Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Love, Masculinity, and Passion

My focus in this blog is on the simultaneous forces of love and societal expectations on men. What kind of man leads the most passionate life? Is it a man who follows his own independence and constantly moves from place to place gobbling up every opportunity for a new, vibrant experience? Or is it a sensitive man who understands the complexities of his feelings and longs for a close, intimate relationship? What role does love play in one’s ability to lead a passionate life?
Every person must face these perplexing questions throughout life. My goal is to glean the answers to these questions (or at least a solid opinion) through the examination of Ernest Hemingway’s, The Sun Also Rises; the poems “Lullaby” and “Stop All The Clocks,” by W.H. Auden; the song “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin; and the recent film starring Michael Cera, Superbad. Each depicts a male taking a different approach to love and relationships while affecting a different understanding of masculinity. For a long time, I looked to Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises as my own personal standard for masculinity and how to comport oneself in a strong, respectable manner. However, upon closer examination Hemingway’s protagonist, Jake Barnes, is clearly depressed and disempowered. His passion for bullfighting and drinking does little to fill the void left by his unrequited love for Brett Ashley.  The classic song by Led Zeppelin seems more earnest in its expressions of masculinity, demonstrating the possibility of love having a place within a man’s needs to explore and accrue knowledge. The most modern manifestation of masculinity is that which is provided by Superbad. This example of the modern male is incredibly unappealing and demonstrates an alarming trend in our culture. Though his honesty and kindness are commendable attributes, the protagonist exhibits little agency and is entirely dependent upon his love interest taking pity upon his pathetic lack of confidence. Surely one can possess empathy and kindness without lacking self confidence and charisma. Finally, outshining each of these efforts are W.H. Auden’s poems “Lullaby” and “Stop all the Clocks.” While the two poems express entirely contrasting emotional conditions, they each teem with passion and an ability to love. When looked at together, they demonstrate the ability of a male to live a life in which new experiences (in this case, promiscuity) can be reconciled with a profound, intimate love.
Everyone has fallen in love before. It may have been in a deeply committed relationship, or it may have been the girl in your trigonometry class sophomore year. Whether the love was reciprocated or unrequited, it likely introduced an astonishingly powerful rush of emotions to which you previously thought you were impervious. Love is capable of generating an unparalleled euphoria that sends your heart straight through your throat, as well as the darkest despair that sends it plummeting to the depths of your stomach. Even beyond romantic love, everything we do in our lives is driven by a love for the self, or a desire to be loved by others. The entire discipline of Sociology tells us that every human behavior, both conscious and subconscious, is done in an attempt to make the self most attractive to society. Anthropologists and evolutionary biologists extrapolate this further positing that individual human behavior is executed with the single goal of finding a mate. As I have approximately zero knowledge when it comes to science, I will leave it to Helen E. Fischer, Arthur Aron, and Lucy L. Brown of Rutgers University to break down the biological explanation for love in human relationships.
To begin to determine the neural mechanisms associated with romantic attraction in humans, we used functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) to study 17 people who were intensely 'in love'. Activation specific to the beloved occurred in the brainstem right ventral tegmental area and right postero-dorsal body of the caudate nucleus. These and other results suggest that dopaminergic reward and motivation pathways contribute to aspects of romantic love. We also used fMRI to study 15 men and women who had just been rejected in love. Preliminary analysis showed activity specific to the beloved in related regions of the reward system associated with monetary gambling for uncertain large gains and losses, and in regions of the lateral orbitofrontal cortex associated with theory of mind, obsessive/compulsive behaviours and controlling anger. These data contribute to our view that romantic love is one of the three primary brain systems that evolved in avian and mammalian species to direct reproduction. The sex drive evolved to motivate individuals to seek a range of mating partners; attraction evolved to motivate individuals to prefer and pursue specific partners; and attachment evolved to motivate individuals to remain together long enough to complete species-specific parenting duties. These three behavioural repertoires appear to be based on brain systems that are largely distinct yet interrelated, and they interact in specific ways to orchestrate reproduction, using both hormones and monoamines. Romantic attraction in humans and its antecedent in other mammalian species play a primary role: this neural mechanism motivates individuals to focus their courtship energy on specific others, thereby conserving valuable time and metabolic energy, and facilitating mate choice.” article found here
The biological imperatives that make love a necessary component of human reproduction, coupled with the intense emotions we experience when in love make it the undeniable driving force behind human life and behavior. This power that love wields makes it synonymous with passion. One cannot live a passionate life without possessing a love for others and for life itself.
