Don't Touch Me!

Angry weasel by zee1975

imgur.com

 

Noli me tangere, touch me not! / O you creatures of mind, don't touch me!

O you with human fingers, O never put your hand on me!

O you with your human bodies, stay a little distance from me! [1]

Whilst it's true that the term touch, along with tenderness, has a privileged role to play within D. H. Lawrence's phallic vocabulary [2], that doesn't mean that he was always comfortable with people putting their paws on him, particularly in an intimate manner that violates his animal integrity.

Thus, in an amusing verse probably written in 1916 [3], the male protagonist is not best pleased when he is told by his lover, a married woman, that he shouldn't be shy or ashamed of his nakedness; that he should allow her to see and touch and enjoy his body:

 

She said to me: What an instrument, your body!

single and perfectly distinct from everything else!

What a tool in the hands of the Lord!  

 

Just as she once handled her father's riding-whip as a child, and his pens - feeling something surge through her when she touched them - now she wished to grab hold of him and possess his male beauty:

I wish I could grip you like the fist of the Lord,

and have you -

 

This, however, places a constraint upon his heart, leaving him feeling trammelled and hurt. He replies:

 

No tool, no instrument, no God!

Don't touch me and appreciate me.

It is an infamy.

 

And then, somewhat astonishingly, he compares himself to an adder lying in the sun, a young bull in a field, and a weasel on a fence:

 

You would think twice before you touched a weasel on a fence

as it lifts its straight white throat.

Your hand would not be so flig and easy. 

 

What he wants is that she not only recognise his singular beauty, but respect it by hesitating somewhat before reaching forward to caress him. For as Lawrence writes in a later cycle of poems, touch comes slowly, if at all, as a form of trust developing not out of desire, but chastity [4].

 

That's an important point I think (particularly if one wishes to understand Lawrence's complex notion of touch). 

 

But, arguably, it's even more important to acknowledge what Lawrence is telling us here about wild animals; that they hate to be stroked, cuddled, picked up, or petted by humans and so we should refrain from trying to touch them in an inappropriately familiar manner if and when we are fortunate enough to encounter them. 

 

If you want to show how much you admire and care for a wild creature, let it be; respect it in its otherness and acknowledge the pathos of distance that exists between you.     

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I've slightly altered the opening lines from D. H. Lawrence's poem 'Noli me tangere', The Poems, Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 406-07. Italics added.

 

[2] See Annabel Banks, 'Voli Me Tangere: Touch and Tenderness in the Lady Chatterley Novels', Postgraduate English - a Journal and Forum for Postgraduates in English hosted by Durham University - No. 32 (2016). Readers who wish to dowload the full text as a pdf should click here.

 

[3] The poem, 'She Said As Well to Me', is part of the collection Look! We Have Come Through! and can be found in D. H. Lawrence, The Poems, Vol. I, pp. 208-09. It can also be found online: click here.

 

[4] See the Pansies 'Chastity', 'Let us talk, let us laugh', and 'Touch comes', in The Poems, Vol. I, pp. 407-09. And for a follow on post to this one in which I discuss the idea of chastity in Lawrence (and Nietzsche), click here.  

 

 

This post is for animal rights activist and Lawrentian David Brock. 

Look Don't Touch (Notes on Art and Haptic Compulsion)

 Image credit: Raul Arboleda / AFP / Getty Images

 

 

I. 

 

Touching objects is surely a vital activity. But just as green grocers don't like you handling the fruit and veg, so gallery owners seem to have a real problem with people touching works of art on display. 

 

Obviously, there are practical reasons for this; dirt particles and perspiration on the hands can stain or, over time, cause serious damage to the surface of a sculpture, for example, which it might be difficult (or even impossible) to repair. Whilst porous materials, such as wood or stone, are particularly vulnerable, even works made of bronze or stainless steel, are not entirely immune to damage. 

 

Thus, in public art museums the world over there are signs reading do not touch, white boundary lines marked on the floor, and security guards lurking nearby to ensure people keep their distance. The curators want the public to engage with the art and be inspired by it, but they want them to do so with their eyes whilst keeping their filthy paws off. 

 

Oh, and just to be clear, kissing statues is also strictly forbidden and very much frowned upon.   

 

 

II. 

 

Practical concerns aside, there are clearly other issues at play here; aesthetics is founded upon an ideal of detachment and enforcement of the golden rule of look don't touch. Nietzsche, however, mocks this ability to gaze upon beauty apparently free of all desire as immaculate perception and suggests that objective contemplation is very often a disguised form of emasculated leering: click here for a post in which I discuss this. 

