String Theory

I’m always interested in the emergence of similar themes in movies—not trends that have an innovator and imitators, but films released so closely together it seems their creators were having the same dream.

Two recent films exploring the same issue (namely, is it possible for a man and a woman to have a purely sexual relationship?) are “Love and Other Drugs” and “No Strings Attached.” And though both approach the subject in different ways, with different characters and setups, they have enough in common to inspire a look at their underlying cultural significance. My guess is that for these two films that actually got the green light, hundreds of scripts representing variations on this same theme were tossed over many an agents transom.

So, why all this interest in sex only scenarios? Why is “friends with benefits” so popular? The primary reasons given for the purely sexual relationships in the movies are to avoid pain and complications. Is this a result of a generation reacting to their parents’ bad breakups? A defensive stance against the cost of caring and the inevitability of heartache? Is it the result of feminism? Porn? The masculinization of relationships? The moving onto the mainstream radar of alternate ways being and relating? I’d say it’s some of all the above.

Regardless of the relationship configuration—friends, lovers, partners, sex buddies, or any combination or variation—the two things that are unavoidable are the very things the couples in each movie are attempting to avoid. When we invite someone into our lives—in any capacity at all—we are inviting pain and complications. This is particularly true of friends and lovers.

The Buddha said life is suffering.

It’s part of life. It is life.

Jesus said compassion—the act of feeling what others feel, including their pain—is the most life God we can be.

To me, the relevant question is not “Is it possible to have a relationship that avoids suffering and complications?” but “Why would you want one?” Life is messy. We are the children of the big green slimy mama. We are complex beings fashioned in the likeness of God, the contradiction, according to the biblical book of Genesis, of lofty spirit and lowly dirt, animal and spiritual. Can we really join ourselves with other such creatures without übercomplications, heartache, friction, frustration, pain, joy, ecstasy, creativity, love, anger, challenge, difficulty, meaning, and madness? And if we could, why would we want to?

Nietzsche said, “There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness” and Francoise Sagan said, “I have loved to the point of madness / That which is called madness / That which to me / Is the only sensible way to love.” To me, both quotes resonate within this anonymous one: “A fool in love makes no sense to me. I only think you are a fool if you do not love.”

The gentle madness of love that makes fools of us all is not to be avoided, but sought. The fact that, as Shakespeare so insightfully noted, “the course of true love never did run smooth” is the whole point.

Of course, it’s human nature, or seems to be, to avoid suffering, to search for the situation that gives the most pleasure for the least personal cost. And that’s exactly what the characters of these two films attempt.

In “No Strings Attached,” Emma (Natalie Portman) and Adam (Ashton Kutcher) are life-long friends who almost ruin everything by having sex one morning. In order to protect their friendship, they make a pact to keep their relationship strictly "no strings attached." "No strings" means no jealousy, no expectations, no fighting, no flowers, no baby voices. It means they can do whatever they want, whenever they want, in whatever public place they want, as long as they don't fall in love. The questions become - Can you have sex without love getting in the way? And can their friendship survive?

In “Love and Other Drugs,” Maggie (Anne Hathaway) is an alluring free spirit who won't let anyone - or anything - tie her down. But she meets her match in Jamie (Jake Gyllenhaal), whose relentless and nearly infallible charm serve him well with the ladies and in the cutthroat world of pharmaceutical sales. Maggie and Jamie's evolving relationship takes them both by surprise, as they find themselves under the influence of the ultimate drug: love.

Neither picture is great, and though “Love and Other Drugs” is the better film, both are entertaining, have moments of humor and insight, and really strong performances from their respective stars and supporting cast. As usual, Natalie Portman stands out—something she’s been doing since “Leon: The Professional” and all the way through “Beautiful Girls,” “Garden State,” “V is for Vendetta,” “Closer,” and again just recently in “Black Swan.”

But far more interesting than any performance or even the films themselves is the lengths we go to in order to avoid pain and heartache and complication and vulnerability and, yes, madness. We’re defending against the things we need most—loss of control, ego death, connection, compassion, need, want, desire, love.

Our souls need the complexity and difficulty and challenge and pain of relationships. We cannot become who we’re meant to be without them. The notion that we can have lovers with no strings or sex with no complications is a denial of the soul and assumes choosing who we love and get involved with is somehow a rational decision up to us, but as Rumi said, “Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” Our souls find each other, are drawn together by forces we can scarcely imagine, and our connections accomplish things within us we can’t begin to comprehend—and it doesn’t get much more complicated or stringy than that.

