The String

The original title of the 2009 film, The String, is Le Fil, which actually translates as thread rather than string. These two English words have different connotations and this bears on the film’s leitmotif. Whereas a person can string another person along, a thread has a connotation of linking people emotionally. The thread that ultimately succeeds in the film is that of caring, which is antipodal to hurting, emotionally speaking. In this sense, the film is like The Holiday (2006), another romantic drama in which the good guys (and gals) wind up on top. In terms of the theme of caring and not hurting other people, that The String centers on two gay men who fall in love whereas The Holiday is about two heterosexual couples matters little, though the resistance to homosexuality in The String is an additional hurdle. I contend that like The Holiday, The String can provide audiences with how falling in love can proceed naturally without exploding because one person hurts the other. In other words, the ethical wins out in both films in regard to emotionally intimate romantic relationships, and in this respect the medium of film has value in terms of ethics.

In The String, Malik returns to Tunisia from France to live in his mother’s house because his dad is dying. Malik has been unwilling to tell his mother Sara that he is gay, and she is unaware of his sexual prowess with local guys, including one of his cousins (who gets “turned on” not only having sex with a cousin, but also paying anonymous guys for sex). It is no accident that Malik and his cousin sniff a “substance” as they are kissing in a bathroom, for there is no emotional connection between the two men that would bring the sex to a higher intensity naturally. Meanwhile, Malik is gradually falling for his mother’s houseboy, Bilal, who, crucially, is falling for Malik. “One-sided love” simply does not work; it is too unstable an element not to explode at some point. Once Malik and Bilal mutually realize that they are falling for each other—perhaps the most beautiful thing of which two human beings are capable—and neither is afraid of the emotional intimacy, two things happen.

Explicitly, Sara discovers her son and her servant intertwined on Malik’s bed the next morning while the two are still asleep. It is not as if Malik has drawn an invisible line down the middle of his bed as a way of rudely informing Bilal that bodily touching is off-limits while Malik is asleep. Sara, a Catholic, immediately goes to her cancer-stricken husband Abdelaziz, who is a Muslim, to inform him that their son is gay. Interestingly, he defends his son’s sexuality, pushing back on Sara’s disapproval. This is ironic because Abdelaziz’s family did not approve of Abdelaziz marrying a Catholic woman. Both from that experience and her husband’s opinion on Malik being gay, Sara relents and accepts her son’s homosexuality, and the fact that her son is in love with one of her servants.

The second thing that happens once Malik and Bilal have consummated their deep romantic (not just sexual attraction) affection for each other is very subtle but very, very important. Malik stops “sleeping around.” It is not that Bilal has insisted on monogamy; rather, Malik no longer is motivated to have sex with other men.  I suspect that this is due to the natural willowing of focus that happens when someone falls in love with another person. It could also be that physiological sex alone pales experientially relative to sex with a beloved. There is one scene in which Malik is running his fingers down the backside of Bilal’s naked body in bed. Relative to the intimacy—even love—shown in that scene, anal (or virginal) sex can seem superficial and even contrived. This is not to say that people who fall in love should necessarily be monogamous; rather, the implication is that even an “open” relationship of (a reasonable amount of) separate physical sex with others pales in comparison to the depth of emotional intimacy that can manifest sexually for two people who are in love. It could be that were a sequel to have been made of Malik and Bilal years later, their love would be solid enough even though the sex has become stale that they would be fine with either or both of them having non-emotional, physical sex with others from time to time, assuming that neither would impose this on (or hide this from) the other. Separate sex with romantic connection or feelings for another person is another story, however, and the emotional hurt that either Malik or Bilal would feel is so engrained in (normal) human nature that such an imposition would be unethical, even before marriage.

Malik and Bilal do not marry, as it is presumably illegal in the Muslim country. Because Malik has promised before falling for Bilal to enter into a contractual marriage with his cousin and friend, Syrine, in order that her baby, when born, would legally have a father even though Malik is not the biological father, and her unmarried pregnancy would not be discovered in that conservative society, Malik and Bilal have difficulty deciding whether Malik should follow through with the marriage. Bilal is against it for obvious reasons, but Malik wants to help Syrine. It is not as though Malik would be living with Syrine, so with the help of Sara helping her son and Bilal on this emotionally difficult matter, Bilal agrees and even stands as Malik’s best man. After the civil (i.e., non-religious) wedding ceremony, Sara has Malik, Bilal, Syrine, and her bridesmaid repeat, “The marriage is only for the good of the child.” Everyone is on the same page, and no one his hurt emotionally. Even though the expanded arrangement is unconventional, it is arguably ethical precisely because everyone’s feelings are taken into account. Malik’s benevolence to Syrine (and her baby in standing in as his father) and the love of Malik and Bilal for each other (for they are living together as a couple) are compatible.