Unfortunately, traditional notions of masculinity leave little room for these natural feelings of romance and dependence, let alone any emotion at all. Though much of the greatest literature and artistic expression about feelings of love, heartbreak, and despair have been created by men, Western culture (along with most male dominated societies worldwide) has perpetuated an image of the model male as stoic, impenetrable, and not always faithful to his unconditionally loving damsel-in-distress. For example, the American male has served as an embodiment of the American Dream; uncontainable and ostentatious, while exuding psychological fortitude, courage, and confidence.
According to J.A. Mangan and James Walvin (article found here), the regulations of masculinity that we have in contemporary society have their roots in Victorian Era British and American society. Mangan and Walvin outline a historical process during which a masculine moral code developed through various types of mediation during the Nineteenth century. Those who ascribed to this implicit code “were audacious in their aspirations and ambitions… ‘Manliness’ symbolized an attempt at a metaphysical comprehension of the universe.” The construction of a masculine self that could be all-knowing and capable of any challenge would seem to leave little room for intimate female companionship. A loving relationship would undermine the autonomy and strength prescribed by masculinity, thus forcing any self-respecting male to see women only as a means of procreation or as sexual objects. Mangan and Walvin posit that this was in fact the case, that “[i]f a man wished to make his way in the world, he had to break free of the restraints of home and community and he could not rely on anyone else. Thus, the ideal of the Masculine Achiever encouraged men to be independent in their actions” (37). These tendencies towards independence, and often misogyny, seem to greatly conflict with the need for love and partnership explained by science. But our culture has taught men to conceal their feelings of love. This equates to a stifling pressure on men to withhold their passions. There are countless ways in which men of all ages and backgrounds mitigate the clash between culture and instinct; nature or nurture, if you will.

Selected passage for The Sun Also Rises:
 Brett: “I’d better go now.”
Jake: “Why?”
 “Just wanted to see you. Damned silly idea. Want to get dressed and come down? He’s got the car just up the street.”
                “The count?”
 “Himself. And a chauffeur in livery. Going to drive me around and have breakfast in the Bois. Hampers. Got it all at Zelli’s. Dozen bottles of Mumms. Tempt you?”
                “I have to work in the morning,” I said. “I’m too far behind you now to catch up and be any fun.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
 “Can’t do it.”
 “Right. Send him a tender message?”
                “Anything. Absolutely.”
                “Good night, darling.”
                “Don’t be sentimental.”
                “You make me ill.”
We kissed good night and Brett shivered. “I’d better go,” she said. “Good night, darling.”
                “You don’t have to go.”
                “Yes.”
                We kissed again on the stairs and as I called for the cordon the concierge muttered something behind her door. I went back upstairs and from the open window watched Brett walking up the street to the big limousine drawn up to the curb under the arc-light. She got in and it started off. I turned around. On the table was an empty glass and a glass half-full of brandy and soda. I took them both out to the kitchen and poured the half-full glass down the sink. I turned off the gas in the dining-room, kicked off my slippers sitting on the bed, and got into bed. This was Brett, that I had felt like crying about. Then I thought of her walking up the street and stepping into the car, as I had last seen her, and of course in a little while I felt like hell again. It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night it is another thing.


Written in 1926, Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises is the closest in date and resemblance to the Victorian Era of masculine values compared to the other works to be examined. Hemingway’s legacy is that of a man’s man, fighting and suffering a wound in the First World War, developing great passions for bullfighting and big game hunting, and always focusing his novels on a central male protagonist. In many ways, these figures display the characteristics prescribed by the Victorian masculine ‘code,’ with a concise manner of speech, affection for strong liquors, and an unquestioning confidence in the ways of the world.