The Best One Wish to Change the World

My religion, to the extent I have one, is compassion.

I’m not saying I live it out very often in any meaningful way. Only that I try to. That, to me, compassion is the highest of humanity, the ideal all truth aspires to.

Into a world, a culture, a religion centered in “be holy as God is holy,” Jesus taught and lived, “be compassionate as God is compassionate”—insisting that we can be no more like God than when we love enough to feel what another feels. And not just those who are like us or look like us or think like us, but even, especially, our enemies.

As a student of art, philosophy, and religion, I’ve found no better advice, no wiser counsel than “treat others as you would have them treat you.” And this is best and most consistently achieved through compassion, that process by which we open ourselves up to others—walk in their shoes, see the world from their view, feel with them what they feel, their joy and pain, frustration and futility, triumphs and tragedies becoming our own.

Given this, I was thrilled to discover that one of my favorite religion scholars and writers’ new book and project is about this very thing.

When Karen Armstrong, author and religion historian was awarded the TED Prize and asked to make “One Wish to Change the World,” she wished for compassion.

As far as I’m concerned there can be no better wish. If we lived in love, in compassion, actually put ourselves in the place of others, we could no longer close our hearts to them, no longer refuse to share the abundance we have with them. It would end hunger and arrogance and ignorance and violence and incivility and inhumanity and be the quickest route, the only route, to “on earth as it is in heaven.”

I’m so thankful TED chose Karen and Karen chose compassion.

TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design. It started out (in 1984) as a conference bringing together people from those three worlds. Since then its scope has become ever broader. The TED Conference, held annually in the spring, deals not only with technology, entertainment, and design, but also science, business, the arts and the global issues facing our world.

The TED Prize is designed to leverage the TED community’s exceptional array of talent and resources. It is awarded annually to an exceptional individual who receives $100,000 and, much more important, “One Wish to Change the World.” After several months of preparation, s/he unveils his/her wish at an award ceremony held during the TED Conference. These wishes have led to collaborative initiatives with far-reaching impact.

Karen Armstrong created a Charter for Compassion, aided by the general public and crafted by leading thinkers in Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism. The charter was signed in November 2009 by a thousand religious and secular leaders.

Out of all this, her new book, “Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life” was born. In it, she writes that while compassion is intrinsic in all human beings, each of us needs to work diligently to cultivate and expand our capacity for compassion. Here, in her straightforward, thoughtful, and thought-provoking book, she sets out a program that can lead us toward a more compassionate life.

When told she was being honored with the award, Armstrong wrote, “I knew immediately what I wanted. One of the chief tasks of our time must surely be to build a global community in which all peoples can live together in mutual respect; yet religion, which should be making a major contribution, is seen as part of the problem. All faiths insist that compassion is the test of true spirituality and that it brings us into relation with the transcendence we call God, Brahman, Nirvana, or Dao. Yet sadly we hear little about compassion these days. And it is hard to think of a time when the compassionate voice of religion has been so sorely needed. Our world is dangerously polarized. There is a worrying imbalance of power and wealth and, as a result, a growing rage, malaise, alienation, and humiliation that has erupted in terrorist atrocities that endanger us all.

Please consider reading “Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life” and joining me in signing (and doing our best to live) the Charter for Compassion.

Charter For Compassion

“The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves.

Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honor the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.

It is also necessary in both public and private life to refrain consistently and empathically from inflicting pain. To act or speak violently out of spite, chauvinism or self-interest, to impoverish, exploit or deny basic rights to anybody, and to incite hatred by denigrating others—even our enemies—is a denial of our common humanity. We acknowledge that we have failed to live compassionately and that some have even increased the sum of human misery in the name of religion.

We therefore call upon all men and women

• to restore compassion to the centre of morality and religion;
• to return to the ancient principle that any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate;
• to ensure that youth are given accurate and respectful information about other traditions, religions and cultures;
• to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity;
• to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings—even those regarded as enemies.

We urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensible to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.”

Walking In Another’s Shoes Whether They Fit or Not

I wish we lived in a world of love—of justice and compassion—where there was no judgment, only acceptance and appreciation. If this is too much to ask for, I wish we lived in a world where people were not judged by the color of their skin or their sex or their religion or their sexual orientation, but by the content of their character. If this is too much to ask for, then I wish we lived in a world where ignorance and hatefulness and incivility were marginalized instead of celebrated, where people who practice such things were not promoted to the top of companies, voted into office, given radio and TV shows and book deals. If this, too, is too much to ask for then I at least wish those of us who disdain such things would not remain quiet, not give into the blusterous bullies and their benighted rhetoric, not sit in silence as the insecure haters make homophobic, sexist, or racists remarks, not stand idly by accepting injustice because that’s just the way the world works. As Dr. King said, “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

To all this, you may say that I’m a naïve dreamer. Perhaps. But I’m not the only one.

