The Present is a Foreign Country

The Bower, Bedford's Park, Collier Row, Essex

© Copyright John Winfield and licensed for reuse under the CCL

The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.

Hartley's famous opening line to his 1953 novel, The Go-Between, remains profoundly true; although, of course, it would be equally true to say the same of the future and it's that recognition which so excites the imagination of writers of science fiction.

Indeed, one might also argue that, thanks to the rapidity of cultural, social, and technological change, even the present can suddenly become unfamiliar and alienating, even threatening. Mass immigration, for example, changes an area completely. The newcomers not only do everyday things differently to the native population (eat different foods, wear different clothes, pray to different gods), but they are themselves different; perhaps not radically other, but distinctly foreign-looking and foreign-sounding.

I have experienced this recently after spending time back in the town (and indeed the house) where I was born and grew up. And, I have to admit, it's disconcerting; not to feel cut off from the past or from my childhood, but from what remains and what has replaced the world and the people I knew.

Further, without wanting to sound like a middle-aged Tory, I also have to confess that it's those bits of the past that have stayed pretty much the same - or at least offered the best illusion of sameness, such as landscapes - that provide most comfort and a reactionary though nevertheless joyful feeling of nostalgia.   

A Brief Note on Heaven and Hell

The Amusement of the Saints in Heaven

by Watson Heston

Proponents of heaven and hell usually have very little to tell us about the former; white clouds and robes, unfading flowers, and choirs of angels singing the praises of a God who sits on a large golden throne ... It's a place most memorably described by Christopher Hitchens as a celestial North Korea.

It's the latter destination, hell, that really excites the pornographic imagination of believers; all kinds of obscene torture, violent punishment and sexual humiliation are said to take place there, to say nothing of those caves and ragged clothing and the heat - my God the heat! - that so terrifies Elaine Benes.

And, to top it all off, above the gates of hell is a sign which, according to Dante, reads: Built in the Name of Eternal Love - words even more chilling than Arbeit macht frei.

Nietzsche, however, disputes this and says it displays a certain philosophical naivety on the part of the Italian poet. There is a sign, but it's placed rather above the entrance to heaven and the inscription reads: Built in the Name of Everlasting Hate.

For what guarantees the bliss of those in paradise is nothing other than the spectacle of suffering provided by those unfortunates - including family members and friends - burning below: Beati in regno colesti videbunt poenas damnatorum ut beatitudo illis magis complaceat, as Thomas Aquinas, the great Christian teacher and saint writes in pious Latin. The English translation reads:

"The blessed in the kingdom of heaven shall view the torment of the damned, so that they may better enjoy their own salvation." [Summa Theologiae]

Christianity did not discover cruelty as one of the great festive joys of mankind, nor did it invent the idea of an underworld, but only the Church sanctified cruelty in this manner and gloried perversely in torture porn as a form of moral righteousness.

On the Question of Care

Image taken from Nolen Gertz's amusing blog:

ethicistforhire.blogspot.co.uk

The idea of tying the concept of care exclusively to duty is fine perhaps within a legal context, but not so fine (inadequate as well as inappropriate) when it comes to a personal-ethical situation. For in the latter, care is not just a question of paying back a debt that is owed or meeting an obligation.

Thus when caring for a loved one, such as an elderly parent for example, then to care is to grieve or to mourn their frailty and the fact of their immanent passing (their mortality); in Lawrentian terms, one might say to care is to assist another in building their ship of death.

Thus Heidegger was not far off the mark when he linked Dasein's being in the world both to Sorge (care) and to Sein-Zum-Tode (being-towards death).  

The Case of Ghoncheh Ghavami

As profoundly ridiculous as the recent case of the seven young people tried in Tehran for singing and dancing to a pop song was (see the post entitled On the Will to Happiness), the case of Ghoncheh Ghavami is even more absurd and depressing.

For here we find a women's rights activist from Shepherd's Bush with a law degree from SOAS, languishing in an Iranian prison for over a hundred days and presently on hunger strike, for the "crime" of attending - or rather attempting to attend - a men's volley ball match at the Azadi stadium. 

