Feed the World

New sign erected at a local equestrian centre; the exclamation mark 

detracting from the politness of the request. 

(Image: SA/2022)

 

 

I. 

 

What has the world come to when you can't feed the local ducks some breadcrumbs, or give the horses that live nearby some sugar lumps? 

 

How are children going to learn to care for animals and understand they have a duty towards them if they can't physically interact, but simply observe from a distance or from behind a barbed wire fence? 

 

 

II. 

 

I'm aware of the argument that feeding the ducks bread - something that has been enjoyed by young and old alike for generations - may have negative health implications for the birds and, apparently, pollute the water causing excess algae growth.

 

But I'm not convinced they'll live happier (or longer) lives by relying exclusively on natural food sources that they have to find for themselves. 

 

For it seems to me that every creature appreciates a treat now and then, or enjoys a free meal. And it also seems to me that birds, squirrels, horses, and even sticky-bun loving elephants at the zoo, all benefit from friendly interaction with human beings as much as we do with them.   

It's wrong to stifle the instinct of generosity and the will to share; particularly when this is said to be done for the recipient's own benefit. 

 

I suspect that the same kind of mean-spirited people who put up signs saying do not feed in relation to animals, also insist it's harmful to give money to the poor; such handouts only risk trapping them in a lifestyle of dependency.

 

We would do well to remember the words of Schopenhauer on this question: 

 

Kindness towards animals is so intimately associated with goodness of character, that it may be asserted with confidence that those who are mean to birds and beasts will also lack compassion and generosity for their fellow human beings.  

 

Ultimately, by feeding the animals you nourish your own soul.  

Life in Vein (With Reference to D. H. Lawrence's Undying Man)

Homunculus created by alchemy 

(from a 19th-century engraving for Goethe's Faust Pt. II)

 

 

I. 

 

Some readers may recall a post from May last year in which I reported on (what I believe to be) a vaccine induced blood clot in my lower right leg, but described on my medical record as superficial thromobophlebitis and said to be of unknown cause [1]. 

 

Sixteen months later, and my leg is still a mess and a consultant vascular surgeon has advised that due to long saphenous vein reflux and associated varicosities, I undergo either endovenous or open surgery to address the problem [2]. 

 

Funny enough, the first thing I thought of when told this was D. H. Lawrence's unfinished short story 'The Undying Man' [3] ...

 

 

II. 

 

Written in 1927, 'The Undying Man' is a reimagined version of a Jewish tale translated by his Russian friend S. S. Koteliansky [4]. In it, Lawrence toys with the idea of creating human life via a pre-scientific form of the technique we now term cloning. 

 

He opens his story thus:

 

"Long ago in Spain there were two very learned men, so clever and knowing so much that they were famous all over the world. One was called Rabbi Moses Maimonides, a Jew - blessed be his memory! - and the other was called Aristotle, a Christian who belonged to the Greeks.

      These two were great friends, because they had always studied together and found out many things together. At last after many years, they found out a thing they had been specially trying for. They discovered that if you took a tiny vein out of a man's body, and put it in a glass jar with certain leaves and plants, it would gradually begin to grow, and would grow and grow until it became a man [...] a fine man who would never die. He would be undying. Because he had never been born, he would never die, but live for ever and ever. Because the wisest men on earth had made him, and he didn't have to be born." [5]

 

Unfortunately, the donor of the tiny blood vessel will die as a result of the procedure. Nevertheless, Aristotle consents to the removal of a vein, having first made Maimonides promise that he will not obstruct or terminate the process once the vein has started to develop into a homunculus (i.e., a miniature but fully formed man) [6]:

 

"Aristotle asked Maimonides to take him by the hand and swear by their clasped hands that he would never interfere with the growth of the little vein, never at any time or in any way. Maimonides took him by the hand and swore. And then Aristotle had the little vein cut out of his body by Maimonides himself." [7]  

 

Maimonides places the little vein in the glass jar amongst the leaves and herbs. Having sealed the lid, he places the jar on a shelf in his room and waits:

"The days passed by, and he recited his prayers, pacing back and forth in his room among his books, and praying loudly as he paced, as the Jews do. Then he returned to his books and chemistry. But every day he looked at the jar, to see if the little vein had chaged." [8]

 

For a long time nothing happens. But then at last the vein begins to grow:

 

"Maimonides gazed at the jar transfixed, and forgot everything else in all the wide world; lost to all and everything he gazed into the jar. And at last he saw the tiniest, tiniest tremor in the little vein, and he knew it was a tremor of growth." [9] 

 

Soon, the little vein begins to glow red, "like the smallest ember of fire" [10]. Maimonides knew he was witnessing the spark of life itself, and he was afraid of what might be. For it seemed to him that this tiny red light glowed with an ungodly power - Fierce and strong! Fierce and strong! as he muttered to himself - rather than with divine goodness.   

 

Unable to sleep, Maimonides lies in bed "thinking of that little red light which alone of all light was not the light of God" [11] and fearful of what will happen when the undying man is fully grown ...

 

 

III. 

 

Unfortunately, Lawrence's manuscript ends here and so we don't find out what Maimonides decides to do; whether he keeps his word to Aristotle not to interfere with the development of the undying man, or whether he acts decisively to ensure the latter never leaves his jar.  

 

Fortunately, however, we do have the complete version of the story translated by Kot, and here we discover that, tormented by the thought that an immortal human being will be worshipped by the people as a living god, Maimonides allows his chickens to enter the room where the jar is stored, ensuring they knock it over by deliberately spooking the birds:

 

"Once the jar has crashed to the floor, however, the tiny creature points an accusatory finger at Maimonides for breaking his oath [...] and he spends the rest of his days praying for forgiveness." [12] 

 

That's a terrific ending, I think; one that is frightening, humorous, and realistic. Although Lawrence would doubtless have altered (and probably extended) it in his own unique manner, I'm confident he would have kept the accusatory finger (as I certainly would have).     

