Human Compassion

According to Arthur Schopenhauer, “Compassion is the basis of morality.” In her piece The Fifth Story, Clarice Lispector interweaves multiple tales to form a complex image of humanity versus a guilty conscience. To many, insects such as the common cockroach are just pests to be exterminated. However, using these varmints, Lispector introduces the recurring argument reading the value of a life. “Should I renew the lethal sugar every night [and kill more of nature’s creation]?” Despite the fact that these bugs invade homes, carry diseases and scare the unsuspecting, their extermination is strangely accompanied by the despicable feeling of having killed a living creature.

While calling attention to the mindless killing of creatures, Lispector provides a brilliant literary example of how a simple story can have much more to it than meets the eye. As she first tells the story of the “murder” of the cockroaches, she introduces it simply as a successful way to kill the pests, calmly stating, “The cockroaches died,” to summarize the results of her sugary and deadly potion. She proceeds to tell the same story again, this time adding details of her malicious outrage over the invasion of the cockroaches and the burning desire to eradicate them. She adds on two more drafts of the same murderous tale, each time adding details and sculpting the scene of the crime.

By the fourth story, Lispector evokes a newfound sympathy for the cockroaches by introducing the plight of right versus wrong: either bear the creepy-crawly invasions or butcher the pests. Even the executioner “trembled at the sight of that hardening gypsum, the depravity of existence would shatter my inner form.” With it arrives a choice “between two paths…Any choice would mean sacrificing either myself or my soul. I chose.” But Lispector does not reveal the slayer’s choice; instead, she leaves it to our interpretation as to what the fifth story would hold.

This decision on the author’s part makes the reader think more about killing helpless and innocent creatures, who are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I cannot count the number of times a poor spider or mosquito has lain smashed, by my doing. Yet, I have felt little remorse; to me they are just pests with no purpose in life. But is this the case? Or, would it be better to give them a little human compassion?