Lost in Space mit Martin Heidegger

Lost in Space mit Martin Heidgger 

(SA/2026)

 

'It is no longer the Earth on which human beings dwell today ...'  

 

 

I. 

 

One of the things I have to remind myself of when reading Heidegger is that even if he was born in the year Nietzsche went mad and published Sein und Zeit a few months before The Jazz Singer premiered in New York, he lived for a significant number of years after 1945 and so witnessed (whether he wished to or not) a period of rapid global transformation marked by huge geopolitical events and socio-cultural shifts.

 

We know what he thought about the Cold War - that it was a battle for technological mastery of the Earth fought between two superpowers that, whilst ideologically opposed, were metaphysically identical - and yet we have no idea what Heidegger thought about the sexual revolution, the extension of civil rights, England winning the World Cup, or a thousand other things that he could have commented on had he wished to do so. 

 

However, thanks to a posthumously published interview with Der Spiegel, we do know how he regarded the space race ... [1]

 

 

II.      

 

Whilst Heidegger did not comment directly on the 1969 Apollo moon landing, in the above interview he did express his horror at the idea of humanity venturing into space; one small step for a man, one giant leap further into the void for Dasein. 

 

Looking at photographs of the Earth taken from space by the robotic lunar orbiters launched by NASA in 1966-67, Heidegger said he was frightened, regarding the images as evidence that we no longer dwell (i.e., have our being) on Earth in any meaningful sense. Instead, our relationship with the world had become, he said, purely abstract, reducing the Earth to a planetary object to be surveyed and enframed (i.e. reduced to a mere resource for exploitation).  

 

For Heidegger, das Raketenzeitalter, as he called it, was perhaps even more disasterous than the Atomic Age; for whilst the latter threatened to blow us all to kingdom come, the Rocket Age essentially evicted humanity from its terrestrial home. He provocatively claimed that nuclear weapons were thus no longer needed as the technological revealing exemplified within the space race had already resulted in mankind's existential uprooting.   

 

For Heidegger, the idea of colonising the Moon (or other planets, such as Mars) was anathema; for the Moon was a physical environment that could never be a world in the true sense of the term, only a site for technical manipulation. Far from expanding the human horizon, space exploration would only reduce and narrow such by making everything distanceless. 

 

Heidegger also criticised the modern scientific jargon used to describe the heavens; what he called rocket language made words purely functional and thereby rendered authentic communication or poetic engagement with the world impossible. 

 

In sum: Heidegger wholeheartedly rejects the idea advanced by Captain Kirk and the crew of the starship Enterprise that our destiny as a species is to "explore strange new worlds" and to "boldly go where no man has gone before" [2]. 

 

  

Notes

 

[1] This interview with Der Spiegel was conducted on 23 September, 1966, by Rudolf Augstein and Georg Wolff. It had been granted by Heidegger only on the condition that it remain unpublished during his lifetime and so was not published until 31 May, 1976. 

      The interview is commonly known by the title 'Only a God Can Save Us' in the English translation by William J. Richardson, which can be found in Heidegger: The Man and the Thinker, ed. Thomas Sheehan (Transaction Publishers, 1981), pp. 45-67. Click here to read on the Internet Archive. 

 

[2] I'm quoting here, as I'm sure most readers will know, from the opening monologue spoken by William Shatner as Captain James T. Kirk during the opening title sequence of the original Star Trek series (1966-69).

 

 

For a sister post to this one - 'Back of the Net mit Martin Heidegger' (13 Jan 2026) - click here.    

 

 

Reflections on the Loss of UR6: A Commentary by May Spear

Image by Zanda Rice (2024)

collider.com 

 

 

I. 

 

Nobody likes to go to the dentist, not even a poet. 

 

However, several poets have attempted to write of the experience and aftermath of dental surgery, particularly the sense of loss and trauma that follows an extraction. 

 

One thinks of Simon Armitage's 'For the Record', for example, a humorous yet savagely detailed account of having four wisdom teeth pulled; a procedure which leaves him talking with another man's mouth [1]. 

 

And one thinks also of Stephen Alexander's 'Reflections on the Loss of UR6' which formed the very first published post on his long-running blog Torpedo the Ark back in November 2012 [2], and it's this poem - reproduced below - that I'd like to offer a commentary on here.

 

 

II.

 

Reflections on the Loss of UR6

 

Extraction is dental-speak for an act of extreme violence, 

carried out in the name of oral hygiene: a final solution 

to the question of what to do about those teeth that cannot be 

coordinated into a Colgate-clean utopia. 

 

Afterwards, your mouth feels like a crime scene; 

a bloody site of trauma and violation rinsed with 

a saline solution. 

 

The sense of loss is palpable: it makes me think of her 

and the manner in which I too was extracted like UR6. 

 

Yet Bataille insists that a rotten tooth - even after removal - 

continues to function as a sign and provocation, just like an 

abandoned shoe within the sphere of love.

 

 

III.  

