The Unbearable Lightness of Being
In the early 1980s, Czech author
It was the extraordinary, magnificent title of the
book that had really grabbed me from the first.
I identified with it, at once and forever. The title seemed to promise a literary mirror
into which I’d instantly wanted to gaze, hoping to see myself more clearly. I’d begun to read with the anxious hope that
Kundera’s book would dangle some revelatory insights before me, or at least
raise some compelling questions like signposts for me to follow. But the novel went off in another direction,
and I was left standing at the crossroad.
Decades later, that title still haunts me. I love it.
It is one of the most perfect phrases I have ever heard. I can’t imagine a more eloquent encapsulation
of yearning and powerlessness, hope and despair, beauty and insubstantiality. In those four words there’s enough meaning and
mystery to feast on for a lifetime.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being is the
phrase that recurs every time I reflect on my untethered life, my world without
a geographic center, my unquenchable urge to move again and again without end.
Unbearable.
Lightness. Of Being. What does that conjure up? Floating…free of gravity…the perfect vantage
point to observe or to describe what we see below…a beautiful freedom of
movement, without logic or end…the very essence of mutability, the very essence
of potential, the very essence of unhindered thought…but, fatally, doomed forever
to be a wispy fog incapable of completing its evolution into a substantive,
permanent form. I think there is a Greek
myth about this…what is it?
We military brats have lived dozens and dozens of
places, few of which remember us, and we have known tens of thousands of
people, few of whom hold us in their thoughts.
We are incredibly adaptable. We can
transform ourselves to a large degree, to become, for a time, what others wish
us to be. We are good at this, almost
shamanic. We grow up learning to pick up
and shed accents, slang, manners of dress and attitude and behavior. We are quick studies at mirroring the people
around us. We are natural actors, disappearing
into a new role, then shrugging it off like a discarded silk caftan pooling in
iridescent folds about our feet, already forgotten, as we reach for a completely
different garment in which to lose ourselves.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being describes
how I feel most of the time. It is
familiar to me in the way I imagine Homes are to people with roots. It is unbearable, but obviously it is also
quite bearable. It is light and
unfinished, and yet oddly permanent. I
suffer in it, but I don’t really dislike it.
It is what I know.
I like what you've done with the title, adding your own spin to it.
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For me, this reaction to The Unbearable Lightness of Being expands upon and reflects the poetic qualities of the title. I recall being disappointed at the time that the reviews of the book and movie didn't seem to live up to the promise of that mysterious phrasing. How fascinating to discover decades later, through such an insightful examination, that this universal quality of our human condition and perhaps the fundamental appeal of those words could be linked to the less tethered aspects of our military childhoods.
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I, too, am forever mystified by the word Being. It has a way of meaning everything and nothing. Sartre would be proud of the book, but of course, critical.
The rule that the book is always better than the movie is true but in this case, I liked the movie better. I think the movie lacked the same qualities you describe, with the exception of Daniel Day-Lewis’ incredible acting. It was his first role as a leading man.
Czech writing has come a long way from the days of Kafka but it still does not translate well. And like Kafka, I think we will have to wait a while before the meaning sinks in.
The notion of Being can be overlooked in this piece. We have Tomas, a successful neurosurgeon at the beginning, the caricature of the struggling man who has little sense of inquiry, the fatal flaw. The woman, Tereza, wants a decent life and family, a Doer. And Sabina, the artist who simply Does as a reflection of who she Is. She wins in the end, at least in the movie, if living is winning.
Sartre is right as usual. The world is full of spectators and actors.
I think Kundera planned the disappointment, if a writer can plan such impact. Look at his own life: the Soviets made it miserable for him, expelling him from the Party for Being an “individual.” Then in 1968, after the Soviet invasion, his writing was banned from all public libraries and he lost his teaching credentials. He eventually moved to France and became a citizen. No wonder.
It’s too bad because the Czech Republic needs him now. And he would fit.
