Coetzee and Schein

by admin | Jul 30, 2022

From Chapter 2

I email John:

Dear John,

Back to the “Can only humans be cruel?” debate you and I have: Although we might descriptively or poetically say the cat is cruel to the mouse, or that “April is the cruelest month,” is there an occasion you can think of in which it is appropriate to accuse a nonhuman of being cruel to a human?

Even a dog that bites the hand that feeds him is only considered a “bad dog,” right? He might be considered legally (at least here in most states) a “dangerous animal,” but I can’t imagine anyone would in seriousness call him cruel.

As always,

Maggie

He responds:

Dear Maggie,

It all depends, of course, on what meaning you give to the word “cruel,” that is, it depends on how the word is used in ordinary discourse. We distinguish between slaughtering animals in a humane way and slaughtering them in an inhumane way. The humane way is to cause death immediately and without pain. The inhumane way, sometimes called causing a cruel death, is to make death painful and protracted. The “cruel” slaughterer is accused of being indifferent to the pain of the beast. This is usually taken to be a moral accusation.

Carnivorous animals often disable their prey and then eviscerate it. The prey is (we presume) conscious for at least part of the time, and suffers severe pain, to which the carnivore is (we infer from its behavior) indifferent. One could use the word “cruel” for such a way of killing its prey, in line with the use of the word “cruel” for the human slaughterer who is indifferent to the pain of the beast. But it is difficult to argue that to call (say) a lion cruel is a moral accusation.

The difficulty you (MS) face is that you can’t claim that the word “cruel” can only be used of human agents (maybe only of human agents who have reached the age of reason) while at the same time challenging me to produce an example of a cruel animal.

All the best,

John

I respond:

Dear John,

I understand that that is clearly an unfair demand, since I’ve stipulated which use/meaning of the word I’m focused on, and that one, of course, is human-based. My question is not about my restricted stipulation. We call non-human behavior among predators and prey or in the non-human world cruel—of course we can and do and I believe that use/meaning has legitimate application. My question was can you think of an instance in which it is ordinary or customary to accuse a non-human of being cruel to a human being? That is, in ordinary usage, does it ever “go both ways?”

Again, even when Roy (of “Siegfried and Roy”) was brutally mauled by one of his personally raised, loved, and trained tigers, without provocation, not only was the tiger not blamed, but there was no talk of betrayal, cruelty or anything of the sort. When a dog bites the hand that feeds him, he is a bad, mean dog, not a cruel dog; when an animal rebuffs the affections of a caretaker (say experiences such as Jane Goodall and Sue Savage Rumbaugh have had), that might hurt the human’s feelings, and the ape or chimp might be called rude, crude, or mean or even disrespectful, but we don’t usually call the animal’s behavior against the human cruel, right? Does that question make more sense, or am I still not articulating it correctly?

Thank you and best,

Maggie

He responds:

Dear Maggie,

If you concede that the word cruel could be used for an animal, then I would say that for a lion to disable a human being and then disembowel that human being while still alive would be cruel.

All the best,

John

I respond:

Dear John,

Okay,

I suspect, in addition to me still working this out, is that I am operating off of my definition of cruelty. Do I read you correctly in saying that for you it is mostly a matter of indifference? As in Kierkegaard: “At the bottom of enmity between strangers lies indifference”? In which case, certainly non-humans are masters of it. I am in awe of their capacity to be completely indifferent to the presence, the plight, and the very existence of others, including both those of their own kind or territory, and us humans. It’s mesmerizing, really, how important and prevalent irrelevance and indifference are to their ethos, their lives, their worlds.

But that is not my definition of definition of cruelty. I don’t exclude indifference, of course, but I do include attitudes and actions that count as entanglement and engagement with another.

For instance, I recently went for cocktails with one of the original FBI profilers of serial killers and serial rapists. He was field trained and helped develop the training for what became profilers for all divisions of the FBI: from torture to child sexual assault.

He talked about his cases and he used words like “brutal,” “violent,” “savage,” “horrific,” and so on, but on only one did he use the descriptive “cruel.”

