Colaphology: On the Politics and Pleasure of Turning the Other Cheek

Iconic image of Tyler Durden 

by digital artist Gedo: gedogfx

 

If you turn the other cheek, you will get a harder blow on it than you got on the first one. 

This does not always happen, but it's to be expected. And you ought not to bitch about it if it does happen. 

 - The gospel according to St. Tyler

 

 

It's commonly believed that when Jesus instructs his followers to turn the other cheek he is offering a moral rejection of revenge and retaliation and promoting a politics of pacifism and non-violence [1]. 

 

But couldn't it be that, actually, this is a form of ironic defiance; one that not only confuses one's enemy but renders them (momentarily at least) impotent; a strategy that Baudrillard calls seduction and cheerfully describes in terms of the revenge of the object [2].   

 

We see a perfect illustration of this in the scene from David Fincher's Fight Club (1999) in which Tyler Durden allows himself to be savagely beaten by the owner of Lou's Tavern when the latter discovers that his basement is being used as an illicit venue. 

 

Having repeatedly struck Tyler full in the face, Lou is at a loss what to do next; he has been robbed of his power to act by Tyler's mocking passivity and so can only concede to Tyler's request to be allowed continued use of the basement as a fight club [3].   

 

Of course, there's something perverse (if not psychotic) about Tyler's behaviour in this scene; his mad laughter betrays the fact that - to paraphrase Adam Ant - there's so much happiness behind his tears [4]. 

 

Similarly, the passion of Christ also involved a masochistic acceptance of extreme pain, humiliation, and martydom, so that the Son of God could achieve his moral victory with tongue pressed firmly in turned cheek as he hangs naked and erect upon the Cross [5].

 

 

Notes 

[1] See Matthew 5: 39 in the New Testament. The King James Version reads: "But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also." 

      This moral teaching forms a key component of Jesus's Sermon on the Mount, but its interpretation is far from agreed. New Testament scholar R. T. France, for example, rejects the translation of the word anthistemi, as 'resist' in the general sense of the term. In the original Greek, he says, ἀνθὶστημι translates more accurately as 'do not resist by legal means'. For France, therefore, the view that Jesus is advocating a politics of non-violence - to the point of facilitating further aggression agaist oneself - is a misunderstanding

      As for the curious fact that Jesus explicitly speaks of the right cheek being hit, this is probably best explained not in terms of the left-hand being associated with evil (though there are numerous instances of this association to be found in the Bible), but as evidence of a back-handed slap; still a powerful gesture of contempt today. To slap with the palm of the hand is an act of violence, but it is not a grave insult nor intended to remind the person being struck of their social inferiority. 

      See: R. T. France, The Gospel According to Matthew: An Introduction and Commentary (Varsity Press, 1985). 

 

[2] See Jean Baudrillard, Seduction, trans. Brian Singer, (St. Martin's Press, 1990). 

      Arguably, there is a parallel (of sorts) between Baudrillard's thinking on seduction and the revenge of the object and Christian anarchism à la Tolstoy. Whilst I wouldn't want to make too much of this, it might also be noted how the American biblical scholar and theologian Walter Wink - a key figure in the movement to reform Christian belief in line with postmodern philosophy - clearly picks up on the subversive elements of Jesus's teaching which challenge traditional power structures by turning the tables. See his book Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination, (Fortress Press, 1992).       

 

[3] To watch this scene from Fight Club (dir. David Finch, 1999), starring Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden and featuring Peter Iacangelo as Lou, click here. 

[4] Adam and the Ants, 'Beat Me', B-side of the single 'Stand and Deliver' (CBS Records, 1981). The track - an old song from Adam's punk days - later featured on the compilation album B-Side Babies (Epic Records, 1994): click here. 

      Those readers interested in the kinky aspects of face slapping as a form of rough play practiced within the world of BDSM might find this short introduction on bound-together.net of interest. 

 

[5] The phenomenon of the death erection amongst executed prisoners is well-documented. Although usually associated with hanging, or other forms of swift, violent death, who knows what unintended side-effects crucifixion might produce. As the art historian and critic Leo Steinberg reminds us, a number of Renaissance artists depicted Jesus with a post-mortem hard-on. Perhaps not surprisingly, these works were suppressed by the Church for several centuries. 