But the ending of the movie made it for me. Through all the conflicts over which we have no control, we have Sabina carefully laying out a line of paint on a canvas after reading a letter which tells of the death of Tomas and Tereza. And then Doing something very human: she cries.
What makes us, the rootless, identify with her are the unanswered questions that a movie portrays with a tear and a sorrowful face.
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David, what an insightful and helpful comment. I have not seen the film, but I will seek it out now. I love your idea that the identifying condition here for us, the unbearable lightness of being you might say, is the persistent sadness of unanswered questions. You quote Sartre--the world is full of spectators and actors. I'm wondering if the vast majority of military brats are spectators by virtue of being outsiders. There are exceptions, however. Do you have any thoughts on what it takes to transform one's self from a specatator to an actor, and what special challenges this poses for military brats?
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Mary,
Well, I have only 3,000 bytes for a billion byte question. It’s existentialism of course, but that is what the study of Being Is. (Remember Brevity.)
I don’t agree that brats have a tendency to be spectators. I think their impression of themselves is that they are, but in actuality, probably not. That conclusion would take a scientific study to prove, of course.
Becoming an Actor from a Spectator involves Decision. There is no magic pill for it. Some would say it’s the conceptual framework (Weltanschauung) that counts: the sum total of who we are at the time the question is asked. Heredity, environment, God, fate, chance, necessity, or science rolled to answer any question.
But Sartre (et ali) does not care. (We are condemned to be free of such matters.) The question of how we make our decision is unimportant. We must make decisions not only on behalf of our Self but for every other person, in the same circumstances. And we must not avoid the decision out of fear for making the wrong decision: we must avoid Regret for making no decision at all. Life is meaningless without Decision.
Another summation to this dilemma comes from another student of Being in those post War years: Thomas Merton. The chapter called “Being and Doing” in Seeds of Doubt is wonderful in the way Merton describes the difference between a person Being (Actor) and one Doing (Spectator).
“We are warmed by fire not the smoke of the fire....” More?
Even that analogy breaks down when we consider Authenticity. (Sartre smiles.)
Is an Actor really authentic when he plays someone else? Is he Being his true view of himSelf? Would not then a Spectator be the honest one? What is dishonest about simply Being a Doer? (I love words.)
We could go on and on with those questions.
If we understand that in our everyday lives, the decisions we make, to act, not to act, to fight, to walk away, to take a trip, to cross a river, all require every other person to make the same decision in the same circumstance, and not to be afraid of the consequences because of fear but the avoidance of regret, we literally can Do anything. We can endure the unendurable. It’s how Sabina survived the torment of so many affairs and the communists: she made the Decision to come to America and be an artist.
Carl Jung used the concept and Victor Frankl made it into a practical therapy that helped his fellow concentration camp victims survive.
We see it in practice but we likely do not give it names.
(See part two.)
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I went to a high school class reunion (my last) a few years back and remember what one of the cheer leaders said as I was leaving. She said, “Look at them, David. You Westover people are carrying the ball again.”
I looked around and there “they” were, men and women now, the Student Government, the club leaders, the athletes, the scholars, the poets, the lead actors in the school play, all of the military brats from the base standing in a circle to themselves, talking of old times, swapping stories, and laughing. Around them sitting often one to a table, alone and watching the circle of friends that I had just left, were the locals, the townees, the ones we left behind.
We traveled thousands of miles to be there. The locals got in their car and drove for at most an hour. We are now the writers, the politicians, the community leaders, the school principals, and yes, the movie stars. I don’t mean to brag, but I don’t remember one remarkable person amongst the locals.
Happiness is always subjective but I ask you: which group, the Actor, which group the Spectator?
We were not blown about by the wind. We simply made our own.
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Thank you, David, for your very profound and thought-provoking comments here.
You write that Sartre does not care about the 'how' of the decision-making, but only that we not hide from the necessity of making decisions. But he would care about the 'why' of it, wouldn't he? What I'm trying to get at is the motivating force behind a given decision, the engine that propels us from a state of passive Spectatorship to the Act itself.
