PHILOBIBLON

Transcription

PHILOBIBLON

Lucian Blaga Central University Library
Research Department
PHILOBIBLON
Transylvanian Journal of Multidisciplinary
Research in Humanities
Volume XIX
Number 1
– January - June 2014 –
Cluj University Press
Philobiblon – Vol. XIX (2014) No. 1
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HISTORY, HISTORY OF CULTURE, HISTORY OF MENTALITIES,
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ISSN: 1224-7448
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CONTENTS
“HORIZONS OF IDENTITIES” (II)
ORIGINAL STUDIES
Ramona MATEI, Mircea Eliade and Ioan Petru Culianu
- Two Different Paradigms in the Study of Religious Facts .......................................... 9
Rodica FRENTIU, Imago Mundi and Metaphysical Knowledge
in Japanese Calligrams and Byzantine Icons ................................................................. 19
Dániel DARVAY, Chiastic Modernism: Rational Uncanniness
and Uncanny Reason.......................................................................................................... 33
Zsuzsa SELYEM, The Fibonacci novel - László Krasznahorkai’s
Hommage to Mario Merz in Seiobo There Below.......................................................... 51
Vasile PĂDUREAN, Alkibiades’ Rede über Sokrates oder das Bild des Philosophen
in profanen Augen .............................................................................................................. 59
Avram ANDEA, L’écriture domaniale en Transylvanie au XVIe siècle,
Fonctionnalité et identité ................................................................................................... 80
Maria STOLERU, Elena-Alis COSTESCU, (Re)Producing Violence
against Women in Online Spaces ..................................................................................... 95
Vasile-Alin LEŞ, The Limits of Psyche, A Perspective on Philosophy,
Religion, Psychology, Psychiatry, Anthropology and Phenomenology ................... 115
Cecília LIPPAI, “Nature” and “Wilderness” – The Role of Conceptions
of Nature in Environmental Protection ........................................................................ 121
István KIRÁLY V., A (Possible) Forum for Freedom: Faculty of Philosophy, Chair
Philosophy and Applied Philosophy – A Lecture on Philosophy
without Thinker ............................................................................................................... 134
Florin CRIŞAN, Vasile CRISTEA, The Contribution of the Cluj School
of Biology to the Development of European Sozology in the Inter-War Period .... 152
Dana POP, Analysing Architectural Determinism – the Physical
Environment as a Mnemonic Device ............................................................................. 162
Smaranda SPÂNU, Solidarity through a Built Medium: A Case of the Romanian
National Architectural Style in Transylvania .............................................................. 173
5
Gabriel CONSTANTINESCU, Criminology and Modernization in Romania during
the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century .................................................................. 194
Adriana TEODORESCU, Investigating the Imaginary, Premise for
a Bioethical Construction of Cremation ....................................................................... 218
Marius ROTAR, Romanian Physicians and the Issues of Cremation:
the Case of Minovici Brothers ........................................................................................ 233
MISCELLANEA
Andreea COROIAN, The Traditional Guest Room under a Modern
Magnifying Glass – Review ............................................................................................. 247
István KIRÁLY V., Health, Illness, Healing - A medical anthropology
Research – Review ............................................................................................................ 251
Amália SOÓS, Deconstructing the Mechanism of Interpretation
– Review.............................................................................................................................. 256
István KIRÁLY V., Lack and Hungarian Philosophy– An Essayistic
Review on Ildikó Veres’s Book ...................................................................................... 260
Adriana TEODORESCU, Literature as Life; Life as Literature.
A review of Irina Petraş’ book Use(less) Digressions. Life
and Literature ..................................................................................................................... 264
Irina PETRAŞ, The Stained Glass and the Window – Review ................................... 269
Teodora COSMAN, Romania – Identity/Alterity – A review of Herito heritage, culture & the present 12 (2013)........................................................................ 273
Dana-Cristina HERŢA, “To Be or Not To Be”– Review ................................. 277
ILLUSTRATIONS FOR THIS NUMBER
Aleksandra CHAUSHOVA (BULGARIA)
To what point documents are documentary? ............................................................. 279
6
MAN – BOOK – KNOWLEDGE
– SOCIETY
“HORIZONS OF IDENTITIES”
(II)
ORIGINAL STUDIES
AND ARTICLES
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8
Mircea Eliade and Ioan Petru Culianu
Two Different Paradigms in the Study of Religious Facts*
Ramona MATEI,
Alexandru Ioan Cuza University of Iaşi, Romania
Keywords: history, history of religions, hermeneutics, method, mind games, Mircea
Eliade, Ioan Petru Culianu
Abstract: In the “reading,” made by the disciple Ioan Petru Culianu on the master
Mircea Eliade’s work and life, we actually distinguish the interpreter’s own obsessions
and the need of a self-enlightenment regarding the role of the discipline that he practices
(history of religions) and the significance of the unpredictable succession of the
historical events. “Young Culianu,” who is still influenced by Eliade’s philosophy,
understands the history of religions as a discipline of the existential implications, capable
of offering a profound cognition of the human being and of his relations with the world
(history) in which he lives. In the last period of his creation, exceeding the modern
hermeneutics of the sense, practiced by the master, Culianu interrogates history from an
interdisciplinary and systemic position. In his attempt to learn the universal method, a
true clavis universalis, applicable to any field of knowledge, Ioan Petru Culianu
gradually detaches himself from Eliade’s view, unveiling a new paradigm in the study of
the religious facts.
E-mail: [email protected]
*
1.
Introduction
“Subject Eliade” (the man, the scholar and the prose writer) certainly represents one of
Culianu’s constant interests in his work. The monograph Mircea Eliade, published in
1978, in Italy, in Cittadella Editrice, Assisi, the study entitled Mircea Eliade, the
Unknown, which should have represented the introduction to a planned book of
conversations between the two historians of religions (for the collection “East-Quest”
run by Paul Goma at the Hachette Publishing House), the correspondence between
Culianu and other acquaintances or friends (for instance, the letter exchange with his
Italian friend, Gianpaolo Romanato), the studies, the essays, the reviews and the young
scholar’s conferences that have as target the master’s work and personality, some
political articles published by Culianu in his exile press (especially in the weekly Lumea
liberă românească in New York, in the column “Scoptophilia”) and other texts that
belong to the disciple and that have, at first sight, nothing in common with the master’s
work and personality (sometimes even Culianu’s deliberate “silences” and the absence
*
This article was written for the following project: PhD Studies: Portal for an Eminent Career in
Research and Knowledge Society, financed by the Functional Domain Programme for the Human
Resources Management 2007-2013 (grant POSDRU /88/1.5/S/47646).
9
of certain expected references to Eliade’s work become revealing for their specific
complex relationship) – all these form an interpretative puzzle, a labyrinth whose centre
is nothing but the same story of the finding of the Self.
Culianu, who is most of the times encomiastic, sometimes distant and ironic,
alludes, in his writings, to the “model Eliade” in a continuous attempt to find his own
identity; although he credits his achievement to the master, he is aware that the personal
“path” can only be properly chosen through an act of self-performance. Thus, Culianu
will gradually detach himself from Eliade’s, and he will adapt himself to a postmodern
“age” of studying the religious facts.
Mircea Eliade in “young” Culianu’s interpretation: the existential
implications of the history of religions
In the first stage of his creation,1 Ioan Petru Culianu, truly influenced by Mircea Eliade’s
thinking, had not yet been detached from the modern hermeneutics of the meaning. This
attitude of constancy towards the profound signification of the world is moderately
expressed through the medium of some studies where the exegete describes and
elucidates the essential data of work belonging to the one who was meant to become his
master. The article L’anthropologie philosophique, published in Les Cahiers de l’Herne,
number 33/1978 (as well as its variants: Experience, Knowledge, Initiation. An Essay
about Mircea Eliade – July-August 1974; „… in his stories …” – an incomplete text),
Mircea Eliade’s Imagery Universe (approximately dated in 1978-1979), Mircea
Eliade’s Metamorphosis (published in Limite, Paris, 28/9, 1979), Mircea Eliade and the
Flying Turtle (written at the beginning of 1981, but published in the German version in
H. P. Duerr (ed.), Die Mitte der Welt, Frankfurt, Suhrkamp, 1984), the monograph study
Mircea Eliade (drafted between 1976-1977 and published by Cittadella Editrice, Assisi,
1978) – all these become conspicuous for the manner in which Culianu understands the
role of the History of Religions in the first stage of his activity.
In both Eliade’s and Culianu’s views, this privileged discipline, through the
medium of which they will elaborate contemplations that will transcend the field of
religion, cannot be reduced to a simple chronological order and inventory of the
researched deeds. The history of religions is not an autistic discipline whose research is
exclusively historical, but an expansive manner of interpreting religious deeds. This
implicit “openness” in the research of the religious phenomenon affects the entire
epistemology and it also presents ontological effects. Investigating the religious ideas
2.
1
Horia-Roman Patapievici elaborates the theory of ’’the last Culianu” in an article initially
appeared in Letters, Arts, Ideas, a cultural supplement for the Cotidianul newspaper (IV, nr. 27
(161), 18th July, 1994), which subsequently would be modified significantly. The article is
specifically meant to be included in a volume coordinated by Sorin Antohi and entitled Ioan Petru
Culianu. The Man and the Work (Iaşi: Polirom Publishing House, 2003, 618-639); afterwards, the
article is entirely revised in order to become the nucleus of a book entitled The last Culianu
(Bucharest: Humanitas Publishing House, 2010), in which the exegete suggests the following
division, making reference to the years of the writing or rewriting of the paradigm-books from
every stage: “‹‹young Culianu›› (Iocari serio, 1979); ‹‹the first Culianu›› (Eros and Magic in
Renaissance, 1981); transition from ‹‹the first›› (The Dual Gnosis, 1986) to ‹‹the last Culianu››
(The Gnosis Tree, 1990); ‹‹the last Culianu›› (Out of This World, 1990; the articles in the
Incognita magazine, 1089-1990; books projects, 1990-1991)” (annotation nr. 2/p. 8).
10
that are shaped in time in human mentality, the historian of religions tends, in fact, to
answer questions related to the being-in-the-world condition and to offer a more
profound understanding of human being. Young Culianu will insist on these exact
aspects in order to establish the particularities of the “implicit method”1 that appears in
Eliade’s work. Being influenced by the phenomenological perspective, which was
concerned with the perception of the religious essence, Eliade introduces the concept of
hierophany in order to designate the manner in which the sacred manifests itself in the
world, and it appears to be something different and superior. The sacred-profane
dichotomy, “two manners of being in the world, two existential situations assumed by
man in his history,”2 becomes a central theme in the maestro’s work. Although the
sacred can manifest itself everywhere, there are privileged hierophanies which Eliade
inventories, establishing the most significant categories (the firmament, the earth, the
water, the stone, the tree etc.). Together with the sacred experience of time and space –
rendered by the archaic man’s ritual participation to the cosmogonic myth – these
hierophanies become the object of a ”creative” interpretation whose aim is the
understanding of the significances of religious forms. Excelling the pure historicreligious morphology (that depicts and classifies the forms of a phenomenon), Eliade’s
research leads to a “philosophical anthropology,” that is the “hermeneutics of
hierophanies in relation to the question about the meaning of the being placed besides
the deeds and the hierophanies”3. Religious hermeneutics, as it is understood by Eliade,
reveals the principles of archaic ontology and, through a rebound, it can indicate the
specific manner of placing the modern man in the world. Eliade’s entire work (both
scientific and literary) questions, in fact, the meaning of the western civilization, and the
solutions through which the present existential “crisis” can be surpassed. In this sense,
the history of religions transgresses the intentions of an exclusively historic discipline,
becoming a “creative hermeneutics” that is meant “to decipher and to explain all man’s
meetings with the sacred, from pre-history to our present time”4. It is able to clarify
significations that otherwise would remain indistinguishable, setting it up for being a
saving “spiritual technique,” that is susceptible to “transforming man”5 through the
quality modification of his existence. Explicating the master’s work, the young exegete
believes that its humanitarian message is represented by the possibility of “liberating”
the being through the rediscovery (anamnesis) of archaic ontology. Although he no
longer recognizes the “signs” of the sacred, the modern man continues to live
unconsciously and depending on the same categories as the archaic man did. On the
other hand, the profound structure of his psychic life is ordered by the same symbols of
1
One of the most significant reviews on the master’s suggested system refers to the absence of a
scientific methodology: “Eliade does not have an explicit `method,` but he is implicitly connected to
the phenomenology of religions as well as to the morphologic and structuralist trends that were
active inside or outside the history of religions. (Ioan Petru Culianu, Mircea Eliade, 2nd Edition,
translated by Florin Chiriţescu and Dan Petrescu (Bucharest: Nemira Publishing House, 1998), 132).
2
Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane, 3rd Edition, translated by Brânduşa Prelipceanu
(Bucharest: Humanitas Publishing House, 2007), 15.
3
Ioan Petru Culianu, Mircea Eliade, 99.
4
Mircea Eliade, The Nostalgia of the Origins. History and Meaning in Religion, translated by
Cezar Baltag (Bucharest: Humanitas Publishing House, 1994), 97.
5
Ibid., 109.
11
initiation that used to constitute “the pragmatic models” of existence. The initiation
patterns have lost their traditional meaning and now they exist in the imaginary and
illusory life, and they can be recognized, in a degenerated form, in the ”evidences,”
”obstacles,” ”attempts” and sufferings that the present man encounters in his trial of
living a genuine existence. Culianu’s conclusion is that, in Eliade’s perspective, the
complete being can only be formed through a double action that suggests the escape
from the historic present, from the profane contingent (through dreams, music, reading,
artistic imagination) and through the participation to history (through the “ritual of the
destiny”). The second situation is formed in Culianu’s terms: “the modern man endures
the judgment of history, and he is unconsciously initiated in the sensible existence
through his very historicism”.1 In other words, being in the world (living in history)
represents an experience of suffering that is necessary for man in order to freely evolve
to the sacred. History itself plays the role of an “initiator” who proposes, through its
“signs,” the openness towards a trans-historical reality, archaic in nature. Whereas the
traditional society man used to transform every historical event in accordance with the
mythical categories, rendering a “reality” through his sacred belonging, the modern man
is overwhelmed by the arbitrary sequence of events in the profane world. The linear and
irreversible time, which was introduced by the Judaic-Christians, leads to the abolition
of the temporal cycle, and makes impossible the intermittent recovery of mythical
origins. Thus, the modern man loses all transcendental motifs of existence and misses all
attempts of finding true liberty. Nonetheless, Eliade’s message, in “young Culianu’s”
interpretation, is optimistic. In order for our existence to become meaningful again and
to stand up the “terror of history,” one must remember the fact that destiny, the world,
and history are a simple ”camouflage” of a foreign reality that sometimes breaks out in
the ordinary life. One must rediscover and interpret the hierophanies that have remained
unrecognizable for a long time in order to understand it all. Both Eliade’s scientific and
literary works have this function of saving man, connecting him to the “paradise lost” of
origins. The narration becomes, as psychoanalysis does, a technique of anamnesis that
reestablishes the “hierophanic trans-signification of objects,” pointing to the hidden
miracle in the “painting on the carpet” of history. ”Narrating” becomes equivalent to
“saving,” and the literary symbolism represents a manner of revealing the being towards
the paradoxical nature (absence-presence) of the sacred. Thus, “history reveals its
‹‹true›› image, a vehicle of a transcendental texture,” an “immense tapestry,” where it “is
that ‹‹painting on the carpet ›› that everyone must re-find and understand”.2
This first reading of Eliade’s work reveals the fact that the disciple believes in
the ”humanitarian” message, deeply ”religious” that belongs to the master who cares for
his fellow men’s destiny and tries to awake them to live a genuine existence. Eliade, as a
wise Tao or a ch’an master, orders the knowledge, suggesting possible paths for
attaining liberty. In order to sustain his thesis, Culianu adopts the example of a Buddhist
story (The Scripture of the Lotus), where it is narrated that the human being’s possibility
to attain liberty is as rare as that of a half blind turtle, that reaches the surface of the
1
Ioan Petru Culianu, Romanian Studies I. The Illusions of the Nihilism. Doctor Eliade’s Secret,
2nd Edition, translated by Corina Popescu and Dan Petrescu (Iaşi: Polirom Publishing House,
2006), 221; 243.
2
Ibid., 247; 253.
12
water in the exact moment when a holed log appears and helps it reach the shore. ”The
ch’an master’s role” – states Culianu – ”is to place holed logs on water in order to offer
half blind turtles many possibilities to reach the shore,”1 and Eliade’s humanitarian
attempt is, without a shadow of a doubt, can be compared to this action.
Aleksandra Chaushova, The Yard of Feelings, 2011,
pencil on paper, 46,4 x 32,6 cm
”Young Culianu” reflects upon the master’s message, and this fact is to be seen,
for example, in the belief in those existential implications of the study of the religious
phenomenon. Educated in the intellectual climate of Romania of the 60s, the young
scholar is disappointed by the arid manner in which this discipline is practiced in the
western world, and expresses his regrets in a 1977 letter to his friend, Andrei Pleşu:
”‹‹here››, in ‹‹the West››, the history of religions is totally different from what it is in
Romania: it is not the result of an individual evolution towards a form if ontological
perspective (as it was, I believe, in our case), but a philological and archeological
discipline with no existential implication. The possibility of its cultivation leads to the
defeating of any intention of knowledge or of openness towards being”2. During his
entire career, the history of religions represents a privileged discipline, meant to
transgress the historical limits of the research and to generate powerful-impact
meditations in the fields of epistemology and ontology. Although in the ”last Culianu’s”
view, everything may be rendered in terms of mind games, religion remains the most
1
Ibid., 334.
The letter is available in a volume coordinated by Sorin Antohi, Ioan Petru Culianu.The Man
and the Work, 93.
2
13
significant ”pattern” of society, whose conscious transformation could lead to the
changing of humanity’s future.
3. “The Last” Culianu and the Theory of the Mind Games
As the scholar adapted to the new postmodern tendencies, Culianu will become more
and more interested in the cognitive matters and in all kinds of cosmogonies. The “last
Culianu’s” view can be found in the interview with Gabriela Adameşteanu, on
December the 2nd, 1990 in Chicago. In this conversation, Culianu emphasizes the fact
that contemporary philosophy does no longer favour Heidegger’s great themes (the
being and the being-to-death), but it rather concentrates on the investigation of the
alternative worlds and on the parallel universes: “Heidegger belongs to a philosophical
tradition that experiences the worst dimension of the Christian theology – memento
mori, the meditation on death –, which does not represent the fascinating part of the
Christian theology, that is the multiplication of the worlds, the exploration of God’s
known possibilities, in which man does not have any significant role.”1
For the “last Culianu,” the multiplication of the worlds and the deconstruction
of the unique reality, artificially imposed by the modern positivism, represent a necessity
both epistemological and ontological. If, at the beginning, Culianu seems enthusiastic
about the possibilities of the “philosophical anthropology” suggested by Eliade, later on,
he will consider this process obsolete and he will aspire to a cognitive perspective in the
study of religion. Thus, the “new philosopher,” exposed in Culianu’s last letters, “is no
longer a mystic of the being and of the intellect, but an enchanter of the creative
becoming and of the action itself.”2
Soon after the publication of the studies after 1981 (Mircea Eliade l’inconnu – a
unique text written between 1982–1983, that represents the introduction of a planned
book of dialogues with Mircea Eliade, and which should have been published at
Hachette Publishing House, the „Est-Ouest” collection; Mircea Eliade et son œuvre:
‹‹L’histoire vraie›› du mythe – 1983; Mircea Eliade et l’idéal de l’homme universel –
1984; Mircea Eliade at the Crossroad of Anthropologhy – 1985; Mircea Eliade à la
recherche du Graal – 1987; The Secret of Doctor Eliade – 1988; L’Albero della
conoscenza. Invito alla lettura di Mircea Eliade - 1989), there appear the first symptoms
of this transformation of perspectives: the master who was once seen as a “saint,”
becomes the image of the “mystery priest” who initiates people in the mysteries created
by himself. Excelling the stage dominated by Eliade, Culianu neither believes in the
”true story” of the myth, nor in the function of the religious hermeneutics of connecting
man to the archaic realities. Nevertheless, in the 1978 monograph, the exegete observed
the semantic variations of the usage of the term ”archetype” in Eliade’s work and he did
not trust the practicability of Jung’s concept ”unconscious” in the field of the history of
religions. This new interpretation demonstrates the fact that Eliade’s achievement was
that of expressing, at the right moment, the needed message. The mystery priest, the
conscious creator and player of enigmas wants to save the bewildered humanity,
1
Talking with Ioan Petru Culianu, an interview by Gabriela Adameşteanu, in The Sin against the
Spirit. Political Writings (Iaşi: Polirom Publishing House, 2005), 55.
2
Aurel Codoban, The Philosopher (of Religions) as “enchanter,” in Sorin Antohi (coord.), Ioan
Petru Culianu.The Man and the Work, 559.
14
providing ”holed logs” in order to help man’s awareness, but the significance of such a
gesture is different. Commenting upon the fantastic stories after 1966 (Les trios Grâces,
Incognito la Buchenwald, Nineteen Rose, Endless Youth, etc.), Culianu believes that
Eliade’s third cycle, called “the cycle of the show and of the crypto-graphics,” contains
the clues of an intention to hide the ultimate truth, which, if it had been known, it would
convict us to an existence where there is no possibility of salvation: far from
representing an ”exemplar story,” the myth “stands on nothing,” and it is a “tendency of
interpreting the nothingness”.1 The hermeneutic activity only makes the myth be “true”
and settles a boundary between man and nothingness. In this new “reading,” the disciple
suggests that Eliade’s hermeneutics keeps its existential status; and not because by the
end of the interpretation stage it would get to a pre-existent meaning, but because it is
the only dimension that can create and built ceaselessly the “meaning,” so that the
human existence can have a clue: “The meaning belongs to man, who cannot live unless
he has it. ‹‹Liberating›› means to find a meaning. Hermeneutics represents the very
function that establishes a meaning. […] The ‹‹first›› Eliade, the theoretician of the
miracle that breaks into the world, believed that the meaning is transcendental to
hermeneutics itself. The ‹‹second›› Eliade, the one that belongs to the ‹‹miserable,
looked for and encountered Graal››, believes that the meaning is established by
hermeneutics itself. […] Now, the entire Eliade’s message can be summarized as it
follows: we must practise hermeneutics in order to survive”2. The Graal is a symbol for
spiritual evolution as long as its seeking (interpretation) lasts; hermeneutics, a creative
dimension, is, eventually, the seeking of a seeking.
According to this changing in vision, the sequence of events is no longer referred
to with a transcendental meaning, and it is no longer situated in an initial field that could
insure a justification for human tragedies. The “scrambled writing” of the world could be
deciphered, but it is recommended a new possibility of reading it. For “the last Culianu,”
everything can be defined in terms of the “mind games.” The consequence of such an
approach indicates the fact that humanity’s primordial unity neither consists in a unity of
beliefs, nor in the continuity of some unconscious archetypes, but simply in the unity of
those procedures with which human minds function regardless of time and space. Humans
think, and in similar situations, their minds always produce similar results. The universality
of some symbols or the astonishing similitudes among different religious beliefs in distinct
geographical areas are no longer explained through conventional origins and mutual
influences, but rather through “intertextuality” (”our mental tendency of expressing every
new experience in antique expressive patterns”), and “cognitive transmission” (a flexible
manner of diffusion, understood as an “active rethinking of tradition, based on a simple set
of rules”)3. The distance between the disciple and his master’s “school” is obvious in such
contexts.
Considering the new acquisitions of cognitive sciences, as well as fractal
mathematics and quantum physics, the savant conceives, in the last part of his life, a
universal method, a true clavis universalis, that can be applied to any domain of
1
Ioan Petru Culianu, The unknown Mircea Eliade, in Mircea Eliade, 247.
Ibid., 256.
3
Idem, Introduction to Out of This World, translated by Gabriela and Andrei Oişteanu (Iaşi:
Polirom Publishing House , 2007), 46-50.
2
15
knowledge. Thus, Culianu will start a border research that implies the interconnection
and the synthesis of various disciplines. Dissatisfied with the possibilities implied by the
morphology of religious deeds, a method that does not involve historical transformations
of phenomena (a subtle blame for Eliade inserted in the monograph dedicated to his
master), Culianu elaborates his own theoretical model – morpho-dynamics – able to
reconcile synchronicity and diachronicity, morphology and dynamics. Defined as “the
study of events in a spacing and temporal continuum,” ”a cognitive step meant to
include diachronicity as a compulsory dimension of the world,”1 morpho-dynamics
studies “ideal objects,” that is the systems2 of thinking that are extremely complex, and
whose heterogeneous development is generated by the dual option-games, applied on a
“simple set of rules” (elementary ontological statements, simple sentences about
existence, soul, gods etc.). According to this cognitive approach, religion, philosophy,
science, literature are no longer understood as distinct domains, but rather they represent
systems of ideas originated by the same ”generative mechanism,” which operates, in
fact, until all connective and reordering possibilities are consumed. The existence of
these “ideal objects,” that have an infinity of potential in deployment, cannot be
perceived through the limited dimension of reality, but it becomes perfectly intelligible
in “their logic dimension,” in the multidimensional space of mind. At this point, Culianu
presents “Hinton’s soup” parable that depicts the limited-to-its-existence being’s
impossibility of perceiving an object that belongs to a superior dimension: “a flat being
that lives on the surface of the soup which I am about to eat will perceive (painfully, I
think) the spoon that crosses its space as a simple line whose dimension varies in time”3.
The dwellers of such a flat Realm can only understand an object that belongs to another
dimension if that object appears as a series of events that happen in time. Similarly, ideal
systems cross the surface of history called time, and generate an apparently
unforeseeable sequence of temporal events. If we succeeded in exiting our limited space,
and looked in it from the outside, we would understand that history is a simple puzzle,
“the sequential, incredibly complex result of the great interaction of some non-sequential
systems of thinking”4. Looked upon through the narrow “slot” of historical time, these
ideal systems seem fragmented and inscrutable, though, in their logic dimension, they
form a wholeness similar to the ramifications of a tree. Furthermore, the one who knew
1
Idem, Introduction to The Tree of Gnosis. Gnostic Mythology from Early Christianity to Modern
Nihilism, Second Edition, translated by Corina Popescu (Iaşi: Polirom Publishing House, 2005),
8-9.
2
The systemic perspective refers to the fact that ”all phenomena referring to a single unity are
interconnected and integrated in a complex structure that generates them.” These systems are
“mental processes,” and they follow the ”temporal and religious rules of the mind.” (Ioan Petru
Culianu, Religion as system, Introduction II for Eliade/Culianu, Dictionary of Religions, translated
by Dan Petrescu (Iaşi: Polirom Publishing House , 2007), 26) This text represents the introduction
to the American edition for a dictionary entitled Eliade Guide to World Religions (New York-San
Francisco: HarperCollins, 1992).
3
Idem, The Historian’s Set for the Fourth Dimension, in Out of This World, 58.
4
Idem, System and History, in The Mind Games. The History of Ideas, the Theory of Culture,
Epistemology, edition supervised by Mona Antohi and Sorin Antohi, An Introductive Study by
Sorin Antohi, Translations by Mona Antohi, Sorin Antohi, Claudia Dumitriu, Dan Petrescu,
Catrinel Pleşu, Corina Popescu, Anca Vaidesegan, (Iaşi: Polirom Publishing House, 2002), 280.
16
all the data of the system would be able to foresee all possible solutions, written on its
“spectrum of logic tolerance.”
In this paradigm of epistemology, historical studies should follow the very
dynamics of the interactions between two systems, and this tendency is still improbable,
by far excelling the nowadays speculations. The historian could achieve a depicting
operation for the systems in their logic dimension. In Culianu’s terms, “we can still
perceive the spoon and the superior world, to which it belongs, a mystery, as well as the
manner in which the spoon interacts with other numberless systems from other logic
dimensions to form the complex model called history”1. Although Culianu does not
willingly make metaphysics, he promotes speculations that have “effects in
metaphysics,” because, as Ştefan Afloroaei states, in this genuine interpreter’s work,
there is still ”a shadow from beyond”2, that is the image of something that exceeds the
being’s will. It could be discussed, in his case, a more relaxed vision of “transcendence”
– a notion that loses its traditional meaning (used, for instance, in Eliade’s
hermeneutics), and attributed to other meanings according to postmodern mentality.
4. Conclusions
Far beyond the objections on his uncomfortable theories (which are contestable as they
do not have a final form because of the author’s premature death), Culianu is to be
remembered for stimulating the readers’minds, for revealing the illusions and the errors
people have absolutely trusted for centuries, and for offering us a new perspective on the
world. The author suggests the unlimited liberation of the mind instead of absolute
certainties and stereotyped thinking.
The young scholar had educated himself through the hearing of the “story” told
by Eliade, but he was going to transmit “another story.” Fortunately, the disciple does
not fall in the trap of self-annihilation through the “diligent” recurrence of Eliade’s
process and, being aware of his own possibilities, he will direct the study of religious
facts to another position, he will take this discipline out of stagnation by integrating it in
the specific climate of postmodern thinking. In “the last Culianu’s” work (The Gnosis
Tree, Out of This World, the articles published in Incognita magazine), there is almost
nothing related to the master’s teaching, the references to Eliade’s work are extremely
rare or they are even absent exactly where the reader expects them to be present. Even
The Dictionary of Religions, signed Eliade/Culianu and published after the master’s
death (initially, in a French edition – 1990, then, in an American one – 1991), does not
remind the reader of Eliade’s religious phenomenology, it actually represents an
illustration of the systemic perspective that Culianu will adopt in the last period of his
creation. Should one search for Eliade’s trace in the pages of this dictionary, they would
surprisingly find only Culianu.
“The new Culianu” is irreversibly placed on a different orbit from Eliade, and
this evidence, however, does not mean the disciple’s “renouncement” of the master, but
a normal evolution towards a contemporary perspective. Culianu adapted to the new
epistemologies, and the “Eliade model” of research has become less valuable. These
1
Idem, Introduction to The Tree of Gnosis, 27.
Ştefan Afloarei, Ioan Petru Culianu. Effects in the Metaphysical Field, in Sorin Antohi (coord.),
Ioan Petru Culianu. The Man and the Work, 501.
2
17
methodological differences emphasize the fact that Eliade and Culianu represent two
distinct “ages” of the history of religions: on the one hand, the master’s view is more
connected to the modern cognitive paradigm (although, Culianu himself considered the
master an approaches leader because of the systemic approach to religion, because of his
contribution to the changing attitude towards the irrational or because of the distance set
towards the theory of linear and cumulative progress of cognition), on the other hand,
the disciple, who is in a process of formation, will absorb the new epistemological
tendencies and will adapt a specific postmodern attitude. The theory of the “mind
games” and of the computer-mind, the multiplication of the worlds or the
multidimensional reality, the reactivation of the “illusory cognition,” the identification of
a mathesis universalis, a universal principle, able to offer explanations to any spiritual
phenomenon, the interdisciplinary approach1 – all these are essential coordinates of
Culianu’s climax in creation that make the disciple belong to the “current” quest
scenery.
1
Although he is especially known as a historian of religions, Culianu cannot be placed in the
restrictive limits of a single discipline, and this fact is emphasiezed by his epistemological
manifest published in the first number of Incognita magazine (initiated by the author at the
famous Publishing House E. J. Brill in 1990). The article-program of this publication announces
an interdisciplinary orientation through which it is intended the creation of “intellectual bridges
between linguistics, history, philosophy, literature, archeology, the study of religions in the past
and present civilizations”. (Culianu apud Sorin Antohi, Culianu’s Laboratory, Preface by Ioan
Petru Culianu, Mind Games, quoted ed., p. 53.)
18
Imago Mundi and Metaphysical Knowledge
in Japanese Calligrams and Byzantine Icons
Rodica FRENTIU
Babes-Bolyai UniversityCluj
Faculty of Letters
Keywords: Japanese calligraphy, Byzantine icon, metaphysical knowledge, written
image, visual image
Abstract: The present study tries to analyze the relation between written and visual
image both in the Japanese calligram and the Byzantine icon, searching the possible
meeting points between the two types of art. On the other hand, our research is meant to
inquire the way in which the global meaning of these iconographic arts can be
instantaneously deciphered through a hermeneutic and cultural semiotics approach, or
whether it reveals itself gradually as the intuitive perception of the icon-replaced reality
results in either a “spiritual painting” or a “sacred image”. Epiphanies of a world hidden
under a veil of mystery and mystical communion, the Japanese calligram and the
Byzantine icon are open to perpetual discovery. By renouncing the principle of
representation of the visible structure of the world, they become metaphysical spiritual
documents and means which reveal the absolute.
*
The tip of the brush turns the sun and
the moon, and the vibrancy of the characters
moves heaven and earth.
Anonymous, Tang Dynasty
In Japanese culture, writing, built on a system of ideographic
characters which are not only a mere support for the sounds of the spoken language,
makes its physical presence strongly felt in poetry, calligraphy and painting, thus helping
to create a particular type of image in which various languages oppose and influence
each other.
As presence-signs rather than tool-signs,1 pictograms and ideograms give the
impression that they can access the dynamic laws of transformation. Calligraphy,
pointing out precisely this ability, has therefore become a major art form in this cultural
space, whose signifying process follows the rules of the semiotic stratum of spoken
language: pitch, intonation, gestures. Allowing not only to get into contact with the self,
but also communion with a universal vital rhythm, the art of calligraphy is based on an
1
See François Cheng, Le « langage poètique » chinois, in Julia Kristeva et al. (eds.), La traversée
des signes (Paris: Editions de Seuil, 1975), 46.
19
intuitive perception of reality. Thus, it becomes a “spiritual” painting1 that ceases to
reproduce external aspects of the visible universe and attempts instead the creation of a
particular image, configured according to its own philosophical and aesthetic principles,
in which the subject has been objectified and the object has been subjectified.
Situated at equal distance between concrete and abstract, real and imaginary,
sensitive and intelligible, the image has recently become a centre of interest for a wide
array of approaches in the socio-humanistic as well as in the scientific field, as it permits
not only the mere preservation of the real due to a material support, but also the
revelation of a secret world in a realm of mystery it can provide with meaning. Defined
as the concrete representation of a material or ideal object (public image, mental idea,
painting / that which can be seen, a description, similarity in form or content),
perceptively present or absent, the image still maintains a relationship with its referent,
thus allowing us to know the latter.2
Not merely seen as a cultural heritage, calligraphy still finds its place in
contemporary Japanese society as an art that is permanently being rediscovered without
ever having been forgotten. A traditional art, a “social grace”3 and object of academic
research, calligraphy is seen in Japan as an integral part of the Japanese spirit. Able to
adapt to the world around it, calligraphy can translate the sensitivity of a new era as,
beyond its ornamental role, a calligraphy work preserves a status and meaning expressed
through images and words as the spiritual testimony of a particular metaphysics.
In Europe, any attempt to define something usually becomes increasingly
remote and abstract. 4 According to some researchers, this is probably also due to the
writing system of this geographic area. It is known that humanity had, at its origins, two
types of writing systems: one based on sound, the other based on sight. 5 The difference
between the Western phonographic system and the Eastern logographic one still defines
the cultural contrast between the two types of writing.
As they are not conventionalized signs, unlike the alphabet, which developed a
linear form of representation, Chinese ideograms are a unique instance of balance6 in the
history of writing. They can easily turn into “a means of transmitting and registering
thought”7 while remaining graphic signs with high imagistic potential. Due to its graphic
quality, a Chinese ideogram activates a rhythmic form8 with a particular meaning, thus
1
See Ibid.
Cf. Jean-Jacques Wunenburger, Filozofia imaginilor (Philosophie des images), trans. Muguraş
Constantinescu, ed. and afterword Sorin Alexandrescu (Iaşi: Polirom, 2004), 13.
3
Cecil H. Uyehara, Japanese Calligraphy. A Bibliographic Study (New-York: University Press
of America, 1991), 11.
4
See Ezra Pound, ABC of Reading (London, Boston: Faber and Faber, 1979), 19.
5
See Kyuyoh Ishikawa, Taction. The drama of the stylus in Oriental Calligraphy (Translated by
Waku Miller, Tokyo: International House of Japan, 2011), 249.
6
Cf. Shutaro Mukai, Characters that Represent, Reflect, and Translate Culture – in the Context
of the Revolution in Modern Art, in Yoshihiko Ikegami, (ed.), The Empire of Signs: Semiotic
Essays on Japanese Culture (Amsterdam: John Benjamin, 1991), 72.
7
Pound, ABC of Reading, 19.
8
See Mukai, Characters that Represent, Reflect, and Translate Culture – in the Context of the
Revolution in Modern Art, 77.
2
20
becoming a visual sign that, while representing a concept,1 also allows the direct
recognition of symbolic thinking. It is a graphic quality generously exploited by the art
of calligraphy, revitalizing the functions of the sign freed from its object. Through dot,
line, surface, light, space, sound, rhythm, movement and time the calligraphy sign
manages to stimulate not only the sense of sight, but also that of touch,2 turning from a
two-dimensional into a three-dimensional form of art.
物の哀 [Mono no aware]
The Beauty of Simple and Ephemeral Things
Japan adopted Chinese pictograms and ideograms (Jap. kanji) in the 6th century,
at the same time it adopted Buddhism. Kana silabaries developed here later, between the
9th and the 12th centuries, through the graphic deformation of current Chinese characters,
and built with kanji a mixed writing system that has since been successfully exploited by
the art of calligraphy:
“Our writing system with its mixture of Kanji and the syllabic letters of
Kana is more varied than alphabetical writing systems. For just this reason, each
incorporates a different feeling. Is it not the integration of feelings in Kanji which
permits the original form of the cosmos of a language to live on? Kanji – to
1
Cf. Ibid., 65.
See Ibid., 74.

All calligraphy works belong to the author of the present article.
2
21
prescribe it somewhat roughly – incorporates painting, poetry, music, sculpture
and even gesture in their original form in the words.” 1
In calligraphy, the written sign combines pictographic and phonetic features: the
former “visualizes” a referent, while the latter allows the “oral reading” of a word or
statement.2 The graphism of calligraphy signs is capable of revealing meaning so that
the visual form of writing with a brush, depending on the message, may become a
medium for unwritten poetry.
ゆめ [Yume] Dream
In Japanese calligraphy, there are two image registers: a visual image related to
intuition and a verbal one related to the function of abstract analysis. Thus, a calligraphy
work presupposes both sensorial perception, due to its pictorial character, and a
distancing from this type of perception, due to its being a linguistic image. Sight is
strongly related to intuition, rendering the viewer an active participant to the birth of
something in space, while the linguistic image is dependent on the linearity of discourse
and the temporality of signs.3 In the final analysis, calligraphy presupposes the
representation of the world by means of the black line and the white space as well as the
progressive discovery of the meaning of the painted signs. The global meaning may be
1
Ibid., 66.
Wunenburger, Filozofia imaginilor, 251.
3
See Ibid., 34-35.
2
22
deciphered instantly as well as gradually, rendering the calligraphy work a unique way
of manifesting being-in-the-world.
However, the relationship between the visual and the scriptural image in a
calligraphy work may be interpreted from two contradictory perspectives. On the one
hand, the signifier-signified relationship it generates seems to refer to a signified that is
not reducible to a model revealed by and through writing, as it is known in a mystical
communion – compared to this model, the image would seem to be merely a degraded
message. If the visual image is an object by definition, writing enjoys in this case the
privilege of immateriality. Writing thus seems to be the apanage of an élite for which it
is both reading and practice, and the image, marking the separation between deciphering
and practice, may become subservient to writing. An inverted perspective sees the visual
image as a panoramic, synoptic one in which everything is displayed at once, while the
linguistic image is dependent on the linearity of discourse, the temporality of signs
written one after the other. 1 Calligraphy seems then to offer a totalizing vision in which
the visual combines with the scriptural in order to create a harmonious whole.
A painting of the invisible reality, the calligraphed word seems to have access to
true knowledge, to the “metaphysics”2 able to go beyond the exterior appearance of
phenomena in order to reach their inner essence. By specific pictorial means, the word
revealed through calligraphy has a vision of the deeper reality, upon which it acts
magically, trying to evoke it in its entirety. By refusing colour, calligraphy chose to enter
the world of the spirit through a special kind of analogy, correspondence and affinity.
心 [Kokoro] Heart, Spirit
1
Cf. Ibid., 35.
Alain Besançon, Imaginea interzisă. Istoria intelectuală a iconoclasmului. De la Platon la
Kandinsky (L’image interdite. Une histoire intellectuelle de l’iconoclasme), trans. Mona Antohi
(Bucharest: Humanitas, 1996), 369.
2
23
Denotation and connotation at the same time, a calligraphy work may answer
questions such as “What is this?” or “What does this mean?”, deciphering a cultural and
spiritual meaning. However, while the object and its interpretation are in an
interdependent relationship, such an image must be first understood not only in its nature
but also in its finality, as the meaning of this image is beyond the significance of
calligraphy signs, which in fact concentrate a vast experience. Visual and verbal images
elude intellective understanding and, although recognized in its literality, the calligraphic
work masks a hidden face of meaning understood as “the source of a different truth”.1
Still, it is a meaning that does not refer to a univocal concept but rather to an ideatic
network that can even combine contraries. The encounter of pictorial and textual
language becomes in this case a revelation, although the ultimate truth seems not to exist
or, if it does after all, what matters is not the goal but the way to the illumination that is
part of the search for the ultimate meaning.
The attempt to capture the transcendental “directly”2 may also be seen in
various Western popular traditions where beliefs, particularly religious ones, have an
iconographic expression. Unlike the Latin Church, however, which places the image in
the field of rhetoric, the Greek Church sees the image from a metaphysical perspective,
where the figurative tries to contain the absolute and the Christian orthodox icon
becomes the image of an “existentially assimilated revelation”3. Thus, in the icon, the
visual image is combined with the verbal one and God’s manifestation goes from the
Word revealed and written in the Scriptures to the representation in the painted image.
The art of icons in Byzantine Christianity, through the founding myth of the icon not
painted by human hand (acheiropoiètos), has its foundation at the “limit of the similarity
principle”4, while the man-made icon becomes the image in which the absolute Being
manifests itself without alteration. The icon as “theology in images”5 results, thus, from
a change in attitude: God becomes visible by taking a human path; his unrepresentable
face receives an expression through being “enclosed”6 within the spatial limits of the
visible world. The icon is the image that does not hide (as semblance) but reveals (as
appearance),7 taking active part in man’s regeneration. The icon bridges the ontological
gap between the natural and the supernatural, the visible and the invisible, by accepting
the secret presence of the model in the image. 8 The calligraphic image also associates its
plenitude with the “emptiness” or “void”, the only path to the invisible that both hides
and reveals the sacred. Both the icon and the calligraphy work challenge thus the viewer
towards a particular way of seeing in order to be able to access that which is hidden. The
mystery or the enigmatic horizon of the icon or calligraphy work can only be either
1
Cf. Wunenburger, Filozofia imaginilor, 257.
See Paul Evdokimov, Arta icoanei - o teologie a frumuseţii (L’art de l’Icone. Théologie de la
Beauté), trans. Grigore Moga and Petru Moga (Bucharest: Meridiane, 1992), 67.
3
Leonid Uspensky, Teologia icoanei în biserica ortodoxă (Théologie de l’icône dans l’Eglise
orthodoxe), introd. and trans. Teodor Baconsky (Bucharest: Anastasia, 1994), 15.
4
5
Uspensky, Teologia icoanei în biserica ortodoxă, 183.
6
7
See Ibid., 203.
8
Cf. Evdokimov, Arta icoanei - o teologie a frumuseţii, 78.
2
24
assumed or missed. An aesthetic emotion is mystically transfigured into a “sacred
image”1 and divinity is directly revealed through word and image; the unseen becomes
visible and the unrepresentable becomes representable.
無 [Mu] Nothingness, Void
In a religious icon, it is not only the subject that is essential, but also the manner
in which it is approached, its means of representation. It is natural to develop thus a
pictorial language corresponding to the divine revelation according to which the icon
can express the “spiritual experience of sanctity”2 through form, colour and symbolic
lines, all parts of a harmonious whole. Thus, in order to comply with tradition, the iconmaker must discard all individual elements and, as the icon’s composition is already
established, he is no longer allowed to deviate from the canon. Without the features of
the visible world, without shadows, the characters in the icon, shown frontally,
communicate directly with the viewer3, speaking to him of a spiritual, sacred world.
The delight the eyes take in the icon and the solar mysticism given by the gold
and the shining colours of the rainbow become almost sonorous,4 as the liturgical
function of the icon culminates in the contemplation of mysteries. This is what Andrei
Rublev’s (1370-1430) famous Trinity (1425-1427) attempts, where the three characters
gathered around a table may be “read” as an image that has become a support for
meditation, attempting to represent a central mystery of the Christian faith and of
Revelation.5 Three angels are seated around a table with a cup reminiscent of Abraham’s
biblical hospitality in Genesis 18, although the hosts Abraham and Sarah are not in the
1
Uspensky, Teologia icoanei în biserica ortodoxă, 15.
Ibid., 118.
3
See Ibid., 46.
4
5
See Gabriel Bunge, Icoana Sfintei Treimi a Cuviosului Andrei Rublev sau “Celălalt Paraclet”
(The Trinity Icon of Andrei Rublov), accompanying note by Acad. Serghei S. Averinţev, preface
and trans. Ioan I. Ică jr. (Sibiu: Deisis, 1996), 92.
2
25
picture, as the monk-painter seems to have wished to turn an ancient event into the
“image” of a timeless present, instead of a historicized “recounting” of events.
Moreover, Andrei Rublev manages to create a paradox in this icon, making movement
and the lack of it become one. Thus, in spite of the impression of rest that the three
angels create, a closer look immediately reveals a circular, counterclockwise movement
created by their position: it starts at the left foot of the angel on the right, continues with
the inclination of his head and goes on to the angel in the middle, completing itself in the
vertical posture of the angel on the left. Thus, the composition of the icon naturally
superposes three planes:1 the biblical story about the three travellers visiting Abraham,
combined with the plane of “divine economy”, where each detail of the image becomes
a Christian symbol, and the final, intra-divine, transcendental and inaccessible plane.
Abolishing chronological order, the icon-maker organizes his composition in
height rather than in depth, subordinating the plane surface and thus eliminating the void
and the fear of it (horror vacui). 2 The characters, whose anatomy is only hinted at by
the folds in their habits, transposed into the two-dimensional, seem not to move but to
slide, as the juxtaposed colours and brushstrokes engender particular distances. The icon
categorically rejects the vanishing point, the claire-obscure and the notion of volume.
The perspective is often inverted, the lines do not flow away from the viewer but
converge towards him, thus fully orienting the iconographical universe towards man,3 in
order to have the image show what has taken place in time and become visible.4 Led by
faith, dogma, tradition and iconographic models, the icon-maker “writes” according to a
motif but the result belongs to another world, where the immobility of the bodies,
without being static, concentrates its entire dynamism5 into the gaze that reveals the
spirit. The divine is invisible, but reflected in the human visible. Reaching beyond the
phenomenological veil, the icon opens itself to the revelatory vision through colour and
the musical consonance of lines and forms. At the same time contemplation, silent
recollection and an expression of divine mystery, the icon enables our participation in
that which cannot be described, the unseen, the unheard and the unspoken.
In terms of technique, calligraphy also attempts to transfigure the world’s image
(imago mundi) by means of a very simple material technique using black ink and rice
paper. All colour pigments become shades of black and the interplay between the black
line and the white space becomes the means of expressing the light-shade ratio. The
black-white monochromy serves here the same purpose of revealing the sacred. Without
figuration and without the perspective technique, the calligraphy work entails a system
of connections in which the space of abstract representation obeys the law of the
counterclockwise movement. This movement allows metamorphosis6 that is going from
a material space with its own laws to an imaginary space that allows the re-creation of a
world whose constrictions help show precisely what belongs to the subject.
1
See Evdokimov, Arta icoanei - o teologie a frumuseţii, 211.
See Ibid., 192.
3
Cf. Ibid., 194.
4
Cf. Besançon, Imaginea interzisă. Istoria intelectuală a iconoclasmului. De la Platon la
Kandinsky, 133.
5
6
2
26
The icon speaks to the illiterate through images. The sacred word becomes
visible and may be contemplated in the icon, as the church not only speaks about the
truth, but also shows it through images.1 It is not enough for the truth to be uttered, it
must also be shown, and the icon becomes thus the “contemplation”2 of that which is not
said and that which is shown. It is not rational categories or human morals that reign
over the significational universe of the icon, but the divine spirit, which naturally shows
how majestic the icon is in its simplicity. The icon as the “mould of ineffable reality”3
becomes the visible proof of the divine descent towards man as well as of man’s
aspiration towards the divine.4 It points out the presence of divinity to man, without his
being able to really see it. The icon is a visible figure inviting man to go beyond the
visible, towards the unfigurable. Therefore, the icon cannot legitimate worship (latreia),
only a recognition of sacrality through veneration (proskunesis). 5 In its attempt to
pictorially translate such an illumination, the icon replaces reading with seeing. It helps
man participate in divine life, giving him the possibility of a spiritual rebirth, although it
has always been said that this inner fulfilment, very close to absolute quiet,6 is
impossible to express. As a religious experience, the icon proposes “seeing”7 God on the
eighth day, proving the visual character of the word. That which cannot be seen reveals
itself in that which can, and the image receives the same value as the word in search of
the expression of divinity.
和 [Wa] Harmony, Japanese
1
Cf. Uspensky, Teologia icoanei în biserica ortodoxă, 59.
Ibid., 112.
3
Ibid., 139.
4
Cf. Ibid., 130.
5
See Wunenburger, Filozofia imaginilor, 207.
6
Cf. Uspensky, Teologia icoanei în biserica ortodoxă, 121.
7
Evdokimov, Arta icoanei - o teologie a frumuseț ii, 33.
2
27
However, unlike the icon, which attempts the integration of the Christian
faithful into the universal unity of the church, calligraphy encourages the focus of the
self upon itself in a mostly solitary meditation according to the path proposed by the Zen
doctrine, leading to Self-Awakening.
Avoiding any theoretical attempts to define it, Zen means first and foremost a
practice and teaching through which one may attain complete freedom and complete the
journey from the realm of illusion (samsara) to that of Illumination (nirvana). 1 Through
calligraphy, Zen religious philosophy brings the textual and pictorial image into the
sphere of ordinary existence, of day-to-day life. Zen becomes a way of thinking through
a graphic-scriptural image, trying by means of a visible form to come closer not to an
invisible surreality but rather to a state of mind called “mushin” [mu ‘nothingness,
emptiness, void’ + shin ‘heart, spirit’] (‘empty heart, nothing in the heart’/ no-mind), the
state above all types of determination. Calligraphy can access a hidden meaning of the
world, ontologically superior revelations, and this “nothingness” is proof of the
emancipation and the optimistic or tragic liberation of the world. Being and nothingness,
full and empty, presence and absence are all notions that can be re-known with the help
of the black line in the calligraphy work, which thus becomes a vehicle of meaning.
無心 [Mushin] Empty Heart
1
See John Stevens, Zenga. Brushstrokes of Enlightenment, Catalog Selections, Entries and Essay
by John Stevens, Catalog Essay and Organization by Alice Rae Yelen (New Orleans Museum of
Art, 1990), 132.
28
The calligraphy work, like any ordinary visual image, not only does not attempt
to reproduce reality, being something different than reality, but it may even become the
negation or absence of the represented reality. The logic of mimesis makes room for the
revelation of eternity, where calligraphy becomes the interpreter of visible and invisible
things. Presence turns into absence, while judgment and reason as intellectual operations
are eliminated as there is no speculative or pragmatic goal to follow.
The image presented by a calligraphy work is a combination of several images,
created through the projection of the calligrapher’s view of the world, of reflecting a
vision given by his own faith, but also of imitating and deviating from a model. The
calligraphy work, two-dimensional in appearance, becomes three-dimensional through
interpretation. It is, in fact, a cultural sign that never reveals its entire intuitive content.
The calligrapher creates with his brush a product that never exists as an object, but he
allows through its image the inauguration of a new view of the world. The image
impregnated by the word is now the carrier of an imprint that is expression and
meditation at the same time. The image oscillates between the fullness of being and the
void of nothingness. Thus, the calligraphic image cannot be considered as a symbolic
supra-reality with a particular consistence that allows man to live in reality, with it at his
side. The revelation contained in the harmony of all elements that make up a calligraphy
work cannot be justified, only contemplated. Just as art becomes “dephenomenalized”, 1
through calligraphy the world opens itself up to mystery.
Made up of a multitude of meanings, the significance of the image in
calligraphy contains an immediate meaning as well as a hidden, indirect one asking to be
revealed. However, in order to render the image comprehensible, it is also necessary to
understand it indirectly, study it in depth and interpret it on different levels of meaning.
By exploring various depth levels, interpretation becomes initiation. The meaning
becomes spiritual and the journey to it can no longer follow a logical, reasonable path.
Meaning enters thus a world of “truth and particular significance”, 2 openly opposing
logical-conceptual rationality. The features of the real world may even become inverted
and the calligrapher, in his attempt to visualize and express a sacred emotion, is no
longer a proposer but a receptor of meaning, simultaneously receptive and active, fully
aware of the fact that understanding is not immediately accessible but needs to be
translated in a code different from the known ones. He is no longer the centre but an
intermediate moment in the meaning being created, while meaning is approached
through contemplative meditation as the creator-calligrapher attempts to give shape to
the hidden dimensions of faith. The relationship between image and the unrepresentable
is a peculiar one, where the image also resonates over the self, the emotion, the state of
not-being. For the calligrapher, there is no other reality but that of the spirit or of the will
wishing to take part in the gesture of creation through dot, line, plane, through their
ability to combine. Most times, when completing a calligraphy work, the brush runs dry,
3
creating the so-called effect of “flying white”. It is a dramatic journey from the first
touch of the wet brush onto the paper to the “dry” finish that only takes the
1
Evdokimov, Arta icoanei - o teologie a frumuseţii, 26.
3
See Christine Flint Sato, Japanese Calligraphy. The art of Line & Space (Osaka: Kaifusha,
1998), 9.
2
29
calligrapher’s hand a moment to complete. The viewer is made conscious of the white
background again, the shape of the sign and the white surface gain in significance and
the painted signs are materialized, like objects as such.
雪月花 [Yuki. Tsuki. Hana.] Snow. Moon. Flower
Similarly, in the Byzantine icon a sensitive content is objectified on a material
support, without any direct relationship to the visual experience offered by the
surrounding reality. The eye as an organ and sight as a biological function of the human
being become a privileged axis of constructing images.1 For a true understanding of
them, the movement of the line and the gesture of the brush help harmonize the elements
of the icon’s image into a whole. Japanese calligraphy, however, both a pictorial and a
scriptural image, also requires sacralized contemplation. To know means, in both cases,
to worship. Beyond a philosophy of the essence reigned over by the law of causality,
beyond an existentialist way of thinking with transcendences lacking in ontological
depth, calligraphy proposes the disappearance of forms and the dissolution of outlines,
activating the principle of movement. As there are states beyond thinking and words, the
ineffable in calligraphy tends to submerge into spiritual darkness, without ever reaching
the last of the mysteries of the world it creates, originating in intuition and the
subconscious.
1
30
Developed within the Platonism of Eastern patristic thought and the philosophy
of transcendence, 1 the icon is an “instrument of contemplation”2 through which the soul
tears itself from the sensitive world and enters the world of divine illumination. The icon
is a means of accessing divinity, the “scriptures” attempting to establish a vision through
a pictorial-scriptural image with singular features. It is a journey from the eye to the
voice and back, and the optical and rhetorical bipolarity is proven by the fact that the
correct syntagm is “to paint”, not “to write” an icon. Writing refers here not only to the
signing of the artist’s name, but to the teachings of the icon3, in conformity with the
teachings of the holy books. Once the name is uttered, it is manifest; it is present through
having been named. However, in the case of a mystery, the revelation of meaning can
only be made indirectly, mediated through an intermediary such as the icon, and
symbolic knowledge, always indirect, uses contemplation4 in order to decipher the
presence of the transcendental. The theological definition of the image goes now beyond
the utilitarian and becomes a sacred art. The secret, irrational reality of the world is
revealed indirectly through the two-dimensional surface within which the inspiration of
the icon maker comes close to a miracle.
It has often been said that the icon does not possess its “own reality”,5 as it
derives its theophanic value from participating in an epiphany. Hieratism, ascetiscim, the
absence of volume in an icon exclude any form of materialization, and the emotion it
generates transforms into a religious feeling leading to a mystical meaning (mysterium
tremendum). As an icon does not copy nature, the real dimensions of reality are not
reproduced in it, as matter itself seems to go into a meditative state. Torn from the
immediate historical context, the icon is subject to the “transcendental rules of
ecclesiastic vision”, 6 as it neither proves nor demonstrates anything, only suggests
“seeing the invisible”7 and the presence of divinity in the world. It also purifies and
transfigures the viewer, leading him towards the mystery. It raises the spirit beyond itself
and, helping it see the “open skies”, leads it into the divine mystery.
Giving up the representation of the visible, calligraphy also tries to become a
way of presenting metaphysical contents, of revealing the absolute. Calligraphy may be
read like a mandala whose morphological and aesthetical features offer a support for
meditation through which the spirit may commune with the universe. The sensitive
image is not its own purpose, but only a means to enter the state of supreme meditation,
through which a hidden truth may be reached intuitively. The calligraphic image frees
the spirit from the constraints of reality, allowing it to reach true illumination. The goal
is not the ontological plenitude of divinity, but the state of being in the presence of
supreme illumination. The infinite cannot be reduced to the finite, the invisible to the
visible – they can only be hinted at. Through self-imposed ascesis, the calligraphy work
requires poetics in which the role of visual and linguistic images is that of capturing the
1
See Evdokimov, Arta icoanei - o teologie a frumuseţii, 147.
Besançon, Imaginea interzisă. Istoria intelectuală a iconoclasmului. De la Platon la Kandinsky, 146.
3
See Ibid., 146.
4
5
Ibid., 158.
6
Ibid., 160.
7
Ibid., 161.
2
31
inexpressible. As it is never exhausted in the immediate, of any kind, calligraphy
becomes a space for reflection.
ENSŌ The Zen circle
Similar to the writing of a religious icon, the practice of calligraphy becomes an
inner prayer both for the calligrapher and for viewer. The eye is expected not only to
admire, but also to create meaning. The artist who has given birth to a world in ink is
inseparable from the one contemplating it1 and the act of creation and signification
reveals to both the endless Path of Becoming:
Je sais nourrir en moi
le Souffle intègre
dont l’Univers est habité. 2
1
See François Cheng, Et le souffle devient signe. Portrait d’une âme à l’encre de Chine (Paris:
L’Iconoclaste, 2010), 38.
2
Mencius, apud Ibid., 104.
32
Chiastic Modernism: Rational Uncanniness and Uncanny Reason
Dániel DARVAY
Department of English and Foreign Languages
Colorado State University-Pueblo
Keywords: chiasmus, modernism, Enlightenment, reason, uncanny, Mrs.Dalloway
Abstract: This paper seeks to offer a continuity thesis by showing that modernism is in
many ways a continuation – both from a theoretical and a literary historical point of view –
of well-established cultural contradictions and rhetorical strategies. I argue that a focus on
the uncanny in modernist literature illuminates the complex chiastic interdependence of
the apparently simple opposition between the rational and the irrational: the former
constantly discovers in the latter not only its antagonist, but also its most important
motivation. Thus, reason folds back onto itself in a chiastic fashion: rationalizing the
uncanny generates further instances of the uncanniness of reason. This paradoxical
operation is not simply a marginal device that modernist writers sporadically deploy, but,
as I reveal in my brief analyses of D. H. Lawrence, Aldous Huxley, and Joseph Conrad, it
can rather be regarded as one of the central organizing principles of modernist literature
and culture. The last part of the essay shows that Woolf’s genius lies in the fact that she
relocates the modernist chiasmus at the level of the opposition between ethics and
aesthetics. The uncanny in Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway upsets the distinction between the two
categories, suggesting a new modernist aesthetics of the trivial.
Email: [email protected]
*
In Loose from Loos: A Law Permitting Individual Building Alterations or
Architecture Boycott Manifesto (1968) Friedrich Stowasser – popularly known as
Friedensreich Hundertwasser and a host of other puckishly self-created names – rails
against the architectural rationality initiated, in his view, by Adolf Loos’s influential
manifesto “Ornament and Crime” (1908). In contrast to Loos’s functional forms and at
the same time surpassing the stylistics of “sterile ornament” the latter was reacting
against, Hundertwasser praises “living growth” and declares: “The straight line is the
only uncreative line. . . . The straight line is the true tool of the devil. Whosever uses it is
aiding the downfall of mankind”.1 He adds: “the damage caused by rational building
methods exceeds several times over any apparent savings made”.2 Hundertwasser’s
architectural designs seek to displace the rational monotony of carefully calculated
rectangular shapes, while his paintings take inspiration from the works of such
precursors as Gustav Klimt (1862-1918) and especially Egon Schiele (1890-1918). He
1
Friedrich Stowasser, “Loose from Loos: A Law Permitting Individual Building Alterations or
Architecture Boycott Manifesto” In: Harry Rand, Hundertwasser (London: Taschen,1993),118.
2
Ibid., 119.
33
confesses: “For me the houses of Schiele were living beings. For the first time I felt that
the outside walls were skins. . . . It is the third skin which really demonstrated something
that cries, that lives . . . When you look at these houses you feel that they are humans”.1
To view houses and thus essentially works of art as living, breathing beings is to reverse
the order of priority establishing the classical distinction between physis (nature) and
techné (culture). The inversion is in fact the enactment of a chiastic operation: nature
informs culture just as culture, in turn, informs nature and everyday life.
The general operation of the chiasmus is essential for the understanding of
modernist art and culture. Schiele’s living houses are not simply innocent examples of
personifying the inanimate, but they can also be viewed as stretching the boundaries of
reason by suggesting that cultural artifacts and aesthetic objects could easily come alive,
threatening to displace the rational coherence of the natural world. As such, Schiele’s art
is symptomatic of the process by which modernism relocates analogically the initial
distinction between nature and culture at the level of the opposition between the rational
and the irrational. It is by no means accidental that Schiele’s artistic experiments – which
invoke and at the same time upset the relationship between the nature/culture division on
the one hand and the rational/irrational distinction on the other – occur precisely at the
beginning of twentieth-century modernism. Notably, modernism bears witness to key
historical and social transformations that mark both the apotheosis and in certain ways
the crisis of the Enlightenment project of modernity. Spanning back to René Descartes’s
philosophy of the cogito and developed through the aesthetics of Immanuel Kant, the
pursuit of modernity has been defined as the establishment of the autonomous domains
of nature and culture, or what Bruno Latour calls the “purification” of separate spheres.2
The constitution of the separate domains of nature and culture within modernity is
underwritten by the distinction between the rational and the irrational, or, using Jürgen
Habermas’s terms, the insistence upon “the cognitive potentials” and “the rational
organization of everyday social life”.3 The warning implicit in Schiele’s art regarding
the threat of the irrational against Enlightenment rationality comes precisely at the point
in history when the separations between culture and nature, art and everyday life, the
irrational and the rational seem to be the most intense but also the most brittle. The
precarious, two-way relationship between these terms, involving constant repetitive
reversals, defines the generic logic of chiastic modernism.
Of course, the animate houses Hundertwasser encounters in Schiele’s works are
by no means uncommon or unrepresentative instances of the ways in which the
irrationality and the supernatural dimensions of art inform the rational constitution of
everyday life. Several modernist authors are intensely preoccupied with the various
ways in which lifeless objects come alive to upset the rational distinction between the
animate and the inanimate. One of the major modes of animating the inanimate in
modernist literature is by way of the uncanny, which is itself the product of an
ontological chiasmus: the intermittent resurrection into life and passing into death—in
1
Ibid., 13.
Bruno Latour, We Have Never Been Modern, trans. Catherine Porter (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 2001), 10.
3
Habermas, Jürgen. “Modernity—An Incomplete Project” In: The Anti-Aesthetic, ed. Hal Foster
(Port Townsend, WA: Bay Press, 1983), 9.
2
34
other words, life in death and death in life. In E. M. Forster’s Howards End (1910), for
example, not only does Margaret Schlegel assert, in a fashion that recalls Schiele’s
influence on Hundertwasser, that “Houses are alive”,1 but it is the aura of the mansion
itself, Howards End, carrying the late Mrs. Wilcox’s ghostly presence, that makes
Margaret conclude to his sister, Helen: “I feel that you and I and Henry are only
fragments of that woman’s [Mrs. Wilcox’s] mind. . . . She is everything. She is the
house, and the tree that leans over it”.2 A similar, almost telepathic communication takes
place in Katherine Mansfield’s short story “Bliss” between Bertha Young and Miss
Fulton through the medium of the animated pear tree, while the two stand “side by side
looking at the slender, flowering tree . . . understanding each other perfectly, creatures of
another world”.3 The unhomely (Unheimliche) yet familiar experience of another world
is also one of Clarissa’s major concerns in Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway (1925), who
experiences “odd affinities . . . with people she had never spoken to, some woman on the
street, some man behind the counter—even barns or trees”.4 The impossibility of the
death of the soul, which inevitably lives on through the medium of worldly objects and
persons, is at the center of Clarissa’s “transcendental theory” that proclaims: “our
apparitions . . . are so momentary compared with the other, the unseen part of us, which
spreads wide, the unseen might survive, be recovered somehow attached to this person
or that, or even haunting certain places after death”.5
In all these examples, the uncanny reveals its chiastic constitution because it turns
out to both elevate and jeopardize the characters’ experience and overall existence: death is
irrational communication, and irrational communication is, in turn, the death of the
rational. Each of the above-mentioned characters is bound to realize that the irrationality of
epiphany is inevitably coupled with a much more intense struggle to maintain the rational
coherence of everyday life. For Margaret Schlegel, it is the continuous fight with
patriarchy in the person of the unscrupulous businessman, Mr. Wilcox; for Bertha Young,
the greatest experience of bliss means at the same time the potential disintegration of her
family and the ruination of her marriage; and finally, Clarissa Dalloway’s transcendental
theory involves the contradictory aesthetics of the trivial, according to which the growing
of roses turns out to be more important than people’s lives and the issue of war in general.
In fact, the focus upon the uncanny in modernist literature illuminates the complex chiastic
interdependence of the apparently simple opposition between the rational and the
irrational: the former constantly discovers in the latter not only its antagonist, but also its
most important motivation. Thus, reason folds back onto itself in a chiastic fashion:
rationalizing the uncanny generates further instances of the uncanniness of reason. This
paradoxical operation is not simply a marginal device that modernist writers sporadically
deploy, but, as I show in my brief analyses of D. H. Lawrence, Aldous Huxley, and Joseph
Conrad, it can rather be regarded as one of the central organizing principles of modernist
literature and culture. Woolf’s genius lies in the fact that she relocates the modernist
1
Edward Morgan Forster, Howards End (New York: W. W. Norton, 1998), 113.
Ibid., 222.
3
Katherine Mansfield, “Bliss” In: The Short Stories of Katherine Mansfield (New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, 1937), 347.
4
Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway (New York: Harcourt, 1981), 153.
5
Ibid., 153.
2
35
chiasmus at the level of the opposition between ethics and aesthetics. The uncanny in Mrs.
Dalloway upsets the distinction between the two categories, suggesting a new modernist
aesthetics of the trivial.
Modernism and Chiasmus
In “Dover Beach” (1867) Matthew Arnold depicts a young couple, who are ready to
profess their love for each other, hoping that that their sincerity, like the windowpane in
front of them, will protect them against the sorrows and the chaotic uncertainties of a
constantly changing modern world. The poem ends with the soothing prospect:
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.1
Aleksandra Chaushova, Aunts/Unconditional Surrender, 2011,
1
Matthew Arnold, “Dover Beach” In: The Poems of Matthew Arnold, ed. Kenneth Allott and
Miriam Allott. (New York: Longman, 1979), 29-37.
36
This closing passage of the poem vividly shows the dual effect of the growing tension
between nature and culture that reaches its apotheosis in early-twentieth-century
modernism. The fragile windowpane separating the lovers from the outside world can be
viewed as a symbol of the precarious, two-way relationship between progress and
regression. Viewed through the windowpane, itself a sign of artificiality and separation
but also of communication, the promising world of technological development,
seemingly “so various, so beautiful, so new,” turns out to be pregnant with its opposite: a
desolate, joyless world of fear and confusion. A similar setback to novelty is also one of
the major concerns of Charles Baudelaire, who finishes The Flowers of Evil (1857) with
the image of plunging into “the abyssal depth of Hell or Heaven—what matter where?—
/ the abyssal depth of the Unknown, to find the new!”1 For Baudelaire, just as for
Arnold, the achievements of the modern world are at the mercy of chthonic powers,
which, far from being conquered once and for all, threaten to destroy the very aspirations
of modernity.
Baudelaire’s prose poem “The Eyes of the Poor”, written only five years before
“Dover Beach”, is also focused upon a pair of lovers, sitting this time “at a brand-new
café on the corner of a new boulevard”,2 separated, again, from the outside world by the
thin glass pane that allows them to contemplate the Parisian streets. While enjoying the
splendors of the coffee shop, the lovers suddenly find themselves exposed to the
stupefied and sorrowful gaze of a poor family: “The father’s eyes were saying, ‘How
beautiful! How beautiful! All the poor world’s gold seems to have fallen upon those
walls.’ —The little boy’s eyes, ‘How beautiful! How beautiful! But only people not like
us can enter this house’”.3 The separation between the dazzling café and the family in
rags, the inside and the outside, “to look” and “to be looked at” seems to be complete.
And yet, just like in Arnold’s poem, the thin windowpane acts as mediator and allows
these two worlds to interpenetrate, exposing the falsity of a simple, clear-cut opposition
between advancement and regression, suggesting instead that the latter in fact
thoroughly informs the former. This is true perhaps even more so in the case of
Baudelaire. Unlike the lovers in “Dover Beach,” Baudelaire’s couple is unable to praise
mutual affection as the ultimate protection against the contradictions of the modern
world. The poem concludes with the skeptical warning, “how incommunicable thought
is, even among people who love each other!”4 Early modernism, for both Arnold and
Baudelaire, means the birth of an ambiguous world in which progress and destruction
interact in a chiastic fashion. To innovate is to penetrate with Baudelaire “the abyssal
depth of Hell or Heaven,” and thus to heed Friedrich Nietzsche’s admonition in Beyond
Good and Evil: “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not
become a monster. And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.”5
1
Charles Baudelaire, “Travel” In: Baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil and Other Poems, trans. Francis
Duke (New York: Vantage, 1982), 213.
2
Charles Baudelaire, “The Eyes of the Poor” In: The Parisian Prowler: Le Spleen de Paris. Petits
Poèmes en prose, 2nd ed., trans. Edward K. Kaplan (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1997), 60.
3
Ibid., 61.
4
Ibid., 61.
5
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future, trans.
Walter Kaufmann (New York: Vintage, 1966), 89.
37
A different way to put this idea is to claim, along with Marshall Behrman, that
being modern at the beginning of the twentieth century is to be suddenly thrown into “the
maelstrom of modern life” in which people become at once “subjects as well as objects of
modernization”1 Significantly, Berman takes the phrase for the title of his book (“all that is
solid melts into air”) from Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels’s The Communist Manifesto,
which illuminates the circular – indeed, chiastic – relation between subjects and objects of
modernization. In The Communist Manifesto Marx and Engels argue that “the bourgeoisie
cannot exist without constantly revolutionizing the means of production, and thereby the
relations of production, and with them the whole relations of society”.2 The result is
overproduction, which the authors describe in the famously vivid passage: “Modern
bourgeois society . . . that has conjured up such gigantic means of production and
exchange is like the sorcerer, who is no longer able to control the powers of the nether
world whom he has called up by his spells”3 One way to view the flip side of progress –
also expressed by Arnold’s “darkling plain”, Baudelaire’s “abyssal depth of the
unknown”, and Nietzsche’s slippery monster – is to relate it to the changes in the capitalist
mode of production and exchange that occur with full intensity approximately half a
century after Marx’s diagnosis, during the second Industrial Revolution.
The social, historical, and economic conditions at the end of the nineteenth and
the beginning of the twentieth centuries make it possible to define modernism as the
expression of a chiastic relationship between subject and object: the emergence of a
world of temporal simultaneity, which blurs the distinction between cause and effect—in
other words, a world in which to create something new means to be created by the very
objects of production. It is such a temporal simultaneity that Perry Anderson refers to in
“Modernity and Revolution”, where he proposes a “conjunctural” analysis of
modernism based on “the intersection of different historical temporalities” determined
by three key coordinates: (1) “a highly formalized academicism,” (2) the emergence of
“key technologies or inventions of the second industrial revolution; that is telephone,
radio, automobile, aircraft, and so on,” and (3) “the imaginative proximity of social
revolution”.4 As a consequence, Anderson concludes, modernism “arose at the
intersection between a semi-aristocratic ruling order, a semi-industrialized capitalist
economy, and a semi-emergent, or semi-insurgent, labor movement”5 The technological
innovations Anderson mentions are crucial characteristics of modernist society and
culture, viewed as the crisis of abundance.6
One of the most significant implications of the modernist culture of abundance,
implicit also in Anderson’s conjunctural analysis, is that it signals at once the
1
Marshall Berman, All That is Solid Melts into Air: The Experience of Modernity (New York:
Simon & Schuster, 1982), 16.
2
Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The Communist Manifesto (New York: Bantam, 1992), 21.
3
Ibid., 24.
4
Perry Anderson, “Modernity and Revolution” In: Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture, ed.
Caryl Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988), 324-325.
5
Ibid., 326.
6
On this idea, see Stephen Kern, The Culture of Time and Space 1880-1918 (Cambridge MA:
Harvard University Press, 1983), 9. See also Ronald Schleifer, Modernism and Time: The Logic
of Abundance in Literature, Science, and Culture, 1880-1930 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2001), 35-66.
38
intensification and the crisis of the Enlightenment ideals of progress.1Thus, modernist
abundance invites a Freudian reading, which also reveals in its own distinctive way the
ambiguous double-relation between gain and loss. As Freud explains in Civilization and
Its Discontents, “it is impossible to overlook the extent to which civilization is built up
upon the renunciation of instinct, how much it presupposes precisely the non-satisfaction
. . . of powerful instincts”.2 Cultural and technological abundance are symptoms that are
meant to compensate for a much more important primal loss, entailed by repressed
instincts and desires. Freud uses in his analysis the metaphor of organ-extension: “Man
has, as it were, become a kind of prosthetic God. When he puts on all his auxiliary
organs he is truly magnificent; but those organs have not grown on to him and they still
give him much trouble at times”.3
Registering the circular relation between gain and loss in Freud’s analysis,
between subject and object in Berman’s modernist maelstrom, and between the gigantic
modes of production and the powers of the underworld in Marx, is to look from different
perspectives into the Nietzschean abyss, which inevitable gazes back into the beholder.
It is, therefore, to reveal the analogy between the general constitution of modernism and
the operation of the rhetorical figure of chiasmus. Chiasmus derives from the Greek
letter “χ” (chi), which illustrates by its shape the “ABBA” pattern of repetition and
inversion.4 Nietzsche’s phrase, for instance, “when you look long into an abyss, the
abyss also looks into you,” is a perfect illustration of chiasmus, suggesting the “Greek
verb meaning to mark with cross lines”:5
You look into
The abyss
an abyss
looks into you
The same chiastic structure characterizes Behrman’s insight that modernism
signals the process by which people become at the same time subjects and objects of
modernization. In both cases, chiasmus involves not simply the simple mirrored
repetition of parallel terms, but it also emphasizes the relation of inversion by which to
act is always also to be acted upon, not despite but precisely because of the
insurmountable opposition between subject and object, nature and culture. Thus, “the
powers of the nether world” are summoned in Marx’s imagery not from some malicious
underworld sealed off from capitalist development, but precisely in the name of the
1
In this regard, the project of modernism resembles what Tim Armstrong calls the general logic
of “prosthetic modernism” and organ-extension. See Armstrong, Modernism, Technology, and
the Body: A Cultural Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 77-105.
2
Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, trans. James Strachey (New York: W. W.
Norton & Co, 1961), 52.
3
Ibid., 44.
4
See Richard A. Lanham, A Handlist of Rhetorical Terms, 2nd ed. (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1991), 33.
5
David Weir, “Chiastic Narrative” In: James Joyce and the Art of Mediation (Ann Arbor:
University of Michigan Press, 1996), 89.
39
exclusionary oppositions generated by capitalism itself. Similarly, the image of the
human as “prosthetic God” in the Freud’s analysis discloses the troubles of “auxiliary
organs” not simply as inhuman artifices independent of the realm of the human, but
rather in the very name of the thoroughly humanized progress of civilization. Chiastic
modernism illuminates the inherent dynamics of such oppositions that function as
reciprocally generating, rather than simply exclusionary, mechanisms.
The rhetorical operation of the chiasmus, which bears important affinities with
the modernist culture of abundance, can also be seen in the form of a linguistic excess
that seemingly exhausts, by virtue of its circularity, the range of argumentative
possibilities. In conclusion, the relationship between modernist progress and destruction
in the aesthetic worlds of Arnold and Baudelaire, as well as in the theoretical inquiries of
Marx and Freud, reveals the chiastic logic by which destruction, instead of being
hermetically isolated from the hopeful perspectives of progress, turns out to be the
latter’s very motivation and condition of existence. Thus, modernism bears witness to
both the intensification and the crisis of the Enlightenment ideal of progress, an idea that,
as I show in a moment, seeks to justify the distinction between nature and culture by
referring it to the oppositional framework between the rational and the irrational. It is
precisely the internal limitations of the Enlightenment ideal of progress, in many ways
strengthened through new technologies during the early twentieth century that are
exposed in literary modernism through the idea of uncanny, which reveals the chiastic
interdependence between the rational and the irrational realms of existence.
“Primeval darkness falsified to a social mechanism”: Reason and the Uncanny
In his seminal essay “The ‘Uncanny’” (1919), Freud offers extensive discussion of the
semantic features of the word “unheimlich” (literally, “unhomely”), which actually he
shows to be synonymous with its opposite: “heimlich”, he argues, can signify at once
“what is familiar and agreeable” and “what is concealed or kept out of sight.”1 In his
detailed examination of E. T. A. Hoffman’s short story “The Sandman” (1816), Freud
uses the idea of the shared meaning of heimlich and unheimlich as a starting point for his
definition of the uncanny as “that class of the frightening which leads back to what is
known of old and long familiar.”2 By grounding the notion of the uncanny in the
familiar, Freud seeks to rectify Ernst Jentsch’s earlier interpretation of Hoffman’s story
and his subsequent definition of the uncanny involving intellectual uncertainty about the
distinction between the animate and the inanimate. The central concern of Hoffman’s
story is, indeed, the precarious opposition between nature and artifice: the young
protagonist Nathaniel falls in love with the beautiful wooden doll, Olympia, neglecting
his real-life lover, Clara. Moreover, Nathaniel confuses the natural and the artificial in
another crucial way as well: not only does he confuse Coppola, the optician who
manufactured Olympia’s eyes, with Coppelius, whom he considers responsible for his
father’s death, but the latter also gets conflated in his mind with the folk-story character
of the Sandman, believed to pour sand in little children’s eyes who refuse to go to sleep.
1
Sigmund Freud, “The Uncanny” The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of
Sigmund Freud, trans. James Starchey. Vol. XVII (1917-19) (London: The Hogarth Press, 1947),
224-225.
2
Ibid., 220.
40
The reason why Hoffman’s piece illustrates for Freud the operation of the uncanny is not
so much because of the confusion between the natural and the artificial, but rather
because Freud discovers in the story instances of the uncanny related to his notions of
the “Oedipus complex” and that of the “repetition compulsion”, both introduced in the
simultaneously-conceived Beyond the Pleasure Principle. He argues that “the feeling of
something uncanny is directly attached to the figure of the Sand-Man, that is, to the idea
of being robbed of one’s eyes, and . . . Jentsch’s point of an intellectual uncertainty
[between the animate and the inanimate] has nothing to do with the effect”.1 Clearly,
Freud’s attempt to discredit Jentsch’s argument, while offering the more or less final
conclusion that “whatever reminds us of . . . [the] inner ‘compulsion to repeat’ is
perceived as uncanny”,2 represents the desire to overcome the irrational uncertainty of
the uncanny through the “scientific” method of psychoanalysis.
However, as David Ellis acutely observes, the story of the Sandman
“undermines Freud’s claims to analytic mastery and control, both in his temporary
function as reader of Hoffman, and in his larger role as clarifier of the uncanny”.3 In fact,
Freud was also aware of the fact that by approaching the uncanny he was entering the
slippery category of aesthetics, which could easily threaten the coherence of his “talking
cure”. Towards the end of his essay he writes, “We have drifted into this field of
research [i.e. aesthetics] half involuntarily, through the temptation to explain certain
instances which contradicted our theory of the causes of the uncanny”.4 Freud’s failure
to completely contain the uncanny within the realm of his psychoanalytic theory is
highly significant, because it illustrates the aporia involved in controlling the irrational
not as an unruly construction standing in itself, outside of, or in opposition to, the
rational realm, but more importantly, as a haunting presence that stretches the
boundaries of reason from within. The irrational dimensions of aesthetics are in full
agreement with this idea. Instead of solving the issue of the uncanny, Freud actually
brings about its proliferation, because, as it turns out, his experience with aesthetics via
Hoffman’s story is after all not very different from Nathaniel’s encounter with the
folklore-version of the tale of the sandman he used to hear as a child from the servant. In
both cases, the irrationality of aesthetics troubles the rational structures of reality. The
stakes for Freud involve facing potential inconsistencies of his psychoanalytic theory in
the form of exceptional cases taken from the realm of art.
The tension between the irrational and the rational, underwritten by the
distinction between art and everyday life, is also one of the central issues of modernist
literature and culture. In “Art and Morality” D. H. Lawrence discusses this matter in
relation to Paul Cézanne’s post-impressionist still lifes, which he sees as examples par
excellence of the way in which art separates itself from everyday life. The apples on
Cézanne’s paintings, notoriously defying the universal law of gravity, epitomize for
Lawrence the problem Freud is also compelled to encounter in his analysis of the
1
Ibid., 230.
Ibid., 238.
3
David Richard Ellison, Ethics and Aesthetics in European Modernist Literature: From the
Sublime to the Uncanny (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 58.
4
Freud, “The Uncanny”, 251–252.
2
41
uncanny; namely, the irrationality of art as opposed to the “Kodak-vision” of “the Allseeing Eye of humanity”.1 Lawrence concludes:
Let Cézanne’s apples go rolling off the table for ever. They live by their own
laws, in their own ambiente, and not by the law of the kodak—or of man. They
are casually related to man. But to those apples, man is by no means the
absolute.2
Lawrence’s observations summarize the general operation of the uncanny as the
“revenge” of the artistic world over the reality of everyday life, enacted through the
letting loose of irrational energies directed to overwhelm human rationality.
Furthermore, it is by no means accidental that Lawrence chooses to illustrate the abstract
notion of reason with photographic technology, which was in the process of
development during the 1880s and would come to fully inform modernist society by the
end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century. Implicit in Lawrence’s
conclusion is the idea that the evolution of human rationality, like the technological
conception of reality through photography, inevitably folds back onto itself and leaves
behind an irrational residue through art.
Aesthetics can function as a receptacle of the irrational, especially through the
uncanny, because of its traditional role since the Enlightenment project of modernity as
the realm against which, but also in the name of which, the rational coherence of human
thought comes to be constructed. In Lawrence’s “Art and Morality,” the “Kodak-vision”
suggests an improved version of the general ocularcentrism of the Enlightenment, which
is emblematic of reason itself. At the same time, the sharp yet precarious distinction
between aesthetics and ethics involved in this question is reminiscent of the ambitious
undertaking of the Kantian aesthetics, which seeks to establish hermetically separated
spheres of science, morality, and art. Set against this broad background of
Enlightenment modernity, the uncanny in modernist literature reveals the chiasmus
between the rational and the irrational: rationalizing the uncanny is inextricably caught
up with the uncanniness of reason.
Different works show different aspects of this idea. In The Rainbow (1915), for
instance, Lawrence’s protagonist, Ursula Brangwen, fully experiences the “maelstrom of
modern life” in the early twentieth century. She faces a predicament similar to the one
Lawrence himself discussed in connection with Cézanne’s still lifes: the recognition of
the uncertainty of consciousness and of human existence, especially when compared to
the unruly realm of the irrational residue of reason. Ursula imagines life as an “inner
circle of light,” which is at once illuminating through “the light of science and
knowledge” and blinding, because it makes one incapable of perceiving the immense
darkness lurking behind the spotlight of life, where she can feel “the eyes of wild beasts,
gleaming, penetrating, vanishing”.3 For her, trains and factories – and thus, technology
and economic progress in general – are all part of the “circle of light” that represents
1
David Herbert Lawrence, “Art and Morality” Study of Thomas Hardy and Other Essays, ed.
Bruce Steele (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 166.
2
Ibid., 168.
3
David Herbert Lawrence, The Rainbow (London: Penguin, 1981), 487-488.
42
everyday life, which generates terror but also offers “the security of the blinding light”.1
Realizing her position as both subject and object of modernization (to use Berman’s
description of modern life), Ursula confronts the uncanny because, just like Nathaniel in
Hoffman’s story, she finds it impossible not to live life aesthetically, by viewing worldly
things as signifying systems that take away the natural dimensions of human existence.
Not to take things for granted means for her, Unlike Viktor Skrebensky, her short-lived
fiancé, who is willing “to screen himself from darkness, the challenge of his own soul”
(535), Ursula chooses to face things as they come. The challenge, in this case, means to
view people as “dummies exposed”, who, like Nathaniel’s manufactured Olympia, are
nothing but artificial, “dressed-up creatures” sitting in the tram with “their pale, wooden
pretense of composure and civic purposefulness”.2
Early-twentieth-century English authors use the figure of the uncanny to disclose
the chiastic constitution of modernism. Modern society and mutual love, just as Arnold
and Baudelaire’s aesthetics suggested, are, in Ursula’s perspective, too, cover-ups within
the realm of reason for chthonic powers, instances of “primeval darkness falsified to a
social mechanism”.3 In its various manifestations in the literature of the period, the
uncanny validates Freud’s experience with the slippery realm of the aesthetic, emerging as
the irruption of irrational energies (especially through art) in the form of internal
contradictions embedded deep within human reason. Summoned from England to the
United States to help Dr. Obispo’s investigations into the lengthening of human life (by
reading the legendary Hauberk papers, which contain the Fifth Earl’s eighteenth-century
diary-entry summaries of his own experimentations with the issue), Jeremy Pordage’s
story in Aldous Huxley’s After Many a Summers Dies the Swan (1939) is no exception in
this regard. The novel presents the classical instance of the uncanny as that which is
resurrected to haunt the rational coherence of the human world. After discovering from the
manuscript that the Fifth Earl staged his own death, Obispo and Jeremy, along with Stoyte,
the millionaire contender to immortality, actually find the two-hundred-and-one-year-old
Earl in the hidden labyrinth of the Hauberk family’s cellar in England. In this strikingly
gothic passage, the irrationality of aesthetics (in this case, the Fifth Earl’s personal diary,
long believed to be an anachronistic thing of the past) comes alive not simply to destabilize
or attack rational thinking, but on the contrary, to prove that reason is thoroughly infused
with irrational energies. At the sight of the senile, animal-like creature that was once the
Fifth Earl, Dr. Obispo’s belief in scientific progress amounts to “the finest joke ha had ever
known”,4 while Stoyte’s proof that lengthening indefinitely human life actually works can
only be taken as the ultimate irony of reason, the uncanny mischief of irrational, evil spirits
conjured up be reason itself.
The operation of the uncanny in Huxley’s novel and Stoyte’s paradoxical
predicament can also be placed within the context of the rise of supernatural fiction at
the turn of the eighteenth century, which, as E. J. Clery argues, is strongly related to the
pervasive “consumer revolution” of the time, bringing about the “fundamental
chiasmus” of “the growing commercialization of spirits . . . [and the] spiritualization of
1
Ibid., 488.
Ibid., 498.
3
Ibid., 499.
4
Aldous Huxley, After Many a Summer Dies the Swan (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1939), 355.
2
43
commerce”.1 Huxley’s novel also registers the chiasmus between the rational and the
irrational within the context of the intense culture of abundance and the increasing
consumer culture characteristic of the first half of the twentieth century. Living in a huge
palace full of randomly selected valuables so that “every item is perfectly irrelevant to
every other item”,2 Stoyte is clearly the generic figure of the consumer, whose world is
restricted to what money can buy, and who is afraid only of what seems to be outside the
economy of monetary exchange. Hence his excessive fear of death and his obsessive
repetition of the self-reassuring phrases: “God is love. There is no death”.3 Significantly,
one of Stoyte’s main companies is the Beverly Pantheon, a cemetery that is built
according to the “policy of injecting sex appeal into death”4 and is thus thoroughly
preoccupied with the aestheticization of death, or what Clery calls the
“commercialization of spirits”. It is precisely the logic of his own slogan, that is, the
denial of death and its banishment into the realm of art that turns back against Stoyte as a
chiastic fold through the “spiritualization of commerce” or the uncanniness of reason.
Huxley shows that “every improvement . . . makes it more difficult for people to
escape from their egos, more difficult to forget those horrible projections of themselves
they call their ideals of patriotism, heroism, glory and all the rest”.5 Huxley does so in a
way that recalls Ursula’s setting up of the blinding spotlight as a metaphor for life that is
surrounded by the immense darkness of the underworld; and he does so moreover in
keeping with the prosthetic logic of modernism, which registers the circular dependence
of gain and loss in Freud’s theory. In the Dialectic of Enlightenment, Max Horkheimer
and Theodor W. Adorno refer to this folding back of reason onto itself as the internal
contradiction of the Enlightenment project of modernity, which, instead of going
through progressive stages of emancipation, turns out to be “the wholesale deception of
the masses”.6 Their argument illustrates the logic of chiastic modernism. The chiastic
fold between enlightenment demythologization, which “compounds the animate with
the inanimate,” and the practice of myth, which, on the contrary, “compounds the
inanimate with the animate,” bears witness to the “enlightenment return to mythology,
which it never really knew how to elude”.7 Opposition is reinscribed as the essential
chiastic relationship between reason and mythical fetishism, or, as Horkheimer and
Adorno show, “Before, fetishes were subject to the law of equivalence. Now
equivalence itself has become a fetish”.8 (17).
The grim consequences of this rational domination disguised as Enlightenment
progress are also at the center of Kurtz’s degeneration in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of
Darkness (1902). As Marlow discovers, “all Europe contributed to the making of
Kurtz,” the charismatic agent of British ivory expeditions, idolized by the African
1
E. J Clery, The Rise of Supernatural Fiction, 1762-1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1995), 6-7.
2
Huxley, After Many a Summer Dies the Swan, 174.
3
Ibid., 42-43.
4
Ibid., 230.
5
Ibid., 126.
6
Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, trans. John Cumming
(New York: Continuum Publishing Co, 2001), 42.
7
Ibid., 16-27.
8
Ibid., 17.
44
natives as a supernatural creature, the very fetish of rational progress and emancipation,
whose famous pamphlet written for “the International Society for the Suppression of
Savage Customs” concludes with the slogan epitomizing the uncanny of reason:
“‘Exterminate all the brutes!’”.1 Conrad’s “heart of darkness”, Huxley’s “horrible
projections” of human progress and Lawrence’s “primeval darkness” present different
ways in which modernist literature illuminates through the uncanny the essential
irrational component of social and cultural issues at the beginning of the twentieth
century—issues such as colonial discourse for Conrad, consumerism for Huxley, and the
institutionalized forms of intimacy for Lawrence.
