Empathy in the works of J.M. Coetzee

In Doubling the Point: Essays and Interviews, edited by David Attwell, author J. M. Coetzee says of his upbringing in apartheid South Africa that in his youth “he ha[d] perhaps seen more of cruelty and violence than should have been allowed to a child” (394). Perhaps this is why in many of his novels, speeches and non-fiction works, Coetzee explores the human capacity for cruelty and violence – against animals, against Hottentots, against barbarians – or perhaps more accurately the lack of empathy needed to carry out acts of cruelty and violence. In Coetzee’s The Lives of Animals, a publication of Coetzee’s 1997-98 Tanner Lectures at Princeton University, he addresses the issue of empathy through a metanarrative in which a character, author Elizabeth Costello, debates the issue of animal cruelty at a series of academic lectures. In one academic speech, Costello makes a comparison between the killings of Jews in the Holocaust to the killings of animals in slaughterhouses. Costello, via Coetzee’s words, contends that in both cases it is lack of empathy that allows humans to treat Jews and animals in these inhumane ways.

Coetzee addresses the lack of empathy inherent in those who commit acts of violence in his fictional works, as well. In Dusklands, the character Jacobus describes a rural tribe of Hottentots in animalistic terms, thereby rendering them subhuman and worthy of death and cruelty. In Waiting for the Barbarians, Colonel Joll reduces the “barbarians,” to subhuman status in order to justify his acts of torture against them. In the novel In the Heart of the Country, Magda compares herself to rats as a way to justify her father’s cruel treatment. In all of these works, the common thread is the connection between lack of empathy and inhumane treatment. Coetzee contends that humans must dissociate themselves from the feelings of others in order to execute acts of violence without conscience. This is shown through lack of empathy, rationalization and reduction of the subject to subhuman status.

Coetzee contends that humans must separate themselves from human suffering in order to commit acts of violence. In The Lives of Animals, Elizabeth Costello contends that this lack of empathy stems from people’s inability to imagine themselves as sufferers of inhumane treatment – whether they are Jews in concentration camps or animals in cattle-cars: “The horror is that the killers refused to think themselves into the place of their victims, as did everyone else. They said, ‘It is they in those cattle-cars rattling past.’ They did not say, ‘How would it be if it were I in that cattle-car?’” (34). This inability of others to step into the shoes of their victims, Coetzee contends, is what allows people to turn a blind eye to cruelty. In the same way, Jacobus in Dusklands has no sympathy for the Hottentots he tortures. He says of a Hottentot victim whom he is torturing that “His eyes apologized like a dog’s. I was not upset. He was coming along” (103). This statement shows not only Jacobus’ lack of empathy but his sadistic enjoyment of power over another. The Empire soldiers that torture the Magistrate in Waiting for the Barbarians also lack empathy for pain: “My torturers were not interested in degrees of pain. They were interested only in demonstrating to me what it meant to live in a body … which very soon forgets [notions of justice] when its head is gripped and a pipe is pushed down its gullet” (115). In other words, the Empire soldiers have no empathy for the Magistrate’s suffering. They are interested only in punishing the Magistrate for his subversive acts. Finally, in the novel In the Heart of the Country, Magda shows her father’s lack of empathy to her suffering through her relating of his actions toward her: “I was absent. I was not missed. My father pays no attention to my absence. To my father, I have been an absence all my life” (2). The fact that Magda’s father “pays no attention to her,” shows his lack of empathy to her loneliness and suffering.

Coetzee also asserts that perpetrators of violence must rationalize their acts of violence in order to live with their consequences. In The Lives of Animals, Costello gives many rationalizations for the poor treatment of animals, the most prominent being that animals lack human awareness; therefore they are expendable: “[Animals] have no consciousness therefore. Therefore what? Therefore we are free to use them for our own ends? Therefore we are free to kill them?” (44). Here, Costello points out the folly of the rationalization that animals are worthy of killing because they have no consciousness. By the same token, in Dusklands, “Jacobus” convinces himself that the Hottentots have no awareness because it allows him to treat them like objects. Jacobus says of his servant Klawer, for example, that “we had lived much the same outward life; but he understood nothing. I dismissed him” (80). Jacobus rationalizes his cruel treatment of Klawer by contending that “he understood nothing,” an indication that Jacobus believes Klawer to lack normal human awareness. Similarly, in Waiting for the Barbarians, Colonel Joll rationalizes his torturous acts is by saying that in order to protect his people, he must force the truth from the barbarians: “I am probing for the truth, in which I have to exert pressure to find it. First I get lies, you see – this is what happens – first lies, then pressure, then more lies, then more pressure, then the break, then more pressure, then the truth” (5). If the Colonel convinces himself that the barbarians are lying and that by extracting the truth from them he can protect his people, then he can justify in his own mind, his barbarous acts. In a similar way, Magda in the novel In the Heart of the Country, demonizes herself as a way of justifying her father’s cruel treatment: “He believes that he will begin to prosper once I am out of the way. Though he dare not say so, he would like me to take to my bedchamber with a migraine and stay there” (34). By rationalizing her father’s cruelty with her own justifications, she can understand, though in a warped way, the reasons for his neglect.

