Vade Retro Satana: On the Priestly Nostalgia for Exorcism

Goya's depiction of an exorcism performed by St Francis Borgia 

on a dying impenitent (1788)

According to the Pope, demonic possession is a real and growing threat in the 21st century. In fact, since assuming his position as head of the Church, Pope Francis has repeatedly displayed a multidisciplinary yet fundamentally anti-modern or neo-medieval approach to the theoretical and practical question of Satan.

It was not a great surprise, therefore, to hear that he last month gave his papal blessing to the International Association of Exorcists; an organization formally recognized by the Vatican which argues - somewhat paradoxically one might have thought - that in a secular-material world of reason that deliberately disenchants and deadens faith, the window is thrown wide open to diabolical forces.

During a convention held in Rome, the Holy Father praised those priests who specialize in the difficult work of exorcising demons and stressed how it was important for the Church to offer its love and full support for those unfortunate souls possessed by evil. 

Over three-hundred experts in the field of what might be called sacramental health care, gathered to discuss, among other things, the perils of occultism and how dabbling in the dark arts can lead to eternal damnation. A spokesman for the association - Dr Walter Cascioli, a trained psychiatrist - blamed the recent dramatic rise in demonic activity on popular books, TV shows, and films aimed at impressionable young people. Such works, he explained, not only lead morally astray, but can cause great psychological damage.

Parents, teachers, and social workers thus need to display much greater vigilance and be constantly on guard against the Devil and all his works. Signs of demonic possession vary, but include: loss of appetite, self-mutilation, unnatural body postures, supernatural strength, knowledge of sacred mysteries, and a violent rejection of Jesus and his Gospel of Love.      

Please note: I am actually writing this at the beginning of November, not April, and in 2014 not 1420. I would fully understand if readers of this post feel the need to check the calender or seek evidence for some kind of shift in the space-time continuum. Why is it whenever one reports on the latest pronouncements of the Church one feels as if one has fallen either through a black hole, or, like Alice, down a rabbit hole?    

Les Zazous

Pretty much everyone has heard of the jazz-loving teens in Hitler's Germany known as the Swing Youth, who developed a subversive Anglo-American sensibility and style in diametric opposition to National Socialism. Likewise, those who are interested in this period and in subcultural and counter-cultural forms of resistance to the Third Reich are probably also familiar with the Edelweiss Pirates. But far less well known are the French equivalent of die Swingjugend, called les Zazous.

The Zazous were a group of mostly Parisian based hipsters living under German occupation during World War II who chose to defy their Nazi overlords and display their nonconformity by wearing outlandish clothes, carrying umbrellas, growing their hair long, and dancing to jazz, swing, and bebop.

Whilst boys favoured wearing oversized, often knee-length box jackets, peg leg trousers, and suede brothel creepers, the girls wore short pleated skirts, striped stockings and shoes with thick wooden soles. Often the girls would bleach their hair, worn in long curls, and paint their lips bright red. Both sexes also had a penchant for sunglasses, whatever the weather.

When not hanging about on the terrace of the Pam Pam café drinking cocktails, the Zazous often frequented vegetarian restaurants and ordered grated carrot salads. If there's a subtle political gesture in this choice of lunch, I have to confess it escapes me. But their decision to voluntarily wear the yellow star of David, in solidarity with French Jews, was certainly an overt and courageous sign of dissident behaviour in a country where anti-Semitism was widespread and silent complicity with the Nazis (if not active collaboration) was shamefully often the norm.  

And for this, one cannot help affording them great affection and respect. Perhaps they didn't risk their lives in the same manner as their German counterparts, but they were nevertheless detested and targeted by the Nazis and members of the Vichy government who saw them as a threat to the moral well-being of the nation.

Articles published by the authorities at the time, branded them as decadent, work-shy, anti-patriotic egoists and, after 1942, les Zazous were often attacked and beaten on the streets by pro-fascist groups, or arrested and sent to labour in the fields and farms of the French countryside. 

Disappointingly - though not surprisingly - members of the official French Resistance movement had little time for the Zazous either and afforded them no support or protection. In fact, the communists and other ultra-leftists dismissed the Zazous in much the same terms and for many of the same reasons as the fascists.

But, despite such hostility from both ends of the political spectrum, they still continued to dance, to dress-up, and make their daring and dandyish revolt into style.

I Care - But I'm Not Mother Teresa

I care - but I'm not Mother Teresa.

What do I mean by this? 

I mean that, for me, there is nothing remotely uplifting about looking after someone who is in need of care and I'm not about to sacrifice myself entirely to this tiring and depressing task in the mistaken belief that by so doing I demonstrate Christian virtue.

For unlike Mother T - a woman once described by Christopher Hitchens as a corrupt Albanian dwarf who exploited the poor and dying as extras in her own obscene morality play - I don't confuse or conflate excremental reality with transcendental fantasy. 

Indeed, I agree with Hitchens that it's deeply offensive to fetishize pain and poverty and develop a voracious appetite for human wretchedness; to literally feed off shit and gain personal salvation via the suffering of others.

We have to demoralize our idea of sympathy; i.e. free it from ideal notions of pity and charity which transport us to the foot of the Cross.

And, ultimately, all it takes to do the right thing is a little politeness of the heart or what Nietzsche terms benevolence; kindness, kisses and kuddlz have played a far greater role in building a libidinal culture of compassion or phallic tenderness, than those more celebrated values preached by the Good.  

The Nylon Riots

Nylon is a generic term for a group of synthetic polymers known as aliphatic polyamides, first produced in 1935 by Wallace Carothers whilst working at the Du Pont research facility in Delaware, USA. Although it was initially manufactured as a type of hard plastic and used commercially in nylon-bristled toothbrushes, its most famous application came after it was produced in the form of an artificial silk fabric at the New York World's Fair in 1939. After this date, silk stockings gave way to nylons and female legs would never be the same again.

