Vestis virum facit

King Charles waves to the crowds and the cameras from the balcony 

of Buckingham Palace following his coronation (6 May 2023) 

knowing full-well that beneath the clothes he remains allzumenschliche

 

"Look at the waxwork head - the face, with the expression of a melon - the projecting ears ..."

 

 

I. 

 

The recent Coronation of King Charles III was a spectacular demonstration of how clothes remain a crucial means of signifying wealth, power, and social distinction. 

 

For all his desire to modernise the royal family, there was never any possibility that Charles would adopt a more casual (less regal) look (even if he did swap breeches for a pair of trousers).  

 

And so: 

 

(i) His Majesty rocked up at Westminster Abbey wearing a robe of red velvet and an ermine cape ...

 

(ii) Following his annointing, Charles put on a tunic similar to a priest's vestment in order to symbolise the divine nature of monarchy ...

 

(iii) When the jewel-encrusted St. Edward's Crown was placed upon his weary head, he wore a gold-sleeved robe, embroidered with flowers, beneath the Imperial Mantle ...

 

(iv) Finally, at the close of the ceremony, the King changed into a newly-made purple satin Coronation Tunic, trimmed with gold artillery lace, and George VI's grand purple silk velvet Robe of Estate.      

 

The point is: there was nothing subtle about this ostentatious display and if clothes maketh the man, they also maketh the monarch - something noted by Mark Twain in his short story 'The Czar's Soliloquy' [1] ...

 

 

II.

 

After taking his morning bath, it was the Russian emperor's habit to look at himself in a large mirror and reflect upon his own physical limitations: "Naked, what am I? A libel on the image of God!" 

 

He realises that what invokes awe and reverence in his people are his magnificent robes: "Without my clothes I should be as destitute of authority as any other naked person." 

 

In other words, without his fine robes, his magnificent crown, his titles, etc., he is - like King Charles - an old man without substance; "a cipher, a vacancy, a nobody, a nothing". 

 

It is the trappings of kingship that conceal his essential emptiness and which "move a nation to fall on its knees".

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Mark Twain, 'The Czar's Soliloquy', North American Review, Issue 580 (March 1905), pp. 321-26: click here to read on JSTOR. Lines quoted from the story are on pp. 321-322.

      Note that although the saying clothes make the man is often associated with Mark Twain, it didn't originate with him. In fact, it was already popular during the Middle Ages and can be found, for example, in the work of the great Dutch philosopher and theologian, Erasmus, who recorded it in his collection of Greek and Latin proverbs as vestis virum facit [Adagia: 3.1. 60]. 

 

Get Knotted: In Praise of the Hanky as Headwear and Why I Hate the Gumbys

Steve Jones wearing an Anarchy in the UK knotted hanky 

and establishing himself as the coolest Sex Pistol

 

The fashioning of a handkerchief into protective headwear on a hot sunny day by tying knots together at the corners is, sadly, a practice that has mostly died out amongst Englishmen. 

 

In fact, the last champion of this do-it-yourself look that I can think of was Sex Pistol Steve Jones, who, by coupling it with a mohair string jumper, gave it a brilliantly avant-garde punk edge, whilst remaining true to the working class tradition from which it came.

 

Partly, this look has declined due to the triumph of the ubiquitous baseball cap and other more trendy forms of headgear. But it's also due to the continuous and contemptuous mocking of British working class culture by the media, including Oxbridge educated comedians such as the Pythons. 

 

One recalls, for example, the brick-carrying Gumbys, who would wear knotted white handkerchiefs on their heads and have shirts rolled up to the elbows and trousers rolled up to the knees. They would usually behave in a violent and oafish manner and speak as if mentally retarded.

 

Even at a very young age, it was clear to me that John Cleese and his privileged friends were sneering at men of my father's generation and background. However, rather than make me ashamed of the latter, it made me despise the former and their condescending classism; the fact that they thought it funny to punch down.

 

And so, I would sincerely encourage readers next time they venture out in the sun to knot a hanky and wear it on their head with pride, à la Steve Jones - oh, and when I say a hanky, I mean a hanky (i.e., a thin cotton square) and not some poncy attempt to reimagine and refine the hanky-as-hat for which you have to pay through the nose like a tweed pig.

 

  

Ghost Rider

Ghost Rider (SA/2023)

 

I know there are those who will wax lyrical about the violent beauty of such, but, actually, there's always something profoundly depressing about encountering the blackened remains of an abandoned and burnt out vehicle. 

