As The Dark Knight Rises
slowly recedes from public consciousness, and as I begin to suspect that anyone
who might be thinking about reading my (totally awesome) book God on
the Streets of Gotham has either bought
and/or stolen one by now, it’s about time for this blog to turn its attention
to other things—other books, television shows, movies and anything else in the
culture that contains a hint of God’s fingerprints.
But admittedly, those fingerprints are easier to see in some
places than in others.
About a month ago, I decided to sit down and watch all the
100 films listed by the American Film Institute as history’s “best” (the list
was most recently updated in 2007). I’ve seen most of them, but there are a
number that I never had a chance to catch, and one of those landed at No. 33 on
the list: 1975’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest—winner of five Academy Awards, including for Best Picture, Best
Actress (Louise Fletcher as the steely Nurse Ratched) and Best Actor—Jack
Nicholson at his best as Randle McMurphy.
(By the way, I’m assuming that folks reading this far have
already seen Cuckoo’s Nest—and if they
haven’t, they should probably stop reading now … don’t want to spoil anything.)
For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard Nicholson’s
McMurphy described as a (perhaps the) prototypical antihero and Nurse Ratched
as one of moviedom’s greatest baddies. Indeed, Ratched is No. 5 on AFI’s list
of worst villains—a notch below the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard
of Oz and a notch above Mr. Potter from It’s
a Wonderful Life. Fearsome company.
But after watching the film for the first time, McMurphy and
Ratched don’t seem quite as clear cut as they may to other folks.
Oh, sure, Ratched is a bit of a soft-spoken ogre,
manipulating and intimidating her patients (many of whom don’t actually need to
be there) to the point where they seem to have no free will at all. She’s a
bully, bent on retaining control.
And McMurphy is indeed a catalyst for freedom in those
oppressive hospital confines. He longs to push these mental patients to embrace
their liberty—to become the men they can
be, rather than the cattle that Ratched seems to make of them.
But things get a little messy when we look at the film from
a spiritual, particularly Christian, point of view.
When you look at Ratched and the way she bullies, her
primary cudgel is that of shame. She shames her charges into doing what she
thinks they “should” be doing.
Shame has that sort of power over us, too. When we’re shamed
and guilty, we feel it—and we feel it deeply. We beat ourselves up over it. We,
in many respects, check ourselves in to deep, dank emotional places and lock
ourselves away, so we can mourn and wallow in our own failings. We put
ourselves at the mercy of our own guilt. And since we’ve fallen short, we feel
as though we should punish ourselves, and severely.
McMurphy tells us that we don’t have to be cowed by that
shame or guilt. We can escape it. He offers the sort of freedom that the world
(without God) can provide--unfettered freedom, unchecked by any rule, any law.
He loves the world’s freedom. We hear he’s been thrown in
the clink for assault and convicted of statutory rape—an act he brags about. He
encourages his friends in the mental ward to escape and go fishing with him
and, later, to partake in a wild, booze-soaked party wherein most everyone
passes out and Billy, a young patient in the ward, loses his virginity.
In the movie’s ethos, Billy’s act is almost heroic—a sign
that the young man is shaking off his own shame and guilt and becoming a real
adult, free from the rules of the likes of Nurse Ratched. He is free.
But then Ratched lays a guilt trip on Billy, invoking the
name of his mother: “What would your mother say?” she tells him. Billy, again
full of shame and terrified of his mother, commits suicide—slashing his throat
with a piece of broken glass.
I think most folks blame Ratched for Billy’s death. We know
McMurphy does, flying into a rage and nearly choking the life out of the nurse.
But for me it’s not so simple. Yes, Nurse Ratched and the controlling power of
shame she represents were at fault. But doesn’t McMurphy bear some guilt
himself? He, after all, created the circumstances in which that shame could
take root—ushering in two willing women and a truckload of booze into, we must
remember, a mental institution … not the
best forum to unload gallons of potentially mind-altering wares.
The world alone, it seems, gives us two choices for how to
live our lives. We can either A) adhere to the arbitrary rules we make and live
in shame when we break them, or B) we can pretend there are no rules at all and
potentially destroy ourselves in the process. And despite Chief’s escape in the
end, we see how damaging both Nurse Ratched’s and Randle McMurphy’s worldviews
can be.
But in God, there seems to be a third way—a way the film
never acknowledges.
Jesus really came into the world as a sort of McMurphy
character, in a way: He brought a sense of freedom like McMurphy did—freedom
from the sin and shame that had plagued mankind for so long. He encouraged us
not to worry (Matthew 6:31-34) and not to judge each other (Matthew 7:1-5).
He’s definitely not Nurse Ratched’s type of guy.
But here’s the thing: Jesus wasn’t all about freedom for
freedom’s sake. “The truth will set you free,” He tells us, and that truth
begins and ends with God. And with God being perfect and all, He has some ideas
on what we should be doing with our lives—none of which (I’m guessing) include
getting hammered and sleeping with (ahem) women of questionable discernment in
an insane asylum.
It’s one of Christianity’s grand, puzzling and profound
paradoxes. As Christians, we’re held to higher ethical guidelines than Nurse
Ratched could ever dream—and yet we live in perfect freedom, too, that makes
McMurphy’s version seem cautious by comparison. When we follow Christ, we
aren’t good because we have to be: We’re good because we know God wants us to
be, and we want to please him.
I don’t know if Nurse Ratched or Randle McMurphy could ever
truly understand that paradox. Hey, I’m still puzzling it out. But I believe
the paradox to be true.
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