I have always associated dignity with the reactionary values,
and so I am inclined to piss on it. There is a longstanding strain of
revolutionary thought that lies behind this idea. One of the great pamphleteers
of the French Revolution, J-R. Hèbert, published a newspaper of
astonishing obscenity, Le Père Duchesne, which dedicated itself to stripping
the dignity from the French aristocracy. The paper was subtitled, Je suis le
veritable Pere Duschene, foutre – which can be roughly be translated as No
shit, I’m the real Father Duchene. Hèbert was one of the great purveyors of an
obscene distortion of Marie-Antoinette, making her a prostitute, an incestous
mother, practically a cannibal. He also was one of her prosecutors at the
Trial, which Marie Antoinette dominated. If you think HRC’s farcical
persecution for Benghazi was a disgrace, read about Marie Antoinette’s trial,
and weep. Chantal Thomas wrote a striking and important book about the “reine
scelerat” in the 80s, which dismantled the combination of misogyny and
psychopathology that went into this image.
Of course, values do not simply line up as reactionary and
revolutionary. They are symptoms of more complex states of social
confrontation. While nothing makes me bray like a donkey more than the language
of the monarchial court commonly employed by journalists who write about
politicians, I am realizing, under Trump, how the stripping of dignity can work
to promote the worst kind of reaction, the kind that shocks a liberal political
structure in which reaction – in terms of the radical increase in the power of
capital – has already been undermining.
This has made me re-consider the value and place of dignity
and the place of stripping the dignity from a person. This is not just a ritual
adjunct to real power – it is how power operates at the critical instant.
Cicero once wrote that “the goal at which statesmen like
himself and his correspondent ought to aim in the conduct of affairs of State
was cum dignitate otium”. (Wirzubinski, 1954). This phrase was taken up by the
humanists, and puzzled over by the classicists. What was dignitas, and what was
otium? The usual idea was that the statesman would be ‘respected’ and he would
employ that respect to insure the ‘tranquility’ of his subjects. Respect was also construed as keeping “one’s
good name”.
But what if the person in power has no good name? Has, in other
words, no dignity at all? This, it turns out, creates a curious sense of
powerlessness. In Gothic literature, there is a subtheme of the clown torturer,
the man usually with no name, or an assumed one. Whose goal is to wound, irreparably,
the name of the other – the other’s good name with him or herself.
The horror this aroused doesn’t have, at its disposal,
in-dignation. Which has long been an important limit on power. Such is the
flattening power of the president with the name – and no good one. The Bush era
was, by many measures, much worse than the present one; even so, it did not
have this dreamy layer of horror. Bush was not only aware of his good name, he
rode to power on his name. But Trump? The man lived for scandal. And now he is
at the center, scandal in power, and he evidently loves it.
I want my indignation back.
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