Democracy depends upon using words wisely. With the right words, citizens can live and work together, even in disagreement — and resolve conflicts peacefully.
Today, politicians routinely describe their opponents as “enemies,” disparaging them as “evil,” “monsters,” “demonic” and “garbage.” By creating the impression that people “on the other side” are irredeemable monsters, such talk undercuts the potential for civic cooperation — for what’s the point of trying to understand, and to work with, someone who is “evil”?
More fundamentally, this “us vs. them” rhetoric of “enemyship” — as I call it — undermines the chances for peaceful coexistence between people who see the world differently.
I am a professor of rhetoric who studies the power of words to build — and destroy — the world we share. I am also a longtime scholar, teacher and practitioner of mindfulness. My research draws on the wisdom of mindfulness and other spiritual practices to reimagine how we teach the basic habits of democratic citizenship.
A lesson from Buddhism seems particularly apt in this moment of enemyship: Treat the people you disagree with as mistaken rather than evil.
There is a profound optimism at the heart of most Buddhist traditions, rooted in the foundational belief that everyone is blessed with the capacity to practice mindfulness.
Mindfulness is one of the eight steps along the noble path the Buddha described to reach enlightenment. To practice mindfulness is to shift from a reactive, to a more deliberate and considered, way of living life.
Mindfully watching thoughts and emotions come and go without immediately reacting to them, it becomes possible to make choices about how we want to respond – and to decide more deliberately how we want to live our lives.
Mindfulness is the way to recover our inner freedom as human beings.
‘Habits of compassion’
The Vietnamese Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh said that everyone has a “Buddha nature.” Everyone is capable of becoming a Buddha by mindfully paying attention to their habitual reactions to experiences, and choosing to cultivate habits of compassion, understanding and peacefulness — just as the Buddha did.
To illustrate this point, Nhat Hanh told the story of Angulimala, a notorious murderer who lived during the Buddha’s time.
Upon entering the town of Shravasti one morning, the Buddha finds the streets empty, the doors locked and the windows closed. Angulimala is in town!
Angulimala spots him and shouts for him to stop, but the Buddha does not stop. “I told you to stop, monk. Why don’t you stop?” Angulimala demands, to which the Buddha responds, “I stopped a long time ago. It is you who have not stopped.”
This puzzles Angulimala. He asks for an explanation. The Buddha replies, “Angulimala, I stopped committing acts that cause suffering to other living beings a long time ago … We must nurture a heart of compassion and protect the lives of all beings.”
Angulimala is struck by how the Buddha speaks to him: not as a monster, but with patience and a genuine desire to understand. The Buddha insists that Angulimala, too, can change, if he will only commit to developing his capacity for mindfulness — and he offers Angulimala a model for how, and why, to change.
The two men continue their dialogue, and soon Angulimala reveals that though he wants to change his ways, he is afraid that society will never forgive him for what he has done.
So the Buddha promises that his community will protect him if he commits to living mindfully, without violence, in harmony with others — and if he agrees to make amends with the families and communities he wronged through compassionate acts. Angulimala does.
This parable reflects a worldview shared by many Buddhist traditions: No person is truly “evil,” in the sense of being an irredeemable monster, because everyone can learn to practice mindfulness.
At times humans commit acts worthy of being deemed “evil.” This is not because they are demons; it is because they are acting out of greed and ignorance and giving into fear. Greed can be overcome; ignorance can be enlightened; fear can be tamed. There is always a path out of darkness.
Consider the consequences of calling fellow citizens “evil,” “monsters” or “demons”: If the person you disagree with is “evil,” it would appear to make no sense to talk to them, and no need to understand them.
Buddhists have a very different vocabulary — people on the other side of a disagreement are not “evil,” they are “mistaken,” “heedless,” “unskilled,” “unaware” or “unmindful.”
Making this small rhetorical change is not easy, especially in times of fear and uncertainty.
However, it makes a big practical difference. If someone is mistaken, it makes sense to talk with them, to attempt to understand them, to show them compassion, and then, if the situation is right, to try to persuade them to see things differently.
Jeremy David Engels is a professor of communication at Penn State University.
This article was originally published on theconversation.com
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