A few weeks ago, I posted the following quote from Mother Teresa on Parabola’s facebook page:
“People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway.
If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway.
For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.”
The “thumbs up” clicks of approval came in moments after I posted, and kept multiplying. Mother Teresa tapped into a collective wish and knowledge. Most of us have had moments when we have been on intimate terms with life—moments when we live our lives from the inside instead outside, in thoughts about how we’re doing in the race of life or how others see us. Thoreau discovered that when he marched to his own drummer “new, universal, and more liberal laws begin to establish themselves around and within him….In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness.”
Sometimes a door swings open in the midst of your ordinary life, and you walk out of the cramped room of known into the real world. The moment you do this, you may wonder why you have accepted to live as you have for so long, asleep, lost to life and your own true self and life’s true dimension and possibilities. How does this happen? We all know from life and literature that exquisite happiness can be shattered in a moment. Yet it’s important to remember that the reverse can happen as well. The trance of unhappiness and unworthiness can be dispelled and we can connect. How can we make ourselves available to such a moment of grace?
I’m beginning to suspect that the answer is deeply counterintuitive, even revolutionary. I mean, we can’t seek to escape the limitations of our lives, but turn to face them without blinking, even to sink into the mess. The light from the larger world shines through the gaps like starlight through a roof full of holes. We have to seek to be in the midst of it all—not just in outer life but in ourselves. We need to cultivate an attention that embraces body, heart, and mind–and the gaps between. I wrote last week about equanimity, regarded as one of the most sublime emotions in Buddhist practice. Far from a state of bland indifference, it is held to be the ground for true wisdom and freedom.
The English word “equanimity” translates two separate Pali words (a dialect of Sanskrit similar to that used by the Buddha). Each represents a different aspect of equanimity. The most common Pali word translated as “equanimity” is upekkha, meaning “to look over.” It refers to the equanimity that arises from taking in the big picture and not being caught by what we see. This form of equanimity is sometimes compared to patient grandmotherly love (thanks to Gil Fronsdal for this knowledge).
The second word often translated as equanimity is tatramajjhattata, a compound made of simple Pali words. Tatra, meaning “there,” sometimes refers to “all these things.” Majjha means “middle,” and tata means “to stand or to pose.” Put together, the word becomes “to stand in the middle of all this.” As a form of equanimity, “being in the middle” refers to finding our balance, remaining centered in the middle of whatever is happening. How can we find such a posture? In my experience, it requires accepting exactly what is without reaction, sinking deep into the mess that we are, accepting the shallow and repetitious nature of our thoughts, accepting that our true feelings are cut off from our awareness, surrounded by the electrified wire of our reactions. Equanimity is the kind of inner strength that comes from acceptance. Balance comes when we when we are grounded, literally in touch with the ground of our own being, humble.
Equanimity is a protection from the “eight worldly winds”: praise and blame, success and failure, pleasure and pain, fame and disrepute. If you wish to know what it is like to experience such a free state, think of times when you cared nothing for any of these things. We all have moments of concentration and letting go, of forgetting all about ourselves and what other people think of us—moments when we seek to do what is good for its own sake.
I had such a time about a decade ago, when in the middle of the road of my life, I awoke like Dante in a dark wood. I thought I had lost my true way, my true self. Being lost heightens your sense of being present—and by that I mean your sense of what is and is not present? What was absent was something I couldn’t put into words, a certain flow or ease in the world, a sense of connection with life and with my true self. From a distance, my life might have looked ok, if hardly extraordinary. I was a wife and mother. I was a writer and editor who sometimes wrote about very interesting people who did interesting things.
But I felt like a little nibbler at the banquet of life, more of an observer than a participant. What brought this state of being outside myself into sharp focus was my daughter. At that time, she was 11 or 12-years-old, haunted by 9/11, and lonely after our recent move from Brooklyn. The Lord of the Rings was her refuge, her standard, and I encouraged this. I had the sense of wanting to be more for her, yet feeling very small and flawed.
One day during this time, I was asked to go interview a young author who happened to be dying. The call came in just before I had lunch the Buddhist meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg. I mentioned my fear to Sharon, my sense that I had nothing to offer. Sharon told me that the Buddha’s advice to those who were to sit with the dying was to aspire to lift up their hearts by reminding them of the good they did with their lives.
As I crossed the threshold of the loft where the young woman lay sleeping, surrounded by oxygen tanks and nurses, I had the sensation that the idea from the Buddha slid palpably from my head to the center of my being. As I crept softly to the bedside, I had the sensation that I was carrying a live coal, the way primitive people carried live coals from place to place before to kindle fire. As I sat down on the bed, I forgot all about myself and my deficiencies and became a means to transmit to say and shine back the good this person had done with her brief life. I thanked her for sharing her experience with such honesty, and with such a powerful wish to connect. I told her it was going to help and comfort many people. This is what it means to really live a rich and deep life, I assured her, and as I told her I realized how deeply I believed this to be true.
