by Ruby Wax
Compassion to Others
A selfish reason to exercise compassion is that it makes you feel good. When you respond to your own or someone else’s distress, you automatically go into caring mode, which promotes the release of opiates and oxytocin in our brain. Great friendships and relationships are the result of the exchange of these hormones, which create trust, rapport and closeness. The great thing about us humans is that we can learn to cook up those feelings.
If we get caught up in the habits of anger and fear, it’s reflected in our neural wiring and we become trapped in that mind-set. In that negative state, it’s impossible to pass or receive oxytocin. Our mirror neurons shut down and we can no longer interpret whether someone is trying to be helpful or critical, cruel or kind, leaving us feeling defensive, paranoid and unsafe.
Once we feel unsafe, there’s no more Mr Nice Guy. We become terrified that, if we show any kindness, we’ll be taken advantage of. That’s why, in our culture, ‘niceness’ doesn’t get high ratings. Toughness is in vogue and probably has been for a very long time. This could be why we have a fascination with other people’s misfortunes, why the videos that get a billion hits on YouTube are usually of a baby falling into a chocolate cake or ‘kitty gets flushed’ (my favourite). In truth, we’ve always loved watching other people’s pain, right from the eat-the-Christian gameshows at the Colosseum through to the humiliation and shame we see on X Factor which isn’t a million miles from the sight of a lion eating a slave. At least the slave didn’t have to sing. TV reality shows are based on slinging out the loser and cheering as they walk the walk of shame, out of the building, never to be heard of again. (Unless they humiliate themselves in some new and original way, maybe getting caught snorting coke off some politician’s backside. That just might get them back in the limelight.) You can probably imagine that compassion doesn’t win many viewers. This is why the news today gives you in-your-face close-ups of people buried in the rubble rather than a shot of the best damn apple pie in Indiana.
Neuroplasticity is Our Salvation
The neurons that wire together in your brain reflect how you sense, feel and think, second by second. They swap partners with every new input so that, with each new experience, your brain is rewired and gets redecorated, forming new neural patterns. That’s neuroplasticity.
The landscape of the brain is constantly being reshaped. If you’re watching a horror film, you can bet your booties the neuronal formations are reflecting it and your amygdala is up there pumping cortisol into every cell of your body, making you quiver in your seat. As far as your brain and body are concerned, fear is fear, no matter how you cut it: whether you imagine Freddy Krueger in your mind, see him on screen or he’s actually in the room with you, the same brain states are activated. This happens with all your senses; whether you actually smell something real or imagine it, it’s all the same to the brain. Which begs the question, why bother cooking when you can just smell a picture of the food in a recipe book?
It must, logically, follow that when you experience or imagine something compassionate, the body and brain also reflect that state. The question is, do you want your brain to be a whirling dervish of madness or something that promotes ease, health and self-esteem? It’s your call.
Compassion in the Brain
Rick Hanson, who I mentioned in Chapter Two, says that the brain can become ‘hardwired for happiness’. Here are some suggestions to help you rewire:
Help someone you don’t know (unless they tell you to fuck off)
Be happy for someone when they succeed (this one is a killer for me)
Say sorry if you interrupt your husband/wife for the thousandth time (which I do on a regular basis – the interrupting, not so much the sorry bit)
Let someone jump the queue in front of you (I know this is sacrilege in this country; just see if you can let them in without screaming, ‘You asshole, who do you think you are?’).
We need to learn how to ‘do’ compassion. It won’t grow by itself in our neural jungle and, if we don’t learn it, we’ll go back to our very destructive and violent default mode (see Chapter One).
When being compassionate, there are no rules to follow. Any time you’re moved to do something to help, that’s enough. Even if you don’t do anything but be by someone’s side and stay present in the midst of their suffering, that’s enough.
My Story
I was in Cape Town and had been asked to teach mindfulness to young girls from the township who had been badly abused. As soon as I started, I could feel they were uneasy and that the last thing that they wanted to do was observe their thoughts. Mindfulness, in my opinion, isn’t appropriate for severe trauma. When the trauma is resolved, or has eased off, you can try it, otherwise, I think you reopen the wound. I thought, Drop it, and for some reason instinctively asked if any of them had ever had a makeover. They never had, but the excitement ricocheted through the room. I came back the next day with my makeup. There they all were, lined up and totally focused, any sign of agitation gone. Here was something that made them feel important, as if they mattered. Simply by touching their faces to apply the makeup, their bodies relaxed, probably for the first time. When I did their lipstick, I touched their lips, which I’m sure would have normally flipped them out, but because I was gentle and had no other agenda, they softened and went silent. I almost cried, they were so still. When I finished, they all took selfies or posed together for photos (everyone has a phone in South Africa), like models displaying their beauty – and they were beautiful. I left feeling elated, and hugged them all, knowing this was probably the first time someone had touched them without taking advantage of their innocence. I loved those girls.
The Monk, the Neuroscientist and Me
Ruby: Thubten, you start with the definition of compassion.