 

We see this aesthetic idealism expressed in Byung-Chul Han's 2015 work Die Errettung des Schönen (trans. rather prosaically in English as Saving Beauty (2018)), where he writes disapprovingly of Jeff Koons's sculptures on the grounds that their ultra-smooth surfaces not only reflect a social imperative lacking in all negativity, but cause "a 'haptic compulsion' to touch them, even the desire to suck them" [1].

 

Han writes: 

 

"It is the positivity of smoothness alone that causes the haptic compulsion. It invites the observer to take an attitude without distance, to touch. An aesthetic judgement, however, presupposes a contemplative distance. The art of the smooth abolishes such distance." [2]     

 

Like Hegel, Byung-Chul Han wants art to be meaningful and that requires visual appreciation. For sight, along with hearing, is a theoretical sense that allows us to interpret, judge, and reflect upon a work. Smelling, tasting, or touching an object might inform us of its material reality and sensible qualities, but won't enable us to make profound sense of it as an artwork. 

 

And like Roland Barthes, Byung-Chul Han believes the sense of touch to be "'the most demystifying of all senses, unlike sight which is the most magical'" [3]. Why? Because whilst the latter preserves distance, the former negates it. To touch an object is to demystify it and make it available for enjoyment and consumption: "The sense of touch destroys the negativity of what is wholly other. It secularizes what it touches." [4]

 

For Han, Jeff Koons's seamless sculptures may embody "a perfect and optimized surface without depth and shallows" [5], but so do soap bubbles made of air and emptiness and as any West Ham fan will tell you, there's no real salvation to be found in blowing bubbles ...  

 

 

III.

 

The problem is, whilst I might agree with many aspects of Han's critique of smoothness, I'm a little more ambivalent on the subject than him (and I also like the work of Jeff Koons, as discussed in a recent post: click here).

 

Further, it seems to me that professor of museum studies, Fiona Candlin, is right to call for a radical rethinking of aesthetics as it has traditionally been conceived and to challenge the idea of art museums as sites of visual learning. In her 2010 study, Art, Museums and Touch, Candlin demonstrates that touch was - and remains - of crucial importance within the history, theory, practice, and appreciation of art, whilst, at the same time, contesting ideas of touch as an unmediated and uncomplex (i.e., primitive and inferior) mode of discovery [6].     

 

Having spent many years investigating why visitors to galleries and museums often can't help reaching out to (illicitly) touch exhibits, Candlin shows just how common this is. Whether those moonlike philosophers who wish us all to simply gaze upon life like it or not, the fact is many people want to physically touch objects they admire and don't like to think of art as something out of bounds and out of reach (nor do they wish to creep around a gallery speaking in hushed tones as if in a church surrounded by sacred relics).

 

Ultimately, perhaps this haptic compulsion is not a sign of an obsessive disorder, nor the mark of a philistine, but, rather a form of resistance to an overly visual (virtual) world. And perhaps sculptures today should be exhibited in darkened rooms where visitors in blindfolds are invited to feel their way around, physically interacting with objects and one another, groping their way into a future democracy; the democracy of touch [7].         

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Byung-Chul Han, Saving Beauty, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2018), p. 3.  

[2] Ibid.

[3] Roland Barthes writing in Mythologies, quoted by Byung-Chul Han in Saving Beauty, p. 4.

[4] Byung-Chul an, Saving Beauty, p.  4.

 

[5] Ibid. 

[6] See Fiona Candlin, Art, Museums and Touch, (Manchester University Press, 2010).  

 

[7] The democracy of touch is an idea found in D. H. Lawrence's late work. I have written several posts discussing the idea; click here, for example, or here. 

      Interestingly, however, Lawrence isn't always pro-touch; see for example what he says in Chapter X of Fantasia of the Unconscious (1922) about "hands exploiting the sensual body, in feeling, in fingering, and in masturbation". 

      As for aesthetics, whilst Lawrence doesn't feel the English are devoid of feeling for the plastic arts, he does believe them to be full of fear for the body and that this fear distorts their vision and instinctive-intuitive consciousness. Thus it is, says Lawrence, that even those intellectuals and critics who get an ecstatic thrill from looking at artworks are "only undergoing a cerebral excitation" and remain essentially unmoved and untouched. See 'Introduction to These Paintings', in Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton, (Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 182-217. The line I quote from is on p. 190.    

 

   

The Day of the Golden Jackal

Canis aureus

 

 

Golden jackals are small wolf-like canids, about three times the size of a red fox, native to Southeast Europe and parts of Asia, with a lovely coloured coat (the golden base shade varying seasonally from a pale creamy yellow to a dark tawny), though, fortunately, not one prized by the fur trade, as it is quite coarse in texture and relatively short in length. 

 

And, I'm pleased to report, their numbers and range have been rapidly expanding during the last few decades. Indeed, you can now find jackals living, hunting and howling in many parts of Central and Northeastern Europe, occupying areas where there are few or no wolves, but abundant food and shelter. 

