What Are Friends Made Of

As I was looking through some past writing, I found the following musing. I can actually remember writing this piece and how despondent I felt at the time. It never ceases to amaze me how easily my life goes in circles. Again I find myself in a similar place, wondering what it means to be a friend, what it means to be a "neighbor." Am I really a friend? Do I know what it means to be a friend? This is something that I have struggled with over and over. Now living in a small community that has drastically enlarged, I find myself trying to find how to connect with all these new people while still maintaining relationships I already have. Honestly, I often leave those relationships I've already cultivated to the wayside in pursuit of new ones. I always hate myself for this though. I know I will be forever learning how to find the balance between new and old relationships, but I still find it incredibly vexing not being able to do it now.

Friends are hard to come by nowadays. I mean, at any time, it can be hard to make a friend, but, with all the social networking, it can be harder to tell who is really a friend and who isn't. Because of this, you can get to know people on a surface level and think you know them well without ever getting to anything deeper than the current clothes trends or popular music. This is not to say that you can't make real friends over the internet or anything like that. I am merely pointing out a tendency in these types of relationships. And these tendencies can spill over into real human relationships. You can hang out, talk, go on trips, and still know nothing about the real person. It's a complicated maze of give-and-take, revealed and not revealed.

I have a habit of becoming consumed by stories at times, especially those of a chronic nature such as a book series or TV show. Partly, it is because of my natural, and sometimes irrational, love for stories. However, I have been thinking lately that there is more to it than that. I can sit in front of a computer for hours on end without ever thinking of talking to someone or trying to hang out with actual people. It's almost as if the real world doesn't matter anymore, that I am a part of the world of the story. I become so attached to the characters in the stories that I can feel with them. My heart breaks at their losses, soars with their triumphs. I know the inner workings of their minds and hearts, how they process and where they stand. They are my friends . . . as long as the pages or pixels last. When the stories end, there's a hole, an emptiness inside me where my heart for the characters has been. So I'll go and find another story that will take it's place with a new set of characters to befriend.

This becomes a problem when I leave the realm of story and enter that of reality. People won't just tell you all about themselves right off the bat like you can get from characters in a story. Real people expect you to give of yourself as well before they reveal things about themselves. You no longer have an easy access into people's minds and hearts. You have to work at it. You have to build trust. You have to build a relationship. And they don't magically appear. They take blood, sweat, and tears. They take effort and strain. It's a process . . . that never really ends. Like a house, it takes constant vigilance to see that nothing corrupts or begins to decay. You have to be careful about things like that with people.

There is also then the place where people trust you and open up to you and you do the same, just a bit. You have the ability to make people feel at ease with you and trust that you will hold their hearts tenderly, which you will. However, your heart is never really given away at all. You will show parts that look like more than what they are so that the other people think they're seeing the deeper parts of you while you still conceal from them the iceberg of your heart. People will say that you're one of their closest or best friends. On the outside, you smile and laugh and share but inside . . . inside, everything is in chaos. How do you say that you haven't shared anything? That you've been playing a part for possibly years? Do you ever actually tell them that? Do you simply go away and let yourself drift from their life, knowing that what they think is you is not you at all? These and so many more similar thoughts swirl around your head, even as you spend time with those who call you friend.

What are friends made of then? How do you know when someone is a friend and when they're not? When I am a friend? I don't know. Sorry for the ramble.

All's Fair in Love and War

All's fair in love and war, they say. No holds are barred in pursuit of their end. Normally, love and war, aside from this statement, are depicted as opposites. Who can forget the hippie signs of "Make love, Not war." However, could it not be argued that there would be no war without love? Could it not be said that war could be reduced to a love worth fighting for? This may be a stretch, but it seems to make sense, does it not? The wars over territory, depending on the territory, could be rooted in a deep love of money, should the land be financially profitable, or a deep love of family heritage, should the land have historical significance. Wars for independence could spring from a love of liberty while holy wars could come from a pious love of God. In a similar way, it could be said that love is a kind of war: two or more sides vying for the same object in hopes of increasing their own happiness. While shells may not fly and trenches are left undug, emotions of the individuals will often fly in varying directions and trenches will be dug in their hearts as a result. Perhaps, this is all nonsense and groundless conjecture. Perhaps, the extrapolations may be taken too far. Yet, love and war do not necessarily seem so very different as is often presented.

