Literary and Cinematic Examples

Walt Kowalski - Gran Torino (Clint Eastwood, 2008)

In this chapter, the focus is on various literary and cinematic characters with the aim of examining different facets of the Social 1. Starting from the premise that various authors have explored different manifestations of their characters, even when they belong to the same character type, we will analyze the particularities that distinguish each one. We begin with Walt Kowalski, the protagonist of the film Gran Torino, directed and starred by Clint Eastwood. Kowalski is a misfit who rejects the world and its transformations, and ends his life in an act of social generosity, which, as stated in the book The Films of Clint Eastwood, written by the critic A. Castellano, "is one of the most beautiful endings in the history of cinema."

A film review notes: "The protagonist of this story, Walt Kowalski, a racist and solitary man, sick and embittered, is the only white man in a multi-ethnic neighborhood in Detroit. He rejects everything around him and despises his Asian neighbors." In summary, Walt presents himself as a tough, judgmental man, dissatisfied with the society in which he lives. He often feels disillusioned and litigious and refuses help from anyone. For him, the meaning of law is fundamental, and he communicates directly. Despite his withdrawal from society, Walt inspires fear and awe in those around him, and his sarcasm and attitude are unpleasant to many. However, he is also capable of deep love, and his anger can be terrible when defending those he protects. He suffers great frustration, but his selfishness causes him to underestimate the appreciation of others. He is resentful and does not forgive easily. Kowalski is "hardened by life." His rejection extends to his family members, whom he cannot tolerate due to their meanness. Early in the film, he is seen muttering through clenched teeth against his children and grandchildren, both for what they say and for how superficial and insensitive they seem. He is a character more willing to judge their behavior

than to feel pity for his recently deceased wife. These few lines reveal the dominant passion of the Social 1: maladaptation.

The maladaptation of the Social 1 implies rejection and difficulty in accepting the world as it is presented, and the subsequent implicit desire to obtain a different world, one that must correspond to the perfectionist models this subtype aspires to—abstract models that lack definition. His rage and denial are parasitic systems, as transactional analysts say, substitutes for a pain to which he gives no space. Cold and hard, his suffering is covered in criticism and judgment. He looks with disgust at his young niece who shows her belly button. The children comment among themselves that the grandfather remains the same even at the funeral of his own wife. No matter what others do, for Kowalski there is no escape from his constant disappointment. He always finds reasons to fight and fuel his anger. During the funeral, when the priest speaks about the pain caused by death, Kowalski shows intense suffering in his gaze. Then, he shifts his attention to his children, and his expression changes. He feels contempt for them and confirms his belief that they are insignificant and superficial. This allows him to justify his resentment and complaints. He becomes enraged, although he keeps his fury contained, when he finds out his niece is playing with her phone while the priest gives his sermon. When his son comments, "There were a lot of people at the funeral," Kowalski replies with biting irony: "Of course, they must have known there was a lot to eat." Immediately after, he says, "They need chairs," and his son offers to get them. But Kowalski responds, "They need them now, not in a year," and walks away. He does not accept help that comes "in a year"; he wants it immediately. In this way, he demonstrates to himself and others that he must do everything by himself. His anger has a justified foundation. His attitude in the world is based on the principle of "I am fine, and you are not," and this guides his actions and the way he establishes relationships: as someone rightly angry. This mindset is reflected in one of the six roles of the redefinition hexagon, according to Transactional Analysis and the Treatment of Psychosis by J. L. Schiff. At other times, he watches his neighbors return home and comments with contempt, "How many sewer rats can fit in a room?" while spitting on the ground. He treats the boy who comes to ask for cables for the battery in the same manner. He tells him he doesn't have them, demands more respect, and says, "We're in mourning here." His reactions are characterized by anger, rejection, contempt, and intolerance.

Kowalski stands out for other characteristics that are more in the background in Sherlock Holmes and Lord Jim. He is a very old man, marked by wrinkles that give him an ancient, painful expression. He is cynical; he has lived and known the horrors of war. The stains on his character are deeper and more sickly due to his inhumanity and the coercion he experienced while killing. He remains rigid and firm in his statue-like immobility, which, in any case, highlights his fragility and bewilderment. He is condemned by his own image. He has a difficult character, socially detestable, and clings to the mask he presents to the world, a mask that, even if he wanted, he could no longer remove. He is a very well-defined

character, admirably portrayed by Clint Eastwood, a "testamentary work" with which he bids farewell to acting, according to his own words. Reading a bit about Clint's biography, one can find a lot of him in a character that has already been etched in the history of cinema. Kowalski is a war hero, having fought bravely. He carried out his role until the end, hardening into a ruthless coldness to not stop in front of the Koreans against whom the United States was fighting. He did his duty as a soldier and had to kill, but the coldness and determination, as seen at the end, will leave a mark. While performing his work, he does so with commitment and without yielding to emotions. I have known someone of his type who has killed many people, not in war, but as a murderer. He committed numerous homicides with ruthless coldness and no emotion, unshaken in his actions. Today, he is an admirable person who passionately helps those who suffer and are misfits.

Kowalski is a war hero, he fought bravely. He carried his role through to the end, hardening into a ruthless coldness to not stop in front of the Koreans that the United States was fighting. He fulfilled his duty as a soldier and had to kill, but the coldness and determination, as will be seen at the end, will leave a mark. While carrying out his task, he does so with commitment and without giving in to emotions. I have met someone of his type who has killed many people, not in war, but as a murderer. He committed numerous homicides with ruthless coldness and no emotion whatsoever, unperturbed in his actions. Today, he is an admirable person who passionately helps those who suffer and are outcasts. Kowalski is Polish, an immigrant, and lives in an immigrant neighborhood where, in his own way, he has found his place. However, new immigrants arrive with gangs of juvenile delinquents. Many of the values that prevailed in the community are disrupted, and he suffers the consequences. Things have changed, and he feels increasingly isolated. When the priest asks him if he needs anything, he brusquely responds that he should go "tend to the other sheep" and leave him alone. His manners are cold and unfriendly. A character like his does not accept that he needs help, does not want others to be concerned for him, at least not in that way. If he accepted it, he would show weakness. Even when he sees the neighbors sacrifice a chicken, he expresses his repulsion: "Damn barbarians." Nothing pleases him. The social type has embraced the ideal of perfection, believing that being perfect will grant him love and acceptance. However, this illusion becomes an endless search, a trap with no way out that only generates frustration and anger. It's not enough to be perfect; even the world must be perfected. The thought that guides his actions is "I am fine and you are not," which drives him to constantly strive for the unattainable. In this way, he hides his own limitations and highlights those of others. When the priest tries to help him and asks him to confess, Kowalski replies that he had already promised it to his late wife. Furthermore, the priest tries to speak to him about life and death, but Kowalski tells him that those things aren't learned in seminary. He lived through death up close for three years in the Korean War. He is direct with his words, openly expressing what he feels and thinks, without hiding or hesitating. He may seem arrogant,

but his experiences are real, and he does not tolerate a 27-year-old, even if he is a priest, trying to teach him anything. "We stabbed enemies with bayonets, massacred 17-year-old kids with shovels. Things I will never forget, inhuman things but things I can live with," he says. That is essentially a confession. The priest asks him what he knows about life. Kowalski replies: "I survived the war, I got married, had kids." The priest comments: "I would say you know more about death than life." Walt stares at him and grits his teeth. His gaze is direct and firm. "You may be right, Father," he responds with pride, defiance, and pain, taking the blow. The social type struggles to enjoy simple things, rest, and let go. He always has something more important to deal with, preventing him from finding peace. His mind is constantly occupied with some problem. Walt’s only luxury is his old Gran Torino, the car he treats as if it were new. The social type has a certain withdrawal that, in some ways, resembles the Es type. He is not socially skilled and lacks charm. He finds it difficult to speak excessively or detectively. He considers many embellishments to be useless, of no value. If we asked him, "What do you care about?" he might reply that he hates loneliness but finds it difficult to relate to others, unless there is some intimacy. When a gang of young people tries to force a boy to commit a robbery, Walt threatens them with a gun. His voice is firm, and his gaze is unwavering. He has great self-control. Perhaps he lives with internal turmoil, but there are no hesitations in his actions or words. His firmness is terrifying. The Social 1 can instill fear even without doing or saying anything particular. What impresses is his attitude, the way he presents himself. If we look closely, we can see that Walt actually wants the young people to leave and stop abusing the boy. He does not seek to kill, but he does not tolerate abuse, whether it is directed at him or others. When the boy's family wants to thank him and offer him gifts, he mocks them because he wants nothing. He does not feel he has saved anyone, but has simply driven some bullies out of his territory. In the neighborhood, they consider him a hero, but he denies it. If he were a hero, he would lose his role. However, he does shudder at receiving so much recognition. Like Lord Jim, Kowalski is haunted by an event that he cannot erase or push away from his life. The war always hovers around him. "In those times, we had to make decisions immediately. In emergency situations, you can't wait for someone to come solve them," he states. The priest reproaches him for not calling the police and argues that he risked too much. With irony and sarcasm, he replies, "I prayed for the police to show up," but his prayer went unanswered. "This isn’t Korea," the priest retorts. "You carry all the horrible things they forced you to do. You’d do well to free yourself from part of that burden," he suggests. However, Kowalski points out: you’re wrong, "What torments a man the most is what they didn’t order him to do." Forgiving oneself is a tough task for someone like him. Similar to Lord Jim, his convictions are rooted in the deep belief that no one can offer him help. He doesn't need anyone’s assistance, no. He must face everything by himself. This conviction, which guides the Social 1's existence, is the way he has conceived to regain his worth and, at the same time, a way to cover up the envy that forbids him from fully experiencing life. Kowalski is rough in his manner. His dialogue with the barber is filled with insults and

malicious wishes, even wishing him death. However, beneath those words lies an affection that is hard to express, one that he must conceal.

He forged his life with harshness, refusing to be a patriarch even within his own family. He is a solitary soul, struggling to adapt to the social environment. He only maintains superficial and rude exchanges before withdrawing. He doesn't know what to say or how to act, but he is always ready to protect the helpless during a fight, to wield his gun when a young woman is threatened by a group of rapists. He intervenes in the suffering of the young man accompanying her and resolves the situation. With the gun in hand, he orders the girl to get into his car to take her home, urging her to replace that "cowardly Irishman" with someone of her own ethnicity. In other scenes, it becomes clear how difficult it is for him to tolerate his children. They bring him meaningless gifts, and he longs for something different, convincing them that their father is elusive. In one scene, he engages in a conversation with the dog. "We miss mom, don't we, Desy?" he says with a sigh. He is immersed in his own pain, and the old dog is the only one who can listen.

