Some Ideas Concerning Morality in Andre Gide’s The Immoralist

Andre Gide’s The Immoralist presents us with a picture of the protagonist Michel, and his three year journey through Europe wherein, as the provocative title suggests, he experiences a dramatic change in his moral character. Whether or not the change in Michel’s moral perspective is an improvement, Gide leaves to the reader, writing The Immoralist in a manner similar to Gustave Flaubert, whose book Madame Bovary leaves out the moral commentary of a narrator, letting the actions of the characters speak for themselves.

At the beginning, Michel recounts his experience of tuberculosis which nearly kills him, but survives because of his wife’s care and his strong desire to live. Interestingly, Michel attributes  the strength of his will-power more so as the cure.  As the story progresses Michel becomes more enamored with this idea of the will, believing that living is for the strong and death for the weak. He then appropriates this perspective into his ideas concerning morality, anticipating a moral philosophy reminiscent of Friedrich Nietzsche’s, whose ideas of overcoming and the will to power taught that remedying moral flaws, like a disease, is a challenge that can be fixed if an individual’s will is strong enough; physical health is symptomatic of the bodies strength to overcome it’s sicknesses; moral health reveals the strength of the will to overcome itself and its flaws. And thus, “What does not kill me, makes me stronger.” Once the body overcomes a sickness it is guarded against it, attaining the power to live; and man achieves a moral character by willing through the situations that would overcome him and render him powerless. This dramatic change in Michel’s perspective elicits a desire for Michel to rediscover himself:

“The accumulation of all acquired knowledge in our mind flakes away like a cosmetic and in places lets us see the bare flesh, the authentic being that was hidden… From then on, that was whom I strove to discover: my authentic self… the one rejected by the Gospels… From then on, I despised that secondary acquired self-superimposed by my education. I had to shake off the burdens”

Gide is concerned with our motivation for what and why we do things. As Michel would have it, it is utilizing our freedom that we become something. This sort of thinking that Michel adopts calls into questions the general motivation for our actions, namely the conventional, making him an ‘immoralist’ in this sense, because by choosing and acting in a way outside of society’s ready-made moral prescriptions, he sins against what Nietzsche often referred to as the ‘herd’s morality.’ This idea we see most clearly in Michel’s friend Melanque, who reveals how he self-consciously perceives himself and how this differs from the way in which people generally perceive themselves and others:

“They seem surprised today that a man of reproachable morals can still possess a few virtues. I can’t find in myself the good and bad points they claim to discover; I exist only as a whole. I seek only what is natural, and, for each thing I do, the pleasure it gives me tells me that I was right to do it” (62).

Gide presents us with a problem; for if we create ourselves, we create how we should live, and thus, our own morality, making the reader’s job as spectator difficult for as Melanque points out, who we are is complex; saying ‘you are bad’ or ‘you are good’ is too easy; we might act in a way that others consider ‘bad’ at one point and ‘good’ at another, but in either case the decision is up to us. So are we either? If morality is the outcome of our choice, who is to say that anything is good or bad? Considering our arbitrary choices are forced to agree with an equally arbitrary ‘code’ of morality, why shouldn’t we disagree if we feel that we must? As Melanque would have it, most are afraid of their own freedom, terrified of their ability to become something: “Laws of imitation; I call them laws of fear. People are afraid of finding themselves alone, and they don’t find themselves at all. This moral agoraphobia is hateful to me; it’s the worst kind of cowardice. And yet it is only when alone that people are inventive.” Later on, Michel conveys a similar idea, “I came near viewing decency as nothing but restriction, conventions or fear… our mode of life had turned it into the mutually binding, banal form of a contract” (86). Common morality is the outcome of a fear to authentically choose something; a code by which we can safely, without any thought, live with others and their idea of who we should and should not be.