That case was an abduction of a woman in the back of a van equipped with video and torture devices, weapons, plastic tarp, in full display. The perp videoed everything, but never physically touched the victim. And then he eventually released her. When I asked my new friend why that one was cruelty and the others barbaric, unspeakable, horrific, and so on, he said that it was because the perp used her fear to become aroused and to torment her, but no physically sexual or just physical assault. That is a perfect example for my definition of cruelty. Fear is an instinct for flight or aggression for survival. The perp didn’t allow either of those useful trajectories for that response in his scenario. Rather, he perverted that necessary and natural instinct, literally, for his own pleasure, without physically harming her at all. He was not indifferent. On the contrary, he was quite engaged.

The bare bones of my definition are that (a human) takes what should make a creature flourish as one of its kind and perverts it for its harm. That may be due to intention, that may be indifferent, that may be out of ignorance, that may be out of misguided benevolence (“Save the man, but kill the Indian”), it may be for sadistic pleasure, and so on.

As I’ve said, I acknowledge there are artificial constraints I’ve built into this formula. My reason is that I think looking at what we mean by “humanity”—if we mean anything coherent at all—through that lens is revealing.

That may help not at all, but if there’s any of it that helps clarify, or if you can address the indifference question, I would be very happy.

As always,

I email John:

Dear John,

I am sorry to abuse your “office hours” again but not so sorry that I won’t continue to try to do so. Thank you for your indulgence.

Here’re two things that are interesting to me about operating with a definition of cruelty based on a concept of indifference (which, as said, is not only not central to my definition but would only be included in the description in select instances—those in which a certain kind of responsiveness was expected based on our understanding of the nature of the creature causing the harm): First, so much of the natural world survives because most of the time, most creatures are completely indifferent to the goings on of the lives of most other creatures. That is, that very indifference describes the well-fed wild cat’s complete disinterest in the presence of an injured, screaming, (and therefore easy to eat or simply extinguish) rabbit nearby. Are they also indifferent to suffering, sometimes. But I do question when we ask that question what we are expecting of them and how much projection (usually with the sufferer) is occurring. The first point really is that if indifference is the key concept, it is as responsible for peace as it is for cruelty AND all the world is cruel, which certainly takes the oomph out of the concept of cruelty, I think.

Second, you are using indifference to establish that nonhumans can be cruel as well as can humans. The odd thing is that those like Jeffery Masson (Beasts) tries to make the opposite case. Granted, he does a strange twisty-turn, folding in some kind of undefined reason as well (or something. Masson’s understanding of “unnecessary” and “violent” is unclear to me. Those are relative terms that must be unpacked to be useful). But at the end of the twisty-turns of his observations, it seems clear that the thinks the indifference of humans is morally different than the indifference of non-humans.

If I am honest, at the heart of all of this is something of a justification, I think, of the sense that we, humans, don’t belong. We must earn our place—and of course, that in general, we suck terribly at doing that and should be kicked out of the property, so to speak. At least that’s true in a crude way for me. Perhaps that is where you and I differ fundamentally? You are either more of an optimist about our nature and our place in nature than I, or more of a pessimist about nature itself (meaning we belong in the brutality and cruelty just fine).

The retort, of course, is that I am some kind of romantic about “nature.” I expect to get that back at me. I am not, I don’t think. But I do concede it’s a fine and complicated attempt at a balancing act between being honestly humble about our place in this place and NOT over valuing the owners and natives, so to speak. So, do you have further thoughts on indifference?

Best,

He responds:

Dear Maggie.

1. Indifference. One translation of indifference is unwillingness or inability to empathize. Inability to empathize has been taken, and is perhaps still taken, as the mark of the psychopath. One could say of psychopaths that because of this fundamental lack, they cannot be said to behave cruelly, though to my mind their behavior remains cruel. Perhaps one could develop this distinction.

2. Morality. You write: “ Masson thinks the indifference of humans is morally different than the indifference of non-human.” It is, but only a human being could believe so. If you want Masson’s observation to have any force, you have to believe there is a morality outside the human realm, a morality which is not a human construct. I would not be averse to going down that route, but to do so is a major step.