However, unexpectedly, a transformation occurs. The young woman he has protected manages to establish a dialogue with him. In her presence, he becomes playful, affectionate, and ironic, and he invites him to her family home. This time, Walt allows himself to go with the flow and accepts the invitation. "After all, it's my birthday," he mentions, justifying the indulgence. The house is full of people; Kowalski cannot believe what his eyes are seeing, as he did not expect such a warm welcome. Reassured by the atmosphere, he begins to soften. Everyone is watching him closely. The young woman offers him a plate of food and a drink, and Kowalski, clumsy and shy, gradually frees himself from his rigidity in a crowd of people of Asian descent speaking another language. A shaman watches him with interest and says, "You made a mistake in your past, and you haven’t forgiven yourself." Like Lord Jim, the old shaman points out, "There is no happiness in your life, you are not at peace." This is what happens to individuals of the Social 1. A mistake or old weakness that they hide from both themselves and others, which then affects their entire existence. Suddenly, he coughs, and blood bursts from his mouth. "I'm fine," he assures everyone as he runs to the bathroom. There, in front of the mirror, he seems to be talking to himself: "I feel more connected to these Asians than to those depraved members of my family." Walt needs to be seen and treated with respect and affection; he longs for the recognition that these people offer him; to them, he is a hero. Now he feels excited and happy, even though his mask has not completely fallen. "Happy birthday," he says to himself as he looks at himself in the mirror. Walt recognizes himself and, in doing so, grants himself something, becoming more human and feeling the desire to reconnect with people. When the young woman asks about the blood, he responds disdainfully that it's nothing, that he bit his tongue. It's clear there's more, but at that moment, he doesn’t want to lose the intensity of the experience. He feels good in her company and wishes to interact, first with the mature women around him and

then—awkwardly and curiously—with the group of young people. There's a broken appliance, and we see him crawling on all fours to begin fixing it. He can't resist his repairman's nature. "You're funny," a young woman says to him. He's surprised; he's been called many things, but never "funny." When the rigidity fades and the "Es" loses control of movement, the result can be "funny."

In that house lives Tao, the boy Walt had previously rescued from the young men who, under their pressure, had tried to steal his Gran Torino. Walt starts a conversation with him, notices his clumsiness, and urges him to wake up, to get closer to the girl he likes. The whole family wants to do things for Walt, as he has defended them several times. Day by day, the boy offers to do repairs in Walt's house, showing more initiative each time. Kowalski, in his rough but affectionate way, teaches and guides him, giving him positive appreciation. Meanwhile, Walt continues to spit blood, and when reviewing the results of his medical tests, he realizes they are not encouraging. However, he continues with his purpose. He takes the boy with him to the barber and together they improvise one of their usual exchanges full of colorful words, humor, and sarcasm, so that "Dumb," as Walt calls Tao, learns to speak like a man by observing. Then the boy repeats the scene by himself. Walt takes responsibility for the young Asian. He wants to help him, introduces him to an acquaintance who offers him a job. He feels especially generous, showing an attitude that the "Er" usually hides. Kowalski even buys the necessary tools the boy needs to work. With the gifts he has received, Tao meets the gang of young people again, who brutally beat him and even put out a cigarette on his face. Walt doesn't find out about this until several days later. Furious, he exclaims that they are cowards and transforms into a fearsome figure. He takes his gun, locates the man who burned Tao's face, and gives him a merciless beating. His face reflects rage, and his anger knows no limits.

Literary and Cinematic Examples By Antonio Ferrara Walt Kowalski – Gran Torino (Clint Eastwood, 2008)

In this chapter, the focus is directed towards several literary and cinematic characters in order to examine different facets of the Social 1. Based on the premise that various authors have explored different manifestations of their characters, even if they belong to the same character type, we will analyze the particularities that distinguish each of them. We will begin with Walt Kowalski, the protagonist of the movie Gran Torino, directed and starring Clint Eastwood. Kowalski is an outcast who rejects the world and its transformations and ends his life in an act of social generosity that, as noted in the book Las películas de Clint Eastwood by the critic A. Castellano, "is one of the most beautiful endings in the history of cinema."

A movie review points out: "The protagonist of this story, Walt Kowalski, racist and solitary, sick and bitter, is the only white man in a multi-ethnic neighborhood in Detroit. He rejects everything around him and despises his Asian neighbors." In short, Walt is portrayed as a tough, judgmental man, disillusioned and contentious with the society he lives in. He often feels disappointed and litigious, and refuses help from anyone. For him, the meaning of the law is fundamental, and he communicates directly. Despite his withdrawal from society, Walt inspires fear and awe in those around him, and his sarcasm and attitude are unpleasant to many. However, he is also capable of deep love, and his rage can be terrible when defending those he protects. He suffers from great frustration, but his selfishness leads him to disregard the appreciation of others. He is resentful and doesn't forgive easily. Kowalski is "hardened by life." His rejection extends to his family members, whom he cannot tolerate for their meanness. In the film's opening scenes, he is seen muttering with clenched teeth at his children and grandchildren, both for what they say and for how superficial and insensitive they seem. He is a character more likely to judge their behavior than to feel pity for his recently deceased wife. These few lines reveal to us the dominant passion of the Social 1: maladaptation.

The maladaptation of the Social 1 involves rejection and difficulty accepting the world as it is presented, with the subsequent implicit desire to create a different world, one that must conform to the perfectionist models that this subtype aspires to—abstract models that lack definition. His rage and denial are parasitic systems, as transactional analysts say, substitutes for a pain he refuses to acknowledge. Cold and hard, his suffering is cloaked in criticism and judgment. He looks with disgust at his young niece showing her belly button. The children gossip that the grandfather remains who he is even at the funeral of his own wife. No matter what others do, Kowalski finds no escape from his constant disappointment. He always finds reasons to fight and fuel his anger. During the funeral, when the priest speaks of the pain caused by death, Kowalski shows intense suffering in his eyes. Then, he shifts his attention to his children, and his expression changes. He feels contempt for them and confirms his belief that they are insignificant and superficial. This allows him to justify his resentment and complaints. He becomes furious, although he keeps that anger contained, when he discovers that his niece is playing with her mobile phone while the priest delivers his sermon. When his son comments, "There were a lot of people at the funeral," Kowalski responds with biting irony: "Of course, they must have known there was plenty to eat." Immediately after, he says, "They need chairs," and his son offers to get them. But Kowalski responds, "They need them now, not in a year," and walks away. He does not accept help that comes "in a year"; he wants it immediately. In this way, he proves to himself and others that he has to do everything himself. His anger is based on a justified principle. His attitude toward the world is based on the principle of "I’m fine, and you’re not," and this guides his actions and the way he establishes relationships: as someone justifiably angry. This mindset is reflected in one of the six roles of the redefinition

hexagon, according to Transactional Analysis and the Treatment of Psychosis by J. L. Schiff. On other occasions, he observes neighbors returning home and comments with disdain, "How many sewer rats can fit in a room?" while spitting on the ground. He treats the boy who comes to ask for battery cables in the same manner.

He replies that he doesn’t have them, demands more respect, and says, “We are in mourning here.” His reactions are characterized by anger, rejection, disdain, and intolerance. Kowalski stands out for other traits that are more secondary in Sherlock Holmes and Lord Jim. He is a much older man, marked by wrinkles that give him an ancient and sorrowful expression. He is also cynical, having lived through and witnessed the horrors of war. The flaws in his character are deeper and more pathological due to his inhumanity and the coercion he experienced in killing. He remains rigid and firm in his statue-like immobility, which nevertheless highlights his fragility and confusion. He is condemned by his own image. He has a difficult, socially repulsive character and clings to the mask he presents to the world, one he can no longer remove even if he wanted to.

Kowalski is a well-defined character, admirably portrayed by Clint Eastwood, in what Eastwood has called his “testament piece,” marking his farewell to acting in cinema. Reading a bit about Clint’s biography, one can see much of him in a character that has already become iconic in the history of film. Kowalski is a war hero who fought bravely, fulfilling his role to the end, hardening himself with ruthless coldness so as not to hesitate against the Koreans whom the U.S. fought. He did his duty as a soldier and had to kill, but the coldness and determination, as will be seen in the end, leave a mark. While carrying out his duty, he does so with commitment, not yielding to emotions.

I have met someone of his type who has killed many people, not in war but as an assassin—committing numerous murders with ruthless coldness and without any emotion, unperturbed in his actions. Today, that person is an admirable figure who passionately helps those who suffer and are marginalized. Kowalski is Polish, an immigrant, living in an immigrant neighborhood where, in his way, he has found his place. However, new immigrants arrive, bringing gangs of young criminals with them. Many of the values that once prevailed in the community are disrupted, and he suffers the consequences. Things have changed, and he feels increasingly alone.

When the priest asks if he needs anything, he brusquely responds for him to go “tend the other sheep” and leave him alone. His manners are cold and unfriendly. A character like his does not admit he needs help, nor does he want others to show concern for him, at least not in that way. If he accepted it, he would be admitting weakness. Even when he sees his neighbors sacrificing a chicken, he expresses his disgust: “Damn savages.” Nothing pleases him.

The social instinct embraces the ideal of perfection, believing that being perfect will bring love and acceptance. However, this illusion becomes an endless pursuit, a trap with no exit that generates only frustration and anger. It’s not enough to be perfect; even the world must be perfected. The guiding thought behind his actions is, “I’m fine, and you’re not,” which pushes him to constantly strive for the unattainable. In doing so, he hides his own limitations and highlights those of others.