In both Augustine and Leibniz, justice is love as universal benevolence. That the benevolence is universal, we are all due benevolence from others, which means that none of us deserve to be hurt emotionally. This is why it is significant, albeit subtle, that Malik puts Bilal first, rather than imposing emotional hurt on Bilal by dismissing his hurt feelings regarding Malik technically marrying Syrine. The marriage goes forward because Bilal’s misgivings have been adequately addressed not only by Malik, but also by Sara, who has essentially adopted Bilal. As she says at one point, he is now a guest, not a servant. This is why I believe it can be concluded that, hypothetically, were Bilal to object to Malik continuing to have anonymous sex after he and Bilal have bonded (which Malik does not do in the film), Malik would stop having sex with others so Bilal would not be hurt emotionally. By implication, were Bilal fine emotionally with Malik having non-emotional, physical sex sometimes with other men, Malik’s doing so would not be unethical or detrimental to his relationship with Bilal.

Hence my conclusion that the ethical, good guys (and gals) come out on top in the film. Caring is the thread that runs throughout the story. Sara has come around on Malik being gay and she even helps her son and Bilal on whether Malik should help Syrine by marrying her and helping her raise her baby, whose father is another man.  Abdelaziz, having overruled his parents’ objections to him marrying Sara, a Christian, pushes back against Sara’s prejudice against gays and even urges Malik to tell him the truth regarding his cancer. Last but not least, Bilal and Malik have such a bond of connection, affection, and even love that neither treats the other’s emotions as an externality that can or should be disregarded or indifferently run over. The film thus presents a moving picture of family and romantic relationships as they should be, ethically speaking, even if they are not conventional.

Devil’s Advocate

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The Apocalypse

In the film, The Apocalypse (2002), the Apostle John is a prisoner at an island-prison because he is a Christian. He is having visions of heaven in the last of days and Valerio, another prisoner is dutifully writing what John dictates so various church congregations can know of John’s revelations. He is esteemed so much by other Christians that he feels pressure to steer them to God’s truth. Too much esteem, I submit, is being directed to John, as he is, as he admits, only a human being, though he does get caught up in his own direct access to God, as in being able to know the will of God. This is a temptation for any religionist, especially religious leaders. Although subtly, the film conveys John’s over-reaches though without having another character explicitly refer to them as such.

In one of his visions, John hears the question, who is worthy to open the scroll of the meaning of mankind to God. That is, why did God create our species? What does God intend for us in creating us? The answer that John receives is that God wants people to turn back to God to praise God and feel God’s love. Who is worthy to break the seven seals on the scroll? Only the innocent lamb who gave himself to be sacrificed for humanity. “Look,” an angel tells John during a vision, “the Messiah has triumphed, and so he will open the scroll.” Indeed, as John points out, the core of the Christian faith is that God will be victorious over evil at the end of time. In the meantime, John believes God is calling him to lead people to God’s kingdom.

Other Christians in the movie think John’s significance is more than merely preaching on how God’s truth can lead people to God’s kingdom. Gaius, the leader of a congregation, says, “We must wait until his letters show us God’s will.” This implies that John has a special access to God in virtue of having visions and being the last person alive who witnessed Jesus’s crucifixion and resurrection. Irene implores John to come with her to escape from the prison. “We need you so badly. You’re the only witness to the resurrection of our Lord. They will listen to you. You will save us.” It is highly significant that in praying, John says, “I am only human,” and he replies to Irene, “Only the Lord can save us. But now he wants me here to deny my own name and testify to his.” John believes that Jesus is keeping John at the prison. It is God’s will. But is it? Even John finally admits to Irene that he could be wrong. After all, John feels that he should help Christians who are lost. So, after John tells her, “I have to stay. The Lord has spoken to me,” and Irene begs John in the name of Jesus to escape to save her and the other Christians, he suddenly realizes that he, a mere mortal, could be mistaken, so he joins her. As it turns out, the Lord has not spoken to John; his place is with the struggling Christians rather than in prison. In fact, John is very mistaken.