 

Finally, to return to where we began this post, I really rather hope that if I do have a vein removed from my leg it too is placed into a little glass container where it might grow into a new type of (transhuman) human being; one not born of a womb, and so soulless, sexless, and immortal ... For is this not the tragic destiny of mankind? [13]  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] This post can be read by clicking here.  

[2] Apparently, there is very little difference between the two types of surgery in terms of complications or risks. Whether a scalpel or laser is used, there's likely to be post-operative pain and discomfort as well as aesthetically displeasing lumps, bumps and bruises. And let's not mention the possibility of sensory nerve numbness in the leg and a 1-in-200 chance of a deep vein thrombosis. 

       So it's a big thank you to those who - whether with sincerity or cynicism - assured us all that the Covid-19 vaccines were extremely safe and effective, when, as we now know, they're neither. 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence's 'The Undying Man' can be found as Appendix III to The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories, ed. Michael Herbert, Bethan Jones and Lindeth Vasey, (Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 241-244.  

 

[4] Koteliansky published 'Maimonides and Aristotle' along with a second tale - 'The Salvation of a Soul' - in translation from the Yiddish as 'Two Jewish Stories' in London Mercury XXXVI (Feb 1937), pp. 362-70.

 

[5] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Undying Man', The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories ... p. 241.

      This isn't as preposterous as it perhaps sounds; in 2013 it was announced that scientists in Japan had cloned a mouse from a single drop of blood collected from the tail of a donor subject. The cloned female mouse wasn't immortal, but she did live a normal lifespan and could sexually reproduce. And the donor mouse was also unharmed after the procedure (unlike poor Aristotle who dies).

 

[6] The Homunculus - a Latin term meaning 'little man' - was a popular idea in both 16th-century alchemy (Paracelsus is credited with the first use of the term) and 19th-century literature (see Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1818) and Part Two of Goethe's Faust (1832), for example). 

      As a concept, it has its roots in folklore and the pre-scientific theory of preformationism which taught that organisms develop from tiny versions of themselves. For Jung, the homunculus is a symbol of the inner man or, indeed, inner Christ (i.e., the divine aspect of human being).   

 

[7-10] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Undying Man, The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories ... p. 242.

 

[11] Ibid., p. 243.

 

[12]  Editors' Introduction to The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories ... p. xxxi.

 

[13] I'm referring here to Baudrillard's thinking in his essay 'The Final Solution, or The Revenge of the Immortals', which can be found in Impossible Exchange, trans. Chris Turner, (Verso, 2001), pp. 27-8. Long time readers (with good memories) may recall that I discuss Baudrillard's thoughts on cloning in a post published back in April 2013: click here.

       

 

Good Things Come in Small Packages: Notes on Microphilia with Reference to the Case of Tinker Bell

Very Sexy Tinkerbell by CreepingNinjas  

deviantart.com

"It was a girl called Tinker Bell, exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, 

cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage. 

She was slightly inclined to embonpoint." [1]

 

 

I. 

 

An anonymous correspondent emails: 

 

As a member of the SW community, I was intrigued to see you close a recent post featuring the Mothra twins by making reference to your own microphilia. I do hope that, as indicated, you intend to say more on this often overlooked form of love. [2]

 

So, not wanting to disappoint a reader (since I have so few), here's a post for him [3] and all other members of the shrinking women community ... [4]   

 

 

II.

Somewhat ironically, it seems that the number of individuals erotically fixated with tiny women and who derive sexual pleasure from fantasies involving such fairy-like figures is increasing in size, just as the number of self-identifying macrophiles begins to shrink. [5]

 

But then, when one starts to investigate the subject, it soon becomes apparent that microphilia has always been present within mainstream art, literature and film - and that it is not something only found at the kinky margins of society. 

 

In order to demonstrate this, I thought it might be fun to examine the case of Tinker Bell ...

 

 

III.

 

As most readers will know, Tinker Bell is a fictional character from J. M. Barrie's play Peter Pan (1904) and its later novelisation as Peter and Wendy (1911). She has since established herself as an iconic figure within the Disney universe - where she is often misclassified as a pixie - wearing a bright green strapless mini dress in order to best display her hourglass figure and lovely long limbs.

 

Although some people like to believe that the original animated version of Tinker Bell was modelled after blonde bombshell Marilyn Monroe, the primary point of reference was actually the dancer and actress Margaret Kerry who, in 1949, was said by Hollywood insiders to have the World's Most Beautiful Legs. 

 

The key point is that, from the first, Tinker Bell was imagined as a sexually alluring woman in miniature; not a pre-pubescent girl. Thus, there's nothing innocent about foul-mouthed, orgy-loving Tinker Bell [6] and nothing criminally deviant about finding her sexy; microphilia is not a form of paedophilia [7]. 

 

This perhaps explains her broad and continuing appeal. Not only, for example, does she have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, but in 2009 she became the smallest waxwork ever to be made by Madame Tussauds, measuring just five-and-a-half inches in height. 

 

Arguably, as I said earlier, this illustrates that whilst microphilia is rooted within the pornographic imagination, it also has a central position within mainstream popular culture and so isn't really a hidden or secret fantasy as some claim; young or old, male or female, queer, kinky or straight, we all love women in miniature (particularly those who, when spanked, sprinkle fairy dust upon our otherwise drab lives).     

 

 

 

Notes

[1] J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy, (Hodder & Stoughton, 1911), Ch. III, p. 35. This work can be read free online thanks to Project Gutenberg: click here.

