On the Subject of Innocence
I. Moving Beyond Common Language and its Application
Some people are innocent. If they weren’t, then it’s antithesis, ‘guilt’, would be baseless and nonsensical.
But when either adjective is applied to a person it is always in relation to some performative (or, maybe more correctly in cases of innocence, the absence of some performative) act.
We find you innocent of X. You cannot say you were innocent, you knew what Y would entail. You can’t really be guilty of Z, given the frame of mind you were in.
Now there are plenty of well-trodden (and sometimes dull) questions about intentionality and its ties to either innocence or guilt. I admit, more interesting dilemmas arise when we think of hard, physical determinism and the bearing that this, if accepted, has on things like free will and ascriptions of praise, blame, or absolution.
But besides all of this, and quite apart from innocence which relates to a specific act, behaviour, or thought, why hasn’t innocence, viewed as a stable and fixed character trait, been discussed more widely?
What do I mean by innocence as a ‘stable and fixed’ thing? I mean, is it possible — this is semi-rhetorical — that someone, irrespective of the things they do or say or think or feel, can remain objectively innocent?
I think so. Though they are a funny (and uncommon) breed of individual. Often, they are the most intuitively likeable and loveable. They flit boundaries usually reserved for the childlike or the smiling, glowing semi-inebriate; for those who are simultaneously effervescent and reserved (and, arguably, somewhat, neurodivergent) — a Little Prince, Prince Myshkin, Lou Reed, or a WALL-E.
II. What the Fuck am I Talking About
But, I hear you cry, these are the exact qualities, ‘things’, which make someone (as near to) objectively innocent in common parlance and conduct. We don’t (often) chastise or legally punish minors; those with temporary loss of agency; or those with disabilities which impair judgement and reasoning. Well, we don’t punish them as much.
But that is why I used the term flit the boundaries between. I am not on about people who neatly and recognisably fit into one of these culpability-excusing categories.
I am instead talking about someone who, for all intents and purposes, should be capable of being blamed and therefore considered as being without innocence. Someone who isn’t a child, who hasn’t temporarily lost their agency, and who can — in practically all elements of their lives — reason and judge with reason (and judgement). They hold down jobs or study, pay the water bill, maintain friendships, exercise, book holidays, take contraception, cook and eat meals, blah blah. But, when it comes to these people, for one reason or another, a number of us find it impossible to treat them as being blameworthy (and, therefore, view them as inherently innocent, irrespective of act).
As gestured towards above, feelings of agreeability or even love may bear the yoke of this strange intuition about rarer (objective) forms of innocence. But these feelings needn’t be romantic. Maybe we have raised these individuals from a young age, or been witness to their raising. Maybe we were raised togther. Maybe they have made us, in one way or another, lower ourselves. And maybe — and in keeping with the current wordplay of ‘shifting levels’ (sorry) — they have simply made all others, besides themselves that is, appear on equivalent footing.
I should confess that I don’t think these individuals need to be universally regarded as innocent. No doubt some public or celebrity figures can be so widely endearing that they fit the bill, but some others may only be innocent in our eyes alone; an innocence unwavering (perhaps only) in the eyes of the (single) observer. I might as well also state here that I have been crass and lazy in my use of the word ‘objective’. By this I only mean that someone’s innocence is generally pervasive (i.e. it exists not in relation to a specific act, thought, deed, inclination etc. etc.), not that literally all behaviours across all contexts are, by default, excusable and excused. Where these people are concerned the slate is rarely, if ever, muddy enough to be wiped clean — but it can still get shit-up in extreme circumstances.
Ask yourself whether you know, or have known, anyone who satisfies these criteria. Though rare, a little dig beneath the surface is enough to demonstrate their existence. Maybe a little dinky winky example will help.
III. Cassandra’s Castle
Dodie Smith’s 1948 novel ‘I Capture the Castle’ captures, in itself, the lives of several individuals (constituting several families, allowing some lonewolf extras) living in and around the areas of Suffolk and London during 1930.
If I were to attempt to capture (again) the nuance of the myriad cast (themselves captured (again) in 400+ pages) I would fail. But nor am I going to ask you to nip off and experience the novel, nor wrestle with the sludge of your long-term memory (calm down, mine is shot to bits) to recall the events if you’ve already given it a read.
Instead, I shall attempt to portray one character — Cassandra, a young, switched-on middle-child of the family who writes, reads, documents, and remembers — and her relation to the other persons in the novel. In this snapshot of relation(s) I hope to somewhat elucidate the slippery concept of innocence.
Firstly, there’s Stephen. A familial farmhand who, after the death of his mother, has become essentially, and an essential, part of the family — at the very least, part of the house(castle)hold. He plays a practical role around the house (castle), earns money for the family labouring, and gives Cassandra his attention and the physical fruits of what little he buys with the little he saves. Stephen’s love is undoubtedly unrequited. At moments, Cassandra tries to let him down gently. However she also manipulates him on several occasions: overly relying on him, putting herself in situations she needn’t because she knows of his reliability as a mechanism of solution, and, also, but no less importantly, feeling jealous, petty, and entertaining thoughts of loving him when she sees Stephen getting attention from elsewhere. He is, in one instance, literally led up the garden path.