 

Like Simon Armitage, Alexander uses a mundane surgical procedure as a darkly comic metaphor for an emotional trauma that seems to extend far beyond the dentist's chair.  I love the way he juxtaposes terms in order to strip away the façade of clinical sterlity that modern dentistry prides itself on and exposes the underlying physical violence. 

 

And I love too how his closing reference to Bataille adds a pleasing philosophical layer to the work [3], although his attempt to elevate the poem from being merely a poignant personal account into a political critique of fascism is not entirely successful; describing a dental extraction as a final solution is a hyerbolic historical allusion that some will find insensitive, to say the least. 

 

My main disappointment with the poem, however, is the fact that it fails to develop the tragic love story at its heart: I want to know more about her and what it means to be extracted (and abandoned) like a troublesome tooth. Ultimately, political metaphors and philosophical references need to be balanced with more concrete images and personal details. Alexander tells us his sense of loss is palpable, but he doesn't allow us to share the actual feeling and that, unfortunately, is a serious weakness in any piece of writing. 

 

And yet, for the record, I still prefer it to Armitage's (technically superior) poem which, in my view, lacks danger or any underlying sense of menace. Indeed, if asked at drillpoint by a Nazi dentist I would have to say it's safe.     

   

  

Notes

 

[1] Simon Armitage, 'For the Record', in CloudCuckooLand (Faber and Faber, 1997). The verse can be read on Google Books: click here. 

      The poem was also published in the London Review of Books, Vol. 19, Issue 16 (21 August, 1997) and subscribers can access it by clicking here. 

    

[2] This post - which comes with a photograph of Alexander's dentist at the time, Georgie Cooper, BDS (Hons) MFDS RCS Eng. MSC - can be accessed by clicking here.   

 

[3] An academic colleague of mine insists that the Bataille reference is problematic in that it relies on the reader having a specific intellectual background and that without such the final stanza may appear to be an unnecessary philosophical footnote rather than a thoughtful poetic conclusion. I don't agree with this, however.   

 

 

On Spinoza's Four Great Disciples

Les quatre grands disciples de Spinoza

(Nietzsche - Lawrence - Kafka - Artaud)

 

I. 

 

Spinoza is one of those philosophers I have never read and about whom my knowledge is extremely limited: I know, for example, that he was a 17th-century Dutch thinker of Portuguese-Jewish origin and a founding figure of the Enlightenment who preferred to earn his living as a lens grinder, rather than accept an academic post that might compromise his intellectual independence. 

 

I also know that he rejected the idea of free will and divine judgement and argued for a kind of pantheistic monism (i.e., the belief that God and Nature are one and the same identical and infinite substance). Such thinking made him a controversial figure at the time and and a thorn in the side of the religious authorities. 

 

Finally, I know that Deleuze was a great admirer; that Spinoza was the thinker who provided him with the basis for his own work on immanence and encouraged a joyful affirmation of life free from belief in a world beyond, or tedious moral concepts that always terminate in judgement and punishment.  

 

For Deleuze, Spinoza was le prince de philosophes and he had four great heirs or disciples: Nietzsche, D. H. Lawrence, Kakfa, and Artaud [1]. The question that interests me here, however, is not how or why Deleuze arrives at this conclusion, but what did each of these four think of the renegade Jew who gave us modernity ...? [2]

 

II.  

 

Let's work backwards and begin with Artaud, who, as far as I'm aware, never mentioned Spinoza in his writings, suggesting that the link between the two is something formed almost exclusively in Deleuze's philosophical imagination. 

 

Deleuze (and Guattari) may like to think of Spinoza's Ethics (1667) as anticipating Artaud's notion of the body without organs, but that's not something that ever occured to the French dramatist who introduced the world to the theatre of cruelty. 

 

Indeed, according to one scholar, Artaud's work is ultimately incompatible with Spinoza's rationalism [3]. For whereas Artaud aims to liberate libidinal energy and resist the body's rational organ-isation, Spinoza, in contrast, wished to perfect man via reason and an active form of knowledge. Both spoke about joy and passion, but each conceived such terms in radically different ways.    

 

 

III. 

 

Unlike Artaud, Franz Kafka apparently did acknowledge his indebtedness to Spinoza - even if he didn't do so in his published writings - considering him a spiritual mentor during his younger years when part of an intellectual circle in Prague which often discussed the Dutchman's work [4].

 

Kafka was particularly interested in Spinoza's notion of an indifferent deity; i.e., one who was blind to the suffering of humanity. This idea shaped Kafka's construction of an amoral fictional universe in which there is ultimately no justice, despite all the mechanisms of law and order put in place by mankind.      

 

 

IV.

 

Amusingly, one commentator has described Lawrence as a "sort of sexy Spinozist" [5], which I think is pushing things a bit too far, even if it's fair to say that Lawrence's own thinking does align in certain key aspects with Spinoza's philosophy. 

 

For example, Lawrence's model of pantheism which insists that God exists only in bodies; or his concept of blood-knowledge, which has echoes of Spinoza's intuitive science (a third way of knowing beyond imagination and reason which allows one to grasp the essence of things and experience a sense of blessedness or oneness with the universe).     