 

[2] The post that my correspondent refers to was published as 'Ravishing a Universe for Love: In Praise of Mothra and the Shobijin' (25 Sept 2022): click here.

 

[3] Although I'm assuming my kinky correspondent is male, it's important to note that there are female microphiles who might, for example, desire to be miniaturised and then sexually pleasured by a normal-sized partner (which might, I suppose, be just as legitimately discussed in terms of macrophilia). 

 

[4] I'd like to make clear at the outset, however, that I'm not an expert in this area and do not wish to be seen as a spokesperson for those with a fetishistic penchant for women of a radically reduced stature whom one might literally hold in the palm of one's hand. The views expressed here are my own and I'm sure some microphiles will object to my focusing on Tinker Bell - a fairy - rather than a real human female in shrunken form - such as Raquel Welch in Fantastic Voyage (dir. Richard Fleischer, 1966); or is Cora Peterson so tiny that even the most devoted or hardcore of microphiles draws the line?   

 

[5] According to Dr Mark Griffith, the go-to academic for information on a wide range of paraphilias, the reason microphilia appears to have increased in popularity over recent years is because of the rise of the internet and social media: 

      "Because the paraphilia is almost totally fantasy-based, much of the material from which microphiles gain their sexual gratification is placed and distributed online. There is a wide range of microphile artwork, photographs, and video on the internet. Applications such as Photoshop are widely used to create collages of fake miniaturized people." 

      See the post published on his website entitled 'Shrink rap: A beginner's guide to microphilia' (9 Nov 2012): click here. 

 

[6] Re Tinker Bell's tendency to sprinkle her speech with expletives, see Peter and Wendy, Ch. III, p. 48 in the edition previously cited, where Barrie writes: "Tink was darting about again, using offensive language". And for the reference to fairy orgies, see Ch. VI, p. 109.         

      I am grateful to Hannah Lucy, writing on her blog - Hannah Lucy's Literary Adventures - for reminding me of these lines. See the post 'Tinker Bell's Disturbing Sexuality' (19 November 2017): click here. As much as I enjoyed this post, however, I couldn't help thinking that Lucy's conclusion - that Tinker Bell is "essentially a lascivious tart" - is a bit harsh. 

 

[7] It is always questionable when one paraphilia is reduced to another, or different forms of kink are confused and conflated. 

      Having said that, Mark Griffith insists that when it comes to microphilia "there are crossovers with other sexually paraphilic behaviours such as sadism and masochism [...] For instance, some male microphilic fantasies involve sexual violence against shrunken women who they hold as a captive and/or prisoner. Here, the microphiles may also be sexually aroused by the fact that the shrunken women may be in a distressed psychological state [...] as a result of being miniaturized". See 'Shrink rap: A beginner's guide to microphilia' (the link to which has previously been given).  

 

Readers might be interested in some of the posts published on Torpedo the Ark discussing macrophilia, i.e., the opposite of microphilia in which the amorous subject derives sexual pleasure from human giants. These posts include: 'In Defence of Giant Lovers' (15 June 2015); 'Bigging Up the Gibson Girl' (23 July 2019); and 'Into the Valley of the Giants' (3 April 2022).

Ravishing a Universe for Love: In Praise of Mothra and the Shobijin

Mothra, oh Mothra! If we were to call for help

over time, over sea, like a wave you'd come, 

our guardian angel!

 

 

I may not know much about foreign cinema, but I do know that the Japanese love their movie monsters - or kaiju, as those in the know like to say ...

Whilst Godzilla may be the most famous of these amongst Western audiences, my personal favourite is Mothra, who first appeared in a 1961 film of that title directed by Ishirō Honda [1]. As might be inferred from the name, Mothra is a giant, fully sentient saturniid (most probably an extremely large type of silk moth) [2]. 

Unlike Godzilla, who is hell-bent on destroying Tokyo at every given opportunity, Mothra is a more benevolent character who often acts to protect mankind; as seen, for example, in Godzilla vs. Mothra (dir. Takao Okawara, 1992), where she bravely battles the former in order to prevent him from attacking Yokohama [3].

 

This might explain why Mothra is particularly popular with female movie-goers in Japan; they can empathise with a kindly creature who comes to spread love and peace, in a way they cannot with a rampaging, atomic-fire breathing reptilian who brings death and destruction in his wake. 

Of course, when I was a wide-eyed young boy I loved violent displays of sheer power - be they performed by fictional monsters like Godzilla, or Nazi stormtroopers. However, as one gets older, one becomes a little less easily impressed by such crude displays and understands that the greatest change is sometimes wrought by the movement of a pollen-dusted wing [4]. 

Finally, there's one other reason I like Mothra. And that's the fact that she is worshipped by twin female fairies; sacred figures - only 6" tall - termed Shobijin [小美人] [5]. 

 

With their tiny feet and tiny breasts, what's not to love about these small beauties who call to their guardian deity in prayer and song and have some kind of magical connection to her even across great distances?

 

At any rate, like the alchemist and philosopher, Dr. Septimus Pretorius, I've always had a thing for perfectly formed young women whom you might hold on your hand, or keep in a glass jar [6]. But we can discuss my microphilia another day ...

 

 

Emi and Yumi Itō as the Shobijin 

in Mothra (1961)

 

 

Notes

[1] Mothra [モスラ] is sometimes written and pronounced as Mosura. To watch a trailer for the film, click here.

[2] In the original 1961 film, Mothra is at her largest; 590 feet in length, with a wingspan of 820 feet, and weighing in at 20,000 tons (i.e., not as heavy as the Statue of Liberty, but twice the weight of the Eiffle Tower).

 

[3] This 1992 film should not be confused with the earlier Mothra vs. Godzilla (dir. Ishirō Honda, 1964), an edited version of which was released in the United States under the title Godzilla vs. the Thing (1964).

