"Can Beauty Ever be Considered a Moral Trait?" Part Two: Naturalism and Repose

Introduction

Perceptions of the female body begin to change from the 15th century through to the 20th century; there is a greater emphasis on naturalistic representations, propositions and poses. From Giorgione to Rubens to Renoir, the female body takes a distinct turn away from the previously aesthetically contorted forms. Bodies have natural more diverse shapes and are more comfortably posed in this period. Neither mathematics nor morality dictates the form of the female nude during this time.

That is not to say, however, that feminine subjectivity has broken free of its constraints; the gaze of the artist and the connoisseur is still the male gaze, but there is, nevertheless, growing diversity in the representation of the female body. The growing diversity of representation of the female form over this period represents a diversity of taste. The weakened strictures of style open up a space for reflection and reform with regard to feminine subjectivity, in particular towards the end of this period in the 19th century when the first wave of feminism hits.

 Venus Awakens: The Nude in Repose

The reclining nude is a special feature of this period; prior to the 15th century the reclining nude - the nude in repose - is almost non-existent. This represents an important shift in the recognition of feminine subjectivity and the values that emerge from its increasing presence. Two of the earliest, and most famous, reclining nudes belong to Giorgione and Titian, both "Old Masters." There is some controversy about Giorgione's Sleeping Venus (it was completed posthumously by Titian), but this does not concern us here. For my tastes, Sleeping Venus is the best example of the reclining nude discussed here.

Venus lies outside, totally disrobed, and on the verge of sleep; she is at rest in a rural scene. Her relaxed demeanour blends well with the relaxed rural setting (a "sleepy" village); her white skin, however, contrasts with the earthy colours of the fields and the village. Her repose fits into the scene by standing out, so to speak. She is relaxed, the scene is relaxed (I say "sleepy" because there's not another soul around); yet her figure dominates in the foreground, everything else is blurred by the whiteness of her skin.

Her hand rests discretely on her pudendum, concealing her genitals; her breasts, however, are unashamedly bare. The use of the hand to conceal the genitals is a common theme for the reclining nude (as we will see). It can be argued that this motif represents a sense of modesty (arguably, imposed), or an enduring discomfort with female sexuality, perhaps both. Either way, it represents an "aesthetic seal" that encloses the feminine form. The vagina is a confusing mess to the gender whose genitals sit (somewhat) neatly outside the viscera.

The hand replaces the "fig leaf" in the functional role of the aesthetic seal from older represents (see the previous post in this thread), but it perpetuates the discomfort the male gaze has for female sexuality; or, rather, the functional dimensions of female sexuality. It has always been acceptable for the breasts to be exposed, but not the vagina. Although, the vulva and labia is obscured by neither hand nor fig leaf on the Venus of Willendorf. Her breasts are far more prominent, but she shows no shame or modesty about her sexual organs at all (she does, however, lack arms and a discernible face, which I've discussed in the previous post).

Titian's Venus of Urbino differs in certain significant aspects to Giorgione's. The aesthetic seal remains in place, but Venus is awake, and therefore not passive; moreover, she gazes back at the (presumably male) gazer.

Her belly is a little plump, but not distended; her breasts are small, but proportional. Her gaze, while directed at the viewer, is not intimidating. Her head is tilted in a bashful/flirtatious mode, engaging but not intimidating. It is, perhaps, the "ideal" female gaze, at least from the perspective of the male: her gaze is inviting, yet she remains "modest" with the appropriately placed hand. What is important, however, is that gaze meets gaze, even though it is the inviting female gaze meeting the (unrepresented, and therefore omnipotent) male gaze.

In Manet's Olympia, the gaze is different again, although the pose remains the same. Olympia's skin is far paler than the Venus of either Giorgione or Titian, her hand more firmly planted on her thigh, concealing her pudendum. Her body is more rigid, and her gaze less inviting. It is more obvious that Olympia is posing. Her engagement with the gaze with of the viewer is more forceful, or confrontational.

Not only is her pose more rigid, her body is leaner, more taut than the Venuses; her stomach is flatter, and her shoulders appear broader. She is also not as reclined as the other Venuses. Her pale white skin and lean physique, along with the presence of the African servant indicate a manicured lifestyle. It is also generally accepted that Olympia is a prostitute, based the symbolism in the painting (the orchid in her hair, for instance).

In terms of feminine subjectivity, there is mixed symbolism. The emergence of the reclining nude indicates a "relaxation" of sentiment toward female sexuality, but the prevalence of the hand, in place of the fig leaf, as the enforcing symbol of the aesthetic seal, implies an enduring discomfort with feminine sexuality. However, from Giorgione's Venus, to Titian's, to Manet's we can see a strengthening of the female gaze in response to the male viewer's gaze. The aesthetic seal remains, but the opening of the eyes - from sleep, to seduction, to confrontation, perhaps even daring - the returning of the gaze, is indicative of emerging feminine subjectivity.

Bathing Beauties: Naturalism and the Female Forms

 The reclining nude represents a growing acceptance of the female body; the viewer, the artist, and the connoisseur, however, remain almost exclusively male. Nevertheless, the gradual opening of the eyes of Venus is important in the evolution of the values that surround our aesthetic tastes. Manet's Olympia, in fact, was quite controversial, in part because of the confidence exhibited by the nude female subject, enforced particularly by her gaze.

