Student essay – D.H. Lawrence: A Lifestyle Guide

The above visual essay was created by Will Ryan as part of his final dissertation at Nottingham Trent University. Will and other students on the module have also been helping us to design and create our memory theatre.  

D.H. Lawrence, like many 20th century authors, produced a large amount of literature during his writing career.  Permeating through many of these works is a spiritual life philosophy concerned with living life to the fullest, and utilising individual uniqueness to live a life for and only for themselves.

Through looking at Lawrence’s poetry it becomes clear there is a recurring theme of energy, best described in his poem Dreams Old and Nascent in which the men are described as ‘vibrating in ecstasy’ and there is ‘an impulse of life.’  I assume that he also speaks of this energy in his poem Non-Existence with the line ‘We don’t exist unless we are deeply and sensually in touch with that which can be touched but not known,’ and to Lawrence this energy is an essential ingredient for fully experiencing life.  What this energy is could initially be seen as a mixture of happiness and enthusiasm but after reading the poem We Are Transmitters I noticed that to Lawrence this energy is something spiritual, describing sex as ‘A flow onwards,’ and saying ‘Sexless people transmit nothing.’  So far, it seems that harnessing this energy is the key to living a fulfilling life, but simply hearing this information is useless without knowing how to do so.

The methodology for getting in touch with a person’s internal energy can be found again through Lawrence’s poetry, and can be summarised with two words: discipline and individuality.  Ironically in the poem Discipline I will demonstrate Lawrence’s emphasis on the latter.  He states ‘the fight is not for existence, the fight is to burn at last into blossom of being, each one his own flower outflung,’ and this burning desire to seize and accept one’s true personality is what Lawrence sees as the proper way of living and experiencing life’s energy.  Challenging this viewpoint would lead Lawrence to respond very defensively, as displayed by the line ‘whoever would pluck apart my flower would burn their hands,’ and this emphasises the importance he places on individuality.

After first dealing with the inward self Lawrence then demonstrates how to interact with the outside world, believing that to discipline oneself into consistent maximum effort in all aspects of life allows for a rewarding flow of energy that maintains spirit ‘if, as we work. we can transmit life into our work […] we ripple with life throughout the day,’ and this method of thoroughness is an invaluable element of character to Lawrence, avoiding the wasting of days ‘I never saw a wild thing feel sorry for itself,’ and embracing one’s full potential.

Unfortunately, many of the great writers had a fatal flaw. Ezra Pound was a fascist, H.P Lovecraft a racist. Lawrence, too, divides critics as to his true intentions.  His religious upbringing, and the culture of the time, meant he believed strongly in gender roles, a belief steeped in control which can easily blur over into misogyny.  In the poem Figs Lawrence lays out rules for women and how they use their bodies ‘The female should always be secret,’ and by  metaphorically comparing sexually active females to ripe fruit ‘They forget, ripe figs won’t keep,’ he patronisingly segments this pursuit of energy displayed in his works as a gendered journey; men should embrace everything unique about them without any stated restraints yet women should realise their predetermined place in society. But Lawrence is difficult to pin down as one type of person, and later in the poem is critical of society as ‘they have saved you from yourself, from your own body, saved you from living your own life.’

In Dreams Nascent Lawrence touches on various themes such as modernisation and identity, and these themes are explored through the concept of dreams.  Within the poem’s first stanza, Lawrence speaks of ‘old, ineffectual lives linger[ing] blurred and warm,’ and this depicts a world of aged people living life at an unsatisfactory pace.  The word ‘blurred,’ signifies a light grip on life, a lack of control almost and in the previous line he describes his world as ‘a painted fresco,’ the combination of the two lines implying we are all part of one orchestrated painting.  Again, this signifies missing autonomy, and in the next line, Lawrence speaks of the past weaving a tapestry that is ‘compelling his soul to conform.’  This is reminiscent of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden, in which Thoreau attempts to distance himself from societally imposed frameworks and instead think independently.  Lawrence speaks of the past having ‘woven drapes/ [in] The halls of [his] life,’ and this evokes a claustrophobic trapping of himself within society’s routines and rules, emphasising the need to escape this and live for himself.  In the fourth stanza, Lawrence introduces a conflict in thought; depicting the men as ‘vibrating in ecstasy,’ as they work, implying a positive flow of energy that can be seen to permeate his works.  However, at the end of this line he describes the men’s flesh as ‘rounded,’ as if it has been mechanically altered by their labour.  This reference is Lawrence’s commentary on the effects of modernisation, it can almost be seen as turning man into machine, and the poem concludes with the line ‘fall back exhausted into the unconscious molten life,’ a double entendré that speaks of natural death but also in relation to the mechanical content of the text, an unnatural one; the men are almost swallowed up by the machines they create.  This point can be further emphasised by the line ‘old dreams reflected on the molten metal of dreams,’ the natural dreams personal to individuals are contrasted with the unnatural, the dreams of money earned through labour.  Lawrence also uses language to subvert traditional descriptions of a creator: ‘The power of the melting, fusing Force – heat, light, all in one,’ using mechanical lexis to speak how modernisation is akin to a false idol, worshipped, compared blasphemously to God in order to demonstrate what he believes is an unhealthy focus on modernisation in his contemporary era.

