by Pema Chodron
Shantideva uses the analogy of the wholeness of the body in several contexts. Here it refers to the interdependence of human beings: all of us unique but not separate, and, just like me, all of us wanting to feel good and not bad.
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My pain does not in fact afflict
Or cause discomfort to another’s body.
Through clinging to my “I,” this suffering is mine.
And, being mine, is very hard to bear.
The cause of our suffering is our concept of ourselves as a separate, continuous self. Whatever we cling to as “me” or “mine”—our body, spouse, emotions, possessions, or friends—causes us to suffer. The intensity of our pain, according to the Buddha and Shantideva, is dependent on the intensity of our clinging to an impermanent, ungraspable “I.”
If this is true, how can we go beyond this central reference point of self? We do it simply and directly by recognizing that other people are just like me. This practice reveals that we all have the same fear of suffering and the same desire for happiness. This realization frees up the kindness of our heart.
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And other beings’ pain
I do not feel, and yet
Because I take them for my own
Their suffering is likewise hard to bear.
Maybe we feel that our own suffering is already more than we can bear. Maybe this is why we don’t want to relate to someone else’s pain. When we understand that their suffering is no different than ours, however, something shifts. The fearful heart of ego begins to melt.
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And therefore I’ll dispel the pain of others,
For it is simply pain, just like my own.
And others I will aid and benefit,
For they are living beings, just like me.
8.95
Since I and other beings both,
In wanting happiness, are equal and alike,
What difference is there to distinguish us,
That I should strive to have my bliss alone?
These verses summarize the reasons for practicing the equality of self and other.
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Since I and other beings both,
In fleeing suffering, are equal and alike,
What difference is there to distinguish us,
That I should save myself and not the other?
Do you ever wonder why people do such crazy things? They do them for the same reasons you do: to avoid pain and make their lives more comfortable. No sentient being wants anxiety, stress, or physical pain. In this, we’re all alike: we want security, predictability, and happiness in our lives—and to get it, we can do some very mean things.
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Since pains of others do no harm to me,
What reason do I have to shield myself?
But why to guard against “my” future pain which
Does no harm to this, my present “me”?
Shantideva once again enters into a debate with himself. In the first lines of verse 97, he presents shenpa logic: “Since someone else’s pain doesn’t hurt me, why should I care about it?” And then wisdom responds.
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To think that “I will have to suffer it”
In fact is but a false conception—
In the present moment, “I” will perish;
At a later time, another will be born.
Logically we might say: “If a knife cuts me, it hurts. This is obviously why I protect myself. But if the knife cuts you, I don’t feel a thing. So why should I be concerned?” Shantideva refutes this argument by saying that the “I” we’re constantly trying to protect from harm, today, tomorrow, or next week, is not the same “I” of this moment. It is constantly changing and perishing. Every second, another “I” is born. It’s worth pondering this idea.
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It’s for the sufferer himself, you’ll say,
To shield himself from injuries that come!
The pain felt in my foot is not my hand’s,
So why, in fact, does one protect the other?
From a conventional point of view, the practices of equality appear foolish. Whoever suffers should take care of him- or herself. This rationale makes sense from our ordinary perspective: I’ll take care of me, you take care of you.
Shantideva’s reply comes in the last two lines of this verse. Again he uses the analogy of the body: obviously the hand will protect the foot from harm. If we accept this as reasonable, why would we dismiss the idea that separate beings could also relate as parts of a whole?
When someone is hurting, we see them as “other.” So how do we come to know we’re not isolated beings? One way is to reflect that by not helping them, we are harming ourselves. Working with this notion again and again, what starts as a practice becomes real understanding. Whatever happens to any one of us affects the whole.
If you think about it seriously, this type of interdependent thinking makes perfect sense. When we don’t take care of one another, I suffer, you suffer, the whole world suffers.
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“This may be irrational,” you’ll say.
“It happens simply through the force of ego-clinging.”
But that which is illogical for both of us
Should be refuted and dispensed with utterly!
Shantideva continues debating with himself. Shenpa logic says, “Let’s not get too philosophical. Ego-clinging is the only reason I want to protect my hand and not your hand.” To which wisdom responds, “That is exactly the point!”
Let’s stop justifying ourselves with such illogical excuses. We live in a painful, self-centered prison called “me.” This misperception causes pain for everyone. How do we undercut the self-absorption that separates us? How do we become more broad-minded and openhearted? We do the practice of “just like me.”
