The next morning was a brief final session. We had to head to the airport early to fly the Archbishop to yet another funeral of one of his dear friends. So many of the greats were leaving us.
We sat back in the warm pool of light that had enveloped us all week, and got our mikes connected. I thought about how the Archbishop was in his eighties and how the Dalai Lama was joining him in this ninth decade of life. We were all reflecting on the birthday celebration the day before at the school and how these two elders had shared their hard-won wisdom with the students and found hope in the next generation. We all receive a transmission from our role models and mentors, and we all pass it along to those who come after. This was the goal of our project together.
I was sitting across from the Archbishop and was staring at his beautiful, loving face, which had become so familiar over the last decade of collaboration and friendship. He has become a second father and a beloved mentor. I thought of his battle with prostate cancer and how slow the cancer had been to respond to the last round of experimental drugs. We were worried about how long we would have him, not just all those who knew and loved him but the world that still needed him and his moral voice.
The Archbishop’s ability to travel had been severely restricted by his doctors, and he had at one time said he was not going to travel outside of South Africa again. This made his decision to come to Dharamsala all the more extraordinary and unlikely to be repeated. Because the South African government would not grant the Dalai Lama a visa, we all knew—most especially the two of them—that this trip might be their last time together.
Death, as the Archbishop had reminded us, is inevitable. It is the way life should be. A beginning. A middle. And an end. It is this cycle that makes life precious and beautiful. However, it does not make the sorrow any less for those who lose one they love.
“Why are you looking so solemn?” the Archbishop asked me.
“I’m reflecting,” I said, “on our time coming to a close.”
“Everything has an end.”
• • •
After the Archbishop’s customary prayer, we began our discussion for the last time.
“Archbishop, Your Holiness, what an incredible joy and privilege it has been to join you in this conversation to prepare The Book of Joy. Today is just for a few final questions. One we received was, ‘Why do you think it is important to write The Book of Joy now, and what do you hope it will do for readers around the world?’”
“You obviously hope,” the Archbishop said, speaking of himself in the second person, as he often did, “that you could be an agent for helping God’s children enter into their heritage so they can have greater fulfillment and can become all that they are meant to be. And you hope that they will realize that it will happen most of all if they are generous, if they are compassionate, if they are caring.
“It is when without thinking about it you help someone who is less well off, when you are kind to someone else and do those things that raise others up, you end up being joyful.”
The day before, at the Tibetan Children’s Village, the Archbishop had answered one of the children’s questions by saying, “If we think we want to get joy for ourselves, we realize that it’s very shortsighted, short-lived. Joy is the reward, really, of seeking to give joy to others. When you show compassion, when you show caring, when you show love to others, do things for others, in a wonderful way you have a deep joy that you can get in no other way. You can’t buy it with money. You can be the richest person on Earth, but if you care only about yourself, I can bet my bottom dollar you will not be happy and joyful. But when you are caring, compassionate, more concerned about the welfare of others than about your own, wonderfully, wonderfully, you suddenly feel a warm glow in your heart, because you have, in fact, wiped the tears from the eyes of another.
“Why now?” he continued, addressing the second part of the question. “I think that there is so much that is hurting. You almost want not to read the newspapers or watch television when, if you are going to watch television, you will see the beheading of someone’s child. When you see the number of refugees, mothers running away from one source of violence and pulling children behind them. Even when you live comfortably it clutches at your heartstrings. It’s very . . . it’s very distressing. Particularly when we think that during the time of our struggle against apartheid, our people were refugees and exiled and were welcomed in African countries that were a great deal less well off than South Africa is. You have to be quite careless not to be sad. We look like we are hell-bent on competing to show who will be the most exquisitely cruel. I think God wants us to be joyful at every time, but right now, I think God is crying quite a lot.” The Archbishop was gesturing to the Dalai Lama. “It’s your turn now.”