When the priest tries to help him and asks him to confess, Kowalski says he had already promised his late wife. Additionally, when the priest tries to talk to him about life and death, Kowalski tells him that’s not something learned in seminary. He lived death up close for three years in the Korean War. He is direct in his words, openly expressing what he feels and thinks without hiding or hesitating. He may seem arrogant, but his experiences are real, and he doesn’t tolerate a 27-year-old, even a priest, trying to teach him something. “We stabbed enemies with bayonets, slaughtered 17-year-olds with shovels. Things I will never forget, inhuman things, but things I can live with,” he says. That’s essentially a confession. When the priest asks what he knows about life, Kowalski replies, “I survived the war, got married, had kids.” The priest comments, “I’d say you know more about death than life.” Walt stares at him, gritting his teeth. His gaze is direct and firm. “You may be right, Father,” he responds with pride, defiance, and pain, taking the blow.

The social instinct struggles to enjoy simple things, to relax and let go. There’s always something more important to do, preventing any peace. His mind is constantly preoccupied with some issue. Walt’s only luxury is his old Gran Torino, a car he maintains as if it were new. In the social instinct, there’s a certain withdrawal that, in some aspects, resembles the Self-Preservation instinct. He isn’t socially skilled and lacks charm. He finds it difficult to speak either too much or too little and considers many embellishments useless, of no value. If asked, “What do you care about?” he might respond that he hates loneliness but finds it challenging to connect with others unless there is some intimacy.

When a gang of youths tries to force a boy to commit a robbery, Walt threatens them with a gun. The tone of his voice is firm, and his gaze unyielding. He has immense self-control. Internally, he may experience turmoil, but his actions and words show no hesitation. His firmness is terrifying. The social instinct can inspire fear even without doing or saying much. What’s striking is his attitude, his way of presenting himself. If we look closely, we can see that Walt actually wishes the youths would leave and stop abusing the boy. He doesn’t want to kill but won’t tolerate abuse against himself or others.

When the boy’s family tries to thank him with gifts, he mocks them because he doesn’t want anything. He doesn’t feel like he saved anyone, only that he chased some thugs off his territory. The neighborhood sees him as a hero, but he insists he isn’t. If he were a hero, he’d lose his role. Still, he is visibly shaken by the recognition. Like Lord Jim, Kowalski is haunted

by an event he cannot erase or separate from his life. The war always looms over him. “In those days, we had to make decisions immediately. In emergencies, you can’t wait for someone to come and resolve them,” he says.

The priest criticizes him for not calling the police and argues he took a big risk. With irony and sarcasm, Walt replies, “I prayed for the police to show up,” but his prayer went unanswered. “This isn’t Korea,” the priest retorts. “You carry all the horrible things you were forced to do. It would be good to let go of some of that burden,” he suggests. But Kowalski clarifies: he’s wrong. “What torments a man the most is what he wasn’t ordered to do.” Forgiving himself is a monumental task for someone like him.

Similar to Lord Jim, his convictions are rooted in the deep belief that no one can help him. He doesn’t need anyone’s assistance. No, he must face everything alone. This conviction, which guides the existence of the social instinct, is the path he has devised to regain his worth and, simultaneously, a way to mask the envy that forbids him from fully experiencing life. Kowalski is rough in his demeanor. His dialogue with the barber is filled with insults and malicious wishes, even going so far as to wish him dead. Yet beneath those words lies a difficult-to-express affection, one he feels compelled to hide.

He shows no compassion toward the aggressor, as he is defending his protégé, whom he sees as a son. Finally, he points his weapon at him and warns both him and his companions never to touch the boy again. However, a few days later, shots are fired at Tao’s house. Walt murmurs: “I knew this was going to happen. What the hell am I doing? In the war, you expected it—it was inevitable.” At that moment, Tao’s sister appears, covered in bruises and wounds, swollen and terribly beaten. Everyone weeps. Walt is stunned, speechless, and filled with pain. He roars with a ferocious rage that comes from the deepest part of his being and becomes a beast. Is he seeking justice? Revenge? It’s rage in defense of human values! This is war. It must be resolved through strength; it must be won. I imagine these are the feelings and thoughts swirling through his mind, heart, and entire being. After the cry of pain comes an explosive rage. It is a parasitic emotion that replaces the natural one. It is the most powerful, the most destructive, and he directs it toward objects—his possessions. He punches his cabinet until his hands bleed. “Damn bastards,” he mutters. What he experiences is an intense emotion, the passion of the social instinct, which in Walt’s case finds congruence and justification in the values he defends. He wants to kill the harassment, the provocation, the unjust harm these unscrupulous criminals are inflicting on simple people who deserve to live in peace with their families.

This is pure violence, without justification—perhaps he was guilty of it at some point as well. Finally, he stands still, silent, stunned, doing nothing. His outburst has no witnesses; everything happens within his home. When the priest arrives and informs him that he has taken the girl to the hospital and that both she and her family are terrified, Walt asks what

he would do in his place. The priest responds that he would talk to him, as they are now friends of the family. He adds: “This enrages me too,” and while sharing a beer, he blurts out: “Damn it, this isn’t right.” “Nothing is fair, Father.” “So, what do you think you’re doing, Kowalski?” “Call me Walt.” Now they understand each other; they are on the same wavelength. “What do you plan to do?” “I don’t know, but I’ll do something, and those guys won’t stand a chance.” Tao asks Walt to take revenge on “those bastards,” but he gets a firm response: “I know you won’t agree, but it’s time to stay calm. We have to stop and think.” Tao says, “Don’t fail me. This has to happen today,” eager for revenge. However, Walt remains steadfast. “Sit down.” “I don’t want to.” “It’s an order. Without a plan, nothing good comes of it.” Kowalski regains control, is assertive, and seeks the best solution. He urges the boy to leave and remain calm. “You know I’m the right man for the job. Come back here at four, and we’ll do what’s necessary.” Tao insists, but Walt tells him, “Do you want to kill your cousin and those thugs? That’s not for you.” Kowalski already has his plan and wants to execute it calmly and decisively. He goes to the barber, gets a haircut, and asks the barber to shave him—something he had never done before. Then he goes to church, confesses to the same priest he had previously refused to speak to. “Once, I kissed a woman while my wife was in another room. I didn’t pay taxes on the things I sold. And finally, I never had a good relationship with my two sons. I don’t know them—they’re strangers to me,” he confesses. “Is that all?” asks the priest. “That’s all. I’ve suffered with it almost my entire life.” “You are absolved,” responds the priest, who tries to dissuade him from seeking revenge. Walt doesn’t reply, and the priest says, “Go in peace.” Walt looks him straight in the eye, firm and resolute, and says, “Oh, I am at peace.”

Tao arrives at four sharp. “How many men did you kill in Korea?” he asks. “Thirteen, maybe more,” says Walt. “What does it feel like to kill a man?” “You’d better not try it,” replies Walt, and locks the boy in a gated room. Amid Tao’s shouts and protests, Walt firmly says, “Shut up. Do you want to know what it feels like to kill a man? It feels awful,” and recounts how he killed a trembling Chinese soldier, for which he was awarded a medal. “And now he’s always on my conscience. That’s why I’ll go alone tonight.” He wants the boy to remain pure: “You have your whole life ahead of you, and I’m nearing the end. I must finish this, and I’ll do it alone.” The story moves to its final scene. Walt arrives at the house where the thugs are and verbally confronts them, insulting them: “Rats, yellow scum...” One of them points a gun at him. He remains unflinching and—like he’s inspired by a higher power—proceeds with his plan with artistry and supreme care. His entire body is alive, present. “You raped one of your own family, of your own blood.” Kowalski doesn’t resort to actual violence. He pretends to have a weapon, forming a gun with his fingers, and points it at them. He provokes them, leaving them unsure of what to do. “Shut up already,” one of them says. “Shut up yourself,” he retorts. The tension builds. He takes out a cigarette: “Got a light?” he asks. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I’ve got a light,” says Kowalski. Suddenly, he reaches under his jacket as if to draw a gun. They shoot him, riddling him with

bullets. He falls to the ground. A trickle of blood runs down his sleeve, another from his mouth. Moments later, he’s dead. The police arrive: “This time, we’ve got witnesses. Take these bastards away.” The film continues, but Kowalski has already fulfilled his redemptive act. He gives his life and sacrifices himself in a way unlike Lord Jim, as his is a generous gesture. Jim seeks to be superior, to prove himself and test others, but Walt wants justice, driven by a desire to free the community that has given him recognition and love. He wants to provide them with the security they deserve, the right to live without being subjected to the violence of disrespectful lawless thugs. He wants them imprisoned so they can no longer harm innocent people, and he offers his life to make it so.

It’s his way of protecting those good people who initially kept him at a distance until they welcomed him into their lives and helped him find meaning in life as illness was taking it away from him. Is he also a romantic? Yes, but not just for ideals. Kowalski is real; he has grown. Behind his rough and terrible rejection in his anger was a big heart. The misfit Social instinct ends his days giving a great lesson in solidarity. The other pole of his personality comes to light through the culmination of his experience. Jim cleanses his stain by getting himself killed, offering himself to death. But Jim’s gesture is entirely selfish, as he does it to save his image. Walt’s gesture, however, is one of love and, at the same time, a redemption of himself, as he has become more human. He is a Social 1 who has evolved.

Kowalski’s funeral takes place in a crowded church; his body lies visible in an open casket. The young priest is tasked with delivering the eulogy. “Walt had no trouble calling things by their name, but he was right. I really didn’t know anything about life and death until I met Walt—I learned from him,” says the young priest. In his will, Kowalski bequeaths his Gran Torino to Tao on the condition that he doesn’t use it “like some damn Mexican scrap heap.” He chooses Tao as his heir because this young man conveyed things to him and listened to him. He is a son by choice based on value, not by blood ties. Walt helped him grow, and Tao stood by him until the end. Walt is brutally honest, seeks values, and longs for effective justice. This is what the Social 1 aspires to but only achieves when they grow. Otherwise, their empty words feed their ego and give them a false sense of superiority. The brilliant direction and Clint Eastwood’s acting rely on a sparse, direct language, with sequences of agile pacing and essential settings. Nothing is dark or complicated; everything is immediately understood. Eastwood seems to reflect himself in the character he brings to life. Perhaps he himself is a Social 1.

Upon reading his biography, I perceive that many of Walt's traits come to the forefront. Given the exceptional quality of his work and performance, I believe he has left us with a profound testimony of a way of being and transforming oneself.

Sherlock Holmes

Arthur Conan Doyle

An artist of investigation, fond of observation, a master in gathering data and synthesizing it with a logic that yields concrete results: all this and more converge in the most emblematic character of Arthur Conan Doyle, who presents us with a figure whose peculiar way of relating to others stands out from the very first encounter. This is evident in the opening chapter of A Study in Scarlet.

