This book takes the point of view of Sade, the most unread major
writer in western literature. Sade’s work is a comprehensive satiric
critique of Rousseau, written in the decade after the first failed Rous-
seauist experiment, the French Revolution, which ended not in political
paradise but in the hell of the Reign of Terror. Sade follows Hobbes
rather than Locke. Aggression comes from nature; it is what Nietzsche
is to call the will-to-power. For Sade, getting back to nature (the Ro¬
mantic imperative that still permeates our culture from sex counseling
to cereal commercials) would be to give free rein to violence and lust. I
agree. Society is not the criminal but the force which keeps crime in
check. When social controls weaken, man’s innate cruelty bursts forth.
The rapist is created not by bad social influences but by a failure of
social conditioning. Feminists, seeking to drive power relations out of
sex, have set themselves against nature. Sex is power. Identity is power.
In western culture, there are no nonexploitative relationships. Everyone
has killed in order to live. Nature’s universal law of creation from
destruction operates in mind as in matter. As Freud, Nietzsche’s heir,
asserts, identity is conflict. Each generation drives its plow over the
bones of the dead.
[…]
Few Greek tragedies fully conform to the humanist commentary on
them. Their barbaric residue will not come unglued. Even in the fifth
century, as we shall see, a satiric response to Apollonianized theater
came in Euripides’ decadent plays. Problems in accurate assessment of
Greek tragedy include not only the loss of three-quarters of the original
body of work but the lack of survival of any complete satyr-play. This
was the finale to the classic trilogy, an obscene comic burlesque. In
Greek tragedy, comedy always had the last word. Modem criticism has
projected a Victorian and, I feel, Protestant high seriousness upon
pagan culture that still blankets teaching of the humanities. Paradox¬
ically, assent to savage chthonian realities leads not to gloom but to
humor. Hence Sade’s strange laughter, his wit amid the most fantastic
cruelties. For life is not a tragedy but a comedy. Comedy is bom of the
clash between Apollo and Dionysus. Nature is always pulling the mg
out from under our pompous ideals.
Every road from Rousseau leads to Sade. The mystique of our birth from human mothers is one of
the daemonic clouds we cannot dispel by tiny declarations of indepen¬
dence. Apollo can swerve from nature, but he cannot obliterate it. […]
Rousseauist psychologies like feminism assert the ultimate benev¬
olence of human emotion. In such a system, the femme fatale logically
has no place. I follow Freud, Nietzsche, and Sade in my view of the
amorality of the instinctual life. At some level, all love is combat, a
wrestling with ghosts. We are only for something by being against
something else. People who believe they are having pleasant, casual,
uncomplex sexual encounters, whether with friend, spouse, or stranger,
are blocking from consciousness the tangle of psycho dynamics at work,
just as they block the hostile clashings of their dream life. Family
romance operates at all times. The femme fatale is one of the refine¬
ments of female narcissism, of the ambivalent self-directedness that is
completed by the birth of a child or by the conversion of spouse or lover
into child. Mothers can be fatal to their sons. It is against the mother that men
have erected their towering edifice of politics and sky-cult. She is Me¬
dusa, in whom Freud sees the castrating and castrated female pubes.
But Medusa’s snaky hair is also the writhing vegetable growth of nature.
Her hideous grimace is men’s fear of the laughter of women. She that
gives life also blocks the way to freedom. Therefore I agree with Sade
that we have the right to thwart nature’s procreative compulsions,
through sodomy or abortion.