“Well, there is no beat of a good friend.”
–Deputy Marshal Rooster Cogburn, in the novel, True Grit.
“He is not my friend.”
–Young Mattie Ross, speaking of Rooster Cogburn, in True Grit.
The American myth of the rugged, self-sufficient individual is ever-present in our culture. Think of Clint Eastwood’s Man With No Name, a character based on the nameless “Continental Op” of Dashiell Hammett’s noir thriller, Red Harvest. The characters abandon the very concept of community. They no longer even want a name that could be known by others.
The myth, of course, is just a fictionalized reflection of a belief held by many Americans: the self-contained individual is all. The furtherance of individual liberty, with little regard for the fate of the community at large, is the only legitimate role of government. The belief comes with magical thinking (or cynical slight-of-hand) that unrestrained selfishness will produce more for all than selflessness, altruism, or compassion.
Charles Portis’s True Grit and the 2010 film version by the Coen Brothers turn the myth on its head. In the process, the works tell us something about loneliness, inequality and the pursuit of friendship in contemporary America. We can look at the “true grit” of the book and movie as a reference to the courage to befriend others selflessly despite differences and barriers.
Friendship, in the sense of a durable bond of deep affection achieved without regard for utilitarian gain, lives an uneasy life in America. Aristotle believed deep friendship is a cornerstone of democracy because it establishes a moral model for relations within the City. It acknowledges our essential human equality and interdependence.
The Enlightenment, for all its many benefits, dispensed with ideas about the moral or political importance of friendship, or sympathy, or empathy. Kant was especially keen to separate his moral imperative from squishy emotional attachment. That view gets human nature wrong, of course. We know that now thanks to advances in the human sciences, which reveal that we are born to be friends.
Democracy can’t survive as blood sport; it is a stranger to the dog-eat-dog fighting pit. I think our current economic difficulties offer evidence aplenty.
What does True Grit have to say about all this? Surely most of us are familiar with the story. In the 1870’s, fourteen-year-old Mattie Ross hires the crusty and cantankerous Rooster Cogburn to help her track down and kill or capture her father’s murderer. A middle-aged Mattie narrates the story of her past. In the course of their adventures, the wild and wooly Rooster develops a deep affection for Mattie. And Mattie, after a fashion, reciprocates.
As written by Portis, though, the characters depart from the usual American melodrama. Mattie is no picture of innocence. She’s all about vengeance. Mattie’s a fire-and-brimstone Presbyterian who reduces her relationships to utilitarian cash calculations. Rooster manages to open her heart a bit, and we love her because this spark lives in her. At one point in the book, the adult Mattie acknowledges the inhumanity of her faith in Election (humans are fallen and can’t do anything about it; God decides or elects the saved).
I confess [Election] is a hard doctrine, running contrary to our earthly ideas of fair play, but I can see no way around it.
Rooster is distant and uninterested in Mattie at first. He gets involved for the possible reward money. He’s lonely, though, and as they ride along, Rooster can’t help but tell stories of his past broken relationships and lost friends. In the end, the villains are vanquished. But Mattie has been bitten by a rattlesnake. Rooster, in an almost impossible act of love and endurance that kills Mattie’s horse and almost kills him, saves her life with a heroic journey to a faraway doctor. Mattie thinks of true grit as a blinkered, world-be-damned determination. Turns out to have more to do with love and friendship.
The budding friendship doesn’t last beyond the adventure, except, maybe, in their hearts. A quarter century later, Mattie hears that Rooster is appearing in a Wild West Show in Memphis. When she arrives to visit him there, she discovers he died three days earlier, of something he called “night hoss.” It’s a cowboy reference to nervous ponies that keep them awake at night. (Early in the novel Rooster says he has no such regrets: “I sleep like a baby. Have for years.”). Despite that bluster, Rooster’s night hosses are likely the loss of friendship and connection he’s suffered. He’s died of a perpetually broken heart.
For her part, Mattie has never married, and from her tone, never made another friend. Hers is a cautionary tale.