When Holmes meets Watson for the first time, he surprises him by shaking his hand with unexpected strength and, even more so, by saying, “I see that you have been in Afghanistan,” despite never having seen or heard of him before. Here, for the first time, we witness the remarkable ability to rapidly analyze a series of details invisible to most, along with the intuition that makes Sherlock Holmes a unique character.

He then meticulously details how he arrived at his conclusion, revealing his passion for complete and precise knowledge. At that moment, Holmes is immersed in his research on hemoglobin and has made an exciting discovery that immediately captivates his attention. His reaction resembles that of a child receiving a new toy, as he claps enthusiastically and exclaims, “Magnificent! Magnificent!” expressing admiration and gratitude as if addressing an imaginary audience giving him a standing ovation. His shining gaze reveals an enthusiasm born from his deep scientific interest.

Although he studies in an eccentric and unconventional manner, he has acquired a vast amount of uncommon knowledge. Watson notes that Holmes can be an excellent host when he chooses: “That particular evening, he was in an exceptional mood. I had never seen him so lively and in such a state of nervous excitement. Throughout the evening, Holmes discussed countless topics, effortlessly transitioning from theatrical performances to medieval sculptures, Stradivarius violins to Buddhism in Ceylon, and the warships of the future. He seemed to have special knowledge and studies on each subject. His liveliness was undoubtedly a response to his depressive state the previous day. While clearing the table, Holmes checked his watch, filled three glasses with exquisite port, and toasted to the success of our expedition.”

Once they decide to live in the same house, Holmes informs Watson that he is prone to mood swings and can go days without speaking. Indeed, he sometimes spends hours lying on the living room sofa with a blank and distant expression.

I am familiar with that experience, as I experienced periods of apathy and withdrawal during my youth for no apparent reason. The discomfort and desire to be alone would last

for some time before disappearing. Unlike Holmes’s excitability, I have calm and regular habits and enjoy long walks.

Holmes’s particular ability to connect, analyze, and deduce makes him a master of deductive reasoning. He states, “It is possible to learn aspects of a person, even their profession, just by observing their appearance. Life itself is a chain, the nature of which is revealed to those who observe a single link.”

Holmes is highly expressive in his gestures. His ability to deduce and employ logical processes characterizes the Social 1 profile, which is less instinctive but capable of deciphering and solving complex situations by connecting seemingly insignificant elements. Holmes’s curiosity and spirit of observation are so ingrained that he considers them second nature.

In describing all these qualities, he concludes, “I have my own profession and believe I am unique in the world.” This statement surprises and displeases Watson, who is clearly put off by the smug tone of Holmes’s words.

In my case, and for others of my type, presumption is kept in check, and I do not give myself much space to express my worth. However, despite my intentions, I can sometimes appear conceited unintentionally. The attitude of elevating oneself and the deep desire to succeed are very present in Holmes.

How does he compensate for a feeling of inferiority? Holmes dislikes banality. The police investigators he advises are among the smartest of their colleagues, yet he finds them “terribly predictable.” At crime scenes, Holmes notices elements that others overlook, and it is in these seemingly irrelevant details that he tests his hunches. Armed with a magnifying glass, he uncovers the invisible with a rationality inseparable from intuition.

The individual with a Social 1 profile tends to conceal their insecurities behind a drive for success and achievement, as well as noble principles that are often difficult to translate into concrete actions. In this way, they project a positive image of themselves to others.

For Holmes, being right is crucial, and to achieve this, he argues and explains every detail. The Social 1 profile is distinguished by its ability to argue, demonstrate, and explain. Holmes is eccentric and seeks to stand out, although he can come across as a know-it-all and rub people the wrong way.

Holmes’s enthusiasm for his work is paired with a highly rational approach—his “intellectual speculation.” He understands and establishes connections between facts and events and keeps an extensive amount of data under control, which, once combined, allows him to draw conclusions. There seem to be no mysteries inaccessible to him.

In fact, his approach is a subtle form of control that brings him peace, as if he has the ability to manage life’s events and remain unshaken by the unexpected. It is as though he tells himself, “I always have the solution.” He feels satisfied when he understands and solves things, which fuels his sense of superiority. He overcomes even the toughest challenges and always stays afloat.

Through all of this, he entertains himself, passes the time, and enjoys being at the center of attention.

I identify with these attitudes. In my activities, I explore, pose questions, present challenges, discover new perspectives, and find solutions that sometimes seem unattainable. I begin by theorizing, experimenting, and reconstructing from the clues I encounter, ultimately reaching the final result. However, I do not experience a sense of greatness or extraordinary achievement, nor do I even enjoy the result. Instead, I prepare for the next challenge, the next task to undertake.

Holmes shares this perspective: “I have a peculiar nature,” he tells Watson during an intense chase. “I don’t recall ever being tired from work, whereas inactivity completely exhausts me.” Holmes never stops. If he isn’t busy, he feels unwell.

In action, he remains lucid and clear and uses all available means to achieve his goals, regardless of whether they are considered orthodox.

Holmes’s peculiar, obsessive, and unpredictable nature is characteristic of the Social 1. His mind is versatile and speculative, and he is a careful reasoner with a refined logic and a preference for subtle, unconventional explanations.

This description from Watson is very representative:

“He took out his magnifying glass and measuring tape and crawled around the small room, on his knees, measuring, comparing, studying—his long, thin nose almost brushing the floorboards, while his sharp eyes, deeply set in their sockets, glittered like those of a bird of prey. His movements were agile, stealthy, and silent: he resembled a police dog specially trained in tracking suspicious trails, so much so that I couldn’t help but think of the terrible criminal he could have been if, instead of dedicating his energy and acumen to upholding the law, he had turned them against it.

Meanwhile, as he rummaged around, he muttered to himself until he suddenly let out a kind of joyful grunt.”

When Holmes loses the tension and excitement of his investigations and enters a state of rest, he finds his existence unbearable and turns to cocaine or morphine. “My mind rebels at

any form of intellectual stagnation,” he tells Watson, who confronts him about his tendencies and the dangers they pose.

Holmes longs to solve problems, work, and unravel mysteries, as he detests “the monotonous routine of existence.” He adores the mental exhilaration he experiences during his investigations, which he approaches with the coldness of an exact science.

There is no room for romanticism or emotions in his cases; what truly matters is analytical reasoning guided by deductive logic. Watson, on the other hand, detests Holmes’s tones and expressions, as well as the selfishness and vanity hidden behind his calm and seemingly pedagogical manners. He also dislikes the depression that leads Holmes to complete inaction. This is characteristic of the Social subtype, which seeks commitment and has a kind of need to do everything perfectly, especially when there are problems to solve. Although they complain about it, it actually stimulates and energizes them. When there’s a mystery to solve, the mind comes alive in the pursuit of solutions. The alternative to that is laziness, emptiness, and a lack of meaning. For the Social subtype, giving in to moments of idleness can be difficult.

In the character of Sherlock Holmes, we can distinguish several characteristic traits of the Social subtype. On one hand, there is his tendency for compulsive invention, as he is always creating and building. He is an effective individual, capable of acting and achieving results. Additionally, he is introspective, delving into his thoughts and reflections. His curiosity is insatiable; he is always seeking answers and exploring unknown horizons. He is brilliant and dazzling: he attracts attention with his sharp intellect. Despite being introverted, he can be excitable and show great passion. He is self-assured and convinced that he is right at all times. He always focuses on the final result, aiming for conclusions and solutions. He is capable of adapting and performing well in different situations. At the same time, he shows an obsessive side in his eagerness to solve problems and unravel mysteries. Occasionally, he retreats and faces difficulties, but he also has a pedagogical approach when sharing his knowledge. While he may seem egotistical at times, his focus is on his work and achieving excellence.

Gregory House

Dr. House, by David Shore

Gregory House — the protagonist of an American medical drama television series created by David Shore and Paul Attanasio, which aired between 2004 and 2012 — is a fictional doctor in charge of a diagnostic medicine team at a university hospital in New Jersey. He is a relentless and ethically committed observer. His deductive approach and ability to push beyond established limits make him a true detective. He avoids direct contact and retreats

into fantasies, showing a clear difficulty in relaxing and taking time for himself. His obsessive thinking and brilliant madness drive his relentless search for the truth.

House is a genius in his field, seemingly irresponsible in his behavior. His active and peculiar nature is accompanied by a search for the deeper meaning of things.

As a representative of the Social 1 subtype, House shares several similarities with Sherlock Holmes. Like the famous detective, House observes everything from the outside and can seem difficult to reach. Despite his unsympathetic and nonconformist attitude, his eccentric ethics drive him to save people, executing complex medical diagnoses brilliantly and uniquely.

There are many points of commonality between the two characters. House, like Holmes, adopts an observer's perspective toward the patient, similar to the way the detective analyzes suspects in his investigations. Both ask, "Who are the suspects?" Once House has made a diagnosis, he proudly declares, "I solved the case." Like a detective, House requires data and evidence and doesn’t care how he obtains it—any detail could prove useful in his process. Thus, he crosses the boundaries of respect and privacy by sneaking into patients' homes, searching their belongings, and even analyzing coffee cups for DNA, all to gather proof to support his investigation.

House is more arrogant in his pursuit of results. His relationship with patients is often confrontational, as his sole concern is solving the cases presented to him. He frequently states that he "treats the disease, not the patient" and despises human contact. Like Holmes, he lives for the thrill of the investigation and employs deductive logic in his approach. Interestingly, J.J. Abrams notes in The Philosophy of House by William Irwin and Henry Jacoby, a book dedicated to the doctor: “Great detectives often claim their methods are deductive, and many scoff at guessing.” According to Abrams, in deductive processes, there are no mistakes or guesses as long as the premises are true, ensuring that the conclusions are also true. For instance, if we claim that all doctors make mistakes and House is a doctor, it logically follows that House makes mistakes. However, House is aware that logic isn’t everything and often reaches diagnoses based on guesses. He acknowledges that his method lacks evidence and that conjecture is an inherent characteristic of medicine. Nevertheless, House describes his approach as deductive.