I believe that what human beings most want is the knowledge that our lives have been significant--meaningful--in some way. Of course the individual definitions of what qualifies as meaningful or significant vary tremendously, from the criminal and crassly acquisitive to the public-spirited, charitable, family-nurturing, artistic, altruistic, and so on. The common denominator, though, would be the self-perception of meaningfulness. That would put me smack in the middle of the Viktor Frankl camp, since, as you know, he even founded the clinical psychology field of logo therapy, which helps people perceive the meaning in their lives. I read his book Man's Search for Meaning a long time ago, but I remember loving it.
The scenario you painted, in which the military brats at a civilian high school skipped by the locals to become the stand-out students, athletes, actors, leaders, and went on to adult lives of similar stand-out status, is a common one. It's true that brats tend to jump right in and "make our own," and those accomplishments are real and meaningful. But I suggest it would not be fair to conclude that the locals, by default, lack the will to make their mark. I think there are two things at work here: First, the locals are at a disadvantage when faced with the transient brat's tremendous need to achieve personal significance in short order. Second, locals who give way to the onslaught of brat super-achievers learn to find their meaning elsewhere--and I suspect a thorough study of the lives of such locals would show that they had learned to seek avenues of meaning that had not been singled out by ambitious brats. It comes down to the 'why' of decision-making, and I'd like to bring up something from my book that I think is relevant.
In the chapter "Military Brats as Nomads," I wrote that military kids are often perceived as more outgoing and assertive than other kids. "These kinds of attributes, in children who are not troublemakers, are often favored by teachers and parents, who tend to interpret them as signs of well-adjusted, thriving, spirited individuals. The point here is not to deny that these are signs of healthy adjustment, but to advance an alternative notion--that, like the military brat antenna and the ability to mimic, these are behaviors acquired for social survival.
"For military brats, time is always short. They can't afford to wait around to be noticed or for invitations to drift in. So they often force themselves to take the stage, stand out int he crowd.... Or as the son of an Air Force sergeant commented, 'The military life either makes or breaks your personality. It will force your personality to change. If you're outgoing anyway, you're lucky. But what if you're a homebody type person, and you're forced to move around?'
"The lively, bold behavior observed by teachers and others is what I call forced extroversion: extroverted behavior whether or not the individual is an extrovert naturally. That would account for the often frenetically outgoing nature of military brats, many of whom are in effect forcing their personalities into an alien style.
"...Forced extroversion has its useful side in later life: The behavior becomes so tried and true that even if our extroversion goes underground in adulthood, it can be pulled out when needed. For some military brats it becomes such an important ingredient in their identity that it shapes their lives. The constant role changes, the re-creation of self in new environments.... Military brats grow up learning how to put themselves out there on the social stage, gambling everything on their skills at attracting attention, winning approval, getting over an image.
"...In its most positive manifestations during the school years, the forced extroversion of military brats propels them beyond grade-getting into the rarefied company of high achievers in activities requiring public performance. Many tell of going all out for awards, school office, athletic teams, band, drama, and other clubs as a means of integrating into the group in short order. As with high grades, adults interpret this as evidence of superior ability and fine character. They are not necessarily wrong about that, but it might be more in line to view these things as evidence of the skill military brats perfect in answer to a desperate need to g ain social footing on new ground.
"Military brats learn fairly quickly to exploit the comparatively relaxed environment of most civilian schools. Awards, leadership roles, parts in the play--all are pretty much there for the asking if a kid wants them badly enough and is willing to put in the hard work needed to get them. Other kids by and large fall back in the face of the hard-driving ambition of the military brat.... A number of military brats told of running for--and walking away with--class offices, sometimes within weeks of arriving in a new school. An Army major's daughter, a talented artist, said, "I knew that by using art, wherever I was, I could plug in. We [military brats] were like the traveling Jews: You pick up your violin, and the next place you go, you can join the symphony.'"