“The roar on the other side of silence”:
Mrs. Dalloway and the Aesthetics of the Trivial
The uncanny in modernist literature is not simply the mere anticipation of the common
argument of Frankfurt School theorists about the totalitarian rationality of Western
society characterized by the dominating forces of the culture industry and of
instrumental reason. Instead, the various manifestations of the uncanny in earlytwentieth-century literature illustrate what Rita Felski describes as the modernity of “a
multiplicity of voices and perspectives that cannot be easily synthesized into a single,
unified ideology or world-view”.2 Unlike in the examples discussed so far, however, the
uncanny in Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway leads to the proposal of an aesthetics of the trivial,
which complicates the distinction between ethics and aesthetics, suggesting a very
different approach from the “highly pessimistic philosophy of history which conceives
of modernity as an inexorable spiral of ever greater repression”.3 Woolf’s insistence
upon the importance of the trivial in Mrs. Dalloway suggests affinities with but also the
suspension of what Elaine Showalter calls the “saga of defeat” of “the female aesthetic”
at this period in literary history.4 (224). Self-destruction, Showalter argues, is “the
hallmark of female aestheticism” during this period in literary history, due mainly to the
“risk of self-destruction through psychic overload, ego death from the state of pure
receptive sensibility”—the state which she describes, following George Eliot, as “the
roar on the other side of silence”.5 In Eliot’s Middlemarch (1871), it is indeed
Dorothea’s heightened sensibility which turns common everyday experience into
“inward amazement,” “preparing strange associations which remained through her afteryears”.6 Eliot concludes: “If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary life, it
would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of
that roar which lies on the other side of silence”.7
Following Eliot’s heightened sense of vision, the aesthetics of the trivial in Mrs.
Dalloway registers the elevated sensibility and ecstasy that are needed for turning
ordinary life into Woolf’s famous “moments of being,” but also the implicit threat of
1
Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness (London: Penguin, 1999), 91-92.
Rita Felski, The Gender of Modernity (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995), 8.
3
Ibid., 6.
4
Elaine Showalter, A Literature of Their Own: British Women Novelists from Brontë to Lessing,
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 224.
5
Ibid., 251.
6
George Eliot, Middlemarch; Silas Marner; Amos Barton (London: Chancellor Press, 2001), 150.
7
Ibid., 151.
2
45
such epiphanies that involve, as it did for Eliot, the uncanny proximity of death, the
“roar on the other side of silence”. Woolf’s novel animates the inanimate through the
uncanny of an ontological chiasmus, the intermittent resurrection into life and passing
into death: life in death and death in life. Narration in Mrs. Dalloway, as J. Hillis Miller
argues, is “repetition as the raising of the dead”1 not only because, as Miller acutely
points out, Woolf buried in her novel the Richard Strauss song “Allerseelen”, referring
to the “collective resurrection of spirits” during All Soul’s Day, but more importantly
because the novel offers an alternative model of plot and knowledge. It does so by
linking scattered, non-cumulative moments of existence through the telepathic – and,
indeed, uncanny – communication between narrator and characters as well as among
several fictional characters. Clarissa and his old friend, Peter Walsh, for instance, “went
in and out of each other’s minds without any effort”,2 just like the narrator glides in and
out of the characters’ minds through free indirect discourse. Miller’s analysis reveals the
novel’s narrative logic based on the imperative “‘They thought, therefore I am’”,3 which
reveals the chiastic interdependence between narrator and character: in Mrs. Dalloway
the characters are dependent upon the “all-knowing mind” of the narrator, while the
narrator, in turn, is dependent upon characters’ minds.4
Moreover, the momentary epiphanies in the novel are also underwritten by the
logic of chiasmus: the intertwining of ecstasy and horror reveals the experience of the
uncanny animation of the inanimate. In Clarissa’s “transcendental theory,” which
describes her belief in the survival after death in the “everywhere” of life, “attached to this
person or that, even haunting certain places after death”,5 the inanimate is brought to life to
enhance but also to threaten through involuntary associations the characters’ mental
certainty. Just returned from India, Peter Walsh, for example, is standing in “exquisite
delight” in Trafalgar Square, “as if inside his brain by another hand strings were pulled,
shutters moved, and he, having nothing to do with it, yet stood at the opening of endless
avenues”.6 The novel’s closing passage also reveals Peter during one of these gothic
moments, while glancing at Clarissa and contemplating, “What is this terror? What is this
ecstasy?”7 Throughout the novel, the coupling of terror and ecstasy suggests a complex
relationship between ethics and aesthetics, manifested most significantly in the questioning
of the distinctions between madness and normalcy in Septimus Warren Smith’s story on
the one hand, and between the important and the unimportant in Clarissa’s aesthetics of the
trivial. As Woolf confessed in her diary, the novel was meant to be “a study of insanity and
suicide: the world seen by the sane and the insane side by side.”8 Septimus’s story reflects
Woolf’s intentions but also complicates the very notions of human responsibility involved
in attitudes toward sanity and insanity.
1
J. Hillis Miller, Fiction and Repetition: Seven English Novels (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1982), 178.
2
Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway, 63.
3
Miller, Fiction and Repetition, 181.
4
Ibid., 179
5
6
Ibid., 52.
7
Ibid., 194.
8
Virginia Woolf, The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Vol. II, ed. Anne Olivier Bell (New York:
Harcourt, 1978), 207.
46
One of the most representative examples of the way in which ecstasy, elevated
to quasi-religious experience, gets coupled with mental instability is illustrated by the
shell-shocked war veteran Septimus’s constant hallucinations, as he obsessively
discovers in everything around him the haunting presence of his deceased friend, Evans.
Septimus, who recognizes his transitory position between life and death by confessing to
himself, “I have been dead, and yet am now alive”,1 cannot escape hearing Evans’s
messages through the medium of the elm trees, which he figures to be alive, containing
the spirit of the dead, “the leaves being connected by millions of fibres to his own
[Septimus’s] body”.2 Septimus’s excessive ethical responsibility for the dead verges
upon madness, turning him into “the giant mourner”, who is unable to contain the past
by distancing and aestheticizing it as memory:
“It is time,” said Rezia.
The word “time” split its husk; poured its riches over him [Septimus]; and from
his lips fell like shells, like shavings from a plane, without his making them,
hard, white, imperishable words, and flew to attach themselves to their places in
an ode to Time; an immortal ode to Time. He sang. Evans answered from
behind the tree.3
The inability to aestheticize the trauma of the past by referring it to closed
temporal categories is figured here as a fissure in mental representation, leading to
overwhelming guilt in the form of an ethics of madness. Thus, when Septimus instructs
his wife, Rezia, to burn his papers, which are also described, significantly, as “odes to
Time,” he is in fact perpetuating a state of ecstasy that is outside the framework of
traditional responsibility. Septimus’s ecstasy is thoroughly amoral, stretching the very
boundaries of sanity and madness. Rezia’s rational response is to tie the papers up with a
silk ribbon, simply because “some were very beautiful”.4 Aesthetics is thus complicit
with a rationalized version of reality – in this context, the traumatic aftermath of the
Great War – that seeks to relegate the irrational and the uncanny to the realm of art,
precisely in the name of human sanity. In the light of Septimus’s excessive
responsibility, which resurrects the irrational of aesthetics to question the distinction
between normalcy and madness, Rezia’s aesthetic attitude is relocated not simply as the
natural coherence of everyday life, but rather as a necessary limitation or even as an
irresponsible act of insanity.
In a similar way, Clarissa’s aesthetics of the trivial is also on the borderline
between ethics and aesthetics, challenging the very distinction between the petty and the
serious. In “Ethical Folds: Ethics, Aesthetics, Woolf”, Jessica Berman shows the
complex interconnection in Woolf’s works between the reams of aesthetics and ethics,
arguing that many of her novels bring “the epistemological and moral into conversation
with each other, using aesthetics to make an ethical realm – or a fold – between the
potentially universal and the personal”.5 (159). However, in Mrs. Dalloway Woolf also
upsets the privilege given to the serious and the important, implicitly figured throughout
1
Ibid., 22.
3
Ibid., 69-70.
4
Ibid., 148.
5
Jessica Berman, “Ethical Folds: Ethics, Aesthetics, Woolf” Modern Fiction Studies 50 (2004): 159.
2
47
the novel as masculine, by depicting the seemingly trivial feminine domestic realm of
the upper-middle-class character, Clarissa, as the main source of a mystic sense of
understanding, based on the uncanny feeling of immortal presence and the impossibility
of death. Thus, on his return from India, Peter Walsh contemplates Clarissa’s petty
concerns: “Here she is mending her dress; mending her dress as usual, he thought; here
she’s been sitting all the time I’ve been in India; mending her dress; playing about;
going to parties”.1 More generally, Clarissa’s aesthetics of the trivial is described as the
dispersed cluster of isolated events that do not lead up to conclusive syntheses and, just
like Septimus’s ecstatic moments, resist retrospective objectification. Her friendship
with Sally Seton, especially their kiss on the lips, which Clarissa considers the most
exquisite moment of her life, does not get fulfilled in any way, and in her recollections
she cannot “even get an echo of her old emotion”.2 More than that, Clarissa also
displaces the moral responsibility for war into mere detail by emphasizing the beauty of
her roses over the fate of the Armenians. Aesthetics, in such contexts, seems thoroughly
opposed to the realm of ethics.
However, although apparently rooted in the irresponsible attention given to
common experience, the aesthetics of the trivial in Mrs. Dalloway is at the same time
elevated to the irrational level of telepathic communication and the uncanny of
metempsychosis exemplified by Clarissa’s “transcendental theory.” Unlike Rezia’s
aesthetic parceling-out of everyday life, Clarissa’s aesthetics functions as a permeable
membrane thoroughly connecting rather than decisively separating the lives of various
characters. As such, it operates, following Berman, as a fold between aesthetics and
ethics that interlaces personal life with the universal concerns.
Woolf’s insistence on sounds and vibrations throughout the novel is one of the
important ways in which this aesthetic is portrayed as a connecting membrane,
surpassing the rational sphere of the visual. In “Virginia Woolf, Sound Technologies,
and the New Aurality”, Melba Cuddy-Keane shows that the concepts of “diffusion” and
“auscultation” (the act of listening in its nonmedical sense) are crucial for the
understanding of “the new aural sensitivity coincident with the emergence of the
gramophone and the wireless”.3 The car “gliding across Piccadilly” impresses the
characters not so much by its visual presence but by the “vibration” it generates as
“strangers looked at each other and thought of the dead; of the flag; of Empire”.4
Similarly, the sound of the airplane can be heard by “all people in the Mall, in the Green
Park, in Piccadilly, in Regent Street, in Regent’s Park”,5 just as the sound of Big Ben
and the song of the old woman on the street create a certain mutual awareness,
connecting various characters who never get to meet in person.
The uncanny resurrection of the dead as well as the irrational aesthetic of the
trivial are thus intimately related in the novel to the technological developments of the
first decades of the twentieth century. Additionally, the issue of the supernatural and the
1
Ibid., 34.
3
Melba Cuddy-Keane, “Virginia Woolf, Sound Technologies, and the New Aurality” In: Virginia
Woolf in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, ed. Pamela L. Caughie (New York: Garland,
2000), 71.
4
5
Ibid., 21.
2
48
uncanny for Woolf involves probing the boundaries of the human mind. In her essay,
“Across the Border”, Woolf writes that in order to achieve the true effects of the
uncanny, exemplified, according to her, by the works of Sir Walter Scott and Henry
James, the author “must seek to terrify us not by the ghosts of the dead, but by those
ghosts which are living within ourselves”.1 Mrs. Dalloway vividly illustrates this idea.
The moments of rapture Clarissa finds even in the most ordinary aspects of everyday life
is a dramatic expression of the argument Woolf had made earlier in her review of Elinor
Mordaunt’s volume of short stories: “Nobody can deny that our life is largely at the
mercy of dreams and visions which we cannot account for logically”.2 The irrationality
of the aesthetic of the trivial in Mrs. Dalloway bears important affinities with Freudian
psychoanalysis, or, as Woolf puts it in her review, with “the discovery of some of . . .
[the] uncharted territories of the mind”.3 According to Woolf’s confessions in her diary,
one of the major literary techniques used in Mrs. Dalloway consists in a discovery that is
by no means unrelated to the supernatural communication among various characters: “I
dig out beautiful caves behind my characters. . . . The idea is that all caves shall connect,
and each comes to daylight at the present moment”.4
It is not surprising then that “to plunge at Bourton into the open air” is for
Clarissa to plunge “into the very heart of the moment, . . . the moment of this July
morning on which was the pressure of all other mornings”.5 It is precisely because the
caves connect, that Clarissa can feel Septimus’s suicide, also described as a fatal plunge
into death, described not simply as the passing into nothingness but as the very source of
irrational communication: “Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the
impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew
apart; rapture faded, one was alone. There was an embrace in death”.6 The connecting
caves, which reveal the organizing principle of the novel, reinscribe existence as the
operation of a basic ontological chiasmus: the turning of death into the uncanny
continuation of life, and elevation of everyday trivia to the level of scattered events of
ecstasy—the epiphany of orgasmic moments of multiple small deaths. Thus, feeling
Septimus’s death during her party, Clarissa contemplates:
Fear no more the heat of the sun. . . . She felt somehow very like him—the
young man who had killed himself. She felt glad that he had done it; throw it
away. The clock was striking. The laden circles dissolved in the air. He made
her feel the beauty; made her feel the fun.7
Like in Shakespeare’s Cymbeline, where the line “fear no more the heat of the sun”
refers to a state of quasi-death, for Clarissa, too, Septimus’s suicide reflects the uncanny
1
Virginia Woolf, “Across the Border” In The Essays of Virginia Woolf, Vol. II. (1912-1918), ed.
Andrew McNeillie (New York: Harcourt, 1987), 218-219.
2
Virginia Woolf, “‘Before Midnight’” In The Essays of Virginia Woolf, Vol. II. (1912-1918), ed.
Andrew McNeillie (New York: Harcourt, 1987), 87.
3
Ibid., 87.
4
Woolf, The Diary of Virginia Woolf, 263.
5
6
Ibid., 184.
7
Ibid,, 186.
49
feeling of life-in-death, the irrationality of beauty, which does not put an end to life but
merely signals its redefinition as moments of terrifying ecstasy. The uncanny registers
the chiastic constitution of ecstasy, Woolf’s “moments of being,” as the desirable yet
threatening human condition passing between the unruly realms of life and death.
Conclusion
Chiastic modernism can also offer a vantage point for the retrospective reevaluation of
the Enlightenment. It suggests an alternative literary and cultural history, which
complicates the usual conception of the Enlightenment as a period based on Cartesian
clear and distinct ideas.1 Instead, it shows that the very categories of reason that might
appear to be secure universality and transparency are actually undergirded by irrational
phenomena such as the ones the above-discussed authors incorporate into their works.
Modernism is typically defined in terms of unprecedented scientific developments that
are often linked to a sense of crisis and fragmentation in the arts. However, instead of the
disruption of traditional continuities, this essay has sought to offer a continuity thesis by
showing that modernism is in many ways a continuation – both from a theoretical and a
literary historical point of view – of well-established cultural contradictions and
rhetorical strategies. As a future project, it would be interesting to examine to what
extent the irrational dimensions of modernist aesthetics are rooted in the Gothic
tradition, which reaches the height of its popularity in the late eighteenth and early
nineteenth century.
1
On this issue, see the argument that irrational beliefs and practices such as mesmerism are at the
very center of the “radical” definition of the Enlightenment in Robert Darnton, Mesmerism and
the End of the Enlightenment in France (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1968). See also
the idea that “the repudiation of magic on the part of Enlightenment radicals occurred
simultaneously with their adherence to a pantheistic naturalism that had once been the prevailing
philosophy of Renaissance adepts and magi” in Margaret C. Jacob, The Radical Enlightenment:
Pantheists, Freemasons and Republicans (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1981), 34 italics in
the original.
50
The Fibonacci novel,
László Krasznahorkai’s Hommage to Mario Merz in Seiobo There Below1
Zsuzsa SELYEM
Babeş-Bolyai University Cluj
Department of Hungarian Literary Studies
Keywords: arte povera, consumer societies, dynamization, Fibonacci sequence, event,
non-discoursive works of art, slowness
Abstract: This essay tries to find out the shared structural element between
Mario Merz’s installations and László Krasznahorkai’s prose, with special
accent on the Seiobo There Below. Both artists use the Fibonacci series of
numbers, which results a “fragile and potentially dangerous” (Germano Celant)
structure. The connections are not based on conventions, are not guaranteed by
certain characters with certain identities, but they may appear by the prehistorical structures of different works of art in different situations. Merz’s arte
povera outstandingly represented solidarity within society, Krasznahorkai’s
subtle prose, in a more hidden way, does the same. Both have found new and
archaic structures to surpass the overwhelming rhetorics of war.
*
1.
Arte povera against the logics of war
There is a picture in chapter 7 of László Krasznahorkai’s novel War and War2 of a
hemisphere made of curved steels placed in a room with white walls. Although the name
Mario Merz is not mentioned, the place of the object of an igloo shape, made of
aluminium tubes and shards of glass, is given: Schaffhausen. One of Mario Merz’s
many igloos is exhibited in the Hallen für Neuen Kunst, Schaffhausen: there, the main
figure of the novel War and War, György Korim, flees from New York. He decides to
go there upon contemplating the photos of Merz’s igloo at length, becoming convinced
that this “subtle structure” is the only place in the world where the four angelic figures of
the manuscript he found in the Wlassich legacy would find some rest after the long
journey in search of peace throughout several of the most promising scenes of human
history, only to find out over and over again, that there was always and everywhere a
war coming.
Mario Merz (1925-2003) exhibited his first igloo entitled “Giap Igloo” in the
tumultuous year of 1968, and he wrote on it the saying of General Vo Nguyen Giap of
1
While writing this study, the author received the grant of the Domus Program of Hungarian
Academy of Sciences.
2
László Krasznahorkai, War and War, trans. George Szirtes (New York: New Directions, 2006).
51
North Vietnam: ”If the enemy masses his forces, he loses ground. If he scatters, he loses
force.”
This sentence in itself exemplifies the nonsense inherent in the logics of war,
but there is another deliberately constructed self-contradiction in this piece of work:
between the archaic, pre-historic shape of the igloo and the words of a General written
with curved neon-tubes. Writing as a means of recollection of human culture here
belongs to the world of the annihilation of culture. A twofold annihilation – by
techniques belonging to consumer society and by rude, simple destruction. Enemy, force
and ground are conceived of as static, stiff, lifeless objects in this ‘General’ sentence.
There is logic at work here that is ignorant of cultures and human relations. The ‘60s and
‘70s arte povera aims at shattering exactly this kind of logic by works that provoke
perception itself: “They transgress social structures and strata by altering perception
itself. In this light, works like Anselmo's Direzione, Merz's objects run through by a
neon tube, or Fabro's partially mirrored glass may be just as capable of inciting a
paradigm shift as Situationist actions were.”1
The term arte povera was introduced by Italian art critic Germano Celant in his
manifesto published in 1967. To this movement belonged works of art that used
everyday materials, often indigenous to the exhibition sites, just as minimalist and
situationist art, the difference being that arte povera aimed at freedom and independence
from repressive social structures by the utmost identification between man and world –
‘world’ in its most estranged sense of the word.2
Merz’s first igloo was covered with little sacks filled with soil. As a bunker, let
not the sacks be so tiny. So defenseless.
Merz with his igloos transgresses the convention of hanging the work of art on
walls or putting it on a table, and with this simple igloo-gesture it is revealed – without
wasting any word on direct criticism – that the previous “natural” forms of exhibitions in
fact were controlled, elitist and repressive.3 As always when social changes are at stake,
the question is raised: how can the instauration of, or even the propaganda for, a new
kind of repression be avoided? Because Merz avoids propaganda: the igloo is not
another wall or another table, only in another place and in the hand of another subject.
The igloo is a curved form, on which things are not flattened or set high as in repressive,
segregational ideologies, but enter different kinds of relationships with the frame of the
igloo depending on their materials (Merz used soil, clay, wax, mud, burlap, leather, glass
fragments etc.).
1
Elizabeth Mangini, “Parallel revoution,” Artforum November (2007).
“social gestures in and of themselves ... formative and compositive liberations which aim at the
identification between man and the world.” Germano Celant. “Arte povera: Appunti per una
guerriglia,” Flash Art November (1967). – qtd. in Mangini, “Parallel revoution”
3
“I made the igloo for...overlapping reasons. First in order to discard the jutting plane or the wall
plane and create a space independent of the process of hanging things on the wall or nailing them
to the wall and putting them on a table. Hence, the idea of the igloo as the idea of absolute and
self-contained space: it is not modeled; it is a hemisphere places on the ground. I wanted the
hemisphere to be nongeometrical, so the hemispherical shape created by a metallic structure was
covered with sacks or shapeless pieces of material such as soil, clay or glass.” - Germano Celant,
“Sphere of Influence,” Artforum January (2004): 25.
2
52
Installation view of ReSiDue, 2013 at WIELS Contemporary Art Centre,
work by Aleksandra Chaushova
The hemisphere here represents the critique of the straight – horizontal or
vertical – line from three points of view: it reveals that the line is an abstraction, being
the result of violating the concrete;1 it reveals the dichotomy between the horizontal and
the vertical, by its very form containing both verticality and horizontality, thus it realizes
a non-hierarchical space for the work of art; and, thirdly, by dealing with the prehistoric, non-discursive structure of organic growth, this art does not destruct the
discourse of continuity of art history, it merely is not preoccupied by it.
Besides putting together the pre-historic with the actual, besides representing a
critique of consumer, elitist and ignorant society by means of arte povera, in Celant’s
interpretation there is a third feature of Merz’s installations that is in close connection
with the concept of art in Krasznahorkai’s War and War, embodied by György Korim
and his manuscript trouvé: the nomadic perspective. The four angelic figures of the
found manuscript are wandering as nomads from one important cultural scene to
another, but they cannot stay anywhere, as the institutionalized form of human ignorance
and boundless thirst for power, the war, is always coming.
Mario Merz’s main charge against political formations of actual society is that
they continuously produce wars. This critique could be neutralized by stating that being
in opposition is in itself also built on the logic of wars. But these works present some
hidden, pre-cultural forms and orders, that in their “fragility and potential danger”
(Celant) are the celebration of life.
1
“Space is curved, the earth is curved, everything on earth is curved.” (Mario Merz)
53
2. The measureless sequence
After a while some numbers appear on the igloos, representing the regularity of different
things of nature, such as cones, pineapple, sunflower etc. Merz is fascinated by the rule
of the Fibonacci numbers which also describes the surface of his igloos. The igloo is the
three-dimensional representation of a spiral, and the spiral is the ideal imaginary
representation of the Fibonacci sequence.
With his igloos Merz shows the continuously enlarging and growing structure
of everyday life, for instance in his photo series about a workers’ dining hall with tables
in the form of a spiral around which workers are sitting by 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21..., or in
his installation consisting of a spiral-shaped table covered in fruits in the Hallen für
Neuen Kunst, Schaffhausen.
Jeanne Silverthorne wrote about Merz’s works that they would be
transcendental and utopian,1 but for reaching this conclusion we would need to forget
that Merz’s igloo is not the perfect, hidden, infinite refuge, for the simple reason that it is
never solid, but always open to its surroundings. The igloos’ coverings deliberately do
not fit each other’s margins, so they are incapable of forming a compact surface. They
are not for protection; they are incapable of hiding someone even. They show us that
although we need protection, there is no such protecting entity: man, even if he/she is
not aware of it, is always visible in his/her refuge. Merz’s igloos expose the basic
functions of transcendental utopia-constructions: the promise for protection and
shielding from the enemy without, and screening man from its realization within. In this
way are these igloos protecting. They are the shared place of the pre-historic and the
actual, an art that is “fragile and potentially dangereous” to repressive ideologies that set
humans to annihilate each other.
1
Jeanne Silverthorne, “Mario Merz's Future of an Illusion,” Parkett (1988): 58–63.
54
The poor, enthusisastic local historian György Korim brings the four fascinating
figures from the found manuscript, which fled the wars in vain, to the igloo from the
museum of Schaffhausen. That igloo is made of materials at hand in contemporary life
and its structure is built according to the Fibonacci sequence, where the elements relate
to each other according to the golden ratio. It is a structure where the pieces are not built
one upon the other, but they are added to each other:
and the proportion of two succeeding elements gives the golden ratio:
where
Renaissance painters worked with this irrational golden ratio, this exact infinite.
3. Dynamized pictures
Three Renaissance paintings appear in Krasznahorkai’s Seiobo There Below.1 The first
one is Filippino Lippi’s painting of Esther’s story on a side of a cassone, the second one
is Belliniano’s Christo morto, and the third is Pietro Vanucci’s (Il Perugino) Madonna
with the Child and four saints. These three appear in three different chapters of the book,
with no overt connection among them. Not even the golden ratio is explicitly named in
the book. However, the golden ratio is an important structural feature of Seiobo, as its
chapters are not numbered according to the usual succession of positive integers of the
decadic number-system, but according to the Fibonacci sequence.
Only the first two elements of the sequence, the 0 and the 1 are missing. If we
try to be consequent to the novel and to our interpretation, we have to admit that the first
two chapters of the book are missing, that is to say, the beginning is not determined, it is
unknown. We would not be surprised, if the end would be also open. The last chapter
has the number 2584, clearly not the end of the sequence, there should follow many (in
fact: an infinite number of) Fibonacci-numbers.
Krasznahorkai says in an interview that this novel is an hommage to Mario
Merz, the artist who was preoccupied for an entire lifetime with Fibonacci-numbers.2
1
László Krasznahorkai, Seiobo There Below, trans. Ottilie Mulzet (New York: New Directions, 2013).
A jó kegyetlensége. (The Cruelty of Good) Interview with László Krasznahorkai.
http://www.litera.hu/hirek/a-jo-kegyetlensege Accessed 11th October, 2013.
2
55
Merz shapes this arithmetical concept in a sensual way, as the basic structure of the
living, non-discursive, pre-historical world. Krasznahorkai’s novel is also nondiscursive, but this feature is more unusual here than in the visual arts. We have 17
chapters with 17 different settings, 17 different ages, 17 different sets of people (or
animals, or funeral statues). What we do not have is a narrative connection between
these scenes. It would be just too easy to say that here we have 17 short stories, although
we indeed lack causal connections. What we do not have is the usual, naturalized and
imperial structure of the novel.
Krasznahorkai’s earlier novels also show some resemblances to the Merzean
critique of the political system. Satantango,1 The Melancholy of Resistance2 and War
and War also presented, like Merz’s arte povera, the perspective of poor, humble people
on the periphery of society in long, infinitely precise and delicate sentences based on
iterations, as if they were Mario Merz’s always enlarging spiral. The self-identification
of Krasznahorkai’s narrators with loser-figures such as Estike, Valuska or Korim is a
shifting of perspective that can throw light on the false universality of consumer
societies3 without criticizing it directly, and without proposing a new, different social
formation, even without proposing a utopia, a rescue given by art and aesthetics.
Krasznahorkai, like the artists of arte povera, does not propose an escape from the
actual: his novels reveal the actual and present, in this actual form, pre-historical and
non-anthropomorphic structures.
Seiobo represents Merz’s fragile and dangerous art in its structure. The link
between its chapters is not even discursive, not to mention causal. So to say, there’s no
narrative, no singular voice to link the events, although each chapter is written with
outstanding rhetorics. The link between the chapters stands only on the structure of the
book. In other words, there’s no action in Krasznahorkai’s art, as action would fulfill the
fast proceeding of events. The slowness of Krasznahorkai’s prose is not the mere
negation of the action-drill; this slowness is about a subtle dynamics that is almost
unnoticeable among the noises of everyday striving.
For example, the three Renaissance pictures mentioned above are not described
in Seiobo, the narrator is not using the rhetoric of ekphrasis (this would mean the simple
negation of action), instead we can read about the process of the creation of these works,
the character of the painters, the age, the habits in those times. The pictures are
dynamized in Krasznahorkai’s prose, and this dynamization is surpassing the
monotonous actions based on oppositions, finally, the monotony of wars. This is in
1
László Krasznahorkai, Satantango, trans. Georges Szirtes (New York: New Directions, 2012).
László Krasznahorkai, The Melancholy of Resistance, trans. Georges Szirtes (New York: New
Directions, 2000).
3
Alain Badiou differentiates between the “true” universalism based on equality, on removing or
demolishing genealogical, anthropological or social differences from the “false” universalism, the
universalism of the liberal world-market which relies on equivalence and therefore allows
permanent reproduction of rival identities within its formal homogeneity. Alain Badiou, Saint
Paul. La fondation de l'universalisme (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1997.) Étienne
Balibar criticizes Badiou’s universality-concept on the terms of the simulacra being much more
“real” than the so-called “original” – Étienne Balibar “On Universalism – In Debate with Alain
Badiou” (English version revised by Mary O’Neill) http://translate.eipcp.net/transversal
/0607/balibar/en Accessed 13th October, 2013.
2
56
some respects similar to Mario Merz’s first igloo that unmasked the static character of
the war’s logics with exposing the hidden contradiction between the igloo-form and the
used materials, between the archaic and actual.
The first element of the Fibonacci sequence, the 0 is missing from the novel, as
the starting point of Merz’s spiral is also ungraspable, as the point, the 0 has no
dimension. The second element of the sequence, the first 1 in my view is missing also –
I would say that this missing 1 is in accordance with Alain Badiou’s thesis on settheories, that 1 as such does not exist, there are only sets with certain conditions – so the
person is not 1, it is not a given entity, but it becomes a person, depending on its
faithfulness to the events of its life. Event is a basic category with Badiou; he names four
fields capable of producing event in certain conditions: politics, science, art and love.1
In the first 16 chapters the faithfulness/unfaithfulness towards a given event is
the decisive element in a character’s life sequence. These characters do not have
anything in common, they belong to different “sets”, to different places, different ages,
the single connection among them being the decisive role an event plays in their lives
(needless to say, this event also varies from “set” to “set”). The gesture of the bird when
it grasps the fish (1); Filippino Lippi’s expression of the profoundest humiliation with
the profoundest beauty (2); the infinite precision of the restorers and monks and their
acknowledgment of fallibility when restoring a Buddha statue and putting it back to its
place (3); the return to Belliniano’s Christo morto of the man to whom once, long ago,
the painted, closed-eyed Christ opened His eyes and looked upon him (5); the man who
longed to see the Acropolis all his life (8), the master of Noh-masks, who carves a
dangerous mask (13); the Romanian fugitive, who accidentally sees a sacred copy of
Rubliev’s Troyka in Casa Milà in Barcelona, but although he once had the opportunity
to see ikons, he becomes frightened of those angels, and buys a sharp knife (21); the life
of a Noh-performer, who was saved in his childhood together with his family by a white
dog almost starved to death, and his father prayed for this dog all his life (34); Master
Pietro Vanucci, who keeps the secret of the most beautiful vermiglione, but loses his
interest in painting (55); the man in the Alhambra, who does not understand anything
from the monumental building that is neither for defense, nor for rituals, nor for
residence (89); Ion Grigorescu, the Romanian sculptor, who forms a running and
grinning horse out from the soil around the volcanic lake, Saint Ana (144); the guard of
the Louvre, who consecrates his whole life to the statue of the Venus of Milo (233); the
architect, whose no project was ever built, and who lectured in rural libraries on Baroque
music (377); Oswald Rienzl’s passionate loyalty to his conceptual landscapes (610); the
reckless curiosity to the rebuilding of the shinto sanctuary of a European traveler (987);
and finally, the exiled, old master Ze’ami, with his young and beautiful face, who cannot
play anymore, tries to carve a mask, does not finish it, and begins to write (1597).
Chapter 17, as the first one, is not about human beings – here, in the last
chapter, Chinese funeral statues are crying under the ground. The requisites of human
cultures: they tried, in vain, to keep out fear and death. That’s the outermost circle of the
spiral of Krasznahorkai’s igloo: the ground of art, the ground of social criticism.
1
Alain Badiou, Being and Event, trans. O. Feltham (New York: Continuum, 2005).
57
First consequences
The chapters’ Fibonacci-numbering bids the reader not to think in terms of a narrative
that shows a temporal continuity bridging past, present and future, but to see each
chapter as the result of the two previous ones. This form is between historicism and
simultaneism: no story becomes past, as the following ones are somehow connected to
it. To it, or to its structure-event. These stories are neither out of time, nor totally in
historical time – they are affected by the Merzean pre-historical, non-anthropomorphic
structures:
Fibonacci-numbers,
golden ratio,
hunting,
humiliation.
Seiobo’s chapters tell the story of art works. They deal with fiction, with
human creation. Krasznahorkai presents with great delicacy the act of creation, and so
presents he the obstacles of creation also: impatience and selfishness on one hand,
misery and humiliation on another. Misery and humiliation – as this Fibonacci novel
shows us – is capable of transgressing the conditions of itself, impatience and selfishness
is not. For instance, the guard of the Louvre, or the architect lecturing on baroque music
to tired, old people would be considered losers, but that loserness is totally irrelevant
from the point of view of their commitment to their event of life. On the other hand,
being an artist represents no guarantee of anything: Ze’ami, Pietro Perugino or Oswald
Kienzl are at the point of losing all their motivation for creation. The only thing that
matters is the faithfulness to a certain event. This is my first consequence.
The other first consequence of mine refers to the question of genre: Seiobo is
a non-discursive novel, where the connections between the events are not guaranteed by
certain characters with certain identities, but they may appear by the pre-historical
structures of different works of art in different situations, even such intensely nonexisting structures as Seiobo, princess of peace embodied and present on earth for a
while in a Noh-theater.
My third first consequence coincides with the triplet sentence by “Al-Zahad
ibn Shahib”, in fact a pseudo-quotation that appears in the first chapter of the novel. I
think it shows us perfectly where the constantly enlarging spiral leads us. The spiral,
being a fractal pattern, doesn’t grow. It has no dimension, or, recalling the resistance to
war by means of the art of arte povera: it has nothing to do with the monotonous thirst
for action. Krasznahorkai’s triplet sentence turns in the constructed linearity of everyday
sensations, and as Mario Merz’s igloos shows us, peace is where the very pre-historic
structure of existence is experienced in contemporary life:
“A bird flies home across the sky. It appears to be tired, it had a difficult day.
It returns from the hunt, it was hunted.”1
Translated from Hungarian by Erika Mihálycsa and the author
1
László Krasznahorkai, Seiobo There Below, 5.
58
Alkibiades’ Rede über Sokrates
oder das Bild des Philosophen in profanen Augen
Vasile PĂDUREAN
Independent Researcher
Freiburg im Breisgau
Keywords: eros, education, beauty, politician, philosopher
Abstract: Alcibiades enters Agadon’s house spontaneously from the street. His sudden
appearance is a disruption and the symposium takes a new direction with his presence.
He is not familiar with the monologues given by the other eulogists or by Diotima,
whose speech presents the inner core of Eros as a philosophical being that – as alluded in
many references – is embodied by Socrates. In contrast, Alcibiades‘ paradigmatic
presentation of Socrates portrays an image of the philosopher in the profane world as
reflected in the eyes of the politician. Thus, the reader suddenly finds themself in a
theatrical scene, surrounded by various mirrors that reflect and depict in different ways
the essence of Eros as a philosopher. The author places the key in the reader’s hand, but
they must think for themselves. Diotima’s speech illuminates Socrates‘ inner nature,
while Alcibiades speech deforms Socrates in a profane interpretation. Real and relevant
events, significant gestures, Socrates‘ profound maxims, false interpretations, and niave
remarks as well as the passion of the speakers blend together in a pathetic, one-sided
conversation artfully written by Plato. In Alcibiades discourse some things are turned
upside down. In addition to his subversive, disparaging intention, his cultural
misinterpretation and his comparison of Socrates with the Sirens – and not least his
limitation as a politician, who is not capable of understanding a lifelong commitment to
philosophy – are obvious. When Alcibiades praises Socrates, he criticizes him; and
when he intends to criticize him, he praises him. The comparison with the demigod
Sileni/Satyr is an acclamation. Just like the figure of the Silenus from the sculptors‘
studios, he has an interior and an external dimension. Alcibiades praises his golden
heart. The image of the Satyr-like speaker who mesmerizes his listeners is a compliment
for the orator. However, only to commend the superficial effect of his rhetoric without
comprehending and interpreting the philosophical Logos of its contents – as if it does
not exist – is belittling. The description of Soctrates in battle, of his brave deeds,
wonderful characteristics, and his unusual habit of meditating is a sincere fragment from
the strategist’s discourse. The less Socrates‘ irony is understood, the more it is
interpreted. It lies like a demarcation between the philosophers and profane opinions.
Alcibiades interprets Socrates‘ disavowal of knowledge as a mask under which he
conceals his true wisdom. Outside of philosophy, this remark is perhaps not entirely
incorrect. Whereas a profane person believes in their knowledge, a philospher knows
that they know nothing; from this point on, they begin to think for themself. The
disavowal of knowledge is the zero hour of a commitment to philosophy. Here is where
the profane belief in knowledge without research ends and independent thought – the
pursuit of philosophy – begins. Because Alcibiades has not passed through the zero hour
59
of philosophy (the disavowal of knowledge) he interprets Socrates‘ Logos and irony as
feigned. Alcibiades tells of his erotic relationship with Socrates in a niave manner that
exposes his vanity and selfishness. He intended to seduce Socrates, but was rejected
instead. For Socrates, a love affair with Alcibiades expressed in mundane terms would
be like an exchange of copper for gold, or philosophically like the exchange of a mere
image of beauty for true beauty. According to the scala amoris, copper corresponds to
the first level – the love of physical beauty – and gold to the final level – the observation
of beauty itself (thus the lowest and highest levels). The former represents common
Pederasty love, whereas Socrates‘ love – the love of true beauty – is the quintessence of
philosophical Eros. There is an existential difference between both types of love, similar
to the difference between profane and philosophical Eros. Alcibiades, however, who
does not comprehend philosophical Eros, interprets Socrates‘ behavior as feigned and
complains that he (Socrates) at first appears as a lover, only to be revealed as the object
of desire who only wants to be admired. His critique based on resentment is high praise
for the philosopher. Certainly it is true that Socrates despite his lover’s facade is really a
seducer – except that his seduction is not an invitation to gratify sexual lust or
selfishness, but instead to engage in philosophy and to observe beauty itself in whatever
he contemplates. He seduces others into conversation and guides them to wisdom, which
is his own allurer. The reflection of Socrates in the political eyes of Alcibiades portrays a
deformed image of the philosopher; however, it is also an image that functions to
contrast and even contradict Diotima’s concept, and thus is all the more exciting and
illuminating for the reader. If Diotima’s speech presents the essence of the philosopher,
Alcibiades‘ speech throws its shadow in the profane world. Both experiences are steps
that lead one closer to establishing Eros as a philosopher.
E-maiL: [email protected]
*
In der Lobrede an Sokrates preist Alkibiades den Eros schlechthin. Seine
Rede spiegelt jedoch ein deformiertes Bild von Sokrates’ Eros, das im Kontrast zu
Diotimas Entwurf steht. Diotima beleuchtet das innere Wesen der Eros als des
Philosophen, während die Rede des Alkibiades ein entstelltes Bild des Sokrates spiegelt,
und zwar in den profanen Augen eines Politikers. In dieser Weise erzeugt Platon eine
dramatische Inszenierung um das Wesen des Eros, das in widersprüchlichen Bildern
kontrastierend dargestellt ist. Alkibiades hat den Eros in Sokrates’ Wesen richtig geahnt,
aber versteht ihn in einer profanen Weise und stellt ihn somit einseitig dar.
Vergleicht der Leser das verzerrte Bild des Sokrates nach Alkibiades mit
Diotimas innerem Entwurf, dann wird klar, dass Sokrates’ wahres Wesen eher dem von
Diotima skizzierten Eros entspricht, während Alkibiades’ Darstellung ein entstelltes
Abbild im Sinne der profanen Wahrnehmung zu sein scheint. Das wahre Wesen der
Dinge trennt sich im Denken dialektisch von seiner verzerrenden Abbildung. In Bezug
auf diese Inszenierung hat der Leser die Möglichkeit, selbst weiterzudenken, ob
Diotimas Entwurf – Eros als Philosoph – in Sokrates’ Wesen lebt oder nicht, und wenn
ja, wie.
60
Der Einzug des Alkibiades
Von dem Moment an, in dem Alkibiades von der Straße in das Haus des Agathon
eintritt, ändern sich sowohl der Geist als auch die Konfiguration der Gespräche. Die
Lage wird überraschend, dramatisch, der Diskurs leidenschaftlich, persönlich, die
Atmosphäre theatralisch-erregt, das Thema des Eros selbst wird in der Person des
Sokrates so nah wie möglich dargestellt. Durch die Einführung des Trinkens tritt der
Rausch an die Stelle von Nüchternheit und Mäßigkeit, dionysische Rhetorik entfaltet
sich anstelle von apollinischem Logos. Als Politiker bringt Alkibiades auch den Geist
der politischen Welt mit. Mit seiner Ankunft verwandelt sich der Raum in eine Szene, in
der die Teilnehmer nicht nur theoretische Meinungen über den Eros vortragen, sondern
zugleich selbst, als Liebhaber und Geliebte, emphatisch die Komödie des Eros spielen.
Die theoretische Debatte und die erotische Komödie koexistieren in Platons Symposion
harmonisch miteinander. Alkibiades’ Reaktion beim Anblick des Sokrates ist ein echter
schauspielerischer Ausruf und verwandelt den Raum in eine prächtige Bühne. „O
Herakles! Was ist nun das? Du Sokrates, liegst du mir auch hier schon wieder auf der
Lauer, wie du mir immer pflegst plötzlich zu erscheinen, wo ich am wenigsten glaube,
dass du sein wirst? Wieso bist du nun auch da? Und warum liegst du gerade hier? Nicht
etwa beim Aristophanes, oder wer sonst hier der lustige ist und auch sein will, sondern
hast es wieder so ausgesonnen, dass du neben dem Schönsten von allen hier zu liegen
kommst!“ (213d–c).
Die direkten, angriffslustigen Bemerkungen und frechen Fragen zeigen die
Spannung sowie das Netz der Gefühle, die ihn mit Sokrates verstricken. Dagegen
versucht Sokrates, sich zurückzuhalten, und sucht Hilfe bei Agathon. Dies könnte, wenn
es nicht gespieltes Theater wäre, als infantil bezeichnet werden.1 Sokrates’ indirekte
Replik ist aber nicht weniger spektakulär und provokativ. Je zurückhaltender die
Reaktion des Sokrates ist, desto stärker wird die stürmische und bedrohende körperliche
Leidenschaft des Alkibiades betont. Die verbale und körperliche Spannung zwischen
Alkibiades und Sokrates bilden ein komisches Liebesspiel, in dem der eine sich
angriffslustig zeigt, der andere sich versteckt und Hilfe sucht. Plötzlich wird klar, dass es
unter den Teilnehmern des Symposions verschiedene Liebespaare gibt und eine
erotische Energie die Gesellschaft durchströmt. Diese Szene beweist Platons
literarisches Talent als Dramatiker und zeigt zugleich, wie lebhaft, temperamentvoll und
eifrig die Streitgespräche in der Welt der griechischen symposia waren.
Wer ist Alkibiades, der überraschend und doch von allen erkannt und
anerkannt ins Symposion hinzukommt?
Alkibiades war eine markante politische Figur in Athen, der in dem Jahr, in
dem Platons Symposion spielt (416 v. Chr.), das Amt des Hauptstrategen innehatte. Er
1
Platon, Symposion, In Sämtliche Werke (Übers. Friedrich Schleiermacher) 1991: „Da habe
Sokrates gesagt: Agathon, sieh zu, ob du mir beistehn willst! Denn dieses Menschen Liebe hat
mir schon zu gar nicht wenigem Verdruß gereicht. Denn seit der Zeit, daß ich mich in diesen
verliebt, darf ich nun gar nicht mehr irgendeinen Schönen ansehn und mit einem reden, oder er ist
gleich eifersüchtig und neidisch, stellt wunderliche Dinge an und schimpft, und kaum daß er nicht
Hand an mich legt. Also sieh zu, daß er nicht auch jetzt wieder etwas anstellt, sondern bringe uns
auseinander, oder wenn er Gewalt brauchen will, so hilf mir. Denn seine Tollheit und verliebtes
Wesen ist mir ganz schrecklich“ (213c–d).
61
hatte damals so viel Macht, wie heute etwa, mutatis mutandis, der amerikanische
Präsident, war schön wie ein Filmschauspieler und extravagant wie eine Modemacher –
alles in einer Gestalt.
Sein curriculum vitae sieht aus wie ein Papyrus, auf dem ein Fragment der
Geschichte Athens niedergeschrieben zu sein scheint, und zwar sowohl des Glanzes wie
des Niedergangs der Stadt. Seine einmalige Gestalt und sein Leben, das so reich an
Ereignissen war, war ein Thema für Geschichtsschreiber wie Thukydides und Plutarch
und für Philosophen wie Platon und Xenophon. Diese antiken Texte sind auch die
Quellen für die moderne Forschung. Heute noch löst diese überragende Gestalt – als
erster europäischer Dandy in der Politik – viel Erstaunen aus.1
Alkibiades wurde um 451/450 v. Chr. als Sohn des Generals und Politikers
Kleinias geboren. Weil sein Vater in der Schlacht bei Koroneia (445/46) gefallen war,
wurde er im Hause seines Onkels und Vormunds Perikles von dessen Lehrer erzogen.
Ungefähr zu der Zeit, als die Vormundschaft des Perikles beendet war, nahm er mit
Sokrates Kontakt auf und wurde einer seiner Schüler (Symposion 219e). Das Verhältnis
zwischen ihm und Sokrates dauert ungefähr von der Schlacht bei Potideia bis zur Zeit
des Symposions (also ca. von 431 bis 416).
Seine Schönheit und sein Reichtum, seine aristokratische Herkunft und seine
brillante Intelligenz verschafften ihm großen Ruhm, der ihn wiederum noch ehrgeiziger,
übermütiger und selbstsüchtiger machte, als er ohnehin bereits war.
Nach dem Nikias-Frieden (421), der durch ein defensives Bündnis zwischen
Athen und Sparta die Peloponnesischen Kriege beenden sollte, begann seine politische
Karriere. Er agitierte gegen diesen faulen Frieden und forderte die Isolierung und sogar
die Vernichtung Spartas.
Im Jahre 420 v.Chr., im Alter von dreißig Jahren, wurde er zum Strategen
gewählt. Als er mit seiner demagogischen Politik in Schwierigkeiten geriet, zog er durch
eine raffinierte Strategie seinen Gegner Nikias auf seine Seite und wurde zusammen mit
ihm im Jahre 417/16 als Stratege wiedergewählt. Mit Hilfe der athenischen Flotte wollte
er die attische Herrschaft über Sizilien erweitern und Athen zur größten Macht im
Mittelmeerraum machen.
Eines Nachts, wenige Tage vor der Abfahrt der Flotte, wurde die Mehrzahl der
Hermen, welche die Straßen und öffentlichen Plätze Athens dekorierten, verstümmelt.
Dieser Frevel gegen die Götter erschien wie ein Vorzeichen eines Unheils oder wurde
jedenfalls von der Bevölkerung als solches aufgenommen. Diese Tat wurde sofort mit
Alkibiades’ Übermut und Arroganz assoziiert, und der Verdacht fiel auf ihn. Als seine
Flotte bereits auf dem Meer war, wurde ein Schiff geschickt, um Alkibiades zur
Untersuchung nach Athen zurückzubringen. Er entkam jedoch und floh nach Sparta.
Seine Feinde reichten eine Klage gegen ihn ein, in welcher ihm die Profanierung der
1
Von den vielen Büchern, die Alkibiades als historische Figur behandeln, entsinne ich mich nur
an wenige Titel. Walter M. Ellis, Alcibiades (Routledge, London u. a. 1989) (Classical Lives);
David Gribble, Alcibiades and Athens. A Study in Literary Presentation (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1999); Jean Hatzfeld, Alcibiade. Étude sur l'histoire d'Athènes à la fin du 5me siècle. 2me
édition (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1951); Jacqueline de Romilly, Alcibiade ou les
dangers de l’ambition (Paris, 1995); Herbert Heftner, Alkibiades. Staatsmann und Feldherr
(Darmstadt: WBG, 2011).
62
Eleusis-Mysterien vorgeworfen wurde. Er wurde in Athen in Abwesenheit zum Tode
verurteilt. Im Sparta verriet er die Expansionspläne Athens und gewann sehr schnell an
politischem Einfluss. Er ermunterte die Spartaner, erneut gegen die Athener zu kämpfen
und sich mit den Persern zu verbünden.
Als Athen im Jahre 414 erneut im Krieg mit Sparta war, agierte er auf Seiten
Spartas. Durch seine diplomatischen Beziehungen half er Sparta im Jahre 412, in einer
Seeoffensive gegen Athen die Herrschaft über Ionien zu erlangen. Der erfolgreiche
Widerstand der neuen athenischen Flotte in Samson erweckte jedoch den Verdacht der
Spartaner gegen Alkibiades: Er sah sich gezwungen, erneut die Seite zu wechseln.
Die schnell wechselnden politischen und militärischen Umstände erlauben ihm,
nach Athen zurückzukehren. Von allen Anklagen rehabilitiert, wurde er 408 zum
bevollmächtigten Oberkommandeur proklamiert. Er führte selbst die heiligen
Prozessionen nach Eleusis, die während der spartanischen Okkupation nicht
stattgefunden hatten, und wurde als Retter des Vaterlandes gefeiert. Aber danach verlor
Athen einen Kampf nach dem anderen. Nach der ersten Niederlage wurde Alkibiades
abgesetzt. Er erweckte wieder Misstrauen und wurde von den Athenern verbannt. Der
Untergang Athens und derjenige des Alkibiades verliefen parallel. Im Jahre 404 wird er
in Melissa, einem Ort in Phrygien, ermordet.
Als Platon seinen Dialog Symposion verfasste (um 380 v. Chr.), waren das
Leben und das politische Schicksal des Alkibiades bereits Vergangenheit.
1. Der Vergleich des Sokrates mit einem Silenen
Alkibiades porträtiert Sokrates durch Bilder, die ihn durch Analogien zu erfassen
versuchen. Der Vergleich versucht eine Annährung an das Wesen des Sokrates –
allerdings, das muss man betonen, aus der Perspektive des Alkibiades, seines
ehemaligen Schülers und enttäuschten Liebhabers. Zu der Zeit, als der Dialog spielt, war
Alkibiades einer der größten Befehlshaber und Strategen in Athen. Er kann das Neue an
Sokrates und seine Einmaligkeit (atopos) nicht begreifen und versucht, ihn im Vergleich
mit anderen Gestalten zu porträtieren. Seine Methode ist, von einem bekannten Bild
auszugehen, um die schwer erfassbare Gestalt des Sokrates zu deuten. Aber Sokrates
scheint keinem Menschen ähnlich zu sein. Aus diesem Grunde vergleicht Alkibiades ihn
mit einem halbgöttlichen Wesen, dem Silen. Die Rede des Alkibiades, die von Platon in
raffinierter Weise eingesetzt wird, hat nicht nur den Sinn, Sokrates zu beschreiben,
sondern verrät in indirekter Weise auch den Geist des Redners. Es gehört zur
nuancierten Schreibkunst Platons, in Bildern zu reden und in Analogien zu denken, die
Gedanken reich an literarischen und philosophischen Ausdrucksformen zu entwickeln,
ohne dabei in mechanischen Begriffen zu erstarren.
Der Silen ist ein mythisches Wesen, welches zum Gefolge des Gottes Dionysos
gehört.1 Von seinen vielen Gestalten benutzt Alkibiades nur zwei, die aber jeweils
1
„Ein S (atyr)/Silenos ist Mitglied eines Dämonenvereins, der seit seinem relativ späten Auftreten
E. 7. /
Anf. 6. Jh. v. Chr. einen Teil des mythischen Gefolges des Gottes Dionysos bildet; davon hebt
sich eine mehr oder weniger ausgeprägte Einzelfigur ab (Silen). Wie die älteren Kentauren
gehören die S (atyre) und Silenen zu den sogenannten Mischwesen der griechischen Imagination:
meist stupsnasig, glatzköpfig, ithyphallisch und unbekleidet, sind die anthropomorphen Figuren
63
paradigmatische Bedeutung haben. Erstens vergleicht Alkibiades Sokrates mit dem Bild
des Silen aus „den Werkstätten der Bildhauer, welche die Künstler mit Pfeifen oder
Flöten vorstellen, in denen man aber, wenn man die eine Hälfte wegnimmt, Bildsäulen
von Göttern erblickt“, und zweitens mit dem „Satyr Marsyas“ (215b). Obwohl beide
Bilder zum Begriff des Silens gehören, hat jeder bildhafte Vergleich seine eigene,
selbstständige Bedeutung.
Aleksandra Chaushova, Stage II, 2011,
Der Vergleich mit dem Silen aus dem Werkstätten der Bildhauer trägt in sich
schon eine anschauliche Kraft. Die Darstellung des Sokrates neben dem Silen spricht für
sich selbst. Sowohl der Silen als auch Sokrates haben in ähnlicher Weise eine wilde und
ungepflegte äußerliche Erscheinung und ein wundervolles inneres Wesen. Im
Wesentlichen basiert der Vergleich auf der ähnlich kontrastierenden Struktur zwischen
Innen und Außen. Wie der Silen, so hat auch Sokrates eine innere und eine äußere Seite.
Die innere ist von wunderbarer Schönheit, die äußere aber wild und ungepflegt, eben
wie die eines wilden Silens, spöttisch und frech, im Rausch und Tanz, immer außer sich.
Die physiognomische Ähnlichkeit zwischen Sokrates und dem Silen löst noch immer
Erstaunen aus. Sokrates’ Gesicht ist, sowohl im Gesamteindruck als auch im Detail,
ausdruckvoll, scharf und einmalig. Die Haltung seines Kopfes ist stolz, hellwach und
konzentriert. Sein entschlossenes Kinn ist von einem leicht ondulierten und natürlichen
Vollbart bedeckt, der nach oben seine Wange bis zum Haaransatz umwickelt. Darüber
strahlt eine offene Stirnglatze. Aus der Mitte seines Gesichts tritt die stumpfe, breite
Nase hervor und darüber die hervorstehenden Augen. Über den vorgewölbten
Augenbrauen und der Nasenwurzel wächst seine herausfordernde Stirn, an der Basis
kräftig und oben unendlich hell. Die ausgeprägte, stumpfe Nase und die
häufig mit theriomorphen Extremitäten ausgestattet. Die bildlichen Darstellungen kennen keinen
Unterschied zwischen Silenen und S (atyren), doch sind die Gattungsnamen disparat bezeugt“
Der Neue Pauly: Enzyklopädie der Antike, Bd. 11 (Stuttgart/Weimar 2001), 119; vgl. Vasile
Padurean, Spiel – Kunst – Schein. Nietzsche als Ursprünglicher Denker (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer
2008), 146ff.
64
hervorquellenden Augen sind die wichtigsten Gesichtsmerkmale der Satyrmasken
gewesen. Von dieser physiognomischen Analogie ausgehend, lassen sich eine ganze
Reihe von äußerlichen Ähnlichkeiten zwischen Sokrates und den Silenen feststellen.
Mit der Wiedergabe von Diotimas Rede hat Sokrates die innere Schönheit des
Philosophen und wahren Erotikers in seiner Seelendynamik aufgezeigt. In der Rede des
Alkibiades wird die Schönheit in einer anderen, originalen, nicht-philosophischen Art
betrachtet. Diotima hat ein philosophisches Verständnis des Eros entwickelt, während
Alkibiades im profanen Bild des Eros verhaftet bleibt. Mit den Augen eines NichtPhilosophen, der jedoch eine philosophische Erziehung genossen hat, und mithilfe
seines persönlichen Erlebnisse beschreibt Alkibiades, wie er das Wesen des Sokrates
erfahren hat. Paradoxerweise erblickt Alkibiades, der kein Philosoph, sondern Politiker
ist, in seiner Lobrede an Sokrates die Gestalt des Eros in Sokrates Wesen richtig, ohne
jedoch seine Intuition philosophisch zu begründen. Er erahnt den Eros des Sokrates
richtig, aber fasst ihn auf profane Weise in Worte.
Alles, was Alkibiades erzählt, wird vom Leser des Symposion in Kontrast zu
und in Bezug auf das Bild des Eros aus der Rede der Diotima analysiert. Zwischen dem
Bild des Eros aus Diotimas Rede und dem Porträt des Sokrates nach der Beschreibung
des Alkibiades besteht ein kontrastierendes Verhältnis. In Diotimas Rede wird der innere
Kern des Eros gezeigt, während in der Rede des Alkibiades der Eros als Philosoph, in
der äußeren Erscheinung des Sokrates und wie er sich in den Augen eines Politikers wie
Alkibiades spiegelt, dargestellt wird. Aber auch in dieser Darstellung werden seinen
inneren Züge erkennbar gespiegelt. Alkibiades ist ein deformierender Spiegel des
Sokrates, aber immerhin ein Spiegel.
Die Porträtierung des Sokrates durch das Innen-Außen-Paradox wird später
weitergeführt. Am Ende seiner Diskurses kehrt Alkibiades zu diesem Bild zurück – wie
zu einer Chiffre, die das gesamte Porträt des Sokrates umfasst (216e; 221). An dieser
Stelle aber konzentriert sich die Rede auf den Vergleich mit Marsyas.
Marsyas ist bekannt als Erfinder des Aulos, der der modernen Oboe entspricht.
Das Instrument gehörte zur dionysischen, orgiastischen Musik, die in Phrygien beim
Kultus der Magna Mater gespielt wurde. Der Mythos erzählt von einem Wettstreit
zwischen Marsyas und Apollon, bei dem Apollon die Khitara spielt und Marsyas den
Aulos. Dieser Streit stellt in scharfer Weise den Gegensatz zwischen apollinischer und
dionysischer Musik dar. Nietzsche hat in seiner philosophischen Interpretation der
Tragödie den schon bei Platon vorhandenen Gegensatz zwischen apollinischer und
dionysischer Musik hochstilisiert und in das tragische Denken umgewandelt.1
Der Wettkampf war ein allgemeines Prinzip der griechischen Welt.2 Jakob
Burckhardt interpretiert das agonale „Prinzip“ (den Wettkampf) als einen originären Zug
der griechischen Kultur.3 Das breite Spektrum der griechischen Welt, ihre einzigartigen
Mythen und Tragödien, ihre Dichtung, ihre große Gestalten und ihre hervorragenden
Künste, die unvergleichlichen Philosophen, der ganze magische Olymp des Geistes
wären ohne die transformierende Kraft des agon überhaupt nicht möglich gewesen. Von
1
Vgl. Georg Picht, Platons Dialoge „Nomoi“ und „Symposion“ (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta 1990), 392.
Vgl. Vasile Padurean, Spiel – Kunst – Schein, 83–108.
3
Burckhardt, Jakob, “Der koloniale und agonale Mensch,” in Griechische Kulturgeschichte
(München, 1977), 188.
2
65
den Götter-Wettkämpfen und der sportlichen Konkurrenz in Olympia über den
politischen Kampf, den Wettkampf vor Gericht, den musischen, dichterischen
Wettbewerb für das Tragödienspiel, den erotischen agon und den Wettkampf in der
Erziehung bis zur philosophischen Debatte zieht sich der agon durch alle Formen der
griechischen Existenz und Kultur. Selbst Platons Symposion zelebriert einen der
großartigsten Rede-Wettbewerbe, die es jemals gegeben hat.
Jedoch ist der Wettkampf zwischen einem Sterblichen und Gott nicht gestattet.
Mit einem Gott sich zu messen heißt, die Grenzen zwischen Mensch und Gott zu
überschreiten und eine Hybris zu begehen. Wenn der Mensch das tun, dann muss er die
schrecklichste Strafe der Götter ertragen. Marsyas hat Apollo zu einem Wettstreit
herausgefordert, in dem dieser unterliegt. Weil er den Gott herausgefordert hat, wird er
bestraft. Er wird an einem Baum aufgehängt und gepeinigt.1
Aus der Perspektive der Musik ist der Übermut des Marsyas nur der Ausdruck
ihrer göttlichen Kraft. Nicht in der unmoralischen Person des Marsyas oder in seiner
Unvernunft liegen die Ursachen für das grenzenlose Vertrauen in die Gewalt seines
Musizierens, sondern eher in der Macht der Musik selbst. Marsyas ist nichts anderes als
ein Medium, in welchem die übernatürliche Kraft der Musik spielt. Nicht als
gewöhnlicher Mensch, sondern als Medium der göttlichen Macht der Musik spielt er
seine Flöte auf eine göttliche Weise. Er ist von der Macht des Musizierens verführt und
aus einem sterblichen Wesen in ein unsterbliches Medium der Musik verwandelt. Bei
tieferer Betrachtung zeigt sich deutlich, dass die Musik nicht aus der Kraft des Marsyas
entspringt, sondern Marsyas von Anfang an in der Macht der Musik steht und ihr treuer
Diener ist. Die Musik überschreitet den menschlichen Bereich und erreicht die Mitte der
Dinge. Sie hat einen ontologische Ursprung und ermöglicht den Menschen, weit über
sich und über alle Dinge hinaus selbst kosmisch zu sein. Marsyas hat die Grenze des
menschlichen Bereiches vergessen. Dafür hat er aber die göttliche Kraft der Musik
entdeckt.
In der Welt der Griechen spielen sowohl die Vernunft (sophrosyne) als auch die
enthusiastischen Kräfte, der göttliche Wahnsinn der Dichter oder die heroischen Taten,
welche Grenzen überschreiten, eine unentbehrliche Rolle. Von Prometheus bis zu
Alexander dem Großen beinhaltet die griechische Geschichte eine lange Reihe von
Grenzen überschreitenden Taten, welche den Griechen eine unvergleichliche tragische
Größe verlieh. Am Ende wird sogar das Schicksal des Sokrates tragisch. Was für den
Philosophen vernünftig ist, scheint Richtern und Politikern ein Frevel. Der Widerspruch
zwischen dem Einen und den Vielen, zwischen dem Philosophen und dem Politiker,
zwischen Menschen und Göttern lässt sich manchmal nicht auf dem Weg der Vernunft
lösen – er wird tragisch und dadurch umso bedeutender.
Woran liegt Alkibiades zufolge die Ähnlichkeit des Sokrates mit Marsyas?
Wie der geniale Flötenspieler bezaubert Sokrates die Zuhörer durch seine
Redekunst. Während Marsyas sein Instrument, die Flöte, und die Musik benutzt, um die
Menschen zu verzaubern, bezaubert Sokrates seine Zuhörer (in direkter Weise nur)
durch die Macht seines Mundes, durch den Logos. „Jener nämlich bezauberte
vermittelst des Instrumentes die Menschen durch die Gewalt seines Mundes und so noch
jetzt, wer seine Werke vorträgt“ (215c). Sowohl durch Marsyas’ Gesang als auch in
1
Vgl. Der Neue Pauly. Band 7, 955.
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Sokrates’ Rede strömt eine göttliche Macht, und die Wirkung auf den Zuhörer ist jeweils
eine ähnliche.
Alkibiades spricht kaum über den Inhalt und die philosophische Bedeutung von
Sokrates’ Logos, über seine Dialektik (oder Maieutik), seine Überzeugungskunst, seine
Widerlegungskraft oder über die philosophische Bedeutung seiner Ironie. Er bezieht sich
fast ausschließlich auf die emotionale Wirkung seiner Rede. Mehr noch leidet er selbst
unter dieser Wirkung, deren philosophischen Inhalt er nicht richtig kennt und versteht.
Seine Betrachtung ist nicht sachlich, sondern sozusagen sentimental – als ob der Logos
des Sokrates eine übliche Rede unter anderen wäre, wie die eines Politikers, Dichters
oder Rhetorikers, und nicht ein philosophischer Logos. Obwohl er eine philosophische
Erziehung genossen hat, hat er keinen Zugang zur Philosophie, und aus diesem Grunde
kann er weder die Existenz noch die Gedanken der Philosophen richtig verstehen. Auch
die Person des Sokrates versteht er nicht – wobei er doch wiederum auch fasziniert ist
von ihm. Er macht keinen Unterschied zwischen einer literarischen, einer politischen
und einer philosophischen Rede und betrachtet alle unter dem Aspekt ihrer ästhetischen
Wirkung. Trotzdem hat die Betrachtung der Rhetorik aus der Perspektive ihrer Wirkung
ihre Relevanz.
Alkibiades beschreibt den logos des Sokrates und seine Wirkung auf
verschiedene Menschen – Männer, Frauen, Knaben – ähnlich wie die Wirkung der
Musik, der Dichtung und der Tragödie auf den Zuschauer. Die Zuhörer sind durch die
Macht von Sokrates’ logos ,,außer sich“, sie werden in Ekstase versetzt. Intensität sowie
emotionale Wirkung seiner Rede bieten kaum eine Möglichkeit zum Vergleich. „Denn
weit heftiger als den vom Korybantentanz Ergriffenen pocht mir, wenn ich ihn höre, das
Herz, und Tränen werden mir ausgepresst von seinem Reden; auch sehe ich, dass es
vielen andern ebenso ergeht“ (215e – meine Hervorhebung).
Die Wirkung von Sokrates’ Rede (auf den Zuhörer und auf Alkibiades) ist wie
die Katharsis in der Tragödie. Durch diese Analogie, auf den Aspekt der Wirkung
reduziert, verschwindet der inhaltliche Unterschied zwischen Dichtung und
Philosophie.1
Das Erkennen des göttlichen Enthusiasmus im logos des Sokrates sowie seiner
Wirkung bleibt dennoch ein wichtiges Verdienst der Rede des Alkibiades, und sie hilft
das Bild des Sokrates als Erotiker und Verführer besser zu verstehen.
1
Georg Picht hat diesen Vergleich in seiner Vorlesung über das Symposion ausführlich dargestellt
und die Ähnlichkeit zwischen Dichtung und Philosophie in Bezug auf den Begriff der Katharsis
untersucht. Er stellt fest, dass auch Sokrates’ Worte „die gleiche Wirkung wie die dionysische
Kunst der Tragödie und wie die orgiastische Musik bei den korybantischen Riten“ haben (Georg
Picht, 401). Aber auch Picht bemerkt, dass Sokrates’ Tugend Selbstbeherrschung ist, und er muss
einen Unterschied zur Erscheinungsform der orgiastischen Verzückung annehmen. Trotzdem
dringt seine Schlussfolgerung in die Tiefe der Dinge vor und sieht, dass der dionysische Rausch
und die apollinische Klarheit in der Philosophie miteinander verbunden sind. Aus diesem Grunde
war für Sokrates die Philosophie die höchste Musenkunst, so Picht. Wenn diese Argumentation
der Rede des Alkibiades zugeschrieben werden soll – wie kann man dann erklären, dass
Alkibiades den klaren Unterschied zwischen Musen und Sirenen nicht richtig sieht und die
Sirenen als Gleichnis für Sokrates verwendet? Er kann doch nicht gleichzeitig wie eine Sirene
und Diener der Musen sein.
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Warum das Philosophieren eine Art Ekstase ist, scheint aus dieser Perspektive
eine berechtigte und vielleicht auch notwendige Frage zu sein. Allerdings ereignet sich
die Ekstase des Philosophierens im Bewusstsein und im Denken, also im logos, während
der Rausch in Kunst und Religion emotional-intuitiv und im Glauben geschieht.
Sokrates’ Reden sind mit denen keines anderen Menschen vergleichbar, weil durch sie
eine göttliche Macht spricht. Obwohl der logos des Sokrates einen göttlichen
Enthusiasmus in sich trägt, ist der Inhalt seiner Rede ganz anders als bei einem Musiker
oder Dichter oder auch bei Marsyas. Sokrates weiß von Inhalt und Bedeutung seiner
Rede, während alle anderen davon nichts wissen. Darin besteht ja der spezifische
Unterschied zwischen der Philosophie und allen anderen Künsten, der in der Apologie
von niemand anderem als von Sokrates analysiert und klar herausgearbeitet wird.
Einige Ausdrücke in der Rede des Alkibiades haben große Ähnlichkeit und
stehen im Einklang mit den Worten Platons an anderen Stellen, wo dieser die Wirkung
von Dichtung und Tragödie beschreibt. Diese Anspielungen des Verfassers des Dialoges
sind nicht zufällig. Im Dialog Ion beschreibt Sokrates ironischerweise die Wirkung der
Dichtung auf den Zuhörer in ähnlicher Weise, wie Alkibiades im Symposion die
Wirkung von Sokrates’ Worten schildert (533d3–534e5).
Der Aspekt des Selbst-Denkens bei Sokrates und den Philosophen wird von
Alkibiades leider nicht erfasst. Er spricht nur über die Form und die Wirkung von
Sokrates’ Worten, nicht aber über ihren Inhalt. So scheint Sokrates nur ein
unreflektiertes Medium zwischen Gott und seinem Zuhörer zu sein. Dabei vergisst
Alkibiades eines der wichtigsten Merkmale in Sokrates’ Philosophie: die Autonomie des
Denkers und damit seine Identität als Philosoph.
Dass Alkibiades die Redekunst des Sokrates und sogar sein Wesen völlig unter
den Aspekt des Dionysischen stellt, sagt mehr über ihn selbst und seine Beschränktheit
als über Sokrates aus. Mit Alkibiades sind zugleich der Rausch und das Pathos des
Dionysos im Raum des Symposions eingetreten. Auf der anderen Seite zeigt seine Rede
exemplarisch, wie der Philosoph vom Nichtphilosophen in profaner Weise gespiegelt
und missverstanden wird. Für den Leser steht das Bild des Sokrates aus Alkibiades’
Rede dem Bild des Eros-Philosophen in Diotimas Rede gegenüber.
Der Leser kann sich anhand dieser beiden Bilder das Wesen des Sokrates
vorstellen. Die philosophische Aufgabe, die Platon von seinem Leser verlangt, besteht
darin, dass dieser selbstständig philosophiert, fragt und denkt. Er überlässt uns die
Aufgabe, im deformierenden Spiegel der Rede des Alkibiades den wahren Sokrates zu
finden. Verstehen und Missverstehen mischen und trennen sich in freier Interpretation.
Der Philosoph lebt im Gespräch mit seinen Mitmenschen, die wie Alkibiades keine
Philosophen sind, und er wird immer wieder mit dieser Art von MissverstehenVerstehen und mit Deformierungen konfrontiert. Das alltägliche Milieu des Philosophen
ist meistens profan, und seine Aufgabe ist es, zwischen Unwissen und Weisheit zu
vermitteln. Der Philosoph wird nicht nur in seiner Zeit, sondern – mit wenigen
Ausnahmen – fast immer falsch verstanden. Er ist nicht nur in seiner Zeit, sondern bleibt
zu aller Zeit ein atopos.
Alkibiades’ Art zu reden entspricht seinem Verhältnis zu Sokrates, das von
seinem Pathos bestimmt ist. Im Unterschied zur sachlichen Rede entfaltet sich die Rede
des Alkibiades persönlich-sentimental. Sie kulminiert in einem hoch emotionalen
Bekenntnis und endet mit einem schmerzlichen Vorwurf. In Sokrates’ Anwesenheit ist
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diese Rede keine „objektive“ Darstellung, sondern wird selbst eine Attitude, ein Pathos.
Der Redestil lässt sich als dionysisch bezeichnen. Im Raum des Symposions und in
Anwesenheit von Sokrates selbst stellt Alkibiades Sokrates dar. Aber gerade durch diese
Darstellung spricht er mehr zu Sokrates als zu den anderen. Von Sokrates’ Ablehnung
verletzt, versucht Alkibiades sich durch seine Rede in indirekter Weise zu rächen.
Sein erotisches Verhältnis zu Sokrates gehört ganz und gar nicht der
Vergangenheit an, sondern auch in diesem Augenblick ist es so, dass „er noch schien
verliebt zu sein in den Sokrates“ (222c). Die philosophische Debatte nimmt damit eine
leidenschaftlich-theatralische Form an, welche trotz des latenten, unterschwelligen, im
Subtext pathetischen Konflikts nicht an philosophischer Bedeutung verliert.
2. Das persönliche Verhältnis des Alkibiades zu Sokrates
Alkibiades gesteht, scheinbar ehrlich und machtlos, sein dramatisches Verhältnis zu
Sokrates. Aber er tut das nicht ohne Hintergedanken. Auch auf diesem Weg versucht er
weiterhin, Sokrates nach seinem eigenen, subjektiven Verständnis und Interesse zu
interpretieren und zu tadeln. Sokrates erscheint wie eine Naturgewalt, gegen die sich
Alkibiades kaum wehren kann. Der Einfluss des Sokrates bringt Alkibiades in einen
schmerzhaften Zwiespalt mit sich selbst. Auf der einen Seite ist er gewaltig und
unwiderstehlich von Sokrates angezogen. Sokrates ist der einzige Mensch, vor dem
Alkibiades ein Schamgefühl hat, und er kann ihm nicht widersprechen. In Sokrates’
Nähe müsste er so leben, wie dieser es verlangen würde. Andererseits flieht er vor
Sokrates, um diese seine „Knechtschaft“ zu beenden, indem er „durch die
Ehrenbezeugungen des Volkes wieder überwunden“ wird (216b). Von dem Einen (dem
Philosophen) flieht Alkibiades zu den Vielen (den Nicht-Philosophen) und etabliert sich
als Politiker. Seine Trennung von Sokrates war aber weder einfach noch endgültig. Er
vergleicht seinen Widerstand gegen Sokrates mit Odysseus’ Widerstand gegen die
Sirenen. Wie dieser muss er seine Ohren gegen Sokrates’ Verführung verstopfen und
fliehen: „Mit Gewalt also, wie vor den Sirenen die Ohren verstopfend, fliehe ich aufs
eiligste, um nur nicht immer sitzen zu bleiben und neben diesem veralten“ (216a).
Sirenen sind Fabelwesen, die mit ihrem verlockenden Gesang die Seefahrer
verführen. Wenn die Seefahrer ihren Gesang hören, vergessen sie die Heimat. Die
Sirenen sind die Schatten der Musen. Die Musen bringen die Schönheit durch Kunst ins
Gedächtnis, während die Sirenen die Menschen mit dem musikalischen Versprechen der
Erkenntnis verführen und in den Tod locken. Bei Homer wollen die Sirenen Odysseus
von seiner Rückfahrt nach Ithaka abhalten. Odysseus aber verstopft seine Ohren mit
Wachs und lässt sich von seinen Matrosen an den Schiffsmast binden. So kann er die
Gefahr der Sirenen überstehen. – Ist für Alkibiades Sokrates wie eine Sirene, die ihn von
seinem Weg abbringen und wegführen will? Gewiss ist Sokrates ein Verführer. Als
Erotiker und als „Hebamme“ versucht er jedoch, die jungen Menschen auf den Weg zu
sich selbst zu lenken, nicht aber, sie von sich wegzulocken. Seine Fragen bringen durch
Erinnerung das Wissen ins Gedächtnis und erzeugen nicht wie die Sirenen das
Vergessen.
All diese schönen Seiten des Sokrates scheint Alkibiades erblickt und doch
nicht richtig verstanden zu haben, weshalb er Sokrates als eine Gefahr für sich ansieht.
Dieses widersprüchliche Verhältnis ist nicht nur ein prägnanter Ausdruck für
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Alkibiades’ innere Zerrissenheit, sondern zeigt auch, wie verkehrt er zu den schönen
Dingen der Philosophie steht. Die Frage nach dem Sinn und dem Platz des
Philosophierens im Leben des Individuums und der Gesellschaft steht im Zentrum von
Platons Dialogen, und Sokrates wird ihr Protagonist und Erneuerer.
Sokrates ist gefährlich, und zwar nicht nur, weil er selbst immer philosophiert,
sondern auch, weil er auch die anderen ermutigt, lebenslang zu philosophieren.
Alkibiades hat Angst, zu lange bei Sokrates „zu bleiben und neben diesem veralten“
(216a). Deswegen ist Sokrates für Alkibiades eine Sirene. Während für Sokrates das
Philosophieren der Weg ist, sich selbst zu erforschen und zu verwirklichen, bedeutet es
für Alkibiades einen Weg, sich selbst zu verfehlen. Alkibiades’ Flucht vor der Gefahr,
die von Sokrates ausgeht, klingt sehr nach den sophistischen Reden – genauer gesagt
spielt er mit dieser Bemerkung auf die Rede der Kallikles im Gorgias an. Unter den
Sophisten herrschte die Meinung, dass die philosophischen Übungen zwar – für eine
kurze Zeit – zur Erziehung der Jugendlichen gehörten, aber nicht für die Erwachsenen
bestimmt seien:
„Wenn ich Knaben und Jünglinge bei der Philosophie antreffe, so freue ich
mich; ich finde, daß es ihnen wohl ansteht, und glaube, daß etwas Edles in solchen ist;
den aber, der nicht philosophiert, halte ich für unedel und glaube, daß er es nie mit sich
selbst auf etwas Großes und Schönes anlegen wird. Wenn ich dagegen sehe, daß ein
Alter noch philosophiert und nicht davon loskommen kann, solcher Mann, o Sokrates,
dünkt mir, müsste Schläge bekommen“ (Gorgias 485e–d – meine Hervorhebung).
Sokrates ist einer der ersten öffentlichen Philosophen, die es für sich selbst
praktizieren und auch anderen empfiehlt, immer zu philosophieren. In den Anklagen
gegen ihn war eine wichtige Anschuldigung, dass er die Jugend verderbe, und zwar und
zwar indem er sie ermutigte, lebenslang zu philosophieren. Während er im Gefängnis
auf seinen Tod wartet und sogar nachdem er das Gift getrunken hat, findet er nichts
wichtiger, als mit seinen Schülern weiter zu philosophieren. Selbst vor seinem Tod hört
er nicht auf zu denken, sich zu fragen, um zu erkennen. Er geht philosophierend in den
Tod. Durch sein Schicksal wird der Sieg des Philosophierens für immer, über den Tod
hinaus, gestiftet.
Obwohl Alkibiades vor Sokrates flieht, wird er dadurch nicht von seinem
inneren Zwiespalt geheilt. Ferner spiegelt der innere Zwiespalt des Alkibiades in
allegorischer Weise den ewigen Widerspruch zwischen dem Philosophen und dem
Politiker. Als er Sokrates wiedersieht, kommen schwarze Gedanken in ihm hoch.
Sokrates’ Existenz erinnert ihn an den ungeheuren Abgrund in seiner Seele, wo
permanent ein Krieg auf Leben und Tod tobt.
„Also laufe ich ihm davon und fliehe, und wenn ich ihn wiedersehe, schäme ich
mich wegen des Eingestandenen und wollte oft lieber sehen, er lebte gar nicht; geschähe
es aber etwa, so weiß ich gewiss, dass mir das noch bei Weitem schmerzlicher sein
würde, so dass ich gar nicht weiß, wie ich es halten soll mit dem Menschen“(216c).
Dieser zerstörerische Gedankenkrieg zeigt Alkibiades dunklen, abgründigen
inneren Zwiespalt. Zugleich zeigt dieser Zwiespalt, wie stark Alkibiades mit Sokrates
verstrickt ist. Aber er kann weder Sokrates’ philosophischer Lebensweise nachfolgen,
noch kann er Sokrates ganz vergessen. Er hängt in unglücklicher Weise an ihm. Er kann
ihm weder widersprechen noch ihn annehmen. Gegenüber der Präsenz des Sokrates hilft
ihm auch nicht seine Herrschaft über die Vielen und seine höhere Position als Politiker,
und er benimmt sich weiter wie ein entflohener Schüler und verletzter Liebhaber.
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Indem er Sokrates mit dem Silen vergleicht, geht Alkibiades einen Schritt
weiter. Er will das angebliche Spiel zwischen dessen äußeren und inneren Seite als
Verstellung enthüllen. Die äußere Seite des Sokrates hält Alkibiades nur für eine Maske,
unter der er seine innere, wahre Identität versteckt. Das eine ist seine äußere Seite, und
etwas ganz anderes ist seine innere Seite. Alkibiades will ihm die äußere Seite wie eine
Maske abziehen und den anderen seine wahre, innere Seite zeigen. Er unternimmt eine
Dekonstruktion des Sokrates, seiner angeblich verstellten Person:
„Denn ihr seht doch, dass Sokrates verliebt ist in die Schönen und immer um sie
her und außer sich über sie, und wiederum, dass er in allem unwissend ist und nichts
weiß, wie er sich ja immer anstellt; ist nun das nicht recht silenenhaftig? Gewiss sehr.
Denn das hat er nur so äußerlich umgetan, eben wie jene getriebenen Silenen, inwendig
aber, wenn man ihn auftut, was meint ihr wohl, ihr Männer und Trinkgenossen, wie
vieler Weisheit und Besonnenheit er voll ist? Wisst denn, dass es ihn nicht im mindesten
kümmert, ob einer schön ist, sondern er achtet das so gering, als wohl niemand glauben
möchte, noch ob einer reich ist oder irgendeinen der von den Leuten am meisten
gepriesenen Vorzüge hat. Er hält vielmehr alle diese Dinge für nichts wert und uns für
nichts und verstellt sich nur gegen die Menschen und treibt Scherz mit ihnen sein Leben
lang. Ob aber jemand, wenn er ernsthaft war und sich auftat, die Götterbilder gesehen
hat, die er in sich trägt, das weiß ich nicht“ (216d–e).
Zweimal erwähnt Alkibiades in seiner Rede die Ironie des Sokrates (216e4;
218d6): in Bezug auf sein scheinbares Nichtwissen und auf seine Liebe zu Knaben. In
beiden Fällen macht sich Sokrates kleiner, als er ist, um die Knaben zu verführen und
um mit den Menschen zu spielen. Alkibiades’ Überraschung in seiner Begegnung mit
Sokrates ist irgendwie nachvollziehbar. Er hatte eine gewöhnliche päderastische
Beziehung mit Sokrates gesucht und hat dabei einen Meister der Erotik gefunden, der
ihn obendrein auch noch abgelehnt hat – eine Ablehnung, die Alkibiades weder
verstehen noch akzeptieren kann. Die Knabenliebe und die Philosophie sind bei Sokrates
ein Thema für sich, das hier nicht entfaltet werden kann. Sokrates war ein Meister der
Erotik, der die Knabenliebe in seine Kunst des Philosophierens aufgenommen und, wie in
Diotimas Rede deutlich wird, in einen philosophischen Weg verwandelt hat. Sokrates
liebte und verführte die Knaben zum Philosophieren und benutzte die Macht seines
Philosophierens nicht, um die sexuellen Gelüste der Knaben zu erlangen. Seine Liebe zu
Knaben war dem philosophischen Eros und der Paideia untergeordnet. Sokrates spielte
nicht bloß nach den Regeln der Päderastie, sondern er bildete die Knabenliebe nach den
Regeln des Eros des Philosophierens um. Deswegen ist er ein Meister der Erotik und
kein gewöhnlicher Liebhaber. „Nichts anders behaupte ich zu verstehen als die Erotika“
(177d). Alkibiades hat verstanden, dass Sokrates kein gewöhnlicher Päderast ist, aber
seine philosophische Erotik kann er weder begreifen noch ihr folgen.
Alkibiades meint, dass Sokrates mit den Menschen spiele, indem er sich als
nichtwissend verstelle, was nur eine Maske sei, unter der er sein Wissen verberge. Der
Gedanke des Nichtwissens als Ironie, wie er in Platons Dialogen nuanciert dargestellt ist,
hat jedoch eine tiefe philosophische Bedeutung.
Sokrates untersucht, was die normalen Menschen zu wissen glauben, nach den
Regeln strenger logischer Forschung und dialektischer Befragung und kommt zu dem
Ergebnis, dass diese Meinungen und Behauptungen eigentlich keine gründlichen
Erkenntnisse und kein gründliches Wissen sind. Was die Menschen zunächst, ohne
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nachzudenken, zu wissen glauben, erweist sich nach strenger Überprüfung als
Nichtwissen. Das Bewusstsein des Nichtwissens ist Voraussetzung für philosophische
Forschung.
Während der gewöhnliche Mensch zu wissen glaubt, weiß der
Philosophierende, dass er nichts weiß, und damit fängt er an, selbst zu denken. Um zum
Gedanken des Nichtwissens zu gelangen, ist es zunächst notwendig, das scheinbare
Wissen zu überprüfen und es schließlich zu widerlegen. Philosophisches Wissen folgt
nur aus dem eigenständigen Denken und beginnt mit der Feststellung des Nichtwissens.
Alkibiades’ Interpretation, dass das eingestandene Nichtwissen des Sokrates nur
eine Maske sei, unter welcher er sein Wissen verberge, ist nicht ganz falsch, wenn man
Sokrates’ Verhalten außerhalb des Philosophierens betrachtet. Aus der Perspektive des
Philosophen jedoch verstellt er sich nicht, sondern sagt die Wahrheit. Mit anderen
Worten: Er verstellt sich nicht, sondern er philosophiert. Viele Gesprächspartner des
Sokrates sind keine Philosophen, sondern Dichter, Schauspieler, Handwerker, Politiker,
normale Bürger. In diesem Spiel entstehen zwei parallele Welten, die Welt des Sokrates
und die Welt der anderen, die Welt der Philosophen und die Welt der Vielen (der NichtPhilosophen). Zwischen beiden entstehen manchmal eine komische Situation und
paradoxe Gegensätze, die als Verstellung erscheinen können, ohne es zu sein. Aus der
Perspektive der anderen, auch aus derjenigen des Alkibiades, scheint Sokrates’ Gedanke
verstellt zu sein, aber aus seiner eigenen Perspektive spricht Sokrates die Wahrheit.
„Ich weiß, dass ich nichts weiß“, heißt auch: Ich weiß auch, dass du nichts
weißt. Um die anderen zu überzeugen, sucht Sokrates das Gespräch, da er nur durch
Fragen seine Mitmenschen zum Selbst-Denken bewegen kann. Paradoxerweise ist das
Nichtwissen des Sokrates dem angeblichen Wissen der anderen überlegen, weil er dieses
widerlegt.
Die Ironie des Sokrates ist das Spiel des Philosophierenden mit den
Unwissenden, die zu wissen glauben und sogar behaupten. Was für einen Sinn hat
dieses Spiel des Sokrates? Will er über die anderen nur spotten? Was für einen Sinn hat
seine ganze Ironie?
Durch seine Fragen – wie zum Beispiel im Menon – prüft Sokrates die Menschen,
die zu wissen glauben (Menon: 84b–d). Im dialektischen Gespräch widerlegt er das
scheinbare Wissen und verunsichert seinen Gesprächspartner. Vom Glauben zu wissen
bringt er seinen Gesprächspartner weg und hin zum Gefühl des Nichtwissens – und damit
in Verlegenheit. In diesem Zustand erwacht die Sehnsucht nach Wissen, und die
Gesprächspartner fangen an, sich selbst Fragen zu stellen und selbst zu denken. In Platons
Sprache heißt Wissen aus sich selbst gewinnen so viel wie sich wiedererinnern (Menon:
85d). Das „Wissen des Nichtwissens“ ist die Stunde Null des Philosophierens. Hier endet
der gewöhnliche, nicht überprüfte Glaube, etwas zu wissen, und hier fängt das SelbstDenken, das Philosophieren, an. Im Gespräch will Sokrates zum Philosophieren
verlocken. „Nicht also durch Belehrung, sondern durch bloße Fragen wird er zum Wissen
gelangen, indem er aus sich selbst das Wissen gewinnt“ (Menon: 85d).
Weil die meisten Gesprächspartner des Sokrates nicht über die Stunde Null des
„Wissens des Nichtwissens“ hinausgekommen sind, interpretieren sie den logos des
Sokrates als Verstellung – so wie Alkibiades als Vertreter der gewöhnlichen, parallelen
Welt, in der man glaubt zu wissen, ohne das Wissen zu prüfen, und einem Gedanke
glaubt, ohne selbst zu denken. Die Kluft zwischen den Philosophen und den anderen ist
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eine ewige Differenz, sowohl zu Platons Zeit als auch heute – mit dem Unterschied, dass
heute viele zu wissen meinen, es aber keinen Sokrates gibt.
Alkibiades behauptet, die Schönheit des Sokrates erblickt zu haben, ohne weiter
Auskunft über diese Schönheit zu geben. Aus Diotimas Rede wird deutlich, was
Philosophen (und auch Sokrates) unter Schönheit verstehen, aber es ist noch nicht klar,
was Alkibiades mit Sokrates’ innerer Schönheit meint.
2.1. Die erotische Erfahrung des Alkibiades mit Sokrates
In Anwesenheit des Sokrates und der anderen Teilnehmer des Symposions erzählt
Alkibiades seine intimen erotischen Erfahrungen mit diesem (217a–219e). Überzeugt
von seiner eigenen körperlichen Schönheit versucht Alkibades, Sokrates zu verführen.
Nicht ohne Selbstironie gesteht Alkibiades seine naive Vorstellung von Sokrates und
seinem Verhältnis zu schönen Knaben ein.
Die Geschichte, wie Alkibiades versucht, Sokrates zu verführen, wird von ihm
in einem gut dosierten Crescendo und mit einer verführerischen Spannung erzählt. Es
handelt sich um eine komische und sehr komplexe Situation, in welcher der naive und
eitle Alkibiades den Meister der Erotik, Sokrates, verführen will.
Es ist ein Spiel zwischen einem profanen und einem philosophischen Verführer.
In dieser direkten Gegenüberstellung zeigt sich mehr als deutlich die Differenz der
Seinsweisen zwischen Alkibiades und Sokrates. Nichts kann diese Situation besser
erfassen als die Maximen des Sokrates, welche Alkibiades mit einer unglaublichen
Naivität erzählt. Er lässt uns verstehen, dass er eigentlich den Sinn dieser Sprüche
überhaupt nicht begriffen hat.
Als Alkibiades versucht, ihn zu verführen, antwortet Sokrates ihm mit einem
plastischen Bild, welches zeigt, wie sich die Dinge tatsächlich verhalten. Er stellt das
Liebesverhältnis wie einen Austausch von Werten dar. In diesem Spiegel möchte
Sokrates im Grunde Alkibiades’ Verführungsabsicht aufdecken und ihm die Situation
klar machen. Zugleich zeigt ihm Sokrates seine eigene Ansicht über das erotische
Verhältnis im philosophischen Sinne – was Alkibiades allerdings nicht versteht:
„O guter Alkibiades, du scheinst wahrlich gar nicht dumm zu sein, wenn das
wahr ist, was du von mir sagst, und es eine Eigenschaft in mir gibt, durch welche du
besser werden könntest, und dann eine gar wunderbare Schönheit an mir erblicktest, die
deine Wohlgestalt um gar vieles übertrifft. Wenn du also dieses sehend in Gemeinschaft
mit mir treten und Schönheit gegen Schönheit austauschen willst: so gedenkst du ja
mich nicht wenig zu übervorteilen und suchst für den bloßen Schein derselben das
wahre Wesen der Schönheit zu gewinnen und denkst in Wahrheit Gold für Kupfer
einzutauschen“ (218e–219a – meine Hervorhebung).
