"Apparently, there weren't only three frogs in the narrow pond. There were many toads there, and they were piled on top of each other listening to the three toads relaxing. Suddenly, from behind the pots filled with cactuses, a little toad chimed in, 'I've heard about freedom of speech too. The story something like this, 'A television reporter interviewed an autocratic leader and asked, 'What about free speech in this country?' 'They are fine,' replied the dictator, 'freedom of speech has always been guaranteed in this country. It is freedom after speech which we can't guarantee,' the little toad concluded and went away.
One of our toad said to his colleagues, 'When I was learning English, my English teacher said this, 'Do you know why I hate cactuses?'
'No, I don't!' I replied.
Then he said, 'Because they are all pricks.'"
"Why should Human Dignity be defended? When did this idea appear?" Wulandari moved on. "The idea of Human Dignity has become commonplace, especially since the end of World War II, says George Kateb. In the name of human dignity, which turns out to mean in its most common use the equal dignity of every person, charters of human rights are promulgated, and appeals to it are made when people all over the world struggle to achieve their claimed rights. Human dignity is thus perceived to be the basis for human rights. But not much is said about what human dignity is and why it matters for the claim to rights. It almost seems as if the idea of human dignity is axiomatic, and therefore, requires no theoretical defense. All it needs is to be translated into established rights, which are then preserved in the face of attempts to keep people down and deny them what they are owed.
According to Aurel Kolnai, Dignity obviously should not be identified with Morality. To a large extent, it enters into the category of the aesthetical. An indefinite variety of objects plainly insusceptible of moral appraisal can none the less exhibit dignity. Nor is it possible, conversely, to interpret morality as a sub-class of dignity. Moral virtues as important as benevolence and diligence, or some forms of self-improvement , are not paradiginatically relevant to dignity.
Dignity is a quality; the concept of dignity is descriptive, though it also bears an essential and inseparable evaluative note. Rights are not qualities; their concept is not descriptive but prescriptive—ascriptive if you like, but their ascriptive is parasitic on their prescriptive sense. That rights ought to be respected is a tautology exactly like 'Duties ought to be complied with': they just consist in that they ought to be respected.
Dignity does not 'consist' in that it ought to be prized, praised, admired or revered. Disrespect of a right constitutes an offense; indifference to dignity is only a defect, as is any lack of adequate response to a value.
When people have to struggle to establish or preserve or reestablish their rights, they contend with various interests that are threatened by the demand for rights and that have many kinds of power to repel such assertions, but these antagonistic interests have little theory of any weight to sustain their cause—they have only tenacious privilege backed up by alarms, and by lingering popular prejudice, superstition, and mental inertness, and the cry of security against the enemy always ready to hand. It can be thought that whatever was the case some centuries ago, the defense of rights at present requires little theoretical articulation.
There is already a substantial theoretical literature in defense of rights. It begins in the revolutions in Britain in the seventeenth century, proceeds in revolutionary America and France in the latter part of the eighteenth century, continues in Kantian philosophy, and develops further in John Rawls’s infl uential political philosophy and Ronald Dworkin’s legal theory in the twentieth century. Add to all this work Western jurisprudence throughout. The truth is that the idea of human dignity fi gures in it only to a minor extent, if at all.
The core idea of human dignity is that on earth, humanity is the greatest type of beings—or what we call species, because we have learned to see humanity as one species in the animal kingdom, which is made up of many other species along with our own—and that every member deserves to be treated in a manner consonant with the high worth of the species.
The idea that humanity is special comes into play when species are compared to one another from an external and deindividualized (though of course only human) point of view, says Kateb. When we refer to the dignity of the human species, we could speak of the stature of the human race as distinguished from the status of individuals. In comparison to other species, humanity has a stature beyond comparison.
The reasons for speaking of individual dignity are the same as those for speaking of the dignity of the species: the same unique and nonnatural traits and attributes, characteristics, and capacities.
The historical record appears to indicate that thinking about humanity in relation to other categories of beings comes well before thinking about individuals as individuals. Affirmation of human stature, in one set of terms or another—the word stature rarely occurs—comes well before political and social concern for every person equally. Conceptually, human stature precedes individual status; the greatness of humanity precedes the equality of individuals. Starting with Homer, Western literature dwells on individuals, but they are mostly of the upper rank and they tend to matter, except to Socrates, not as individuals but as members of a class, or as defined by role or function. What counts is that the few at the top demonstrate what humanity at its best is capable of.
The concept of equal individual status is only part of the idea of human dignity; the other part is the stature of the human species. What is more, status is only part of the defense of the theory of human rights; the other part is the public morality of justice.
Human dignity is an existential value; value or worthiness is imputed to the identity of the person or the species. The idea of human dignity insists on recognizing the proper identity of individual or species; recognizing what a person is in relation to all other persons and what the species is in relation to all other species.