John’s sudden realization should be a wake-up call for any Christians who are so utterly convinced that they know the will of God in their lives. It is not as if everything that happens is God’s will; such a belief ignores the impact of free-will, which in turn is necessary to avoid the conclusion that God is responsible for evil. Historically, the Jansenists, for whom Augustine’s later works rather than the early book of free will are important, believed that the Fall damaged free-will rather severely such that no good whatsoever can come from us. In the film, John voices this theology in stating, “my strength is not from me; it comes from the Lord. But to stave off the self-love that manifests as selfishness, is it necessary to deny having any strength of one’s own? Augustine holds that self-love of that of oneself that is in the image of God has positive religious value. Must even such self-love be denied in order for the sin of selfish self-love to be expunged from a person’s nature? Augustine clearly thought that self-love is not necessarily a sin. Even Jonathan Edwards argues that self-esteem is a neutral self-love in religious terms.

Therefore, John deserves some credit for giving food and drink to an old man and Valerius, respectively, when they are mistreated by Roman guards in the prison. Acting thusly in line with Jesus’s preachments and example, John does not risk incurring the sin of self-love. Ironically, in believing that he knows God’s will for him, that sin can find enough pride to grow on. John’s compassionate acts matter in a religious sense, in terms of him entering the kingdom of God. So, John is mistaken again when he states, “He who believes shall have eternal life.” Without love put in action, even faith that moves mountains is for naught. John is correct, therefore, in stating as a Christian that “God is love, and whosoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.” John is hit by the Roman head of the prison and put in a cage for days for having wiped the back of a violent, nasty prisoner whom a guard has just whipped.  John uses his free will in compassion to an undesirable and thus not only believes that God is love, but actively chooses to participate in loving acts that are inconvenient. It is subtle, but very important, that the other prisoners and Roman guards are taken back as if in awe when John is compassionate in actions to the weak, old, and even nasty. This awe is not owning to John’s salvific personhood, as though he has direct access to knowing God’s will and can save Christians who feel lost.

In short, John’s strength is not wholly due to God; free-will was not so warped in the Fall that Christians do not deserve some credit for choosing to act in line with Jesus’s teachings on how to enter the kingdom of God that is within, rather than just at the end of time. The film could do more to emphasize that John’s compassionate acts instantiate the presence of the kingdom of God within him, and this would not be the case were John not able to exercise enough of his free-will in choosing to act rather than just believe consistent with the type of inconvenient love preached by Jesus in the Gospels.

The Crow

Considering the amount of screentime devoted to raw violence, it may come as a surprise that The Crow (1994) is actually about love. Not that the film is about an abusive romantic relationship, for the respect that is necessary for love is instantly expunged as soon as violence enters into the equation. The infliction of violence is a manifestation of self-love in the sordid sense of self-idolatry, rather than of love that is directed to other people. So, it may be difficult to fathom how violence can serve love, and even be a manifestation of love, as The Crow illustrates.

The film’s plot hinges on a horrific event that precedes when the film’s story begins. Eric Draven and Shelly Webster have been brutally shot and serially raped (and beaten), respectively, by a pathetic group of violent criminals who work for Top Dollar, a psychopath criminal kingpin. The film begins when Eric, aided by a crow, makes his way through the ground from his buried coffin to the world as an “undead” avenging Shelly’s very painful death by killing each of the men who beat and raped her. When Top Dollar has the crow shot, though still alive, Eric’s supernatural ability to withstand being shot ends, even though he is still dead, which is a curious combination as vampires, for example, do not bleed yet Eric does when Top Dollar shots and stabs him in the climatic violent scene on a roof between the main protagonist and antagonist, Eric and Top Dollar.

In fact, the supernatural condition of Eric being undead, having climbed out of his grave, and Top Dollar’s statement before Devil’s Night (the night before Halloween) to other criminal-heads in the city that greed is for amateurs whereas he is interested in chaos, hints at a religious element being in the film, rather than merely ethics.