Monk: Why am I the one who has to define it?
Ruby: Because you’re the expert … It’s your job.
Monk: I think the definition of compassion is that you’re moved by the sufferings of others and you want to do something about it. So it’s more than just a feeling, it’s about action. Of course, it does start with deep feeling; it jolts your heart when you see someone else suffering.
Neuroscientist: That’s right. Compassion incorporates the intention to act, even at a neurological level. Highly experienced meditators like Thubten activate their pre-motor cortex during compassion meditation – that’s the part of the brain that prepares the body for movement. Compassion also activates a fronto-parietal circuit connecting attention in the parietal lobe to behavioural control in the prefrontal cortex and reward processing in the midbrain. That circuit is usually associated with rewards and positive feelings. Empathy, on the other hand, is associated with the insula and the cingulate cortex, and those regions are more typically associated with negative emotions. You’re feeling the suffering of others and you’re suffering with them.
Monk: Professor Tania Singer, the neuroscientist, did some very interesting research on this. She tested the brain activity of monks while they were asked to view images of people suffering, and the monks were asked to meditate on compassion. First of all, she asked them to only focus on empathy and, actually, their stress levels went up. Next, when they meditated on compassion, the stress went down and the areas of the brain connected with intention were activated. That dynamic mind state is sometimes even described in the Buddhist texts as ‘bliss’. I don’t mean they felt happy that others were in pain, I mean the intention to benefit others produced a lot of energy. This gives the flavour that compassion is something very strong and purposeful. It’s not that you’re looking at someone suffering and now you’re suffering too, almost like you’ve caught an infection. That would be more like ‘emotional contagion’.
Ruby: How would you go about training the brain for compassion if you’re not a natural at it?
Monk: It’s a step-by-step process. For most people, compassion is just a reaction to seeing someone suffering. The next step is to develo
p compassion as a state of mind that doesn’t need an object to trigger it. If you train in this way, you’ll want to help people in general, rather than just reacting to an individual case.
Ruby: Okay. At first, doesn’t the training seem a little artificial?
Monk: When you first learn to ride a bicycle it feels unnatural but, if you persevere, it gets easier and you enjoy it. It’s the same with learning compassion. Eventually, it becomes a natural part of who you are. Also, you begin to suffer less because you become less obsessed with your own problems, and that makes you happier. It puts your pain in perspective.
Ruby: Ash, if it’s so crucial we have compassion, why aren’t we born with it? Why do we have to train it?
Neuroscientist: We are born with it. As soon as babies are old enough to coordinate their arms, they reach out to pat and stroke people they think are upset. In the lab, you can put babies in front of a little stage show with puppets where the puppets either help or hinder each other. Afterwards, even three-month-olds will pick up the puppets that were helpful to others and they won’t play with puppets that were mean.
Monk: So, does that imply we’re hard-wired for love?
Neuroscientist: I’d say it just means that babies can make simple judgements about right and wrong, and that they have an instinct for compassion.
Ruby: I’m pretty sure I didn’t do that as a baby. I would have liked the rebel puppet. I always think compassion sounds gooey.
Monk: Compassion isn’t something soppy, it’s actually very brave because you have to look at yourself honestly. You need to be willing to face your pain as well as the pain of others, instead of burying your head in the sand in avoidance.
Ruby: As a doctor, do you train at all for empathy or compassion? My doctor sees me as a piece of meat on a conveyor belt, especially the gynae. I feel like I’m on a YO! Sushi bar.
Neuroscientist: Yes, there’s a lot of focus now on empathy training for doctors. It’s not so straightforward, because you want your doctor to be empathetic but also dispassionate. No one wants their doctor to walk in the room and break down crying. Most patients want someone who cares very deeply about them but is calm and steady during a crisis.
Monk: Exactly, you’re not just drowning in the empathy, you’re helping them with compassion. The opposite would be the emotional contagion I mentioned before, which can eventually lead to ‘compassion fatigue’.
Ruby: Thubten, what do you do to help people? I’m not trying to be provocative, I’m just curious how you would describe what you do as a professional monk.
Monk: I try to help people understand their minds through training them in mindfulness because, ultimately, the suffering we experience is related to our thought processes. So, if I can help people to work on their minds, I feel I’ve helped them find the causes of their suffering, and then they can start to transform.
It all begins with training the mind. I know it’s an extreme example, but when I went on my four-year retreat, pretty much all the practices you’re doing in there are compassion practices, even though you’re not actually out there helping anybody, you’re just in a room, but you’re building that mind state that you can then take into the world. It’s the same with everyone who even just sits down for ten minutes to practise mindfulness. During that time, they’re not actually out there helping people, but they’re building up the brain regions that will enable them to go out and take action.
Ruby: So, Thubten, what do you do when you go out there and act?
Monk: The work I do is usually about helping people with their minds, but I also help with charitable projects which feed those who are hungry or provide education and healthcare in Third World countries.
Ruby: I didn’t realize that. I thought you just sat in a cave.