3. Pessimism. “ You are either more of an optimist about our nature and place in nature than I, or more of a pessimist about nature itself (meaning we belong to the world of brutality and cruelty just fine).” I am not more of an optimist than you. I fear that humankind’s overdeveloped faculty of reason is going to make this planet a poorer and more miserable place than it has been in millions of years.

All the best,

John

I respond:

Dear John.

Thank you very much for your response and keeping me company (as well as challenged, of course).

I understand. I also completely agree.

I spend a long time on studying psychopaths. I sat with profilers who created the FBI profiling system they still use. I worked with adolescent ones, as well as sociopaths (and yes, I make a distinction between the two). And also certain kinds of Autism. That’s an offensive and awkward pairing to bring up, but it is an honest one. I don’t believe those traditionally diagnosed with either psychopathology or with autism lack the capacity for empathy. Sociopaths, on the other hand do. I make a distinction between sociopaths and psychopaths precisely because I think there’s an important difference between those who literally can’t (aren’t equipped to) perceive—by our major perceptual faculties, including the cognitive ones—the being-ness of another (or whatever kind of language one wants to use there to capture the fullness of another), those who can but whose perceptions of the fullness of the another’s being are a source of perversion, and third, those who can, but who are unable to process what they perceive in the normal or expected way and who also can’t output behavior that demonstrates their perception (so, in order, that would be sociopath, psychopath, and certain varieties of what is usually diagnosed as autism).

I do believe that all 3 kinds of creatures force us to buckle down or buckle in and think long and hard about what work we want “empathy” to do. I am aiming, personally, to get through the entire book on cruelty without using the word “empathy” at all.

That word, “Empathy,” has gotten so contaminated and unstable, I’d just prefer to let it combust on its own and not get scorched by it. I probably won’t succeed in that, but I am aiming for it.

For item #2 (morality), I understand. And I am struggling with that. It is a leap.

For item #3 (pessimism), yeah. completely agree. Unfortunately. however, that is why I am trying to write this book come hell or high water or both.

As always,

From Chapter 4

I email John:

Dear John,

I am ending up restructuring the book around a rather psychological sequence (implicitly, not explicitly). It turns out helplessness needs to influence a chapter. Embarrassingly, I am at a bit of a loss as to where to turn quickly. And I am impatient to get this chunk of chapters drafted before my surgery. I’m sure I have resources on it, but having not looked for it specifically before, I need help. So, asking if you might have quick thoughts to help guide me to a favorite text or thoughts on helplessness. I’m know it appears in you work—a quote there would be great. But again, having never read for that concept explicitly, I’d have to go through and re-read everything for what I’m after. So, I’m wondering if you can offer me a short cut?

Many thanks, as always, and forgive me my impatience (could be worse, it could be laziness—but that’s not a vice of mine, usually),

Maggie

PS: should make it clear: I’m not looking for positive psychology bits on how to overcome it or anything. I wouldn’t be asking you if I were. I’m asking for insights and thoughts about the despair, the confusion, the staunching and stunning of it…how to describe what it does to us and how.

He responds:

Dear Maggie,

Sorry—I have never thought about the condition of helplessness before, nor have I read anything on it.

Recently I heard of an island in the southern seas which is used as a nesting ground by sea-birds (albatrosses?). The island is uninhabited but has (by mistake) had mice introduced. The mice swarm over the newborn chicks, which are bigger than the mice but are entirely helpless, and bite them to death before eating them…

All the best,

John

From Chapter 6

I email John:

Dear John,

Do you feel as though your skin has grown thicker or thinner over the years of thinking about cruelty?

That’s probably the wrong question. If it is, please respond to whatever is the right one.

I used to be able to sit and read torture reports and science manuals (usually torture of animals and abnormal humans, really) and parse and think so I could see if I could articulate the “what”” of the cruelty. That task seemed protective enough. I rehabbed fighting dogs and confronted their fighters. And on and on. And the purpose seemed protective enough.

