Be a Little Deaf and Blind ... How Cynical Pragmatism Secures Wedded Bliss

A mottoware jug made by the Watcombe Pottery (Torquay) [1]

For many years, my mother owned a little ceramic jug decorated with a picture of a cottage on one side and the words 'Be a little deaf and blind / Happiness you'll always find', on the other. 

 

Such proverbial folk wisdom greatly appealed to my mother; though whether she applied this particular teaching in her own life - and whether, if she did, it brought her the promised reward of happiness - I'm not sure. 

 

Anyway, my mother is dead now and the little painted jug made in Torquay is mine - as is the question of what to do with it ... 

I'm pretty sure my sister would either throw it away or attempt to sell it on eBay; throwing things away and selling things on eBay is her speciality and the sign of a woman who not only sees a price label attached to everything, but is dead to the mysterious allure of objects [2].   

 

I don't want the little jug to be thrown away or sold on eBay, however. 

 

And so I suppose I'll keep it; even if I don't necessarily endorse a message that might have been written by the Japanese monkeys Mizaru and Kikazaru [3] and which was offered as pragmatic advice to new brides in the 18th-century when confronted by their husbands' little indiscretions [4] ...

 

Notes

 

[1] The Watcombe Pottery was originally established as the Watcombe Terra Cotta Clay Company in 1869 by G. J. Allen, after he discovered a particularly fine red clay in the grounds of Watcombe House.

      In 1901, the business was acquired by Hexter, Humpherson and Co., who also owned the Aller Vale Pottery, and it began producing a wide range of pottery in the popular style associated with Torquay, including the motto wares, aimed at the emerging tourist market. 

      Sadly, the Watcombe Pottery was forced to close its kilns for good in 1962. 

 

[2] I have written on the allure of objects - and how this can make happy - in several posts; click here and here, for example. 

 

[3] These were two of the Three Wise Monkeys, famous for avoiding evil thoughts and deeds in the Buddhist tradition; Mizaru saw no evil and Kikazaru heard no evil. 

      Interestingly, in the West we interpret their story very differently and reference the proverb in order to pass moral judgement on those who intentionally ignore wrongdoing, preferring instead to turn a blind eye, cop a deaf ear, or remain silent when the right thing to do is speak up. 

      For my post on Mizaru and Kikazaru, published back in November 2013, click here. 

 

[4] See Jennie E. Batchelor, 'Be but a little deaf and blind ... and happiness you'll surely find': Marriage in Eighteenth-Century Magazines for Women', in After Marriage in the Long Eighteenth Century: Literature, Law and Society, ed. Jenny DiPlacidi and Karl Leydecker, (Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), pp. 107-127.

      And see also chapter 3 of Batchelor's book The Lady’s Magazine (1770–1832) and the Making of Literary History, (Edinburgh Univerity Press, 2022), pp. 112-113, where she discusses the case of one woman who wrote to the Lady's Magazine in 1774, seeking advice on how to deal with the discovery that her husband has a mistress. 

      Contrary to what she wishes to hear, the reader is told by the magazine's popular agony aunt, Mrs Grey (aka the Matron), that a (rather cynical) form of pragmatism is the best policy; neither seeing, hearing, nor speaking of any thing which may occasion marital discord. This is neither to condone the actions of her husband, nor exonerate him of wrongdoing. But it does recognise that it will not help matters to confront him, as roving husbands are never brought to heel by public reproach.    

 

 

Objects Make Happy

Taffy From the Objects Make Happy series

 (SA/2024) [1]

 

 

I. 

 

At the heart of Graham Harman's object-oriented philosophy is the notion of allure.

 

Allure, says Harman, is something that "exists in germinal form in all reality, including the inanimate sphere" [2] and is the key to all causation. 

 

Allure is the way that objects - which are fundamentally withdrawn  - signal to one another from across the void: "Allure is the presence of objects to each other in absent form." [3] 

 

I love that sentence and love this (rather ghostly) theory. 

 

We may never be able to know an object in itself (i.e., in the fullness of its reality), but we can still come into touch with them and they can still affect us in a variety of ways, not always positively or in a manner that is beneficial to us; I have written elsewhere about the malevolent aspect of objects and what Byung-Chul Han terms the villainy of things [click here]. 

 

But, more often than not, they make happy, which is why when I think of happiness I think of objects [4].  

 

 

II.

 

The feminist writer and critical theorist Sara Ahmed - author of The Cultural Politics of Emotion (2004) - has a fascinating take on happiness and objects in terms of affect theory. 