Holmes says, "I never guess," but in reality, both he and other detectives and doctors have the ability to do so. At one point, a young colleague accuses him of being unethical. “You can’t administer medication based on assumptions,” the colleague says. However, House understands that there’s always a risk of being wrong and asks the colleague, "Why are you so afraid of making a mistake?" Here lies a paradox, as the Social 1, despite fearing failure, constantly takes risks. His approach involves leaping into the unknown, a challenge he imposes on himself, and it often succeeds.

House differs from Holmes in that he is more human and fallible. Holmes has an almost unreal quality, embodying the idealistic aspiration of those seeking perfection, as he never makes mistakes. House also pursues perfection but suffers the consequences of his own limitations and constantly confronts them. He approaches the truth through risk and error. House and Holmes’ method, as Holmes defines it, is reverse reasoning. The American philosopher S. Peirce, who founded pragmatism in the 19th century inspired by Aristotle, developed the concept and called it abduction.

Abduction is the only form of reasoning capable of increasing our knowledge, allowing us to hypothesize new ideas, guess, and predict. While the three identified inferences can expand knowledge to different degrees, only abduction is entirely dedicated to this expansion. However, abduction is also the mode of reasoning most prone to error.

Both House and Holmes practice abduction, though Holmes does so while denying it. “Guessing” involves delving into a patient’s history, finding elements, and imagining possible causes of what is happening in the present without concrete evidence. Essentially, it is about selecting probable causes without knowing what the outcome will be.

House reveals two facets. Before addressing a new case, he immerses himself in a period of reflection, a rational game, an instinctive intuition. The doctor withdraws, retreating into his fantasies, jazz music, and even moving his body to the rhythm of the sounds. Holmes accompanied himself with his violin and used cocaine, while House turned to Vicodin, a narcotic that relieves his leg pain but transports him to other dimensions.

The Social 1 finds it challenging to relax and reserves little time for themselves. For these characters, moments of leisure become a refuge from the constant efforts they exert during their exploits—a chance for their minds to wander freely in search of hypotheses and solutions.

Abduction, according to Italian philosopher Lorenzo Magnani from the University of Pavia, allows for manipulating observations to obtain new data and fresh tools. However, walking itself is a pleasure tied to action and doing. Walking releases endorphins. As a child, one might experience great happiness after running, even alone, as a way to overcome sadness and apathy. The positive aspect of seeking hypotheses and speculating—also a way of seeking security and responding to uncertainties—can easily become obsessive thought, where questions multiply, and one craves more and more answers. The “whys” and “what-ifs” are relentless, rationality dominates, and the needs are lost.

Logic allows us to debate, argue, win discussions, and be right. Reflecting on obsessive thought in action during an intense contact experience, I described it this way: “During that time, I constantly asked myself questions and found answers that seemed like revelations. It was a typical form of obsessive thought that wouldn’t stop. I relentlessly searched for

more answers and explanations, and even when I’d say, ‘That’s enough, I’ll relax,’ I soon returned to my activity. It was like living in a maddening clarity. Sometimes people would say to me, ‘Don’t you ever get tired?’ It was like when, as a child, I used to ask my father, ‘Why?’”

In summary, those moments of introspection and speculation, though enriching, can turn into an obsessive spiral in which questions multiply and one searches ceaselessly for answers. However, after walking, developing abduction, and allowing the mind to wander, one finds balance between action, rationality, and discovery.

Watching Dr. House, I realized that one of his defining traits is his pursuit of truth. It’s what makes him a genius and drives him mad. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t give up—he wants the truth, he wants the solution. This makes him great, but it also destroys him. House doesn’t allow himself to surrender to his affections or relax, except through pills that calm a pain that is deeply psychological. Under the influence of Vicodin, he hallucinates encounters with his boss, whom he secretly loves but keeps at a distance with his provocative and dismissive manners—behaviors characteristic of the Social E8.

House’s life isn’t easy. His contact with others is insulting, insensitive, and direct. He has no emotional life and rejects the young colleague who loves him. He’s only interested in her because of her illness and to seek a diagnosis. In The Philosophy of House, J.C. Ruff and J. Barris note that the doctor has a realistic vision that brings him closer to Zen. Zen masters, the authors say, teach disciples to be open to the world. One day, they might say one thing, and the next day the opposite; they might hit or mistreat the disciple. House is active. He doesn’t care about being reactive. For him, things are as they are; he doesn’t concern himself with forms or others’ expectations...

In a chapter of the book The Philosophy of House, J. C. Ruff and J. Barris highlight that the doctor has a realistic outlook that brings him closer to Zen. Zen masters, the authors say, teach their disciples to be open to the world; one day, they might say one thing, and another day, the opposite. They might hit the disciple or treat them poorly. House is active and doesn’t mind being reactive. For him, things are as they are; he doesn’t care about appearances or others’ expectations. He speaks unprofessionally, is rude, and seemingly irresponsible. He’s not interested in acting “correctly” but in ensuring his actions are useful and make sense. He’s not focused on the cure but on the problem. That’s why his style consists of destabilizing everyone’s expectations to allow the truth to be revealed and the illness to manifest itself. “Everybody lies,” the doctor says. It’s necessary to remove the veils hiding the truth. Expectations are pointless, as are relying on assumptions. What he does is about figuring out how to do it.

He is accused of being an unethical, irresponsible person; yet, his is a form of living ethics, even if it doesn’t adhere to known rules. For House, ethics isn’t about the path taken but the

outcome achieved. An example of this attitude can be seen in an episode where House saves a patient’s life in extremis, without scruples, by administering drugs that provoke a seizure. The seizure reveals the patient’s illness—a hidden infection. “What he did was crazy, but it saved his life,” his boss comments to a colleague who criticizes House’s actions. House’s disordered actions always obey a hyper-ethical duty, which goes beyond ethics: saving the patient. It’s an internal order that takes the form of pure, absolute passion, tied to discovering the truth—specifically, finding the right diagnosis to solve the enigma of the illness (Blitris, La filosofía del Dr. House).

I believe that the Social 1 can share this obsessive search for the profound meaning of things. Rules—even social rules that may lead to the maladaptation of the Social 1—are deceptive since they focus on appearances rather than true meaning. What is truly valuable and relevant is not what seems good or well-done but the inherent meaning behind it. Thus, if one seeks the truth, it’s possible to set aside social courtesy and superficial behavior that the world of appearances so appreciates. House is unpleasant, strange, and aloof. He does things his own way and doesn’t yield to any authority—not even to his boss, whom he only occasionally listens to or pleases.

In summary, House embarks on an unrelenting quest for truth. His life revolves around this purpose, to which he gives profound meaning. The Social 1 cannot conceive of existence without truth. They proclaim it openly and without ambiguity, even when pretending would be easier. Truth becomes their myth and also their method of healing. Truthfulness and transparency are fundamental to liberating the conscience and uncovering the illness. Although House is accused of lacking interest in his patients and focusing only on solving the puzzle, for him, these two aspects are not separate—they are intimately intertwined. His Zen-like approach, in line with the ideas of C. Ruff and J. Barris, leads him to adopt a perspective where what matters is not so much what he knows but what he does. What’s truly important is the outcome. His internal command is clear and forceful: “Save your patient.”

House may appear disinterested in his patients, but this disinterest is only a mask hiding something different. While he occasionally expresses that he sees them as mere cases to solve, a revealing moment contradicts this image. It happens when a sick child recovers and goes back to playing basketball. Silently, House watches without being seen and whispers, “Fly.” The child throws the ball toward the hoop, his face lighting up with a brief smile. At that moment, House, motionless and absorbed in his own pain, sadness, and disability, lifts his cane and swings it like a baseball bat, ready to return to saving lives and solving difficult cases. That is enough to give meaning to his existence and endure the suffering.

Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad, adapted into film by Richard Brooks (1965)

Lord Jim is the introverted, complex, and obsessive protagonist of the novel of the same name by Polish author Joseph Conrad. In one of his forewords, Conrad mentioned that an Italian lady had described his work as “morbid.” Conrad responded to this comment with the following remark: “No Latin temperament would ever find anything morbid in the acute awareness of lost honor.”

This may be the central theme of Lord Jim’s story, a character Conrad first describes as follows:

"He was of imposing stature and carried himself with purpose, with his shoulders slightly hunched, his head thrust forward, and his gaze fixed upward from below, evoking the image of a charging bull. His voice was strong and deep, and his manner revealed a stubborn will to assert himself—yet devoid of aggression. However, there was within him a rebellion against himself rather than against others. Impeccably neat, dressed in white, immaculate from his shoes to his hat."

Jim, a child of Victorian England, embodies a tragedy born from the conflict between his dreams and reality. Marlow, the novel’s narrator and a recurring character in Conrad’s work, perceives a constant weight upon Jim. While Marlow critiques Jim, he also harbors a deep affection for him, defending and reprimanding him like a father. Jim’s humanity draws Marlow to him, leading him to declare that Jim is “one of us.”

In this initial presentation, the distinctive traits of the Social 1 emerge. Jim differs from Sherlock Holmes, as Conrad, being more introspective than Doyle, delves into the human soul, exploring the mysterious and dramatic aspects of Jim’s character. The reader is left in suspense, questioning who this man truly is.

Jim’s personality is complex: he dreams of becoming a legendary hero, yet his profound and, at times, morbid sensitivity torments him. He also displays a fragility that pushes him to the brink of ruin and a sense of honor that falters in difficult moments when fear and high stakes dominate. These elements reveal the hidden side of the Social 1, which Jim actively combats through his obsessive perfectionism.

As described by Italian translator Giovanni Baldi:

"The public has always been fascinated by this figure shrouded in mystery, as pure as a knight of legend and tormented by a morbid sensitivity. The common reader perceives his distinctiveness and feels connected to him through his human weakness in moments of truth, so antiheroic in a historical era defined by the worship of heroes."

In the 1965 film adaptation starring Peter O'Toole, Jim is portrayed with an air of both curse and respect. Though not outstanding in mathematics, he is appointed as an officer, igniting his longing for adventure, mystery, and glory. He was fearless at sea and forged from

unblemished metal. Despite mingling with the simple folk of the port, he saw himself as superior. He led his peers and worked diligently alongside them, even climbing masts in search of the feeling of being a hero. This positions him on the border between illusion and delusion.

