Bad Penny

Penny Slinger: Exorcism: Inside Out

Richard Saltoun Gallery (London)

 

I. 

 

Sometimes, we need an artist to turn up like the proverbial bad penny in order to reintroduce a little magic, a little eroticism, and even a little horror into our otherwise safe, sexless, and disenchanted world. 

 

And so, step forward out of the shadows of the past Penny Slinger; a provocative London-born artist whose combination of surrealism and feminism into a queer gothic practice no longer shocks as it once did, but which nevertheless still excites, often amuses, and occasionally gives one the creeps. 

 

 

II. 

 

Her solo exhibition at the Richard Saltoun Gallery (London) - Exorcism: Inside Out - is composed of a number of photographic collages set against the backdrop of a spooky mansion house. The dark fairy tale elements remind one of Angela Carter, with a touch of Daphne du Maurier thrown in (all those birds and animal-headed people) [1]. 

 

We are informed that Slinger is attempting to integrate her own body into an archetypal landscape and  'engaging in a cultural exorcism that explores themes of fetishism and sexploitation from a feminist perspective'. 

 

And that's far enough, although, ideas of empowerment, self-actualisation, and sexual liberation now seem a little naive and old-fashioned and the art itself creaks with more clichés - or what her supporters would call timeless and universal symbols - than you can shake a broomstick at. 

 

Some might believe Slinger's images to be just as daring and challenging now as when they were first conceived, but, unfortunately, that's not the case. And, ultimately, what we are left with here are memories of exhilarating sixties radicalism inspired by Max Ernst; a sincere attempt to transform the outer world through inner dream and the politics of desire ... [2]

 

Notes

 

[1] The exhibition coincides with publication of Slinger's book An Exorcism: A Photo Romance (Fulgur Press, 2024); an extended version of her 1977 book An Exorcism, which has been withheld from UK publication for all these years after another work, Mountain Ecstasy (1978), was seized and destroyed by the British customs having been deemed to be pornographic.  

[2] For an alternative take on Slinger's exhibition, see Young Kim's review in A Rabbit's Foot (30 August 2024): click here.    

Reflections on a Broken Vase

Ai Weiwei: According to What? (2014)

Photo: Daniel Azoulay / Pérez Art Museum Miami

 

 

I. 

 

There was an amusing story in the news a few days ago about a four-year-old boy accidently breaking a 3,500 year-old vase at a museum in Israel. Apparently, he had been attempting to look inside the large jar, which would have once been used to store and transport either wine or olive oil [1].

 

Apart from demonstrating that curiosity isn't merely fatal to cats, it reminded me of Ai Weiwei's controversial decision to deliberately drop and shatter a Han Dynasty [2] Urn back in 1995 in an attempt to tell us something about the construction of economic and cultural value ... [3]

II.

 

This act by a globally famous Chinese artist - and a hero to many for his activism - was clearly intended as a political provocation. 

 

And that was precisely how it was received by the powers that be in Beijing, leaving Ai Weiwei to remind members of the CCP that Chairman Mao had actively encouraged the widespread destruction of antiquities during the Cultural Revolution, on the grounds that in order to build a new world one must first let go of the past and smash old objects, values, beliefs, ideas, and customs.   

 

However, Ai Weiwei failed to see the irony when a Dominican artist called Maximo Caminero decided to attack his installation at the Pérez Museum in Miami in 2014, smashing another 2000 year-old Han dynasty urn that the former had appropriated - along with others - by painting them with cheerful colours. 

 

Caminero was, apparently, protesting the fact that the museum wasn't showing enough work by local artists, but, he had, as Jonathan Jones says, "accidentally punched a massive hole in the logic of contemporary art" [4] and, arguably, exposed Ai Weiwei's own hypocrisy; his condemation of Caminero's act as nothing more than vandalism, leaving him at the very least on conceptually fragile ground. 

 

As for Caminero, unlike the young boy at the Hecht Museum who escaped any punishment, he was found guilty of criminal mischief and given a suspended sentence of eighteen months, plus a hundred hours of community service. He was also obliged to pay $10,000 compensation [5].   

   

Notes

 

[1] The vase is to be expertly repaired and placed back on display shortly. For more on this story as reported on artnet.com, click here.

[2] The Han era in China was contemporary with the Roman Empire in the West, lasting from 206 BCE until 220 CE.

 

[3] The work is entitled Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn (1995) and is captured in a series of three black and white photographs. Ai Weiwei described the urn as a 'cultural readymade'. 

