Irigaray wanted to unlock the female imagination. Photo: Getty
Show Hide image

Jane Clare Jones on Luce Irigaray: The murder of the mother

Luce Irigaray's public image consists largely of the fact that she once said something unfathomably silly about E=mc2 being a "sexed equation". But there is far more to her than that.

This piece is part of the New Statesman's "Rereading the Second Wave" series. Read the other essays here.

 

Luce Irigaray tends to get a bad rap – at least in popular thought. Thanks to Sokal and Bricmont’s Intellectual Impostures (published as Fashionable Nonsense outside the UK), the Belgian-born feminist's public image consists largely of the fact that she once said something unfathomably silly about E=mc2 being a ‘sexed equation’ [1]or reckons gender was the reason physics hadn’t made much progress with fluid dynamics. As the science wars rumble steadily on, she is still periodically wheeled out as Exhibit A of the “daffy absurdity” (Richard Dawkins klaxon) of postmodern irrationalism. She’s why all right-minded people should properly regard feminist philosophy as feminist "philosophy".

It may be futile to try and side-step a Twitter-spat with skeptics, but I’m going to give it a good go. However silly Irigaray’s observations about the gendered nature of Einstein’s equation may or may not be, such a succinct dismissal is, above all, a derail. Irigaray is interested, not in the pure mechanics of material reality, but in the cultural imagination, and the way it inflects the representations of ourselves, our subjectivity, and our relations to the world. More particularly, she is interested in the way the assumptions of just half our species have dictated the form and structure of that landscape. In the fact that a good swath of western culture is a projection of what she understands as the "masculine imaginary".

The imaginary is more than just made-up stuff. Irigaray was a student of Jacques Lacan, the French psychoanalyst whose notion of ‘the imaginary’ evolved out of his theory of ‘the mirror stage’. The mirror stage is an archetypal moment in the development of an individual’s sense of self, through which you comes to perceive yourself as a coherent whole by identifying with your reflection in a mirror. This feat of triumphant self-integration lends the individual, Lacan suggested, the thrusting “impressiveness of statues". It is the process which “constitutes the ego” with the “attributes of permanence, identity, and substantiality”. 

Irigaray’s great insight was to notice that this mythic developmental moment never actually involves a mirror. The identity of the child – who in Lacan’s account is always male – is not actually formed in relation to an impassive reflecting object, but rather, in relation to an active reflecting person. And to her mind, it was far from incidental that this person-being-depicted-as-a-mirror is most usually a woman. That is, this mirror-person is a mother.

What Irigaray had noticed was the Lacan’s account of identity-formation relied on erasing the presence of the person who was responsible for creating and sustaining the life of the child. The ideal image of the integrated self concealed its dependence of our existence on other individuals. Most importantly, it imagined the idealized, independent, boy child without mentioning the material and emotional support of the woman who brought him into being.

This observation was to become the basis of Irigaray’s reading of the canon of Western philosophy. In Speculum of the Other Woman (1974), her first - and still most enthralling – work, she took on Plato, Freud, Descartes and Hegel. Her painstaking archaeology revealed the way that philosophy, in its efforts to erect the male subject as an entirely self-made man, consistently erased the relational mirroring on which our identities all depend. This philosophical sleight-of-hand, Irigaray suggested, represented a wider tendency to appropriate and simultaneously erase the work – and the existence – of women. It was indicative of what she described as a general gesture of cultural matricide. “All western culture,” she wrote in 1981, “rests on the murder of the mother.”  

This might seem a bit extreme, but we don’t have to look far to appreciate what Irigaray was worried about. The Name Equality campaign for example, has recently highlighted the literal erasure of mothers from marriage certificates; a state of affairs which, as Caroline Criado-Perez suggested last weekrepresents an unconscionable annihilation of the reproductive, material, domestic and emotional labour of mothers. And this erasure is not confined only to the work of women with children. For all of feminism’s gains in terms of formal equality, the capacity of many women to realise their potential is still scuppered by the sheer quantity of what they are expected to do in the service of others. In an important sense, women’s work makes the world. And their labours are often unrecognised, and undervalued.