 

[4] I'm alluding here to the so-called butterfly effect in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state. 

      The term is closely associated with the work of mathematician and meteorologist Edward Norton Lorenz, who originally referred to a seagull flapping its wings, before friends and colleagues persuaded him that butterflies had greater poetic resonance within the cultural imagination. 

      The concept is now widely used even by individuals with little or no knowledge of chaos theory, to refer to any situation in which a tiny change is thought to be the cause of larger consequences. 

 

[5] In the 1961 film the Shobijin were played by sisters Emi and Yumi Itō, known professionally as the Peanuts. As identical twins, they had voices that only slightly differed in timbre, so that when they sang together it sounded like a solo artist utilizing a reverb effect.

 

[6] Dr. Septimus Pretorius is a fictional character in the classic Universal horror movie Bride of Frankenstein (dir. James Whale, 1935). He is played by British stage and film actor Ernest Thesiger. Those interested in his experimental work in growing homunculi from seed, should click here.

 

 

Derealisation

Derealisation (A Cursed Image)
SA (2021)

 

 

After a Greek art student described the photos on my Instagram account as cursed images, I was encouraged to investigate this term and write a short post on the subject [1].  

 

However, whilst in some instances this description might seem appropriate, I don't think it holds true for all of the pictures and I certainly wasn't aiming at producing images that could be categorised as such; nor do I like to be seen as a follower of trends. 

 

Further, it could just as easily be argued that the photos are, in fact, symptomatic of my disordered mental state and represent how I perceive the world, rather than exemplify a deliberate aesthetic. 

 

This is why the images are, for example, often lacking in depth of feeling or emotional resonance; why there's no sympathy or sincerity in them, even when contemplating corpses. It's as if everything were seen from an ironic perspective by someone who is detached, distant, and dissociated from reality. 

 

I don't know if this is caused by some kind of brain dysfunction, but it's pretty much how I've always seen things - even as a very young child observing the world of animals, grown-ups and school friends. 

 

It might have something to do with my birth sign (Aquarius), or it might be due to the fact that I spent so much time watching TV that eventually I saw real life as if it too were being played out on a screen - who knows? 

 

And, indeed, who cares: it's never been something that's particularly bothered me or caused any anxiety. In fact, my ability to be objective - to see things with a little coldness and cruelty - made me feel not only different from other children, but superior - like an alien being, or a god. 

 

And what young boy doesn't want to feel like that? [2]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See 'A Brief Note on Cursed Images' (21 September 2022): click here. Readers interested in judging my photos for themselves should go to: @stephenalexander9383

 

[2] I'm thinking here of Nietzsche's remark: "One would make a fit little boy stare if one asked him: 'Would you like to become virtuous?' – but he will open his eyes wide if asked: 'Would you like to become stronger than your friends?'" 

      See §918 of The Will To Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale, (Vintage Books, 1968), p. 485. 

 

A Brief Note on Cursed Images

The first image posted on cursedimages.tumblr.com 

(28 October, 2015)

 

 

For those who don't know, a cursed image refers to picture - usually a photograph - that in someway unsettles the viewer. The term originates from a Tumblr blog established by an anonymous female film student in 2015 and rapidly spread across all forms of social media. 

 

But what, I hear you ask, actually constitutes such a picture? 

 

Well, an image might be described as cursed due to its content, some technical aspect, or the context in which it was taken or is viewed. Or it might simply possess a mysterious quality that is not quite possible to pin-point, but which nevertheless gives people the willies. 

 

As one commentator rightly says, if a picture needs a caption underneath to explain why it's cursed, then it isn't cursed. 

 

Uncanny ambiguity and a kind of abject (and amateurish) surrealism are key and the very best images oblige the viewer not only to wonder what it is they're looking at or try to figure out the intention of the photographer in taking such a shot, but question the nature of everyday reality and their own place within it. 

 

Thus, cursed images have an existential import, as mundane objects - such as a crate of tomatoes - suddenly appear uncanny, even evil. And yet, as Matt Moen notes:

 

"In a chaotic world that seems to defy logic more and more with each passing day, the cursed image offers us a perverse sense of comfort by reaffirming the fact that it's not just us who seem to be going crazy." [1]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Matt Moen, 'Cursed Images: Finding Comfort in Discomfort', on papermag.com (09 Dec 2019): click here. 

      In the same piece, Moen also makes the important point that the cursed image presents a direct challenge to the carefully photoshopped or deepfake picture by "positing a reality that is far stranger than anything we could fabricate".

 

 

A follow up post to this one on derealisation suggests my photos are more the product of mental dysfunction than the desire to follow social media trends, or subscribe to a creepy aesthetic: click here.  

 

Why I'm Not a Party Animal

Marina Molares The Wild Party (2011)  

flickr.com

 

Party animal (n); a very gregarious and outgoing person 

who enjoys parties and similar social activities.

 

 

I. 

 

Like Dorothy Parker, I hate parties; although they don't bring out the worst in me [a], so much as make me anxious, bored, depressed and long to get away. 

 

In other words, I experience a sense of alienation at social gatherings that are meant to be fun and friendly occasions; a feeling of estrangement from my fellow party goers who are all trying so hard to enjoy themselves. 

 

Like Michel Houellebecq, I can't help asking from the moment I walk into the room: What the hell am I doing with these jerks? [b] 

 

In fact, I would echo and endorse many of the things that the French poet and novelist says about parties. This, for example, seems insightful and true:

 

"The purpose of the party is to make us forget that we are lonely, miserable and doomed to death; in other words, to transform us into animals." [43]

 

According to Houellebecq, that's easily done if you belong to primitive humanity; "it doesn't take much to keep them amused" [43] - some drugs and music and they're off. 