 

[4] Jonathan Jones 'Who's the vandal: Ai Weiwei or the man who smashed his Han urn?' The Guardian (18 Feb 2014): click here to read online. 

 

[5] It might also be noted that two years prior to the incident in Miama, a Swiss art collector by the name of Uli Sigg, who happened to own one of Ai Weiwei's urns - painted with the Coca-Cola logo - decided to drop it on the floor in the same manner as his hero. This was captured in a photographic triptych called Fragments of History. It's interesting how one act of destruction can trigger others in a chain reaction. 

 

Lady Chatterley's Lover Vs the Tin Man

 

Oliver Mellors portrayed by Jack O'Connell in Lady Chatterley's Lover (2022)

The Tin Man portrayed by Jack Haley in The Wizard of Oz (1939) 

 

 

 I. 

 

According to Oliver Mellors, the whole of mankind is not only becoming increasingly tame and sexless, but slowly transforming into what he calls tin people and what we might term today cyborgs (i.e. human beings who have been augmented and enhanced via the integration of artificial components or technology; the sort of bio-mechanical beings that Donna Haraway once encouraged us to embrace with open arms). 

 

One evening, before they both strip off their clothes and fuck like animals in the rain, Mellors informs his lover, Lady Chatterley, that there's no hope to be found in either the ruling class or the working class, nor in any of the coloured races - that all men have been dehumanised by industrialisation:  

 

"'Their spunk's gone dead - motor-cars and cinemas and aeroplanes suck the last bit out of them. I tell you, every generation breeds a more rabbity generation, with indiarubber tubing for guts and tin legs and tin faces. Tin people!" [1]

 

 

II. 

 

I know for sure that Lawrence didn't see The Wizard of Oz (dir. Victor Fleming, 1939), as it was released nine years after his death. 

 

However, he might have read - and almost certainly would have been aware of - the children's novel by L. Frank Baum upon which the film is based, first published in 1900 (with illustrations by W. W. Denslow). And so it's quite possible that when he writes of tin people he was thinking not only of Rossum's Universal Robots [2] but also of Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman.

 

Of course, even Baum wasn't writing in a vacuum; in late 19th-century America, men made out of various tin pieces often featured in advertising and political cartoons and Baum was said to have been inspired by a figure built out of metal parts he had seen displayed in a shop window [3].     

 

 

III. 

 

In Baum's book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Dorothy befriends the Tin Woodman after she finds him rusted in the rain; using his oil can to help free up his movements [4]. 

 

Axe in hand, he joins Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road, accompanied by the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion, headed for the Emerald City, where he hopes to be given a heart - although, funny enough, he already possesses the capacity for feeling and the display of various emotions (even for accidently crushed insects). 

This is explained by the fact that, unlike Tik-Tok the wind-up mechanical man that Dorothy meets in a later story, the Tin Woodman is still essentially human and alive. For Nick Chopper was not a robot, but rather a man who had his organic body replaced with artificial parts bit by bit [5], after self-mutilating with an accursed axe (don't ask). And, far from regretting his becoming-cyborg, he often delighted in his enhanced status. 

 

Unfortunately, the Wizard can only provide him with an artificial heart made of silk and filled with sawdust, although the Tin Woodman seems happy enough with this. And, after Dorothy returns home to Kansas, he becomes the ruler of Winkie Country and has his subjects construct a palace made entirely of tin. Even - and this would horrify Lawrence/Mellors still further - the flowers in the garden are made of metal. 

 

 

The Tin Woodman 

by W. W. Denslow (1900)

 

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 217.

 

[2] In 1920 Czech writer Karel Čapek published a science fiction play with the title R.U.R., an initialism standing for Rossumovi Univerzální Roboti. The play - which premiered on 2 January of the following year - was both popular and influential; by 1923 it had been translated into thirty languages and had introduced the word robot (from the Czech robota, meaning forced labour) into English.

      Lawrence used the word in his late poetry on the subject of evil, declaring: "The Robot is the unit of evil. / And the symbol of the Robot is the wheel revolving." See 'The Evil World-Soul', The Poems Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz (Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. 626.

 

[3] The mechanical man was a common feature in political cartoons and advertisements in the 1890s and various scholars have argued that the work of Baum and Denslow is derivative. That seems a little unfair to me; like most writers and artists, they were atuned to their times and happy to exploit whatever ideas and materials were available to them.