Gold und Kupfer sind beides wertvolle Materialien, aber während das Gold der
absolute Wert ist, erreicht Kupfer nur das niedrigste Niveau. Gold und Kupfer sind nicht
„auf gleichem Fuße“ austauschbar. Die Anspielung des Sokrates auf die Darstellung der
Liebe nach Stufen – scala amoris – aus Diotimas Rede ist mehr als evident. Die
Gedanken Diotimas atmen und strahlen in jedem Wort und Schritt des Sokrates.
Entsprechend der Struktur von Diotimas Rede entspricht Kupfer der ersten (niedrigsten)
Stufe, der Liebe zum schönen Leib, und Gold der letzten (höchsten) Stufe, der
Betrachtung des Schönen selbst. Die erste Stufe ist in philosophischen Termini der
73
„bloße Schein“ und die zweite die „wahre Schönheit“.
Für Sokrates wäre eine Liebesaffäre zwischen Alkibiades und ihm, in der
normalen Sprache ausgedrückt, wie ein Austausch Kupfer gegen Gold und
philosophisch gedacht wie ein Tausch zwischen dem bloßen Schein und der wahren
Schönheit:
Alkibiades – Sokrates
Kupfer – Gold
bloßer Schein – wahre Schönheit.
Ebenso wie Kupfer und Gold nicht auf einer Stufe stehen, ist auch die Liebe zu
dem schönen Leib mit der Liebe zu dem Schönen selbst nicht gleichzusetzen. Es geht
hier nicht nur um einen Wert- oder „Stufen“-Unterschied, sondern um eine
(ontologische) Differenz von Seins-Weisen. Die erste Stufe gehört zur gewöhnlichen
päderastischen Liebe, während die Liebe des Sokrates, die Liebe zur „wahren
Schönheit“, zum philosophischen Eros schlechthin gehört. Zwischen beiden Liebesarten
steht eine existentielle Selbstverwandlung, vom gewöhnlichen Erotiker zum
philosophischen Eros, vom Profanen zum Eingeweihten. Sokrates hat diese
Verwandlung vollzogen, während Alkibiades immer noch ein gewöhnlicher Päderast
geblieben ist. Als philo-sophos und Erotiker ist Sokrates auch ein Vermittler zwischen
Menschen und Göttern; genauer gesagt ist er ein Begleiter der Strebenden und lenkt
diese von der ersten Stufe (der Liebe zum schönen Leib) bis zur Liebe zum Schönen
selbst. Er will Alkibiades nicht bloß abweisen, sondern auf den Weg des
philosophischen Eros lenken. Er liebt in Alkibiades die Möglichkeit, dass einer von den
schönsten und reichsten Knaben Athens den Weg zum Schönen selbst und zur Weisheit
gehen könnte. Als Meister der Erotik hat Sokrates alles dafür getan. Aber leider ist
Alkibiades davor geflohen. Die Sentenz des Sokrates gegenüber Alkibiades’ Absicht
erklärt sein Verhalten, und zugleich zeigt sie die sachliche Dynamik des Eros, welche er
als Meister verstanden hat, während Alkibiades weit davon entfernt ist. „Das Auge des
Geistes fängt erst an scharf zu sehen, wenn das leibliche von seiner Schärfe schon
verlieren will, und davon bist du noch weit entfernt“ (219a).1
Sokrates Meinung zufolge ist Alkibiades noch von der Schönheit der Körper
verblendet. Obwohl er behauptet, die Schönheit des Sokrates, die eine geistige und
philosophische Schönheit ist, erblickt zu haben, kann er den Wertunterschied zwischen
dieser und der Schönheit seines Leibes nicht machen. Für die anderen Teilnehmer am
Symposion und für den Leser, der Diotimas Rede schon kennt, ist der Unterschied
evident, für Alkibiades jedoch nicht.
Was wird eigentlich in diesem Aphorismus gedacht? Folgt das geistige Auge
mit Notwendigkeit der leiblichen (Seh-)Schärfe? Die Schärfe des Geistes soll ein Sieg
über den Leib sein. Wann aber schlägt die leibliche „Schärfe“ in die geistige um? Wie
ereignet sich das? Wenn die Schärfe der leiblichen Augen nachlässt, folgt dann
automatisch die Schärfe des Geistes? Steht es in der natürlichen Entwicklung des
Menschen, dass sein Geist schärfer als sein Leib wird? Oder ist das ein Streben des
Geistes, eine Übung, eine Entwicklung, welche man kultivieren muss? Nicht alle
Menschen werden mit dem Alter unbedingt weiser, sondern nur die Wenigen, die nach
1
Vgl. Platon, Le Banquet (Übers. Luc Brisson), 171. „La vision de l`esprit ne commence à être
precante, que quand celle des yeux commence à perdre de son acuité.“
74
Weisheit streben, die Philosophierenden. Sie können sich schon als junge Menschen zur
Weisheit hin orientieren, obwohl die Sinne des Körpers noch sehr lebhaft sind. Aber für
einen im Philosophieren geübten Menschen wird sein Geist schon früher schärfer als
seine körperliche Wahrnehmung. Sokrates wusste bereits als sehr junger Mann von
Diotima, wie die Schönheit mit den Augen des Geistes zu betrachten ist. Alkibiades
hatte die Möglichkeit, die Schönheit des Geistes zu sehen! Aber er hat die Schönheit mit
den Augen des Geistes weder als junger noch als erwachsener Mann erblickt.
Aus der Perspektive von Diotimas Lehre scheint Sokrates’ Aphorismus über die
Dialektik zwischen geistigem und leiblichem Eros sofort einleuchtend zu sein: Nur
wenn die Augen des Geistes stärker als die Schönheit des Leibes sind – was heißt, dass
die Augen des Geistes durch die Triebe des Leibes nicht mehr verblendet sind –, kann
die Schönheit selbst in ihrem ganzen Sein betrachtet werden. Um die geistige Schönheit
zu erkennen, muss man danach streben. Sokrates Aphorismus zeigt die Regeln der
Dynamik des Eros, aber den Weg dahin muss jeder selbst finden. Alkibiades hat damals
nicht verstanden, dass genau in diesen Sätzen die Gründe für Sokrates Ablehnung liegen.
3. Der Philosoph im Krieg
Im zweiten Hauptteil von Alkibiades’ Rede wird über Sokrates Verhalten in den
Feldzügen der ersten Phase des Peloponnesischen Krieges berichtet. Dieser Bericht dient
ebenfalls dem Vergleich mit dem Silen, allerdings in einer anderen, indirekten Weise.
Hier wird überwiegend die goldene Innenseite des Sokrates, seine Tugend – die andreia,
die Tapferkeit und Mannhaftigkeit, aber auch seine atopia –, gezeigt und gelobt. Das
goldene Innere zeigt sich sowohl in mutigen und tapferen Taten als auch in
Selbstbeherrschung.
Der Philosoph im Krieg? Wie verhält sich der griechische Philosoph als Soldat
im Krieg? Im Krieg wird die Bürgertugend verlangt, welche die Krieger beweisen
müssen, und nicht die Tugend im streng philosophischen Sinne. Es gehört zur Pflicht der
athenischen Bürger, als Soldaten im Krieg tapfer zu kämpfen. Sokrates erfüllt seine
Bürgerpflicht im Krieg vorbildlich, aber ohne seine Individualität zu verlieren. Als
attischer Bürger ist er ein schwer bewaffneter Fußkämpfer, der an vielen Kämpfen
teilgenommen hat. Der Krieg war für die attischen Bürger ein wichtiger Teil des
sozialen Lebens. Alkibiades erzählt alles mit präzisem militärischem Wissen und
Fachkenntnissen, weil er einer der größten athenischen Feldherren (Strategen) seiner
Zeit war. Er schildert einige Szenen von verschiedenen Kriegsschauplätzen, welche das
Porträt das Sokrates im Krieg zeigen sollen.
Sokrates hat unter schwierigsten Kriegsumständen eine ungewöhnliche
Selbstbeherrschung bewiesen. (Die Tugend der Selbstbeherrschung heißt enkrateia.) Er
hat im Feld Hunger ertragen wie kein anderer. Auf der andere Seite aber konnte er
maßvoll genießen, und wenn er trinken musste, dann trank er tapfer, aber ohne
betrunken zu werden. Den eisigsten Winter konnte er ohne Beschwerden ertragen. Als
bei Frost die anderen Krieger nicht hinausgingen oder nur mit zusätzlicher Kleidung und
Schuhen und die Füße in Pelz und Filz einhüllten, trug Sokrates immer die gewöhnliche
Kleidung und ging barfuß über das Eis – leichter als die anderen mit Schuhen (220b).
Der Barfußkrieger ist eine Anspielung auf dem Barfußeros aus Diotimas Rede, der
75
eindeutig Sokrates als Eros identifiziert. Nicht nur in friedlicher Gesellschaft, sondern
auch im Krieg werden die Merkmale des Philosophen sichtbar.
Als Alkibiades im Kampf verwundet wurde, hat ihn Sokrates gerettet. Diese Tat
zeigt nicht nur Sokrates kriegerische Tapferkeit und seinen Mut, sondern auch seine
wahre Größe als Liebhaber, da er sein Leben riskiert, um den Geliebten Alkibiades zu
retten.1 Als etwas „Besonderes“ wird der Rückzug in der Schlacht bei Delion im Jahre
424 geschildert. Sokrates und Laches marschieren zu Fuß mit schwerer Rüstung,
während Alkibiades – wie er selbst sagt – zu Pferde sitzt. (Im 1. Peloponnesischen Krieg
war Laches einer der bedeutendsten Strategen.) Alkibiades beschreibt Sokrates auf dem
Schlachtfeld als entschlossen und furchtlos, mit mächtiger Präsenz, sowohl im
Angreifen als auch in der Selbstverteidigung.2
Sokrates, der Philosoph als Soldat, zeigt seinen Mut im Kampf wie ein echter
Bürger und Krieger, der er war. Der Mut der Krieger ist im Kampf entscheidend. Er soll
die Gefahr richtig einschätzen, die Angst davor überwinden und schließlich den Gegner
besiegen.
In Platons Dialog Laches bedenken Sokrates und Laches die Tugend im
allgemeine Sinne. Der Vergleich dieser Stelle aus dem Symposion mit dem Dialog
Laches gibt uns die Möglichkeit, uns ein Bild vom Begriff der Tugend bei Platon zu
verschaffen.3 Dort wird Sokrates von Laches beschrieben als jemand, der so spricht, wie er
sich auch verhält. Zwischen seinen Taten und seinem Denken besteht eine transparente
Harmonie. Freilich ist Sokrates, obwohl er sich wie ein normaler Bürger verhält, ein
besonderer Mensch, der seine ungewöhnlichen Gewohnheiten uneingeschränkt und
bewusst lebt. Bürgerliche Pflichten und individuelle Freiheit mischen sich in seinem
Wesen einzigartig.
Die Beschreibung des Sokrates im Krieg, die den historischen Daten sehr nahe
kommt, ist der beste Beitrag aus Alkibiades Rede.4 Die moralische Größe von Sokrates’
Verhalten ist der einzige Wert, den Alkibiades vom Wesen des Philosophen verstanden hat.
Als ihm, während er sich beim Heer aufhielt, etwas einfiel, ist Sokrates stehen
geblieben und hat vom Morgen bis zum nächsten Morgen, vierundzwanzig Stunden
lang, nachgedacht. Es war einer von seinen spontanen Einfällen, der ihn zum Meditieren
gebracht hat. Seine Beharrlichkeit, so lange unbewegt stehen zu bleiben, um nachdenken
zu können, versetzte viele Krieger in Erstaunen. Er hat seinen Körper still gehalten und
nur seine Gedanken betrachtet. Aber warum meditiert Sokrates auf dem Schlachtfeld?
Warum meditiert der Philosoph? Was heißt überhaupt meditieren? Wir wissen nicht,
was in der Meditation des Sokrates eigentlich passiert. Wir vermuten, dass er mit großer
Konzentration über etwas nachgedacht hat. Dies ist kein üblicher Akt des
Philosophierens im Gespräch, sondern ein Gespräch mit sich selbst, welches zum Wesen
des Philosophen gehört. Die Einfälle kommen über ihn, und er nimmt es mit großer
1
Vgl. Babut Daniel, “Peinture et dépassement de la reálite dans le Banquet de Platon,” Revue des
études anciennes 82 (1980): 15.
2
„(…) auch dort einherzugehen stolzierend und stier seitwärts hinwerfend die Augen, ruhig
umschauend nach Freunden und Feinden; und jeder musste es sehen schon ganz von ferne, daß
wenn einer diesen Mann berührte, er sich aufs kräftigste verteidigen würde“(221b).
3
Vgl. Picht, 476ff.
4
Vgl. Babut Daniel, “Peinture et dépassement de la reálite,” 9.
76
Selbstverständlichkeit, als ob er immer auf sie gewartet hätte. Er verlässt für eine Weile
die äußere Welt und versinkt in seinen Gedanken. Es gibt scheinbar keinen
ungeeigneteren Platz für eine Meditation als ein Schlachtfeld, wo es nur um äußere
Dinge geht, um das Kämpfen, um das Siegen oder Besiegtwerden, und wo die
Menschen mit den Grenzen ihres existentiellen Zustandes konfrontiert sind. Hier geht es
buchstäblich um Leben und Tod. Für den Philosophen jedoch scheint die Meditation
auch unter diesen Umständen eine Art zu sein, sich zu den Dingen zu verhalten. Kurz
vor dem Beginn des Symposions bleibt Sokrates vor dem Hause Agathons stehen und
denkt nach. Sein Nachdenken scheint dem, was in diesem Haus demnächst passieren
wird, nicht fremd gegenüberzustehen.
Im letzten Teil des Dialogs Phaidon steht Sokrates einige Stunden vor seinem
Tod. Der Philosoph lässt sich aber auch nicht durch den Tod hemmen; im Gegenteil
provoziert ihn das bevorstehende Ereignis zu neuen Fragen und Antworten, die immer
wieder gedacht werden müssen.
Kurz bevor sein Leib stirbt, erwacht Sokrates’ Geist und erhebt sich zu seiner
reinen Autonomie, und er strahlt noch einmal in seiner ganzen Größe zu den
Sterblichen. Das Gespräch wird zum Zentrum der Existenz, und das Philosophieren
erweist sich als die höchste Art nicht nur zu leben, sondern auch zu sterben. Die
Meditation auf dem Kriegsfeld sowie das Philosophieren auf dem Sterbebett bezeichnen
den Philosophen, der sich denkend zu den Dingen verhält.
Für die Stoiker wird das Bild des philosophierenden Sokrates auf dem
Sterbebett die existenziale Apotheose des philosophischen Lebens schlechthin.
Bemerkenswert ist, dass die anderen Menschen von seiner ungewohnten
Gewohnheit wissen und diese wie eine Seltsamkeit akzeptieren, ohne sie jedoch weiter
zu hinterfragen. Dass jemand wie ein atopos lebt, wird von den Vielen wie eine
Narrenfreiheit gestattet, ohne dass sie ihn dabei verstehen würden.
4. Der Schluss der Rede
Um den Kreis seiner Rede zu schließen, kommt Alkibiades wieder zu dem Bild des
Silens, in welchem sich das Wesen des Sokrates und seine Innen-Außen-Struktur
einheitlich und lebendig spiegeln. Obwohl Sokrates ein Mensch aus Fleisch und Blut ist
wie die anderen Athener auch, verleiht ihm seine Redekunst eine mythische Aura, so
dass er durch seine Rhetorik auf andere Menschen ähnlich wirkt wie der Silen, das
halbgöttliche Wesen .1 Die äußere Seite des Sokrates, welche gegenüber seinem
Gesprächspartner spöttisch und ironisch, also wie das „Fell eines frechen Satyrs“,
erscheint, enthüllt bei einer zweiten, tieferen Betrachtung seine inneren Werte.
1
„Denn wenn einer des Sokrates Reden anhören will, so werden sie ihm anfangs ganz lächerlich
vorkommen, in solche Worte und Redensarten sind sie äußerlich eingehüllt, wie in das Fell eines
frechen Satyrs. Denn von Lasteseln spricht er, von Schmieden und Schustern und Gerbern, und
scheint immer auf dieselbe Art nur das selbige zu sagen, so dass jeder unerfahrene und
unverständige Mensch über seine Reden spotten muss. Wenn sie aber einer geöffnet sieht und
inwendig hineintritt: so wird er zuerst finden, dass diese Reden allein inwendig Vernunft haben,
und dann, dass sie ganz göttlich sind und die schönsten Götterbilder von Tugend in sich enthalten
und auf das meiste von dem oder vielmehr auf alles abzwecken, was dem, der gut und edel
werden will, zu untersuchen gebührt“ (221e–222a – meine Hervorhebung).
77
Alkibiades macht die innere Vernunft von Sokrates’ Worten sichtbar und nennt ihren
Inhalt und Sinn: „alles abzwecken, was dem, der gut und edel werden will, zu
untersuchen gebührt“(222a). Indem das Innere und das Äußere miteinander verknüpft
werden, wird das Bild des Sokrates abgerundet. Das Innen und das Außen gehören
zusammen und bilden ein lebendiges Ganzes. Hat Alkibiades in der Innen-AußenStruktur des Sokrates die Doppelnatur des Eros selbst, von der in Diotimas Rede die
Rede ist, geahnt? Vielleicht, aber seine Betrachtung bleibt trotzdem außerhalb eines
philosophischen Verständnisses, innerhalb der profanen Dimension. Die Vernunft in
Sokrates Rede kommt in seiner Rede zu kurz und ist nicht überzeugend dargestellt.
Der letzte Vorwurf, den Alkibiades dem Sokrates macht, ist vielleicht auch der
schmerzhafteste für diesen: Er meint, dass Sokrates sich den schönen Männern
gegenüber verstelle, „als wäre er ihr Liebhaber und dann vielmehr sich zum Liebling
aufwirft statt Liebhaber“ (222b). Sokrates liebte Alkibiades, und Alkibiades liebte
Sokrates, aber sie haben sich niemals glücklich vereinigt.
Als die beiden sich kennen lernten, war Alkibiades einer der schönsten und
reichsten Knaben Athens und Sokrates der faszinierendste Philosoph seiner Zeit.
Zwischen beiden gab es eine ständige Anziehung, wie zwischen zwei Mächten: der
einen der unmittelbaren Schönheit und Leidenschaft und der anderen, der geistigen
Macht des schönen Logos, ewig sich anziehend und ewig sich widersprechend.
Das Verhältnis Liebhaber – Geliebter besitzt eine eigenartige Dynamik, und zwar
zum einen im philosophischen Eros des Sokrates und zum anderen in der Päderastie. In
Athen gab es, wie in der Pausanias-Rede erwähnt wird, schon vor der Zeit des Sokrates
eine überlieferte gesellschaftliche Gestalt der Päderastie, bei der die Regeln schon
feststanden.1 Nach diesen Regeln verhält sich der Geliebte (Knabe) zurückhaltend, scheu
und abwehrend. In seiner Rolle als Geliebter verhält sich Alkibiades aber ganz anders:
verführerisch, indem er für sich wirb,t sowie eigensüchtig und überheblich, indem er die
Liebe des Sokrates zu verdienen glaubt. Alkibiades orientiert sich nicht an Sokrates
Weisheit, sondern bemisst Sokrates an seinem Wert. „Du scheinst mir der einzige
Liebhaber zu sein, der meiner wert ist“ (218c7). Er verdient in der Tat die Bezeichnung als
erster griechischer Dandy, der von der Vielfältigkeit der Liebe nur eines versteht, nämlich
die Eigenliebe, und blind nach Ruhm strebt.
1
„Denn das ist bei uns Sitte, wenn jemand will einem andern ergeben sein, weil er glaubt, besser
durch ihn zu werden, es sei in irgendeiner Einsicht oder in einem andern Teile der Tugend, dass
ein solcher freiwilliger Dienst nicht schändlich sei noch eine Niedrigkeit. Diese beiden Satzungen
nun muss man zusammenbringen in eins, jene über die Knabenliebe und diese über die
Philosophie und die Tugend, wenn es sich fügen soll, dass es schön sei, ein Liebling werde seinem
Liebhaber gefällig. Denn wenn so beide zusammentreffen, Liebhaber und Liebling, dass jeder die
Meinung für sich hat, jener die, dass er recht daran tue, dem Liebling, der ihm gefällig geworden,
jeglichen Dienst zu erzeigen, dieser aber die, dass es recht sei, dem, der ihn weise und gut macht,
was es auch immer sei, zu erweisen, und dann jener auch wirklich vermag, zur Weisheit und
Tugend behilflich zu sein, dieser aber begehrt, zur Bildung und zu jeglicher Art der Weisheit
Hilfe zu erlangen; dann also, wenn diese beiden Satzungen in eins zusammenkommen, da allein
trifft es auch zu, dass es schön ist, für den Liebling dem Liebhaber gefällig zu sein, sonst aber
nirgends. Und in diesem Falle ist selbst getäuscht zu werden nichts Schändliches; in jedem andern
aber bringt es Schande, mag nun einer getäuscht werden oder auch nicht“ (184c–e – meine
Hervorhebung).
78
Auf der anderen Seite zeigt die Bemerkung des Alkibiades, obwohl sie einseitig
ist, einen besonderen Aspekt von Sokrates’ Verhalten gegenüber Knaben. Sokrates ist kein
gewöhnlicher Liebhaber. Auch im Medium der Knabenliebe ist er neu. Er hat seinen
philosophischen Eros in die existierende Tradition der Knabenliebe in Athen eingebaut.
Seine Kunst war der philosophische Eros, und seine Rolle war, zugleich Liebhaber und
Meister der Liebe zu sein. Sokrates liebt bewusst. Das Medium seiner Liebe ist der Logos.
In der schönen Rede will er die Verehrung der Knaben gewinnen, um seine
philosophische Aufgabe zu erfüllen, die Knaben durch das Philosophieren von dem
Verlangen nach dem schönen Leib zum Streben nach den schönen Dingen und den
schönen Werken zu lenken. Er ist Liebhaber und Geliebter, Verführter und Verführer
zugleich. In Sokrates lebt die ganze scala amoris, welche in Diotimas Rede entworfen ist.
Keiner von beiden respektiert eigentlich streng die Regeln der Päderastie:
Alkibiades als Geliebter verhält sich zu eigenwillig. Von der Schönheit seines Körpers
verblendet, sieht er die Werte der geistigen Schönheit nicht richtig und wird
selbstsüchtig, während Sokrates sich vom schönen Körper des Alkibiades sowie seiner
Lebenskraft fasziniert zeigt, ohne ihm aber nachzugeben, nur um ihn auf den Weg der
geistigen Schönheit und der schönen Rede zu lenken, um ihn zum Philosophieren zu
verführen. In der Begegnung der beiden kreuzen sich zwei Wege: Ein Weg geht zur
Schönheit und zur Macht des praktischen Lebens, der andere führt zur Schönheit des
Logos und zur geistigen Macht des Philosophierens. Im Hinblick auf dem Ziel von
Erziehung, Wissen, Macht und Verführung bewundern sich die beiden für eine kurze
Weile, aber danach trennen sie sich, um jeder in seiner Art sich zu verwirklichen und
jeder in seiner eigenen Schönheit am besten zu strahlen.
Am Ende sieht man deutlich, dass beide gleichermaßen Verführer sind, aber mit
ganz verschiedenen Zielen (teloi). Alkibiades verführt als Politiker die Vielen mit seiner
Redekunst und dem Versprechen des Sieges. Er will über die Menschen herrschen, um
seine Ruhmliebe zu vollenden – was Diotima philotimia nannte.
Sokrates verführt die Knaben durch seinen schönen Logos zum Philosophieren
und leitet sie zum Selbst-Denken. Als die Weisheit Liebender vermittelt er zwischen den
vielen schönen Menschen und Dingen und dem Schönen selbst, von dem er selbst
verführt ist. Alkibiades liebt sentimental und eigensüchtig, Sokrates liebt eher geistig
und philosophierend. Zwischen beiden hat sich die Liebe niemals vollendet und ist doch
niemals erloschen.
79
L’écriture domaniale en Transylvanie au XVIe siècle.
Fonctionnalité et identité1
Avram ANDEA
Babeş-Bolyai University, Cluj
Department of History
Keywords: writing, conscription, estate registers and inventories, estate scribes and
servants, Latin and vernacular writing
Abstract: The paper discusses the evolution of private writing practice within taxation,
town and Episcopal estates in 16th century Transylvania in a functional perspective. The
development of estate economy, and especially that of allodial production, generated
new organization patterns and institutional structures in economy. The good functioning
of these was secured by estate servants mostly recruited from among literates, called in
the documents litterati, deákok or Schreiber, with a wide range of scribal activities. The
resulting transcripts – conscriptions, registers and inventories – meant a new type of
documents slowly replacing oral communication with written one in the relationship of
lords and their servants. The scribes practiced a cursive type writing, focussing primarily
on fastness, and wrote simplified texts, freed from formulaic chancery language. The
scribes used Latin in the documents they wrote, mixed with vernacular words, gradually
turning to writing completely in vernacular languages, Hungarian and German, due to
practicality and under the influence of the Reformation.
*
L’étude vise à déterminer le lieu et l’évolution des pratiques d’écriture sur
l’étendu des domaines fiscaux et des villes en Transylvanie du XVIe siècle. C’est la
raison pour laquelle notre attention porte sur l’accès à l’écriture, sur l’usage privé de
celle-ci, ainsi que sur les valeurs du texte et les fonctions qu’il pourrait avoir dans une
société encore marquée par l’illétrisme. À l’époque on constate un appel plus fréquent
au texte dans la gestion des affaires domaniales, l’administration des domaines
s’accompagnant d’une riche activité scripturaire qui devient progressivement un
instrument de contrôle et d’autorité du maître. Suite à ces changements, le domaine
féodal est devenu un lieu de diffusion de la culture écrite qui s’élargit progressivement.
Une fois de plus, le pouvoir de l’écriture est démontré même dans l’organisation de
l’économie domaniale, bien que les textes ne soient pas déstinés à l’impression, mais
aux besoins des maîtres.
Une des raisons de ce nouveau cours de l’évolution pourrait être la tendance du
développement des domaines féodaux en Transylvanie vers une production économique
1
This work was supported by a Grant of the Ministry of National Education CNCS-UEFISCDI,
project number PN II-ID-PCE-2012-4-0579.
80
fondée sur l’exploitation en faire-valoir direct, c’est-à-dire sur l’économie allodiale. La
transformation a été dictée par les besoins croissants des maîtres, souverains et villes,
confrontés à des coûts de plus en plus élevés pour soutenir l’évolution de la technologie
militaire et le développement des armées permanentes de mercenaires. Cela impliquait
des changements au sein de l’organisation domaniale. Aux vieilles structures
institutionnelles militaires, administratives et juridiques s’ajoutent d’autres, plus
récentes, avec un caractère économique évident. Le rôle passif des cours seigneuriales,
qui consistait avant dans la perception des redevances des sujets dépendants, se
transforme en un rôle actif, lié au développement de leurs économies allodiales. Pour
cela le domaine est doté de personnel économique lettré qui déployait une riche activité
scripturaire.
Le résultat de cette activité a été l’apparition, à partir du XVIe siècle, d’un
nombre de documents, tels que les terriers ou les sommiers, les inventaires et les
comptes des revenus et des dépenses de certains domaines principaux du fisc et des
villes de Transylvanie. À cette époque, les domaines nobiliaires sont les seuls à ne pas
posséder de tels écrits.
Malheureusement, les pratiques de l’écriture domaniale du XVIe siècle ne
peuvent pas être suives et surprises tout au long de la Transylvanie parce que les terriers,
les inventaires et les comptes ne concernent qu’un nombre limité de domaines, éstimé à
32, dans l’ensemble du pays1. Cependant, nous ne devons pas oublier que les domaines
fiscaux, principalement des forteresses royales et, plus tard, princières (Hunedoara,
Făgăraş, Satu Mare, Chioar, Oradea, Cetatea de Baltă, Gherla, Ciceu, etc.), ainsi que
ceux des grandes villes (Braşov et Cluj) ou des évêchés catholiques étaient les plus
importants dans le pays et ils donnaient le ton des nouvelles tendances de l’évolution des
pratiques scripturaires. En revanche, les conscriptions, les comptes et les inventaires sont
sporadiques, dispersés et présentent un degré élevé de discontinuité, de sorte que le
développement et la diffusion de nouvelles pratiques ne peuvent pas être suivis
successivement sur une longue période de temps et sur le même domaine. L'exception
serait les comptes des revenus et dépenses des villages régis par Braşov qui, depuis le
XVIe siècle, ont été rédigés chaque année et ont été conservés presque entièrement2. Ces
constatations expliquent, entre autres, quelques-unes des raisons pour lesquelles les
écrits conservés et qui peuvent être analysés sont loin de nous donner une image
complète et tout à fait satisfaisante de l’évolution de l’écriture domaniale en
Transylvanie.
Mais au-delà des ces lacunes et insuffisances inhérentes à tout début, les écrits
domaniaux des officiers lettrés, appelés génériquement scribi ou dieci (litterati, deákok
ou Diacken), représentent un nouveau genre d’actes qui reflètent les changements
survenus dans la société. Ces documents peuvent être classés en conscriptions ou
1
David Prodan, Iobăgia în Transilvania în secolul al XVI-lea, II (Bucharest, 1968), 861--862.
Pour la période 1504-1555 ces comptes ont été publiés dans Quellen zur Geschichte der Stadt
Kronstadt in Siebenbürgen. Rechnungen aus dem Archiv der Stadt Kronstadt, I-III, Braşov, 18861896 et réproduits partiellement, sous forme d’extraits concernant les Roumains, en HurmuzakiDensuşianu, Documente privitoare la istoria românilor, II/3, Bucharest, 1892, p.380-389 et II/4,
Bucharest, 1894, p.87-97. Traitement des comptes en termes d’histoire sociale chez Prodan,
Iobăgia, 620–688.
2
81
registres fonciers (terriers, sommiers), comptes, inventaires, instructions des maîtres aux
employés et correspondace échangeé entre eux.
Les conscriptions domaniales ou les terriers (sommiers) inscrivent les lois et les
usages d’une seigneurie, les terres et les droits des maîtres, les sujets avec leurs
redevances et les obligations auxquelles ils étaient soumis, ainsi que d’autres sources de
revenus du domaine, telles que les banalités etc. Le premier registre terrier connu à ce
jour pour la Transylvanie est celui sur Medieşul Aurit datant de 1512 et qui a enregistré
seulement les localités composantes et les chefs de familles. Beaucoup plus riche en
informations est le registre terrier rédigé en 1525 pour le domaine de la forteresse de
Şiria. Dans cette conscription du domaine sont enregistrées 121 localités (bourgades et
villages) et pour chacune de celles-ci elle nous fournit le nom des sujets avec leurs
occupations et leurs obligations seigneuriales. Elle fournit également des renseignements
sur diverses sources de revenu du domaine et, pour trois localités, précise le nombre
d'animaux que les sujets possédaient1. Au fil du temps, les registres terriers non
seulement deviennent plus nombreux mais aussi comprennent de plus en plus
d'informations, pour finir par devenir des modèles.
La création d’une terminologie rigoureuse des conscriptions a duré longtemps,
du fait que le souci de conceptualisation était étranger au but des conscripteurs. Ceux-ci
visaient avant tout l’enregistrement lui-même et les données de recensement, d’où
l’utilisation dans les actes d’une terminologie relative et d’une grande variété.
La conscription du domaine de plusieurs forteresses de Transylvanie est appelée
en latin Registrum super connumeratione jobagionum ac incolarum (Şiria, datant de
1525)2, Perlustratio ac revisio universorum bonorum et iurium possessionariorum castri
Chycho (Ciceu, 1553)3, Inventaria arcis Wywar ac bona et iuria possessionaria ad idem
castrum pertinentia, fructusque et quaslibet utilitates eiusdem (Gherla, 1553)4, Kővár
tartozékainak urbariuma (Chioar, 1566)5, Conscriptio universorum bonorum,
oppidorum videlicet et possessionum, cum nominibus colonorum integrae ac mediae
sessionis, inquilinorumque (Satu Mare, 1569)6, Regestum super connumeratione
colonorum ittem bonorum ac proventuum (Şimleu, 1594)7, etc. Les exemples pourraient
être multipliés afin de comprendre pourquoi les historiens roumains ont ressenti le
besoin d’utiliser une notion à la fois concise et complète, à savoir la conscription
(conscriptio ou urbarium) ou plus précisément la conscription domaniale ou urbariale
1
Magyar Országos Levéltár, Dl. 37000; Publié par Prodan, “Domeniul cetăţii Şiria la 1525,” in
Anuarul Institutului de Istorie din Cluj III (1960): 50–102.
2
Ibid, p.50.
3
Magyar Országos Levéltár, Transylv. Actor. Fasc.9, N°69; Photocopie à Biblioteca Academiei
Române, Filiala Cluj-Napoca, Fototeca F.668; Texte publié avec traduction par D. Prodan,
“Domeniul cetăţii Ciceu la 1553,” in Anuarul Institutului de Istorie din Cluj, VIII (1965): 84.
4
Makkai László, Szolnok-Doboka megye magyarságának pusztulása a XVII. század elején (Cluj,
1942), 37.
5
Ibid., 54.
6
Magyar Országos Levéltár, Fond U. et C., Fasc.46, N°80; Photocopie à Biblioteca Academiei
Române, Filiala Cluj-Napoca, Fototeca F.668; cf. D. Prodan, Iobăgia, 260.
7
Magyar Országos Levéltár, Fond U. et C., Fasc.113, N°5; Photocopie à Biblioteca Academiei
Române, Filiala Cluj-Napoca, Fototeca F.668; cf. D. Prodan, Iobăgia, 593.
82
(conscriptio domanialis ou urbarialis), pour la distinguer de la conscription fiscale
(conscriptio fiscalis) et de la conscription militaire (conscriptio militaris ou lustratio).
Les conscriptions urbariales s’avèrent très utiles dans la reconstitution des
pratiques de l’écriture domaniale par l’enregistrement des litterati ou deákok (en
hongrois), à savoir des lettrés présents sur les domaines. Alors que certains d'entre eux
sont tout simplement nommés, d'autres figurent avec les positions détenues dans les
structures institutionnelles des domaines et les tâches qui leurs sont confiées par les
maîtres. À partir des données fournies par les conscriptions nous remarquons une
augmentation du nombre des lettrés au cours du siècle ainsi que le succès de certains
d’entre eux de progresser dans la hiérarchie sociale, ou, au moins dans les emplois
domaniaux.
Contrairement aux conscriptions, les comptes des revenus comprennent
diverses recettes et dépenses domaniales. Parmi ceux-ci les plus anciens que nous
connaissons remont aux années 1511-1533 et concernent le domaine de la forteresse de
Hunedoara1. Écrits en latin et en allemand, ils ont été rédigés par les administrateurs
(provisores, Hoffrichter, udvarbirók) et les compteurs (rationatores ou rationistae) à la
demande du maître, le margrave George de Brandenbourg. Parmi les comptes
conservés, certains sont annuels et globaux, d’autres ont un caractère partiel. Ils peuvent
être liés, au moins par leur âge, aux comptes de l’évêché catholique d’Alba Iulia et de
ses domaines (Alba Iulia, Gilău et Tăşnad). Des fragments se sont conservés seulement
pour les années 1515-1524 et, contrairement aux comptes de Hunedoara, ils sont plus
succincts et écrits en latin.
Dès le XVIe siècle, nous avons les premiers comptes de certains domaines des
villes, tels que Braşov et Cluj. Les comptes de Braşov2 commencent vers 1504, tandis
que ceux de Cluj sont plus récents3. Pour un temps à Cluj les calculs de la ville sont
mélangés avec ceux du domaine et depuis 1585 sont rédigés séparément pour les
villages régis. Puisque nous sommes dans l’ère de la Réforme religieuse, la promotrice
des langues vernaculaires dans l’écriture, l’utilisation du latin et de l’allemand pour les
comptes du Braşov ne doit pas surprendre, respectivement l’emploi du hongrois dans le
cas de Cluj. En 1600, les comptes du domaine salinaire de Maramureş sont également
écrits pour la plupart en hongrois.
1
Iosif Pataki, Domeniul Hunedoara la începutul secolului al XVI-lea. Studiu şi documente,
(Bucharest: 1973), 1–126 et 214–220.
2
Entre autres voir les photocopies à Biblioteca Academiei Române, Filiala Cluj-Napoca, Fototeca
F.635/I-II.
3
Arhivele Naţionale Direcţia Judeţeană Cluj, Fonds de la Mairie de Cluj, Comptes urbaines: 3,
fasc.XVI(1585), XXVIII(1586), XXXII(1587); 4, fasc.II(1588), IV(1588), XII(1589),
XVII(1590) etc.
83
Fig.1. Les comptes de Braşov
La terminologie des comptes du XVIe siècle est assez claire pour expliquer la
signification d’un tel type d’écrits domaniaux. Dans les documents latins concernant le
domaine de Hunedoara nous rencontrons les syntagmes registrum super proventum ou
ratio super proventum et exitum, dont la traduction signifie “registre de revenus” ou
“compte sur les revenus et les dépenses”. Dans les textes allemands, les termes
archaïques Verzaichnung, Einnemen, Einkumen et Ausgeben, respectivement Rechnung,
ont la même signification que les mots “enregistrement, entrées, revenus et sorties”,
respectivement “compte ou calcul”. Nous remarquons que dans un acte, qui a enregistré
certains revenus du même domaine pour les mois de Décembre 1528 - Février 1529, on
84
emploie la notion Register (registre), un dérivé substantival du verbe registrieren
(enregistrer)1. Dans les textes hongrois sont présentes les expressions könyve bevételek
és kiadások et kiadási számlák, dont la traduction signifie “livre des recettes et des
dépenses” et „comptes des dépenses”.
Les pratiques scripturaires en usage, y compris les comptes, nous donnent des
détails précieux sur le fonctionnement du domaine. Les entrées et les sorties en argent et
en nature impliquent une comptabilité de gestion économique effectuée par un personnel
lettré qui est tout simplement mentionné ou désigné par le nom. Pour l’élaboration des
documents comptables apparaissent des employés domaniaux spécialisés et dirigés par
le proviseur (provisor) avec son personnel subordonné et auxiliaire, à savoir l’économe
(dispensator ou safar), le compteur (rationator, rationista, számtartó, sameş), le
contrôleur (contrascriba) et d’autres. Ils sont généralement recrutés pour leurs
connaissances et leurs compétences d'écriture et de calcul, figurant parmi les employés
salariés. Leurs salaires pour le travail accompli étaient variables, mais généralement audessus de la moyenne des autres employés, ce qui prouve qu’ils occupaient une place
importante dans l’administration du domaine et ont été bien appréciés pour leur
competence. Pour leurs besoins, liés à l’activité scripturaire, les achats de papier sont
souvent comptabilisés parmis les dépenses des domaines. Ainsi, dans les comptes du
domaine de Satu Mare sont enregistrées chaque année, sous titre d'achats, les sommes
d’argent destinées à l’acquisition de papier: le montant de 18.70 fl. dans les années
1569-1570, la somme de 21.80 fl. en 1570-1572, 24.50 fl. entre 1572-1573, un achat
d’un montant de 15,95 fl. en 1573-1574 et un total de 20 fl. dans les années 1576-15772.
Les montants sont proches par leur valeur, et même s’ils ne sont pas trop élevés,
ils sont comptabilisés chaque année, ce qui prouve l'existence d’une pratique constante
et continue de l'écriture. Les résultats de celle-ci nous permettent de pénétrer dans
l’intimité de l'administration domaniale afin de connaître de près les revenus et les
dépenses engagées, y compris l’activité de l’appareil économique constitué en grande
partie de lettrés.
Les informations contenues dans les conscriptions et les comptes sont
complétées de celles fournies par les inventaires. Ceux-ci concernent la cité avec son
domaine, les cultures allodiales, le château avec des chambres et des meubles, les
bâtiments annexes, les écuries, les granges, les ateliers, les moulins, les fours à pain, les
réserves alimentaires, etc. Les inventaires sont appelés dans les documents latins
inventaria rerum, tandis que dans ceux en hongrois inventariumok ou, plus récemment,
leltárak. La série de ces écrits pourraient être complétée des instructions (instructiones)
économiques des maîtres adressées aux administrateurs domaniaux (par exemple de
Kovacsóczy Farkas de 1588 et 1592)3, les échanges épistolaires entre ceux-ci et les
1
Iosif Pataki, Domeniul Hunedoara.
D. Prodan, Iobăgia, 548-550.
3
“Kovacsóczy Farkas 1588. évi gazdasági utasitása,” Magyar Gazdaságtörténelmi Szemle,
V(1898): 590–592 (Instructio nobili Mathiae Nyáry, officiali in Kisfalud, prima die Octobris
anno 1588 data); Szabó Károly, “Egy XVI-dik századi tiszttartói utasitás,” Vasárnapi Ujság 1
(1874): 6; 2 (1874): 22 (Instructio egregio Georgio Egri provisori arcis Georgeny 1 Novembris
Alba Juliae data 1592).
2
85
enquêtes sur les abus commis par certains employés domaniaux (en 15531 à Ciceu,
respectivement en 15752 à Satu Mare).
Fig.2. La conscription du domaine de Ciceu (1553)
En ce qui concerne les circonstances dans lesquelles les documents sont rédigés,
ils ont été généralement écrits lors de la remise ou de la prise en charge des domaines,
lors de leur passage de la main d'un maître à l'autre main, de l’administration d'un
proviseur à un autre. Les documents ont été faits d’après les témoignages, prononcés
sous serment, des sujets ou de leurs représentants (maires, cnèzs, voïvods, krajniks, etc.),
en présence des employés domaniaux. Leur réalisation n’est pas accompagnée de
formalités légales et ne comporte pas d’éléments de validation censés leur donner une
valeur juridique. Ils peuvent être considérés comme des actes privés qui ne sont pas
instrumentés devant une autorité publique. Les écrits domaniaux sont destinés à faire la
preuve des biens et des droits du maître et à conserver la mémoire de ceux-ci.
Les actes, en principe, sont conservés dans les archives à titre de preuve. Pour
leur bonne conservation, au château d’Oradea il y avait une pièce conservatrice
(conclave sive conservatorium) de papier et registres (1600)3, à la maison du proviseur
de Satu Mare étaient achetées des caissettes de bois ou des layettes (1569-1570)4, tandis
1
D. Prodan, Domeniul cetăţii Ciceu la 1553, 89–102 et 105–112.
Idem, Iobăgia, 514-522.
3
Ibid., 821.
4
Ibid., 384.
2
86
qu’à Şimleul Silvaniei les documents étaient conservés en cuveaux (1594)1. Pour en
assurer la meilleure conservation et en faciliter la consultation, les feuilles de documents
étaient superposés les unes au-dessus des autres en les cousant et en les réunissant en
cahiers ou en registres. La couverture de ceux-ci a été faite à Satu Mare avec de l’ais
enveloppé en tissu noir. L’enregistrement des données primaires et partielles pouvait se
faire, à des intervalles plus ou moins réguliers, dans des cahiers qui étaient ensuite réunis
en un registre mis au net (Registerreinschaft) et déposé en archive. Pour le maître, la
crédibilité et la valeur probatoire des évidences comptables étaient assurées par leur
enregistrement sous l’autorité administrative du proviseur.
Auprès des institutions économiques et juridiques de l’administration domaniale
des services d’écriture chargés de la rédaction des actes se sont développés. Un tel
bureau d’écriture fonctionnait en 1569-1570 dans la maison du proviseur de Satu Mare
et était appelé, de manière un peu pretentieuse, chancellerie (cancellaria)2. C’est ici
qu’on a rédigé les actes commandés par le maître ou qui étaient nécessaires au bon
fonctionnement de l’administration. Le personnel d’un tel service d’écriture était formé
de proviseur, économe, compteur, contrôleur, plusieurs copistes ou scribes, etc. On peut
supposer que le proviseur eût l’autorité sur tout le personnel, qu’il repartît le travail et
surveillât l’écriture des actes. Enfin, il vérifiait l’exactitude des écrits et, eventuellement,
les signait.
C’est une chose bien connue qu’aucun formulaire (formularium,
Formularsammlung) n’a été conservé, c’est-à-dire un recueil de formules destinées à
servir de modèles aux rédacteurs des actes et, éventuellement, à contribuer à la
formation des rédacteurs eux-mèmes. Il paraît que certains éléments des documents
antérieurs déposés en archives étaient mis textuellement à contribution pour la rédaction
d’un nouvel acte. Par conséquent, le formulaire utilise plus ou moins servilement les
vieilles conscriptions, comptes et inventaires pour établir le nouveau texte. Leur nombre
augmente avec le temps, ils contiennent de plus en plus d’informations, couvrent
plusieurs composantes de l’administration et de l’économie domaniale, enfin, se
constituent en modèles. Leur évolution vers les formes plus développées traduit la
volonté des maîtres tant de renforcer et améliorer la gestion de leurs biens fonciers, que
de promouvoir des stratégies plus coércitives de contrainte sociale des sujets. Au-delà de
ces fins, l’écriture devient inséparable de pratiques administratives de plus en plus
dépendantes des lettrés et de l’information écrite.
Quant aux caractèristiques externes des actes on peut faire les remarques
suivantes. Tous sont écrits sur papier indigène ou importé, qui est utilisé sur les deux
côtés, le recto et le verso. L’écriture est en cursive avec une simplification des tracés, des
ligatures entre les lettres et, très souvent, des abréviations. En outre, elle est exempte
d’éléments figurés ou décoratifs pour répondre à un souci de plus gande solennité. En
opposition avec l’écriture officielle de chancellerie, elle conserve toujours des
particularités régionales et individuelles. En général, les écrits domaniaux reflètent une
pratique d’écriture moins élaborée, où l’organisation du texte répond à une logique plus
simple. La forme textuelle dépend du niveau culturel et de la condition sociale du sujet
qui écrit. Il y a des situations où le scribe laisse sa propre personnalité à émerger sur la
1
2
Ibid., 608 .
Ibid., 391.
87
forme des écrits. Il faut souligner l’hétérogénéité et la grande variété de formes de
l’écriture.
Étant donné que les écrits domaniaux sont le résultat des activités
administratives et économiques, les employés lettrés ont principalement cherché la
vitesse de l’écriture au détriment de la lisibilité. Ceux-ci ont contribué à la simplification
de l’écriture et à l'augmentation de la rapidité du mouvement de la plume. Il en a résulté
une écriture pratique, cursive et rapide, avec des éléments de calcul nécessaire à la
comptabilité domaniale. Sans aucun doute le recours à l’usage de l’écriture a été avant
tout utile pour les maîtres. Leurs employés ont le mérite de promouvoir une nouvelle
philosophie de l’instruction qui n’est pas fondée sur la lecture traditionnelle, à haute
voix, mais sur l’écriture et le compte.
Les caractères internes ou rédactionnels des écrits domaniaux sont les éléments
qui tiennent au texte même et envisagent la langue employée, le vocabulaire, l’usage
d’un certain style et l’agencement des différentes parties constitutives de l’acte écrit. Les
conscriptions, les inventaires et les comptes domaniaux du XVIe siècle, sauf ceux relatifs
aux villes de Braşov et de Cluj, sont écrits en latin. C’est seulement vers le milieu du
siècle, les municipalités des villes mentionnées utilisent, outre le latin, les langues
vernaculaires, l’allemand à Braşov, respectivement le hongrois à Cluj. Les comptes
rédigés en allemand pour le domaine de Hunedoara réprésentent une exception, pour les
années 1511-1533, en raison de son maître, le margrave George de Brandenbourg.
L’utilisation généralisée du latin dans les écrits domaniaux s’explique par le fait qu’il est
la langue officielle, employée par les chancelleries, la justice et l’administration,
enseignée dans les écoles et parlée par la noblesse et le clergé. Toutefois, sous
l’influence de la Réforme religieuse, les langues vernaculaires pénètrent dans la pratique
d’écriture. Les initiatives de ce type peuvent être interprétées comme des manières
d’étendre la force civilisatrice de l’écrit parmi les ignorants du latin. L’usage du latin
s’étiole progressivement durant cette période, tandis que seuls les érudits continuent à
l'utiliser intensivement pour leurs échanges culturels.
Les litterati ou diákok étaient des personnes qui ont reçu une éducation et acquis
les compétences nécessaires pour occuper un emploi. Ils ont été de bons praticiens de
l’écriture et du compte, mais leurs connaissances du latin, malgré les études qu’ils
avaient faites, étaient souvent modestes. Pour cette raison, leurs écrits latins sont truffés
de mots issus de la langue parlée et même d’erreurs. En fait, ils ne sont pas d’écrits
littéraires et servent seulement de sources documentaires.
Les scribes ou litterati du XVIe siècle sont souvent conduits à utiliser des mots
qu'ils rencontrent dans les langues vulgaires – le hongrois, le roumain ou l’allemand - et
dont ils n’ont pas le correspondant latin exact. Dans ce cas ils les introduisent dans leurs
textes en donnant successivement l’équivalent latin du mot, suivis, pour être mieux
compris, de la forme latinisée du mot vulgaire usuel. Quand ils sont confrontés à de
telles situations ils attirent l’attention par les expressions: vulgo ou vulgari, nomine, sive,
vel, quod dicitur, vocatas, quod (ou quam) vocant, hanc appellant etc. Quelques
exemples sont plus que concluants.
Sur le domaine de la forteresse Şiria, en 1525, les sujets paient, entre autres , de
l'argent pour des matériaux qui sont appelés «l’argent des cercles» (pecunias pro
emendis tignibus quas abrwnch penz vocant) 1. Sur le même domaine, l’argent payé aux
1
Ibid., 76.
88
mercenaires est appelé quod beres penz dicitur, respectivement pecunias berez penz1.
Les veilleurs de nuit de la forteresse Gyula sont appelés, en 1525, vigiles vulgo
wyrraztoo2. Ici également, trois ans plus tard, le bêtail égaré est appelé vagabundi bubuli
sive haydo ou vulgo budosso barom3 alors que des outils s’appellent: les tenailles,
reclusoria vulgari czipthethew, et le compas de fer, fereum circulum vulgo chirkalom4.
Le syntagme unum hinnulum vulgo ewz (aujourd’hui öz) est utilisé en 1539, dans le
village de Marin, au sujet du paiement de la contribution du chevron5. Dans le district de
Chioar est rencontré un impôt de l’épervier et du chevron, payé, en 1566, par les
libertini, c’est-à-dire par ceux qui étaient affranchis, et qui vulgo vocatur kárvoly pénz et
eoz penz6.
Dans les écrits domaniaux du XVIe siècle, les mots latins sont accompagnés de
la forme vulgaire plus ou moins bien latinisée, notamment dans la terminologie fiscale
concernant la vie pastorale. À cet égard, beaucoup de mots vulgaires sont d’origine
roumaine et ont été dans le temps assimilés par le hongrois ou l’allemand. C’est le cas
du mot roumain strungă, c’est-à-dire bercail à brebis, qui est parvenu à désigner en
général l’impôt sur les moutons. Il existe avec ce terme, écrit sous formes différentes,
plusieurs expressions vulgaires dans les textes latins des conscriptions, des comptes et
des inventaires domaniaux. Ainsi, dans les villages roumains du district de Chioar,
l’impôt sur les moutons est appelé en 1566 ztronga7, terme utilisé aussi sur le domaine
d’Ardud, par la locution ztronge nomine, tandis que dans le village de Noţig, qui
appartenait au domaine de Cehu Silvaniei, l’employé lettré, se référant à l’impôt sur les
moutons et le fromage, a noté quam solutionem eztrenga vocant (1569)8.
L’enregistrement de cet impôt dans le village de Mocira, à proximité de Baia Mare,
définit exactement en quoi il consistait: insuper ouem vnam cum agnello pro ztrenga9.
Dans les comptes du domaine de Satu Mare, pour les années 1572-1573, on fait mention
de fromages du bercail à brebis (casei ztrongales) et de l’argent de leur vente10.
Un autre mot roumain très présent dans la nomenclature fiscale des écrits
domaniaux de l’époque a été brânză, c’est-à-dire fromage. À titre d’exemples, je retiens
quelques expressions composées avec le mot brânză. Dans les conscriptions des années
1566-1569 des villages qui appartiennent au domaine de Cehu Silvaniei la contribution
est mentionnée comme le petit tonneau au fromage: bronze vel formagii unam
1
Ibid., 75-76.
Veress Endre, Gyula város oklevéltára (1313-1800), (Budapesta, 1938), 89.
3
Ibid., 90.
4
Ibid., 134.
5
Andrei Veress, Fontes rerum Transylvanicarum, IV, (Budapesta, 1914), 299.
6
Lukinich Imre, “Kővár várának jővedelmi forrássai 1566-ból,” Magyar Gazdaságtörténelmi
Szemle XII(1905): 259; Ştefan Meteş, Viaţa agrară, economică a românilor din Ardeal şi
Ungaria. Documente contemporane, I (1508-1820), (Bucharest, 1921),193.
7
Makkai László, Szolnok-Doboka megye magyarságának pusztulása, 62, 68, 71, 76, 78, 186, 187
et 89-90; D, Prodan, Iobăgia, 185.
8
Ibid., 209.
9
Ibid., 253.
10
Photocopie à Biblioteca Academiei Române, Filiala Cluj-Napoca, Fototeca F.663; D. Prodan,
Iobăgia, 450, 469 et 492.
2
89
tonnellam1. Dans certains cas, le mot latin tonnella est remplacé par le terme hongrois
bödön. Ainsi, le village de Moigrad paie la taxe sous le nom bodon brenzam unam,
tandis que le Bicaz donne casei bodon duo, brenze vocati2.
Fig.3. Les comptes du domaine de Satu Mare
Cette pratique d’écriture peut être illustrée aussi par d’autres termes vulgaires,
tant dans le domaine de la fiscalité ou de la justice, que dans celui des outils de la vie
quotidienne. Un des impôts en espèces, rencontré dans toute la Transylvanie, s’appelait
l’argent du ferton (pecunias ferton vocatas), en 1569, dans les comptes du domaine de
Satu Mare3. Ici nous avons également enregistré, comme rédévance ségneuriale, l’impôt
sur l’avoine désigné par le compteur, en 1566, sous le nom de cens ou ako (census
avenarum ako est appellatus)4. Dans le village de Domăneşti, du domaine d’Ardud, la
conscription retient, parmi les redevances, une impôt pécuniaire par famille appelé
argent de la fumée, hanc solutionem fÿst penz appellant5. Sur le même domaine, dans le
village de Livada, est enregistrée une contribution sur les cochons menés à la forêt et
abrités dans une enceinte, à savoir redemptio caulae vulgo kossar penz6.
1
Ibid., 202.
Ibid., 218 et 202.
3
Ibid., 270.
4
Ibid., 284.
5
Ibid., 279.
6
Ibid., 285.
2
90
Fig.4. Les comptes du domaine de Satu Mare (les villages roumains)
Dans les écrits de l’époque, les amendes judiciaires sont mentionnées à la fois
en latin et en hongrois comme dans l’expression de mulctis sive bÿrsagÿs1 ou
simplement byrsagia2.
Outre les exemples déjà cités concernant les objets nécessaires à l’activité
humaine les textes mentionnent également la couverture (lodix ou cherge, pokrocz,
1
2
Ibid., 315.
Ibid., 88 et 95.
91
lasnak)1 payé par les prêtres roumains, l’achat du fer pour la fabrication des crampons
(pro fibulis izkaba vocatis)2 nécessaires en charpenterie, de la poix noir (pix nigra vulgo
harcz)3 utilisée pour oindre les armes de combat, etc.
La même pratique d’introduire des mots vulgaires ou populaires dans les textes
latins ou allemands est présente aussi dans les comptes de la ville de Braşov. Ainsi, en
1551, au chapitre des recettes est enregistré, à côté d’un cens régulier (census
ordinarius), un stipendium ou as militare vulgo Zoldgelt4, tandis que, en 1545, sur le
foulage du village de Vulcan est enregistrée une ratio pisturae vulgo Stampen5. Pour être
mieux compris les compteurs utilisent des expressions telles que allodiator vulgo
Mayerer, pecorarius vulgo Botschyn (Botsch, c’est-à-dire baci) pour le berger, Bwra
vulgo koczin, vilosae vestes vulgo koczen, corium bovis ad sandalia sive werpecz, lanae
vulgo scheper etc. pour les vêtements et les chaussures, casei vulgo klotcz keesz, caseus
vulgo klocs kesz ou kasz batschen pour la caillebotte, folles Brÿnze pour les outres
remplies de fromage, lateres tecti vulgo dach cziegel pour la tuile6 etc.
Les exemples susmentionnés en hongrois et en allemand illustrent les manières
différentes d’écrire un mot donné. En d’autres termes, nous nous trouvons en face d’une
grande diversité des graphies. Ainsi, nous avons des formes multiples et différentes ou
au moins archaïques pour ces mots hongrois modernes: beres et berez pour béres, ewz et
eoz pour öz, bÿrsag et byrsag pour birság, fÿst, fyst et fwst (zab) pour füst, budosso pour
bujdosó, wyrraztoo pour virrasztó, bodon pour bödön, kossar pour kosár, czipthethew
pour csiptető, chirkalom pour cirkalom, abrwnch pour abroncs, izkaba pour iszkába, etc.
La situation est la même dans les textes allemands. Les formes archaïques
suivantes peuvent être retenues des exemples mentionnés ci-dessus: Zoldgelt, Stampen,
Mayerer, Botschyn (Botsch), Koczin, Koczen, Werpecz, Scheper, Cziegel, etc.
Une attention particulière méritent les mots roumains strungă (bercail à brebis),
brânză (fromage) şi caş (caillebotte), qui sont écrits dans plusieurs formes en hongrois et
en allemand: ztronga, ztronge, eztrenga, ztrenga; respectivement bronze, brenza, brenze,
Brÿnze et klotcz keesz, klocs kesz et kasz batschen.
On peut dire que la présence des mots hongrois, allemands et roumains dans
l'écriture latine de Transylvanie lui confère une couleur locale, tandis que les paroles de
ces trois langues vulgaires jouent le même rôle pour les écrits de chacun d'entre eux. La
présence des mots et des expressions vernaculaires est expliquée dans les textes. Les
écrivains latins ne pouvaient pas toujours trouver le correspondant latin qu'ils jugaient le
plus approprié et, pour cela, ils ont senti le besoin de clarifier leur propre langue écrite en
empruntant les mots au hongrois ou à l’allemand qui était leur langue maternelle.
Au XVIe siècle, l'orthographe vernaculaire n'existait pas encore en
Transylvanie, ce qui explique pourquoi les scribes ont utilisé les règles de la grammaire
1
Lukinich Imre, “Kővár várának jővedelmi forrássai 1566-ból,” 260; D. Prodan, Iobăgia, 183,
601, 692 et 720.
2
Ibid., 407 et 494.
3
Ibid., 417.
4
Ibid., 628.
5
Quellen zur Geschichte der Stadt Kronstadt in Siebenbürgen, III, 27.
6
Ibidem, I, p.690; II, p.327, 387-388; III, p.27-30, 55-56, 63-64, 470, etc. D. Prodan, Iobăgia,
660–663 et 671.
92
latine pour écrire dans les langues parlées. C’est ce qui explique l’apparition des
inconséquences d’orthographe dans l’écriture des mots populaires. Les prêts sont
latinisés ou écrits avec des différences d'un texte à l'autre, même d’une page à l’autre, en
fonction de la compétence de la personne qui rédige les documents. Il est évident que les
difficultés surgissent lors de la transposition de la langue parlée par l’écrivain dans
l’alphabet latin, conduisant à une pluralité orthographique.
En ce qui concerne les consonnes, plusieurs remarques sont à faire. Dans les
mots d’origine hongroise s est écrit s, z ou ss; sz est réalisé par z, tandis que c est écrit ch
ou cz, respectivement v devient wy. Une pratique similaire est rencontrée dans le cas des
voyelles, où nous avons les mêmes inconséquences. Ainsi la lettre ö est écrite o, ew ou
eo; i est écrite y ou ÿ; ü est graphié ÿ, y ou w; ó est réalisé par oo, o est graphié w et aussi
par o, tandis que le groupe vocalique uj est écrit u, etc. Par conséquent, des orthograhes
différentes cachent le même phonème. La double ou la triple phonétique de certaines
lettres est la preuve qu’on hésitait sur la prononciation exacte des mots écrits. Les
mêmes problèmes sont à supposer dans la prononciation et l’écriture des diphtongues.
Les voyelles sont généralement notées avec ou sans accent, preuve que l’interprétation
phonétique des accents n’était pas connue.
D’autres observations concernent la correctitude et les caractéristiques de
l’écriture latine. Ainsi, sous l’influence de la prononciation courante, les scribes
éliminent les voyelles doubles des terminaisons latines (le génitif relicta Andre au lieu
de Andreae, Georgii et Gregorii sont remplacés par Georgi et Gregori, etc.)1. Dans les
mêmes textes, concernant les calculs des revenus et des dépenses sur le domaine de
Hunedoara, il y a des formes graphiques rarement rencontrées (somma au lieu de
summa, de porcÿs pour de porciis etc.), plusieurs déssaccords grammaticaux des formes
verbales et pronominales, l’utilisation arbitraire des terminaisons adjectivales (comme
dicati-dicate, connumerati-connumerate etc.) 2. Bien sûr, tous ces aspects sont liés à
l'instruction et au niveau culturel des scribes (litterati, dieci) et leur écriture reflète moins
de compétence et d'habileté en latin. Il est vrai que toutes ces graphies inconséquentes et
les terminaisons grammaticales simplifiées, ainsi que l’écriture précipitée et négligente,
réduisent considérablement la lisibilité des textes et rendent difficile leur étude par des
spécialistes. Mais au-delà de ces insuffisances, les écrits domaniaux méritent toute notre
attention pour la richesse des informations et le rôle qu’ils ont joué dans le
développement de l’écriture laïque dans le milieu rural.
Au-delà du vocabulaire, cette constatation est valable pour expliquer d’autres
caractéristiques rédactionnelles de l’écriture des scribes domaniaux. Ceux-ci ne sont pas
d’hommes de lettres et ne recourent pas à des figures de rhétorique, mais ils suivent
strictement un but utile et pratique. Ils prêtent peu d’attention à la construction des
phrases et ils contournent les règles de la composition rhétorique. En d’autres mots
l’écriture des scribes domaniaux se tient à distance des modèles, elle n’est pas soumise à
l’autorité de n’importe quel texte, parce qu’elle favorise une communication soustraite
1
D. Prodan, Domeniul cetăţii Şiria la 1525, 57–58, 96, 100 et 102.
Iosif Pataki, Domeniul Hunedoara, 1–126. Voir aussi Avram Andea, “Banatian Domanial
Records Conscriptions, Inventories and Accounts (14th-17th Centuries),” Transylvanian Review
XXII (2013), N°4, Supplement, 274–283.
2
93
au contrôle. Elle comprend des textes privés produits dans un but pratique et conçus
exclusivement pour les maîtres.
Cette pratique est devenue emblématique pour la pénétration croissante de l’écriture dans la sphère privée et, bien sûr, elle ne peut pas être expliquée en dehors du
contexte social qui l’a généré. On peut cependant constater comment le recours à l’écrit
s’impose peu à peu au XVIe siècle pour des raisons matérielles et pour une gestion plus
efficace des affaires. En conséquence, la diffusion de l’écriture et le rôle croissant des
lettrés dans l’administration domaniale ont entraîné des changements profonds dans la
société, en favorisant la mobilité sociale et le développement culturel.
94
(Re)Producing Violence against Women in Online Spaces
Maria STOLERU1,
Elena-Alis COSTESCU2,
Keywords: domestic violence, discrimination, online users, gender inequality,
legislative changes.
Abstract: Taking into consideration the emergence of the Internet and new computer
technologies and their capacity of creating social alternative spaces, this paper aims at
examining how and if the phenomenon of violence against women is extended from the
offline into the online world. The authors applied descriptive qualitative content analysis
to users’ comments to online articles depicting the new legislative changes in the field of
domestic violence in order to examine how online users negotiate gender, gendered
positions and issues in genderless environments. The two types of discourses advanced
by users with regard to violence against women highlight that gender discrimination has
now a new means of manifestation, namely through online platforms.
E-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]
*
Introduction
The use and impact of the new information technologies can be analyzed at the sociocultural level, given that "any technology represents a cultural invention, in the sense
that technologies bring forth a world; they emerge out of particular cultural conditions
and in turn help to create new social and cultural situations."3 The “new worlds”
advanced through online spaces have been theorized as better alternative realities where
individuals are no longer constrained by social norms and prerequisites in performing
their identities. As users can develop different online personae, social identity’s
signifiers such as race, gender or ethnicity became invisible and neutralized.4 The
opportunity of eliminating visible differences among individuals was consequently
1
This work was supported with the financial support of the Sectoral Operational Programme for
Human Resources Development 2007-2013, co-financed by the European Social Fund, under the
project number POSDRU/107/1.5/S/76841 with the title „Modern Doctoral Studies:
Internationalization and Interdisciplinarity”.
2
This work was supported with the financial support of the Sectoral Operational Programme for
Human Resources Development 2007-2013, co-financed by the European Social Fund, under the
project number POSDRU/107/1.5/S/77946 with the title „Doctorate: an Attractive Research
Career”.
3
Arturo Escobar, “Welcome To Cyberia: Notes on the Anthropology of Cyberculture”, in The
Cybercultures Reader, ed. David John Bell and Barbara M. Kennedy (New York: Routledege,
2000), 56.
4
Davey Winder, Being Virtual. Who you Really are Online (UK: Wiley, 2008).
95
associated with the opportunity of eliminating gender or racial discrimination. The
particular lack of gender, or the play with gendered identities in online spaces, are
elements perceived as having a positive influence on liberation of gendered social
constraints and stereotypes.
Consequently, through this paper we emphasize that gendered stereotypical and
detrimental attitudes towards women are strongly visible in online spaces, despite the
physical gendered absence of the users. How online spaces could or should eradicate
prejudices and stereotypes strongly depends on its users and their already culturallyshaped attitudes and norms. Thus, despite the theoretical emancipator and liberating
effects of the cyberspace, we will observe that
Rather than disappearing when one logs on, the preexisting speech communities
in which interactants operate provide social understandings and practices
through and against which interaction in the new computer-mediated context
develops. The CMC [computer-mediated communication] use always is nested
in the national and international cultures of which its participants are members.1
In this paper, we examine how the cultural tolerance for violence against
women transcends the “offline” world through the computer-mediated communication.
The paper analyzes the online users’ attitudes and their discourse on domestic violence
aiming at providing an explanatory framework on how gender and gendered issues are
negotiated in genderless online spaces. As online-related activities and practices
challenge dichotomies such as real-virtual, we consider it is important to research how
offline attitudes are reflected by the online ones, considering that “the Internet is not
creating new forms of crimes against women (...), but it is creating new ways and means
for crimes to be perpetrated.”2 Moreover, due to the comforting anonymity feature of
cyberspace and the flexible online regulations regarding the freedom of speech, users
may not follow the pattern of expressing social desirable opinions and attitudes towards
sensitive issues, such as violence against women. Since the virtual spaces embed sociocultural practices and virtual practices alike (e.g. anonymity and extensive freedoms), we
consider that it is important to research what type of values and attitudes are constructed
or negotiated into cyberspaces in order not only to observe how prevalent discriminatory
attitudes are, but also to further design new means of changing (or combating)
discrimination. Nonetheless, we strongly consider that the importance of researching the
virtual-real interconnected practices and attitudes correlates with the necessity of
acknowledging the Internet as a cultural and social construction which impacts (and is
impacted back by) the real but technologically mediates lives. In accordance with
Markham, we consider that
As a context of social construction, the Internet is a unique discursive milieu that
facilitates the researcher’s ability to witness and analyze the structure of talk, the
1
Nancy K. Baym, “The Emergence of On-line Community”, in Cybersociety 2.0. Revisiting
Computer-Mediated Communication and Community, ed. Steve G. Jones (Thousand Oaks: Sage
Publications, 1998), 40.
2
Karen Banks, “Leave the Internet Alone”, in Gender Equality and ICT/Internet. APWIN
Journal, 3 (2001): 163.
96
negotiation of meaning and identity (…), and the construction of social structures
as these occur discursively. (…) the linguistic and social structures emerging
through CMC provide the opportunity for researchers to track and analyze how
language builds and sustains social reality.1
In order to research how violence against women is reproduced and perpetuated
in online spaces, we have applied descriptive qualitative content analysis to textual
comments posted in response to online news articles presenting the legislative changes
brought to the domestic violence law. We based our research on the assumption that
socially important events are nowadays characterized by online mediated exposure and
users’ access to visualize and offer feedback (or simply share opinions) to news content.
Furthermore, reflecting on the evolution of the online media, we had in mind that the
audience is also engaged in the news production, surpassing the status of simple
consumer.2 The news articles covered the national (e.g., www.adevarul.ro,
www.libertatea.ro, www.evz.ro), regional (e.g., www.citynews.ro) and local online
media (e.g., www.guraialomitei.com, www.mediasiinfo.ro). The sampling was
purposive, including only those articles referring to the legislation change and its future
consequences for the victims and perpetrators. The news articles were generated by
utilizing Google Search browser and were collected until a saturation level was reached
and information became repetitive. In addition, we have collected all the comments
accompanying the news. Between February and April 2013, we have analyzed 446
comments posted to 57 news articles, from 36 different websites. After comments
analysis and coding, we obtained the following six thematic units that frame users’
attitudes and discourses toward violence against women, as it follows: a) justifications
for supporting violence against women; b) the redundancy and inefficiency of legal
measures against domestic violence; c) awareness on domestic violence serious effects;
d) family as a legitimate violent institution; e) citizens’ political misrepresentation; f) the
orientalization of violence against women.
We engaged with the content of the comments as a reflection of audience’s
attitudes regarding domestic violence. According to the statistics revealed by Internet
World Stats3, 44.1% of the Romanian population was using the Internet in June 2012.
The results of a GfK research on the Romanian Internet users emphasize that men are
using the Internet more often than women: 50% of men and 47% women were using the
Internet in 2012. According to the results of the same study, the individuals with higher
education (89%) and with ages between 15 to 24 years (83%) and 25 to 34 years (71%)
are preponderantly using the Internet.4 We can only assume that most of the users
commenting the news are young men, with higher education, from urban area, affording
an Internet connection or connecting online from the workplace. Yet, as anonymity is an
important impediment in establishing an online sample, in order to avoid undesirable
1
Annette N. Markham, “Internet communication as a tool for qualitative research”, in Qualitative
Research: Theory, Method and Practice, edited by David Silverman (Sage Publications, 2004), 97.
2
Chris Greer, “News Media Criminology”, in The Sage Handbook of Criminological Theory, ed.
Eugene McLaughlin and Tim Newburn (Sage Publications, 2013), 503.
3
Internet World Stats – Usage and Population Statistics, “Internet Users in Europe June 30,
2012”, http://www.internetworldstats.com/stats4.htm#europe.
4
GfK Romania, accessed March 15, 2013, http://www.gfk-ro.com/cgi/fts_search_all.pl.
97
generalizations we prefer not to associate users with a specific gender, age, ethnic or
class profile. Taking into account the interest for the news, we can assume that online
users are in most cases adult persons seeking for information. The Romanian public
mostly reads daily news from national publications such as Click, Libertatea and CanCan 1. The news can be seen directly on the website, or can be accessed via e-mail or
Facebook. Consequently, most users read regularly two-three publications, and most of
the time from the work place. Some of the users are actively involved in commenting the
news and interacting with others on topics they are interested in or have a vehement
point of view, which they need to state. Although their identity is anonymous and their
comments are not targeting specific users or persons, the perpetuation of violence and
secondary victimization of women still manifests at an online, symbolic level.2
As the paper further reveals, online users subscribe to two main types of
discourses on domestic violence against women. The prevalent discourse is focused on
“degendering the problem and gendering the blame”: while men as accountable for
perpetrating violence against women are almost absent from the users’ comments, they
conceptualize “domestic violence in a way that normalizes the victim’s responsibility
while ignoring the role of the abuser and of society.”3 When portraying women as the
only ones responsible for domestic violence, users employ different strategies. Berns has
theorized these strategies aimed at gendering the blame as it follows4:
1) “highlighting women who are abusers” – users comment how men are frequently
subjected by their partners to emotional and social violence, emphasizing that violence
against men is easily overlooked by society and legal institutions. Within our analysis,
this strategy is intertwined with no. 3), namely “critiquing the social tolerance for
women’s violence but not for men’s violence”;
2) “holding female victims responsible for their role in their own victimization” –
women are guilty in the same measure for provoking the abuse, as well as for staying in
violent relationships;
4) “blaming the battered-women advocates” – in our case, the advocates are assimilated
with those politicians who initiated and passed the new law on domestic violence. The
new law has introduced the protection order (which includes the possibility of
evacuating the perpetrator from the house), thus battered-women advocates being seen
as men-haters and severe opponents to the institution of family.
The second discourse, to which users engage, accentuates domestic violence as
a private issue. Presenting the evolution of domestic violence legislation is important
1
Mediafax- “BRAT a lansat rezultatele de audienţă ale SNA obţinute cu noua metodologie a
studiului” (“BRAT released the SNA audience results obtained with the new study methodoloy”),
accessed March 15, 2013, http://www.mediafax.ro/cultura-media/brat-a-lansat-rezultatele-deaudienta-ale-sna-obtinute-cu-noua-metodologie-a-studiului-9234766.
2
Association for Progressive Communications (APC), “Statement to the 57th Session of the CSW
- Violence against women and information and communications technology”, accessed March 15,
2013:
http://www.genderit.org/sites/default/upload/csw_apc_statement_final_version_0.pdf.
3
Nancy Berns, “Degendering the Problem and Gendering the Blame: Political Discourse on
Women and Violence”, in Gender and Society, 15(2), (Sage Publications, 2001): 269, accessed
March 20, 2013, doi: 10.1177/089124301015002006.
4
Berns, “Degendering the Problem and Gendering the Blame”, 269.
98
because it recognizes the phenomenon as a social problem.1 During the communist
regime, the Romanian state expressed little interest for actions with no direct political
implications. Women’s right to contest domestic violence was legally impossible. Until
2000, there was no legal recognition of domestic violence crime, this form of abuse
being addressed through the Criminal Code. By adopting the Law no. 197/2000,
amending and supplementing the Criminal Code, measures and penalties have been
adopted for domestic violence cases. This way, legal recognition of domestic violence
was achieved. Additionally, from 1969 and 2001, article no. 197 of the Romanian
Criminal Code was offering the parties involved in a rape trial the opportunity of
reconciliation through marriage. If the victim and the rapist (or one of the rapists in a
gang rape trial) were deciding on getting married, then the legal charges against the
rapist were dropped (applicable also to the others involved in the gang rape, if that was
the case). Hence, violence against women was naturalized and normalized by the
institutions of the law and through the social institution of the family.
Both discourses, the one related to degendering the problem while gendering
the blame and the one concerning domestic violence as a private issue, are detrimental to
women’s rights and to coherent social action for combating domestic violence. Online
attitudes and discourses, supplemented by inflammatory and abusive comments (for
example, comments including motivation for beating or new tips on how to beat your
partner without leaving visible marks) illustrate the Romanian online environment as
being violent and male-dominated. Rather than being a safe or supporting environment
for all users, or rather than having a mind-changing effect on its users, “cyberspace can
provide freedoms of various sorts, but they are designed and constrained by powerful
structured forces of assumptions and goals; they are not equally friendly environments
or opportunities for everyone.”2
1. Domestic Violence: Facts, Statistics and Legal Measures
Violence against women represents one of the most serious human rights abuses, with
devastating effects on the victims' physical, psychological, emotional and economic
well-being. Commonly perceived as an intimate problem, attitudes on domestic violence
are oriented towards a resolution within the same private sphere. Eliminating society's
responsibility, denying the problem as a social one and blaming the victim for remaining
in an abusive relationship represent tools for separating the public and the private, the
intimate and the institutional involvement.3
1
Narcisa Mariana Radu, Júlia Adorjáni, Traian Morar, “Prevederi legislative cu privire la violenţa
domestică”, in În spatele uşilor: Violenţa domestică şi sistemul de justiţie, eds. Imola Antal, Maria
Roth, Creazzo Giuditta (“Legal Provisions Regarding Domestic Violence” in Behind the doors:
Domestic violence and the justice system) (Cluj-Napoca: Presa Universitară Clujeană, 2012), 35.
2
Cheris Kramarae, “Feminist Fictions of Future Technology”, in Cybersociety 2.0. Revisiting
Computer-Mediated Communication and Community, ed. Steve G. Jones (Thousand Oaks: Sage
Publications, 1998), 113.
3
Elizabeth Schneider, Feminist Lawmaking (New Haven and London: Yale University Press,
2000), 231.
99
International statistics have revealed worrying data concerning domestic
violence victims. 1 in 4 women is a victim of domestic violence during her lifetime1.
40% to 70% female homicide victims are murdered by their (ex-) partners in Australia,
Canada, Israel, South Africa and the United States2. Moreover, the risk of physical and
emotional violence escalation increases when women try to exit the relationship or when
they are already separated from their brutal partners. 76% to 95% women were
victimized and harassed by their ex-partners after the separation3 and 75% of the violent
acts are potentially lethal4. 36% to 39% women were victims of continuous violence
after the separation.
Findings of the first national research on domestic violence and violence at the
workplace concluded that in Romania domestic violence "occurs frequently, and marks
everyday life".5 Thus, in a period of 12 months prior to the research, approximately
800,000 women were victims of various forms of violence. Data provided by the
National Agency for Family Protection6 showed an increase in domestic violence cases,
from 8,104 in 2004 to 11,534 in 2008. 3,270 cases have been reported by the same
institution in the first trimester of 2009.
In response to the joint efforts of nongovernmental organizations, women’s
rights activists and the awareness raising campaign initiated by the TV channel Acasă
TV in September 2011,7 in May 2012, Law no. 25/2012 was adopted with the purpose
of amending and supplementing Law no. 217/2003 on preventing and combating
domestic violence. The draft law was initiated by the Democrat Liberal Party
parliamentarians, deputies of national minorities, members of the National Union for
1
Council of Europe, “Council of Europe Convention on preventing and combating violence against
women and domestic violence” (2002): 2, accessed March 15, 2013, http://www.coe.int/t/dghl/
standardsetting/equality/03themes/violence-against women/Exp_memo_Conv_VAW_en.pdf.
2
Etienne G. Krug, Linda L. Dahlberg, James A. Mercy, Anthony B. Zwi and Rafael Lozano,
“World report on violence and health”, World Health Organization, (2002): 93, accessed March
15, 2013, http://whqlibdoc.who.int/publications/2002/9241545615_eng.pdf.
3
Cathy Humphreys and Ravi K. Thiara, “Neither justice nor protection: women’s experiences of
post-separation violence”, in Journal of Social Welfare and Family Law, 25(3) (2003): 199,
accessed January 10, 2013, doi: 10.1080/0964906032000145948.
Tina Hotton, “ Spousal violence after marital separation”, Juristat- Canadian Center for Justice
Statistics- Statistics Canada- Catalogue no. 85-002-XIE 21, 7 (2001): 6, accessed January 10,
2013,http://violenceresearch.ca/sites/default/files/HOTTON%20(2001)%20SPOUSAL%20VIOL
ENCE%20AFTER%20MARITAL%20SEPARATION.pdf.
4
Ruth E. Fleury, Cris M. Sullivan and Deborah Bybee, “When ending the relationship does not
end the violence. Experiences of Violence by Former Partners”, in Violence Against Women, 6
(12), (2000): 1363, accessed February 10, 2013, doi: 10.1177/10778010022183695.
5
Centrul Parteneriat pentru Egalitate (Partnership for Equality Center), Cercetarea naţională
privind violenţa în familie şi la locul de muncă” (National Research on Family and Workplace
Violence), (2003): 3, accessed February 12, 2013,
http://www.cpe.ro/romana/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=27&Itemid=48.
6
Agenţia Naţională pentru Protecţia Familiei (National Agency for Family Protection), “Date
statistice înregistrate de agenţie în perioada 2004-2009” (Statistics recorded by the Agency
between 2004 and 2009), accessed May 15, 2009, www.anpf.ro.
7
The petition created and promoted by Acasă TV gathered 74.000 signatures and was submitted
to the Romanian Parliament in December 2011.
100
Romania's Progress and a Liberal deputy being adopted by the Senate on 9th of
November, 2010. However, the draft was placed on the agenda of the Chamber only on
5th of December, 2011. The law was adopted by the Chamber of Deputies in February
2012 and promulgated by the Romanian President on the occasion of the International
Women’s Day – March 8, 2012. The normative act amending the law on domestic
violence was published in the Official Gazette no. 165 on March 13, 2012, and entered
into force on May 12, 2012. The law was promulgated after the armed attack of a former
police officer, Gheorghe Vlădan, who deadly shot his wife and a colleague of hers, and
injured other six persons on March 5, 2012.1
The most important changes provided by the new law consist of the extension
of the definition of the family member, now including the ex-husbands and the persons
who lived together in an intimate relationship. The necessity of informing victims about
the criminal prosecution body and where they can file a complaint, their right to free
legal advice and assistance, their procedural rights, are alike elements of novelty and
improvement. Moreover, the new law stipulates the implementation of the protection
order, one or several of the following measures, obligations or prohibitions being on the
options’ list:
1. temporary evacuation of the perpetrator from the shared home;
2. return of the victim and her children at home;
3. the right of the perpetrator to receive a part of the common household only
when it can be shared;
4. a minimum distance from the victim, her children, relatives, home,
workplace or educational institution;
5. prohibition towards the perpetrator from moving to certain neighbourhoods
or defined areas where the victim is developing her or his activities;
6. prohibition of any contact with the victim;
7. ordering the abuser to hand over to the police any owned weapon;
8. custody of the couple’s minor children or deciding their place of residence.
Tne of the flaws of the new law is the lack of procedural norms necessary for
the implementation of the provisions2. In the absence of clearly defined implementation
procedures, the new legal framework on domestic violence could be described as an
institutional attempt to prevent and combat domestic violence. From May 2012 to
January 2013 only 1009 requests for the protection order have been registered3, a very
small number compared to the national prevalence of the phenomenon.4 Moreover, the
1
News title: “Preşedintele Băsescu a promulgat legea privind prevenirea violenţei în familie”
(“ The Law against domestic violence promulgated by President Băsescu”), available online at:
http://www.hotnews.ro/stiri-esential-11695565-presedintele-traian-basescu-promulgat-legeaprivind-prevenirea-violentei-familie.htm.
2
Law 25/2012 on amending and supplementing Law no. 217/2003 on preventing and combating
domestic violence), Published in the Official Gazette, Part I no. 165 of 13 March 2012.
3
Asociaţia Transcena în colaboare cu alte ONG-uri române (Transcena Association in
collaboration with other Romanian NGOs), “Studiu la nivel naţional cu privire la implementarea
ordinului de protecţie – Legea 25 din 2012” (National study on the Implementation of the
Protection Order - Law 25 of 2012), (2013): 8, accessed March, 20, 2013, http://www.alegromania.eu/images/studiu_ordin_protectie/studiu_national_ordine_protectie.pdf.
4
Partnership for Equality Center, “National Research on Family and Workplace Violence”, 3.
101
fact that the law “improves” the victim’s situation through more severe, yet hardly
applicable measures and punishments against the perpetrator highlights the democratic
deficit with regard to solving women’s problems and protect their rights in Romania.
The following parts of this paper will reveal how users approach the new legal
provisions and violence against women as a phenomenon. As a response to unreliable
legislative reforms in this field, and as subscribers to a socio-cultural framework of
violence against women tolerance, individuals show low levels of confidence towards
challenging or combating violence against women
2. Her Fault, Her Responsibility and His Absence: Online Discourse on Gendering
the Blame and Degendering the Problem
Only 68% of Romanians consider that domestic violence is inadmissible and it should
be punished by the law, in comparison to Spain, where 91% of the respondents believe
the same.1 Considering the above, we can state that the perceived causes of violent
behaviour influence individuals' attitudes towards punishments.2 Consequently, this
should lead to a higher level of association between provoking the partner and
justification of the abuse. According to the victim blaming theory, the victim is
responsible partly or totally for the suffered abuse.3 This theory states that individuals
accept “correction” for bad behaviour, hence strengthening the beliefs according to
which domestic violence represents a justified and deserved punishment.4 As we will
further observe, users’ discourses underline how blaming the victim is a popular strategy
of declining the responsibility of the abuser, as well as of dismissing domestic violence
as a serious gendered issue.
 Justifying violence against women: provocations, manipulations, and lies
Violence against women is considered a justified behaviour by 11.43% (51) of the users
commenting the news regarding the change of the domestic violence law. Women are
described as being financially motivated and interested when they enter an intimate
relation. Therefore, users consider that violence against women is fully justified as a
correction brought to their materialist nature. Consequently, the amendments to the law
regarding the protection order are presented in several comments as perfect opportunities
for women to provoke men to beat them, so they can steal their properties while playing
the victim role: many women challenge you to beat them in order to take your house;
[she] will provoke you, and obviously, you will beat her. At the same time, legislation
1
European Commission, “Special Eurobarometer 344. Domestic Violence against Women
Report”, (2010): 45, accessed February 20, 2013,
http://ec.europa.eu/public_opinion/archives/ebs/ebs_344_en.pdf
2
Pamela A. Brand and Phyllis A. Anastasio, “Violence-Related Attitudes and Beliefs: Scale
Construction and Psychometrics”, in Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 21 (2006): 858, accessed
February 10, 2013, doi: 10.1177/0886260506288934.
3
Silvina Ituarte, “Victim Blaming Theory”, in Encyclopedia of Domestic Violence, ed. Nicky A.
Jackson (New York: Routledge Taylor& Francis Group, 2007), 715.
4
Rosalie Kern, Terry M. Libkuman and Stacey L. Temple, “Perceptions of Domestic Violence
and Mock Jurors' Sentencing Decisions”, Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 22 (2007): 1519,
accessed at February 10, 2013, doi: 10.1177/0886260507306476.
102
changes, such as the protection order, are seen as the main cause for future different
crimes against women, and even murder cases as an act of revenge for “stolen”
properties: This is incitation to murder! Additionally, some users consider that women
will continue to be beaten by their partners, as the formers will have the opportunity to
compensate their acts with money. Work a lot, save money and when you feel like
“having fun” (meaning when you are in the mood to beat her up), just pay the woman
and she will not go to the police. According to these users, women will lie regarding the
“real” abuse, and their false declarations will constitute a future cause for men
imprisonment: There are some women, who will lie when testifying against their men.
Users portray women as annoying, hysterical, stupid, irritating, caviller, lazy,
liar and rude, talking all the time with their potty mouths, and provoking men to use
violence against them. The abuse against women is seen by some users as a method to
calm them down. Women are also presented as having a promiscuous sexual behaviour,
being unfaithful to their partners, and thus deserving to be beaten: they are really asking
for it.
Some users blame the victims for staying with the abusers over a long period of
time, instead of leaving. Their partners are pathologized in some comments, being
described as men with animal features, beasts or alpha males, who cannot refrain
themselves from beating their partners. In these comments, the abuse is well deserved
because women choose those men: lot of stupid women who are staying many years
with the jackass they chose, ignoring at the same time men who wouldn’t hurt them.
Some users describe women as being mentally ill, in need for special help, since they are
not able to leave their abusers: A psychiatric help is required for those sluts that insist to
remain for years with the savages who beat them daily.
According to some users, men will beat their partners even worse in order to
“celebrate” the promulgation of the new law: Today I will beat my slut just because...
F*** off with your anti-men laws! Other users confess that they usually hit their partners
and some of them even present methods of beating women without leaving marks (these
actions are qualified by international law as torture): hitting the woman with sand bags;
drowning her in the bathtub until she becomes unconscious; hanging her in a nail and
beating her soles with a rod, etc. Some users promote moderation in the use of violence
against women as a proper behaviour.
Reiterating the above-mentioned comments, we can observe that justificatory
attitudes of violence are constructed in accordance with three common stereotypes about
domestic violence victims: they are provocative, promiscuous, and good liars. In other
words, women are simply untrustworthy as victims since the responsibility in the abuse
is only theirs. Coker1 theorizes that the social tolerance of domestic violence is based on
the common denial of the negative consequences of this phenomenon. However, this
tolerance is rooted in the mechanism of gender inequality, which allows and perpetuates
violence against women.
1
Donna Coker, ‘‘Enhancing Autonomy for Battered Women: Lessons from Navajo
Peacemaking’’, in UCLA Law Review vol. 47, no. 1, (1999): 39–41, accessed at March 10, 2013,
http://www.law.miami.edu/faculty-administration/pdf/donna-coker/enhancing-autonomy-forbattered-women.pdf.
103
 The redundancy and inefficiency of legal measures against domestic violence
A national survey conducted in 2012 revealed that 68% of the respondents do not trust
the Romanian criminal justice system, while 58% of the respondents have low and very
low trust in the police officers and judges.1 Low confidence in public institutions and
political representatives (same study highlights that 40% of the respondents trust the
Parliament) is the result of inefficient government programs, economic instability and
“gross, endemic corruption”, all these being key features of pseudo-democracies.2 These
levels of reduced confidence are easily observed in the online comments: users consider
that no major social changes will be accomplished through the implementation of the
new domestic violence law. They focus their comments on the flaws and presumed
inefficiency of the law, rather than on the problem of violence against women and their
role as citizens in combating and reporting this problem. The law is also perceived as a
measure of discrimination against men. The concern/fear that men as victims in peril of
losing their houses and being convicted by a law that favours women over men is only in
a small degree complemented by concerns on the victims’ position and their violated
human rights.
The majority of the users consider that the new law against domestic violence
will produce no change: women will continue to suffer aggressions and perpetrators will
not be sanctioned. This opinion is backed up by offering several examples of breaches
observed within the justice system, such as insufficient number of employees, work
overload or the inefficiency and corruption of some professionals. Moreover, several
users mention that the police will still not intervene, despite the new legal provisions. I
bet that by tomorrow at least 20-30 women will be assaulted in Romania and aggressors
will not be sanctioned. Or nobody will find out about them – one user comments.
Another user mentions that until the court decides something, you can be killed. These
opinions confirm the results of a press and justice monitoring research project, according
to which there is a failure to solve cases within a reasonable time within the Romanian
justice system.3
The new law is considered an abuse against men by taking them from their
homes and throwing them in the street, in the rain, in trenches, in temperatures of -20
Celsius degrees, without medication, without the possibility of taking with him the most
elementary things! Apparently, due to women’s deviant and provocative behavior and
the new law’s provisions, men are at risk of becoming homeless or even show up dead.
Other users mention that this is a violation of the constitutional right to property: Totally
unconstitutionally and illegal (see Constitution). Another user mentions: explain to us
the method by which an owner may be prevented from having access to his own
1
“După Referendum. Efecte ale Crizei Politice” (After Referendum. The Political Crisis Effects),
Institutul Român pentru Evaluare şi Strategie (The Romanian Institute for Evaluation and
Strategy), accesed at March 12, 2013, http://www.ires.com.ro/articol/210/efectele-crizei-politiceasupra-increderii--n-institutii,-profesii-%C8%99i-partenerii-romaniei
2
Larry Diamond, “Assesing Global Democratization a Decade After the Communist Collapse”,in
Polsci, Romanian Journal of Political Science, 2 (2) (2002): 5.
3
Adela Dinu, Angelina Tufariu, Marian Odangiu, Corina Onescu, Carmen Tufariu, Cristina Trifa,
Ştefan Mihăilescu, Alin Gavreliuc, “Woman’s Rights between Use and Abuse- Monitoring the
Press and the Local and Regional Justice”, (Timişoara: 2006), 109.
