BEING WITH or DOING TO

Reduced to fundamentals, there are only two ways to have a relationship with someone: as a master or a manipulator. In his relationships with others, the master is "being with"; the manipulator is "doing to." Psychologist Everett Shostrom

This book is about an insight that changed my life. In looking back over my less-than-a-dozen-in-my-whole-life profound insights, this was one of the last; and it came without notice.

In-flight between Sacramento (where I was living at that time) and Houston, I was reading a then recently published book by my friend, psychologist Everett Shostrom. A previous Shostrom book, Man the Manipulator, was a best seller and contributed many exciting insights to my understanding of what it means to be more fully human. My airborne reading of this follow-up book, From Manipulator to Master, made that a day of unexpected but enormous and enduring significance for me.

In his earlier book, Shostrom explains that we're all, to some extent, manipulators. Now, in the sequel, he adds to that insight by demonstrating that the goal of manipulators in their relationships is to "do to." By that phrase, he means that within their relationships, manipulators are constantly impelled to be at work to change, to control, to correct, to convert, to convince, to coerce, to enlighten, to force, to intimidate, to impress, to manage—i.e., "doing to" the ones to whom they relate. As I reflected on Shostrom's many taken-from-life illustrations, I became aware that this was probably true of most, if not all, of my own relationships--even though, up to that moment, I'd been totally unaware of any intention to "do to" those other people.

The reverse of that, I now believe, is also true. That is, "doing to" is the goal of most of the people who relate to me, though it may never once have occurred to them that that's what they're up to. Hardly any of us of sit down and choose this as an objective in our relationships. Being manipulators is simply a behavioral pattern we've inherited from our relationships in early childhood ("Do what I say or you get no dessert."), which has now become an unconscious but habitual part of our way of dealing with life and other people. Whether in my "doings to" or others "doing to" me, Shostrom's words brought both attention and clarity to a significant source of pain and regret in my own life.

But he didn't just diagnose the problem. He offers an alternative. We have the option of choosing to change our way of relating. While manipulators seek to "do to," Shostrom writes that the goal of "masters"--authentic, nurturing, reflective, sensitive, self-actualizing, thoughtful, human beings--in their relationships is to "be with."

Briefly stated, "being with" in a relationship is the total opposite, in both form and intent, from "doing to." The ability to "be with" grows out of a genuine respect for one's own dignity and worth as a human being, and it expresses itself by showing respect for those same qualities in the persons with whom we relate. In order to "be with," we must first be in touch with, accept, and listen to our own deepest selves, which then allows us to be open and receptive to the meanings and feelings of others as well. Instead of attempting to correct, control, or change others, "being with" people are characterized by an attitude of informed acceptance, of themselves and of others. Such people can be counted on to affirm us, to listen to us with genuine interest and understanding, and to offer supportive comfort--not through adages, admonitions, or advice but with the profoundly simple authenticity of their personal presence.

After a lifetime of exposure to advertisers and pop-psychologists whose cute little phrases tickle the imagination but lack any genuine content or lasting depth, I've acquired a built-in resistance to catchy slogans and clever terminology. And yet, from the first moment I read them, Shostrom's phrases--"doing to" and "being with"--seemed different. What they say resonated in my experience. Without force or contrivance, their meanings attached themselves to actual life happenings. The pictures they created in my imagination were personal and real. They made rational sense. The insights to which they lead were exciting.

When I landed in Houston, however, I became involved almost immediately with meeting people and the demands of conducting a twoday workshop; and the "being with" insight got nudged to the back of my mind. Following my assignment in Houston, I set out for another workshop I was to conduct at a conference center in the Texas Hill Country. Some friends in Houston had loaned me their car for the trip, which allowed me to go through Austin where Dianne, the older of my two daughters, was living.

Because of the distance between Austin and my home in Sacramento, the opportunities for a personal visit with Dianne were limited. So I was delighted when this one came along. My commitments for later in the day allowed for a two-hour stopover in Austin. Dianne had arranged her work schedule so we could have an extended lunch. I set off from Houston with a joyful heart, eager to greet my daughter and to make the most of every precious moment.

