Excerpt from the book by Sam Keen “Fire in the Belly”
As men, we often miss the deeper bonds of true friendship. In todays fast paced and modern detachment, going back to the roots of manly bonds, deep connection, trust….this can bring so much healing!
Friendship may be the surest source of satisfaction in a fickle world, better than sex, money, or power. The Greeks valued it above romance or reputation and gave it an honored place in the pantheon of love.
Friendship, philia, brotherly love, the affection that exists only between equals, is at once the most modest and rugged of the modes of love. It is quiet as an afternoon conversation, but strong enough to survive the acids of time. And while it draws us into our emotional depths it demands no romantic frenzy. No howling at the moon, no explosions of contradictory feelings. No jealousy. Friendship creates gentle men and women. It depends upon nothing so fragile as a pretty face or fancy figures in a bank account, or so irrational as the thick sinews of blood and kin. It is based upon the simplest of the heart’s syllogisms: I like you; you like me; therefore we are friends. And while we can imagine a satisfying life without the juicy overflow of sexual love or the sweet burdens of family, we know intuitively that without a friend the best of lives would be too lonely to bear.
Yet, these days friendship is an endangered species. Friend- ship doesn’t thrive in a social ecology that stresses speed, con- stant preoccupation, and competition between men. It requires slow time. Like great whiskey, it must be seasoned in wood, steeped in patience, and long simmered. No instant intimacy or one-night stands. The cadence of friendship is measured in decade-long rhythms. An enduring friendship is years in the seeding, tended through wet and dry times, not uprooted. Friend- ship does not have much truck with efficiency or appointment books. It is all about hanging out together over a cold beer in a bar, or bait-casting in a swift stream. It is about being there to listen and help when a friend’s life falls apart.
“Normal” American men are homophobic, afraid of close friendships with other men. The moment we begin to feel warmly toward another man, the “homosexual” panic button gets pressed. It makes us nervous to see French or Italian men strolling down the street arm in arm. Must be queer! From a cross-cultural perspective it is we who are odd; close male friendship is the norm in most societies and is usually considered a more important source of intimacy than romantic relation- ships. The celebrated friendships of David and Jonathan or Achilles and Patroclus reflect a valuation more typical than the American pattern of acquaintanceship or a quick slap on the butt after making a touchdown. In most nontechnological cultures, friendship makes the world go round, not money or sex.
A predictable result of our homophobia is that men be- come overdependent on women to fulfill their need for intimacy, and swallow the romantic myth hook, line, and sinker. We grow up expecting that some magic day it will happen. We will find the one special woman who will take away our loneliness and heal our alienation. The two of us will fall in love and be all things to each other: lovers, companions, helpmates, and best friends. And then we are disappointed and feel betrayed when it doesn’t happen. But any single relationship that is expected to fulfill every need will become claustrophobic, cloying, and swampy.
We need same-sex friends because there are types of validation and acceptance that we receive only from our gender-mates. There is much about our experience as men that can only be shared with, and understood by, other men. There are stories we can tell only to those who have wrestled in the dark with the same demons and been wounded by the same angels. Only men understand the secret fears that go with the territory of masculinity.
Friends alone share the consolation of knowing and being known. Most of our days are spent among polite strangers, colleagues, and casual acquaintances with whom we interact in role-governed ways. We wear masks, playing the part we are expected to play—doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief, father, lover, banker, thief. Only with our best friends can we get off the stage, stop the show, quit performing, and allow ourselves to be seen as we are. Friendship may be the best antidote for the alienation that is the inevitable result of corporate and professional styles of life.