 

But again, as with Kafka and Artaud, there is hardly a mention of Spinoza in any of Lawrence's writings; the only one I can recall from memory is in the short prose piece 'Books' in which he dismisses him as another of those philosophers who, like Kant, only thought "with his head and his spirit" (and never with his blood) [6]. 

 

 

V. 

 

Finally, we arrive at Nietzsche  ... 

 

And finally we find actual written references to Spinoza that we are able to cite, such as the postcard sent to his friend Franz Overbeck in the summer of 1881, in which Nietzsche expresses his astonishment and delight at having found a precursor - i.e., someone in whose work he recognises himself, even if, due to differences in time and culture, there remained certain important points of divergence [7]. 

 

In the Genealogy (II.15), meanwhile, Nietzsche acknowledges Spinoza's insight into (and the need to overcome) traditional moral concepts. Material found in his notebooks from this period also show Nietzsche turning to Spinoza for ideas, particularly concerning the transformation of knowledge into a passion. 

 

Ultimately, Nietzsche saw in Spinoza someone who was able to think beyond good and evil - someone who scorned the teleological fantasy that the universe had some ultimate goal, or that man possessed free will.

 

Having said that, however, it's also true that Nietzsche viewed his own concept of will to power as superior and more radical than Spinoza's insistence that life strove above all for its own preservation. And in his mature (some might say mad) Dionysian phase, it's hard to believe that Nietzsche would have had much time for Spinoza's defence of reason as the essential human faculty leading to freedom.       

 

 

VI.

 

In sum: whilst Deleuze isn't simply joking or trying to be provocative by grouping together Nietzsche, Lawrence, Kafka, and Artaud as disciples of Spinoza, we need to take this idea with a pinch of salt and remember that none of the above saw themselves as such. 

 

Essentially, Deleuze was highlighting a number of conceptual connnections between them which might otherwise go unnoticed. He was probably also attempting to make Spinoza more relevant to a contemporary readership and, perhaps, inseminate Spinoza with his own ideas. 

 

Thus, it might be best to think of Nietzsche, Lawrence, Kafka, Artaud, and Deleuze himself as a line of thinkers who share common ground with Spinoza, but are not followers per se (more like fellow travellers); artist-philosophers who above all else want to have done with judgement.    

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See the essay 'To Have Done with Judgement', in Gilles Deleuze, Essays Critical and Clinical, trans. Daniel W. Sith and Michael E. Greco (Verso, 1998), pp. 126-135. 

      According to Deleuze, it was not Kant but Spinoza who, in breaking with the Judeo-Christian tradition, carried out a true critique of judgement and had "four great disciples to take it up again and push it further: Nietzsche, D. H. Lawrence, Kafka, Artaud" (126). 

 

[2] This description was coined by the American philosopher and novelist Rebecca Goldstein and formed the subtitle of her biographical study Betraying Spinoza (Random House, 2006). 

 

[3] See Jon K. Shaw, 'Athleticism Is Not Joy: Extricating Artaud from Deleuze's Spinoza', in Deleuze Studies, Vol. 10, No. 2, (Edinburgh University Press, May 2016), pp. 162-185. 

      As Shaw writes in the Abstract to this essay, "much of Artaud's metaphysics is incompatible with Deleuze's Spinozism, not least the relation between a body and its constitutive outside, and the questions of affect and expression": click here. 

 

[4] In the absence of direct references to Spinoza in Kafka's writings, we have to rely on biographical studies and scholarly analysis to confirm the latter's interest in (and sense of kinship with) the former. I'm not sure I'd speak of parallel destinies between the two, however, although that's the argument put forward by Carlos García Durazo in his essay on Medium (24 Oct 2024): click here. 

 

[5] See Mattie Colquhoun, 'Rainbows: From D. H. Lawrence to the NHS', on Xenogothic (23 Dec 2020): click here.  

 

[6] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Books', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 198. 

 

[7] Nietzsche, postcard to Franz Overbeck (30 July, 1881). It can be read (in English translation) on The Nietzsche Channel: click here. 

      It is interesting to note that Nietzsche doesn't simply identify with Spinoza because of certain shared ideas, but also because the latter was, due to his radicalism, very much a maligned and marginalised figure in his own day (much as Nietzsche felt himself to be in modern Germany). 

      It is also important to remember that Nietzsche's understanding of Spinoza was mostly based on his reading of secondary sources, such as Kuno Fischer's highly influential six-volume study Geschichte der neuern Philosophie ['History of Modern Philosophy'] (1854-1877). 

      See Andreas Urs Sommer, 'Nietzsche's Readings on Spinoza: A Contextualist Study, Particularly on the Reception of Kuno Fischer', in the Journal of Nietzsche Studies, Vol. 43, No. 2 (Autumn, 2012), pp. 156-184. This essay is available on JSTOR: click here. 