 

It has been estimated by the IUCN that whilst there may be fewer than 17,000 wolves left in Europe, there are around 117,000 jackals - and the more the merrier, I say, although, of course, all the usual suspects - such as farmers - raise their familiar objections and even poets warn: "We should never have let the jackals loose, and patted them on the head. They were feeding on our death all the while."

 

Sadly, therefore, these intelligent and sociable animals continue to be hunted in many countries and in the charming region of Transcaucasia, where they still associate jackals (as carrion-eaters) with the underworld, they are caught with large fishing hooks baited with meat and suspended three feet from the ground with wire (as the jackals can only reach the meat by jumping, they are then hooked by the lip or jaw). 

 

May the great jackal-headed god Anubis bite off the hands and tear out the throats of those who practice such cruelty ...

 

On Beauty Spots (Contra Tattoos)

Using Gainsborough's Woman in Blue (1770-1780)

to show meaning in mouche placement

hair-and-makeup-artist.com

 

 

I've always been a fan of beauty spots - though preferably of the artificial variety that the French call mouches and which fashionable women (and dandyish men) in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries loved to apply to their faces (much to the scorn of satirists and the anger of moralists).

 

Natural marks can, of course, also be considered an attractive feature but, for me, as a matter of personal taste, I choose flies over moles, and silk or velvet cut into fanciful shapes over clusters of pigmented skin cells [1].

 

Whilst some used them simply to disguise (or divert attention from) smallpox scars or syphillis sores, other (more sophisticated and stylish) individuals recognised them as empty or free-floating signifiers that allowed for the playing of a seductive game; they had no function and carried no fixed meaning as such; they made a face enigmatic and mysterious and opened up a symbolic form of cultural interaction. 

 

As Byung-Chul Han notes: 

 

"The face itself became a stage on which various characters were represented with the help of beauty spots. If they were placed at the corner of the eye, they meant passion. Placed on the lower lip, they indicated the frankness of the wearer. The face understood as a stage is utterly remote from that face we find presented today on Facebook." [2] 

 

Some commentators think that the contemporary equivalent is a tattoo or piercing, but I'm sceptical of this and agree with Han that the tattoo, in today's society of authenticity, is just another expression of "narcissistic introspection, a permanent occupation with one's own psychology" [3]. 

 

In other words, having ink done is all about self-exposure and self-exploitation; an obscene display of the flesh in line with a pornified culture:

 

"Within a ritual context, they symbolize the alliance between individual and community. In the nineteenth century, when tattoos were very popular, especially among the upper classes, the body was still a surface onto which yearnings and dreams were projected. Today, tattoos lack any symbolic power. All they do is point to the uniqueness of the bearer. The body is neither a ritual stage nor a surface of projection; rather, it is an advertising space. The neoliberal hell of the same is populated with tattooed clones." [4]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Beauty marks came in a variety of designs; not just spots, but also stars, crescents, diamonds, and hearts, for example. They were usually black in colour, as this emphasised the whiteness of the skin, but could also be made in colours to match the wearer's eyes or outfit. The most common materials used were velvet and silk, but the poor who sought to imitate the wealthier and more fashionable members of society might use paper or mouse skin to create their patches. Whatever the material, a simple glue was used to adhere them to the skin, which made both application and removal quick and easy. Some would keep their collection of marks in a small decorated box that the French termed une boîte à mouches.

 

[2] Byung-Chul Han, The Disappearance of Rituals, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2020), p. 19. 

      See also The Transparency Society, trans. Erik Butler, (Stanford University Press, 2015), where Byung-Chul Han writes of how the naked face that is exhibited pornographically without any mystery, hides nothing and expresses nothing; it becomes transparent, as it were, and lacks all seductive allure.       

      Han also expands in the above work on his idea of the world of the 18th-century as a theatrum mundi in which communication and cultural exchange occurs via ritual forms, signs, and appearances. No one (apart from religious fanatics and readers of Rousseau) was interested in transparency of soul and revealing their innermost selves; they wanted to play with masks and retain their secrets. In a key passage, he writes:

      "The world of the eighteenth century was still a theatre. It was full of scenes, masks, and figures. Fashion itself was theatrical. [...] Ladies' hairstyles (pouf) were shaped into scenes that portrayed either historical events (pouf à la circonstance) or feelings (pouf au sentiment). [...] Both men and women painted parts of their faces with red makeup. The face itself became a stage on which one lent expression to character traits with the help of beauty marks (mouches). [...] The body was a site of scenic representation, too. However, it was not a matter of giving unfalsified expression to the hidden 'inside' (l'intérieur), much less to the 'heart'. Instead, the point was to toy with appearances, to play with scenic illusions. The body was a doll without a soul to be dressed, decorated, and invested with signs and meanings." [43]  

[3] Byung-Chul Han, The Disappearance of Rituals, p. 18. 