A final way that Coetzee contends that humans dissociate themselves from the feelings of others in order to commit acts of cruelty is in the way that perpetrators reduce their victims to subhuman status. In Costello’s speech in The Lives of Animals, she discusses this practice with regard to animal cruelty in many ways. She quotes Descartes as saying: “An animal lives … as a machine lives” (33), thereby implying that the animal is an object and is therefore expendable. Jacobus in Dusklands does the same thing to the Hottentots – he refers to them as animals so he can justify his treatment of them: “Heartless as baboons they are, and the only way to treat them is like beasts” (58). By reducing people to animal-like status, Jacobus objectifies them and therefore condemns them to subhuman treatment. In Waiting for the Barbarians, Colonel Joll reduces the barbarians to subhuman status first by calling them “barbarians,” which implies that they are wild, untamable and therefore a subhuman threat to humanity. In addition, he reduces the barbarians to subhuman status by treating them like animals: “At the end of the rope, tied neck to neck comes a file of men, barbarians, stark naked, holding their hands up to their faces in an odd way as though one and all are suffering from toothache … a simple loop of wire runs through the flesh of each man’s hands and through holes pierced in his cheeks” (103). The way in which the men are corralled together, stripped naked and subjected to inhumane treatment shows that Joll does not see them as equal to him in human stature. In a similar fashion, in the novel In the Heart of the Country, Magda reduces herself to subhuman status as a result of her father’s cruel treatment. When daydreaming about having children, for example, she says of their birth: “emerging into the light of day at the head of a litter of ratlike, runty girls, all the spit image of myself” (42). Here, her comparison of herself and her children to “rats” implies that her father’s treatment has given her the impression that she is in fact subhuman and therefore deserves the cruelty he inflicts.

Nearly all of Coetzee’s works examine the subject of empathy in some fashion, but it is through his two speeches in The Lives of Animals that he truly brings the issue into acute focus. Perhaps it is because the fictional metanarrative, which ties the two talks together, is not a complex story but more of a forum in which to engage in philosophical discussion. This forum then gives Coetzee more freedom to focus on the single topic of animal cruelty and to debate the larger related topic of empathy freely instead of using it as a thematic backdrop for a larger narrative account. Regardless of the reason, the examination of empathy in The Lives of Animals brings clarity to the examination of the same topic in Coetzee’s larger fictional works, thereby unifying his body of work with a single overriding thematic focus. But as always, in all of these works Coetzee does not provide answers to the question of empathy and its role in society. He merely opens the topic up for discussion -- and leaves the audience to form their own conclusions.

Works Cited

Coetzee, J.M. Dusklands. 1974. United States of America: Penguin Books, 1983. Print.

---. In The Heart of the Country. 1976. United States of America: Penguin Books, 1982. Print.

---. The Lives of Animals. New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1999. Print.

---. Waiting for the Barbarians. 1980. United States of America: Penguin Books, 1982. Print.

Who's Narrating the Last Chapter of J. M. Coetzee's Foe?

J. M. Coetzee’s novel Foe starts out in a straightforward fashion like any other novel. It is the telling of Susan Barton, a woman shipwrecked on the same island with Robinson Crusoe.

Part II of the novel raises questions as to whether or not the rest of Susan’s story is real or imagined, particularly when Susan sees the mysterious young girl who claims to be her daughter (but, according to Susan looks nothing like her). Did Susan in fact escape the island? Or, desperate for escape, did she invent a rescue to cure her loneliness? Did she invent Foe as a way to satiate her desire to have her story told and her fear that she might die alone on the island in relative oblivion? And then, as she was inventing the story of her life back in civilization, did she bring her daughter into the picture, only to realize it had been so long since she had seen her that she could not remember what she looked like? And, was the fact that the daughter’s name was also Susan Barton an indication of Susan’s own deteriorating mental health after being stranded on the island so long.