 

 

The Velvet Underground Versus the Sex Pistols: a Postscript

The Velvet Underground (Sterling Morrison / Maureen Tucker / Lou Reed / John Cale) 

Photo by Gerard Malanga (1966)

The Sex Pistols (Steve Jones / Glen Matlock / Johnny Rotten / Paul Cook)

Photo by Peter Vernon (1976) 

 

I. 

 

As conceded in a recent post contrasting 'Venus in Furs' by the Velvet Underground with 'Submission' by the Sex Pistols [1], the former song is undoubtedly the more interesting of the two. However, that's not to say I would agree with this which arrived in my inbox in response:   

 

Quite why anyone would choose the scuzzy little marketing joke of Sex Pistols over the catastrophic beauty and kinetic mystique of The Velvets is beyond me . . . 

 

 

II. 

 

It's a peculiarly affecting line of criticism; one that could only have been written by a fan of the latter - note, for example, the use of the shortened band name to indicate intimacy and insider status (although there was also an early 1960's doo-wop group called The Velvets and one is tempted to feign confusion just to be irritating). 

 

Clearly, the writer prioritises artistic complexity over what they see as crude commercialism. But what is also clear from the sentence structure and grandiloquent language employed, is that this critic is something of an intellectual and cultural elitist - catastrophic beauty ... kinetic mystique - who uses phrases like this without wishing to signal their superiority? 

 

By dismissing the Sex Pistols as no more than Malcolm McLaren's scuzzy little marketing joke, they also position themselves as someone who can see through popular cultural trends such as punk; trends that lack the depth, authenticity, and high aesthetic value of the kind of avant-garde pop (or art rock) produced by the Velvet Underground. 

 

 

III.

 

Of course, this subjective and judgemental style of writing is one that many music journalists have experimented with and, to be fair, it can be entertaining (even if some readers may find it a tad pretentious) [2]. And one is reminded also of a letter written by a teenage Stephen Morrissey to the NME critiquing the Sex Pistols for their shabby appearance and 'discordant music' with 'barely audible' lyrics [3]. 

 

However, before my anonymous correspondent gets too excited by this - for if he loves the Velvet Underground, he's bound to love Morrissey -  he should note that Morrissey also praises the punk band for knowing how to get their audience dancing in the aisles and compares them favourably to his beloved New York Dolls (another scuzzy group managed briefly by McLaren which, I imagine, my correspondent hates just as much as the Sex Pistols). 

 

 

IV.

 

Ultimately, whilst belonging to two very different eras, the Velvet Underground and the Sex Pistols were both seminal bands and it is beyond me why we should be forced to choose between them. 

 

Having said that, my love and loyalty remains with the peculiars of 430 Kings Road rather than Andy Warhol's Factory and I prefer the comic anarcho-nihilism of the Sex Pistols to the dark poetic surrealism of the Velvet Underground.      

 

  

Notes

 

[1] See 'The Velvet Underground Versus the Sex Pistols: Venus in Furs Contra Submission' (6 Jan 2026): click here.

 

[2] I am sympathetic to Thomas Tritchler who calls for a rethinking of the term 'pretension'; see the third and final part of his post 'On the Malign/ed Art of Faking It' (27 Dec 2014): click here.

 

[3] Morrissey's letter was published in the NME on 16 June, 1976. It was written in response to the Sex Pistols' gig at the Lesser Free Trade Hall, in Manchester, on 4 June, 1976. To read the letter on Laughing Squid, click here. See also Alice Vincent's article on the letter in The Telegraph (23 July 2013): click here. 

 

The Velvet Underground Versus the Sex Pistols: Venus in Furs Contra Submission

The Velvet Underground: Venus in Furs (Verve Records, 1967) [1]

The Sex Pistols: Submission (Virgin Records, 1977) [2]

 

 

I. 

 

Back in November 1977, I was one of the few who purchased the 11-track pressing of Never Mind the Bollocks, with 'Submission' included as a bonus 7" (later, this song would be included on the actual album) [3]. 

 

As I disliked the song, however, regarding it as one of the weakest of the thirteen tracks written by Jones, Matlock, Cook and Rotten, I very rarely bothered to play it.   

 

Funnily enough, I still dislike it now; whereas, in contrast, I have grown to increasingly love 'Venus in Furs' by the Velvet Underground, a song which forms an interesting point of comparison ... 

 

 

II.

 

Written by Lou Reed and originally included on The Velvet Underground's debut album in 1967, 'Venus in Furs' was inspired by the novel of the same title by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch (1870). And like the book, the song explores themes to do with BDSM. 

 

It's a great track: featuring Reed on vocals and lead guitar, the disturbing and decadent sound of John Cale's electric viola, and a tambourine played by Moe Tucker, it is rightly considered one of the band's most perfect songs.  

  

 

III. 

Whether Malcolm McLaren had a particular liking for 'Venus in Furs' I don't know. But he was certainly inspired by Andy Warhol and the Velvet Underground and it was McLaren who suggested to Matlock and Rotten that they attempt to come up with a song entitled 'Submission', celebrating the kinkier aspects of human sexuality.  

