A Justification.
Notes in Justification of Putting the Audience Through a Difficult Evening.
by Wallace Shawn
We all know how enjoyable it is to see a film about the nineteenth century in which sadistic and greedy slave-owners, dressed in comical costumes, sit on the porch of a mansion and breezily philosophize, justifying their vile way of life with ludicrous and insincere rationalizations. And there’s even something somewhat gratifying, one has to admit, about seeing Hitler in a newsreel, with his silly mustache and silly haircut, screaming hysterically and shaking his fist. And one of the reasons we like to see such films or such newsreels is that they give us the reassuring feeling, as we watch them, that we’re the sort of people who can recognize evil when it presents itself — the sort of people who will recognize it and immediately reject it if it ever should approach us. The people in the film about the nineteenth century may be fooling each other, but they don’t fool us. We can easily see that their arguments are false. And even when we watch the newsreel, although Hitler is trying his best to impress us, he fails completely. We see right through him, and we utterly despise him.
Unfortunately, it does little good to those who were murdered by Hitler in the 1940s that we look at newsreels of Hitler today and see him as a hideous monstrosity. What doomed those people to a horrifying death was the fact that the audience that was listening to Hitler’s speeches at the time he was actually making them found him very compelling. Hitler’s mustache style, unfashionable today, was seen by the people of the time as quite attractive. The passion in his speeches seemed heart-felt and honest. The accusations he made about the injustices committed against the German nation by the Treaty of Versailles were very persuasive. And the people who listened to Hitler’s speeches had often heard that he was fond of his children, and fond of his dog.
Watching too many newsreels from the distant past, too many films about the nineteenth century, can give us a feeling of over-confidence. It would be flattering to believe that we are superior in some way to the audiences who cheered for Hitler — more insightful and perceptive, let’s say or less bloodthirsty — but I think it would be more prudent to make the assumption that perhaps we are not. At least we should allow ourselves to imagine that possibility for just a moment. After all, if we do turn out to be superior — if we are, in fact, a uniquely benign and harmless group of people, blessed with unusual clarity of vision — then our moment of over-cautiousness will have cost us nothing. Whereas if it should happen to turn out that we’re not superior, our self-examination might save a lot of people — possible all people — from being harmed by us.
It was difficult for the people who listened to Hitler to see him as clearly as we see him today. They didn’t know about the crimes he would ultimately commit. And the Treaty of Versailles really was unjust. Much of what he said about it was absolutely true. Hitler’s personality had some warm elements that were attractive to people. And from what I’ve read, I’m prepared to believe that he did love his dog.
Now there are people who will argue, No, he could not have loved his dog. There was nothing good or attractive about him, nothing true in what he said. And in my opinion the reason they make that argument is that if Hitler did not love his dog, if he did not ever say anything true, then we know that we all could have seen him for the monster he was. As soon as we admit that he might have loved his dog, then we begin to worry that perhaps we would not have seen how evil he was, perhaps we’re not superior to the people who listened to his speeches all those many years ago, perhaps we too might have been confused, perhaps, in fact, we’re confused right now. We lose our certainty that the people we admire now are not evil, that the arguments we believe in now, the things we say and the thoughts we think, are not evil, and we ourselves are not evil.
A play represents a self-enclosed little world for the audience to examine. It’s an opportunity to look objectively at a group of people, to assess them, to react to them, and to measure oneself against them, to ask, “Am I like that?” Every playwright tries to present on stage — in the world he creates — something like an aspect of his own view of the real world, the world outside the play, and as I find the real world to be disturbingly complicated and hard to figure out, I’ve written a play in which it’s hard to say whether you like some of the people or you don’t like them, and in which the things people say are a complex jumble of lies, truth, half-truth, rationality, and irrationality — in other words, things in the play are just the way things seem to me every day when I read the newspaper or talk to friends, colleagues, and acquaintances on the telephone. In the world of the play, evil triumphs, whereas my own view about the way things stand in the real world is that we might still be able to prevent the complete triumph of evil, particularly if we recognize that the complete triumph of evil really is a possibility and that the partial triumph of evil has already occurred.
