“A Modest Proposal” by Jonathan Swift
Swift’s 1729 essay in which he proposes that, to alleviate their economic troubles, the poor people of Ireland should sell their children to the well-to-do for food, is standard fare when it comes to teaching satire. The Anglo-Irish writer lays out a quasi-reasonable argument and then happily suggests recipes for how the children be prepared kitchens across the land. Satire, of course, is humorous exaggeration meant to expose some social and/or economic ill. It is never meant to be taken seriously. The absurd embellishments exist to edify. Ireland at the time was suffering terribly, and Swift, quill in hand, took it upon himself to point this out to the world.
Fair enough. He teaches us that wild humor can be an effective tool for positive change. But what happens when the joke is missed?
Most of my students get the rib-nudging; however, increasingly, I have students who seriously consider Swift’s suggestion. Why not? they argue. It would alleviate so many burdens of the poor, and it would be a supply of, as is so common to say these days, protein. They concur with Swift’s jocular alter-ego with a straight face. It is all very plain to them. Eat the children. Have a better life.
At these junctures, I am tempted to pivot to a conversation about so-called reproductive rights and the ongoing debate we are having about it. Swift’s essay does lend itself to a discussion about children and the choice some make not to have them because they see them as hindrances to a happy, carefree life. I hold back, however. The issue is important, of course, but I imagine they have already tackled it many times in other classes. So, instead, we talk about utilitarianism – the belief that any action is right if it benefits the majority. In Swift’s proposal, the majority consists of the wealthy and the parents who cannot provide adequately for their children. We might also include anybody with a stomach and the intrepidness to try, shall we say, new dishes and cuisines. From this viewpoint alone, eating children makes perfect sense. Any sense of morality is suspended, and all decisions are made according to usefulness and cold practicality.
Case closed. Fire up the grills.
A part of me is not surprised by this development. The moral compass of many has gone haywire, its needle spinning like mad. Another part of me, however, wonders if this curious and undeniably disturbing standpoint has something to do with how many are brought up to see themselves a mere contributors to society – that a person’s worth is entirely determined by what they can give, what they do. A person’s job is his or her identity. There is nothing else. No dreams. No soul. Just a body that can perform some action. Beauty is only good if it pays. Love is only valuable if it is a means toward a satisfactory end.
A careful look at the Gospels reveals a different model. At the beginning of His ministry, his baptism in the River Jordan, a voice from heaven declared: “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well-pleased.” Before Jesus healed the sick, dispelled evil spirits, multiplied loaves and fishes, and raised the dead, He was accepted. He then sustained Himself by engaging in various worshipful practices and gained significance by attracting a large following. Eventually, He achieved what no one else could achieve on the cross and opened the doors to heaven to all who called then and calls now upon His name. The world, however, delivers a different message. We must first work hard to achieve success and the significance that comes with it. Once we do this, we oftentimes can only sustain ourselves through self-medication. Only then, if we are able to hold it all together, do we believe that we can finally find and enjoy acceptance. Acceptance comes first for Jesus. The world takes the opposing view that it should come last after years and years of hard labor. And these days, the world is very loud and pushy. It is no wonder that my students bend a knee to its pseudo-gospel. To be sure, it is no wonder why they put utility first and children, to include themselves, last. Their worth is tied to their ability to produce and nothing more.
What does this tell us, therefore?
Everything. The depression. The angst. The shiftlessness. The loss. If we instruct our youth to discern for their God-given vocation on this side of paradise and not necessarily the highest paying, most prestigious job then we might actually have a hand at forming human beings who know that they do not have to earn love – that they are accepted unconditionally. Perhaps then we would have those who could see the satire for what it is and never dream of the unthinkable even if it satiates a growling tummy.
