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Octavio PazA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Chapter 1 begins with a meditation on the nature of human existence, which Paz claims is always beset by a sense of its alienation from itself and its world. Being a self-conscious being, Paz suggests, entails recognizing one’s self as singular and thus somehow separate from others. He names this condition “solitude.” No less fundamental to human existence is our desire to overcome this state through acts which achieve a sense of unity and significance which transcends the limits of this solitude, a state which Paz calls “communion.” All human life is comprised of the back-and-forth movement (or “dialectic”) between these two poles.
The pachuco represents an “extreme” expression of Mexican solitude. Through “masks” of “grotesque dandyism and anarchic behavior,” the pachuco neither seeks to participate in older Mexican traditions, nor to assimilate to those of the North American culture in which he finds himself immersed. The pachuco’s exaggerated resistance to North American cultural norms singles him out as a target of violence and criminalization: he is like prey that intentionally attracts the attention of the hunter (17). Somewhat perversely, it is only through persecution that the pachuco can attain a fleeting experience of “communion” that breaks through his sense of solitude and connects him to the North American world where he lives.
The pachuco’s extreme does not reflect a sense of inferiority but, ultimately, a response to the deeper fact of his existential solitude. If we cannot overcome solitude, Paz wonders, can we learn to live with it in a way that “is not closed, not mechanical, but open to the transcendent” (27)? Paz concludes by claiming that he caught a glimpse of this way of living with solitude in the “desperate hopefulness” of republican partisans who fought during the Spanish Civil War.
“Mexican Masks” extends the theme of self-protection through the wearing of metaphorical “masks” to conceal one’s feelings and vulnerabilities. Mexicans tend to perceive the world as hostile and dangerous. Hence, it is important to cling to the masks—e.g., gender roles, manners, social expectations, ceremonies—that can hide one’s true feelings from others (and perhaps from one’s self) so as not to be vulnerable or at the mercy of others. It is typically seen as more valuable to be “closed” off from the world and others rather than to be “open” to them. This distinction takes on a highly gendered and misogynistic sense in Mexico, where machismo or “manliness” is associated with “closedness” (activity, assertiveness, and will) while femininity is associated with “openness” (passivity, compliance, and tractability). Following from this view, women are not seen as persons but as a means to satisfy male desires.
These examples testify to the value that Mexican culture places on “the closed,” Paz writes (40). Men are expected to be invulnerable, to shield themselves and protect their solitude. Women are expected to do the same, but in a way that places them at the disposal of men. Reversing these roles invites shame and disgust. Historically speaking, Paz claims that the historical roots of Mexico’s culture of dissimulation can be traced to colonial times, when mestizos and indigenous peoples had to conceal their desires from their Spanish masters (43). In the end, these strategies of “masking” oneself become a form of dishonesty about who one truly is and what one truly wants, making intimacy difficult for Mexicans. In its most radical forms, such dishonesty becomes “mimicry,” a desire not only to conceal one’s true self, but to conceal that one has a self altogether and blend in with the landscape. The culture of dissimulation—linked with the desire for invulnerability and “closedness”—thus threatens to carry Mexican culture in the direction of utter nihilism, Paz suggests (46).
In Chapter 3, “The Day of the Dead,” Paz notes that while Mexican use masks to maintain their solitude and thus defend themselves from the world, they also long for “communion”: “The Solitary Mexican loves fiestas and public gatherings. Any occasion for getting together will serve, any pretext to stop the flow of time and commemorate men with festivals and ceremonies” (47). The fiesta, a boisterous celebration that has all but disappeared from other modern cultures, provides Mexicans brief instances of communion, Paz claims. The fiesta suspends forms and propriety and gives way to formlessness and revelry. Fiestas share this dynamic with revolutionary violence and, in a sense, death.
Religious traditions typically see death as a path toward transcendence, a new life after death (56). Modern Mexicans doubt this, but do not shy away from death; they treat it with irony or fascination. The appearance of death in art and religious festivals, such as the Day of Death, reflects a “Cult of Death” that affirms the nothingness of death. This concept is deeply opposed to European and North American views of death, which attempt to ignore the reality of mortality, and in so doing ultimately deny life itself: to turn one’s back on death means turning one’s back on reality itself.
The poise and irony with which Mexicans treat death is yet another mask, however. The fiesta reveals their deep sense of woundedness, solitude, and sin precisely in their desire to rush toward a death (real or metaphorical) that might provide them the transcendence and communion that they would otherwise deny is possible. What the contradictory Mexican attitudes toward death reveal, Paz claims, is the familiar oscillation between a desire for solitude and self-defense, and a longing for communion and intimacy (64).
The opening chapters of The Labyrinth of Solitude articulate the basic philosophical problems that motivate the text and quickly transition into analyses of Mexican culture in accordance with those problems. That Paz wrote this work while serving as a cultural attaché in Paris is not an insignificant philosophical standpoint of the text, which is clearly influenced by French existentialism. The existentialists, in conversation with post-Hegelian philosophy and Heideggerian phenomenology, favored questions regarding one’s concrete existence and historical agency over metaphysical speculation or epistemological puzzles. Familiar ideas from Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, with whom Paz was acquainted, feature prominently in the text.