These questions begin to come into play because her life back in England is so much like her life on the island. She is desperately lonely. She’s dirty and has no food. She has no one to talk to. (Perhaps Cruso did in fact die on the island, bringing about a further need for her to invent a life in civilization?) For example, she writes: “’Days pass. Nothing changes. We hear no word from you, and the townsfolk pay us no more heed than if we were ghosts" (87). The character of Foe, too, is curiously absent through much of the novel, and then when he does appear in Part III he is like Cruso, though with a slightly kinder persona (that she perhaps added because she wanted and needed Cruso to be that way?): “’The island is not a story in itself,’ said Foe gently, laying a hand on my knee.” Additionally, there is the scene in which the young girl Susan Barton and the nurse woman Amy come to visit Foe’s house and Susan refers to them as ghosts. “I say to myself that this child, who calls herself by my name, is a ghost, a substantial ghost, if such beings exist, who haunts me for reasons I cannot understand, and brings other ghosts in tow” (132). This, again, makes the story seem fictional and Susan herself to seem confused and bewildered. (One additional curiosity in Part III is the fact that this part, unlike parts I and II, does not start with a single quotation mark. Does this mean that someone other than Susan is writing it?)

All of these surreal, other-worldly issues point to a tone and style in the book that may help to explain the dream-like sequence in Part IV of the novel. It is similar in tone to the first three parts and yet it is distinctly different as well. Could it be that this is because it is Friday writing this part of the novel? There is an indication that this could be true: “… I begin to hear the faintest faraway roar: as she said, the roar of waves in a seashell …” (154). The words “as she said” indicate that Friday may be trying to imitate his teacher. Additionally, the narrator writes “With a sigh, making barely a splash, I slip overboard" (155). This is the same line that Susan herself writes on pages five and 11, again indicating mimicry. Also, there is a line about his appearance that seems slightly out of place. “About his neck – I had not observed this before – is a scar like a necklace, left by a rope or chain" (155). This seems to be something Friday is adding about himself and the words “I had not observed this before” may be referring to something Susan had failed to notice, rather than himself.

But, it is the references he makes to speech in the last few pages that further support the idea that Friday is writing this final chapter: “His teeth part. I press closer, and with an ear to his mouth lie waiting … I begin to hear the faintest faraway roar … Closer I press, listening for other sounds: the chirp of sparrows, the thud of a mattock, the call of a voice. From his mouth, without a breath, issue the sounds of the island (154). Perhaps this is his interpretation of his own voice or his way of showing that though he does not communicate with words, he communicates through other means.

Further on, there is an additional reference to speech: “’Friday, I say, I try to say, kneeling over him …” (157). The words “I try to say” could be an indication of Friday’s frustration over not being able to speak. Then, further down the page, he writes first “But this is not a place of words … It is the home of Friday" (157). This seems to be an indication of Friday’s world, his acceptance of his world without words and his interpretation of it. Finally, the passage which reads: “His mouth opens. From inside him comes a slow stream, without breath, without interruption … it passes through the cabin, throughout the wreck; washing the cliffs and shores of the island …” (157) seems to be his final attempt at conveying his world to others.

An additional hint that Friday may be the narrator of the final chapter is the way the final chapter is split up into two separate parts, first in the house and then in the ship. Perhaps this could be a way of showing that Friday thinks and communicates in different ways than Susan and Cruso because he has not been able to express himself through speech. Perhaps it is two dreams Friday had. Or, perhaps they are hallucinations brought on by the death of the only other two people on the island.

One additional way of interpreting this chapter on a larger scale is that it represents the relationship between the natives and the colonialists in Africa. Perhaps Friday represents the natives who communicate differently than the colonialists and are therefore deemed unintelligent or inferior (the way Susan judges Friday). With this interpretation then, Susan acts like the colonialists, teaching Friday her way of communicating (writing and speech) with the belief that she is helping him to express himself in a better way. This is like the colonialists that came in and forced the natives to speak and write their language and to accept their religion. Perhaps the natives of Africa felt mute and therefore helpless like Friday, to resist the colonialists’ teachings.

Work Cited

Coetzee, J. M. Foe. United States of America: Penguin Books, 1987. Print.

The Search for the Meaning of Life in Coetzee's The Life & Times of Michael K

The search for the meaning of life is an oft explored theme among authors and critical theorists. Nietzsche contends that human beings arrogantly deceive themselves into thinking that they can understand the Truth of existence: “the constant fluttering of human beings around the one flame of vanity is so much the rule and the law that there is virtually nothing which defies understanding so much as the fact that an honest and pure drive towards truth should ever have emerged in them” (875). Samuel Beckett asserts in Waiting for Godot that human beings wait their whole lives for someone (Godot) to impart to them words that give their lives meaning in a meaningless world. Herman Hesse claims in Siddhartha that enlightenment comes from living in the present without thought for the past or the future. J.M. Coetzee adds to the complexity of the discussion with his 1983 novel The Life & Times of Michael K, contending that happiness comes from abandoning meaning in favor of simplicity and silence. This is shown in the way Michael finds bliss in minimalism – burrowing into a self-made cave-like home, eating just enough food from his garden to subsist, sleeping and being at one with nature.

