Compassion, Shared Suffering, and Intro to Art Appreciation

Compati is a word in Latin that means “Suffer with.” It is the word from which the word Compassion is derived.

The tension in the lecture of the Fine Arts building on the Indiana University campus was palpable. It was the day of the final exam for my Introduction to Art Appreciation class, and almost everyone in the room was suffering. Suffering because, for a class that was supposed to be introductory, the final exam was a real killer.

A couple hundred students, all suffering at the same time, and in the same place, created a unique atmosphere. There was literal waling and gnashing of teeth. This test was likely going to derail everyone’s GPA. It might be the difference for some between being able to pursue the major they wanted, or settling for an alternative. We were all there just to check off the “Fine Arts” box on our prerequisites, after all.

Finally, a young would be Business major stood to turn in his test. He stuck it in the middle of the pile on the professor’s lectern at the front of the room so that it could not be identified by the professor, and linked to what came next. “This is bullshit! You call this “Intro to Art Appreciation?” Don’t you know we are all just trying to fulfill a prerequisite???”

With that, the student turned to storm out of the lecture hall. Without skipping a beat, the professor replied “I’ve earned my PhD, now you earn yours.” There was no emotion in the professor’s voice. It was as if the harsh words of my fellow student had not even left a dent in the man’s day. Suddenly, by his response, everyone in the room knew that the professor did not care at all. He was completely devoid of compassion.

Despite the challenge of that test, and quite unbeknownst to that professor, he had created a room filled with compassion. Everyone in that room experienced compati that day. We had suffered through the same experience. Something that was reflected in the fact that at the end of the test, many of the students had taken time on their way out of the building to stop and talk. That had never happened before. Previously, we had all exited the building in relative silence; but on this day, we were united through that shared suffering.

It is said that the power of one addict helping another is without parallel. Compassion is the source of that power. Whether it is the nurse who stole painkillers from their patients, the young person who stole from family members to support their habit, or the businessperson who deceived everyone in his life about what he was really doing on all those business trips; we all suffered together. We became people we hardly even recognized. People who turned their backs on any belief or conviction that stood in the way of that next fix.

I’ve never met an addict who set out when using that first drug, intent upon becoming addicted. Our motivations may have varied; but the result for each of us had been the same. We all found ourselves ill-prepared for the consequences of that introduction to drugs. Whether it was something to take the edge off of life, or recreational entertainment, or even an effort to self-medicate; each of us ended up compati. We suffered with, even when we were alone.

For the addict seeking recovery, that first time introducing ourselves as addicts is an act of rebellion against the disease of addiction. It is like that young man’s act of rebellion after completing that final exam. Each of us looks at where addiction has taken us, and declares “This is bullshit! I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

Unfortunately, addiction is much like the attitude that professor exhibited that day. Addiction could care less about its victims. It scoffs at the thought that we are tired of bowing to it with every ounce of our being. Addiction is cold and uncaring. It has wrapped itself around the synapses of the brain, and refuses to let go.

As students, there was not much we could do about that professor, or his attitude. He was protected by tenure, and a system that always assumed the best of the professors. Our compati resulted in nothing more than a momentary expression of comradery outside the Fine Arts building.

As addicts, on the other hand, we can do something about our disease. Our compati unleashes a power that is without parallel. Much of that power is centered around compassion. The newcomer at meetings is told that they are the most important person in the room. They are provided with a list of phone numbers of fellow addicts to call when times get tough. They are told to keep coming back.

All of these are acts of compassion; and before long, that newcomer is showing compassion to the next newcomer. Compassion spreads, relationships deepen, and we do recover.

Have a remarkable day!