 

[4] The threat of rusting when exposed to rain, tears, or other forms of moisture was a constant concern for the Tin Woodman and so, in The Marvelous Land of Oz (1904) - the first of thirteen full-length sequels written by Baum to The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - the character has himself nickel-plated. The Tin Woodman remains a central figure throughout the whole series of books; unfortunately, I do not have time here to explore his entire history, fascinating as it is.

 

[5] As the author of The Generalist Academy points out in a post entitled 'The Tin Woodman of Theseus' (5 Dec 2020), L. Frank Baum's character took a classic philosophical thought experiment in a novel direction: click here.

 

 

On Board the Ship of Theseus With Melissa Mesku

Melissa Mesku and the 

Ship of Theseus

 

 

I. 

 

A correspondent who knows her Greek mythology (and her French literary theory) writes:

 

In a recent post [1] you refer to Roland Barthes's reference to a ship that has each of its parts replaced over time until it has been entirely rebuilt and how this reinforces one of the key principles of structuralism; namely, that an object is not necessarily born of a mysterious act of creation, but can be produced via the substitution of parts and nomination (i.e., the giving of a fixed name that is not tied to the stability of parts). 

      Barthes, however, mistakenly refers to this ship as the Argo, on which Theseus was said to have sailed with Jason. In fact, it was a different vessel (of unknown name) on which the former sailed from Crete that has given rise to the question that has so intrigued philosophers. Probably you know this, but I think a note for general readers might have been useful so as to avoid confusion and the spreading of misinformation.    

 

I'm extremely grateful for this email which arrived overnight and my correspondent is quite right in what she says; both about Barthes's error and my oversight in not fact checking what he wrote and supplying a brief note of correction.    

 

II.

 

Of course, my correspondent is not the first person to have pointed out that this famous French theorist misremembered his Plutarch; Melissa Mesku, for example, also mentioned this in a brilliant piece in Lapham's Quarterly a few years back [2].

 

Founding editor of ➰➰➰ - a website that delights in recursion and weirdness [3] - Melissa Mesku is someone I greatly admire for daring to celebrate divergence rather than diversity and I thought it might be fun to examine her ideas in the above essay on Theseus's Paradox ...

 

 

III.

 

As Mesku reminds us, Theseus was the mythical hero who famously slayed the minotaur and returned victorious from Crete on a ship that the good people of Athens decided to preserve for posterity; removing old timber as it decayed and replacing it with new wood. 

 

Perhaps inevitably, this soon attracted the attention of the philosophers, who wanted to know if, after many years of such maintenance, the vessel that remained was essentially still the same ship. Some thought it was; others that it wasn't - and philosophers have been arguing over the Ship of Theseus ever since, inspiring many modern ideas to do with the persistence of identity and the return of the same. 

 

Thus, whether this tale has any historical basis or is simply an invention of Plutarch's doesn't really matter, although Mesku is keen to point out that Plutarch "is known for taking liberties as a biographer, and most of his source texts have been lost to time". Further, she adds, the veracity of Plutarch's story "seems especially dubious when we consider that Theseus himself likely never existed". 

 

Leaving the question of whether he was or was not an actual figure, Mesku rightly points out that "the conundrum of how things change and stay the same has been with us a lot longer than Plutarch". Plato, for example, certainly addressed the problem; as did pre-Socratic thinkers such as Heraclitus, to whom it was clear that you can never step in the same river twice. 

 

Two-and-a-half thousand years later, and philosophers are still puzzling their brains over this, although folksy American thinkers often prefer to articulate the question with reference to an axe belonging either to George Washington or Abraham Lincoln depending on who you ask. Followers of John Locke, meanwhile, prefer to think things in relation to an old sock [4] ...!

 

 

IV.

Moving on, Mesku returns us to Maggie Nelson's reference in The Argonauts (2015) to Roland Barthes's discussion of love and language. For Nelson, the Argo functions as a foundational metaphor - retaining what Barthes imparted to it, but also expanding as "a metaphor for the paradox of selfhood, of the 'I' which is immutable yet undergoes constant change". 

 

Since this is where my interest mostly lies - rather than with the work of the Chinese artist Ai Weiwei or the ancient Japanese method of pottery repair using gold lacquer - I think I'll close this post here if I may. 

 

Like Mesku, I'm amused at how changes to Theseus's Paradox have only "augmented its paradoxical nature", whilst leaving us still faced with the question of "just how much change something can withstand without it changing into something else".

