What is your first reaction when you encounter a disabled person?
What are your instinctive beliefs about them?
How do you interact? Are you natural? Fake-friendly? Do you ignore them? Do you try to figure out “what happened” while not seeming to stare?
Welcome to the first deep dive into Disability Models. We’ll explore why you do what you do when confronted with another’s (or your own) disability. There are five major models that I’ve identified, and there are a few others that aren’t as widely recognized. We’ll see if we can get into those when this series wraps up.
I will offer a trigger warning here. This post mentions the practice of infanticide that was done in ancient Greece and Rome. Euthanasia is also mentioned. I also cites abusive or lethal actions taken against disabled or impaired people. I don’t offer any graphic details, but I want to warn sensitive readers.
A Deep Dive into the Moral Model of Disability
We’ll start with the most ancient of perspectives, the Moral Model of Disability. This framework doesn’t rely on scientific or medical understanding of why a disability occurs. The Moral Model is found in many of our earliest civilizations. It casts the disabled person (or their family) as either a sinner or a saint. The terms might be different:
- a curse or a blessing
- punishment or sanctification
- mark of evil or a sign of divine favor
The disabled individual is not seen as a “normal” person. They are “othered” and separated from the community. If the cultural leadership sees the individual as a threat, they are shunned, abused, or even killed. If the ‘powers that be’ determine that the disabled person is blessed, they still may be removed from society. They may become a hermit, or be placed in a religious community, or sent to live with other disabled persons. If not physically separated, they may be dressed differently, addressed differently, or given a special title.
Historical examples from the Bible
There are several examples of this in the Judeo-Christian religious traditions as well as other ancient cultures. Let’s look at two.
In the Old Testament, when Miriam spoke against her brother, Moses, she was punished with leprosy. She and her older brother, Aaron, questioned if God spoke only through Moses, but it’s indicated that Miriam was the instigator. God calls both to come forward and the pillar of cloud descended. They are rebuked.
And the anger of the Lord was kindled against them; and he departed. And the cloud departed from off the tabernacle; and behold, Miriam became leprous, white as snow: and Aaron looked upon Miriam, and, behold, she was leprous. Numbers 12:9-10
Aaron pleads on her behalf and Moses asks the Lord God to heal her. She is cast out of the camp for seven days, until God lifts the curse.
In the New Testament, we have the story of the blind man who is healed by Jesus of Nazareth. The man was blind from birth. The disciples immediately assumed that it was someone’s fault.
And his disciples asked him, saying, Master who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind. Jesus answered, Neither hath the man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him. St. John 9:2-3
Historical examples from ancient Greece and Rome.
In Greece, if a child was born disabled, it was culturally acceptable for the parents to commit infanticide. This meant they would kill the baby. A less drastic approach was exposure. The infant or young child would be taken outside the city and left to freeze or be killed by wild animals. Some parents abandoned their child in a public place with the hope that someone would take the child and raise it. (This explains Greek myths such as Hercules who was found as a baby and raised by adoptive parents.)
The Greek philosopher, Plato, agreed with this widespread practice and didn’t limit it to young children:
Mentally and physically ill persons should be left to death.
In Aristotle’s Politics, he wrote:
As to the exposure and rearing of children, let there be a law that no deformed child should live.
The idea was that society could rid itself of a ‘burden’ and removed the guilt the person would experience living a ‘burdensome existence.’
[I absolutely disagree with all of those concepts. I am explaining the point of view that was held by this culture.]
These practices were passed on to the ancient Romans. They, like the Greeks, idealized the perfect, strong body. (One must, if one is to conquer the known world.) Disability or impairment was a sign of divine punishment. It also was seen as weakness in the family’s character or bloodline. The family was the central unit of Roman society. To have a disabled family member (from birth or accident) was a terrible stigma.
The Stoic philosophy put forth that life was only worth living if one could fulfill societal duties.
This belief feeds the fear of becoming useless – whether by disability, age, or other reasons. Anyone can become disabled anytime in their life. In Rome, individuals who became disabled could lose their status as ‘whole’ citizens. This led to the acceptance of Euthanasia (the “good death”). Taking poison, relatively quick and painless, was viewed by many as an alternative when facing terminal illness, chronic pain, or incapacitation. The Hippocratic Oath was a deliberate action against the Greco-Roman medical practices that allowed physician-assisted suicide (typically by poison). The Oath states:
I will not administer a poison to anybody when asked to do so, nor will I suggest such a course.
[Again, I state for the record that disability is not a burden. To administer poison to oneself or another person is against my moral compass and against our society’s moral code.]
Historical examples from the Middle Ages
The Malleus Maleficarum was written in 1487. The title literally means the “Hammer of Witches.” It was a manual for identifying witchcraft as well as prosecuting and executing witches. It stated that children born with disabilities were the result of the mother having sexual relations with the devil. Though not officially endorsed by the Church, many copies were made (thank you, printing press) and distributed across Europe. This treatise was seen as gospel truth, which resulted in many innocent women and their babies being persecuted or put to death.
