Tag Archives: free will

The Young Philadelphians (1959)

Part I

In the opening scene of The Young Philadelphians, we hear the voice of a narrator:  “A man’s life, they say, is the sum of all his actions.”

As we eventually learn, the narrator is Anthony “Tony” Judson Lawrence, played by Paul Newman.  I have doubts about his attribution, “they say,” because with only one exception, I never hear anyone say anything like that.  But if Tony had begun his narration by saying, “According to Jean-Paul Sartre, man is ‘nothing else but the sum of his actions, nothing else but what his life is,’” that would have set the wrong tone for this movie.

Sartre was a big believer in free will, asserting that a man is responsible for everything that he does.  To blame others for one’s life is to act in bad faith.  However, Tony proceeds to do just that as he continues his remarks:  “But his actions are sometimes the result of the hopes, dreams, and desires of those who came before him.  In that sense, my life began even before I was born, on an afternoon of June, 1924.”  Tony is taking a stance in direct opposition to Sartre, denying that one’s actions are always a choice freely made, espousing instead a form of determinism, which is a theme of this movie.

While Tony is saying all this, we see a church of much grandeur where a wedding is taking place, and we learn that those attending the wedding are part of the Philadelphia Main Line.  I must confess that I didn’t even know there was such a thing before I saw this movie, but I gather that it is a society consisting of the most elite upper class in America:  they are white Anglo-Saxon Protestants; they have old money; their ancestors came over on the Mayflower. Looking back, I guess that is why such a big deal was being made about that wedding in The Philadelphia Story (1940).

If I may be permitted a reference to Sartre one more time, one of his principles was that existence precedes essence.  In the Main Line, however, it seems that essence precedes existence.  If a man is not to the manor born, there is nothing he can do to belong to it.

Watching the wedding take place from across the street is Mike Flanagan (Brian Keith). He is an Irish immigrant.  Owing to his construction business, he has become financially successful, but he has only new money. He is mooning wistfully over the woman that has just married another man.

That woman is Kate Lawrence, née Judson.  She is not actually part of the Main Line, but is only marrying into it.  Her husband is William “Bill” Lawrence III (Adam West), scion of a most prestigious family.  The reception being over, they arrive at their swanky hotel room.  Kate is ready to have sex.  She goes into the bedroom and removes her blouse.  As Bill walks in, she stands there, presenting herself.  She still has on her slip, her skirt, and her shoes, but we are probably supposed to imagine that she has removed the rest of her clothes as well.

He says she is lovely.  She moves into his arms, saying, “I hope I can make you happy.”

He kisses her as passionately as he can, but then turns away, saying, “I’ve done you a terrible wrong, Kate.  I can’t make you happy.  It was my mother who wanted this marriage, to give her a grandson, just as your mother wanted you to be a Lawrence.  But I can’t love you, Kate.  I can’t love anyone.”  When she tries to console him, he pushes her away, saying, “Don’t pity me,” and runs out of the hotel room.

You see, Bill is a homosexual.  He probably thought he would be able to fake his desire for Kate, but now realizes he cannot.  Once more, we should probably use our imagination, that it would only be after they got in bed and he failed to get an erection that he realized he could not go through with it.  This reinforces the deterministic theme of this movie.  Bill has no free will when it comes to his sexual nature.

Of course, one must wonder, didn’t they ever drive over to lover’s lane to make out?  Had they done so, Bill would have realized right then that marrying Kate was out of the question.  For that matter, did Mike and Kate ever do a little necking?  If not, how could he be so much in love with her at the time of her wedding?  Instead, the movie would have us believe that such behavior would have been unacceptable for someone who either belonged to Main Line society or aspired to do so.

In the next scene, Mike is bringing a prostitute to the little shack he lives in.  But Kate is there, waiting for him.  He sends the prostitute away with some money.  In tears, Kate says Mike is the only one she can talk to.  Clearly, he is the man she really loves.  They have sex, and because this is the only time they do so, movie logic requires that she become pregnant.  She returns home, where her mother tells her that Bill died in an accident as a result of driving at a high rate of speed, undoubtedly intending to kill himself.