In this poem Lawrence sees society as detrimental to the process of following individual dreams.  The past holds constricting frameworks and the presents holds labour that ultimately cripples dreams.  Analysing this poem in relation to his other literature, these societal binds can be broken through what can best be described in Non-Existence, with the line ‘We don’t exist unless we are deeply and sensually in touch with that which can be touched but not known.’  A deeper spiritual connection with one’s true self is to Lawrence liberating and a way to enforce both happiness and autonomy.

dhl-trunk energyTo see more visual essays and other interpretations of Lawrence’s work, please see our YouTube channel: D.H.Lawrence: A Digital Pilgrimage  We also post one minute films of Lawrence’s writing on our instagram account: dhldigitalpilgrimage In 2019 we will be begin building our memory theatre. You can submit artefacts here

Advertisements

Promo video: Good vibrations

D.H. Lawrence lived in Cornwall from 30 December 1915 to 15 October 1917 in what he hoped would be a new beginning. It didn’t quite work out as planned. His short tenure on the edge of Britain would have a profound effect on his ideas, not least his developing fascination with cosmic vibrations and the mysterious secrets of primitive cultures emanating from the dark black granite coastline.

Prior to the move, Lawrence married a German woman called Frieda Weekley, a distant relation of Manfred von Richthofen, the ‘Red Baron’, on 13 July 1914, 15 days before the outbreak of WWI. The Rainbow, published in September 1915 lasted two months in print before being seized under the 1857 Obscene Publications Act. Prosecutor Herbert Musket declared it ‘a mass of obscenity of thought, idea, and action’. Critic JC Squire suggested Lawrence’s characters were under ‘the spell of German psychologists’, for daring to question fundamentals of their life (religion, love, relationships), and by implication were anti-British in nature. Judge Sir John Dickinson therefore ruled that the book ‘had no right to exist in the wind of war’, and that Lawrence was in effect mocking the very principles British men were fighting to defend. With no sense of irony, copies of The Rainbow were publicly burned, while ‘our’ boys fought for freedom on the Western Front.

If this wasn’t enough to rile the easily riled Lawrence, his passport was seized, meaning he was unable to fulfil his dream of moving to Florida to begin a new life, a new way of being. Cornwall represented his stepping stone to this other world. Lawrence described Cornwall as “outside England…Far off from the world”. Nick Ceramella writes that “in those nightmarish Great War years, he thought that Cornwall, with its calm atmosphere, was a welcoming shelter far from the war, the madding London crowd and its intellectuals, and the national institutions.” But he was wrong. He would face more parochial forms of prejudice, and the ignominy of being expelled under the Defence of the Realm Act, all of which would provide material for the ‘Nightmare’ chapter of Kangeroo (1923).

While in Cornwall, Lawrence started to develop his own philosophy of man’s place in the world. He described this as blood consciousness, whereby we should yield to our more inherent and intuitive nature, the opposite of mental consciousness – the kind of logic that resulted in his books being banned. These ideas weren’t new. In 1913 he wrote “My great religion is a belief in the blood, the flesh, as wiser than the intellect”. But now he had time to develop it further.

Jane Costin argues that Lawrence’s views on blood consciousness begin to change during his time in Cornwall. In particular, he senses a life force in the rocks, a latent energy that can connect blood consciousness with the primitive tribes that went before. He describes the landscape as belonging “still to the days before Christianity, the days of Druids, or of desolate Celtic magic and conjuring” (2L 493) and that the water “is so white and powerful and incomprehensible under the black rock, that is not of this life. I feel as if there were a strange, savage, unknown God in the foam – heaven knows what God it be” (2L 501).

Lawrence sounds very much like he is undergoing some form of epiphany, inspired by the landscape that is ‘like the first craggy breaking of dawn in the world, a sense of the primeval darkness just behind, before the Creation’. The phoenix is rising.

Lawrence was under an incredible amount of stress during this period, both financially and creatively, so it’s hardly surprising that the environment took on greater resonance. He was also isolated. His hopes of creating Rananim with John Middleton Murry and Katherine Mansfield were short-lived, forging wounds that never quite healed. It was also difficult for friends to visit due to wartime costs. Two return train tickets from London to Cornwall costs £7 whereas his entire rent of a cottage in 1916 was £5. It is for this reason that Andrew Harrison argues that in analysing Lawrence’s time in Cornwall we must ‘understand how desperately important the idea of Cornwall was to Lawrence.’

zennor 3
Zennor coastal path: photograph James Walker

When Lawrence and Frieda moved to Zennor, they were effectively isolated between the sea and the Moors. A lack of roads meant their cottage was cut off. This allowed the locals to retain old traditions, languages, and a ‘primitive’ way of life that felt very different to the metropolis. Lawrence, believing he had found new kin, would observe that ‘race is ultimately as much a question of place as heredity’.