There’s King and Lennon, of course. And there’s also Philip Green—a highly respected writer who is recruited by a national magazine to write a series of articles on anti-Semitism in 1940s America in Elia Kazan’s “Gentleman’s Agreement.” Green (played by Gregory Peck) is not too hip on the idea at first, but then it occurs to him that since he’s new in town, he can pretend to be Jewish, and thus experience firsthand the realities of racism and prejudice, and write from that perspective. It takes very little time for him to experience bigotry. He soon learns the liberal-minded firm he works for doesn’t hire Jews and that his own secretary changed her name and kept the fact that she is Jewish a secret from everyone. Green soon finds that he won’t be invited to certain parties, that he cannot stay in certain ‘restricted’ hotels and that his own son is called names in the street. His anger at the way he is treated also affects his relationship with his fiancée, Kathy Lacy, his publisher’s niece and the person who suggested the series in the first place.

Of all the horrible injustices and inequities Green experiences, the most insidious is the silence Dr. King talked about, the gentleman’s agreement of those who say they are not anti-Semitic not to stand up against those who are. Of course, by their very refusal to take a stand they (and we) are part of the systemic oppression of the minority, the different, the other, that history gives dreadful witness to.

“Gentleman’s Agreement” deals with anti-Semitism, but the lessons of hate and tribalism in the film apply to all oppressed peoples and groups, particularly the powerless, the different, the disenfranchised minority.

“Gentleman’s Agreement” is a brave and poignant film—especially for 1947—and though I’m sure some will condemn it as polemical or didactic, I think it achieves a good balance between story and moral, never becoming preachy or patronizing. And it’s not bulky or heavy-handed in the way of 2004’s “Crash.”

Of all the brilliant achievements of “Gentleman’s Agreement,” perhaps the two most telling and terrifying are the way good, well-intentioned people contribute to the oppression of others by not raging against the machine, and the way certain people within oppressed groups attempt to assimilate and disappear, and resent those who don’t—both groups taking a dangerous “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach that requires denial and dishonesty.

Bigotry, prejudice, hate—any form of xenophobia, whether racism, sexism, classism, or homophobia—all come from the same little lizard brain place of fear that leads to tribalism, insecurity, and a warped sense of superiority.

I returned to “Gentleman’s Agreement” recently for what must be the fifth viewing because of an experience I had that was not unlike that of Philip Green.

When word got out that I refused to be married until my gay brothers and sisters enjoyed the same opportunities and equality, gossip began to spread and certain people assumed I was gay and began treating me differently. Speculation and gossip and condemnation have continued and let to some incivility and unkindness—and the entire experience made me feel like I was living my own little version of “Gentleman’s Agreement.”

I’m grateful for the experience, and its heightening of my experience of the film, which is rich and rewarding, reminding us that all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.

“Gentleman’s Agreement” is filled with good people—actors, writers, filmmakers—doing something.

Several of the main players and the director of “Gentleman’s Agreement” were brought before the House Un-American Activities Committee. The two who refused to testify, John Garfield (who played Green’s best friend, Dave Goldman) and Anne Revere (who played Green’s mother) were added to the Hollywood Blacklist. Revere didn’t appear in another movie for twenty years and Garfield died of a heart attack at the age of thirty-nine after being called before the committee again—this time to testify against his wife.

Gregory Peck, my all-time favorite actor, for his choice of roles even more than his acting style and screen presence, was a good, principled man whose name was on Richard Nixon’s “enemies list.” Peck is Philip Green, Father Chisholm, Dr. Anthony Edwards, Joe Bradley, King David, and Atticus Finch—the very embodiment of the best of the characters he played.

Our failures of compassion say far more about us than those we’re prejudiced against. And compassion is the key—not pity that comes from a superior place, but a “feeling with,” putting ourselves in the place of others, experiencing what they experience, feeling what they feel. As another of Gregory Peck’s characters, Atticus Finch, says, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view—until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” A Muslim proverb says, “To understand a person, you must walk a mile in her shoes whether they fit or not.” It’s exactly what Atticus Finch and Philip Green do, and what you and I can do every day if we will only be as willing and caring and open and brave as they are.

Dark Night of the Soul

After a truly amazing year, for which I am deeply grateful, 2010 ended with a period of prolonged difficult and dark days for me.