That day, I realized that at any given moment a person can slip into a new life, operating under new laws. In those moments we may experience a greater wholeness. In those moments, we realize that we can live our life from the inside, seeking to serve and be useful one moment after the next instead of seeking to be rich or famous or any other thing change.
In those moments, we know what Mother Teresa was talking about and what the late, great Vaclav Havel conveys here: “Hope is a state of the mind, not of the world….Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed.”
7 thoughts on “Do Good Anyway–Mother Teresa”
It’s not her quote…it’s from Kent Keith: http://www.paradoxicalcommandments.com/
This opening quote is attributed to Mother Teresa by multiple sources. It took some digging to see that all of these sources in the Google-verse are wrong and Kent Keith is the real author. I apologize. The real point of the piece was drawn from my own reflection and experience, and I hope the common misattribution didn’t put you off. Bowing, Tracy Cochran
Hi Tracy, you wrote: ““People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.”
The question here is do you forgive before or after you shoot them? Is there a middle ground?
When Simone Weil was an active Marxist, she was also leaning towards pacifism. Her dedication to truth forced her to become realistic. She wrote: “”If Mr. Gandhi can protect his sister from rape through non-violent means, then I will be a pacifist.”
I imagine if we were walking down the street and you were attacked you’d prefer that I defend you rather than forgiving your attacker. I might be acting wonderful but IMO highly impractical. Is violence an action or a motive?
I believe motive is even more important than action. Jesus tried to explain this to the Pharisees but it bombed.
Sometimes to appear violent for the sake of defense requires the ability to BS with courage. I appreciate Gurdjieff’s story here:
“The Snake Who Wanted To Become a Monk”
During one meal, Monsieur Gurdjieff told us the story of a snake who wanted to take religious vows:
In the middle of a forest a man-eating snake saw a monk coming along a path. He went to meet the monk to ask if it was possible for him to take religious vows.
After listening to him, the monk said, “Yes, but if you take religious vows, you will no longer be able to eat men, or attack them!”
The snake promised to obey his instructions.
So, the monk gave the snake some advice, told him how to pray, and said to him, “In one year I will come this way again, and we’ll see how you are getting on,” and he went on his way.
One year later, the monk came back through the same forest. He saw the snake coming towards him. But the snake was emaciated, and covered in wounds. The monk asked him what had happened.
The snake replied that having kept to his promise of no longer attacking men, these men and children had started to throw stones at him.
“I see!” said the monk. “Yes! yes! I certainly asked you not to attack people, but I didn’t forbid you to hiss!”
“Let us not think that because we are less brutal, less violent, less inhuman than our opponents we will carry the day. Brutality, violence, and inhumanity have an immense prestige that schoolbooks hide from children, that grown men do not admit, but that everyone bows before. For the opposite virtues to have as much prestige, they must be actively and constantly put into practice. Anyone who is merely incapable of being as brutal, as violent, and as inhuman as someone else, but who does not practice the opposite virtues, is inferior to that person in both inner strength and prestige, and he will not hold out in . . . a confrontation” — Simone Weil
Hi Nick, Forgiveness does not mean weakness, being incapable of being strong or taking a strong stand–or even hissing like a snake to scare off attackers. I’m beginning to see that it is an action of emptying yourself of inward consideration. I’ve heard the Dalai Lama tell people that not forgiving is like drinking poison to hurt your enemy. It hurts you! This is a meaningful exchange for me because I’m in a situation right now where I have to take a stand, and I realize I can be stronger if I do it without anger. Thanks!
Hi Betty, Equanimity–peace–is possible, at least one moment at a time. For me, it helps to remember to grant yourself your own compassion and wisdom in the midst of life. It becomes so much easier to be peaceful and forgiving if we grant ourselves forgiveness first.
Thank you for a beautiful meditation on equanimity, and the way to put it into action. It’s definitely a striving and aspiration! The more clear-minded and humble we can become, the more chance we have to glimpse the peace of Christ and the Buddha.
Have a wonderful day!
Just Like a Twinkling Star
(Tribute to Mother Teresa)
By Apolinario B Villalobos
Just like a tranquil smoothly flowing stream
that ripples at the gentle touch of a falling leaf
and nudge of a rock down its path; your silence so
unpredictable and fragile like a thin sheet of ice
cracks even at the feather’s touch.
But just like a twinkling star
your light constantly guides those wayward souls
that roam the earth, those who need a helping hand
to be there – a place they have been longing for
but just hindered by unseen hands.
Here you are
untiringly and unselfishly extending a hand
so that those who have fallen
may again stand.