Intellectual clarity seems to be a very important weapon in the fight against evil, although “clarity” is of course a very difficult concept to define. I think staying awake rather than falling asleep when people are talking to you is an important component of the definition of clarity, and I think theatre can give people a certain training or practice in this type of vigilance. It’s really quite simple, in a way — actually listening to what people are saying, actually watching what they’re doing, and then judging what you’ve heard and seen by your own standards. It’s simple to describe, but it’s actually quite hard to do, and theatre can help us to learn to do it.
Lemon in Aunt Dan and Lemon, doesn’t say the same things Aunt Dan has said, and you, in the real world don’t say the same things Lemon has said. Lemon’s attitudes are different from Aunt Dan’s in certain ways and different from yours in certain ways. But there are also similarities. Is Lemon a bad disciple of Aunt Dan or a good disciple? Is Lemon a million miles away from you, or me, or is she somewhat closer?”
Lemon’s thoughts have unlimited destructive power. I didn’t invent them — they’re everywhere. If thoughts already existed which in their force and mass could decisively defeat Lemon’s thoughts, then Lemon’s thoughts would already have been defeated, whereas in fact they’re gaining ground. Perhaps I could have defeated Lemon’s thoughts in the confines of the play, but this would have given the audience the impression that in my opinion those thoughts have been safely buried at least for the evening and everyone could go home and sleep in peace, whereas actually I don’t believe that. I actually believe that we all have to figure out how to defeat these thoughts, whether I defeat them in the play or not, and so in fact to defeat them in the play and give the play a satisfying ending would be, for me, a form of lying to the audience.
Besides, to demonstrate the vileness or illogicality or falseness of Lemon’s thoughts or reasoning, or anyone’s thoughts or reasoning, wouldn’t tell you what to do about the questions that have been raised about how we should live in the world. If these questions are easily answered, than each person can easily provide his own “satisfying ending” to the play by answering them for himself. If they’re hard to answer –as I find them to be — then each person can add his strength to the common struggle to answer them.
I have wondered, in case anyone’s interested, What gives me the right to ask these questions? What gives me the right even to think about such things, to write about such things? I’m not a victim, a survivor. I haven’t suffered. I’m not even a scholar, a statesman, or a professional student of international affairs. How can I — a superficial American, nurtured in the citadel of privilege, sheltered from the winds of history, a writer for the theatre whose life consists of brunches and telephone conversations, of hours spent lazily exchanging views on Nicaragua and the latest theatrical openings with actors and mimes — how can I even mention such subjects, which should rightly be approached with awe and humility by those who are truly worthy of them, who have earned the right to speak about them? My conclusion — after wondering for a while about this question — was that anyone has the right to think or speak about them, because it’s in fact impossible to say in advance whose contribution might be of value — just as it’s impossible to predict which of the twelve jurors in a jury trial will, in the course of the jury’s deliberations, point out some crucial bit of evidence that no one else had noticed (because it often turns out to be the person who gives outward indication of being the least clever, the least perceptive) — and there’s a time factor, a need to understand these subjects quickly, now, so it makes sense for everyone to leap in immediately and start to think. We still haven’t even come close to understanding what happened in Europe in the 1940′s, and how much less do we understand what’s happening now, what may happen tomorrow. What’s important, of course, from the world’s point of view, is not what’s in our heads, but that our behavior should change — our behavior and the attitudes which underlie it –but how can we start to change our attitudes or our behavior if we haven’t first thought about why we must change and in what direction?
–April, 1986
I loved this play. So much, I plan to see it again. It jolted me. It gave me a long pause. In fact. I slept little last night. My thoughts have gone many directions:
1. I have always been confident about my views, this play humbled me, made me doubt my certainty.
2. Admittedly, to some extent, I identified with Aunt Dan’s conviction that people like Kissinger have a job to do, and their actions are aimed to keep us on the winning side, so that we can indulge in endless pontification about the rightness of Kissinger’s (or others in his position) actions.
3. But then, what if Kissinger (and others in his position) is wrong? What if he is mistaken in his analysis and his actions are downright wrong? What if he (and others) are not only incorrect in their analysis, but also evil, criminal, selfish and cruel, and have no intention to serve the “best interest” of their people.
