Showing posts with label character. Show all posts
Showing posts with label character. Show all posts

Monday, September 15, 2014

To think of genuine friendship...



I have had great cause to think of what friendship truly is in the past weeks...to reexamine its nature and fundamental character. I was provoked to extreme depth of thought about it by a question that occurred to me after a discussion in a public forum. The discussion forced me into the recognition of some diametrically opposite views that reflected such radically different values and beliefs than mine that I was left shaken by the discovery that my "friends" could think the way they do. Perhaps I'd guessed that we were on different sides of the aisle politically but in the past, that hasn't affected the friendship that I thought existed between us. With a few people - those for whom their political views are not a major priority - I've simply agreed to disagree and we've left all discussions of that nature out of our "friendship" equation and confined our public comments towards each other to our artistic endeavors. But what does that actually mean in terms of the nature of that friendship? 

I struggle with this issue even within my family and among people I know personally rather than just on the internet. [That's not to say internet friendships can't be or are not "real." I believe they are]. But I've realized that what I'm calling friendship in most cases is no more than casual acquaintance or what Aristotle called relationships of utility or pleasure rather than the extremely rare "true friendship." I do not believe that it is possible to truly call someone a friend whose views and values are completely antithetical to my own. I'm not speaking about political views in an election year - I'm speaking about the fundamental values reflected in the memes we share or the political comments we make. I'm speaking about the basic philosophy represented by our political statements. My political leanings arise from my fundamental world view on human rights and human dignity, on justice and injustice, on communal rather than individual rights. In other words, I cannot separate my political philosophy from who I am as a person and in likewise fashion, I cannot separate another person's political statements and philosophy from who he/she is as a person. I cannot disassociate those statements from another's fundamental character. That brings me back to friendship.

Aristotle in his monumental "Nicomachean Ethics" discusses friendship at length. He "divides friendship into three sorts: friends for pleasure; friends for benefit; and true friends. To the former belong those sorts of social bonds that are established to enjoy one’s spare time, e.g. friends for sports or hobbies, friends for dining, or for partying. In the second are included all those bonds whose cultivation is primarily motivated by work-related reasons or by civic duties, such as being friend with your colleagues and neighbors." (philosophy.about.com) But true friends are virtuous friends, seeking the good of self and other and growth in virtue and such friendships assume an existing level of virtue in one's own character and in the other. Genuine friends, says the great philosopher,"serve as human mirrors in which one can better see one's own virtue...they are a single soul dwelling in two bodies." They are indispensable to self-knowledge and that is necessary for growth in virtue, the definition of the "good life." Or as Cicero put it, "A true friend is a second self." 

Why, then, would one seek a "friendship" with a person who is so completely opposite to the person one believes himself/herself to be or wishes to be? More importantly, why would a person whose values are so opposed to my own wish to be my friend in the first place? For utility? Does that person gain something by association with me? For pleasure? Do I entertain, share jokes with, or pursue similar activities? It is important that I recognize which of the three kinds of friends a person might be so I do not feel so betrayed when I see that person for who he/she really is. The sudden realization that one has been totally wrong about another person smashes that "mirror" and causes us to doubt our own virtue, asking, "how could I have mistaken that person for someone I could admire or wish to have as a friend?" How could my judgment have been so flawed?


That is not to say that one has to cut off all ties with friends of utility or friends of pleasure. It's just that one must be honest enough to identify those relationships for what they are. I can continue with those "friendships" but only to the point where to do so would compromise my self-knowledge and virtue or damage my true friendships. True friendship is the rarest of all forms of love - certainly rarer than romantic or physical love. So it stands to reason, that in one's lifetime, one might have only one or two true friends. Absence, distance, time have little effect on true friendship unless one of the friends undergoes some radical change in beliefs and values. Genuine friends continue to grow in those qualities deemed most significant and virtuous and to encourage that same growth in the other. When I look at my friend, I see the kind of person I want to be and I strive for that kind of goodness. 


Emerson said there were two elemental criteria for genuine friendship - truth and tenderness. He wrote, in his essay on friendship, said, "A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may think aloud. I am arrived at last in the presence of a man so real and equal that I may drop even those undermost garments of dissimulation, courtesy, and second thought, which men never put off, and may deal with him with...simplicity and wholeness..." He decried the superficiality and self-promotional ego-stroking, "the chat of the markets or the reading room," that he considered "an injustice against true friendship," long before social media made such things the basis for pseudo-friendships. Truth does not mean that friends think exactly the same about everything. There is ample room for some difference of thought.  "Emerson points out that the most valuable friendships don’t spring from a filter bubble of like-mindedness but, rather, from the perfect osmosis of shared values and just enough discrepancy in tastes and sensibilities to broaden our horizons" (Popova, Maria. Truth and Tenderness: Ralph Waldo Emerson on Friendship and Its Two Essential Conditions, 8/13/14)  


These differences, therefore, enable us to reach for the next most virtuous position we might achieve, to look more deeply into a value, an event, a point of view, and so share even more closely the values of our friend. To maintain a relationship in the face of too great a difference between you, however, is not the mark of friendship. While culturally I might have to accept and respect that each person has the right to his/her own opinion, I do not need to class as true friends those persons who have no respect for truth or whose own views reflect positions that I believe philosophically are detrimental to civil and virtuous society. To do so would be to violate my own sense of integrity. We are known, as the old adage goes, by our "friends." I do not want to know myself or be known as holding views that to me seem abhorrent simply because I want to keep calling someone friend or to add another person to my list on some social media site. Nor would I want others to call me friend who find my views abhorrent or a violation of their own ethical code. Instead, I will be ever grateful for the very few rare souls I know to be genuinely friends - and those are few and rare indeed. Charles Darwin said, "A man's friendships are one of the best measures of his worth" and Thomas Fuller even more adamantly argued, "If you have one true friend, you have more than your share." I count myself rich indeed and know that in my few really close and genuine friendships I have had and have far more than my share, for that kind of friendship is more precious than jewels. I am more than content to have my worth measured by those friends. 