The Coen brothers and their longtime composer-collaborator Carter Burwell accent the theme with a beautiful score based on 19th Century Christian hymns. By choosing “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms,” the filmmakers manage sly references to two very different American movies, 1943’s The Human Comedy and 1955’s Night of the Hunter. Frank Rich described the story of The Human Comedy as a “Whitmanesque vision of the country…a fairy tale dream of democracy.”
In Night of the Hunter, Robert Mitchum plays a sociopath, a serial killer on the trail of two children. In the former film is the promise of community; in the latter, the psychopathology of the loner – the rugged individual in the extreme.
Like True Grit, both movies involve children’s tragic losses. And both employ the song, “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.” As used in True Grit, the song evokes Mattie’s faith. At the same time, the “everlasting arms” also seem to refer not to God, but to a faith in fellow humans. The last time we hear it, before the credits, the snake-bit Mattie is literally in Rooster’s arms.
By mixing up the standard narrative, Portis and the Coens awaken us to the promise – and the difficulty – of friendship in our American condition. They are telling a good yarn, but it’s a tale that subverts the romance of the rugged individual. It’s tragic that the tale can’t end happily. Today, such an ending wouldn’t ring true. Tomorrow, maybe, because like Rooster, a part of all of us knows there “is no beat of a good friend.”
Watch the clips of “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms” from both The Human Comedy (sung as a song of brotherhood and solidarity on a troop train) and Night of the Hunter (sung by the stalker Mitchum as a murderous taunt from the dark). Mitchum’s character, Harry Powell (a self-proclaimed preacher in the fire-and-brimstone tradition), has the words “love” and “hate” tattooed on the knuckles of his right and left hands, at the ends of his not-so-everlasting arms. These clips carry similar tattoos.



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When I discovered my cancer just about 4 years ago my first thoughts were of the hymn Leaning on the Everlasting Arms. — The first line of which is as noted “what a fellowship.” ‘Nuff said about that.
I think of friendship as like owning a cross-eyed cat. You love him because he is your cat. You can’t deny he looks funny with those eyes but it is impossible for it to interfere with the fact he is your friend.
Wonderful feline metaphor! What looks like a contradiction between individualism and collectivism, or individualism and authoritarianism, is not really. Americans tend to be “submissive individualists,” meaning they take their freedom to depend on other, higher sources of authority.
I bring this up because friendship — as you describe, mutual love despite barriers and differences, even between you and a cat — represents something of a middle way model. Entirely voluntary, friendship is a close-to-home thing and it brings out the best in us, in regard to self-care and care for others.
But of course from the DOI to the hymn there is no higher authority endowing and taking away. What a fellowship freedom is.
Beautifully said. It’s the inverse of the usual relation.
I have learned much from the purely voluntary friendship that cats give. Man is mistakenly given credit for having been the first to evolve the capacity for calculation. Clearly it was the cat.
ConCatenation, too. :)
The point of the hymn is the notion of fellowship, with our fellow humans and with the Almighty. As a small piece of evidence, it is easy to sing, and easy to form harmonies, encouraging congregational singing as in the first clip, and, in an odd way, the second.
It is a delicious contrast with Mattie’s predestination leanings, and with all kinds of human isolationism.
LOL
Ah ha. Just yesterday I spoke aloud the thought that cats are man’s best friend, they just won’t admit it.
Thanks Glenn, for this post which moves forward from last week’s treat.
Indeed, I have been thinking about such things. Like how we protect our hearts by not allowing ourselves to love. Something like that. It’s kind of similar with friendships, don’t you think.
Only love can break a heart. Only love can mend it.
I really enjoyed watching the latest True Grit, and had never heard so many versions of Leaning On The Everlasting Arms as in that score. So much so, that I spent a while listening to other versions on you tube.
I do like music. You can tell, huh?
Another thought: sorrows shared are halved; joys shared are doubled. You need a friend to share, I think.
Thanks again, Glenn.
Delicious contrast, indeed.
It’s not really fair (and that’s why this isn’t a film review) of me to reduce the Coen/Burwell colaboration here to a more-or-less singular interpretation, because what they do so well is embed irony in the literal leading to striking but irreducible visions — like light through the facets of a gem. Still, at least one subject of the film regards the depredations of the rugged individual and/or the fatalistic loner.
