Almost all of our relationships begin and most of them continue

The words of W. H. Auden strike with the harshness of truth unveiled: “Almost all of our relationships begin and most of them continue as forms of mutual exploitation, a mental or physical barter, to be terminated when one or both parties run out of goods.” At first, these words sound bleak, almost cynical, as though they drain the sweetness from human bonds. Yet, when contemplated deeply, they reveal an ancient wisdom—that much of what we call love, friendship, or alliance is in truth an exchange, a balance of giving and receiving that survives only as long as each believes the trade is fair.

Auden speaks of mutual exploitation, but he does not mean cruelty alone; rather, he reveals how even the most ordinary connections often begin with unspoken bargains. One offers affection, the other security. One gives admiration, the other offers power. One provides companionship, the other provides resources. Like merchants at a silent market, human beings weigh what they give against what they receive, even when they do not name the process. His words awaken us to this hidden commerce of the heart.

The ancients knew this truth well. Consider the alliances between kings and queens, forged not for affection but for the exchange of lands, armies, and wealth. The marriage of Cleopatra and Julius Caesar was not born purely of desire, but of political necessity—an exchange of power for legitimacy, of beauty for empire. When the goods of this barter were spent, the relationship shifted, proving Auden’s vision that many unions endure only so long as the trade remains alive.

Yet it is not only rulers and empires that illustrate this law; it is also the friendships and loves of ordinary life. Think of the companion who stays close only while you are strong, generous, or useful, but drifts away when hardship comes. Such ties, Auden teaches, are not grounded in true devotion, but in mutual exploitation, disguised as loyalty. When the goods run dry—be they wealth, beauty, influence, or attention—the bond dissolves like mist under the morning sun.

But his words, though piercing, are not meant to destroy hope. Rather, they serve as a mirror, warning us not to confuse barter with love, nor mutual exploitation with true kinship. For there are rarer bonds that transcend transaction, bonds rooted not in goods exchanged but in the recognition of another’s soul. These are the friendships that endure through famine as well as feast, the loves that remain when wealth, health, and beauty have withered. Auden’s statement reveals the common condition so that we may strive toward the uncommon.

The lesson, O seeker, is to examine your bonds with honesty. Ask yourself: do I cherish this person for who they are, or for what they give me? And do they cherish me the same? If your relationships are rooted in barter, know their fragility; but if you find one that survives when the goods are gone, guard it as treasure, for such love is rare.

Practical wisdom flows from this: when forming bonds, give not only with the hope of return, but with sincerity. When seeking companions, look not for those who flatter you in times of strength, but for those who stand by you in weakness. And above all, cultivate the inner strength to offer yourself not as a merchant trading goods, but as a soul willing to share without calculation.

So let Auden’s words echo across the ages: “Almost all relationships begin as mutual exploitation.” They remind us of the frailty of ordinary bonds and the rarity of true devotion. May we strive to move beyond the market of the heart, toward the sanctuary of love unmeasured—where the soul gives not for barter, but for the joy of giving, and in that gift discovers eternity.