[4] Ibid., p. 21. 

WWJD: Faith in the Age of Coronavirus

 

 

I. 

 

As even a neopagan nihilist such as myself knows, Mass, which incorporates Holy Communion, is the central rite within the Catholic Church and the source and summit of Christian life. 

 

Thus, preventing baptised members of the Church who are are otherwise in a state of grace from receiving the body and blood of Christ in the sacramental act of thanksgiving known as the Eucharist, is a deadly serious matter for those concerned (though whether it jeopardises their immortal soul I'm uncertain). 

 

And so the news that the archbishop of Berlin, Heiner Koch, has barred members of his flock from attending Mass unless they can prove they have been fully vaccinated against Covid-19 is truly shocking and has rightly caused an outcry amongst Catholics worldwide. 

 

Were it not for his resurrection, the body of Jesus would surely be spinning in its tomb! I'm pretty sure he included the sick as amongst the blessed and often displayed the power to heal, taking the suffering of others upon himself, curing lepers, etc. I can't imagine he would turn his back upon the unjabbed or separate them off from his other followers.   

 

 

II. 

 

It is, as I say, shocking - even for an unbeliever and self-styled anti-Christ. But, it isn't surprising having read Byung-Chul Han's analysis of the pandemic and the manner in which Covid-19 has reduced us to a society of survival:

 

"The virus is a mirror. It shows what society we live in. We live in a survival society that is ultimately based on fear of death. Today survival is absolute [...] All the forces of life are being used to prolong life. A society of survival loses all sense of the good life. Enjoyment is also sacrificed for health, which, in turn, is raised to an end in itself. [...]

      The hysteria of survival makes society so inhumane. Your neighbour is a potential virus carrier, someone to stay away from. Older people have to die alone in their nursing homes because nobody is allowed to visit them because of the risk of infection. [...]

      Religious services are prohibited even at Easter. Priests also practise social distancing and wear protective masks. They totally sacrifice faith for survival. Charity manifests itself as keeping a distance. Virology disempowers theology. [...] The narrative of resurrection completely gives way to the ideology of health and survival. In the face of the virus, belief degenerates into farce."*

 

All of this is spot-on, I think. And it reminds me of something Nietzsche said that I would repeat to any person who truly wishes to be counted amongst the faithful: when faced with hardship - or threatened by a terrible disease - then, first and foremost, believe in the miracles of your god ... 

   

 

* Note: Byung-Chul Han, 'COVID-19 Has Reduced Us to a "Society of Survival"', a conversation with Carmen Sigüenza and Esther Rebollo of EFE, the Spanish International News Agency, in Capitalism and the Death Drive, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2021), pp. 120-21.  

Might as Well Jump (Jump!)

Philippe Halsman:  

Grace Kelly Jump (1954) 

philippehalsman.com

 

I. 

 

As much as I admire Byung-Chul Han - and as much as I enjoy reading his books - I do slightly worry that he's just a teensy-weensy bit of a miserabilist. 

 

That is to say, the sort of philosopher who, when asked if he's a happy person, responds by first pointing out that, in his view, this is a meaningless question before then insisting that happiness is not a condition that he aspires to anyway.

 

Or the sort of philosopher who finds the world cruel and confusing and thus almost impossible to comprehend: "That is also why I am not happy. I rarely understand the world. It appears quite absurd to me. You cannot be happy living in absurdity. To be happy takes a lot of illusions, I think." [1]

 

And the sort of philosopher who, when offered a nice piece of cake, says: I don't eat cake ...

 

This perhaps helps explain how it is that Byung-Chul Han has kept his trim, somewhat boyish figure and also why it is that he hates people jumping with joy (particularly in front of a camera lens) ...   

 

 

II.

 

In a short piece first published in Die Zeit, in 2016, Byung-Chul Han claims that young people being photographed these days love to "jump around wildly" and that this phenomenon seems to have spread "like an epidemic" [2]. 

 

He asks: "Are they really jumping with joy? Is jumping an expression of the increasing vitality of our society? Or are these jumps rather pathological twitches of the narcissistic ego?" [3] I'm not sure I know the answer to these questions, but I do know that individuals jumping in front of cameras is nothing new (even if more widespread).  

One recalls, for example, the astonishing pictures of Philippe Halsman, about which I have written previously on Torpedo the Ark [4]. This includes the above photo of American film star (and future Princess of Monaco) Grace Kelly, taken in 1954, which I will always love, no matter what arguments Han puts forward.  

 

However, I am prepared to consider his arguments ...

  

 

III. 