 

Of course, Rotten being Rotten - more puritan than libertine and ever-ready to display his sophomoric sense of humour - there was no way he would (or could) write a lyrically sophisticated pop song along the lines of Reed's 'Venus in Furs'. And so we get a piss-take song in which the suggested title and theme of submission is taken literally as a 'submarine mission', which is kind of clever and mildly amusing, but not that clever or amusing [4].   

 

McLaren's thoughts on the end result (if he even bothered to listen to the song) are not recorded, but I can't imagine him being impressed with Rotten's little joke. 

 

 

IV.  

 

In sum: the Velvet Underground's 'Venus in Furs' and the Sex Pistols' 'Submission' contrast in their approach to a shared theme; whilst the former is a seductive art-rock exploration of BDSM, the latter is a punk-rock parody that subverts the intended meaning of the title suggested by their manager (I believe this is known as malicious compliance). 

 

In the end, I suppose, it's up to listeners to decide between shiny shiny boots of leather and an octopus rock and whether they favour the atmospheric and experimental music of the Velvet Underground, or the raw but ultimately more conventional sound of the Sex Pistols.  

 

Nine times out of ten, I would choose the latter; but not in this case.  

 

  

Notes

 

[1] This artwork, by Dave Lawson, inspired by the Velvet Underground song 'Venus in Furs', is available to buy from Indieprints: click here. 

 

[2] This is label of the one-sided 7" single 'Submission' given away with copies of the 11-track version of Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols (1977). See note 3 below. 

 

[3] Apparently, the 11-track edition of Never Mind the Bollocks with the 'Submission' single was the result of Virgin rushing to get the album released before a competing version was released in France on the French label Barclay Records, with whom McLaren had legitimately negotiated a separate deal. 

 

[4] It has been suggested by one commentator that the song does, in fact, retain a covertly sexual meaning and describes an act of cunnilingus. See 'The Story Behind the Song: "Submission" by the Sex Pistols', on the music website Rocking in the Norselands (10 March, 2025): click here.  

 

 

For a related post to this one - a post that I hadn't remembered writing or publishing until reminded by a torpedophile with a much better memory than mine - click here. And for a postscript to this post on the Velvet Underground and the Sex Pistols, click here. 

 

 

Musical bonus 1: The Velvet Underground, 'Venus in Furs', from the album The Velvet Underground and Nico (Verve Records, 1967): click here. 

 

Musical bonus 2: The Sex Pistols, 'Submission', from the album Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols (Virgin Records, 1977): click here. 

 

 

We're Off to See the Wizard ... On Oscar Diggs and Narcissistic Personality Disorder

Oscar Diggs as imagined by William Wallace Denslow 

in L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900)

 

'Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain ...'

 

 

I. 

 

Even as a young child, I was no friend of Dorothy's and avoided spending time in Oz if I could possibly help it: I hated the Munchkins, had no time for the Scarecrow, Tin Man, or Cowardly Lion, and if my sympathies lay anywhere they were with the Wicked Witch of the West and her army of wolves, crows, and bees.  

 

Of late, however, I have become fascinated by the character of Oscar Diggs, the Wizard who, it turns out, is not so very wonderful at all; who is in fact a humbug - that is to say, a fraud, an imposter, a great deceiver ... 

 

 

II. 

 

I suspect we all know people like Oscar Diggs; individuals who, for example, use elaborate titles and self-descriptions to appear more important, more successful, and more interesting than they actually are; individuals who mask a very ordinary nature behind a carefully crafted image that is projected for so many years that they themselves come to believe it real. 

 

Such individuals are not bad people; just fake magicians or fake whatever else they try to pass themselves off as, unable to perform the miracles that they promised. 

 

This is not to deny they may have certain gifts and achieve certain things of which they are rightly proud. But, alas, they are not the mighty figures, the wonderful wizards, or true talents they pass themselves off as and they maintain a facade of accomplishment only through lie and illusion.         

 

 

III.

 

It's possible, of course, that certain individuals exhibiting the Wizard of Oz syndome are not faking things, but are, rather, suffering from Narcissistic Personality Disorder; i.e., a mental health condition characterised by an inflated sense of self-importance and a deep need for attention and admiration often masking fragile self-esteem and leading to arrogant behavior, entitlement, and difficulty handling even the mildest criticism. 

 

Other symptoms include: preoccupation with fantasies, unreasonable expectations, and resentment and envy of others, making both personal and professional relationships strained and often unsustainable.     

 

I'm not a therapist, so I don't know what causes this condition. Nor do I know what can be done to treat it. I would, however, encourage those who recognise something of themselves in the character of Oscar Diggs to seek treatment unless they wish to spend their lives behind the curtain, dreading the day when they might be exposed ...  

 

 

Always Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth

 

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth  

by TragicKittens on redbubble.com

 

 

I. 

 

One of the proverbial expressions I would advise people to consider carefully is: Never look a gift horse in the mouth [1]. 