Although these ideas that Melanque and Michel follow are appealing, and offer much wisdom concerning how we should go about making ourselves, not as blind followers but as leaders, Michel admits an important point at the beginning of the story that enlightens us as to whether his commitment to his philosophy is legitimate: “To be able to free oneself is nothing; the hard part is being able to live with one’s freedom” (9). This becomes the underlying moral question of the book that Gide forces Michel to answer. In order to understand whether Michel handled his freedom correctly, Gide parallels Michel’s rise to health with his wife’s fall into sickness. Forgetting that in the beginning it was his wife’s love and care that truly enabled him to become healthy again, Michel plunges into an intense state of self-centeredness, completely ignoring her when she acquires a fatal illness, instead of reciprocating the love that she showed him. Michel, at least in this way, carries his and Melanque’s philosophy to the wrong conclusions: “sometimes I called upon my willpower protesting against that hold over me, saying to myself: ‘Is that all you’re good for, you would-be great man!’” (88). This is what Michel fails to see: that his choice to love necessarily limits. According to Martin Buber in his famous I and Thou, “In the eyes of him who takes his stand in love, and gazes out of it, men are cut free from their entanglement in bustling activity. Good people and evil, wise and foolish, beautiful and ugly, become successively real to him… Love is responsibility of an I for a Thou” (15). Whether it is love between friends or between spouses, Buber points out that our relations to other human beings entails that we are responsible for one another, for seeing the other not as means to our own ends, but as ends in themselves. The lesson that Michel is forced to learn through the negative consequences of his actions, which is concentrated in his wife and her death, is that by disregarding others when he has chosen to love is not a legitimate choice. Thus, as Melanque reveals, “One must choose. The important thing is knowing what you want” (65). Melanque recognizes that Michel chose his wife and therefore the responsibility of loving her, separating Melanque’s adventurous lifestyle from Michel’s domestic one: “To envy the happiness of others is folly; you wouldn’t know how to make use of it. Happiness shouldn’t come ready made, but should be custom made. I’m leaving tomorrow; I know that I’ve tried to cut this happiness to my own measure. . . . Hold onto your peaceful domestic happiness. . . .” (66). Michel’s envy for Melanque’s lifestyle is not legitimate, for his situation is different; a situation that Michel chose himself.

I would argue that one of Gide’s intentions for The Immoralist is to make a case for both an immoral and moral way of living. As we saw, Gide seems to suggest that being an immoralist, in so far as it means that we approach living consciously, willing and choosing what we think is legitimate, is morally good; for adhering to mere traditions created out of habit is almost intuitively inauthentic, and even dangerous; a commitment that is in itself immoral, although some may see it as moral. It might be the case that Gide wants to revitalize those traditions that become banal through blind choice, and inspire us to choose traditions and conventional standards because they are good; a practice which also weeds out the bad. This leads us to the moral that Gide wants to communicate, namely the importance of choosing correctly, morally, with a heart for others and ourselves; using our freedom in an effective way.

A Rough Essay on Depeche Mode and Faith

About a year and a half ago, I was looking at the website of a band whose music I enjoy, Iszoloscope. I noted some of their influences, wrote them down, and listened to a few songs by each of them. Depeche Mode stood out as a brillant band with substantive, meaningful lyrics. DM’s music has certainly gone through many transitions (e.g., the difference is quite significant betweenSpeak & Spell [1981] and Playing the Angel [2005]). However, the first album I listened to and purchased, Violator, is a decent sample of their work. It’s not as dark as their Black Celebration, but it retains the same depth of emotion and strength of articulation that it had. Also, this album is one of their most purchased in the US, and if you’ve heard any of their songs, you’ve likely heard one from here. Indeed, if you’re a big fan of Johnny Cash or Marilyn Manson, then you’ve heard the lyrics to “Personal Jesus.” They’ve both done covers of the song. It was the first song I heard by them and it is certainly one of their best all-around tracks. The music is phenomenal, and the lyrics are rhythmic, moving, and subtle. The song expresses something that is common to human experience in a fresh and profound sense: The nature of faith–without God.

However, before developing the ideas of this song specifically, it is necessary to briefly outline some of the major themes in DM’s work. Depeche Mode’s “philosophy,” if one may talk about bands expositing a philosophy, is essentially a post-theistic modernist humanism. Depeche Mode never speaks like the “New Atheists” (read: “bad Voltaire knock-offs”), pretentiously scoffing at God’s lack of existence (“John the Revelator,” Playing the Angel, gets close, though). Rather, the world in which DM operates is a world where there is simply no recourse to God. Human relationships are, therefore, of primary importance. Human symbology and social practices have meaning and teleology even though they may have no essential meaning (“Blue Dress,” Violator is the best example, but “World Full of Nothing,” Black Celebration develops the same idea). DM even deals with the human experience of what Christians would call sin (“Halo,” Violator, “When the Body Speaks,” Exciter, “The Sinner in Me,” Playing the Angel). There is no escape from banality, ugliness, and imperfection. Though DM regularly asserts that human relationships are the partial answer to the desperate nature of existence, even other people are often simply a drug which briefly allow us escape from the importance issues in life (“Sweetest Perfection”, Violator). As all good atheists do, they powerfully articulate the despair that the definitively insoluble problem of evil brings upon us (“Precious,” Playing the Angel). Modernism, here I mean the presumption that reason is the provider of the criteria by which we adjudicate between potential explanations of reality, as such is not explicitly developed in their work, as far as I know, but it is a necessary presumption of the concepts in many of their songs. The song “Stripped,” from Exciter, deals with this to some extent with regard to developing one’s individuality and interacting with other individuals. In sum, in a godless world, where reason makes us cynical, forcing the recognition of the horror of existence and death upon us, each individual must struggle forward, attempting to find fulfillment in the only life there is (“Damaged People,” Playing the Angel).