104
property, considering the Constitutional rights? According to the provisions of the Law
25/2012, police officers have the legal permission to enter the family premises only for
the execution of the protection order. Additionally, the Romanian Constitution states that
police officers have the permission to enter the victims’ house for “removing a risk to
someone’s life, physical integrity, or person’s assets” (article 27).
Violence against men perpetrated by women is brought into discussion, the
cases being described as many and hidden as men are ashamed to report the abuse: I
know so many cases where men don’t even have the permission to look around, why
cannot the roles be reversed? Think about it! Even though the law doesn’t refer
explicitly to women as victims, and it is presented in rather gender - neutral terms, most
of the users point out that this law is a legal form of discrimination against men. The
inclusion of the emotional and psychological abuse as forms of domestic violence is
perceived as problematic. Considering the difficulty in proving these crimes, users fear
the new provisions will provide some women the perfect legal tools to frame
“victimizing” scenarios. Western states (such as United States of America, Sweden or
Canada) are perceived as having biased and exaggerated laws for women protection,
which offer no opportunity for men to defend themselves against accusations: in the
USA, there are thousands of men destroyed by false accusations of rape or abuse.
Conversely, users who agree with the aggressors’ punishment, consider that in
this way the perpetrators will be taught a lesson: Abusive husbands should be sent to jail
for at least a week or two, in order to come to their senses. Other users advocate an
increase in punishments so that perpetrators can be intimidated. There is another
category of users who consider that abusive partners should experience the same
treatment they are applying to their victims: I think that only beating them until they turn
black and blue you can teach them a lesson or aggressors must be sentenced to death.
Some users consider the protection order will not constrain the perpetrators
from abusing their partners. Other users emphasize how police officers will be
overloaded with work and that they don’t own enough authority in order to act
immediately. Users further propose alternative punishments, such as community service,
considering that convicts do not change their behaviour as prisons are not positive
environments. Still, a marginal comment emphasizes the fact that education on human
rights and dignities could represent a solution for combating domestic violence.
The idea of women leaving their homes and going to shelters with their children
is rejected in some comments, due to the material and emotional costs implied. In 2008
in Romania, there were 56 shelters and a total of 11.534 beneficiaries.1 The evacuation
of the aggressor is also rejected as there are no location alternatives for them. Due to the
high possibility that the aggressors will stay around the house and harass the victim,
users observe that the outcome may be unsatisfactory: and where will the husband go
with a restriction order? Where will he sleep? On the streets? No way! He will
accommodate himself in front of the door until his wife will take him back in the house.
These comments reflect the reality: accommodation centres for family abusers do not
1
The Ministry of Labour, “The Evolution of the Domestic Violence Phenomenon” (2009:172173), accessed at March 12, 2013,
http://www.mmuncii.ro/pub/imagemanager/images/file/Statistica/Buletin%20statistic/2009/famili
e1_65.pdf.
105
exist in Romania. The new law mentions day care centres for abusers’ assistance, but
these centres do not exist yet (excepting a few nongovernmental programmes).
The criminologist James Messerschmidt suggested that in order “to curb crime
we do not need to expand repressive state measures, but we do need to reduce gender
inequalities.”1 We consider “repressive state measures” equally important along with
engaged political actions aimed at combating gender inequality. Individuals
acknowledge the existence and the extent of domestic violence against women. Yet,
they consider that the law is discriminatory to men because it provides more severe
punishments for a serious crime and it grants the victim enhanced protection against the
perpetrator. When women’s rights protection is perceived as dangerous and challenging
the masculine status quo, it is easily observed that (male) users still consider women as
inferior, second-hand citizens whose rights and dignity are not equal to theirs.
 Cry for help – violence effects on victims
Several cases of domestic violence are described in the articles and comments. These
examples are portrayed as desperate situations in need for help and accentuate the
trauma of the victim or their reasons for continuing the abusive relationship. None of
these comments have received responses from other users. Similar to the real world,
violence effects and victims’ stories were ignored. Stoltenberg observes that the
“unconsciousness of ethical accountability is a core component of the masculinity that a
lot of men grow up believing they should strive for.”2 But ethical accountability towards
the victims should not only be apprehended by perpetrators, but also by men and women
who chose to ignore what is happening with their neighbours, friends or relatives. The
lack of responses to women’s stories show that their cry for help in online spaces (other
than those precisely dedicated to women’s rights and issues) remain unheard and the
opportunities of empowerment are reduced.
These comments belong to victims or to persons aware of the abuses of other
persons. The lack of police involvement is presented as a security breach for the victims
in receiving real protection against violence: me and my 4 year-old daughter are victims
of domestic violence and I think this law is just formal, because the police is not helping
at all. […] I have pressed charges against him, and the police call me a drama queen. I
wonder if they expect to find me dead. Absent or inefficient interventions reiterated in
these comments do confirm the results of feminist studies regarding the criminal justice
system’s improper approach on domestic violence cases, and the system’s failure in
protecting the victims.3
Some comments provide e-mail addresses of users who need to be contacted
and receive information and advice regarding their situation. Other users are just
exposing the violence they endured while being in a relationship with their ex-partners,
expressing their feelings of relief and peace for not being exposed to danger anymore.
1
James Messerschmidt, Masculinities and Crime (Totowa, N.J.: Rowman and Littlefield, 1993), 185.
John Stoltenber, Refusing to be a Man. Essays on Sex and Justice (London: UCL Press, 2000), 179.
3
Melbourne F. Hovell, Arlene G. Seid and Sandy Liles, “Evaluation of a Police and Social
Services Domestic Violence Program: Empirical Evidence Needed to Inform Public Health
Policies”, Violence against Women, 12 (2006): 155, accessed February 10, 2013, doi:
10.1177/1077801205277723.
2
106
Women’s reasons for staying in violent relationships are also mentioned in
user’s comments: keeping the children together with their father, the promises of
change, and the shame that everyone will know their drama. He came to me and he said
he has changed, that he will stop drinking and hitting me. For the sake of the child, I got
back to him, so the child can have a father. (…) He stayed sober two weeks. After that,
the drinking and beatings were back. According to specialists working with victims,
there is a correlation between the duration of the relationship and the difficulty of
separation from the abuser. Children and/or common assets make the separation
decision even harder. We need to mention that many victims want to put an end to
violence while maintaining their relationship.1 Lack of housing options, financial
resources and unemployment are the most recurrent leaving impediments.2
Comments also present the long term perpetuated emotional and psychological
effects of domestic violence: It has been years since I divorced, and I currently live
abroad, but I am still sleeping with the TV or with the light on. Threats from ex-partners
are other problems faced by victims: frankly, it is awful to hear 50 times a day: if you do
not get back to me, I will kill you! After the separation, motivation for harassment and
abuse stems from the fact that the aggressor observes he no longer detains control over
his ex-partner (and children), and he tries to reinforce his power through amplifying his
violent behaviour and through stalking.3
 The uncivilized society and orientalization of violence
Comments within this category emphasize that domestic violence is a problem in our
society, where Romanian brutes grow up as violence victims and become abusers. Some
users mention that the lack of civilization is specific for this country, characterizing
Romania as one of the countries where domestic violence has a very high prevalence,
with a lagging medieval mentality and lack of societal reforms, where human rights are
violated, and a country where rudeness and the tribal lifestyle of gypsies are models.
Switzerland is given as a model of good practice in the matter of combating domestic
violence. We observe how the causes of this phenomenon are assigned either to the lack
of civilization of the country and its medieval mentality, or to the ethnic minorities who
are seen as deviant and negatively influencing the behavior of the majority. The
degrading society, in the absence of leading examples for children and adults, is
considered another cause of violence. Two users consider that the Orthodox Church and
its anti-women discourse are a cause of violence against women and children through
their dismissing discourse and justification of violence, thus proposing the outlaw of this
barbarian and primitive church.
1
Rosa Logar, From good interventions to good cooperation- The DAPHNE PROJECT- Bridging
Gaps, (Vienna, 2006), 22, accessed February 15, 2013,
http://www.wavenetwork.org/sites/default/files/homepage_bg_manual_fromgoodinterventionstog
oodcooperation _0.pdf.
2
Deborah K. Anderson and Daniel G. Saunders, “Leaving an Abusive Partner: An Empirical
Review of Predictors, the Process of Leaving, and Psychological Well-Being”, Trauma Violence
Abuse 4 (2003): 185, accessed March 10, 2013, doi: 10.1177/1524838002250769.
3
Peter G. Jaffe, Nancy K. D. Lemon and Samantha E. Poisson, Child Custody & Domestic Violence
– A Call for Safety and Accountability (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2003), 9.
107
The abusers are considered savages, drunks, scamps, cads, mentally ill
individuals, sadists, animals and worse than animals, ancestral individuals, monsters,
who will not react positively to anything, and who are treating their victims as animals
and servants. The conceptualization of domestic violence perpetrators as pathological
individuals also correlates with degendering views: since they are “incurable”, they
cannot be socially perceived as responsible for their acts.
The adoption of the new law is seen as a proof of overcoming the Islam
condition of the woman: this means that we are out of Islam, where the woman has no
value. We will apply the law for the following 200 years for Romania to be finally able
to reach civilization. The association of domestic violence with the Islam ignores many
factors, which are contributing to the Muslim violence against women together with
different schools of interpretation of the Qur’an, the Profet’s excerpts, traditions and
shari’a. According to one school of interpretation, the words from Qur’an were
misinterpreted and mistranslated, the idribuhunna meaning wife separation in crisis
situation, and not wife beating.1
These comments denote how users tend to orientalize violence against women:
inefficient domestic violence legislation and mentalities supporting and promoting
violence are expected to be common in uncivilized, barbaric countries, not in a Europe
Union member state. A civilized society protects its citizens, while Romania fails to
accomplish this democratic goal, along with third-world countries. As scholars
theorized, “this discursive violence storage process produces imaginary violent (violently
imaginary) geographies, (non-European?) alterities and is inherently colonialist and
Orientalist.”2 Associated with elements like delinquency, insanity, poverty and violence
against women, the Oriental identity is described as best as unusual, weak and
underdeveloped, considered a problem that must be solved and taken over.3 Moreover,
“(…) the arbitrarity with which violent, non-European identities, gendered, ethicized
'deposits' of violence creation are constructed is opposed 'only' by the superficiality with
which the European identity is constructed as a symbol of combating violence against
women.”4
This type of discourse focused on women’s guilt and men’s irresponsibility
highlights how domestic violence is perpetuated through undermining attitudes toward
victims / women. Not surprisingly in a culture of violence, the man as the abuser is
rather absent from users’ statements: the process of blaming the victim is obsessively
focused on her behaviour, her fault, her decision to stay. As Kimmel notices, the
“invisible privilege”5 of masculinity places women in oppressed positions of victims and
1
Nawal H. Ammar, “Wife Battery in Islam: A Comprehensive Understanding of Interpretations”,
Violence Against Women, 13 (2007): 523-524, accessed March 15, 2013, doi:
10.1177/1077801207300658.
2
Andra Mirona Dragotesc, (Non)European institutional and identity constructions in
(re)presentations of violence against women in Romania, PhD Thesis Summary, (2012): 21,
accessed April, 10, 2013, http://doctorat.ubbcluj.ro/sustinerea_publica/sustineri_teze/?let=D
3
Edward Said, “Latent and Manifest Orientalism” in Contemporary Sociological Thought:
Themes and Theories, ed. Sean P. Hier (Toronto, Ontario: Canadian Scholars’ Press Inc.), 427.
4
Dragotesc, (Non) European institutional and identity constructions, 36.
5
Michael S. Kimmel, The Gendered Society (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000).
108
sole responsible for males’ behaviour and actions. Pathologizing femininity and
women’s provocative/promiscuous behaviour is becoming a way of reinforcing the idea
that women deserve it, while male violence against women is assumed as normal,
natural and, at the same time, a normalizing method of womanhood’s deviance.
The second type of discourse observed in our analysis addresses family as a
core value of the Romanian society. Since domestic violence happens within the family,
the former is envisaged as normal. Gelles notices that “our desire to idealize family life
is partly responsible for a tendency to either not see family and intimate violence or to
condone it as being necessary and an important part of raising children relating to
spouses, and conducting other family transactions.”1 However, we have noticed users do
not idealize family life as much as they idealize the extended powers conferred to the
husband over his wife through marriage.
3. The family crisis discourse
Family appears to be a very important Romanian social institution. As the basic unit of
society, the family, in its traditional or nuclear form, exclusively heterosexual (since gay
marriage is illegal in Romania) is perceived as a socio-political-cultural promoted
central value. Therefore, the concept of femininity is still associated with notions such as
marriage, family and motherhood – “the attitudes and conceptions on women are
fundamentally inter-linked with notions about marriage, family, household, children
(…)”2 – while the concept of masculinity is associated with power, protectiveness and,
as we will further observe, violence.
Another shot to the family, the only institution able to provide people’s
independence from the rapacious and aggressive state, from the aggressive financial
institutions after the well known "divide and conquer"! The provisions of the new law
challenge the family unity. According to some users, we will assist more often to family
breakups. Meanwhile, the number of marriages will decrease by discouraging those men
who are willing to marry, together with a decrease in the birth rate: In this way, no silly
will ever marry! You shall seek for positive birth rate, welfare and happiness! In family,
like in society and politics, there must be a leader! […] We are heading to matriarchy
and families composed by mothers and children! All these opinions ignore the victim’s
right to a life free of violence in any of its forms and point out that marriage is not an
equal partnership, but an institution where men are entitled to exercise violence.
There is a common belief among the users according to which a woman
deserves legal protection as long as she is abused by others, by strangers. Whatever
happens in the family is legitimate and should not be treated as a legal matter.
1
Richard J. Gelles, Intimate Violence in Families (Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications, 1997), 1.
Herietta L. Moore, Feminism şi Antropologie, (Feminism and Anthropology) (Cluj-Napoca:
Editura Fundatiei Desire, 2005), 39.
2
109
Aleksandra Chaushova, Stage I, 2011, pencil on paper, 25 x 32,6 cm
 In whose interest? Political representatives vs. Citizens
Political decisions and actions are not gender-blind, and the national representation of
women is currently approximated to 11.5%: from 588 parliamentarians, only 68 are
women. Research conducted in Central and Eastern Europe’ post socialist countries has
shown that “the absence of a visible feminist culture, movement, and discourse in post
socialist societies robs élite political women of arguments that could directly challenge
the male-gendered world of politics and provide space for the articulation of women’s
interests in the political sphere”.1 Users did not expect politicians to position themselves
differently to gendered issues, and to be the main voice on women’s problems and
1
Yvonne Galligan and Sara Clavero, ”Prospects for Women's Legislative Representation in
Postsocialist Europe: The Views of Female Politicians”, Gender and Society, 22(2) (Sage
Publications, 2008): 168, accessed September 12, 2010, doi: 10.1177/0891243207312268.
110
needs. The fact that the new law approaches a crime mainly perpetrated by men against
women offended users and led them conclude the legal provisions as illegitimate.
Many users present the adoption of legislative changes regarding the domestic
violence as the expression of Traian Băsescu’s campaign (Romania’s president), and of
the political party he used to represent, the Democrat-Liberal Party. This was probably a
political declaration because he - the Superman - will come to rescue them [the women],
is one's user opinion. Other users are outraged by the association of the political
campaign with the tragedy occurred at Perla Salon in Bucharest: Was this tragedy
needed, so that our distinguished president could move a finger? He thinks that after
dozens, or thousands of people had died, partially because of the negligence of
authorities, he will clean his sins, and gain some more imagined popularity if he signs
this document, after so many years of presidency? Following the same political
argument, some users consider that parliamentarians' reactions would not have been so
delayed, if this kind of incident had happened to some of their relatives.
The comments also emphasize users' discontent regarding the corruption and
lack of president’s achievement, demanding his resignation: the most beautiful present
on 8th of March would be Băsescu’s resignation, altogether with the dissolution of his
former political party: Death to the orange chupacabras! [Orange is the colour of the
Democrat-Liberal Party]. The comments also refer to the corruption of the entire
political class, in which the population lost trust: you all steal from the Romanian public
budget, regardless of the political colour. The president is accused in 13 comments that
he beats his wife, Maria Băsescu, issue that is perceived as unfair by some of the users,
since he will not be sanctioned according to the provisions of the law. Nevertheless, this
information is unproven; there is no evidence that the Romanian president is abusing his
wife. Other users recall former situations in which the president used offensive words
against women: the great defender of women, who forgot he was naming them "pussies",
"dirty gypsies" etc. How much shabbiness can this sinister character store?
Cristina Pocora, one of the female politician initiators of the new legislation
project is attacked in two sexist comments reproaching the lack of her life experience,
and the negative consequences of the law against family unity. In the same manner,
Raluca Turcan (another female politician initiator of the law) is advised, first of all, to
get a husband in order to be legitimate in initiating these types of laws.
Kimmel states that1 “violence against women is more common in those
households in which power is concentrated in the hands of husband” and as we have
observed, users claim that in a family the man must be the leader. Claiming that
domestic violence is a private matter and should not be subjected to legal regulations
underlines “society’s acceptance and perpetuation of that violence [that] helps maintain
it and make it difficult to control or eliminate.”2 The lack of confidence in legal
institutions and the traditional family values perpetuation, according to which the family
is sacred regardless of the abuses, are factors which constrain women in reporting the
domestic violence acts. Furthermore, as long as the problem is ignored by others or
covered by the victim, it may conduct to violence escalation. As researchers have
1
Michael S. Kimmel, The Gendered Society (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 261.
Bell Hooks, Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center (Cambridge, MA: South End Press,
2000), 120.
2
111
theorized, “men often kill wives after lengthy periods of prolonged physical violence
accompanied by other forms of abuse and coercion.”1 If protection of the family
institution does not involve protection of its members, then the concept of family
represents an oppressive discursive category against women’s well-being.
4. Conclusions
The results of our research support the perspective according to which the structural
inequalities are transferred into virtual platforms from the offline social life.2 The two
main discourses identified within the comments of the users, degendering the violence
and gendering the blame and domestic violence as a private issue, are largely supporting
and perpetuating a tolerant framework for violence against women. A third discourse,
sustaining women’s empowerment, is marginal, illustrating through very few comments
the need for a law that protects the victim and promotes her rights.
Blaming the victims and justifying violence are two main tendencies identified
in the users’ discourses. Violence is also justified within this discourse through the
pathologization of perpetrators and the orientalization of violence, considering it specific
to the Romanian retrograde culture and mentality. The attitude considering perpetrators
as responsible for their violent behaviour is rare. Men are portrayed as future victims of
the new law’s exaggerated provisions in an attempt to reinforce matriarchy. Also, the
new legal provisions are described as the perfect opportunity for women to take
advantage in different ways. It is considered that the new legislation will not produce
real effects in the victims’ lives because of the existing gaps in the criminal justice
system and in the social services. Moreover, it is considered that the property rights will
be violated, lacking constitutionality. The perspective according to which the penalties
should be increased or made more efficient so they produce a real change in the
behaviour of the perpetrators is isolated. The lack of alternatives and services for
perpetrators is also mentioned in the comments as a barrier in the implementation of the
measures established by the law.
Asking for help and advice, several women describe the violence they are
confronting with. Others are just expressing their relief because they are no longer
involved in a violent relationship or describe the consequences of the abuse they are still
confronting with. Under the condition of anonymity, they feel free to admit the violence
they are or were subjected to, even though they receive no answer and/or no advice from
the other users.
The new legal provisions are considered an attack to the family unity, birth rate
and the independence of the individuals in relation to the State. We can conclude that
violence against women is considered to be forbidden up until the boundary of the kin
private space. The private space is ruled and governed by men and no state intervention
is considered to be appropriate. Furthermore, the new law is perceived by the users as
the result of the political campaign. The law is perceived to be oriented towards the state
1
R. Emerson Dobash, Russell P. Dobash, Margo Wilson, and Martin Daly, "The Myth of Sexual
Symmetry in Marital Violence", Social Problems Journal 39 (1992): 81,
doi: 10.1525/sp.1992.39.1.03x0064l
2
Pamela Abbott, Claire Wallace and Melissa Tyler, Feminist perspectives on sociology (London
and New York: Routledge, 2005), 360.
112
and the political class and not to citizens. The association of politicians with the
promotion and promulgation of the law decreases its credibility in the context of a
country with a low degree of trust in political parties and their representatives.
Considering how the information on legislative changes has been presented in
the online media sources analyzed, we have observed that the majority of news articles
do not include the positions of the feminist activists or specialists working with the
victims of domestic violence, nor the positions of the legal professionals. Over 80% of
the articles focus on the introduction of the protection order and the related new
“obligations and interdictions”. The victims’ rights, including the possibility of receiving
legal and psychological assistance, are mentioned in only one third of the online news.
In our opinion, a greater attention should be offered to this type of information,
considering that in many cases victims do not know their rights.
Access to new media facilitates and online spaces enhance knowledge transfer
and opinion sharing. Some websites present particular acts of violence (included in the
new law), as minor acts of violence, creating the image of an irrational legislative
framework based on unmotivated measures and sanctions for unserious actions. Hence
the information is manipulative and distorted, rather than objective and critical.
Consequently, the users’ outraged reactions can be correlated with the influence of
media partial and biased portraits of the phenomenon. Due to the fact that articles are
mainly focused on the political actors in charge with the promotion and adoption of the
new law, users can easily perceive the new law as a political and not citizen’s oriented
one, and as a deceiving consequence. Also, the explanation of domestic violence as an
escalating pattern of behaviour and the warning signs of domestic violence1 are missing.
As long as news coverage or online depictions, in our case, “fail to report the views of
women judges, women parliamentarians, or women business leaders, but always report
on violent crimes against women, then it is hardly surprising that the public fail to
realize that women do in fact occupy significant roles in society (…).”2
The recognition of domestic violence as a crime has a major importance, given
that it is the only legitimate way that contributes to its public disapproval, as Fineman
and Myktuik highlight in their book The Public Nature of Private Violence.3 In these
conditions, what the discourses fail to emphasize is that domestic violence is a crime and
must be punished accordingly. Rheingold advanced the hypothesis of the democratic
potential of the cyberspace and computer-mediated communication:
The political significance of CMC [computer-mediated communication] lies in
its capacity to challenge the existing political hierarchy’s monopoly on powerful
communications media, and perhaps thus revitalize citizen-based
democracy…Which scenario seems more conductive to democracy, which to
totalitarian rule: a world in which few people control communications
1
Iowa Domestic Abuse Death Review Team, „Domestic Violence: A Guide for Media
Coverage”, 4-5, accessed February 15, 2013,
http://www.idph.state.ia.us/bh/common/pdf/domestic_violence/guide_media_coverage.pdf.
2
Carolyn M. Byerly and Karen Ross, Women and Media: A Critical Introduction (Malden, MA:
Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 40.
3
Quoted in Mandy Burton, Legal Responses to Domestic Violence (Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge,
2008), 7.
113
technology that can be used to manipulate the beliefs of billions, or a world in
which every citizen can broadcast to every other citizen.1
The main idea underlying this article is that violence against women thrives and
it is (re)produced in new, unrestricted environments which represents a danger
especially considering its potential perpetuation. The reactions of the users regarding
domestic violence restore their offline attitudes and beliefs under the protection of
anonymity. What the democratic improvement CMC has brought for the Romanian
citizens is rather the opportunity to freely express their opinions on politicians and social
problems, than the exploration of the possibility to get engaged in the social change
processes. The online spaces should not be used as means for perpetuating violence
against women and a first step towards the women’s rights regime reinforcement would
be represented by the exclusion of violent and discriminatory comments and
interventions. As long as users exclude women as equal rights citizens from their
discourses and further promote attitudes based on tolerance for violence against women,
it is difficult to conclude that online spaces and the new technologies play a central
positive role in women’s empowerment and gender equality mainstreaming.
1
Howard Rheingold, The Virtual Community: Homesteading on the Electronic Frontier
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1993), 14.
114
The Limits of Psyche
A Perspective on Philosophy, Religion, Psychology, Psychiatry,
Anthropology and Phenomenology1
Vasile-Alin LEŞ
“Alma Mater” University Sibiu,
Department of Psychology
Keywords: limits, psyche, perspective, mind, heart.
Abstract: Hypothesis: Beyond the limits of the unlimited psyche there is the limit
imposed by the mind on the heart and by the heart on the mind. Premises: psyche is seen
within the scientific psychology more (if not exclusively) as psychic rather than soul.
Attempts are made in order to eliminate the term “soul”. I set on from this premise –
with accents that are predominantly philosophical, anthropological, religious,
psychological, phenomenological and towards the end, psychiatric – and I will try to
define, out of my own perspective, the limit.
*
First and foremost, I shall define psychology from the perspective of Siebert:
2
Psychology is the science about the phenomena of the life of the soul that he describes
and systematizes, researching their laws. Above all, psychology means the science about
the soul. Its founder is Aristotle. It was given the name by Melanchthon and became
popular through Wolff. Psychology, as science of the soul, has determined a part of
metaphysics and tried to deduce the facts of the soul-life from the notion of the soul.
This was the metaphysical or speculative psychology. As a reaction to this, there
appears the empirical psychology, founded by J. Locke, who sets forth from the facts
connected with the experience of the soul life. Empirical psychology is divided in its
turn, in three directions, according to the research patterns: (a) associational psychology,
founded by Hartley and Hume, which intends to reduce spiritual life to a mechanism of
psychical processes which are supposed to associate among one another on the basis of
mechanical necessity; (b) the psychology of the soul faculties, represented by Aristotle,
Wolff and Tetens, which describes soul processes and systematizes them in terms of the
three fundamental faculties: knowledge, sense and lust; (c) the apperceptional
psychology, founded by Wundt, differing from the other two because it uses the notion
of apperception in order to clarify some of the phenomena connected with the soul.
1
Paper presented at the International Hungarian-Romanian Conference of Psychiatry “The limits
of the unlimited psyche” (Győr, Hungary, 23rd –26th of January 2013.)
2
Nicolae Terchilă, Istoria filosofiei (The history of philosophy) (Sibiu: Tiparul Tipografiei
Arhiedecezane, 1943), 432.
115
Aleksandra Chaushova, After August, Before September, 2012,
pencil on paper, 25 x 32,6 cm
Then, I shall call again upon the dialogue between Platon and Socrates,
referring to the fact that everything that exists is divided into four genres: the infinite
(apeiron), the limit (peras), the product resulted from their combination and, last but not
116
least, the cause for the combination1. To the infinite there belongs especially that which
cannot stand still. Or, it is exactly the <<peras>>, the limit, which causes this
uninterrupted movement to stop2. In terms of psychology, psychiatry, philosophy,
religion/ theology, phenomenology, in order to have a limit, there must be a limit within
the evolvement of the senses that can be developed or inhibited by the mind. In terms of
the law, and possibly, of criminology, the limitation of the infinite by means of the limit
brings about the exact quantity, that particular order which is dear to the Greek spirit:
to think means first and foremost, to conjure the irrationality of the unlimited, this lack
of measure which must be controlled <<peras>>, dominating the infinite or the
unlimited. Is it not actually Goddess Dike who, according to what Plato said, on seeing
the universal dissemination of the lack of measure, issued the law and the order which
draw the limit?3.
Then, there is a third aspect: Hegel is the one who, in The Principles of the
Philosophy of the Law (Preface) – builds that rationality which is capable to integrate the
irrational4, therefore, a comprehensive rationality. Here, psychiatry considers that one
should meditate more. The case of mental illnesses is a clear example. And the spiritual
illnesses (meaning those of the spirit) are not far from this segment of perspective. In this
respect, the limit comes as an anti-metaphysical reason since the idea of a positive mind
has become essential in the Illuminist period. The illuminist philosophers trust nothing else
but facts. The domain that they explore <<ratio>> from the 18th century is that of
phenomena, and this, more or less to the prejudice of its metaphysical function. Immanuel
Kant is the marking figure of this period. He perfects the Illuminist current and transcends
it. Reaching beyond the skeptic mind (Hume), he elaborates a ‹‹Critique of the pure
mind››, research regarding the legitimate use of the mind, its extent and its limits.5
So, the hypothesis that I set forth from is the following: beyond the limits of the
unlimited psyche there is the limit imposed by the mind on the heart and by the heart on
the mind. The premise is that the psyche is seen within psychology more (if not almost
exclusively) as psychic rather than soul.6 Attempts are made in order to eliminate the
term “soul”: “Since it is desired to tackle upon the same problems as the Church, one
tries the elimination of the word soul from the vocabulary of the new sciences of the
psyche [(and a- n.a.) of the soul]: still, psychotherapists have more denominations for
the <<soul>> than the Eskimos have for <<snow>>. These are some of the terms:
mind, heart, psyche, inner self, subjectivity, the “I”, the bio-psycho-social pattern, self,
conscience, personality, psychical energy, identity, essence, thoughts, feelings and inner
being”. The footnote attached here speaks about the observation of the Western biblical
scholars who have discovered that the term “soul” (psyche) was stripped of the other
1
Anne Baudart et. al., Istoria filosofiei 1: Gândirile fondatoare (The history of philosophy I.
Foundational ideas) (Bucharest: Universul Enciclopedic, 2000), 15.
2
Ibid., 15.
3
Ibid., 15.
4
Anne Baudart et. al., Istoria filosofiei 3: Triumful raţiunii (The triumph of reason) (Bucharest:
Universul Enciclopedic, 2000), 8.
5
Ibid., 7-8.
6
Jeffrey H. Boyd, “An Insider's Effort to Blow Up Psychiatry”, Chafer Theological Seminary
Journal 10 (2004), 28-48.
117
meaning; in other words, it was no longer used with its dual meaning (of psyche and
soul at the same time), being eliminated from several vehicles. If in the King James
Version of the Bible, the term “soul” was used 558 times, in the Living Bible version,
for instance, it was only used 88 times.
I set forth from this hypothesis and this premise – with accents that are
predominantly philosophical, anthropological, religious, psychological, phenomenological
and towards the end, psychiatric – and I will try to define, out of my own perspective,
the limit.
The limit = the identification of a border where my soul/psyche could reach the
X level of apogee but could no longer move forward. Let me explain this in detail.
What does it mean, that “my soul/psychic has reached the X level of apogee”? It
means, that in terms of the genetic structure and based on the experiences in my life, I
was propelled (the phenomenon of the expropriation of pulsion) to launch and to dive
into that what I succeeded to understand in a subjective manner as representing life and,
at the same time, the phenomenon/the process of death. In order to understand and to
decode significations for what is happening to me, I need an inner language which I can
access at any time by means of memory, intuition, images, etc. It is one thing to do this
by means of a primary education, which may also be precarious and it is another thing to
be able to realize that the meanings become more diverse once one moves forward
towards a logical, self-centered congruency. Education plays here an extremely
important, if not decisive part. Education is the one that helps me interpret one or the
other stimulus or event in my life in a way that is less limited or narrow. A Romanian
author, Nicolae Steinhardt used to say about journeys what I shall extrapolate in the case
of education: It opens our minds, it reveals the immensity of the possible number of
solutions and this way it cleanses our minds, raises us from our littleness and
limitations1. Even by means of this approach, we have reached a limit for that which we
set forth to express. But due to the fact that education helps us, we can move to a more
profound level of comprehension.
Let us take the second part of the hypotheses: “the limit imposed by the mind on
the heart”. In order to reach an apogee of states, of axiological ontology, of emotions,
knowledge, the heart or the burst given by our inner, spiritual state (so, that of the soul)
is the twin of the mind for service purposes. One cannot climb a mountain otherwise
than physically climb it. Its peak, metaphorically speaking, is our mind. In order to reach
that peak, again subjectively and individually, we need specialized equipment.
For reaching the peak of something physical, one needs something material.
The equipment that is necessary in this case shall be a concrete one. In exchange, in
order to conquer a mind by reaching an apogee, one needs something immaterial. The
burst given by the heart, not by the physical one, but by the metaphysical one, belongs to
the domain of the immaterial. To climb up an Everest is a matter of superior mind, you
concentrate on the metaphysic; you leave the physics and the physical behind, but not in
the form of invisible traces, but as helpers for the final purpose: the unlimited from
between the limits. This is a paradox, isn’t it? Yes, when the mind imposes upon the soul
or upon the metaphysical heart the foulness given, for instance, by education, we are
prone to stopping at the first psychological failure: the mental/spiritual illness. This is a
1
Nicolae Steinhardt, Primejdia mărturisirii (The danger of confession) (Iaşi: Polirom, 2009), 93.
118
step which could be more than just a first step. But one thing is certain: for a human
being, the psychological personal relation with one’s own self starts to be affected.
Therefore, a first part of my answer is here, but still uncovered by you yet.
The third part: “the limit imposed by the heart on the mind”: I shall set forth
from an affirmation made by a Roman writer of the 2nd century, Tertullian, mature
thinker, having a consistent active contribution within the frame of the Christian
doctrine1 – who declared that the soul is Christian by nature. In other words, the soul is
entitled to – naturally and synergistically – its bodily innerness, longing for God. If we
use our imagination, we can have the image of a rainbow before our eyes, where in the
lower part there is the human soul, therefore, the human being, and in the top part, the
pure, indescribable essence of Divinity. So, the human soul connects naturally to the
clearly superior capacities originating from God (the creationist theory). Due to an
education of the atheist type or which falls outside the religious precepts, the human
being may end up not believing in something higher than itself; realizing that there is a
He and acknowledging Him, but his/her (metaphysical) heart refusing to believe. And
this is where we reach the answer that we skipped in the first part: faith. The human
being chooses not to believe in God due to: experiences, the subjective internalization of
events, pre-concepts, irrational life-beliefs, life and death philosophies etc. This is
actually where the heart imposes a limit on the mind. Religious education, rigorous but
not rigid, constant, practical and theoretical, genuine, concrete, then when it is not
offered to a respective person, we have all the chances to call upon the limits. A genuine
faith which is practiced at an “open stage” can bring us beyond our limits. Holiness is
the limitless state, for instance; it is the state in which the limit was suppressed and
suffocated by its own limits. But, within this context, of the unlimited limits, the
unlimited human psychic – with the faith and education that are adequate to the essence
of the soul –, is situated a lot farther from the illness, especially to that of the psychic or
of the mind. In this context, not even the metaphysical heart would dare oppose the
mind, not to mention, to oppose its mind.
Within a short conclusion, before the final one, I would dare state that beyond
the limits of the unlimited psyche, there is the limit imposed by the mind on the heart
and by the heart on the mind. On the other hand, beyond them, there is the faith itself,
practiced at the level of the believer. We can call religious education as “the salt and
pepper” that each heart and mind needs in order to fight mental illness.
In the end, I shall round things up by three ideas:
1. If in the case of mental diseases at the level of the rational (neurosis), as well as at the
level of the irrational (psychosis), we can speak of a limitation of the psyche, but when
the mental disease is absent and there is a certain ne plus ultra of that which was
designated by the Greek term “psyche“ (in terms of its dualism, not its synonymy, that is
“soul“ and “psyche“, not “soul“ or “psyche“), we can no longer speak of a limitation of
the psyche; the act of holiness within the human being transcends all limits.
2. There are no illnesses, there are only ill people. This is actually, the humanist essence
of the bio-psycho-social pattern.
1
Tertullian, Despre idolatrie şi alte scrieri morale (On idolatry and other moral writings)
(Timişoara: Amarcord, 2001), 7.
119
3. It may be that the mental illness would become a myth, according to the title of the
work of Philotheos Faros1, if only we could understand that which an experienced
(religious) father, Paisios Eznepidis, has shown: Psychiatry clinics would be empty if
Christians came clean in a clear, sincere, humble way, giving ear to an experienced
priest, who might even be a little severe. Then, no one would have fears, problems and
great temptations. You ought to know that everything stems from selfishness,
disobedience and evil thoughts….2
4. The great majority of illnesses, with the exception of anxiety and depression, of
clearly somatic origin, are connected to a mal de vivre. The affirmation of J.-C. Larchet
deserves to be brought to the fore: If some of these illnesses (anxiety and depression – n.
n.) are without any doubt, of somatic origin, justifying for this type of treatment, the
majority, as it is generally acknowledged, are connected with a mal de vivre, meaning
existential problems, before which the classical psychiatry remains entirely helpless. It is
clear that these problems refer mostly to the spiritual sphere, which the Fathers keep
referring to. Their spiritual science and the remedies they offer are worthy of being
taken into consideration since, when overcoming the differences of social context and
epoch, they reach to the universal side of human existence: the painful flounder of each
person for the purpose of finding inner peace, of giving a meaning to one’s life, of
relating their being and deeds to the true values. And many psychiatrists and
psychologists acknowledge that the disappearance of these values in our days
contributes to an increase of the number of mental disorders and especially of anxiety
and depression3.
1
Philotheos Faros, Mitul bolii psihice (The myth of psychic illness) (Egumeniţa: Cartea
Ortodoxă, Galaţi: Alexandria, 2009).
2
Faros, verso cover of Mitul... .
3
Jean-Claude Larchet, verso cover of Terapeutica bolilor mintale (The therapy of mental
illnesses) (Bucharest: Sophia, 2008).
120
“Nature” and “Wilderness”
The Role of Conceptions of Nature in Environmental Protection
Cecília LIPPAI,
Central European University PhD, Budapest,
Independent Researcher
Keywords: nature, wilderness, environmental protection, contingent ideas, cultural
constructs, experiential rootedness, evaluation criteria
Abstract: The overwhelming historical and cultural differences in conceiving nature
would suggest that such conceptions are contingent cultural products superimposed on
an “objective” reality in a human attempt to make sense of it. As such, there could be no
criteria in deciding between rival conceptions of nature, and this would imply their utter
uselessness in environmental protection. Contrary to this, I will aim to show that
conceptions of reality are never as random and as ideal cultural products as a
constructivist would suggest. First of all, because conceptions of nature are rooted in
complex environmental experiences, shaped and influenced by them. Second, because
those experiences, in turn, are shaped and influenced by the actual surroundings in
which they occur. I will illustrate both these points through a critical analysis of the
popular environmental conception of wilderness. The more practical stake and question
will regard the role of conceptions of nature in environmental protection. Thus in the
final part of this paper I will address the importance of conceptual pluralism in ensuring
a more efficient, democratic, and just approach to environmental problems.
*
Conceptions
of nature are of crucial importance to environmental
philosophy, as there is widespread – implicit or explicit – tendency to consider the
environment worthy of protection nature, i.e. to confuse the two terms. But which of the
myriads of conceptions of nature should we consider our environment? Are conceptions
of nature mere cultural products superimposed on an objective reality? Are there criteria
to decide between rival conceptions of nature? What (if any) is the role of conceptions of
nature in environmental protection?
Whenever we experience something, we do so within a prior conceptual
framework that always already “knows” what and how the world, humans and animals,
actions and values are, even before we can explicitly formulate such knowledge. That
our experience is shaped by prior conceptions means that we always already approach
the world with certain assumptions – the world and things around us have already been
conceived somehow, and these meanings are handed down from generation to
generation constituting powerful (because unquestioned) prejudices about how the world
and things in the world are. The basic conceptions about our immediate surroundings are
just as part of that surrounding as objects or other people. They make up the conceptual
121
background and context within which all of our actual contacts with our environments
happen.
The overwhelming diversity of conceptions of nature. What does it entail?
The sheer abundance of often contradictory meanings and conceptions attributed to the
term ‘nature’ reveals its deep ambiguity. Even if we only consider Greek-EuropeanWestern tradition of thought, nature has at least three important clusters of meaning:
nature as opposed to the supernatural, nature as opposed to the artificial or cultural, and
nature as the inner constitution, structure, essence of a living being or organism. Then,
turning our attention to other historical times and different cultural traditions, the
conception of nature turns out to be even more complex, ranging from animism through
personification to Eastern philosophical depths.
Most of these meanings are not compatible with each other (for example that of
‘nature as a machine’ and ‘nature as a person’) but even if they were, the tendency is to
posit them as universal. Furthermore, the underlying experiences of nature expressed by
different conceptions are very diverse, as well as the experiences induced or influenced
by them. The underlying ontological and metaphysical presuppositions also differ (if it
was created by God, it is not the result of millions of year of evolution) not to mention
the ethical and practical consequences (if it is endowed with spirit, it should be treated as
a person). If this is the case, what should be the consequences of such baffling diversity
of conceptions and meaning? What would be the criteria for deciding which conception
of nature is better than the other?
The objective validity of conceptions of nature, i.e. to what extent they truly and
really refer to reality as such, cannot be verified, as it would imply that we have a pure
access to reality free of all ideas and presuppositions. Such a ‘perspective from nowhere’
is not available to human experience. But if we have no criteria to decide how much or
little conceptions of nature capture reality in itself, does this mean that anything goes? If
we have no way of verifying them by referring to some objective reality, do ideas of
nature become interchangeable and equal? Or can we come up with other criteria to
decide (in certain specific contexts) which one is better than the other?
The extreme constructivist view of nature holds that since there is no access to
“real” nature, all of nature is but a cultural construct.1 Notice the subtle shift form an
epistemological to an ontological claim. While I subscribe to and share some of the
premises of this thesis (namely that ideas of nature are in some sense culturally
constructed), it is not as clear what the consequences of an extreme constructivist view
should be. Does cultural constructivism mean that it no longer makes sense to talk about
human intervention or destruction of nature?
Extreme constructivist views are not the only postmodern responses to the
diversity and relativity of nature-ideas. There is a moderate constructivist view that holds
that ideas of nature are indeed culturally constructed, but they are imposed or applied to
1
For an extreme constructivist view see Lawrence E. Hazelrigg, Cultures of Nature. Essay on the
Production of Nature (University Press of Florida, 1995). For an attempt to reconcile
constructivism with realism, see Sarah Whatmore, Hybrid Geographies. Natures, Cultures,
Spaces. (London: Sage Publications, 2002).
122
(physical) reality. On this view, we have no way of knowing how reality is without the
filter of our cultural ways of making sense of them: nature is always already
“appropriated” by culture in one way or another, so there is no access to “pure” nature.
A version of this view was formulated by Martin Drenthen who argues that
contemporary fascination with nature and especially “wildness” should be considered as
expressing both an experience and a longing of post-modern humans. The post-modern
experience of nature is in large a negative experience: of nature not conforming to any of
the contingent and relative ways in which humans attempt to make sense of it, but
alluding and constantly overflowing such efforts of “appropriation”.1 This is an
experience that is not only aware of its own historicity and contingency, but also of its
partaking in a historical process and the responsibility that comes from such
participation. Such a specifically post-modern experience of nature induces a specific
longing as well, one that is very different from the Romantic longing for nature. It is
actually a wish for something radically other than any of our interpretations, “something
that is already there, that is bigger than us”, a wish for nature as utter otherness,
untouched by our (mis)interpretations. But such nature cannot be experienced but in a
negative way.2 For Drenthen the baffling diversity of ideas of nature is thus symptomatic
of our “postmodern condition” as it entails the possibility to experience our finitude and
the finitude of our points of views in contact with the otherness of nature.
The main problem with all constructivist positions is, I believe, the suggestion
lurking in the background that cultural constructs, such as ideas of nature, are random
and contingent inventions, which have no relation whatsoever with nature which is utter
and complete otherness. Or alternatively, ideas of nature could be thought of as symbolic
representations, again somehow random. Contrary to this, I think that a closer attention
to their roots and histories reveals that ideas of nature are not representations at all, and
certainly not random interchangeable inventions. Our ideas of nature are not simply
invented and superimposed on some unknowable otherness, but are connected to the
ways in which we experience our surroundings, and thus to the affordances of these
surroundings. We do not impose random meaning on a meaningless reality, but
meanings are results of the inseparable unity in experience of an autonomous reality and
our (perspectival, situated, incomplete) interpretation of it. To illustrate my claims here, I
will offer a brief history and critique of one of the most popular conceptions of today’s
environmental protection: wilderness.
The history of the idea of wilderness and the environments it reflected
Usually and most commonly the meaning of wilderness is identical with nature as
opposed to the cultural or humanly affected realm. As such, “wilderness” has come to
replace “nature” in some environmental debates, especially in the U.S., the most
important “intellectual environment” of the concept of wilderness.
The ambiguities and changes manifest in the history of the idea of wilderness
parallel the ambiguities of western civilization towards nature as opposed to culture.
1
Martin Drenthen, “Wildness as a Critical Border Concept: Nietzsche and the Debate on
Wilderness Restoration” Environmental Values 14 (2005): 317–37, 327.
2
Ibid., 333.
123
Accordingly, the problems involved in conceptualizing wilderness can serve as an
example of the complex implications and actual consequences involved in conceiving
nature as strictly delimited from culture or free of human intervention.
There are several works documenting the fate of the idea of wilderness, two of
the most important being Max Oelschlaeger’s The Idea of Wilderness1 and Roderick
Nash’s Wilderness and the American Mind.2 While Nash’s history is admittedly
restricted to the United States (hence “American” mind), more precisely the European
colonization of North America, Oelschlaeger attempts to draw a broader picture about
notions of wilderness and their possible implications. Nevertheless, Oelschlanger’s work
is also – for the main part – focused on US authors and activists of wilderness. This is far
from an accidental overlook. Although the idea of wilderness did not emerge on the
American continent and has a long and deeply rooted history in European culture, its
fate and current centrality in many environmental debates is inseparable from the
colonization and gradual transformation of North America.
So-called “natural” peoples, i.e. those groups of people living ways of live and
creating civilizations more integrated into their natural landscapes (such as, for example,
Native Americans) did not have a concept of wilderness as they did not need to name the
opposition between humanly controlled and untamed sections of reality. It was the settled,
agricultural way of life that first gave rise to this concept, around 10000-8000 B.C.3 When
and where the humanly affected and controlled places represented merely islands within
large untamed and unknown nature, people began to differentiate between domestic and
wild places, animals, or plants. Wilderness was the nature that was on the outside of more
or less controlled human environments, the hostile and dangerous “other”, indifferent,
useless or even opposed to human interests. Compared to the ordered and humanly
adapted domestic environments, wild “outside” territories came to be invested with all the
negative connotations and categories of hostile otherness. In both Greek and Roman
thought wilderness areas were thought of and portrayed with fear and content, as signs of
barbarism and failure to control and put to use. Fuelled by dreadful and/or apocalyptic
Christian views of the wilderness,4 some version of such negative assessment of
wilderness was dominant in Europe and North America well into the 20th century.
But gradually, as people came to control and modify nearly all of nature around
them, a different concept and assessment of wilderness emerged. As untamed and
uncontrolled nature was fast disappearing, wilderness became a valuable asset. It is not
at all accidental that such a positively idealized notion of wilderness only emerged
1
Max Oelschlaeger, The Idea of Wilderness: From Prehistory to the Age of Ecology (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1991). See also Max Oelschlaeger, “Wilderness,” in Berkshire Encyclopedia
of Sustainability: The Spirit of Sustainability (Berkshire Publishing, 2009), 428–431.
2
Roderick Frazier Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven and London: Yale
University Press, 2001).
3
Max Oelschlaeger, The Idea of Wilderness, 28.
4
See Keith Innes: The Old Testament Wilderness in Ecological Perspective.
http://www.ringmerchurch.org.uk/Keith/ (accessed on 18.03.2012). Paul Shepard argues that the
Desert Fathers’ notions of nature was a response to the desert landscape, and it was among the
first ones to set nature strictly aside from culture, in an opposition – see Paul Shepard, Nature and
Madness (San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1982).
124
starting from the 17th century, in an almost fully “domesticated” and heavily urbanized
Western European setting.
Aleksandra Chaushova, Still Life with a Man, 2013,
The first full-blown positive conception of wild nature owes its birth to the
Romantic Movement in the 18th century. Its first proponents were mostly wealthy,
educated city-dwellers who became nostalgic for the artistic and recreational values of
“original” nature. The Romantic conception of wilderness was highly aesthetic, relying
heavily on the notions of sublime and picturesque. Also, related to such aesthetic
primacy, this idea of wilderness was first and foremost a visual concept and a visual
appreciation of nature. It favoured and praised sceneries from high points that provided
bird’s eye views to picture-perfect landscapes. And last but not least, it was a mysticalreligious concept (in later forms, even today, this aspect is called “spiritual”). As if
responding to the need to justify the appreciation of nature by recurring to and relying on
its sacred origin, promoters of wilderness argued for the presence of God within “wild”
portions of reality previously thought to be inhabited by evil forces.
Both the dominant negative conception and the positive Romantic vision of
wilderness were taken over from Europe to North America and, as they say, developed a
life of their own, often and obviously closely connected to the changes European settlers
performed on North American natural environments.
According to both Oelschlaeger’s and Nash’s history of the idea, the first
European settlers in North America still conformed to the long European tradition of
assessing wilderness in negative terms and as a challenge to civilization. But as
125
European history of nature-taming repeated itself in an incredibly fast pace in the “New
World”, the positive Romantic concept of wilderness was gradually established as not
only a pivotal concept of “American” national identity, but also as worthy of praise and
preservation. Two figures have become known as the founding fathers of both
theoretical and activist wilderness preservation: Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)1 and
John Muir (1838–1914)2. Both were transcendentalists and both promoted an idea of
wilderness which was a mixture of aesthetic and pantheist arguments for valuing and
preserving “wild nature.” With the gradual disappearance of such “wild nature” from the
American continent and together with enthusiastic celebration of such “progress”, the
idea of wilderness also grew into cult status by the time there was no more “pristine”
nature left outside of reservations called national parks or nature reserves. Today,
especially in the United States, wilderness is in danger to be “loved to death” by tourists,
as Nash famously asserted. Also, even if the boundary between wilderness and humanly
affected world has long been blurred, there is a persistent and insistent tendency to
idealize wilderness as “nature without us”, even if many of the areas considered symbols
of the “American wilderness” were actually designed and shaped into appearing wild to
visitors.3
The relation of ideas of wilderness to environmental experiences
It is my contention that the idea of wilderness, both in its negative and positive form, is
an “outsider” concept of nature, in the sense that it is based on a limit and opposition
between us and nature. I base this assessment on considering the type of experiences that
the idea of wilderness was symptomatic of. The initial fearsome and loathsome aversion
against wilderness expressed the attitude of outsiders afraid of the unknown and
uncontrollable forces that were supposed to lie hidden in “wild nature”, i.e. outside of
the humanly constructed and controlled confines of life. The less experience of and
within “wild nature” people had, the more negative connotations such areas received.
And the positive (Romantic and up to the contemporary) praise of wilderness
was/is even more of an outsider’s concept. The Romantic concept at first glance does
not seem to be based on experience at all. If it is still based on any experience, it is
usually not the experience of wilderness itself, but on the experience of a growing
dissatisfaction with Western civilization and way of life. Indeed, the positive idea of
wilderness seems to be more of an intellectual construct than any previous ideas of
nature, more theoretical than practical. Consider, for example, Nash’s several examples
to the point that the first prophets of wilderness manifested mixed feelings in their
writings: while praising wild nature when looking at it from high mountain tops (like
sceneries, like picture landscapes), both William Byrd and William Bartram experienced
1
For details see Nash, Wilderness, 84–95, and Oelschlaeger, The Idea of Wilderness, 134-139.
See Nash, Wilderness, 122–140, and Oelschlaeger, The Idea of Wilderness, 172–204.
3
The most important works of nature-design performed by Frederick Law Olmsted, namely
Niagara Falls and Yosemite are commonly considered symbols of wilderness in spite of the
considerable human effort that went into their re-shaping to afford different human experiences.
For details on the works and thoughts of Olmsted see Anne Whiston Spirn, “Constructing Nature.
The Legacy of Frederick Law Olmsted,” in Uncommon Ground. Toward Reinventing Nature, ed.
William Cronon (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1995), 91–113.
2
126
fear, anxiety, threat and complained for lack of safety and comfort during their travels,
i.e. during actual life in the wilderness.1 Plus, even if or when these authors were
describing their experiences in and of nature, this experience was highly informed by
learned concepts (such as the sublime or the picturesque), literary examples (of how one
“should” experience wild nature), and religious beliefs (which turned nature-experience
into a mystical encounter). Nevertheless, visits to the wild were in fact mere visits: most
promoters of wilderness remained tourists appreciating the visual scenery, aesthetic
values and “spiritual” experiences afforded by natural surroundings. Those who most
appreciated wilderness were the ones merely vacationing in it.2
But different conceptions of wilderness not only relied on different experiences,
but also shaped and induced different experiences. The shifting history of the conception
of wilderness is another example to the point that just as inherited conceptions shape and
to some extent pre-determine experiences, actual experiences also change and nuance
conceptions. The pioneers did experience hostile wilderness partly because their
conception of nature was of a hostile “outside”. On the other hand, Thoreau’s merely
aesthetic-theoretical concept of wilderness became challenged when experiencing actual
wilderness, when he came face to face with the otherness and indifference of nature. He
reported it as “even more grim and wild than you had anticipated, a deep and intricate
wilderness,” or as “savage and dreary,” and he noted that “vast, Titanic, inhuman Nature
has got man at disadvantage, caught him alone, and pilfers him of some of his divine
faculty. She does not smile on him as in the plains.”3 He came out of this experience
convinced that man’s place in nature has to be thought of as a balance between
wilderness and civilization.
The questionable consequences of ideas of wilderness in environmental protection
Many have criticized the idea of wilderness and argued against its basic assumptions or
extensive use in environmental philosophy.4 The most popular conception of wilderness
required that areas invested with such elevated values be free of people, put a fence
around, and revered only through occasional visits, much like museums or churches.
This myth of pristine nature had and still has many unfortunate consequences and often
casts a suspicious light on wilderness-conservation projects. The most serious and tragic
consequences of such a presupposition were suffered by indigenous peoples, whose
lives and the environments they inhabited were left in a state of limbo.5 The concept of
1
Nash, Wilderness, 51-55.
Ibid., 61
3
Quoted in ibid., 91.
4
See William Cronon, “The Trouble with Wilderness; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature,” in
Uncommon Ground, 69–90.; William Cronon, “A Place for Stories: Nature, History, and
Narrative,” A Journal of American History March (1992): 1347–1376; For a feminist critique of
wilderness see Anne Warner, “The Construction of Wilderness. An Historical Perspective”
http://hdl.handle.net/1880/46951 (accessed on 13.03.2012); Carolyn Merchant, Reinventing Eden:
The Fate of Nature in Western Culture (New York and London: Routledge, 2003). Mark Woods
groups these critiques into five categories and tries to respond to them in Mark Woods,
“Wilderness,” in A Companion to Environmental Philosophy, ed. Dale Jamieson (Malden, Mass.:
Blackwell Publishing, 1991), 349–361.
5
See Anne Warner, “The Construction of Wilderness”; Nash, Wilderness, 7.
2
127
wilderness promoted an ideal according to which ‘real’ nature is only uninhabited
nature, and hence “protected” wilderness areas were often cleared from their original
inhabitants.
One of the most prominent critics of the elitism and injustice of the wilderness
cult, William Cronon, offers several examples where indigenous peoples were forced to
move so that “tourists could safely enjoy the illusion that they were seeing their nation in
its pristine, original state, in the new morning of God’s own creation.”1 The US National
Park Service forbade all Papago Indian farming in what is now Organ Pipe National
Monument in Arizona, and then in 1962 destroyed all non-historic Papago structures in
the making of Organ Pipe Wilderness Area.2 Also in the US, the Blackfeet tribe
continues to be accused of “poaching” on the lands of Glacier National Park that
originally belonged to them.3 But such practices of “wilderness-creation” are not limited
to the US. In India people were removed and forbidden to utilize certain areas to create
wilderness parks or tiger reserves within the Project Tiger,4 and there is widespread
discrimination in Brazil against peoples who have lived in or at the margins of
rainforests for centuries.5
Conceiving unaffected nature to be the only real nature also exonerates and
justifies using and abusing areas that are not within the confines of wilderness
reservations. As if they have given up on the environments we actually inhabit, many
wilderness advocates manifest contempt and lack of care for “less natural”
environments.6 As if the trees in our backyard and the animals living in cities were
somehow less natural than the trees and animals in Yosemite national park.
Such a conception of nature as “wild” also makes people prone to protect faraway
wildernesses. The popular slogan of saving the rainforest is the most telling example in
this sense,7 for, as Cronon observes, protecting the rainforest in the eyes of First World
environmentalists all too often means protecting it from the people who live there.”8
Appreciation of wilderness, both sentimental and scientific, emerged at a time
when Western civilization hardly left any forests untouched. But so-called third world
and developing countries supposedly do have such “wild nature”. So how are we, from
the perspective of the West, to approach these areas and how can we argue for their
preservation? The most commonplace arguments say they should be protected in the
benefit of mankind or, even more hypocritically, the planet. Both of these arguments
1
Cronon, The Trouble with Wilderness, 77.
Nabham, G.P., The Desert Smells Like Rain: A Naturalist in Papago Indian Country (San
Francisco: North Point Press, 1987), 89–93.
3
4
Mark Woods, “Wilderness,” 357.
5
For several other examples and an analysis of conflicts between nature preservation and
indigenous ways of life, see Elisabeth Andrew-Essien, Francis Bisong, “Conflicts, Conservation
and Natural Resource Use in Protected Area Systems: An Analysis of Recurrent Issues”
European Journal of Scientific Research 1 (2009): 118–129.
6
Cf. Cronon, The Trouble with Wilderness, 84, 87: “In the wilderness, we need no reminder that a
tree has its own reasons for being, quite apart from us. The same is less true in the gardens we
plant and tend ourselves: there it is far easier to forget the otherness of the tree.”
7
Oelschlaeger, The Idea of Wilderness, 428; Cronon, The Trouble with Wilderness, 80–81.
8
2
128
seem suspicious and questionable, not to mention quite arrogant.1 The main problem
with such arguments, as I see it, is that we are using our own conceptions of nature and
wilderness as universal principles which we then try to impose on others. We suppose
we know what nature, ecosystem, sustainability, and so on are. We suppose to know
what has to be done, for example, to save the rainforest: keep people out of it. But do we
really know, or are we just repeating the mistake of taking our own cultural background
as ground? Are we ready to understand and take into consideration different points of
view and conceptions about reality? These are questions that wilderness conservation
has to face and answer in each and every particular case, since in all cases more than one
conception of nature and more than one interest will be involved in the decision making
process.
Conceptual pluralism in environmental protection. Why should environmental
protection consider different ideas of nature?
One possible answer to this question was, I believe, fully illustrated in the negative by
considering what happens when we do not consider alternative conceptions of nature, as
in the case of wilderness preservation at the expense of indigenous peoples. Leaving our
own presuppositions unquestioned and arrogantly imposing them on other people is an
act of aggression. Banning people from their environments to realize some ideal of “wild
nature” rather than paying attention to their insider views, practices and conceptions of
reality that enabled them to live in relative harmony with their surroundings for centuries
is one of the absurd and painful consequences of disregarding diversity in ways of
thinking and inhabiting environments. The conception of wild nature was totalized into
universal validity and real environments were assimilated when they failed to conform
to the concept.
This example, as well as others, constitutes a warning that when constructing
environmental theories and especially actions, one must pay serious attention to the
differences in underlying conceptual schemes, and especially close attention to what
nature means to different people involved in the debates.2 A carefully negotiated,
dialogical and pluralistic approach to environments tries tailor and fit understanding and
action to specific environments rather than fitting environments into one conception or
another.
So the first and most important argument for considering alternative conceptions
of nature is to surmount our own prejudices and avoid the arrogance of forcing them
1
Oelschlager argues that there are mainly two sets of objections against popular campaigns to
save the rainforest: Oelschlaeger: “First, the charge has been made that globalization has
exploited the resources of undeveloped nations and created localized ecological havoc and
poverty, while economic benefits flow largely to wealthy nations. (…) Second, critics argue that
there can be no justification for calls to protect wilderness in undeveloped nations without
consequential changes in the lifestyles of the developed nations that combine with efforts to
ameliorate global poverty.” The Idea of Wilderness, 430.
2
For a good case-study on how different conceptions of nature figure and play out in actual
environmental decisions see Martin Drenthen, “Developing Nature Along Dutch Rivers: Place or
Non-Place,” in New Visions of Nature. Complexity and Authenticity, eds. Martin Drenthen, Jozef
Keulartz, James Proctor (London: Springer, 2009), 205–228.
129
onto others as final truths. Certainly, if my own arguments in this chapter make any
sense, the way we conceive the world or nature or animals is not a matter of choice (at
least not in the first instance). 1 However, the conceptual background which shapes our
unreflected and un-thematic experiences of nature are not final and they are not even
homogenous. Our prior conceptual assumptions do not have to constitute a limitation of
our experience or understanding. But they are necessary starting points for any ulterior,
more reflective ways of conceiving our surroundings. However, to achieve such a result,
hidden presuppositions have to be revealed, then transcended. Our presuppositions and
prejudices are surmountable by critique, comparison, dialogue and in general, by
broadening one’s own conceptual horizon by exposing it to others.
It could also be argued, that conceptions of nature different from our own could
offer valuable solutions to our contemporary problems, including environmental crises.
As indeed concepts are more abstract features of environmental experience than
perceptions and practices, they give the impression that they could be in fact “removed”
from their setting (be it imagined as natural, cultural, physical, practical) and applied
elsewhere. While more scientifically oriented Westerners would have no problem in
arguing that, for example, scientific conceptions of nature can and should be exported
and applied everywhere, they would presumably not allow the same to be true of all
conceptions of nature. But of course, scientific ideas of nature are just as relative to their
own context as others. Moreover, as I have argued, conceptions are also more or less but
necessarily rooted in experiences and so specific places. Consider the example of a
Native American medicine man who protested the flooding of a certain valley by
arguing that this will not only destroy medical plants in that valley but also his
knowledge of medicine.2 His knowledge of the natural world was presentational (the
valley had to be there, had to be present), not representational as in Western conceptions,
according to which we form propositional knowledge about the surrounding world and
we can take that with us anywhere. So the question is, can conceptions be exported at
all? If not, why should we even bother considering conceptions different from our own?
Indeed, it is not always clear what we mean when we look for “solutions” in
other cultural milieus, although this is widely practiced in environmental philosophy.
Michael G. Barnhart in his excellent Ideas of Nature in an Asian Context notes the
ambivalence in Western literature regarding the merits of Eastern thinking in general,
and in special regarding environmental thinking. Some claim that Eastern views are
more enlightened and nature-friendly than exploitative Western ideologies, some say if
there is such thing as Eastern philosophy, it is distinctively life-denying. Barnhart claims
neither is correct, and asks the nuancing question of what it is that Westerners are
looking for when they are looking at Eastern views on reality or nature.3 Especially,
Barnhart addresses some strong claims of Holmes Rolston III, who, after a detailed
1
Cf. also Martin Drenthen, “Wildness as a Critical Border Concept: Nietzsche and the Debate on
Wilderness Restoration,” Environmental Values 14 (2005): 317–37, 332. Drenthen argues that we
do not take on different conceptions of nature as pieces of clothing, nevertheless, we do employ
different conceptions in different experiential contexts.
2
Indigenous Perpectives, 3–4.
3
Michael G. Barnhart, “Ideas of Nature in an Asian Context.” Philosophy East and West 3 (Jul.
1997), 417–432, 417.
130
review of Eastern religious and philosophical concepts, comes to conclude that there is
nothing in them that could help westerners value nature, they can have no positive
application within environmental ethics. It is, however, not clear, why or how they
should, or just what would it mean to look to the East for “solutions”. It is also not clear
what Rolston was looking for, what his question was. Barnhart argues that Rolston was
looking for concepts simply opposing the western ones, but following the same logic.
He took the background assumptions of Western scientific understandings of nature for
granted, plus, he took scientific views of nature to be true but ethically neutral. Both of
these assumptions are highly questionable. Rolston was looking for an axiology that not
only values nature, but that tells us how and why it has intrinsic value, otherwise, he
contended, Eastern conceptions would be “too non-discriminating to be operational”.1
But there could be another argument against looking into other cultural
assumptions. If one takes cultural differences to absolute extremes, it might seem that
these differences amount to inaccessible otherness. Such absolute inaccessibility would
make other ideas simply irrelevant in another cultural context.2
Both of these lines of argument dismiss other cultural conceptions because they
pre-suppose that the point of understanding such conceptions is their “implementation”
or “application” in another cultural setting. However, there are other reasons to try and
understand different cultural contexts. First, even if these different ideas don’t turn out to
be normatively operational in other cultural contexts, one can see how they are
practically operational in their own context, and how they result and inspire different
experiences than our own. Second, this understanding leads to a deeper understanding of
our own cultural assumptions, by comparison. Third, it shows our cultural assumptions
to be relative and far from necessary, so it increases flexibility of thought and freedom
from our own taken-for-granted assumptions. Fourth, it shows that there are connections
and shared assumptions, so otherness is never radical and absolute difference. And
finally, it increases tolerance and reluctance to have arrogant attitudes or to assume
cultural hierarchies.
Concluding remarks. The possibility to evaluate conceptions of nature not based on
their truth-content but on their practical implications
A pluralistic, dialogical and contextual consideration of different points of view and
experiences reveals for us the possibility of a non-arrogant and non-totalizing
interpretation of our experiences and our relations with the surrounding world. What the
plurality of possible views and perspectives teaches us is not only the relativity of our
conceptions and positions, but also our responsibility for them.
In my view, all environments “contain” nature one way or another, in the sense that
there are always concurring ideas of nature that shape and guide our environmental
experiences and behaviours. All conceptions of nature convey some specific perspective,
1
Barnhart takes issue here with the arguments of Holmes Rolston III in his “Can the East help the
West to value Nature?” Philosophy East and West 2 (1987): 172–190.
2
A similar argument, although in a much more abstract formulation, can be found in Husserl’s
fragments dealing with the home–alien opposition in Edmund Husserl, Husserliana XIII-XV: Zur
Phenomenology der Intersubjektivität. Texte aus dem Nachlaß (The Hague, Netherlands:
Martinus Nijhoff, 1973), 431–432.
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some specific experience, or some specific practical context from which they emerge, so
they all have their own validity with respect to their own context and their own
environment. And given their roots in experience (and the fact that experience is
embedded in environments) ideas of nature are never pure constructions or mere
inventions.
I consider the concept of nature to be indispensable in environmental protection
because its history and fate is closely and inseparably related to environmental problems.
However we make sense of nature has severe consequences on environmental
experiences and attitudes. The various meanings attached to “nature” are far from mere
theoretical disagreements about the world. They are reflections and results of different
experiences which, in turn, constantly shape and determine current experiences of our
surroundings. Disregarding nature for having too many meanings and senses is simply
disregarding the complexity of environmental experiences in favour of the illusion of a
strict formal definition. Ambiguity in conceptions of nature is not a failure or a crisis of
thought, but a symptom and result of the many different experiences and aspects that our
environments afford.
Contrary to my position here, many have suggested that “nature” should be
discarded from environmental philosophy.1 It has been argued that the concept of nature
is too ambiguous and has too many meanings and contents, and as such it is useless for
environmental ethics.2 But just because a concept has many different meanings and
layers of senses, surely this does not make it superfluous. In fact, discarding a concept
for its complexity can only be a suggestion of those who regard relativity a flaw and
consider that all terms of philosophical discussions must be strictly and universally
defined or definable. However, on such grounds we could dispense of all or most of our
philosophical terms as they tend to be less than the technical terms employed with strict
determination.
Just because there is no criterion to decide which conception of nature is “more
valid” than the other, this does not mean that they are incommensurable in other respects
as well. Possible criteria have been suggested by feminist philosopher Sandra Harding
who proposes that conceptions be evaluated in their negative virtues, i.e. based on what
they avoid rather than what they afford. Conceptions that are free of distortions of
experience, mystifications, colonizing and totalizing tendencies should be preferred to
those that are not.3 Harding offers these as general criteria for evaluating positions and
conceptions in a postmodern world; however, I believe that they are especially suited
criteria for evaluations of environmental concepts.
I have suggested above a criterion on which different conceptions can be
compared and evaluated: experience and impact. It is my contention that ideas of nature
which do not distort or deny experience (and their own experiential roots) are to be
1
For an overview of such arguments see Robin Attfield, “Is the Concept of “Nature”
Dispensable?” Ludus Vitalis 25 (2006), 105–116.
2
Stephen Vogel: Environmental Philosophy After the End of Nature. Environmental Ethics 24,
2002, 23-39.
3
Position presented in Postmodern Environmental Ethics: Ethics as Bioregional Narrative, 24,
referring to Sandra Harding: The Science Question in Feminism. Cornesll University Press,
Ithaca, 1986.
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preferred to those that run against experience. For example, the scientific-mechanical
conception of nature is inferior to aesthetic conceptions of nature, not because the
scientific idea is completely free of experience (after all, science relies on experience,
albeit not the ordinary experience, but controlled, designed, isolated, laboratory
experiences), but because it operates a double denial of experience: it denies its own
experiential roots and the importance of experience as such. Regarding impact, it is not
difficult to conclude from the example of “wilderness protection” that allowing certain
ideas of nature to become leading principles or ideals of environmental protection leads
to severe injustice. So the most important criterion to decide which conception is better
should be their practical consequences, social impact, and justice.
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A (Possible) Forum for Freedom:
Faculty of Philosophy, Chair Philosophy and Applied Philosophy
– A Lecture on Philosophy without Thinker –
István KIRÁLY V.
Babeş-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca
Keywords: university, philosophy of university, freedom, applied philosophy, chair
philosophy, faculty of philosophy
Abstract: The study analyzes the process and consequences of the merging of
philosophy and the university of philosophy, proving its long-distance effects on the
basic tendencies of modes of philosophizing. This means that philosophy as a profession
became the dominant form of philosophizing, “going on” in various university
departments and research institutions mostly without any kind of existential weight. This
is what this paper calls a “thinker-deprived philosophy” or “philosophizing”, recalling at
the same time the dangers of the Bologna-process in this matter.
E-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]
*
First I should probably write some clarifying words about why I am concerned
about, and why I feel interested in the current questions of “university philosophy” as
connected to the possibilities of applied philosophy? The first and most direct reference
point is the fact that I myself exist in a philosophy department, and it is my activity there
that provides the financial basis for the subsistence of my family and myself. To put it
briefly: our source of living is that I, as an employee, “teach” some “disciplines”
traditionally called “philosophical” at the faculty of philosophy in Cluj! Then again –
secondly – I “teach” these subjects, or rather, I try to “teach” them so that I am genuinely
and constantly interested in the inquisitive and explicit – recte: applied philosophical –
thematization or activization of the challenges of the meanings of philosophizing.
However, I might also add, I could actually teach here (too) even if all that
would not interest me at all with such an organic and genuinely philosophical
involvement and horizon… Therefore I could manage the academically compulsory
“introductory” and “concluding” references to the “usefulness and harmfulness” of
things by enlisting a series of references and quotes, accessible everywhere in fact, by
the trendiest figures of contemporary philosophical publicity in addition to some
“classics”, as a proof that the issues “minced” during the “lectures” are indubitably
“weighty” and “timely”…
All these are rendered especially timely for me, in a genuine, that is, existential,
and not merely circumstantial sense, by the particular challenges of the so-called
“Bologna process”. Namely, primarily precisely the fact that the new impulses and
symbolically veiled constraints and traps to “instrumentalize” philosophy may be hiding
in several basic sense in these urging “calls”. Now, I am especially sensitive and
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fastidious for such things, for reasons equally “historical”, deriving from our recent past,
and “personal”, of my own “life history”…
“Chair philosophy” of course cannot – and indeed, must not – be mistaken for
philosophy pursued and professed at different departments or faculties of various
universities in the course of time. For we are well aware that epochal and schoolfounding thinkers taught on various universities, and also that teaching was an organic
part of the creation of their life work. So much so that – say, a Fichte, a Schelling or a
Hegel, etc. – often moved from one university to another to find the most appropriate
ground for elaborating and professing their ideas. We are also aware of course that there
are several prominent thinkers of the “history of philosophy” who never got involved
with any faculty of philosophy, or only for short periods of time and as a sidetrack.
However, this does not affect at all their “importance for the history of philosophy”…
“Chair philosophy” is therefore not merely defined by the fact that it notes a
kind of philosophy which is cultivated and professed in the context and institution of
university departments (chairs). On the contrary, it is primarily characterized by its not
being philosophy, but it only turns – or rather transforms, dissects – philosophy into
an object, a thing in the institutional context of universities. So that, meanwhile, it also
changes it into some kind of instrument or technology. In other words: “chair
philosophy” practically objectivizes philosophy. Yet it does this in a way that it presents
itself as “the” philosophy – and it is again very important to emphasize, in order to make
it clear from the very beginning, that I do not argue here against the diligent and useful
didactic, pedagogical, mediating, text interpreting, editing, translating etc. work of
philosophy professors including myself, I only investigate and thematize “chair
philosophy”. Which, in fact, is nothing else or nothing more than – with Heidegger’s
word – “science of philosophy”. And this is why chair philosophy is not “useless”,
for it satisfies the everyday needs in education, culture, politics, society,
mentality, as well as entertainment and “intellectual” social needs for philosophy
as object.
“Chair philosophy” therefore – to put it briefly – can be regarded as a nonphilosophical, institutionalized condition, a hypostasis (and not merely “method”)
of philosophy as an object alienated from itself, created by the primarily technical
– that is, artificial – instrumentarium and dissection of the mostly merely
terminological results of the sui generis philosophical accomplishments of the
originally also sui generis philosophical urges outlined in the course of the
“history” or tradition of thinking. In other words: “chair philosophy” is
characterized by the rule of “methods” understood and applied as procedural and
management techniques and “problems” understood as technical terms.
I’d like to repeatedly emphasize that chair philosophy is not merely or
primarily a possible “method” of practicing philosophy but it increasingly
becomes a condition of philosophy in which philosophy is done or treated,
designed, produced and distributed as a thing. No matter whether this thing is a
kind of “concept”, “discourse”, “method” or “technique”. In this sense “chair
philosophy” is indeed a special historical “product” of university-level teaching
of philosophy, the “results” of which – the products of the “profession” or “job”
135
of teaching philosophy – increasingly turn into commodities. Commodities
which have their own “price”. This “price” can have of course a monetary
expression, but it can be more or less considerable also in a symbolic sense.
On this account “chair philosophy” is extremely sensitive – should I not
say alertly “pliable” – to all kinds of environmental (even market-) “effects” and
“changes”. First of all, these are the changing “intellectual” fashions, modern
“trends”, all kinds of circumstances and institutional modifications. Each of
these is a requirement for any self-respecting chair philosophy. Since these are
which “whisper” us what is worth studying, and also how. While the slogan of
“chair philosophy” cannot be other in this respect than adaptation, alignment
and keeping up!
Mainly if this is what makes every kind of “chair philosophy” always “timely”
and “opportune”. So: directly and literally always “most recent”. For any philosophy
that is not “most recent”, cannot possibly be a sellable commodity these days. Not even
at the universities. Therefore such a thing can by no means make the university
institution a sellable product. Such a “thing” is thus a needless waste of money, time and
energy, since it is usually unmarketable. No surprise therefore that the politicians,
managers and bookkeepers of science allocate no funds for it, no promotions or pay
raises, grants, stipends, etc.
“Chair philosophy” is therefore a historical thing. Its history begins of course
with the medieval history of the creation of the first universities. Since these universities
were evidently under the rule of theology, the discipline of philosophy only had a
subsidiary, ancillary role, often being termed as a “servant”.1 As a result of this tradition,
it later became typical – and remained so for quite a long time – that the historically
most significant thinkers did not, and could not have chairs at universities. This
tendency “is still functional in the 18th century, … the really productive philosophical
thinking – with Descartes, Spinoza, Malebranche, Leibniz – develops outside the
university”. The philosophy that can be called “new” and “innovative” in the most
profound and genuine sense – originally cultivated outside universities – only enters the
universities at the mid- or late-18th century with Wolff, Kant, Fichte, Schelling and
Hegel. However, there had always been historically highly significant “outsiders” during
the entire 19th century who could not fit philosophically – that is: existentially – into the
institutional system of universities; let us only think of Schopenhauer, Nietzsche or
Kierkegaard.
The actual, explicit and probably long-lasting – at any rate, today still
unpredictably long-lasting – connection of philosophy and the university of philosophy
only happened in the 20th century. Although this century also displays significant
exceptions, such as Emil Cioran, or philosophers who were denied a university chair for
reasons ideological or political, such as Czech thinker Jan Patočka, the Romanian
Constantin Noica, or the Hungarian Béla Hamvas, or, temporarily, George Lukács and
1
See for example Károly Redl, “A fakultások vitájának előtörténetéhez” (To the history of the
debate of faculties), in Az európai egyetem funkcióváltozásai – Felsőoktatás-történeti
tanulmányok (Functional changes in European universities – Studies in the history of higher
education), ed. Tamás Tóth (Budapest: Professzorok Háza, 2001), 57–72.
136
some his disciples. However, almost all of these thinkers operated a kind of “private
university or seminar-like” home school, even if the kind of instruction offered there
resembled more the Greek paideia than the “systematic” education of medieval or
modern universities. Therefore none of this had anything to do with any kind of “chair
philosophy” or, even less, with any kind of politically accepted, “official” chair
philosophy. Just the opposite, they found themselves precisely at intellectual,
philosophical and existential war with these!
The decisive development of the connection between philosophizing and the
university of philosophy, even amidst the current tendencies, is what is lately frequently
called the professionalization of philosophy. Richard Rorty places the beginning of this
process to the second half of the 20th century, more precisely the period following
WWII.1 (From this time on, the increasing majority of those who dealt with philosophy
for a living – as if by itself, without any kind of visible or explicit external constraint –
has decided and still decides that philosophy should deal with primarily technical issues
emerging within its own inner contexts… This is what the still existing criticism called
Glasperlenspiel, a glass pearl game played amidst changing desire for texts and
archives.)2
However, the professionalization of philosophy – in recent years increasingly
happening amidst the conditions of growing globalization – changes the parameters and
outlines of chair philosophy as well. Or, more accurately: blurs. For, whereas the
outlines of chair philosophy have been drawn for centuries in opposition with those
active outside university chairs on the one hand, and also those who have been an
alternative for the former, namely people active in academic research institutions on the
other hand, the professionalization of philosophy tends to increasingly blur or
homogenize these differences. There is hardly any difference these days between the
professional “chair philosophy” of university departments, and the also “professional”
philosophizing in academic research institutions. Both places are inhabited by
professional “philosophers”, experts and “craftsmen” of philosophy, who, to maintain
their careers, carefully watch the applications of various institutions and foundations,
their requirements, topics, and the “currents” worth keeping in mind when proposing
their conference papers and research projects. Including also the methods and “expected
results” of discussion and research. For “unexpected” results cannot count on any kind
of “patronage”. Not to mention that precisely these characters will become the decisionmakers of science and organized thinking who will shape things perspectively in
accordance with these criteria and of course their own standards. Both downwards and
upwards.
Therefore it is more and more visible nowadays that chair philosophy is – and
in fact always has been – an actually “unphilosophical” “condition” of philosophy,
manipulated or directly asking for manipulation. So Schopenhauer’s classic statement
1
See Richard Rorty, “Philosophy in America Today,” The American Scholar 2 (1982): 183–187.
http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/41210815?uid=3738920&uid=2&uid=4&sid=211029747
67571, accessed 4 November 2013.
2
See Ludger Lütkehaus, “Fachgigante und Lebenszwerge – Vom fehlenden Nutzen der
Universitätsphilosophie für das Leben,” Die Zeit 21/2001, http://hermes.zeit.de/pdf.
index.php?.doc=/archiv/20001/21/200121_philosophie.xml. accessed 25.10.2008
137
about university policies that the true purpose of university philosophy is to guide the
deepest thinking of students towards the intellectual direction that they consider
adequate for professorial appointments is essentially still valid today… This kind of
chair philosophy cannot be serious, only school philosophy, which does not illuminate
the darkness of our existence. Indeed, chair philosophy is sometimes reproached to be
“alienated”, to avoid highly relevant current existential problems, and instead it closes
up into documents and archives, sterile and hermaphrodite interpretations of purportedly
“historical” or “timely” texts, and the exegetical tossing-around of letters, punctuation
marks, and concepts, especially trendy ones. Meanwhile, of course, chair philosophy
works still as “official”, dominant philosophy, at least insofar as the university of
philosophy itself works as a kind of office of philosophy, and at the same time it is in an
official relationship with the supporters of the university and the institutions involved in
educational policy making, direct or indirect control, supervision, award or assessment.
The so-called “Bologna process” also risks being just another impulse in
instrumentalizing philosophy, despite its emphatic references to the challenges that
higher education has to face in creating a unitary Europe and the problems of quality and
usefulness involved in this educational process. There is a probability and also a risk
therefore that this process offers further incentive and legitimacy precisely to chair
philosophy. And, what is more, amidst and ever wider, globalizing framework of the
professionalization of philosophy. For the “Bologna process” aims in fact at mass
higher education, in addition of course to also make it more efficient. But “mass
education” does not mean here that more students get admitted to the university, but first
of all that university education is about to increasingly mean a mere expert training
course. That is to say: a mere adaptation to the ever more varied and “pluralistic”
conditions of a constantly changing and globalizing labour market.
However, as far as “pluralism” is concerned, it should not lead us astray, for
mostly it is only apparently the transgression of the professionalization and
disciplinarization of philosophy. On the contrary, in the context of philosophy’s
becoming a profession, pluralism actually consecrates a kind of parallel discussion
about various topics, a priori differentiated even in matters of world view. While of
course “pluralism” strongly manipulates the thematic and intellectual parameters of
research as well as the addressees of investigations and inquiries. Who, by the way,
always complain that they cannot “review” and “follow” the mass of “information” and
the “bibliography” of their subjects.
The professionalization of philosophy implies first of all the overrepresentation
of problems of a technical kind, of “specialization”, as well as “disciplinarization”
deriving from aversion of contexts and questions which are not self-sufficient, and
therefore brings about an emphatic idiosyncrasy. A kind of idiosyncrasy of course which
coexists well with the dominance of texts, whether seen as the hermaphrodite
idiosyncrasy of interpretations and readings, etc., or as the idiosyncrasy of automatic
disciplinary urges forcing the creation of new and new disciplines termed
“philosophical”, such as “problematology”, “peratology”, “thanatology”,
“grammatology”, etc. These of course generate the process of the “self-breeding” of
“problems”, including those which are circumstantially born out of the trendy and timely
topics of an application, a grant or a conference rather than the constraints of actual
existential experiences. This happens in close connection with the permanent and
138
overwhelming constraint of publication and conference attendance, which does not in
fact meet sui generis communication needs – what Karl Jaspers rightly considered one
originating factor of philosophy itself – but mostly only functions as a measuring tape of
“accomplishments”. And, what’s more, because of which the place of “schools” and “isms” is taken these days by ever growing numbers of “disciplines” and schematized
“procedures”.
It is perhaps only a further evidence of these problems and difficulties that the
type of higher education now advocated by the Bologna Agreement could mean in fact
“convertible universities”. These, accordingly, would “train” mass-professionals with
locally or globally convertible “skills” and “reliability”, rather than free, responsible and
engaged inquirers and thinkers. All the more so as these latter ones cannot just be
“trained”…
This however – although quite probable – is not necessary as well! For – at least
in liberal democracies – there is “always” a possibility to discover once in a while the
simplest thing that: philosophy can only be taught by philosophizing even at university
level, regardless of the fact that the direct audience – the students – would want to
invest their scholarships or tuition fees for “philosophy itself” or exchange it for
other horizons (“instrumentalization”). For there is no hope – fortunately! – that any
kind of truly philosophical “text” can be voiced without approaching its questions
with our own questions and inquiries… And without this voicing becoming an appeal
or warning for the audience that they need to ask their own explicit – and simply
irreplaceable!! – questions about the matter of “texts” as well!
For the problematic way leading us back and forth to philosophy and our own
possibilities is not a different one, therefore the all-time contact with philosophy –
whether as a professor, a student, or a “social” or “institutional” one – cannot be “easier”
or “more accessible”, nor “harder” and “more incomprehensible” than the journey to
ourselves, open to possibilities, limitations and challenges, and burdened with the
responsibilities of communication, and leading through the beings amidst our partaking
in being. And since this is what any authentic philosophy always and only undertakes,
what would be just enough for the current, living “operation” of the university of
philosophy, is, I think: philosophy “itself”! Without “chair philosophy”!
***
It is certainly not accidental that Immanuel Kant, thinking about the “conflict of the
faculties”, and trying to define the place and role of the faculty of philosophy within
university systems, discusses the university of philosophy, essentially and clearly,
primarily as a place of freedom, or what is more, as the forum of freedom.1 Clearly,
Kant thinks of the university itself as a forum, while he treats the university of
philosophy in fact as the forum of freedom. That is to say, not merely as a place of
exchange of knowledge and skills, or a man production called “training”.
Nevertheless, the university of philosophy can only be a place or even a forum
of freedom, if it can discuss anything as a place for the public use of the mind.
1
Immanuel Kant, The Conflict of the Faculties (Der Streit de Facultaten), trans. and introd. Mary
J. Gregor (New York: Abaris Books, 1992), 29.
139
“Discussion” however means nothing else than the encounter with someone or
something in questioning or in the uttered question itself. And, what is more, the
encounter – or rather: confrontation – not only with the question or the “partner”, but
with ourselves as well. Therefore the community of professors and students as a forum
of freedom can only be formed on faculties of philosophy if it means an encounter in
questioning – that is, in search and self-search –, practiced by, and as a right of the
public use of the mind, and permanently reiterating, validating and rearticulating this
right and practice. And this is of course not unconnected to what is called in philosophy
for thousands of years the “search for the truth”. With all its “relativity”. So it is no
accident that already Aristotle connects the basic name questions – the “categories” –
of the search for being to the agora…
The truth can only be searched therefore, both on the agora and at the university
of philosophy, freely by free people: as a responsible and historical act of freedom. As
people who interact in no other ways than in various situations – or positions in a
“phenomenological” sense – of serious self-search. And it is only the difference of this
“position”, this situation and the implications that constitutes it – and not of their
relationship with the current set of knowledge or skills – that essentially and primarily
distinguishes between one professor or student or another. And not the length of a list of
publications or the frequency of conference attendance! Such things can only be
derivative, even if utterly organic (although hopefully more and more rarely).
So, with regard to its essence and meaning, the university of philosophy – even
if it were only a “factory-like” setting of “philosophical science” – could not have any
other purpose than what philosophy itself derives from: the problematic, historical and
factually accepted ontology of human freedom! Which, regarding its being and structure
of being, is in fact identical, or rather: coincidental with the existential, ontological – and
not “epistemological”, “political philosophical” or “moral philosophical” – and always
factual structure of questionability and questioning. The university of philosophy gains
thus its positive and essential meanings not from ministries and political parties, not
from churches or various international agreements (Bologna or other), but from
philosophy itself and its historical embeddedness – that is, not merely from its possible
timely “usefulness or uselessness”. That is, from the historical urges and meanings of
being of philosophy itself, which often have not even reached the universities of
philosophy…
Even more directly: the actual purpose of philosophy “training” in higher
education or of the university of philosophy itself, with regard to its essence and
meaning, cannot be anything else than the questionability of the historical human
freedom and the historically possible autonomous human being! Both in a
“community” and an “individual” sense. And with the clarification that no kind of
community – let alone an “autonomous” community – is or can be possible without
autonomous individuals!
Therefore an even more direct purpose – and not some exclusive “object”,
“task” or subject – of the university of philosophy is the historical or social autonomous
individual, a prerequisite for communities. And of course both for the presence of
professors and students at the universities, and for the public “rational use” of
researches! This is why the university of philosophy and the work that happens there
cannot be especially popular. At most for a short while, due to fashion or circumstances.
140
Since nothing is more suspicious, unpleasant or uncomfortable – to be sure, even for
the “individual” itself – than precisely the “autonomous individual”! That’s why all the
“movements” and organizations that usually quite whole-heartedly activate for all kinds
of (primarily “community”) “autonomies” showed not much zeal for it. However, no
movements are generally initiated for the autonomous individual, if for no other reason,
than because all such endeavour would be a burden of philosophy and its derivative
“institutions”.
Aleksandra Chaushova, Swallowed Thoughts, 2011,
pencil on paper, 25 x 32,6 cm
141
The autonomous individual1 is of course not the individuum – whose name hints
to its indivisibility, atomization rather than its “one-I”-ness – nor a (more or less)
isolated human being (no matter how well prepared professionally or how well
“socialized”), but only the one who, conscious of his unrepeatability, is in possession
of one’s own property (his wealth, including his mind and all competences and skills
gained on behalf of his mind) as well as one’s own conscience. Who exists, with all his
“skills”, first of all with regard to the responsibility of the problematic possibilities that
he himself has acknowledged and undertaken. [It is no accident that the Greek name of
the fundamental Aristotelian category – the ousia – originally meant precisely property
and wealth, and by this, the “(basic) value” that counts as the foundation of being. That
to which, by the direction of taking into possession, one must and should pursue. And
which, therefore, is always questionable because of its importance, and which, on this
very account, is the essence itself. This original sense of the Greek word of ousia is of
course preserved and utilized to the full by the sui generis philosophy of Aristotle’s
categorial thinking.2]
Probably any time and any place – even at the universities of philosophy –
when and where philosophy, or at least an invitation to true philosophy, happened
indeed, then it happened precisely with regard to, or as, something similar. For
“reflection” – just like the related “meditation” – hardly means anything else than the
meditative caring for he who, as he takes part in being, is able, and in fact indeed forced,
to think – and act – about (his) being in a timely and actual way, in its all-time problem
of being and with regard to his essential, historical and ultimately encounter-oriented
possibilities (of being). Therefore the issue of the autonomous being, as also that of
freedom, is in fact not a matter of moral, legal or political philosophy, but an essential
historical, existential and ontological question. This is why primarily “chair
philosophies” try so hard to escape it, often even in the name of “philosophy”, as
something that, as “autonomy”, belongs not the individual, but to the community. In
other words: thoughtlessly opposing the individual and its communities, as well as the
communities and the individuals in them.
***
Now, with regard to the “Bologna Process” in the field of philosophy, it is important to
notice, with regard to the determination of the situation, that it was actually prepared,
and still articulated, by the professionalization of philosophy, or rather by professional
“philosophy”. Of course, in close connection with chair philosophies. That is to say,
with regard to philosophy, the Bologna Process is outlined “philosophically” by
something which is, from the very beginning, primarily subservient to the needs of the
labour market. And it can only be rightly understood in this horizon how the
qualification structure of higher education follows both the needs of “knowledge-based
society” and the labour market, oriented in the same direction.
1
The Hungarian term “egyén”, meaning ’individual’ is a compound meaning “one-I”.
(Translator’s note).
2
For more on this, see my study “The Future, Or Questioningly Dwells the Mortal Man…
Question-Points to Time”, Philobiblon – Transylvanian Journal of Multidisciplinary Research int
he Humanities XV (2010): 92–118.
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It is clear therefore what kind of knowledge they mean when talking about the
knowledge needs or requirements of a “knowledge-based” society. Such that is
primarily shaped by labour market conditions! Moreover, it is well “cared for” by the
systems of applications; the role that the successful results of such applications have in
the assessment and promotion of professors, usually expressed and measured in points;
and the manipulation techniques of forcing them into all kinds of work teams that
university institutions and their professional staff would indeed conform to these
“epistemologically” speaking hardly organic expectations.