4. Then, what if plays like this one, which is so effective and spellbinding, cause people to become even more passive, less certain. Our culture has already become so split in its thinking, so timid to take a stand about any topic, so gullible to any ideas no matter how far-fetched and unreasonable, so vulnerable and cowardly in general. So many people don’t want to think, they just want to have fun.
5. Does an excellent play like this make people think more? I don’t believe it. If they go to see it, it will cause people to doubt more, not others because it’s politically incorrect to judge others, but rather they will doubt themselves even more. They will dare even less to state their ideas, stake their stands, or hold firm to any set of principles that may unite us a society of people.
6. Take the Ten Commandments. Are we in agreement about them? Certainly not. No more. Is killing wrong? Depends. Is lusting your neigbor’s wife unacceptable? Certainly not today. Is stealing, robbing, cheating is wrong? Perhaps. Certainly common. Few kill themselves in shame when they are caught, some even go free.
7. Yes, this was an unforgettable play. I’ll see it again next week, it’s that good. Has it affected me? Greatly. Did it give me some food for thoughts? For sure. But I’m not at all clear how this lesson could be implemented, or how this play can lead us to peace between nations, better life for our poor, and more sensitive and sensible citizenry.
Such thoughtful and candid comments. This is a complex little play that asks an awful lot of its audience, to be sure. Thank you for sharing your observations with us. Theatre is an art form that is experienced not in isolation, but in a crowded room of diverse, alive individuals. Plays like this one ask that roomful of strangers to listen deeply, to answer the questions for themselves and to reenter the world slightly . . . altered.
Is it Mr. Shawn’s intention to change the political stances of those in attendance? I don’t think so.
What is so remarkable about the way this play was written is that the playwright builds compelling and convincing arguments against the very political ideologies that he himself holds dear, and then never challenges them. By creating affable, engaging, intelligent and educated people who hold very well-reasoned, very compelling and very dangerous political ideals, Shawn makes it much harder to simply point fingers at demons. Neither Dan nor Lemon are demonic figures of recognizable evil, as are the archetypical figures of Adolf Hitler, or Mussolini or Saddam Hussein. In Shawn’s play, rather, we are seduced by personalities who seem to be very much like us or very much like people we know, and are then asked to listen carefully to the things they say and to sort it out for ourselves. As I said in my earlier post, I think we are losing our national ability to listen and to make sense of the world on our own. We are learning to recognize dangerous or frightening ideas by being told about them. We don’t need to pay attention any more, because Glenn Beck and Rachel Maddow are paying attention for us, and clearly telling us how to feel before we’ve had the chance to sort it our on our own. I find this trend to be exceptionally disturbing and firmly believe that this is why the current political state of this country is disintegrating at such a rapid rate.
No one really listens any more.
And I believe that you are right. Deep listening and careful consideration often leads to doubt. Doubt is an indication that something has gotten inside of us and is setting small fires to our foundation. But I also believe that, in most cases, doubt is not passive and does not lead to impotency. Doubt leads to reexamination; reevaluation and hopefully to reinvention. There is a famous anonymous quote: “Any belief worth having must survive doubt.” Indeed. Doubt may be terrifying. It may lead to crisis. The experience of doubt is certainly difficult. But doubt, as a crisis of belief, often demands that one examine the foundations of those beliefs, and either strengthen them or rebuild them completely. From any viewpoint, I cannot see that transformation as anything other than an intense positive.
We are living in an increasingly black & white world. And I firmly believe in the power of the “gray” area. I feel that the gray area is where real conversation, real growth, real transformation happens. It is where good, honest debate happens. Without the gray area we are laying grounds for divisional, civil war. When one side cannot see the other as human and can only plug its ears and cry “evil!” then the doors of progression are slammed shut and we are most certainly doomed.
Lemon never asks us to like or agree with her views. She simply asks us to listen to them. If she does make us listen, really listen, and we are able to carry our listening ears out of the theatre and back into the world, then she has done us an enormous favor. And Wallace Shawn, by providing no textual counterargument to Lemon’s controversial thoughts asks us to counter her thoughts on our own, provoking internal debate and setting those tiny fires to our foundations. It is a challenge to either strengthen ones own arguments or reinvent them. I, for one, am thankful for that challenge!
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts. Discussions like these are the reason why we do shows like this.
All my very best,
Matthew Reeder
Artistic Director
BackStageTheatre Company.
