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In Bernard Pomerance's play, "The Elephant Man," Merrick complains that Romeo did not love Juliet because he didn't call a doctor and try to save her; he declares, "If I had been Romeo, we would have got away."
"But then there would be no play, Mr. Merrick," responds the actress, Mrs. Kendall.
"If he did not love her," asks Merrick, "why should there be a play?"
One could ask as well, "If you don't know who your partner is, why should there be a marriage?" This brings us to another question, of course: "If you didn't know who your partner was, who did you think s/he was?" The "what" is not impertinent. Almost no one in modern Western culture consciously thinks of another person as a nonsentient being, or object, or thing, but the idea is not unprecedented. We cannot, for example, believe that half of what is now know as the United States is descended from purerly evil persons. Yet that half, once known as the Confederate States of America, once kept slaves and maintained a slavery-based economy (as the Sudan and Mauritania do even now). It would be impossible for an entire nation (as it considered itself) of people to keep human beings as slaves unless it were a nation of evil persons, or unless they did not view the other persons as human.
It is easy to justify almost any treatment of nonsentient objects. Why not? They can't feel anything, after all! There are precious objects in the world, many of them classified as "art"; someone who took a chainsaw to a Stradivarius would be considered insane, and the defilement of a Modigliani or a Van Gogh would evoke more horror and disgust than mere property loss would warrant. Perhaps the pain we experience when a book is burned comes less from the destruction of the physical book (apart from our consideration of how many like it might remain in the universe) than from the unshakeable feeling that the author exists somehow inside the pages of the book, just as we feel the painter's presence in the painting. Still, things are, after all, only things, and we give lip service, at least, to the concept of valuing human life over lifeless objects. We recoil in horror when we read in the newspaper of the man who got killed for the dollar and change in his pocket. It puzzles me somewhat that we recoil less and less as the dollar amount increases, but no matter. The point is that we purport to know the difference between a person and a thing, and we purport to care.
Where it all gets murky is when lines get drawn. Is a tree a lifeless object? We all know it is not, and we also have heard in recent years that plants scream, that they feel -- but let's face it: those who beome vegetarians in order to avoid hurting animals (there are others who have other reasons) do not anguish over the emotional condition of their broccoli. Some who would not poison a rat still might swat a fly. Some who would go out of their way to avoid kicking a dog might shoot a rattlesnake in the head, not only in self-defense but perhaps in simple fear. Is it beyond our capacity to imagine a man who would not raise his voice to a white child who'd been naughty but would have no compunctions against hanging a black man who had wandered into the wrong part of town, or a woman who would volunteer to bring food to needy but would scream at some homeless guy who was raiding her trash can for scraps.
This is only possible if we accept that we are exempt from considering the indivuality of some living creatures. All of us accept this to some extent. I personally rejoice at the death of a cockroach, and if that cockroach loved its family, too damned bad. If I truly believed that cockroach had a family, that it knew it had a family, that is, and loved it, I would not rejoice at its death. How could I? The plain truth is, I don't believe it. I don't recognize a cockroach as an individual (oh look, there goes WIlbur! Get him!) because it doesn't fit any of the usual human criteria for individuality (cats do; dogs do; rats do; cockroaches don't; I've drawn a line; I'm a species bigot) and I don't value its life. Sue me.
(Where do you draw your line? Would you step in front of a speeding car to avoid squooshing an ant? Would you run in front of that same car to save a child's life? What if it was your child?)
Violence is something most of us abhor but objectification, or the act of viewing someone as an object, is not usually about violence; it just makes violence easier. It's easy to squoosh a bug. It's easy to deprive a group of people of basic human dignity, to say nothing of what is needed for subsistance, if you believe that the group is lower than you on the food chain. The operative word here, though, is not, as you might think, "lower"; it's "group." The problem lies not in someone's feeling superior. All humans are not equal. Some are smarter, kinder, nimbler, more talented in various skills, more physically attractive to a larger number of admirers, more generous, more sensitive and/or more industrious than others.
The problem lies in viewing a group of people only as that group, and not as a collection of individuals -- individuals who have something important in common, but individuals nonetheless.
I personally belong to a number of groups and am seen at different times predominantly as a member of one or another of those groups. How I see myself depends largely on context. Here are some of the things I am, off the top of my head and in no particular order: Jew, woman, middle-aged person, baby boomer, blonde, fat person, bespectacled person, leaper, writer, "lupique" (pardon my French), singer (hey, I didn't say I was any good!), teacher, daughter, sister, aunt, orphan, herring-eater, genius (I don't put much stock in those numbers but it would be dishonest of me to leave that off this list, as I have been and am judged by it), nullifidean, ailurophile, tenant, former ex-patriot (that sounds like a double negative but it's not), former homeless person.... there is, of course, more. Some of the items on the list were not always true (I was born a girl, not a woman; I was a skinny child; there was a time when I had not yet ever lived outside of the United States; I believed in a personal god when I was 15 years old; both my parents were once alive) and there are some that may not be true in the future (I hope to reside in my own home one day and not be a tenant; I may -- but probably won't -- lose my taste for herring; with luck I will outgrow being middle-aged and advance to "elderly").
Now, if I were to be identified by one, or perhaps two, of the above labels, all of which are true but none of which is the complete picture, most people would be able to come up with an image of me based on some stereotype which might or might not apply. The more labels I gather and present, though, the clearer the picture that emerges of me as an individual, and their ability to stereotype me most likely would be impaired; they would not be able to help viewing me as an individual. However, anyone who had a strong prejudice for or against one of those labels, or even a strange association that could not be called "for" or "against," might have a hard time viewing me as an individual even in the face of the most overwhelming evidence. Depending on which labels were involved, we would consider that person stubborn, or bigoted, or perhaps wise! In fact s/he probably has been brainwashed.
There are people who believe that Jews run the world while gladly accepting me and my poverty as a notable exception; they cannot be shaken in that belief. There are people who believe that geniuses are egotistical, devious or prone to be lazy (things must be so "easy" for us -- ha!); one of my high school teachers gave me back a paper with a "B" on it, saying, "This is the best paper in the class but I know you can do better." As it happens I had done my best. There are those who believe that fat people have no self-control, or that we are jolly, or that we prefer to be called "persons of size." (Some of us are! Some of us do! It's an individual matter. I prefer to be called "Gail.") Some believe that women belong in the kitchen. (Some women do. Need I mention that some don't?)
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