Kristof, Nobbs, Blank, and Jensen and the ability of the arts to cultivate compassion - “The more who die, the less we care.”

Ever since I read Nicholas Kristof's column in The New York Times last week, I've been trying to figure out how to draw a connection between what he describes––how we're more likely to help a single individual in need, than to help many in need––and the potential of work in the arts. Here's Kristof:

"...as the saying goes, that one death is a tragedy, a million a statistic. More depressing, appeals to our rationality actually seem to impede empathy.

For example, in one study, people donate generously to Rokia, a 7-year-old malnourished African girl. But when Rokia’s plight was explained as part of a larger context of hunger in Africa, people were much less willing to help."

Kristof quotes behavioral scientist Paul Slovic in saying "the more who die, the less we care." People are able to ignore a statistic, but it's hard to not stop and help a single, suffering child.

Kristof's piece reminded me of the unique ability that the arts have, to create an immediate and compassionate human connection to an audience and why that was possible and necessary. We're in a fog, most of the time, thinking about ourselves, and the arts provide immediate connection and understanding that shakes us out of our fog––whether we like it or not.

Listen to Erik Jensen and Jessica Blank talk about why they create documentary theater:

"All of that work that work that we do together I think is really grounded in asking audiences to empathize with people who they might not normally empathize with... the central mechanism of narrative, all narrative, film, novels, theater, etc. etc., is empathy, and I think with theater, that manifests in the most immediate way because everybody is literally in a room together. There's no screen, there's no wall, there's no page, there's no filter of the audience's imagination. Everybody is actually having a shared experience."

Keith Nobbs, too, talked about theater's unique mechanism, something that's created by being in the same room as someone else, and how that forces you to feel compassion for them:

“Someone described the difference of theater and film as watching someone go through something and being in the same room with someone who's going through something.... if someone is crying in front of you, and you're in the same room, and you're breathing the same air, you have to, as a human being, take that in and exist in that space with them and be there for them. You have to show up.”

Jessica and Erik must've noticed this, too, when they first conceived of creating The Exonerated. The project arose after they attended a conference on the death penalty, and heard stories about a group of guys in Illinois who'd had confessions tortured out of them by a particular police commander. They described how at the conference, they saw a documentary on some of the cases, and heard information that was disturbing, but "kind of on an intellectual level." The audience was presented information dispassionately, in a detached, journalistic way.

The key moment for Erik and Jessica came when the conference organizers presented, via cell-phone held up to a microphone, one of the men whose confession had been tortured from him and who remained in prison. "Within about 45 seconds to a minute, everybody in the audience was weeping.... all he was essentially saying was 'I want to go home' and who can't relate to that?"

Suddenly, a concept - "men who'd had false confessions tortured from them" - became a real live person. And he wasn't even in the room, he was miles away, connected by cell phone. But the fact that there was a real human being telling his story on the other end of that line forced every single person in that audience to notice, and to be personally, and passionately moved.

So the key for any artist is to create these moments of connection in anything they do, whether on stage or film, or in any other medium. The arts give us an opportunity to be the opposite of preoccupied: we're able to be present, and fully experience a moment that would otherwise slip by, unnoticed. They give us an immediate and undeniable connection another human being.

I'm going to go out on a limb here, and get a little Buddhist on you. Shock! Thich Nhat Hanh, in his book For a Future to Be Possible, talks about Avalokitesvara, the Bodhisattva who is often called the "universal manifestation of compassion." In this section, Thay is talking about the Fourth Mindfulness Training, which starts with the words "Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I vow to cultivate loving speech and deep listening in order to bring joy and happiness to others and relieve others of suffering."

Thay says:

"The meaning of the word Avalokitesvara is 'the one who looks deeply into the world and hears the cries of the world.'; This voice relieves our suffering and suppressed feelings, because it is the voice of someone who understands us deeply -- our anguish, despair, and fear. When we feel understood, we suffer much less."

This is what Keith, Erik, and Jessica describe above. By being in a seat, in a theater, faced with a real live person on stage, we're setting the stage for deep listening. This deep listening allows us to understand another's anguish, despair, and fear, and in turn, it allows us to see that others understand our own anguish, despair, and fear. "When we feel understood, we suffer much less."