“This is our last session, so perhaps I will state it this way. I am one human being born in Amdo province in northeast Tibet in a very, very small village in 1935. So, at that time, the Sino-Japanese conflict was about to start. Soon after the Second World War began. Then the Korean War. Then the Vietnam War. Because of these wars, there was immense violence. At those times the human mind, or at least those who were responsible for going to war, believed that using force was the best method for solving disagreement.
“During the Second World War, for example, when a nation declared war on another, the citizens of the country proudly joined the war effort without the slightest question. But since the Vietnam War our way of thinking has changed. More and more people now publicly oppose war; we saw this opposition to war in Kosovo, in Iraq. Many people were against these wars and, from Australia to America, people openly protested against these wars. This is truly a hopeful sign.
“I think as long as we human beings remain here, there will always be some limited violence, as there is with all animals. But serious violence, mass killing, war, this we can eliminate if we have the proper vision and method. I think, certainly, it is possible to achieve a world without such sorrow.”
At the Tibetan Children’s Village, in response to the question of whether joy can be the ultimate source of world peace, the Dalai Lama had responded, “I think so. I think firstly people should have a clear understanding of joyfulness. You see, you might get a temporary joy in killing your enemy or bullying someone. You may get some kind of temporary satisfaction. But the true joyfulness comes from helping others. This way you get much more satisfaction. So that kind of thinking about joyfulness is really an important factor in building a happy society, peaceful society. In order to create peaceful family, first the individual person himself or herself should create inner peace, joyfulness. Then share with other family members. In that way, one family, ten families, a hundred families. That way, we can change and bring happier community, happier society, then happier humanity. Seven billion human beings, we all have same desire, same right to achieve happy life.”
The Dalai Lama then returned to the topic of why he wanted to write The Book of Joy and why now: “We are learning. In 1996, I had an audience with the late Queen Mother. At that time she was ninety-six years old. Since my childhood, I had seen pictures of her round face, so she was quite familiar, and I was really looking forward to the meeting. I asked her, ‘Since you have observed almost the whole twentieth century, do you feel the world is becoming better, worse, or staying the same?’
“Without hesitation, she answered, better. When she was young, she said, there was no concept of human rights or the right to self-determination. Now these things have become universal. She shared these two examples of how the world is getting better.
“I think the majority of people everywhere believe that bloodshed is not good and have a desire for peace. Around the time of my meeting with the Queen Mother, I also had a conversation with the renowned quantum physicist Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker, who was the brother of the then West German president. Von Weizsäcker, too, argued that the world was improving. For example, he said that in the past every German felt that the French were his enemy and every French felt the Germans were his enemy. Now these archenemies have joined together and have formed the Franco-German unified force. They have also been key players in the formation of the European Union. It is not perfect, but it is progress.
“So then eventually, the Berlin Wall disappeared, not by force, but by popular movement, so you see change. Now, China is also changing. Cuba is also changing. North Korea alone perhaps has not changed—yet. So these things are positive signs. Human beings, through wider contact and more education, are becoming more mature. It takes time, and we must take the long view. When we look at our world with a longer time frame, say, of a hundred years, we can then envision a world that is very different. A better, kinder, a more equitable, more joyful world. But we must start the process of that change now, not wait for some ideal time. The ideal time is now.”
The Dalai Lama was arguing for this longer perspective, and I could not help but think of Sir Martin Rees’s comment that we were only halfway through our evolution as a species on this planet. When one thinks of the long parade of the human journey, it is really quite extraordinary to think what we can become in a century, in a millennium or more.
“After meeting with so many people, thinkers, scientists, educators, health-care professionals, social workers, and activists,” the Dalai Lama continued, “it is clear that the only way to truly change our world is through teaching compassion. Our society is lacking an adequate sense of compassion, sense of kindness, and genuine regard for others’ well-being. So now many, many people who seriously think about humanity all have the same view.” He was pointing both his index fingers at his temple to emphasize the logic of their conclusion. “We must promote basic human values, the inner values that lie at the heart of who we are as humans.