 

According to Ahmed, there is a sustained (and sticky) connection between our emotions and objects and it's important to realise that happiness, for example, "starts from somewhere other than the subject" [5]. 

 

In other words, to feel happy is to be randomly (but intimately) touched by something; it comes from outside; it's an inner state triggered by external objects (which may include other people, or cats, but which also includes plants, stars, and ideas). Ultimately, happiness is contingent, not essential [6].

 

Of course, as Ahmed points out, as we change over time - as our bodies age, for example - "the world around us will create different impressions" [7] and what makes happy one day may no longer be experienced as so delightful the next; Locke famously talks of the man who loves and then no longer loves grapes [8].

 

Having said that, some objects hold our affection and bring joy across an entire lifetime; I can't imagine a time when Taffy, pictured above, wouldn't make me feel happy. 

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] This charming clay figure, about 9-inches in height, is one I inherited from my mother and whom she named Taffy (presumably because the hat reminded her of traditional Welsh dress). Originally, it contained a small candle which, when lit, illuminated the eyes and mouth in the darkness. It made her happy and it makes me happy. 

      Of course, some will suggest that it's because the object belonged to my mother and reminds me of her that this is why it makes happy. However, whilst this certainly adds to its affective value, I don't think that's the whole story.

 

[2] Graham Harman, Guerrilla Metaphysics: Phenomenology and the Carpentry of Things (Open Court, 2005), p. 244.  

 

[3] Ibid., p. 246.

 

[4] All too often, cultural theorists and philosophers like to investigate negative feelings such as shame, disgust, fear, hate, etc. But it's surely just as valid - and just as vital - to investigate more positive feelings, such as happiness. I agree with Nietzsche's counter-Christian teaching that ethical behaviour is the result of happiness (not vice versa) which is why it makes sense to surround oneself with the objects (be they beautiful or otherwise) that make happy.

 

[5] Sara Ahmed, 'Happy Objects', The Affect Theory Reader, ed. Melissa Gregg and Gregory J. Seigworth (Duke University Press, 2010), pp. 29-51. The line quoted is on p. 29. 

 

[6] As Ahmed reminds us, "the etymology of 'happiness' relates precisely to the question of contingency: it is from the Middle English 'hap', suggesting chance". See 'Happy Objects', The Affect Theory Reader, p. 30. 

 

[7] Sara Ahmed, 'Happy Objects', The Affect Theory Reader, p. 31. 

 

[8] See John Locke, 'Of Modes of Pleasure and Pain', Chapter XX in Book II of An Essay Concerning Human Understanding (dated 1690 but first pubished in 1689).

 

In Praise of Shadows and the Beauty of Japanese Ghost Girls (A Post for Halloween 2016)

A Japanese Ghost Girl or Yūrei [幽靈]

The Land of the Rising Sun is also the Land of the Falling Shadow; a place in which the gathering gloom of twilight and the brilliance of daybreak are held in equal regard and darkness causes no anxiety or discontent. The Japanese accept the moon at midnight and resign themselves to the presence of bats, ghosts, and witches, etc.  

Perhaps no one writes more profoundly in praise of shadows than Junichirō Tanizaki. He understands that the power and the beauty of the object - its allure - is tied precisely to that aspect of it which is forever concealed in darkness and which withdraws from sight (that is to say, its occult aspect).

Take, for example, the fairest and most seductive of all objects - woman - who is arguably never so lovely as she is when at her most spectral, like a phosphorescent jewel glowing softly in the night that loses its magic in the full light of day. In the erotic imagination of the Japanese male, woman is inseparable from darkness; cosmetically enhanced and concealed in the folds of her robe or gown; her raven black hair framing (and often hiding) her white face.       

This is not, typically, a Western aesthetic. For Westerners, beauty is that which shines forth, which radiates, which loves, like truth, to go naked and which can be perceived by the eye. There is, thus, something obscene about our theory of beauty in that it ultimately rests on indecent exposure (not least of sun-kissed female flesh).

And we really rather despise shadowy existence: our quest for enlightenment never ceases and we spare no effort to eradicate even the faintest trace of darkness. Indeed, as Jean Baudrillard pointed out, we would, if we could, leap over our own shadows into a world of pure lucidity and transparency in which to accomplish perfect self-actualization.

Thankfully, however, a being devoid of their shadow, of their mystery, of their object-allure, is no more than a mad fantasy. No matter how bright we make the lights, no matter how much we bare our flesh and reveal our innermost thoughts and feelings, we'll never transcend the night or escape the shadows.

Happy Halloween ...


See: Junichirō Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows, trans. Thomas J. Harper and Edward G. Seidensticker, (Vintage, 2001).