Objectification in Real Life

Earlier this week I presented a philosophical paper on objectification, the transformation of humans into commodities or tools toward the achievement of an end. Kant tells us that people should never be means to an end, but the ends themselves.
Somehow I feel your eyes glazing over. Take my word that I found a way to make the concept vivid to the kind people who attended the presentation. I could have given them another example from my own life, but I was still a little in shock at that point and wouldn't have been able to explain the situation very well. I may not do any better here, but I want to try.
So. There's this guy, terribly nice but not quite my type, for some reason. Attractive, a little taller and a little older than me. Charming, intelligent, and not at all surprised that I'm in college full time at my age. He calls every few days, he shows an interest, he brought me flowers whenhe thought I needed a little present to fight the stress. He's only known me a few weeks, but he's made it clear he's interested in a romantic relationship.
At first this sounded like a nice idea. After all, he has a lot of the qualities I like, and no one man is going to be absolutely perfect. Plus, I have to admit thinking that if he wasn't the right guy in the long run, I'd eventually break up with him. In the meantime, we'd have fun and I'd have someone to spend my spare time with who could buy dinner once in a while. Then it occurred to me that I was turning him into Mr. Right Now. This would not be right.
I admit there is an emotional void in my life. One part of it is that I do not have a church with which I identify; the other part is that I do not have a life partner. However, turning this perfectly nice guy into someone to temporarily fill part of this emotional void is turning him into an object -- objectifying him.
While some men may want to become a sex object, most guys would not want to become objectified -- used as the means to the end of my not being lonely when I'm not doing schoolwork.
I was really upset when I figured out what my fiendish little mind was doing. The temptation was to just forget the ethics of the situation and pretend my way into a little romance, but I guess my memory is too good for that.
He'll make a nice friend while he looks for Ms. Right. And when we go out to dinner, we'll go Dutch.

No Date for New Year's, Thank God

Enough time has passed that I can bear to finally confess: I signed up for *Harmony (not its real name), a Web site that promises to match you to the person of your dreams on the basis of intellectual, emotional, and philosophical values that it claims to ascertain through a questionnaire. This is potentially the dumbest thing I've done since the last time I walked into a bar in Chehalis, WA.

I really thought it was possible that I could find an adult male in my age group who was interested in education, had a sense of humor, and wasn't currently married. Silly me.

In the profile, I mentioned that I'm in college, majoring in English, have a sense of humor, have some ethical and spiritual values -- stuff like that. And I included my age.

All my matches, it turned out, were based on age. The gentlemen whose profiles made it onto my message board were all in their mid-fifties to late seventies, which was fine. It was when we got to the finer points, like "Favorite Book," that things got dicey. For example, one perfectly nice guy wrote, "Can't remember the last time I read a book." Another cited "Whatever paperbacks I find at garage sales." Not perfect matches, not at all.

As for hobbies, a lot of men looking for women in my age group ride Harleys and look forward to spending weekends on the road and in their favorite bars. Good for them, but not for me, since I don't have much sense of balance and haven't chugged a beer since sometime in 1976.

And then there were the guys who love, love, love their flat screen TVs and recliners. I'd hate to interfere with such strong pre-existing relationships.

That's why *Harmony and I have parted ways. As nice as it would be to have a date tonight, to greet the new year, I'll go to the party in Seattle, and then curl up with some assigned reading. After all, a dear friend found her love at a neighborhood party. That makes me think there is a lot to be said for finding romance right where you are, instead of online.

Someday my prince will show up, lugging a pile of books and asking what I think of Terry Pratchett, the Transcendentalists, or any of a million other things. Until then, I can be a little patient.