Friday, October 18, 2002

Remora


Gotzendammerung

The Channel between the French and the English has marvelous metaphysical qualities: as ideas swim back and forth, they suffer a sea-change of sometimes monstrous proportions. French ideas, to the cold Anglo philosophe, at least since Burke, seem like so much congealed vichysoisse: repulsive, illogical, and smelly. Anglo ideas, to the fervent French, are either Blakean visions encoded in logical paradoxes (which is how Deleuze saw Lewis Carroll and Russell) or Benthamite panopiticons -- systems of cruelty diffused by way of capitalist reason, where every man carries to a butcher's market his own meat, and is consequently processed into slices.


Peter Conrad is, I believe, Australian. His review of Surya's book about George Bataille in the Observer is both sympathetic and incredulous. LI think he distorts Bataille, but he makes an arguable case. Conrad does contrive an utterly beautiful summary of Story of the Eye:


"The etchings made by Hans Bellmer in 1944 to illustrate Bataille's scabrous novel Story of the Eye concentrate on the two blind, gaping eyes between the splayed legs of women: sex is a surgical probe, an experimental invasion of the darkness and a foretaste of extinction. Bataille's heroine Simone removes the eye of a priest from its socket and, slicing through its ligaments, inserts it into her vagina. There it can scrutinise the matted jungle of our dreams."


Here's the passage in L'histoire itself:

"Ensuite je me levai et, en �cartant les cuisses de Simone, qui s'�tait couch�e sur le c�t�, je me trouvai en face de ce que, je me le figure ainsi, j'attendais depuis toujours de le m�me fa�on qu'une guillotine attend un cou � trancher. Il me semblait m�me que mes yeux sortaient de la t�te comme s'ils �taient �rectiles � force d'horreur; je vis exactement, dans le vagin velu de Simone, l'oeil bleu p�le de Marcelle qui me regardait en pleurant des larmes d'urine."

Which we won't translate.

He also, LI thinks, rather maliciously offers this view of Bataille's "political economy":



"Surya also fudges the issue of Bataille's affinity with fascism, which in his view concluded 'the decay of mankind' and definitively disproved the humanist faith in our lofty status. Bataille likened Auschwitz to the Pyramids or the Acropolis: it was a talisman of civilisation, a wonder of the modern world. He was equally elated by the instantaneous flattening of Hiroshima, which demonstrated man's capacity to terminate his own history and exterminate the earth itself."



The key words here: civilization, elation, humanist -- have, as Conrad must know, a different tone for Bataille than they have for the average Guardian reader. Although I'm unaware of the Bataillian comparison of Auschwitz and the Acropolis, I'm quite aware of the Part maudite, in which the theme of ritualized cruelty and civilization -- or social organization, which is what Bataille, founder (as Conrad does not reveal) of the College de sociologie, was getting at -- is explained in terms of the discord (and the consequent dialectic) between utility and sovereignty. Bataille's changing position on fascism -- from an early fascination to opposition -- is an arc common to a lot of European intellectuals of the twenties and thirties. The opposition to humanism was an opposition to the easy synthesis of calculation and affection, forged in bourgeois nineteenth century societies, and fatally undermined in WWI. Bataille did not believe that parlimentary democracy would endure because it could not sublimate in any grand symbolic way the violence which, for Bataille, was the suture at the heart of the social -- the trace of a dialectical failure, insofar as the dialectic is, indeed, Hegelian. That violence does have as its ultimate object nothing at all -- what Victor Turner calls the symbolic object, what Lacan (and Laurie Anderson) call x.


Of course, there are some howlers in the review -- you can't discuss philosophy in a forum like the Guardian without getting it through Guardian editors -- and newspaper editors are notoriously prone to make "sense" of philosophical arguments, destroying them in the process. Here's the big howler in this review:







"Being an earnest French philosopher, Surya is obliged to take such assertions seriously, and he sees in them 'the political formulation of a supreme morality'. I suspect that Bataille adopted extreme positions in a spirit of zany, cunning frivolity. As a surrealist, he understood the uses of effrontery, and he is probably best understood as a subversive intellectual comedian - a jester devoted, like Erasmus, to the praise of folly rather than sagacity. He met Henri Bergson on a trip to London, and prepared himself by reading his essay on comedy. Bergson treated laughter as our guide to the abyss, plumbing 'the depth of worlds' and chastising the sedate certitudes of morality; the absurd, extravagant foulness of Story of the Eye - its garrottings, its random couplings, its sacrilegious mockery - filled Bataille with an unholy merriment, a 'fulminating joy, bordering on naive folly'. Like the little boy in the poem, his primary purpose was to annoy."



Surely the sentence starting "Bergson treated laughter..." should read, "Bataille treated laughter..." Anybody who has read Bergson on laughter knows that he conceived it as, centrally, a form of mechanical mimicry, a category mistake, with the categories being life and mechanism. Bataille, on the other hand, called laughter a way of spitting out language itself, the reassertionof the primal, organic mouth over the sense-making tool it becomes in socialization.

Bataille was fascinated by a sort of line that he drew from the pole of the mouth to the pole of the anus. LI used to be fascinated by that line, too. We absorbed Bataille, at one time, into our very bloodstream. It wasn't, in retrospect, a good idea. Or so we have thought for a number of years. Lately, we have been nostalgic for our naughtier years. The peak of our Bataille infatuation probably came several years ago, when we were living in Atlanta, working at a bookstore, and involved with awoman (let's call her X) who was afflicted with bipolar depression and a husband. She came in after we'd been hired. We were sitting in the lunch room, when she and a rather chubby young man, her co-hire, came in and were introduced. She was scrawny, had graying hair, and lively eyes. I came to know and love that scrawniness, but she rang a lot of bells at first. I was the person who was in charge of the psychology books, and the erotica. At the mention of erotica, X came alive. She loved erotica. Well, so did LI. We've always loved erotica, porno, all the trawling through the bodies struggles, pores and marks and moans and disappointments and holes and hairs, all of it, all of it -- but we are no longer so discursive about this. At that time, Bataille's project -- the production of the sovereign human being, one who shucks off the merely human -- seemed absolutely right. X was into it, until X slashed her wrists, and the spiral went quickly down.

So... we have our own personal doubts about Bataille. The way a stockbroker from the eighties might have doubts about cocaine. To produce the strong effect of Bataille's rhetoric, we would need to quote extensively -- we admit that we haven't given up entirely Bataille's absurd project. Here's a passage we often think of:


"A un moment donn�, je suis all� � la fen�tre et je l'ai ouverte ... Dans la rue juste devant moi, il y avait une tr�s longue banderole noire ... Le vent avait � moiti� d�croch� la hampe : elle avait l'air de battre de l'aile. Elle ne tombait pas: elle claquait dans le vent avec un grand bruit � hauteur du toit: elle se d�roulait en prenant des formes tourment�es: comme un ruisseau d'encre qui aurait coul� dans les nuages. L'incident para�t �tranger � mon histoire, mais c' �tait pour moi comme si une poche d'encre s'ouvrait dans ma t�te et j' �tais s�r, ce jour-l�, de mourir sans tarder

Finally, here is a chronology of Bataille's life composed by Surya.


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