So there is nothing to wonder that the subjects of the annual Romanian “grants”
launched by the national council – probably held “most respectable” precisely because
these contracts make the biggest income for the universities, the highest recognition for
the leaders of these institutions, and the most “valuable” points for the promotion of
professors – contain not a single “priority field” that could possibly include any kind of
sui generis philosophical research…1
All these of course are quite telling as to the real nature of the loudly advocated
adaptation to the “labour market”, and also of how far the construction sites of the socalled “knowledge-based society” are actually guided by the “market” – even if not the
“marketplace”, the agora. The most surprising is – although, as I have said, there is
nothing to be surprised about – that not only am I not aware of any public position or
argued stance against this on behalf of the “craftsmen” of philosophy around here, but I
tend to see rather that such a state of things is mostly accepted with almost natural
“reflexes” of “catching-up”! This may also illustrate that the reunited team of
professional philosophy and chair philosophy, with no useless sweat, is engaged in a
predictably victorious, and of course always fairly judged and scored match with…
nobody knows who any longer. It may perhaps be that it is not the “market” but only
professional and chair philosophy that is victorious here!
So, if we read in a French encyclopaedia2 that no concept of education has been
shaped without a philosophical background, we can rightfully add that, at least in
Romania, the extraction of philosophy from education cannot do without (chair)
philosophers and their audience, eager for building institutions. For philosophy for them
1
It becomes increasingly clear in fact that these so-called “grants” do not mean “paid research”,
but such that are already endorsed by those in power, regarding both their subjects and their
methodologies. Which are usually “promoted”, firstly with regard to things connected to
philosophy, in the name of ruling spiritual public opinion, symbolic powers, and related –
established and predictable – “trendy” actualities. It is no accident therefore that – and let me hint
now to a personal experience – it has been completely impossible to gain any financial support or
“grant” around here for a philosophical research on euthanasia which would radically analyze
this – from their perspective – admittedly “sensitive” topic, digging deeper than public opinion
and current spiritual trends in general. See also my study on euthanasia: “Euthanasia, Or Death
Assisted to (Its) Dignity,” Philobiblon – Transylvanian Journal of Multidisciplinary Research in
Humanities XVII/2 (2012): 335–354. Whereas the Bioethics Research Centre of Babeş-Bolyai
University in Cluj was founded and is operated under the authority of theology – Orthodox
theology, but this not important now… Such things have of course a clear “message” on the
actual “rights” and circumstances of the public use of the mind!
2
See Encyclopédie Philosophique Universelle, vol. I.: Univers Philosophique, ed. André Jacob
(Paris: Presses Universitaire de France, 1997).
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– as well as the teaching of philosophy and its institutions – is indeed a sort of object or
thing, that they shape or build as they are required to by the market. Because this is all
that lies in their “skills”.
However, authentic philosophy has always had, and will also have, if not a
market, then its agora! Of course, it is perhaps also true that its traffic (of merchandise)
is more difficult to measure. Let us say, by the number of copies of newly printed books
or the masses of audience of lectures or university students.
It is also true that philosophy is usually claimed not to result in any kind of real
and actual knowledge… And also that the insights of philosophy cannot actually be
applied or “used” for anything. Well, one of the most important targets of this
contribution – as well – is to refute this statement!1 It is still my experience and opinion
that we realize precisely because of our seriousness and engagement with the weight of
our always “personal”, determined existential problems that no kind of “spiritual
corpus”, as an impersonal “reply”-mechanism, theory or solution algorithm provided by
“education” is possible in connection with them, which would just be appropriated and
then kept in permanent use and operation.
Insofar I can fully agree with the Bologna process. Namely, with the fact that it
promotes life-long learning. Let me note: philosophy – when it actually happened – has
always been professing this for at least two and half thousand years… 2 In this way
alone can the re-inquiring and re-formulating encounter with the meaning and, why not,
power of philosophy and philosophizing become “possible” as well as actual again.
However, the case is completely different if, instead philosophy, the universities
and schools (not only the secondary schools) teach mere disciplines, or – directly or
indirectly – mentality. (Of which, of course, we cannot speak in the plural, no matter how
many there are). Because both – disciplines and mentality – only waste away the inquiry
that leads towards the above mentioned insights. That is: inquiry itself. Nonetheless, this is
one of the most significant aspects of the university education of philosophy, both in
Romanian and in Hungarian, in the Romanian education system. I am thinking about the
1
Humboldt’s concept of the university is traditionally criticized for not paying attention to the
usefulness or direct applicability of the education and training that takes place there, and also, that
it puts philosophy in the centre. It is of course impossible to think that the Humboldtian idea of
the research university, greatly founded on Kant and Schelling, would think of the education and
training it offers as “useless”. Rather, one should say that the Humboldtian concept of the
university was not “surpassed”, but simply … forgotten! And it was forgotten in such a way that,
concentrating on “easier” possibilities in a Heideggerian sense, they did not repeat it, or were
more and more incapable of repeating it. For it is not easy at all to accomplish the idea rooted in
Kant’s thoughts, formulated by Schelling and institutionally founded by Wilhelm von Humboldt
– especially for the need of the proliferating number of universities – that the university professor
in his lectures creates science directly before the students, as if right in front of their eyes! And
he does not “teach” some sorts of “subjects”, “disciplines” or “specializations”! Such a thing can
of course pose problems too for the audience. (István Fehér M. has dedicated a highly
documented and insightful book containing also critical remarks about the matter, entitled
Schelling – Humboldt, Idealismus und Universität, Mit Ausblicken auf Heidegger und die
Hermeneutik (Frankfurt am Main, Berlin, New York: P. Lang, Europäischer Verlag der
Wissenschaften, 2007]).
2
It is enough to just think of Aristotle’s concept of phronesis, which says the same thing.
144
fact that doctrinal religious education is compulsory in Romania, to the best of my
knowledge singularly in Europe, from elementary school to the end of secondary school
(age 18). In addition to violating human rights – since children ideologically indoctrinated
ever since age 6 or 7 should have the rights to decide freely and openly for themselves in
such matters – this of course also tailors, a priori and determinately, the possible horizons
of inquiry, directions and inclinations of questions and answers for people who have
grown up this way. So one of the most serious problems that I face as a professor of
philosophy is that students seem to lose, year by year, the open inclination for questioning,
or that most of the students’ “own” questions are formulated in a yet hardly movable
religious and theological determination and framework.
All the more so because, in strong connection with this, the “science”
disciplines of school education (like biology or physics) are also taught avoiding the
problematization of theories or ideas that can be relevant for philosophy or mentality.
That is to say, such things are left completely in the hands of teachers of religious
education, trained and permanently controlled by the churches – I repeat, in all schools
from Romania invariably – for an entire 12 years of the life-history of children ages 6 to
18, a decisive period from all points of view! This is joined with the dry instrumentalism
of social sciences and “citizenship” disciplines in secondary school, and a single year of
philosophy education. This again is almost exorbitant, which the current philosophy
textbook, accepted also in Hungarian, is teeming with objective mistakes and errors,
next to lacking any standards of thinking or criticism.
It is no wonder then that the spirituality of the “subjects” taught at the university
of philosophy are also required and promoted in the same spirit, adapted to such a predefined “public opinion”. What they only seem to be quiet about is that this – I repeat:
real and actual – “public opinion” has not simply “grown by itself”, but it was cultivated
and bred. Only that few people wish or choose to know about it. And even less
problematize it. The least problematized is that fact that these are precisely those power
factors – not merely ideological and symbolic – which actually guide, at least for the
time being, the often mentioned “philosophy labour market”. Including the “popularity”
and catchment area of the university of philosophy also! That is, they also define the
“numbers”, “consistency” and “quality” of those who attend it and graduate from it.
As for the labour market, it is definitely not a kind of agora where people freely
debate or compete over jobs posted in the name and interest of truth. So most graduates
of the university of philosophy of Cluj find – temporary or full-time – employment as
secondary school teachers, at various foundations, societies, public institutions and
political organizations, or in the press. The vast majority of these of course also stands
under direct or indirect political, ideological or religious supervision (and that of the
public opinion generated by these). That is to say, these probably also hardly long for
“autonomous individuals”… It may well happen however, that the case is also valid for
the opposite direction. So that it would not be superfluous to check how far those who
were ambitious or lucky enough to meet the open or silent requirements of the labour
market with their philosophy diploma have reached their “happiness” on this account.
Or rather they have to deny themselves because of this day after day? But it is precisely
this that proves that one can quite resourcefully influence the shaping of the labour
market, instead of just lagging behind its external and usually instrumental requirements
mediated by (not “uninterested”) offices and institutions.
145
However, philosophy does and must have its “own interests” – as Kant puts it –
and it must protect and represent these interests by the public use of the mind, and
primarily precisely by doing philosophy. The decisive role in this process nowadays
would go not to chair philosophy, but to university philosophy, or the university of
philosophy. Since neither the Romanian Academy, nor any of the Romanian universities
have no serious research institutions for philosophy, it is perhaps time to think about
the creation, or at least lobby for the creation of a research institution independently
from state- or private universities, or “foundations” long expropriated by politics or
ideologies. And where the most talented and engaged (young) researchers would finally
find employment. Instead of the “reliable” and “predictable” people, the descendents of
historical families of our little community, who are only good at the dry science of
philosophy. For the single clear reason that they might “research” subjects of their own
fields of interest in a genuinely philosophical inquiry, following a system of
applications. Or simply: to “just” philosophize!
The worries usually mechanically arising at this, that these subjects and
researches would probably lack public utility or applicability – of course, only from the
perspective of those who always seem to have very accurate information as to the deep
functions and tasks of our “culture” and “history”, but who, in spite of this, are never
capable of presenting truly meaningful and alive creative strategies instead of illusions –
could only be put to rest by paraphrasing Heidegger: philosophy, although never really
“timely” or journalistically “actual”, always pinpoints its own age with sharp accuracy.
Meaning the truly real and central questions and problems of its age. “Philosophy” is a
“useless”, meaningless or empty endeavour only if it is not really philosophy, but
wrongly called so! So a periodical of the research institution called for above could also
be published, and it is my conviction that it would soon become of the richest and most
alive publications of thinking in the region. People from many places living with the
awareness and urge of the constraint of thinking would probably soon send their
analyses. For, I repeat: “philosophy” is only a seemingly “useless”, meaningless and
empty endeavour if it is not philosophy, but something wrongly called so out of habit!
However, this only illustrates that the name of philosophy is still attractive
today in certain respects! Together with all the traps of such an attraction. How else
could it be explained that we are repeatedly told on more and more channels that almost
all production or service companies or all institutions that think highly of themselves
have their own “philosophies”? There is nothing wrong with this in itself, since we could
even think that they mean the articulated and meaningful existence of that company
within the wider connections of the world, also with a reference to its future.
The problem lies rather in the silencing away of the question whether these
companies or businesses also have a thinker as an extra to their “philosophy”? The
problem is not merely that the “philosophy” of companies, fashion salons or gyms is
actually only an empty marketing manoeuvre, but much rather that this way the monster
of the thinker-deprived philosophy has been formed and has been gaining more and
more ground!
Since philosophy – and also “philosophizing” – no longer needs a thinker, it
will do with a “professional” or “expert” – trained of course necessarily as a manager as
well –, who knows also how to use the mere term and conceptual means – “wordthings” in Gadamer’s term – of philosophy in order to merely “employ” “philosophy”
146
without thinking,1 and what is more, directly as a successful motivation of the lack of
thinking.
It is a question therefore whether is it not the same that happens in chair
philosophy – as well as professional philosophy? Namely, is it not indeed a thinkerdeprived “philosophy” and “philosophizing” which happens then? And it may be that
the essential and real community and interconnectedness of these two, originally
probably not very different tendencies explains why – despite those said above – the
name of “philosophy” still corresponds today to superfluous, void and “meaningless”
occupations, complicating life and things for no avail. Or, as Erasmus used to say: a
blatant “folly”.
In spite of this, it is my conviction that the meditation about the teaching of
philosophy and university philosophy has – even today – no other way than the
reflection on the possible “philosophical nature” of the very teaching of philosophy.
For, in case of philosophy, the question comes more specifically: what is the relationship
between education by philosophy on the one hand, and “teaching” philosophy, or more
precisely, “teaching” how to guide one to reach philosophy?
In times like this of course the “difference” that Kant made between philosophy
taken in sensu scholastico and in sensu cosmopolitico is almost automatically pulled out
and discussed anew. The calling of this differentiation, beyond the ramifications of
conceptual differences, should have been precisely to make it clear: philosophy cannot
in fact be either taught, or learnt… For that part of philosophy which can be taught as
historical or mental knowledge a priori coming from others is, albeit not without
content, but devoid of actual meanings.2
Apart from the fact that such things are usually read in contexts which aim rather
to somehow legitimize the “chair philosophy” saved by the name of university philosophy,
I think that these ways of interpretations avoid precisely the hermeneutical core of things.
Since most often we tend to forget that these profound and meaningful thoughts of Kant
are contained and emphasized in his university lectures – that is, in the physical presence
of Kant and his eager audience. Therefore in a highly determined way!3 And what is more,
in connection to subjects precisely as “metaphysics” or “logic”!
But what would be the sense of speaking – and loudly too – about the
“unteachability” and “unlearnability” of philosophy as a “teacher”, a lecturer…?
Certainly nothing! So, no doubt, something utterly different has to happen or be
discussed there. For Kant says in this hermeneutic situation that: everything that forms
the concept of school-philosophy can be taught and learnt… While on the other hand,
although not useless at all, this still lacks the proper, sui generis meaning. So it lacks
1
It may also have a role in this – as pointed out by Heidegger not very long ago – that we know
very little about what it means to think, or what thinking is at all. See Martin Heidegger, Was
heisst Denken?, fifth, revised edition (Tübingen: Max Niemayer Verlag, 1997), 175.
2
See also the systematic writing of Fehér M., István: A filozófia tanítása (The teaching of
philosophy) in Iskolai filozófia Magyarországon a XVI-XIX. században (School philosophy in
Hungary in the 16th –19th century), ed. András Mészáros (Bratislava (Pozsony): Kalligram, 2003),
9–23.
3
That is, precisely so as, with Schelling’s words mentioned above, science comes into being in
front of the audience!
147
precisely that the knowledge and skills, proved by their the passing-on, learning and
practicing – and thus connected also to “maxims”1 – be articulated with reference to, and
projected on the universal (cosmopoliticus) objectives and senses of mankind.
These objectives however – amidst which thus the possibility of any meaning
can only be constituted – appear not as “maxims” but as questions (also) for Kant. So
we could say that the – currently external – “difference” of school and universal
philosophy, that is, precisely the difference between thinking taken in the sense of
maxims or thinking and life itself taken as original questioning! Such a “difference”
which the actual philosophy, in sensu eminenti, besides stating and outlining, always
also exceeds and eliminates, at least with regard to itself. And this cannot be “taught”
because there is nothing to “teach” about such kinds of questions or questioning!
Aristotle emphasizes both in the Categories and in the Topics that categorial
questions – or more precisely the questions validated and represented by the categories
themselves – are not dialectical. Therefore in the sense of dialectical or erotetic
edification they cannot and should not be dealt with… Because they simply cannot be
answered with yes or no, affirmation or negation. On the other hand, if we do not ask
these questions… then we can never know or understand why we humans ask questions
and answer them all the time…
The case is then probably than contents can be taught, while meanings cannot.
Because these can only be inquired for – otherwise they will never even speak. Then
how can they outline and constitute themselves without questioning? As something
which can simply be handed over from one shoulder to the other? As a simple formula
or algorithm in function.
Well, this is precisely what Kant was thinking about aloud in the presence of his
students. So he did not simply imparted or even less simply lectured about some
“subject” – one that was made more attractive or fluent by rhetorical means –, but he
explicitly interrogated, questioned it at that very time. This is why it is probably not
accidental – as also experienced by his diligent exegetes – that the greatest of all
questions of meaning, namely “What is man?” is formulated precisely in Kant’s
university lectures, and not in some “scholarly” study wrapped in mere previous
numbness.2 He does not only provide his students eager for wisdom with serious
warnings clad in terminological differentiations.
Meanwhile Kant always emphasizes still that the true philosopher is the
practical philosopher! Which again means something completely different there than
proficiency in sensu scholastico in the “discipline” or texts of practical philosophy, even
if it is called The Critique of Practical Reason. On the contrary, this is the only direct
way – the way of essential thinking – to the articulation of philosophy and the university
of philosophy as a place and forum of freedom.
However, these days there are more and more voices telling us that some
university professors should be more mindful of the fact that not all the students who
apply to the department of philosophy wish to make contact with philosophy so-to-say
“for the sake of philosophy”…, but for making use of it in some other field. Therefore it
1
“Maxims” are the inner, subjective principles of the choice among various objectives.
See Immanuel Kant, Introduction to Logic (New York: Philosophical Library, 2013), especially
Chapter III entitled Conception of Philosophy in General.
2
148
is unnecessary and tiresome to place too much emphasis on the “philosophical nature”
of philosophy…
But what does it actually mean that someone wants to learn philosophy not “for
the sake of philosophy” but for some other reason, or that – now from the perspective of
university lectures – philosophy is taught so that it may lead not to philosophy, but to
something else? But how could anyone “use” or market philosophy in any other
“theoretical” or “practical” field if not creating in the meantime a special relationship
with their own specific questions and urges, or not becoming aware of the fact that
their own questions and projects inevitably connected to these organically belong to
their own selves?!
Whereas the pertinence of our – certainly always definite – questions to
ourselves, and of ourselves to our existential, historical and horizon-like questions is
precisely (one of) the most essential philosophy(ies), as we have seen in fact at Kant as
well, and to acknowledge this, there is a need for a most profound and authentic
encounter with philosophy! As I have said, we saw the same at Kant too. And of course
no kind of “science of philosophy”, “chair philosophy” or “professional philosophy” can
ever possibly lead – and indeed never leads – to any such thing! Which – in spite of this
and at the same time – always essentially radiates from any authentic gesture of
philosophizing!
Now, what derives from this for me is precisely that the problem of the
teaching of philosophy – and I mean not exclusively at the university – and cultivation
of philosophy is one and the same thing! Actually, the main question – which has been
disquieting me for quite some time – is that: the basic problem of the application of
philosophy is not – and cannot be by its nature – how an already “existing”, “readymade” philosophy, philosophical “language” or “discipline” used for understanding
something which inevitably always boasts with its new and particular presence?! On the
contrary, the most important question for philosophical (self) reflection itself – that is,
the teaching of philosophy – is how to make philosophy appropriate for facing the sui
generis and “necessary” novelty of the presentness of something problematic,
oppressive and challenging – that is, truly questionable –, relevant also from the point of
view of philosophical tradition?! And that, by this – for us humans – philosophy opens
up to us the windows of new existential possibilities!
But let me ask: is it not this the fundamental “problem” connected to the
meanings and possibilities of the teaching of philosophy? Most certainly, it is! This is
why I call this both “philosophical” and existential possibility applied philosophy.
Completely independently from what other may consider “applied philosophy” based on
trends, or how relevant or irrelevant it is on the conference stages of contemporary
philosophical fashion-shows!
For it is still most important to admit and have it accepted that the true subjects
of philosophy – as well as its tribulations, attempts and stakes – are not found primarily
in books, studies or the inner “problematic” states of the “science”. Nor in various
educational, political (strategic or tactical) directions… Instead, the actual subjects of
philosophy stand in the explicit and articulated, reflexive bringing to actuality of the
existential and historical challenges in action. And possibly this is the most essential,
“useful” and applicable thing in “other fields” as well that philosophy students can
acquire or make their own – their own ousia – in the community of the university of
149
philosophy, with the philosophizing help of their “educators” in the efforts of thinking,
as “the students of their own minds”.
While of course they also take themselves – as autonomous individuals – “into
their possession” in the questioning articulation of the responsibly desired direction of
their possibilities of being. Regardless of whether these students applied to the university
because of philosophy or for other reasons! And of course also irrespective of whether
this university is a traditional, “physical” one, or a “virtual” university of philosophy.
Now, for this very reason, namely because of the actual historical work that one
does over oneself necessarily in all respects in the always questionable historical
direction and interests of human freedom which always points beyond itself, philosophy
or philosophizing cannot be just a kind of “craft”. Let alone “profession”. Therefore the
university of philosophy also cannot be a higher (professional) school of such a
“professional training” where the applied mechanisms could work year-by-year as an
institution, as if on a conveyor belt. Where the diplomas gained at the end of “factorystructured” processes and technologies of production, training and instruction would
prove such a “skill” connected to the “tasks” and “profession” of philosophy. For what
kind of “instruction”, “training” or “profession” could “specialize” in amending or
avoiding the problems, disorders, insufficiencies, breaks of man with, let’s say, death,
dying, freedom, possibility, history, secret, etc.? Such “problems” always turn out never
to lack difficulties and “problematicality” – so they would really give a job for licensed
“professionals” and “experts” forever – but this way they would just ward off that
essential consideration that this somehow unceasably and unavoidably occurring
“problematicality” – or more accurately: questionability, question and questioning –
belongs to the very essence of philosophy just as questionability belongs necessarily and
essentially – that is, ontologically – to the being of the questioning being. While there is
not, and cannot be any kind of professional, procedural, or production protocol,
regulation, rule or prescription which can be applied just like that, “professionally”, and
adjusted to any situation.
This does not mean of course that philosophy would no longer have any kind of
“use” or “utility”. On the contrary, it is only and exclusively the clarifying and always
reiterated, historically always undertaken, questioning and re-questioning efforts of
philosophy which can secure this ground – as well as atmosphere and mood – on the
bases and horizons of which the possible human meanings of being and meaningful
being can truly be outlined.
Of course, the “cultivation” and “teaching” of philosophy as a “profession” or
even more as a “craft” is not only more easily and light-heartedly accessible – so
smoother – but also more “efficient”, productive and profitable. Because it is weightless.
Therefore it is simpler to create the expected, “timely” and accounted-for illusion of an
“attentive”, “well informed”, “sensitive” and “responsible” “creation” and pedantry of
things philosophical. And, what is more, in a way that it would correspond – not to the
weight of questions, but – to the explicit or implicit, but “respectable” and “responsible”
“expectations” of all institutional, company or professional offices or publicity.
Still, it is in this above outlined way that I would like to understand – and not
merely as a kind of naïve self-conceit – what Kant says about the uniqueness and
“singularity” of philosophy. Namely, the philosophy is the only one that has an inner
value, and philosophy gives value to all other sciences. For there are no calculations or
150
algorithms or axiomatic systems which could tell us what mathematics is, of what is its
meaning for human life; of there are no experiments or theories which could tell us what
physics is… nor are there such “reactions” which would inform us in laboratories about
the nature and meaning of chemistry. Just as there is no “device” or instrument about the
meaning of technology, nor are there works of art to define what a work of art is. And
just as theologies do not “ground” the religions, since these are all based on revelations
coming from outside, and in revelations they find the roots and meanings of their faith. It
is philosophy alone that can necessarily and inevitably find its own foundations in the
all-time question and its permanent reiteration “within” itself, inquiring about its own
nature and meanings, and of course always pointing beyond “itself”. Only thus, and only
for this reason can philosophy lend “value to all other sciences”.
So the meditation about the university of philosophy or teaching philosophy at
the university has visibly no other way than: the actual meditation about the current
position and chances of philosophizing itself. Which must of course also surface the
current urges and challenges of philosophizing.
This is what will probably need to guide the analyses, debates and “policies”
connected to the university of philosophy as a possible university (philosophy)
institution. And not the other way round. Otherwise nothing more will happen than the
creation of newer versions of the usual “academic” philosophical “laboratories and
factories”. In which – besides their being in fact the objectives and requirements of
education and academic policy, or sandwich fillings between public mood and public
will – there is a real chance that they – or we – would actually teach misosophia instead
of philosophia as the “philosophy of the academic-university ghetto”.
For this is increasingly the case lately. Many “graduates” want to directly get rid
of the memory and experience that they once attended a so-called university of
philosophy. Just as many are those who no longer think it is important to “finish” their
studies. Which, by the way, means a no greater “ordeal” than earning their diplomas by
producing some three dozens of pages of a “text” on a somewhat “philosophical
subject”… Or the continuation of these “studies” on MA level. While the respect, if not
honour, of titles – “MA”, “PhD” – is still preserved.
This is only possible of course because we slowly not only treat philosophy as
an object – or rather, dissimulate it with institutional headings, stamps and commitments
– but turn it directly into a lie at the universities!
Translated by Emese Czintos
151
The Contribution of the Cluj School of Biology to the Development of
European Sozology in the Inter-War Period
Florin CRIŞAN, Vasile CRISTEA
Department of Taxonomy and Ecology
Keywords sozology, nature protection, biologists, interwar period, Cluj-Napoca,
Romania
Abstract The movement of nature’s protection in Romania had a number of promoters
and the most representative of Alma Mater Napocensis were Emil G. Racoviţă,
Alexandru Borza and Emil Pop. E. G. Racoviţă, Antarctic explorer, the creator in Cluj of
the first academic institute of bio-speleological research in the world, was also a pioneer
in defining and classifying protected areas. A. Borza, renowned botanist, the founder of
the Botanical Garden of the University of Cluj, actively contributed to the establishment
of the first national park in Romania. E. Pop, titular member of the Romanian Academy,
supported the continuation of protective movement promoted by its illustrious
predecessors.
Email: [email protected], [email protected]
*
Sozology, a term rarely-used nowadays, was introduced into the scientific lexicon in
1965 by Walery Goetel, an early pioneer of the Polish conservationist and ecologist
movements. Goetel wrote “It should be taken into account that the question of the
protection of natural resources and securing the stability of their use will row to become
one of the major problems of human life, and that a new branch of science dealing with
these issues will develop.”1 Referring to sozology, Professor Goetel stated, “The goal of
this science, containing economic and technical elements, is to aim through the
conservation of natural resources to secure their stability of use”2 so technology can
meet both the necessities imposed by economy and the goals of ecology, this approach
requiring the cooperation of specialists from the fields of ecology, geology, economics,
technical sciences, pedagogy, and so on.
Therefore, it can be said that “at present, sozology is developing from both the
conceptual and methodological points of view”,3 becoming, in the process, a science in
its own right.
But despite the achievements in the field of nature protection, nature
preservation or nature conservation, during the last two decades we are witnessing the
formulation of the purpose, objectives, principles and philosophical fundamentals of the
1
Leszek Gawor, “Walery Goetel and the Idea of Sozology,” Problemy ekorozwoju – Problems of
sustainable development 8, 1 (2013): 83–89, 85.
2
Gawor, “Walery Goetel and the Idea of Sozology,” 86.
3
Vasile Cristea, “Traditions in romanian sozology,” in Nature conservation: concepts and
practice, ed. Dan Gafta, John Akeroyd (Heidelberg: Springer, 2006), 16.
152
science called conservation of biological diversity. This new science is considered by
Primack et al. (2008) to be an integrative one, as …”a real multidisciplinary science, and
even transdisciplinary in some of its sequences”1.
Aleksandra Chaushova, Enchanted Tea Drinkers (detail), 2013,
pencil on paper, 166 x 96 cm
A simple look at the objectives of this science (i) study of biological diversity,
(ii) assessment of human impact on this diversity (iii), development of measures to
prevent extinction, preservation of variability, protection and restoration of biological
communities and functions of associated ecosystems, led us to the conclusion that these
two terms (sozology and conservation of biodiversity) overlap to the most.
1
Richard B. Primack, Maria Pătroescu, Laurenţiu Rozylowicz, Cristian Iojă, Fundamentele
conservării diversităţii biologice (Foundations of biodiversity preservation) (Bucharest: Ed.
AGIR, 2008), 7.
153
Our option for sozology, in addition to the priority of its launch, is based on the
much wider sphere of the study subject – the biosphere –, as well as the type of
approach: systemic.
The term “biodiversity conservation” was favoured by the Global Strategy for
Development, the Brundtland Report and by the summits organized in Rio de Janeiro
(1992, 2012) and Johannesburg (2002).
In Romania, the conservationist movement has had its fair share of prominent
supporters in the scientific community, amongst whom Emil G. Racoviţă, Alexandru
Borza and Emil Pop are of particular interest. These individuals – all three of them great
Cluj academics – contributed enormously to the development of principles and strategies
for the protection of the environment both here and in the rest of Europe.
Primack et al (2008) recognize the fact that in Cluj “…it activated a great
naturalist movement”, that “the most important action of the conservationist movement
in Romania…”1 was represented by the First Congress of Naturalists in Romania,
organized and held in Cluj (April, 1928).
The main Sozological contributions of the Cluj School
Emil G. Racoviţă, “our greatest biologist and one of the most upstanding creations of
the Romanian spirit”2, summed up life in the following manner: “To know means, for
man: to be, living one’s life in contentment while accepting the prospect of not to be
with serenity”3. He lived a life rich in experience, which saw him travel from “under the
rays of the fiery southern sun, on the heat-blasted shores and on the eternal, surging blue
waters of the Mediterranean Sea”4, to the “never-ending icy wastelands of the
Antarctic”5. It was Racoviţă who created, organised and ran the Academic Institute for
Bio-Speleological Research in Cluj, a hive of scientific activity that roved “under the
earth, through passages that mastered the fear of the cold darkness”6. Looking back on
the life and activities of this great biologist, we can see that it was “his vast culture,
highly scientifically informed nature and prestigious international standing”7 that
enabled him to take on the role of “consultant for the development of thoroughly modern
educational activities in the field of biology at the new Romanian University” 8 of Cluj,
of which he was rector between 1929 and 1930.
A first step in the direction of nature protection in Transylvania was “the
establishment of Brotherhood mountain tourism society in Cluj in 1920 by Emil
Racoviţă with a group of distinguished intellectuals, with the aim to protect mountains
1
Ibid., 20.
Emil Pop, “Emil Racoviţă, interpret al naturii” (Emil Racoviţă, interpreter of nature) in
Ocrotirea naturii 12/1 (1968): 5.
3
Emil Gheorghe Racoviţă, Pagini alese (Selected writings) (Bucharest: Ed. Acad. R.P.R., 1955): 91.
4
Ibid., 84.
5
Ibid., 84.
6
Ibid., 84.
7
Ana Fabian and Vasile Cristea, “L’enseignement universitaire roumain de biologie à Cluj à son
80e anniversaire – une page d’histoire de notre vie académique,” in Contribuţii botanice (ClujNapoca) 1 (2000): 192.
8
Ibid.
2
154
and forests from devastation, to organize events, meetings, and to publish articles and
popularizing brochures, that can arouse the Romanian people’s love for nature and its
protection”1.
In 1934 Emil Racoviţă offers Romanians the first guidebook concerning natural
monuments, which he defines as “all places, all bionts, all territories and prehistoric
human works which because of their scientific, legendary and landscape interest,
deserve to be preserved for the benefit of the public, both in the present and in the
future”2
In 1937, Racoviţă published an article in the journal of the Société de
Biogéographie (Paris) entitled “Les monuments naturels. Définition, classification,
normes pour l’application des lois et règlements. Ce qu’il faudrait faire et ce qu’il
faudrait ne point faire”. In this, he wrote “In brief, I fear the indifference, frivolity,
ignorance, selfishness and even excessive zeal of those who will decide the fate of our
natural monuments, those priceless treasures that we, the people of today, have a duty to
preserve for future generations”3.
We want to emphasize the identity of points of view on this issue, between the
Romanian savant and the creator of sozology, the Polish Goetel, who said in 1971 that
“Nature together with the human environment can be saved only on the condition that man
will recognize his affinity to nature instead of gradually distancing himself from it.”4.
Considered by Puşcariu et al., 1981, as the “first of its kind on a world scale” 5,
the article contains a series of ground-breaking ideas, the most important of which we
will mention below.
 It defines natural monuments as being “all resorts, flora and fauna, subterranean
deposits and prehistoric man-made objects which, due to their inherent
scientific, aesthetic, artistic and cultural significance are recognised by the law
as meriting conservation for public use by generations past and present”6.
 It classifies these areas, on one hand, “in terms of their purpose and use (nature
reserve, study reserve or tourist reservation)” while, on the other hand, “in terms
of their nature: reserves (national parks, forest reservations, tourist landscapes,
bird sanctuaries), protected geological or geographical formations, species or
individual animals protected as natural monuments and designated mineral
deposits and prehistoric sites”7.
1
Adrian Bavaru, Stoica Godeanu, Gallia Butnaru, Alexandru Bogdan, Biodiversitatea şi
ocrotirea naturii (Biodiversity and nature protection) (Bucharest: Ed. Acad. Române, 2007): 417.
2
Primack et. al., Fundamentele conservării diversităţii biologice, 21.
3
Emil Gheorghe Racovitza, “Les monuments naturels (MN.). definition, classification, normes
pour l’application des lois et reglements. Ce qu’il faudrait faire et ce qu’il faudrait ne point faire,”
in Societé de Biogéographie (Paris) 5 (1937): 17.
4
Gawor, Walery Goetel and the Idea of Sozology, 86.
5
Puşcariu et al, 1981, quoted in Vasile Cristea, Simone Denaeyer, Jean-Paul Herremans, Irina
Goia, Ocrotirea naturii şi protecţia mediului în România (Nature and environment protection in
Romania) (Cluj-Napoca: Cluj University Press, 1996): 203.
6
Emil Gheorghe Racovitza, “Les monuments naturels,” 18.
7
Ibid., 19.
155

The process of “ascribing the status of natural monument to an entity”1
involves several steps, the first two being an initial study carried out by
specialists and the conferring of a provisional status of natural monument on an
area. This is followed by measures designed to increase the efficiency of
protective measures as well as the socio-economic impact, before the area is
finally officially declared as a protected one.
Individual cases of wildlife reserves and endangered species are analysed, with the ideal
conditions for the protection of these being listed. The ideas put forward by the Cluj
academic are in tune with those of modern proponents of sozology, stating that “the
larger a nature reserve, the better it serves its purpose as a natural monument” and
highlighting the fact that “ideal protection is only afforded when a species, plant or
animal, can live in a large-sized reservation in its own natural habitat”2. Racoviţă asks
”the creation of large reserves, which can be removed from destruction and artificial
modification, of different categories of living populations (biocenosis) that are situated
in the most original biological balance, that you may find it all along the country”3. This
idea appears later at Goetel who, in 1966, was saying “What good will bring the
protection of particular elements of nature, when deep changes in human life, and
especially the destruction of nature will cover the entire Earth, or even only its particular
but vast areas ?”4.
Racoviţă’s visionary spirit as an “avant-garde theorist”5 in environmental issues
perceived by the world of today as being extremely pressing is illustrated by a quote
from the aforementioned article: “Any animal or plant species may become an important
economic asset. Its true value may not be immediately apparent, but this may be
revealed through a new discovery…”6
In conclusion, Racoviţă can be considered to be one of the leading pioneers in
the definition and classification of protected areas, especially given that his paper,
written in French, appeared almost eleven years before that of E. Bourdelle (1948), a
text often cited by UICN as one of its main inspirations.
Alexandru Borza was the main figure in fulfilling “a request by the young
Transylvanian university’s head of biology that scientific activities be carried out in the
context of specialised, modern training, favourable research conditions and benefiting
from a productive scientific tradition and integrated institutions, which would ensure that
scientific work is performed to international standards and with the greatest degree of
seriousness”.7
1
Ibid., 20.
Ibid., 23.
3
Ioan Pop, Ocrotirea naturii în Republica Socialistă România (The protection of nature in the
Socialist Republic of Romania) (Cluj-Napoca: Univ. Babeş-Bolyai, 1982): 12.
4
5
Vasile Cristea, Traditions in romanian sozology, 20.
6
Emil Gheorghe Racovitza, “Les monuments naturels,” 23.
7
Emil Pop, “Profesorul Alexandru Borza” (Professor Alexandru Borza), in Contribuţii botanice
(1972): 31.
2
156
A complex scholarly figure, Alexandru Borza was one of the greatest
promoters of conservationist ideals in Romania: “Among the new directions in research
and academic activity adopted by the new university we can also find nature protection
(a more comprehensive field than what we currently call preservation of biodiversity).
The will and the intellect behind this new initiative were those of Alexandru Borza, a
complex, visionary naturalist, a skilled and dedicated organizer, a realist humanist
thinker, a scholar in the true sense of the word”.1
As the academic Emil Pop points out when discussing problems regarding the
conservation of nature, “Professor Borza was the driving force behind these ideas, so
welcome here after 1918, and, at the same time, was the central figure of the action itself
once it had acquired an administrative and legal structure.”2
As early as 1924, Borza had drawn up a list of 12 rare plant species, 43 reserves
and 6 national parks and campaigned for measures to be taken in order to ensure their
protection and preservation.
His efforts and of the other naturalists from Cluj University empowers
“professor V. Stanciu to convince (on 12th August 1919) the Grand National Council
(reunited in Sibiu) that the agrarian law project should also include the following
stipulation: “...all places that represent a special interest in scientific way, to be entirely
expropriated for science ( art. II par. I.c)”3. Unfortunately “the Transylvanian project of
agrarian law had been abandoned and replaced with a new law that was elaborated in
Bucharest, in which the bright mood of Transylvanian law on nature protection is
absent”.4 Having direct contact with the manner in which the activity for nature
protection was organized in other countries (in 1926 he visited a number of national
parks in SUA), Borza explicitly requests “We need therefore a special law for nature
protection that consolidates the results achieved... Our national parks and scientific
reserves need to be eternally protected in order to accomplish its great scientific,
cultural, national and economic mission”.5
With the passing and implementation of Romania’s first law for the protection
of natural monuments in 1930, Professor Borza became a member of the Central
Commission (CMN), subsequently becoming head of the Transylvanian commission
and, in 1938, president of the Central Commission and director of its scientific office. It
must be stressed that this first law for natural preservation was due in large part to the
work of Professor Borza, as it was based primarily on ideas put forward by him in 1927.
Furthermore, he was the main campaigner for the establishment of the Retezat
National Park, an undertaking in which “professor Borza’s patience and capacity for
hard work were put to the test. In this manner, he was able to present to our descendents
a noble achievement of patriotic, scientific and educational importance”6.
1
Vasile Cristea and Franco Pedrotti, Cuvânt înainte (Preface) in Alexandru Borza, Protecţiunea
naturii: pagini alese (Nature protection: selected papers), ed. Vasile Cristea and Franco Pedrotti,
L’uomo e l’ambiente 45 (2005): 7.
2
Emil Pop, Profesorul Alexandru Borza, 29.
3
Cristea, V. et al, Ocrotirea naturii şi protecţia mediului în România, 198.
4
Ibid., 199.
5
Ibid., 200.
6
Pop, E., Profesorul Alexandru Borza, 29.
157
The First National Congress of Romanian Naturalists provided the ideal
platform for Prof. Borza to express his concept of natural protection and explain the
strategies necessary for its implementation in Romania. “Only in this way can we leave
to our descendents a Romania as rich in beauty and natural treasures, of ethical,
aesthetic, scientific and economic importance as the one we have inherited from our
forefathers and as is known to the entire world. We will create such an atmosphere of
holy respect for ancient Nature, that will be the most powerful source of a well
understood patriotism and cultural universal sense of solidarity that should guide future
humanity”.1
In 1929, during his opening address to the Krakow Congress, Prof. Borza put
forth the idea of creating trans-border parks and reservations “given the fraternal links
between the countries we represent – Czechoslovakia, Poland and Romania – I am
certain, my dear fellows, that the purpose for which we are gathered here today, namely
the creation of a national park that spans the borders of our three neighbouring nations,
will be fulfilled promptly and with ease”.2
As well as the creation of an (Inter-)National Park in the Tatra Mountains that
would include territories from Czechoslovakia and Poland, the congress passed a
resolution proposing a park comprising of territory situated along the common borders
of the three signatory states. It urged the three governments to co-operate towards this
goal, and recommended the creation of a national park along the Romanian-Polish
border. Another resolution dealt with the protection of animal species: “Czechoslovakia,
Poland and Romania are urged to take measures to ensure the immediate and complete
protection of certain endangered species of mountain animals”,3 while yet another
resolution touched upon the protection of plant species, with the delegates agreeing to
the strict protection of the Carpathian Juniper.
Professor Borza paid particular attention to cultivated plants, especially
traditional varieties. His interest in this field was demonstrated by exhibitions he
organised, but also, more pertinently, through his writings on the subject, where we can
find his synthesised proposal for the creation of a living collection, which he considered
to be “with a view to the future, when, following the standardisation of production they
will be forgotten and disappear…we will therefore… preserve… a living archive of our
cultural history and we consider that it is indeed a debt of honour to perform this deed in
the history of science”4.
To sum up the preservationist ideals of this veritable athlete of the movement
for natural protection in Romania, we will make use of his own words: “in carrying out
what we have proposed…we will be able to stand with our heads held high in front of
the rest of the world, which has every right to ask us how we intend to carry out our
1
Alexandru Borza, Compte rendu du Congrès scientifique des représentants de la Roumanie, la
Tchécoslovaquie et la Pologne, touchant la Protection de la Nature sur les terrains limitrophes
des trois états, Cracovie, 13-14 dec. 1929”, in Alexandru Borza, “Protecţiunea naturii,” 312.
2
Ibid. 312.
3
Ibid. 315.
4
Alexandru Borza and Cornel Gürtler, Varietăţile de mere cultivate în Grădina Botanică din Cluj
(Apple varieties cultivated in the Botanical Garden in Cluj) in Alexandru Borza, “Protecţiunea
naturii,” 252.
158
mission as masters of his plot of earth from whence we came. Science is universal, and
the right and duty to study nature belongs to everybody, with the protection of natural
monuments being, therefore, an issue of international importance”1.
Professor Borza’s ideas and achievements with regard to sozology were widely
known amongst the European academic community, especially given that they were not
only published in Romanian, but also in English, French, German and Italian. After
1947 he often received invitations to attend international scientific events, but was
unable to do so due to his punishment by the communist regime for his unrepentant
desire to be a ‘global citizen’.
Emil Pop, on the occasion of his 70th birthday in 1967, said about himself: “I’m a man
of the Cluj university – in it I gained instruction and method, it has enormously
facilitated my research, and the pioneering spirit of its early academics was ever-present,
inspiring me in my work…”.2
Climbing the steps of the academic ladder, he was accorded the rank of full
professor in the 1938/39 academic year, and in 1955 became a member of the Romanian
Academy. In his memoirs, Alexandru Borza stated: “Emil Pop is, in fact, one of the
most brilliant of my disciples”.3
One of Emil Pop’s many scientific concerns was the protection of nature, about
which he wrote: “The movement for the protection of nature has, as its focal point, the
reaction of naturalists and concerned citizens to the errors committed by certain
individuals with regard to nature, be these the result of ignorance, laziness or even sheer,
wanton destructive zeal”4.
Between 1932 and 1937, Professor Pop held courses for post-doctoral students
that, under the general umbrella of sozology, were entitled Genetic Fitogeography as
Applied to Romania. In the introductory lecture of this discipline (which he also entitled
Genetic Botanical Geography), he stated: “Such classes, through the fact that they serve
to deepen knowledge of certain limited chapters of a science in light of recent research,
through the fact that they delve into the intimate subtleties of a scientific field and bring
you to places where the thread of problems get lost in the darkness of the unknown –
such classes can, in all probability, have the effect of pushing the listener to familiarise
himself with the realities of science and activate his passion as a researcher”5.
According to Professor Pop, “botanical geography is the science that deals with
the multifaceted relationships between plants and the environment that surrounds them”
1
Alexandru Borza, “Protecţiunea naturii în România,” (Nature protection in Romania) in
Alexandru Borza, Protecţiunea naturii, 25.
2
Emil Pop, in Emil Pop. O sută de ani de la naştere (1897–1997) (Emil Pop. One hundred years
since his birth (1897–1997), ed. Aurel Ardelean and Viorel Soran (Cluj-Napoca: Ed. Risoprint,
1999), 176.
3
Vasile Cristea and Ana Fabian, “Emil Pop, Un professeur pour l’éternité,” Contribuţii botanice
(1998): 38.
4
Ana Fabian and Iustinian Petrescu, Profesorul Emil Pop. Pagini alese (Professor Emil Pop.
Selected writings) (Cluj-Napoca: Ed. Efes, 2004), 9.
5
Emil Pop, Fitogeografie genetică, (I), Geografie botanică. (Genetic fitogeography (I) Botanic
geography), manuscript , folder no. 16, Academy Library, Cluj-Napoca branch, 1932/1933, 171 p.
159
while “fitogeography refers to the succession over time of layers of plant cover, with the
reasons for this succession falling within the scope of genetic fitogeography”1.
In describing his classes, the author continues: “we will examine the succession
of plants from the Paleozoic Era up to today and attempt to interpret the different climate
patterns that caused the developments of such diverse types of flora”2.
After describing the methods of study to be used in this discipline, methods that
include paleogeography, paleobotany, study of the paleoclimate and corological
analysis, Pop stresses that, of all the methods, “pollen analysis is the closest we can get
to perfection; it permits us to closely follow the social structure of the succession of
quaternary forests... it is the method that provides us with the most precise data for the
interpretation of the climates of the Interglacial and, especially, Postglacial periods –
therefore, its significance in paleoecology is enormous”.3
In the second part of the course, dealing with specialised genetic fitogeography
with special reference to the situation on contemporary Romanian territory, the
evolution of flowers from varying geological periods is closely examined. In accordance
with the principles of sozology, man’s decisive influence in the evolution of these
flowers is stressed...”we must mention a factor of great importance that appeared on the
evolutionary scene and which managed to further complicate the natural process of
development – man. Through his varied eating habits as a frugivore, carnivore or
vegetarian, he has always interfered in nature, be it through destroying certain species or
be it through the propagation of species that he needs. This is especially true when
talking about man’s agricultural activities, such as cattle farming, the concentration on
cultivating certain plants and the introduction of different plant varieties from abroad
along with the weeds that are generally associated with these. He hacked down forests
with ferocious zeal, pounded down vast swathes of earth with his cattle and destroyed
primitive vegetation”.4
His beliefs as a dynamic activist in favour of the protection of the environment
are evidenced in the following quotes, which display an acute understanding of reality:
“there is one condition that prevents the effective protection of nature here in Romania:
the lack, or, shall we say, the timidity of the public mindset with regard to this issue…
with so many impressive, expressive monuments we can be proud of, it is not
permissible for us to do things by halves in this generous, extraordinary movement of
civilised peoples. Each naturalist, explorer or even simple nature lover must have, by
definition, a deep understanding of this movement, and must participate enthusiastically
in it in order to actively propagate its ideals”.5
In the inter-war period, Emil Pop attempted to establish a new scientific
discipline – that of genetic fitogeography – known nowadays as fitogeography. In the
field of sozology, however, this much-missed academic displayed the extent of his
principles by continuing to support the environmentalist movement and propagate the
ideals of environmental protection in the difficult years of the communist dictatorship.
1
Ibid.
Ibid.
3
Ibid.
4
Ibid.
5
Fabian and Petrescu, Profesorul Emil Pop. Pagini alese, 91.
2
160
The significance of the scientific work carried out by these great Cluj academics
for current and future generations can be summed up in the words used by Emil
Pop to describe his own professors: “I have sipped from the cup of science,
humanity and patriotism, offered by what were, at that time, probably the
greatest professors in Transylvania…they were men of great cultural and moral
authority.”1 These titans of Romanian science and higher education offer us a
shining example of “duty, tenacity, professionalism and forward thinking,
qualities without which scientific research could never advance and the
protection of the environment could never be achieved”2.
If we were to generalise, it could be stated that, without a clear knowledge of
the history of science, science in itself could evolve towards pseudo-science or in the
direction of ever more sophisticated techniques increasingly detached from nature, or
even, in the worst-case scenario, employed against nature.
All sozology aims to do is to create harmony between human activities and
nature, as Goetel visionarily stated in 1971 “Sozotechnology consists in the practical
activity of industry that aims to counter the negative sides of scientific-technological
revolution and to protect the humans from the future dangers brought about by the
excessive technologizing of life.”3.
1
Emil Pop, in Emil Pop. O sută de ani de la naştere (1897 – 1997), 175.
Cristea, Traditions in romanian sozology, 23.
3
2
161
Analysing Architectural Determinism the Physical Environment as a Mnemonic Device
Dana POP
Technical University of Cluj-Napoca
Faculty of Architecture and Urban Planning
Keywords: architectural design, mnemonic device, cues, psychiatric ward, office
building
Abstract: Space is the outcome of a necessity. However architectural space has a social
value, cultural connotations, political implications and a theoretical message. One of its
abstract layers is its ability of becoming a mnemonic device. Physical settings remind
people of what is expected of them through certain cues imbedded into them. It might be
a certain type of behaviour or response, or, it can be a reminder of who we are, what we
like and to which social group we belong. Thus, the aim of this paper is to deconstruct
and reconstruct this concept based on a comparative analysis of two specialised
environments: psychiatric wards and office spaces.
*
The Meaning of the Environment
Browsing through the many meanings of the concept of space, one can range between
the absolute void to the interspace of the atoms. There are many layers to be peeled
between the concrete space enclosed by four walls to the metaphorical boundaries that
are crossed each time a person yells “you are in my space!”. Architecturally speaking, as
Rudolf Arnheim1 suggested many decades ago, space in itself does not exist, unless we
perceive it as a structure, as a relationship between the objects that inhabit it. Perceiving
space is a subjective experience. In order to perceive it, we have to establish an origin
against which we can then organise - thus perceive - all objects that furnish the space
and the relationships established among themselves. Therefore space itself is
homogeneous and only through our interference as dwellers, as designers, does space
become organised: it receives quality and meaning, or as Christian Norberg-Schulz
would say, it becomes a place.2
But even the mere act of perceiving is not a simple, passive process, it is rather an
active one through which we - as perceivers - see, recognise, attribute meaning and then
decide what action to take, or how to interact with the environment. Each time we look
at a chair, we perceive it, recognise it and then we know that we can use it for sitting
1
Rudolf Arnheim, The Dynamics of Architectural Form (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London:
University of California Press, 1977), 10
2
Christian Norberg Schulz, Genius Loci – Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture (New
York: Rizzoli International Publication, 1980), 5
162
down. This layer of meaning, that we attach to every object or space we come across,
has a major role in understanding how human behaviour works and how it relates to
space. But how does it work? Amos Rapoport1, in an extensive study entitled The
Meaning of the Built Environment - A Nonverbal Communication Approach,
emphasises the importance of this two-step process of coding a meaning into the
environment and then, the second step, of decoding the embedded meaning. This twoway process is actually the backbone of our daily routine: behind every object or every
space, there was a designer who thought of the best way to build and encode its meaning
into it, so that the user would recognise its purpose and know how to operate it; then we,
the users, interact with the object, recognise it, decode its meaning, and act or adopt a
matching behaviour. Rapoport says that it is just like reading a text: first we see the
letters, then we combine them to form words, sentences - close the door - and eventually
we deduce a meaning and understand how we need to act - we put our hand on the
handle and push the door shut. This is what the author calls the low level of meaning “everyday and instrumental meanings: mnemonic cues for identifying uses for which
settings are intended and hence the social situations, expected behaviour, and the like;
privacy, accessibility; penetration gradients; seating arrangements; movement and wayfinding; and other information which enables users to behave and act appropriately and
predictable, making co-action possible.”2
Beside this basic level, we can distinguish another one, a middle level, from
which we can read features like identity, status, wealth or power - the door we have just
shut can tell us a great deal about the space it encloses: whether it is a maximum security
facility or a park entrance; whether it is a vault or a bird cage. In other words, the way
we dress, the way we furnish our homes, the way we behave, all emanate cues which
others can read and afterwards gather information about our status, identity and so on.
This level of meaning has a major cultural component. If the first level of meaning is
largely understood - pretty much everyone knows how or with what purpose they can
use a chair - the middle level of meaning depends on the cultural structure of the society.
From a reductionistic point of view, we can view cultures as specific systems of rules
which model our behaviour and teach us what is “appropriate” and what is not. Of
course, one could argue that the term “appropriate” is relative, and in fact it is! Labelling
something as being appropriate or inappropriate is, in fact, subjective and depends on a
cultural system of values - shaking hands might be appropriate in a European context,
when you meet someone for the first time, but, in Asia, it is more adequate to bow.
Enculturation is the term used by intercultural psychologists3 for this process of learning
the norms of the particular culture we grow up in. Thus, one of the main features of a
culture is to disseminate the manner in which cues should be read and decoded into
meanings. The other way one can learn specific cultural behavioural patterns, is through
acculturation - the notion associated with the process of naturalisation of immigrants.
Either way, this encoding-decoding process is culturally sensitive and if the encoding
system differs from our decoding system, we might act or react in an improper manner 1
Amos Rapoport, The Meaning of the Built Environment - A Nonverbal Communication
Approach (Tucson: University of Arizon Press, 1990, second edition)
2
Rapoport, The Meaning of the Built Environment, 221
3
Alin Gavreliuc, Psihologie interculturală (Intercultural Psychology) (Iaşi: Polirom, 2011)
163
there will be a discrepancy between the way in which we behave and the way we are
expected to behave. This discrepancy is also known as cultural shock: “It is not ordinarily
possible even to get into a building unless one ‘recognises’ that a wooden panel
approximately 3 feet wide by 7 feet high with a knob at one edge and hinges at the other is
a door (an object which one can open and pass through). Use of a 3-by-7 foot panel as the
door is not automatic. It depends on meaning, which in turn depends on experience.
Would an Eskimo or a South Sea Islander automatically understand its use?”1.
The last level of meaning, or the high level, deals with more subtle aspects like
world views, cultural schemata, philosophical systems or the sacred2. It is a more diffuse
level, a rather theoretical and metaphorical one, which allows different meanings to
overlap in the same physical space. Such an example is the monument3: its original
significance is strongly related, not only to a cultural context, but also to a historical one.
After that, its original use, its purpose is lost and all that is left is the significance of what it
used to be. In certain cases, the space ends up being reused according to a new system of
meanings and rules, thus overlaps occur between the original significance and the new
function. It is in fact what Michel Foucault4 defined as heterotopia. Foucault describes this
process as folding several metaphorical meanings into a single physical space.
Between Architectural Determinism and Spaces Seen as Mnemonic Devices
However, the environment as a whole is a rather complex entity. Beside its physical
form, it also comprises a social structure and cultural attributes. In fact the social
environment is the one to establish the coding system through which the physical
environment can be read and understood. The question that arises is not whether the
environment has or can transmit a meaning - this should be self-evident - but rather if the
environment, or more specifically the physical or the built environment, can determine a
specific behaviour. This issue has been under debate catalogued alternatively as being
fact or fiction on many levels, starting on the larger scale of environmental determinism
- also known as climatic determinism or geographical determinism. Authors like Kevin
Lynch5 and Yi-Fu Tuan6 argue that there is a link between the behavioural pattern of
different groups and the geographical area they inhabit. Their point of view is
emphasised by the fact that the individuals’ particular behavioural pattern is mirrored in
the construction of their vocabulary, as well. Thus, groups living in flat landscapes,
when orienting themselves, use particular features of the landscape, which by others
might be thought to be too subtle. This is reflected in their vocabulary as well, therefore
1
Robert G. Hershberger, “Predicting the Meaning of Architecture,” in Designing for Human
Behavior: Architecture and the Behavioral Sciences, ed. Jon Lang , Charles Burnette, Walter
Moleski, David Vachon, (Stroudsburg: Dowen, Hutchinson &Ross, Inc., 1974), 147-56
2
3
Ciprian Mihali, Inventarea spaț iului - arhitecturi ale experienţei cotidiene (Inventing Space architectures of everyday experiences), (Bucharest: Paidea, 2001), 161
4
Michel Foucault, Of Other Spaces, Heterotopias, in Foucault.info, http://foucault.info/
documents/heteroTopia/foucault.heteroTopia.en.html (accesed June 28, 2012 )
5
Kevin Lynch, The Image of the City (Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1960), 131-32
6
Yi-Fu Tuan, Place and Space - The Perspective of Experience (Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 1977), 79, 91, 116-17
164
their language is very rich in words that describe bodies of water or the horizontal
features of the landscape, but lacks variety when it comes to vertical features or heights1.
Of course, there is always a possibility that the idea might be taken to the
extremes and develop into a racist or imperialistic form - as the critics of the concept
argued between the 1920s and the 1940s. But, as Clint Ballinger remarks, “geographic
factors have been turned to once again because they are an indispensable part of the
explanation, playing a special role that has not been properly understood, a role
especially crucial for explanation of the inherently spatial questions that development
studies seek to address.”2. Thus today the debate is not as black and white as it used to
be in the first half of the 20th3 century, but it is rather discussed in hues of grey, or as
Erhard Rostlund concludes: “Environmentalism was not disproved, only disapproved.”3.
The physical form of the environment - actually we can narrow down the
discussion to the built environment - is the background and represents just a fraction of
what we call environment. Concentrating the previous chain of thoughts, the question
becomes whether architecture can or cannot determine its users to adopt a certain
behaviour. The discussion differs somehow from the previous one because certain
parameters are quite different. First of all the geographic or climatic context does not
change in time - or the rate with which change occurs is very slow. Then we, as human
beings, cannot alter or willingly induce change in the geographical or climatic
parameters of the environment. So, these attributes, in time, tend to require an adequate
type of behaviour which makes people adapt, thus a change in behaviour does occur.
These changes, merged with religious beliefs and social values, are the foundation of
cultural identities and cultural differences between different groups of people. In the
micro area of architecture, the discussion shifts radically because we design the
buildings ourselves - architecture is not an unalterable feature of the landscape. We can
design buildings however we choose to, besides the inhabitants themselves can alter
quite easily the original design. So, when the question arose with the social program of
Modernist architecture, architects wished to believe that they could determine social
behaviour entirely through the features of the (built) environment. For example, Le
Corbusier tried with the “Quartiers Modernes Frugès” Assembly in Pessac, France to
prove just that.4 Unfortunately, in time, his authoritarian determinism proved to be too
unidimensional. Maurice Broady, in his paper Social theory in Architectural Design5,
was the first to use the term architectural determinism, criticising the belief that design
can control behaviour. In his view, the physical form is only a potential environment,
meaning that the environment, as a whole, has many other variables - such as a social
1
Lynch, The Image of the City, 131-32
Clint Ballinger, “Why Geographic Factors are”, Munich Personal RePEc Archive (MPRA)
paper no. 29750, March 28, 2011, accessed March 16, 2013, http://mpra.ub.unimuenchen.de/29750/1/MPRA_paper_29750.pdf
3
Erhard Rostlund, “Twentieth-century magic” in Readings in Cultural Geography, ed. Phillip L.
Wagner and Marvin M. Mikesell (Chicago: University of Chicago press, 1962): 48-53
4
Rapoport, The Meaning of the Built Environment, 24-25; Chia-Chang Hsu, Chih-Ming Shih
“Typological Housing Design: The Case Study of Quartier Fruges in Pessac by Le Corbusier”,
Journal of Asian Architecture and Building Engineering 5 (2006), 75-82
5
Maurice Broady, “Social Theory In Architectural Design”, Arena (Architectural Association
Journal) 898, (1966), 149-54
2
165
structure and cultural attributes - therefore the opinion that architecture is solely
responsible for behavioural changes, is rather reductionistic.
Several studies conducted by behaviourist psychologists as well as post
occupancy evaluations (POE) prove that Broady’s view is rather reductionistic, too. Out
of these two quite different points of view, a third path could emerge. This could be the
idea of perceiving the architectural background of the social and cultural environment as
a mnemonic device. This idea is supported by Rapoport’s theory of meanings embedded
into the environment. Neither architecture, nor design in general have the power to
influence the way each individual behaves. On the other hand, it is just as true that we
adapt our behaviour according to the context. For example we behave differently at a
concert than we do in a church. So maybe the thin line we can set in between the above
mentioned extremes, is the fact that architecture can provide certain cues which act as
mnemonic devices reminding us which is the appropriate type of behaviour in a certain
category of space.
Of course, if we were to deconstruct this concept, we could say that even the fact
that we, as human beings, associate a certain space to a certain type of behaviour is an
artificial connection, a fiction in fact. But this argument could be applied to any or every
culturally based norm. In fact we can view cultures as a strict set of rules sprung from a
specific social, geographical, linguistic and historical context. Growing up in a culture
presupposes that the individual assimilates and respects these rules. But, if we were to
change just one of the variables which shaped that specific culture, the rules would
change as well, so we could view them as possessing a certain degree of subjectivity,
fragility or even fiction! Consequently, the same could be argued with architecture. We,
as a group or culture,1 decide to associate a type of behaviour to a certain context, thus
all the members belonging to the same group will comply and learn to connect the
behaviour with the context.
When comparing traditional contexts to contemporary, multicultural ones, the
mechanism through which architecture acts as a mnemonic device becomes even more
obvious. A traditional environment means first of all having a routine behaviour,
meaning that the behaviour is almost automatic, consistent and uniform. Therefore the
necessity of processing the information is much reduced, precisely because the reactions,
the responses are already automatic. This feature, combined with the fact that traditional
environments are based on very specific and strict rules, lets us conclude that the
freedom of choice is much reduced. The encoding system of the mechanism of the
mnemonic device is much more diffuse and abstract in these traditional contexts, than,
for example, in the multicultural ones. When the range of possibilities is reduced and the
freedom of choice is restricted, the cues embedded in the environment can reach a
higher degree of abstraction, without any danger regarding misinterpretations or
confusions. If these cues were missing or altogether absent, it would be rather difficult to
judge which type of behaviour would or would not be acceptable to the group or culture
in a certain situation. It should be noted that, in a traditional context, the option of
refusing to act in the manner pointed by the physical environment is much diminished
compared to today’s cosmopolitan context. On the other hand, in the contemporary
1
Burrhus Frederic Skinner, Science and Human Behavior (New York: The Free Press, 1965),
415-25, 416, 419, 430-31
166
context, we are frequently facing different cultures, moreover our own context is turning
into a multicultural one - an unusual situation in which different coding systems
alternate or even overlap - and, as a consequence, even the manner in which this codingdecoding duo is operating, suffers alterations. Thus, the message needs a higher
redundancy rate in order to make itself “heard”. The same message needs to be
transmitted in alternative ways so that the desired behaviour can be obtained. And we, as
users, have to learn to understand every coding and decoding system of every culture we
come across. There are even situations in which we have to give the proper response
according to more coding systems, within the same context, depending on who are the
people that we interact with or which are the circumstances we are involved in.1
“Knowing to give the appropriate answer in a certain situation is just like learning a
language; knowing how to properly respond in different cultural contexts is just like
speaking more languages.”2.
If we were to zoom in, at an even smaller scale, these differences become yet more
obvious. There are several social parameters we could gather under the term of microcultures. Each social class has its own -very specific, acceptable or desirable set of conduct
norms, its own manifestations of representativity - namely its own set of meanings. As a
consequence - even though these micro-cultures belong to a single cultural system - we
can observe different manifestations of the way in which space is structured. For example,
in the suburbs the necessity of displaying, of representativity, is much more obvious than
in the traditional dwelling environments. Thus, even if they belong to the same culture, the
members of the two social groups understand and live differently the dwelling process,
precisely because they have different value systems. Moreover, sociologists observed that
there are certain environments - like hospitals, prisons, airports, coffee shops - which
produce very particular social microclimates, with their own specific meanings, behaviour
and even language. In these cases, even if the behaviour is learned as a sort of initialisation
ritual, which is motivated by the desire of social acceptance, the background, the physical
form of the environment, acts as a training wheel for the newcomers, and, then - as
Rapoport points out - as a mnemonic device constantly reminding each member of the
group when, where and how he or she has to act.
Case Studies
Spaces for the Perceptually Impaired
Out of the many building types which are susceptible of developing their own, particular
social and behavioural microclimates, there are two which are of distinct interest:
psychiatric wards – this building type is of interest because its dwellers, as a result of
different impairments, develop unique ways of dealing and interacting with the other
members of the social group forming under its roof and with the space itself – and office
buildings – a building type which inclines to reinforce a routine and uniform behaviour,
an environment which is neglecting the need of displaying the self.
1 Rapoport, The Meaning of the Built Environment, 55-87
2 Dana Pop, “Space Perception and its Implication in Architectural Design”, in Proceedings of
the First International Conference for PhD Students in Civil Engineering, ed. Cosmin G.
Chiorean (Cluj-Napoca: Eikon, 2012), 705-11
167
Humphry Osmond has done extensive research on the long-term effects of
institutionalisation, and is known for having come up with the terms of sociofugal and
sociopedal space - to put it briefly spaces that do not encourage social interactions and
spaces that do encourage them. In his article Function as the Basis of Psychiatric Ward
Design1, Osmond argues that the patients of psychiatric wards have one common
feature: “a rupture in interpersonal relationships resulting in alienation from the
community, culminating in expulsion or flight.”2 Thus, when designing psychiatric
wards, one has to take into account that the people for whom they design have a severely
impaired ability of relating to others. For example schizophrenic patients have distorted
perceptions which may vary from minor misinterpretations to hallucinations. Maxine
Wolfe and Harold Proshansky3 observed that schizophrenic children have a hard time
distinguishing the limits of their own body from those of the environment surrounding
them. Therefore they manifest a desire for uniformity regarding the objects surrounding
them and towards the environment as a whole. It is not unusual for these children to
have unpredictable reactions towards visual stimuli - a certain texture or the intensity of
a light can produce an intense fear or, on the contrary, an extreme joy. Osmond points
out several features: since these people perceive the environment in a distorted manner,
certain aspects which are implicit for most of us, become very difficult to cope with for
them, disseminating fear, frustrations and grief. For example, ambiguous structures, such
as long and winding corridors, are particularly difficult to deal with. They induce a
certain state of uncertainty and do not resemble any space one could experience in a
domestic environment. Such spaces emphasise the sense of perceptual distortion
between the limits of the self and the environment in schizophrenic patients.4 This
happens especially when the effect is strengthened by auditive distortions, such as
echoes. Seen as a whole, these environments impose changes on social norms as well,
changes which would seem unnatural even for a healthy person: the daily routine,
essential to schizophrenic patients, does not resemble any regular living arrangement
because it does not preserve the possibility to have choices. The patients have limited
choices for the way they cloth, the way they can spend their free time and the food they
eat. At the same time, as far as social interactions are concerned, one can choose from a
limited group of strangers which are rather heterogeneous - the only thing they have in
common, being their illness.5 Extensive studies have been done6 regarding the way in
1
Humphry Osmond, “Function as the Basis of Psychiatric Ward Design”, in Environmental
Psychology - Man ans his Physical Setting, ed. Harold Proshansky, William H. Ittelson, Leanne
G. Rivlin (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1970), 560-69
2
Humphry Osmond, “Function as the Basis of Psychiatric Ward Design”, 561
3
Maxine Wolfe and Harold Proshansky, “The Physical Setting as a Factor in Group Function and
Process”, in Designing for Human Behavior: Architecture and the Behavioral Sciences, ed. Jon
Lang, Charles Burnette, Walter Moleskin, David Vachon (Stroudsburg: Dowen, Hutchinson
&Ross, Inc., 1974), 195-98
4
Osmond, “Function as the Basis of Psychiatric Ward Design”, 562, 564
5
Ibid., 565
6
Aristide H. Esser, Amparo S. Chamberlain, Eliot D. Chapple and Nathan S. Kline,
“Territoriality of Patients on a Research Ward”, in Environmental Psychology - Man and his
Physical Setting, ed. Harold M. Proshansky, William H. Ittelson, Leanne G. Rivlin (New York,
Chicago, London: Holt, Reinhart and Sons, Inc., 1970): 208-14; Harold M. Proshansky, William
168
which patients behave and the way in which they express their territoriality, which is in
fact a buffer-type of behaviour met in conditions of anxiety and / or overcrowding: “In a
large overcrowded and rather neglected ward of Saint Elizabeth’s Hospital in
Washington, space had become a genuine value because of its scarcity. The dominant
patient, the alpha, had full control of the hall, while those who came after him in the
hierarchical order had access only to limited space. Nobody could intrude on the
territory of a person more powerful than himself. At the bottom of the ladder, the omega
had the use of nothing more than the bench on which he slept. He could not even go to
spit in the drain located in the middle of the hall, and had no right to use the toilets.”1.
The account portrays a very powerful image of the extent to which our behavioural
limits can be distorted - an image which was very vividly pictured in the film One Flew
Over the Cuckoo's Nest directed by Milos Forman in 1975.
Hence the question arises how does design fit in this equation? If we think about
architecture not as much as determining behaviour - because architecture does not
actually possess any forceful means - and more in terms of mnemonic devices, we can
understand that architecture can actually help or that it can create an appropriate setting
which reinforces a certain type of behaviour. Neuroscience researches strengthen this
view. John Zeisel, in his book Inquiry by Design, states: “People with amnesia who
cannot remember their pasts say that they do not know who they are, that they have lost
their ‘selves’. […] Stimulating memories of our past through personalised environments
reinforces a sense of who we are.”2 People with impaired perception, whether we are
talking about schizophrenic patients or people suffering from Alzheimer’s, have an
extreme need for support when it comes to interacting with the environment. Zeisel3
presents an Alzheimer’s Assisted Living Treatment Residence - Hearthstone Alzheimer
Care - from Woburn, Massachusetts, a facility designed by Marc Maxwell specifically
to support and ease the daily routine. First of all, all spaces are scaled to feel residential meaning that although the building was designed to host up to twenty-six people, the
rooms were restricted to the dimensions one would meet in a common dwelling.
Moreover the finishings used were also chosen so that they would exhibit a more
domestic overall feeling, thus replacing the cold and anxious feeling of most long-term
care institutions. The residents are encouraged to furnish the rooms with their own
furniture and mementos, consequently consolidating their need for privacy and
personalisation. The same treatment is applied for the common spaces: their decoration
“is varied to stimulate different moods in residents’ minds. […] While residents may not
remember the precise attributes of each room, their functioning amygdalae enable them
H Ittelson and Leanne G. Rivlin “The Environmental Psychology of the Psychiatric Ward”, in
Environmental Psychology - Man and his Physical Setting, ed. Harold M. Proshansky, William
H. Ittelson, Leanne G. Rivlin (New York, Chicago, London: Holt, Reinhart and Sons, Inc., 1970):
419-39; Paul Sivadon, “Space as Experienced: Therapeutic Implications”, in Environmental
Psychology - Man and his Physical Setting, ed. Harold M. Proshansky, William H. Ittelson,
Leanne G. Rivlin (New York, Chicago, London: Holt, Reinhart and Sons, Inc., 1970): 409-19.
1
Paul Sivadon, “Space as Experienced: Therapeutic Implications”, 414.
2
John Zeisel, Inquiry by Design - Environment / Behavior / Neuroscience in Architecture,
Interiors, Landscape, and Planning (New York, London: W.W. Norton&Company, 2006), 357
3 Zeisel, Inquiry by Design, 375-80.
169
to remember the ‘feel’ of each. […] In sum, the design and layout of this residence for
people living with Alzheimer’s disease - its architecture, landscape, and interiors - are
planned to augment residents’ memories and ability to function on their own. By taxing
the parts of residents’ brains that are still working well and relieving the parts that are
damaged, the whole person is supported. Residents feel at home, as much in control as
their age allows, and competent.”1 What Zeisel was able to achieve in this case, was to
transfer scientifically proved facts into the designing process, and, thus, successfully
obtaining an architectural crutch or prothesis that can enhance the living conditions of
the perceptually impaired - just as an artificial hip does.
The Need of Displaying the Self
Rapoport2 recounts the story of an architect who did a little experiment each time he met
a new customer: in his office he placed a couple of empty chairs next to a wall at a fair
distance from his desk, leaving no sitting alternatives close to his own desk - and he kept
repositioning them in the same spot, each time before a discussion was to take place.
Therefore, when entering the office, the visitor had one of the following options: they
could sit down, keeping the chair in the position they found it in; they could move it half
way across the room, attempting to reduce the conversation distance; or they could move
the chair all they way to the desk; and then, of course, there are some unconventional
persons who decided to simply sit or lean against the desk. The architect felt that by
watching the behaviour displayed by his visitors, he could read their social status and the
level of self-confidence, thus adapting his own behaviour according to each situation.
This little anecdote proves that the setting of a room is part of the non-verbal
communication process and it has a major impact upon the process of transmitting and
receiving messages. David Canter3 also relates a well know story which supports this
idea. Namely the endless discussions regarding the shape of the table - whether it should
be round or square - around which the peace debates were to be conducted between the
Americans and the Vietnamese, and the implications regarding nonverbal communication
of the status.
Based on these two encounters, the space of the office, seen in general as an
environment that does not try to take into account the need of displaying the self, must
be viewed from a new angle. The space of the office has changed a lot ranging from
small, overcrowded rooms to large, open office spaces where people work in cubicles the only constant being the stressful conditions under which the employees have to
work. So is there a correlation to be found between the way in which we design these
spaces and the productivity of the people working there? It is not a question of
architectural determinism, but rather of designing an environment in such a way that it
can bring out the best in people. Canter4 observed that we cannot say that open plan
offices are better or worse than enclosed offices, it is rather a problem of personality.
The studies have shown that a natural segregation occurs when the employees can
choose their own working space. Thus, the ones who have extroverted personalities and
1
Ibid., 377-78
3
David Canter, Psychology for Architects (New York, Toronto: John Wiley & Sons, 1974), 117
4
Ibid., 15
2
170
focus more on the relationships with their colleagues, choose open space offices, while
the ones that are task oriented, prefer closed workspaces.
There are different studies researching different aspects of the office environment
such as the personal space one requires to feel comfortable1; relating types of furniture
and furnishing design to status2; or simply comparing the working environment of open
office spaces to enclosed offices.3 Either way it is obvious that trying to oppress the
expression or externalisation of the workers’ individuality, leads to frustration, anxiety
and low productivity.
In this very particular environment we can see another way in which the physical
form of the environment can act as a mnemonic device, namely the space of the office
can be seen as a sequence of personal space bubbles. Bubbles which mark in a physical
way each person’s territory, reflecting their individuality and establishing a unique
environment - a place in Christian Norberg-Schulz’s4 terms - that reminds the individual
who they are, what their values are and becomes a sort of a psychological mould, thus
reflecting their personality and bringing out the best of everyone.5
Zeisel6 discusses the project he worked on alongside Jenny Anderson-Eisenmann,
an interior designer, in the mid 1990s. The goal of the project was to redesign the
Newsroom of the Star Tribune Headquarters in Minneapolis, Minnesota. The first
problem was the fact that the restructuring of the work groups needed to be organic,
while the ergonomic layout presupposed a linear type of workstations. Therefor, Zeisel
and Anderson-Eisenmann employed an interesting method in order to analyse the
existing situation, namely by observing physical traces: “The newsroom environment is
a visually exciting one with each reporter, photographer, editor, and graphic artist
assembling material and mementos in their workspace that reflect their unique skills,
their interests, and the story they cover. Because so few outsiders come to the newsroom
it is more a backstage than front-stage environment. […] Observation of physical traces
also determine storage needs, specifically the large amount of books, papers and
photographs assembled in piles on each employ’s desk.”7. The designing team
concluded that such a large space needed a main guiding principle which should provide
a naturally mapped environment. Thus they decided to design the whole space as a city
and organize it based on Kevin Lynch’s five urban elements: landmarks, pathways,
nodes, districts, and edges. The landmarks - such as The Star Tribune forum, the coffee
1
Edward T. Hall, “Meeting Man’s Basic Spatial Needs in Artificial Environments”, in Designing
for Human Behavior: Architecture and the Behavioral Sciences, ed. Jon LANG, Charles
Burnette, Walter Moleski, David Vachon, (Stroudsburg: Dowen, Hutchinson &Ross, Inc., 1974),
147-56
2
David Canter and Kyung Hoi Lee, “A Non-Reactive Study of Room Usage in Modern Japanese
Apartments”, in Psychology and the Built Environment, ed. David Canter and Terence Lee (Kent:
Architectural Press Ltd., 1974), 48-55
3
Peter Manning, “Office design: A Study of Environment”, in Environmental Psychology - Man
and his Physical Setting, ed. Harold M. Proshansky, William H. Ittelson, Leanne G. Rivlin (New
York, Chicago, London: Holt, Reinhart and Sons, Inc., 1970): 463-83
4
Norberg Schulz, Genius Loci, 5
5
Alain de Botton, The Architecture of Happiness (New York: Pantheon Books, 2006), 94
6
Zeisel, Inquiry by Design, 107-18
7
Ibid., 111-12
171
shop, the Library - help employees orient themselves in space. Then, the whole office
area was divided into “neighbourhoods” defined by paths, which intersect and create
nodes - marked by specific design elements which further help users to orient
themselves. The size of the “neighbourhoods” or districts was actually defined by the
size of the work teams. The “neighbourhoods” are demarcated by edges - the place
where shared files are stored in cabinets: hard edges for complete separation of the
“neighbourhoods” or soft edges which welcome interaction. In this case, the mnemonic
quality of the built environment does not need to remind its users of how to use a space,
but instead it needs to reflect their personality, their demand of displaying the self, thus
helping them to be at ease and perform at their best parameters.
Conclusions
There has been an ongoing dispute whether architecture can or cannot determine
behaviour, whether it is fact or fiction. As a conclusion, we can assert that the
environment has a method of interacting with its inhabitants, which we called an
encoding-decoding system and through which meaning is embedded into the
environment and then, later, it is read by its users who thus know how to act or respond
in that specific situation. This system has a major cultural component, depending on the
social, geographical, climatic, economical and ethnic structure of the group. The
physical form of the environment is therefore very intimately linked to the culture (or
subculture or even micro-culture) it serves. In this context architecture is the silent
character which reinforces certain features, but can never determine them. We can
associate architecture with having more of a subliminal character which - as we know
from the advertising industry - can make you feel thirsty, but could never determine you
to drink a specific brand of beverage.1 Following the same logic, architecture can act as
a mnemonic device supporting a certain type of behaviour, but it cannot make you act or
respond in a specific way. This feature is essential especially in the contemporary
multicultural context, when one needs to always check their own behaviour against a
matrix of juxtaposed meanings belonging to multiple cultural settings, all overlaid
within the same physical enclosure.
In order to validate this theory, two types of building types have been studied:
psychiatric wards and office buildings. These two case studies are of particular interest,
among other building types, because they are susceptible of developing their own,
particular social and behavioural microclimates, namely because they deal with extreme
or limit situations. In the case of psychiatric wards we confront ourselves with
individuals with impaired perception. The goal of the design process is to produce
spaces that are sensible to the specific needs of this particular group such as: the lack of
ambiguity; strong, personalised features which are aiming to remind their inhabitants of
who they are and, more importantly, where they are; thus the mnemonic quality of the
space acts as an exterior aiding system compensating the dysfunction of the brain. In the
case of office buildings, the situation is rather different, namely the mnemonic feature of
the space does not act as a reminder of how one should act, but as a reminder of one’s
individuality, of their uniqueness; helping them to connect with the environment and feel
at ease so that they can reach their maximum potential.
1
Skinner, Science and Human Behavior, 32
172
Solidarity through a Built Medium:
A Case of the Romanian National Architectural Style
in Transylvania
SMARANDA SPÂNU
Centre for Regional Geography
Keywords: Romanian national style, built heritage, heritage enclave,
heterotopias, heritage conservation.
Abstract: The concept of nation that defined the 19th century outlined the sociopolitical context from which several national architectural styles emerged. By the
end of the century the first group of Romanian architects trained in eclectic
foreign schools returned and proclaimed the need for a national style illustrating
the national spirit. In both Wallachia and Moldavia the architectural movement
developed rapidly. As a region of Austro-Hungarian Empire until 1918,
Transylvania had a different evolution: here the style manifested late, yet with an
explicitly expressed goal – showcasing the solidarity of a united Romanian
nation, by displaying their collective identity.The case study of this paper is the
Mureşanu District in Cluj-Napoca – part of a program of asserting the national
identity and solidarity. What is the reasoning in choosing a residential program
and such a material manifestation in shaping national identity? What is the
evolution and future of these still compact heterotopic enclaves? Originating
from the interpretation of heritage, what is the optimal approach towards these
spaces?
*
1.
The historical context. The concept of nation in the 19
th
century Romania.
At the launch of the series of revolutions of 1848 – also known as the Spring of
Nations – in the historical Romanian provinces, the Kingdom of Romania,
Moldavia, Transylvania, Bessarabia and Bukovina (under Russian, Turkish and
Hungarian domination), a strong collective desire was expressed for the
unification of all Romanians under a single autonomous state; the main motifs
behind this were their strong ethnic, linguistic and cultural ties and a slight
temporary easing of political and cultural censorship. Despite the outright
manifesto of the ethnical solidarity ideal and several military events, by the end
173
of 1849 the previous structures were reestablished, the romanian regions
returning under Hungarian, Austrian and Russian administration (Transylvania,
Banat, Bukovina and Bessarabia) and Russian and Otoman administration
(Kingdom of Romania and Moldavia). In perfect synchronization with the entire
European context, this period represents an important stage of crystallization of
the concept of nation and the activation of national consciousness.
The later course of events, triggered in 1853 by the outbreak of the
Russian-Ottoman War, followed by Austria’s involvement, led to the change of
the dominant power in the Romanian Principalities from Russian to Austrian. By
the end of 1856 the political and administrative situation is clarified: the Romanian
Kingdom and Moldavia are each recognised as autonomous principalities. Two
years later, the Paris Convention will reinforce their now official status, and in
1859 elections are held. Without breaking the terms of the Convention, the
majority of votes in both the Romanian Kingdom and Moldavia will appoint as
sole ruler Alexandru Cuza. Thus the unification is achieved, the independence
insured and the United Principalities officially take on the name of Romania.
The modern idea of nation was thereby not only assimilated by the
political and intelectual elites but also put into practice: the aim was to redraw
the borders of the country according to the ethnical ones.1 The ‘Greater
Romania’ aquires a purely occidental Constitution (1866) and a guarantor for the
social and political internal stability: the foreign prince Karl of HohenzollernSigmaringen, appointed as ruler in 1866. At the beginning of 1881, the Kingdom
of Great Romania celebrated in Bucharest, the newly designated capital, the
absolute independence.
The outbreak of the 1848 revolutions manifests also in the Habsburg
Empire; as an integral part of it, the Transylvanian region will experience a
massive shift, from a poorly represented cultural and political life towards a
crystallisation of individual national agendas for each ethnic group. The
reference for all these nationalistic programs is the Hungarian revolution, whose
agenda included liberal principles (as individual rights, human rights, citizen
rights, abolition of censorship etc.) as well as more autocratic measures such as
not-recognising national individualities, the imposition of the Hungarian
language as mandatory and the unification of the Transylvanian region with
Hungaria. Alongside the Romanian community, the Slavic, the Saxon and the
Serbian ones will also adopt opposing position towards the Hungarian ideals.
Passing through a fruitless first stage of written pleadings and petitions, the
intellectual Romanian elites of Transylvania will eventually resort to convening
popular public meetings in order to demonstrate the attitude of the people and to
weigh in the Romanian claims. These popular public meetings represent the
1
Mihai Barbulescu, Dennis Deletant, Keith Hitchins, Şerban Papacostea, Pompiliu Teodor,
Istoria României – The History of Romania, (Bucharest: Corint, 2001), 311.
174
beginning of the process of organization of the Romanian nation according to the
free and equal right to existence of all nations. In this same context of public
manifestations the Romanian nationalistic discourse will take shape, denouncing
the nation’s structuring, and demanding firstly the creation of its “own public,
cultural, religious and judicial institutions” (based on the historical right and “the
right of the majority” in Transylvania) and secondly, equal rights with the
inhabiting nations. At the beginning of 1849 the Romanian deputies present to
the Austrian court a memorandum requesting the `union of Bukovina,
Transylvania and Banat under one government` - `the first single political
program based on the principles of ethnic federalism` – seen at the time as the
only accessible solution to safeguard the state autonomy of Transylvania and the
independence of the nation. However the revolution will not bring the results
hoped by the involved nations. Between 1849 and 1860 the political and
administrative sistem becomes absolutist and centralized.1 The administrative
system of the Empire is restructured in ‘crown provinces’ dependant on the
Court of Vienna; this applied also to the main Romanian-inhabited regions –
Transylvania, Voivodina, Banat and Bukovina. The struggle for national
independence of these regions continues by legal means, through numerous
pleadings constantly sent to the court of Vienna.
In 1860, the Habsburg Empire suffers a decentralization of power and
subsequently chooses the cooperation with the Hungarian nobility, establishing a
new organizational structure of the monarchy: the dualist regime. By the end of
1865 the structures that sustained the Romanian claims were dissolved and a
new structure (Dieta), mainly Hungarian, votes for the annexation of
Transylvania to Hungary.
The Austro-Hungarian Dualist Regime is officially inaugurated in 1867
and will continue until 1914, defining this period through the attempt to
counterbalance the Western-European advantage. Although this new political
framework was focused on the overall development of society, the non-German
and non-Hungarian nationalities of the Empire are underrepresented; the national
issue will not be addressed: Romanians, Slovaks, Serbs and other minorities are
not recognised their political identity, in favour of the Hungarian identity
promoted by institutions and state structures. Having this dualist-regime as
background, the recognition of the Romanians as a nation becomes improbable;
if the assertion of the nation would have been possible under a federal Austrian
tutelage, in the new dualist regime the Transylvanian Romanian elite will
refocus its hopes, seeking the help of Greater Romania. The Romanian political
1
Some of its measures are: decision making without the involvement of the public society,
centralization of power, imposing the German language as official and mandatory, promotion of a
state religion to the detriment of other native ones, operating without a Constitution and through
an oppressive system: canceling the press freedom, banning of public gatherings and maintaining
the state of siege established during the revolution.
175
action preserves the nationalistic guidelines of 1848 during the dualist regime
despite the fact that claims and protests demanding recognition of the nation are
punished with imprisonment and financial penalties, embittering public opinion
and creating ‘martyrs of the national cause’. The claims remain the same: the
autonomy of Transylvania, equal representatives in local and central
administrative structures, equality between nations, the usage of an official
language according to the major population of the administrative unit in
question, the right to cultural and educational institutions etc. The tensions
between the Regime and the involved nations will gradually worsen, ‘the
intransigent reaction of a party stimulating the other, intensifying the
Hungarisation policy will result in a radicalization of the Romanian nationalism’.
From this moment on the Romanian political movement will be fully oriented
towards the Kingdom of Romania. In its turn, the Kingdom will show sympathy
towards its Transylvanian conationals, manifested as moral and material support
– the `financing of various publications, Romanian students, ecclesiastical and
educational institutions, and even the National Romanian Party’.
The concept of nation, well defined in ideatic terms, and strongly
conveyed at a discursive level, will gain in these circumstances a particular
material form. The assertion of national identity will find outlets in the material
culture, in various mediums, such as architecture, art, and literature. As stated by
H. Kohn and E. Gellner this manifestation of cultural nationalism is a reaction,
“a defensive response by educated elites to the impact of exogenous
modernization on existing status orders”1. But, as J. Hutchinson emphasizes, this
phenomenon is not a process of withdrawal “into an isolated agrarian
simplicity”,2 but rather a process of identifying traditional ideals, values and
features, tested and validated in a previous stage and accepted as essential and
defining for the character of the nation. This idealized profile, reconstructed from
selected traditional features, is to become the basis on which the “new modern
scientific culture” can be constructed by the younger generation of intellectuals,
thus turning into a “means to catapult the nation from present backwardness and
divisions to the most advanced stage of social development”3. This conflicting
shift towards both traditional and modern was exactly the phenomenon that
occurred in the 19th century architecture of the Kingdom of Romania.
2. Architectural context.
The built object is more than often deliberately politically charged. Its capacity
to carry a theoretical message and to express the convictions of the subject or
community that has created it is inscribed in its very own visibility. However,
1
John Hutchinson, “Cultural Nationalism and Moral Regeneration,” in Oxford Readers:
Nationalism, ed. John Hutchinson, Anthony D. Smith (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 128.
2
Ibid.
3
Ibid.
176
the theoretical message will always precede the built form. If the political
nationalistic discourse was already well defined since the 1840s, in the
architectural field the first nationalistic tendencies manifest in a theoretical
aspect around the 1860s, through the input of some individual personalities (Al.
Orascu, I.D. Berindeiu); the main focus is placed upon the affirmation of the
national identity through the creative arts, especially through architecture, the
ultimate goal being the achievement of “artistic flourishing/welfare of the
country” (D. Berindeiu).
The first built manifestations of the nationalistic discourse occur almost
20 years after, in 1885, year that will mark the coming into being of the
Romanian national style.
This gap between the crystallization, the conceptualization and the
materialization processes can be easily read into the choice for certain
architectural styles that dominate the first half of the 19th century in all of the
Romanian regions. The phenomenon that occurred was a rapid succession and
interlacing of exogenous styles – empire, classicism, romanticism (translated
through the feudal influenced neo-gothic) and eclecticism (1790–1840–1870);
this is motivated part by the lack of professional Romanian architects, and part as
a declared European affiliation. The resistance of this neoclassical expression,
although “lacking genuine, real roots”1 in the Romanian space, will precede and
coexist with the new national style, proving the strong cosmopolitan will to
rupture the old ties with the Byzantine world.
The political and the social juncture and the cultural interferences present
in the Kingdom of Romania make up the context that allowed the assertion and
the physical manifestation of the style; in the other Romanian regions, and
especially in Transylvania, the process will take a different course.
Most architects practicing in the Romanian space during this period are
of foreign origin. Only after the Union of the Romanian Principalities (1859) and
their gain of independence (1877) the first generation of Romanian-born,
professional architects is formed, through a system of scholarships abroad; they
will form the nucleus of the new Romanian Architecture School.
The theoretical base, focused on asserting the national identity through
individual and disparate publications (thematic studies, articles etc. starting with
the 1860s) and through complex specialized and thorough publications like the
‘Annals of architecture and the related arts’ (1890) is complemented by the first
organizational structure, The Romanian Architects Society in 1891, who, a year
later, will initiate the first school of architecture. One of the main directions
defined by the new style’s guidelines is towards the study of the national
1
Gheorghe Curinschi Vorona and Mihai Ispir, “Arhitectura românească in vremea începuturilor
societăţii arhitecţilor si Revistei Arhitectura” (Romanian Architecture at the beginning of the
Architects Society and Arhitectura Journal), Arhitectura 4-5 (1981): 21.
177
historical heritage. By the end of the 19th century, Alexandru Orăscu, a
Romanian architect schooled abroad, states:
Study the remains – no matter how small – of the old artistic creations
and use them as origins of a mighty art...don’t miss any opportunity to
use artistic elements found in the Romanian monuments left from the
past, but transform, change and embellish them.1
In this climate would Ion Mincu assert himself; a Romanian born
architect, trained abroad at École des Beaux-Arts in Paris, he completed the
process of crystallization as a material form of the ardent nationalistic aspirations
of the era, using the theoretical background provided by the existing organizational
structures (Romanian Architects Society 1891, Historical Monuments
Commission 1892) and the specialized publications that had already disseminated,
between 1890 and 1895, the main principles of the style. The focus on vernacular
architecture and the entire folk heritage along with the opposition towards grafting,
copying and the non discriminatory assumption of exogenous examples are the
key vectors of the new Romanian national style, defining it along the lines of the
democratic nationalistic ideology of the 1848 period.
Fig. 1. Context and coexistence of the national style: Ion Mincu – The Kiseleff Road Buffet
1892, national Romanian style; Grigore Cerchez – Niculescu-Dorobantu House 1896, Louis XII
style (source: Arhitectura Journal 1891-1914, VII year, 1941).
Pedantry, ignorance and our old-fashioned cosmopolitanism, smothering
any feeling of love and national pride, gave birth to an excessive and
undisputed awe towards everything that arrived from abroad.2– Ion
Mincu.
1
Shona Kallestrup, Art and design in Romania 1866-1927. Local and International Aspects of the
search for the National Expression, East European Monographs (New York: Columbia
University Press, 2006), 100–107, as quoted by Ada Stefanut, The Romanian national style architecture and national project (Bucharest: NOI Media Print, 2004), 17.