 

According to Han, in earlier times, when photos "served primarily as mementos, people being photographed presented themselves in a calm and civilized manner" [5]. No one, he says, would have dreamt (or dared) to leap about in front of the camera:

 

"The aim of a photograph was mainly to preserve the moment [...] People held back, and the event came to the fore. They receded behind the moment or occasion that was to be remembered. No one wanted to present themselves, let alone make an exhibition of themselves." [6]

 

Looking at old photos - and I'm talking about very old photos - there's obviously some truth in this. But perhaps this is for the same reason that, in most old photos, people aren't smiling either; namely, that early pictures required such long exposure times that the subject had to stay as silent and as still as possible. 

Of course, it's true that after 1900 exposure times became much shorter, thanks to the invention of the box Brownie, which ushered in the age of the snapshot. And yet, smiles were still uncommon in early 20th-century pictures and people were not, as a rule, jumping about in front of the camera; thus there were doubtless cultural conventions in operation (and not merely technological considerations). 

 

For example, photography was still not regarded as a unique art form with its own aesthetic; it was still heavily indebted to the tradition of portraiture in painting. People may or may not have taken themselves more seriously then than now, but they certainly took photography more seriously; having a picture taken was still a big deal and one didn't want to be immortalised acting or looking the fool.    

 

Han says that today, in the age of Facebook, self-exhibition is an absolute value and people vie for attention and for likes. That they have lost that which once gave photographs a certain austere charm and aura (lost their inwardness, their reserve, their humanity) and the world become "merely a pleasant backdrop for the ego" [7].

 

Han concludes: 

 

"We are witnessing the development of a kind of photography that is free of remembrance and history, a photography that is permanently on the hop, so to speak, that has an altogether different temporality, which lacks width and depth, a photography that exhausts itself in moments of fleeting emotion, a photography that is not narrative but only deictic." [8] 

 

The thing is, however, I rather like this kind of photography. One is even tempted to call it (à la D. H. Lawrence) the photography of the immediate present; instant photography in which there is "no perfection, no consummation, nothing finished" [9] (or, as Han would have it, no age, no fate, and no death). 

 

I don't want to stare at old black and white photos of the past, or Roland Barthes's mother, and think this is how it was ... If that makes me a spider monkey who leaps about jumping for attention whilst remaining fettered to the moment and "devoid of the [human] virtues of understanding and wisdom" [10], then so be it.

 

Notes

 

[1] See the conversation between Byung-Chul Han, Niels Boeing and Andreas Lebert, entitled 'I am Sorry, But These Are the Facts', in Capitalism and the Death Drive, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2021), p. 135. 

 

[2] Byung-Chul Han, 'Jumping Humans', in Capitalism and the Death Drive, p. 49.  

[3] Ibid.

 

[4] Let me remind readers who can't be bothered (or don't have time) to click here, that Halsman produced a celebrated series of pictures of famous people jumping in the air, 178 of which were published as a book in 1959, along with an essay containing his philosophy of jump photography that he termed jumpology. 

      Essentially, Halsman was interested in seeing his subjects lose a little self-control and reveal character traits that would otherwise remain hidden. I suppose, that being the case, I would understand Byung-Chul Han's opposition to the project on the grounds that such a desire for transparency has fatal consequences.

 

[5] Byung-Chul Han, 'Jumping Humans', Capitalism ad the Death Drive, p. 49. 

 

[6] Ibid., pp. 49-50.

[7-8] Ibid., p. 51. 

[9] D. H. Lawrence, 'Preface to New Poems', in The Poems, Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), Appendix I, p. 646. 

[10] Byung-Chul Han, 'Jumping Humans', Capitalism ad the Death Drive, p. 52. 

Readers might like to be reminded of my own contribution to jump photography (and the poetry of the present), in a 2017 post featurning the Lithuanian artist Gedvile Bunikyte: click here.  

On Smoothness

Jeff Koons: Rabbit (1986) 

Stainless steel sculpture [1]

 

 

I. 

 

D. H. Lawrence famously contrasted the shape and surface of a peach with that of a billiard ball; privileging the former, velvety and wrinkled with secrets, over that of the latter, so round and finished but lacking in voluptuous beauty for all its smooth perfection [2].  

 

Clearly, for Lawrence, this is an erotico-aesthetic issue; he doesn't like the look or feel of the billiard ball as an object and regrets that it doesn't have the indentation or groove of the peach running along its body; the ripple down the sphere with the suggestion of incision [3].

 

 

II.

 

Byung-Chul Han is another writer who doesn't much care for smoothness and he not only perceives a connection between Brazilian waxing, the iPhone, and the sculptures of Jeff Koons, but objects to all these things on politico-philosophical grounds. 