“Religion is not sufficient. Religion has been very important in human history, and perhaps for another thousand years it will continue to bring benefit to humanity.” The Dalai Lama knew he was being controversial, calling the long-term value of religion into question, and he had taken the Archbishop’s hand to comfort him and reaffirm that he was not planning to put either of them out of a job anytime soon.
“So now we have to think seriously. Just to pray or rely on religious faith is not sufficient. It will remain a source of inspiration, but in terms of seven billion human beings, it’s not sufficient. No matter how excellent, no religion can be universal. So we have to find another way to promote these values.
“I think the only way really is, as we have said, through education. Education is universal. We must teach people, especially our youth, the source of happiness and satisfaction. We must teach them that the ultimate source of happiness is within themselves. Not machine. Not technology. Not money. Not power.
“We are not talking about heaven or hell or Buddhahood or salvation; these are too far away.” He laughed. “So our book is part of this important process to help spread the message that love, kindness, and affection are the source of joy and happiness.
“As you already made clear, our basic human nature is good, is positive, so that can give us a basis for courage and self-confidence. So that’s why we spend a lot of time discussing all of this. There must be some real concrete purpose and result, or if not, it’s better to sleep.” The Dalai Lama pretended to lean over on his elbow toward the Archbishop, as if falling asleep, and then laughed.
I turned to Archbishop Tutu and said, “I’d like to invite you, Archbishop, to address your readers directly and offer them a blessing.” He turned to the camera and began to speak.
“Dear Child of God, you are loved with a love that nothing can shake, a love that loved you long before you were created, a love that will be there long after everything has disappeared. You are precious, with a preciousness that is totally quite immeasurable. And God wants you to be like God. Filled with life and goodness and laughter—and joy.
“God, who is forever pouring out God’s whole being from all eternity, wants you to flourish. God wants you to be filled with joy and excitement and ever longing to be able to find what is so beautiful in God’s creation: the compassion of so many, the caring, the sharing. And God says, Please, my child, help me. Help me to spread love and laughter and joy and compassion. And you know what, my child? As you do this—hey, presto—you discover joy. Joy, which you had not sought, comes as the gift, as almost the reward for this non-self-regarding caring for others.”
“Thank you. Your Holiness, what final words would you like to leave the reader with so that they can experience more joy and create more joy in our world?”
“I hope this book will leave you with more hope and a sense of greater responsibility rooted in genuine concern for others’ well-being. You see, in order to become a happy person, we need to live more from the compassionate part of our nature and to have a sense of responsibility toward others and the world we live in. In this century if we make an attempt with realistic effort and clear vision, perhaps in the later part of the century, we can really have a happier world. A more peaceful world. A kinder and more compassionate world. So, my hope is that this book can be a contribution toward bringing about this happier humanity.
“Nobody expects this book alone will change the world. No, that’s impossible, but from various quarters, with a common effort, and a vision that thinks about humanity, we can achieve unity and harmony with a sense of brotherhood and sisterhood, with the oneness of humanity. And all these small problems here and there, I think, ultimately, we will solve, but we must also address the bigger problems. When the larger systemic problems are addressed, then the smaller problems will also be solved quite easily. So all of us, spiritual brothers and sisters, have a special responsibility, have a special role to make clear that the ultimate source of a meaningful life is within ourselves. If you live in this way, until your last breath comes you will be a happy, happy person. That’s the goal of human life—to live with joy and purpose.”
• • •
We were done with the interviews, but before we ended the session, the Archbishop thanked all who had been involved, most especially his friend. “I want to say a very big thank-you to the Dalai Lama for his generosity and his hospitality here. Thank you very, very much for opening your home so we could come and be cared for and have this very important project undertaken. Would you please tell your household and staff that we are very deeply indebted to them?” He then turned to me: “Now you can say your piece.”