In conclusion, I would say that on some deep level, a brat walking into a civilian school--probably in the middle of the school year--perceives that, at a time of life when social networks are everything, the local civilian kids hold all the cards. In such a setting, there are only two ways to become somebody--with personal significance that is publicly validated: be very, very competitive in order to go the high-profile, high-achieving route; or go directly to one of the out-groups, which always accept new members, in order to go the high-profile, low-achieving route.
If we brats outstrip our civilian peers in the quest for social significance, it may or may not be because we are more talented--but it sure as hell is because we're more desperate.
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Point well taken, and I don’t want to belabor a good thread, but I certainly did not mean to demean the locals.
Again, we are missing the operational definition or traits of success, of actualization, of Becoming for not only brats, but "normal" people. (How did Madonna do it and which planet was she from?)
I have no doubt that the traits of "success" can be demonstrated in brats, and yes, because of desperation, but is forced extroversion necessarily a "brat" coping mechanism? And how does that insight help us to action?
When I lived in Spain I knew many civilian sons and daughters of business people who were thrust into the same, if not more desperate positions. They did not have the benefit of American schools to support them. They went to the Spanish schools and bought food totally on the local economy. And they moved far more often than most of us.
(I had the benefit of living in the city of Madrid itself, not out in a housing area or on the base.)
I also work in a global company where I know families are moved very often. If they don’t the soup line is waiting. (Do I feel at home? Yes.)
Long term I wonder what happened to them, but the point I’m making is that many of the traits we think help us, also may have "helped" other people in similar circumstances. What is it that gets one over the line?
To get from spectator to actor (or vice versa) involves overcoming fear, brat or no brat. It is fear that we know very well, not only its impact, but how to use it.
We live closer to war more than any other segment of the population, making it even more difficult to overcome life, never mind introversion, especially as children. (Cops and firemen’s families suffer the same fears but not of terror or annihilation to one’s family.)
Most civilians think of fear of failure (or success). We think of nothing other than stark terror and nuclear holocaust and many of us have seen it in action. I was personally shot twice when I lived in Spain and not by a Spaniard. (I won’t mention all the other fights.) And I am a tested Introvert.
I’m sure other brats have similar stories but I am certainly no spectator in anything – and this is key -- unless by choice or circumstance, the latter being Kundera’s reason for calling Being "unbearable."
One element I know hinders the military brat, that helps overcome this fear, is the reticence to seek the insight we are discussing now. For anyone to admit they went through therapy as a son or daughter of a military man is for the father, a career limiting move to say the least. And for the progeny, social disgrace.
But you wrote about that already so well for all of us.
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I absolutely agree that corporate brats, dip brats, missionary kids, police and firefighter kids, preacher kids, and others have traits similar to ours to the extent that they experienced certain similar conditions over time. We don't have an exclusive right to forced extroversion, for example, or to the other long-term effects of extreme mobility, father absence, serving a mission, repeated loss, and many other things. No one, however, has all the elements common to military childhood except a military brat.
Interesting point you made about the overcoming of fear being the key to anyone, whether brat or not, making the transition from spectator to actor. I wonder. Certainly I see that point, but lately, as I've struggled with my own "unbearable lightness of being" and written about it for this blog, I have felt very much like a spectator rather than an actor--and I honestly don't see it as a problem of fear. I'd say my inability to join more in the life of the community, especially in the last couple of years, feels more like the product of having been an untethered, unrooted person all my life. I feel as though the other people I see around me have more weight, more gravity, more presence, but I have very little weight, next to no gravity, and am almost invisible. I can't act because I keep floating up off the ground and can't get traction. (I must say here that I am searching for metaphors, and I am really, truly, not psychotic!) The odd thing is that I feel this way despite having invested 11 1/2 years of my life in this community. I know plenty of people, have held a variety of jobs in different spheres. You'd think I would start to feel some of that weightiness, that gravitational pull of community by now. But I find as time goes on, the unbearable lightness of being only seems to increase. I don't know if it will keep on growing, or taper off, or change to something else--but at least it's an interesting phenomenon for me to ponder.