2
Vorona and Ispir, “Arhitectura romaneasca...”, 21.
178
Fig. 2. The coexistence of architectural expressions: Grigore Cerchez – Minovici Villa
(Bucharest) built in 1905 in the national style; L.P. Blanc – Medicine Faculty (Bucharest) built in
1903 in neoclassical style (source: Arhitectura Journal 1891-1914, VII year, 1941).
Just as a community consciously assumes an identity – and this process
converts it into a nation, in the modern meaning of the term (Hobsbaum, 1990),
the conscious creation of a style, opposed to the organic development of one, can
be seen as an argument of its nationalistic character. The new national style is
designed as a material representation of identity, the architecture thus being an
extension of the national affirmation initiative. According to Hobsbawm (2012)
the national movement is structured into three evolutionary stages: (A) the first
cultural creation phase (manifested in literature, folklore etc.), (B) the conceptual
transformation phase, when the ‘national idea’ receives its first political
connotations, and (C) the last phase, when the politicized idea turns into
nationalistic official program and gets to “acquire mass support”1. Based on
Hobsbawm’s structure an analysis of the national style’s evolution can be made.
At the time of its emergence, in the Mincu stage, the new architectural
trend represents the transition between Hobsbawm’s A and B phases, that is
between the object of a purely cultural creation animated by the concept of
nation, and the object as manifesto, politically charged, delivered by the militant
architect in the service of an ideology. In this initial phase, the direction
proposed by Mincu will be rejected on an official level, and the built examples
are only a few, small-scaled private commissioned and mostly residential
buildings; the style is considered unsuitable for buildings with a representative
role. In this stage (1890–1900) almost all commissions are in the domain of
1
Eric J. Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality,
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 12.
179
private housing. However a number of professionals are starting to adopt the
new architectural expression, and the formula gains prestige. By 1904 the School
of Architecture is initiated and the style is publicly acknowledged.
Fig. 3. General Romanian Exhibition, Bucharest 1906, Cula and The Royal Pavilion (source:
Arhitectura Journal 1891–1914, VII year, 1941).
At the beginning of the 20th century, through the built examples
presented in the General Romanian Exhibition held in Bucharest in 1906, the
National Romanian style will prove its ability to serve all kinds of architectural
programs1 and from now on it will permeate the domain of large public
architectural programs. Since its recognition and adoption within the official
culture promoted by the state, the style will transition into its last stage, its
ossification as a nationalist program (Hobsbaum’s phase C). the style will be
preferentially used for state institutions, town halls, county councils, ministries,
palaces of culture, museums etc.
In this stage, the entire architectural language – formal, decorative and
functional – developed by Mincu through interpretation of selected motives from
various national identitary sources (vernacular architecture, Byzantine
background, renaissance decoration and so on) will be transformed into a
standardized formal vocabulary – repeating a set of standard images, lacking an
authentic creative input. The general shift is towards a more monumental version
of the style, the volumetrics tend to be cumbersome and the excessive decoration
becomes more important than the functional needs.
1
Ada Ştefănuţ, The Romanian national style, 42.
180
This will be the evolutionary process of national style in the Kingdom of
Romania, with the capital Bucharest as the core from where the phenomenon
irradiated; this condensed coagulation, crystallization and ossification process
will eventually lead to an obsolete, antiquated version of the initial style, and will
be gradually rejected in the favour of the modernist style. The two will coexist,
in contrasting associations in both new residential areas brought by the urban
expansion in the after war period, and in the old city centres. This stylistic
overlapping is visible in the architectural production, in the built background, as
well as in the specialized publishing mediums, the preferred ‘arena’ for the
traditionalism versus modernism never-ending conflict. In its last phase the
National Romanian Style would become the very dreaded traditionalism, the
conservative classicism against which it initially fought, and the modernism
manifested as an avant-garde direction, the new that brought along ‘progress’,
acting as a catalyst.
As the architectural opposing trends, two specialized publications also
coexist. On one hand the Arhitectura Journal – supporting the national style as
the only truthful expression of the Romanian spirit, and thus the only ‘path’ to
follow; this traditional direction will weight heavily in shaping both official and
public opinion. In the opposite ‘camp’ the Simetria Journal, led by young
architects, will promote the modernist trend and the desire for change and for
retrieving the style disparity between global and local architecture.
In Transylvania the nationalistic tendencies of the era manifested in the
architectural field takes on a different form. As a part of the Austrian Empire this
subdued region is visibly more influenced by continuous exogenous trends, and thus its
stylistic evolution more particular. The adhesion to the European 1900 Style (Art
Nouveau) is more obvious: if in the Old Kingdom of Romania the affiliation with the
style refers merely to the ideological nationalistic purposes and to the sources of
inspiration (historicism, folk, traditional architecture), in Transylvania the foreign trends,
like the Austrian and the Hungarian one, are assumed as such, with their entire material
expression.
Extremely late compared to the rest of Europe, in the first decade of the 19th
century, the baroque is slowly replaced by the empire style, locally defined, by its
“severe and festive, typically Transylvanian”1 character. The preferred programs are the
institutional buildings – nobility palaces and educational institutions – although the trend
will be passed on to the bourgeois urban housing facilities. Between 1830 and 1840, the
emphasis on sobriety amplifies, shifting to the use of the classicist repertoire for the full
range of programs, without discrimination. Since 1850, the eclectic style, defined by its
strongly romantic historicist character, becomes the officially promoted trend. As in
many other regions, the adopted historicist background belongs to the feudal era, with
predilection for the Gothic style, so that “buildings of most different [architectural]
programs […] palaces, bourgeois homes, train stations, hospitals etc. assume, regardless
1
Gheorghe Curinschi Vorona, Istoria arhitecturii in Romania (History of architecture in
Romania) (Bucharest: ed. Tehnica, 1981), 282–283.
181
their destination, the false decorative crenels, turrets […]”1. This stylistic tendency has a
simultaneous emergence in the United Principalities as well as in Transylvania,
witnessing on one hand the impact of the European influence and on the other hand the
wish to even out the economical, social and cultural odds.
Fig. 4. Parallel evolution of styles in Transylvania – eclectic and art-nouveau: Austro-Hungarian
architects Fellner and Hellner – National Theatre, Cluj (1906); Hungarian architects Komor Marcell
and Jakab Dezső – Vulturul Negru Palace, Oradea (1907); Deutsch K.I Glassware Shop, unknown
architect, Oradea (1906-1910); Rimanóczy Kálmán - Moskovitz Miksa Palace, Oradea (1905); Josef
Huber – Chamber of Commerce and Industry, Cluj (1910); (source: personal archive).
Simultaneous with the first stage in the affirmation of the National style in Great
Romania, the eclectic style will dominate the general trends in Transylvania despite the
intense Romanian nationalistic political activity, and numerous claims and protests to
recognize the nation and its identity. The architecture promoted by the authorities
maintains its exogenous character ignoring the desire for national affirmation and its
manifestation as material medium.
Subsequently, overlapping the eclectic layer there are several versions of the
Secession, acquired via neighbouring European powers: Austrian and German
‘Jugendstil’ and Hungarian ‘szecesszió’. Until 1918, Transylvania as a province of the
Austro-Hungarian Empire will maintain this foreign influence regarding its architectural
production.
The first Transylvanian aperture towards the national Romanian style occurs in
1906, through the General Exhibition in Bucharest. Here along with the construction of a
dedicated vernacular-inspired ‘Transylvania pavilion’, the Transylvanian representatives
1
Curinschi Vorona, Istoria arhitecturii…, 282–283.
182
have a direct contact with the representations of the Romanian national identity as
imagined by the architects schooled by Mincu.
However the nation’s benefit was even more important. For the first time in the
life of our nation, Romanians in large masses, coming from various provinces
many of which subdued, made a direct contact with each other and with the
strength and greatness of the motherland of which they remained thrilled.
Thereafter, this made the unification desire more vivid and the rhythm of the
liberation movement even more rapid.1
The actual style will be widely used rather late in Transylvania, only after the
unification with the Kingdom of Romania from 1918. Due to this gap, in this region the
national style will be synchronous with both the modernist style, a central-European
influence, and also with the eclectic and the classical style, both reminiscent of Vienna
and the Hungarian ‘szecesszió’. The majority of the National Romanian Style buildings
are constructed immediately after the end of the war, from 1918 until the 1930s – when
the rhythm of the construction production suffered a drop due to the economical crisis;
despite this, the neo-Romanian style continued to be used until the 40s.
A special feature of the style’s Transylvanian development consists of the
preference for two particular types of architectural programs, though not exclusively.
Firstly, the religious buildings – the majority of the Transylvanian larger cities would
acquire a new Romanian national style orthodox cathedral immediately after the
Unification. The reason behind this gesture is linked to historical ethnic struggles dating
back to the 15th and 16th century. As Ada Ştefănuţ recalls “the Orthodox faith is
intimately related to the idea of the Romanian spirit”, fact explained through the
“resistance to Ottoman domination”, a war in which “each victory against the Ottoman
Empire was commemorated by building a church”2. For an extended period of time the
Romanian national style will be the only official architectural expression acknowledged
by the Orthodox Church.
The second preferred architectural program is the private housing, with the
model of the plot-isolated villa, initially promoted and ‘trademarked’ by the intellectual
elite of the capital. Thus the style is associated with a certain social status, the
nationalistic oriented intellectual elite and is seen as a private, individualistic patriotic
manifesto of one’s national identity. For both the residential and the religious programs,
after the initial impact of the style on the local architecture background, regional features
developed. The Romanian national style had transmuted into a more specific form,
under the influence of and as a response to the capital’s centralizing program.
Going back to Hobsbawm’s schema and analyzing the architectural pattern
developed in Transylvania following the capital’s example, one immediately thinks of
the third evolutionary stage of a national movement, the national idea transformed into
nationalistic program. The evolution process is somewhat reversed; on a solid
background strongly influenced by national consciousness, with a strong will to assert
oneself but without any form of material architectural identity, the National Romanian
1
2
Antonescu, Arhitectura 1/1941, 104.
Ştefănuţ, The Romanian national style…, 17.
183
style created in the country’s capital will be adopted as a package, architectural
expression along with its political program, exacerbating its national significance.
After the initial urban and architectural `boom`, when the national style bore the
most resemblance to the original model, one can observe a mutation process similar to a
reversed evolution of Hobsbawms’ initial stages: the architectural expression that carried
such nationalistic significance gradually looses its political connotation, regressing into
an original cultural stage, or even dissolving into a purely esthetical one.
3. A Transylvanian case-study: Andrei Mureşanu district in Cluj.
The national consciousness of the Transylvanian Romanians crystallized in the first half
of the 19th century and had, besides the main character of the general Romanian identity,
a deeply embedded regional specificity, generated by the “inferior political status of
Romanians in Transilvania”, “inter-ethnic tensions” and “fierce disputes with other
competing nations”1. As specified by Mitu, the Transylvanian Romanian identity will be
“shaped under the pressure of the constant threat they feel coming from the other”2, and
hence it’s manifest and militant character, exhibited as materialised medium through
architecture.
.
Fig. 5. Evolution of Cluj city limits, throughout the years
1
Sorin Mitu, National Identity of Romanians in Transylvania, (Central European University
Press, 2001), 4.
2
Mitu, National Identity..., 4.
184
As in all of the big cities of Transylvania, the same phenomenon occurs in Cluj,
the capital city of the historical region. After the 1918 Unification, the city develops
rapidly, expanding its territory, its industries, and its population and hence its need for
locative/housing capacity.
Also, after being an isolated community, with restricted access to the city, and
no right to build ‘permanent’ structures (i.e. most Romanian churches were built in
wood technique instead of stone or masonry, both of which being perceived as
permanent, lasting) the natural tendency was the assertion of one’s presence through a
very ‘tangible’ and visible medium. In Cluj the two main architectural foci were the
residential program (the Mureşanu and Grigorescu districts) – an independent private
initiative, and the religious program (the central Orthodox Cathedral) as part of a larger
scale program via the capital, both developed using the national style.
In the Patria Journal dated 1 December 1936, a special issue celebrating the
Unification of Transylvania and Romania of 1918, the articles report the Romanian
accomplishments achieved since, focusing on the city of Cluj. The built background
increases considerably; numerous public works are carried out – schools, hospitals,
commercial buildings are being built, mostly through the Centre for National Houses, a
national institution.
Fig. 6. Mureşanu District, Cluj, qualitative analysis (source: PUG Cluj-Napoca, February 1995).
The most massive growth takes place in the residential field – the city expands “in all
directions [with] new Roma-nian neighbour-hoods, with delightful little villas and
houses”1 in order to keep up with a rapid demographics evo-lution: from a surface of
1080 hectares and 83.000 inhabitants in 1920, the city grows up to 1813 hectares and
1
“Câte case particulare s-au zidit la Cluj în anii 1922-1935” (How many private houses were built
in Cluj between 1922 and 1935) unsigned article, Patria, 1 (1936), 15.
185
115.000 inhabitants by 19381. The need to ensure the living space required by such
growth is solved through means of legislation, by issuing favourable laws like “The law
for the encouragement of building construction” from 19212. Thus the number of private
housing units increases from 6880 up to 9400 units between 1922 and 19353, with two
peak periods, in 1927–1928 with 230 built units and respectively 348 units in 1934–35.
In a fiery and passionate article, published in 1936, Bugnariu records some of the
Romanian accomplishments, noting also the newest residential additions:
[...] the most beautiful neighbourhoods, the most cherished adornments and
most representative buildings - we are the ones who created them. The
Romanian villas from the Grigorescu and Andrei Mureşanu districts, with their
green wonders of their gardens, have renewed and enlightened the sombre
image of a citadel of buildings without style and originality. 4
Besides the superlative description of the two districts, the deliberate program is
obvious: the new additions must represent the quintessence of the Romanian spirit,
contrasting with the existing foreign-influenced background. The collective identity of
the Romanian nation is deliberately showcased. The architectural expression must
represent this collective identity, and the intent is clear: one nation, one culture, one
single architecture.
The sum of all these interventions seeks to move towards an idealized image of
the Romanian regained city, a city “of Romanian labour, building, rise, organization and
creativity”5. The original orthogonal street layout from the Mureşanu districts’ nucleus
represents an additional argument of an idealized urban image of the city, highly
contrasting with the existing old city centre, image distinctively sought by the municipal
administration. If the interventions in the fabric of the old city area were architectural
forms tailored to the context (although in many cases demolition had been considered
the appropriate solution), these new Romanian districts built on vacant or semi-vacant
lands were moulded after an idealized urban concept. This is in fact visible in the entire
urban structure of the district: the street gauge, the section and profile (exceeding the
period minimum needs), the generously sized plotting scheme, reduced height regime,
low density of the built fabric, regular shaping of urban islands, good accessibility etc.
Another Transylvanian specific characteristic consists of the modernist
influence. This is apparent first of all in the planimetric schemes of the villas that are
designed with a greater concern for the functionalist flows and needs of the owners.
1
L. Marian, U. Neamţu, M. Bodea, “Realizări clujene dintre cele două războaie mondiale în
domeniul caselor familiale” (Residential Achievements in Cluj between the two World Wars)
(1983), quoted in Mihaela Ioana Maria Agachi, Clujul Modern: aspecte urbanistice (The Modern
Cluj: urban planning aspects) (Cluj-Napoca: UT Press, 2009), 73.
2
Nicolae Lascu, Legislatie si dezvoltare urbana: Bucuresti 1831-1952 (Legislation and urban
development: Bucharest 1831–1952) (Phd thesis, Ion Mincu Institute of Architecture, Bucharest,
1997, 8.
3
„Câte case particulare...”, 15.
4
Teofil Bugnariu, De ce iubim Clujul (Why we love Cluj), Patria, special issue 1st of December,
1936, as quoted in Dr. Octavian Buzea, Clujul 1919-1939, (Cluj: Tipografia Ardealul, 1939), 72.
5
”Estetica oraşului” (The aesthetics of the city), Patria, 1st December Special Issue, (1936): 5.
186
Secondly the influence is visible in the urban proportions of the built versus the green
areas and in the regulative distances and orientations, beneficial for fresh air and
sunshine – by reference to the garden-city and hygienist movement of the 20th century
associated with the modernist architecture. And thirdly, the ornamentation will be
gradually simplified and removed, until the style can be read only through its volumetric
principles and emblematic architectural elements – stylized porticos, roman, bell or
trefoil arches, asymmetric entrances, flared cornices etc. – becoming Neo-Romanian
Style. This transition between styles and the growing preference for the modernist
design is obvious in a 1936 article, debating the esthetical aspects of the city:
“[...] the colony of villas on the Feleacu Hill, with Andrei Mureşanu Street in
the middle of it, is a testimony of Romanian refined taste, in both its endeavour
to establish a national style and its predilection towards the cubist style.”1
The completion of the Andrei Mureşanu District immediately after the 19182
Unification grants it the character of a manifesto-program, an act of assertion; the
Romanian majority presence in the city is thus acknowledged through a solid built
object and its identity cannot be mistaken. Also, assuming the already established
national style meant that its material identity is not ‘newly built, for one to decipher’ but
‘re-built for one to recognize’.
The solitary and identitary character of this urban and architectural program
amplified through the Romanization program of the educational system. Along with the
foundation of the Romanian University of Cluj in 1919, an acute need for university
academics was manifest: professors and researchers were summoned from the other
regions of the country and even from abroad. Some of them chose as their new residence
the Mureşanu District. In the first directory of the institution, in a Report on the work of
the University since its foundation the rector Sextil Puscariu recalled:
It was time for the Old Kingdom, to which Transylvania had given throughout
an entire century [...] a plethora of teachers and apostles of national culture, to
give back to the liberated province the noble duty and to send its fraternal
help.[...] Therefore the teaching staff of the University had to be recruited out of
the men of science of the Old Kingdom, among which there were also to be
found some of Transylvanian origin, who gladly came back to the places they
had forcibly left behind.3
1
”(...) colonia de vile de pe dealul Feleacului cu strada Andrei Mureşanu la mijloc e o mărturie a
gustului românesc rafinat, atât în strădania sa de a întemeia un stil naţional cât şi în predilecţia sa
pentru stilul cubist”. “Estetica...”, 5.
2
Octavian Buzea, Cartierele cu specificul lor (The Districts and their specificities), Clujul 19191939, (Cluj: Tipografia Ardealul, 1939), 75.
3
„Sosise vremea ca vechiul Regat, căruia Ardealul îi dase în curs de un veac împlinit, (de la
descălecarea lui Gheorghe Lazar), pleiada de dascăli şi apostoli ai culturei naţionale, să întoarcă
provinciei desrobite nobila datorie şi să-i trimeată ajutorul său frăţesc. (...) De aceea corpul
profesoral al Universităţii trebuia recrutat din bărbaţii de ştiinţă ai vechiului Regat, între care se
găseau şi câţiva Ardeleni de origine, care cu drag reveneau în locurile părăsite odinioară de silă”.
– Sextil Puscariu, „Raportul rectorului Sextil Puscariu despre Activitatea Universitatii din Cluj de
187
Thus the filling of vacancies of the University and the relocation in Cluj of all
the invited academics and researchers gained a particular meaning, of “a spiritual joining
and a wholeheartedly given support, from brother to brother”1, an individual
contribution to the Unification. Moreover, this ‘transfer’ aimed to “create a stronger and
friendlier tie between all the Romanian Universities” with the deliberate purpose of
“aiding each-other for the prosperity of national culture”2. Many of them chose to reside
in the Mureşanu District creating newly built Romanian style villas. If between 1920 and
1922 only a few academics were listed as residents of the Mureşanu District, by the end
of 1932 their number at least doubled.3 These addresses are part of the old nucleus of the
district, the area with the largest density of the national style villas. This also suggests
that their initiative influenced the subsequent housing projects that were built in the area;
through association with the Romanian spirit, as representatives of the first Romanian
University in Transylvania, and through their social class, as the intelligentsia of the city,
the resident academics propelled the trend of the Romanian National style villa. Only the
original nucleus of the Mureşanu District still maintains a high density of neo-Romanian
style villas, otherwise the built fabric consists of stylistic juxtapositions: the new
Romanian Style villas opposite the clean rectangular modernist houses, heavy eclectic
mansions or alongside delicately embellished secession facades. In time, as the style
fused with the modernist principles, a new hybrid emerged: a cross between the
volumetric design and dominant characteristics of the new Romanian style and the
stripped-down, non-ornamental façades; this type of architecture will be used until the
1960s, maintaining the general atmosphere of the district.
In the contemporary stage, the interlacing of styles has become even more
prominent, first of all through uncontrolled urban densification – some plots are divided
in two or even three smaller ones – and secondly through lack of unity of the
architectural style: no concerns were addressed regarding the contrasting nature of the
modern-contemporary houses, ranging from post-modernist tall profile buildings to
modern-minimalist or ‘displaced’ chalet-type villas. Some of the now old Romanian
national style villas have been revamped: thick insulation, bright colours, and plastic-like
rooftops. The stone carvings and moulds were removed, simplified or covered in
insulation, the window carpentry replaced with anonymous PVC double glazing. Some
of them have been left in a semi-abandoned state, scantly inhabited and unmaintained.
The style’s repertoire, defined in the Mincu phase, can easily be found in the
image of the Mureşanu District buildings, acquired ad litteram or interpreted.
The basic components of the style – or influence sources – Byzantine architecture,
with both renaissance and oriental backgrounds, and vernacular architecture, with both
its traditional Romanian architecture and its medieval one – can be identified, in their
processed state, in an analysis of the Mureşanu Districts’ built fabric.
la infiintarea ei” (Rector Sextil Puscariu’s Report on the Activity of the University of Cluj since
its Foundation), Anuarul Universitatii din Cluj Anul 1 1919-1920 (University of Cluj Directory
Year 1), 3-4.
1
„(..) de amalgamare sufletească şi de ajutor dat din toată inima de la frate la frate”, Idem.
2
„(...) a (ne) ajuta la nevoie în vederea propăşirei culturei naţionale”, Prof.dr.rector
D.Călugăreanu, University of Cluj Directory 1920-21, 8.
3
Data can be found in the annexes of University of Cluj Directory 1919-1935.
188
Fig. 7. Mureşanu District, Cluj, layout of the Romanian National style villas; the highest density
of villas indicates the original core of the district (source: S.Spânu).
4. The heritage approach
In the country’s capital and in the major cities, the majority of the still preserved national
style objectives are classified as Historical Monuments and protected by law; these
buildings continue to function as headquarters of several state institutions, museums,
restaurants or private residences, this being the optimal scenario. On the other end of the
spectrum is the state of abandon: these buildings slowly become ruins while an even
slower reclaim trial is carried out, temporarily transferring the responsibilities back and
forth. When the reclaim trials are won, the appointed owners find themselves unable to
maintain a building of such specific requirements, and the previous scenario is resumed.
However this
is not the case with
the neo-Romanian or
Romanian national
style buildings in
Andrei
Mureşanu
District. Here only
few of the buildings
are classified – those
which have been the
residences of several
public figures (8
Fig. 8. Mureşanu District, villas from the original core (source:
S.Spânu).
189
buildings).
Most
importantly – and
perilously
–
the
district holds no special heritage protection regime, thus becoming victim to various
densification and renovation processes. More than often these processes are brought on
by the exclusivist allure of a unitary and enclave-like district with updated and
downscaled interpretations of the old 18th and 19th century gentleman’s (Boyars) estate
residences.
Through the densification process the initially generous plots were divided in
two or three smaller plots from which narrow secondary accesses were cut out. This
process unfolded first at the expense of the green areas, transforming the overall image
of the district and depriving the city of one of its main green reserve – A. Mureşanu is
still known as garden-district, yet now it’s barely maintaining its status – resulting in an
alteration of the city’s green space per capita ratio. Secondly, the densification process
had an impact on the overall architectural image of the district. The new built additions
range from the modern-minimal style to the post-modern and chalet-like manors, and
hybrids between these, that are often too close to the old elegant villas, too brightly
coloured, too tall and too alien to the whole architectural design of the district. While the
eclectic and the modern villas of the 30s, built simultaneously with the national style
nucleus, did not manage to disrupt the unitary image of the district,1 the contemporary
additions constitute a contrast of scale, design, chromatics and spirit.
As the style gradually evolved from the original designs of the Mincu School to
an almost modernist ornament-cleared version, its nationalistic message was diffused.
Since its creation as a manifesto of solidarity and unity through its Romanity, the area
has evolved into a luxury district, sought for its exclusivist nature, and yet paradoxically
overrun by constant alterations and densification. Besides the fact that its residential
character has made it prone to mutations, the district has been expanded and engulfed
into the ever-growing urban fabric of the city.
Fig. 9. Mureşanu District,
villas from the original core
(source: S.Spânu).
A minimal heritage
oriented policy should
consider several aspects:
firstly, the identification of
the neo-Romanian built
nucleus of the district as a
unitary
protected
architecture
reserve,
abiding to very specific
regulation (i.e. regarding
built density, materials used, types of interior /exterior modifications and additions
permitted, chromatics, detail preservation, height regime etc.). Secondly, the
development of a basic guide or methodology aiming to support local initiative for
1
The contrast between the national style and the modern style villas was at the time quite a
common sight; as the two views cohabited, so did the built expressions.
190
preservation – similar to several existing European guides; this should serve and assist
both residents and local authority. And thirdly, the deliverance of sustainable
development through the conservation of the existing built fabric, the signifier, and
recovery of its embedded historical meaning, the signification – national solidarity and
unity, through public visibility (event, publications etc.).
Faced with rapid transformations, the Mureşanu district is threatened by the
gradual loss of its defining neo-Romanian character and with it, its symbolic meaning.
Despite this, it is still maintaining its enclave character. Its original symbolic function
has gradually morphed into a different one, juxtaposing a different layer of meaning.
The classification as an ensemble or as individual units could reduce the number
of destructive arbitrary interventions, providing a somewhat basic protection. The
implementation of any conservation of valorisation endeavour requires in the first place
the awareness of the hierarchies of value inscribed within the heritage object, and the main
target is the user community. The overall and most important goal of conservation
interventions bears less on the preserving of the material rather than on "maintaining (and
shaping) the values stipulated by heritage"1, that is the cultural significance of that specific
object. This can subsume diverse values such as "historical origins and subsequent
development, its association with particular people or events, its visual or townscape
qualities, its construction or other technical qualities, a religious or symbolic role and
archaeological research potential";2 these are not mutually exclusive, and an objective,
ensemble or site normally cumulates several such values. In the case of the analyzed
district the cultural significance is dominated by the nationalistic-identity character, yet it
includes several other values such as the historical-documentary one, esthetical (both
architectural and urban), technical (such as specific finishes, architectural details,
construction technique of
the era etc.), and also as a
particular evolution urban
patch (juxtaposition of
several
styles,
local
influences).
Gaining
awareness of its value and
perpetuation of its visibility
could
maintain
the
analyzed objective present
in the social conscience of
the community; as the
Declaration of Amsterdam
of 1975 highlighted, this
community awareness and
Fig. 10. Mureşanu District, contemporary minimalist insert,
inter-war insert, contemporary radical alterations of the main
facade, neoclassic and eclectic inserts (source: S. Spânu).
1
Erica Avrami, Randall Mason, Marta de la Torre, Values and Heritage Conservation – Research
Report (Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute, 2000) , 7.
2
What Is “Heritage Significance”?, in Local Government Heritage Guidelines, (NSW Heritage
Office, Australia, 2002), 4.
191
accountability of built heritage represents the sole guarantor of its survival: "The
architectural heritage will survive only if it is appreciated by the public and in particular by
the younger generation".1
Being aware of the cultural significance and the assigning additional value
constitutes the first unofficial endeavours available to the using community towards a
conservation process, preceding and in most cases even triggering the official ranking
and conservation procedures. This assigned value is subjective, and is based on “the way
people remember, organize, think about, and wish to use the past”2 - and ultimately
reflecting upon the relation with material culture of the past, the built environment.
Lowenthal identifies a series of negative aspects generated by the contemporary
management of heritage that are reflected in the public perception and attitude towards
the protected object, among which: alienation from heritage (both movable and
immovable), refusal of responsibilities and of active involvement, or maintenance of its
conflicting character – triggering ownership legal disputes, interpretation and
conservation of objectives.3 In the Mureşanu District case, the estrangement from the
meanings embedded into the built medium seems to dominate the general perception of
the enclave; the message contained within the built fabric is no longer received. Yet
even beyond this lack of accountability, the contemporary interventions seem to be
plagued by an interpretative amnesia: since the built form no longer bears a message for
its user-public, it undergoes adjustments, travesties, arbitrary reinterpretations or is
completely ignored; the interventions fail to consider even the genius loci, that identity
of the place constituted at the congruence of architectural form, constructive technique,
esthetical and urban principles and cultural-identitary message. The genetic print of the
place is gradually eroded.
Despite this, the area still maintains its initially given `status` meaning, yet
losing its national-declarative connotation in favour of a more pragmatic economical one
(the financial status). Through the specified processes – gentrification and densification
of the area – the community responsible for this built fund is in turn gradually replaced,
no longer sharing the same value hierarchies which were the basis for the
neighbourhoods` establishment. Thus, since the direct users are reluctant to assume
accountability for the embedded cultural significance – be it the nationalistic identitary
character of the area – the initiation of the process may lie outside of the community, in
the hands of "external stakeholders: professionals, authorities and public".4 This type of
external intervention – through programs dedicated to recording and classification of
buildings and interesting architectural, urban, aesthetic elements, studies and surveys,
touristic and educational routes etc. – could refocus attention on the area and initiate the
awareness and appreciation from the user community. The inclusion of these built
1
The Declaration of Amsterdam (21-25 October 1975), Congress On The European Architectural
Heritage, paragraph „i”, 1975, http://www.icomos.org/en/charters-and-texts/179-articles-enfrancais/ressources/charters-and-standards/169-the-declaration-of-amsterdam (accessed May 2013).
2
Mason Avrami, and de la Torre, Values..., 8.
3
David Lowenthal, Stewarding the Past in a Perplexing Present, in Values and Heritage
Conservation - Research Report, ed. Erica Avrami, Randall Mason, Marta de la Torre, (The Getty
Conservation Institute, Los Angeles, 2000), 18-24.
4
Avrami, Mason, and de la Torre, Values..., 8.
192
objects on the protected official list isn’t and mustn’t be the final aim of the
interventions, for it cannot exclusively guarantee their survival; this can only be
achieved through awareness of the values embedded within the built form and its
reinvestment with `heritage meaning`, primarily by the using community.
The district`s safeguarding is demanded by its built-in message as well as by the
formula through which this message has been embodied, within its regional and
temporal stylistic context. Despite the rapid erosion and degrading, the district still
maintains its enclave character; its initial symbolic function has gradually transformed,
juxtaposing (at least one) new layer of meaning.
Thus, the space of the Mureşanu District, in its material and its symbolic form,
displays several particular heterotopic features: its still resilient enclave-like character; its
capacity of juxtaposing several spaces – the historical solidarity branded architectural
space and its mirrored contemporary opposite, a space devoid of historic meaning and
characterized by a continuously morphing architectural style. Both of these juxtaposed
spaces are accessible, yet one needs to know `what to look for` in order to enter the
historical enclave, whose boundaries have become less and less visible; both historical and
contemporary `lived` spaces had and still have a practical economically controlled access.
Another heterotopic feature of the district resides in its compensatory character,
in its elite-district character, strongly declared in its architectural expressions. Originally
built as a material manifesto of solidarity, a material representation of the nationalistic
idea, the district describes a “space that is other, another real space, as perfect, as
meticulous, as well arranged”1 as its surrounding space – the city – “is messy (...) and
jumbled”2. The district and its Romanian national architectural style are both
programmatic and demonstrative creations, aiming to illustrate an essentialised and
encompassing view of the idea of nation. Through this joint feature, they both verge on a
materialised form of utopia.
The national identity and implicitly the solidarity are conceptualized and
manifested in the historical context of 1848. Their manifestation as a material form is
achieved via the Romanian national style, created as a sum of the essential
characteristics of the national spirit. This sense of solidarity had been inscribed, as
potential, in the language of the architectural style as it was created in the country’s
capital; as it was assumed in Transylvania, its meaning was doubled. If the style
originally aimed to represent the Romanian spirit, in Transylvania it gained a militant
character, produced “under the pressure of the constant threat […] coming from the
other”3, thus leading to a doubling of its solidary character. The architectural unity of the
district can be read as an intentional gesture of solidarity, constituted through a process
of conversion of national identity into cultural identity.
1
Michel Foucault, “Of Other Spaces” (1967), in Heterotopia and the city. Public space in a
postcivil society, ed. Michiel Dehaene, Lieven De Cauter (London: Routledge, 2008), 21.
2
Foucault, “Of Other Spaces”, 21.
3
Mitu, National Identity..., 4.
193
Criminology and Modernization in Romania during the Second Half
of the Nineteenth Century
Gabriel CONSTANTINESCU
University of Bucharest,
Department of History
Keywords: Romania-modernization, history of criminology, criminal law, forensic
medicine, crime rates.
Abstract: This article deals with the relation between the birth of criminology in late
19th century Romania and modernization. Scientific modernization also manifested itself
through the adoption of laws, theories and methods from Western Europe that inspired
various criminological discourses. However, this modernization was incomplete and
stereotypes such as the gentleness of the Romanians had pervaded some of the
criminological studies. Most Romanian authors interpreted crime as a socially
determined phenomenon, rejecting the biological theories of crime. Towards the end of
the 19th century, more and more authors tried to apply western criminological theories to
phenomena and criminal cases from the Romanian society.
*
The beginnings of modern Romanian criminology can be located in the
second half of the nineteenth century. We use the term “criminology” with an “open”1
meaning to refer to any researches examining criminals, crime, and its causes. During
the 19th century, the writings that addressed issues related to criminology are rather
heterogeneous. Individuals from several professional groups wrote about crime:
magistrates, police officers, statisticians, priests, doctors, biologists, phrenologists,
psychiatrists or anthropologists.2 This disciplinary hybridity of criminology is one of its
greatest strengths.3
Criminological theories originated from many disciplines – criminal law,
psychiatry, forensic medicine, biology or anthropometry to name only a few. Criminal
law defined crimes, criminals and the punishments that were necessary. Psychiatry,
forensic medicine and anthropometry analyzed criminals, explained crime and guided
the application of criminal law. We could assume that the functioning of this mechanism
was governed by a feedback-like process. Taking into account the links between these
areas, we advocate for the need to study the history of criminology from a global
1
Peter Becker, “Criminological Language and Prose from the Late Eighteenth to the Early
Twentieth Centuries”, in Crime and Culture: An Historical Perspective, ed. Amy Gilman
Srebnick, René Lévy (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 23-30, 24.
2
Ibid., 27.
3
Eamonn Carrabine et al., Criminology. A Sociological Introduction, Second edition (London:
Routledge, 2009), 4.
194
perspective that includes theories from criminal law, psychiatry, forensic medicine or
anthropometry.
Criminology has many meanings and interpretations, especially nowadays, but
the most commonly accepted view is that it deals with the study of crime, criminals and
criminal justice.1 The word “criminology” is relatively new but criminological
researches are not. According to some, they can be traced back as far as 250 years ago.2
Ellis Havelock attributed the word “criminology” to the French Paul Topinard (18301911), dating it to 1889, but in fact Raffaele Garofalo (1851-1934) had used it as the title
of his major work from 18853. Cesare Lombroso’s criminal anthropology of the 1870’s
is considered the birth of modern scientific criminology. Despite the intense criticism,
his work led to international congresses and debates about criminology during the last
decades of the nineteenth century.
Starting from the second half of the nineteenth century, we can identify quite a
few criminological approaches. This was the age when criminology set its own
boundaries and it delimited itself from other scientific disciplines. Its relations with other
fields of study such as criminal law, forensic medicine, psychiatry or anthropometry
were analyzed.4 This was more the case for Western Europe. However, during the latter
half of the century, criminology, psychiatry, anthropometry or forensic medicine became
increasingly appealing for Romanian authors too. From this perspective, we can accept
the idea of synchronization with Western Europe. In fact, many studies published in
Romania, were just popularizing scientific theories from Western Europe. Of course, the
popularization of sciences also occurred in Western Europe, reaching a peak during
1865-1890.5 The influence of Western European theories in Romania is one of the key
issues we seek to unravel in order to understand the conditions that have marked the
evolution of Romanian criminology during this age.
The Romanian society had its own legal traditions, which should have led to an
adaptation of new theories to the local context. This was not always the case; some
magistrates regarded the Criminal Code of 1865 as an imitation of other countries’
criminal codes. Furthermore, state institutions that enforced criminal laws were not very
efficient and this affected crime control. Still, during the second part of the nineteenth
century, many changes occurred within the Romanian society. As an example, upon the
annexation of Dobruja in 1878, after the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-1878 and the
Treaty of Berlin (1878), which recognized Romania’s independence, the region had a
1
Ibid., 3.
Ibid., 4.
3
David Garland, “British Criminology before 1935”, The British Journal of Criminology 28
(1988): 131-147, 136. The controversy continues even nowadays. Some authors consider that
Paul Topinard first used the word “criminology” in 1879, whereas others have named Raffaele
Garofalo as its inventor.
4
George Basiliade, Criminologie comprehensivă (Comprehensive Criminology) (Bucharest:
Editura Expert, 2006), 191.
5
Simona Antonescu, Literatura de popularizare a ştiinţei în a doua jumătate a secolului al XIXlea şi începutul secolului XX în România (Science Popularization Literature in Romania during
the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century and the Start of the Twentieth Century) (Bucharest:
Ars Docendi, 2007), 16.
2
195
very high crime rate.1 Gradually, the State, through its institutions, managed to control
the territory somewhat better despite frequent acts of banditry until the 1890s.
Taking into consideration Peter Becker and Richard F. Wetzell’s approach from
Criminals and their scientists. The history of criminology in international perspective2
(2006), we will emphasize the diversity of discourses that dealt with criminals or crime
in nineteenth century Romania. The State institutions that controlled and punished crime
– the Police, the Prison, the Law Court, were important, but their influence upon the
society or upon criminology, was shaped by the people who represented them.
Modernization
Most studies that address topics related to Romanian nineteenth century history use the
term “modernization” when explaining the developments that occurred within that
period. Anthony Giddens3 defined modernization as the emergence of certain ways of
organizing the society in Western Europe since the 18th century and their gradual
expansion to other areas. At least in its initial phase, modernization manifested itself as
westernization. Still, Ronald Inglehart pointed out that modernization was not just a
western process but also a global one. It could be stated that nowadays, it is Eastern Asia
and not Western Europe that promotes modernization.4
We have mentioned the growing influence of Western European theories in
criminal law, forensic medicine or psychiatry. This influence had an impact upon the
whole Romanian society, as it was widespread. Its first signs have been identified during
the reigns of the Fanariot rulers of the principalities that later formed Romania in the 19th
century – Moldavia and Walachia, during the 18th century and continued after the 1820s.
However, the contact with Western European ideas and mentalities was mainly indirect,
at least in the earlier stages, mainly through the Russian officers stationed in the two
Romanian Principalities. We could accept the concept of “acculturation”5 in this
situation. Essentially, the nature of the phenomenon is unidirectional. The cultural
transfer was achieved from the centre to a marginal space, from Western Europe to
1
Nicolae Negulescu, “Administraţia în Dobrogea veche” (The Administration in Old Dobruja), in
Dobrogea 1878-1928. Cincizeci de ani de vieaţă românească (Bucharest: Cultura Naţională,
1928), 719-734, 720.
2
Peter Becker, Richard F. Wetzell, Criminals and their scientists. The history of criminology in
international perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006).
3
Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990), 1.
4
Ronald Inglehart, Modernization and Postmodernization. Cultural, Economic, and Political
Change in 43 Societies (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 11.
5
In 1936 R. Redfield, R. Linton and M. J. Herskovits defined acculturation as all the changes in
the cultural patterns originating when groups of individuals with different cultures came in
contact. According to the authors, there are exchanges and reinterpretations between two cultures.
However, no culture imposes itself totally upon another one despite their unequal contribution. In
1970, R. Bastide differentiated between material and formal acculturation. The first takes place
when populations adopt models of the dominant culture in public life and the second when their
thinking structures change as well. See Phillipe Besnard and Raymond Boudon, Dicţionar de
Sociologie (Dictionary of Sociology), trans. Mariana Tutuianu, (Bucharest: Univers Enciclopedic,
1996), 12-13.
196
Romania. A legislative reformation had started during the Fanariots, but the 1859
Unification of Moldavia and Walachia imposed the need for a new Penal Code. These
cultural contacts between Western Europe and the Romanian space increased during the
second half of the century and ultimately contributed to the emergence of modern
criminal law studies.
An important, if not decisive, part in the evolution of Romanian criminology
and other disciplines such as judicial psychiatry, forensic medicine or anthropometry is
that of the relation with the Western researches in these fields of knowledge. Clearly,
they influenced jurists and doctors from Romania. Some had studied in universities from
Western and Central Europe.1 There is still the issue of determining how these theories
were adopted in Romania. On one hand, some authors tried to verify the validity of
various ideas or, at least, to adapt them to the Romanian society. On the other, many
were only popularizing Western theories without trying to bring any innovative
elements. Horia Roman Patapievici interpreted the scientific modernization from Eastern
Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries using a metaphor –“throwing away”.2
If in Western Europe the scientific modernization was based on challenging the
scientific tradition, on discussing new theories and ultimately integrating them in the
tradition, in Eastern Europe new theories were adopted for sociological or political
reasons3, without a critical discussion and the old theories were abandoned, considered
“trash”. Thus, according to Patapievici, the scientific modernization in the West was
achieved through “grafting”, whereas in the East, through “throwing away”.
For the last decades of the 19th century, we need to reassess Patapievici’s model
of interpretation. If during the period 1850-1890, many authors used to take over
Western theories uncritically, towards the end of the century more and more authors
were trying to adapt those theories to the local conditions. In other words, modernization
could be perceived first as a “throwing away” and then more as a “grafting”. This was
not a complete “grafting” but nor can we admit that the modernization of 1850-1890
was achieved only by “throwing away”. There is more of a trend towards modernization
through “grafting” at the end of the century than it had been in 1850’s-1890’s period4.
The Criminal Code of 1865
The application of laws varies, depending on a certain degree of flexibility. In theory, the
eighteenth century Criminal Law from Great Britain seemed harsh and rigid – The
Bloody Code. The capital punishment was instituted for over 200 offences. However, as
1
See Elena Siupiur, “The Training of Intellectuals in South-East Europe during the 19th Century”,
Anuarul Institutului de Istorie şi Arheologie A.D. Xenopol, XXIII (1986): 469-490.
2
Horia Roman Patapievici, Discernământul modernizării. 7 conferinţe despre situaţia de fapt
(The Discernment of Modernization. 7 Conferences About the State of Affairs), (Bucharest:
Humanitas, 2004), 89.
3
Ibid., 92.
4
Cătălin Turliuc emphasized the differences between modernization and westernization in
Romania during the 19th century. In his view, only from the end of the century we could accept
the idea of a modernization. Up until that point, there was actually a westernization. See Cătălin
Turliuc, ”Modernization and/or Westernization in Romania during the Late 19th Century and the
Early 20th Century”, Transylvanian Review 1 (2008): 3-11.
197
Peter King showed, in practice, the system was flexible and selective. Any discussion
about the criminological discourses within the Romanian society should be preceded by
one regarding the Romanian Penal Code. Until 1865, Moldavia and Walachia had
different criminal law systems. The Criminal Law adopted in 1865 represented, in
effect, a legislative unification of the two Principalities, although the previous criminal
laws applied in Moldavia and Walachia had many similarities. Both stipulated beating
and the death penalty as punishments.1 A commission drew up the Criminal Law and the
Code for Criminal Procedure in 1864. They were inspired by the French, Belgian,
German and Austrian criminal law systems but also by the Criminal Law of 1826 from
Moldavia and the Ştirbey Criminal Law of 1852 from Walachia.2
The enforcement of the criminal laws was often a long way from what the
Criminal Code actually stipulated for certain felonies or offences. The introduction of
the Jury, through the 1865 Criminal Law, affected the ways in which criminal laws were
implemented. The activity of the Jury was criticized on several occasions. Some
considered this institution a mere imitation of Western criminal laws. Largely, this was
true. Shortly after 1865, G. S. Petrini edited a manual for the jurymen. It had many
advices for future members of a Jury and offered guidelines concerning the reactions of
the accused or of witnesses so that the jurymen would not be easily impressed3.
Apparently, such manuals did not achieve their goals. Almost 30 years later, the
prosecutor Mihail Şuţu was demanding the suppression of this institution, at least for
criminal law cases as it represented “a threat to the society”4. The criminal statistics he
had analyzed showed that in Iassy, during 1880-1893, there had been 1,170 acquittals
and 1,436 convictions5. Towards the end of the century, Mihail Sfinţescu discussed the
same issue. The audience that was attending the trials often manifested their sympathy
or antipathy towards the accused and witnesses and the jurymen could not ignore their
attitudes6.
Despite some shortcomings of the Penal Code, the abolition of punishments
such as beating or the death penalty is an improvement in legislation. However, these
were thought to be “forms without substance”, inappropriate for the situation in
Romania. The death penalty had existed in criminal laws before 1865 but was rarely
implemented. We can admit that the abolition of the death penalty de jure actually
followed its abolition de facto. Still, in 1865, most European states applied the death
penalty. Italy abolished it in 1890, The Netherlands in 1881, in Belgium, it was present
1
Petre Ionescu-Muscel, Istoria Dreptului Penal Român (The History of the Romanian Criminal
Law) (Bucharest: Editura „Revista Positivă Penală şi Penitenciară”, 1931), 140.
2
Ibid., 148.
3
G.S. Petrini, Manualul Juraţiloru (The Juror’s Manual) (Iassi: Imprimeria Buciumului Românu,
1867), 172-177. This is an adaptation of the ideas of some French authors like Faustin-Hélie,
Dubochet sau Guichard.
4
Mihail Şuţu, Câteva cuvinte asupra instituţiei juriului (A Few Words on the Institution of Jury)
(Iaşi: Tipo-Litografia H. Goldner, 1895), 29.
5
Ibid., 3-4.
6
Mihail Sfinţescu, Juriul în materie criminală (The Jury in Criminal Cases) (Bucuresci
(Bucharest): Tipografia ,,Vocea Înveţătorilor”, 1899), 36.
198
in 1863 but always commuted, Portugal and some Swiss cantons had also abolished it1.
Other European states would only abolish it in the twentieth century. The idea of
reducing penalties and adjusting them to the seriousness of the offences appeared since
Cesare Beccaria. He had been among the first to advocate the abolition of capital
punishment but very few European states did renounce it in the nineteenth century.
After 1865, some urged for the reintroduction of the death penalty in Romania.
They were always a minority though because such proposals never gathered much
support. Probably the best-known supporter for this proposal was Ioan Tanoviceanu
(1858-1917). He had analyzed the criminal statistics for 1867-1886 and noticed an
increase in crime rates. According to Tanoviceanu, the abolition of the death penalty in
18652 was, at least partly, the reason for this crime wave. In his memoirs3, Prince
Nicolae Şuţu (1798-1871) criticized the introduction of modern institutions of
government in the Principalities. This criticism aimed at the suppression of the death
penalty4, “without a transitional phase, without prior discussions”. Undoubtedly, it is a
conservative attitude but it also emphasized the haste that characterized the ratification
of the 1865 Criminal Law. Vasile Conta’s (1845-1882) position is somewhat different.
He believed the death penalty should not be abolished if it was proven that the fear of a
lighter punishment was not strong enough to stop the less educated people from
committing the most heinous offences5. Even torture would be required when the death
penalty proved ineffective. He agreed with the death penalty in Romania but only for
foreigners who had committed terrible crimes because “the Romanians have gentler
manners compared to foreigners”6. Beyond these xenophobic connotations, the idea that
the gentle manners of Romanians could prevent the application of the capital
punishment stands out. Actually, the stereotype of the gentle Romanians is a recurring
theme for several nineteenth and twentieth century authors.
Legal studies
We briefly discussed about the Penal Code but for a better understanding of the
Romanian penal system one should also take into consideration some of its most
influential representatives. The functioning of this system was examined in various
studies. However, these studies did not display a methodological unity. Petre IonescuMuscel, a scholar who wrote about the history of the Romanian Criminal Law,
considered that until the latter half of the nineteenth century we cannot identify any
1
Roy Calvert, Capital Punishment in the Twentieth Century (London: G. P. Putnam’s Sons,
1928), 51-75.
2
Ioan Tanoviceanu, România sub raport moral (Romania from a Moral Perspective) (Bucharest:
Tipografia Arte Grafice, 1902), 18.
3
Nicolae Şuţu, Memoriile Principelui Nicolae Şuţu (The Memoires of Prince Nicholas Soutzo),
trans., introduction, notes and comments Georgeta Penelea Filitti, (Bucharest: Editura Fundaţiei
culturale Române, 1997).
4
He also quoted the French author Adolphe Karr: “the death penalty should be abolished; I wish
it with all my heart, only that the assassins should be the first who cease to apply it”. Ibid., 361.
5
Vasile Conta, ”Teoria fatalismului” (The Theory of Fatalism), in Opere complete, filozoful
Conta, ed. Octav Minar (Bucharest: Editura C. Sfetea, 1914).
6
Ibid., 191.
199
thorough studies published by Romanian jurists1. Furthermore, starting with the
eighteenth century, according to Ionescu-Muscel, the influence of Western European
authors is undeniable2. Despite this influence, more and more jurists started to examine
issues specific to the Romanian society. We discover in the writings of Romanian jurists
criminological discourses that dealt with the legal responsibility of the insane murderers,
the connection between crime rates and alcohol, juvenile delinquency, female
criminality or the imprisonment and rehabilitation of offenders.
Ion I. Condeescu examined the Criminal Law of 1865, providing comments
regarding most of its 400 articles3. Condeescu concentrated on the issue of mitigating
circumstances. Article 57 of the Criminal Code laid down the matter: “it does not count
as felony or offence any misdemeanour committed in a state of insanity or loss of reason
beyond control”4. Besides the insane, who could not be liable in Court and whom the
Criminal Code named “smintiţi” (“insane”), Condeescu also debated cases of psychiatric
conditions like idiocy or monomania and suggested that they should benefit from a
similar treatment. He differentiated between involuntary and total intoxication on one
hand and partial and voluntary intoxication on the other. The issue of lack of
responsibility would be of paramount interest to Romanian jurists on several occasions.
In 1903, a soldier from Craiova with an ill-fated name – Gheorghe Ispăşoiu5, killed two
comrades but the military judges did not allow a forensic expertise to determine if the
perpetrator had any mitigating circumstances.
Article 57 of the Romanian Penal Code of 1865 was inspired by article 64 of
the Napoleonic Code of 1810 but the idea of impunity for the mentally ill can be found
in The Correction of Law, a code elaborated in 1652, under Matei Basarab (1632-1654).
The mentally ill was compared with the deaf or the dumb and, unlike in Western
Europe, the seriousness of the offence did not exclude the right to impunity6. Since
Antiquity, people thought of mental illness as a divine punishment and, in order to avoid
a “competition” with this type of punishment, the mentally ill would be granted
impunity. The Ştirbey Criminal Code had also referred to mental illness in article 52
using the expression “insane mind”, which was then taken by article 57 of the Penal
Code of 18657. In the nineteenth century, the legal status of the mentally ill became a
central issue for more and more authors. They “discovered” different psychiatric
conditions – monomanias and degenerescences8. In Romania too, monomania and
1
Ionescu-Muscel, Istoria Dreptului, 154.
Ibid.
3
Ion I. Condeescu, Codice Penal Român-adnotat şi explicat (The Romanian Criminal Law
annotated and explained) (Bucharest: Tipografia Ştefan Mihăilescu, 1883).
4
Ibid., 42-43.
5
His last name, “Ispăşoiu”, means to serve time for a certain offence or, from a religious
perspective, to repent, through suffering, for one’s sins.
6
Florian Galdău, Statutul juridic al bolnavului psihic în secolul XIX cu relevarea influenţei
asupra teoriei şi practicii psihiatrico-legale (The Legal Status of the Mentally Ill during the 19th
Century and Its Influence on the Theory and Practice of Forensic Psychiatry) (Timişoara:
Institutul de Medicină, 1982), 4.
7
Ibid., 18.
8
Daniel Pick, Faces of Degeneration (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 7-8.
2
200
degenerescence were notions used when debating cases of mitigating circumstances for
offenders.
Aleksandra Chaushova, The Sugar Factory, 2011,
Some Romanian authors wrote about the issue of liability. There were quite a
few criminal trials that required the application of article 57 of the Penal Code and all the
aspects of legal impunity needed to be clarified. Nevertheless, many studies1 just
popularized Western European theories on monomania and degeneration. This was also
essential, especially because it is unlikely that most jurymen did truly understand notions
such as degeneration. One of the first thorough studies2 that approached this topic is that
of Alexandru Şuţu (1837-1919), professor of psychiatry. The author extensively
analyzed the liability of the insane, defining the different intermediary stages. He
pinpointed the unavoidable difficulties of determining whether the offender had been in
a state of alienation when the crime was committed or only after that3. Last but not the
1
Octavian Buda compiled some studies of forensic medicine and psychiatry in two of his books:
Criminalitatea: o istorie medico-legală românească (Criminality: A History of the Romanian
Forensic Medicine) (Piteşti: Paralela 45, 2007) and O antropologie a marginalului (An
Anthropology of the Imaginary) (Bucharest: Caligraf, 2008).
2
Alexandru Şuţu, Alienatulu în faca societăţii şi a şciinţei (The Mentally Ill face to face with
Society and with Science) (Bucureşci (Bucharest): Noua typographie a laboratorilor români,
1877).
3
Ibid.,14-15.
201
least, he depicted cases of people who feigned insanity1, providing signs that could help
investigators tell apart real cases of insanity from feigned ones. Still, other studies that
popularized psychiatry2 presented pseudoscientific theories from the realms of
physiognomy or phrenology3. According to such theories, a murderer must have been a
murder because he looked like a murderer, his physical features indicating the felony4.
The various studies that popularized psychiatry are considered by Simona Antonescu
nothing less than a porthole through which one could take a glimpse at another world,
that of the insane.
Another author, Aurel Iorgulescu5 mentioned different conditions considered
clinical manifestations of alienation: dementia, hereditary madness, anger, monomania
or toxic madness (alcoholism). He referred to a famous case of the age – Iulia Iarcu’s
murderer. In February 1901, Alexandru Candiano-Popescu killed Iulia Iarcu with the
help of a friend. Candiano-Popescu, a high school student, sadistically confessed the
murder. Constantin Bacalbaşa (1856-1935) thought of him as “an irresponsible
degenerate”6. Eventually, the verdict of the commission described Candiano-Popescu’s
condition as follows: “the disappearance of any sense of ethics, society and family,
incomplete knowledge of what is Good, Moral and Legal. Slave of his perverted
instincts, he subdues to them without being hindered by anything”.7
At the dawn of the twentieth century, Romanian jurists tried to display an even
more complex discourse in regards to crime rates, criminals or crime itself. Many
analyzed or went further in attempting to apply Western criminological theories to the
Romanian society. Such an author was Vespasian Erbiceanu (1863-1943), a judge from
Iassy, who published a book on new trends in law8. He provided one of the most
detailed presentations of the Italian school of criminology in the early twentieth century
Romania. In over one hundred pages, he illustrated the theories of Cesare Lombroso,
Raffaele Garofalo or Enrico Ferri but also some of their critics.9 Moreover, Erbiceanu
briefly discussed about the impact of these in Romania, mentioning the name of Ioan
Tanoviceanu as a disciple and defender of such ideas and Mina Miovici as their
1
Ibid., 242-246.
Antonescu, Literatura de popularizare, 75.
3
Physiognomy and phrenology were used to explain crime, especially in the press or in the
popular literature. One of the works that popularized physiognomy was that of T. EustaţiuCiocanelli, Estractu de Fisiognomie (A Fragment of Physiognomy) (Bucharest: Tipografia
bisericească din Sfânta Mitropolie, 1855). In addition, Bogdan Petriceicu-Haşdeu examined Vlad
Ţepeş’s face using element from both phrenology and physiognomy. See Bogdan PetriceicuHaşdeu, ”Portretul lui Vlad Ţepeş-Vlad Vodă Dracul” ( The Portrait of Vlad Ţepeş-Vlad Vodă
Dracul) in Din Moldova, tome III, (1863): 62-64, 75-79, 95-96.
4
Antonescu, Literatura de popularizare, 75.
5
Aurel Iorgulescu, Responsabilitatea penală în materie de crimă (Criminal responsibility in
felony cases) (Bucureşci:Tipografia şi Legătoria de cărţi Thoma Basilescu, 1903), 10.
6
Constantin Bacalbaşa, Bucharesti de altădată (Old-Time Bucharest), vol III, 1900-1910,
(Bucharest : Editura ziarului “Universul”, 1927), 6.
7
Aurel Iorgulescu, Responsabilitatea penală, 14.
8
Vespasian Erbiceanu, Tendinţe noi în Drept. Studii de Drept Civil si Penal (New Trends in Law.
Studies in Criminal and Civil Law) (Iaşi: Tipografia Dacia, 1906).
9
Ibid., 233-351.
2
202
opponent.1 Another chapter dealt with the sociological theories on crime. According to
the author, this new school of criminology had emerged as an alternative, a mid way
between the Italian school of criminology and the Classical school of criminology.2
Erbiceanu included among its most famous representatives Alexandre Lacassagne
(1843-1924), Gabriel Tarde (1843-1904), Franz Liszt (1851-1919) or Adolphe Prins
(1845-1919). He then put to use contemporary criminological theories in analyzing two
infamous murder cases from Romania, that of Alexandru Candiano-Popescu (1903) and
that of the soldier Ispăşoiu (1901). For the Işpăşoiu case, Erbiceanu applied Lombroso’s
theory of “hidden epilepsy”.3 Although he disagreed with some of the theories of the
Italian school of criminology, he nevertheless used the idea of “hidden epilepsy”4 in
certain circumstances. However, his extended analysis of the Ispăşoiu case and, most of
all, the application of the theory of “hidden epilepsy” was a controversial issue. Iulian
Teodorescu (1872-1935) criticized such an approach. Teodorescu believed that the
soldier Ispăşoiu had premeditated his action and should be held responsible5.
Furthermore, he disagreed with the theory of “hidden epilepsy”. According to him, only
Cesare Lombroso and his followers advocated the connection between hidden epilepsy
and crime. Therefore, it would have been difficult to examine the defendant since other
scientists did not accept the theory.
The topic of juvenile delinquency also appeared in the studies of Romanian
authors. The nineteenth century experienced a growing interest towards the phenomenon
of juvenile delinquency. Many Western European states have passed laws aimed at the
juvenile offenders. There was a fear that the youth were becoming increasingly attracted
to criminal activities and this represented a danger not only to the status quo but also to
the future of the Nation. The same jurist, Iulian Teodorescu, wrote about juvenile
delinquency in Romania. He dealt with this topic from the perspective of criminal law
but did not leave aside the alleged causes of the phenomenon. Teodorescu evoked a brief
history of Romanian juvenile delinquency mentioning the most famous cases.6 The
judiciary statistics showed that in 1903, 7% of all the offenders were juvenile. Moreover,
it seemed that juvenile delinquency had increased by 60% compared to previous years.
1
Ibid., 240.
Ibid., 436.
3
Ibid., 392-434.
4
The link between “the born criminal” and “hidden epilepsy” was established by Lombroso
during his examination of the soldier Misdea. In April 1884, Misdea, irritated by the insults of his
comrades, began shooting them randomly. Lombroso took part at the trial and determined what
had caused Misdea’s behavior. In the fourth edition, of his famous L’Uomo Delinquente,
published in 1889, the Italian criminologist claimed that Misdea’s deed was caused by “hidden
epilepsy”. See Cesare Lombroso, The Criminal Man, ed. Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter,
(London: Duke University Press, 2006), for a comparative study of the first five editions of
Cesare Lombroso’s book and an account of the Misdea case.
5
Iulian Teodorescu, Chestiuni de Drept penal şi ştiinţă penitenciară (Criminal Law and Penal
Science Issues) (Bucharest: Tipografia Gutenberg, 1904), 79.
6
Idem, Minoritatea în faţa legii penale. Studiu statistic şi de legislaţie comparată (Minority and
the Criminal Law. A Comparative Study of Legislation and Statistics) (Bucharest: Joseph Gobl,
1904), 10-11.
2
203
He dismissed the theories that emphasized hereditary or biological causes of juvenile
delinquency. Teodorescu considered social causes as critical for the evolution of crime.1
Grigore Ioan Lahovari (1835-1905) also provided explanations for the behavior
of criminals in one of his studies2. He categorized offenders based on their crimes into
arsonists, authors of political murders and women who killed with poison. The cases he
used to exemplify this categorization were taken from French, German or Austrian
studies. Most likely, the theories that guided his explanations had the same origin as the
cases themselves. Naming one chapter “Otrăvitoarele” (“Poisonous women”) is, by no
means, an accident. In the 19th century, poisoning was regarded as women’s favourite
method of killing and some statistics confirm a tendency of associating women with this
felony. In France3, during 1825-1885, out of 2,169 cases of poisoning and 1,969
offenders, 1,053 were men and 916 women. Considering that, on average, women
represented 20% of total offenders, it seemed obvious that they had an inclination
towards using poison. Lahovari thoroughly explained the predisposition: “a woman is
less brave, less of a man [sic], less strong and that’s why she commits this felony so
easily and more frequently than others”4. He further analyzed the behaviour of
poisonous woman drawing up a moral description. Thus, the poisonous woman is:
“incapable of understanding or of experiencing those moral feelings that we call the
sense of duty, of what is right, repentance, shame, and fear of being discovered or of
being punished”.5 In nineteenth century Europe, women were supposed to show
obedience, chastity, innocence, compassion, to name just a few requirements and,
because of these social expectations, we can understand why, a murderess was often
regarded as much more dangerous than a murderer.
Towards the end of the century, more and more authors were turning to the
study of issues characteristic to the Romanian society. We have discussed about the
responsibility of the insane, juvenile delinquency or women and crime. However, Ioan
Tanoviceanu (1858-1917) examined a phenomenon with far more complex
repercussions, the apparent increase in crime rates during the latter half of the nineteenth
century, which he considered truly frightening.6 Tanoviceanu is widely regarded as one
of those who laid the basis of criminology in Romania.7 His studies dealt with a great
variety of topics: crime rates, criminal law, prisons, the death penalty or duelling. In
1
Ibid., 118-119.
Grigore Ioan Lahovari, Despre Psyhologia criminală (On Criminal Psychology) (Bucureşci
(Bucharest): I. G.Haimann, 1888).
3
Philippe Ariès, Georges Duby, Histoire de la vie privée, tome 4 De la Révolution à la Grande
Guerre, (Paris: Seuil, 1985-1987), 274.
4
Grigore Ioan Lahovari, Despre Psyhologia, 39.
5
Ibid., 68.
6
Like many other authors, he stated that crime rates had increased throughout Europe during the
latter half of the 19th century. In fact, crime rates were decreasing at that time in Europe; see Lynn
MacDonald, “Theory and evidence of rising crime in the 19th century”, The British Journal of
Sociology 33 (1982): 404-420,414.
7
In 1884 he got his PhD in Law in Paris, in 1890, he started teaching Penal Law at Faculty of
Law in Iassy and, in 1901 he moved to the University of Bucharest. Tanoviceanu is also the
author of an impressive Treaty of Criminal Law and Criminal Procedure, published between
1924 and 1927, which is still highly appreciated even nowadays.
2
204
1867, Romania had its first judicial statistics that provided information on the number of
offenders, their religion, gender, age or education. Tanoviceanu admitted that these
judiciary statistics were unreliable for many reasons. Still, he compared the results with
those of 1886 and showed that “the increase in crime rates in our country is
frightening”.1 Based on the statistics there was an increase of arrests from 4.26‰ to
25.16‰ between 1867 and 1886 and of convicted people from 2.96‰ to 13.21‰.
Undoubtedly, the statistics offered a worrying picture of crime rates but we cannot rely
entirely on this kind of information. Tanoviceanu himself changed the initial data to
account for the population growth in Romania or for other flaws of the statistical data.
His first study on the crime rates, published in 1896, was soon followed by one in 19022
that examined crime rates between 1867 and 1898 and another one 19093 that analyzed
similar data for the timeframe 1869-1904. In regards to the interpretation of judiciary
statistics, we adhere to R. S. Sindall’s approach4 that statistics are not a reflection of a
phenomenon but a phenomenon in themselves, data on the basis of which individuals
thought of crime. Therefore, it is actually more important what Tanoviceanu believed
about these judiciary statistics or about the causes of crime than the actual data on crime.
The Romanian jurist compared the statistical data from European countries with
local crime rates and noticed that the increase in criminal activity from Romania even
exceeded that of other states from the continent5. He also dealt with the increase in
crimes rates that affected the rural population6. In 1867, 62% of those in prison were
from rural areas but in 1886, the percentage rose to 77%. We should consider that in
1899, 81.2% of the population lived in rural areas. Tanoviceanu pinpointed some causes
of crime in rural areas: land disputes and alcoholism. Still, others identified different
causes. Dem. I Dobrescu, (1869-1948), a lawyer, quoted Lombroso to suggest that
Romanian peasants were similar to savages because of their insensibility to pain and
superstitious nature7.
Tanoviceanu’s three studies focus on the causes of crime in Romania. Generally,
he explained crime as a phenomenon with social causes. Even though, as Erbiceanu8 and
others stated, Ioan Tanoviceanu defended the Italian school of criminology, at least at one
stage of his career, ideas such as the biological determinism of crime or the existence of a
criminal man, did not find their way in his studies that examined the causes of crime. Of
course, not all of the criminologists, included in the so-called Italian school of criminology,
totally adhered to the biological determinism of crime. Enrico Ferri, unlike Lombroso,
1
Ioan Tanoviceanu, Creşterea criminalităţii în România. Causele şi mijloacele de îndreptare
(The Rise of Crime in Romania. The Causes and the Means of Correction) (Iaşi: Tipografia
Nationala Strada Alexandri, 1896), 9.
2
Idem, România sub raport.
3
Idem, Criminalitatea în România după ultimile publicaţiuni statistice (Crime in Romania
according to the latest statistics) (Bucharest: Tipografia Arte Grafice, 1909).
4
Rob S. Sindall, ”The criminal statistics of nineteenth-century England cities: a new approach”,
The Urban History Yearbook (1986): 28-36, 35.
5
Tanoviceanu, Creşterea criminalităţii,13.
6
Ibid., 30-31.
7
Dem. I. Dobrescu, ”Psihologia penală a românului” (The Romanian’s Penal Psychology),
Revista de drept şi sociologie II (1899): 17-43, 39-42.
8
Erbiceanu, Tendinţe noi, 240.
205
centred on the economical or social causes of crime1. For Tanoviceanu, the growth of
urban population, the concentration in cities stood behind the increase in crime rates. This
idea was widespread among most nineteenth criminologists from Western and Central
Europe. Still, in Romania the urban population growth was not impressive during the age2.
However, Tanoviceanu brought forward other possible causes, like the progress achieved
by the police, which led to the discovery of many more criminals and thus to an increase in
crime rates. It is ironical that an increased efficiency of the police actually results in an
increase of official crime rates.
According to Tanoviceanu, the state of poverty was a major cause of crime. He
pointed out that two other phenomena amplified the impact of poverty: the weakening of
the religious feeling and the lack of education.3 In 1869, there were 17.5 Orthodox
offenders in prisons for every Jew offender but later, in 1879, this ration became 30 to 1
and, in 1886, it was 33 to 1.
The legislation itself caused the increase of crime because “it didn’t protect the
weak and the powerful could escape punishment”. Like other authors, Ioan Tanoviceanu
criticized the Criminal Code of 1865 mainly because he regarded it as a collection of
Western European laws. Nevertheless, this was only partly true since the committee that
drew up the Criminal Code had also integrated laws from Wallachia and Moldavia. He
urged for the temporary restoration of the death penalty but only for the most serious
felonies such as murder.4 This was however only one of the solutions proposed by
Tanoviceanu. In addition, he called for a reformation of the judiciary system and for the
introduction of social protection measures.
One the most fervent opponents of the death penalty restoration proposal was
Grigore I. Dianu, General Inspector of the Prisons. He too investigated the issue of crime
and its causes in the Romanian society.5 Dianu considered Tanoviceanu’s view
regarding the increasing crime rates as unrealistic. His selective analysis of the criminal
statistics revealed that during 1869-1902, the number of convictions for felonies such as
robberies or murders was dwindling. Furthermore, the existence of fluctuations for
crime rates proved, according to Dianu, that any increase was in fact temporary and not
a trend6. It is unclear which of the two, Dianu or Tanoviceanu came closer to a realistic
picture since they either examined the statistics selectively or modified the data to
account for the population growth. Moreover, they analyzed slightly different periods.
Finally, the criminal statistics of the age were unreliable; they did not reflect the reality
and both authors based their interpretations upon these flawed data. In regards to the
causes of crime, Dianu largely agreed with Tanoviceanu, naming the lack of education
or poverty as major factors.
1
Carrabine et al., Criminology, 59.
Gheorghe Platon, ed., Tratatul de Istorie a Românilor. De la Independenţă la Marea Unire
(1878-1918) (The Treaty of the Romanians’ History. From Independence to the Great Unification
1878-1918) Vol. VII, tome II, (Bucharest: Editura Enciclopedică, 2003), 57.
3
Tanoviceanu, Creşterea criminalităţii, 24.
4
Ibid., 94.
5
Grigore I. Dianu, Criminalitatea şi cauzele ei în România: studiu social şi de moravuri (Crime and
its Causes in Romania: Social and Manners Study) (Bucharest: Tipografia Curtii Regale, F. Gobl,
1905).
6
Ibid., 20.
2
206
Grigore Dianu also published a book1 that dealt with the history of prisons in
Romania. He wrote about the history of prisons from a chronological perspective
starting with the Middle Ages and focusing on the seventeenth century with the reigns of
Vasile Lupu and Matei Basarab. He did not ignore the major reforms of the nineteenth
century, in 1831, 1862 and 1874. However, from a criminological perspective, his study
of 17 types of inmates is truly interesting.2 In his Lombrosian-like analysis, Dianu
explained their behaviour by highlighting some of their physical or psychological traits.
This was not totally a biological determinism as he presented the childhood or education
of every convict, suggesting that society had the greatest impact upon their lives. Despite
the usage of Lombrosian elements, Dianu did not clearly adhere to the idea of a “born
criminal”. On the contrary, he stressed the importance of society in general, or of
education. Most likely, he took over methods popularized by Cesare Lombroso to confer
credibility to his study. In Romania, as Simona Antonescu suggested, references to
famous authors from Western Europe were often intended to give credibility. The
phenomenon is typical for many nineteenth century studies.
Others approached the organization of prisons too. Constantin V. Obedeanu, a
prosecutor from Ilfov, examined the ways in which the law reforms had influenced the
administration of prisons. He emphasized the fact that the laws could not be successfully
enforced. In particular, article five of the 1874 Law that referred to sermonizing in
prisons proved unrealistic3. In addition, most prisons had been monasteries so the
buildings were not appropriate for the implementation of measures designed to
modernize the prison system. Many convicts were able to either hide weapons in cells or
even escape due to this.4 Ion Constantinescu-Mion showed more interest in moralizing
inmates. He believed “the priest was the most powerful mean of correcting the souls lost
in the darkness of ignorance and evil”.5 Education and discipline were the best ways to
moralize inmates. Like Dianu, he identified different types of criminals: hereditary,
accidental and those prone to criminal activities.6 Constantinescu-Mion also advocated
the idea of the gentle manners of Romanians: “I won’t talk about the causes of crime in
our country as it is known that not the nature of Romanians is guilty when one commits
an offence, but rather ignorance or family turmoil are responsible”.7
Another author, Puiu Alexandrescu, an ex-chief of Siguranţa Generală,
Romania’s first secret service, correlated criminal types with ethnicity. In his view, the
Greeks were greedy, wanted to get rich and therefore, they became bank robbers. The
1
Idem, Istoria închisorilor din Romania, studiu comparativ de Legi si Obiceiuri (The History of
Prisons in Romania, Comparative Study of Laws and Customs) (Bucharest: Tipografia Curtii
Regale, F. Gobl, 1900).
2
Ibid., 154-170.
3
Constantin V. Obedeanu, Consideraţiuni asupra evoluţiunei dreptului penal în raport cu
regimul nostru penitenciar (Considerations on the Evolution of the Criminal Law in Relation to
our Penitentiary System) (Bucuresci (Bucharest): Tipografia „Clemenţa”, 1903), 45.
4
Ibid., 42.
5
Ion Constantinescu-Mion, Moralizarea deţinuţilor şi pregătirea lor pentru o viaţă cinstită (The
Moralization of the Convicts and Their Preparation for an Honest Life) (Bucharest: Tipografia
Rosenthal& Gold, 1911), 11.
6
Ibid., 5.
7
Ibid.
207
Jews, being shrewd but coward, were swindlers. The Hungarians, the Bulgarians, the
Serbs and the Poles, usually ended up as cold-blooded murderers. Probably the worst of
all were the Gypsies. He considered them nothing but “savage beasts”, “the most terrible
murderers”.1
The stereotype of the gentle Romanians
The stereotype of the gentle Romanians is a reoccurring theme for several authors who
wrote about crime, criminals or criminal law. In fact, it was used for the construction of
the Romanian national identity in the 19th century. Members of the intellectual elite from
Wallachia or Moldavia and later, Romania, promoted the stereotype to prove the moral
superiority of Romanians over other nations. This superiority focused on two
phenomena, on one hand, a presumably low crime rate in Wallachia or Moldavia, later
in Romania, and on rare capital punishment sentences before 1865. The stereotype also
highlighted an element specific for Romanians when compared with other European
nations and contributed to the shaping of the Romanian national identity. Identity is
constructed in relation with the “Other”. Crime or the absence of crime are usually
associated with morality or immorality, there is a duality between “Good” and “Evil”. In
this case, the “Other” is different from the “gentle Romanian”. Since the Romanians
were depicted as “good” or “gentle”, then the foreigners would necessarily be “evil” or
“wicked” to amplify the intensity of the stereotype of the gentle Romanians.
Probably the first promoter of the idea of the gentle Romanians was Ion Heliade
Rădulescu (1802-1872). In 1839, he published the translation of Victor Hugo’s Le
Dernier Jour d’un condamné (1829). A certain Ştefan Stoica, the translator of the novel,
wrote to Ion Heliade Rădulescu and suggested that an effective reply to the
disparagements of foreign authors towards Romanians would be to emphasize the low
crime rate and soft punishments characteristic to Wallachia and Moldavia. Rădulescu
was delighted by this idea and wrote back to the translator bringing further evidence that
supported his proposal. For instance, only a foreigner wanted to become an executioner
in Wallachia and Heliade Rădulescu thought this proved the moral superiority of
Romanians2. He even went as far as to state that Victor Hugo’s purpose when writing
the novel was “to make Europe as gentle as the Romanians were”3.
Other authors too, like Alecu Russo (1819-1859), insisted that Romanians
avoided the dishonourable job of executioner. He recounted an anecdote about a band of
outlaws that had been captured by the authorities. Only one outlaw, who was a Gypsy,
accepted to become an executioner to elude the death penalty: “The Romanian can be a
thief, a steward, a judge, anything, but an executioner never”.4 Nicolae Şuţu also referred
1
Puiu Alexandrescu, În lumea celor răi (In the World of the Wicked), Vol. I, (Bucharest:
Tipografia ,,Gutenberg”, 1911), 5.
2
Valentin Al. Georgescu, ”Locul gândirii lui Beccaria în cultura juridică şi în dezvoltarea
dreptului penal de la 1821 până la 1864” (Beccaria’s Reflections in the Judicial Culture and in the
Development of the Criminal Law from 1821 until 1864), Studii. Revista de Istorie, No. 4, tome
21 (1968): 685-714, 697.
3
Ibid.
4
Alecu Russo, Scrieri (Writings) (Bucharest: Minerva, 1910), 50.
208
to gentleness of Romanians. Starting from the judiciary statistics of Moldavia1, which
showed a decrease in crime rates, he argued that the gentleness of the people was one of
the major causes for the low crime rates. Moreover, according to Şuţu, foreigners, not
local inhabitants, committed the serious felonies, punishable by death.2 Gypsies and
Jews usually stole and most Romanians had mitigating circumstances if involved in
criminal activities, especially drunkenness3. In addition, Şuţu compared crime rates from
France with those from Moldavia. Undoubtedly, it was flattering to know that in France,
on average, one person in 348 inhabitants faced charges for a felony or offence, whereas,
in the peaceful Moldavia, only one in 7,612 people had to answer the official
accusations.
The idea that foreigners committed the serious felonies and not Romanians was
present even later in the nineteenth century. We have already quoted Vasile Conta who
considered that “the Romanians have gentler manners compared to foreigners”.4 Grigore
Dianu too expressed similar views. Felonies “were not in the nature of Romanians”5;
usually foreigners were responsible for the most atrocious crimes. Robberies seemed to
be a characteristic for nomadic Gypsies, according to Dianu. As many others, he stated
that the bad influence of foreigners contributed to the weakening of morality among
Romanians, the Fanariots being the main culprits. The stereotype of the gentle
Romanians is noticeable even in school textbooks. In Reading or Geography textbooks,6
we came across statements like: “Romanians are compassionate and very hospitable”.
One of the authors of such textbooks, N. Istrati7 insisted upon the idea of the gentle
Romanians. In 1860, he wrote: “[…] So much do our kind and peaceful inhabitants, of
all the upbringings, love order and fulfill their tasks that crimes punishable by capital
executions, which require the intervention of armed authorities, do not occur […]”.
The lack of serious crimes, punishable by death, justified the idea that Romanians
were indeed gentle. However, this is not typical just of Romanian authors; some foreign
travelers also shared the idea. In his study that analyzed the image of the Romanians in
the German speaking space during 1785-1918, Klaus Heitmann8 mentioned the
1
Nicolas Soutzo, Notions statistiques sur la Moldavie (Jassy (Iaşi), 1849), 73.
Ibid., 74.
3
Ibid.
4
Conta, ”Teoria fatalismului”, 191. This xenophobic statement would be criticized by
Tanoviceanu. He quoted the cases of some famous Romanian outlaws who were as dangerous as
those from other countries. Ion Pipa or G. Lascarache (prosecuted in 1900 for over 80 robberies
and 40 murders) are just two examples. See Ioan Tanoviceanu, Tratat de Drept şi Procedură
Penală (Treaty of Law and Crimnal Procedure), vol. III, second edition, revised Vintilă
Dongoroz, (Bucharest: Tipografia ,,Curierul Judiciar”, 1924-1926), 315.
5
Dianu, Criminalitatea, 7.
6
Mirela-Luminiţa Murgescu, Între „bunul creştin” şi ,,bravul roman”. Rolul şcolii primare în
construirea identităţii naţionale româneşti (1831-1878) (Between the Good Christian and the
Brave Romanian. The Role of Primary School in the Construction of the Romanian National
Identity) (Iaşi: Editura A' 92, 1999), 172.
7
Ibid.
8
Klaus Heitmann, Imaginea românilor în spaţiul lingvistic german 1785-1918 (The Image of the
Romanians in the German Linguistic Space), trans. and introd. Dumitru Hîncu, (Bucharest:
Editura Univers, 1985), 192-213.
2
209
stereotype of the gentle Romanians as a reoccurring idea in the discourse of some
travelers. French authors were also familiar with this stereotype, Jules Michelet1 and
Jean Richepin2 having written about it.
Criminological theories in Romania
The reception of criminological theories in Romanian encyclopaedias or dictionaries is a
useful approach. In Cornelius Diaconovich’s (1859-1923) encyclopaedia, the
explanation for the term “crime” referred to Cesare Lombroso:
” [...] Nowadays some schools of criminologists seek to depict crime as
a pathological phenomenon, which is only common for degenerate
beings. Lombroso’s school, which supports these theories, has created
a new science, called criminal anthropology, to study crime; this
science is much criticized and very dangerous. That’s because it shows
crime as a fatality”3.
The same critical or, at least, cautious view towards Lombrosian theories was present in
the third tome of the encyclopaedia. Interestingly, the names of Lacassagne or Tarde,
two of Lombroso’s best-known critics were missing. The explanation provided for
“Lombroso” was:
“Lombroso will have a place in the science of our age despite the
superficiality of many of his writings...What he often lacks is the
absence of a scientific spirit, which he usually neglects, and so decays
to the level of an ordinary journalist...His works are translated into all
the languages; his name is well-known, perhaps too much, especially
through his secondary writings...”4.
Although Diaconovich’s encyclopaedia illustrated Lombroso’s theories in a
critical manner, other dictionaries such as Lazăr Şăineanu’s5 (1859-1934) The Universal
Dictionary of the Romanian Language (1896), did not even mention the words “criminal
anthropology” or “criminology”.
On the other hand, it is necessary to examine the degree to which Romanian
authors were familiar with studies from Western Europe. This is important for
examining the influence of Western ideas upon criminological discourses from
Romania. In order to provide a complete analysis it would be ideal to consider as many
cases before drawing any conclusions. However, we will refer only to a few situations.
1
Jules Michelet, Legends democratiques du Nord, (Paris: Garnier Frères, Libraires Editeurs,
1854), 287-288.
2
Jean Richepin, L’Âme roumaine, La Roumanie. Conférences faités à l’Union Française, (Paris :
Union Française, 1918), 123.
3
Corneliu Diaconovich, Enciclopedia Română (The Romanian Encyclopedia), vol. II, (Sibiu: W.
Krafft, 1900), 46.
4
Ibid., tome III, 1904, 122.
5
Lazăr Şăineanu, Dicţionar universal al Limbei Române (The Romanian Universal Dictionary)
(Craiova: Editura Ralian şi Ignat Samitica, 1896).
210
The reception of Lombrosian theories in Romania was mostly indirect, mediated by
other foreign authors and thus altered by previous interpretations1. Still, many Romanian
authors quoted Lombroso or other criminologists from the Italian school of criminology
and we could use this as a standard for comparing various criminological studies.
Vespasian Erbiceanu, Nicolae and Mina Minovici tried to apply Lombrosian
theories to Romanian criminals. These thorough investigations prove a superior
understanding of those theories. However, many other authors adopted them in a rather
superficial manner. Ioan Tanoviceanu wrote2 about a polemic between the jurist
Constantin Dissescu and Ştefan Mihăilescu, a school inspector during a conference at
the Athenaeum in 1892. Dissescu argued that education cannot influence crime and
diminish crime rates and his opponent believed the contrary. Ştefan Mihăilescu “aspired
to act like an anthropologist and brought at the conference two skulls, one belonging to
Licinschi and one to a teamster who had been an honest man all his life and claimed that
the public would immediately recognize the skull of the notorious bandit”.3 Tanoviceanu
thought Mihăilescu was “an improvised lombrosist” because biological determinism
contradicted his initial position – that education influences crime. The confusion about
criminological theories persisted in universities too. Many bachelor degree papers from
law faculties were published and we can use them as sources. Some of these papers
displayed a basic chronological error4, indicating that Cesare Lombroso published his
famous L'Uomo Delinquente in 1871 and not in 1876 as it is widely accepted. In other
cases, they were compilations of uncritically adopted Western theories. Gheorghe S.
Alexandrescu published his bachelor degree paper that discussed the causes of crime in
1895. Although he employed many theories of the Italian school of criminology,
Alexandrescu failed to mention anything about the critics of such theories. Moreover, he
combined biological determinism with a geographical determinism and discussed of
“lazy nations”5. When analyzing the activity of the Juries he attempted to depict the
situation from Great Britain but proved his linguistic ignorance6: “The English Jury only
has to decide upon one’s culpability by saying «guilly or not guilly»” [sic].
1
We consider that the theories of the Italian school of criminology reached Romania in two
stages. The first one was an indirect reception, at the end of the 19th century, through French
authors. Later, after the end of World War I, during a second stage, more and more Romanian
authors admired the Italian school of criminology. See Petre Ionescu-Muscel, Cesare Lombroso şi
opera sa: L’Uomo Delinquente (Cesare Lombroso and his work: L’Uomo Delinquente (1929),
republished in Buda, Criminalitatea, 282-299; Jean Rădulescu, ”Influenţa pozitivismului italian
asupra codificării penale actuale” (The Influence of the Italian Positivism on the Current Criminal
Law), Revista de Drept Penal şi Ştiinţă Penitenciară 4-6 (1935): 121-139.
2
Tanoviceanu, Creşterea criminalităţii, 26, 32-33.
3
Ibid., 32.
4
See Virgiliu M Sălcianu, Şcola Penală Positivistă (The Positivistic Penal School) (Bucharest:
Institutul de Arte Grafice ,,Eminescu”, 1904), 16 and Maria Conescu, Cele Doue Şcoli: clasică şi
positivistă penală (The Two Penal Schools: Classic and Positivistic) (Bucharest: Institutul de Arte
Grafice ,,Eminescu”, 1904), 33.
5
Gheorghe S. Alexandrescu, Causele crimelor şi delictelor. Critica mijloacelor de represiune
(The Causes of Felonies and Offences. The Critique of the the Means of Repression) (Focşani:
Tipografia Alessandru Codreanu, 1895), 39.
6
Ibid., 74.
211
Social factors and crime
Those who wrote about crime in nineteenth century Romania usually emphasized the
influence of social factors. Anastase Ştefănescu-Galaţi advocated the importance of the
environment in determining a criminal behaviour. In addition to the social environment
– family, the press or the prison, he also added the influence of cosmic elements – air,
temperature or soil. This is a clear inspiration from Western theories. Heredity too leads
to crime, according to him: “The son of a thief or of an assassin will have greater
chances of becoming himself a thief or an assassin than the son of those who didn’t steal
or kill”.1 Moreover, even moral traits or vices were inherited: “Drunkenness, the passion
for playing cards, lying, and adultery are also passed down”2.
Alcoholism was frequently associated with crime. The first author who used
statistical data in order to establish a connection between alcoholism and crime was
George Mileticiu. His study concluded that 20% of the convicts from prisons located in
the Dolj County were alcoholics.3 Ion T. Bastache,4 a prosecutor from Galaţi, argued
that alcoholism led to an increase in crime rates in most countries. For the priest Thoma
Ştefănescu alcoholism seemed like a disease transmitted hereditary.5 He did not ignore
social causes of crime though. Thus, divorce or bad relations between parents were a
prerequisite for juvenile delinquency. Furthermore, many felonies or offences were
committed during “popular holidays” and other “opportunities of waste”. Ştefănescu
exposed the fact that some individuals actually stole so they could attend these banquets
and dances.6 Another study that examines the connection between alcohol and crime
belongs to C. S. Ballan. Using statistical data on crime from Europe or from the United
States, he proved that a significant percentage of criminals were also alcoholics7.
Regarding crime rates in Romania, he estimated that 40% of all crimes had been
committed under the influence of alcohol.8 The author also took over, uncritically,
Lombroso's theory that the criminal is a savage man.9
The idea of a link between crime and the moral crisis was popular in the age
too. Louis Proal10 had discussed about the era of different crises – moral, social,
1
Anastase Ştefănescu-Galaţi, Mediul social şi criminalitatea în România (The Social Environment
and Crime in Romania) (Bucharest: Tipografia ziarului ,,Curierul Judiciar”, 1904), 13.
2
Ibid.,14.
3
George Mileticiu, Studii Psihiatrice (Psychiatric Studies) (Craiova: Tipo-Litografia Naţionale
Rallian şi Ignat Samitca, 1895), 40. See also one of his earlier studies, George Mileticiu,
Alcoolismul. Efectele selle fisice şi morale asupra populaţiunei (Alcoholism. Its Physical and Moral
Effects on the Population) (Bucuresci (Bucharest): Typographia Curţii, proprietar F. Gobl, 1881).
4
Ion T. Bastache, Alcoolism şi criminalitate (Alcoholism and Crime) (Bucuresci (Bucharest):
Imprimeria Statului, 1894), 9-11.
5
Thoma Ştefănescu, Societatea, Familia şi Criminalitatea (Society, Family and Crime)
(Bucharest: Tipografia modernă ,,Gr. Luis”, 1904), 7.
6
Ibid., 19-20.
7
C. S. Ballan, Sufletul criminalului (The Murderer’s Soul) (Focşani: Tipografia Gh. Diaconescu,
1911), 30.
8
Ibid.
9
Ibid., 19.
10
Louis Proal, Le Crime et la Peine (Paris : Félix Alcan, 1892), 3.
212
or criminal. Ioan Dinescu Barzan1 adopted Proal’s view. He brought forward the issue of
the impact of the civilizing process upon crime. Barzan wrote about “civilized
barbarians” who did not brutally murder but stole at the game of cards.2 The author
considered that science was a threat for society, as it did not have a moralizing effect,
like religion. Alexandru Degeanu published a study3 with an almost identical title, which
also debated the idea of a conflict between science and religion. Vasile Chiru analyzed
the moral crisis from a different perspective. Moral crimes4 were those censured only by
each individual’s conscience not by the laws of the State. However, the author quoted
Lombroso’s idea of “the born criminal”. While still enumerating some critics of this
theory he admitted, “at birth, everyone is, more or less, a criminal, without exception”.5
The newspapers of that time frequently reported criminal activities. Some
authors considered this was a dangerous phenomenon because newspaper readers would
have been inspired by crime news. Aurel Alexandrescu-Dorna (1870-1910) was
outraged that the Romanian press wrote a lot about beatings or murders, all described in
detail. He quoted more studies6 to support his idea that the presentation of violence leads
to the reader’s emotional reaction, which could influence him to commit different
offences. Alexandrescu-Dorna considered that “the public was hungry” for the
excitement of crime news and this represents a serious social danger.7 The press would
then respond to the need for news about extra-ordinary events. Therefore, the press had a
direct influence upon crime causing its increase.
Forensic medicine and crime
During the nineteenth century, forensic medicine was of paramount importance for the
birth of criminology. Many of the criminological theories relied upon data provided by
forensic medicine. The shift of interest from the study of offences to the examination of
the criminal, which started in the first part of the nineteenth century,8 was instrumental
in establishing the key role that forensic medicine had within criminology. The history
of Romanian forensic medicine is associated with the names of Mina and Nicolae
Minovici. Long before forensic medicine became an accepted science, medical expertise
had been required in different circumstances. The criminal laws from the seventeenth
century, elaborated during the reigns of Vasile Lupu and Matei Basarab specifically
1
Ioan Dinescu Barzan, Influenţa crizei morale asupra criminalităţei (The Influence of the Moral
Crisis on Crime) (Bucuresci (Bucharest): Lito-Tipografia ,,Populară”, 1895), 33.
2
Ibid., 35.
3
Alexandru Degeanu, Influenţa crisei morale asupra criminalităţei (The Influence of the Moral
Crisis on Crime) (Bucuresci (Bucharest): Tipografia ,,Adeverul”, 1903).
4
Vasile Chiru, Criminalii morali (Moral Criminals) (Bucharest: Tipografia ,,Victoria”, 1907), 50.
5
Ibid., 33.
But especially Paul Aubry, La contagion du meurtre (Paris : Félix Alcan, 1888).
7
Aurel Alexandrescu-Dorna, Presa şi propagarea crimei (The Press and the Propagation of
Crime) (Bucharest: Gutenberg, 1899), 8.
