Absolutely Not

Franz Fanon wrote: “Man is a yes. Yes to life. Yes to love. Yes to generosity. But man is also a no. No to scorn of man. No to degradation of man. No to exploitation of man. No to the butchery of what is most human in man: freedom.”

Compassion is often described as an inclusive power, one that welcomes every part of ourselves and others without shame or rejection. And that’s true. But for compassion to truly include people, it must exclude certain positions. Compassion cannot make room for attitudes or actions that cause harm. It cannot include hatred, greed, oppression, or any stance that closes the heart rather than helping it open.

Particularly in America, there’s this weird moral centrism that insists we must always find the midpoint between ourselves and those who preach hate. If someone says he wants to kill 100% of a certain group, we’re told to meet him halfway at 50%. This is fear of confrontation disguised as empathy, and it corrodes, not preserves, society.

Indeed, compassion is often best expressed not as a “yes” but as an “absolutely not.” If people ask you to accept violence in the name of political order — absolutely not. If they ask you to accept exploitation in the name of growth — absolutely not. If they ask you to practice selective empathy in the name of unity — absolutely not.

Our ability to live this “absolutely not” in the outer world depends on our ability to hold firm boundaries within. If we indulge every resentment or dishonesty, our moral force becomes riddled with holes. If we say “maybe” to every self-hating or self-pitying thought, we lose the steadiness compassion requires.

People often misunderstand the relationship between compassion and concentration. Concentration sounds like it belongs to the head, and compassion to the heart. But in the Buddha’s teachings, there’s only one word — citta — for head and heart. This is why we meditate. For soft compassion depends on hard clarity. Only when you can gather your mind together and hold it close can your heart truly begin to open.

Magnus Zeller, “The Orator (Der Volksredner)”(1920)