River Reflections




Wednesday, April 23, 2014

My beautiful Mom is 90!!!



“The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole,but true beauty in a Woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she knows.
And the beauty of a woman, with passing years only grows.” 
― Audrey Hepburn

Luella Mary Kendall - Lorne F. LeMieux

August 31, 1943



Today, my beloved mother celebrates her 90th birthday and I'm so incredibly happy to have her with us still. I remember a psychic once telling her she'd live to be 92 and that upset her...she didn't want to live that long, she said. But here she is - still in relatively good health, enduring the aches and pains of later years with barely a complaint, still driving occasionally, cooking, and working daily on the computer to complete the most expansive family tree you could imagine!

For all the poetry I've written, including pieces about my children, my spouse, friends, my siblings...I've never written one about my mother. I just never could find the words to express everything I feel for her - not just boundless love and affection, but admiration, respect and sometimes a tiny bit of envy, if you must know. She is, as you can see, a beautiful woman, and she honestly has only grown more beautiful with age.  Her hair is pure silver, like her dad's, and naturally so - no tints or toners. Her eyes are still a rich dark brown and are alight with the contentment she has always expressed at being exactly who she wanted to be her entire life - wife, mother, homemaker. And that last...home-maker...that is exactly who and what she is. 

She made our home home - not just comfortable and welcoming but a place where love was made visible in every little touch...in her knitting, the small personal collectibles that were scattered throughout the house, the books -leather bound and gold embossed - that are everywhere and for which she personally made the decorative bookshelves that hold them. She laid the floors, (seriously - pegged pine floors), she laid the stones for the fireplace, the stairway, the living room wall. Every inch of this house, which now belongs to me, speaks her name and holds the precious memories of all our times together. 

Her friends think that there is no one in the world like her - and they'd be right. There isn't. I have always said that my mother was the perfect "lady." She never raises her voice, is never ever vulgar, wouldn't swear if her life depended on it, doesn't whistle (not ladylike), and every single morning of her life, she dresses as if someone special is coming to visit - including jewelry - some necklace or broach that is special to her, a gift from her Dad or my Dad or one of us children. She's never owned a pair of jeans and wouldn't be caught dead in them! 

When I was in high school the boy I was madly in love with (and truly I was and stayed in love with him until after he died in an automobile accident on his way to ask my Dad if he could marry me)...that boy/man used to tease me and say he loved me because he adored my mother and the old saying was if you want to know what your wife will be like, just look at her mother. She adored him right back - they had art and music in common and he would come and visit with her often while I was away at college. That's where my touch of envy came in - I sometimes thought he really would have preferred my mother had he been older! 

Sadly, I am not like my mother though all my life I aspired to be as wonderful a person as she is. She was the center of my father's world until the day he died - I don't think he even realized any other woman existed. Oddly, in a way, that is true for my brothers as well - they adore her and everything we all do is somehow measured against whether Mom would like it or be upset by it. 

I dedicated my second book of poetry to my mother with these words:
"To my mother, Luella Kendall LeMieux, whose indefatigable spirit has been my guiding light and whose encouragement and faith in me has made all things possible."
I might add that her personal sense of integrity has been a model for me my entire life and in that respect, at least, I hope I begin to measure up to the woman who is still and will always be the heart of my home and the most beautiful person I know. 

We've stretched the celebrations over a three week period so as not to overtire her and there's still more to come. Just another day, she's says..."Don't make such a fuss!" If we could, we'd give you the moon - just as Dad always tried to do.  Happy birthday Mom - I hope we're both around for your 100th! I love you very much. 

Here's your favorite poem from my book, Mom, that you made me read aloud every time someone came to visit...


The Road of Infinite Grace

I met a man today,
just an ordinary man,
who taught me more about love
in one brief encounter,
about the infinite grace of loving,
than I have learned in a lifetime
of trying, or crying,
or praying or saying it aloud.
His old pickup was stopped
on the side of a country road
so I pulled over to see
if he needed assistance,
if something was wrong,
if he needed a lift.
Just a little elderly man
standing in an untended field and
as I approached I saw him
bend low to pick a flower or two,
some Queen Anne’s lace,
a handful of daisies, some buttercups,
cornflowers and purple spikes
whose name I didn’t know.
“I’m fine,” he said, “but
that was kind of you to stop.
I’m just picking a bouquet, you see -
today is my 60th anniversary. 

My wife had a stroke two weeks ago
so I’m on my way to spend the day
at the hospital with her.
She always loved wildflowers best,
not fancy garden flowers,
they suited her, you see,
for she was just like them.
Her eyes are blue as cornflowers,
her cheeks as rosy as these mallows,
her hair had the glow of buttercups
when we used to walk this field
together hand in hand.
She can’t speak right now
to tell me that she loves me still,
but she tells me with her eyes
that she’s never wavered all these years.”
Unashamedly, I wept to see
the bouquet he held in his gnarled hand
and offered water to keep them fresh
till he could bring them safe to her.
“Don’t cry, my dear, it’s nothing much.
She’s graced my life for sixty years,
each day of them a blessing -
I just hope she’ll know that in my heart
she’ll always be my buttercup.”
       
          © Lianne Schneider 2010

This is the song my mother had played and sung at her wedding, at my Dad's funeral and has asked for her own. I hope it's a very long time before I have to find someone to sing it!