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Now we are into something.
Don’t we all feel that weight or loss of weight? And why don’t the business progeny I mentioned feel the same way? Maybe they do, but I have not seen it.
I’m guess I think in philosophical rather than sociological terms. Often they cross paths. I do know that feeling of what the French call anomie, of being anonymous, without a name.
I’ve talked about it to others who come here to Arizona, a haven for transients. Whenever I use that term to describe their feelings, a light goes on. They want to know more. But it helps them, not me. I could quote the history of the identity dilemma from Aristotle to Hegel to Russell and at times I feel part of the present in that discussion.
Maybe Heidegger and Descartes are right in saying the process of inquiry is what is important, time being such a relative thing.
But that does not seem enough does it?
Life is a tragic joke or a cosmic farce. Somebody tell me which one.
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I can't speak for the business progeny you mentioned--it would be really interesting to hear from them. But I do think that the "unbearable lightness of being" I feel and that I suspect is felt by many other brats is due to having been born and raised in an environment so dedicated to its mission that children are generally regarded as a necessary nuisance that must be tolerated and, above all, kept in line and out of the way. I do see that it must be that way inside the Fortress; I'm not suggesting that the military should be child-centered, which is a ridiculous idea. But I am saying that children raised in a society that sees them in this way, combined with such frequent moves that they never achieve much of a presence in rooted communities either, can easily develop a sense of their own invisibility, weightlessness, and temporariness. I suppose that should make Buddhists out of all of us.
You ask if life is a tragic joke or a cosmic farce.... I reckon the Buddhists would say it is both--and that the best response is laughter. Which brings us round to another great Kundera title, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting.
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I don't know if you have read Under the Tuscan Sun by Francis Mayes. A really great read. So well written. It's a feast of language.
She discusses the feelings of rootlessness in the beginning as she tries to jsutify buying a house in Tuscany after a divorce.
She ways she wants to but a home that says Yes.
I think the reasons for the differences between civilians and us is that sense of Connectedness. I know my now ex-wife found it easier to connect than me to the local community. I was always dreaming of being elsewhere.
Very similar feelings in the book and your postings.
Me? I've given up a hopeless cause. I personally don't care what the locals think anymore. And I don't feel less weighted than them in any meeting.
Proably comes from my Dad, another Bull Meacham. Favorite expression upon leaving: not Good Bye or Good Luck or even See you. Give'em hell.
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You gave up the dreaming of being elsewhere...just like that? I wish I could do that. If you can tell me how, please do. I keep inventing new possible lives for myself, which bear no relation to reality, because I'm not about to do anything independently of my family, such as move, etc. When I run into locals these days--every day--with whom I used to be more active in the community, and they comment on that, I feel like saying, Don't you know I'm not here anymore? Because in my head I left some time ago, although, to my surprise, I am still physically here.
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I actually meant to say I've given up excusing myself for being elsewhere. I just accept it and if anyone else can't handle it, then there is not much I can do about it.
Remember the warrior replicate (Roy) in Blade Runner? As he (Rutger Hauer) was dying he told of places he had seen that Harrison Ford (Deckard) could not possibly imagine seeing.
An everyday occurrence for us. We have to have our dreams to cope with the mundane.
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I have often thought of military brats as being Chameleons, able to change in an instant to fit their environment. How many times I have found myself changing mannerisms, accents and actions based on what is happening around me. Often times the changes occur without me meaning to do it. It is a natural process. Is it a defense measure? We blend in with whomever we are with. What better way to ward off a perceived threat than to become like the threat itself, even if only for enough time to escape. Then there are the changes made on purpose. Those can be fun...... almost a private joke, toying with whomever we are "joining" with. Making them think we are as they are when deep down inside we are much much different.
My wife isn't a military brat. She does not understand how I can go from a country and western bar to an opera the next night or how I can read a poem and cry but not hesitate to jump in a four wheeler and go "muddin" in the country.
'Tis an interesting life we live and one that is ever evolving.
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