We Slaves

14) Pity as an Aesthetic Experience, Part 2

Imagine when one looks upon the familiar and sees in that observation an unfavorable difference. To make a point from the simplest example, take the moment when one looks down upon the poor. We can easily transcribe the inner voice of Reason within the mind of the compassionate. Undoubtedly, it goes something like this, “Let me help them in hope that they may have a better future.” And these words are the very beginning of that atomic tremble which has resonated in the soul of generations. Now, perhaps we allow ourselves permission to expand this inner monologue. Our recording probably goes something like this:

“I would not enjoy a life like theirs. Looking upon them is discomforting. A bad feeling overcomes me at the thought of not having what I have. I know that if they could choose, they would not choose their circumstance. They have only been less fortunate than I have. Now, either they should be given what I have or they should be allowed the resources to help themselves, so that they may have what I have—so that they may live like I do.”

Finally, the voice concludes, “I pity them.” But the voice of reason omits, “Their sight offends me.” Now, in practice our good conscience is not so transparent. Nonetheless, pity is one answer which successfully reconciles the relative-similar. Very plainly, the compassionate want to make the relative-similar all the more similar, or else it must be forced into an object of absolute-difference. Or perhaps we could say with more correctness, pity is only that which surges to baptize imperialism and christen it as altruism.

I have read the words of a psychologist spoken to a weakened culture: "Pity for all—would be hardness and tyranny toward you, my dear neighbor!—” But the subject and condition which has been diagnosed here is much different. And by this I mean to say that the words spoken to a weak individual begin with, “Pity for some—” And now, with little doubt, I have displayed two caricatures on a single stage: one is called the compassionate and the other is the despondent. And with your eyes fix on them I ask again, who could believe the universe fiddles a congruent song that they themselves have been granted permission to hear? Who could be so audacious as to assume that their foresight and united front is the united front of all the universe, and that they are not one of the thousand thousands which stand outside? Who could believe that the fiddles of a thousand thousands fiddle for them? Who could suffer from so much vanity?