Disclaimer: This is not to say that I believe that all those who instigate or participate in wars are doing so out of love for something. I am not so naive as to not know that there are people who do such things for uglier reasons. I also do not believe, though one may be motivated to war by a deep, perhaps even justifiable, love, that that makes war condone-able. I am not pacifist and do believe that there are things worth fighting for but war should never be glorified as something that every human being should aim for; war comes at a cost, often one that is more than had been expected or desired. Lastly, I do believe that it is through love that war may, at one time, come to an end. I do not think it likely that humans will ever reach that time in this present world, but I do think that there is a Love that can surpass all other loves, and hates, that motivate people to war. I only thought the subject was something interesting to ponder.

Civilization and Its Discontents

Civilization and Its Discontents is Sigmund Freud’s analysis on the nature of civilization and how those within it can become discontent. Beginning with the source of religion, he posits that religion has its roots in infantile dependence on a father figure for its support and provision. From here, he moves into the general realm of relationships between people, namely that he strongest bond is that of sexual gratification, because it provides the greatest amount of pleasure and happiness, which is the goal of human life. Civilization though comes against the pursuit of these pleasures by enforcing a need for communal over personal happiness. This struggle continues into the realm of primal human aggressiveness as well. Freud later says that civilization introduces the super-ego, the initiator of one’s conscience, as a deterrent against aggressiveness, namely the form of guilt. However, Freud believes the restriction of these aggressive impulses can cause more damage to the person than if they had been acted out. Thus, there seems the inevitable, eternal struggle between the individual and civilization.

Frankly, I disagreed with a lot of what he said. I think it may be because he does not seem to have a correct understanding of love, that it is not something that must be selfishly indulged but one of self-sacrifice. He gives his definition of power of love as “the male unwilling to be deprived of his sexual object – the woman –, and the woman unwilling to be deprived of the part of herself which had been separated off from her – the child,” (79-80). In both these relationships, there is nothing of sacrifice on the part of the lover; no thought is given to the well-fare of the beloved. Everything revolves around the maintaining of happiness for the individual, even at the cost of the beloved. No wonder there is so much turmoil in Freud's view of civilization if its basis is such an understanding of love.

Anna Karenina - Part 2

After her recovery, Anna leaves to live her life with Vronsky. Traveling across Europe, they visit the major cities, living in Italy for a short time, before returning to Russia. It seems that nearly all her dreams have true. Her brother Stepan Arkadyich says of her, “She, though, you’ll see how she’s arranged her life, how calm and dignified she is,” (695). Her life is how she’s wanted it. She is no longer under Karenin’s control; she is with the man she adores above all others. She can finally live. So long as she is with Vronsky nothing else matters. So long as he loves her, the rest of the world and all its concerns are irrelevant.

However, the harder Anna tries to hold onto Vronsky, the farther he seems to go from her. “[He] coldly look[ed] at her, her hair, the dress he knew she had put on for him. … He liked it all, but he had already liked it so many times! And the stony, stern expression she had been so afraid of settle on his face,” (667). By all her arts and charms, Anna tries to tie Vronsky inseparably to herself, just as when they first met. Yet, despite her efforts, he keeps pulling away. She cannot live without his love but she cannot seem to keep it now. She has tried, almost smothering him with, love and dependence but still he leaves her. Even when Vronsky says that he cannot live without her, she sees that it is agony for him to be tied to her in the way she desires. “But the look that flashed in his eyes as he spoke those tender words was not only the cold, angry look of a persecuted and embittered man. She saw that look and correctly guessed its meaning. ‘If it is like this, it is a disaster!’ said the look. It was a momentary impression, but she never forgot it,” (668).

Anna Karenina - Part 1

Anna Karenina leads a respectable life, if not a happy one. She is comfortably situated with a government official, Alexei Alexandrovich Karenin, and absolutely adores her son. However, everything changes once she meets Count Alexei Vronsky. His devoted attention arouses in her feelings of passion and desire that she had not hitherto known with her husband. Before too long, she and Vronsky are deeply in love, and she becomes further and further estranged from her husband. Eventually, she tells him everything. He is mortified but asks only that she not see Vronsky. When Anna is unable to do this, he begins the painful filing for divorce.

