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Showing posts with label Human. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Human. Show all posts

Monday, March 22, 2010

Gender Discrimination - Reality or Perception?


       There are obvious reasons to believe contemporary gender discrimination is part reality and part perception and where reality is by far the greater part of the balance. We can take pride in the candor of dialog that women have brought forward in tackling this issue and in the resulting progress that have been made, but we can’t deny that much remains to be done. Is it their frailty of conceding or the male strength of assertion that defines the line? Arthur Schopenhauer's famous essay “On Women” somehow points out some outrageous views that you and I might consider to be reality or perception. Here it is.

The nature of the female
       One needs only to see the way she is built to realize that woman is not intended for great mental or for great physical labor. She expiates the guilt of life not through activity but through suffering, through the pains of childbirth, caring for the child and subjection to the man, to whom she should be a patient and cheering companion. Great suffering, joy, exertion, is not for her: her life should flow by more quietly, trivially, gently than the man's without being essentially happier or unhappier.
       Women are suited to being the nurses and teachers of our earliest childhood precisely because they themselves are childish, silly and short-sighted, in a word big children, their whole lives long: a kind of intermediate stage between the child and the man, who is the actual human being, ‘man.’ One has only to watch a girl playing with a child, dancing and singing with it the whole day, and then ask oneself what, with the best will in the world, a man could do in her place. 

Natural weapons
       In the girl nature has had in view what could in theatrical terms be called a stage-effect: it has provided her with superabundant beauty and charm for a few years at the expense of the whole remainder of her life, so that during these years she may so capture the imagination of a man that he is carried away into undertaking to support her honorably in some form or another for the rest of her life, a step he would seem hardly likely to take for purely rational considerations. Thus nature has equipped women, as it has all its creatures, with the tools and weapons she needs for securing her existence, and at just the time she needs them; in doing which nature has acted with its usual economy. For just as the female ant loses its wings after mating, since they are then superfluous, indeed harmful to the business of raising the family, so the woman usually loses her beauty after one or two childbeds, and probably for the same reason.
 
Female truth
       The fundamental defect of the female character is a lack of a sense of justice. This originates first and foremost in their want of rationality and capacity for reflexion but it is strengthened by the fact that, as the weaker sex, they are driven to rely not on force but on cunning: hence their instinctive subtlety and their ineradicable tendency to tell lies: for, as nature has equipped the lion with claws and teeth, the elephant with tusks, the wild boar with fangs, the bull with horns and the cuttlefish with ink, so it has equipped woman with the power of dissimulation as her means of attack and defence, and has transformed into this gift all the strength it has bestowed on man in the form of physical strength and the power of reasoning.        
       Dissimulation is thus inborn in her and consequently to be found in the stupid woman almost as often as in the clever one. To make use of it at every opportunity is as natural to her as it is for an animal to employ its means of defence whenever it is attacked, and when she does so she feels that to some extent she is only exercising her rights. A completely truthful woman who does not practice dissimulation is perhaps an impossibility, which is why women see through the dissimulation of others so easily it is inadvisable to attempt it with them. – But this fundamental defect which I have said they possess, together with all that is associated with it, gives rise to falsity, unfaithfulness, treachery, ingratitude, etc. Women are guilty of perjury far more often than men. It is questionable whether they ought to be allowed to take an oath at all.
 
Feminine charms
       Only a male intellect clouded by the sexual drive could call the stunted, narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped and short-legged sex the fair sex: for it is with this drive that all its beauty is bound up. More fittingly than the fair sex, women could be called the unaesthetic sex. Neither for music, nor poetry, nor the plastic arts do they possess any real feeling or receptivity: if they affect to do so, it is merely mimicry in service of their effort to please. This comes from the fact that they are incapable of taking a purely objective interest in anything whatever, and the reason for this is, I think, as follows. Man strives in everything for a direct domination over things, either by comprehending or by subduing them. But woman is everywhere and always relegated to a merely indirect domination, which is achieved by means of man, who is consequently the only thing she has to dominate directly. Thus it lies in the nature of women to regard everything simply as a means of capturing a man, and their interest in anything else is only simulated, is no more than a detour, i.e. amounts to coquetry and mimicry.
 
