Dr. King, Thich Nhat Hanh, and the paradox of neutrality
And what all of this has to do with loving-kindness meditation
In loving-kindness or mettā meditation, there are typically a few stages. I wrote about the first and second stages briefly last week – beginning with yourself, or a being for whom you feel a sense of deep, uncomplicated love.
The next step is to send loving-kindness to a near-stranger, someone about whom you feel “neutrally.” The idea is to expand your ability to “love without a reference point,” as Pema Chodron puts it – to be less possessive and clannish in your love.
Yet the first few times I tried this exercise, I found that I couldn’t think of anyone about whom I felt “neutrally.” The people who deliver my mail? I like them. The person who sat next to me on the train today? They were wearing the same cologne as one of my exes, so no, not a neutral experience. Was I doing it wrong?
Well, no. According to Robert Wright, a science journalist who approached this technique with similar trepidation in his book Why Buddhism is True, humans evolved to be clannish and possessive. These tendencies in us served a purpose at one point, helping us to quickly sort people into categories like “potential threat” and “potential mate?” They remain the default mode for many of us. There’s nothing “wrong” about that, from our genes’ point of view.
That said, Wright concludes that it’s worth doing at least some meditation to soften this historical human tendency to judge people based on our genes’ point of view, considering that this tendency also drives much of the conflict we see in our modern world. His interviews with experienced meditators also suggest that this possibility lies within reach, for those of us willing to put in the time to practice. We really can zoom out, and include more of humanity in our circle of care.
One person who is commonly thought of as possessing this ability is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., whom we celebrate every year at this time. In honor of this day, I thought I’d share some stories and a meditation related to him and his friendship with Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh, as well as a few more related tidbits from Wright’s book. My hope is to help to shine a bit more light on how, and why, doing a deep dive on “neutrality” might be of benefit to us all.
In the 1960s, in response to the Vietnam War, a young monk named Thich Nhat Hanh — known to his friends and students as Thay1 — authored Fourteen Precepts for what he called Engaged Buddhism.2 According to these precepts, which were initially intended for the Vietnamese monastic community, one should avoid expressing anger or choosing sides, and in fact one should strive to maintain non-attachment to all views, including to Buddhism itself. At the same time, the precepts invited monks and nuns to fearlessly witness the suffering in the world, and to respond.
How can one witness suffering without getting angry? How can one help the world without choosing sides? To many, this kind of “neutrality” seemed like an impossible paradox. Both sides of the Vietnam War came to view the diminutive monk with intense suspicion, each believing that he secretly harbored loyalty for their rival. He was exiled in 1966.3
One American at the time, however, was able to pick up what Thay was putting down: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who later nominated his Vietnamese friend for the Nobel Peace Prize.
Despite the fact that his birthday is now a national holiday, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was seen by many white folks in America as a radical and a threat, for daring to organize boycotts to protest against the racism he saw in the American South. Meanwhile, Malcolm X., another powerful voice for civil rights and one of King’s harshest critics, felt frustrated by King’s commitment to nonviolence, claiming, in essence, that he was not radical or threatening enough.4
In a long letter to King in 19655, Thay made it clear that he understood why King felt compelled to stake out a position in between these two views. He pointed out the many similarities he saw between King’s movement and the Engaged Buddhism movement in Vietnam. In particular, he pointed to the many monks who had, by that time, set themselves on fire in public spaces. Like King’s demonstrators, these monks had engaged in these nonviolent protests so the world might take notice of their people’s plight — without demonizing the ones creating their suffering. As Thay wrote:
Their enemies are not man. They are intolerance, fanaticism, dictatorship, cupidity, hatred and discrimination which lie within the heart of man.
Through his correspondence with Thay, Dr. King came to understand that they were, in a real sense, fighting the same fight. They were both committed to decrying the harm caused by oppression, without vilifying those causing the harm, which they felt would only fuel more conflict. Their shared Middle Way was not one of caring too little; instead, it was one that expanded the circle of care much further out than their critics cared to go. It was mettā in action.
These insights led King to author what is sometimes called The Riverside Speech.6 In this speech, King wrote:
Every nation must now develop an overriding loyalty to mankind as a whole in order to preserve the best in their individual societies. This call for a worldwide fellowship that lifts neighborly concern beyond one's tribe, race, class, and nation is in reality a call for an all-embracing, unconditional love for all men.
This oft misunderstood and misinterpreted concept, so readily dismissed by the Nietzsches of the world as a weak and cowardly force, has now become an absolute necessity for the survival of mankind. And when I speak of love I'm not speaking of some sentimental and weak response. I am speaking of that force which all of the great religions have seen as the supreme unifying principle of life. Love is somehow the key that unlocks the door which leads to ultimate reality.
I doubt Thay could have said it better himself.