 

Speaking in conversation with Niels Boeing and Andreas Lebert in 2014, Han explained why he sees similarities between these things and why the ideal of smoothness troubles him:

 

"The commonality isn't that difficult to see: it is the smooth. Smoothness is characteristic of our present. Do you know the G Flex, a smarthone by LG? This smartphone has a special covering. If it gets scratched, the scratch quickly disappears. That is, it has a self-healing skin, almost an organic skin. The smartphone therefore remains perfectly smooth. I ask myself: What is the problem with an object getting a few scratches? Why this striving for a smooth surface? And straightaway a connection opens up between the smooth smartphone, smooth skin, and love." [4] 

 

Han continues: 

 

"The smooth surface of the smartphone is a skin that cannot be damaged, that can avoid any injury. And isn't it the case that today we seek to avoid any kind of harm in love as well? We do not want to be vulnerable; we shy away from hurting and from being hurt. [...] 

      [...] Even art  seeks to avoid injury. There is no damage to be found on a Jeff Koons sculpture - no tears, no fault lines, no sharp edges, no seam either. Everything flows in soft and smooth transitions. It all appears rounded, polished, smoothed out - Jeff Koons's art is dedicated to the smooth surface." [5]    

 

 

III. 

 

What, then, do I think of this? 

 

Well, on the one hand, I quite agree that it's often the irregularities and imperfections that make things (including people) lovable and longtime readers will know that I subscribe to a gargoyle aesthetic [click here, or here, for example], which means I challenge all ideas of wholeness, or completion, or smooth perfection. The devil - which is to say the seductive charm - is always in the detail.    

 

On the other hand, I've also indicated in past posts that I'm a fan of the work of Jeff Koons [click here, or here, for example], have written on the beauty and genius of the iPhone [click here], wear spectacles with anti-scratch lenses, and prefer girls with legs that are silky smooth, rather than rough and hairy [6]. 

 

So let's just say I'm a little more ambivalent on this question than Han ... 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Koons had three identical stainless steel rabbits made in 1986. One of these figures sold for over $91,000,000 in May 2019, making it the most expensive work sold by a living artist at auction. 

 

[2] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Peach', in The Poems, Vo. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. 232. The poem can be found on the Poetry Foundation website: click here. 

      I'm aware of the fact that were one to closely examine a billiard ball one would find that it is neither perfectly round nor perfectly smooth, despite being machine manufactured and cast in resilient plastic materials. It might look (to the naked eye) and feel (to the poet's fingertip) absolutely smooth, but there are numerous micro pits, bumps and scratches on the surface of a billiard ball. 

[3] One is reminded reading this that, for Lawrence "fruits are all of them female" and that he cannot help relating the body of the fig, peach, or pomegranate to the body of woman and her sexual organs. See The Poems Vol. I, p. 229. 

      This metaphorical comparison between fruit and sex is of course long established in the arts; it is, in fact, something of a cliché for (predominantly male) poets and painters to compare breasts to melons, nipples to dark cherries, and moist cunts to ripe figs showing crimson through the purple slit, as D. H. Lawrence would have it. I comment at greater length on this elsewhere on Torpedo the Ark; click here for example, or here.

 

[4] Byung-Chul Han, 'I Am Sorry, But These Are the Facts', in Capitalism and the Death Drive, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2021), pp. 125-26. 

 

[5] Ibid., p. 126. 

      Note that Byung-Chul Han sets out his thinking on smoothness (in relation to the body and to aesthetics) in Saving Beauty, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2018). See the first three chapters in particular. 

[6] Having said that, in one of the earliest posts on this blog (8 Jan 2013), I wrote with regret about the universal Brazilianization of women obliged by porno-social convention to wax or shave their pubic region and recalled the words of Henry Miller to the effect that a hairless cunt lacks mystery and resembles a dead clam (one assumes that Byng-Chul Han would agree with this). Click here if interesed in reading the post in full.  

On Human Nakedness as Seen by Animals

Giovanni Lanfranco:  

Giovane nudo sul letto con un gatto (c. 1620-22)

Oil on canvas (112 x160 cm)

 

I often ask myself who I am at that moment when I'm caught naked

by the silent gaze of an animal; for example, the eyes of a cat ... [1]

 

 

Do animals understand that we are wearing clothes? Or, to put it another way, do they know when we are naked? 

 

D. H. Lawrence suspected his favourite brown hen would, if she could, address him as Mr. Skinflappy: 

 

"Skin-flappy, of course, would refer to my blue shirt and baggy cord trousers. How would she know I don't grow them like a loose skin!" [2]

 

How indeed, being only a chicken? 

 

But what about a cat? For I'm assuming that a cat is more insightful than a chicken when it comes to this question [3] and must surely sense the difference between skin and cloth and know when its human is in the nip? 

