Eldritch
10-22-2010, 10:02 PM
The performance of the miners shows that humans are not wolves, set to descend upon each other.
By THEODORE DALRYMPLE
We are always tempted to suppose that conduct in extreme situations reveals more about human nature than conduct in ordinary situations: that the concentration camp, for example, tells us more about who and what we are as a species than the convenience store or dinner party. But all aspects of reality being equally real, is it true that extreme circumstances are uniquely informative?
Given our prejudice in favor of the pedagogic value of the extreme, it is hardly surprising that lessons about human nature should be sought in the burial alive, survival and rescue of the Chilean miners. They were, after all, trapped underground for a record period of time.
That they behaved with great fortitude, courage, faith and dignity will hardly be denied by anyone; the efforts to save them were inspiring. There was no major violence between them (beyond a few reported early scuffles), and no cannibalism either.
None of them attempted to save himself at the expense of others, and their leader showed the quality of his leadership by being the last to leave the mine. For once, we humans could feel good about ourselves as a species. Angels could hardly have done better.
Writers have always loved to describe situations in which a man or men (rarely women) have been isolated in the most difficult circumstances, individually or collectively. Generally speaking, what those writers have tried to show is that the civilization of civilized men is but a veneer that is easily stripped off by a little (or much) adversity. Man is thus what he has always been: a wolf to himself. They rarely draw the conclusion that the veneer is the most important thing about civilization.
It is important to remember that isolation, either individual or collective, does not have invariable consequences, as if it were a merely physiological phenomenon. What people bring to isolation is as important as what isolation brings to them.
The anchorite in the Syrian desert, subsisting on locusts and honey, does not react to being on his own the same way as the socialite suddenly abandoned for one reason or another by his or her acquaintances and who can no longer frequent the scenes of gaiety that gave meaning to his or her life. Hence isolation has no LD50, or medium lethal dose—that is to say, a dose that will kill half the beings subjected to it.
It has long been known that strong religious or political convictions preserve people's morale even in the worst of circumstances. Those who survived best in the Nazi camps had some transcendental belief system, whether it was religious or secular (such as Marxism). Those for whom life was essentially only one random event after another, without any particular telos or end, were inclined more quickly to submit to the circumstances, gave up the struggle and were willing, perhaps even eager, to die.
It is noteworthy in this connection that some of the miners donned T-shirts giving thanks to God for their rescue, and that the president of Chile himself made reference to God in his first pronouncement on the rescue. For someone like me, completely irreligious as I am, this seems absurd; a lot of trouble could have been saved by not having entrapped the miners in the first place, which must surely have been easily within the omnipotent deity's power.
If it is returned that nevertheless the whole episode was a salutary one, for it taught the miners, the Chileans and the world in general to be grateful for the gift of life, and not to take it so much for granted, I would reply, "What about the miners of China, more than 2,000 of whom a year die in accidents?" Are they some kind of human sacrifice, that we may all feel glad and grateful to be alive?
But in disaster, as in most of life, psychology is more important, and more determinant of outcome, than logic. Marxism, that farrago of a religion dressed up in the clothes of 19th-century rationalism, undoubtedly spurred millions of people to disastrous heroism, though its intellectual deficiencies were only too obvious. Men really did die with the name of Stalin on their lips; they died happy that they were not dying in vain.
No man is an atheist in the dark, it has been said, but it is unlikely that the religious convictions of the Chilean miners were merely a response to their desperate circumstances; they pre-existed them. The miners were also aided by another factor. While they were isolated in the physical sense, they were far from isolated in any other. For once, media attention was wholly beneficial in its effects. The miners were in the eye of the world. They knew that what they did, how they acted, would be known to untold millions.
You have only to consider an alternative scenario to realize how important this was to their survival. Suppose that they had been trapped underground all that time, with enough food and drink to survive, but not knowing whether anyone was making an effort to reach them, or whether their plight was of any concern to anyone other than their immediate family (something that they could pretty well assume, but which in those circumstances would have been a cause of anxiety rather than of consolation). Would their conduct then have been so admirable? Would they have been able to maintain their equanimity to such a remarkable degree?
It seems intuitively very unlikely; their fear of abandonment would have riven them with disputes, jealousies, passions and paranoia. Only the most remarkable among them would have retained their equilibrium, for when a group of people is enclosed together for a long time, without purpose and without possibility of escape, isolated from the rest of the world (as, for example, in a prison), the smallest thing is indistinguishable from the fate of the world and often gives rise to literally murderous resentment.
