Kenneth Burke describes A Grammar of Motives as a project directed towards the "purification of war.1 Most of Burke's writing guides attention toward the subject of human conflict as it may be tracked through linguistic paths. Burke has made no secret of his desire to introduce more cooperation into human affairs by improving awareness of the workings of language and the process of naming. He has correctly sensed that with regard to the study of human behavior, conflict and its potential for violence must be of central importance or the efforts to comprehend more subtle communicative and relational behaviors may eventually become moot. What follows is a three-part analysis of the roots of conflict employing Burke's dramatistic, symbolic action model of language which stresses the point-of-view aspect of symbol-using. Burke’s assumptions in relation to the prospects for illuminating conflict are explored by examining the core concept—action—and highlighting the series of steps that, according to Burke, proceed from it. The symbolic action view is further illustrated through a discussion of the conflict in the cinematic drama Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence and its lessons are brought to bear upon the possibilities and practicalities of productive conflict management consistent with Burke's ultimate conclusion about the potential for violence in human nature.

The Critic

Burke has argued that language-using is necessarily volitive and strategic—volitive in the sense that every symbolic action is a choice in having selected from among alternative modes of characterization and strategic in that each choice is guided by an explicit or implicit hierarchical ordering of values. Burke capsulizes the symbolic action approach in the following way:

The dramatistic view of language, in terms of "symbolic action," is exercised about the necessarily suasive nature of even the most unemotional scientific nomenclatures. And we shall proceed along these lines; thus: Even if any given terminology is a reflection of reality, by its very nature as a terminology it must be a selection of reality; and to this extent it must function as a deflection of reality.2

In Burke's terms, language-using is simultaneously "selective" and "suasive." That a symbolic act involves making a choice from among alternatives entails that every such act conform to the limitations of perspective or point-of-view. And point-of-view arises from a particular locus of interests and values.

...our interests (in the widest sense, our vocations) are essential in shaping the nature of our discoveries… and our interests are ethical. The grasshopper will find a universe that is different from ours because the vocation or ethics of a grasshopper is different. Man and grasshopper have different "work patterns," which will be reflected in different systems of values. Each approaches the universe from a different "point-of-view," and the difference in point-of-view will reveal a corresponding difference in the discovery of relevant "facts."3

Every living thing brings a point-of-view to the world—a method of orientation and organization conditioned by its needs, a method of analyzing and making relevant distinctions. And, although every such method of analyzing the world may not ordinarily be counted as "thinking," what goes on in the human mind may be different only in its sophistication. Burke's association of vocation, point-of-view, and biological being suggests that these are all of a piece and that every form of life makes distinctions and submits the world to some sort of "analysis." Not all creatures use symbols, but they all categorize—which is the first step in symbol-using. In making the distinctions necessary for categorization, all living things become critics by forming judgments.4

Framing

Human beings, however, are critics to a degree constituting a difference in kind. The faculty of point-of-viewness, as reflected in human consciousness and language-using, is distinguished by the ability to take a point-of-view on a point-of-view—to criticize a criticism, as Burke explains:

Though all organisms are critics in the sense that they interpret the signs about them, the experimental, speculative technique made available by speech would seem to single out the human species as the only one possessing equipment for going beyond the criticism of experience to a criticism of criticism. We not only interpret the character of events—we also interpret our interpretations.5

The ability of human consciousness to take a point-of-view on a point-of-view is, to borrow an aesthetic term, the ability to frame. To frame is to section off and hold up to scrutiny, to separate from ordinary spatial-temporal involvement, to re-contextualize. The talent for framing is greatly heightened by language because it facilitates the process through naming, allows a more thorough formulation of views, and enables the process to go on in communication—that is, between humans.

In the act of framing, consciousness can move outward, inward, or to a new horizon. It can frame with a larger frame, frame within a frame, or move to a different frame. There would seem to be no restriction on the freedom to frame. Here the working of the mind resembles an endless series of Chinese boxes extending in every imaginable direction. This framing process allows a particular consciousness to, in a sense, get outside itself—by framing itself. In a similar way, consciousness can imaginatively investigate what it may be like to be other than itself. A human being can imagine what it must be like to see the world as a grasshopper might see it. And one person can imagine what it might be like to be another person. With the help of language this imagination process is greatly enhanced.

The ability to make distinctions is a critical faculty, but the ability to make distinctions among distinctions is a heightened critical faculty. Every creature takes a point-of-view, but only one can imagine other points-of-view and only one, according to Burke, can ultimately take a point-of-view on itself. But the human talent for framing brings with it a mix of blessings and burdens.