There are a tonne of problems with Irigaray’s work. Her notion of the "sexuate difference" between men and women sometimes slides towards essentialist ideas of gender, and her idealisation of the cultural and spiritual possibilities of sexual relations between the sexes is unforgivably conservative – and frankly, homophobic. However, there is, nonetheless, something to be salvaged from her insights about the nature of the relation between the sexes. And it is this. We live in a world, which, at least since the fifties, and under the aegis of Loaded-inspired laddism, has become ever more sexualised. And yet, if our cultural landscape is to be believed, women – as sexual subjects with their own needs and modes of expression – still do not really exist.

This has a number of consequences. Perhaps the most important being the way it effects our understanding of sexual consent, both in popular and legal thought, and the impact this has on the incidence and prosecution of sexual violence against women.  

Luce Irigaray’s analysis also speaks to the ongoing ding-dong between feminist factions over the vexed question of sexual expression. Framing the debate as that between "sex positive" and "sex negative" feminists is unhelpful at best – not least because we should have got it though our heads by now that a straightforward binary is probably not advancing our understanding of pretty much anything. But more than that, Irigaray’s thought is adept at illuminating the blind-spots in our culture, and perhaps above all, her writing made me aware of the gaping absence in our culture of representations of female sexuality not shaped by the needs, desires and gaze of men.

As Meghan Murphy has noted, so-called ‘sex negative’ feminists are not a bunch of wizened old prudes who just need a good *$%*ing to put them right (oh, much feminism). The issue is that under the present cultural conditions we barely have a clue what female sexuality actually looks and feels and tastes like. I, for one, have a pretty strong suspicion that it resembles something a lot more like this than like this – but am inclined to wonder what, in this present world, can I know?

Of just one thing I’m certain. That in the late seventies, a teenager called Kate Bush somehow managed - almost miraculously - to commit the form of female desire to vinyl. And that forty years later, the promise of her appearance on a London stage caused such elation and disappointment among the women I know, because of just how vanishingly rare that is.

 

Jane Clare Jones is a feminist philosopher, and is interested in how our ideas about gender are implicated in sexual, colonial and capitalist violence.  A selection of her work is available here , and she can be found on twitter @janeclarejones. She lives in Brighton. 

 

[1] I’d like to give you a link to this quote, but discover I can’t. The many instances of it being cited on the interwebs (Oh, that silly woman!) all give Sokal and Bricmont as the source. And the reference in Sokal and Bricmont is to this text - here - which has never been published in English, and as you can see, doesn’t provide much in the way of evidence that it even contains an essay by Irigaray (if you happen to own this somewhat obscure little book, I’d be grateful for a scan of the offending portion). The one thing I could find, however, is an essay with a name very similar to the one Sokal and Bricmont reference, which was published here. Unfortunately, it doesn’t say anything about sexed equations.

Getty
Show Hide image

Martin McGuinness's long game: why a united Ireland is now increasingly likely

McGuinness died with his ultimate goal of a united Ireland arguably closer to realisation than at any other time since the island’s partition in 1921.

In late 2011 Martin McGuinness stood as Sinn Fein’s candidate in Ireland’s presidential election, raising all sorts of intriguing possibilities.

Raised in a tiny terraced house in the Bogside, Derry, he would have ended up living in a 92-room presidential mansion in Dublin had he won. A former IRA commander, he would have become supreme commander of Ireland’s defence forces. Once banned from Britain under the Prevention of Terrorism Acts, he would have received the credentials of the next British ambassador to Dublin. Were he invited to pay a state visit to London, a man who had spent much of his youth shooting or bombing British soldiers would have found himself inspecting a guard of honour at Buckingham Palace.

McGuinness would certainly have shaken the hands of the English team before the Ireland-England rugby match at the Aviva Stadium in Dublin every other year. “I’d have no problem with that,” he told me, grinning, as he campaigned in the border county of Cavan one day that autumn. Though a staunch republican, he enjoyed the “Protestant” sports of rugby and cricket, just as he supported Manchester United and enjoyed BBC nature programmes and Last of the Summer Wine. He wrote poetry and loved fly-fishing, too. Unlike Gerry Adams, the coldest of cold fish, McGuinness was hard to dislike – provided you overlooked his brutal past.

