Kate, Carl and the Culture Wars

The upshot: Western man, if he wants to be whole, is obliged to let go of the need to know and allow opposites to harmonise. Moreover, should he not achieve this both-and equilibrium – by putting heart before head, as Jesus advocated – he can expect to be tested, both spiritually and intellectually.

This is happening right now with the culture war. I've also experienced it personally. Though painful and often disorienting, I can nevertheless attest that the ordeal is for our very own good.

On an otherwise dull Tuesday in January 2019, Kate told me, after 11 years together, three of them married, that she was leaving.

To be sure, our situation had been less than ideal for a while, but there was nothing in the sackable offence category, such as adultery. An ugly falling out with my family had left me in a serious rut that then spiralled into acute financial distress at a time when Kate was labouring under the merciless demands of postgraduate study. Others were equally shocked by her decision, especially after she declined to defend it or give me a chance to change her mind. Though conflict and sadness were at times evident, Kate packed up her possessions, handed me the spare keys to our rented townhouse and drove off in her black Toyota hatchback.

I went and stayed with my friend, Dave. We stood around in his kitchen for hours, analysing events, trying to piece together a rational basis for how an incredibly smart woman, who had loved me so completely for so long, could be this ruthless. The late-evening discussions solved nothing, while my texts and calls to Kate went unanswered. Following months of confusion, anger and heartache, I left Australia and took a job in New Zealand.

An old Hollywood movie was instrumental in getting me to the other side of my dark night of the soul.

In An Affair to Remember, Terry (Deborah Kerr) and Nickie (Cary Grant), both in so-so relationships, fall in love on the return leg of a Mediterranean cruise. They agree to rendezvous atop the Empire State Building. If they're both there on July 1^st, Nickie will propose.

Nickie works to establish himself as an artist. After six months apart, rushing from her taxi to meet him, a still-smitten Terry is in an accident and taken to hospital. Potentially crippled, she decides not to contact Nickie and explain her no-show.

Though hurt and bewildered, Nickie manages to keep his injured ego in check. The former playboy retains his sense of humour, never giving into the impulse to sulk, lash out or renew ties with women who asked very little of his manly soul.

A further six months on and Nickie turns up at her apartment, unannounced, before a planned move overseas.

TERRY: I've often wondered about you, and how you were.

NICKIE (with sarcasm): Did you really?

TERRY: I remember we said that: "If we could make it, we'd be there. And if one of us didn't show up, it would be for a darn good reason."

NICKIE: Did we say that?

TERRY: That's exactly what we said. So, there will be no more questions asked … I hope.

Conditioned to believe not-knowing is anathema, the modern male mind is likely to assume, here, that Cary Grant has been treated poorly. Why the prolonged drama and suffering? Why doesn't this woman relent and spell things out?