Framing the Self and Others

As has been mentioned, the unrestricted ability to frame makes it possible to frame the self. Heightening the critical faculty to the point where it can critique its own processes creates the prospect of self-criticism—which is useful in refining distinctions but potentially harmful in creating paralyzing doubts and hesitations. "Self-consciousness" has come to have pejorative connotations because too much of it is thought to be harmful. People who are too self-conscious are too much "outside" themselves, too critically aware of what they are doing. And that awareness can potentially get in the way of doing.

But the self cannot begin to understand itself until it can get outside itself, taking an imaginative point-of-view on itself. Without getting outside the self with its attendant measure of "self-consciousness," actions and motives remain un-examined and un-refined. The ability of consciousness to improve and extend the effectiveness of action remains unfulfilled. Learning requires self-criticism.

Projecting the self into other points-of-view may be crucial in taking the step toward understanding others. The ability to see beyond the self is a first step in imagining what it may be like to be another person.6 Lacking this ability to project, the self acts according to unquestioned needs and desires and sees only through the motives that have arisen from it in the past. To act instinctually in this manner is to be more animal than human—to fail to use talents uniquely human. Imagining the self as another self stimulates the process of analyzing many different kinds of motives and value schemes from the perspective of what it may be like to operate from those schemes. Seeing beyond the self, getting inside foreign perspectives, is a vital developmental step in extending the distinction-making process—making it possible to frame, to "see," the self and others, making possible self-evaluation, other evaluation, and personal growth.

Conflict

Alongside apparent advantages, getting outside the self, taking a point-of-view on the self, creates the possibility for internal conflict. Self-consciousness leads to self-criticism, which, when occurring with conflicting desires, leads to internal debate. This internal conflict forces personal values into hierarchical order as choosing necessitates assigning greater value to one choice over another. In the same way, the existence of different points-of-view, different motivational clusters and value weightings, can lead to a clash between individuals—given a situation in which these differences cannot remain dormant or unresolved. Burke traces the route from action or symbolic action to conflict in the following way:

If action is to be our key term, then drama; for drama is the culminative form of action.... But if drama, then conflict. And if conflict, then victimage. Dramatism is always on the edge of this vexing problem that comes to a culmination in tragedy, the song of the scapegoat.7

Choice as a reflection of motive serves as pre-condition for action.8 Action leads to drama—drama being human interaction. Interaction of motives sooner or later leads to conflict because points-of-view will not always be in concert—not all motives will be collectively capable of fulfillment.9 For Burke, the ultimate extension of conflict, the resolution of conflict, will be victimage—the sacrifice of the perceived cause of the conflict (resulting from the assignment of guilt). Burke argues that the "logical" path of conflict, when followed to its extreme, culminates in victimage because the cause of conflict, the perceived source of guilt or "impurity," must be sacrificed to preserve order.10 In this scheme, “sacrifice” (as exorcism or extirpation) is the key metaphor for conflict resolution and "impurity" is the metaphor for understanding the root of conflict.

However, as will be explained more thoroughly below, the violence of sacrifice need not necessarily follow from the symbolic action assumptions—as Burke himself eventually admits. Just as point-of-viewness makes possible differences that can lead to conflict, the framing involved in adopting a particular point-of-view provides the seed for nonviolent management of conflict by opening the possibility for understanding the other point-of-view in the conflict. This understanding enables the reduction of fear, advancing the possibility for negotiation.

The symbolic action view of language, which Burke has called "dramatism," meshes nicely with the metaphor of "framing." The three-dimensional equivalent of a frame is a stage. The stage, like the frame, is more a mental creation than a physical one. Staging, like framing, is a way of re-contextualizing—it constitutes a certain way of looking, of sectioning off experience and placing it in an observational perspective. Drama as the blend of word and deed, of literature and performance, is a perfect metaphor for conveying the unity of language, action, and motive Burke's views require. It is in this sense that Burke sees language-using as dramatistic—that is, invariably action and motive oriented—to the extent that words cannot be disentangled from motives, to the extent that understanding behavior poses the same problem as understanding the meaning of a word. With the special way of looking referenced in the concept of "staging," all symbolic actions become dramaturgical when framed or staged by the observational perspective. Life can be seen as drama and drama can be seen as life; one can inform the other. Methods of analysis appropriate to understanding and criticizing symbolic actions already exist in the methods used by literary critics. By the same reasoning, the portrayals in drama—in particular dramatic productions—can betray workings of conflict in life that may often go unnoticed. Certainly the inextinguishable human interest in drama and the inseparability of drama and conflict suggest that analyzing dramatic conflict may yield insights into core human motives and the possibilities for managing conflicting motives.