Although Jake Barnes, the narrator and primary character in The Sun Also Rises, possesses these same qualities, Hemingway seems to suggest that this incarnation of masculinity is incompatible with the reality of the Post-World War I Western world. In the above passage, Jake fights to suppress his feelings for Brett, continuing to give brief unenthusiastic responses to her statements; only one measures longer than four words. When Brett attempts to give him a cheerful goodbye, he stifles the mood, telling her, “’Don’t be sentimental.’” But Jake’s love betrays him when the conversation ends and Brett turns to leave, imploring her, “’You don’t have to go.’” Jake would clearly like nothing more than to spend the night with Brett, but he chooses not to accompany her back out onto the town, his attempt to uphold a façade of strength and indifference forces him to reject her offer. To me, this demonstrates masculine values obstructing the possibility of having a passionate experience. Hemingway seems to grapple with this conflict. Jake’s impotence seems to represent the impossibility of Victorian masculinity in the modern world. World War I exposed realities that made independence and exploration too harsh, effectively castrating the once dominant Victorian male. Jake struggles with trying to hold on to his strength as a man. His love for Brett thus becomes a weakness and his passion is constricted. This is hardly an adequate model after which to shape one’s own life and masculine identity.
In his book article “Playboys in Paradise: masculinity, youth and leisure-style in modern America,” (article found here) Bill Osgerby argues that the American entertainment industry enacted a shift in our societal expectations of men and our corresponding notions of masculinity. While the first half of the 20th Century was characterized by rapid industrial development in America, Post-war America saw a “move towards an ethos of conspicuous consumption and sexual license during the fifties and sixties.” Ogersby defines the era as being characterized by two dominant male archetypes, “the swinging bachelor and the vibrant teenager,” both of which, while moving away slightly from the hard-boiled demeanor of Humphrey Bogart and John Wayne, nonetheless advance the characteristics of the model male as promiscuous and non-committal.
Lyrics to “Ramble On,” by Led Zeppelin: here
Lyrics to “Over the Hills and Far Away,” by Led Zeppelin: here
The members of Led Zeppelin became cultural and masculine icons during their decade long reign as rock n’roll deities. Tales of their sexual escapades almost outshine their top notch musicianship and catalog of classic songs. Thus, they can be seen as an embodiment of what Osgerby defines as the masculinity of the sixties. Their rock n’roll flair certainly places them in line with the “swinging bachelor and vibrant teenager” described by Osgerby. However, in the lyrics to their songs “Ramble On” and “Over the Hills and Far Away,” the coexistence of masculine independence and exploration is made possible. In “Ramble On,” the lyrics depict a hero’s journey:
 “for now I smell the rain, and with it, pain
and it's headed my way
Aw, sometimes I grow so tired
but I know I've got one thing I got to do
A-ramble on, and now's the time, the time is now”

 The speaker gallantly perseveres through isolation and pain. Zeppelin also evokes the Victorian notions of masculinity as an all-knowing, uncontainable man when lead singer Robert Plant croons: “Mine’s a tale that can’t be told, my freedom I hold dear.” The speaker has seen so much of life that his story exceeds the capability of words. Telling his story would in some way undermine his freedom. But when Plant wails out the chorus, we realize that this travelling man is not like the men depicted in the articles by Osgerby, and Mangan and Walvin. Instead, the speaker’s quest is for a lost love, thus making possible a simultaneous life of masculine adventure and love. Were it not for the fantastical nature of the lyrics, which include allusions to JRR Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings, this Zeppelin classic would hold a great deal of credence.  However, I also question the celebration of the life of adventure depicted in the speaker’s quest. It seems as though Zeppelin suggest that the passionate love that will come when the lovers reunite is only made possible by the yearning of separation. Is the “pain” described in line four a necessary part of masculine experience? Whether it is or not, Zeppelin’s effort in “Ramble On” provides a more acceptable version of masculinity than the next to be discussed.