The basic issue of the text is the existential condition of human beings: We are fundamentally “alone” and seek ways to attain communion with others and the world. Culture is defined in these existential terms, for Paz, as it is constituted by the various personal, social, religious, and artistic strategies for coping with the tension between our inalienable solitude and our longing for communion: “Self-discovery is above all the realization that we are alone: it is the opening of an impalpable, transparent wall—that of our consciousness—between the world and ourselves” (9). In recognizing our own thoughts and motivations, we judge ourselves to be distinct from the world and from others around us. By definition, self-consciousness entails a privileged and singular access to itself. Cursory empirical reflection bears out Paz’s analysis: Our capacity for deception or self-concealment seems to confirm this existential fact.
Adolescence is a period of intensified solitude, Paz suggests. The adolescent is struck by an existential quandary: Their blossoming maturity robs them of earlier mechanisms by which they attained momentary communion (e.g., play, imagination, intimate parental affection), and in so doing imposes the task of defining themselves (9). This point identifies a literal phase of human development in Paz’s work, but it also serves a broader metaphorical purpose at the level of historical reflection, as Paz claims that similar crises of solitude and self-definition occur for entire peoples or nations.
This articulation of the existential situation of human beings and communities resonates strongly with the existentialism of Jean-Paul Sartre. Sartre famously articulated a unifying theme of existentialism in an October 1945 lecture entitled “Existentialism is a Humanism”: rather than having a fixed essence which defines us, human beings must struggle throughout their lives to define themselves and the meaning of their lives through the projects and ideals to which they commit themselves. This basic existentialist standpoint is operative in the task of self-definition that occurs in confrontation with existential solitude for Paz.
Paz’s treatment of the pachuco constitutes the first application of this existential approach for the purposes of an analysis of culture and history. Several important and persistent themes appear in these reflections. The pacuhco, living in North American cities, is an “orphan” of sorts, who has lost his connection to the “mother” of a native culture. Like the “adolescent” who can neither turn to a mother for comfort, nor yet identify with the surrounding world, the pachuco negates both his native culture and the North American culture that surrounds him; this leads the pachuco to the use of “masks”—in particular, extreme clothing and behavior—which distance him from the world and preserve his solitude as a refuge of sorts. In accordance with the rhetoric of childhood, adolescence, and maturity, the pachuco might be seen, in Paz’s terms, as a phase of “arrested development” in popular culture. One might see the pachuco’s sense of alienation and use of “masks” as emblematic of Mexico’s marginalized situation within the geopolitical and economic order of the Cold War, its appropriation of foreign cultural traditions like “masks” in the preceding century, and the cultural “orphanhood” of indigenous peoples resulting from the Spanish Conquest hundreds of years earlier.
Paz further develops the theme of masks in the second chapter. Mexicans, through a history of colonial domination and marginalization, have come to view the world as hostile and dangerous. Machismo, a form of extreme and aggressive masculinity, is a response to this view. The macho attempts to become invulnerable and to assert his will in the world. On one hand, this suggests a strategy of self-protection. On the other, the violence and domineering attitude of macho seems to reflect a desire for communion, in Paz’s terms. The macho is at one with a world that is violent and hostile by becoming violent and hostile.
If men are defined by the masks of machismo, this is no less true of women, but in the reverse. Men expect passivity and compliance of women, who men judge to have no inner life or individuality apart from their relationship to men. This view clearly draws on the early “second-wave” feminism of Simone de Beauvoir, the French existentialist and social theorist. Beauvoir famously argued in her 1949 book The Second Sex that the idea of “woman,” as it functioned within Western culture, was defined only in relation to men and men’s interests. Paz’s claim that “In a world made in man’s image, woman is only a reflection of masculine will and desire” (35) echoes Beauvoir’s view. Mexicans’ view of life as a violent struggle, and one can either be the violator or the violated, is an idea Paz returns to in subsequent analyses.
Paz’s analysis of the fiesta connects the interplay of solitude and communion to mortality to death, both literal and figurative. It also prefigures Paz’s account of the Mexican Revolution. The fiesta is a release of tension and a fleeting form of communion. In losing their heads and rejecting social mores during the frenzy of the fiesta, Mexicans experience a simulacrum of death and thus a loss of the very finite form of life and sociality that alienates them and intensifies their solitude. The fiesta is a social formlessness as well, as it is characterized by a suspension of normal social niceties in favor of intoxication, revelry, and sometimes real violence. This social formlessness is without aim; it is merely an explosion of repressed energy, in much the same way that the Mexican Revolution, Paz argues later in the book, is merely a rejection of the extant order with no clear ideological direction. This point echoes the indetermination of the adolescent sense of self and the pachuco’s negation of the world around him that Paz describes in Chapter 1. Mexicans suffer the burden of solitude and long for communion, but they are without authentic cultural touchstones to realize the latter and alleviate the former.
By Octavio Paz
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