Many dramatic productions offer exceptional insights. But with respect to the theme at hand—the inevitability of point-of-viewness and its role in creating and resolving conflict—some candidates are more illustrative than others. The film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (1983) is a fine dramatic example of extreme conflict and capably illustrates the importance of a well-developed ability for framing with respect to conflict management.

The location in time and place for most of the action in the film is Java, 1942. War is the most destructive form of human conflict, but the setting for the film—a Japanese prisoner of war camp—provides a context for a form of interaction between the combatants other than deadly violence. In prisoner of war camps during WWII this interaction would, at the very least, consist of various acts of dominance, submission and intermittent defiance. A cinematic portrayal of this cycle would not necessarily be particularly noteworthy. But in this film, the arousal of an undercurrent of mutual respect between the four central characters alters the nature of the conflict, creating exceptional drama and a key insight into the roots of conflict.

The film opens with a scene in which a Japanese sergeant, known to the prisoners as "Hara," is attempting to extract a confession from a Korean guard whom he believes has sexually attacked a Dutch prisoner. A British officer, John Lawrence, has been summoned by Hara to witness the episode. Lawrence intervenes and wants to discover exactly what happened by questioning the men. When the Korean guard attempts to commit suicide with Hara's approval and assistance, Lawrence tries to stop both men. Hara is enraged at Lawrence's tolerant attitude and his attention to explanations. For Hara, what these men have to say is irrelevant.

This incident establishes the primary theme for the film. Hara cannot understand Lawrence's interest in seeing other points-of-view. He interprets this interest as weakness. Moreover, Hara regards this interest as weakness heaped upon weakness because the Japanese look upon all prisoners as weak for having allowed themselves to be captured rather than taking their own lives. Prisoners are not only treated as prisoners but also as men who are not quite men—men contaminated by a dangerous spiritual impurity.

But Hara nevertheless senses that Lawrence is different. Like other prisoners, he exhibits little fear of the Japanese, but, unlike the others, his lack of fear is motivated by a measure of respect rather than hatred. Hara, confused by Lawrence's knowledge and appreciation of Japanese language and culture, grudgingly respects his unusual attitude and strength while despising his "sympathy” and tolerance. For him, Lawrence projects incompatible traits. The perceived anomaly in Lawrence's character makes it difficult for Hara to deal with him in a routine way.

When a new prisoner, Jack Celliers, enters the camp, the tension between the prisoners and the Japanese grows to a crescendo. Celliers, a British commando, attracts the attention of the camp commander—Yonoi—who finds in Celliers' composure and behavior qualities analogous to those that Hara has encountered in Lawrence. Yonoi is also favorably impressed by Celliers’ imposing physical appearance (blond hair and classic Caucasian features) and his defiant yet measured manner.11 Celliers possesses physical qualities and leadership charisma admired by the Japanese culture, so the Japanese military court, and especially Yonoi, is inclined to be lenient with him and spare his life.

But the circumstance of war does not permit, from the Japanese point-of-view view, any significant relaxation of the motives for war. Hara’s and Yanoi’s troubling attraction to the admirable qualities of Lawrence and Celliers fuels their need to unmask these traits as ultimately false, as a facade concealing weakness, wrong-headedness, and the kind of character that ought to belong to an "enemy." As Hara and Yanoi struggle to keep from sinking into the doubt about their motives and actions that would be created by getting outside their patriotic-militaristic point-of-view, Lawrence and Celliers, in parallel conflict, struggle to see beyond themselves, to prevent the retreat to entirely personal perspectives—dominated by pain and abuse—that would lead down the path of profound hatred for the Japanese.

Tensions are heightened when Yonoi forces the prisoners to be present at the execution of the Korean homosexual. In response to the prisoners’ lack of proper respect and cooperation at this execution “ceremony,” Yanoi enforces upon them a “spiritual cleansing” in the form of a 48 hour fast and confinement to the barracks. The following day, in the presence of Yanoi, Celliers openly defies the rules of this fast by eating flowers and manju cakes he has gathered from the jungle. At the same time, during the inspection of the barracks, the guards find a concealed radio. Yanoi holds Lawrence accountable for the radio and both he and Celliers are taken to the cells.