8
Georges Vigarello, Istoria violului între secolele XVI-XX (The History of Rape between the 16th
and the 20th Centuries) trans. Beatrice Stanciu, (Timişoara: Editura Amarcord, 1998), 243.
6
213
asked for such examinations in cases of poisoning, injuries or insanity1. In the first part
of the nineteenth century, autopsies were being performed in Wallachia or Moldavia.2 In
1856, Carol Davila set up a School of Surgery and five years later, George Atanasov
became the first professor of forensic medicine.3 However, there were no significant
scientific achievements within the field of forensic medicine until the end of the century.
In 1892, Mina Minovici created the Bucharest city morgue. Later, he reorganized the
service of anthropometry4, which helped with the identification of criminals. Mina
Minovici and his brother Nicolae also published some of the most compelling and
interesting studies about crime or criminals in the late nineteenth century Romania.
Nicolae Minovici (1868-1941) investigated the link between tattoos and
criminals in his 1898 PhD thesis. Cesare Lombroso considered tattooing a social stigma,
indicating “a born criminal”. In his thesis, Nicolae Minovici showed that in Romania,
tattooing was common especially for the lower classes.5 However, in contrast with other
European countries, there were fewer tattooed offenders in Romania. He also pointed
out that tattoos were characteristic mainly for adult criminals and very rare for juvenile
offenders, which contradicted Lombroso’s theory of tattooing.6 The conclusions of the
study highlighted the fact that tattooing was not necessarily an indicator of criminal
behaviour7. In addition, offenders usually had tattooed because of the social environment
and not due to some biological, internal causes8. This critique of biological determinism
was typical for both of the Minovici brothers. Nicolae also got involved in the
development of the service of anthropometry, which Mina had reorganized. He wrote a
textbook of anthropometry9 based on Bertillon’s researches to be used by police officers.
This was a practical guide on how to identify a person based on physical characteristics.
The identification system based on Alphonse Bertillon’s method had been used in
Romania since 1892. Grigore Olănescu showed how during 1892-1895, 5,397
individuals had been measured10. They were classified according to age, ethnicity or
social environment.
Besides his role in the development of Romanian forensic medicine, Mina
Minovici (1858-1933) was known abroad as well. He had met Cesare Lombroso, had
worked in Pasteur's laboratory and had been Paul Brouardel’s student.11 Moreover, he
1
Vladimir Beliş, Tratat de Medicină legală (Treaty of Forensic Medicine) (Bucharest: Editura
Medicală, 1995), 17.
2
Ibid., 19-21.
3
Buda, Criminalitatea: o istorie medico-legală românească, 17.
4
Nicolae Ioanid, Fraţii Minovici (The Minovici Brothers) (Bucharest: Editura Ştiinţifică, 1975), 56.
5
Nicolae Minovici, Tatuajurile în România (Tatooes in Romania) (Bucharest: Socecu, 1898),
106.
6
Ibid., 112.
7
Ibid., 114.
8
Ibid., 142.
9
Nicolae Minovici, Şcola Anthropologica Bertillon pentru Agenţii de Poliţie (The Bertillon
Anthropological School for Police Agents) (Bucharest: Imprimeria Statului, 1900).
10
Grigore Olănesco, Mémoire sur le progrès de la statistique en Roumanie et sur la création du
service d’anthropométrie (Berne:1895),13-15.
11
Buda, Criminalitatea: o istorie medico-legală, 19-20.
214
participated at several congresses of criminal anthropology. One of his studies, presented
at the Congress of Criminal Anthropology from Geneva in 1896, illustrated his
researches on Romanian criminals.1 The anthropometric measurements he made on
7,217 inmates suggested a variety of physical features, which would contradict the
central idea of the Italian school of criminology, that of “the born criminal”.2 Minovici
insisted upon the social causes of crime, indicating alcohol as the main reason for the
moral degeneration of criminals. Other relevant factors were promiscuity and poor living
conditions3. Similar to Tanoviceanu’s view, he too considered that the weakening of the
religious feeling caused an increase in crime rates. The results of his studies opposed the
idea of a “born criminal”, as for Minovici, people became and were not born criminals.
This critique of the biological determinism had been the topic of an earlier study of Mina
Minovici, published in 1893 – Criminal anthropology and responsibility4. He admitted
that Lombroso and the Italian school of criminology had been crucial for the
development of criminology but then focused on the analysis of the ideas linked with the
theory of “the born criminal”. Minovici argued that the intellectual basis for the theory
was flawed.
Romanian forensic scientists were also preoccupied with female criminals.
Mina Minovici published in 1907 such a study.5 He wanted to prove that women
became less frequently involved in criminal activities because they did not drink as
much as men did. Most of their offences targeted men who had assaulted them, they
were motivated by revenge. According to him, both prostitution and female crime were
caused by poverty. However, Minovici’s article was identical with some sections of
another study about female crime from Romania, published in 1904, a PhD thesis
belonging to one of his students, E. Movilian.6 A woman, Maria Cicherschi wrote one of
the most compelling studies on female crime7. Many of the theories and methods she
used were reminiscent of Cesare Lombroso. For instance the comparison between the
1
Mina Minovici, “Remarques statistiques relatives a l'anthropologie du criminel”, Archives des
Sciences 6 (1896): 536-542.
2
Ibid., 537.
3
Ibid., 541.
4
Idem, Antropologia criminală şi responsabilitatea (Criminal Anthropology and Responsibility)
(Bucharest: Tipografia ,,Thoma Basilescu”, 1896).
5
Idem, “Remarques sur la criminalité feminine en Roumanie”, Archives d’Anthropologie
Criminelle de Médicine légale de de Psychologie Normale et Pathologique, Tome XXII, (1907) :
565-579.
6
E. Movilian, Contribuţie la studiul antropologiei criminale. Criminalitatea la femei
(Contribution to the Study of Criminal Anthropology. Crime and Women) (Bucuresci
(Bucharest): Stabiliment Grafic Ţăranu & Co, 1904). Apparently, this is a situation of plagiarism.
Pages 565-566, 567-574 and 575-579 from Minovici’s study were identical with pages 31-34 ,
64-76 and 83-92 from Movilian’s thesis. However, Movilian admited that Minovici had shared
with him data on female crime from an unpublished article. Still, entire pages were identical so
Movilian could have taken more than just data and a few ideas from Minovici. On the other hand,
Minovici himself failed to even mention Movilian’s name in his 1907 article, published three
years after Movilian’s thesis.
7
Maria Cicherschi, Biologia şi femeia criminală (Biology and the Murderous Woman) (Iaşi:
Tipografia H. Goldner, 1907).
215
savage and the civilized woman1. Still, in her view, crime was determined by a
multitude of factors like the climate, heredity and, most of all, social environment. This
is an obvious detachment from the biological determinism. Maria Cicherschi employed
methods typical to criminal anthropology2 to depict physical features of criminals like
the cranial capacity, the facial angle, height, weight or the arms length. She also put to
practice some criminological theories by analyzing a few cases of criminal women,
which she divided into several types. Some of the felonies she investigated were
poisoning cases and crimes of passion.
Conclusions
Within the realm of forensic medicine, Romanian scientists opposed the idea of a
biological determinism of crime, typical for the Italian school of criminology. Instead,
they usually depicted crime as a socially determined phenomenon. This however, did
not stop them from using methods popularized by criminal anthropology. Their
approach is similar to that of most jurists or social reformers from Romania who
disagreed with Cesare Lombroso’s theories but often quoted his researches. Some
authors referred to celebrities from Western science only because this would bestow
credibility to their studies. The general critique of the Italian school of criminology was
caused by the indirect manner in which lombrosian theories reached Romania, being
adopted from foreign authors, often French, who had already interpreted them.
Furthermore, it had been a late adoption; Romanian authors started quoting Lombroso,
predominantly from the 1890’s, at a time when the theories of the Italian school of
criminology were widely contested and not from the late 1870’s or early 1880’s. This
could also explain why most jurists or social reformers explained crime from a
sociological perspective, inspired by criminologists like Gabriel Tarde or Alexandre
Lacassagne.
A few authors either defended theories of the Italian school of criminology or
tried to apply them. According to Vespasian Erbiceanu, the jurist Tanoviceanu had
promoted such theories. However, in his most important studies, the sociological
perspective on crime is predominant. Not all the members of the Italian school of
criminology insisted on biological determinism, Enrico Ferri for instance investigated
the economic and social causes of crime. Erbiceanu himself applied the idea of “hidden
epilepsy” for the Ispăşoiu case but he did not agree with all of Lombroso’s theories.
Grigore Dianu also used criminal anthropology and classified criminals into types but
considered the social factors as decisive for a criminal behavior.
It’s easy to notice a certain superficiality in regards to the manner in which
criminological theories had been adopted. The polemic between Constantin Dissescu
and Ştefan Mihăilescu or the chronological errors from bachelor degree papers are just a
few examples. Still, some studies were thorough investigations of Western European
criminological theories. The Minovici brothers, Ioan Tanoviceanu, Vespasian Erbiceanu
or Maria Cicherschi not only analyzed such criminological theories but also used them
in researches that investigated crime in the Romanian society.
1
2
Ibid., 25, 34.
Ibid., 38-49.
216
The criminologial discourses can be described as diverse. Some authors were
jurists – Ioan Tanoviceanu, Vespasian Erbiceanu, Iulian Teodorescu, Aurel Iorgulescu,
others high officials – Grigore Dianu, one was a priest – Thoma Ştefănescu, one a
journalist – Aurel Alexandrescu-Dorna, one a psychiatrist – Alexandru Şuţu and some
were forensic experts – Mina and Nicolae Minovici. This disciplinary hybridity of
criminology was a feature present in Western Europe too, not just in Romania.
Criminology used methods and theories from different fields of study, law, forensic
medicine, sociology, statistics, psychiatry or anthropometry so that experts from all these
disciplines could contribute to its development.
In Romania, the birth of criminology was linked with modernization. The 19th
century Romanian society went through many changes and that period was one of
modernization. If we consider Anthony Giddens’ definition of modernization, this also
meant the gradual expansion of Western ways of organizing the society to other areas,
including Romania, naturally. The diverse criminological discourses from late 19th
century Romania were influenced by Western European theories or methods. The Penal
Code of 1865 was more than the manifestation of an “influence”, some considered it a
mere reproduction of laws from Western and Central Europe. The birth of criminology
in Romania was a form of modernization.
Although these criminological preoccupations could be viewed as a form of
modernization, some of them had been “corrupted” by stereotypes like the idea of the
gentleness of the Romanians. Both Nicolae Şuţu and Grigore Dianu interpreted criminal
statistics as a confirmation of this stereotype. In this respect, the birth of Romanian
criminology was also affected by the construction of the national identity.
Coming back to the issue of scientific modernization, we cannot admit that at
the dawn of the twentieth century modernization was achieved entirely through
“grafting”. We can identify however a trend towards modernization through “grafting”,
which had not been obvious until the late 1880s or early 1890s. Despite such a trend, the
scientific modernization that manifested itself in the criminological discourses of the age
is rather incomplete.
217
Investigating the Imaginary:
Premise for a Bioethical Construction of Cremation
Adriana TEODORESCU
“1 Decembrie 1918” University, Alba Iulia
Keywords: Cremation, Bioethics, Ontology, Orthodoxism, Imaginary, Fire, Ashes
Abstract: Our study aims to point out, especially from a cultural point of view, using an
interdisciplinary approach, the fact that the problematic status of cremation in
contemporary Romania, as well as the status of Western cremation makes a bioethical
perspective necessary. Our paper supports the idea that bioethics should study
cremation, because cremation symbolises life and death at the same time and it is a
delicate subject as far as the communication between the historical and religious aspects
is concerned. Also, bioethics is underpinned by a strong ontological principle (e.g.
noticeable in the human dignity concept), fundamental to a good understanding of
cremation, especially as a personal choice and decision towards one’s own post-mortem
situation. A second purpose of the study is to demonstrate that the reinvestigation of
imaginaries corresponding to cremation (fire, ash and death) is a premise for its
bioethical reconstruction, because the imaginary can offer answers for a series of current
attitudes regarding cremation.
*
1.
Socio-cultural
aspects of cremation in Romania and the
Western world. The necessity of a bioethical approach
We want to use this chapter in order to sketch a general cultural portrait of cremation in
Romania, but also in the Western world. We will see how, even though there are
numerous differences between the two, both portraits suffer from the lack of a bioethical
approach and that this perspective is necessary for both of them, because it has numerous
benefits, among which the biggest one is the possibility to think about cremation in a
critical way. The second part will clearly show that only a bioethical approach can go
beyond the relative autism of each field, whether it is the historical, social or theological
one, an aspect which applies to Romania as well as the Western world.
1.1. Cremation in the West. Social acceptance, ethical relaxation and cultural issue
In the current Western world, cremation represents a way of “disposing of the body”
which coexists with burial, as an option which is gaining in popularity.1 It is regulated

This work was supported by the Romanian National Council for Scientific Research CNCSUEFISCDI, grant number 54/2011 – PNII TE.
1
Pharos 4/77 (2011): 29-43. Ruth McManus, Death in the Global Age (Hampshire: Palgrave
Macmilliam, 2013), 22; Tony Walter, The Revival of Death (London and New York: Routledge,
1994), 48.
218
for every state and it is more frequent in Protestant countries than in Catholic ones, it has
been accepted by the Catholic religion through Pope Paul VI, in 1963. Imposing modern
cremation was not without major socio-cultural challenges, because it was associated
with extreme liberalism, elitism, the destruction of cultural taboos, laicization and
departure from tradition, especially in the sense of belonging to a system of religious
beliefs.1 Cremation is more frequent in urban than rural areas. Discussions for and
against cremation have practically involved all major areas of social reality such as
medicine, economics, law, politics, sociology.2 Cremationist movements, supported by
the right socio-economic context, such as a strong general laicization or the lack of
burial spaces due to urbanisation have managed to impose cremation as a practice
rivalling burial. It is accepted both ethically and religiously. There is even an ethical
code of cremation, established by the International Cremation Federation.3 The most
common attitude is one of ethical relaxation, meaning that cremation is not viewed as a
problem, resulting from the dissolution of combativeness against cremationists. The
public opinion, but also specialists in different fields seem to agree on the fact that the
ethical status of cremation is certain.
There are two major consequences of this ethical relaxation. The first one is an
absence of cremation on the list of ethical and bioethical subjects. If the problems of organ
transplants, artificial life support through medical technology or euthanasia remain of
current interest, cremation is not part of the same group of interest. A second consequence
is the latent cultural problem of relating to cremation. Marie-Frédérique Bacqué, in an
article from 2007,4 talks about the fact that people and scientists develop another resistance
towards cremation, a resistance which is psychic and cultural at the same time which could
come from the neglect of symbolic aspects, of the relationship between the modern man
and cremation, aspects which are not perfectly identifiable through their report with the
social reality of cremation. On the other hand, S. N. Vigilane, a specialist in modern
history observes the fact that today’s elites have lost their previous enthusiasm towards
cremation and determines the indifference for feelings and emotions of people in the face
of death and cremation.5 This is how, even though ethically accepted, cremation loses its
relevance for the science of bioethics, which leads to a surprising cultural anxiety in the
Western world as far as cremation is concerned.
1.2. Cremation in Romania. A practice socio-culturally not accepted and ethically
rejected
Today, in Romania, research regarding cremation is done mostly from a historical
perspective, with clear arguments which lead to the view of cremation as a personal
option, as well as the creation of a logic of social necessity to implement funerary
1
Davies J. Douglas, Encyclopedia of cremation (Farnham, UK: Ashgate Publishing Company,
2005).
2
Hilary Grainger, Death Redesigned. British Crematoria: History, Architecture and Landspace
(Reading: Spire Books Ltd, 2005).
3
http://www.int-crem-fed.org/, last accessed 10.12.2011.
4
Marie-Frédérique Bacqué, “Pourquoi la crémation résiste sur le plan psychologique en France”,
Etudes sur la mort 132 (2007/2): 47-54.
5
Serenella Nonnis Vigilante, “Crémation et interdits” (Cremation and Interdictions), , Dictionnaire
de la mort (Dictionary of Death), ed. Philipe di Folco (Paris: Larousse, 2010), 274-275.
219
policies which can favour free access to cremation. The historical discourse on
cremation is undoubtedly linked to Marius Rotar, PhD researcher at the University of
Alba Iulia, who has founded a cremationist society and militates for cremation1, has
written a scientific paper in 2011, unique in the Romanian historic-graphical landscape,
about cremation in Romania.2 It is from his work that we find out that even though
Romania was the first Orthodox Balkan country to have a crematorium – Cenuşa, in
1928, even though the interwar period was a relatively blooming one for the
cremationist discourse and the frenzied elite, largely made out of doctors, communism
has managed to crush the cremationist effort whether it was discourse or practices. The
historian explains this fact through the silent divide of power between the Romanian
Orthodox Church and the Party, based on the difference between matters of the living
and the matters of the dead, but also through the fact that the majority of powerful
people in the Communist Party had rural routes and were thus deeply rooted in
Orthodox traditions. Among the powerful ideas which can be found in Marius Rotar’s
book, which can also be found on the website of the “Amurg” Romanian Cremation
Association, is the lack of burial spaces, which is becoming more and more critical. The
historian also points out several other borderline legal factors contributing to this
situation in Romania such as the criminal organisations which buy and sell burial spaces.
This helps points out a certain ethical vein of construction and orientation regarding the
cremationist discourse. Incineration must develop, according to Marius Rotar, because it
will represent the practical and moral solution for problems such as the one mentioned
above. There are however certain technical – there is only one crematorium, in VitanBârzeşti, Bucharest3 – and ideological obstacles in Romania at the moment – the most
significant one being the position of the Romanian Orthodox Church, the vehemence
with which it rejects cremation,4 but especially the national status of the Orthodox
religion, which represents a majority of the cults and beliefs in Romania. National status
means that the Orthodox religion is associated by the population with the Romanian
spirit and it speculates, for its own benefit, regarding these overlapping levels. The
ethical significance of this fact is also easy to observe. Because the Romanian Orthodox
Church rejects cremation, being a representative of the national identity, it is obvious
1
http://www.incinerareamurg.ro/15-motive-ca-sa-alegi-incinerarea, accessed 02.12.2013.
Marius Rotar, Eternitate prin cenuşă. O istorie a crematoriilor şi incinerărilor umane în
România secolelor XIX-XXI (Eternity through Ashes. A History of Crematoria and Human
Cremation in XIX-XX Century Romania) (Iaşi: Institutul European 2011), 630. In Romania, 853
cremations were performed in 2010 and 840 cremations in 2011. The ratio of cremation is 0,33%
of all deaths.
3
And also one incinerator in Oradea (http://www.phoenix-cremation.ro/).
4
Ioan C. Teşu, “Înhumare versus incinerare” (Burial versus Cremation), Doxologia, (2010),
http://www.doxologia.ro/puncte-de-vedere/inhumare-versus-incinerare, accessed 10.12.2011;
Vladimir Prelipcean, “Incinerarea morţilor şi teologia ortodoxă” (Cremation of the Dead and the
Orthodox Theology), Crestinortodox.ro, (2009), http://www.crestinortodox.ro/diverse/
incinerarea-mortilor-teologia-ortodoxa-69379.html, accessed 08.09.2011; Gabriel Militaru,
“Incinerarea morţilor, între dorinţa muribundului şi învăţătura Bisericii” (Cremation of the Dead
between the Dying Man’s Desire and the Church’s Teaching), prgabriel.wordpress.com/, (2008),
http://prgabriel.wordpress.com/2008/09/29/incinerarea-mortilor-intre-dorinta-muribundului-siinvatatura-bisericii/, accessed08.12.2011.
2
220
that the option of cremation is doubly sanctioned, religiously and from the point of view
of belonging to the Romanian community. Thus, the refusal of the Orthodox Church to
carry out cremation rituals and considering it to be equal to suicide,1 puts the human
being in a situation where they must make a choice between burial and cremation in a
way that is not correct.
The Romanian Orthodox religious discourse tends to oppose if not a history of
cremation which it cannot deny, then certainly a complex necessity, situated at the
crossroads between postmodern tendencies towards aesthetics, the growing
personalisation of funerals and the lack of burial spaces. Another argument used by
Orthodoxism is the unnatural characteristic of cremation2, an argument which can be
argued against by saying that religion is cultural rather than natural. Both directions can
however be suspected of ignoring certain truths which are on an intermediary plain.
Thus the first direction can easily combat the anti cremation arguments of the Orthodox
discourse and can catalogue them as being retrograde and unconvincing, and the
Orthodox discourse can argue that Romanian promoters of cremation only work for a
sort of extreme functionalism of the body, especially the corpse, and that they ignore its
role as a vehicle for transcendence whether divine, collective or national. Both, in certain
proportions and on certain levels, ignore essential truths. The historic discourse
overlooks the fact that the option for cremation is not only a result of the Orthodox threat
and sanctions, but also a direct result of the absence of a clear ritual in the Romanian
collective representation belonging to cremation. The other side forgets that ethics is not
its attribute, but, if we would believe the words of Eugenio Lecaldano, ethics begins
where God ceases to be.3
1.3. The necessity of a bioethical construction
The Western ethical relaxation could worsen different problems which deal with the
representation of death as a cultural reflex, both individually and collectively. In other
words, it is possible that this relaxation is an inhibitor for the discussions regarding
cremation, not so much in ethical terms, where things are clear, but as a representation of
death. The need to represent death and its continuous evaluation is fundamental for man,
it helps give sense to the world he lives in. The Western social assumption does not
automatically involve corresponding social response. As for cremation in Romania, it is
possible that Orthodox inspired ethics, standing against the practice of cremation, as well
as against the ones who choose it for themselves and people close to them, places
cremation in a certain cultural position which is negative and which is only made even
more visible by militancy for cremation. In both cases, through Western social
acceptance – synonymous from a certain point with ethical indifference, and through
Romanian ethical demonization, whatever happens is a wrong cultural placement of
cremation at an individual and collective level.
1
Nicolae Necula, Tradiţie şi înnoire in slujirea liturgică (Tradition and Innovation in the
Liturgical Sermon) (Galaţi: Editura Episcopiei Dunării de Jos, 1996)
2
Alexandru Ulea, Incinerarea este străină de viaţa în Hristos (Cremation has nothing to do with
the Christian Life), http://alexandru.ulea.ro/, (2011), accessed10.12.2011.
3
Eugenio Lecaldano, Un’ etica senza Dio (Ethics without God) (Roma-Bari: Laterza, 2006).
221
Bioethics, as an interdisciplinary life science,1 less rigid than ethics, but
incorporating it, in order to orient it towards a superior object which is human value, is
the only one which can solve both the current Western problem regarding cremation, as
well as the one in Romania. Bioethics must take up cremation as a research object in the
same way it takes on other significant aspects of human life such as aspects regarding
reproduction (abortion, medically assisted human reproduction) and survival
(euthanasia, palliative cares). No matter how reductive one would think, cremation is not
only a practice of eliminating the corpse, but like any other funerary practice, it has to do
with death as much as it has to do with life, it is an individual problem, not an
individualistic one, linking man with the community. The advantage of bioethics is that
it can use arguments from other fields, their values and their ideas, without taking their
entire ethical substance. It is true that cremation is and always will be a subject with
ethical connotations, whether it is an extremely positive connotation, like it is the case in
the Western world, or whether it is an extremely negative connotation, such as the
Romanian religious discourse. The role of bioethics is one that even though does not
find itself in any extreme, still considers cremation as a complex way of positioning man
before death, at the level of funerary practice and representation and only then
discussing different circumstances and aspects of cremation.
We would like to investigate the imaginaries associated with cremation in order
to point out the fact that cremation has a certain ethical connotation in the human
imaginary (in relation with the acceptance of cremation as personal and social practice),
even though it is accepted socially and economically. The ethical connotation signifies
not only a plus or a minus, good or evil, yes or no, but both, in different proportions. We
consider this move to be necessary because bioethics will be close to cremation in order
to research it with its multidisciplinary means. It should, in our opinion take into
consideration the fact that cremation is not only a social issue; it is also a cultural one.
The cultural aspect is basically a network of symbols and images which can be found in
the human imaginary. Its ethics are not rigid which is why bioethics must seek out the
life of phenomena on the less visible axis of socio-cultural phenomena, but often more
powerful than their purely social occurrence, meaning the axis of the imaginary.
1.4. Brief interlude: Evaluating the common ontological ground
Ethics should pay attention to cremation and integrate it as a topic among its other
research topics, not only because ethics has the appropriate methodological ability, but
especially because the ontological ground of bioethics coincides, in what concerns the
general structure and the functions, with the ontological ground of cremation. For both
bioethics and cremation, the recognition of the ontological nature of human being
represents a chief issue. Bioethics defines itself as a science situated at the confluence
between ethic and bios, a bios essentially human, while cremation (beyond its status of
social practice), when it is reclaimed by the individual, appears as a normal consequence
1
Gheorghe Scripcaru, “Bioetica între ştiinţele vieţii şi drepturile omului” (Bioethics between Life
Sciences and Human Rights), Revista română de bioetică (The Romanian Journal of Bioethics) 2
(2003); Adina Rebeleanu, “Interfaţa între domeniul bio-medical şi ştiinţele sociale” (Bioethics
between Bio-Medical and Social Sciences), Revista română de bioetică (The Romanian Journal
of Bioethics) 3 (2003).
222
of the awareness and the intuition of her/his own ontological nature: the man who choses
cremation implicitly reflects upon death, rediscovering, from a Heideggerian point of
view, her/his inexorable condition of “being-towards-death”1 and, to put it in
Jankélévitch’s terms, exercising death in the first person.2 Also, for both of them the
ontological ground has a double and precise function. It guides and offers a horizon of
expectation for those who confront bioethics and cremation, whether they are
actors/researchers or spectators/outsiders, and, at the same time, it limits the possible
deviations.3 This censoring function is more obvious for bioethics than for cremation. If
the ethical side of bioethics is more flexible, prone to be encapsulated to utilitarism and
hence to a relativism potentially dangerous, the bios – the ontological part – is the strong
nucleus that prevents the dissolution into multi-perspectivism or into multi-culturalism.
The major difference between the cremational ontological ground and the
bioethical one stands in the degree of their socio-cultural acceptance. If for bioethics the
ontology, as a human value, is clearly implied, one could say almost stipulated by the
human dignity principle which is the core concept of bioethics,4 for cremation, as an
individual choice, the ontology is an ideational dimension that raises many problems. In
Romania, the cremational ontological ground is still far from a socio-cultural
acceptance, and in the Western regions, where cremation is an extended practice,
integrated in what collectively is constructed as normal, it tends to be downplayed and
even concealed due to the emphasis on the social and pragmatic nature of cremation
(e.g. cremation as a solution for the overcrowded territories).
But cremation cannot be correctly and completely understood without the
ontological primacy. The social condition of cremation as a personal option is similar, to
a great extent, to the social condition of euthanasia. In both cases one has to deal with an
ontology weakened by the social discourses that systematically ignore their ontological
ground. Even if he does not deny that what is specific for euthanasia is the
relation/relational nature of euthanasia, for which he uses the term of interpersonality,
István Király criticises the blindness of our contemporary society in the face of the
ontological roots of euthanasia: “Our approach to euthanasia depends in fact on the
ontology of death, that is, the factual metaphysics of death, and only indirectly and
secondarily on how it can be fitted into the a priori, ready-made and hardly questionable
frameworks of certain ideologies, metaphysics, ethics, deontology, or legal systems, or
their current „developments” and ‘updates’”.5 The author explains the ontological
articulations of euthanasia as a personal and socio-cultural expression of the dying, using
1
Martin Heidegger, Fiinţă şi timp (Being and Time), trans. Gabriel Liiceanu and Cătălin Cioabă
(Bucharest: Humanitas, 2006 [1927]).
2
Vladimir Jankélévitch, La mort (Death) (Paris: Flammarion, 1977).
3
Although it is possible to discuss the Christian-orthodox bioethics of cremation (therefore, at
least partially, ideologically contaminated) that from an ethical perspective reflects in a negative
light the will for cremation, it is to be noticed that even in these circumstances, the ontological
principle of bioethics seems to have a beneficial effect of cooling down the anti-cremational
vehemence. Cf.: Kathryn Wehr, “The Bioethics of Cremation”, Orthodoxytoday.org, (2010),
http://www.orthodoxytoday.org/view/wehr-the-orthodox-bioethics-of-cremation, accessed 02.12.2013.
4
Maurizio Salvi, “Ontology and Bioethics: the Case of Human Dignity Principle in Human
Genetics”, Eubios Journal of Asian and International Bioethics 8 (1998): 181-183.
5
István Király, “Euthanasia, Or Death Assisted to (Its) Dignity”, Philobiblon XVII/2, (2012): 344.
223
a third element, which is death. Death, more specifically, to be mortal, in a Heideggerian
interpretation, is exactly the core of ontology. Practically, because euthanasia is a
modality of dying, its ontological trait proves/reveals to be undeniable.
Like euthanasia, cremation as a personal choice of bodily disposal implies the
relationship, the interpersonality, in a close sense (family, significant others) and in a
broad, extended sense (community, society), but it is, above all, an ontological matter
that pertains or should pertain to the person who opts for cremation. While euthanasia
implies the acceptance of one’s own mortality through a modal representation of earlier
stages of dying, representation whose content is the access to death, cremation includes
an acceptance of one’s own mortality after the moment of death, through a
representation again modal, but subsequent to death itself. From this perspective, the
decision for a personal cremation turns out to lack the typical ease of taking decision
without an existential stake.
By neglecting the connection between ontology and cremation, a connection
necessary for a good cultural comprehension of cremation as a social funerary practice
and absolutely mandatory for an authentic grasp of cremation as a personal choice, we
may persist in sterile discussions gravitating around questions such as for example, has
the dead person a right upon his/her own corpse and to what extent, can he decide his
own bodily disposal, or if in the cultural process of imbuing the corpse with meaning are
the personal representations of death and corpse more powerful than the social ones. It is
true, the dead body is not synonymous, from a socio-cultural point of view, with the
person before the decease, as it is also not equivalent, from a philosophical perspective,
to the being-towards-death. Thus, one could advance the idea that the corpse has not the
same rights that it would have as an alive body, being unable to claim its rights1, or the
idea that these rights exist, but are limited, residual and passive, the corpse being
detached from the desires of the person that prefigured it in his/her vision of a postmortem existence. Only that, as it was noticed in philosophy, using the concept of
“fostitate”2, but also in the social sciences, by displaying the continuous bound between
the living and the dead, death is unable to reduce the deceased to a sheer non-being3;
death cannot nullify her/his ontology, it can only discontinue the presence of the being
starting from the point in which dying is completed and becomes death, engendering the
ultimate product of the being that is not being anymore, namely the corpse.
Therefore cremation shouldn’t be, when it takes the form of an individual
option of bodily disposal separated from ontology. The problem raised by respecting or
not someone’s will to be cremated is not exclusively connected to the corpse, which is
1
James Stacey Taylor and Aaron Spital, “Corpses do not have Rights: A Response to Baglow”,
Mortality, Vol. 13, No. 3, August (2008): 282-286. Stacey and Spital consider that the idea of the
rights of the corpse cannot be sustain, the concept of right being closely related to the idea of
conscious action and presence of the presumed claimant or beneficiary of the right. The so-called
rights of the corpse, they observe, are but obligations towards the dead imposed by the society to
the living. Otherwise, talk about the rights of the deceased is irrelevant, if not absurd.
2
István Király, Moartea şi experienţa muririi. In(tro)specţie metafizică şi filozofie-aplicativă
(Death. Metaphysical and Applied Philosophical Perspectives) (Cluj: Casa Cărţii de Ştiinţă,
2002), 94.
3
Glennys Howarth, Death & Dying. A Sociological Introduction (Cambridge: Polity Press)
224
no longer or in a great measure the being that died, but is fundamentally connected to the
personal death, understood in its sense of vertebrant, inalienable axis of life. In the same
way in which as the purest possible theoretical form, the will to euthanasia and, why not,
to go further, the will to suicide, must be considerate as belonging to the ontology of the
being that includes already-not-anymore-the being1, cremation shall be interrogated in
the light of its ontological coordinates.
2.
Re-evaluating the imaginaries associated with cremation
Reinvestigating the imaginaries associated with cremation could build a third plane of
dialogue between divergent discourses on cremation. The discursive segregation is not
marked within the imaginary. The semantic substance which travels unhindered on all
planes of reality along with the severing of the necessity of the disjunctive relationship
of opposites contains the key for certain prejudices and stereotypes.2 Last but not least,
the social imaginary is responsible for the manner in which each individual constructs
his/her representation of the world and of him/herself, influencing in a major way the
concrete ways of ontological achievements. The resources necessary for a (bio)ethical
reconstruction of cremation can be found in the imaginary. This is possible because the
imaginary cannot be taken away from the inner part of life, because such an action
would result in a warping of human reality. Lucian Boia, one of the famous researchers
on aspects and the philosophy of the imaginary remarks the simultaneous, social and
imaginary character, of any human construct of reality through which the being tries to
find a sense in the world: “man lives on two plains at the same time: reality and the
imaginary, different plains, but between which there is a constant interaction”3. It is here
that we must add, even though we risk repetition, that it is necessary to study the
imaginary, partially ignored, in specific ways, both by the positivist science and the
theological ones.
2.1.
The relevance of the imaginary for the study of cremation and its report
with (bio)ethics
Insisting on its characteristics, it can be said that the imaginary – and this statement is
generally true, not only regarding the imaginary of death – comes with and forms,
conditions any insertion of man into society, so that he can be the one determined, the
one who is under the influence of social existence. The same type of report, mutual
influence, can be established between the imaginary and research.4 The imaginary,
shows Gilbert Durand, is a continuous attempt to avoid meeting the unavoidable reality
of death, a defensive reaction, an active counter-representation of death. This has two
implications. As a function of the imaginary, a compensative representation of death, a
1
István Király, Moartea şi experienţa muririi.
Jean-Jacques Wunenburger, Filosofia imaginii (Philosophy of the Image) (Iaşi: Polirom,
traducere de M. Constantinescu, 2004 [1997]).
3
Lucian Boia, Tinereţe fără bătrâneţe. Imaginarul longevităţii din Antichitate până astăzi
(Forever Young: a Cultural History of Longevity), trans. Valentina Nicolae (Bucharest:
Humanitas, 2006), 7.
4
Basarab Nicolescu, Noi, particula şi lumea (We, the Particle, and the World) (Iaşi: Polirom,
2002 [1985]).
2
225
function which is made up of a therapeutic vector, is similar to the function held by
society, according to Robert Kastenbaum, seen as a system of death – meaning one
which confronts death, going against it and dealing with its presence.1 We can see that
there are differences between the imaginary and the social, but they are not
insurmountable, just the opposite. A second explanation would be the necessity of
bringing into discussion the imaginary of death as an imaginary which takes the
imaginary of cremation as its subordinate. If this is the way in which everything
regarding the existence of humans in general is presented, as a link between the social
and the imaginary, between the visible and the less visible, the situation still is more
complicated in the case of death in general, where the imaginary holds an even greater
power. Louis-Vincent Thomas mentions that „the power of death resides, especially, at
the level of the imaginary”.2 An imaginary in which all the discourses from different
fields can be found whether artistic or research, and which also produce dynamics and
reconfigurations of the imaginary of death which is difficult to interact with.
It is not the case to discuss the general morphology of the imaginary. We will
concentrate on two very important matters. The first one refers to the possible tendency to
unbalance the imaginary. This implies, according to Durand, choosing a single regime of
the imaginary3, from which unilateral types of images and uses which are conscious or not
result, such as the allocation of only good or evil for a certain element, which determines a
fracture in the structure of the imaginary4. Because the imaginary is a question of
anthropology, as we find out from the same Gilbert Durand, the extreme monopoly of a
single regime of the imaginary produces an anthropological deterioration5. This one-sided
situation regarding cremation becomes an already laid out trap which awaits its victims.
Cremation tends to be assimilated, as we have already mentioned, by the theological
discourse with sin, with the unnatural, with decadence, only pointing out its negative
nuances, to the disadvantage of the others. Cremation is assimilated by evil, which is a sign
that the corresponding imaginary has lost its radiant power of diversity regarding
significance. The prevalent imagery is one of burning and infernal flame, ash as waste and
symbol of killing the body which is a reflection of the divine. These images must not be
ignored, because they could be a part of the future resistance, intimate and hard to
rationalise, of people against the cremation procedure in Romania. The opposite risk, the
recuperative and militant discourse of cremation in Romania, which is still fairly
underdeveloped, is to make it excessively positive and create a vertebrate report of
pragmatism and reduction of cremation to pure concrete data.
A second element, regarding the morphology of the imaginary and with
implications in our research is that the imaginary is not only a fixed part, the
conglomerate of archetypes privileged by researchers. The imaginary also implies
transformation and Gilbert Durand constantly brings arguments towards this point. At
1
Robert Kastenbaum, Death, Society and Human Experience (USA: Pearson Education, 2007,
[1977]).
2
Louis-Vincent Thomas, Mort et pouvoir (Paris: Payot & Rivages, 1999), 47.
3
Gilbert Durand, Les structures anthropologiques de l’imaginaire (Paris: Dunod, 2006 [1960]).
4
Jean Pierre, “Le statut de l’imaginaire: Approche sémiotique”, Religiologiques 1 (1990).
5
Gilbert Durand, “Fondaments et perspectives d’une philosophie de l’imaginaire”
Religiologiques 1 (1990).
226
the imaginary level, he supports, as a series of researchers also do, the fact that current
cremation has nothing to do with the ancient form of creation, could be exact. LouisVincent Thomas, an excellent researcher of death, but reserved towards cremation,
shows in his 1980 book, Le cadavre. De la biologie à l’anthropologie1, that actual
cremation in the Western space is different from the traditional one in a series of
essential aspects such as: space and time allotted to cremation, methods and instruments
through which it is carried out, the purposes for which it is carried out. If there is a spirit
of cremation, which justifies resorting to cremation in a different way than a simple
postmodern practice, Louis-Vincent Thomas sees this spirit more as something he calls
a substitute of cremation – burning the effigies or the clothes of the deceased. Maybe it
is not the most appropriate view. It is true that cremation today, at least in the Western
world, does not take place in a closed space for several hours anymore. It would be
impossible from a social point of view, because a series of regulations and policies
would prohibit such a funerary spectacle in front of people because it would be
compared to a certain type of violence. The capital punishment also does not take place
in front of an audience and it rather is carried out in a space hidden from curious eyes.
What we want to point out is that social changes which have modified socio-cultural
representations of cremation are not followed blindly by changes to the imaginary.
Deeper probing is necessary for one to state, like Louis-Vincent Thomas that traditional
cremation does not have anything in common with modern cremation. The imaginary is
not rigid, it keeps reforming itself, captures new nuances and – it would be abusive to
claim the exact same substance as content for the ancient and contemporary cremation.
On the other hand, it would be unnatural, at an imaginary level, to claim a complete
separation between these two types. Deeper layers could be responsible for the
difference and the similarity between the two. We wish to discuss the imaginaries
associated with cremation, both the imaginary of fire and the imaginary of ash. We will
observe that both have ethical connotations and we will better understand why cremation
cannot be without an ethical assessment grid.
2.2. The imaginary of fire, the imaginary of ash and their ethical implications
According to Gaston Bachelard, fire is, along with water, air and earth one of the
fundamental elements which serve as the base for the ability to imagine. An original
mystery, fire is analysed by the French philosopher in his 1938 book, The
Psychoanalysis of Fire2 in all of its complexity, from different historical meanings, often
contradictory, to the images it generates in the imagination, and also in society and
culture. What characterises fire is the fact that it can be given opposing meanings. It can
be viewed both as something good and beautiful as well as something evil and ugly. We
will not go over Bachelard’s study because the Romanian public is already familiar with
it but we will concentrate on other post-Bachelardian approaches to fire, approaches
which will make it easier for us to understand the ethical implications of the imaginary
1
Louis-Vincent Thomas, Le cadavre. De la biologie à l’anthropologie (Paris: Complexe, 1980),
170-189.
2
Gaston Bachelard, Psihanaliza focului (Psychoanalysis of Fire), trans. R. Munteanu (Bucharest:
Univers, 1989).
227
of fire for cremation. We should however keep in mind the way in which the imaginary
of fire is polarised.
In order to enter the imaginary of fire, we will begin by presenting and
analysing the way in which Louis-Vincent Thomas relates to fire in the book dedicated
to the dead body in the chapter about the problem of reducing it to ash. The
anthropologist observes a semantic ambivalence as well as an ambivalence of value
regarding fire, but opts to point out its negative side. Fire, according to Louis-Vincent
Thomas, has been used as a means of cremation, in the moments in history in which
contagious diseases have become calamities for humanity. Epidemics have been
resolved through burning. The same things happened to bodies which have only been
suspected of such diseases. On the other hand, fire has been used by the Inquisition and
the Church, in general, to light the stakes prepared for those considered to be witches or
different types of social and religious rebels. In both cases, fire works as an instrument
of purification, says Louis-Vincent Thomas whether it was against the threat of disease
for those left alive or the sin of heresy and antichristian magic. What Thomas does not
clearly state is that fire, in these cases indicates a sanction from the community for those
who are guilty of disease or lack of faith, and although it has the effect of purification, it
is a purification carried out through exclusion. The religious faiths and practices in Bali
see fire as a purifier and liberator not in relation to other, for others, but only in relation
with the self and it has a similar value to the mythological Greek one and the one in the
Upanishads1. The difference between Western and the Oriental or ancient Greek views
on fire is however not extreme. Both converge on the idea that fire purifies because it
has something to purify, meaning that the human condition itself is unclean.2 Variations
appear especially from an ethical point of view. The fire of stakes implies an ethical
value of what fire hides, and fire itself: witches are, beyond natural human impurity,
evil, so fire, in its radical way of manifesting itself is called upon to resolve this evil, this
negativity. Fire is positive in this case, but it is a relational positivity. Regarding the other
case, it is an investment in sacred elements, power and transcendence, non-relation. The
dead person in Bali is not pure until the family manages to gather the necessary
resources to deliver him from fire and freeing him, this aspect does however not hold
ethical connotations. Fire is kept away from good and evil, in a mainly metaphysical
paradigm.
The same Louis-Vincent Thomas agrees with Jean-Thierry Maertens on the fact
that cremation has been, especially in the beginning, a practice of nomads, generated by
the desire not to leave their dead behind and that this practice has its roots in the logic of
wars which demanded a quick disposal of soldiers which were not supposed to fall in the
hands of the enemy.3 Thomas also gives the situation of African countries as an
example, cremation is a privilege of men, women and children are buried. What is worth
remembering from the works of the French anthropologist, is that cremation appears as a
masculine practice – its toughness and radicalism lead to a certain conception, even
outside of anthropological data – and directly proportional to the lack of roots in a
1
Louis Vincent Thomas, Cadavrul (The Corpse), 170-172.
Marie Douglas, Purity and Danger. An Analysis of Concept of Pollution and Taboo (London
and New York: Routledge, 2002 [1966]).
3
Jean-Thierry Maertens, Le jeu du mort (Paris: Aubier, 1979).
2
228
certain place. It is possible that this discrimination of fire on one hand and the
association of fire and war on the other – the imaginary of war incorporated fire – may
mark a certain orientation towards the ethical value of cremation. There are fewer
advantages for cremation than burial if one would look at the issue from this angle. The
weak link between cremation and space is added to the discussion. Cremation represents
the radical destruction of space. Space is the first location o the representation of death,
according to Dennis Cettour,1 containing life as a trace, which is the equivalent of a total
elimination of death and life. Following the same imaginary line, cremation seems to
produce not just the decaying of life but of death itself, the last sign of life.
This report of cremation to space will receive new value, in another sense
according to Jean-Didier Urbain. In a work from 20042, he tries to clarify the relations
between reality and the imaginary. Cremation, attested beginning with the Neolithic
period is associated with orientalism and is confronted and defied today by our
imaginary, beyond our Christian beliefs. The fact that fire is a sanction seems to be more
active in our cultural memory than the fact that fire is purification and liberation. Not
just the flames of hell, not even the Inquisition, but the ovens of the Nazi regime persist
and haunt the imaginary of fire and cremation. It is an imaginary threshold which can
and must be overcome, just like, according to the author, the confrontation between
cremation and burial through the reactivation of the mechanism which produce
imaginaries. Cremation includes a much more radical way to relate to space. An
important aspect for Urbain, however, is the fact that it cannot be separated from a
culture in which space, if it is not as powerful as the one activated mentally through
burial, is a condensed and resists against burning and it is established by it. The space
targeted by modern cremation, as opposed to burial, is not a collective one, based on
public exposure, it is an intimate, private, personal and discrete one3. Fire leaves traces
and creates spaces.
Before mentioning the second imaginary, with which we have already partially
crossed paths, the imaginary of ash, we will talk about Umberto Eco’s work, How we
construct our enemy4, is a work about the specific duality of the imaginary of fire, but it
gravitates towards its ethical rehabilitation. Eco begins by pointing out the special
imaginary status of fire. Different from water, air and earth, fire tends to be forgotten, an
aspect which is aided by our real experience with fire, which is becoming less frequent.
The flame of the fireplace is just a memory. Its functions are almost entirely
incorporated into programs which create electrical ovens and other forms of invisible
energy. There are however ignored functions of fire such as the esthetical and
imaginative ones. Eco considers fire a symbolic vehicle for any transformation and a
complex metaphor for several experiences ranging from sexual experiences to
1
Denis Cettour, “Thanatologie,” in Dictionnaire de la mort, ed. Philippe di Folco, 1022.
Jean-Didier Urbain, “La cendre et la trace. La vogue de la cremation,” in La mort et
l’immortalité. Encyclopédie des savoirs et de croyances, eds. Frédéric Lenoir and Jean-Philippe
de Tonnac (Paris: Bayard, 2004), 1207-1221.
3
For example, the scattering of ashes in nature or their retention in an urn, in a certain place in the
house.
4
Umberto Eco, “Flacăra e frumoasă” (The Flame is Beautiful), Cum ne construim duşmanul
(How we Construct our Enemy), trans. Ştefania Mincu (Iaşi: Polirom, 2011).
2
229
epiphanies. Fire contains the ascending principle of transcendence but also the
descendent one of death and fragility. The Italian author proposes unembarrassed
semiotics to clarify several levels of significance for fire. The first semantic level of fire
that Eco talks about is fire as a divine element. Fire is demiurgic because it does not
come from a certain place, as an origin, and the sun is its best representation because it is
essential for life. As a period, the semantic-imaginary level of divine fire is the most
specific in the middle Ages. We can ask ourselves if the fear of fire has something to do
with the current age that is losing the transcendent senses rooted in reality, so that, if
God continues to exist, he is protestant in spirit, in our actions1, while ethics, becomes
painless, according to Lipovetsky2, being governed by the spirit of spectacle and
provoking the subjects which are involved in an ethical report to become passive. We
could basically assume that the contemporary man becomes opaque to these ideas of fire
being demiurgic and that man suppresses them. The second semantic-imaginary plain
mentioned by Eco is the one of infernal fire. The biblical prototype is the sulphur lake of
the Apocalypse, and the fire which comes from the depths of the earth serves as a
material mode. Infernal fire has massive ethical connotations. It is the punishment for
the evil done by men and the constant threat of the natural and human depths. There are
four positive levels of fire: alchemical fire, fire as a cause of art, fire as an epiphany and
regenerative fire. Their common element is the proximity established between man and
transcendence. Eco also states that playing with fire does not only contain the
confrontation of taboos, but also playing God, especially the God which brings death.
We can therefore see that fire keeps its symbolism of destruction even on positive
semantic levels. A final level registered by Eco is contemporary imagery where fire is
the representative of large disasters such as the explosion of the atomic bomb, all wars
but also of future disasters, even if they are only considered possible in the imagination.
An example for this would be global warming. This is not a fire that burns or purifies, or
sanctions, it is an explosion, a loss of control. Fire is contaminated by ethical judgement
in such a semantic-imaginary context.
The imaginary of ash cannot be separated from the imaginary of fire. Just as it is
mentioned by Bachelard, Louis-Vincent Thomas and Eco – ash is, imaginarily speaking,
an excrement. In other words, the ethical connotation is very clear. Ash means evil and
at the same time ugliness, imperfection. On the other hand we cannot help but think that
there is a certain correspondence between cremation and ash, burial and the body. The
problem which appears here is one that has to do with visibility and the fact that it can
determine certain ethical positions. The body is exposed and it is just that its ulterior
transformations are hidden from public view in the case of burial. Putrefaction and
mineralisation, the last two stages of definitive, organic death are usually not presented
to the general public. The first post-mortem stage is part of a constantly developing
industry, especially in Western countries, where the body is subjected to artificial
procedures in order to make it appear more appealing and eliminate signs of death. Ash
is a type of cadaver which must be faced because it must be collected by the family at
1
Gianni Vattimo and Pier Aldo Rovatti, Gândirea slabă (Weak Thought), trans. Ştefania Mincu
(Constanţa: Pontica, 1998).
2
Gilles Lipovetsky, Amurgul datoriei. Etica nedureroasă a noilor timpuri democratice (The
Twilight of Duty), trans. Victor-Dinu Vlădulescu (Bucharest: Babel, 1996 [1992]).
230
the crematorium and put in an urn or disposed of in nature. There is a direct
confrontation between ash and the others. Ash can also be viewed as a type of extreme
residue – there is no type of similarity to the deceased person, an undesirable waste
because it reminds us of the nothingness and fragile state of the human substance and
can create anguish for those who remain. It would help to imagine what we would find
in a grave years after the death of the person buried there in order to observe how the
differences are not so much in the result, as they are in the temporality of the
presentation and presence of the result. It is about visibility in time.
In his essay about mythical and poetic valences of ash, Ştefan Borbély1
observes two large views on ash. One is anthropological, with cultural validity extended
throughout time and space, according to which ash is an element which represents the
transubstantiation necessary to reach another stage of existence. According to this view,
Borbély considers that cremation is seen as a natural stage in a cycle of life, symbolising
the passing towards something else. Another view, which is strictly Western and
Christian, is that of ash as humility. Humility is derived from feeling the absurdity of
human death, a metaphysical humiliation according to Ştefan Borbély. The author asks a
welcome question regarding research into the imaginary of cremation: is it possible that,
between the two coexisting views, attitudinal and doctrinal crystallisation of
Christianity has sacrificed the first one, thus producing a semantic and imaginary release
of ash? The answer given by the author is positive. If ash has the culturally well rooted
meaning of humiliation in the Western imaginary, is it possible that there is a certain
anthropological imbalance, like the one mentioned by Gilbert Durand? Is it possible that
today’s ash is more than an organic, ontological waste, a symbol of existential nonsense?
Is it possible that the fear manifested in certain discourses, like the Romanian theological
one, reflects the fear of the lack of sense in human existence presented by cremation?
We must admit that ash is haunted by the risk of a one-sided ethical position. Therefore
it can only be beneficial to remember that, together with Ştefan Borbély, the resurrection
of the Phoenix from the ashes, the myth of Cinderella and Ash Wednesday.
3. General conclusions
Investigating the imaginary of cremation, composed of the imaginary of ash and the
imaginary of fire, and which is a subordinate of the imaginary of death offers bioethics a
starting point in approaching cremation. This is because of the morphology of the
imaginary, characterised by co-existing contradictions, through the synthesis of
archetypes and variables and because of its symbolic function. In a country where the
theological discourse and the historical one each miss an important part of the cultural
significance associated with cremation, one using pragmatic ethics and the other using
an exclusively Orthodox one, in a Western world which is completely devitalised from
an ethical point of view, but still anxious regarding cremation, it is imperative that
bioethics, a science of the complexity of life, should take back the subject of cremation.
Therewith, one must not forget that the imaginary premise of a bioethical
construction of cremation is closely linked to the ontological principle which defines
both the object – cremation – and the methodology – the way of investigating cremation,
1
Ştefan Borbély, “Cenuşa – eseu de mitopoetică” (Ashes. An Essay of Mythopoetics), Homo brucans
şi alte eseuri (Homo Brucans and Other Essays) (Bucharest: Contemporanul, 2011), 184-196.
231
id est bioethics, organizing their deepest logic. In fact, the ontological principle is also
connected to the imaginary of cremation, an aspect easier to perceive if we deem
cremation as a choice, as a possibility of the human being, despite the fact that this
imaginary is not reducible to this principle; yet by studying the products of this
imaginary we may get information about the complex interactions between the
individual on the one hand, and culture and society on the other.
232
Romanian Physicians and the Issues of Cremation:
the Case of Minovici Brothers1
Marius ROTAR
“1 Decembrie 1918” University of Alba Iulia, Romania
Keywords: history, forensic medicine, Minovici brothers, Romanian Orthodox Church,
scandals
Abstract: This article attempts to shed light on the complex relation between cremation
and Romanian forensic medicine, from the end of the 19th century to the beginning of
World War Two. In order to achieve this goal I analyze the case of Nicolae and Mina
Minovici and their connection with the issues of cremation, revealing, in the end, the
perception of this case in the eyes of the public opinion of those times. The analysis
reveals the fact that even if Nicolae and Mina Minovici sustained the ideas of cremation
in Romania due to its utilitarian purposes, they were not actual cremationists. Despite
this, they were accused and stigmatized by voices around the Romanian Orthodox
Church, being regarded as among the main promoters of cremation in Romania.
*
Introduction
The relationship between cremation and forensic medicine are not solely based on their
object of study, namely the body: from the point of view of cremation the body is seen
in terms of its disposal while for forensic medicine it is seen as an object of study and a
source that allows the identification of the cause of death.2 A close connection between
these two may be documented back in time as early as the second half of the 19th
century, in the dispute on the subject of cremation, when those against it claimed the
legal argument that cremation, if introduced on a broad scale, would provide a good
opportunity to conceal crimes by burning the body. This idea was active throughout
Europe3 and in Romania4 and was consequently adopted at one point even by the
1
This work was supported by the Romanian National Council for Scientific Research CNCSUEFISCDI, grant number 54/04.11. 2011 – PNII TE.
2
For a more recent discussion on this topic see S.T. Fairgrieve, Forensic Cremation: Recovery
and Analysis, (CRC Press, 2008); The Analysis of Burned Human Remains, ed. Christopher W.
Schimdt and Stevan A Symes (London: Elvesier, 2008).
3
Stephan White, “Crime”, in Encyclopaedia of Cremation, eds. Davies D, Mates L. (Aldershot:
Ashgate, 2005): 153-156; Simone Ameskamp, On Fire – Cremation in Germany 1870s-1934,
(Georgetown University, 2006); Douglas J. Davies, “Cremation”, in Encyclopedia of Death and
Human Experience, eds. Clifton L. Bryant CL and D.L. Peck DL (London: Sage Publishing,
2006): 235-240.
4
“Arderea şi înmormântarea morţilor” (Incineration and burial of the dead), Foaie Bisericească 2
(1884): 28-29; Badea Mangâru, “Cremaţiunea” (The Cremation), Biserica Ortodoxă Română 4
(1913): 354-361.
233
Christian churches that were consistently rejecting the incineration practice in those
days. The contribution brought forward by Nicolae and Mina Minovici on the
development of forensic medicine in Romania was often mentioned in the scientific
literature. It was underlined, with good cause, that their works were ones of pioneers and
had many echoes in the broad context of this scientific discipline, throughout the entire
world1. Mina Minovici, for example, is the founder of the Romanian school of forensic
medicine, since, in 1892, he set up one of the world's first forensic institutes in Bucharest
(Mina Minovici's inaugural speech at the Bucharest Morgue in 1892 remarkably lacked
any reference to cremation2. Minovici, 1893). He was elected dean of the Bucharest
Medical School four times between 1919 and 1930. His brother, Nicolae Minovici, was
professor at Cluj Napoca and Bucharest University, noted for his system of post-mortem
photography which received of a gold medal at the 1912 International Social Hygiene
Exhibition in Rome. Nicolae Minovici was also the founder of the “Salvarea”
(Romanian for “rescue” or “redemption”, as the word for the ambulance service) Society
(1906) and the Emergency Hospital (1934) in Bucharest3.
Despite this, there was no information of their actual connection with cremation
as a theme or the Romanian cremationist movement. As a result, this article aims to shed
light on the relation between cremation as an option of disposing the body and the
practice of forensic medicine in Romania, between the end of the 19th Century and the
beginning of the Second World War, exemplifying through the Minovici brothers’ case.
The early age of modern cremation
The cremationist ideas were brought to Romania around the second half of the 19th
Century, with the efforts of an elite that included, in its majority, important names from
the field of medicine. Influenced by the transposition in reality of the modern concept of
cremation and by the appearance and development of a movement that sustains this
practice, both in Europe and North America, some members of this Romanian medical
elite sustained the introduction of body cremation, mostly on grounds of public
necessity. They had in mind considerations related to hygiene and the dangers of body
decomposition for the public health and, as a result, the miasmic theories could be found
within various medical writings of those times. The medical degree thesis of Dr.
Constantin I. Istrati, published in 1877,4 the public conferences held by Athanasie
Economu in 1876 (at that time a PhD student in medicine),5 the contributions of the
1
Gheorghe Brătescu, “Afirmarea ştiinţei medicale româneşti” (The strengthening of Romanian
medical science), V.L. Bologa VL, G. Brătescu, B. Duţescu B, Şt Milcu, Istoria medicinii
româneşti (History of Romanian medicine) (Bucharest: Ed. Medicală, 1972): 242-263.
2
Mina Minovici, Discurs ţinut cu ocaziunea deschiderii morgei la ziua de 20 Decembrie 1892 (A
discourse held on the opening of the morgue on 20 December 1892) (Bucharest: Impremeria
Statului, 1893).
3
Bogdan Duţescu, Nicolae Marcu, “Medicina în perioada dintre cele două războaie” (Medicine
between the two World Wars), V.L. Bologa VL, G. Brătescu, B. Duţescu B, Şt Milcu, Istoria
medicinii româneşti, 405-407.
4
Constatin I. Istrati, Despre Depărtarea Cadavrelor. Studiu de Hygienă Publică (On the removal
of corpses. A study in public hygience) (Bucharest: tip. Al. A Grecescu, 1877): 122-155.
5
Athanasie Economu, Cremaţiunea sau arderea morţilor. Conferinţe publice ţinute în
amphiteatrul de chimie din Spitalul Colţea la 24 Mai şi 13 Iunie 1876 (Cremation or the burning
of the dead.) (Bucharest: Tip. Alessandru A. Grecescu, 1876).
234
Transylvanian Gheorghe Vuia, PhD in medicine at the University of Viena (1874)1,
Emanoil Reigler (1884)2 or the writings on the issues of “sanitary police” of the famous
hygienist Iacob Felix3 as well as the medical scientific literature from Romania, all have
sustained the development and necessity of cremation as a common practice throughout
Europe, and stated the need for its introduction in Romania. Despite these efforts we
cannot argue for the existence of a proper cremationist movement in Romania, nor a true
propaganda in this respect until after the First World War and up until the beginning of
the second one.4 The involvement of Romanian doctors of the time to support cremation
is also questionable, especially if it was a product of artificial situation. Dr. Iacob Felix’s
case is relevant in this regard, as Felix confessed in 1884. In a report on the Hygiene
Congress in The Hague, Felix confessed that the cremation issues were not of interest
for him. Felix remembered that he had been appointed by the Congress as a member of
the International Commission for cremation at congresses organized in Turin and
Geneva, but he declined to participate, considering that the Romanian Kingdom felt no
need for such reforms.
Otherwise the connections between the European medical elites and cremation for
the second half of the 19th century are obvious, from organized discussions on the
subject at various conferences on hygiene and through actual involvement of first rank
public figures in developing a cremationist movement, the most famous case being that
of Queen Victoria’s famous surgeon, Sir Henry Thompson, the founder, in 1874, of the
Cremation Society of Great Britain.5 Perhaps the most relevant example is that of Dr
James Edward Nield, a lecturer in forensic medicine at the University of Melbourne
Medical School, who approached the Royal Society of Victoria in 1873 to call their
attention to the advantages of incinerating dead bodies.6
The big change that occurred in the second half of the 19th century was the
acceptance of the germ theory (through the contributions of Louis Pasteur, Robert Koch
and Joseph Lister). This theory directly influenced the medical discourse upon
cremation7 and first and foremost the medical practice, even in Romania.8 The first
1
Gheorghe Vuia, “Diferite datine pentru asiederea mortilor cu privire la arderea cadavrelor”
(Various traditions for the burning of corpses), Transilvania 21-22 (1874): 258-264.
2
Emanoil Reigler, “Despre înmormântarea şi cremaţiunea sau arderea cadavrelor” (On the burial
and cremation or burning of corpses) Gazeta Medicală 4 (1885).
3
Iacob Felix, Tractat de Hygiena Publică şi poliţie sanitarie (Treatise on public hygiene and
sanitary police) (Bucharest: Tip. I. Weiss, 1870): 313-321.
4
Iacob Felix, “Congresul Internaţ. de igienă de la Haga. Raportul d-lui doctor I. Felix. Adresat dlui ministru de interne” (The international hygiene congress at The Hague. Report of dr. I. Felix to
the Minister of the Interior), Telegraphu de Bucharest 371 (1884): 2.
5
Peter C. Jupp, From Dust to Ashes. Cremation and the British Way of Death (New York:
Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 47-49, 58-61.
6
J.L. Lewis, Medicine and the Care of Dying: A Modern History (New York: Oxford University
Press, 2007), 78.; Simon Cooke, “Death, body and soul: The Cremation Debate in New South
Wales, 1863-1925”, Australian History 96 (1991): 323-39.
7
Robert W. Habensteien, “USA”, in Encyclopaedia of Cremation, eds. Davies D, Mates L.
(Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005): 403.
8
Gheorghe Brătescu, “Stiinţa medicală după Unirea Principatelor ” (Medical science after the
union of the Principalities), in V.L. Bologa VL, G. Brătescu, B. Duţescu B, Şt Milcu, Istoria
medicinii româneşti, 211-212.
235
contacts of Nicolae and Mina Minovici with the theme of cremation are documented at
the end of the 19th century. In a paper, published in 1899 and dedicated to the analysis of
decay from a forensic medicine and hygiene point of view, Mina Minovici focused on
the subject of cremation.1 As an introduction he dismissed the miasmic theories,
considered to be of little truth, from a scientific point of view and states that the
infestation of air and water from decaying corpses in the cemeteries is not a valid theory.
On the subject of cremation, he considers it acceptable and recommended in three
situations: during wars, plagues and as a necessary practice of disposing of body parts
resulting from autopsies. He also held cremation to be a personal choice that should not
be restricted through State laws but regulated by precise dispositions meant to stop any
abuses from being committed.
Nicolae Minovici displayed a much closer affinity for the cremationist ideas during
his time. In a manual of forensic medicine published in 1904 he argues for the
importance of cremation and stated its development in Europe. He exaggerates by
stating that cremation as a practice was widely used in Italy, France and Germany.2 His
involvement in a pro-cremation movement, before the beginning of the First World War,
is also proven from a presentation that sustained cremation, presented at a conference
held in 1908 at the Romanian Athenaeum.3 This presentation was later referenced by the
Flacăra Sacră (“Sacred Flame”) magazine, the Romanian cremationists’ publication
that functioned in between the two World Wars. According to this publication Nicolae
Minovici was held as one of the first adepts of cremation practices in Romania but at the
same time he was considered to be an idealist on the subject.4
Moreover, a 1938 report by Mihai Popovici, an engineer and secretary of the
Cenuşa Society, cited Dr Mina Minovici as the forefather of the cremationist movement
in Romania.5
Cremation in interwar Romania
Much clearer is the connection of these two specialists with the topic of cremation in
between the two World Wars. This is probably due to the fact that cremation was
already transposed into reality with the inauguration of the Cenuşa (“The Ashes”)
Crematorium in Bucharest, on January 25th, 19286. Romania thus became the first
1
Mina Minovici, Putrefacţia din punct de vedere Medico-Legal şi Hygienic (Putrefaction from a
forensic and hygienic point of view) (Bucharest: I.V. Socecu, 1899): 107-108.
2
Nicolae Minovici, Manual technic de medicina legală (Handbook of Forensic Medicine),
(Bucharest: I.V. Socecu, 1904): 613.
3
Radu D. Rosetti, “Pentru Cremaţiune,” (For cremation) Universul 80 (1913): 1.
4
“Un alt sprijinitor” (Another supporter) Flacăra Sacră 5 (1935): 5.
5
Administration of Cemeteries and Crematoria archives (hereafter ACCUa), not inventoried,
1938, file 1.
6
All the historical information regarding the cremation in interwar Romania (the foundation of
Cenuşa Society, the opening of Cenuşa Crematorium, the cremation statistics, the reactions upon
cremation of the Romanian Orthodox Church, the legal regulation upon cremation) were taken
from Marius Rotar, Eternitate prin cenusă. O istorie a crematoriilor şi incinerărilor umane în
România secolelor XIX-XXI, (Eternity through ashes. A history of crematoriums and human
incineration in 19th-21st century Romania) (Iaşi: Institutul European, 2011): 109-359.
236
Orthodox Christian country that opened such an establishment and the achievement can
be traced to impulses coming from within the society itself. A Soviet example is out of
the discussion, as the first crematorium was inaugurated in Moscow in 1927 mainly as
an attempt of the Soviet powers to dislocate some of the traditional structures from the
guardianship of the Russian Orthodox Church.
The crucial moment for transposing cremation into a social reality during these
times was the foundation of the Cenuşa (“The Ashes”) Society on March 7th, 1923. This
society was dedicated to sustain and promote the idea of human cremation in Romania.
Initially it had been named “Nirvana” but, as accusations of promoting a pagan / FrancMasonic practice in Romania began to surface, a decision to change the name was taken.
In reality the Cenuşa crematorium was created with the efforts of this society, who held
the ownership of the crematorium until 1948, when it was dissolved, according to the
Communist law of Nationalization. The mayor’s institution in Bucharest was supportive
in the construction of the crematorium with both logistics and finances, having a precise
purpose: the cremation of a means of disposing of the bodies unclaimed by families thus
saving expenses associated with burial, a practice previously in the administration of
local authorities. Four Mayors have sustained the Cenuşa Society during this period: Dr.
Gheorghe Gheorghian, Alexandru Donescu, Dr. Ion Costinescu and Lucian Skupieski.
The last two were actually cremated at this facility.1
1923
1925
1928
1931
1933
1935
1937
14
92
210
386
520
800
911
Table 1 with the number of the members of Cenuşa Society during the interwar period
(selection)2.
1928
262
1930
297
1933
602
1935
468
1937
518
1938
230
Table 2 with the number of cremation in Romania during the interwar period (selection)3.
The Minovici brothers and the issue of cremation
The involvement of the Minovici brothers in the Romanian cremationist movement can
also be documented for this period based on a foreword written by Nicolae Minovici for
a book about cremation signed by a journalist named Mihail Theodorescu, already at its
second edition in 1931.4 According to this, Mina Minovici was actually one of the
1
Marius Rotar, Eternitate, 254.
“A XVII dare de seamă a consiliului Soc. „Cenuşa” către Adunarea Generală, privind activitatea
în cursul anului 1939” (The 17th report of the Council of Cenusa society to the General Assembly
regarding its activity in 1939) Flacăra Sacră 4A (1940): 1-9.
3
“A XVI-a dare de seamă 1 ianuarie - 31 decembrie 1938, prezentată Adunarii Generale Ordinare
de la 22 mai 1939” (The 16th report for 1 January–31 December 1938, presented to the General
Ordinary Assembly on 22 May 1939), Flacăra Sacră 4 (1939): 9.
4
Nicolae Minovici, ‘Prefata’ (Preface), In Mihail A. Theodorescu, Crematoriul. Ce este
Cremaţiunea. Procesul Cremaţiunii în faţa Ştiinţei, Religiei şi a tradiţiilor strămoşeşti.
2
237
founding members of “Cenuşa” Society, while Nicolae Minovici was among the
supporters that made possible its creation. The same source stipulates though that the
two were not actual cremationists in the true sense of the word but personalities
militating for the construction of a crematorium as a public and scientific necessity.
Nicolae Minovici thus stated that
“we have not constructed it to be useful to ourselves but to help dispose of human
bodies with unknown identity or unclaimed / unrecognized bodies from the morgue, as
well as to dispose of remains from dissections and so on”1.
On the other side, Nicoale Minovici stated that even if the original intent was to
build the crematorium for these purposes alone, things evolved to serve also the wishes
(sometimes stipulated in the last wills) of those who wanted to be cremated after death.
He mentioned that this situation was similar to that of the Ambulance Services of
Bucharest, initially created to only respond to accidents and later demanded by the
population for transporting the ill, allowing it to develop and diversify accordingly. A
clear delimitation from cremationists was made when Nicolae Minovici stated that even
though he and his brother helped implementing cremation in Romania, they also
expressed the wish to be buried and not cremated after death, as it eventually happened.2
His brother, Mina Minovici, was also involved. For example, we find him
among the founders of the Cenuşa Society. His affiliation was cited in a 1923 call for
subscriptions in order to build a crematorium in Bucharest. Mina Minovici, as a
physician and university professor, endorsed the appeal, along with C. Dissescu, a
former cabinet minister, I. Costinescu, the mayor of Bucharest, Gh. Gheorghian, a
former mayor of Bucharest, Grigore Trancu Iaşi, M. Berceanu, a lawyer and deputy
mayor of Bucharest, L. Skupiewski, a physician and former deputy mayor of Bucharest,
I. Roban, the secretary general of the Mayor's Office of Bucharest, and the engineer
Mihai Popovici. They regarded the rearing of the crematorium as an accomplishment of
great social relevance, and they wanted the edifice to be “a work of art as well, an
adornment” for Bucharest.3
The opening of Cenuşa Crematorium in 1928 brought about one of the most
vivid scandals of Romania in between the two World Wars. The essence of this scandal
was the firm opposition to the practice manifested by the Romanian Orthodox Church.
Soon after inauguration the Orthodox oriented press as well as some of the personalities
of the Church started a violent campaign against the crematorium and its supporters
throughout Romania. In their opinion cremation represented a foreign practice for the
Romanians, of pagan / Franc- Mason origin, a misfortunate implantation or even a clear
attempt to undermine the Romanian Orthodox Church, the keeper of all traditions and
the pillar of our national being. On the other side, the local Bucharest authorities were
directly accused that they supported the apparition and development of cremationist
Crematoriul din Capitală. Cum se face arderea cadavrelor. Un spectacol de groază şi poezie
(The crematorium. What is cremation? The process of cremation in relation to science, religion
and ancient traditions. The crematorium in the capital. How are corpses burnt? A spectacle or
terror and poetry) (Bucharest: Editura Graiul Romanesc, 1933): 5-7.
1
Minovici, “Prefata,” 7.
2
Minovici, “Prefata,” 7.
3
ACCUa 1938, files 1.
238
beliefs, with the sole purpose of material gain, neglecting the fundamental issues and
real problems of our country’s capital city.
Biserica Ortodoxă Română (“The Romanian Orthodox Church”), Cuvânt Bun
(“The Good Word”) or Glasul Monahilor (“The Monk’s Voice”) orthodox magazines,
the voices of Archbishop Iuliu Scriban and priests Marin C. Ionescu and Dionisie Lungu
all rejected the practice of cremation in those times. As a result of all these campaigns
the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church in 1928 and then again in 1933 outlawed
the religious service for a deceased that opted for cremation, a practice that is still valid
to this day. Despite this and despite successive regulations, culminating with the Penal
Code adopted in the time of Carol II in 1936, cremation still obtained an equal status,
from a legal perspective, with burial,1 a situation also valid to this day.
This scandal also brought forward a number of serious accusations aimed at the
Minovici brothers, given their affiliation with the subject. This episode, detailed in the
following lines, has a particular significance as it displays not only the negative
perception of the Christian Orthodox world and of the Romanian society but also the
actual ways used to stigmatize those that were connected in whatever manner to the
practice of cremation.
The stigmatization of Mina Minovici started via an article published within the
Glasul Monahilor by the priest Marin C. Ionescu, with an accusation that, as the
manager of the Bucharest morgue, Dr. Minovici consented to cremating the bodies of
unknown identity without any legal right to do so. Another accusation was that Mina
Minovici asked for money from the families of the deceased in order to stop sending the
bodies to be cremated at Cenuşa Crematorium.2 These accusations relied on the fact that
the bodies incinerated at the opening of the Cenuşa Crematorium had been brought from
the Bucharest Institute of Forensic Medicine, headed by Mina Minovici. Specifically,
“the experimental incineration of six bodies” occurred between the 21st and the 24th of
January, in order to test the Manoschek Company’s incinerator used by the Cenuşa
Crematorium. The last experimental incineration occurred on the 25th of January, but,
since it was open to the public; it was considered the official opening of the
crematorium.3
Of course these first two accusations were false and in consequence Mina
Minovici filed a lawsuit for calumny. The trial took about two years, and in the end it
did not reach a notable verdict, but it revealed, on the topic of this article, the ways in
which it was carried and the echoes that it had in the Romanian society of those days.
1
“Codul Penal Carol II din 18 martie 1936,” in Codul general al României (Codurile, Legile şi
Regulamentele în vigoare. 1856-1937), founder C. Hamangiu, continued by G. Alexianu, C. St.
Stoicescu, vol. XXIV, Coduri, Legi, Regulamente cuprinzând prima parte din legislaţiunea
anului 1936, Part I, (henceforth Codul Hamangiu), (Bucharest M.O. şi Imprimeriile Statului,
Bucharest 1937): 64; Codul Penal “Carol II” annotated by Const. G. Rătescu, I. Ionescu-Dolj, I.
Gr. Perieţeanu, Vintilă Dongoroz, H. Asnovarian, Traian Pop, Mihail. I Papadapol, N. Pavelescu,
Foreword by Mircea Djuvara, Preface by Valeriu Pop, vol. II (Bucharest: Editura Socec S.A.,
1937): 264-265.
2
Ionescu M.C. , “Primul cadavru încenuşat” (First cremation), Glasul Monahilor 116/5 (1928), 1-2
3
ACCUa, 1928, files 1-4.
239
There were two main directions of perceiving the scandal within the public
opinion:
1. an attitude of condemning and laying blame on Dr. Mina Minovici, essentially
through the Orthodox prone newspapers or the media under the influence of
the Romanian Orthodox Church;
2. a favourable attitude for Dr. Mina Minovici, of undoing the accusations
formulated against him by the religious circles.
The first approach, against Dr. Minovici in particular and cremation as a
practice in general, was mainly voiced through the Orthodox magazine Glasul
Monahilor. Of importance in this perspective are the various calls launched by this
magazine to the people so that they attend in high numbers the trial between Dr. Mina
Minovici and priest Marin C. Ionescu. The subject was thus generalized and was seen as
a fight carried by the magazine with the entire cremation prone community from
Romania, thus defending the Romanian Orthodox Church and nonetheless our national
being. As an example we have the call published on the occasion of the fifth trial
appearance:
“Christian brothers, Monday, February 11th of the current year, at the Justice
Court we have the trial between Our Church and the Crematorium! We ask you to come
in high numbers, if not to defend your holy rights, at least to see the antichrists of the
Century, those mentioned in the Holy Scripture, those that ask you all to burn your
parents and loved ones.”1
Dr. Mina Minovici was referred to as a little person/dwarf (“a pygmy”), as he
was the one facilitating the introduction of cremation as a practice in Romania.2
Nichifor Crainic was also involved in the arduous discussion around this
scandal. In an article published in May 19283, he took pity on the faith of the monk
Dionisie Lungu (the editor chief of Glasul Monahilor) and of the priest Marin C.
Ionescu, the main prosecutor of Mina Minovici, when the Bucharest Orthodox
Archbishopric took several punitive measures against them. In fact Crainic saw this
chance to criticise the Mayor’s office from Bucharest as he believed they chose to build
this human crematorium instead of constructing bread ovens for Bucharest. The
newspaper, Cuvântul (“The Word”) lead by Crainic, has since constantly adopted a
position against cremation. Nichifor Crainic (1889-1972) was a very important
Romanian writer, editor, philosopher, poet and orthodox theologian, too. He was famed
for his traditionalist and anti-Semitic actions.
On the other hand, probably the most coherent support for Dr. Minovici rose
from the poet Tudor Arghezi (one of the most important Romanian poet but also an
important journalist of those times, too), who considered that in this dispute, priest
Marin C. Ionescu “has left his arguments at home and was debating with the scientist
only from imagination”4. This newspaper, Universul (“The Universe”) had always
1
Glasul Monahilor, 160/6 (1929): 1.
Z.S. Mirmillo, “Iarăşi d-l doctor Minovici,” (Dr. Minovici again) Glasul Monahilor, 122, 5
(1928): 3.
3
Nichifor Crainic, “Ziua Domnului’ (The day of the Lord), Curentul 119/1 (1928): 1.
4
Tudor Arghezi, “Mitropolia şi Poliţia” (The Metropolia and the Police) Bilete de Papagal 1/87
(1928): 2-3.
2
240
showed a balanced view on the scandal. In fact, also given his social status, Dr. Mina
Minovici himself had a balanced opinion on the subject of cremation as it can be seen in
his Tratat de Medicină Legală (Treatise of Forensic Medicine), published in 1929 and
19301. As he had done a few decades before, Mina Minovici rejected again the miasmic
theory and considered that cremation should stand equal to burial and should not be
outlawed, as it represented a personal choice. From a technical point of view he stood by
the concept that cremation was to be allowed only by the following of some strict rules:
it was forbidden to cremate the remains of an unknown individual and any cremation
should require two separate medical examinations, one from the practicing doctor and
another from the doctor who observed and recorded the death; he also stated as
imperative that an autopsy should be performed. On the other side he rejected the idea
that by cremation the traces of any foul play (murder or suicide) go unseen, stating that
some of the most common poisons (arsenic, phosphorus, mercury salts) could be traced
even in the human ashes resulted after cremation.2
It must be noted that, for a short period of time in 1929, the cremations have
been suspended at Cenuşa Crematory by the Ministry of Justice. The reason for this
situation was the insufficient clarification of cremation procedures related to those that
had died of violent cause. Among those that required such a clarification was also Dr.
Mina Minovici. This entitled Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban3 to identify this attitude as a
retraction of the scientist’s affiliation to the cremationist ideas, as the spread of this
practice in Romania bothered him in his work as a forensic medical doctor. On a broad
scale Scriban saw 1929 as the year that provided the hardest blow yet to hit the
cremationist movement in Romania.
The death of Dr. Mina Minovici in 1933 was the last occasion for a reaction
towards the scientist from Glasul Monahilor. Ştefan N. Matache4 considered Dr.
Minovici’s wish to be buried also a detraction from his cremationist ideas; his death
symbolized, in the opinion of the author, a powerful blow to the cremationist movement
and the end of the Crematorium as an institution. He predicted that in the future the
crematorium would serve only to burn those who had committed suicide as well as
animal remains and trash, a prediction that never came true. Anyway the author of this
paper used a pseudonym in expressing his reaction to Mina Minovici’s death. But what
is more, this pseudonym was used in irony directed to Mina Minovici, Matache being
one of the most famous butchers of Bucharest at the beginning of 20th century. In the
same direction a notice about his death and preference for burial was inserted into the
Foaie Diecezana orthodox journal. This was considered an act of Mina Minovici’s
Christian belief and a possible pattern for those “Christians" preferring cremation.
1
Mina Minovici, Tratat complect de Medicină Legală cu legislaţia şi Jurisprudenţa românească
şi străină (Complete treatise of forensic medicine with Romanian and foreign legislation and
jurisprudence) vol. I-II, (Bucharest: Atelierele Grafice Socec & Co (1929-1930): 980-989.
2
Minovici, Tratatul, 980-987.
3
Iuliu Scriban, “Li s-a înfundat cenuşarilor” (The cremationists are over), Glasul Monahilor, VI,
185-186 (1929): 2.
4
Ştefan N. Matache, “La moartea unui savant. Constatări şi concluzii’ (For the death of a savant.
Remarks and conclusions), Glasul Monahilor, 355, 11 (1933): 4.
241
The death of Stefan Minovici in 1935, the third brother of the Minovici family
and a well-known chemist of those times, determined a favorable attitude towards him
expressed in the Orthodox media. It was relevant that before his death Stefan Minovici
had expressed his orthodox Christian belief that he had drafted in his will in 1933,
clearly stating the desire to be buried. Therefore, at this event, the Orthodox media
reminded that his brother Mina Minovici had a similar belief: "A man (Mina Minovici)
who all his life has enlightened justice researching through autopsy, the real cause of
death, and respecting his belief in the supernatural powers of the savant of God"1.
The appearance of the Romanian cremationist’s magazine Flacăra Sacră (The
Sacred Flame) in December 1934 was the symbol of evolution for those who sustained
the cremation practices in Romania between the two World Wars. With its eight pages
and reaching in 1936 a circulation of 3000 copies, it became the main tribune to promote
cremation in Romania.
In 1938, when engineer Mihai Popovici, the editor-in-chief of the magazine and
secretary of the Cenuşa Society, published the summary of the last five years of the
publication2 we can see that none of these articles were written in respect to or even
cited from the writings of brothers Nicolae and Mina Minovici. This demonstrates once
again that even if the two scientists supported the idea of cremation in Romania they
have done so in a calculated manner, never assuming a militant position; references to
their writings are seldom found within the magazine, another argument in favour of their
moderate position. Nicolae Minovici is referred to several times in discussions on his
conference that debated cremation back in 19083; the Minovici brothers are also
mentioned briefly as being among those who made possible the foundation of Cenuşa
Society in 1923. Nevertheless, in general, they are rarely referred to and this is most
likely due to their scientific view on cremation;4 it is obvious that, had they been truly
among the cremationists, the scientific arguments would have made an excellent
propaganda and this aspect would have been more thoroughly treated in the magazine.
The affinity of Nicolae Minovici to the subject of cremation in Romania clearly
existed. The magazine noted that in the “Golden Book” of Cenuşa Society, Dr. Nicolae
Minovici expressed his admiration toward the activity of the Society, after a visit on
March 30th, 1938, as follows: “I went and I saw [the Cenuşa Crematorium] and I
admired this beautiful and humanitarian endeavour that I long would like to see
accomplished”5
On the other side, within the pages of the Flacăra Sacră a series of articles were
published stating the agreement of cremation with the practices of forensic and legal
medicine. Some of these were translations or adaptations from the cremationist literature
of those times while others were interventions from various followers in Romania. In the
1
Nicolae Roşu, “Dumnezeu în altarul ştiinţei” (God on the altar of science), Apud. Foaie
diecezană, LI, 2 (1936): 2.
2
Mihai Popovici, “Cinci ani” (Five years), Flacăra Sacră 11/ 6 (1939): 1-3.
3
Alex F. Mihail, “Morminte profanate” (Desecrated graves), Flacăra Sacră 2/9 (1935): 4-5.
4
Mihai Popovici, “Importanţa Cremaţiunei în uriaşa dezvoltare a capitalei româneşti” (The
importance of cremation in the great development of the Romanian capital), Flacară Sacră 10/ 3
(1936): 1-3.
5
“Din Cartea de Aur a Soc. Cenuşa”. Flacăra Sacră, 10 , 5.
242
first category we find translations from the writings of Dr. C. Barrier, the chairman of
the Medical Academy of France1 or those of L. Gissenar2. From Romania we note the
interventions of engineer Mihai Popovici3 , V. I. Zorca4 , dr. Silvian Carozea5 .
On the other side of the barricade, the detractors of cremation in interwar
Romania remain strongly active in their arguments against this practice even issuing
generalisations by which they blame the modern spirit of the times and the
misunderstanding of the role of science and medicine which were considered to act
against the very being of our nation. Here we have a relevant article, written by priest
Marin C. Ionescu:
“Science can be international in a tube and in the laboratory! In its practical
achievements we cannot conceive for it to step over the people’s concept upon life, the
cosmic, moral and religious environment of our nation; it should, instead, slowly
prepare the conditions of a social symbiosis!”6.
Beyond these situations, Mina Minovici’s belief, as a scientist but also as an
ordinary citizen of Romania in those times, can be drawn from a letter which he
published in January 1923 in the Contimporanul journal. This was a reply of Mina
Minovici in the context of the disputes concerning the autopsy issues that took place
between Christian and Jewish medical students of the Faculty of Medicine in Iaşi and
Cluj-Napoca. Mina Minovici replied to an article signed by Bogdan Varvara, recalling
the words he spoke at the opening address of the academic year at the Faculty of
Medicine in Bucharest in 1920 (Mina Minovici being dean of this Faculty then). His
ideas were a warm plea for tolerance and understanding and thus deserve to be quoted:
“As man of science and as priest of the charity, the doctor must rise above all prejudices,
whether social or religious. In God’s eyes there should be only a humanity composed of
particular nations, each with its qualities and flaws, but all being represented by God.
For those nothing grieves me more than that I view students erecting the separating
walls between them: on one side are the Christian students and on the other side the
Jewish students. For God's sake, open your eyes and put your minds together realizing
that this line is regarded by the civilized western world as a stigma of inferiority. Today,
especially after the dream of Michael the Brave was done through blood sacrifice of all
the children of the our country, regardless of religious belief, to hit and to ostracize the
Jews students, by the absurdity and unfairness, means [...] no longer must live outside
1
Charles Barrier, “Cauzele care stânjenesc dezvoltarea cremaţiunii în Franţa” (The causes that
hinder the development of cremation in France), Flacăra Sacră 4/2 (1935): 4.
2
L. Gissenar, “Cremaţiunea faţă de justiţia represivă” (Cremation against repressive justice),
Flacăra Sacră 10 /1-2 (1938): 1-2.
3
Mihai Popovici, „Cremaţiunea din punct de vedere juridic” (Cremation from a legal point of
View). Flacăra Sacră 11/2 (1935): 1-2.
4
Vasile I. Zorca, “Consideraţiuni chimice pledând pentru cremaţiune” (Chemical considerations
pleading for cremation), Flacăra Sacră 3/6 (1938): 4; Vasile I. Zorca, “Discuţiii asupra
cremaţiunii. Cremaţiunea faţă de medicina-legală” Debates on Cremation. Cremation and
Forensic Medicine), Flacară Sacră, 8/3 (1936): 5-7.
5
Silvian Carozea, “Unele dintre avantagiile incineraţiunii pentru decoperirea crimelor” (Some
advantages of incineration for the discovery or murders), Flacăra Sacră 8/ 6 (1938): 3.
6
Marin C. Ionescu, “Sfântul Pavel şi Crematoriul” (Saint Paul and the Crematorium), Glasul
Monahilor 5/122 (1926): 2.
243
the realm of science imputation that - which is neutral, so for all - an exclusivity states
that every heart to feel clean and any brain minds condemn it "1.
Conclusions
Our analysis can be seen as an effort to reveal an important episode about the way in
which forensic medicine and legal practices were perceived in this period, via the
personalities of Nicolae and Mina Minovici. It accentuates the way in which the
imposition of a new model – that of cremation as a funerary practice – generated a series
of trepidations and scandals in the Romanian society before the Second World War,
scandals that unjustly reverberated on the public lives of brothers Nicolae and Mina
Minovici. It can be seen that these scandals were originating within the deeply
traditional rhetoric and in the power of the Romanian Orthodox Church, whose reaction
of vehement rejection of cremation practices can be witnessed even to this day. This
powerful opponent of cremation has used outdated medical literature as arguments and
chose to stigmatize, with no remorse, all those that stood against their belief and were
consequently on the other side of the barricades. Nothing was revered in this feud:
neither the Minovici brothers' scientific work, their accomplishments as medical
professionals, nor the international recognition they enjoyed. The Romanian Orthodox
Church regarded them both as mere proselytisers for cremation – a practice that was
reckoned to undermine Romanian traditions and national identity. This approach
stigmatised not only two of Romania's most prominent medical figures, but also medical
science as a whole. The stakes were complex, since, at that particular moment, the
Romanian Orthodox Church was seeking to generate a groundswell of anti-cremation
sentiment in interwar Romania at any cost.
1
“Dintr-o scrisoare a d-lui prof. dr Mina Minovici” (From a letter of Prof. Mina Minovici),
Contimporanul II/26 (1923): 4.
244
MISCELLANEA
245
246
The Traditional Guest Room under a Modern Magnifying Glass1
– Review –
Andreea COROIAN,
Faculty of Letters, Romanian Literary Studies,
Babeş-Bolyai University,Cluj
Keywords: Romanian folk tradition, the guest room, the dynamics of tradition,
ethnological approach
*
In the Romanian folk tradition, the guest room is traditionally called
casa bună (the best room), because, as opposed to the other rooms of the house, that the
family uses for eating, sleeping and other domestic activities, it is uninhabited. It is used
to keep valuable objects and to receive special guests on special occasions. As it does
not host everyday activities, it is mostly related to holidays and special family events.
Describing it as a feminine place, a place of collective memory, a binder but
also a buffer space between life fragments and crucial events, the ethnologist Anamaria
Iuga provides a fascinating analysis of the traditional guest room (casa bună). Born in
Maramureş, the author narrows her focus to the Iza Valley area, intending, as suggested
in the book’s subtitle, to describe the “dynamics of tradition”. “Valea Izei îmbrăcată
ţărăneşte. Camera bună. Dinamismul tradiţiei” (“Iza Valley traditionally decorated. The
guest room. The dynamics of tradition”) was published in 2011 by Galaxia Gutenberg
and designed as a scientific study; moreover, it accurately describes the atmosphere and
the mood of the place.
The research is conducted in three villages, Dragomireşti, Ieud and Săliştea de
Sus and is divided in four parts, in order to facilitate the readers’ understanding. The first
one consists of a methodological presentation of the geographical, historical, social and
cultural elements of the Iza Valley region, followed by a part that describes the
traditional guest room and its material components: strong elements (the ones that still
preserve tradition) and weak elements (which go outside tradition). The third part
examines the dynamics and the ceremonies of the guest room, which has an important
role in the traditional celebrations (the researcher uses the wedding ceremony as an
example). Finally, the author explains the circumstances in which the guest room was
created in the first place, referring both to people and objects.
What is the guest room (casa bună)?
“In this room (casa bună) the owners must exhibit the most beautiful things they have:
the finest carpets (ţoluri), flowery woolen blankets (cergi), the most exquisite woven
1
Anamaria Iuga, Valea Izei îmbrăcată ţărăneşte. Camera bună - Dinamismul tradiţiei, (Târgu
Lăpuş: Galaxia Gutenberg, 2011), 318p. ISBN 978-973-141-430-0
247
towels (ştergare), generously ornate pillow shams, the most valuable icons and platters
(talgere). The girls’ ‘dowry’ is also kept in this room, in dowry boxes or displayed on
the walls or on the bed. Here is the place where the guests and the Christmas carollers
are received, and, most importantly, where the crucial family events take place. When
two young people get married it is in this room that the bride and groom bid farewell to
their parents. When a baby is baptized those who come to celebrate the event are
received and feasted in this room. Also, when a family member passes away this is
where the funeral wake takes place before the deceased is carried to the grave.”1 Briefly,
this is how Anamaria Iuga summarizes her study. As she is familiar with all the objects
in this room, with the way the beds are made, with the specific role and place of any
object, she does not overlook any of the key elements. The author presents the
importance assigned by the inhabitants of the above mentioned villages to these objects
and highlights the main characteristics, as well as the elements that differentiate the
guest rooms: they are localized on the north side of the house, the gloomy one or they
overlook the street, they are the back rooms, they are unheated and uninhabited, as the
owners enter here only on special occasions or on Sundays.
A globalizing perspective
The starting point of Anamaria Iuga’s book, The Iza Valley traditionally decorated is her
PhD thesis. What makes it remarkable and special is that although the book is a
scientific research in every sense of the word, conducted with all the necessary
resources, it is also a fine depiction of a subject which is very close to the authors’ heart.