 

For criminal vandalism, involving the deliberate destruction of property, is more often than not merely a sign of social deprivation and crass stupidity. To romanticise such as neo-primitivism, an act of political insurgency, or a counter-cultural rejection of prevailing values, is often insulting to those of us who have to live with the consequences and pay to have the mess cleaned up.    

 

Having said that, there is something strangely haunting about a burnt out bike - perhaps because it suggests the supernatural figure of a ghost rider; i.e., one who rides a flaming motorcycle and whose flesh has been consumed by hellfire. 

 

But of course, I very much doubt that Johnny Blaze is now a resident of Harold Hill ... 

 

 

 

Hooray for Male Hosiery

Men's tights by Gerbe 

(the famous French hosiery manufacturer, est. 1895)

 

I. 

 

There are not many advantages to being diagnosed with superficial vein reflux (and associated varicosties) in your leg and then having endovenous surgery to address this. 

 

Indeed, the disadvantages and risks are clear; lumps, bumps, bruises, scarring, pain and discomfort, not to mention possible sensory nerve damage (causing numbness) and the danger of deep vein thrombosis.

 

However, once the layers and layers of mummy-like bandaging and protective gauze are removed 48-hours after the operation, one is afforded the opportunity to parade around in full-length elasticated black stockings and that at least affords a frisson of pleasure. 

 

One can even pretend to be Paul Morel, who famously found it thrilling to pull on a pair of Clara's stockings when alone in her bedroom [1]; or Steve Jones, at the end of The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle, holding up Malcolm's ten lessons inscribed on tablets of stone, like a punk Moses, whilst wearing black rubber stockings [2].

 

 

 

II.

 

Of course, whilst men wearing stockings is today mostly seen as either comic or kinky, historically this practice was the norm for long periods; from the Middle Ages until the mid-late 16th century men wore hose and proudly displayed their legs (whilst covering their groin with a cod piece).

 

After this date, the fashion was for separate breeches and stockings, but men still loved to show a shapely calf and members of the nobility would wear stockings made of expensive silk or the finest wool (rather than the coarser fabrics worn by the lower classes).

 

Now, sadly, male legs are either hidden under trousers, or bare and exposed in shorts and it is only ballet dancers, super-heroes, and drag queens who get to regularly and openly wear tights [3].

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See Chapter XII of D. H. Lawrence's, Sons and Lovers, ed. Helen Baron and Carl Baron, (Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 381. 

 

[2] Actually, I have misremembered this scene; Jones wears a black rubber (or PVC) cape with bright red PVC thigh boots; not stockings. See The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle, (dir. Julien Temple, 1980).

[3] Thankfully, at least women are increasingly wearing hoisery once more, as the fashion for bare legs wanes and coloured tights are bang on trend for 2023. And there are some who fly the flag for male legwear; see for example the blog Hoisery for Men: click here.     

 

Ticked Off (Reflections on an Idyllic Essex Crime Scene)

An Idylillic Essex Crime Scene 

(SA/2023)

 

 

I. 

 

Yesterday, whilst taking a walk in what remains of and passes for the great outdoors, I came across what appeared to be an idyllic crime scene, all sealed off with blue-and-white police tape instructing people not to cross.

 

There was no indication of what had happened and no one to ask why my route was barred in this manner. So, returning home, I decided to investigate ... 

 

According to a local news site, it seems that a number of parks and green spaces in Essex have been designated as danger zones and thus closed to the public. 

 

But what is it, you might ask, that so threatens the health and safety of walkers: are there wolves in the woods; are there big cats lurking in the long grass? 

 

No: apparently, we are being protected from ticks! 

 

What next: will we be sent alerts on our phones everytime someone spots a wasp in the area? 

 

 

II. 

 

In the view of Havering Council, residents are at severe risk of being infected with Lyme disease, cases of which are rising across the UK, but particularly in the South East counties of England, including Essex. 

 

Now, without wanting to downplay or dismiss the seriousness of this vector-borne disease - caused by the Borrelia bacterium and spread by the hard-bodied, black-legged deer tick - I do think locking down the countryside and virtually declaring a state of emergency, is something of an overreaction (one which, sadly, we became all-too-familiar with during the Covid pandemic).  

