13 Sept 2020

Cars (Have You Ever Stopped to Think Who's the Slave and Who's the Master?)

Sleeve for the single 'Cars' by Gary Numan 
from the album The Pleasure Principle  (Beggars Banquet, 1979) 
Click here to play on YouTube

 
I. 
 
After a recent post, someone sent me the following email:

'I don't know who Peter Sloterdijk is, but, one thing's for sure, this so-called philosopher knows nothing about the history of horses, nor how they are still being exploited and abused by human beings even today - particularly those within the racing industry. His overly-fanciful observation on post-historical horses leading lives of leisure at their own pace may have been intended to be amusing, but it ultimately serves to distract from the continuing cruelty and hardship faced by many animals. I suspect this well-paid German professor spends more time riding around in a BMW than he does caring for horses, so should stick to speaking of what he knows - money and machines!'
 
Now, I don't know if my correspondent's suspicions are correct, but, funny enough, Sloterdijk does quite often speak about cars and their cultural and philosophical significance; as symbols, as commodities, as expressions of identity, etc.

 
II.
 
In a 1995 interview [1], for example, he argues that the driver and motor vehicle form a unity in much the same way as previously man and horse formed a unity, as symbolised by the figure of the centaur; that man is always imagining himself as faster and more powerful than he is. The car, in other words, is not simply a means of transport; it is also a means of intoxication

But it is also a means of regression, says Sloterdijk, for the car is also a kind of womb, or uterus on wheels and many drivers become aggressive on account of this. For regressed individuals often feel the need to childishly assert themselves; revving their engines, attacking the space, running red lights, dangerously overtaking others, etc., proving they are kings of the road

That's why perfectly reasonable people often become raging maniacs behind the wheel and why there will always be fatal traffic accidents; "cars are connected with a kind of archetypal violence" that is immune to all the road safety propaganda in the world. 

 
III. 
 
In a later interview [2], meanwhile, Sloterdijk develops his theory of the car and the reason for its irresistible (quasi-religious) attraction for so many people:

"The car is a machine for increasing self-confidence. [...] The car gives its driver additional power and reach. [...] I think we have to see the vehicles of humans in the first place as a means of idealization and intensification, and consequently as a kinetic anti-depressant. The big demand for automobility certainly comes from people who want the vehicle for increasing their radius of action and capability. [...] Two out of three movements are escapes: people drive to their lovers, they take trips to the countryside and on holiday, they go visiting, or they use their car for letting off steam. We could almost think people use the car as revenge on the heavy demands of settledness."   

Whilst I understand that, I tend to agree with D. H. Lawrence that, ultimately, the soul needs to travel naked and light and on her own two feet along the open road - not by car. I also agree with Deleuze who insists that the most important trips are measured in terms of intensity, not distance covered, and that the true nomad moves even when standing still.

Sloterdijk knows this, I think, which is why he acknowledges that people who belong to more magical cultures "achieved their exalted feelings with soul journeys, and no driving licence exists for that". However, Sloterdijk - himself a motorist - concedes that:

"The automobile can also take us to places we have never visited before. It is not just the means of regression [...] it can also give us access to new, open places, it can also be a medium of coming-into-the-world. [...] If they were only a means to re-create a womb-like situation and return to an inner world, then they would merely be 'homecoming vehicles'."

But cars are not just that; they can also be a means for many people of making a great escape or exodus of some kind, though this undoubtedly requires more than a Sunday morning drive to Homebase. In fact, one might suggest - like Ballard - that what it requires is not so much a car ride as a car crash; i.e. something which "harnesses elements of eroticism, aggression, desire, speed, drama, kinesthetic factors, the stylizing of motion, consumer goods, status" [3] into a single event. 

Commenting on the delirious, sacrificial aspect of driving, Sloterdijk notes that road deaths will never result in a call for the banning of cars; "because mobility is actually the occult kinetic religion of modernity". Thus, at present, there's not the slightest chance of restricting the desire to build still more roads and manufacture still more vehicles, no matter how many lives are lost, or how much damage is done to the natural environment. 
 
Having said that, even the age of the horse eventually passed ... 
 

Notes

[1] Peter Sloterdijk, 'Uterus on Wheels', interview with Walter Saller, in Selected Exaggerations, ed. Bernhard Klein, trans. Karen Margolis, (Polity Press, 2016), pp. 23-24. The line quoted from is on p. 24.

[2] Peter Sloterdijk, 'We're Always Riding Down Maternity Drive', interview with Mateo Kries, in Selected Exaggerations, pp. 40-48. The lines quoted are on pp. 42, 43, and 47.  