Jim’s father was an Anglican priest, and his early years were spent in a parish. He grew up in an environment of affluence under the influence of a parent who possessed “just enough knowledge of the unknowable to foster virtue in peasant homes without disturbing the spiritual tranquility of those whom Providence had granted to live in manor houses.”

In the social domain of this character, there is at times a peculiar sense of “provincial virtue.”

There seem to be serene individuals who follow principles they do not truly live by, but simply accept. This attitude may conceal a form of hypocrisy, which manifests as a sermonizing demeanor. It is in this way that Jim, inspired by certain readings, discovers his calling for the sea and joins a merchant marine training ship. He was well-liked by almost everyone, possessing a steady mind and an excellent physique. He was especially skilled in the rigging, clinging to it with the confidence of a man destined to shine in the face of danger. Jim lived with the hope of an exciting life in the world of adventure. He envisioned himself rescuing men from sinking ships, cutting masts during hurricanes, swimming through stormy seas with an ax in hand. He imagined himself shipwrecked, alone, barefoot, and half-naked, facing savages. He quelled mutinies on the high seas, inspired desperate men. Jim dreamed of being a fearless hero, ready and devoted to duty.

Jim's boundless imagination reflects an underlying aspect of the Social 1. Convinced he is worthless and lacks ability, he always ends up living somewhat on the margins of the circles he frequents, constantly seeking recognition that never fully satisfies him. This compels him, perhaps, to exaggerate his importance in real life or to retreat into grandiose fantasies.

Amid a brutal upheaval of land and sky, a gale erupted with a shriek of wind that seemed relentless and aimed directly at Jim. It left him breathless and filled his heart with remorse. On the verge of diving into the water, a firm hand held him back. "Too late, lad," said the ship's captain. At that moment, Jim looked at him with a pained expression of defeat. His dream had collided with harsh reality.

However, he soon realized that this storm was insignificant compared to the dangers he had faced and overcome successfully. He could not allow himself to feel defeated. "It was just an accident," he told himself, seeking solace. The gale had caught him off guard and frustrated his daring spirit, inclined toward risky endeavors. But there would be another chance to redeem himself. His burning desire for recognition and heroism clashed with his

fear, which he refused to acknowledge because he knew his carefully crafted character would collapse.

In the Social 1 there is a deep need to value oneself, even fictitiously, as a way to overcome the devaluation that drives their existence. For this reason, it is crucial that Lord Jim find meaning within himself and take renewed pleasure in his thirst for adventure and the recognition of his many virtues.

After two years of training, he finally has the chance to embark and experience "the magical monotony of existence between sky and ocean." However, he is confronted by the criticisms of sailors, the harshness of the sea, and the mundane grind of daily tasks that provide his sustenance and whose only reward is the satisfaction of a duty fulfilled. Unfortunately, that reward eludes him. He does not receive the recognition he craves, something so characteristic of the social subtype. Nevertheless, he harbors hopes for the opportunities his career might bring.

Socially, Jim is polite, composed, and agreeable, which allows him to adapt easily. He is well aware of his responsibilities and manages to rise to the rank of first officer at a young age. However, he has yet to face the test that will reveal the depth of his character and the strength of his temperament—his "secret truth beyond appearances."

Then, an event occurs that exposes Jim to the relentless fury of the sea, as he is injured by a flagpole. For several days, he lies bedridden, motionless, overwhelmed, desperate, and tormented, as though he were in the abyss of unfathomable anguish. Jim confronts the possibility of death and battles the temptation to flee to escape the oppressive sense of danger that engulfs him. At times, he is seized by uncontrollable anguish, which also manifests physically, causing him to gasp and convulse in his bed.

The hero is compelled to confront reality and his own fears. Deep within, he fears losing himself, falling into the void—an experience that can occur when someone undergoes particularly regressive states in the social realm. Conrad, in these pages, masterfully captures the subtle nuances of this personality. Although the author speaks in general terms, it is undeniable that he refers to Lord Jim, even if he does not mention him explicitly. His focus is on storms, but this situation can apply to any adverse experience, especially when it involves danger. There are many degrees of risk in storms and adventures, and only occasionally does a sinister intentionality of violence emerge—that indefinable something that imposes itself on the mind and heart of man, making him realize that this chain of events, this fury of the elements, is deliberately directed against him, with a malicious purpose, with boundless cruelty, intending to sweep away this precious world from his eyes through the simple and terrible act of taking his life. After the weather improves, Jim downplays the incident. These are delicate nuances that deeply influence the Social 1,

details intertwined with life and death, raising questions about appearance and existence itself.

In the story of his life, ambition for great achievements intertwines with the confrontation of a reality that demands effort and adaptation and often grants little glory. The E1 individual, unable to tolerate his own limitations, often seeks someone or something to blame for the unfortunate obstacles that cross his path. After a period of hospital recovery and frequenting port circles, Jim once again chooses the path of adventure. He boards as the first officer of the Patna, an old steamer "thin as a greyhound and corroded by rust," tasked with transporting 800 pilgrims. Life aboard the Patna flows peacefully, immersed in a wonderful stillness filled with moments of supreme serenity, where the sea and sky, with their starry rays, project onto the earth the promise of eternal safety. Jim’s thoughts are filled with valiant feats: “He loved these dreams and the victories of his imaginary exploits, his soul was enraptured by them, intoxicated by the divine elixir of unlimited confidence in himself.” Nature becomes equivalent to the safety of love and maternal protection. He feels there is no challenge he cannot face. He believes he can handle anything.

However, Jim feels lonely in his experience, as the captain and the other passengers do not share his adventures. Despite his sociable nature, he finds it difficult to connect with others and share his experiences, as he perceives himself as different from the rest. And then, the accident... The event profoundly shocks Jim and forever affects his life. What happens is inexplicable. There is an alarm on board, perhaps a collision with something floating. Panic spreads, and the situation is exaggerated. The captain and other crew members jump into a specially lowered boat and abandon the ship. Jim, though repeatedly urged to save himself, resists the call; he will not abandon the ship—it belongs to him. And then, in an instant, without realizing it, he too finds himself in the lifeboat with the others. The unconscious act leaves him utterly bewildered.

The 1965 film helps to better understand the drama Jim experiences in Conrad's novel, as the images more easily capture what happens. At first, Jim is described as a man of impeccable steel, and it is said that the line between illusion and deception is very strong for him. When the ship runs aground, Jim acts immediately and goes to see where the problem is. He calms frightened people and assures them that everything will be fine. In the hold, he also feels the terror of his companions until he sees in his imagination what he feared: water rushing in. He runs to the deck to reassure the others and tells them that the real danger is panic. He suggests lowering the boats into the sea, and they ask him if he wants to abandon them. His response is defiant, asking them if that’s what they believe. Courage and fear go hand in hand. Jim does not abandon his duties and rushes to prepare the lifeboats. The captain wants to escape with a few others, but Jim points to everyone else. Once in the sea, he shouts for them to jump and save themselves, but he resists abandoning the ship.

The internal struggle Jim experiences is portrayed through the expressive strength of actor Peter O'Toole. Jim is responsible and an officer, so he cannot abandon those involved in the drama. What he says and expresses through his body corresponds to his character. Then, suddenly, Jim finds himself in the lifeboat with the captain and the rest of the crew, which seems incredible to him. The dreadful truth is that he too has escaped. Fear has overcome the hero, and by succumbing once again, he has lost his image and dignity. The companions agree to declare that all passengers have died, except for them, the only ones who knew how to swim. However, this tale is disproven shortly after. At a port, they find the Patna safe, which provokes a hysterical and desperate laugh from Jim. He is forever tainted, with no possibility of escape. He wishes to face the judgment of the world and voluntarily appears before a tribunal, recognizing that his is a terrible stain that tarnishes the illusory perfection of the Social 1.

Jim, seated on the witness stand, feels that those watching him are captivated by his voice. The piercing questions directed at him, like sharp arrows, provoke an acute pain in his chest, turning into an unrelenting interrogation of his own conscience. They seek concrete facts to understand what happened, but Jim knows that only a meticulous statement can reveal the true atrocity hidden behind the events.

He yearns for the truth to be known, sensing an inscrutable complexity in it that can only be fully grasped visually. Jim searches for a vulnerable point that will allow him to expose himself, obsessively seeking reasons and convincing explanations for the inexplicable. Like Sherlock Holmes, he meticulously captures the crucial details of the investigation and the evidence. He longs to unravel the unfathomable but, above all, desires to understand himself and, through that, untangle the social drama that has unfolded.

The Patna incident causes a great stir, becoming a topic of discussion everywhere and eventually reaching Marlow, an acquaintance of Jim who becomes the narrator of his stories. The first time Marlow sees Jim, he has a strong impression of him, which he describes as follows:

The young man made no movement. He didn’t even move his head: he stood there, looking at the sun, indifferent and inaccessible. He stood tall, with a well-proportioned body and a clean face, firmly planted on his legs: a promising young man. I was angry, for he seemed to be stealing something from me while presuming to claim credit. Seeing him there, apparently so calm, I wondered: "Is he foolish? Is he insensitive?" He seemed ready to whistle a tune.

Marlow was confronted with the aristocratic indifference of the social "Es": That’s how he appeared, and it was hateful. Marlow would have liked to see him utterly overwhelmed, defeated, but also feared that such a thing might happen. Indeed, Jim had committed something horrible—not a crime, but a weakness more than a crime. A

weakness that could remain hidden, guarded, exorcised, or bravely scorned, repressed, or even ignored. None of us is immune.

Marlow refuses to accept Jim's "unapproachable indifference." For Marlow, Jim is "one of us." He represents a category of men and women without pretense, not objects of amusement, whose existence is rooted in sincere loyalty and instinctive courage. They possess a resilience that may be unpleasant but is of incalculable value—an irrational and blessed determination against internal and external terrors, backed by an unshakable faith nourished by the strength of facts, the contagion of example, and the tension of ideas.

Marlow, and consequently Conrad, deeply understand the world of the Social 1. This type of individual follows their own path, no matter the cost. Jim does not allow himself to be disturbed by "the eccentricities of intelligence and the perversions of nerves." He may become arrogant in defending his beliefs or impressions, as happens during his first encounter with Marlow. Jim confronts him with such a determined gaze that Marlow feels attacked.