 

Didn't Derrida discover this for himself when his cat [4], having wandered into the bathroom, exposed the philosopher's nakedness and caused him to experience a feeling of embarrassment or shame? [5]

 

As Derrida points out, at such moments we are transported back to that moment in Genesis [3:7] when, post-Fall, Adam and Eve know themselves to be naked not only in the eyes of God and each other, but the serpent and all the other animals that inhabited the garden (and so quickly cover themselves with fig leaves). 

As Nietzsche concludes, when the animals look at man - particularly as he stands naked before them on two bare legs - they do not see a creature that is separate and superior; rather, they see "a being of their own kind which has in a most dangerous manner lost its sound animal reason" [6] and is physically maladapted to the world (lacking in speed, in strength, in sharp teeth and fur). 

That's man: the mad animal, the vulnerable animal, and the naked animal ill at ease in its own skin ...

   

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm quoting from memory (so have doubtless not quite got it right) a line by Jacques Derrida in 'The Animal That Therefore I Am (More to Follow)', trans. David Wills, Critical Inquiry, Vol. 28, No. 2, (The University of Chicago Press, 2002), pp. 369-418. Click here to access on JSTOR.

 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, 'Him With His Tail in His Mouth', in Refections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert, (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 316. 

 

[3] Actually, my love of cats might be causing me to be unfair to chickens. For according to a study into their intelligence by a professor at Bristol University in 2013, chickens can not only outperform cats and dogs in several tests of cognitive and behavioural ability, but even four-year-old children.

 

[4] Like Foucault and Deleuze, Derrida had a much-loved feline companion; see my post from January 2018 - 'When I Play With My Cat' - click here. In 'The Animal That Therefore I Am (More to Follow)', Derrida is at pains to stress that when he speaks of a female cat staring at his nakedness in the bathroom, he is referring to an actual creature in all its unique singularity: 

      "I must make it clear from the start, the cat I am talking about is a real cat, truly, believe me, a little cat. It isn't the figure of a cat. It doesn't silently enter the room as an allegory for all the cats on the earth, the felines that traverse myths and religions, literature and fables." [374]  

 

[5] Again, see Derrida's 'The Animal That Therefore I Am (More to Follow)', op. cit., where he confesses: 

      "I have trouble repressing a reflex dictated by immodesty. Trouble keeping silent within me a protest against the indecency. Against the impropriety that comes of finding oneself naked, one's sex exposed, stark naked before a cat that looks at you without moving, just to see. The impropriety [malséance] of a certain animal nude before the other animal [...] the single, incomparable and original experience of the impropriety that would come from appearing in truth naked, in front of the insistent gaze of the animal, a benevolent or pitiless gaze, surprised or cognizant. [...] It is as if I were ashamed, therefore, naked in front of this cat, but also ashamed for being ashamed." [372]

 

[6] Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Book III, §224. This is my translation of the line. The section, entitled Kritik der Thiere ['Critique of the Animals'], reads in full and in the original German:

      "Ich fürchte, die Thiere betrachten den Menschen als ein Wesen Ihresgleichen, das in höchst gefährlicher Weise den gesunden Thierverstand verloren hat, - als das wahnwitzige Thier, als das lachende Thier, als das weinende Thier, als das unglückselige Thier." 

 

 

Beijing Über Alles: On the Western World's Becoming-Chinese in the Age of Coronavirus

Xi Jinping: General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party

President of the People's Republic of China

世界皇帝   

 

 

I.

 

However you wish to term it, Sinofication - i.e., the insidious process by which non-Chinese societies come under the influence of China (be it economically, politically, or culturally) - is an issue of real concern today here in the West [1].

 

Shamefully, however, it is European leaders themselves who - in the name of public safety and protecting their creaking healthcare systems - are actively dismantling liberal democracy and replacing it with an authoritarian model of society obsessed with bio-surveillance inspired by the People's Republic of China: Build Back Better, as they like to say.

 

Thus, for example, the European Commission President, Ursula von der Leyen, has recently called for appropriate discussions concerning the compulsory vaccination of all EU citizens against Covid-19 (or what Donald Trump still insists on calling - with some justification considering where it originated - the Chinese virus). 

 

This comes after incoming chancellor of Germany, Olaf Scholz, announced he too was in favour of mandatory vaccinations and extending use of digital health passes and face coverings, and following Austria's decision to implement forced Covid vaccination from February next year. In Greece, meanwhile, according to Athens-based commentator Maria Thanassa, monthly fines of  €100 will be issued to all over-60s who remain unvaccinated after the end of this month.