 

In contrast, most Westerners have no sense of party at all: "Profoundly self-conscious, radically alien to others, terrorised by the idea of death, they're quite incapable of achieving any exaltation." [43] 

 

This inability to really let go and party might make them ashamed and resentful, but there's nothing they can do about it; attempts to pass as a party animal are just that - attempts to fool themselves and others.

 

And so, whether gathering simply to have fun, to celebrate an event, or to fuck with strangers, it's all a bit of a sham; no one really believes in what they're doing or in who they're pretending to be. You can see it in the eyes of the participants. 

 

Even at a sex party, it's the same thing; everyone is either thinking about making their excuses to leave, or desperately wants to ask the pretty young thing penetrating them with a strap-on dildo: What are you doing after the orgy? [c]     

 

 

II. 

 

Houellebecq concludes that the best thing to do is probably avoid going to parties altogether - even if this means your social life and reputation as fun-loving will invariably suffer as a result. However, if it becomes absolutely necessary to attend a party, then he has some tips to help you get through it without excess suffering or boredom.

 

These include: drink before as well as during the party, as alcohol (in moderate doses) produces "a socialising and euphoric effect that has no real competition" [46]; always make sure you have booked a taxi to take you home - and always plan to go home alone; never stay too long - a good party is a brief party. 

 

I think my favourite piece of advise, however, is this:

 

"Be aware beforehand that the party will inevitably be a failure. Visualise examples of previous failures. You don't really have to adopt a cynical and jaded attitude. On the contrary, the humble and smiling acceptance of the common disaster makes it possible to achieve this success: to transform a failed party into a moment of pleasant banality." [46]   

 

And, finally, Houellebecq offers this consoling perspective on the subject: "with age, the obligation to go to parties decreases, the inclination towards solitude increases" [46]; i.e., the acceptance of death triumphs.   

 

 

Notes

 

[a] I'm referring here to Parker's poem entitled 'Parties: A Hymn of Hate', which can be found on poets.org: click here. 

 

[b] Michel Houellebecq, 'The Party', in Interventions 2020, trans. Andrew Brown, (Polity Press, 2022), p. 43. Future page references to this text as it appears here will be given directly in the post. This amusing short piece was first published in 20 Ans in 1996. 

 

[c] See Jean Baudrillard, 'After the Orgy', in The Transparency of Evil, trans. James Benedict, (Verso, 1993). 

      I have referred to Baudrillard's idea in numerous posts on Torpedo the Ark over the years; see, for example, this post from 23 October 2015, entitled 'After the Orgy: Rise of the Herbivores'. 

 

 

God Save the Black Bears

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and Paddington Bear 

Image: BBC (2022)

 

 

I. 

 

When it comes to animals and royalty, the British are a sentimental people. 

 

So it wasn't surprising that a heartwarming TV sketch during the Platinum Jubilee featuring the Queen and Paddington Bear having tea together at Buckingham Palace, should enchant the entire nation [1].

 

Altogether now, Aahhh ....

 

 

II. 

 

Meanwhile, back in the present (and what remains of and passes for the real world), the Queen is dead and as one observes events surrounding her lying-in-state and funeral, one can't help noticing that the royal guardsmen still like to wear red coats and black bearskins [2].

 

Perhaps if Paddington hadn't been so busy playing the court jester, stuffing his face with marmalade sandwiches and thanking the Queen for everything, he might have found time to speak up on behalf of his Canadian cousins who are still being hunted or trapped and killed in order that British soldiers might look snazzy - this despite the fact that synthetic materials could just as easily be used to make their headgear [3].   

 

But there you go, this fictional South American bear - I think he's supposed to be a spectacled bear from Peru - is, like many other celebrities, only concerned with furthering his own fame and cementing an iconic place within the popular imagination. 

 

As for the Queen, well, apart from the horses and dogs she liked to breed - and game birds she liked to shoot - I'm not sure she had a great deal of interest in creatures great and small.   

 

 

 © PETA

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Readers unfamiliar with the sketch can view it on the Royal Family's very own YouTube channel: click here. I would advise that it's best to do so on an empty stomach.

 

[2] Members of the following units of the British Army are currently authorised to wear the bearskin hat with their full dress: Grenadier Guards, Coldstream Guards, Scots Guards, Irish Guards, Welsh Guards, Royal Scots Dragoon Guards, Honourable Artillery Company, and the King's Royal Hussars. Along with these units, officers of fusilier regiments are also authorised to wear the bearskin as part of their ceremonial uniform, as well as members of certain regimental bands. 

      The standard bearskin is made from the fur of the Canadian black bear; however, an officer's bearskin is made from the fur of the Canadian brown bear, as the female of the species has thicker, fuller fur. Officers' caps thus have to be dyed black. An entire skin is used to manufacture each hat and the Ministry of Defence authorise the purchase of between 50-100 black bear skins each year, at a cost of c. £650 each.

 

[3] As a recent petition signed by over 106,000 people made clear, apart from the magical aspects of using animal skins, there really is no excuse for the MoD to continue funding (with tax payers money) the slaughter of bears in order to produce ceremonial headgear, particularly as a waterproof faux fur alternative is available which mimics real bear fur in appearance and performance. 

      Whilst this topic was debated in Parliament on 11 July of this year, sadly the government's position remains unchanged: there are currently no plans to end the use of bearskins. Readers interested in reading the full response should click here.

 

 

On the Theatre of Royalty

Portrait of King George V 

by Luke Fildes (c. 1911)

 

I.

 

Asked to comment in a TV interview on the pageantry surrounding the Queen's death and Charles's succession to the throne, the English historian David Starkey pointed out that a lot of it is distinctly modern - if not in origin, then in form and character - and belongs not to some golden age of monarchy, but to the era of democracy, advertising, and the entertainment industry.

