Susan Sontag Forces Me to Contemplate Marriage For No Good Reason

I know how that sounds. But a new memoir of hers just came out–well actually it’s the first volume compiling her journals. They are very intriguing, dense, and almost mesmerizing. I’ve long be fond of Sontag, although it seemed that everyone else had read a different book of hers than I had, or that people felt her philosophy on a different plane than I could. However, this journal has instilled in me a real affinity for the writer/thinker/anthropologist/ad infinitum. I’m about a third of the way in and the journals of her first marriage are particularly interesting. She describes marriage as a dulling of the emotions–stating that ‘all desires become decisions.’ Prompting me to question the necessity of marriage, or even of monogamy? Why is it that society seems to force this idea of one plus one equating two to such illogical and irrational realms as the emotions and desires? I’m not suggesting polygamy (or am I?), but the idea that one is supposed to ‘settle down’ (which already has a negative connotation; inferring that one cannot settle without someone else) into one relationship for the entirety of their lives. Now obviously this has been proven to be rarely efficient. With the divorce rate afflicting more than half of all marriages, it would seem that the notion of monogamy is not as natural as people conclude.

I suppose it’s because the idea of marriage is instilled into the onset of coupling. That is, when adolescents begin to date, they are taught that they have to commit to one, they are quite literally in practice for ‘the one.’ And there is supposed to be a one, correct? How can that be if we are able to love and grow affinities for a variety of different people. The guy I dated my senior year of high school was ‘the one’ at that time, and then in college ‘the one’ at that time. How can ‘one’ transcend so much time when my personality can hardly manage to stay in tact? I am quite definitely a different person than I had been four years ago. This being said, how would I manage to maintain a relationship with someone, while growing, and expecting the relationship to remain the same throughout the change. Perhaps I change into someone the other person doesn’t like? Maybe the other person refuses to change and is an anchor to my evolution. Whatever the case, it seems natural to question whether monogamy may actually hinder an individuals evolution and progression as a human being.

It’s also strange that when I try to talk about this subject, I am called cold or jaded, emotionally-detached or deficient. But maybe it’s just because I’m changing and the change requires that you either change in exactly the same way so as to complement my changing self (which is a completely ridiculous and probably impossible request) or that it is alright to move on and away from a person because your paths verge away from each others–as they will do with everyone else you are with.

This seems harsh, I know. But reading Sontag’s book has really got me thinking about this institution that connects–legally–your life to someone else’s. Why we must feel safe and complete when we have the very real and very legal support and connection to another human being. Is it true that we need one other person to make us happy? Is this the missing link? And why is it that there is never an easy way to relay this fluxing, this weaving of relationships through the core of one’s self? Marriage and marriage-bound relationships seem to produce an increase in jealousy, insecurity, competition, and judgment. It seems unrealistic–and quite cruel–that one should endure a relationship of this magnitude and weight for the duration implied (till death do us part.)

I’ve had the experience of coming in and out of love or affinity for an individual, but not in a consistent and exclusive way. It’s as if there are lines side by side that tend to intersect, run over one another and touch perpendicularly. But the duration of the eight years we’ve known each other, the conditions are hot/cold and filled with periods of silence and a disconnect of communication. There’s a reuniting with the help of nostalgia and a deep-seeded fondness, but often times the circumstances provide that we be different, separated, detached (at least sometimes).

And then there are friendships that can last a lifetime. Well, yes. But because there is a very clear distinction between a relationship of camaraderie and one of romantic intimacy. It seems as though this occurs because one places more weight on the intimate relationship with such things as trust, loyalty, devotion, etc. Would these things exist without our imposition of them? In reaction to the breaking or tarnishing of these expectations comes jealousy, anger, betrayal, etc. These things can happen and do happen in congenial relationships, but it seems to a lesser degree than in the intimate ones.

I believe in intimacy, monogamy (to a degree), and love. But marriage? Well marriage seems to eradicate the emotional charge of the relationship. If there is a union of two people who trust, love, and are loyal to one another, why is there a need for an official document binding them to one another? This would seem to indicate a lack of trust or an underlying suspicion. And there are people who want to marry in order to prove their love for one another, but is it really love if proof is required?

Anyway, blame Sontag’s genius for this one (and read her journals titled ‘Reborn’). It can’t be this depressing, but I see (quite clearly) the importance in her observations. And who knows? Life could also be a fairy tale and every one will live happily ever after, I’ve just never seen it.

Andre Gide’s ‘The Immoralist’ Moralizes Me (or just exacerbates my confliction)