 

As a Nietzschean, however, i.e., someone who has stamped becoming with the character of being [5], it's not particularly concerning to realise that the eternal return of the same is an illusion and that what actually returns is difference.

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The post referred to was entitled 'Argonauts' and published on 27 August 2024: click here.  

 

[2] Melissa Mesku, 'Restoring the Ship of Theseus: Is a paradox still the same after its parts have been replaced?', Lapham's Quarterly (21 Oct 2019): click here to read online. Lines quoted in this post are from this digital version of the work.  

[3] ➰➰➰ (spoken as 'many loops') is a website launched in 2019 that publishes prose, fiction, poetry, photo essays, and artwork alongside various hybrid forms and is preoccupied with the concept of recursion - something which Mesku explains far better than I can here.   

 

[4] Mesku suggests that Locke's version of Thesus's Paradox holds up as a metaphor and might even be preferable with a contemporary audience: "Except for one small problem. Scholars are unable to locate any references to socks in Locke's work." Despite this, it has become, according to Mesku, "the current identity paradox par excellence". 

      Personally, I think Hobbes rather than Locke provides us with a far more interesting development of Theseus's Paradox in De Corpore (1655), where, he asks: What if the discarded parts of the original ship were not destroyed, but collected and used to create a second ship? Mesku notes: "As a thought experiment, Hobbes' version solicits different philosophical proofs and can float on its own like the second ship it posits. Yet it is considered to be a mere addition, a twist - just another plank on Theseus' ship."

 

[5] See Nietzsche, The Will to Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale (Vintage Books, 1968), III. 617, p. 330. Nietzsche opens the section with the following line: "To impose upon becoming the character of being - that is the supreme will to power."

Readers interested in reading the 'Life of Theseus' should see Vol. 1 of Plutarch's Lives, trans. Aubrey Stewart and George Long (George Bell & Sons, 1894). Click here to access it as a Project Gutenberg eBook (2004) based on this edition. Section XXIII is the key section for those interested in the fate of his thirty-oared ship once it reached Athens.

 

 

Argonauts

Lorenzo Costa: The Argo

(detail of a panel painting c. 1480–90) 

Civic Museum, Padua, Italy

 

 

I. 

 

As everybody knows, the Ἀργοναῦται were the heroic crew aboard the good ship Argo who, sometime before the Trojan War kicked off, accompanied Jason on his quest to find the Golden Fleece, protected by the goddess Hera.  

 

Whether there is any historical basis to this ancient Greek myth - or whether it was pure fiction - is debatable, but hardly important. It remains, factual or not, central within the Western cultural imagination and, in the modern world, the term argonaut refers to anyone engaged in any kind of quest of discovery ...

 

 

II.       

 

For Nietzsche, a philosophical argonaut was one who continually sought out what he terms die große Gesundheit - that is to say, a form of well-being way beyond the bourgeois model of good health we've been given and endlessly told we have to protect; a form of well-being that doesn't make us superhuman, but, on the contrary, allows us to conceive of that which lies overman. 

 

In The Gay Science, Nietzsche describes this new and greater type of health as "more seasoned, tougher, more audacious, and gayer than any previous health" [1] and he argues that anyone who wishes like an artist-philosopher to experience every desire and sail round the dangerous coastal regions of the soul, needs this great health above all else.    

Argonauts of the spirit, who stand divinely apart from others and who "with more daring than is prudent" risk disastrous shipwrecks, will eventually come upon "an as yet undiscovered country whose boundaries nobody has surveyed [...] a world so overrich in what is beautiful, strange, questionable, terrible, and divine" that to return home no longer holds the slightest attraction.

 

 

III.

 

In 2015, the genre-defying American writer Maggie Nelson published her award-winning and best-selling book The Argonauts; a series of autotheoretical reflections on desire, identity, family, etc.

 

For Nelson, the term refers to one who sets out to explore (in a quasi-Barthesian manner [2]) the possibilities (and limitations) of love and language and she discusses in detail her relationship with the transgender artist Harry Dodge, with whom she lives in Los Angeles. 

 

This queering of the term Argonaut is certainly an interesting development and one wonders what Apollonius would have made of it ...? 

 

Of course, as almost nothing is known about this ancient Greek author who composed the epic poem about Jason and his quest to locate the Golden Fleece in the 3rd century BC - the Argonautika - it's impossible to answer this question. 