And yet I find that I just spent an entire day yesterday completely screwing up a chapter because I was avoiding having to talk about Seligman (“Learned Helplessness” is what he researched. If you don’t know of the studies, they are humanity at its most pathetic attempt to justify horror and prove what any actual human being already knows).

I was surprised at myself, at my thin skin.

I used to be either more callous or more brave. I am no longer sure what the difference is.

I couldn’t even read the abstracts of Seligman’s work out loud to my husband, which is something I usually could have done, a process of translation and filtering from the academic to general. Well, I did read them, but I choked up. Repeatedly. I couldn’t get through the descriptions of such kind of torture and cruelty with the depth of attention I used to have.

I wonder if I’ve just run out of adrenaline.

Have you stayed the same about it all or have you found your endurance of responsiveness to go in cycles?

Best,

He responds:

Dear Maggie,

My skin has grown thinner. I can no longer endure the spectacle of cruelty, can no longer listen to apologists for cruelty. And I have seen the same evolution in lots of people.

Yours,

John

I email John:

Monday, September, 23, 2020

Dear John,

All right, again, my nearly sincere apologies for continuing to bother you.

In what I’m doing with this work, what we seem to not know, and why we don’t know what we don’t know, is reason for writing it. That is, I’m offering a few definitions for what they’re worth, my thoughts of pre-digested work, and so on but I am not offering an answer. That would be stupid and silly—that is, I have the job of uncovering holes, mysteries and so on that have been covered up. This is not unusual work. But my former agent and the potential publishers want answers, solutions. Of course, I don’t have those.

For whatever reason—whether it’s the subject matter itself, me, how I’m approaching it—people are so desperate for the “money shot.” And they say so (quite explicitly and with that phrase—it is fun being female in this line of work). They want the answer. Where is the answer? I’m burying the lede, and so forth.

The point, to me, is that we haven’t got one yet and we don’t even know that.

I find that fact actually hopeful…it means there are spaces to discover and move in that we haven’t yet. That is, there might be hope of some kind.

Have you any advice for me on how to seduce people into the idea that the unknown is the point—is a useful point? When teaching in a class, I have the authority and power to force students into accepting that fact. As an author, I am at the mercy of people who want the money shot.

The above, without question, is an idiotic question without more specificity. I do sincerely apologize for that. I wish I had it better articulated, but I don’t, yet.

If what I’ve said at least makes sense, that would be good. If it doesn’t, then I’ve got more work to do to even begin to ask what I’m trying to ask. So, does my concern register, or are you tucking your chin to the right, clenching jaws slightly, and going, “I have no idea what she’s asking?” And if it’s that, may I try again?

As ever,

He responds:

Dear Maggie,

I do understand your situation but am not able to rescue you from it.
I don’t see that you have to provide a/the money shot in the form of a prescription to cure us of cruelty. But if you are going to end on a note of hopelessness or helplessness, it would be good if you could show that such a state of mind follows inevitably from full consideration of the facts.

All the best,

John

I respond:

Dear John,

I don’t intend to end on helplessness and hopelessness…but nor do I end with a solution. I have the endurance and need to do this because part of me does still believe that if we can acknowledge the few bits about the kind of creature we are that are valuable—which involve profound and lifelong ignorance and the capacity to perceive better, but never fully—then there IS hope. Not resolution, but resolutions, potentials…

People do still stop traffic in their gas-guzzling SUVs to escort geese and their goslings cross the street during rush hour traffic across Lake Shore Drive in Chicago, IL—then they go get breakfast at Kentucky Fried Chicken. Or, they think they do well by relocating a Box Turtle from the street ignorant that it will starve to death and fail to mate if it is turned around or moved more than a mile from its home. Still, there is hope in the fact that the person who wants to rescue the turtle could, if he only knew what box turtles need and are, be a good human. But we, in our own ways, make the same mistake in our best efforts. So, we do make good efforts.

So, if I hear you correctly, I need to make sure the pathway away from a distinct solution needs to be laid such that there is no way of un-paving it…that is, care, logic, and a dose of stoicism?

Thank you as always,