Nine months later, the baby is born, whom Kate names Anthony Judson Lawrence.  Bill’s mother, Mrs. Lawrence, visits Kate at the hospital.  It appears she hired a private detective, who found out that Bill was a homosexual, from which she was able to figure out that the baby is not her grandson.  She offers Kate a lot of money, probably enough to allow her to live comfortably for the rest of her life, but Kate must give up the name Lawrence.  She refuses the offer.

In the next scene, Kate has returned to her mother’s home with the baby.  Mike, who has stayed away for nine months out of consideration for Kate’s situation, has come to visit her.  She is cool to him.  Moreover, she asks him not to visit her anymore.  She does not want her son’s future to be anything other than that of a Lawrence, and having Mike around might spoil that.  Mike wants to marry her, but she refuses.  She says her grandmother came to this country as a servant. It has taken three generations to acquire social position, and she is not giving that up.

The judgment of this movie is that there is something repulsive about Kate’s being willing to give up the man she loves so that her son can be part of the Main Line.  We know in general that people in a movie should marry for love.  If a man’s desire for success or a woman’s desire for fame interferes with that, we know they are wrongheaded.  But at least success or fame was something they struggled to acquire.  The idea that someone is superior simply by virtue of having been born into the right family is offensive.  Of course, I merely betray my working-class origins in saying so.  Which makes me wonder, how do people that are upper class feel about movies like this one, movies that have contempt for them?  Probably, they regard such movies as unworthy of their consideration.

Part II

Years pass, and we see that Tony is in his junior year at Princeton.  During the summer break, he has taken a job at Mike’s construction business (something Kate disapproves of).  Not only does Tony have Mike’s genes, but we are also reassured by the fact that he is engaged in physical labor, conferring on him a certain honest masculinity, especially since he wears a wife beater.

A truck backs into a car, and that is when we meet Joan Dickinson (Barbara Rush), who will become Tony’s love interest.  She is one of two young people that are part of Main Line society but take their social position as being unimportant, if not something of a nuisance.  The other is Chester “Chet” Gwynn, played by Robert Vaughn.  Chet is Tony’s best friend.  As we see Chet introducing Tony to people at a party, we notice that Chet’s wrist is always a bit limp.

Chet has two uncles. Uncle Morton (Robert Douglas), guardian of a fortune left to Chet, of which Morton feels Chet is not ready to take possession.  Uncle Shippen is a world-famous geneticist, known for his investigations into the influence of heredity and environment in one’s life.  As we find out later, he was the executor of the estate of Mrs. Lawrence, Bill’s mother, and he found notes she left behind about Bill’s homosexuality.  After Chet has introduced Tony to his two uncles, Shippen says to Morton, “Interesting heredity there.”

Chet warns Joan that her love for Tony may be ruined by social pressure, as was his marriage, which only lasted two days before his parents got it annulled, with money changing hands.  He assures her that, unlike himself, Tony won’t give in to pressure the way he did.  He tells her not to wait, to get Tony to marry her right away.  When she asks how, he replies, “The same way women have been getting men to marry them since the Stone Age.”

In the next scene, we see Tony and Joan in a secluded area among the trees, kissing and petting.  She is ready to have sex, but before that happens, he asks her to marry him, to elope that very night.  She says she is already packed and ready to go.  But when they stop off first at Tony’s house to get something, Kate is waiting for them along with Joan’s father, Gilbert Dickinson (John Williams).

Dickinson promises to be Tony’s preceptor, giving him a position with his law firm, ultimately making him a partner, provided he postpone the marriage for a few months.  Of course, Dickinson intends to see to it that they never marry.  We know he will always find new reasons for further postponements.  Presumably, he doesn’t think Tony is quite good enough for his daughter, and Kate thinks the chance for Tony to become a partner in a major law firm more important than his marrying for love.

As noted above, when someone in a movie chooses success over love, he is wrongheaded, and such is the case with Tony.  Blinded by ambition, he agrees to Dickinson’s proposal without considering Joan’s feelings.    When he tells her that for practical reasons the marriage will have to be “postponed,” she knows what that means.  Recalling what Chet had said about Tony’s not giving in to pressure, she says to her father, “Chet was wrong.  You only had to make the offer attractive enough.”