Full story here. (http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704779704575553943328901802.html)
By THEODORE DALRYMPLE
We are always tempted to suppose that conduct in extreme situations reveals more about human nature than conduct in ordinary situations: that the concentration camp, for example, tells us more about who and what we are as a species than the convenience store or dinner party. But all aspects of reality being equally real, is it true that extreme circumstances are uniquely informative?
Given our prejudice in favor of the pedagogic value of the extreme, it is hardly surprising that lessons about human nature should be sought in the burial alive, survival and rescue of the Chilean miners. They were, after all, trapped underground for a record period of time.
That they behaved with great fortitude, courage, faith and dignity will hardly be denied by anyone; the efforts to save them were inspiring. There was no major violence between them (beyond a few reported early scuffles), and no cannibalism either.
None of them attempted to save himself at the expense of others, and their leader showed the quality of his leadership by being the last to leave the mine. For once, we humans could feel good about ourselves as a species. Angels could hardly have done better.
Writers have always loved to describe situations in which a man or men (rarely women) have been isolated in the most difficult circumstances, individually or collectively. Generally speaking, what those writers have tried to show is that the civilization of civilized men is but a veneer that is easily stripped off by a little (or much) adversity. Man is thus what he has always been: a wolf to himself. They rarely draw the conclusion that the veneer is the most important thing about civilization.
It is important to remember that isolation, either individual or collective, does not have invariable consequences, as if it were a merely physiological phenomenon. What people bring to isolation is as important as what isolation brings to them.
The anchorite in the Syrian desert, subsisting on locusts and honey, does not react to being on his own the same way as the socialite suddenly abandoned for one reason or another by his or her acquaintances and who can no longer frequent the scenes of gaiety that gave meaning to his or her life. Hence isolation has no LD50, or medium lethal dose—that is to say, a dose that will kill half the beings subjected to it.
It has long been known that strong religious or political convictions preserve people's morale even in the worst of circumstances. Those who survived best in the Nazi camps had some transcendental belief system, whether it was religious or secular (such as Marxism). Those for whom life was essentially only one random event after another, without any particular telos or end, were inclined more quickly to submit to the circumstances, gave up the struggle and were willing, perhaps even eager, to die.
It is noteworthy in this connection that some of the miners donned T-shirts giving thanks to God for their rescue, and that the president of Chile himself made reference to God in his first pronouncement on the rescue. For someone like me, completely irreligious as I am, this seems absurd; a lot of trouble could have been saved by not having entrapped the miners in the first place, which must surely have been easily within the omnipotent deity's power.
If it is returned that nevertheless the whole episode was a salutary one, for it taught the miners, the Chileans and the world in general to be grateful for the gift of life, and not to take it so much for granted, I would reply, "What about the miners of China, more than 2,000 of whom a year die in accidents?" Are they some kind of human sacrifice, that we may all feel glad and grateful to be alive?
But in disaster, as in most of life, psychology is more important, and more determinant of outcome, than logic. Marxism, that farrago of a religion dressed up in the clothes of 19th-century rationalism, undoubtedly spurred millions of people to disastrous heroism, though its intellectual deficiencies were only too obvious. Men really did die with the name of Stalin on their lips; they died happy that they were not dying in vain.
No man is an atheist in the dark, it has been said, but it is unlikely that the religious convictions of the Chilean miners were merely a response to their desperate circumstances; they pre-existed them. The miners were also aided by another factor. While they were isolated in the physical sense, they were far from isolated in any other. For once, media attention was wholly beneficial in its effects. The miners were in the eye of the world. They knew that what they did, how they acted, would be known to untold millions.
You have only to consider an alternative scenario to realize how important this was to their survival. Suppose that they had been trapped underground all that time, with enough food and drink to survive, but not knowing whether anyone was making an effort to reach them, or whether their plight was of any concern to anyone other than their immediate family (something that they could pretty well assume, but which in those circumstances would have been a cause of anxiety rather than of consolation). Would their conduct then have been so admirable? Would they have been able to maintain their equanimity to such a remarkable degree?
It seems intuitively very unlikely; their fear of abandonment would have riven them with disputes, jealousies, passions and paranoia. Only the most remarkable among them would have retained their equilibrium, for when a group of people is enclosed together for a long time, without purpose and without possibility of escape, isolated from the rest of the world (as, for example, in a prison), the smallest thing is indistinguishable from the fate of the world and often gives rise to literally murderous resentment.
Full story here. (http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704779704575553943328901802.html)