A parallel tradition during the period under focus here, is the emphasis on more naturalistic bodies. Rubens and Pierre-Auguste Renoir are excellent examples here. The term "Rubenesque" has come to denote a shapely or plump female physique. Rubenesque has positive connotations, as such. Rubens is renowned for his depictions of voluptuous, naturalistic women. Take, for example, The Three Graces. The women in this painting display a shapeliness that is absent from previous works; none of the Venuses have bodies like these. The larger posteriors and slight puckering are more realistic than, say Olympia's manicured body, although the Graces do retain fair skin of Venuses.

There is no ideal proportion to the bodies of the Graces, but this is what makes their bodies more natural; very few women have the classical proportions of the Athena of Knidos. Their bodies, however, are not purposely distended in the way of the Gothic nude. There is a great sense of ease or comfort in the subjects of the painting; the woman are unashamedly naked, ostensibly conversing, there is also considerable physical contact between the three women.

Importantly, there is no obvious attempt to obscure the vulva; "obvious," that is, in terms of a clear symbolic "aesthetic seal." There is no fig leaf, and the hands of the women are occupied in contact with arms and shoulders of each other. While there is no clear sign of the labia majora, as in the Venus of Willendorf. the mons pubis, at least of the Grace on the left, is not totally obscured. The woman are comfortable in the nudity, and the gaze of the male is less uncomfortable with seeing it; there is no expectation of mathematics or morality in the scene.

Rubens' Angelica and the Hermit, presents a voluptuous nude in repose, with a beseeching male - the hermit - at her side. Angelica is voluptuous and looking rather comfortable. To be sure, she is still the object of the male gaze, the viewers' and the hermit's. Her voluptuous form is in stark contrast to the bodies of the Venuses, and especially Olympia. Her skin, however, remains white, in stark contrast to the dark, earthy colours that surround her.

The aesthetic seal also remains. A sliver of drapery conceals Angelica's vulva; the Hermit, however, appears to be slowly pulling it away. Angelica is asleep, and appears to be neither consenting nor resisting the act of the Hermit. There is certainly something symbolic about the scene: a clothed male, eyes wide-open, slowly unveiling the naked body of a female, eyes closed and unresponsive, neither inviting nor rejecting the actions of the male. His gaze is neither aggressive, nor "sleazy"; perhaps a symbol of (wishful) self-reflection on the part of the true audience: the male connoisseur. Angelica is unconscious, and any desire she has is equally unconscious - hence innocent, at least insofar as connoisseur is concerned. The imploring look of the hermit is somewhat belied by the actions of his hands, and this dichotomy, against the background of the unconscious sexuality of Angelica, is arguably emblematic of the way the male connoisseur interprets his own gaze.

Before moving on, I must confess: Pierre-Auguste Renoir is perhaps my favourite artist. As fond as I am of Titian and Rubens, Renoir outstrips them both in my opinion. With this intrusion of disclosure complete, we can quickly move on. Renoir's bathers are exquisite, capturing the sense of voluptuous naturalism that is often characterized by the term "Rubenesque." The Large Bathers is a scene of women with women, being women. There is a sense of voyeurism in this painting, and many of Renoir's other bathing scenes; having said that, however, this voyeurism offers an insight into the feminine subject that is otherwise denied in most previous representations.

These women, while obviously posed for the purposes of representation, are not constrained by their pose; they are conversing while they engage in their ablutions. There is a relaxed demeanour about the women. The dark-haired woman, leaning back on one hand, the other held up, one leg partially raised, a supple contortion in her body accentuated by the folds of skin on her flank beneath her right breast. This is not the usual nude in repose, although her vulva and vagina are still obscured; the problem of her awkward pose and what it might otherwise reveal is unsubtly solved by the dress draped between her thighs. Her bolder companion, arguably the focal point of the scene, is unabashed in revealing her breasts in the act of toweling herself off, implying that there are no men about, that this is purely a woman's space. The third companion reveals only her back and buttocks as she is still in the act of bathing, or is simply reveling in the water; she does not seem too urgent to act, as her right hand spoons the water, perhaps absentmindedly while she enjoys the conversation.

The scene is filled with dynamic action, women in different stages of bathing; women, amongst other women at least, are not static forms. While certain hallmarks of the male gaze and the aesthetic seal remain, scenes such as these, and there are others of equal quality, open a window onto the subjectivity of women. There is a sense of joy in the naked conversation, with three different personalities on display.

The women here are not merely naked or nude, but socially nude; the male gaze is ostensibly invited into a private scene, as a voyeur, but is subverted by the distance established by the fact the women are not gazing back; their gaze is not seductive; their gaze is not stern; their gaze is not passive. Their gaze is simply not returned to the voyeur. Their gaze belongs to each other, dynamically in social intercourse. While the male gaze is still privileged, it is passive; the male viewer is merely an observer.