 

However, as Apollonius was clearly interested in the pathology of love, I'm fairly confident he'd approve of Nelson's "always questioning, sometimes wonderfully lyrical" [3] attempt to document the series of bodily experiments she and Harry engage in in order to construct a happy and rewarding life [4]. He might even recognise Nelson's book as belonging to a classical genre of literature that deals with queer phenomena: paradoxography. 

 

The literary critic and cultural historian Lara Feigel rightly identifies the question that haunts Nelson's book; namely, can a love that claims to be radically-other or queer unfold within a conventional domestic setting? Or, to put it another way: can one be a sexually and socially transgressive Argonaut and also a regular mom?

 

Although she attempts to get round this by insisting that "queerness can hold together forms of strangeness that have nothing to do with sexual orientation" [5], Nelson remains "conscious of the dangers of 'homonormativity' [...] and aware that the more the state opens its institutions to the LGBTQ world, the less that world will "'be able to represent or deliver on subversion, the subcultural, the underground, the fringe'" [6].

 

Perhaps that's the ultimate sign of the Argonaut: someone who wants the best of both worlds; someone who thinks it reasonable to demand the impossible ...

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Nietzsche, Die Fröliche Wissenschaft (1887), V. 382. I am using the English translation by Walter Kaufmann published as The Gay Science (Vintage Books, 1974). See pp. 346-347. Lines quoted here are on p. 346. 

[2] According to Nelson, the title is a reference to Barthes's idea that two people in a long-term love affair have to continually renew things without changing the form of their relationship - i.e., a bit like the Argonauts had to gradually replace each piece of their ship. Nelson expresses her surprise and joy at the manner in which love can be forever renewed. 

      See the sections Le vaisseau Argo and Le travail du mot in Roland Barthes, trans. Richard Howard (Papermac, 1995), pp. 46 and 114. 

 

[3] Lara Feigel ...'The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson review - a radical approach to genre and gender' The Guardian (27 March 2016): click here. 

 

[4] Whilst Maggie busies herself becoming pregnant with a sperm donor, Harry undergoes a bilateral mastectomy and begins taking testosterone. 

 

[5-6]  Lara Feigel ... op. cit. 

 

 

Fot a follow up post to this one - on board the Ship of Theseus with Melissa Mesku - click here. 

 

I am grateful to Maria Karouso whose blog post on the Greek poet Seferis and mythic history inspired this one: click here. 

Reflections of a Former Eco-Pagan

Pagan: The Magazine of Blood-Knowledge

'The Green Issue' (Issue XXIX, Sept 1989)

 

 

I. 

 

I know that for many people the attempt to combine ecopolitics with some form of religious faith is something new and exciting, but I was working in this (dangerous) area thirty-five years ago, during a time when I identified as a pagan of a distinctly dark green variety and called for countercultural revolution and Lebensreform.

 

Not only was I member of the Green Party in 1989, but Pagan Magazine was enthusiastically advocating a kind of Year Zero primitivism that might have made even Pol Pot uncomfortable. In issue XXIX, for example, I cheerfully called for halving the UK population and praised the blood and soil philosophy of senior Nazi Party official Richard Walther Darré [1].

 

 

II. 

 

Of course, looking back, I'm mortified by my own moral idealism and fanaticism which, somewhat ironically, I was only able to overcome via an intensive reading of Nietzsche and D. H. Lawrence during 1994-2000; two of the authors who had led me to the edge of the Abyss in the first place.   

 

Nevertheless, I don't regret the fact that I explored the mad political and religious fantasies that I did during the mid-late '80s and early 1990s. 

 

It's because of my own background in ecospirituality and ecofascism, that I understand perfectly what motivates radical activists such as Roger Hallam; co-founder of the environmental movement Extinction Rebellion, who is currently serving a five year jail sentence for causing a public nuisance [2].  

 

And it's why I understand also what attracts people to charismatic conspiracy theorists such as David Icke, whose obsession with New Age philosophies didn't prevent him from becoming a national spokesman for the Green Party at around the same time I was working in the press office of their London HQ [3].       

  

 

Notes

 

[1] Darré was one of the leading Blut und Boden ideologists and served as Reich Minister of Food and Agriculture. Not only was he a high-ranking functionary in the Nazi Party, but he was also a senior commander in the SS. It is important to recall that in 1933 many environmentalists and conservationists in Germany welcomed Hitler's regime and praised the Nazis for creating nature preserves, championing sustainable forestry, curbing air pollution, caring about animal welfare, etc. 