 

I mean, this isn't even something we might smile at any longer, is it? Byung-Chul Han is absolutely spot on to warn: "The last man does not necessarily prefer the liberal system. He is, for instance, quite happy to live under a totalitarian regime." [2]

 

The idea that, as a fateful consequence of the coronavirus pandemic, the West is drifting towards a Chinese-style regime of biopolitical sureveillance is one that Han develops in a recent essay entitled 'The End of Liberalism' that I would like to discuss below ... 

 

 

II. 

 

One of the many things I admire about Han is that he doesn't sit on the fence. Thus, he opens his essay by bluntly - and I think accurately - declaring:

 

"It is almost a matter of the inexorable logic of the pandemic that society will be transformed into a permanent security zone, into a quarantine station in which everyone is treated as though they are infected." [3] 

 

And that effectively spells the end of Western liberalism based on the freedom (and right to privacy) of the individual. It's not the past lockdowns that should trouble us, but the "truly fateful insight [...] that only a biopolitics that allows for unlimited access to the individual" [4] can prevent future lockdowns and economic collapse.

 

Today, it's not California über alles which threatens, but Beijing's 21st-century model of disciplinary society that makes possible "the complete biopolitical surveillance and control of the population" [5]. 

 

Who knows the truth of how Covid-19 became a global pandemic, but the virus has entirely transformed the rules of the game and in the name of survival we will willingly sacrifice "everything that makes life worth living: sociability, community and proximity" [6].   

  

 

Notes

 

 [1] It might be noted that European humanity's becoming more Chinese was something that Nietzsche had already identified as a danger in the 1880s; see section 12 of the first essay in the Genealogy, for example. 

      One hundred years later, and it was Prince Philip expressing his concern that Westerners might become slitty-eyed if they succumb to too much Chinese influence.  

 

[2] Byung-Chul Han, The Palliative Society, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2021), p. 56. 

      As Han goes on to write: "As a survival society, the palliative society does not necessarily depend on liberal democracy. In the face of the pandemic, we are drifting towards a regime of biopolitical surveillance." [57]   

 

[3] Byung-Chul Han, 'The End of Liberalism: The Coronavirus Pandemic and Its Consequences', in Capitalism and the Death Drive, trans. Daniel Steuer, (Polity Press, 2021), p. 85. 

[4] Ibid., p. 86. 

[5] Ibid., p. 87. 

      Of course, those zen fascist hippies in Silicon Valley will happily support the Sinofication of society; for them it's a kind of digital utopia that allows for total transparency and demands the level of absolute obedience to authority (as mandated by heaven) that Confucius advocated in his political philosophy.    

[6] Byung-Chul Han, 'COVID-19 Has Reduced Us to a "Society of Survival"', a conversation with Carmen Sigüenza and Esther Rebollo of EFE, the Spanish International News Agency, in Capitalism and the Death Drive, p. 120. 

The Great Beast is Dead (In Memory of Aleister Crowley)

 

Aleister Crowley (1875-1947)

 

"We must conquer life by living it to the full, 

and then we can go to meet death with a certain prestige."

 

 

On this day, December 1st, in the year of our late Lord 1947, the self-styled Great Beast and wickedest man in the world, Aleister Crowley, died, at a guest house in the seaside town of Hastings on the English south coast, of myocardial degeneration (aggravated by pleurisy and chronic bronchitis), aged 72. 

 

One suspects that financial hardship and heroin addiction didn't much help matters, healthwise, either. But there you go: and besides, isn't it better to die poor but still chasing the dragon, than rich and with your feet up, hoping for a peaceful end after a quiet, uneventful life ...?

 

To be honest, Crowley's magickal writings don't particularly excite my interest. But I do admire his outrageous nonconformity and the fact that he subscribed to the view that it is better to be a spectacular failure in this life, than any kind of benign success; and better to be hated than loved.*    

 

Crowley's funeral was held at a Brighton crematorium on the afternoon of Friday, December 5th. Around a dozen people attended, and various excerpts from his works, including The Book of the Law (1909) - the sacred text of Thelema - were read.

 

Naturally, the death of England's most notorious occultist generated press interest and some of the tabloids insisted on describing Crowley as a Satanist and his funeral service (somewhat absurdly) as a Black Mass. 

 

His ashes were sent to his successor, the German occultist Karl Germer, new head of the OTO (Ordo Templi Orientis) in the United States, who buried them, rather quaintly, in his garden in Hampton, New Jersey.  

 

And may he rest in Holy Chaos ...

 

 

* Note: Malcolm McLaren, born a year before Crowley died, would also subscribe to this philosophy of spectacular failure and often mentioned the latter in conversation. McLaren also possessed a silver ring with occult markings that had once been owned by the Great Beast, but threw it into the ocean one day having become convinced that it was bringing him bad luck (or at least that is what he told me when I asked him why he had stopped wearing it). Paul Gorman mentions this ring in his excellent biography, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), p. 416.