*

In the next blog, I will move in the 20th century, and in particular the advent of photography. Photography has changed the way we view and represent the human body, the female body especially. Verisimilitude is now not only possible but instantaneous; ultimately photography will proliferate in the 20th century. The photograph, and eventually the Internet, will change the relationship between female body and the viewers' (still mostly male) gaze. While the photograph allowed for greater flexibility in the representation of the female body, as well as empowering women in viewing and disseminating their own images, it also has a darker side. This darker side will come into greater focus with the Internet, but this will be the topic of a subsequent blog. 

"Can Beauty Ever be Considered a Moral Trait?" Part One: From Venus to Eve



Introduction

 

In this series of blogs I will trace the evolution of the tastes and values surrounding the female nude, from the Venus of Willendorf to Barbie. The purpose of this series of blogs is to show the transformation of tastes and values, and ultimately the politics, that has followed the perception, appreciation, and treatment of the female form. The cultural and aesthetic treatment of the female body has changed over time, and is now a more contest site of meaning than ever before. This, we might call the democratisation of the female body.

 

At no time in history have woman had as much political and aesthetic control over their bodies, although by no means at a level of parity with men. In order to understand this democratisation we need to understand that the tastes and values surrounding the female form are not fixed, that there is a range of influences that contribute to the prevailing tastes and values of a given era that change over time. Unlike during any other era, women are subjective agents (as opposed to objects of discussion) who contribute to the tastes and values surrounding their own form.

 

 

"Can Beauty ever be Considered a Moral Trait?"

 

This was the question posed to my first-year class at university this year for a writing task. It's a decidedly big question, but it's also a very important question outside the abstract domain of the classroom. It is a question that resides at the crossroad of aesthetics and ethics, always a contentious intersection. Contentious because it overlaps with certain areas of interest with gender studies and sexual politics more broadly; in particular, the notion of beauty of a highly contested concept. A woman's beauty, more specifically, can be highly ideological terrain. Nevertheless, I do believe that beauty can be a moral trait, and I will seek to frame this answer to the question here. It is, however, more complicated than a yes/no answer.

 

To try to explain simply, beauty is a moral trait, not in an objective or subjective sense but in an intersubjective sense. Beauty is a moral trait of all the participants involved or complicit in the process whereby beauty is constructed or perceived. That is, beauty is a moral trait not only for those who are considered beautiful but also those who consider them beautiful, the perceiver as well as the perceived; importantly, both can be the same person. I will attempt to explain the nuance of this point.

 

To call beauty, particularly physical beauty, a moral trait raises questions of value and taste. By "taste" I mean the prevailing preferences of a society at any given time; in the context, this refers to the preferred shapes and variations of the female form. Value is construed more broadly: it refers to what is considered important to that society at any given time. I say "at any given time" because tastes and values do change; understanding the process of change is critical to understanding how beauty can be considered a moral trait.

 

What I will focus on here is how the representation of the female form has changed. In particular, I will focus on a few key representations of the female nude. The female nude has historically been laden with meaning, indicative of the values of the era. That is, the aesthetic tastes that surrounds the female nude at any given time are representative of a set of prevailing values of the era. Importantly, those values change from era to era, and are not always related to the same material facts. Let me foreshadow a little to explain: the Gothic nude, the nude of the middle ages, an era of extreme religiosity, depicts the female form in a decidedly non-sexual way, while the nude of Ancient Greece depicts an ideal, almost mathematical form. The pre-historic Venus of Willendorf embodies a different set of values, while modern images of the nude a different set of values again.

 

I will address the different representations as embodying a certain set of historical values; the importance of this point is that the tastes and values surrounding the female body have changed, and that there is no fixed value, as such. The value of the female body is historically situated and not absolute. What is, therefore, moral about beauty pertains to its relative state, meaning the social, economic, and political situation in which the female body exists.

 

 

Prehistory: The Venus of Willendorf

 

It can be argued that the changes in historical tastes and values of the female body constitute an evolution towards the democratisation of the female body, but this is not my goal at present. It is, nevertheless, importantly to keep in mind that the body is never just an image, even in its prehistoric form; it is always a site of political and social significance.

 

The Venus of Willendorf is one of the oldest representations of the human form.

 

 

 

 

 

What you first notice about the Venus are breasts and stomach. On closer inspection you notice that the figure has no discernible face and no arms. It is also noticeable that the Venus has a large posterior. Certain features of the Venus are exaggerated while other features are diminished. The question, of course, must be "why?" One theory, promoted by neuroscientists like V. S. Ramachandran, suggests that the exaggeration of certain features and not others relates to a biological predisposition toward those certain features and not others. This is an evolutionary argument.

 

The exaggeration of the breasts and the stomach, which are pertinent to child-raising, has some resonance. The Venus's physique is not an oddity, the same sorts of exaggerations and minimisations occur in other "Venuses" of the time period, 20,000-25,000 years ago. The traditional interpretation is that the Venus is a fertility symbol, which is a reasonable analysis. Other interpretations, which can be seen as sympathetic to the fertility interpretation, argue that there is a biological imperative that leads to the brain emphasising certain features and not others. This is a evolutionary and neurological interpretation.