Exactly. When I was faced with danger I surprised myself in thinking of just that hymn, and automatically knowing it was the connection with and kindness of others that would see me through it. And it’s worked so far. :-)
((talkingstick))
Wonderful!
Very true, demi. And that answers your other question about protecting ourselves. Friends can fail one another of course, but withdrawing to avoid the possible pain is just guaranteeing the pain. In other words, despite what the modern world’s teaching of loneliness and alienation (all the better to frighten us on the political side and sell us salves on the commercial side), there is no risk in friendship. Only love.
I think that’s a powerful, healing insight. Sadly, it’s one Mattie is unable to have.
Thanks demi. I have wasted so much of my life getting it wrong it has been sort of nice to get something right.
Trust is a choice. But, it’s also a learned process, I believe. And then, there is the benefit of maturity, which we can benefit from. Do you remember, way back when, when we said not to trust anyone over 30? Dear Lord, I’m almost twice that now.
I’ve learned that faced with a situation where if I trust, love, help and figure there’s a chance that it will blow up in my face, I usually do it anyway. It’s what I’ve been taught to do.
Honey, I can’t imagine anything that you could have done wrong. It’s all a learning process, I’m pretty sure. There are some events in my life, choices made, which I’m not all that proud of, but I probably learned more from “mistakes” than from successes.
That’s one of the worrisome things. We come wired for empathy, but its cultural or inter-relational practice must be experienced, learned. Abandoned or abused children can have it attenuated. I don’t think we outgrow that need. So, when the culture wants to pit us against one another we risk diminishing the capacity that brought us together in the first place.
I’m going to go read that Empathy link later, as I have to run out for a bit and wanted to read it when I had time to think, think, think.
Best thoughts for all dawg friends to have a wonderful day.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine….
Come back later and lemme know what you think.
Glenn I share your concern that we can culturally severely limit our capacities for and practice of empathy. This is why I so hate Rand’s theology and current impact. It is designed to minimize complicated emotional experience. As has been said she and her market bots have elevated sociopathy to acceptability and even heroic proportions. I also fault those who misunderstand and distort science by attempting to eliminate the emotional component of cognition thus defining us as a mechanical men living in a machine. Reminds me of the old movie Metropolis. .
So much easier for the rulers to move stick men than all those emotionally gooey people who are not sticks and instead stick together.
That’s why it is sometimes good to lose one’s memory. But I have to say at this point I feel about myself the way I do about the cross eyed cat. It’s what it is.
Bingo!
What a great diary. I just saw True Grit and the use of of the hymn “Leaning…” brought me back immediately to my favorite film “Night of The Hunter.” Of course, the hymn in that movie is menacing, in True Grit it was more elegiac.
It is a great song, and its use — at least in the movies I’m aware of — seems always perfect.
Hey, if you get back…I think I missed the empathy link. Was it in the intro? Please let me know. If it is not the same thing, there was a very good empathy discussion yesterday in the book salon….Nice thread; we need it.
Hey RevBev, it’s the link behind the words, “born to be friends.”
Here ya go…
http://mitpress.mit.edu/catalog/item/default.asp?ttype=2&tid=11777
And thanks for the referral to the empathy discussion in the book salon. I’d missed it.
And thank you; got it.
The victors write much more than history.
They also hide their tracks very well.
Okay, Glenn, read the link. That’s really something to ponder. I will do that during the week and let you know what I came up with.
It’s interesting from the Social Development aspect, as my youngest is on the autism scale as an Aspergher’s person.
I’m going to talk to him about what and how he feels about Empathy.
Will check in with you next week with the results of that conversation.
But, yes, empathy has to be part of our DNA for us to survive, it seems to me.
Darwin certainly believed this to be the case.
I have a nephew with Asperghers — and some adult friends on the scale as well. I will be interested in what your son might have to say.
I have always sensed (with a real layman’s, way-far-from expert sense) that, whatever the scale might say, there is an empathic consciousness or consciousness of empathy present, that some expressed frustration has to do not with the absence of empathy, but with the interruption of more empathic responses. If I can draw a parallel to motor response: something gets in the way of reaching for the glass of water, or maybe gets in the way of seeing the water in the glass.