Piero Ferrucci. The Power of Kindness. New York, Tarcher: 2006.
EXCERPTS
Kindness? It may strike us as absurd to even approach the
subject: Our world is full of violence, war, terrorism, devastation.
And yet life goes on precisely because we are kind to one
another. No newspaper tomorrow will tell of a mother who read
a bedtime story to her child, or a father who prepared breakfast
for his children, of someone who listened with attention, of a
friend who cheered us up, of a stranger who helped us carry a
suitcase. Many of us are kind without even knowing it. We do
what we do simply because it is right.
Kindness, as we will see, has many facets. But its essence is as
simple as can be. We will find that kindness is a way of making
less effort. It is the most economic attitude there is, because it
saves us much energy that we might otherwise waste in
suspicion, worry, resentment, manipulation, or unnecessary
defense. It is an attitude that, by eliminating the inessential,
brings us back to the simplicity of being.
Kindness has to do with what is tenderest and most intimate in
us. It is an aspect of our nature that we often do not express
fully – especially men in our culture, but also women – because
we are afraid that if this vulnerable side comes to light, we
might suffer, be offended, ridiculed, or exploited. We willfind
rather, that we suffer by not expressing it. And that by touching
this nucleus of tenderness, we enliven our entire affective world,
and we open ourselves to countless possibilities of change.
To be in the present is a necessary condition for any kind of
relationship. If I am distracted and not present, where am I? And
if I am not here, who is relating in my place? What ghost, what
robot have I appointed to represent me?
To be in the present with someone else is a gift. The gift of
attention is perhaps the most precious and envied of all, even
though we do not always realize it. To be there. To be totally
available. This is what we secretly hope oher people will do for
us, and we know it will give us healing relief, space, energy. I
remember an extreme example recounted to me by a rather
eccentric friend of mine. This friend was having psychotherapy
session witha therapist who was equally nonconformist. At one
point, my griend felt very sleepy, said she would like to go to
sleep, and did so. She woke up the next morning. The therapist
not only had made no objection, but had remained awake all
night, near to her, present and alert.
This is an extreme, indeed heroic example. Yet think of all the
people who have not given you the attention you needed:
husband, wife, children, friends, colleagues, bosses, doctors,
teachers, employers. Think of someone who, while you are
talking to him, is looking elsewhere, or reading the paper, or
mentioning a subject that is irrelevant to what you are saying, or
just walks away. Inattention has a disruptive, depressing aspect,
which saps our vitality and robs us of our self-confidence. It can
arouse all our latent feelings of inferiority and make us feel like
nothing. In my work with people, I often hear stories of people
who make love with their partner but meanwhile fantasize about
making love with somebody else more desirable, or just imagine
being somewhere else. To me that is the epitome of absence.
Patience is not as heavy and tedious as we may think. It is simply
a different perception of time. Time inexorably devours our life
and robs it of any meaning. Time is our body, which grows old
and loses its power; it is ever-impending death, which hangs over
and interrupts our life, turns our work to dust, and delivers us
forever into oblivion. And so we try not to think about it, but
must do as much as quickly as possible before being enveloped
by perennial darkness. What a cruel joke. In this perspective, the
person in front of us in the line who lingers to chat with the
employee about trivial matters, while our time bomb keeps
ticking away, cannot help but arouse our murderous instincts.
But what if we were to see our predicament in another way?
Perhaps we would discover that time is a mental construct. That
there is no need to be afraid or to be in a hurry, because nothing
is running away from us. Then perhaps our state of mind
becomes calmer, and we see the robbers of our time, big ones
and small ones, with a more benevolent eye.
The idea that time is an illusion is variously expressed in all our
great spiritual traditions. Maybe this idea is not the monopoly of
the enlightened, but more common an experience than we think.
One way or another, all of us have had an inkling of eternity.
Watching the stars in the night sky, or absorbed in sublime
music, or with a beloved person, we may forget the passing of
time.
Gratefulness is easily forgotten,but also easily evoked. Here is an
interesting experiment: Think of all the people in your life to
whom you can be grateful - all the main ones, that is. The hard
part of this experiment is that the people to whom we may feel
gratitude are often those toward whom we also feel resentment,
for instance our parents. Resentment usually obscures gratitude,
but the skill in this experiment is in bracketing our reproaches,
however big, and in concentrating on good aspects, however
small.