      Readers who are interested in knowing more should See Anna Bramwell's Blood and Soil: Walther Darré and Hitler's Green Party (Kensal Press, 1985). Her later work, Ecology in the 20th Century: A History (Yale University Press, 1989) is also recommended.

 

[2] Readers who visit Hallam's website will note that a blog containing an archive of his writings since 2017 has a whole section entitled 'Sprituality', exploring dark nights of the soul and ecstasies of being. Hallam also reveals why, for him, Jesus is still the Man: click here.

 

[3] Icke and myself were both forced to resign roles within the Green Party at around the same time; he because of a penchant for wearing turquoise shell-suits and me for favouring traditional Tyrolean jackets. Admittedly, there were other factors apart from fashion choices that contributed to our leaving; for example, he went on Wogan in April 1991 and claimed to be the Son of God and I was openly contemptuous of the leadership of the Party (and most of the members).    

 

 

Björnjakt

 

"But leaden death is at his heart, / Vain all the strength he plies. 

And, spouting blood from every part, / He reels, and sinks, and dies." [1]

 

 

The ancient peoples of Northern Europe revered the brown bear for its strength and some regarded it as the animal ancestor of mankind; others believed that bears formed a bridge between the natural world and that of the gods (Odin and Thor were both said to take the form of a bear when visiting Midgard).

 

Even in modern times, the name Björn - meaning bear - is still common and respected across Scandinavia, particularly in Sweden,  a nation whose penal code makes cruelty to animals - be it intentional or due to gross carelessness - a criminal offence punishable with a large fine and/or imprisonment. 

 

Protection is thus afforded to all animals capable of suffering, including bears ...

 

And so it was surprising as well as distressing to read this morning in The Guardian [2] that Swedish hunters have already slaughtered 150 brown bears in the opening two of days of the annual bear hunt and that the government has authorised the shooting of a further 336 bears, thereby reducing the overall population by 20%, and placing the future of the animal in serious jeopardy.

 

Obviously, this annual bear hunt is a controversial event and has attracted opposition: but still it continues, with the hunters afforded full police protection, and still these magnificent beasts are killed for no reason other than to satisfy the blood-lust of a few individuals who call what they do sport and insist it's part of their cultural heritage. 

 

Last year saw a record-breaking cull of 722 bears (and let's not mention the fact that large numbers of wolves and lynx are also killed in similar authorised hunts). 

 

This is further depressing due to the fact that brown bears were only recently brought back from the edge of extinction in Sweden; their numbers recovering to a peak of 3,300 in 2008. Since then, thanks to the licensed annual hunts, that number has been reduced by 30% to around 2,400. 

 

At this rate, it won't be long before the number of bears is once again believed to be too small to maintain a viable population, not just in Sweden, but in neighbouring regions across the border with Norway. Appeals by the Norwegians to rethink the number being killed fell on deaf Swedish ears, however.   

Where, one wonders, are the EU officials who are supposed to ensure that the EU directive prohibiting the hunting or killing of a strictly protected species (such as the brown bear) is adhered to? Why are they turning a blind eye to the hunting of large carnivores, not just in Sweden, but in other European countries, including Romania and Germany, for example? 

 

Could it be because the European Commission President, Ursula von der Leyen - and note the cruel irony of her first name (meaning she-bear) - wants to appease the powerful farming lobby and has had it in for wild beasts ever since a wolf killed her pet pony in 2022 ...? [3]

 

 

Notes 

[1] Abraham Lincoln, 'The Bear Hunt', in The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, Vol. I, ed. Roy P. Basler, Marion Dolores Pratt, and Lloyd A. Dunlap (Rutgers University Press, 1953), pp. 386-89. Click here to read on the Poetry Foundation website.

 

[2] See Beata Furstenberg, 'Swedish hunters kill more than 150 brown bears in first days of annual cull', The Guardian (23 August, 2024): click here. I'm grateful to the author of this article for many of the details in this post.

 

[3] See Louise Guillot, 'Von der Leyen is campaigning hard - against the wolf', on politico.eu (6 June, 2024): click here. 

 

Readers who are concerned about what's happening in Sweden might like to visit the website of Sweden's Big Five - a carnivore protection project that provides information and images on resident populations of lynx, wolf, bear, wolverine, and human being: click here. 

 

Have the German People Sacrificed Their Soul?

Elon Musk's Tesla Gigafactory (Grünheide)

 

 

Once upon a time, there was a land stretching north of the Rhine all the way to a far-off northern sea and which, south of the mighty river, was covered by a vast impenetrable forest of dark fir and pine-trees, home to deer and elk and wild-boar, to grey shadowy wolves and growling brown bears.