Absence of genius
Nor can one expect anything else from women if one considers that the most eminent heads of the entire sex have proved incapable of a single truly great, genuine and original achievement in art, or indeed of creating anything at all of lasting value: this strikes one most forcibly in regard to painting, since they are just as capable of mastering its technique as we are, and indeed paint very busily, yet cannot point to a single great painting; the reason being precisely that they lack all objectivity of mind, which is what painting demands above all else. Isolated and partial exceptions do not alter the case: women, taken as a whole, are and remain thorough and incurable philistines: so that, with the extremely absurd arrangement by which they share the rank and title of their husband, they are a continual spur to his ignoble ambitions. They are sexus sequior, the inferior second sex in every respect: one should be indulgent toward their weaknesses, but to pay them honour is ridiculous beyond measure and demeans us even in their eyes. 

Insipid women-veneration
This is how the peoples of antiquity and of the Orient have regarded women; they have recognized what is the proper position for women far better than we have, we with our Old French gallantry and insipid women-veneration, that highest flower of Christian-Germanic stupidity which has served only to make women so rude and arrogant that one is sometimes reminded of the sacred apes of Benares which, conscious of their own sanctity and inviolability, thought themselves at liberty to do whatever they pleased. 

Monogamy and 'filles de joie'
In our monogamous part of the world, to marry means to halve one's rights and double one's duties. But when the law conceded women equal rights with men it should at the same time have endowed them with masculine reasoning powers. What is actually the case is that the more those rights and privileges the law accords to women exceed those which are natural to them, the more it reduces the number of women who actually participate in these benefits; and then the remainder are deprived of their natural rights by just the amount these few receive in excess of theirs: for, because of the unnaturally privileged position enjoyed by women as a consequence of monogamy and the marriage laws accompanying it, which regard women as entirely equal to men (which they are in no respect), prudent and cautious men very often hesitate before making so great a sacrifice as is involved in entering into so inequitable a contract; so that while among polygamous peoples every woman gets taken care of, among the monogamous the number of married women is limited and there remains over a quantity of unsupported women who, in the upper classes, vegetate on as useless old maids, and in the lower are obligated to undertake laborious work they are constitutionally unfitted for or become filles de joie, whose lives are as devoid of joie as they are of honour but who, given the prevailing circumstances, are necessary for the gratification of the male sex and therefore come to constitute a recognized class, with the specific task of preserving the virtue of those women more favoured by fate who have found a man to support them or may reasonably hope to find one. There are 80,000 prostitutes in London alone: and what are they if not sacrifices on the altar of monogamy? These poor women are the inevitable counterpart and natural complement to the European lady, with all her arrogance and pretension. For the female sex viewed as a whole polygamy is therefore a real benefit; on the other hand there appears no rational ground why a man whose wife suffers from a chronic illness, or has remained unfruitful, or has gradually grown too old for him, should not take a second. 

No argument about polygamy
There can be no argument about polygamy: it is a fact to be met with everywhere and the only question is how to regulate it. For who is really a monogamist? We all live in polygamy, at least for a time and usually for good. Since every man needs many women, there could be nothing more just than that he should be free, indeed obliged, to support many women. This would also mean the restoration of woman to her rightful and natural position, the subordinate one, and the abolition from the world of the lady, with her ridiculous claims to respect and veneration; there would then be only women, and no longer unhappy women, of which Europe is at present full. 

Property and inheritance
In India, no woman is ever independent, but in accordance with the law of Manu, she stands under the control of her father, her husband, her brother or her son. It is, to be sure, a revolting thing that a widow should immolate herself upon her husband's funeral pyre; but it is also revolting that she should spend her husband's money with her paramours – the money for which he toiled his whole life long, in the consoling belief that he was providing for his children. Happy are those who have kept the middle course – medium tenuere beati.
       In almost all nations, whether of the ancient or the modern world, even amongst the Hottentots, property is inherited by the male descendants alone; it is only in Europe that a departure has taken place; but not amongst the nobility, however.
       That the property which has cost men long years of toil and effort, and been won with so much difficulty, should afterwards come into the hands of women, who then, in their lack of reason, squander it in a short time, or otherwise fool it away, is a grievance and a wrong as serious as it is common, which should be prevented by limiting the right of women to inherit. In my opinion, the best arrangement would be that by which women, whether widows or daughters, should never receive anything beyond the interest for life on property secured by mortgage, and in no case the property itself, or the capital, except when there cease to be male descendants. The people who make money are men, not women; and it follows from this that women are neither justified in having unconditional possession of it, nor fit persons to be entrusted with its administration. When wealth, in any true sense of the word, that is to say, funds, houses or land, is to go to them as an inheritance they should never be allowed the free disposition of it. In their case a guardian should always be appointed; and hence they should never be given the free control of their own children, wherever it can be avoided. 
      
