We often say, 鈥渋f you really cared, you would do something,鈥� or words to that effect. Caring, in the deep sense of that term, is not just a feeling; it is a motive for action. That is why we talk about caregivers, but not carefeelers. I like to use the term care to translate the Sanskrit term 办补谤耻峁嚹�, which is often translated as compassion, and I use that term because of its active sense, reflecting the fact that 办补谤耻峁嚹� derives from a root that means to act, unlike compassion, which comes from a root that means to feel. Feelings are important, but actions speak not only louder than words, but louder than feelings.
Buddhist philosophers鈥攅specially in the Mah膩y膩na (Greater Vehicle) traditions鈥� placed care at the center of their understanding of ethical life, To care, in the deep sense that Indian and Tibetan Buddhist ethicists鈥攁s well as Western philosophers such as Adam Smith, David Hume, and Arthur Schopenhauer鈥攈ad in mind (though the Western philosophers used different vocabulary), is to take a person鈥檚 suffering as an immediate motive to act to relieve that suffering. That person might be someone close to us; they might be somebody suffering in a distant land from natural disaster or war; they might be a stranger or a causal acquaintance we encounter in our daily life; they might be ourselves. No matter who the object is of our care, we care when we take their suffering as a motive for us to act to relieve it.
The fifth century Buddhist philosopher Buddhaghosa helpfully distinguished true care both from what he called its far enemy and from what he called it near enemy. The far enemy is hard-heartedness, or simply not being bothered by others鈥� suffering. It is easy to tell the difference between being hard-hearted and being caring, and nobody鈥攁t least no sane person鈥攚ould prefer either to be hard-hearted or to be in the company of hard-hearted people. Nearly everyone recognizes hard-heartedness as a vice, not as a virtue, and nearly everyone sees care as virtuous.
Buddhaghosa also noticed however, that in addition to a vice like hard-heartedness, which is the antithesis of care, there is a seductive vice that is so close to the virtue that it masquerades as virtue. Moreover, because it feels so good, and looks so much like the virtue, this near enemy is even more dangerous than the far enemy. In the case of care, the near enemy is mere sympathy.
Here鈥檚 the difference. Amy and Beth are both friends of Carl, and Carl is ailing from a painful disease. Amy sees Carl鈥檚 distress and that distress makes her so unhappy, that to relieve her sympathetic pain, she goes to the hospital to comfort Carl. He feels better, and so does she. Beth also sees Carl鈥檚 distress, and she sees that she can relieve his distress by visiting him. Motivated directly by the intention to relieve his suffering, she visits him in the hospital to comfort him. He feels better, and so does she.
Some might think that there is no difference between these cases: the important thing is that each visit was of benefit to Carl (and to the visitor). Others might think that Amy is the really virtuous agent; after all, she was the one who was sympathetic, who was personally distressed by Carl鈥檚 pain. Buddhaghosa disagrees, and his position points us to the very structure of care itself. He sees Beth as the truly caring person here, and the reason is that her aspiration to relieve Carl鈥檚 pain is motivated by that pain itself, not by her own reaction to it. She is able to detach her own interests from his, and to act purely in his interests, purely to relieve pain. Amy acts because she is attached to Carl, and out of her own distress, not his. If he had not been so close a friend, she would not have acted; if she could distance herself from his suffering, she would not have acted. Care is more powerful than the near enemy of egoistic sympathy born of attachment. When we want a doctor, a therapist, a nurse, or a loved one to care for us, we do not want them to feel our pain; we want them to act to relieve it.
This tells us something about how Buddhist philosophers understand care and other positive moral attitudes. They see the moral landscape not simply in terms of what we do, but in terms of how we understand our relations to others. It is natural to see ourselves as living at the center of our own universe, and to see others in terms of their relations to us. Some are our family, some our friends, and some are enemies, or people we don鈥檛 even know. We then understand our moral relationships to them in terms of these relationships, and as agents we take our own desires to be rational motivators, as opposed to the interests of others. When we do that, life becomes a competition, not a cooperative enterprise. We each aim to maximize our own happiness, and when that happiness derives from the well-being of others, that feels like virtue. But real care is impossible, for the good of others for its own sake never counts as a motivator. We are, on this picure, desire-satisfaction machines. Many economists like to think of us that way.
But when we decenter our moral universe, and see ourselves as one among many, and as connected to everyone else by bonds of interdependence and mutual responsibility, real ethical vision becomes possible. Such a vision can enable us to see that our own narrow self-interest is not by itself a reason to act鈥攅ven if, as in Amy鈥檚 case, it would benefit others; it is only evidence of one preference among many in the world. Instead, we can come to see suffering, per seas a reason to act, regardless of whose it is. To see the world that way is to adopt an attitude of universal care; it is to act upon our value-based aspirations, not our egoistic desires. This analysis of care hence promises to take us to a more rational, healthier source of motivation.
A caring community is obviously good for everyone. But even if care is not as widespread as we might hope it would be, for each of us to become more caring is not only good for those who are our beneficiaries, but for us as well: a caring agent can truly endorse their own motives and actions, and can therefore enjoy the happiness that derives from moral integrity.
About the Author
Jay L. Garfield is the Doris Silbert Professor in the Humanities and professor of philosophy and Buddhist studies at Smith College and a visiting professor of Buddhist philosophy at Harvard Divinity School. His books include How to Be Caring: An Ancient Guide to a Compassionate Life, How to Lose Yourself: An Ancient Guide to Letting Go (快色直播), Losing Ourselves: Learning to Live without a Self (快色直播), and Buddhist Ethics: A Philosophical Exploration.