 

Those who like to use this phrase think it impolite to treat a gift as one would a purchase by checking for flaws or critically considering the quality. One should, rather, accept the gift with good grace and gratitude and not question the giver's generosity. 

 

However, this displays a certain moral naivety. Because the giving of gifts is rarely an innocent act and should always be understood (at least in part) within the context of power, politics, and seduction ... 

 

 

II. 

 

Within the general economy of potlatch, for example, an individual expresses their sovereignty not by accumulating wealth but by giving it away; by their ability to endure loss and to place themselves outside of a restricted economy of utility. Their prestige is thus a form of symbolic power built upon contempt for riches and self-preservation.    

 

But the giving of a lavish gift, according to Bataille, is also an act of aggression and rivalry; a challenge to the recipient to either accept their indebtedness and social inferiority, or to reciprocate with an even more excessive gift. In other words, in accepting a gift, one is placed under an obligation [2].     

 

 

III. 

    

Jean Baudrillard considers the gift in somewhat different terms; namely, as an object with a purely symbolic value able to disrupt a system of commodity exchange based upon economic logic. The giving of an object of this kind allows the giver to turn the tables on a powerful subject; to confuse and disconcert them, so that they no longer know what to think or how to act. 

 

Recall, if you will, the case of the young woman who is amorously pursued by a wealthy older man who repeatedly tells her that her eyes are the most beautiful thing about her and has flowers delivered daily to her house. In the end, she sends him of one of her eyes in a little box tied with a lovely ribbon, the violence of the act leaving him shocked and speechless. 

 

For Baudrillard, this is an act of seduction (with the latter understood to be an ironic and fatal game of signs that divorces a subject from its power, rather than the persuasive play of desire). By taking the man's metaphorical fascination with her eyes literally and returning the object of his desire, she destroys the possibility of a normal romantic exchange of gifts and asserts her own sovereignty [3].  

 

  

Notes

 

[1] Saint Jerome popularised this proverb by including it in his commentary on Ephesians around 400 AD as the Latin phrase Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

 

[2] See Volume I of Bataille's The Accursed Share, trans. Robert Hurley (Zone Books, 1991), where he develops his theory of general economy and discusses the notion of potlatch.  

 

[3] I might be mistaken, but I believe that Baudrillard refers to this story on several occasions in his work and each time gives a slightly different version. See, for example, Fatal Strategies, trans. Philip Beitchman and W. G. J. Niesluchowski (Pluto Press, 1999), pp. 120-21. 

 

 

Notes from the Labyrinth on Picasso and the Minotaur

Picasso becoming-minotaur

Photo by Edward Quinn (1959) 

 

'If you marked on a map all of the routes I've made and connected the dots 

with a single line, might not a Minotaur emerge?' - Picasso 

 

I. 

 

Yesterday, I finally got along to the exhibition of ceramics and works on paper by Picasso at the Halcyon Gallery [1], featuring over 130 original pieces, which essentially confirm something that even his critics and detractors know deep down; namely, that Picasso was the greatest artist of the 20th century.   

 

As much as I loved his works, however, I think my favourite image was a photograph by Edward Quinn taken of Picasso masquerading as the Minotaur in his studio in 1959 ... 

 

 

II. 

 

Picasso was obsessed with this taurean figure from Greek mythology, who was famously part man and part bull, and dwelt at the centre of the Labyrinth [2]. 

 

The Minotaur became a powerful symbol of desire, violence, and horror in Picasso's artwork and some authors like to imagine that he also served as Picasso's alter-ego, embodying the cruelty, lust, and virile vulnerability present in his own character and complex personal life [3]. 

 

But of course, Picasso wasn't the only artist who identified in terms of the Minotaur; many of the Surrealists (and associated artists) in the 1930s were also fascinated by this mythical monster, which is why when, in 1933, a title was needed for a new magazine Bataille suggested Minotaure and his pal André Masson excitedly agreed to design a cover for the first edition. 

 

But then Picasso - ever alert to what was going on and not slow in cheerfully stealing ideas and jumping on the lastest trend - co-opted the idea of the Minotaur and, with André Breton's support, not only produced an elaborate image for the magazine's cover, but also supplied four other drawings to be used, insisting that the lead article, to be written by Breton, promoted his vision of the Minotaur.    

 

Whether this makes Picasso the 'fat little magpie' that Adam and the Ants once described him as, or just someone with a genius for seizing the moment and self-promotion (a bit like David Bowie), I'll let readers decide [4]. 

 

 

III. 

 

Despite being published rather irregularly (due to financial considertions), Minotaure (1933-39) proved to be a great success and had a wide circulation in most European countries. 

 

Far superior in quality to most other arts magazines of the period, it was beautifully illustrated and had covers by prominent artists including Matisse, Miró, and Dalí. Not only did it contain articles on the plastic arts and literature, but also music, theatre, philosophy, psychoanalysis, anthropology, esotericism and all things avant-garde. 