However, after a separation, Karenin hears that Anna is ill and hurries over to see whether or not she has died. At first, he goes there secretly hoping that she has already died but, after he sees her desperately looking for him and asking for his forgiveness, his heart is overwhelmed with pity and love. He forgives her and even does what he can to help her back to health and take care of her daughter by Vronsky.

From the beginning to the middle of the novel, Alexei Alexandrovich changes drastically. He begins as a hard, driven man who cares minimally for his wife and son. He does not seem to see in them a real need but a tool by which to augment his rising career, and above all, believes in the importance of keeping appearances. Yet, when he sees his wife at death’s door, his heart of stone begins to melt and feel for, possibly, the first time. He finds joy in forgiving and loving Anna that he had not known while living respectably with her. He wants to put her wants before his own.

The Rules of the Game

Credited as one of the greatest films of all times, The Rules of the Game follows the romantic interactions of several members of a party of the French nobility, both guests and servants. Constant flirting and intrigue surround everyone as they pursue those they love, or seem to love, and no one seems to take no for an answer. From the servants to the hosts, both men and women deplore the state of the opposite gender as hopeless and yet still try to impress and win one another. Above all though rides this principle of dignity and propriety that must be followed when in love. The cast either respects these rules or tries to break them for their love.

When I’d first read a synopsis of the plot, I didn’t really understand the title. As I watched though, it became clearer: the game was love and everyone had to follow certain rules, or at least look like it. The aviator Jean and hostess Christine want to runaway but, Jean wants to follow propriety and tell her husband, the Marquis, that they are going away. Christine doesn’t feel the same and wishes that he would simply take her in his arms and runaway with her. She couldn’t care less about the rules of the game called love; all that matters to her is action dictated by feeling. Her wish is granted when her true love, Octave, says that they will runaway together. However, their plans are foiled when a case of mistaken identity leads to death, really meant for Octave. What might the director be saying about those who try to break the rules?

Jane Eyre - Part 2

After hearing Rochester call her name from across the moor, Jane rushes to find him from her home with her newly discovered family. She reaches the village outside Thornfield only to learn that the manor has burned and vacated. Unable to understand how all this has happened, she coaxes the story from an innkeeper. She learns that Bertha, Rochester’s mad wife, set the place ablaze and then dove from the roof to her death. Her husband, meanwhile, hurried the servants out before trying to save his wife. Unsuccessful, he was trapped in the house but came out alive, blinded and crippled. Finally though, she hears that he has locked himself away in a country cottage. Coming to the cottage, the servants allow her to see him.

When she enters, she coyly reveals himself to him. Both are overjoyed and filled to overflowing with love for one another. Over the next few days, Jane nurtures Rochester to better health and they give accounts of their time since parting. Probably the most profound realization comes from Rochester as he describes God and his re-discovery of Him.

He sees not as man sees, but far clearer: judges not as man judges, but far more wisely. I did wrong: I would have sullied my innocent flower – breathed guilt on its purity: the Omnipotent snatched it from me. . . . Of late, Jane – only – only of late – I began to see and acknowledge the hand of God in my doom. I began to experience remorse, repentance, the wish for reconcilement to my Maker. (514-15)

Rochester resented Jane’s removal; he saw her as his salvation and she left him. He could not understand how God could take from what was his saving grace and leave him to wallow in his despair. Only after disaster struck did he begin to reflect on the purpose behind Jane’s leaving.

This is what I have heard called a severe mercy. God, in His infinite mercy, removes something dear from one’s life that has become a hindrance to the progress of one’s soul. Often, the one left behind feels betrayed and embittered towards God. However, it is only upon reflection that they realize the goodness of severance and how wise God was in His judgment. For Rochester, only after Jane left was he able to see what he would have done to her, that he was trying to pollute the purity that would save him. In this realization, he experiences remorse for his actions and repents to the Master that Jane obeyed against the love she bore her earthly one.