 

"This Hercynian forest created the greatest impression on the Roman imagination. No one knew how far it stretched. [...] A great silence pervaded everywhere, not broken by the dense whisper of the wind above." [1] 

 

And the blue-eyed people who lived in this ancient land worshipped the trees that were so strong in life and nailed the heads of their enemies to them. The sap-conscious trees provided them with shelter and strength and fed their souls. The enormous inhuman power of the forest was greater even than that of the Roman army. 

 

"The true German", writes D. H. Lawrence, "has something of the sap of trees in his veins even now: and a sort of pristine savageness [...] He is a tree-soul, and his gods are not human." [2]  

If that's the case, however, then how do we explain the fact that the German government has allowed construction of a Tesla gigafactory - i.e., a factory producing large numbers of batteries for electric vehicles - resulting in the destruction of over 500,000 trees? [3]

 

In the name of Net Zero and the so-called green economy, hat das deutsche Volk seine Seele geopfert?

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, Movements in European History, ed. Philip Crumpton (Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 45. 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, Fantasia of the Unconscious, ed. Bruce Steele (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 87.

[3] Satellite images of the site in the Berlin-Brandenberg area show that over 800 acres of forest were cut down between March 2020 and May 2023: that's almost three times the size of Kew Gardens. 

 

 

Notes on (Not) Being Nice

Louis Balfour: Presenter of Jazz Club

(Played by John Thomson)

 

 

I. 

 

According to a book published in 2017 by Alain de Botton and his fellow eggheaded idealists at The School of Life [1], niceness is something that needs to be rediscovered; for niceness is, they say, a hugely important quality and one of the highest achievements of humanity. 

Conceding that the Latin root of the word nice - nescius - means ignorant and that niceness is often equated with being weak, poor, boring, and sexless, those who affirm it as a virtue insist that to be nice is not only to be more pleasing and agreeable, but also to be more charitable and forgiving; more patient and willing to listen to others. 

 

However, I think this is to conflate niceness with kindness, despite the Stoic insistence on keeping these things distinct [2]. 

 

 

II. 

 

D. H. Lawrence, of course, would have none of Botton's bullshit. He mocks those who pride themselves on being nice and insist upon others being likewise. 

 

Particularly the English who, he says, are so awfully nice that they probably qualify as the nicest people in the world: "And what's more, they're very nice about being nice" [3]. It's their niceness that makes them superior. 

Unlike the puppeteer in Walter Wilkinson's novel The Peep Show (1927), Lawrence is offended by those who are too nice to him. 

 

Thus, whereas the former refuses to be embittered by his experiences and is determined to remain cheerful in the belief that, on the whole, most people are nice to him, the latter says he would "spit on such niceness" [4]. 

For Lawrence thinks it naive to retain faith in an ideal of niceness when "the world is not altogether a nice place to show puppets" [5] and is full of people who are mean and vulgar and callous beneath their niceness. 

 

Because I think that's true, I would echo Lawrence's prayer: "God save me from the nice ordinary people" [6] - and from having to be nice!

 

   

Notes

 

[1] Alain de Botton is a Swiss-born British author and pop-philosopher who co-founded The School of Life in 2008. The book - On Being Nice - was published by The School of Life in 2017. 

      For the record: I don't like Botton and I don't like his School. I also agree with Lisa Levy who dismissed an earlier series of self-help books published by the School as consisting of jargon "pitched somewhere between the banal banter of daytime talk shows and the schedule for a nightmarish New Age retreat".        

      See her essay 'How to Think More (But Not Better): Alain de Botton's School of Life', in the Los Angeles Review of Books (11 May, 2013): click here.

[2] If I'm not mistaken, in Stoic philosophy whilst kindness involves treating others fairly and is therefore an aspect of justice (one of the cardinal virtues alongside wisdom, courage, and moderation), niceness is not seen as fundamental to human goodness (and might even be thought to be simply the appearance of kindness; one might behave nicely in order to seem good).   

[3] D. H. Lawrence, 'The English are so nice!', The Poems, Vol. I., ed. Christopher Pollnitz (Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 568-569. The line quoted is on p. 569.

[4] D. H. Lawrence, 'Review of The Peep Show, by Walter Wilkinson', in Introductions and Reviews, ed. N. H. Reeve and John Worthen (Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 321-327. The line quoted from is on p. 326.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid., p. 327. 