 

Whilst not originally intended to be a surrealist publication per se, Breton and his chums on the editorial committee naturally exerted a huge (and ever-increasing) influence on it and Minotaure became a significant element in Surrealism's rise from a relatively obscure circle of poets, artists, and intellectuals in the 1920s to a major movement of 20th century art. 

 

 

Minotaure (Issue 1 - June 1933) 

Cover by Picasso

 

  

Notes

 

[1] Picasso: A Legacy (16 Oct 2025 - 4 Jan 2026) at the Halcyon Gallery (148 New Bond Street, London, W1): for further information and to view selected works, click here. 

 

[2] The Labyrinth was an elaborate maze-like construction designed by Daedalus and his son Icarus, acting upon command of King Minos of Crete. Every nine years the people of Athens were forced to choose seven noble youths and seven beautiful virgins to be offered as sacrificial victims to the Minotaur. He was eventually slain by the Athenian hero Theseus.  

 

[3] See, for example, John Richardson, A Life of Picasso: Volume IV: The Minotaur Years 1933-43 (Jonathan Cape, 2022).

 

[4] To be fair to Picasso, it's not as if he stole an original idea from Bataille and Masson; the Ancient Greek legend of the Minotaur had been popular for some years in intellectual circles and had already been referenced in the work of several other writers and artists. 

      The Adam and the Ants song I'm referring to is 'Picasso Visita el Planeta de los Simios', which can be found on the Prince Charming album (CBS, 1981) and played on YouTube by clicking here.     

 

  

In Defence of Torpedo the Ark

Torpedo the Ouroboros (SA/2026) 

 

 

I. 

 

It didn't take long into the New Year before a familiar critique resurfaced (from a familiar source): 

 

I've noticed how an increasing number of posts on Torpedo the Ark rely upon the recycling of extant material and fear that, if you are not careful, then you will end up like the snake that swallows its own tail - a symbol which might mean different things within various esoteric traditions, but by which I refer to an author unable to generate original insights and so engaging in an act of self-cannibalism, allowing a once excellent blog to become trapped in a doom loop of nostalgia and pastiche. [1]

 

 

 

II. 

 

I don't know if that's a fair criticism to make: it's certainly not entirely accurate. For one thing, my critic mistakes the vital process of autophagy for the pathological condition of autosarcophagy. 

 

Unlike the latter, which is often linked to severe mental and cultural disorder [2], the former is a highly regulated process necessary for good health and hygiene (homeostasis); a bit like dreaming, whereby the mind preserves order by purging psychic detritus during sleep [3].

 

Obviously, TTA refers on occasion to its own history and, yes, there is a strong degree of thematic recurrence as I return to established areas of interest and favoured authors and this may create a sense of circularity. Nevertheless, I like to think that when I reimagine and recontextualise old ideas and images, I do so in an active manner and in a way that does not risk my becoming-Ouroboros [4].

 

Ultimately, what is a doom loop of nostalgia and pastiche to one man is the laughter of genius to another and my temporal objective has always been to challenge the idea of time as a straightline that leads from the past into the present and thence into the future and any recycling is part of this deconstructive strategy rather than a sign of intellectual fatigue. 

 

Those who accuse TTA of idealising the past or furthering what Mark Fisher described as the slow cancellation of the future [5] have, I'm afraid, missed the point.             

  

 

Notes

 

[1] Extract from an email I received this morning (2 Jan 2026) from a correspondent happy to be quoted, but who wishes not to be identified. 

 

[2] Those interested in autocannibalism as a cultural phenomenon, may like to see Jean Baudrillard, Carnival and Cannibal, trans. Chris Turner (Seagull Books, 2010), in which an analysis is given of the West's fatal penchant for consuming and absorbing its own values and histories (and not only those of other peoples). 

 

[3] I'm taking the Lawrentian position put forward in Fantasia of the Unconscious (1922). See the post 'Sleep and Dreams' (6 Feb 2015): click here. 

 

[4] Like D. H. Lawrence, I'm not a fan of 'him with his tail in his mouth' - see the post dated 16 August, 2016: click here.  

 

[5] See the section on this idea in Fisher's Ghosts of My Life (Zero Books, 2014). I published a three-part post on this work back in November 2023: click here to access the first part on 'Lost Futures'.  

 

 

New Year's Day: I've Said It Before and I'll Say It Again ...

TTA New Year's Day Postcard (SA/2026)*

 

 

Here we are on the first day of the New Year and I find that, like Oliver Hardy in Dirty Work (1933), I have nothing to say ... 

 

That being the case, I thought it might be fun to republish half-a-dozen posts from years gone by dated January 1st ...

 

 

Panem et Pyrotechnics (1 Jan 2014)

 

Fireworks, as Oscar Wilde observed, have one big advantage over the stars; namely, you always know precisely when they are going to appear in the sky. 

 

But public firework displays - no matter how spectacular - soon bore and disappoint and one can't help wondering at the politics of the event and the psychology of people who stand in the cold gazing upwards with their mouths open, fascinated by bright lights and loud bangs; content to obey their leaders for another twelve months thanks to the promise of panem et pyrotechnics. 