It is worth mentioning, first of all, that it is her roots that bound her to the places she
analyses and she rediscovers now as a researcher, which results in a slightly diachronic
approach to the matter. Second of all, it would be rather unfair not to say that this
familiarity with the subject also comes from the fact that she studied it intensively,
which gives her full accreditation for the analysis of the guest room, both from an
ethnological and a sociological perspective. Therefore, Anamaria Iuga does not content
herself with simply comparing and contrasting the rooms she studies, by creating some
effective taxonomies. Rather, she intends to get much more from the book as its public is
little willing to spare much time to some descriptions of the Romanian folklore. Leaving
aside the snobbery that some Romanian intellectuals show when it comes to folklore,
although they have no more knowledge of the subject than the politicians who take part
in all sorts of politically sponsored folklore festivals (and good money are invested in
them, indeed), the time has come to offer an interpretation of what is presented and
analyzed. Thus, the biggest asset of this book is the presentation of the guest room’s
dynamics, for in Anamaria Iuga’s view, it does not involve solely the four walls and the
traditional art objects existing there. The guest room is an extension of the owners’ body
and soul, a place where an abundance of memories linger on, where the images of the
most important events in their lives still endure, a place where usefulness and beauty are
harmoniously combined, a place of social values and closeness, a symbol.
1
Anamaria Iuga, Valea Izei îmbrăcată ţărăneşte, 10.
248
The guest room – an extension of the owner, today’s snobbery?
It is also interesting to notice how, by providing a comparative analysis of the three
localities, Anamaria Iuga applies the conclusions to the entire society of Maramureş;
furthermore, she observes the internal tensions that lead to changes or to closer bonds
and she finely notes the dynamics of this society (for she inclines to some sociologic
conclusions as well, as a result of the sound theoretical notions she has in this field). For
instance, the author defines her work as “the starting point in observing the way in which
the people in Maramureş see themselves as both tradition preservers and tradition
changers.” The guest room, well-embellished so as to show the male owner’s economic
status and to define the female owner as a versed housewife is therefore (it is not the first
time this assertion is made, if we were to consider the previous works that analyzed the
significance of this space) a mirror to the owner’s personality, and a way to define him
or her in relation to this place. And just as the traditional carved wooden gates in
Maramureş used to show the social difference between villagers (it is the author who
makes this comparison), the guest room is the alter ego of the homeowner.
Without adopting a strait-laced attitude, Anamaria Iuga manages, through
intensive fieldwork research in the villages of Maramureş, to establish such a close
contact with the locals, that the references she makes to the values which define their
lifestyle are unmissable. Feeling as a local herself, the author presents objectively,
without sounding surprised, two contradictory phenomena that define today’s motley
world: in some houses, the owners dissolved the traditional guest room, adorned with
traditional craft objects, and preserved solely its functional characteristic, that is, the
finest room in the house (where one can find the most expensive and modern furniture);
in other houses, on the other hand, even in those recently built, the owners consider
designing a traditional guest room. It would be also interesting to discuss how the people
of Maramureş perceive the guest room as a sort of personal museum. For it is not only
the most beautiful room of the house, but it is also indicative of the owner’s social status
(which is nowadays measured in the leather sofas and the fancy furniture, luxurious
even, if we were to consider the hard-earned money made abroad and invested almost
exclusively in houses). Thus, a traditional guest room in a new house, decorated with
traditional objects, may always be a sign of snobbery for the tradition preserver.
The way we call it is the way we perceive it...
This room – the guest room – is defined in many ways and any appellation, even from a
linguistic point of view, is rooted in the way the speaker perceives a certain object.
Therefore we highlight the fact that this room is the front room in that it overlooks the
street, especially in the shotgun houses, because it is used only for special occasions and
it keeps valuable family objects. Whether traditional or modern in its decoration, this
room remains the front room and the best room, where access is restricted, so as to be
defined as special, particular. It is also called ‘parade room’, because this is exactly what
the people of Maramureş do, they make a parade of this room, they show off whenever
they invite a guest to see their “museum”. Now, as the element that makes the difference
when it comes to those guest rooms is the decorations, the author strategically includes
the new appellation of the room right in the book’s title. The guest room is also the
“traditionally decorated room” (decorated with traditional craft objects), a passive voice,
therefore, that requires a grammatical agent, by someone. This is why traditional is no
249
longer a sine qua non attribute, but rather the result of an external action for it is always
a person that decides to traditionally decorate this room; hence this appellation has a
slight touch of artificiality.
What and how the villagers talk
The book is crammed not only with accurate and pertinent descriptions that meet the
demands of a scientific research, but also with villagers’ quotations. It is obvious that
Anamaria Iuga took great pleasure in interviewing the villagers and to finding their life
stories, having the guest room as a starting point, for here so many crucial events took
place. In this way we learn about a woman’s sufferings, as she was forced to marry
someone she did not love, from some lines that describe the courtship custom; we also
learn about a mother-in-law’s sour attitude to the other mother-in law: “if she got
dressed here, let her get undressed here. But no! She had to do it at the house on the hill,
because only there wanted the mother-in-law.”1 These quotations render the text not
only authentic but also vivid. “This room welcomed priests, doctors, engineers, teachers
and farmers, all social categories. All were well treated in this room. And so, poor
people did their best to keep it neat and clean.”2 Stylistically speaking, this discourse is
accurate and fluent; at times such quotations playfully interrupt it, but overall it is
readable and it provides food for reflection; for answers are not offered on a plate and
Anamaria Iuga prefers to suggest instead of explaining.
From ritual to ceremonial
Finally, the author makes two observations that show her perception regarding a new
manner, a globalizing one, of analyzing a space from an ethnological perspective. In one
of the introductory chapters, she states very clearly: “The customs combine the cultural
and social elements”3. When she talks about the almost extinct custom of druşca şi
stegar (bridesmade and best man) and briefly presents the reasons behind this change,
she emphasizes that it is caused by social factors and that this combination of cultural
and social elements is not homogeneous. “In the past there were a lot of problems,
because a bridesmaid wanted a certain best man and the best man wanted someone else.
Even if the two wanted to be a pair, another bridesmaid could come between them. (…)
Those who were paired (druşcă and stegar) had to stay together during the whole
wedding, dance only with each other, and eventually the best man had to take the
bridesmaid home (...) which was pretty difficult, because at the wedding there were
other boys, other girls. (...) They would feel constrained.”4 The social factor prevails
over the cultural tradition. For it is worthy of note “how the stress is moved from the
ritual elements, which are related to culture, religion and cosmology and placed on the
ceremonial ones, related to social relationships, but also involving laicization and the
spectacular.”5 This is the axis of Anamaria Iuga’s book, the result of an amazing work
which wisely puts together the remains of authentic folklore and social factors.
1
Ibid, 168.
Ibid, 169.
3
Ibid, 24.
4
Ibid, 177.
5
Ibid, 274.
2
250
Health, Illness, Healing
– A medical anthropology research* –
István KIRÁLY V.
Keywords: medical humanities, medical anthropology, female cancer patients,
noursing, cancer patients in Romania, illness narrative
*
The book authored by Ionela Iacob is probably the first systematic analysis of
medical anthropology and/or “medical humanities”1 in the Romanian literature of the
field, therefore it is a new start even in this aspect. However, its significance goes well
beyond the field of intellectuality and science in Romania, because the researches of the
author bring further contributions to the subject as such, both in terms of data and
methodology.
The investigation analyzes a subject extremely timely on the one hand, and also
multidisciplinary by its nature, on the other, involving analyses and insights equally
anthropological, ethnological, sociological, of social services, psychological, medical,
*
Ionela Florina Iacob, Sănătate, boală, vindecare. O perspectivă socio-culturală (Health, illness,
healing. A socio-cultural perspective) (Cluj-Napoca, Presa Universitară Clujeană, 2013), 331 p.
1
“We define the term "medical humanities" broadly to include an interdisciplinary field of
humanities (literature, philosophy, ethics, history and religion), social science (anthropology,
cultural studies, psychology, sociology), and the arts (literature, theater, film, and visual arts) and
their application to medical education and practice. The humanities and arts provide insight into
the human condition, suffering, personhood, our responsibility to each other, and offer a historical
perspective on medical practice. Attention to literature and the arts helps to develop and nurture
skills of observation, analysis, empathy, and self-reflection – skills that are essential for humane
medical care. The social sciences help us to understand how bioscience and medicine take place
within cultural and social contexts and how culture interacts with the individual experience of
illness and the way medicine is practiced.” See: http://medhum.med.nyu.edu/ data accesării 29
noi. 2013 B.) “Medical anthropology studies "human health and disease, health care systems, and
biocultural adaptation". It views humans from multidimensional and ecological perspectives. It is
one of the most highly developed areas of anthropology and applied anthropology, and is a
subfield of social and cultural anthropology that examines the ways in which culture and society
are organized around or influenced by issues of health, health care and related issues.The term
"medical anthropology" has been used since 1963 as a label for empirical research and theoretical
production by anthropologists into the social processes and cultural representations of health,
illness and the nursing/care practices associated with these.Furthermore, in Europe the terms
"anthropology of medicine", "anthropology of health" and "anthropology of illness" have also
been used, and "medical anthropology", was also a translation of the 19th century Dutch term
"medische anthropologie". This term was chosen by some authors during the 1940s to refer to
philosophical
studies
on
health
and
illness.”
See:
Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medical_anthropology. Accessed 29. 11. 2013
251
philosophical, etc. Even if all these are called today by the common “disciplinary” term
of medical anthropology. In this sense, the research is focussed in this multidisciplinary
context on what the book calls “the experience of illness”, exposed and analyzed
primarily from the perspective and in the context of the human “experience” of illness,
the “fact” and “state” of being ill, with special emphasis on chronic diseases and serious
illnesses, such as cancer. This kind of approach is not very old even on a global level, let
alone in a Romanian context. Even if “we could claim that the Romanian society
contains elements of all three major perspectives on illness: the pre-modern, the modern
and the post-modern.”1
In this general horizon I wish to highlight from the very beginning a certain
atmosphere of the approach, which “embraces” all later analyses. First of all, I mean the
atmosphere that emanates from the very first chapter of the first part of the work
(Medical anthropology – theoretical foundations and directions of research). For, in a
comprehensive reading, this chapter is not only a historical-introductory one, usually
articulated as a “technical” part of the rules of structuring a “synthetic work” in general,
but an effort to understand the organic nature of those quite different disciplines which
led to the current dynamic formation of medical anthropology in the diversity of its
major orientations. For we find highlighted here all the evolutions, especially in the
second half of the 20th century, of sociology, ethnology, anthropology, psychology,
medicine and philosophy which have later met in a “new”, particularly organic way.
Due to these analyses, “medical anthropology” is neither presented nor conceived here
as simply the antechamber of a new “interdisciplinary discipline” but much rather as a
space, a horizon challenged to accept its always open and unclosed multidisciplinarity…
For illustrating this perspective, I only quote one sentence on such evolutions in
medicine: “The metaphor of the body–machine has lost ground in front of a bio-psychosocial model, a paradigm that includes patients’ personal and socio-cultural realities in
the process of diagnosis and treatment.”2
I think that only in this theoretical context can one truly understand the
extremely complex factors generally called “cultural” which position, always
historically, the “phenomenon of illness” in society. It must be added that the volume
focuses on the investigation of the representation and experience of illness in
contemporary Romanian society on the basis of analyses called “illness narratives”,
centred on the problem of the identity–illness relationship.
At this point, theoretical clarifications are needed and conducted too, mainly
about the terms “identity” and “Self”, with emphasis on the constructed and
reconstructed character of the individual, the dynamic and multiple character of the Self,
and consequently of identity. Their unity is tried to be maintained – also as a dynamic
construct – by what is called “narrative identity”, which comes always as a reply to the
challenges of situations which can be described by the question: “Who am I?” This
question asks for an interpretive – therefore fictional – bringing in motion of one’s “life
history”. That is, the past through the lens of challenges – in this case of illness – of the
present which also fanthoms the problematic possibilities of the future. In relation, of
course, with “data” of the wider social context.
1
2
See Ionela Florina Iacob, Sănătate, boală, vindecare o perspectivă socio-culturală, 12.
Ibid., 65.
252
The body is a central element of constituting and constructing identity,
especially in our current age. This is also the “object” of more-or-less permanent sociocultural handling and remodelling, by which the identity and the Self becomes indeed
the object as well as subject of a narrative – objectivized and reified – which is called
“embodied subjectivity”, but which in the book is rather called the “body-self”. I think
this terminological choice is a very fortunate one, as it derives from the responsible,
historical and almost fatalistic awareness of the fact that we humans hardly have words
to name or express, call or challenge ourselves in the open and multicoloured horizon of
the fullness of our being in the world, as constitutors of our always historically possible,
therefore situated worlds. Therefore the term “body-self” underlines precisely the
indestructible and unsuspended interconnectedness of not only biological, psychological
and social aspects, but also natural, physical ones (environmental) of the constitution of
the Self which becomes and is in fact the World… together with others and together
with the institutions – even if symbolical – already constructed and being in permanent
construction… But which in fact is neither resolved nor expressed by the mechanical
and ceaseless reiteration of the distinction between the German term Leib (the human
body) and Körper (the physical body, or rather the body of physics) no matter how
ingeniously exploited in Edmund Husserl’s phenomenology, since the German
Husserlian term of Leib does not unequivocally contain in fact that it means in fact the
Dasein… That is, the man as a “whole” who by its presence dwells in being in a
poetical-mortal way, that is, as that what “brings” to life… Always by reason of the
weight and gravity of senses.
Obviously, illness, and especially chronic or serious illness which, on the one
hand, reshapes the life of the patient, and on the other hand, endangers it (at least as a
possibility), essentially touches upon the identity of the person, especially as the
degradation of the self and its possibilities and capacities of being, of existing. This, of
course, attracts as well as requires and imposes narrative identity modifications and
reconstructions which now become practically inevitable. For, let me quote again: “At the
beginning of this discussion, I have stated that the relation between illness and identity is
bi-directional, and can be approached both from the perspective of consequences that
illness entails upon the individual’s social and personal identity, and from the perspective
of the way in which the pre-illness identity can influence how the experience of the illness
is perceived by the patient, as well as his reactions to the illness”.1 And this requires the
configuration of new identity(ies). Often in terms of a stigma.
In what follows, the work analysis the configuration of this new identity
acquired first of all by means of narration. In this respect I would like to quote another
crucial sentence of the book: “As generally accepted by researchers of social sciences,
the very definition of health and illness is socially, culturally and historically variable,
and the narrations of patients are always based on a frame of reference constructed on
local norms accepted by the community. The individual narrates his/her own illness
depending on certain formal narrative structures learnt in the family, from friends, from
popular culture or the stories of other patients, using certain standardized metaphors or
images connected to what he/she is allowed to say.”2
1
2
Ibid., 98.
Ibid., 127.
253
This of course also involves the identity of the experienced body – the body-self –
which becomes the object as well as the reconstructed subject of the narrative. The work
exposes different aspects and theories of this interdependence, with emphasis placed on
“symbolic interaction” and phenomenology. I quote: “Although there are certain aspects of
the self which are not connected to the body, and vice-versa, it is impossible to trace a
clear demarcation line between the two parts of the self-body unity.”1
All these make it possible then to move on the Part II of the research, an applied
investigation of the experience of illness and cancer narratives, following the stages of:
deconstruction of narrative identity affected by cancer, modifications during and under
the influence of treatment, and narrative reconfiguration of the meaning of illness
experience and restructuring of the meaning of identity. The method used is qualitative,
the investigation focuses first of all on the experience of illness as well as the meanings
that the patients attach to these experiences. This makes it possible both to respect and
emphasize the uniqueness of every “case”, and also to unearth the cultural and social
background engaged by the reception, interpretation and handling of the illness by each
individual.
I would also like to emphasize the author’s methodological creativity, which
does not content itself with “taking over” and “mechanically apply” a widely accepted
procedure (the McGill Illness Narrative Interview), but proceeds to creative restructuring
and enrichment, perfecting it in its internal logic, and also adapting it to the researcher’s
concrete experiences. These are also completed by the explicit hermeneutical elements
of “reflexivity”, that is, a comprehension which, ultimately, always attracts with itself
the ontological and existential modification of the “interpreter”, in this case of the patient
in the first place, but – and let me emphasize this essential aspect of the research – also
of the researcher herself. This horizon also covers the diversity of the interview
situations, whether in the hospital, or at the patients’ home, with close attention to
specific “contextual” differences. It must be specified that the book presents the results
of qualitative research on cancer patients, especially women suffering from forms of
gynaecological cancer (mostly breast cancer). Also attracting attention to the fact that:
“Such a research is not easily understood at this time within the medical system,
especially since there are insufficient precedents (and certainly none in the clinics where
I wanted to conduct the research). Since medical anthropology is a relatively unknown
discipline for doctors and other personnel of the Romanian biomedical system, my first
task was to explain what this discipline is about. On the other hand, my background in
the humanities and my current affiliation with social sciences was not considered my
strength within power hierarchies inevitably established between “strong” sciences,
where medicine is included, and social sciences and humanities, that do not undergo the
positivistic approach that exact sciences do.”2
It is clear for me therefore that this research is especially praiseworthy not only
for its results not only in a Romanian context but also for the clarity and responsibility of
its methodological awareness by which it assumes the inevitably multidisciplinary and
open difficulties and challenges of the investigations.
1
2
Ibid., 171.
Ibid., 196.
254
The work goes on to analyze the various stages of illness narratives, naturally
interconnected. It starts with the investigation of the “Beginning of narrative
deconstruction” happening at diagnosis, and starting from the interpretation of the first
symptoms until the biomedical certification of the diagnosis of cancer. And its
communication. Which in Romania is also a special anthropological problem, not only
because it is not precisely regulated, but also because doctors are usually not trained in
the spirit of the competence to communicate such a “news”.
The second stage is “The fall. Treatment”. Since the treatment is in fact the
continuation of identity crisis, installed with finding out the diagnosis. This crisis is now
associated with the loss of control over one’s own body, taken over by a hospital
institution and a bio-medical bureaucracy with its autonomous healing intents. By this,
the deconstruction of the self continues together with the impact of bodily changes
occurring after surgical interventions, as well as the aggressive and invasive treatments
during which the contact and communication with the medical staff receives special
importance.
All these culminate in the deconstruction of the senses and values by which the
now ill used to guide their lives until then.
The book goes on then to analyze in detail the evolution of these phenomena by
the “narrative reconfiguration of the meaning of the experience of illness” and the
“renegotiation of identity” which presupposes the construction of a new personal and
social identity narrative. This also has of course its specific personal as well as
cultural, mental and social difficulties which – as “dominant discourses” – also leave
their marks on this process and effort. Including the religious or contemporary secular
discourse which emphasises, explanatorily as well as dimensionally, the “individual
lifestyle” which appears both as a cause of illness and the main target of change.
Naturally, in accordance with certain public standards, promoted as “healthy”, which
however collapse when the illness relapses.
The work flows then into a final, similarly extended, synthetic and profound
chapter, which opens up new directions for continuing as well as extending research.
Included are also areas that can be considered philosophical and not “merely” of
“medical anthropology”.
There is another utterly contemporary insight that must be revealed here. This is
the approach to problems of medical anthropology seen today in the field of biomedical
sciences. First of all – yet not exclusively – this refers to highly specialized researches
(all the way to levels of cell biology and genetics) which are, however, open enough for
the current global modifications of contemporary civilization. An example would be the
many laboratory researches aimed at emphasizing the effects of using computers and
cell phones as new sources of damage to the health of humans as a species, etc.
The researches conducted are based on extended bibliography, but what I wish
to underline here is the superior level of understanding and creative application of this
highly diverse literature of various disciplines, handled with a remarkable terminological
consistency.
The Appendices containing the interviews are also useful sources not only for
the author but for anyone else who will study them for their own interest. The same is
the case with Appendix 2 containing the Interview grid (for patients) created, applied
and interpreted by the author, and Appendix 3 containing the McGill Illness Narrative
255
Interview (MINI) - Generic Version for Disease, Illness or Symptom reference
interview. The differences are also easily visible…
*
Clear enough, what we face here is an exceptional research, innovative both in
methodology and as an investigation on a national level. As far as I know, at least, there
is no other research of such scope published in Romania, therefore I consider its
publication absolutely necessary and timely, not only because of its subject matter, but
also on account of its high standard and the profoundness of the analyses. Which will
definitely encourage and inspire new researches.
Deconstructing the Mechanism of Interpretation
– Review –
Amália SOÓS
Keywords: hermeneutics, history of philosophy, dialogue, debate, deconstruction,
language, understanding, science, social interaction, religion, Being, society, reality,
truth, metaphor, economics, law, landscape, human condition, self-knowledge
*
In Hungarian academic life, especially among the researchers of the
humanities, the activity of the Hermeneutic Research Group is already a well-known
issue. Even if constituted as a workgroup only in 2012, the collaborators have the
experience of many years of cooperation and scientific interaction with each other. The
book I want to write about (Szót érteni egymással. Hermeneutika, tudományok, dialógus
– Understanding each other. Hermeneutics, science, dialogue, edited by István M.
Fehér, Zsuzsanna Mariann Lengyel, Miklós Nyírő and Csaba Olay, Budapest
L'Harmattan, 2013) is one of the latest results of the group's continuity and work,
containing studies based on papers presented at a conference, organized by the Research
Group in may 2012 in Budapest. As the editors themselves wrote in the book's
introduction, these researchers try to approach philosophical hermeneutics, attempting to
relate to one of the greatest philosophical turns of the 20th century, developed following
the traces of Hans Georg Gadamer: the hermeneutic turn of philosophy.
According to this turn, interpretation and understanding become the main
problem of philosophical hermeneutics, and not just in the historical sense. Far away
from limiting itself to the analysis of texts approaching the problem of interpretation,
philosophical hermeneutics define interpretation as a required attitude, not only when we
are reading classical texts for instance, but in every type of human activity. The greatest
innovation of this hermeneutic turn is to put in the middle of the research the way man
256
communicates with others and to define man as an understanding and interpretative
being.
Related to this philosophical tradition, the studies of the book try to reinterpret
several problems of the history of philosophy, contemporary society and connections
between philosophical hermeneutics and other scientific fields. It is a rich and interesting
palette of themes and topics that one can find in this book at almost 500 pages,
organized by the editors in three main sections, each of them having a representative title
for the problems approached.
The first chapter it titled Hermeneutics -- understanding – lingual nature and
contains seven studies, texts of István M. Fehér, Lilla Bauer, Miklós Nyírő, László
Bognár, Andrea-Laura Kiss, Zsuzsanna Mariann Lengyel and János Kelemen. The
common aspects of these studies are related to Hans Georg Gadamer's hermeneutics: to
the main concepts of the dialogue and conversation, hermeneutic openness and wellmeaning, deconstructive suspicion. It would not be possible to present here each study
thoroughly; I will choose the ones that seem the most interesting to me. Of course, this
selection is a subjective one, based on my points of interest, and not a qualitative
selection regarding the quality of the materials.
István M. Fehér's study begins with the explanation of the terms chosen for the
translation of Gadamer's Verständigung in Hungarian and succeeds to explain why the
“understanding each other” seems more appropriate than the “making understand”. This
part of the study is a testimony of how language cannot be separated from the tradition,
the history and the mentality of the ones who speak, a proof of the fact that philosophy,
as every other scientific field and communication generally, has to deal with the
challenge of the so called “untranslatable”. The second part of the study is an interesting
case study, concerning Gadamer and Derrida's meeting in Paris. Fehér M. provides the
hermeneutic analysis of this debate, based on the printed versions of their dialogue (the
original version of the verbal dialogue was not recorded, and the printed studies are
more than just the reproductions of the debate/dialogue which actually happened
between the two philosophers in 1981 in the Parisian Goethe Institute. Based on
Gadamer's conception about the dialogue, referring to understanding as an interactive
process, the study wants to provide an answer to the question: was Gadamer's and
Derrida's debate a deaf's speaking, or was it an “understanding each other”? As we can
read, understanding each other doesn't suppose necessarily an agreement with the other
speaker, but it supposes the agreement concerning the problematic, questionable points.
It also supposes an openness to the other and an intention to understand his difference,
his foreign nature, the so called well-meaning of the interpreter. If we define
understanding in these terms, we can say that as much as possible, Gadamer and Derrida
understood each other, without giving up their philosophical conceptions and the
premises of their own systems (the idea of dialogue in Gadamer's, the idea of
deconstruction in Derrida's case). For better explaining this kind of hermeneutic
approach of the dialogue, the study has another interesting part, between the two I just
mentioned, which presents some of Immanuel Kant's ideas about the rhetorical situation
of the dialogue, expressed in The Critique of Pure Reason, very similar to what
Gadamer sustains in his Truth and Method.
Lilla Bauer's following study assays also the difference between well-meaning
and deconstructive suspicion, but not just from the point of view of the particular case of
257
Gadamer's and Derrida's meeting. The study wants to be a more general description of
this relation, analyzing it in the common, every-day thinking. Interesting conclusions are
drawn up: the well-meaning, the good intention, philosophical or not, is always suitable
of suspicion. In other terms, man will always question the sincerity of good intentions,
but seems to never question the sincerity of hostility and malice. This kind of thinking
supposes a specific ontology, the one exposed in Heidegger's Being and Time, which
sees humans in a deficient mode of Being, and this study shows us how every-day
language covers this same idea about the interactive living and the human condition.
Further, Miklós Nyírő's paper intends a reinterpretation of Gadamer's Truth and
Method, beyond the classic assessment related to the human sciences, in the light of
some ideas expresses in Gadamer's early dissertation. Another interesting study, written
by László Bognár, shows how the metaphysical tradition of the increase of Being starts
to function as a living tradition in the Truth and Method. After giving a short historical
description of the metaphysics of the increase of Being (from antiquity to theologians of
the Middle Age and even Heidegger's deconstruction), the author explains that the
bringing-to-life of this tradition is owing to the hermeneutic phenomenon and not
because of some method that could guarantee its authenticity.
The second chapter of the book is titled Approaches – hermeneutic
phenomenology and integrates six studies, written, in the following order, by Péter
Varga, Anna Jani, Sándor Krémer, Tibor Schwendtner, Dezső Csejtei and Tamás
Ullmann. All of these studies discuss philosophical hermeneutics (mostly the one
elaborated by Heidegger), or its relation with the phenomenological antecedent
(Husserl's phenomenology) or consequent thinking systems (Gadamer, Ricoeur).
I would refer here to the final study of this chapter, Tamás Ullmann's interesting
approach to Paul Ricoeur's conception about the metaphor. What he sustains is that
Ricoeur's theory represents in fact a change of paradigm and was elaborated as a
reaction to Heidegger's conception and against the structuralist and post-structuralist
theories about the metaphor. The main idea of Ricoeur's conception is that by
understanding the function of the metaphor, we understand in fact the way how
language operates. More than that, Ricoeur thinks that the creative power of the
metaphor manifests at the third level of the text (the first being the level of words, the
second the level of the phrase). He speaks about the referential character of the
metaphor, which means that metaphor is more than just an instrument of making visible
some reality which wasn't visible before that, metaphor, at this level, recreates the
reality. The study explains why Ricoeur introduced the concept of the “metaphoric
truth” and how he managed to pass over the classic theories which described metaphor
by the replacing function and the analogy. In this dynamic conception metaphor
becomes a predicative relation and the main concepts of its functioning are not the
replacement and the analogy, these two being replaced, according to Ricoeur, by the
interaction and the tension. Further, the study presents the theories which influenced
Ricoeur's conception (the relation between Ricoeur's theory and the “tenor-vehicle”
concepts of I. A. Richards, for example). As we can read, Ricoeur describes the tension
inside the metaphor by questioning the classic approach supposing that the two parts of
the metaphor (tenor and vehicle) present similar issues. He thinks this similarity is not
necessarily required, but the two parts must be compatible for having a sort of “similar
behaviour”, in other words tenor and vehicle are not completely different meanings and
258
their relation comes naturally, it is not just imposed from the outside. According to
Ricoeur a good metaphor is always between the complete similarity and the total
difference. To be able to avoid the reduction of the metaphor at the level of the language
and also to avoid the conclusion that the entire reality is a created, metaphoric one,
Ricoeur had to introduce another concept, namely the iconic function of the metaphor.
This means that metaphor has an iconic nature, yet, more than just representing reality
(as images do), it is between the semantic and the figural. Metaphor seems to be a sort of
dynamic transition from the purely lingual sense to the iconic representation, between
the iconic function of images and the describing function of the language. This explains
why it is so difficult to understand its nature. As we understand it from Ullmann's study,
Ricoeur acknowledged this difficulty and intended to resolve it by introducing the
concepts of the productive imagination and the “metaphoric schema”. As Ullmann says,
Ricoeur gives to the metaphor the character of the event, for him metaphor means a new
type of relation between the language and the world. Yet, as any philosophical
innovation which has to fit into some philosophical system, this innovating conception
has its own lacks and they are very well pointed out in the last part of this study. First,
because this iconic aspect seems to concentrate on the poetical metaphor, ignoring other
fields as philosophy or scientific thinking, second, because it reduces the creativity of
language only to the metaphor (excluding other ways of expression, metonymy, for
example).
Another interesting study of this chapter is Dezső Csejtei's presentation about
the problem of the landscape in philosophy, showing how landscape was approached in
the history of philosophy and how philosophical hermeneutics managed to change
modernity's thinking about the problem. Focusing on Simmel's and Heidegger's points
of view, with the aim of drawing a new ontological approach to the mentioned
philosophical problem, the study arrives at the conclusion that the philosophy of the
landscape, in the ontological approach, is based on a sort of “in the mood for...”, and this
mood, according to the author, is the adoration, the devotion to the landscape. The study
also integrates some very timely considerations about tourism and lets us think about the
global problems we have today, because we haven't respected our environment enough.
The last chapter of the book, titled Cross-positions – Hermeneutics and Science,
contains studies which are a kind of applied hermeneutics in the fields of poetry, literary
aesthetics, theology, social sciences, sociology, economics and even the domain of law.
The studies of this chapter are written by Csongor Lőrincz (about the relation between the
inner word and Gadamer's concept of dialogue), Zoltán Kulcsár-Szabó (an interpretation
of Hans Robert Jauß's thinking in the light of his specific personal history), Csaba Olay
(analyzing the concept of interpretation in Taylor's philosophy), Erzsébet Szalai (a
sociological-hermeneutical research about the socio-economy of Hungary after the
changes of 1989), Lilla Ignácz (about hermeneutics and law and the debate between
Gadamer and Betti), Ildikó Veres (studying the philosophy of Being, the relation between
subject, authentic being and truth in Béla Hamvas's works) and Csaba László Gáspár (a
paper approaching the anthropological concept of religion and, more generally, the major
forms of human thinking: common thinking, philosophy, science, religion).
As I intended to show, this book deals with a lot of interesting topics, studied
from an interdisciplinary point of view, with methods provided by philosophical
hermeneutics. It is a rich, colourful and instructive lecture for philosophers and
259
researchers, succeeding to draw an accurate image of how hermeneutics can be useful in
social and human sciences. It shows the situation of hermeneutic research in today's
Hungary and, in addition, the possibilities and limits of philosophical hermeneutics (for
instance, the limits of dialogue, language and understanding). The book Szót érteni
egymással. Hermeneutika, tudományok, dialógus can be useful and interesting not only
for those who are in contact with some area of human or social sciences, but also for
readers seeking to understand something about social life, human nature, human
interactions, understanding or self-knowledge. As I never intended to give an exhaustive
description of this book, I tried to show just a few interesting topics and conclusions, so I
let the readers discover more details about the problems approached, asking them to play
the role of the interpreter onwards.
Lack and Hungarian Philosophy
– An Essayistic Review on Ildikó Veres’s Book –
István KIRÁLY V.
Keywords: Hungarian philosophy, 19th-20th century; Karl Böhm, Béla Brandenstein,
Béla Hamvas; philosophy school of Cluj; József Halassy Nagy; history of philosophy
*
It is not incidental that the conjunction “and” appears in the title of this review.
It is not there just to avoid a seemingly more scholastic titling such as “The concept of
lack in Hungarian philosophy” or its “history”, etc. No: this conjunction stands there
rather to connect questions and questionable things. So it is in fact a question itself.
The problem of lack has been a permanent concern of philosophy ever since
“ancient times”, whether it was called steresis by the Greeks or privatio, deficientia by
the Romans. It is such a central and unsettling affair that we could even say,
paraphrasing Schopenhauer: If lack did not exist…, man would probably hardly
philosophize at all. Or, for that matter, would hardly do anything…
It is a different question that philosophy – not only on its secondary levels –
mostly “relates” (and not refers) to lack as something that should not be merely and
primarily filled up or filled in – meaning: accepted or thought of as an existential
challenge – but eliminated or removed – meaning: denied, exceeded – in the direction of
a conceptual “completeness of being”, “lack-lessness”, “completeness” (absolute) – that
is, lack of problems and questions – which of course always proves illusory. So, just like
“lack” itself, the challenge of deficiency, its “philosophy” is always questionable.
Not less questionable is, however, the affair of “Hungarian philosophy” or
“national philosophies”. This has mostly made its way through the agora of culture in
260
the former socialist countries, amidst the confusion of the 1989 turn. The questions and
debates rising at that time have subsided in the meantime, and by this day – at least in
the Hungarian case – they seem settled. They follow two directions, neither of them
unproblematic. On the one hand, the problem of Hungarian philosophy is increasingly
considered an exclusively historical question, and thus transferred to a limited circle of
historians of philosophy. On the other hand, it becomes a compulsory “subject” of the
Hungarian-language universities in and outside Hungary…
These are of course interconnected. And as I said, not unproblematically. For
what does it actually mean that we can only research or speak about “Hungarian
philosophy” as a “historical” question, or be able, forced, or willing to “deal” with it
only as such? What else would this mean that this “Hungarian philosophy” – about
which at this point we do not know what it means – always and exclusively “exists”
as… HAD-BEEN-ness. The problem with it is mainly that in this approach the
“historical” had-been-ness of Hungarian philosophy gets into our apparent “philosophical”
PAST only as such – as HAD-BEEN-ness…
So it can hardly become a real preliminary, or perhaps dialogue partner or
spring board of some lively today-ness. For that what always “is” only as something that
had been, in fact – at a deeper thought – it never was. This is what sets these things apart
from the business of, let’s say, “Greek” philosophy. Because when we speak of “Greek
philosophy”, then we do not usually think of the thoughts of contemporary professors of
Greek universities, but completely different thinkers… Those to whom we always have
to turn in dialogue to articulate – recte: explicitly inquire – our current and very much
ardent questions. And not only, or not primarily because of the historical-literary
filiations that have reached us today, but much rather “in spite” of them.
Therefore Hungarian researchers or professors of philosophy usually feel closer
to the “classics” of the “universal history of philosophy” or the stars of modern
philosophy trends and movements than to the “ancestors” of their own environment,
even if that particular “ancestor” taught or researched at the same university or
department…1
The researches about Hungarian philosophy are much rather connected to
objectives and interests of science and research in the one hand, and also (national)
cultural policy, as well as those connected to the legitimation of communities or
personalities “dealing” with a certain “subject” or “field”. This has a role to play in the
“discipline-related” and “unproblematic” prevalence of “turning into past”2 that “Hadbeen-ness” while covering up its problematic nature and the challenges it might entail.
That is to say: it becomes a mere “historical question”, and not as an actual – being in
action, and being kept in actu – problematic challenge to be undertaken…
This the very reason why I accepted to review Ildikó Veres’s book: because I
find that she feels this void, feels it, and partly also undertakes these problems. First, by
1
See Lajos András Kiss, “Gondolatok a halálról, a szabadságról és a történelemről (Király V.
István három könyvéről)” (Thoughts on death, freedom and history (On three books by István
Király V.), Alföld – Irodalmi, Művészeti és Kritikai Folyóirat May (2010): 85–95.
2
On the connections and differences between “Had-been-ness” and Past see my article “Hadbeen-ness and Past” in the journal Philobiblon – The Bulletion of the “Lucian Blaga” Central
University Library Cluj-Napoca IV-V-VI-VII (1999–2002): 263–288.
261
being one of the small number of works which are thematic, albeit mostly in a historical
sense, amidst a large number of summarizing or monographic attempts. On the other
hand of course, this thematic is nothing else than lack itself. Even if the scope of the
writings is broader and more diverse than this, given that we are dealing with a volume
of studies.
The studies of the volume are divided into four larger, chapter-like groups: Lack
as “such”; The absolute and the philosophical system; Philosophy and criticism; and
Segments of Béla Brandenstein’s philosophy.
The title of the chapter Lack as “such” suggests a kind of conceptual analysis.
This is somewhat toned down by the preface entitled Lack and Secret – In Place of an
Introduction, where the author lists the most significant thinkers for the issue of lack,
interconnected of course, yet all very different: Aristotle, Heidegger, Sartre. First of all,
in order to approach the Hungarian – and primarily, yet not exclusively Transylvanian –
thinkers who, analysing the existential situation after 1918–1920, had to face the
problem of lack.
When I say that the suggested merely conceptual analysis of the preface is
“toned down”, I mean that the explicit or implicit aim of conceptual analyses is usually a
sort of “clarification of concepts”. Distinctly from this, the case here is rather to sketch
the concepts (“lack”, “secret”, etc.) in their conceptuality, but actually in the problematic
nature of this conceptuality. Including the meanings and interpretations rendered to
them by Ildikó Veres herself. For, in the works of the thinkers under scrutiny (also),
“lack” is primarily considered a “relational concept”, one that is contrary to the fullness
of being. This has of course an epistemological – or rather simply knowledge-connected
– context, for not everyone is or can be aware of all the things connected to the fullness
of being. One shape of such non-awareness, such lack of knowledge is the lie, the “nottrue”, the secret, the concealment, the mask, and – according to the author, and
especially in case of arts – also the rareness.
The first study of the volume is built on these ideas: Lack and life-world –
Etudes on the not-true. The study focuses on the work of two Hungarian thinkers from
different times: Károly Böhm (1846–1911) and Béla Hamvas (1897–1968), starting
from the fact that both took inspiration from ancient Indian thinking as a source of
philosophy. In this sense the epistemological and logical considerations seem
inseparable from ethical as well as ontological ones. Since for them this inseparableness
and the questionableness of the related “fullness” and lack means that what – historically
– is called metaphysics.
For Böhm, truth is the whole world, while every defect counts as a lack, one
that creates a moving sense of lack. This acquires an ethical dimension as well in the
sense and direction of the urge for completion and satisfaction, within the connections of
the “social world-braids” of the I and Other-I. Thus the essence of the whole authentic
world that one should strive for is precisely the truth contrary to non-truth and freed
from mere “epistemology”. As opposed to this, for Béla Hamvas the whole world is a lie
and a masked carnival. The world, the cavalcade of existence is ruled by the non-true,
the lie, the camouflage, what identifies with its mask. He considers that the primal and
original authenticity – as a sort of golden age – is permanently lost for the real historical
world, but still something desirable that should be sought for, while he uses the mask – a
term he uses as a critical analysis of the world after this loss – in the most “modern” and
262
everyday sense.1 Although we do have some knowledge about the original authenticity
(of course, a rare and obscure one, as a self-initiation, and as such, very uncertain), but –
precisely on this account – the history of human life, the apparent saturation of the
permanent carnival is in fact the concealed rule of the lack. The truth is therefore only a
mere mask, or the untruthful “truth” of the mask seen as a “pseudo-face”. The effort to
counter this is “vigilance” without which the philosophy of the future is also sentenced
to inauthenticness. Not to mention man and human life.
The studies of the volume analyze aspects central and characteristic for the
works of the chosen authors, while these analyses are as a rule duly detailed, therefore
they are impossible to be presented one-by-one in a review. Instead, it emphasizes the
consideration common, so it seems, for all the studies, that Ildikó Veres succeeds in
proving that the issue of lack was a central concern for most Hungarian thinkers of the
late 19th–early 20th century, and that they – also those not mentioned previously in this
review – treated it primarily and essentially as a relational concept connected to a kind of
metaphysical (illusory?) “fullness of being”. Something, that is, which eliminates not
only lacks, absences or all kinds of deficiencies, but the lack as such, to the extent that it
no longer needs to emerge at all.
Therefore, no matter how dynamic or mobilizing lack can be, it is ultimately
still a kind of onto-theological (historical, ethical, logical, epistemological, etc.) stroke of
faith… And not a living, factual characteristic of being. “Vigilance”, the challenges of
conscience, etc. as tasks of philosophy are not understood in fact as its (lack’s)
clarification(s) and acceptance(s), but rather, or merely, as its incidental (and not
possible! since such a thing is not only not possible, but it is the very origin of man and
being…) transgressions, eliminations, or the desire for such things.
If we think of lack simply as something that is missing, something incomplete –
and what is more, in relation with the desires of the “fullness of being” – then it will be
precisely in effervescent ontology of the lack… For the lack apparently becomes indeed
steresis – or rather, privation – in this sense, which results in lack really meaning:
absence. While absence is something more or less outlined, since we feel or know the
absence of something and as such, lack shows off what it is, and also how it lacks. It is
not by chance that thus that already Aristotle knew that steresis is similar to eidos, to
form… However, such a concept of lack in its ontological depths seems unsatisfactory.
For lack should not only be connected to absence and especially not only to the fillingup or completion of this absence, but with non-being, the privation of being and its
dynamics. For instance, the temporality of beings and especially of the human being is
also constituted by their past and future in every “present” time. But one of these – the
past – exists no longer (no-longer-being) while the other – the future – does not exist yet
(not-yet-being). Both of them occur simultaneously – as a particular kind of non-being –
in how, for example, the man IS at any time…
Metaphorically we could also say about these no-longer-beings and not-yetbeings that they are “absent”, but it is clear still that no kind of “refill-programme” could
be applied about them, which would engage any kind of fullness of being. And this
1
In contrast to this concept, see my study: István Király V., “Beavatás, hallgatás, álarc”
(Initiation, silence, mask) in Idem, Határ – Hallgatás – Titok (Limit – Silence – Secret)
(Kolozsvár: Komp-Press, 1996), 117–133.
263
completedness fundamentally questions the “absolute” too, including the philosophical
systems dedicated to the absolute, to which, with respect to Hungarian philosophy,
Ildikó Veres consecrates a whole chapter in her book.
The volume continues with a series of studies about Béla Brandenstein, while
the last chapter deals with the inevitability of philosophical criticism, introduced by a
meditation on the present and future of philosophy, actually discussing the Hungarian
Philosophical Society founded between the two world wars.
In conclusion, I could say that Ildikó Veres’s book about Hungarian philosophy
and the central role of the subject of lack in it urges the readers/philosophers of our times
to meditate about and creatively study the current and timely tasks of thinking, treating
this history as a living and critical dialogue partner. For Hungarian philosophy was true
PHILOSOPHY and it must remain so in its interpretations as well! This is the only way
it can become our EUROPEAN critical past, present and future. And not merely a kind
of historical “object”.
Literature as Life; Life as Literature.
A review of Irina Petraş’ book Use(less) Digressions. Life and Literature
Adriana TEODORESCU
“1 Decembrie 1918” University of Alba Iulia
Keywords: Irina Petraş, literature, digression, reader, writer, death, portrait, trace
*
Irina Petraş’ book – literary historian and critic, president of Cluj Union
of Romanian Writers – appeared in 2012 at Eikon Publishing House, entitled Divagări
(in)utile. Viaţă şi literatură (Useful(/less) Divagations. Life and Literature). The book is
somehow paradoxical due to its premises, and this is because the writing presents itself
as a book of personal recoveries that don’t claim to save the world. We talk about
personal recoveries, as the author desires to gather some of her speeches regarding the
Romanian post-revolutionary literary life. On the other hand, these recoveries don’t
expect miraculous effects in the world trajectory mutation. Moreover, in Blaga’s style,
Irina Petras considers that her demarche is going to emphasize the uncertainty of the
world change, becoming, subsequently, from this point of view, a useless demarche and
a fortuitous act.
There are two levels of divagation – term borrowed by Irina Petras and assumed
from George Bacovia – as species to place her writings. A content divagation consists in
things that are to be said, established under the sign of a relative lack of seriosity (that is
going to prove later a dimension of the author’s ludic spirit), and a formal divagation,
264
which refers to the eclectic structure of the book – essays, pieces of literary criticism,
answers to inquiries of cultural and literary journals, presentations of personal
perspectives on socio-cultural aspects, interviews etc.
Beyond nuances, divagation contains, indubitably, the meaning of change. It is
true, a change as a departure from norm, from a fixed direction as the correct one. But
the reader may ask himself from the first lines of the book if it is the case of an innocent
change (only ascertained and directed in a conscious manner towards the useless and/or
ludic area1 or, on the contrary, a subtler desire of change of what exists or, more
important, of the reflection on what exists. It is not incidentally maybe that the
uselessness is in brackets in the title, indicating thus the potentiality of utility concerning
this demarche. The paradox and the conceptual tension realized through attitudes that
may seem opposite (of reinvesting with actuality the personal and literary trace in a
context of literary and life revisions, and on the other hand, of declaring the uselessness
of this reinvesting) are only on the surface. Otherwise, the harmonization in the po(i)etic
logic of Irina Petras’ book is present, being the case of a logic that we may name a logic
of an integrated rupture, of the conscious artistically functional fissure: “Betting on
provisory, on fragment, on nuance, unenchanted and exuberant at the same time, I don’t
feel strange or excluded from the present times, but I don’t lose the critical eye and
allowance. And I don’t forget for a moment that I am mortal, and therefore there is a
certain indifference towards ‘events’ and attitudes that are situated on the ephemeral
page one”2. The fragment becomes the organizational unity of the book, but beyond this
there is a coagulating force, which is the force of revising and which binds the fragments
in a wholeness of fragments (as in a Picasso’s painting, where the object is exposed to
the eye through a pluri-perspective coding3).
But what keeps together the fragments of Irina Petras’ book, offering the
coherence of a homogeneous and extremely pleasant book to read, is not only a
compositional strategy – a very good syntactic junction of the fragment that seems,
despite what separates them, to flow one into the other – but also a coordinate that
regards a meta and trans-textual area. The essence of the book is of ontological nature –
the constant feeling (a feeling passed in the text, of course) that the author’s being is
threatened by death and, more precisely, that this is a being-toward-death, using the
Heideggerian terminology. Fear of death is, in what concerns Irina Petras, the milieu
through which life and literature may face each other, addressing questions and
receiving (however incomplete) answers. At the same time, we repeat that death is the
one that contributes to the literary and ontological legitimation of some divagations,
which the readers would probably rank in their utility.
If we discussed the major mechanisms through which Irina Petras’ book is
articulated, we are to examine some of the most important subjects discussed by the
author, highlighting the specificity of the approach and their originality. The theme of
the book with its secondary themes: reader, writer, literary critic, book production and
1
Although the ludic spirit is, as the author defines it “the boldness to doubt the common places of
the absolute”. Irina Petras, Divagări (in)utile (Useful(/less) Divagations. Life and Literature)
(Cluj-Napoca: Eikon, 2012), 18 p., ISBN 978-973-757-716-0.
2
Ibid., 5.
3
Cf. “I am afraid that we are made of chips and it suits us”. Ibid., 217.
265
the reading process occupy a very important place among the concerns of this writing.
Summing up, the reading process is understood in a Gadamerian perspective of
enhancement of the being. For Irina Petras being a reader compensates the human
condition characterized by finiteness not only and not in a quantitative meaning1, but
especially in the sense of (pseudo)demiurgic re-assuming of the own existence – in other
words, infusing it with meaning and truth: “I’ve always felt reading as a means of
retracing the true plan of my limited place. Chain of splitting toward other places of
mine, set aside by the destined choice of a certain time and place in a temporary
forgetfulness”2. Then literature offers an efficient means of attenuating the fear of death
and of feeding the necessity of the tamed significance: “man has only the solution of the
linked fictions that would provide him surrogates of peaceful truths”3. As we may see
from these two quotations, the truth must be understood in the postmodern sense, as
being relative, weakened4, being in need of protection even while providing protection in
its turn.
However, literature isn’t salvation from death only in the sense that it may offer
to the being, to the reader a series of mechanisms through which he may open himself to
death as his possibility to become again in a Heideggerian vision authentic, as literature
in general is an ars moriendi.5 This is a sign for the author that being a reader means
ascending a step on the road toward authenticity and describing, slightly idealizing, that
the reader makes: “the-one-who-thinks-alone and can’t be slave to anyone can’t be
kneeled neither manipulated. He doesn’t cease to ask himself and answer, searching
alone the truths from the humankind thesaurus”6, but partially justifiable through that
note, which precedes this portrait: for me. The reader is the first stage, necessary for the
development of other roles that gravitate around one principle of the book: the critic and
the writer. If it is more intuitive that the writer can’t exist without including twice the
reader – the other, the audience, and himself – , then the including relationship between
the critic and the reader could not foresee so clearly in all its aspects. Irina Petras not
only names the critic a special type of reader, but she also places him at the intersection
between the reader and the writer.7 To be a reader is a mandatory condition, and to be a
writer is an auxiliary one.8 Nevertheless, the present status of the critic and the suspicion
placed on his activity are explained by the author from social perspectives. Due to the
fact that there are more and more writers and fewer and fewer readers, the critic’s role
becomes difficult. And this is especially due to the fact that he must justify and
reanimate the lower interest in literature – an interest directed toward other entertaining
1
“If the real life is finite and it takes inevitably to death, the fictional world is another world – a
world that leaves the entire freedom of choice, and also the limitless thought”. Ibid., 58.
2
Ibid., 68.
3
Ibid., 12.
4
Cf. Gianni Vattimo, Gândirea slabă (Weak thinking), trans. Ştefania Mincu (Constanţa: Editura
Pontica, 1998), chapter Dialectică, diferenţă, gândire slabă (Dialectic, difference, weak thinking)
5
Ibid., 185.
Ibid., 59.
7
At the same time, the act of writing, of creating is seen as being caused by the human condition,
that of being mortal.
8
Ibid.
6
266
media with no ontological substratum such as television. Personalization of the literary
chronicle, the justifying necessity of the gesture and the critical options are explicable,
considers Irina Petras through this context, this necessity of re-charming the reader,
whose quality of being a reader is continuously compromised.1
Death is often a theme of reflecting upon in this book and without binding it
with the writing and reading world. The author retakes a collocation-concept, death
science of Eminescian inspiration, which is used frequently in her other books, offering
some theoretic nuances and giving examples by its literary occurrences. In this book,
Irina Petras characterizes death science as being necessary precisely because it is not
innate in the being’s structures. Although man is a being delivered to death, his abilities
and fight strategies against death are not offered by nature or by society. Moreover, the
writer observes that the evolution of society is based on the death occulting. A checking
on this assumption may be done by placing in front of death as a reality of
communication, as a contemporary value. It may be seen thus that death fails the
relation and, subsequently, becomes indecent.2 Then, beyond a death science in general,
Divagări inutile unveils a particular, profound and exciting death science. Irina Petras’
death science. There are two major vectors on which this personal death science is
focused: artistic (about which we have already discussed more or less explicitly above,
while presenting the author’s conception on writing and reading3) and personal (where
death appears in a surprising way as a connection with a clear relational valence: “my
most beings: parents. Dying, both of them committed themselves to me. My part of
death grew, but not in a ghoulish and dreadful manner. Without their death response my
responsibilities grew immeasurably. I remained their trace here and I take their place as
long as the far away is still away”4). The other’s death, of those who are significant,
creates, indeed, absence, but the existential lack is compensated (not in the sense of
facilitation, but relief) by the increasing state of responsibility for their trace.5 Death
involves in Irina Petras’ conception such a relationship, which only in this value system
of the postmodern superficial layer could be regarded as a non-relation.
There are lots of ideas in Irina Petras’ book on which it is worth to reflect upon.
For example, the way in which the relationship with the far away other – the animal –
greatly valued nowadays is understood: “Survival supposes automatically touching the
environmental integrity. If you want to save any creature from suffering and death, I
can’t see why the pain of a flower you put in your buttonhole or of a tree you cut down
mercilessly to make your chairs and newspapers may seem to you smaller. Any
dissimulated and excessive ideology concerns the political correctness in a broad sense,
the one full of fixed ideas and aberrations, hidden and mean interests, endangering the
true responsibility towards the others”.6 Actually, Irina Petras is far from being
1
Ibid., 8.
Ibid., 163.
3
Death science means to know that you would die, but to know how to die, activating your
creative valences. Cf.: Ibid., 185.
4
Ibid., 175.
5
The frequency of the trace motif and its semantic force determines us to say that, despite the
diversity of the text types present in the book, we may talk about a true poetics of the trace.
6
Ibid., 39.
2
267
permissive with excesses, especially ideological ones, be it the case of animal rights,
feminist fight for equality with the opposite sex or valorizing ethically the quality of
being Romanian (pure hazard, says Irina Petras, so improperly passed through
axiological grids).
The author’s portrait – a portrait that is liberated after reading this book and that
floats above it, friendly and imposing at the same time, persisting in reader’s eyes – is
explained through the presence of numerous self-characterizations1 as a reader (with her
own reading rituals, privileged spaces, not subdued to models, practitioner of a pleasant
reading due to the lack of time for bad readings), as a literary critic, as an observer of
society (refusal of dividing the world and people in black and white2, appetite for
nuances, interrogating the actual vision on Romanian communism3, rebellion against
despise as a means of inter-human relationship), as a woman (challenge of an innate
nature of the genders4, and also of an a priori justification of any type of feminist
militantisme5, observing that women and men are alike more than different), as a mortal
being6 and as a being subjected to sickness7, as a possessor of a great cultural past
(draftsman, winner of literary awards, relationship with Echinox Journal) and a great
personal past (her close relationship with her parents, her passion for craftsmanship,
nightmares about falling from the porch, the sadness of dusk), but also through the
authors’ capacity to express her image in any text she writes. Thus, we may say that
there is a relatively direct portrait of the author and a portrait emanated from the text.
The major characteristic of this portrait, bringing together the friendly
familiarity trait and the majestic one coming from erudition and intelligence, is youth.
This isn’t a youth of biologically infatuated cells due to the yet far distance from death –
I’ve seen though that the author lives under the sign of death – it isn’t a youth of a
female writer who would desire to maintain a coquettish figure – Irina Petras considers
that she is first of all a being and then she becomes a woman, a writer8 – but a youth that
comes through the wisdom way. This is a case of a special wisdom, as we don’t deal
with a fade and comfortable wisdom of the common things, of the common sense
understood as means of getting close to the world with no risk of disturbing the already
constructed meanings, but of a wisdom that had assumed the lesson of death and it is not
1
There are many clear, direct self-characterizations with aphoristic resonances, as for example: “I
am above those who know to accept with no resignation what they can’t change and who make
enthusiastically everything they can change what can be changed”. Ibid., 15.
2
“I refuse to divide people in angels and demons, I know that the absolute black and white
doesn’t exist when it comes to human nature”. Ibid., 26.
3
“No society has ever been good and bad for everybody at the same time, none of them could
claim the title of the single atrocious period in History.” Ibid., 17.
4
“Woman’s “vocation” wasn’t the subject of an option, but the result of an exterior imposition.
Even if, biologically speaking, the woman is the one to give life, nothing from man’s structure has
ever impeded him to express all the gestures supposed by raising offspring”. Ibid., 262.
5
Ibid., 254.
6
“Reading and the death thought have always been close since I remember of myself”. Ibid., 68.
7
The self-portrait of a person suffering from hypoacousie transcends the personal boundaries and
becomes a questioning of the ontologic and ontic, social sense of using words while relating to
people and of degrading in pandemonium. Cf: Ibid., 112.
8
Ibid., 266.
268
afraid of playing, searching for alternative ways to approach reality, divagations,
manners with no warranty of utility. The unfaithful author Irina Petras1, often nonfeminine in a graceful manner,2 reticent towards the huge infinites3 and definitive
immortality,4 practicing an existential philosophy of trace5 and postulating fearlessly its
its degradation in time, creates a strong effect on the reader, offering, practically, more
than a book of literary recoveries, a cultural character. Memorable.
The Stained Glass and the Window
– Review6 –
Irina PETRAŞ
Romanian Writers’ Union
Keywords: Contemporary Romanian poetry, Adriana Teodorescu
*
This is the title of the book on contemporary poets I am currently working on.
This pair of terms, as it is apparent, recalls the oscillation between the poetry of
modernity as transfiguration and the poetry of the last decades as transcription. The first
– a transfiguration of the world in an attempt to seize its essence; the second – a
transcription exhibiting the impossibility to seize any essence.
Adriana Teodorescu’s poetry hesitates between the two attitudes, configuring its
personal manner of facing the challenges of existence (“gloomy limitlessness in a field
of feeble mirrors”). As a graduate of the Faculty of Letters of Babeş-Bolyai University
Cluj (specializing in Romanian and French), she wrote her thesis on the work of
Caragiale, entitled: Carnavalul în opera literară caragialiană sau despre posibilităţile
peştilor de a zbura (The carnival in Caragiale’s literary work, or the fish’s ability to fly)
(supervised by prof. univ. dr. V. Fanache), which won her the debut contest of the Cluj
branch of the Romanian Students Union, becoming thus an author of the series
Biblioteca tânărului scriitor (Young writers’ library). Her further education, an MA in
1
“Due to this very fact that I am not faithful, the world seems to me so damn mysterious.
Unsolved. I let my mind open and I don’t name my ignorance and my fear God”. Idem. p. 240.
Or: “I don’t believe in the ater life or in soul immortality, I don’t believe that the responsibility for
my on life may be put on others’ behalf, be it people or gods”. Ibid., 249.
2
“Brain is the thing I care the most”. Ibid., 218-219.
3
“I don’t believe in love until death parts, in total friendships, in heart rending pains, in absolute
fidelity (not only between sexes, but in general). In nothing absolute”. Ibid., 217.
4
Ibid., 222.
5
“I try to place myself in a civilization of trace”. Ibid., 29.
6
Adriana Teodorescu, Aproape memorie (Almost memory) (Cluj-Napoca: Editura Limess,
2013), 88 p. ISBN 978-973-726-793-1
269
the History of images, History of ideas resulting the thesis Două feluri de a aştepta
viermii – sinucidere incompletă în Oblomov şi Străinul (Two ways of waiting for the
worms − incomplete suicide in Oblomov and The Stranger), and her PhD on the subject
of Poetica morţii ca principiu dialogic în opera lui Camus şi a lui Sartre (The poetics of
death as a dialogical principle in the works of Camus and Sartre), both at the same
faculty and coordinated by univ. prof. dr. Ştefan Borbély ensure the theoretical
background for her poetry of insistent meditation, undermined by just as insistent and
somewhat critical immersion in the threatened concrete everyday existence. Ştefan
Borbély correctly observes the system of communicating vessels driving the work of the
poet and essay writer: “Adriana Teodorescu comes close to Maurice Blanchot’s
existential thematism – that she also cites –, she likes concreteness, she is attracted by
the materiality of literature, writing with an imaginative effervescence almost like taken
over from Jean-Pierre Richard, and an openness to poetry which betrays her interest in
that direction”.
The poet’s placement in the world of the poem is on the edge: “Alone in front
of a window”, she looks upon the world, emphasizing the pure and rather uninvolved
description of details, while it also fantasizes about rich stained glasses in search for
hidden meanings behind appearances: “I don’t know if I will ever find the Meaning: / I
hear every day it is small and sly, chameleonic and protean, / it sleeps when I look for it,
and howls when I shun it, / but I miss it and pity it like a god killed by its own enormity.
/ A host of ifs irrupt for a meaning / of which I beware lest they should drag me into a
book”.1 Oscillating between sight and vision (in the sense used by Ioana Em. Petrescu
for instance), writing is a spacious metaphor of knowledge, marvellous just as much as it
is superfluous: “If images could be detached from words, / they would be no more now
than those colours running to and through each other”; “it has always been just an
impression, my flesh covered in words”; “books call me in my sleep and sting me like
some ribs on which / stands my flesh covered in words”; “a verb mimes like a child the
meaning it doesn’t understand”; “and the crumbly writings spoil between my fingers, in
my meat-greasy mind, / and I will return everything stolen, changed, foully keeping their
shadows / in letters sent to you”; “and this could be the beginning of a book; a call of
winter or a wake from a dream”.2 The cascade of testimonies of distrust is partly played,
for the word is challenged simultaneously with the shuddering return to its promising
possibilities, proved also by the paradoxical negation of language as the means to reach
the meaning: “I can only write alone. / Thus my words cannot be my family, we can’t do
1
“Nu ştiu dacă am să găsesc vreodată Sensul: / aud zilnic că e mic şi viclean, cameleonic şi
proteic, / că doarme când nu-l caut şi urlă când îl ocolesc, / dar mi-i dor de el şi milă ca de un
dumnezeu ucis de propria enormitate. / Până la sens irup puzderii de dacă / de care mă feresc să
nu mă târască în vreo carte”. (translation of poetry excerpts by Emese Czintos)
2
“dacă din cuvinte s-ar putea desprinde imagini, / ele n-ar mai fi acum decât acele culori fugind
una din alta, una prin alta”; „mereu a fost doar o impresie carnea mea învelită în cuvinte”; „cărţile
mă strigă în somn şi mă înţeapă ca nişte coaste pe care stă / carnea mea învelită în cuvinte”; „un
verb mimează ca un copil sensul pe care nu îl pricepe”; „şi scrieri fărâmicioase se strică printre
degetele mele, în gândul meu năclăit de carne, / şi le voi înapoia toate furate, alterate, păstrându-le
mişeleşte umbrele / în scrisori către tine”; „şi acesta ar putea fi un început de carte; chemare a
iernii sau trezire din vis”.
270
everything together as if we’ve always known each other.”1 Silence itself, the
withdrawal into muteness and immobility need words to exist. The tensions of the poem
are perceived in the negation of the power of the word to translate the shudders of being
and the reinforcement of the dependence on the same word. Distrust is obsessively
uttered, a bulk of evidence collected from the concrete world, and also with the hope to
be ultimately contradicted. The attitude is quite childish in fact, but charming by its
freedom, by its barely explored, yet surrounding profoundness.
The poems record therefore a self-harassment (“leavening in the angular sliding
of the self”) between contradictory attitudes (“all these years I’ve been so afraid that I
can live without writing. / And slowly, on the edge – now – a book with a man that can’t
make books”2). The long infinitives which still preserve in themselves the restlessness of
the verb but have settled in the rest of a noun are a favoured instrument.3 Most of them
denote exhaustion, closure, rejection, but do so with a frenzy underneath, which suggests
that the poetic state is bookishly undermined, its truths are just as well just as many
masks: “from a book we only have the yard to play, / to laugh, to make its fine wrinkles
that don’t stay forever for others, or for us.”4 Senses are purposefully silenced – “I’ll stay
in the dream and I’ll sleep”,5 the gaze is blinking, making the experience of knowledge
programmatically ambiguous. The opening poem, dedicated “To Oblomov, for fear, in
sleep” (“I mix up people with things, words hurt and don’t, the snail outside and the
shell inside / I have plenty of boats and I house fallings asleep”6) promises a steamy
perspective between sleeping and being awake, with “rivers of oblivion”, with the
memory of “a very big child that climbs through air” and pillows everywhere (signs of
oneiric worlds, of abandonment): “from old books they pass into colourful magazines,
they flow on the rug, / then flow back to a me as a child and I see sleep, deep, sticky, I
see sleep”.7 At this point comes the motif of the road: “A road open as a bird with whirls
of waves and fallen tides, denied, / a road with pairless legs, / a road as a book in a field
where poppies have fallen asleep, bowing to one another.”8 The metaphoric movement
is rendered to the legs as strange messengers of contemplation, of immobility.
Appearing for dozens of times in the book as an obsessive chorus, they compete with
memory, gaze and even death, a fundamental topic in all of Adriana Teodorescu’s
1
“Nu pot să scriu decât singură. / De aceea cuvintele mele nu-mi pot fi familie, nu putem face
totul împreună ca şi când ne-am cunoaşte dintotdeauna”.
2
“dospesc în alunecarea colţuroasă din sine”; “toţi anii ăştia mi-a fost atât de frică că pot trăi fără
să scriu. / Şi-ncet, pe muchie – acum – o carte cu om ce cărţi nu poate”
3
neştire, înţelegere, murire, prăbuşire, presimţire, devenire, nemurire, îngroşare, trezire, orbire,
încercare, tăcere, putere, întrerupere, înmormântare, destrămare, tresărire, prisosire, atingere,
alunecare, împrăştiere.
4
“noi avem dintr-o carte doar curtea, în care să ne jucăm, / să râdem, să-i facem riduri fine care
nu rămân pentru alţii şi nici pentru noi mereu”
5
“Am să rămân în somn şi am să dorm”
6
“Încurc oameni cu lucruri, dor şi nu dor cuvintele cu melcul în afară şi cochilia înăuntru / Am
multe bărcuţe şi găzduiesc adormiri”
7
“din cărţi vechi trec în reviste colorate, curg pe covor, / curg înapoi spre un eu copil şi văd somn,
adânc, vâscos, văd somn”
8
“Drum deschis ca o pasăre cu răsuciri de valuri şi curenţi prăbuşiţi, negaţi, / drum cu picioare
desperecheate, / drum ca o carte într-un lan în care macii au adormit, adiind unul spre altul”
271
writing. Stopped “in death as in an empty cage”, legs are absent or uncertain, plenty and
with “a bunch of names”. They only “carry” by illusion, they are letters and papers,
escapes from with an oscillating address (“I’ve fit completely into what everyone calls
years”; “you live for yourself / as if on a black beach / you sit in your name as on a
blanket”; “when I grow up, I’ll hide until / age, like an illness, goes away”1), for god
himself is “full of lady birds”, childish and helpless. Death is approached in all its
variants that the author of thanatology studies has encountered. Following a
classification that I myself have drawn up in Moartea la purtător (Death at its carrier),
Adriana Teodorescu interprets (as with a text or a musical score) the pondered death of
Eminescu or Blaga, the “privilege of despair” of Cioran, the premature scent of death of
old age, the paraffin death of young age, and even a shoulder-to-shoulder death, keeping
vigil by close deaths. Finitude reveals thus both its discipline and its chaos in a poetry
twisted in itself, of growth and recognition.
The poem as a “space of gathering for me and myself”, touched by a diffuse
orphan state (“I’m a child long as a burnt down candle. / And from here I know no
more”2), also employs terrible, miserable images, introducing, with the gestures of a
child mad with the world, and in line with the poetry of the 2000s, pus, worms, sores,
trash (“the senseless mind’s in your head as a trash can full of paper / the brain is baked,
it’s like a nut”3), dark and bloody fractures. However, beyond all this, fear, horror,
reticence, and introversion are murmured underground by irrepressible hope: “I’ve got
heaps of pillows kept since childhood, thinned / like leaves in book pages, / pillows that
multiplied in solitude, some eating their daughters and getting fat, / others sending them
in the world, teaching them how to make hollows out of words, / to hide until eyes come
to get the whole tree, / to find the places where their arrives wouldn’t have been noticed,
because it had already been announced. / And now I stop and write myself: pillow, I
open up a space where time will come / later…”4
Adriana Teodorescu’s evolution is to be followed, as she is a poetess with an
already outlined character who will definitely have much more to say.
1
“am încăput toată în ceea ce toţi numesc ani”; „trăieşti pentru tine / ca pe o plajă neagră / îţi stai
în nume cum pe o pătură”; „când voi fi mare o să mă ascund până când / şi vârsta, ca o boală, îmi
va trece”
2
“spaţiu de adunare dintre mine şi eu” “sunt un copil lung ca o lumânare arsă. / Iar de aici nu mai ştiu”
3
“mintea fără vlagă îţi stă în cap ca-ntr-un coş de gunoi plin de hârtie / creierul s-a copt şi e deja o
nucă”
4
“Am teancuri de perne păstrate încă din copilărie, subţiate / asemeni frunzelor în pagini de cărţi,
/ perne ce s-au înmulţit solitar, unele mâncându-şi fiicele, îngrăşându-se, / altele trimiţându-le în
lume, învăţându-le să-şi facă din cuvinte scorburi, / să se ascundă până vor veni ochi care vor
primi copacul întreg, / să găsească locurile în care sosirea lor nu ar fi fost observată, căci era deja
schiţată. / Şi acum mă opresc şi scriu şi eu: pernă, deschid un spaţiu în care timpul va veni / mai
târziu…”
272
Romania – Identity/Alterity
– A review of Herito - heritage, culture & the present 12 (2013)* –
Teodora COSMAN
Université Libre de Bruxelles and
Académie Royale des Beaux-Arts, Brussels
Keywords: Romania, national identity, difference, modern literature, ‘The Paintbrush
Factory’, country brand
*
Writing or merely thinking about ‘Romania’ is a difficult task. There is no trait
of union which would resume the ‘essence’ of Romania or Romanians, the famous
‘country brand’1, although the feeling of ‘Romanianness’ is very present. Perhaps the
most obvious trait of union is exactly the lack of it, and the constant efforts to search for
one. Facing the ‘phenomenon’ named Romania you are left with a feeling of exhaustion
and with a split conscience between admiration and adversity. Admiration for its
beautiful minds, for its genuine talents and audacious initiatives, while, on the
background, a totally anomic society, lacking some basic civility principles; television,
which occupies most of the public space, intruding also into the private, being the
showcase of societal behaviour.
Therefore, as a self-exiled, fleeing from the hysterical mode in which Romanian
society has been living lately (or has it always been like that?), in search for that ‘fullness
of being’ felt when you take a fresh breath of Western air, formerly known as ‘normality’,
I was more than pleased when asked to review Herito’s no.12/2013 issue dedicated to
“Romania”. I was willingly ready to take a look back at the ‘phenomenon’, knowing that I
was protected by a buffer zone, the outsider’s gaze, which usually guarantees some
objectivity. The detached reader could effectively delight herself or himself learning about
the downfalls and accomplishments of a country in the process of “modernization” (the
second modernization is still ongoing after the fall of communism), and therefore full of
creative potential. Instead, the editors have managed to ‘put the finger on the wound’ (and,
being a wound, it hurts), so to speak, touching on some of the most ardent problems which
*
Herito is a bilingual Polish-English quarterly published by the International Cultural Centre from
Krakow, which focuses on the “heritage, culture & the present” of Central Europe. While most of
the issues treat miscellaneous subjects such as “Conflicts of memory”, “The elusive centre (of
Europe)”, “Stories from countries which are no more”, debating both “unique and highly relevant
cultural dilemmas” as stated on , there are also issues entirely dedicated to one specific country
generically belonging to the (imaginary?) space referred to as Central Europe. The Herito – heritage,
culture & the present 12 (2013) issue is specifically dedicated to “Romania”. See Herito – heritage,
culture & the present, accessed March 18, 2014, http://www.herito.pl/en.
1
A controversial publicity campaign from 2010 financed by the Romanian government.
273
still torment us, Romanians, such as: “Why, while obviously1 being better than others, we
are still doing worse?”, “Who’s to blame for this? recent or ancient history? a national
trait? a curse? Gypsies, communists, the European Union?” (and the list of laments can
continue...)
Although the content is structured on five sections, namely “Romanian
dilemmas”, “Art”, “Ideas in practice”, “Reflections, impressions, opinions” and “By
myself”, throughout the hole issue there are two main types of approach: one consists in
lucid analyses which focus on exposing the imaginary constructions regarding
Romanian history, identity and “pride”, constructions which subsequently weigh down
the collective task of facing history – past and future, while the other approach points to
the success stories, the examples to follow, presenting interesting artists or cultural
products that (in spite of the above mentioned prejudices) have made and make
Romania’s fame internationally. I would remark the very involved tone of the articles,
especially in the first section, where authors are mainly Romanians, which shows that
the discussed issues are addressed by the people concerned by them: an inside vision
reflecting subjectivities which try to objectivate, compared to the more paced tone of the
Polish authors. We could also remark that Romanian authors tend to stress out the
negative features trying to deal with them, while the Polish highlight the cultural points
of reference, in a more objective survey. (Overall we’re not so badly seen after all!)
The content of the issue is conceived so that each article reflects a facet of this
(incomplete but veridical) portrait of Romania, like a mirror globe that renders multiple,
fragmented and ever different images of the face which casts its gaze upon it.
To begin with, “Romania is a paradoxical country”, as Dr. Jacek Purchla states
in his “Editorial”. It’s not hard to understand (don’t we think the same?) the feeling of
familiarity and strangeness (of uncanniness?) an outsider can have about this strange
“neighbour” which is “different, but somehow similar, close, and therefore – very
interesting.”2
In the first section, namely “Romanian dilemmas”, Lucian Boia, Traian
Ungureanu, Dan Lungu, Marius Stan, Octavian Logigan and Olga Bartosiewicz “try to
answer the question ‘Why is Romania different?’ by taking a closer look at its history,
complicated transformation and sometimes paradoxical modernity”.3
Speaking of difference, there always has to be a point of reference. Taken any
reasonable point of reference – our closest or more distant neighbours, especially the
ones with similar (recent) historical experiences – Romania is scoring negative points on
many levels. This is due to a ‘historical backwardness’ to be blamed not only on the
communist episode, but rooted deeper in history, as Lucian Boia explains, in the issue’s
first two articles, the first, an interview with Cristian Pătrăşconiu, and the second,
excerpts from Boia’s controversial (how else?) book “Why is Romania Different?”.4 It is
as if we’ve always been, historically speaking, one step behind the others: for example,
while Europe prepared parting with the Middle Ages in the 14th century, Romanian
Middle Ages were just beginning; modernization was ‘forced’ upon an underdeveloped,
1
I ironically underscore this opinion, shared by all kinds of “protochronists”, old and new.
Jacek Purchla, “Editorial”, Herito 12 (2013): 1.
3
Herito 12 (2013) fourth cover.
4
Lucian Boia, De ce este România altfel? (Why is Romania different?) (Bucharest: Humanitas,
2013), second edition.
2
274
rural country, during a very short period of time in the 19th century; the same as
communism, which was imposed on a country with very few communists at the
beginning, but with the largest number of them at the end. Romanian communism was
also a ‘different version’, states Boia: when other communist countries were starting to
loosen the ropes, we strengthened them, heading towards a bloody revolution. (Then, it’s
not a surprise that, after the fall, we opted for an ‘original’ democracy, rather than a
plain, dull, normal one…)
Besides the differences from the ‘European average’ Romania’s specific
‘difference’ is the one within itself. “Romania is a country of contrasts, a non-egalitarian
country”,1 says Boia. Equally rooted in the past, especially in the hastily done
modernization of the 19th century, and the much mythologized inter-war period, the
internal paradoxes of the Romanian society are, today, as obvious as ever. For example,
in the inter-war period, Romanians played key roles in culture or in science, while the
country harvested the highest number of illiterates in Europe. According to statistics, for
97% of Romanians, television is the main source of information,2 which is, probably one
new form of illiteracy. On my part, I would observe that, while Romanians may often
succeed individually, they are more likely to fail collectively.
Another big issue that seems to torment Romanians is identity (or “Where do
we come from? What are we? Where are we going?” to paraphrase the title of
Gauguin’s famous painting), the constant reference to a ‘national’ essence, either in a
positive way – otherwise the ‘ungrateful’ foreigner tends to forget the benefices
Romanian people have brought to civilization – or in a negative way, a collective trait of
personality, ‘shameful’ enough as to conceal your Romanian identity when travelling
abroad. As Traian Ungureanu points out, “in this respect, Romania is neither an
exception nor even an interesting example. […] Its uniqueness is due not to the
persistence and impact of its schemas but to obsessive reference to them.”3 The ‘pride’
and the ‘shame’ of being Romanian, both overstated, are the two faces of the same coin,
the superiority complex coined on the inferiority complex, and, as a consequence of
both, a persecution complex.
The typical attitude towards everything within that is ‘foreign’ and therefore ‘to
blame’ for Romania’s shortcomings is, in fact, a compensation for the country’s
unspectacular history: we didn’t get to play a key role in European or world’s history,
because we were always held back by others (from outside or from within our borders).
This is the typical attitude towards the Rroma, who are thought to be, by most of
Romanians, “a social problem, and not an ethnic group”, as Octavian Logigan observes
in his essay on the issue of minorities.4
The second section is dedicated to the arts and culture and focuses mainly on
modern literature, modern and contemporary painting and contemporary cinema.
Through Jakub Kornhauser’s paper we discover (those who haven’t yet) the
peculiar case of Romanian surrealism, the last incarnation of this avant-garde movement
1
Lucian Boia, interviewed by Cristian Pătrăşconiu, “Why is Romania different?”, Herito 12
(2013): 12-39.
2
“Standard Eurobarometer 80”, European Comission, accessed 25 March 2014,
http://ec.europa.eu/public_opinion/archives/eb/eb80/eb80_en.htm.
3
Traian Ungureanu, “Who’s had enough of Romania and why?”, Herito 12 (2013): 40-59.
4
Octavian Logigan, “The absent gadjo Gypsy and the present goy Jew”, Herito 12 (2013): 78-89.
275
in Europe, with Gellu Naum and Gherasim Luca among the most prominent figures.1
Olga Bartosiewicz’s introduction to the work of Benjamin Fundoianu, pointing out his
aspirations in creating an interdisciplinary ‘total work of art’,2 along with Wojciech
Bondowicz’s review of the Polish translation of Max Blecher’s morose prose,
“Adventures in Immediate Unreality”3 shed light on two of the most outstanding and
sometimes overlooked figures of Romanian modernism.
The inter-war period was indeed one of the most validating for Romanian
culture in international context. As “Tristan Tzara and Marcel Janco launched the Dada
movement in 1916, overnight Romanian culture found itself in the first ranks of the
innovators co-creating the history of European thought. For the first time in their short
history, Romanians where able to shed their peripherality complexes and abandon
efforts to catch up with Western culture by imitating its formulas” states Jakub
Kornhauser, pointing out also that “this impression was somewhat weakened by the
internationalist character of avant-garde movements.”4
The contemporary period seems to be one of equal intensity, especially for
cinema and the visual arts, although the outstanding accomplishments of Romanian artists
are far too recent to enable us to predict whether they will have a long term impact on the
national and international scene as the avant-garde artists had. The case of “the young art
from Cluj”5 is worth taking a closer look, due to its apparent eccentricity. Unlike other
cultural movements, which ‘centralize’ talents from smaller centres, the most fashionable
artistic milieu currently in Romania is not the capital, Bucharest, but Cluj, the major city in
the North-West. The rise of Cluj as “a must-check-out hype in the arts” – to paraphrase
Corina Bucea’s emphatic expression6 – is due to the local synergy of a few individual
talents that have managed to outgrow the self contentment and inertia of validating centres,
reaching far beyond national recognition. On the other hand, Cluj is more ‘central’ than
Bucharest, being geographically and culturally closer to Western Europe.
Another ingredient which contributed to the success of this generation is,
paradoxically, the retrenchment into ‘traditional’ visual forms such as figurative easel
painting with a hint of revisited socialist realism. Instead of adopting the ‘forms without
content’ of western contemporary art, as did many Romanian artists right after ’89, the
current generation draws upon a so-called tradition of socialist realism, formerly the
official version of Romanian art, and therefore refuted by many genuine artists. The
curious overturn that the fall of ancient communist regimes has produced in the art
world, exsanguinated by the ‘dematerialisation of the art object’7 was the re-discovery of
1
Jakub Kornhauser, “Surrealism’s second homeland. The mysterious heritage of the Romanian
avant-garde.”, ibid., 96-107.
2
Olga Bartosievicz, “Benjamin Fundoianu – The Unknown Face Of Romanian Modernism,”
ibid., 108−113.
3
Wojciech Bonowicz, “The dark revelations of Max Blecher”, ibid., 212-215; Max Blecher,
Întâmplări în irealitatea imediată (Events in immediate irreality) (Bucharest: Art, 2009 [1936]).
4
Kornhauser, “Surrealism’s second homeland”.
5
To paraphrase Lukasz Galusek’s expression in “The Clujians”, ibid., 154 – 173.
6
See Corina Bucea’s article on “The Paintbrush Factory (Fabrica de Pensule)” the ‘artistic
cooperative’ that currently holds the leading role of the art movement in Cluj, “City meets art –
how micro big bangs changed Cluj”, ibid., 174-189.
7
As in Lucy Lippard’s definition of the dematerialization of the art object through the new artistic
practices of conceptual art. See Lucy R. Lippard, Six Years. The Dematerialization of the Art
Object (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1973).
276
old forms as new, fashionable, and a lot more digestible forms of art. A savoir-faire in
direct lineage from old masters rather than contemporary art, along with clever, often
ironic reference to the specific pre and post totalitarian experience has became the label
of artists coming from the east. This vision is of course reductive, the artistic reality,
even in a close universe as “The Paintbrush Factory” being much more diverse, but the
constant reference to this stereotype has made it into a real ‘country brand’.
Symptomatic of this, is the fact that every single reproduction illustrating the two articles
dedicated to the movement around “The Paintbrush Factory” contains either a reference
to the past, or to past artworks.
The last two texts, “Finis Saxoniae and the art of return” by Dieter Schlesak,
and a review of Schlesak’s novel “Transylwahnien”1, show us the other face of the coin,
deconstructing the mythical image of the ‘German’ – a symbol of discipline, efficiency
and order as opposed to Romanian messiness – revealing us a more gloomy image of the
Transylvanian Saxons, fallen under the mirage of Nazism, bringing upon themselves the
revenge of history, the burden of guilt and the tragedy of losing their homeland.
The big picture of Herito’s issue on Romania shows us – whether through
compensatory narratives or critical analyses – a country in search for itself and for a
place for itself among nations. The editorial choice of featured authors, artists and
themes, although not an exhaustive one (nor could it be) offers an enriching insight, for
both the Romanian and the non-Romanian reader, into a mental territory which has its
unique cocktail of dilemmas and certainties, of self-assessment and self-enhancement
inherent to any nation. I would remark the irreproachable graphical presentation of the
magazine, all articles being richly and appropriately illustrated. Herito shows us that
Romania is maybe not the ‘harvest of civilization’ that professional patriots vocally
announce, but, definitely, is a country not to be ignored.
”To Be or Not To Be”
– Review –
Dana-Cristina HERŢA
‘Iuliu Hatieganu’ University of Medicine and Pharmacy Cluj – Napoca
Romanian Alliance for Suicide Prevention
Keywords: suicide, monograph, suicide prevention, resources
*
Discussing a comprehensive monograph about suicide, stemming from the
experience of a teacher, healer, researcher, writer and active member of the community,
1
Claudio Magris, “Return to Transylvania, a spiritual Tower of Babel”, Herito 12 (2013) 219-225.
Doina Cosman, Suicidology (Cluj-Napoca: Presa Universitară Clujeană, 2013), 378p. ISBN
978-973-595-601-1

277
is not a simple task. However, the issue of suicide prevention is simple: suicide is the
only death that can be prevented, and it is in the ability of each and every one of us, as
human beings and members of the community, to use our available resources in order to
prevent suicide.
Browsing through the 378 pages of the SUICIDOLOGY monograph from this
viewpoint, every person that reads this book can find something that will resonate with
their academic and professional training and, most importantly, with their personal
experiences and history. One of the most important values of this book is the ability to
create a complex and unitary body of evidence, from history of suicide to case studies,
from the latest genetic data and epidemiological trends of suicide to state of the art
approaches in suicide risk assessment and prevention.
Sceptics might ask why the age–old question ‘To be or not to be’ that haunts the
psyche of the person who contemplates suicide remains unanswered. Professionals who
manage persons at risk for suicide might ask why making predictions about short – and
long – term risk for suicidal behaviours is such a difficult endeavour. For those who
open this book searching for answers, the author provides one simple, undeniable reality
from the very beginning: suicide is a constant event throughout the entire history of
human race. This statement contains a caveat in hiding: suicide will potentially continue
to exist, as an external social phenomenon and internal individual odyssey, despite all
the developments in research and prevention strategies, despite all endeavours to end
stigmatization and separate myth from reality concerning suicide on a global scale.
Does this generate a contradiction in terms with the fact that suicide is the only
death that can be prevented? By reading this book and browsing through the vast list of
references provided in the end of each chapter, you will realize that each person that
dwindles at the boundary between life and death by suicide actually holds an infinite
amount of untapped individual resources, and the key to those resources is shaped as the
riddle of the Sphinx.
The most effective way of simplifying the problem is to first postpone the suicidal
impulse, to delay the action of suicide and to help the person contemplating suicide to shed
a light in the darkness and to explore alternative options, here and now. Hence the crucial
role of the chapter concerning crisis intervention, in which Professor Doina Cosman
clearly and loudly states that each of us can become parts of the solution to suicide as
global public health issue, by becoming resources in our own communities, according to
our own experience and training and based on individual and community needs. The
moment to do something is right now, and simple gestures like looking into someone’s
eyes, giving them a cup of tea or a blanket or asking ‘How are you today?’, ‘Is there
anything I can do for you?’, or sharing the contact data of the nearest available suicide
prevention services when we go online can make the difference between life and death.
This book has an undeniable destiny that will be carried out not through self–
fulfilling prophecies generated by the helplessness – hopelessness – no escape frame of
mind of the suicidal person, but through seeds of resourcefulness, positivism and humour.
Why humour? Because, despite the tragic undertones contained in each life story of
persons contemplating suicide, it is about life stories ultimately, with sunrises and springs
and smiles coming after the darkness, despondency and tears. The author reminds us of
that, in every page of the book and in every action that she takes as a dedicated
professional, and shows us that, regardless of how long and hard the journey towards
choosing life is, it begins right here and now, life is precious and worth every effort.
278
ILLUSTRATIONS FOR THIS NUMBER
To what point documents are documentary?
Aleksandra CHAUSHOVA
Université Libre de Bruxelles
École Nationale Supérieure des Arts Visuels de La Cambre,
Brussels
To what point documents are documentary? All information about the past
seems a matter of pretty fixed representation, a representation fixed by death.
I started my research on the strategies of creating history, based on what I could
read. I made a book based on another book.
Aleksandra Chaushova, Madam A. (artist book)
Ardent Red,1 a documentary novel, was written by my mother Ivaila Alexandrova
in 2008. It won the Elias Canetti National literature prize and had presentations at the
10th Berlin International literary festival and the Leipzig book fair (2011). The main
personage, Vessela Alexieva, is telling her life story, consisting in a succession of
husbands and lovers from the Bulgarian cultural and political elites in the 40s and 50s of
th
the 20 century and their respective succeeding political murders. The book branches
out in a research of all the possible versions of what really happened to these people, a
research based on archives, interviews with witnesses and pretender witnesses. It’s a
book with a shifting structure, built up of fragments of memory and residues of stories. It
makes one wonder what is a real fact and what is fiction.
This fluctuating border between document and fiction was the key to my work. I
use only fragments of the book text, the rest are texts and photos from Bulgarian
1
Ivaila Alexandrova, Goreshto cherveno (Sofia: Zhanet 45, 2007).
279
newspapers of the 40s and 50s, from the archives of the National Library in Sofia. The
drawings are based on personal photos of the characters, always hiding the tension of
trouble beneath an apparent everyday normality. My book is situated somewhere on the
border between personal and collective history. While dealing with official newspapers
from totalitarian time, I had a feeling that the reality was contaminated with fiction.
Stories about existing persons contained events that never happened. Everyday
information was juxtaposed with fictional reports. In her book Metafiction Patricia
Waugh suggests that there exists a set of conventions which determine the successful
comprehension of a work of fiction as fictional. For example: “the relation of speaker to
hearer, tone of voice, paralinguistic gestures, indexical reference to the immediate
surroundings”1. Partly based on reality and partly invented, there were a number of
texts/images which broke the conventions of fiction and suggested that they were
documents.
So I started suggesting what might be the fiction within them. The pages of the
book are flying, and what is represented might change any moment. It is as documentary
as any document would ever be.
BIOGRAPHY
Aleksandra Chaushova, born in Sofia, currently lives and works in Brussels. Her
practice is diverse, including graphic printing, illustration, writing and painting. Her
works have been exhibited at WIELS Center for Contemporary Art, Brussels Art
Factory, Albus Lux gallery (NL) and Dorothea Schlueter gallery (DE) with Abel Auer,
Lucy McKenzie, Dorota Jurczak, Caitlin Keogh and Graham Anderson. In 2010 she
participated in the WIELS residency program. After being a guest student at
Kunstakademie Dusseldorf in the class of Lucy McKenzie in the autumn of 2012, she’s
currently doing a PhD in ‘Art and art sciences’ at the Free University of Brussels in
collaboration with ENSAV La Cambre.
1
Patricia Waugh, Metafiction: The Theory and Practice of Self-conscious Fiction (London:
Routlege, 2002).
280
PREVIOUS VOLUMES OF PHILOBIBLON
Volume I. Number 1–2 / 1996 134 p. (Culture, Books, Society: Europeanism and
Europeanization; Librarianship: A Changing Profession in a Transitional
Society: Data – Conditions – Possibilities; The Special Collections of the
Library)
Volume II. Number 1 / 1997 136 p. (Culture, Books, Society: Axiological Openings
and Closures; A Changing Profession in a Transitional Society: Data –
Conditions – Possibilities; Varia: The Special Collections of the Library;
Miscellanea)
Volume II. Number 2 / 1997 237 p. (Culture, Books, Society: Existential Dispositions;
A Changing Profession in a Transitional Society: Data – Conditions –
Possibilities; Varia: The Special Collections of the Library; Miscellanea)
Volume III. Number 1–2 / 1998 319 p. (Culture, Books, Society: Dictionaries –
Backgrounds and Horizons; A Changing Profession in a Transitional
Society: Data – Conditions – Possibilities; Varia: The Special Collections of
the Library; Miscellanea)
Volume IV–V–VI–VII. 1999–2002 538 p. (Culture, Books, Society: History and
Memory; A Changing Profession in a Transitional Society: Data –
Conditions – Possibilities; Varia: The Special Collections of the Library;
Miscellanea).
Volume VIII–IX. 2003–2004 573 p. (Culture, Books, Society: Censorship and the
Barriers of Freedom; A Changing Profession in a Transitional Society: Data
– Conditions – Possibilities; Varia: The Special Collections of the Library;
Miscellanea).
Volume X–XI. 2005–2006 603 p. (Culture, Books, Society: Music and Existence;
Librarianship: Hermeneutica Bibliothecaria: Data – Conditions –
Possibilities; The Special Collections of the Library; Miscellanea).
Volume XII. 2007 457 p. (Culture, Books, Society: Adrian Marino and His Horizons;
Volume XIII. 2008 672 p. (Culture, Books, Society: Living and Dying Life;
281
Volume XIV. 2009 602 p. (Culture, Books, Society: The Environment;
Volume XV. 2010 601 p. (Science, Culture, Books, Society: Time, Past, Future,
History; Librarianship: Hermeneutica Bibliothecaria: Data – Conditions –
Volume XVI. Number 1. (January-June) 2011, 1–285 p.; MAN – BOOK –
KNOWLEDGE – SOCIETY, Miscellanea
Volume XVI. Number 2. (July-December) 2011, 286–634 p.; MAN – BOOK –
Volume XVII. Number 1. (January-June) 2012, 1-316 p.; MAN – BOOK –
Volume XVII. Number 2. (July-December) 2012, 317- 634 p.; MAN – BOOK –
Volume XVIII. Number 1. (January-June) 2013, 1-236 p.; MAN – BOOK –
Volume XVIII. Number 2. (July-December) 2013, 237-536 p.; MAN – BOOK –
282

PHILOBIBLON

Transcription

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