In Tehran primarily to visit family and friends and to work with a charity that teaches street urchins to read, 25-year-old Ms Ghavami fell victim to a law passed in 2012 which bans women from attending all major sporting events - not just volleyball - in order to protect them from the lewd behaviour of male spectators caught up in the excitement of the moment. 

Although formally she has been charged with spreading propaganda against the Iranian regime (a charge that potentially carries a jail term of several years), Amnesty International is right to insist that what Ghoncheh is really being punished for is her peaceful attempt to highlight discrimination against women in Iran.

I wish there was something clever I could say here - a way to give the story a neat philosophical twist - but, as is increasingly the case, my heart's not in it. I simply want this young woman freed and allowed to come home as soon as possible. That, and the end of all forms of sexism, misogyny, and violence against women (particularly when institutionalized at state level and justified by religion).

Prisoners of Fashion

A convict uniform 1830-49

Copyright National Library of Australia

(nla.pic-anc6393471)

I don't know if anybody has ever actually been convicted for crimes against fashion, but it might not be a bad idea for certain individuals to spend some time locked behind bars in solitary confinement, so they might better think through their sartorial choices.

For prison has long been an environment that subjects people to discipline and detail exercised via clothing. Well-known examples would include the classic striped-look, seen for example on Charlie Chaplin in The Adventurer, the heavy-denim outfit worn by Elvis in Jailhouse Rock, and the contemporary bright orange jumpsuits popularized by Guantánamo detainees.

Personally, I've always liked the use of broad black arrows stamped onto a heavy woollen outfit consisting of jacket, trousers and pillbox hat. Often worn by British convicts transported to Australia to work on chain gangs, the arrows signified that they remained subjects of the Crown even when Down Under. Uncompromising hob-nail boots completed a look which was still being used as late as 1922.

I suppose the point is that inmates are expected to reflect upon what they've done and where they find themselves and the wearing of distinctive uniforms designed to shame and stigmatize is meant to assist with this process; that clothes maketh the convict just as much as the chains that are sometimes worn as accessories. But, paradoxically, the uniforms can also produce a feeling of pride and outlaw swagger, which is why many young people often adopt and adapt looks that first arise from within Her Majesty's prisons or American penitentiaries (such as sagging).

Thus, I rather regret the findings of the research conducted during the more liberal periods of the twentieth century which indicated that inmates respond better to the rules governing prison life if they are allowed to wear their own clothes and which led to the phasing out of distinctive prison garb in the UK and elsewhere.

On the other hand, I'm happy to hear that in the United States many wardens are choosing to revive traditional looks, such as the striped-outfit of yesteryear. I'm not sure it will help with rehabilitation, but it will certainly help with giving back to prisoners a distinctive and stylish criminal identity.


Note: the picture shows a lovely magpie style black-and-yellow, hand-stitched convict uniform from Tasmania. The jacket is front-buttoning with a high stand-up collar and long sleeves. The trousers are marked with the famous arrow design mentioned above. It is made from rough woollen Paramatta cloth manufactured in Sydney, Australia. 

A Brief Note on the Case of King Lear (For EF)

Goneril, Regan and Cordelia 

© SingerofIceandFire (2012)

deviantart.com

Is there a more hateful and pathetic figure in Shakespeare than Lear? Self-righteous and self-pitying, he deserves the offspring he begets and the tragedy that befalls him. 

Thankless children might be sharper than serpent's teeth, but vain, selfish parents for whom nothing ever comes of nothing - and nothing their sons and daughters do is ever good enough - leave deeper scars still with their blunt dentures and constant grinding criticism.

More often than not, the young are more sinned against than sinning and blessed is the orphan without the dead weight of family history or filial obligation to pull them down. 

(There's a duty of care, yes, but not at the expense of one's own well-being or sanity ...)

On the Beauty and the Genius of i-Phone 6

Apparently, many buyers of the new i-Phone - the i-Phone 6 - are angry that, due to its slimness, it's easily bent when carried about the person. This has also caused great amusement among Apple's corporate competitors and media detractors. 

But what has been described as a design flaw is actually the beauty and the genius of the i-Phone 6: it has transcended its own base origins in functionality and become a useless object; that is to say, a true work of art. 