Later that night, a Japanese aide to Yanoi—acting on his belief that Celliers is an “evil spirit” intending to ruin Yanoi—attempts to kill Celliers after breaking into his cell. Instead, Celliers knocks him unconscious, escapes, and finds Lawrence badly beaten and tied to a post. While fleeing with Lawrence toward the jungle, he suddenly encounters Yanoi. Brandishing a knife taken from his would-be assassin, Celliers confronts Yanoi. But after Yanoi draws his sword and prepares to fight, Celliers lays down his knife—offering only a cryptic smile to Yanoi. Outraged, Yanoi screams at him “Why won’t you fight!! If you defeat me you will be free!!” Celliers continues smiling at Yanoi. Guards finally arrive and Lawrence, half-delirious from beatings and exhaustion, whispers to Celliers, “Jack, I think he’s taken a bit of a shine to you.”

The next day Yanoi sentences Lawrence to death as punishment for the hidden radio. When Lawrence protests that he is not responsible, Yanoi says that he understands this. In disbelief Lawrence asks, “So I’m to die to preserve your sense of order?” Yanoi answers, “Yes, you understand, Lawrence. You must die for me.” After an outburst of rage, Lawrence is restrained by a guard and finally asks Yanoi, “What’ll happen to Major Celliers? You wouldn’t execute him for such a crime?” Yanoi calmly states that that is “none of his business” but then asks if Lawrence would like to see Celliers before he dies. Lawrence says “yes” and is taken to a cell next to where Celliers is being kept—a wall separating them. Here, during the night, they exchange stories about their past.

Lawrence tells Celliers about a woman he had met a few days prior to the fall of Singapore. Anticipation of the Japanese landing fills the local residents with an apocalyptic anxiety that merges with the fatalistic attitudes of the unprepared and outnumbered defending troops. In a foreign place among foreign people, waiting for a foreign enemy, Lawrence feels profoundly lost, his actions empty and meaningless. At the hotel where he is temporarily quartered, he befriends a young woman, telling her what he knows about the timing of the impending invasion. They share an evening in conversation and plan to meet for breakfast. But Lawrence is drawn away in the night when the Japanese attack begins and does not return to the hotel for a “few” days. When he returns, he finds her waiting for him in the same place she was standing when he left her the evening of their last meeting. He has the sensation that she never moved. After this second meeting, they never see each other again. But Lawrence, seeing with more than his own eyes, has found the point-of-view that turns the foreign landscape into more than a place and the people into human beings.

Celliers describes his relationship to his younger brother whom he felt shame for as a member of his family because he viewed him as failing to live up to his standards of stature and behavior. While Celliers is handsome, athletic, well-liked, and capable at most undertakings, his brother is short, slightly deformed, introverted, and capable at skills like singing and gardening. The differences between the two produce a tension that ultimately results in Celliers' betrayal of his brother at a school initiation. True to Celliers' worst fears, the initiation escalates into an ugly mocking. While his brother is laughed at and ridiculed for his deformity (a slight hump on his back), Celliers does nothing, hiding in shame in a chemistry lab room, unable to associate himself in any way with his deformed brother. This event, the crowning deed to a long series of smaller betrayals, eats away at Celliers until it finally consumes the blindness that separates him from his brother. He sees and accepts the differences in what they are and what they have each come to value. His inability to go on despising his brother makes him question the process of despising anyone—including the Japanese.

Both stories vividly describe the experience of being drawn out of oneself to the extent of fully seeing another's point-of-view—and what it must be like to live from that point-of-view. In both cases this experience of getting outside the self is triggered by someone loved. In each case a natural bond—attraction on the one hand and blood ties on the other—pulls the self outside itself to see beyond the limits of current personal motivation, to stretch and broaden personal perspective. These flashbacks provide the key for understanding the two men and their exceptional ability for getting outside themselves.

Thinking they are doomed for execution, Celliers and Lawrence are brought before Hara. They soon realize that Hara is intoxicated on sake. He informs them that he has been celebrating their holiday and that, since today is Christmas, he wishes them a "Merry Christmas." Without Yanoi’s awareness or consent, he releases them to go back with the other prisoners. The two men are stunned by this inexplicable "favor" and the acknowledgement of their cultural heritage.

The following morning Yanoi discovers what Hara has done, but, due to his liking for Hara, is lenient with him. However, in order to save face with the prisoners Yanoi realizes, with increasing pressure, that he must extract something from them. The tension in the film reaches its apex when, having found the limits of his patience with his conflicting military and personal motives, Yanoi asserts his military motives and demands that the entire camp—including the wounded—be brought to the central courtyard of the compound. Here he insists that he be informed of the number of weapons experts in the camp. When the ranking officer Hicksley-Ellis states that there are no munitions experts in the camp, Yanoi becomes enraged.