Disillusioned about love, Joan immediately sails for Europe, eventually marrying someone her father approves of.  When Tony finds out about it, he blames her for being unfaithful.  He becomes cynical, almost ruthless in his desire to make it big.  When the opportunity presents itself, he abandons the Dickinson law firm for that of John Wharton (Otto Kruger), spending time at Wharton’s house while working on a project.  As a result, Wharton’s young wife (Alexis Smith) falls in love with Tony, coming to his bedroom one night after her husband has fallen asleep.  Tony knows that it would be dangerous to have sex with her, but he also knows the saying about a woman scorned.  So, he tells her he doesn’t want just a fling, saying he is madly in love with her.  He says he wants her to leave her husband so they can be married.  Horrified at the idea of losing her social position, she tells Tony that her coming to his room was a mistake and apologizes, her passions cooled, her pride intact.  After she leaves, Tony says, “Whew!”

The Korean War breaks out, but Tony’s ambitions are only briefly interrupted.  When it is over, he returns to Wharton’s law firm.  At first, he is stuck in a small office, but after he manages to steal a wealthy client from Dickinson’s firm, he is moved to an office that is much larger and nicer looking.  He now smokes a pipe, but it comes across as a little phony, as a way of advertising that he does not work with his hands, but only with his mind.  Moreover, he appears to be emulating Wharton, who also smokes a pipe. By way of contrast, Mike smokes a manly cigar.

For some reason, Tony still lives with his mother.  I don’t believe we are supposed to think of him as a mama’s boy, especially since he is, after all, played by Paul Newman, but I do have to wonder why he doesn’t get his own place.  Maybe it’s another one of those Main Line things.  Early in the movie, on the other hand, Mike Flanagan lived alone and still does.  Had he been living with his mother, Tony would never have been born.

Part III

During the Korean War, for reasons which were not explained, Tony was a lieutenant while Chet was only a private.  In any event, Chet lost his arm during a battle. He descends into alcoholism, becoming an embarrassment to Main Line society.  He is accused of murdering Uncle Morton, who has been refusing to let Chet have any of the money that was left to him.  Uncle Shippen puts pressure on Tony to go through the motions of putting on a defense, allowing Chet to be convicted and eventually put in a “proper institution” for the rest of his life. Otherwise, Tony’s position at Wharton’s or any other law firm will be jeopardized.  Also putting pressure on him is the threat of exposure regarding his mother.  Kate tells Tony that Mike is his real father, and Mike tells him that her adultery will be made public if Tony does not cooperate with the wishes of those that want Chet to be found guilty.

Joan’s husband had been killed during the war.  Little by little, she and Tony had started seeing each other again.  But now she tells Tony it might be better for Chet if another lawyer handled the case.  She cares about Chet, and she recalls how Tony once before gave in to the lure of success, fearing he might do so again and betray Chet.  She says she knows he can’t help being what he has become, but she still loves him anyway.  This makes him angry, and he breaks up with her.

Tony rises above the social pressure, defending Chet by means of a courtroom stunt that would have made Perry Mason blush.  In addition, Tony subtly suggests that if Uncle Shippen tells what he knows about Kate, Tony will tell what he knows about Bill.  Finally, when it becomes clear that Uncle Morton probably committed suicide because he had a painful brain tumor and only a year to live, Chet is acquitted.  The prosecuting attorney congratulates him, saying that if he keeps this up, he will be more than just a Philadelphia lawyer, implying that a successful career in politics awaits him.  Joan tells Tony that he was wonderful.  He says what he did was necessary.  But he means that only in the moral sense, not in a physical or psychological sense, which would be deterministic.

And so it is that if a man’s life is the sum of his actions, Tony is looking pretty good:  he stood by his friend, protected his mother’s honor, enhanced his career, and ends up getting the girl.  That is to say, he and Joan will get married live happily ever after. 

Whether Tony’s decision to defend Chet was an act of free will, or whether it was the result of having Mike’s genes, who can say?