Before Eric and Top Dollar fight on the roof, they meet by accident in an abandoned Christian church, which, considering all the violence in the city, says, in effect, that God is dead, as Nietzsche avers in his philosophical writings. But Eric outsmarts Top Dollar, whose greed ironically is his final undoing, as it gets him close enough to Eric that he can grasp Top Dollar’s head to transfer all of Shelly’s pain in the hospital that Eric has been holding onto; thirty hours of pain all at once! Top Dollar, being a weak coward as all bullies are, can’t take the pain. The kingpin falls and, on his way down, is impaled on one of three stone hooks being held by a stone gargoyle extending from an outer wall of the abandoned church.

God is not dead after all, for, as Paul and Augustine wrote, God is love, and Eric acts out of love first for Shelly, and then, at the end of the film, for the girl Sarah, whom Top Dollar has kidnapped in order to lure Eric to be murdered. Whereas violence out of sheer hatred knows no bounds, avenging the pain of a loved one stops when all of the perpetrators have been hurt or killed. Eric would not have gone after Top Dollar had Sarah not been kidnapped, so Eric was acting out of love in going after Eric. The church building may have been dilapidated from neglect, but God as love lives even in Eric’s dead body. It is easy to view religion in the supernatural element rather than where the spirit of God really manifests.

The film ends as a vindication of the power of love with Sarah narrating, “If people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.” She has loved Eric and Shelly, and they were stolen from her very violently. Interestingly, the young girl finds solace in the love she feels even though the couple are dead, rather than in the fact that Eric has avenged the beating, rape, and murder of the woman whom Eric loves, even beyond the grave.

The Omen

Released in 1976, The Omen reflects the pessimism in America in the wake of the OPEC gas shortage and President Nixon’s Watergate cover-up, both of which having occurred within easy memory of the two notable assassinations in 1968. Additionally, the drug culture had come out in the open in the anti-Vietnam War hippie sub-culture, and the sexual revolution, which arguably set the stage for the spread of AIDS beginning in the next decade, was well underway, both of which undoubtedly gave evangelical, socially-conservative Christians the sense that it would not be long until everything literally goes to hell. The film provides prophesy-fulfillment of a birth-narrative (i.e., myth) and a supernatural personality known biblically as the anti-Christ, who as an adult will set man against man until our species is zerstört. It is as if matter (the Christ) and anti-matter (the anti-Christ) finally cancel each other out at the end of time. Economically during the 1970s, inflation and unemployment were giving at least some consumers and laborers the sense of being in a jet trapped in a vertical, free-fall dive of stagflation that not even fiscal and/or monetary policy could divert. The pessimistic mood was captured in another way in another film, Earthquake (1974), in which a natural disaster plays off the mood of utter futility throughout the decade. It is no wonder that Ronald Reagan’s “Morning in America” resonated so much as a presidential-campaign slogan in 1979 as Jimmy Carter was mired in micro-management inside the White House.  The optimism of a resurgence in political energy overcame the decade’s sense of pessimism. That Damien, the anti-Christ in The Omen, survives the attempt on his life by Robert Thorn, his adoptive father resonates with that pessimism. Satan’s plan is still “game on” as the film ends, and this ending fits the mood in America during the decade. With this historical context contemporaneous with the film laid out, a very practical, manifestation of evil subtly depicted in the film and yet easily recognized by customers frustrated with corrupt and inept management of incompetent employees will be described in the context of pessimism from utter frustration. Such frustration survived the squalid decade of the 1970s at least decades into the next century.

The film’s plot, briefly summarized, begins with the adoption of Damian by an American diplomat and his wife just after their own baby died (was murdered) at birth. Damian, it turns out, was born of a jackal as foretold in the Bible. Followers of Satan recognize Damian’s true identity, which the couple only come to grasp after it is too late for them.  Robert dismisses the prophetic warnings by Father Brennen at the peril of Katherine Thorn, and ultimately Robert fails to ritually kill Damien in a church. Robert is especially slow to pick up on the signs; Katherine is more perceptive in coming to realize that the boy she thinks is her own son is evil. Robert is clueless regarding the “red flags” concerning Damien’s second governess, Mrs. Baylock, who is an “apostate from hell” according to the man who gives Robert the set of ritual knives with which to physically and spiritually destroy Damien. I want to focus on the employer-employee relationship between Robert and the second governess to render transparent a very realistic manifestation of evil that could otherwise simply be reckoned as merely unethical. Although the supernatural elements of the film are more dramatic, such as the hounds of hell attacking Robert and Jennings in a graveyard outside of Rome, the role of the dog that Mrs. Baylock unilaterally allows to live in the Thorns’ house is much more interesting from the perspective of how the banality of evil can and does manifest in our daily lives without us realizing how sordid such a manifestation of evil actually is.