At the point when Yanoi appears ready to execute Hicksley-Ellis, Celliers calmly walks between them and faces Yanoi. Yanoi strikes Celliers who falls backwards from the blow. Then Celliers stands up, approaches Yanoi again, and kisses him on each cheek. Yonoi raises his sword in shock and rage but finally falls backward, so paralyzed by internal conflict that he cannot find any effective reaction; the crisis dissolves. When the scene changes, a new Japanese camp commander has replaced Yonoi. Celliers is buried in sand up to his neck and left to die in the sun.

The film concludes with a scene after the war. Lawrence is now visiting Hara in prison. Hara has been tried and convicted of war crimes and is sentenced to be executed at dawn. Hara explains that he has requested Lawrence visit him to see if Lawrence can help him to understand his sentence. He does not see why he is treated differently from other Japanese officers and explains that his treatment of the prisoners was intended only to rid them of their "wrong-headedness" and make them better men. Knowing Hara and his devoted adherence to the practices of his culture, Lawrence knows this to be a sincere pronouncement, however peculiar it might sound to the ears of those who had been victims of the Japanese military and cultural code. Grasping the instructive irony in the situation, Lawrence says to him that he is now the victim of men who think they are right just as Lawrence was the victim of men who thought they were right in the prisoner of war camp. Hara shows his understanding and appreciation of this insight by again wishing Lawrence a “Merry Christmas”—an expression that has meaning for Hara as a symbolic gesture of his effort to see across the cultural divide, to acknowledge a new perspective, to show respect for the difference and the value of the insight.

Although the major conflict portrayed in the film is between the Japanese and the prisoners, a greater contrast in character exists between Lawrence and Celliers and the ranking British officer, Hicksley-Ellis. This man never falters from an intense hatred of the Japanese as the "enemy," and never shows any desire or capacity to see what manner of person the enemy is. This dehumanization of the Japanese makes it possible for him to keep the conflict clearly polarized. For Lawrence, this giving in to hatred is too easy and constitutes too great a dehumanization of oneself. However barbarous the Japanese behavior may seem to him, it is motivated by human values and can be understood. When pressed by Hara for an explanation of the British "cowardliness" in surrender, Lawrence says that the British do not commit suicide because they want to keep on fighting the Japanese. Even as a prisoner, he keeps on fighting by attempting to bridge the conflict and cultural chasm between them. For Lawrence, this is how the war is really “fought”—not by trying only to overcome the "enemy" by force.

In the book upon which the film is based, The Seed and the Sower, Celliers comments, in a parallel way, about the clearing in his feeling about his brother.

..."I had not been obedient to my own awareness of life".... Many of his generation, as he, had been condemned by what he called the "betrayal of the natural brother in their lives," and could see little in the world around them beyond the hatred caused by their own rejections.12

The roots of victimage lie in how people see—how they see the world, themselves, and other people. This "seeing" is a function of the capacity for framing, for imagining new perspectives, new ways of understanding or contextualizing experience. The broader a personal repertoire of perspectives less likely will be the temptation to see other people as essentially different from oneself and less likely will be the fear and hatred necessary for victimage.

Kenneth Burke's focus on linguistic choices and the necessity for different points-of-view and value weightings created by the possibility of choice establishes, in linguistic terms, the conditions for conflict—which he argues mirror the conditions for conflict in the wider arena of human relations. Again, to paraphrase Burke: If action (as choice evidenced in word as well as deed), then drama (drama being, in a minimal sense, a sequence of words and actions); and if drama, then conflict (drama being, in a wider sense, a sequence of words and actions based on different points-of-view which, through situational constraints, produces conflict). And, if conflict, then victimage (the “song of the scapegoat”). But Burke’s step from conflict to victimage—needs closer examination. The form of drama evident in certain classic Greek tragic dramas illustrates a key aspect of the structuring of conflict central to the issue of victimage and the management of conflict as seen in the film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence. The tragic form of drama suggests that victimage is tragic precisely because it transpires more through a kind of blindness than through the necessity of evil and its confrontation in the world.