“Actually, I think you said it so wonderfully, which is to thank each and every one for the incredible work of making these dialogues possible, but as a representative of all those who will benefit from this work, I want to thank you both so profoundly for your life-sustaining and life-changing words. May the merit of this book benefit all of God’s children and all sentient beings.”
• • •
As we got ready to leave, the Dalai Lama said, “I was very sad to miss your birthday. When I found out that you might come here, I was really surprised. I knew your health was not good and that you were also very old, and to reach here is not easy.”
“Yes,” the Archbishop said, “that’s quite right.”
“But,” the Dalai Lama continued, “when I heard that everything was finalized, and the date and hour was approaching, I really felt happy and excited. I really appreciate your friendship and your sense of responsibility to do what you can for a better humanity.”
Earlier in the week, the Archbishop and the Dalai Lama had reflected on what was so special about their friendship with characteristic humor.
“He’s always teasing me,” the Archbishop said with a laugh. “Almost the first time we met—do you remember? Maybe the first time you were a little reserved, but by the second time you were taking my cap off my head. I don’t know that you wake up in the morning and say, I’m going to become a friend to the Dalai Lama. It just happens. Scientists will come afterward and analyze it. But I don’t think that he woke up either—at three—and said, I think I’m going to be friends with that large-nosed black man from Africa. I think it was a communication of the heart. When we kept quiet, our hearts discovered that they were kindred spirits.
“I admire him enormously. Oh, he’s going to get proud. But I always say to people, ‘After being in exile over fifty years, how many would show the same serenity, the same joy, and the eagerness to spread goodness and compassion in the world?’
“I think I would be very sulky, and I think there’d be a part of me that was always sad and it would show in my face. It doesn’t in his. I mean, I’m just saying he is there for us as a beacon to tell us that you can, in fact, overcome some of the most horrendous circumstances and emerge on the other side, not broken. So he is a very great gift to the world. And maybe the Chinese, without intending it, have given the world a wonderful gift.”
“Thank you,” the Dalai Lama said quietly, perhaps humbled by the praise.
“Pay me, pay me,” the Archbishop said, reaching out his hand and rubbing his fingertips together.
“I will pay. I will pay with a few nice words.”
“At our first meeting I notice this person. I always look at people, firstly, human level, so I do not consider importance of their rank or position. So, on the human level, this person very nice, humble, I think very, very, very joyful.”
He was holding the Archbishop’s arm. “And then, you see, once you connect on the human level, you become close friends and that friendship never changes. But on another level, this person is a very funny person,” he said, slapping the Archbishop’s arm playfully. “I love that. He is always teasing me, and also I am teasing him. So we really become something quite special.
“And finally, right from the beginning, you always speak out about the truth and the justice of the Tibetan cause. As a Tibetan, I very much appreciate it.
“Whenever he is at Nobel Peace Prize Laureate meetings, they are full of joy. The atmosphere is something different. Then in recent years, because of his age and also his physical condition, you see, he could not attend. Of course, there are many other Nobel Peace Prize Laureates and many other Nobel Peace Prize Laureates are wonderful ladies—”
“You are a monk, remember?” the Archbishop scolded.
“But when you are not there, something missing, really. Really, really. The other Nobel Peace Prize Laureates also feel it, I think. So the relationship is something unique and something very special.”
“Thank you. I paid him,” the Archbishop said, pretending to stage whisper.
The Dalai Lama erupted into a belly laugh and then began pointing at the Archbishop. “His face, his face,” he said, gesturing to the Archbishop’s bald head. “He looks like a monk now, doesn’t he?” Then the Dalai Lama drew his hand into the shape of an eye. “When I see your eyes”—then he squeezed his nose playfully—“and, of course, your nose—”
The Archbishop could not help but giggle at the mention of his much joked about nose.