So how does this all connect to Kristof's point about our ability to ignore the suffering of millions, while we can't help but want to help a single, suffering individual? It's simply that compassionate work actually creates a real, suffering individual in the space before us, whether on stage, on film, or in any medium. We are hardwired to feel compassion, as I described in the recent Daniel Goleman post. So when that real human being is created before us, we can't help but feel compassion; since, as Jessica said above, "the central mechanism of narrative, all narrative, film, novels, theater, etc. etc., is empathy," we enter any space where a story is being told ready to empathize and to feel compassion for another living being.

This works in two ways:

1. When we feel compassion for another, we want to help that person and relieve his or her suffering. So the arts, then, create a world where we are all driven to help others, to relieve their suffering.

2. When we see a character or story created from a place of compassion, we feel understood, because we know, deeply, that the human beings depicted are no different from us in the most fundamental ways. We feel heard. This is the voice of Avalokitesvara, which "relieves our suffering and suppressed feelings, because it is the voice of someone who understands us deeply -- our anguish, despair, and fear. When we feel understood, we suffer much less."

It's possible, then, that through the arts, the suffering of many, for example, "wrongfully convicted death row inmates," becomes present to us as the suffering of a single human being. We then want to help that real human being, and that compels us to want to help others in the same situation.

In addition, when we experience that other human being as wanting the very same things as ourselves - for example, "I just want to go home," we feel understood, because we know that this human being shares anguish, despair, and fear that we have felt ourselves.

So the Kristof piece truly highlights what we're talking about here. A focus on compassion in the arts is necessary, and could even be a matter of life and death. If you, as an artist, want to connect to your audience, choose compassion. If you work with artists, and want them to connect to their audiences, guide them towards compassion. If you, as an artist, or as someone involved in entertainment or media in any way, want to make an impact on others, to relieve their suffering, choose compassion. *

Kristof, Nobbs, Blank, and Jensen and the ability of the arts to cultivate compassion - “The more who die, the less we care.”

Movies as Meditation - Keith Nobbs on cultivating compassion by watching Sean Penn - "You get goosebumps! Your body knows when it's real!"

Here's the truth, and it hurts. Bad. Sometimes I wonder whether this is all just an intellectual exercise. Not that often, but sometimes. I mean, does it really mean anything to anyone, when an actor approaches a role with compassion? Whether he or she really tries to portray them as a human being, without judgment? I mean, Transformers made over $200M this weekend! In spite of its astoundingly bad reviews. Shouldn't we all be emulating that?

But then there are times where a performance deeply affects us, and gives us insight into a human being in a completely new way. No, I'm not talking about Megan Fox. Keith Nobbs, who recently shared his thoughts on contribution with us, and whose own work has deeply affected many, talked to me about watching Sean Penn in Dead Man Walking:

You'll have to watch the video to see him describe Penn's performance, and how the briefest crack in his stoic veneer allowed Keith, as an audience member, access to understand the character as a human being. But here's what Keith says about how you know when it's working:

"When that moment happens, it's not an intellectual thing, it's an emotional engagement. You get goosebumps! Your body knows when it's real... you're completely invested in that feeling... watching people crack... just gets me every time."

Who hasn't felt that way, watching an amazing performance that connects to them personally in an unexpected way. Sean Penn plays a brutal murderer in the film, and creates someone we're able to see as a human being. And we know it's true, because we feel it in our bones.

It's this point that reminds me it's not just intellectual; it's emotional, it's real, and it compels us to understand other human beings as being no different from ourselves. That the way we suffer is universal, that our struggles are universal.

Keith goes on to point out that it ain't easy!

"It's such a beautiful, vulnerable strength, to be able to do that. And you try, and you try to be compassionate with yourself as an actor when you do that successfully, and when you don't. 'Cause you don't, all the time. Sometimes we mess up. Not mess up, but sometimes you're not able, sometimes you're too scared. But to be forgiving and loving of yourself... and to continue to be curious and to continue to be empathetic.... is the goal."

Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, who I was fortunate enough to see recently at the New York Shambhala Center, shares this in his new book, Joyful Wisdom:

"Deeply entrenched in our habits of relating to ourselves, other people, things, and situations is a kind of lonely separateness––a sense of independent being that obscures our connectedness to others. This very subtle sense of difference or separation lies at the heart of many personal and interpersonal problems. The practice of empathy takes whatever difficulty or crisis we may be facing as a starting point for recognizing our similarity to others. It gradually opens our minds to a profound experience of fearlessness and confidence while transforming personal problems into a strong motivation to help others."

The empathy that Keith describes in Sean Penn's performance––the empathy Penn has for his character, which creates the empathy we feel for his character––is this "starting point" for recognizing our similarity, and that's why it gives us goosebumps. Rinpoche goes on to talk about how easy it is not to see this similarity.

"It's so easy to think that we're the only ones who suffer while other people were born with the Happiness Handbook...which through some accident of birth, we never received. I've been as guilty of this belief as anyone else. When I was young, the anxiety I almost constantly experienced left me feeling alone, weak, and stupid."

As I have previously quoted, Thich Nhat Hanh talking about what feeling that way makes us do:

"You can make a mistake only when you forget that the other person suffers. You tend to believe that you are the only one who suffers, and that the other person is enjoying your suffering. You will say and do mean and cruel things when you believe that you are the only one who suffers and that the other person does not suffer at all."

Rinpoche goes on to talk about his compassion mediation and how it affected him:

"I found that my sense of isolation began to diminish. At the same time I gradually began to feel confident and even useful. I began to recognize that I wasn't the only person to feel scared and vulnerable. Over time, I began to see that considering the welfare of other beings was essential in discovering my own peace of mind."

Is it possible that watching a performance grounded in compassion is a form of mediation on compassion, in that it causes us to feel more compassion for others? In the moment we're suddenly able to feel compassion for Sean Penn's character, a murderer who we might otherwise judge, is compassion being cultivated within us?

And maybe we only feel that way for a moment, and maybe the compassion fades. But guess what? Same thing with meditation! People practice Tonglen over and over and over for years. The Dalai Lama supposedly practices it every day! I mean, that dude seems pretty compassionate to me and still he feels like he needs to keep practicing. I hope he gets it right at some point.

Seriously though, I'm not suggesting that anyone give up compassion and lovingkindness meditation and start watching movies. But it's clear that watching a performance grounded in compassion opens us up to an understanding of our similarity to others. Including, perhaps, giant robots.

Thanks so much, Keith, for bringing the importance of this to my attention! *

Movies as Meditation - Keith Nobbs on cultivating compassion by watching Sean Penn - "You get goosebumps! Your body knows when it's real!"

Whoops! I forgot to be compassionate! - and a response from Peace Games' Courtney Wong

Whoa! Another week + has gone by and no posting. What's that about? Lest you think I'm sitting here in lotus position, mindfully breathing while I take on the business that is show, I'd like to share the following:

I frequently get so wrapped up in what's going on in my head that I forget to be compassionate.

That's right. Me. I can be a real jerk sometimes! For instance, I'll be on the phone with an agent, or a producer, or a casting director, and they'll say something that just rubs me the wrong way. Can you believe it? Me, Mr. Non-Judgment? Obviously there must be something really really wrong with them if it bothers me. Or maybe I'm just not being compassionate! Maybe I'm so busy being right that I'm not stopping to think about what they want!

Remember that Triumph song from the 70's, "Fight the Good Fight"? Make sure to watch this video from the 1983 Us Festival. At least watch through to the part where Rik Emmett's face is superimposed over an image of the crowd.



Damn, that guy has a high voice. What is it with Canadian singers? Regardless the message is clear: FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT! What can I do make sure I keep fighting the good fight?

I have an elaborate system of reminders that bring me back to... ommm... compassion. So that when I'm on the phone with someone who's somehow annoying me, I can stop and remember to be compassionate. I can remember what's important to me and why, I can remember to take a breath and come back to the present moment, I can remember why I must be compassionate, how it impacts me when I'm not being compassionate, how it impacts them, and how it impacts the world.