Greek Tragic Drama and Perspective on Conflict

Through tragic drama the Greeks showed themselves to be particularly adept at being able to appreciate and inspire appreciation for different points-of-view in a conflict. The Greek passion for realism in sculpture did not give rise to a realism in set construction and stage detail but rather a passion for portraying conflict with the realism of having more than one clearly credible point-of-view. Any other portrayal of conflict (for example, in stark terms of good and evil or right and wrong) would have seemed unrealistic to them. The extent of the Greek agility in viewing conflict from unexpected points-of-view is especially evident in Aeschylus' The Persians—a drama in which the aftermath of warring conflict with the Greeks is presented from the Persian point-of-view.13

However, while testifying to the extraordinary capacity for seeing more than one side of a conflict, the warring enemy portrayal in The Persians was not the primary method by which the Greeks sought to elicit and arouse a bilateral (even multi-perspectival)14 view of conflict. Conflict closer to home and of a smaller scale was generally preferred. A typical plot in Greek tragic drama depicts a conflict between family members. Using members of the same family creates the most intense form of conflict because, for the characters as well as the audience, it makes dismissal or derogation of one or the other point-of-view much more difficult. The natural bond that exists between family members minimizes the tendency to regard the other side of the conflict as simply "wrong" or “evil.”

This more balanced and complex treatment of conflict enables the audience to reach a transcendent level of identification with each side of the conflict. The sweeping and profound dread and concern Aristotle identified as fear and pity arise as natural responses to the portrayed conflict of tragic drama.15 The audience fears the apparent tragic culmination and pities the victims. This is also precisely what happens through the portrayal of the characters in Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence.

The initial conflict between the British and Japanese sets up within the audience the dread of potential disaster and the even portrayal of the characters elicits audience emotional reaction and involvement on each side. Like the audience, Celliers and Lawrence transcend their point-of-view and can see something of the other side. Celliers' conflict between his love and contempt for his brother pushes him outside himself to finally see what life is from his brother's point-of-view. Lawrence's love for a woman helps him revive a way of seeing that the conditions of war within a chaotic city had deadened. And by analogy and extension of this ability to get outside themselves they are able to see something of the Japanese point-of-view and the Japanese character.

However, being able to see the other point-of-view need not be confused with giving in to it. Blind hatred and enlightened self-effacement are attitudinal extremes that tend equally to encourage victimage. Striking a balance between these extremes is the best path toward nonviolent management, but doing so is never easy. In Greek tragedy the protagonists usually meet with disaster through being too unyielding in asserting a perspective and by appreciating the other point-of-view too late. The audience, lodged in its transcendent perspective carefully orchestrated by the dramatist, is able to see the destructive consequences of this hubris. And in Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence, Yonoi is ultimately too unyielding, stifling himself in the iron grip of his point-of-view. And, as a consequence of this narrowness, the delicate balance in the camp finally crumbles and Celliers is victimized—but not by Yonoi's hand. Yonoi and Hara began to see too far into the other side of the conflict for victimage to be easy.

Getting outside the self is essential to seeing other points-of-view—other value structures. And seeing the other point-of-view is essential to turning conflict from destructive toward productive management. The inability or refusal to attempt to see the other side in conflict closes the door to understanding and prevents appreciation of the maximum gain available from the conflict situation. This closure makes it easy to dehumanize the other side. The beauty of drama in Greek tragic structure resides largely in its ability to show every side in a conflict to be human—which, of course, makes the conflict more difficult to take sides on. Dehumanization makes hatred possible, and as Lawrence points out, hatred and the narrowing of perspective that goes with it is self-destructive as well as other destructive (as the film indicates through the victimage of Celliers and the collapse of Yonoi).

Hatred, primarily motivated by fear not only of others' strengths but also of personal limitations, fosters the logic of "that which is worthy of destruction," of exorcism, of sacrifice—the logic of scapegoating. Hatred reflects a narrowing and polarizing of perspective that can only work against growth and minimize potential gain on every side of the conflict. Burke's view of tragedy as the "song of the scapegoat" correlates with his characterization of victimage as the paradigm for conflict (such that conflicts not resulting in bloodletting have not "culminated"). Although this attitude toward conflict certainly seems to be legion in human interaction, it is not, contrary to what Burke’s formula of action/drama/conflict/victimage asserts, the only one possible. And as the film illustrates, where there are other attitudes, the conflict situation potentially changes.

Destabilizing Polarization

With respect to strategy and management, the most difficult type of conflict arises when point-of-view appreciation and desire for cooperation are largely unilateral. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence portrays this type of conflict and the strategy involved in overcoming it. The side more vulnerable, and thereby more inclined toward cooperation, must often take the first step in the process of decreasing polarization. This first step toward broadening viewpoints involves eliciting a measure of respect—respect that goes beyond the type of respect accompanying fear—a respect independent of fear. In their refusal to show abject fear or blind contempt for the Japanese, Lawrence and Celliers incline the Japanese (with their strong cultural valuation of pride and competition) to show less fear (and thereby less distrust) and hatred toward them. With a measure of respect independent of fear comes the possibility for a measure of trust. This trust is a prerequisite for any mutual understanding or cooperation.