The truth of personal identity is at stake when any individual is treated as if he or she is not a human being like any other, and therefore treated as more or less than human. The truth of identity is also at stake when a person is treated as if he or she is just one more human being in a species, and not, instead, a unique individual who is irreplaceable and not exchangeable for another. These two notions seem to go in opposite directions—commonness and distinctiveness—but they cooperate in constituting the idea of equal individual status.
So, what is the relationship between 'Freedom' and 'Dignity'? Almost all living things act to free themselves from harmful contacts. A kind of freedom is achieved by the relatively simple forms of behaviour called reflexes, says B.F. Skinner. A person sneezes and frees his respiratory passages from irritating substances. He vomits and frees his stomach from indigestible or poisonous food. He pulls back his hand and frees it from a sharp or hot object. More elaborate forms of behaviour have similar effects. When confined, people struggle (‘in rage’) and break free. When in danger they flee from or attack its source. Behaviour of this kind presumably evolved because of its survival value; it is as much a part of what we call the human genetic endowment as breathing, sweating, or digesting food. And through conditioning similar behaviour may be acquired with respect to novel objects which could have played no role in evolution. These are no doubt minor instances of fhe struggle to be free, but they are significant. We do not attribute them to any love of freedom; they are simply forms of behaviour which have proved useful in reducing various threats to the individual and hence to the species in the course of evolution.
A much more important role is played by behaviour which weakens harmful stimuli in another way. It is not acquired in the form of conditioned reflexes, but as the product of a different process called operant conditioning. When a bit of behaviour is followed by a certain kind of consequence, it is more likely to occur again, and a consequence having this effect is called a reinforcer.
Food, for example, is a reinforcer to a hungry organism; anything the organism does that is followed by the receipt of food is more likely to be done again whenever the organism is hungry. Some stimuli are called negative reinforcers; any response which reduces the intensity of such a stimulus—or ends it—is more likely to be emitted when the stimulus recurs. Thus, if a person escapes from a hot sun when he moves under cover, he is more likely to move under cover when the sun is again hot. The reducetion in temperature reinforces the behaviour it is ‘contingent upon’ - that is, the behaviour it follows. Operant conditioning also occurs when a person simply avoids a hot sun—when, roughly speaking, he escapes from the threat of a hot sun. Negative reinforcers are called aversive in the sense that they are the things organisms ‘turn away from’.
Escape and avoidance play a much more important role in the struggle for freedom when the aversive conditions are generated by other people. Other people can be aversive without, so to speak, trying: they can be rude, dangerous, contagious, or annoying, and one escapes from them or avoids them accordingly.
A person escapes from or avoids aversive treatment by behaving in ways which reinforce those who treated him aversively until he did so, but he may escape in other ways. For example, he may simply move out of range. A person may escape from slavery, emigrate or defect from a government, desert from an army, become an apostate from a religion, play truant, leave home, or drop out of a culture as a hobo, hermit, or hippie. Such behaviour is as much a product of the aversive conditions as the behaviour the conditions were designed to evoke. The latter can be guaranteed only by sharpening the contingencies or by using stronger aversive stimuli.
Freedom is a ‘possession’. A person escapes from or destroys the power of a controller in order to feel free, and once he feels free and can do what he desires, no further action is recommended and none is prescribed by the literature of freedom, except perhaps eternal vigilance lest control be resumed. Any evidence that a person’s behaviour may be attributed to external circumstances seems to threaten his dignity or worth. We are not inclined to give a person credit for achievements which are in fact due to forces over which he has no control.
Freedom is an issue raised by the aversive consequences of behaviour, but dignity concerns positive reinforcement. When someone behaves in a way we find reinforcing, we make him more likely to do so again by praising or commending him. We applaud a performer precisely to induce him to repeat his performance, as the expressions ‘Again!’ ‘Encore!’ and ‘Bis!’ indicate. We attest to the value of a person’s behaviour by patting him on the back, or saying ‘Good!’ or ‘Right!’ or giving him a ‘token of our esteem’ such as a prize, honour, or award.
The amount of credit a person receives is related in a curious way to the visibility of the causes of his behaviour. We withhold credit when the causes are conspicuous. We do not, for example, ordinarily commend a person for responding reflexly : we do not give him credit for coughing, sneezing, or vomiting even though the result may be valuable. For the same reason we do not give much credit for behaviour which is under conspicuous aversive control even though it may be useful. As Montaigne observed, ‘Whatever is enforced by command is more imputed to him who exacts than to him who performs.’ We do not commend the groveller even though he may be serving an important function.
We give credit generously when there are no obvious reasons for the behaviour. Love is somewhat more commendable when unrequited, and art, music, and literature when unappreciated. We give maximal credit when there are quite visible reasons for behaving differently—for example, when the lover is mistreated or the art, music, or literature suppressed. If we commend a person who puts duty before love, it is because the control exercised by love is easily identified.
We give credit generously when there are no obvious reasons for the behaviour. Love is somewhat more commendable when unrequited, and art, music, and literature when unappreciated. We give maximal credit when there are quite visible reasons for behaving differently—for example, when the lover is mistreated or the art, music, or literature suppressed. If we commend a person who puts duty before love, it is because the control exercised by love is easily identified.