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Labeled continuities and aggregates,
Like strings of beads and armies, are like mirages.
Likewise, there is no one hurt by suffering,
For who is there to be oppressed by it?
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And if there is no subject suffering,
Mine and other’s pain—how are they different?
Simply, then, since pain is pain, I will dispel it.
What grounds have you for all your strong distinctions?
In verse 101, we have the third rationale for not practicing the equality of self and other. This is the rationale of emptiness: if everything is illusory like a mirage, why worry about nonexistent suffering?
“Good thinking,” Shantideva might respond, “but if you weren’t stuck in a solid sense of ‘me,’ you’d understand the sameness of our pain. There’s no difference between my pain and yours.” In this way, he uses the emptiness argument to support, rather than refute, the need for compassion, concluding, since pain is pain, I will dispel it.
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Thus the suffering of everyone
Should be dispelled, and here there’s no debate.
To free myself from pain means freeing all;
Contrariwise, I suffer with the pain of beings.
At the level of absolute truth, there is no reason to suffer. But at the relative level, we’re all in considerable pain. The cause of our discontent, Shantideva insists, is our mistaken feeling of separateness. This isn’t based on anything tangible. It’s based on beliefs and concepts. The duality of subject and object, self and other, is an illusion imputed by the mind.
This absolute understanding is arrived at through the practice of letting go. Meanwhile, we can work at the level of everyday pain and treat other people’s suffering as our own.
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“The sorrow felt in pit
y aggravates,” you say,
“The pain already felt, so why engender it?”
But can the sting of pity be compared
With all that other beings have to suffer?
I frequently hear this response to the practice of putting oneself in another’s shoes. It’s a conventional argument against experiencing the pain of others. The opponent of pity—a better word might be empathy or compassion—says, “I can’t bear my own sorrow, let alone someone else’s.” But Shantideva replies that the sting of empathy is nothing compared to the suffering—the hunger, thirst, violence, neglect, and fundamental ignorance—of sentient beings.
The pain of compassion can make us decidedly more loving and tender-hearted toward others. Certainly it hurts not to shut out their pain, but it heals the even greater pain of self-absorption.
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And if through such a single pain
A multitude of sorrows can be remedied,
Such pain as this a loving being
Strives to foster in himself and others.
Someone asked a Tibetan lama if he was afraid that by breathing in others’ suffering during tonglen meditation practice, he would catch it. To this he replied that nothing would make him happier than to take on their pain so they could be free of it. When someone can say this, a profound shift has taken place. His greatest happiness comes from realizing the equality of himself and others. Whatever pain he experiences in the process is not a deterrent.
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Even thus, Supushpachandra
Knowing how the king would cause him harm
Did nothing to escape from tribulation,
That the pains of many should be overthrown.
This verse refers to the story of a man who was threatened with death if he taught the dharma. In order to benefit hundreds of people, he gladly risked his life. Supushpachandra is a bodhisattva role model. His example may be a hard act to follow, but it could inspire us to stretch a bit further each day.
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Those whose minds are practiced in this way,
Whose happiness it is to soothe the pain of others,
Will venture in the hell of unremitting agony,
As swans sweep down upon a lotus lake.
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The oceanlike immensity of joy
Arising when all beings will be freed,
Will this not be enough? Will this not satisfy?
The wish for my own freedom, what is that to me?
Could we become fearless enough to venture into places of unremitting agony? Could we do this as enthusiastically as swans sweep down upon a lotus lake? Nothing gave Mother Teresa more pleasure than relieving suffering. Happiness for her was helping people to die knowing they weren’t alone.
You and I are like fledglings just learning to fly. We can foster the heart of bodhi in smaller ways: giving a beggar money with the enthusiasm of those swans would be a major step forward.
I’ve benefited greatly from Shantideva’s advice to start with little cares and minor challenges and let daring unfold naturally. This isn’t playing it safe; it’s the wisdom of starting with what’s doable and expanding our courage a little bit at a time. If you’ve ever wondered how to get there from here, this teaching provides an answer.
In earlier chapters, Shantideva’s instructions were primarily for working with our personal confusion. Building on that foundation, he now emphasizes a more advanced stage of our journey. It’s always wise, however, to use the teachings that apply to where you are right now as your guide to daily living. This is the way to avoid discouragement and burnout.
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The work of bringing benefit to beings
Will not, then, make me proud and self-admiring.