 

New Year's Eve makes North Koreans of us all ... 

 

 

A Nietzschean Message for the New Year (1 Jan 2015) 

 

For me, the greatest and most touching of new year blessings and resolutions remains the one with which Nietzsche opens Book IV of The Gay Science (written January, 1882): 

 

'Today, everybody permits themselves the expression of their dearest wish. Hence, I too shall say what it is that I most desire - what was the first thought to enter my heart this year and what shall be for me the reason, guarantee, and sweetness of my life henceforth. I want increasingly to learn to see as beautiful what is necessary in things, so that I may become one of those who makes things beautiful: amor fati - let that be my love from now on!'

 

 

Happy New Year From the Ghost of Jean Baudrillard (1 Jan 2018) 

 

When asked during an interview in January 2006 what it meant to wish someone Happy New Year, Baudrillard amusingly replied that it was 'a collectively remote-controlled symbolic ritual that has its place in a [...] cost-free sphere'. 

 

In other words, an empty gesture without value; a seasonal greeting from another time which, just like Merry Christmas, tries to desperately recreate a social bond or, more accurately, evoke nostalgia for such, via an exchange of disintensified signs. All the high days and holidays that we so want to enjoy and make special, invariably leave us feeling lonely and inadequate; hostages to our own lives of consumption. 

 

Having said that, Baudrillard hates to be thought of as a pessimist or a nihilist in the pejorative sense of the term. And he does, in fact, still anticipate that there might be an element of radical newness in times to come; a counter-force lodged within the present that's the source of future ambivalence; a catastrophic force that enables individuals to change established forms and punch holes in the order of things; an unverifiable force which, inasmuch as it has 'nothing to do with consciousness, common sense or morality', we might simply call evil. 

 

And so, in wishing readers a Happy New Year, I suppose I'm wishing them the courage to become complicit with l'intelligence du mal. 

 

 

Reflections on a Rose and a New Year's Resolution (1 Jan 2019)

  

New Year's Day: the world of my little garden forever undying. Roses, stained with the blood of Aphrodite, bloom and make happy. Sometimes, I think it would be nice to remain alone with the flowers and do nothing but quietly reflect upon their perfection. 

 

But then, after a few minutes, I realise that not only is such a life impossible, it's also undesirable; that one's main duty as a Lawrentian floraphile is to actively shelter the rose of life from being trampled on by the pigs. Thus, I resolve to 'go out into the world again, to kick it and stub my toes. It is no good my thinking of retreat: I rouse up and feel I don't want to. My business is a fight, and I've got to keep it up.' 

 

 

Why You Should Never Wish a Happy New Year to a Nietzschean (1 Jan 2023)

 

I don't know the origin of the zen fascist insistence on wishing everyone a happy new year, but I suspect it's rooted in the 18th-century, which is why in 1794 the Archange de la Terreur - Louis de Saint-Just - was able to proclaim: Le bonheur est une idée neuve en Europe ... 

 

Such a new idea of happiness - one concerned with individual fulfilment in the here and now and realised in material form, rather than a deferred condition of soul which awaits the blessed in heaven - had already become an inalienable right of citizens in the United States, although whether Jefferson was inspired by the English empiricist John Locke - or by the French philosophe Jean-Jacques Rousseau - is debatable. 

 

Either way, the pursuit of happiness was declared a self-evidently good thing that all Americans should uphold and practice; for ensuring the greatest happiness of the greatest number was, as Jeremy Bentham wrote the mark of a truly moral and just society.

 

The problem, however, for those who take Nietzsche seriously, is that this positing of happiness in its modern form as the ultimate aim of human existence makes one contemptible; the kind of person who only seeks their own pleasure and safety, avoiding all danger, difficulty, or struggle. 

 

Nietzsche wants his readers to see that suffering and, yes, even unhappiness, play an important role in life and culture; that greatness is, in fact, more often than not born of pain and sorrow. This is why his philosophy is a form of tragic pessimism. And this is why it's ironically insulting to wish a Nietzschean happy new year ...

 

 

Nothing Changes on New Year's Day (1 Jan 2024) 

 

I don't like - and have never liked - the Irish rock band U2. 

 

But that isn't to say they haven't written some fine songs, including 'New Year's Day', which contains the killer line: Nothing changes on New Year's Day - a line which counters all the mad optimism of those gawping at fireworks, popping champagne corks, and singing 'Auld Lang Syne' without any idea of what the phrase means. 

 

Often, these are the same people who criticise others for being despairing about the past or present and who insist on being hopeful for the future - even though the expectation of positive outcomes with respect to temporal progress seems entirely groundless. 

 

I don't want to sound too diabolical, but it seems to me that the phrase lasciate ogni speranza written above the gates of Hell is actually a sound piece of advice. For Nietzsche may have a point when he suggests that it is hope which prolongs the torments of man and is thus the most evil of all evils. 

 

* One of six designs in the official TTA postcard range, available as a set for just £29.99.