In case you forgot why it's important to be compassionate, click here.

So here are some of my reminders.

1. Buddha on the desk
2. Buddha on the windowsill
3. Pic of my kids on the desk.
4. Pic of my wife on the desk.
5. Pic of my kids and nephews on my big monitor.
6. Plants!
7. Mindfulness bell on my computer
8. Tattoo with my wife and kids' names, and red lotuses (the flower of Avalokitesvara, the bodhisattva of compassion). This is a recent addition, and one that I can take with me wherever I go.
9. Inspiring quotes on my desk. Today, from Chogyam Trungpa, "This very moment is always the occasion."
10. Stacks and stacks of inspiring reading.

If this gets you excited, feel free to find your own ideas. I'd hate to think you were copying me. I especially don't want you getting a tattoo with my wife and kids' names. Or steal, if it really helps. But seriously, don't get my wife and kids' names tattooed on your arm. Seriously. Find your own damn family. Whoops! Off track for a moment.

Anyway I'd like to share one of the other most inspiring things that really keeps me on track––I got an email from our friends at Peace Games who were kind enough to forward this note from one of their interns, Courtney Wong, who's working with them through the New Sector Alliance Summer Fellowship Program. Here, Courtney discussed the posting about Keith Nobbs' experiences in his work. The picture below is Courtney, just to avoid any confusion.

"I was touched by your moving post about Keith’s experiences with compassion in his acting work. The sense of fulfillment and personal impact that Keith felt in his role as an actor, inspiring compassion and empathy in his audience is quite similar to what Peace Games works to instill in its students.

As an intern at Peace Games through the New Sector Alliance Summer Fellowship program in nonprofit consulting, I only became acquainted with the organization’s work a few weeks ago. I hadn’t previously thought about the idea of “peacemaking” and its importance as a fundamental value taught to students, but in learning about Peace Games’ rich history and work by visiting schools and talking to staff members, I realize that it’s really all about teaching students to act with the basic but essential values of compassion, understanding, and mutual respect.

This idea that you write about, that compassion is the key to having an extraordinary impact, is exactly what Peace Games teaches its students. In our classrooms, students learn about and practice these values, in order to understand that their relationships with peers, family members, and teachers must be filled with compassion, respect, kindness, and empathy. This understanding gives students the ability to have an impact beyond the one already felt in their personal relationships – a greater impact on their communities at large, which they reveal through their community service learning “Peacemaker Projects” carried out during the second half of the year.

As you noted, Keith identifies himself and his work as an important contribution, which is Peace Games’ goal for its students as well. We teach students that we must all be a contribution as peacemakers, people who make a difference, and that the differences we make should be about fostering positive changes in our communities based on compassion and respect."

If you're not already familiar with Peace Games, check out this amazing video on their work:

And thanks so much to Courtney Wong for her inspiring words!
*

Whoops! I forgot to be compassionate! - and a response from Peace Games' Courtney Wong

Compassion & Contribution: "Yeah, sure, compassion's great, but what's in it for me?"

Hi everyone. Sorry that it's been twelve days since I've posted. In that time I've done two extraordinary interviews, which I've been processing in my mind. I've been doing a lot of reading, too, and it all seems like it's bearing fruit:

You may remember that back in March, I asserted the following:

1. Compassion is at the center of every career that truly inspires me.
2. Compassion is the key to the most extraordinary career possible.
3. Compassion is the key to making the most extraordinary impact possible
4. Compassion is the key to the happiest life possible.

The very talented and articulate Keith Nobbs was kind enough to share his thoughts with me on compassion as it relates to his work in the arts. Keith's an actor, and he'll soon be seen starring in the massive HBO miniseries The Pacific. Here, Keith talks about working on stage:

"When people go in to a theater, they sit there and they think they have nothing in common with what they're about to see, or who these people are. And throughout the course of... the evening, they realize, these layers of protection start to melt away, and they start to identify with these people and they start to relate to them, and focus on what connects them to these people, instead of what separates and divides them."

This is pretty basic stuff, right? Most would agree, that if the artists putting on a play create something that allows the above to happen, they've been successful in some way.