 

As there was only around 1,500 laboratory confirmed cases of Lyme disease in the UK last year, one suspects that the local council has ulterior motives; namely, they wish to exterminate (or at least radically reduce in number) the deer population - a move which would be popular with many Havering residents, including this anonymous blogger who wrote:

 

Herds of deer are picturesque to look at, but, without natural predators, they breed rapidly and not only cause road accidents, damage gardens and property, but present an actual health hazard due to the ticks living on them. As delightful as we might find them, deer are wild animals and have no place in an urban environment, interacting with humans and spreading potentially deadly diseases.

 

Personally, I'm happy to keep the deer - and the foxes and the badgers - and, yes, even the ticks; it's fearful councillors and cold-hearted cunts like the blogger above whom I would like to get rid of.    

 

 

The Black-Legged Tick 

(SA/2023)

 

 

In Memory of Anne Dufourmantelle: Risk Taker Extraordinaire and Defender of Secrets

Anne Dufourmantelle (1964-2017)

 

"To become an occult philosopher is to choose the shadows; 

to cross over to a secret world ..."

 

 

I. 

 

For those readers who may be unfamiliar with the name, Anne Dufourmantelle was a French philosopher and psychoanalyst, perhaps best known for her work on the vital importance of living dangerously. 

 

When, in 2017, she drowned attempting to save two young children caught in rough seas, the obituary writers couldn't help (sometimes spitefully) recalling the fact that she had published a book entitled Éloge du risque [1] just a few years prior to this tragic event. 

 

As her English translator - Steven Miller - notes, the implication was that Dufourmantelle was somehow the author of her own fate [2]; that her death served to confirm the ancient idea that to philosophise is to learn how to die and thus only practiced - like occultism - by disturbed individuals. 

 

Even if true, this tends to downplay the fact that Dufourmantelle was a courageous woman who wrote a number of books - including one on hospitality in collaboration with Jacques Derrida [3] - who wished to think risk not as an act of madness or deviant behaviour, but in vital (and ethical) terms.

 

To quote Miller: "the horizon that orients her approach to risk is not death and sacrifice [...] but rather what she calls not dying" [ne pas mourir]" [4] - i.e., having the courage to live whilst at the same time loving fate. 

 

It's a shame, therefore, that unthinking journalistic accounts of her death reproduce "the very paradigm of risk that she explicitly seeks to displace" [5]. But then of course, news editors are never going to let philosophical subtlety get in the way of a good story.   

 

 

II.

 

Dufourmantelle, however, wasn't just a woman who dared her readers to take risks - particularly the risk of opening themselves up to otherness and to intimacy - she was also a defender of secrets and it's this aspect of her work which currently most interests, engaged as I am in writing my own defence of Isis veiled [6].

Originally published in 2015, Défense du secret was translated into English by Lindsay Turner and published by Fordham University Press in 2021. 

 

As with her earlier book - In Praise of Risk - there are bits I like (the philosophical musings) and bits I don't like (the psychoanalytic observations). But that's just me - other readers will love the latter and hate the former.

 

Like Dufourmantelle, I also believe that in an age obsessed with exposing everything to x-ray vision - Byung-Chul Han famously speaks of the transparency society - secrecy might have an important role to play as part of a counter-narrative which also includes terms such as silence, solitude, and stillness. 

 

It's not that the secret is necessarily some kind of hidden truth - it might simply be a forgotten memory, an unspoken thought, or even a lie. But it is something that has a relation to truth and it is something we should revalue, I think, as a term of opposition to the see-all, tell-all, know-all ideology of today.     

 

But the problem, for a writer, is how does one speak of secrecy without giving the game away? The answer, as Dufourmantelle demonstrates, is to speak quietly and enigmatically; to murmur in a voice that is lighter than breath, or to whisper with the lights down low, as it were. 

 

Indeed, we might even dim the lights completely - for isn't darkness the custodian of being and isn't it the case that, ultimately, it is not we who keep secrets safe, but secrets that safeguard us and our right to become other (to be more than we seem) ...?           

Again, like Dufourmantelle, I would place the secret beyond good and evil - that is to say, align it with individual ethics rather than a universal morality. It's up to every one of us to nurture their own secret identity (or alter ego) - just like Superman and the Scarlet Pimpernel; to cultivate the darkness, as it were, so that we in turn might grow and blossom (like flowers).        

 

I don't think that Dufourmantelle's work - or my own forthcoming defence of Isis veiled - amounts to a religious call, as some suggest. Rather, it simply offers an occult perspective on contemporary culture and brings a little mystery into the social order. 