[3] J. G. Ballard, 'Sci-Fi Seer', interview with Lynn Barber, in Penthouse, Vol 5, No. 5, (May 1970), pp. 26-30. Click here to read in full.

Readers interested in this topic might also like to read David Gartman's essay entitled 'Three Ages of the Automobile: The Cultural Logics of the Car', in Theory, Culture and Society, Vol. 21, Issue 4-5, (October 2004), pp. 169-195.   


2 comments:

  1. Peter Sloterdijk's "unity" involves the human driver becoming automaton/robot-like. . .a part of the machine - "stuck like automata" (as Lawrence says in poem "Paltry Looking People". It's a surrender of humanity. And they aren't for one moment like Lawrence's "wise yet horse-hoofed Centaur in whom I can trust (see conc. of DHL poem "For A Moment").
    Yes. Men care for cars as they once did horses. That makes the whole relationship even more of a sick mockery.
    Cars are another "intoxication" - addiction. And a little "ego-bubble".
    Cars are substitutes for healthy autonomous excercise. Most road journeys are ridiculously short ones.
    All Hail! the journey of the soul.
    But our sweet feet can quite easily take us to places we have never been before - and with no brutal noise, nor lethal pollution.
    If our government REALLY cared about our health cars would be in "Lockdown", and journeys restricted to "essential only".
    If cars were banned, life would be bliss.
    For another good satirical car song please see Phil Ochs. . .the one with the chorus "A car! A car! My Kingdom for a car!"

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  2. What a great read your post makes! I think it is interesting to note how these notions – Lawrence’s and Deleuze’s, on the one hand, of the significance of the inward journey and Sloterdijk’s, on the other, of the automobile as a means of opening up new pathways of experience (or even arriving at the same) – play out in the literary and cinematic imagination.

    In his evocative tale ‘The only journey of his life’, written in 1884, Greek writer Georgios Viziinos employs the idea of the journey (on horseback rather than by car) into a mythological and mythologised world as a means to counteract the frustrations and unfulfilled desires of real life. He weaves a story around the central character of the grandfather, whose attempts at travelling beyond the geographical boundaries of his locality are forever thwarted but are skilfully projected onto the plane of physical reality in the guise of mythologised travel tales, reminiscent of Odysseus’s many fantastical travels and adventures. Ultimately, the only journey that the grandfather successfully undertakes, ‘the one and only journey of his life’, is his final passage to the realm of death and, paradoxically, it is this journey that gives the grandfather the satisfaction of completion and fulfilment.

    In a number of road films and literary texts, the car is not so much a means of escape as the locus of intersection of the drab monotony of the past and the openness of what lies ahead, furtively carrying with it the promise of new discoveries. The 1984 American black and white film ‘Stranger than Paradise’, directed by Jim Jarmusch, perfectly encapsulates this notion. The film is about Willie, a rootless Hungarian émigré living in Brooklyn, and his interactions with the two other main characters, his friend Eddie and his visiting sixteen-year-old cousin Eva. When Willie suggests that he and Eddie take a road trip to Cleveland to see Eva, he presents as explanation “I just wanna get out’a here, see sump’in different, ya know?”. Functioning like a kaleidoscope, the car at times turns in on itself, offering snapshots of the characters’ lives, at times it peeks into the bleak external surroundings that seem to be forever withholding their promise of renewal. “You know, it’s funny,” Eddie says. “You come to someplace new, and everything looks just the same.”

    ‘On the Road’, both the 2012 drama film directed by Walter Salles and Jack Kerouac's 1957 novel of the same title that the film is an adaptation of, explore Sloterdijk’s idea of the car as the means for acquiring new experiences, for encountering people that, in the cinematic narrator/protagonist Sal Paradise’s words, are “mad to live, mad to talk, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say commonplace things, that burn, burn, burn like roman candles across the night”. For Sal, as for his travel companion Dean Moriarty, the road represents freedom and the car is the medium to attain it. The '37 Ford Sedan that Sal and Dean travel in across Texas to Laredo, where they cross the Mexican border, gives them the elated feeling of leaving "everything behind [them] and entering a new and unknown phase of things.” Interestingly, it was Kerouac himself who first entertained the thought of a film adaptation of his book and even envisioned the film to be shot “with the camera on the front seat of the car showing the road (day and night) unwinding into the windshield, as Sal and Dean yak.”

    And of course let’s not forget the association of the car with the freedom that the on-going journey offers, whether it be freedom from a dreary life or from life imprisonment, in Ridley Scott’s 1991 film ‘Thelma and Louise’, which, as Jessica Enevold points out in her essay ‘The Daughters of Thelma and Louise’, rescripts “the typical gender roles of the road movie genre”.

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