We attempt to gain credit by disguising or concealing control. The television speaker or a politician gives his or her speech, uses a prompter which is out of sight, and the lecturer glances only surreptitiously at his notes, and both then appear to be speaking either from memory or extemporaneously, when they are in fact—and less commendably—reading. We try to gain credit by inventing less compelling reasons for our conduct. We ‘save face’ by attributing our behaviour to less visible or less powerful causes—by behaving, for example, as if we were not under threat.
When we are concerned with the credit to be given to others, we minimize the conspicuousness of the causes of their behaviour. We resort to gentle admonition rather than punishment because conditioned reinforcers are less conspicuous than unconditioned, and avoidance more commendable than escape. We give the student a hint rather than tell him the whole answer, which he will get credit for knowing if the hint suffices. We merely suggest or advise rather than give orders. We give permission to those who are going to behave in objectionable ways anyway.
We seem to be interested in judicious use when we call rewards and punishments just or unjust and fair or unfair. We are concerned with what a person ‘deserves’, or, as the dictionary puts it, what he is ‘rightfully worthy of, or fairly entitled to, or able to claim rightfully by virtue of action done or qualities displayed.’ Too generous a reward is more than is needed to maintain the behaviour. It is particularly unfair when nothing at all has been done to deserve it or when, in fact, what has been done deserves punishment. Too great a punishment is also unjust, especially when nothing has been done to deserve it or when a person has behaved well. Incommensurate consequences may cause trouble; good fortune often reinforces indolence, for example, and bad fortune often punishes industry.
We try to correct defective contingencies when we say that a man should ‘appreciate’ his good fortune. We mean that he should henceforth act in ways which would be fairly reinforced by what he has already received. We may hold, in fact, that a man can appreciate things only if he has worked for them. The etymology of ‘appreciate’ is significant: to appreciate the behaviour of a man is to put a price on it. ‘Esteem’ and ‘respect’ are related terms. We esteem behaviour in the sense of estimating the appropriateness of reinforcement. We respect simply by noticing. Thus, we respect a worthy opponent in the sense that we are alert to his strength. A man wins respect by gaining notice, and we have no respect for those who are ‘beneath our notice’. We no doubt particularly notice the things we esteem or appreciate, but in doing so we do not necessarily place a value on them.
Dignity not only explains an aspect of what it means to be human, but also is a hallmark of our shared humanity. Everyone wants to be treated in a way that shows they matter, says Donna Hicks.
Our universal yearning for dignity drives our species and defines us as human beings. It’s our highest common denominator, yet we know so little about it. It’s hard for people to articulate exactly what it is. What they do know is more like an intuition or a sixth sense. 'Yes, dignity is important,' people tell us, but they come up short when we ask them to put their intuition into words.
What people usually say is that dignity is respect. But, dignity is not the same as respect. Dignity, is an attribute that we are born with—it is our inherent value and worth. We were all born worthy.
Respect is different. Although everyone has dignity, not everyone deserves respect. Respect must be earned. If I say I respect someone, it is because he or she has done something that is extraordinary—gone the extra mile to deserve my admiration. The actions of that person inspire me. I say to myself, 'I want to be like that person.' Dignity is something we all deserve, no matter what we do. It is the starting point for the way we treat one another. To clear up any confusion, perhaps, it is imperative to respect each other’s dignity.
According to Donna Hicks, there ten elements of Dignity. Firstly, Acceptance of Identity. Approach people as being neither inferior nor superior to you; give others the freedom to express their authentic selves without fear of being negatively judged; interact without prejudice or bias, accepting that characteristics such as race, religion, gender, class, age, and disability are at the core of their identities.
Recognition. Validate others for their talents, hard work, thoughtfulness, and help; be generous with praise; give credit to others for their contributions, ideas, and experience.
Acknowledgment. Give people your full attention by listening, hearing, validating, and responding to their concerns and what they have been through.
Inclusion. Make others feel that they belong, at all levels of relationship (family, community, organization, and nation).
Safety. Put people at ease at two levels: physically, so they feel free from the possibility of bodily harm, and psychologically, so they feel free from concern about being shamed or humiliated and free to speak up without retribution.
Fairness. Treat people justly, with equality, and in an evenhanded way, according to agreed-on laws and rules.
Independence. Empower people to act on their own behalf so that they feel in control of their lives and experience a sense of hope and possibility.
Understanding. Believe that what others think matters; give them the chance to explain their perspectives and express their points of view; actively listen in order to understand them.
Benefit of the Doubt. Treat people as if they are trustworthy; start with the premise that others have good motives and are acting with integrity.
Accountability. Take responsibility for your actions; apologize if you have violated another person’s dignity; make a commitment to change hurtful behaviors.
We need to note that in this context, we are talking about humans, once again, humans, not institutions. And in the next session, we will discuss the benefits of Dignity in relation to one human being to another, bi 'idhnillah."