Let us think, then, about the people in our life to whom we are
grateful. There are plenty of people - many more than we believe
- who perhaps have done us good, even though we may not have
fully acknowledged it: parents, friends, teachers, lovers, and in
general all who have made our life a lot or even a little better,
like the postman who delivers our mail every day, or the taxi
driver who tells us a good joke.
If we give it some thought, we will find much more than we may
anticipate becuase life is made of big and small favours, not only
of rudeness and arrogance. True, each one of us carries the
wounds of injustice and outrage. We know this only too well.
What we forget, because it is so obvious, is that even the lives of
those who consider themselves most unfortunate and alone are
interwoven with others and could not exist without their support.
If I think of everyone in my life to whom I can feel grateful, an
interesting thing happens. Bit by bit I realize that all I have has
come to me from others. From my parents I have had wonderful
support. My teachers have given me essential instruments for my
work, ideas, and inspiration. My friends have helped me feel
good about myself. Colleagues have taught me tricks of the
trade. Other people have opened me to entire worlds whose
existence I scarcely suspected, or have taught me the
importance of caring for others. My wife and my children have
given me love and a wealth of surprises. And this is just the
beginning. Gradually, as I continue, I realize that all I have -
possessions, abilities, character traits, ideas - comes from others
or has been evoked by the presence of others.
A Tibetan story tells of an earnest man seeking enlightenment. A
sage passes through his village and the man asks the sage to
teach him the art of meditation. The sage explains: Withdraw
from the world, meditate every day in such and such a way, and
you will attain enlightenment. The earnest man goes to live in a
cave and follows the instructions. Time passes - but no
enlightenment. Two years, five, twenty pass. After so many years,
the sage happens once again in that village. The earnest man
meets him and recounts that, despite all his efforts, he did not
manage to achieve enlightenment. The sage asks: ”What type of
meditation did I teach you?” The man tells him. The sage: ”Oh,
what a terrible mistake I made! That was not the right meditation
for you. You should have done another one, completely different.
But now it is too late.”
Disconsolate, the man returns to his cave. He has lost all hope,
abandoned every wish, effort, and attempt at control. He does
not know what to do. So he does what he is best at: He starts
meditating. And soon enough, to his great surprise, confusion
dissolves and a marvelous inner world reveals itself to him. He
feels light, regenerated. In a moment of spiritual ecstasy he
attains enlightenment. When, in his happy state he leaves the
cave, he sees the world around him transfigured: the snowy
peaks, the mountain air, the blue sky, the shining sun. He is
happy. He knows he has reached the goal. And in the beauty of
the enchanted scene he thinks he can see the benevolent smile
of the sage.
A recent study has shown that, if you want to be at your best in
learning, humility is your tool. The humblest students, who think
they know the least, do more tests and research when given a
problem, and prove to be more efficient than those who think
they already have the answer. It is hardly surprising. A student
who overestimates her own knowledge will fail the exam, just as
a sportswoman who underestimates her competitors will lose.
Being humble means you work harder and prepare yourself
better.
So humility is linked to learning and to renewing ourselves. We
often reach a point in our lives where, rather than remaining
open to learning, we want safe and predictable plans. And we
prefer the prestige of teacher to the humility of student. So we
shut the door to reality; we take everything for granted and give
up questioning, give up admitting that what we know is possibly
no longer true, that our cultural equipment is beginning to be
obsolete. For love of comfort, we renounce the labor of
skepticism and research. In the extreme case, we become
zombies. And what a pity, when things could be different. One of
Goya’s etchings shows a decrepit old man, and underneath we
read the two words aun aprendo, “I am still learning”. That is
intellectual vitality at its best. That is humility.
A similar tendency happens in relationship with others. We can
exclude a priori the possibility that others can teach us anything
new. Or else we have the choice to recognize that all around us
are people who, with their experiences, feelings, and ideas, their
dreams and ideals, can enrich our lives - we need only look and
listen.
Sometimes we do not know who we are. Being kind helps us find
out. Virginia Satir compares our self-worth with a pot: What is it
that fills the pot? Food, rubbish, nothing at all? And what do we
contain? Security, good memories, intelligence, fine and positive
feelings, or shame, guilt and rage? What do we have to offer? In
being kind, we are faced with this question, and we are led to
discover resources we perhaps did not know we had. Yet they
are resources humanity has always possesed, because they are
precisely the abilities that have enabled us to evolve: the care of
others, communication and collaboration, the sense of
belonging, sharing, empathy. If we gather these faculties, our
self-image becomes more positive and complete. We may not
know it, we may have forgotten it, but it’s true: We are already
kind.