      See: The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and in Modern Oblivion (University of Chicago Press, 1996).  

This post - a contribution to the new science which was born on 22 August, 1975, in a church in Berlin, and named colaphology by Michel Tournier - is dedicated to Catherine Brown. 

On the Politics of Resistance and Refusal

Picking up on a footnote to a recent post in which I indicated that I'm more attracted to a strategy of refusal than offering a form of resistance, someone writes suggesting I'm being a bit pedantic:

"Whether D. H. Lawrence adopted various literary devices in order to refuse or resist the tragic reception of the times in which he wrote, doesn't really matter. The important fact is that he was not a tragedean in the conventional sense of the term. And besides, the difference between these two verbs is often fuzzy; a refusal of something often involves resisting its effects."   

I suppose that's true: though I'm not sure expressing a concern for semantic precision necessarily makes one a pedant. And, even if it does, there are worse things to be. So let me try to explain the distinction between resistance and refusal in a bit more detail ... 

Baudrillard has shown how the idea of resistance in a transpolitical era characterised by the techno-social immersion of the individual rather than their alienation, has become problematic and even a little passé. Absorbed within a global network, from where might one find a point of resistance? Or, to put it another way, in a virtual world, where all that is solid has been dissolved, how does one stand one's ground?  

We might, perhaps, internalise resistance and thus retain it as a kind of ethical component in our own lives (resisting, for example, the temptation to surrender to the molecular forms of fascism that haunt our dreams and fool us into thinking we might find easy or final solutions to complex problems).

Alternatively, we are obliged to do one of two things: either accelerate the process we might otherwise have resisted, pushing it beyond its own internal limits to the point of completion and collapse; or we can become like Bartleby and turn away from the things we find distasteful, refusing the game we are invited to play (a game in which the illusion of resistance is merely a complementary form of opposition).

The latter is the strategy of he or she who refuses to take tragically an essentially tragic age; who reacts with irony, indifference, or insouciance in the face of falling skies etc. Such a strategy may lack the optimistic possibility of political coherence, but, on the other hand, it might trigger a chain reaction of (rapid, violent, unexpected) events (destructive of what Lawrence terms the Umbrella).   

Refusal, then, is a form of nihilism and what Baudrillard terms abreaction, rather than a progressive politics of resistance and reaction:

"We have to make a clear distinction between reacting, which is to arm oneself against - and try to destabilize - the system, and abreacting. Abreaction consists merely in expelling something: you just don't accept it, but you don't fight it either, and you harbour no illusions about possibility of overcoming it. It’s simply unacceptable."

Arguably, Lawrence anticipated this line of thought in his late work, realising that even a desperate fictional analysis of the times written among the ruins and which ends a little droopingly, is preferable to writing another novel like The Plumed Serpent which fantasises about armed resistance and revolution.

Mellors would love to "'wipe the machines off the face of the earth [...] and end the industrial epoch absolutely, like a black mistake.'" But he knows that's impossible. So, all he can do is hold his peace and try to live his own life as far as possible without compromising his manhood, as a kind of outlaw and refusenik.

Notes

Jean Baudrillard, Fragments, trans. Chris Turner, (Routledge, 2004), p. 72. In this same interview with François L'Yvonnet, Baudrillard says:

"I'm a bit resistant to the idea of resistance, since it belongs to the world of critical, rebellious, subversive thought, and that is all rather outdated. If you have a conception of integral reality, of a reality that's absorbed all negativity, the idea of resisting it, of disputing its validity, of setting one value against another and countering one system with another, seems pious and illusory. So there doesn't seen to be anything that can come into play except a singularity, which doesn't resist, but constitutes itself as another universe with another set of rules, which may conceivably get exterminated, but which, at a particular moment, represents an insuperable obstacle for the system itself. But this isn't head-on resistance. That doesn't seem possible any more." [71]

This nicely summarises his position, which is also pretty much my position. Readers who are interested should see my essay 'Jean Baudrillard: Thinking the Transpolitical', in Visions of Excess and Other Essays, (Blind Cupid Press, 2009), pp. 147-68.

D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires, (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 220.