 

And, who knows, it just may lead to a new mode of relating to one another (less transparent, less open, but richer and more intense), which, in turn, might allow us to leave behind the society of transparency and build - for want perhaps of another phrase - a secret society which has what the German sociologist Georg Simmel called purposeful concealment as its structuring element.    

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Anne Dufourmantelle, Éloge du risque, (Editions Rayot & Rivages, 2011), translated into English by Steven Miller as In Praise of Risk, (Fordham University Press, 2019). 

[2] See Steven Miller's Introduction - 'The Risk to Reading' - to Dufourmantelle's In Praise of Risk. This can be read online (thanks to Amazon) by clicking here.

[3] Of Hospitality, Jacques Derrida and Anne Dufourmantelle, trans. Rachel Bowlby, (Stanford University Press, 2000). 

[4] Steven Miller, 'Translator's Introduction: The Risk to Reading' ... See link above in note 2.  

 

[5] Ibid.

[6] A paper entitled 'In Defence of Isis Veiled and in Praise of Silence, Secrecy, and Shadows' will be given at Treadwell's bookshop - 33, Store Street, London, WC1 - on Thurs 7 September. Further details will be made available on the Torpedo the Ark events page in due course. Essentially, this post might be seen as an (unofficial) preface to the paper, or a kind of preview.   

On the Uncertain Duty of a Writer

 

 

Someone told me the other day that, as a writer, I have a duty to always say what I think. 

Aside from the fact that I don't feel under any such obligation, I'm not sure it's possible to speak one's mind and then simply turn spoken words into text; certainly it's a far more difficult task than non-writers imagine. 

 

For as Kafka pointed out, whilst thought, speech, and writing all emerge from (and proceed into) the same darkness, we write differently to how we speak; speak differently to how we think; think differently to how we feel - and, indeed, think differently to how we think we think and how we think we ought to think.     

 

To put this in a Nietzschean nutshell: We knowers are unknown to ourselves - and that's why it's only naive or stupid people who are sure of themselves and their opinions; who pride themselves on their sincerity and believe they can instruct others on their duty. 

 

Writers, like quantum particles, are bound by the principle of uncertainty. 

 

 

A Warning from Cinematic History: The Tragic Case of James Xavier - The Man with the X-Ray Eyes

"He stripped souls as bare as bodies!"

 Ray Milland as Dr James Xavier in

The Man with the X-Ray Eyes (1963)

 

I. 

 

People who subscribe to the myth of Genesis [1] believe that darkness is simply a lack of illumination, or the absence of visible light. 

 

In other words, they think of it as a purely negative quality in binary opposition to divine radiance; that truth, goodness, and wisdom all shine brightly, whilst darkness is the home of secrets, lies, and a shameful form of ignorance that leads to sin. 

 

Such metaphysical dualism is, of course, just a convenient way of ordering the world for simple-minded folk who fear complexity (and, indeed, fear the darkness and those things that go bump in the night).

 

Artists and philosophers, on the other hand, understand that not only is darkness vital - that human life needs a little shadow to add depth and mystery - but light and darkness are coeval. That is to say, they are intimately connected and bring each other forth; not absolutely distinct and separate. 

 

Thus, when I say that I love the darkness, I am not implying I hate the light. 

 

Indeed, my concern, as a philosopher, is not to critique those who wish to see the world clearly by the light of reason, but take issue with those who subscribe to an ideal of total transparency, driven as they are by an insane desire to see through everything in a profoundly dangerous (and nihilistic) manner as if they had x-ray vision like the man who best exemplifies our Transparenzgesellschaft [2], James Xavier. 

II.

 

The Man with the X-Ray Eyes (1963) is an American science fiction film directed by Roger Corman, from a script by Ray Russell and Robert Dillon, and starring Ray Milland as Dr James Xavier, a scientist who develops eye drops that allow him to see beyond the visible spectrum into the ultraviolet and x-ray wavelengths. 

 

What starts out as fun - seeing through a pretty girl's clothing - soon ends in tragedy. For eventually Xavier can see the world only in forms of light and texture that his brain is unable to fully comprehend and - having lost the darkness - he loses his mind and his life. 

 

The film was a huge hit at the time, but it is only now that it's warning about the dangers of total transparency and of no longer being able to close one's eyes and dream in revitalising darkness, takes on cultural pertinence.

 

As Xavier's self-induced condition worsens, he begins to wear thick protective goggles, that uncannily anticipate the headsets that we are encouraged to put on in order to explore a digital metaverse in which reality is dissolved in an acid of virtual light.     

