Spoiler alert! This week’s note centers around a scene in the 1990 film Awakenings. If you have not seen the film and would like to before knowing it’s ending, stop reading. Go watch the film. If you think, as I do, that a good film will have an affect on you, even if you know what happens, read on.
In the 1990 film Awakenings, Robert de Niro plays Leonard Lowe, a character we meet in a catatonic state. As the movie progresses, a drug is discovered that has the power to awaken Leonard, and some of his fellow patients, from their state of stillness. It is a miracle – an awakening of not only one, but many people ensued. But it was not to last. Soon the effects of the drug would wear off. Leonard would go through periods of being awake, and then, in dramatic fashion, the darkness would come for him. While he fought, he would be overcome by it.
In one scene, Leonard and his doctor, Malcolm Sayer (played by Robin Williams) are in an office conducting a videotaped interview. In the middle of the interview the uncontrollable movements that signified the drugs ineffectiveness returned and overcame Leonard. Dr. Sayer begins to put the camera down to assist Leonard. Leonard objects, saying, “Watch, watch, watch, learn, learn, learn.”
That very moment is what I’ve been thinking about this week.
There are a few things here that bear working out, but none I think more than the spirit of generosity with which Leonard’s character allows his life to be handled in that moment. He is vulnerable, challenged, and still willing to expose what he is going through for the benefit of those around him. How?
In Leonard’s context, as with our own, I would suspect, there are two aspects to having a spirit of generosity. One is the inward condition of someone’s character. We might ask, “Is so-and-so a generous person?” Or more specifically, “Do they have a generous spirit about them?” The other aspect is the context in which such a spirit is to exist. We might think about the context of relationships in which trust, encouragement, joy, gratitude, and other attributes might need to exist in order to support the cultivation and exercise of a generous spirit.
The Inward Journey
Here, the idea of a spirit, particularly as different from the idea of action, is important to think about. The nuance is sometimes challenging to keep in mind, but is necessary if we are to understand generosity, or any character quality for that matter, in a way that is deeper than the behavioral level. A spirit, as defined by Dallas Willard, is un-bodily personal power. It is energy that animates action. It is not the action itself, but rather the power that animates it. In the case of something specific like generosity, the spirit which gives power to the generous act has not only energy, but also specific direction. In this sense the deeper work of spiritual formation – or the forming of the animating powers within a person – becomes a little clearer to see. There is a vast difference between behavioral modification and spiritual formation, or in other words, character modification. In regards to generosity, we might say that there is a difference between someone who does a generous act (without a generous spirit), and one who is animated by a personal will to give (even maybe beyond what might be considered normative).
One way I’ve enjoyed thinking about how I might know what spirits are animating me, is to think about what comes out of me when I’m under immense pressure. What comes out when I’m squeezed? If for example under situations of high pressure, even the pressure of limited resources, I still have an inclination to give, I might say that there seems to be a spirit of generosity in me. The ease with which I come to thinking about giving or sharing, and acting on those thoughts may also be a marker of the nature of the spirit within me.
In Leonard’s case as described above, the pressure is immense. In front of his friend and doctor, he is experiencing the disintegration of his life. Yet, his response to his friend wanting to put down the camera and come and help him is to stop his friend– a generous denial of self – AND to request that he be filmed, for the sake of learning, for benefit to others – a generous act of giving.
The Outward Journey
No person is an island. We are indeed deeply connected, probably even more than we know. In and through these relationships, our inner world is deeply formed. That means, in part at least, that those we spend time with inherently have a part in forming us. The old adage, “Show me a person’s friends and I’ll tell you about the person,” is not far off from reality. The way I see this is as a way to help me understand the potential impact I have on those around me. What kind of person am I being for those around me? How is the way I show up of benefit or detriment to those around me? My colleagues at work, my friends, my neighbors, my family? Ultimately the thing we can attempt to change, even in the context of social relationships is us – not anyone else. For example, whether we show up or not, and how, are all choices we make as individuals that affect our social relationships.
Still, part of the way I understand what changes I might want to attempt or pursue in my own self is understanding what kind of community I might want to be a part of. For example, I might ask myself, “What kind of attributes of relationship in a community would help cultivate a spirit of generosity in me?” Or, “how might I cultivate those attributes in me as a member of such a community?”
In Leonard’s case, he didn’t have much of a choice in where he woke up, or what would happen when the drug’s effects would wear off. What he did have, however, was a friend. His doctor had established a bond of trust, even love, with Leonard. Dr. Sayer was pursuing what he thought was in Leonard’s best interest, and Leonard trusted that. This doesn’t mean that they always agreed, or that they didn’t need to continue to learn about each other in the process to adjust their choices. It just meant that they were connected across a bridge of trust and care, that informed how they acted. Of course, this idea of love – willing the good of the other – might be laughable outside of an idea of transcendent goodness, truth, or even beauty. We might ask, “How can we really know what is good for someone else?” Especially someone is Leonard’s case.
Knowing
It might be thought that it is the individual only that can really know what is good for themselves. Here, loving someone resolves to just doing what that individual wants. I have to disagree with this. While we all come with predisposed wants and desires, I would venture to suspect that most of us have adjusted those wants and desires over time as we have come to know more what is good (in the general, absolute, transcendent sense). Some of our wants and desires might be inherently good, some might be good but misplaced, mistimed, or mispositioned, and some might actually be bad. Knowing, or at least inquiring about, our personal inventory isn’t bad in any real sense. However, the bad escalates quickly if we aren’t aware of what our wants and desires are, and are not thoughtfully engaged in trying to shape them to be properly placed, timed, and positioned, and shaped towards goodness.
Leonard, once reawakened, wanted to live, with a capital “L.” Why wouldn’t he? The life that was taken away from him on account of his disease was reintroduced and with vigor. However, part of the heart-wrenching journey of the film is Leonard’s encounter with his limited nature. He wants life. It was given to him, and yet it was not to be for long. He fights. He fights like his life depended on it. He fights with others, with himself, and with the reality of the situation. Then there is this moment, where he decides to give instead of fight. Watch, watch, watch, learn, learn, learn. I can’t have the life that I want, but maybe what I have can help someone? Maybe it can help you?
This. I might not have what I want. I might not have what you want. But, maybe what I do have can help and be good. I am willing to give that. Now that is a generous spirit.