By Nirina Mignon
“La loi déclare infâme quiconque n’a point d’ami.”
–A law of Minos according to Plato, “De Legem”.
In all aspects of the human domain there seems to be a necessity for friendship, from the austerity of politics to the petticoat balls which led to it. To the former, the Athenian model of polity stresses the necessity of friendship as the buttress which the stability of the organic society lies upon, since the mustard grain of the interchanged smiles and conversation is a shared morality (and to the citizen, an obedience to the same laws). I am certain that Mme. de Tallien’s reputation for excess did not facilitate friendship for herself only, but this benefit extended to all in her vicinity who were dressed anything above the sans-cullotte’s Phrygian cap and day-laborer’s sweat, and thus they no longer were Citizen but “friend to Our Lady of Thermidor’s cause”. Thus, friendship, irrident to inflame hearts with a congruent morality, creates its ideal Muse: une dame comme il faut, and is extinguished piecemeal by displays contrary to her. The societies of friends which persist have a daily procession of piety to their cause; thus we can strangely affirm that Byron was as pious as Bradamante when he convened with Shelley or Keats at Lerici, within their society of four. But how great must it be to belong in a little society! The etiology of this desire is simple: to be specific is to be exclusive, the pride which belongs to the Romance-speaking peninsula is lesser than the pride of a province, though greater than the pride of being a part of the animal genus.
In friendship, the requirement for a daily show of piety is a cause for concern for the already malleable character of man if the threat of solitude is hung above him by a horse’s hair: which without doubt is worse than death to man, who now undisturbed has no issue by which he can flee the haunt of memories and longings. Since under the examination of friends for the sin of blasphemy (against the ideal Muse), the individual is corrupted against himself and the personal vows he took outside that of his society (which desires total devotion); and by the second reunion the regret of Leporello, the unwilling servant, is repeated:
“Sta a veder che il malandrino mi farà precipitar.”
–Da Ponte, “Don Giovanni”. Act I., scene I.
But worse than corruption is the concern of confirmation. Those who have been misled by their society still benefit from the vestigial remains of their authentic morality (which can not be effaced, like a charism), and like the prodigal son they will repudiate the errors of their friendship and consecrate themselves further into their original morality, though not without the harassment of doubt. Conversely, an individual nourished on nothing but a singular friendship (or others of the same formula) will remain obdurately devout to their society’s associated vices and virtues. The perfection of a character through friendships is found in their competing dialectic, insofar as the individual may naturally benefit from one and usurp the little virtue of an erroneous friendship which is foreign to the better friendship. It is evident that the proclivity towards certain vices and virtues depends on the temperament of the friendship: a sanguine friendship knows as much of loyalty as the melancholic one has wisdom of introspection, but as little concerning moderation as the latter’s ignorance of willingness to act. For instance, Ariel was subjugated to Prospero’s art until he had sufficiently proctored Miranda, and during this tenure his desire for liberty increased from her same romanticism by which she impressed herself into Ferdinand’s servitude:
“And all the more it seeks to hide itself, the bigger bulk it shows. [… ] I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I’ll die your maid. To be your fellow you may deny me, but I’ll be your servant whether you will or no.”
–Shakespeare, “The Tempest”. Act III., scene I.
Besides, a function of friendship is a display of legitimacy, the assurance that a current friend has already examined the conscience of the stranger whose face and character is foreign. In the domain of religion, I equally imagine that the intercession of Saints has an equal function: this time not a recommendation to one oblivious to another’s character, but rather a recommendation as an impassioned display of friendship. The wretch living under the sublunar exile asks for a recommendation from the perfected St. Agnes towards God, and in the process does not reveal anything new but rather displays a desire to not be forgotten by this Friend. Even in the secular realm one can see the value of intercession in friendship, above the direct attempt at kindling conversation. For a comparison, which would we presume values friendship more: the purely lethargic character who repeatedly sends futile letters to a past friend; or, the downcast Wilhelm Meister who in the diminishing of recourse hires a harpist to play songs of longing, with the sole hope that this lover, passing by, may hear it?
Evidently the latter with eyes of greater lustre views their friendship, since it displays a lack of shame concerning the friendship (1) and an undeniable passion (2). I am unacquainted with friendship in comparison to our hommes et femmes de société which make it their genteel art-form fitted with constant mentioning of connexions and exaggeration of pronunciations, its acquisition and maintenance is so arcane to me that only “Eris palpans in meridie” (Deut. XXVIII., 29) condenses my ignorance. Yet authoritatively, I confirm that the former shamelessness is evidently an incidental effect of the latter passion, which is the fund and center of the friendships. An unimpassioned condition in a friendship stagnates into the sinecure of toleration, the same which although practical in politics and the other realms of pragmatics is worthless in the world of poetics; in essence toleration is a form of shame, an unwillingness to probe into the obscurity of friendship, further than its superficial epidermis. A compromising tolerance allowed the romantic Garibaldi to consolidate the first Italy with the austere and cold-lipped Cavour; but the supervening grace which transfigured Pyramus and Thisbe’s unknowing into total understanding was their unvitiated passion, which made their grave the same and which dissolved the very wall through which whispers were passed along.
I am no advocate for inordinate wrath or Bacchic frenzy; neither the perpetual manslaughter along Dante’s Styx, nor the maenads intoxicated with their lusts serve as friendship’s ideal. Contrarily, the passion which I speak of is that which perforates without diffraction the obscurity which separates one individual from another, rather than increases its concealement with insensate sensuality. Jefferson of Monticello, beloved by the two worlds, thought that revolutions were as necessary to the vigor of States as storms to the natural forestry, so do I extend that an occasional mutiny is necessary in friendship. For instance, the dull and moribund nature of Britain’s parliament (which has diminished political participation) resides in the inability for the fused executive and legislative to disagree: their total assent and toleration of one another is necessary for the sake of effectiveness, and a vote of no confidence will immediately dissolve a disunited government. In light of this, the realm of friendships should be configured against this failure of politics in order to allow for passion and the dialectic of virtues spoken of before. There is no shortage of errors in friendship which we silently accede to, and the dissonance of fraternal correction (sublime yet disconcerting) will be the horsefly to sting it to wakefulness.