Common knowledge amongst emotionally intelligent people is that when there is interpersonal conflict, the two most helpful things the involved parties can do are to extend empathy and listen.
These practices can truly be helpful, yet I see them as only a first step. By diffusing tension, they set the stage for what I think needs to really occur if there is going to be any true resolution, and that is to become the conflict. I can listen to your need to bring irrigation water to your crops, and I can empathize with you for the sweat you have put into digging irrigation canals, yet I still remain detached from your reality.
I can bridge that detachment by picking up a shovel and getting down in that irrigation ditch with you. Yes, that would make it seem as though I have become a traitor to my belief system and gone to aid and abet the enemy. Yet in actuality what I accomplished is going beyond listening and empathy by bridging the physical and emotional distance between my adversary and me.
Now, without the boundary, I can see our relationship: the water we are helping to reach your crops grows the broccoli that feeds my family. We are now on common ground, both literally and figuratively.
While working together, we discover that we have another common interest: trout fishing. We decide to grab our fly rods after work and visit a favorite stream up in the hills behind the farm. While there, we see that that diverting too much water for agriculture has nearly dried up a stream, which is killing the fish and worsening the drought conditions that fueled the recent forest fire.
“But that’s such a simple example,” some of you will protest. “What about war, or rape, or economic exploitation?” If I can’t find the common ground, the deficiency lies with me rather than the issue. We are all of the same species, with the same needs, living in the same home. There is always common ground.
There is no innate conflict—we create it. And because we create it, we can eliminate it. Listening and empathy can’t do that. They are attractive options because they feel righteous. There is another reason we are drawn to them that is hard to see, much less admit: they are safe. We don’t have to change, we don’t have to get down and dirty with our “opponent,” and we don’t have to look at how our own beliefs and vested interests might be creating blind spots.
When we become the conflict, it simply disappears. That gives us the clean palette for the true creative process: building relationship. Here is a traditional Zen story that shows how it happens.
In a long-ago time lived a fabled Wise Man, who many a Seeker set out to find. However, all the stories of his whereabouts seemed to lead only to a palace in a distant land. There a wealthy nobleman lived, surrounded by luxurious gardens and waited upon by legions of servants.
When Seekers came upon the scene, they felt defeated by their Quest. They could only turn around and leave, reasoning that either the stories were false or they did not get clear directions.
One day, a Seeker decided to disguise himself as a servant. Week after week he waited upon his Master, and in time he came to realize that his Master was actually waiting on him.
“My hunch proved true,” thought the Seeker. “This is no wealthy lord—he is none other than the storied Wise Man. And these servants are none of the kind, but rather Seekers like me.”
Late one afternoon, the Seeker summoned up the courage to ask the Wise One, “Why is it that you have everyone know you as someone you are not?”
“You I shall answer,” the Master responded. “There are two ways to be invisible: one is not to be seen, and the other is to be so conspicuous that you are not seen. To the true Seeker, the Truth reveals itself regardless, and this is the reason you are here. This is also the reason I am invisible to nearly all who set their eyes upon me.”