Three, Two, One... Where Is The Friend?
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As of the writing of this article, I have three yet to finish:
- Changes in the Land by William Cronon
- Fragile Empire by Ben Judah
- Confessions of Rousseau by Jean Rousseau
I'm half-way through the first two and almost almost finished with the last one.
I'm reading Confessions this morning while doing the laundry (or waiting for the laundry to be done so I can fold it).
Rousseau's book reads more often like a day-time drama with gossipy characters inflicting pain onto one another... and I can't wait to finish it... but not for this reason.
There are moments the gossips are quite entertaining, yet they are all mostly from his own perceptions and feelings about others.
It reminds me of a time when I was too focused on what others thought about me and said about me... me also being very willing to tell yet others what I thought about people who were not present to defend themselves.
Sometimes when Rousseau quotes others or shares their letters to him can the reader get a perception beyond his head.
I wonder if any reader is ever fully against the author or narrator of any story (these three books being all non-fictions, by the way).
Even non-fictions are written from those who have gathered information and have put forth their best conclusions (even with an objective effort).
I had grown tired of Rousseau's lack of actually divulging clear confessions.
I know a sin list doesn't make for much of a market, but context and storyline must be included to place certain sins in their proper setting... to at least grant reasoning (or the lack of it).
However, this morning I did find one confession that struck me to the core... and it was timely.
It not only slowed down my reading but had me re-reading the sentences preceding and following the sobering sentence.
It made me put the book away and simply wait for the clothe's drier to stop, now reflecting fully on my life.
In short, he mentioned “... making friendship the idol of my heart...”.
He was lamenting how someone he had considered a dear friend had seemingly become more like an enemy... cold and dismissive.
Rousseau does a great job of elaborating his peculiarities and thoughts about his feelings and the manners of others... and goes into great conclusive detail about something that someone said and what they must have really meant.
Like I mentioned; drama.
Exhaustive drama... but such is the lot in life for many people, being the very substance from which they derive inspiration for their toilsome (or boring) lives.
But that part of him being so hurt by his supposed friend's attitude towards him and the use of those terms floored me this morning.
I can relate all too well with that sentiment of his.
In the following sentence is found the friendship sentiment in context (and the link to that page if you care to read further):
Without any reply from Saint-Lambert, neglected by Madame d'Houdetot, no longer venturing to open my heart to anyone, I began to fear that, in making friendship the idol of my heart, I had wasted my life in sacrificing to chimeras.Now of course, this excerpt showcases his talented writing and how he expresses insight with prestige.
Sometimes one has to look past (or enjoy or tolerate) the puffery to find the gems... or in this case, a much sought after confession that struck my heart needfully.
I welcomed it.
I too have often placed too much weight and reliance on friendships... only to feel a sense of loss, regret, treachery and other ills.
I too have desired to continue friendships after I had been rejected (from either no fault of my own or lack of forgiveness.
I too have pursued uneven friendships or purposely placed myself in harm's way when all of my earnest efforts were returned unfruitful, or worse: a harvest of thorn bushes.
Much like with Rousseau, once a gossip is unleashed its harm is never ending.
Gossips are like tender morsels for those who desire to listen to (and add their recipe to gossip).
How a gossip poisons a hearing mind.
For those who are unable to distinguish disdain from truth, that poisoning portrays a stranger (the person gossiped about) as an enemy before that stranger is allowed an initial impression.
Rousseau went on to write about how all of his friends eventually became the friends of this 'enemy', and how they were all somehow turned against him (Rousseau).
What needs to be added to all of this is the looseness of Rousseau's contemporaries.
The sharing of married was an open secret in the circles he ran in... the circles seeking prestige, honor, and noble acknowledgement.
Very little has changed regarding the airs that certain groups of people (whether they view themselves as upper class or not) that plague themselves with certain dramas that were likely avoidable and thus unnecessary.
To be faithful among circles of philanderers and whores is to be labeled a prude, or unsophisticated, or naive, or immature, or some other label that eases the weight of depravity argued as normal.
To not fully engage in mainstreamed activities, or efforts considered part of the program, is to truly find one's self with such friends... and be shocked when self-serving friendships turn out to be something else.
I wonder if someone would have pointed out to Rousseau that sleeping with your friend's wife, and both he and her being fine with such a setting, was a weak foundation to base life upon... would he had understood, or had disagreed because maybe according to him 'everyone was doing it' ?
I'm sure a triad in any home was considered wrong in his day and in those towns, but the cultural climate was such that such old 'norms' were yet another thing to revolt against and be 'free' from... oh but the consequences and trouble that comes from moving such ancient boundary stones.
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