In the film this small measure of trust is achieved by a series of apparently contradictory acts—acts of self-assertion coupled with acts of acknowledgement and respect. Celliers does not kill the Japanese soldier who has tried to kill him nor does he take the opportunity to attack Yonoi with a knife. While continuing to "fight" the Japanese, Lawrence nevertheless speaks their language and shows knowledge and appreciation of Japanese customs. These acts appear contradictory to the Japanese who interpret them as a vacillation between strength and weakness—acts of hostility and acts of ingratiation. Instead, they are overtures and opportunities for reframing the situation. As the pattern of these acts grows, the Japanese become more inclined to change their interpretation, more inclined to match the strength Celliers' and Lawrence's actions reveal rather than risk being humiliated (in the sense of having received something greater than has been given). The film suggests that conflict management turns ultimately on establishing respect—by way of working upon and taking advantage of the human qualities (in this case the pride) of the opposition.16

Celliers and Lawrence make use of their unusual qualities—striking physical appearance in the one case and knowledge of the Japanese language and culture in the other case—to push the potential for destabilizing the status quo connections (or lack thereof) between the warring factions. It is hard to hate and victimize someone respected. But to gain that respect from an adversary requires giving respect—giving it in a genuine way, in a way that does not appear false or ingratiating, in a way that requires seeing from the other side and thereby seeing value in the other side. As pride is so hard to set aside in a conflict, it is best used as an ally in winning respect. This approach to conflict offers the best chance for achieving destabilization of rigid attitudes in those cases where lack of respect and a significant power imbalance exist at the outset.

Conclusion

The sensibility contained in the film reflects the power in maximizing the process of framing, of getting into other points-of-view as others inhabit them. It reveals the close connection between the ability to see other points-of-view, conflict management, and insight. Thinking itself may be seen as a process of using concepts and symbols and manipulating them to reveal new insights, new points-of-view, on an ever increasing bank of information—all within the framework of particular hierarchies of values. And invariably, the catalyst for making that initial leap outside the self to imagining other points-of-view comes through a close attachment to another person—an attachment that draws the self close enough to identify and sympathize with that person. Eventually, getting inside others’ viewpoints leads to getting inside other views for their own sake--for the insight itself. And this expansion of awareness leads, in turn, to a greater capacity for love of others and love of life. 17

The ability to see the other point-of-view is part of the process of unraveling experience, of understanding the world of events and actions essential to growth both in awareness and self-awareness. Kenneth Burke's symbolic action view of language is presented as a description of the way in which language and thought function as pervasive choice-making processes harboring particular viewpoints. Rejection of the action/choice aspect of language-using increases the likelihood of inflexibility and rigid confrontation. The Greeks made famous the adage that every stranger conceals a god. That “god” may often be a different point-of-view, with new knowledge. Adopting the attitude of tapping into that point-of-view, rather than diminishing or fearing it, maximizes collective and individual benefits.

Humans are most adapted, most alive, when beliefs are used not as fortresses and defenses against life's uncertainties but as tools for enhancing and fulfilling its values. But this approach to living needs an outlook free of attitudes of desperation and secure enough to be open to the risks and benefits of change.

With these conditions met, conflict need not be modeled on victimage. Weighed against a bilateral rather than polarized necessity, victimage becomes an inept and self-defeating subset of conflict and competition. In this light, Burke's view quoted at the beginning might now be expressed in the following way: If reflection, then selection (choice); if selection, then action; if action, then drama; if drama, then conflict; if conflict, then opportunity for growth. The scenario that leads to victimage is chiefly a result of insufficient initiation into the process of getting outside the self, a process having endless frontiers made possible by the point-of-view or framing aspect of symbol-using. The failure to get outside the self is what makes scapegoating or victimage possible. It is a failure to become fully human, failure to fully employ the human ability to think, symbolize, and frame.

In his early writings, Burke viewed victimage as an "iron law of history,''18 an inescapable misfortune of the human condition. In his later writings, he admits an alternate route—a route that sees victimage as not an essential or instinctual part of the human motivation:

Outright war... is to be viewed not as "essentially" a human motive, but rather secondarily as a diseased form of cooperation.19

Even if this belief seems too optimistic, it appears to be the best strategic attitude to adopt about the human condition if what people choose to see will indeed govern how they act.