 

A proper interpretation must take account of all the features, including the minimised ones; in the case of the Venus of Willendorf, the absence of arms and the minimisation of facial features, which again is common in other Venus figurines. If the brain is, for lack of a better word, programmed to focus on certain features and not others, then there is an argument to be made about the exaggerated features in the Venus. The values expressed in these earliest artistic expressions are neuro-biological, if not evolutionary.  

Antiquity: The Aphrodite of Knidos

The Venus of Willendorf signifies the emergence of art and human culture - the shift from prehistory to history. The female body has not changed in 30,000-odd years; what has changed is the art and culture of the human race. The influence of art and culture on the tastes and values of society, at least in terms of Western art and culture, surrounding the female nude is best illustrated by the Classical - Greco-Roman - treatment of the naked female form. The Greeks were fascinated by mathematics, and mathematical proportions would come to influence even their appreciation of the human body.

 

Importantly, the male nude was held equal to, if not greater than, the female nude in cultural and aesthetic esteem in Greek society. This is an interesting point of different to every other period of Western history, but my focus here is the female form. There is, arguably, an obsession with the male form now, but whether it is comparable to the Greeks' is another question for another time.

 

The female nude is represented through a very particular formula: the distance between the breasts, the distance from the breasts to the navel, and the distance from the navel to the partition of the legs. That is to say, the distance from the breasts to the partition is twice that of the distance between the breasts. This is a mathematical formula that, as Kenneth Clark says, is repeated throughout the classical period. The Aphrodite of Knidos (or Cnidos), attributed to Praxiteles, exemplifies this formula:

 

 

 

The Aphrodite differs markedly from the Venus; the craft of sculpting had obviously greatly improved in 20,000-odd years! That aside, what we notice is, at first glance, is an emphasis on verisimilitude, quite distinct from the exaggerations of the breasts, buttocks, and stomach in the Venus. I say "at first glance" because the proportions are, as I have mentioned, governed by a mathematical ideal, and this is not universally applicable; very few women actually meet the "Classical ideal."

 

The Greek obsession with mathematics goes beyond sculpture and the representation of the human form. There was a mysticism that was attached to mathematics, perhaps best exemplified in the cult of Pythagoras. Mathematics was a lens through which the world could be seen and understood; it must be remembered that Ancient Greece, Classical civilisation, is where many of our most enduring questions about humanity and the universe were first asked.

 

Mathematics represents order and causal structures of meaning. While women were considered second-class citizens (there is no real difference in their political status in Antiquity to the later Gothic, or medieval era), the "idealisation" of form is not misogynistic; both male and female forms had mathematical ideals. The set of value this particular taste represents revolves around proportion and structure. Greek society (I have Athenian society in mind here) was highly structured, socially and politically.

 

Perhaps a more enduring expression of the Greek ideals of structure and organisation than mathematical ideals and mysticism that emerges from Ancient Greece is the form of political organisation known as democracy, which flickered for a brief moment in the 4th century BC, and which would be seen again for millennia. Greek democracy was a complicated system with what Americans would call "checks and balances" programmed into its institutional structure. Although, women were not granted a vote, and, obviously, neither were slaves. Politically and culturally speaking, in ancient Greece there was certain prevailing attitudes towards women and certain minorities that still echo today.

 

 

Medieval Era: Adam and Eve

 

The Greeks revelled in mathematical proportions; they had stumbled upon the fact that everything in the universe could be represented mathematically, though they may have extended the metaphor too far with prescriptive measurements. In the medieval period, representations of the female body took on a different shape. The ideal form of the Greeks, perhaps an exaggeration of proportionality, gives way to a different kind of exaggeration in the Gothic or Medieval period.

 

There are two parts to the Gothic era, early and late. The female (as well as the male) body is noticeably different, although they share the same desexualised essence. The early Gothic body is remarkable in its unremarkable shape with no physiological emphasis of any sort; the "ideal proportion" of the early-Gothic is one of severe under-statement. The early-Gothic period, it must be remembered, is one dominated by the Christian mythology and a pervasive asceticism. The body, in this period, is something to be shunned, not glorified; it is almost always in a state of mortification. The Adam and Eve at Bamberg is a good example of the entirely desexualised nature of the early-Gothic nude.

 

 

 

Adam and Eve are almost caricatures. The body is something to be transcended in this time period. The natural shape of the female form (as well as the male form) is caricatured into near formlessness. Save for two small breasts, the difference between Adam and Eve is negligible.

 

The late-Gothic representation of the female body, on the other hand, is a little more stylised; as such, it is a little more interesting. The late-Gothic nude has two key features: an emphasising of the stomach, and a de-emphasising of the breasts. The exaggeration of the stomach and reduction of the breasts represent a de-sexualisation of the female form and an emphasis on the woman's role as life-giver. The distended stomach always resembles the swollen belly inextricably associated with pregnancy. The swollen breasts that are also often associated with pregnancy are not represented, however.

 

Hugo van der Goes' depiction of Adam and Eve is emblematic of the late-Gothic nude. Kenneth Clark refers to the female nude of this period as "bulb-like," while the men are root-like in form.

