It has been said that the true power of beauty is felt most deeply by those who have caught but a glimpse of its potential; those who are able to see its ethereal quality without demanding more. Perhaps, someone said, the fragility of aesthetic beauty can be stronger in the human imagination than in reality. Between Newland Archer and Ellen Olenska of The Age of Innocence, there is a passion that goes beyond the descriptive capacity of words; it is an exquisite relationship that seems incapable of existing in the realm of mere mortals: a connection of two souls. Unfortunately, these souls live in bodies tied to the earthly realm and therefore must abide by social rules. The theme of impossible love will be explored in the four phases of the relational evolution between Newland and Ellen: the initial spark that arises from the conflict between Newland's idealistic naivety and the reality of 17th century New York society embodied in the character of Ellen, implications of its passionate but unconsummated nature, its fundamental reliance on sacrifice, and, finally, the relationship's fate to remain in the ideal realm, to never be truly fulfilled. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay In keeping with her realistic writing style, Edith Wharton creates a sympathetic yet conflicted individual in the character of Newland Archer. While he desperately wants to break free from the mores prescribed by New York society, it remains impractical for true separation to occur; it is the impossibility of a relationship between him and Ellen that embodies the reality of this conflict. Although he proclaims ideas ahead of his time regarding the status of women, the immense influence of his society remains. The perceived absurdity of his opinions as he expresses them condemns him to a lifestyle of feigned complacency. In a society where laws and customs differ radically, Ellen's marital separation is a shame. Newland's attempt to defend his lack of overt shame attests to his good-natured idealism: “[w]hy shouldn't he make himself known if he wants to? Why would she slink around as if she had disgraced herself?” (28). Newland goes further in verbalizing his opinion on women's rights by saying, “women should be free, as free as we are” (30). Yet at the same time that he expresses these generous opinions, he also realizes their relatively safe nature: “'gentle' women, however much they suffer, would never claim the kind of freedom he intended, and generous-minded men like they were therefore - in the heat of the discussion, all the more chivalrously ready to grant it to him” (31). Therefore, at the same time that he can sincerely affirm these beliefs, he may unconsciously feel reassured by society that his open-mindedness will not actually be solicited. It is this assumption of the inapplicability of his views that is challenged with Ellen's introduction. While Newland embraces modern ideas, the strength of the society in which he lives is an inescapable reality. Newland contemplates the double standard New York has regarding relationships between men and women and finds himself dissatisfied. While chastity (and later monogamy) is undoubtedly a basic necessity for women, philandering in men is treated with little more than an earful. Sexual relationships therefore take on a certain degree of partiality, with men being “silly and incalculable,” while women are “entrapping and unscrupulous” (26). Subsequently, Newland reflects more on this topic and the reaction,especially older women in society. Although he is disgusted by the injustice of the situation, he is also drawn to her appeal in the case of his affair with Mrs. Rushworth: "[w]hen he realized the fact, it almost broke his heart, but now it seemed the saving factor in the case ” (68). This particularly concerns Ellen; she is living proof that her intellectualizations about women's freedom are impractical in the context of New York society. If she were a man, the social consequences would undoubtedly be more favorable of progressive ideas, Ellen challenges the strength of his beliefs. The result is that she invigorates him; Newland is both attracted to and concerned about her home's non-traditional layout both perplexes and fascinates him not being familiar with the paintings, but is attracted by their novelty: “[but] these images disconcerted him since they did not resemble anything he was accustomed to looking at (and therefore able to see) when traveling in Italy; and perhaps, too, his powers of observation were weakened by the strangeness of finding himself in this strange empty house” (49). He is disconcerted by Ellen's nonconformity and has a newfound sense of adventure where previously there had been disdain for opera. He is as strongly drawn to Ellen's uniqueness as society dictates him to distrust it: "[t]he atmosphere of the room was so different from any he had ever breathed that self-consciousness faded into the sense of adventure" (50). The more Newland immerses himself in Ellen's company, the more seductive he finds her liveliness and vitality. He comments on his own traditionalism in light of her nonconformity: "he was once again aware of the curious way in which she turned his values ​​on their head, and of the need to think of himself in incredibly different conditions from those he knew if he were to be useful in his current difficulty” (73). It provokes his sense of adventure and stimulates his stubbornness against the closed mental rigidity of society; in essence, she challenges him in a way in which he has never been challenged before passion that never quite subsides. Ellen's very essence challenges Newland's beliefs and fuels his desire and appreciation for her. Newland comments on his bewilderment about his attraction to her and realizes that within Ellen herself has a “mysterious faculty for suggesting tragic and moving possibilities outside the everyday flow of experience” (81). Her sense of raw humanity embodies what society condemns. When he is with her he feels refreshed by her sense of immediacy: "Archer, through all his deepest feelings, has savored the pleasant excitement of being in a world where action follows emotion with... Olympian speed." (116). Speaking to Newland in the cabin, she charms him once again with her sincerity: “I am improvident: I live in the moment when I am happy” (94). Ellen's vivacity and originality inspire Newland to go beyond his limits; he comments on the unconscious effect she has in allowing him to see his own conventionality: "she had managed, with her sheer simplicity, to make him feel stupidly conventional just when he thought he was throwing convention to the wind" (201). Throughout the novel Ellen is characterized by her non-adherence to accepted social norms. He does not violate them spitefully; instead, he breaks them ignorantly and without concern. Ellen's violation of social nuances calls into question the strength of Newland's modern views; it's the nature of this type of challenge that fuels his passion for her. The effort required to develop his theoretical ideas invigorates him and arouses strong feelings for her. Thereconnection that Ellen and Newland share is more than just physical attraction; it is an incommunicable bond of souls. Newland's concern that their relationship will deteriorate to little more than the