 

As even the Queen herself recognised, a constitutional monarchy that ultimately serves rather than rules the people, is obliged to put on a show; to be seen so as to be believed. 

 

But what Starkey calls the conscious development of public ceremony could, of course, have involved abandoning the past and attempting to appear bang up to date; away with the horse-drawn carriages and the ancient regalia and in with the royal motorcade and contemporary dress worn even on the most formal of occasions. 

 

 

II.

 

According to Starkey, it was King George V - Queen Elizabeth's grandfather - who was responsible for many of the innovations in royal life that we now think of as ancient and crucial, rather than modern and arbitrary; which is ironic, because George was profoundly conservative and hated modernity in every regard (including its fashions and its technological advances). 

 

Nevertheless, Starkey calls George V a royal revolutionary and argues that his actions - and those of his father before him, King Edward VII - ensured the survival of the monarchy via a renewal of public ceremony [1]. 

 

Let's discuss this in a little more detail ...

 

George's coronation in 1911 is, says Starkey, the most magnificent since the 17th-century, if not even earlier; carefully planned and rehearsed in every detail, it makes the coronation of nineteen-year-old Queen Victoria in 1838 look, in comparison, relatively low key and amateurish - if not, indeed, shambolic.

 

George may not much care for life in the 20th-century, but he's aware of the fact that he must, in the age of Demos, garner popular support and put on a good show combining splendour and discipline, if he's to avoid the fate of his cousin Nicholas in Russia and cousin Wilhelm in Germany. 

 

In other words, monarchy must become performative and professional; the very real threat of revolution was countered with theatricality and, at the same time, a new sense of moral seriousness. George also decides that everything must be anglicised, or, more precisely, de-Germanified. And so the House of Hanover (an imperial German dynasty) becomes the House of Windsor (an English family that is essentially bourgeois in character). 

 

It is a choice of name which, according to Starkey, is a stroke of genius; for Windsor is a name that suggests history, pageantry, and legend (not to mention soap and Shakespeare). The marriage customs of this new Royal House are also novel; from now on, members will be able to marry native Englishmen and women and not be obliged to find German spouses. 

 

Thus, whilst George may hate the modern world, he sees the necessity of conforming to its values. It's his duty to do so - this, aguably, being the word that now best defines the essence of what the Royal Family is all about today. Whereas monarchs of old felt answerable to no one but God, the Windsor's feel it is their duty to serve the nation or the Great British Public.  

 

Which, when you think about it, is about as far as possible from the ancient aristocratic ideal of monarchy - based on sacred authority and divine right - as you can get ... [2]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Readers who are interested in what Starkey has to say on this subject, can click here to visit his YouTube channel - David Starkey Talks - and enjoy a 45 minute lecture. Part 2 of this post is a (hopefully accurate) summary of some of the fascinating things that Starkey informs us of. 

[2] I touch on this in a recent post discussing the proclaiming of a new king - King Charles III - following the death of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, just over a week ago: click here.  

What If the Nazis Had Embraced Modern Art?

Joseph Goebbels - Reichminister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda -

pays a visit to the Exhibition of Degenerate Art in Munich (1937)

 

'We National Socialists are not unmodern; we are the carrier of a new modernity, 

not only in politics and in social matters, but also in art and intellectual matters.' [1]

 

 

I. 

 

As everybody knows, the Nazis were on a mission to cleanse Germany of bolshevism in all its forms, including so-called cultural bolshevism, a term widely used to denounce progressive and experimental trends in the world of contemporary art, music, and literature.

 

Thus, after coming to power in 1933, the Nazis prevented many artists from working or taking up teaching posts, replaced museum curators with loyal Party members, and, most notoriously, organised mass book burning events.

 

However, I'm pretty certain I once read that at least some leading Nazis were in favour of embracing modern art - providing of course it was produced by artists of pure Aryan blood who held the appropriate political views. 

 

If it was okay for Mussolini to couple Fascism with Futurism, then why shouldn't they celebrate certain works of German Expressionism - such as those by Emil Nolde or Erich Heckel, for example, which were said to exemplify the Nordic spirit and had parallels with German medieval and folk art. 

 

Even Joseph Goebbels, not wanting to be seen as a narrow-minded defender of bourgeois values, was open to the argument and, in texts written prior to 1933, spoke enthusiastically of the new, the radical, and the revolutionary [2] - or what we might simply call the modern. 

 

Indeed, the soon to be Reichsminister für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda had several works hanging on the walls of his Berlin apartment that would be branded in 1937 as Entartete Kunst (the Nazi mistranslation, as some wag said, of avant-garde).

 

Hitler, however, was having none of it - as made clear in a speech in the autumn of 1934, wherein he denounced modern artists as criminal lunatics and declared that under no circumstances would their incompetent rubbish play any role in the cultural rebirth of Germany. As far as he was concerned, any work that didn't conform to the aesthetic values of the Classical world was Un-German and corrupted by the Marxist-Jewish spirit. 

 

Goebbels, one of Hitler's closest and most devoted acolytes, thus quietly removed any offending pictures from his walls and, in 1937, he conceived the idea of an exhibition of works from the Weimar period - which he termed the era of decay - that would contrast with the forthcoming Great German Art Exhibition intended to showcase work approved by the Führer; statuesque blonde nudes, idealised landscapes, etc.

 

Hitler loved the idea and on 30 June signed an order authorising Die Ausstellung Entartete Kunst ...

 

Goebbels appointed Adolf Ziegler - one of Hitler's favourite painters and head of the Reich Chamber of Visual Art - in charge of a small team who toured state galleries and museums in numerous cities seizing thousands of works they deemed degenerate and showing signs of racial impurity [3].   

