Worldview of the Heart

Yesterday I read some words by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe on a coffeeshop centerpiece.  They represented for me the perfect “controlling idea,” the one I feel most drawn to follow when crafting the narrative of a film.  I tracked down the words in their original language (German) and text (Faust).  The line is spoken in stanza 16 by the character, Lustige Person (literally, “Funny Person”).  It is:

“Ein jeder sieht was er im Herzen trägt.”

A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart.

Before coming across the line by Goethe I had articulated it, “freedom comes from within” and “we choose our own demons.”  But these are merely aspects of his more complete thought.  I knew that my own thought was anything but original, and had faced that it is perhaps even a little cliche.  But I think it is a timely concept that might prove inspiring when shown in a well-crafted, intimate narrative.

There are many stories that elevate tangible success and outward triumph (sports movies, action movies, etc), but relatively few that focus on an inner triumph– perhaps partly because it is hard to make visual.  A couple that I can think of are Gladiator (he dies, but is triumphant) and Braveheart (same).  And these are coupled with outward triumph (if only implied).

What if, to internal audience the story is a tragedy, but to the protagonist (and the external audience) it is an emotional triumph?  The protagonist would need to find his triumph by acting on principle and not for utility.  The Means are everything, the tangible End can be deceiving.  I suppose The Passion might be the ultimate expression of this idea: an apparent tragedy that is emotionally triumphant.

To me this idea shines a light on a key problem that we face as a society.  Our sphere of reference seems to have descended into utilitarianism, which is essentially relativistic (and therefore tragic).  For example, in political context, Ludwig von Mises used utilitarian arguments to advocate libertarianism while some Marxists used the same arguments to advocate political socialism (Wikipedia).  The utilitarian sphere of reference is not founded on universal principles, and therefore can be used to advance whatever agenda claims the most good (pleasure) for the most people.  And because the utilitarian philosophy is easily marketable (based on outward, quantifiable things), its roots continue to descend and thrive on the increasingly external nature of modern culture.

A narrative moment comes to mind from the (mediocre) film, I, Robot.  In flashback, Will Smith’s character has a chance to save his drowning daughter.  He dives in.  Suddenly a robot, who calculates that he will most likely die if he attempts to save her, prevents him from doing so, as programmed, saving his life in stead.  In present, Smith’s character wishes he had been allowed to do the right thing, even if it meant his death.  This scene illustrates the difference between humans and machines.  We are rightly guided by our hearts.

A story that could lift us beyond utility, to something universal, would be fresh and interesting.  Humans are not confined by external circumstance.  We are something different, something special.  We are free.  And our actions are manifestations of what we cultivate in our hearts.