       What can you say about these?

Friday, September 4, 2009

When Love's Just Right Behind His/Her Shoulder

My dear Filipina friends, the last of the romantics could very well manage the balance of human affection in his/her thoughts. But mind you, that gone-crazy lover would still need some friendly share of common experience to be able to comprehend the secrets of that enslaving fervor. The Pinay world hangs tough along that romantic horizon. If ever she sways her smile towards pragmatism, then the motive could be very well an online shopping for greener emotional intensity. Let us get into the groove that Ms. Marina Zitser relates about Love i n foreign perspective.

She is Behind His Shoulder   By: Marina Zitser     Site: http://www.odessapartments.com


KissImage by chrisjohnbeckett via Flickr
     In my last sixteen years of living a couple things have changed. I've outgrown my footed "jimmies", my denim overalls, and even a couple of my bedtime buddies (otherwise known as Mickey and Donald). I brush my teeth every day and almost stopped sucking my thumb, which is one of my major achievements up to this date. Probably I will not put this one on my college application as well as some other secret of mine: I fall in love exactly the same way as I did ten years ago, hopelessly, desperately and ... not for long. My love flu lasts approximately two weeks with temperature raising when I see the object of my affection with somebody else and when he is looking at me with this expression on his face that can be equally translated as "who are you?" and "it is you again". 
     After first two days with life-threatening fever I am falling into a comma where I sit near the phone waiting for him to call me and watching for God knows how many times tireless Mr. Butler carrying Scarlett up the giant red staircase. Like a wounded female lion protecting her cubs, I jump on everybody who is trying to use the phone with a roar that can make any predator of the wild proud. The clock ticks, and finally when I understand that I am sentenced to an eternity of unimaginable pain and suffering, when I show all signs of fatigue, exhaustion, disorientation, insomnia and anxiety, HE calls me. I pick up the phone, we talk, we meet, we smile, we laugh, we talk, he calls again and... Have you guessed already? I am getting better! My fever is gone, I don't respond to the phone calls when I watch my favorite episode of "South Park", I find most of his jokes old and tasteless, I sneak out with my cousin to the movies and lie to my hero that I have to get ready for finals. Yes, dear reader, I don't need your "Get Well Soon" card and pathetic balloons anymore! I am completely healed. 
     So how do you call this? Infatuation? For sure it is not love. Then what is Love? Romeo and Juliet? Did I hear you right? Their relationship was electrifying. But it did not last more than a few days and then they're dead. Maybe you have any other ideas? Joe Kort, a Michigan psychotherapist who hosts weekend-long relationship sessions for both single and married people wrote in one of the magazines that this romantic love that we feel for a short period of time is highly addictive and gives us emotional high caused by something called phenyl ethylamine - PEA, for short. Novelty induces the body to create PEA, says Kort. And at best, a real-life love can only be very novel for six to eighteen months. After that, we've got to learn to appreciate the maturing of a relationship.
     Here is another story. Maybe I will lie a little now to make it look more tearful but I need to make a point. Ok, listen. This story happened during World War II in the little village in Siberia. The young woman was waiting for her husband to come home. She checked her mail every day; she looked through the frozen glass of the kitchen window every time when she heard a noise outside. She was crying into her pillow every night when her kids went to sleep feeling with her guts that her husband would never come back. After many months of agony she received a letter from the hospital saying that they had her husband. The guy was burnt beyond recognition, he lost his limbs, and he could not communicate. He required 24/7 care of the professional nurse, so they advised the wife not to come because they think that she would not be able to provide appropriate care in the middle of nowhere for the person who did not even resemble human being anymore. I am sure these people were right, but this woman whose name is lost in the history, packed her suitcase and raced to the train station to see her husband. 
I don't want to put a burden on you explaining what she felt when she saw the guy, who was strong enough to carry her through the yard to the lake during their wedding, in a hospital room covered with bandages, helpless and unrecognizable. She saw his black eyes and smiled. In two days he was already at home surrounded by kids. It is not probably possible to explain you how hard it was to take care of him in the little Russian village without medications and food. But he survived, and only eyes expressed the pain that he felt. Two years passed and once when she was working in the garden, she felt that her heart started beating extremely fast, she turned her head and saw her husband in the military uniform entering the house. That night this big man whose tired feet went through every European country before they reached Berlin, went down on his knees before his barefooted wife. He was sobbing like a child that after so many years of uncertainty and fear he was standing in front of the greatest woman that existed in the world... 
     Ok, I hope you cried because I did. So was it love? Was it? Guys, I dragged you from the sunny California to Siberia for some reason. I wanted to show you that love is something different from what I felt when I was hypnotizing the phone in my bedroom. Yes, maybe it was love in that house near the lake in the old village with the weird name Sosnovka, but maybe not. It could be duty, respect, honesty...but not love. 
     Love does not have any signs. I wish it had. It could be black and red, it could be loud or silent, it could be sick or healthy, dressed in a million words or blind and poor like a homeless old guy begging for a change near the church. And even when we meet Ms. Love face-to-face we will not recognize her. And if somebody, calls you in the middle of the night promising that he can get for you a star from the sky, just listen to him, give him a chance. Maybe Ms. Love is quietly standing behind his shoulder while he is nervously explaining you that he needs you more than anything in the world. It could be that simple.
                    About the author: Marina Zitser, I love to write, travel and meet new people. Apartments in Odessa 
Now, who says the strong and lovable Pinay holds an exclusive expertise for patience and sacrifice? The world abounds with Love's parallelism. Any race could jump right on it. Love's craze and folly could be just right behind the shoulder...Or maybe it's just the right thing to do and be.