 

One fears that eventually the only thing that will save us from madness will be to gouge out our own eyes, as Xavier does his.  

 

   

 

If thine eyes offend thee ...

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm referring here to the famous opening lines of Genesis 1, which detail how light was created by God and separated off from the primal darkness that was upon the face of the deep when the Earth was without form and void.

 

[2] This concept is explored by Byung-Chul Han in his book The Transparency Society, trans. Erik Butler, (Stanford University Press, 2015). I have discussed this book in a three-part post on Torpedo the Ark: click here for part 1; here for part 2; here for part 3. 

The Astounding Story of Olga Mesmer: The Girl with the X-Ray Eyes

 

I recently mentioned Superman and his x-ray vision in a post on the pervy comic potential of such a gift: click here. 

 

But whilst he is certainly the most famous possessor of this ability, he is not the first fictional character to be able to see through solid objects (such as brick walls) and opaque materials (like the fabric of Lois Lane's dress) [1].   

 

Pre-dating the Man of Steel's first comic book appearance by several months [2], was the pulp fiction pin-up Olga Mesmer - aka, The Girl with the X-Ray Eyes - who appeared in Spicy Mystery magazine from August 1937 to October 1938. 

 

Like Superman, Olga was blessed with incredible strength and x-ray vision, though her powers stemmed from scientific experimentation (involving radiation) carried out by her human father (Dr Hugo Mesmer) on her alien mother (Margot), and had nothing to do with living beneath a yellow sun.

 

These powers lay dormant throughout her childhood, but burst into light once she reached adolescence and first became sexually aroused. She would later use her powers to battle evil-doers, in the course of which she would invariably rip (or manage to lose) her clothes (unlike Clark Kent, she didn't have a homemade costume to wear).  

 

Sadly, Olga Mesmer is now largely a forgotten female figure in the pop cultural imagination. 

 

And amongst those who do remember her, there are some who would deny her status as a genuine superhero; apparently, she doesn't display all the necessary tropes to qualify (and heaven forbid that Siegel and Shuster's Man of Steel should be denied the title of World's First Superhero).    

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Although commonly referred to as x-ray vision, this ability might more accurately be described as see-through vision, as it has very little to do with actual x-rays. Still, it seems a little pedantic to press the issue. The point is that when Superman turns his extraordinary vision on an object it is effectively rendered transparent, allowing him thus to either see inside or see beyond. I'm not sure how this power is explained, but assume it is attributable to the Photonucleic Effect.   

 

[2] Superman, created by writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster, made his debut in Action Comics #1, cover-dated June 1938, but published in April of that year.

 

On the Voyeuristic Comic Potential of X-Ray Vision (With Reference to the Case of Superman and Lois Lane)

 

The voyeuristic comic potential of x-ray vision has long been recognised. 

 

Older readers may recall ads for novelty glasses, such as the one above, which guaranteed that one would not only be able to see bones through flesh, but, more interestingly, what lies beneath the dress of the girl next door (to your amusement and, presumably, her embarrassment). 

 

Who needs to try and sneak-a-peek upskirt or down blouse, when one can actually see through clothing thanks to a pair of X-Ray Spex ...?

 

But, alas, such glasses don't really allow one to possess x-ray vision. In reality, they merely create an ingenious (though not very convincing) optical illusion, that is quite literally a trick of the light and its diffraction [1]. 

 

And so, unless you happen to be Clark Kent, I regret to say you're probably never going to be able to see through solid objects and normally opaque materials. 

 

Speaking of Superman, it's interesting to note with reference to what we have been discussing, that whilst he mostly uses his power for good, even he can't resist perving on Lois Lane and checking out the colour of her underwear on at least one occasion (although to be fair to the Man of Steel, this was at her invitation) [2].      

 

 

Lois Lane invites Superman to demonstrate his x-ray vision 

by asking: What colour underwear am I wearing?

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The principle behind the illusion - as well as its use in a pair of spectacles - was first patented (in the United States) in 1906 by George W. Macdonald. But the man behind x-ray glasses as most people know them, was the American mail-order genius and inventor Harold von Braunhut. He was also the man who sold the world Sea-Monkeys and invisible goldfish. 

 

[2] I'm referring here to a scene in Superman (1978), dir. Richard Donner, and starring Christopher Reeve as Clark Kent / Superman and Margot Kidder as Lois Lane: click here. 