Apple have - quite brilliantly and daringly - manufactured the first non-mobile mobile! The idea is not to carry it and use it like lesser though sturdier smart phones, but simply to own it and admire it in its lovely white box. Even, one might adore the i-Phone 6 as a sacred object. For ultimately, Apple wants to create a sense of wonder and reverence amongst its followers; something far beyond mundane customer satisfaction. 

If all you want is a fast, efficient, practical and affordable mobile phone, then buy a Sony or Samsung.

A Thanatological Fragment

First she decided she no longer wanted to go out. Then she decided she no longer wanted to get up. Finally, in death, decision making was no longer an issue and her house-bound, bed-bound days gave way to a period of violent decomposition during which the religious-minded believe souls to be heaven-bound, when really it's merely a return of hydro-carbon atoms to the material world, having broken free from their imprisonment in a particular life-form. 

Whether we like it or not, matter is always struggling to escape essence and to abandon vital complexity; always seeking to return to a state of inanimate simplicity. Our bodies have no loyalty to their own organization or substance; they continually decay and race towards catastrophe (we call this ageing). 

But we shouldn't reify death, nor confuse the fact of our own individual death with non-being. At most, death might be seen as a temporary pause or refreshment before the inevitable return to what Nick Land describes as the compulsive dissipation of life. This sounds a bit like mysticism, but science will confirm that organisms are so vigorously recycled at death that every atom we possess will have already been part of many millions of earlier living (and non-living) things. 

Thus, whilst there is no personal survival of death - the self is destroyed and not simply transformed or spirited away from the scene of the crime at the last instance - we do house and reincarnate the atomic souls of the dead. This is why death is always our affair and why, ultimately, Nietzsche was right to say that being alive is simply a very rare and unusual way of being dead. 

I thought this in 2006 and I still think it now: I find it helps as I watch my mother, who is 88, and recently diagnosed with dementia, slip away ...

Spicebomb

Since its launch two years ago, the Viktor and Rolf fragrance for men, Spicebomb, has continued to divide opinion and get up certain people's noses; which is not necessarily a bad thing, as nothing can be as deadly-dull as consensus.

Personally, I like it and continue to wear it, for all its rather unrefined characteristics and despite the bottle design by Fabien Baron which - in an age of terror - is somehow not only inappropriate, but also serves to strengthen the depressing link between virility and warfare, masculinity and violence. 

I'm sick to death of incendiary objects - be they grenades, people, or perfumes - which threaten to explode in my face and I really have no wish to be overpowered by brute force. Having said that, when it comes to scents, I do like a touch of vulgarity and a hint of exotic decadence and perfumer Olivier Polge gives us this with his Spicebomb via a clever combination of elements including top notes of bergamot and grapefruit, heart notes of pink pepper, chilli and saffron, and base notes of tobacco, vetiver, and leather accord.

Indeed, the irony of Spicebomb is that for all the macho packaging and posturing of the advertising campaign, it retains a slightly sickly sweetness and a degree of femininity rather than a hard-edged spiciness and it's these qualities that ultimately seduce.

It's not subtle, but it is surprising. And it is subversive; of its own name, its own bottle, and of the gender stereotypes that it initially seems to reinscribe.  
     

Note: Viktor and Rolf's Spicebomb is available from the usual high street and online stores in 50 and 90 ml sizes. Also available as a shower gel, aftershave balm, and deodorant.    

The Case of Alice Gross

Alice Gross isn't the only teenage girl to go missing in the last month. In fact, she's one of many - although, thankfully, most are found or voluntarily return home after a day or two.

But, perhaps because she lives nearby and I've become familiar with her face staring out from the above poster in a Vermeer-like manner, I can't help feeling a particular interest in her case and a genuine concern for her well-being.   

I also think of her family and friends trapped in a chaos of anxiety provoked by her absence and by the solemn wait for news of her whereabouts; fearing the worst, but hoping for the best and shifting between these poles of delirium without any sense of reality or time.

It's pointless to try and busy oneself with daily activities in such a situation. For as Barthes says, there is an entire scenography of waiting in which the one who has been left behind is obliged to constantly replay the loss of the loved object and anticipate what it is to mourn their death.