Convinced that Jim interpreted his words as an insult, Marlow firmly rejects that interpretation. Jim insists; the situation seems ready to escalate into violence. Undoubtedly, Jim’s experiences with judges and those attending his case have influenced his demeanor. It is crucial for him to make it clear that he will not tolerate anyone insulting him outside the courtroom.

"I thought he was too afraid of being insulted." Unable to bear being considered a coward, his attitude becomes threatening and aggressive. In response, Marlow tells him he suffers from a strange delusion: "No one has dreamt of insulting you." Jim visibly blushes, and his lips tremble, as if on the verge of tears. Excessive humiliation prevents him from uttering a single word. Perhaps "the disappointment of not striking me," as Marlow mentions, "would have been an act of rehabilitation."

Finally, an inarticulate sound emerges from Jim’s lips, unable to shape his thoughts into words. He ventures into the labyrinths of past experiences, where all the fragility of a childlike self, characteristic of the Social 1 when exposed and defenseless, surfaces. It is a pitiful sight; the words stick in his throat, and he can only stammer, overwhelmed by the incomprehension of the moment.

This moment is magical—a rare occasion when Jim, the Social 1 manages to find himself, regain his humanity, and recognize the fragility he shares with others. "The mistake was mine alone," he says.

The encounter that Conrad created between these two characters is truly beautiful. Now, Jim can engage in dialogue with a man who listens to him, protects him, and comforts him,

like a father unafraid of his outbursts of aggression and threats. Meanwhile, Marlow, surprised and intrigued by Jim’s reaction, observes him with his still daring and impenetrable eyes, concluding that, in any case, Jim is elusive.

Yet Marlow is undeterred and invites him to drink wine that warms his heart and loosens his tongue. Looking into Jim’s eyes, which intensely meet his with spontaneity and youthful seriousness, Marlow feels deep sympathy and recognizes that Jim is one of his own. Jim doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it is with serene sincerity and calmness that could stem from masculine self-control, insolence, insensitivity, colossal recklessness, or even massive deception.

All this is intrinsically tied to a peculiarity of the Social 1, their great capacity to unconsciously manifest different aspects of themselves simultaneously, which can be interpreted in various ways. That is precisely what Marlow experiences: "My mind floated in a sea of conjectures."

Suddenly, Jim extends his arm and takes Marlow’s hand, looking at him intently. "It must be terribly hard," stammers Marlow, "confused by that emotion that manifests silently."

"It’s a hell that has exploded with a muted voice. I couldn’t escape," Jim continues. "The captain could, but I couldn’t and didn’t want to. Everyone had gone, but it wouldn’t have suited me."

Jim was "confident and despondent at the same time, as though the conviction of innate innocence contained the truth writhing within him." At that moment, he thinks of his father, who surely knows, but Jim doesn’t know how to explain what happened. His father doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want to be lumped together with the others.

"I wasn’t like them; I belonged to a different race," Jim reflects. Marlow, for his part, comments: "I believe no one comprehends the elaborate ruses we use to avoid the sinister shadow of self-knowledge."

Jim, the Social 1 longs to maintain a pure and impeccable image, and his great suffering lies in the fact that no one understands his truth, which he considers to hold a value different from the simplistic one others assign to it. He is not like the others; he does not feel fear and did not abandon the ship as the others did. There is something that drove him—something incomprehensible that he himself cannot explain.

He yearns for understanding, yearns to be absolved. Jim continues to recall the details of his dramatic experience. He was convinced the ship would sink. He confesses his legs were trembling. Nothing could save all those people on board.

"I saw clearly that there was nothing I could do. I thought it was better to stay where I was and wait. I wasn't thinking about my own salvation. Do you think I was afraid of dying? I swear to you, I wasn’t, no, I wasn’t. No, by God, something immobilized me, but it wasn’t fear, no, not at all!

Marlow comments: Perhaps it wasn’t death that scared him, but the emergency situation. His damn imagination had conjured up all the horrors of panic, the terrible shudders, the agonizing screams. He might have resigned himself to dying, but I suspect he would have preferred to leave without further fear, in calm, in a kind of lethargy. The longing for tranquility grows as hope diminishes until it finally overwhelms even the desire to live.

This is likely experienced by the Social 1. A feeling of surrender to the overwhelming avalanche of dramatic stimuli and a deep-rooted sense that there is nothing more to be done, based more on his imagination than reality. Deep down, there’s a depressive core, a surrender, and a yearning to find peace in withdrawal. Even death can become a refuge, a search for tranquility in the face of relentless obsessive impulses. From an early age, Jim had prepared himself for any difficulty, "expecting the worst and training for the best, the unexpected could not affect him, only the inconceivable could bring out the best of his perfect preparation, it took him by surprise and he cursed himself in a whisper directed to the waters, to the sky, to the ship and to the men." This type of character may seek the responsibility of his suffering, his impotence, in the outside world, in the "inconceivable" events that invade his existence. Jim evades responsibility, continues imagining the worst, and, in fact, doesn't really even look around because he is absorbed in observing "the ominous tilt of the ship," motionless in the face of imminent danger. And he confesses to Marlow, he expects to be absolved, he longs for someone to understand him. "Let them go through such an experience before speaking and do it better."

When the final moment arrived, according to what Jim thought, he remained motionless, his feet glued to the ground, while his mind was seized by turmoil. And then, yes, he moved. From the lifeboat at sea, they called to a dead person to jump and save himself. Jim had seen him die, but the lifeboat occupants didn't know:

"Eight hundred living creatures were screaming at the only dead person to jump and save himself. I was standing with a hand on the crane. I was very calm. The darkness was dense. Below me, the ship was sinking completely. The captain shouted, 'The gale!' and at the first whistle of the rain, at the first gust of wind, everyone shouted, 'Jump, George!' Below me, the ship continued sinking, from bow to stern, and then, bringing his hands to his face and pressing his fingers repeatedly, he let go. He had jumped. Somehow, it happened. He wished to die, he cried, he wanted to go back, but there was no way. It was as if he had jumped into a pit, into an infinitely deep hole."

Later, when recalling Jim, Marlow will describe him as having "exquisite sensitivity, exquisite feelings, and exquisite aspirations," as if his selfishness had been sublimated and idealized. A less delicate nature would not have withstood such tension, would have reconciled with itself with a sigh, a grunt, or even a laugh. In his relationship with Marlow, Jim has allowed his fragility to be revealed, showing his retreats into himself, his seemingly imperturbable silence when motionless. Marlow fears that Jim may succumb to madness, perceiving his repressed anger, which could manifest in violent forms. However, the "good boy in trouble" emerges again. Deep down, Jim feels taciturn and obsessed with one idea: the abandonment of Patna and a world that judges him.

The judgment of others is a torture for the Social 1. Meanwhile, Jim lacks support and does not ask for help, which is also a trait of his character. But finally, although reluctantly, in a burst of gratitude, he accepts a letter of recommendation for a job given to him by Marlow. New experiences then begin in which Jim feels very appreciated. However, the memory of the Patna adventure and the rumors about him always tormented him. This prevented him from staying in one place if he suspected that they could criticize him, point at him, he had to leave. In a particular place, he was described as "a real devil on the sailing ships," going to meet ships miles away, in any weather, "more of a devil than a man. He had never been seen maneuvering a ship like that." But as soon as he found out about the Patna matter, he left again. Attempts to hold him were in vain. He announced his "goodbye, with a nod, like a gentleman." The wound was still open. Everywhere, they knew him and spoke of him as the man of the Patna, but also with expressions like "he is the best man you can meet, a truly superior man." Stein, a friend whom Marlow had asked for advice on what to do with Jim, heard the story and said, "He is a romantic," and there is only one solution: "Follow the dream, and follow the dream."

The Social 1 has a hard time with renunciation. He experiences suffering and does not give up on the commitment he has made to himself. He becomes passionate about what he believes is worth it and dedicates his life to it. He can tolerate pain, even the risk of life, but if something or someone questions his worth or tarnishes his image, he becomes obsessed with fixing it and revaluing himself in front of others.

Patusan Marlow and Stein make the decision to send Jim as a commercial agent to Patusan, a remote enclave from civilization, "a remote territory under the rule of natives." It is here where the second part of the story begins, which many consider secondary. This part of the story evokes British imperialism in which Jim finds himself immersed, without being fully aware of it. As Alberto Moravia notes, "Lord Jim does not wish to be just any hero, but a white hero who carries the responsibility of humanity in the colonial and imperial world, made up of childish, irresponsible, and ultimately inferior peoples." Jim seeks redemption, or rather tries to, from the dishonor he feels as a white man who abandoned the black passengers of the Patna to their fate, thus becoming the heroic target of another crowd of

black people in the remote sultanate of Patusan. In other words, he seeks redemption or tries to do so through the promotion of imperialism, carrying out in Patusan what he could not do aboard the Patna. Lord Jim's situation in Patusan makes him a worthy representative of British imperialism.

In Patusan, Jim finally manages to put into practice all the power of his soul. He is received as a sort of deity and leader among the natives, as he frees them from the oppressive rajah and marauders and earns the nickname "Lord." In his adventures on the island, Jim faces numerous dangers and complications, but instead of losing himself, he emerges wonderfully. He has achieved greatness and intensity of life, he confesses to Marlow, who had gone to visit him. Jim experiences the conquest of love, honor, and the trust of men.

In this state of grace, Jim finds himself in harmony with his surroundings and discovers that there is beauty and emotion in everything, especially in nature. It is a committed life, recognized, and in which his own worth is affirmed. Perhaps it is the spirit of the hero, forged in diligent labor, love for life, and the people around him, that gives him this sense of fulfillment beyond any romantic adventure. It is a life in tune with nature that the Social 1 seeks, looking for serenity and acceptance. However, how hard it is to attain it! These special states often turn out to be illusory, and then comes the disappointment.

Jim presents a solemn, controlled, impenetrable, and authoritative appearance, dressed in white and carrying an unloaded revolver. He does not need to be told about personal benefits or warned about the dangers of the place. He seeks refuge and is willing to take risks. He follows his own path, something characteristic of his personality. He does not accept suggestions nor adapt easily. He is his own guide, even if he makes mistakes.