When we send loving-kindness to a person about whom we feel “neutrally,” I believe we are relating not to the “weak and cowardly” energy of inaction or apathy. We’re not looking to feel dead inside when we look into the face of a stranger. Nor do I think we’re failing to skillfully discern between a person’s good or bad actions. Instead, I think we’re trying to tap into the “supreme unifying principle of love” that fuels our most wise and courageous actions, by offering the same care and attention to a stranger that we’d offer to a close friend.
Western meditation teachers, if you ask them how to identify such a stranger, will often suggest “someone you’d consider ‘invisible,’” someone you “normally don’t notice,” such as the grocery store clerk or the barista who made your coffee today. Yet these examples, to me, still come with some sense of “us” and “them embedded. They’ve always struck me as classist, a relic of the days before we all realized that “essential workers” (including me, as an educator) are probably more important to our modern-day civilization’s functioning than the white-collar knowledge worker who is presumed to be doing all this “not-noticing.”
These examples also don’t work for all brains. In the tribal contexts in which our brains evolved, as Wright points out in his book, we would have both known and noticed almost everyone. Some of us, particularly those of us who have extra-sensitive nervous systems, may still feel as though we do that.
If this describes you, you might make the most of your extra-wide mental aperture by thinking back to your morning walk today, or this afternoon’s wait in the pickup line at school, during which you may have glimpsed the face of a near-stranger through glass. Or, you can simply open the extra-wide aperture of your heart, to include the faces of the people you may have seen on the news this week, in Altadena or in Gaza, carrying babies and belongings on their backs without knowing whether they’ll ever be able to return home. Much like King did when he finally turned his gaze from the American South to North Vietnam.
As we bring to mind the stranger in our mind’s eye, we might simply commit to staying curious about these people that we don’t know. Even if at first, we don’t see ourselves, initially, as having a dog in their particular race. From our meditation cushions, we can wish them safety, peace and happiness.
While it may not feel as though you’re immediately flooded with the “supreme unifying principle of love” when you do this, Wright, in his book, found that many experienced meditators, over time, have seemingly managed to really un-learn the evolutionary impulse to immediately tag someone with the label of “good” or “bad” in their minds. This has not, as one might fear, left them with a deep and pervading sense of ennui. In fact, many reported feeling not just clear-minded when it came to discerning how to be helpful in the world, but also more joyful while doing so.
That all makes mettā feel like a worthwhile endeavor for me.
I do want to note that just because we’re striving not to be clannish doesn’t mean that others are going to applaud us for that. It may still confuse others who don’t get it. It confuses me, still.
At the end of the day, though, isn’t real love essentially confusing? It is multi-faceted. We don’t all feel it or give it or receive it in the same ways. It may even lead some of us into actual hypocrisy sometimes, as we try to figure out how to send love to all sides of a conflict, without choosing one of them, and to send love to all people, even those we do not really understand. I’ve certainly been accused of this myself.
I don’t know about you, but none of that has ever dissuaded me from continuing to give love a try.
In honor of Dr. King and his friend Thay, I’ll conclude here with some questions about “neutrality” to take up next time you’re sitting down on your meditation mat:
Do you have a person or people in your life about whom you feel neutrally?
If so, what does this feel like to you? How do you define “neutral” based on this embodied experience?
If not, what do you notice about the subtle feeling-flavors – slightly positive, slightly negative – that do arise when you think about this person?
When you offer this person lovingkindness, by saying phrases like, “May you be safe, may you be peaceful, may you be happy” — what happens? Do you feel a sense of softening, a sense of resistance, something else?
I’d love to know how this meditation goes for you, if you care to share in the comments. And happy Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, if you celebrate.
Housekeeping notes:
Next Monday 1/20 is also Inauguration Day here in the U.S. We imagine that many people in this community may have strong feelings about that. We’ll be hosting two In Tending Support Circles to help offer care to the caregivers here — one on Thursday 1/23 at 11am PST/2pm EST/7pm GMT, and one on Wednesday 1/29 at 5pm PST/8pm EST. To receive the Zoom link for one or both, see this post for instructions and more info. These circles will be open to both free and paid subscribers.
My next closed circle for perinatal loss survivors also begins next week, also on Thursday 1/23, at 4:30 PST/7:30pm EST. We have one spot left. You can sign up via RTZ Hope. Not relevant to you? Please forward this to someone who might appreciate it.
Rhymes with “why”; the term means “male teacher” in Vietnamese.
This speech is called the Riverside Speech because King gave it at the Riverside Church, a historic church on NYC’s Upper West Side — and, incidentally, the same church where I received my teaching degree, at a ceremony emceed by King’s contemporary, Sen. John Lewis. You can read and listen to the full text of King’s speech here.
This is so beautiful and wonderful, Ryan! ❤️❤️❤️
I embrace Loving Kindness meditations everyday. Sharon Salzberg is one of my favorite meditation teachers along with a few others.