Finally, then, “Personal Jesus” should be placed within this developing philosophy of Depeche Mode.  It opens with the bold phrase: Reach out and touch faith. This line really expresses the central message of the song. The last word, faith, seems an odd word for DM to use, given their philosophy. The speaker of the lyric claims to be the “personal Jesus” for the respondent.  He is “second best” to Christ, but the respondent has to take what he can get. The speaker is there, “someone who cares…someone to hear your prayers.” He is near–all that you must do is pick up the phone, and he’ll be there for you.

First, Depeche Mode is implying a prescriptive statement here: Faith should be something grounded tangibly. The reason you should “take second best” is because Christ isn’t there, he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t respond to your prayers. DM is not trying to convert anyone to atheism. They do not offer any arguments for God’s non-existence. DM is reaching out to the individual who feels unknown and alone; that is, the one who already agrees with them that Christ is silent in their helpless position. Whereas Christ asks for a leap of faith, the personal Jesus is “flesh and bone”—an empirical ground for your faith is present whenever you need it. The term “personal Jesus” implies something itself: each person needs a being who cares about them in their individuality.

Second, therefore, faith is fundamentally relational. As an example from Christian theology, consider the difference between Melanchthon’s definition of faith as assensus and Luther’s as fiducia. The former defines faith as an intellectual affirmation of the truths of Christianity, whereas the latter is something similar to a relational dependence upon and trust in Christ. Depeche mode accepts something along the lines of fiducia, although the ultimacy of the dependence-relation is necessarily mitigated somewhat. Personal contact is what leads to faith and belief in the person who takes the place of Jesus.

Lastly, this faith is capable of three things according to the song: self-definition, forgiveness, and the reception of supplication. The Christian God is silent when an individual is trudging through some of the worst parts of life. Whether we are suffering because of pain, another’s pain, or because of the recognition of our own sin, Christ’s love is often conspicuously absent. Other people, however, and those closest to us, will often still be there in those times. One’s self is inextricably bound to such relationships, and it is through the comfort of other caring individuals that we find our questions interacted with and our sinful selves lovingly accepted.

Depeche Mode gets things wrong about faith, but aside from that they don’t hold to an ontology that makes faith meaningful in its essence, not much. That’s a huge “aside from,” but considering they don’t hold to such, it’s more surprising how much they get right. The describe faith as it is often considered it the Christian religion, but they change the object of that faith. They put their faith in a different entity, yet they still strongly recognize the human need for acceptance, forgiveness and deliverance.

As a side note, it may seem that there are additional problems here. This song ignores the difficulties of putting one’s faith in another, both from the perspective of the person putting faith in the other, and the other failing to live up to the standards of good faith. However, that isn’t the purpose of this song, and they do deal with those issues in other places. DM is acutely aware of the fallibility of human existence. See “I Want It All,” Playing the Angel, for the former problem, and “It Doesn’t Matter Two”, Black Celebration for the latter. These problems are there considered, but whether they are able to adequately solve them is entirely a different question.

In the end, of course, Depeche Mode is just a band, and they don’t claim to present an utterly consistent system of philosophy. As the hymnists for an existentialistic humanism, however, they are exceptionally well-suited. “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” wasn’t a theology, but it moved people emotionally through the song to Lutheran principles in the lyrics. Similarly, “Personal Jesus” is a powerful expression of the humanist’s plight without Christ.