 

 

 

 

 The distended stomachs of the Gothic female nude are peculiar from a modern perspective, but it must be remembered that the predominant shape is indicative of the morality of the time. "Eve" is decidedly un-sexual; her body is purely functional. However, it should also be remembered what women represented for the 1500 since the emergence of Christianity: the Fall of Man, as represented in van der Goes' picture. Eve is plucking the apple from the Tree of Knowledge at the insistence of the anthropomorphic snake. It is, perhaps, ironic that the gender that is held responsible for the Fall of Man for her temptation is represented so un-temptingly.

 

*

 

In the next blog, I will focus on representations of the female body from the Renaissance to the 20th Century. In particular, I will look at the works of Giorgione, Titian, Rubens and Renoir, among others. Artists such as these over this period since the 15th century capture broader-ranging and more naturalistic images of the female nude, with an increasing sense of feminine subjectivity and diversity in the subject-matter. As this period progresses, depictions of the female nude are bound less and less by an over-arching moral structure or ideal; depictions of the female nude over this period become more subjective, both in relation to the artist and the female subject herself. This diversification and subjectivisation is an important precursor - empowering as well as problematic - to the realisation of beauty as a moral trait in the modern era.

The Female Body: Language, Consent, and Degradation

 

"The female body thirsts for words. The words of a man."
 

I recently came across the above quote (thank you Jess) in relation to a rather debasing television show called "Blachman," named after its "star," in which young women are objectified by two older men as if they were statues, erotic mannequins that only exist to be judged. These women are naked; the two men are clothed, seated, like ageing connoisseurs clucking over a vulnerable muse, no longer able to produce their own aesthetic response to the natural beauty of the world, instead judging it from a privileged position: clothed, seated, and on television. This show resonates with a “casting couch” mentality.

This image is, effectively, the show:

 

 

This show has already come in for some deserved criticism by Elizabeth Plank. (the above image was taken from Plank's post.) What I want to focus on is the above quote, which was deployed as a part of the defence of the show by its “star.” This quote encapsulates the show: two comfortable men commenting on the body of a vulnerable woman. But it also encapsulates the broader issue of the complicated relationship between sexual politics and language. The quote represents a corruption of the meaning-making process that flows from the human body.

 

The female body does not “thirst for […] [t]he words of a man” any more than it thirsts for the words of a woman. The human body “thirsts” for meaning in general. There is more to meaning than just words, but words are perhaps the most obvious representation of meaning. The human body doesn’t simply thirst for meaning, it produces meaning. It produces meaning through its shape, its processes, its location, and, perhaps most importantly in the context, its proximity to other bodies that produce meaning in the same way.

 

Language is a carriage-service by which we share meaning, from body to body; it is not shared, importantly, from body to mind, or vice-versa. The body and the mind are the same organism. We are our own "body-mind," as John Dewey would say (I am fond of the term, however perfunctory it is). What I mean is that the production of meaning is not spectatorial; it does not travel from its origin to its target in one direction. The production of meaning is reciprocal. We need each other’s bodies for the production of meaning, but we use language to lever that production of meaning for our own gain. To argue that women thirst for the words of men is an expression of the leverage of language used to subjugate what should be a reciprocal process of meaning-making.

 

Perhaps the most important reciprocal process or act is the act of consent. Sex is a meaning-making process;  it may seem odd to speak of it like that but it’s entirely true. We “make love,” for instance, wherein sex is an expression of a deep emotional rapport between sexual partners. Or, we might have a “one-night stand”; however “meaningless” a one-night stand might be, it remains an expression of physical desire. It may also be a conquest or the fulfilment of a night out. Consent is, nevertheless, the most important component of any sexual encounter. Without consent the meaning of sex is violence: not meaning, but the destruction of meaning.

 

Consent, however, is not reserved only for the sexual act. A kiss or a caress requires consent, nudity too. The young woman who is the object of the ageing connoisseurs' gaze during their sleazy conversation consents to being seen naked, ostensibly. I say "ostensibly" because the nature of the experience indicates that consent is not reciprocal. The men are seated, clothed, comfortable; the young woman, standing naked in an unwelcoming studio stands before them, responding to directions from the older men. What the young woman gains from being subjugated in this way is not clear, but what the men gain is obvious. Perhaps she earns an appearance fee - after all, who would do it for free?

 

Consent, like any other act of meaning-making, is also leveraged through language. If you believe that your body “thirsts for […] [t]he words of a man” then you are more likely to accept the words of a man; you are more likely to go in search of the words of a man. At the very least, you are less likely to be sceptical of a man’s words; when a man says something inappropriate, the un-sceptical response might be: "that's just men," a variant of the "boys will be boys" tautology. More on this shortly. The place of compliments, pick-up lines, even bad romantic poetry within sexual discourse is predicated on the apparent superiority of “the words of a man.” Women are supposed to swoon at the lovely words of men because this swooning is reinforced in art, particularly popular culture. What is more, it is reinforced through language: you, as a woman, are told the words of men matter, and you know it must be true because I, with my man-words, am telling you so.