Then the Dalai Lama’s playful tone changed as he pointed at the Archbishop’s face warmly. “This picture, special picture.” Then he paused for a long moment. “I think, at time of my death . . .” The word death hung in the air like a prophecy. “. . . I will remember you.”
I could hear everyone in the room, even the camera operators, take a deep breath, we were all so moved. The Archbishop looked down and hummed deeply, obviously humbled and touched by the Dalai Lama’s words. Could there be a truer sign of love, to see another’s face at the time of death?
“Thank you. Thank you,” was all the Archbishop could say, all that could be said.
“So perhaps,” the Dalai Lama said, “according to your religious tradition, we may meet in heaven in the presence of God. You as a good Christian practitioner will go first.” The Archbishop now chuckled heartily and the room seemed to breathe again. “You may help me and bring us together.” We laughed imagining the Archbishop bargaining with St. Peter at the pearly gates, trying to get special admission for the Dalai Lama.
“But from the Buddhist viewpoint,” the Dalai Lama continued, “once in a life, you develop some sort of special close connection, then that sort of impact will carry life after life. That’s Buddhist viewpoint. So maybe even then. But now, I’m looking forward to another occasion to see you again—somewhere that only God knows.”
After some final photographs were taken, we had to rush to the airport. As the Archbishop leaned on his cane now, walking perhaps a bit slower than before, his age showing just a little more than it had earlier in the week, I could see the Dalai Lama’s forehead wrinkling with concern and worry. He had said God only knew where they would meet again, and perhaps he was thinking about whether God would give them another opportunity in this life.
The two leaders had told us over the course of the week that there is no joy without sorrow, that in fact it is the pain, the suffering that allows us to experience and appreciate the joy. Indeed, the more we turn toward the suffering, our own and others, the more we can turn toward the joy. We accept them both, turning the volume of life up, or we turn our backs on life itself, becoming deaf to its music. They had also told us and demonstrated that true joy is a way of being, not a fleeting emotion. What they had cultivated in their long lives was that enduring trait of joyfulness. They had warned us that we cannot pursue joy as an end in itself, or we will miss the bus. Joy comes, rather, from daily thoughts, feelings, and actions. And they had told us repeatedly the action that gets us on the bus: bringing joy to others.
At the car, the two old, mischievous friends were joking and laughing again. The Dalai Lama was rubbing the Archbishop’s hand tenderly through the open window of the car. I could still see the signs of worry, or perhaps it was just sadness at saying goodbye. As the engine started to hum, the Dalai Lama looked at the Archbishop in the car, staying with him to the last minutes of his visit. He put the palms of his hands together in front of his face and bowed his head forward in a sign of deep respect and affection.
The motorcade to the airport began to move, and the Dalai Lama still stood, bowed slightly forward, eyes twinkling, and fingers waving goodbye brightly, as children do. As we drove away, the Archbishop looked back through the window of the SUV and gave one last smile and laugh to his improbable and invaluable friend.
• • •
The next day the rest of the film crew flew out of the airport in Dharamsala on a clear day. Forty-five seconds after their plane took off, an enormous 7.8 magnitude earthquake struck in Nepal.
The devastation was enormous and the tremors were felt all the way in Dharamsala. We thought of all the people we knew and cared for in the region and we mourned the thousands who had died. We witnessed as people from all around the world poured in to help the displaced, repair the broken, and heal the thousands who were wounded. It was hard not to think of the Dalai Lama’s comment on the first day of the dialogues that the suffering of natural disasters we cannot stop, but so much of the rest of our suffering we can. Adversity, illness, and death are real and inevitable. We choose whether to add to these unavoidable facts of life with the suffering we create in our own minds and hearts, the chosen suffering. The more we make a different choice, to heal our own suffering, the more we can turn to others and help to address their suffering with the laughter-filled, tear-stained eyes of the heart. And the more we turn away from our self-regard to wipe the tears from the eyes of another, the more—incredibly—we are able to bear, to heal, and to transcend our own suffering. This was their true secret to joy.