[Note: I originally wrote this in a different context, so forgive some of the preparatory material included that makes it so long. I intend eventually to write a series of posts on Depeche Mode, because I think their work warrants at least some critical investigation. If it ever materializes, the first post will recap a lot of what is in that prolegomena so that other posts about the band (hopefully one per album) can simply refer back to it.]

An Apology/Review for “The Next Three Days” dir. Paul Haggis

“The Next Three Days,” directed by Paul Haggis and starring Russell Crowe, is unfortunately underrated. I remember walking out of the theatre with friend, both of us enamored with the film, and talking about its interesting portrayal of the human experience. Ever since I came home and saw the unfortunate reviews that night, I have wanted to defend it against its critics. It really is worth a viewing, and the overwhelmingly negative-to-mediocre reviews about it need some kind of counterbalance.

Crowe’s character, John Brennan, a normal English professor is trying to break his wife out of prison where she has been sentenced to life. John has no proof of her innocence. Every appeal has resulted in her conviction of murder, and the flashbacks to the evidence of the case seem to strongly implicate her. He simply trusts his wife’s character. There is no scene that gives determinative evidence to the audience, either, and they begin to wonder if John’s sacrifices for his wife are justified. He tries making fake keys, meeting with an escaped convict, watching YouTube videos, and it becomes nearly a frightening obsession. John becomes less socialable and more crazy. A scene depicts his wall like the famous one in “A Beautiful Mind.” The last half or third of the movie is a bit more like a conventional thriller, but retains the uncertainty until the very end.

The movie is consciously Quixotean, with John’s trust in his wife taking the place of Quixote’s insanity, and his attempts to break her out of prison often reminiscent of the charge toward the windmills. This is what drives the movie, and if it is appealing at all, makes it so.

Many critiques of this movie really miss this point of the film entirely. David Roark’s review from Christianity Today exemplifies this problem thoroughly:

“But the most absurd aspect is the premise [of the movie] itself. Regardless of how much he loves his wife, there’s no way a normal, intelligent person like John could ever reach the decision he does as a solution to his problem. Plus, there’s no reasoning behind his ability to go from scholar to action hero overnight.”

The famous Roger Ebert has the following to say:
“The film might have been more convincing if [Crowe had] remained the schleppy English teacher throughout. Once glimmers of “Gladiator” begin to reveal themselves, a certain credibility is lost. The movie is a competent thriller, but maybe could have been more.”

All I can say to Roark is exactly. Like it or not, you can’t very well critique the movie for this, that’s the point of it. The movie presents the viewer with the expression of the unadulterated relationality of a human being. It’s meant to be extreme, and it is meant to speak to the strongest desires of hope in the human heart.

As usual, Ebert’s criticism is written well, but many of his statements are as vague as an astrological reading. He only critiques the movie on this one point–that it is incredible. The rest of his critique either relies on this point or expresses his apathy about the film. It’s, of course, fine not to like the movie, but since Ebert is paid to write about it, I wish he were a bit clearer on why the movie is mediocre.

This movie’s theme is primarily existential and emphasizes relationality rather than rationality. His decision to break his wife out of prison is thus comprehensible, if not rational. The movie is not unaware of his irrationality; by the end, even his wife is telling him to give up. Also, his transition from professor to action hero is much more believable than these critics make out, interpreted correctly. First, he’s not actually an action hero, and doesn’t even resemble one until the final part of the movie. Second, he flubs up constantly, making believable mistakes until the end of the movie when his plan is systematized and in place. Third, the improbability of the plan is implicitly recognized my Brennan himself. However, he wills to attempt the near-impossible rather than accept his wife’s fate and her despair.

This main theme, the quest of John Brennan, reminds me of a quote from Gabriel Marcel:

“Hope consists in asserting that there is at the heart of being, beyond all data, beyond all inventories and calculations, a mysterious principle in connivance with me, which cannot but will that which I will, if what I will deserves to be willed by the whole of my being…To hope against all hope that a person whom I love will recover from a disease which is said to be incurable is to say: It is impossible that I should be alone in willing this cure…It is quite useless to tell me of discouraging cases or examples: Beyond all experience, all probability, all statistics, I assert that a given order shall be re-established, that reality is on my side…I do not wish: I assert; such is the prophetic tone of true hope.”

The movie isn’t perfect; I think the ending scene with the detectives (don’t want to spoil it for you) could have and should have been excluded. However, it’s the only movie that I’ve seen that does such a good job presenting human love, its relation to our desire for radical idealism, and our hope for that sympathetic principle at heart of reality.