On the other hand, in the conversations he holds with Marlow, who also follows him to Patusan, he opens up more and more. The trust Marlow gives him moves him to the point of stammering, and he blushes as he holds back his emotions. Marlow fears Jim may lose himself, that he may take too many risks, that "he will make his life intolerable." But Jim brushes aside the risk and danger, he wants to be there, on that island, he wants to "forget everything, everyone" except Marlow. In Patusan, he seeks his redemption. "Don't be reckless," says Marlow, handing him a large revolver and two boxes of ammunition. And Jim replies, "Don't worry, I feel that nothing can touch me. It's a real blessing!" He arrives at a fisherman's island and immediately asks to be taken to Patusan, where the rajah he asked to see is located. As he tells Marlow this, he laughs and says the funniest thing was "knowing that if they took me, this country would lose."

Lord Jim lived a time of great adventure and recognition and is recognized as a hero who protects the weak and oppressed: "Look at those houses, there isn't one where they don't trust me. Think about what that means to me," he tells Marlow. The relationship with the Patna matter is clear. "And you asked me if I was thinking of leaving? It would be worse

than dying. Don’t laugh, I need to feel every day, every time I open my eyes, that they trust me, that no one has the right to criticize me or have reservations." And Marlow comments: "Trust, fame, friendship, love, all these things that made him a master also made him a prisoner."

In the case of the Social 1, this last point is tremendously true. "He wasn't eloquent, but his innate reticence radiated dignity, and in his stammering, there was a deep seriousness." Jim, in his conversation with Marlow, recounts another highly significant encounter, this time with Doramin, a Malay leader of the second force in Patusan. His ex-wife and son, Dain Waris, a highly valued young man who becomes Jim's best friend, are also present.

When Jim arrives in the community governed by Doramin, the situation is critical and everyone is fearful. However, Jim is able to see the situation clearly and quickly devises a plan to counter the adversaries by organizing an attack on the enemy camp of Cherif Ali. He orders that Doramin's old, rusted iron cannons be taken to the top of a hill, along with a number of brass cannons. Furthermore, he arranges for the assault troops, under Dain's leadership, to hide in a strategic gap.

Jim performs amazing feats, and rumors spread that he carried the cannons to the top of the hill himself, lifting them in his own arms. He is omnipresent and tireless, which leads others to believe he has extraordinary powers. All the old cannons fire simultaneously, and the troops rush to assault, with Jim at the front line and Dain Waris by his side. They drag the enemy into an exhausting fight. While recounting the events, Jim feels a chill run down his body. The task is hard, but there is no place for retreat. "Those people have fully trusted him! Only him!" he exclaims forcefully.

The mission is a resounding success, the enemy's defeat is total, and Jim becomes a highly respected figure to whom people turn for advice and to settle disputes. He speaks to Marlow with overflowing enthusiasm. What he has achieved is immense. The success gained, the land conquered beneath his feet, the blind trust of the men, his self-belief. The loneliness he so feared dissipates. Jim lives his redemption and revels in the praise.

The Social 1 desires to be at the center of attention, to hold the stage, and to be the applauded leading actor. Life gives him life, opens the doors to a smile, and makes him kinder to himself and others. The fullness of recognition nourishes him, filling both his mind and body. He can walk with his head held high in the world and value others because he himself feels he has value. Conrad perceives that these enthusiasms hide his loneliness, isolate him even more, and elevate him to great heights. "Loneliness increased his stature. And his fame was immense."

In Patusan, Jim experiences love. His beloved is named Joya. She is a girl who has been by his side through various vicissitudes, including dramatic situations. His romantic consciousness awakens, and in the way he claims affection, something distinctive of his seriousness is perceived. Jim does not hide his joy; he is immensely proud of her. In Patusan, he seems to lead a prosperous and happy life. "I've only been here for two years, and I can't imagine being anywhere else. I haven't forgotten why I came here."

However, Jim pays a high price for erasing his past stain. He feels compelled to be superior, special, admired. This comes at a considerable cost, but it allows him to hide both from himself and others his former flaw.

Pirates in Patusan

In Patusan, the arrival of Brown, a ruthless individual who lives by violence and lust, marks a pivotal day. This pirate-type character and his crew raid the island in search of food and money. War breaks out, and Jim is on his way. Under Dain Waris's leadership, the natives organize their resistance, while Joya herself instills courage in the fight. And then, Jim makes his entrance.

Brown encounters a man dressed in white who approaches him, as he later recounts to Marlow on his deathbed. From the very first moment, Brown expresses hatred towards him and curses him. Brown longs for food and survival and employs all his stealth skills. Jim asks him to leave the island and hand over his weapons, warning him that otherwise, a battle will ensue. Without hesitation, Brown responds that he will never do so. His desire is to escape without reaching any agreement. Jim gives in: "He will have free passage, or else we will face an open battle." Then, turning on his heels, he walks away. Jim consults with the chief of the community and the various leaders present. He wishes to release Brown, but this time, he does not find consensus but rather firm opposition. Nevertheless, he persists and urges them to trust him, reminding them that he has never let them down. With confidence in his words, he assures them: "This is how we will all be saved." Finally, he manages to get their agreement based on the faith they have in him, the truth he represents, and the recognition of his integrity.

In this situation, several aspects of the Social 1 can be seen in Jim's personality. He appears as a serious and impeccable individual, where his beliefs hold fundamental weight, even to the point of fanaticism, leaving little room for doubt. However, Brown, on the other hand, is not just a simple secondary figure and does not fulfill the established agreements.

Initially, it seems that Brown will leave, as Jim watches over him all night and guides him out of the island's shores. However, Brown changes his course and lands with his group elsewhere. There, he raids the native camp. "Let's make them pay," he challenges. This

action causes deaths, injuries, and a wave of panic. Doramin's son is shot in the forehead. This attack is not a vulgar and chaotic massacre but rather a lesson and a punishment.

A polarity is established between the pirate Brown and Lord Jim, where both characters engage in a psychological game. Jim allows Brown to escape freely and minimizes the feelings of hatred that his opponent might have towards him. Interestingly, Brown, despite being the aggressor, feels like a victim in his encounter with Jim. Jim is recognized and honored, he is a pure and impeccable being with numerous admirable qualities. His perfection and heroic greatness have won him the love and admiration of those around him. In contrast, Brown does not receive this recognition and sees himself as an outcast, rejected by the world. He lives a life of violence, theft, and deceit, sowing terror and reaping contempt. His encounter with Jim awakens feelings of envy and a fierce desire for revenge. Brown becomes a pursuer and punishes those who follow Jim brutally.

In an unfortunate twist, Brown ultimately emerges victorious, evil triumphs, and hatred prevails. Jim, for his part, loses his game, loses his reputation, and fails to fulfill what he promised: salvation for all. He also loses his best friend, the leader's son, who is killed. The charismatic hero falls again into the abyss.

When Jim learns of what happened, his first reaction is to go after Brown and request a fleet of ships. However, he quickly realizes that this is no longer the right time. The people are immersed in sadness, pain, and disappointment. Amidst this atmosphere, Jim stops and reflects. "The one who was once unfaithful to his own responsibility has lost all faith in men," he says with sorrow.

His servant, Tamb Itam, informs him of the tears and anger that are felt around him. He suggests that they must fight for their lives. But Jim remains firm in his stance, even when his wife shouts in his ear: "Fight!" At that moment, there is nothing worth fighting for. Jim retreats and allows the men still around him to return to their homes. One of them asks for how long, to which Jim answers grimly: "For life."

They bring Dain's body and display it in front of his father. Upon seeing the silver ring that Jim himself had given to his son, the old man bursts into a heartbreaking fury and roars like a wounded bull. His anger and suffering instill great fear in all those present.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Jim sinks into his thoughts with his servant and Joya. Suddenly, he declares that it is time to end it all. When asked if he will fight, Jim again responds that there is nothing worth fighting for. When suggested to flee, he affirms that there is no escape. Joya, desperate, tries to dissuade him, but Jim remains resolute. "Stop, my poor girl. It would not be worth having me," he says. The young woman clings to him, but with the help of his servant, Jim manages to break free from her grasp. He then leans over her, looks her straight in the eyes, and suddenly runs towards the dock.

Jim takes a canoe and departs. He arrives at the camp where Doramin, numerous armed men, and people from Patusan are gathered. Upon seeing him, it is said: "He caused this disaster, he carries a curse." Doramin does not lift his head and remains silent for a while while Jim lifts the sheet covering his dead friend and lets it fall without saying a word. Then, in a final gesture, Doramin, with great effort and support, rises. The weapons that had once rested on his legs are now firmly held in his hands. With guttural and muffled sounds, with an expression of frantic anguish and rage in his small eyes, Doramin acts in the same way as Jim, rigid and with his head uncovered. He places his left arm around the neck of a young man and, with determination, raises his right arm and shoots his son’s friend in the chest. They say the white man directs a proud and determined look at all the faces present, and then, with his hands on his lips, walks forward, dead. This is the end of his life and tragic fate. The honors, glory, praise, his bravery and heroism, and even the love of a woman, never managed to heal the deep wounds of Jim; they only covered them. Fundamentally, he lacked acceptance of his own limitations. He never forgave himself and always fled from that stain, that act of cowardice which, moreover, had no dramatic consequences for anyone. In the case of the Patna incident, he denounced himself, did not flee like the others, and even in Patusan, he voluntarily offered to be executed. He could have escaped.

In my memories, fantasies from adolescence mix, in which I imagined a heroic death, perhaps alone and without asking for help. If I’m not mistaken, there was a feeling of superiority in those thoughts, as if saying, "Do you see what I’m capable of?" But, as difficult as that was, there was also guilt. And then, more subtly, I delighted in my own pain, in my own suffering. It was like the wounded child who did not receive the love he longed for, or even dared to ask for. If one cannot bear the guilt, the accusations, the rejection, it is better to leave, with an act that leaves a memory. However, washing the stain with heroism achieves nothing; it’s simply a dramatic romanticism that seemingly elevates the person, but in reality, takes away their humanity. In summary, in Lord Jim, we can observe a complex combination of traits of the introverted Social 1. He is an obsessive individual, with a morbid sensitivity and an aura of mystery surrounding him. He is different, tormented by lost honor and extremely fragile narcissism. His mindset is impeccable, driven by a great desire for recognition. He is a dreamer, but he also shows great intolerance for failure and fears losing himself. Although he shows a tendency toward idealized selfishness, he strives to redeem himself. His silence is striking, but in the stage of his life, he is a leading actor filled with applause.