The exhibition opened in Munich on 19 July - one day after the Große Deutsche Kunstausstellung - and included 650 modernist pieces, chaotically hung and accompanied by notices encouraging the viewer to ridicule the work and vilify the artist responsible.

 

Ironically, however, over a million people visited this exhibition in Munich; three times more than visited the one consisting of the very best that German art had to offer. This is perhaps not surprising when one considers that works by many leading international artists - such as Klee, Kokoschka, and Kandinsky - were on display. When the show toured other German and Austrian cities, it attracted a million more visitors [4]. 

 

II.

So, finally, we return to the question asked in the title of this post: What if the Nazis had embraced modern art? 

 

In other words, (i) what would that have meant for the development of German culture during (and after) the Third Reich? and (ii) what would that have meant for the development of modern art and its reception within the rest of the world?  

Unfortunately, whilst it's always amusing to ask such questions, this one doesn't really fly unless you remove Hitler from the scenario. For the Führer's thinking on what constitutes great art - and what constitutes degenerate rubbish - was clear, consistent, and not open to debate. 

 

Hitler despised every innovative and non-representational style of art that had emerged during his lifetime; Fauvism, Cubism, Surrealism ... you name it, he hated it - including, as we have seen, German Expressionism, even when produced by a devoted Nazi such as Emil Nolde.

 

So perhaps it's more productive to ask: What was the result of the Nazi rejection of modern art? 

 

Well, as one commentator rightly notes, being banned by the Nazis turned out to have a silver lining: 

 

"'This artwork became more attractive abroad, or certainly in anti-Nazi circles it gained value because the Nazis opposed it, and I think that over the longer run it was good for modern art to be viewed as something that the Nazis detested and hated.'" [5]

 

It's certainly the case that several of the artists featured in the exhibition are now considered among the greats not just of modern art, but within the long history and tradition of Western art. As another art historian writes, the "'stigmatization of modernism caused by the National Socialists is partly responsible for the current boom in modern art [... having] created a canon, so to speak, that had not existed previously.'" [6]  

Further - and crucially - as Peter Schjeldahl points out:

 

"The glamour of martyrdom came to halo modern artists with political virtues that few of them either sought or merited. This set the stage, in Cold War America, for the public acceptance of Abstract Expressionism as, for all its esoteric aesthetics, a potent symbol of liberal democracy [...]" [7]

I conclude, in agreement with Schjeldahl: "Divorcing our thinking about modern culture from the residual consequences of 'Degenerate Art' probably can't be done." [8]  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Joseph Goebbels, quoted by Peter Adam in Art of the Third Reich, (Harry N. Abrams, Inc. 1992), p. 56.

 

[2] See the widely distributed pamphlet written by Joseph Goebbels entitled Die verfluchten Hakenkreuzler: Etwas zum Nachdenken (1932), in which he attempts to make clear what is meant by National Socialism and why it is, in fact, first and foremost an uncompromising spiritual revolution. 

 

[3] Over 5000 works were initially seized, including 1052 by Nolde, 759 by Heckel, 639 by Ernst Ludwig Kirchner and 508 by Max Beckmann, as well as smaller numbers of works by such artists as Marc Chagall, Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso, and Vincent van Gogh. It is interesting to note that only six of the 112 artists featured in the Degenerate Art Exhibition were Jewish. 

 

[4] Of course, whilst some came because they realised it would be their last chance to see great works of modern art in Germany, many also came to mock and be scandalised; for when it comes to modern art, public opinion isn't all that different from Hitler's - it's obscene, blasphemous, pretentious, infantile, etc.

 

[5] Jonathan Petropoulos, professor of European History and author of several books on art and politics in the Third Reich, quoted by Lucy Burns in 'Degenerate art: why Hitler hated modernism', on the BBC news website (6 November, 2013): click here.

[6] Ruth Heftig, quoted by Peter Schjeldahl in his essay 'The Anti-Modernists', The New Yorker, (March, 2014): click here to read online.  

[7] Peter Schjeldahl, op. cit. 

[8] Ibid.

To Hold On or Let Go (Reflections on a Garden Gnome)

Festhalten (SA/2022)

 

 

I. 

 

In a sense, much like the figure pictured above, we are all hanging on for dear life to the great flowerpot that is the world we know and love. 

 

And of course, being able to hold on, hold tight, and hold still is crucial at times. But then, equally crucial, is knowing when and how to let go ... 

 

II. 

 

This question is often addressed by poets and playwrights; most famously by Shakespeare in Hamlet (1603) [1]. 

 

Interestingly, D. H. Lawrence chooses to discuss whether to let go or to hold on not only in terms of the individual, but at the level of the species:

 

 

Must we hold on, hold on

and go ahead with what is human nature

and make a new job of the human world?

 

Or can we let it go?

O, can we let it go,

and leave it to some nature that is more than human

to use the sperm of what's worth while in us

and thus eliminate us?

 

Is the time come for humans

now to begin to disappear,

leaving it to the vast revolutions of creative chaos

to bring forth creatures that are an improvement on humans

as the horse was an improvement on the ichthyosaurus?

 

Must we hold on?

Or can we now let go?

 

Or is it even possible we must do both? [2] 

 

 

That's an amusing additional question to end on - one to which I'm not sure I know the answer: perhaps it is possible; perhaps it isn't. 

 

But maybe the best way to confront the blackmail of an either/or is simply to refuse it like Bartleby; i.e., to choose not to choose as a matter of preference; to understand that when faced by a situation that demands we select one option or the other we can always smile say neither/nor, thank you very much [3].     

 

 

III.

 

Philosophers and religious thinkers have also debated whether man's great goal is self-preservation (holding on) or self-abandonment (letting go). 