But there's another layer I'd like to focus on, that's primarily related to numero 3 above: Compassion is the key to making the most extraordinary impact possible.

In the Christopher Shinn play Four, Keith played a young gay teen on a date with a much older man, in a sexually charged scene. The particular performance Keith discusses here is a "student matinee," in front of a theater full of high school kids.

In the video, Keith talks about his concern about performing this play in front of these kids.

“There was a part of me that was so terrified of doing this play in front of those kids, because I thought... these are the people [my character is] most afraid of, and he's having to get up in front of them and be that naked and that vulnerable, and reveal the parts of himself he hates the most, in the least safe environment possible.”

"The risk of doing that in front of other people and revealing that part of yourself in front of that audience... it's terrifying. These are parts of ourselves... they could be joyful parts of ourselves, they could be shameful parts of ourselves that you don't want to reveal, but the power and the freedom of being able to reveal that, and then having people recognize that, and having people respond to that and validate those parts of yourself, is such a powerful... gift for us and for them."

Keith goes on to describe how the kids ultimately reacted to the performance, at a graphic moment in the play:

“They were so invested in the story, and treating it as though this was a real person, with real thoughts and real feelings, it was silence. There was no anxiety, there was no nervous laughter. Everybody was just listening. And it moved me so much, I almost wanted to cry in that moment, because I could feel them giving my character respect, feel them listening to him as if he was a real person. And then I thought about... how amazing to have this forum to tell this story... and the kid out there in the audience... who's gay, who may not even know he's gay, and he's sitting there listening to this story, and these kids, who he's probably afraid of... he can see them listening to this character, and respecting this character, and how moving that it for him to witness.”

There are several layers of compassion here that are pretty obvious: Keith's compassion for the character, which enables him to portray him in a way that allows the audience to actually listen to him and respect him, the audience's compassion for the character, unexpected by Keith, Keith's compassion for himself, allowing himself to feel the fear the character himself might experience among his peers, and Keith's compassion for the audience.

It's this last one I'd like to focus on here, and the impact possible because of it.

After the performance, Keith notices two specific things: that the audience was able to give his character respect, and that there might be someone in the audience who specifically identifies with his character, and who gets something very important from that identification.

So here, compassion is potentially the key to an extraordinary impact. What I find exciting about the way this occurs to Keith is the fact that he so deeply recognized this impact, and in some ways it appears to be part of the fundamental reason he put himself on the line––courageously exposing himself in a terrifying environment.

Here, Keith declares himself a contribution, he recognizes the impact his work may have on an audience, or even on one individual in the audience, and that impact is part of what gives him the ability to take action, however terrifying it might be. And, inevitably, that impact reaches beyond any one individual.

The amazing Zanders talk about "being a contribution" in The Art of Possibility:

"The practice is... inventing oneself as a contribution, and others as well. The steps to the practice are these:

1. Declare yourself to be a contribution.
2. Throw yourself into life as someone who makes a difference, accepting that you may not understand how or why...
   

...when you play the contribution game, it is never a single individual who is transformed. Transformation overrides the divisions of identity and possession that are the architecture of the measurement model, recasting the tight pattern of scarcity into a widespread array of abundance....

...naming oneself and others as a contribution produces a shift away from self-concern and engages us in a relationship with others that is an arena for making a difference. Rewards in the contribution game are of a deep and enduring kind, though less predictable than the trio of money, fame, and power that accrue to the winner in the success game. You never know what they will be, or from whence they will come."

I titled this entry "Yeah, sure, compassion's great, but what's in it for me." I hope that watching Keith Nobbs talk about his work inspires you to consider what is, in fact, in it for you. Think about what Keith says, above:

"And it moved me so much, I almost wanted to cry in that moment, because I could feel them giving my character respect, feel them listening to him as if he was a real person."

How extraordinary to feel that sense of aliveness, that connectedness with his audience, his awareness of the impact possible from his work. As the Zanders say, the rewards are deep and enduring when we take on being a contribution. And considering how you and your life are a contribution to others is the essence of compassion.

Thank you, Keith! *

Compassion & Contribution: "Yeah, sure, compassion's great, but what's in it for me?"