By DONALD De MARCO
Aristotle, in his treatment of animals (On the Soul 421a22), makes the observation that there is a relationship between softness of skin and intelligence. Those animals with harder skin are less intelligent than those with softer skin. “That is why,” he concludes, “man is the most intelligent of all animals.”
With due apologies to the jellyfish, Plato’s most renowned student has a point. Man’s softness of skin in tandem with its discriminatory exactness of touch has no peer among other animals. And this softness allows intelligence to operate more effectively. Knowledge of the world impresses itself more thoroughly in the human being than it does on any other animal.
Along with soft skin and intelligence, however, man is uniquely vulnerable. He is easily hurt. Words that mean nothing to brutes can be devastating to him. In order to defend himself against being hurt, he creates protective walls. Paradoxically, man can be empathic and be moved by another’s pain. At the same time, he can shelter himself against the world by wrapping himself up in a shroud of fear.
T.S. Eliot’s poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is about a man who is so concerned about what other people think of him that he builds a veritable suit of armor to shield himself against what he regards as the “slings and arrows” of personal criticism. He has “known the eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase” and compares himself to a butterfly “pinned and wriggling on the wall.” His fear of others is paralyzing: “Do I dare disturb the universe?”
Eliot captures Prufrock’s despair in a telling couplet:
“I should have been a pair of ragged claws /Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.”
In biological terminology, man has an “endoskeleton” or a skeleton on the inside. The crab that Prufrock wants to emulate has an “exoskeleton” or a skeleton on the outside. Prufrock wants to escape the vulnerability of a person who has soft skin and don the exoskeleton of the crab. The maneuver is fruitless since it deprives him of light, sound, warmth, and community. His fear has fitted him with a casket. At the end of the poem he expires.
We are all vulnerable and often hide behind exoskeletons. But we cannot go around wearing a crab costume. We have enough sense not to make utter fools of ourselves. Therefore we use subtler forms to shield ourselves from the disapproval of others.
The sports car can be an exoskeleton for the young man who undervalues his worth as a person. Likewise, excessive makeup and jewelry can serve the same purpose for a young woman. Black leather jackets, body piercing, tattoos, chains, vulgarity, or even verbosity can be serviceable exoskeletons.
The professor’s exoskeleton can be his desk, the politician his theatrics, the bureaucrat his mountain of red-tape, the veteran his medals, the hobbyist his collection of tools, and for the non-athletic, athletic attire. We sometimes find ourselves at a veritable masquerade party where no one is courageous enough to reveal his true identity. Man is also the only creature who wears a mask.
The protective mask is often subtle enough to escape the attention of the one who is wearing it. I recall speaking with a university professor of distinction. She had earned a “teacher of the year” award and prided herself on communicating effectively with her students.
But of late she had great difficulty in getting across to her students. She asked a trusted student why students in general seemed to be closed to anything she said. “Don’t you know,” her student responded, “you are talking to member of the contraceptive generation. Just as they resist conception in the body, they also resist conception in the mind.”
These words opened the teacher’s eyes. “I think you are right,” she said. The very students who were closed to their teacher’s communications were unaware of their own exoskeletons.
An idea, even a realistic one, can be offensive to those who want to protect themselves from anything challenging, new, or disagreeable. Being cocooned in protective armor, needless to say, is hardly conducive to being educated. In many circles, abortion, contraception, same-sex marriage, homosexuality, and physician-assisted suicide are non-discussable.
Docility is a virtue. It is openness to being educated. It is a disposition that is willing to invite new ideas. It requires the removal of inhibiting exoskeletons. How can one listen to the word of God? “My brothers and sisters, take note of this; be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (James 1:19). Words said without due thought and fierce anger can be exoskeletons that prevent listening, either to others or, more importantly, to God. Samuel was docile when he said, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:10).
Listening to God demands the removal of exoskeletons so that we hear what God has to say and not the echo of our own preferences. In the Parable of the Sower, Christ refers to seed that fell among thorns that “grew up and choked it, and it yielded no fruit.” But He spoke of another seed that fell upon good ground, “and yielded fruit that grew up and made increase and produced, one thirty, another sixty, and another a hundredfold.” Then He said, “He who has ears, let him hear” (Mark 3:4).
This latter seed is the Word of God which we can hear as long as we clear away the various barriers we erect to remain deaf to it. This same seed can bring to fruition a multitude of souls. The thorns are the exoskeletons that hinder our ability to hear the Word of God. When we approach listening to God we should quiet the distracting voice that comes from ourselves.
(Dr. DeMarco is a professor emeritus at St. Jerome’s University and an adjunct professor at Holy Apostles College & Seminary. He is a regular columnist for the St. Austin Review. His latest books, How to Navigate Through Life and Apostles of the Culture of Life, are available at amazon.com.)
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