Monk: I also strongly believe that if you teach mindfulness to school children, businesspeople and politicians – those three areas – you have a chance to change the world’s future.
Ruby: What about someone who’s treated you badly? I’d like to be compassionate to my mother, but she didn’t show me such a good time.
Monk: This is what compassion training is all about. That’s when it counts the most.
Neuroscientist: So much of what stops us from being compassionate are our memories and grudges. The good news is that memories are re-formed every time we recall them, so if you’ve trained yourself to be able to access compassion, you can intentionally change the memories. The more compassionate thought eventually becomes the new memory. Of course, I know that as a scientist, but I wonder if I could do it with memories of my father, whom I never got along with?
Ruby: So, the story about my mother and his father completely changes. You’re rewriting your history?
Monk: There’s no point in creating a completely new story. You can’t come up with a new story like ‘I wasn’t mugged’, for example, when you were, but if you try and add a flavour of compassion, it feeds into the memory so you won’t always have a trigger reaction of anger or revenge.
Neuroscientist: But should I just try to feel compassion in general? Do I need to forgive him, or can I just maintain a feeling of compassion?
Monk: What’s the difference?
Neuroscientist: I suppose, neurologically, there is no difference. Maybe practising the feeling of compassion would infuse my memory of my father, even if I don’t necessarily forgive him.
Ruby: So, if I look at the Disney film of Bambi when Bambi’s mother dies (I can’t even discuss it without filling a bucket with mucus and tears), if I picture that scene and then hold up a picture of my mother’s face, does that mean I’ll start to love my mother? Or start screaming when I see Bambi?
Monk: That’s how compassion meditation works. You start by meditating on something easy that makes you feel compassion, to get the ‘juices flowing’. For example, first you think about someone, maybe even a pet, whom you love, and then the compassion is activated. Then you imagine your friends and family and, eventually, you spread the compassion to the person you have a problem with, like your father, Ash, or, for you, Ruby, your mother. It’s a step-by-step training process.
Ruby: So, if the juices are on, I can break the imprint in my memory?
Neuroscientist: I think you could. That makes sense neurologically.
Ruby: So, you’re tricking your brain, or outsmarting it, in a way?
Neuroscientist: I don’t think it’s a trick, any more than learning to throw a baseball better by changing your grip is a trick. It’s just learning how the body works. Emotion and memory are two sides of the same coin. When you’re recalling an event, the limbic system replays the emotions that go with that memory. If you change the emotional context, even if it is a trick, then the memories are going to be recoded. You are not changing the memory itself, but you’re changing your emotional response to it.
Ruby: How many times do you have to do it?
Monk: A lot. You couldn’t do it just once.
Neuroscientist: I think of how many times I’ve practised it the other way! Remembering and going over my negative story with negative emotions.
Ruby: So, you’re saying, if Ash practises compassion, someday he’ll be able to look at a photo of his father and feel the old Bambi juice automatically?
Monk: That’s the idea.
Ruby: So, let’s say I see my mother with compassion evoked from the Bambi story but then I start remembering things like she made me clean the shag pile carpet with my tongue, it’s not going to match up with the feeling of compassion when I picture what really happened or the stories I’ve been telling about her. Do I have to sieve through every story and add compassion? It will take years.
Monk: You don’t have to reprogramme each story, you just have to reprogramme your story of who she is, so the memories will also change their texture.
Neuroscientist: Right, that’s exactly it. If I can stop my automatic response to my dad, then I start to feel how hard it was for him. I can replace my reaction with some underst
anding of how he might have felt, so the memories are a little bit different. It’s the forgiving that changes your brain.
Monk: And that would be compassion.
You’ll find the relevant mindfulness exercises for compassion in Chapter 11.
6
Relationships
I’ll be honest: I don’t really know what constitutes a successful relationship. We don’t entirely understand the workings of why we choose whom we choose but, happily, it’s not just me who’s in the dark. None of us knows. In Chapter One, I mentioned that much of what influences our decisions is not rational thinking but the ancient whispers from our past. It is probably a waste of time when you’re describing what you’re after on a dating site and you write, ‘I’m looking for a sunny, fun-loving Virgo who likes laughter and jumping in foam.’ You probably aren’t aware that, underneath this conscious thought, you might actually want a hunk of man-meat who’ll drag you home by the hair. Another possibility is you’re asking for something that does not exist on this earth, like a ‘sensitive, good-looking, billionaire’. No matter who you think you’re looking for, it’s your biology that ultimately makes the choice.
In the old olden days (which my daughter thinks is when I was young) – I mean, thousands of years ago (this is when she thinks I was young) – most people chose a partner because they made them feel safe, or in order to get the right bloodline (royal) for keeping up with the A-listers on the family tree. In our world, we don’t think it’s enough to marry someone for companionship, we need to find a Mr or Mrs Right. More than a few men I know out there want a partner who can do what no woman has ever done successfully: take care of the kids, be sociable, successful, sexy, savvy, skinny and know how to cook. (Ha ha, I say. Good luck.)
It’s All in Our Biology