      For the record, Miss Lane was wearing pink underwear, which, depending on one's sartorial taste, would either compliment or clash with our hero's favoured red pants (famously worn over his bright blue tights). 

Reflections on Stephen Alexander's 'When the Moon Hits Your Eye' - A Guest Post by Sally Guaragna

Stephen Alexander: When the Moon Hits Your Eye (2017) 

 Caspar David Friedrich: Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer (1818)

 

For me, whilst Stephen Alexander's amusing photograph entitled When the Moon Hits Your Eye has a surreal aspect provided by its incorporation of a big pizza pie [1], it is clearly rooted in German Romanticism, nodding as it does to the mid-period work of Caspar David Friedrich [2] which typically features a contemplative figure seen from behind and silhouetted against an allegorical landscape.

This compositional device - known as a Rückenfigur - is often used to convey man's insignificance before the vast expanse of nature; that is to say, his sense of isolation and existential anxiety when confronted with the sublime (i.e., inhuman beauty on an overwhelming scale). 

 

As one commentator rightly notes, in using this anonymous and indistinct figure seen from behind, artists are able to create "a metaphorical bridge for the viewer" [3] by which they are able to insert themselves into the image. The Rückenfigur functions thus as an avatar, as well as symbolising the heroic archetype of Man Alone. 

 

Alexander makes clear, however, that the figure in his image should primarily be conceived as a wanderer - a key term in his philosophical lexicon, as it is for many artists, poets and thinkers who work in a post-Romantic tradition. One recalls the words of Nietzsche, for example, with which I would like to close this short post: 

 

"He who has attained freedom of spirit to any extent cannot regard himself otherwise than as a wanderer on the face of the earth - and not even as a traveller towards a final destination, for such does not exist." [4]          

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I have since discovered that Alexander's picture does not, in fact, make use of a pizza; the 'moon' is actually a pancake. It remains a witty and surreal use of food in order to create a work of art. 

 

[2] Caspar David Friedrich (1774-1840) was a 19th-century German landscape painter, generally considered the most important artist of his generation. His work seeks to convey a subjective, emotional response to the natural world coupled to a Gothic sensibility. 

      It has been suggested by the American art critic Thomas Bonneville, that Alexander's image actually owes more to the work of the English painter (and visionary) Samuel Palmer (1805-1881), who certainly loved a moonlit landscape. However, whilst this might be the case, I can find no evidence to support this claim.

 

[3] Laura Thipphawong, 'The Mysterious Appeal of the Rückenfigur' (2021) on artshelp.com: click here. 

 

[4] Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, I. 638. It's important to note, however, that Nietzsche's wanderer is not some kind of hypercultural tourist. Indeed, paradoxical as it sounds, his form of existence is what Heidegger terms dwelling.  

 

Artificial Intelligence Doesn't Get Goosebumps

Illustration: Victor de Schwanberg 

Science Photo Library / Getty Images

 

 

Just about everyone - from Elon Musk and Geoffrey Hinton to Tim Pendry [1] - is warning these days about the coming AI revolution. 

 

And whilst I certainly don't wish to underestimate the dangers presented by artificial intelligence, I continue to be encouraged by the fact that because machines cannot feel, they cannot really think; that mind is ultimately a product of suffering.

 

Or, as Byung-Chul Han puts it: "The negativity of pain is constitutive of thought. Pain is what distinguishes thinking from calculating, from artificial intelligence." [2]

 

Generative AI may be capable of independent learning and producing the most astonishing results. But it will never give birth to thoughts in the manner that a mother gives birth to a child, invested with "blood, heart, fire, pleasure, passion, agony, conscience, fate, and catastrophe" [3].  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Whilst I take seriously what these three wise men have to say about technology and the future of humanity, I certainly don't wish to hear from King Charles III on the subject: see the post written on 7 September 2018, when he was still the Prince of Wales: I said it then and I'll say it again now: better artificial intelligence than royal stupidity.      

 

[2] Byung-Chul Han, The Palliative Society, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2021), p. 39. 

      See also Han's Non-things: Upheaval in the Lifeworld, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2022), in which he argues: "Artificial intelligence is incapable of thinking, for the very reason that it cannot get goosebumps." Readers who are interested may click here for my post on this book. And this short piece by Mariella Moon on robots designed to sweat and get goosebumps, might also amuse.    

[3] Nietzsche, The Gay Science, trans. Walter Kaufmann, (Vintage Books, 1974), Preface for the Second Edition, §3, p. 36.