Immediately popular and in extremely high demand, women in the US and elsewhere went mad for nylons and many millions of pairs were sold and worn with delight. Unfortunately, however, after America finally entered World War II, Du Pont were obliged by government order to cease production of stockings and use the new wonder material for parachutes and other such items required by the military. 

Thus, during the war, women had to make do with old or second-hand stockings; or, if push really came to shove, they resorted to a clever use of cosmetics and painted seams on bare legs in order to create the illusion that they were wearing nylons. 

Not surprisingly, stockings became increasingly sought after and (often stolen) pairs could sell for up to $20 on the black market. American women were desperate for the fighting to end, so that they they could have their menfolk back home and - just as vitally - nylons would be easily available once more. So desperate were they in fact to own new stockings, that when Du Pont shifted its production back to stockings post-war, it resulted in what have become known as the Nylon Riots.

One of the largest disturbances was in Pittsburgh, where 40,000 women queued for 13,000 pairs of stockings, inevitably leading to disappointment, hair-pulling, and eye-scratching. Following similar trouble in Augusta, Georgia, a local newspaper ran with the headline: 'Women Risk Life and Limb in Bitter Battle for Nylons' and reported how crowds forced their way into stores and knocked over display counters as well as each other.

Du Pont, who had promised that all women would be able to have new nylons by Christmas, were obliged to revise their forecast. Indeed, it took several months to finally bring production in line with the frenzy of demand, thereby bringing the mass cat-fights to an end. 

The point is this: it's not just men who love nylons; women too know that bare legs lack magic and that one ultimately gets the greatest joy of all out of a pair of really lovely stockings. 

On the Nose

Idealist philosophers, such as Kant, hate the nose: they only care about the eyes and the production of visual images and mental concepts; scents and smells, be they base or beautiful, mean nothing to them and might almost entirely be ignored.

But for those philosophers who seek to develop a form of libidinal materialism that is firmly rooted in the body and wider sensual experience - who don't wish merely to picture the world, but also to sniff it at close quarters - the nose is the most crucial of organs.

Thus it is that Nietzsche boasts that his whole genius resides in his nostrils and praises the nose as "the most delicate tool we have at our command"; a subtle scientific instrument which can detect minimal changes of condition, including symptoms of moral decay. As such, the nose deserves to be shown respect and gratitude by philosophers.

    

Lovers too know that the nose knows best, which is why they like to literally breathe in the odour of the beloved other; not merely for sensual intoxication and pleasure, but in order to make an accurate physiological assessment of their partner's health and breeding potential.

For it is believed that an individual's body odour - or what is sometimes termed their olfactive signature - is linked with an area of the genome that has crucial import for the immune system. Thus it might well be that knicker-sniffing, for example, is a form of biological imperative; one is seeking out histocompatibility and not just being a bit pervy.  

In Praise of Nivea: The Snow-White Miracle Cream

Although the ingredients for Nivea Creme are openly available on the Beiersdorf website and are little different from other commercial hand and body lotions - Aqua, Paraffinum Liquidum, Cera Microcristallina, Glycerin, Lanolin Alcohol (Eucerit®), Paraffin, Panthenol, Decyl Oleate, Octyldodecanol, Aluminum Stearates, Citric Acid, Magnesium Sulfate, Magnesium Stearate, Parfum, Limonene, Geraniol, Hydroxycitronellal, Linalool, Citronellol, Benzyl Benzoate, Cinnamyl Alcohol - the precise formulation (i.e. how these things are uniquely combined) has remained a company secret for over a hundred years.

I know that such secrecy worries some people and fuels the widespread suspicion (bordering on paranoia) surrounding both the cosmetics and pharmaceutical industries. I am also aware that those eco-ascetics who favour strictly organic beauty products developed by tribal peoples in the rain forests of Borneo, for example, or simply wish to splash cold water on their faces, insist that many of the above ingredients have damaging environmental and/or health effects.

One such critic, for example, writing in The Ecologist, expressed his dismay with what goes into a jar of Nivea and repeatedly played on the concerns of his readership by stressing the terms irritants and sensitizers (i.e. chemicals that, with repeated exposure, may trigger allergic reactions), and, of course, the C-word: carcinogens (i.e. potentially cancer-causing substances). 

Parafinnum liquidum, for instance, is a cheap and easy to manufacture form of mineral oil that acts as a emollient that penetrates the skin and produces a temporary moisturizing effect. But the above critic argued that it destroys the skin's natural oils and thus results ultimately in dryness. Having used the product for many years, I know the former to be true - but I've no idea whether the latter is true, for the writer provides no evidence to back-up his claim. Nor do I know if the synthetic fragrances used in Nivea, such as limonene, linalool, and citonellol can cause eye-irritation, trigger asthma attacks, produce tumours and reproductive abnormalities. They do smell nice, however.  

The point is this: we may not need to use skin creams or perfumes or expensive shampoos, but these things make happy and allow us to dream and have more importance in our lives than we might imagine; which is why it is, I think, that my mother - who is 88 and who, thanks to dementia, has lost her appetite for food, her memories of the past, and even her desire to step out of the house - still insists on applying a generous amount of Nivea Creme each evening before bedtime, in order to keep her face and hands soft and young-looking, just as she has always done. 

That's the beauty of beauty products and the magic of cosmetics and why, for me, Nivea is a snow-white miracle cream; as much of a gift of the German genius, in its own way, as the poetry of Rilke, the music of Wagner, or the philosophy of Nietzsche. 

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).