Blaming the Victim

Blaming the victim is an old story.  One old story in particular is that of Job. In order to test Job’s righteousness, God allows Satan to inflict great misery upon him.  Satan begins by killing all Job’s animals, servants, and children, and then eventually covers Job’s body with boils. Notwithstanding this, Job remains righteous and does not curse God as Satan predicted. Instead, with the patience that has become proverbial, Job sits on a dung heap, scraping his body with a shard of broken pottery.  And then three friends come along and declare that all that has happened to Job is punishment for his sins, for God would never forsake a righteous man. One of them even says that Job’s sins are such that he deserves more punishment than he is actually getting. In this story, we see that the tendency to blame the victim is an ancient one. Job’s friends unhesitatingly assume he must have sinned because they are anxious to reconcile the existence of an all-powerful God with the suffering of mankind; for if people deserve their suffering, then God is merely being just by punishing them.  But even in ancient times, people must have chafed at the sanctimonious attitude exemplified by Job’s friends.  We may not be satisfied with the answer God finally gives, but it is clear that the story condemns the tendency to blame the victim.

The belief that people deserve their suffering implies that they have free will, that they are responsible for their actions, a notion that many find unacceptable.  Some believe that everything happens necessarily, whether in the form of fate, predestination, or determinism.  For them, chance is merely an expression of our ignorance, and free will is an illusion.  For others, bolstered by certain interpretations of modern physics, everything ultimately happens by chance, and it is necessity that is just as much an illusion as free will.  Whatever the case may be, free will, chance, and necessity exhaust the possible ways in which an event can be understood.

Metaphysics aside, each way of understanding what happens in the world affects the way we feel about things, and such feelings are temptations that even an atheist, who may fancy himself free of all silly superstition, must be on guard against.  Though we may never know the truth regarding the existence of free will, chance, and necessity, yet we can at least avoid being deceived.  And the great seducer behind such deception is the consolation that such notions can provide.

If believing in free will allows us to blame the victim as bringing his suffering upon himself by having made bad choices, it also allows us to take full credit for whatever good fortune has come our way.  It is nice to believe that we have prospered because we made good choices in the past, and that we get full credit for whatever success we may have had.  On the other hand, we are loath to invoke free will in the opposite case, usually preferring to talk about chance instead. Confronted with the thought of someone who has been more successful than we have, we prefer to say that he has just been lucky, thereby assuaging the envy in our soul—unless we can attribute his success to lying, cheating, or stealing, in which case we are more than willing to say he acted freely.  As for our own misfortune, we prefer to think of that as bad luck, thereby relieving ourselves of the unpleasant thought that we made bad choices in the past and that we are now getting exactly what we deserve.

If free will and chance can each be reassuring notions depending on the circumstances, so too can the idea of necessity.  If everything happens necessarily, that takes all the pressure off: there is no need to regret the past, because it could not be helped; there is no need to be anxious for the future, because it cannot be avoided.  Compare the tranquility afforded us by a fatalistic philosophy with the stress that comes from a common sense understanding of the world, which tells us there is more than one way things can turn out, and choices sometimes make the difference.  “Do you regret the past?  Well,” says common sense, “you should!  You made bad choices when you were young, and you live with the consequences to this day.  There were so many things you could have done, so many things you could have been.  All those opportunities were lost, and you have no one to blame but yourself.  Do you feel guilty about some of the things you did?  Well, you should!  What you did was wrong, and you knew it was wrong, but you did it anyway, and there is no way to undo it now.  And you will have to live with the knowledge of what you did for the rest of your life.  Are you anxious about the future?  Well, you should be!  However bad things may be now, they can get a whole lot worse.  And a choice you make today may well make the difference.  In fact, you already know what you should do, but you just don’t want to do it.  You would rather tell yourself that everything that happens does so from necessity.  It doesn’t matter whether it is fate, the will of God, or the laws of physics, just as long as it gets the job done, just as long as you are not cursed by the knowledge that choices matter.  You’d rather tell yourself that whatever will be, will be, that the future is inevitable, and there is no point in worrying about it.  Well, go ahead and lie to yourself.  It’s your only consolation for a messed-up life.”  Thus speaks common sense.  Can there be any doubt about the appeal of fatalism as a philosophy with which to hide from such accusations?