In the event, McGuinness, weighed down by IRA baggage, came a distant third in that election but his story was astonishing enough in any case. He was the 15-year-old butcher’s assistant who rose to become the IRA chief of staff, responsible for numerous atrocities including Lord Mountbatten’s assassination and the Warrenpoint slaughter of 18 British soldiers in 1979.

Then, in 1981, an IRA prisoner named Bobby Sands won a parliamentary by-election while starving himself to death in the Maze Prison. McGuinness and Adams saw the mileage in pursuing a united Ireland via the ballot box as well as the bullet. Their long and tortuous conversion to democratic politics led to the Good Friday accord of 1998, with McGuinness using his stature and “street cred” to keep the provisional’s hard men on board. He became Northern Ireland’s improbable new education minister, and later served as its deputy first minister for a decade.

His journey from paramilitary pariah to peacemaker was punctuated by any number of astounding tableaux – visits to Downing Street and Chequers; the forging of a relationship with Ian Paisley, his erstwhile arch-enemy, so strong that they were dubbed the “Chuckle Brothers”; his denunciation of dissident republican militants as “traitors to the island of Ireland”; talks at the White House with Presidents Clinton, George W Bush and Obama; and, most remarkable of all, two meetings with the Queen as well as a state banquet at Windsor Castle at which he joined in the toast to the British head of state.

Following his death on 21 March, McGuinness received tributes from London that would have been unthinkable 20 years ago. Tony Blair said peace would not have happened “without Martin’s leadership, courage and quiet insistence that the past should not define the future”. Theresa May praised his “essential and historic contribution to the extraordinary journey of Northern Ireland from conflict to peace”.

What few noted was that McGuinness died with his ultimate goal of a united Ireland arguably closer to realisation – albeit by peaceful methods – than at any other time since the island’s partition in 1921.

The Brexit vote last June has changed political dynamics in Northern Ireland. The province voted by 56 per cent to 44 in favour of remaining in the European Union, and may suffer badly when Britain leaves. It fears the return of a “hard border” with the Republic of Ireland, and could lose £330m in EU subsidies.

Dismay at the Brexit vote helped to boost Sinn Fein’s performance in this month’s Stormont Assembly elections. The party came within 1,200 votes of overtaking the Democratic Unionist Party, which not only campaigned for Leave but used a legal loophole to funnel £425,000 in undeclared funds to the broader UK campaign. For the first time in Northern Ireland’s history, the combined unionist parties no longer have an overall majority. “The notion of a perpetual unionist majority has been demolished,” Gerry Adams declared.

Other factors are also working in Sinn Fein’s favour. The party is refusing to enter a new power-sharing agreement at Stormont unless the DUP agrees to terms more favourable to the Irish nationalists. Sinn Fein will win if the DUP agrees to this, but it will also win if there is no deal – and London further inflames nationalist sentiment by imposing direct rule.

McGuinness’s recent replacement as Sinn Fein’s leader in Northern Ireland by Michelle O’Neill, a personable, socially progressive 40-year-old unsullied by the Troubles, marks another significant step in the party’s move towards respectability. As Patrick Maguire recently wrote in the New Statesman, “the age of the IRA old boys at the top is over”.

More broadly, Scottish independence would make the notion of Northern Ireland leaving the UK seem less radical. The Irish republic’s economic recovery and the decline of the Roman Catholic Church have rendered the idea of Irish unity a little less anathema to moderate unionists. And all the time, the province’s Protestant majority is shrinking: just 48 per cent of the population identified itself as Protestant in the 2011 census and 45 per cent Catholic.

The Good Friday Agreement provides for a referendum if a majority appears to favour Irish unity. Sinn Fein is beginning to agitate for exactly that. When Adams and McGuinness turned from violence to constitutional politics back in the 1980s they opted for the long game. Unfortunately for McGuinness, it proved too long for him to see Irish nationalism victorious, but it is no longer inconceivable that his four grown-up children might. 

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump's permanent revolution