Nothing seems more relevant than this book. Written at the turn of the 20th century, a man embarks to find the-ever-vague object of intrigue; himself. However, this book isn’t just another soul-searching, two dimensional character analysis. For one, it’s Gide and, well, he’s never bad. Moreover, the lessons that prevail throughout the book have begun forming a picket line of philosophical questions in my head. Basically, a man is married to a woman he doesn’t love, falls sick on their travels (with TB), and ends up at death’s mercy. But instead of turning to spirituality or religion as most do, he decides that he will get better by his own will. However, his wife prays incessantly over him and this provides a conundrum of sorts (was it will or faith). Anyway, he gets better. He has a new lease on life. The only problem is how to live it, who he is, what he wants. The questions are maybe the biggest to be asked of anyone and everyone at some point in time. His homosexuality starts to come forth, he loses interest in his wife (though feels a need to love her dutifully as she had nursed him back to health), and he has the most interesting of interactions with a character who seems to be a Marxist (I only say this because of the ideologies he speaks of and the time period in which the book was written). But he tells Michel, the protagonist, that he has no ego, has no use of material possessions, and he stays clear of vices (smoking, drinking, etc.) because the effects of sobriety are far greater for the lucidity of life than the base pleasures we accustom ourselves to. And he is jealous (I think as I would be) to find this man living an utterly philosophic life, free of mundane obsessions. What a juxtaposition. To do, as Michel begins doing–everything and anything he wants compared to this man who exercises adament and willful self restraint. Is there more to be said in one way or the other? From my own experience, being indulgent brings pleasure, but of a lesser quality. For instance, drugs are fun (while doing them) and wildly entertaining, but something is unsatisfying about how easy it is to acquire that level of stimulation. And then its almost disheartening to realize that you’ve given yourself to the whim of a superior substance for however long, and that maybe you’ve just wasted those hours on something that has very little to do with you or what you want. You are merely a vessel for the drug’s effects. On the other hand, should you restrain yourself to the point of punishing yourself? Will there be something to gain at the end of your life knowing that you worked for each one of your experiences on your own accord? As (too) many have said, ‘the harder you work for something, the sweeter the reward.’

Oh yeah, there’s also a nice balance to be found in the middle, I assume. One in which you can indulge sometimes, restrain sometimes. But I’m an extremist and people who are able to do that probably don’t care much for philosophy when they aren’t really in need of one. Or maybe they just like (and are able to implement) the virtue-ethics of Aristotelian philosophy, which they should be consequently admired for…if you’re into that kind of thing.

Self-less-ness

Is impossible. Even in death. I can’t think of one instance in which a person is entirely ‘selfless.’ Going to feed the homeless in Africa, donating all of your money to charity–while these things are charitable and, well, nice, they aren’t exactly selfless. The term selfless requires one to actually remove the self. How can one act without the self? Which of course leads to the question, what is the self? But that’s a whole seperate (but connected) discussion. It’s just curious how people wish to be called selfless–which is selfish, because what is actually happening is that the person being deemed selfless is basking in the recognition of his humility. And if you are basking in the compliments of others, then that is exactly the opposite of being selfless.

Even if one were to jump in front of an oncoming car in order to prevent someone else from dying–it would seem that there is that one split moment of recognition in which you should save them because you’re noble, or courageous, or some other virtue ascribed to these situations by centuries of folklore and tradition. So even in death there is the self. Especially in suicide, because there is a very willful point being made. ‘I’m tired of this life,’ ‘I will end this myself,’ In order to be truly selfless then, one must entirely remove herself from herself. Which is impossible at this time (I think). So selfless = nothingness (if there is such a thing.) So, in actuality, to call someone selfless can be seen as a term of degredation. You are saying one is nothing or one is without him or herself; nothing.

I’ve been thinking about this recently because it seems to be the goal of many; to be selfless. I’ve even contemplated the Peace Corps, traveling the world feeding the poor (ok, maybe an exagerration) but those things are completely self-indulgent.  Especially seeing as though I am a Westerner going to ‘give of my time’ in a very missionary/noble/stoic/virtuous/[societal-bullshit-term-entered-here] way. I wish I could reach a level of selflessness that doesn’t seem to exist. Maybe because it doesn’t?

Solipsism

I’ve been thinking a lot about this word I can’t seem to pronounce, despite how hard I try.  While studying philosophy, I’ve avoided it.  The notion that the only reality is in your head?  Crazy.  Or is it.  After finding existentialism unsatisfying and stern logic boring, I’ve looked back into this philosophy that most seem to ignore.  Maybe because it actually is the only reality I can experience–or anyone for that matter.  If I think negative thoughts, I get negative results.  Thoughts are the only true things.  They can make a break a person.  For instance, I have this ‘friend’ who seems to think the world of himself.  Some may think he’s arrogant–hell, I think he’s arrogant.  But once I began analyzing this arrogance, I realized that far beneath my judgment was an inkling of jealousy.  I can’t possibly think that highly of myself and if I were to, I couldn’t possibly reflect this sentiment onto the world before me.  But why.  Why can this person.  Well perhaps he’s achieved a sort of solipsism philosophy of his own.  He is, apparently, not affected by what others think.  In fact, the sense of fame he feels seems to stem directly from his own dereliction.  And it would seem that is enough.  So, then, what’s the point in human interaction?  Why not just live entirely inside of your head, without outside stimuli?  I guess that would be impossible.  It would be far fetched to assume that everything outside the mind is un-real.  But one could assuredly assume that the reality of the external world can’t ever be completely known by any measure.  It just seems backwards, the way society is structured, the way we think status equals success, when status can only be measured by the judgment of one by many.  So people acquire cars, money, up the corporate ladder, but in the end, it would be no one wonder that many ask ‘why did I do this’ or as David Byrne so succinctly said, “How did I get here?”  You probably got there because you did what was expected of you, what you saw other people doing.  Maybe you should think outside of that, or rather inside of yourself.  Of course, the hard part is figuring out how and who exactly you are, while keeping the stern eyes of others at bay.