 

Of course, there are deep, historical structures of inequality that are the root-cause of the power imbalance between men and women, but it is through language that such an imbalance persists. We live in a liberal, secular, pluralist democracy (in Australia at least, and one or two of these may be debatable), where language matters, even its gross rhetorical form we’ve become used to from our politicians. Those deep, historical inequalities persist through language, even in a democracy. Words matter in a democracy; words are empowered in a democracy. Failure or refusal to be critical of words and to employ them judiciously is unconscionable under the circumstances.

 

Consent, or perhaps “consent,” is garnered through the self-enforcing mechanism of masculine language. What makes this vicious cycle worse is that many women are co-opted into reinforcing this masculine paradigm. It could certainly be argued that the women who appear on the show, for whatever reason, are co-opted in this way. By appearing on the show they are proving that “the words of a man” are important; so important and powerful, in fact, that they can conjure up a naked woman. Conversely, to be naked is to conjure up the words of a man.

 

There is a promise in this transaction, but a promise that is predicated on a false valuation of both the nude female form (under-valued) and the male word (over-valued). “I promise to reveal myself,” the woman says, “if you promise your words.” The words of a man are a revelation, but not of the same sort of revelation as is female nudity. Words should conjure words in response; we usually call this “conversation” or more broadly “discourse.” We might extend this point and argue that nudity, then, should conjure nudity in response. Perhaps if the two older men were also standing naked in front of the younger woman for her to judge their commentary might be different.

 

This can’t be assumed of course. Men are also inculcated with the belief that “a woman’s body thirsts for words. The words of a man.” This is not an apology; men are no more innocent in this than are the women who apologise for their behaviour. Another apologetic cliche springs to mind: "he's just a man." No man is just a man, he is a human being. This kind of language simply reinforces the kind spectatorial engagement, the one-sided transaction, that this show represents. The language we use in the discourse of sexual politics has to change; even the most innocuous use of the "boys will be boys" cliche reinforces the inequality.

 

A less galling example  of such apologetic behaviour (but offensive enough to illustrative of my point), compared to Blachman's quote, occurred in the wake of the Australian Olympic swimming team debacle, and the misbehaviour of some of Australia's high-profile male competitors. Most Australians know the story already, but here is a link. In defence of her colleagues, Cate Campbell exclaimed: "This is what normal boys do for fun, it's how they bond." I am sure the woman at the centre of the Cronulla Sharks sex scandal would beg to differ about the validity of the defence of "boys will be boys" in relation to male bonding routines and behaviour that involve humiliation, violence, or other forms of degradation.

 

But I digress. The point is that language matters; it matters how we use it and how we let others use it. Yes, I said "let," because language is a site of conflict, and in a liberal, secular, pluralistic democracy (or any society that aspires to be one) what we let others get away with, in both word and deed, determines the direction of society. Language is a form of imposition, but it is also a form of resistance, counter-imposition. Sexual autonomy and equality (that is, the equality of autonomous sexual agents) must be expressed through language, because language frames perception and promotes certain behaviours at the expense of others.

Difference, Metaphor, and the Collective Imagination

In a response to a previous blog, the responder, Jessica, critiqued my argument regarding apparent homogenous nature of what I referred to as “the collective imagination.” She argues that my formulation of the collective imagination denies or relegates difference, in particular sexual and gender difference. I believe this is the most important quote: “The problem with a unifying 'imagination' is the effacing and denial of difference that does not allow the possibility of other subjectivities.” Her criticism stems from a French Feminist position, most notably an “Irigarayan” perspective. I do not have the background to respond directly to this criticism; my response below will, at best, be tangential. I believe, however, that the differences between myself and the responder are conceptual, and not fundamental. What follows is (hopefully) a clarification of my argument regarding the importance of the collective imagination, and the importance of difference to that metaphoric space.

The collective imagination is not a homogenous space. The term is, perhaps, misleading. The emphasis should be on “imagination”; its “collective” nature is grounded in the common embodiment and environment from which the material of our experience, and by extension our imaginations, is drawn. Our neurophysiology is the same regardless of gender differences, but gender differences are the basis for quite different experiences. The same metaphoric processes of meaning-making underpin our experience, but the physiognomic differences do affect the kinds of material experience, or stimuli, an individual is presented with. However, while physiognomic differences have persisted throughout human history, the material basis of experience, as well as the metaphoric value-systems through which such experience is filtered, have changed. This is a complex point that needs unpacking, but ultimately it can be understood through the evolution of the collective imagination as a heterogeneous space.

Whatever the differences between men and women, the senses of perception are the same. This is not to diminish gender differences or the historical and political disadvantage that has accompanied them, and in many ways still does. Humans are meant to be together, socially, sexually, mimetically. Gender differences combined with our social impulsion makes sexuality a political space. Where there is difference there is a contest for control, because difference implies multiple dimensions; that is, multiple dimensions of a metaphoric space in which human thought and behaviour must operate. Multiple dimensions means complex non-linear movement, which further entails non-predictability or non-uniformity.