I don’t mean to suggest that the rest of 2010 was without pain and disappointment and darkness. Just that there’s a difference between life’s ordinary slings and arrows and a true dark night of the soul—and over the past few weeks, I’ve been in the throes of the latter.

The experience is complex and multilayered—part circumstantial with identifiable causality, part inexplicable, utterly unmooring in its mysteriousness.

I can’t remember ever feeling as lonely or broken or empty for as long. It’s as if during the year’s final days, I’ve been experiencing a death of my own.

During this time of downness and darkness, of loss and loneliness, of pain and puzzlement, of melancholy and meaninglessness, I have attempted (and often failed) to be mindful and present, open and engaged, resisting the urge to bypass, short circuit, fix, or otherwise prematurely end the experience. I’ve tried to follow the wise advice of the Sufi mystic and poet, Hafiz, who wrote:


Don't
Surrender
Your loneliness so quickly.
Let it cut more
Deep.


It’s not easy, of course. Who relishes being lonely or cut deeply? But there is something about brokenness, about the crushing of the grapes of our being, something about spending a solitary, sleepless night at the place of pressing, the Gethsemane of our souls, that produces the most potent and profound wine. As Hafiz says:


Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.


Hafiz words heal and inspire, but no one’s words have done more for me, have resonated more in me, that those of Thomas Moore.

Though he’s best known for, “Care of the Soul,” and I’ve benefited greatly from all his books, the two titles of his I find myself returning to most often are, “The Re-enchantment of Everyday Life” and “Dark Nights of the Soul”—the latter especially helpful in recent dark days.

A mentor and counselor to me in more ways than I can begin to express, Moore was a Catholic monk for twelve years and later became a psychotherapist, earning degrees in theology, musicology, and religion. His many books are at once accessible and abstruse.

His approach to life is one of soul. Through psychology and art and religion and myth and literature, he performs and teaches care of the soul—reminding us of its vital importance, exploring its dark depths, helping us view life in the light of its needs.

Gentle and wise, caring and compassionate, Moore’s revelatory work is revolutionary without being egocentric, heroic, or sentimental.

Truly shamanistic, Moore’s medicine offers a soothing salve while encouraging the embracing of soul-building darknesses and difficulties.
As he writes, “At one time or another, most people go through a period of sadness, trial, loss, frustration, or failure that is so disturbing and long-lasting that it can be called a dark night of the soul.

“If your main interest in life is health, you may quickly try to overcome the darkness. But if you are looking for meaning, character, and personal substance, you may discover that a dark night has many important gifts for you. Every human life is made up of the light and the dark, the happy and the sad, the vital and the deadening. How you think about this rhythm of moods makes all the difference.”
In “Dark Nights of the Soul,” Moore examines life’s difficulties—such as the loss of a loved one or the end of a relationship, aging and illness, career disappointments—not as obstacles to be overcome, but as periods of incubation and positive opportunities to delve the soul’s deepest needs for healing and a new understanding of life’s meaning.

Moore goes on to say, “Many people think that the point in life is to solve their problems and be happy. But happiness is usually a fleeting sensation, and you never get rid of problems. Your purpose in life may be to become more who you are and more engaged with the people and the life around you, to really live your life. That may sound obvious, yet many people spend their time avoiding life. They are afraid to let it flow through them, and so their vitality gets channeled into ambitions, addictions, and preoccupations that don’t give them anything worth having. A dark night may appear, paradoxically, as a way to return to living. It pares life down to its essentials and helps you get a new start.

“Here I want to explore positive contributions of your dark nights, painful though they may be. I don’t want to romanticize them or deny their dangers. I don’t even want to suggest that you can always get through them. But I do see them as opportunities to be transformed from within, in ways you could never imagine. A dark night is like Dante getting sleepy, wandering from his path, mindlessly slipping into a cave. It is like Alice looking at the mirror and then going through it. It is like Odysseus being tossed by stormy waves and Tristan adrift without an oar. You don’t choose a dark night for yourself. It is given to you. Your job is to get close to it and sift it for its gold.”

C S Lewis said we read to know we’re not alone. This is no more true than of a book like “Dark Nights of the Soul” that speaks directly down into the deep, dark well of our most utter and complete aloneness.

If you or someone you know is experiencing a dark night of the soul, get Thomas Moore’s brilliant book so whether you go gentle into that good night or rage, rage against the dying of the light, you won’t do it alone. If you’re not experiencing a dark night of the soul, get the book anyway, so that when you do, you’ll be better equipped to receive the dark gifts offered by the experience.