Ah! And there you go talking about the “gray” area, Matthew. Thank you. I love that place and I love when a piece of art reminds others of it.
Matthew Reeder:
Thank you for your thought-provoking response.
Here is my question: would you consider this play in the “gray”?
I would not necessarily consider the play itself to “be” in the gray, but I do believe that it has the potential to provoke the kind of thought that might make it just a bit harder for its audience to walk outside the theatre and see a black-and-white world.
Are Lemon’s thoughts logical and truthful? Yes, they are. Are they dangerous? You bet they are. Is she evil? Certainly not. But her thoughts contain the seeds of “evil.” What we do with those seeds? In fact, what do we do with someone like Lemon?
What does living in the gray lead to? Careful consideration. Attentive listening. Personal revelation. People may argue that living in the gray is too scary, too lonely and that it requires too much work. I say that we have let others do the work for us for far too long. If we don’t want to do the work that living in the gray requires, then we are willingly sacrificing the best of our democracy to the politicians, the pundits and the talking heads. We must relearn how to answer big questions for ourselves, to resist the temptation to let others formulate our answers for us, and to carefully consider ideas that may give us pause. Unless we learn how to do that, we simply draw deeper and deeper lines in the sand until those lines become chasms that we we are unable to cross.
This is the kind of gray area that I believe the play asks us to step into.
Thanks again for your participation in this conversation! This is exactly the kind of engagement we were hoping to get from our audiences.
Warmly,
Matthew
Matthew:
Thank you for engaging me in this exchange. It has intensified the impact this excellent play has had on me.
I agree with you that people should try to listen and think for themselves instead of blindly leaving these functions for others.
However, I vary with your statement that people in the “gray” “work hard” at listening and thinking, feel “lonely” and “scared,” while struggling with their “doubts.” This has not been my observation. I have watched the people in the “gray” hold their “doubts” as a shield against necessary actions. They are forever in the state of debate, while the world around us is on fire, our environment melts away, and our poor suffers.
To their defense, we should note the real difficulty in sorting out the flood of information coming at us in print and online from all sources, some of those are unsound if not outright illegitimate. To expect people to have the time and expertise to sift right from wrong is perhaps unrealistic, but to romantecize the hesitation of many as a sign of profound free thinking is just as inaccurate.
Matthew, let me thank you again for this discussion. And while we have not agreed completely on the lesson here, it certainly has served to prolong my profound experience with this outstanding play.
Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow when I see the play again.
Sincerely and respectfully,
Chaya
Matthew:
I saw the play again. Just as good as first time. Everybody is excellent, but Brenda Barrie is beyond words, the best I have seen!
If you haven’t had enough of me, would you help me understand the meaning of Mindy’s role. Please make no mistake, I thought her acting was excellent, but I’m just not sure what her role represents in this play— society’s violence? decadence? greed? blind lust?
Why is it over tomorrow? This play should go on forever.
Chaya
Hello there,
I just found this site as part of your recent email. How wonderful and I wish I could have responded to you immediately after the play.
I do remember just how spellbinding the play was, and how completely my friend Jan and I were engaged with the characters. Unfortunately the winter solstice season and life have intervened to fill my brain as well. Good for Chaya to see the play again! Such wisdom!
What I do know is that thinking is hard work. A new to me poet, Haki Madhubuti put it this way: “Believing has always been easier than thinking.” And it seems culturally the U.S. one can see more “believing” rather than thinking.
You have stretched me again even this long after the play! Bravo to this “little engine that could” theatre! I look forward to the next one.
Hello there,
I just found this site as part of your recent email. How wonderful and I wish I could have responded to you immediately after the play.
I do remember just how spellbinding the play was, and how completely my friend Jan and I were engaged with the characters. Unfortunately the winter solstice season and life have intervened to fill my brain as well. Good for Chaya to see the play again! Such wisdom!
What I do know is that thinking is hard work. A new to me poet, Haki Madhubuti put it this way: “Believing has always been easier than thinking.” And it seems culturally the U.S. one can see more “believing” rather than thinking.
You have stretched me again even this long after the play! Bravo to this “little engine that could” theatre! I look forward to the next one.
Gratiaas, mucho, Mary Rose