While we have a common embodiment in terms of the senses of perception, the kinds of material experience presented to those senses, filtered through physiognomic difference, are not uniform. Being a man is different to being a woman; differences are further exacerbated by culture and religion. Childbirth and the menstrual cycle are material experiences that a male simply cannot understand as an experience. In some cultures, a woman is considered “unclean” during her menstrual cycle. The culturally pervasive obsession with a woman’s virginity – and its corollary of insouciance toward male virginity – is another example of politically filtered gendered experience.

Our metaphoric processes of meaning-making are the basis of our behaviour; the conceptual systems of our morality (and our politics whereby our morality is contested) are the basis of our choices, but they are formulated through our metaphoric processes. Our metaphoric processes, however, are informed by our embodied experience, which is itself predicated on our physiological makeup. The physiological similarities and differences between the genders (among other conventional biological and cultural distinctions) constitute a background of meaning, the contextual field of historical, cultural, and political information that shapes our perception of interactions and events. A homogenous collective imagination would be constituted by wholly the predominant perspective, in almost every case a male perspective.

The metaphoric space of the imagination where our values are ultimately formulated is a diverse space, but it is a contested space. It is the site where difference can be communicated, appreciated, valued. While language is an important extension of the imagination, and the imagination is an important space wherein our material experience can be represented and altered abstractly, which in turn affects our material experience, language is complicit in the homogenisation of the imagination because it cannot satisfactorily capture the nuance in the imaginative reshaping of material experience. Language is linear and struggles to capture the multi-dimensional nature of human experience; language, furthermore, because it is linear, only moves in one direction, whereas meaning comes to us from multiple directions and in multiple forms (through the different senses).

Language, however, remains an extension of us, our most important communicative and expressive tool. Language, so long as it remains spoken and replete with human emotion, remains essential to our experience. Language, while does not capture certain dimensions of experience at all well, is nonetheless an evocative approximation of experience. We are a species of story-tellers and poets, and I will discuss the importance of poetry in the diffusion of language in a later blog. It’s the stories we tell about our experiences that shape our experiences; these same stories serve to reinforce rules of behaviour as well. Because language only moves in one direction, the telling of a story is a forceful event. Language controls emotional response because it moves in one direction; that which is left unsaid, the material experience that is not expressed in words, is suppressed. And that which is not presented in language is not presented to the imagination, or more specifically, is obscured from the imagination by what is presented in language.

It is, therefore, the homogenisation of language that leads to the homogenisation of the collective imagination. To foreshadow a future blog post, language filters all other forms of expression, including pictorial representations of the human form, because language limits the way in which such images can be talked about. Representations of sex, for instance, have historically been limited because the language associated with sex has been considered taboo. “Swear words,” which are almost always derived from sexual acts and bodily functions, are still largely taboo. Conversely, it could be argued that the words are taboo because the acts are taboo; language, however, is the vanguard of the act. Boundaries and limitations – and taboos – are challenged first through language; manifestos are circulated, plans formulated, protests organised, songs, chants, poems, news stories; coherent information must emerge in order for a collective consciousness revolving around a common cause to emerge subsequently.

Language prefigures material change because it operates in the metaphoric space of the imagination where values and beliefs, our shared abstract models of the world and our experience of it, are formed. Our beliefs are actionable metaphors, and language, however imperfect it is, gives us access to that metaphoric space. Language, therefore, is the critical site of conflict in the contest over meaning. Language matters; it may seem a long way to go to get to an obvious point such as this, but this fact needs to be understood in its proper context. Human relations, including race, gender, and sexuality, are filtered by language. Language shapes the “metaphors we live by,” and it is in that metaphorical realm, in the realm of the imagination, that nuance and difference must be expressed and defended. The collective imagination is where the perceptions and values of the material world are changed, and language is the most important point of entry.

Sex, Sexuality, and the Emancipation of the Imagination

I’m a heterosexual man; I find women attractive. I could explain why, but seeing how I’m a heterosexual man you probably already know why. You probably find women attractive, too. Or men. Or both. The options are limited. Again, you probably know why. There’s nothing wrong with sex, or sexual attraction. We’re supposed to be attracted to each other, to varying degrees. Sexuality is the basis of much - in some cases most - of our social interaction; propagation of the species is the goal of sexuality and social bonding. That isn’t our decision; rather, it’s the goal of our genes. Their purpose is to reproduce themselves and we are their vehicles. To quote Daniel Dennett, we are “gene machines.” But that doesn’t mean we are robots, or that genetics is a licence to pursue our biological imperative with amoral abandon.

We are our genes and our organs and our nervous systems and the instincts that drive us toward certain acts (over and over and over again); but we are also our cultivated minds, our emotions, our social and familial relations. There is, of course, continuity between our genes and our higher mental and emotional faculties; they are all constituted in the same organism: us! And this continuity, in evolutionary terms, is important. However far we travel, socially and technologically speaking, we are never too far from our biological roots – we are our biological roots. But we are more than our biology; this is the beauty of our humanity. We can transcend our instincts (I have reservations about the word “transcend” but it suits the purpose here).