Though we may wish to avoid deceiving ourselves in such matters, yet the same considerations can be a guide to polite conversation.  Even if we resist the temptation to believe what makes us feel good, it is only proper that we employ exactly such principles when we wish to make others feel good instead.  A considerate man will praise someone who has been successful by affirming that it is all his own doing, that he earned it through his own wise choices and hard work.  But that same considerate man will realize that if he speaks of his own success in that manner, he will make himself obnoxious to his fellow man, for in so doing he implies that others have only themselves to blame for not doing as well.  Instead, he will speak of his good fortune as just being just a matter of luck, by which he will avoid giving offense.

Knowing how much people love to blame the victim, a victim who is considerate of the feelings of others will be quick to blame himself.  A victim who says, “It’s my own darn fault,” or, “I got what I deserved,” will make his friends feel so good that they will likely reciprocate with equal courtesy, saying, “No, it wasn’t your fault.  There is no way you could have known.” But anyone that insists he is a genuinely innocent victim will make others uncomfortable and even resentful, and they will likely talk about him behind his back.

When it comes to the consolation of necessity, one must act with caution.  If someone coping with misfortune says, “Whatever will be, will be,” or, “It is just God’s will,” etiquette requires that we agree with him, or that we at least not contradict him outright.  But in the absence of his making such a remark, we would be ill-advised to volunteer one.  Otherwise, we may sound smugly dismissive, saying, “You were destined to be poor,” or, “God wanted you to get sick.”

Therefore, when it comes to free will, chance, and necessity, there is the truth, which is elusive; there is the temptation to believe whatever makes us feel good; and then there are the things we say to others in order to be polite. But in addition to these, there are the practical consequences of such notions. As has often been pointed out, a fatalist looks both ways before he crosses the street, seeming to contradict his belief that the time and circumstances of his death will be the unalterable result of an inexorable process of cause and effect; or, if he is religious, that the date and manner of his death have already been ordained by the will of God. On the other hand, the fatalist will answer that he is compelled to look both ways by an instinct for self-preservation, so there is no contradiction.  But if someone so thoroughly believed in a philosophy of fatalism that he behaved like Helena Bonham Carter in Fight Club (1999), who routinely walks out into a busy street without looking, we would be horrified.  Whatever one’s metaphysical views, whatever consolations one embraces, and whatever polite remarks one makes, we know that as a practical matter, it is important for people to give due weight to choice, chance, and necessity in their daily lives.

And this brings us to the subject of women who stay with men that physically abuse them. When a woman is in an ongoing abusive relationship, we never say this happens by chance.  It might have been bad luck on her part that she married a man who would hit her, but it is not bad luck that she stays with him or keeps going back to him.  Chance having been eliminated as an explanation for that, we are left with free will and necessity.  If we say she stays with him of her own free will, we are saying that it is her own fault, and we have thus put the blame on her. Assuming we wish to avoid blaming the victim in this case, the only remaining alternative is to explain her situation in terms of necessity.  The necessity in question is psychological in nature, consisting primarily of fear, love, and guilt.

The fear may be that of economic hardship in the case of a woman with limited resources, who does not know how she can make it on her own, especially if she has children.  Or it may be her fear of even more physical abuse, believing that if she leaves him, he will find her and hurt her even more.  Love, sad to say, can also be a motive.  She may stay with him because she loves him, and because she believes that he loves her.  Finally, there is guilt.  She may blame herself for making him angry.

Having settled on the idea that these psychological forces compel her to remain in such a relationship, we can only hope that a countervailing psychological force added to the mix will be sufficient to propel her out of that trap.  If all we do is offer sympathy and politely tell her she is not to blame for the situation she is in, do we run the risk of weakening her will by inadvertently promoting fatalism and the spirit of resignation that comes with it?  If, on the other hand, we tell her that she does not have to stay with him, that she has choices, and that she and only she can get herself out of that trap, might that not be the spur she needs to leave him once and for all, even if it implies that she has only herself to blame if she stays?