quality of Lawrence Lefferts' love affairs is unfounded; Newland and Ellen share a devotion that transcends mere physicality. In fact, despite the distinctly sensual aura that distinguishes Ellen, their love remains unconsummated. There is little doubt about the sexual tension that exists between Newland and Ellen; he comments several times on her physical charms: “[everything] about her shimmered and shimmered softly, as if her dress had been woven from candle rays; and she held her head high, like a beautiful woman challenging a room full of rivals” (115). However, he is attracted to more than just her looks; appreciate his soul. For example, he contemplates the depth of his eyes: "[i]t frightened him to think what must have contributed to the making of his eyes" (44). The non-sexual nature of their romance is mentioned several times in the novel. Newland is aware of this aspect of their relationship: “Archer was aware of a curious indifference towards his bodily presence... He had known the love that feeds on caresses and nourishes them; but this passion closer to his bones was not to be satisfied superficially” (170). This non-physicality is so strong that Newland reproaches himself for not being able to remember exactly what she looked like: "he saw Madame Olenska's pale and surprised face up close, and again had the mortified sensation of having forgotten what she looked like" ( 198). During his last visit with Ellen, Newland finds her pale and unattractive, yet comments on the intensity of his love for her especially at that moment: "her face looked shiny and almost ugly, and she had never loved him as in that moment." minute” (234). Paradoxically, it is the transcendental quality of their love that demands one's sacrifice. Unlike a passing fling, the depth of feelings shared between Newland and Ellen goes beyond what most people feel in a single lifetime. However, the ideal nature of their love story is fundamentally based on sacrifice. From the initial recognition of their feelings for each other, it becomes clear that the relationship is off limits. As a prominent member of society, it would be unfathomable for Newland to break off his engagement and pursue Ellen, his fiancée's estranged cousin. Yet the customs that dictate their public self-sacrifice only serve to ignite their inner desire. Rather than acting on their individual impulses, they sacrifice their own happiness for collective happiness. Although Newland only talks about being together permanently several times, Ellen reminds him that the integrity of the relationship requires his surrender. From the moment of Newland's unconscious contribution to their perpetual separation, when he advises Ellen against divorce, the love between them remains on the level of sacrifice. Because they honor those who care for them by abandoning their individual desires, their love is of a nobler quality than that of those who abandon themselves wildly to one another. They express their self-love by giving up each other. Indeed, Ellen repeats this belief to Newland in the midst of his turmoil: “I cannot love you unless I give you up” (122). This theme of sacrifice is central to the core of their spiritual intimacy. There is no conversation between the two lovers without the underlying theme of the need for denial. Archer talks about individual rights and Ellen reminds him “what a bad word that is” (123). Ellen's determination to honor her New York family is repeatedly demonstrated throughout the novel. During Archer's engagement, his resolve weakensand says he won't marry May; Ellen kindly says "[y]ou say it because it's the easiest thing to say right now, not because it's true" (121). Ellen painfully but beautifully alludes to Archer that the relationship itself is built on sacrifice: But you knew; did you understand; you had felt the outside world pulling at you with all its golden hands, yet you hated the things it asks of you; you hated happiness bought with disloyalty, cruelty and indifference. This was what I had never known before and it is better than anything I had ever known. (122)Perhaps the novel is aesthetically so beautiful precisely because of the impossibility of its completion. The idea of ​​two souls keeping aloof for the sake of an ideal they don't even subscribe to is more than admirable; yet this is exactly what Newland and Ellen do for the sake of their family's reputation. The reader can sense the depth of emotion behind the painful conversations between Newland and Ellen; but somehow, because of the honorable nature of their love, you can see the beauty mixed with the pain. Archer, in a moment of frustration, tells Ellen “[you] gave me my first taste of a real life, and at the same time asked me to carry on with a pretense. It is beyond human endurance” (170). Newland, a moment later, realizes that the resistance must continue because they are “chained to their separate destinies” (170). Abandonment, denial and sacrifice are the fundamental principles of this relationship. It is a relationship that exists in the field of ideals, but is painfully linked to the level of reality and therefore involves sacrifice. It is in homage to the memory of this ideal that Newland turns away from Ellen's window at the end of the novel. For Newland, the importance of memory is stronger than the pull of reality. For over two decades he kept the memory of it within himself; it has therefore become more significant for him in his internal world than in reality. The forbidden relationship was built on the precept of sacrifice; the passage of May does not change this foundation. It is ironic that he imagined, during the early years of his marriage, that if May had died he would have been free to prosecute Ellen: "[h]e simply felt that the case had given him a new chance to which his sick soul could cling . . Yes, May could die – people did: young, healthy people like her: she could die and suddenly release him” (207). As shocking as this sentiment may seem, it's important to remember that he thinks this not out of malice, but rather out of desperation. He later realizes, however, that it is not external circumstances that are keeping him and Ellen apart; instead, denial is the very premise of the relationship they shared. He understands that seeing her after twenty-six years would break the magic of what they once had; a relationship marked by self-denial in the face of unshakable passion. Ellen was undoubtedly the woman for whom Newland would have “thrown everything away” (250); his refusal to see her is not the result of diminished love, but rather of declining vitality. Newland feels beyond the age of such emotional intensity: “[b]ut I'm only fifty-seven and then he turned the other way. For such summer dreams it was too late; but surely not for a quiet harvest of friendship, of camaraderie, in the blessed silence of his closeness” (251). He contemplates the power of their past relationship and cannot reconcile it with the docility that would now be denied. As a young man he surrendered his fervor to the traditional role of respectable husband; after two decades in that position, he is no longer the man he once was. The sudden memory of the Countess forces him “to face all at once the full regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate life” (250). Newland realizes, 2006.