The desire for companionship is absolutely universal. Even misanthropy is but the desire for companionship, turned sour. This desire extends throughout creation. It is very noticeable in domestic animals; and could we fathom the causes of their sociability, we should probably have arrived at a solution of several important questions relating to them and to ourselves.
The most fascinating people in the world have, I believe, been simply good companions. Shakspere, as he knew most things, knew this, and has shown that he knew it, in what he has indicated to us of the loves of Brutus and Portia, of Antony and Cleopatra, and of Rosalind and Orlando.
I think it must be admitted that one of the main objects of life is good companionship. “What,” says Emerson, “is the end of all this apparatus of living—what but to get a number of persons who shall be happy in each other’s society, and be seated at the same table?”
The first thing for companionship is, that there should be a good relation between the persons who are to become good companions to each other. It is not well to use a foreign phrase if it can be avoided, but there are foreign phrases which are supremely significant, and utterly untranslatable. I therefore say that those people I have spoken of should be en rapport with one another. This rapport may have its existence in various ways. The relationship of mother and son, of father and daughter, will give it; the love that some people have for children will give it with children; similar bringing up at school or at college may give it; similarity of present pursuits may give it. But before all and above all, that incomprehensible, unfathomable thing called personal liking—that which you feel (or the contrary of which you feel), frequently at first sight—will be sure to give it. We use the phrase “falling in love:” we might perhaps use the phrase “falling in liking” to describe a similar unavoidable precipitancy.
The beginning once made, the basis once laid for this companionship, what are the qualities which tend to make it continuously pleasant?
The first thing is confidence. Now, in using the word confidence, it is not meant to imply that there is an absolute necessity for much confidingness in small things. Wilhelm von Humboldt has expressed an opinion which is worth noting in reference to this subject. “Friendship and love,” he says, “require the deepest and most genuine confidence, but lofty souls do not require the trivial confidences of familiarity.”
The kind of confidence that Humboldt means, and which is required for companionship as well as for friendship and love, puts aside all querulous questions as to whether the companions like one another as much to-day as they did yesterday. Steadfastness is to be assumed. And, also a certain unchangeableness. “He is a wonderfully agreeable person,” said a neighbor of one of the best talkers of the day; “but I have to renew my acquaintance with him every morning.” That good talker can not be held to be a good companion in a high sense of the word. Again, this steadfastness makes allowance for all variations of humor, temperament, and fortune. It prevents one companion from attributing any change that there may be in the other, of manner, of bearing, or of vivacity, to a change in the real relation between the companions. He does not make any of these things personal towards himself. Silence is not supposed to be offence. Hence there is no occasion to make talk, a thing which is fatal to companionship. One reason why some of us enjoy so much the society of animals, is because we need not talk to them if we do not like. And, indeed, with a thoroughly good human companion, you ought to be able to feel as if you were quite alone.
Difference of temperament is no hindrance whatever to companionship. Indeed, the world has generally recognized that fact. We all know that the ardent and the timid, the hopeful and the despondent, the eager and the apathetic, get on very well together. What may not always have been as clearly perceived is, that there are certain diversities of nature, chiefly relating to habits, which produce, not agreeable contrasts, but downright fatal discords. And, in such cases, companionship of a high kind is hopeless.
Let us suppose that the principal requisites for companionship have been attained; first, the basis for it created by personal liking, early association, similarity of pursuits, and the like; secondly, the means of continuing it, such as this confidence that has been spoken of, the absence of contravening tastes, the absence of unreasonable expectation, and the like. Now, for what remain to be considered as the essential requisites for high companionship, we must enter into what is almost purely intellectual. For this high companionship there must be an interest in many things, at least on one side, and on the other a great power of receptivity. It is almost impossible to exaggerate the needfulness of these elements. Look at results. Consider the nature of those men and women whom you have found, if I may use the phrase, to be splendid companions. It is not exactly their knowledge that has made them so; it is their almost universal interest in everything that comes before them. This quality will make even ignorant people extremely good companions to the most instructed persons. It is not, however, the relation of tutor to pupil that is contemplated here. That is certainly not the highest form of companionship. The kind of ignorant person that I mean, if he or she should be one of the companions, is to be intensely receptive and appreciative, and his or her remarks are very dear and very pleasant to the most instructed person. Is not the most valuable part of all knowledge very explicable, and do you not find that you can make your best thoughts intelligible, if you have any clearness of expression, to persons not exactly of your own order, if you will only take the pains to do so?