The Zennor coastline is home to large lumps of granite that Lawrence felt ‘had its own life force’ and sent out ‘vibrations that could be detected by people who were sensitive to their own blood-consciousness and not dominated by mind-consciousness.’

dhl-hope

Lawrence’s essay on Edgar Allen Poe, published in 1918, draws on these feelings developed in Cornwall: ‘Surely all material things have a form of sentience, even the inorganic: surely they all exist in some subtle and complicated tension of vibration which makes them sensitive to external influence and causes them to have an influence on other external objects, irrespective of contact.’

The concept of a vibrating material world would be addressed more thoroughly in Fantasia of the Unconscious (1922), but it also gets a thorough working through in Kangaroo (1923), where we are informed ‘the body has its own rhythm, with the sun and with the moon. The great nerve ganglia and the subtle glands have their regular times and motions, in correspondence with the outer universe’.

The thing is, not everybody is able to tune into these vibrations, as Somers points out in Kangaroo: “I haven’t got only just the two eyes in my head that can tell the kettle from the teapot. I’ve got another set of eyes inside me somewhere that can tell real differences, when there are any. And that’s what these people don’t seem to have at all. They’ve only got the outside eyes.”

kangaroo
Artwork: Dawn of the Unread

Lawrence’s characters, like Lawrence, can be condescending, arrogant and preachy, while warning others not to be condescending, arrogant and preachy. Kangaroo also opens itself up to some pretty harsh criticisms, and rightly so. But if we put the observations of people as ‘ants’ and ‘canaille’ to one side for a moment, the novel is also an attempt to outline a new religious idea. The great ideas of modernity weren’t working and had simply led to war and industrialisation. Radical alternatives were needed, and Lawrence was prepared to offer up suggestions. To do this, he draws heavily on his experiences of Cornwall and WWI in Kangaroo.

Richard Lovat Somers is a bearded ‘thought adventurer’ essayist and poet who has left England after being detained there during World War I. He was harassed for his independent ideas and his political opinions and faced prejudice and suspicion because he was married to a German wife. Sound like someone we know….

Somers is frustrated by his contemporaries who he diplomatically describes as ‘carrion-eating, filthy-mouthed canaille, like dead-man-devouring jackals’. Realising he can’t change the rest of humanity – and that they’re probably not worth saving anyway – he discovers the great secret: ‘to stand alone as his own judge of himself’ and to leave ‘the mongrel-mouthed world’ to ‘say and do what it liked’.

Somers is absolutely seething at how he has been treated by humanity and can feel his spine sending ‘out vibrations that should annihilate them–blot them out, the canaille, stamp them into the mud they belonged to’. But we also learn that having a proper strop is actually very cathartic: ‘the death-hot lava pours loose into the deepest reservoirs of the soul. One day to erupt: or else to go hard and rocky, dead’. i.e. We can either use our rage to transform ourselves or we can allow it to solidify and render us passive.

It’s at this point in the book that some readers will have had enough of Somers tantrums and thrown the novel onto the fire. Mistake. This is the exact moment the novel takes on another layer of sophistication and broadens out into a scathing attack of ideology. ‘Say what you like, every idea is perishable: even the idea of God or Love or Humanity or Liberty–even the greatest idea has its day and perishes. Each formulated religion is in the end only a great idea. Once the idea becomes explicit, it is dead’.

Yes, we must have ideas but ‘persisting in an old, defunct ideal’ is what eventually brought down Rome, Constantinople, the Byzantine Empire, and ‘now our turn’. Can we apply this logic to the current political climate? Is capitalism, monarchy, national identity, gender, or the EU (I voted remain BTW) defunct ideals that are no longer worth persisting in? Answers on a postcard please…

Somers warns us (sounding a bit like a trailer for the new series of Game of Thrones) ‘If you sow the dragon’s teeth, you mustn’t expect lilies of the valley to spring up in sweet meekness’, therefore he decides to cut himself off from humanity altogether, and focus his attention on ‘the old dark gods, who had waited so long in the outer dark’. Winter is definitely coming…

The God in church is an ideal God. A product of mental consciousness. A human, oh so human invention. As is the money God, and modernity with its fallacious claims of progress. We are all wrapped up in our ‘nice, complete, homely universe’, worrying about ‘running their trains and making their wars and saving the world for democracy’ and consequently do not hear the ‘throb-throb-throb’ of something else calling. This throbbing, this vibration, offers a different way of being, a different connection with the world, and a way of acknowledging a dark unknowable God.

dhl-trunk vibration noiseIn the DH Lawrence Memory Theatre we want to address various aspects of Lawrence’s life through artefacts to try to understand this complex writer. How do we get across these cosmic vibrations and connections with the old dark Gods? Is there a place for blood consciousness and if so, how do we convey this? In 2019 we begin building our Memory Theatre and retracing Lawrence’s savage pilgrimage both physically and digitally. If you have an idea for an artefact get involved and submit ideas here

Other promo videos