Besides lying to the Thorns that her “agency” proactively sent her to apply to be Damien’s governess when in fact she was presumably sent by Satanists or even Satan itself to protect the devil’s Son, she presumed to ignore Katherine’s order that Damien be dressed to go a church wedding with his “parents.” Later, opening the bedroom door to let Damien out into the second-floor hall corridor on his tricycle even though Katherine is poised on a chair over a balcony in the hallway and then going to the hospital to throw Katherine out of a high window extend so far beyond being a bad employee that Mrs Baylock becomes unrelatable from the standpoint of employer-employee relations. She is more relatable—more realistic even though less titillating—in repeatedly ignoring, and thus disobeying, Robert’s order that that dog-protector of Damien must go. It is in this that the banality of evil shows itself.

In spite of having initially told the governess to get rid of the hound from hell, Robert is stunned on the night of the day when Katherine has her “accident” and is hospitalized, because he finds the dog still in Damien’s bedroom. Days later, Robert sternly reminds the governess that he had told her to get rid of the dog. “He’s gone now; they took him away this morning,” she lies, for when Robert subsequently returns from Rome, he sees the dog is still in the house! That the governess had initially presumed to allow the dog in without asking the Thorns for their permission is bad enough; that she repeatedly ignores Robert’s order is without doubt a valid enough reason for Robert to end her employment, but strangely he does not, and she even physically attacks Robert as he carries his boy out of bed, as if that were suspicious.

The sheer presumptuousness of the governess stems from what Augustine describes as the bad manifestation of self-love wherein a person’s love is focused on one’s own superiority, importance, or preeminence. Such sordid self-love, which is a sin rather than just selfishness, which is merely unethical, because in loving oneself above loving God, a person rebels from God in setting oneself up as a deity in self-idolatry. Pierre Nicole, a Jansenist (i.e., strict Augustinian) priest who lived in the seventeenth century in France, dismissed Augustine’s claim that self-love can also manifest positively in loving God’s image in oneself as a part of love directed to God; to Nicole, even enlightened self-love is still a sin.

The arrogance of self-entitlement such as evinced in sordid self-love is of course the foremost sin of pride, which lies beyond self-esteem, which is fine. In the film, Mrs. Baylock’s stubborn refusal to act on her employer’s order that the dog must go immediately stems from the sin. Seldom, if ever, do bosses or complaining customers realize that employees who presumptuously ignore orders or customer complaints are not just willfully stubborn, and even passive aggressive, but also manifesting a certain banality of evil in the midst of our everyday lives. Too often, supervisors would rather look the other way than expend the effort to fire and rehire, and even merely to keep tabs on an incompetent or rude employee rather than naively and conveniently assuming that giving an order is enough in such a case. Company executives, and even customer service departments, in such companies understate the severity of the managerial problem, which includes a faulty hiring process, and the problem with non-supervisory employees, including those in customer service.

The mass-transit company in Massachusetts is a case in point. Too many bus and subway-train drivers operate the respective vehicles aggressively in hitting the brake pedal so abruptly that passengers are literally jerked around as the buses and trains abruptly stop while still going too fast to stop without slowing down more. I recorded video and submitted complaints to the subsidized company’s customer service department over a period of months in 2025 only to find that even the same drivers were going along as if their supervisors were looking the other way in dismissing complaints of the reckless driving. The drivers, and I suspect their supervisors, and perhaps even the customer-service managers, conjoined incompetence to create the “perfect storm” of dysfunctional management (at taxpayer expense). The syndrome was systematic at the macro level, as employees of the mayors of Boston, Cambridge and Revere also dismissed the complaints because apparently in Massachusetts, the cities are not able (i.e., willing) to contact state-level agencies.

Even as the system from top to bottom in Massachusetts was at least as of 2025 mired in laziness, incompetence, and sheer stubborn passive aggression, it is the stubborn refusal of the bus and subway drivers to stop jolting the vehicles by driving very primitively that I submit resonates with Mrs. Baylock’s mentality in the film. Beyond merely being incompetent and having an attitude problem, supervisors, lazy customer-service managers, and aggressive employees can evince the banality of evil, which is ultimately based on the sin of self-love, which is really rebellion against God as superior to oneself. The aggressiveness and stubbornness of the bus and subway drivers can thus be viewed as symptoms of something deeper.

Although by 2025, the societal pessimism in American during the 1970s had passed, I would not be surprised to find that the level of customer-frustration with incompetent managements and rude, pathetic employees was sky-high. Not only had business schools failed in both research and teaching on lower and mid-level management, but the depth of the problem was often trivialized or overlooked entirely. The banality of evil may be as difficult to recognize in the film as it is in our daily lives as customers.

The BART and MUNI subway systems in the San Francisco metro area in California demonstrate just how incompetent and aggressive Boston’s mass-transit employees had become by 2025, because the operators in the Bay Area routinely stopped buses and trains normally. Managerial competence along with good hiring rather than expedient hiring to fill openings goes a long way. Following up with problematic employees should not be a managerial luxury but an integral task of supervision. The banality of evil, which transcends incompetence and attitude, does not extend supernaturally to bus and train machinery. The Omen is more practical than the film appears to be from all the titillating supernatural elements that promote ticket sales. 

 

The banality in Boston's mass-transit company can be grasped even from the sheer repetitiveness of the aggressive braking in spite of ongoing customer complaints:

Only some of the visible recalcitrant repeat-offenders in the system are pictured below, and of course their abjectly incompetent supervisors are hidden from the view of the paying customers but are no less culpable:

 

Eyes without a Face

The film, Eyes without a Face (original title: Les Yeux sans Visage) (1960), can be taken as a demonstration of the validity of Kant’s ethical theory. Whether or not viewers have studied Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason, the film is a good representation that it is unethical to treat other people only as a means. Kant claims that people should always be treated also as ends in themselves. In the film, physician Génessier literally goes into innocent young women with his scalpel, using them as means in his obsession to provide his daughter, Christiane, with skin on her face. She has no skin on her face because of an automobile accident in which her father was at fault. For our purposes, the film's message is relevant. Companies literally have  human resource departments and so many states use human beings as expendable soldiers. The very notion of a soldier can be viewed as an oxymoron to the extent that beings having a rational nature are sent out to be killed. It's not like having a flee killed. The film provides us with a great service in bringing Kant’s ethic to us, if only in that we don’t to read the philosopher's recondite ethical treatise (though Hegel's books are even more difficult).

Génessier tells Christiane that everything that he is doing, all the (as he later admits) terrible things, he is doing for her good. He also says that if he succeeds, the benefit would be “beyond a price.” Whereas for Kant, reason, or beings having a rational nature (such as us), has absolute value because we use reason to assign value to other things, the devious physician treats his daughter’s good as being absolute. This difference is crucial in terms of ethics. For Kant, rational beings deserve to be treated not just as means to someone’s goal (or interest), but also as ends in themselves precisely because being rational is of absolute value. What about when we don’t think (or behave) rationally? Kant would say that we still have a rational nature, and thus are worthy of being respected by other rational beings not just as means to another’s desire.

Does Génessier use reason—does he think rationally—in removing skin from two young women’s faces and grafting the skin on his daughter’s skinless face? I contend that the father does so because he has a strategy by which to achieve the good, which for him his daughter having a pleasant life. At one point in the film, it looks like the latest skin transplant will work. He tells his daughter that he would pay for her to take a vacation so she could enjoy life after having lived so isolated for so long. He uses the young women and potentially a vacation as means to his daughter’s good, and in this way he is using reason. It is quite another question whether he is being ethical. It is easy to see that he is not an ethical man.

In short, he uses people. Besides the two young women whom he kidnaps and operates on to give their skin to his daughter, he is using Gabrielle as an accomplice and nurse; he had fixed her face, so she feels obligated to do unethical things for him. Interestingly, the police also use someone in the film. Specifically, the police inspector uses a shoplifter as bait to catch Génessier. The inspector is not very concerned about treating the woman as an end in herself, hence he puts her at risk, as if the misdemeanor justifies doing so.

Christiane is the protagonist, and even the heroine, in the film, in resisting her father’s strategy. Whereas he admits that he has done terrible things but they are justified because they serve his daughter’s good, Christiane feels guilty in her new skin during the weeks when it lasts. Génessier remarks that her face looks angelic, but she disagrees. Interestingly, she says that it seems like the experience seems from the beyond. This allusion to religion seems at first out of place, especially given her father’s horrors. But her true, internal angelic nature comes through at the end when she kills the nurse to free the shoplifter. In fact, she goes on to free the dogs and white birds. Like them, she has felt as if she were in a cage. Her father hadn’t bothered to ask her whether she consented to his sordid strategy of abducting young women for their facial skin. In the end, she walks outside, past her dead father whom the dogs have attacked. One of the white birds sits comfortably on one of her arms. She is as though an angel come to liberate the oppressed, which includes herself, and in so doing see that the wicked are punished. Divine retribution. Indeed, Kant’s formulation of his categorical imperative in which the means/ends dichotomy is salient resembles the neighbor-love of Christianity. In other words, the Golden Rule involves treating other people not just as means to one’s own designs, but, rather, how one would want to be treated. Presumably no one wants to be treated only as someone else’s means to their goals. Of course, the difference between Kant’s imperative in this formulation and the Golden Rule is that rational nature is the grounding of the former whereas the soul, and ultimately God, is the basis of the latter. Benevolentia universalis, which Augustine imparts as he emphasizes having a good will (benevolentia), is essentially love, which transcends ethics. The bad doctor Génessier does not love the young women whose skin he flays as a means to providing his daughter with a face. His love suffers for want of universalis.

In Kantian language, which relates to the Golden Rule but is not itself religious, we might say that those who have a rational nature but do not treat others of the same nature as ends in themselves, but only as means, do not themselves deserve to inhabit a rational nature. We could even suppose that it is not rational enough to devise unethical (i.e., means only) means involving beings having a rational nature, so  Génessier can be seen as not reasoning well—not partaking sufficiently in his innate rational nature—in devising his strategy; even his notion of the good fall short in being confined to his daughter’s happiness. To evoke another of Kant’s formulations of his ethical imperative, a person’s maxim or policy for action should be universalized without falling apart in absurdity. The (theory of the) good that the ethic serves should also be universal, as in the good of humanity, or, more precisely, beings having a rational nature.

But such abstractions are not necessary for film to be an excellent medium for conveying ethical dilemmas and even relating them to religious themes that transcend ethics. It is enough that the viewer sees Génessier use other human beings so atrociously and then sees Christiane reject her father’s unethical conduct even though she herself stood (potentially) to gain from it. In the rejection and the demise both of Génessier and his assistant, we see the value in Kant’s ethical dictum that we should respect other people as ends in themselves even while we are using them for our own purposes.

Even if a person stands to benefit, such as a stockholder benefitting from a higher dividend, as managers use employees without taking into account that they have lives outside of work, the ethical obligation is to oppose such unethical business conduct and favor lower dividends. I refused a doctorate in business ethics because there were no ethics courses in philosophy in the program. At the very least, a seminar on Kant should be required of anyone who claims to be a scholar of business ethics. Bentham’s utilitarianism and Rawls' theory of justice also warrant coursework. I stood to benefit from that doctorate, but I could not regard myself as a scholar of business ethics (i.e., business, government, and society). Fortunately, I switched to the humanities—to historical moral, political, and ethical thought—but I did so in their own right—treating such thought as an end in itself rather than as means to understanding business (even though I still have a BS and MBA).

The value in going beyond rational nature to treat things as having value in themselves rather than merely functionally or in line with one’s self-interest goes beyond Kant’s theory of ethics, and yet the dynamic is consistent with Kant’s theory in broad outlines. Christiane kills the nurse and thereby consciously ends any chance of getting skin because like Luther at the Imperial Diet of Worms, she finally says, in effect, Here I stand; I can do no other. I submit that even a principle can be treated as an end in itself, as partaking in absolute value, relative to egoist desire. But is it reason that assigns such value, or might feeling also be involved? Luther was probably acting on feeling, and Christiane has clearly had enough. Kant’s theory relies solely on reason; Hume’s ethic and even Adam’s Smith’s economic theory do not.