human feeling, a feeling of closeness in which there is a sense of sharing and connectedness. This type of friendship is what I would call genuine friendship because it would not be affected by the status of the individual’s wealth, position, or power, whether it is increasing or whether it is declining. The factor that sustains a genuine friendship is a feeling of affection. If you lack that, then you won’t be able to sustain a genuine friendship. Of course, we have mentioned this before and all this is very obvious, but if you’re running into relationship problems, it’s often very helpful to simply stand back and reflect on the basis of that relationship.
‘In the same way, if someone is running into problems with his or her spouse, it can be helpful to look at the underlying basis of the relationship. For example, you often find relationships very much based on immediate sexual attraction. When a couple has just met, seen each other on just a few occasions, they may be madly in love and very happy,’ he laughed, ‘but any decision about marriage
made at that instant would be very shaky. Just as one can become, in some sense, insane from the power of intense anger or hatred, it is also possible for an individual to become in some sense insane by the power of passion or lust. And sometimes you might even find situations where an individual could feel, “Oh, my boyfriend or girlfriend is not really a good person, not a kind person, but still I feel attracted to him or her.” So a relationship that is based on that initial attraction is very unreliable, very unstable, because it is very much based on temporary phenomena. That feeling is very short lived, so after some time, that will go.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘So it shouldn’t be much of a surprise if that kind of relationship runs into trouble, and a marriage based on that will eventually run into trouble . . . But what do you think?’
‘Yes, I’d have to agree with you on that,’ I answered. ‘It seems that in any relationship, even the most ardent ones, the initial passion eventually cools down. Some research has shown that those who regard the initial passion and romance as essential to their relationship may end up disillusioned or divorced. One social psychologist, Ellen Berscheid, at the University of Minnesota I think, looked at that issue and concluded that the failure to appreciate the limited half-life of passionate love can doom a relationship. She and her colleagues felt that the increase in divorce rates over the past twenty years is partly linked to the increased importance people place on intense positive emotional experiences in their lives – experiences like romantic love. But one problem is that those types of experiences may be particularly difficult to sustain over time . . .’
‘This seems very true,’ he said. ‘So, when dealing with relationship problems you can see the tremendous importance of examining and understanding the underlying nature of the relationship.