Frames /sing

kvond

Die and Dance in Spinozist Terms

Corry Shores has done a beautiful rumination spurred by my last short post on Deaththat really for some reason stirs me. In serpentine fashion he takes us through the infinimicules of existences, early views in microscopy (citing my favorite, under-read Spinoza document, Kerckring’s testament of animalcules), Deleuze’s conception of bodies in variation and thoughts about Michael Jackson (of whom I have been a little media’d out, but here I enjoyed contemplating). I like very much the thought that we have to ask ourselves, What has our body done in this life? And I love the thought that in living longer we simply expose our bodies to greater variation of expression (and experience), no matter how hard we strain to maintain the border of the same. We should say, What are our bodies enfolding (in dance), what are they expressing? We do not own them. One thinks of as well Spinoza’s Spanish poet (E4p39s), who no longer could recognize his own poetry, and so was no longer “himself”. Reminding us that there are many kinds of death, and thus many kinds of openings.

Advertisements

2 responses to “Die and Dance in Spinozist Terms

  1. Amarilla July 21, 2009 at 7:37 am

    kvond: “What are our bodies enfolding (in dance), what are they expressing? We do not own them.”

    And sometimes we hardly know them, are terrified or repelled by them.

    • kvond July 21, 2009 at 9:00 am

      Yes, but they are continually acting, and are not a-part from us.

      There is a lovely point where Spinoza compares the powers of the body to that what a sleepwalker can do, giving the sense that we are all sleepwalkers. He does not say this in a disparaging way, like “You are all sleepwalkers, awake!” but more in the sense of awe, something like “We are all sleepwalkers, can be nothing much more than sleepwalkers, but just think what sleepwalkers can do!” It is very much like von Kliest’s story “On the Marionette Theatre” wherein a bear could fence like no other,

      “As I had now recovered somewhat from my astonishment I fell on him with my rapier. The bear made a slight movement with his paw and parried my thrust. I feinted, to deceive him. The bear did not move. I attacked again, this time with all the skill I could muster. I know I would certainly have thrust my way through to a human breast, but the bear made a slight movement with his paw and parried my thrust. By now I was almost in the same state as the elder brother had been: the bear’s utter seriousness robbed me of my composure. Thrusts and feints followed thick and fast, the sweat poured off me, but in vain. It wasn’t merely that he parried my thrusts like the finest fencer in the world; when I feinted to deceive him he made no move at all. No human fencer could equal his perception in this respect. He stood upright, his paw raised ready for battle, his eye fixed on mine as if he could read my soul there, and when my thrusts were not meant seriously he did not move…

      …We see that in the organic world, as thought grows dimmer and weaker, grace emerges more brilliantly and decisively. But just as a section drawn through two lines suddenly reappears on the other side after passing through infinity, or as the image in a concave mirror turns up again right in front of us after dwindling into the distance, so grace itself returns when knowledge has as it were gone through an infinity. Grace appears most purely in that human form which either has no consciousness or an infinite consciousness. That is, in the puppet or in the god.”

      http://southerncrossreview.org/9/kleist.htm

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: