No one […] seemed really to appreciate that he, Chaplain Albert Taylor Tappman, was not just a chaplain, but a human being, that he could have a charming, passionate, pretty wife whom he loved almost insanely and three small blue-eyed children with strange, forgotten faces who would grow up someday to regard him as a freak and who might never forgive him for all the social embarrassment his vocation would eventually cause them. Why couldn't anybody understand that he was not really a freak but a normal, lonely adult trying to lead a normal, lonely adult life? If they pricked him, didn't he bleed? And if he was tickled, didn't he laugh? It seemed never to have occurred to them that he, just as they, had eyes, hands, organs, dimensions, senses and affections, that he was wounded by the same kind of weapons they were, warmed and cooled by the same breezes and fed by the same kind of food […]. (25.11)
The chaplain feels alienated from his peers. They do not see him as a human being, but as someone with a specific role. They do not identify with him, and he therefore is ostracized.