D. H. Lawrence and the Wandervögel

Wandervögel [1] by H. M.Brock [2]

 

"And they tramped off to the forests with sturdy youths bearing guitars, twang-twang! They sang the Wandervogel songs, and they were free. Free! That was the great word. Out in the open world, out in the forests of the morning, with lusty and splendid throated young fellows, free to do as they liked, and, above all, to say what they liked." - D. H. Lawrence [3]

 

 

In his 1924 'Letter from Germany', D. H. Lawrence briefly mentions the queer gangs of youths and maidens carrying rucksacks, he has observed in Heidelberg. They strike him as strange and somewhat primitive; "like loose roving gangs of broken, scattered tribes" [4], full of a new kind of faith born of the silent forest and the unalterable German soul.

 

Later, whilst in flowery Tuscany in the spring of 1927, Lawrence is stirred to comment on two German youths striding purposively southwards toward the sun. And this time he even names them for what they are:

 

"Yesterday, in the flood of sunshine on the Arno at evening, I saw two German boys [...] They were dark-haired, not blondes, but otherwise the true Wandervogel type, in shirts and short trousers and thick boots, hatless, coat slung in the rucksack, shirt-sleeves rolled back, above the brown muscular arms, shirt-breast open from the brown, scorched breast and the face and the neck glowing sun-darkened as they strode into the flood of evening sunshine, out of the narrow street. They were talking loudly to one another in German, as if oblivious of their surroundings [...] And they strode with strong strides, heedless, marching past the Italians as if the Italians were but shadows." [5]  

 

Emphasising the uncanny, almost inhuman, but nontheless wonderful aspect of their presence, Lawrence continues:

 

"In spite of the fact that one is used to these German youths, in Florence especially, in summer, still the mind calls a halt, each time they appear and pass by. If swans, or wild geese flew honking, low over the Arno in the evening light [...] they would create the same impression on one. They would bring that sense of remote, far-off lands which these Germans bring, and that sense of mysterious, unfathomable purpose."  [6] 

 

For whatever strange reason, the Wandervögel "make a startling impression" [7] on Lawrence in a way that other youths tramping about - including the English - do not. Watching them, transports him back in time and "Germany becomes again to me what it was to the Romans: the mysterious, half-dark land of the north, bristling with gloomy forests, resounding to the cry of wild geese and of swans, the land of the stork and the bear and the Drachen and the Greifen" [8]. 

 

There's nothing ridiculous about the Wandervögel: they are simply extraordinary and one is left not quite knowing what to think or feel about them; genuinely other, they seem to belong to an unknown race and far-off land. 

 

Perhaps that's why having been sent to Dresden as teenagers in order to complete their education, both Hilda and Constance Reid gave the "gift of themselves" [9] to sturdy German youths with whom they talked, and sang, and camped under the trees; for there's nothing as exciting as loving "creatures from the beyond, presaging another world" [10].

 

Notes

 

[1] The Wandervögel were members of a bourgeois anti-bourgeois youth movement or subsculture that existed in Germany between the years 1896 and 1933 and who subscribed to an eco-völkisch philosophy that rejected many aspects of modern urban-industrial civilisation. 

      Mostly, they went hiking in the woods, sang songs, sunbathed, and dreamed about reviving old Teutonic pagan values. They might be thought of as a more radical version of the Boy Scouts, although some commentators, such as Gordon Kennedy, prefer to regard them as proto-hippies. At its peak, the movement - which was divided into three main national groups - had up to 80,000 members. When the Nazis came to power in 1933, the movement was outlawed and members were absorbed into the Hitler Youth or, if female, into the League of German Girls.      

 

[2] Henry Matthew Brock (1875 - 1960) was a British illustrator. Many works of Victorian and Edwardian fiction contained his drawings. 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires (Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 6-7.

 

[4] D. H. Lawrence, 'Letter from Germany', in Mornings in Mexico and Other Essays, ed. Virginia Crosswhite Hyde (Cambridge University Press, 2009), p. 151. 

[5] D. H. Lawrence, 'Flowery Tuscany', in Sketches of Etruscan Places and Other Italian Essays, ed. Smonetta de Filippis (Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 239.

 

[6] Ibid.

 

[7] Ibid., p. 240.  

[8] Ibid. 

[9] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover ... p. 7.

 

[10] D. H. Lawrence, 'Flowery Tuscany', in Sketches of Etruscan Places and Other Italian Essays, p. 241.