When Michael first discovers the abandoned Visagie farm, he tries to make himself useful: “In his first days in the mountains he went for walks, turned over stones, nibbled at roots and bulbs” (68). But he discovers after awhile a kind of existential ecstasy in simply existing, without desire for food, purpose, time or action: “He ceased to make an adventure of eating and drinking. He did not explore his new world. He did not turn his cave into a home or keep a record of the passage of days … he wondered if he were living in what was known as bliss” (68). He attributes this pleasure to his abandonment of desire and embracing of tranquility: “Then he had grown older and stopped wanting. Whatever the nature of the beast that had howled inside him, it was starved into stillness” (68). Michael’s discovery here of the value of minimalism in part encapsulates Nietzsche, Beckett and Hesse’s contentions about the meaning of life as well. It points to Nietzsche’s line of reasoning that “nowhere does [human] perception lead into truth” (875). It embraces Beckett’s assertion that the search for meaning is futile because life has no meaning and it elaborates on Hesse’s contention that bliss comes from simply being fully present in the here and now. Therefore, via Michael’s existential discovery of the value of simplicity, Coetzee both unites and elaborates on the assertions of other authors, thereby strengthening his contention that happiness comes from abandoning meaning in favor of minimalism.

Michael also finds comfort in silence. Throughout the novel, others such as the doctor in the infirmary at the work camp, impel Michael to speak in order to assert himself in the world: “No one is going to remember you but me, unless you yield and at last open your mouth. I appeal to you, Michaels, yield!” (152). But Michael has no desire, like other men, “to be remembered” because this would require him to attach meaning to his existence and Michael is beyond that. This frustrates the doctor and Noel and others around him because they are still searching for meaning just as Nietzsche, Beckett and Hesse contend that most men do. But, Michael doesn’t care. He is beyond this desire to be “seen” in the world. He is content to be left alone with himself, his thoughts, and his silence: “I was mute and stupid in the beginning, I will be mute and stupid at the end. There is nothing to be ashamed of in being simple” (182). In other words, he accepts the fact he is like a “mole … that does not tell stories because it lives in silence” (182). His acceptance of this fact and his contentment with his silence show that he is agreeing with Nietzsche, Beckett and Hesse’s contentions that the search for meaning in life is futile and that instead men should find contentment in the realization that life has no meaning, that to be happy all one must do is take pleasure in existing. In this way, once again, Coetzee uses Michael’s character to unite the contentions of other authors while strengthening his own argument that bliss comes from abandoning meaning in favor of silence.

Many authors have entered the debate about the search for the meaning of life. Nietzsche contends that man cannot know the Truth of nature and is arrogant to believe that he can. Beckett contends that people wait their whole lives for meaning that does not exist. Hesse contends that it is the abandonment of attachment to meaning that frees the spirit. Each of these authors takes a different stance on the same overriding theme, that life in fact has no meaning. Coetzee unites and adds his own perspective on the arguments of these authors with his novel The Life & Times of Michael K. In it, his central character comes to the realization that bliss comes from abandoning a search for meaning in favor of simplicity and silence. In discovering this, Michael frees himself from the constraints of time, purpose and meaning, giving himself instead “time enough for everything” (183). While I appreciate Coetzee’s stark take on this discussion, I find Michael’s quiet, resigned response to be depressing. His contention that “Perhaps the truth is that it is enough to be out of the camps, out of all the camps at the same time. Perhaps that is enough of an achievement, for the time being” (182) is so passive that it makes me question and reject his form of paradise. I much prefer Siddhartha’s joyous response to his enlightenment: “As time went on, his smile began to resemble the ferryman’s, was almost equally radiant, almost equally full of happiness, equally lighting up through a thousand little wrinkles” (108). Though both Michael and Siddhartha have found their own kind of ecstasy, Siddhartha’s outward expression of delight seems much more desirable than Michael’s calm, acquiescent life of solitude.

Works Cited and Consulted

Beckett, Samuel. Waiting for Godot. Chelsea House, 2008. Print.

Coetzee, J. M. The Life & Times of Michael K. United States: Viking Penguin, Inc., 1985. Print.

Hesse, Herman. Siddhartha. New York: Bantam, 1971. Print.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. “From On Truth and Lying in a Non-moral Sense.” The Norton Anthology of Literary Criticism. Eds Vincent B. Leitch, William E. Cain, Laurie A. Finke, Barbara E. Johnson, John McGowan, Jeffrey J. Williams. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2001. 874-884. Print.