All the way to Austin, almost three hours, I thought of topics Dianne and I could discuss. I wanted to make those 120 minutes as rich and memorable as possible. Though our quantity of time was limited, I wanted it to be quality time of the highest order. I didn't go so far as to articulate this objective in words, even to myself, but it was certainly my hope that our time together would be so special as to qualify for a place in Dianne's memory as one of those golden moments of joyful delight with her dad.

Just as I was approaching the outskirts of Austin, and without any obvious reason as to why, the insight I'd gotten from my reading several days before resurfaced. With a start, I realized I'd spent the last three hours doing just what Shostrom says manipulators do in their relationships. I'd been busily making plans to "do to." With love for Dianne and a totally clear conscience, I'd been constructing ways by which to control those two hours—trying to organize our time together so it would be so splendid, so filled with joy and meaning, that she would never forget it. As a matter of habit, without any awareness of what I was up to, I'd been planning to manipulate Dianne into thinking and feeling as I wanted her to think and feel.

Though I'd be giving it considerably more thought later, I shuddered as I realized something I'd never even considered before. Seldom did I have a conversation with anyone in which I didn't have some manipulative objective in the back of mind. It wasn't always to change the other person's way of thinking or acting. Maybe all I wanted to do was make them laugh, to think of me as clever; but even that is not the same as simply being open to whatever may happen in the free interchange of thoughts and feelings.

By the time I'd worked my way through at least the first part of this, I'd arrived at the restaurant where Dianne and I were to meet for lunch. As I got out of the car, I made a resolve: I will not do any of that "doing to" I'd been planning. I made a conscious commitment to do nothing during those two hours other than "be with" Dianne. I promised myself I'd simply "be there" with her, fully and personally present to listen to her and share with her my joy in her and in being alive. I resolved that I would be the person I am and allow her the freedom to be the person she is. And that's how it was.

Was it memorable? I can't speak for Dianne, but for me it was so much more than that. Not memorable in the usual ways we associate with the word. No flashing lights. No projecting-into-the-future plans. No long-hidden disclosures. No caviar. But for me it was an authentic, enriching time of "being with" a person I loved, truly a mountain-top experience over lunch.

Somewhere along the way in our conversation, I did share my new insight with Dianne and how I'd struggled with it in coming to see her. But it didn't seem forced or as if I was giving her a lesson. The insight was an exciting, blossoming part of me, and it seemed appropriate to share it with her. Dianne understood. We laughed about my carefully planned intentions in coming to see her, recognizing that the compulsive need to make the best possible use of every moment had long been a part of Dad's personality. It was a good two hours. We were truly together, a time of all-too-seldom-experienced personal closeness. I'd like for the rest of my life to be of that same quality. It seemed like a moment of being truly alive.

Joseph Campbell says that's what we all are seeking.

People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we're seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonance within our innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.

The insight that started coming into focus for me that day, my actual experience of it, the mystery and miracle of "being with," has become one of the deepest and richest meanings in my life. In the next chapters I'll explain that the simple phrase, "being with," occupies a conspicuous and central place in three important and distinct realms of human thought and experience. The first of these is the personal. The deepest need of the human spirit, inescapably evident in times of distress but true at all other times as well, is for an authentic, shared, and caring personal relationship. To a greater extent than most of us are aware, we spend enormous amounts of our time and energy and thought seeking "being with" relationships; and yet, sad to say, because we're not aware that that's what we're seeking, most of these efforts are frustratingly disappointing, even when they seem to be successful.

The second area in which I found the "being with" insight to be of foundational importance is in the realm of healing, both psychological and physical. The encouragement and relief we find in healthy, authentically shared interpersonal relationships are also, it turns out, at the vital center of professional therapeutic practice as well.

Thirdly, and this was perhaps the most surprising discovery of the three, I'm now convinced that the promise to "be with" us is the ultimate promise, that is, the most consistent and important, given to human beings by the God revealed to us in the Bible, in both the Hebrew and the Christian scriptures.

As I reflect on my journeys down these three "paths to enlightenment," it doesn't seem strange that they should share this common core—even though the reality that they do is seldom recognized. The acknowledgment of the central importance of "being with" in each of these realms clarifies the goal that they share, that is, all seek to affirm and nurture human lives--and through them to put together a world where all human beings can be healthier, happier, more human, and more whole.