We transcend our instincts through art and the aesthetic perception of nature and ourselves. But the aesthetic perception of the human body is grounded in our biology. The aesthetic perception of the human body is grounded in its sexual associations; what is beautiful about the human body always seems to revolve around the sexual organs. Perhaps not always, but often enough to produce a trend. And that’s OK. I like breasts, because I’m a heterosexual man. But the female face is also attractive to me; the face has no sexual function – no reproductive function – but the face is the seat of emotional and linguistic communication. We kiss, which entails the use of the mouth, the same orifice that speaks and moans and cries and frowns and smiles; the face is the locus of expression and the most immediate and attractive part of any human being. It isn’t all about sex, it’s also about communication, interaction, intersubjectivity.

Sexuality is a form of communication. The sexual act itself, however, is only one part of sexuality; to conflate the two is a dangerous error. Sexuality is the extension of the basic sexual facts into the realm of the imagination. That is to say, human sexuality has metaphoric dimensions above those of our basic sexual behaviours. No other animal has this projective capacity; other animals can plan ahead, anticipate, or calculate, but none can occupy that projective space in the same way that we can. That space is the imagination, and we do a lot of wonderful things with it. Language is an important component of our imagination, so is the ability to produce pictorial representations. Literature, poetry, painting, and photography are the products of those components of our imagination, and they have fashioned our social existence for our entire history. In fact, human history begins when art begins.

Sexuality and the human body, for the same length of time - that is, for all of time - have been the object of our imagination, and this pervasive and persistent attention has changed our bodies, as well as our sexuality. To be sure, we've had a turbulent relationship with our imagination and its treatment of sexuality and the body; what is more, repressive sexual politics haunts us to this day. But this repressive politics is borne out of a base human instinct: the instinct to control. It is a different kind of projection; it is imposition, and I have discussed this previously.

It is entirely common, and most acute in the realm of sex and sexuality, to see the imposition of "values," which have the same conceptual basis as that which their imposers are trying to repress. The world of sexual politics is replete with hypocrites because this irrepressible intersection. The same mind that seeks to impose its preferred sexual narrative is the same mind that imagines the perversions it's so offended by. There is no shortage of tales of, usually conservative, politicians and social leaders falling foul of their sexual desires at the cost of their political careers. The U.S. is particularly rich with such tales.

I should explain more explicitly what I mean when I say "sexuality is a form of communication." By definition, as a form of communication sexuality is reciprocal. It is both projection and reception, predicated on the existence of similarly-constituted others. There is no sexuality without others - sexuality is not simply private (although it is certainly that in some respects), it is a public and collective mode of communication because it is predicated on the existence of others. Because it is a public and collective mode of communication it is also contested, sometimes by the aforementioned politicians who seek to take advantage of divisive positions (no pun intended). We share our sexuality in various expressive forms, from the conventional to the radical.

We don't just produce representations of the body, we use the body itself as a canvas for representation. No other aesthetic object is so thoroughly employed. We can communicate sexual availability, preference, and defiance all at once; we can even transform the very notions of sex and sexuality. We can do this because we have an imagination. What is more, we can do this because we all have the same imagination, the same capacity to imagine. But, and it's a very important but, imagination, like biology, is no licence to indulge with amoral abandon. This is no morality I am preaching, but a subtle and fundamental truth. Sexuality is predicated on the existence of similarly-constituted others, and that includes the metaphoric capacity of imagination.

The central claim of feminist politics, and sexual and gender politics more generally, is grounded in the subtle fact that we occupy the same metaphoric space of imagination through which we communicate and shape our perception of the world, including and especially with regard to sexuality and social interaction more broadly. The demand for gender or sexual equality is a demand for an equal share of the collective imagination, by which we generate the value-systems that govern our behaviour, and which are sometimes legislated to very dangerous ends (think of the punitive divorce laws and sodomy laws that have at one time existed in Western countries, and still exist in many non-Western countries).

The sexual act is not the determinant factor for human sexuality because the act itself is surpassed by the metaphoric projections of our imagination, and it is in that space, not strictly speaking the biological space that we now operate. To be sure, biology dictates certain outcomes. Reproduction and orgasm are the two most important forces to a sexual body (though not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily both). What is important, however, is that the imagination is emancipated from the demands of either. As strange as it might seem, reproduction or orgasm are not required outcomes for human sexuality. A woman doesn't have to have baby just because she is sexually active, and a man doesn't have to ejaculate just because he is aroused by the sight of a woman, or a man for that matter.

This is an aesthetic emancipation and it is the true source of human sexuality. Perhaps perversely, this emancipation is also a site of manipulation and coercion. Again, the drive to impose upon others is always present. Not only are there repressive forces contesting the ground of the collective imagination, there are exploitative forces as well. True emancipation only comes through a collective broadening of the aesthetic boundaries of sexuality. In a sense, it requires an emancipation of sexuality as a form of communication from the sexual act itself. Reproduction and ejaculation aren't a mandate dictating to, or stemming from, sexuality as a form of communication.

The history of the representation of the human body provides a fascinating case-study in how the collective imagination has changed, from the prehistoric Venus of Willendorf to the Greeks' obsession with the naked male form, to the medieval fascination with small breasts, to modern representations of the human body. The emancipation of sexuality would require at least a cursory understand of human representations of the human body have changed throughout our history. But this is a topic for another blog!