 

Nietzsche for example, spoke in an early essay of man as a being who clings on the back of a tiger which empowers but also threatens to devour him [4]. 

 

However, he also writes about the need for man to let go - of the past, of God, of friends, etc. - and discover how to forget (a crucial aspect of innocence as Nietzsche understands the latter); don't be a memory-monger, he says, learn, rather, to love fate (i.e., embrace a kind of non-willing and move towards a state of what Heidegger likes to term Gelassenheit - a mixture of serenity, joyful wisdom, and a sense of release) [5].   

 

That, I suppose, is the vital point; letting go is also a letting be, allowing things to sparkle in their own freedom and mystery.         

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm referring, of course, to the the opening line of the soliloquy given by Prince Hamlet in Act 3, Scene 1: "To be, or not to be, that is the question." For earlier refelctions on the verb to be, see the post of 5 August 2022: click here.

 

[2] See D. H. Lawrence, 'To let go or to hold on -?', in The Poems Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 372-73. Note that this is not the full poem reproduced here; there are five other stanzas before these closing verses.

[3] Having said that, I'm not a great fan of Herman Melville's figure of Bartleby the Scrivener; see what I write in the post published on 31 January 2013: click here. 

[4] See Nietzsche, 'On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense', in Philosophy and Truth, ed. and trans. Daniel Breazeale, (Humanities Press International, 1993), p. 80. I discuss this idea in a post published on 23 September 2020: click here.

 

[5] Heidegger borrowed the term Gelassenheit from Meister Eckhart and the Christian mystical tradition. He first elaborated the idea in a 1959 work which included two texts: Gelassenheit and Zur Erörterung der Gelassenheit: Aus einem Feldweggespräch über das Denken. An English translation of the latter was first published in 1966 as "Conversation on a Country Path about Thinking". It can now be found as Country Path Conversations, trans. Bret W. Davis, (Indiana University Press, 2010). 

      For a post published on 24 February 2021 in which I discuss the idea of Gelassenheit in relation to the Money Calm Bull: click here.    

 

 

God Save the King ...? The D. H. Lawrence Birthday Post (2022)

The ghost of D. H. Lawrence observes a relaxed-looking King Charles III  

 

 

I.

 

And all across the land, the great cry goes up: God Save the King! 

 

The king in this case being Charles III, who has now been formally proclaimed as monarch following the death of his mother, Queen Elizabeth II. 

 

But, as every year on this day - 11 September - I always like to stop and ask: What would Lawrence think? 

 

II.

 

As with many other subjects, it's not easy to pin Lawrence down when it comes to the question of monarchy. 

 

On the one hand, he was certainly thrilled to see all the king's soldiers stiffly marching past in their red tunics when enjoying a visit to Hyde Park in the summer of 1909. But that might just be a sign of a penchant for pomp and circumstance, or, indeed, of his homoerotic attraction to virile young men in uniform [1].

 

For when Lawrence actually did see a member of the Royal Family up close and personal - namely, Edward, the Prince of Wales, on a visit to Ceylon in March 1922 - he wasn't particularly impressed. In fact, he seemed far more in awe of the ceremonial elephants and naked devil-dancers, than the pale-faced representative of the British Crown [2].

 

As Lawrence's biographer David Ellis notes, Lawrence characterises the future king, in both his verse and correspondence, with terms and phrases such as sad, nervous, irritable, worn out, forlorn, etc. [3]

 

He is particuarly contemptuous of the Prince's motto, Ich dien, and reasserts an older model of kingship based upon the power of rule over - not service to - the people. And that's really the crucial point; Lawrence doesn't much care for modern forms of constitutional monarchy, he wants kings with dark faces and red beards, and who, like the Sons of Enoch, are hung like horses.

 

In a letter to Mabel Sterne, written in April of 1922, Lawrence states:

 

"I don't believe either in liberty or democracy. I believe in actual, sacred, inspired authority: divine right of natural kings: I believe in the divine right of natural aristocracy, the right, the sacred duty to wield undisputed authority." [4]    

 

He develops this line of thinking in several essays from this period [5], as well as the Epilogue (written in September 1924) to Movements in European History (1921). 

 

Whilst conceding that it is bad to have "greedy, cruel people called 'nobles'" and "rich people squandering money and taking airs" [6], Lawrence argues that, at the same time, we long for those who understand the mysterious responsibility of power, such as the ancient kings; men who were not mere bullies or tyrants and whose kingship was "not a matter of vanity and conceit" [7].      

 

 

III. 

 

So, what then would Lawrence make of King Charles III? 

 

Not much, I suspect. 

 

But, who knows, Charles may at least be able to "keep up a bluff of royalty and nobleness" [8] for a bit longer. And then, after him, le déluge ...

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Guards!', in The Poems, Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 34-35. And see also my post on this poem: click here. 

 

[2] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Elephant', in The Poems Vol. I, pp. 338-343. This poem can also be found online: click here, for example.

[3] See David Ellis, D. H. Lawrence: Dying Game 1922-1930, (Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 16.

[4] D. H. Lawrence, letter to Mabel Dodge Sterne, 10 April 1922, in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. IV, ed. Warren Roberts, James T. Boulton and Elizabeth Mansfield, (Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 226. 

 

[5] See, for example, the essays 'Blessed Are the Powerful' and 'Aristocracy', both of which can be found in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert, (Cambridge University Press, 1988).

 

[6] D. H. Lawrence, Movements in European History, ed. Philip Crumpton, (Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 261.

 

[7] Ibid., p. 263.    

[8] Ibid., p. 264. 

 

 

For a post published in April of this year in which I discuss Lawrence's reaction to Ceylon, click here. 

 

For another response to presently unfolding royal events in the UK, click here.