The happiness of others is itself my satisfaction;
I do not expect another recompense.
8.110
Just as I defend myself
From all unpleasant happenings, however small,
Likewise I shall act for others’ sake
To guard and shield them with compassion.
Perhaps the easiest way to appreciate what Shantideva says is to think of our relationship with animals. It’s not that complicated. We’d happily save an animal from a cruel situation, not to be seen as virtuous, but just to guard and shield them from pain. We might easily be more protective of their welfare than our own.
8.111
Although the drop of sperm and blood
Is alien and in itself devoid of entity,
Yet, because of strong habituation,
I recognize and claim it as my “I.”
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Why, then, not identify
Another’s body, calling it my “I”?
And vice versa, why should it be hard,
To think of this my body as another’s?
The relentless sense of “me” and “mine” is an acquired habit: the strongest habit we have. Realizing the absurdity of this, is it too comical to think of “I” as someone else and not me? If this “I” is insulting someone, is it too big a stretch to imagine how the other person feels? If we were to literally exchange places for even an instant, we would feel the full force of our own cruel words and without a doubt, instantly stop hurting them.
8.113
Seeing then the faults that come from cherishing myself,
The oceanic qualities that come from loving others,
I shall lay aside all love of self
And gain the habit of adopting others.
When Shantideva uses the expressions cherishing myself or love of self, he’s referring to the cocoon, the prison of separateness. This is the opposite of a compassionate relationship with oneself. The way out of the pain of self-absorption is to think of others.
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Hands and other limbs
Are thought of as the members of a body.
Shall we not consider others likewise—
Limbs and members of a living whole?
8.115
Just as in this form, devoid of “I,”
The thought of self arose through long habituation,
Why, upon the aggregate of living beings,
Should not the thought of “I,” through habit, be imputed?
What would a family or a city be like if, instead of “me first,” we all cared about one another and were open to regarding others as “just like me”?
8.116
Thus when I work for others’ sake,
No reason can there be for boasting or amazement.
For it is just as when I feed myself—
I don’t expect to be rewarded.
We don’t need applause for feeding a starving puppy; it’s as natural as feeding ourselves. We don’t expect to be congratulated or win a Noble Peace Prize for our efforts.
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Just as I defend myself, therefore,
From all unpleasant happenings however small,
Likewise I shall act for others’ sake
To guard and to protect them with compassion.
This is reminiscent of Jesus’s teaching to “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” It would be heartwarming, indeed, to be on the receiving end of such actions.
8.118
This is why the Lord Avalokita
Out of great compassion blessed his name,
That those caught in the midst of multitudes
Might be released and freed from every fear.
The bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara said that in times of danger, if we call out his name three times, we’ll be released from fear. His story serves as an analogy for the vast potential of our own selfless
compassion.
8.119
And so we should be undeterred by hardships,
For by influence of use and habit,
People even come to grieve for one
Whose very name strikes terror in their hearts!
Shantideva presents the unusual idea of grieving for those whose very name strikes terror in our hearts. If we start practicing now for the people we like, we can move on to those we find neutral or mildly irritating. Over time our compassion can expand, until we reach the point where grieving for those we dislike and fear doesn’t seem so far-fetched.
The Dalai Lama was teaching in front of a large audience when he received word that Mao Tse-tung had died. He paused and then started to weep. For most Tibetan people, nobody was more feared than Mao Tse-tung, yet the Dalai Lama’s first reaction was to weep—perhaps, in part, because of the suffering Mao Tse-tung would go through as a result of his cruelty to the Chinese and Tibetan people.
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Those desiring speedily to be
A refuge for themselves and other beings
Should interchange the terms of “I” and “other,”
And thus embrace a sacred mystery.
Sometimes the sun is obscured by clouds. It may not even seem to be shining. This, of course, isn’t the case; the sun is simply hidden. In the same way, the unobscured nature of mind is always with us, but it is blocked by self-absorption. It’s hidden by opinions, biases, and concepts, and obscured by kleshas. When we reflect on this verse, it’s helpful to keep this in mind.
The clouds of self-centeredness mysteriously part when we put ourselves in another person’s place and imagine what he or she feels. In tonglen practice, we breathe in what we usually push away and send out what we usually cling to. This dissolves the ego’s strategies and reveals the clarity of our mind. It may be a mystery how this simple practice frees us, but it’s definitely a mystery worth embracing.
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