Notes

1. Kenneth Burke, A Grammar of Motives (New York: Prentice-Hall, 1952), p. 442.

2. Kenneth Burke, Language As Symbolic Action (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966), p. 45.

3. Kenneth Burke, Permanence and Change, 2nd ed., rev. (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1954), p. 256.

4. Ibid, p . 5 .

5. Ibid, p. 6.

6. The ability to get outside the self should not be confused with adaptability—trying different strategies. Getting outside the self means seeing as another person might see, which may require a shift in motive rather than merely a shift in strategy.

7. Burke, Language As Symbolic Action, p. 55.

8. The relationship between choice, free-will, and human behavior is, of course, complex, and Burke does not unravel it in great detail. An explanation of the following sort seems most consistent with a symbolic action approach. Human behavior is neither strictly determined nor strictly free. Since behavior can be argued to depend on viewpoint and since viewpoint cannot be conclusively demonstrated to be causally induced by environment, then behavior would seem to involve a measure of freedom. But since viewpoint is perspectival (that is, never omniscient) and since this perspective or consequent "blindness" is not chosen (that is, people do not voluntarily place limits on what they are able to see), then every choice from among alternatives is accompanied by non-choice with regard to the range of alternatives readily apparent. A viewpoint does not necessarily reveal all possible alternatives even within the "field" lit up by that viewpoint, for, in one sense, alternatives are infinite. A person appears free because alternatives in attitude are always present. But in what sense can there be freedom if choice is always made in partial blindness? Any degree of blindness qualifies the freedom of perceived choices. A symbolic act involves choice, but it may not reflect freedom in the radical sense of the word.

9. "In any event, action of an external sort must eventually lead to combat in one form or another....Action in the realm of normal experience involves patterns of striving, competition, and conquest which reach their ultimate conclusion in war." Permanence and Change, p. 249.

10. Burke's logic regarding the necessity of victimage is one of congregation by segregation—order is preserved through sacrifice. He has viewed this as an "iron law" of the human condition: Here are the steps

In the iron law of history
That welds order and sacrifice:
Order leads to guilt
(For who can keep the commandments!)
Guilt needs redemption
(For who would not be cleansed!)
Redemption needs redeemer
(Which is to say, a victim!)
Order Through guilt To victimage (Hence: Cult of the kill)...

Kenneth Burke, The Rhetoric of Religion (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970), pp. 4-5.

11. The opening scene—which is not found in the book The Seed and the Sower—is likely included in the film to emphasize the Japanese cultural contempt (during the time of WWII) for homosexuality. This scene prepares the way for a separation of Yonoi's admiration for Celliers' physical appearance and character from a narrowly homosexual interpretation. Although the possibility of homosexual undertones in Yanoi’s character should not be entirely dismissed, a strictly homosexual interpretation would cloud the complex psychological/cultural quality of conflict within Yonoi.

12. Laurens Van Der Post, Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (New York: Quill, 1983), pp. 149-150. Originally published by William Morrow & Co., Inc. in 1963 as The Seed and the Sower.

13. David Grene and Richard Lattimore. The Complete Greek Tragedies: Aeschylus II (New York: Washington Square Press, Inc., 1956), pp. 48-86. See also the Introduction, pp. 45-47.

14. Aeschylus' Oresteia, for example, gives fair treatment to at least three sides of the conflict through the characters of Agamemnon, Clytaemestra, and Orestes.

15. Richard McKeon, ed., The Basic Works of Aristotle (New York: Random House, 1941), p. 1460. Poetics translation by Ingram Bywater.

16. In Interpersonal Conflict, Joyce Hocker and William Wilmot outline common principles for non-violent conflict management. Two of these, "self-restraint" and "refusal to compromise one's deepest principles," underline the importance of the give and take, conciliation and assertion, balance that must be carefully worked, especially in conflicts characterized by some degree of power imbalance. Joyce L. Hocker and William W. Wilmot, Interpersonal Conflict, 2nd ed. (Dubuque: William C. Brown, 1984), ch. 7.

17. It was not by accident that Plato, in his popular dialogue The Symposium, so closely identified the processes of thinking and loving. Both require ever greater efforts of expansive framing, of self-expansion, of pushing the self beyond its boundaries of awareness; both are characterized by openness and fueled by the lure of greater personal fulfillment.

18. See note number 11.

19. Kenneth Burke, "Communication and the Human Condition," Communication, I (1974), p. 144.

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