Cassandra competes with her older, less introspective but more conventionally attractive sister, Rose. Cassandra encourages Rose towards a suitor (matchmaking) which Cassandra herself knows is unsuited. On the one hand, this is done because she believes even Rose would prefer an unsuitable match to a non-existent one, but it is also because this (un)suitor is a new phenomena, and has the capacity to haul the family out of poverty. Once this pairing goes too far (i.e. gets in the way of Cassandra’s personal, no-longer-latent romantic intent and desire) Cassandra begins to become petty, vindictive, and aware (markedly, as she has been the entire time) of her sister’s traits, only now with scathing critique rather than complacency as companion. Every night she dreams of her own happiness though this may imply (at least) Rose’s financial ruin or (at worst) her emotional ruin if it ever came to fruition.
Cassandra’s younger brother, Thomas, undergoes a fairly significant (but not really surprising, given the rapidity of adolescent evolution) metamorphosis during the course of the novel, becoming more astute, knowledgeable, forward, opinionated, and all-round less pubescent. Though Thomas is often looked on favourably by Cassandra (herself noting this change) his personal development is almost, a times, treated with contempt. Reference is made to the quality of his education (which although arguably a suitable source of envy, is a source of envy nonetheless), and his comments on art and literature are either laughed off as schoolboy regurgitations, or frowned upon for their continued growing complexity.
Cassandra’s stepmother, Topaz, is essentially a saint when compared alongside (and in relation to) her obtuse, eccentric, hyper-intelligent (read: wildly autistic) father. But this saintly nature does not prevent Topaz from being kettled in various directions by Cassandra throughout the course of the novel. She is manipulated into putting up with what is, really, an enormously unfulfilling relationship with Cassandra’s father. I mean that in the most serious terms; besides a couple of charming vignettes of past life, there is absolutely zero romance or empathy (or, the novel makes us beg, faithfulness) directed towards Topaz from her husband. Why does Cassandra do this? Because she’s worried about what would happen if Topaz fucked off for a better life. It might impact her father’s work. It might also mean the house (castle) was more of a tip. How does Cassandra do this? By taking advantage of Topaz’s character traits (and vulnerabilities) that Cassandra has documented — in great detail, and with no small degree of parody and, I think, cruelty — over several years.
I’ll flag also that there are other instances where Cassandra utilises her age, appearance, character, and situation to attain what she likes, either for money, transport, or alcohol. (Caveat: there is nothing, I don’t think, really wrong with this. Ya gotta eat — I’m just saying, it is an instance of social exploitation and engineering, or, if those are too strong words, un-upfronted-ness.)
Let’s break it down then. Capriciousness, whimsy, envy, bitterness, unfaithfulness and treachery, disregard, satire and sarcasm. Some interactions with Stephen and her sister are borderline sociopathic. This is all paired with an active imagination and capable powers of reasoning, the possession of preferences and the ability to autonomously plan ways of bringing these into being. There are few flaws that Cassandra herself does not recognise, document, and feel responsible for.
IV. Winner Winner, Chicken Sinner?
Am I saying Cassandra is a bad person (overall)? No, or at least I strongly doubt it. After all, most is fair in love and war, and Cassandra — who, by the way, is still very much existent at a very much formative stage — is very much in love and at war. She’s also, as I’ve just touched on, introspective and does feel pangs of guilt. But this isn’t the question. The question is instead “is Cassandra blameable for her faults?”.
Arguably no. Why? Because she fits the archetype of the objectively innocent which was introduced above. Through a combination of charm, wit, nonsense, ritual, guile, drive, brazenness, un-brazenness, naivety (to an extent insecurity), fragility — in short, all the things that endear us to another — she elevates herself to a point beyond reproach. The realm of children, WALL-Es, charming, though troubled pissheads, and adults who seem to be more away with the fairies than away with the Fairy Liquid.
This, I feel, gives us an archetype that isn’t absurd or anomalous: someone who, on the whole, is pleasant and engaging to be around, means well and wants others to be happy, but who can forget about the boundaries and entities beyond the self, and can easily have self-preservation as chief aim — even at the true expense of others. Where this breed of innocent is concerned the individual can act badly and remain free from blame. So much for us all being born unto (and into) sin.
Again, I think an absence of wrongdoing is not always, counterintuitively, what innocence resides in. This is to get the direction wrong. Instead, innocence of this form, rare as it is, comes first to a person. And then the sheer inability to ever commit any wrong deed follows and clings to them, clinked on like chains of Dandelions around wrists and ankles, but loose enough, still, to permit skipping.
And when people tell you that innocence runs counter to depravity and vice you should tell them they are wrong. Innocence, of the truest sense here described, is the perfect, fertile, unthinking soil for viciousness and moral failing to blossom. With those who are truly, innocent you will always find a crime for which they are excused from, or never even blamed of to begin with.
V. Who Cares?
I do. I don’t work with a million beetles each with a different name in Latin (at least that’s not how I’d immediately refer to my colleagues). So this is mine own taxonomy; a cartography of the self. My little grey ontology; existentiell over existential.
There isn’t much point of this all, at least beyond me trying to capture a concept that is present in my life but difficult to conceptually shackle. It is purely an exercise in categorising the frontiers of what I consider inconsistency. A way of helping me remember bits of the world I occupy and which confuse and elude me.
And another little breadcrumb to help me find my own way out of whatever labyrinthine nightmare I create, or fall into, next.