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Saturday, July 25, 2009

A Filipina student made me smile!

Ahh, I thought it would be one of those ordinary days and I would be just one of those working in the usual warm temperature in our school. Of course, I was one of those who would nag about the heat but would settle later. However, the warm character of the room seemed to have engrossed many students. Generally speaking, attendance in my class was high. So in about three hours, I had encountered the usual thirty five people. Frankly, I was sort of done in but I had to show a brilliant facade. I tried to wear a smile but it vanished once my mind focused on the essentials during that day. My heart wanted to keep smiling but my facial muscles were saggy.

Then I had the class card of a Filipina student before me and I went straight to her concerns barely remembering to look at her in the face. I had little strength for pleasantries - just get on with the job and finish with it. Or maybe she’s too beautiful to disappoint. Then out of the blue the lady requested me to smile. At first I ignored her. Instead my mind was wondering why she would go beyond the professional curb between us and ask me to do such a personal thing as smile. But even then, I was too exhausted to brood over its ambiguity. I was going to use the little vigor I had left to finish the session. I went back to saying what I was saying - something about the value of right and timely approach. But then the girl, ah yes, the lady repeated herself. Again, I tried to pretend not to hear her but deep within I knew she was right and she had caught me off-guard. How could I tell her that I was trying to smile as much as possible and that she had caught me in an unusual moment when over thirty different students, with different needs and concerns to deal with, have almost sapped me of my resolve to always smile?

Like she had planned it out, the young woman started participating dynamically before the whole class and I thought I was off the hook but then midway in her response to the issues raised; she went back to the smile topic. I thought the stares of everyone in the room were all for me. I wanted to step in and give such responses like “Look Miss, I have been teaching all day, and I am through with your hanky-panky. I’ll smile if I want to and spontaneously.” At first I thought that looking directly on her eyes would melt her so I could return the assault. However, the bright sincerity of her pretty face overwhelmed any sting of stare that I could throw. I changed my focus at the center of the class showing control of myself and the situation. Actually I didn’t see anyone; her whole face engulfed my view. Then I recalled an old adage of loving whatever I do so I could be the best I can. I remembered that I have always said to myself that anytime I was tempted to complain about a task or job, then I am through with that task or job and should seek something else to do. Just in that moment, my ego gave way to the realization that beneath my professional drape is a human being who could be fallible. I knew she was right.

Without forcing it, I found myself conceding and smiling. Whether it was at her, at her statement, or at myself, I wasn’t sure but her face lit up and I found myself saying in a nice way – “are you happy now?” Her smile broadened and she gladly said, “Yes I am.” I knew she meant it and I also realized then that the smile meant a lot to her. Interestingly, I was happy about it too. I looked up and realized that many others in the room have been observing what was going on. As my face turned at them, they were all smiling in return. I moved on with the discussion, happy that I did not make a fool of myself before all those observers. But beyond that I realized how good I felt and how much strength I had gained by that momentary experience. It overcame my exhaustion and filled me with a lightness that took me through the rest of the day. What a day!

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