Once these foundational bases are established, subsequent chapters will explore some of the implications of how a "being with" understanding of life affects everything else—our goals, our view of God, the world, ourselves, and other people--and then some thoughts on how we can choose to grow and become ever more fully "being with" people ourselves.

Many years after that momentous lunch experience with my daughter, indeed, one full generation later, Dianne's daughter, Kristen, experienced a special day of her own. In the fall of her junior year in high school, she found her name on the list for her school's varsity basketball team! Having played on organized teams since middle school, practicing and training for basketball had become virtually a year-round commitment; and now it had all paid off. She'd made the team! But her elation was short-lived. One of her closest, dearest friends, a girl alongside whom she'd played those past several years, didn't make the varsity cut.

Because she is by nature an exceptionally sensitive and caring person, this already painful situation became even more of an agonizing personal burden for Kristen. What could she say or do? How could she helpfully demonstrate her feelings of empathy and sorrow for her friend's shattering disappointment? Was there any way at all she could make things better? Kristen's mother, Dianne, offered a suggestion. "Well, you know what Grandpa Bob would say. Go `be with' her."

A frustrating answer but at least it was something. So that's what she did. Kristen went to her friend's home to "be with" her. She had no magic words to wipe away the disappointment and no exciting activity to divert her friend's attention from the pain and shame of her shattered dream. Kristen simply went to her friend to "be with" her. Kristen reports that they sat together, often in silence, in her friend's bedroom, which, for that evening, seemed like a filled-to-the-top pit of disappointment and despair.

In spite of all the painful realities that made their time together difficult, "being with" her friend turned out to be good--for both of them—so good, in fact, that Kristen stayed beyond the time she and her mother had agreed to—a failure for which she found herself "grounded" for a few days—but it was still good--well worth every penalizing minute.

"Being with" her friend didn't, of course, change the agonizing reality. The two of them wouldn't be teammates on the varsity squad that season. Kristen's friend still had to swallow her pride and spend another year playing with the JVs. And yet, because Kristen cared enough to make the effort and extended herself to "be with" her that night, something positive did happen for her friend—and for Kristen.

Though she had no cheerful answers or rationalizations, Kristen did have the courage to "be with" her friend, personally present and willing to share the taste of her bitter disappointment. Even though she possessed no magical formula to make the pain go away, because Kristen was willing to sit in the time of torment with her friend, its severity was diminished. Her friend experienced herself being deeply valued and cared for and understood and affirmed.

And Kristen went home with a new gift in her own life—a hard-to-explain sense of having, well, matured a little. She sensed that she'd shared with her friend at a deeper, closer, and more grown-up level than ever before. She'd been able to give comfort and help, though just how she couldn't really explain or understand. Kristen knew she felt more whole—stronger and more vitally alive, a more capable person and more closely bonded to her friend than ever before.

"Being with" is what this book is about. It's more than a convenient, effective tactic for handling painful and difficult personal hurts, though it's better at that than anything else I know.

The meanings attached to "being with" provide a profound and practical insight into what human life at its deepest core is all about. It's a central, consistent theme emerging from an extended examination of everyday experiences common to all people, of modern psychology, and of biblical theology. Though it seems embarrassingly obvious and simple, this insight is as little acknowledged and articulated, as it is profound and important. I've found it to have a miraculous power to give direction and depth and breadth and meaning and excitement to our experiences of what it is to be alive as human beings.

BEING WITH and WHAT WE WANT

I on the other hand am an impatient person with little inner quietness. Vegetables take too long to grow and tend, animals too long to train and take care of. I need to have things as soon as I want them, need to have things going on, errands to run, places to go. I suppose because I spend so much of my life sitting alone in that barn-board paneled room with a notebook in my lap and a felt-tip pen in my hand what I need more than anything else is people—other lives to bounce my life off of and to share my life with, to give me life. Author Frederick Buechner

After interviewing thousands of people, the various investigators all seem to have reached the same conclusion: close relationships do, in fact, promote health. Intimacy is equally as important in maintaining good emotional health. The psychoanalyst and social reformer Erich Fromm, claimed that humankind's most basic fear is the threat of being separated from other humans His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler, MD