My own personal experience of the last decade has led me to believe that we have experienced another large shift in what our society deems as acceptable male behavior. However, unlike the changes described by Osgerby, the differences in our contemporary male do not possess many traces of the Victorian masculine values, and instead represent an entirely new male sensibility. Regrettably, this shift has seemed to generate a male figure that is devoid of what I perceive to be some of the virtuous qualities of more traditional masculinity. Gone are integrity, loyalty, courage, justice, and the audacity to be different. These have been replaced by conformity, excitement over beer cans that turn colors when they are cold enough to drink, offensive neon tank tops, and bad music (the most egregious offense in my opinion). Part of the impetus for my choosing of this topic was picking up an old issue of Esquire Magazine (here) and reading a short article about the emergence of a new male movie hero. No longer do we see suave stars like Paul Newman and Robert Redford, ossified detectives live Humphrey Bogart, or brazen outlaws like Clint Eastwood (who shares my sentiment…here). Instead, we now have dweebs and heartthrobs like of Robert Pattinson and Ashton Kutcher, or goofballs like Jonah Hill and Seth Rogen. Worst of all is Michael Cera. That’s why I found Superbad so underwhelming. While everyone and their mother thought it was the funniest movie ever made, I thought it was generic, predictable comedy and an unbelievable love story.

I too spent much of my time in high school as a loner. I went to three different schools and it wasn’t until my senior year that I finally found some popularity. But it certainly was not through being awkward and delicate. In fact, the only way that I survived those difficult years of isolation was by becoming the opposite, strengthening my personal resolve and solidifying my own identity. My mom would always tell me that the most popular kids in high school are seldom the happiest or most successful later in life. This may be true, but I never envisioned that the Michael Cera’s of my high school class would end up with the prom queen. And it never happened either… That’s why I find this film, and the many others like it, so unappealing. I do appreciate their attempt to give hope to the marginalized outsiders, but these are not characters that one should seek to emulate. The traditional heroes, despite their flaws that came with exaggerated masculinity, had greater values and exhibited a more practical moral code for our everyday lives.
It is ironic that I turn to W.H. Auden’s poetry for an ideal image of masculinity. I may be one of the first people to ever select a gay man as a beacon of masculinity. Oh well, non-conformity is a virtue of paramount importance to me. In his poems “Lullaby” and “Stop All the Clocks,” Auden depicts two opposite states of mind. While “Lullaby” seems to progressively advocate for a promiscuous lifestyle like that of Osgerby’s ‘swinging bachelor,’ the corresponding elegy, “Stop All the Clocks,” depicts the lows that come with heartbreak and lost love. Auden’s ability to understand and accurately express the emotions behind a man’s desire for self exploration through an uncommitted one-night-stand, as well as the devastating effects of losing the one you love demonstrates a dynamic masculinity possessed by Auden.  
 In “Lullaby” (here) the speaker watches his sleeping lover and finds joy in the humanity of their experience together. Though their experience may be one for which they will feel “guilty” (9), in the moment there is no regret, only beauty. Even when espousing the joys of casual sex, Auden provides incredible insight into the emotions of love and passion: “Soul and body have no bound:/ To lovers as they lie upon/ Her toleran enchanted slope/ In their ordinary swoon” (11-14). There is also a refreshing humility in Auden’s masculinity that starkly contrasts the masculinity of the Victorian Era. The repetition of the word “mortal” demonstrates an awareness of the limits of the individual’s capabilities. Auden does not presume to understand the universe.
I am deeply moved by Auden’s “Stop All the Clocks” (here) every time I read it. Even in the opening three lines, in which there is no blatant indication that the poem will become an elegy, I immediately have a visceral experience of grief. The repetition of preventative commands that open the poem seems to subconsciously trigger feelings of despair. The nature of these commands depicts a speaker who seeks to isolate himself from the outside world—“cut off the phones”—and for whom life as we know it cannot conceivably continue—“stop all the clocks.” There is something that happens at the beginning of the third stanza and continues on through the final word that rips through me. I can feel my face soften into a pout with each passing word until I am on the verge of tears. Auden accurately captures the hopeless feelings that accompany heartbreak. There is a feeling that nothing will ever return to normal, or “nothing now can ever come to any good.” The ability to admit this sentiment qualifies Auden as the ultimate masculine figure. He does not deny the power of the forces of love, but he does not come across as pathetic or feeble. Instead, there is an infectious honesty and integrity in his poetry. Therefore, Auden’s authenticity in the poems “Lullaby” and “Stop All the Clocks” demonstrates a more genuine masculinity than is achieved by the other works discussed. A masculine individual should be confident and always looking for new experiences, and at once be aware of the need for and joys found in love.