Cultural examples of the Moral Model of Disability
A little hunting around the internet uncovers a few more examples in various cultures. In India there is a term, divyangjan. It means “divine body.” It refers to people with disabled bodies, considering them spiritually blessed.
In some cultures, a disabled child is considered a “changeling.” The spirits exchanged the true son or daughter for something else. In the stories from Great Britain, it might be a fairy changeling. In Pakistan, it might be a child possessed by a djinn.
In areas that followed traditional Confucian beliefs, a child born with a disability would have been considered punishment. It might be the “fault” of the parents or more distant ancestors who violated hallowed teachings.
In some cultures (Botswana and Mexico are listed), families who have a disabled child is considered particularly strong or good, and so this child is considered a “gift.”
Literary example from the Renaissance
In Shakespeare’s Richard III, the title character has physical “deformities.” He is portrayed as a hunchback with a withered arm. In his soliloquy, Richard states that he is cheated by having an ill-formed body that is not desired by women.
…since I cannot prove a lover…I am determined to prove a villain.
He decides to become what others think he already is. His “deformity” (which was exaggerated by Shakespearean productions) became an outward representation of his inner evil and moral corruption. His humped back is a symbol of his craven state rather than a person with a medical condition of scoliosis.
Literary examples in the Victorian era
Throughout the Victorian era, in fiction, a disabled character did not live a fulfilling life. Their fate was tied to their morality. If they represented moral failure, then they died, like Captain Ahab in Moby Dick. If they were good and righteous, they were often “cured” as a reward. Or they died, but in their death, their saintly, good life was a lesson to the main character (and the reader).
The ultimate poster child is Tiny Tim. He embodies the threat of death throughout A Christmas Carol. He is young and innocent and pure yet destined for the grave. Only as Scrooge allows himself to be humbled and changed, does he have the power to “heal” Tiny Tim and save him from death.
Another of Dicken’s books, Nicholas Nickleby, has the character, Smike. He is a frail young man with an intellectual disability. He is used and abused by the antagonist, Squeers. Nicholas rescues Smike from the Dotheboy Hall, and Smike becomes devoted to him. However, the years of abuse and neglect have consequences, (which is part of Dicken’s point). Smike’s death is not a “reward” for himself, but his passing leaves Nicholas a better person. So, the “reward” is passed on to Smike’s savior, the main character.
The character of Beth in Little Women, is another example. I love the movie versions of Little Women, where she has a little more substance and screen time. But in the book, the Beth’s is too good for this world. She’s the voice of conscience to her sisters as they get into scrapes. She doesn’t need to go on a quest or have an adventure – she’s already peaked. After her death, the memory of her sweet nature helps the other three March girls live better lives.
The Moral Model in Amelia Loken’s writing
My debut novel, Unravel, is about a deaf princess with embroidery magic who is trying to save her kingdom from her tyrannical uncle. I use a few different disability models throughout the book as Marguerite navigates challenges. Her main antagonist is her uncle, Reichard. He embodies the Moral Model. Highly religious in a fundamentalist fashion, he sees her deafness as a representation of weakness and of evil. When Marguerite is very young and using sign language, Reichard crushes her right hand to keep her from signing. (Don’t worry. He gets what he deserves.)
In my “dragon manuscript” the female main character is legally blind. As an orphan, she’s been indentured during her childhood years as an apprentice. (This is an alternative to foster care in the world I’ve built.) She is nearly old enough to be emancipated, but the man who owns her indentureship contract doesn’t want to lose her skilled labor. He sets about ensuring that he can “keep” her, arguing that she’ll never be independent, she’ll be a burden to an able-bodied spouse, and that his giving her guaranteed work, housing, and food is actually doing her a favor. He is nearly successful in bending the law (and the community’s will) to accept that she is little more than a useful tool, or an animal he has trained. Shouldn’t he be able to keep his investment? I play with the tension of: Who is seen as a person? Who can be owned or used? Who has dignity and agency?
In the “space colony manuscript” I’m currently writing, being able-bodied is a priority. The people waking from cryosleep are the foundation of the new civilization on the planet below. However, the cryosleep technology is imperfect and a significant percentage of the colonists wake with disabilities. Who gets to go down to the surface to build the new society? Who are kept on the ship “for their own safety”? Who gets put back into cryosleep without a promise of being awakened again? This is a reflection of the Greco-Roman viewpoint: If one cannot contribute, is that person worthy of citizenship?
In each manuscript I write, I make the case that every person is worthy of dignity, respect, agency, and being a full member of their community.
So, let’s return to the opening questions:
- What is your initial reaction when encountering a disabled person?
- How do you interact with people who are disabled?
- What are your instinctive beliefs about living in a disabled body?
As we continue with this series, I will bring in the other models that reflect our society’s frameworks around disability. Some are liberating and empowering. Others… not so much.
If you need a palate cleanse, try one of my recent favorite songs:
I Will Make It – Julen
I’ve got it on my Space Colony Manuscript Playlist, and I’ve had it on repeat as I write a few scenes. It lifts my spirit, fills my chest with oxygen, and raises my eyes to the distant horizon.