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Title: Back to 1911
Author: Peter Lamborn Wilson
Date: Spring, 2012
Language: en
Topics: Fifth Estate, Fifth Estate #386, history, technology
Source: FIFTH ESTATE #386, Spring, 2012, Vol. 47, No. 1, page 10

Peter Lamborn Wilson

Back to 1911

Reversion to 1911 would constitute a perfect first step for a 21^(st)

century neo-Luddite movement. Living in 1911 means using technology and

culture only up to that point and no further, or as little as possible.

For example, you can have a player-piano and phonograph, but no radio or

TV; an ice-box, but not a refrigerator; an ocean liner, but not an

aeroplane, electric fans, but no air conditioner.

You dress 1911. You can have a telephone. You can even have a car,

ideally an electric. Someday, someone will make replicas of the 1911

“Grandma Duck” Detroit Electric, one of the most beautiful cars ever

designed.

1911 was a great year for Modernism, Expressionism, Symbolism,

Rosicrucianism, anarcho- syndicalism and Individualism, vegetarian

lebensreform, and Nietzschean cosmic consciousness, but it was also the

last great Edwardian year, the twilight of British Empire and last

decadent gilded moments of Manchu, Austro-Hungarian, German, Russian,

French and Ottoman monarchy; last “old days” before the hideous 20^(th)

century really got going.

The next step backward would be to join the Amish and other Old Order

Anabaptists in 1907 — no telephones, no electricity at all, and no

internal combustion. With this move, the battle would virtually be won.

The next generation would be able to make the transition to no metal —

the neo-neolithic. Arcadian pastoralism.

After that a dizzying sliding spiral back into — illiteracy. Oral/aural

culture. Classless tribal anarchy. Democratic shamanism. The Gift. This

would be the ultimate Luddite goal. But the first step will be back to

1911.

Those who long to live in 1911 choose that year — really any year from

1890 to 1914 would be equally OK — just because it’s safely in the

middle of that long lingering last decade of the long 19^(th) century,

which was also the first heroic decade of true modern radicalism, e. g.

the Wandervogl, Stirnerite anarchism, the IWW and Jim Larkin, Ascona,

Sex Radicals, and Nudism, etc. And, still far removed from the future of

total war and totalitarianism to come — a time of utopian revolutionary

hope.

Also, it’s the age of decadence; the final year of the Manchu Dynasty;

opium ten cents a bottle at any country store; the Paris of J. K.

Huysmans. Gaslight. The last gasp of true agrarianism in the USA; the

age of Populism, the Grange, Farmers Alliance — the last rural decade.

But there’s another reason we choose 1911 (or thereabouts) for our

little Golden Age. It has to do with technology. In 1911, almost all the

actual conveniences of modern technology already existed: the car, the

electric bulb, the phonograph.

Now, we Luddites do not approve of cars or any of these inventions,

which all subtract from the quanta of Imagination available to

individuals and to the Social. But, we have to admit — they’re

convenient.

In their primitive forms they’re almost likable. The only real

convenience invented since then — the electric refrigerator — can be

replaced by an Amish-built propane refrigerator, or, we could re-invent

the ice-box. We hope some day to learn to sing again, but till then, we

can accept a few hand-cranked shellac records (but no radio or TV).

Computers are not in any way a part of a revived 1911, however. It’s

time to wake up and smell the rot of technopathology.

The telephone easily corrodes social presence and reduces selves to

disembodied “voices of the Unseen,” as the Arabs called this invention.

But again the primitive version, with its party lines and snoopy local

operators, had a social aspect now completely leached out of the medium.

If we must be thus haunted let it be via one of these elegant sinister

objects — large enough to be a real murder weapon.

Recorded music realizes a dream of pure magic, but at the same time the

end and even the death of music itself. As the Muzak company understood,

recorded music eventually loses its presence — and in its state of

absence or deprivation it becomes a potent subliminal form of anxiety,

often alleviated by a shopping spree or food binge — perfect Capitalist

behavior.

Thus music becomes background; in expensive restaurants one is expected

to listen (but not pay attention) to music appropriate to a honkytonk

whorehouse: rock’n’roll, which should be a highly presential dionysiac

experience becomes aural vanilla for jaded yuppies. Youth buys its

latent rebellion from the world of commercial greed and adult

condescension called the Music Industry.

With headphones and computers, everyone composes a soundtrack for their

own stupid boring movie, their life as student or wage slave and

consumer — music as anodyne for the constant immiseration (as the

Situationists used to say) of Too-Late Kapitalismo.

Finally, recording replaces our own voices with dumbness. We let stars

sing for us. We let machines come between us and the divine musician

within us. Music attains Spectral status. It haunts us with its own

non-presence reduced to residual noise pollution.

There is next to no amateur communal music anymore (recording killed

it), no “music bees,” so to speak. Music now lacks all sociality except

the ersatz of mass consumption at a concert or music festival, but at

least it remains possible to hear live music sometimes. Usually, now,

when I hear any decent live music, I burst into tears. I give it my

attention — a process that produces a kind of high or rush.

If we have to hear a recording, let it be a 1911-style shellac disc or

even wax cylinder, cranked up by hand, not electricity; a magic music

box to baffle the dog with its master’s voice; a cabinet of aural

marvels. If we have to be haunted by music’s non-presence (every

recording is the tombstone of a live performance) let it be by one of

those graceful ear-shaped or seashell-shaped machines, a Surrealist’s

delight or Spirit Trumpet for a charlatanesque medium.

The years between the death of Nietzsche and Queen Victoria in 1900 and

1914, constitute a dawn of Modernism that never happened into day.

Instead it was smashed to nihil by the one long war (1914–1989) of the

ghastly 20^(th) century. The liberte Libre of trends like Symbolism,

Expressionism, anarchism/ socialism, lebensreform, Cosmicism, etc.,

turned into the cynicism of Dada, the fascism of Futurism, and so on.

Hope seemed dead.

Even reading and writing is contaminated with Civilization’s

technopathologies. Oral/aural culture would constitute the Luddite

ideal. But as an isolated individual and lifelong print addict, I can’t

give up books, that necessary poison, like certain drugs. Life in 1911

requires books just as it might ideally include cheap and legal laudanum

or tincture of Indian hemp.

Charles Fourier praised the Pigeon Post. It seemed quite modern in 1830,

“utterly modern,” as Rimbaud would say. In 1911, we’re allowed telegraph

and even telephone, but our hearts still go into writing and receiving

letters — handwritten, private, mysteriously brought to your very door

by an unseen hand for only pennies per message, the money having been

transformed into beautiful stamps.

None of these pleasures are afforded by electromagnetic CommTech, which

eliminates everything (including privacy) except text and image.

Imagine perfumed letters sealed with red wax and heraldic imagery;

letters like Prince Genji used to write, or Proust, who could send

little blue notes by pneumatic post anywhere in Paris. Think of

mail-order degrees in Rosicrucianism. Yes, the post — under the sign of

Hermes — is sheer magic.

Full play of Imagination becomes possible only without modern

technology, because it has become the heartless operation of Capital,

which hates all forms of sharing. Let’s work for a secular Anabaptism,

bold enough finally to refuse everything back to the steam engine — at

least.

Whereupon we may resume human life.